Arran looked over his shoulder, the Zodiac crawling along the dirty river, as he came in quietly and silently. The engine control in his left hand and his P226 in his right, as the Zodiac crawled through the muddy stream, coming to an end. It had been six hours of quietly using swamp paths and occasionally even dragging this thing, to avoid the now derelcit border that stood. Getting in was easy. Finding Scorpion was not. Arran wore his regular attire, a Bergen on his back, containing a few personal things, as well as a GPS at his side. He had no idea where everything was precisely, but he had done his homework, as best as he could. His boat's landing site was about five kilometers away from the town of Bekalo- this place he'd landed in being the middle of a humid and desolate swamp. No Crocodiles, but he made sure to watch his step, as he dragged it onto the solid rock, finding a shrub to hid the Zodiac as best as he could in. Wiping his brow below his Boonie, he kept his P226 held lower, as he then checked the GPS signal. Weak, but it was distinctive- if he had to get moving quickly, this was his RV. He was not a psychopath, but he had elements of one. And somehow going bloodthirsty over Scorpion was not a matter. This was like an operation, albeit he was on his own. No backup. Him, a pistol, and a target. And while he knew that like this, he'd be as likely to find Scorpion as he would Herpes on the far side of the Moon. What he needed was to make inroads locally. Survival would be simple, but living in the jungle would be boring, going out into that human world was where it was at.

Leaving the boat, the Scot moved through, trawling a path as best as he could, to at least find a road. The GPS was a simple Garmin- navigationally, great for plotting previous routes, and the boat, but nothing much more. It was pretty much the best kit he had- no local currency, or what was left of it being basically worthless. There was no point carrying paper money- in a place like this, you needed minerals. Diamonds, or Gold, or something valuable to barter. US Dollars could only go so far- in a place like this, you wouldn't find a currency converter, that was for sure. Arran was never great with customs, but he understood that much. And it would leave him between a rock and a hard place at times, though keeping aloof was going to be the way he did things. Get a supply running. Find intel or information. Learn, watch, adapt, evolve, do. Then Scorpion would be gone. Other mercenaries were in area, that was for sure. Arran knew working with them was an inevitability- it was just going to have to happen, no matter what. But this was a place for making some money, and getting his own vindication.

Eventually, Arran made it to a dirt path, and began following it north, holstering his P226, walking in the early morning sun, the crickets chirping as the jungle felt alive, one organism in it's composition, the sets of clouds that had kept the heat in dispersing and reforming, just sitting calmly. The road had a vague sign. For some small settlement, and another for Bekalo. Either way, that settlement could be a lodge, and perhaps getting his own shit together and thinking through what next would be his best course of action. He was not ready to go out and face the wide world- he knew this well enough, that even as one lone ex-SBS operator, he had no chance. Time would create opportunities, he reminded himself.