Congratulations, user! Your skill Firearms has reached the Master rank.
You have mastered firearms to perfection.
This was exactly what the system message said, which, in the heat of battle, I had to swipe aside. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, catching my breath, and tossed the bloody shotgun aside. And I sighed wearily; I wouldn't get any rest tonight – too many emotions, and the mutants would soon flock to the smell of blood and fresh meat. I need to wake up Petruk and see what's wrong with him; after all, the guy helped me a lot, even, you could say, saved me. And it was my fault, I unfastened everything and decided to take a walk to the nearest bushes, thinking that the hunters weren't that crazy.
By the way, why are most hunters some kind of wildlings on legs? First the Witcher, then his gang, then these renegades now... It's somehow shameful to count myself among them now, so many disgraces... With such unobtrusive thoughts, I bent over the rookie's face and examined him. A magnificent hematoma covering the entire left side of his face; the Hunter had really hit him with the butt. I gently nudged him, lightly slapping his right cheek, and the guy slowly parted his closed eyelids.
"What? Oh, damn..." he hissed, clutching his bruised spot.
"Hold on, I'll give you a container to apply," I quickly took my bag and took out the first container I found. I returned to Petruk, who had sat down on the ground, and applied the cool metal to his cheek. "How are you, warrior?"
"Some warrior I am," he grumbled, wincing in pain. "I'm fine, I guess... It's a shame I couldn't help you properly. I wanted to grab the pistol, but I wasn't fast enough, so I decided to strangle the louse with my own hands, but..."
"Heh," I let out a short chuckle. "Don't say that. If it weren't for you, they would have shot me. If not the Hunter, then the bald one. By the way, how's your jaw? You're really hurting..."
"You know," Petruk frowned, then his forehead smoothed out. "It's gotten easier... It doesn't even hurt much anymore."
"Let me get my flashlight and take another look at your jaw. Don't take the container away, though; the cold is what you need right now..." Unfortunately, I had to look for the flashlight because of Ukol, who had rummaged through my belongings. And the light source, which had served me faithfully, rolled down towards the water. I found it
only by a miracle. "Here I am, show me the wound..."
But instead of the expected hematoma I had already seen, on the left side of his face, covered with a light stubble, there was a barely noticeable, small, light purple bruise. What? There was a huge bruise covering half his jaw before... I looked again, more carefully, and again, but the terrible mark left by the kicking hunter was gone.
"I'll gently press with my finger, and you tell me when it hurts," I said to Petruk, and he nodded silently, preparing for unpleasant sensations. I carefully touched his white skin with my finger and pressed lightly. The rookie remained silent, and I continued to press and press until the stalker couldn't stand it.
"It hurts," he said, recoiling. "But it's strange... It's like it hurts not because that bastard hit me in the jaw, but because you're poking unpleasantly with your finger."
Hmm, it turns out that somehow, miraculously, the guy regenerated before my eyes in a matter of minutes, and I didn't even have time to notice. And I have only three options. First – the rookie suddenly mutated, second – the Zone is to blame for everything, and third, the most likely – the artifact in that container healed Petruk's wound right through the lead walls. And in that case, I should check Petruk's radiation level on the dosimeter.
Easier said than done, the radiation level was significantly elevated, as if the stalker had managed to get into a small anomaly hotspot, sit there for a few minutes, and then come out. Nothing critical, but not too pleasant. And it's better to hurry with first aid before the guy loses all his hair.
"I have two pieces of news, one good, one not so good," I told him, moving towards my things. "Which one should I start with?"
"Is it related to why the dosimeter was clicking so loudly when it got close to me?" the rookie asked, a little fearfully.
"Partly," I replied, searching my bag for an anti-radiation drug.
"Then start with the bad one."
"Because I gave you the container with the artifact, you received a significant dose of radiation," Petruk jumped up, getting to his feet. "Don't worry, I'll inject you with an anti-rad now, we'll wait a few minutes and check the level again. If it doesn't completely clear immediately, I'll give you another dose."
"And what's the good news then?" he frowned, holding out his bare arm.
"The artifact, for reasons unknown to me, healed your wound, so one problem is less now," I injected the drug. "But I'd advise you not to get hit in the face anytime soon. Just in case."
Petruk gave a crooked grin, wincing slightly from the injection, and rolled his sleeve back down. I picked up the container lying on the ground and aimed the dosimeter at it to make sure the container couldn't withstand the radiation level, but it turned out my assumption was wrong. It completely shielded the radiation, and the container itself did not emit radiation, which was strange, very strange. Especially considering that the rookie's radiation level rose significantly from its use...
Ha-ah, an artifact that can heal wounds. But can it cure diseases, no matter how severe? Can it cure disabilities? It seemed that right now, in my right palm, I held a golden Klondike, a vein of a rich and successful life. Or maybe I should ditch Sidorovich and go directly to the buyers? Or, even better, go to the mainland and practice healing there, like psychics, only better? After all, my healing is more real. Money, fame, a lot of cool girls, and even power, all this will be mine, I just need to... Get rid of the witnesses.
Petruk... The rookie was now staring at me with his round eyes, which annoyed me greatly. I have a knife at hand, I could just... Stop! What the hell just flashed through my head? I shook my head, coming to my senses a little, and realized how bad the thoughts that had visited me were. Ditch the merchant, run away with the artifact, kill an innocent stalker just to enrich myself? I already have a ton of money, and in a couple of months, I'll have even more. I don't want to live like this, not like this.
"Um, Executioner?" Petruk called me quietly.
"Yes?"
"Don't be angry, but this artifact is worse than you can imagine," he whispered, trying not to look at the container in my hand. "Right now... such terrible thoughts flashed through my head, it was hard to resist."
"I understand," I nodded deeply. "I had the same thing. It's good that we found the strength not to give in to it. It seems that besides its healing abilities, it also has psi-abilities, like a controller and other creatures. But not so crudely; it doesn't break, it just suggests a possible path and paints everything that will surround a person if they follow it... A very dangerous thing."
Then our camp fell silent. I put the artifact back in my bag, and Petruk, with a hint of disgust, searched the corpses for useful items. And half an hour later, a man stood before me, not a boy. The leather jacket had gone to its demise; instead, he put on a hunting jumpsuit, a wild patchwork of different pieces, but it was better than just a jacket, and along with his double-barreled shotgun, a pump-action shotgun hung on his shoulder.
"It was a waste to buy the TOZ," he sighed. "If only I had known..."
"If we had known, we wouldn't have gotten caught so easily," I echoed him. "So, how are you?"
"Normal," the rookie nodded. "My head doesn't hurt, and I don't have any more rebellious thoughts like when you put the art away. What are we going to do? I can't sleep at all, and honestly, I don't want to sit next to corpses."
"Let's go visit their lair," I told him the plan for the next actions, and Petruk visibly perked up. "We need to get my money back, look for some stashes... And deal with Coal; he didn't go on the raid."
"Do you think they killed him?" the rookie asked with some hope, starting to pack his sleeping bag.
"Why would they?" I snorted. "He didn't go simply because he wouldn't have been able to make it. Did you see the faces of the hunters? They weren't just going to rob us, but to have fun, and very cruelly. So... even if Coal was against this idea, he wasn't too much."
"By the way, where did you go from the campfire?"
"Answered nature's call. As soon as I finished, the hunters came onto the path, and I had to follow them."
"Ah..."
Hunter's village, an hour and a bit later.
Coal swayed rhythmically on a small bench by the house, which he had barely managed to reach. All this time, he was in anticipation of the bloody horror his comrades wanted to inflict, and his heart skipped a beat at every rustle. And then, it began. Gunshots, distant screams... And it ended as quickly as it began.
And now he wondered what would happen. If the Hunter and his guys won, they would soon head North, buy gear, and go conquer the Zone to take their rightful place. And he diligently drove away thoughts that a limping cripple, even if temporary, didn't quite fit the concept of "quickly take the money and leave." If the Executioner won, then... his turn would come soon. And what if they shot each other? What if someone was wounded right now and needed help from his comrades? Crawling in the dark, with such a leg, when you can't see a damn thing... He couldn't.
And all these thoughts only made him feel worse. No matter which way you turn, it's a dead end... Coal decided to return to the house, to the warm campfire, and grabbed the notch in the wall between two boards, pulled himself up with a jerk, and immediately fell back onto the bench, noticing out of the corner of his eye a creature in a dark spacesuit with a shotgun at the ready emerging from the darkness. His heart began to beat with unprecedented speed, and drums pounded in his ears. Only after a couple of seconds did he realize that it was the Executioner himself standing there, and Petruk emerged from behind him. So, it was all over...
"Hello, men," he said in a hoarse voice, sighing heavily. These were the last minutes of his life.
"Yeah," the Executioner replied in a deep but quiet voice, aiming his shotgun at the hunter. "Anything to tell?"
"Only that I'm sorry it turned out this way..." the stalker decided to confess in the end. "The Hunter, the bastard, tempted everyone with your money. And where there's money, there's gear... We only agreed to just rob you, we weren't even going to beat you, only a little... While they were waiting for you to relax, they got drunk and started offering such crap that it made your hair stand on end. I was against it, but how can you tell that to men in a frenzy? I didn't want to become a victim of my own comrades..."
"I don't believe you," the Executioner remarked after a short pause. "If you weren't crippled now, you would have gone to our camp like them to have fun."
"History doesn't like the subjunctive mood," Ugol suddenly threw in a long-heard catchphrase. "It happened as it happened. I wasn't there, period."
"Haha, what fortitude," the stalker grinned, finally lowering his shotgun. "Well, you're right. And for that reason alone, I won't kill you. Enough blood has been shed today. Will you allow me to enter and take what belongs to me?"
"Are you seriously asking this of a person you're holding at gunpoint?" Ugol laughed hysterically. "Come in..."
"And you, Petruk, don't take your eyes off him and his weapon," the senior stalker said, turning around. "Don't get too close either, even if he falls and starts foaming at the mouth – don't approach. Under no circumstances."
"Uh, understood."
The stalker disappeared into the doorway, and Ugol's shoulders sagged, and he helplessly pressed his calloused palms to his face. His whole body trembled, and a quiet, barely audible sob was heard. Petruk looked at this scene in bewilderment, and, remembering the Executioner's order, asked the hunter a question, still aiming at him.
"What's
wrong, hunter?" he asked.
"What do you think?" Ugol replied in a colorless voice, wiping away the tears that had welled up. "I'm tired, very tired... Sitting in the ass of the world, eating dog food and leading a miserable existence, making a living by occasionally selling worthless trophies. Is this why I came to the Zone, joined the ranks of hunters?! Not at all!"
"And who is to blame for your fate?" Petruk asked again, arching one eyebrow, lowering the barrel slightly.
"I, damn it, am to blame. I!" the hunter shouted, as if breaking free from chains. "And my partners... We are all to blame... We got bogged down in this dirt, this baseness! And how am I supposed to live now? My leg doesn't work, I've never hunted alone, and if I can get out to people, you'll spread the word about the hunter creatures who dared to attack the stalkers! Your kind will immediately impale me..."
His overwrought voice was interrupted by a loud click of the bolt behind his head. Ugol, swallowing loudly, turned his head and saw the muzzle of a huge, silver revolver in front of him, the handle of which was held by the Executioner.
"If you start yelling again, I'll kill you," he said, waited a few seconds, and only then lowered the revolver. "If you're so worried about how you'll live, you should have thought about your actions beforehand. Did you really think that if you ran off with our gear, you could pawn it somewhere? Naive fools who know nothing about the Zone."
"What do you mean..."
"Exactly what I mean," the stalker interrupted him imperiously. "Sidor would have almost instantly put out a call that some bastards dared to steal his goods, and they even killed two stalkers, and a hunt would have started for you. And I have many friends here, very many. Garbage, Agroprom, Dark Valley – you would have been dealt with in any of these places. So... with this one rotten act alone, you've crossed out any possibility of a normal existence in the Zone for yourselves."
"Then kill me!"
"Oh no. I have a better idea," the stalker grinned from behind the dark visor and grabbed the hunter by the chest with one hand. With the other, he pulled the pistol from his holster and threw it aside. Then he turned to the rookie. "I'm going somewhere with him now, and you continue searching. Just give me the flashlight."
Anomalous zone, after some time.
Ugol didn't dare to even think about resisting and only quickly moved his good leg, trying not to fall behind the stalker striding briskly through the darkness. He was scared, very scared, but he was puzzled about what fate this truly terrifying stalker had in store for him. He probably didn't want to kill him; after all, those words that blood had been shed enough without his own had somewhat calmed the hunter. And why invent and drag him somewhere if he could just shoot him on the spot, but... A certain tugging sensation in his chest gave him no peace.
"Here we are," the stalker said as they emerged somewhere. A gentle murmur of water and the chirping of crickets and other insects were heard. They are at a lake, near anomalies?!
Then the Executioner threw the stalker to the ground, and he hit his injured leg on a stone and hissed loudly. Ugol slowly raised himself on his elbow, when suddenly the switched-on flashlight flew into his face, bouncing off his forehead. The hunter quickly grabbed it, ignoring his bruised forehead, and looked around. And he realized that he was at the mass grave of his comrades. The shore was littered with the dead bodies of other hunters, bleeding. And somewhere nearby, mutants howled, sensing easy prey, and the blood in Ugol's veins froze.
"I kept my word, you won't die by my hand," the stalker said slowly, ignoring the creatures that had already begun to sneak and lurk in the coastal vegetation. "If you had just kept quiet, things would have turned out differently. But you simply angered me, and... Your friends wanted to play with us, right? Now I'll play with you. The mutants will be here any moment, and you can't walk, but I'm not a beast to leave you without any chance at all. Next to the Hunter is his rifle, which you can use, just crawl to it. So, if you hurry, you might survive."
At these words, the Executioner turned his back to the hunter and began to move away from the cursed clearing. Ugol sharply turned onto his stomach, shoved the switched-on flashlight into his mouth, firmly clamping it between his teeth, and began to crawl as fast as he could. He grabbed the wet grass with his damp palms, cutting his hands to the blood, and pulled himself along, helping himself with his good leg. Meter by meter, ignoring the pain and the freezing limbs.
"Damn, damn, damn!" he hissed through his flashlight-clamped teeth, already feeling the bony hand hovering over his shoulder.
He finally reached the corpse of the Hunter, whose face had been turned into minced meat. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he clumsily crawled over it to grab the life-saving rifle. But the only thing he saw there was a torn barrel... The Executioner had tricked him!
Suddenly, the directed beam of the flashlight caught a snarling pseudodog's muzzle in the pitch darkness, with frothing red saliva dripping from its jaws.
Forest, a few minutes later.
The stalker, walking briskly in the darkness, illuminated by the built-in night vision device, stopped for a moment, listening to the last scream of the dying hunter. He felt a little sick at heart, but he understood that Ugol regretted the missed opportunities rather than the transgression of their group. And if he had survived, he could have become a great danger. Not to him, but to Petruk. And it would be better to deal with him now than to leave such a person behind.
"Status window," he said quietly.
Status Window
Name:
Nickname: Executioner
Rank: Experienced
Faction: None.
Reputation: Excellent.
Condition: Slight fatigue, slight lack of sleep.
Skills:
Firearms (Rank: Master)
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: Experienced)
Time: 07.30.2011, 03:41.
Notes: None.
Achievements: Moderate unity with the Zone.
"Happy birthday to me," the stalker grinned, continuing along the winding path.