FISSIONMAILED: Apartment complex

[majorbonerkiller]

Well Ivan certainly didn't remember leaving the door to his apartment wide open, just beckoning squatters to come shit on his carpet--or even worse, eat his food.

Not that they weren't all squatters here anyway. Ivan crouched down near the door frame, pulling out his tranquilizer gun. He peered over the threshold, and took a chance, hoping his dog was still here--and still alive.

"Galina! Here girl!"

When he heard the familiar patter and panting he sighed in relief, ruffling her ears when she was close enough, "Good girl." Curse himself for smiling at a time like this.

Slightly more confident now with his canine comrade, Ivan entered the dark apartment, keeping his footsteps quiet and his tranquilizer at the ready.

And he almost immediately tripped over his own dirty laundry, screaming in the process of mid-falling terror. Luckily his amazing acrobatic skills (catching himself on the dresser) came to the rescue.

Moving forward towards the center of the room Ivan could hear--breathing. He baited his breath, trying to hold back any instincts to just start shooting up the place. He was fueled by a sort of cocktail of terror and anger--how dare somebody come waltzing into his apartment thinking they own the goddamn place?!

He padded closer, towards the sounds of life--they must be on the couch, since he just knocked his knee on the coffee table and had to hiss in silent agony a moment before going on.

Finally steadying himself he located the perpetrator's head after several seconds (a whole minute of squinting) and pressed the muzzle of his gun against it, "Get up!"

Comments

[colonelcrotchgrab]

Volgin had been out for some time, but it had been too long if the owner of the place had some sort of weapon pointed at his graying head.

(He decided he did not care who owned what and who lived where, even if he risked the ire of monsters in human skins. The average civilian was not going to fuck with him. Very few were willing to try and dominate him. Most tried firearms. They failed spectacularly.)

Still, he made a face; the weapon was too close. An electric shock could have very well had the finger pulling the trigger and putting an end to his raid.

But that voice sounded familiar.

He chuckled. Very familiar.

"We fucked the other day. On that chair."

Slowly, the intruder pulled himself up, higher up than the average man Raikov might have felt.

"Nice dog."