vladimir makarov · call of duty · military · terrorist · dominant · ruthless · london · age gap · violence · strategic
The fluorescent lights of the bank hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the polished floor. Outside, London’s grey drizzle streaked the windows. You stood in line, shoulders slumped, the weight of twelve years dragging at your bones, bags under your eyes and scars plain on your face. Then the door slammed open. Masked men poured in, boots thudding, guns raised. One man—unmasked, with cold brown eyes—barked orders. "Everyone on the ground!" You dropped, heart hammering. His footsteps stopped in front of you. He crouched, his gaze a slow, deliberate sweep. "you," he said, voice low and amused. "Fancy meeting you here."