//------------------------------// // 2: Exhale // Story: The Zone // by Rostok //------------------------------// The tectonic rumbling and sickening red glow pouring out from the slit in front of his eyes payed no heed to his thick hood and scrunched up eyes, piercing through to shake his nerves just his sweaty hands clasped to his rifle. The clatter of the door riccocheting between the frame and his boot warped the bellowing thunder and crackling shrieks of lightning hitting the metalwork outside into a hellish cacophany echoing inescapably around him into the black hallways beyond. It might as well have been eternal damnation, even if the hour hand on his watch hadn't entered a new segment. Each moment of it bored like a drill into his skill, twisting his body slowly into a tightly clenched ball trembling under tension. Slowly, like waking from a deep sleep, he became aware that the red had faded to black, the roar to a low grumble. By degrees, at first just a finger here and a leg muscle there, parts of him slackened. His awareness began to recognise the sound of his own heavy breathing in the gas-mask and tremulous clicking of the Geiger counter. A few minutes more, and the conclusion that he was holding himself curled up like this dawned on Yar as the last vestiges of instinctual animal terror washed away from his similarly tensed consciousness. Yar's body suddenly slumped from it's paralysing rictus against wall behind him, exploring the reassuring comfort of the immobile, immovable concrete supporting him. His hands finally let go of the grip of his sniper rifle and curled around him. Daring to open his eyes, a single grey slit of cloud and distant structures cut down through the blackness surrounding him. He sat there a while, staring at the tiny section of cloud rolling by as his breathing deepened and his heart-rate slowed. He'd phased out the clicking unconsciously to appreciate the soft whistle of the winds accompanying the now placid sky. Well, he couldn't completely ignore the chatter of the Geiger counter. He sat up, checking himself over. Taking back hold of his rifle, he tilted it away from him and nudged the door open with the tip of the barrel. The fading echoes of the storm whirled on the wind through the widening gap revealing the landscape of Chernobyl once more. Time to move. Strelok gingerly heaved himself out of the balcony onto the colossal vine. The whirling chemical ball was on it's way up, and when it reached it's apex it would be time for him to be on his way down behind it. Taking care in swinging his injured leg over first, he took up position hanging upside down. One had clasped the opposite elbow over the vine, the other was firmly gripping the vine itself, ready for the moment. He stared at the green glow getting ever closer above the dizzying sight of Pripyat below, before it slowly came to a stop and turned around to return to the base. A fearful moment of indecision held him, and for a second he almost let himself go after it before the realisation he'd catch it up and slide right through it. Heavy breaths came and went as the sweat built up in his gloves, and finally it was starting to pass the refuge point he was aiming for. He let his grip loosen and suddenly the gnarly bark was juddering through his legs and forearms at an alarming rate, shaking him to the bone. Trying to keep hold while being shook to the bone barely gave him time to prepare for the sudden crunch of him slamming into the lower building opposite. Barely managing to brace with his good leg, he winced as it shuddered from the impact. Grimacing in pain he got his bearings and began the crawl back up the intersection to the second vine. What little reserves of energy he'd managed to regain while the emission raged were already starting to falter. It took an agonising age of seconds to finally reach out across to the next vine. Bracing for a second, he pushed on until he could clumsily fall down onto it to hastily slide again ahead of the deadly green ball following him down. A few seconds of frenzied barky assault later and he was finally down onto the base of the vines, sitting limply over the stewing chemical waste below trying to slow his racing heart. Staring out over the gloomy city that was only just coming out of the cloudy shadow of the emission, nothing moved. Now was his best chance to get out of this deathtrap alive. Yar prowled along the gantries overlooking the power plant, constantly stopping to sweep for the monstrosity he'd wounded. The nasty fucker could still be out there hunting him, and the only thing giving it away would be a shimmer in the air and a thin trail of blood from it's wounds. He wasn't too worried yet, up on the walkways far above the overgrown grassy fields, but they didn't extend all the way around the main sarcophagus building. It wasn't long before he'd be forced to ground level for the rest of the journey away from Chernobyl. So far, the unsettling creak of the rusted metal underfoot was the only sound piercing through the fading wind. The minutes passed, but his straining ears weren't picking up anything else as slowly, but surely, the concrete superstructure dominating the left of his vision receded and the open grasslands took over. One last blocky substructure lay below to his right, dotted with old supply crates and remains of an old Monolithian camp. His eyes scanned over the detritus. Nothing of value left. His eyes flicked back behind him, but nothing besides the huge storm-gathering spheres in the distance moved. The gantry ended a couple of dozen meters ahead, so there was nothing else to do now but commit to heading down to ground level. Another check confirmed the structure attached below him didn't seem to have any visible ladders. He walked onwards, until he was standing infront of the railing overlooking the end the NPP site. The old shipping containers and bonfires he'd passed on the way in were there in the grass below him, but the stairs snaking down the very end of the smaller sub-building protruding out the end immediately caught his eye. Getting up over to them looked far more reasonable given the numerous ladders to the roof he'd passed. He swiftly retraced his steps, hugging the wall to avoid been seen until one of the less corroded ladders came into reach. Taking one last look back and forth at the solemn sight of Chernobyl's grounds, he grabbed it and carefully started working his way upwards towards the murky grey clouds. As he climbed higher, the steady clink of his boots on the rungs began to be overtaken by a familiar buzzing. His ears weren't deceiving him. As his head broke over the ledge at the top the sparking discharges of electro anomalies shimmered all across the top of the area ahead of him. Inside, his heart sank a little. The Zone always had another trick up it's sleeve. Still, better the devil you know. He carried bolts for a reason. He slowly wove his way through the electrified deathtraps. As he picked his way across the roof, immersed in the repetitive task of carefully selecting spots to throw the metal fragments before taking measured steps to retrieve them, a calm he hadn't been used to since leaving Freedom crept up on him. Safe in the knowledge no mutant had a hope in hell of reaching him surrounded by anomalies like this, tensions all across his body eased one by one with every step. He'd heard them so many times over the years that even the flaring shrieks of triggered anomalies felt more comforting than offputting. It took the better part of an hour, but eventually he came to a ladder leading down to the lower sub-building, which looked mercifully clear. Sadly it had been most of the way across the NPP roof, leading down near the far edge. He couldn't afford to waste much more time if he wanted to get himself out of that thing's hunting grounds by the end of the day. He tentatively worked his way down the creaky old ladder, until his feet found air and he was forced to awkwardly drop the last couple of meters. The landing was awkward, his tired legs nearly buckled and he tumbled to the concrete in a clatter. He took a moment to let his aching bones recover and catch a breath, before pulling himself together and heading along the roof towards the rusted handrail on the far edge. It was mercifully quick compared to the previous roof, and soon the disturbingly rickety stairs crept into view over the lip. He paused, surveying the vista for one last time. Nothing below him moved but the swaying grass. Lowering his binoculars, he stepped forward into a wince at the unhealthy creak from the rusty construction. With each step Strelok took the pain was slowly building into agony in his bad leg. Every limping pace was sickening, not just from the pain, but from the perversity of being in this place. The last time he'd visited the northern outskirts of Pripyat it was one of the most dangerous places on the planet, and he'd been sprinting through gunfire out of a hectic firefight to escape the Zone. Now he was here as a helpless cripple with only the wind for company. He'd managed to escape the anomaly at the base of the vine relatively unburned, but straining his leg like this was getting too much for him to bear. The city blocks were slowly passing him by, but he hadn't reached the long wall of apartment buildings that separated this residential district from the city centre and the iconic Palace of Culture. Curiosity had been building for weeks at what new secrets might be hiding inside the sarcophagus that led him back to the Zone, but now each stab of pain was a "fuck you", raining on that rekindled desire that drove him years ago. His bad foot caught awkwardly on a knotted clump of grass poking through a gap in the decrepit road surface and he came crashing to the floor. His teeth gnashed together, doing what he could to choke back a scream at sudden spasm of pain and indiginity. Strelok lay there for a few moments, trying to breath away the violent throbbing coming up his legs while he blinked away the tears. He needed to find some kind of splint, or he might as well shoot himself. Hog slowly awoke with a splitting headache. Something cold was pressing against his face. His bare chest and arms and legs. Cold stone. No exoskeleton. He jerked his limbs, but found his wrists and legs securely bound behind him. As his eyes blinked open to a series of metal bars in a gloomy stone chamber, what vestiges of his sense of humor that remained pointedly ignored the irony of finding himself hog-tied naked in a cell. "Fuck!"