Hexaflexagon

Spiritum - Reborn

Setzer Galaband

Setzer Galaband
21 | 6'3" | A+

_{A P P E R A N C E}

---

Setzer stands as a figure forged by harsh and unrelenting discipline. A prominent bone structure and ironclad muscular proportions are highlighted beneath skin of pale tones; worn and cracked by a patchwork series scars the most prominent the Lichtenberg figures running up his hands and to his shoulders a dark red in color. Like all members of WARDEN the boy's body stands at the premiere and pinnacle level of fitness with the musculature of a WARDEN beaten into the body through endless hours of unrelenting training pushing the body to the breaking point and beyond it again and again. Yet Setzer's own body stands even further away from the pack pushing against the relentless march of entropy and stagnation with his own routine of weight training and seemingly endless cardio that he prides himself upon. This self-endowed physical prowess being something that he created himself through tenuous hard work through blood and sweat.

Eyes are of a darker shade of green almost falling into brown in their pigmentation. The eyes though betray the appearance that his body so forth presents rather than possessing an outward harshness or severity to the world they seem to sparkle with flecks of human kindness and understand that lay hidden somewhere beyond the rough outer shell. Standing together with this green gaze is the other prominent feature of the warrior's face. Hair a fiery red in color kept shaved on the sides and longer on top. While others will spend countless hours tending to their hair, Setzer seems to not even pay much attention to it letting the wavy locks move and contort in whichever direction that they desire at the moment.

Outside of the standard black and greys of WARDEN's uniforms, his clothing choices are rather plain in its appearance built around practically more than the latest style. This mostly means form fitting athletic wear made to breathable and to not restrict movement.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Setzer Galaband is a pretty nice guy.

His personality is a natural lure towards others with his characteristically lopsided grin and general warmth about him. He does not actively seem to search out the spotlight just as home sitting back and listening as he is commanding a conversation but he certainly doesn't seem to mind having it cast upon him. Yet he seems to maintain a deliberate emotional distance beneath his welcoming warmth and overall charming personality. The curious might notice that while he can spend a large amount of time listening to others about their past and empathize with their plights rarely does he speak of his own history. Though he would quickly brush away such comments with a explanation that his life was a rather boring one. Laid-back and lackadaisical in his mannerism, it's hard to reconcile this image of him with the one that tops the leader board on the combat simulation at the Citadel.

The fact of the matter is Setzer is probably the hardest on himself. Coming from nothing Setzer has everything to prove. This quandary exerts itself in the standards of perfectionism he sets. His best is never good enough with the voice in the back of his head chastising him and berating him time and time again. No matter how well he does, no matter the scores, praise, or good marks that he puts up he is unsatisfied. His composure is that of a man running on borrowed time. Forgoing rest, sleep or any other form of satiation in exchange for climbing that next peak to only seem to crash into a deeper valley.

The only reprieve Setzer seems to allow himself from his unrelenting grind is partying. A true extrovert at heart Setzer thrives in the company of others. Though like all things in Setzer's life, Setzer has a habit of taking his partying to its logical extremes. Because of this amongst those that grew up with him in the Citadel Setzer carries with himself a sort of reputation: drinking to levels far beyond excess, having slept with at least a solid quarter of the Citadel's female population, and his seemingly inability to turn down a challenge to a fight. Of course for Setzer all this pomp and circumstance is following in the grand Galaband tradition of burying whatever deep seated emotional issues you have with excess of various amounts, though try telling him that and you'll probably get a fist to the face.

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

---

Setzer Galaband was the result of a brief drunken fling between an airship pilot and some heiress running away from her family. Problem was that love story doesn't end all too well, turns out the heiress missed her money and life of luxury and left Setzer's father with a baby and not much else. After a work related accident had resulted in permanent nerve damage to his right leg, the old man took to drinking in a hard way. Setzer was perpetually the disappointment constantly not living up to his father's standards and being a 'fucking disgrace'. It was this early environment that lead to the young man soon realizing that as he put it 'nobody in the world gave a damn about him' and that the world "doesn't revolve around you". To surive he focused himself completely upon whatever task lay ahead of him. It was not natural aptitude that came to be Setzer's saving grace but brute force repetition repeating the motions again and again until he learned a skill or ability.

At the age of ten he along with the rest of the students in the small rural school of his were put on a transport and shipped off to the Capital to be tested to be seen if they had the capacity to join WARDEN. While Setzer own magical abilities were only slightly above average, he produced promising results in the other areas. Seeing the potential in the boy he along with about three hundred others were selected to be sent to the Citadel for further training and to join the ranks of WARDEN. So Setzer packed what little he had, living in basically what attributed to abject poverty for most of his life, and was sent off to go be shaped into something greater than himself. He never said goodbye to his father walking to the aerodome five miles away by himself and leaving his father in his drunken stupor without much of a word.

When he arrived at the Citadel, Setzer gained the approval of his instructors be throwing himself at his training with the same brute force repetition that had marked his earlier life. The military life style came naturally to him and was arguably even good for him giving him a sense of well needed structure and purpose. While his broadly apparent skill, generally relaxed demeanor, and of course charming appearance allowed him to quickly make friends with the other jock types. This was a strange phenomenon for Setzer having up until then hadn't always been too successful in the friend department - too many fights in the school yard back home with kids that wanted to talk shit about his family. But through this new avenue he was quickly propelled up the strange archaic social ladder that made up relations in the Citadel firmly rooting his postion as one of the "cool kids" whatever the hell that meant.

While he was able to succeeded in both combat and testing through his usual method, it seemed not to work the same way with his magic. While he studied the art of it drilling the concepts and ideas into his head. Taking the concepts into reality seemed to prove another function all together that no matter what he tried to do seemed to fall at every turn. This lead to an almost endless source of frustration and even levels of embarrassment for him as his failures didn't seem to let up. This only forced him to continue to push ever further in his combat training pushing himself further and further rather than trying to work on his obvious shortcomings. This process would continue for the next ten or so years of his life at the Citadel.

Eventually he would graduated with the rest of his class just as the Vangar invasion had begun. His own small town was destroyed in the fighting to push the Vangar back from Orestia. What Setzer cared more about was that the opportunity that the invasion presented, he didn't care for his patriotic duty or revenge. He saw it as opportunity to test himself, to keep on pushing those boundaries and limits.

_{C O M B A T}

---

Setzer's combat style focus on his strengths in an effort to lessen any major weaknesses on his part. His main choice of weapon is a large sword about five feet or so in length and about a foot wide. While most military blades are sleek and elegant in their design or versatile in their application like the well often used gunblade, Setzer's blade is designed from absolute power and strength. The blows from the blade fall with a beautiful simplicity to them with a crushing might enhanced by training and augmentation. The young man moves with a surprising amount of speed landing crushing blow after blow with nothing less than the ferocity of a maelstrom. Due to Setzer's lacking magical ability rather than casting fireballs or throwing lighting with some with minimal magic he does do is to augment the blade making it come flickering alive with everything from fire to ice adding an extra layer of whomp

_{R E L A T I O N S}

---

Gideon - Shared interests of sports and partying brought them together. Setzer's never treated him differently ever though he is royalty. Bros.
Galahad - Brain versus brawn the eternal rivalry. They seem to be friendly towards one another despite there constant bickering back and forth. Everything is a competition between them for some stupid reason or another.

_{N O T E S}

---

Nothing to see here....

Spiritum - Reborn

And if y'all need another example of what we are looking for in sheets. Here is good old Setzer.

Der Panzer

Setzer Galaband
21 | 6'3" | A+

_{A P P E R A N C E}

---

Setzer stands as a figure forged by harsh and unrelenting discipline. A prominent bone structure and ironclad muscular proportions are highlighted beneath skin of pale tones; worn and cracked by a patchwork series scars the most prominent the Lichtenberg figures running up his hands and to his shoulders a dark red in color. Like all members of WARDEN the boy's body stands at the premiere and pinnacle level of fitness with the musculature of a WARDEN beaten into the body through endless hours of unrelenting training pushing the body to the breaking point and beyond it again and again. Yet Setzer's own body stands even further away from the pack pushing against the relentless march of entropy and stagnation with his own routine of weight training and seemingly endless cardio that he prides himself upon. This self-endowed physical prowess being something that he created himself through tenuous hard work through blood and sweat.

Eyes are of a darker shade of green almost falling into brown in their pigmentation. The eyes though betray the appearance that his body so forth presents rather than possessing an outward harshness or severity to the world they seem to sparkle with flecks of human kindness and understand that lay hidden somewhere beyond the rough outer shell. Standing together with this green gaze is the other prominent feature of the warrior's face. Hair a fiery red in color kept shaved on the sides and longer on top. While others will spend countless hours tending to their hair, Setzer seems to not even pay much attention to it letting the wavy locks move and contort in whichever direction that they desire at the moment.

Outside of the standard black and greys of WARDEN's uniforms, his clothing choices are rather plain in its appearance built around practically more than the latest style. This mostly means form fitting athletic wear made to breathable and to not restrict movement.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Setzer Galaband is a pretty nice guy.

His personality is a natural lure towards others with his characteristically lopsided grin and general warmth about him. He does not actively seem to search out the spotlight just as home sitting back and listening as he is commanding a conversation but he certainly doesn't seem to mind having it cast upon him. Yet he seems to maintain a deliberate emotional distance beneath his welcoming warmth and overall charming personality. The curious might notice that while he can spend a large amount of time listening to others about their past and empathize with their plights rarely does he speak of his own history. Though he would quickly brush away such comments with a explanation that his life was a rather boring one. Laid-back and lackadaisical in his mannerism, it's hard to reconcile this image of him with the one that tops the leader board on the combat simulation at the Citadel.

The fact of the matter is Setzer is probably the hardest on himself. Coming from nothing Setzer has everything to prove. This quandary exerts itself in the standards of perfectionism he sets. His best is never good enough with the voice in the back of his head chastising him and berating him time and time again. No matter how well he does, no matter the scores, praise, or good marks that he puts up he is unsatisfied. His composure is that of a man running on borrowed time. Forgoing rest, sleep or any other form of satiation in exchange for climbing that next peak to only seem to crash into a deeper valley.

The only reprieve Setzer seems to allow himself from his unrelenting grind is partying. A true extrovert at heart Setzer thrives in the company of others. Though like all things in Setzer's life, Setzer has a habit of taking his partying to its logical extremes. Because of this amongst those that grew up with him in the Citadel Setzer carries with himself a sort of reputation: drinking to levels far beyond excess, having slept with at least a solid quarter of the Citadel's female population, and his seemingly inability to turn down a challenge to a fight. Of course for Setzer all this pomp and circumstance is following in the grand Galaband tradition of burying whatever deep seated emotional issues you have with excess of various amounts, though try telling him that and you'll probably get a fist to the face.

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

---

Setzer Galaband was the result of a brief drunken fling between an airship pilot and some heiress running away from her family. Problem was that love story doesn't end all too well, turns out the heiress missed her money and life of luxury and left Setzer's father with a baby and not much else. After a work related accident had resulted in permanent nerve damage to his right leg, the old man took to drinking in a hard way. Setzer was perpetually the disappointment constantly not living up to his father's standards and being a 'fucking disgrace'. It was this early environment that lead to the young man soon realizing that as he put it 'nobody in the world gave a damn about him' and that the world "doesn't revolve around you". To surive he focused himself completely upon whatever task lay ahead of him. It was not natural aptitude that came to be Setzer's saving grace but brute force repetition repeating the motions again and again until he learned a skill or ability.

At the age of ten he along with the rest of the students in the small rural school of his were put on a transport and shipped off to the Capital to be tested to be seen if they had the capacity to join WARDEN. While Setzer own magical abilities were only slightly above average, he produced promising results in the other areas. Seeing the potential in the boy he along with about three hundred others were selected to be sent to the Citadel for further training and to join the ranks of WARDEN. So Setzer packed what little he had, living in basically what attributed to abject poverty for most of his life, and was sent off to go be shaped into something greater than himself. He never said goodbye to his father walking to the aerodome five miles away by himself and leaving his father in his drunken stupor without much of a word.

When he arrived at the Citadel, Setzer gained the approval of his instructors be throwing himself at his training with the same brute force repetition that had marked his earlier life. The military life style came naturally to him and was arguably even good for him giving him a sense of well needed structure and purpose. While his broadly apparent skill, generally relaxed demeanor, and of course charming appearance allowed him to quickly make friends with the other jock types. This was a strange phenomenon for Setzer having up until then hadn't always been too successful in the friend department - too many fights in the school yard back home with kids that wanted to talk shit about his family. But through this new avenue he was quickly propelled up the strange archaic social ladder that made up relations in the Citadel firmly rooting his postion as one of the "cool kids" whatever the hell that meant.

While he was able to succeeded in both combat and testing through his usual method, it seemed not to work the same way with his magic. While he studied the art of it drilling the concepts and ideas into his head. Taking the concepts into reality seemed to prove another function all together that no matter what he tried to do seemed to fall at every turn. This lead to an almost endless source of frustration and even levels of embarrassment for him as his failures didn't seem to let up. This only forced him to continue to push ever further in his combat training pushing himself further and further rather than trying to work on his obvious shortcomings. This process would continue for the next ten or so years of his life at the Citadel.

Eventually he would graduated with the rest of his class just as the Vangar invasion had begun. His own small town was destroyed in the fighting to push the Vangar back from Orestia. What Setzer cared more about was that the opportunity that the invasion presented, he didn't care for his patriotic duty or revenge. He saw it as opportunity to test himself, to keep on pushing those boundaries and limits.

_{C O M B A T}

---

Setzer's combat style focus on his strengths in an effort to lessen any major weaknesses on his part. His main choice of weapon is a large sword about five feet or so in length and about a foot wide. While most military blades are sleek and elegant in their design or versatile in their application like the well often used gunblade, Setzer's blade is designed from absolute power and strength. The blows from the blade fall with a beautiful simplicity to them with a crushing might enhanced by training and augmentation. The young man moves with a surprising amount of speed landing crushing blow after blow with nothing less than the ferocity of a maelstrom. Due to Setzer's lacking magical ability rather than casting fireballs or throwing lighting with some with minimal magic he does do is to augment the blade making it come flickering alive with everything from fire to ice adding an extra layer of whomp

_{R E L A T I O N S}

---

Gideon - Shared interests of sports and partying brought them together. Setzer's never treated him differently ever though he is royalty. Bros.
Galahad - Brain versus brawn the eternal rivalry. They seem to be friendly towards one another despite there constant bickering back and forth. Everything is a competition between them for some stupid reason or another.

_{N O T E S}

---

Nothing to see here....

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

I highly suggest you all read the comic the game is based on/a prequel for. Fables.

@Retired

Mhmmm, while I can't say that I agree with Bill Willingham on many of his personal and political views. The man knows how to make a good comic book.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Honestly, I would kill to see a Punisher game in the style of the Max Payne games, or a Question game done by Telltale. But that's just me.

@Simple Unicycle

Honestly I'm just waiting for Telltale to give me Wolf Among Us 2.

The game that did hardboiled Noir better than La Noire ironically enough.

_{Though given its current development cycle it looks like its going to be delayed ad infinitum... I cry every time.}

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Казачья колыбельная песня

Moscow

---

A cold wind danced through the Federal Military Memorial Cemetery carrying with it the promise of rain. The gentle wisps sending flashes of gooseflesh across Natasha’s neck. Natasha didn't mind the cold that much, even before the injections had dulled her senses to the elements, it had a comforting familiarity to it; ghostly echoes of a woman's warm voice that came to her in sleep singing Казачья колыбельная песня on some cold January night. She held onto that strange comfort as she pressed her hand traced the letters carved into the cold granite of the grave marker - Captain Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov.

The service was a very small affair only a priest and Natasha in attendance. Дядя never had a family of his own besides Natasha, he was a man that was married to his work and to the betterment of his country, and his country repaid him with not even a nod of recognition in return, the inescapable nature of the world of wetwork: it was part of the job to be forgotten, to be lost amongst histories countless pages. Natasha knew that he would of been fine with it, probably preferred it that way. Yet some small part of her still knew that he deserved better.

She caught a glimpse of a face, frozen in time, in the fresh polish of the grave marker. It was a face far displaced from the young girl that Дядя had rescued from the rubble of an apartment building in Stalingrad. Despite that and even in his old age Дядя’s wrinkled face would brighten wherever she had a chance to stop by the hospital in Presnya.

“Моя маленькая лиса”

Eventually though he stopped remembering. Her face lost to the fog of age. It was hard to lose somebody like that. It was around that time that she stopped going to the hospital.

She looked down at the piece of embossed paper that was clutched in her hands. It was one of those prayer cards that the nuns handed out to people on the street. The priest had given it to her after the service. On the front was a depiction of the Crucifixion and on the back was a simple prayer that was supposed to help guide the dead onward.

On the very bottom of card was a small sequence of numbers that couldn't be seen but felt through a series of slight indentations - a cypher and one that Natasha knew all too well.

The message was simple.

Saint Petersburg - A Few Days Later

---

Three kilometers up the Fontanka’s rambling path through the center of Saint Petersburg, where the casual passerby are able to catch glimpses of a lost time amongst the aristocratic palaces that clutter the river's embankment, just past the Egyptian Bridge where tourists wrapped in scarves and coats could take pictures next to iron sphinxes and great columns inscribed with hieroglyphics, down the boulevard there is an art gallery called the Сердце - the Heart.

The gallery was a small and homely affair, the entire space roughly the size of some of the reading rooms of the palaces that surrounded it. The space within spartan in its sentimentalities: the paintings hung upon bare walls and a single desk were a receptionists typed away at a computer. Outside a small electronic sign advertises their newest show - a selection of up and coming artists from the neo-cubist movement.

From the sidewalk staring up at this flashing sign was Natasha. She looked like any of the other migrants that frequented the area: small men’s black t-shirt thoroughly shrunken, a pair of black jeans, and a fur-lined aviator jacket that hung to her frame. She looked down at the watch that adorned her wrist. One last look was tossed down the empty boulevard before she entered the gallery, the soft sounds of a electronic chime ringing out as the door opened.

She strode over to the counter and leaned an arm against it, a pair of glasses rose up meeting her eye. The receptionist was a young woman in her late twenties with her hair pulled into a messy bun, she was dressed in a sharp alabaster pantsuit that blended in perfectly with the gallery’s interior. She met Natasha’s eyes with the easy smile that came from years of customer relations.

“And how can I help you today Ma’am?” The voice held a pleasant sing-song ring to it.

“Ah yes, I was on the phone earlier with someone about an appraisal?” Natasha responded with a mock-heistance.

There was a flash of recognition across the receptionist’s eyes as the command phrase was spoken. She nodded to herself before typing some command into the keyboard. She looked back up smiling.

“It seems that you do have a scheduled appointment. If you could follow me Ma’am.”

The receptionist moved away from the desk deeper into the gallery space. Natasha was lead to the back of the gallery beyond where a passerby could gaze in from the street. There as they came up to a blank wall, the young women pressed an unseen switch which made a section the wall flip revealing a sophisticated optic scanner. Natasha tapped her foot as she waited for the receptionist to lean into the device and for another section of the wall to slide away revealing a door. Taking a heavy key from her jacket pocket the receptionist opend the door revealing a dark space. She gestured with her other hand from Natasha to enter.

The door closed behind her as Natasha entered the darkened space. Bright halogen bulbs snapped to life illuminating the space around her. Natasha peered through squinting eyes at a small featureless cube empty save for the single unremarkable chair that sat in the middle of the room and the strange pair of what looked like trapezoidal goggles that rested upon it.

With a slight shrug Natasha took a seat in the chair and placed the goggles over her eyes. She pressed in the small switch built into the device’s side. A small hum began to reverberate throughout the room, the hum grew in intensity and pitch swallowing the world around them, and finally the world around Natasha faded away with a flash of supernova white.

Natasha came to she was staring at an unfamiliar wooden ceiling as the cries of seagulls filled the air. She quickly realized she was on a bed of some sort the silken sheets clinging to her like a cacoon. She turned her head to trace the sounds of the birds and found an open balcony that overlooked the sea. Unassumed with this whole charade Natasha pushed herself out of the bed and walked over towards the balcony. As she approached she could hear the sounds of two voices talking amongst themselves.

Stepping out onto the balcony she could almost feel the wind against her face and the warmth of the lazy noon sun.

“It’s amazing how close our programmers have almost come to the real thing isn’t it?” A voice called out on Natasha’s left. She knew its somber inflections well.

“It is.... most impressive Director.” Natasha remarked as she regarded the pixelated faux-flesh of her hand before turning towards the voice.

There in an old wicker chair sat a older man dressed in a simple navy blue bathrobe tied at the waist keeping his washboard chest exposed to the sun. As Natasha stared at him she couldn't help but notice the slight flickering and shifting as the Director’s face was swapped with another. Nobody, not even Natasha, knew the Director’s face or even his name for that matter. The man, or who they can only was a man given the avatar’s he chose to present himself with, prefered to keep his anonymity in tact.

“I am sorry about Captain Bezukhov, I know how much he mattered to you.”

“Clearly not sorry enough not to drag me out here” Natasha thought to herself as she outwardly smiled and give a nod. “You are too kind Director.”

“Yes, well we should get down to way I summoned you.” The Director explained as the tonal shift signed to all the time for pleasantries was over.

The ever-shifting man gestured towards the older woman, maybe in her late forties or early fifties, in a stainless white lab that sat next to him. There was a familiarity in the face that struck a strange chord with Natasha. It was something about the structure of the face and the lab coat that she was wearing... it almost reminded her of.

“You remember Dr. Lyudmila Kudrin do you not?” The Director asked wearing the smile of a man that already knew the answer to his own question.

“Doctor Kurdin.... It has been a very long time.” Natasha answered years of training allowing her to suppress the surprise in her voice. The last time she had seem Lyudmila Kudrin, Natasha had been a girl of barely thirteen years, strapped to an operating table to be injected with an experimental drug cocktail. She had always figured that the doctor had died... yet given how those injections had affected her own lifespan, she shouldn’t of been surprised.

“Natalia, always one of the strongest and look at you now.” Kurdin’s pride-laced voice came out as a worn smoker’s rasp like sandpaper rubbing against glass.

“In recent years Doctor Kurdin had been placed in charge of operations at the Red Room” the Director explained to Natasha. “Recently she came into some information regarding sensitive information pertaining to the Department.” The Director gestured towards Kurdin to continue.

“Do you remember Yulia Orlova?”

A flash of memories bombarded Natasha: a smiling face, laughter, and tears. Then they were gone.

“Yes. She vanished almost ten years ago at this point didn’t she?” Natasha answered trying to pull any information she could from Kurdin’s face.

“Indeed, during a shared op between the two of you in Shanghai wasn’t it?” Kurdin pushed with a smile.

“There were unforeseen complications.” Natasha answered back cooly.

“Don’t worry Natalia, I’m not here to interrogate you about your past failings.” Kurdin explained with a wave of her hand. “Our agents have found Yulia.”

“Where?” Natasha answered a little too quickly.

“Markovia,” Kurdin replied with a knowing smile. “That is not all it if our agents reports are to be believed she has with her a child.”

“A child?” Natasha replied the disbelief thick in her voice. “That is impossible. The injections are supposed to make us...”

“Steril?” Kurdin finished with something of a shrug. “That’s what we thought at least. Yet something always manages to fall through the cracks.”

The Director who at this point had been watching the exchange quietly cleared his throat. They both turned to look at him.

“Romanova, we are sending you in to assist the Doctor in this complicated matter.” The Director explained his composure give away nothing but his tone carried volumes - this was to make up for Shanghai.

“What do I need to do?”

“Kill Orlova and bring us the girl.”

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Name:

---

Natalia “Natasha” Alianovna Romanova / Наталья “Наташа” Алиановна Романова

Alias:

---

Black Widow / Чёрная вдова

Powers & Abilites

---

Наследи Кудрина:

Under the direction of famed Soviet geneticist ██████████ ██████████ ██████████, Natasha was injected with a Russian variant of the █████████ developed during Project: Rebirth used on ██████████. The serum when injected within the body provided enhanced ██████████, ████████████████████ as well as other ██████████ ██████████. These genetic augmentations have pushed Natasha far beyond the physical limits of an ordinary human being and has even slowed down her aging to a near standstill.

мокрое дело:

Hell wasn't some imaginary place for Natasha, no Hell was very real and was called the Красная комната. While some may argue about the ethics involved in the Red Room’s treatment of children, you couldn't argue with the results. In the world of espionage and wetwork, Natasha might as well of written the book. She’s skilled in several dozen ways to kill somebody from traditional CQC to firearms and everything in between. Beyond straight intimidation, she is well versed in various more subtle ways to gain information through ways such as cybersecurity and straight up seduction to name a few.

Железная воля:

Blades will not break her. Bullets will not break her. Words will not break her. Fear will not break her. Naturally of courageous disposition, the training she had undertaken and several lifetimes over of wetwork experience has bestowed upon Natasha an indomitable will.

Backstory:

---

According to official records, Natasha was born in █████, Russian SFSR in December of 19██. Natasha would early on find herself orphaned by the German Wehrmacht. Shortly after, she would be later spotted in the company of army captain named ██████ ██████████ ██████████. █████ was reportedly with Natasha up until atomic fire devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki. ████ would start a successful post war-career working for the КГБ, and it was through here that ██████ ███████ ████████ of █████████ became aware of Natasha. Soon afterwards Natasha would be sent to ██████████ to begin her studies at the Красная комната.

Inducted into the fledgling рограмма ██████████████ Чёрная вдова. Natasha would soon enough become the program’s most promising test subject. During this time she also underwent intense genetic augmentation trials administered by ██████████ ██████████ ██████████, based upon ██████████ recovered by ███████ ██████████ from Project: Rebirth. Eventually in █████, Natasha was deemed ready by her handlers and would be sent into the field..

Natasha would soon find herself pursuing Soviet interests across the globe. Sightings of a red haired women matching her description first appeared in ███████, then ██████████, and within a month as far afield as ███████. Natasha is reported to have worked with some of the USSR’s greatests assists including:██████████ ██████████ ██████████ AKA “Rocket Red”, ██████████ ██████████ ██████████ AKA “Red Guardian”, and perhaps most interestingly ██████████ ██████████ ██████████ AKA “Winter Soldier”. During this time allied agents also reported having hostile engagements with her including: ████ ███████ ██████████ AKA King, and ███████ ████████ ██████ AKA Agent A-1.

After the collapse of the USSR in the late 1990s, Sightings of Natasha have decreased from their peak during the “Golden Years”. From what little information we have gathered, Romanova still works for the ФСБ in some capacity, through in apparently a much more limited fashion saving her deployment for only mission critical assignments. Recently though our eyes in ██████ have picked up sightings of her in ███████. Whatever the reason is, we can be sure that it definitely is not in our interest that she succeeds.

Known Associates:

---

►Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov - Deceased
► Dmitri Pushkin
► James Buchanan Barnes
► Kingsley 'King' Faraday
► Yulia Orlova
► Ava Anatalya Orlova

What Makes This Character 'Ultimate'?:

---

I always wanted Natasha the spy epic that she deserved; following wetwork missions, finding herself bit by bit. Yet to my great dismay, I was never able to really make it work. This time though I think I’ve found something that work. My idea is to pull a Last of Us, God of War, Logan, or perhaps my favorite Turner’s thread in Count Zero with Natasha and Ava. (Ava in this verse is a little older being fourteen years old. Also I’ve made her mother Yulia a runaway from the Black Widow Program and a close friend of Natasha.)

Ava will hopefully help facilitate character growth and lead me to more smooth transition to Natasha’s exit from the world of wetwork. Yet beyond that, I hope to use her as a sort of mirror for Natasha to reflect on and in turn reflect upon the themes I want to hit upon. Themes that are best summarized by quoting Faulkner “The past is never dead. It's not even past”. This Natasha is trapped by her past, haunted by it both figuratively and mentally.

And unlike in some tellings of her tale, she won’t crawl out of the quagmire because she fell head over heels for some boy. She’s going to have to do what she does best instead - fight for it.

Sample Post:

---

Alexi

The truth is, if old Morzh hadn’t firmly insisted upon his attendance Alexi would never have come to the Національна опера України at all. Alexi was not a member of those fortunate few born into money that could afford to be cultured. His father was a school teacher in a poor village outside of Luhansk and before that his family were mostly made up of simple farmers. He hadn’t been back home in some time, not since the establishment of the Luhansk People's Republic. A problem, if all was right in the world, he would of been dealing with. Instead he was to go to the godforsaken opera.

So there he was, face obscured by the tainted backseat window of his SUV, watching the slow procession of Kyiv traffic. To either side of him sat statuesque in their silence his two bodyguards: Bohdan and Ruslan. Both were dressed like him, fine suits with a concealed layer of kevlar underneath, and he knew that both carried ПКСКs tucked away in unseen holsters. Apparently the two of them had met doing mercenary work during the Second Chechen War. They, along with their two companions that rode in a secondary SUV with his wife Julija were a costly but much needed expense. People who disagreed with the Kremlin didn’t live long in Kiev these days.

It was just the other day after all that Vadzim was killed. Vadzim was a close friend of Ivan’s and worked alongside him in the Братство. They all knew when they started this endeavor that it was going to be dangerous work, but the loss still stuck with Alexi. He wasn’t even able to go to Vadzim funeral; whoever or whatever had killed his friend could still be out there. That was the main reason he agreed to this meeting with Morzh. The man used to run in some very interesting circles before the Collapse. Now everyone and their mother knew that if you needed information on anything or anyone you talked to Morzh.

“Sir, we have arrived.” announced a gruff rockslide of a voice that was Ruslan’s.

“Finally.”

With the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, Bohdan and Ruslan exited the vehicle first and checked the surroundings. When all was thought to be clear Bohdan’s meaty paw rapped against the window three times to signal Alexi to exit. His worn in boots touched upon the slickened sidewalk just outside the Oprea. It was a Wednesday Night, so the pedestrian traffic on Volodymyrska Street wasn’t too terrible, even so the small crowds that did move about made Alexi nervous. He turned to his right to sound of heels clicking against pavement to see Julija approach.

“Shall we head inside dear?” he asked through a forced smile.

“Let’s.” Julija replied as she smoothly hooked her arm with his and turned towards the entrance. Their retitutne of four now folowingly close in a loose square around them.

The National Opera House was an ornate affair. Built in the Neo-Renaissance style during the early 1900s, the building truly captured the image of a Ukraine that was at its cultural peak. In these modern times though the swooping architecture and the gilded accents stood in strange contrast to the world just outside. People died right outside on Volodymyrska either from violence or starvation everyday and parts of the country were still in open revolt, and yet the rich and famous still came to the opera. To be entrained, to be reminded about anything else besides the mess that they themselves were partially responsible for creating. Bread and circuses after all.

“Alexi!” a booming voice called.

Morzh could only be described in appearance, as closely resembling the Odobenus rosmarus, hence the nickname. A large man weighing over one hundred and thirty six kilograms and roughly six feet in height. His face, a consistent shade of flushed pink, was framed by a large red moustache that completely covered his mouth. He sat sprawled out atop a couch in the lobby like some sultan out of the Arabian Nights. Two female companions who were at least half his age sitting with him. He gestured over with a hand whose massive girth was closed around some glass of alcoholic beverage or another.

As Alexi approached Morzh, with a surprising amount of agility for a man his size, rose up to meet him and grasped him in a sweat caked hug.

“I’m so glad that you could make it!” proclaimed Morzh the blunted contours of his round face shifting as he did.

“Of course, anything for you my friend! Besides Julija was glad to have a break from the kids.”

“You woman must be some kind of witch! Three kids and you have a body like that!” Morzh joked as he gestured towards Julija who did her best to politely smile in return. Seemingly bored with the current topic he turned back to Alexi. “And we have a treat tonight! The say the young man playing Max is truly an astonishing sight to behold! He apparently have only just graduated from his classes at Leipzig!”

“You don’t say!” Alexi replied with feigned interest. “We better be going upstairs then! Don’t want to miss the show do we?”

Nodding in agreement, Morzh began to lead the couple up the stairs that lead to the upper levels. As Morzh went into finer details with Julija about the finer details of the upcoming production, Alexi noted the other men that soon began to follow them like hawks. These men were of course part of Morzh’s own private security entourage, and if the rumors Alexi heard were to be believed made up entirely of black ops types. Leading them up flight after flight, Morzh eventually turned left at a landing and lead them to his own private booth, the door already guarded by two more of his men. Julija and his female companions sat down in the row in front of them as Morzh gestured for Alexi to sit next to him in the back row.

From what Alexi had picked up during Morzh’s ranting to Julija, the performance that they were seeing tonight was about a marksman who makes a deal with the devil over magic bullets. A topic which given the current climate of things seemed a little too on the nose for Alexi’s tastes. It didn’t help win him over when he found out that the entire performance was going to be in German. Rolling his eyes as the lights dimmed and curtain opened he watched as the performers began to spin their yarn.

Roughly halfway through the first act, just as the leading man began his aria, Morzh turned his head ever so slightly towards Alexi.

“You did not come here just for your love of the arts Alexi.” his voice whispered with a hint of laughter.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes but do not worry, I am not a man whose ego is easily offended.” Morzh replied with a grin. “I have looked into the “untimely” demise of your friend Vadzim”

“And?’ Alexi replied as he felt his heart pound against his chest.

“What do you know of the Red Room?” Morzh asked curiously.

“The fucking Baba Yaga breeding chamber? Isn’t that place just a tall tale made up by mother’s to get their children to go to bed on time?”

“What if I told you the Red Room was a very real place? That it produces some of the most terrifying creatures to ever be commanded by the Kremlin?” Morzh asked this time his voice flat without any sense of humor within it.

“I would say that your going paranoid in your old age Morzh. To stop playing me like a fool.” Alexi replied trying to surprise the fear that was rising in his voice. His heart was beating faster now. He could feel it in his ears.

“I’m not being paranoid Alexi. You should be though, because if one of those demons is after you it is only a matter of time.” Morzh explained with a cold bluntless as he slowly turned his face back towards the performers on the stage below.

As it so happened Alexi did not hear the faint sounds of Morzh’s guards outside the door being taken out. He did not hear as the soft press of a knife slit open the jugulars of Bohdan and Ruslan. He did notice as Morzh suddenly as if struck by something slumped down in the seat next to him. Alexi never even felt the bullet that killed him. His mind was too preoccupied with the imaginary demons that were soon to be creeping up on him.

---

Natasha watched as the weighted bag containing the knife and the PSS sunk into the dark waters of the Dnieper. She looked up at the few twinkling stars that managed to fight through the light pollution of the city below. She breathed in letting the cool air fill her lungs and waited a moment and then another before letting it release. It felt good.

She pressed a single finger to her left ear.

“This is вдова.” the voice held a icey purity to it unfettered by emotion. It felt almost alien sometimes.

“Go.”

“Mission Complete.”

Post Catalog:

---

I

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5

Spiritum - Reborn [High Casual]

Hello y'all can call me Hex. I shall be your CO-GM of some variety or another.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

@Master Bruce

While I'm unsure I'll be able to make up for a lost budding Siberian romance. I shall try my best!

In the meantime, while I'm working on that, all of you can listen to the 90s sitcom credits theme version of the State Anthem of the Soviet Union.
_{This totally wasn't playing on loop while I worked on Natasha's sheet. Nope.}

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Y'all can blame @Inkarnate for disturbing my eternal slumber.

Anyway here is my offering for the committee's viewing pleasure.

---

DATA CORRUPTED/UNKNOWN SOURCE

Name:

---

Natalia “Natasha” Alianovna Romanova / Наталья “Наташа” Алиановна Романова

Alias:

---

Black Widow / Чёрная вдова

Powers & Abilites

---

Наследи Кудрина:

Under the direction of famed Soviet geneticist ██████████ ██████████ ██████████, Natasha was injected with a Russian variant of the █████████ developed during Project: Rebirth used on ██████████. The serum when injected within the body provided enhanced ██████████, ████████████████████ as well as other ██████████ ██████████. These genetic augmentations have pushed Natasha far beyond the physical limits of an ordinary human being and has even slowed down her aging to a near standstill.

мокрое дело:

Hell wasn't some imaginary place for Natasha, no Hell was very real and was called the Красная комната. While some may argue about the ethics involved in the Red Room’s treatment of children, you couldn't argue with the results. In the world of espionage and wetwork, Natasha might as well of written the book. She’s skilled in several dozen ways to kill somebody from traditional CQC to firearms and everything in between. Beyond straight intimidation, she is well versed in various more subtle ways to gain information through ways such as cybersecurity and straight up seduction to name a few.

Железная воля:

Blades will not break her. Bullets will not break her. Words will not break her. Fear will not break her. Naturally of courageous disposition, the training she had undertaken and several lifetimes over of wetwork experience has bestowed upon Natasha an indomitable will.

Backstory:

---

According to official records, Natasha was born in █████, Russian SFSR in December of 19██. Natasha would early on find herself orphaned by the German Wehrmacht. Shortly after, she would be later spotted in the company of army captain named ██████ ██████████ ██████████. █████ was reportedly with Natasha up until atomic fire devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki. ████ would start a successful post war-career working for the КГБ, and it was through here that ██████ ███████ ████████ of █████████ became aware of Natasha. Soon afterwards Natasha would be sent to ██████████ to begin her studies at the Красная комната.

Inducted into the fledgling рограмма ██████████████ Чёрная вдова. Natasha would soon enough become the program’s most promising test subject. During this time she also underwent intense genetic augmentation trials administered by ██████████ ██████████ ██████████, based upon ██████████ recovered by ███████ ██████████ from Project: Rebirth. Eventually in █████, Natasha was deemed ready by her handlers and would be sent into the field..

Natasha would soon find herself pursuing Soviet interests across the globe. Sightings of a red haired women matching her description first appeared in ███████, then ██████████, and within a month as far afield as ███████. Natasha is reported to have worked with some of the USSR’s greatests assists including:██████████ ██████████ ██████████ AKA “Rocket Red”, ██████████ ██████████ ██████████ AKA “Red Guardian”, and perhaps most interestingly ██████████ ██████████ ██████████ AKA “Winter Soldier”. During this time allied agents also reported having hostile engagements with her including: ████ ███████ ██████████ AKA King, and ███████ ████████ ██████ AKA Agent A-1.

After the collapse of the USSR in the late 1990s, Sightings of Natasha have decreased from their peak during the “Golden Years”. From what little information we have gathered, Romanova still works for the ФСБ in some capacity, through in apparently a much more limited fashion saving her deployment for only mission critical assignments. Recently though our eyes in ██████ have picked up sightings of her in ███████. Whatever the reason is, we can be sure that it definitely is not in our interest that she succeeds.

Known Associates:

---

►Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov
► Dmitri Pushkin
► James Buchanan Barnes
► Kingsley 'King' Faraday
► Yulia Orlova - Deceased
► Ava Anatalya Orlova

What Makes This Character 'Ultimate'?:

---

I always wanted Natasha the spy epic that she deserved; following wetwork missions, finding herself bit by bit. Yet to my great dismay, I was never able to really make it work. This time though I think I’ve found something that work. My idea is to pull a Last of Us, God of War, Logan, or perhaps my favorite Turner’s thread in Count Zero with Natasha and Ava. (Ava in this verse is a little older being fourteen years old. Also I’ve made her mother Yulia a runaway from the Black Widow Program and a close friend of Natasha.)

Ava will hopefully help facilitate character growth and lead me to more smooth transition to Natasha’s exit from the world of wetwork. Yet beyond that, I hope to use her as a sort of mirror for Natasha to reflect on and in turn reflect upon the themes I want to hit upon. Themes that are best summarized by quoting Faulkner “The past is never dead. It's not even past”. This Natasha is trapped by her past, haunted by it both figuratively and mentally.

And unlike in some tellings of her tale, she won’t crawl out of the quagmire because she fell head over heels for some boy. She’s going to have to do what she does best instead - fight for it.

Sample Post:

---

Alexi

The truth is, if old Morzh hadn’t firmly insisted upon his attendance Alexi would never have come to the Національна опера України at all. Alexi was not a member of those fortunate few born into money that could afford to be cultured. His father was a school teacher in a poor village outside of Luhansk and before that his family were mostly made up of simple farmers. He hadn’t been back home in some time, not since the establishment of the Luhansk People's Republic. A problem, if all was right in the world, he would of been dealing with. Instead he was to go to the godforsaken opera.

So there he was, face obscured by the tainted backseat window of his SUV, watching the slow procession of Kyiv traffic. To either side of him sat statuesque in their silence his two bodyguards: Bohdan and Ruslan. Both were dressed like him, fine suits with a concealed layer of kevlar underneath, and he knew that both carried ПКСКs tucked away in unseen holsters. Apparently the two of them had met doing mercenary work during the Second Chechen War. They, along with their two companions that rode in a secondary SUV with his wife Julija were a costly but much needed expense. People who disagreed with the Kremlin didn’t live long in Kiev these days.

It was just the other day after all that Vadzim was killed. Vadzim was a close friend of Ivan’s and worked alongside him in the Братство. They all knew when they started this endeavor that it was going to be dangerous work, but the loss still stuck with Alexi. He wasn’t even able to go to Vadzim funeral; whoever or whatever had killed his friend could still be out there. That was the main reason he agreed to this meeting with Morzh. The man used to run in some very interesting circles before the Collapse. Now everyone and their mother knew that if you needed information on anything or anyone you talked to Morzh.

“Sir, we have arrived.” announced a gruff rockslide of a voice that was Ruslan’s.

“Finally.”

With the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, Bohdan and Ruslan exited the vehicle first and checked the surroundings. When all was thought to be clear Bohdan’s meaty paw rapped against the window three times to signal Alexi to exit. His worn in boots touched upon the slickened sidewalk just outside the Oprea. It was a Wednesday Night, so the pedestrian traffic on Volodymyrska Street wasn’t too terrible, even so the small crowds that did move about made Alexi nervous. He turned to his right to sound of heels clicking against pavement to see Julija approach.

“Shall we head inside dear?” he asked through a forced smile.

“Let’s.” Julija replied as she smoothly hooked her arm with his and turned towards the entrance. Their retitutne of four now folowingly close in a loose square around them.

The National Opera House was an ornate affair. Built in the Neo-Renaissance style during the early 1900s, the building truly captured the image of a Ukraine that was at its cultural peak. In these modern times though the swooping architecture and the gilded accents stood in strange contrast to the world just outside. People died right outside on Volodymyrska either from violence or starvation everyday and parts of the country were still in open revolt, and yet the rich and famous still came to the opera. To be entrained, to be reminded about anything else besides the mess that they themselves were partially responsible for creating. Bread and circuses after all.

“Alexi!” a booming voice called.

Morzh could only be described in appearance, as closely resembling the Odobenus rosmarus, hence the nickname. A large man weighing over one hundred and thirty six kilograms and roughly six feet in height. His face, a consistent shade of flushed pink, was framed by a large red moustache that completely covered his mouth. He sat sprawled out atop a couch in the lobby like some sultan out of the Arabian Nights. Two female companions who were at least half his age sitting with him. He gestured over with a hand whose massive girth was closed around some glass of alcoholic beverage or another.

As Alexi approached Morzh, with a surprising amount of agility for a man his size, rose up to meet him and grasped him in a sweat caked hug.

“I’m so glad that you could make it!” proclaimed Morzh the blunted contours of his round face shifting as he did.

“Of course, anything for you my friend! Besides Julija was glad to have a break from the kids.”

“You woman must be some kind of witch! Three kids and you have a body like that!” Morzh joked as he gestured towards Julija who did her best to politely smile in return. Seemingly bored with the current topic he turned back to Alexi. “And we have a treat tonight! The say the young man playing Max is truly an astonishing sight to behold! He apparently have only just graduated from his classes at Leipzig!”

“You don’t say!” Alexi replied with feigned interest. “We better be going upstairs then! Don’t want to miss the show do we?”

Nodding in agreement, Morzh began to lead the couple up the stairs that lead to the upper levels. As Morzh went into finer details with Julija about the finer details of the upcoming production, Alexi noted the other men that soon began to follow them like hawks. These men were of course part of Morzh’s own private security entourage, and if the rumors Alexi heard were to be believed made up entirely of black ops types. Leading them up flight after flight, Morzh eventually turned left at a landing and lead them to his own private booth, the door already guarded by two more of his men. Julija and his female companions sat down in the row in front of them as Morzh gestured for Alexi to sit next to him in the back row.

From what Alexi had picked up during Morzh’s ranting to Julija, the performance that they were seeing tonight was about a marksman who makes a deal with the devil over magic bullets. A topic which given the current climate of things seemed a little too on the nose for Alexi’s tastes. It didn’t help win him over when he found out that the entire performance was going to be in German. Rolling his eyes as the lights dimmed and curtain opened he watched as the performers began to spin their yarn.

Roughly halfway through the first act, just as the leading man began his aria, Morzh turned his head ever so slightly towards Alexi.

“You did not come here just for your love of the arts Alexi.” his voice whispered with a hint of laughter.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes but do not worry, I am not a man whose ego is easily offended.” Morzh replied with a grin. “I have looked into the “untimely” demise of your friend Vadzim”

“And?’ Alexi replied as he felt his heart pound against his chest.

“What do you know of the Red Room?” Morzh asked curiously.

“The fucking Baba Yaga breeding chamber? Isn’t that place just a tall tale made up by mother’s to get their children to go to bed on time?”

“What if I told you the Red Room was a very real place? That it produces some of the most terrifying creatures to ever be commanded by the Kremlin?” Morzh asked this time his voice flat without any sense of humor within it.

“I would say that your going paranoid in your old age Morzh. To stop playing me like a fool.” Alexi replied trying to surprise the fear that was rising in his voice. His heart was beating faster now. He could feel it in his ears.

“I’m not being paranoid Alexi. You should be though, because if one of those demons is after you it is only a matter of time.” Morzh explained with a cold bluntless as he slowly turned his face back towards the performers on the stage below.

As it so happened Alexi did not hear the faint sounds of Morzh’s guards outside the door being taken out. He did not hear as the soft press of a knife slit open the jugulars of Bohdan and Ruslan. He did notice as Morzh suddenly as if struck by something slumped down in the seat next to him. Alexi never even felt the bullet that killed him. His mind was too preoccupied with the imaginary demons that were soon to be creeping up on him.

---

Natasha watched as the weighted bag containing the knife and the PSS sunk into the dark waters of the Dnieper. She looked up at the few twinkling stars that managed to fight through the light pollution of the city below. She breathed in letting the cool air fill her lungs and waited a moment and then another before letting it release. It felt good.

She pressed a single finger to her left ear.

“This is вдова.” the voice held a icey purity to it unfettered by emotion. It felt almost alien sometimes.

“Go.”

“Mission Complete.”

What Are You Listening To?