(greggs collab)<br/><br/>“Home,” Viktor said in response to Darina’s question. “Well, sort of. We’re going back to our headquarters. One of a few, but this one’s the biggest.” The warehouse that the group of mercenaries operated out of was quite a bit more structured than your average wasteland village, and likewise extremely secure. When almost every inhabitant was a well-trained soldier-for-hire, threats tended to be taken care of quickly and efficiently. With its perimeter wall, not many threats could get in, anyway. It was as safe as a place out in the wilderness could get, with even the more exposed ruins of the town it had been built in being inhabited by normal folks protected by the militia that operated there.<br/><br/>After everyone else had picked out a car and taken a seat, Viktor climbed into the back of one of the flatbeds, picking the one that most of the strangers he’d spent the day with had gone into. His more familiar Stalkers went off into the second truck, and a few took the jeeps. He figured it was best to keep an eye on them, especially the big guy. Rock Hammer, he called himself. Viktor couldn’t really judge the quality of the name, especially considering the kinds of nicknames the Stalkers used. Hell, it sounded like something they’d have come up with anyway. Entertained by the thought, he sort of half-smiled as he sat down on the edge of the truck’s bed, looking out into the ruins of Moscow as the convoy pulled out and drove away.<br/><br/><br/>It was an amazing feeling, having the wind rushing by as the trucks started moving. Darren closed his eyes, grinning as he felt the complete absence of worry or fear - easygoing as he was, life seldom entertained such moments, even for him. They were usually few and far between. Of course, it wasn't often a person found himself in a group like this. Viktor’s bunch were formidable in every aspect of the term, and the vehicles themselves carried a sense of reassurance as they sped away from the entrance to the Underbelly, heading towards… wherever exactly they were going.<br/><br/>It didn't matter much to him; he was glad to be on the move again, and having good company for it was a bonus to him. Not that he knew much about the group he was now a part of, but as far as first impressions were concerned he'd certainly encountered worse.<br/><br/>Darren looked over at where Viktor was cheerfully looking out at the ruins of the city, and, not really knowing what to say, settled for a grunt and a jerk of his head as they passed a large tower in the distance that somehow bent over on itself. It looked like the foundation had melted, if that was even possible. “Hard to believe people actually lived here, eh,” he rasped, shaking his head as they continued delving through the skeleton of a dead society. The signs of former city life dwindled as they went, until they found themselves leaving behind cracked concrete in favor of dirt and trees. The wooded area they entered was quiet, but there was something watchful about it as the hooded man’s eyes narrowed on something at the side of the trail.<br/><br/>“Hey… what’s that?”<br/><br/>There were holes in the ground, wide and circular, but something about that looked oddly uniform; they were in neat rows on the fringes of the road, in groups of three or five, but the thing that made Darren draw a sharp breath was the figure hanging over several of the holes, seemingly attached to a couple of trees.<br/><br/>“Shit.”<br/><br/>Viktor picked up on what Darren saw pretty much immediately. Looking up from the PDA he’d been working on, his brows furrowed at the sights of the far too perfect craters. “The hell?” He thought aloud, sliding the electronic device into a pocket on his vest. Apparently, the convoy drivers had seen it too, as the cars crawled to a stop. Viktor stood up to try and get a better view of the scene, hanging off one of the flatbed tent’s supports.<br/><br/>Whatever it was they were, it wasn’t a familiar sight. What was, however, were the floating orbs above them, condensed balls of water formed from the snow. Anomalies had formed, whether by chance or due to some other influence on the field. Viktor frowned and hopped off of the flatbed, raising a hand to stop the other men coming out of the accompanying second flatbed. “Keep watch here. Anything goes wrong, light it up,” He ordered, his hand moving to the strap that held on his rifle. With it loosened, he moved the weapon forward, shouldering it in case whatever redecorated the field happened to still be around.<br/><br/>“I’m taking a look,” He informed Darren, as if to invite him along for it. The big eye catcher, of course, was the floating mass of Boilers. Luckily, they were a simple anomaly to deal with. Throw something in to break the surface tension, and stand far away enough from the resulting spray of superheated water that it doesn’t melt off your skin. They were mostly stationary for now, so Viktor’s eyes shifted to the figure hanging off the trees. The gear that was on the body immediately struck him as familiar, and under his breath, he muttered a quiet “Shit” before starting forward, taking care to watch the anomalies on his way off the path.<br/><br/><br/>Darren mirrored Viktor’s movement, raising his crossbow as they advanced on the strange scene. It was a precaution, nothing more, especially given that they had an entire unit of Stalkers watching their backs, but the mutant couldn’t shake his sense of unease. As Viktor headed towards the figure hanging from the trees he instead moved closer to the holes in the ground, mindful of the anomalies floating overhead. He was no stranger to the dangers they posed; something similar had gifted him many of his scars, after all. The memory gave him an involuntary twitch as he stared down into one of the holes.<br/><br/>Bones.<br/><br/>Charred bones littered the bottom of the small pit, burned beyond recognition; he limped over to the next hole and saw more of the same, only the damage wasn’t quite so severe. This time he was able to identify what he was looking at, more or less. “People. Someone put people down there, and burned them.” There were deep furrows in the sides of the holes, and the mutant felt something stirring inside him as he recognized what might have been signs of a struggle. “Maybe while they were still alive,” he rasped, shaking his head angrily as he tore his eyes away from the sight. He didn’t need to look into the other holes to know he’d only find more of the same within.<br/><br/>He moved to Viktor’s side, the crossbow no longer at the ready as he stared up at the man who’d been… well, crucified, more or less. There were two trees, within five feet of each other, and one foot and one hand had been staked to each. In the center, the spread-eagled man’s forehead was bloody, trails of scarlet streaking down over his nose and cheeks. It looked like the image of an animal’s face, that had been carved onto his visage, perhaps a dog or a wolf, but it was difficult to be sure. What looked like some kind of mask or respirator hung loosely from the dead man’s neck, and a punctured gas tank was visible at his side.<br/><br/>Something he saw on Viktor’s face prompted the next question. “Did you know him?” he asked quietly, staring up at the grotesque sight as if unable to look away.<br/><br/><br/>Viktor had been taking the sight in the whole time Darren examined the bone-filled pits. His suspicions of familiarity based on the corpse’s gear were correct. Letting go of his gun’s foregrip, he lowered the rifle and tugged back the hood covering the man’s bloodied face, a deep frown crossing his own at the sight of the carved in calling card. Releasing the hood, Viktor took half a step back, letting out a heavy breath. Knowing him was a bit of a strong way to put it, but he recognized him as a man that he’d met not a day or so ago prior to the group’s arrival in the Underbelly.<br/><br/>“Yeah. Sort of.” He answered, lowering his rifle completely so that it hung off of his shoulder by its strap. “Whoever did this must have been pretty damn well armed. Not bandits, that’s for damn sure. They didn’t even take anything off of him.” Viktor could spot the man’s weaponry and ammunition, still being worn as he hung from the trees like a warning sign. “This wasn’t just to put someone down, not by a long shot. This is a warning.” It had the telltale signs of it. Mutilation, displaying of a body, and of course, very clear signs that he’d been gravely wounded even discounting the nails in his extremities. Bullet holes were visible in his arms, legs, and neck, though the latter were more like grazes than full shots.<br/><br/>The sight was unnerving, not just on a physical level. Whoever left him like this did so intentionally. Viktor could think of<span style="font-style: italic">no</span>reason why someone would just leave the gear behind, as even to drugged out bandits and well-off adventurers, a properly working set of guns and enough ammo to last maybe half a month was a goldmine. Whoever left him either had to be crazy, or perhaps worse, better armed. “His name was Scott. Didn’t tell us much, but he helped us out a bit on the way to the metro. Didn’t think a guy like him would have gone out so quick.”<br/><br/>His frown deepening, Viktor tightened the sling of his rifle and walked around Scott’s body, grabbing at the straps that held on his own gear. Well, no sense in letting it go to waste. His backpack was ignored for now, and he instead undid the holster on his leg, the ammo pouches on his torso armour, and the sling of his rifle, all of which were in very high condition and sitting on a very decent pile of bullets. Despite that, he was far from happy. Taking things from a corpse always reminded him of how harsh things got out there, but taking things from the corpse of someone he’d known, at least for a few hours? That was even worse.<br/><br/>“Crowbar,” Viktor said bluntly, motioning with his head towards his backpack. Hanging from a side loop on the pack, the tool hung, one that could possibly be used to get the body out of the trees. “We’re not leaving him like this.” There was also the matter of possibly taking his backpack, and if it wasn’t too damaged, his vest, but he didn’t want to say that out loud. He felt disgusted enough about all of this already.<br/><br/><br/>“No, we’re not,” Darren agreed with a growl, feeling a heat rising in his cheeks at the brutality of the man’s death. He’d seen some gruesome things in his time wandering the wastes, and while this wasn’t the worst of it, there was no doubt that the ones who’d done it were extremely dangerous. Both in their ability, and in their lack of remorse or pity. This man, Scott, he’d been tortured. It probably took hours for him to bleed out as he hung there.<br/><br/>“I’ve never seen supplies left behind like this. These people… wherever they are, I hope we’re going in the opposite fucking direction.” He’d looked on in silence as Viktor took what he could; there was no shame in not letting things go to waste, not with things the way they were, but something still felt wrong about it. At least the man wouldn’t stay on display any longer. Even if he turned out to have been a total piece of shit, it wasn’t right.<br/><br/>He helped take him down from the trees, catching the body, which was shockingly light, when it finally came down. He laid it down carefully and scanned the area, not seeing a shovel anywhere; he looked through the tree line and spotted a wide area, cleared of underbrush, with numerous segments of charred earth that indicated a campsite. He edged through a pair of tall oaks, finding himself in the clearing, but if he believed more would’ve been left behind given how much weighed down the hanging corpse, he was mistaken. There was nothing, not even a scrap of tent canvas. With a shake of his head he limped back to where Viktor was standing.<br/><br/><br/>With Darren busy hefting Scott away, Viktor took the time to replace his crowbar and prepare the weapons and ammo for transport. He removed his backpack, crouched beside it, and unzipped the pack, taking the handgun out of its holster to unload it for safety’s sake. He dropped the magazine, checked the slide to make sure the barrel was empty, and then put it back into the holster before stowing the whole thing away in the backpack. He couldn’t very well fit a rifle into the pack, but the ammo was likewise stowed away, leaving the weapon empty for carry. With the things he took safely stowed, he stood up and held the rifle under his arm, looking down at the body near his feet.<br/><br/>“Sorry,” He quietly said, turning away to meet Darren as he returned from his look around. Nothing to go off of, other than the symbol on Scott’s forehead. Whoever did all of this left without much of a trace. “Well, we’re not going to make progress here. We’ll take his pack and his vest, then get back on the road.” Again, Viktor went back to looting the body, which was apparently old enough that rigor mortis was no longer keeping it stiff. He got the backpack off, tossing it to Darren, and then worked on removing his armour. The vest had evidently been quite effective, the surface only showing damage through some scratches and dents, while a rifle round that hit the chest only flattened on its surface. Not effective enough to Scott, but maybe to someone else, it could be a lifesaver.<br/><br/>A motion from Darren prompted Viktor to lend a hand with Scott’s body, picking him up by the feet while the mutant took him by the arms. After picking him clean, they couldn’t just leave him out to be eaten by the wolves, so with a heft up and off the ground, they put him to rest within one of the bone-filled pits. They were deep enough that any scavengers would be dissuaded from trying to get him at risk of falling in, and wide enough that his body fit in without crumpling disrespectfully. With him gone, the pair returned to the convoy with the loot, and the cars continued their drive.<br/><br/>After another good hour of distance, the Stalker base finally came into view. A smaller village consisting of about a dozen buildings sat outside the tall concrete walls, the entrance to the base proper positioned off to the side. A flagpole, flying a very obviously homemade flag adorned with the same symbol as what was on the hoods of the convoy’s vehicles, flapped limply in the gentle breeze. As the vehicles got closer, the gates of the base’s wall slid open, making room for them all to drive into the perimeter, park, and empty out. Viktor left with around half of the scavenged gear, the rifle under his arm and the chest rig held by one of its straps. “Welcome home, everybody,” He dryly said, starting an approach toward the warehouse that made up the base proper.