Slava Sobaka!

Anh’s Scooter sank into the grimy water-logged streets of District Four. Yellow and white buildings, three stories, all crammed together like sardines. On each corner were beehives of electrical wires on poles as infrastructure from the 1950s and 60s continued to get tacked on with more and more cables, a mess of cables lining the streets. On the first floor, at the street level, shops, markets, alleyways. Some outside consultants might look at the crime reports and conclude that District 4 is one of the safest areas of Saigon, with criminal attacks, robberies, and murders only occurring near the great harbors and warehouses. But everyone in the city knew otherwise. The Docks are the only areas policed because those are what Saito and The Magistrate deemed essential. For the district, the residents know better than to call, and the police know better than to respond. 

Lamp posts hung lightless as the moths and mosquitos hovered around the floodlights and lanterns. Each lamp is a personal investment in warding off danger. Between the buildings was a labyrinth of alleyways, some lit, some not. Some alleyways leading to new shops and markets, others leading to a place where you can get stabbed and robbed. Sometimes both.

“Is this where we're going to meet our contact?” Anh spoke Kente looked at his Haiku unit. The rain poured down on them both collecting in pools along the folds of Anh’s transparent poncho and Kente’s raincoat. The coat was borrowed from one of Anh’s neighbors and was about $765.56 cheaper than his normal double-breasted raincoat. But Kente wore power suits only when they communicated power. Should they signal weakness or vulnerability he happily discards them for something inconspicuous.

Missy held a colorful image of a map, and pointed to it, behind her a black and white picture labeled ‘Dragon Wharf.’ “The signal they provided sent us to this abandoned French Dock.”

“They? You told me he was alone” Anh hissed to the two behind her.

“Agron, like most East-bloc adjacent assets, has a handler, her name is Kiki.”

“Ok, but I’m sure as hell not parking here, so tell them we are driving in. Hold on tight.”

Kente nearly lost his balance as the bike floored it into the complex. The Pink Colonnade building was once the main dock for French Saigon, but had long since been abandoned by the grander Saito Corp International Shipping Port in District 2. As they sped towards the building the grand façade gave way to destitution as the boarded and broken through windows revealed themselves. Anh entered the concrete colonnade and searched the windows for signs of activity. Kente with his pistol and flashlight surveyed they stopped at a magnificent door once stood. They drove through to enter the old government building from the French colonial days, now left destitute and abandoned. Light from lamps faintly poured through the cracked windows, to reveal towers of crates with the word Макарова stenciled on. The plastic on Anh's poncho shuffled as she tried to pull out her gun. Kente looked at her.

She whispered, “Sorry.”

Kente walks out with his hands up, and then says in English, “If you're here, we're ready to talk. Are you the contact?”

Silence.

Anh translates the message into Vietnamese.

Missy repeats the message in Russian.

A cold feminine voice in Russian can be heard from beyond a pile of rebel boxes and abandoned mail. “Speak to him, comrade. I don't want to hear screeching capitalist robot.”

The shadow of a dog emerges from the shadows. It then stepped into the light. A feminine but metallic voice, almost as if it's run through a metal sieve, rang out, “Do not pull gun. Corporatist Pigs. I have sniper capabilities. We see all.” A cold female voice said in perfect grammatically correct Japanese.

Agron turned his snout to the large box on his right shoulder. “Don't lie. It's not good.”

“I'm not lying. I have capabilities.” The Voice from the speaker rang out. “You just don't let me use them. Activate Pavlichenko Protocols!”

“Запрос отклонен”

“Почемуууууу?” The speaker whined.

Stepping into the light, the man with the head of what looked like a Rottweiler: black and brown, snout, perked up ears. The body was that of a young soldier. He wore what seemed to be the tattered remnants of a Yugoslav military uniform with the name Y. Stephanovich on his arm. Beneath the large peacoat was a shirt and pants that had been patched and repaired to the point where it wasn't clear what they originally even looked like. It seems to hold little more than skater knee pads and other makeshift armor. The only thing pristine on the dog's outfit as it stepped into the light was a Yugoslavian army patch maintained with pride.

The dog then tries to speak in Vietnamese with a think Eastern European accent. “Hello. Name Agron. Yes. You hear speak. See me, yes. Do?”

Anh was shocked not only by the appearance of the creature but its attempt to speak Vietnamese.

“You speak Vietnamese only little. Need practice. Still try,” he said, using gestures as he talks.

The voice behind rings in Russian again, “Let me speak to capitalist assets. This is my job.”

“Not now, Kiki. I want to practice.”

“You practice another time. We are working!”

Kente and Anh looked at each other apprehensively, unsure what the large creature and his handler might be saying. Anh began to reach for her gun. The handler seems to notice that they're armed. She shouts in Russian. Alarms blared.

“Activating Pavlichenko Protocols!” A red light pulsed from Agron's shoulder. Anh jumps back and throws her hands up.

Agron, instead of pulling out his own firearm or his own rifle, instead holds his clawed and gloved hand up.

“No, no, no, no. Be no harm. No harm.” He says to Kiki in Russian, “You startled them. You translate for me. Now.”

Alarms ceased and the room was silent enough to hear the roaches scamper along the floor. All the humans in the room were frozen as statues. Agron spoke slowly and calmly in his native Albanian.

“Forgive my helper, Kiki. She is enthusiastic, not used to contact like this.”

Kiki listlessly translated to Japanese before adding a “Hey” at the end of her translation. “Agron does not appreciate that. I am careful.” Agron shrugged and continued. “May I speak English?”

Kente and Anh nodded.

“We will work with you. We would like to talk, but first.”

The large dogman stared down Kente while Kente tried to keep his composure. Adrenaline spiked through Kente. Anh’s knees wobbled. Agron let out a slow smile.

“You buy us food.”

Kente pauses for a moment, looks at Anh through the corner of his eye, then back to Agron. “Sure, anything you want. Missy, are there any steakhouses open tonight?”

Agron salivated at the thought, tongue lolled out before he caught himself.

“No, no. I have place. Perfect meeting space. Nearby.” The dog-man walked between the two Saito Corp employees, and out the door. Anh and Kente hopped back on the bike.

“I know this city, no threats. Follow me.” The dog man jumped out of the door and raced through the city on four limbs. Anh and Kente trailed behind him in the scooter to catch up.

𒁖 𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓𒅓 𒆸
𒈥 𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒇦
𒈥𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂 MITSUKI HAIKU | 橙E5:17-95 𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒇦
𒈥 𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂 ミツキ俳句 | 橙E5:17-95𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒇦
𒈥 𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂 サイトー株式会 𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒇦
𒈥 𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂𒇦
𒈥 𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂 𒇦
𒈥 𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂 𒅂 ミツキは言う 𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂 𒇦
𒈥 𒅂𒅂𒅂 (≧▽≦)/ Mitsuki Haiku Says: ＼(⌒▽⌒) 𒅂𒅂𒇦
𒈥 𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂𒅂 𒇦
𒈥𒅂 Historical Fun Fact: 𒅂
𒈥𒅂Both The USSR and USA𒅂
𒈥𒅂 were banned 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 From Saigon 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 Both Superpowers𒅂
𒈥𒅂Have to Use Proxies𒅂
𒈥𒅂America has 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 (´♡‿♡`) JAPAN (´♡‿♡`) 𒅂
𒈥𒅂So The Soviets𒅂
𒈥𒅂 Brought Their own 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 Special Ally 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 ( ◕▿◕ ) 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 The One and only 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 “Market Socialist 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 Multiethnic 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 Eastern Military Power 𒅂
𒈥𒅂 ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ Yugoslavia!!⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝𒅂
𒈥𒅂 
𒈥𒅂 
𒈥𒅂
 𒈥𒅂 ( China was Busy ) 𒅂
𒇡 𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧𒋧 𒇧