_Word_=Italics!!! (You can criticize it!!!) Mikhail walked across the glass-littered floor, each breaking more pieces. The ammunition in his pouches jingled like coins, His rifle thrown over his shoulder. The pieces of glass grinded against his boot and the concrete beneath him in unison, scraping against the floor like nails on a chalkboard. His stomach growled loudly, his pace quickening. Ivan waited in the truck, the record player jerry-rigged to the dashboard sloppily playing soft jazz music. Ivan watched Mikhail with his binoculars, following every movement he made. Suddenly, he dropped the binoculars, they tumbled under the seat. As Ivan looked down, his eyes were drawn to the broken fuel gauge meter, each number painted on the dial poorly. As he searched for the binoculars he quietly sang along to the song. “A distant polar settlement…Is lost in the mounds of the deep…Only the rhythmic clicking of the telegraph…Only the hum of the wind in the wir-” a loud knocking sound ended Ivan’s singing as soon as it had started, he quickly looked out the window to see Mikhail, carrying two large bags. “Would you mind helping?” Mikhail retorted, raising an eyebrow at Ivan. “Oh _Gladly_, Mikhail, Oh _Gladly_…” Muttered Ivan. Mikhail rolled his eyes at Ivan, worn out by Ivan’s attitude. He threw one of the bags right on top of Ivan, taking the wind out of him. “Hey! What was that for!” Ivan rasped sharply. “I said I’d help you!” “If you truly wanted to help, you would’ve come with me to grab the rest of the supplies!” yelled Mikhail, his voice echoing throughout the empty complex. Ivan went quiet, looking away. Mikhail sighed, rubbing his forehead and temples in slight frustration. “And if you're wondering…Yes, the food and fuel is still somehow good…even if it's been a little over…What? Four or so centuries at this point…” Ivan slowly nodded his head, taking the information in. “Good to know, I don’t plan on dying from some old stew in a can older than my Great Grandfather!” Mikhail tried holding his smirk back, but failed. “Soup or no soup, you're still helping me. Now stop being a walrus and get up!” Mikhail dragged Ivan out of the truck, and dragged him towards a large room with a faded sign reading "Supplies". Mikhail pressed himself against the old rusty door, slowly pushing the stubborn door open. Inside laid stacks upon stacks of old metal and wooden crates, filled to the brim with ammo, food, fuel, and another assortment of items. Ivan’s jaw practically dropped. He ran towards a crate of food, labeled “Canned Potatoes". He snatched a can, staring at it hungrily. “How much can we carry with us?!” Ivan asked loudly, looking at Mikhail and then the potatoes again. “I’d say…hm…maybe this whole crate?” Mikhail muttered. “Including fuel?” Ivan asked. “Yes, Including Fuel,” Mikhail answered. __________________________________________ After what felt like hours of organizing and bringing supplies to the truck, it was all over. Mikhail wiped his hands off from all the dust and dirt that lingered on them, Ivan was already eating a raw can of potatoes. His hands dug into the can, digging up chunks of potato, shoving them into his mouth greedily. Droplets of juice from the can falling onto the cold truck of the bed. Mikhail grabbed a can of old fuel, his breath slowly getting faster. He unscrewed the cap and slowly poured it into the fuel tank, the can emptying steadily. Ivan watched him as he swallowed another handful of potato, staring at the canister. Mikhail slowly pulled the nozzle out, screwing the cap back onto the can. He placed it into the truck-bed and slowly walked to the front seat, signaling Ivan in too. Ivan quickly scarfed the rest of the food down, and threw the can as he walked over to the passenger side door. Mikhail turned the keys, and put the truck into the first gear. The engine stuttered for several seconds and stopped. Mikhail’s face slowly turned white when suddenly, the engine spurred to life. Ivan clapped his hands in glee, patting Mikhail on the back, his face adorn with a friendly smile. “Never doubt yourself, Mikhail!” Ivan said gleefully. Mikhail reversed the truck and raised it to another gear, and soon, they were already gone.
