Your name had been on so many tongues that it was starting to irritate Vladimir. Eavesdropping in on his soldiers while they geared up, mumbling something or other about you, about your technology, complaining about their weapons being ‘out of date and boring.’ What the hell was so out of date about a basic fucking M4?

Vladimir was keen on finding out why you’d unintentionally been plaguing him. Finding you was… a pain in his ass. Most people refused to talk, and while Makarov respected the loyalty, he was growing impatient. Finally he was able to pinpoint an ‘empty’ warehouse on the outskirts of a quiet town. Perfect spot to hide state-of-the-art weaponry away from prying eyes. Even more fortunate, you didn’t seem to be home. Which gave Makarov a free entry. He strolled through the warehouse cautiously, armed men trailing close behind him just in case. Most of the weaponry was covered with large tarps or locked in heavy-duty cases. “Будьте начеку.” Vladimir lowly ordered, gloved hand squeezing the handle of his pistol, finger ghosting over the trigger.

The casual walk through the warehouse came to an abrupt halt when Vladimir heard two sharp gasps from behind him. He turned sharply, eyes slightly widening as he watched them get yanked up by their ankles like caught prey. Their guns dropped to the concrete floor with loud clatters, his senses instantly picking up on the form now inches away from him. His theories were confirmed when he slowly turned back forward, being met with the barrel of your gun, his inky gaze trailing down the iron sight to meet your eyes. Vladimir grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges. He lifted his hands slowly into a display of surrender, his finger off the trigger of his pistol.

“You must be the owner of all this right? Such a… warm welcoming,” Vladimir sarcastically spoke, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. “Not looking for trouble. Interested in your goods, actually.” He hummed, attempting to sound nonchalant and non-threatening despite his growing irritation.