Post by milch on Nov 2, 2012 10:29:09 GMT -5
The disaster came unexpectedly. Ibrahim was lucky to have been inside at that moment. Nothing was going out of the ordinary that morning. Ibrahim was brewing himself some coffee when suddenly he heard a muffled thud in the distance. Then a high pitched noise rang out in his head, causing him to drop his cup and cup his hands around his ears. Then the muffled thuds repeated, but closer and louder. Ibrahim's back began hurting and his head began to ache like it was about to crack open. That all felt just like an emission. Something completely impossible that far away from the Zone. But was it? The ex-merc looked out of the window and saw the sky painted red and clouds gathering in twisted patterns.
"No way" he said to himself "this is impossible, this can't be..."
A forceful wind blew open Ibrahim's windows causing the glass to smash. He stepped back and bumped into the wall. Ibrahim's eyes were still pinned to the red sky.
"This... is... impossible..." Ibrahim kept repeating out loud, almost like a mantra. Then the sky suddenly flashed with a blinding white light and a deafening sound came. At that point Ibrahim blanked out and those were his only memories of the disaster.
A few days after that Ibrahim was once again in the "Zone" sporting his upgraded Mercenary vest and his favorite weapons. As an experienced stalker Ibrahim felt that it was his duty now to help those less prepared and experienced than himself. In the past days he had been scavenging through supermarkets, hospitals, police stations. Gathering any supplies and equipment he could find. Anything he did come upon Ibrahim took back to his flat and stashed in the large case he used previously for keeping his, what he thought to be, old gear. That day was no different from the previous ones. Ibrahim walked down the empty streets, along empty, overturned tram cars and other vehicles. A helicopter zoomed above his head.
"Military" the Chechen remarked to himself "What are they still hoping for? They have no more power than I do at this point. It's all vs. all out here now."
Ahead of Ibrahim was yet another hospital. Sometimes in hospitals and churches Ibrahim stumbled upon survivors who were like him looking for supples. Now Ibrahim was wondering whether he will meet any here. Carefully pushing the front door open with one hand and holding his rifle at the ready with the other Ibrahim took his first step forward. Flicking on the two torches he had: one attached to the barrel of the gun and the other attached to the chest pocket of his vest he ventured deeper into the hospital. In most districts of the city electricity was still up and running, only in some did the power lines suffer damage. Unfortunately, Ibrahim's district was one of "the lucky few". Walking down the main hallway the Chechen noticed that everything seemed to have been untouched since the disaster: cupboards still closed, tables not overturned, doors not broken down unlike most other places where there was anything to scavenge. Reaching the end of the corridor there were some stairs. Ibrahim decided to go to the underground floor, where most likely the supplies would have beed kept. As he was descending the stairs he found a body. He turned the body over and saw that it was a young man dressed like a doctor with a name badge on his chest and everything. But there was one unusual thing for a doctor about him. His whole chest was covered in blood. The man's neck was literally ripped up. On closer examination Ibrahim could tell that there were bite marks on the doctor's body and neck. There was only one creature with such jaw structure that Ibrahim knew could do this. Snorks. The Zone did not inly follow Ibrahim with it's borders. It followed him with it's army of monsters.
At that point Ibrahim looked up and was just about to turn around to leave, but the new Zone had other intensions in mind for him. Two snorks were hungrily eyeing him from the end of the corridor. Ibrahim was standing still, looking at the two snorks. They were doing the same. The Chechen decided it was fine to take a small step back. Wrong decision that was. As soon as the snorks saw movement they launched at the merc. These snorks looked pretty much like the ones Ibrahim saw back in Chernobyl, apart from the fact they were dressed in surgeon attire with sanitary masks covering their faces instead of gas-masks. Ibrahim didn't have enough time to raise his rifle and was knocked down by the first snork, causing him to drom his weapon. Ibrahim grabbed the monster by the neck, stopping it from biting into human flesh. Ibrahim head-butted the creature and threw it off of himself. He quickly pulled out his PM and placed two bullets neatly into the monster's head. Only after one of the monsters was down did Ibrahim realise that the second one was still alive. He got up and picked up his rifle. Just as he did so the second beast jumped at the Chechen tackling him through the door leading even further down into the cellar. Rolling down the stairs Ibrahim once again dropped his trusty rifle and this time the pistol as well. The snork followed closely behind. As Ibrahim's rolling came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs when he smashed into a cabinet filled with glass jars of medicinal spirit. The monster landed next to the merc and kicked him in the face. Blood shot out of Ibrahim's nose. The creature was kicking and clawing at the Chechen when suddenly a shot rang out from the top of the stairs. The bullet hit the snork in the arm causing it to turn facing towards the stairs. Another burst of gunfire followed pinning the beast to the wall. Ibrahim looked up to the top of the stairs and saw a dark silhouette in a trench-coat. The silhouette quickly turned around and ran up the stairs.
"Wait!" Ibrahim cried out.
He grabbed his dropped guns and rushed up chasing after his savior. He ran out of the hospital the way he came and saw the figure of the man running from the building.
"Wait! Who are you?!" Ibrahim shouted to the running figure. He holstered his pistol and put his rifle behind his back and broke into a sprint.
After a couple of minutes Ibrahim was only about 50-60 meters away from the person who saved him. They were both good runners. Ibrahim never met a human with stamina close to his own, but this one was definitely on the same level. Suddenly the person dropped through the ground. Ibrahim stopped in shock and then realised. The sewers. Now there was no point chasing the man. The sewers of Samara were some of the most confusing and worst conditioned in the whole of Russia. They were not repaired since they were built, in the Tsar's times. Ibrahim walked up to the hole through which the person dropped. He did not se the bottom as it was so dark down there. Finding the man would have to wait. In the rush of catching his savior Ibrahim completely forgot about his bleeding nose. He took out a bandage form his pocket and ripped off two bits and stuffed them into his nose. Ibrahim then turned back and made his way back to the apartment using one of the still working trams, up to the place where electricity ended anyways. He cleaned his face and dropped onto his bed. The bruises and scars would take some time to disappear themselves. All Ibrahim could do now was just sleep.
Days went by. Wounds healed. Ibrahim rested. He kept thinking about the silhouette that saved him. The person somehow knew the Merc was there. Did it follow him? Was it in the hospital all along and Ibrahim scared him off by battling the snorks? Whoever it was, Ibrahim would be dead or at best severely wounded without them.
About four days after the hospital incident Ibrahim decided he was fit enough to venture into the city again. Gathering his gear he checked his guns once again and then left his apartment, locking the door shut and setting the traps. Every time Ibrahim came and went he armed and disarmed the traps. One couldn't be too cautious in the peculiar circumstances the world was in. Ibrahim's safe house apartment was located on the sixth floor of a "stalinka". A typical house built in Stalin's time. Hence the Stalin in the word stalinka. Usually five to six floors they were built of brick, with thick walls and high ceilings. Very spacious apartments. Most of them anyways. As always there were different variants, but these were the most common. Some other inhabitants of the house also survived the catastrophe, but luckily enough Ibrahim was on good terms with most of them and acted as a form of protector for them, periodically supplying them with food and medication he found.
As Ibrahim walked down the road away from his place he heard what he thought to be the rumbling of engines around the corner of the next building. He thought correctly. Military trucks drove around the corner and turned towards Ibrahim. Before they were able to spot him the Merc jumped into one of the first floor windows and watched the trucks go by. Military were not to be trusted nowadays. A faction of their own, no longer serving their former purpose "to serve and to protect" or whatever it once was. The army used their might and force to hog supplies for their own survival and nobody would stand in their way of doing so, especially a well equipped foreign "civilian" in special uniform and professional killing weapons.
Just as Ibrahim was about to jump out of the window the way he came he felt the cold steel of a double-barreled shotgun touch the back of his head and a voice whisper "Well, who have we got here?..."
"Bloody hell" Ibrahim thought "can't a day go by without me embarking on some sort of adventure?"
The man holding a gun to the Merc's head shouted "Guys! Come over here! We've got ourselves an unexpected guest!". Ibrahim heard more footsteps behind him. Men chuckling and exchanging snide remarks about the unlucky situation in which Ibrahim was. Ibrahim was ordered to turn around and slowly did so. He turned and saw a group of men dressed in black sport tracksuits and gas-masks and balaclavas. Bandits. Not the exact ones from the Zone, but the same concept. Ibrahim already managed to gain some infamy amongst them for preventing their raids on civilians by raiding the bandits himself.
"Coming to turn yourself in, eh?" said the bandit with the gun. Ibrahim studied him closely. Only a double-barreled. The three others behind him had melee weapons, except for one with a Makarov in his tracksuit pocket. Quickly push the barrel away, kick in the knee, falls to the ground. Pull out the pistol and take care of the others. Sounds simple, but was it easy to do? Ibrahim considered his chances. The most dangerous part was getting rid of the bandit with the shotgun. The others didn't pose much danger. Ibrahim encountered much more dangerous enemies back in the days. Finally, Ibrahim decided to act before the bandits took him away. The shotgunner turned back, still pointing the gun at the Merc's face, to give some orders, but at that point Ibrahim pushed the barrel of the gun to the left and kicked the man in the kneecap. He heard a familiar crunch of a bone and a scream of pain. In an instant Ibrahim had his automatic silenced PMs in his hands. The bandit with the pistol armed himself and fired two shots from the hip in Ibrahim's general direction before running out of the room screaming alarm. The other two charged the Merc, but we're full of lead before they could even reach him with their knives. Ibrahim finished off the wounded bandit with a single shot to the head, reloaded his pistols and holstered them. He quickly searched the men for anything valuable. PDAs, paper maps, that sort of thing Ibrahim valued above all. On the bandits he found some paper notes and a nice looking touch-screen phone that looked as if it could contain some valuable info. After that Ibrahim went out the way he came. Through the first floor window.
As Ibrahim was running down the street he could hear voices behind him in the building, smashing of windows and finally gunshots. They weren't going to let Ibrahim get away, not that easily at least. Ibrahim turned right and ran across the street, into the trees and bushes and down a very steep hill, trying not to fall over. Minutes later he couldn't hear anyone else chasing him. The Merc let out a deep sigh and looked around him. He was across the street from the famous Samara Brewery. A very old and respectively impressing building. Ibrahim continued on to his initial quest of finding survivors, supplies or other useful things. At that point Ibrahim remembered the notes and the phone he took from the bandits. He took one of the pieces of paper from his vest pocket and looked through it. A map of Samara with marks on it made with black and red highlighters. Stashes. Nearest one was only a few hundred meters down the street and along the embankment. Ibrahim folded the note and put it into the inside pocket of his vest. The note was too important to accidentally lose in a fight. Slowly walking down the street Ibrahim heard a distant cry. It wasn't hard to hear even the quietest of sounds in the near perfectly silent new world. He stopped and listened carefully. Indeed it was a human cry. The one of a child. Ibrahim started moving towards the sound. It was coming from the one of the buildings on the brewery territory.
Ibrahim went through the brewery territory trying to locate the source of the cry. After walking quite a distance he came to a large warehouse, where presumably the beer was loaded onto trucks and then delivered elsewhere. Ibrahim kneeled down and pulled up the large metal gate. It rolled up and revealed many a stack of crates full of beer bottles. The Merc entered the building and just as he stepped inside the gate slammed down shut right behind him.
"Not creepy or worrying at all" the Chechen said to himself.
Once again a cry rang out, coming from the far back of the warehouse. Ibrahim now regretted ever coming here and being overly willing to help anyone in need. He switched on both of his torches: on the gun and on the vest, and switched the safety off all his guns. Ibrahim silently jogged over to the other end of the warehouse. Suddenly one of the larger stacks of crates fell behind him causing a domino effect. The warehouse was filled with deafening noises of smashing bottles and collapsing crates. Ibrahim began to run. Closely behind him he felt the thumps of more and more crates falling, getting closer to him. Ahead of him was a door. Ibrahim pulled out his Makarov and fired at the lock of the door. He quickly holstered his gun, hoping the lock was broken, and launched himself forward in a leap. He smashed through the door and barrel rolled into the corridor just as a whole stack of crates collapsed where he had just been standing.
Ibrahim stood up and looked down the corridor. The lights flickering ominously on the ceiling. One single and only door at the end of the corridor.
"Not many options for me then" said Ibrahim as he was approaching the door. Pushing it open even as carefully as Ibrahim could not have prevented it from screeching and completely giving away whoever opened it. Ibrahim took a step inside and was greeted with a similar corridor with a single door and a flickering light. He took a step in and turned around to close the door behind him and was shocked to see the huge warehouse full of crashed crates with no sign of a corridor he had just been in. Ibrahim turned and walked down the corridor and through the door again. Same thing. He tried doing it again and again and agin until he was too fed up. He turned around once again to try and leave the same way he came but this time the door was closed. He pushed it and it revealed a corridor. Ibrahim was stuck. He ran down the corridor and tackled the door open. What he saw next left him speechless. At the other end of the corridor, just as Ibrahim tackled the door, another man tackled the door in the same manner, doing all actions simultaneously. When Ibrahim looked at the man's face he recognized... himself.
Ibrahim was startled to see another self. Slowly he began walking towards the other Ibrahim. When he was in reach distance Ibrahim stretched out his arm, watching the copy doing exactly the same thing like in a mirror. The two outstretched hands closed towards each other and finally touched. Ibrahim felt something cold and surprisingly squishy. He pushed more with his hand and saw it be absorbed by what he thought was a copy of himself, but as a matter of fact was a mirror-like wall of unknown substance. He pushed his arm in more and it was absorbed up to the elbow. Ibrahim had no other choice. There was no way back. He walked into the substance and was met with a cold, liquid embrace.
Ibrahim was in a dark place. He saw and felt nothing. All of a sudden, before him he saw a small dot of light. The Chechen moved towards it not even feeling his own footsteps. He didn't know for how long has he been walking or was he even walking. All he knew was that he reached his destination and it was now not a small dot in the distance, but a large brightly lit gate. Ibrahim wondered for a moment whether he was alive. He took a step into the light and felt freezing cold wind on his skin. That wasn't quite what Ibrahim imagined Hell to be. He took another step and saw the Ruins of Samara, but not as he last saw them. Everything was covered in blindingly white snow. The wind was so powerful that it lifted huge heaps of snow off the ground and threw them into the air causing a form of a blizzard. Ibrahim took another step and was greeted by the grim reality of his existence. He was falling from about 30 meters towards the ground. Ibrahim let out a shout but it was soon engulfed by the huge snow pile he landed in. The Merc struggled to get out of the snow heap, but after a few minutes of ferocious digging he was once again free. He looked around himself. He was standing outside the brewery gates which he himself had opened. The huge heap of smashed crates was covered in snow and the lake of beer on the floor was all frozen. Ibrahim looked back and saw that the roads were about a meter and a half covered in snow. His Merc vest wasn't prepared for winter and couldn't suffice for such weather, so Ibrahim's next move was to go and find a fur-coat shop, which there was plenty of in Samara.
About two more hours of walking and Ibrahim couldn't feel his fingers and toes. The freezing wind was getting to him and so was the snow that has crammed it's way inside Ibrahim's knee-high boots. Only one more corner to turn and there it was. The store. The Merc ran towards the store and tackled the door. Inside was cold, but felt as if it was summer, for the wind and the snow couldn't get inside the shop. Ibrahim began browsing. Most of the coats have already been taken by the scavengers in the first days of the disaster. After a couple of minutes Ibrahim found his size and tried it on. It was a knee-low thick black fur coat. It was real warm and fitted over the Chechen's vest. Ibrahim grabbed the fur-hat that went with it and placed it on his head. Slightly large, but wouldn't fall off, so everything was fine. Stepping back out it the cold the Merc realized that ever since the incident with the brewery he hadn't looked into his PDA. He switched it on and looked at the date. It was The 31st of December 2020.
"Well, happy New Year to me then" Ibrahim said laughingly. Then his stomach rumbled. Ibrahim hasn't eaten since he left his home for that damned brewery. Ibrahim switched on the map on his PDA. He was greeted by a number of coloured spots all over the city. Stashes. The ones he uploaded from the bandit's smartphone. The closest one to him were the army barracks. He tapped on it and a description popped up. "General supplies. Russian ammo. Medicine. General Kravchenko's personal quarters". The last phrase in the list interested the Merc the most, standing second only to food. Immediately Ibrahim moved out towards the barracks, hoping to slip past the unalarmed soldiers.
Much to Ibrahim's surprise and probably to his good there was nobody guarding the barracks. On his way into the main building the Chechen hadn't encountered a single soldier or even just a member of staff, if you don't count the skeletons. Ibrahim moved through the administration building and out the other side. Then he moved in the same manner through the soldiers' sleeping quarters and into the kitchens. Kicking down the door to the cellar Ibrahim gripped his Galil tightly, he had bad luck with cellars. He stepped off the last step of the staircase and flipped on the light switch. The electricity in most of the city was gone, apart from places owned by organisations which had their own private generators. The RF army was one of such organisations. Ibrahim moved over to one of the shelves and knocked down a large container. As it fell the lid smashed and tins of meat rolled out of it. In moments Ibrahim had a fire going in the living quarters made out of the smashed lid and some matrass stuffing. With him from the cellar he brought a bag-load of tins and he already downed about half. Although usually Ibrahim ate very little and lasted very long, he never tried lasting for years. His PDA bleeped and Ibrahim switched on the screen. It was the 1st of January 2021. Ibrahim finished off his last tin for the night and decided it was time to warm himself from the inside and "celebrate". Following the conveniently placed signs, Ibrahim made his way up to the General's quarters. An astonishing sight indeed. While soldiers were cramped by their hundreds onto bunk beds and shoved into old warehouses, the commandment had luxurious apartments with king-sized beds and rennessaince-looking furniture. Ibrahim knew for sure where he was sleeping that night. In one of the fine cupboards the Merc found an old looking bottle of cognac with some foreign name on it. After pouring himself a glass he said "To the New Year" and downed the glass. He did the same with the rest of the bottle, every time making a new one-line toast. When he was done he stumbled over to the huge bed and dropped onto it like a corpse without taking off his fur-coat and awoke only by midday.
"No way" he said to himself "this is impossible, this can't be..."
A forceful wind blew open Ibrahim's windows causing the glass to smash. He stepped back and bumped into the wall. Ibrahim's eyes were still pinned to the red sky.
"This... is... impossible..." Ibrahim kept repeating out loud, almost like a mantra. Then the sky suddenly flashed with a blinding white light and a deafening sound came. At that point Ibrahim blanked out and those were his only memories of the disaster.
A few days after that Ibrahim was once again in the "Zone" sporting his upgraded Mercenary vest and his favorite weapons. As an experienced stalker Ibrahim felt that it was his duty now to help those less prepared and experienced than himself. In the past days he had been scavenging through supermarkets, hospitals, police stations. Gathering any supplies and equipment he could find. Anything he did come upon Ibrahim took back to his flat and stashed in the large case he used previously for keeping his, what he thought to be, old gear. That day was no different from the previous ones. Ibrahim walked down the empty streets, along empty, overturned tram cars and other vehicles. A helicopter zoomed above his head.
"Military" the Chechen remarked to himself "What are they still hoping for? They have no more power than I do at this point. It's all vs. all out here now."
Ahead of Ibrahim was yet another hospital. Sometimes in hospitals and churches Ibrahim stumbled upon survivors who were like him looking for supples. Now Ibrahim was wondering whether he will meet any here. Carefully pushing the front door open with one hand and holding his rifle at the ready with the other Ibrahim took his first step forward. Flicking on the two torches he had: one attached to the barrel of the gun and the other attached to the chest pocket of his vest he ventured deeper into the hospital. In most districts of the city electricity was still up and running, only in some did the power lines suffer damage. Unfortunately, Ibrahim's district was one of "the lucky few". Walking down the main hallway the Chechen noticed that everything seemed to have been untouched since the disaster: cupboards still closed, tables not overturned, doors not broken down unlike most other places where there was anything to scavenge. Reaching the end of the corridor there were some stairs. Ibrahim decided to go to the underground floor, where most likely the supplies would have beed kept. As he was descending the stairs he found a body. He turned the body over and saw that it was a young man dressed like a doctor with a name badge on his chest and everything. But there was one unusual thing for a doctor about him. His whole chest was covered in blood. The man's neck was literally ripped up. On closer examination Ibrahim could tell that there were bite marks on the doctor's body and neck. There was only one creature with such jaw structure that Ibrahim knew could do this. Snorks. The Zone did not inly follow Ibrahim with it's borders. It followed him with it's army of monsters.
At that point Ibrahim looked up and was just about to turn around to leave, but the new Zone had other intensions in mind for him. Two snorks were hungrily eyeing him from the end of the corridor. Ibrahim was standing still, looking at the two snorks. They were doing the same. The Chechen decided it was fine to take a small step back. Wrong decision that was. As soon as the snorks saw movement they launched at the merc. These snorks looked pretty much like the ones Ibrahim saw back in Chernobyl, apart from the fact they were dressed in surgeon attire with sanitary masks covering their faces instead of gas-masks. Ibrahim didn't have enough time to raise his rifle and was knocked down by the first snork, causing him to drom his weapon. Ibrahim grabbed the monster by the neck, stopping it from biting into human flesh. Ibrahim head-butted the creature and threw it off of himself. He quickly pulled out his PM and placed two bullets neatly into the monster's head. Only after one of the monsters was down did Ibrahim realise that the second one was still alive. He got up and picked up his rifle. Just as he did so the second beast jumped at the Chechen tackling him through the door leading even further down into the cellar. Rolling down the stairs Ibrahim once again dropped his trusty rifle and this time the pistol as well. The snork followed closely behind. As Ibrahim's rolling came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs when he smashed into a cabinet filled with glass jars of medicinal spirit. The monster landed next to the merc and kicked him in the face. Blood shot out of Ibrahim's nose. The creature was kicking and clawing at the Chechen when suddenly a shot rang out from the top of the stairs. The bullet hit the snork in the arm causing it to turn facing towards the stairs. Another burst of gunfire followed pinning the beast to the wall. Ibrahim looked up to the top of the stairs and saw a dark silhouette in a trench-coat. The silhouette quickly turned around and ran up the stairs.
"Wait!" Ibrahim cried out.
He grabbed his dropped guns and rushed up chasing after his savior. He ran out of the hospital the way he came and saw the figure of the man running from the building.
"Wait! Who are you?!" Ibrahim shouted to the running figure. He holstered his pistol and put his rifle behind his back and broke into a sprint.
After a couple of minutes Ibrahim was only about 50-60 meters away from the person who saved him. They were both good runners. Ibrahim never met a human with stamina close to his own, but this one was definitely on the same level. Suddenly the person dropped through the ground. Ibrahim stopped in shock and then realised. The sewers. Now there was no point chasing the man. The sewers of Samara were some of the most confusing and worst conditioned in the whole of Russia. They were not repaired since they were built, in the Tsar's times. Ibrahim walked up to the hole through which the person dropped. He did not se the bottom as it was so dark down there. Finding the man would have to wait. In the rush of catching his savior Ibrahim completely forgot about his bleeding nose. He took out a bandage form his pocket and ripped off two bits and stuffed them into his nose. Ibrahim then turned back and made his way back to the apartment using one of the still working trams, up to the place where electricity ended anyways. He cleaned his face and dropped onto his bed. The bruises and scars would take some time to disappear themselves. All Ibrahim could do now was just sleep.
Days went by. Wounds healed. Ibrahim rested. He kept thinking about the silhouette that saved him. The person somehow knew the Merc was there. Did it follow him? Was it in the hospital all along and Ibrahim scared him off by battling the snorks? Whoever it was, Ibrahim would be dead or at best severely wounded without them.
About four days after the hospital incident Ibrahim decided he was fit enough to venture into the city again. Gathering his gear he checked his guns once again and then left his apartment, locking the door shut and setting the traps. Every time Ibrahim came and went he armed and disarmed the traps. One couldn't be too cautious in the peculiar circumstances the world was in. Ibrahim's safe house apartment was located on the sixth floor of a "stalinka". A typical house built in Stalin's time. Hence the Stalin in the word stalinka. Usually five to six floors they were built of brick, with thick walls and high ceilings. Very spacious apartments. Most of them anyways. As always there were different variants, but these were the most common. Some other inhabitants of the house also survived the catastrophe, but luckily enough Ibrahim was on good terms with most of them and acted as a form of protector for them, periodically supplying them with food and medication he found.
As Ibrahim walked down the road away from his place he heard what he thought to be the rumbling of engines around the corner of the next building. He thought correctly. Military trucks drove around the corner and turned towards Ibrahim. Before they were able to spot him the Merc jumped into one of the first floor windows and watched the trucks go by. Military were not to be trusted nowadays. A faction of their own, no longer serving their former purpose "to serve and to protect" or whatever it once was. The army used their might and force to hog supplies for their own survival and nobody would stand in their way of doing so, especially a well equipped foreign "civilian" in special uniform and professional killing weapons.
Just as Ibrahim was about to jump out of the window the way he came he felt the cold steel of a double-barreled shotgun touch the back of his head and a voice whisper "Well, who have we got here?..."
"Bloody hell" Ibrahim thought "can't a day go by without me embarking on some sort of adventure?"
The man holding a gun to the Merc's head shouted "Guys! Come over here! We've got ourselves an unexpected guest!". Ibrahim heard more footsteps behind him. Men chuckling and exchanging snide remarks about the unlucky situation in which Ibrahim was. Ibrahim was ordered to turn around and slowly did so. He turned and saw a group of men dressed in black sport tracksuits and gas-masks and balaclavas. Bandits. Not the exact ones from the Zone, but the same concept. Ibrahim already managed to gain some infamy amongst them for preventing their raids on civilians by raiding the bandits himself.
"Coming to turn yourself in, eh?" said the bandit with the gun. Ibrahim studied him closely. Only a double-barreled. The three others behind him had melee weapons, except for one with a Makarov in his tracksuit pocket. Quickly push the barrel away, kick in the knee, falls to the ground. Pull out the pistol and take care of the others. Sounds simple, but was it easy to do? Ibrahim considered his chances. The most dangerous part was getting rid of the bandit with the shotgun. The others didn't pose much danger. Ibrahim encountered much more dangerous enemies back in the days. Finally, Ibrahim decided to act before the bandits took him away. The shotgunner turned back, still pointing the gun at the Merc's face, to give some orders, but at that point Ibrahim pushed the barrel of the gun to the left and kicked the man in the kneecap. He heard a familiar crunch of a bone and a scream of pain. In an instant Ibrahim had his automatic silenced PMs in his hands. The bandit with the pistol armed himself and fired two shots from the hip in Ibrahim's general direction before running out of the room screaming alarm. The other two charged the Merc, but we're full of lead before they could even reach him with their knives. Ibrahim finished off the wounded bandit with a single shot to the head, reloaded his pistols and holstered them. He quickly searched the men for anything valuable. PDAs, paper maps, that sort of thing Ibrahim valued above all. On the bandits he found some paper notes and a nice looking touch-screen phone that looked as if it could contain some valuable info. After that Ibrahim went out the way he came. Through the first floor window.
As Ibrahim was running down the street he could hear voices behind him in the building, smashing of windows and finally gunshots. They weren't going to let Ibrahim get away, not that easily at least. Ibrahim turned right and ran across the street, into the trees and bushes and down a very steep hill, trying not to fall over. Minutes later he couldn't hear anyone else chasing him. The Merc let out a deep sigh and looked around him. He was across the street from the famous Samara Brewery. A very old and respectively impressing building. Ibrahim continued on to his initial quest of finding survivors, supplies or other useful things. At that point Ibrahim remembered the notes and the phone he took from the bandits. He took one of the pieces of paper from his vest pocket and looked through it. A map of Samara with marks on it made with black and red highlighters. Stashes. Nearest one was only a few hundred meters down the street and along the embankment. Ibrahim folded the note and put it into the inside pocket of his vest. The note was too important to accidentally lose in a fight. Slowly walking down the street Ibrahim heard a distant cry. It wasn't hard to hear even the quietest of sounds in the near perfectly silent new world. He stopped and listened carefully. Indeed it was a human cry. The one of a child. Ibrahim started moving towards the sound. It was coming from the one of the buildings on the brewery territory.
Ibrahim went through the brewery territory trying to locate the source of the cry. After walking quite a distance he came to a large warehouse, where presumably the beer was loaded onto trucks and then delivered elsewhere. Ibrahim kneeled down and pulled up the large metal gate. It rolled up and revealed many a stack of crates full of beer bottles. The Merc entered the building and just as he stepped inside the gate slammed down shut right behind him.
"Not creepy or worrying at all" the Chechen said to himself.
Once again a cry rang out, coming from the far back of the warehouse. Ibrahim now regretted ever coming here and being overly willing to help anyone in need. He switched on both of his torches: on the gun and on the vest, and switched the safety off all his guns. Ibrahim silently jogged over to the other end of the warehouse. Suddenly one of the larger stacks of crates fell behind him causing a domino effect. The warehouse was filled with deafening noises of smashing bottles and collapsing crates. Ibrahim began to run. Closely behind him he felt the thumps of more and more crates falling, getting closer to him. Ahead of him was a door. Ibrahim pulled out his Makarov and fired at the lock of the door. He quickly holstered his gun, hoping the lock was broken, and launched himself forward in a leap. He smashed through the door and barrel rolled into the corridor just as a whole stack of crates collapsed where he had just been standing.
Ibrahim stood up and looked down the corridor. The lights flickering ominously on the ceiling. One single and only door at the end of the corridor.
"Not many options for me then" said Ibrahim as he was approaching the door. Pushing it open even as carefully as Ibrahim could not have prevented it from screeching and completely giving away whoever opened it. Ibrahim took a step inside and was greeted with a similar corridor with a single door and a flickering light. He took a step in and turned around to close the door behind him and was shocked to see the huge warehouse full of crashed crates with no sign of a corridor he had just been in. Ibrahim turned and walked down the corridor and through the door again. Same thing. He tried doing it again and again and agin until he was too fed up. He turned around once again to try and leave the same way he came but this time the door was closed. He pushed it and it revealed a corridor. Ibrahim was stuck. He ran down the corridor and tackled the door open. What he saw next left him speechless. At the other end of the corridor, just as Ibrahim tackled the door, another man tackled the door in the same manner, doing all actions simultaneously. When Ibrahim looked at the man's face he recognized... himself.
Ibrahim was startled to see another self. Slowly he began walking towards the other Ibrahim. When he was in reach distance Ibrahim stretched out his arm, watching the copy doing exactly the same thing like in a mirror. The two outstretched hands closed towards each other and finally touched. Ibrahim felt something cold and surprisingly squishy. He pushed more with his hand and saw it be absorbed by what he thought was a copy of himself, but as a matter of fact was a mirror-like wall of unknown substance. He pushed his arm in more and it was absorbed up to the elbow. Ibrahim had no other choice. There was no way back. He walked into the substance and was met with a cold, liquid embrace.
Ibrahim was in a dark place. He saw and felt nothing. All of a sudden, before him he saw a small dot of light. The Chechen moved towards it not even feeling his own footsteps. He didn't know for how long has he been walking or was he even walking. All he knew was that he reached his destination and it was now not a small dot in the distance, but a large brightly lit gate. Ibrahim wondered for a moment whether he was alive. He took a step into the light and felt freezing cold wind on his skin. That wasn't quite what Ibrahim imagined Hell to be. He took another step and saw the Ruins of Samara, but not as he last saw them. Everything was covered in blindingly white snow. The wind was so powerful that it lifted huge heaps of snow off the ground and threw them into the air causing a form of a blizzard. Ibrahim took another step and was greeted by the grim reality of his existence. He was falling from about 30 meters towards the ground. Ibrahim let out a shout but it was soon engulfed by the huge snow pile he landed in. The Merc struggled to get out of the snow heap, but after a few minutes of ferocious digging he was once again free. He looked around himself. He was standing outside the brewery gates which he himself had opened. The huge heap of smashed crates was covered in snow and the lake of beer on the floor was all frozen. Ibrahim looked back and saw that the roads were about a meter and a half covered in snow. His Merc vest wasn't prepared for winter and couldn't suffice for such weather, so Ibrahim's next move was to go and find a fur-coat shop, which there was plenty of in Samara.
About two more hours of walking and Ibrahim couldn't feel his fingers and toes. The freezing wind was getting to him and so was the snow that has crammed it's way inside Ibrahim's knee-high boots. Only one more corner to turn and there it was. The store. The Merc ran towards the store and tackled the door. Inside was cold, but felt as if it was summer, for the wind and the snow couldn't get inside the shop. Ibrahim began browsing. Most of the coats have already been taken by the scavengers in the first days of the disaster. After a couple of minutes Ibrahim found his size and tried it on. It was a knee-low thick black fur coat. It was real warm and fitted over the Chechen's vest. Ibrahim grabbed the fur-hat that went with it and placed it on his head. Slightly large, but wouldn't fall off, so everything was fine. Stepping back out it the cold the Merc realized that ever since the incident with the brewery he hadn't looked into his PDA. He switched it on and looked at the date. It was The 31st of December 2020.
"Well, happy New Year to me then" Ibrahim said laughingly. Then his stomach rumbled. Ibrahim hasn't eaten since he left his home for that damned brewery. Ibrahim switched on the map on his PDA. He was greeted by a number of coloured spots all over the city. Stashes. The ones he uploaded from the bandit's smartphone. The closest one to him were the army barracks. He tapped on it and a description popped up. "General supplies. Russian ammo. Medicine. General Kravchenko's personal quarters". The last phrase in the list interested the Merc the most, standing second only to food. Immediately Ibrahim moved out towards the barracks, hoping to slip past the unalarmed soldiers.
Much to Ibrahim's surprise and probably to his good there was nobody guarding the barracks. On his way into the main building the Chechen hadn't encountered a single soldier or even just a member of staff, if you don't count the skeletons. Ibrahim moved through the administration building and out the other side. Then he moved in the same manner through the soldiers' sleeping quarters and into the kitchens. Kicking down the door to the cellar Ibrahim gripped his Galil tightly, he had bad luck with cellars. He stepped off the last step of the staircase and flipped on the light switch. The electricity in most of the city was gone, apart from places owned by organisations which had their own private generators. The RF army was one of such organisations. Ibrahim moved over to one of the shelves and knocked down a large container. As it fell the lid smashed and tins of meat rolled out of it. In moments Ibrahim had a fire going in the living quarters made out of the smashed lid and some matrass stuffing. With him from the cellar he brought a bag-load of tins and he already downed about half. Although usually Ibrahim ate very little and lasted very long, he never tried lasting for years. His PDA bleeped and Ibrahim switched on the screen. It was the 1st of January 2021. Ibrahim finished off his last tin for the night and decided it was time to warm himself from the inside and "celebrate". Following the conveniently placed signs, Ibrahim made his way up to the General's quarters. An astonishing sight indeed. While soldiers were cramped by their hundreds onto bunk beds and shoved into old warehouses, the commandment had luxurious apartments with king-sized beds and rennessaince-looking furniture. Ibrahim knew for sure where he was sleeping that night. In one of the fine cupboards the Merc found an old looking bottle of cognac with some foreign name on it. After pouring himself a glass he said "To the New Year" and downed the glass. He did the same with the rest of the bottle, every time making a new one-line toast. When he was done he stumbled over to the huge bed and dropped onto it like a corpse without taking off his fur-coat and awoke only by midday.