American fellow wasn't careful at all. In spite of his bulletproof vest, his expensive-looking janapese multizoom goggles with motion tracker, and his fully automated Benelli shotgun, he could not stop the death. Cunning just enough, Mister Grim Reaper has come to him riding a 56 pound rusted steel shaft right through his face. He stood in the muddy puddle now, his legs still twitching from the violent blow. Last impression was clearly seen on man's face, gross disbelief glazed away into darkness of the room, splitted by the two inch rod.

How the hell could a little girl be that quick? How the hell...

Five seconds ago, dead man was Frederick Thompson, C.E.O. of the SyLog Software, very wealthy and distinguished american businessman. A businessman with the special taste in peril. His presence in the Zone was just another form of entertainment. Face it - when you're done your share of swimming with the dolphines, bungeeing and paintballing, there isn't much a rich man could do to amuse himself.

So poor Fred seated his 12 millions dollar LearJet and headed here. Five minutes ago he drank his last glass of Merlot inside of luxurious airplane, put his fresh new army gear on, and entered the Zone.

Chances are, by this time tomorrow there will be only a skeleton. Things do happen that fast here. In the Zone. Food chain was hyped here all right, neverending food frenzy and haste.

He even hadn't seen Maruskha's face as she used lethal havy piece of russian decomissioned truck. Not that he wasn't fast - but she was way faster. His Nike&Adidas three-times-a-week training just wasn't up to russian woman's raw strenght. Wasting no time, she quickly picked up gun fromthe wet floor, tossed it in her backpocket, and left the room. Silhouette of the young female killer was dripping with heavy, rancid rain. Sky above was colored in sympathetic black, all black. National Geographic says black was the color of the Zone. Fuck it, she thought, I've lost my tv privileges long ago. She knew what to do. Far from the smell of already decaying man, she checked gun's magazine. Twenty 0.24 cal rounds inside of plastic container engraved with red biohazard signs and decals, below thin gray barrel. Voltage readout still gave healthy +3kV sign. Encouraged by the small token, she thumbed gun's safety three times (clickon clickauto clickfulldispersion) and calmly walked away from the crime scene. Oh yes, she knew what to do. Next stop was Rivne, town just at the Zone bounds. Safe haven. Asylum. End. She could get there. Just play it right, she thought, play it right Marushka. Get there, and sky is the limit. Goodbye zone, goodbye fellow stalkers. Cash in and kiss all of this misery goodbye. Either Mallorca or New Zealand, never mind. Just away from this slow death, this treacherous rain and twisted wind.

German patrol was stationed two hunder meters northward. She heard them speaking now, laughing their bavarian accents across the encampment. German sign on the sleeve meant much more now to her - she learned they are skilled fighters the hard way. Scar on her left cheek was proving that fact. On all four, she crawled from behind, smelling the main man's tent. Oh yes, that one. Tall square plastic roof, Krupp sentinel cannon in front of it, security lights, all bells and whistles. German crew was well taught. No living thing could step inside the invisible perimeter. Pardon that - except one. Little russian girl swiftly climbed tallest cypress near the camp, and strung herself for the jump. She took the main man completely by surprise. Roof collapsed under her weight, carrying her on top of the Hauptscharfuhrer's head. He did, however, reacted by the book. Still confused by her plump, he grabbed her and punched hard, launching Maruskha across the small quarters. She landed in the corner, overturning his desk full of Zone specimens along the way. And immediately, she picked the gun, aligned it with soldier's eyes, and pulled the trigger. Now, you must know two things. First, don't use plasma weapons indise closed quarters. Second, don't under any circumstances, stand in front of one. Flame bursted over German's torso. He was half cooked the same moment. Other half was gone, disintegrated into thin air with large pop.

Trained team outside reacted within two seconds. But, she was in control of the Krupp gun. Pulling the saftey off, she pressed big red button on the side of the tribarrel mammoth.

Cannon whizzed promptly, rotating his dainty crab headed torso, picking armed targets outside the perimeter and painting their innermost fears red with electrical charged bullets. German crew was dead. Last stop to freedom was behind her now. Happy about it, she stretched her newly grown tentacles on the back of her neck and continued her stroll toward the Rivne. Soon enough, tentacles will morph into wings. She knew it now. And then, the sky is the limit.