The term crops up in all facets of media. Alone. I'd bet noone knows just what «Alone» is. Its a blessing and a curse, depending on to whom you speak. I of course, can see it both ways. There is no such «black and white» as they say when you cross into this desolate world, only shades of gray persist. And now is a time where my loneliness acts as a crutch, giving me time to plan my actions, and thwarting the wretched grasp of others. With only the soft crunch of oil-stained gravel as company, I examine my suit, my weapon, myself… keeping artifacts in order and to meet my timely checkpoint with the acqusitions officer I am appointed to.

Another knife in the back, but these officers take no blame… they also are the corporate pigeons, lured in by tales of fabulous wealth. It started as follows. At a then-unknown time in 2006, the ashes of Chernobyl relit. Noone knows why or how, but a force equal to that of untold megatons of TNT had poisoned an ever-growing plot of surrounding land. Initially deemed by the local talking heads as «a small nuclear detonation», the worlds attention was seized in an instant. What had happened? What could cause this place to exist? Termed «the Zone», the surroundings of Chernobyl had ceased to follow physical laws that had for its entirety governed the land I walk on. Megabuck conglomerates, eager to save their own, bore wide open arms and promises of gradeur and fortune to anyone brave enough to champion the land and capture precious bits of material. If anyone could posess… harness this technology, the world would succumb to them.

Life as a mercenary was enough for me for most of my days. Hopping abroad fighting for religious zealots and political uprising, I fought fanatically for a decade now. The adrenaline, the knowledge that my unsung actions made headlines, it was an unequaled rush, but emptiness always followed. I saved people daily, yet I am construed as a faceless terrorist. I am never thanked, appreciated. Just an image that absorbs hatred of the unthinking… unknowing. How do laws abide to those living to eradicate forced order? And here was an offer I would be stupid to miss. My face adorning global newscasts, conqueror of the most hostile terrain ever to rear its ugly head in human history. Millionaire. Perhaps my fame would lead to a family. I've never known family… I am an orphan since my earliest days. No longer the unsung hero, but the savior to the people of Russia.

The lying puppeteers controlling us have long stopped advertising their offers. There are a select few of us out here, which is what they all prefer. Are the corporate entities fighting for the world? I wonder if I am the Infineon Commando, fighting the Microsoft Warrior. Or some other silly label associated with our employers. At any rate the Zone has worked its magic on most, reducing our dreams from stardom, wealth and power to simply begging for the ability to live and understand why this land is irreperably warped. In exchange for the prized bits of irradiated, charred crap, they supply us meals and occasional bits of ammunition. My bretheren now roam the lands, searching… stalking for the holy grail of artifacts from this catastrophe. Hopefully, they say, the last pieces will be discovered and they can return to a normal life. All the promised millions would treat us to a relaxed existence henceforth. All the while the Zone grows unopposed, the sheep… excuse me, general populace still cling to the infantile hope that these phenomenon will cease.

And they will not. What none other than the small group of dead scientists and myself know is this: the consequences of this event will consume the earth if I do not intervene. I am not positive that I was the first to discover the signs of this awful truth, but I am fairly certain those stalkers are no longer here. Their flesh serves as a container for my spent ammunition. Amidst the wastes of twisted steel, blackened concrete, leaking barrels of God-knows-what is a growing area where time no longer progesses with that of ours. In fact, quite the opposite… it is spinning back. I called it the shear, due to its appearance of having no definable end or beginning. At an exponential rate, noone could at first tell anything had gone awry. Those unforunate few who have entered went mad almost instantaneously. Now their grotesque carcasses roam the land, degenerated into a form unfit for public view. They cry at most times, first with fits of relentless bellows and sobs, then degenerating to primordial screams. It curdles your blood, and rightfully so. Their minds see you, us, as food, the enemy, or some incarnation responsible for their horrid fate and you will die to ease their pain and right all that is wrong. I pity them… some cry for their mom, simply asking why they have been slighted. And as this warped field grows, the alliances, treaties, and warfare of the stalkers begin to crumble as the will to survive grabs center stage. The armed forces sent to rescue us will also fall in due time.

And I do not have much time. The acquisitions officer can wait. What I can tell you is this: my rigorous searching has pieced together this scenario. Sometime in the year 2005, Russia, in its economic grave and populace at unrest, needed an escape from its bleak reality. Once the pioneer of space travel, nuclear technology, and weapons manufacturing, Russia in its present state is a mere shadow of its former power. Loyalists to their motherland had seized Moscow, Stalingrad, and other political centers and through political antics, have instated a new regime. Their first and foremost project as unelected officials was to gain the publics favor, and what better way to do so than build upon the pride of their once mighty nation?

Russian scientists had been working on multitudes of secret projects, not unlike those of the black ops in other nations. Before the economic collapse, a particle accelerator double the capability of the newly rebuilt CERN in Switzerland was underway. However, funding had frozen as the nation reeled into its downfall. 2005 marked the year this bit would finally complete. Built in secrecy in the lands encircling the waste of Chernobyl, no public nor private eyes laid upon this fascinating showpiece as it completed its last stage of construction in January that year. Tests immediately went underway as Russia attempted to best the world and discover the remaning pieces of the makeup of matter. With their Proton Collider producing an unheard of proton collision with the force of 22 TeV, local scientists were stunned as a staggering amount of data accumulated was discovered. Previously unknown bits of antimatter appeared, quarks, bosons and the building blocks of our univers were on display like never before. Quantum theorists conglomerated as they now had the information necessary, and resources capable to create, or portal to, an AntiUniverse. On April 12th, 2006, 2:33 PM, the Collider went online.

Now a raging AntiUniverse is deconstructing our world, reversing our time and eventually reverting all of what we know back into nothingness. The barrier before me was once invisible, until an odd phenomenon occured. One could see the Sun, complete with tainted skies, and 2 AM. The world we stood in was enshrouded in its familiar darkness with only the backdrop of our moon to illuminate itself. Leaves fluttered up to trees very slowly at first, but in a days time would fly into trees, morphing with their structure. The ground would heave water from its surface, torrents rocketed back into the clouds that bore them. And it was becoming a blur.

Then the light hit. I turned away, my skin burning from an energy undescribable… I expected sound but an eerie pressure filled my ears. The skies pulled apart, vast cracks tore through the horizon. Clouds to mountains… all fell into these black vacuums. Light would shear on its course to my retinas, bending in a supernatural arc toward nothingness. A horrible feeling of tension gripped my heart as I faced my end. A colossal shriek filled the atmosphere, loud as a tornado immediately overhead, yet distanced far, far away. And it was over as soon as it hit. Quaking shocks rippled back and forth between these worlds, buckling land and terra into twisted shapes. Thunderclouds formed, spilling their contents into the black rip. I hurriedly set foot into the shear, hoping to live on in a time spiraling away. But it stopped. A hum filled the air and various control towers loomed into view as I ran deeper into the strangely familiar land. Heavy breathing echoed into the night, and a hand placed itself on my shoulder.

«Identify yourself!» A thick accent was detectable.

«You speak english!» I thought about how stupid this question was.

«Da. Identif… STOP!» I sprinted across a large grass field, which appeared to be the center of a 8 mile ringworm. Was this their creation? Why were those utterances not reversed? I extracted my Heckler & Koch MP5 SMG, in hopes this would explain to the security personnel that they should not physically impose me further. I chased a pack of whitecoats clumsily following eachother to a central building, tablets in hand, headsets livid with chatter. The tiles squeaked briskly under the rushed steps. I trailed the group at range to an auditorium of cameras, press, and VIPs staged around a centric console encircled by monitors. Machinery towered above me, only one cylindric piece of the enormous accelerator. Crowds screamed as I barged toward the hub of activity, MP5 in hand. I joined the stare of the frantic melee, yet time seemed to shift. Shouts would hit as muffled, dull utterances, or squeals; people sped away in speeds unbelievable and conversely, impossibly slow.

The lead scientists at the terminal lay in a tortured heap, mouths gaping in silenced screams. Small rivers of red raced from their labcoats, mixing and coagulating with various fluids from the unidentifiable technology. Sparse fires broke out. Security forces ended my havoc with a wall of projectiles, all aimed better than I had hoped.

I know the news that day will read as a faceless terrorist murdering innocents, stunting years of scientific research into how the world works. I've bought the world time, and yet again I am the festering example of hatred to be despised. And again my works fade away, unsung.