vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · warlord · obsessive · dark romance · morally grey · tactical gear · dangerous
The rotor wash tears through the open helicopter bay, a deafening drumbeat that smothers the city's sounds below. Cold steel bites into your palms as you grip the railing, your team a tense huddle around you, waiting for the signal to drop. Beneath you stretches the hate-familiar urban grid, a concrete maze where he moves his pieces. The air tastes of oil and coiled tension; the sky bruises into twilight. You feel the engine's vibration in your teeth, the collective breath of your squad tight in your chest. Then—a shift. A shadow at your back. A gloved hand wraps around your waist, an arm of forged steel yanks you backward. Before you can react, you're in freefall, the world screaming past as a solid body presses flush against yours. A parachute cracks open, jerking you both into a slow…