Zaharov, Sergei

[/font]Krav Maga Artist:[/b] As was mandatory for every single military personnel during the Soviet times, Sergei was taught every aspect of the brawler-esque martial art called Krav Maga. With it, he now sees every object in his environment as a possible weapon, including himself, lethally.

Engineering Adept: Sergei's university years alongside his service time was spent learning engineering and commandeering war vehicles and machinery ranging from the simplest computers to the most sophisticated and deadly weapons of mass destruction required of him to know.

Military Tactics: As is the norm for Russian military to teach the privates and up the basics of military combat, decades in the military has allowed Sergei to retain a vast repertoire of knowledge on the basics of combat, warfare, and manipulation to achieve satisfactory results.

Vodka Master: Years of living in the Russian tundra has instilled a sense of lust for the potato-fueled fire-drink. Sergei has learned how to manufacture, distill, and purify vast quantities of the substance given enough materials to do so, and can gather them himself. His record time is 50 secs.

[/font][/ul]WEAKNESSES:

[/font]Russian Stubbornness:[/b] xxx


Unbridled Savagery: xxx[/font][/ul]

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PERSONALITY:

"A little bit of war never hurt too many people."

- Sergei Zaharov; Captain 1st Rank

The famous words of the ex-Captain of the Russian military held very few fans. Sergei had advocated aggressive actions and thoughts ever since he became a private in the Russian military at the ripe age of 16 (he had faked his papers to be let in at an earlier age than was legal at the time), and while the Cold War no longer exists, the man wishes it still was. And he had given his full cooperation to escalate the Cuban Missile Crisis to horrible levels, if he had the chance. It didn't work out so well. While prized as one of the more obedient and powerful military-man of his time, it helped him little in gaining fans and lovers during his life. Aggression and hostility was the bread and butter of this individual. He believed that death was the only answer that should be given to the questions of those foreign bs who dared try to say ill against his motherland.

With little compassion and love, Sergei was an estranged man, and had gotten used to such things. His position of power over recruits had given him a lust for control and dominance, and it has inked into his own psyche - Sergei had become a dominatrix since he was eighteen years old. The feeling of control and power over others was like the act of sex to the man. Like how weight-trainers would compare lifting to orgasms, Sergei would compare the euphoria of dominance to the most intimate and explosive of intimacies. More than once has he been caught with a protuberance in his pantaloons caused by the feelings he experienced in the training exercises - exercises where he showed, with great pleasure, that breaking the legs of those who stand up against him brought nothing but a lustful smile on his lips and a clawing sensation at his stomach. The man had no shame in giving pain.

Sergei goes out of his way to actively display shows of strength and force. Compassion and love has become a foreign object to him, and sex and intimacy an illusion created by the propaganda of the man and his damned Capitalism. The only love that Sergei can find in this old, and new, world is war. Pure, unadulterated war. Causing havoc, mayhem, and pain is what drives this man forward. What he could not do in the real world does not apply in this new 'digital' realm. The man derives pleasure out of enacting every bit of fantasy that festers in his mind. Every ounce of blood he could have spilled in the human world, he can take into this new world, and let that be his driving force. His body convulses in pure ecstasy at the feelings of joy he gets from the scream of others, and the knowledge that his actions can end the words of so many beings, either living or data, brings a smile to the man's face. He revels in chaos. Chaos revels in his presence. Little else can be said.

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Sergei is a tank of a man. Four decades spent in the military will turn any scrawny, puny man into a horrifying tank of a person. Muscles along every inch of the man, Sergei prides in every single pound of muscle that he has on him. Biceps and triceps wide enough to encompass even the more sturdy of human specimen, the only number larger than his weight is his deadlift and benchpress max. Before his time spent as a hobo in the streets of Japan, the man was capable of lifting the heaviest of weights, as much like the Governator, the man once compared lifting weights to the feelings of having an orgasm with a woman. Frightening, really, to the average man. But decades of being desensitized to the average world has sent the man into a spiraling descent into workout madness.

Biceps, triceps, pectorals, quads, even freaking quints - the tank of a man has jacked every single muscle to peak performance. Enduring horrible amounts of steroid-abuse jokes, the individual has evolved his body to such levels that he has earned a personal rank of Military Tank. People wonder what it is like when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Sergei can be either object, it's all up to you to decide which one he is. Every inch of the man is laden with pure muscle, and he sometimes succumbs to the feelings of narcissism that course through his veins. Years, decades actually, of physical perfection has a mental effect on the mind of the wielder. Sergei gains pleasure from perfecting his already 'perfect' body. A single ounce of fat found on him could cause him to go into a workout rampage, spending hours, even days, trying to feverishly fix his problems. Some may call this a mental problem. But for Sergei, it's normal. Physical perfection is important. F*** the haters.

As for clothes, Sergei prefers army attire. Comfortable but efficient. Cargo pants, tight undershirts, camouflage jackets, combat boots, and belts wherever tightening is needed. Black boots are tied tight to his feet, with the bottoms of his camouflage pants tucked inside them. They bag out in the middle, but tighten as they near the top, where a crocodile leather belt is wrapped firmly around his waist. Tucked inside the waist is a white, sleeveless shirt, over which is a camouflage button-down, tucked in at the back but left free at the front. Over that is a leather jacket, deadly-sexy but comfortable, as it keeps him warm in cool environments, but cool in warm environments usually. Easily taken off, if needed. A single, golden necklace with a brilliant cross, worth exactly $1,200 in melted gold and metal - a family heirloom from his grandparents, may they rest in peace. A single leather and gold watch is on his left wrist, and occasionally, you can see the man wear a beret to hide his bald head, Otherwise, he wears nothing else other than the essentials. A military-man through and through.

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HISTORY:

xxx

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Digivice:

A simple gray-plated D3 with black and white buttons, nothing special can be said of the gadget. It performs the same basic functions as every other Digivice out in the world.

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TENGEN TOPPA GURREN LAGANN • lordgenome • Sergei Zaharov

Credits: Template made by Randomnized.

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