Impulses
Qwaar
Jesus Christ how horrifying
AN: I know the last chapter was titled Back in the Saddle. That was in fact meant to have the double meaning of myself also getting back into it and writing at a decent goddamn pace. That clearly didn't happen, but I hope to increase my pace significantly in the following updates however, as part of the delay here was a major shift to my lifestyle and schedule.
I'm also markedly less goddamn depressed, following employment and some other opportunities opening up in my life. I expect this to stabilize and then updates should be much more rapid.
Major thanks to @Erien for keeping on me to make sure I continued working, that I was diligent in my structuring, and also helping me through a section of this that was brutally difficult for me to write because frankly its just a different flavor than my norm. Enjoy STALKERS
[X] Eat the cost, having an exoskeleton on hand, especially a heavy duty one like this is too fucking tempting an opportunity to let go. Also, you'll annoy Cardan less.
-----[X] Hand him the other PDA, its going to leave him depressive, angry, and in need of alcohol, but he needs to know.
[X] Get some portable sleeping materials, and head over to the motorpool. The mercs probably won't pitch a shit about you bunking with them. It's not that you don't trust them alone with Pheela, or that you don't think she can avoid getting into trouble for more than twelve hours. You certainly aren't worrying about her getting any funny ideas about one of those idiots, or one of them trying anything with he- Hastily pack your shit and go.
-----
An exoskeleton. It's one of those things that people in your profession often fantasize about getting, having some sort of idea of the sheer level of power, and the sign of your disposable income that you can flash to the world. Much like Americans and their fascination with a particularly expensive anti-material rifle. However, with the means to actually acquire it available to you right now, the offer being made, and frankly the initial effort towards it… its something that seems much more achievable and practical.
Still, even with the spare parts and components to drastically cheapen this process, even with the fact you are refurbishing a suit you've acquired rather than commissioning one to be shipped or purchasing one outright. The sheer cost of this leaves you reeling. You've accumulated a healthy amount of funds, but that store was largely already getting reserved for the various survival supplies you will need for your coming job.
Food is going to be an issue, as is ammunition. The food you will be bringing needs to be something that can survive the time and rigors of the journey. Food that is compact and nutritious enough to manage the time and energy that will be burned. Food like that isn't cheap in the first place, much less in the Zone. Supplies of military ration packs and humanitarian MRE don't stick around in shops simply because there is a massive supply chain pumping them in. They also remain as something to entice stalkers towards the shops, before they buy something more affordable instead.
You don't have that option.
Your remaining funds after this purchase might be able to bolster your supplies with enough additional food for one person on your journey… and you still aren't sure how Pheela factors into this. Getting a grasp of how much food she goes through has been difficult, since she seems to eat such massive quantities, but only rarely. She eats like a bird most of the time, nibbles here and there and then gorges herself on enough food to kill a normal person.
Setting aside the somewhat unclear issue of food supplies you then consider the issue of your munitions. You have no fantasies you are going to be able to resupply again anytime soon. Your last few days in the Zone are going to need to give you everything you intend to spend in your entire stay on the other side of the gate. While your recent experiences with this place, which you now know IS in fact ACTIVELY trying to kill you, have been very harsh on your ammunition stockpiles, you feel that the other world will be much worse.
The Zone simply doesn't have many large groups of people that you can be forced to kill. Firefights happen, and they are presumably much worse on your ammunition than a society that can't really shoot back, but the other world doesn't have the same hazards as this place. If you get in a fight with bandits, or those people who wanted to acquire Pheela, there are going to be a lot more of them at once than you are used to. Ammunition will quickly become precious.
So many of your new weapons are very harsh with the price of their ammunition. While your trusty 105 may be able to burn through its supply of ammunition at a much greater rate than your relatively new SVU, or the secondhand SVD, or that old mosin, or any of the other weapons you've acquired… the ammunition is heavy, and bulky, and that means it's more pricey. Nevermind the more precise munitions meant for the rifles has a certain inherent draw to its value that drives that price up even without the cost of those with armor penetrating cores.
Then there's… Pheela, whose weapon handling could use more than a little work. She burns through ammunition at an atrocious rate, but you can hardly blame her for her lack of training or her circumstances. The gunships that are scattered around Zaton use the same ammunition in their turrets anyway, so you should be able to at least temporarily stave off that concern.
In fact, it's as you are considering those very factors that you accept the offer. You nod, considering how much easier the process of procuring and hauling that salvage will be with the exoskeleton. The systems involved in the suit were originally meant for loading and hauling afterall. The needs of the zone have retools and repurposed the design, and changed its form drastically with the technologies born of artifact research and application, but the original purpose can still hold true.
You are getting more than the ability to shrug off rifle fire, or break a bloodsucker's spine with your almost bare hands. Those traits are nice, but what an exoskeleton truly offers you is the means to carry the excess supplies, and gives the reliable endurance to actually complete a journey like this. Procuring the needed food will be a concern, but even if you had managed it how would you ever have carried it? The same with ammunition, a combat load is already fairly heavy and cumbersome, but to carry the supplies for a prolonged journey like this would be impossible as you are. These factors can be somewhat handled by Pheela perhaps, given her seemingly unending strength, but even she would have her limits, and eventually you'd be resorting to strapping things down to her tail with ropes and fucking twine. That would never be sustainable.
Hell, trying to carry in all the food for the journey is a somewhat foolish notion anyway. People DO live there. Travelers exist, even that goddamn werewolf seemed to identify as one so presumably procuring food on the journey isn't terribly difficult. Rubles wont help you there either, as even if you could somehow access your accounts over there, you have no means to transfer the funds, and the locals would see no value in the ruble.
No, trying to buy everything here for the entire journey is a dumb idea. Ammunition sure, but you'll probably be avoiding fights, and scaring people off shouldn't take much force. You'll figure out procurement later, but right now you need to even have the means to carry what you must to survive. Beyond that as you glance at the various armoring materials you recognize that you need the ability to survive what the world would never expect you to.
"I'll be commissioning the repair then." You commit aloud, Cardan seems unimpressed with your decision, probably not caring about your prolonged thoughtfulness. "Where I'm going I need the functionality, and its best I ensure a mechanic is familiar with the suit anyway, since I'll probably be coming back to have you add and recover systems as needed."
Speaking of those systems, and your ongoing supply concerns. You are now the proud owner of an additional three hundred rounds of 7.62 NATO, and you do have a battle rifle that makes use of such a round. That german make FAL, a pretty high quality firearm and a bit harder to burn through the ammunition supply than the MG3 these rounds were originally feeding. Part of you still wonders if pawning the machine gun off to Owl was the right choice, but right now it gives you the wriggle room to afford this. Sure the most distinctive system of the armor is specialized for the german MG, but maybe…
"How viable would it be to adapt the feed system for Warsaw belts?" You ask, and the mechanic gives you a briefly irritated look before he seems to genuinely ponder the idea.
"Well, the dimensions aren't very different, but it's different enough you can't just jam it in. I also can't just mill out another three millimeters." He admits, but his gesturing and tone doesn't make it seem like he's giving up on the idea. He seems more to be entertaining the idea and enjoying the thought exercise. "I might be able to work something out while I'm fixing the damn thing, but it's also the kind of thing where you might need me making custom belts for you, and I dont have the tools to do that quickly. Something that lets the rounds angle a bit to the side on more flexible links, but doesn't add so much distance that it causes feed problems with standard shooters."
"Don't commit to anything yet on that front, just a thought… though don't start the repair job right away. I have the money, and am going to give it to you, but…" You trail off, wondering how to do this tactfully. Cardan's annoyed expression comes back full force as he reaches up with one arm to scratch the back of the opposing ear. The annoyance gives way to worry when he sees you fishing around one of your side pouches, and you pull out the PDA from the tunnels.
You ignore the slacking of his shoulders as you hold the device out for him, and he takes it gingerly in his hands. He navigates the device quickly even with his awkward grip, and soon begins playing back the last log that is in the device, playing a familiar voice that he will never hear in person again. You do not move as the log plays, and neither does he, though you can see the blank and far away look in his eyes as he processes the implications. You aren't even sure he's hearing the log anymore when it reaches its conclusion. His grip is so tentative and weak you expect the PDA to tip over his fingertips and fall to the floor in the several seconds of utter silence that follow.
Without blinking or changing his expression at all however, he smoothly brings the device around to his side to settle it on his workstation with all the delicacy and care of an old treasured photo. He takes in a deep breath, and barely spares you a glance as he finally gives a verbal response.
"Out."
You do not question him, and smoothly exit the workshop as you leave a man to grieve over fallen comrades and destroyed friendships.
-----
It is somewhat distasteful after delivering bad news like that to someone to return to thinking about pure business functions with them. Still, the reality of your situation and the familiar circumstances in a place like the Zone mean that it isn't long before you find yourself doing exactly that. Cardan had pointed out that while he can work a lot of magic, he's still needing to get some tools together and has some systems that he just doesn't have the parts to fix.
The fact that the damn exoskeleton had a military grade hud system probably shouldn't have surprised you, but knowing that it was there now makes you inclined to try and replace it. The headgear up on the plateau was all ruined because the snorks had gotten at the bodies and over time gone after every precious bit of flesh of any nutritional value, and the dumb mutants had of course savaged all the helmets doing so. There's still another helicopter in Iron Forest however, and that place isn't as lousy with snorks. If there's bodies up there, there may still be working hardware in their suits you can bring Cardan.
Having a combat system that will identify movement and silhouettes of possible hostels even in dense foliage, display range calculations on the fly, as well as tracking your biometrics and those of any datalinked systems you may add in the future… it is extremely appealing. It's the kind of thing you would have given anything for back in your youth. Acquiring targets and eliminating ambushers would have been so much easier if you had this sort of gear back during your service.
Still, you are getting ahead of yourself. Cardan mentioned that it would need more than just him working on it. You need to get some replacement hardware, either by purchase or salvage. Having just tanked your funds limits your options, however you have a clear road to solving that particular problem, and it involves something you've more or less promised to do anyway. You still aren't exactly eager to try and tackle the Iron Forest, its a problem that's been festering and getting worse, but now at least you are getting something out of it besides whatever scraps you can see, maybe an artifact or two if you have time to probe the fields, and some batteries you stashed there before things went bad.
For now though, you need to consider the most basic preparation for tomorrow. That is to say, getting some damn sleep. You could just turn around and head into the bunks and sleep there like usual, but well… you have Diana with you, and you don't really need anyone asking why she walks around in circles before curling up on her bedding… or how she's flexible enough to do so.
It… actually hasn't occurred to you till just now that what you saw back in that mayo- Lords home… Dermid that was it! You hadn't had time to really think about it given you were getting sleep at the time, and then frantically getting purged of goddamn fleas. Humans… don't really curl up on themselves like that though. Yeah, probably best you don't have people asking questions about the female wild person who doesn't sleep like a human curled up at the foot of your bed.
You remember it being awkward enough when you were placed into a quarters Dermid seemingly thought you were going to use to get laid in. Even without the whole "Part snake and can pop you like a grape" thing factored in you have a hard time thinking of Pheela in that way, though you haven't yet really had time to think about why. It's not like it had that much of an effect on you when you caught her sleep talking at you that first morning with the language.
Still, you should probably check on her, and that helps solve the issue of figuring out this whole sleep thing. The mercs probably don't have much in the way of any bedding outside their own though, so that means picking up some sleeping supplies. Pheela's size means you cant really do anything for her. It's not like anyone is selling blankets. Well the mercs might have had something, depending on how their initial deployment went.
Though that would mean one of them calling Pheela over to share… the girl does have problems with the cold, and she did try to use you as a heater in her sleep. There are more mercenaries than there are you and that is more heat. Your neck pops as you twitch harshly for some reason. No no, the mercs wouldn't try shit, and Pheela is savvy and responsible enough to mind herself for more than twelve hours. You slow yourself down as you conduct business with Beard on autopilot, buying shit reasonably and not looking like some nervous spaz of a rookie.
The mercs are perfectly professional, and are grown goddamn men… who haven't seen a woman in quite some time. Pheela is also not familiar with local cultures and has been rather stressed…
You ignore the looks you get as you rapidly strap down your new sleeping supplies, and snap off some sort of quick explanation, that even you don't bother remembering; To Diana when she asks you what you are doing. Her extremely distinct cackle gets a few stares from the room, but it also gets people the fuck out of your ways as the two of you make your way back out the bulkhead. You are promptly reminded as you step off from the vessel itself that the swamp is a little more flooded than normal when you promptly plunge the water and loosened muck up to your goddamn thighs. You almost lose your hold on your rifle while steadying yourself.
Diana takes one look at your predicament, then glances back up at you. "Either gather yourself and find a better route, or gather meEE~!" Diana's voice sharply picks up into an odd screeching yelp as you sling the rifle and pick up the apostle.
Your next coherent thought as the two of up arrive atop one of the local ridges is that this was a terrible fucking idea. While Diana's size means she's not enormously heavy in and of herself, carrying her, your equipment, and that massive skull and pelt of hers in fact is rather exhausting. Put this on top of never really getting your knees reliably above water, and having difficulties seeing the better and more stable routes in the steadily worsening lighting conditions means that your legs are searing right now.
The fact you've only covered a third of the distance in this time crosses your mind a moment later as you gaze in the direction of your destination with sheer dread. Behind you Diana lets out an exasperated sigh, "and this is the man I pleaded to offer me his wisdom going forward."
You don't think she meant to say that loud enough for you to hear, as you continue panting and rubbing your legs. The only warning you get following that is the jingle of her totems as you suddenly find your view pitching back towards the sky and your back and legs supported as you are brought into motion. "Ar-are you carrying me?!" You sputter in embarrassment.
"I shall save your pride prior to our arrival, but we shall not be standing in the open exhausted till day turns to night and all the realms predators catch your scent." Diana explains, like you were still a babe bouncing on your babushka's knee. She's smiling as she does so, you can't see it in this light and at this angle, but you can fucking hear it.
-----
The huntress does in fact let you walk about the last third of the way over the route. By this point your legs have recovered enough that, with the added motivation of your shame at being fucking bridal carried by a woman a good deal shorter than you; you are able to move under your own power and at a reasonable pace. A reasonable pace that picks up significantly when your route almost carries you closer to the Iron Forest and you hear a shrill droning screech. In the dimming light you can't see shit, but it's still just light enough that you aren't inclined to pull out your night optics.
Still, it sounds like your flying ball of psychic rage is making its home somewhere back in that direction. It… frankly explains a lot, and you also aren't sure how to feel about that.
You'll deal with that later, for now you have other concerns. It isn't long before you approach the front 'gate' of your new associates compound, and you see one silhouette preparing to raise a firearm before recognizing the two of you. "Fuck me, Honeybee you could call ahead when you are coming back. You have our comms."
"Where's Pheela." You reply, out of patience and frankly returning to that nervous energy from earlier.
The guard, who you can't quite recognize even by voice as you don't deal with this group that often, lets out an annoyed grumble. "Oh back in the main 'hall.' We made a bit of a game out of guessing how much she could eat earlier, and then a couple of the boys decided they wanted to celebrate our coming fortunes. They've all been drinking since and I've been listening to their increasingly drunk- hey where are you going?"
Fuck fuck fuck, of course they have a stash of booze, probably horded over awhile and then never actually used. Never enough reason, and never enough security for those relaxing, but something they would always happily save booze for hoping to do. Yeah, yeah you can see this happening.
As such with the cheers and laughter and ridiculous noises coming from the group you shoulder your way harshly in the door and sternly glare at the suddenly quieting room. To your right, the majority of Hatchet's crew, though lacking the man himself are slumped in various seats, in different states of obvious drunken revelry as they look at you in some concern and confusion.
In front of you, sputtering and complaining about 'getting it in her nose,' is Pheela, with some mediocre import Vodka in hand, and awkwardly trying to find out how to clear her sinuses without being gross about it. She manages to sniffle her way into something resembling a normal state, though slightly sluggish in her movements and adjustments to her posture as she blinks and recognizes the two of you. "Is… something wrong?" She asks, with no real effect on her speech from what appears to be a significant quantity of alcohol consumption, as there are at least two empty bottles next to her, though hardly full size ones.
Diana at this point clears her throat next to you, and takes a step forward from your side before tilting her head to allow you to see the gaze of one amber eye through the socket of her mask. "It might not have occurred to you, but it may be worth noting that it is remarkably hard to actually impair a lamia purely by effort of drink and spirits."
The wild woman is not particularly subtle as she makes this statement and you can see that Pheela heard her. Your serpentine companions ears tilt while she squints and is visibly trying to figure out what the hell the two of you are talking about.
"Look, I'm just being careful and mindful. Maybe I assumed a little much, but that's perfectly normal." You say, not sure if you should be annoyed or grateful someone didn't take advantage of Pheela, or that Pheela didn't accidentally take advantage of someone else.
Pheela looks at you, blinking. For a moment she looks briefly annoyed, whether that is from you interrupting her or from the fact that you doubted her you cannot say. Then a moment later she blushes, moving the bottle slightly to the side as she smiles at you. "I'm fine, it's… not very strong."
Cheap vodka it may be, vodka is vodka. Her constitution is noteworthy, then again, hasn't everything regarding her physiology been noteworthy up to this point? You have a moment to process this before a loud and rough laugh sounds from the other side of the room. You turn your head to see one of the mercs laughing loudly, his own glass threatening to spill over the side of the table.
His laughter is followed by others in the impromptu bar, though theirs are a touch less gregarious. The one who laughed first is lightly shoved by his comrades as another walks up to you, it's a rather squat figure. Fat but with signs that the bulges in his jumpsuit are entirely blubber. Well, that and you can see the fucking PK he left behind on the table. "You think you were gonna mention she was one of those fancy types? Last time she ate with us she seemed confused there was only one fucking spoon."
You stare at him a moment, then at Pheela who is happily and stealthily filling up another glass with vodka. With a sigh you turn back, "I'm… not sure I can say honestly."
"Say that she is one? Or that you don't know?"
… "Yes, and I would not suggest you bug her about it lest you find out if she can in fact get drunk on your piss potato juice."
The merc stares at you a moment before laughing just as loud as his first friend did and walks off. Leaving you alone to your thoughts a moment before you wander over to the 'bar' yourself and steal a drink from Pheela.
The lamia gives a noise of annoyance briefly, before realizing you are sitting down next to her.
At the moment you do so she pauses, then surreptitiously shifts her coils so that she is shoulder to shoulder with you. Something rather common for her you find, you would… perhaps call it imprinting, that may be the wrong term, but you were never one for fancy words to begin with. She has latched onto you that is for sure, about as much as a group of fucking new loners latch onto Wolf. Something paternal and safe, and something you are rather… uncomfortable with honestly, as she reminds you of some things from your own life.
But that's why you bonded so quickly with her isn't it? While part of you wonders if that's really… okay, for the moment you indulge yourself.
"It's strange." Pheela says, suddenly, not in a particularly low tone but more like she suddenly had the answer to a question in class.
You shift your shoulders a bit, and she nestles into the new gaps. "Not that odd really, a bit uncommon maybe-"
Pheela grunts and shakes her head. "Not what I meant… gatherings like this, drinking with new-" she trails off slightly as she glances towards the mercs, an expression that isn't distaste but could be mistaken for it while she hunts for a word, "'friends,' it feels like some memories back home. Their garb still bothers me, and I still see… but I can also so easily see the faces of my fathers friends."
Oh, you see what she's getting at. "Ah, some things must just be universal I guess." You say, though the implication, her phrasing, it only makes the question fester more in the back of your mind now that the mercs have brought it up directly.
Diana, you are well aware is important. She's a religious authority from a land where that apparently has an extremely tangible effect upon the world. Her significance is blatant and straight forward, and in traveling with her, and bowing to her whims as it may be that is also imparting a certain amount of significance to you. What you do may reflect upon her and thats going to be something to keep in mind going back through the Gate.
That is straight forward though, while you dont know the ins and outs of how the culture works, you can have a vague idea.
Pheela… Pheela you know little about you are starting to realize. Sure in the relatively brief time since you've met her you've learned to get used to Pheela, and understand her to a certain extent. You know her but it occurs to you you don't know about her in the same capacity you know about Diana. Sure Diana was a lot more in your face about it and you went in expecting something regarding that importance.
Your erstwhile apprentice seems however is also possibly important in her own right. She's never really said anything to indicate such. She has said things that in turn imply such. You still remember that she mentioned she thought her father had sent men to get her. She discarded the idea fairly quickly when it was clear how foriegn everything was and she had to think about it again, but it was a notion she had.
You met her in a cage designed for one, whatever group was preparing to sell her probably did so knowing who they had, meaning she specifically was wanted by some party. That's an issue you've never really even begun to deal with, and you are going to be heading back into that world with her, where those who would cage and sell her in rags would do business.
At some point, it appears the mercs have largely dispersed, and on autopilot you've shucked your pack and much of your gear while preparing your sleeping space. Pheela seems lethargic, either because of the late hour, or the significant quantity of booze she's downed. As you finish preparations, you are a bit slow to respond as she curls her coils next to you, and you end up propping your bedding against a wall to keep a somewhat upright posture.
You humor her unspoken request for company as the two of you prepare to sleep, and you smooth down the dark rusty hair that has grown unruly from its poor treatment lately. You quietly wish her a good rest, and lean back to nod off yourself.
"Who's Anna?" She quietly mumbles in question.
Your eyes snap open, and your heart drops out of your chest a moment as you process what your sleep deprived brain must have uttered instead. Looking down at Pheela though, she doesn't seem to have noticed, and in fact seems to have discarded the question entirely, just letting the question slip as she slipped off into slumber.
Your heart eventually resumes normal pace, and you drift off into slumber yourself, weary from an exhausting day, and preparing for yet another. Your dreams are of regret, decay, and the steady metronomes of a clinic you despised seeing.
-----
The ecologists will be arriving within two days. Duty will arrive with them.
Spend your day---
[] Spend the day preparing for Iron Forest, first with ranged surveillance from the hills, and then heading to Skadovsk to see what you can possibly scrounge together for appropriate plans and supplies.
[] You aren't poor, but you are closer to poor than you are comfortable being. You need quick money, and that means you need artifacts.
[] ??? (I'll try to quickly respond to queries if there are other things you want to consider doing in Zaton)
Your evening meanwhile
[] Get some early rest in, then meet up with Gonta's crew.
--- [] Bring Diana?
--- [] Send Diana?!
--- [] Maybe be more subtle for awhile, just go yourself.
[] You know what's a lot easier to see at night? Most anomalies. Get some artifact hunting in, picking should still be good after that emission… even if it wasn't really on schedule.
[] ???
