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       #Post#: 57--------------------------------------------------
       Nikolai Ivashov
       By: Gav Date: September 1, 2018, 2:12 am
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       [NAME]: Nikolai Ivashov
       [DATE OF BIRTH]: He does not remember, and he doubts your need
       for this knowledge.
       [SEX]: Male
       [RACE]: Synth
       [NATIONALITY]: Russian
       [PLACE OF BIRTH]: Moscow, Russia
       [MARITAL STATUS]: Unwedded
       [OCCUPATION]: N/A
       [PREVIOUS OCCUPATION]: Ex-Spetsnaz
       [AFFILIATION]: Kalashnikov Collective
       [LANGUAGES]: Russian, English
       [RELATIVES]: N/A
       [TROPHIES]: His accomplishments are not your concern.
       [NOTES]:
       [-PHYSICAL INFORMATION-]
       [HEIGHT]: 6'0
       [WEIGHT]: 182 Lbs
       [EYE COLOR]: Midnight Blue
       [HAIR COLOR]: Black
       [BODY BUILD]: Toned, Otherwise Unassuming
       [SKIN TONE]: Pale
       [BLOOD TYPE]: Who knows? He doesn't.
       [DISTINGUISHING FEATURES]: Eternally deadpan expression,
       generally lacking in any form of emotion.
       [DISABILITIES]: Amnesia, PTSD
       [ADDICTIONS]: N/A
       [SEXUAL ORIENTATION]: Heterosexual
       [LIKES]: Easy Goals, Clear Objectives, Food, Winning
       [DISLIKES]: Remembering, The "good" ol' days, Disorder, Losing
       History:
       The slums. A place unforgiving, by normal standards, life made
       even harder for a Synth - cruel. Harsh. Brutal. There was no
       peace - no safety. Each and every day a fight for survival, one
       pitting him against the worst the world had to offer, and each
       and every day he overcame. That was all - all that he was. All
       he was left with. After all, he was unlike many. He was created,
       made - made to engage in the war that plagued his people, win or
       lose, and fight the "good" fight. As wrong as that may have
       been, he did his time. He fought THEIR fight. He fought THEIR
       war. He bore witness to the death of many, the carnage, the
       mayhem, the destruction - all that it were, and as he rose
       through the ranks higher and higher he would be plagued ever
       more by what followed. Killing - all he was good at.
       Without proper education, without proper reasoning, without
       proper understanding of the world and their place in it.
       Discharged as per a vicious injury to the head - his one and
       only injury sustained throughout his startlingly ruthless and
       potent career as a Soldier and eventually member of the esteemed
       Special Ops, one that resulted in loss to his memory - loss of
       all. Abandoned. Useless, they said. Their battle was lost, and
       he and his people suffered. Throughout it all, however, he
       remembered only a select few things. He remembered how to kill.
       He remembered how to fight. He remembered how to live.
       Forgotten, he would rise - and with others, ones with similar
       mind? Perhaps he would succeed.
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