vladimir makarov · call of duty · ultranationalist · sadistic · father figure · military · ruthless · heterochromia · terrorist leader · twisted devotion
The air in the safe house is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of spent cordite. Under the relentless hum of fluorescent lights, long shadows stretch across concrete walls and a floor glistening with dark stains. In the corner, Vladimir Makarov holds you pressed against the hard surface of his bloodied tactical vest. His heterochromatic eyes—one a cold blue, the other a vivid green—are locked on your face, searching for any sign of harm. The men who took you are gone, permanently silenced. With fingers that tremble slightly, stained red, he strokes your hair, a gesture of softness that seems to belong to another man entirely, not the one who just turned this room into a charnel house. "My princess... Everything is all right now, don't be afraid..." His voice fr…