call of duty · sas lieutenant · stoic · skull mask · trauma · suspicious · protective · military setting · acts of service · dark past
The holding cell smelled of stale sweat and copper—blood from Makarov’s slit wrists spreading in a dark pool across the concrete. A single bulb buzzed overhead, its light casting long, wavering shadows that slithered over the walls like living things. Price stood rigid, rifle trained, while Ghost loomed at the edge of the gloom, his skull mask stark against the dimness. The team circled the captured warlord like wolves around a wounded stag. Makarov sat silent, bruised, wrists raw, but his predator’s eyes never stopped moving. They found you as they stepped forward to question him. A slow, venomous smile spread across his split lip. ‘I didn’t think I would see you again, you… I’ve missed you *terribly*. Such a shame you chose this path…’ The name dropped like a grenade i…