She had no fucking clue what was happening. Psychopath grand melee, blue-on-blue on top of it, unfolding before her very own eyes. And not much she could do to break it up. Sure, she could drop the rigging and have the rifle trained on the two weirdos in no time, but with the two this close to each other and with the stock folded, the chance of hitting Hayden by accident was too high. She could’ve drawn the Gesha, but what good would either of those be? It’d be about five seconds at most before Melani’s goons came running, and then what? End of the road. So she did the only thing that made any sense in this situation: Backed up, gesturing for the two Britons to do the same, putting some space between herself and the knife-wielding maniac.

Yekaterina didn’t need to be told twice to leave, taking the lead and extending her steps to get out of that place as soon as she was able while still maintaining the illusion of a dignified exit. “Jesus Christ. And I thought Chechnya was bad. I wish I had taken time to make friends in the air force, one Sukhoi with a few air-fuel bombs in there would be a service to humanity. Probably the same deal on the other side of the line, too, I’m afraid we’re about to see.” She grumbled once she was sure they were out of earshot, stopping to put the Poyas-A rig she’d bought on under her jacket and retrieved the map, folding it out on a nearby empty stall to try to figure out where they were, where they were going and which way they should run if things turned sour. Maybe they should’ve kept the Caddie, if not as transport, then to be sacrificed to the mob while they disappeared.

“So, how do we want to approach this? Like last time, we’ll be pretty hard to miss around here, unless we can find an errant can of brown shoe cream.” She stated the obvious, “Think we’ll have a better chance if we spread out and stay in visual contact, or do you want to take a chance as a group or two pairs?” Yekaterina offered, inwardly wondering how much more use they’d get out of the phones provided to them by Victor as they walked. It’d be exceptionally rotten luck if one of them got hit with the ‘We are sorry, but your credit is insufficient.’ message when trying to let the others know they were being surrounded by angry-looking locals armed with crowbars and carving knives. This would’ve been easier up North, where she and bethan could’ve - no, would’ve been obliged by local customs - to cover their heads, and they’d all be able to blend in a little more. Still, could’ve been worse, too. From what she remembered from school, white Britons would probably be hard-pressed to find a friend just South of Matanbai’s border.