Chapter XCV: Siege of Limansk Part 7, Dead Air

 Three flashlights spread across a dust-filled corridor. ForA few lonely rays of cold winter sunlight seeped in. More flashlights appeared from behind the three initial ones, and soon the humming of nightvisions also echoed off the walls. The men moved in hasty steps, rifles trained on every corner and door. Surprised rats scurried away as they were struck by beams of light. The corridor was almost blocked by cabinets and desks full of documents, discs, notebooks and pendrives. Computers, massive screens and odd machines littered the empty spaces between the cabinets, seemingly forgotten there in a rush.

One of the men, in a worn-out Sunrise suit, picked up a document and lazily leafed through it. A massive figure in a Redemption Nosorog peered over his shoulder.

• Let's see... Some suit fragments brought in from Lingshan Island, a few mentions of a so-called Homo Novus Program, locations for labs X-10, X-7 and X-14, instructions for utilization of machines in the Anomalous Materials section of the lab... Interesting, I'll hold on to this for now, Rogue muttered to himself.

• I'll take a copy of that too, Boris said from behind Rogue's shoulder, startling the stalker slightly.

• Blyat, stop sneaking up on me. Wait, how did you even do that in a Nosorog?

• Redemption Nosorog mate, less protection than say a Duty one, but much quieter on normal use, with auxiliary systems that rival the scientific exo in prize tag and survivability. I call it "Absolver".

• Pretentious as always...

• Well, Dimuha's suggestion was " Big Boy Pants" so it was either that or this, Boris said in sour tone and Rogue chuckled.

• Alright tough guy, let's cut the chatter for now, we're here on a job. This place is giving me a funny vibe...

Boris nodded and followed his teammates. Orlov and Veselov were checking out the documents as well, while Sanyok and Micha were securing the offices ahead. Sanyok's voice crackled on the helmet receivers.

• Place is empty, haven't found a single soul or corpse. Micha, you got anything?

• Negative. There's stuffed mutants in this one room, some sort of stuffed horse mutant and one big ass monkey-looking thing with mouth like a bloodsucker, thank fuck it's not alive, another voice filled the ether.

• I'd light it up just to be sure, Orlov commented on the radio.

• Alright men, looks like this place is as empty as a Sinner's head, let's move to the lab. Orlov and Veselov with me, Sanyok, take Micha and Rogue and sweep this and the upper floor clear, Boris replied to the device

• Roger roger, came an answer from Sanyok.

Boris and the Duty duo opened a massive door leading into a staircase. Since all of them had night vision devices, the flashlights turned off to keep them a bit more hidden, even though the enemy would most likely know they were coming. They descended the steps and found themselves in a dimly lit garage. A vehicle ditch with a BRDM-1 recon vehicle stood there, catching the eye of Orlov. Two skeletons lay on the both sides of the room, fractured skulls and broken bones the tell-tale signs of a violent death.

• Looks like the former inhabitants got the short end of the stick, Veselov muttered.

The room was not of much interest, littered with half-broken and neglected items and tools. Veselov inspected the door leading further in, a large yellow-painted heavy model. He pulled a lever down and the door started to slide upwards. A mist-like substance started seeping from the crack, and the trio of stalkers recoiled back.

• Fuck, gas, check your gear!, Boris shouted.

Thankfully a stalker rarely leaves their suit open to dangerous materials, so this checkup was quick. With no other visible way forward, they moved into the gas cloud, weapons raised and primed for action. The murky chemicals rendered their night-vision usable, prompting them to turn them off. And with the devices silenced, only their beating hearts and careful steps echoed amongst the halls. What little Boris could decipher of the room around them, it seemed to be an office complex of sorts. Small cubicles with computers and stacks of paper, low ceiling, plenty of radiation. The Geiger counter sounded like it was about to have a meltdown, but on they pushed. Like the Liquidators of yore, their mission was the priority, survival was a secondary concern.

The silence continued on, until they left the office space and entered a raised platform, resting high over a concrete floor. Down on the ground, rows and rows of server equipment and memory storage devices rested in glass cabinets. More skeletons lay on the floor. And then it came. A door opposite of the one they had entered from opened, and a grenade flew out. Boris immediately pushed the Dutyers back, but the grenade blast still incapacitated him for a second. It had hit like a tank, and Boris could feel yet another wave of agony pass through his nerve system. Three Sin zealots rushed out of the door now, clearly anticipating a dazed foe. Orlov had been sheltered from the blow, and in a swift succession he emptied the entire magazine of his SVT rifle into the enemies.

The three cultists fell down, fresh holes in the kevlar and leather of their suits. Boris managed to regain his footing and senses, sharp pain pounding at his temples from the myriad of alarm bells blaring in his body. Keen to not let his distress be shown, Boris stepped forward and lunged for the door. With a heavy heave, the steel door slid open into an archive of sorts. Four large shelves contained rolls of old paper, age having coloured them yellow. A single skeleton in a guard uniform lay on the floor, front teeth missing.

• Damn, this guy is properly British, Orlov quipped while inspecting the skeleton.

• Oh no, the British are coming, Beard better hide the tea, Boris replied with a grin.

The room itself was also filled with gas, although less so than the two others. The shelves had dates from 1986 all the way to 2006, when they stopped. Boris was reading through a scroll depicting the fate of a government initiative called Interception when Orlov managed to pry the door at the edge of the room open. A hiss of air sucked the gas out, but one deadly threat turned into another when rifle-calibre bullets struck the door. The typical low growls of Sin orders followed suit, and a Sin berserker rushed into the room, smashing Orlov to the ground and charging Boris. With a quick pull of his USAS trigger, three slug rounds pierced the fanatic's skin and ended him. Boris stepped into the next room, automatic shotgun blazing, and a single zealot defender was no match for the deadly salvo.

The combat dying down, Boris lowered his shotgun and turned to check on the incapacitated Orlov. Instead of seeing a dazed Dutyer, he ended up looking straight up a rifle barrel, held by Veselov.

• What the hell?, he managed to yell before a muzzle flash blasted off the rifle.

Wounded in the shoulder and deeply struck by the impact, Boris fell to the floor, facing the attacker still. The shotgun fell from his weakened hand, bouncing off the floor.

• For someone who has allegedly survived so much, you really are an idiot. Do you not remember my brother? Captain Veselov? You murdered him in Garbage, Veselov hissed between his teeth.

• Him? Of course I do, he ambushed me out of the blue, without provocation, and refused to listen to reason. I did not wish to kill him, but he left me no choice, Boris protested.

• Silence, suka, you'll answer for your crimes. You and your band of hypocrites, Veselov shouted and raised his rifle at Boris' head. In his weakened state, Boris could not hope to resist.

A thundering roar filled the small space, but unlike Boris had prepared himself for, it was Veselov who received a lethal dose of lead, his chest bursting as a large-calibre bullet passed through it. When his corpse fell down, Orlov stepped from behind him, holding a smoking MR-412. He shook his head at Veselov and turned to Boris.

• Insubordination. Violence towards allied factions. Attempted execution of a friendly faction leader unprovoced. And finally, endangering a vital mission in pursuit of selfish interests. Final verdict, execution on spot. Now, let's fucking finish this mission, Orlov said in a grim voice, holstering his revolver.

• Goddamn, you Dutyers don't fuck around, do you?

• I've got family in the range of that doomsday machine. Veselov was my friend, but he wasn't himself after Artem died. I couldn't have talked him down, he was too far gone. Here, take a stimpack.

Boris stuck the needle into his skin and felt the medical wonder heal his wound quickly. He instantly felt much better, even if his hand was still sending signals of immense pain into his brain. Mission comes first, Boris repeated, as a mantra.

• We'll talk more about this when the fate of the world isn't on our shoulders, but just know, I don't intend to take revenge on Veselov's brother. We've all fought people we don't want to fight, hell, I don't want to fight Freedomers, it's pointless waste of lives, but such is life in the Zone. All we can do is forgive if we want a chance of survival, Orlov said and helped Boris up, his tone melancholy.

• Well spoken. Now, let us finish this, Boris replied.

The two survivors kept descending into the darkness, going through some more office complexes with no Sin defences. They had apparently relied heavily on the outside forces and left only skeleton crew to garrison the lab. It was all a haze for Boris, he could hear periodical echoes from the team members above ground on the radio, but all he could understand from it was that the fanatical allies of Vyraj had begun a renewed offensive. Boris murmured a prayer for his friends and subordinates and continued on. Orlov spotted the final destination first. A room at the other side of an underground loading bay, with a switch and a Sin fanatic pointing a gun at a scientist working on machinery. Orlov observed the scene for a second through his scope and determined from the wording on computer screens and warning labels on the walls that it was indeed the control centre.

• This is it. What's the plan chief?, Orlov asked quietly.

But before Boris could reply, the Sin guard noticed them, shot the scientist and begun firing at the pair of stalkers. Orlov and Boris replied in kind and the guard fell to concentrated slug and bullet hits. The Dutyer and Redeemed streaked across a bridge into the room, where the Sinner was pulling a grenade out. Orlov's revolver boomed and the zealot's brains splattered on the floor, grenade pin still intact. Boris sighed in relief and looked at the controls. The scientist, mortally wounded, rose up feebly and opened his mouth, groaning.

• You're... Too late. The machine is powered up, it cannot be... turned off from here. They built it that wa...y, he stammered before collapsing to the ground.

Orlov and Boris looked at each other in shock. All this, for nothing? Frustrated, Boris emptied his shotgun into the Sinner's corpse, pummeling it to mush.

• There must be another way! I refuse to give up! Not fucking now!, Orlov screamed furiously.

• WAIT! The explosives!, Boris shouted.

• What explosives?

• The ones at the Antenna! The ones Dima and others planted! We can still blow them up!

Orlov looked at Boris in disbelief, and then a look of relief formed on his face. Frantically, the pair started to look for a way out. Leafing through pages in the documents of the control room, Orlov came across a map that showed the loading bay door leading into a tunnel, which in turn led outside. Boris yelled excitedly and yanked the door controls down, praying to any entity for a bit of luck with it opening. And open it did, with a long and moaning hiss, fresh air crashing into the staleness of the chamber. Without breaking their stride, the two stalkers rushed out into the fresh air of Limansk.