Dusk had fallen over the lands of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, and with it an eerie peace. For once the mutants weren't baying and screeching into the night, bringing a rare respite for those who traipsed its tainted ground.

For the Stalkers relaxing at the 100 RADS bar however, the night had just begun. Music blared through the (rather invisible) speakers, the bars regulars having given up tracking them down long ago. Up on the cabinet, the old CRT TV sat, a re-run of what appeared to be a badly translated American film playing for the umpteenth time.

Of course nobody paid any attention to it.

For Leshey Butterfingers, it was time to relax. The Goldfish artifact had netted him a small profit and what better way to enjoy his good fortune than to blow half of it on suit repairs and booze. Already two bottles of cheap vodka sat empty to his right, a third sloshing around in his hand. It seemed that half a bottle's worth of grain alcohol was splashed across much of the rotting table.

With a thud, another stalker dropped into the opposite bench in the booth, only glancing at the current occupier before hanging his head.

"Evening Nordal!" No reply came from the stalker.

Taking a sip of the (now rather backwashed) vodka, the pair sat as the sounds of conversation and music blared into the Zone sky.

"Leshy…" the other stalker finally began, "have you ever seen something so terrifying…it makes you want to curl up and never step outside again?"

"Nord, the heck's gotten into you man," Leshy queried, "This is the Zone. We see that type of shit every day!" He punctuated his words with wild swings from the bottle, splashing more of the alcohol around the booth.

Nord did not reply. "At the very least, where was this 'great horror' that's got you shitting yourself, eh? The Red Forrest? Wait! Don't tell me…the Garbage?" The inebriated stalker slapped his knee with the bottle and…giggled?

Nord sighed and looked up at his drunk friend, "No…it was the Cordon." The head drooped once more. And then Leshy began to cackle.

"Seriously dude?" More cackling and gesturing of the (now empty) vodka bottle. "The Cordon? As in the start-here-rookie training grounds Cordon?" Nord raised his head, glaring at the jovial stalker.

"You didn't see it…" he simply replied, "you didn't see what could inspire such…such fear in the hearts of man. You didn't see how Lesnitzky – remember him? The stalker that soloed that fucking lab beneath the old factory at Yantar just because some idiot scientist left their recording device there – simply put a bullet through his head after his fucking mind SHATTERED."

Nord was shaking now, twitches from his neck completely visible in spite of the protective suit he wore. "I…I can't get it out of my head…"

Leshy couldn't believe his eyes. Nordal was one of the most experienced Zoners that remained after the mad rush for Pripyat stripped many factions of their strength. He had traversed the cursed halls of the Agroprom underground with naught but a busted up AK. Hell, he had butchered a nest of Bloodsuckers with nothing but an old sawn-off just because he could.

To see the master stalker reduced to a quaking rookie…

"Nordal, my friend…" Leshy gulped, "what did you see?"

Nord continued to quiver, his hands gripped together as if he was trying to squeeze the blood out of them. "We…"

The master stalker took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Lesnitzky and I had just returned from a successful hunt in the Wilds of old Rostok. A Gravi, and two Moonlights." Leshy whistled, that type of haul all in one trip could set a stalker up for months.

"Lesnitzky decided that Sidorovich was giving the best deals on the swag, so we made our way down to the Rookie Village, paying that damned Major Kuznetsov his bribe."

Nordal took a breath, his nerves already frayed from repeating the memory. "We got to Sidorovich's bunker alright, nothing but blind dogs and Flesh, and sold the artifacts…"

Despite the rather tame tale, Leshy could see the tension rolling off of his friend in waves. Already on the cusp of a nervous breakdown, he could almost hear Nordal fighting back tears.

"I should have stopped him…"

"Who?" The now-sober stalker asked, "Lesnitzky? Sidorovich?"

"Oh god…those eyes…those soulless eyes…" Nordal looked up again, eyes wide and naked terror plastered across his scared face. "And that grin…" Tremors wracked the master stalker's body as he looked at the floor once more.

"Nord," more forcefully, Leshy questioned the now-petrified man, "who?"

Choking back a sob, Nordal shook his head. "Lesnitzky…" he began again, "he…he turned on the radio; the one that sat on that fat trader's bench."

"And…?"

His already damaged mental state hanging by a thread, the recanting of the tale seemed to shatter what sanity the man had left. Nordal lost it, openly sobbing into his gloved hands. "And then Sidorovich started to dance…"

…

Behind the bar, the pair could hear the barman hacking away at some of the boar meat a hunter brought in, cutting it down into smaller chunks to be stewed .Somewhere in the distance, a blind dog barked.