[h1]Russia[/h1] [h2]Perm[/h2] Though legs of numb jelly are not the best to walk on, it was granted that even mastery of bed-tired legs would come to bare control. In the late of night Jun shuffled about upstairs. Slowly working his muscles and getting them to move as he wanted. The cold numbness that had gripped his lethargic muscles ebbing to a dull throb. He could place one foot before the other, and eventually get dressed. His clothes were sparse and thin. Filled with their own fair share of holes that left his skin and scars exposed. Though for over-top, one of the house inhabitants had donated their own clothes to wear over top his chaffed and singed outfit. And that was all he had left. Padding himself down the terrifying realization that he was effectively naked came upon him. It spoke the cold uncomforting words of reality in his ears and left him to his own fear. He had no coat, and he had no gun. Not even a sword, a knife, or basic food supplies to carry him on. All of those were gone, missing in some way or another. He found and figured himself stranded and alone somewhere in Russia. He wasn't alone though. Not yet. And with his legs recovered from their sleepy numbness he took the daring adventure down the stairs of the house. The stillness of late-night had rendered all things to slumber in a deep mortuary calm. So much so that the rattle of the pads of mice in the ceiling echoed like foot falls in a temple hall. And there was among the eccentric clawing of mice in the attic a certain human noise. Something that was not asleep in this late hour. It was a something that grew louder as Jun forced himself down the stairs. At the bottom of the landing Jun stepped out to a part of the house he had not had the careful moments to see behind the gawking faces of children and youths as he was wrestled up the stairs. It had been a moment in his tenure that brewed an intense discomfort from everyone present. Something commanded with the fluid skill of the young doctor Alexandrov. The home carried a shady sort of faded luxury. A luxury though that was of overabundance, but one of comfort. But in the years of abandonment and poor management that glory it once had faded back. The cracks in the walls and peels in the plaster spoke of the same retiring pride as present among the rest of Russia. The crayon and marker drawings of the wall – both born juvenile innocence and adolescent angst – straddled the same space as printed roses in the stark dichotomy of contrasts that became all the more apparent in Russia after the czar's violent passing; the juvenile pursuit of color and pride of identity having now matured when the failures of their once youthful era came to light. It had matured the and galvanized the Russian people far faster than many Europeans would have like to experience, and spun them into their middle years before they knew what happened of their younger days. And Russia's newest generation would have to bear witness to this before any change could happen. Jun's feet wobbled the moment they touched the carpeted floor, unsure where to bend and he swayed on his feet to recover balance as he tipped towards the dining room, where the dozens of chairs sat tightly packed around a dark oaken table, stripped of a varnished shine. In the dim green light of a gas lantern a long shadow cast itself across the table and onto the wall. Stumbling into the room, Shu spoke: “I was wondering how long you'd stop stumbling around.” he looked over his shoulder as he fingered a bottle of beer across a faux-marble counter-top. Alongside him a battered olive-green lantern burned bright. Its harsh light glowed on every surface and threw sharp bladed shadows against everything else. “If I can, I think I'll be leaving.” Jun said. “I realize that.” nodded Shu, “Come sit though – or stand – but don't be heading out just yet.” he invited dryly, looking up at him. In the dark wells of his eyes Jun couldn't tell if Shu was bordering on the edge of intoxication, or the slow languid pace of his voice was legitimate pained loss. But he obliged him all the same, walking to along the counter where he leaned up at its edge. In the lamp's lime-light Shu's face glowed pale and wraith-like. He frowned like a corpse as he starred into the smoldering gas-light. His hands idly playing with the long neck of the brown bottle. “I think the solace I might be able to take these days is China is on the move.” he opened softly, “The latest news has them on the other side of Vladivostok. The Republican army is in chaos and someone's shooting up the capital itself. I don't know if it's China or someone in the Mafiya taking advantage of the current political state to exert himself. All I know for certain is everything passed Tyumen is completely dark.” “What sort of dark?” Jun asked. “Radio dark, broadcast dark. I wouldn't be surprised if the lights went out. Power can already be sketchy here in Perm, more since oil and gas production was slimmed down and diverted to military use. I have my cards on our brothers being the reason for the Republican East seemingly falling off the face of the world. “It's scary, being on the other-side of the war curtain. You spend so much time on our side and in the loop everything becomes comfortable. But truth be told I don't know where we're going to start bombing Perm, and that scares the shit out of me.” Shu shivered and he took a swig from the bottle of beer. Jun could understand, and knew he wasn't the only one being isolated here. “I don't know if you ever told me why you were in Perm or not. Did you?” he asked. “I don't believe I did.” answered Jun. “Did you ever want to say?” “Chasing the Mafiya. I'm not going to elaborate.” “Well I guess that's how it happens.” Shu sighed, “But I suppose that's what someone wills. Although I don't know how well with only one person on the job. Do you got back up?” “Just me.” Jun answered, “But tell me, what's up with the doctor?” “Peter?” said Shu, “Oh, he's a local. I think this house was connected to him or a relative at some point. I never got into it, he just let me and my partner take up residence here. Now we all live here as his tenants.” “Tenants? So does he collect rent?” “Oh hardly, it's just what he calls us when the city comes to wonder. They stop asking at that, and I redirect them to him if they get me. Same goes for the rest of the kids. “But Peter, he's got some spark by design that wants him to do something positive. I might say he may have supported Dimitriov before he went ape shit or whatever drove that man. But since then he got disenfranchised with the government's policies, and that's where I found him in his life. “China was his next model of inspiration. I assume he ate up what the NPN puts out. I don't know. Fuck I sound cynical about us, all of us now.” groaned Shu as he lowered his head into his arms. “So was collecting a bunch of kids part of your original plan?” Jun inquired. He leaned from one foot of the other, kicking one against the floor to wake the muscles back up as he put his weight on the other. His hands planted on the counter for support. “Not initially, no. But it evolved into it.” Shu told him, “We were to put up a network so locals might see China in a better light. Or get some demographic that'd favor us. We weren't going to be silent on the matter, but we weren't certainly going to be telling people we were IB. Our cover was a fictitious charity group out of China looking to simply help up. No one would shoot at charity: that's how we built it to interpret the orders.” “But your partner gets killed all the same.” “And now I'm stuck holding the weight and no where else to go with it.” Shu bemoaned in a mournful tone, “The project isn't gone, but it's certainly not going anywhere. “I just want an escape. I want out. I want to be recalled and go back home to Hainan! “You don't realize how nice warm beaches are until you're removed from them, and frozen in a ghetto. “But Peter, he's a good man. He does what he can and tries to keep us funded. We all work together to help each other out. There's not much for school but the older ones help the younger in their studies. From time-to-time I offer informal Chinese lessons. The youngest here is eight and she can count to twenty confidently.” “Eight? What happens for that to happen?” Jun inquired. Shu needed to let it go, by the way he held himself and the low, soft, agitated tone. He hovered somewhere near being a bereft mourner, and his clear disposition was becoming bleak and scary. “Parents die. Municipality and country doesn't really have a child support network. There's no adoption system in play and no foster service. What does exist is poor and underfunded and they prioritize based on class more than anything. And what ultimately happens then as I've found is they simply get the kids out of the nation to Spain, Germany, or America.” “Sounds dire.” “It is...” Shu said with drifting words. He lapsed into silence as he turned to look into the light of the lantern. “I suppose you want to go.” he said again. “I need some gear.” Jun said. “Thought so much, look in the cupboard under the sink.” Shu invited, pointing a weighty finger towards the corner of the room. Under a porcelain wash basin was a simple hand-carved cupboard door. Jun opened that up and rifled in the harsh darkness, pulling out a heavy package wrapped in cloth. He pulled it out. Wrapped in a tight bundle by twine was the coat of an IB agent. Placing it on the table Jun unrolled it. Revealed to the lantern light among the embrace of the heavy black fabric gleamed the familiar handgun of IB service. Though grimy with the chrome finish scratched deep in more than many places it lay on a bed of spare clothes alongside a box of bullets. “I don't know if any of the spare clothes will fit you, but it's the best I got left of him.” Shu said, in reference to his former partner, “I got all his pertinent gear to turn back in if I get home, his knife namely. But it shouldn't be hard to excuse the absence of his fire-arm. “Just turn it back into the Xianjing headquarters when you get back to China for me.” “All of this?” Jun exclaimed, looking down. “Of fucking course.” Shu barked, “I'm not going to use it. And you have better use of it than I. “Just as a fair warning though: at least one shirt has the exit and entry wounds of his death. He never wore the coat except in Winter. And Summer in Russia can be shockingly humid and warm, so I wouldn't wear the coat. “Unless you can get a horse head, I wouldn't really think of wearing the coat. Use it as a blanket.” he rambled dryly and distantly, “And one other thing...” Reaching into his pockets he rummaged around. With a satisfied grunt he smiled, and placed on the table a pill bottle. “Peter had to jump through some intense hoops. I'd say he's more scary than me at the smuggling business to get these.” he pushed the bottle across the table. And though in Russian, Jun could tell what it was: naloxone. “Medication?” “I don't know how much doctors back home order you to take regularly to treat your condition. But Peter got a hold of it and told me to give it to you when you leave. But to offer the warning: be discriminate when or if you take any. You maybe have enough for a weak and certainly popping some right now will summon all the hurt of your injuries and you being bed-ridden for so long at once. If your body doesn't properly heal, then it won't be pleasant.” “I'll be sure to keep that in mind...” Jun wondered, as he picked up the bottle and turning it over in his hands. Watching the deeply silhouetted pills against the then orange-filtered lamp-light. Jun nodded as he popped open the main cylinder of the hand-gun, loading in fresh brass-encased bullets from the musty cardboard box. It wasn't well kept, but that was only in appearance. And each smooth pass of the brass against the walls of their new home brought a new relaxed sort of pleasure to Jun's ears. “... And one more thing...” Shu started up again, voice restrained by hesitation, “I suppose I should give you a name, someone you can go to for support. And maybe give you a new stepping stone on your mission; however insane it is. “Yu Quan is the leading agent serving in the Russian south, in the steppe north of the Caucus. Word is: he and his partner contacted a Chinese expat community that fled home during the Revolution hoping to find someone in Russia who'd hear their pleas and rush to restore the Qing when they fell. No one listened, but they stayed. “Now, I- uh... Don't know the condition of what's going on there.” he added in frustration wrapping his hands around the neck of the beer bottle, “So it could be anything. But there's been a surge of Cossacks entering the region from Ukraine and elsewhere to feed off of the Turkish power-vacuum. They're in conflict with some of the regional Mafiya gangs, and I think the Horse Lord had some tentative interests in the region, but that could be in question with him out of the picture. Alongside that: Georgian, Azeri, and all kinds of bandits down there. The region is wild, and I'm pretty sure it's rife for the picking for Mafiya interests. “If there's any kind of action, there's going to no doubt be big names down there. But Quan and what sorts he can muster would know more, and know the situation better.” Shu paused briefly as he rubbed his eyes, “Fuck I'm tired...” he complained silently to himself. “Where's Quan then?” Jun pried flatly. The cylinder of the revolver clapped back into place with a satisfying jerk of his hand. “On the shores of the Caspian, northern side. If you take a boat down the Kama river to the Volga and head south along it, you'll come to Astrakhan or somewhere like that. Passed the city into the Volga delta somewhere in the Volodarsky region you'll find him. I'm sure you could ask about the Chinese commune and someone will direct you, but it'll be risky.” “I'm sure I'll find it.” “I'm sure you will...” sighed Shu. There was a moment of silence and calm between the two. Shu starred off into space as he rapped his fingers against the counter-top, Jun checked over the gear. “When I get back home, I'm going to retire from this shit.” said Shu. His voice low but knowing, “Go back home, to Hainan. Open a flower shop. “I'm over this. I'm over all of this, comrade. I'm burned out. I want to handle something that doesn't kill, or lead to others' deaths. I'm going to open a flower shop. “What will you do?” he asked. “I don't know.” Jun replied.