Fitting in among other people was something Jett was trying to get himself used to again, and quickly. As much as the previous training and testing facility had contained other Supers, they weren't exactly there to mingle. Jett had limited contact with people who weren't his own duplications, but it was fine, all things considered it wasn't torture.
Just unfortunately dull.
So Limbo was a sharp change of pace, with the colourful personalities and all the different possibilities to navigate. Beer and pool was almost foreign to him, but the muscle memory returned and he was lucky that Vasily seemed more prone to accidentally getting a ball in a hole rather than any kind of ploy to strip Jett of any remaining dignity.
Ultimately, it meant they could be rusty together.
Vasily's missed ball meant that Jett could line up his own -he'd ditched any 'fancy' attire, forgone the gel in his hair and just existed for the moment, in worn out jeans he'd had when he was caught five years ago and a henley shirt he wasn't sure was his but he'd somehow acquired.
Getting onto the subject of their 'sheets' wasn't terribly surprising though. "Yes, I suppose that's what they'd call it. Burglary is more correct, robbery tends to involve threats towards people, I usually hit a house or business while it was empty." Because he was a shit, yes, but he wasn't a violent one. He had no intention of causing harm to anyone, it'd never really been any kind of end goal, not by a long shot.
Circumstances what they were, it happened, and the cop was killed and now Jett had this for a life. He supposed it was a good thing they only pushed for manslaughter and not out right murder given he was a Super and people wouldn't rightly care. "You, however, mentioned Russian prisons." And given Vasily's accent, Jett didn't think it was as a tourist.