Dark Valley, the backyard of the factory.
A large detachment of stalkers in dark blue jumpsuits with eagle insignias hurried to take cover in an underground passage. There was no urgent need to hide right now, it was just a precautionary measure. The rusty grate creaked, and the footsteps echoed with a muffled rumble in the confined space. Meter by meter, the mercenaries advanced until they reached the required junction. They turned left, walked for another dozen meters, and emerged into a technical room where they set up their camp.
And Freedom couldn't guess that the mercenaries were hiding somewhere in the tunnels, as they had been completely blocked off not long ago.
A large room, a good ten meters long and six wide. Worn plaster, peeling green paint, pervasive dust, and a whole network of pipes and wires intricately intertwined on the wall. Vizir leaned back against the wall, sliding down it, and with a tired hand began to unfasten his jumpsuit, involuntarily pondering everything that was happening.
To reach the Dark Valley unnoticed, their group had to use a part of the vast network of tunnels that riddled the Zone. As far as he knew from documents previously obtained by other groups, these tunnels had been used for covert communication between various complexes in the ChEZ. Why and how was extremely unclear, as the territory was practically abandoned anyway, and all those who had access were up to their necks in it. However, the mercenary didn't dwell on this; his only desire was a decent payment.
But there was a small, yet very unpleasant problem associated with the secret passages. To gain access to this tunnel, their group had to pay Yogi quite a bit. For access, for maps found by the thugs, and for the group of slaves who cleared the blocked sections... And if the conversation with the captured stalkers
was short after work – a bullet in the back of the head and to feed the dogs – then the issue with the bandits was more acute. If a sudden retreat through this tunnel network was needed, the bandits might demand even more money.
And that's not to mention the rather strange mission...
"Vizir, hey, Vizir?" the tired blonde drawled, pulling the mask off his face, trying to reach the group leader. "Vizir!"
"What do you want?" the dark-skinned mercenary replied hoarsely, glancing unpleasantly at the speaker.
"How much longer will this go on? I'm sick of jumping like a saiga through anomalies and creatures, just to take down a few Freedomers..."
Several more disgruntled exclamations followed him. Vizir could only sigh. He knew the guys were expressing their dissatisfaction with the prolonged mission this way, but that didn't mean it didn't annoy him. For the umpteenth time, he had to answer this almost standard question.
"Varyag," Vizir said, this time with a noticeable Eastern accent, addressing another mercenary. "When the Freedomers leave their base, then it will all be over."
"And why the hell would the clients want their base?" a loud voice exclaimed from the side.
"That's what I'm saying!" Varyag immediately chimed in. "If they had said to kill all the Freedomers or at least sneak into the base for something. But no, we can't completely clear out Freedom, nor can we go into their base until they leave themselves! Maybe we should hang posters opposite their entrances and exits so they pack up and leave, huh? Because it's taking them too long to get the hint."
"Guys, enough," the mulatto replied, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose. "These are the client's requirements, and we must follow them. Moreover, I know no more than you; I have the same level of access as all of you. Only Bismarck knows the main information about the mission, and his group is currently in the Wild Territory. First, we deal with the free agents, then we get further instructions."
"It's good for the Germans; they sit there and don't worry while we're putting ourselves under bullets!"
"Yeah, we'll have to go to Dushman with a complaint later..."
"Dushman will hang you on that complaint later!"
Gradually, the discontent subsided. The mercenaries understood perfectly well that in this situation, they were just pawns, used in a way they didn't understand. But such light bickering was almost the only way for them to relieve stress, as they couldn't drink or entertain themselves in any other way on the mission.
And they all agreed on one thing: whatever the client was looking for and whatever he wanted to achieve, he would have to pay a considerable price.
Chekhov's office.
I feel the girl freeze like a mouse and nervously turn her head to look into my eyes. I meet her gaze and see a faint, desperate hope that I will agree to the terms, but... As much as I want to help her, acting against my own interests so rashly would be foolish.
"You, Chekhov, have misunderstood something," I say after a moment's thought. "Shnyga and Liza are nobody to me; I'm just fulfilling Sidirovich's request to escort the girl here. If you want me to help you with the mercenaries, you'll have to pay me separately."
"Really?" the leader of Freedom said sadly and, turning on his heel without a word, walked to his desk, picked up an ashtray, and quickly stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette. "This complicates everything..."
Liza briskly removes my hand from her face and jumps aside. Furrowed brows, trembling fingers, and plump lips, eyes full of moisture, and a sniffling nose. It's clear the girl is on the verge of hysterics but is trying not to give in. My heart literally squeezed with pity at this sight, but I was not going to give in.
On the other hand, there was a frowning Chekhov, who was clearly puzzled by this outcome. Did he really think I was some kind of family friend or something, that I would gladly agree to go after the mercenaries for free? And if he had at least given a purely symbolic reward, but no! Escort, a clinic, in short, everything he was supposed to provide anyway, in good conscience. After all, he was the one who didn't keep an eye on his man.
"I'm not refusing this job entirely," I repeat the main point again. "I just want fair payment for my services."
"There are difficulties with that, kid," the Freedomer chuckled, spreading his hands. "I don't really want to pay someone who's willing to abandon their neighbor in need. If you had agreed right away, I would have gladly paid you after the job was done, but now... And yes, you dealt with the chimera and helped us a lot, but that's all. So, take your reward from Ashot; he's in the two-story box outside; you won't miss him. And you can enjoy our hospitality as long as you want. Not for free, of course."
"Understood," I reply briefly, sighing and turning towards the exit. It's even a bit insulting... Leaving forever, of course, I wasn't planning to – Sidirovich's request must be fulfilled to the end, but I'll have to wait until Freedom deals with the mercenaries themselves. Hmm, maybe I should look for artifacts when I rest?
"Executioner..." Liza whispered softly, grabbing the hem of my jumpsuit. "Don't leave..."
"You said 'Executioner'?" the Freedomer turned to her sharply and then looked back at me, his gaze more serious. "So you're the Hunter's apprentice?"
"Yeah," I nod grimly, crossing my arms. "Scourge of mutants, hunter of bandits. So what?"
"That changes everything," he replied with a slight, almost feigned chuckle, trying to justify himself. "Forgive me for this charade, but I didn't really want to hire a shady character in rags whom I saw for the first time. In general, I only offered this job because you brought this beauty here. You could have wandered around the area, searched, as they say... Ah, well. I'm hiring you, if you're still willing. No hard feelings, I hope?"
I look at him with considerable skepticism. His recent behavior has greatly spoiled my mood. Of course, he could be understood; some bum shows up, albeit with such a trophy, and on top of that demands a reward for the job, but... All right, damn it. I'll help only because I feel sorry for Liza; otherwise, I would have left this place long ago.
"No hard feelings. But now I want a container with artifacts for the chimera and seventy grand for the mercenary job. In addition, you'll provide three meals a day for both of us, decent lodging, ammunition, and, if necessary, technician services."
"Aren't you asking for too much, Executioner?" Chekhov asked insinuatingly.
"Not much. And I guarantee that within this week, the mercenary problem will be completely resolved."
"Let's say I agree," the stalker said after a minute of silence, sighing deeply. "Lodging, food, and ammo – okay. But money and artifacts only after the problem is solved."
"Deal," I nod briefly. "But first, let someone take us to Shnyga so Liza can at least see him."
"Of course," Chekhov replied, sitting down at his desk and picking up his PDA. "I'll warn all my guys about you. You can wander wherever you want and all that. And, Executioner, don't take too long, okay?"
"Okay."
"Then it's settled. You guys go downstairs for now; they'll show you the way."
I left the office with mixed feelings. I could understand the leader of Freedom, but I didn't really like it. Oh well. I won't dwell on this unpleasant topic; it will only spoil my mood. What's more important now... I need to explain myself to Liza while there's still time. Of course, I won't apologize, and there's no reason to, but at least explaining why I acted this way wouldn't hurt.
"Liz," I call her softly as soon as we are downstairs. "I want to..."
"I understand," the girl replied in a colorless voice, averting her gaze. "You don't have to and aren't obligated to help my brother and me for free, especially at the risk of your life..."
"But in the office, you..."
"I was afraid you would leave me alone," she said unexpectedly firmly. "You're the only person I can trust here. You didn't hand me over to those scoundrels, saved me from that terrible creature, brought me here, and didn't do anything to me along the way. As soon as the realization hit that our paths might diverge if Chekhov didn't pay you, it was like a veil appeared before my eyes..."
"Okay," I replied with a slight smile and gently patted her shoulder.
A little time passes before a Freedomer in glasses comes out to us. He appeared from a small doorway in the wall, where an iron ladder was hammered in. A green jumpsuit, typical for their clan, glasses with thick lenses on a hooked nose, and a sparse fuzz above his upper lip.
"You're here for Shnyga, right?" he asks us immediately.
Liza nods readily, and the Freedomer beckons us to follow him with an inviting gesture. We walk towards the passage through which he came to us and find ourselves in a small generator room. Brick walls without any finishing and a steadily working device powering the entire base. Next to the generator was a small iron table with several untidy stacks of papers. Nothing else remarkable here, except for a closed door plastered with posters of varying degrees of obscenity.
"He's in there, behind this door," the Freedomer says, pointing to it with his hand. "Uh, I need to introduce myself first, right? My name is Pyatno. I won't say why they nicknamed me that, uh... In short, I'm here to look after the generator and Shnyga."
"How is he?" before entering, the girl asks, and Pyatno freezes in place, as if struck by lightning. By the time we descended, Liza had managed to pull her mask back on.
"Uh?" he drawls stupidly. "Well, I'm not a doctor, and it's hard for me... Bad, in short. As Doc says, we don't have the necessary medicine, or anything, really. So we can't help him at all, and he doesn't want to get up. We've locked him
up for a week, for two, and for three. When he gets out, he almost immediately breaks down and... And who are you to him? Girlfriend or sister?"
"Sister," Liza replies in a sad voice.
"Then I want to say right away that there's very little of the old Shnyga left..."
"What do you mean?!" she exclaims loudly, but the guy avoids the answer.
"You'll see for yourselves," he says and holds out a small key. "Here, for the door."
I take the metal key from his hands, walk past Liza straight to the door, and insert it into the keyhole. One turn, a second, a click. It's open. I cautiously open the door and enter first. The room greets me with semi-darkness; the only light source here is a small window near the ceiling. Beneath it is a bed, on which Shnyga lies curled up.
Liza carefully slips past me, immediately approaching her brother as closely as possible. She gently touches his hand with both palms, shakes him slightly, and tenderly calls him by name, asking her brother to wake up. He initially grumbles reluctantly, waves her away, but eventually wakes up. He lifts himself on his elbow, turns to Liza, and his eyes widen in surprise. She, judging by her convulsive sigh, responds in kind.
I don't know what Denis was like before using forbidden substances, but now he's a dried-up skeleton with sagging skin and glassy eyes... In some ways, he resembled this girl, but very distantly. Most likely, because of the drugs. One can only guess how much harm his addiction has caused him.
"Liza?" he asks his sister in a hoarse, disbelieving voice and reaches out his hands to her face, stroking her cheeks with trembling palms. "You're real..."
"Brother..." she replies tearfully, leaning forward and hugging him tightly. "I have so much to tell you!.."
At this point, I decide to leave the room; after all, it's a family meeting, a long-awaited reunion of brother and sister. In short, I don't belong there. I step over the small threshold and close the door to muffle the voices coming from inside. Pyatno, by this time, had already buried himself in papers. I walk a little closer, peek into one of them, and realize it's calculations of fuel consumption for the generator.
"Uh, this is confidential information!" the Freedomer exclaims awkwardly, leaning his body over the table, just so I wouldn't see anything.
"Sorry," I apologize, holding my open palms up as a gesture of reconciliation. "I couldn't help myself. But I don't care about your fuel matters. Don't you want to talk?"
"About what?" he asks, looking me up and down with narrowed eyes.
"About the mercenary attacks," and before he can say anything, I continue. "Chekhov hired me to investigate this matter. You can't tell by looking at me now, but I'm not one of the worst hunters; I follow the trail well. In short, I'd like some details."
"And why didn't your boss tell you anything?" my interlocutor asks in response.
"I came here because of that girl," I say, pointing behind me with my thumb. "I decided to finish one job first, and then take on the other. I want to be at least a little aware of what's happening before I go to your boss. So, will you tell me? I'll buy you a bottle of something you prefer in your bar later."
"Uh, deal," the Freedomer says, relaxing and smiling slightly, the folds of skin on his forehead smoothing out. "I don't know much; I'm more on the, uh, technical side here than the combat side. In short, about two or three months ago, just before that Big Emission, some hellish stuff started happening. Someone began wiping out all our squads, uh, throughout the Dark Valley. We couldn't figure out who and how for a long time, but about three weeks ago, if, uh, I'm not mistaken, fate brought us one mercenary. He exposed our commandant – he turned out to be a rat, and what a rat! He was feeding information to the mercenaries."
"And then what?"
"And then that's it," Pyatno sighs deeply, and his shoulders slump. "The mercenary left, well, that's understandable, who would, uh, kill their own? In short, we, uh, fought with them a bit, even killed some, but that's all. Chekhov wanted to use the old geodetic installation to detect these scum, but, uh, apparently, the commandant managed to tell them about it. They blew up one of the three necessary antennas. So the conflict died down, though not completely. We can't find their lair, and they have no information about our squads. The boss, of course, ordered us to search everywhere, but, uh, it was in vain."
"So, now..." but my speech was interrupted by a strange rumble from the small room.
I turn on my heels and rush into the room to see Liza lying on the floor in tears, and Shnyga looming over her with a frenzied look. I cross the room in one wide stride and hit him on the forehead with an open palm, forcing him off his sister. The addict hisses from the sudden pain, squints his tear-filled eyes, and rises from his coccyx with a roar to attack me. He swings too wide and slow, so I, despite the sudden pain in my torso, manage to land a weak blow to the solar plexus.
Congratulations, user! Your Unarmed Combat skill has reached the Experienced rank.
Now...
I mentally swipe away the notification and look closely at Shnyga. He clutches the upper part of his abdomen, bends over, wheezes, and finally retreats to the bed, clumsily falling onto it and breaking into a deep cough. I turn my gaze to Liza, who was trying to crawl away from her brother. A bruise spreads across her right cheek, her leather jacket unbuttoned to the navel, her stretched-out T-shirt sticking out, and a frightened gaze fixed on the Freedomer, who is looking at us like a wolf.
"You... YOU!.." he rasps, but I don't listen to his empty threats. Well, well, let him try to complain to anyone.
"What happened, Liz?" I approach her and yank her to her feet. Only then does she look at me and whisper barely audibly.
"H-he... he wanted me to bring him some weed... And then, when I refused, he said he knew someone who would..." here her left hand goes to her groin, and Liza swallows the word nervously. The girl is trembling and crying at the same time. "He'll give him half a kilo of weed. I couldn't stand it, I slapped him, and he..."
"What happened here?" Pyatno runs into the room only now.
"Something unpleasant," I exhale through my teeth. "Let's go, Liz. We won't linger here."