Member
One day ago...
Steven rode into the village on his bicycle and locked it to a rack. They may not have the same luxuries as before the war but the concept of a bike doesn't go away easily. He wandered around, wishing well to everyone he saw. A door opened and he stepped into the shop. "Привет, Sergey! How are you today?" "I am very good, many thanks for asking. The usual?" "Yup, same thing as always. Heard any good rumors recently? Sergey started measuring out the meat as he responded, "Da, I have heard things. I heard that a plane crashed somewhere in Reaping Grounds. Stormlands leader holding meeting about it." "Plane crash, huh? Thanks for telling me." Steven slapped money on the counter and took the package. He went around and bought his groceries. He unlocked his bike and went home. Later in the day, he went into the village and saw a poster for a caravan headed to the meeting and it needed security. This is perfect!
The next day...
"That wasn't that bad, but it could have gone way better." Steven said as his arm was being wrapped in a bandage. On the way there, they had been attacked by bandits. They had fended them off but Steven had been shot. "Ow! Don't poke it, dingus!" "Sorry, man. I'm trying to be careful, but this isn't the easiest thing to do," their medic replied. "Whatever, we're here so at least, I won't be the only security protecting this group." The group rolled up to a gate for inspection. "What brings you here?" the guard asked. Steven replied smoothly with, "We heard about the meeting and wanted to be here. Also I've been shot and even though our medic, "Hello!" patched it up, it should probably see further treatment." The guard nodded and replied with "Very well. Go on through, you are cleared for entry. The doctor is in the room marked with a plus."
A few hours later, Steven and his group stepped into the meeting room. There were a lot of people in there. Some, like Twilight, he recognized easily as they had defining features that stood out easily. Others were harder to figure out as they seemed to be of not as much importance as he hadn't heard of them. Now that he thought about it, he and his group probably looked much the same. There were Rifters of all nationalities, British and Russian, African and Brazilian. He found an empty table and signaled to his friends that he had found one. They sat down and waited to see what happened.
