Hi guys. Bit of an explanation for this one. I'm in the process of writing a post-MW2 story and our favourite Russian terrorist features heavily, unlike in the game. So I thought he needed a bit of a back-story to put some flesh on the bones, seeing as IW didn't give us much to go on. OCs are mine (by definition) the rest belongs to Infinity Ward. Hope you enjoy. R&Rs are appreciated but I will carry on regardless, writing is considerably more exciting than work :) Sharky
Warsaw, April 2000
The young woman briskly stepped out of the apartment building, slamming the peeling front door behind her. It was Friday night, she was late for work and her boss wasn't the kind of person you should make a habit of being late for. Not that the dark haired man had much to do with the girls who worked in his bar, but he cut a brooding, intimidating figure. She'd been in Warsaw long enough to recognise a few people to nod greetings to as she hurried along the quiet streets in the dying light. It'd been three years since she'd pitched up in Poland with almost no money, a suitcase to her name and not a friend in the city but, always a solitary child; she wasn't one for baggage any way. Three years on, she'd almost achieved what she came here to do, get her degree in Politics, and then the world was her oyster... well, the parts of it she wasn't going to get immediately arrested for entering.
She jogged across the road, tucking her blonde flyaway curls behind her ears as she ran. Negotiating the taxis that had just started their shifts, she managed to duck into the alley behind the bar. A couple of the bouncers were out the back, sneaking a cigarette before they started and smiled "hellos" at the girl slipping past them. The girl smiled back, it paid to be polite to these boys. Faced with an exclusively young and female bar staff, it was known for the male punters to over-step the mark on occasions and it took the six-foot and scarred slabs of meat to remind them of their manners.
As the blonde girl stepped inside, Irena, the supervisor and day-to-day manager of the bar, was in a state of visible panic.
"Lizzy! Where have you been?" she proclaimed in Polish, simultaneously grabbing the girl by the arm, snatching the coat from her hand and pushing her towards the bar. "The boss is in. He's having a meeting. And we're packed!"
The girl started to try and explain her reasons for being late but they were waved away by Irena.
"Just be good Lizzy" she warned as the girl was shoved into work.
Caesar's had a reputation in Warsaw for being a mob club, but to Lizzy's constant surprise, this didn't put people off. Their reasoning was that no one would start trouble in the plush surroundings when the majority of the VIP area was packing side arms. She glanced up to the roped off section as she started serving and indeed, the boss was in, suited as ever and surrounded by his usual lackeys. Lizzy had worked here long enough to suspect that the "meeting" Irena spoke of was a drug deal of some sort. She could afford to be blasé about it. The boss, hypocritically enough, liked to keep his bars drug and junkie-free and she'd reconciled with herself long ago that the monetary outcome of such deals helped to pay her wages. With her bar job being her only source of income and jobs hard to come by in the city, Lizzy couldn't afford to be morally particular about who she worked for.
As the night wore on, the music got louder and the bar got busier. Lizzy went into auto-pilot, hardly managing to look past the first row of people waving money at her from the other side of the bar. Once she had learned where everything was, she didn't even need to look at what her hands were doing as she poured drinks and almost danced around the other girls who were serving. The other good thing about working in a place like Caesar's was the tips and Lizzy found her flirty cheekiness, bordering on inappropriateness at times, paid dividends to Irena's constant exasperation. She'd just turned round to pop a couple of notes into the tip jar when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Ania, one of the younger members of staff, was clutching a note and biting her lip with worry.
"The boss wants this order" she said, nervously.
Lizzy checked the list, a couple of bottles of champagne and a bottle of brandy. "You know where they are Ania" she said, not unkindly. "And the boss doesn't bite."
"But..." she said, looking up to the VIP area "The boss is with Petrov."
Suddenly Lizzy understood Ania's reluctance. Roman Petrov was another Russian in Poland, he controlled much of the "merchandise" which made it on to Warsaw's streets. And along with that, he was a molesting leech that even the bouncers daren't challenge. The girls who served his tables usually ended up with a couple of bruises on their behinds for their trouble and a couple of bruises elsewhere if Petrov thought no one was looking. The girls hated him but couldn't say a word while he was dealing with the boss. Lizzy looked up to the VIP area and then back at Ania. Lizzy was no giant herself, but the little dark-haired Polish girl was petite in comparison and fresh meat for Petrov's unwelcome advances. She took the list out of Ania's hand as the girl breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thanks Lizzy, you can have my tips tonight." They both knew Lizzy wouldn't accept them.
Might as well get this over and done with.... she thought.
Lizzy ignored the other customers as she loaded up her tray with ice buckets, glasses and bottles. It was a good job she was stronger than she looked, Ania would've struggled with this weight anyway. Steeling herself for the inevitable groping but hoping that the boss's presence would protect her, Lizzy balanced the tray on her arm and carefully made her way to the VIP area, occupied solely by those involved in the "meeting". The boss, a thin man with high cheek bones, was sprawled casually on the sofas. He nodded a greeting to the girl as she made her way towards the low table and tried to ignore the probing and greedy eyes of Petrov and his goons as she shuffled passed. She was almost there when her foot struck something hard on the floor. She just had time to look down and see that Petrov's booted foot had shot out from under his chair to trip her before the weight of the tray dragged her over.