The wind blew through the night air, rustling the grey leaves in the half-dead trees, the tops of whose crowns disappeared in the near constant fog, high overhead. The fire crackled again loudly as it split in half another well burned and charred log causing Petya to look away from the wilderness outside the barricade and turned his attention back to the small, yet persistent flame. He tossed on two more thick branches and as the fire flared up again casting reassuring warm light, Petya again turned his uneasy attention towards the distant treeline where every waving branch, every shuffle could be a sign of immediate danger. His hand absentmindedly groped around until it landed on the heavy, reassuring metal of the old Makarov at his hip.

“How goes the watch?” came an unexpected voice causing Petya to jerk himself to reality with a shudder. The voice, deep, yet with a strange pronunciation, belonged to a tall man, about 6ft, dressed in an ancient looking military HAZMAT suit which had clearly seen it’s fair share of action. The hood of the suit partially obscured the man’s face revealing only a stubbly chin and the dim glint of eyes.

“And who are you? What business do you have? Quickly! Answer before I raise the alarm!” Petya said in what he assumed to be an assertive tone, moving his hand to his hip, displaying to the newcomer that he was in fact armed.

“Be assured, watchman, I didn’t want you dead.” said the man, who in response to Petya’s thinly veiled, wordless threat presented his own weapon in a casual fashion. He strode with a swagger to the opposite side of the lively fire, allowing the flames illuminate the massive gun strapped to his hip with a kydex holster. Petya didn’t recognize the model or maker, the design seemed foreign to him but the main feature that stood out to him was the imposing silencer fitted to the end of the barrel. “I am but a stalker who accompanied the caravan from Severnaya outpost, I arrived here late and yet I can’t seem to fall asleep, so I decided to sit near the fire for awhile, I figured you wouldn’t mind some company tonight, eh?”

“You’re right, who are you though? What’s your name?” Petya replied, easing his guard slightly.

“Scar, and who are you?” the stalker replied, sitting down beside him on a fallen rock.”

“Petya.” the youngster replied, “But why Scar?” he asked the stalker, knowing full well that wasn’t the newcomer’s real name, only a nickname.

“Long story.” The stalker told Petya as he rolled up his right sleeve revealing a multitude of lacerations starting at his forearm and running up his bicep. “Speaking of stories, you have any tall tales you mind throwing around while we’re on the subject, nothing helps the mind beat back drowsiness than a few good stories.”

“Well then, I’ve got one,” Petya said kicking back and thinking, his thoughts coming to rest on a particular old yarn he had heard told originally by merchant passing by from the south.