Prey of one, Predator of another

Part IV - The Art of War

In the quiet Zone setting, came the sound of huffing and the gentle stroke of grass being brushed over by an object.

It was Daniel Gillian, running for his dear life.

He was wobbling, his bleeding leg leaving behind a red trial as he attempted to run away from his nemesis, the Blind Dog. Even if he knew he couldn’t see them every time he tilted, he knew they were there. Hunting, stalking, waiting. The scene of blood, by no way, would diminish under the noses of those abnormal dogs. Stopping to bandage was not a good idea. In fact, it was not an option at all. The Dog would finish him easily if that happened, after coming this far from his ordeal. He had nowhere to hide.

Daniel was inside The Zone, in a territory he knew too well, yet too unpredictable. In The Zone, Lady Luck could smile on you at one second, then suddenly replaced by Morpheus who could easily turn your day into a living nightmare. And even though he knew he was losing blood fast, he knew he only source of salvation laid upon The Camp, where stalkers lived. Only there, he could find peace, security, and sanity.

The Blind Dogs, true stalkers of The Zone, too knew the Human was weakening. The human had been leaving blood in his path, and that made their job too easy. So from a distance, they followed their prey, acknowledging that the human would soon fall and they could have their dinner earlier then usual.

It was at that faithful moment, Daniel saw The Camp. Even amid the dense forest of crooked trees, the unmistakable wooden color of The Camp was a striking contrast against the greenery. He was almost safe.

Unfortunately, The Blind Dogs too knew. The wind carried scene of smoke, stinging alcohol and sulfur, and the smell of rotting wood and mold. They understood they were nearing the Human Encampment. And they had no intention of losing their food. They charged and sprinted towards the Human.

Taking out his HP-SA with his only good hand, Daniel on the laser and struggled to focus the red dot and a dog’s head. One ear-splitting bang latter, that Blind Dog felled lifeless and splashing the ground red with blood.

Two, Three, Four Five.

The sixth Dog was headshot before he leaped onto Daniel.

His luck ran out. The Blind Dog, a Leader caste, took him down with enough force to knock his Browning off his hand and rolled into the nearby bush.

It was a struggle for life and death. The black ball of fury was unforgiving as it reached for Daniel’s jugular, only to bit hard into his blocking left hand. It twisted its jaw to break Daniel’s hand. Daniel yelped in pain. The dog continued as if nothing happened.

Using his right hand, Daniel tore a grenade from its jack. He was desperate. As the Dog dived, he jabbed the grenade into its mouth. The Dog bit it hard. That was what Daniel was counting on. Unhesitatingly, he pulled the pin and forced the Dog's jaw shut with whatever strength remained in his bloodied body.

Bang.

The lifeless canine slumped onto his tired body, slamming its weight onto him. What used to be its head was now a mess of whitish brain and blood. But Daniel too paid a price for his life. The shrapnel that tore through the Blind Dog’s jaw pierced into his hand, leaving behind cuts that were dyeing his hand red.

Daniel shoved the dead body off him. He had made it this far, and he would not let anything stop him. If he died, he would never see his beloved parents again, or see his brother. Or get married. Or find out who set him up in the first place.

Clambering with each painful step, he inched towards The Camp. He will survive, he told himself. He must.

***

On the brown tattered couch, The Dealer patted his nervous girlfriend. The fat, old (and horny) man knew stalkers were waiting for him outside, possibly grumbling and swearing on who was inside. So what? He could not care less about them. They were winds- they come and they go. And when they go away, new waves of stalkers would come here to The Camp. It was like a never-ending cycle of death, like an ecosystem. However, the stalkers always needed him, and he needed his ‘quality time’, not them. They could wait.

The girlfriend was a Natasha- a term for ‘prostitute’ among the his people, the Turk Armenian. Needless to say, the petite young girl had such a heavenly-shaped body that drove him crazy, not that of his fat ugly wife back at home. He had been fantasizing of moments like this. He was love-starve.

He was about to begin his foreplay when the door burst open.

“Igmus, I…”

“You what?” The Dealer was angry about sudden incidents that interrupted his business. “Jonas, who is that bloodied person? I don’t want him. Leave him for dead…”

“But sir, he is Daniel Gillian!” The stocky man with a flat jaw and boyish face shot back. “You wanted him, right?”

When The Dealer personally flipped the dying man over, the face the man possessed shocked him, because aside from scratched and small cuts, the squarish chin, the sharp nose, the chocolate eyes and the rectangular face was indeed Daniel Gillian. This was his favorite ‘errand-boy’, the sort of stalker that did jobs for him always. And this particular one was honest-to-god type. Never cheated or asked more than he should. But ever since he failed to come back for days, The Dealer had marked him dead on his little green notebook.

For Jonas Smith, however, it was a different story. He knew Daniel when they two served at the Royal Marines, Daniel saved his life on their first encounter in The Zone, when he was on his first mission as a controller seeker. How could you forget anyone that grabbed you back from the grasp of Death? And so, the medium-height man with curly brown hair always sought for chances to repay Daniel. So he did, this time. He found Daniel unconscious, near to the entrance to The Camp’s exit, with lots of fancy equipment around. Where the hell had he been through? His heart thirsted for the answer.

“Take him to my storeroom, and get me The Doc!” The Dealer screamed.

Then he turned to the girl. “Tanya, leave me first. I have personal matters to attend to. I will get you, tonight.” The girl rose. “Don’t keep me waiting.” She departed with the yearning-for-love look that made The Dealer wished that Daniel had not come in.

***

News about a near-death stalker being brought back after missing for such a long time became the hottest issue around The Camp. Rumors spread like mushroom after a rainfall as everyone heated discussed their own version of the story they had heard.

“You know, I heard that guy Daniel killed and got hold of the Spetnatz green fatigue in The Camp. That’s why he was hunted.” A stalker told his friend in The Bar.

“Nah, I know Daniel. Noble guy, wouldn’t do such a perverted action.”

“If he had belonged to us, The Hellraisers, he wouldn’t have to turn out this way. Too bad he was a loner.” An obvious clan-leader joined in the conversation.

Among the commotion, a quiet stalker observed at a side, listening to all the conversation carefully. He looked like any other normal stalker.

“Where is he now?” His ear trained to another group.

“The guy? He’s Daniel. Saw him in the office while I was waiting there. The Attic was so crowded that I decided to have a pint here first after what had happened.”

That was enough information for the anonymous stalker. He walked straight back to his bunk and fished out a hand phone under his bed, then speed-dialed a number.

“Koruna Cyber Café. Order?” Codename for Intel-center.

“Yes, I would like table 016; a cup of coffee with milk and honey. I will start at 1870,33.” The numbers were his code numbers; the rest code words.

“You’re clear, Vichuska. Line’s secure and encrypted.”

“Sir, high profile target around. Daniel something. Got a click?”

“Hold on, captain.” He heard a series of keyboard clicks. “Yes, Daniel Gillian. Issued 2 days ago, by… The Director himself! Whoa, this is a hot chick!”

“How should I proceed?”

“Static. I will confer with The Director. You will get your order. In the mean time, continue surveillance. Out.” The line snapped. Vichuska shut his antiquated Siemen T10 and put it back under his bed.

Captain Vichuska Akarnadi was a Spetnatz ‘C’, majoring in Field Intelligence gathering. He was among the agents sent to the Camp to hunt for fugitives, mostly CIS Mafia key members coming to the Zone to stay low-key while laundering money.

In short, he was a ‘sleeper’ military operative inside The Zone, with the guise of a stalker.

***

“How many fingers do you see?”

Daniel opened his eyes to the face of a man with a striking resemblance to The Dealer, yet slimmer and taller while… pointing about three fingers at him, in a room stacked high with green military boxes of weapons. He was in The Dealer’s inner sanctum- his storeroom.

"Three." He promptly replied.

"Excellent." The unidentified figure in a white coat commented. "Iggy!"

The Dealer walked in.

"He's good. Gave him blood and regeneration booster. Add vitamins too."

""How much do you want?"

The doctor looked at the two waving finger waving inconspicuously underneath The Dealer's covered hand. "2000 rubles."

"Daniel, do you have the money, or should I pay for you first?" The Dealer, by no chance, would repent into a kind Samaritan. He was just the typical advantageous person who happened to be in another right circumstances to make money. He knew Daniel don't have much money left after he bought the FN2000, and loaning him probably would show how 'kind' the Dealer really was. It was a win-win situation for him.

"No, but I have something to barter with." Daniel poured out the content of his backpack. Aside for the SVU and FN2000, he left everything out. "3200 rubles for 4 AKs and a Groza, plus 4 Fort 12. I know you can't resist."

Of course, his wonderful plan failed to materialize; yet he could have cheap merchandize of what could have been worth 4000 rubles. The Dealer got nothing to lose.

***

‘The target, people, is this foreigner.” The Commander of the Base’s Spetnatz, Colonel Sergetov, briefed the squadrons while pointing at the OHP image on the whitewash wall. ‘According to sources, he is injured and now inside Pyptjat, also known as The Camp.

As everyone sat attentively in their neat row of chair, Lieutenant Gustav said to himself softly ‘I’d got him!” Too bad no one would ever know about it.

“This Night Ops operation would commence at 1930, upon arrival, you will be walking along a straight path onto the location, on a rendezvous with a contact name “Jaguar. Capture the target alive…”

“Wrong.” Without notice, General Krushnev marched into the room with a deafening bang at the door. “I want this man dead. Shoot to kill. Any question?”

“Opposition, sir?” A team leader asked curiously.

"None, under normal circumstances of operating procedure. But if something went wrong, every inhabitant inside there will be your enemy."

"Inhabitant, sir?" Andrei found himself asking.

"Illegal Chernobyl Zone Trespassers who live there. We can only catch them red handed, so practically we couldn't do anything about them. Next?"

"Possible armament of those inhabitant?"

"Anything, and everything. No more questions? Good. Jaguar will lead you on arrival. Modus operandi will be based on stealth mostly, so bring silenced weapon- OC-14 Groza and Bizon SD. Team sniper would be carrying AS VAL or the VSS Vintorez. Bringing in your fancy stuff will get unwanted attention."

Everyone in the room tried hard not to chuckle. Obviously, this general had nothing to do with SpecOps. They were all trained to carry 20 kg of weight, and of course they would bring in the big guns. They couldn’t be too careful- if hell broke lose, as least they got something to fight with instead of powerless weapons.

***

Some 70 KM away, Daniel sat on the floor of rags while The Dealer chatted on with the doctor back in his office, with shouts and fits of laughter. Seeing the contents of the room, thoughts of stealing them did arose in his head, but Daniel knew doing that would meant he would be sent to Kingdom Come faster than usual. No one dared to cross the Dealer.

A door bang later, the Dealer walked in and handed Daniel his change.

“Where did you get these?” Even though The Dealer tried to sound friendly, Daniel could read the worry inside his head. He was afraid of competition, afraid that another supplier was around. And he never liked it.

Once, there was a wannabe stalker who tried to be The Dealer’s rival. Got ‘recycled’ weapons from stalkers who did not want old weapons anymore, then opened his own shop under The Dealer’s attic. Three days later, someone popped him while he was sleeping.

“Same place I ran away from. A Spetnatz camp.”

The Dealer looked at him like a bystander who have seen an UFO.

“You’re kidding, right? Never heard of anyone escaping from there. Most of the time, The Army doesn’t want to get into a political tight rope, so, “ He made a cutthroat action. “A only a little of them were sent back and had their passport red marked. The rest never made it to interrogation- got hostile and started kicking, you know. You just got lucky.” But Daniel knew it wasn’t luck, at least sort of. If had not for the Major who walked right into the cell, or for the person who sent in the knife and bullet…

“Who’s The Doc?” Daniel changed the topic.

“My cousin, Arkady. Typical Ukrainian doctor until his license’s gone. That stupid patient sued him for malpractice when he left the blade in her stomach.”

It was in the gene all right, Daniel smirked. The Dealer was well known for his sloppiness, for he had records of mistaking a Vintorez for a TOZ hunting rifle. No doubt the cousin too was fired for his carelessness.

“Well, I better be gone. I am interrupting your business.”

Thinking of his girl, The Dealer rudely responded. “You already did. Now get out!” .He would have to wait till tonight, The Dealer summed as he watched Daniel stride out of the room, with his bulging backpack. “Next!”

***

The Mi-24D Hind slowly died off at the helipad. Major Zhukovsky laid lazily to his back, onto the soft cushion customized for officers. Home sweet home, the major remarked. Now back at the base at Kiev, he did not have to worry about torturing people anymore.

To speak truthfully, he never thought he would one day do something like this. He took the offer to take the course on the basis of the promotion to captain about four years ago. It sounded easy then, to say that you don’t torture people when there is no war, right? But it had passed anywhere, and he had left it behind. Hopefully he could forget it and no one would ever know that something was with Krushnev.

Just then, a UAZ jeep showed up, carrying a sergeant.

"Sir, welcome back!" The non-commission officer greeted. "By the way, about that woman of yours... called 12 times since you left."

"I thought I told her not to call before I left?'

"Yes, sir. But she was...eh..."The sergeant seek for an inappropriate term. “Persistent. Every time I tried explaining to her, she will only call back later. Must be going serious, sir."

"Indeed. She's my fiancée.’ The major laughed. ''But don't worry, she isn’t from Kiev asylum." They exchanged smile.” Come, I'll get you a drink for all the trouble." The major consoled while hopping into the front seat. "Now, take me to my office."

***

Daniel strolled his way back to his bunk, while taking his sweet time. The Lodging House may be far, but what's the rush when no one was hunting you?

He got himself a nice present after dealing with The Dealer. The steaming hot bowl of Vinasun noodle was itself a treat for him, with a hard-boiled egg and a sausage inside it. Even with the sight and smell of the curry flavor, his stomach began its revolt for food. A hot meal was all he need to sooth himself. In The Camp, Hot food is something viewed as a luxury, sine you don't get hot meals every time.

On his way pass, he met Jonas, whom The Dealer said was the one who brought him in. Both of them exchange greeting. This was just one of the many times when Daniel got repaid back for helping people without expecting anything.

A far corner away, a man in blue NBC suit slowly tracked him stealthily. Captain Arkanadi received his order to mark the man for assassination.

After Daniel stepped into the Lodging House, his hand reached into his pocket automatically, looking for his room key. Nothing. It was then he realized that that he had left his key in the backpack, along with the TG-50 PDA.

“Oh crap.” Daniel swore silently. He had to ask for the key from the owner known only as The Keeper. Again.

With a gleeful grin, Daniel sheepishly approached the old man behind the desk, reading newspaper. “Eh, Keeper, I lost my keys,”

The Keeper stared at him the way a judge looked at a death row inmate. The hard stare told Daniel a firestorm was coming.

“Again! Why do you always forget your key? Last time you locked it inside your room! Are you older than me, or the radiation had gotten you? Maybe next time I should fine you!” Daniel only replied with a smile. That was not the first time he had threatened so.

“I know. Sorry.” Daniel stammered at the bespectacled man who shoved a bunch of keys to him while continued to scold him like a father. Although The Keeper’s gray hair showed the toll of age on him and his thin body looked like it could collapsed anytime with a strong gust of wind, every stalker respected him, at least everyone who lived in The Lodging House.

The Lodging House was living places for the higher caste- those who had earned enough and knew the value of a good night sleep and also security. The fee itself was reasonable- 100 rubles per day, with water and lights too.

First floor. Second floor. Third floor. Finally, Daniel arrived at his level, onto room 315. His room. Home.

Then he noticed something peculiar.

The secondary lock on his door was supposed to be intact, and he would still be stuck outside if that happened, since no one had the key. But it was not. It was on the floor, evidently tampered with.

Swiftly, he drew out his FN2000. Taking a deep breath, he kicked his way into the door while raising the rifle to shoulder level… to see 2 naked individuals on his bed!

“Shit!” Daniel screamed loud enough to cover the shriek of the naked prostitute, possibly a stripper from the nearby vicinity. “Get out of my room! Get out now!”

The male figure inside came to his feet and got to his NBC suit and trousers. He was not expecting any company.

Daniels did not bother to watch them, as the noble man he was. He stepped aside, waiting impatiently for the trio inside to get away. Soon, they ran.

“Damn.” Daniel swore. What could be worse than having your room turned into a lovebird’s nest? He shrugged in disgust. Even though he was in a different world compared to England, the ‘dark-corner’ syndrome was very much alive. People just love to do those things at dark places.

After he closed the door, the blue stalker threaded to his door, chalked an “X” on the floor lightly, and left like nothing had happened before.

***

2200.

Under the pitch-black night, the only sources of light came from the moon, The Bar, The Lodging House, The Strip Bar and The Dealer’s attic. Others relied on candle- electricity was hard to come by. For the four aforementioned places, they were the center of activity for the night. Aside from The Lodging House, stalkers came to the place to get their drink, their deals, and their entertainment.

And it was under to cover of the night, a stalker smoked at the entrance.

Captain Arkanadi was not a usual smoker, but it was part of the signal. It was about time, he noted as he pressed his watch to read.

All of a sudden, a cold steel was jabbed to his neck.

“Name?”

“Jaguar. Captain Vichuska Arkanadi.”

The steel left his neck. Turning to his back, he saw eight Spetnatz, faced draped in camouflage. Under the naked eye, they would only be identified as part of the night.

“Where’s the man? Show us. And quick.” The squad leader whispered. “Mission is a five-minuter, then we’re out.”

By logic, this mission would have been enough for one man. But Captain Arkanadi was a special asset inside the Zone. If he was seen, his cover would be blown and would be marked as a stalker-killer. By then, he would be useless.

***

Daniel laid on his bed, his eyes stared up to the ceiling. His encounter in the last 5 days had offered him clues of a big event.

General Krushnev. The Director. Everything had to do with him.

He framed him, that Daniel knew. Forced him to be his Judas’ Goat using all kind of fiendish method. Then, he managed to turn him from a civilized Brit into a cannibalistic psycho in front of the scientist. By now, it seemed to him that the general was not trying to save time from paperwork, or to save interrogation time. Even went as far as using chemical therapy on him. May be, just may be, he was the one behind the entire killing.

Next key was the Mi-8 chopper of the Ukrainian Army. The well-armed bandits that effectively wiped out a well-armed Expedition Team. Expedition Team Escorts were usually well armed, and unless they were attacked by an overwhelming number of mutants, they could survive through most situations. But surprisingly not this one, And the EMP-ed APCs. No one, not even The Dealer, could get their hands on such high tech gadgets… unless it was the Army itself!

Surely, this game of jigsaw puzzle would be finished when the last puzzle was revealed – why?

But all these clues did not made any sense. The attack team was too well organized. Their extraction and insertion was too prefect, to a standard that he was caught instead of them even though they had a chopper when the Ukrainians had radars. This puzzle, again, led to the Army itself again.

Why? Why did they do it? The question hung on like a radiation cloud in the air. What was the motivation? Money? Power? As a former SBS, he was designed to think and reacted fast. But without sufficient evidence, he could only guess. And his instinct told him General Krushnev was behind everything. General Krushnev only managed to answer the ‘who’ part.

Before he lay down to sleep, his hands reached under his bed. Yes, they were in position- his right hand touched the FN2000 while the left hand held his backpack. In case anyone tried something funny on him, he would be prepared. And in case he slept too sound, an empty ketchup bottle had been positioned at the door handle. Something he learnt from the movies, yet effective.

***

Three stories below, the group of nine stared at The Lodging House, their senses keyed up for threats. Except for the silent humming of the distant generators, silent was what they only heard. And under their night vision goggles, no one was around, at least for the moment.

“Ok, Jaguar, here’s how it goes. Two snipers would be covering us from here. Jaguar, recon interior, than exterminate any witness. When we’re done, get out and cry for help. There’s your cover. Where’s the marked?”

“3rd floor, room 315. Ground’s chalked and X’ed.”

The leader nodded. “Move.”

No one was inside the lobby of The Lodging House when Vichuska came. Inside the room with ten metal chairs and a desk, only The Keeper was behind the desk, doing his account with the help o a calculator.

He felt sorry for the amiable aged man. The Keeper was somehow the only trustworthy person around although his temper was to be reckoned with- Vichuska too lived inside there at the first floor. Too bad he was not sleeping. If he had, he would not have to be liquidated. Poor man, Vichuska thought.

The old man looked up at his ledger to him under the dim table light. Vichuska held his breath. Please forget me, he hoped.

“Do I know you? I don’t think so. What can I do for you? I have three…”

Without warning, the stalker pulled out his Fort 12 SD from his back.

“What are you doing?” The Keeper shouted alarmingly, but it was too late to do anything. The instinctive reaction to cover his body with his hand was what he managed to do before three muffled 9mm rocketed through the air.

Once The Keeper was down, 6 Spetnatz swiftly burst in and did what they came to do.

***

Perhaps it was a thud. Or the fiendish experience of his torture. Perhaps it was the insecurity he always felt during his stay in The Camp. Whatever reasons it may be, Daniel suddenly woke up, after sleeping for a few minutes.

He tried to go back to sleep. Covered his head with his pillow. Tried counting sheep. Even imagined he was back with his loving parents and older brother during their last Christmas, months before he left. They had never worked. It was a unique experience for this man who always had slept like a log.

In despair, he slept upwards and relaxed his muscles. He kept telling himself: “Everything would be fine. No one is here to harm you.”

***

A stalker’s body went limp in the squad leader’s hand after he inconspicuously walked down the stairs with heavy footsteps and ambushed by the headlock of the Spetnatz’s hand.

“One more floor to go.” He radioed to his men.

***

It did not work. Sleep was a natural reaction when one was tired, but even as he was tired, Daniel couldn’t sleep. As any insomniac would ask: “Why now?”

While Daniel was pondering on what method to use next, he heard a twitch from the handle. He was about to remove the pillow on his head when the ketchup bottle broke to pieces.

It was those moments he feared. It was those moments he had always trained for.

When the door suddenly collapsed under the feet of three Spetnatz, a gas canister welcomed them. Landing on the feet of those ‘visitors’, the contents it suddenly released filled the air with lung-choking and eye-searing gas. It was seconds of delay before they could reorganize themselves and stormed in. But everything inside the room was an ajar window swinging with the gust of wind. And the groaning sound of a rain gutter bending as if it was sucked downwards.

It did not took long for the team leader to figure out the target had escaped and melted into the dark when they peeked out.

***

Somewhere below, the captain saw weak signs of life from the old bleeding body, which now desperately tried to crawl away with each painful step from the killing machine the captain had become. It was miraculous how his hand managed to avoid some of the three bullets from killing him.

“Please, don’t kill me.” The old man begged weakly, his bloody hand now folded in prayer. “My Lenka… grandson… want to see…”

“Sorry, can’t do that.” Vichuska replied coldly while taking his aim.

That moment, Daniel appeared from the glass window directly across Vichuska, having just descended safely on the ground.

Both of them saw each other. Both of them were Special Forces and had the same training. Only one of them could survive,

A bang pierced the silence, followed by shattering of glasses.

When the six Spetnatz finally emerged from the stairs, running to catch the ‘fox’, the Jaguar was found sprawling on the ground, his Fort 12 inches away from him. Except for the red mark on his forehead and the ground soaked in red, he looked as if he was napping. Except that he was not- he was dead.

***

“Mobility Base, come in!”

Lieutenant Gustav was squirming under the cold air chilled in the autumn night. Gust of cold wind bellowed as if to tickle him. The air itself was humid, signifying rain was coming. Hopefully the mission was over, with the report.

Taking out his canteen, he watched as the radioman answered ‘yes.’

“Base, something went wrong. He escaped.”

Everyone within earshot range turned and swore at the radio. But each of them understood the words clearly. Big trouble.

“Captain Brewska,” The Spetnatz commander grabbed the radio-speaker from the attending sergeant. “Track him down. Help’s on the way.”

Next, the major turned to Andrei. “Andrei, you’re going in.”

It was the magic word Bravo squad had waited for. Swiftly, Bravo Operation Team got out from the bush and marched towards the empty spaces between two chained link of The Fallout Zone barrier that marked the entrance to The Camp

***

Shall one ever converse with a military specialist, the mention of ‘night Ops’ would dominate the whole topic. The night is a soldier’s friend or a soldier’s nightmare. Unprepared enemy could be wiped out silently during the silent hours of darkness. That was the prized advantage of every fighting man, soldier and stalker alike. Provided if the element of surprise are still safe.

This was not the case for Daniel Gillian, ex-SBS.

Inside a dark valley, a jumpy Daniel hid among the shadows cast by the wooden shacks, his weapon’s crosshair never leaving the sight of his right eye. The shade covered like a baby in a cradle.

He was somewhere in the ‘flavelas’, Brazilian term for ‘poor man’s area.’ He could be anywhere among the100+ shacks, home to either penniless stalkers or money-pinching ones. While Daniel crouched down on the dirt, the foul stench of rotting items wafted into his nostril. Hygiene was never an issue there. The only good about this shameful area was it was in front of The Dealer’s attic- anytime The Dealer needed someone for something, they were there.

Suddenly, heavy droplets of water felled down from the sky onto the zinc roof. They were the pioneers of something big- a rain. Seconds later, a heavy downpour was under way.

“What could be better?” Daniel smirked. Tough luck.

Under the steady flow of raindrop, his vision was sharply reduced to a few mere meters. Yet even though the ‘cling’ sound of the zinc rooftop was everywhere, he could hear the wading sound of boots in the puddles somewhere in front.

They were coming. The military.

Slowly, two human-shaped figure appeared. They couldn’t be stalkers- they were walking slowly, cautiously, searching for something, and no duo would ever take a walk in this heavy rain.

It took them forever to disappear. They peek into the alley, looking for something. That something, Daniel knew, was he himself. Daniel froze in terror as one of them looked at his direction, but quickly turned away.

Eventually, they slowly faded away to his right. Daniel waited until he heard no more mud-wading sound to be sure he was safe.

But before he could make his move, the click of a gun’s safety pin being removed was heard. Split- seconds later, something blunt was poked to his back.

“Give me your things, manos.” Everything you have.” A Mexican accent owned the gun, along with the heavy scent of vodka. A drunken stalker. Swell.

As non-threatening as possible, Daniel turned. Although the downpour brought coldness to him, he could feel the warmth directly behind him. Too bad his assailant knew nothing of his past.

Immediately, Daniel crouched, his right leg sweeping blindly behind him. Like a falling log, his assailant was knocked down flat to his back, causing a spectacular splash under the muddy pile.

Next, Daniel threw himself over him. Under the occasional flash of lightning, he could see the face of the Mexican stalker. The assailant was short, and although his body could feel the bulging muscles of the person, Daniel saw fear in the man’s eyes, the fear of having to repent his mistakes with his life, for he messed with the wrong person. He gibbered a loud warning before Daniel’s hand clenched onto his throat like a python.

A rough snap later, the man’s head snapped like a cracked walnut.

A rush of adrenaline caused Daniel’s heart to pump faster as he stood over the body. That may be just a reaction over a danger, but Daniel did have morsel of remorse. “Forgive me for taking life,” he prayed silently. It was clear and present danger, a kill-or-be-killed situation. However, the dead man too had a family, had friends, maybe even a female companion waiting for him to come home. Now, he could only laid in the rain, in hoping for a proper burial.

But Daniel had another new situation. He was exposed.

Under the torrent, he could hear loud splashing of puddle as someone now ran towards his position. How should he act now? Should he make a 200-meter dash to The Dealer’s attic, or should he stay here? Both options had risk. The former risk his head blown off in return for the security of The Dealer and possible stalkers inside the attic. The later would hide him until the very last seconds and allowed him to made an ambush, even allowed him to hide in the dark if no lucky streaks of lightning were around.

But could he take down 2 people cloned in attributes of him?

He gambled on his life. He stayed prone on the ground.

When the two shadowy figures came to investigate, Daniel prayed long and hard again. “God, you gotta get me out of this mess!” he whispered in his heart. “Please, don’t let them see that well under the night. Please!”

And God played a joke on his life. God sent a lightning.

Both of them looked at him, their weapons drawn. They were sure they so two bodies there, and it didn’t hurt to check out two dead bodies. Slowly, they moved forward. Every step they took, Daniel was more panicky. Surely God wouldn’t want him to die this young.

Both of them approached the body in front of a Daniel now playing dead. One of them kicked it with his boot. No reaction. Another approached Daniel and did the same to him. Once the boots dug into the stomach, Daniel felt he wanted to scream. The kick felt like a fire burning inside him. But he held on. A word from him, and he would probably be back into captivity. Desperately, he tried to suppress the urge to spring out his HP-SA Browning to fight his way out.

Both of them talked, then left. He was safe, for the moment.

***

The Dealer watched as the last customer timidly ran out of the door, after receiving a harsh word from him. Life is tough, The Dealer remarked. He never liked stalkers, and stalkers never liked him. The one that left was a newbie who couldn’t stand his mother being called a bitch. What a filial son, he smirked.

But The Dealer knew no more customers would be coming because of the rain. On any other night, he would have been cursing his dumb luck (although it seldom happened) but not today. Tonight, his Tanya would be waiting for him, maybe lighting up her room with sweet-smelling candle to make it romantic. Thinking this, his heart beat faster. He could not wait.

It was then, his hand phone, a Nokia 3315 colored up his desk with a blue light while ringing. The Dealer grumbled while bringing up the phone to see its caller ID. Why must he been interrupted when the romantic self of him was about to come out? Is it his wife calling again, begging for cash?

However, he dropped his complain when the name Krushnev was up at the screen. He dared not to offend his primary contact.

“Da?”

“Hello, Mr. Palkov.” The tone on the other line had such a sonorous tone, bearing some sort of formality. “I have a favor that I need you to do.” General Krushnev did not wait for The Dealer to ask. “I want the head of Daniel Gillian for a crate of Ak-108, plus 10000 rubles.”

A crate meant about 40, normally priced at 1000 each. But Daniel Gillian… he had saved the Dealer more than 40000 rubles in mission payment.

“Who? I have more than a Daniel, you know. There’s a Daniel Clement from UK, another Daniel Jolake from Israel. A Daniel Sykratyva from Belarus…”

“Drop the AK crap.” The General lost his patience. “I’ll give you 55000 rubles for his head. My Spetnatz tried taking him down, and they failed.”

“I know him.” The Dealer snapped instantly. “Give me a day, then we shall arrange the transaction.” The Dealer was a greedy man, and 55000 rubles were so much money that he was willing to kill for it.

***

“Sir, the area’s too wide. There were just too many fucking houses.” Lieutenant Gustav squeaked into radio. My suggestion, is to blow this place…”

“No. General Krushnev was already very unhappy about us letting the man escape. If you do that… Anyway, continue the search, Bravo 1. Squad Charlie’s in. Find the man with any cost.

“You sounded determined, sir.” The soldier cracked a joke.

“No, it was a direct order from an angry general. Just between you and me: the sucker never liked failure.”

“Okay, sir.” Andrei turned to his partner. “Keep looking.”

***

In Daniel’s mind, strategies for survival were already formulated. He would go back into The Zone after he had some supplies from The Dealer with some ‘blood’ money he took from the dead stalker and some more from his own pocket. Only God knows how many more spies would be sent to get him. Even if he survived today, there’s no guarantee he may survive tomorrow. The best option was to stay low-key and out of sight until things chilled.

The Dealer’s was empty when he arrived, although lights were still seeping from the crevice of the door. Daniel was in luck; at least that was how he put it. The faster he finished the deal, the better.

***

For Mr. Palkov, he had plans as well. In the morning, he would spread the word for Daniel’s head, in return for 5000 rubles. People need motivation to do things, and greed would be the substitution for that motivation.

The door slammed open.

“Daniel, what are you doing here? You looked like a chicken that just drowned by water!” The Dealer was surprised to see the dripping-wet figure in his office. All of the sudden, heaven seemed to drop on him. He was unexpected for this surprise, but it seemed like he did not need to spend that 5000 ruble anymore. The miser smiled at the thought as he displayed a friendly smile. “Some, I’ll get you a towel,”

“Igmus, this is not you usual style.” Daniel confessed. The Dealer showed his contempt for all stalkers clearly. Never gave them anything for free, or any polite words. But this?

Of course, The Dealer never bothered with him

Reaching into his store, the fat bigoted man threw a green tower at him. The odor of sweat told Daniel the towel had never been washed, but Daniel dried his hair with that anywhere. The last thing he need was flu.

He heard a cocking sound of an automatic weapon. May be The Dealer was trying to show him his new weapon or to introduce him to his LRM-300, Daniel assumed, so he went on to dry his hair. But it was then he noticed the usually noisy Dealer was very quiet.

“What is…” Daniel threw the tower away, to stare into a barrel of a Saiga.

“Daniel, Daniel.” The Dealer sighed pathetically to the shocked stalker in front whose face depicted a “You betray me” sign. “Before you die, you should know that I am an entrepreneur. A businessman. I don’t know what is your tie with General Krushnev, but he was really fond of you, at least for your dead body. Pays me lots of money, more than you can ever made in your god-forsaken life.” He explained while pacing to Daniel’s front.

“You know, ever since he replaced General Badin as The Director, I am richer. He is my contact, my business associate. And you, Daniel, are just a pawn, a pesky bumblebee. But don’t worry. When you’re dead, I’ll be sure to let you have a decent burial.”

“Yeah, right beside your momma’s grave.” Daniel responded, but somewhere inside his head, another important name was keyed in.

“I have enough of this talk. Any last word?”
“Iggy, Iggy. What you gonna do? Shot me, Iggy? Come one, Iggy, I’m…”

Seeing the fat face fired up into a plump iron of red, Daniel knew he was almost there.

“Iggy, you better…”

“NO ONE CALLS ME IGGY!” The Dealer blasted. “AND I MEAN NO…”

While The Dealer went on to rant about his most-despised boyhood nickname, Daniel noticed the eyes were moving. He was no longer paying attention to his Saiga, the stalker knew. Distracted.

Shifting his body weight to the back, Daniel created an avalanche of pressure to the tattered couch he sat on. The sofa reared as its springs groaned. In lest then a second, Daniel was projected onto the floor. Daniel’s split-second calculation told him that his leg would be kicking the Saiga of the hand simultaneously to the time when he landed.

As with most fat man, The Dealer’s reaction was slow. When he woke up from his ranting and realized a catastrophe in the making, he pulled the trigger.

***

Lieutenant Gustav heard the distinctive gunshot. He looked puzzled at his comrade, for both of them recalled the sound even under the heavy torrent.

“It came from the back, I am sure of it.” The sergeant pointed to a building 600 meters away. Suddenly, it struck them both. The prey was inside there! It must be!

Unhesitatingly, they ran.

***

The Arts of war stated ‘know your enemies and win the battles.’ Daniel knew everything about The Dealer, but he had never imagined one day, he would be pointing his HP-SA at him. The Dealer was not his primary antagonist before. Now, driven by greed, he had turned into an ally-forsaking fiend.

The Dealer froze in terror as Daniel came slowly to his feet, careful not to leave his eyes away from the iron sight crosshair. The Dealer was powerless- his Saiga 12K was a few feet away, and that bulging belly of his would never be fast enough to dodge bullets.

“Too bad, Iggy. Could have done better to kill me than shooting your roof.”

The Dealer stared at him with contempt.

“Daniel, stay cool, okay?”

“Tell me something about this General Badin.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Your life.”

“You know you can’t kill me with you want to stay in The Camp.” The Dealer replied menacingly. “There are many who would kill you in return.” By this, he implied the clans and stalker on his payroll.

Daniel knew it was pointless to argue on, so he switch on the laser scope underneath the Browning to let the Dealer see that the dot was at his genital.

“I don’t know much about sex-changing operation, but I can give it a shot.” Daniel replied coolly with sarcasm to the man whose forehead formed beats of sweat onto to situation. “If you know what I have in mind, you know that is the major step in those operations.”

The Dealer dared not move a muscle. Only his eyes looked cautiously downwards to see where was the dot pointing.

“Now,” Daniel cocked his pistol to indicate there was at least a bullet inside the chamber. “I’ll do it for free, unless…”

***

When the two Spetnatz burst into the room, their AKS-74U readied on hand, the unconscious fat man on the floor they saw still had life in his body.

While his subordinate reached down for the man’s pulse, Andrei did a quick search in the room. Shotgun pellets marked the roof, while a door leading a another room was wide open, revealing the contents of green army boxes inside.

Where did he get all this? The soldier mused. It must be from someone from above. But he was not a wannabe policeman. He was a fugitive hunter.

“Sir, he’s good.”

“Damn you, Daniel Gillian!” the hysterical man screamed at the two man, followed by some swearing in Ukrainian about their mothers and personality.

But when he saw the black BDU those men wore, he paused.

“I really appreciate if you stop cursing about our family background.” Lieutenant Andrei Gustav responded in fluent Russian. “I heard you mention the name Daniel Gillian?”

“You speak English?”

“Yes, took ESOL in my free time. Now, where is he? We were here to…”

“So you are the Spetnatz team Krushnev mentioned!”

Both soldiers looked at each other. How could he know the general?

“Yes, Daniel Gillian was here. He went down the stairs, ya?”

“But we came by the stairs!”

All of them looked at each other in awkward surprise.

Perhaps it was the tickle of the cold wind, or the swinging of the ajar window panel under the storm. Whichever it may be, suddenly they were jerked to the truth- the window was open! Daniel went down there!

Only darkness and raindrops greeted them when there spontaneously ran and looked out the window, along with a long rope tied to the Dealer’s desk then extend downwards. Daniel Gillian, the fugitive, had escaped.

At the same time as the two Spetnatz who ran down in vain hope to catch the fugitive, The Dealer stormed into the storeroom. “Damn you, Daniel!” He knew something was missing- Daniel mentioned he would need something to go into The Zone. It would take days to find the merchandize missing, but he assumed Daniel took them without pay. When he found out what he took, Daniel’s head would be his first before General Krushnev.

In the rush, the ward of ruble on his des was unnoticed, even though it was pressed neatly with his Saiga 12K. Daniel Gillian, as the noble and principle man he was, left money on the table to pay for the merchandize he exacted.

***

Somewhere inside The Zone an hour later.

Like any Zone night, pitch-black darkness surrounded everything like a thick shroud. Although Daniel’s FN2000 had a flashlight, it was off after he got out of The Camp. With only the dim moonlight guiding him, he walked cautiously with every step, his FN2000 ready to be operated on nanoseconds notice. Trying to stay on asphalt with every step he took, he remained careful to avoid the forests. Staying on the plains was a better option if he wanted to survive.

Somewhere among the subsiding storm, Daniel saw a derelict building. A cement house, to be exact. He didn’t need anyone’s advice to get shelter from the house for the night.

After he settled down, he sought for dry wood inside the building. The place was evidently a former dacha, the living places of the rich and powerful during the Communist times. Daniel was not the first person to step in here. Everything laid in ruins- broken furniture, doors that was knock off its hinges, shattered plates and cups, and little pieces of bones. Like most stalkers would do, he checked the dacha for 5 times before he presumed it was safe.

Five minutes later, the main entrance was barricaded and blocked with wood to ward off any intruder long enough to get him ready. Anything that tried to enter would be eating his bullets, Daniel thought as he reached for the flask that he bought from the Dealer. After heating up a can of black beans for supper, he made himself coffee with the fire he built from the dry wood. After he prepared the drink for the next day, he put out the fire and prepared himself for sleep. Utilizing the backpack as a pillow, he stayed near the diminishing fire to keep himself temporary warm before sleep befall his tired body.

Daniel recollected what The Dealer spoke before he was knocked off. He was told that General Badin was the former Director, but General Krushnev was his assistant. Something happened, and suddenly General Krushnev was the Director. The Dealer never heard of General Badin ever since.

This General Badin might be an invaluable ally if Daniel wanted to bring General Krushnev down. But Daniel did not have whatsoever plan to do so. Like most stalkers in The Camp, Ukraine politics were never their business until they were caught and have to be deported, if they were lucky. He only hoped that General Krushnev would stop bothering him, to let his life resume as normal. Going into hiding might accelerate that process- he had food enough to last him for a week. By then, he hoped that Krushnev would think he was dead, and stop bothering him. Maybe he would sent Spetnatz, but he could dodge them.

But going into hiding too itself was an illogical action. Even now, Daniel found himself facing a formidable opponent- The Dealer. Before he was knocked out, The Dealer promised to kill him whatever the cost was. No doubt, by morning, unethical stalkers would be looking for him in exchange for certain bounty. Thinking this, Daniel shuddered. He had to be extra careful. 30 square kilometer of land was not that large when you were hunted by packs of stalkers motivated for your head.

Everything that had happened for the last eight days was slowly psyching Daniel out. He no longer sure if he could really tolerate all this experience anymore. He never thought a stalker’s life could be this ‘colorful’ when he took The Mission; nor did he expect the military would come hunting for him. All this, just because he was desperate for 1500 rubles.

But was it worth it? Yes. Daniel did not regret that decision, because when he promised to carry up the mission, he did not know all this would happen. He had no remorse. As the man he was, he would sort them out one by one.

Tomorrow would be a new day, Daniel believed. Tomorrow, he would recover his backpack at the abandoned hospital. The PDA then would be given to Dr. Joel. Beyond that, he was uncertain, but he would face life as it comes.

Everything would be all right tomorrow.