Chekhov's office, half an hour after the Executioner left.
The leader of Freedom rocked back and forth on the hind legs of his chair, deep in thought. What this stalker had done for him and his clan was an excellent resolution to the conflict. Of course, the escalation was far from over... Freedom will still drink your blood, mercenaries, excuse me. But how to reward him? It would have been easier if he had joined the green clan. It would have been like gaining nothing lost. On the contrary, they would have gained; such specialists don't just fall from the sky. He needed to think further.
Then there was a light knock on the door, and before Chekhov could react, the door opened, and three people rushed into the room. The vanguard reconnaissance team sent to the factory. They, without hesitation, calmly flopped onto the worn-out sofa, fidgeted, making themselves comfortable, and felt quite at ease. The leader grunted, got up from his seat, picked up a chair, and placed it opposite the sofa, right on the carpet, with its back to the Free Settlers. And he sat down facing them, resting his hands on the wooden crossbar.
"Well, my friends, what can you tell me?" the Free Settler said, quickly looking over their faces.
"It's hell," the bald stalker sitting in the center, Chert, replied briefly. "Real hell, as it is. We went into the factory, as you wrote, walked through the hall, went up to the third floor, then went down the stairs and found ourselves at the tunnel. There, you won't believe it, lay a mercenary with his throat cut. From ear to ear. There were no signs of a struggle, which means the stalker just came up behind him and finished him. From behind too!"
"And the other bodies?" Chekhov asked, chuckling. He knew from the Hunter that the Executioner had many talents, but for some reason, he thought he was exaggerating. But now...
"As he said, carbon monoxide," this time Inn, a bearded Free Settler with broad shoulders and red hair that occasionally turned red in the sunlight, replied. "My father serves as a firefighter, he told me about this... Exactly. But how he managed it raises questions. The preparation alone for all this should have taken several days. And here one stalker managed to do it. Chekhov, to be frank, we desperately need people like that. A very active guy."
"I offered, but the Executioner refused. He wants to be a free, hah, bird," the leader of Freedom sighed. "But I understood. What about the tunnels?"
"We
didn't go deep, after all, there might still be remnants of gas, as Inn said," the third of the entrants, Balt, a dark-haired stalker of medium build with a terrible scar running across his forehead, nose bridge, and part of his right cheek, said. "But even by the most conservative estimates, this is an incredibly important discovery for us. If we study them properly, we can quickly move people and ammunition across the entire Dark Valley, and if we're lucky, other parts of the Zone too."
"Then you'll take care of it," Chekhov nodded. "First, go with Inn to Ashot, make a list of equipment, you know, what might be useful. Also, tell him to prepare goods for external trade. Then choose a few people and go, but don't overdo it. You are all much more important to me alive than these tunnels. And you, Chert, gather all the commanders, let them start preparing to return to the old positions."
The abandoned building near the bar, at the same time.
Lisa was sitting on her sleeping bag in a lotus position. She was looking at the passage with some tension, which I didn't miss when I entered. Under her silent sniffling, I headed to my sleeping bag, dropped my backpack, placed my assault rifle next to me, and sat down, leaning my back against the wall and pulling my knees to my chest.
"Alright, Liz," I decided to start first. "The mercenary problem is solved. You'll be leaving the Zone with your brother very soon."
"Really?" she asked disbelievingly, bringing her small eyebrows together.
"Yes," I nodded. "We'll probably have to wait a bit until Chekhov sorts out all the other business, and then we'll head to the Cordon. We'll go the same way through the Dark Ravine."
"And you?" she suddenly asked, sharply getting up from her seat and sitting to my right. "What will you do?"
"Me?" I asked somewhat awkwardly, stunned. Does she even care about my plans? However... "I'll go north, not the farthest, of course, but... There won't be much for me to do here soon."
"So maybe you'll leave with me?" her hot palm, burning with warmth even through the fabric of her suit, landed on my shoulder.
"No," I carefully removed her hand from mine and got to my feet. "I can't leave here yet."
"Why?"
"I don't want to," I replied with a slight smirk and headed for the stairs. My throat felt dry...
Freedom Base, five minutes later.
Lisa's offer to leave the Zone together was unexpected. And her hand... No. Forgive me, girl, but I'm not going to fall into your nets. I have too many things to do here, and I've grown fond of this place. And if at the very beginning of my journey I wanted to gain connections as quickly as possible, reach the scientists, and finally find a legal way to leave the Zone, then now... No, once I legalize myself, I'll definitely stay for a year or two to earn some money.
"Forgive me, Liz, but a real stalker won't go into an anomaly without protection..." I quietly whispered a nasty joke to myself and went out into the bar.
There were no people here except the bartender himself and one other visitor. It was clear that the entire base was busy with more important things now; sweaty stalkers kept running past the "Throat of Freedom." I approached the bar counter to pick up the loot for sale, but the only visitor to this establishment stopped me.
"Hey, are you that stalker who dealt with the mercenaries?" he asked, turning his face to me. A green hood was pulled down over his head, and he had a week's stubble on his cheeks and chin, a straight nose, and deep-set gray eyes.
"Yeah, that's me," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. "What do you want?"
"Phew," this stalker smiled slightly, peeling himself off the counter and extending his calloused palm for a handshake. "Everyone calls me Uncle Yar here, and what's your name?"
"Executioner," I introduced myself briefly, shaking his hand.
"Well, then we've met. Very nice, by the way," he grinned. "In general, thank you for what you did for us. We won't forget it for a century, I swear. But that's another matter. I have a little job for you."
"Let me guess, find something or someone?"
"You're quite the fortune teller, Executioner," Yar said, slapping his thigh with his palm, grinning. "But you're right, yes. My buddy, Kirka, by the way, was supposed to bring me some blueprints a while ago, but he never made it to the base. Look for him, will you?"
"I don't mind, but I need details. And what about payment?"
"Well, he was supposed to arrive a few days ago," Yar began to list. "Not far from the base, he sent a message that he was on his way. I ran to meet him, but no Kirka. An hour, two, three... It was late that day, it was getting dark. No news, no sign, in short. Neither that night nor in the following days did he give any sign of himself. As for payment... I'll give you ten if you find him. Deal?"
"Ten..." I only pretended to think - the job was trivial. "Deal. But first, I'll finish my business, okay?"
"Okay-okay, but you know, do it quickly, huh?" the stalker said. "Because I'm very uneasy. I wanted to look for him myself, but Chekhov didn't let me gather the guys and forbade me to go looking myself. Mercenaries, mercenaries, mercenaries... Especially since Kirka was a loner."
"I'll contact you if I find anything," I nodded to him one last time and, watching the indignant stalker's back, picked up the loot and headed to Ashot's shop.
Passing by a half-ruined ZIL, a small yellow construction trailer, and concrete columns supporting the canopy at the shop, I found myself in a small brick building with two staircases, one leading up to the merchant himself, and the other down to the basement. I quickly climbed the stairs, skipping two at a time, and entered the brick opening.
There, behind a grate, at a small table, sat Ashot himself. Black and curly hair, thick eyebrows, and a long nose with a slight hump, light stubble, and wide brown eyes. Seeing me, the merchant rose slightly in his chair, smiling broadly.
"Wow, hello, my dear," he greeted me. "Why are you standing there like a stranger? Come in, come in. Shall I pour you some tea? With gingerbread, honey!"
"Now that's service," I replied with a smile, shaking my head at the same time. "Thanks for the offer, but no."
"Oh, you don't say," the stalker replied indignantly, jumping up from his seat and rushing to one of the boxes behind him. Flipping open the lid with an army star, he pulled out a small black box. "Just smell it. Wow, what an aroma, wouldn't you say?"
"Another time, Ashot," I still refused the truly aromatic tea with floral-fruity notes. "I came on business."
"You know, I'll tell you one thing," he said, pursing his plump lips with a noticeable Eastern accent, setting the tea aside. "But business is not a wolf, it won't run away into the forest! Ha-ha-ha! Well, so what do you have?"
Silently, I laid out one assault rifle after another in front of Ashot until they were lying on his table in two layers. Then I lifted the backpack, having previously untied the opening, and showed its contents to the merchant. He whistled in surprise.
"Wow, you've really surprised Ashot, my dear," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Wait, okay? I'll call our technician now, let him inspect the barrels."
"No problem," I said, watching him turn his back to me and walk over to the radio receiver, flick a few switches, and, after it hissed loudly, bring the microphone to his mouth.
"Hear me, Kulibin," the sound from the loudspeaker outside was so loud that I had to wince. "I've got some used barrels here, will you take a look?"
Then there was a minute of silence, and this time the technician's answer came.
"Twenty dollars!"
"Uh, yesterday's joke isn't funny anymore!"
"Alright, alright, I'll take a look, so be it. I'm waiting for you."
"I have a client, come over, will you?"
"And why don't you go yourself?" came Yar's reply.
"Tell him that the Executioner is here," I whispered to Ashot, not wanting to delay the weapon appraisal, and he just nodded.
"Here, the Executioner is waiting!"
"I'm coming!"
It didn't take long before the technician's head appeared in the doorway, and he immediately, without further ado, began inspecting the weapons I had brought. This took a good fifteen minutes, until Yar placed the last rifle on Ashot's table and nodded with satisfaction.
"Hmm, good condition. Not ideal, alas. Some parts are too worn," he said. "And a couple of barrels could use a good cleaning, but, overall, it's acceptable."
"Wow," having waited for the technician to leave, the merchant clapped his hands with a wide and even slightly impudent smile. "Fifteen rifles in satisfactory condition and a whole backpack of ammunition for them... Oh, my dear, you'll ruin me!"
"How much will you give for them?"
"Four for each and five for all the ammunition, my dear, so..."
"Ten for the barrel," I interrupted Ashot. "And that's only because of my deep respect for Freedom and my unwillingness to drag them far. You'll resell them three, or even four times as much anyway, don't be too greedy."
"For ten, my dear, I order barrels straight from the factory, and you brought me worn-out ones," he objected. "Neither you nor me - six and a half, and I'm taking the ammunition for free."
"I agree to six and a half," I nodded. "But you'll still pay me five thousand for the ammunition. Or I'll take it with me."
"Wow, where do you need so many cartridges? You don't even have the right caliber!"
"Pfft, I'll find something or use them as bolts," I threw back, to which Ashot replied tiredly:
"You win, my dear, six and a half for one barrel and five for the ammunition. If it weren't for this isolation..." he muttered the last part of the phrase under his breath. "So, that's one hundred and two thousand from me..."
"One hundred and two thousand five hundred," I corrected him, squinting my eyes. "I'll take it in
cash."
"And how much did I say?" Ashot exclaimed feigning surprise. "Wow, my dear, you need to be more attentive, at-ten-tive. And there's a slight shortage of cash right now, my dear. I can only pay with goods or a check, what do you choose?"
"A check?" I asked again. This was something new.
"Yes, my dear," the merchant nodded readily. "Don't worry, we have money. It's just tight on cash due to the isolation, you understand? There was no trade - neither we to them, nor they to us. And how to pay people their salaries? And to give rewards for achievements? So the money is gone, we don't have enough to pay you too. And you can cash the check at Sidorovich's."
"I agree to the check."
Freedom Base, a little later.
I didn't even want to think about how much profit Ashot would make from these assault rifles; I was just glad I could get rid of them at a more or less favorable price. And now that I was free for the next couple of days, I had to decide what to do with myself. Finding Yar's friend won't be a problem - the poor guy didn't make it to the base by a few dozen meters, so I'll bring him his PDA this evening. And then I'll have to visit Chekhov...
Only now did it occur to me how much I had actually earned in these few days. A crate of artifacts for the chimera, which I'll receive when I leave for the Cordon, seventy thousand from Chekhov plus some bonus for clearing out the mercenaries, and also a check from Ashot for an astounding amount. It turns out that these couple of days have covered almost all the money I've earned since I've been in the Zone.
And the most annoying thing about all this is that the new equipment has already been ordered, and it's completely unclear where to spend this money. And to drag them to Rostok or Yantar is complete stupidity, and leaving them at home or in some hiding place won't be allowed by the toad, I'll worry too much about their safety. M-yes. It seems good that I earned so much, but it's also not so pleasant anymore.
With all these thoughts, I don't even notice how my legs carry me outside the base territory. However, why not go for Yar's friend now? Okay, now I need to go to the fuel tanks... I pass by an overturned concrete slab, pressed against the metal frame of something, turn right and go diagonally straight to the open iron gates. I go a little further from them, climb onto a large ledge, waist-high to me, and go around the huge tanks in a circle until I reach the ladder on one of them.
I was about to start climbing it, but I saw small drops of dried blood and remnants of human skin on the rungs. As if someone had literally torn off a person clinging to the rusty ladder. Bloodstains leading down, broken dandelion stems, and generally slightly flattened grass that hadn't had time to recover. I turn around and approach the edge of the ledge to see the pistol lying there behind it. It's hard to defend yourself against bloodsuckers with this. I take it in my hands - a completely ordinary pistol, without any distinguishing features.
"If the weapon is lying here, then its owner should be found nearby," I say to myself, carefully climbing down.
I look around a bit more until I find traces of how this stalker was dragged through the grass. Strange, very strange. If it were bloodsuckers, then why? They would have grabbed him and drunk him dry immediately... But why didn't he scream at all? I need to find the body itself, and then, perhaps, I will be able to find some answers to these questions.
Things were starting to take a strange turn. The one who lay like dead weight on the roof of the cistern in the game had been dragged away by someone! And the strangest thing here is that the trail led me to that very small construction camp with a trailer and an unknown metal structure, from where I took the slabs for my plan. I go around a stack of slabs that smelled of campfire smoke and walk straight to the construction trailer. And there I find the body, lying on its side.
It's been gnawed on considerably, there's almost no face left on the skull, except for a few pieces of skin hanging down and starting to rot. It will be difficult to identify him... The rest of the body was in about the same condition - the dogs did a great job. I squat down and start an external examination - I really didn't want to touch the corpse, in the remnants of which maggots were already crawling, without gloves.
He wasn't wearing a jumpsuit, nor did he have a backpack, gas mask, or other vital stalker gear with him. But I didn't notice them on the way here either, which means... Another person is definitely involved here. Someone followed this stalker when he climbed onto the cistern for some reason, waited for him to come down, dragged him off the ladder by force, possibly stunned him... The pistol was most likely knocked out during an attempt to resist.
It's very hard to believe it was mercenaries. Why would they do that? Couldn't they live without killing an ordinary loner near the Freedom base, risking revealing themselves? And all for some rags, when their own equipment was many times more expensive? No-o, definitely not them. Who else has visited recently? Klyk and Shram don't fit the timeline, Liza included... Only those very marginals who settled on the farm remain. As Varan said, they're afraid to touch the Freedom guys? But they weren't afraid to touch an ordinary loner who ended up here.
I should pay them a visit and find out what's what.