I carefully examine the Freedom fighter who appeared before us, after all, my first encounter with the freedom-loving group. The jumpsuit is trimmed with camouflage green fabric with iridescent shades, with small blue inserts on the chest where the body armor is. A hood is pulled over his head, and his face is hidden by a mask. And his index finger casually rests on the trigger of an LR-300, which looks quite battered, by the way.
"Hello. Well, I got into a bit of trouble on the way here, it's not important," I greet him simply. "And besides, we have a little business at your base."
At this moment, a couple more Freedom fighters emerge from behind the fence, and their eyes gleam malevolently. One has an open and broad face, is rather short and plump, and the sleeves of his jumpsuit were rolled up to his elbows, revealing hairy arms. He held a good old Winchester on his shoulder, which clearly needed some care. The second, on the contrary, is tall and thin. His face is also covered by a mask, like the Freedom fighter who met us, but without a hood, so you could easily see a reddish-brown braid hanging from the back of his head. Interesting guys.
"And what kind of business is that?" the burly one asks, squinting his eyelids. I turn to the girl, who has hidden her face behind the same mask, and shake my head.
"I heard from the Teacher that Chekhov has some work for hunters. And here we are."
"You don't look like hunters," interjects the long-haired Freedom fighter with a nasal voice. "Cowboy, maybe a little bit, but the second one in rags..."
Ha-a, problems out of nowhere. Slowly, under their watchful eyes, I take off my backpack and remove the yellow plastic bag from it. I open it, shove my hand inside, fumbling along the blood-soaked walls, and pull out one of the severed chimera heads.
"Here. I hope this will suffice as a hunter's ID," I chuckle softly, handing them the severed head.
The Freedom fighters watching me swallow loudly, looking at the killed creature. After that, slightly lowering their gaze, one of them, the one in the hood, sighs loudly and opens the gate for us, but comes out to us himself and carefully takes the head in his hands, turning it in different directions and trying to find something on it. Then his eyes fall on a deep, long-faded scratch on the monster's temple.
"It seems to me, hunter, that you have already completed your work," he says quietly, to which the long-haired one reacts.
"Varan, are you sure?"
"Not entirely, dude," he replies, handing the chimera head back. "But there are chances. So, here's what. I'll contact Chekhov now, request access for you to the base, and you rush there immediately. Don't look anywhere, don't do anything suspicious until you talk to the boss. Understand?"
"Uh-huh," I nod. "Can you be more specific?"
"Nope," Varan says with a sad smirk, taking out his PDA and contacting someone. "I'd love to chat with you, man, but I can't right now. So much is happening lately – it's just awful, no time for idle chatter... All right, I've arranged it. You'll be allowed in, so just go straight down the road and don't turn off until you see the construction site. Oh, and one more thing – it's better not to show up at that farm over there."
"Why so?"
"Some marginals have settled there," the stalker shrugs. "Gloomy and angry, in leather jackets, but without chevrons. They look at us like Duty members look at jerboas. But they don't interfere, they're afraid... I think your company doesn't need such acquaintances."
"Thanks for the advice," I nod slightly, thanking the Freedom fighter. A moment later, Liza repeats my gesture. "Have a good shift."
"And you have a good journey," the Freedom fighter smiles and immediately orders the burly one. "Krendel, close the gate."
"Why me, man? You're the one who opened it..." weak protests were heard, but we had already moved on.
The Dark Valley indeed looked dark. Whether it was the general mood of these places, or the gray clouds that had gathered during our journey, covering the sky, but in any case, it was a gloomy place. You could feel someone's sinister, but almost imperceptible presence. I look around, trying to understand where this negativity might be coming from. Ha, as if I'm capable of that! After a couple of seconds, I give up the useless task – I'll just drive myself crazy for nothing.
We pass by a small construction trailer, where, apparently, the Freedom fighters are located. Once a green shelter with a red roof, and now – faded metal walls, rusted in places, the front was covered with stacked boxes, old iron barrels, and even a couple of sandbags. A good outpost in the Zone conditions, it's a shame you can't hide from a blowout in it.
I shift my gaze to the left side of the road, overgrown with grass and small trees, and between them I see a white brick fence. Beyond it, the farm is visible with an old and rusty antenna towering over the building. I wonder what the need was for building such a structure? Especially on a farm territory...
Chuckling briefly and casting another short glance at the farm, I continue our journey. And, walking on the cracked asphalt, I involuntarily think about the situation here. The posts are still standing, the men are on edge, and they don't let anyone through just like that... Did Shram help the Freedom fighters deal with the mercenaries? Unknown. Hmm. Things are starting to take a bad turn. If there are mercenaries swarming here, then vigilance should be increased...
After a couple of dozen minutes, we reach a long and wide bridge paved with white tiles. And here I decide to slow down a bit to look around carefully. As far as I remember from the game, the antennas were supposed to help detect mercenary movements in some way, and one of them should be in the swamp, through which the bridge passes. I look to the right and see nothing there but a small overgrown island in the middle of the stagnant and dirty water.
The left one was somewhat larger than its brother, but equally dotted with faded swamp bushes, debris in the form of broken bricks, fallen barrels, and collapsed boxes. A long bridge, roughly hammered from boards of different sizes and thicknesses, led to it from the "mainland". I take a few steps further along the bridge to finally see the antenna, hidden behind thickets of dark greenery, and involuntarily widen my eyes.
The antenna, the very one that was supposed to help the Freedom fighters drive the mercenaries out of the Dark Valley, was half submerged in the murky swamp sludge. Its lower part, visible on the ground, had been blown up by an explosion. Without Shram, Chekhov's men couldn't defend this installation, and then the syndicates blew it up to secure their entrances and exits. And for that installation at the Freedom base to work, you need, as far as I remember, exactly three antennas...
Ha-a. And I thought this would be a quiet walk. Take the girl here, leave her with her brother, and go about my business, and then take her back. Now... However, that's fine. These are not my problems now, only now it's a bit scary to walk past the factory. What if I get shot in the back, I'll have to go around the eastern part.
"Did something happen?" the girl, who had been silent until then, suddenly asks, approaching a metal fence painted in black and white stripes.
"M-m, I suppose so," I weigh the answer in my head and realize that there's no point in hiding information. She'll find out soon anyway. "The political situation with your brother's group leaves much to be desired."
"Does this have anything to do with them not wanting to let us in here?" she voices the question again.
"Uh-huh," I nod decisively. "How to put it... I don't know everything, but I know for a fact that Freedom has been subjected to planned attacks by another clan, if you can call it that. Therefore, it is very unsafe here..."
"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" I turn to the girl and see her lower lip start to tremble traitorously. "What if Denis..."
"Sorry," I sigh deeply, lowering my chin. "I thought they had managed to deal with this problem by now, but... I was wrong. And as for your brother, don't worry prematurely, especially since Freedom, as far as I know, has detachments located outside the Dark Valley. There are chances, in short."
Easier said than done. As soon as our boots left the bridge, I changed the route slightly and took to the left of the main road. No matter how the mercenaries were hiding on the territory of the laboratory now, I really didn't want to fall into their sight – I was completely unprepared for a new fight, especially with such a group.
We bypass the bus stop, where in the game you were offered to ambush bandits to rescue a captured scout from Duty, in a wide circle and then carefully walk on the soft grass. Occasionally, specifically for Liza, I mark this or that anomalous haze with scattered bolts, of which there were plenty here. In the distance, beyond the trees and construction debris, an abandoned construction site is already visible. And only now we return to the road, the main thing is that we didn't get spotted opposite the factory, and that's fine.
We pass by a abandoned yellow bus with flat tires stuck to the asphalt and open doors, then we come out to a small mini-dump with a pile of iron pipes, concrete wrapped around the entire area, slabs, several large containers, and even a truck. Behind it, a small fence is visible, and beyond it – a long, red brick covered gallery leading nowhere.
It was all covered with thickets of stinging fluff, swaying dangerously in the wind. Under the gallery, a large anomalous field of jelly and puddings stretched out, visible even from here with the naked eye.
We continue our journey until we reach the level of closed, grated gates leading to the backyard of an unfinished administrative building. A watchtower, rising a good ten meters above the fence, clearly indicated that all this was not for nothing, and the enterprise located here was more than secret. And there, from the thickets of grass that had broken through the asphalt, the armored hull of some military vehicle was visible. It was impossible to see in detail, and there was no need.
Next, we are met by an empty small guardhouse, behind it – a gas station with yellow gas pumps with peeling paint in places, a fence, and behind it three huge fuel tanks. A little further stood a lone fire truck and another abandoned building, which had been chosen by bloodsuckers. No one was in a hurry to attack us now, so we calmly turned towards the unfinished construction.
And here we are at our destination. At the broken gates leading to the base, we are met by a gloomy Freedom fighter in a heavy version of their clan armor. Gripping the barrel of his assault rifle and the handle more firmly, he steps forward, stopping us and examining us carefully.
"Are you hunters?" his hoarse voice sounds.
"Yes."
"Come in," the stalker steps aside slightly, letting his assault rifle hang loosely on his strap. "You need to go to the main building with the wide entrance, when you enter – turn left and go up the stairs to the second floor, and then you'll find Chekhov's office. He's waiting for you. And welcome to the place where truly free people live."
"Free people?" Liza whispers quietly in my ear as we enter the group's territory.
"They consider themselves anarchists," I reply in a whisper, glancing around the camp. "They believe that the Zone is a gift to humanity, and it should be accessible to everyone without exception. You could say it's one of the least strict groups."
The courtyard of the Freedom base was not much different from what was presented in the game. All in auto repair pits, to make it easier to service cars, remnants of various construction junk everywhere that no one bothered to remove. And also an almost complete fleet of old ZIL trucks, standing here and there. Directly in front of us stretched a two-story box, where Ashot was located. To the right, another unfinished building, divided into a bar and a workshop.
But we can look at this later, so grabbing the girl, I immediately head to the main building. Under wary and literally tired glances, we cross the entire courtyard diagonally until we reach Chekhov's residence.
"Cool and well-adjusted guys, only Freedom will appreciate you and accept you as their own! No obligations, no ideological nonsense, no morning wake-ups, and minimal dry law!" the hoarse announcer wailed behind us. "If you are a true stalker and love a free life among those like yourself, join our ranks! Freedom welcomes everyone whom the roads of the Zone have brought to us!"
The interior decoration was little better than the exterior. Red tiled floor, many boxes, barrels, pipes, and various wires stuffed into all corners. A high ceiling, covered with metal sheets with occasional holes visible. And in the very center of this room – it, a wheel-less APC. As far as I remember, its turret and machine gun are one hundred percent functional. There were, so to speak, attempts at an attack from my side... Heh.
I immediately turn left and see a small metal ladder, which I immediately climb to the second floor and, without looking around, head towards Chekhov's office. I lower my head so as not to hit the concrete crossbar, and approach two Freedom fighters in heavy gear guarding the wooden door.
"We're here to see Chekhov," I say, looking into the eyes of one of them.
"We understand, not the Pope," the guard with a Kalashnikov in his hands – a rather unusual weapon for a Freedom fighter – replies with a slight chuckle. "Come in, guys. The boss is already waiting."
I open the door, and the girl and I find ourselves in a small but cozy office. On the floor is a colorful, red-yellow carpet with typical patterns for this product. In the far corner from us stood a small but comfortable-looking sofa, slightly to the side a small nightstand with a hookah, behind it – a cabinet with a lot of folders and papers. And above our heads, a bright lamp was burning.
"Oh, so you're the hunters?" the voice of the office owner rings out. Chekhov himself sat at the table in the right corner. On the table, he had a military radio station, a white mug, and a small flag on a plastic stand with a red letter "A" circled. Behind him stood a monstrous-looking safe. "Welcome!"
Then the leader of Freedom briskly gets up from his seat and in two short steps crosses the office, finding himself in front of us. He extends his hand for a greeting, and I shake his strong, calloused palm. A tall, broad-shouldered, smiling stalker with wrinkles at the corners of his attentive and keen eyes. His face is narrow, smoothly shaven, his eyebrows are small but thick, and his brown hair is neatly trimmed.
"Varan whispered to me that you have something to show me," Chekhov says, after greeting us, and walks back to his desk, taking a pack of cigarettes from a drawer and immediately lighting one. "So, what is it?"
"Here," I hand him the bag with the chimera heads.
"Hmm," he says, holding the lit cigarette between his lips, he takes both chimera heads out of the bag and examines them from all sides until he grunts with satisfaction. "Good work, guys. Ah, it's a shame we don't have a taxidermist, otherwise we could take that boar off the wall and send it into well-deserved retirement. Maybe you know someone? Although, never mind. Will you take artifacts?"
"Why not money?" I ask.
"We-ell," Chekhov draws out, thoughtfully raising his gaze to the ceiling. "Alright, you'll find out anyway. Lately, we've been catastrophically, to put it mildly, unlucky. Mercenaries, damn them to hell, have been draining our blood non-stop for several months now. In short, it's not safe to do external trade right now. So, will you take artifacts?"
"Yes. But first, we have another matter for you," I say, and then turn to the girl. "Speak, Liza."
"A girl?" the leader of Freedom exclaims, his eyes widening in shock, and his eyebrows shoot up when the girl pulls off her mask. "That's why I thought she didn't look like a hunter. Well now, beauty, what brought you to our lands?"
"My brother, Denis Kravtsov," she begins, almost stumbling. "He's in your group. His nickname is..."
"Shnyga," the Freedom fighter continues, somewhat gloomily. "E-eh, beauty. I know your brother."
"Is he alive?!" Noticing the strange reaction on Chekhov's face, the girl leans forward, exclaiming.
"Uh-huh," he nods, pursing his lips. "But he's seriously ill... You know, our customs are very free. Alcohol, and something more serious..."
"I don't understand..."
"He's a junkie?" I ask immediately.
"Uh-huh..." Chekhov exhales heavily, all trace of joy gone from his face. "Sorry, beauty, I didn't keep a close enough eye on your little brother... And before you both unleash your righteous anger on me, I want to make you an offer."
"What kind?" I say, covering the girl's mouth with my hand, ready to erupt.
"I understand correctly that you were the one who killed the chimera, right?" and, after waiting for my nod, he continues. "In general terms, a cool hunter like you will be of great help to us. I want you to track down through which crack the mercenaries are visiting us. You don't need to get into a fight with them – we'll handle it ourselves. In return, when the threat passes, I'll assign you a few guys to help transport Shnyga to the mainland. And then I'll pay for a very good rehabilitation clinic, I have the necessary connections and money for it. Deal?"