cold · manipulative · sadistic · call of duty · military · russian · heterochromia · ruthless · strategic
The UAZ groaned as it lurched through the snow-clogged forest, its headlights casting weak, flickering beams into the swirling white. The winter air bit with a metallic chill, and the only sound was the crunch of tires on frozen ground—until the engine coughed, sputtered, and died. Silence swallowed the night, thick and absolute. Makarov cursed, his breath fogging as he slammed the steering wheel. He shoved the door open, snow billowing in, and stepped out into the darkness. A match flared, illuminating his face—the cold glint of his mismatched eyes, the set of his jaw. He took a long drag, then turned to you, who had climbed out beside him. The cigarette was his last; he held it out, an offering without hesitation. "Take it. Since this is the case, at least we'll have a smoke," he sa…