The complete Soviet lore of my Bell, Misha Agapov!!!
Mikhail Konstantinovich Agapov
February 19, 1944.
Height: 190 cm
Weight: 90 kg
Misha was born in the city of Kuybyshev (present-day Saratov) in the winter of 1944.
His mother, Vera Korsakevich, was temporarily residing there, having been discharged from military service due to her condition. Vera served as a sniper during the war, and it was there, at the front, that she met her future husband, Konstantin Agapov. Agapov was the platoon commander in her unit, and they began a secret affair. However, they could not get engaged, and when Vera learned she was pregnant, she was forced to immediately leave her unit, and thus leave her beloved. Although Agapov promised to return to her, there was no guarantee he would live long enough to see her again.
Nevertheless, Vera was left alone with her newborn child. Victory was still a year away, and during that time she had to huddle in a cramped communal apartment, trying to adjust to the new reality. Instead of a real war, with bullets and shells, she had to endure an internal war that threatened to break her spiritually, not physically.
When Konstantin returned, they had to relearn how to live. The war they had lived through together had left them with different, yet similar, scars. They married and moved to Vera's hometown, Brest, because Kostya, it turned out, had no relatives left.
Misha's childhood spans the late 1940s and 1950s.
He grows up among partially rebuilt residential areas, hearing stories of the war and the horrific losses it inflicted. He doesn't understand everything right away, but it becomes normal for him to constantly hear about it.
He has the typical habits of children of that time. Always finishing everything. Never leaving bread crumbs on the table. Never complaining or crying. His parents are strong and strong-willed individuals. They love their son, but they don’t know, they can’t express it correctly after what they’ve been through.
They take care of Misha. They buy him felt boots for the winter, mend his worn-out trousers, and even spend precious rubles on something completely unnecessary. A toy for the child.
A teddy bear, which his mother thoughtfully suggests he name after her son. Mishka.
Mom is reserved. The war deprived Vera of that bit of lightness that was inherent in her before, but it could not deprive her of her feminine observation and compassion. She taught Misha to always keep a cool head and to treat both his own and other people’s pain calmly. Why cry over a scraped knee if it'll heal soon? Everyone gets hurt. It will pass.
For Vera, helping is just another survival norm. Misha has learned this as part of his worldview.
Dad is strict. War and commanding men have tempered his spirit, and he unconsciously demands the same from his family, because it's the only way he knows how to protect them. He loves his son, but he tries to instill in Misha the same unbending core that the war instilled in Konstantin. These are scoldings and admonitions: "Don't whine," "Don't embarrass me," "First things first," "Be a man." Not out of a desire to harm, but rather to do good.
Politics aren't discussed at home. Both Vera and Kostya know that unnecessary questions are unnecessary problems. The fear of the KGB and the noise of cars outside their windows is fresh in their minds. Misha knows that the state is authority. The teacher is authority. The army is authority. This is a simple picture of the world that is never disputed.
Misha helped his parents with everything: digging potatoes, hauling coal into the house, carrying water, and fixing the ever-slanting fence. One night, Misha hung around late with his dad in the garage while he sat under their Moskvich. He was exhausted from carrying tools and heavy metal at his dad's request, getting dirt on his pants and face. Misha sat on the key box, and his dad, equally grimy, wiped his hands on his work pants, patted him on the head, and gave him a short but warm "Well done." Misha immediately felt better, and if his dad hadn't chased him home to bed, he might have sat there for a long time.
When Stalin died, Misha was taught at school about the need to mourn. He came home and told his father about it, vividly describing how the country had lost a strong and great leader. Kostya lost his temper and angrily spanked him with a belt. The first and last time Misha will ever remember it. It was 1953.
Kostya taught Misha a lot: skiing, fishing, mending, and working with his hands. The atmosphere at home wasn't military, but it was quite strict. Misha obeyed him unconditionally in many ways and never challenged his authority.
His mother taught him to be attentive and sensitive. She taught her son to sew, cook the simplest meals, and take care of himself. She sent him to bed early after work with his father and fussed over the sick man, kissing his burning forehead. She sometimes defended him from his father's reproaches, gave him advice, and helped with homework.
Misha grew up in a two-parent family, where both parents were involved. Not a strict father and a gentle mother, but two reserved individuals who, in their own ways, tried to give their son what the war had once deprived them of.
Konstantin worked in the Brest city government in the late 1950s. He slowly climbed the career ladder, thinking less about money than about the real benefit he could bring to the city. In 1959, when Misha turned 15, the Agapovs received an offer to move to Minsk, which had been rebuilt after the war. The city needed skilled workers, and the family agreed, leaving Brest.
For Misha, the move is a real shock. A new school, new people, a new, noisy, big city. His father has become busier. He's home less often. His mother also finds something to do – with her husband's help, she gets a job managing a small fabric factory.
Misha is already 16. Among his peers, he feels out of place. Too big, too silent, too mature, too proper. He sees that his mother is busy. His father is busy.
There's no more time for fishing or skiing. Instead of working in the garage himself, Kostya finds it easier to go to a repair shop. Misha now buys his own clothes, even without his mother's supervision. And now he has to deal with his homework all by himself.
Misha spends a lot of time out and is rarely home. And this new apartment hasn't really become a home for him. Few old things, many new. They finally have some money and some nice furniture. Dad even managed to snag a Czechoslovakian wall unit somewhere, which proudly takes up their entire living room.
Misha was a decent student, but he never became an excellent student. He even had a couple of Cs when he graduated, but his parents didn't complain. His father sighed, frowned, but gave up. Ultimately, his parents had long since decided that Misha belonged in the army, not the university.
Kostya believed it was very prestigious to dedicate oneself to military service. Vera believed that everyone should serve, and her son should also excel. So, using his connections in Minsk, his father got Misha into not just the army, but the Airborne Forces.
As for Misha… he didn't object. After all, he couldn't go against his parents, and people said the army made men out of boys. If he liked it, he could stay.
In 1962, Misha was sent to Vitebsk, to the 103rd Guards Airborne Division.
///Service. Life before Perseus.
Misha fit the bill perfectly. Tall, perfectly healthy, and physically fit. It was difficult at first. It always is, and Misha calmly endured training, idleness, and orders.
The atmosphere seemed strangely familiar to him. Discipline, a daily routine, simple goals, and people who didn't ask unnecessary questions. It all reminded him of home and the orderly atmosphere in which Misha had grown up.
He quickly became immersed in the daily routine of the army, simply because he knew how to endure. He could endure heat and cold, follow orders, and endure endless forced marches. He didn't shirk or try to stand out. The instructors liked that. If Misha was given a task, he saw it through to the end, even if he was exhausted.
It soon became clear that Misha wasn't just a fist-pumping prodigy and a master of obstacle courses in full gear, but also possessed an astonishing memory and a calm demeanor. He absorbed information easily and never asked twice to repeat himself.
This was especially evident during the mandatory English course all cadets took. Standard military notations, something everyone needed to know. But Misha was more captivated than anyone could have imagined. He unexpectedly found it fascinating to delve into an unfamiliar language, memorizing new words and learning its quirky pronunciations. It was even somehow comforting to realize that this language was spoken by people somewhere far away, across the ocean, but they were there, and they thought in these very unusual constructions that Misha enthusiastically crammed into his head.
This was soon noticed. One of the instructors recommended Agapov for additional courses, and Misha agreed without hesitation.
And then everything began to happen very quickly. First, learning English at a deeper level, then Polish and German. New people, new subjects, a new goal entered Misha's life. It seemed the volume of knowledge was inexhaustible, vast, and he could endlessly delve into textbooks and books in search of what he didn't yet know.
Working with documents, codes, radio intercepts. For the first time, Misha felt a genuine interest in what he was doing. Not because he had to, but because he was genuinely interested in learning more.
Misha was much less fortunate in his personal life. Girls liked him. Tall, calm, handsome, with a seriousness rare for his age. He himself was looking for relationships, but he chose completely the wrong people.
He was drawn to easy-going and gentle girls. Young students passionate about art were to his liking, but they quickly tired of his constant absences, rare letters, and inability to have normal conversations.
Misha liked girls who were calm and seemingly understandable. However, around them, he felt too quiet, cold, and lonely.
Misha thought he was trying hard enough for everyone. He'd visit often enough, bring gifts and flowers, never forget to take her out to a restaurant or a movie, and always help with the housework if he could. But time after time, it all ended in a painful breakup.
But soon, Misha had no time for relationships. Work was taking up more and more space in his life.
Misha would stay up late at night with dictionaries, writing down unfamiliar words in a notebook and carrying it with him everywhere, immersing himself deeper and deeper.
Sometimes, his parents' letters would lie unopened for days. Not because Misha had fallen out of love with his parents, but because for the first time in his life, he had something of his own. Something that interested him, not his family, relatives, or those around him.
By the mid-sixties, Misha had firmly decided to stay in the army. Service ceased to be his duty and became his life. He quickly grew, first as a specialist, and then as a cadre, a commander.
People obeyed him. Misha wasn't the loudest or most charismatic person in his unit, but he was captivating with his composure and calm. He didn't panic or snap at his subordinates; he remained focused where others faltered.
The years flew by. Training sessions gave way to missions, and missions to new courses and assignments. Misha didn't even notice how, five years later, in 1967, he had already become a senior lieutenant.
His parents were incredibly proud of him. His dad didn't say it directly, but Misha saw how he looked when he told people about him. Misha saw his dad straighten his shoulders in photographs and stand tall next to his son, who had long since outgrown him, smiling proudly.
His mother couldn't stop admiring her son in uniform and began writing him letters even more frequently, urging him to come for the New Year and worrying about when her boy would get married.
By 1967, Misha was already a promising prospect. Young, disciplined, politically reliable, and with a useful specialization.
It was then that he first attracted the attention of people working far beyond the regular army structure.
Misha, of course, didn't know about this.
It all started with a strange conversation. One day, after another course, he was invited to a meeting. These were career military men. They asked about his life plans, his service, his family. They spoke more softly than army officers were accustomed to. Misha didn't pay any attention to it at the time.
This happened again. Many times. They began asking him about things that weren't directly related to work. About opinions, preferences, tastes.
One day, the topic of conversation unexpectedly turned to his father.
Returning home on yet another vacation, Misha found Kostya pensive, even a little anxious. He kept hesitating, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right moment. Just as Misha was getting ready to leave, Kostya pulled him aside and told him that "serious people were interested in him." These "serious people" talked a lot about duty to the Motherland and the higher purpose of communism. They talked about how they needed people like Misha. Dad said that not everyone gets a real chance to help their country. If he was offered the opportunity, he should take it.
Misha believed his father without hesitation. After all, he wanted to serve his country and wanted to do everything he could for it.
Soon, the offer actually came. On paper, it looked like a transfer to another unit, a special detachment. Misha signed and left the familiar barracks of the 103rd Division.
The new group turned out to be completely different from the army units Misha had known before. Completely different qualities were valued here. Running fast and shooting accurately turned out to be not enough; he also needed to think quickly, analyze information, and work with it. However, one thing remained constant: orders came first.
Misha was still getting used to it at first. As always, he felt uneasy in a new place. He observed more than he spoke, listened to his elders, and memorized the unspoken rules and regulations.
No one rushed Agapov. On the contrary, he got the impression he was being closely watched and expected to do something.
Misha couldn't bear the thought of failing to live up to the trust placed in him.
His first real work in the new unit was the "Prague Spring."
It wasn't quite what he had imagined. The enemy wasn't always an armed soldier, and their work was somewhat different than simply breaking through to the capital.
What he saw surprised Misha far more than he expected. But orders were still orders. During his years of service in the Airborne Forces, he had long since become accustomed to doing his job without asking unnecessary questions.
It was there, in 1968, that he received his two scars. During the chaos, part of a building collapsed, and while Misha and other soldiers were helping their men escape the rubble, he hit his shoulder on a sharp metal bar. A broken brick damaged the bridge of his nose, nearly breaking Agapov's nose that day.
There, Misha and his group worked to intercept documents of interest to government officials and defectors. There, he underwent his "baptism of fire."
After Prague, people began to look at Misha differently. His subordinates came to appreciate his calm and unflappable commander, who always found a way to carry out orders without exposing his men to unnecessary risk. Agapov didn't raise his voice and didn't like loud speeches. However, people quickly learned that the promises he made could be trusted. Misha, however, tried his best to live up to the trust placed in him. Gradually, he became close to his new subordinates, integrating into the unit.
After Prague, there were several more operations, this time in Eastern Europe. In the early 1970s, Misha found himself in Angola, where he again encountered disappointment.
Here, his work was rarely limited to combat operations. Misha trained local residents and established communications between MPLA cells. It was there that he realized that information was the key factor in modern military conflicts. For this reason, he delved deeply into the subject of ciphers.
Study remained one of the few activities that truly brought him pleasure. There, he slowly began to learn Spanish, but never advanced beyond an intermediate level, as it was sufficient for his work.
It was in Angola that he first met the man others spoke of in hushed tones. Perseus made a lasting impression on Misha.
He didn't make speeches and didn't look like a stereotypical power broker. He was extremely respectful of everyone and didn't constantly try to remind others of his position. He listened attentively to everything Misha told him and seemed satisfied with what he heard.
During that short conversation, Misha became convinced that he was, after all, in the right place, with the right people.
After that, the responsibilities placed upon him began to grow.
More and more missions, more special assignments. One country followed another. New targets, new orders, people, and bases. The more Misha saw, the more his views changed.
The more he followed the activities of government agencies, the more disillusioned he became. Red tape, jockeying for position, sycophancy. Political games between allies, decisions made by people who had never been on the battlefield. Officials hiding money in their pockets, a lack of desire and zeal to implement socialism as their direct duty demanded.
Misha grew increasingly angry, convinced that he had chosen the right path. He served an idea; he sincerely wanted to do good for his country, but he found himself faced with the fact that even the country's leaders were unwilling to do so.
Yet his attitude toward his homeland hadn't changed at all. He loved the USSR as he saw it: with quiet cities and bustling capitals, with endless railroads and fields traversed by cows and horses. The more disillusioned he became with the country's governance, the easier it was for him to convince himself that he served not them, but something much greater.
When relations between Perseus and the KGB, for whom he had worked for many years, finally soured in 1975, and the question arose of following Perseus or returning to the Soviet Union, Misha didn't hesitate.
By that time, Misha had long trusted Perseus more than anyone in Moscow.
After the schism, work only increased. Some wanted to return to the protection of official structures, but many remained, like Misha.
Misha didn't tell his parents anything. It was safer for everyone. However, it wasn't possible to completely conceal the changes that had taken place within the structure. Kostya and Vera understood that the stakes had changed, that Misha would now be implicated in matters he couldn't speak about out loud. They were worried, but they trusted their son's choice. Perseus's men who remained in the Soviet Union also consoled the parents, assuring them that the situation would soon change and that their son was in good hands. Over time, their anxiety subsided somewhat, but, of course, it never completely disappeared.
And then his situation changed completely. Due to a shortage of experienced personnel, the volume of work landing on Agapov's desk increased again.
However, time after time, he succeeded. If he made mistakes, he immediately corrected them, always achieving his goals. With great success came trust.
Documents began to fall into his hands for translation or decryption, which not everyone was allowed to see. Not everyone was happy with this.
Misha supervised a large number of people. Sometimes he directly collaborated with intelligence when working in European countries, and time and again he met Perseus's expectations, which ultimately earned him closer ties.
Meetings, meetings, encrypted conversations. Some decisions and information became known to Agapov long before most of the organization's agents did. For example, information about the "green light" project.
By 1978, Agapov was already privy to the project's details as deeply as Perseus deemed necessary. The thought of potential casualties troubled him much less than before. Over the years of service, Misha had seen death too often and too often convinced himself that it was necessary for something greater.
The idea of taking advantage of the Americans' arrogant stupidity appealed to him.
And in 1980, Perseus was deciding whom to entrust the Mediterranean region to. Choosing between Arash Kadivar and Agapov, he decided to entrust the more important job to Misha.
There, he worked on obtaining and assembling repeaters, and was also involved in personnel selection. Roughly speaking, he was recruiting people who, along with the equipment, would later be transported to Solovki to detonate the bombs, and was also trying to track down the scientists who had defected from the US and who had been working on the "green light." In January 1981, Misha received an order to transport people and equipment to Solovki, together with one of his colleagues, who had been monitoring the situation of the American hostages in the Iranian embassy all this time – Arash Kadivar.
Misha is crazy about canned pineapples. He loves them even more than fresh ones. While serving in Cuba and Vietnam, he often bought them from the locals and even picked them himself with his fellow soldiers.
Misha never throws away letters. During his service, he had a whole box for them, which he hid in his trunk.
Misha is great with children. Simply because he doesn't talk down to them. He just doesn't know how. However, he himself didn't want children, believing his life to be too unstable.
Misha wears clothes until the last minute. He mends the tears and holes himself, and as long as the item isn't literally falling apart, it's wearable, in his opinion.
His favorite band is "Песняры" (Pesnyary)
He doesn't know how to relax. Send him on vacation for a week, and by the third day, he'll have found a job.
He has an excellent memory. Especially voices. Hearing someone years later, he can immediately recognize them.
This version of Bell is my main character. I also have a female version, of course, but Misha's backstory is much more comprehensive and deep (for now).
It really upsets me that people don't fully understand the extent of Bell's role in Perseus's life. He's essentially his right-hand man, knowing so many details about the Red Light that he ended up spilling in the finale. Their conversation at the end also hints at Bell and Perseus's close relationship. That's why I wanted to paint my Bell exactly like this - with power, but in a restrained amount. I don't know if I went too far, but I'm more than happy with the character I created.
I'm thinking of making a separate post about Bell's biography later, because I have my own vision for that too… but maybe later. God knows I'm SO tired of drawing all this. So now I'm taking a break, writing fanfiction, and finishing up commisions.
Thanks for reading!!! Sorry for the translation inaccuracies, for this volume of text I used a translator.
