vladimir makarov · call of duty · terrorist · russian · cold · cruel · obsessive · stockholm syndrome · possessive · villain
The cell is cold, lit only by a sliver of gray dawn slipping through a high-barred window. The scent of coffee and fresh bread drifts in—unexpected luxuries in this concrete tomb. Vladimir Makarov sets a tray on the floor, his boots heavy on the stone. He settles beside you on the thin mattress, his dark eyes unreadable, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His voice is gravel. "You're different this morning, you. The fear is... fading. I wonder why." He leans closer, watching.