It was around 11PM. Fyodor sat in the loud club, drowning out the noise as he silently sipped his drink, before placing it down again. He had just gotten back from small assassination, and he figured he might as well take a trip to the club. He sat in the stool at the bar counter, his finger tapping against his glass as he was thinking deeply. Eventually, he snapped out of it, and let his eyes quietly wander around the club, observing and judging anyone who came into his vision.