Prologue
Only a modest table and a plastic folding chair stood underneath the slow-spinning ceiling fan, which did little to cool the air or defy the uncomfortable heat rising from the floor. The room was cramped and unlit, but despite its uninviting state, it was perhaps the most frequently used in the Complex.
The door to the room creaked open, and the silhouette of a scrawny, haggard figure plodded inside. He held an old tape recorder and two yellow sheaths of paper, which he folded under his left arm as he turned to carefully close the door behind him. As he shut out the last of the dim light from the sulphur lamps in the Observation Room, he allowed himself a content sigh.
This tiny little space was more than it seemed, for it was the capital of his kingdom; neither the dank air nor the sultry atmosphere bothered him, and the thick darkness pressing down upon him had never been a problem either, for that matter. It was in this room that he had become The Narrator. It was his home, and it was also his life.
The Narrator stepped over to the lone chair and sat down, placing both papers and recorder on the table while he droned along in the soft humming reaching up from the custom-built generators belowground. The humming had become much like a familiar tune to him, that he repeated whenever he was labouring away. He slid the papers back and forth over the table for a moment before he took them in his hands once more, skimming through the text scribbled upon them in glaring defiance of the darkness. He finally nodded to himself, and stopped his humming. Instead he turned to the tape recorder, and with a sharp jab of his index finger, he pressed 'Record'.
"War," he said. "War never changes." He gripped the papers firmly, and the green glow from his decaying hands provided just enough luminance for him to read the scribbling out aloud without much difficulty. He continued in a slow, gravelly voice: "Whether caused by greed, hate, ignorance, or the erratic whims of an insane despot, war has always been the embodiment of mankind's worst qualities."
The Narrator took a deep breath. "When the nuclear bombs finally fell, the Resource Wars had already brought much of the world to its knees. Europe had spent the past 17 years tearing itself apart through riots and infighting; and likewise, the Soviet Union was slowly going the same way, unable to keep up with the arms race between China and the United States.
While there were those who survived the nuclear apocalypse even in the old world, most of the groups and communities that arose from the ruins have not progressed much in the two centuries that have since passed. Every day is still a struggle for the few humans making their way in a world filled with feral ghouls, radioactive waste, and mutated monstrosities."
Having reached the bottom of the paper, the Narrator tucked it away on the table without the slightest sound that might disturb the recording, nor did he ever take his eyes off the second page as his hand moved with a machinelike precision. "The situation is somewhat different out in Rus' to the east, where a few growing settlements are slowly starting to reclaim the wastes. But when the immediate threat no longer comes from the hostile environment, humans are once again finding reasons to bicker amongst themselves." The Narrator reached the final sentence on the page, reading it with the ominous premonition of someone who has repeated a line a thousand times. "Because war, war never changes..."
Content with his work, the Narrator reached out to press 'Stop' on the recorder. He grumbled to himself as soon as the whirring from the tape reel ended, and muttered in a more sarcastic tone of voice: "…especially when drunk Russians and AK47's are involved."
Chapter 1 – Messy Goodbyes
It seemed a day like any other in the great expanse of the Kyivan Wastelands, but only in the sense that no two days out here were ever truly alike. The barren land stretched on in all directions, though a derelict city still loomed amongst the dunes of frozen sand and dirt, standing as an uninviting obstruction in the weather-beaten lines of asphalt that had yet to be completely swallowed by the wastes.
A few square blocks of grey concrete still towered up from the metropolis, having once been habitats for its pre-war populace. Most of these buildings' rooftops flaunted paling billboards, depicting images along a repeated theme of good and industrious workers in four-color print, reminiscing of a time when every stranger was still a Comrade that you just hadn't met before. But the stirring message that these images were meant to convey had long since been lost on the wastelanders that still travelled through these parts, and more so than usual on the lone figure trudging along Highway M06, on a direct course towards the urban ruins.
The figure was carrying a worn hunting rifle over his back, and the lack of a caravan following behind him might have been cause for alarm, had he actually looked the part of a raider. Aside from the fact that he was also carrying a heavy backpack, which would slow any self-respecting bandit down once they took chase after their victims, there was just something off about the way he was dressed. From the thick boots and denims stained with so much dirt and dust that their original colours could no longer be discerned, to the thermostatic military jacket with a bleached camouflage pattern, the figure came very close to blending in completely with the wastes around him, to the point where it seemed intentional.
No raider ever went through the trouble to dress like that. Not even the Chaplains of the Tsar did. The only similarities the figure had with the latter was that his jacket was adorned with an emblem over the left side of his chest. The roman numerals VI had been carefully sewn into the textile, and they were enveloped in orange flames, with a white bolt of lightning shooting out from underneath them. Under the emblem, the jacket also carried a nameplate reading: Cpl. Luka Jasienski. It wasn't written in Cyrillic, but rather in the foreign alphabet used out west.
To Luka, however, the big letters on the road signs and posters around here were equally unfamiliar. They reminded him of the crude writing becoming of a child; random letters of the alphabet either drawn poorly or mirrored to how they were actually supposed to be, mixed up with a few numbers and pointless doodles for good measure.
Luka sighed and shot a wary glance down along the highway behind him, before he turned to quickly scan the outskirts of the city one more time. He wasn't sure if it would be safe to enter or not, but his feet ached badly and he needed shelter before he could even start to think about sitting down to rest.
Detecting no signs of life, he finally broke off from the highway and went onto a smaller road that lead him into the city. As he set foot amongst the ruins, the streets proved to be mostly empty, save for a couple of rusted cars that had likely been abandoned by their owners even before the war. Luka made sure to step carefully once he passed a broken store window, well aware that the slightest sound from any glass shard he accidentally trampled on could give away his location to anyone – or anything – that might have chosen to take up residence inside the dark building.
Luka continued his journey much in the same way, sticking to the main road while making as little noise as possible as he ventured deeper into the city. Normally he would have stayed on smaller, more crooked streets with corners to dart around, but he was fervently looking for something with which to orientate himself. And just as he had hoped, he eventually found another office like the one in the city he had passed three days ago. The familiar logo above the entrance was that of a trident circling a globe, and the billboard in the glass window was even written in letters that he could understand. In an attempt to put less strain on his eyes, Luka wiped away what dirt that hadn't frozen to the window, before he began to read: 'Poseidon Energy – With the workers of Zhytomyr, towards the New Society.'
So he had a name for the city, although that wasn't what he had been looking for. He proceeded to glance over the smaller print underneath, swiftly moving past the usual buzzwords like 'collective' and 'anti-imperialist' until he found the part that he was looking for: 'You may also inquire with the utility robot at our work desk for additional information.' That was actually better than last time, when he had been forced to make do with some dusty old leaflets and a computer that he never managed to guess the password for.
Luka stepped away from the window, but nearly yelped as he saw a reflection in it. The figure that stared back at him looked rugged, with facial hair that had grown to that awkward point where it's neither really stubble, nor a beard. The figure had unkempt, chestnut-coloured hair, and his dark brown eyes reflected poorly in the dirty glass, making them look almost like hollow, black holes. It took Luka a few moments to realize that the reflection was his own. The scare made him look in both directions down the street before he turned towards the entrance to the building, but as he tried the door, it was locked.
"Of course…" he muttered to himself, and looked around one more time while considering his options. He wished he still had his lockpicks, but they were one of the many items he had lost on his way out here. Luka swiftly reached for his rifle instead, and took aim at the lock, but a thought stopped him from pulling the trigger. While a well-placed shot would certainly give him one less locking device to worry about, it would not only make a lot of noise, but also cost him one of the precious few piercing rounds he had left. Perhaps he could draw his Beretta instead, he wasn't planning on getting into close enough quarters with anyone to actually have to use it anyway, but even so it still felt foolish to waste the bullet.
Instead, Luka turned back to the large window. If he had to make a racket, at least he wasn't going to let his forced entry echo across the entire city. He reached into his backpack and took out his blanket, which he swiftly wrapped around the butt of his rifle. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, before slamming the rifle against the glass. The window made a muffled crack, and with a second and third bash it collapsed in a rain of debris falling to the ground.
The shattering sound it made was still quite loud, and Luka stood frozen in place for a long time to just listen for anything else; any response from the city itself. But he couldn't hear any unwelcome wails or snarls, so if this place held any ghouls, he had been lucky enough not to stir them in their slumber.
Finally, his nerves settled to the point where he could slowly proceed to brush off the shards of glass that had gotten stuck in the blanket, to then put it back in his pack. Afterwards, he finally stepped through the wrecked window and gave the billboard a slight nudge, finding it moved easily. He pushed it aside just enough to step into the office behind it, before putting it back in place in the hope that just the shattered window alone would not be enough to prompt further investigation by anyone passing by outside.
As Luka turned back into the office he was faced with a near-engulfing blackness, and although the place had evidently been locked down and untouched before his arrival, he still caught himself holding his breath. For a moment he tried to recall if he had misplaced his flashlight as well, but he dropped the thought once his eyes settled on a faint, blinking light in the far end of the room.
Having gradually grown accustomed to the dim setting, Luka made his way forward across the floor, finding the source of light to stem from the side of a bulky, metallic object sitting behind a desk. Despite the darkness, he could make out a massive, round body, with a plethora of arm-like extensions shooting out from it on all sides. Presuming it to be the utility robot, Luka tapped it lightly with the side of his rifle; an action that seemed to instantly wake the thing from its rest, as the many lights on its body flared up and nearly blinded him.
"Dobryi dyen, tovarisch!" the robot proclaimed in a blaring, metallic voice. It shot up from the floor to hoover mid-air, in apparent defiance of the laws of gravity.
Luka blinked, and took a step back. He had known for all his life that when confusion struck, the safest thing was usually to run, but he stopped and placed his hands to the side to his head as another thought entered his mind. "No! You've GOT to be kidding me!" he exclaimed in resignation. "Just my luck… hey robot, is your voicebox broken, or is that actually how people talk out here?"
The robot clattered and hummed in a way that Luka found somewhat foreboding – especially since he realized, the thing looked oddly battered even through the poor lighting of the room.
"My sincerest apologies, Comrade!" the floating scrap heap finally chirped back, reassuring Luka that it was at least not about to blow up in his face. "Few outside of the honoured proletariat ever comes here, and I am programmed to greet visitors in their native tongue. I have now adjusted my speech patterns for your convenience!"
Luka scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well… that's… kind of you. I take it you are able to answer a few questions then?"
"Certainly, Comrade! My name is Gilroy the 15th, and I am programmed to answer any queries about Poseidon Energy and our local branch – provided I am not asked to divulge corporate secrets!"
"Good, and there will be no need for corporate-" Luka paused, as his mind zoned in on one little detail that he just couldn't leave be. "Wait, did you just say Gilroy… the fifteenth?"
"Indeed! An astute observation, though I would expect nothing less from one of the Motherland's ardent workers! Regrettably, the fourteen Gilroys before me had to be taken out of commission after meeting their demise in occasional misunderstandings with our local Comrades."
"Hmm, those must have been some violent 'misunderstandings'…"
"Yes of course, but misunderstandings nonetheless. The proletariat felt rightly threatened by the prospect that their jobs might be overtaken by robots like myself, and this lead to several industrial riots. Unfortunately, not all of our Comrades knew that Poseidon Energy supports their fight against the capitalist swine, and this may have lead to some collateral damage in the form of my predecessors. Finally with me, however, an understanding was reached with the working public, to the great benefit of all!"
Luka squinted to get a better look at the robot, and aside from several dents in its surface he could also make out an excessive amount of words scribbled all over its body. Some of them he recognized as profanities in his own language, but most words were written in the strange, child-writing that he couldn't make sense of. The crowning achievement of this impressive feat of art, however, were the lines that so elegantly managed to make Gilroy's optic lens appear as the dark opening right in the middle of someone's buttocks.
"Right… just what kind of understanding was reached?" Luka asked sceptically.
"Oh! Well since the hired security guards were unable to contain the vigilantes that would enter our office, Poseidon Energy decided that guarding our local branch was a task far too dangerous for humans to undertake. For their own safety, our staff was replaced with a half-dozen Protectrons armed with Gatling lasers. They have kept the peace since!"
Luka looked around nervously, but he couldn't see any of these other robots and assumed they were in another room. He thought to himself that it was probably nothing to brood over, since as clearly shown by the evidence hovering before him, their presence had not stopped the pre-war locals from still taking the occasional shot at poor Gilroy. But just to be safe, Luka asked: "When you say 'keep the peace'… do you mean the Protectrons shot anyone that tried to abuse you?"
Gilroy let out a loud bleep that somehow sounded vaguely like a gasp. "By Comrade Stalin's moustache! Surely this slander has been planted in your mind by the fascist dissidents over at Svarog Solar; as a patriotic worker you would do well to hand over the names of these perverted charlatans to your nearest police officer, so they can be sent off to the Gulags where they belong! Rest assured that the occasional death we have seen in here has been nothing more than tragic mishaps!"
"Occasional deaths?" Luka asked hesitantly. "…mishaps?"
"Oh yes, such a horrid thing really!" Gilroy wailed. "There was the very sad episode with the seven drunk workers who accidentally locked themselves into our old janitor's closet and starved to death, not to mention the confused man who lacerated his throat on our electric ceiling fan and bled out… oh and of course the two helpful souls who wanted to make improvements to my recharge station, only to accidentally cause one of its energy cells to explode and blow their heads off. Then there was the incident with the falling anvil that-"
"Yes, yes… okay, I get it." Luka rubbed his temples, starting to feel that he had wasted far too much time on this conversation. He made a mental note to try and suppress his inquisitive nature in the future, pretending for convenience sake to have no recollection of making this exact same vow repeatedly in the past.
"I am overjoyed that you have got whatever 'it' may be, Comrade." Gilroy buzzed back. "If my services are no longer needed I shall switch back into Energy Conservation Mode."
"Wait! Stop! Not yet!" Luka called out. "I have one more question for you."
"Of course, Comrade. What can I do for you?"
"Well, see…" Luka rubbed the side of his neck and wondered just how to express his request. "I can't really read or understand the language used around here. I also don't know the land… So do you have any English-to-Gibberish dictionaries? Or glossaries, or maps? Or anything like that which I could look through?"
"Oh! I am terribly sorry to disappoint an upright worker such as yourself, but we are not equipped with any materials of the sort… perhaps, however, I can interest you in one of the information booklets we do have? For one, we have a truly inspiring account of how Poseidon Energy expanded into Zhytomyr with the philanthropic desire to save this glorious city from the clutches of the European weasels at Svarog Solar. It is a delightful read, I assure you!"
"No thanks…" Luka sighed in response. "How about this… would you be able to give me directions to the nearest library instead?"
"It would be my sincerest pleasure, Comrade!" Gilroy chirped as happily as a robot with pre-programmed speech patterns could. "But you are certain then that you do not wish to partake in Poseidon's rousing propaganda?
"I uhh… already did." Luka said to speed things along. It was kind of true after all, since he had gone through some of Poseidon's brochures before, but simply discarded them as rubbish. "Now… there is a library then. Where?"
"It's out in Victory Square, Comrade, with a big sign over the entrance. You can't miss it!"
"Thank you. And judging by the name, I guess this 'Victory Square' is more or less at the centre of the city?"
"Quite right! You will know you're in the right place when you see Zhytomyr's glorious tank monument! Just continue down the main street and you will see it; it's not far from here!"
"Good…" Luka was about to turn away when another thought struck him. "And by the way, Gilroy… if someone else comes in here and asks about me, would you be able to lie and say you never received any visitors today?"
The robot hovered silently in the air for a moment, and Luka was very close to repeating the question when Gilroy finally answered. "Error. This request does not conform with my programming."
"What?! But you had no problem at all when-" Luka quickly bit down on his tongue to shut himself up. As flustered as he was, he still had the presence of mind to realize that Gilroy might not take kindly to having accusations about Poseidon's sincerity thrown around, and likewise, it was painfully obvious that just because the laser-wielding Protectrons were out of sight, they shouldn't be out of mind.
Luka breathed out between his gritted teeth and felt increasingly conflicted about the situation; leaving the robot behind with knowledge of where he was headed next would be almost as risky as testing his luck with the defences in this place, and while he briefly considered the prospect of just smashing Gilroy to pieces and making a run for it, that obviously hadn't turned out too well for the people who had tried it before.
The robot patiently kept hovering behind its desk, apparently waiting for Luka to finish his sentence or say something else. This, of course, only helped to heighten the anxiety he felt, as he was half expecting the robot to finally ask what he had been about to say. 'Damn it…' he thought to himself. 'Either way I go with this I'm still fucked!'
Luka continued to stare at Gilroy and once again noted the drawing around the robot's optic lens, thinking the 'asshole' look really suited the stupid scrapheap right now. "Gilroy… please. I will be in danger if you reveal where I'm headed." he finally pleaded.
"I am sorry, Comrade. I am not allowed to interfere with the doings of the general public, but only matters concerning Poseidon Energy. If you are in danger, you should contact the appropriate authorities to see to your safety."
"But there's no one else who can help me! Only you can!"
'Wait…' Luka tensed up as his own words slowly sunk in. 'Only Gilroy can help me… so maybe he just needs the right incentive…'
"Please elaborate on your claim, Comrade," the robot requested.
"Yes, uhh… gladly!" Luka blinked rapidly as he repeated their conversation so far in his mind to pick out the pieces he needed. "The person that might come ask for me… he is a spy for the… Solar people, that you were talking about!"
"What?!" Gilroy spat out. "My dear Comrade, thank you for your straightforwardness in this matter; I shall initiate Guard Protocol Delta right away!"
"Yes… best get those Protectrons ready." Luka answered dryly, while he listened to the clambering that had just started coming from the other room. He could hear robotic voices and loud clumping sounds that seemed to be nearing a door at Gilroy's side. "…and that's my cue to leave. Thanks again!"
"Thank you likewise, Comrade! Our mutual exchange has been most rewarding, but now please vacate the premises for your own safety; our Protectrons are about to undertake their voluntary obligation to combat the local insurgents." The robot played an audio file of a short drumroll followed by a fanfare. "For Mother Russia!"
Luka didn't hear the fanfare; he was already outside the building, silently running further into the city. The urban landscape remained lifeless and unmoving around him as he pushed on, and just as Gilroy had said, the Victory Square soon came into view at the end of the street, with its distinct tank monument in the centre.
Most of the buildings surrounding the square looked worse for wear; some had their windows and doors broken down, while yet others had collapsed to the point where only parts of the exterior walls still stood upright. It wasn't what Luka had hoped for, but before his stomach had time to twist into a knot, he spotted the grey block of a building that not only looked relatively intact, but also had a number of large letters firmly attached above its entrance. The copper from which the letters had been shaped was green with corrosion, but the word they spelled out was still readable: Бібліотека.
Despite being written in the awful, local scribbles, Luka thought it looked very similar to the word biblioteka, which he recalled was sometimes printed on signs, or over the archways to the old world libraries back home. It was a good enough reason, in any case, to start exploring that building before any of the others, so Luka trudged up to the glass door and gave it a curious look. Someone had used spray paint to mark it with a strange, red symbol, like the letter T, but with a small plus sign right above it, and a short, horizontally skewed line cutting through the symbol almost at the bottom. Luka had no idea what it denoted, but shrugged and muttered to himself: "I swear, they're making additional letters up just to fuck with outsiders…"
He gave the door a tug; no lock this time. Instead, it slowly opened, and a waft of air struck against him from inside. It carried with it a thick, pungent smell that Luka tried to place while he searched for his flashlight, but the latter took precedence in his mind as he could not seem to find it, no matter how many times he went through his backpack. He finally sighed, and stepped into the building anyway. The light seeping in through the windows wasn't much, but it would be enough to at least navigate the place; whatever books he found could be taken away, and read elsewhere.
The interior seemed to be just one, massive room, with slender pillars holding up the roof. There were tables and chairs strewn in an unorganized fashion along the lengths of the walls, and a reception desk with the blackened shell of a computer stood just by the entrance. Towards the centre of the room were lines of untold wooden shelves, standing together in clusters with a pathway down the middle. It looked indisputably promising, but as Luka got closer he frowned. The first shelf he checked was empty, save for two empty binders and a small glass jar. Luka was about to move on to the next shelf, when he noticed a faint glow coming from the bottom of the container.
The glass made a soft rasping sound against the shelf as Luka pulled it down, and when he saw the source of the light inside he felt a bitter, ashen taste in his mouth. Inside, at the bottom, were the moth-like, fluffy bodies of three dead rad-pixies; their broad, elegant wings still radiating a weak glow. Makeshift lamps with rad-pixies inside were commonplace, but the lid to this jar lacked air holes.
Luka quivered slightly, well aware that he was more upset than he reasonably should be. But he really liked these insects, not only because they were one of the few creatures in the wastelands that didn't try to kill humans, but also because he had always considered them to bring good luck. He wasn't so sure that dead rad-pixies would speak to his favour though, so he finally sighed and placed the jar back in the shelf.
Looking around, the other shelves seemed equally picked clean, but despite it, Luka continued down the centre pathway. He wasn't sure exactly how many books there might be in an average library, but he definitely knew that there would be far too many for all of them to just magically disappear. No, he wasn't going to be so easily discouraged; they had to be in here somewhere.
The lines of shelves that he passed all stood gapingly empty, but Luka did notice something new as he made his way deeper into the building; with each step he took, the air grew thicker and thicker around him, until he felt a stinging pain in his nostrils. The smell had started to remind him of the time he accidentally burnt a box of Cram that he was supposed to heat up, and as soon as the thought struck him, he immediately grew uneasy and quickened his pace.
He passed by a few more lines of shelves, checking them more out of stubbornness than anything else, but froze up as soon as he could make out the very last couple of lines; they were blackened, and at the back end the last few shelves had even collapsed. Luka swore loudly and hurried down to survey the damage; at the end of the room, piles of ash were strewn everywhere. What little could be made out of the floor seemed to have cracked, and the roof and walls were visibly scorched.
Luka desperately tried to sort the information through his mind so it would make sense. Someone had been in here, systematically picked out every single book, and then burnt them all in a massive, indoor pyre… but why? It clearly wasn't for warmth; the amount of fuel used was just too excessive, not to mention that the smoke would have killed anyone who had stayed in the building while the books burned.
Was the red symbol by the entrance related somehow? It was the best conclusion Luka could draw; while they were uncommon out his way, he had heard about raiders and chem-junkies who were so far gone that they resorted to meaningless violence and destruction, for no other reason than their own recreational pleasure. He guessed it made sense that some gang might have come through the city and left their mark behind at the scene of destruction, but it didn't matter now… The ashes were cold, and the lingering smell was more ingrown in the walls than anything else; whoever had done this were most likely far gone.
'But then again…'
Luka hurried back to the entrance and the first line of shelves, and gave the jar with rad-pixies another look. The glow from the insects' wings was as weak as one would expect if the creatures had been dead for at least two days, but a rising suspicion made Luka unscrew the lid of the jar. As soon as oxygen poured into the container, the luminescence from the insects grew stronger. Much stronger, in fact, as if the pixies had died only hours ago.
"Great. Just… marvellous…" The luminescent reaction was fuelled more or less exclusively by oxygen; the pixies could have been in the jar for a week, or less than a day. There was no way to tell, because even if the scorched ashes in the back of the library were old, someone else could have entered the building since.
This was bad news, because with or without books, Luka would still need a secure place to spend the night… and as far as he was concerned, he had learned that the library was unsafe. Even if the chance of someone else entering was minimal, there was only really one way to survive in the wasteland, and that way was never to take unnecessary risks. However small they might be, sooner or later something bad would happen.
He had seen it happen to others, and heard plenty of stories. Out in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, death was always looming around every corner, and if Luka knew one thing, it was that he would never become one of those idiots that people told stories about; like the man who had decided to clear away a Nuka Cola truck that blocked the steep valley across the Augustów Expressway. He had done it with a controlled explosion, that attracted every single ghoul in the area.
But it weren't the ghouls that killed him; the explosion also detonated the truck's fuel tank, making the explosion just a little less controlled. Debris had supposedly flown everywhere, and the man had died from a bottle of Nuka Cola falling on his head, in his foxhole almost a hundred meters away from the detonation site.
As for the ghouls, they had enjoyed the radiation from the discharged automotive batteries, and chosen to stick around. And so it came to be that the Augustów Expressway was now impossible to journey through, for a completely different reason.
Luka sighed and broke out of his thoughts; lingering here because of his own laziness and reluctance to relocate would be particularly stupid in this instance, as he already counted the dead rad-pixies as a sign that remaining around the library would give him bad luck.
At least, he thought, if he hadn't noticed the jar and chosen to stay as a result, nobody else would realize the stupidity of it, and hence, no one would have remembered him or cared to spread the story of his inadvertent demise. That should perhaps have been a consolation, but for some reason Luka just found it to be depressing him further. He huffed, and finally stepped out of the building.
Greeted by the last rays of the setting sun, the outdoors faced Luka with a new problem, however; not only did he still need a place to hole up for the night, but the library was the most intact building in the near vicinity. He could seek shelter amongst the rubble of the ruins, but since he never really was a fan of contracting frostbite, that meant he'd have to start a fire to keep himself warm when the temperature went back below freezing. That wouldn't have been a problem if he had a companion to keep watch, but as it were…
Luka looked around the city square one more time, before his eyes finally settled on the cathedral on the other side of the tank monument. One of its towers had collapsed, but the rest of the structure was still standing. The windows were intact, and so high above the ground that they could not easily be climbed through, and the main entrance had a robust-looking door that Luka suspected he could barricade from the inside.
Going back to the Poseidon office with all the robots in combat mode seemed about as wise to Luka as sticking his head in a Karakurt Nest, but even though that meant the cathedral was the only remaining, realistic alternative, he hesitated. He knew that the Kyivan Wastelands were part of Great Rus', and this meant that the Grand Chaplaincy might already have a presence in the building.
Luka had learned about them about two years ago, back in the summer of 2268, when the first Chaplain missionary had reached the Borderlands. Supposedly, she had settled down in Lipsk, one of the smaller settlements out there, and she had insisted on using the ruins of the local church. Apparently, the Chaplains would only take up residence on what they considered to be 'holy ground', or so Luka had heard, so if they had an outpost in Zhytomyr as well, it would no doubt be in the cathedral.
But finally, the yearning for a place to rest outweighed his fear of being sent back west, and Luka approached the grey building. He could always lie about who he was, and to that end he was in the process of thinking up a false identity as he wandered towards the main door. He was having a lot of fun coming up with what to say, but wondered if he should do something about the nameplate on his jacket. Since the people out here seemed to have their own, separate form of writing, he chose to leave it be, but as he stepped inside the cathedral he was a little disappointed to find that his cognitive effort had been in vain either way; the place was dark and abandoned.
Wasting no time, Luka hurried to search the cathedral for any unwelcome surprises before the sun disappeared on the horizon. The lighting was far worse than in the library, but he made do, and after making sure that he was alone in the building, he barricaded the door with one of the massive, wooden benches nearby. He then proceeded up to the second floor, setting out a thin fishing thread in the staircase, tied to enough junk hanging down the side of the stairs to make a racket if the thread was touched.
Content with his work, Luka entered the second, intact tower and sat down against the wall, covering himself in his blanket. The room was small, and he shivered slightly as he imagined the walls bending down over him, so he quickly turned his eyes to the floor. As much for distraction as for actual need, he picked out a pack of crackers from his backpack and ate it. Afterwards, he felt a little better, and brushed a few crumbs off his blanket before he wrapped himself a little tighter in it and finally lay down. He closed his eyes, and quickly drifted off in a dreamless sleep.
Luka woke up as soon as the first sunlight of the new day entered through the window. He had laid down facing the east, so the light would instantly wash over his face, but now he winced at the stinging sensation in his eyes and wished he hadn't done that.
He knew he had to get up, however, so he stretched for a bit, and cracked his spine back in place before he sat up and stared out into the room with a sullen glare. In the early daylight, the room seemed a lot bigger, which comforted Luka a little. He yawned, and reached for a handful of roasted coffee beans in his backpack. He counted eight of them, which he then put in his mouth.
The bitter taste helped wake him up a little more, and after chewing the beans carefully and swallowing them, he had already abandoned all thoughts of lying back down. Instead, he drank some water out of his plastic canteen, and then double-checked the area around him to make sure that everything was returned to his backpack. Lastly, he picked it up and swung its straps over his shoulders, and took the hunting rifle in his hands.
Before exiting the tower, Luka then looked out of each window in succession, to ensure that the area outside was empty and safe to travel. Through the window facing the west he saw the still-empty Victory Square, but he frowned as he gazed out of the windows to the south and east; down the smaller road behind the cathedral, about a dozen ghouls were skulking about.
Since Luka was headed east, out of the city, they were technically in the way, but he thought if he just travelled north first, then he could bypass them without a problem. The ghouls would have their sight blocked by a number of ruins, it looked like, but to be sure, Luka finally went to peer out of the window facing north.
"No… no no no!" Outside, on the road, he could see a group of three humans, and they definitely weren't the sort he fancied running into. They looked like raiders, or at least it was obvious that they were up to no good. Looking them over, Luka decided it was probably a good rule of thumb to assume that if a group's apparent leader is wearing cut-off halves of a rubber tire as shoulderguards, then you are probably looking at a group of bandits.
His two companions were a man and a woman, who Luka thought looked rather unpleasant in their own right. The man wore a leather jacket and carried what looked like a crowbar with an excessive amount of knives attached to the end with the help of about two or three rolls of duct tape. The woman had a machete hanging from each of her two hips, and was playing around with a revolver, using the front sight of it to scratch part of her shaved head.
Luka was trying to determine if he'd lose more time heading back west and going around the city, or by trying to sneak through the ruins to the east while moving slowly and carefully enough to stay out of the sight of both the humans and ghouls. But then a new realization dawned on him; the raiders were moving down the road, south, and would be walking straight into the throng of ghouls just within the next few minutes.
Feeling his head go empty, Luka backed away from the window and started running down the stairs. After a few steps, he began to wonder just what he should do. He could just let the two groups fight each other, and use the clamour of battle to sneak past them by the northeast.
Luka leapt over the fishing thread, and scowled. On the other hand, considering the difference in numbers it was fairly likely that the humans would end up as ghoul-fodder, and he couldn't just let them die because he disliked the way they looked. For all he knew, they were settlers, or prospectors down on their luck. And they were fellow humans; people he had sworn to protect.
Moving the bench away from the main door, Luka then stepped out on the stairs outside the Cathedral. He looked north, and saw a path he could take if he chose to just run… But then a strong memory washed over him like cold ice, chilling him down to the spine.
'Luka! Where are you! LUKA!'
The ensuing shrieks echoed in his mind, but they no longer sounded human to him. In a way that made them all the more harrowing, however, and he stopped dead in his tracks, then spun around and started running south.
Darting out on the eastern road exiting the square, Luka kept himself hunched down so the ghouls at the crossroad ahead couldn't see him over the car wreckage standing in the middle of the street. He snuck forward into the ruins to the south of the road, and moved through in the rubble.
With every step he took, Luka became all the more aware that he didn't really have a plan. He was no longer backed up by his fireteam, which would have normally just swooped in and gunned down the ghouls after he had marked them out with a flare.
'That's right… a flare!' Luka swung the hunting rifle back over his shoulder, and reached into one of the side-pockets of his backpack. He took out the one flare he still had left, and then drew the 9mm Beretta from his leg-holster and swiftly screwed on its silencer.
He pushed himself against a wall standing from the ruins, and held his breath as he heard one of the ghouls gurgling and moving about, right on the other side of it. He would have to be clever, and quick, as he wouldn't want to give his position away to either of the groups. He'd provide assistance to the humans, and then be gone before they had a chance to spot him, but he had to time this perfectly…
Very slowly, Luka exhaled, and as he did, he also twisted the top of the flare to ignite it. A few sparks struck out on the dry paper, and it burned with a bright flame as he quickly threw it over the top of the wall, out over the road to the north. He could hear the ghouls react to the crackling sounds from the torch, and he noticed from their pacing against the asphalt that they were drawn after it into the northern ruin.
Luka spun around the wall and fired his Beretta at the first ghoul he saw; it was a lone straggler from the group that had chosen to ignore the flare and was just about to look behind the wall and discover his hiding place. He stifled a panicked yelp as he hadn't expected to stare one of the rotted creatures right in the eyes, but his shot went neatly through the ghoul's head and sent it crashing limply to the ground.
The sudden fright made Luka miss with his second shot, as he fired at the back of one of the ghouls following the flare. His shot ricocheted off a piece of rock, but the sound was muffled by the snarling of the ghouls themselves, as well as a yell from one of the humans up the road who had apparently just heard their savage growls.
Hearing the human, a few of the ghouls scampered back out of the ruins, and Luka had to quickly jump behind a section of rubble to not be spotted. There were three ghouls in total out on the road, and Luka waited until two of them were around the corner to the north-west, running up towards the humans. Then, he finally peered up from his hiding spot and fired his gun at the third ghoul.
The shot hit the creature in the lower back; it spun around, and charged towards Luka, who tried to steady his arm best he could as he pressed the trigger two more times. He trembled and missed with the first shot, but the second went through an especially squishy section of the ghoul's neck, cutting through the spine and leaving the head to flap haplessly over the creature's left shoulder, attached only to enough flesh to not have it fall off completely.
Just as the ghoul fell to the ground, Luka heard a loud gunshot from the north. "That would be revolver-girl…" he muttered to himself, and hurried back behind the wall on his left. He had figured that two against three would be decent odds in the humans' favour, but the loud noise sent another cluster of ghouls out of the ruin, and Luka could hear them dart along the road to join in the attack.
He peered through a crack in the ruins and counted four additions in total, as he heard a second shot followed by relative silence. He guessed that meant the group had finished off the two ghouls coming for them, so now it would be three on four. Still decent odds.
Not waiting for a third gunshot, Luka hurried further east, so he could fire at any additional ghouls exiting the ruins while hidden in a more advantageous position. He had learned how stupid ghouls could be, so if he sat facing them on just the opposite end of the road when they came running out, then that would be one thing, but if he sat to the east, and they heard sounds from the west, he hoped they would freeze up in a moment's confusion and allow him enough time to gun them all down.
Two more ghouls came out of the ruins, and Luka felled one of them by unloading three shots before it had even gotten out on the road. The second ghoul nearly tripped over the first, but didn't stand dazed as Luka had hoped. It jumped to its feet and rushed his position, jumping over its nearly-headless friend and some additional rubble without much effort.
Panicked, Luka squeezed the trigger. Then again, and again, and he felt a due sense of alarm weighing down on him as only one of the three bullets grazed the shoulder of the snarling monstrosity. It came closer, and Luka fired a fourth shot that hit the ghoul in the abdomen, without slowing it down much. Then he ran.
Hearing the gurgling and hissing from the ghoul that was now almost literally breathing down his neck, Luka jumped through a collapsed section in the wall to the building before him, and ran to the main door. The ghoul had followed right behind him, and Luka got outside just in time to slam the door shut in the creature's face. A squishy 'splat' was heard from the other side, and Luka felt the full force of the creature's body crash against him.
The ghoul continued to throw itself at the door, and scratch and wail, but Luka held it shut and placed his Beretta against it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to feel exactly where the bashing and scraping struck the door on the other side. He directed his pistol accordingly, and then fired. The bullet went straight through the wood, and he could hear the ghoul snarl as the bullet went through it as well.
The bashing grew a little less intense, but continued, so Luka fired a second shot. The banging against the door finally stopped, but he could still hear the ghoul wheezing on the other end, so Luka finally opened the door, to find it thrashing about on the floor. He took aim one last time, and shot the beast through the head.
If he had correctly managed to keep track, that was the last shot in his clip, but he had no time to stand out in the road to reload, so he hurried into a ruined building on the opposite end of the road before any additional ghouls spotted him. If he had counted right when he was in the cathedral tower, there were only two or three more left anyway, presuming the humans had finished the four that came after them.
He listened for any noise out on the road; the fighting had died down for a moment, but now resumed as he presumed the humans were dealing with the final stragglers. Judging from the direction of the fighting, Luka passed through the empty building, jumped out a window in the back, and continued up the ruins to the north. A few minutes later, he found a ruin with two walls standing so the corner they formed faced him.
The humans were calling out now, clearly searching for whoever had helped them, but Luka ran in behind the walls and hunched down, peering around the corner to the south. From this point, even if they came closer, he could sneak away in several directions; there was no way they'd find him.
Luka expelled a sigh of relief, and proceeded to reload his Beretta with one of the two remaining clips, before removing the silencer and holstering the pistol again. He was so occupied with it, as well as with listening to the voices calling out, that he didn't hear the approaching sounds behind him.
When he finally heard the distinct sound of someone cocking back the hammer on a gun, it was too late. Luka went stiff, and felt his heart pound a little harder when a familiar, deep voice called out: "Turn around, Luka. But reach for your gun, and I'll blast your fucking head off."
Before he had fully turned around, the man behind him had placed one of his large hands on Luka's shoulder and yanked away his rifle. He watched how the man threw it aside, and held his hand out once more. "The Beretta as well," he said, very matter-of-factly.
Luka slowly handed it over, and the man cast the pistol aside just as he had done with the rifle. Even though Luka was crouched on the ground, it was clear from the way the man towered over him that he was considerably taller. He was bald, but with thick, black brows and beard.
The man wore similar clothes to Luka's, and a nearly identical jacket. The same emblem adorned it over the left side of the man's chest; the same roman numerals, VI, enveloped in the same, orange flames, with the same, white bolt of lightning shooting out towards the nameplate below. The only difference was that this jacket was embroidered with a different name: Sgt. Rudek Król.
"Clever thing you did back at the Poseidon office," Rudek snarled. "Didn't know you could reprogram robots, Jasienski. That's something we would have liked to know about you a little sooner." He shot Luka a murderous glare. "But I suppose, there were plenty of things you never told us about yourself… Isn't that right?"
Luka held his hands up defensively. "Look, Rudek…" He swallowed hard as he noticed the man's eyes narrow considerably. "It doesn't have to end like this. Mistakes were made, I know, but isn't it better to-"
"Don't try to weasel out of this, you little shit!" Rudek spat out. "I haven't tracked you for weeks just to argue. Be a proper man, at least this once in your life, and accept what's coming to you."
Watching Rudek's flaring nostrils was almost hypnotizing, and Luka began to feel a cold sweat break out in his neck as a sense of dread and mortal fear overwhelmed him. His body began to tremble, and finally his legs shook too much for him to continue standing hunched down. He fell back, sitting down with as much dignity as he could, and gave his nemesis a pleading look. "Rudek… please… I didn't mean for any of it to happen. I swear!"
Rudek sneered derisively. "My words fall on deaf ears then… very well." He looked up to listen to the voices in the distance, before fixing his gaze back on Luka. "You know those people you helped are raiders, right?"
Luka nodded slowly. "But they're humans. I couldn't just leave them to-"
"Leave them to what, Luka!" Rudek barked back. "Don't think for a second that I'll believe you've changed!"
"No… I-" Before Luka had a chance to speak further, Rudek had lowered his pistol and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the ruins and caused a ringing pain in Luka's ears, but it was instantly overshadowed by the sharp, burning pain in his leg. He screamed in a mix of shock and surprise, and looked down to the pool of blood forming on the ground underneath his left calf.
The voices in the distance called out to the gunshot, and Luka could hear distant footsteps, as the raiders scrambled and started to run towards the sound. Rudek only smirked and looked down on Luka, as he holstered his pistol. "Now we're even. This is the fate you deserve, Luka." He turned around, and began to walk away. "Now you know what it feels like!" he finally added, looking over his shoulder, and then he started to run.
Luka clenched his jaw, sucking in air between his gritted teeth as he tried to ride the pain out and think about what to do. Rudek was out of sight within just a few heartbeats, but he was no longer the immediate concern. Even though Luka wondered how he had been caught up with, he pressed that thought to the bottom of his mind as he looked to his rifle and pistol, discarded in the distance. If he could only stand up, and get over to them, he would at least have a slight chance…
He shifted about on the ground, until he sat on his knees. He could hear the raiders searching the building just next to him, as he lifted his right leg and placed his foot firmly on the ground. He finally pushed himself up, and started to limp over towards his guns.
The backpack hanging over his back was heavy, and made it harder to jump forward on one leg, not to mention making it impossible to put pressure on his injury. Wobbling on the spot, he wormed out of it, but as he got out of the last strapping the backpack fell down so he carried all of its weight in his right arm. The shifted weight made him lose his balance, and he fell hopelessly to the ground, landing over his packing.
The whole mishap had been rather loud, and as Luka re-familiarized himself with the ground, he could hear one of the men react: "Outside! Outside, you idiots!"
Luka felt his head throbbing, almost so hard that is seemed to compete with his racing heart. He had to get away, but there was no time to flee… He continued to crawl towards his guns, but it was a slow and painstaking effort. He looked down as he dragged himself forward, and he felt like he had managed to crawl a considerable length, but when he looked up to grasp for his rifle, he saw that he had only moved himself a meter at most. The guns were still much too far away, and as Luka listened, he realized it was too late, anyway.
Two black boots had just stepped around the corner, and Luka saw it was the man with the crowbar. He looked down on Luka and blinked. "Uhh… boss? Come see this…"
The leader with the improvised shoulderguards came into view and pushed his underling aside. The woman with the revolver followed right after, and in a matter of seconds the three raiders stood in a semi-circle around him. That's when Luka noticed something was different about them; he squinted up through his blurred vision and saw that they were cover in blood. Blood and… limbs…
They were all carrying severed ghoul limbs and torsos; the leader even had them attached to hooks hanging out from his shoulderguards, while the other two carried them tied together in bundles and hanging from their sides and backs.
The ghastly sight made no sense to Luka; it was well known that covering yourself in ghoul blood and flesh would only get you sick, and it wouldn't fool any of the real ghouls out there… but then Luka saw the faces of the three raiders; their eyes were crazed, and their mouths were dripping with far more blood than could come from the splatter of cutting off limbs.
'Cannibals…' Luka gave them a frightened look, and felt sick to his stomach when he saw them grinning back at him.
"Well well! How absolutely wonderful," the leader finally exclaimed. "Prey shot himself, but not in head as most do…"
It took Luka a while to understand the man's accent. He was aware that the dialect in Rus' was different, but he hadn't known what to expect beyond that. And even if the differences seemed to be subtle in most ways, such as mixing up V and W, it wasn't something his terror-stricken mind was really focused on translating right now.
"Brick!" the leader called out as he turned to the blonde man with the crowbar. "Stop his bleeding, or you carry him back when he pass out." The leader spat on the ground and wandered over to rummage through Luka's backpack while his minion got to work.
The blonde man used one of the knives sticking out from his modified crowbar and cut loose part of Luka's denims. Seeing the bullet had gone right through the leg, he grunted and took out a lighter, simply burning both ends of the wound shut. The pain was excruciating, and Luka lost his breath before he was even able to scream, but the man still somehow managed to hold him still.
Meanwhile, the bald woman was hunching down and jumping around Luka, observing him almost as if she was a curious animal. She tutted to herself as she watched him gasp and collapse back on the ground.
"Oh dear," she purred, literally rolling the r. "Look what Brick did to you, you poor little thing…" She reached out, and traced one of her filthy, bloodied fingers over Luka's cheek. He felt the urge to swat it away, but couldn't muster the strength.
Brick snorted a laugh and shook his head. "Ylva, what have we told you?"
The woman tilted her head curiously. "But… he's not food yet. So… I can still play with him, yes?"
A sudden realization dawned on Luka. "You… you people weren't walking into those ghouls by mistake…" It was more of a thought meant for himself, but he was tired, and happened to say it out loud.
Ylva and Brick gave him a confused look, but it was the leader in the background that answered: "Of course it wasn't mistake! These here are hunting grounds, we go here every week!"
Luka felt disgusted. "You go here to hunt ghouls… to eat them?"
The leader stepped up behind Ylva and Brick, carrying Luka's backpack and two guns. The man had a perked brow, and looked at Luka as if he was daft. "Did I not just tell you that? Shufflers think they can bite us, the fuckers! But we show them… we bite them right back!"
Ylva grinned and nodded along, pointing to Luka. "You, however, are a real treat!"
"Yes! True delicacy," the leader agreed, with a wry smile spreading across his face.
Brick grinned. "The Tsardoms allow us to feast on the ghouls out here… they encourage it, even! So long as we don't prey on any of their subjects…"
Ylva tapped the nameplate in Luka's jacket. "But you're not from around here… You are from the Borderlands, aren't you?" She sighed dreamily. "I've never tasted someone from that far out west before…"
Luka felt Brick nudging him in the side. The man leaned a little closer and winked. "Hey… I'm the cook. If you carry some of my limbs, I'll make sure we kill you quickly once we're home."
The leader scoffed. "No. The meat slow us down enough with his injury." He tossed Luka's backpack over to Brick. "You carry this. Teach you not to be so cheeky… And no quick killings! If we do that, how will Ylva have her fun?"
Ylva squealed and clapped her hands excitedly, then jumped over to Luka and dragged him into what he thought to be a very misdirected hug. But then he felt something warm and wet against his neck, and after Ylva had licked him, she bit right into his flesh.
Luka was too tired to scream, but the leader must have noticed his wide eyes. "Not now, you stupid bitch!" he barked, and took a step forward. But Ylva stopped just before she broke the skin, and pouted as she slowly edged away. She shot Luka a sly wink, however, when she thought no one else could see.
The leader nodded to himself. "Good. Now tie the meat up. Then we leave."
The trek out of the city had been very difficult on Luka, who had been threatened with violence if he didn't keep the pace up, and he had really struggled through the jolts of pain already burning through his leg.
The sun was rising high on the sky when the group finally reached a small shack out in the middle of the wastes. They couldn't have travelled more than five or six kilometres, but Luka was still sweaty and miserable when he got pushed down next to the dugout fire pit outside. He cursed his luck, as even the chance to sit down and rest seemed a mixed blessing.
"Hey boss…" Brick grunted. "I'm… thirsty." He gave a smirk that Luka didn't quite understand the reason for. "What's left from our mall run?"
"Just check for yourself in shack," the leader said. "I've got better things to do." He proceeded to remove the ghoul limbs from his shoulderguards and slicing the meat off the bones with a knife. The slices and slabs he produced got put on new hooks, hanging from a line out from the shed, stretching to the remaining lower half of a utility post standing nearby.
Ylva started to cut slices of meat and hang them up as well, while Brick dumped his limbs next to hers and went inside the shack. He came out moments later, holding a plastic bag. He sat down just a bit away from Luka, leaned against his backpack, and took a distinct, red-and-white can out of the bag.
The can had the typical Nuka Cola logo printed on it, but as with everything else in these lands, the logo was written in the distinctive letters of Rus'. Luka still recognized it, though, and was suddenly aware of how dry his mouth felt. He was surprised at how even survival instincts could be suppressed because of a thing like thirst.
"Hey… Brick, was it?" Luka looked up to the raider, who met his gaze, seemingly a bit surprised to be addressed. "I've got some water in my backpack. Perhaps you could let me-"
"I won't waste any water on you," Brick cut him off. "Water is scarce out here, and I could use it for a number of things when I cook."
"Then can I have one of those?" Luka nodded to the Nuka can. Brick gave him an odd look, so he quickly added: "Would you really refuse a dead man his last drink?"
"Heh… You got some huge balls there." Brick grinned, and despite his predicament, Luka found himself struggling not to roll his eyes at the lame remark. But Brick shuffled closer and opened the can, which made a low, fizzing sound, before he held it up so Luka could drink from it.
As soon as the contents touched his tongue, however, it burnt his mouth. Luka instantly turned away and spat the liquid out, coughing wildly. "What the hell!" he finally mustered, and looked back at the can. He helplessly studied the text on it, Нука Водка. "I… I don't understand!" Luka looked pleadingly to Brick. "What is that?"
Brick blinked, then burst out laughing. "Oh that's right! You can't read what the hell it says, can you? It's Nuka… Vodka!" He continued to cackle, so manically that he had to put the can down and hold his sides, while Luka stared at him with a dark look.
Ylva peered over her shoulder and gave the two men a curious glance, but Brick waved his hand dismissively at her as he slowly calmed down. He gasped for breath, then looked up at Luka and smiled. "You're not half bad, actually. It's a bit of a shame that we're eating you…"
"Yes… about that…" Luka remarked, dryly. "You don't suppose we could work something out? I don't eat ghouls, but I know how to track them… and you've seen that I'm good enough with a gun to take a few of them out as well." Brick looked thoughtful, so Luka decided to push just a little further. "I also hunt more effectively in a team. I'm sure I know tactics that you three have never even considered."
Brick frowned. "You think we're stupid? You think we can't look after ourselves?"
"I didn't say that," Luka answered in his most patient voice. "But you have hunted from the same place for a pretty long time, haven't you?"
"Yeah…" Brick slowly nodded. "Ylva and the Boss started long before I joined up with them."
"Guessed as much. The whole city was almost completely empty when I was in there. It won't be long before you've picked off the last few ghouls around, and once you've done that… what will be next for you?"
"Easy," brick said, though the uncertainty in his eyes betrayed his firm voice. "We move to a new hunting ground."
"And where's that?" Luka insisted. "Who will find it for you?"
"Well the Boss doesn't concern himself with such things, but maybe…" Brick shifted his gaze to Ylva and gave her an evaluating look. He watched her take off the last slab of meat from a limb and giggle as she put it on her head like a hat, before he finally shook his head. "…no."
"So it will be your job then," Luka calmly stated. "And do you even have the slightest idea where to look?" Brick hesitated, so Luka added: "Careful now. If you lead them the wrong way, they might get impatient with the lack of food and decide to eat you instead."
Brick looked honestly fearful as the words sunk in, and a spark of hope ignited in Luka's chest. "Okay, Borderlander, you have a point…" Brick finally said. "I'll have a word with the Boss, see what I can do."
And just as he said that, the leader turned around after hanging up the last meat slab on its hook. "Right!" he bellowed. "We're all done here. Brick, go start a fire while Ylva has her fun. Tonight, we feast!"
Luka looked to Brick, expecting to be defended, but the blonde man had crawled away at the stern voice of his master, just like an obedient dog. Luka blinked where he sat, all alone, with a crazy bald woman giggling to herself and edging ever closer. She stopped and hunched down right in front of him, and very slowly clattered her teeth together for emphasis of what was to come next.
"…well, fuck."