Name: Pavel Vissarionovich Kasarov<br/>Post: Under Secretary of the United Nations Security Forces.<br/>Age: 30<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Sexuality: Heterosexual.<br/>Background: 10 years in Spetsnaz, Special Operations training in Interrogation.<br/><br/>Appearance: Pavel is always well dressed and rarely goes anywhere without wearing a suit and his favorite BMW M series. He is 6’0 with a military haircut that he preferred when he left the service. He is relatively fit but hides many scars on his chest from the lengthy SERE training he went through where he was taught to survive and fight against enemy interrogation.<br/>Personality. Direct, but caring to those he holds dear. He can be very charming and prefers to use wit and cunning to get what he wants as opposed to weapons and violence.<br/><br/>Life History: Pavel grew up in St Petersburg, Russia. He was instilled at a young age, the values of patriotism and duty, meaning he would do anything to protect and further the interests of his country. He joined the Nationalist Youth League at 13 wanting to be a soldier. When he turned 18, he joined the Army and scored so high that he was able to get to Special Forces training after a year in the regular army.<br/>He excelled at hand to hand combat and was an expert marksman. He grew interested in extracting information from people and specialized in Interrogation and Torture. However, he prefers to use words and manipulation to get what he wants.<br/><br/>(https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwiooaTsj5XnAhUBL1AKHZ0tDsIQjRx6BAgBEAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Ftwitter.com%2F_richardmadden&psig=AOvVaw2Rix8DbQmtR18Jrl0y_SkX&ust=1579710613751552)<br/><br/>First post:<br/><br/>It was raining when Pavel got out of his car and walked towards the looming office building. The air smelled faintly of dandelions and Pavel was irritated. He had just had his car detailed and now it was raining. The BMW was a status symbol; something he took pride in. He had rewarded himself with it when he was given his current post. As he walked towards the building, he remarked to himself how gloomy it had gotten in the past 24 hours. He opened the door, when two of his aides rushed to greet him. “Sir, we’ve had an incident in sector 214 Experiment 124a has shown levels of active radioactive isotopes. She evaded house arrest and assaulted two police officers from our reports!” Pavel sighed as he headed for the stairs. It was a habit; he never took the elevator to go up the 10 floors to his office. “Hand me the dossier Ivan, I will review it with my morning coffee”<br/><br/>He reached his office and carefully hung his suit jacket on the hook by the door. On this floor, portraits of the leader were everywhere. Pavel was beholden to only him. He was the dictators voice and right-hand man. No one had seen the dictator except for Pavel. He sat down and Ivan handed him a red folder marked “124A” Pavel was always interested in how they categorized people as objects. He had heard and read the classified documents about the experiments, but he had not had the opportunity to take part. He skimmed the reports and the dossier and looked up sipping his coffee slowly. “Prepare a cage” he said firmly. “it seems that we have been much too lenient on this girl by letting her reside at home. I will keep her here until we can come to some sort of an arrangement or she calms down.” Ivan nodded and left the room to have a cage prepared. Pavel liked cages. It was his way of monitoring subjects close by so that he could get to know them. To study them.<br/><br/>He looked at his watch and smiled. “I have an appointment with this Mai. Come along and bring a gown and restraints. She will be returning here for interrogation and then imprisonment until we can figure out a solution to her problem. I will not have innocent civilians killed” With that, he returned to his car. He drove towards Sector 214, which was one of the lower middle-class neighborhoods. You could see the difference and transition as he drove from the unique upper-class suburbs, which were carefully manicured and the middle class and finally to the “sectors” as the government called them. They were basically dwellings for the people who survived experimentation. As he arrived at Mai’s home, he gestured for the rest of his team to stay put until he needed them. He parked his car and approached the house carefully. Ringing the doorbell, his watch beeped, indicating he was right on time.<br/>