Dead City, mercenary base, indefinite time.
Dushman sat with his legs spread wide, his hand resting on an old, cracked table, and loudly tapped his index fingernail on the tabletop. He grimly pondered the current situation. Chancellor's detachment, almost the largest in their syndicate, had disappeared without a trace in the Wild Territory of the Rostok plant; Vizir had also vanished there. No, a man like him was always accustomed to the deaths of his subordinates, but two whole detachments so quickly, almost at the same time...
"I'll have to send Aru to check everything. I smell an enemy," the mercenary whispers, turns to face the table, picks up a bottle with a dark amber liquid, and pours it into a wide glass, three fingers high. "Ha-a..."
Someone knocked on his office door, and it immediately opened. A broad-shouldered mercenary in a blue-black exoskeleton entered noisily and stopped in the center, looking down at Dushman.
"Are you being insolent again, Shakal?" the mercenary leader grins crookedly, fixing his gray, almost lifeless eyes on both lenses of the exosuit helmet.
"You let that group of clean-boys through. Why?" a hoarse voice rumbles through the small room.
"Do you think I have to report to you, Shakal?" Dushman asks sarcastically, inadvertently touching the handle of his Desert Eagle with his fingers. "Although... if you were really that brave, you wouldn't be meeting me in that tin can. However, it's worth clarifying... Their leader, Lebedev, shared valuable information with me regarding our main order. Now we know the location of several laboratories and how to open them."
"Is this unrelated to Shrike?" comes another question.
"Are you jealous, Jackal?" the mercenary leader sneers, putting on a vile grin. He holds this mask for only a couple of seconds before his face becomes
neutral and unreadable. "Now, let's talk business. The contract is for a neutral, someone called Executioner. Find him, kill him, take the artifact, and deliver it here. The target was last seen at the Cordon, after which he headed for the Dark Valley. This information is reliable. And, just in case, send the Wolfhound squad to Yantar, have them track the stalkers' movements."
"You think he'll escape me?" the mercenary in the exoskeleton scoffs incredulously.
"Do I need to give you a few more lessons on how to talk to me?"
"No, sir."
The Dark Valley, night.
I couldn't make it to the Freedom base during the day or evening; the road was too long, and I didn't want to linger anywhere. The mercenaries, though they had only just started acting, but... I admit, I'm a little creeped out by the realization that for the first time, such a group has declared a hunt for me. And it's one thing if it were bandits or, God forbid, neutrals, but syndicates? It seems only in the laboratory will I be able to calm down a bit.
Cheerful conversations can be heard ahead, accompanied by the crackling of a campfire. A Freedomers' checkpoint... I need to go around it, or I'll have to sit with them until morning. I cautiously peek out from behind the bushes to get a look. A stretched tent, a few mattresses underneath, some crates, and four stalkers in green suits were sitting right by the campfire. Two more stood by the makeshift barricades, peering into the night darkness.
I decide to go around them on the right side, staying close to the rocky formation. I pass bushes, large boulders, and eventually find myself a good hundred meters away from the Freedom squad. They definitely won't spot me here without NVGs. And now my path lies to the east. But first, I take out my PDA and go to the contacts section, noting with displeasure that the battery shows only thirty percent charge... I'll have to change it soon; only Freedom has charging here. Haaah.
Executioner: Arrived in the Dark Valley.
07/31/2011, 01:02.
Chekhov: You're late... Should I send the guys for you?
07/31/2011, 1:02.
Executioner: No need.
07/31/2011, 1:03.
Chekhov: Okay, man. Here's a warning from me - try not to stick your neck out for the next day or two. Just half an hour ago, a large detachment of mercenaries was spotted at the Garbage. They stopped in the ruins by the road; they won't go out at night.
07/31/2011, 1:04.
Executioner: How?
07/31/2011, 1:04.
Chekhov: Sorry, man. I had to leak the info about you to lure them into a trap. Don't worry, Freedom doesn't betray its friends.
07/31/2011, 1:05.
Chekhov: Once we're done with them, I'll let you know. Until then, try to stay low-key and keep your ears open. Oh, and one more thing. You came from the Garbage side, right?
07/31/2011, 1:06.
Executioner: Yes.
07/31/2011, 1:06.
Chekhov: I'm sending you a marker on the map. It's our clan's stash with supplies. Don't expect much; we have many such caches everywhere, so that... Ah, you know yourself. But you can eat, drink, and even get treated if necessary. Hope to see you soon.
07/31/2011, 1:08
I didn't say directly that as soon as I finish my business here, I'll head towards Yantar. No need, and I might offend the person, and this way, it just didn't work out. By the way, if you look at the map, the marker isn't that far from me. And it's right on the way; I can drop by and check. I wasn't worried that it might be a trap; Chekhov wouldn't have had time to organize anything like that. I slightly adjust the brightness on the built-in NVGs and continue my route.
The cache turned out to be a small backpack, hidden in a cluster of large stones and covered with stone chips on top. It's unlikely anyone would have bothered to look inside without knowing something was supposed to be there. I pick up the backpack and decide to check its contents first. Although I don't think Freedom is plotting anything bad for me, it's wise to be cautious in such matters. You never know.
So, all sorts of canned goods, a set of underwear and socks, a small and thin blanket, a couple of canteens with water, crackers, and other useful things like a can opener, a lighter, and so on. Nothing criminal so far... Whoa, what's this? My palm felt something small and hard in the side pocket. This item turns out to be a small rectangular box made of hard plastic, no bigger than a matchbox. A ribbed surface and barely visible letters in the dark. Could it be a GPS tracker? Hmm, it's unlikely to be a planned operation; it seems like a typical procedure for such caches, but the fact that Chekhov "forgot" to mention it...
Well, I'll have to take it with me. It seems there's an anomaly zone southeast of the factory; let them guess how I managed to wander there...
Freedom Base, Chekhov's office.
"Got it!" Yar exclaims loudly, making Chekhov frown and sigh heavily. "Okay, okay, boss, I understand, I'll be quieter... By the way, can I ask a question?"
"Go ahead," the Freedom leader replies, leaning back on the sofa.
"Why do we need to track Palach with a tracker?"
"Just in case," Chekhov formulates his answer after a moment's thought. "So he doesn't get into trouble with the mercenaries; this way, we can track him and, if necessary, send people to warn him."
"Hmm-m," Yar grunts after a few minutes of silence. "Looks like it won't work..."
"What is it?"
"The tracker is stuck in one place," the technician explains. "Where the Snorks are gathered. And how did he even get there..."
"Damn it!.." Chekhov wearily rubs his temples with both hands. "Haaah, all that's left is to pretend we weren't trying to track him at all, and this tracker is just a standard measure to prevent clan property from being stolen."
Approaches to the laboratory, half an hour later.
Having dealt with the tracking issue and shown that it's better to deal with me honestly, I finally reach the abandoned factory. The Freedomers sure left their mark here during my absence; they've shaken up almost all the dust on the floor... I walk deeper into its premises, then turn right to descend into the room I need, but... I go back and grab one of the mattresses. Sleeping outside is too dangerous, and I'm too tired to spend a sleepless night searching for documents and trying to get out of the Dark Valley territory.
I'll open the door, close it behind me, and first of all, take a nap. I'll leave the exploration of the lab for tomorrow. It's better to approach such a task with a clear, and most importantly, rested mind. Dragging the mattress closer to the laboratory entrance, I throw it on the floor and reach into my chest pocket for two magnetic cards. I try one key, then the second, but only hear a refusal sound... M-m, my heart sank, thinking it was all in vain, but it's too early to despair, so I try to swipe the key cards over the electronic locks simultaneously. And, lo and behold, the hermetic door mechanism started to move. Metal scraped, the door hummed, and dust mixed with plaster fell from the wall. Only a moment separated me from the mysterious X-18.
The door creaked and opened, revealing its leaf only a dozen centimeters. I exert all my available strength to move it, and it reluctantly yields, opening completely. Yeah, I didn't consider the door at all and didn't bring any lubricant for the mechanism, what if it gets stuck completely. I'm afraid to close it now. Did Strelok close it at all? Unlikely, otherwise the military wouldn't have been able to get in without access keys.
Ah, what the hell. It will be much worse if the door gets stuck permanently than if unexpected guests arrive. At least I can shoot them. So I squeeze through the opening and find myself in a small vestibule – a long, narrow gray corridor with a couple of blinking emergency lights mounted near the ceiling. To my left and right, I immediately see electronic locks similar to the ones on the outer door. And there's nothing else here, except for a multi-year layer of dust. I didn't bother to check what would happen if I swiped the key cards over them, and just went further.
At its end, the corridor gives way to a staircase leading far down. Ordinary concrete steps, nothing remarkable about this staircase, and I begin my descent. Five minutes, ten, fifteen... I went through at least twenty flights of stairs, after which I stopped counting. Ten, no, more than ten floors – that's how deep this laboratory is. Hah, while someone is descending here, one could destroy all important and not-so-important data.
Only after fifteen minutes or so did I reach the reception area, familiar from the game. White and green walls, gray tiles, and dimly lit lamps that forced me to turn off my NVGs, as they were too glaring. To my right, there was an indentation in the wall with a glass panel made of many squares, behind which a skeleton in worn clothing was hidden, face down on the tabletop. And ahead, in the center of the three-by-three room, was the elevator shaft.
Before settling in here, I want to check this dead man. After all, I have to spend the whole night with him; I need to get to know him better... I go a little further, turn right, and find myself in a tiny alcove where the unknown man, dressed in gray pants and a faded blue short-sleeved shirt, found his final resting place. A hole, as if from a gunshot, gaped in the skull of the unknown, near his temple, and the murder weapon was found right in the deceased's hand. An old Makarov pistol, covered in dust and rust.
"Looks like you met something that scared you to death, huh? Decided to go on your own terms," my lips whisper as I start examining the table.
The rectangular table was literally piled with all sorts of junk. Pencils, pens, a stack of documents, an overturned mug, the contents of which had spilled onto the tabletop. There was nothing truly important on the tattered papers: who came, who left, when,
for what purpose... Moreover, most of these documents were spoiled. By a small trickle of blood from the guard's head, and by what looked like tea or coffee.
"What was your name?" I ask the silent skeleton and reach for the old badge hanging from his shirt pocket. "Grebenshuk Ivan Stepanovich, security guard... of the Agro-Industrial Complex? Haha, imagine that. Did potatoes kill you all here, huh? Alright, alright, I'm just tired..."
I move away from the skeleton and, right behind the elevator shaft, throw the mattress on the floor, on which I was to spend the next few hours trying to rest and regain my strength. I considered it unnecessary to take off my suit; after all, who knows what this laboratory was involved in, and it's possible that there's simply nothing to breathe here. Forget it; it's uncomfortable, but at least I won't inhale any chemicals. Following the mattress, I also lay down my bag with my belongings, lean the assault rifle against the wall, and carefully lie down on my right side, propping my head on my bent arm under my helmet.
"Good night, Ivan Stepanych," I say finally, yawning widely.
Laboratory complex X-18, same time.
After long years, they could feel the gusts of fresh air entering the depths of their underground home. And they were in indescribable excitement. Pain! The creatures, long accustomed to life in the underground laboratory, felt endless pain that someone or something had brought a little bit of the surface into their lives. Their long-abandoned and forgotten Motherland... Whoever or whatever came to them, they will tear it apart at all costs. They will break bones, shred flesh, and devour what remains...
But the iron door did not yield to them again. And the bloody thirst of the abandoned and forgotten people will smolder in their twisted and tormented souls until the sudden and unexpected guest of their domain decides to move further...
Factory, a few hours later.
The wounded Bloodsucker ran without looking back from a sudden enemy in the form of a pack of several Pseudodogs that managed to fight him off. The torn muscles were still bleeding, not having regenerated completely. Shelter... He needed a place where he could wait out the night and gather strength to hunt weaker prey. And then he noticed the old ruins, the name of which his weakened mind couldn't recall.
Stealthily making his way onto their territory, he slowly and cautiously proceeded through the long corridors, looking around, until he accidentally stumbled upon a small room with a staircase leading to the basement. An ideal place for a creature like him, so the Bloodsucker immediately rushed down, where at the end of another corridor he saw a thick iron door with a passage leading deep down. And, not being a fool, the mutant closed the passage behind him, until the loud click of the latches engaging.
Laboratory complex X-18, the next morning.
I woke up lying on my stomach, with a nagging feeling of an empty stomach. I didn't eat last night, and now... I slowly get up from the makeshift bed, shake my head a little to wake myself up, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice something that makes me jerk aside in surprise. A meter away from me, a wounded Bloodsucker sat on the floor, quietly puffing. How did I not hear him right away? Apparently, the helmet significantly muffles weak noise sources...
I look closely at my guest, noting that compared to Stronglav, he looks incredibly small, as if comparing a teenager and an adult man. Grayish-light skin, thin, with narrow tentacles hanging from his face with pale gray suction cups... Quite young and wounded. His right thigh, as well as his left side, are stained with blood, and it's impossible to see anything more clearly. Alas, little one, but I have no blood for you. I can only help with a first-aid kit. Hmm, I should try! I'll be a kind of experimental medic.
I take an army first-aid kit from my bag, along with water and food. This won't work for a Bloodsucker; he'll vomit or worse. Since they don't even eat meat, their digestive system has almost certainly atrophied and is incapable of processing such food. But water probably won't hurt? And further in the laboratory, he'll find someone to drink. Or he'll be killed... I won't interfere with that.
I approach the mutant. He quickly raises his head, looks at me with black eyes, flinches, and tries to recoil as if afraid. But I don't let him go far, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards me. The Bloodsucker falls awkwardly to the floor, and I inject the stimulator directly into his powerful, though slightly dried, bicep. The mutant roars in pain, breaks free, knocks me onto my backside, jumps to his feet, and to his own surprise, notices that his torn leg and side are healing. And he himself visually loses volume, drying out even more. Interesting...
And also, thanks to my unexpected visitor, one could say that the air here is quite breathable. After all, these mutants have no way to protect themselves from chemicals, which means I can safely take off my suit and eat like a human. I step aside, turning off the SZD, unfasten the metal tubes, and then take off my helmet, only to immediately latch onto a large canteen of water. After taking a few deep gulps, I detach from the neck and offer it to the Bloodsucker. He looks at me bewilderedly, and I already miss Stronglav, with whom there would have been no such problems.
"Turn it into your mouth and drink," I explain, hoping he can understand. "Like I did."
He hesitantly takes the canteen from my hands and, unable to manage, drops it on the floor, spilling the remaining liquid. I don't even have the strength to look at that guilty look, and I just turn away to start breakfast.
"Forget it," I say quietly, opening a can of food. "I'll eat now, we'll go down, and there you'll find food for yourself. Understand? Yourself. I won't help you kill other mutants."