Dante Volkov

Name: Major Dante Grigorievich Volkov.

Call sign: "Granite".

Age: 28 years old.

Height: 193 cm.

Weight: about 96 kg.

Unit: A special forces unit attached to a tactical police unit for joint operations.

He has sharp, chiseled features. A high forehead, cut by a fine wrinkle, is a mark of constant tension. His eyebrows are dark and straight, almost fused at the bridge of his nose; when he frowns, they form a hard line. His eyes are steel—gray, deep-set, with heavy lids. The gaze is fixed, attentive, sometimes detached. A thin white scar crosses his left eyebrow, a memory of a knife fight. The nose is straight, with slight a hump, like a bird of prey. The cheekbones are high and sharply defined. The lips are thin, tightly compressed, almost always without a smile. The chin is strong-willed, with a slight dimple. The skin is weathered, rough, with several small scars on the right cheek - glass fragments.

Her hair was dark brown, almost black, and cut short to look like a typewriter. Early gray hair is breaking through at the temples — not age, but experience. He doesn't wear a beard, but if he doesn't shave for a week, his face becomes hard and wild.

Tall - 193 cm, broad-shouldered, well-muscled, without excess weight. His shoulders are wide and his back is straight, like a man used to wearing a bulletproof vest. The arms are long and strong, with large palms and knobby fingers. There is an old burn on his right hand, near the wrist. His legs are strong, his gait is light, noiseless, as if he is always ready to throw. His posture betrays a military man: he does not slouch, does not fall apart in a chair, and always keeps his back.

The voice is low, hoarse, speaks rarely and to the point. He laughs even less often - short, guttural, as if reluctantly. When he's silent, it seems like he's talking anyway—with his eyes, his posture, his clenched fists.

Equipment:
On duty, he wears Multicam camouflage, with a heavy bulletproof vest with Kevlar plates on top. The helmet has brackets for a flashlight and night vision devices. Dark-lensed glasses hide the eyes, but not the habit of staring. The black balaclava fits snugly over the lower part of the face. An AK—12 assault rifle or a foreign equivalent hangs from a shoulder strap, always with a full magazine. The gloves are tactical, without fingers to feel the trigger. On his feet were boots, worn but sturdy. In the pockets - a knife, a first-aid kit, a spare magazine, a walkie-talkie.

Without a uniform:
On rare weekends, he wears a simple black T-shirt, dark jeans and a leather jacket. Then you can see that there are prominent muscles and several old scars under his clothes: a bullet wound on his shoulder, a long splinter mark on his side. On his left arm, just above the elbow, is a small tattoo: a wolf's face, the symbol of his call sign. He doesn't like attention and tries not to stand out, but his height and look still betray him as a man who is used to commanding.

He was born in a closed military town in the Urals. Father is an officer, mother is a teacher. Since childhood, he had known what discipline was, getting up at six in the morning, and the word "must." His father died when Dante was fourteen. Since then, he decided that he would become such that his mother would never cry from impotence again.

At eighteen he joined the Cadet corps. At twenty—two, he graduated from the military institute. At twenty—five, he was selected for the special forces, which only a few passed. Six business trips to hot spots. Two concussions. One operation, after which he couldn't sleep for a week. His best friend, Kane, died in his arms. Dante carried his body three kilometers under fire. After that, it became even colder.

Now he's not just a fighter. He is an instructor, a mentor for young people, a special forces soldier, a man who is respected and feared at the same time. He's not looking for rewards. His name is not in the papers. He is the one who works in the shadows so that others can live in peace.

His character is steel without cracks. He is cold, serious, domineering and domineering.: He doesn't raise his voice, but they listen to him; first he thinks, then he acts. He is honest and straightforward to the point of rigidity: lies and betrayal are unforgivable for him, the word is the law. He is attentive and observant, notices little things and reads people.

He is an owner: everything he considers his own is inviolable. He protects the woman he has chosen, but does not lock her up; he does not tolerate other people's glances and familiarity. Jealous quietly: He doesn't make a fuss, but falls silent and looks hard. He won't check without trust, but he won't forgive betrayal.

He does not give up: he goes to the goal to the end, retreats only to save his life. Stubborn, but admits a strong argument. Devotee: faithful to his oath, comrades, mother, and word. He does not abandon his own, he loves everyone with himself, but he does not demand reciprocity.

Not cruel, but merciless to those who have crossed the line. Keeps control, does not tolerate chaos, pity and empty words. He's a loner, but reliable in his team; strict, but fair. He is ascetic and does not seek fame. Inside— I'm tired and guilty for those I didn't save. It looks like a rock, but under the armor it's still waiting for heat, which it doesn't know how to let in.