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From the Zone with love	By : deepsearuin Category: +S through Z > S.T.A.L.K.E.R: Shadows of Chernobyl Views: 943 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own S.T.A.L.K.E.R., nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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No pairings in this one, just lots of deaths. I didn’t exactly specify who the protagonist it in this one; it can be Marked One or any other unlucky stalker.
Everyone hated him. It wasn't exactly an exaggeration, he was friendless and every other stalker avoided him like the plague. Or tried to kill him.
It all began back in the rookie village, in Cordon. Thinking of earning some money to buy better equipment, he accepted one of Sidorovich's missions. He was tasked with killing a so called 'sales representative'. His PDA situated him in Cordon, close to the cross by the bandit's camp, so he accepted.
He didn't enjoy his trek across the area. He'd been chased by a pack of dogs, and when he sat down in the decrepit bus stop to catch his breath, some freaky rats had attacked him. The railroad embankment was controlled by the military or bandits posing as military, he wasn't sure which. The only clear thing was that they liked shooting at people. He had to run away and in the process nearly got his legs ripped out in an anomaly. From then on, he wasted an incredible amount of bolts to get to his destination, paranoid as he was, but in the end he arrived more or less whole.
There were three stalkers camped in that location. One of them was his objective, but he wasn't sure which one. What to do? He threw a grenade at them. This would solve the issue. With the three of them dead, he got to kill his mark with no witnesses left, and there would be no angry friends who could come after him in revenge. Nice. Plus, he now could loot their belongings. It had been a very profitable mission after all.
#
The blowout had caught him in the middle of nowhere. He ran around, desperately searching for some place to hide, he didn't want to be outside during an emission... The only shelter to be found in miles was a derelict house far from the road. Not an ideal choice, it had too many holes on the roof, but it would do.
The thing was that he wasn't the only one in search of a safe haven to hide during the blowout. Not even a full minute later, a group of bandits came rushing into the same house. With all the rumbling and the noise from the blowout, he didn't notice he had company until he literally bumped into one of them. He killed the bandit, only to have a bunch of them rushing to him when they heard the gunshot. He fired at them blindly, running for his life and stumbling whenever the ground shook too hard. He found a ladder and climbed up, using his elevated position to shoot at the idiots who dared to go after him.
Once the emission ended and the world stopped looking like Hell itself, he slid down the ladder. The floor was littered with bodies. Wow, he was sort of amazed he survived against so many enemies! He spotted a fellow stalker amongst the corpses, a rookie he'd met on the village. He felt a slight pang of regret, thinking that maybe he'd killed a comrade. Such feeling vanished quickly. Death was a common happenstance in the Zone and he barely knew the man, so he didn't care much.
#
Garbage was aptly named. The area was just a giant, lethal dumpster. The garbage piles were highly radioactive, but he was sure he'd seen an artifact in one of them. As a result, he'd gotten very sick very quickly, all for a simple Jellyfish. He only had one dose of anti radiation meds. Hoping it would suffice, he washed the pill down with a bottle of vodka. If he was going to die of radiation poisoning, at least the vodka would dull his senses. He did not die, but it was a close call. Some bandits saw him and decided to go greet him in their usual style. Thus he discovered that fighting bandits off while drunk was harder than he'd imagined. But he succeeded. He felt unstoppable now.
Shortly after, he received a message from some nearby loners requesting help against more bandits. To his alcohol addled mind that sounded good. He ran to help them with his shotgun at the ready. He went to meet his fellow stalkers and reassure them that he was here to help. It was a shame that in his rush he didn't hear one of them shouting at him to put his weapon away. He planted himself in front of them, shotgun still in hand, and was promptly smacked upside the head with the barrel of a rifle. Ouch. He had no time to berate them for their extreme rudeness because the bandits were coming for them.
The ensuing fight was a disaster. The bandits surpassed them in number and had better weapons. The loners fell like flies and soon he was alone facing a those bastards. Somehow, he killed them all, though he didn't remember much of it. He suspected grenades held a major role in his victory. Well, he helped kill the bandits as promised, even if there were no survivors to thank him. However, he would soon discover that wasn't entirely true. While looting the bodies he discovered one of the stalkers was still alive, gravely wounded but alive. He could use one of his medkits...
However, he recognised him as the one who'd smacked him in the head with the rifle. Besides, the man was at death's doorstep already, better to let nature run its course. Or better yet, help nature run its course a little faster. He stabbed the wounded stalker, telling himself it was a mercy kill and that it was the right decision. Besides, the guy had been carrying a couple of different artifacts, those were good loot!
He was loaded with stuff to sell and could barely move. A trip back to Sidorovich was in order. On his way out of Garbage, someone shot at him from behind. He ducked behind a tree and blindly shot back with one of the Abakans he'd pilfered. A cry of pain announced that he shot accurately. He bandaged his bleeding arm before going to inspect the body. His now dead assailant seemed to be a rookie. Uh, he must have turned crazy. Maybe that was how zombiefied stalkers started? He made a mental note to ask about that back in the rookie village.
#
Just as he stepped into the rookie camp, about half of the stalker there snapped when they saw his face and started to attack him. What the hell? He wasn't going to take it lying down, so he defended himself. Wolf didn't appreciate him killing his men, and soon he also joined the hunt for his miserable hide. He was completely screwed, unless... Yeah, running for his life and hiding in the underground bunker sounded right.
He led his chasers on a pointless chase across the abandoned houses, managing to shake them off his trail, and then he sprinted to safety in a mad dash. He was panicking; what was he going to do? Then he remembered his motto in case of doubt, grenades are the solution. He sold all his hard earned loot to Sidorovich and used the money to buy a lot of grenades and medical supplies.
Back in the surface, he started throwing the grenades around like a possessed madman. It was an effective tactic. All his attackers died, along with the few stalkers that remained neutral during this madness. In fact, when he was done the rookie camp was a ghost village. Oh well, no strategy was perfect and he was still alive, so in his book that was a win. Looking at the bright side, now everything in the camp was his property. He was going to get crazy rich in no time!
#
He was tired of roaming Cordon and Garbage. All the stalkers in the area were out to kill him, along with the bandits, and the military. And let's not forget the wildlife, of course. He still didn't know how, but he had acquired the reputation of a psychopath. It was preposterous! He only killed when his life was in danger; or when one of Sidorovich's special tasks required it. Maybe it was time to move onto greener pastures. He'd heard that Dark Valley was an area teeming with opportunities.
#
Nope, just no. He didn't want to even think about his trip to Dark Valley. He was never, ever going back there.
Ok, so everything had been going fine at first. He arrived, admired the view and even accepted to help that Duty guy with his bandit problem. Then he saw it. A swarm of hundreds of rats appeared on the horizon, running towards them at breakneck speed.
The rodents arrived like a squeaking tide of devastation. He barely had time to jump on a high rock before they started gnawing at the other stalker and the bandit. He threw a grenade at the sea of rats, killing only a few of them and the Dutyer. Didn't matter, surely being eaten alive was worse, right? The rats closed in on his rock and now he couldn't even throw another grenade at them without fear of blowing himself up. He fired at them with his Abakan and made them fall back just a bit. Then he jumped off the rock and ran away screaming like a frightened child. He ran all the way back to Garbage and then kept running until he collapsed from the effort.
He was still catching his breath after such marathon, when three stalkers resting by the side of the road saw him. They ran towards him, screaming bloody murder and shooting at him. This was getting annoyingly familiar. After dispatching them, he racked his brain for what to do now. Then a simple idea hit him like a ton of bricks: he could go to bar, the 100 Rads. Yes, he would go there, forget about what happened in Cordon and Garbage. It seemed the best place to start anew and forge himself a new reputation.
Unfortunately, the road to the bar was blocked by a Duty detail. They were not letting anyone pass. He was arguing with them to let him go through when wild boars attacked. The Duty guys requested his help to kill the boars, so of course he complied. Getting into Duty's good graces could only benefit him. He shot at the beasts with his rifle, decided to kill as much of them as he could. He saw one of the Duty stalkers getting harassed by a boar and he fired at the beast until it was dead. The Dutyer didn't like that one bit. With a scream of "That bitch shot me!" he turned all of his squadmates against him.
He was forced to kill them all. Fucking hell! On the bright side, there were no witnesses to this carnage. Alright, no one needed to know this. If anyone asked him, he would try to make it pass as a bandit attack.
#
The Bar area had a serious infestation of blind dogs and pseudo-dogs. He arrived running for his life, hoping the lookouts would help him. They did, thank goodness. He knew better than to try to help them though, he didn't want a repeat of what happened with the other Duty squad.
A loner nearby had heard the commotion and came to help. Then he saw him and went mad, shooting at him instead of the mutants. Oh shit, not again! It looked like his reputation had spread here as well, damn. He quickly killed the crazed stalker, an instinctive reaction by now. In hindsight, it was a grave mistake. The Duty guards didn't like that and, once the mutants were dead, they turned against him as well.
His presence turned the otherwise peaceful area into a fucking bloodbath. He used all his ammo and all his grenades, but he survived. He was bleeding profusely and his armour was not serviceable anymore, but he survived. Sweet mother of god, he needed a drink.
The barkeep wasn't very welcoming and berated him for his killing spree. He didn't care anymore. He was too tired to summon the energy to reply something. After patching himself up, he bought some new gear. Another sunrise suit, for starters, also ammo and grenades for the Groza he looted from one of the corpses. And of course, as much vodka as he could drink without getting alcohol poisoning.
He sat outside, basking in the setting sun, and drank amidst a pile of corpses, pondering on what happened. All he wanted was to come here to rebuild his reputation, drink in company of someone who was alive for a change, place some bets in the arena... Now everyone was dead or out for his blood. Again. What had he ever done to deserve this?
Nevertheless, not all was lost. He knew there was another faction named Freedom, one that was enemies with Duty. Yes, he was going to join Freedom. They would probably be ecstatic that he had already killed so many Dutyers. Screw everything else, tomorrow he would go to the Army Warehouses and join Freedom.
#
The journey to the Army Warehouses wasn't overly long, but it wasn't an easy one. It started with yet another gunfight when he found another angry Duty contingent on the other side of the bar area. What a great way to start the day. He almost died a dozen of times by the time he crossed into the new territory, running away from the angry Duty higher-ups and dodging bullets. He was overstressed and twitchy, and shooting first and asking questions later was now an ingrained reflex. When he heard voices ahead on the road, he fired at them without thinking. Luckily for him, they turned out to be bandits. Thank God. That was fine, killing bandits was a public service, no one would be angry with him for that.
Later, further along the road, he found an old farmstead turned into a Duty camp. Knowing what kind of welcome to expect from them if they spotted him, he went in for the kill before he lost the element of surprise. Time to test those new grenades the Groza carried. Once everyone was dead, he looted their bodies because if you're hated, at least reap some profit out of it. Also, he needed more ammo for his beloved Groza.
He could already see the walls surrounding the Freedom base. He was so close to his objective! With a renewed spring in his step, he continued ahead. Then he heard some noises coming from behind a rusted vehicle. His muscle memory acted for him and he fired. The bullets went through the decayed metal and something dropped to the ground with a foreboding sound.
It could have been a mutant, or a bandit, or a merc, or even a loner trying to kill him. But deep down, he feared the truth. With his anxiety spiking out of scale, he went to see what had he killed. It was a human body and yes, the corpse was wearing the Wind of Freedom suit. Shit. Maybe no one had noticed his slip?
A bullet embedded itself in the dirt, millimetres away from him. No, the snipers on the towers definitely noticed it. He ran away before one of their shots could strike true and kill him. Oh God, now all factions were out for his blood.
What now? He had everyone against him! Wasn't there any faction he could join that would protect him? He'd heard about the Monolith fighters, but he'd never seen one. Was it even a viable option, to get into Monolith? He then had a brilliant idea: the Wish Granter! If he found it, he could make everyone stop hating him. Yeah, he was a fucking genius. The Wish Granter would solve all his problems!
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From the Zone with love