Post by kreeper on May 28, 2013 9:54:19 GMT -5
Name: Dima Kalachenko
Birthplace: Date of Birth: March 9th, 2010
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Faction affinity (if any) and faction relations: Neutral. Friendly relationship with Hansa due to frequenting Hansa stations to trade. Acquaintances with a few Rangers whom he has encountered on his countless trips to the surface and into unmapped tunnels, but not familiar enough with them to be considered anything more than neutral with Polis and it's Spartans. While not openly hostile towards any faction in particular, he has a personal dislike for both The Red Line and the Reich, seeing them as suicidal organizations, who seem to be doing their best to speed up the inevitable extinction of humanity. You won't catch him saying that out loud in their territory however.
Physical description: Dima stands at a slightly above average height being about 6'2. He has a typical Slavic facial structure, with prominent cheekbones, a strong nose, and a slightly prominent brow. His eyes are dark brown, and his hair is a dirty blonde, leaning more towards a light brown. He is in decent shape, with a toned, but slim body type. He weights in at about 155 pounds, give or take. They don't have a surplus of accurate scales in The Metro.
Personality: Dima is rather jaded for his age, as are most residents of the unforgiving hellhole that is the modern world. It's not to say that he is a bad person, or a shitty guy to be around, but like almost everyone unfortunate enough to live in the Metro, he feels cheated out of a good life, and like he shouldn't be alive. Despite that, he possesses very distinct survival instincts, a product of his upbringing and his past experience. He tends to be rather serious whenever he is not in a suitably safe environment, but occasionally you can get a clever line or two out of him on a raid. The only time his personality really shines is after he gets a little vodka in him after a profitable trip to The Surface. Then he can be found praising life and enjoying himself. At least until he passes out or sobers up. Then he's just the same old Dima.
History: Born in Moscow in 2010, Dima was just two years old when the bombs dropped. He and his family were lucky enough to be on The Metro returning home from a visit with his grandmother when it happened, and that's where he has been ever since.
Whatever memories he might have had about the old world had long since been swallowed up by the unforgiving maw of time by the time he was old enough to think for himself. By then, he and his parents had been living in the Metro for what was, for all intents and purposes, his entire life.
Things in The Metro were odd at first. People were in a state of panic and ignorance for what felt like Dima's entire childhood. Nobody knew what to do, how to grow food, how to make weapons, or any of the other essential survival skills that are now taken for granted in the Metro. By the time Dima turned eleven, things had begun to normalize, and people did what people do. they broke off and formed "nations" which in all honesty were more like tribes. Hansa, The Red Line, Reich, Polis, an entire little geo-political stage had formed within The Metro.
Dima's parents were reasonably concerned by this, as his father was still of military age and it seemed that the myriad of newborn factions had a strange addiction to war. Dima and his family had lived in The Market Station, a Hansa controlled territory, from the day the city burned, and that station was in constant danger of attack, due to its strategic location and wealth.
For a time, Dima's father simply performed odd jobs around the station, leading to quite a few spats of relative poverty for the Kalachenko family when work opportunities dried up. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the young Dima to find himself begging for a bullet or two from passersby, while his father offered any sort of skill he had to the countless travelers and merchants that were constantly flowing in and out of Market.
Eventually, Dima's father grew tired of seeing his family suffer, and decided that he needed to find a reliable way to make money. He, like most Russian men, had done his compulsory two years in the military before the war, and he did know how to handle himself, and a gun, despite being several years out of practice. For quite some time Dima's father thought of ways to make money, and one day, out of frustration, he purchased a cheap "Lolife" pistol from one of the many gun merchants in town, and a gas mask to go with it and made his way to the surface.
Dima's mother was terrified, and quite angry as well. She figured her husband had essentially committed suicide, and spent a good chunk of what little money they had to do it. But, despite her and Dima's mutual fear, he returned later that night, with more bullets than either of them had ever seen. He had gone to the surface, and found the dead city that was once the very heart of Russia to be an absolute goldmine.
That day represented a change in Dima's destiny. His father continued in this line of work, calling himself a "Treasure Hunter", and had been in the business for 5 years by the time Dima turned 16. And when that fateful birthday came, the present Dima got from his father was rather surprising. Not a new jacket, or some food, not a couple bullets, no. Nothing like the small gifts Dima had grown so used to receiving every year. His father gave him his Lolife pistol, which by now was more of a carbine, with its red dot sight, extended magazine, stock and long barrel, and a brand new (by Metro standards) gas mask. His father had bought himself a Kalash to replace his faithful Lolife, and he told Dima that once he had sharpened his shooting skills a little more, that he would be joining him on The Surface.
Dima was ecstatic, anxious, honored and absolutely, pants-shittingly horrified all at once. He felt like a man, and he was, in his fathers eyes. He spent the next weeks in one of his stations many practice ranges, sharpening his skills with that old carbine until he could knock the head of a moving target at 80 meters like it was nothing. His father beamed with pride at his teenage son's rapid progress, and eventually decided that he was ready to make his first journey to The Dead city.
The next morning, Dima and his father left at the crack of dawn for the world above, in search of whatever items of value could be found in that burnt out shell of a city. Dima was completely blinded by the sunlight when the large metal airlock to the surface opened, but once his eyes adapted, he was amazed by what he saw. The ruins of massive metropolis, a great city, once home to eleven and a half million people, ninety percent of whom had died in a sea of nuclear fire. Dima was amazed by its dark majesty, and fell in love with it's hellish embrace then and there.
As they journeyed into the urban husk, Dima began to lose his awe in favor of fear. The howls of mutants, the cries of whatever untold horrors awaited himself and his father made his guts twist up into a knot. However, for the first couple hours, they were rather unmolested.
The first target they raided was a half destroyed grocery store. The filled their packs with whatever canned food they could find, before moving on to a long since abandoned apartment complex. The apartments were old. Kruschevkas was the term from the pre-war days. Old Soviet-era dwellings build en-masse under Kruschev in order to house Moscow's ever growing population.
At first, the place seemed abandoned, save for the occasional hanging web crawling with mutated spiders. But before long, whatever token sense of security Dima had built up was shattered when a pack of half a dozen Watchers poured out of cracks in the walls. Dima's father engaged them with his Kalash, dropping two without difficulty. They were swift abominations however, and one managed to close the distance, pouncing onto Dima's father. Dima raised his carbine and shot, pretending that the creature was just another target at the range. His .44 magnum bullets tore the creature's head asunder just before it could rip his fathers throat out. Dima had little time to revel in his first small victory against the mutant horde that he would soon come to know well. Before he could even move his weapon, one of the watchers pounced onto him. One of the mutants menacing claws pinned his gun arm to the ground, while he brought his other arm up to its neck, struggling to push the creatures gaping maw away from him. The monsters saliva dripped onto is gas mask, obscuring his vision.
He could feel his strength failing as the creature slowly overpowered his left arm, its hot breath clouding the visor of his mask, making it neigh impossible to see what was almost certainly his impending doom. Just as he thought it was over, the creature cried out in pain, and Dima's ears rang at the tell tale crack of a Kalashnikov firing its 5.45mm rounds inside of a poorly build concrete structure. The creature slumped over, dead, and Dima jumped to his feet. He picked up his carbine and wiped off his mask, only to see his father looking back at him with pride.
That was Dima's first day on the Surface, but it would most certainly not be his last. He and his father would go out everyday, bringing in twice as much money with two people, and slowly giving themselves and Dima's much loved mother a better life.
Sadly, when Dima was twenty years old, his mother came down with a horrible case of cancer. That was all they knew. They didn't know what kind, but it was very bad. Despite their lucrative "treasure hunting" business, Dima and his father simply couldn't afford what little treatment was available, and within a month, she died.
After his mothers death, things began looking down for dima. the stocks of their section of the city had begun to finally run dry, and his father started getting older, with his constant exposure to the surface atmosphere and radiation taking its toll.
Eventually, Dima's father succumbed to the same fate his mother had: cancer. It was a common way to go in this new world. It was really inevitable, with the constant bath of radiation and pollutants that everyone breathed, ate and drank constantly. When his father died, Dima left Market Station. He took what little possessions he had, mostly his scavenging gear and his trusty Lolife, and the bullets he and his father had saved up over recent years of scavenging, and went of into the Metro, in search of a new life.
Preferred weapon(s): Customized Lolife Carbine (Stock and fore-end, extended magazine, rifle barrel, red dot sight and select fire modification)
Notes: Dima is essentially starting fresh. He knows how to survive one the surface, and fight mutants, but knows little else of life outside of his family and Market station.
Birthplace: Date of Birth: March 9th, 2010
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Faction affinity (if any) and faction relations: Neutral. Friendly relationship with Hansa due to frequenting Hansa stations to trade. Acquaintances with a few Rangers whom he has encountered on his countless trips to the surface and into unmapped tunnels, but not familiar enough with them to be considered anything more than neutral with Polis and it's Spartans. While not openly hostile towards any faction in particular, he has a personal dislike for both The Red Line and the Reich, seeing them as suicidal organizations, who seem to be doing their best to speed up the inevitable extinction of humanity. You won't catch him saying that out loud in their territory however.
Physical description: Dima stands at a slightly above average height being about 6'2. He has a typical Slavic facial structure, with prominent cheekbones, a strong nose, and a slightly prominent brow. His eyes are dark brown, and his hair is a dirty blonde, leaning more towards a light brown. He is in decent shape, with a toned, but slim body type. He weights in at about 155 pounds, give or take. They don't have a surplus of accurate scales in The Metro.
Personality: Dima is rather jaded for his age, as are most residents of the unforgiving hellhole that is the modern world. It's not to say that he is a bad person, or a shitty guy to be around, but like almost everyone unfortunate enough to live in the Metro, he feels cheated out of a good life, and like he shouldn't be alive. Despite that, he possesses very distinct survival instincts, a product of his upbringing and his past experience. He tends to be rather serious whenever he is not in a suitably safe environment, but occasionally you can get a clever line or two out of him on a raid. The only time his personality really shines is after he gets a little vodka in him after a profitable trip to The Surface. Then he can be found praising life and enjoying himself. At least until he passes out or sobers up. Then he's just the same old Dima.
History: Born in Moscow in 2010, Dima was just two years old when the bombs dropped. He and his family were lucky enough to be on The Metro returning home from a visit with his grandmother when it happened, and that's where he has been ever since.
Whatever memories he might have had about the old world had long since been swallowed up by the unforgiving maw of time by the time he was old enough to think for himself. By then, he and his parents had been living in the Metro for what was, for all intents and purposes, his entire life.
Things in The Metro were odd at first. People were in a state of panic and ignorance for what felt like Dima's entire childhood. Nobody knew what to do, how to grow food, how to make weapons, or any of the other essential survival skills that are now taken for granted in the Metro. By the time Dima turned eleven, things had begun to normalize, and people did what people do. they broke off and formed "nations" which in all honesty were more like tribes. Hansa, The Red Line, Reich, Polis, an entire little geo-political stage had formed within The Metro.
Dima's parents were reasonably concerned by this, as his father was still of military age and it seemed that the myriad of newborn factions had a strange addiction to war. Dima and his family had lived in The Market Station, a Hansa controlled territory, from the day the city burned, and that station was in constant danger of attack, due to its strategic location and wealth.
For a time, Dima's father simply performed odd jobs around the station, leading to quite a few spats of relative poverty for the Kalachenko family when work opportunities dried up. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the young Dima to find himself begging for a bullet or two from passersby, while his father offered any sort of skill he had to the countless travelers and merchants that were constantly flowing in and out of Market.
Eventually, Dima's father grew tired of seeing his family suffer, and decided that he needed to find a reliable way to make money. He, like most Russian men, had done his compulsory two years in the military before the war, and he did know how to handle himself, and a gun, despite being several years out of practice. For quite some time Dima's father thought of ways to make money, and one day, out of frustration, he purchased a cheap "Lolife" pistol from one of the many gun merchants in town, and a gas mask to go with it and made his way to the surface.
Dima's mother was terrified, and quite angry as well. She figured her husband had essentially committed suicide, and spent a good chunk of what little money they had to do it. But, despite her and Dima's mutual fear, he returned later that night, with more bullets than either of them had ever seen. He had gone to the surface, and found the dead city that was once the very heart of Russia to be an absolute goldmine.
That day represented a change in Dima's destiny. His father continued in this line of work, calling himself a "Treasure Hunter", and had been in the business for 5 years by the time Dima turned 16. And when that fateful birthday came, the present Dima got from his father was rather surprising. Not a new jacket, or some food, not a couple bullets, no. Nothing like the small gifts Dima had grown so used to receiving every year. His father gave him his Lolife pistol, which by now was more of a carbine, with its red dot sight, extended magazine, stock and long barrel, and a brand new (by Metro standards) gas mask. His father had bought himself a Kalash to replace his faithful Lolife, and he told Dima that once he had sharpened his shooting skills a little more, that he would be joining him on The Surface.
Dima was ecstatic, anxious, honored and absolutely, pants-shittingly horrified all at once. He felt like a man, and he was, in his fathers eyes. He spent the next weeks in one of his stations many practice ranges, sharpening his skills with that old carbine until he could knock the head of a moving target at 80 meters like it was nothing. His father beamed with pride at his teenage son's rapid progress, and eventually decided that he was ready to make his first journey to The Dead city.
The next morning, Dima and his father left at the crack of dawn for the world above, in search of whatever items of value could be found in that burnt out shell of a city. Dima was completely blinded by the sunlight when the large metal airlock to the surface opened, but once his eyes adapted, he was amazed by what he saw. The ruins of massive metropolis, a great city, once home to eleven and a half million people, ninety percent of whom had died in a sea of nuclear fire. Dima was amazed by its dark majesty, and fell in love with it's hellish embrace then and there.
As they journeyed into the urban husk, Dima began to lose his awe in favor of fear. The howls of mutants, the cries of whatever untold horrors awaited himself and his father made his guts twist up into a knot. However, for the first couple hours, they were rather unmolested.
The first target they raided was a half destroyed grocery store. The filled their packs with whatever canned food they could find, before moving on to a long since abandoned apartment complex. The apartments were old. Kruschevkas was the term from the pre-war days. Old Soviet-era dwellings build en-masse under Kruschev in order to house Moscow's ever growing population.
At first, the place seemed abandoned, save for the occasional hanging web crawling with mutated spiders. But before long, whatever token sense of security Dima had built up was shattered when a pack of half a dozen Watchers poured out of cracks in the walls. Dima's father engaged them with his Kalash, dropping two without difficulty. They were swift abominations however, and one managed to close the distance, pouncing onto Dima's father. Dima raised his carbine and shot, pretending that the creature was just another target at the range. His .44 magnum bullets tore the creature's head asunder just before it could rip his fathers throat out. Dima had little time to revel in his first small victory against the mutant horde that he would soon come to know well. Before he could even move his weapon, one of the watchers pounced onto him. One of the mutants menacing claws pinned his gun arm to the ground, while he brought his other arm up to its neck, struggling to push the creatures gaping maw away from him. The monsters saliva dripped onto is gas mask, obscuring his vision.
He could feel his strength failing as the creature slowly overpowered his left arm, its hot breath clouding the visor of his mask, making it neigh impossible to see what was almost certainly his impending doom. Just as he thought it was over, the creature cried out in pain, and Dima's ears rang at the tell tale crack of a Kalashnikov firing its 5.45mm rounds inside of a poorly build concrete structure. The creature slumped over, dead, and Dima jumped to his feet. He picked up his carbine and wiped off his mask, only to see his father looking back at him with pride.
That was Dima's first day on the Surface, but it would most certainly not be his last. He and his father would go out everyday, bringing in twice as much money with two people, and slowly giving themselves and Dima's much loved mother a better life.
Sadly, when Dima was twenty years old, his mother came down with a horrible case of cancer. That was all they knew. They didn't know what kind, but it was very bad. Despite their lucrative "treasure hunting" business, Dima and his father simply couldn't afford what little treatment was available, and within a month, she died.
After his mothers death, things began looking down for dima. the stocks of their section of the city had begun to finally run dry, and his father started getting older, with his constant exposure to the surface atmosphere and radiation taking its toll.
Eventually, Dima's father succumbed to the same fate his mother had: cancer. It was a common way to go in this new world. It was really inevitable, with the constant bath of radiation and pollutants that everyone breathed, ate and drank constantly. When his father died, Dima left Market Station. He took what little possessions he had, mostly his scavenging gear and his trusty Lolife, and the bullets he and his father had saved up over recent years of scavenging, and went of into the Metro, in search of a new life.
Preferred weapon(s): Customized Lolife Carbine (Stock and fore-end, extended magazine, rifle barrel, red dot sight and select fire modification)
Notes: Dima is essentially starting fresh. He knows how to survive one the surface, and fight mutants, but knows little else of life outside of his family and Market station.