Talk:Stalker/@comment-141.138.57.51-20151207220825/@comment-82.155.167.23-20151218185700

In the far future, waiting in the dark for his next prey, the stalker meditates. He remembers his past: He can hear his old pals, sitting around the campfire, singing songs and showing off the artifacts that would, at last, make them rich. The artifacts that would one day be used to corrupt humanity and create the tecnocyte virus.

Better days, long gone.

The prey aprouches.

Feeling his old roots again, the stalker readied despair, leaped from the shadow at the hapless tenno, screaming his old motto at the top of his lungs:

CHEEKY BREEKY IV DAMKE