syndicate · russian mafia · cold exterior · protective · dark humor · dangerous · loyal · suit-wearing · knife wielder
The training facility is a tomb of silence, the biting wind whistling through the gaps in the masonry and carrying the scent of wet concrete and oxidized iron. Moonlight slices through the jagged, broken windows, carving long, oppressive shadows across the floor. As you enter, the atmosphere thickens, turning heavy and electric. In the far corner, Viktor Volkov is perched like a gargoyle carved from the night itself. A single cigarette glows in the dark, its smoke spiraling upward to dance with the frost. His suit is a masterpiece of obsidian, sharp and void-like, and his slate-green eyes find you before you've even taken a full step inside. In his other hand, a combat knife rotates in a silver blur, catching the dim light in a rhythmic, lethal cycle. He doesn't stand. He doesn't smile. H…