The place had smelled of garlic, and Pascal Souchon was glad to trade it for the fresh, cool air of the mountains. He supposed that the smell had mostly been his fault. The fourteen men living in the flophouse in the foothills had taken turns cooking, it had only been fair that way. Most of them had been loggers, laborers, seasonal workers. Their food had been hearty, certainly, but not exactly refined. Pascal had been glad for his turn- it gave him a chance to bring out his old recipe for bouillabaisse, passed down through the family. It had gone over well, except for the smell filling the cheap rooms. He had taken some ribbing for that.

Max liked bouillabaisse. 

Pascal shook his head, trying to push the thought out of his mind. He had a job to do. Trying without success to ignore the past, he instead tried to focus on the world around him, the towering pines on either side, the mud of the road he was walking on, the bump of the hard case holding his disassembled rifle against his back. He had come into the region earlier, seasonal loggers coming in, looking for work. Everyone had assumed he was one of them, and nothing he had said told them otherwise. He thought it best not to advertise his true purpose. 

And so he had left the cheap room he had rented, overpaying generously, headed into the mountains early in the morning on foot. He often had to stop and sit down for moment- everything just seemed heavier than he was accustomed to, and that certainly included his rifle case and his small bag of personal items. But now, here was Frontier 60, the squat cluster of buildings looming in front of him. 

Pascal didn't know why he was doing this. Just seemed right.

He was quiet, skinny, not the least bit intimidating. Pascal entered the complex completely unopposed, found his way to a harried receptionist. "Souchon reporting for duty," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but still betraying his Lunatic accent. He gave the receptionist a thin smile that didn't touch his blue eyes as he was motioned towards the mess.

Pascal walked in, quietly sat down and divested himself of his two pieces of luggage. He said nothing, merely watched the others, and waited. He tried not to think about Marie, and he tried very hard not to think about Max.