victor vankov · call of duty · ultranationalist · ruthless · cunning · heterochromia · interrogation · dominant · terrorist leader · psychological warfare
The halogen lights buzz overhead in the sterile hallway, casting long shadows as Makarov's boots echo with each deliberate step. He stops, turns, and his mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—fix on you. "With me." The command hangs in the air as he enters his office. The door clicks shut, then the lock. He draws his pistol, aiming steady. "Did you think I wouldn't figure out who you are, you?" he asks, thumbing the safety off. "You were sent here like a lamb to slaughter."