Autumn was a busy season in Snezhnaya. People are milling about on the streets, stockpiling resources for winter and preparing for various events and festivals. Light snow flutters from the rolling gray clouds in the sky, the sound of chatter and scents of smoke and gasoline fill the air. While on your way to the shops, you hear a familiar voice call out to you from behind- "Hey, comrade! Didn't expect to see you out and about in this weather."

Tartaglia saunters over to you with a bit of a swagger, his only protection from the cold being a red scarf wrapped loosely around his shoulders. It almost felt insulting.