Andrew had a blank expression. He had heard what the barkeep and what Max had said, but he didn't respond immediately. He stared at the counter, mesmerized by the events of the day. "I'm not a coward. I'm not a coward. I can do this, can't I?" Andrew had been drilling the thought into his head. "Oh. Yeah I'll have some Rindsrouladen...." he said to the Barkeep as he took a sip from his own drink. "When this is empty I'll be sure to buy a bottle. I'm gonna need it." Andrew turned to see which table that Max had been pointing at, and guessed which one had been Max because he caught a man eyeing him. When Andrew turned back around he discovered that the Barkeep had gone and was shouting into the kitchen. He presumed it was for his order, or partly at any rate. How long had he turned around to see where Max was? Andrew didn't know, he was still in shock from the previous events and had lost all sense of time. "Anyway, where you people headed after you filled up?" the Barkeep had asked nobody in particular. Andrew looked around the bar again, still afraid that one of these thugs would pull a gun on him. The scene from Star Wars where the wanted criminal threatened Luke played through his mind. He took a moment to compose himself again before talking. "Well, Max is the one who knows who I need to talk to and where I'm heading. Or so I'm told."

Amelia had been making her way through the bushy wasteland for some time, the high sun providing just the perfect amount of warmth for her to be comfortable. She was currently walking between the two same abandoned buildings she had passed earlier that morning before arriving at her destination. The setting was similar to that of Marcel’s: a multitude of armed guards whose relaxed postures disappeared as soon as she made her approach. Once more, the young woman took off her mask so that she could be identified.

“Dmitry, you know why I’m back here. We need to talk…” she said, knowing that he was much more lenient than Marcel when it came to doing business with her, regardless of his appearance. Her statement didn’t faze him, and he instead ordered one of his men to bring something out. Amelia tensed, and then watched as they dragged out a man who was unmistakably from Marcel’s crew. She couldn’t hide her surprise, and knew that the situation had just gotten much more complicated.

“I don’t mind talking, but not when there’s a rat following you,” he replied, closing the gap between them to place an arm around her. He guided her away from everyone else, and as they were walking, Amelia heard a single gunshot go off. She flinched at the sudden sound, but not him. After all, he was the one who had made the order. “Clearly, Marcel doesn’t trust me—and for good reason—but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t trust you either, much less send someone after you. Amy,” he stopped walking and grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him, “I want you to drop him not just from this deal, but from any future business you may have with him.”

“Dmitry—"

“I’m serious. One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed working for that piece of shit, you and I both know that.”

He had a good point, but she would always be on the run if she ditched Marcel. “I can’t, he paid me extra to get him his ammo.”

Dmitry let her go, walking away agitated. “Well, that’s ammunition that I don’t have, Amelia, so either stay here with me to keep you safe for the time being, or go back to him and see what happens.”

Amelia stood in silence weighing her options. Dmitry was a good man, and wouldn’t intentionally endanger her life. However, if she didn’t go back to Marcel with the order, then she might as well say her prayers. Dmitry acknowledged her dilemma and continued leading her away from the entrance to the warehouse. “So, what do you say?”

“Fine,” she caved with a sigh, not noticing the smirk forming on Dmitry’s face as he led her further into the darkness of the warehouse.

---

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---

There were four of them in all, all wielding crummy East Bloc weapons with rust on the receivers and decay splintered across the wooden stocks. But the rooftop was within the guns' accurate range; they weren't worried.

"When the shooting starts, what do we do about Amelia, boss?" asked one.

The sunlight, diffused through the cloud-blanket and between the leaves of their foliage cover, glowed grey against the soldier's face, well-weathered and three days unshaven. He chewed a toothpick, pushing it with his tongue from cheek to cheek. "Depends if she shoots back, I guess," he said, wondering what Marcel would want if he were here. He supposed he was a bit afraid of that, stalling for time lest he misspoke. "I like to think she'd take our side. Don't you?"

They agreed to watch the hangar a while. They watched for patrols on the ground and on the roof, and they watched the forest edge where an ambush could be staged—by either side. But was that Russian fuck smart enough to place troops discreetly out of sight? Or were they all hiding in the chicken-coup they called a base? Asking themselves that question, they felt safe enough to split up. Mikhail sent two men to flank the hangar through the woods, and end up on the other side. Then the sentries had no cover to hide behind up there. "Don't shoot until we do," he'd said. "Once the roof is clear, move in."

That's business, huh? he thought to himself. Gotta spend a few bullets to earn them back. Maybe the Russians would see things rationally, and know better than to be indebted to a rabid mongrel like Marcel. But if they chose to scam him, to scheme and conspire behind the bandit's back, surely they knew his retribution would come back to them. So it had to come quickly, so quickly they had no time to prepare for the assault.

Mikhail looked up. It would be dark soon. He set Amelia's time limit; the fun would start if he didn't see her soon, goods in hand.

---

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"Georg! Rindsrouladen, zwei!" He was around the corner again, holding his fist out with two fat fingers straightened.

Suddenly Max was a second-rate Saint Nick; greasy, unkempt, a bit ugly, sure, but jolly in the cheeks and generous in the belly. The color of money flashed in his eyes, which like an addict's needle or the sound of liquid slapping a wino's cup, cured every ache in his load-bearing limbs and every worry in his shaggy head.

"Anyway, Owl, you don't like the dirty jobs, right? I'll think of something you can do. Sure. It just won't be the big job I need right now. Whoever goes out there will smell blood and gunpowder. That's not subtle work. I know you like the subtle stuff."

All the beers were poured and the food was on its way, so Max relaxed a little, leaning his saggy bosom against the sharp counter. He watched the newcomer especially, and was grateful that his heart rate seemed to calm, his limbs stopped shaking, the pink and scarlet disappeared from his face; so he wasn't on drugs or alcohol, and looked to be thinking clearly again. Max didn't want to worry about him, but every now and then a newcomer thought the beer-garden was one of the saloons in those old Western movies, built there just so a hero could saunter through and smash all the tables and shoot a black hat dead. He was close to the cordon; good for business most times, but that meant he caught all the newbies, good and bad. Whereas the barkeepers up north were serving stalkers who already knew the rules, already understood how to get in and out of town with their heads intact.

With the food on the way, Andrew decided he would go and find Max. After all, Andrew has nowhere else to go but forward. He's done nothing but go forward his entire life, and he wasn't about to let a little gunshot get in the way, was he? Like all of the newcomers, he wasn't sure what to look for. Andrew had little idea of what or how he was going to get what he needed from the Zone. If he was to get anywhere with his photos he was going to need someone's help. His friend, the one who had left him the gun, had given him instructions to "Find Max and he'll lead you in the right direction." He looked around at the table that the Barkeep had pointed at. It wasn't very far away but it seemed like the room continued to go for miles in Andrew's head. He wasn't thinking straight. Life as a Stalker is at it's most difficult when you're new and inexperienced. Andrew could feel some of the stares that the veteran Stalkers were giving him. Andrew did his best to ignore them. "I'll feel better when I've eaten." Andrew thought. With that, he plucked the courage to get up and head over to the table where Max was. "I'm looking for a man named Max, would that happen to be one of you?"

“Amelia, hey…wake up!”

The young woman’s eyes flew open after Dmitry shook her awake in a rather rough manner, her heart on the verge of bursting through her chest. “Dmitry! Fuck—”

“No time to explain. We’re surrounded and we need to get out of here now!” Before she had a chance to speak, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her up off of the couch. She nearly lost her footing, but managed to keep up the pace with Dmitry as he stormed out of the small room.

“And where are we going? If they’re out there we’re going to get shot!” Amelia attempted to put her foot down, so to speak, but she was harshly dragged by the man with little patience despite her best efforts to protest. Given that she was forced out of a pleasant nap, though, she wasn’t necessarily thinking too clearly just yet. Dmitry said nothing as he guided her to the back of the warehouse.

“Use the backdoor to exit, make a quick right, and you’ll notice double latched doors on the ground under a pile of chopped wood. Take that tunnel and you’ll be a good distance away from us when you resurface, but you won’t be out of harm’s way. Be careful and keep your guard up. We’ll do our best here against them.” He gave her a half-assed smile then rushed in the opposite direction, leaving Amelia standing there for a moment as she tried to process everything.

Shit…

Then she was off as well, clearly remembering his directions in her head and following them. Amelia ran through the dark tunnel as fast and as carefully as she could for about 10 minutes before she reached the other side. Throughout her brief journey, she heard gunshots going off that she wished she hadn’t heard, but that was the reality of this world. Once Amelia reached the end, she wasted no time in pulling herself out of the tunnel before securing the access doors and looking around for a place to hide. She found a pair of thick trees not too far away from her location and raced for cover.

The farmhouse was a sight for sore eyes. Not that Neasa had ever seen it before. It was just such a relief, even in it's rather diminished state. With her shotgun in hands, she made her way inside, more concerned about what might possibly be in there to loot than danger. Hell, she'd rather die with a sudden bullet to the head than the already prolonged radiation sickness that would surely kill her.

She didn't even get to search for too long when she heard it. At first she legitimately thought it was a chain-saw. Her gun came up and she whipped around, looking for whoever was the source of the sound. Being ripped apart by a chainsaw sounded even worse than radiation sickness and she had no desire to die such a gruesome death.

It took her a moment to realize it wasn't a chainsaw. It was somebody snoring. The realization had her a bit floored. Who was so stupid to sleep in such an unsafe location? And to snore, too! Sitting ducks had a better chance of survival. Unless the place was booby trapped, but she'd yet to run into a trap.

The possibility that the snoring moron could be her little brother slipped into her mind, but she shoved it away. It had been too long. Surely he was dead by now.

Either way, she wanted to know who it was. Neasa brought her gun back up and slowly crept up the stairs, around the corner, checking for traps as she went.

[@TheMadAssHater]

Gideon nodded at Max, taking up his pint and said:

"Aye, Max. No need to waste shells or bullets, or the money on them, if I don't need to."

He took a drink from the glass of cold beer, and turned on his stool to glance around at the confused newcomer asking for Max, and some of the other patrons also making themselves busy, himself looking around absently.

He thought about where he'd go tonight, there were several interesting prospects he'd heard about or seen during his nightly forays. They could be busts or booms, but he wouldn't know until he got there and started picking through. If Max were after something in particular, that'd give him a goal and some direction, but he just wanted general stuff, then it wouldn't really matter where he went.

The talk of his "major" job was intriguing to think about, but not interesting to Gideon. If he wanted to be a Gat-man for hire, he'd have taken a more war-like nickname like "Hawk" or "Eagle", not Owl. All the same, he wondered what bloody business his boys would be up to, killing bandits? Competitors? Stalkers that owed him money? No idea.

All the same, Gideon enjoyed his drink on the barstool and waited while the sweet smells of cooking wafted out periodically from the kitchens.

Andrew smelled of Old Spice. He'd yet to earn the stench of sweat. Andrew doesn't even smell of alcohol. He could feel the bottles in his pack, knowing he could fix that whenever he wanted. He grinned to himself at the thought. He would be totally fine with a good drink about now if it weren't for the need to find a guide. After all, he was in the Zone for a reason and he had no intentions of staying for long. He caught Gideon's glaze and assumed that Gideon had been Max. "You look like you get around. I was wondering if you could help me with something." He looked around the room again. "Wow, I'm attracting a lot of attention, aren't I?" he thought to himself. "Oh well, I have to start somewhere."
He pulled up a chair as he spoke, and strung his backpack o'er the back of it. He opened it to check if his camera was still intact, and it was there snug in it's spot on top of the few things he had. "I'd pay you for any inconvenience, of course."

*TEMP OOC NOTE*
Im tired. I have to wake up in less than 3 hours for work. IM sick. IM leaving this post here. I will come back and edit it either after work or tomorrow. Blegh

@SilverFallen

Scott's dreams were often random; first he would be in a field talking with a friend, then he would turn around and find himself taking a shit in a bathroom, and then he would look around the stall and suddenly find himself in a college classroom with his pants still around his ankles. You know, that kind of random. Nothing quite extraordinary, just random little snippets of a typical day in a normal person's life.

That did largely change after he entered The Zone. Nightmares quickly became the norm, when he did dream. He eventually found it to be more beneficial to just take naps throughout the day than to try to get a full night's sleep. It tended to make the dreams less common at all, but once in a blue moon, regardless of the circumstances, his mind would revert back to the typical formula of playing random bullshit. This was one such time. At least until subtle perturbations in the ambient sounds of the farmhouse within which he decided to nap in slowly brought consciousness back to him.

His eyes opened, and at first he was simply groggy, not fully taking note of the sound of creaking wood every couple of seconds. At one point he heard it, and turned his head towards the stairs leading to the ground floor. He at first wrote it off as the structure settling, but then heard it again, and noticed that it was coupled with the light shuffling of clothing.

He immediately got out of the couch that he had been laying on and tried to go for his gun, but stopped when the barrel of a shotgun found it's way over the lip and pointed towards him. Naturally, it was probably time to opt for diplomacy.

"Hey there, how's it going?" he asked, trying his best to be his usual friendly self. "Is your morning going well? I know mine could be better! Speaking of which, do you mind not killing me right now?" He hoped that whomever he saw behind the shotgun was a reasonable person, and better yet didn't mind some flippancy.

She heard them minutes later, halves of hours later. The gunfire never seemed to really stop, pop-popping over hills, between trees; the noise bounced off stones and tree-trunks like the very shrapnel bursting from their guns. She must have been a mile away then, and still she heard them. Intensely at first, but as she walked the noises grew dull and faint; and further, the firefight began to die down. One side must have gained the upper hand, pinning the other, conserving their ammo while they waited for a head to peep out from behind a crumbling wall. And what did a single shot from a pistol mean? A warning shot? Or was it a coup de grâce?...

She had reached a road now, a long road of naked mud, walled in on either side by dense forestry. The mud was brittle and glossy, smoothed over from many days of rain and snow which had all dried up. It cracked under the weight of her footsteps. It burrowed itself between her treads.

Stalkers could debate each other for hours on the merits of following roads. It made them more visible, yes, but they moved quickly. And it was harder to pin them down, when they could choose in a moment what cover they dashed for. But those who walked the woods; they were invisible. They slogged and trudged through the undergrowth, but theirs was a patient lot, ever in a greater position to lay an ambush, or to sneak past tight patrols.

If Amelia could hear Dmitriy and his crew doing battle even from this distance, she must have known that others would hear them, too. The type of men with spindly necks like a vulture's, and a way of slithering toward stink like a maggot. The scavengers of battles fought by others. Soon the hangar would be crawling, and if Dmitriy was alive, she had to hope he had to brains to know that he had to get out of there quickly.

@TheMadAsshatter

Neasa had been fully prepared for a fight. She figured she had the upper ground, considering the guy had been asleep and she had a gun to his face. If it wasn't a fight, then she was expecting fear, maybe some begging. Honestly, anything but his completely nonchalant attitude. For a moment she just stared at him, trying to figure out if he had said what she actually thought.

"Did... Did you just ask me about my morning?" It was a dumb question, but she was just so dumb-founded she wasn't sure what else to do. She stepped back a bit, but didn't exactly lower her gun. Just because he was weird didn't mean he was safe. Maybe he was just using this as a tactic to catch her off guard. Well she wasn't falling for it.

"What the hell were you doing? What are you doing here? And who are you?"

@Fyre Unholy

Gideon looked around first at Max then back to the guy asking for his attention. His pint still in his hand as he turned on his stool. He spoke casually, eyeing the newcomer's nervous ticks.

"What exactly is it that you want? I specialize in a variety of different products from a bunch of different places, if that's what you're looking for."

He took another sip of his glass, enjoying the cold brew and the feeling the buzz starting to kick in from the lack of food in his stomach, which would be remedied shortly.

Amelia had been walking for goodness knows for how long, without as much of a sign of Stalkers nearby. Either she had some incredible dumb luck, or they were patiently waiting to ambush her. But when she started noticing some sign of "civilization" in the distance, Amelia's anxiety slowly disappeared as she picked up the pace to avoid any last-minute surprises.

Eventually, Amelia reached some tavern on the side of the road and hurriedly made her way in. She was long overdue for a bit of food and water, and even though thoughts of what might have occurred to Dmitry plagued her mind, she had to focus on herself at the moment. Later on, when things settled down again, she would attempt to find him. If he was alive, that is.

Inside the bar, Amelia eagerly took of her gear as she made her way to a small empty table. On the way there, she accidentally bumped into the back of someone's chair, dropping her bag on his lap.

"Shit, I'm sorry about that," she said a little flustered, trying to ignore the stares of some of the other bar patrons.

@Fyre Unholy

@SilverFallen Relieved, Scott let out a barely noticeable sigh and took a couple of steps away from his gear to appear less threatening. He had a good feeling about this person. That feeling got better when he... she, evidently, seemed taken aback and stammered out her first question.

"Well, yes I did," he replied. He had taken his mask off before taking his nap as well, so any solace that could be found in anonymity was pretty much gone. Still, the way he saw it, the air in this part of The Zone was fairly clean, and his geiger counter wasn't going off more than usual, so he figured why not?

"Well, what I was doing should be fairly obvious. As for why here, there was a couch," he said, gesturing to the sofa he had been laying down in a moment before. "And who I am is a man who is just trying to live and let live... mostly. I'm also not a threat to you as long as you're not a threat to me, alright? Let's just be cool." he said, still retaining his calm.

"What about you? Can I interrogate you now?" he said, jokingly.

@TheMadAsshatter

Neasa wasn't sure if he was the bravest person in this hellhole or the dumbest. Maybe both. To brazenly sleep without any traps around him; she had snuck up on him easily. He could have been killed. Then again, maybe it was a good thing she had been the one to find him. Not that she really should be caring so much about a stranger dying from his own stupidity. And yet, she was. Guess The Zone hadn't killed all of her basic human decency.

She lowered her gun, but kept it in her hands, ever cautious and paranoid.

"Sorry," she sighed. "Just, surprised I guess. You haven't been here long, have you? Live and let live is more for the outside than in here. You'll get yourself killed being so trusting."

Andrew pondered the question for a bit, unsure of how to word what he wanted and if he should even ask this man.

"I'm new to the area, I was hoping someone would help me out by showing me around."
Andrew had been about to ask Gideon what he meant by "specializing in different products" when he was interrupted by Amelia's bag hitting his lap. He jumped with fright as the sudden weight hit him, but he shook it off the same as any other jump-scare. Andrew propped the bag on an arm before it could fall to the ground and relinquish it's contents to the dirty floor. With his free hand he wrapped the strap of his camera around his neck so that he could free up his arm to grab the bag. He whipped his head around to see who had assaulted him so.

Andrew almost lost his temper, after all he was just rudely interrupted by a complete stranger and in a way that scared the daylights out of him. However, the embarrassed grin on Amelia's face saved her. In that moment he'd forgotten that he was in a room full of dudes with guns. He understood, if only barely, that he was in a room full of people. All of them will have had their own demons. In that instant, he actually got curious, and let his mind wander.

He grumbled to the girl, "It happens, don't worry about it." He gripped the bag in one hand and reached out to hand it back to her. "You seem tired, why don't you sit down?"

The young woman was actually very relieved when she was offered a seat at the stranger's table. The fact that she at the very least expected the man to lash out at her for her foolish mistake spoke volumes of the experiences she's had ever since her arrival to the Zone. Not that all encounters were negative—just the majority of them.

"Yes, I am...thank you," she said as she took possession of her bag once more and pulled out a chair to sit directly across the man whose privacy she hadn't invaded. Amelia hugged her bag in front of her as she very casually leaned back on the chair, the instant relief she felt made obvious as she closed her eyes for a moment before very slowly sitting up to properly address the strangers.

"I'm Amelia, but you're more than welcomed to call me Amy. That's what everybody does, unless they're extremely pissed off at me—you know, like a parent using their child's full name when they're scolding them."

Amelia gave them a slight smile at the simplicity of the small satisfaction she felt using such analogy.

@Fyre Unholy
@TemplarKnight07

@SilverFallen

Scott allowed himself to relax a little when the woman lowered her gun. He decided to let himself fall back onto the couch and relax. He doubted there was much of a point in her letting him live now only to stab him in the back later. He sat down and propped one leg on top of the other. He chuckled a little bit at her statement about him not being in the zone long. "I've been here a couple months, give or take. I honestly just don't think it's worth being worried about what could happen in my sleep. What are the odds of being stabbed in the neck in my sleep, out here, basically isolated, versus a trading post with very not-private bedrooms that pretty much anyone could walk into? Just my two cents."

He allowed himself to get comfortable on the ratty looking sofa. The cushions were covered by a relatively clean sheet that Scott had found earlier, but underneath it one could tell it was pretty old and worn down. "Make yourself at home, take a load off. Name's Scott, by the way. Lot of people call me Joker though, when they're not busy calling me an asshole, that is. What's your story?"

"Nice to meet you Amy, I'm Andrew. I don't have a nickname though, just Andrew. Now let's get you something to eat and drink, you look a little pale."
Andrew was about to get up and order some for her, when he remembered that he was in the middle of a conversation.
"I was just talking to Max here about finding someone who could help me out. When I get back, Max, I wanna know what you mean by you 'specialize in different products.'"

Gideon looked back over at Max by the bar and at Andrew talking to him, himself still slightly speechless as he watched Andrew walk over to order from the actual Max. He'd have to clarify that sooner rather than later. In the meantime, he kept his expression neutral and thought briefly on Andrew's offer.

Normally Gideon didn't like partners, particularly inexperienced ones. Inexperienced people often could attract unwanted attention in The Zone, as Andrew was evidently showing just by his interactions in the bar here. On the other hand, there were practical benefits to having multiple backs, eyes, ears, sets of hands, and guns in various situations, regardless of experience. Plus, he could stand to make more profit just by showing this guy around and the ropes along with whatever Max had in mind so long as it didn't get them killed. Its not like he intended to go storm a bandit camp or ambush an armed convoy headed for The Ring or some other openly gung-ho shit anyway. He was here to make money, and avoid dying while doing it.

Amidst his thoughts, he politely acknowledged Amy at the table, leaning in to talk to her quietly.

"Greetings, people around here call me Owl, actually. Name's not Max either, I'll have to fill that in to our fellow when he gets back here, but pray don't tell him, there's a first lesson I can show him in it all by the end of this if we actually do agree on some sort of job and he hasn't figured it out."

Leaning back on to his stool, he discretely glanced over at where Andrew had walked over to, taking another sip of his pint. Max would get a chuckle out of this if when he found out, if it all worked as Gideon intended.