Bittsevskiy park

long posts are good! But yeah you can also exert a level of control over Nikolai
Nikolai slowed his pace, a new voice was echoing through the facility. Not Pete for sure. He stopped completely now, he heard the voice again now, he must be drawing closer to the reactor again.
Just as he was about to continue the sound of rifle fire flared up and faint flashes jumped along the walls.
"Damn, must be those stalkers Pete mentioned, Stepan's crew, and now Pete would either be dead or safe in the knowledge that I wasn't with them. " Nikolai reasoned. The tide had turned and if he wasn't fast he'd end up dead. They would have to die, the order preferred minimal shedding of blood but he no longer had a choice. Nik cocked his rifle and dimmed his head torch, all the while looking for a sign to the reactor. "СЕКТОР 7", the letters on the wall declared, he had a vague memory of passing the sign, but he couldn't be certain. With light steps he approached a corner, chipped concrete was on the floor and rusted steel was visible beneath. Nikolai drew his revolver and rounded the corner at speed reaching out to grab a coated and masked surprisingly thin man by the throat.

 

Mitya trudged forward behind Pete, humming a very robust marching tune all the while and occasionally bursting into bouts of shouting "one, two, three!" The corridors continued to echo with the clattering footfalls of mutants crawling throughout their secret tunnels, and once the ringing cleared from Mitya's ears he could hear those in the ceiling as well. However, the small man seemed untroubled. He was taking great pleasure in aligning his footfalls with the song he was creating, and was just beginning to shift his gaze toward Pete to implore him to join in-

A figure burst into his field of vision from the rear, and for a second Mitya was sure he was seeing a specter. The gasmask was messily wrapped up in some kind of tape, and the man had a concerning amount of fresh blood splattering him- concerning for two reasons. One, the man was injured. Two, the beasts could smell the copper. Most concerning of all, for the fifth time that day Mitya was staring down a barrel.

Nothing else could be registered. Mitya felt the man's hand wrap around his throat (so he was not an apparition after all!) and he staggered backward against the wall, letting out a choked yelp of surprise. He took his hand off his rifle and swung at the man's revolver hand, trying to grasp for the weapon for fear of having his brains scattered all over Section 7.

"Bastard, let me go!" Mitya wheezed pitifully, delivering a surprisingly hard knee to the stranger's stomach. "Petepetepete!"

 

Pete guided himself up, with the assistance of a dingy doorway, which stood an arm's length away. He was able to feel through his gloves, as coarse as they were, the splintering woodwork that lined the inner frame where a sturdy door once stood. His face, where the gasmask pushed up against his cheeks and the filter pressed into the surrounding of his mouth, felt sore. Pete was sure that the impact he just suffered, even though it was reduced, left a solid pink ring on his face. "Uhh, Bliat!"

Mitya swiftly marched passed Pete, continuing to display the optimistic attitude ever since their encounter. Pete sighed, in uttermost happiness, at seeing how jolly Mitya had become. It was uncanny to see; even in the old world. The only ones capable of such nonsense were those who labored the profession of a court jester -and even those were fake. This was genuine, though. And for it's authenticity, Pete felt like any feat surveyed by this man –Mitya- was sure to come with great ease.

Pete pushed off and came up a little bit behind, but to the side, of Mitya. To his surprise –as so it seemed- Mitya turned at Pete's approach; shining his bright headlamp into Pete's eyes. Pete snarled under his gas mask, which Mitya could not see, and blocked the light, with his left hand, as he progressed into the tombs. His eyes re-adjusted, to the low light level, after having been temporally visually impaired by bright torch.

“I don’t know where Nic…”

“Pete!” A slight pause. "Pete, please tell me that's you!" It was Nick’s voice calling out. Unknowingly, Pete started at a quick pace toward Nick’s voice. It was difficult to pinpoint, but something felt right about the path Mitya and Pete were treading on –especially since the clamor, of mutant squabble, intensified in the direction they were headed toward.

A slavo of bullets rang out from where Mitya was. Pete quickly turned, illuminating the still outlines of forgotten furnishings with his flashlight. Mitya killed a mutant –perhaps it had even been the mutant Pete had tripped over a while ago. As luck had it, Mitya was attacked, again, out from the dark by a much larger fiend. A humanoid beast it seemed -it was difficulty to distinguish it’s species from the frenzy of light beams that bounced off the concrete walls. Nonetheless, it had grabbed Mitya and was now wrestling him to the death.

"Bastard, let me go!" Mitya Exlaimed. "Petepetepete!"

There was too much havoc to get out a clear shot. With one step, Pete was next to the Mitya and brought back his shotgun, to a clubbing position, to knock back the attacker. only then, very dimly, he noticed the attacker wore it's own headlamp. It was Nick. With heavy force, Pete pushed the two to get them off their legs.

"Get....Off!! Yeahhhgggg! Ahrggg!! Motha Fucka!!!" In that instant, Pete felt a deep rigid pain run up the calf of his right leg. He turned back and saw dribbles of blood run off from his torn pant . two silver glowing eyes glittered at the low light from Pete's flashlight. "Ahhh!" A sigh of pain. Pete, with one arm, held out his shotgun and fired upon the giant rat. An ear-ringing pop filled the room and the vermin's head lay cracked open, like a chicken's egg, on the floor.

"It's Nick, Damit!" Pete yelled out to Mitya. "It's us." Pete reported to Nick. "It's me, Pete! Quit it and lets hustle out of here!"

 

It was all just a flurry of movement. The stranger's headlamp blinded his eyes, and for a moment Mitya was horribly reminded of his run-in with the Nazis. For all his bravado, there was a reason he avoided close range confrontations. He simply didn't have the mass to hold his own against most people, especially those who came to the surface for fun, and wasn't confident about the outcomes of this scuffle. He was just bringing his knee back to pelt the attacker in a much more... Sensitive region, when Mitya felt the rough pull of someone strong yanking them apart.

The frightened din in his mind subsided, and though some of Pete's yelling was lost on him, he realized the man was being attacked. Mitya tried to see what was troubling the stalker from his position against the wall, but small stars still danced in his vision. The nearby thunder of Pete's shotgun brought the world back into a very sharp focus, and Mitya let out another startled yelp as he saw a small beast's head pop like an overripe melon. Buckshot ricocheted off the hard flooring, and Mitya felt his jacket tug aside but felt no pain. Sadly Pete was not similarly unharmed, but some of stalker's gruff yelling began to take cement in Mitya's mind...

"So, you are this Nick!" Mitya exclaimed excitedly, his masked face snapping to look at Nick. Under his mask, his eyes widened in delight. "I'm Mitya!" he proclaimed, wiggling his shoulders like he was trying to hold back a small dance. His thickly gloved left hand snapped out to grab Nick's free hand, which had formerly been strangling him, and he pumped it up and down in an enthusiastic handshake.

"We've looked high and low! A pleasure, a pleasure! I-" Mitya froze from his animated handshake, looking over Nick's shoulder, and abruptly hitched his rifle up into the firing position. Three more junk bullets found their mark in a beast that had been stalking up from where Nick had emerged. In his head he counted. Five and three. Eight expended bullets. Twenty-two left in his mag.

"You've been followed!" he announced disapprovingly, sidestepping into the corridor to prevent any more beasts from coming. Though he could not account for any surprises from above. "You two are injured- Pete will show the way, I will stop any uninvited company! I'm afraid I've left the guest-list at home, but I'll improvise!"

 

For his sudden brashness Nik received a swift knee to the stomach and a hand smacking his revolver away, at this he suddenly tightened his grip on the little man who proceeded to yell obscenities at him before calling out for Pete. A brief scuffle proceeded as the man and Nik were pulled apart and a shot splattered something along the walls. Nik shone his flashlight into the face of the new adversary before realising it was Pete.
"Shit!" He yelled "Pete I-" he was suddenly cut off as the little man began to introduce himself as mitya and rambled about how they had looked for him, his body expressing his delight. Nik was about to talk again as mitya raised his rifle and shot.
"The Fuck?" Nik yelled as he looked around and saw a the remains of a mutant smeared across the crumbling corridor. More words were spoken by mitya hastily and Nik was confused by the whole speed of his encounter.
As the excitement seemed to end thuds like the beating of a great drum came forth from the wall to the trio's left. Nik looked over with wide eyed fear as dust cascaded down from the ceiling. He took one, two and then a third step back, raising his rifle and lowering the face guard on his titanium helmet, an old K6-3; it barely fit over his gas mask but he didn't want to take chances, his vision was now even more limited.
"guys..." He said quietly and clearing,his throat he elaborated," I think we should get out of here, something tells me we're no longer alone, and what ever it is its big and I would rather not meet it". As he finished so did the thuds, not a good sign, what ever it was, it stood right on the other side of that wall...

 

Pete followed Mitya's orders. Not like it took Mitya to determine what Pete would do next; but it was the obvious thing to do. "ahh, that giant rat!."

Pete tapped, under Nicks arm, to signify for him to follow. "This way." The way back was easy to trek. To Pete, on the way in, it seemed like Mitya and him were treading through endless corridors in the darkness. In just a short moment, Pete had guided Nick to where Mitya shot the first mutant in this labyrinth. "Almost there!" Whatever 'big' was following ceased to stop; or so it seamed. It was difficult to determine since they were now on the run -as to apposed to standing still back at where they were all being attacked- but the beast could have easily needed a detour as it could have not possibly fit through the small passage ways. Who knows. Pete never got a glimpse of the mutant.

"Mitya? where's Mitya?!" Pete exclaimed, turning back to Nick. "Is he still with us?!' Pete continued his pace toward the exit. They came into the room where they had descended. "There." Pete said, pointing. "Over on the wall is the rope. Nick. We need to get to the rope!"

 

Oh, that might not be good, Mitya mused to himself.

The chattering of the beasts continued to echo through the empty facility in a confusing din. Mitya took a few small steps back from the commotion, shooting his companions a cheerful smile as they took off toward the exit. Determined to stay true to his obligation, Mitya lagged behind to cover the rear. He could now hear whatever giant abomination there was stamping its way up closer and closer. He tried to sing the first few bars of an old song he had heard on the Red Line, Katyusha, to drown out the noise. It did not work.

Slightly transfixed, he turned his tinted mask toward the sound to track its movement- which was a mistake. Mitya froze. From around the corner one of the most ghastly faces he had ever encountered on the surface popped into the beam of his headlamp. It had a long, weasel-like, leathery head, and though the wiry-haired skull was narrow the beast's body encompassed much of the hallway in height and width. It made its way close to the ground on long, bent legs and mean, curved talons. Unfortunately the body seemed flexible enough to go wherever its ugly snout did. The creature moved its head fluidly to regard Mitya, and let out a long, drawn out howl. It was at that moment what seemed like dozens of rats spilled around the corner over the creature's feet, a dark mass of glittering eyes.

"Nope!" Mitya firmly voiced the only thought in his mind. "No thank you!"

Almost tripping over himself, he turned and darted off after the two stalkers, more following the sound of their voices and footsteps than the sight of them. Thanks to his foolish pause, he was behind. All the while the tide of rodents drew closer. Hoping the behemoth would not be able to follow through the nearly collapsed passageway, Mitya burst into view of Pete and Nick, with one rat already clinging to his bulky backpack. Somehow he managed to squeeze out into the open, shouting gibberish to himself.

"Rats!" he managed to force out to the stalkers, as though they may have missed it. "We need-"

As if on cue, four more of the overgrown rats burst forth from the tunnel and latched onto him, snapping at whatever limb they could reach. A larger man may have been able to remain upright during the attack. Mitya was not a larger man. He was forced to his knees and could only take a few wobbly "steps" before being forced to his hands as well.

"Oh- Nonono, get off!" he pleaded. The rodents didn't listen. "Bastards! Shi- fuck!"

The small man crawled forward in a panic, trying to tuck his neck away from the creature's incisors, and trying to get his bearings before more creatures could emerge. He could feel the weight of the mutants pressing down on him, but was too full of adrenaline to know if they were successfully gnawing through his gear, and could do nothing but shout profanities and try to protect his vitals.

 

Pete felt his neck and shoulders heat up. Blood was flowing at an incredible rate, but the extreme temperature, of the cold, should have dealt with the uncomfortably feeling. He felt like ripping off his jacket and running around, wildly, around in the open to cool himself down; but he knew that would be a foolish act that would cause more harm than good.

Pete maneuvered to the rope and tugged on it to assure that it's secure. "Here!" Pete said, gripping the rope and handing it toward Nick. "You can get up quicker since your leg hasn't been hurt." Pete turned back and looked over at the dingy corridors they came running out of. A dim, bouncing light shown it's way through the curtain of darkness; and with it, followed Mitya -and a bunch of rats.

It was an infestation of overgrown rodents. They pummeled Mitya, trying to make their way past him to come toward the two stalkers. A carpet, of black mass, covered the floor and would soon find itself engulfing Mitya. One rat crept its way to Pete's leg and began crawling up it. Pete swatted it onto the floor with a swift whack; but the rodent was violent. As quick as it fell, it came right up. Pete swatted it once more and introduced it to his mighty boot.

“Eat rubber, you dirty rat!” The rodent exploded, reminiscing to something of the pre-war jelly type. With one rat down, three others replaced it and showed their remorse, for their fallen brethren, by succumbing to cannibalism. Pete frowned at the scene. Soon, Mitya will see the same fate.

There were now more rats surrounding Pete, and he could now feel one gnawing at his leg wound. “Ahrrggg!! What a painful little son of a–” Pete began jumping up ,about the room, trying to repel the aggressive rats. With every jump came a landing; and with every landing, about four or five rats were squished, or injured, in the wake.

“Push through, Mitya! Get to us!” With saying that, Pete found himself adjacent to Mitya from all the fluster. Pete lugged at Mitya to move, kicking and crushing the rats that surrounded them both. It was overwhelming.

 

sorry for no reply, busy times of late
As Nikolai grabbed the rope his Geiger counter began to click ominously from the depths of his knapsack, more and more quickly at an increasing volume. Sure they were by a cracked open reactor but a spike that big shouldn't have happened when he got further away. Still holding the rope he pulled his short automatic around to his front and removed the safety. He peered into the rotten abscess of a tunnel from which they had emerged and saw a figure hurrying into view.
What was behind him concerned Nik more.
It looked like boiling water, or oil. A seething biomass of radioactive mutated rats, swarming over each other in a putrid tidal wave. Mitya burst out into the reactor room and the rats pulled him down. As Pete forged a path to Mitya crushing rats underfoot Kolya faced a dilemma, save the stalkers or go, this expedition was already a waste of time and it wasn't worth a sequential waste of the ranger's resources in clearing out a nest. So, why bother?
He could climb out and leave, or save them.
Nik sighed, then shouted.
"GUYS HOLD ON, I'M COMING!" and jumped once more into the fray.

 

Mitya was mostly unaware of the stalkers' actions around him. The world was a bright yellow tint from behind his visor and all he could focus on was the raggedy gloves before him. His hands. Labouriously forcing themselves forward to forge a path through the rats. His knees thudded painfully against the ground as he crawled frantically onward, just trying to get as far away from the passage as he could. Tiny claws clattered over his back and he could feel the vermin gnawing through his bulky jacket. It felt like one had worked its way inside but that could be his imagination. There was a sticky feeling of blood weighing his undershirt to his body, wet, uncomfortable, but there was no pain yet. He hoped it was also his imagination.

After several long seconds he all but smashed into Pete's leg, which was vigilantly stomping the nasty little beasts to pieces. Mitya let out a startled shout then grasped desperately onto the man's arm and half-pulled, half was pulled out of what had felt like a sea of the monsters. A wave of relief flooded into him. Not only had the stalkers not abandoned him, they were fighting with him.

"Oh my!" he shouted. A painful understatement. "That's a lot of rats!"

Mitya sidled behind the two stalkers, shaking a pair of rats off his sleeve, then jumped up in down in a peculiar little dance one might perform after walking through an unexpected spiderweb. It was of course to dislodge any rats in his coat, and to stomp those piling around his boots. Trying to steady his ragged breathing, the small man then tore his scarf off his neck and looked frantically around.

A stick. He needed a stick. It was impossible to see if there was anything suitable on the ground, and he could see no other options...

"Cover me!" he urged. "And get a match ready, or a lighter!"

He was surprised the stalkers hadn't taken off up the paracord already. There was no time to ponder that- nor to mourn for what he was about to do. Trying not to think about it, Mitya wound the scarf in a bundle onto the bayonet of his lovely SKS, and with rats clambering up his legs from his inability to move, took out his flask. He dumped a clear looking concoction onto the rag, then jabbed it toward the closest stalker, Nick.

"Light it and back off! We'll need to get out quickly!" Mitya said, sounding only slightly horrified. Once the man obliged, the bundle ignited into a brilliant burst of flame.

He jabbed at the ground with the flaming mass, causing the vermin to scatter in large waves. Now, if they could all get out before the fuel expired... They might be able to make it. Mitya feel a concerning amount of gore running down his back and legs from when he had been still, which he elected to ignore. Instead he began to flail the bayonet at the rodents like a crazy person, not wanting to stop for fear of them swarming him again.

 

With enough effort, Mitya and Pete emerged from the sea of oversized rodents. Nick assisted, in repelling the horde, with the ignition of a torch. Pete was surprised that all three of them were still in this together. their survival dependent on it -or so it seemed. Nick, as Pete contested, was their to nap his belongings after they found the supposed military cache of everlasting armaments. Mitya was their for both Nick and Pete.

"Haha, that cannibal." Pete mummered. But Pete, he was in this for no apparent reason. What lead him to be at the aid of these two men? There was no benefit in doing so; at least, not for him.

Pete hustled to the suspending rope where Mitya and him descended on. Jumping up, Pete twirled a moment, in the air, as he got his bearings. He attempted to pull himself up, to at least latch his leg on a crumbling ledge that rested slightly above his head; but the effort was of no good. Pete's leg was hurt and his backpack was too heavy. The only plausible move he could make, that would assure him his life, was to leave behind his rucksack. Without thinking it twice, Pete wiggled, in the air, to free himself of the backpack that helped keep him alive through all these journeys. The pack plummeted several feet, to the ground, with a solid thump. Pete held on to the rope; his shotgun still strapped across his chest and the small pouch, where he held his mask filters, were still with him.

Moving about was much easier now. Pete hurried up the rope, alas getting his feet on the ledge and climbed up to the top of the crater. The difference in ambient temperature was immediate. Down there, in the abyss, it was musty and cold -though, the uncomfortable presence of bodily warmth remained down their too. Up here, though, on the surface, the air was fresh. Cold. As silly as it seemed, for a brief moment, it felt as if one could breathe on the surface.

Pete rolled over the ledge and onto sturdy ground. He lay on his back, gazing up at the sky, feeling the cold winter air cut its way through his layered clothing. Bellow, the shouting of Nick and Mitya could be heard. This did not disturb Pete, for he was free. Pete steadied his breathing and closed his eyes.

"I'm out." He said. "Finally." Pete felt reborn. He lay on his right shoulder and peered down into the darkness. The fumbling of two men, against the mass of carnivorous beings, could hardly be seen from the outside. Within a few moments of eye adjustment, Pete could now make out Nick and Mitya; and the small glimmering light from the torch.

"Up here, you bastards!" Pete shouted, holding the rope and making it appear as if he was pulling it up to leave the two behind. "Up here! Hurry!"

 

Shit, Pete looked like he was about to leave, and Nik was empty handed and worse for the wear. He was calling to them from above, nestled on the treacherous ledge above. As Nik sprinted to the side of the cavern he noticed Pete's pack lying on the ground and upon grabbing the dishevelled thing a large tear caused it to give out, scattering the contents on the floor. The first thing he noticed on the ground was a bottle of vodka, with high alcohol content, the some bandages. A stupid thought leapt into Kolya's head, that could burn.
He had no time to unscrew the cap so he broke the neck of the bottle off instead and hastily shoved a length of the bandage in before fumbling to retrieve the lighter he had put away,a minute ago. He struck the flint but nothing happened, twice more this happened. And then when hope had fled and he was striking the flint in frustration, it sparked and the bandage,burned wonderfully. He tossed the damned bottle into the horde and prayed to whatever power may help him now, not that he himself was a believer, and ran to the ledge. He could hear the shattering of cheap glass behind him but dared not look back, last time he had heard a tale of rats, word was they took out two stations before they were stopped with fire, Nikolai couldn't take any chances now.
The rope held by Pete was already half way up the ledge and Nik scaled the crumbling slope with the ease that fear compels. He lunged upwards grasping the rope with his hands in a vice like grip before reaching out with one and calling for Mitya.
He was almost free now, almost when...
"Mityaaaah... AGHHHH!" Thwomph, he hit the ground still holding onto the fucking rope which had split in his hands.
"BLYAT, SUKA! Why the fuck do I keep falling into this fucking hole!."
He scrabbled at the ground rolling over and trying to regain his composure before calling to mitya, signalling for him to take the leg up that Nik offered.

 

Mitya jabbed ferociously at the skittering vermin, more or less moving his entire body in a sort of deranged, jerky dance as he lunged the makeshift torch toward them. The mass of dark matted fur would move away from the searing heat and light that swept over them in a large, circular waves, then make a rapid attempt to worm back toward Mitya and the two stalkers. Disturbingly enough, the creatures who were not attacking were either dead or feasting upon their fallen comrades.

During the tiring display of bayonet jabbing, Pete had managed to clamber up out of the pit, up, up and away! Mitya held position by the rope and only glanced away from the rats when a large thump sounded behind him- which contrary to what he had thought was not the stalker falling from the rope. The man was soon out of sight. Good.

"Other men die!" Mitya shouted at the rats. "But I am not another! Therefore: I will not die!"

The rodents only cared to respond with more of their demented chattering and the sounds of their nasty talons scuttling across the floor. Mitya turned to see two things: one, Pete was now yelling and yanking the rope, possibly planning on leaving Mitya and his unfortunate new friend to their demise. Two, Nick had just arced a makeshift molotov into a very thick pile of rats, causing them to erupt into a bout of unholy screaming.

Mitya joined in.

"Pete!" he turned on his heel, looking toward the sky and shouting. The rapidly dwindling torch spun around with him, illuminating Nick scrabbling up the paracord. "Pete, if you take that paracord I-!"

He wasn't sure what he would do, since he would be dead. He wrinkled his nose, nearly gagging on the fetid stench of burning fur and flesh.

"I will... I will be dead!" he bellowed, as though him being dead was somehow a threat. "And so help me if I die, I will come back to haunt you! And- and I will crawl through your pipes and scream and shake them every time you bring a woman over for the rest of your life! I'll-"

Nick had just landed promptly back into the pit. Mitya let out a sharp exclamation of surprise, most accurately comparable to a bark.

"You damn stalker, you've snapped my paracord!" Mitya chastised. There would be time for mourning later. The rag had just burnt out, and so he fixed his rifle over his shoulder and rushed over to Nick.

After indignantly snatching up the broken length of rope, Mitya accepted Nick's aid, launched himself upward, and began to scrabble up the paracord. It was sturdy enough to not snap for a second time with only him on it (he hoped), and he clung onto it, revolving slowly in the air. He felt very much like a hunk of meat on a spit.

Only when he was clung to the rope did Mitya realize the new issue. He wasn't strong enough to pull Nick with him, and he doubted the cord was strong enough to take their combined weight. The other problem was it was too high off the ground for Nick to reach without aid, and Mitya could see only one option...

"I'm going to ascend!" Mitya snapped, already doing so. He continued to spin very slowly, his reflective visor now fixed directly toward Nick. As he climbed he hitched the rope along with him. "I'll retie the rope and send it back down- the rats are at bay but try not to burn alive! Trial by fire, ay!"

Apparently Mitya possessed much more agility than strength, because he was up the rope in half the time it had taken the wounded stalker. He scrabbled forward on the cool, icy ground, leaving a reddish smear of gore in his wake. The temperature change felt like jumping into an icy pool after coming directly from a sauna and it made his already uneven breathing hitch. He was beginning to feel every ache and pain in his body that had resulted from descending into that damnable pit.

Well, if Pete was a Nazi now was the time to find out. Mitya was used to odd reactions due to his dark skin tone, but right now he was more concerned with aiding the stalker left in the burning rat pit to be too afraid for himself. He ripped off his gloves for maneuverability's sake and deftly tied the paracord together in a firm bowline knot, then tossed it back down toward Nick. It had taken only seconds. Hopefully it wasn't too late.

Mitya inched forward on his belly. Still crawling like a worm, he pulled his gloves back on and peered over into the pit, his headlamp shining a dim yellow light into the depths below. The shirt beneath his jacket weighed heavily on his back from gore, and each breath caused a spasm of pain to jolt through him. This hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. He shrugged his heavy bag off his back, irritated from the pressure.

"Of all the holes to fall in, you choose this one," he muttered, presumably to Pete, though he was still staring into the pit.

 

Pete dangled the rope like one would with a pre-war creature known as a cat. He let the tether hand, undisturbed, once he got Nick's and Mitya's attention. Pete remained at the edge of the crater, peering down to where the havoc was raging on. One of the two, either Nick or Mitya, rambled orders to the other; it was difficult to tell exactly what. With the breeze overhead, causing a whoooing sound as the wind passed between the surface and into the gorge, the voices sounded not much more than the calling, of a mid-sized mutants, in distant caverns.

Pete called out once more to the two men. "Get a move on!" Once he saw Nick grab a hold of the rope, Pete wrapped what he could, of the tether, around his forearm and leaned his weight, for leverage, and began pulling Nick out of the hole. During the transition, Pete almost fell forward, back into the pit, since he was standing dangerously close to the opening.

"Ghaaa!" One slow step at a time, Pete trudged backward. The rope tightened around his forearm. He could feel the circulation of blood, come to a pressured halt, as his veins were being restricted of blood flow. After about five steps, the tension, from the rope, came to a limp slack; causing Pete to fall on back. "Wha? What?!"

Plopping both his hands on the ground, Pete raised himself up. An immediate tug followed, causing him lunge forward as the rope was still rapped around his arm. Instinctively,Pete pressed his heels into the ground to slow the closure between him and the hole. "Hold yourself!" Pete muttered. The tautness lessened to the steady pull of a man's weight.

"He must have fallen." Pete realized. "Ha, ha! He must have fallen. He must have fallen!! Ha ha." He began singing. It soon came to a droning hum.

Pete pulled the rope, an arm at a time, and gathered the slack, on the ground, right at his feet. "Almost there." The muscles in his arms burned from the build up of lactic acid. The top side of a person's head appeared over the ledge. Soon, a face -a shallow, expressionless, mask to be exact. Mitya.

That's what the tug was. The thing -Mitya- knocked Nick off from the rope and jumped on it himself. Nick's carcass, or soon to be, is being devoured at the moment. They were overcome by the great mass and Mitya pushed him aside to save his own hide.

Pete steadily watched as Mitya pulled himself the remainder of the way up and over the ledge. The rope slumped onto the ground. Mitya examined Pete. Pete couldn't see through the reflective lenses that were fixed on Mitya's mask, but he could assure that there was a wicked smile behind them. Mitya knew that Pete was aware of what he just happened; but that didn't slow him from pretending to acknowledge the aid of the stalker he left behind.

"Of all the holes to fall in, you choose this one." Mitya yelled down, into the pit, as he lay flat on his belly and watched the parade, of mutant rats versus one man, from the edge of the crater. He even made sure to cut the rope and toss it down to Nick so that he may realize he was dumb to trust anyone. Mitya did all this while trying to cover up the maneuvers by wedging himself, in front of the rope, and from Pete's line of sight; but Pete knew. Oh, yes. he knew. What else could have been done?

Pete continued to watch Mitya, thinking of how pleased he must be watching the rats eat Nick. Mitya must see a similarity between himself and the rats: they both eat humans. Pete swung his shotgun, over to the firing position, and waited for Mitya to get up and turn around to face his fate.

The wording is a bit weird; but if you didn't get it: Pete thinks Mitya cut the rope and tossed it back down to Nick. Pete didn't see Mitya repair the rope since Mitya was blocking his line of sight. Pete is now ready to shoot Mitya.

 

The wording was fine. I love this group, they're so dysfunctional and suspicious. Bless them. I wrote this assuming Pete didn't immediately blast Mitya as soon as he turned

Mitya could see the warm orange glow from Nick's molotov dancing up the pit's sides. It was oddly mesmerizing. The darting rats looked like sparks spitting out from the inferno, then they would then twist madly about the cavern's floor as their greasy fur was set ablaze. However, the small man couldn't see hide nor hair of Nick. The headlamp had limited range and was largely ineffective outside of the cramped confines of low tunnels and dingy stations. He switched it off, not moving his gaze from the crater. Yes, he didn't know Nick at all. But he felt all of the Metro were brothers in a sense- the last stubborn remnants of the old world, who had crawled beneath the surface but refused to curl up and die. Differing ideologies aside, he was not content to surrender a man to suffer within a burning pit of rodents. Hey, it must be the romantic in him.

The surface felt so foreign and alien he wasn't at ease laying in the open like this, but at least he was out. It felt unnatural to not be walled in. Aside from the commotion down in the crater, creaking buildings and mechanical contraptions rusted into irrelevance were the only sounds. Mitya had always thought they sounded mournful. They had that old Russian soul even though they were inoperable, and he thought they must be wailing because of their inability to serve their intended purpose anymore. Again, the romantic in him.

He was just going to voice this thought to Pete, who had remained silent. Mitya assumed this was due to him being upset over his companion. Then he heard it. Mitya heard the man shift behind him. He propped himself on his elbows and tilted his head awkwardly to look at him, caught between reassuring the fellow or voicing his strange opinions on the old structures surrounding them. The words died in his throat.

"Ah," Mitya managed. Yet again he was on the business end of the stalker's shotgun. It seemed this was becoming a trend. "I thought we were past this."

The look of dumb surprise plastered onto Mitya's face was no doubt lost on Pete. He felt his heart rate spike unpleasantly and he labouriously scooted backward, wincing from the various gouges the rats had bored into his back. This of course did nothing to evade the barrel of the shotgun, which had no trouble accommodating for his new positioning.

"Alright, stalker. Let's lower the boomstick, eh?" Mitya appealed. He raised one of his hands as a shield between himself and the weapon. Very carefully, he moved his other toward his waist, keeping the movement more or less concealed by bringing his knees to his chest like a scared child. His hand crept toward the butt of his Tokarev.

Goddamn. He couldn't tell if he was stupider than he was unlucky, or if he was both in equal measure. Had he really read the stalker this poorly? Usually Nazis made it pretty apparent what they were all about, but this fellow had kept it pretty low key. He kept his head trained stiffly on Pete.

"None of your COs are here to witness us, huh? Hear me out," Mitya continued in a smooth voice. He chuckled nervously. "There's no incentive to put me down here and now like a stray mutt- you won't even get a promotion out of it! Now, listen, I do have more attractive options that will benefit both of us."

Mitya faltered. His mouth was running faster than his mind as he tried to devise some sort of plan.

"Ah- Metro for the pure race! I remember that from my last visit- and I also remember you and your friends at the Reich are more keen on torture than direct execution," he continued quickly, nodding in a very knowing way. Oh God, any second now and his head was going to be blown open. "If you take me back, you and your friend will get all the credit for my return. And perhaps some commendations!"

"Alternatively, I..."

I what? Think Mitya.

"I'm fairly popular at my home station. There will be MGA for you if you keep me as a hostage and take me to them! Or, or maybe a clear conscience for my unconditional return. That would be a nice change of pace, w-wouldn't it?" Mitya urged. His voice lacked most of his usual zeal, and he was now bordering on desperation. "At least wait for your companion's opinion before you act too hastily. Remember, Pete! There is no disease like covetousness, and no virtue like mercy."

The hand he had in the air between his face and the shotgun flashed Pete a thumbs up. The concealed one unholstered the pistol and disengaged the safety. Mitya bobbed his head up and down as though they had already reached an agreement.

 

At first the lack of any companions in the hole seemed like a death sentence to Nik, but every cloud has a silver lining as the said before the bombs. It was rare that saying would have any resonance amongst the masses of today, if your luck was down, tough shit. But the saying still held some truth in this situation. Around 10 minutes prior Kolya had looked for an alternate escape route when he had believed Pete had forsaken himself and Mitya. In the shadows of the eastern edge of the crater was a collapse of concrete ceiling, likely dating back to the war, and it was pulled in such a way that an ascent to the surface was plausible. As soon as Nikolai was out of sight from the others he dashed over to the pile, skirting the edges of the pile and crushing rats underfoot. His new route provided him with the means of flanking his "comrades", then he could discern whether or not they could be trusted fully or not, or perhaps he could scarper in the opposite direction, leave them to think he was dead.
He gripped the concrete with his exposed fingers, he only wore fingerless gloves and didn't actually own a radiation suit. Those things were expensive before the war, and the price in bullets now could turn the tide of a war if you wanted a military grade one, not the metro made suit.
Upon reaching the top of the pile with a last heave, Kolya jumped up and out of the cavern and into the park. The change in temperature and humidity was noticeable, especially when dressed for the cold, it had been sweltering down in the pit, especially after the fire began.
Nik walked in the direction of where he had last saw the stalkers, and happened upon an apparent killing in progress. Pete was pointing his blow-pipe at Mitya and the latter was holding a gun himself.
Kolya pointed his gun in their general direction, better not to take a side until he knew what this was about. He pulled back and released the cocking handle as loudly as he could and asked to no one in particular,
"so, what did I miss, eh chuvak?"

 

Pete listened to what inexplicable excuses Mitya had to offer. One of them rambled on the idea that Pete was associated with the Fourth Reich and it would be best to keep him alive for further examination. A total failure, to find treason, in the muddle Mitya found himself in. As quickly as the first idea arrived, another was conceived in the man's mind. The second, a more reasonable but sure-to-end-up-dead, if Pete accepted the offer, was where Mitya would escort Pete, back to Mitya's home base, and his people would honor the rightful return of one of their own -in an all out banquet of human flesh that is.

'Nice try,' Pete thought.

"Alright, stalker. Let's lower the boomstick, eh?" Mitya said.

"Ah, those words are all too similar not to commemorate with the full quote." Pete thought, once more, and remained as quiet to where only the whispers of the wind were at their presence. Realizing that Mitya was through with pleading, Pete saw that his rival was now drawing for his sidearm. Pete's heart jolted at the sight, which fluttered his mind with slight confusion.

"Hail to the king, baby!!" Pete said, pumping a shell in to the chamber. Chhhk Chhhk!

A voice came from the sidelines and set the tension to tenfold. "so, what did I miss, eh chuvak?" It was Nick.

With his peripheral sight, Pete could have easily been able to see what Nick was doing; but, due to the obstruction of his gas mask, Pete's sighting was only drawn to the front and center. He was alive, though. Mitya had not cut the rope, as it had been made to appear. Nick's voice was rather calm -he must not want to cause anyone to accidentally pull the trigger, by talking loudly at random intervals, or he too had his weapon at the ready. This left the trio at an awkward impasse. All three of them were ready to finish each other off after having gone through hell moments ago. There would be no recovery from this situation if all three of them happen to lower there weapons. Mitya would always remember having his life, almost taken away, twice, by Pete; Pete would now have to be on-guard, for any surprise attacks, from Mitya; and Nick would always remember confronting two, unstable, Stalker when in each other's sight. All three at them would have to constantly be needing to look over their own shoulder to assure they aren't going to be back-stabbed.

"You missed nothing, Nick." Pete acknowledged his presence. "I was just testing testing this fellow's.....This fellow's own bearings on the moral compass." With hesitance, Pete motioned that all be tranquil by lowering the fixed sight, of his shotgun, off of Mitya's head. The barrel was still angled and Mitya's legs though; so if anything were to happen, they'd be blown beyond recognition and cause him to stumble backward into the pit.

"You know. We're all a bunch of random strangers that happened to meet up by coincidence. I know you're not with Stephan's group, Nick. I figured that out when I first encountered you. Mitya, I know what your plans are and I'm not planning to stick around so that you could carry them out; you cannibal! Let us all...." Pete paused. "Just relax and we could go back to where we came from. We can go back to what we were doing before all of this and pretend like we never crossed paths."

 

"I am quite relaxed," Mitya assured Pete. "Now that I'm not envisioning just how my brains would look spattered on the ground behind me."

From the sounds of things, Pete was now quite eager to wash his hands of both Mitya and Nick- despite their mission to rescue the man moment's ago. What were they to do all by themselves? Mitya would be as good as dead alone on the surface. And what was this about cannibalism? Pete's statement was short, but left Mitya with even more questions. The man wasn't a Nazi, of that he was sure. Then why the theatrics with the shotgun? There no longer seemed a reason for it... At least not a sane one.

Mitya rose stiffly to his feet and swiveled his head between Pete and Nick. He holstered his pistol and slung his backpack on. He silently hobbled over to his paracord and unwound it from where he and Pete had secured it and began to reel it up.

"Before we all slink off to our respective holes, I say we should find somewhere secure, with clean air, to dress our wounds. Nick won't last long with such a... Rudimentary repair on his mask," Mitya stated after a moment. He started to wind the paracord up into a bundle, with all the care one might use when dealing with a thousand year artifact. "Pete, I'm not sure of what deranged delusions you have created in your mind. But I can assure you: I am no more a cannibal than you and Nick are Nazis."

There was an uncharacteristically cold edge to Mitya's tone. His mask briefly flitted to examine them, as if looking for anything that may lead him to believe the contrary. Seeing nothing, he visibly relaxed and returned his attention to packing away the rope. He tried to talk over the distant squeaks of the injured and dying rodents echoing from within the crater.

"Though... I do suppose I know nothing about either of you. I'm a bit of a fool, if you couldn't tell," he said with a humourless chuckle. "I'll level with you. I'm no stalker. I'm up here by accident, and would love nothing more than to go home in one piece. Which doesn't seem to be an option," he continued, sweeping a hand over his bloodied coat.

"Prior to our meeting, I had been holed up trying to establish radio contact with my station. I had no luck. Then I saw you two and Nick's unfortunate accident. After providing aid, I was hoping to gain a safe passage by traveling with the two of you, but it seems my gamble hasn't paid off," he said with a small shrug. "I had assumed you were more well acquainted with each other. Which begs the question. If you're not Nazis, and you aren't partners, what exactly is it that you're doing up here?"

Mitya directed the question to either of the men. He looked curiously between the two of them, then shifted his pack higher on his shoulders with a quiet grunt of pain. He took a few cautious steps away from the crater.

 

Nikolai stared at the rope Mitya was winding up in a trance like state, mesmerised by the faint glow of the dying fire on the fibres. Mitya flicked a look at the two stalkers before continuing. He explained his motives to the chorus of the faint crackle of the fire and the squeaking of the dying rodents before pushing a question to the men before him. Then Kolya looked away from the horizon he had been observing, it's pale pink glows of dawn being caught by the crooked and rotten grin of the apartments and office blocks. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees and accentuated the thick shadows they cast, the light was catching on the sharp lines of armour and weaponry, and noticeably in Mitya's visor. If they stayed to long, they would have more than radiation to worry about.
"look", Nik began "I want to get clear with you guys, I'm no average stalker, well I was, but now...", he reached into his jacket and with a slight tug, withdrew a small piece of steel on a chain and held it at arms length, glinting in the light of the embers and the light of the young day.
"I'm a ranger of the order tasked to find and secure the Bittsevskiy park weapons storage and strategic targeting facility, a missile guidance base as it were, lots of valuable shit down there". He stole a quick glance to his right, at Pete,
"sorry for telling you that bull about Stepan, I uh, I didn't know him your right, but hey, it's not like I stole a jackpot from him in the end now, did I?"
He chuckled briefly before sighing, and touching the good lens on his mask.
"look I'll cut to the chase, we can't stay out in the day even with tinted glass lenses, the mutants are out and about soon after dawn, we won't get lucky facing them like we did with the rats," he looked into the smouldering pit and shuddered,"I have a, safe house, where we can stay,a block or two away, old basement, advance team set it up as a semi permanent base, so there's filters and the like. But any how, we'll be able to re-stock, reload and lick our wounds there, we have medical facilities, well, some bandages and painkillers but it'll do."
In the distance a howl sounded, followed by the great thwumping of huge leathery wings, from the south, away from Nik's suggested location.
"now I think we should leave, huh? Sounds like the pigeons have stirred..."

 

"Hah! Nazis? A homeless-looking-man, who, as a matter of fact, is homeless...A nazi?" Pete asked wildly already knowing the answer. He was trying to lighten things up on his side, but having drawn a weapon twice, on the same guy and on the same day, spoke for itself. "Huh." Pete snorted.

"I'm up here for similar reasons that Nick is. Though, rather than securing the supposed military equipment for some faction, I was here for personal gain -me and two others, of course. There names," Pete paused and wound his finger in the air, as if writing with a pencil. "Stepan and.....Some girl. I don't remember here name. But the two were love birds. Stepan hired us both to join him on this caravan trip to Bittsevskiy. We made it, as you can see. But I rose early to get a head's start on the loot. Stepan and, uh, the girl, are still back at the station." Pete jolted his thumb back to signify a general location from where the station was.

Now Nick. Nick proposed a plan of his own: to go back to a front that was garrisoned by his men. That didn't sound very appealing. "Look, I just want to go back home to my station and crawl up in a ball and sleep. I'm heading back to Stepan and the chick. All see you whenever the metro allows." With those final words, Pete was off. No looking back.

He heard the bellowing of mutants on the horizon in the direction he was headed. He picked up his pace and was now adjacent to where he earlier emerged and bumped heads with Nick. Pete was now at the window he crawled down from and was now ready to hoist himself up. Gathering some scrap trash and building it up in a pyramid fashion, Pete pushed off from the ground, onto his platform, and onto the ledge. He wiggled himself to the other side and down to the solid tile. A loud echo of hollow footsteps followed as he progressed down the halls of the empty station. He removed his beanie cap and ran his fingers through his hair. "Almost there," he thought. He began undoing his extra layer protective clothing -gloves, jacket and mask.

Nearing the corner, Pete could see the fain glow of dying embers emitting their light on the walls of the station. Stepan and the girl were still asleep. Pete inhaled a breath of fresh air and paused to dwell in the moment. It had been a hectic morning. Pete approached closer and closer to the sound train car. All of a sudden, the howls, that earlier emerged from the outside, filled the cavernous halls of the station. Large beasts surrounded the cart and forced themselves inward. Pete hid behind a solid rock bench and peered toward the chaos.

Eight...Ten mutants. All trying to get their morning breakfast. The hectic snarls woke Stepan and the girl. As ready as Stepan was, the mutants were already atop of him. All the was heard were cries of anguish. There was nothing Pete could do. He strapped back on his mask and put on his gloves. He was again away from the station as fast as he had arrived.

"Damn." Pete grunted. A small herd of mutants were on his trail. Pete retraced his steps and went back out through the window. This time at a much quicker pace. He hoped that Nick and Mitya were still at a close enough range to where he could catch up. How long had it been since he departed with the two? Around 20-minutes? It was too long of a time and they were long gone by now.

Pete ran, in the direction Nick had pointed out, and fired two rounds, from his shotgun, as a distress call.