Fanfic on Cruise's "Land of Superfluous." I looked at a Negro looking at me in disbelief, in a tropical form and with some kind of clone of me-shesheti in my hands, judging by the handle above the breech, and waited for someone to finally appear who could at least say something in a language I understood. It was impossible to talk with a Negro, he knew in Russian only the words "stand" and "do not move," and even those pronounced so that his gestures were much clearer. And what can you not understand when the barrel is poked in your face and they yell something?! Jump forward with a cry of "hurray" and, catching bullets with your teeth, somehow I don't want to "wet" the scoundrel! Although... no, perhaps, I already want to, only it is useless - I will not jump, but shoot, even when I am in flight... The Negro himself is nothing special, "ordinary nap," I am a kilogram fifteen to twenty heavier, but "me-shishnatsat"... Or not "shishnatsya," but there is such a characteristic handle on top, so at least an analogue - and as far as I am aware of its rate of fire, I will not have time to jump. And I want to! The Negro, apparently, saw something in my face, as he strained even more and pressed his rumble closer to his shoulder.