#biotaken

Derrek Axel Zieglar || Second In Command of Red Soldiers || Grim Reaper

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Nico Mirallegro Age: 26 Occupation: Prostitute at The Nirvana Nationality/Ethnicity: German

PERSONALITY

Enneagram: Achiever Alignment: Chaotic Neutral  MBTI: ENFP

+ Intuitive, Observant, Resourceful

- Blindly Obedient, Callous, Numb

Upon returning to his father’s side, Derrek assumed his years without feeling would immediately catch up to him, but the dark brown eyes bore into his own and reflected nothing in return. Nevertheless, he persisted, and proved that he could be the ruthless monster his father now expected him to be, by blindly killing a stranger. Even as the blood splattered his face, he felt nothing. Even as he was fucked by strangers at The Nirvana, he felt nothing. Even as he ordered countless others to take care of enemies, watching as they tortured them, he felt nothing. The only way to his heart was through his father’s approval and the actions he took to get it were slowly draining him. If he thought a little too long, or a little too hard, about the old man’s throat he slit that morning, his emotions would come rushing back. Derrek couldn’t allow himself to feel when it came to killing or sex, though a deep part of him badly wanted to give into his own emotions. The only person he allowed himself to feel for was his father; whether Nikolaus would ever return the love was unknown.

BIOGRAPHY

Life was hard, but that seemed to be a common thing for most people, isn’t it? Before the war started the Grim Reaper had been raised in a humble family. His parents loved each other and their son dearly, but when his father left to enlist in the army that perfect moment broke. It was slow at first. Letters would be sent home every week, updating the Grim Reaper and his mother about Nikolaus’ condition and situation, but then it started to come every other week with shorter messages. Every other week turned into every two or three weeks, and then the letters stopped. There was no sign or word of Nikolaus then. The Grim Reaper and his mother didn’t even know if Nikolaus was alive, but their prayers had been answered by the play of the devil.

Months passed before the Grim Reaper saw his father again. This time he was a grown man, well into his early twenties when they just so happened to cross paths. He knew that something was different about Nikolaus right off the bat. There was a flash of recognition for a split second, but the Grim Reaper was met with a completely different person. He had his father’s face and body, but not the same warm personality and soul that had once inhibited Nikolaus was gone. It struck him deep, felt like he had been shot right then and there, but it opened something within him as well. The grief he had held for his father was still there, very much so, but there was hunger- the need to be with Nikolaus again. He made an unknown promise with himself that he would do whatever it took to stand by his father’s side again.

Lucy Charlotte Parker || Unaffiliated || Little Dove

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Emily Browning Age: 23 Occupation: Barista at Heaven&Hell Nationality/Ethnicity: British+Russian Citizenship // Half English/Half French

PERSONALITY

Enneagram: 5w6 The Investigator+Peacemaker  Alignment: Chaotic Good MBTI: INFP The Mediator

+ Warm, Non-judgemental, Kind

- Reserved, Shy, Cautious

Lucy is a reserved quiet girl. Once she is comfortable with another she peaks out of her rabbit hole. She’s kind-hearted and approachable; to those she knows well at least.This girl may be difficult to befriend due to her cautious and reserved nature and sometimes her rather negative outlook upon herself and her own capabilities but she cares deeply about others. She loves venturing above ground, though risky so she tends to stay close to her home in The Tunnels. She is also a book-worm and English Literature fanatic. You would never really find her near the bars but she will almost seem as though she lives in coffee shops and libraries.

BIOGRAPHY

Born in England, Lucy was raised into a half-british, half-french family - at the time she never knew the hardship of war. For nine years, she lived in a middle class society oblivious to the cruelty of the world. However, when the war broke out everything changed. She remembered her childhood clearly; the gasmask she was forced to wear as she was evicted from her home, away from her mother into the countryside to live a more safer life. Her father had already signed up to the war before she could say goodbye. She remembered the home-schooling she received by an upper class woman that had been generous enough to take her into her home and give a roof over her head and food on the table while the war raged outside.

When Lucy grew from a child into a young adolescent, she had already learnt two languages fluently, English and German and was learning a third. She had already decided, if the war still continued when she was fifteen, a year before her legal age, she would join the war effort by becoming a member of British Intelligence in the support of her father and all the other men dying to protect the country. However, there had been news that Russia had been betrayed by Germany, and had switched sides from the Axis to join the Allies, and her father was joining Russia to support the country.

At fourteen, she had ran away from her home in the countryside, returning to her home to say goodbye to her mother, to find that she was already packing her bags - she wanted to enter Russia to be closer to his husband, her father. So they fled. As soon as they had arrived, Lucy was already faking her age, and signing up at fifteen to become a translator for Russian Intelligence in the war. One of the youngest there was. Her education never stopped, and with her well educated childhood and now knowing basic French and Russian she became a valuable member of intelligence, although not as skillful or as fluent as older women, she was the most successful at such a young age. However, a year after deciphering the war had come to an end. Shortly after, her father had arrived home safe. They were a family again. Lucy stayed in the NKVD for another year, but left to live a normal life with her parents at seventeen, so she could have the time with them that she had missed due to the outbreak of the war.

She never thought that she would deal with translating and deciphering, but then came Stalin’s death, and the unexpected chaos that followed. They came charging,the secret police, through the streets in the middle of the night. Armed with guns, they blazed through homes. Even now she could still hear the screams from their neighbours as their homes were destroyed, set a blaze, and the sounds of gunfire. Her mother had told her to hide, and with reluctance she did, under the floorboards where their shelter still remained. However, when she heard her father being taken away and her mother’s cries for her husband Lucy fought every urge to come out and run to them. Peering through the gaps in the floorboards, footsteps blocked her vision, and then out of the corner of her eyesight she saw further movement. The sounds of her mother being thrown to the ground was enough for her.

After a while of what sounded like her mother’s struggles against another man, there was a loud gunshot that pierced her ears. Before long, blood seeped through the cracks toward her, the warm liquid dripping onto her face. After the noise of her mother’s cries had become silent, and there was the slow movement of a lifeless body being dragged away, with the footsteps of the police fading she quickly slipped out of her hiding place, and when she stepped onto her home the first thing she saw was blood. It caked the walls, and the floorboards she had just came from, it was her mother’s blood still warm on her face. Then - she saw outside the door. People lined up on their knees. One of them was her father, still alive. Lucy knew she had to run but she couldn’t leave her father. Sneaking up quietly to the doorway all she could do was watch. She was unable to do anything, unable to save him. When the gun was pressed against the back of her father’s skull she instinctively rushed out into the crowd, but was pushed back by red army soldiers. She fell, and by the time she stumbled to her feet there was another gunshot - multiple all at once, her ears were ringing for several minutes. She knelt there, watching the blood pour down the cracks between the cobblestones, her father’s lifeless bloodshot eyes seemed to look straight at her.

Alexandre “Alex” Lamar || Red Soldiers  || The Survivor

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Dane DeHaan Age: 24 Occupation: Musician at the Nirvana Nationality/Ethnicity: French // European

PERSONALITY

Enneagram: The Individualist Alignment: Chaotic Neutral MBTI: INTJ

+ Resilient, Cunning, Fierce

- Melancholic, Reclusive, Aggressive

No one knows what to think of him, the mysterious man behind the ivory keys. His words are blunt, harsh, even vulgar, and yet the sounds he can summon from his fingers are unparalleled. It would almost make him charming if it weren’t for the blood that stains them. He’s had to bite and claw and tear his way through this world simply to survive in it, and it’s made him visibly bitter. The barrier that guards whatever lies beneath that stoic surface is near impenetrable. Why, then, does his cold and dissonant face seem to melt when he has a song to play?

BIOGRAPHY

The only vivid, happy memory Alexandre can conjure from his tormented childhood is laying beneath the shadow of a baby grand piano, listening to its music and feeling the notes reverberate in the wood beneath his head. He was certain his mother played the most beautiful music there ever was in this world, before she was taken from him.

The poor Parisian theatres were no ideal place for a child to be raised, and yet Alex’s earliest memories are of damp stages that existed as barely a shadow of their grand counterparts. Paris was a city of the arts, but that didn’t mean all of what it had to offer was for refined tastes. A single mother, Brienne Lamar had a musical gift that would’ve taken her far if she hadn’t gotten so prematurely pregnant in her youth. Somehow, however, that never made her bitter towards her small child. While she played her music in productions that would never see the light of day, he grew not in a home that would ever know wealth, but had plenty of love and character. They spent a large amount of time in a dingy room rented in the back of said theatre, but eventually when she believed Alex old enough, she took a job as member of a touring production. A mistake that would prove fatal.

Alex was too young to get enlisted in the war at the time it began, but he remembers being in Russia when the worst of it broke out. There was then no choice but to stay rather than travel across a war-torn Europe; rats caught in a trap. Right next to the memory of his mother playing the piano is the sound of her screaming as she burned. Alex couldn’t proclaim to know the sorts of shows that were being played in the theatre he called home, and yet evidently the Secret Police saw it as displaying anti-soviet content and torched the building in the dead of night after a performance. He still has scars from the horrific incident, but escaped with his life at least. The same couldn’t be said for his mother or the rest of her troupe.

Just shy of ten years old and suffering from a terrible trauma, he was sent to stay in an orphanage in Moscow after his wounds were tended to in a nearby hospital. He’d been a quiet, polite boy before the incident, but now that he was alone in the world he was all but mute, completely withdrawn. He hadn’t even been in Russia for long and saw it as a strange place with people who spoke words he couldn’t understand. Most of what he could speak was French, and the other boys tormented him for it, beating him for fun as they called him “frantsuz suka.”

Eventually, as anyone would, Alex got tired of being helpless and unable to fight back. Pushed too far to be willing to take anymore, he began hitting back when the other boys surrounded him. It left him with more bruises and pain, but eventually it also began to make him stronger, with a sharper tongue he was learning how to use. When he wasn’t hitting the other boys, sometimes his frustration grew so much he would hit the walls, his pillow, anything to get the anger and hatred festering within out. In time even the worst of his tormentors stopped approaching him for how wild he’d become in a fight, too vicious to be fun to make fun of anymore. That didn’t keep Alex from continuing to pay them back for all the hate they put in his fragile heart, finding other ways to hurt them. He’d get pity from the cooks and have them serve them less portions, or ban together the other abused boys and steal all the things from their beds in the afternoon so they slept in the cold at night- little things that displayed not only a growing strength, but cunning.

There was only ever one reprieve from his hell in that Russian orphanage, and that came in the form of a splintered upright piano with a quarter of the keys missing. Someone was going to throw it away, and thought their trash might serve better in a hovel of orphan children instead. To him, this trash took the form of a sign to keep holding on. Part of his naïve, juvenile mind at the time liked to think his mother had sent it from wherever she was beyond this world, and while he knows better now, it was a thought that kept him strong. Even still, he’s sure he feels her ghost every time he plays.

There were complications and prejudices with the war that no child could ever truly understand, and so when the Secret Police raided the place because it was suspected of being run by traitors to the state, he didn’t know what to think. He merely watched as he and the rest of the children were gathered into the street, standing before the adults who’d watched over them before they were executed on the spot. The children were taken to a boarding school that would fill their heads with a vicious amount of propaganda following the incident, as if that would somehow “fix” them. For ones like Alex, who was now fourteen and old enough to form his own opinion, they were often pulled aside by teachers (usually members of the Secret Police themselves) to test his loyalty. By now, he was smart enough to play whatever role he needed to survive.

Only a few short years later, the Red Soldiers were beginning to take their own formidable form. The school was unquestionably a place ripe for disbanding a source of suspected Secret Police brainwashing, and so a mission found a group of this bloodthirsty syndicate infiltrating the school while it slept. It was a massacre for those known to be Secret Police, while the students were gathered for potential information and recruiting. “Recruiting” was something of a kind word for it. Alex remembers it to be varying levels of torment wherein it was determined whether or not they were worthy. First it was the torture to see what they knew of the Secret Police and how conditioned they were by them. After that, it was testing their willingness to follow their new regime by ordering them to kill a member of the Secret Police or be killed themselves. An easy choice for Alex, though not so for most. As much as he hated the Secret Police for what they’ve done, he’d never gone so far as to kill a man before, but he did it to survive. Everything he’s always done has been to survive.

Violet Laurent || The Undercover || The Trickster

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Antonia Thomas Age: 30 Occupation: Con Artist Nationality/Ethnicity: French // Half Caribbean, Half White

PERSONALITY

+ Wise, Adaptable, Ambitious

- Mischievous, Cunning, Deceptive

There is a reason why Violet earned the title “The Trickster”. Barely anyone knows what she is really like. Though she comes across as friendly when around others, Violet tends to keep to herself. Who could she trust more than herself? It’s hard to  move from place to place being tied down to others. So she refuses to get too close to people. She knows how to play the game and knows what it means to keep her head above water. Even though causing a little (or a lot) of mischief is always fun, she’s not one to simply give up on anything that she does or stray away from the job at hand. By all means, she will achieve her end goals with failure not being an option. It’s not easy to keep track of what this little lady’s next move may be. Though she can easily make her presence known, she can just as easily disappear without a trace.

BIOGRAPHY

How did a French girl end up in Russia? It’s something many think when they first see Violet and hear her talk. With her short frame, round face, and sweet disposition, no one would ever know that she was one of the biggest Con Artist living in Moscow.  Known to be a Jack of all trades to those who worked with her, not many knew what to expect with this woman. Who exactly was Violet Laurent? Born and raised in Nice, France, Jean Collette lived in a small cottage with her grandparents. Her father was a sailor who traveled to the French colonies in the Caribbean often. He had climb through the ranks over his years in the Navy and became a very respectable man. he had become injured on day over seas and once they docked in the Caribbean, his crew sought medical attention for him. At the hospital, he met a young nurse whom he fell in love with. He had promised to take her back to France with her once he found out she was pregnant with his child. Yet due to complications during her pregnancy, she died giving birth to his beautiful daughter. When he went back to his hometown holding a baby in his arms, his parents didn’t know what to do. A Black child out of wedlock? What were they suppose to do next?

Instead of denouncing their Grandchild, the Collettes raised her like they raised their only son. While their son went off to explore the world, they taught her to read, write, and speak over seven languages. She was a smart young girl who only wanted to do her best for her grandparents. Grandfather, who had little money, was able to borrow coding and mechanics books so that Jean could read them since she always helped him in his clock workshop. When Jean was 13, her grandfather died peacefully in his sleep. He had been a watch maker all of his life and that was how the family received their income. Her Grandmother told her there was nothing to worry about when it came to money. Jean’s father still sent some money to them but it was barely enough in Jean’s mind. Without any hesitation, Jean left Nice in the middle of the night and ran away to Paris. With only a note left to her dear grandmother explaining her whereabouts, she knew this was the only way to help her small family out.

Paris was on a different wavelength than Nice. It was fast paced and noisy but it didn’t scare Jean. It wasn’t easy living on the streets of Paris but she managed to move herself around easily. With her ability to speak different languages and her knowledge of different countries, she was able to  create a persona for herself to move her way around Paris and earn money. Sure pickpocketing was easy to do but she wanted more than what was in their pocket. Living on the street, she learned quickly different skills she could use in order to successfully commit her first big con. Within two years she was able to send money to her Grandmother weekly. It hadn’t been easy, but she managed to trick the right people into believing she was a wealthy daughter of a judge in the Caribbeans. Gaining this image she was given access to information that others might not have been able to.  

Though Jean was known in some social circles in Paris, she was able to still stay in the shadows and wait for the perfect moment to strike. To her, she was the only person she could trust. Especially when the war came around to Paris in 1940. While people started to flee Paris, she found something way more useful in staying.  The nazi solders who came to occupy the city didn’t know what hit them when it came to her. She knew how to move herself around the city and take the information needed to sell information to the British and French force. For a small price of course. Jean refused to call it “greed”. That was such a harsh word to use. Call it a learning opportunity that simply presented itself to her. She was nothing but a whisper in the wind; she was a mere rumor. Before they could even realize what they had agreed to when it came to her services, she was gone without a trace.

Jean moved back to Nice just before the war ended only to find her grandmother was dying. She had lived a long life, she told Jean and wanted her granddaughter to do the same without any regrets. Before her last breath, her grandmother told her that her father sent a letter about three months ago saying her had a new life in Russia long before the war even started saying that he met a beautiful young woman during his travels and decided to move to Moscow since she was pregnant with his child. After her grandmother’s passing, Jean left Nice behind and navigated her way around Europe, debating if she should seek out her father. Changing her name to Violet Laurent, Jean left her old life in France and started a new one. Violet was cunning, mischievous, and wise beyond her years. And she was able to confidently commit any white collar crime with ease so that she could live the life she wanted.  

In 1952, Violet found her way to Moscow. She had avoided this city mostly due to its politics but she also knew this was where her father was. Curiosity got the best of her. She wondered where he might have been or if he would even remember her if he saw her. Violet was happy to be by herself. It was easier to move around and get jobs done. But there was still something missing in her life. A void she could not ignore that always led her mind back to her ever absent father. The Tunnels seemed to be a good place for her to stay due to Stalin’s rule over this city before his fall in 1953. Violet did like she always did: watch her targets and wait for the right time to make her move. And when she did, rumors went around quick about the Little Trickster of Moscow. It wasn’t long into her stay that different groups wanted to recruit her. Violet wasn’t too surprise after all. She was good at what she did and she was proud of it.  

Of course the Undercover didn’t know what to think when this pretty face came and asked for a position in their ranks. They had suspicions of who she was but wanted to test and see if she was actually as good as the stories said. This small young girl with a French accent was a joke to them but they gave her a chance. She had two weeks to prove them wrong. Given a task at the beginning of the week, she completed it within four days. Over time, she kept proving her worth within the group and quickly used the ranks to become the Undercover’s most trusted member as a commander of support. She was good at what she did and proved herself to be worthy of a title. Because of there mischievous nature, she gained the title of “Trickster” by her group.  

Eris Moraru || Red Soldiers || Two Face

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Phoebe Tonkin Age: 28 Occupation: Doctor for Red Soldiers and the Infirmary Nationality/Ethnicity: Russian

PERSONALITY

+ Charming, Empathetic, Resourceful

- Cunning, Dishonest, Patronizing

MBTI – ESFJ (They are altruists, and they take seriously their responsibility to help and to do the right thing.)

Strengths - ESFJs tend to be sociable and outgoing, understanding what others need and expressing appreciation for their contributions. They collect the necessary facts to help them make a decision and enjoy setting up effective procedures.

Potential development areas - ESFJs may be overly influenced by what they think others want when making decisions, and may find it difficult to adjust plans in response to unexpected opportunities. They risk being too accepting or deferential to those in charge.

Enneagram – Type 2 (The Helper - You want to be appealing, giving, caring and heartfelt. You see yourself as approachable, nurturing and thoughtful. You would like others to see you as empathetic, supportive and altruistic. Your idealized image is that you are a loving and helpful person.)

Alignment – Neutral Good (They will help anyone they come across who needs it, and then get back to their normal routine. They are most likely to be good towards family, friends, and those within their social circle, though they have no issue with helping strangers. They may even do volunteer work or other do-gooding that they find personally satisfying. At the same time, they do not view good as the concept that defines their lives — for them, goodness is an obligation, or even just their nature. They will do what good they like or what needs to be done, and then they will go home and carry on as normal.)

Eris is the type of person who cannot meet a stranger no matter how hard the other might try. She genuinely likes people and will go out of her way to make them comfortable. This is something that has come in handy when she was in the military as a doctor, and now as she helps oversee the people in the support level and everyone in level 4. Her kindness is in stark contrast to the gang she has ended up in and which is also what sets her apart.

Her charming and cunning nature is due to this. On one hand she can play with the best of them, instruct and teach those to carry out the most sinister of plans and appear to have no remorse over the pain their syndicate causes those around them. Because she tries so hard to appear loyal she will do and say whatever the commander, and second in command tell her to do. But then on the other she will actively try to keep people from making a mistake by joining forces with the Red Soldiers. She’s seen firsthand at the hospital and on their own turf what can happen if another gang or even their own can do to people and stitching people up time and time again has taken a toll on her.

Compassion is something she has for everyone and she tries to see both sides of the story in every situation. She feels too much sometimes which is why she is so devoted to helping people in every and any way she can.

BIOGRAPHY

Eris Cristina Moraru was born in a small town, in the middle of nowhere, in Russia. Her parents were poor and her life growing up was nothing short of sad. Her father worked long hours and brought back very little in revenue. Her mother stayed home to take care of the shack of a house and a very upset and hungry infant. Every day was a constant struggle for the family to provide food for their child and with a small babe needing so much, it proved to be more difficult than the parents expected. Around the time she reached five years old the family took a trip to the city of Moscow. None of this can be recalled by Eris, but she was abandoned outside of a nunnery in hopes that someone else would give her a better life than they could.

This unfortunately proved to be the furthest from what actually happened. Orphans in Russia were treated like beggars and the homeless, with little respect. Growing up knowing that no one wants you, not even your parents, can shape a child very harshly and this was no exception to the little girl. While she went to school and ended up excelling in her studies, her social skills were that of a nat. She didn’t have any as being around other rejected children molded her opinions in life. People don’t give a shit about you so why should you give a shit about them? While some of her peers picked up semi-useful skills like pickpocketing, Eris didn’t want anything to do with the life of crime that everyone around her seemed so keen on picking up.

So she threw herself into her schoolwork, picking up a passion in biology and ending up by some grace in the field of medicine. Being a woman nonetheless was even harder as she was laughed at when she spoke of her aspirations of becoming a doctor. Females like her became nurses, anything else was just plain ridiculous in the eyes of her teachers and peers. However Eris was not like most and that did not dissuade her from trying to achieve her goals. In no time at all she had surpassed everyone’s expectations and had gotten into medical school and even began thriving in the field. One of the few women to actually finish her schooling and get the official doctor title, she felt like she was on top of the world. Her life was actually going to have meaning and she could help those who were less fortunate or truly were in need of her expertise.

Then the war started and while she wanted nothing to do with this battle everyone was talking about, she didn’t have a choice.  Medical professionals were needed to join the effort to help those hurt in combat and while the decision terrified her, Eris felt drawn to help. She joined the women’s auxiliary unit and served as a doctor to soldiers hurt in combat. Her time spent in the medical unit was one that she thought she’d never have to go through again. So much loss and horrific injuries were hard to take and while many times she thought she’d break, her upbeat attitude shone through to help keep moral up despite whether she believed what she was saying or not. Taking away the pain of those around her through her skills and kind words were all that mattered in such a time like this.

After she’d completed her time in the army, and the war ended, there were hopes that things would go back to normal. Even when Stalin died she had hopes that life wouldn’t be so rough when she returned to Moscow. Little did she know that normal was something she would never again be able to associate with her life. Having served in the army and being of Russian descent gave her some credibility on the streets, she was even able to gain a position at the hospital downtown where she could work and get accustomed to life in the city again. Except the brutality that Stalin once implemented was getting worse with his death. People were scared wherever they went and Eris was not immune either.  It was awful and she did not want to stand for the behavior of the people around her, it was inhumane and unjust.

Ophelia Eloise Falco || The Undercover  || The Façade

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Kaya Scodelario Age: 22 Occupation: Manager of the Premier Lounge Nationality/Ethnicity: Italian // Half Latino, Half Italian.

PERSONALITY

+ Confident, Sense of humor (however dark it is), Patient

- Apathetic, Cruel, Deceptive

Being born in a big family, with an absent father and a mother always working to feed 5 mouths, Ophelia learnt by a young age she had to fight to get what she wanted.  It took her a few years to understand force wasn’t always necessary. Sure, having guns and physical strength was good, but having a charming attitude and some contacts worked just as well. Slowly, she started building an armor herself, crafting different masks for meeting different people. If you take off all the masks, what’s left?  Ophelia is afraid that if she thinks too much about this, she will realize she doesn’t know the answer.

BIOGRAPHY

When Lucas Castel Falco met Isabella de la Rosa during his first journey to America, it only took him seven minutes to realize he was going to marry that woman. Cheerful, playful and lovable, Isabel was working as a waitress in a cheap bar that served working immigrants when she caught Lucas’ eye.  A few months later, with a baby already on the way, the two were getting married.

The happy family illusion didn’t last much. With two kids, the family moved back to Europe, seeing Lucas’ family that was never found. When Ophelia was born, things were already falling apart, and when the last Falco was born (when Ophelia was six) Lucas was already gone. If Isabelle was being honest, she wasn’t exactly sad. Her husband had been drinking heavily the months before leaving, and when he wasn’t at the bar wasting the few coins they had, he was at home, yelling either at her or at one of their children.

Gregor ValiguraVolkov || Brotherhood  || The Tempest

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Jon Bernthal Age: 39 Occupation: N/A Nationality/Ethnicity: Russian

PERSONALITY

Enneagram: The Challenger Alignment: Neutral Evil MBTI: ENTP

+ Incorruptable, Principled, Venturesome

- Callous, Caustic, Pugnacious

From a young age, Gregor has always been somewhat of a rebellious, reckless child that enjoyed provoking fights and stirring up trouble. This behaviour reached its peak once he was taken in by the military and trained among his new comrades, topping in what others might call self-destructive tendencies. Along with that, he has always been carrying somewhat of a cynical and bitter attitude towards society and life in general, but paired with a sense of humour — possibly rather bizarre — it made for a person that acted much like a jerk but could be tolerated once you got to know him.His first actual love and later wife was the one to slow Gregor down for a while and heal him from what he has endured. Still, he would not let go of his reckless demeanour completely, but slowly turned into a considerate parent who cared about his wife and son more than his own life. The events of the war and of the aftermath, however, especially with the consequences of the Secret Police trying to recruit him, seemingly destroyed the glimpse of hope and happiness his wife had sown and cherished so carefully.Now, Gregor has turned into somewhat of an irascible person that only ever seems to come to life when in a fight with fists to his nose or stomach. He does not do emotions except for anger, wrath and rage, making his core identity. Underneath it all, however, he never quite let go of his parental instincts and is subconsciously always looking for a family he seeks to protect. Even though he refuses to acknowledge that to himself, this is mostly the reason why he ranked up so quickly in the Brotherhood and makes such a strong commander of support. He subconsciously sees all of his trainees, the people who belong to his syndicate in general, as family and whoever threatens to harm them… well, better think twice if it is worth the trouble.

BIOGRAPHY

Not even born yet, the mention of Gregor only brought up resentment. His father being no less a man than Pyotr Valigura, third Pakhan of the Valigura Bratva, an infamous, old and strong brotherhood, there wasn’t a place in the world for a mistake made by one of Moscow’s most powerful men: a bastard son; a problem originating in a random one-night-stand with a random barista after a random amount of alcohol. So a plan was counted up to clean Pyotr off his mistake before his fellow Valigura could find out. However, as his confidant arrived at the barista’s house to get the job done, nice and quickly, they found it abandoned, the expectant mother having disappeared off the face of the earth, or so it seemed. Her sister-in-law had taken her in while her husband was fighting at the front in the First World War, but knowing that she couldn’t hide from the brotherhood forever, she gave Gregor up for adoption.

The baby boy was taken in by the Volkovs, a family name well-known with his adoptive father a man close to Stalin. His parents never kept it a secret to Gregor that they’d adopted him — even though unaware of his true origins —, but this knowledge didn’t make a change about their family bonds. A few years into his childhood, he was promised to live a comfortable life, enjoying the family’s money and respect. These visions were rapidly shattered, however, when soldiers broke into their home one night, dragging their father away and sending them to Gulag, claiming he’s betrayed the Soviet Union. While Konstantin was eaten up by the shame and hatred for his father, Gregor distanced himself from the latest events.

He wasn’t my father anyway.

However, he couldn’t close his eyes from the truth that the family was left with no money or power, no future for the two boys. His mother, in her despair, sold herself to the men her husband had interacted with, only worsening the life they were forced to lead. Gregor and his younger brother were left to their own demise, somehow had to weave their way through life, until one day they saw the soldiers again.

This time, they were coming for the boys. With tensions rising in Europe and a new war seeming possible only few years after the massive failures in the Russian Empire’s participation in the First World War, the military hungered for new recruits. In memory of the family’s past, the Volkov brothers were to be moulded into perfect little soldiers, cleaning their name under the Soviet flag.

Konstantin had always been more of a reclusive boy who works hard a quiet and stayed out of the trouble for the better part. He had a mission, an aim to achieve: wash himself off of his father’s shame. Gregor, on the other hand, wasn’t driven by anything resembling that honourable motivation. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what to do with his life, was bored to death by everything, and just gasping for a little thrill. He ended up throwing himself head first into conflicts at every chance, more often than not needing his brother to bail him out of the fights again. Early into the training at the military, it was obvious that Gregor didn’t excel at hand-to-hand combat or short ranged weapons. But oh boy, when he first laid hand onto a sniper rifle. Sharpshooting quickly became his speciality. Finally, he was able to define himself over something, distance himself from the others, and so he’d spend hours and hours of practicing until there wasn’t a target he couldn’t hit, no matter the distance, his positioning, its movements or the wind. He also developed quite a fascination for explosives of all sorts — bombs, grenades, mines, missiles — but the rifle would always stay his weapon of choice.

Only two years before the outbreak of the Second World War, Gregor met the love of his life, Ana Matkin. A quick wit embedded into a stunning dark-haired and blue-eyed beauty, she completely threw his world upside-down, and in a head-over-heel decision somewhat mirroring his way of life, they got married and moved in together. By the time, Gregor almost broke contact with his brother. He was finally having it all: a loving wife, an adorable son, a life everyone was striving for. There simply wasn’t a place for Konstantin and the constant reminders of their past.

However, as war broke out, Gregor saw it coming and only waited for the day he and his brother were sent to the front. They fought side by side, had each other’s back, made sure to, one way or another, drag their sibling along and get them to safety. They made quite a team to be reckoned with. Until a mission in Germany went wrong, a trap, perhaps, Gregor doesn’t remember, but they got separated.

Gregor barely made it out alive and back to the camp where he was greeted with a simple “No” to his yet unspoken request. He tried to reason with the officer in charge, screamed at him, shouted, threatened him even, but all he was offered was a trip back to Moscow. Not just once, they told him that Konstantin as probably dead by now and if he wasn’t, God may have mercy on his soul. Gregor refused to let it end this way, and single-handedly slipped back behind enemy lines, only accompanied by a few comrades that couldn’t stand him so much but did it for his brother.

On a mission that should’ve meant certain death for each and every one of the soldiers, they infiltrated the Germans, found out where they were keeping Konstantin and delivered him from captivity. They never talked about what they did to him in those weeks, but he’s never been the same afterwards. Neither was Gregor, though, and when he finally returned to his wife and his son, eight years of age by then, he and Konstantin lost sight of each other and wouldn’t keep up any form on contact in a long while.

Processing the war, Gregor became quieter, calmer, but also more aggressive when provoked. Unable to talk about his emotions and claiming that no one could ever understand him anyway, he bottled up his anger, feeding that swelling hatred inside his stomach over the officer who had let down Konstantin just like that. After all that he’s done for his country. More and more frequently, Gregor would disappear down the basement for a couple hours, punching rough, solid stone walls until his knuckles broke and bled. Now that he’s witnessed it once, he couldn’t make the injustice unseen that loyal Russians like Konstantin and him, who had bled for their country, had to suffer.

Even though he desperately tried to ignore everything politics, the regular reports of how Stalin treated his people, the ones he should actually protect and care for, burnt a mark into Gregor’s heart. Ana was quick to realise the change of mind her husband was going through, trying to silence his rebellious, traitorous remarks about their government, but with no success.

Hardly a year back in Moscow, the secret police, hiding their true identity from him, of course, contacted him with an offer: either join them and go on mission for the Soviet Union in order to stabilise the country and preserve peace, or have them slaughter his wife and his son and all of his beloved ones. If only he knew who he was dealing with, maybe he would have decided differently. But then again, he’s always been somewhat of a bullethead, clinging onto his own principles way too strictly. And perhaps, too, he wanted to dare them to act on their thread.

Well, they did. A couple weeks later after he almost forgot about the strange encounter that had made him laugh for the first time in a long period, Gregor returned home from a run late in the evening and found the remains of his wife spread in their living room; crimson red had soaked into the furniture, covered all of the walls and read a barbaric note on the wall: Save your son.

He’s seen a lot while at the front; comrades carrying their own guts as they stumbled in shock, and others having their skin melting off their faces from the heat of an explosion. It was fair to say he had become inured to horrifying sights, but that scene that was presented to him in his very living room, made him double over and empty his stomach onto the carpeted floor. It was a moment of weakness, bare seconds, but a warrior doesn’t mourn the dead until the war is over. And so he pushed himself onto his feet, went for the sniper rifle he was carefully stowing beneath his bed, and climbed onto his home’s roof. They couldn’t be far, he hoped.

Yet he was surprised when he made out two silhouettes in the dark; a dark figure dressed all in black and his little Tad with his unmistakeable blonde locks being dragged to a car. Having a rough idea just which organisation he was dealing with, Gregor knew what awaited the boy; pain and torture and the fact that he was only nine years old wouldn’t make a difference to his capturers. So he raised the rifle, aimed and felt his finger sliding onto the trigger like it had countless times before. He wasn’t shaking, he wasn’t trembling, he was as calm as he’s trained to be. Gregor exhaled and a shot echoed from Moscow’s walls.

Completely numb, zoned out even, he watched as Tad went down, but much more interesting was the reaction of his capturer. He knelt down, almost as if in despair, hands clenched tightly onto the kid, holding him as he shook, fighting for his last breaths. The man raised his head, staring directly to Gregor’s spot on the roof. And even though he keeps telling himself that his mind must’ve fooled him, Gregor still believes to have seen all too familiar blue orbs reflecting his own pain.

After the events of the night, Gregor ended up where his story had started way back; joining the Bratva for good. He had grown numb to pain and emotions. Only hatred and wrath, bottled up deep inside, kept him going, made him get up the morning. He proved his loyalty and value to the brotherhood not only once or twice, but over and over again until he was promoted to rank 3, training officer. The trainees that had been assigned to work with him, utterly hated every second of it, but he taught them everything he learned from the military, war and his years in the tunnels. If they survived his training, they’d survive anything.

Anton Mishka Morozov || Civilian || The Abandoned

TAKEN |OPEN |

Face-claim: Daniel Sharman Age: 30 Occupation: Heaven&Hell barista & Brasserie Bar bartender Nationality/Ethnicity: Russian

PERSONALITY

Enneagram: The Loyalist Alignment: Lawful Neutral MBTI: ENTP-T Debater

+ Hardworking, Reliable, Resilient

-  Blunt, lonely, moody

BIOGRAPHY

Early tragedy isn't something that should happen to anyone. No one should have to grapple the concept of death when they're a child. No one should have to learn just how cruel the world can be with heartbreak, grief and everything else that is basically complete and utter bullshit. The only thing is that life doesn't wait up. Life doesn't take a person by the hand and gently guide them through everything. No, the way Anton saw it was the opposite. Life didn't give a shit if you had your parents killed in an 'accident' when you were barely five, and the only other living relative you had resided on the opposite side of Russia. Life didn’t care about the struggle it took to get you to your aunt’s place while you were crying for your parents the entire trip over. It didn’t show you any signs that a five year old could comprehend that things were going to be okay. Life was the one that dealt the punches and people, like him, couldn't do anything other than to just take it.

After Anton moved in with his aunt he wasn’t too sure what happened for the next year or so. He was capable of developing and retaining memories, but it was because of the sheer grief he felt due to his parent’s death had almost been too much to handle. It was a blur to him, and even though his aunt had always told him the blunt truth, his young mind had come up with other reasons. There had been no attempted to lie to him in order to ease the news of how his parents had died horrifically in a car accident, but Anton had chosen to believe that his parents had left him instead. He didn’t remember much about his father or mother, but he sure did develop a fear of abandonment because of them. It was irrational, something he had come to terms with when he was old enough to fully understand what death was, but what else was he to think when he was young? That one fear had been planted within him since then and it was the sole cause of how needy he grew to be. Once Anton realized that his parents were really gone he somehow found it in himself, and with the help of his aunt of course, to try and move on. His aunt, Susan as she always told him to call her, was a hardass but a loving and caring one. She just raised Anton in a different way than most parents did, but it helped him in the long run.

Anton was taught how to be kind, but he was also taught when to take that kindness away when it was needed. He was exposed to alcohol and cigarettes when he was a preteen, but he also learned how to clean up after himself when he went a night with too much to drink. A lot of things that parents usually coddled their child for didn’t apply to him. She taught him how to be effective as a beta since she was one as well. Susan made sure that she exposed Anton to everything she could so he stand on his own two feet just in case anything happened to her. God forbid she would have a terrible fate like Anton’s parents before he was 18. Well, everything besides the war of course. There had been some lucky match up where Anton wasn't drafted to participate, but he counted that as a blessing instead of griping about it. He wasn't a violent person by nature and he found a lot more comfort in the work he did to keep the community running.

Anton matured faster than most of his peers, but he was still young and acted like it. Every time Susan detected a swell in his ego she made sure to beat it down before it could get to his head. In his later years Anton would be eternally grateful for that, but it had been something very worthy to whine and complain about when it was happening. He loved his aunt to death though, and there was nothing that could ever change that. They worked together to make a modest living and when the war blew over they both didn't want to dip their toes in with the forming syndicates.

They continued with their relationship that consisted of an odd mixture between bickering and love, but when life decided to burst his bubble again he had nearly been completely shattered from it. Anton had been at work he got word from the police. Susan had been at the gas station to pay for her gas when someone decided to try and rob the place. Something had seemed to have triggered something within the thief because he then shot her before he fled the scene. Anton was told that she was in critical condition and he didn’t hesitate to drop everything so he could get to the hospital. His aunt lasted another day before she flatlined, and Anton once again couldn’t remember what happened for months afterwards. He was still living, very much so, but his mind was elsewhere. Grief shrouded his thoughts and actions but time seemed to lessen the intensity of it as the years went on.