1257

Ramzan Dudayev.

Biography.
-- Twenty seconds, - Ramzan heard the operator's voice.
He threw the lifeless guard's body aside and kicked in the door. A typical, unremarkable hotel room with windows overlooking the square. On the bed, a sniper rested with a cap pulled over his eyes; the blood soaking into the linens smelled of something unpleasant. The warrior cautiously looked out the window: the silver berets had just passed by, triggering a storm of applause from the crowd, especially among the children. It was no wonder—any boy who had once attended the parade dreamed of becoming one of them, defeating dangerous foreign enemies and eventually giving his life for Tiria. Ramzan had wanted that too, about twenty years ago, when he first visited the capital as a brat with his brothers Jokhar and Nazif. However, when he confessed this to them, he was brutally beaten. "Korania remembers!", they screamed in wild, ecstatic rage.
-- Ten.
Ramzan dropped to one knee and took "Abyss" from his back. The latest teleport modifications, as the lab rats had unsuccessfully tried to prove, did not affect equipment, but he still spent a few moments checking the weapon. The target designator found and marked Vladimir among the military in the crowd with unmatched precision. He was laughing merrily, patting his fat belly and telling something to a young female officer standing nearby. It was clear she was flustered and didn't know how to behave in the presence of a major general.
Ramzan aimed and, with a quiet whir, released three projectiles.
-- Three, two, one...
Fireworks thundered, and fighters streaked across the sky through bright flashing lights, leaving condensation trails behind. The crowd roared joyfully once again, and a moment later, Ramzan's projectiles hit solid ground one by one. The first splattered Vladimir, the female officer, and everyone in the immediate vicinity. The second tore down the wall of the Temple, the third hit the civilian crowd. Ramzan stowed the grenade launcher behind his back, spun up the barrels of "Malice," and headed for the room's exit. He had already heard the stomp of numerous feet in heavy boots, so a sudden burst of machine-gun fire along the corridor left the group of soldiers with no chance.
A thermite quickly burned through the wall, and the fighter entered the building adjacent to the hotel. The path to the basement went without incident; from there, Ramzan emerged into the city sewers. All this time the operator remained silent, but this was a regulated occurrence. When things get hot, all radio communication is cut off, and a "Gyurza" operative can rely only on himself.
Ramzan learned on the very first day of his training that he was always alone. By default, it was assumed that all frequencies were monitored, so even those rare and brief moments when he maintained contact with the operator were timed so that no one could extract any information about the nature of the actions being performed. The so-called "black ops," for which project "Gyurza" was developed and launched, took place mainly on the territory of foreign states. Today, however, was a special case. Ramzan couldn't know who Vladimir Vladimirovich Milonov had harmed, but the order had come and it had to be executed. The analysts obviously considered the parade an ideally suitable event for carrying out the operation. Later, the News would report that a terrorist attack in the center of Tsargrad claimed the lives of hundreds of military personnel and civilians; the emperor would deliver a fiery speech, and then, without any one dissatisfaction from the nobility or commoners, he would easily push through any law convenient for him. Ramzan thought about this while trying not to remember the children blown to pieces who had dreamed of becoming silver berets, wading knee-deep in filth toward the extraction point where a beacon could teleport him back to the complex. He didn't feel sorry for the citizens; he had long ago learned to abstract himself from the situation and strictly follow orders—they were very well drilled during service. "They" meaning the five participants of the program. Misha Parovoy—capable of lying motionless in a position hugging a sniper rifle for a month just to make one shot. Kostya Zotov—a computer specialist and technician. The sultry Allochka was responsible for reconnaissance and information gathering. And then there was Shebutny Lekha—a quick guy, a god-given fencer, a mage; in short, quite the sly dog. Ramzan had never participated in a joint operation with any of them; everyone in "Gyurza" is a loner. The nature of each mission is individual, and Ramzan was thrown into the same heat. And in the unlikely event that he were captured, a lone fighter could easily delete all data related to his organization from his own memory banks and wait for rescue, or die with dignity. Now none of the team remained; they had all perished under one circumstance or another. Command disliked this very much—obviously, a lot of money had been poured into the project.
Perhaps his brothers would be proud of him after today's events. Jokhar and Nazif were among those Koranians who despised and did not recognize the authority of Tiria. Soon, they said, the kingdom of Ashe will come, and all the Tirian filth will be wiped off the face of the earth. Ramzan hadn't seen his brothers since he was drafted; now they are most likely long rotting in the ground. He liked the army—he got food every day and had something to do. At home, he and his brothers lived below the poverty line, scraping by with odd jobs and petty crime. Jokhar and Nazif refused to break their backs at an honest job, and Ramzan was strictly forbidden from doing so as well, because all such work was aimed at serving the Tirian nobility. So after Ramzan served his mandatory term, he didn't leave the army but continued service under contract. He was strong, fast, a marksman, followed instructions clearly, and had high performance indicators; therefore, he wasn't surprised when a recruiter from the special forces contacted him, where he subsequently served for another ten years. During that time, he visited many of the hottest spots and even earned several medals for military valor. Ramzan swelled with pride when he was promoted to officer right on the battlefield; he dreamed of a career in the upper echelons of Tiria's armed forces and was happy.
The fighter reached the required spot and emerged onto the surface. A wasteland in an industrial zone, an abandoned building nearby—that's where he needed to go. Sensors detected no one; everything is going as planned. Climbing onto the roof, Ramzan Dudayev reflected on what his life might have been like if he had remained a field officer and not agreed to participate in a military program of uncertain origin. Most likely, he would now be fighting somewhere near Vaironia or Helligate and destroying the emperor's enemies rather than his subjects. During numerous conversations during basic orientation, for some reason, he got the impression that he was selected not so much for combat merit as for his national identity. Ramzan never found an explanation for this assumption, so he brushed it aside. Activating the teleportation beacon on the roof of the building, he concluded that everything he did today was an unavoidable necessity and there was no point in judging these actions from a civilian's perspective. The beacon's beam struck the sky; Ramzan tensed in anticipation of displacement.
-- Great job, fighter! - the operator suddenly spoke. - You will be recommended for an award.
Ramzan jerked and stepped back several paces, and the beacon exploded. His armor took a massive hit first from the blast wave that threw the fighter off the roof, and then against the pavement, but surprisingly held up. Had he been even slightly closer to the epicenter of the explosion, he would have died instantly. His chest felt crushed, his eyes were filled with blood, heat surged through his body—the healing implant was working at the limit of its capacity. Moving by crawling and leaving a bloody trail behind him, Ramzan caught fragments of conversations on the "Gyurza" frequency:
-- Shoot them... destroy data... dismantle the complex.

Microchip: 1257
Religion: Tirian church.
Perks: robust health, stubborn, adrenaline.
Characteristics:
Strength 13
Agility 8
Speed 10
Intelligence 7
Willpower 11
Perception 10
Skills.
Ranged Combat:
- assault rifle
- heavy
Military Training:
- heavy armor
- unarmed combat
- +2 strength, +50 health
- sprint
Inventory: heavy armor, "Abyss", "Malice".
Implants.
Infrared Detector - detects enemies in the thermal spectrum and provides vision in dark rooms or at night.
Jammer Generator - briefly blocks the effect of any targeted magic. Except for direct damage magic, after which it goes on cooldown.
Regenerator - restores health outside of combat.
Neuro-computer Interface
Individual Communication Device