DISCLAIMER: I do not own Far Cry 2 or Alan Wake. They are both copyrighted games by Ubisoft and Remedy Entertainment respectively.

Note: I wrote this WAY before Just Like Old Times and A Far Cry from Mercy City. So this is actually my first fan fiction. Just Like Old Times was my first uploaded fan fic.

Josip watched the explosion rip apart the mountainside. Rocks and boulders tumbled down the crevice blocking the only route to the border. He smiled at the sight.

He had spent a hellish month hunting down the notorious arms dealer—the Jackal. Pulling all the strings and playing with both sides, he wreaked havoc on the country's armed forces. Using all his knowledge and experience, he fought the soldiers, mercenaries, and militia. He himself was a mercenary. And he was ensured payment if he got the job done.

Following his arrival in the war torn country, he was cornered by the Jackal and left to die. That had already severed ties with his clients and he knew that the payment would never reach his account.

Eventually, he found work as a "deniable asset" until he came to his climax at the prison. The Jackal made a deal with him and they worked together to put an end to the chaos. There were two offers and each had a lethal cost. Josip took the safe one. He was smart enough to dodge the Jackal's desperate trap.

In the end, he delivered the diamonds—including all his pocket money—to the border guards as a form of payment. They took it easily and they made it easier for the evacuating populace escape. He was virtually broke with nothing left but a rusty pistol. He threw away his guns once he reached the gate.

Josip tapped Reuben's shoulder. The reporter nodded and took a picture of the mercenary and then more of the civilians.

Josip's life was now a quest for peace. He had lived to tell the tales of that African civil war. He killed all his friends as well. They were greedy enough for their own skin. At first, he had wanted to die but a driving force pushed him and his will to live to the extremes. Now, he stood by a cliff watching the smoke settle from the collapsed boulder pile.

Josip woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. It was early in the afternoon. He had boarded a truck that took him to a refugee center. This was an entirely different country but ruled by the same skin. Josip felt like a sore thumb but told himself that he wasn't the only white male in the vicinity.

"Hello."

"Josip, it's me, Reuben."

The mercenary sighed. "Yes?"

"I'm here at the airport."

"Are you in trouble again?"

"No. I hired an airplane to take us to America."

"Wait. Us?"

"Yes. Me, my family, and you."

Josip couldn't believe his ears. Reuben was offering him a chance to move to a more peaceful continent. He knew what American country the reporter was talking about.

"United States of A—"

"Yes. I know several people there and they have an idea where you might find some peace and quiet."

"Look, I am looking for place where I can spend rest of my life. I don't want to go back to Yugoslavia again."

"You're not going to Yugoslavia or anywhere in Europe."

"Yes. I will be going to America. But where exactly in United States?"

"I'll let you know when we get there."

Their conversation ended. As Josip pocketed his cell phone, he pondered on the thought of a free trip to the United States. It was a country full of possibilities. He had never been on American soil and he never wanted to set foot on any Balkan state. After all, he was a native Albanian from Kosovo. The Serbs were beginning to dominate the majority of the regions.

But what if there were Serbs in America? They would just be a minority. Even though he was a soldier, he knew full well that his strength alone couldn't defend himself from a mob attack or some ethnic dogfight. However, Rueben's offer was a great temptation.

Josip sat on his cot and thought for an hour until he finally stood up and found something to eat.

The plane's engine roared as the aircraft took altitude. Reuben sat beside the pilot. Josip was in the back seat behind the reporter's family—a wife, sister, and daughter.

The landscape below them looked like a painted canvas that was marked by curly lines of blue and brushes of green and yellow. There were small huts and urban homes. There wasn't much commercial activity let alone presence but it was enough to convince him that this African state could stand on its own. It wasn't in any civil war anyway.

Reuben shifted through his pouch and passed him a brochure. Josip read it interestingly.

"Bright Falls." The brochure was five years old but gave him the picture of a serene and calm community bounded by a forest whose main goal was hunting deer and celebrating with neighbors. Josip didn't know much English but he could understand the general attraction of the brochure—a small peaceful community. And a new livelihood beamed on him. He would pick up farming. Hunting would be a second choice. Thoughts began to race through his head as he dreamed of how his life would be in that place.

He would also have to prepare. And the first thing he needed to sort out was his facial hair. He still needed a bath as he hadn't had one in a week.

The barge transported a cargo of vehicles and passengers to through the river and to the majestic valley that was Bright Falls. Josip emerged from the car Reuben's friends had plucked out of Leboa-Sako—the luxurious SUV rewarded by the exiled African prince. He remembered how he entered that rocky shack and found the young man waiting for him there.

"Please, accept one of my vehicles as my gift," he had urged.

Josip drove the vehicle around and used them during missions. He had taken care of that vehicle so greatly that it was a bitter disappointment that it was taken away by a greedy mercenary following his failed stand at the church.

The van's gold linings shined briskly in the sunlight. It was obvious that some parts were replaced. Even the engine worked twice as better as the original one. Josip was grateful. Even though he had just shaved off his beard, trimmed his mustache, and got a new cut, he felt as though he had undergone a transformation, a reincarnation from a dead self. He had left his bad habits behind—heavy drinking, smoking, and all that killing. A new life was now ahead of him.

After smelling the fresh air and letting the wind settle into a breeze, the forty-eight-year-old picked up a book from the backseat and continued reading. In order to properly adapt to his surroundings, he had to learn the language. American troops taught him proper grammar back in Yugoslavia and he picked up some more words in Africa. Now, he was learning by reading novels beginning with this one—some sort of thriller novel written by a man named Alan Wake.

His phone rang. It was Reuben.

"Yes?"

"How is it?"

"It is nice place. I'm still in boat."

"Good. I'll be going back to Africa soon."

Josip sighed before clasping his palm over his face. "You want to go back to war?"

"I'm a reporter. I have to cover what is going on. And besides, I'll be staying in Joburg."

"Where?"

"Johannesburg… in South Africa."

"Ah, good luck then."

"I hope you enjoy your stay there."

"I think I will."

Looking through the windshield, he could see the port in the distance. The workers were preparing the gangplank as the barge began to dock.

Josip smiled. He's here. He's finally here in paradise.

According to Reuben's instructions, someone in the Oh Deer Diner should give him a permanent residence. Parking his car and attracting some attention for its gold placements, he took time to let his eyes settle on the vast landscape of trees and homes.

He entered the diner. The scent of his cologne caught the attention of the waitress, Rose.

"Welcome to the Oh Deer Diner, how may I help you, sir?"

"Yes, I am looking for Karl Stacky."

"You mean, Carl Stockey?"

Stockey's voice cut her off. "I'm over here," he called from his seat. Josip smiled back at Rose as he went over to where Stockey was.

"Reuben says you have keys."

"And I say you need to add in some articles to your sentences, pal. No offence but at least it'll help." Stockey handed him the key.

"Follow the road up to Cauldron Lake. Beside it, there's a lodge. It's newly built and I'm sure you're going to love it. You'll be its first resident."

"I'm going to be living here for—"

"Reuben told me everything. Don't worry; the taxes aren't that much anyway. Besides, you have a majestic view of the lake from there."

Josip smiled and nodded. With the keys in hand, he was ready to make himself at home.

"Do you want something to eat? It's all on me."

"Well, food is good."

Stockey raised his hand and Rose gave Josip the menu. Browsing through the list of choices, he felt a cool breeze flow over his shoulders and neatly combed hair. He turned around.

"Oh, that's Sheriff Sara Breaker. She's the head of the law enforcement in this town."

Josip smiled. At least this place has a proper police force. Sara noticed him. She smiled and waved.

"Hello, sir! Welcome to Bright Falls."

"He's going to be a permanent resident," Stockey remarked.

"Really? That's great!"

"Hello," Josip greeted. "I am Josip. Josip Idromeno."

"Oh yeah, forgot your name," Stockey muttered. "Anyhow, the forest around the lodge has plenty of deer. You're going to enjoy plucking out that game when Deer Fest comes around."

"I heard of Deer Fest," the veteran replied.

At that, the diner was alive with the hosts explaining to their visitor how the town's blood circulates.

Josip parked his car under the garage shed beside the lodge. It looked good from the outside. Stockey accompanied him inside and it was beautiful in the interior. There was a balcony that overlooked the whole of Cauldron Lake. Amazing craftsmanship on the furniture and steps impressed him even more.

"Reuben paid for all these," Stockey explained, "he even added in some fine rocks as payment."

Josip grinned gleefully. At least the diamonds were used for some good.

"This is good life. Way cool!"

Stockey chuckled. "You got that right."

Upstairs was the bedroom and the study. Josip sat on the bed as he gazed through the windows and saw the sun shining brightly over the cloudy sky. Stockey introduced the study where a bookshelf was half-filled with novels. Josip studied the spines of the hardcover books.

"You have Alan Wake. I have his one book here."

"Alan Wake? He's here actually. He and his wife are staying here on vacation."

Josip's eyes lightened up. The author of the book he was reading was also staying here. That was great if he really wanted to master his English.

"So where is he?"

"I don't really know. Well, you see, his wife forgot to get the keys from me. Sheriff Breaker says they're staying over at the Lodges. If you want to see them, go talk to Rusty. He's usually the one in charge."

"I see to it then."

At last, peace! By the time Stockey left, Josip felt a great burden removed from his shoulders. He had finally found his final residence. This would be his final destination and where he would be buried. In due time, he will attain American citizenship but remain an ethnic full-blooded Albanian. He didn't want to make a name for himself to avoid any ruckus but decided to limit his reputation. He didn't want to scare anyone, that's for sure.

That night, Josip Idromeno sat on his bed reading Alan Wake's thriller novels of Alex Casey. He had pulled them from the bookshelf and stacked them on the table beside his bed. He was also interested in the story. The hard-boiled detective Alex Casey solving cases in New York City; it was a work of fiction that impressed the old war veteran and gave him a picture of the vicious American life.

Agent Nightingale had noticed the arrival of the visitor and grew suspicious of him upon learning that he intended to be a permanent citizen. He questioned Stockey, Rose, and Sheriff Breaker. The information he extracted didn't satisfy him.

But the mention of his Balkan accent reminded him of the notorious Albanian slave trade—a case that he had used to work with back then.

"Agent, don't tell me that you distrust him," Breaker protested.

"I'm a little suspicious," Nightingale starkly replied.

"Look, I don't want another issue over some obscure visitor. Okay? We've had enough of your quarrel with Wake and we don't want another one."

"So do I!" he snapped.

After that, he left the station and went on his own investigation of the foreign visitor. And he dug up a trove of information.

The following morning, Nightingale confronted Breaker. The Agent smacked a dossier on her desk with a confident smile on his face. She narrowed her eyes at his.

"What now?"

"Come on, read it."

Breaker picked up the folder and opened it. She couldn't believe her eyes as she read his profile.

Josip Idromeno was a retired paramilitary soldier of the dissolute Yugoslav People's Army, a former bodyguard, a teamster, a former member of the Kosovar Liberation Army, and most recently a mercenary who worked in East Africa—the last part being the most disturbing of his former careers.

Yet, Breaker held on to her stubbornness and maintained her trust of the Albanian visitor. She handed back the dossier to Nightingale shaking her head.

"I've had enough Agent!"

Nightingale scowled at her.

"We'll see how you fare when things go wrong."

"He's retired. He wants nothing more than to live alone."

"Until he snaps."

"Agent!"

There was silence. After a long quiet moment, Nightingale spoke up, "Soon enough, I'll be staying here until the Bureau calls me back."

And he left the station. Breaker cursed him silently then pondered on the thought of Josip's visit and his past. Was he actually running from his past? Or was he up to something even more? She shook off these thoughts believing solely in her newly established trust. In the end, her eyes fell on the a clipped photograph showing a dirty, battered, and exhausted broad-shouldered soldier.

Josip went shopping for what he needed. Food, clothes, maintenance, and other miscellaneous requirements were on his list. He budgeted the money Reuben gave him. He also needed work. He could work for Stockey as a lumber jack or truck driver. After all, he used to drive loads of ammunition back in the day.

Making his way to the car, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and greeted the stranger.

"Hello, there! I'm Barry, Alan Wake's agent," the man said.

Josip lightened up. His smile grew wide and he enthusiastically shook the agent's hand.

"I heard from Stockey that you were fond of reading Al's books. I was wondering if you could help around a bit."