[color=lightgreen][center][h3][i][b]Day 2: 06:51:02
Novi Grad,
Novy Jork,
Capital Province,
Republic of Polavia 
[/b][/i][/h3][/center][/color][center][b][h3][i]Borys Skala[/i][/h3][/b][/center][hr]
As they moved into the apartment block and passed the drunkard, Borys caught Oksana’s glance at him. He understood perfectly. Which was a problem given the amount of alcohol in his system, because he immediately handed the drunk the half-drunk vodka bottle from his vest.

The drunkard’s face lit up like a sunrise as he accepted the bottle, immediately took a swig, leaned back to do so, lost balance, fell over backwards like a plank and immediately conked out on the ground.

Hey - Borys didn’t [i]say[/i] anything.

As Oksana cleared the unit without being prompted to do so, Borys seemed to understand what was going through Felix’ head because he suddenly appeared at his side. “You know, i actually envy the lucky bastard who’ll marry her one day.” The smell of his breath no doubt made Felix wonder whether he had accidentally blinked himself back into the factory, “Because she’ll autofill arguments. He won’t have to say a thing, she’ll just know. Same result - can’t argue with a woman, much less a Polavian one - but half the effort.”

Conversation then turned to the ugly Warlock. Felix, of course, had to open his mouth.

[quote]”Well, Borys didn't kill her, for sure.”[/quote]
“Yeah, rub it in! Asshole.” Borys grumbled loudly, the vodka definitely starting to win the fight for control. “I didn’t see you get halfway close.”

[quote]Rowan’s head snapped towards Oksana. “Wait a fucking minute! Welcome to the team? Didn’t this guy say he was hunting me too?”[/quote]
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Borys shrugged, voice muffled by the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Then planning happened. Smart people stuff. Not exactly Borys’ wheelhouse - some might say not even on the same boat. He was starting to doze off when something Felix said roused him back to consciousness.

[quote]”Since when did we become criminals?”[/quote]
“Since we joined Reactor, basically. Try to keep up.” He snorted without any heat in his voice.
[h2]Later…[/h2]
The crash of the door falling on the floor after he fumbled his grip on it announced Borys’ return.

“Got some carryalls.” Borys announced after he righted the door and set his backpack on the table, digging deep into it and digging out several tightly rolled up duffel bags. “Haggled it down from 8000 to six and two bottles. Got you a housewarming gift, too. Here.” He handed Oksana a small package, opening which would reveal several intramuscular syringes and one bottle of nasal spray, all labeled ‘K E T E M[s] I [/s]Y N.’ “A guy here owed me a favor from prison. He’s got the good stuff. Only a little bit of rat poison.” He added after a pause.

[center][b][h3][i]Bulwar Bohaterów  19, 91b[/i][/h3][/b][/center]
Andrey Brzęczyszczykiewicz opened the door to his flat/drug lab with one hand, the other arm in a makeshift sling made of his jacket.
“Andryukha?” His brother and cook, Grzegorz, looked up from his work. “What the Hell happened to you?”
“Borys fucking Skala.” Andrey reached the counter and stuck one of the intramuscular Ketamine shots into his arm.
“The drunk who got beaten into 60 IQ in prison mugged you?”
“He didn’t even fucking rob me properly. Just fucking showed up, asked ‘Do you have weed and ketamine’ and when I said ‘Both,’ he just fucking broke my fucking arm, took the shit and fucking left! Who the fuck does that?”
“And you, what, let it happen, bratan?”
“I fucking didn’t! I fucking stabbed him and he just fucking laughed!”
[center][b][h3][i]Back in the safehouse[/i][/h3][/b][/center]
“We’re square now.” He finished, opening his own package with a knife he didn’t have before, extracting a blunt from it and lighting up, taking a drag before holding it out for the room in a wordless offer.

“No luck on transportation though. Don’t ask.”

[center][b][h3][i]Ulica Targowa, Stary Grad[/i][/h3][/b][/center]
“What the fuck happened here?”

Novy Jork Police lieutenant Kleptovsky stood in the Żabka store’s parking lot, surveying the surreal scene - over a dozen cars broken into, all nearly identical MO: License plates missing, driver’s side window smashed, ignition cylinder and the wiring under the steering column damaged in clear attempts to hotwire the cars that would have worked on a VAZ-2105, but not present-day models. Well, ‘present day’ in Polavia, ‘last decade’ everywhere else.
As the handful of bills changed hands and disappeared into a pocket, the store attendant started talking. “Some short guy came in my store, bought three packs of Illyrian Sea Canals and two cans of Pilzno 12° and left. Couple minutes later, I hear cursing I swear crosses were falling off churches and banging. I look out, the nicer, newer cars have broken windows and open doors and midget’s standing in front of that one,” He pointed to the oldest car broken in, a beat up Ford work van that was nonetheless new enough to have an immobilizer and enough beercan-sized dents in the body to make an insurance agent hiccup. “Swearing like a sailor and banging one of the beer cans into the car until it burst open on him. Then he stole all the license plates and left, singing ‘Vladimir Central’.”
“Can you describe the suspect? What did he look like?”
“Wore Adidas-”
“Helpful…”
“Look, I don’t know.” The store clerk shrugged, “Normal? Guy, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Kleptovsky followed the store clerk’s gaze toward another customer that had been present - a dumptruck blonde in heels and a miniskirt - and mentally filed the case away as ‘cold.’
[center][b][h3][i]Back in the safehouse[/i][/h3][/b][/center]
Taking a long drag off the blunt, Borys pulled a stack of license plates - at least 20 sets - from his backpack and dropped them on the table with a loud thud. “At least I got these. For when we get a car.”