S.t.a.l.k.e.r.: The Dark Within
Chapter 1: Mnemophobia
Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, distended with moisture. The city square was abandoned, except for the Russian soldiers and their prisoners. Several shelled out houses surrounded the square. A judicial building stood at the forefront, mocking the Soldiers who looked upon it. A park stood shattered at the very center, only a simple carousel still standing and swaying in the breeze. Screaming could be heard as a woman, beaten and bruised, was dragged out of a shelled out house by the hair. Other Chechens were thrown about in the same manner.
"These aren't just sympathizers," Col. Mikheyev explained, "We got one to admit they are insurgents. You remember what they did; you remember why we are here. They deserve no compassion for what they've done to our people."
Anger boiled in Sergeant Demyan Reznikov's chest as his grip on the Kalashnikov tightened. They were no fighters, they were terrorists and murderers. The Colonel was right; he had not forgotten what had happened. Horror and vengeance still burned in his heart at the thought of those apartment buildings collapsing. Rain began to shower the square, like the tears of the innocent. Several isolated gunshots rang out in the street. A pair of soldiers lugged a rebel down in front of the Sergeant, forcing the Chechen to his knees. He scrutinized the freedom fighter briefly, and his rage faded.
This Chechen wasn't much more than a boy. The rebel's face absent of hair and his body limber. The boy was bruised and his face swollen. Demyan could only imagine what he had been put through. Despite this, the insurgent kept his back straight and a look of defiance in his eyes. Reznikov glanced at the Colonel briskly before locking eyes with the boy again. They both knew what Mikheyev expected. Demyan felt numb as he hesitated. The square was quiet now, only the pitter-patter of rain making a sound. The Sergeant felt everyone's eyes boring into him, but his eyes were still joined with the rebels. Demyan raised the AK, his face vacant. The boy's expression had changed. It was a look of solemn dignity, of knowing he had died fighting in the name of the people he loved. And then the bullet pierced his skull. The sound seemed to echo through the abandoned town indefinitely. The Sergeant turned his back to his comrades.
He stood there for an indiscriminate amount of time, feeling hollow when he should have felt pride for doing what had to be done. He was jealous of the boy; He wished he could feel such honor. He felt a slight jerk at his pant leg. He turned around inquisitively. Terror struck him as dozens of zombies latched onto his BDU's. Their half rotten faces the faces of the men Demyan had killed. The looks of despair and agony were tangible as the Sergeant lost his balance. The zombies attempted to pull him into the mass grave while more dead writhed in torment within it. The soldier brought his gun to bear, but it melted in his hands. He shrieked as he was pulled face first into the grave.
Demyan was still screaming when he woke up, bolting upright in his sleeping bag. He was panting heavily, sweating and shaking. He ripped a bottle of vodka from the backpack he was using as a pillow, taking several large swigs to try and calm himself. The Stalkers in the bar stared at him. Most were not looks of shock, but of understanding. They knew about the dreams. Reznikov managed to relax, but his hand still quivered until the vodka took effect. Collecting his things, he gave the nightmare no thought. The Zone waited for him impatiently.