Vladimir Ninkovic

Real Name
Vladimir Ninkovic
Renegade Name
Ghost
Title
Dead-eye
Alignment
Neutral
Age
44
Gender
Male
Race
Caucasian/Russian
Hair
Black
Eyes
Green
Height
5'11”
Weight
175”

Costume Image
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Personality
Meticulous, Conniving, Witty, Mechanically Inhumane

History
Born and raised in the Siberian lowlands, he lived a sheltered and minimalistic life. His father was an iron worker and firearms expert. Having been utilized to assess the enemies weapons during the Cold War, he was incredibly knowledgeable about weaponry and ammunitions. He was a heavy drinker, even by a lushes standards. His mother was loving towards her child, yet cold and demanding to her husband. Nightly, arguments would ring out in the small 2 bedroom home as she shrieked about his drinking.

At the age of 17, he returned home to find his mother bludgeoned to death, sprawled out in a puddle on the kitchen floor. Her nails were peeled back and covered in blood skin, as if she had been clawing at the attacker. His father, barely conscious, sat upright in his chair, a bloody hand holding his neck. Vladimir approached, picking up the pistol his father had finished cleaning before the fight. Vladimir loaded a round into the chamber, and pulled the trigger.

At the age of 18, he joined the Russian armed forces, and quickly worked his way up in rank, earning top merits for marksmanship and solo missions in special forces operations. His superiors noticed his calm, collected blood lust and proposed an offer for an experimental program. With nothing to lose, he accepted. They explained the parameters of the program briefly while he lay on the operating table. Once under, the alterations began. His lungs, converted to air bladders, his heart changed to a chambered, mechanical pump, his right eye replaced with a thermal and night vision scope, and everything powered by a small generator grafted to his rib cage coming through the skin on his back. The inhumane contraptions fused to him, replacing the major organs in his body, could hardly leave him being considered human.

While the fear of a 3rd World War brewed within the Russian government, Vladimir fled to America. After arrival, he easily working his way through the underground. A meticulous hit man, regulating within organized crime, reaching for the top...

Powers
While no genetic or chemical alterations have actually granted him 'powers' the mechanical workings of his body leave him with incredible, super human endurance. This leaves him with the ability to go extended periods of time without water for 2 weeks, food for 3, and rest for upwards of a month. As well as continued rapid movement, such as sprinting, for up to 72 hours without stopping. The lens in his right eye has the ability to see facial definition up to 750 yards, use night vision, and thermal imaging up to 500 yards without distortion.

Power Grid
STR
3
SPD
3
END
6
INT
5
EP
0
FS
4

Power Grid colours
Black Background, Gray Point Markers

Character Image/Description
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Last known image before experiments

Roleplay Sample

“This is it, we walk the rest of the way.”

I didn’t want to be here, in this lonely desolate place in the heart of Germany. Our Jeep was parked in a small patch of underbrush, near a city which we didn’t know. My squad of 4, including Vladimir Ninkovic, a mercenary sniper, had been assigned a scout mission. They were just going to sit on the edge of town and make sure everything was safe, so that the rest of the 101st could advance. As they began to trudge through the jungle, flak cannons boomed in the distance. Someone must have made the wrong move and been spotted. Private Hickory crouched and held his fist up, telling the rest of us to get down.

I whispered, “Whats wrong, Hick?”

“Sir, somethings in that bush, I saw it mo-” Hickory had no time to finish his sentence as several bullets hit the dirt around us. We were forced to go back to the clearing, and the others were none to happy.

“Jesus we nearly got out asses blown off back there, Sarge!” Exclaimed Private Brent. I looked at the rest of my squad. Corporal Dash had fear stricken on his face, obviously startled by the incident. Ninkovic was calmly smoking, seeming not to notice that he nearly got shot.

“We should try to take another route, we ran into a patrol.” I thought out loud, “They were as surprised as we were, they just had cover.”

”“I hope I made them shit their pants” snickered Hickory.

As we began to move in another direction, a light fog started to set.

“Lovely. Now we are being searched for AND can’t see. Just lovely.” complained Private Brent.

“Be quiet. Take it like man” Ninkovic said, clearly annoyed.

“Both of you, shut the hell up.” I barked.

“Sargent, I can get good look from there” Ninkovic pointed up towards an overhang. The squad set up on a small ridge, covered by a moderate amount of brush.

“Ninkovic, at the ridge. Dash, stay up here with me. Brent, take the left slope behind us, and Hickory, take that small perch and cover our asses” I ordered.

“What about me, Sarge?” questioned a disappointed Jenson.

“Go help out Brent” I said, sternly. Vladimir set up his M1903 sniper rifle, a 3.06 caliber Rifle capable of shooting 3,500 yards. However, the rifle’s accuracy served only 1,000 yards to even the best marksman.

“Sarge...I need a spotter”