Another island to conquer.
An F-Rank, he imagined. Like the others before, this one was replete with supplies, just begging to be gained beneath its palm tree canopies. Food, shelter, lumber, stone, people.
It was the last that he cared about most. People were a peculiar species. They did not see the beauty of this world in the same way as him. For while these fellow Expatriates all wished for nothing more than their mindless fighting and grinding against their mutual enemy, the same could not be said for him.
No, no. Viktor Kuznetsov was far more refined than such low barbarity.
He tapped the railing of his skiff, the island growing ever closer. The current nudged him forth at an even pace.
It seems I’ve been beaten here, Viktor considered. Though this island looked as clean as any other, there were signs of earlier devastation the more it fell into focus. Entire forests had been cleared out through artificial landslides, their cliffs covered with scorch marks. Explosives, no doubt.
Just as civilizations once clashed over silly reasons, going back to his oldest days on Earth, so too were these petty humans bringing their squabbles here.
Viktor had never seen anything half as dazzling.
He blew a puff of smoke from his cigarette, savoring its bitter aftertaste. Oh, what a shame it was to have such a rarity here. The cairns could not conjure a flavor worthy of his motherland with their black magic, though he could at least appreciate the effort.
He suckled on his treat, reminded of the low-grade tobacco in Syria, with its certain manure aftertaste. Or, perhaps it was more accurate to think of the cigarettes he received in Chechnya and Moldova, back when the GRU was more active there.
Viktor breathed in more smoke, once again thinking back to his days with his first ryadovoy comrades, along with the farmer they gutted in front of his children.
What fond days.
The skiff reached the shore, and Viktor swallowed the last of his cigarette before burying the ash into the skiff’s railing. Hopefully, more would be found here.
Was it that time again already?
He checked his equipment. The primitive AR with the gear-shaped top that he’d grown accustomed to was a far cry from the Kalashnikov he’d been comfortable using during his Spetsnaz years. It could hold its own in a fight, at least, especially on F-Rank islands. The single-shot flintlock pistol was also a poor man’s imitator, though he could appreciate that this one’s former owner shaped it as a Makarov. And the iron Bowie knife would always prove him well, especially against monsters that spoke his language.
But of all the trinkets he had been gifted, nothing could compare to the strength at the end of his wrists. He curled his palms into fists, appreciating the sheer power they could inflict.
Yes, nothing else mattered so long as Viktor had his flesh and bones still untarnished.
Misha purred in exhilaration.
Viktor patted his beloved companion, ignoring the frigid pain it delivered. “Yes, I know. We will be off these waters soon enough, and you’ll have somewhere comfortable to rest. Be patient, my comrade. I will bring you everything you need.”
A low growl resonated out.
“Are you hungry already, Misha?” he quipped, giving another rub. “Come now. You will have plenty to feast on soon enough.”
Viktor stroked his scruffy beard, peering into this new land. He was getting quite peckish of late himself, a consequence of these elongated sea travels.
Oh, how he missed his motherland, along with the delicacies that came with it. He would love nothing more right now than fresh meat off the shashlik. That was a delicacy in his hometown, and only after all this time away had he come to realize how much he missed it.
Shashlik was the ideal dish for a simple man like Viktor Kuznetsov. Most others would consider it a plain meal. Just meat on a spike, with spices thrown on top. Nothing to get excited over.
But not him. Viktor preferred that simple meal, and he’d always been the first to get it when it was available.
Why complicate something so intimate? Just give him the cooked animal, the stake, and his teeth. He would do the rest from there, no?
And yet, this land had denied him such a delicacy, with not even the easiest shashlik to form.
It seemed that such F-Rank islands as these were getting fewer by the day…
Hmm, at least I won’t be alone tonight.
A small fortress had been erected on the shore, with walls of palm wood sewn together by reeds, and an outer rim fortified by an outer layer of wooden stakes. Viktor chuckled at the sight, wondering what would compel someone to build their base in a location so foolish. There were no natural defenses, resources to extract, or even fresh water to gain. It was as if someone attempted to build their own primitive version of Fort Knox, right against the shoreline where it would be the most useless.
Who would attempt such a nonsensical plan as that?
Then again, Viktor supposed that not everyone matched his expertise. In land, in sea, in air. He had always excelled at such roles, always finding his way to the most efficient solution.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Even if a pile of bodies was left in his wake.
He yawned as his skiff hit the shoreline, tugging his fishing vest to better slide over his hardened muscles. Like all else, this was an ill-fitting foreigner’s attire, but it would serve him well enough until he found something better.
He strolled onto the shoreline, feigning disinterest in this new land, even as his peripherals scanned every possible threat in sight.
Viktor raised an eyebrow the closer he drew to this point of interest. Though he first assumed it must have been occupied from the sea, it seemed that the original owner had either expired or recently fled. The wood had grown cracked and gnarled, with water damage splintering along the main pillars that held everything else together. Viktor frowned, suspecting that he would gain nothing new here.
Oh well, not every fortress had its owner. He turned to stroll away, ready to try another shore.
…Only for the door to slam open behind.
“Oh, my God!” a woman shouted. “Are you real?”
Viktor grinned, feeling that rise come again. He turned, feigning shock. “Are you?”
The woman beamed wide, clearly fresh from Earth. Her blonde hair fell in tangles above large yet conspicuously exposed breasts, a modern tanktop above a pair of jean shorts below, and the damnable Expatriate Guide strapped between. She leaned against a pillar to further accentuate this effect, staring deep with bright blue eyes, even as mascara ran wild beneath her lashes.
“I’ll be damned,” she said, moving to another pillar for support, or to further expose her chest to him. “And I was just starting to think I was the only one out here.”
American, Viktor realized. Definitely another American.
Why was it always Americans that crossed his path?
“Is that so?” he asked. “You thought you were on your own?”
She beamed. “Yes! You have no idea what I’ve been through these past few days.” She shifted her weight back to the first pillar. “I could really use a man to help me right now.”
“And why is that?”
“Don’t you know what’s out here, dude?” she asked. “There’s, like, monsters made of plants and shit! I almost got killed by them! Please… Do you know how to get back home?”
“There is no way,” Viktor admitted. “This is new world now.”
Her eyes cracked with a frenzied beat, almost imperceptibly. But her plastic smile buried the authenticity as quickly as it appeared, and she once again became the dainty little girl in need of a helping hand.
“You’re funny,” she purred. “It’s been a while since I’ve met a good, funny man…” She shifted again, a nipple just at the cusp of spilling free. She puffed her lower lip out. “Can you help me, funny man?”
The implication was clear enough. Even if this woman was not Viktor’s type, she seemed intent on playing the role. He shrugged his shoulders and started to close in.
It would not do to be inhospitable to a new Expat.
“What is your name?” he asked once close enough.
“Persephone.” She winked. “And if you get me out of whatever-the-hell this is, I’ll be sure to change your world.”
“And what makes you think you can do that for me?”
Persephone chewed her lip, eyes piercing deep. “Because I can do what I do for anyone.”
Viktor considered the prospect, scratching his beard in thought. Yes, he had nothing better to do.
He supposed he could afford this quick sojourn…
* * *
Viktor stepped into the open with a yawn, his body extinguished from last night’s fun. The worn, wooden door creaked as he stepped into the light of day, once again reminded that his pocket of serenity was no more than an ephemeral bliss.
Nothing went on forever, especially here.
Viktor walked across the pale sand and cracked his neck. Misha stared onward in deep thought, his cobalt eyes locked with his owner’s. An icy radiance pervaded the beach, where he continued to stand watch.
Viktor scowled at the sight and unleashed an incomprehensible mix of obscenities in his mother tongue.
“Misha!” he said. “I told you that I would find you somewhere comfortable to rest. Why do you insist on sitting on the beach like a dog?”
His companion panted, reminding him of how poor of an owner he’d been.
He frowned. “It is okay! I will bring you somewhere better next. This place is of no more use.”
Viktor glanced over his shoulder. The wind had kicked open the door an inch. Through the rising sun and the shadows cast in its wake, he could still make out his work from the night before.
Persephone dangled where she’d been anchored. Her skin had grown unnaturally pale after what had happened, and her tongue rolled out without thought, no longer interested in her faux attempts to seduce him. What had once been seductive eyes stared listlessly into the world beyond, still trapped in the unexpected bewilderment it had had moments before her life was taken.
So compliant, Viktor considered. Almost too much so. Persephone reminded him of a shashlik in these final moments, a pointless sack of flesh skewered against a hardwood pole, with nothing left inside.
Viktor looked at the bucket of essence with a frown. All for nothing, he mused.
He knocked it over, allowing her extinguished lifeforce to drain uselessly into the sand.
Misha continued to pant, now even more heart-wrenching with an approaching heat wave. It took everything from Viktor to keep the tears back.
He patted his friend on the head.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We will find tougher prey soon enough. For you and me both.”
Viktor tucked his latest trophy away, taking the entry he’d meticulously ripped from that poor woman’s Guide before he’d slit her throat. He placed this strip of paper inside the necklace he wore everywhere, a coconut filled with hundreds of those very same entries.
Natura can only grow with time, they all read.
It does not recede.
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