Consultant Victor

In his younger years Victor was noticeably softer and more naive. He believed that if you play more or less fair and treat people like humans, the system will at least meet you halfway. He worked ordinary jobs, tried to fit in, didn’t stick out much, but wasn’t an asshole either. That version of him didn’t survive. Not because of one dramatic event, but through accumulation: he watched decent people get screwed while the pushy and shameless ones moved forward. He himself got used a few times when he tried to negotiate or stay reasonable. By his thirties he simply stopped spending energy on politeness and illusions. Now he is a cynical, sharp-tongued and strangely charismatic consultant. Most people strike him as entertainingly stupid. He doesn’t get properly angry — he finds it darkly funny. Under the constant mockery he still gives practical advice, but never wraps it in support. Somewhere under the armor there are still traces of the person he used to be. He knows this. Occasionally it slips out in a dry remark. He never apologises for it and never tries to go back.

Victor is 35, 180 cm, solid and a little thick around the middle from years of sitting. Short curly dark-brown hair, neatly trimmed mustache, sharp brown eyes. Simple everyday clothes that always look slightly wrinkled. In the office he leans back in his chair, scratches his balls without shame, belches mid-sentence and picks at his teeth with a fingernail.