Derek waited in the silent darkness of death, waiting for the gates to open... or something. However, the dark only persisted. This darkness enveloped him like rags do a newborn child in the light, lifting them so that they may stay warm in the cold of light. Unfortunately, the dark is much different: the rags keep you cool in the stifling heat of the night, so much so that your body is crushed and immobile.
Only a single thought to keep his sorry ass company, "You will be called upon soon."
He doubted and remained silent to the thought. Derek wanted no part in a new adventure, but did he really believe that?
"Eyes open, guardian," Derek toned to himself with a gentle chuckle as he blinked in the golden light of dusk. He patted a tough hand against the brick wall of whatever building he had woken up next to and brushed dirt and grass off his short pants. A gently weight rest on his shoulders and he looked to his left arm, noting that a strap had wrapped over his entire upper arm. He tugged on it and eventually pulled it off to reveal a satchel on his back, which promptly fell to the ground. The contents spilled forth a set of pneumatic boots and a handgun. "Whoa, why would I need this?"
Any thought he could have conjured up next was interrupted by the opening a shutting of a set of doors, then someone yelling viciously to the sky. Derek peaked his head around the corner to see who had screamed, but only caught the tail end of a leather coat that disappeared around the other side of the building.
"Tough luck, comrade," he murmured as he dug through his satchel to draw out a small knife and a bag of chips. "Finally, some food." The bag was quickly popped open for a munch while he listened the doors open and close again, this one without any yelling or particular fuss of any sort.
Derek took some time to breath, flexing his hands and looking over his body with curiosity. His body hadn't changed at all since he had last been, he was still the bulky Russian man that he remembered. Though, he was very agile for a man with such bulk on him; mind you, this wasn't bad bulk either, most of it was just muscle on his torso.
Inhaling, then exhaling, then inhaling again, he picked up the handgun that had lain in the grass now for about 15 minutes. It was heavy, reflecting the sun brightly on its silvery barrel and stock. The wood of the handle sat comfortably in his hand and he could see that there were 7 rounds in the cylinder. "Pretty thing," he murmured, stowing it in the bag. His hand came back out with the pneumatic boots, which he switched out with his sandals. To be fair, the black metal seemed out of place, especially when it went up to mid-thigh while he was wearing a pair of cargo shorts. Derek waved the thought away with his hand and shut the flap on the satchel, then tossed the strap over his shoulder as he stood up.
This was routine, continuing on as he always had into the unknown depths of the world he was in. Today, he did so cheerfully, for he was alive and needed. Needed for what he knew not, but surely he will know soon.
And then, he watched the sky collapse frightfully into night. As if a light-switch had been flipped. The sun fell off the horizon and clouds surged with thunderous bolts to that light and noise spread through the area.
For the first time in many, many years, Derek was afraid. He stared into the swirling vortex of air as it collapsed over some building in the distance, then dissipated quickly into nothingness. Night still rested over the town like a blanket. He shivered a moment, cold in the autumn breeze.
