I quickly get up, grab my weapon and backpack, and carefully descend the slope, watching my feet. After a couple of minutes, I reach the gas station building. Yakut has already gone inside, leaving Dya-tel and Blin outside. While the former was busy looting, the latter presented a pathetic sight. A pale and slightly gaunt face, illuminated by a gorgeous purple bruise under his right eye.
"Hey, how are you?" I ask him, glancing at his dirty jumpsuit. "What happened there?"
The stalker hesitates a bit and bites his lower lip, but says nothing, lowering his gaze to the ground. Dya-tel answers instead, having finished inspecting the corpses and sitting on an old bench.
"Yeah, he deserved it," he snaps, taking a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket and lighting one with a match. "Can you imagine, we were walking, carefully, with feeling. We were almost there, and he had to fall on a level spot and yelp!"
"Isn't that a bit harsh?" I look at Dya-tel doubtfully.
"You're too kind, Executioner," the stalker chuckles, exhaling smoke. "If you hadn't distracted them, they would have taken us down, no doubt about it. So no, it was just right. You're not offended, Blin, are you?"
"N-no," the pale guy replies barely audibly, not looking up.
"Just don't lay hands on anyone again, okay?" I ask the sitting stalker.
"Yeah, I get it," he waves his hand. "First Yakut, now you..."
"Executioner, come here," the leader's voice calls from inside the building.
I step over the threshold of the gas station, looking around the room, illuminated by the flickering fire. The same devastation as everywhere else. Shabby walls with remnants of beige wallpaper, plaster, and red bricks peeking through in places. Trash and debris from chairs and shelves lie everywhere; in a distant corner, I even notice a rusty cash register torn out by the root and opened.
Yakut is squatting by the prisoner, whose face is covered in dried blood. The wounded man leans his back against the wall, and his heavy, wheezing breath can be heard even at the threshold. I walk closer and notice the attentive glance the captive stalker throws at me. Experienced, even in this state, he tries to keep his surroundings under control.
"Take care of him," Yakut says, standing up and turning to face me. "I'll look around and contact Valerian. Hey, Dya-tel, find anything?"
"Of course," I reply, sitting down next to the stalker and taking a first-aid kit from my backpack. "So, what's your name? Want something to drink?"
"Yes," the stalker exhales heavily, taking my canteen with a trembling hand and greedily latching onto it. "Thank you. They, kkh, didn't hurry to give me water and food. My name is Pes."
"And I'm Executioner," I introduce myself in return, unpacking wet wipes to clean off the dirt. "We'll feed you, don't worry, I'll just treat your wounds. How did you end up here?"
"Well," Pes begins to tell, wincing slightly from the pain. "My buddies and I wanted to take a shortcut, because it's a real horror at the Dump right
now. There are tons of bandits there, can't breathe, and you can't afford passage money. So we thought about what to do. We decided to go along the edge of the Dark Valley, to the southern gates, jump over the fence there, and come here, to the Gut. At first, everything was fine, but as soon as we reached the ruins north of here, these brothers jumped out. And then it was all according to plan. They threw down their guns, emptied our pockets. We thought maybe they'd let us go, but no, they decided to take us prisoner for ransom."
"Were the others ransomed?" I ask, continuing to treat the abrasions with peroxide.
"Not a chance," the stalker sighs sadly, taking another sip from the water canteen. "Korzh started to object, and... Well, they decided to kill him. And Blik bit his tongue during the beating, bled to death. So I'm the only one left here..."
"I'm sorry," I reply, finishing the first aid.
"Thank you," the stalker replies briefly, closing his eyes for a moment and wiping away moisture. "And what brings you here? If it's not a secret, of course."
"You'd better ask our commander," I smile back briefly, not knowing if I can discuss our objective here.
"What are you going to ask about?" Yakut's voice comes from behind.
My teammates, having finished inspecting the corpses, entered the room. Dya-tel was literally loaded down with several assault rifles taken from the dead bandits, and a satisfied half-smile shone on his face. Blin looked even more dejected than before and didn't look up. Apparently, Yakut had said something to him.
"So, what then?" the stalker asks again, walking closer to us.
"He's asking why we came here," I shrug, putting the first-aid kit back in its place in my backpack. "And I don't know if I can talk about it or not."
"You're too cautious, Executioner," Yakut chuckles, squatting down and looking at the wounded stalker. "Well, how are you now? Can you walk?"
"Better," Pes replies, returning my empty canteen with an apologetic look. "I can walk, but I doubt I can run."
"That's good, we'll escort you to the Cordon, but first..." the stalker hesitates a bit before continuing. "We need your help first."
"If I can help in this condition, then of course," the prisoner replies with a strong rumble in his stomach.
"Blin, get a can of stew and a pack of crackers," the leader addresses the dejected stalker and takes the stew from his hands, then turns to Pes. "It's okay if it's cold?"
"It's fine, thank you," the stalker only manages to say, starting to stuff his mouth with food. "And what do you need from me?"
"So, here's the deal," Yakut stands up and starts pacing the room, looking around the walls. "We were told that a heavily armed group of bandits is moving towards the Cordon from the Gut, that's why we are here. But... we found ordinary thugs."
"Yeah," Dya-tel grumbles quietly in the corner, examining his trophies. "We came here for bandits with a grenade launcher, and we got..."
"Quiet," the leader cuts him off, raising a clenched fist as a warning, and then addresses Pes. "But he's right. Have you heard anything?"
"Ha," the captive stalker chuckles sadly. "I don't know who pointed you to these scumbags, but you've been thoroughly duped. They had no grenade launchers, no plans to move to the Cordon, only for ransom from my brother. And there shouldn't be any other bandit crews here, judging by their conversations, although..."
"Although?" Yakut raises an eyebrow questioningly, stopping by the nearly burnt-out fire.
"There was an old man hanging around here, whispering something with the boss," the stalker thinks for a moment, throwing an empty tin can aside. "He brought them food a couple of times for money, and then they argued fiercely, the boss even grabbed a weapon. The old man's face contorted terribly, but he just left. That's all, there was no one else here."
"And does this old man have long gray hair, tied in a ponytail behind his back?" I ask, sensing that we've gotten into a very big mess.
"Well, yes, I think so," Pes replies, hesitating a bit. "And his face is scarred, but I didn't see it clearly. Why are you so pale?"
"S-son of a bitch," Dya-tel exhales angrily behind me.
I shift my gaze from the captive stalker to Yakut and see his face turn pale, his fists clenched until his knuckles are white. We're trapped, and it's not certain we'll get out. The Witcher calculated everything well. He lied through his teeth to Valerian about the impending threat, but not so big that a small squad couldn't handle it if done correctly. He got rid of his offenders with other people's hands, the scoundrel. Considering the presence of a prisoner who can tell us a few interesting details about this hunter, this old man won't want to leave us alive, which means he's somewhere nearby.
These thoughts race through my mind frantically, and I reach for the rifle leaning against the wall. But I don't have time to grab it before I hear the sound of bolts a few meters away. Too late.
"Don't move, good sirs," a familiar hoarse voice says with a noticeable smirk. "Hands where I can see them, and don't you dare try anything, or I'll blow your heads off. This applies to you too, Pes, don't even look at that rifle."
I turn my head towards the exit and see three men there. They snuck up while we were talking. In the center stands the Witcher, smiling broadly, a pump-action shotgun resting in his hands, and to his left and right are a couple of grim men armed with shortened Kalashnikovs. They are dressed in rags without chevrons or other identification marks. I straighten up, leaving the rifle in its place, and take one step forward, lining up between Yakut and Blin.
"You worked hard, kids," the hunter continues, looking us over. "I thought one of you would definitely get shot, but no, you got through it."
"Why?" Yakut asks the old man, tossing his weapon aside.
"Why what, Yakut?" he raises an eyebrow and looks at the stalker questioningly.
"Why did you betray Valerian?"
"You can't betray someone to whom you haven't sworn loyalty," the gray-haired man grins widely. "It's simple, stalker. Your 'father' is about to have a confrontation with some serious people, and they hired me to weaken his group. And I've been thinking about changing teams for a long time, and here's such a chance."
"Do you think killing four ordinary stalkers will shift the balance of power?" Yakut grits out.
"You're right, killing ordinary meat doesn't solve anything," the Witcher shrugs. "Valerian will recruit more anytime. But killing two field commanders, his trusted men, changes a lot."
"You killed Berkut?" Dya-tel asks, who until now had only been shooting lightning from his eyes.
"Ooh, how fierce you are," the old man smiles again. "And perceptive. You stalkers fall for it so easily. What about the c-code, all that stuff, ha! And your little bird was so easy to catch. All it took was to pretend to be wounded and shoot point-blank. Too bad you didn't bite.
"Scum," the stalker shouts at him, clenching his fists in helpless rage, his face turning red with anger.
"You'll get yours," the hunter waves him off and surveys the room again while his subordinates keep us in their sights. "Well, since I've satisfied your curiosity... I have a proposal."
He then shifts his gaze to me and examines me from head to toe, then chuckles with satisfaction, throwing the shotgun over his shoulder. Then the Witcher takes a few steps towards me, coming almost close enough, and I have to suppress the urge to grab my knife and gut this bastard with all my willpower. There's no doubt I could do it, but there's a risk of dying from his men's bullets.
"You're an interesting kid, Executioner," the old man says, placing his strong hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. "Confident, strong, cold. I need people like you. Why do you need these stalkers? If not today, then tomorrow Valerian will lose, and all his people will perish after him. But with me, you'll achieve a lot. Agree to become part of my team?"
"I-I," Blin suddenly starts to speak, stuttering badly, distracting the Witcher's attention. "I want to too!"
"You?" he raises both eyebrows in surprise and turns his head to the other stalker, still with his hand on my shoulder.
"They..." the stalker begins to complain, but I'm no longer listening to his babble.
Taking advantage of the fact that the hunter's broad figure completely hides my hands from his accomplices, I lightning-fast draw my hunting blade from its hip sheath with my left hand. And with an reverse grip, from bottom to top, I plunge it right under the Witcher's ribs, into his spleen, and rip open his guts. A big mistake on their part to leave us armed.
"You!" The Witcher cries out in pain and, unable to do anything, simply falls on me, splashing me with warm blood.
Before the hunter's accomplices can understand anything, I pull out my pistol and press it to the stomach of the dying man. My high weapon skill allows me to shoot with great accuracy even from the hip, which is what I'm doing now, shooting through the body. Unprotected flesh at point-blank range is almost like plywood for a firearm. They didn't stand a chance, and I empty a full magazine before I realize there are no opponents left. I take a step aside, lightly brushing Yakut's shoulder, who is now standing with a stunned look, and throw the falling body to the floor.
"Well, well," Pes drawls, still lying on the floor, while my teammates stare at me wide-eyed.