I pressed myself to the edge of the factory wall to catch my breath.
Nobody to see, everything seemed quiet.

I got a job from one of the traders to search the old factory for a potentially important document.

Only rarely did other people venture here.

There was a rumor that a madman with a mask lived here, who beats looters to death with his sledgehammer. No offense, but I think this is an old wives' tale. Scary stories that scavs tell each other at night around the campfire.

It was even said that the guy wore nothing but an armored rig over his bare chest. What idiot would walk around like that in this city?

I shook my head. Concentration. There were still enough other potential threats nearby that could finish me off faster than I could react.

I had already scouted out a possible entrance to the factory in advance. It led over a loading ramp, through the basement into the main building.

Carefully, I walked down the path, my shotgun raised ready to fire. You never know. The door to the cellar was closed, but not locked, I had checked that beforehand. However, there was some debris and scrap behind it and I had to use quite a bit of force to push it open far enough for me to slip through.

This was not exactly quiet, but now it was also too late for a stealthy retreat.

I pushed through the opening and silently thanked myself that I hadn't taken a backpack with me.

It was dark inside the loading bay, but not as dark as I had expected. Emergency lamps shone at regular intervals on the bare walls. So there had to be at least some emergency power supply somewhere here. That was interesting.

I methodically moved through the room looking for the ramp into the main building and after a short search I found it.
Quietly, listening for any suspicious noise, I crept up the ramp.
I've always had this weird obsession with old abandoned buildings, and looking at the long abandoned factory building made me a little nostalgic. I used to explore places like this, take pictures, and post them online for others to see. At that time, the only danger had been to hurt myself stupidly. Now you couldn't put anything online, and who knew what it was like in the rest of the world? For months we hardly received any news from the rest of the world, and even if we did, the information had passed through so many hands that you couldn't be sure if it was true.
Things had gone downhill fast.
But enough of that. Concentration!
I moved slowly and controlled through the building, looking for the offices that the trader had described to me. There should be a staircase somewhere that led to the second floor ...
Suddenly I heard a scraping behind me. I froze and pressed myself against one of the empty tanks that filled the space next to me.
I held my breath.
Right when I was sure I had imagined it and relaxed, ready to move on, I saw him.

All the horror stories came back to me.
He looked just like they had described him, tall, muscular and tattooed, with a rig over his bare chest, a welding mask over his face and a really, really big sledgehammer in both hands.
And he charged at me like a steam engine.
Instinctively, I threw myself to the side when I saw him coming at me and that probably saved my life. I rolled to the side while I heard his hammer hit the tank with a booming sound. However, during my evasive maneuver, my weapon slipped out of my hands.
Damn it!
I grabbed my knife and without thinking much about it, I threw it in his direction just as he turned around to come after me.

To my own surprise, I even hit him with this untargeted throw, leaving a deep cut on his ribs, on the side, where the rig did not protect him.

Blood gushed out but he hardly cared, he didn't even flinch as he lunged to strike me again with the hammer.

I threw myself violently to the side and the hammer crashed on the hall floor, exactly where my head had just been. I kicked to the side without aiming and hit his shin.

I could have just as easily kicked a wall, I had no chance against this guy in close combat.

I desperately tried to reach for my gun, but he beat me to it and kicked it aside.

Now I was done for, lying on the floor, with no weapon or other chance to defend myself successfully. But I would try not to make it easy for him.

I screamed and threw myself around, hoping to catch the back of his knee with a kick. He had seen this coming, of course, and jumped to the side, but I saw him hesitate briefly.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked in a commanding tone, with a strong Siberian accent.

I didn't deign to answer and took advantage of his hesitation to try to get to my feet.

It remained with the attempt. The moment I rose, his fist hit my face and I saw stars. Blood shot from my nose and blackness clouded my vision.