Rain — Roleplayer Guild

If one stopped and held their breath while listening closely, they would be met by the faint sound of a distinct and familiar song floating on loop over the lifeless irradiated landscape. Now, if that same person were to make the foolhardy decision to follow this sound, they'd eventually come to a slowly crumbling bridge dotted with abandoned military vehicles and a curiously manned checkpoint. This peculiar sight would only become stranger the longer one observed the happenings there of. In place of a heavily armed military detachment stood a rag-tag group of brigands up to no good, by the looks of it. Unfortunately for one unlucky Stalker this was exactly the case.

“You see Ivan, when you grip the pistol like this you need not worry about recoil for fear of looking like idiot!” The rookie stared on with wide eyes, nodding his head as if he'd just learned something profound. All assembled laughed out loud at the poor kid, oblivious to the fact that he was being taken for a ride by the more experienced bandit. It was at this point that the troop of cutthroats caught sight of the lone Stalker making his way cautiously across the bridge. “Oy, wake up assholes, we got one!” Barked the bandit leader while scooping up his cut down, sawed off TOZ-34 shotgun.

“Hey there Stalker, we'd like a word with you!” Called the scraggly bandit, greasy smile poking through the hole of his black ski mask. The man didn't reply immediately, taking note the four men who now came out of the brush to box him in from the other side of the bridge. Classic ambush.

“Yeah? Can't wait to hear what you boys got to say” replied the Stalker in Russian, his accent alien and somewhat difficult for the native speakers to understand. 

Scragles couldn't help but feel a sudden pang of worried suspicion after the man spoke but chose to ignore it, secure in fact that they outnumbered him some twenty to one. 

“Good! We’re happy to hear you're so willing to cooperate, bro. Makes things easier for all of us, you know?” They chuckled, every one of them training a gun on the poor man. 

“Here's the deal Stalker, you drop your shit and we let you cross our bridge. You know the story, right? ‘If you wanna cross my bridge you have to pay the troll toll.’” Chuckling gave way to ruckus laughter as the bandits began stripping the unfortunate Stalker of his belonging, going so far as to taking his coat.

Letting them do their work with his hands raised above his head, the Stalker pursed his lips in distaste. “Boy, sure glad I ran into lads as reasonable as you, I mean, ya let me keep my boots.” His snark was met with more good natured laughter; at least they had a sense of humor. 

“You know what? I like you, Stalker” replied Scragles between chuckles, “I'll let you keep this.” Pushing a rust spotted PM into the man’s hands, the bandit waved for two of his boys to escort the freshly robbed Stalker across the bridge.

With their dirty deed done, the brigands made their way back to the post they'd set up shop in. Eager to sift through the loot, Scragles snatched the Stalker's backpack away from his subordinate. When he popped the top on the old OD green Alice Pack he was met by a massive stack of plastic explosives. It was at this moment that Yuri knew he had fucked up.

The explosion that followed would be heard even at the furthest edges of the Zone, followed by a hail of quiet pops that tore into the remaining survivors of the blast. Not even waiting for the dust to clear, a group of twelve men in a hodge podge of expensive gear materialized from the surrounding underbrush. 

“Fucking Christ mate, did you put enough blocks into that thing?” Asked one of the men, thick Australian accent completely out of place in the Zone. 

“Oi, don't be such a saucy cunt, worked didn't it?” replied the recently bereaved operator in disguise, accent reflecting the last. 

“Come on lads, stop playing grab ass and gather up anything worth taking” ordered an older gentleman, Australian SAS tattoo displayed proudly on one of his massive forearms. 

“Aye sir,” came the universal response, men now digging through what remained of the bandit checkpoint for anything worth taking. It had been a good day for the rouge SAS operators, this attack marking the fourth successful ambush to date. Stalkers, bandits, even some military elements had been hit and word of their passing was slowly making its way around. Hard not to be noticed when you left nothing but bodies and a majority of the loot behind...

@Rain If you're willing to run them by me before you post them, just so I can police the tone of the pieces (you know, making sure there are no comedic/parody pieces being submitted when there's supposed to be dramatic tension in the main story, that sort of thing), then it's an interesting idea! If I really like one then I'll ask your permission to hold off on posting it so I can use it as a side-plot.

Go for it.@pugbutter

Hell yeah. I've played enough S.T.A.L.K.E.R. in my time to be able to effectively blend the unique sense of humor it has with the generally miserable existance that is the zone. You can't in good conscious deny me the right to have a group of bandits jamming out to Bandit Radio while shaking people down at a checkpoint.

Rain Member

3 cents short of a snickers bar.

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