KvsW- Casefile [001][Beggining]

Somewhere in the middle of forest in the continental United States, a lonely man sat by himself by a campfire. He was decked from head to toe in mismatched milsurp, playing a harmonica with an old lever action rifle over his lap. Occasionally he'd stop playing to take a bite of some unidentifiable gruel in tin can sitting on his knee, then go right back to the harmonica.

He seemed to be attempting to play some crude rendering of "Serbia Strong," though it would only be apparent to anyone familiar with the song to begin with. It was very clear that he wasn't a musician by any stretch. He didn't seem to care.

A twig cracked in the darkness. In an instant, the man had dropped his harmonica and shouldered his rifle. He stood up and scanned his surroundings, though his gas mask hindered his vision somewhat. He heard another twig crack. He knew what it was. He'd read the greentexts. Skinwalkers.

"GET OUT OF HERE, STALKER!" he shouted, his voice muffled by still carrying through the still night air. Then he saw it. Movement. Something humanoid walking towards, towards his campfire. He stood fast.
"Blowout soon, fellow Stalker!" came a muffled reply. It was mimicking him! It was here to-- wait, he hadn't said that...

The figure came into full view, illuminated by the light of the fire. It was another person, also dressed in milsurp, face concealed with a gas mask and an AK slung over their shoulder.

"Are you a skinwalker?" he asked to the new arrival.

"Do I seem like a skinwalker?"

"I don't know, isn't that what a skinwalker would say?"

"Alright, should I prove beyond a shadow of a doubt I'm human?"

"I wouldn't mind it, if you would."

The person in question pulled off their gas mask, and shook their head a bit, loosening their long red hair. It was a woman. The man was taken aback slightly, and lowered his weapon.

"What are you looking at, faggot?" she asked.

"Uh, nothing." He sat back down on his log. He looked around for his can of unidentified gruel. It had spilled its contents into the leaves in the commotion. He cursed in broken Russian. He reached over to his pack and pulled out another can, pulling its tab off. He held it out towards his female visitor. "Care for some canned... uh, stuff?" She shrugged and accepted it.

"So," he started, between spoonfuls of canned stuff, "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." She held the can up and tapped the bottom, knocking some of it into her mouth and chewing.

"I'm exploring the Zone for artifacts," he stated matter-of-factly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

She gave him a strange look. "How long have you been out here, dude?"

"Uh... five weeks? I think?"

"By yourself?"

"Yeah, what about it?" He started getting defensive.

"Are you sure you're not going nuts from the isolation?"

"... shut up."

She chuffed and finished off her canned stuff.
He picked up his harmonica again and started playing again. It wasn't long before the woman stopped him.

"Dude, you fucking suck at that."

"What, can you do better?" He pouted.

"Yeah, give it to me." He snatched it when he held it out, and started playing "Rhodesians Never Die" in a much more pleasing register.

"Fine, you win," he said, crossing his arms. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Chris."

"Chris?"

"Yeah, got a hearing problem?"

"Chris? As in Christie? Or Christopher?"

"What, you think I'm a trap?"

"The thought's crossed my mind."

"Yeah, fuck you man. No boipussi for you. NOT that I have one, I'm not a dude. Don't get any ideas, though."

He shrugged. "My name's Dave, by the way."

"I didn't ask."

"Oh..." The awkward silence that followed was palpable.

"Uh... that's a nice weapon you got there," he said, pointing at the AK she carried. "Mind telling me about it?"

She gave him a questioning look, and took a deep breath. Over the next three hours, she sperged out over everything Kalashnikov.
It was well past midnight when she ran out of breath. Dave was half asleep. Chris snapped her fingers.

"Hey, dickbag, still awake?"

He snapped upright. "Uh, yeah, totally."

"Yeah, fuck you."

He shook his head. "Okay, it's really late, I'm tired as fuck, and I'm assuming that unless you want to walk through fucking Yantar back there in pitch blackness, you're pretty much asking to stay here for the night?"

"I didn't ask that... but... would you mind? Because yeah..."

"Make yourself at home." He stood off his log and stretched, then went over to a sleeping bag next to the log and started climbing inside.

"What, you don't even have a tent and you've been out here five weeks?"

"Situational awareness, baby." He grabbed a bunch of camouflage netting and covered himself up with it completely, blending in with the dead leaves littering the forest floor in the darkness.

She sighed heavily and used her pack as as a pillow, laying up against the log.

"Don't go stealing my skin in the middle of the night while I slumber," he said from underneath his little camo blind.

"That's not even how a skinwalker works... you're thinking of a fleshgait. And besides, neither of those exist up in these woods. What you should be worried about is the Wendigo."
"The Wendigo? The cannibal monster? You're kidding right?"

"What, you believe in skinwalkers but not wendigos?"

"It was literally just some indian guys getting high after running out of food in the winter and getting some really bad munchies."

"Wendigos are real, man. They're usually floating around as those evil spirits that make people engage in cannibalism, but when there's no people around, they might take physical form and search for their own prey."

"Spooky."

"Whatever. When you get plucked out of your little hole by a wendigo, don't come crying to me."

Dave mumbled and fell into a deep sleep. It was rudely interrupted when an ear-splitting screech echoed through the trees.

He sat up. "Chris?" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Where are you?" The campfire had gone out, and the night was host to a new moon, so he couldn't see a thing.
Dave heard several loud cracks coming from the trees. He saw flashes too. Muzzle flashes. He leaped to his feet with his own rifle and went stumbling off into the forest.

Several more shots rang out, but they were further away. Chris was running from something.

He ran as hard as he could, dodging trees in the darkness, until he could hear her heavy breathing. Or what he assumed was her breathing. Because in the next instant, his sense of smell was overpowered by the stench of rotting flesh.

Dave then promptly slammed face first into a tree. It was a strangely furry, soft tree. One that smelled of month old poutine left out in the sun to ferment.

Looking up, he saw it. Outlined against the stars, but with eyes glowing a faint green...

It howled. It was the same ear-splitting screech from earlier, only now it was actually splitting his ears, and left them ringing. Several gunshots came from where he couldn't see, and seemed to impact the creature standing over him, as he was splattered with some sort of viscous bodily fluid. The beast shrieked and took off sprinting.

Chris came over to his side. "Hey, dude, are you alright? Still alive?"

"Yeah... was that...?"

"A wendigo? Dead certain. Speak of the fucking devil, eh?" She helped him to his feet.

"We should get out of here," he offered, brushing off his gear.

"No shit, Sherlock? But it's pitch fucking black, got a light on ya?"

"Oh right, I got one of those... but it's back at the campsite..."

"Where the fuck's the campsite from here?" she asked, growing increasingly agitated.

"Uh..."
The pair of them ended up losing a lot of time stumbling around in the dark. Every noise set them instantly on edge, and Chris wasted the last of the ammo in her magazine in panic fire.

On the plus side, Dave was not jumping at every sound, because his ears were ringing like a motherfucker at this point.

Dave also still had a full tube magazine in his rifle, so they had that going for them.

An hour before daybreak, they finally stumbled across their campsite. "Thank fucking god," Chris said, going over to her pack to rummage for more ammunition.

"I'll get the fire started up again, maybe we can keep it away long enough for the sun to rise." He grabbed his flint and steel out of his pocket and started striking.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"Huh?"

"My bag, it's all torn to shit! Everything's gone!"

"What about mine?"

There was some further rummaging. "Yours too, all torn up... the wendigo..."

Dave got the campfire alight, though it was little more than a few glowing embers. Not much left to burn. "We need to gather more wood, kindling, and--"

He noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

It was really fucking close for him to have noticed it, since the glow was so weak.

Chris noticed it too.

The beast was there. Five meters away.

Chris screamed bloody murder.

"CYKA BLYAT!" shouted Dave, scrambling for his rifle.
BANG
clickclick
BANG
clickclick
BANG
clickclick
BANG

Dave dumped as fast as he could in the creature's general direction. Each impact was punctuated by a wet *thunk* sound, and a screech. It sprinted forward on all fours, tackling him to the ground. It pummeled him with its fists. He raised an arm to defend himself, and it chomped down, sinking its teeth in through his clothing.

Chris stopped screaming and collected herself enough long enough to take a hunting knife out of its holster in her boot and attempt to stab the creature in the back. It kicked her like a mule without even acknowledging her attack. She slammed against a tree, but her knife fell by Dave.

Dave had resorted to repeatedly punching the beast in the face with his good arm, and ended up blindingly poking the beast in its eye with his thumb. It let go of his arm, completely numb, and it flopped to his side. He rolled out of the way, and almost impaled himself on Chris's fallen knife. Snatching it up, he sprang to his feet in time to see the monster recover as well. They circled each other around the dying campfire, Dave with his one good arm, and the Wendigo with its one good eye.

Dave raised the knife and pointed at the beast, issuing a challenge. "AH NUUUU, CHEEKI BREEKI IV DAMKE!"

The beast answered with a roar and lunged, tackling him again and singing its razor teeth into the shoulder of his lame arm. It missed his neck by centimeters.

Dave made the creature regret its mistake. He plunged the long bladed knife into the side of its neck, and pushed upwards with all his might, supplemented by the adrenaline forcing him into a berserker rage.

The knife came out the back of the beast's neck, severing its spinal cord just below the skull. It fell limp and collapsed on top of him.
The sun was cresting over the treeline when Chris regained consciousness. She found Dave a few meters away, lying on his back in the leaves. The Wendigo was nowhere to be seen.

She knelt beside him and shook him a bit. "Dave? Dave? Don't be dead, come on..."

He grimaced and came to. "Huh? What..."

She gave him a hug. He cried out. "What's wrong?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

"Everything hurts... like a motherfucker..."

"Sorry... here, my trauma kit should be around here somewhere..." She looked around the campsite, and found her gear scattered a few feet away. The Wendigo had done a real number on most of it, but the medical supplies were still in good condition. She returned to his side and began the painful process of tending to his wounds.

"What about you?" he asked, grimacing as she took off his coat and applies antiseptic solution to the deep gashes in his shoulder and forearm. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll be limping for a while, but I'll live. But you, we need to get you to a hospital."

"Agreed... I think I'm done being Strelok for now..."

She smirked and he smirked, and their eyes met, and sparks flew and it was a wonderful moment. And then he grimaced because he was still in massive pain.

She bandaged him up and helped him to his feet, and together, they limped their way out of the forest. They didn't speak much during that period, but not much needed to be said. They'd just helped each other survive an otherwise fatal encounter, and that the priority was making sure they didn't tempt fate by staying another night.

And so they limped along their way.