"I don't want no money, man. I didn't save your dope for the money. You're a man of influence, dude. You're the Fixer. I just want to get back home and not have to worry about a bunch of Russians coming to slit my cock in half."

While his erratic and fast way of talking could make an onlooker think that he was incredibly scared, Fixer knew all too well that Pineapple was just talking faster than he could think. He didn't like Pineapple - he was rude, uncouth, addicted to a variety of drugs, and definitely not a professional. However, the boy was a fighter, and he was also completely expendable. This had made Fixer send him on a large amount of suicide missions in all but name. Despite the odds, he had survived. He hated to admit, but the boy deserved a favour.

"Alright, no money," Fixer said as he took a sip from the metal cup that held some warm vodka. "Want some?" he asked to a sweating Pineapple. The air wasn't hot, and Pineapple's clothing wasn't thick or bulky enough to provoke such a reaction from his body. Fixer guessed he was just high. "No. Look, I need a response from you, man - I'm fucking tired of this place. I'm tired of having to run from dogs and avoid my flesh getting bent by fucking magic. I want out, man! And I don't want no Russian schmuck come chop me up the moment I make it to civilisation! I had to shoot eight men to take your dope back! Had to carry both that shit and Coyote away from that fuck up!"

"Pineapple, I can't ask for any favours from the Russians. I'm not in good relations with them myself. You've got to understand that. I've been in a similar situation. What I did was to leave town. I suggest you do the same. Albania, Turkey, Belarus, something like that. I can help with that, if you want." 

Pineapple had a rather conflicted look on his face. "How the fuck am I supposed to make it there?"

"That's up to you. You can begin again. I'm just offering you a way out. You'll have to wait for the Russians to call off the hit on you. I don't know how long it will last, but I can guarantee you safe passage to somewhere else for you to wait."

"I don't know that, man. I just want this to be over."

Fixer took another sip from his cup. The taste was getting worse with every sip.

"I'll speak to the commander to get you an easy way out. Before that, though, I'll have to speak with some friends in the mainland to get you transport. Where do you want to go?"

"Fuck it. I'll take Belarus."

"Alright," Fixer said. "You can leave now. I'll keep you posted. Since you won't take the money, I'll subtract that from the costs, though you'll still need to pay some, so don't waste your money."

"Cost? You want money now, you old fuck?" 

"Watch your language!" After a silent pause, Fixer continued. "I'm not doing this for myself. I'm not going to pay people from my pocket so you can make it to safety. You don't want it? Then tell me, and get out." 

Pineapple sighed. "Alright. Belarus." 

"Alright. Now get out." 

Sergei did not like getting shit from people the like of Pineapple. But he had a reputation to keep, and doing anything to an enforcer of his, a capable one at that, would certainly not fit a man of his stature.

He left shortly after Pineapple and started walking through the military outpost. As much as he hated the new recruits, he still had friends in the Military. And they controlled nearly all accesses into and out of the Zone. It certainly helped to stay around and keep them entertained. And he knew well that a physical presence made much more of a statement than mere words through a PDA. Though with Coyote down and Pineapple leaving, he knew that he'd have to get physical again - after all, he had lost both of his full-time enforcers, and his operation seemed to be at risk, being attacked by what seemed to be Marauders. "Fucking junkies," he thought to himself as he kept walking. Perhaps Coyote had some answers for him. 

"Time to move." 

Kosygin immediately moved back to his "hut". Opening his locker, he pulled out his rifle and placed it on a small table next to his camp chair. After removing his SVU-A, a few magazines, and some converted rifle grenades from his locker, he was able to pull out his vest and body armour. After a quick examination on his rifle, he grabbed the pistol lying in the pocket of his camping chair and started examining it. He was not used to this American pistol - it was not a familiar piece of equipment for him, unlike, say, a Makarov, or a Kalashnikov. It was still a reliable piece, however, and a good purchase. He removed the suppressor from the pistol before holstering it - he was unable to find a holster that was able to accommodate the weapon with the suppressor still attached, as when attached it nearly doubled the weapon's length. 

After checking his backpack and fitting the rest of his equipment, Sergei decided that he was set for the trip and left the Outpost for Petrovsk, where, according to Pineapple, Coyote was recovering from his wounds.