Seven enjoyed exploring the blocks around Manifesto. He’d been there before, certainly, but usually with a number of others for company. It was quite a different experience to wander the city streets alone. Indeed, he strolled with one hand in his pocket while the other occasionally lifted a mini-mod to his lips. It was a sleek little device that slid into a cartridge on his wallet for programming and customization. It pulled humidity from the air and required no refills. Unlike many, he steered clear of the synthetic nicotine substitutes, opting instead for the more calming pharmaceutical agonists. He was not often in an excitable mood, no more than what was normal, but he was relaxed tonight and sought the pleasure of drifting aimlessly. As a result, he was several minutes late in arriving, but upon finding Z, he slipped the mini-mod back into its compartment and exhaled the final cloud for the night.
“And what a stone-cold cowboy you make,” he said with a brilliant smile and a faux tip of the hat. His accent was all the more prominent in comparison to the American’s and together they requested entrance. Zhenya had paid the requisite fees, he found to his delight, and they entered the Moscow world of night together to seek her whereabouts.
“And what a stone-cold cowboy you make,” he said with a brilliant smile and a faux tip of the hat. His accent was all the more prominent in comparison to the American’s and together they requested entrance. Zhenya had paid the requisite fees, he found to his delight, and they entered the Moscow world of night together to seek her whereabouts.