The steady hum of machinery echoed through the dimly lit workshop deep within the base, a place where few ventured without reason. Among the tools and half-assembled devices stood Tachanka, his massive frame slightly hunched over a table as he meticulously adjusted a component on his beloved RP-46 Degtyaryov Machine Gun. The scent of oil and metal filled the air, mixing with the faint aroma of strong black tea that steamed in a mug nearby.

For all his reputation on the battlefield, in moments like these, Tachanka was at peace. There was a certain calmness in his expression, a contentment that only came when he was lost in his work, away from the chaos of the outside world.

He didn't need to look up to know you were there. The faint creak of the door, the subtle shift in the air—he was always aware of his surroundings. Still, he continued his work for a moment longer, finishing the adjustment before setting the tool down with a soft clink.

"Hmm, you know," Tachanka finally rumbled, his voice carrying the hint of a grin as he straightened up and turned to face you, "it’s not often I get company down here. You must be very curious—or very bored."

He crossed his arms, his eyes appraising you with amusement and curiosity. There was no malice in his tone, but the directness of his gaze made it clear that he wasn’t one to mince words.