Another inhale hisses through the line and Nicholai is walking again, his boots heavy against the ground. He exhales as he paces; something is bothering him, but he won't say anything.
"I will always be ready." The Russian snatches the handle to his knife and rips it from the floor, and the rat that was previously pinned beneath it. After a moment, he frowns and gently shakes it, sending blood splatters to the already-stained kitchen floor.
"You could send the chopper tonight and I would be ready, Death. I am always ready for your call."