Age: 21
Birthplace: Chernobyl
Nickname: Nazik
Reborn god: Nergal, Babylonian god of plague, disease, and death
Powers: Channeler & Whitherer

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Whitherer

The dream world was something really didn't understand.  It was a dream, but it wasn't.  At the same time it was very real and could have an effect on those in it.  Marta could go there, and wasn't supposed to go without Elyse to go with her, but he knew she was testing her boundaries.  More than that, she was testing her abilities.  One such excursion had led her to a cave in the woods surrounding Moscow.  The only thing he remembered her saying about it was that she didn't like it and neither had Splash.

Marta hadn't gone in, and Ricky was grateful for that. But whatever was there, Marta thought wasn't actually in the dream.  She felt the evil there was in the real world and the dream affected it.  She said it was a reflection in the real world.  Honestly, some monster had probably holed up there.

Ricky knew that he probably shouldn't come alone, but he wasn't sure who he could really trust in the Atharim - especially since he was Marta's guardian. He probably could have asked Marisol, but he didn't want to bother her with this.  Especially if it was something from his end. She'd been brought in pretty quickly, and even if she seemed to be handling it well, he didn't want her to be in danger.  That was a strange thought.  He knew she could handle herself. He had resolved that today was just to investigate and find out if their was a threat.  Then he'd work out a plan to neutralize it if there was anything there.  When it came to the dream, Ricky trusted Marta, but she could also embellish a bit.  Marta had been able to figure out approximately where the cave would be in the real world, by once again entering the dream, finding it and then coming back out.  So Ricky moved through the forest alone in the Moscow winter, because the girl he took care of thought there was something dangerous out here.  One thing he missed about Mexico was the heat.  This place was cold, and he wasn't used to it.  An investigation.  That would be it.

It was long after midnight when Kaelan first stumbled across the article, some obscure piece of fringe research buried in the unindexed corner of a forgotten academic database. The screen glowed pale blue in the dark of his bedroom, casting a cadaverous light on his face as he read, lips parted in breathless silence.

Radiotrophic fungi, the paper claimed. Black, spore-heavy, and thriving on ionizing radiation. It grew in the husks of things long dead: reactor walls, collapsed turbines, and as this paper described, within the hollowed, bone-white corridors of Chernobyl’s sarcophagus. A fungus that consumed death itself and called it nourishment.

Kaelan leaned forward, fingers twitching over the holographic keyboard. Photos accompanied the study—false-color imaging of a thick, pitch-colored growth pushing out of the reactor chamber like coagulated tar, fibrous and slick, pulsing with a hideous vibrancy. The idea gripped him with talon-like fingers:

What if it could change things?

What if it merged with the local wildlife, rabbits, foxes, wolves, and mutated them, not merely into sickly, broken things, but into creatures enhanced, biologically rewritten by radiation and rot?

He envisioned it then, eyes glassy: a new species born from decay, black-eyed and deathless. A fusion of natural instinct and the mutagenic dark.

And somewhere deep in that treacherous mind of his, a plan began to form.

It took longer than he liked to secure clearance, even with Paragon’s pull, a web of forged credentials, scientific white lies, and whispered promises of published papers in reputable journals. He presented himself as a benign researcher specializing in adaptive mycology and post-nuclear ecology. The oversight committee—tired, bureaucratic, distracted—approved the proposal with a stamp that echoed in his memory like a coffin lid closing.

Still, he could not shake the sensation that excited him, crossing into something the earth had long buried for good reason.

The flight to Kyiv was long, uneventful, and drenched in fog. He spent it staring out the window with a growing anticipation blooming within him.

The next morning, an old military van carried him north through the withered countryside, where entire towns lay in ossified stillness, abandoned decades ago, their windows blind and broken, their doors hanging open like the mouths of dead animals.

Chernobyl emerged not as a place, but as a wound in the land.

They arrived at the edge of the exclusion zone just after dusk. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and a dull, bruised twilight cloaked the trees. Forests here grew too fast, too thick. Some trees had bark split open like infected flesh. Others leaned at strange angles, warped by the invisible hand of radiation. Birds did not sing. The silence was alive, vibrating beneath the skin.

Kaelan stepped from the vehicle, his boots crunching over broken glass and soil that smelled faintly metallic. His breath misted in the cold air, though the weather was unseasonably warm.

A dosimeter hung at his hip, ticking softly like a heartbeat.

He stared at the horizon, where the reactor dome loomed over the trees—ancient, vast, and shrouded in scaffolding. A modern sarcophagus encased the old one, but Kaelan swore the very structure breathed.

A handler, a man in a gray suit with sunken eyes and a voice like paper, escorted him through the outer gates. “You will remain within Zone One,” the man said. “You are not to approach the core or enter restricted tunnels. Do not remove your mask. Do not touch the wildlife. Do not speak to the locals.”

“Locals?” Kaelan asked, surprised.

The man did not answer.

They passed a field where flowers grew too large, their petals black-veined, slick with morning dew even though it was nearly evening. A fox watched him from the edge of the brush, its eyes glassy and wrong.

Kaelan clutched the strap of his pack tighter. Somewhere in it was the sterile container meant for fungal samples.

You came here for samples, he reminded himself, but a twinge of nerves began to creep up his spine.

But Chernobyl had its own voice, and even now it whispered to him from the reactor’s shadow. The black fungus was waiting. It always had been.

And he had come, like a pilgrim to a rotten altar, eager to partake in its communion.

But tomorrow, with the sun, he would explore more. In the meantime, he spent the night in the shack of a shelter.


((This thread is open if anyone is interested.))

Emily thanked Ana for the information. That was one less thing to worry about anyway. Upon arrival at the hopital she found the detective with two policeman and made it though their barrier after showing ID. Rachel was there, but she also wasn’t. Not in a way Emily could recognize anyways. The detective filled her in. No drugs as expected. Emily was fine with that. She wanted Rachel out of here now. 

Rachel seemed okay when she signed her out, but then started freaking out in the car on the way. She constantly muttered about needing Lucio, and even though she was concerned about it. She was more pissed off. Pissed off that someone would hurt her sister and pissed off at herself for not picking up on it faster. She had thought Rachel’s odd behavior was just her coping with the break up. 

She arrived at the location Ana had sent her and got out of the car, summoning her magic. If Pirozzi showed up, he’d face her wrath. For now though the most important thing to do would be to get Rachel inside. Hopefully people were ready - she might need help if Rachel started to freak out again.

Cruz was boring. There were so many men around that could feed their desires, so many who had the money and weren't children. It wouldn't be hard to manipulate one into taking them in. And even if they didn't want to Esper could handle it for them. It was almost as good as done.

They just had to find the right one.

Roza looked around. So many choices.

There was a man at the far end of the bar -- alone, though he looked like he was waiting for someone. While that was doable, it might cause more problems down the line.

A woman at the opposite end of the bar could do, but she seemed to be eyeing the bartender so probably not a good match, even though it would work either way, Esper had that way about her.  

Roza didn't care about willing, she cared about what was good for her and Esper -- they were all that mattered now.  The Carnival be damned. Though the words did sting a little when she thought them. She tried not to miss home. She knew it was for the best. But now she had to find just the write mark.

Character Age: 23


Origin: Moscow


Occupation: Paramedic/Firefighter


Psychological: Level-headed in times of stress, well disciplined, generally cheerful


Physical: Dirty Blonde hair, 5’9” tall, Blue Eyes


Supernatural Powers: Prophet (through dreams and brief glimpses into the near future - see bio for more information), Dreamwalker


Biography:


Early Life:


Anita Raikov was born in 2020 and has a twin brother named Adrian.  As a child she was very intelligent and showed an aptitude and love for science.  She loved watching doctor shows and at one point wanted to become a doctor, but a field trip to a fire department changed her mind.  She got to meet with the paramedics and had an immediate connection with firefighter/paramedic, Cor Halcyon, and decided she would much rather be a paramedic than a doctor. At age sixteen, she joined the Moscow Fire Department’s explorer program, focusing on medical side of things.


Training:


At eighteen, she officially joined the Moscow Fire Department.  Within her first year she was trained as a firefighter and an EMT Basic.  By her second year, she had obtained her paramedic’s license.  Despite her firefighter training, she works primarily on the ambulance as that is her preference and where her natural skills lie. On fire calls, she generally assists with medical duties such as attending to patients or doing firefighter rehab. 


Her prophetic abilities often come into play on calls.  She will occasionally see glimpses of coming events minutes into the future.  It has helped her save lives.  She cannot control these glimpses.  Her colleagues attribute this to her skill and good intuition.


Dreaming:


At fourteen, Anita began having strange dreams.  She didn’t understand them, but knew them to be different from dreams she had before. She would see strange images, or people she hadn’t met yet, that she would meet later.  


She has no clue about the World of Dreams, even though she has been in it, but has come to an understanding that her strange dreams show glimpses of things to come (see notable prophecies for more explanation). All her dream prophecies appear in the world of dreams.


Prophecy:


Her prophetic nature manifests itself in two forms - through dreams and through momentary glimpses into the future.  She has no control over either of them - they just happen.  


Notable Prophecies:


Ascendancy’s Monument (Dream): Anita had a vision of Nikolai Brandon standing over a monument, arms outstretched. Several days later, the Ascendancy announced channeling to the world and built the monument in her dreams.  This would be the dream that let her know she had prophetic dreams.


Adrian’s Spark (Dream): When her twin brother, Adrian, sparked and got the channeling sickness, she had a dream of her brother going to Kallisti and meeting a man there, she saw this man teaching her brother to control his power. The next morning she sent him a text telling him to go to Kallisti.  Adrian now works security at Kallisti. (the man in her vision is Nox)


A Patient With A Collapsed Lung (Glimpse) - Anita was working a patient in the ambulance, and things were going well.  The patient was stable, and would be ready for hand off.  She then saw a vision of the patient beginning to breathe hard and showing signs of a collapsed lung.  Acting on instinct, she told her crew they needed to intubate.  The crew didn’t have enough time to question as moments later, what she saw began to occur.  Her quick reaction saved the patients life.

Sky was feeding Nox the footage outside of the Domovoi. He hadn't been back since he returned to Moscow, not that there had been all that much time between arriving home after his three month tour to being kidnapped and this very moment. It hadn't been long at all and a metric ton of shit had gone down.

Nox watched as the rewound footage finally came across the elusive man escaping custody. How foolish the officers had been, they clearly hadn't worked with the Monster Squad at all. They would have known to heed whatever warning Dorian gave him. Either that or Dorian's reputation had truly been tarnished in the IA. Dorian was cleared of all wrong doing and he was back on the case -- which was good but Dorian was not a hunter, he was a cop and he had to follow the law.  The escape couldn't have been better planned. 

There was no way that they'd get this man on a death sentence for cohesion. It was hardly serious enough, and putting him in a prison was a no go, he'd be out or running the thing in a matter of weeks.

Nox found the direction he bolted in. "Sky follow him, see if you can can catch up to him.  I'm going to talk to Dorian."

Dorian was inside the precinct and several of his fellow officers greeted Nox. "Good to see you. Can't wait to see what you'll teach us next."

"We got a sentient on the lose, not the friendly kind like Alex. More like her father -- her brother actually."

((This thread is meant to take place the morning of "We dont want to anger morven" ))


Jay said it again before she could even ask. “I’m fine.”

He always said it first—cutting her off at the pass, like it was a script they both memorized. But Natalie never looked at him with pity. Not once. Her gaze was something else entirely. Grim determination. Like she believed if she stared hard enough, if she willed it strongly enough, she could patch the fractures together and force him back into sanity.

"I’m not insane", he told himself, looking in the bathroom mirror. "Just had a moment."

"A moment? Hell, Rasputin had a moment. What you had was Chernobyl with a side of sarin gas."

"It wasn’t a meltdown", he argued with himself. "Just... a weak spot. Brittle. Tape it up. Duct tape. Good as new." He grimaced as the razor knicked a chunk out of his jaw. 

"Yeah? All the duct tape in the world won’t glue back together what you broke, dude."

"Yeah, well—fuck you."

"Fuck you."

He tapped the razor against the edge of the sink. Too hard. The plastic handle snapped and the blade went skittering across the tile with a sound like teeth breaking.

He gripped the counter. Hung his head. Breathed deep. Tried to shut the screaming part of his brain down—the part that ran reruns of the worst nights on full volume.

This was how mornings went now. Cold. Regimented. Fractured. A battle before the sun even cleared the horizon.

In the kitchen, he fastened his uniform jacket between bites of toast and mouthfuls of coffee. He eyed the bourbon bottle on the top shelf and, for a second, actually pictured it. A splash in the mug. Liquid courage. Liquid forgetfulness. 

But no. Not today. Not yet.

“I’ll be at the Garden today,” he said when Natalie entered. She was barefoot, wrapped in a robe she never seemed to realize made her look like home.

He hadn’t left since Jared’s wedding. Just stayed. Moved in like fog. They hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t needed to. She never asked questions, and he never offered more than the daily itinerary—where he was headed, what he thought he’d do. A performance of normalcy, and she never called him out on how much it all smelled like bullshit.

Adrian had gone quiet after their last encounter. Eerily quiet. Jay told himself that meant he’d finally given up. Whatever fantasy he’d been entertaining, whatever plan had involved Jay being part of it. So far, no search parties. No demands. Not even a text.

Until they noticed he wasn’t showing up for that particular duty, he was going to do exactly what he wanted. Even if it wasn’t anything at all.

“Supposed to meet some ambassador or diplomat or somebody,” he muttered, rinsing his mug and leaving it in the sink like a breadcrumb trail back to his version of stability.

He passed her on the way out. “Talk to you later. Be good.”

And then, soft, almost automatic, he kissed her cheek.

Like he was still the man she thought he was.