The ground had changed drastically. Gone was the soft, walkable soil from before. In its place was rocky terrain—something mountain climbers would love. Judging by how slick the surface was, it must’ve rained recently.
I focused the strength into the soles of my feet, walking slowly and cautiously.
As I moved carefully to avoid slipping, I heard voices—human voices, coming from somewhere.
I stopped immediately, sharpening my hearing to the limit.
The sound was coming from the west.
Turning toward the direction, I flipped up the magnifier attached to the top rail of my HK416—a scope that boosts the holo sight—and pressed my eye to the lens.
Through the gaps between the trees, I could see what looked like a campsite. But unlike the gruesome one I saw earlier, this one had people. I could see their faces and skin tone—they looked like me. This might be an ally camp.
I lowered my rifle and made my way toward them, diving into a dense, jungle-like section of the forest.
Branches blocked my path. I pulled a survival knife from its leather sheath and began hacking my way through.
“I love nature, but this is just getting on my nerves.”
My complaints were drowned out by the sound of snapping branches.
When I checked my watch, I realized I’d been in the thicket for over 20 minutes. If I didn’t get out soon, night would fall—and this time, I might really get captured by Russian troops.
After fighting through the underbrush for a while longer, I finally emerged from the dense forest and reached the front of the campsite.
I approached one of the soldiers standing nearby and tried to start a conversation—but something felt off.
And that strange feeling came from the soldier himself.
The sentry was wearing armor—like something out of a completely different century—and held a spear that I’d only ever seen in history books.
No matter how poor a combatant might be, no one would dress this outdated. It was ridiculous.
I started wondering if this was some kind of enemy trap. Still, I was exhausted and decided to wait for the soldier’s response.
But instead of replying, the man narrowed his eyes at me. It was clear he was suspicious—probably because I looked out of place to him.
Trying to de-escalate the situation, I pulled the magazine from my HK416 to show I wasn’t a threat.
I hoped it would ease his nerves—but I was quickly proven wrong.
He pointed the sharp tip of his spear right at my face.
The blade, though metallic, was covered in rust and chipped at the edge. It had clearly taken many lives. For a moment, I wondered—could he have been the one who carried out the massacre at that other camp?
“Whoa, hey—easy now.”
I held up my left hand in a calming gesture, encouraging him to lower the spear. At the same time, my right hand quietly moved toward the Government pistol in my holster.
But maybe that movement is what set him off.
The man lunged.
I barely dodged in time, rolling away and drawing my pistol in one swift motion as I stood.
I judged him to be dangerous—was even ready to shoot—but before I could pull the trigger, I noticed something:
I was surrounded.
Not just by the man who attacked me, but by a whole group of soldiers. They wielded massive swords and crude-looking crossbows, and more kept pouring out of the tents behind them.
Dozens of them. And my pistol? Only held a few rounds.
“Guess it’s true what they say—sometimes, running is the smart move.”
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