The Saga of Boris Unforgiven

  A mushroom cloud with a light red tint to it rose over the horizon, taking over the sky and covering the otherwise bright blue day. The land darkened below, light growing as dim as during late evenings. The sun disappeared behind the cloud, taking with it the last rays of hope. And then the howling begun. Strong gust of wind swept across Garbage, and with them came a sort of whispering and wailing of otherworldly nature. As if the ghosts of those perished to emissions came before it to warn the living. Boris and Dima were already springting towards the Depot. They barely had time to dodge the various chemical and gravitational anomalies. The sweat from the fight before mixed with the panic-induced streams that now created rivers down their foreheads and backs, but on they pushed. They knew the alternative, instant disintegration or zombification. The winds were now so thick with radiation and dust that it was hard to see forward, the landscape appearing grainy before them. Boris ...

  A single transport helicopter lazily spun its rotors as it prepared for takeoff. The spinning of rotors sent gusts of wind to all directions, picking up dust and brown leaves with them. Duty captain Veselov observed the scene with disinterest. They were here to help the military but the main mission Voronin had given them was taking down Boris Unforgiven and gaining a stronghold in Garbage. He turned his attention back to the military "pacifying" the Flea Market. One of their officers, Major Baranov, was executing prisoner after another with a PL-15 pistol. No matter what the stalkers pleaded or begged, they received a 9mm round to the head. The military was striking down hard on stalker activity as of late, the developments in the Zone having shook the top brass to action. Veselov wondered if these brutal measures had been authorized by the headquarters, but he sure as hell would not intervene. Loners brought this upon themselves, poking around where they shouldn't hav...

  The night rain drippled down the visor of a guard in the Meadow, standing just outside the factory entrance. The visibility was poor, as the rain was denser than usual, but through the downpour he spotted a pair of stalkers closing in. He shouted for them to halt and state their business. Dima, calm down, it's me and Micha, a man in a ghillie suit replied. So I assume the mission was a success, the old bastard is dead?, Dima asked, recognizing the voice of the stalker. Yes indeed. The investment into this ghillie suit came back, no one spotted me and by the time we left Dark Valley, the base was still unalerted. Thanks for loaning me the Val, the man said, handing back Dima's iconic suppressed weapon. Cheers, boss. Get inside, Vityukha has been keeping a fire going and Hip made some strange stew which is surprisingly good, Dima responded, inspecting his rifle before nodding and holstering it. The pair of newcomers entered the factory where a Redemption member in freshly paint...

  Wind swept through the rolling hills of Dark Valley, sweeping with it the fallen leaves of autumn. Rain pounded the ground, the droplets making it almost impossible to see ahead. Dark Valley was already among the most inhospitable places in the Zone with its gloomy athmosphere and dangerous inhabitants, and this weather did not help one bit. A single figure emerged from a gap in the border fence, entering the valley from the forests that surrounded it. Usually this entrance would have been guarded by bandits, ever since the Redemption faction became a known entity in the Zone. Tonight the guards had retreated to the nearby pig farm to gamble and drink, as no sane soul would travel in this weather. Even the mutants stayed in their nests and caves, the rain as vicious as the most fearsome bloodsucker. Braving the night, the figure moved silently through the downpour, clutching his Tactic variant of the Val rifle close to his body. He was wearing a ghillie suit, a rarity in the Zone...

  The morning in the Meadow begun as picture-perfect as one can get in the Zone. Sun shined down onto the large halls of the factory, and only signs of animal life were some insects chirping and a lone raven croaking on top of the factory. A few Redemption members kept watch at the factory entrance, seemingly suffering from a nasty case of hangover. Everything seemed perfectly serene, the howls of mutants distant and the normal sense of danger that the Zone posessed a little less prevalent. Suddenly, a shout came from the factory, shaking up the guards and startling the raven into flight. For fucks sake Boris, what have you done to this poor thing! The source of the voice was Polymer, inspecting the incredibly beaten up and decimated Mercenary Nosorog in front of him. Boris was standing nearby in a undersuit, stroking his beard nervously. Hey, you don't go storming the CNPP and fight for months without a little damage, he protested to the technician. A little damage? A LITTLE DAMAG...

  In few months, the former forgotten backwater of the Zone, Meadow, had gone from being a nest for mutants to a bustling base for the Redemption faction. While still a fledling force in the area, the faction was rapidly gaining fame and reputation thanks in part to the deeds of its founders and in part due to its participation in the deadly operations in Cordon and Darkscape against the emergent hordes of mutants. Today would be a day of celebration for the faction, the very first time for rest in the hectic months past. In the factory, a lot had changed ever since Boris first ventured to the Meadow. Vityukha, the ever resourceful ex-bandit, had found some old hospital equipment and brought it back to life, making a small office for himself in the administrative building. Some former renegade meanwhile had repaired a television, and while there was little they could watch from it, they had intercepted some stuff from the outside world and could at times watch some show for an hour...