<div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Ivan positions himself on the grimy floor on the other side of the fire. "I dunno," he replies vaguely. He lifts his hands to make a shadow puppet. A dog, a butterfly, and a swan all maka their appearance on the stage of the metro tunnel wall; his slender hands changing positions much more elegantly than any man's ever have. Truth be told, Ivan far prefers knives to guns. The few times he has held one, he has practiced doing tricks with it in secret, flipping it in the air and catching it again. It has littered his hands and lower arms with small cuts. Guns are too clunky and make too much noise, and he often dreams of the luxury they have to have in Полис. Maybe there is quiet there. A different quiet; one that doesn't require you to stay on your toes, lest you should meet the untimely end that is undoubtedly in stock for all the people of the Metro.<br/><br/>"What about the worm people? Tell me about the worm people!" The words are accompanied by a delighted shudder at the prospect of the horror stories to come. He knows it is all very real - but at the fire, it is too far away to worry too much about.</div></div>