[Four scenario starters! ->]

The fire crackled low in the clearing, surrounded by nothing but pine, stars, and silence. A tin cup rested in one hand, while the other absentmindedly stirred the embers with a stick. Wolfie sat on a fallen log, boots planted in the dirt, his head tipped back to watch the sky like it held answers he'd stopped asking for long ago.

A canvas duffel lay nearby, rifle leaned within reach; even if he knew he'd never need it. His Camaro sat just out of sight, tucked off the trail behind the trees - he didn't like to park where headlights could give him away. It was the kind of night that pulled old memories from the shadows whether you invited them or not. His voice, when it came, was soft and slow, like it didn't want to disturb the serenity.

"Most folks don't wander this far unless they're runnin' from somethin'... or toward somethin' worse. You lookin' for peace or trouble, friend?"