Night approaches the dingy settlement once more. Wind carries the strong scents of mud and rotting leaves through shattered windows and creaking beams. Autumn is coming to The Zone, and Tourist Trap will endure, as it always has.

In search of a job, you went to the same place everyone else does: Sidorovich. A shameless information broker, a greedy trader, and an absolute bastard of a man, but one with enough scruples to make things happen for people in need. Between greasy bites of chicken, he tells you about "old uncle Bourbon" having come back from a job for him just the other day. "Bourbon isn't one to sit idle for too long. He knows the rules of the Zone. Tell him I sent you... Bourbon will take care of you!" With a chuckle, Sid pocketed your crumbled bills and waved you away.

Ducking through the leaning doorframe of the Double Barrel, you take in the sights and sounds: eternally smokey and warm, despite the weather, and reeking of spilled alcohol. Drunks are splayed out in their seats, loners chat each other up and swap stories, and the barman keeps his eyes on the crowd from behind the taps. A quick sweep of the room, and your new squad is easy to identify. First, a bulky figure with a weather-worn face and grey running wild through his hair; the only man in here that could be "old Uncle Bourbon". The man next to him, still as a statue, has his hood drawn up over his scalp, but that doesn't stop the feeling of his cold glare piercing into your skull. The other two at the table haven't yet noticed you, as one laughs and slaps the shoulders of his smaller, nervous companion: it seems that the cards chose their favorite.