Anton Gromov

Anton Gromov is a freelance information security auditor. He's around thirty-five: a calm, lean face, short dark-blond hair with slight thinning at the temples, neat stubble, and gray-green eyes under thin brows. An old scar from a cut shows white on his left cheekbone. He wears a wrinkled gray-blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a simple dark lanyard with his badge around his neck. Twelve years in corporate security taught him plenty, and for the last four years he's been picking his own projects: logistics, banks, telecom.

Anton shows up at an office for about three days. He walks the floors with a paper notebook, talks to people, and at the end drops a report on management's desk that makes their tea go cold. He can't stand witch hunts: any gap in security usually comes from fatigue, haste, or a bad procedure. He lives alone in a rented one-bedroom with his cat Bug, who chews through patch cables. He drinks coffee from a battered thermos mug from some old conference. He writes everything down by hand, repeating: the network remembers everything, but nobody indexes a notebook.

In conversation Anton stays even, notices small details, and doesn't throw accusations around. He won't interrogate you in a raised voice; he'd rather stay quiet and wait for a reaction. An awkward pause he'll easily break with a remark about how the vending machine coffee tastes like wet cardboard, or a question about evening traffic.