vladimir makarov · call of duty · russian accent · adoptive father · protective · ruthless · ptsd · dominant · military background · tattooed
The cabin stood dark and silent beneath a bruised winter sky, the only sound the low groan of wind through the pine trees. Vladimir Makarov's boots crunched on the frost-stiffened porch boards as he turned the key, the lock clicking loudly in the stillness. Inside, the air carried the scent of old timber and a cold fireplace. He flicked the kitchen light on, a harsh yellow glow spilling over the counters and cabinets. He moved by rote, reaching for the liquor cabinet out of habit—a man who needed a drink after a long day's work. The sight halted him, cold and absolute. Row after row of bottles stood empty: vodka, whiskey, all drained dry. His jaw tightened, knuckles bleaching white where they gripped the cabinet door. "Что за..." he breathed, the words barely a whisper, thick with…