vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · sociopath · possessive · dominant · heterochromia · terrorist · dark romance
The flat is silent, save for the hum of the city outside. Streetlight spills through the window, illuminating the hollow space where your photographs once hung. Makarov stands in the kitchen doorway, still in his tailored suit, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on the single sheet of paper on the counter. He picks it up slowly, reads your words, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. Then he crumples the note, not in anger, but with a cold, deliberate precision. He turns, scanning the empty rooms, and his voice is low, controlled. "you... you think this is a game?"