His blood was rushing to his head. There was no way this was possible, just.. It seemed unreal. The man was dead, no doubt about that. His head had been shrewd, turned into a mushroom, the buckshot had nearly turned him into a horrific monster that was now engraved in his mind. But everyone else was normal, was this… was this normal? Nikita was just 20 years old when he had joined the FENIX movement, an organization that focused on recapturing their lost home known as Tabor. The small Czech island was full of hostility, PMCs fought day and night, the GHOST were relentless, leftover NATO forces that were deployed to the island right before the bombs fell. He still didn't quite understand the VOLK, they seemed to believe in freedom, after all, they did start all of this all for the betterment of Russia, well, and because of the cruelties that the AdvantEdge Corporation were doing. Nikita knew about the corporation, his dad was a janitor at the facility, he knew that they were conducting inhumane experiments, he knew about the high level security and secured vaults filled with vast riches stashed away for fallout. He knew, so maybe that was why. Why was he thinking about all of this anyway? He had just killed a GHOST PMC, a man that probably, just like Nikita, just wanted normal life. He heard distant shots in the wind. He hated the Mother City, (Better known as Matka Miest) it was a war torn remnant of his past. Wind howled as he fired lead on the very streets he grew up on. He wanted to go back, but that was in the past. Nikita and a few other FENIX scavengers trailed towards the shots, unaware about what would happen. Just as they reached a crossway, a bullet whizzed past Nikita's head, hitting another FENIX in the dome, dropping him like a fly. He clutched onto his Saiga 12, he knew that sound, 556.45, they must've had an M4. Other scavengers shot at them, their MAT49 and SKS rifles were no penetration against the heavy armor that the PMC was wearing. The Scavs were dropping like flies, the PMC was hungry, lusting for blood. Nikita knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath, clutched his shotgun, and turned the corner, spraying as much buckshot as humanly possible.
