When I finally leave Krylov and find myself on the street, I notice that the morning sun has long since passed its zenith. With a deep sigh, I head towards Mirny Atom, moving my legs quickly, and first of all, I scan for my subordinates, who are found at the same table where I left them. Noticing me, the cheerful Trotyl waves his hand.
"Oh, commander, finally, we were thinking of going to look for you," he said cheerfully, stretching the corners of his weathered lips, but it was noticeable that both he and the others were tired of sitting here idly.
"I apologize for the delay," I shook my head, approaching. "I had to wait for the general to check our work. But it's in the bag, Duty will help us."
"Good news," Batut grumbled discontentedly, twitching his right cheek, and turned his head towards the metal wall.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked, leaning forward and gently touching his shoulder.
"Nothing," he jerked his shoulder sharply, removing my hand. "Sorry... I'll tell you later, not here."
"He's like that sometimes," Nemoy said, drawing my attention to himself. "We're sitting fine, everything's good, and then bam, and his mood sours."
"We'll definitely talk about it," I said to the averted stalker. "And if it's within my power, I'll try to help. Well, how are you guys, did you miss me much?"
"Nah," Kirpich waved it off and nodded towards the bartender who was busy cooking. "Kolobok is a good guy, we had a good chat, he even treated us to tea and cookies for free."
"Yeah," his brother continued. "And he told us about how you were crawling around the catacombs. Will you tell us how it was?"
"Yes," I waved it off, picking up a spoon and scooping up some long-cooled pasta with congealed beef fat and meat fibers. "There's not much to tell... The underground complex there is huge, but there wasn't time to explore. It's creepy, dark, and full of mutants. We ran through the first corridor, full of snorks, then up the stairs to the water purification equipment. True, before we could turn on the water, we had to take down a controller and his retinue. After that, we turned the valve and ran for the exit as fast as we could. That's the whole adventure."
The conversation gradually died down, and I started on the cold food, wanting to leave the Duty base as soon as possible to finish things with the Hermit and finally rest. But then something strange happened. Several laughing Duty soldiers entered the bar, and at the sound of their voices, Batut, who was still looking resentfully at the wall, flinched violently.
I turned over my shoulder to examine the company that had entered. There was nothing particularly remarkable about them. Light black and red, rubberized suits, like almost everyone here wore, Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders, and tired expressions on their faces. The only thing my gaze could latch onto was a silver flask on the belt of one of them, a Duty soldier with thin light-brown hair and a black wart right under his nose.
"Whew, we're really beat," the wart-nosed man said loudly, to the whole bar, and called the bartender. "Hey, Kolobok! Food and something to drink for us. And what are these stalkers doing here, huh?"
I chuckled quietly, understanding where this was going. The tired "gentlemen" wanted bread and circuses, but since they didn't have the guts to pick on their own, they bothered those who would be afraid to give them proper resistance.
"Hey, why are you silent?" the man continued, peeling himself off his table and approaching ours. "Swallowed your tongues or... Ba-a! Look who's here, Batutishche! Long time no see, a couple of years?"
"And I hope it stays that way for another couple of years..." the stalker exhaled in a whisper, closing his eyes, and his jaw muscles twitched.
"You seem a bit sad, Batutik," the Duty soldier said, emphasizing the last word with a special intonation. "Don't you want to see me?"
"Get lost," I cut off the budding argument, straightening up sharply. "We're leaving. Pack up."
"Aren't you being a bit too bold, pretty boy?" the wart-nosed man almost growled, his eyes reddening and his fists clenching with a crunch. "I decide here who goes where!"
"Calm down, sergeant," the bartender intervened, placing a hand on the Duty soldier's shoulder. "Let them go, don't start a fight."
Without a word, I grabbed my backpack and headed for the exit of the bar. I really didn't want to get into a brawl, having just found new allies. But leaving the situation to chance was also not an option, so as we exited Mirny Atom, I turned right, heading for the northern exit of the base, and, checking that my team was following me, walked straight ahead. But as soon as we reached the shooting range, I stopped.
"Don't you want to shoot at the range?" I asked the brothers, turning around and pulling out a few crumpled bills. It should be enough. "Here."
"Uh-uh," Kirpich drawled foolishly, looking at my outstretched hand with the money clenched in it. "No..."
"But I really want to," Nemoy said, instantly reading my intention, and led Kirpich and Trotyl away.
"Well, Batut, ready to talk?" I said, when the stalkers disappeared behind the gray-painted wooden door. And, waiting for a weak nod, I continued: "Let's just step aside."
We walked a good ten meters away from the shooting range, closer to two huge tanks located in the western part of the research institute. Glancing around, I turned to face my subordinate, who was sadly looking at his mud-splattered boots. I placed my hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly, drawing his attention to me.
"So, what's wrong with you?" I asked worriedly, examining his pale and tired face. "Is it because of that Duty soldier with the wart above his lip?"
"Yes," Batut said, nodding weakly and pursing his lips, clenching his fists in helpless rage. "It's an old story..."
"I'm listening."
A lonely farmstead, northeast of Cordon, 2009.
Walking through the sparse forest, the only thing Batut could think about was a well-deserved rest. For the first time, their small detachment had ventured so deep into the Zone! And it was worth it, in a little over a week they had collected a whole backpack of glowing trinkets. For such a sum, they could party for two months without drying out! The prospect made the stalker's throat dry, so he reached for the silver flask hanging on his belt and quenched his thirst.
"Hey, Batut," Mamont, walking a little ahead, addressed him. "What will you spend your share on?"
"As always," he replied. "You know why I need the money."
"Well, yeah," Mamont exhaled slowly. "Sorry for reminding you."
"It's nothing," Batut gave a cheerless chuckle, immediately changing the subject. "And what will you spend your money on?"
"As always," the stalker repeated his phrase. "Part I'll drink right away, and the rest later!"
"Hush now!" Bifven, the commander of the small stalker detachment, hissed loudly at them. "You're making too much noise, you can't hear anything around because of your chatter."
"You're so boring, Bifven," Mamont sighed, shaking his head. "Mom was right, you..."
But the angry glare of their detachment leader, promising unimaginable torments to his older brother, silenced him. And Batut
himself almost laughed, feeling the recent tension ease due to the dangerous proximity of the anomalous haze, when he had to go into the thick of it for an expensive trinket. Only a little more, and they would soon reach the abandoned farmstead, where they could catch their breath.
About an hour later, as the sun was mercilessly setting, the stalkers reached the coveted farmstead. On a small clearing, right before the forest, someone had long ago decided it would be a good idea to establish agricultural lands here. A tall, leaning, and partly rotten fence hid a small, single-story house with broken and cracked shutters behind it. Its walls were riddled with deep cracks, and the wooden porch had turned to dust under the action of rain and time.
On either side of the old house were two more structures. To the left, a shed where, in addition to a pile of rusty iron, horses had once been kept, judging by the found horseshoes. To the right, a bathhouse, which, unfortunately, the stalkers had not managed to use. Right in the center of the small corridor was a funnel, always ready to catch an unfortunate victim and tear it apart, as evidenced by the bloody streaks on the walls, floor, and ceiling, and the remains of услужливо gnawed bones.
Beyond the fence, from its very edge to the edge of the forest, stretched fields overgrown with wild wheat and other plants. Batut, a city dweller to the core, sometimes even wondered what it was like to live in one's own house and cultivate one's own land. Often his thoughts boiled down to inconvenience, like being far from doctors, shops, and everything else that couldn't be imagined without city life. And it was hard work to plant fields. But sometimes he wasn't against it at all, he even secretly dreamed of a small farm after leaving the Zone. But that was still a long way off, he would save money for treatment, and then he could think about himself.
"Oh, stalkers," a Duty soldier in a black and red suit, sitting on a stump in front of the gate, grinned. "How did it go?"
"Successfully, lieutenant, but we're terribly tired," the talkative Mamont answered first, slinging his double-barreled shotgun over his back.
"Well, that's good," the Duty soldier chuckled merrily and exhaled cigarette smoke. "Come on in, Petrenko is already cooking up a storm.
The stalkers quickly entered through the small, one-and-a-half by two-meter gate with a single remaining door, creaking in the wind, and found themselves in a small courtyard opposite the entrance to the main house. Slightly to the right, by the bathhouse, lay stacked and long-rotted firewood, shrouded in a thick layer of cobwebs, and throughout the courtyard, the remains of the former owners' belongings were scattered here and there. Either they themselves had scattered them when they hastily left these places, or, conversely, newcomers had messed them up. In general, the history of this farmstead was unknown to anyone present.
When Bifven's group arrived in these parts, a detachment of Duty soldiers was already stationed there. Well-armed and equipped, they made an indelible impression on the "ragamuffins" dressed in ordinary jackets with jeans and armed only with a couple of double-barreled shotguns and pistols. Such friendly Duty soldiers easily let the three stalkers live with them on this farmstead, and even shared their supplies. To all questions about what brave warriors like them could be doing here, they remained silent, only joking about some mission, the details of which constantly changed depending on who answered.
"Opa, I was already thinking of sending Evseev for you," Sergeant Petrenko joked, stirring the aromatic brew in a scratched pot. "You're just in time, drop your gear and sit down to eat."
"Yeah," Mamont answered with a smile, dropping his backpack on the cold ground first and moving the overturned and broken trough closer to the fire. The others followed his example, and five minutes later, all the other inhabitants of the abandoned farmstead were gathered around the fire.
Thus, under meaningless chatter, more tales, and silly jokes, the simple dinner of porridge with water, seasoned with a couple of cans of stewed meat, passed. After emptying his tin plate and licking it clean, Batut quickly wiped it with a piece of toilet paper and put it back in his backpack.
"Guys, have you heard about the Wish Granter?" the talkative Mamont leaned closer to the fire.
"Nah, haven't had the chance," the lieutenant answered good-naturedly, lighting his tart cigarettes again. "You stalkers have a lot of tall tales going around."
"And I've heard that this thing grants wishes," the private Grishin quietly remarked, but he was immediately interrupted by Private Evseev.
"Ha, come on, Grishka! We wouldn't have understood without you," the Duty soldier with the fat wart above his lip said loudly, slapping him on the back and almost knocking the private over. "So, what about it? About the Granter, I mean."
"Well," Mamont, slightly taken aback by Evseev's behavior, continued the story. "They say that in the north, under the sarcophagus itself, there is an amazing monolith that grants wishes. They say, you just have to get there and say your most cherished wish, and everything will be fulfilled."
"No way, that's a lie," Petrenko asked, waving it off. "And you still believe it?"
"I don't know," the stalker shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn't really thought about it. "Whether it exists or not, what's the difference? I'd still like to visit the center, if you can make a fortune here, almost on the outskirts, then how much money is there?"
"Only, I heard that it's not that simple with the Granter," Bifven began to speak quietly, taking the initiative from his older brother. "There's a story about the first stalker who reached it. This happened during the Zone's formation. When the Great Emission broke out, many died, but there were also lucky ones who miraculously survived. And one of them was near the sarcophagus. Naturally, he lost consciousness after the emission, and then, when he woke up, he heard a voice calling him. And he went, as if under a spell. He came to his senses when he reached that monolith, only then did he realize that he was in the center of the deadly radiating sarcophagus. In short, he made a wish. No one knows what it was, only after him the Zone expanded by another five kilometers."
"You're lying," Evseev said incredulously, raising his left eyebrow.
"I sell it as I buy it," Bifven shrugged, standing up. "Alright, let's go guys, we have to move to Cordon in the morning to sell the loot. Good night."
After saying goodbye to the Duty soldiers, the stalkers headed to the shed where they settled. For obvious reasons, the house was occupied by the Duty soldiers who had arrived there first, and although they behaved well towards Bifven's group, they didn't let them in. They also didn't forget to barge into their shed at any time of the day without permission. This happened now.
As Mamont and Bifven were counting the artifacts they had obtained that week, and Batut was spreading out his sleeping bags, the door, hanging by a thread, suddenly opened, and three Duty soldiers armed with assault rifles entered the room. Only Private Grishin was not involved in all this.
"Hey, guys, what are you doing?" Mamont asked in a hoarse voice, greatly surprised, not taking his eyes off the muzzle of the assault rifle pointed at him.
"You're not acting well, guys, oh, not well," the lieutenant said and stepped forward, a sly smile spreading across his face. "You're leaving tomorrow, without telling us anything. What about paying?"
"In what sense? How is it, paying?" Bifven asked, not understanding.
"For staying at the farmstead, for the rations and Sergeant Petrenko's cooking?" the smile on the Duty soldier's face faded with each word, until only a vile and angry expression remained. "Eh, what kind of stalkers have appeared these days. Ungrateful. Well, it's okay, we'll pay you ourselves. Private Evseev! Begin inspecting the stalkers' personal belongings!"
Batut barely contained the anger that was bursting out of him as Evseev, with a disgusting smirk, began to inspect their personal belongings, but the threat of being shot on the spot sobered him up somewhat. Finally reaching their common loot bag, the private whistled in surprise.
"Comrade lieutenant, just look how much contraband they have with them!" the private said loudly and clearly amused, handing the open bag to the commander.
"N-yes," the leader drawled, examining the contents, and then turned his gaze to the stalkers. "So, stalkers, you decided to engage in illegal artifact hunting, huh? And right under our noses. Under the noses of warriors loyal to the oath to destroy the Zone and all its spawn? It didn't turn out well, very not well. For such a thing, you should be court-martialed, but... I, although stern, am kind. So, this time we'll settle for confiscation. And make sure your spirits are not here by morning. Private Evseev!"
"Yes!" the Duty soldier with the wart responded, standing at attention.
"Be so kind, now inspect the stalkers themselves, because I don't like Batut's face very much, as if he's planning something," the lieutenant said, casting a last glance at the stalkers, then went out of the shed into the street.
"Let's see, let's see," Evseev muttered to himself, starting to rummage through Batut's pockets, causing Batut, grinding his teeth, to almost hit him in the ear. "Oh, we've arrived. Sergeant, just look, a grenade!"
"Hah, the lieutenant was right," Petrenko replied, smirking. "If you hadn't inspected him, such a surprise would have flown into our window in the middle of the night. Alright, private, let's go. And you guys, don't be angry. That's life, what else can I say... Oh, and don't try to throw anything away, we won't
be sleeping tonight. If anyone ventures out into the yard before morning, we'll kill them all. Verstehen?"
"Oh, I completely forgot," the private, who was about to leave, turned sharply and literally snatched the silver flask from the stalker's belt. "I've been eyeing it for a long time, consider it a fine for the grenade. Ciao, Batutik."
"Hey," Batut growled, grabbing Evseev's arm and squeezing his fingers until they hurt his wrist. "Give it back. That's..."
But from the side comes a strong jab with the metal butt of a Kalashnikov directly to the jaw, causing the stalker, who didn't expect it, to fall to the side, and the last thing he feels is the grinning mug of Private Evseev, his ugly wart, and a strong kick, right to the chin.
Duty Base, Agroprom, 2011.
"When I woke up, I was all for going after them with a pistol, but Mammoth and Biven, unable to stand it, just took my weapon away," Batut continues his story dully, getting more heated with every word. "They were afraid, you see, to go against these creatures. And the fact that they stole my father's flask, and beat me up too, that's nothing, right!? Eh-eh, sorry for the noise... In short, since then I've disliked the Duty guys."
"I can understand why," I nod, slightly stunned. "And what happened to your companions afterwards?"
"They ditched me, what else," the stalker shrugs. "They even spread rumors that it was because of me they were almost killed. I couldn't find a squad for a long time, only Berkut took me in, God rest his soul, and then I met Valerian... Let's get out of here, huh? I can't stand being here any longer."
"I promise you I'll sort this out," I say grimly, looking him straight in the eyes.
"Ah, what's the point," Batut shakes his head, sighing deeply. "No need, don't spoil your relationship with them further... Just let's get out of here before this creature latches onto me again."
Hermit's Sanctuary, an hour later.
"I see you've completed your task?" asks the owner of this part of the sewers, raising his gaze to mine.
"Yes. So what did you want?"
"You're in too much of a hurry, living soul," the Hermit chuckles. "But... so be it, I won't keep you. A stalker visited me recently, Abel was his name. Ironic name, isn't it? So, he told me he knew a secret on how to spend a lot of time in a chemical anomaly without protection. He offered to trade, but I didn't believe him. I suggested he spend a couple of hours in the little house by the swamp, and then visit me."
"And how would you know that he actually spent those two hours there, and didn't just sit nearby?"
"There are ways, living soul, there are," the stalker grins and continues his speech. "So, he went there, and everything was fine until Abel started calling for help. As far as I know, no one helped him. I ask you to go get his PDA, I'm curious to know how he intended to protect himself from the chemicals."
"I understand why Orest's people didn't move to the swamp, but why didn't you help him?"
"He became a victim of his beliefs," the Hermit shrugs with an expression of complete indifference on his face.
I don't answer his phrase, just grunt, beginning to realize what kind of person he is. He sent a foolish stalker into a dangerous anomaly, and when the stalker started asking for help, he did nothing. So, I should be more careful with the Hermit...
Tent camp by the swamp.
The road to the swamp was simple, only dogs barked somewhere in the distance, chasing someone or something. First, I decided to look around the area, so I went towards the bandits' camp, after all, it was a slight elevation. Arriving at the tent, I survey the recent battlefield and find nothing but weapons and some belongings lying there, only small bloodstains and trampled grass. The scavengers had already managed to feast on the carrion.
I approach the edge of the steep hill and survey the anomalous swamp full of reeds, with a barely visible green fog spreading over the water's edge. Directly opposite me, on the other bank, is the very house where Abel died. And in the far part, where the battle between stalkers and zombies recently took place, snorks crawled out to finish off the losers. I quickly raise my assault rifle, aim briefly, and lay down the mutants with short bursts. I don't want anyone to interfere with me.
I crouch down, drop my backpack, and take out my gas mask. Of course, it would be better to have a gas mask with a closed-loop power supply, or even a "shield" of some kind, but... I'll worry about that later. I pull it on and make a quick run towards the blackened house.
Jumping over every second step, I find myself on a floor of roughly hewn and long boards, which creak pitifully under my weight. I shouldn't linger here. With wide strides, I reach the entrance to the house itself, on the opposite side from the stairs, and in the middle of the only room, I find the deceased stalker, who had decomposed significantly after spending a long time in the chemical anomaly. It's even strange why no one has eaten him yet, but oh well. Holding my breath, I crouch down and quickly search him until I find the communicator I need. Mission accomplished.
Hermit's Sanctuary, half an hour later.
"You're quick, living soul," the Hermit's phrase greets me as soon as I come into view. "Did you bring it?"
"Here," I hand him the PDA and sit down next to him by the fire.
"So, so, interesting," the stalker mutters barely audibly, accessing Abel's PDA and finding the desired entry, he reads it aloud. "I heard from Barsuk that if you grease your heels with fat from an army ration, then no chemical anomaly will be scary..."
"An interesting... ahem, method," I comment on the read, barely holding back laughter. Of course, I'm very sorry that Abel died, but it was really funny.
"Mmm, yes," the Hermit only says, putting the PDA aside and looking directly at me. "This is not what I expected. But a deal is a deal, and you've almost fulfilled your part of the bargain. I sense that you don't approve of my views, but still, allow me to share a part of my wisdom with you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't be so surprised, living soul," the Hermit grins, standing up and approaching me, and places his open palm directly on my crown. "Don't resist and know that Shaman asked me to do this."
I didn't even have time to understand anything when something pierced me from head to toe, and system notifications flashed before my eyes one after another.
Congratulations, User! You have received the achievement:
"Moderate Unity with the Zone".
You have continued the path you once began.
As long as mutants do not sense a threat from you, they will not attack.
Congratulations, user! Your rank has been raised to Experienced.
You have delved deeper into the Zone, survived many dangers on your path, and achieved much, but you still have a long way to go.
Status Window
Name:
Nickname: Executioner
Rank: Experienced
Faction: Free Stalkers
Reputation: Good.
Condition: Healthy.
Skills:
Firearms (Rank: Expert)
Medicine (Rank: Experienced)
Lockpicking (Rank: Experienced)
Science (Rank: Novice)
Repair (Rank: Experienced)
Hunting (Rank: Expert)
Stealth (Rank: Expert)
Persuasion (Rank: Experienced)
Melee Weapons (Rank: Expert)
Unarmed Combat (Rank: Novice)
Time: 07.11.2011, 16:32.
Notes: None.
Achievements: Moderate Unity with the Zone.