The headquarter of the Main Department of Internal Affairs of the City of Moscow, the Moscow Police, was a venerable brick building that looked more like a castle than like a police station. After he had locked the motorcycle and secured the helmet Otabek looked up and down the yellowish walls and black fence before setting foot in the front yard. The leafless trees in the center of the u-shaped building complex appeared black against the gray morning sky. It looked spooky and appropriate.

Inside the main entrance a reception awaited him. The man behind the counter looked like he was in his forties, a little stocky, but the uniform was intimidating nevertheless. It was known that the Moscow police didn't do things by half-measures and that it was very likely that one bratva or another had influence on the ongoings in the department. He needed to be very careful, just like Nad had repeated again and again.

The man greeted him with a nod. "How can I help you?"

"I was the victim of a case of aggravated battery in 2017 here in Moscow. For juridical reasons I have to request insight in the police log."

The man frowned. "Don't you have a lawyer to do that stuff for you?", the officer asked.

Otabek straightened his shoulders. "I am my lawyer." He hoped that the officer wouldn't double check on that but after a moment of pondering the man nodded and picked up the receiver of his phone, pressed two buttons. Obviously Otabek's overall appearance was convincing enough and he was glad he had chosen to wear the black suit this morning although he himself thought he looked more like an undertaker than a lawyer.

The officer mumbled something in the speaker then hung up again. "Go right down the hall", he explained to Otabek pointing in said direction, "and then through the glass door. There is the reception for the log achieve. My colleague awaits you there."

"Thank you very much, Sir", Otabek replied and went as told.

The hallway seemed dim, although the fluorescent tubes overhead were bright enough. But the gray flecked beige floor, beaten by hundreds of thousands steps in the military boots that were part of the Russian police uniform, seemed to absorb any kind of bright light, just like the pale sky outside. The walls were of a light blue but even that looked gray. It was just as depressing as the rest of Moscow.

Otabek passed by several open office doors. Phones rang and computer keyboards were to be heard. In one of the offices a radio was lowly playing an old Russian folk song that he recognized immediately:

Oh, dear song of a young maiden, a deep male voice sang,

fly and float up to the shining sun

and over to the border to this soldier so far away,

and bring him Katyusha's greetings.

The sound vanished when the glass door fell shut behind Otabek. At the counter on the left sat a young woman in the female uniform, her hat on the desk next to a light pink steaming cup of coffee.

"Good morning", she said, looking him up and down with a smile. "Are you the lawyer my colleague talked about?" She was pretty, with a dark blonde pony tail and gray-blue eyes. Her smile was genuine. She was the exact opposite of the guy at the front desk.

"Good morning", Otabek greeted in return. "I see you have been informed already, but let me explain the details of my request." He cleared his throat. "There was an attack on 30th of October 2017, here in Moscow. I'd like to see the file pertaining this incident if it is possible."

"Yeah, sure", she said, still smiling. "I need your ID first to check if you are authorized. You can only gain access to your personal file or the one of a person you represent by decree. But of course you know that, you're a lawyer after all", she added and laughed blushing as if she was embarrassed about her needless explanation.

Otabek took his passport from his pocket and handed it to her. She didn't even open it, but turned around on her office chair and towards the door in the back. "Vassily, can you do me a favour and go fetch a file for me? I can't leave the counter alone."

After only some seconds a young policeman showed up and with a neutral nod took Otabek's passport from the lady.

"We have the files in alphabetical order sorted by names, so he should be right back", she explained. "Over here", she gestured to the right, "there is a small office where you can go through the file. There is a vending machine for coffee as well, but I do not recommend it." With a smile she nodded towards her own mug. "I could go get you you the good stuff though if you want."

Otabek nodded. "That would be very kind of you." He wondered what had become of her excuse not to leave the counter alone, but he didn't ask. Actually the way she smiled at him bothered him a little, and he expected her to ask for his phone number any moment. Since he had come to Moscow he was under the constant impression that people seemed to be interested in his looks a lot. Dima and Nad both had mentioned that they considered him attractive and Mila hadn't even bothered to hide that she found him handsome as well. Although he didn't see a reason why people would think that, the way the female officer looked at him got him to realize that she might be interested in him as well. Therefore he was glad that she offered him to get him a coffee. He wasn't used to attention like that and if that was the way to avoid her then he'd not hesitate to take the offer.

When she got up, her younger colleague showed up again, Otabek's passport and a thin cardboard file in his hand. "Ah, that was indeed fast, thank you Vassily", she said and he nodded wordlessly before heading over to the office in the back again where he originally had come from. The lady handed Otabek the file over the counter and looked over to the small reading room. "Please, make yourself at home over there, I'll bring your coffee there."

"Thank you a lot", Otabek said with an affirmative nod and entered the room in the right. There were three small desks there and a single potted plant that looked like it needed some water instantly. Without paying his surroundings much more attention he sat down at one of the tables, stored away his passport in the pocket of his jacket and opened the file.

His passport photo greeted him, the old one from before the coma. It was attached to a single sheet with a paperclip, that stated his personal information as well as a short police record. The report said that on the 30th of October 2017 a few minutes before midnight a call had come in that informed the headquarter about an assault in Novogireyevo district. A patrol car as well as an ambulance had been sent there, finding the attackers gone and only the two victims left behind. One had been unharmed, but the other one had suffered severe injuries that made necessary the immediate transport to the hospital. The report stated names and ID numbers of the police officers present and the paramedics. Obviously the officers had managed to get some information out of Yuri, making them learn that there had been five perpetrators who were currently on the run, at least one of them equipped with a knife. Patrols throughout the night in that area had not been able to take suspects into custody though. The search was given up in the morning and the file closed.

Otabek tried to keep his breath even as he took out his small black book and fountain pen to take notes and write down the location of the assault as stated in the log. Then he read through the report again. It was strange to see in very few lines how his own life had been nearly ended. It was just a few brief words printed on the most ordinary paper that described how he had almost been killed, his profession, his hope for the future and his best friend taken away from him. Words like victim, severe injuries, witness - they sounded so distant, so cold. It was frightening.

Despite the exact location of the incident the report was a disappointment. With a frown Otabek closed both his pen and his notebook, just as the police woman entered the room holding a cup of coffee.

"I didn't know if you drink it with milk or sugar", she said with a confident smile and put the cup on the table. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes", Otabek said, stored away his notebook and pen and got up. "I gratefully acknowledge your cooperation." He closed the file and handed it over to her, ignoring the coffee, and left without another look back leaving her perplexed. He didn't have the nerve to have her flirting with him, not now, not after what he had read, not after he had found nothing to help him. Not after the hope in his chest withered away like an abandoned potted plant.

He knew the location of the assault now, but how was that useful to him? He could go there, he had to, it was the only clue he had and maybe it would bring back some memories, but it was a terrible thought that he had to rely on his luck so much. And if not, if there was no afflatus, what would he do? Was joining the Orlov bratva the only way to merely have a chance to find out what had happened? It scared him, a lot if he was honest with himself. He had acted composed when Nad had asked him about it, but of course even he was terrified by the thought that he had to deal with such a powerful and dangerous organization. But then again it was true what he had replied to her: he had nothing left to lose but his life. And if there was a chance to find out something, anything, maybe something that would help him find Yuri even, that would give him any clue to what had happened to his beloved friend, he'd gladly put his life on the line for that. He was nothing without Yuri and he refused to try and live without him.

He was outside and about to put on his helmet when he received a text message from Nad: if you have time come over to the shop. i have a suggestion that might help you.

He was there within 17 minutes.

"Erasyl", the tattoo artist greeted him. "Come in and sit down." She closed the door and locked it behind him, left down the shutter again.

The shop was usually closed on thursdays, Nad had mentioned it before, and Otabek was curious about why she had asked him to come here. He watched the white rabbit, Merlin, how he drank out of the hanging water container and it reminded him of the White Rabbit that Alice had tried to chase down in wonderland: running and running and searching and failing again and again. It was so metaphoric considering his own situation that he had to hold back a bitter smile.

"I talked to my friends regarding your problem", Nad said and sat down with him, lighting a cigarette. "One of them, who has some… bonds with people from certain systems suggested that in order to access the bratva the easiest way would be to pretend that you are already a part of it. The Orlov bratva is so massive, nobody knows every single member. There is one way to identify them without a doubt though. I think you can guess what that is."

"The tattoo." Otabek frowned. He had an idea where this was going.

"Exactly", Nad confirmed. "If you are an outer member - that means if you are responsible for the work that has to do directly with the 'clients' - it is convenient to have the tattoo in a spot where it is clearly visible. You mentioned that you have seen it on a guy's neck and remember it on the hand of one of the gangsters back then. If it sits in places like that people know who they are dealing with and don't cause trouble usually. Also fellow members of the bratva recognize each other easily even if they have not met before."

"You are suggesting that I get it too so I can infiltrate the network without creating a fake identity."

She nodded. "I know that it sounds crazy. It would mean that you wear the crest of an organisation that made you suffer so much on your body, visible and all the time, like a fucking stigma. I understand if you are disgusted by the thought. I would be. But you avoid questions. Questions that might cost you your life. My friend just came up with the idea and I decided that you might give it a thought. Consider the pros and cons. It is a one way ticket. It's more or less permanent, although if you make it out of there you could always have it removed or covered up with something else. It is a restriction, but also a relatively secure way into the bratva-"

"I'll do it."

Nad grimaced. "Erasyl, don't act on impulse, please, think about it first-"

"I said I'll do it." Otabek clenched his hands into fists. "You are right, it is madness. But if it gives me a chance, if it gives me hope, then there's no reason for me to hesitate a heartbeat longer. I can not surrender because that means I am as good as dead. If selling my soul to the devil is what it takes, then show me where to sign."

A moment of silence passed, then Nad stubbed out her cigarette. "If you are absolutely sure… I happen to know a tattoo artist around here…" She smirked.

н

There was blood, ink and a clear liquid under the transparent plastic wrap around Otabek's right lower arm. It made the material slip back and forth a little and mixed together, causing a disgusting squishy feeling on the sore, aching skin.

Nad had done the tattoo right away. Her 'friend with bonds' had sent her a picture of the tattoo the Orlov bratva had chosen as a distinctive symbol. He used to be a tattoo artist himself and had done the tattoo for several members of the bratva before retiring some years ago. The tattoo itself looked good on Otabek's tan skin even though it was swollen and bleeding. Nad was a skilled artist with the needle.

"If you want to have it covered with something else let me know", she had offered while doing the shading. "I watered down the ink a little more than usual so that it won't be that dark in the end and can be covered up easier. In return I expect you to survive, you hear me? And then you come back here and I cover it up with something amazing."

Otabek had nodded. He had an idea what he would get if he made it that far.

He laid down on the bed in only boxershorts, freezing in the still cold hotel room scrutinizing the tattoo. He hated it. Looking at it made him want to throw up, made him so sad and so angry at the same time. But instead of giving in to the pain inside he closed his eyes and imagined the day when he'd return to Nad's tattoo shop with the drawing he wanted to have her to ink under his skin. He had known right away what it would be: the one that Yuri had left in the box for him, the very last sheet, the very last sign of him and he would take it wherever he'd go. Tiger and bear, Yuri and Otabek, on his body, side by side until the day he died.