Observation and Protection

by Stillmatic

Chapter 7: Hard Exteriors

“Exoskeletons?” Snitch asked in annoyance, “Why do I hate them? Why do I hate the guys who use them?”

Marked One’s temper was running short, as evident in his voice, “Yes.”

The trenchcoat-clad man fiddled with finger nails nonchalantly, “Hmm… The less of those tin cans walking around, the better, you feel me? Best we get rid of fools like that before they all gang up and storm some place. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a bunch of tanks to roll up with their fancy shooters.” Snitch stopped and rested an elbow on the bar, “So, you up for the job then?”

“Of course.”

Marked One was able to get a good look at rotted teeth as a grin was presented to him, “Good. Now listen up…”

– Snitch’s Assassination Proposal to Marked One, Rostok Plant

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the mercenary to walk up on cold, hard concrete, but this time, it felt different. With a grogginess only a weathered, stubborn man in his mid-forties could muster, Scar opened his eyes to bleak ceiling. They drifted around, taking in the odd place he was in. Where he was he, actually? He didn’t quite know. Sitting up and cracking a few bones, the stalker found himself behind bars somehow. His first assumption was that he was somehow captured by the Ukrainian military and would now most likely be forced in front of a court, tried, and definitely sent to a prison somewhere. That’s what always happened to those that got caught.

Fortunately, he still had his exoskeleton on, which would be the first thing any army officer would take off his body before sticking him in a cell. Doing otherwise would be a foolish mistake. Unfortunately, that meant he once again didn’t know where he was or why he was in a cell. In fact, he couldn’t recall a single place in the Zone that had cells, with the exception of a certain Dutyer’s affinity with cages and mutants. But these bars were far too well-made and unscathed to have ever been in the Zone. Not even a technician would be able to weld them to this level of finesse.

Without a doubt, the situation was both troubling and confusing. Scar looked to his left, finding a small hole in the ground that reeked horribly. It most likely hadn’t been cleaned out in a long while, if at ever. To his right was a very basic slab of wood chained to the wall, functioning as a less-than-mediocre bed. He had been in worse spots, but the fact he couldn’t even remember how it was he ended up here or what he was even doing for the past few months didn’t do a thing to settle both his suspicion and worry. After all, people didn’t just wake up in prison cells randomly, especially in the Zone no less. If anything, you might wake up with a flesh or boar rubbing itself against your body in some sick form of masturbation, however rare that was.

Lacking any actual theories, the mercenary opted to remain where he was and sat against the stone wall behind him. A quick looked up revealed it to be day, given the light shining through a barred hole in the wall. Curiosity got the better of him and he stood up somewhat begrudgingly. Scar planted one foot on the board of wood and leaned up, peeking out of the restrictive window and noticing the sun’s position. If he was correct, it was roughly noon and quite warm out. His exoskeleton, however, was built to cool his body to the normally accepted body temperature of humans, providing relief to all but his head. That part of him had lost its protection somehow and the helmet and mask were nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, the wood gave way to his weight and snapped down the middle. Caught by surprise, he was yanked down to the floor and onto his rear end, which barely felt a thing. He stared judgmentally at the poor excuse of a bed and shook his head in disapproval. Whoever had captured him clearly didn’t plan on keeping him cooped up for long…

Or they were sadistic enough to want to give him the least pleasurable experience possible. What better way to get him to expose himself than let him take off his suit by his own hand, then prevent him from getting back in? It was an idea that made him grimace. He grew fond of the suits, despite how taxing they could be at times. It took a pretty penny to make sure they kept in working order, in good condition, and with as little bullet holes as possible, and none of that even covered the cost of upgrading it for an easier time. He was glad he was a mercenary. It paid well enough that he could do all of that, with a little work that is.
 
Scar was ripped from his thoughts as clopping was heard from far off. For most of his life, he had never seen a horse until it was an undead one in the Zone, but he could recognize that sound anywhere. The anticipation would have to wait. His head, as much as he hated to admit it, was slightly wider than the average stalker (though it did help to intimidate others). Due to this, he knew he couldn’t fit it enough between the bars to see what was nearing him. So being the patient man he was, the veteran removed himself from the broken pile of wood and sat in the same spot as earlier.

It took less than a minute, but the source had finally arrived. For what it was worth, the mercenary kept his face straight despite what he saw, a skill he mastered quite a while ago. The breath he kept exited his nostrils and he relaxed, finding the group of equines to just be part of some insidious illusion crafted by the Zone. In his eyes, it was something to ignore for the most part, though he never saw something quite this odd.

Two white equines in golden armor, a much larger, dark blue one wearing what looked like various pieces of jewelry, and lastly, a faintly familiar one. The gray mare was trembling, staring at him in disbelief but keeping her mouth shut. The blonde hair was drooped down, covering part of her face as if she hadn’t slept in a good while. He almost felt some emotion, but it died quicker than a rookie in an anomaly. Scar yawned quietly to himself and positioned himself more comfortably against the wall. The action didn’t sit well with some of the illusions, apparently.

The tallest equine looked down at the gray one, “Is he the one?” It nodded, “I see. Can he speak Equestrian?” Another nod, “Interesting…”

The timid mare’s eyes (which were a bit crossed) flicked between the mercenary and what appeared to be the leader of the group, “Uh, Princess..?”

That caught Scar’s attention. The illusions were surprisingly life-like, along with being creative. It was odd to see.

“Yes, what is it?” the royal blue equine asked sharply.

The previous one seemed to shrink, but remained rooted in place, “W-Well, it’s just th-that… he doesn’t really seem all that bad…”

The “Princess” seemed to stiffen, “’He’? What proof of it being male is recognizable that we haven’t observed already?”

“Because when he saved me,” it gave him a gracious nod, “he was talking like a stallion would, but kinda…” the pony seemed to rattle her brain around in an effort to find the correct word, “… kinda funny.”

Scar himself was suddenly caught by surprise when he realized one fact that went straight over his head. They were understandable. The language they were speaking? He wasn’t very world-savvy, but he knew English when he heard it. Though speaking the language was something he didn’t’ know, let alone understand, hearing it troubled him like so many things these past few minutes. So what did their conversation mean? He was losing it, of course. The chances of non-Russians currently in the Zone and him hallucinating what they looked like was absurdly slim, so that only left him just not functioning right in the head at all.

That left a few options for him, but staying silent could only help so much. Whatever it truly was that was in front of him, he would have to try to communicate.

“(… What am I seeing..?)” Scar cautiously asked to test the waters.

The ears of the equines immediately perked up at his voice, with only the gray one seemingly unsurprised. The tallest narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at him, as if holding back some scrutinizing impulse.

“What is it thou said?”

Thou? What was with the sudden change? Scar refocused on the situation and attempted to speak in English.

“Gignigrrehdng…”

He frowned. That wasn’t what he wanted, along with the looks he was receiving for the gibberish he said. The mercenary cleared his throat and scoured his mind for some sort of manual to speaking English. Though no such thing existed, there were small vestiges of memories somewhere back there.

In fact… there was quite a bit there that he didn’t even recall. English, Mandarin, and a few others were there, though vaguely. He had never even encountered a Chinese man before in his entire life, so how exactly did he know any of this? It was almost as if he was missing entire chunks of his memory for some reason.

And then, without warning, a massive migraine set in. Scar’s hands immediately went to his head while he groaned loudly. The pain was excruciatingly intense, with invisible hammers slamming rivets into his head with each second. More memories began pouring out, setting free languages he never realized he knew out into the open and experiences he would never have committed in his wildest dreams.

His eyes widened. He was a Monolith agent. No, worse… He was their leader… And what he did, the crimes against humanity he committed while serving, was like nothing he would have ever expected of himself. Chopping the heads off of stalkers and setting them on grounded spears, forcefully brainwashing helpless people, and worst of all, cannibalizing the corpses of those that were killed and processing them into food. The grisly thoughts ate away at him until his diminished focus cracked apart.

The equines watched in morbid curiosity and disgust as the human suddenly scrambled for the hole in the ground, vomiting in. The spray of throw up shot forth and died down after several more bursts. Scar slumped, panting loudly in between gags, and stricken with blurry vision. His head was hot and he could feel himself teetering on the brink of blacking out. The exoskeleton’s arm was used as a rag for the excess vomit on his mouth, with him spitting time and time again to get the filthy taste from his mouth.

Scar firmly pushed himself up, remaining lucid and grabbing the bars of the cell, “Water.”

The raspy, labored request wasn’t fulfilled for just moment, until the dark blue alicorn seemed to make a glass of water appear in thin air. It levitated towards him and he grabbed it, careful not to let the exoskeleton’s strength crush it. He took a few sips, gargled, spat the residue vomit out, and drank the rest. The glass was set down next to him gently. For what he now knew wasn’t the first time, he spoke the alien language of English.

“Why am I in a cell and what faction are you a part of?”

Luna was curious of this creature, so very much so. It was definitely what she had seen in her dreams, but the other was elsewhere or possibly not even alive, she figured. Though what would she do with this one? It was stripped of its weapons, but left in its carapace for the time being. After all, they didn’t know yet if removing it would harm the ape or not, and she wasn’t about to let her captive die on her suddenly. The doctors and guards who healed it knew that when she teleported it to the castle that they were dealing with something that could put their jobs in jeopardy. So they did as they were ordered and used whatever unicorn healing magic would work properly. In the end, Princess Luna received something to interrogate for answers.

She clicked her tongue. The armored creature in front of her wasn’t an “it” anymore. A him and he, actually. Princess Luna’s dreams showed groups battling for dominance, but then which did this one belong to? What the gray mare had told her left her feeling as though what she had in front of her was a zealot. Speaking of monolithic structures, worship, damnation, and so many other religious concepts left her wondering why such a devout being would be enraptured into a seemingly never-ending war. It all made her far too curious…

General Whitemark felt far differently about what he was seeing. Wonderment as to what it was or where it was from were the last thoughts on his mind at the moment, but he held a certain admiration for it. He was positive it wasn’t mutual, but the ferocity he witnessed was something that excited him, getting the adrenaline pumping and blood flowing. The general hadn’t felt so tempted to let out his aggression ever before, and the sight of blood spilling from the creature’s actions made his hackles stand on end. Whitemark had felt pangs of bloodlust in battle with monsters before, but now he wanted to experience it fully alongside the interloper across from him. It would be an unholy and effective team, despite it being an impossible thought.

His interest betrayed his position for a mere second, and he asked the obvious question that was being waited for, “Faction?”

Princess Luna shot him a quick look before speaking to the creature, “I believe it would be more productive for myself to ask the questions for now.” Her eyes met the sitting body and remained rooted there. “I’ve seen the likes of you before, but I have no name to call your kind by.”

It’s – no, his – face shifted slightly, but was steady, “I don’t like being toyed with by illusions…” His response wasn’t taken well, but he continued, “As for what I am, that should be obvious. A mercenary.”

The Princess wanted so badly to just run a hoof down her face in frustration. Luckily, her training in regality prevented that from happening, “A mercenary. A soldier for hire. While that may suffice if I had asked for your occupation, it does not answer my previous question. What sort of creature are you?”

A look of offense was forming now, “’Creature’?” He let out a small huff of annoyance, “I’m not so old or senile that I don’t come off recognizable as a human.”

The locks within the Princess’ mind clicked away at that word. Human. She was positive she had heard it from somewhere before. A quick scour through her own dreams left her with no new information, but a short stint in her memories gave a vague sense to the word. The farther back she looked, the foggier her memories became. Eventually, she came upon the years of her childhood when her family was fully-formed. Broken images of her father sprang forth in bursts, but she couldn’t bring forth a full picture. Luna bit her lip and gave up. If her memories weren’t going to help at all, she’d try to pry knowledge from the human.

“Human?” she asked cautiously. “That is what you are called?”

A very small smirk greeted her, “If I humor you for a second, I expect an answer to my own questions.” Luna reluctantly nodded, “Good. My name is Scar.”

“Scar?” Whitemark repeated with a suppressed chuckle, “That’s a bit morbid of a name, isn’t it?”

Scar’s face became serious as his eyes went level with Whitemark’s, “My real name isn’t something you need to know.” The human stood up, reaching Luna’s height easily in his carapace, “Now, cut the bullshit.”

Star Spangle, having been the other guard to escort the Princess and Derpy Hooves, instantly reacted by barking, “Don’t you dare curse in fr-“

A pair of hands instantly gripped the bars. A partially wrinkled face was glaring daggers of death directly at Star Spangle, who recoiled. The stallion’s eyes narrowed and met the stare with his own.

Scar spoke as if his voice would fire spikes into the eyes of the ponies across from him, “I’m not going to play any more games with any of you. What kind of illusions are you? Are you Monolith agents? Did you capture me so you could brainwash me again? Why would you choose to make yourselves look like horses instead of people? How stupid do you honestly think I am? I’ve been around the Zone long enough to know a damned trick when I see one!”

His tirade died down as soon as he pulled himself away from the bars. Scar leaned his back against the wall and shook his head in disgust at his situation. He absolutely hated being toyed with, no matter whom by. But the fact they continued some charade infuriated him to no end. And to appear as some sort of horse in front of him? Did they not respect him in the least? The spite grew as he reached the conclusion that they simply assumed he would be far too unstable or psychotic to see another human, and would need some comforting image such as brightly-colored horses.

Luna, however much she wanted to bite back, held her tongue from delivering her own sentiments, “I apologize if you believe we’re insulting you, but your little outburst won’t help your current situation. You’re in a dungeon cell for being a possible threat to Equestria. Your chances of leaving are quickly diminishing with each word you speak. You aren’t strong enough to bend or break the bars. Your only feasible option is to give us the information we require, unless you want to rot in here for the rest of your miserable life, that is.”

Whitemark was the only one to not shiver at the coldness of Luna’s response. Derpy hid behind Star Spangle, who felt as though he had swallowed his own heart at the point. Whether the Lunar Princess intended to send a message to her subjects wasn’t important, for it was already out in the open that defiance to her would not be tolerated. She absolutely despised having her authority tested. Discord was the prime offender, along with her sister on occasion (though that was more towards being playful).

Scar kept his face neutral until a mocking smirk broke out. He sat back down, kicked his legs out, and rested his hands against the back of his head, “The rest of it? Alright then; I’ve had worse.”

Luna glared at him, her eyes unable to burn his resolve away, “Do not mistake me for a lenient leader. I do not share the same empathy to threats as my sister, nor do I forgive easily.” Her ears flicked slightly as she detected her sibling’s presence nearby, “Speak of the Discord…”

Scar clicked his tongue, “I never asked forgiveness, and I don’t need it either. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Before the Lunar Princess could retort, the sound of Celestia and her guards arriving in the dungeon echoed against the walls. There was a final look at the Mercenary before she trotted off. Whitemark and Star Spangle moved to follow, but a hoof in their direction stopped them short. Derpy shuffled nervously and sped to the cell bars as soon as the Princess was a good enough distance away.

“What are you doing? You can’t talk to Princess Luna like that! She’s a Princess!” The crossed eyes did nothing to shake away the seriousness she gave off.

Scar shifted positions and repressed a yawn, “I suppose she is. But none of this is real, so…”

“It’s very real!” she cried. “You might not ever get out of here with an attitude like that!”

As much as Star Spangle wanted to hear the conversation, a feeling in the back of his head pushed it slowly to the right. The Princesses were nearing each other, and from the looks of it, Luna passed her sister without so much as a word. Despite being relatively new to the Royal Guard, even he thought it was odd that Luna was acting the way she was. Then again, only Celestia knew how the Lunar Princess conducted herself before the whole Nightmare Moon debacle, so he wasn’t in any position to make judgments just yet. He felt guilty as he watched her leave alone, without anyone protecting her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t his job and the thought quickly scurried to the back of his mind.

Princess Celestia slowed herself as she approached the final cell in the dungeon. On a personal note, she disliked the idea of any sort of confinement of a living creature, but knew the necessity of having such an area in her kingdom. At least now it served a purpose of protection for her ponies, though she didn’t yet know if it was entirely needed. No one really knew much about the creature that was being held, with the sole exception of Luna. And she wouldn’t share a bit of it, not until she took care of the situation herself. To say it was frustrating would be lenient.

Lacking anywhere to start, the Solar Princess merely stood in front of the human and uttered a single word, “Hello.”

“Hello,” he responded. “How are you?”

For what it was worth, Scar knew that the horse that just left and the one that just arrived were sisters. Even in his previously brainwashed state he could remember hearing “Sister” in association with those two. After piecing together bits of what he remembered into a full picture, he realized that this was the specific horse that wasn’t willing to attack him on sight. For what reason, he didn’t know. Was he grateful? No, he usually never was unless the person earned his respect. Forester and Lebedev were two examples of that, and he owed them the world for their help. He’d pay them back one day, somehow.

As for his response, Scar felt it was necessary to generate a rift between what he assumed were the leaders of these daft images. Each passing second seemed to make them seem more real, and the idea of playing along seemed a tad bit appealing at the moment. Or he was falling for a trap, but his intuition rarely failed him. The Mercenary withheld a grimace. Of course, there was always that one time those Bandits nearly killed him in a basement and stole everything he had… Regardless, opportunity recognition was a trait of a Merc that was necessary, and what better way to preserve one’s life than to make a friend with the rival of the thing that harassed you? He knew better than to waste his chances.

Celestia smiled at his response, “Quite well, thank you. How have you been?”

Scar looked at his surroundings, the horses, and then at himself before looking back at her, “Better, but not the worst.”

White Mark smirked at that. If it wasn’t going to be Princess Luna that would get information from their guest, it would definitely be Princess Celestia. And given the lax conversation so far, it seemed more likely to happen.

Celestia smiled sincerely, “I’m sorry about anything rash my sister may have said, or her overzealous behavior, but she’s been troubled recently by…” She thought over her next words, “’Visions’, so to speak.”

“So long as I’m treated well,” Scar stood against the wall once more, making his eyes level with hers, “I’m willing to make some small talk. Just not to the other one. I heard what it said in the sewers.”

Star Spangle twitched at that and ground his teeth, “That ‘it’ happens to be Princess Luna, creature!”

“And?”

Celestia placed a hoof on the guard and gave an understanding nod before meeting Scar’s gaze again, “Id prefer it if you didn’t call my sister an ‘it’, but I suppose it’s understandable from your perspective. I also apologize for you being in the dungeon, but-“

“I’m dangerous.”

It was more of a statement than a question that finished her sentence. Both saw it that way, and both knew it to be true. As much as she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, it would be foolish to do so without knowing more about him. Even then she would be uncertain as to what the outcome would be. Was it fair? Frankly, she didn’t think so. Would it possibly protect her ponies? It was a realistic assumption, though the human had already done so once for a bit of time, hadn’t it? After all, the breeding grounds of those vile creatures that now no longer populated Canterlot’s sewers were all but smashed apart. Maybe there was other reason behind such an act, but it benefited her ponies nonetheless.

Scar shirked off the self-appointed accusation without much trouble, “No, I know.” He idly rubbed his ragged stubble, “Some want me dead. I’ve walked into enough ambushes around the Zone to see that.”

Celestia shook her head, “Nopony wants you dead per se, but we’ve never seen the likes of you before. Rumors are spreading like wildfire around Canterlot about yourself and your actions.”

“Favorable?”

“Mostly,” she responded. “Admittedly, nopony has even heard of Tirek, but when word gets around that somepony has vanquished a long forgotten evil, it is usually well-received amongst the populace. In fact, it happens more often than one would think.”

The memory of the battle flooded Scar’s mind, and he soon remembered his insanely stupid mistake during it. He gave a groan of aghast and slapped a gloved hand to his forehead. The ponies watched in interest while he muttered curses and generally became increasingly displeased at something. The Merc ran his hands down his face and stared back up at Celestia.

“I wasted a Night Star.”

“Excuse me?”

Scar scoffed at his own actions and shook his head, “I can’t believe I did that. What was I thinking? That thing was worth its weight in gold!”

Whitemark’s thoughts tossed around in his head until realization hit him, “You’re talking about that glowing rock that exploded, aren’t you?”

Though Celestia found it a bit rude that this new visitor was lamenting the loss of the object that had literally saved the General, her sister and herself, she found it just to at least compensate him for what he gave up.

“I take it that what you lost was worth quite a bit, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. A lot of money has literally been turned into a warp within reality.”

“Would compensation for your loss make your situation better?” she asked questioningly. After all, she didn’t know if this was an overly proud creature that would be offended by her offer or readily accept it, so there was no point in not seeming a bit inquisitive to lay any tension to rest.

Scar considered what she said, and found it appealing. Now, this particular Mercenary was no fool, and was normally forced to sell artifacts at cost due to the many necessary steps it would take to ship them out to their respectful buyers. This left a hefty sum to Sidorivich, Shilov, or even sometimes Suslov. He dubbed them the “Three S’s” and normally sold to Suslov despite the distant trek. At least he would give a better price than Sidorivich.

Yet, none of Scar’s sales ever made him rich, and for good reason. Artifacts were rare, very rare. Selling them was akin to lopping off a body part for black market sale, and losing them? A mortifying experience that would drive any stalker mad. And like many stalkers, Scar tucked away his artifacts for later use within the wild confines of the Zone. But he wasn’t so sure he was in the Zone anymore, so…

It was time to finally turn a real profit.

And given that the mare he found earlier was carrying golden coins on her like it was absolutely nothing, he knew that he could definitely milk this for a hefty sum.

Scar smiled, “Why yes, that would actually be appreciated.”

“Excellent. Now, you said it was worth its weight in gold, but that doesn’t tell us much. What would be a generous price in terms of bits for such an… interesting object?”

“A Night Star can get you somewhere between five thousand to seven thousand rubles. I’m not sure of the conversion, though.”

That was effectively a lie on his part. Either amount wouldn’t be enough to purchase so much as even a fifth of an ounce of gold, and he knew that quite well. But hopefully, it would go over their heads. And as luck would have it, it did.

“That sounds like quite a lot,” she mused. “No matter; Star Spangle.” Said guard saluted, “Go fetch the royal accountant and tell him to take seven thousand bits from my personal coffers.”

Scar felt his heart literally stop at that. There was a short-lived emptiness of feeling that was quickly replaced by shock. He placed a hand on his chest and looked away as he felt himself struggle to acknowledge what he just heard. It was halfway towards an exaggeration. Celestia, however, took this in the completely wrong way.

“Oh, you were being humble! Surely something of that much power was worth more.” Star Spangle turned to attention once more, “Nine thousands bits, then. Please alert Gold Leaf to the exchange.”

Scar, if he didn’t feel the regular aches in his back, would have assumed this was some diabolical dream concocted by the Zone. But even the Zone wouldn’t create such an absurd image, right? He could only force himself into a state of calmness and nod his head. Besides, what would he lose with playing along? Once anyone saw him in a Monolith exoskeleton, his reputation would effectively be ruined. That meant making a living within the Zone would be all the more harder, and leaving wasn’t exactly an option anymore. So it was with a deep breath that the Mercenary looked back up, accepted his fate, and played this game for as long as he was still alive.

Princess Celestia, for her part, didn’t lose much in terms of finances with the reparation she handed out. As modest as she was, she was keen with her money and invested it in parts of infrastructure that would ultimately help her country thrive and command itself as a global power. A thousand years later and the shares of companies she helped fund were piling up in her personal reserve. Whether the money went to scholarships, festivals, or generally helping her ponies, it was usually put towards something worthwhile. Paying back somepony for their efforts wasn’t all that uncommon either.

Scar reached around himself and grabbed his backpack. It was empty, as he expected, but still in good condition. The Solar Princess watched in curiosity as he reached inside, hoping for some sort of food that was missed by his weighing of it. The man retrieved a perfectly edible, entirely wholesome, especially unexpired chunk of a loaf of bread, giving it an experimental sniff and bite. Risk was thrown to the wind and he began eating it in earnest until the morsel was nothing but crumbs on the rough concrete below. For what it was worth, food had the effect of calming Scar down when he felt his heart acting up, especially so from excitement. Not one to embrace being lethargic or unproductive, he turned on his well-known charm and got to work.

“So what would I have to do to get out of the place?” he asked bluntly.

There were times when Chason felt his less-than-humble side would tickle his ego, making him feel as if he were Yuri Gagarin on voyages beyond human knowledge. Beyond the atmosphere was beyond the Cordon, and farther than that were subtle lights in the distance that drove his inner explorer wild with ideas. There was so much to document, too much to see, and never enough time, ammo or resources to fulfill his need to excavate the enigmatic depths of a place forgotten and remembered within only two decades. The Zone was more than his workplace. It was his playground, only the bullies were highly mutated monstrosities hell-bent on keeping out folks like him. It was one hell of a challenge to contest, as he would put it, but maybe that was the appeal of it for him.

Now, things were just a fraction different.

He wasn’t simply a stalker working for a meal and ammo anymore; Chason Juhurov was leading an expedition into an unknown world with a wilderness just as deadly as the Zone itself. The veteran was adamant to take every precaution he deemed necessary and kept his eyes on every single person who was with him, save the poor soul that had been a casualty earlier. The tarped corpse tucked away in a shed still made him feel a bit vulnerable. He may not have known the stalker personally, but regardless of that fact, a team member was now dead. And though it wasn’t his primary concern, the thought that he was responsible as leader for not maintaining the safety of others hung over his head like a lackluster cloud.

But, as all stalkers learned to do, he didn’t keep his mind on death. No, no one could do that. Not when there was a whole new world to explore and trek through. Of course, he wasn’t going begin a true expedition until possibly a week of reconnaissance, but the thought nearly made him giddy with anticipation. The first human being to have tread where no other human had stepped before, making observations on the environment and protecting his flock with the vigilance of a hawk. There was ample time to prepare and gather information, and an almost luxurious feeling washed over him. It was good to finally have that sense of child-like wonder again, and in such a colorful setting too. And despite the familiar mutants and anomalies littering the nearby area, he had the faintest inkling that nothing would be able to stop him or the progress of the ISG now.  They were nigh-invincib-

“Are you just going to sit around all day with that look on your face, or are you going to actually get some work done?”

The Tourist snapped out of his daydreams and stared at Diederich, “I was devising a plan to cut through the forest, obviously.”

The lead scientist brushed a lock of hair away from her face and rolled her eyes playfully, “Ah. And I suppose using the map Zecora created didn’t meet your standards, did it?” He opened his mouth to protest but stopped half-way, “Why is it that men have such trouble with accepting navigational help?”

“I don’t need a map.” Chason tapped the side of his head, “Zone intuition.”

“We aren’t in the Zone.”

She had him there.

“I won’t disregard good advice, especially from a local. I was actually going to see if Zecora would accompany me as an escort and…” He contemplated for a moment, “… I’d hope she would act as a buffer and vouch for me if and when we decide to approach the nearby inhabitants. I’m sure there’s nothing I can’t handle out there, but it always pays well to be prepared for any situation.”

“As it should. Recklessness costs lives, and we need everyone we can muster to keep ourselves fortified and safe.”

The conversation seemed to end at that, bringing the spot to a quiet. Chason thumbed his chin in thought, going over his plans for the fourteenth time today. That was saying something, given it was early morning presently. Claramond watched him in a faint interest, turning her head to other directions occasionally to make sure all was well. She flinched when Chason hopped off his seat of an oil drum, making his equipment jingle with the movement.

“I don’t normally do this,” he began to admit, “but I think the sooner we establish contact, the sooner we can get some help with our situation. God knows how long we can last without it, being practically an island amongst a jungle of predators. I’ll pry Zecora from Suslov and see if she’s willing to help delegate some assistan-“

Diederich quieted him with a raised finger, “If you go to see whatever it is that lives on this-this…” She shifted uncomfortably, “…world, then I’ll come as well.”

“Absolutely not. It simply isn’t safe enough for a scientist to leave the immediate area.”

“Operator, I hold a good amount of rank within the ISG now, let alone the United Nations.”

A smile developed at the corners of his mouth, “Ah, but I lead this mission and have the final decision on all matters.”

“They wouldn’t like it if I mentioned your distaste towards scientific progress.”

The “they” was obviously his superiors. The threat, however, didn’t frighten him in the least. Sure, he respected authority and wanted to keep a paycheck coming in, but this was his turf, and as far as he was concerned, he was calling the shots. Alas, he knew better than to continue a frivolous debate that would inevitably lead to nothing.

He began to walk towards the main building, turning and extending his arms charitably, “Who am I to deny a woman’s desires and ambition? You’re very respectable Doctor, but know what you’re getting into by committing to this. Untold dangers could lurk anywhere.”

“I may not have been able to foresee our current position, but I knew what I was getting into by accepting to be a part of this team.” She emphasized it a gentle pat on the handgun resting on her hip.

“So be it. Be ready within three hours.”

The Tourist turned heel and stepped to the main base promptly, missing the satisfied look on Doctor Diederich’s face. But as he passed the storages, a familiar voice made him catch his foot halfway into a step. Chason found his reason to pause and leaned against the wall of the shed. Knowing full well who he was now spying on, he overheard Wexler speak over what he could only guess was a satellite phone. It was a wonder it was working, though.

“… Yeah, yeah… Everything’s going absolutely fine so far. I may be surrounded by fucking morons, but I can still keep my bearings despite it all… Not a word, understood? Your situation can’t be all that better – and believe me, mine sure as hell isn’t that great either – but progress is being made. Give it time… You can’t be serious… I… I don’t even know how to respond to that. Stay calm, stay focused, and try to get back to Kuala Lumpur.”

There was a pause longer than the others, roughly ten whole seconds. “… Well… Keep it under wraps. If people knew what this and that and all we had and could see and do, we’d be pretty screwed… No. As far as I know, the ISG has no connection whatsoever with the folks at the IRC…”

Even from this distance, Chason could hear the sounds of yelling from the phone, prompting Wexler to hush the person on the other end with a hiss, “Quiet! Damn! Of course I’ve known about them, I work for them!” Another drawn-out break in the conversation, “… They’re giving you trouble, are they? Don’t bother trying to lay low. I hate to say this, but send a message. You know how… What do you mean? You’ve been looking through their things and you haven’t even figured it out yet?”

There was an exasperated sigh from the supposed scientist, “International Regulatory Committee. IRC… You’re drunk, I can tell. I… I don’t even know what to say at this point. You’re lucky you have me covering your ass. Finish what you started, and get some god damn rest already. You sound half-dead.” There was a soft chuckle, “Alright Lyor. Enjoy it, expect to see you soon.”

There was the clacking sound of a closing sat-phone, and a weary sigh. Chason skipped quietly past the scientist, thinking over questions in his mind. It was odd how the satellite phone worked properly here, especially so when there were no satellites as far as they knew. No, it seemed pretty obvious that there weren’t any. Then again, it was vaguely possible that the Space Bubbles dotting the area could perhaps, however skeptical he was, allow for some sort of connectivity to the Zone and beyond. It wasn’t very plausible, but he knew that anything could come to fruition given the right setting. Now equipped with an uneasiness regarding one of his “flock”, Chason put in motion his plans to finally further his understanding of this new world. What would become of his ambitions wasn’t overly clear at the moment, but he was sure that a level head and seasoned mind could overcome any obstacle. Little did he know that every single skill in staying alive of his own and those around him would be put to the test in the not too distant future.

That, the veteran stalker, was ignorant of.