I sigh heavily and begin to carefully get to my feet, holding onto the metal wall of the container with my healthy hand, and before I stand up fully, I grab the revolver that fell from my grip. And first of all, I decide to reload it, just in case of unforeseen danger. I insert the barrel between my thighs, hold it, and push out the cylinder. And then, the scheme, brought to automatism by the skill, turned into a tedious task for a couple of minutes. First, I remove all the spent casings, then I insert cartridges into the empty chambers one by one. As soon as everything was ready, I put the cylinder back in and put the pistol in the holster.
Once the weapon issue was resolved, I had to take off my suit to deal with my injured arm. Even remembering what it cost me to do it with one hand caused incredible mental pain... As soon as I freed my arm, the first thing I did was examine my swollen and reddened hand. Thank the Zone that I can still move it a little and even feel all my fingers. So, nothing serious, but there will be a lot of headaches.
I reach into my bag for the army first-aid kit and, feeling the pain in my right arm only increasing, finish the blister of painkillers I had started long ago. I squeeze the remaining pills directly from the pack, swallow them, and wince from the strong bitterness that spreads across my tongue. I have to wash it down with water, hoping that the unpleasant sensation will wash away. And only after that do I pick up the stim-syringe, which I immediately inject into my bicep and squeeze its contents inside. And now I had to do the almost most unpleasant task in this laboratory - putting on the suit...
I didn't even remember the healing artifact stored in the container.
Laboratory complex X-18, third level, room with the pseudogiant, a few minutes later.
The corpse I was looking for turned out to be buried under debris of boxes, barrels, and other junk in the far right corner of this huge room. I didn't have to guess for long what happened to the poor fellow - a cracked skull. He probably got hit in the head with a barrel or something else hard and fell. With the toe of my right boot, I clear away the debris, revealing old and torn clothes - a grayed lab coat, faded jeans with a PDA clearly in the pocket, and black shoes covered in a thick layer of dust.
"Bobkin Vitaly Andreevich," I read aloud the name from the deceased's badge and reach for the device in his pocket. "I hope you don't mind... Well, of course, it won't have any charge..."
And again, I have to revive the device by changing the battery. This time, I was even luckier - after the device loaded, it turned out that it had more files saved on it than the PDA of another scientist. But I had no mood to study anything on it, so I just poked the audio recording titled "From the Head of the Department."
"Hello, colleague!" Kalugin's cheerful, even perky and self-satisfied voice is heard. "I am pleased to inform you that the Group has reviewed your application for transfer to the department studying the influence of psi-radiation on living organisms and has agreed to it. Your access code is nine-two-five-three. I look forward to our joint work. Sincerely, Head of Laboratory, Kalugin Petr Ilyich."
That's all, now I can move on. Only... I want to do something before that. I turn on my heels and head towards the dead mutants in another part of the room, walk past the killed pseudogiant, step over the creature, and find myself in front of the decapitated bloodsucker. Despite everything, including my order not to make a fuss, it still engaged in combat... And helped me. I don't know if I would have managed to fire those few shots if it hadn't distracted that evil burer.
Alas, I won't be able to bury him with dignity here and in this state, so I'll at least pay him my last respects. I take out the bottle of firewater I had prepared from my bag, unscrew the cap, and pour half of it onto the blood-soaked concrete floor. Then I place it on the floor.
"Forgive me for not protecting you," I say loudly and clearly, and my voice echoes with a light, rolling resonance through the laboratory. "And forgive me for not drinking in your honor, although you deserve it... I still have to get out of here, but as soon as it's all over, I'll definitely have a couple of glasses for you. Thank you for being a part of my journey... May the place where you end up be more favorable for those like you. Have a good journey, and I... will go."
Standing there for a couple of minutes over the body of the killed mutant, I turn and walk towards the exit of this hangar room, leaving behind the bodies of perhaps the most cherished creatures of the Zone and the unsolved mystery of how to open these hermetic gates. Of course, I could have rummaged around more, but... my arm desperately needs more qualified help. Ha-a, I can only dream that if I had a master key to all such gates, then all the secrets of the O-Consciousness secret laboratories would already be at my feet.
I carefully climb the stairs, pick up my fort - at the moment, my only salvation from mutants - and look around carefully. No one... No matter what room I looked into, I couldn't find a single stranger. Did they run away? Good, if so.
I enter the main room with the elevator column in the center and turn towards a door locked with a combination lock, constantly glancing behind me. Before I reach the panel with the numbers, a strange but palpable field envelops me, like the one that monster used! I quickly turn around and see no one in front of me, strange. And at that moment, it begins to condense, but... it doesn't try to harm me. It just gently envelops me, as if a blind person trying to understand who I am with their hands. A poltergeist?
Gradually, this field subsides, but does not disappear entirely. As if on the verge of consciousness, I feel someone touching me. Why are you all so tactile here? With a light beep of buttons, I enter the correct combination, and the locked door opens, releasing a soft blue ball of light and blue flashes into the light. It approaches me, extending something resembling tentacles towards me, and through the suit, it touches my face, insistently studying it. One moment, and the poltergeist flares up red, even crimson. Before I can do anything, it fades, turning into a pale imitation of the blue version and flies further down the corridor.
It seems that it remembered something not very good, as soon as it touched my face... Well, at least it didn't attack me suddenly, and that's good. Taking a deep breath, I mechanically reach for my pistol with my right hand, but only wince from the severe pain that has seized my hand. Damn it!
Before the main and most important room of my journey here, I am met by a semi-empty antechamber. A room four by three, with several columns, cracked walls, floor, and ceiling. In the corner, right under the green special boxes marked "Danger, Chemistry!", a jelly was merrily bubbling. The room itself was plunged into complete darkness and was illuminated only by an acidic anomaly. Without lingering here, I move on.
"Wow," I whistle at the sight before me.
A high ceiling, about seven meters, an isolated observation deck on the second floor, and a lot of wires stretching from it towards several elongated and broken flasks. The symphony of iron, electronics, and high-strength glass looked pathetic now more than ever. Fragments of the shooter were scattered throughout the room, the wiring was torn out, and the metal casing was bent.
To the left, there is another doorway with a small staircase leading upwards, but I go to the right, into the observation room. And it greets me with complete devastation - human bones, scattered objects like broken monitors and other things, and only one folder with documents was untouched and lay as before.
"Laboratory report on the study of small and medium-range psi-activity on living beings," I read the title of the document from the folder and open the first page, immediately immersing myself in reading... "Very interesting..."
Only I am too stupid, or science is too primitive, but I don't understand a damn thing about what is written there. Eh, I should really make a copy, even a couple, but how? My hand doesn't work, and I have nothing to write with. Stop... System, didn't you have a note-taking function?
Yes, dear user.
"Then, can you transfer the entire text from here to notes?"
It will take some time, dear user.
And you must keep the documents open and view them with your own eyes for the System to access them. Do you agree?
"Yes, but let's do it later, and now," I continue speaking and throw my bag onto the table, open it, and the first thing that catches my eye are two containers. "What a fool I am, I completely forgot about it..."
I pull out the container with the unique artifact
and press it to my wounded part, feeling my hand begin to heal, and a kaleidoscope of visions flashes before my eyes, which the miracle stone so carefully and gently slips in. How I become famous, rich, gain power over those suffering from illness... And as soon as my hand is completely healed, I put the artifact back in my bag with incredible regret. And I myself, clutching my head with both hands, slowly and quietly crouch down, barely swaying. My head started to spin, the picture before my eyes doubled, and something completely different, unreal, was constantly being slipped in. Ha-a-a, why didn't Petrukha have this? Or am I with him for too long, and he is slowly eroding my mental strength?
I straighten and clench my right hand's fingers, feeling my palm regain its former strength, and hurry to take off my suit to inject a dose of antirad.
"Well, now I can return to the surface..."
I leave the main laboratory room, moving from room to room until I reach the first floor, where I had slept until now. The way back was completely calm, no test subjects, no other mutants, except for a sadly flying poster, at all. And in a cheerful mood, I begin to climb the long stairs.
Laboratory complex X-18, entrance.
To say that I was stunned when I saw the closed door would be an understatement. I was completely broken, as was my heart, which had taken a blow to the gut and fallen down into the depths of my soul. Trying to remain calm, I approach the electronic locks and swipe the keycards through them, hoping that this will help me leave this damned place.
But no, the locks only "cheerfully" beeped, announcing that the door was open, and with it itself... nothing happened, it remained the same strong and immobile monolith. I lean with all my might, trying to move it even a little, I try to turn the door mechanism myself, but my hands simply slip off this damn wheel! In powerlessness before the circumstances, I kick the door with the toe of my boot, causing only a hollow sound of impact, nothing more.
I was locked in.
Freedom Base, some time ago.
Bulba entered Chekhov's office with a pounding heart, still not knowing what the leader of Freedom might demand of him. He hadn't messed up lately, and he had gone on successful raids, maybe a promotion? But seeing that besides Chekhov, Chert, the bald freeman, was also in the office, he immediately understood that the matter was much more serious.
"Come in, man," Chekhov greets him with a tired smile, and Bulba sits on the only free chair. "I have a very important but delicate matter for you..."
"Don't beat around the bush, Chekhov, you know that for Freedom I always..." the freeman, who had been faithfully giving his all to their clan for a couple of years, says hastily.
"I know, that's why I called you," the chief nods readily and clasps his hands on the table. "So, the situation is this... Remember Palach? He's a stalker who..."
"Who helped us with the mercenaries," Bulba continues for him. "Yes, I remember, he seemed like a good guy, what about it?"
"No matter what Duty says about itself, we also return debts, and with interest," Chekhov says somewhat ominously, and the silently sitting Chert, sprawled on the sofa, nods in confirmation. "Our friend has gotten into serious trouble - he signed up to carry something very valuable for the eggheads from Yantar. Someone didn't like this, and this someone hired a whole squad of mercenaries to intercept the goods..."
"Is Palach under siege now?" the freeman asks quickly, almost jumping up. "We need to tell all our guys right now so that..."
"Quiet, don't get hot-headed," the leader cools his ardor. "Palach is fine, the mercenaries couldn't find him, but we still have to help him. And so we will set a trap for these blue rats ourselves."
"And here we need your help," Chert interjects. "You and the stalker have almost the same build, and if you look from behind, you can easily mistake you both..."
"So, you want me to dress up as a stalker and fool the mercenaries while our guys are in ambush?" Bulba asks, arching his right eyebrow, to which both stalkers in front of him nod. "Then you should have started with that! Why did I go to drama school for nothing..."
Dark Valley, some time later.
Jackal strode forward furiously, and his exosuit let out mournful groans of worn-out servomotors. Gradually, rage washed over him... Palach turned out to be some elusive devil! A forced march in full gear, like in the good old days, and they actually managed to reach the Dump - they even opened a new path, but it was all in vain. The stalker had vanished without a trace, they were only a step too late...
Oh, how glad he was when the Informant contacted him and gave him a tip about the target. It was very close, within arm's reach. Right under the freedom base, near the anomalous field under the unfinished gallery, but what do they care about Palach? If they don't make too much noise, everything will go smoothly.
Dark Valley, same time.
Bulba sat by the campfire he had made himself, demonstratively warming his hands, then boiling water for the umpteenth time, trying to quell his anxiety. He knows what the guys are capable of, he believes that they will definitely save him, but this faith and knowledge do not in any way reduce the tension of the situation. At Chert's insistence, he changed into a stalker suit, one of the few lying in their warehouse, and swapped his favorite NATO rifle for a Kalash.
"P-s-s," a hiss comes from the small radio in his breast pocket. "They're coming, be ready."
The freeman nods imperceptibly, as if the invisible interlocutor can hear him, and continues to wait. Until a light metallic hum is heard behind him, and he, unable to bear it, turns towards its source. A strong hand, clad in steel, grabs him by the collar and lifts him off the ground. Bulba, maintaining his confidence, quickly surveys the entire squad: one in an exose, four others in simple body armor. They fell for it...
"Where's the artifact?" the main mercenary asks menacingly, drawing a blade from its sheath and pressing its tip directly to the freeman's throat.
"I-I'll g-give it to you now," he says, pretending to stutter, putting on a pitiful expression. Let them be disgusted to deal with him, let them think that Palach is not worth any effort, and then... "It's h-here."
"Pathetic freak," Jackal chuckles, relaxed.
The tenacious grip loosens, and the freeman falls to the ground, painfully hitting his tailbone on the hard soil. He rolls over and crawls like that, on all fours, to the bag left at the other end of his camp. He only pauses for a moment to whisper into the radio:
"Finish the freaks," he hisses angrily, immediately breaking into a run and jumping over the barricades, behind which the freeman presses himself to the ground, trying not to stand out in the fight.
The first shot rings out, a sniper shot, followed by automatic bursts, curses in a foreign language, and a cheerful: "For Freedom!" Soon, the mercenary squad was completely destroyed, and the group of the freest people gained one more exosuit...
Jackal had indeed made a mistake.