"Pretty sure I heard gunshots before the big guy started throwing things," Viktor uttered in response to Ahra's excuse. "No more trouble. You'll get that back," he motioned towards the gun Darren handed to another Stalker, "Tomorrow. Until then, you're going under watch. No funny business, and no more shooting at anyone. You're lucky you didn't attract something worse with all that noise." He was clearly a bit upset, but he kept an even tone of voice. Liliana was handling the situation well enough, and now that the kid didn't have a gun, he figured she would be easily convinced to remain calm.<br/><br/>He turned to walk off, but waited for half a moment to tell Lili something. "If she decides to stick around, keep her away from any of our things. Some of the men will keep watch. If she turns out to have been bait, we'll be ready." With that, he turned attention to Darren, cringing sympathetically at the sight of his torn ear. "Ah, shit. We'll have the doc look at that once we get back home. Sorry about that." Injuries in the wastes were common, sure, but getting part of your face blown off was a mercifully less daily occurrence. At least it seemed to no longer be actively leaking blood. "We've got some first aid stuff in some of the packs. Not really anything fancy, but enough to patch you up."<br/><br/>But beyond that, he was done. The day was over, and all the troubles that were had, finally, seemed to be coming to a close. On his approach back to the camp building, he gave some orders once he was in earshot. "Alright! Today has been an absolute shitshow. I don't know about all of you, but I'm about ready to kick back and relax until our rides get here. All in favor?" A few of the Stalkers gave some agreeing calls, to which he nodded. "Good. You all know the watch schedule. Everyone else? Try to get some sleep. If tomorrow's half as long as today was, you're sure as hell gonna need it."<br/><br/>Some hustle and bustle filled the flat lobby as cleanup and bedding preparations were completed, with some of the Stalkers' simple sleeping mats offered to the others who had come along with the group. Viktor passed his own off to Inga, and as he often did, took first watch by sitting in the sill of the busted front window, his rifle unslung and resting over his shoulders. The night, mercifully, was without much event. He saw the occasional dog, or what might be mistaken for a dog at a distance in the overwhelming dark, but otherwise nothing happened to stir up any more trouble for them.<br/><br/>A couple hours later, he traded places with another Stalker, and managed to get to sleep with record speed for him. All the fatigue from the earlier fights came crashing down on him at once, like a wall whose lowermost layer of brick had been suddenly and violently knocked out. He rested as best he could on the hard, cold concrete floor, using his backpack as a pillow, while his rifle rested (unloaded and with the safety on, just in case) next to him. He slept on his back, arms crossed, a magazine hidden under his arm for the duration of the night.<br/><br/>Morning finally came, heralded by a whistle from the current Stalker on duty. "Ey, wake up! Sun's shining!" No, it wasn't. While the day had indeed come, the thick mist and heavy clouds that constantly hung over the world made it all a colourless grey. The fire in the center of the room had died, only weak embers glowing in the remains of ashen wood and chemical starters. Viktor woke a bit slowly, needing to take a minute to roll his neck and shoulders after the hours spent on the floor. Casually, he also readied his rifle, putting the magazine in, but leaving the chamber empty for now. He also put his backpack on again, and walked towards the doorway. The sight was one that was very, very welcome.<br/><br/>A group of large vehicles, customized and clearly scavenged from various sources. Two of them were long, flat-bed army trucks, the rears kept protected from the weather by round-topped steel cages with tarps. The other two were smaller, but still bulky jeeps, one of which was armed with a top-mounted machine gun turret. All of them shared similar decorations on the hoods, the symbol of the Stalkers: a hazard symbol evocative of ionizing radiation, with the central circle replaced with a star, stenciled and spray-painted in red.<br/><br/>The Stalker at the turret waved at the group emerging from the building. "Need a lift?" She asked, drawing a slight smile out of Viktor. "Hop in!"