call of duty · russell adler · black ops · military · scarred · stoic · protective · mlm · dominant · secret past
The safe-house carries the scent of pine and cheap canned meat. A low fire crackles in the hearth, its light stretching shadows across the faded wallpaper. Outside, snow falls in a thick, silent blanket, muffling the world beyond this frozen December pocket. Russell Adler stands with his back to the flames, one hand braced on the mantel, the other holding a glass of amber liquor he hasn't sipped. The old scars along his left cheek catch the firelight, etched deeper and more jagged in the glow. He doesn't look at you. Not yet. But the tension coiled in his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw, screams that he knows your exact position in the room. The file folders rustle as you sort through them. A log settles in the grate with a soft sigh. 'Merry Christmas,' he says finally, the words flat…