Blonde, broad-shouldered, and standing just a hair under 5'9" in flats, Anastasjia Kovac tends to drag around descriptors like "imposing" and "Valkyrian."  She's athletic, more striking than pretty, with a nose that's been broken and re-set more than once and an asymmetrical set of similarly hard-used cheekbones.  The post-apocalyptic diet plan has pared off the spare twenty pounds she once carried as camouflage for her well-toned musculature.  Her voice is contralto with a hint of a smoker's rasp and, when she's low on sleep or patience, a faint undertone of Eastern Europe.

Ana typically wears jeans, an oversized black cable-knit sweater under a sage green U.S. Marine Corps flight jacket, and scuffed combat boots.  She shrouds her green eyes behind a pair of vintage Ray-Ban Aviators and pulls her ponytail through the back of a stained and frayed Chicago Cubs baseball cap.  An equally battered Omega Speedmaster peeks from under her cuff.  A subdued green American flag is velcroed to her right shoulder but otherwise she wears no identifying marks or rank insignia.

When she's expecting a fight, she reluctantly changes to woodland camo BDUs, picks up an SR-25, and throws on a black plate carrier with a mismatched assortment of woodland camo and OD pouches.  A medium-framed revolver rides in a chest holster next to a Pakistani reproduction of a Fairbairn-Sykes commando dagger.  A light patrol pack completes the combat load.  The haft of a Louisville Slugger, wrapped in black grip tape, protrudes over her right shoulder.