The mercenaries' lair, a few minutes later.
The sight that greeted me will haunt my dreams for a long time to come. A single mutant wiped out a dozen men and wasn't particularly injured. Yes, I helped him, but... it still filled me with awe at the power of this creature. And at the Zone, which allowed me to become Stronglaw's ally; otherwise, I would have met the same end as these mercenaries. I harbored no illusions about that, alas.
What remained of the exoskeleton and the mercenary inside it now bore little resemblance to an impregnable fortress of armor and... looked pathetic. Tubes torn off or bent in places, damaged servomotors, and a twisted helmet with a shattered lens. Ha-ah, it's sad that Stronglaw rendered this armor useless. And, although I am sure it can still be worn and even used successfully, it still needs repairs, which I cannot perform now, even if I had a workshop with all the necessary parts at hand. Plus, as soon as I put it on, I would immediately acquire a pile of new problems. On one hand, there are the mercenaries, who would be interested in how a stalker got their clan armor, and on the other hand, all their enemies. In short, I'll sell it. And let someone else worry about what to do with the armor.
"Hmm, I'll have to write to Furgon, maybe he'll want to dig into something like this? For a symbolic payment..." I exhale to myself, searching for clasps on the damaged exo-suit.
After some time, I manage to pull the mercenary's body out of his iron coffin, and Stronglaw, meanwhile, sits quietly on the grass, swaying from side to side, clearly recovering. As soon as the heat of battle subsided, he calmed down and didn't react to words or even touch. Well, that's fine, it's better for me. I drag the exoskeleton to the stairs, where I put my weapons and other loot collected from the corpses. Alas, the mercenaries didn't have much, and most of what they had was badly damaged. Thus, I was only able to get a PDA from three out of ten men.
"It'll be a good profit," I quietly say into the void, calculating whether I can ask Stronglaw to carry all this stuff to the edge of the Dump or somehow find
another bloodsucker... "Sosych-delivery, use only our couriers, payment in blood... Haha."
As soon as the collection of trophies was finished, I began to explore the house itself. Alas, there was nothing interesting in it. Floorboards broken by the weight of time and improper handling, old and peeling wallpaper, and mostly rotten furniture. It's even interesting what kind of separate house this is. It doesn't look like a dormitory, nor like an administration building. A mystery...
The second floor, with a broken wall in one of the rooms, attracted my greater interest. Strangely, there were no traces of an explosion here, no fragments, nothing. Perhaps some anomaly? Or is it much simpler, and the building was initially built with errors, so the wall couldn't withstand the test of time. So, in one of the rooms, where, judging by the number of sleeping bags, empty tin cans, and other items, the mercenaries had set up their sleeping quarters. Besides furniture and other items not interesting to me now, there was also a spread-out map of the entire factory complex. And with comments in the form of red crosses on most buildings – apparently, they marked places where they had been and couldn't find a key card. And they had been almost everywhere...
If the mercenaries searched for the key card very carefully and didn't miss a single hiding place, then there's not much work left for me – to check a few not-so-large buildings. And I really hope for this; I wouldn't want to spend a week or two here searching. Behind me, I hear heavy footsteps with heavy breathing, and, without even turning back, I can tell it's Stronglaw. The mutant slowly approaches me, leans over my shoulder, and looks at the map, taking it in with a long gaze. Then he turns to me, as if asking why I need all this.
"I need a key card for one of the research complexes," I say. "It should be somewhere here; this is what the mercenaries were looking for..."
But the bloodsucker, hearing my words, simply shakes its head from side to side, waving its overgrown and slightly pinkish tentacles, and, turning around, leaves the room. Even if he knows something, he won't help me with the search. Clear. I fold the map and put it in my backpack; I'll examine it more closely tomorrow morning, but it's too late to do anything now.
I leave the mercenaries' hideout, which has become their mass grave, and look around. Stronglaw was nowhere to be seen, and flocks of blind dogs were slowly gathering at the smell of blood. The mangy creatures opened their toothy maws in anticipation of a feast, and thin threads of saliva dripped from their fangs onto the ground. They sensed me, my scent, and only for that reason did they not rush to devour the bodies of the fallen. Ha-ah... The cycle of life.
The vicinity of the Rostok factory, some time later.
Stronglaw was unhappy with himself. With his strength. He managed to suppress the mercenaries, kill many of them, but the one in the giant tin can... If not for the help of his unexpected comrade, the bloodsucker's head would already be on a spike. And this made him uneasy. He knew that people were going to occupy this place. They had been trying for a long time. He had thwarted many of their attempts, either personally or by unleashing packs of his wilder and less intelligent brethren.
And this armor... He had seen it several times, but then he used cunning, traps, and playing with his victims... Or retreated when the group of people was too large. His time had come. He could no longer own this place; he ceased to be its master the moment the man in iron knocked him down. And now Stronglaw realized. Sooner or later, he would be killed if he stayed here. And he, despite everything, continued to cling to life, even if it had turned into a pathetic existence of a bloodthirsty monster. No more!
But before leaving, he had one last thing to do. He had almost reached the right place. A tall gray building, whose entrance was overgrown with weeds and bushes. He pushed through the thicket and emerged at the already broken doors, and entered, bowing his head. He had studied Rostok with all its passages and nooks and crannies for a long time before fully occupying it. And he had seen many things here. Huge deposits of documents that should never see the light of day, and many corpses, killed even before the accident in 2006 during another conflict among scientists, and much more... But almost none of it survived to this day. He was too embittered at the whole world and smashed everything he could reach. Papers were torn, bones were crushed and scattered around the area. There was only one thing he dared not touch.
The dining room, a few hours later.
I stretch out on the sofa after a hearty dinner and briefly close my tired eyes. I really wanted to sleep, but even more, I wanted to see Stronglaw, who had disappeared somewhere. I even brewed coffee for him, found in the mercenaries' stores, u-ah! Nothing will happen if I take a little nap?
The dining room, the next morning.
When I woke up, the first thing I did was check the mug – it was empty. So, the bloodsucker had come, but I was fast asleep by then. Ha-ah... And then, just out of the corner of my eye, I notice a green plastic card on the table, a little to the side of the mug. Did I forget how I put it down, or did it accidentally fall on the table when I took off my suit? I walk around the table to pick it up and see deep scratches on the tabletop forming one messy word: "Thank you."
"You're welcome..." I pick up the card and head towards my suit to put it in one of the chest pockets, and I feel something there.
I pull the thing out into the light, and it turns out to be my key card. I compare it to the one I picked up from the table, and indeed, they look identical. So, while I was sleeping, Stronglaw went and got it and brought it to me? He saved me a lot of time and effort; it's even a shame I only made him one coffee. However, one can pass through the Amber via the Wild Territory, so we'll meet again.
Since my business is finished for now, I need to think about where to put the loot. Dragging myself to Sidorovich is not a great idea, going into the Dark Valley is also not an option, but the free traders from the Dump... I should get in touch with them. I take out my PDA and immediately go to the contacts section, tapping on the chat with Shilov.
Executioner: Hello trade, I have an offer. I have a dozen NATO assault rifles with pistols and decent knives as a bonus. Interested in buying?
26.07.2011, 10:06.
Shilov: Hey, Executioner. Are you even asking! Bring it over, we'll see what's what. When can I expect you?
26.07.2011, 10:11.
Executioner: I'll drop by in a few hours, but I'll need a couple of strong guys to carry everything. Can you lend me some?
26.07.2011, 10:11.
Shilov: No problem, I'll ask Valeryanovich. By the way, he wanted to see you, but you left too quickly on your last visit. 26.07.2011, 10:12.
Executioner: I'll definitely talk to him. By the way, what do you think about buying an almost complete exoskeleton? 26.07.2011, 10:12.
Shilov: Almost? 26.07.2011, 10:12.
Executioner: Yeah. There are external damages, but nothing critical; the armor itself is still functional and can be repaired. 26.07.2011, 10:13.
Shilov: You scare me, Executioner. But let's decide when we meet? 26.07.2011, 10:13.
Executioner: Agreed. I'll write when I'm approaching where to meet me.
26.07.2011, 10:14.
And as soon as I finished all my morning chores, I immediately headed to the northwestern part of Rostok to pick up my loot. And there, a virginly clean courtyard greeted me in front of that very house; only small, dried puddles of blood and flattened grass remained from yesterday's events. The scavengers did a very good job; apparently, their business hasn't been going smoothly since Dolg arrived. And here's such a gift...
The things piled inside the house, near the wall by the stairs, were slightly scattered. It's not surprising; the bodies, even from the second floor, had disappeared somewhere. However, that's not the point; there are more important things than thinking about how full the bellies of the local fauna are. How will I carry all this stuff? I couldn't find any stray bloodsuckers on the way, and what would I bribe them with? I don't have any meat rations in mind. Only one option remains – to try to get into the exoskeleton itself.
To do this, I have to take off my own suit and start studying a completely new type of armor for myself. I unfasten the clasps and somehow pull on the upper part of the exoskeleton, grunting slightly from the effort. The armor itself is very heavy, and I'm afraid my back won't thank me by the end of the transition to the Dump. Then I put on the lower part, connect the tubes to each other, and after that – the helmet and secure the exoskeleton's belt at my waist. And as soon as everything was done, there was a quiet beep and a light hum of the servomotors. I check how the armor joints move, squat, walk around the house – everything is fine.
Despite how unusual it is to be in such armor and use the exoskeleton itself, it worked perfectly, although it required great effort on my part to control. Alas, moving fast in such an outfit is definitely not possible, and I'll have to rest often, but overall, I was satisfied. It's even a shame that such excellent armor goes against my plans – for working with scientists, I need something with a bias towards anomaly protection rather than bullets.
And before I pack all the loot on myself, I open a piece of cloth from old curtains and tie it on my shoulder, covering the mercenary emblem. Although I have almost nothing to fear now, it's better not to provoke unnecessary quarrels, especially since the Dolg detachment is nearby. And it will be better if they hesitate before opening fire on me. And
then begins the most tedious task of this morning. The assault rifles, along with a backpack full of junk collected from the mercenaries, go to my right shoulder, my personal belongings – to the left. I also take my old armor in my left hand, carefully folded, and in my free right hand, I grab a revolver. It's not worth going without a weapon, and in the exoskeleton, I can definitely shoot it with one hand.
The vicinity of the Rostok factory, some time later.
The Dolg detachment had just successfully cleared another point, destroying the pack of pseudo-dogs that inhabited it. And while Ivantsov was collecting trophies, and the others were catching their breath, Captain Samoylov sat on a concrete ledge and reached for a half-smoked pack of cigarettes to light one and think about his difficult fate. Out of the four weeks they were supposed to spend here with the detachment, only two had passed. And they were all sick and tired of this place to the point of stomach cramps.
Eating, sleeping, shitting, and killing all sorts of scum... The same thing all day long, and the mutants are unfazed. They crawl and crawl. Well, at least they're doing something useful, not just sitting on their asses in the headquarters. And they earn money from trade, what else. And who knows, maybe after this, they'll get a week's leave after returning to base from this assignment. Although, what the hell difference does it make? As if there are places here where one can spend this leave.
"Comrade Captain, look!" Private Tikhovetsky quietly addresses him, and Samoylov sharply turns his head in that direction, immediately grabbing his weapon.
Not far from them, a tall, broad-shouldered stalker was walking right along the tracks, dressed in a worn exoskeleton with the faction's emblems covered and heavily laden with loot. In his right hand rested a long revolver, which the Dolg members had previously noticed on the stalker they met yesterday. They didn't need a fight with an unknown person in an exoskeleton... But the latter suddenly stops and turns towards them, waving his hand with a pistol clenched in it, and then shouts across the entire platform.
"Hello, guys!" he says in a vaguely familiar voice, and then, after a pause, slowly approaches them. "How's your Dolg nothing?"
"Stalker, you?" Samoylov exhales in shock, lowering his assault rifle with trembling hands.
"Yeah," the one in the helmet nods unceremoniously. "I had a successful run. I told you there was a lot of loot here."
"And can you tell us the way?" Ivantsov blurts out, but the captain immediately shushes him.
"Quiet!" And then he addresses the stalker. "And you go, uh, Executioner, right? Anyway, go on your way, where you were going."
"And I will," the neutral figure in the exoskeleton nods again. "Good luck, guys!"
As soon as the Executioner disappears around the next bend, the captain exhales with relief and wearily plops down on the ledge that had already cooled down.
"Mother of God," he says, shaking his head slightly. "What the hell is going on..."
"Um, Comrade Captain?" Tikhovetsky addresses him. "Maybe we should... go look for some loot too?"
"Shut up!"
A construction trailer by the fence leading to the Rostok factory, a few hours later.
Petro was smoking a cigarette again, sitting in his favorite spot. Lately, that's been his only joy in life. No vodka, no tasty food, no loot or any other bonus for their group. They are too unlucky; they even let that stalker go. They should have run after him immediately, not argued with Mazay; he was right. They would have killed him and buried him nearby; who would have cried for a wanderer and looked for him?
And what now? Not a single living soul has appeared in these couple of days to cross the iron fence and head into the uncharted expanses dotted with anomalies. So, it seems they both, Petro and Mazay, will have to go on a long and difficult road, lying in wait for careless and overconfident stalkers in the bushes. Petro and his friend didn't believe that one could earn money in the Zone from artifacts, hunting mutants, or simply from assignments.
The creaking of rotten floorboards is heard, and a sleepy Mazay, undressed to the waist, emerges into the light of day. He yawns widely and stretches his arms up, stretching his muscles. Then he looks at Petro with cloudy eyes and approaches him with bare feet, taking the neighboring seat.
"Are you completely stupid? What about the radiation," the smoking stalker remarks to his partner, to which he waves his hand dismissively.
"Oh, I'll drink a hundred grams of anti-rad in the evening, and everything will be fine," he brazenly says, looking directly into his interlocutor's eyes.
"A hundred? But there's only..." he begins, but then falls silent, consumed by guilt. "Alright..."
After that incident, they talked and argued a lot about who was to blame for their dire situation, and then they even fought. Mazay emerged victorious then, feeling unprecedented power, and with each day, he increasingly oppressed the weak Petro, who was unable to even fight back. And each time he asked himself the same question: "How could such a wimp even come to the Zone?"
The stalker opens his mouth to make another request-order, but a loud metallic creak is heard from the other side of the construction trailer. Could that stalker have returned? Maybe with loot! Mazay, not wanting to miss the chance, grabs the sawn-off shotgun lying on the box and, almost slipping with his bare heels on the grass, runs out from behind the trailer.
"Ba-bang!" a thunderous double-barreled shot rings out, and Petro, not even having time to get up from his seat, exhales relaxedly. Here it is, the prey!
"BANG!" another, even louder shot follows, and Mazay falls to the ground like a rag doll with a pierced head, his arms spread out awkwardly. And the invisible opponent walks further with a loud step and is about to see the terrified stalker.
The stunned Petro remains sitting motionless, unable to even move. With a stiff hand, he reaches for his pistol but freezes like a rabbit before a boa constrictor. From around the corner of the green trailer, a terrible, colossal monster emerges, with many limbs sticking out from behind its back. He falls to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cold grass, and stutters, saying:
"P-please... p-pity..."
"You should have thought about it earlier," the monster says, and another shot rings out across the entire area.