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Kiva
Chernobyl #1 - S.T.A.L.K.E.R Quest 2016-11-06 00:29:35 Post No. 794971
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Chernobyl #1 - S.T.A.L.K.E.R Quest 2016-11-06 00:29:35 Post No. 794971
[Report] Image search: [Google]
File: session one.png (3MB, 1920x1080px) Image search:
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The Zone is a fledgling nightmare. The information leaked by the media as of late has brought plenty here, to the Exclusion Zone within the Ukraine. The swathe of immigrants and smugglers into Chernobyl has forced unease amid the State Security Service, which forced them to set up a checkpoint in the southern-most part of the Zone. There were still other ways in, but those were much harder to get in through.
The man you hired to smuggle you into the zone turned out to be newer to this than you had thought: he tried to get you in through the southern checkpoint. The few men stationed there accosted the two of you over the course of five hours: your guide was killed at nightfall, and you were thrown out of the checkpoint and into the Zone, with nothing but your empty bag and clothes on your back. The soldiers took just about everything from you—your meager food supply of canned meats, your knife, and your Rubles.
It wasn’t long until you remembered your destination, settling in the cold night—the Cordon, you supposed, had an encampment of fledgling immigrants to the Zone just ahead—though you were uncertain if you’d make it there without any protection. You eventually fell asleep along the roots of a deformed tree, though you were roused from your slumber by an encroaching military patrol.
With the cracks of gunfire, and rounds whizzing by, you broke from what was once admirable safety and began sprinting down the road.
With a thump, you stumbled onto your ass—you had run into someone. They seemed to have better luck than you did, catching themselves upon a wall—before they grasped your shoulder and hauled you into the dilapidated building behind themselves.
“What the f—” you started, but were hushed with a gloved hand over your mouth.
“Quiet down, man, they’ll hear you.” You fell quiet at their words. It took several moments for the patrol to double back and out of range.
It’s too dark to see them.
“New here, I take it?” he asks.
(1/2)
>>
You nod your head, and he stifles a chuckle, shaking his. “Welcome to the Zone, then, rookie.” He speaks boldly – adjusting superiority in supposedly any way he can.
He fishes something out of his pocket, and you stagger back to settle on the floor. The faint sounds of a sparkwheel shift through the night, before a fire lights from a Zippo lighter cradled in his right hand; a cigarette in his mouth.
“Do you smoke?” he asks, to which you don’t respond. “Quiet type, then.”
He’s clad from head to toe in a camoflauge reminiscent of ERDL, though it’s a bit off. It carries the shoulderboards that you had come to expect on military surplus from countries like Russia. It bares a hood, which seems to be good enough to conceal his identity. A trenchcoat is worn over this, and a bag over the trenchcoat. A VSS Vintorez is slung over his chest. Experienced-looking, to say the least.
“Tell me about yourself, if you don’t mind. Prefer to know why I shouldn’t just shoot you,” he seems to be trying to capitalize on the situation. You raise both hands; wrapped in woolen gloves.
“I’ll answer,” you plead – to which he nods his head. “Right.”
He asks a short series of questions.
> “What’s your name, Stalker? Or, what would you rather be called?”
> “Come here of your own volition?”
> “How old are you?—so I know if you’re just young and stupid to have come to the Zone.”
> “Any good with odd jobs?”
[2 of 2]
>>
>>794978
>Drag bodies
Anyways
>Shane
>Yes
>22
>What do you think? Of course I am
>>
>Boris
>No
>29
>"How odd is the job? "
>>
“My name is Boris—and no, I didn’t mean to come here. Twenty nine years old—and how odd is the job?”
Your conversation partner pulls his hood down, revealing fair skin and reddened hair. He scratches his cheek for a moment, seeming to ponder the question as he takes a drag from the cigarette.
“Odd enough,” he quips. “I’ll need you to give me a hand with something. I’m not certain of what it may entail, however. A man in a bunker nearby – Sidorovich – was intent on me finding someone else’s assistance for a job he had.”
“There have been trucks attempting to leave the Zone,” he replies, “some of them full of corpses. Sidorovich has been intent on investigating some of these. I have no idea why, however there’s no reason otherwise to think of it.”
“And, since I know enough about you to appeal to Sidorovich, you’ll be coming along.” He jostles the sling of the VSS Vintorez, bringing it to rest at his left side as he reaches down to his right leg. “But, you’ll be introducing yourself. The bunker’s out on the left, down the road and to the right.” The man explains, though you halt for a moment.
“What do I call you?” you ask.
“Savior,” he responds, and shoos you along with his right hand. “I’ll keep an eye out for the military patrol and see if they’re still wandering about.”
You found the bunker easily. When you reach the bottom, you encounter a metal door, akin to that on ships and submarines – you open it with little trouble.
Beyond, is a rather fat man – Sidorovich, you assume.
“Well, a new Stalker, I see. Must be.” he speaks, to which you rub the back of your neck.
“Savior sent me,” you respond – and he nods his head. “He wants me to join him on the job.”
“Right, right. You’ll need something, then: some form of protection, at least.” The heavyset old man rifles around under the desk. . .
. . . and sets a handgun on the table. You know enough about handguns to identify it – a Makarov PMm, fairly fine, if anything. Doesn’t look messed, either.
>>
> Abandon the job. A gun's all you need, right?
> Go on the job. Meet back up with 'Savior'.
>>
>>795360
> Go on the job. Meet back up with 'Savior'.
Sweet sweet plot hooks
>>
>>795424
so is this thread dead
>>
>>795360
>Go on the job. Meet back up with 'Savior'.
>>
>>795360
>> Go on the job. Meet back up with 'Savior'.
>>
>Go on the job.
>>
>>795360
> Go on the job. Meet back up with 'Savior'.
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