Stretching on the creaky bed and yawning, I parted my eyelids and immediately sat up, dangling my bare feet from the iron bunk in the Dolg barracks, where I was allowed to spend the night for a small fee. Of course, I could have slept by the fire in a sleeping bag, but for once I wanted to sleep like a human, not on the floor. I pull on dark, dry socks on my feet, take my combat boots out from under the bed, and put them on, after which I finally get up from the bed and head to the washbasin, which was slightly to the right of the doorway leading to a small corridor.
After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I put on my stalker suit and quickly check the integrity of my backpack, which no one dared to rummage through overnight to steal my belongings. Fully ready, I check the time on my PDA and, to the quiet rumbling of my stomach, go out onto the almost deserted street. Besides me, there were only grim guards with tired faces making their morning rounds; the rest of the camp was still asleep.
I decide to take a short walk and stretch before I start thinking about breakfast. I pass by a small campfire set up under the windows of a small house and walk on. I pass a mesh fence with small traces of rust around its perimeter, then a trading warehouse and the shelter of a Dolg hunter, admiring the morning weather. The sun had already risen and was slowly starting to warm the earth with its rays; small, light clouds floated across the sky, while a warm and gentle wind blew.
I walk straight until I come across a pair of completely rusted and now closed low garages with an old field kitchen nearby, apparently abandoned by the military many years ago. I shift my gaze to the right and see, behind a few bushes and a two-meter-high metal mesh fence, another pair of large tanks, similar to those at the factory. Whatever you say, the Research Institute and the factory do have something in common.
Then I look to the left and see a row of empty, huge cages with a slate roof. I tried to recall what they were used for here, but nothing came to mind. I approach them, examining them. A large wooden pallet, about ten meters long, and several cages attached to it with many nails and bolts, with thick bars and powerful locks hanging on the closed doors. In a couple of them, I could see traces of dried blood on the floor.
Having seen enough, I continue my walk around the Dolg territory. I turn left and walk all the way to a wooden tower towering over a concrete fence, and nod to a grim Dolgovets who is watching me closely, then I turn again and find myself in front of the Peaceful Atom, which is already working, to my surprise, at such an early hour.
There were no visitors yet, but Kolobok was working hard. At the same time, the bartender managed to stir some concoction on his gas stove, tasting it from time to time, and wipe wet dishes, and clean the bar counter. With different rags.
"Good morning," I greet him, approaching closer. "I didn't think you worked so early in the morning."
"Oh, good morning, Executioner," he replies with a smile, half-turning. "Well, there's only an hour left until everyone wakes up, I need to cook for everyone."
"Are you cooking alone?"
"Nope," Kolobok throws a towel over his shoulder and disappears under the bar counter, clattering dishes, then puts a mountain of dishes on the table. "I have assistants. You didn't see them yesterday because you came after dinner, but they help me during all communal meals. How are you, hungry, I bet?"
"There's that," I reply. "Is there anything to eat before breakfast?"
"If you're okay with it, I can reheat yesterday's leftovers."
"That'll do, how much do I owe?"
"On the house," Kolobok smiles broadly and heads towards the humming refrigerator located in the far corner of his kitchen domain. "I heard yesterday that you and that mercenary helped Nalivayko, and also flooded the dungeons. Thank you very much for that... Oh, by the way, about your partner... He left through the north gate a couple of hours ago. Did you quarrel? Maybe you need some help?"
"No, everything is fine," I reply after a slight pause and shake my head. "Each of us has our own circumstances, so our paths diverged."
"Well," the bartender pauses, looking at me attentively, then continues. "Alright, I won't pry into your business. But if you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."
"Thank you," I smile gratefully at the Dolgovets. "By the way, can you tell me what those cages are behind the main building?"
"A menagerie," Kolobok replies, returning to cooking. "The Inquisitor suggested setting it up a few months ago. He said, 'Let's catch a couple of mutants and train the rookies on them.' The General liked the idea and ordered Gromov to build a few cages. In short, little by little, a menagerie was created. The guys even brought something, but... it didn't live long in captivity. The mutants seemed to get sick, gradually refused food and died. Whatever you say, they have some kind of intelligence. And then there was an unpleasant incident. Either the lock was faulty, or they just forgot to close it, but a couple of captured pseudo-dogs managed to escape and cause a commotion. In short, after that, the menagerie was closed, and all its inhabitants were shot right in their cages."
"Mda," I involuntarily exclaim. "And the idea was good."
"Maybe, but the execution failed. Here, take this," the bartender places a deep bowl with warmed potatoes and gravy in front of me, and another plate with a couple of flatbreads on it. "Enjoy your meal. Shall I pour you some tea?"
"I won't refuse, thank you."
I slowly begin to eat, spoon by spoon, and involuntarily think about yesterday. It didn't turn out as I wanted. Initially, I really didn't want to open up to anyone, even in such a limited way, but... My communication with Shram, our shared adventures, if I can call them that, brought us closer. And sending him to be zombified or to his death without even giving him a chance to get out of this story would have been sacrilege. Now everything is in his hands, although he probably considered me crazy.
With such gloomy thoughts, I finished my quite hearty and tasty breakfast, not noticing the appearance of the
bartender's two assistants. Two young Dolgovets quickly laid out plates and cutlery on the tables while Kolobok gave them instructions. I collect the dirty dishes and put them on the bar counter, and after thanking the Dolgovets for the delicious cooking, I leave the Peaceful Atom.
"Beep! Beep!" my PDA loudly chirped in my chest pocket.
"Who could it be?" I whisper quietly, moving away from the entrance to the establishment, and take out my communicator.
Father Valerian: Hey, Executioner. How's it going?
10.07.2011, 7:59.
Executioner: Good morning. Orest has agreed to provide us with all possible assistance.
10.07.2011, 7:59.
Father Valerian: Glad to hear that, thank you. How is the situation at Agroprom in general? 10.07.2011, 8:00.
Executioner: Not very cheerful, Orest himself needed our help. Bandits and a lot of mutants, even the Dolgovets couldn't handle them. 10.07.2011, 8:01.
Father Valerian: Dolgovets? What were they doing there? 10.07.2011, 8:01.
Executioner: They have a base there on the institute's territory. A very serious one. 10.07.2011, 8:01.
Father Valerian: Mda, I've been sitting at Cordon for too long... So, I have an idea. Try to talk to one of the main guys, I think, since they've set up camp at Agroprom, they're also interested in the Dump being free from bandit scum. 10.07.2011, 8:02.
Executioner: Understood. I'll talk to him right now. 10.07.2011, 8.02.
Father Valerian: Good luck. Write immediately when you're done. 10.07.2011, 8:02.
A couple of minutes later, General Krylov's office.
After being given permission to enter, I step over the threshold of the general's office. Its owner was sitting on the sofa at the moment, armed with glasses, and reading a book with a faded cover, clearly of Soviet origin. Next to the sofa, on a chair, stood a large glass filled with tea and a plate with sliced sausage and cheese. Comrade Krylov is living it up, there's no other way to put it.
"Good morning," I greet him, approaching closer.
"And to you, stalker," he chuckles in response, taking off his glasses and setting the book aside. "So, why did you come so early in the morning? And where did you lose your friend?"
"He left," I answer briefly, sighing a little. Will everyone at this base remind me of Shram now? "I'm here on business."
"On business?" Krylov raises his right eyebrow, looking at me with a skeptical gaze. "Well, go ahead, I'll listen to you. Sit down."
"I'm part of Father Valerian's group," I start speaking after I sit down on the sofa next to the general. "Valerian is the head of one of, if not the largest, stalker clans. Now other groups are under his command, united to deal with the bandits. And we could definitely use the help of Dolg."
"We could," Krylov nods in agreement, pausing for a moment. "That's... interesting news. But why should we interfere in your squabbles?"
"I don't think you're interested in a conversation about trade routes passing through the Dump, are you?" I ask the general, and after his nod, I continue. "I know that very soon you have a skirmish planned with the Freedom fighters holed up in the Dark Valley. And a liberated Dump would be an excellent staging ground for strikes."
"Ha, I won't even ask where you found that out, there are many blabbermouths among my guys," the general smiles slightly, and then frowns again. "You're absolutely right, there's no point in denying it. Especially since, according to my intelligence, Freedom is doing the same thing... Indeed, in the upcoming confrontation, the Dump will become the battlefield. But that's not enough to drag us into your squabbles with the bandits."
"But if you don't deal with them, the bandits will surely drink your blood."
"No," the general leans back on the sofa. "These rats will run away almost immediately as soon as direct clashes begin between us. After all, a dislike for "brothers" is one of the few things that somehow unites our clans."
"Don't you think the Freedom fighters might make an agreement with the bandits to help in the war against Dolg? After all, you have much stronger disagreements with them than with that riff-raff," I shrug, carefully watching the general's skeptical face. "Anarchists, you see..."
"Enough of this demagoguery," Krylov waves his hand, abruptly getting up from the sofa and starting to pace the corridor. "Damn... You're not the first one to tell me this, stalker. And since there are several such opinions, it's worth listening. But for me, there's still no reason to send my men to help you and your Valerian. Even if you don't manage to deal with them yourselves, you'll weaken them to the point where they won't pose a significant threat to us."
"If we don't dig out this infection at once, we won't achieve anything," I shake my head, getting up and following the Dolgovets. "The worse the situation for the bandits, the more desperately they will look for a way out. As soon as you move to the Dump, they will try to leave, not risking a direct fight. There's no way north. They won't come south to us, even if we bleed ourselves dry. To the west will be you, and to the east – the anarchists. It's not hard to guess who exactly they will try to negotiate with. Of course, they're not great warriors from the lessons learned, but that's not necessary, is it? An ambush here, a trap there, and you'll already be losing your fighters. And who will the Freedom fighters risk? Some yogi rabble?"
"Are you so sure about that, stalker?" Krylov chuckles, looking at me intently.
"More than sure."
"Let's say you've convinced me," my interlocutor sighs and, turning on his heel, goes to his desk and sits down on a chair. "Just let's say. After all, you have no proof?"
"No."
"There's reason in your words, and it would be foolish to deny the situation you've described," the general continues, taking a PDA out of his desk drawer and poking at something on it. "Hmm. Well, I agree to help you. But there's one condition. I don't really know Valerian or the other stalker captains, and I have no trust in them. But you and that mercenary recently helped us out quite a bit, only for that reason I'm giving you this chance. Prove that I can trust you personally."
"How?"
"On the hill, east of here, in a cluster of large boulders, a pseudogiant has settled," Krylov shows me the exact marker on the map on his communicator. "Deal with it, and you'll get an assault squad. If you have any questions about the mutant, contact the Inquisitor, he'll be happy to explain everything to you. You're dismissed."
The menagerie, five minutes later.
I step over the threshold and find myself in a long, narrow corridor, with faded tiles chipped off the floor in places, scuffed walls, and a wooden window frame without glass running the entire length of the corridor. Almost at the entrance, just a meter away, lie scraps of some blue pipes and a couple of boxes. I walk further and stumble upon the head of a chimera hanging above the doorway to the next room. Ugly, distorted human facial features, dark brown skin, and a full set of razor-sharp teeth in a slightly open jaw.
Having admired it enough, I move on. The next room, more spacious, was literally filled with stuffed mutants. From boars to bloodsuckers, almost all the monsters from the original trilogy were gathered here, except for humanoids, the pseudogiant, and the chimera.
"Hello," a slightly hoarse voice sounds from somewhere below, I shift my gaze to the left and see the Inquisitor sitting on a mattress. "And what do you think of my collection, stalker?"
"It's impressive," I say, not exaggerating at all.
"Glad to hear it," the Dolgovets says with warmth in his voice. "Come in, sit down. Tell me, what brought you here? You're unlikely to have come just to gawk; I can see from your eyes that you're an experienced hunter and not surprised by any of my, heh-heh, 'pets'."
"That's right," I nod in agreement and sit down next to him, on the same mattress. "What do you know about pseudogiants?"
"Ha," my interlocutor exhales in surprise. "Why would you be interested in something like that, hunter? However, it's none of my business. I know a few things; I've had to deal with such creatures. What exactly are you interested in?"
"Everything that can be useful in hunting."
"I won't try to dissuade you, but it's a very foolish decision," the Inquisitor sighs deeply. "To put it briefly, it's a meat tank. Very stupid, very massive, very durable, and very strong. A solid huge 'very'. It hunts at any time of day, but it doesn't disdain carrion either. Don't even try to poison it; with its insane body mass, you won't find enough poison anywhere, you'll just expose yourself. It attacks exclusively head-on, using its overdeveloped paws for this. And, believe me, you don't want to get hit by its blow. A pseudogiant easily flips old cars scattered around the Zone like toys. Oh, and they have one trick. The pseudogiant stands on one paw, raises the other high above its head, and strikes the ground or asphalt with great force, creating a shockwave. There's nothing terrible in the wave itself, but... if it knocks you down, then you're done for, they'll eat you. And, most importantly, to take down such a monster with your Kalash, you'll need at least a crate of ammunition. I think I've told you everything, any questions?"
"And if I use an RPG, how many shells will it take?" I ask him, already making a plan for the future hunt.
"Let me think," the Inquisitor ponders. "Two shots, maybe three. But where will you find an RPG?"
"I know one place."