"Would you look at that, Hermann?! Never seen an artifact like this before."
Only the bulky helmet could muffle the first scientist's enthusiasm.
"You mean so corrupted?" the second one asked. That one was more nitpicky. "And what's the reasoning behind the name? Why Mama's Beads?"
No. The real question was, why did they wear full-face visors like astronauts indoors?
While their question was for Konrad, the lab's oddities distracted him.
They had artifacts. Dissected animals. Weird devices and materials, all over the place.
"Never heard of that Great War story?" Yuri replied instead. "Of a soldier carrying his mother's rosary in his breast pocket? It caught a bullet for him, saving his life, so figured—"
"Herr Sakharov, does this look like a rosary to you?" Hermann asked his colleague.
The first scientist—Sakharov—pondered for a while, wiping his visor with a dirty glove.
It did not make it any cleaner.
"More like a double helix?" he said. "But can't fathom what it's made of."
Ugh. Konrad knew.
A blind dog's flesh, but he'd rather not say.
Instead, he tried to urge them.
"You can analyze it all you want," he offered. "But only after my friend is safe."
The second scientist let out a long sigh, fogging up his visor for a moment.
"Fine, we'll catalogue it later. But do you agree to purify it before it corrupts all our equipment?"
"Purif—what?!" Konrad blinked. "Whatever. I don't care. As long as the Captain—"
"You guys brought this?" A third scientist entered, holding a pistol between two fingers. "A Five-seveN, huh? What a nasty little thing with those small-caliber armor-piercing rounds."
"Ah, right," Sakharov yelled, "Didn't our guards carry these?"
"Yeah, and they shot us with 'em, too," Konrad was still seething with rage about those guys.
Never mind that they set out to deal with them in the first place.
"Oh, that's actually lucky," the new guy said. That confused him. "Then the bullet must've gone right through, and we only need a Slime for the bleeding, and a Meat Chunk to patch him up."
"See, we don't have any medical supplies here," Hermann explained. "But these samples—"
"Might as well use 'em, right?" Sakharov smirked. "The Corporal here used to be a medic, so your friend will be fine. It's not the first time a Stalker comes in wounded and begs for help."
"Hey," Yuri yelled, playing the offended. "How many samples did my guys bring you so far?!"
But Konrad didn't care about their bickering.
As long as they—
"Wait," the third scientist froze. "Your friend is Captain Dmitry Bandera? Or is he a Major now?!"
"Y-you know him?"
"Only from the news, but—I'm Corporal Sokolov, nice to meet you," he offered a hand. "Never expected the Hero of Kyiv to show up in the Zone. Don't worry, I'll keep him safe."
Right. Because he was actually famous.
Well, back in Kasserlane, he was the Prodigy of Haiten, too. And now a duke as well.
But for these people, he was a no-name scavenger.
Sokolov wasted no time, picking up random artifacts lying about for his operation.
One had a blue, slimy substance, and he already knew what a Meat Chunk looked like.
"So about the purification process," Hermann interrupted. "I assure you that it won't weaken the sample. But we often see corruptions in artifacts harvested right after a powerful Emission."
Yeah. The one stealing all his magic away seemed pretty powerful to him.
"Yes, yes," Sakharov joined, too. "We have quite an ingenious method to cleanse them now."
Konrad was more interested in what the Corporal was doing.
He and the Wolves took his friend to another room, but the scientists wouldn't leave him alone.
"As I said, do as you wish," he grunted, trying to follow Dmitry.
But they'd have none of that.
"What's the verdict, Sakharov?" the scientist asked his colleague.
"Can't measure it," he said, fascinated. "It's too radioactive for our scale. And so hot—almost as if it was already undergoing fusion. Did you say it stops bullets and punches?! Amazing."
"More like redirected them," Konrad noted. "And yeah, it did feel rather hot towards the end."
"How'd you survive?" Hermann asked out of curiosity. "Doubt a plain old Sponge could've—"
"I had this." Konrad pulled his Bubble out to speed things along. "It couldn't deal with all the radiation after some time, but early on, it was fine. Purify all you want."
Recognizing the artifact, both scientists froze.
"H-how much did you pay Strelok for that thing?!" Sakharov scowled.
"What was your name again?!" Hermann asked, already in his face. "You must be someone important. He wouldn't even let us run tests on it before, and to sell it? Or—did you kill him?"
Again, he didn't seem to ask like he had a stake in it.
But they sure were enthusiastic now.
"What? No, I found this in the Garbage myself," Konrad said, even though he didn't remember the event itself. "I was looking for Strelok, though. If you happened to see him—"
"Come on, make yourself at home, now," Sakharov offered. "Would you like to see the process?"
Both scientists' tone changed.
And they wouldn't take their eyes off his Bubble.
"We don't usually allow Stalkers in here," Hermann noted, opening a door to their inner sanctum. "But we'll make exceptions with someone bringing two rare samples on the same day."
Ah. So that's what it was about.
Well, again. As long as they helped Dmitry—
"This is where the magic happens," the first scientist said. "We'll put your Mama's Beads into a centrifuge with six, no, let's say seven Sponges, and—"
"No, throw in a Crystal, too," the second one commanded. "Need to balance out the drum."
"They'll be the catalyst to remove impurities and soak up radiation," Sahkarov said. "Don't expect a miracle, though. Most artifacts remain radioactive no matter what, but—"
"What these Mama's Beads have is not normal."
At the very least, it seemed like he could use that thing again, once they finished with it.
Konrad had no reason to complain.
But the scientists did.
"Hey, uh, but—make sure you don't contaminate the lab," Sakharov said, staring at the floor.
"Weren't you decontaminated before leaving the airlock?" Hermann asked, too.
"Huh?"
Konrad needed a moment to realize what that was about.
Following their gaze, he noticed the trail of blood he had left on the floor behind him.
He already forgot. Fuck.
The same pistol that knocked the Captain out shot him, too.
"Sokolov," the scientists yelled. "We have another wounded."
And to make things worse, the bullet was still inside him.
Unlike Dmitry, who wore no protection, and the shot went right through—
"We'll have to cut this out first," the Corporal noted when he took a look. "The problem is, we ran out of painkillers last week. All we have is the bottle of vodka the Stalkers brought to trade."
"Vodka?" Konrad repeated. "Ugh. The Captain would be very much against it."
But he was still unconscious, and they needed it for medical purposes—
"Go, get yourself treated," Hermann demanded. "We have too many questions about these artifacts to let you bleed out. Sokolov, we leave the wounded Stalkers in your care."
The Corporal nodded, already peeling the cap off that bottle.
"You'll be fine, kid," he said, offering the booze. "You won't even feel a thing. Zdorov'ya."