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Evgeniy Ivanova

"He is no driver, he is the undertaker."

144 views · located in The Infinite Void

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by XavierDantius32

Description

FBI CASE FILE 20119291
***TOP SECRET- AMBER CLEARANCE REQUIRED***
***FWD: FSB BEAUREU, MOSCOW***
***FWD: INTERPOL, LYON***
***FWD: MI5, LONDON***


Image


SUBJECT: Evgeniy Ivanova Image
AGE: 37
HEIGHT: 5'9
WEIGHT: 178lbs

VISUALLY DISTINGUISHING MARKS (VDMs): Triangular scar on right cheekbone, extending to the jaw, jagged blade scar across belly, Vor V Zakone tattoos including a spider's web over his right pectoral, the phrase โ€œDeath is peaceโ€ in Cyrillic characters down the left forearm, accompanied by seventeen skulls. Back covered by a grim reaper sitting atop an orthodox church.

PERSONALITY PROFILE: Mild psychotic disassociation caused by heavy drug use in his youth, accompanied by a ruthless streak. Motivated by greed, and often petty revenge. (See: Interpol File: 4923842002)

KNOWN ALIAS:
Anthony Dvorsh, British National
British Passport


KNOWN AFFILIATIONS:
Kaspar Michkovikin; Estonian Smuggler (Interpol File: 23829272) [1992-2000]

Vor V Zakone;
Northern France [2000-2003]
London and the East of England [2003-2005]
New York and the East Coast[2005-2008]

Anatoly Semyonova; Vor V Zakone Captain [2008-Present]

HISTORY:
-1985: Born in KEILA, ESTONIA, to unknown parents. Abandoned at birth and taken in by a known smuggler KASPAR MITCHKOVIKIN.

-1992: Beings working for KASPAR at the bottom rung of his smuggling ring, distributing small bags of cocaine to buyers in KEILA.

-1994: First attributed murder, in a dingy bar in KEILA. Target was unidentifiable due to clean up.

-2000: KASPAR MITCHKOVIKIN killed in POLITSEIAMET raid on his base of operations. Evgeniy escapes after killing two police officers.

-Late 2000: Spotted fleeing the scene of a murder in AMIENS, FRANCE. Killing was highly professional. File forwarded to Interpol.

-2004: String of assassinations of known ex-Vor V Zakone members and Russian Nationals in London attributed to Evgeniy. Possible contact between Evgeniy and ANATOLY SEMYONOVA in the beginning of the year.

-2005: DNA found at a crime scene in BRISTOL, SOUTH WEST ENGLAND linked to Evgeniy who is seen boarding a plane to NEW YORK. File forwarded to the FBI.

-2007: Evgeniy is implicated in the murder of seven members of the Scaletta crime family. Charges are dropped due to lack of evidence.

-2009: Photographed in the company of ANATOLY SEMYONOVA, linked to the murder of the fifteen Corleone family members.

2010: Confirmed as top hit-man and enforcer for ANATOLY SEMYONOVA.

2012: Move to Wing City along with his new boss confirmed.

So begins...

Evgeniy Ivanova's Story

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Evgeniy had been walking the streets some time before he pushed open the bar door, the tails of his soviet-surplus great coat billowing out in the strong wind. Droplets of rain mingled with the wax in the Vore's hair as he stalked across the bar, his smart leather shoes making no sound. A single drop of blood marked his haughty features, settling near the arrow-shaped scar on his cheek.

Settling himself on a stool, Evgeniy slipped out of the coat, revealing the well-tailored black suit, with the tell-tale bulge of a handgun holstered under his armpit. "I'll take a vodka. Neat." Evgeniy demanded in heavily accented English, as he turned to the tender.

The setting changes from gambits-bar to Main Street 1

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Streetlights cast spots of orange brilliance down from on high, which only served to make the night darker. Half hidden by shadow, a lone figure leaned up against a grilled shop-front, oblivious to the people passing him by. A long, soviet-era great coat hung to the middle of his calves, the rain soaking into the fine leather loafers on his feet. His face was hard, marred by a arrow-shaped scar on his right cheek, the traces of a tattoo poking up from under his collar.

The man's name was Evgeniy, a Vor V Zakone hitman. He was out on business tonight.

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Evgeniy Ivanova look

The setting changes from main-street-1 to Main Street

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Streetlights cast spots of orange brilliance down from on high, which only served to make the night darker. Half hidden by shadow, a lone figure leaned up against a grilled shop-front, oblivious to the people passing him by. A long, soviet-era great coat hung to the middle of his calves, the rain soaking into the fine leather loafers on his feet. His face was hard, marred by a arrow-shaped scar on his right cheek, the traces of a tattoo poking up from under his collar.

The man's name was Evgeniy, a Vor V Zakone hitman. He was out on business tonight.

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"Ahem.." A soft cough echoed from the shadows, accompanied by the soft thud of a coat hitting the ground. "I would suggest that you are not hard men, pussy boys." The man's voice was thickened by a heavy eastern European accent, as he stepped into the light, revealing the well-tailored suit, and the glossy leather gloves.

"Hard men do not pick on little men like this." The man cracked his knuckles, the noise audible over the sound of the street. "Now, run along to mammy, pussy boys. You're not welcome here."

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Evgeniy stepped further forward, flicking one of his wrists to draw the linoleum cutter that had been concealed up his sleeve, the curved edge glinting under the street lamp. His thin lips curled into a wry smile, his eyes flashing. "I sheet on Vanchenkov. I suggest you stop threatening Semyenova's right hand, or I'll have your balls on a silver platter."

Despite his rather brazen attitude, Evgeniy was fully prepared to drop the knife and draw the heavy frame of the snub-nosed .357 concealed inside his jacket. Either way, neither of these men would see the dawn.

The setting changes from main-street to Wing City

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The businessman's name was Valentin Chekov, an oil oligarch from the Caucuses. He'd channeled much of his wealth into the FSB's organized crime unit, and had filled the prisons with Bratvas of the Vor V Zakone. For this reason alone, he had to die.

Evgeniy drained the last of his coffee, adjusting the way the wafer-thin kevlar vest hung under his suit. He was sat in a cafe across the road from the Wing City Marriot, a soaring pillar of burnished metal and glass. The lobby was lit up like a carnival, spot lights and crystal chandeliers illuminating the finery within. The speaker in his ear squawked with static. The signal that the target had entered the elevator on the penthouse floor.

Leaving a couple of dollars for the coffee, Evgeniy got to his feet, careful not to disturb the suit jacket which hid the suppressed Mac-10, slung on a three point harness over his torso. The plan was a simple one. Get into the lobby as the elevator doors opened, and hose it down with automatic fire, then walk out in the confusion. At least it seemed simple as he started to cross the street.

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Evgeniy was in the lobby now, ignoring the glances at his shabby suit, which bulged unnaturally around the body armour and the concealed machinegun. His eyes were fixed on the elevator, as the floor number ticked down, bringing the target ever closer to his doom.

He had positioned himself against a pillar with a clear line of sight to the elevator, and the bar where the mark's driver and his two bodyguards were laughing and joking over a bottle of vodka. Both guards were armed, but they weren't anywhere near alert, the briefcases concealing their MP5's propped up under the table, too far away to grab in a hurry. By the time they'd even started to react, the target would be bleeding out, and Evgeniy would be gone.

Only ten floors left.

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With five floors to go, the guards snapped back into action, gathering their coats and briefcases, shuffling over towards the gilded elevator doors, effectively obscuring Evgeniy's line of fire. His plan of pouring the Mac's small caliber rounds into the target from this distance was well and truly sunk, and to get any closer would alert the attention of the guards. He was already getting suspicious looks from the taller of the two, his very demeanor and build marking him out as a threat. He was starting to regret agreeing to do this alone.

Throwing caution to the wind, Evgeniy flicked his wrist, dropping the linoleum cutter from it's sheath, the smooth wooden grip nestling into the palm of his gloved hand. It would only take another jolt to fully draw the weapon. With smooth, languid steps, he crossed to the nearest of the target's guards, an incongruous smile on his face.

"Hey buddy, got a light?"

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As the guard fumbled for the gilt zippo he'd tucked into the breast pocket of his suit, Evgeniy attacked. With a deft flick, the triangular blade of the cutter had dropped into his hand, and with a swift economy of motion, driven into the soft tissues of the bodyguard's groin.

The man squealed like a stuck pig, a torrent of blood spraying from the wound as he sagged forward onto the hitman, as he rolled his left shoulder to keep the mass of the hulking guard between him and his companion, who had managed to draw the boxy frame of a Glock 9mm, an extended magazine hanging below the grip. His first burst caught his companion in the spine, the report drowning out the man's dying scream.

By the time the white-faced man had time to re-aim the pistol, Evgeniy had yanked the Mac-10 and it's cumbersome suppressor from under his jacket, the lino cutter still buried in the dead man on the floor. The weapon coughed, the .45 rounds hurling the second guard from his feet, puffs of dark liquid bursting from his back.

With a grimace, the hitman wiped a spot of blood from his face as he moved into the center of the lobby, smiling grimly as the elevator reached the ground floor.

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The two remaining guards, who had escorted Chekov from his penthouse to the lobby burst out of the elevator, firing from the hip. They had heard the frantic chatter of the glock, and the squeal of the wounded man, and pulled the MP5's from their jackets. They burst out like a pair of caged animals, the machine guns spraying a hail of barely aimed fire into the lobby, shattering the Marriot's impressive glass frontage and bringing down one of the exotic chandeliers.

Evgeniy wasted no time in diving for the shelter of a nearby column, snapping off a quick burst into the elevator's interior as he leaped, only managing to shatter a mirror, leaving the target shocked but unharmed. The bodyguards kept up the hail of fire, snapping off short bursts, chipping away at the pillar, keeping Evgeniy pinned in place. Things had really gone awry.

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Evgeniy was well and truly in the shit. The two guards were highly professional, and had taken up overlapping positions, meaning that he couldn't shoot one without exposing himself to the other. He reckoned he had half a clip left in the Mac, with another two in the pockets of his suit trousers. The amount of protection afforded by the pillar was rapidly diminishing as the jacketed nine millimeter rounds ricocheted off the hard concrete. His suit was already torn and grazed by a couple of lucky glances.

The hitman risked a peek around the side of the column, taking in the position of the second guard, who had taken cover behind the hotel's reception desk. Evgeniy grinned as he spotted the large crystal chandelier hanging like the sword of damocles over the man, who had finally slotted a fresh magazine into his weapon.

Turning gracefully like a dancer, Evgeniy bounded out of cover, his weapon chattering as he severed the cord holding up the light, dropping several hundred pounds of ornamented crystal onto the guard's bald head, knocking him unconscious. Still turning, he emptied the rest of the clip in the vague direction of the other guard, driving him back behind the overturned table, as he edged himself closer to the open elevator doors.

Oblivious of the screams and the gunfire echoing outside, Evgeniy reloaded, kicking the empty magazine aside as he steeled himself for the endgame.

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With a fresh clip in his weapon, Evgeniy dropped behind a second column, bracing the sub machine-gun on it's sling as he paused for breath. Over the cacophony of the battle raging on the hotel steps, he heard the "snap" of the MP5's bolt closing, and the grunt of the bodyguard as he levered himself up into a firing position.

The room blurred as Evgeniy spun out from behind the column, the Mac-10 spitting a deadly hail of lead at the guard. To his credit, the man reacted quickly, squeezing off a burst before attempting to duck back into cover, but he was a few seconds to late, and a round smacked into his shoulder, throwing his aim off. Evgeniy paused, bracing the weapon against his hip, before firing a burst into the sprawled guard's throat.

Now, for the target. His face a disciplined mask, he picked his way across the shattered lobby, grimacing at the stench of urine and fear that wafted out of the lift as he approached, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he saw the crumpled figure of the mark, his face a mask of terror.

"Mr Semyenova sends his regards." He intoned in accented English, before squeezing the trigger and painting the man's brains across the back of the lift.

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As the smoke curled away from the chunky suppressor, Evgeniy let the weapon fall back to his side, idly kicking the corpse in the lift, as if the large missing portion of his skull wasn't enough evidence for his demise. He was just crossing to the desk when the explosion rumbled through the lobby, thousands of glass shards and scraps of twisted metal flying through the air like a shotgun blast. With a hasty dive, the hitman cleared the perforated main desk, jamming the muzzle of his weapon against the tower of the computer that controlled the local security cameras, blasting it away, obliterating the hard-drive and removing any trace of his presence.

With that done, the hitman calmly crossed to the stairs that flanked the bank of lifts, oblivious to the crunch of glass under his feet as he pushed open the door, padding down the stairs in search of the parking garage, his weapon safely stowed under his jacket.

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At the moment the entry team breached the door at the bottom of the stairs, Evgeniy was pre-occupied with the burned out suppressor attached to the gun. The cheap knock-off, manufactured in some dingy workshop somewhere in the city had not been designed for the high volume of fire he had put through it, and every baffle was blown, making it more useful as a club. Unscrewing the suppressor from the Mac's blunt muzzle, he concealed the tube inside a fire extinguisher case, sliding the compact weapon back into his jacket.

As the team's boots neared, he crouched up against the wall, holding his hands out in submission. When the first SWAT officer rounded the corner to see him, Evgeniy was doing a damn good impression of a frightened chauffeur, reeking of sweat and fear. "I am driver... No shoot. No shoot." He articulated, his voice trembling as it stumbled over seemingly unfamiliar syllables. "He w-w-went that way.."

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"Okay sir, remain calm. We've sealed the building, so you can't leave until we know that the killer's secure." The SWAT officer in command of the four man entry team was young, his fresh face coloured by the exertion of running up several flights of stairs in full body armour, with an M4 in both hands.

Evgeniy nodded, straightening up, smoothing down his black hair, trying not to make eye-contact with any of the team. With any luck, he'd have a short wait on this dingy staircase, trying to conceal both the body armour, and the machine-gun under his jacket, and then he'd be lead out, and could slip away, his face forgotten by all.

As he mused, he heard the squad's radio crackle away, tilting his head slightly to listen to the leader's response. "Roger control. Alright lads, looks like we've got to get all the civilians out now. Atchinson. Escort mister..."

"Dvorsh. Anthony Dvorsh." Evgeniy replied, supplying a name that would lead to a genuine British passport and U.S visa. "Escort Mister Dvorsh to the perimeter and take his statement. We'll see you safe, sir." The commander continued, as the taller of the team moved off, flicking the safety back on the rifle slung across his body.

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The journey from the ground floor, to the perimeter around the entrance of the parking garage was uneventful, the hulking SWAT officer not even attempting to make conversation with Evgeniy. The area around the hotel was swarming with people, news crews with cameras, frightened looking businessmen from nearby officers, and even the odd tearful family member, begging the nearest policemen for news of their dearly beloved.

Evigeniy looked on this display without remorse. His job was done. He was led around the back of a converted semi-truck, which had been turned into the Police command center, where a perky policewoman, the catch on her holster unsnapped took his statement. He spoke of how he'd been on his way to collect his client, and his client's luggage when the gunfire had started, and he'd hidden on the staircase until the SWAT had arrived. After the woman had taken his details, she smiled at him, and told him to go home, and that they might call him in the next few days. The number was bogus, as was the address and all the details he gave.

It was only after he was a good few blocks from the Marriott that he allowed himself room to breath, easing himself into a payphone, dropping in a quarter and dialing Semyenova's private number. "It's done. I'll be at the flat." He intoned, shrinking into the phonebooth as a cop car streaked past, lights blazing.

The setting changes from wing-city to Gambit's Bar

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His knuckles ached. A combination of old and new wounds inflamed by the intense cold. The Russian flicked up the collar of his greatcoat, the tight knit navy fabric offering some protection against the icy wind chasing him into the bar. A drink to revive his soul as he headed back to the restaurant to the west.

A small, discrete motion settled the suppressed pistol hanging inside his suit jacket, whilst transferring the drops of blood collecting over the knuckles of his leather gloves to the lining of the coat. Approaching the bar, he eyed the selection of vodka on offer.

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The Invictus troopers unnerved the Russian considerably. Far too many high powered automatics knocking around for him to relax. So much for a quiet drink. He sipped at the tumbler of vodka, trying his best to ignore the clamor raised by the soldiers bickering in the corner.

His free hand slipped down the inside of his trench coat, resting on the grip of a linoleum cutter stored in a secret pocket in the hem. If it came to blows, he would ignore the pistol inside his jacket, closing to range and negating the advantage of assault rifles.

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Character Portrait: Evgeniy Ivanova

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His knuckles ached. A combination of old and new wounds inflamed by the intense cold. The Russian flicked up the collar of his greatcoat, the tight knit navy fabric offering some protection against the icy wind chasing him into the bar. A drink to revive his soul as he headed back to the restaurant to the west.

A small, discrete motion settled the suppressed pistol hanging inside his suit jacket, whilst transferring the drops of blood collecting over the knuckles of his leather gloves to the lining of the coat. Approaching the bar, he eyed the selection of vodka on offer.