Author's note: Yep, I'm back. Maybe. I don't know.
I hope y'all have been doing well and that this first chapter of (X) will entertain y'all.
The Red Forest had been dead for years. The lifeblood of the trees had gone still and cold long ago, yet the fiery red leaves clung to the branches as if a fall day had been frozen in time. Another mystery of the Zone, too minor to garner any wonder beyond a passing thought. The Forest was quiet, unnaturally so. The surrounding hills choked off the wind while the original wildlife had long since fled or died. From a cluster of boulders, however, a small sound originated: Quiet sobs.
A small girl, hair as red as the leaves of the forest, hid away between the boulders, clutching at a small knife. She shivered as her sack-cloth clothing did little to shield her against the cold Ukrainian air. Dirt and scrapes covered her exposed skin, while cuts covered her bare feet where the forest's many thorns had scratched her. Bushes rustled somewhere nearby, causing the girl to hold her breath.
Suddenly, a large set of bear claws swiped in front of her face. The girl shrieked and pressed herself further into the small crevice she hid inside. The creature withdrew its paw to gaze at the girl directly. It was an ugly, hairless beast larger than a lion, covered in terrible scars and tumors. The head, or rather heads, were that of two twisted and snarling humans, one larger than the other. The beast howled in rage before clawing at the rocks, trying to break or move them apart for its next meal.
A thunderous CRACK echoed through the forest as the beast stumbled back, a bleeding hole in its right haunch. It leaped out of the girl's sight with a furious roar as another loud BOOM reverberated through the air. Silence returned, save for the sound of rustling and something cutting through flesh and bone. The girl squeezed her eyes shut while trying to decide whether to make a run for it. She chased the thought away when she heard the crunching of leaves approaching closer and closer. It was almost upon her. She squeezed her eyes shut and awaited her fate.
"Alyooo."
She opened them to see a figure squatted down, waving at her from just beyond the boulders. Blood covered his gloved hands, while his face was hidden away by a military helmet and gas mask. Thick synthetic clothing covered him from head to toe, with Kevlar and ballistic armor woven in at various places. A mishmash of web gear and pouches hung from his body, along with two guns: A suppressed Kalashnikov and a massive shotgun.
The two stared at each other for a minute before the figure awkwardly scratched the back of his helmet before speaking.
"Do you understand Ukrainian little one?" He spoke, voice slightly distorted by the mask. The girl simply stared at him, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, tightly gripping her knife. The man sighed while rubbing where his chin would be under the mask. He hummed and hawed to himself for a few minutes before an idea came to his mind.
"Alright then, if you do not come to me, I will come to you!" The man spoke cheerfully, before laying his weapons to the side and reaching toward the girl. Naturally, she did not take kindly to this. The man hissed in pain as he drew his arm back, the handle of a pen knife protruding from his sleeve.
"Blyad! Quick one, aren't you?" He laughed as he yanked the small weapon out and pocketed it. "Good, that is good." The man squatted back down, watching the seemingly feral girl with an amused interest. He reached into one of his larger pouches and withdrew a metal box. The lid popped open with a loud hiss. The man reached into the box, before withdrawing what seemed like a large sea urchin made of stone. It glowed with an ominous green light. Holding the object against his wound, the man hummed a strange tune for a couple of minutes before placing the object back in its box.
"All better!" The man rolled up his sleeve, showing that only a small scar remained of the stab wound. If the miraculous healing impressed the girl, her face didn't show it. In fact, it caused her to try and back away even further into her crevice. Frowning behind his mask, the Man took note of this strange reaction. Quickly checking his surroundings, he sighed and fully sat down.
"I will sit here for as long as I need to, little one." The man spoke, crossing his arms.
The two stayed like this for half an hour, with the man occasionally grabbing and aiming his rifle in the direction of even the smallest noise. The girl had stopped hyperventilating, but still eyed the man with a mixture of fear and distrust, like a cornered animal. Something beeped in one of the man's many pockets, prompting him to retrieve a small tablet-like device. The Man thumbed a few buttons on his PDA before reading a message sent to him.
"Some greenhorn wants me to take him to Zaton. Can you believe that?" The man asked the girl, not expecting an answer. "Blyen, he doesn't even have a sealed system, what a joke."
The two continued to sit in awkward silence. The man used a small needle and thread to stitch the hole in his sleeve shut before applying some sort of sealant. He quickly checked for any other tears or holes in his suit before putting the supplies back in their appropriate pouch. The girl briefly wondered how he could organize such a mess of bags and containers before she refocused on watching his every move. The PDA beeped again.
"Ahhhh, lunchtime!" The man spoke with childish excitement.
The man withdrew a brown paper sack from one of his pouches, laying out the items from within before him: A green canteen, a piece of smoked sausage, a half-eaten loaf of bread, and something square in a brown and yellow wrapper. He was interrupted by a loud growling sound. Snatching the nearby shotgun, the man checked every direction around him before slowly turning to the source of the noise: The girl. Or rather, her stomach. He chuckled before slowly placing each item just past the entrance to the girl's refuge.
As soon as the man backed away, the girl snatched the food and began wolfing it down. The man winced when the girl choked and coughed on a mouthful of the stale bread.
"Take a sip of water from the canteen little one." The man spoke. The girl paused, before carefully twisting off the cap and taking a cautious sip of the purified water. A few seconds later, more than half of the canteen had been drunk. The sausage and bread had long since been devoured, leaving only the wrapped-up square. The girl greedily tore through the wrapper to find a small brown brick underneath: Russian chocolate. She took a tiny bite and hummed with delight. Unlike the other food, she nibbled on the treat, savoring it. The Man gave a hearty laugh.
"So, the little one has a sweet tooth. No surprise." The Man continued to chuckle before pulling out a small piece of jerky. He lifted his mask just enough to expose his mouth, stuck the jerky in, and placed his mask back on. The girl finished her chocolate with a happy sigh before looking pleadingly at the man. He shook his head while raising his hands in apology.
"No more, little one. That was my lunch." Spoke to the man. The girl nodded before tucking her knees up against her chest, shivering slightly. The Man was about to do something when he froze, head tilted slightly. In the distance, crows cawed while a wind began to blow from the north.
"Blyad!" The man cursed to himself. "It shouldn't be here for another hour. Little one we must go!" The man spoke, a slight panic in his voice, as he slung his rifles. He reached toward the girl, only for her to shy away. The man cursed under his breath before grabbing a hold of the girl's collar and pulling her forward. She shrieked and struggled against the Man's iron grip as he yanked her from her hiding spot.
"Quit fighting brat or we'll both be dead!" The man shouted angrily. The girl snapped her mouth shut and relented, allowing the man to hold her against his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck with a death grip as he took off in a sprint, equipment rattling and jingling. The winds had grown even stronger, and the caws of the crows seemed frantic. Something rumbled in the distance.
The girl could feel the man's heart pounding through his vest, his hoarse breathing getting faster and faster as the roar in the distance grew louder. Trees and bushes passed by in a blur. The man grabbed several large bolts from his pockets and hurled them in front of him. Two flew and landed normally, while the third turned bright red and flew in a random direction with a loud POP. The man adjusted his course toward the direction of the first two bolts. Another bolt landed on a small clearing, only for a massive gout of flame to sprout forth, blinding the girl for a few seconds. The man continued to chuck bolts in front of him, changing the direction he ran in whenever one reacted strangely.
"Almost there Almost there Almost there," The man mumbled to himself as they approached a small clearing next to an open, rusty gate. Hurricane-like winds roared in the girl's ears as an ominous red glow grew brighter in the distance. Lightning crackled overhead as the very sky seemed to catch on fire. The Man somehow sprinted even faster towards a two-story radio tower. The door to the first floor was open. Unseen voices whispered in their ears as the red light grew as bright as the sun. A wave of dust was quickly approaching over the hills. At the last second, the man dove through the open doorway, landed and kicked the thick metal door shut.
The man lied with his back on the floor, the girl sitting on top of him, hoarsely breathing. Winds howled past alongside a strange, orange energy. The very foundation of the building seemed to be shaking, threatening to collapse and crush the two humans. Bright lights flashed through the small gap under the door. After a few minutes, the deadly storm passed, replaced by the sound of soft rain and distant thunder. The girl looked up through one of the windows to see the sky filled with long curling fingers of orange and red energy, like an angry Aurora Borealis.
Her head snapped back down when she heard a quiet chuckling. The Man's chuckling grew into uproarious laughter as he struggled to breathe.
"Blyeeennn, that was my closest one yet! Nothing like an emission to get the blood flowing, eh?" The man continued to laugh as he sat up. The girl simply glared at him. The man's laughter suddenly ceased as he let out a string of curses. The girl gave him a questioning look. He sighed.
"I left the beast's corpse out there. All that meat, wasted!" The man leaned back and banged his helmet against the concrete wall. The girl gave an incredulous stare as she came to a disturbing realization.
This man was utterly insane.
The old radio tower had two floors, with an elevator and a stairwell connecting them. The old elevator had broken down long ago, leaving the stairs as the only option to traverse the floors. The girl followed closely behind the masked man, wondering where he was going. The man stopped on the second floor in front of an old wooden door. He knocked three times and waited. A buzzing noise played as a latch loudly clicked. The Man opened the door.
"Alyo grandpa! I brought a guest!" The man greeted jovially.
"I told you to stop calling me that Artem! I may be old but I'm not ancient you pile of boar dung!" A cantankerous old man yelled back. The girl stepped inside and surveyed the room. It was a small room, that seemed like a repurposed office. A few supply crates were piled next to the entry along with several maps of the nearby area. At the back, an old, bearded man wearing a ushanka sat next to a wood-burning stove. Steam wafted from the top of the pot, laced with the smell of meat and herbs, causing the girl's mouth to water. Behind the old man laid a rickety bed and a workbench, while a double barrel shotgun hung on the wall. Next to the shotgun was the mounted head of some peculiar beast. Its shape was like that of a human's head, yet it had a cluster of tentacles instead of a mouth. The skin of the beast seemed to almost be rotting, with necrotized flesh and blood muscle exposed in various places. The creature's beady eyes seemed to follow the girl's every move.
"Blyen Forester, how can you be so cruel to a man who escaped death by the skin of his teeth?" Artem joked as he removed his mask and plopped down onto a crate. Forester threw up a hand in exasperation while grumbling something, attention focused on the bubbling pot on his stove.
"Curse the Zone for not ridding me of this beggar," Forester muttered. "Did you at least kill the chimera?"
In response, Artem removed a bloody heart from a pouch and tossed it at the old man, who let out a string of truly foul curses before freezing.
"Artem, is that what I think it is?" Forester inquired, staring at the Girl. Artem shook his head.
"I see you finally noticed our guest. And I thought you old folks were supposed to be well-mannered?" Artem heckled before turning to look at the Girl. She studied her rescuer's face with fascination. His head was the usual rounded shape most Ukrainians had, with short, buzzed black hair and stubble covering his chin and cheeks. However, the average-looking face was marred by four long scars traveling diagonally. His toothy grin had a few gaps in it.
"What is a child, a girl no less, doing here? Where did you find her?" Forester asked. Artem shrugged.
"She had attracted the attention of the chimera in the forest. As for why she's here, ask her. Now, when's that food going to be ready?" Artem asked as he pulled his empty crate closer to the stove and searched inside his backpack.
"Is there a second stomach where your brain should be? Never mind, come here child, I mean you no harm." Forester spoke in a gentle manner, beckoning the girl. The girl glanced at Artem, who simply nodded. She cautiously approached the man, who began filling an old bowl with a red stew filled with noodles, herbs, and chunks of meat. The girl's eyes lit up as the old man held the bowl out to her with a spoon. She snatched the stew and utensil and retreated to the corner opposite the two men. Artem sighed while Forester chuckled.
"Skittish, isn't she?" The Old Man observed. Artem nodded as he filled his mess kit with goulash. The younger man frowned.
"Forester," Artem spoke flatly.
"Hmmm?" Forester hummed as he took a bite of his stew.
"This has peppers in it," Artem spoke with a scowl.
"And? It is boar goulash. Of course, it has peppers." Forester responded with a loud slurp.
"I hate peppers." Artem grimaced as he poked at the offending chunk of vegetable.
"You are more of a child than her," Forester replied before chuckling. While they had been talking, the girl had snuck forward and was shyly holding her empty bowl up toward the Old Man. Forester gently took it from her, refilled it, and passed the bowl back. She retreated again but chose to sit a little closer to the other two. A small smile crossed Forester's face before Artem spoke again.
"And you complain of my appetite, she ate my entire lunch not half an hour ago," Artem grumbled. Forester gave the man a sharp look.
"Children need food to grow. You need food to become fat enough for the beasts to finally eat." Forester stated. Artem grumbled something about lazy old men before scarfing down the rest of his stew. Spotting a bottle of vodka lying next to the stove, Artem tried to grab it without notice. While Forester stirred the pot, the younger man bent down as if to tie his boot, before slowly reaching for the bottle. He received a sharp rap on the knuckles via Forester's metal spoon.
"Keep your thieving paws away from my booze! I know you have at least two flasks stashed on you." Forester lectured while Artem nursed the expanding bruise. The old man was proven to be correct when Artem fished a small metal flask out of his backpack and took a small shot of it. Forester quietly stood up and walked over to the girl. Her empty bowl, practically licked clean, sat next to her while she struggled to keep her eyes open. She didn't struggle as the Old Man gently picked her up and set her down on his bed, before laying several furs and a thick blanket on top of her. She quickly succumbed to sleep.
"So, what are we going to do with her?" Artem asked in a whisper, idly watching the rain pouring down outside. Forester shook his head.
"We? I'm sorry boy, but she is your responsibility. She cannot stay here." Forester stated as he lit an old cigar and began to puff on it. Artem frowned.
"I didn't sign up to drag a kid along with me. Besides, you know what I do, and where I go. A child wouldn't last a day in the northern reaches of the Zone." Artem quietly argued.
"Then get her out of here, past the Cordon," Forester replied. Artem scoffed. The soldiers were sadists on a good day. There was a story of a man who tried to cross the cordon once. A group of soldiers on the other side had spotted him before opening fire. They took potshots at what they thought was his corpse for eight hours before finally getting bored and leaving. The poor bastard had died of a heart attack by the fifth.
"Do you know how hard it is to sneak a full-grown man past the quarantine? Now try to do it with a little girl. I'm not even sure I have enough cash to bribe all the soldiers for myself, let alone two people." Artem spoke while lighting his own cheap Russian cigarettes. The tar was harmful, but not as harmful as radioactive particles. Once cancer for another, simply this one was slower.
"Then you'll have to teach her until she can go at it on her own. Every rookie Stalker who wants to survive needs a guide." Forester whispered. "Even Strelok needed to be taught by someone else." Artem gritted his teeth before finally relenting.
"Fine, fine, I'll get her some gear, teach her the basics then I'm gone. Got it?" Artem grated out. Forester nodded, satisfied. The Old Man stood up and retrieved his shotgun from the wall.
"I'm going for a walk to digest. How about you two rest here for a while before you head south? By the way, what is the girl's name?" Forester inquired. Artem shrugged. "Come up with one then, you're half decent at that at least."
Artem pondered as the Old Man left. The scent of tobacco and spices hung in the air while the girl slept soundly. Leaning back, Artem twisted the cap off his flask to take another sip of his mystery liquor before pausing. Forester had left his bottle unattended. Taking a quick glance out a nearby window, Artem spotted the old man heading through the gate out into the woods. Artem quickly grabbed the bottle, unscrewed its top, and took a quick swig. He sighed with happiness before carefully placing the bottle back where it belonged.
After laying his gear down and double-checking that the door was locked, Artem debated on cleaning his shotgun first or his Kalash. His thoughts were interrupted by quiet, panicked mumbling. He glanced over to see the girl shifting back and forth in her sleep. Artem sighed as he stood up and approached her. Everyone in the Zone suffered from frequent nightmares. Eggheads claimed something about noospheric pressure differentials, while some stalkers insisted it was the spirits of dead stalkers haunting you. It didn't really matter. Artem pondered what to do for a few moments before deciding to shake the girl awake.
However, as he reached over to grab her shoulder, she retaliated in her sleep. She grasped onto his arm with a vice-like grip, clutching it like a drowning man would a piece of wood. Artem considered ripping his arm away before he noticed she had mostly calmed down. Realizing that his right arm would be out of service, Artem grumbled something before pulling Forester's favorite (and only) chair up next to the bed and taking a seat.
He quickly checked his PDA. The emission had completely passed through the rest of the zone and death reports were pouring in. Four in Garbage, a dozen in the Truck Cemetery, and one unlucky bastard in Rostok. Artem had seen what an emission did to an unfortunate stalker up close once. The sheer psychic energy ripped your mind apart like a tsunami would a sandcastle, killing you in a few agonizing seconds...if you were lucky. Those whose psyche was made of sterner stuff would essentially become braindead, zombie-like husks. Doomed to wander the Zone blindly waving their last weapon at whatever moved, until they either died of the elements, a bullet, or an anomaly. Even through the slight buzz of alcohol, Artem realized his hands were still shaking from earlier.
Putting the PDA away, Artem realized he had run out of things to do instead of what he had been assigned. With a quiet, annoyed huff, he looked down at the girl.
A name. Names had to carry meaning. Every Stalker had a nickname. Usually, they were based on some great deed or embarrassing story. Or on a character trait. Someone who slipped on a puddle mid-firefight might be dubbed "Clumsy" if they survived, while a clever or sneaky Stalker would be called "Fox" or "Jackal."
Artem studied the girl. She was small, obviously malnourished, like a rat. But even rats could bite fiercely if cornered. But she was too timid to be a nasty rat. More like a mouse. Yes, a mouse.
"Mysha, Mouse," Artem muttered to himself. He would run it by Forester when the old fart returned, but he didn't doubt the Old Man would approve. The Girl...Mouse's grip had relaxed slightly on Artem's arm but was still too tight for him to escape without waking her. Artem mentally grumbled as he leaned as far as he could to reach his Kalashnikov. He barely managed to grasp the rifle before pulling it towards himself and leaning it against his chair. The Stalker yawned quietly as the day's adventures and dangers caught up to him. He deftly snatched one of the topmost furs on the bed before draping it across himself. His back would be stiffer than iron when he woke up, but Artem didn't particularly care. He could sleep standing if he had to. He turned back towards the girl one last time.
"Goodnight Mouse." He quietly spoke before leaning into his seat. The gentle caress of sleep quickly took hold of the Stalker.
End note: Tough soldier man with a little girl is a trope that's done to death...I still like it tho. I'll see if I can put my own dumb twist to it.