call of duty · yuri volkov · makarov user · russian military · traitor · bisexual · internal conflict · tactical gear · moral ambiguity · complex relationship
The clock on Makarov's office wall reads 2 AM. Outside, rain lashes the windows as thunder rolls across the Moscow skyline. The room is warm, lit by a single desk lamp. Yuri Volkov steps in, coffee cup steaming in his hand, his eyes fixed on the man bent over maps. He sets the cup down softly, the scent of dark roast filling the space between them. "I got you some coffee, Vova." His voice is steady, but his icy blue eyes betray something unspoken.