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A man stood on a balcony.
He was no ordinary man, clad in a long coat of grey and white as he was, leaning on the rusted railing, staring out across the silent skyline of Pripyat. Silent grey eyes reflected a cloud grey sky. He looked to one side, considering the other occupant of the balcony.
"Consider the Stalker," He said, gesturing out across the concrete complexity of the coffin city, "He lives a short, violent life, he scrabbles from bolt hole to bolt hole, scrounging for scraps." He looked to the other figure, expecting some kind of push back, but they remained totally taciturn.
Thusly, the Priest, for he was a Priest, not of the Church, but of the Monolith, continued speaking, "He digs in the dirt, hunting scraps of divinity, like a beggar in the streets of the Vatican." Again he paused, gesturing out to the city, and The Zone outside it, "He, like a prospector panning for gold in the Amazon, does not know that true wealth lays but a scant few miles up stream upon the shining steps of El Dorado."
Around him, the could roiled and twisted. There would be an emission soon, he could taste it on the tip of his tongue, The Zone was holding her breath, ready to scream out her existence to the world once more. The Priest considered this for a moment, cocking his head to one side, as if counting the distance between the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder.
"Good film, 'Road To El Dorado'. Certainly had an effect on me when I was younger, I used to dream of a city, hidden in the heart of The Zone. You see, my family are from here, before the meltdown, we've lived on the edge since then, we were here when the second event occurred, when The Zone as we know it was born." He sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment, thinking back to those simple, simple days.
The other figure remained stoically silent as he did. Finally he opened his eyes, looking to them, before shrugging, "You're either a terrible conversationalist or a fantastic interrogator, I'm not sure which."
"I used to dream of a city of gold," He continued, looking out back across the sky line, "I imagined streets cobbled in the finest stone, brick houses with a huge fireplace in each room," He chuckled, shaking his head, running a hand through his long black hair, "But as I grew, as I got older, I began to understand."
He removed his respirator, lifting a packet of cigarettes from his olive combat vest. Tapping it against railing he pulled one of them free with his lips, his other hand producing a beat up zippo lighter. The mechanism creaked as it spun, sparks jumped and flickered, then flame caught and hissed. He lifted it to the end of the cigarette, drawing on it slowly. The smoke billowed and swirled as he blew it out, watching it dissipate, carried away on the slow, heavy winds.
"It first really clicked when I was eleven, when I first read Roadside Picnic. I understood The Zone then, I understood why it fascinated me so, and I understood why I had been wrong." He glanced to the side, holding out the packet of smokes to the figure, who stared at them for along, empty moment. He shrugged and slipped them back into his vest before continuing: "I came to understand that there was no El Dorado, no city of gold, because there didn't need to be one, The Zone wasn't hiding some great secret, some hidden paradise like Shangri La, it was the paradise."
"This place, it gives us all we could ever need! It grants us shelter in these building, left behind by those who do not understand her, it gives us sustenance in the form of pouring rain and packs of animals, it grants us power and vision and understanding." He held out his hands, palms up raised like a preacher to the masses, "All we need do is listen!"
"Priest Koshchei," Brother Reznov appeared in the balcony doorway, "Who are you speaking with?"
Koshchei turned, tilting his head, "Why, I was speaking to Yorrick here, although I must admit he's been terrible conversation."
The Veteran Brother turned his eyes to the skeletal corpse that occupied the balcony's single seat. It had once been a Stalker, but their equipment had long been made tattered by the cutting winds, slicing rains and scorching sun, the blood that stained the side of their jacket long since dried and blackened with time. He could not be sure who they were, or why they had been here. They had died here and been forgotten, as had so many others, sat before a small fire ringed with cinder blocks and half broken bricks, trying to find some ounce of warmth even as they grew colder.
Reznov turned his eyes back to his Priest, "Sister Sharpe and the others of her squad have engaged and captured the outsider Brother Smerch was leading."
Koshchei clapped his hands, "Fantastic!" He pulled his cigarette from his lips, stubbed it against the railing and flicked the stub into the forgotten fire pit before Yorrick.
He gestured for Reznov to lead, following in his foot steps, before he stopped just inside the door. He looked to the forlorn corpse, considering it quietly for a moment. Kneeling down he withdrew his cigarettes and lighter once more. He placed ne of them between the dead man's lips and lit it, before smiling gently, "Alas poor Yorrick, you died unenlightened, afraid and alone, if you had only found us before your passing, I would have come to know you well."
With that, Koshchei the Sorcerer, Priest of the Monolith stood and headed inside. There were unbelievers to enlighten, and souls to save.