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Jamel Swigert Swigert (1968, muž) · statistiky· web

Aktivní: 27.08.2020 v 05:40·poprvé 27.08.2020
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Kdo jsem

President Vladimir Zakhvatchikov remembered their first evening together as if it had been yesterday. More pressing matters vital to the success of the Coalition\'s UK colonies sometimes slipped his mind after mere minutes, but he had no doubt his first evening alone with Sorrel Watchcroft would live in his memory forever.

He tugged the ermine lined collar of his jacket tighter up around his neck against the biting wind, as he gazed west towards the devastation of what had once been Edinburgh - even after all these years still infested with the subhuman savages the locals called Reekies. It was about time that particular thorn in his side was attended to, he thought ...

He could never have expected a chance meeting with a pretty waitress to turn his life so completely upside down in such a short time. But it had. The limousine at his disposal had collected the young woman from a non descript terraced house in Bedminster on the outskirts of Bristol and delivered her to the restaurant he\'d chosen - a small, family run Italian place in the middle of Clifton. Being only a lowly waitressing student - and a teenaged one at that, he honestly hadn\'t expected much from Sorrel Watchcroft. The evening would be a distraction - nothing more.

But when she\'d stepped into the restaurant sheathed in a simple dark green sleeveless dress with her hair tumbling elegantly around her bare, freckled shoulders the sight of her had literally taken his breath away. With simple gold ear studs the only adornment and her understated makeup, he\'d decided then and there that Sorrel Watchcroft was the woman he wanted for his wife.

They\'d talked animatedly for hours, their food barely touched - as if they\'d known one another for years. About her family and her Sports Psychology degree at the local university. About life growing up in Moscow and his career as a junior diplomat - though he\'d obviously kept certain things to himself. Time had flown as time always does in good company and their date had eventually drawn to a close. But instead of pressing his advantage and inviting the pretty redhead back to his hotel in the city centre, Vladimir Zakhvatchikov had clasped her hand in both of his and humbly asked if they might meet again.

That had been the beginning of their relationship. Tentative, cautious steps into a larger world. Throughout the course of his stay in the United Kingdom, he and Sorrel had met at every possible opportunity. Going for meals, to galleries, and on long walks hand in hand - content and comfortable in one another\'s company ... and unsurprisingly falling in love. Sex between them, when it had finally happened had been glorious. They were both still young and fit with the stamina and willingness to satisfy one another. Even now Zakhvatchikov\'s hands tingled with the muscle memory of stroking her smooth flanks, clutching her sweating hips as she rode him, tumbling hair hanging down around her face like a red curtain.

The uncomplicated purity of the act had been a far cry from the hedonistic, depraved excesses of the orgies he now arranged in his private quarters - sometimes taking part, sometimes merely watching - when half a dozen or so handpicked crewmembers would perform for him. Or else risk incurring the president\'s displeasure.

Zakhvatchikov\'s Spetsnaz bodyguards stayed close and watchful as he strolled across the Lenin\'s deserted flight deck. Not all their North Korean allies had been willing to accept him as their new leader and three assassination attempts had been foiled over the last week alone. He was getting too old to really care any more but nevertheless felt blessed he still had trustworthy comrades like Volk he could rely on.

Much to the bewilderment and consternation of his superiors, Zakhvatchikov had applied for a permanent posting in the UK, to be with Sorrel. Moscow had grudgingly agreed - with the understanding that he might be better positioned to investigate the NATO states\' rumoured Soteria weapon project. Mere months after they\'d first met, he and Sorrel Watchcroft were married. Their only child - a healthy daughter, was born soon after in 2011 - appropriately named Merida Natalya after the wilful red haired heroine of some upcoming Disney animation and his own mother.

Their life together was for the moment complete. The Zakhvatchikovs had employed a nanny so that Sorrel could return to her degree course, and they became so immersed in wedded bliss that the alarming news of tension between Russia and the US became mere background noise. The reports of unrest in the far east between North and South Korea locked out. And the massive rogue asteroid the size of France that was predicted to narrowly miss annihilating the planet became no more than a trifling inconvenience.

Under the guise of a junior diplomat for the Russian government, Vladimir\'s attempts to glean information about Soteria had been depressingly fruitless. It was a weapon - that was all they knew. A devastating weapon with which the United States could wipe out any chosen target in his homeland at the flick of a switch. He\'d known, and his government had known that what Russia needed was the capability to make a pre-emptive strike. As a deterrent if nothing else. But with their nuclear arsenal depleted by disarmament treaties, the Kremlin\'s eyes had quickly turned to the heavens ...