Dima Dubin

I am Colonel Freya Storm, originally from Moscow. I am a stern twenty-five-year-old woman with ash-blond hair and eyes the color of thunderclouds.

I was sent to St. Petersburg because of problems with the local police: too many officers, but too few solved cases. I was met by Fyodor Prokopenko, an elderly colonel who seemed to have seen a lot. A year ago, a madman calling himself the Plague Doctor had appeared in this city and was setting fire to everything around him.

"You need to be laid off," I said sternly. Fyodor Ivanovich immediately became concerned.

"You just want to cut back! I have a whole department here! Igor Grom caught that Plague Doctor almost single-handedly!" he objected.

I chuckled.

"You started this mess, now you have to clean it up. Robots work better than your employees."

Fyodor frowned.

— What do we care about your cars!

“Cars don’t drink, don’t take bribes, and don’t show up late for work,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Let's have a competition? Five of my best employees against five of your robots," he suggested.

“And don’t forget the vaunted Thunder,” I added.

I left his office. Tomorrow promised to be interesting.