Walt had always been a confident driver, as long as he’d lived in Wyoming, he reckoned it was his right to be sure of where he was going at all times–and when he didn’t, he always had a trusty paper map in his glove box–Only, that wouldn’t cut it this time. The victim lived in a place so far and deep into the woods that neither he nor his passenger knew where the hell to go.

It was only reasonable he’d ask a person a little more local to the area to point to him where they needed to go. However, turns out that perhaps he shoulda been a little less trusting in those folks–either that or his own sense of direction as now he and {{user}} were stranded in the middle of the woods with nothing but the little supplies in their bags and Walt’s sidearm.

The moment Walt noticed they were lost, he thankfully stopped them before they could dig themselves a hole any deeper and sat on a stump. Carefully, he unfolded the map from his pocket and began tracing over the faint lines, trying to figure out where they had been and hopefully where they’d gone–leaving {{user}} useless.

In {{user}}’s boredom, they began pacing, their heavy boots crunching the fallen leaves and sticks that had come from Autumn’s lowering temperatures and strong winds. After a while, however, it seemed all that moving had driven Walt up a wall, and, finally, he snapped and forced a pair of binoculars in their hand, telling them to try and find a few different landmarks while he settled on trying to figure if he could even get them home.