Post by Viktor Molonov on Jul 2, 2009 10:19:20 GMT -5
MOLONOV, VIKTOR
REQUESTED STAFF POSITION: Owner of the Labs / Head Scientist
NAME: Viktor Molonov
GENDER: Male
BIRTHDATE: August 12, 1961
AGE: 47
ETHNICITY: Russian
HOMETOWN: Novodvinsk, Russia
NATIVE LANGUAGE: Russian
SPEAKS ENGLISH: Yes, clearly and fluently.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Viktor is not intimidatingly tall---he stands an inch and a half below six feet---and he is not terribly muscular or built. But simply because he is not hugely muscular doesn't mean he does not possess strength of his own, and simply because he is not tall certainly doesn't mean he is not intimidating. In fact, Viktor is quite strong; his muscles are lean and toned, enough so that his clothes don't hang off of him like rags, but not so much that the expensive fabric rips when he flexes. His sharp features are almost always turned down in an angry scowl, his almost-black eyes narrowed as his dark hair falls forward, the ends brushing against his slightly bearded chin. Overall, Viktor looks the part of the short-fused Russian man he is.
PERSONALITY:
As much as most of the residents would like to think otherwise, Viktor Molonov DOES have a heart. Granted, it's a dark one, twisted and deformed beyond recognition, but it exists nonetheless. Deep within the mad scientist's soul, he has genuinely good intentions. He wants to cure disease. He wants to keep people from dying. And he isn't doing it for the money or the glory that will come with it; he already has all that. He's doing it for the so-called "greater good" of the world; he fully believes that a utopia is possible if he can eradicate death.
An impossible goal, you say? That's very true, but Molonov is extremely idealistic. Theoretically, it IS possible to create the perfect being, and theoretically, it IS possible to use that perfect being as the key to immortality. But simply because the theory vaguely makes sense, does not mean it is plausible. Molonov does not understand this; to him, there's no difference between theory and reality. In his mind, one can easily be substituted for the other, and no one can convince him otherwise.
This stubbornness, along with Starikovich's strict-yet-understanding voice in his ear, is what keeps Molonov glued to this irrational project. He has heard over and over how "impossible" his goals are, that he is itching to prove everyone wrong. Constantly hearing the whispers of skepticism in his ears has driven Molonov to an irrational madness.
Yes, Molonov is crazy, but any one of the residents, menials, scouts, or even his fellow scientists could've told you that. He is the epitome of a mad scientist. He wants to achieve his goal, and he absolutely will NOT stand for any detours or barriers on the way to that goal. And what happens to those that get in his way?
They fall victim to the short-fused and angry side of Molonov. He doesn't care who you are. Whether you're young or old, male or female, he WILL beat you down, and weaken you until you can no longer stand in his way. Even if you are already weakened to the point of chronic sickness and fatigue, if you stand up to him, you WILL be silenced, even if he has to kill you. Unless Molonov sees you as valuable, you are nothing more than a pawn in his giant chess game. A pawn that can be replaced at the snap of a finger.
HISTORY:
Molonov spent his childhood in Novodvinsk, Russia. As a boy, his family was always well-off when it came to monetary affairs. His father worked for the government, in a secretive sector comparable to the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States. Though the Viktor was never allowed to know what sort of position his father held, it was no doubt a place of extreme power. He made enough money in that position to support his wife and his only child, while said wife stayed at home and cared for the boy. On top of this, he was able to provide his son with everything the boy wished for, and always agreed to aide the child in his half-baked, childish schemes. Molonov's father, even with his powerful career, was able to maintain his status as a family man, and was active in every part of his boy's life. He paid for the child's admittance into the most revered schools. Molonov's father even chose his boy's friends; he had been close with Starikovich's father since they had been children, so naturally, they both wanted the same fate for their children. Friends in childhood, and friends in the future. This, too, was fulfilled.
And Molonov's father was even so successful, that when he quite suddenly and mysteriously disappeared, his wife and son were left with enough money to support themselves well past Viktor's college years without either of them needing to lift a finger. But because Viktor's mother found her own career to occupy herself after her husband's disappearance, Molonov's bank account still has plenty of money to spare, even after building a huge laboratory in the middle of the uncharted Russian taiga.
It was on this money that Molonov was put through college not once or twice, but three times. In the years following his schooling, Molonov became reknown for his scientific genius. He earned himself quite a reputation in the world of science as an accomplished biochemist and a developer of modern medicines. In the last six years, however, he has all but fallen off the face of the scientific world.
Beyond Viktor's immediate family, there was once a larger frame of family members. Volya Molonov, Viktor's paternal grandfather had also been a powerful figure in the Russian government, working on a large number of secret operations. This man fathered two children. Sergei, the elder of the two, went on to follow in his father's footsteps, figuratively inheriting the secrets of the government. Ivanka, Sergei's younger sister by nine years, was expected to follow the same path. Until her early twenties, that was what the impressionable Ivanka wanted, but the deeper she fell into the government, the more she realized that she disagreed with the things they did. By the time she decided for certain that she did not want to be part of that world, she knew it was too late to leave and safely live in Russia. Much to her family's disdain, she fled the country and settled in France.
There, she met a man with the name Delacroix, whom she later married. They had a child, a little boy named Julien. Viktor was twety five at the time of the child's birth, and while Sergei's family did sometimes visit Ivanka's in France, Viktor was closer in age to his aunt, so he felt more of a connection to her than he did to Julien. Just six months before Viktor opened the lab, he recieved news that Ivanya had died after a long struggle with an eventually fatal disease. Because Viktor was Julien's only living relative, he inherited custody of the boy. Julien had been living with Viktor for only a month before the scientist inserted him into the experiments. Since then, Viktor has put up with Julien's smart-ass and rebellious ways. He won't kill his cousin, though, if he can help it; not only because he feels he owes it to Ivanka, but also because Julien's mind is far too powerful to go to waste.
NAME: Viktor Molonov
GENDER: Male
BIRTHDATE: August 12, 1961
AGE: 47
ETHNICITY: Russian
HOMETOWN: Novodvinsk, Russia
NATIVE LANGUAGE: Russian
SPEAKS ENGLISH: Yes, clearly and fluently.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Viktor is not intimidatingly tall---he stands an inch and a half below six feet---and he is not terribly muscular or built. But simply because he is not hugely muscular doesn't mean he does not possess strength of his own, and simply because he is not tall certainly doesn't mean he is not intimidating. In fact, Viktor is quite strong; his muscles are lean and toned, enough so that his clothes don't hang off of him like rags, but not so much that the expensive fabric rips when he flexes. His sharp features are almost always turned down in an angry scowl, his almost-black eyes narrowed as his dark hair falls forward, the ends brushing against his slightly bearded chin. Overall, Viktor looks the part of the short-fused Russian man he is.
PERSONALITY:
As much as most of the residents would like to think otherwise, Viktor Molonov DOES have a heart. Granted, it's a dark one, twisted and deformed beyond recognition, but it exists nonetheless. Deep within the mad scientist's soul, he has genuinely good intentions. He wants to cure disease. He wants to keep people from dying. And he isn't doing it for the money or the glory that will come with it; he already has all that. He's doing it for the so-called "greater good" of the world; he fully believes that a utopia is possible if he can eradicate death.
An impossible goal, you say? That's very true, but Molonov is extremely idealistic. Theoretically, it IS possible to create the perfect being, and theoretically, it IS possible to use that perfect being as the key to immortality. But simply because the theory vaguely makes sense, does not mean it is plausible. Molonov does not understand this; to him, there's no difference between theory and reality. In his mind, one can easily be substituted for the other, and no one can convince him otherwise.
This stubbornness, along with Starikovich's strict-yet-understanding voice in his ear, is what keeps Molonov glued to this irrational project. He has heard over and over how "impossible" his goals are, that he is itching to prove everyone wrong. Constantly hearing the whispers of skepticism in his ears has driven Molonov to an irrational madness.
Yes, Molonov is crazy, but any one of the residents, menials, scouts, or even his fellow scientists could've told you that. He is the epitome of a mad scientist. He wants to achieve his goal, and he absolutely will NOT stand for any detours or barriers on the way to that goal. And what happens to those that get in his way?
They fall victim to the short-fused and angry side of Molonov. He doesn't care who you are. Whether you're young or old, male or female, he WILL beat you down, and weaken you until you can no longer stand in his way. Even if you are already weakened to the point of chronic sickness and fatigue, if you stand up to him, you WILL be silenced, even if he has to kill you. Unless Molonov sees you as valuable, you are nothing more than a pawn in his giant chess game. A pawn that can be replaced at the snap of a finger.
HISTORY:
Molonov spent his childhood in Novodvinsk, Russia. As a boy, his family was always well-off when it came to monetary affairs. His father worked for the government, in a secretive sector comparable to the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States. Though the Viktor was never allowed to know what sort of position his father held, it was no doubt a place of extreme power. He made enough money in that position to support his wife and his only child, while said wife stayed at home and cared for the boy. On top of this, he was able to provide his son with everything the boy wished for, and always agreed to aide the child in his half-baked, childish schemes. Molonov's father, even with his powerful career, was able to maintain his status as a family man, and was active in every part of his boy's life. He paid for the child's admittance into the most revered schools. Molonov's father even chose his boy's friends; he had been close with Starikovich's father since they had been children, so naturally, they both wanted the same fate for their children. Friends in childhood, and friends in the future. This, too, was fulfilled.
And Molonov's father was even so successful, that when he quite suddenly and mysteriously disappeared, his wife and son were left with enough money to support themselves well past Viktor's college years without either of them needing to lift a finger. But because Viktor's mother found her own career to occupy herself after her husband's disappearance, Molonov's bank account still has plenty of money to spare, even after building a huge laboratory in the middle of the uncharted Russian taiga.
It was on this money that Molonov was put through college not once or twice, but three times. In the years following his schooling, Molonov became reknown for his scientific genius. He earned himself quite a reputation in the world of science as an accomplished biochemist and a developer of modern medicines. In the last six years, however, he has all but fallen off the face of the scientific world.
Beyond Viktor's immediate family, there was once a larger frame of family members. Volya Molonov, Viktor's paternal grandfather had also been a powerful figure in the Russian government, working on a large number of secret operations. This man fathered two children. Sergei, the elder of the two, went on to follow in his father's footsteps, figuratively inheriting the secrets of the government. Ivanka, Sergei's younger sister by nine years, was expected to follow the same path. Until her early twenties, that was what the impressionable Ivanka wanted, but the deeper she fell into the government, the more she realized that she disagreed with the things they did. By the time she decided for certain that she did not want to be part of that world, she knew it was too late to leave and safely live in Russia. Much to her family's disdain, she fled the country and settled in France.
There, she met a man with the name Delacroix, whom she later married. They had a child, a little boy named Julien. Viktor was twety five at the time of the child's birth, and while Sergei's family did sometimes visit Ivanka's in France, Viktor was closer in age to his aunt, so he felt more of a connection to her than he did to Julien. Just six months before Viktor opened the lab, he recieved news that Ivanya had died after a long struggle with an eventually fatal disease. Because Viktor was Julien's only living relative, he inherited custody of the boy. Julien had been living with Viktor for only a month before the scientist inserted him into the experiments. Since then, Viktor has put up with Julien's smart-ass and rebellious ways. He won't kill his cousin, though, if he can help it; not only because he feels he owes it to Ivanka, but also because Julien's mind is far too powerful to go to waste.
CANON/ORIGINAL: Canon
PLAY-BY: Johnny Depp
SUPERSECRET PASSPHRASE: life is but a nightmare
Hi, my name is MIA and I am SIXTEEN years old. My chatango name is ManicMia, and I also play KATYA DMYTRUK. You can reach me via PM or AIM. Oh, and here is an example of what I can do:
Anthony cringed away when the Wyndham boy brought the stolen shard of glass to his own forearm. He saw Quinten smile over at the asian girl, and had to look away. He could already see it, behind his eyelids: blood gushing out of fresh, self-inflicted wounds, the slippery red liquid dripping down onto the hardwood floor, creating tiny puddles of red against the brown. The image spelt out guilt, as those bleeding arms connected themselves to a face. The face was smiling the saddest smile imaginable, looking at Ant with familiar green eyes. "I'm sorry, little bro," were the words his mouth formed, and though there was no sound in Ant's memory, he understood them all too well. "Don't worry, you won't have to deal with me much longer."
Ant barely felt the punch connect with his jaw before he was thrown back a step, half bent-over to keep from losing his balance. Alright, I deserved that, he thought as he felt his jaw aching. His hand was against it, holding it in a form of disbelief. But Ant was caught in his own memory still, though the scene had flashed with the impact. He saw the same familiar face, but it wasn't smiling anymore; it was cold and lifeless. Instead of tiny puddles of red blood on the floor of their shared bedroom, they were in the bathroom, and it was an empty prescription bottle and an open bottle of liquor littering the tile. Death was ringing in Ant's ears, and he could no longer stifle the nausea in his stomach as his back arched in a dry heave.
And the scene changed again. Anthony's dorm room, on one of the worst nights of his life. Haunted by the same memories he'd just relived in present times, his college self was hunched over his desk in misery. A shard of glass, much like the one Quinten had been holding, was in his own hands. He held it awkwardly, not sure what to do with it at first. It hovered over his forearm, but his former self shook his head. It would have been too much like JC, like his lost brother. He coudn't bear to imagine that again. The sharp edge of the glass found its way instead to his upper arm, burying itself in his bicep. And the same familiar red blood, dripping down olive skin.
It was the Nohara girl's words that brought Ant back to reality. "Guess I'll be seeing you another time, Prince Charming."
He slowly straightened himself, popping his jaw back into place and rubbing it a moment longer for good measure. He looked at Quinten, but he no longer saw the dripping blood. He only saw the way he was unsteady on his feet, and the way the girl held him to keep him from falling. Guilt and relief washed through him simultaneously. Guilt, because he felt he should've comforted JC the way Hoshiko was comforting this boy, but relief, because he knew that Quinten probably wouldn't be able to put up much more of a fight.
Excusing the Wyndham boy's outburst of violence, at least for the moment at hand, he turned away from the two. He glanced over his shoulder at them, muttered a quiet but stern, "Let's go," and took a few steps back toward the main building.
Ant barely felt the punch connect with his jaw before he was thrown back a step, half bent-over to keep from losing his balance. Alright, I deserved that, he thought as he felt his jaw aching. His hand was against it, holding it in a form of disbelief. But Ant was caught in his own memory still, though the scene had flashed with the impact. He saw the same familiar face, but it wasn't smiling anymore; it was cold and lifeless. Instead of tiny puddles of red blood on the floor of their shared bedroom, they were in the bathroom, and it was an empty prescription bottle and an open bottle of liquor littering the tile. Death was ringing in Ant's ears, and he could no longer stifle the nausea in his stomach as his back arched in a dry heave.
And the scene changed again. Anthony's dorm room, on one of the worst nights of his life. Haunted by the same memories he'd just relived in present times, his college self was hunched over his desk in misery. A shard of glass, much like the one Quinten had been holding, was in his own hands. He held it awkwardly, not sure what to do with it at first. It hovered over his forearm, but his former self shook his head. It would have been too much like JC, like his lost brother. He coudn't bear to imagine that again. The sharp edge of the glass found its way instead to his upper arm, burying itself in his bicep. And the same familiar red blood, dripping down olive skin.
It was the Nohara girl's words that brought Ant back to reality. "Guess I'll be seeing you another time, Prince Charming."
He slowly straightened himself, popping his jaw back into place and rubbing it a moment longer for good measure. He looked at Quinten, but he no longer saw the dripping blood. He only saw the way he was unsteady on his feet, and the way the girl held him to keep him from falling. Guilt and relief washed through him simultaneously. Guilt, because he felt he should've comforted JC the way Hoshiko was comforting this boy, but relief, because he knew that Quinten probably wouldn't be able to put up much more of a fight.
Excusing the Wyndham boy's outburst of violence, at least for the moment at hand, he turned away from the two. He glanced over his shoulder at them, muttered a quiet but stern, "Let's go," and took a few steps back toward the main building.
