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Nightmares tore Kazimir from a slumber that was already restless, memories from D6 still too fresh in his mind. His brother had been a ranger too, and he’d held him as he took his last breath before joining their parents in whatever afterlife there might be. It was a curse, being the last person in one’s family, but it still beat being dead. Kaz rubbed his eyes as he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and standing. He would have preferred continuing to toss and turn, but the need to take a piss prevented him for finding even a modicum of comfort beneath his blankets. And so he went, relieving himself before pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He almost left without his boots, only noticing that his feet were bare when his hand touched the knob on the front door. A few minutes later, Kaz was moving through throngs of others fortunate enough to reside in Aleksandrov Sad, one of the Polis stations. He didn’t often count his fortunes, considering the bitter resentment he felt deeply in his soul. He was on his way to the tunnels, specifically a maintenance shaft where his brother once liked to play. Yakov was significantly younger than him, and for every bit of Kaz that was weighed down with the darkness of their reality, Yakov had been full of joy and spirit. He died doing what he loved, and even as his chest heaved with the rasping of his final cycling of oxygen, Yakov smiled. Kaz slowed to a stop outside of a bar, head turning as he stared hard at the door. Today was Yakov’s birthday. He would have been 25. Grimacing, Kaz entered a moment later to ask after a shot of vodka. He hated it, and it made him the brunt of many of Yakov’s jokes, but the sweetness of American whiskey was far more desirable to him. “To Yasha,” he murmured to himself, knocking back his brother’s favorite drink. He returned it to the counter, still standing as he ordered asked for a second. Sometimes Polis let him forget the state of the world. @Morrigan