Chapter II: Lost and Confused

 Diary of Lance Corporal Dimka Torodov, day 2

The second I set foot inside a new area, the PDA I had received from UNISG officials chirped in the brisk spring air. The guide on the device told me that the area was known as Dark Valley. Peculiar, I thought to myself, as the valley was absolutely shrouded by sunlight. It was the brightest day of the year so far, which, granted, was not that long yet. The road still continued, but was blocked by a checkpoint and a train trailer. I explored the checkpoint throughly, when a sporadic series of gunshots erupted from a walled-off area to my left. I crouched down and counted my rounds. 10 5.45 mm rounds, 30 rounds in total for the pistol. Not great, but it would have to do.

I sneaked a bit further in and stopped at the gate to listen. I had been chosen for this pathfinder business because unlike my Western European colleagues, I spoke almost impeccable Russian thanks to my Transnistrian crisis experience. Ukrainian was of course different, but I understood it enough to eavesdrop on the shooters. They had apparently been attacked by a pack of fleshes, while they had anticipated being attacked by bandits. Perhaps they were stalkers, or some other faction, I was not sure. I moved inside the gate but luck was not on my side. A gunshot, loud as thunder, came from ahead, and a crate in front of me cracked and splintered as it was hit.

I peered over it to fire a few shots, and realized that the enemy was wearing some sort of a massive suit, with skeletal frame running from top to bottom and a bug-like helmet covering his face. My rifle rounds stuck into it yet seemed to do little damage. The massive shotgun he was holding rumbled once more, and I laid down as hot red pellets struck everything around me. Another foe appeared from the side of the building, holding an archaic shotgun, its two barrels disappearing inside a muzzle flash. Thankfully his aim was poor, and I managed to reply in kind with my pistol. This attacker only had a reddish-hued black leather jacket, and he soon fell down from my Beretta's wrath.

The shotgun wielder was now reloading, and I also smacked another magazine into my AK, my last two armour-piercing bullets. In rapid succession, I shot them out, aiming for the head. The big bugger groaned in anguish and fell to his knees, dropping the shotgun. I could hear other buzz about on the other side of the building, so I took a more defensive position on its side. A man in an improvised military armour ran out of another building, adjacent to the one I was hiding behind. My pistol struck him many times, but the cobbled-together piece held on. He replied with pistol fire, despite his heavy armour he only had a pitiful handgun.

I once again swapped magazines, this time to a pistol armour piercing, and the AP rounds finally put the fiend down. Last enemy combatant was a wounded trenchcoat-wearer, who I finished off with my knife. The man loudly screamed in pain before dying, but it had to be done. I was all alone here, I didn't have time for POWs or vengeful survivors. I checked the bodies for ammunition, and while most of it was unusable, I tossed most of it into my bag, perhaps some day it could help. The massive shotgun turned out to be a KS-23, I had heard of it in the past since it was a rather distinct weapon, same size gun barrel as the common Shilka anti-air vehicle used. I had no use for such a rare weapon, especially in condition like it was in.

The suit the man had worn was also interesting, reminded me of some sci-fi contraption. It was far too difficult for me to figure out how it worked, so I decided to just leave it behind, but the patch on the corpse caught my eye. It was the same cracked skull I had seen on the bridge. Quick search of the others revealed this to be an uniform theme. Odd, I thought to myself, I thought these guys spoke about waiting for the bandits to attack. Some of the dead bandits had PDAs, and had also carelessly left them unlocked. I did a hasty skim through the messages and files, uncovering some stashes but most importantly, information on the bandit faction. It seemed like they were in some sort of a state of civil war, their former leader having been assansinated earlier last year. Three faction leaders were now vying for power, some bandits named Olivious and Livid, and a new contender from the north, Shishak.

Useful knowledge, although I have no idea how important these bandits are in the big picture, I thought as I slid the devices into my rucksack and tossed it over my shoulder.I could hear more gunfire and roars of mutants coming from the north, and while I would've liked to stay and explore the area bit more, I was on a mission. I took a look at my map and noticed a path that would lead me to an area know as Garbage. Who even comes up with these names, I thought, and straightened up, heading to the new location. On the way I saw more anomalies, these ones similar to the one Hernandez had used to demonstrate their power earlier. It hummed and twirled, leaves dancing in the air from its gravity pull. I watched it for a few seconds, enraptured by the unnatural display in front of my eyes.

Once I had gawked at the anomaly for long enough for it to lose its shine, I made my way to a camp next to the path. There, laying on the ground, were five mutants. Two seemed similar to the creature I had seen in Darkscape, under the bridge. Withered humans, dressed in rags, their skin ashen. They still seemed very much human, but seeing their broken nails with dried blood on them I made a mental note of never hesitating to place a bullet to their heads if I ever ran to one. The three other mutants though... Those were quite odd. They reminded me of a rodent, with their heavy-duty front teeth and orange eyes, but they were the size of a wolf or bigger and similar in bodily structure. I took some samples, bagged them and snapped pictures. Someone far smarter than me would have to go through them and analyze them.

I followed the path into Garbage, the beaten walkway leading me through pine forests and bushy old cabbage fields. I could see fleshes in the distance, and even more of those human husks, but knowing my ammunition situation I decided against engaging them. Only ran into single husks, although unlike the ones I had seen before, this one was female. It still growled a guttural cry at me. I waited for it to get closer and stuck my boot knife into it as it swiped at me and missed. Worked well enough, the zombie-like creature fell down. It still breathed, so I stuck the knife into its throat for good measure. Almost as bright as the cadets back home, I thought to myself and cleaned the blade on the sleeve of my suit.

Shortly after I had disposed the husk, I arrived to a hillside leading into a small slump in the ground and a forested area. Among the trees, I could see glimpses of toxin-green puddles and noxious gases. The ground ahead seemed clear enough, and I descended the hill slowly. Breaking my bones by sliding down was not optimal. I found a toolbox inside of a bush in the slump, but it did not have tools, only a barrel of a shotgun and some canned corn. Seeing the food, I realized that I had last eaten outside the Zone. The food seemed reliable enough, even if the best-before date was from the days of the Soviet Union. Hoping that it'd be like wine, finer with age, I devoured the corn in seconds and tossed the can into one of the nearby anomalies.

The forest ahead was a home for a group of husks once more, but at this point I already knew that I could avoid them if I was fast enough. I dodged and lunged out of the way of their punches, slaps and swipes until I made it out of the woods and into the open field. To my left was a rancid pond filled with chemical anomalies, a cloud of greenish gas rising from it. The smell somehow crept even through my GP-5 gasmask, and it was far from pleasant. I almost vomited. There was hill ahead of me, and another one on the other side of a road about 100 metres from where I was. On the nearest hillside was a dugout, and it seemed like the the area had been used to dump all sorts of shit and junk from the incident back in 1986. So this is why it's Garbage, I thought to myself, slightly amused.

As I closed on the digging site, a bark and howl came from it and I saw three grey and brown creatures rush towards me. They were closing in fast, and I knew if I tried to pull out my gun they'd get me. I took a chance and rushed up the junkhill, clawing my way to the top. The dog-like monsters gave up the chase, turning their attention to the groaning pack of husks shambling from the forest. My Geiger counter was going absolutely mad, so I thought I'd find a safe spot to get out of the hilltop. I wandered to the other side of it, gazing towards two massive oil or gas tanks and a smaller building, mostly crumbled and broken. There was a campfire in the middle of it, and as I scanned it with my AGOC-scope, bullet cracks boomed loudly by.

I hid behind some scrap and concrete as more lead sent dust and sparks flying. Judging by the gunshots, there was plenty of rifles firing my way. Okay then, let's leave, I'll take my chances with the dogs, I thought and set off running. In my haste to avoid certain death from superior firepower, I ended up going down at a wrong spot. Disoriented and desperate, I noticed some sort of a large hangar ahead. There seemed to be a big firefight going on, and I thought I'd have at least some chances against distracted foes, so I went in. It was some sort of a depot, and inside on large elevated platforms going around the entire thing was men in brown and greenish uniforms. They had a similar yellow radiation symbol on their suit sleeves to the ones I had seen in the Darkscape sawmill. Stalkers.

By the looks of it, it was a fight between two groups of bandits and two groups of stalkers. And I, an interloper. I raised my AK carbine and let loose at two guys at the end of the hall, killing them quickly. Another two didn't even spot me before I opened fire with my 92F, the 9mm bullets making short work of their leather jackets. I checked the hall, all stalkers laying dead on the platforms. Slowly, I made my way to a pair of train wagons, checking inside. They had been made into some sort of ad hoc housings. As I was stepping out of the first one, I quite literally ran into a bandit. Both of us surprised, we reached for our guns in a chaotic manner... But I was faster. My Beretta barked twice, and the man fell down, calling me a suka as life left his body.

Exhausted, I sat down for just a second to calm my racing heart. I tried to listen for more footsteps or speech but couldn't hear it over the thumping. When nobody came to investigate the dead bandit, I rose up and closed in on the platforms. Inside one room, I found an old man, dressed in a trenchcoat.

• Lay down that weapon, my boy, I don't take part in faction politics so you can rest easy. All I care for is hunting. If you've got a few moments to spare for old Butcher's tales or wares, it'll be worth it!, the man said behind the counter, seemingly unaware of the gunfight that had just happened outside

• Hunting? Sure, you got any tales for me, I just got to the Zone and could help any help on that front.

• Tales? There's no one better to tell you those on mutants my boy, now listen carefully...