Prologue: Random Encounter

Prologue

Random encounter

I was running, alone, leaving the Freedom controlled Army Warehouses behind me.

My name? Runner. I’ll let you guess why.

A gentle breeze was sweeping the land, ruffling the brownish grass and refreshing my face. As useful as it is, a gas mask is very uncomfortable. Most stalkers wear theirs all the time, I never understood why. You only put it on when you need it right?

I coughed. My geiger counter bleeped. Sighing, I pulled out a flask of vodka from my vest and took a big gulp from it.

Radiation, the stalker’s excuse for alcoholism.

Chuckling at the thought, I screwed the cap back on and decided to check my gear. My SMG was still in attached on my thigh and my rifle was slung across my back, its bipod and scope attached at their place. Nothing was missing from my pouches, my armor and overcoat seemed in good shape. Satisfied, I picked up my carbine and resumed running.

My destination was Rostok... a nice place, guarded by Duty stalkers; used to be an industrial area. Freedom stalkers are generally nicer to be around, but Dutiers are much more professional and disciplined, even more than the few Mercs and PMCs I’ve encountered during my time in the Zone. That and the sheer number of Duty soldiers stationed in Rostok makes it one of the very few secure places in the Zone.

I actually like this place. It doesn’t look clean for sure. After all, it is an old, abandoned factory complex. Decrepit hangars and derelict buildings compose the place, ornamented here and there by rusted catwalks, big pipes running along the walls, the occasional pile of rubble on the ground and broken pieces of machinery. Everything had been fixed with Chatterton and make believe but the area is peaceful and safe, well, as much as the Zone will ever get. Most stalkers are polite and welcoming, except for that guy patrolling on the catwalk near the South entrance... I never knew why the guy was so openly hostile.

I came here for the same reasons as any other stalker: to sell the gear and artifacts I had found. The amount of loot one can amass is impressive if he searches well. And I have two qualities: an urge to explore and a keen eye for detail. I’m no master stalker but hey, I can do well enough on my own.

So there I was, heading for the 100 Rads Bar, to sell my stuff. I don’t know what I’m going to do after that... a bit of R&R can’t hurt for sure. Meh. Surely somebody will have a job to offer.

That’s what is great in the Zone: the outside world may know economic downturns, war can rage... and nobody cares. The Zone is a world of its own. It has its own economy, its own way of life. Feels like another planet, another world.

I always liked it.

I entered the 100 Rads. It’s a peculiar place, arranged in an old underground bunker. Almost a cozy place. Most stalkers come here to have a drink, share stories or find some work. Exactly what I needed. A bit of friendly human contact before going back to the active life of a stalker. And an opportunity to make some money.

I passed the guy at the entry who greeted me with his usual “Come in! Don’t stand there!” and made my way to the bar.

It was quite crowded. No table was unoccupied. The voices of the stalkers discussing overlapped, creating an indistinct background noise. Smoke from whatever some stalkers smoked was accumulating under the ceiling.

I sighed contentedly and walked to the bar. I always liked this kind of atmosphere. Animated, anonymous yet friendly.

“Greetings stalker,” greeted Barkeep. “What brings you to my humble establishment?”

“Affairs,” I replied. “I’m also looking for a job, but that can wait.”

Barkeep raised an eyebrow. “Affairs, heh? I like the sound of that,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “What have you got?”

“Two AK-74s, two Sunrise armors. Both in mint condition,” I said, pulling the loot from my backpack. “A few common artifacts, and this nasty piece,” I added, producing a FN F2000 with grenade launcher.

Barkeep’s eyes widened at the sight of the rifle. “Whoa. You sure you want to sell that?” he asked.

I smiled. “I prefer mine,” I replied. “Accurized HK G3SG/1. Perfect for sniping over five hundred meters. And for full auto frenzy, I still have my carbine, so I don’t need this assault rifle,” I explained.

“Where did you get these anyway?”

I shrugged. “Picked them up from the corpses of some German mercenaries. Makes one hell of a replacement for my old AK and shotgun,” I said.

“You are one lucky son of a gun, stalker. Such things don’t happen every day. Now, about that loot...”

After half an hour of harsh negotiations, we finally agreed for a price of 100000 Roubles. Not bad, but I’d rather have more.

I turned away from the counter, leaving Barkeep to his occupations and took a look around. Most stalkers had left the bar, going on about their business. Only  a couple remained, sprawled on their tables, probably drunk. I was about to leave the bar when I noticed a small group sitting around a table in a corner. Among the group, one was very tall and was sporting a well kept beard while the other was a bald and had two nasty scars on his face.

But what struck me was the... strange creature sitting around the table with them. I had never seen such a thing before. It looked equine in global shape, but comparing it to a horse would have been like comparing a human to a chimpanzee. Its... mane and tail seemed to wave slowly, it had a long horn protruding from its forehead and... wings. But the strangest thing was that it was wearing what looked like a custom made Monolith suit. The only words coming to my mind to describe it were ‘flying unicorn’... sort of like in the legends.

What the actual fuck?

I weighed my options. I didn’t really want to leave yet, I had nothing to do at the moment, and I really wanted to know more about this creature. My curiosity naturally won and I walked up to their table.

I walked by Snitch, the ‘information dealer’, always standing near the bar and clad in its black leather longcoat.

“My information could very well be of us-”

“Shut up Snitch.”

Damn creep. It’s like he only knows two phrases.

Once I was next to the small group, I cleared my throat. “*Ahem* Howdy, stalkers.”

The bald man looked at me, a tense expression on his face. The flying unicorn was peacefully resting its head on his shoulder, eyes closed, as if sleeping. As I leaned closer to it to get a better view, the bald stalker put a protective hand on its shoulder and pulled it closer to him.

The bearded stalker laughed at his friend and gazed at me, a smile on his face.

“Ah, Strider... always overprotective towards her,” he explained. “What brings you here, stalker?”

Huh. English? Good thing I’m fluent in this language too.

I scratched the back of my head, unsure of what to say. “Well, I’ve never seen such a creature as... her,” began. “What is she? Is she really a she? Where does she come from? Can she fly? I’ve seen her wings. They’re really pretty. What’s her name?”

The bald stalker gave me a wary look.

His friend laughed once more. “Whoa, calm down man, have a seat. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Nivek Runnov,  but my friends just call me Runner. Those who are still alive, anyway.”

“Nice to meet you Runner. Name’s Vano,” the tall man began. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked in a smug tone.

“Ugh, not again,” said a female voice.

I gazed at the unicorn creature.

“He always does that. The first time it’s surprising, then it’s amusing, but after a while it just gets old,” she explained. “This is Strider,” she added, pointing at the scarred stalker next to her, “and my name is Celestia.”

I smiled. “Nice to meet you Cel-”

...wait.

I stared at the equine creature. “You talk.” I turned towards the Vano.  “She. Fucking. Talks.” I shook my head. “Slap me, I want to be sure I’m not hallucinating.”

SLAP!

The bearded stalker slapped me across the face, sending me tumbling to the floor.

“Vano!” called the creature, outraged. “What was that for?”

The big man shrugged. “What?” he asked. “He asked for it.”

I held my jaw in my hand. “It’s okay, I’m okay, I did ask for it after all,” I said, laughing. “Man, you slap hard. And she’s still here. Guess she’s real.”

The bald stalker stood up. “I had a similar reaction when I first encountered her,” he told me. “As Celestia said, my name is Strider.”

As he helped me up, I noticed the tattoo on his arm. I had heard stories about a man wearing such a tattoo. Some viewed him as  a hero, others looked actively to kill him... the man was well known.

I jumped back in surprise. “Are you the infamous ‘Marked One’?” I asked.

Strider looked at me, a look of incomprehension on his face. The he looked at his arm. “No,” he simply said. “Though I did meet him.”

“What’s your story anyway?” I asked to the group.

“Oh, it’s a long story,” began Strider. “Nothing very exciting actually... you sure you want to hear it?” he asked.

“You bet,” I replied, taking a seat around the table.

“Then grab something to eat, open a bottle, because we are going to be here for a while.”