Same place, same time.
I wipe the bloody blade on the mercenary's jumpsuit and, to the satisfying sounds of other mercenaries being eaten, I start searching the killed man. The small pockets on his vest were practically empty – three assault rifle magazines, a couple for the pistol, and a few bandages. No money, or anything else interesting, the dead man had not prepared for me. And the reason for everything, in fact, was the PDA.
I pick up the communicator, turn it on, and, my God, it doesn't even have a password. I delve into it, searching through all the bookmarks, but there was nothing on it except a couple of very general conversations. It seems that the mercenaries go on missions with clean PDAs so that no one can find out anything from them if something happens. But why were those three blocked then? I should check the other mercenaries, maybe the situation will become clearer.
I straighten my back, feeling my overworked muscles ache from the night's
work, and start sweeping my flashlight around the factory courtyard. And immediately I come across bloodsuckers squinting absurdly, a little way from me. Red liquid dripped down their tentacles, and the monsters themselves almost purred with pleasure, covering their red eyes with their clawed paws. I walk closer to them and bend down to one of the corpses, immediately pulling out his communicator from his pocket.
Unlike the previous one, there was nothing on this one at all. The same happened with the remaining two devices. Mda-a. I shift my gaze to the tunnel where the other mercenaries lay, and only sigh sadly. It's a death sentence to go in there now – my gas mask won't protect me from carbon monoxide, which means I need to ventilate all this first.
"Had enough?" I ask the bloodsuckers, shifting from foot to foot. "There's one more job for you…"
Factory, early morning.
With the help of a bloodsucker, removing the traces in the form of concrete slabs from all passages was easy, but I still had to run around a lot. And while all this makeshift sewage system was airing out, I decided to go into the factory itself. Find a comfortable spot there and sleep for a few hours. After all, the danger from people had been eliminated recently, so I could sleep soundly without worry.
Yawning widely, I cover my mouth with my hand and enter the factory territory. There, I am met by rusty pipes scattered everywhere, an old ZIL truck, and a tall construction crane. I walk past piles of slabs, a large garbage can, and someone's dried remains and find myself in a room with high ceilings. Underfoot, red tiles, still holding in place and crumbled under the weight of time, mutants, stalkers, and emissions, and just a meter away from me, behind a small fence and in a considerable recess, were two green tanks for something. All the walls were dotted with intricate pipes, strangely intertwined and disappearing somewhere in the distance.
I walk further down the corridor, examining the factory hall with all my eyes. Worn white and green walls, patches of mold in the corners, and ubiquitous brown-red stains. I turn the corner and find myself in a long corridor filled in a chaotic order with creaky beds with mattresses and wardrobes. It's unlikely it was designed this way from the beginning… Does this mean that someone decided to make a lodging here after the Zone was formed? And, judging by the stain on the mattress of the nearest bed to me, one can only pity this someone.
I choose a bed along the wall and leave my belongings there, and then decide to do a little exercise to warm up my muscles and get the blood flowing. Head turns in different directions, shoulder and wrist rotations, back, abdomen, and leg stretches. In general, a normal school exercise. And during the exercise complex, the passage to the room with the transition to the basement beckoned me. I don't know why I needed to go down there, but for some reason, I really wanted to.
I take just a few steps and enter a small room with two wide, closed wooden doors. To the left, a staircase leading to the laboratory is visible, above it a small window with no glass in the frame. I walk around a couple of barrels standing almost at the entrance, and after sixteen steps, I enter a narrow corridor.
Cracked walls, revealing red bricks in places, debris everywhere in the form of dust, stone chips, bricks, and remnants of finishing, and from under the ceiling, frayed wires occasionally peeked out. There was no lighting in this corridor, so I had to use a flashlight. I cautiously step further, trying not to trip over any brick. I emerge into a completely empty, larger room and, without lingering in it, turn right – into another narrow corridor.
And at its end, I was met by the very room with the descent into the laboratory. There was nothing but a thick iron laboratory door and two terminals on either side of it. I touch the burning cold metal with my palm, and a wild thought comes to me, why not try to open the laboratory with the very card I have? What if it works?
I take it out of my chest pocket, insert the black strip into the magnetic stripe reader, and slowly slide it from top to bottom, but nothing except a rejection signal sounded. I tug at the door, checking if it opened, and… No, it didn't. I do the same with the other terminal, but I met the same fate there. Without the second card, I can't get in here, which is a shame, it would be nice to explore the lab without leaving the premises.
Sighing heavily, I return to the factory hall to wipe the bed of excess dust and settle in comfortably, wanting to sleep for at least a few hours.
Same place, a few hours later.
The awakening was as unpleasant as possible – if not everything, then close to it ached. Ha-ah, I get out of bed and cautiously do another set of exercises. It didn't help much, but at least the blood got moving in my body, and that's good. I pick up my backpack and head further down the corridor, turn the corner there, go up a wide staircase, and enter a workroom – tables and machines everywhere. I can't determine what exactly was made on them by eye, alas.
I walk past them into the next passage, then go up the stairs again to the last floor of the factory and turn left, to a wooden door leading to a fire escape. Ha-ah, what it took me to get the bloodsuckers to go up there. They absolutely refused to go up there, maybe it was too scary because of the height, or something, but only because of the promise of food did they finally agree.
Descending it, I emerge into the factory's backyard, hidden from prying eyes – the only passage to another part of it was blocked by a truck and a couple of large containers. I walk along a small brick building, step over small puddles of blood left on the grass, and approach the tunnel. On the go, I pull on my gas mask, just in case, and go inside.
I follow the tracks in the dust until I reach a packed fork. Well, judging by the direction of the tracks, they went to the left part of the tunnel more often than to the right, which means their camp is somewhere there. I turn and go further until I stumble upon an open door. Bodies of mercenaries lay on the floor visible from the doorway. I came to the right address. Judging by the pile of boxes, several wardrobes, and branching pipes, this was some kind of technical room for servicing these very pipes. Interesting.
I begin a thorough search. I start with the corpses and their communicators, in which, as usual, there was nothing useful. Either password-protected, or correspondence that cannot be understood without context, or nothing at all, complete emptiness. Eh, what would life in the Zone be like if all stalkers left no information behind? Smoothly, while I remember, I cut off the patches with the blue eagle from the corpses. They are currently the best proof that I managed to deal with the mercenaries.
Then I proceed to inspect personal belongings. I stack the assault rifles by the wall, there are both assault rifles and a couple of EMKs, all in good condition. I pour the ammunition along with the magazines into the first backpack I find, the contents of which I pour onto the floor. I decided to leave the stew, water, toilet paper, and other undoubtedly useful things here. There was already too much loot, so I didn't want to carry provisions on my back as well.
After finishing with the backpacks, I move on to the lockers, but they were completely empty. Some old shirts left here by previous owners, blue work uniforms, a lot of dust and cobwebs. Nothing useful. But the table… On it lay an unfolded map of underground communications. I don't know what the scale of this map is, but it turned out that through these tunnels you can get anywhere from the Garbage to Rostok, and to many other places. Naturally, provided that there are no blockages or impassable anomalous fields there.
I carefully fold the map and put it in one of the pockets of my vest. A good find that might come in handy later, and I'm absolutely sure I don't want it to fall into Freedom's hands. When I leave, I'll hide it somewhere in a secluded place, just in case.
I look around one last time for anything interesting and, having made sure that I have examined everything possible, I am about to leave this place. But as soon as I look at the pile of loot that I will have to carry, I immediately regret that I didn't keep at least one bloodsucker with me. How surprised the greenies would be…
Freedom Base, some time later.
Lisa couldn't find a place for herself and just rocked back and forth quietly, sitting with her nose buried in her knees on her sleeping bag. The Executioner hadn't come. Not yesterday, not this morning, he wasn't there. She was afraid to go out and question the Free Settlers, despite Ganja's assurances that everyone here was exceptionally good. She felt awkward going to Chekhov, so she decided that if her escort didn't show up by evening, she would definitely go to the leader of Freedom and ask him to organize a search.
"If only I hadn't left that PDA..." she whispered quietly, occasionally remembering the device she used to communicate with her brother. Alas, upon arriving in the Zone, she had to give it to her guide, who took her to the Cordon.
Thoughts of the communicator were replaced by difficult thoughts about her brother. After the Executioner left, she visited him twice more, hoping that Denis would come to his senses and recover. Alas... The moments of clear consciousness, as she called them to herself, didn't last long. First, her brother would apologize, crawl on his knees, wipe snot from his face, and swear that he would never again!... He swore by everything. By God, by his life, by his health, by his mother. But never by the Zone. And then it all started again according to the old scheme. As soon as he got tired of playing
the exemplary brother, as soon as an unhealthy glint appeared in his eyes, and he constantly swallowed saliva... He would start asking her for drugs again. First gently and affectionately, to relieve the pain, then a little more insistently, as if he would die without them. And then he would start screaming. It happened twice. The third time she didn't dare to go, realizing that nothing would change. And she cried bitterly.
Feeling a dull ache of hunger in her lower abdomen, the girl slowly got up, threw the cloak given to her by the Executioner over her shoulders, and slowly headed to Ganja's bar to eat. And when she reached it, she saw her escort passing through the gates. Covered in blood, breathing heavily and laden with a pile of assault rifles, he relieved himself of the load onto the ground and leaned his back tiredly against the fence. Then, while the girl was still standing in place, he found her eyes and nodded slightly.
The anxiety that had been reigning in her soul for the past few hours eased slightly the vise that had been squeezing Lisa's heart. With great effort of will, she forced herself to stay put, realizing that such interest from one stalker towards another could be misunderstood. Turning away, on stiff legs, she approached Ganja, who was looking with interest in her direction, and quietly said:
"I'm hungry..."
Freedom Base, same time.
Phew, getting all the goods here was no easy task. I had to take many breaks just to catch my breath and wait it out. I quickly surveyed the camp, realizing that my arrival had attracted a lot of attention, and, nodding to Lisa, I took a deep breath, got to my feet, picked up the load, and then headed towards Ganja at a brisk pace.
"Will you keep an eye on the loot while I go see your boss?" I asked him.
"Of course, man," the Free Settler replied with a smile. "Rich catch, huh?"
"You can say that again," I replied and shifted my gaze to Lisa, who was sitting in front of an open can of stewed meat. "Enjoy your meal."
"Thank you," she replied barely audibly.
I placed the loot behind the bartender's counter, making sure he wouldn't accidentally trip over it, then untied the backpack's opening, took out the communicators, and put them in a plastic bag. With this load, I headed to Chekhov, rehearsing the prepared story in my head as I walked. Arriving at the main building, I quickly went up the stairs, skipping every other one, and bumped nose-to-nose with the leader of Freedom.
"Ah, there you are, Executioner," he greeted me, frowning and pursing his lips. "Why didn't you answer my messages yesterday, huh?"
Instead of answering, I reached into the side pocket of my suit and pulled out a pack of cut chevrons, handing them to Chekhov. His eyes widened as he looked at them, and he took them in his hands, beginning to examine them carefully.
"So," he replied after a slight pause. "Let's go to the office."
Entering it, Chekhov immediately moved to the corner of the room, took a chair from there, and moved it closer to the table. He gestured for me to sit on it, and he settled into his own place. Then he grimly laid out one chevron after another on the table.
"Thirteen," he stated. "Where did you get them?"
"The same place as these PDAs," I handed him the bag with them. "From mercenaries. Actually... That's why I didn't answer your messages yesterday, I was busy with work."
"Busy..." he repeated grimly after me, raising his right eyebrow. "Are you telling me you took care of thirteen mercenaries by yourself in one night?"
"Not just that. I also found a network of underground tunnels they were using to bother you," I shrugged. "Shall I give you the coordinates, and your people can check them themselves?"
"You'll excuse me, but this is like something out of a fantasy..." Chekhov said with a deep sigh and took the communicator in his hands. "I'll send the guys, but you tell me what and how."
"The backyard of the factory. Your guys need to go inside, go up to the third floor, and from there go down to the backyard via the fire escape. There, behind a low building, will be a tunnel, have them go down into it, go to the fork, and turn left there. And there you'll find the mercenaries themselves, ready and waiting," I told him how to get to the mercenary base. "As for me, there's almost nothing to tell. I went around all the attack sites, examined everything carefully, and found these tunnels. At first, I thought it was just a coincidence, but then I saw that during yesterday's attack, one of the mercenaries walked through the blood of your guys, and, well, the trail led me to one of the entrances. And then it wasn't too difficult to put two and two together. By the way, one of these tunnels is located right in the swamp..."
"So that's it... We didn't even have time to recover before they planted the explosives and disappeared back," Chekhov said thoughtfully, nodding.
"And this tunnel looks very much like a drain for all sorts of junk that factories and production facilities usually use. The thickness is too large, and the grate isn't like the others..." I continued my story. "And it's, by the way, the only one of them that leads to some kind of body of water. So I thought, if these tunnels form a network, why wouldn't they converge at the factory? I sneaked in there quietly, and as it turned out, I was right."
"Why didn't you call us, Executioner?" the leader of Freedom asked, frowning again. "I honestly don't understand why you took such a risk. We have huge scores to settle with them."
"There were no risks for me. But your guys would definitely have suffered in a firefight," I shook my head. "I just took advantage of the fact that the mercenaries had driven themselves into the underground, and... I suffocated them."
"Suffocated? How?"
"Carbon monoxide," I explained, trying to stretch the truth. "All it took was to light a few fires, block the passages with a dense tarp to make oxygen intake as difficult as possible, and wait. By early morning, only one of them was still on his feet. Apparently, he wasn't lying down like the others, so he didn't inhale the gas. And dealing with him alone was no trouble for me. In fact, the contract has been fulfilled by me in full."
"And even over-fulfilled," my interlocutor nodded, getting up from his seat and approaching me. Then he extended his hand, and I got up from the chair to shake it, only to find myself in a bear hug. "Although the guys haven't confirmed your words yet, I believe you. Thank you, Executioner, thank you. You avenged our guys against those brutes. And forgive me for what happened during our first meeting..."
"What happened, happened," I said with a slight smile, lightly slapping his back a few times. "But I'm still counting on a reward."
"You wound me, man!" Chekhov exclaimed, stepping back from me. "In full, and even a little extra. Listen, I have a proposal for you. Maybe you'll join us, huh?"
"And now you forgive me, but no. I prefer to be a free bird," I interrupted him and sat back down on the chair, and seeing his objection about "free bird," I hurried to add. "I don't want to get involved in clan wars."
"Eh-eh, a pity. First Scar refused, now you..." then his communicator beeped. "Oops. That's it, they made it! They confirm everything, and they found the tunnel and the mercenaries. They say you made a complete mess there."
"Well..."