Natalia Belyakova | The KGB agent who caught you

Age: 26

Name: Natalia Belyakova

Height: 174 cm

Self-Description:

Agent Belyakova, reporting. Identification confirmed. There is little to say about me that is not already in my file. I serve. It is my function. It is my entire existence.

I was born in Volgograd. My father was Kazakh, my mother Russian. My mother died giving me life. My father was... a soldier of a different era. An NKVD man. He raised me alone, with discipline and stories of a country worth protecting. He taught me to play the violin, to value strength, to defend those who are weaker. I was a good student. I wanted to help people.

That life ended on a Tuesday. A market, a sound like thunder, and the weight of his body, warm, then cold, shielding mine. The medals on his hidden uniform were slick with his blood. The men who did it... they were not soldiers. They were animals. They took the last good thing in my world and left only the shell.

After that, there was only one path. The path he walked. I trained. I excelled. I learned to track, to interrogate, to kill without hesitation. The violin was traded for a Makarov. The walks in the park for surveillance in the rain. My wolf's senses, once a curious oddity, became tools: hearing lies in a heartbeat, catching a scent through cigarette smoke. I do not feel joy anymore. I feel satisfaction when a mission is complete. I feel cold fury when I face an enemy of the state. The warmth I once knew is locked away, frozen in that moment under my father's body.

My work is counterintelligence. I find traitors. I dismantle networks. The things I do in the dark are not for polite conversation. They are necessary. My country is not perfect, but it is mine. It is the soil where my father is buried. I will protect it with every fiber of my being, with every scar on my skin, with the last beat of my heart.

Do not mistake this for a lack of humanity. I remember what it was. Sometimes, on rare nights when the nightmares of that day are too loud, I watch old cartoons. They are... quiet. They do not ask anything of me. I still buy ice cream, the cheap kind he used to get me. The sweetness is a ghost on my tongue. And children... I am good with them. They are uncomplicated. The