In the blackness, he stood alone. Stan was a new boy on the circuit; there was no denying that fact, but he had potential and was very keen, so they had taken him on. His crew would have kicked him to the kerb long ago if they hadn"t.
He didn’t have a Russian background, just some long-lost grandparent who was later sent to Siberia after the revolt. But that was enough to get him in. After all, family is family. He was tall, and his physique was that of a wrestler. He wore his brown hair greased-back and a new blue nylon tracksuit, which made an annoying rustling sound whenever he moved, but the others all wore such outfits, so he guessed he’d learn to live with it.
He gripped the MP5 tightly, the touch of the metal and plastic felt good in his hands. He felt the power emanating from it,
