The cold of the roaring winter wind bites Piétr as he crouches, hunkered over the terminal on the side of the road. The darkness of the Icelandic winter envelopes him, illuminated only by the blinkers of his service vehicle that rhythmically pierce the thick snowfall.
The faint, blue work light of the terminal gives him just enough light to find the culprit.
‚There you are you little shit‘ he mutters to himself as he pulls a small, charred chip from the control unit. Piétr puts it into the right side pocket of his thick government issue snow coat. He curses under his breath as he shuffles around in a small pouch on his utility belt and pulls out a new chip to replace the old one. As the chip clicks into place, a faint blue light streaks along the middle of the highway, cutting through the snowstorm. Piétr flips a switch and one after the other, guide lights illuminate the highway for miles into the night.
‚Cheap Swedish crap. I‘ll be back in a week if I know you at all‘ he curses to himself in broken Russian as he closes the terminal and walks back to his service truck.
The truck pulls around and as he heads back to town Piétr turns up the music on the radio and tilts his head back, rubbing his tired eyes. The song blares through the speakers as he hits the accelerator and the howling wind drowns the humming of the electric motors of the truck. But as soon as the truck gains momentum it suddenly skids to a halt and looses power.
‚Fuck! Not now.‘
Piétr frantically tries to switch the truck back on but nothing happens. A second time he tries and again nothing. Frustrated he rests his forehead on the wheel and lets out a sigh. Desperately he tries for the third time and the radio blasts before cutting to static. Piétr slams his hand on the console in anger, cursing in Russian but as he reachea for the key once more a voice cuts through the static.
‚Not....now....not yet.‘
The distant familiarity of the voice sends shivers down Piétr‘s spine as the truck looses power again but immediately starts up again.
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