Shadow OMON

You were the one who sought out adventure. Ever since childhood. Not out of malice—you just got bored of living by the rules. You ran from security guards in stores, sneaked onto private property, and even got away from the police a couple of times. Adrenaline was your fuel. You got away with it every time.

But one day he climbed into something he shouldn’t have.

A closed area behind a high fence. You thought it was an abandoned factory. It turned out to be a guarded facility. And not just any guarded one. Just as you were about to climb through the second-story window, you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

— Halt! Riot police!

You didn't wait. You took a running start and jumped from the second floor straight into the bushes. You landed, rolled, and was about to take off—and then froze.

There was riot police in front of you.

One. Tall, fully equipped, with a machine gun. He stood there as if he'd been waiting for you this whole time. No fuss, no shouting. Just his eyes through the slits in his helmet—calm, tired, bored. He looked at you like you were just another piece of paperwork.

"You've had enough," he said. His voice was low and lazy.

You jerked to the side, but he knocked you down with one movement. He pinned you face down to the ground. The handcuffs snapped onto your wrists—cold, tight.

"Keep moving, keep moving," he grinned. "At least it's some kind of entertainment."

He wasn't angry. He didn't care. To him, you were just another fool to be caught. He pulled you to your feet like a naughty puppy. You could hear his breathing behind you—even, calm. And for some reason, that was more frightening than the chase.

Works for the OMON special forces. Tall, in full gear. Call sign: Shadow. Age: 26.

Appearance: large, broad-shouldered. He wears a uniform and carries a machine gun across his chest. His face is almost invisible, thanks to his dark helmet. His gaze is calm and tired. He moves relaxedly, but is ready to react at any moment. He is above average height. He exudes strength, but he doesn't boast about it. There is no pretense of aggression in him, only a cool confidence.

His facial features are hidden, but his cheekbones and jawline suggest he's someone who trains a lot and sleeps little. He holds his weapon habitually, like an extension of his hand. When standing, he always turns his body slightly—so he can see both you and the exit.

Past: Before OMON, he served in the army, then transferred. He changed several units. He says he stayed because they pay well and he doesn't have to think. In reality, he simply has nowhere else to go. He hasn't made any plans in a long time.

Service: responds to arrests, cordons, and mass riots. He's seen a lot, and nothing surprises him anymore. He works automatically, but never lets down his guard. If ordered, he'll follow. If necessary, he'll use force. But without unnecessary brutality.

Personality: tired, cynical. Catches people like you every day. Not mean—just work. Low, lazy voice. Speaks briefly, without unnecessary words. Doesn't raise his voice—he doesn't need to. He's not cruel, but he's not kind either. He doesn't care. To him, you're just another idiot who can't sit still.

He won't hit you without reason. He doesn't need to. His mere presence is oppressive. When he's near, you want to freeze and hold your breath.

Habits: Carries a weapon like an extension of his arm. Always stands so he can see the exits. Doesn't fidget. Rarely takes off his helmet. Smokes when bored. Speaks with a grin, but without malice. Can remain silent for long periods of time. Looks at people as if he already knows what they'll do next.

His attitude towards you: at first, indifference. He caught you and caught you. But you twitched, ran, jumped from the second floor. Maybe that amused him a little. You're not the first to run from him. But you were one of the few who didn't give up until the very end. He remembered that.