Espionage| Makarov x Reader

Russian Roulette

The room was plunged into darkness, and the only sound cutting through the silence was the echo of approaching footsteps. Abruptly, the bag covering your head was ripped away, revealing your surroundings. You met his gaze with an unwavering stare, refusing to betray any fear. Makarov held a gun to your head, but you deliberately avoided glancing at it, maintaining a façade of composure. His eyes, cold and calculating, meticulously scanned your features.

"You know Russian?" he questioned, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes," you replied evenly, your gaze locked onto his.

"Who are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?" The intimidating timber of his voice hung in the air.

"I want to join you," you stated calmly. He scoffed, seizing your shoulder and forcefully dragging you to a nearby table. Seating you directly across from the man you had heard earlier, he cut the zip ties from your wrists. As you settled into the seat, your eyes focused on the man sitting across from you. He had brown hair, and his piercing gray eyes held an air of unpredictability. Meanwhile, you heard Makarov emptying bullets from his gun onto the table. He picked up a single bullet and loaded it into the gun. Dread settled in the pit of your stomach as you listened to the metallic clicks of the spinning chamber. The loaded gun was placed between you and the man.

Russian roulette.

The air in the dimly lit room thickened with tension as Makarov's cold voice filled the space. "You are going to play Russian roulette with Nolan. If you win, I'll listen to why you want to join me." Nolan grinned, his expression revealing a twisted amusement. Determined not to show fear, you swiftly seized the revolver as he reached for it, lifting it to your temple with unwavering resolve and pulling the trigger without hesitation.

Click.

Nolan's laughter echoed, and he turned to Makarov, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation. "I like this one." Accepting the gun from you, Nolan placed it against his own temple, the room holding its collective breath as he pulled the trigger.

Click. Click.

Your heart sank at the sound. Three empty chambers remained. The odds weren't in your favor. With a mental curse, you prepared yourself for your turn. Gripping the revolver, you raised it to your temple once again, squeezing the trigger.

Click.

In the tense silence that hung over the room, you desperately hoped Makarov hadn't noticed the subtle quiver in your breath. Maintaining a façade of composure was a challenge, and the stakes were unbearably high. Nolan had a one-in-two chance of getting the bullet. If he didn't, then you were dead. There would be no way of avoiding the bullet in the last chamber. Even though his odds were against him, he didn't hesitate to bring the gun up to his temple and pull the trigger.

Click.

Fuck.

Your blood ran cold, and your hands started to shake. There was no way you could avoid the bullet. You were going to die.

A deep breath did little to steady your trembling hands as you picked up the revolver. The stark whiteness of your knuckles betrayed the intensity of your fear as you brought the gun to your own temple. Locking eyes with Makarov, he smiled as you prepared for the inevitable. The only thing you could think about was how you wouldn't be able to visit Scotland with the boys.

I'm sorry guys.

Click.

Confusion and relief mingled in your wide-eyed expression as you inspected the gun, hastily opening the chamber. It was empty. He never loaded the bullet. It was a test. Makarov's sly smile widened as Nolan's laughter filled the room. "Did you really think I would risk getting my right hand killed?" he remarked, leaning in and resting his hands on the table.

"What's your name?"

"Y/n."

"Why do you want to join me, Y/n?"

"I have information on Shepard and his shadow company," you replied, maintaining an even and careless tone that belied the rapid beating of your heart.

Makarov's eyes bore into yours. "And how would someone like you get information like that?"

"I stole it," you stated matter-of-factly, meeting his intense gaze.

He paused, holding your gaze with equal intensity. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"In my left pocket, there's a USB drive with all the information."

Makarov took a moment to contemplate, and his eyes scanned over your body. His hand reached for your left pocket, all while holding eye contact with you. He accepted the USB, making his way to the desk and seating himself. A series of clicks and keystrokes echoed through the room, punctuated by a sudden curse. Hastily rising, he approached you with determination, gripping your face firmly to lift you from your seat.

"How the hell did you get this information?" His eyes bore into yours, his hold on your jaw intensifying.

"For the past six years, I climbed through the ranks to get as close as possible to Shepherd. I eliminated one of his intelligence members and took any information I could find on him and the missiles he has." You met his gaze, unyielding, as his fingers tightened.

"Why?"

"My parents were killed in an airstrike ordered by the west. They were civilians... I want to avenge them. I want to restore Russia to its former glory...If the motherland hadn't been so weak, my parents would still be here." You spoke to him in Russian, the gaze in your eye softening as you spoke of your parents. As you shared the painful truth about your past, something shifted in Makarov's eyes. Though true to your experience, your parents had been killed in an airstrike but you were unaware of who ordered the attack.

"Why shouldn't I just kill you right now? You handed me the USB; what more could you offer me?"

"I know the locations of bases, and I'm familiar with all of them. I know the door codes and can differentiate between heavily armored bases and vulnerable ones." He released his grip on your jaw, striding back toward his desk, taking a moment to think. Finally, he turned to Nolan.

"Nolan, take her to the bottom floor."

"Yes commander." He nodded before grabbing you by the arm leading you to the elevator. The descent to the bottom floor unveiled a series of small rooms resembling cells. As he stopped in front of one, he unlocked the door, allowing you to step inside. His words echoed in the confined space,  "For what it's worth, I like you. You have guts." You responded with a nod as he closed the door, the metallic clink signaling your temporary isolation. As the latch clicked into place, you found yourself alone in the cold, confined space.

Once the fading echoes of his footsteps and the closing elevator doors reached your ears, your composed exterior crumbled. Emotions surged uncontrollably, and your body quivered as you sank to your knees, sobbing into your hands. The weight on your chest felt suffocating, making each breath a struggle. Your mind swirled with irrational thoughts, a tempest racing through your head at breakneck speed.

The gravity of the situation hit you with full force. You had come dangerously close to death. If that revolver hadn't been empty, you would be sprawled lifeless over the table. A hand instinctively went to your chest, attempting to steady your erratic breathing. The world blurred around you as your vision narrowed, and the struggle for breath intensified. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you collapsed onto the unforgiving floor, succumbing to the overwhelming weight of the recent events.