I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled, feeling the emotions that had washed over me dissolve without a trace. Disbelief, fear, and anger, everything that had ensnared my mind a second ago, was gone. Thank you, System.
"So what?" Turning back, I saw a tense Voronin in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest, looking at me from under his brows. "These are the kinds of places, lockpicks are common."
"You're right," Krylov said. "You're exaggerating about every third person, of course, but there's a grain of truth in it... Only, Executioner, the Colonel and I are very concerned by the fact that you possess this tool. And you had access to this building. Too many coincidences, don't you think?"
"But you have no direct evidence," I shrugged. "Because I..."
"Before you say you didn't do it," the general interrupted me mid-sentence. "I want to remind you that we are not in a courtroom and you have no lawyer. Our justice is to put you against the wall and shoot you to hell."
He said the last words with firmness, looking into my eyes. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Despite the System's efforts, this situation was getting on my nerves, forcing me to do something foolish. But I suppressed the urge to grab the colt hidden behind my back and deal with the couple of Duty officers. That would be a last resort.
Krylov, after sizing me up for a moment longer, walked back to his desk in silence, sat heavily on a creaking chair, and pulled out a cigarette from a pack with slightly trembling fingers, lighting it. Exhaling a small cloud of smoke, he continued.
"It would have all happened like that if you hadn't been incredibly lucky," he said slowly and clearly, looking somewhere through me and tapping his nails on the sturdy tabletop. "It so happened that thanks to you... Don't even think about arguing with me, stalker. I absolutely don't care if you or someone else was involved. So, thanks to Petrenko's untimely demise and your help in this matter, we acquired his second PDA, which contains extremely interesting information testifying to his dark dealings behind my back. And as a reward for it, I grant you your life. But, stalker, remember, if anything suspicious happens to any of my men, you, Executioner, will be the first on the suspect list. We will provide assistance to your group, but personally, I don't want anything to do with you anymore. Go."
A few minutes after the Executioner's departure, the same place.
"Are you sure, Comrade General?" Voronin asked, watching the strange stalker leave and waiting a moment.
"Am I sure of what I did?" the general asked back and chuckled softly. "I am. He's right that we have no evidence. But all these coincidences... something is not clean about this. I feel like he's involved."
"So maybe him... that?"
"We're not some villains to just grab and execute stalkers, and what would others think of us? No, we can't risk our reputation like that." Krylov shook his head and, reaching for one of the drawers in his desk, pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka and a couple of glasses. "Sit down, why are you standing?"
Voronin slowly walked to the general's desk, moved one of the chairs, and sat down to Krylov's left. After waiting for the clear liquid to fill the small glasses, they clinked them silently and downed them in one gulp.
"And you yourself said that the Executioner is very strange, Colonel," the leader of Duty said with a grim smile. "So it turns out we can't kill him, or we'll ruin our relations with the stalkers completely, and keeping him around is dangerous, because something might pop into his head and... You should have seen his eyes when I read him the sentence. It felt like if I said anything wrong, he'd shoot me instantly, even
if he had a weapon. So, let him live and stay out of our business."
"And what if he's completely uninvolved?"
"I don't care. Duty comes first."
Exit from Duty headquarters, same time.
I was both angry and shocked by what had happened. Only the System, which had cooled my ardor, stopped me from overt displays of emotion. And it wasn't that I was caught red-handed, but how it happened. Krylov and Voronin had pulled their arguments out of thin air and kicked me out, despite what I had to do for them! Crawl into the subway, kill mutants, prove I was worthy! Ha, and so many promises. Join us, and you'll immediately become an officer... Ugh!
Because of the irritation and negative thoughts, I didn't even notice that I got my weapons back along with my backpack, which I should check upon arrival at Orest's, and reached my guys. They were still waiting for me, standing under the Inquisitor's windows and nervously glancing at the Duty members who kept passing by.
"Commander, finally! We thought we'd have to run and save you," Kirpich said with a slight smile.
"Shh, quiet!" Batut hissed and lightly tapped the stalker on the shoulder.
"Hey!"
I looked at the guys, and the feeling of resentment gnawing at me slowly began to recede. I straightened my shoulders and smiled relaxedly, watching their small friendly argument. I had too much faith in good and honest people in the Zone, completely forgetting that each of them had their own interests. I thought Krylov, who led Duty, was an honest, kind, and just leader. That he certainly wouldn't let me be wronged over one skirmish with that patched-up rubber, lockpicks, and coincidences... Heh, it's especially funny to think like that when you've actually done what you're accused of. In general, they can be understood. They just want to protect their people, and an element like me is not helpful in that.
But it's still annoying that it turned out this way. I hoped it would be different.
"So, what about my share?" I drew the stalkers' attention to myself.
"Here, Executioner, take it," the Silent One replied and handed over a thick wad of folded bills. "We've already taken our share, what you promised us. So this is exactly thirty thousand."
"Yeah," I nodded lightly and put the money in my pocket. "Let's go back, I'm feeling a bit sick here."
Wild Territory, same time.
A few grim men in blue jumpsuits sat around a small, dying campfire, warming their hands in its heat. The small, hastily constructed camp, consisting of one construction trailer and a couple of old but sturdy wooden pallets, which the mercenaries had used to build an improvised fence, was plunged into silence.
At some point, the leader of the small detachment emerged from the trailer that enclosed the camp from the rest of the factory territory and, cursing loudly in his native language, began to speak Russian with a noticeable accent:
"Damn it!" he said, stepping off the stairs and, noticing a bucket nearby, sent it flying with a short kick. "We'll have to rethink our plan."
"What happened?" another mercenary asked him indifferently and in clear Russian, holding a small rebar in his hand and moving the coals of the fire with it. The other two mercenaries turned their interested gazes towards the captain.
"Morgan is dead."
"Is that the Duty captain, or what? Ha," the mercenary chuckled. "So what? Is he that important to us?"
"No," the captain shook his head. "But he could have made our task easier, we were almost done negotiating. We'll have to work with what we have. I hope those red swine will deal with the local fauna."
Orest's Base, evening of the same day.
After our return to the stalkers' camp, the tedious routine began. There were no assignments or orders; everyone was preparing for the upcoming battle. Some cleaned weapons and patched up their suits, some just got drunk one last time by the fire, and some, like me, couldn't find a place for themselves and sit still.
I had to wander aimlessly around the camp, occasionally chatting with others to occupy myself somehow. But it only helped for a short time. Either I was bored, or it was all because of the situation with Duty, but I felt out of place, realizing I had nothing to do. I didn't want to sit by the fire with the stalkers and listen to their tales; my equipment was in excellent condition, and I was simply irritated by having to wait.
"Did something happen at the Duty base?" Orest asked solicitously from behind me when I once again came to the platform. "You're not yourself."
I slowly turned towards the passage between the two buildings and saw only one stalker there. Orest was dressed in his usual gray stalker suit, in which he constantly walked around his room. There was only one difference from his usual appearance – his weapon. He had brought a Kalashnikov with him to meet me, which was now hanging on a strap behind his back.
"No," I lied frankly. "Everything's fine, I'm just tired. Over the past two weeks, I've had to run around a lot and try hard to organize all this. And as soon as it reached the finish line, it got stuck. I wish it would all be over soon."
"You don't seem worried at all about what's coming?" the local leader said, approaching me and gesturing for me to walk. "Even my eagles are worried, though they hide it under bravado."
"I don't think my worry will help us with the bandits," I replied and shifted my gaze to Orest's relaxed face. "And you yourself aren't worried."
"Only a little," he said with a smile. "I've participated in such skirmishes before, and we have more than enough strength... I'm only worried that not all of my guys will be able to return. Well... You wanted to hear my story, didn't you?"
"It would be nice to brighten up this evening with something good."
"Haha," Orest laughed heartily, throwing his head back. "Well, you're quite the flatterer, Executioner. Shall we chat or go up to my place?"
"I want to be in the fresh air, if you don't mind."
"Since the Great Emission in 2006, there's fresh air everywhere here," the stalker's lips curved into a slight smile. "But alright, shall we sit down?"
And he pointed with an outstretched hand towards a bench. I nodded silently and followed him. As soon as we reached it, we sat down immediately, occupying the whole thing. I turned my head to Orest, noticing how he clasped his hands in front of him.
"First, I'd like to thank you," he began after a pause. "You and your guys have done a lot for our group. Thank you. I don't know how we would have survived if..."
"Oh, come on, Orest," I said, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "We're your own people. Besides, you'll help us too."
"That's true," the stalker smiled, raising his head and looking at the sunset sky.
The sun had begun to set slowly beyond the horizon, painting the sky in a soft but bright orange color. The clouds drifted serenely, driven by a light and pleasant summer breeze. Only now did the tension begin to release me, and I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with air scented with the light aroma of herbs that had pushed through the railway embankment. I calmed down completely.
"So, what about the story?" I reminded the silent stalker of his promise.
"I was gathering my thoughts," he replied and took a deep breath. "Actually, I was a restless child from childhood. My favorite pastime was to take a bottle, pour water into it, add carbide, and whoosh! It exploded beautifully, but my father would beat me mercilessly afterward... You know, I even went to China once to learn martial arts."
"How so?" I looked at him in surprise, and he just laughed, lost in memories.
"Ye-e-es, I watched a lot of Bruce Lee movies," Orest continued. "How he spectacularly threw bandits around. Ah, if I had a decent VCR and a whole TV here, I'd gladly rewatch them. So, our town was small, but it had a railway. I found out that one of the freight trains was going to Khabarovsk, so I snuck onto it. I didn't travel long, though. They noticed me almost immediately and kicked me off at the next station. I got it bad afterward – terrible."
"I can only imagine..."
"And what kind of child were you, huh, Executioner?" the stalker asked curiously, turning his head to me.
"Just a normal one," I waved my hand. "Home, school, yard. Nothing interesting. My hobbies were movies, books, and street games with the guys. My parents even signed me up for a section once, but I didn't go for long; the coach rejected me... And what about Chukotka? How did you end up there?"
"After the army, I got into extreme sports. I was always looking for something that could give me an adrenaline rush," Orest said, thinking for a moment. "First, I climbed mountains, then I traveled around Russia without money or food, hitchhiking. That's how I ended up in Chukotka, and I stayed there for half a year. I helped the locals and learned wisdom from them. Hah, if not for the experience I gained then, I would have died during the first winter here."
"And you went to the Zone for extreme sports?"
"Ha, no, no, that's a different story," Orest became noticeably sadder after my question. "After Chukotka, I moved to St. Petersburg. I lived there for several months, getting by with odd jobs, part-time work, always searching for myself. But I only found a brotherhood of kindred spirits like me. I met a girl there, incredibly beautiful. Her name is Olesya. Smart, cheerful, when she said something, I immediately smiled like an idiot, and her dimples were so cute. In short, I fell head over heels in love."
"And then?"
"And then the best half-year of my life," Orest smiled sadly. "We traveled half of Europe hitchhiking. Poland, Germany, France, other countries. So, when we returned to St. Petersburg, there was a small falling out. I don't remember why we argued then. We shouted for a long time, loudly and hurtfully. I didn't visit our fellowship for a couple
of weeks, and then, when I decided to make up, it was too late. The guys told me that my Lesya had gone to Ukraine, she wanted to see the ChAES.
"You must have been terribly scared then," I chuckled.
"Don't even mention it," the stalker shook his head, clenching his fingers. "You know yourself what they wrote about the ChEZ in the newspapers in the 2000s, my blood ran cold every other time. So, what happened next... I pulled myself together, grabbed a traumatic pistol, and went after her, to save the fool. For several hours, I wallowed in mud, crawling through the Perimeter, and how I didn't blow myself up on mines, the fool. For several more weeks, I pestered everyone I met with her photo, asking if they had seen her?"
"Did you find her?"
"Not at all," Orest sighed even more deeply than before. It was clearly visible how hard it was for him to recall this. "By a stroke of luck, I ran into a military stalker who was at the checkpoint that day when Lesya tried to get through the barbed wire. He said she was with a handsome young man, they argued and sent them home. And I stayed here."
"Why didn't you leave with her? You were so eager to get here, looking for her."
"You know, it's like I was cut off from her," the stalker raised his tired eyes to me, with noticeable dark circles underneath. "I remember her, yes, we had a lot of good times. These thoughts warm me on cold nights. But... The Lesya I knew remained there, in the past, when we slept in tents and in cheap motels. And the one who ran away from me was already a different person."
"It's sad to hear all this," I patted him lightly on the shoulder. "But you're young and full of strength. I'm sure you'll find love again after the Zone."
"Hah, I wish I had your confidence, Executioner," Orest said, standing up from the bench and stretching. "E-eh! Thank you for listening to me. I hope you weren't too bored?"
"No, it was interesting to listen," I smiled, standing up after him, and then a notification arrived on both our PDAs simultaneously.
I pulled the communicator out of my pocket, seeing out of the corner of my eye that Orest was doing the same. I turned it on and read the text of the message, then shifted my gaze to the leader of the Agroprom stalkers, who was also looking at me.
Father Valerian: Executioner, we move out tomorrow. Prepare yourself.
13.07.2011, 19:51.