[IC] S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: The RP

[TheMadAsshatter]

8th of April, 2018.

It's been nearly a year since I came to the zone. Man how times have changed. If I recall correctly, the first emission that lasted over an hour happened three days after my arrival, and it was three months until the next one. Now they seem to happen every other week. I guess it's a good thing I'm in touch with the zone in that sense.

Things have been a bit hectic lately. Between doing jobs and avoiding the odd surge of bandit activity in the junkyard, I haven't had much of an opportunity to pause and take stock until now. On that note, it's never really occurred to me that I've probably run several thousand bullets through this AK. I can't believe I haven't traded this rifle in yet; I mean I've had it since before I even got here. Still, it works, and I suppose it almost has a sentimental value at this point, seeing as I acquired it from a friend before crossing the border. It's good to have friends who have friends in high places.

Speaking of, Ewan is more than a month overdue for his usual check-in. I can't help but think the worst. Still, maybe he found something that can get me out of here, or he got made and had to cut me off, or he managed to get himself killed. Or he just stopped caring. Either way, I do hope Jet and I can get out of here soon.

Exile was about to continue writing his next sentence when he stopped, taking a moment to reflect upon that remark. Did he really want to leave? Exile had to admit, there was a certain allure to the zone. Even though he had never intended to come here, it still managed to sink it's claws into him. He definitely did not want to leave. At least, not immediately. He leaned back forward and resumed writing.

Or Jet, at least. I'm not so sure it wants to let me go yet... nor that I want to leave.

It's funny. A few months ago, I never would have believed that pseudo-mystical stuff that people are always saying. But it's true. There's definitely more to the zone than it simply being a place that defies explanation. Something caused all this weirdness, and I'm as curious as ever as to what it is. Seeing as I've got a bit of free time and plenty of dosh for now, I think I'll start devoting some time towards that. Maybe hang around the scientists more often. Whatever happens, I definitely don't want to leave yet.

Exile closed his notebook and stuffed it into his backpack before leaning against the wall. Petrovsk was a fairly quiet place, since it wasn't a big trading post. The only people who seemed to come through were loners turning in for the night. It was nearly 11 AM, however, and most of those who called this place home were out and about for the day, with the exception of the Sentinels who stood guard and a handful of others. Exile knew Jet was likely chatting it up with one of the Sentinels, or still sleeping. Either way, Exile was planning on getting some shit done today. Throwing his backpack on and slinging his AK over his shoulder, Exile stood up and headed towards the gate.

As he stepped out of what used to be a living room and into the courtyard, he took a look around the ramshackle base that the Sentinels had set up. He couldn't help but be impressed at how well the Sentinels had reinforced and improved upon it. Originally, it was no more than four small farm buildings arranged roughly in a square, but the walls that the Sentinels put up around them must have taken several weeks to fully erect and reinforce, not to mention the various catwalks spanning between the buildings and the lookout posts built on each roof. It was a pretty plain setup, and it wasn't particularly spacious, but it was functional and well fortified. What more could you want?

Exile strolled towards the gate, which was on the Western side of Petrovsk. He gave a wave to the stalker manning the gate, who opened the gate in turn as Exile approached. "Спасибо," he said as he walked through the gates and back into the wild. It was a fairly cloudy and windy day, which kept the temperature floating at about 10 degrees Celsius. Roughly the same as a typical autumn day in England, and the perfect temperature for Exile.

Exile took his AK off of his shoulder and into his hands, feeling it's familiar heft. He turned his AK over, flipping the safety lever to the semi-auto position and giving the bolt a slight tug to make sure it was chambered. Even before coming to the zone he had possessed an odd fascination and affinity towards Kalashnikov's family of rifles, finding it a beautifully simplistic and intuitive design. One good thing about coming here was that it allowed him to get some hands on experience with the rifles, and now he knew pretty much every AK down to the last rivet, provided no clowns decided to perform some amateur-gunsmith-fuckery with one. Satisfied with the state of his rifle, he released the bolt and carried on towards the bridge, humming the melody to La Marseillaise to help pass the time. He had a long day of walking ahead of him.

[Peik]

"I don't want no money, man. I didn't save your dope for the money. You're a man of influence, dude. You're the Fixer. I just want to get back home and not have to worry about a bunch of Russians coming to slit my cock in half."

While his erratic and fast way of talking could make an onlooker think that he was incredibly scared, Fixer knew all too well that Pineapple was just talking faster than he could think. He didn't like Pineapple - he was rude, uncouth, addicted to a variety of drugs, and definitely not a professional. However, the boy was a fighter, and he was also completely expendable. This had made Fixer send him on a large amount of suicide missions in all but name. Despite the odds, he had survived. He hated to admit, but the boy deserved a favour.

"Alright, no money," Fixer said as he took a sip from the metal cup that held some warm vodka. "Want some?" he asked to a sweating Pineapple. The air wasn't hot, and Pineapple's clothing wasn't thick or bulky enough to provoke such a reaction from his body. Fixer guessed he was just high. "No. Look, I need a response from you, man - I'm fucking tired of this place. I'm tired of having to run from dogs and avoid my flesh getting bent by fucking magic. I want out, man! And I don't want no Russian schmuck come chop me up the moment I make it to civilisation! I had to shoot eight men to take your dope back! Had to carry both that shit and Coyote away from that fuck up!"

"Pineapple, I can't ask for any favours from the Russians. I'm not in good relations with them myself. You've got to understand that. I've been in a similar situation. What I did was to leave town. I suggest you do the same. Albania, Turkey, Belarus, something like that. I can help with that, if you want."

Pineapple had a rather conflicted look on his face. "How the fuck am I supposed to make it there?"

"That's up to you. You can begin again. I'm just offering you a way out. You'll have to wait for the Russians to call off the hit on you. I don't know how long it will last, but I can guarantee you safe passage to somewhere else for you to wait."

"I don't know that, man. I just want this to be over."

Fixer took another sip from his cup. The taste was getting worse with every sip.

"I'll speak to the commander to get you an easy way out. Before that, though, I'll have to speak with some friends in the mainland to get you transport. Where do you want to go?"

"Fuck it. I'll take Belarus."

"Alright," Fixer said. "You can leave now. I'll keep you posted. Since you won't take the money, I'll subtract that from the costs, though you'll still need to pay some, so don't waste your money."

"Cost? You want money now, you old fuck?"

"Watch your language!" After a silent pause, Fixer continued. "I'm not doing this for myself. I'm not going to pay people from my pocket so you can make it to safety. You don't want it? Then tell me, and get out."

Pineapple sighed. "Alright. Belarus."

"Alright. Now get out."

Sergei did not like getting shit from people the like of Pineapple. But he had a reputation to keep, and doing anything to an enforcer of his, a capable one at that, would certainly not fit a man of his stature.

He left shortly after Pineapple and started walking through the military outpost. As much as he hated the new recruits, he still had friends in the Military. And they controlled nearly all accesses into and out of the Zone. It certainly helped to stay around and keep them entertained. And he knew well that a physical presence made much more of a statement than mere words through a PDA. Though with Coyote down and Pineapple leaving, he knew that he'd have to get physical again - after all, he had lost both of his full-time enforcers, and his operation seemed to be at risk, being attacked by what seemed to be Marauders. "Fucking junkies," he thought to himself as he kept walking. Perhaps Coyote had some answers for him.

"Time to move."

Kosygin immediately moved back to his "hut". Opening his locker, he pulled out his rifle and placed it on a small table next to his camp chair. After removing his SVU-A, a few magazines, and some converted rifle grenades from his locker, he was able to pull out his vest and body armour. After a quick examination on his rifle, he grabbed the pistol lying in the pocket of his camping chair and started examining it. He was not used to this American pistol - it was not a familiar piece of equipment for him, unlike, say, a Makarov, or a Kalashnikov. It was still a reliable piece, however, and a good purchase. He removed the suppressor from the pistol before holstering it - he was unable to find a holster that was able to accommodate the weapon with the suppressor still attached, as when attached it nearly doubled the weapon's length.

After checking his backpack and fitting the rest of his equipment, Sergei decided that he was set for the trip and left the Outpost for Petrovsk, where, according to Pineapple, Coyote was recovering from his wounds.