"I said sit down, don't stand there." Zhorik insists. Unsurprised, I sit down at the campfire lightning up the dark night. Last time I had seen Zhorik he was a bouncer at the Bar - not any bar but THE 100 RAD Bar in Rostok and I – I was a young Loner looking for the Klondike of artifacts everyone had promised. A lot has happened since then.
"Greetings wait." Zhorik carries on and points at the Stalker across the fire. "Mah-kuh-loh-v, carry on!" he drawls with a grin dragging the name longer than necessary imitating the slurred speech of a Zombie.
I look at “Mah-kuh-loh-v”. He wears an old torn military suit; likely claimed from a poor soldier unable to complain. It is dyed black either by dust or a costly sense of fashion that usually gets you killed.
From the dirty green swamp to the bright colors of the red forest, there's no place for black colors. Unless you go underground. The SA Avalanche loosely hanging from his back reveals that this is no rookie. No patch. Do I have to be careful?
Before I can finish the thought Makulov clears his throat beneath his Mask-1 helmet - a solid choice - and leans forward. As he starts talking, I understand why Zhorik was making fun of him - his speech was dragging, swallowing letters and at times it sounds like he is inhaling while talking
"I-ihd aall sta-hted ad thee Ga-aten. Haad waas spi-inning. Laights touh brihihght. Pah-hinfuul.
Thehn grena-ade. Trai-hed to stoop hiim, shoot. Too-oo laate. Boohm. Then. Mah guun. Moved. To my hea-eahd. I pu-lled tri-igger. Ih dro-opped deead. Ih thought."
I cannot follow. I look at Zhorik, but Zhorik focused on Makulov does not care to explain, but Makulov notices my irritation and adds with some frustration "Ah survi-ved but mah jaw di'not." As he puts down his mask, his slowly revealed face leaves me in shock. Where the lower jaw bone should have given the face character, there was just a sack of skin without scars. “Tough luck”, Zorik states, unaffected. Makulov continues now looking at me his skin bag wobbeling “Ih do-nt knoo. Mahbe it waas a controher. Mahbe an anomele. Id ma-hde me kill mah self. Luckelee, I failed. When I wohk mah jaw wahs go-hne. I hada Pedl in mah po-het. Laer a doc did dhe rest.”
I look at Zhorik again. He seems unimpressed “I will send you some coupons as promised. If you have anything to share about what happened at Yubileiny it will be more.” Zhorik waits attentively, but Makulov shakes his head.
“Too bad.”, Zhorik sighs.
Zhorik turns to the side searching his bag. I look across the campire at Makulov’s cold eyes. Does he pose a threat? I have to make a decision now. I look at Zhorik still searching through his junk unalert. Alright.
I swiftly draw my silenced UDP Compact from my back holster and unload a .45 into the back of Zorik’s head. Without waiting for the body to drop, I turn around pointing the bullet at Makulov and say, “Listen, I have no trouble with you. I am a mercenary. My contract only covers Zhorik. I have no bullets to spare, but I rather give than receive, if you get me. If you listen, we both live. Remove the bolt from your rifle. Slowly please. Good. Now throw the bolt over there like a good Stalker. Perfect.” Makulov follows my instructions calmly. Too calmly, I think. Most would show at least a little unease, but this guy… I should shoot him to be sure. I grab Zhorik’s PDA without lowering my UDP. “Zhorik has become a bandit after losing his job at the bar. Check his body when I am gone for proof. He killed the wrong Stalker. I returned the favor.” Usually, I don’t myself. Makulov does not seem to care. He sits motionlessly staring at my gun. Should I?
I slowly move back while looking at Makulov. Then thicket obscures the view. Strange guy. My muscles ease. I look at my PDA planning my path towards the wagons south of the terminal. Another job well executed. Sid will be pleased.
