Crystals
Your commander pulls some papers out of his drawer reading: "Munitions Request". He hears Seb ask about the crystals that The Deliverance Co. so desperately want, "I don't really know, some say that the Crystals have some ancient power held within, others say its what remains of those nuclear bombs that went off all those years ago. The Main HQ wants it and so we'll retrieve it." With that he scribbles quite a lot on the paper and slides it to you, a paper filled with a page-long list of weapons, ammo, and various tools that your Company has acquired over it's years of service.
Your commander then gets up from his desk and heads into his dorm, a room opposite of The Preacher's Office. Looking at the paper it says to take it into the Armory and hand it in to whomever is currently occupying the place.
The Recoiling
The man looks up from the bins and turns around to face you, "Da' you again, how many times 'ave I told ya' to get a better fecking gun!?" Clearly his irritation towards non-Soviet weaponry is becoming clearer and clearer each time you show up with a new XM8 problem. "Juw' and yer' fish-lookin' guns! Pa', back in my days we used reliable guns like AKs and RPKs, non of this M4 and XM6 shit!" He goes on about this ranting and raving as he fishes you a new recoil spring out from a rubber bin with the word's: "Zaweri's Special Parts Bin" scrabbled on it with felt-marker. He takes the spring out and places it on the table, while him ranting basically falls into the background, "-didn't have to replace the parts everie' two fookin' seconds either-"
The Uncoiling [JOVE-UPDATE]
Your thoughts occupied you for the long walk, thoughts of home, that dreaded event far East, those smokey gambling halls back in NeoVegas, and all the people you've left in search of some better purpose. But who was this Soviet-Hat wearing man, it was a peculiar case indeed and one that- wait a minute. You pause and look around, your surroundings are much different from where you were earlier; short and stubby oak trees, flowing plains, and the smell of burning bandit camps were now replaced: with a chilly breeze blowing in between snow covered pines and grasses, with only the smell of nature to keep you occupied. "Just how far north am I?", you wonder as you take in the surroundings.
Up ahead on this cracked and mostly nature reclaimed road you see a sign made of rusted metal with white paint smeared on it to spell out: "THE GREAT WHiTe NORtH" Further up the road you can barely make out what looks like a settlement, maybe someone there can tell you what or where you're at.
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