//------------------------------//
// A Cheeki Breeki Prologue 
// Story: Lost To The Zone 
// by The Zealot 
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A Cheeki Breeki Prologue


“Cheeki breeki i v damke!” A soundclip blared from my car’s speakers, quickly followed by the beautiful noises of the slavviest song ever, remixed into hardbass. Truly, it was beautiful. I had, of course, filled my phone with a playlist of other such slav songs, it was only appropriate. You see, I was heading to a games convention, dressed in my best S.T.A.L.K.E.R. gear. Ushanka, gas mask, hooded leather coat, and some old russian surplus body armour and fatigues, plus some webbing and pouches, and of course, some nice combat boots. In the backpack in the seat next to me were three bottles of vodka, Cossack’s brand, a balaclava for when the gas mask got too uncomfortable, and a cassette mix-tape full of cheeki breeki, plus tape player, and a radio to complete the look. On my thigh, as poor a choice as it was to wear while driving, I had a fake Makarov Pistol. I had wanted to bring a Kalashnikov as well, but sadly, the convention had arrived sooner than I had been able to finish my masterpiece, oh well, sacrifices must be made. I was still certain that I would be the cheekiest of the breekies there, even without an adidas tracksuit.

After a two hour drive in which I really wished I had chosen not to wear the gas mask, I arrived at the convention center. It was a little after six o'clock, but due to the popularity of the convention, it took around ten minutes to find a parking space. Finally, I got out of my car, slipped my backpack on, and started walking around the building to the front.

Once inside, I saw the most amazing scenes I ever had, you see, I’d never been to a convention before. I saw people dressed up as Spartans, from Halo. Others dressed as Gordon Freeman. Some Call of Duty characters, a particularly good Captain Price included. All and all, it was truly a unique scene laid before me. After talking with security for a quick moment over the issue of my makarov, I was let onto the floor to explore the sights.

Now, enjoying events was my main reason for coming but at the insistence of a close friend of mine, I had also brought around $280 dollars to spend on all the ‘amazing cool stuff I would find’ his words, not mine. I will admit, though, I was glad I listened. You know how I said I had no Kalashnikov, yes? Well, that was a travesty to the costume I will gladly admit, and so my eyes widened with joy when I saw, at a vendor table, a beautiful AK-47, looking like it had come right from the hands of Mikhail Kalashnikov himself! It even had a bayonet on the end! Needless to say, it had to be mine.

I got a closer look at the guy selling as I approached, well, as good a look as I could. He was covered nearly head to toe in dark clothing, a bandanna around his mouth included. Finally, as I was nearly to the stand, I realised he was supposed to be the Merchant from Resident Evil! I will admit, I never really played the series, but he was an iconic character, and a good choice for a seller at a convention!

“Ah, hello Stalker, how can I help you?” He said as I approached, behind my gas mask I must admit I beamed at how quickly he recognized my outfit.

“I was wondering, how much are you selling this beautiful Kalashnikov for, Comrade?” I asked him, in my best Russian accent of course, as one is must to do. At the same time I was already pulling out my wallet.

“Ahh, of course, nothing but the best in Russian engineering for a Stalker, yes? Well, normally a replica of this quality goes for something of $360 dollars, you understand, but for a man such of yourself, hmm, I’ll discount it to $220, and I’ll thrown in three extra magazines and a sling for you, sound good Comrade?” That was nearly all of my money, and I was loathe to spend it all so quickly, but honestly, I needed that Kalash for my outfit, and when else would I find such a great deal? With a nod of affirmative, I pulled out the cash from my wallet, picked up the rifle and the magazines he gave to me, and thanked him profusely for such a discount.

I turned from the table, new rifle in my arms, and a smile under my gas mask! I didn’t really think at the time, but it was curious how heavy the rifle was for a replica, and why it had magazines at all was also a good question, but at the time I was simply too happy. I went to walk off, my load heavier and my wallet lighter, to go find other exhibits and costumes to admire, but as I took a few steps I felt the ground go from out under me, and fell into whiteness.

*****

“Urghh, pain in back reminds me of time as conscript in Serbia…” I groaned in pain, both from a very sore back, and a headache, as I got to my feet. Finally standing up and not lying down, I looked around to see… bright green grass, lush trees, and a blue sky. This was quite different than the weather of my home, which was overcast at the time I was at the convention. Oh, and there weren’t forests like this there! Obviously I was no longer at home.

“Well… this is worse time than trying to find clean hooker in Ukraine.” I muttered, before remembering the much more important things about my situation, mainly, I had landed on my back but I didn’t feel my backpack there!

Quickly I looked around the small clearing I was in before spotting the black fabric of my pack lying near one of the many trees, quickly I rushed open and looked through the contents. Offering my thanks to the Slav Gods, I found that all three bottles of my vodka were in perfectly fine condition, as was my mixtape and phone charger, although in the forest that would be of little help. Next to the pack I also found the Kalashnikov I had bought from that merchant. Connecting the circumstances in my mind, I figured that something about that man and this Kalash had transported me here, odd as it seemed. I was in no position to complain about weapons however, and a quick pat down of my pouches revealed the three magazines I had been given, now rattling a little as I moved them, odd.

Taking a magazine out of the pouch I realized the rattling was actually the sound of a magazine full of bullets, the 7.62x39mm cartridges knocking against the sides of the container. Staring at the new bullets, I quickly pulled the Kalash over to my, operating the mag release, I found that it too now contained a full set of 30 cartridges. The magazine safely out of the rifle, I pulled back the bolt to examine the completely real barrel and action of my Kalash.

It seems that whatever took me to this forest also turned my Kalash real, which I must admit I wasn’t very disappointed at. An idea coming to my, I quickly replaced the magazine in my Kalash, and stored the other one in a pouch. Slinging the rifle over my shoulder, I unholstered the Makarov from my hip. Right away I knew it wasn’t the same Makarov I had made with my own hands, far from it. The prop I had made was mostly wood and paint, a bit of metal for wait, and painstakingly worked over to look as life-like as possible. What I held in my hands now was the real deal, a Makarov.

As with the Kalash, I quickly thumbed the magazine release, causing the gleaming metal magazine to drop from the grip of the gun. Holding it in my other hand, I was ecstatic to find it too was full. Eight cartridges of 9x18mm ammunition sat in the magazine, awaiting their use in the removal of the Motherland’s enemies. I must say, my situation just got a whole lot better.

With my guns now real and loaded, my pack secure, and a few swallows of vodka in my belly, I began my trek through the forest in search of civilization. Slav Survival time.