Nikita. Nikita Kalven.
A thirty-six year old, Czechoslovakian man, with a body worn down from decades wasted. Pale white skin, and deep, lidded and reddish in hue eyes were the only good features he was graced with. Now, however, he lacked even that. He has absolutely no idea how he ended up in such a predicament.
The predicament in question? Well, first we'll have to go back to the very beginning. The exact moment Nikita decided he'd begin his journey to the zone, on October twenty-third, 2012.
—-
23/10/12, 5:23 – Žilina, Czechia
Nikita slowly stirs from his slumber to the sound of silence, unusual in his household due to the natural wildlife. His bed creaks as he sits up, hair unkempt as eyes still fogged over from slumber.
His house isn't big by any means, in fact, it's not a house. It's a shitty apartment someone rents out to him out of pity of his less than great financial situation.
The apartment itself is messy, countless notebooks and gadgets strewn about the floor, boxes filled to the brim with scraps and ill disposed of objects such as glass. A gloomy sight to see, but one Nikita has grown accustomed with.
A solemn sigh escapes his lips as the haze finally lifts off of him, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet reluctantly hitting the cold, wooden floor.
Nikita was a fairly simple man, if not a rough one. He enjoyed science, nature, things that made sense..
What he heard, however, on the radio was anything but sensical.
It was a report on the exclusion zone, something that interested Nikita greatly ever since he was young. Supposedly there were more s.t.a.l.k.e.r.s. than ever, and that they'd be fortifying the perimeter even further.
That's not what caught his attention fully, however, no, what caught his attention was talk of someone reaching the centre of the zone. While yes, Nikita was aware of the crazy drug-induced fantasies that many stalkers shared of being rich off of the strange artefacts centred in the zone, and of course the rumours of some great being that grants wishes, he's never heard or even fathomed of anyone entering the heart of the zone. He'd expect the radiation levels would be too great considering the second catastrophe in 2006.
His brows raise as the reporter continues rambling, eventually steering onto the weather.. Which is a surprising twist. He gives a dissatisfied look at the inanimate radio before shutting it off.
–
23/10/12 6:20 – Zilina, Czechia
Nikita slowly steps out of the shower, bones aching and steam rolling off of him. His sopping white hair obscurs his vision as he lazily begins shucking on clothes, disregarding their state of cleanliness as any middle-aged man would.
His gaze shifts to the mirror, delicately wiping off some of the condensation from the scalding shower.
He's worse for wear. His once smooth and milky skin is now lacking the beauty it once had shown. He wasn't old, necessarily, he had just made some.. Morally ambiguous decisions that resulted in premature ageing.
His eyes lacked their typical curious hue, and his face had deep grooves. His features were sharp, a strong jawline and a defined nose. He would probably still be seen as the standard if not for the ugly burns adorning sporadic spots on his face.
A decent portion of his lip and cheek had been seared through, resulting in a rather vile sight when he eats. Some skin was missing, and it still wasn't fully healed.
It was a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
A huff pushes past what remains of his lips as he begins to tenderly comb tangles out of his long hair. At least he still had that.
–
23/10/12 13:32 – Zilina, Czechia
It's important to note that Nikita's occupation at first glance may seem just a simple mechanic, or some lunatic with weird interests, he is actually a radiologist.
Fueled by his own desires for knowledge, he's eagerly scrolling through recent news on the earlier broadcast, curled up on his bed with a shitty laptop that's on the brink of overheating.
As he scrolls, however, he receives a knock on his apartment door. It sounds professional.. Or at least that's what Nikita decided it sounded like, though you can't tell based on knocking alone.
He slowly rises out of his bed, tossing the laptop to the side and shuffling out of his.. Less than a spacious bedroom to the front – and only – door.
A gruff voice is heard through the door, one that sounds less than pleased at that.
That's what Nikita assumes anyhow as he slowly unlocks the door, peering his head out only to meet one of his colleagues.. or co-workers.. or one of many ex-flings. He honestly can't quite recall. Time blurs things together.
The man in front of him is dressed decently normally aside from the blazer, the patch signifying some scientific relations.
"Mr. Kalven?" The man begins, an eyebrow raised. His corvid black hair is neatly gelled, his beard freshly shaven to look decent. There's an aura of arrogance, even, wafting off of him. That may just be the designer perfume, however.
Nikita straightens up in response as the man's voice echoes throughout the empty hallway, quickly running a hand through his long locks, wishing he kept a professional appearance.
"Sir?" He begins. The older man before him looks familiar, no doubt.
The tension in the air is thick, and it's evident whatever the man has to say is important.
"I trust you realise the date, yes?" The older man begins slowly, his tone smooth yet disappointed. It's like he knows something that Nikita doesn't.
There's a pause as Nikita tries to jog his memory, thinking of any possibl- oh.
Oh, right..
"Ah, yes, sorry Alois.." He had forgotten completely. He had a debt to pay, did he not? A hefty one at that.
"Well, you see-" He stammers on his words, gaze shifting as he sucks in a breath. His normally stoic form was now fidgety as he leaned on the doorway.
"I don't exactly have the money." He blurts out.
The man before him pauses, gaze narrowing as he sighs.
"..and why is that?" He begins with a disapproving glare. "I gave you ample time, did I not? Three months and you would pay me in full. You would be me at 12 on the dot, no sooner, no later."
The white-haired man internally winces, head tilting downwards. He.. almost expected the man to forget about that. It was naive to think in hindsight. He's a grown man, not in his teens.
There's a heavy huff in front of him. "You can't keep doing this, Nikita."
Contemplation washes over the taller's face.
"A month. That's all you get. You know what happens if you fail to pay it this time." He mumbles out gruffly, adjusting his tie before turning to leave without another word.
Shit.