Two men lay prone on the rocks North of Novaya Petrovka, the day was clear and the sun setting West over the Tisy Car-line.
One looked down upon the town with a pair of binoculars, the other a Winchester. Laying next to the man with the Winchester was a Hoxton mask, while the other had a GP5 by his side. Their Armbands were the same color, but the man with the rifles was a slightly darker tint. Between them, a ever so slightly smoldering roach and a spent morphine stick.
They had spent the past 15 minutes watching a gunfight unfold between two unknown parties, just a few hours after the fighting Northeast in Stary Yar had died down.
The scene unfolded as a man dressed in neutral tones made his way into the town from the East. He went to the medical building, probably hoping for the supplies they had already scavenged half an hour ago.
As he made his way, a shot rang out from a building and a bullet tore through his shoulder. He scrambled into the drainage ditch, evading a few follow-up shots and slid down next to the concrete pipe. He pulled a rag from his cargo pocket and shoved it underneath the strap of his plate carrier, then used his good hand to pull a pistol from his holster.
A few minutes of silence, in which the man used to hit himself with a morphine.The man with the rifle looked to the man with the binoculars, ”Shouldn’t we help him?” His voice was American.
The Scotsman next to him replied, “No, he’ll show us who’s in town shooting unprovoked. Give it a bit man, eh?”
Surely enough, as they spoke, another assailant appeared, creeping in a crouch towards his victims last known location, SKS out.
His assumption became a fatal mistake as brain matter splattered against the wall next to him, the gunshot reached the men moments later. The wounded man had moved through the drain pipe and repositioned North during the minutes of silence.
The dead man twitched for a while, his body’s nervous system shutting down. When he stopped twitching, the wounded man made his way to the corpse, no doubtedly looking to make use of supplies in it’s pack. He rolled the corpse to it’s stomach and opened the backpack. After a bit of rummaging around, he pulled out a first aid case, presumably his objective from the beginning of his looting.
As he stood to leave, the side of his face and upper torso exploded into a cloud of pink mist and viscera. The fresh corpse slumped over the old one as a man in all black emerged from the shadows with a smoking Double Barrel. He broke the weapon, extracted both shells and replaced them before snapping it back together.
This man wasted no time and pulled one of the corpses off to the side of the road and into what he probably thought was cover. He had no idea two pairs of eyes and a rifle scope watched his every action.
“You see Walter, this is where it gets interesting.” The Scotsman said as he pulled out a rangefinder and looked back towards the town.
The man in black began to strip the corpses top half with a sense of urgency. The flesh of the corpse hit the open air and the man pulled a knife from his boot. With a fervor he began to fillet the flesh from corpses arms and upper body.
With a sigh, the Scotsman looked over to Walter, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Cannibals. Distance is 564 meters, just go center mass.”
Walter met his gaze and nodded. He returned to his rifle and began to slow his breathing, adjusting his scope in the meantime.
Down below, the Cannibal had begun to pack the bloody long strips of flesh into multiple cooking pots. His back was to Walters position.
On the rocks, Walter gently lowered his finger from the polished wood of the rifle and onto the cool metal trigger. As he exhaled one last time, he remembered what the Scotsman had told him in the lull between firefights.
Walter hoped he was right.
The man’s chest cavity exploded outwards, leaving behind a small crater between his collarbones. His spinal column severed, the man slumped to the ground, gasped a few times and fell still.
A familiar feeling fell over Walter as the birds around them scattered. It felt like a different kind of high, but not an unwelcome one. When they deserved it, it did feel different.
The Scotsman put his binoculars away and grabbed the Winchester from Walters hands, returning his M4 to him. They grabbed their respective facial coverings and quickly stood.
“Nice shot, time to reposition. How do you feel?” He asked.
Walter didn’t reply immediately, it wasn’t until after they had slid off rocks and melted back into the pines.
”You were right John, it’s exhilarating.”