The man wasn't alone; he'd been in a much larger group upon his arrival in the Underbelly, but it made sense that some of the others would have gone their separate ways for the time being. Darren sat in silence, his back up against the rear wall of a stall dedicated to selling smoked meats, and watched from beneath the hood of his sweatshirt as the Stalker (his reputation preceded him, though to Darren his name was a mystery) moved further into the bustling marketplace.<br/><br/>There was certainly nothing out of the ordinary to remark upon - the man had come from the world above, as did so many others, and he was likely in need of supplies. It stood to reason that he'd acquire whatever he was lacking before heading out again, but there were many who fell under that particular designation. Darren wanted to leave the Underbelly, quite badly, as he was tired of the stagnant air and the feelings of claustrophobia that were gradually growing more noticeable with each passing day, but there was something else that made him pay particular attention to the individual weaving through the press.<br/><br/>It was impossible to explain how or why, but he looked like a man worth following.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Viktor got a few passing glances from civilians as he passed through the marketplace, every now and then checking the security of his pouches to make sure no sleight hands had decided to pry into them during close passes. Stalkers were quite well-known by most as 'crazy bastards who will do anything for cash,' and while Viktor personally meant no trouble, reputation of a group took priority over one's own actions most of the time. A sad generalization, but one that was perhaps not completely unfounded.<br/><br/>He reached the stall he intended to visit first, one lined with glass cases (probably repurposed windows, as none looked exactly in shape with the stall itself) filled with firearms and ammunition. Many of the guns weren't what one would call a pinnacle of quality. Common Wasteland-grade shlock, capable of shooting but at the constant risk of just falling apart in one's hand. He frowned visibly as his eyes passed over a particularly bad offender, some sort of tube-shaped pistol thing that didn't even have a handle. A passing thought of<span style="font-style: italic">"I could make better than that"</span>crossed his mind, but it wasn't long until the owner of the stall snapped him out of his dissatisfied browsing.<br/><br/><br/><br/>The Stalker reached a booth dedicated to ammunition (even with his limited experience with firearms, Darren knew the selection was lacking) and began perusing the inventory; the proprietor watched him with a scowl, and it was obvious he didn't plan on being very gracious to the potential customer. The two brothers who operated the stall shared a world view that was decidedly anti-Stalker, and nothing had happened as of late in the Underbelly to alter their thinking.<br/><br/>"I don't sell to the likes of<span style="font-style: italic">you</span>," growled Curtis, the older of the brothers, and there was something in his voice that made it clear he wasn't going to be budging on his stance. "You may as well turn right the fuck around - matter fact, leave the whole underground behind while you're at it. Your kind ain't welcome here."<br/><br/>Darren rose and straightened up, leaning slightly on his quarterstaff as his dull green eyes locked onto the hands of the booth's owner. There was the twitch of an arm, and he began limping over to the scene even as the shotgun manifested itself between the two men.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Viktor was somewhat taken aback by the harshness of the vendor, but hardly intended on turning around and leaving. With an expression halfway between surprise and some minor offense, he crossed his arms and started to talk back. "Someone having a bad day?" The Stalker's voice was dripping with sarcasm, and before any responses could be given, he continued. "Look, I don't care what you think of 'my kind.' I've got money. You've got bullets. Your business isn't going to last very long if you turn customers away."<br/><br/>A pouch on his belt was swiftly opened with a flick of a finger, and he produced a stack of rubles. They were somewhat faded in colour, but the pre-apocalypse currency was still around in just enough amount to prove useful for new world life and trade. Easier than trying to make something else and spread it throughout the country, at least. "See? Nothing to get worked up about. Maybe work on your customer service." He was about to continue the exchange with the merchant, but the addition of a firearm to the equation made things much more serious immediately.<br/><br/>Silencing his quips, Viktor looked down at the weapon, then back up at Curtis. His eyes locked on the civilian's, and his expression slowly faded to one of neutrality. "Put the gun down," He calmly commanded. "Before you hurt yourself."<br/><br/><br/><br/>Darren heard the stranger's words, spoken with a calm that one wouldn't have expected from a man staring down the dual barrels of a shotgun, but he kept his attention fixed on the firearm, and on the finger that remained flush with the trigger. Many people in the Underbelly couldn't deny having at least a few corpses on their conscience, and Curtis was no exception, but it still seemed unlikely that he'd gun the man down simply for having chosen the wrong profession.<br/><br/>As he reached the booth, now standing close to the Stalker, Darren spared a glance towards the would-be customer. There were some folks who attracted a lot of attention wherever they went, whether or not they wanted to, and sometimes it was the good kind when people would flock to their leadership and eagerly follow their lead. Other times, people jumped to conclusions and pointed guns. It couldn't be an easy existence to have, but then again, there was a reason Darren had a hood and a limp.<br/><br/>"There's no need for this, Curtis. Why don't you try to relax, eh? His money's as good as anyone else's," he rasped, his hoarse voice cutting through the tension of the atmosphere.<br/><br/>The vendor's attention wavered, and for a fraction of a second he shifted his eyes away from the man directly in front of him.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Viktor listened to Darren, but kept his eyes firmly on Curtis. Saying nothing to interrupt, he remained almost stock-still until the merchant moved his focus away. As soon as the line of sight was broken, Viktor's hand moved forward and pushed the barrels of the shotgun off to the side and down. A tight grip around them followed, and a firm thrust of the weapon forward both broke the man's grip on the handle and bashed his midsection with the stock.<br/><br/>With the weapon now only in his own grip, Viktor swung it upward, away from Curtis' hands entirely, before flipping the weapon over and taking hold of it himself. His finger remained far from the trigger, and he took two steps back after the gun was in his possession to prevent being disarmed himself. The weapon was at first pointed at Curtis, then bobbed slightly upward in a demonstrative threat as if to cement that the gun was no longer in his grip.<br/><br/>"Told you to put it down," Viktor grunted. He lowered the gun and opened it up, checking the breech for shells. After a quick peek at the ammo in the weapon, a pair of scuffed-looking 12 gauge cartridges, he closed the weapon again and kept a firm grip on it. "Now, can we talk like civilized people?"<br/><br/><br/><br/>The malicious look on Curtis' face contorted into surprise and then fear with incredible speed; Darren had to fight to keep a smile from creeping onto his face at the sight of it. The Stalker had disarmed him with unbelievable ease, but the blunt finality of his statement was what put an angry flush back into the vendor's cheeks. He looked like a child who'd had his slingshot taken from him, and it was obvious he could feel it.<br/><br/>Predictably, the scene hadn't gone without attracting some interest from those around them. There were a number of onlookers, people watching with rapt attention as if expecting bloodshed, but once it became apparent that the shotgun wouldn't be fired some of them were beginning to continue on with their own business. However, one man who'd been watching moved closer, and although his identity hadn't been obvious when he was surrounded by others, Darren recognized him as Peter, Curtis' brother and business partner. More notably, Darren spotted the gleaming metal of the handgun before it could be fully removed from the inside pocket of his jacket.<br/><br/>He sprung into action, planting a vice-like grip on the wrist before the arm could extend; there was a snarl of affront, but he paid it no mind as he forced the hand and the weapon it gripped back into the pocket.<br/><br/>"No, Pete."<br/><br/>"Don't go telling me 'no', he took Curt's gun from him!"<br/><br/>"A gun that was pointed at him for no good reason. This man might be a Stalker, but I can personally vouch for him. If you can't trust him, you can at least trust me," Darren croaked, maintaining eye contact until the arm trembling against his grip finally ceased its struggle.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Viktor hadn't noticed the second gun coming up from another direction, but Darren's quick reaction and the struggle quickly drew his attention towards the two, and he aimed the shotgun at Peter's center of mass. He refrained from putting his finger on the trigger just yet, but was ready to loop it in at a moment's notice if the need arose. A deep frown was crossing his lips by now, and he was monumentally unhappy about how things were going.<br/><br/>"What, this rusty piece of shit? I'll give it back. Just let me buy some damn bullets," Viktor spat out in response to the accusation. "You want me and my people gone? Fine. Help us get out sooner, because you're holding us up and it's wasting everyone's time." A trip to a market had never been less productive. Still, despite the ever-increasing exasperation towards the situation he felt, he looked towards Darren and nodded, mouthing a quiet "Thank you."<br/><br/>The gun was lowered once again, and as if to prove he didn't want to shoot anybody, Viktor broke it open once more and plucked out the shells. With a somewhat angry raise of the hand, he showed them both off, then tossed them onto their stall's counter. Further emphasizing the point, he then tilted the gun over, showing the empty barrels to Peter and Curtis, then turning the whole thing upside down to shake out.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Darren returned the nod, and walked over to the booth once it became clear that neither of the brothers would be giving Viktor any more trouble.<br/><br/>"He wants bullets, you have bullets, so make the sale, Curt. And I think, given your behavior, you can throw in a free box on top of whatever he buys."<br/><br/>The argument flared up in the man's eyes, but before he could say a word Darren raised a hand for silence. "You remember that favor you owe me? Do this and we're square. Unless you'd like to do it just to show some good faith. Show off that big heart of yours," he finished, his words a stark contrast to the gravelly voice they were delivered in. There was an edge of sarcasm there as well, as he knew Curtis about as well as anyone, and as such he knew there was no way he'd give<span style="font-style: italic">anyone</span>a free box of ammo, let alone a Stalker. Luckily there was the occasional perk to being cooped up underground for an extended period of time.<br/><br/>"Fine," he grumbled, turning to his customer with a very ugly look on his face. "But I don't owe you shit, after this."<br/><br/><br/><br/>With the situation seemingly coming to a close, Viktor closed the gun once more, approaching the counter for hopefully the last time. The shotgun was returned to its owner, placed firmly down on the wood surface, and the money he'd dropped earlier was slid forward. "Eight magazines. 5.56, fully loaded. And a box of .44 magnum on the side," He asked. "Highest quality you've got. No half-loaded peashooter rounds." He didn't expect too much from these people now, and a lack of proper loading on a cartridge could be disastrous, but at this point he just wanted to get some semi-functional bullets and leave.<br/><br/>As things were calming down to a point, Viktor attempted to be somewhat courteous, and exhaled a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about whatever it is that upset you, and about the fighting. Let's get this done with, yeah?" He spoke in a tone that was still clearly unhappy, but he was at least trying.<br/><br/>With that, he looked toward Darren again, and once more offered thanks. "Appreciate the help. You got no idea how much I needed these rounds."<br/><br/><br/><br/>"I can imagine," Darren replied with a nod, even as Curtis continued to mumble under his breath from the other side of the counter. "I'm sure you've seen more than your share of ugliness, topside. Folks who can find able hands for their guns still need to find ammo, and that's easier said than done."<br/><br/>The ammunition boxes were stacked on the counter and the proprietor left them, swearing some more under his breath as he went. "Truth be told, dangerous as it is up there I'm sick of the Underbelly. Had more than my share of the dark and stuffy. Seems like you're on your way out, and if so, I'd come with you if you'll have me. Not much for guns, but I can handle myself," he rasped as he indicated the crossbow slung over his shoulder.<br/><br/>"The name's Darren, by the way. Darren Blight."<br/><br/><br/><br/>Viktor took the boxes as they came, performing quick checks to make sure the contents were all inside. It was as simple as popping open the top and peeking in, and once he was satisfied with the amount of ammo he was getting, he undid a buckle across his chest to allow his backpack to come off. He swung it around to his front and unzipped a large pocket on the top, carefully setting the ammo inside near what meager amount was left in there already.<br/><br/>"You could say that. Animals acting weird, demons, and other shit. All in a day's work," Viktor dryly responded, closing the bag once again. "And I can see why you'd get tired of this place. Between the tunnels and the people, I think I'd prefer to keep taking my chances in the woods." Darren's request to tag along was interesting, and a bit convenient. The convoy on the road would certainly have room, and Darren had helped him out. He couldn't say no to that.<br/><br/>"Sure. There's a group coming for us, should be around early morning. Might be a tight fit." There was likely going to be a fair amount of space in at least one car, but riding in the back was always a possibility. The breeze and extra leg room were nice. After putting his backpack on again and securing the chest belt, he offered Darren a hand of greeting. "Viktor."