INT: Chernobyl, Ukraine - Day
[Dikin walks cautiously through the desolate ruins of Chernobyl, searching for any sign of sustenance amidst the wreckage.]
Dikin: (muttering to himself) Ey, this place doesn't look too bad. (spots a peculiar-looking plant amidst the radioactive debris)
[Dikin plucks the plant and carefully tucks it into a bag. He makes his way back to his modest apartment, entering the cramped space. He places the plant in a pan, fills it with hot water, and watches as the liquid turns a sickly shade of green. With a shrug, he proceeds to eat the plant, green juices splurging all over his plate. He reaches for a bottle of vodka, squirts it into his mouth, and then settles down into his sleeping bag.]
INT: Unidentified Multiverse - Time Unknown
[Dikin finds himself hurtling through various dimensions, his surroundings constantly shifting, accompanied by the eerie tune of "The Devious Dr Dumpty" playing in the background.]
INT: Unidentified Multiverse - Time: 2:52
[Dikin regains consciousness, scratching his head in confusion.]
Dikin: Where am I?
[Dikin stands up and makes his way towards a nearby mansion. He knocks on the door, hoping for some answers.]
Mr Money: (opens the door cautiously) Hello? I hope you're not here to spill any Soviet secrets, sir.
Dikin: No, no, I'm not here for that. I just have a simple question. Where am I? I had a bit too much to drink last night. That potato and shoe moonshine really hit me hard.
Mr Money: (raising an eyebrow) You're in Hoboken, mate. And here, moonshining is illegal. I'd advise you not to speak too openly about it. In this household, we don't need moonshine. We have deluxe alcohol that can get you wasted like a sewer.
Dikin: (perplexed) Hoboken? Where's that exactly?
Mr Money: (smirking) It's in the USA. Are you from the moon or something? Oh, wait, Soviets never went to the moon! Haha.
Dikin: (chuckling) USA? The land of communist haters? Comrade, you must take me home to Ukraine.
Mr Money: (dismissively) I am NOT flying my jet over Soviet airspace. That's a surefire way to get shot down.
Dikin: (nodding understandingly) Okay, okay. Can you at least let me in? I really need to use the restroom.
Mr Money: Fine, but don't go too rough on the toilet. I despise poor people's dung in my luxurious tinkler.
[Dikin enters the lavish house, relieved to find a momentary respite. The current time is now 3:19. Richie bags glares at Dikin as he walks in and heads towards the restroom.]
Dikin: Ahh.. feels nice to have a little tinkle time. Stupid Americans. "No moon," "deluxe alcohol." How is alcohol more deluxe than impure heavy-metal infected 97% vodka? (chuckles.)
Richie Bags: Excuse me, Mr. Money, why did you let that PEASANT in our lavish mansion?
Mr Money: He seems funny. Also, it isn't your mansion.
Lem: As long as he doesn't have asthma. (He puffs on a cigarette.)
Mr Money: (coughs) For the last time, Lem!
Dikin: (washes hands and walks out to the smell of tobacco and rum). Hey, is this rum? Haven't seen this in a while! Don't mind if I do. You see, in my country, all is love in sharing.
Richie Bags: Stop right there! It's America. In our land, all is love in winning material goods. (grabs rum out of Dikin's hands)
Dikin: What's your issue? You look like a gold mine. You must have trouble passing through airport security. Give me the rum. (Dikin takes the rum out of Richie's hand forcefully. Richie looks in disgust as Dikin pours it into a flask stashed in his coat)
