[IC] S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Critical Mass

[TheMadAsshatter]

MESSAGE RECEIVED
8 Apr 2018 09:42
Sender: Prof. Kruglov

-Stalker, I have a job for you. We, at the mobile science lab in Yantar have made an... interesting discovery, and we require the assistance of certain individuals to gather more information. Unfortunately, I can't say more other than it's important and it pays well. If you are interested, you may come to the bunker in Yantar, and everything will be explained there. If you decide you're not so interested, you may safely delete this message and go about your normal business, though I would not advise it. Take these words to heart stalker. If you don't, we may all pay for it later.

-Kruglov

---

Nomad was lying in a cot in Petrovsk, fortunate enough to have had a dreamless sleep last night, but unfortunate enough to having been startled awake by the sound of his PDA chirping as the message flashed onto it's screen. He shot bolt upright as his hand instinctively reached for the Pernach secured to his thigh. He yanked the pistol out of it's holster, knocking over an empty bottle of vodka in the process. Just as he brought the pistol next to his head, he realized where he was and settled down somewhat. He set the pistol down on his thigh and brought a hand to his face, exhaling as though relieving pressure. He took a moment to sit there and allow his breathing to return to a normal rate.

His PDA beeped again, reminding him about the message. He reached over and picked it up, reading the message carefully. Once he was done, he swung his legs over the side of the cot. The pair of converse he had owned for several months now were starting to show signs of damage, but they would still work for some time before he needed to get a new pair. He knew combat boots were really the way to go, but he preferred the comfort of the shoes which he had worn since Secondary School. He figured he'd invest in a pair of boots if and when he finally needed to go through a swamp for some reason. He slipped the black and white shoes onto his feet and tied the laces securely over his ankle, then put the Pernach back into it's holster and the PDA into his right pocket.

Nomad's eyes drifted over to the body sleeping across from him. He knew he'd have to leave Jet a letter saying why he had left, so he took out his pen and a piece of paper to scribble down a quick note saying where he was going and why. He pinned it to Jet's backpack, then lifted his own backpack onto his shoulders and grabbed his AK-107 and Wakizashi for the trip to Yantar. This being the scientists and all, he figured this might have something to do with his past. Hell, since they said it was important, maybe it had something to do with the rumors about the zone growing out of control. Maybe they'd also be able to tell him his blood alcohol concentration, since he couldn't remember shit about last night and had a bit of a headache.

[SirBeowulf]

Pr-breep! Pr-breep!

"Shit."

Rickard let out a quick curse as his PDA suddenly beeped, which seemed to be rather off on its timing. Too late to worry about that, however, as now he had the attention of a pack of four Pseudo-dogs, one of the many mutated beasts that roamed the land. He was only going to take a few pictures! Of course, these things could hear a lot better than he could, and now he had the attention of all five of them. He could feel their yellowish-eyes drilling holes all over the area around him. Of course, he had a rather large urge to piss his pants, too.

A loud growling came from the lead dog, and they all stopped in their tracks. Pr-breep! Pr-breep! "Crap, crap, crap! Shhhh." Too late. Their cavalcade of barking started as soon as Rickard let his camera drop to his neck, reaching for his Uzi. They were about thirty or so feet away, so he was able bring it up just in time.

Brr-tatatatata! was the sound that came out of his gun as he depressed the trigger, letting lead go flying at the irradiated dogs that were now after him. Of course, with his skill with fire-arms, he was only lucky enough to ping one several times, sending it to the dirt, wounded heavily. He hopped up, his camera jerking against his neck with the strap. He held down the trigger a bit more, managing to piss off the lead dog. He was already back stepping as quick as he could when they were only ten feet away. "Jeez," Rickard said as his weapon clicked, empty. If there was one thing he was decent at, it was reloading, as he had practiced it multiple times when he had lots of free time. One of the freak dogs jumped at him, but Rickard had finished reloading and let out a quick burst as it flew at his head. All of them hit. The Pseudodog let out a loud whimper and thudded to the ground, its yellow eyes no longer glowing.

Of course, he couldn't take the time to gloat, he still had three more that wanted to rip out his throat. Rickard took aim at the lead dog. Well, he at least figured it was the lead, as it was almost twice the size of the others. Still, he preferred animals to regular stalkers. He at least had the advantage of a gun. He flipped the switch to semi-auto and fired off four rounds, all of them thankfully managing to hit. The Pseudodog fell to the ground, its chest now full of holes. The two left seemed to get the message, and lingered for a few moments before running off. Rickard let out a sigh of relief, falling to his ass. He bit his lip as he took out the PDA that had given his position away.

Of course, he smiled as he started reading it. Did they actually need him? A photographer?! He was overjoyed at the thought of finally having a job. Everyone else in the Zone was rather against hiring him. 'Jesus fuck, do you really think we need a camera? We need bullets and beans, you idiot.' Neanderthals, the whole lot of them. Of course, then Rickard's stomach started rumbling, reminding him he hadn't eaten since this morning.

...Rickard wondered if the dogs were edible or not.

[Peik]

''It's called synesthesia.''

''It's called what?''

''Synesthesia. Do I need to spell it out for ya, mate?''

''Nah, no need to, I recall some of that shit. I had been to college.''

''I used to teach at college.''

The stalkers were oddly calm about the fact that most of them were nearly dead. Porfiry had come across this scene about a few minutes ago, after hearing gunfire while walking through the woods. He did not know what had led to this and he believed that the three surviving stalkers did not want to remember the details, considering how they were all injured. There was one, who called himself Blanket, who had somehow survived getting his foot blasted off and his skull cracked by a ricocheting piece of shrapnel. The miraculously unscathed medic of the group, Match, had cut the remains of his foot off and bandaged his wounds. There was one slowly dying that called himself Jackson and mostly spoke in English. Match had given him a cigarette, being unable to treat his multiple gunshot wounds. As a gesture of good intent, Porfiry had given them a bottle of vodka. And now here they were, sitting down talking about random stuff, though Porfiry was no longer able to keep his curiosity in check.

''So, would you fellas mind if I asked you what happened here?''

''Treason. Polar and Hound tried to outsmart us and get our loot. Hound got Mustache and Jackson before I shot him, and then Blanket blew Polar up.'' Match nodded at Blanket's lost foot. ''It didn't go well.''

''That's Polar.'' Blanket pointed at a corpse that was essentially split open. ''Whoa.'' Porfiry said. ''Quite a scene you've got there.'' Jackson coughed. ''You want some vodka, mate?'' Jackson's head moved forwards slightly, then he lurched over on the pool of blood that was leaking out of him. His cigarette was extinguished by the red liquid. ''Poor Jackson. He was a good guy.'' Match said as he leaned to his side, reached over to Jackson's face and closed his eyelids. ''I would bury him but I need to get Blanket back to safety. Speaking of that, we've lingered here for far too long. I don't think the next person to find us in this mess would be as friendly. You going to lend a hand?''

''Hurm. There's a Duty outpost not far away from here. I think we could carry him there. I know the commander of the outpost, you two should be fine.''

An hour later, Porfiry received a message while watching Match and Commander Basarov of the outpost play backgammon. At first, he thought Blanket had poked him from the mattress, but after looking behind himself and seeing Blanket asleep, he realized it was his PDA. Surprised, Porfiry sat on a stool and started checking the device. The message was from his old friend, Kruglov. The two had spent quite some time together back when Porfiry wasn't in bad terms with the Duty guards there. It had been quite some time since Porfiry had seen him.

''We may all pay for it later.''

Porfiry decided that it was time for a visit.

[BerryBuns]

Aynur’s pencil hovered above the dirty scrap of paper, suspended in a moment of thought. What else did she need to restock? That nasty gash on Lampochki’s cheek had required more butterfly closures than she would have liked to part with in one sitting. She always needed bandages, but the past few days had really taken a toll on her supply; between the trio of rookies who had bumbled right into a pack of dogs, and the quiet, surly stalker who refused to tell her just how he managed to lodge his own knife in his own ass cheek, she was running dangerously low.

Aynur winced as a spike of pain flared behind her eyes, followed closely by what felt like an elaborate acrobatic routine in her gut. Her narrowed vision came to rest, accusingly, on the nearly empty vodka bottle peeking out of her backpack. God, she hated the stuff, but for the past four nights, she hadn’t been able to sleep without it; and while the deep, dreamless sleep it delivered was just what the doctor ordered, Aynur knew she couldn’t afford to make a habit of it.



Considering the fitful nights she was resigning herself to, Aynur figured it might be a good idea to snag some energy drinks instead, though she disliked those only slightly less than liquor. Still, lesser of two evils and all that.

As she jotted it down, an urgent chirp sounded from deep within the pocket of her parka. Aynur considered ignoring it -- she had, after all, planned a busy day of nursing her hangover in solitude and isolation -- but after a few seconds, curiosity got the better of her. It might be Topol. She had been bugging him for months for whatever information he could give her on Space Anomalies, but so far he hadn't been able to tell her what she needed. Maybe he had found something new..



No. Of course not.

Despite her disappointment, Aynur read on. The message was intriguingly ambiguous, and from another mobile lab no less -- she knew she was probably putting too much faith in coincidence, but she couldn't help thinking Kruglov might be able to help her. For almost a year, Aynur had begged, traded, cajoled and harassed in a quest for intel on Space Anomalies, the rare Compass artifact, and even the fabled Wish Granter; and for all her hard work, she had almost nothing to show for it. If there was even the slightest chance Professor Kruglov, or anyone else at the Yantar lab, could tell her something she hadn't already heard, she was going to take advantage of it.

Still, there was something about the professor's parting words that set Aynur on edge.. She tried to push her unease to the back of her mind, at least for the time being. For whatever reason, he had reached out to her for help, and she couldn't have said no to that even if she wanted to.

[Gephfryee]

Tiberius had tracked this prey all night. He'd found the perfect overwatch position. He was in such a good mood that he'd even brought out the special ammunition. He was going to enjoy watching their heads explode. There was nothing more satisfying than dealing the coup d'état to an unsuspecting opponent. This was it. He lined up the shot... inhale. He began to squeeze down on the trigger... hold breath. The enemy was just waking up, lifting his head into the perfect position while his parter remained asleep-unsuspecting.

Brepbreep brepbreep

The sound of his PDA startled Tiberius causing him to miss his shot, and consequentially, release a long and loud stream of furious curses. His PDA still making that irritating noise, Tiberius scoped back in and found that the two men he'd tracked down for the last week were now long gone. The half-bottle of vodka they'd stolen from him would never be avenged.

He contemplated smashing the PDA just to spite whoever contacted him, but he remembered that 1: He was running low on money, 2: He was running low on vodka and stealing it hadn't been panning out lately, and 3: 1+2= Tiberius needs work if he wants to keep living in a drunken stupor, and smashing the source of work would be detrimental to his noble, alcoholic cause. Finally satisfied that he'd over-analyzed the situation, Tiberius pulled his PDA out and gave the message he'd received a look.

"Let's see... Yantar. Yantar? I live near there, so it's convenient. I know the area, so no surprising me with traps. Lots of money... and money means booze... ah, hell. I might as well give things a look. I need to kill something since this little piece if shit PDA just cost me two gib explosions."

Realizing that he was talking to himself, Tiberius soundly slapped himself while pocketing his PDA with the other hand. He quickly looked around to make sure that he was the only person in the area. There were a few other Stalkers, but none of them were aware of his presence. With that as assurance, he quickly sprinted back to his lair, which was a few hundred meters away, packed up what supplies he could carry, and set out on the short hike to the Yantar labs.

[Peik]

''I think I'll take another card, Blanket. Hit me.''

Blanket expertly threw one card face-down to Porfiry, then after hearing him say that he'd stay, turned his face inquisitively towards Match.

''Uh.. I'll stay, mate.''

''What about you, commander?''

''Yeah, give me a card.''

''You want more?''

''I think I'm busted.''

''Alright, now Blanket, pull yourself a card til you hit 17 or beyond. Time to reveal our cards, stalkers.''

Everyone put their cards on the table. Blanket summed up everyone's cards and then started to pull cards for himself. He already had a king and a five. Then he pulled another five. ''That's good, no?'' Blanket asked to Match. ''Yeah, it's fine.'' Porfiry had a sum of 17. The commander had busted at 27. Match had 19. Blanket had won. ''I think we're doing something wrong.'' Porfiry said as he looked at Commander Basarov's cards. He had an ace, a ten and a six. ''Match, you sure you remember how this game's played?''

''Well, I haven't played it in a while, but I was real good at it.''

''As I said, I think we're doing something wrong.''

''That'd explain why it's no fun.''

The commander laughed at Blanket's statement. ''I'll have to go with Blanket here.'' He said as he started pouring vodka into the tin cups everyone had. Match took a sip and immediately spit it next to his stool. The buzzing sounds answered the group's questions. ''When the fuck did that get in the cup?'' Match asked as he started stomping on the pseudofly. Porfiry swatted a piece of bloody fly that had spattered on his cheek. ''I think you got it, Match. Cut the stomping.'' Match started coughing. ''I think I'm going to puke.'' The commander pointed towards a metal barrel outside. ''Start running.'' Match dashed off from his stool as Porfiry and the commander laughed.

''Damn rookies. Say, Smoke, you remember Lieutenant Kolya who had swallowed one of those?''

''Yeah, he had to put wire mesh on his cup after that day. How's he doing?''

The commander smiled solemnly. ''Died in a Freedom ambush a few weeks ago. They've been getting aggressive lately.''

''Shit, I didn't know that.''

''Well, yeah. I've lost count of the casualties here. Freedomers don't want us in the Garbage, but we're not going to let go of the outpost.''

''If that's what you want.''

The trio gulped down their vodka as Match kept puking in the background. An hour later, Porfiry left the outpost as the others were singing in a drunken stupor into the Rocky Pass. This place had earned its name after its abundance of gravitational anomalies that had given it a unique landscape. Some of these were harmless and merely caused the ground you walked on to crack, and some of them were able to mash you onto the ground with the force of an industrial crusher. Stalkers did not frequent this place often, but it was the best way for Porfiry to get to Yantar. Going through Agroprom meant you'd have to bother with all sorts of lowlifes and creatures. Here, all you needed to do was to watch your step.

He walked on and on through the treelines (going by the road meant you were asking for anomaly-propelled rocks at the speed of sound in your face), avoiding the acidic vines that were hanging on the branches. Occassionally, he'd hear a boom and duck and hear the sound of a tree cracking apart. Bloody rookies had made the place a three-dimensional minefield game. But he had been through this place before, and he had a directional anomaly finder anyway-

BOOM-CRACK

Porfiry immediately threw himself onto the ground as the tree next to him had one of its branches shot off. His visor was peppered with wood dust and some had gone through his mesh face covering. He could taste the wooddust in his mouth along with blood, having clenched his teeth far too hard. ''Bloody fucking hell,'' He started mumbling to himself as he slowly got up on his feet again-

BOOM-CRACK

The side of the tree burst into pieces and onto Porfiry's face. Unable to see anything, he removed his hood-mask, revealing his mesh under-mask, which, along with his clothing, made him look like a fencer in an oversized suit. It was odd for an anomaly to go off like that in such a short period of time. He slowly took cover behind the tree and started peeking through the other side of the tree. His eyes were wide open, nearly unable to open his mouth from the stress.

RATATACRACKATATATACRACK

The sound and the muzzle flash made Porfiry realize that this was not an unusual anomaly. The tree was peppered with bullets and yet Porfiry hadn't been shot yet. Not wanting to press his luck any further, he pulled out his pistol, threw himself onto the ground once more and started groaning. In just a minute, he could feel someone walking towards him. This was it.

''You think you got him?''

''Don't you hear him? Of course I got him!''

Porfiry could see the man clearly now. Tracksuit, AKM, magazine pouch full of holes and old boots - lucky bandit. Obviously a rookie too, as he wasn't pointing his gun at Porfiry. Porfiry took this gesture of good intent to heart, filled him with bullets and watched him topple to the ground. ''Who's got who now, bitch?'' He grunted under his breath as he took a more favorable position and counted how many shots he had fired. Six or seven. Didn't matter. He still had enough for the other and he could hear the fellow moan in pain.

''Pole, fucking help! I'm dying over here! Stubborn fuck wanted to take me with him!''

Whoever Pole was, he was smarter than the bleeding man as Porfiry didn't see him go out of cover, nor did he hear any response. Porfiry was patient, however, and didn't have a bleeding friend lying on the ground. The odds were in his favor.

''Pole!''

''You said you got him!''

''I got him, just not enough!''

Pole was smarter than the bleeder maybe, but he wasn't smart enough to make sure Porfiry really was down. He slowly slid down the hill next to the bleeding man, into Porfiry's sights. Porfiry started shooting and watched his bullets enter through the guy's thigh, his elbow and then his shoulder, near his neck. ''Fucking faggots trying to get me.'' He started eyeing the equipment of the duo. Pole had a shortened AK, with the orange, steep magazine. AKs-74u. His pistol was a 1911. Not 9x19. Incompatible with the Hi-Power. All Bleeder had was an AKM.

''I was going to lose my teeth, you fucks.''

Realizing that the two were not worth the risk to go out of cover and try to loot them, Porfiry left the two for dead (killing them would be better for the duo and he didn't want that) and kept moving towards Yantar.

[Gephfryee]

After a few hours of non-stop hiking, hiding, and sprinting short distances away from wild dogs, Tiberius made it into the Yantar area in a single piece. The first hurdle of getting in done, he now began preparations for the bothersome and slow process of getting through all those pesky Stalkers that were too greedy for their own good and got themselves zombified. Or to an astronomical level of ineptitude that makes Forest Gump look like a genius and a track star. One of the two. Tiberius hadn't the time to ponder it for money and alcohol were calling his name.

He surveyed the immediate area carefully, and finding a sizable tree that still had most of its leaves, he scaled it and perched himself near the top, his back braced against the trunk and his SVD resting in his lap. Extracting his binoculars, Tiberius carefully panned across the area between himself and the Yantar mobile lab, memorizing every zombified Stalker's location and movement patterns. Satisfied that he'd spotted them all, numbering 17 in total, he began to dispatch them one by one. Aim. Inhale. Finger on the trigger. Compensate. Squeeze. Exhale. Revel in the gore. Charge piece. Rinse and repeat. He downed most of them in this manner, taking a few nicks from the erratic firing of the zombies that had working guns. He was then interrupted quite rudely by an angry military patrol that didn't seem to like his being in Yantar. Tiberius might have been able to talk his way out had he not yelled, "Перейти подальше Вам мутантные чертовски сук!" They took particular offense to that.

Tiberius tagged one of them near instantly, the unfortunate man's brains exploding out the back of his helmet. The remaining four opened fire immediately afterwards and caused him to nearly fall out of the tree and break his neck. This was not his preferred mode of combat. The enemy could actually see him and posed a real threat.

Once they paused to reload, Tiberius drew his knock-off, Soviet-made Colt 1911, emptied the magazine into the patrol, hitting one in the knee and knocking off another's helmet, then kept out of the tree and ran his ass off to get behind the protective walls surrounding the lab. On his way there, gunfire from the few remaining zombies and the now reloaded patrol peppered the area around him. Once at the door, he beat on it and yelled at the scientists to open it in Norwegian, Russian, and English, hoping they were there, before taking cover behind the walls and getting ready for a shitty situation. He leaned out and tagged a second enemy in the chest and quickly took cover again, mumbling "Damn, I picked the wrong day to leave the hideout."

[SirBeowulf]

Roughly half an hour after Rickard had finished dealing with the dogs, he found himself drenched in the blood and guts and visceral bits of the recently deceased Pseudodogs.

To be frank, it was horribly revolting. The ridiculous idea had popped into his head of trying to cut the dogs up for meat. Of course, seeing as he tried using the rough lid of a tuna can and had absolutely no experience at all meant he was now in the situation of, well, being covered in dog! Don't even ask how the poor body of the damn thing ended up. Rickard let out a dreadful sigh, trying not to vomit since the smell was abysmal. He had no water to spare, and he doubted a day long shower would get the bits out of his hair.

He wiped his hands off on one of the other dogs, not really succeeding in much. Rickard retrieved the small PDA in his back pocket, a bit more interested in this science lab in Yantar. Perhaps they had a shower in the least? He really hoped so, because he doubted people would take kindly to him smelling so horribly. His damn shoes even made squishing noises when he walked. Still, according to his map, Rickard was probably up North in the section called Old Cordon. Why they called it that? Who the heck even knew? All Rickard knew was that there was probably another Cordon, somewhere. Of course, to get to Yantar, he would have to go through several dreadful places, at least from what he had heard. He could head through Garbage, full of radioactive materials and more anomalies or he could head through The Great Swamp. Rickard chose the first option because fuck swamps.

Of course, even if he was near the northern part of Old Cordon, it would probably take a fair while to get to Yantar. He really hoped he would be able to get a shower soon, or else he would be screwed when the blood dried.

Still, he wasn't anything but optimistic. Surely The Zone wasn't just chock full of bandits, raiders, and bastards everywhere you went, was it? Right? Thankfully, the hour and a half walk following the road was rather boring in his opinion. Really not much around these days, he only managed to see a few crows. They had three eyes, but they were still crows. That was good news, probably. Rickard smiled as he slowly jogged his way down the road. He was making decent time from the pace he was going. As long as he followed the road, everything would be alright.

Of course, then three people popped out of nowhere, guns pointed at his face. "Uh... I have you surrounded?" Rickard feinted, choosing a rather crappy quote if anything.

One of them laughed, his accent sounding him as Ukrainian. "Киньте всі ваші лайно, Сталкер. Або ж, ми вб'ємо вас." the grizzly one with an amazing beard said, jabbing his gun into Rickard's stomach. "Uh... I don't speak your language. Uh. Нет?"

One of them grunted, holding a hand up to their nose and mouth, covering it. "Ісус ебать, цей хлопець пахне лайном. Чому, чорт візьми, він покритий кишки?" the man said, obviously disgusted at even the sight of Rickard. "Хрін з ним, я сумніваюся, що він має нічого хорошого на нього в будь-якому випадку." He said, backing off.

"You. Stalker. Go away."

Rickard nodded quickly, giving a quick bow as he side-stepped around the trio. "Sorry for the inconvenience! I didn't mean to smell bad!"

[TheMadAsshatter]

Jacob had left Petrovsk roughly an hour ago and was just reaching The Bridge. There hadn't been an emission since he last crossed it, and he knew anomalous activity there was low, so he moved through the canyon with relatively little difficulty. After about a kilometer and a half of travel, the canyon opened up to a field, marking the border of the Old Cordon. Nomad's head still hurt from what must have been a drunken night which he still couldn't remember, but he was also struck with the feeling that he was forgetting something.

Jacob stopped to check himself over. His AK-107 was slung over his shoulder, the ever so familiar Wakizashi held on to his belt in the small of his back, and the Pernach was held securely in his thigh holster. His pockets contained his anomaly detector, geiger counter and PDA, and his gas mask was in the small bag slung over the shoulder opposite his AK. He never really took anything out of his backpack, so he didn't even bother checking it, though he still felt like he was forgetting something. "Not like it's the first time," he muttered. Jacob did get this feeling quite often, even when he hadn't forgotten everything, so he chocked it up to business as usual and got back up to head to the Garbage.

He scanned the field, checking for any boar or bandits which may get in his way. Finding nothing, he started walking again, veering towards the road which would take him to the Garbage. He began to wonder what exactly it was that Kruglov wanted with him. Furthermore, what was it with that last comment? Jacob took the PDA out of his pocket and read the message again. "We may all pay for it later." What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Whatever it meant it sounded serious, and if it was as serious as it sounded, it was likely that he wouldn't be the only stalker they asked for.

Jacob's stomach growled a moment later. He stopped and looked around once more, making sure nothing would get the drop on him before he sat himself down and began to look for one of the loaves of bread in his backpack. It didn't take long for his hand to grab onto the familiar piece of food. It was stale as shit, but most bread in the zone was, and it's not like it was any less nutritious for it. Or maybe it was. As long as it didn't make him sick, Jacob didn't care. He closed his backpack and threw it onto his back, chomping down on the bread as he pressed on towards The Garbage.

There came a point where he stopped. He wasn't sure what it was, but he thought he had heard something, just on the fringes of his hearing range. He wasn't even entirely sure if he had heard it at all, but it was better to take it as a legitimate sign of a threat than to ignore it. Jacob took his AK-107 into his hands, keeping it lowered but ready to fire at a moment's notice, then began to scan the area. The checkpoint that opened up to The Plains was just a hundred meters behind him, and he couldn't even see the bridge that cut through the middle of the Old Cordon yet. There were plenty of stalkers who knew that Jacob wasn't the kind of person to screw with, but that didn't stop some rad-brained bandits from trying.

Several moments passed, and Jacob was about to just say "screw it" and walk on when he saw movement come from the checkpoint. The tall grass provided some concealment, but he knew he needed better cover, and he wasted no time in ducking behind a bush next to a tree. He brought his rifle up to scan the checkpoint. At first glance he didn't see anything in specific, but then something moved again. He looked up at the tower and spotted the outline of a body in a tracksuit. Fucking bandits. The one he had spotted likely wasn't alone, though they didn't seem to be looking in his direction. They were probably waiting for the next poor unsuspecting rookie to come through, then either hold him up or just gun him down. Probably the former, though it was hard to say.

Jacob decided to wait and see what would happen. There were several reasons for doing this, all of which were done for the sake of gaining a tactical advantage. If he waited for someone to show up, they may prove helpful in dispatching the bandits, or at least provide a distraction. Furthermore, Jacob didn't have a lot of information to draw on, not even an exact number of how many bandits there were. He was guessing anywhere between six and twelve, and with that much uncertainty it was better to have an exact number. Moreover, if the bandits reveal themselves, Jacob could get an idea of what sort of weaponry they were using and act accordingly.

Jacob lowered his rifle and began biding his time. Someone was bound to come through eventually, and Jacob was ready to interdict at a moment's notice.

[Peik]

''Bloody bandits. Fuck them, really. Fucking fucks. Dear God. Fuck them.''

It had taken Porfiry a while to get all the wood splinters off his visor and calm himself about going back and torturing the bandits (they were likely dead by now), but now he was fine. Somewhat shaken after his brush with death, but fine. He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with gunfights, having seen quite many thanks to his long time in the Zone, but he had been out of the game for quite some time and the ambush, as sudden as a porn site pop-up, had given him the shakes. He was calm now, though, he was calm. It was fine. He took a long breath. Counting his breaths made him calmer.

-

''Who the fuck do you think you're shooting, you bloody piece of shit? What kind of fucking faggot are you? I'm going to fuck your shit up! Beg me to stop, come on, beg me to stop!'' Bleeder tried to open his mouth, but was interrupted by a punch in the mouth, sending his head backwards into the trunk of a tree. As his head swerved from the sudden impact with the tree, another punch met his cheek and knocked out a tooth. Unable to stand thanks to the bullets in his gut, Bleeder rolled on the ground. ''Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you? Huh?'' After stomping on Bleeder's face, Porfiry threw himself on the bandit and pulled out his knife from its slot. ''Open your bloody mouth! I said open it!''

-

Porfiry often found Yantar to be a quiet spot. Stalkers did not frequent the place much, thanks to the high amount of zombies and the military groups all around the area. Thankfully for Porfiry, he had worked alongside them for long enough for them to not notice him when he was around. Respecting their tolerance, Porfiry did not bother them much. Plus, the rotations meant the guys he knew could be gone one day later, replaced with trigger-happy, frustrated greens. He looked around and appreciated the lack of movement. Nothing in sight. He felt tired. There was a drainage pipe not far from his spot. He sat next to it after a minute of walking. He took off his visor and helmet. He did not need any psi-protection right now. Just some clear air.

It was a nice place. He could hear some nice humming coming from inside the pipe, and he could feel the gentle wind on his face. The sky was cloudless and blue, letting the sun shine its rays on the vibrant green grass. He could see a squirrel on a tree in the distance. He closed his eyes and let go of the soft object in his hand. He was feeling like the Buddha, a beacon of serenity, a guide to all living beings. ''Life is good.'' He thought. He heard purring. Turning his head, he saw a cat nestled on the pipe. He grabbed it slowly and put it on his lap. He could see it pointing towards the piece of meat that he had put on the ground moments ago. He grabbed it and held it in a way that the cat could take bites from it. He started caressing the cat's back, then tickled its gut a bit.

''Wait a second.''

He could feel something dripping from his jaw. He took his hand to check and found blood. His nose was bleeding. ''What the fuck?'' He put the cat aside and started feeling his face. His eyelids were also bloody. He immediately got up and closed his eyes. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a mutated, somewhat gigantic cat with a swollen, spiky cheek and a split jaw biting a tongue. ''Shit.'' The cat looked up at Porfiry. ''Meow.'' As they made eye contact, Porfiry realized that it had two pupils on its left eye. After a moment of shock and frustration, Porfiry stormed off for the Ecologist Bunker, leaving the cat to feast on Bleeder's tongue.

[Gephfryee]

Tiberius unleashed an endless torrent of curses as the barrage of machine gun and assault rifle fire continued to pound his position.
"Jesus fucking Satan! Will they ever run out of ammo?!" He reached his hand around the corner of the wall and emptied another magazine from his pistol. "This is worse than five years ago!"

Five years ago: Tiberius sat hidden in a bush, happily eating a stick of salami and drinking vodka. Life had been going well for the last few months. He had almost one hundred and twenty thousand rouples to his name, a nice, new pair of military grade boots, plenty of ammo, and had recently repaired both his guns to near perfect condition.
As he ate, Tiberius thought about how great the Zone was. He got to kill people. He got paid to kill people. There was good vodka. Why didn't thousands of other people see the possibilities? But no, they sat at home doing their boring, normal, non-murderous jobs. Of course, new meat means more people, and he wasn't fond of that idea, but more people also means more people to kill, which he did like the idea of.

Tiberius suddenly found his thoughts interrupted by the feeling of being watched. But not just being watched, but being watched by many, greedy, devilish eyes. In fact, the feeling of being watched by so many unpleasant eyes prompted Tiberius to stand up out out of the bush and look around.
"Дерьмо."
He was surrounded by a pack of around twelve pseudo-dogs. He slowly reached for his kodachi and pistol, because things were about to become very unpleasant.

The present: Tiberius noticed that he'd managed to down a third soldier with his random firing, and at the same time pissed off the remaining two so much that they started lobbing grenades. Now trapped in a deadly game of hot potato, Tiberius concluded that he was going to kill the first asshole scientist he saw. It can't take that fucking long to open a door, can it?

Almost as if on command, the door to the lab swung open and a scientist motioned for him to run inside. Gathering his things, Tiberius jumped up and sprinted to the door. Once he reached it, however, he took cover behind it, checked his SVD's ammo, actioned the rifle, swung out and dropped to a knee, and blew a hole through the head of the fourth soldier. That done, he ducked into the safety of the lab with the scientist, whom he promptly glared at the scientist. once the door was closed.
"блядь."

The inside was just as boring as it always had been, except for one oddity. There was another STALKER already there. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Tiberius approached the man, crossed his arms, and asked, "Så hvem er du? Кто ты, Сталкер?"