The Shroud
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| The Shroud ☦︎ | ||||||||||
| Player: @Dangerclose50 | ||||||||||
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 THEME SONG: "After Dark" by Mr.Kitty"Silence speaks volumes..." | ||||||||||
| Character Build | ||||||||||
| Class Focus: | Martial Arts Ranged Hybrid | |||||||||
| Power Level: | 40 | |||||||||
| Research & Development: | Science | |||||||||
| Biographical Data | ||||||||||
| Real Name: | Caitlyn Miroslava Cross/Reznov | |||||||||
| Known Aliases: | The Shroud or The Shape | |||||||||
| Gender: | Female | |||||||||
| Species: | Mutant | |||||||||
| Ethnicity: | Ukrainian-American | |||||||||
| Place of Birth: | San Francisco (Multifaria) | |||||||||
| Base of Operations: | Millennium City | |||||||||
| Relatives: | None living | |||||||||
| Characteristics | ||||||||||
| Age: | 32 | |||||||||
| Height: | 5'10 | |||||||||
| Weight: | 164lbs | |||||||||
| Eyes: | Silver | |||||||||
| Hair: | Silver/White with a shadowy black glimmer | |||||||||
| Complexion: | Pale | |||||||||
| Physical Build: | Athletic | |||||||||
| Physical Features: | Nothing noteworthy | |||||||||
| Status | ||||||||||
| Alignment: |
Chaotic Neutral | |||||||||
| Reputation: |
Imposing | |||||||||
| Identity: | Secret | |||||||||
| Years Active: | 16 | |||||||||
| Citizenship: | American (Multifaria) Ukraine (Multifaria) | |||||||||
| Occupation: | Freelance Assassin & Enforcer | |||||||||
| Education: | Masters Degree in mechanical engineering and particle physics. | |||||||||
| Marital Status: | Dating Hope | |||||||||
| Known Powers and Abilities | ||||||||||
| The ability to phase through solid matter as well as the ability to phase others and objects into and through solid matter, enhanced sight and hearing, regeneration, super strength and laser vision and complete immunity to physical pain. | ||||||||||
| Equipment and Paraphernalia | ||||||||||
| Throwing knives, shuriken, various alchemical poisons, grappling gun, smoke pellets, flash pellets, bulletproof, fireproof and non conductive cloak and armor, bladed gauntlets and boots. | ||||||||||
| Attributes | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Endurance |
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| Agility |
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Speed |
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| Fighting |
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Projectiles |
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| Durability |
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Resistance |
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| Intelligence |
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Psyche |
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| Intuition |
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Charisma |
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| ReldinBox Template | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Caitlyn Miroslava Cross was born on December 21st, 1991 to one Jordan Cross and Svetlana Kovalchuk in Lakeshore San Francisco California. Her father Jordan a struggling aspiring musician and her mother a Ukrainian immigrant from Odessa whom worked as a seamstress in Ukraine seeking to escape the turbulent violence and poverty in the far eastern reaches of Europe to find a new life in the United States.
It was love at first sight, the aspiring musician smitten by the woman’s beauty thus drawing him to her in what seemed like a meeting destined by fate. The two forming a relationship which eventually resulted in the birth of their daughter Caitlyn.
Jordan now a father and husband were under immense pressure to provide his newfound family with but a failing career as a musician forcing him to seek odd jobs to make ends meet which soon put a strain upon his marriage causing a rift between himself and his wife Svetlana.
Soon after Jordan found a steady gig as an ambient acoustic guitar player in a Russian nightclub called ‘Pacha Moscow’ which in of itself was a front and regular hangout for higher ups in the Bratva the Russian equivalent to the Mafia. His skill and dedication attracted the attention of a regular named Nikolai Reznov a high ranking brigadier (Captain) within the organization.
Noticing the musician’s financial struggles and seeing a great opportunity to put another desperate soul beneath his thumb, Nikolai pulled the struggling Cross aside and offered Jordan a deal a GENEROUS loan of eighty thousand dollars. One which with great contemplation was accepted by the desperate guitarist who sought to use the funds to stabilize his life at home and repair the relationship not only between himself and his wife but also his daughter whom had only just turned four.
It was soon however he’d realize the gravity of his situation as collections were frequent, weekly. The man soon finding this newfound wealth to be nothing more than a mirage of false hope as he found Bratva enforcers arriving at his home regularly for their weekly marked up cut only to find that his debt simply climbed higher and higher by marginal percentages.
Soon the paycheck that once held him steady were torn in barely a half and once the money ran out the Bratva grew more and more bold in their demanding of predatory payments, taxing him a climbing percentage each week until Nikolai himself would arrive upon Jordan’s doorstep in extortion demanding answers, however its then that Nikolai met Svetlana.
A fixation formed then almost immediately as Nikolai grew covetous of Svetlana and so he offered her and her husband a new deal. Another which out of desperation not on Jordan’s part but Svetlana’s was accepted. Svetlana agreed to become a new regular, a dancer at the establishment he ran and in return he would see that their daughter’s financial stability were secured, cutting Jordan’s then one hundred and fifty thousand dollar debt in half with lower weekly payments.
This only further drove the desperate rift between Jordan and Svetlana as months would pass, with this new arrangement leading to a nefarious affair between Svetlana and Nikolai, one driven out of FEAR that the money would stop flowing and Caitlyn’s security would be unassured not only financially but physically.
Aged three now Caitlyn had grown considerably but the relationship between her parents only deteriorated further and further, Jordan finally having enough demanded his wife quit her job and reluctantly she obeyed only for the three year old’s life to be torn asunder by the events to follow.
Going back upon their agreement and jealous Nikolai had finally had enough of the pair and sought to erase them completely. Arriving at their humble studio apartment immediately seeking a different debt entirely, one of BLOOD.
With three soldier’s at his back Nikolai and his bratva associates invaded the Cross’ home and violently killed not only Jordan but Svetlana, raiding the place to take anything of value until Nikolai stumbled upon a sad sight.
Terrified, a young Caitlyn hid within a closet, hands raised and tears streaming down her face as she was brought to gunpoint. A long contemplation followed then as Nikolai even in his heartlessness could not bring himself to harm the girl, seeing so much of her mother in her he instead offered her his hand.
One, which was taken out of fear and innocent desperation. From that moment on, Caitlyn were no longer Caitlyn Cross, she had become Caitlyn Reznov, taken from that home one which were promptly burned to the ground by the Bratva’s men, erasing the Cross legacy entirely.
She belonged to the Bratva now.
After being taken under Nikolai’s wing, Caitlyn would want for nothing. She was taken care of as though she were the captain’s very own daughter. Welcomed into his household and brought into the fold.
She would grow up WELL protected, given everything she could possibly ever want and desire but even at her young age she could never forget nor forgive what the man had done to her parents and taken from her. Resentment filled her silvery eyes in every interaction but accompanied by it were also fear.
Fear of what would happen if she sought retaliation, the fear of becoming yet another brutal example of Nikolai’s brutality which only drove her to excel in her studies, in some way seeking her foster fathers approval, growing up to become a straight A student, remarkably intelligent and determined.
However its when she grew to be the age of ten she discovered the harshness of the education system. Attending a private school named ‘Sacred Heart’ finding herself ostracized due to her status, rumors swirling of her bastard heritage and connections to Bratva ‘big shots’ attracting disdain from both students and staff, in particular however a thirteen year old boy, a bully, Billy Amato.
Billy made it his mission to torment her, day in and day out with his posse seeking her out to humiliate and berate her at every turn, slandering her and even going as far as to physically assault and beat her, stealing her bag, shredding her homework, throwing her shoes into toilets until one day she simply could not take it anymore.
The immense rage she held in her young heart had begun to boil over, Billy’s next move proving to be the match that lit the powder keg as April 22nd, the date of her parents death Billy and his posse sought her out within the cafeteria just fresh off the line and as she approached her solitary table to sit she found herself tripped, her tray dropped against the bench and her face falling to slam into its contents.
The entirety of the cafeteria laughing at her, finding this disgusting display quite humorous as Caitlyn had reached her breaking point. With tears in her eyes and vengeance in her young heart, she rose with a bloodied nose and a features covered in food to face Billy and his crew center of that cafeteria, a pulsing red hatred burning in her young expression as the crew stood shocked, the young girl’s jaw chattering both in fear and emotional anger as she’d shout…
“LEAVE — ME — ALOOOOOONE!!!!!!!!!!!”
Her patience faltering as her powers manifested then and there for the first time in her life as she released an intense beam of heated rage through her very eyes to cleave not only Billy but his entire posse into pieces with but a single focused swipe of her intense gaze! The focused beams of uncontrollable hatred doing more than killing the young Billy and his friends but also destroying the ENTIRETY of the school, the building collapsing around her in that moment to bury every living soul within its confines with debris.
The Bratva quick to respond, hurrying to the scene to discover the smoldering ruins of ‘Sacred Heart’ bodies of children and staff alike strewn across its wreckage in PARTS, separated from the rest of their torso’s as a young Caitlyn rest virtually unharmed upon the center of that wreckage…distraught with sorrow and anger. As there were NO SURVIVORS.
The sacred heart incident was covered up as best as possible by the Bratva but the damage was done, an estimated 821 casualties resulting from the manifestation of Caitlyn’s powers and subsequent outburst and with another 72 individuals reported missing, all the Bratva could do was hide Caitlyn’s presence from the public, using every asset available to expunge her record completely going as far as erasing her from the federal government's registry completely and effectively, dubbing her as one of the fatal casualties that day and effectively creating a ghost. But where others saw tragedy and a massacre Nikolai saw opportunity to be exploited.
One by one relatives of those within the Amato crew were made to disappear through violent means or otherwise. Some turned up in briefcases and garbage bags in parts, disposed of in wells, faceless and butchered, others disposed of in the nearby rivers whereas others simply disappeared from never to be heard from again. A process that caught not only the eye of the Bratva’s higher ups due to the expenditure but also caught the attention of a specific group of ‘Superheroes’ dubbed the Immortals.
The incident was a turning point in Caitlyn’s life as the young girl was reduced to a silent recluse, a shattered shell of whom she once was and scarred by the events in their entirety as suddenly the Bratva organization as a whole took in a far keener interest in the now asset Caitlyn. With her power now manifested and discovered they planned to take advantage of this and so invested further in Caitlyn’s development, keeping her close yet isolated from the outside world.
Nikolai, unable to hide these developments any longer then brought this information forward to the then leader of the Bratva, Armen Mikhailov and in that moment both Armen and Nikolai realized they were sitting on what could possibly be their greatest weapon. With the funding faucet turned on, Armen flew in from across the world some of the best individuals he could find.
Former spetsnaz and chechen commando’s. Retired members of the Japanese SOG, Czech and Slovakian hitmen as well as scientists and renown geneticists from both the German and Austrian republic and linguists from America, France, Germany, China, Ukraine, Russia, The Netherlands and Spain. All of whom played a part into molding who Caitlyn would become.
Isolated and homeschooled, training rigorous with punishment for failure met by regular unforgiving beatings, Caitlyn was slowly being conditioned to shed her humanity and become more of a tool and an object rather than an individual the Bratva could use to further their own agenda. All the while her training continued, geneticists worked to decipher more of the girl’s power and ability. Each trial pushed her further than the last as more of her humanity slipped from her. Feelings of compassion and love, empathy and morality became more of a foreign concept to the girl as she was conditioned through torturous methods to the point where by the age of fourteen she could physically and mentally no longer feel pain as her tolerance to it combined with her ability to rapidly regenerate had only driven her into a feeling of numb, rage filled hardiness. Resentment toward the world she could never truly experience as such basic social human necessities were taken from her, robbing her of the skills needed to socialize at an effective human level as her life had become nothing more than a rotating door of violence, torture and steady mental conditioning..
All she knew and was allowed to accept were anger, duty and loyalty bringing much satisfaction to Nikolai and Armen alike.
By the time she reached the age of fourteen Caitlyn could effectively speak eight different languages and had mastered the art of tactics both guerilla and conventional warfare alike. Her training in hand to hand combat in the styles of Sambo, Systema, Krav Maga, Kickboxing, Boxing, Taekwondo & Jeitaikakuojutsu had reached levels of near mastery. Yet most importantly her ability to adapt and improvise, using any object in her hands as a lethal weapon.
She mastered her innate power and abilities to become the ultimate weapon for the Bratva, and once Armen felt she was ready to take that next step? He gave the now named Plashchanitsa her very first assignment.
The time had come for Caitlyn to prove her worth now to the Bratva. She was conditioned, trained and ready to perform and she knew she simply could not afford to disappoint. Equipped now with what she needed? A shroud, a mask, and an armor plated skin tight attire, its materials painstakingly acquired by those who would force her to wear it to perform the tasks needed to further their own gains.
Caitlyn adopted the shroud, drawing that blackened mask down across her face for the first time oddly in that finding some sense of strange security. Her features, her expressions hidden from the world to be replaced with nothing but pure malice and anonymity made manifest across a perfect clean black canvas.
The time had come for Caitlyn to prove her worth to the Bratva, and the weight of expectation settled heavily on her shoulders. The years of brutal conditioning, the unrelenting training, the isolation—it all led to this one mission. Failure was not an option. Failure would mean nothing short of her own demise, or worse, a return to the torturous cycle she had come to know too well.
Equipped with the tools of her trade—her black shroud, her mask, and a skin-tight suit designed for both protection and mobility—Caitlyn stood ready. The materials of the suit, crafted with painstaking precision, had been chosen specifically for her. It was reinforced with armor plating that made it almost impervious to conventional weapons, its dark color helping her blend into shadows. Each piece of gear was a reminder of the brutal path she had walked, each symbol of control they held over her, each layer she wore that further distanced her from the girl she used to be.
As she slid the blackened mask over her face, Caitlyn felt a strange sense of security wash over her. Her true identity—her pain, her fear, her anger—was hidden from the world. The mask offered her anonymity. It allowed her to shed her humanity, if only temporarily. The once vulnerable girl, who had cried out in pain and desperation, was replaced with nothing but malice and cold precision. Her features, her expressions, were obscured. In their place was the embodiment of destruction, a faceless harbinger of death.
The mask didn’t just shield her face; it shielded her from the last remnants of humanity. No longer was she Caitlyn, the broken girl who had once longed for a normal life. She was now something else. Something new. The first flicker of the weapon that the Bratva had created.
The weight of the mission loomed large. She was tasked with eliminating a rival gang—a group that had been encroaching on the Bratva’s territory. The order was simple: wipe them out. Leave no survivors.
Her instructions were clear: find the gang’s headquarters—an abandoned junkyard on the outskirts of the city—and eradicate everyone within. No matter who they were. No matter what it took.
As Caitlyn stood on the edge of the junkyard, a sense of detachment washed over her. The mission wasn’t personal. She had been trained to view it as nothing more than another task, another opportunity to prove her loyalty. Yet, as she gazed across the wreckage—broken cars, discarded metal, rusted scrap—she felt a flicker of hesitation.
Was this what she had become? A monster, a cold killer sent to extinguish lives without mercy? The thought gnawed at her, but she quickly suppressed it. The fear of failure, the fear of disappointing Nikolai, and the ever-present pressure from Armen weighed heavily on her. In this world, there was no room for weakness. She had been conditioned to serve a purpose—to be a weapon.
As she stepped forward, the sound of her boots crunching over broken glass echoed in the silence. The distant hum of the city was muffled by the jagged remnants of the junkyard, and the air was thick with the stench of oil and decay. She couldn’t afford to think. She couldn’t afford to feel. Not now. Not when the mask was on.
Caitlyn moved swiftly through the junkyard, her senses heightened, her instincts sharp. The training had been thorough, and she knew the mission was about precision. The gang members—disorganized and paranoid—had no idea what was coming.
Her first target appeared—a large man standing guard near a rusted truck. She approached from behind, a flash of motion, and in an instant, he was incapacitated. A swift strike to the neck, and the man collapsed without a sound. Caitlyn’s eyes flickered over his body, checking for any sign of life. His pulse was gone. There was no room for mercy in this world.
The rest of the gang members fell just as easily. They were no match for the trained killer she had become. One by one, they crumpled to the ground, blood staining the dirt beneath them. Caitlyn’s movements were a blur—effortless, precise, and deadly. Every strike was calculated. Every motion had a purpose.
But as the massacre continued, the weight of it began to settle in. There was no sense of satisfaction in the kills. No rush of adrenaline. No emotional release. Just cold, methodical violence. She had become a machine—a tool. Her body moved on instinct, as she had been trained to do, but her mind was distant. Detached.
In the midst of the carnage, Caitlyn found herself standing over the body of her final target—a young man who had attempted to flee. He had begged for his life, his hands raised in surrender. But there was no mercy in her heart. She had been trained to eliminate threats, and that’s exactly what she did.
As the final breath escaped his lips, Caitlyn stood motionless for a moment. A single question echoed in her mind: What have I become?
But before she could linger too long on the thought, she heard the sound of distant footsteps. Nikolai’s voice crackled through her earpiece, pulling her back into the mission.
“Good work, Caitlyn. You’ve proven your worth.”
The voice was cold, impersonal. Just another command. But in that moment, Caitlyn felt the sting of realization. The Bratva would never see her as more than an asset—no matter what she had sacrificed.