Not long after its receipt, the young Kolechian's head was full of questions surrounding the note: why was an immigration inspector enamoured by him? What did the final panel mean? And most importantly, could he ever bring himself back into the world to be loved by not just one, but many?
He was ready, he decided as he left the inspector's booth, to try. And he would begin his redemption how he ended his depression: with a hearty compliment.
A lone man in a prison guard's uniform passed him near the checkpoint exit, and he realised, in a newly characteristic burst of inspiration, that this was the perfect candidate. Starting with most intimidating man of them all would set him for life. And an intimidating man would appreciate the most mysterious compliment he could provide.
"Comrade," he addressed the guard, who gave him the look of a man who stopped caring before he was even born. "You accept my visa like no other."
When he got no significant reaction, he clasped the guard's arm for emphasis, who finally acknowledged him. "Stupid fucking Kolechian." And then, after a moment of opportunistic consideration, pointed his long gun at him: "You come with me."