"You first," Freddie muttered. He turned his back on Sergievsky, just in case the man decided he was going to come back. What kind of a hell had he been thrown into if he couldn't even manage a simple game of chess. Chess had been the only thing in common and he'd hoped that now that they didn't have Walter or Molokov whispering in their ears. Apparently, he couldn't even manage that much. Fuck, he needed a drink.