Major Raikov

[Ivan had taken today to sleep in. Curled up in his and Volgin's massive bed, barely noticeable under the lumps of sheets if not for that silvery-blonde head peeking out as a dead give away.]

[Nestled against his chest lay Galina, peacefully snoozing much like her master.]

[All-in-all...it was a completely average, uneventful day.]

[Ivan leaned in close to the mirror, eyeballing the cut across his face. He ran a gloved finger over it with a frown, noting that it yes, it had re-closed since its re-opening from his borrowed electric powers.]

[But now it was red and angry, slightly swelled above the surface. All together, hideous. Not to mention the sword wounds all over his arm and some on his chest that had suffered the same gruesome reanimation. Luckily those could be covered, kept hidden and neat.]

[Ivan curled and uncurled the fingers on his cybernetic hand, metal and joints creaking. A glove was pulled over it with slight resistance, and then he headed out the door.]

[An entire day spent wandering the Nexus, and all he had to show for it was a full belly and some ammo. Outside rooms were a bore. Effect rooms were to be avoided. His "secretary" was not around right now for casual encounters.]

[There were no other interests that day; nobody to take out his annoyance on of his again marred face. But there was Volgin, back at his apartment that he was now approaching. Volgin, on the couch as usual, acting like a-]

Lazy old man.

[After this and this.]

Your eye--Volgin, we have to get you to the doctor. Look at you, you're limping!

[Raikov, tried to get in front of the giant, to stop him from just walking aimlessly down the hall. The doctor was in the opposite direction!]

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!"