[@Krot]
[h1][b][u][color=9e0b0f]"First-Degree" Donny[/color][/u][/b][/h1]

[i]Donny wasn't a happy boy. His soundless flirting with the desk clerk had gone absolutely nowhere. She hadn't even moved from her seat after ten minutes of winking and waving. Such was life. Donny was left with an empty feeling in his guts, and his finger tips still buzzed with the groove. His omnipresent smile was gone. It was the late hours now, but he didn't feel sleepy. It was Friday, for fucks sake. HIS Friday. His night to do whatever he wanted. He could sleep in tomorrow and get back on his tight schedule the day after. He didn't care about Sundays. The time he had firebombed a church after the "Clench" of 99' proved that. He streaked through the night, rolling down both windows. A reckless act for him. In this cruel world, you had but one life and the ease with which you could lose it was almost comical. Donny wasn't the sort of man to take chances, but he was desperate now. He was losing his night, losing his high. The corners of his mouth twitched as he saw something. Ahead was the [color=007236]Gotham Shipyard[/color]. A big ol' fire blazed out there. The Russians were active. Perhaps they had some new toys to play with, and if not, maybe he could play with them. There were few things more entertaining than trolling foreigners. 

He allowed his van to idle, and coasted silently up into a nearby lot. He withdrew his switchblade. There was something he had to do before continuing. After he did it, he tucked the switchblade away and watched the bonfire. Donny had made dealings with these chumps before. Russians were hard and tough, but as slow on the uptake as molasses and about as imaginative as a dead goose. Their scorched earth tactics during WWII proved about as much. Donny blinked slowly. Gunshots. The men at the bonfire yelled in their stupid blocky language and ran towards the ship. A mushroom cloud of hope blossomed within Donny's chest. There was going to be some fun after all.

He wanted to watch the situation unfold as a spectator, to get an understanding of what was going on. His fedora was cocked back to give him a full view. Only idiots wore their brims over their eyes. What if a gunman was positioned above your field of view, and the hat blocked them from sight? He could always tilt it back down and look like a badass when he was in a bar or safe house surrounded by loyal cronies, or in an alley with a single woman and nobody else. More gunfire. The Ruskies were screaming at each other. Donny could see them trying to file into a door on the ship, only to drop back dead one at a time. It was like an early Metal Gear Solid game, where you could safespot the enemy soldiers and kill them one at a time by hiding behind a corner and abusing the A.I. 

Donny blinked again. A shadow had left the ship. He had barely managed to glimpse it. Apparently whomever had fucked up the Russians played Metal gear too. He squinted through the flickering darkness to keep the shape in sight. Donny watched as the figure moved closer and closer, and then stopped ten meters away to muck about with a newspaper and a big Tupperware box-thing. Donny leaned out the window, cupped his left hand to the side of his mouth, and gave the stranger a shout out.[/i]

[b][color=a0410d]"Ayuh! Don't be alahmned, nahw strangah. I don't mean yah no haaahm. I's jus' admirin' yah handah-work. If yah don't got no rahhhd, there's always a spahh seat in hee-yuh. Bah thuh wahey, name's Donneh. "First-Dahgree" Donneh to m'frands."[/color][/b]

[color=00aeef]TRANSLATION[/color]

[b][color=a0410d]"Hey! Don't be alarmed now stranger. I don't mean you any harm. I was just admiring your handiwork. If you haven't got a ride, there's always a spare seat in here. By the way, name's Donny. "First-Degree" Donny to my friends."[/color][/b]