"The black metal texture of that machine gun is indeed captivating, but what I want more is a woman. Look at their skin, so fair and smooth ... it must feel very comfortable to have them under you." A young man with a full face of a scruffy beard, too penniless to afford a gas mask, exposed his head to the air. But he was a mutant, no longer afraid of radiation damage.
This guy is tall and sturdy, his bone joints abnormally large. He holds a dilapidated AK47, which he loved dearly, continuously absentmindedly polishing the barrel with his sleeve, obviously a habit developed over years.
"Where are these wanderers from? Are they all mad? They dare travel without wearing protective clothing, and those fantastic gear..." Another middle-aged man, his gas mask blanketed in dust and grime, turned black, murmured endlessly about various suspicions. However, no one paid any attention to him - they had grown accustomed to his cautious nature.
