Crossout Wikia

When times are tough, call Wolfhound. For this mercenary, burnt by all the fires of the Wasteland, there is never too much dirty work, only inadequate payment. His services are usually resorted to by the most desperate. And yet nobody knows who they should be afraid of anymore: their problems or the intractable mercenary.

Wolfhound's personality is shrouded in mystery, like a swamp — with mist. He never takes off his helmet, and none of his customers saw his armored car. But everyone heard the hungry roar of the engine in the night and the blood curdling screech of the wheels.



Portal 1547

Late night. The world froze in anticipation of dawn. A decent man sleeps at a time like this. But one silhouette, warmed only by the flight jacket and the sound of the armoured car’s engine, prepares a trap. His targets are the thugs who separated from the Firestarters to start even more fires. That is why they began to annoy farmers and engineers of local villages. Wolfhound agreed to help the civilians. For a reasonable fee.

As an experienced hunter, he woke up around midnight to set traps in this pitch-black darkness. Wolfhound worked without the headlights on, relying only on a night vision device. He must not get spotted. Having triggered the mechanism of the last “Kapkan”, he went to cover.

His targets must pass through the gorge — this is the only way to the village. Wolfhound was waiting. He activated the visor and inspected the terrain. Finally, a movement. Barely visible even with enhanced helmet optics. Five cars, speed is about 40-50 km/h. Soon the darkness was cut through by headlights, and the roar of the engines filled the space. Light vehicles, painted with fire patterns from the roof to the wheels were approaching his position.

The prey itself hurried to fall into a trap — one of the cars accelerated at the gorge entrance, the other two were catching up, as if having started racing. No one heard a click signifying the activation of the mine. The next second, the bottom of the first armoured car turned into a barbecue grill. The other two instinctively drove around the “winner” of the race. But good reflexes and brakes didn’t protect them from the “Kapkans”. Harpoons went off without letting the cars stop.

Three fires tightened the gorge with black thick smoke. Two armoured vehicles in the tail slowed down and began desperately to search for a threat. It is unclear what was scarier - three burning carcasses of cars or the silence that followed. But the silence was quickly replaced by the screeching of the wheels and the roar of the approaching armoured car. Two machine-gun bursts followed. They were interrupted by a clang of shotguns, similar to sledgehammer hits. It all went quiet again.

It was getting light. Wolfhound took his reward from grateful farmers. He didn’t know where he was going now, but he was convinced that there would be work for him everywhere. Wherever the road leads, it was his way.