Sabtro, Victoria

August 11, 2558

It was almost midnight when Vasili found the bar that he was looking for; Sabtro's inhabitants often stepped out of his way when he approached the walkway. Although he enjoyed the authoritarian aura that he had, it was a demonstration to where the ultimate power in Victoria was.

The area was only dimly lit by dark orange light, making it look even more eerie to the more rugged buildings. Asphalt was crumbled in several places, occasionally a car would roll down the street as if in a contest to see whose was the most beat up. The other buildings lining the streets were small apartments which had narrow alleyways that were slanted. Vasili thought that the demolition of one building could cause them all to topple over.

His plan involved going the same steps that the journal's author, Vladan had taken. Once he was in control of Andres and whoever his boss was, there was no option but to just go on with the tide.

Pop music was faintly heard from the far end of the street coming from a neon lit building which had to be the place where he was directed to. His breath became shorter and sweat began to coat his palms. It didn't matter whether the Spartan had overcame his past fears and anxiety, still the thought would still remain in his mind. Inside him, that thought took a toll on his psyche, weakening him from inside out, just like a concussion. There was always the risk that the next one would be the fatal one.

Forcing himself to cross the street, Vasili reached the bar, noting the old military jeep parked in the lot behind. There wasn't a bouncer filtering out enterers so he swung the door open, assaulted by acrid smoke and the rapid beat of pop music blasted from a trio of three foot speakers at the bar's rear. The smoke was denser than a World War I gas attack and just as irritating to his nose and eyes. A wood floor had stains from spilled alcohol and dry spots from previous drops as well as the yellowish oval of vomit.

The occupants were mostly workers in their worn clothes after the day on their labor. Some of them were also young socialites dressed in what latest fashion clothes they could get. The women wore extremely short shorts and belly revealing tops. Yet, despite the music's catchy beat, there was something amiss.

There were four men at the counter. Given their space, it was clear from their uniforms of the Victoria militia and by the bartender and most patrons that the three soldiers were wanted to leave as soon as possible. If Andres was here, he wasn't going to be collecting smuggled if soldiers witnessed it. If the recruiter or the bartender wasn't going to throw out the soldiers, than nobody else would. They knew better than to stand up to the government backed military. The soldiers would stay until they drank their fill.

One of the men, a sergeant was the heavy drinker. Two empty bottles of beer were on his right as he entailed the three privates beside him about his stories. His accent sounded like he had come from Kirup's conservative suburban district while the lesser men were probably fresh from Sabtro and the other smaller towns outside the metropolis.

Vasili ordered a beer, forking over some notes along with a small tip. Nobody paid him much attention except the bartender, who eyed the large roll of money that he had deliberately stuck out of his pocket. He had devised a plan to evict the militia by the time he finished his bottle.

If Suvorov wanted the soldiers out, he would have to take them by confrontation. Any open fighting between the soldiers and the bar's locals would cause Andres to flee, negating any chance of Vasili's hopes of finding a connection to the skirmisher pirates and human smugglers.

The soldiers didn't look like they were leaving anytime soon, with the sergeant continued to tell a story about his intimate life, trying to excite the privates that soon they would have stories of their own to tell when they became sergeants. He leered at the nearby two girls once he said that.

The back corner was darkened enough to barely make out the objects sitting there. However someone was watching him as he circled around the table behind the militia. The shadows then formed into two burly men that flanked a third seating down. His eyes were hidden by polarized shades and accompanied by two other girls that could have been sisters. As Vasili made his move, Andres used one hand to push away the shades, intrigued on what was about to happen.

He swiped his hand, catching the sergeant's beer as he was about to sip the last few drops of his next bottle. At first, he had appeared confused, but then turned around with a spiteful look, daring him to say something that disturbed his leisure with his men. He stood up on his feet, much sturdier than Suvorov had expected him to be.

"You know that heavy drinking is prohibited on duty." Vasili knew that because the uniform of his soldier was lower ranked; a Private First Class, the sergeant would certainly use his authority to try and knock some sense into him. When the large sergeant scowled, looking to all the bleary eyed privates for backup, Vasili went on, "It's probably best if you and your friends leave the bar."

He scoffed when hearing a lesser rank telling him what to do. "I think it's best if you stay the hell away from me and what I do…Private." A fine mist of spittle came across Vasili's face as he watched the large man put a meaty hand on his chest and shove back.

The next thing Suvorov did shocked everyone in the bar, the sergeant was affected the most. Rather than fall back, Vasili twisted the hand attached to his chest. The momentum sent the sergeant stumbling forward, just as he expected. He then slammed his steel hard back of his wrist right into the forehead of the sergeant. He staggered back from the impact, but had eyes of an enraged bull. Suvorov was still contemplating his surprise on how that failed to knock him out when even with Spartan reflexes he had barely enough time to jerk his head out of the way from the punch. Following up with a solid palm straight into his nose, the sergeant staggered back, wiping blood that now trickled from his nostrils.

All three privates got up to their feet, fists balled and ready to defend their comrade. "Stay out; you don't want any part of this." He managed to snarl before refocusing and dodging another swing from the newly broken beer bottle that the sergeant had smashed on the table. Vasili moved smoothly as if made from water as he struck his back fist into the nose again. Blood sputtered from his target's nose as he tried swinging the razor edged broken bottle again. Before the sergeant could retaliate with a third swing, he seized the arm with the crude weapon, twisting until a pop sounded from the arm, earning a howl of pain from the victim, the hands loosened around the bottle's neck and it slipped through his fingers, shattering on the hard floor.

The sergeant's eyes resembled an enraged brute chieftain as his locked onto Vasili's.

That was a huge mistake.

Vasili launched two strikes, a wide chop to the stomach that doubled his victim over followed by a punch to the solar plexus. When the sergeant was about to move again, he whirled around, dodging another punch from him that was lazily thrown and slammed the heel of his foot into the groin. The bullish sergeant flopped onto the floor like a fish, looking up from his crouched position. Giving no opportunity, Vasili's ankle connected with the side of his head that put the brawler down for a few hours. Even when he did wake, it would be at least a day before he'd be back in shape to do any kind of vengeance, Vasili hoped to be in the shadows by then.

One of the privates got up ready to strike, but Vasili's Spartan reflexes had his hand around the man's throat so quickly it was almost instant.

"He's not worth it. Do yourselves some good and find a new friend." He spoke in English, assuming that they knew the language. "He's got quite the mouth on him that will guarantee trouble with no way out. Tell your guys' and his commanding officer that he had fallen down the stairs and never return to this bar again."

The three men must have been grateful that he had spared them because they all grabbed the limp militiamen and quickly exited. All at once people began talking excitedly about what just happened. Vasili ignored the banter and demanded another beer, which the bartender happily obliged. He was nearly halfway done with it when he saw one of the burly men from the back table come over.

"My boss Andres would like to talk to you."

He nodded, draining his beer and forcing himself to commit to what he was about to do. Once he was in the operation, they would own every inch of him. He followed the man over to the back table, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone else was watching. Nobody gave him a second glance.

Andres waved the two girls away to another table, one of them pressed her posterior to Vasili's groin. He ignored her as she and her sister left and he sat opposite the man that could be controlling his life within the next ten minutes.

"I suspected that there was some purpose behind your demonstration." His accent was clearly from Victoria, but his features suggested that he may have been from Chile or Argentina. He removed his polarized sunglasses to reveal his face somewhere in his late thirties. Faint dark circles were around his eyes which were common in people who have only known life's shadowy side.

"With them at the bar, I knew that I couldn't speak with you."

Andres raised an eyebrow in interest. "You're quite sharp in fighting. Are you here to join my personal protection group? Or is it those lovely sisters that caught your attention?"

He did not answer, rather took the tags from around his neck and set them on the table in between. The smuggler's gaze hardened, "So then you're with the force stationed here?"

"No, I was on leave in Kirup."

"So you came to see me all this way?"

"You helped a friend a while back."

"So I've heard." Andres sipped from his newest beer, the next in line from a series of caps that were to the table's left.

"I want to go to." Both men knew what he was talking about.

"Not buying it."

"Why?"

"For one, I get paid for favors like these."

The Spartan unfolded his cigar of credits, setting them in front of the smuggler. "I know how the system works. I pay you a standard fee and work off the rest when I reach places like Roost and Sigma Octanus. Right in front of you is two thousand and I will work off the other four when I reach my place of work and you forget that you've ever known of my existence."

Andres raised an eyebrow. He was clearly amused from what Vasili could see. "So then what's keeping me from taking your credits and forgetting that we've ever met?"

Vasili didn't have a verbal response and kicked over the table in a flash. The heavy wood stunned and pinned the smaller bodyguard with enough force to wind him. He thrust out his hand into the chest of the larger one and had his throat in an iron grip so quickly that the brute even had a thought of going for the pistol in his hidden back holster. Andres had also been pinned in his seat, but not by the table rather his disbelief that his two best men had just been subdued in a matter of split seconds.

"I could have killed all three of you if I wanted to. The way I see it, it's a fair deal. I can leave if you don't want it."

Andres flashed a wicked smile, "I think you will do well in our most prosperous works. I'm surprised that you have moves nearly as fast as a Spartan."

Satisfied, Vasili let go of his victim's throat and sitting down, making no mention about the Spartans. The bodyguard nursed the new bruise that he earned and glowered at him but made no move to retaliate.

"If that soldier you had put new makeup on come back for more trouble, I'd have to move sooner. There are two others making the journey as well, so we would be leaving tomorrow morning. We will then get into Kirup where I have my contact and then we'll create your documents and take you from there."

He hardened his stare, lowering his sunglasses to reveal his lifeless brown eyes. "I suggest that you don't fuck with these people. You do what you just did to my men in front of them and you'll be having your hands trying to scoop the blood back into your cuts. Understand?"

Vasili nodded silently, watching as Andres and his posse left. He knew the smuggler was low on the chain and would have to work his way up higher. Intimidating the smuggle recruiter

There was no idea to tell how long he would be in such a sorry state.

Vasili's in trouble! Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone! You all give my writing purpose.