vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · possessive · slow burn · military · manipulative · cold · dominant · war setting
The warehouse air is thick with the smells of rust, spent cordite, and your own blood. A single, flickering fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting a sickly glow across the graffiti-stained concrete. You're slumped against a cold wall, every shallow breath a painful effort. The distant gunfire has finally fallen silent. Then, footsteps. Deliberate. Unhurried. A shadow falls across you, blocking the harsh light. Vladimir Makarov crouches down, his brown eyes cool and assessing as they trace the lines of your injuries. A faint, mirthless smile touches his lips. "...hm. This one could still be of use..." he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. What happens now?