Following the aftermath of the fall of the fictional Norvinsk region in Russia, a lone man does what he must to survive in the hostile environment that is Tarkov and its surrounding areas.
With no resemblance of law and order in sight, B.E.A.R and U...
"Da, almost there," he replied, his eyes on the road.
Papa was a big man, close to two meters in height. He had a small beer belly from all the alcohol he drank, but his breath never smelled. His arms were very hairy, the time of year was a small window of warmth in the region, hence our shorter clothing.
There was always that one kid that came to school pretty much in his underpants when it was freezing outside and that one kid that came with a fur jacket in the heat of the short summer, I always wondered what would happen of the two fought for some reason.
I watched the passing pine trees from the window, every time I tried to focus on one object it'd quickly disappear from view. The clear blue sky was as gorgeous as ever, this far into the woods the air was much healthier than where we lived in the city.
I placed my forehead against the window, the rattle of the car giving me a funny buzzing. When we come back home, babushka's yummy borsch will be waiting for us, warm and full of flavor.
Today was Sunday, so Papa decided that it was time to teach me how to fish. I was a little reluctant at first, preferring to stay at home to play CS:GO while screaming a bunch of gibberish at other players.
Interacting with other players was the best part of video games, anything could happen, sometimes it was more engaging that the gameplay.
Papa turned the wheel to the left, coming to a stop near the biggest body of water in Norvinsk; the lake. There were numerous other boats already in the lake, their occupants either enjoying the scenery or fishing like we intended to, or both.
Once the car came to a complete stop a few meters from the shore, he brought the clutch into parking mode, existing the vehicle. I followed by doing the same, shutting the door behind me with a gentle swing.
Behind the car was a trailer carrying an old row boat my grandfather used back in the 90s, despite its degradation, it served its purpose well.
Grandpa used to live in a very poor village near the Gulf of Finland, the only way to survive at the time was to either hunt or, as you can see, catch aquatic animals.
"Help me unload the boat."
"Okay," I replied, walking towards the trailer with him.
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He reached to the boat in order to unbuckle the rubber ropes keeping it secured. When he was done he grabbed the bottom from his side while I did the same from my side. The boat was worn out from the many years it experienced the sea, many scratch marks were its medals, proving its courage and loyalty to our family.
"Alright. One, two, three!" We heaved the boat off the trailer, setting it down on the ground behind it. It was heavier than it looked, that's for sure.
"Go get the equipment in the back while I take the boat to the shore," I nodded, walking to the back of the car.
I opened the trunk and began taking out everything we'd need to catch some fish; rods, bait, spare hooks, paddles, water bottles and food for later, and some extra string in case the line snaps.
