"Huh?'
Vladimir's brain was unable to even start processing and comprehending what he was seeing for a moment, before his eyes inexorably threatened to pop out of their sockets in sheer shock.
Despite intentionally losing the match, he had by no means expected for his Sir to achieve a royal flush so effortlessly, which is calculated to have an outcome of no more than 0.000154%.
It was simply ridiculous.
Vladimir froze, staring at the cards as his mind scrambled to catch up in confusion.
"S-sir, w-wait, how... how did you—?"
'He was expected to have 8s and 5s of the heart and the spade! I even took the initiative to take that course on how to cheat in poker 101 for around 2,300 Euros! I want my money back!'
Vladimir's eyes darted to his own cards. He'd tried to lose, tried to play poorly, but somehow, Yuuta always seemed to know what he had.
Was it possible the man was doing it on purpose? Vladimir's thoughts spiraled.
"I-I... no, hahaha.., yes, I was going easy on you, of course!" Vladimir stammered, laughing awkwardly and putting down a card that made no sense at all, his fingertips gently trembling.
His ice wall completely melted, not even leaving a puddle in memoire.
Yuuta's expression didn't change. His fingers drummed lightly on the seat beside him, irritation building in the silence.
Vladimir's mind was spinning in circles. He couldn't think properly, falling to a daze. His body wasn't cooperating, as if he had simply lost complete control of his mind to a possessing ghost.
The simplest task, playing a card game, had become an insurmountable challenge under Yuuta's watchful gaze. What was wrong with him?
Yuuta let out a sigh, placing his cigarette down, finally looking at Vladimir with something bordering on disappointment.
Raising his eyes in a slow motion, he parted his lips, revealing a flat voice with not a hint of emotion in it.
"Just play the game, Vladimir. And take it seriously."
Vladimir could feel the tension in the air now, thick and suffocating. He had no idea how to escape the suffocating pressure, and each card he picked up felt like a weight dragging him further down, no different from pulling a mountain.
The SUV cut through the chilly night, the gleaming moon engulfed by violent moving clouds
. Outside, the grand, icy city of St. Petersburg stretched before them. Snow blanketed the rooftops of the intricate, towering buildings adorned with golden domes and baroque facades.
The streetlights reflected off the frozen canals, creating an ethereal glow in the misty air. The Neva River lay frozen solid, stretching into the horizon, interrupted only by the skeletal remains of docks and frozen ships trapped within the ice.
The streets, though beautiful, carried an air of hostility, as if the city itself knew of the darkness lurking in its underbelly.
Pedestrians, wrapped in thick coats, hurried along the sidewalks, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Russia in winter was both a masterpiece and a death sentence for the unprepared.
As the car continued moving on to the direction of the airport, the SUV slowly approached a security checkpoint near a bridge leading towards the airport, which elicited in turn the driver to slow down.
The car's speed decreased from 60 km/h to 45… 37… 23… 11, until it finally came to a complete stop as the driver pressed the brakes to their limit.
He was an experienced driver for over 30+ years, and opposite to those that felt shame from their job as taxi drivers, he felt immense pride in himself in perfecting his job flawlessly.
As they approached what seemed like a checkpoint lit by white-lighted streetlights that was barely visible due to the violent nature of the snowstorm, soldiers were stationed holding their rifles and other military based jeeps with m2 machine guns stationed atop of them and several other vehicles.
A few grey - dark greenish tents were pitched here and there, a group of men in military uniforms and thick fur coats waved them down. Their faces were obscured by thick scarves, their gloved hands gripping their rifles tightly.
Vladimir, muscles stiffened, as he sensed something amiss from the unexpected company. He quickly changed his attitude to that of a seasoned soldier, as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion and became tense.
"Sir, something's off." He warned, his voice laced with undisguised disdain. His eyes flicked toward Yuuta, awaiting his reaction.
Yuuta didn't reply but merely adjusted the cuff of his jacket as the driver rolled down the window of the SUV, questioningly.
"How may I help you sir?" The driver inquired, his voice dripping with a hint of unhidden nervousness.
He was quite curious about the men that tried to stop them. It seemed they had a death wish their parents had left them before passing on to the underworld!
Did they not realize they were stepping a territory filled with landmines?
…...Is what the driver was probably thinking at that moment, as he subconsciously shivered at the cold air that had invaded the now heated vehicle, which was no different from a colonel barking orders to his men to invade a country on the brink of a civil war.
One of the Russian men approached, appearing different from the rest, as he did not have a scarf covering his face which clearly displayed his ferociousness akin to that of a lion.
The middle-aged man seemed to be in his late 40's, with a deep scar running from his right ear that was covered by a black cloth of an eyepatch, to his left cheek, creating a straight line across his features that seemed to have been cut open by a zigzagged knife.
The man stood at the astounding height of 8 feet, as if he was an Alaskan Polar bear, which intimidated the driver shitless, especially with the gleaming, barrel-frosted Remington 870 in his hands.
Hearing the man speak in English, the man turned his head to his comrades before speaking in Russian, as his fellow comrades shook their head in clear denial.
The man squinted his eyes towards them for a moment in suspicion, with them averting their eyes from him
He shook his head in undisguised irritation.
With his rifle slung across his chest, the man spoke his Russian. "Ты не говоришь по-русски?" (Do you not speak Russian?)
The burly man became suspicious at the odd visitors that stayed in Russia, came upon a security checkpoint, didn't have a translator, and did not even know how to speak Russian.
Especially at this time of the night.
The driver, who had started sweating profusely, looked at the man with an awkward smile on his face.
"S-sorry, I only speak English" He chuckled nervously as he started seating buckets, fidgeting. It was the first time he had found himself in a pickle since he started his career.
Although he had the driving skills and experience to flex, 1. He spoke to normal citizens and wasn't used to speaking to higher authorities such as soldiers and 2. He mainly depended on communicating with gestures, as learning every single language was as tiresome as it could get, although he learned a word or two from his rich interactions.
The man frowned, as he recalled a few words of English he had learned from one of the prisoners he had held captive a few years ago, trying to form a sentence in his head.
The burly man pointed to himself as he spoke in a harsh-like, deep, hoarse voice, giving the influence that he was a heavy drinker and smoker.
"Me. Nikola Zakhzburgh." The man said as he analyzed the driver that nodded his head slowly in understanding.
He spoke once more, which made the driver freeze on the spot.
"Papar, show"
He demanded, as he held the shotgun with one arm, with his other hand leaning on the window of the driver.
The driver who for the first time was asked for his vehicle proof and insurance in years, and by an evidently high soldier at that, fell into a panic as he nervously with trembling hands opening the small cabinet of the seat besides him.
It seemed today was filled with 'firsts' for him. Unfortunately, he did not know it would also be his 'lasts'.
He tightly gripped what was in his hand as if his life depended on it, and handed over a thick, leather-bound document with forged credentials.
The soldier barely looked at it before nodding to his men who all gripped their weapons as they advanced forward.
"Step out, car. All of you." The man demanded in a booming voice, with his comrades aiming at the vehicles and looking through their scopes.
Ka-Chak!
Yuuta's eyes squinted slightly for a moment, as the atmosphere thickened with tension. However, before anyone could react, a sharp and loud bang echoed through the air.
BOOM!
The driver's head popped like a watermelon from the 410 bore shells, blood and brain matter sprayed across the windshield alike, the lifeless body thumping on the steering wheel, in return, triggering the beeping mechanism of the car without pause.
It seemed it would be quite the long night.