Chapter Text
"Vaslova,"
Ugh, it's too early.
I hide my head with the blue and white striped futon.
"Vaslova!"
Someone rips the covers away from my body, and daybreak air wraps around my partially nude body like a cold blanket instead of a warm futon. Then, of course, lukewarm vodka is poured all over my face.
The alcohol stings my mouth and nostrils.
I fly off the floor mattress and wipe my face. I cough incessantly, trying to rid my throat of the burning sensation. The group of Rookies roar with laughter, Lisya is among them with a cheap bottle of vodka in his hand. I grab an empty can and fling it at Lis, it hits him in the chest, but the Loner doesn't flinch.
"You're so rude!" I holler.
"Well, it would be rude if I didn't wake you. We have a job by the Bar."
I scoff with my reply, "It's rude to wake me up with warm vodka poured on my face and naive Rookies howling at a discontented Loner. We could've just slept in my car instead of this poor excuse of a camp."
I stretch over a table and grab my suit. The suit I wear isn't anything special; most experienced Stalkers in The Zone are wearing them. I slide into the jumpsuit, and I pair it with my threadbare socks and heavy-duty work boots caked in mud. The boot's laces were hanging by a string. It's time to get some new ones. The chest rig and vest compress my ribs and force the air out of my lungs. The heaviness of the body armour adds more than 20 pounds to my body weight. It could feel much lighter, but when you weigh about 125 pounds at 5'11, a 20-pound weight will be much too heavy.
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Food is scarce in The Zone. After I shoot a bandit, I scour through his body in hopes of gaining something, even if it's a morsel of bread.
I'm malnourished, starving.
I'll drop dead any day now.
Travelling to the Bar will be an exhausting journey. I haven't gone that far southwest before. But the money we'll get rewarded with will feed Lisya and me for weeks.
I pulled the hood over my head and put the neck gaiter over my nose and mouth.
"Let's go, Lisya." I said as I fetched my gun.
As I emerge from the bunker, the familiar sound of fire crackling, chatting, and guitar playing fills my ears. The Zone's cold, Cordon wind howled, sweeping fallen leaves about like a graceful dance. But it felt cruel and bitter, though it was gentle.
"Speak of the devil! Isn't it the one-eyed Lyudmila Vaslova!"
I break from my trance, and I find an old friend sitting by the campfire.
"Dima." I say, slightly unamused.
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I first met Dima when I got attacked by mutant dogs, resulting in an empty eye socket joined with two conforming scars. I just happened to be rummaging through his stash at the time, and karma punished me with rabid canines. Dima, being the rookie he was, ran off with my assailants following him. He came back 10 minutes later, with his legs covered in gashes and bites. When I asked why Dima helped me, he replies, "Stalkers help Stalkers." That wasn't exact, but I understood his intention. However, he almost beat me for going through his poorly hidden stash. And here he is, two years later as an experienced Stalker.
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"What're you doing here? And you forgot I go by Julia,"
Dima waves his hand as he takes a swig of vodka. "Ah, who cares! I have a job for you. The boss is too lazy and sent me here to tell you and Lis."
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Lisya emerges from the bunker, all ready to go. "So, what does he need?" Lisya asks.
"We need you to steal some documents from the research institute. But don't bring it to the bar, return it to me instead. We'll pay ya a large sum of money. But, it's a risky task. Are you up for it?"
Lisya and I look at each other, and it's almost like a telepathic answer reaches both of us.
Yes.
Lisya looks at him and nods. "We'll do it,"
Dima titters and finishes his bottle of vodka, and then he lies down on his back. "Well then, off with both of ya!" And so, Lis and I depart the ruined village.
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