"That's great," Valerian smiles broadly, hearing my agreement. "So, here's what you do. You'll go to the next building, our merchant is there, Shilov. Tell him you're from me, and he'll give you gear. Then go to Furgon, he's our technician, his workshop is there too, have him add you to our group chat. Oh, and don't forget to give him the bandit PDA, let him tinker with it. Got it all?"
"Go to Shilov, then to Furgon," I nod in response. "Aren't you afraid I'll run off with the gear?"
"Heh, you seem like a smart kid, I can see it in your eyes, and such foolishness needs to be explained," the stalker leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I have many friends in the Zone, otherwise I wouldn't have gathered such a group, so... If you try to escape, we won't let you live in the southern Chornobyl Exclusion Zone. You won't be able to go to the bandits either; we'll hint through our channels who killed their guys. And you'll only have two choices left. Either go to the renegades, or leave the Zone. But it seems to me, you won't leave the Zone anymore. It has put its roots in your soul."
"That's not very stalker-like..."
"We don't like rats, kid, no one does," Valerian sighs heavily. "And, for your own good, fewer questions like that. I understand you're a curious guy and all that, but conversations like this rarely end well."
"Then I'm very glad that it turned out okay this time," I smile at the corners of my lips, realizing how much I still don't know about life in the Zone. I need to be more careful in the future when choosing topics for conversation.
"That's good then," the stalker leans back in his chair. "Go where you need to go, and you're free. If we need you, we'll call you on the PDA. Farewell, Executioner."
I nod and stand up from the chair, turning and heading for the door. I close it behind me, casting a last glance at Valerian, who has now started working with documents, and head towards the merchant.
The merchant is sitting behind a crudely made counter from old boards, with a door welded from various metal parts to its side. Shilov himself is slumped in a chair, his eyes closed, tapping his fingers on the tabletop to the rhythm of the music pouring from a tape recorder. As soon as I get closer, the merchant opens his eyes and slightly lowers the music volume.
"What do you want, poor soul?" he drawls, looking me up and down.
"Valerian told me to come to you for gear."
"Ugh," he sighs loudly, standing up from the chair. "Giving out starting pay again... And why does the leader take these greenhorns?" As soon as the Sornyak group disappeared...
"Shilov, don't grumble," a muffled voice interrupts from behind.
I turn halfway around, looking at a stalker in a gray jumpsuit. Furgon, and it was him, was sitting at a table piled with various parts, and under the light of a lamp, he was tinkering with some device. The technician's face and hands were smeared with something. Muttering a curse, he pulls away and addresses me.
"Kid, throw me a rag, it's over there on the box, yeah, thanks," as soon as the cloth is in his hands, he starts wiping his hands and face. "As soon as this grumbler gives you a normal PDA, come to me, we'll set it up."
"I already have a PDA with chat access," I reply.
"And what else do you have, stalker?" Shilov seems to liven up.
"An Echo and an anomaly detector," I shrug. "I wouldn't mind some Mosin-Nagant rounds."
"Well, thank God, at least one normal stalker," the merchant smiles. "I'll give them to you now. So, body armor and rounds..."
"I also have body armor, second class," I say.
"Better than what I could give you," the merchant replies, walking around his warehouse. "So, I can't let you go completely empty-handed, and Valerian will have my hide. Instead of body armor, I'll give you a good vest, and for a small extra payment, I can give you a Bear detector; it's much better than the Echo. And, kid, don't be offended by my words."
"It's okay, how much will I have to pay extra?"
"You'll give me your detector and five thousand on top," Shilov says, walking to his table, laying out the vest, several packs of the rounds I need, and that very detector. "It's expensive, yes, but it's worth it. Increased artifact detection range combined with directional indication, you won't have to search around anymore."
"Can I pay with an artifact and dog tails?" I ask, taking the backpack off my shoulder and reaching into it. "I collected them on the way. Here."
"A Medusa and five dog tails, and you thought of the bags cleverly, kid," Shilov replies, taking my loot from the counter. "Otherwise, sometimes stalkers bring me loot for sale, it's a nightmare. Everything is smeared with blood, it stinks. And it's not just mutant scraps in blood; those can be washed. But what about parts, artifacts?"
"Ha, remember Omelet?" Furgon interjects with a smile. "The one you sent for papers?"
"Don't remind me of that scoundrel," the merchant sighs, glancing at the technician, and then looks at me, starting to tell the story. "We had a stalker in our group named Omelet. An informant left very important information, it had its own specifics, you understand, you can't just write it in the chat. And I sent this scrambled egg for the note. It was early May, the snow had long melted, and there hadn't been rain for several days. So this scoundrel managed to find a mud puddle somewhere and roll in it."
"And then this character came to demand money from Shilov for washing his clothes, he bathed in mud on Shilov's orders, so he should pay," Furgon grins widely as he tells the story. "Our merchant got so angry at him that he flipped over his counter in one motion and then chased Omelet all over the camp. Only Valerian could calm him down. And that stalker was later kicked out of our ranks for a combination of, so to speak, deeds; he had many mistakes."
"Well, it's lively here," I reply, finishing putting on the vest, which consists of eight small pockets.
"That's how we live," Shilov sighs deeply. "For every normal stalker, there are several such broken ones who just spoil everything. Oh, by the way, I completely forgot, what's your name?"
"Executioner."
"Heard it, heard it," the merchant replies, apparently noticing my surprise. "Don't be surprised, stalker. This is practically a dead-end village. Almost no news, we avoid clashes between factions. So the appearance of a promising newcomer, who in the first few days on the Cordon chopped off a bloodsucker's head with an axe, was discussed from all sides immediately."
"Ha," Furgon exclaims, slapping his knee.
"What are you raging about?" Shilov asks the technician.
"I made a bet with Ukhary," the technician says. "He thought you were like Conan the Barbarian, broad-shouldered, two meters tall. Who else would go at a bloodsucker with bare hands? I assumed you looked more modest."
"You bet a bottle,
didn't you?" the merchant raises an eyebrow.
"You wound me," the technician drawls with a smile. "Two bottles."
"I'll bring the snacks," Shilov quickly says, and then turns to me. "Are you with us? We'll sit down tomorrow evening, chat, and I'll introduce you to the others."
"Sure," I smile. "Thanks for the invitation."
"Look how polite he is," Furgon says. "Come here, we'll connect you to our chat."
"Valerian also asked me to give you the bandit PDA," I say, handing him the devices.
"A woman who knew no sorrow bought a pig," Furgon sighs. "We'll finish with you now, and I'll see what can be done. Here you go, take your PDA."
After chatting a bit more with the stalkers, I decide to head back to the village. I'll need to visit Wolf, then the Hunter, find out about my new rifle, and, if possible, test it. As soon as I reach the entrance door, Shilov calls out to me:
"If you find anything else on the way, bring it to me," he says. "I can't pay much, but I can sell you ammo and some medicine at a discount."
"Okay," I reply. "Farewell, guys."
I go outside, inhaling the smell of lit bonfires and the aroma of roasting kebabs. The stalkers were relaxing, joking, and laughing. You wouldn't even say they risk their lives every day for money. Although, after living on the Cordon for a while, I can't say it's a particularly dangerous place. There are a lot of newcomers here, and something terrible and fatal rarely happens. Except for the recent bloodsucker attack, perhaps. But otherwise? Dogs? They're easily shot with a pistol. Boars and flesh? You need a more powerful caliber for them, but they're also not particularly dangerous if you take precautions. Only radiation, anomalies, and other people pose a real threat.
And in this regard, events are starting to pick up pace. The Clear Sky vs. Renegades war has begun, which means there will soon be a series of major emissions that will open new, currently closed paths to unexplored territories. Soon, stalkers will catch Khaletsky, who sold their brothers into slavery to bandits at the Garbage, and then Scar will appear, who will resolve this situation. Then there will be Valerian's war with the bandits, and this will be my chance to earn money and reputation, and along with them, unfortunately, to make enemies among the brotherhood.
The hands begin to tremble slightly at the thought that I am consciously preparing for war, and a fear is felt deep within my soul. Fear of how this place and the System are changing me. I was never a staunch pacifist, but whenever possible, I preferred to avoid violence. But now it won't work any other way; the events of the canon will sooner or later affect all stalkers. And it's better to be on top than under. Simply running away means risking death under the bullets of the military or ending my life sitting in prison. To hide and become one of the eternal losers here, spending months on the Cordon and Predbanik, scraping by with small earnings and cheap vodka, with my new abilities?
I shake my head, driving away dark thoughts, and hurry out of the camp. I'll deal with problems as they come, and for now, I'll just prepare for the coming events. I'll improve my new skills, find better gear, and then we'll see. Maybe I'll become a hunter and hunt mutants for money?
I reached the village without incident and first went to Wolf. I need to tell him about what we discussed with Valerian and about my new group affiliation.
"You did the right thing agreeing, Executioner," Wolf nods approvingly, clapping me on the shoulder. "Valerian is a good man; he won't let his own down. Honestly, there's nothing for you to do on the Cordon anymore, and with his group, you can easily go to the Garbage, or wherever they're heading."
"Do you think Valerian will move soon?" I raise an eyebrow questioningly. "He's settled in well, trade is going. Why leave?"
"Valerian himself and some of his men will surely stay here to hold the camp," the stalker waves his hand. "It's a lucrative spot, yes. But there's nothing for ordinary stalkers to do here."
"How so?" I look at Wolf, uncomprehending.
"The closer to the Perimeter, the easier it is to trade with the military," he explains. "It's only because of trade with them that stalkerdom is still alive. No one but them can supply so much cheap food and ammunition. Besides selling supplies to stalkers, the military also acts as intermediaries between us and those who are willing to pay huge money for artifacts. And it's a stone's throw from the soldiers here, it's easy to both buy and sell, you just need to know the right people and not interfere with Sidorovich. And Valerian fulfills both these conditions."
"Now I understand, the trade is lucrative, but there's almost nothing to sell from the Cordon itself."
"Exactly," Wolf replies with a slight smirk. "Valerian won't wait for the weather by the sea; he'll send his own people to search for artifacts. And this will be a good chance for you to leave here in the company of experienced and adequate stalkers. It's almost impossible to survive alone in the Zone."
"Alright, alright," I nod, getting up from the chair. "I understand I made the right choice. I'll be going. See you around."
Well, let's see where this leads me.