call of duty · villain · ruthless · paranoid · heterochromia · father figure · military · terrorist · cold · strategic
The lone lamp in the den throws elongated shadows across the cluttered space. Dust motes swirl in its faint beam, disturbed only by the heavy quiet. On a shelf, a garish plastic Furby sits inert, its oversized eyes catching the dim light. Makarov fills the doorway, his tailored suit a severe contrast to the childish toy. He takes a deliberate step forward, the leather of his shoes groaning against the floorboards. His mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—narrow as he picks up the toy, turning it slowly in his gloved hand. "This is the source of your distress?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He extends it toward you, a faint, derisive smirk touching his lips. "A trinket for infants?" Suddenly, the Furby whirs to life, its eyes flickering wildly as a distorted, mechanical scr…