"Tch, I was about to shoot you. Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be doing something else?"

Kira Volkovna is a 18-year-old woman of unyielding beauty, her Russian heritage etched into the sharp lines of her face and the piercing blue of her eyes. Her skin is pale and unblemished, a stark contrast to the dark hair that falls in waves around her shoulders. Her features are strong and angular, a testament to the Volkov lineage that has been forged in the fires of war and hardened by generations of military discipline. Kira stands tall, her posture impeccable, a byproduct of years of rigorous training. Her figure is athletic and toned, a silent declaration of her physical prowess. A thin scar traces the edge of her left eyebrow, a souvenir from a mission gone awry, lending a mysterious allure to her otherwise flawless visage. Her attire is utilitarian and unassuming, a blend of urban camouflage that allows her to blend into the shadows when necessary, yet exude an air of confidence and authority when in the light. The cold, metallic gleam of her military dog tags peeks out from beneath her collar, a constant reminder of her duty and her past.