In the forests of eastern Ukraine, there lies a place of unrestricted freedom. While being one of the most dangerous and unforgiving place on the planet, it houses a civilization like no other. It is only known as The Zone. Some come to The Zone for freedom. Some come to escape. But a special few, who call themselves gopniks, come just for the pure fun of being left to their own devices.

Our story starts in a part of this wide forest, near a crashed helicopter. The Ukrainian government liked to keep an eye on The Zone, as what happened was sometimes shown back home on T.V. A man approached the downed chopper, looking for supplies that could help a nearby camp. He wore strange boots. They were black from the ankles up with tight laces, but below were white with three black stripes parallel to each other on the left and right side of each boot. His pants were black with the same stripes, but this time white and only on the outside of each respective leg. For a shirt he wore a white tee-shirt with a holster under his left armpit. It housed a Makharov 9mm pistol with a cylindrical object on the barrel. Above his plain white tee was a yellow tracksuit. It had three black lines on the arms in the same design as the pants. Above were his left nipple would be, there was a logo depicting 3 black lines going southeast, and under said logo the word "Adidas" was written. Strapped to his belt was a flask labeled "Kvass". On his back was a splitting axe with some scotch tape on the side. On the tape was written "Gopnik's Butterknife." In his hand he held a top-loading rifle with a scope. By the looks of the weapon it appeared to be a Mosin-Nagant rifle, popular among Russians of the World War II Red Army. By his feet, there was a small ash gray kitten with no collar or visible name to identify it. It walked calmly with the man as if the man and it were close.

The strangest thing about the man was about his face. It wasn't showing. He wore a black balaclava with no hole for his mouth, but 2 small holes over his ears. They were big enough to stick something in his ear, but not for his ears to be exposed. Over the slits for his eyes, he wore tinted black aviator sunglasses and on top of his head sat a plain black ushanka, worn from much weather. In the backpack on the man were several things. Normally, you can tell what a person is like by what's in his pack, but this man's pack raised more questions than answers. He had about 12 collections of 9 9mm bullets, 15 collections of 5 7.62 bullets in a striper clip for the rifle. He also had 3 cans of cat food, several pounds of food (meats, vegetables, fruits, bread, and potatoes (lots of potatoes)), equipment for starting a fire and cooking on top of said fire, a white balaclava with a hole cut out for his mouth (probably for eating), a simple black bandana for warm climates, a ushanka small enough for a cat, several bottles of alcohol, an MP3 player, and some earbuds.

As he approached the crash site, his cat ran of towards the wreck.

"Artyom!" the man said, "Don't be so quick. Boris is still tired." He then heard a cat screech, and was instantly alert.

"Artyom," he said, approaching the front of the helo. Then, a man in dark clothing, whose face was also concealed by a mask, dashed around the cockpit with Artyom in hand. Boris saw his closest friend in the arms of the kidnapper.

"You fucking pizda!" he cried with rage after taking off after him, "I will have your head for this blyat." During the chase, he dropped his rifle to climb a rather tall wall overlooking the trail the man was on. When the man came into view, Boris jumped down into a low squatting position in front of the man.

"Let's settle this like Russians," he said, cracking his knuckles, "Give back Artyom, or I will smash you into the ground more than a mashed potato." The man chuckled, "Why Boris, we were just looking for you."

"Who is we?" asked the Slav. "More importantly, why do you want to talk to me?"

"We believe you can help save the life of a young boy, one about your age," the man in black responded, "He will be in a place were he will die without assistance."

"Tell him not to go there, then," the Russian said, losing patience, "Now, who is we and why do you need me?" The man stepped closer to the still crouched Boris, and crouched down to his eye level.

"You are very skilled, comrade," said he," and I represent a group of people who would bery much like to see this kid survive." Boris was intrigued by the strange man, but his face showed no sign (probably because the man couldn't see it). Artyom, seeing his chance, freed himself from the stranger and ran to Boris's side again. The man grunted and returned his attention to Boris.

"Where would I find this boy you speak of?" asked Boris, "Must I pay for the trip?" The man suddenly started to laugh. He did so for about 30 seconds before stopping.

"To get where you are going, you will not need to spend money," he replied, grinning under his mask, "How familiar are you with fairy tales, comrade?"

"Do not call me friend, as we are not," said the stalker, harshly, "And for your information, not very well. They have no place in The Zone."

The man said, "That is where you are wrong." He stood up and motioned for Boris to follow. The Slav stood and picked up his cat in his arms before walking after the strange man. Going through the dying trees, the man carved a path to a clearing with a tall tree in the center. It looked old and battered like it had been through hell. As they got closer, Boris heard a humming sound coming from the tree.

"What is this place?" asked the Estonian curiously, "How have I never been here before?"

The man turned to him. "What do you feel, Boris?"

"Like we shouldn't be here. Like we are in a place that shouldn't exist." he replied.

"That is how it stays a secret to those we want it to be," the strange being said, "We make it so you feel like you don't want to investigate the area and leave. Now, walk up to the tree, Boris." The Slav obeyed, and approached the old tree slowly as if it would run away if it knew he was there. As he grew closer, the humming grew louder. When he reached the tree, he noticed a glowing blue light underneath some of the bark.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Open it," said the man. Again, the stalker listened and reached for the bark. It felt rough, like how bark should feel. When he went to rip it off, it just opened like a door. Inside of the tree was a swirling pool of light, like one of those rainbows that occasionally show in the sky.

"That," said the man, startling Boris, "is what we call a "primary tear. There are 2 types of tears, Boris. A secondary tear can show you an alternate reality in parallel to ours. You will exist in that reality and it will seem the same as this one" the man went on, "but a few things will be different, like a few choices you made." "Now a primary tear is much more interesting, as it shows you a set of worlds you don't exist in."

"I don't understand," said Boris, confused, "What do you mean tears?"

The man took a deep breath and readied himself, "Think of secondary worlds, which are the ones that are alike, like the bullets I'm your gun's magazine. They look very similar, but have a few changes, like the manufacturer or the exact shape. Primary worlds are like the magazine itself. The exist only to house the secondary worlds." The man seemed to run out of breath at the end of his monologue. He took another breath and started again, "Primary tears show you new SETS of realities while secondary tears show just one other reality. Boris thought for a moment, processing the information.

"You mean to tell me," he started, "that there really are other dimensions?" The man nodded. "How would I know who this boy is?" asked the Russian.

The man smiled, "He will stand out, as neither of you will fit into place." He then focused on his right hand, making it develop massive holes filled with water. It looked like he had been underwater for some time. Boris thought for a good few minutes.

"No," he finally said, "I have a life I like here. I'm sorry."

"No, I am sorry," came the reply. After hearing this, Boris turned and saw the man had removed his gloves and thrown them away. He then looked at this hands. His right was fine, but the left looked horrifying.

"I'm sorry, Boris," said the man, "but it was never a choice." Boris immediately drew his pistol and fired upon the stranger. The man simply raised his right hand and caught the bullets in the air. His hand looked like that of a human skeleton, but black were flesh met bone. He released the bullets to fall and using his right hand shot a watery tendril to take his gun. Boris felt the Makharov be ripped from his hand and drew Gopnik's Butterknife from its place on his back. Artyom sat on his shoulder.

"May I at least know your name before you die?" asked Boris, ready to fight. "It's Lutece," he said, "and please rethink the offer." As he said this, another watery tendril threw Boris and Artyom through the tear, sending them to a new world.

"I only hope he will keep that boy safe," said Lutece, "After all, he does have a good heart." As he turned to leave, he turned back. "He could use some help against the magic users," he thought. Lutece brought out a red colored container with a devil figure on top acting as a cork. He chucked it through the tear and smiled. Afterwards he opened a new tear, but this one was black and white. He stepped through and closed it behind him, leaving no trace.


I'm fixing the spacing issue