Roughly half an hour after Rickard had finished dealing with the dogs, he found himself drenched in the blood and guts and visceral bits of the recently deceased Pseudodogs.

To be frank, it was horribly revolting. The ridiculous idea had popped into his head of trying to cut the dogs up for meat. Of course, seeing as he tried using the rough lid of a tuna can and had absolutely no experience at all meant he was now in the situation of, well, being covered in dog! Don't even ask how the poor body of the damn thing ended up. Rickard let out a dreadful sigh, trying not to vomit since the smell was abysmal. He had no water to spare, and he doubted a day long shower would get the bits out of his hair.

He wiped his hands off on one of the other dogs, not really succeeding in much. Rickard retrieved the small PDA in his back pocket, a bit more interested in this science lab in Yantar. Perhaps they had a shower in the least? He really hoped so, because he doubted people would take kindly to him smelling so horribly. His damn shoes even made squishing noises when he walked. Still, according to his map, Rickard was [i]probably[/i] up North in the section called Old Cordon. Why they called it that? Who the heck even knew? All Rickard knew was that there was probably another Cordon, somewhere. Of course, to get to Yantar, he would have to go through several dreadful places, at least from what he had heard. He could head through Garbage, full of radioactive materials and more anomalies or he could head through The Great Swamp. Rickard chose the first option because [b]fuck swamps[/b].

Of course, even if he was near the northern part of Old Cordon, it would probably take a fair while to get to Yantar. He really hoped he would be able to get a shower soon, or else he would be screwed when the blood dried. 

Still, he wasn't anything but optimistic. Surely The Zone wasn't just chock full of bandits, raiders, and bastards everywhere you went, was it? Right? Thankfully, the hour and a half walk following the road was rather boring in his opinion. Really not much around these days, he only managed to see a few crows. They had three eyes, but they were still crows. That was good news, probably. Rickard smiled as he slowly jogged his way down the road. He was making decent time from the pace he was going. As long as he followed the road, everything would be alright.

Of course, then three people popped out of nowhere, guns pointed at his face. "Uh... I have you surrounded?" Rickard feinted, choosing a rather crappy quote if anything.

One of them laughed, his accent sounding him as Ukrainian. "Киньте всі ваші лайно, Сталкер. Або ж, ми вб'ємо вас." the grizzly one with an amazing beard said, jabbing his gun into Rickard's stomach. "Uh... I don't speak your language. Uh. Нет?" 

One of them grunted, holding a hand up to their nose and mouth, covering it. "Ісус ебать, цей хлопець пахне лайном. Чому, чорт візьми, він покритий кишки?" the man said, obviously disgusted at even the sight of Rickard. "Хрін з ним, я сумніваюся, що він має нічого хорошого на нього в будь-якому випадку." He said, backing off.

"You. Stalker. Go away."

Rickard nodded quickly, giving a quick bow as he side-stepped around the trio. "Sorry for the inconvenience! I didn't mean to smell bad!"