<div align="center"><strong>Semyon's Post-Time Lapse Super-Full Morning</strong></div><br/>The morning of the mission found Semyon waking in a bed in a hotel. It was a nice room, but not extravagant. The bed was large and the mattress comfortable, although it did dip noticeably where he lay. Most did because of his mass. Semyon was not alone when he awoke: three women of African heritage lay sprawled in the bed. Two were splayed over his body, their warmth pleasant where their dark skin touched and contrasted with his fairer complexion. The third spooned the woman on Semyon's right. All three of them were in a deep sleep, recuperating from a night of drinking - that Semyon had not partaken of, although he had gladly paid for bottles of champagne - and intercourse. One of the women murmured, "no more babe, please" as Semyon worked to extricate himself from the mass of Nubian flesh. He could not remember, but he was fairly certain that the women were models of some sort - their slender, willowy figures aided in corroborating this half-remembered factoid.<br/><br/>Semyon padded, nude, into the bathroom and washed his face. Given Black Hearts' policy regarding alcohol and narcotics, he was clean, sober, and ready to face the day. While it was a fact that Russians fought better with alcohol in their system - the Great Patriotic War seemed like ample proof of the thesis - Semyon abided by the company policy and had not touched a drop since signing his contract. It was a difficult burden to bear, but he was Russian. Suffering, and doing so stoically, was in his genes. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, and Semyon found that the eyes staring back at him were ones he could live with seeing without the aid of alcohol. Although it was a damnable waste of his natural, inborn talents.<br/><br/>The large man padded out into the main room, and found a fourth dark-skinned woman nude and laying face down on the couch. He checked her over, briefly, and found that like the others she was simply deeply asleep. Semyon covered her with a blanket quickly retrieved from the bedroom, and as he was draping the blanket over the woman the door opened. It seemed that Semyon had, in the process of getting a blanket, missed any knock that would have heralded housekeeping and when the petite Hispanic woman laid eyes upon the hunched and naked form of Semyon her lips parted and cheeks flushed slightly. It was probably not uncommon for her to see naked men, but Semyon stood out in several ways. The woman murmured a few words in what might have been Spanish before covering her mouth.<br/><br/>"I . . . the next room's empty." The woman said at last, and Semyon was surprised at what he took as a proposition.<br/><br/>"Okay." The Russian said, taking a moment to scoop up his clothing before he followed the swaying of a pleasantly curved behind and pleasingly rounded hips, and was impressed at how the woman they belonged to managed to use them to overcome how unflattering her uniform was to her figure.<br/><br/>An hour and a half later, Semyon found himself in the lobby. He was dressed and showered - though it was arguable how clean he had gotten in the shower, given what had transpired - and looking at the bill. "If you want your . . . lady friends . . . to be undisturbed, the best procedure is just to pay for another night." The clerk said, and Semyon began to slowly nod his head and accept the fact that he would have to pay for the room for another night.<br/><br/>"Is fair, is fair." Semyon said to indicate that he accepted culpability, and pulled out his wallet. He placed a credit card down and let the clerk going about charging. "And maybe you are keeping number in case my lady friends are wanting . .  . eggs? Steak? Whatever is they are wanting to be eating." The large man said. The clerk nodded, and she spared him a longer than necessary glance before her fingers efficiently tapped at the screen, presumably to create an account and store the information he requested in a secure and confidential manner. Some minutes later she presented him with a receipt for his records, a copy to be signed for the hotel's, and his card. Semyon signed, and returned the slip.<br/><br/>"Thank you. I hope you'll stay with us again soon." The clerk said in a cheery tone. Semyon smiled, and nodded, waving goodbye to the woman.<br/><br/>Semyon went to a deli, since the next bus home was not for some time yet He went to a very specific deli, because he wanted Montreal smoked meat. Corned beef was okay, if the staff of the delicatessen made it in house, but Semyon had yet to find one that did, so he stuck with what he knew. It was not a coincidence that he had chosen this particular hotel. It lay within easy walking distance of the hotel, and as soon as Semyon walked in the French-Canadian deli owner looked up from behind the counter. Recognition was immediate, and as Semyon held up three fingers he received a quick nod. French with a heavy Quebecois accent flew behind the counter as Semyon took a seat at a booth. The only other patrons were a pair of senior citizens sitting further away, arguing with one another as only old couples may. Semyon suspected that both had poor hearing, which exacerbated the argument but neither raised their voices.<br/><br/>Soon enough Semyon had a heavy plate laid down in front of him. It was early in the day so he could truly appreciate the freshness of the bread baked that morning, and the tantalizing juices of the Montreal smoked meat soaked it in a way that had Semyon's mouth watering. As always, there was just the right amount of mustard. A glass of water accompanied, and Semyon tucked in. The mystique of watching Semyon eat a sandwich with three pounds of meat in it had long ago vanished, and so the man's mastication merited only the briefest shake of the head before the French-Canadian returned to work. Like always, the sandwich fell victim to Semyon's hunger and there was nothing left on the plate but an errant drip of mustard and a few crumbs. Semyon sighed, and finished his water. The Russian paid and left a generous tip that was actually more than his meal cost, but he could afford it and it was possible he would die and never have another chance.<br/><br/>The man waited for another few minutes at the bus stop. The bus came, and Semyon took, transferring halfway and then getting off near his home. There he showered and performed various hygiene procedures that he had skipped on because he did not have the things at the hotel. After he was finished and in fresh clothes he popped onto the internet, wired more money home, phoned the bank to ensure that the next of kin information on his various accounts was in order, and ate some cereal. Then he left to catch the bus to the base. He rode in silence, alongside many other dour commuters who did not wish to go to work.<br/><br/>Semyon went through the motions of the security procedures. He went and changed into his gear, donning the heaviest armour any of the members of Black Hearts wore. Semyon was not as swift as some, and he was not going to dodge any bullets. And as a conspicuous, large target, Semyon wanted to be as hard of one as he could. The discomfort and weight had saved his life several times. He could laugh at 5.56mm while he wore it, which edified the Russian in so many ways as to be ineffable. When Semyon his the tarmac he was ready to go, face concealed beneath a ballistic mask that had the vaguest darker highlights to make a skull face.<br/><br/>Seeing Siouxsie did not bother Semyon much. It probably just meant that the mission had taken a turn for the worse. Maybe it was guaranteed that there would be no Ranger support now. Maybe there was new intel on their target, and he had transformed into a fifty-foot tall fire-breathing monstrosity. The Russian made his way up to the technical, and made a slow circuit around it. There was no way that he was going to fit through the gunner hole. And that depressed Semyon just the smallest bit, and since it was obvious who was going to drive it meant that he would be riding in the truck bed.<br/><br/>Semyon accepted that with characteristic stoicism.