Sikorsky slit the throat of Russia's hero before he came to Roanapur. That eliminated any imminent competition to him, but now he has a whole selection of subject to grant him his final wish..

Defeat.

Ever since Sikorsky received that urge for defeat inside the silo prison, he's sworn to make the trek across the world to find just that.

Now, idly, Sikorsky walked through the streets of Roanapur. He arrived through the airport, through the bridge, and was dropped off just downtown where tourists typically stayed. Sikorsky paid the cab, then began walking through the place. Five story, semi-modern buildings spotted the area. Casinos, bars, brothels, and a ten plus story tower that likely belonged to whatever faction ruled here.

He smiled in the sun. Sikorsky would need to shed the heavy clothing here; it wasn't as brisk as Russia. Coming round an alley bend, Sikorsky witnessed the first gross reality of the city. Some rich boy lay, curled in the fetal position of an alley way with blood seeping from his abdomen.

The robber, a druggie in his late thirties had his knife up to a crying woman's neck. She looked at Sikorsky and reached a hand out, as if begging.

Sikorsky looked away as the robber slashed her throat.

A few hours later, Sikorsky found himself residing at an inn's lounge. Several men walked by, carrying suitcases, wearing suits; followed by a Chinese man who had two bodyguards accompanying him.

The man sat down by Sikorsky in the lounge, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

"What a fuckin' pain..."

Sikorsky didn't notice the man until he tapped his shoulder. Sikorsky looked to the Chinese man, who was offering him a cigarette.

"Want one?" The shaded chinaman asked.

Sikorsky offered a smile, taking one and placing it in his mouth. From his pocket Sikorsky produced a lighter, promptly lighting it and the cigarette.

"Thank you comrade."

Sikorsky inhaled a brief moment, getting the good, warm cancer in his lungs. On the exhale, Sikorsky had something come to his mind;

"Say, where can I get a good fight around here? This place stinks, and I want in."

The Chinaman glared at the Russian's odd request. But, nevertheless, the man chuckled and offered; "Well.. Hotel Moscow is currently offering a bounty for some jackass who's been going around carving up tourists. Real trashy type from what I hear."

"Are you Hotel Moscow?" Sikorsky asked, a grin taking form after he puffed some smoke. Sikorsky could smell the stank on this man; of blood and guts like no other. The man, it seemed, could smell it on Sikorsky too.

"Hah! No, my name's Chang, and I'm leader of the Hong Kong Triad here in Roanapur."

Later

Sikorsky hid his frame in an alley opposite of the location where he saw those two become murdered. Recalling the images as they flashed by his mind, Sikorsky figured that the man who killed them was the one they needed. He didn't look too impressive, which was fine, cause it would be a nuisance if the first person he fought here would grant him defeat so fast.

Sikorsky perked up, his fists clenching at a sudden presence.

Instinctively, Sikorsky swung around to face behind him, whipping his left arm out in a backhand. The short Japanese man who was behind him ducked under under the attack, then sprung backwards, landing on his feet. Sikorsky eyed the man, his hands closed in fists, ready to strike.

"Who the fuck are you?" Sikorsky barked, fumes emanating from his eyes as much as his mouth, ready to attack again.

The Japanese man, barely five feet tall, stood erect and held a single hand out. "I am Yanagi... I believe we are here for the same reason... Sikorsky... Am I wrong?"

Sikorsky searched his mind for a split moment.

In that moment, Yanagi sprung forward, whipping his right palm at Sikorsky's face in a downward vertical strike. Sikorsky back-stepped just barely in time to see an Indian claw weapon miss his eyes by mere inches. Sikorsky landed on his left foot, automatically twisting his torso and swinging his right in a dangerous jab at Yanagi's head.

Yanagi sprung forward, striking in the split second that Sikorsky was open, ramming his left palm directly into Sikorsky's jaw like a piston, shooting him into the air.

Sikorsky reached out with his left hand and gripped the brick alley wall, fingers cutting into the material and leaving imprints as Sikorsky's impressive grip strength proved itself. Immediately; Sikorsky swung his right leg outbound, catching Yanagi in the temple and flinging him into the opposite wall with a resounding thump.

The Russian dropped back into the alley, holding his hands high and close like a boxer. Yanagi felt his temple as he stood from his own impact, seemingly unaffected.

Neither was Sikorsky.

Yanagi managed a smile, nodding, "Just as I expected. You're no pushover, Sikorsky.. We could make this... Murderer mincemeat.. Along with Roanapur."

Sikorsky scoffed, "Oh, is this a ploy to get me to lower my guard again?"

Yanagi folded his hands behind his back, removing the claw weapon, then holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Look... I, Yanagi the Poisoner, do submit... But only for now. I, and you, seek defeat... To increase our chances of a worthy opponent... Don't you think we convicts should stick together?"

Sikorsky considered his options, offering a grin to the Japanese man.

"Yeah. That sounds pretty good,"

Later that night

Yanagi and Sikorsky had been on the prowl all night for their newest victim. They didn't care about the slaughter part, they just lusted for the fight, and it was one they'd enjoy - or be disappointed by.

He struck again...

Jimmy Slicer, as he'd come to calling himself, plunged his knife in another whore's midsection. He cries were suddenly silenced as Jimmy Slicer pulled the pocket knife out and stuck it in her throat.

He glared her in the eye, a mad grin crossing his face.

It would be the last one she's gonna see.

Jimmy Slicer tore the knife out the side of her neck, the corpse following suit and flopping on the ground. She grasped for breath, blood flowing at her mouth and both wounds. She'd die soon, very soon, but Jimmy slice just watched with a grin on his face.

Then, he heard a clang.

Jimmy looked up and saw two men, one short and one tall. One was blond, stoutly built and wearing a white t-shirt. He also wore cargo shorts and blue sneakers. The other man; short, very short - appeared to be Japanese and wore the part of lawn workers garbs. Denim shirt, cargo work pants and brown work shoes. He also had a jacket on him, unzipped, which was odd in this climate.

Jimmy held his knife in his hand, pointing it at the two. "Who'da fuck are you two fags?"

Sikorsky glanced to Yanagi, who simply nodded, a smile crossing his face.

"Hey, what the fu-"

Sikorsky bolted forward at Jimmy Slicer. It was odd how quick he crossed the concrete alley, legs pounding like jackhammers, screaming towards him. Jimmy stepped forward, jutting his knife at Sikorsky's midsection.

Sikorsky used his left, grabbing the man's wrist as he plunged it at Sikorsky and twisted it outbound, forcing the man drop the knife. Just as quick, Sikorsky swung his right leg in a sweep, taking Jimmy's legs out at the knees and sending him to the ground.

Flat on his back, Jimmy barely understood what had just happened, but he quickly acted in defense of himself. Jimmy drew a Walther PPK from his belt, pointing it up at Sikorsky's chest. No words were exchanged as Jimmy squeezed a round into Sikorsky's chest.

Sikorsky didn't budge, the bullet soaking into his vest under the shirt. He whipped his still air-bound leg in a circular motion and swiped the gun out of Jimmy's hand with his ankle. Sikorsky then lowered himself into a crouch, immediately swiping his right fist across the man's face in a backhand, a wide scar forming from the man's right cheek bone to his chin.

Jimmy slung his right fist up at Sikorsky in an act of rebuttal. Sikorsky latched onto the man's arm with his left, catching it before it could impact the Russian. Sikorsky lifted the man until his head was an inch off the ground, squeezing tight into the arm until blood seeped from it.

The man barely had time to scream as Sikorsky raised his right arm, burying the elbow deep into the mugger's mouth in a swift motion- caving it in from the force of impact, bouncing his skull off the pavement.

As Sikorsky rose, Jimmy Slicer reached for his mouth. His jaw was split down the middle, teeth all blown out of his mouth, and the hinge for Jimmy's jaw was completely obliterated. Only muddled yells escaped his mangled maw as Jimmy tried begging for... Something. But nobody could tell what he said as blood ebbed from the fleshy tears inside his mouth.

Sikorsky placed his hand to his chest, exhaling slowly.

"A bullet proof vest always helps."

Yanagi approached Sikorsky's side and peered down at Jimmy Slicer. "I think we've been too merciful... Just... Give me a moment.. He was not a worthy opponent."

Yanagi drew his claw weapon, much to Jimmy's chagrin, and began slashing at his limbs. With only a mangled hole to yell through, his cries of pain were absorbed into Roanapur's night.

Hotel Moscow

Eugene had seen many things in his days, including this, but it in was still gruesome. The experienced Russian wouldn't falter at it, but others might. A Russian man and a Japanese man had towed in Jimmy Slicer, though, one would hardly be able to tell it was him from the way his still-breathing body was mangled.

His mouth had been caved in, and a massive scar was open across the side of his face, torso sliced in seven different ways, and his legs were shattered from the thigh down. The two had looped rope around his shoulders and dragged the man through the streets until arriving here.

The two men were known as Yanagi and Sikorsky.

Eugene stared blankly at the two.

"I will arrange a meeting with Kapitan Balalaika at once. She will want to meet the men who brought this one in with such.. Injuries."

Sikorsky and Yanagi exchanged grins - they were getting to the big dogs of Roanapur.

The past four days for Garcia were dark, damp, and unforgivably foul. Spec had stuffed the boy into a duffel bag and made his way to Roanapur by boat, only allowing the boy out and on his own for shit breaks and food. Even then, right after, Spec would stuff the boy back in the bag and engage in whatever Spec does on his free time.

Probably train.

Spec trained a lot, from what Garcia could tell just by his sheer physicality.

After they arrived, Spec dumped Garcia into a dark room somewhere for five hours. When Spec came back, Garcia was stuffed into another duffel bag and transported across the rotten city to another place.

Spec's place.

It was a large warehouse from what Garcia could tell, standing inside of it, bound with rope to a chair. In front of him, playing cards with nobody sat the big, scary Spec.

Scary to Garcia.

Garcia probably soiled himself once. All he remembered of Spec taking him was the shattering of glass, then his chest felt hollow from a single punch by the guy. And then Spec took him like the boogeyman.

That was a good way to put Spec in his mind... As the boogeyman. He was frightening, even to a fearless boy like Garcia Lovelace.

Spec noticed the kid was looking at him and rose from his seat. Spec wore a black tank top and some kind of athletic swimming shorts, still leaving much of his muscular body in sight. He lumbered to the boy, perching himself over Garcia and staring into his eyes.

"Boy, ya know why I dunnit?" Spec wasn't really expecting an answer, but he asked anyway.

Garcia remained quiet.

"I dunnit cause yer maid, she a bloodhound! She reeks of blood an' I want a big sniff up that maidly skirt a' hers!" Spec crouched down, making eye contact with the considerably smaller Garcia. "I want defeat, boy, that's why. So I done sacked you and brought you to Roanapur. There's some other bloodhounds here, n' I wanna get a taste of 'em all, boy."

Spec stood up, a grin shining down on the child, dwarfed by Spec's immense stature. Defiantly, Garcia began; "My Roberta is not a bloodhound! But she will make you pay for taking me!"

Spec laughed, lowering his frame and placing his giant's hand on Garcia's shoulder. "I'm countin' on it, boy, I sure's hell am."