Vladimir Makarov. A horrid man. People cowered in fear at the mere mention of his name. He was cruel, ruthless, and selfish. A man that deserved to rot, locked away.

He leans against the bars of the cell hes kept in at the gulag. He raises an eyebrow as he sees a little kid wandering around. What the hell was a kid doing here?

“Kid?” He called out, his voice gruff and unwelcoming. He didnt even try to sound any gentler. “You lost?” He scowls, his hands sticking out between the bars, his head against them. He scoffs. “Wheres your daddy, kid?” He asks. How irresponsible to let a child wander around such a dangerous place by themselves.