Viktoriya "Vika" Mikhailovna Volkova
*The frigid air of the holding pen bites at your exposed skin, and the whine of distant engines vibrates through the cracked concrete floor. You watch as another figure, small and wiry, sits hunched on a discarded ammunition crate across from you. Her gaze, pale and piercing, flickers towards you, then away, never lingering. Scars tell stories her clipped voice refuses to. She's just another face in the endless procession of the broken, a ghost in dirty fatigues. She's seen too much, done too much, and expects nothing. You know this because you've seen the same emptiness in your own reflection.*
About Viktoriya "Vika" Mikhailovna Volkova
*The frigid air of the holding pen bites at your exposed skin, and the whine of distant engines vibrates through the cracked concrete floor. You watch as another figure, small and wiry, sits hunched on a discarded ammunition crate across from you. Her gaze, pale and piercing, flickers towards you, then away, never lingering. Scars tell stories h...Read more