We were human at some point.

We were all human at some point.

Warmth. It was blissfully warm, the sun high above keeping the temperature just under unbearable. When the wind, the gentle southern breeze, stopped blowing, it quickly rose to be uncomfortably warm. That was when he would jump into the water with his friends, the cool clear water of the northern boundary. It was fresh water, smooth on the skin, and deliciously cool. It was him, four friends, and the girlfriend of one of his friends. These six enjoyed the day as only bored teenagers can.

He regularly sat on a rigid wooden bench that overlooked the stretch of river where they swam. Warmed by the sun, he allowed himself to nap quietly while his comrades enjoyed the river. It was so comfortable, so enjoyable, it was as close to Elysium of ancient myth as one could get. There were other people around, laughing and enjoying the day. Rolling his head to gaze into the clear blue sky, he opened his eyes.

The river remained, sickly gray and toxic. The once bright and warm sun was obscured by the clouds of nuclear fallout that now dominated his homeland. The warmth of the sun’s tender rays was now replaced with cold, a stinging cold that bit the face and ears. Laughter, the laughter of recreational swimmers and the coy laugh of the girls was replaced instead by a distain wail, the inhuman wail of the wind through the skeleton of the town. In the ruins there were many bad things, cannibals, Gas Mask and Kalash Gangs, and mutants among others. He ignored them for now though and instead simply stared ahead.

He could see the distant land, the foreign nation where they did not have to ration out their food, where they did not have to guard against roving packs of Lurkers or the unseen dangers of a Bloodsucker. A foreign land that was not doomed to the slow death his homeland was. Here on the northern fringe, they had escaped the worst of the nuclear bombardment. The towns and cities had survived almost intact until the fourth winter, when the Neo Bolshevists had returned from the East. Burning and fighting a running battle with the locals, they had completely taken Marinograd and Guron before fierce resistance and winter weather forced them to fortify Guron and settle in.

Foreigners had come and claimed Forgeheim, within months constructing a huge slum that encased the Forgeheim Exclusionary Zone. The real locals regarded the slums with disdain, fearful of the Gas Mask and Kalash Gangs that quickly spread outwards from them. He was a local, living in a rural home between the towns of Marinograd and Algonak. His home was no a veritable fortress, a refuge in the storm of post Age of Strife Abruzi. Within were his parents, some friends, and several relatives who had been gathered. He was the only one who regularly left, sneaking out early in the morning to go where he willed.

Sitting on the once pleasant wooden bench, he almost remembered why he did it.

The crumble of some loose concrete in the ruins behind him awoke him from his recollections, he quickly slid his backpack onto the ground and laid behind it. He quickly slotted a fresh clip into his Kalash and slowly balanced it atop his pack. Using it as a support, he turned himself from a loner who was susceptible to ambush, into a marksman with a stable rest and a very lethal disposition. Panning his rifle back and forth, he quickly located the source of the noise.

Four Gas Mask and Kalash men sat under a small overhang, waiting for passers by. Each man wore a battered leather overcoat and jet black Gasmask, marking them as former members of the Ministry of Contentment, or Black Army. They had seen him, but his alertness marked him as a less than easy target, something that was not appealing for these predators. Like any good prey beast that was above the capability of the predators, he did not immediately run, but instead slowly slung his backpack and proudly walked away. Just before he passed out of sight, he gave them a wave which was returned. It did well to show respect and acknowledgement to those types, the types who could’ve easily killed him and did not only because he would’ve taken a few minutes.

About half a kilometer away he heard the rapid chatter of the Kalashnikov and the long low scream of a wounded man. Several excited voices drifted over to him on the winds, just as he passed the ruins of a Supermarket that had been reserved for upper party members during the Neo Bolshevist Times. On a spur of the moment he kicked open the locked doors and played his flashlight across the empty food racks. Dust and mice were the only things in the market, dust mice and the body of some unfortunate Stalker. Kneeling over the dead man, he quickly detected how the stalker had died. An artifact in his bag was one of the types that made the blood thinner, a slight cut on the man’s leg had bled and bled to the point of death, and now he was a lump of rotting bones and soiled clothes in a store in the ass end of nowhere. He quickly patted him down, running his hands over the man’s pockets and through his pack. The artifact was safely contained in his own pack now, wrapped in several layers of cloth to negate it’s blood thinning aura. He took the man’s ammunition and Kalash, slinging the rifle up onto his back and holding his casually by the hand guard.

Stripping the man of his clothes and equipment was dirty work, but worth it in terms of loot. He recovered not only a Kalash, but a nice Makarov PMM sidearm, and a bayonet. The man’s jacket and pants alone were a good find, both being former Red Army gear. The quilted jacket was immediately donned, it’s warmth far surpassing the little wool jacket that most civilians had been given.

When he came out, they were waiting for him. The four Gas Mask and Kalash men stood ominously in a wide circle around the doors, rifles and submachine guns trained on the lone local. The leader, was a bit man, his face was the only one not concealed by a gasmask and it was a patchwork of scars and burns. His face was twisted in what should be a smile, but was only a way of showing his brutishly wide teeth. The man laughed once, a single laugh that was more annoying than dramatic. He spread his arms slowly and said,

"Privet moĭ chelovek , ya dumayu , vy uznali chto-nibudʹ horoshyee tam? "
“Hello there my man, I wonder, did you find anything good in there?”

The local trained his Kalash on the man’s head and replied,

"Неt"
“No.”

The gang leader nodded slowly and said,

" Eto kurtku ... YA znal odnogo cheloveka v etoĭ oblasti s odnoĭ takoĭ. Vy stolknetesʹ s Krasnoĭ Petr ? "
“That jacket…I knew a man in this area with one like that. You run into Red Pyotr?”

The local shook his head and said,

" Sushchestvoval Stalker tam, davno mertv . YA osvobodil yego ruzhʹe i kurtku, ryukzak byl pust. "
“There was a Stalker in there, long dead. I relived him of his rifle and jacket, his pack was empty.”

The leader seemed to buy it, and focused in on the rifle at the local’s back. He twisted his head to the side and said,

" Vot kak eto budet , vy budete mesto, zapasnye Kalash na zemlyu i datʹ za vashi denʹgi ... skolʹko deneg u vas yestʹ? "
“This is how it will be, you will place that spare Kalash on the ground and give over your money…how much money do you have?”

The local carried five hundred Rubles on him at all times, but those were for supplies that were critical. Instead of lying outright he tried a calculated gamble by saying,

" U menya yestʹ pyatʹsot rublyeĭ , no moya zhenshchina bolʹna. YA dam tebe tristaKalash ".
“I have five hundred Rubles, but my woman is sick. I’ll give you three hundred and the Kalash.”

Shaking his head, the leader replied,

"Vasha zhenshchina ne bolen ".
“Your woman is not sick.”

The local smiled, trying to defuse the situation. He quickly thought up an alternate ploy and instead said,

" Vy pravy, ona horosho . Dvesti dlya produktov pitaniya i medikamentov dlya moego rebenka , hotya. Ona tolʹko chto rodila , i on nuzhdaet·sya v vitaminah ".
“You’re right, she is well. The two hundred is for food and medicine for my child though. She just gave birth and he needs vitamins.”

The gang leader smiled, and replied,

" Ah, yasam otets . Kak ob etom , vy razmeshchaeteKalash ipyatʹsot rublyeĭ na palube, my dadim vam vse produkty pitaniya u nas yestʹ na nas, i dva nashih komplektov med. "
“Ah, I’m a father myself. How about this, you place the Kalash and the five hundred Rubles on the deck, we’ll give you all the food we have on us and two of our med kits.”

Nodding, the local slowly said,

"да."
“Yes.”

Two of the Gas Mask and Kalash men stepped forward and slowly placed the medicine and food on the ground, while the local set the rifle and his money on the ground. The two parties exchanged goods and the Gas Mask and Kalash Gang slowly melted away. With a smile, the leader tossed the local an extra tin of canned meat and said,

" Do etogo derʹma , ya bylottsom, no moĭ rebenok umer ot goloda okoloUtopiya isklyuchenii zony ".
“Before this shit, I was a father, but my child died of starvation near the Utopia Exclusionary Zone.”

Shaking his head, the local shouted back,

" YA dumayu, my vse chelovecheskoe v opredelennyĭ moment. "
“I guess we were all human at some point.”