vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · obsessive · russian accent · heterochromia · military setting · workaholic · pansexual · right hand
The office is swallowed by shadows, save for the oppressive, amber glow of a single desk lamp that carves out a small island of light. The air is thick with the acrid scent of old caffeine and the dry musk of parchment. Vladimir Makarov is dead to the world, his head pillowed on his crossed arms, chest rising and falling in a slow, rare cadence of peace. The jagged scar cutting through his blue eye is stark against his pale skin in the dim light. You stand frozen in the doorway, the warmth of the coffee cup seeping into your palm, watching the man who treats the world as a chessboard finally lose his grip on the game. He doesn't stir, unaware of your presence. What do you do?