A quiet night in the Metro was a rare sight. But it was pleasant, a nice change for once. Idiot was sitting by the table at the bar, slowly sipping on his coffee he ordered. It was hard to call this watery thing a coffee, but that was the best they could get in the Metro. In his hands was a book, Dostoyevsky's, of course - his favourite writer which also inspired his nickname, Idiot. His true name remained unknown to people who weren't his friends.

He glanced up when he heard noise, frowning.