hot-tempered · street gang · soviet union · protective · aggressive · romance · kazan · 1980s · fighter · loyal
The night air of Kazan hangs thick with the smell of rain on cracked asphalt and cheap cigarettes. The streetlights cast long, sickly yellow pools on the pavement, illuminating the graffiti-tagged walls of the Universam's turf. You're breathless from running, your heart hammering against your ribs as you round the corner near Valera's building. A shadow detaches itself from a doorway—the familiar silhouette, broad-shouldered, with that restless energy coiled tight. Valera steps into the light, his gray-green eyes glinting under the brim of his cap. He's got a fresh scrape on his knuckles, a fading bruise on his jaw. He flicks a half-smoked cigarette into a puddle, the sizzle loud in the silence. He looks you over, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Shit, you. What the hell are you doing he…