A/N: Didn't like how the first omake had turned out. This story hasn't been updated in 3+ months due to me being lazy as hell and having no incentive to write anymore. Of course I'll still continue to work on this but due to the scale of it all, the story is taking longer than expected to draft and finish. Just a short update on the state of the story.
Fall from Grace
CHERYOMUSHKI DISTRICT, MOSCOW, MAY 24TH, 1992
Balalaika lazily switched channels on her old Zenith TV, getting increasingly agitated as the channels that were airing were shitty to her or had bad reception. She laid back on the bed for the time being as Russia-1 came on. It was airing the usual garbage since she moved here. Rampant corruption and crime, and a mixture of nostalgic and wistful feelings for the Soviet Union. Balalaika puffed the old Kosmos cigarette, the papery taste indicating that it had been past it's sell by date. Not much has happened since the commotion back in December. Still, even with the relatively peaceful nature of the capital many people were forced to commit crimes to make ends meet. The sound of turning keys stole her attention for the time being. More than likely it was Kirill, and it was. He walked inside carrying a small black box along with a large plastic bag.
"Alright move over, I'll show you what I got." She moved over and let Kirill place the bags on the bed. He opened the first one, the black box which contained a Stechkin APS. Balalaika picked it up and tested the weight in her hands, aiming the sights at the window. "What's this?"
"Automatic pistol. Still uses the 9 by 18 round if you care. Carries 20 rounds, select fire et cetera." She set the pistol back down on the bed and watched as he unwrapped a businesswoman's suit along with a cigar box. "These Cuban?" Balalaika asked as she picked up one of the cigars. "No, Dominican, Arturo Fuente." She never really enjoyed a cigar before, and she probably wouldn't start now as it came to her that such expensive items had to be consumed or done in a certain way. "We're visiting that one friend of yours by the way, what was his name, Boris? Anyway, he works a hotdog stand at Evrika."