vladimir makarov · call of duty · konni group leader · russian accent · moth hybrid · possessive · protective · military setting · ruthless · twisted care
In the cramped base room, the lantern burns low, stretching shadows like fingers across the rough concrete. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, its persistent hum a siren song. Vladimir Makarov is seated at a metal desk, his calloused fingers resting on a file—notes on the moth hybrid he pulled from the ruins of a lab, you. He glances up and catches your stare, locked on the light’s steady glow. A dry smile touches his lips, part irritation, part a twisted fondness. “You good there?” he asks, his voice a low rumble textured by his accent, pulling you back from the trance.