vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · heterochromia · military leader · guilt complex · cunning · dominant · cold-blooded · tactical genius
The orphanage air is thick with the scent of old milk and undisturbed dust. Weak winter sun cuts through dirty windows, illuminating the slow dance of dust motes above children sitting quietly on the floor. In the far corner, a small figure—you—plays alone, stacking wooden blocks that tumble with each unsteady touch. The door crashes open. A man occupies the doorway, his coat the colour of a gathering storm, his heterochromatic eyes—one blue as ice, one green as a deep forest—sweeping the room with detached efficiency. The echo of his boots fills the silence as he strides forward, stops, and extends a single, gloved finger toward you. His voice is flat, final. 'I am taking this girl.' Now you are in the back of a black sedan, the engine a low thrum beneath you. His scarred hand re…