X8
A trailblazer ends up in the confines of an abandoned facility with an experienced stalker who seems to know a lot more than he should.
Garry flinched at the metallic clang that resonated from the downstairs ventilation room. Behind him, he could hear his partner cuss at the failure of the lock to register the black digitalized strip on the keycard.
"Blyat', what's taking so long?" the guide spat over his shoulder, keeping his rifle trailed to the source of the sound.
"Be patient, alright? Mudak," Sacha grumbled.
"Well I can't be in a place like this!"
The military stalker mumbled something incoherent which Garry shrugged off as another insult courtesy of his only companion's notorious dick-ass behavior. He fidgeted at the sight of the electro-anomaly emerging out of the corner across the hall. It hovered over the floor for a brief moment before disappearing back into the corridor.
"Just hurry up, okay?"
"You said you're a 'trailblazer like no other', right? Have some balls, man."
The guide frowned at that. As much as he wanted to point out how he helped establish safe routes through anomaly fields and discover uncharted territories in the Zone, he did not want to drop his guard. Especially inside a cramped place like this, he most surely did not want to drop his guard.
As if the endless squeaking wasn't enough, he swore he could hear something more sentient moving elsewhere throughout the facility. (Was that snickering?)
"Sacha, are you sure you cleared this place out?"
"Da, I did."
"And when was that?"
"About a week ago. Don't worry; this place is sealed airtight. I'm the only one who could access this place. No mutants could get in here." Except for the sewer rats.
"That's what Noah always says."
"Mind you, Noah is a tough cookie. You remember Lassie? She likes you."
Garry shuddered. "I hate that dog. I hate you for making me tag along to see that crazy fucker."
"Wimp."
"Hey, fuck you."
The card reader let out another rejecting beep. Sacha replied with a fist to the keypad. He then ran the card against the slit for the seventh time. In an act of finality, the light flashed green followed by an instantaneous spark and a trail of smoke venting off of the now thoroughly fried electronic door lock. "Finally, koorva…"
"It's open?"
"Yeah. About fucking time…" Sacha stepped inside, freezing immediately when the radar sweeper on his Svarog ampoule started beeping. Garry peeked over his shoulder.
"Anomaly?"
"Over there," he replied, kicking a rusty expended bullet casing towards it and seeing it melt in the acid bubble that inhabited the meager corner of… "Oh, wow."
The guide was taken aback at what Sacha's flashlight had revealed. "It's a fucking armory. Hivno."
"High-end, huh," the military stalker muttered. "Heh, we could barely pay our gas bill to Russia but we have enough funds to field shooters like these."
Garry weaved his way around the only known anomaly in the room. Utilizing the only sources of light around, he let his hands work their way across the racks, running across boxes of ammunition and the familiar shells of grenades. His thumb wound up in the pull-ring of an F1, landing it in his palm as he gently withdrew.
Behind him, Sacha surveyed the rusted firearms cluttered around. There was not much in terms of value considering the age and amount of corrosive damage. Nonetheless, some of the guns stored here were doubtlessly manufactured in Russia and shipped to Ukraine via black market deals.
Sacha clicked his tongue. Too bad. He half-expected to stumble across another dated prototype of the highly coveted Gauss rifle. The only functioning model ever found was locked safely in his personal storage box back at the Laundromat—the unofficial base of operations for the Ukrainian Ground Forces and the frontier of all known major military operations within the Zone…that is until the brass would scoop Operation Fairway from the shitters. The jar-heads garrisoned there knew better than to peek into other people's stuff; they weren't stalkers by heart.
Garry pocketed the remaining grenades, using the torchlight mounted onto his vest to illuminate the shelves. The upper racks had the appropriate ammunition for the guns—or what's left of them—in the lower echelons. The Makarovs were practically worthless.
"Hey, Sacha? Are you going to sell these?"
Sacha peered over his shoulder. "Hmm… Makarovi… The Kalashi are all fucked up but they're worth some scrap. I'm not chugging them back to camp though if that's what you're asking."
"What now then? All I found were grenades and bullets."
He clicked his tongue. So much for… "Hold up."
Garry turned to see his companion cup the muzzle of an unusual looking rifle in the back. Its design was unlike anything he had ever seen. Copper coils complete with rubber wires enveloped the barrel with the rest of the weapon adopting a modern design inclusive of a skeletal folding stock and grooved handle.
"What is that?"
It's a fucking Gauss rifle is what it is. Guess I was wrong. Sacha pressed his grip deep into Garry's shoulder enough to make the pathfinder uneasy. "We talk about this to no one, agreed?"
"Da! Da! I told you I'm not telling shit, man! Calm down—that hurts!"
"Swear to me with your life."
"I fucking swear!"
Good. "Let's get out of here."
"What the hell, man?" Garry muttered, rubbing the nape of his neck.
"Come on," Sacha ordered, chugging the second Gauss rifle ever found over his shoulder. I should find something to wrap this in. He surveyed the reception room, eyeing the fragments of a flak jacket in the corner covering a heap of dry bones.
"What are you doing now?"
The military stalker proceeded to rip off bits of the fabric, using the larger sheets to cover most of the prototype. No one should see any more of this.
"Yebat', I could hear something moving!" Garry hissed.
Sacha tensed, picking out the faint footfalls of a two-legged mutant. How the fuck did… "Guess I forgot to check the tunnels."
"What!"
"No time to explain; let's get out of here."
"About time!"
Kovalsky eyed the pair of Gauss rifles laid on his table. Though the exterior differences were that of the coils and the color pattern on the frame and stock, the Colonel and the Major were confident that the major differences were in the operating mechanisms. Whichever one could punch through armor harder was the question.
"And you found this in the underground lab?"
"Affirmative, Colonel."
"So many fucking secrets." Kovalsky heaved. "Why am I not surprised?"
The same question I ask myself every day. "Given the Monolith being the only guys around trotting with these shooters, I would venture a guess and say that there is a stockpile somewhere here. Who knows? Maybe they might be refurbishing them in batches."
"You're making me nervous with that assessment, Major."
Do I? Take it for sending me out on these one-man raids, you fuckwit. I'm not invincible, you know! "Do I always?"
The Colonel shook his head. "This just raises more questions than answers."
"What now?"
"To be honest? I don't fucking know..."
Sacha grimaced. Well, shit. That's brilliant. "Ping me if there is anything else," he said, waving off as he left the room and headed back downstairs.
LAST EDITED: December 25, 2017