Of course.<br/><br/>Of course something else would happen. Viktor heard guns draw and guards shout, and soon enough, Magpie herself got in on the action. He turned around and looked out the gate, still open, as a dirty man in furs and a pair of wolves had a standoff with Stalker and stranger alike. Rock himself seemed to get involved, something that would have set off a hundred red flags if not for the fact that he was just sort of...waving a chunk of flesh around. Not the weirdest thing the big guy had done, but cause for a second's worth of pause.<br/><br/>For a few moments, he considered intervening, especially when Inga moved swiftly into the company of himself, Darren, Nikolav, Liliana, and Darina. Standing still, he huffed, adjusted the harness of pouches slung over his shoulder, then turned away from the conflict and continued on his way toward the warehouse's front door.<br/><br/>"They can handle it," He assured, continuing on his way to base. Nope. Not dealing with that shit today. He was tired, sore, hungry, and at his limit for conflicts. If a bunch of folks with guns and a bear-slaying giant couldn't either handle the arrival of the new strangers amicably or stop them in the event of fighting, then those concrete walls wouldn't provide any protection from the weather. He knew, of course, that they would. "Get the door, will ya?" He asked, in no real rush, but still hoping to get Inga inside before any bullets started flying.<br/><br/>He let the newcomers enter before him, into a still-chilly, but much more temperate lounge. It was a pleasant place, and looked about nothing like what one would expect a warehouse to look. Wooden planks made up walls, and a staircase leading up and to a door against the far wall seemed to suggest a second floor constructed into the spacious building. It was lively, with Stalkers young and old hanging about, some playing cards or sharing food, others playing music on a couch pressed up against the wall. On one, a bar was set up, with a set of shelves and bottle racks positioned behind a flat, long counter.<br/><br/>At the arrival of strangers, the Stalkers' festivities came to a silent halt, and they looked at the new faces with various expressions of interest, confusion, some distrust. The confusion especially was focused on Inga. It wasn't every day a teenager just wandered into base. Were the group a lost family, or refugees? Some of them shuffled as if to get up and speak, but stopped themselves once Viktor himself entered behind them and shut the door.<br/><br/>A familiar face, especially one of a Stalker who had gone on a dangerous job, was calls for a cheer from most of the others in the lounge, while the rest simply felt an immediate return to casual relaxation. Music started up again, as did chatter and the sounds of simple games being played. Viktor smiled at the display, amused yet grateful. Stalkers had a sort of bond, made all the more strong by the knowledge that one day, some of them may just never come back. It was good to be back.<br/><br/>Viktor rolled his shoulders. Now that he was closer to finally getting all his gear off, it felt about ten times heavier than normal. "I'll take you to my place. Come on," He directed at the group, walking toward one of the doorways. Nikolav was thoughtful enough to open it, since her hands were free, and then the walk continued down a hallway that bent into a larger room. The walls were made from a trio of shipping containers, two positioned horizontally by each other with the third standing in the upper middle, empty space between them built upon with the material from removed container walls to fill it. A door frame had been put into the side, allowing access to the workshop that Viktor called his own.<br/><br/>It was a quaint place, the walls and floor built upon with wood for a more homey feel, as well as to smooth out the admittedly rough job of the sheet metal floor beneath it. Furniture, a few simple homemade pieces, dotted the room, one table holding a radio. A workbench and ammo press lined one wall, which was dotted with some posters that looked a bit worse for wear, and a light switch on the wall brightened the dark room up. Weapon racks hung on the walls near the benches, while stations for modifying and holding armour sat on the far end. The space was pretty comparable to a double wide trailer, comfortable but not too large. A deft eye could catch a roof hatch that led to the third container, which contained little of interest but a bedroom. Viktor approached an empty table and set down both of the rifles he held, as well as the harness, then followed it up with his backpack and vest.<br/><br/>"Finally," He grunted, stretching his arms a little bit. He was always happy to be protected, but in here, it was just unnecessary weight. He put the vest against the wall for now, his backpack next to it, and turned to the others. "Welcome to my favorite part of the base: my piece of it. Whenever someone needs something built, they come to me. Otherwise, it's quiet, out of the way, and protected by about ten walls. Mostly wood, but the outer ones do it well." He didn't quite have enough chairs for everyone, so instead of taking one, he leaned on the wall near the table of supplies. With a nod to Darren, he urged him to add the dead man's pack to it. "May as well pass some of that stuff around. Would go to waste otherwise."