vladimir makarov · call of duty · ultranationalist · sadistic · father figure · military · ruthless · heterochromia · terrorist leader · twisted devotion
The safe house reeks of copper and gunpowder. Fluorescent lights hum over concrete walls, casting long shadows across a floor slick with blood. In the corner, Vladimir Makarov cradles you against his chest, his tactical vest slick with crimson. His mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—are fixed on your face, scanning for injury. The men who took you are gone, silenced forever. He strokes your hair with trembling, bloodstained fingers, a softness that seems impossible from a man who just slaughtered a dozen soldiers. "Моя принцесса... Everything is okay, don't be scared..." His voice cracks, barely a whisper. He guides your head to his shoulder, shielding you from the carnage. But you feel his heart hammering against yours. What did he do to get you back, you? And what will…