The Saga of Boris Unforgiven

  Snow had fallen. The rows of derelict rescue and military vehicles had, for once, taken an uniform look as the fresh snow covered their roofs and frost had crawled its way up their windows. The dawn's early light had already begun to melt the white blanket, but it still struggled on, helped by the chilling breeze. The Digger camp had woken up from their far from cozy sleeping quarters, and now most of the dirty, dust-covered men marvelled at the sight of sheer bright snow. Boris, Dima and Toha were already up when the camp begun its return to life, the trio having spent the night catching up, discussing the faction politics and making plans with Wild Napr. The main resolution was that Toha would remain as the Redemption representative, having grown used to the rowdy but friendly company of the Diggers. Eventually Vityukha or Dimuha would send a squad to guard the camp, in exchange for the occasional artefact or piece of old technology but mostly to fulfill the philosophy of Redem

  The old and rusting drawbridge had seen many a battle during its history, the one between Clear Sky and Renegades years ago a mere footnote in its bloodsoaked history. Limansk was among the last proper city areas in the Zone to not be ruled by a faction properly, despite the squabbles of mercs and Monolith. Now, a single bandit gazed over the bridge, still completely focused on his guard duty. He raised his jacket up a bit, as the cold and crisp autumn air was starting to get to him. This was far too important. The fate of the bandits hung over him staying ready for anything. If the outpost fell, any hope of unified bandit faction would die with it. On the other river under the bridge, he saw movement. Old river barge, battered by the years of exposure to weather, chugged along the river. It stopped before the bridge, and its engine sputtered, coughing up a few last puffs of smoke before it died, possibly permanently. A squad of heavily armed bandits in ad hoc exosuits and reverse-en

  Screams. Wailing. Sobbing. Howling. Everything spun around Mark. The mine, the lights, the ghostly apparitions. This had been a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. They should have never came to this mine, he had doomed himself and his two companions. Anton was laying on the floor in fetal position, sobbing. A man almost two metres tall, clad in exoskeleton and with years of experience in the Zone, and that... creature had humiliated him so. Hip had ran away, shouting at the ghosts to stay away, firing her shotgun wildly. Mark himself could not move. The immense psychic energies pinned him down, spectres of all kinds battered him with their arms. His vision was blurry and hazy, his thoughts slow and cumbersome. And then, it appeared. Two embers lit in the darkness of the cavern. Two firebrands of immense hatred, disgust and hunger. The Alpha Karlik. It fed on their fear, lusted for it. It wanted them to suffer, to break, to die. It stepped from the shadows, barely a metre tall, it

  The sky crackled and flared over the Red Forest, as if taken over by a particularly aggressive and red batch of aurora borealis. Of course, aurora borealis did not appear this far south, but the Zone does have its own deadly variant in the forms of emissions and psi-storms. Boris and Dima had no time to ponder over the similarities between the Northern Lights and Zone storms. They sprinted through the forest for cover as fast as they could, sheer panic overtaking their thinking. The pulsing skies above struck them with psi-emissions, one after another, each pulse hitting them like a mental hammerblow. Boris could feel his brain bowling, his vision turned blurry and world around him started to lose colours. At times the trees and the ground took a yellowish hue, at times they lost all shades other than black and grey. It was clear time was running out for the pair. Only real formulated thought in Boris' head was to reach the partially collapsed tunnel near the drawbridge, it was t

  East of the Army Warehouses and north of the Truck Cemetery, there is an area know as the Forest Highway, a desolate place long forgotten by most. For much of its history inside the Zone, it has been inaccessible to all but the most careful explorers, as anomaly fields as thick and deadly as those found in the Meat Grinder or Symbiot anomaly cover its borders. However, there are still those in the Zone who know the most hidden of paths, taking after the legendary guide. The inviduals who have seen the Forest Highway after the anomaly fields settled and returned alive can be counted with the fingers of two hands. There is little to see in the Forest Highway at first glance. A winding road stretches across miles of open ground, both of its sides covered by lush forest and steep hills. In a way, it might remind a travelled stalker of Darkscape, and that indeed would be an apt comparison. Its main landmarks are a forgotten Freedom base, derelict now for years, a mine and a lonely village

  A delicious aroma drifted through the thick underbrush of Red Forest. A mercenary squad was resting by the Devilfish Encampment, grilling a boar on the campfire. Their leader, Alex Swank, turned the carcass on the flames, eagerly awaiting the meat to grow tender. They had been guarding the local Digger detachment for days, and for the first time in what felt like forever they could eat something else than just canned foods or MREs. The other three mercenaries were sleeping by the fire. Red Forest was still a nightmare, even more so as of late, but the mercs had grown more accustomed to it as of late. They trusted Alex as guard, and besides, the forest was less populated during daylight hours. Alex scanned the landscape ahead, and upon coming to the conclusion that it was safe for now, started cutting meat off the boar's side. Slowly, he ate a piece of the meat, savouring the taste of something more than just beans that had passed expiration date. He closed his eyes for a second o

  The veil of darkness was overtaken as splashing water and blinding light touched Boris' face. His entire body ached, pain pulsed from somewhere close to his left arm and side. Yet something was numbing it, taking off the edge of the sharp and relentless pain. Boris opened his eyes slowly, the light moved away from burning his retinas as he did so. Dima was watching him, looking stressed. There was also a man in mercenary uniform next to him, M40 gasmask covering his face. But simply from the way he stood, Boris knew it was the mercenary medic, aptly named Surgeon. Boris had delivered him a drug-making kit during his renegade days, yet didn't seem to remember a single other thing about the man. Well, he seems to be alive, that's good. That'll be fifty thousand, thank you,  Surgeon said in a disinterested voice. What the hell, I knew the mercs liked roleplaying Americans but that you even took the healthcare aspect of it too? But here you go suka, go drink yourself to d