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Samson Chernikov · **12-05-2015, 09:00 PM**

The birds over the square, how I miss them. They bring such joy and elation during the warm months. Their singing in the wilds, their playing in the fountains of The Kremlin. Their absence brings the discontent of a Siberian Winter, barbaric, unforgiving, sheer punishment.

The wolves, they search for scraps in the empty forest around my home. I hear them late at night, howls echo for kilometers as they find a stray doe, feeble and numb, a terrifying experience for any living creature on this planet.

I see the moon, bright yet sinister. Its light guiding the nightmares that thrive here. I sheath my axe and drag my bundle of logs back to my camp, thoughts of something hungry, starving enough to attempt to make a meal out of me waiting In the dark. Whatever it is, it wouldnt be stupid enough.

I return to my camp and begin constucting a fire, the harsh wind makes it difficult, but I suceed. With the light of the flame I notice this envelope, wedged between two stones, bearing a XWF stamp. It is an invitation to compete, a welcome to face and conquer new opponents, and to rise to heights unseen.

I pull out my satellite phone and call my trainer Yako, and tell him simply, We are going to Amerika.

My name is Samson Chernikov, for war.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode From Russia with Malice
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