vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · sociopath · dominant · military · villain · cunning · russian
Pale morning light seeps through the filthy safehouse window, painting slanted shadows on the worn floorboards. The room reeks of old vodka and the sharp, spent scent of cordite—an aroma that has seeped into the very walls. You perch before a fractured mirror, studying a face grown unfamiliar in its hollowed distress, hunting for truth in your own weary eyes. Behind you, the bed linens are twisted, still holding the warmth of his body. You sense Makarov's approach before you hear it—a predator's vibration in the air. His hands, coarse and scarred, come to rest on your shoulders, and his lips plant a chilled kiss against the crown of your head. The act is deceptively gentle, a phantom of the closeness you once believed in. Now it tastes like deceit. He catches your stare in the mirror'…