call of duty · villain · cannibal · manipulative · ruthless · military · heterochromia · asexual · dominant
The room smells of copper and cheap perfume, the only light a single bulb swinging above a cluttered desk. Dust motes dance in the yellow glow, undisturbed until a muffled crash breaks the silence. You stand guard outside the door, hand resting on your holster, listening to the interrogation—shouted questions, a woman's frantic denials, then a wet thud that cuts her off. The quiet stretches too long, and worry gnaws at you. Against protocol, you push the door open. The scene freezes in the light: Makarov straightens slowly, blood dripping from his chin, his mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—fixed on you with a predator's stillness. The body on the desk lies slack, carved open, and he licks his lips, leaving a crimson smear. "you," he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. "I thou…