Observation and Protection

by Stillmatic

Chapter 4: Illusions and Specimen Retrievals

“Yeah, I know who you mean… That ‘Marked One’ reeks of Death Truck. That’s why no one let him into the village when Red found him and brought him back to Sidorovich… Yeah, you know what they made him do? I thought it was going to be hilarious, but no, the guy managed to not get his legs blown clean off by an anomaly. He found the Stone Blood for Sid and then that fat bastard tells all of us to let him in? What kind of crock is that? Still… He did help us when those Mercs were knocking at our door, and he did clean up the car park with Petruha and Awl. Whatever, he’s gone now. To the North, they say. Him and a bunch of experts toting Exos are making their way to the Center… Can you believe that? Maybe the Truck wasn’t supposed to bring him back after all… Maybe it was going to be his own two legs…” – Fanatic, from the Rookie Village in the Cordon

The filthy nails dug into the hardened sand, nearly shattering backwards from the desperation that forced them upwards, climbing step by step ever so doggedly. Nothing would stand in the body’s way; nothing could possibly muster the strength and produce the force necessary to knock it down from where it was. One hand leaned up and grabbed at a fractured piece of sand, getting pulled back immediately.

Between cracks lied some type of molten liquid that fired tiny, harmless sparks every now and then. Yet, the viscous liquid was cool to the touch, not harming the appendage at all. It reached forward again and pulled up, then repeated with the opposite hand. Labored breathing echoed through, and the constantly erratic clicking of the Geiger counter was a verbal assault that grinded through what little patience there was within the body.

Left grab, right step, right grab, left step, repeat. This went on for a few seconds more, until the body reached the top of the mound of rocky sand. It immediately leaped to the wall nearby, clinging to the ladder for dear life, and climbing with a hasty speed that reflected its sheer willpower and determination. At the top and far back, stood The Big It. Without a second thought, the body glanced around and spotted another route, finding its original blocked off by a ledge far too high to climb.
Rung after rung, it climbed, not stopping for a moment and not caring what the consequences would be. It had come too far to stop now, and halting all the progress it had made would be the single most shameful act to have ever graced the Zone. Reaching the top, the Geiger counter slowly died down a bit, easing the pointy, outward ears. The next step involved crossing a large, collapsed beam, where falling would most definitely result in an untimely death.

Graced with balance and mental fortitude, the body quickly moved across the red beam with utmost care. After crossing the massive gap between areas, the body slowly slid down a pile of rubbish, make sure not to receive a tear in its suit or injure an appendage. The landing was perfect and both feet were safely planted on the ground once again. Like a drug fiend to his fix, the body sprinted forward and climbed up another pile, scaling it with ease until it reached a flat piece of concrete.

The trial wasn’t over just yet, however, and various obstacles were overcame and left in the radioactive dust that clung so feverishly to every possible surface. Reaching the finish line, the body leaped into a young spatial anomaly that transported him to his destination, the foreboding platform that stared down at all trespassers. Landing face first in the dirt, the body lifted itself up and wiped the excess particles from its suit. The breathing slowed significantly, holding it in anticipation as if the universe itself depended on it.

The gasmask was peeled of his face, allowing for a fresh breath to finally fill his throbbing lungs. Glorious! It was an absolute elixir-life in the form of a gas he needed so badly! The tan mask fell to the floor, with the surrounding air crisp and clean, with no indication of any radiation from the Geiger counter. It was he who made it. It was he who used only a lightly-modified SEVA suit, no curtain helm, and just a gasmask to do what only a handful had ever done. The AKM-74/2U strapped to his back was doing as it deserved, resting patiently and waiting for its next use.

Such simple items, yet they had made all the difference to this one man. No, this one stalker. None. None would ever believe this to be true. To think he’d finally made it? Here? Impossible. Though, here he was, wasn’t he? Amid all the relics and ancient structures of years long gone, festered together through the deaths and lives stolen by an old world once so lively and corrupted beyond the wildest nightmares that humanity could possibly have spawned? It was… breathtaking. Yes, that’s what it was for him.

He nearly felt like jumping with joy, shooting his fists into the air and claiming victory over the Zone for what has finally happened. But he didn’t. Now was not the time for that, despite the salty joy the leaked from his eyes. He used his palm to wipe away the liquid and focused on the task at hand.  Now was the time, wasn’t it?

Without another thought, the stalker stepped to his prize, the massive monument glowing a glorious blue hue that shown divinity onto his ragged and tired body. The Wish Granter towered over him, whispering into his ears and beckoning for him to finally receive what he so righteously deserved for all of his troubles. He reached out his hand, but pulled back, not feeling all that worthy anymore. Still, he raised both of them to his chest, clenching them and staring at the Holy Crystal.

“I…”

He thought for a moment. What was it he wanted exactly? Money wasn’t a concern for him, and he made no true enemies among the Zone that would make him feel as though humanity was an inadequate and defunct entity that didn’t deserve existence. Power wasn’t needed and he knew he lived a full life. What was it that he wanted?

‘I want the Zone to disappear.’

No. He shook his head. It wasn’t possible.

‘Humanity is corrupt, mankind must be destroyed.’

No. He shuddered. It wasn’t right.

‘I want to be rich.’

No. He clicked his tongue. It wasn’t about the money.

‘I want to rule the world.’

No. He grimaced. It wasn’t about the power.

‘I want immortality.’

No. He scowled. It wasn’t for him.

“THEN WHAT?!” He screamed at the top of his rusty lungs, “WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?!”

And like that, the whispers were gone. The seductive call of the Monolith was purged from his thoughts, and removed from his head. His jaw slackened slightly and the veil was lifted from his mind. His eyes regained their color and life, bringing him into the reality that relied on a true state of being. It was… right. He looked up at the Monolith and felt a scowl of pure hatred cross his face.

‘It’s all an illusion, manufactured in a lab near the Sarcophagus.’

So… all of this was a trick? An illusion, made by man. That’s what Doctor said, and he was absolutely right. No one had ever returned from the Wish Granter alive, in the entire history of the Zone. That was about to change. The stalker looked away from the Wish Granter, feeling foolish for having believed in it, despite being told otherwise. He checked his backpack and fished out a decoder. He now knew what he had to do. The man began to walk away from the Monolith, feeling restored both physically and mentally. His journey wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot.

“I wish…” He said as he left the hearing distance of the Crystal, “… for nothing…”

The stalker departed the Chernobyl Reactor Number Four and climbed down the ladder, ready for as many battles as it would take him to finally make this right. He knew he had his part in the Zone’s instability, and for that, he felt the heaviest burden of guilt. But now wasn’t the time for that. Now was the time for action. And as he reached the bottom of the sand piles and molten liquid, he questioned to himself one thought.

‘Will I do the right thing?’

Vile dreams swam through the Tourist’s head, haunting him at every second he remained asleep. He awoke with a start, sweat decking his body and making the thin cover stick to him moistly. The hardened lungs took deep gulps of air, making sure that it was still possible from where he was. Chason swiveled and sat on the edge of the bunk, feeling nauseous and fear-stricken from what he’d seen.

As his senses came back to him, it became obvious that something was wrong. Screaming? Why was there screaming coming from outside? His instincts kicked in and he immediately grabbed for the Martha underneath his pillow, rearing it upwards like a precious child. He was mostly naked with the exception of a tank top and pair of cargo shorts, but that didn’t matter at the moment. Were the scientists safe?

Someone kicked in the airlock door to the mobile lab, which sent it slamming against the nearby wall.

“Tourist!”

He recognized that voice but remained where he was as he clutched his weapon, “Violinist! What happened?”

“You have to come see this! It’s amazing! We’ve captured a new type of mutant! Get your suit on and bring the tranquilizer rifle from within the lab! Hurry!”

Tranquilizer? They weren’t planning on killing the mutant? He found that surprising, to say the least. There was an awkward sigh, followed by a series of thoughts. Of course, why wouldn’t a bunch of hippy scientists from the United Nations want to keep it alive? Such humanitarians they were, at least, when it wasn’t happening right under their noses.

Grumbling to himself, Chason suited himself up quickly but kept his gasmask off. The strapped SGI-5K under his bunk was left where it was and he sped to the other end of the lab in order to grab the less violent and more humane weapon. Within a minute, he was out the door, toting a metal rifle in his firm grip. Outside of the door was like nothing he’d ever seen, whether in the outside world or the Zone itself.

Some creature, he didn’t know what, was caught in a net and slashing around wildly with its claws. The body structure hinted at a Chimera, but it was furred and didn’t have a stubby neck, where a long one took its place that lead to a bird’s head. The beak was an odd mutation, with Chason never seeing something quite like that on any mutant before. Its tail seemed that of a cat, most likely from a more arid environment. All in all, this thing was far too outlandish to be considered normal to Earth standards, but not mutated enough to truly fit within the Zone’s.

Several ISG Troops held ropes to the net to hold it down and prevent the animal’s escape. A few others were behind them holding their weapons to fire at a second’s notice. Nearby were Okaidy and Diederich, who observed the creature with severe concern to its well-being. Figures, he thought to himself. The large South-African motioned for him to come closer, which he promptly did.

“Seeing as though you run the security detail, I’d like you to tell your subordinates to please be careful with the mutant. There is no archived data on it and we need to study it alive,” Okaidy explained with a thick accent.

Chason nodded his head and turned it to the ISG Troops, “(Hey! Be careful with that thing! Whatever you do, don’t go for a killing shot! Make sure it doesn’t get hurt and just hold it down for now!)” He heard various grunts and words of protest, “(You either do that or you’ll find yourself on trial for destroying United Nations property!)”

The threat seemed to ring clear and each of the Troops lowered their weapons. Chason took aim at the main body of the creature, waiting for it to give him a clear shot. There was a pneumatic “thwip”, followed by a cry of pain from the creature. What soon followed stopped everyone’s hearts cold.

“OW! NOT COOL! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” It seemed to speak fluent English, disregarding the previous assumptions the humans made, “STUPID…” It shrieked in anger, the slightly feminine voice cracking, “DWEEBS! LET! ME! GO!”

No one knew what to say to it, but the labored breathing soon followed, indicating the remote drug injection was taking affect. It thrashed around less, dropping the guard of everyone. A confident ISG Troop walked forward to tie off the net, only to be slashed across the chest with a clawed hand. He fell backwards, landing against the hard ground and pushing himself away from the creature that was nearly unconscious at this point. It slumped down, the drug taking its full effect and sending it into a medically-induced state of sleep.

Chason hefted the Troop by the shoulders, “(Are you alright?)”

The gasmask didn’t hide the shocked tone, “(What the fuck?! That thing just talked!)”

The Tourist pressed a finger into the cut marks on the bulletproof vest and found that the blow didn’t penetrate deep enough for it to hit the skin. The vest was ruined by ISG standards, where even a small penetration was grounds for an equipment exchange. The Trooper stared at the creature and shook his head lightly, still surprised at what had just happened.

He heard Chason speak from behind him, “(Aren’t you supposed to be a veteran? Why on Earth would you get that close to an unknown mutant?)” The Tourist clicked his tongue, “(Go and get a new vest from the armory. Leave this one somewhere inside.)”

The Troop nodded and left, making sure to check behind his shoulder in case anything decided to jump out at him. Chason turned to the scientists, who stared at the animal before them in bewilderment.

Diederich was barely able to speak, only uttering a few words, “H-How… Did it..?”

“Amazing…” Okaidy concluded, “Every time I think something is going to be normal, a new prospect pops up and presents itself.” He turned his head to Chason but kept his eyes at the new discovery lying in the grass, “You. You have experience, yes? Then tell me, have you ever heard of mutants speaking in any decipherable language? English, Russian, Ukrainian? Anything?”

Chason propped the rifle against his shoulder in thought, “Well… Yes, actually. Controllers are capable of speaking whatever language they knew beforehand, both variants of Zombies speak in a muddled sense, Poltergeists have been known to whisper to stalkers who go through their territory, and Burers are capable but don’t choose to for the most part, like just about any other mutant. They can emulate the crying of baby or toddler though, for whatever reason. It’s worth noting that Fleshes speak in a garbled, distorted perversion of Ukrainian, but it’s next to impossible to understand (though, I specifically remember one time where one said ‘Help me, Brother!’). These are all just off the top of my head, though, and I’m sure there are more that are capable of communication through understandable vocalization.”

“I’m impressed,” Diederich muttered, still surprised at the encounter, “You seem to know more than you let on… What else is there that we should know?”

He stopped himself from shrugging in an effort to not seem rude and simply pushed his hood away from his neck, “A lot. Scientists fail to realize that stalkers have firsthand experience with the Zone. It’s sad, really. The people who know the most are the ones who get ignored and are disregarded as brutish killers a good portion of the time.” The Tourist looked thoughtful for a short moment, “I feel as though it’s ironic, but I won’t push my luck there. I’m thankful the Zone has kept me alive this long.”

Okaidy gave him a quick glance in interest, “You truly believe this place is alive, don’t you?”

Chason opened his mouth, but was cut short by a new voice that had entered from behind.

“Of course, young man, the Zone is always alive.” They turned to find Professor Kalancha stepping out of the lab, looking weary from whatever work he spent the night on, “Think of it as a body, with each of us as the foreign agents to it. Can you understand what I’m getting to?”

Diederich thought for a moment, “A body, you say..? I’d assume that those ‘hiccups’ are caused by us ‘agents’, then?”

“Yes, this one,” he pointed to Chason, “told us about the reactions the Exclusion Zone can emit when threatened by contaminants.”

The Tourist nodded his agreement, “Each emission is an attempt to cleanse the Zone, with each one rearranging anomalies and such. Obviously, it isn’t very successful most of the time, due to stalkers having places to hide during that time.”

Kalancha pressed his hand onto Chason’s shoulder, “And that is what a true student of the Zone will tell you when you ask.” He headed towards the airlock of the mobile lab, “It would be most wise to listen to his input during any procedure or course of action. His knowledge might just save your life, unlike many others who disregarded such things in the past.”

Ignoring the grim ending, Chason smiled, “Thank you Professor, I appreciate the kind words.”

The Bean-Pole stopped at the doorway, staring low to the inside and remaining silent for a few seconds, “… Yes… well, information, no matter who it’s from, must be treated with optimal respect and care. Now, I must be getting some rest for a few hours. Docent Suslov will most likely be out of the lab within a short amount of time. Please, be careful and tread lightly.”

With that, the scientist headed back inside in order to sleep, leaving the half dozen Troops, the Scientists, the creature and both the Violinist and Tourist outside. Okaidy motioned to speak but something cut him off. Everyone stood still as a massive claw went straight through the nearby fencing, cutting it apart easily and knocking down several pieces. Dust was kicked up quickly, clouding the area and preventing the humans from seeing what had arrived.

Then, like a streak of light, a bulking lion-like mutant pounced forward from the cloud and landed on an ISG Troop. He screamed out in horror as claw was dug into his face, tearing it off and decapitating his head from his body in one swift blow. Everyone flinched back as fear began to grip them with no restraint.

Chason looked over the creature quickly in an attempt to relate it to a mutant he knew. It had large wings on its back, a sign that it was something completely new. There was a purple stinger where a tail should have resided that ebbed lightly, as if ready at all times to stab a possible target. The menacing smile across its face spelled death in any language, with the teeth as razor-sharp as its predatory abilities. Its eyes locked onto Chason as he began to shout commands to the rest of his team and the remaining scientists.

“Okaidy, Diederich! Get inside and lock the door, we’ll handle this!” He kept his eyes onto the creatures as he grimaced, “(Get into positions! Treat it as though it’s a Chimera! Watch out for the tail as well!)”

The two scientists retreated into the mobile lab quickly, doing as they were told and securing the bunker. Chason cursed under his breath, realizing that he only brought his Martha and the tranquilizer rifle with him, where they’d probably do nothing to such a large monstrosity. Violinist edged close to him in that brief window of time before the fight began (which in reality was only three or four seconds) and shoved him away while still aiming at the new mutant.

“(Go!)” His partner shouted, “(We’ll take care of this one; you won’t be able to do anything with those! Look past the mutant, there’s another that’s smaller! Bring it down and get it back here while we fight this thing!)”

The mutant pounced at them as Violinist finished that sentence. They both rolled in opposite directions, barely dodging the attack with their lives. The Troops opened fire immediately as the tail swiped at Violinist, merely clipping him with the side. He was sent a few feet away into the dirt and landed prostrate.

The thick boots kicked up dust and he fired as he raised himself back up into a standing position. Violinist glanced at Chason leaving through the torn gate and focused solely on the threat in front of him now. Things were likely to get messy.

The fire cracked silently as four Stalkers sat around it. The night was silent, only a small wind and the rustling of grass and leaves to fill the ears. One of the men spoke up suddenly: “Have you children heard the tale of the Monolith?" Hearing no replies, the man continued, "You see, in the center of the Zone, stands the Nuclear Power Plant. Many have tried to reach it, and almost all of them have failed. Their ambitions were mountains of artifacts and gold, and anything else their greedy minds could think of. But their ideas had a reason; they all had heard and tried to get to the place most sacred for the Monolith bastards." 

"They all tried to get to the Wish Granter - a being, or a place, only God knows what it is, in the Plant, that can grant you your wildest wishes! Mountains of artifacts, eternal glory, fame, hills of money, immortality - everything. Possibilities a man couldn't spend in a lifetime! All the Wish Granter asks in return is a small payment, but what it is, children, I'll leave you to find out." 

In the morning, the elderly Stalker had left, leaving nothing but an echo from the story. Strelok, Ghost and Fang would never see the man again. – Stalker Folklore, from Varying Sources

He shoved the Monolithian back with a rifle-butt to the face, finishing the brainwashed human with a Warsaw round to the head and coating the inside of the SEVA suit’s curtain helm red. Without a second thought, the stalker went through the doorway to a new room that was far darker than the rest. The heavy, metallic bulkhead slammed behind him and he twisted back to fire a few shots at it in surprise. A bullet ricocheted and nearly hit his ear, but he didn’t flinch a centimeter. It was locked from the other end, he realized, and there was no way out from that direction anymore.

Turning around again, he spotted what he’d finally been waiting to see. Before him were tubes filled with a flowing electricity that danced magnificently, entrancing him for but a moment’s time. He shook his head and observed what was in the middle of the tubes. It was a hologram, exactly like the Monolith, yet far smaller and greener. Taking his knife out, the stalker began breaking each tube with ferocious stabs, shattering them and sending shockwaves through the room. Luckily, his Battery prevented any of the electricity to jump directly to his body and stopped a shocking death.

A Poltergeist appeared soon after he destroyed the second tube, just barely showing itself in his peripheral vision. He leaped to the floor and dodged a pillar of flames by mere inches. The room began heating up intensely as a result of the Poltergeist and its pyro-kinetic abilities. Choosing to ignore the mutant for now, the stalker slammed his hunting knife down on another tube and ruptured it into a brilliant light show that literally knocked him off of his feet. He backpedalled and another shower of fire missed him again.

The stalker pulled out the “Big Ben,” a heavily modified Black Kite refitted to fire rifle rounds that he’d looted of a stalker named Freeman (he also kept the crowbar he bought off of the Barkeep as well). The recoil of the massive handgun nearly pushed the gun to his face, but he kept lowering it as his bullets broke another tube, leaving only two left. He rolled to the side and saw another Poltergeist show up from thin air that spotted him immediately.

With possibly only seconds left, the Loner booted apart the closest remaining tube’s glass and pistol whipped the last one. The third Poltergeist finally arrived and he soon found himself cornered by the invisible mutants. Then, without warning, they exploded in a shower of body parts, coating him a healthy amount of blood and other unmentionable things. He backed away and found that the hologram was now nonexistent and had vanished once he’d destroyed the holographic tubes.

Suddenly, another hologram appeared, this one a scientist with his hands behind his back. The stalker froze and stared at it, not daring to speak just yet. He felt himself being rooted in place by some force he couldn’t describe, as if a Controller itself was doing this to him.

The hologram spoke with very subtle hints of amusement, but sternly, “Hello, Strelok. I see you have many questions for me. Well, then ask them, and then we can decide what to do with you.”

“Who are you?” The Loner asked in a raspy voice, it barely able to contain his confusion.

“We are the result of an experiment aimed at creating a Super Consciousness called C-Consciousness. The consciousness’s of seven volunteers were connecting during the experiment, leading to the creation of the Super Consciousness that is Us. We immediately subordinated those conducting the experiment and assigned them to tasks we needed them to carry out.” It took a breath, as if it needed it, “According to our calculations, Earth is surrounded by a special informational-field, a so-called Noosphere. It includes all of the inhabitants of the planet with cognitive abilities. Our main goal was to make small adjustments to the Noosphere, allowing us to remove things like anger, cruelty, greed, and other negative factors from the planet. Individuals are unable to affect the Noosphere, but C-Consciousness could.” It breathed again calmly, “Unfortunately, we made a mistake and our interference spawned the Zone, which we’d been trying to contain ever since.”

The stalker looked to his lower-left for a moment in thought, his eyelids closing half-way. He looked back up to the scientist, his voice much clearer now, “What is the Zone? How did it come about?”

“What you see is the result of an ill-considered intervention in the Earth’s Noosphere. Attempts to affect the Noosphere brought about the local ‘crack.’ The Zone is simply the visible manifestation of this ‘crack.’ The underlying problem is far greater than you can imagine.”

“Why did it happen here?”

“It was the best place. After the explosion in 1986, there were very few people left in this area and we could work without fear of being found. Further, there are many, powerful antennas here, which are extremely important for our cognitive optimization experiments.”

He sighed, “Is the explosion in ’86 your work too?”

“No, we had nothing to do with that. Most of us were only starting out in science back then. The Chernobyl Zone was not used as a testing site for experiments until 1989.”

“What happened to me?” The stalker asked curiously.

“You’re a bolt that fell out of the machine. Unfortunately, that did not come to our attention for a long time. From the moment the Zone was formed, many people have tried to get to its center, but cannot let that happen. Humanity is not ready for the truth. That is why we promised stalkers with the fulfillment of their most coveted desires. Once recruited, they’d be sent to protect the Zone’s secret.”

He pulled up his sleeve and showed his Mark, “What does the tattoo ‘S.T.A.L.K.E.R.’ mean?”

“S.T.A.L.K.E.R. is a coded acronym, which we use to mark agents programmed for particular missions. Your mission, as our agent, was to kill Strelok and his group. They got to close to finding out things they shouldn’t know. We created a network of psi-fields on the way to the Zone’s center in order to recruit agents. You know one of these fields by the name of ‘Brain Scorcher.’ When a stalker attempts to reach the Zone’s center in order to fulfill some wish, we acquire control over his consciousness and program him to a specific mission. A mistake was made,” the hologram flickered ever so slightly, “and your mission was to kill yourself.”

The stalker rubbed at the long scar atop his head, remembering how he obtained it when all of this started, “What are the ‘Death Trucks?’”

“The transports we used to send our ‘Marked’ agents into the Zone. They infiltrate the stalker community and carry out our orders without realizing it. Unfortunately, more than half the stalkers die during transportation. The Zone is very unstable,” it stated the obvious, “You are one of our agents sent to kill Strelok and we’re now trying to work out how we made that mistake.”

Still in awe at all this information, he shook his head to clear his mind, “What next?”

“That depends on you. The Zone is growing; we’re trying to restrain its expansion but humanity seems to be intent on hindering our work. Our resources are not limitless, and the bodies connected to C-Consciousness eventually die. If,” it said with a hint of emotion, “you join us, we can restrict the Zone’s growth. If you decide otherwise, we cannot make a credible prognosis of the outcome.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it instead. His concentration, every fiber of his being, and every possible part of him focused solely on his next course of action. His choice, whatever it may be, would either heal the Zone, or outright damage it beyond repair, possibly destroying it. The stalker pulled out a picture he received from Doctor and ran his hand over it. It was, for lack of a better word, his group. Doctor, Guide, Ghost, and Fang. Each was like a brother to him, and two of them were dead by this point.

Not many experts, if any, ever cried within the Zone, despite the circumstances. But him, the leader of the miniature faction, held back tears at the thought of his friends being dead. It was his fault that Fang was killed off by Clear Sky. It was his fault that Ghost went to work with the Ecologists, only for him to die at the hands of a Controller. It was his fault that an entire faction attempting to heal the Zone was wiped out. It was his fault an innocent man was persecuted to a slow death from each blowout. It was his fault that the Zone was in such a state of disrepair. And all for the sake of his own greed.

He stowed the picture and wiped any rogue tears from his eyes, careful not to get any radioactive dust particles within them. This stalker glared at the hologram in spite and spat his next few words, words that would forever alter the course of history within the Zone.

“I’m not going to help you with this deception.”

“So be it.” It concluded, “Follow the radio signal and then we’ll see just what exactly we will truly do with you. You’ve made it this far, but even the luckiest dog will have his fortune run out. There’s a warehouse at the other end of the plant. Decide for yourself what to do once you get there.” It clicked its nonexistent tongue, “It is a shame that you choose not to join us. A person like you could heal the Zone with your knowledge.”

And like that, it disappeared from his sight. A brief flash engulfed him, moving him away from the Monolith Control Center and to another location, where he’d finally begin the last leg of his journey. Things, for this stalker, never seemed to end. But then again, Strelok was always more than capable to handle anything the Zone threw at him, and this was going to be no different. After all, the body was unstoppable in its goal, and the mind knew what it needed to do. The only problem was a certain question that continued to bother Strelok.

‘Will I do the right thing?’

Chason took deep breaths as he sprinted, finding himself doing something quite challenging. Chasing mutants with tranquilizers was a job he tried once for Duty and it nearly ended in disaster. In fact, he remembered quite fondly of a Dutyer named Inquisitor that he captured a pair of Fleshes for. He was a pretty nice stalker and paid well for captured mutants. Of course, he never bothered with helping him ever again after they got chased off from a Pseudogiant nest by the mother of the pack, with their bodies intact, thankfully.

Now was completely different though. Now Chason chased some oddball (he used that term loosely) of a mutant that he’d never seen before. It could possibly have been related to a Flesh due to its four legs, or possibly a type of dog, but it seemed far too lean and tall to be either. It was marked with something on its hind quarters, was striped, and had…
‘Jewelry?’ He thought, finding himself confused at the sight.

The stalker decided now was probably the best time to take action, and did so by firing a tranquilizer round right at the rear of the creature. It tripped and tumbled over itself almost instantly and quite comically. The front legs dug into the ground and tried to pull itself away from the approaching human, but the drugs soon took effect and stopped all movement. Chason stepped to it cautiously and aimed his Martha at the downed animal for safety’s sake. Now that it had been stopped, he was able to get a good look at it.

Chason had travelled the world once with his father, seeing far off lands and meeting different cultures for a good portion of his childhood. In fact, he’d one time visited parts of Africa and seen the wildlife as well. From this experience, he easily recognized the animal as not a mutant, but a common zebra.

‘Or, at least as common a zebra can be in the Zone,’ he mused to himself.

It wore a Mohawk (he’d question that later), some jewelry around various parts of its body, was striped mainly on the legs, and had a curious looking mark on its flank. He poked it gently with a raised brow and the zebra stirred as a result. It opened its drowsy eyes just barely enough to look at him, and just enough so to show something that he didn’t notice earlier. It seemed sentient, just from how it stared at him. Of course, the drugs didn’t help his observance of it, but there appeared to be a type of lucidity hidden beneath the weary state of the eyes.

It raised its head slightly, “I was simply trying to flee; why did you attack me?”

He recoiled back in shock and kept his Martha aimed at it, “So, it’s true… I’ve seen it happen before, but you’re entirely different.” Once his surprise wore off, he lowered his weapon and kneeled down by the zebra, making sure not to let his fingers get close to its mouth. “I’ve never seen a mutant like you before, or those other ones for that matter. The fact two of you could speak fluent English is reason enough to take you back to the lab and study you.”

“Study? Me?” Its nosed wrinkled and it continued to speak in a very Okaidy-type accent, “What could I have possibly done to deserve this act of villainy?”

“Villainy? You have a concept of ethics..?” He pulled out his PDA and began taking notes down on the zebra, “Tell me, how is it you’re able to speak?”

When the human looked up from his digital assistant, he found that the creature had finally passed out from the tranquilizer round that it had received. He gently pulled out the dart and tossed it away into a nearby gathering of bushes not far from where he was. It seemed to make a whimpering sound as it hit some surface, but he was far too distracted to bother noticing. Chason hoisted the zebra onto his shoulders with a grunt and slung the rifle over his back while keeping his Martha in his right hand.

Finally ready, he began jogging back to the lab in order to bring the specimen he had retrieved. A nearby rustling caught his attention and his eyes darted around quickly to look for the source. He spun around to find what appeared to be wolves, one with the dart stuck in a hollow area where the eye would have been. One thing that seriously made him question his vision was the fact they were all made of pieces of wood. He stared at them in bewilderment for a brief moment and began to dash straight back to the lab while the wolves stayed in pursuit.

Remaining silent, one of the few remaining Clear Sky members leaped onto the mutant while it was distracted and sank his knife within its eye socket. The Docent, while normally a man of science, was highly capable of defending himself as well as fighting against humans and mutants alike. Suslov’s skill was a necessary asset for himself when he’d left the research labs following the creation of the C-Consciousness and it had served to keep him and his colleagues alive for a good amount of time as a result of it. Lebedev, however, eventually became an exception.

Suslov used his knife to shank the now-deformed hole repeatedly while grabbing tufts of hair for leverage. Once he realized he’d made enough room for his next experiment, he put his weapon away on his belt. Now, the Docent knew that even the greatest of discoveries could come from violence, if done properly and with a purpose. Today was the day he’d test a brand new theory on the thickness and hardiness of a new mutant species’ skull.

He pulled out an F1 grenade from his belt and shoved his entire arm as deep and far into the socket as physically possible. Without a moment’s hesitation, he yanked the pin, left it inside, and jumped off the mutant’s head. Suslov landed with a tumble and reversed around mid-fall. He quickly pulled out his PDA and began recording what was about to happen.
With a beautiful shower consisting of little pieces of flesh and bone, the skull of the mutant exploded into a monstrous storm, coating every nearby surface in a sticky substance. Bits of brain matter dropped from the sky and Suslov looked up, only for a piece to his him in the eye. He smacked it away and wiped it all while taking down notes on the effects of explosive materials inside of the skull cavity of a living being.

“That was… nice work.”

The Docent sat up and chuckled at Violinist, “The old Professor would throttle me if he ever saw me do that. It’s too bad Professor Lebedev isn’t here for this. He’d be able to tell you every single weak-point on that mutant just from observing us fighting it.” He sighed, “Say, where’s your friend? The one who’s in charge of the security on this little expedition of ours?”
Violinist helped Suslov up to his feet, “He’s getting another mutant.”

“He left us in the middle of an attack to retrieve a sample?”

“I told him to. I really don’t think a tranquilizer rifle would have done much against that thing, and besides, we don’t have a cage big enough for it either.”

Suslov nodded, “I see…” He looked at the odd creature laying in the grass a few meters away, “Come on, help me get this thing into one before it wakes up. I’m sure the others will want to study it.”

“Right, I figured they would,” The stalker replied, feeling tired all over again.

Strelok fell to the floor in a tired heap. The cold concrete underneath him gave little comfort to the stalker’s body, but he didn’t care. Now was the finale of his journey and now was the time to end the bastard science that was the C-Consciousness. Forcing himself up once more, the exhausted man lifted his AKM-74/2U and walked down the hallway as bright green lights could be seen further down. An unbearable weight was on his shoulders and he stepped forward shakily.

But as he got closer to the lab, a second wind came about his being. Each step became more purposed and his fingers tightly clutched the handle of his assault rifle. Strelok squinted from the light of the room but glanced around regardless, studying what he saw. It was undoubtedly the C-Conscious lab, as evidenced by the multiple stasis tubes and their occupants centered around several consoles that whirred constantly. The only lighting available came from a few dim bulbs and the green light the tubes gave off.

The AKM was cocked and he swung it around for easy aim. There was a moment of apprehension within him and he stopped to briefly consider his actions.

‘Is this the right thing?’

Somehow, he already knew the answer to that and began to fire in a sweeping motion, shattering the stasis tubes and killing the people within. He squinted once more and grimaced as he ended the lives of such bright minds that had stolen their fair share from regular stalkers. Fluids jumped into the air along with glass, but only the crack of his weapon could be heard.
The scene was lit up with sparks and flashes that reflected back at his eyes, but he simply reloaded and continued his onslaught. Surely, couldn’t this be considered euthanasia? Once again, he asked himself a question he already knew the answer to. After a short time, he stopped firing and lowered his weapon down to his hip. Strelok looked around and saw each body bleeding heavily. There were going to be no survivors. And yet, that didn’t seem to trouble him.

Another spatial anomaly twisted into existence nearby, only a few feet away from a nearby terminal. He quickly grabbed whatever documents, information, and physical evidence he could and stowed it into his backpack, dropping random items onto the ground to make room for what he’d collected. The stalker sighed and looked back at the tubes, feeling chilled at what he’d done. Despite that, it was established within him that what he had committed was necessary course of action that could better the Zone and humanity. He stepped through the anomaly without speaking a word.

It was, for lack of a better phrase, glorious to be alive. Strelok stood around, taking in the sights after landing nearby in a lively meadow. There were no mutants and there were no anomalies to be seen. A smile found itself a home on his face as he lied down in the grass. It was finally over. The infernal dream of riches and wishes and gold were gone forever. Now, everyone would know that it was all a lie. Everyone would know what he’d done and what proof he had now to show. His mind constantly returned to that single word: Glorious.

The sheer brightness of the sun was amazing and he hadn’t felt such warmth in a long while. Tall blades of grass ran over the meadow and lay there, just watching. He placed his arm over his  sensitive eyes and replayed what he had just done over in his head again.

Speaking to no one, Strelok began to confess out loud, “I don’t know… whether I was right or wrong… I guess I’ll never know… But I made it. And I guess I should be thankful for that.”

He turned over onto his side and half-smiled wearily. A dragonfly he spotted hopped off from a blade of grass and flew into the air, high above the burned out stalker. His eyes slowly closed and soon enough, Strelok finally attained some well-deserved rest for himself.

In a remote swamp, Doctor stood among a barren landscape. Nothing but muddy water and a few stumps seemed to decorate any and all directions, but he kept looking nonetheless. While he was never quite good at showing his emotions, anxiety seeped from his character. Each action was less smoothened and far more forced than normal. This new area that had opened up, -Zaton, as he recalled- and it was relatively deep in the Zone when compared to other areas. His Pseudodog didn’t seem to mind it, and so he stayed a bit longer.

The dog panted and stood idly as it glanced in different directions. One of its eyes was bulging, but was held by swollen eyelids, preventing a good sense of vision. The brown fur matched well with the Zone’s environment and matched his own trench coat. Doctor fondly remembered the day he found it as a pup and raised it to follow him, to be his bodyguard, detector, and best friend. He looked back at the wastes before him and thought of the young gunslinger he had helped countless times before.

Doc spoke in a slightly raspy voice, “Mmh, I haven’t seen Strelok in a long time; is he dead already? Although, he’s as hardy as a cat. He should be okay, I think. Oh well…” He looked at his pet, “Well, let’s leave this place, pal. Let’s have some dinner. I know that you are more interested in that than our old friend.”

Having said that, he turned to walk back to his cabin with his Pseudodog trailing behind him lazily. It was going to get dark soon and they’d need to find shelter eventually. Doc trudged slowly, feeling just a bit older now that Strelok was gone. He’d always come to rely on him for help and now he realized how much he missed the young man’s company. Still, deep in his mind, he felt as though this wasn’t going to be the last time he’d seen the face he repaired. Such was how the Zone worked, and its mysterious ways would eventually reveal themselves in time. That, the old man was sure of.

There was an incessant dripping that constantly hassled the General’s ears. His thick, golden armor would most likely get dirtied after this raid, but that didn’t quite matter anymore. The eyes within him scanned around the sewers and found nothing just yet. They weren’t far enough into the sewers, but that was going to change very soon. His group of elite guards moved cautiously along with him, giving off a pitter-patter with each step as their hooves were dunked into questionable liquids. Some cringed, other remained stoic.

White Mark felt his hackles rise as a body fell from a shaft above and crashed into the stone ground with several loud snaps. It was a young stallion, probably no older than his teens, that dropped from such a great height. The body was bare and dry with marks on the back of the neck that led him to conclude that another victim fell to the bloodsucking monsters. After discussing it with the Princesses and other military personnel, it was decided to call these creatures “bloodsuckers,” in reference to their choice of attack.

Before the General was able to approach the body, several others fell as well. But no, these weren’t those of ponies. His eyes widened as what seemed to be at least four decapitated bloodsuckers fell atop the stallion, effectively creating a horrific mound of death. He grimaced but kept walking deeper into the sewers. After several minutes of walking, White Mark stopped and examined his surroundings. The tunnel they were in was wide and held a repulsive smell to it as he looked about.

One thing that caught his eyes, however, were several, tall and lanky figures that stood within the darkness of the corners. He immediately grabbed for his sword and held it with his teeth, each of his subordinates following suit. The unicorns set up defensive spells rather quickly and formed shields around their comrades while the earth ponies and pegasi took offensive positions.

White Mark grinned, finally happy to get some action after a long inactivity, “Right then,” he started, “let’s bring the murderers to justice, shall we?” A resounding cheer bellowed from the rest of the guards, making his smile wider, “Then… ATTACK!”

As he said that, the figures leaped from their hiding spots and did just as he commanded. The General’s guards fought with their swords and bows to great effect, repelling the group bloodsucke temporarily. The fight seemed over for a brief moment, but he knew they were simply regrouping. Only a handful had died at the hooves of his stallions, and none on his side were even so much as injured. It seemed surprising, but he knew that now wasn’t the best time to be questioning his luck.

He motioned farther down the sewer tunnel, “Alright! Let’s move out and clear the area! Come on, for the citizens! For the Princesses! For Equestria!”

Cheers were once again exchanged and White Mark smiled. Today was going to be a good day, and a successful one at that. But of course, he had forgotten one thing. His mind never recalled the other creature he had seen yesterday and he focused solely on the bloodsucking monsters. Little did he realize that the entire time, he and his guards were being observed by a certain bi-pedal creature.

Charon seized another skull as the ponies left and severed it, “It seems as though they’re beginning to adapt. Your guidance is wise, oh Monolith. They are learning, and it is because you have chosen to allow your divine knowledge to reach them. I shall watch them, and make sure your children do not become too unruly.”

He soon followed after the ponies, his footsteps as shadowy and silent as he was. Despite being brainwashed, even he too knew that all was going to go to hell soon enough. This made it all the more important that he prevent as many deaths as possible while he was here. But like a blowout, something foreboding seemed to be coming. He could literally feel the premonition aching from his bones. Such is life in the Zone, after all.

Author's Notes

Well, there you go, another installment of OaP. These chapters are getting way too long, shit's cray. Anyway, I introduced Strelok's part here, with the canon ending. If you didn't know about that one, sorry for ruining it, I guess. I felt as though I should cover that before going on. I included pictures of Strelok doing his thang, mainly because I had pictures of him doing things like that already. Chances are, it won't happen again because it's just too damn hard to find fitting images that work well with the story. Take note of how I stole that one with Doc off of Youtube. Very amazing skills presented right there.

Now, I've included two more characters from FiM that may prove for some interesting dialogue. They're obviously Gilda the Griffon and Zecora the Zebra. Also, Rest in Peace, Random ISG Troop, you will be missed.

Also, I seriously think I need a pre-reader/editor or some shit. It's becoming too much to read through all that shit again and keeping up with all my other work. If anyone's interested, PM me or some shit, because I'll appreciate the help.

I think that's all I have to say for now, so yeah, etc. etc. and other random bullshit you don't care about.

As Always,

Stay Trilla.