Before I start chopping, I drag the fallen mutant off the fence surrounding the tank with very murky water, and examine it carefully. Blood continues to flow from the many bullet holes in its chest, staining the already dirty bandages that encircle the monster's figure. The controller itself looked very much like a human, but there were distinguishing features. Disproportionately large head, almost square, no hair, and huge blisters with pus on the temples. The neck is very thick and covered with scabs, like the rest of the body. The physique, one might say, is average. The controller is very far from being an athlete-blood-sucker. Thin hands with elongated fingers, ending in long claws. Worn, with many holes and dangling threads, brown jeans were worn on the legs, and the feet were three-toed.
"What are you going to do?" the mercenary asks me, coming closer and looking at the axe in my hand.
"Don't you see? I'm going to butcher the prey," I answer him, walking around the controller and kneeling down, raising the axe above my head. "Get away if you don't want to get blood on yourself."
I wait for Shram to move a few meters away and start studying the local architecture. With all my might, I lower the axe, driving it into the bones of the arm and splashing myself with blood. Another blow, and the stump finally separates from the body. I don't know which parts of this mutant will interest the merchant, but in a couple of mods, it was precisely the hands of this mutant that were featured. I cut off the second hand before proceeding to the most difficult part. It takes several powerful blows to sever the spine and separate the head from the rest of the meat. I don't think Sakharov will shy away from this part of the controller either.
I reach into my backpack for a pack of wet wipes and tidy myself up, wiping the mixture of blood and dirt from my face and hands. Unfortunately, I won't be able to clean the jumpsuit this way, only by washing. Then, putting the wipes back, I take out a large, yellow plastic bag with the logo of a store unknown to me, and, shaking off excess blood, throw the head and two hands into it. And I fasten this bag to one of the straps on the back of my backpack. It's inconvenient, of course, and I'll lose mobility, but it's better than carrying this in my hands through the dungeon.
"I'm done," I inform Shram, who is now examining the pumping unit made of a pile of pipes leading into the tanks.
"Then let's go, maniac," he snorts, glancing back at me for a moment and heading towards the passage in the opposite wall.
"Why am I a maniac?" I ask him in surprise, catching up in a few wide steps.
"And have you seen yourself? Covered in blood, a real maniac," the mercenary chuckles on the go.
Next, we enter the very room where the water supply to the subway could be turned on. To the right of the entrance, inside, there are several pipes, and directly under them is an anomalous jelly, reflecting with an acid-green glow and dangerously bubbling. To the left is a fire safety corner with an old fire extinguisher and a cone-shaped red bucket hanging there. A little further was a passage into another small room with a staircase leading down, and slightly to the right was the equipment, still working, and a red valve.
I slam the grate behind us and lock it with a latch, then turn to
Shram, who has started examining the local devices. He glances with a keen eye at the dusty, rusty cases, lingering on them for a moment, and finally moves to the monitor, which showed a blue application window with constantly changing formulas and numbers. While the mercenary is busy, I decided to deal with the ammunition issue and load all my available magazines. It certainly won't hurt.
"Are you ready?" Shram asks after some time spent studying. "Judging by the appearance, it's enough to just turn this tap."
"Quite," I answer him, adjusting my grip on the assault rifle.
After that, Shram takes the valve with both hands and tries to turn it, it reluctantly gives way, creaking, and stops after a couple of seconds. I have to help the brave mercenary. I grab the valve from the other side, tightly gripping the ice-cold iron, and pull down with all my might, pressing down with my weight. At first, it remains immobile, but with each moment it gives way more and more and begins to turn until it reaches its limit. And the dungeons trembled from the pressure of the gushing water, a siren's hum sounded, and a bright red light bulb lit up above the passage to the next room.
The mercenary and I dart off sharply, diving into the utility room leading to the lower level. We jump over the spilled anomalous jelly, paying no attention to the scattered trash and pieces of rusty pipes, and find ourselves at a circular staircase. We quickly descend it, jumping over the last few steps onto the concrete floor cracked by time. Shram wants to turn right, but I grab him by the shoulder and drag him with me. And we run along a long, semicircular corridor to the left, occasionally knocking down squeaking rodents that rushed from their burrows in search of salvation.
Water has already begun to rise, filling the Agroprom dungeons more and more with each second. Here, a jerboa floats past us on a wooden plank, and a saving ladder is visible in the distance. By the time we reached it, the water level had already risen to our waists, so the last meters had to be overcome with noticeable effort, so as not to be swept away by the strong current into the depths of the dark corridor. The mercenary, who had gotten a little ahead, almost slipped, but I managed to grab him by the collar of his jumpsuit, preventing him from falling, and pull him to the steps.
We quickly climb the long staircase, but the water continues to pursue us, literally treading on our heels. If we lingered for just a moment to let our muscles rest, it would start filling our boots again. The siren had long since died down, and we continued to frantically crawl up the steps, going up for many meters. And then, finally, we reach the top of the stairs.
"Phew-w-w," I exhale loudly and lean my back against the wall, sliding down it and feeling my pounding heart return to normal. I cast a last glance at the opening from which we just emerged, and the water in it had just stopped, being a few centimeters from the edge. "I hope Krylov will pay well for this job."
"Hah, hope so," Shram grins, checking his pockets. "I've worked with these guys before, they're very stingy. They grab everything they can get their hands on, even if it's beyond their capabilities... And they're not in a hurry to share with anyone voluntarily. In general, I think they'll pay at the lowest rate."
After catching our breath a little more in this small two-by-two-meter room, we decide to continue our journey. We go out onto a landing with remnants of cracked dark tiles and a gnawed skeleton of some poor fellow in the corner. We descend the steps and find ourselves in another small technical room with a lot of rusty pipes branching in different directions. We go further and enter another long corridor filled with trash. Pipes and ventilation go somewhere far away along the ceiling, and a little ahead, to the right, another doorway is visible.
"I suggest we walk down this corridor first," I say in a barely audible whisper, not wanting to wander around here any longer than necessary, especially in such a wet state.
Shram nods silently in agreement. I slowly move forward, cautiously sweeping my assault rifle in front of me. Of course, this part of the dungeons is not as dangerous as the one we just came from, but mutants are found here too. And that's not to mention the bandits, who should also be hanging around somewhere nearby. However, we reached the coveted ventilation shaft without the slightest problem.
I raise my clenched fist in the air, attracting the mercenary's attention, and carefully, though for show, examine this completely unsuspicious round opening in the wall with boxes placed next to it. And on one of the boxes, among a huge layer of dust, I find fairly fresh boot prints of a size forty-four. I illuminate them with a flashlight, pointing them out to my companion.
"Looks like this is the stash you were looking for," I say quietly, stepping on a box and looking into the ventilation. "Whoa, and someone prepared a surprise here. Clearly not for nothing..."
Above one of the rungs of the metal ladder leading upwards, a thin, barely noticeable wire was stretched, leading to two grenades tied to the ladder on both sides. If you accidentally touch something like that, you're instantly minced. I look around the rest of the ladder, but I don't notice any other traps. Either there's really nothing there, or it's hidden much better. I emerge from there without the slightest desire to try to disarm this trap, and turn to Shram.
"A tripwire," I answer his silent question briefly. "I'll just get a couple of wipes to mark the steps. I doubt there's anything else there, but it's worth checking."
I wrap a couple of wipes around two rungs, above and below the trap left by Shooter's group. And I slowly climb forward, carefully examining and illuminating each step with a small hand flashlight. Fortunately, there were no other surprises. Apparently, the calculation was to deter uninvited guests from going further. I emerge from the ventilation shaft and find myself in a spacious room.
"You can climb, just be careful," I inform Shram, who was still standing below, and jump off a piece of cut pipe, which had been dragged to a round recess in the wall.
The cache, by the way, looked much better and more plausible than what was in the shadows of Chernobyl. Despite the dilapidated walls, hanging wires, and iron parts sticking out everywhere, it was quite cozy here. In the far right corner from me, under a dim yellow lamp, there was a small green sofa with a table, a little to the side, a couple of mattresses lay on the floor with thin blankets and pillows neatly folded on them. Further to the right, by a closed iron door, were shelves full of various supplies. Ammunition in packs and loose, some medicine, and various products, from bottled water to cereals and canned goods. Also nearby was an old tape recorder with several cassettes, long since lost their labels. And directly behind the sofa, to the left, was a small potbelly stove with traces of soot on its body and a frying pan on top with a huge layer of black char on the outside, and a small pot was located nearby.
I walk closer to the table and begin to examine the magazines lying there, where, in addition to several issues of Playboy and Maxim, there were old, Soviet-era publications dedicated to physics, mechanics, radio engineering, and other technical sciences. I don't think it's easy to get such things in the Zone. It was clear how long and carefully they had prepared for their journey to the center.
"Not a bad stash they have," Shram exhales, coming closer to me and looking around. "Now we just need to find any clue about this group."
"There's a PDA lying there, behind the easel," I immediately point with my finger to the easel, with an image stretched on it, and sit down on the creaky sofa.
"Hello everyone, this is Strelok," a short time passes, and the slightly hoarse voice of the legendary stalker fills the room. "I didn't expect Doctor to get me back on my feet so quickly. Listen, rumors have reached me that someone has heard about our successes and is persistently trying to arrange a meeting. We need to speed up, guys. The interest in us is clearly not for the good."
"Hello, Strelok," after a short pause, the next audio recording begins to play. "Glad you're alive and well. Klyk and I have found everything we need and assembled two decoders. We'll hide them for now, and pick them up when we go to the center. I'll send the coordinates later. Don't worry about the pursuers, they'll get what they deserve and fall behind."
"Ghost, my friend, that's truly excellent news," comes from the next recording. "So, here's our plan of action. We definitely won't get through the catacombs, as Klyk wanted, so there's only one option – go through the Burner. I'll finish up my business in the stash and head to Sakharov's for a prototype; it should help us. Wait for me at the Army Warehouses."
"It's strange they left this PDA here," I voice my thoughts after the audio track ends.
"Most likely, this is just a spare, pre-connected by someone to their general chat," Shram shrugs, continuing to examine the device. "Alas, there's nothing but audio here. It's almost a shame; I promised to give you all the loot I found, but there's nothing much here."
"It's okay," I reply, standing up. "I won't be at a loss. Shall we go?"
Then we carefully descend through the ventilation, and I wipe down the damp surfaces, not wanting to leave any traces of our entry into someone else's cache. Let everything proceed as it was.
But our underground adventures, alas, did not end there. After emerging from the cache, we headed down a passage to our right, where we practically ran headfirst into a huge, about half a meter in diameter, flying yellow-red mass that radiated heat. I
dive down just in time, and a powerful jet of flame erupts from nowhere above my head, striking the spot where my face had been a second ago. Meanwhile, the mercenary literally shreds the creature with a long burst, killing it and pulling it from its semi-material state.
I don't even have time to get a good look at the ugly thing that fell out before I have to dodge fiery streams again. There wasn't just one poltergeist here. I jump aside and open fire on a second mass that appeared in the next doorway, but the creature manages to hide around the corner, and I only kick up small clouds of dust from the wall. Oh no, you won't get away from me that easily! With two wide leaps, I cross the room and catch up to the poltergeist as it tries to escape further down another corridor. I duck, avoiding another of its attacks, and finish off the mutant.
The monster itself was another victim of the sadistic scientists. A deformed head fused with the torso, a distorted physique, gray, sagging skin with a slight brownish tint, pale eyes, no nose, and amputated lower limbs. I didn't even have time to think about what could be salvaged from it when the mercenary's hand landed on my shoulder.
"We need to leave before other locals are drawn by the gunfire," he says, to which I nod.
From this long corridor, we turn left into a small passage and emerge into a zigzag-shaped room with a bunch of cracked, longitudinal lamps near the ceiling, two wide pipes crawling along the right wall, and a large cistern with some gray mass that had leaked onto the floor and long since solidified. After walking a few more meters, we find ourselves in a room with a circular staircase leading to the very top, to the exit from this dungeon.