[color=lightgreen][center][h3][i][b]Day 2: 06:19:51 Polavian Standard Vodka Distillery, Novy Jork, Capital Province, Republic of Polavia [/b][/i][/h3][/center][/color][center][b][h3][i]Borys Skala[/i][/h3][/b][/center][hr] [quote]”I'm a seer. Not someone who tells you the obvious, because right now, you're two, maybe three vodka bottles away from unable to organise a piss up here if you want to stay as a pointman.”[/quote] “I’ve been fucking sober between the morning until now, what the fuck?” He protested. It was a lie. He wasn’t sober, he was still hungover, it had been a grand total of six hours since they boarded the train. It was the closest he got to sober these days. A combination of Polavian lack of fucks to give and a solid 0.12% blood alcohol content mean that Borys didn’t even flinch when Rowan’s lightning bolt zipped past his head, the thundercrack switching his left ear off for the next ten minutes but he didn’t need that right now. The buckshot pellets slammed into his chest making him stumble sideways, holding down the trigger as he fell, not hitting anything but at least drawing more attention away from the two witches behind him. He wanted to swear, but what came from the floor was impotent wheezing as his lungs tried to remember how to work again after the equivalent of nine 9mm bullets point blank instead. He allowed himself 20 seconds before he hauled himself up to his feet, dropping the half-spent magazine and replacing it with one from the AKS-74U-equipped militant. That was when something big hit him. Borys looked at the Saiga. At Oksana. He pointed at the shotgun. “If that had been a P320, someone would be dead right now.” He bent down to pick it up. His booze-soaked inner ear betrayed him, his backpack shifted on his back and Borys faceplanted on the floor. “You didn’t see fucking anything.” They kept moving, no longer under stealth, all of Polavia knowing they were there. [quote]”Contacts front!” She called, as bullets smashed bottles, Oksana diving into cover and grabbing one, throwing it and using it as a nice distraction.[/quote] “STOP SPILLING THE GOOD STUFF, MOTHERFUCKERS!” Borys roared in the harshest Polavian imaginable, dropping the offending PSA militant with a reflexive shot. He kept moving forward, arms and head tucked in to focus on being durable rather than lethal, scanning for red buttons and shutting off machines as he went to try to minimize distractions and blockages for his team. [quote]”Borys, if now was a time to get shitfaced, it would help!”[/quote] “Cover me!” He knelt down, taking a few long chugs of Rowan’s wine. “Smooth stuff, Rowan! I’ll take your entire stock!” That’s when he noticed it. The polished stainless steel machine he was standing next to. The halogen lights shining down onto the polycarbonate riot shield, making the factory’s interior reflect in it. Making Borys reflect in it. He crouched, grabbed his baseball bat instead of his rifle and stepped into the machine, stepping out of the shield face like it was a small door. “Privet.” He simply said, pushing the shield down with one hand while clobbering the militant over the head with Yelena, not stopping until she was stained red and moving onto the next militant. He did not need to kill them. He just needed to get them to turn his way and away from his teammates to negate the shields. He’d decide how much friendly fire he’d forgive.