A/N: SECOND VELES TAXI RUSSIAN ONESHOT. You may want to read the one before this as well! God bless.
Semyon strutted down the hospital hall. Another job well done, he mused with a smug expression. Simple in and out, as those in movies always said – only difference between him and the movie characters was, he actually succeeded.
His thoughts were halted by a searing pain exploding in his foot. He howled, trying to jump out of the way, only to discover his foot was now trapped under an over-weight woman's wheelchair wheel. He spewed out a strewn of Russian curses, tugging in vain. There was nothing he could do. He was trapped beneath the wheel. Anger simmered and he continued spitting out choice words, which were now directed at the woman. A woman who emptily stared at him, her oxygen tank quietly whirring.
Finally, she rolled off. His attempts of pulling himself free sent him flying to the floor. With more grumbled complaints, he slapped his hand down on the syringe that had gone rolling from his pocket.
His mother had always told him pride came before a fall.
