Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Made by me in Gmod)

Chapter Text

On the night of April 26, 1986 , Reactor No. 4 of the Chornobyl Nuclear Power Plant was destroyed by a powerful thermal explosion. Swept up by the wind, radioactive dust settled not only across parts of the Soviet Union, but also scattered radiation hotspots throughout Europe and even reached the shores of America

The aftermath of the disaster was so severe that the Soviet government was forced to carry out an emergency evacuation of nearby settlements.

Contaminated areas within a thirty-kilometer radius of the plant were declared a strictly guarded Exclusion Zone.

Following the construction of a reinforced concrete sarcophagus over the ruined reactor, operations at the Chornobyl plant resumed. The availability of a powerful energy source and the absence of civilian population allowed for the establishment of a network of secret laboratories on the restricted grounds.

June 10, 2006. The Zone suddenly lit up with an unbearable light. For a few moments, everything fell silent. Clouds evaporated right in the sky. Then came a terrible rumble — the ground shook. Most of the soldiers guarding the perimeter died instantly.

2007. Scientists still can't offer any coherent explanation for what occurred. Expeditions inevitably end in tragedy, and the rare survivors speak of mutant animals with astonishing abilities.

2009. According to various estimates, there are between one and three hundred unregistered individuals present in the Zone. These people call themselves stalkers. Most of them search for so-called artifacts — anomalous objects that fetch high prices on the black market.

2010. Despite military cordons set up along the perimeter, stalking has grown exponentially. But only the Zone’s outskirts have been explored. Every attempt to reach its center ends in failure.

In 2012 , a stalker known as Strelok uncovered the secret of the Brain Scorcher — a powerful emitter capable of destroying the human mind — and managed to shut it down. After that, stalkers poured into the Zone’s center: some seeking the legendary Klondike of artifacts, others chasing a myth - the Wish Granter.

With the situation rapidly evolving, Ukraine’s National Security and Defense Council ordered the immediate launch of a special military operation “Fairway.” Guided by pre-mapped anomaly fields, dozens of military helicopters packed with soldiers headed toward the Chornobyl plant. Despite careful planning, the operation ended in disaster: not a single aircraft returned to base.

Late 2012. Following an investigation by the Security Service of Ukraine, the government decided to establish the Scientific Institute for Research of the Chornobyl Anomalous Area. Its mission: to study the Zone, uncover its origins and determine whether it could somehow be used for the benefit of mankind.

2015. The Monolith faction resurfaced. With fire and steel, they reclaimed the Zone’s center and reactivated the Brain Scorcher. The path to the heart of the Zone was closed once again.

2018. More and more stalkers whisper about a certain artifact — Soul of the Zone, said to grant its bearer incredible luck and even the ability to "understand the Zone." But soon, whispers turned into rumors: someone had already found the artifact — but who, no one knew.

2020. The Zone fell into an eerie calm. Many stalkers are convinced: it’s the calm before the storm. But that storm won’t touch one of them — Raven. His fate lies along a different path.

Do you know the Ukrainian night? Oh, you don’t know the Ukrainian night.

Look closely.

From the middle of the sky, the moon gazes down.

To the north, gunfire rattles — Monolith fighters have launched another assault on the Barrier, held by Freedom troops. The Barrier separates the main Zone from the northern sectors.

To the south, from the direction of the Garbage, blood-curdling screams pierce the night — a rookie stalker, too careless for his own good, stumbled into a “Vortex” anomaly. Now nothing remains of him but scattered memories… and chunks of meat hanging from trees like grotesque garlands.

Somewhere in the distance, dogs are howling. Somewhere else — sporadic gunfire. 

This is the Chornobyl Exclusion Zone. This is her breath.

And in the middle of it all, a lone stalker is making his way toward the Rostok factory. He carries a cardboard box in his hands. He sets it down on the hood of a rusted, decaying car to give his arms a break and listens.

Ahead — silence.

He fights the urge to light a cigarette — too risky, especially at night. So instead, adjusting the Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder, he picks up the box again and keeps walking.

He moves without a flashlight, but the bright night offers enough visibility. He reaches a trench filled with mutant corpses and metal spikes, and carefully crosses it over a makeshift bridge of broken planks. A few steps further, he stops to survey the surroundings.

Ahead lies a checkpoint — Duty’s southern outpost, home of the faction’s eternal war against the Zone’s plague, and guardians of the Rostok factory. Beyond the checkpoint stands the legendary factory itself.

The stalker eyes the black-and-red suits of the guards and recognizes the outpost’s commander — Sergeant Kystenko. Grim, coarse, perpetually disgruntled, and no fan of stalkers. Why he hasn’t been promoted in ten years with Duty remains a mystery to most. Maybe that’s exactly why — he’s too Kystenko. Forever a sergeant. Forever stationed here.

The stalker decides to step slowly into the floodlights that illuminate the ground in front of the checkpoint.

The Duty soldiers notice him, their grips tightening on their weapons — but none raise them. The stalker gives them a small nod in greeting, hoping to pass without unnecessary words.

The outpost commander has other plans.

“Stop right there!” Kystenko barked, voice rough. “What the hell are you lugging around that’s so heavy?”

The stalker halted beside the sandbags at what passed for the checkpoint’s bunker entrance. He set the box down on the sacks and pulled off his Hamster-model gas mask.

“Easy, Sergeant. Friendly here,” he offered a fake smile, while silently wondering what the hell Kystenko wanted.

“My friends wear Duty’s patch. You’re still just a stalker, Raven ,” the sergeant replied.

The stalker — Raven — stopped smiling. He looked at Kystenko with cold irritation.

“What’s it to you, Sergeant? What I’m carrying is exactly what I need to carry.”

“Show me what’s in the box. I’m telling you nicely,” Kystenko growled back.

The other Duty troopers exchanged glances. They were used to their commander’s rudeness, but even they hadn’t seen him demand to check what stalkers were dragging into the bar.

“You sure you didn’t work customs before the Zone, Kystenko?” Raven snapped. “Same story - ‘show this, explain that.’ In the Zone, the rules are different.”

“I don’t give a damn about your Zone rules, stalker,” the sergeant spat. “What’s in the box? Last warning.”

Realizing there was no way around it, Raven sighed and pulled a knife from the sheath on his belt, beginning to cut the box open.

Inside were... twelve bottles of vodka.

The stalker was carrying them at the request of Duty’s quartermaster — supposedly “so the faction would have something to disinfect wounds with.”

He had no doubt the quartermaster would drink half of it himself — they’d shared a few bottles together before.

Kystenko looked it over and gave a dismissive grunt.

"Alcohol smuggling, huh?"

"Smuggling?!" the stalker snapped. "I’m bringing this for your quartermaster, and you know that damn well! Why the hell are you putting on this customs officer act?"

The sergeant slightly raised his chin and looked at the stalker with disdain.

"What if you’re a Freedom saboteur? What if that’s poison or something worse? I’ll be the one blamed for letting you through. Do I need that on my back?"

"How much?" Raven realized the Duty soldier was just trying to squeeze some booze out of him. He knew that tone too well.

The sergeant eyed the box like he was haggling at a market. Then, without a word, he pulled out two bottles and placed them on his side of the sandbag barricade.

"Now you can pass." The sergeant gave a filthy grin, flashing yellow teeth.

Raven silently picked up the box and headed toward the factory, spitting on the ground as he walked. Somewhere behind him, a few quiet chuckles followed.

"Assholes..." the stalker muttered.

"Free stalkers, veterans, and hunters! Join the ranks of Duty! Protecting the world from the Zone’s infection — that’s our common goal and mission!"

Raven stepped out of the hangar separating the checkpoint from the plant itself and found himself on the "central street".

Straight ahead was the Arena building, where stalkers fought mutants and other stalkers for money. To the left — the legendary bar “100 Rads”, and to the right, a bit farther — Duty’s base.

That’s where he was headed.

He walked at a steady pace. The bottles clinked softly in his hands. From a loudspeaker came bar ads, Duty propaganda, and in between — calm instrumental music.

The eastern part of the Rostok plant, where Raven now was, was simply known as the Bar. It was the calmest and safest place in the entire Zone.

All the best artifacts, all the rumors, all the information, goods, weapons, and armor — everything flowed here. It truly was the heart of stalkerdom.

Enjoying the night’s chill, Raven approached yet another Duty checkpoint — this one guarding the administrative building that served as the faction’s base from the rest of Rostok.

A few bored, clearly sleepy soldiers stood watch. They quickly glanced at the newcomer’s face and nodded — they knew Raven.

He passed calmly into the base of one of the Zone’s two largest factions.

Another split: to the left — the bunker where Duty’s leadership sat, to the right — the storage room, which was exactly what he needed.

He turned right and passed a campfire, where a few Dutymen were sitting and swapping jokes. Then he entered the building.

Walking a bit further and turning right again, he stepped into the room of Duty’s quartermaster — Senior Warrant Officer Kovalenko, who had been holding the post for two years now in place of Colonel Petrenko.

"Oh, Raven," the warrant officer raised his hand in greeting. "I’ve been waiting for you."

"What, drank all the booze and that’s why you were waiting?" the stalker replied grimly, setting the box on the table.

"Why so quick to judge?" the Duty member took offense. "You know it’s for our medic. I said twelve bottles. Where are the other two?"

"Ask Kytsenko," the stalker gestured with his thumb toward the southern checkpoint. "That bastard took two bottles. So take it up with him, not me."

The warrant officer cursed and looked at the box.

"Alright, whatever," he turned and rummaged through a drawer. He pulled out a few bills and handed them to the stalker.

Raven hid the money in his pocket and was about to say goodbye when Kovalenko interrupted.

"Want to earn some more? Got a little job. Should be easy for you."

Raven was clearly interested. But the phrase "should be easy" set him on edge. Seven years in the Zone had taught him that simple tasks often turned out to be the hardest.

"What’s the job?" he crossed his arms.

"Here’s the thing…" the Duty warehouse manager began, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Basically, we need to deliver a crate of armor-piercing rounds to the scientists at Yantar. Their security’s got supply issues, and those zombies from the factory keep crawling in. So they came to us."

"Why don’t you deliver it yourselves?" the stalker asked, searching for a catch. Something told him this "easy job" was going to bite him.

"You have to go through the Wild Territory. We’ve got an agreement with the mercs: we don’t go into the Wild, they don’t work against us. Neutrality, damn it."

On one hand, the task really seemed simple: just deliver a crate of ammo a few kilometers west. But on the other… something told him it wasn’t that straightforward. His gut screamed: "Don’t fall for it, fool — you won’t even collect your bones!"

Then Raven remembered how much money he had left in his pocket, and the temptation to take the risk grew. Not out of greed — greed kills stalkers — but for other, more... personal reasons.

"So, I have to haul a crate of ammo through Syndicate territory? Their snipers will kill me at the first chance. And my back still matters to me."

"Raven," said the Duty member boredly, "we both know you need the money. Though where you spend it — no clue. And you told me yourself you’ve got an exoskeleton. With it, you’ll deliver the crate fast. So don’t stall — I’ll pay well. Word of Duty."

The stalker thought over the offer for a while — he didn’t like how easy it all sounded. But his tendency to look for trouble, or as some more refined folks would say, "adventurism," won out.

"Alright, give me the crate," the veteran stalker waved his hand in agreement.

"Pick it up from the stash tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the coordinates."

With that, the conversation ended, and Raven finally headed to the bar.

The stalker entered the bar and looked around the basement space where it was located: several tables by the walls, each occupied by customers; Soviet posters on the walls, left over from the accident back in ’86; to the right was the bar counter, behind which stood the owner of the place — one of the most influential men in the Zone — a man nicknamed the Bartender. Raven approached the counter and leaned on it.

The stalker standing nearby noticed him and stepped away — closer to his own companions. Raven paid no attention.

“Still alive?” the Bartender came up and started the conversation. “Good to hear.”

“Alive, alive…” Raven smirked ironically. “You know yourself what some people call me.”

And they called him nothing less than “the cursed.” Or, as one stalker poetically put it: “He whom death bypasses.”

After all, Vasyl managed to dress up the word “cursed” so nicely — not for nothing that he studied journalism. Eh… I should visit the Freedom base sometime, they were supposed to bring some good stuff there…

“You always look so gloomy, Raven. Let me pour you something, maybe it’ll help.”

It wouldn’t help. No matter how much Raven drank, it didn’t get any easier. And he drank a lot. Maybe even too much.

The Bartender went to the shelves behind him and started rummaging around, searching for something.

The stalker, resting his head on one hand, decided to listen in on the conversations of the other visitors.

“…What’s wrong with him?” asked some young guy in a leather jacket — clearly a rookie.

“He’s cursed. Cursed by the Zone,” answered another in a hoarse voice, already looking experienced. “All his partners die on missions, but he keeps living. Don’t go on raids with him, kid. And don’t cross paths with him if you can avoid it.”

The guy, who apparently hadn’t even started shaving properly yet, glanced at “the cursed one.” Raven responded with a crooked smile and waved his hand, showing he heard everything. The rookie blushed, leaned over the table, and his face disappeared under the hood.

Raven didn’t bother thinking about how old that kid was, what brought him to the Zone, or how quickly he’d die here. He had enough problems of his own.

Just then, the Bartender placed a faceted glass in front of him and poured vodka into it. Not the “Cossacks” — the usual swill in the Zone, but a quality one straight from the Mainland — “Nemiroff.” He didn’t pour this for just anyone — only trusted people. That is, those who survived the longest on his assignments.

Raven was one of them.

He drained the glass in one gulp and set it down for another round.

The warmth spreading down his throat and through his body calmed him but also reminded him of his “title.”

He found it ironic. The man who had brought him into the Zone and was his mentor was called the Vulture — because he also didn’t return from missions with his partners. But he did it deliberately: they were his “lock picks” — going ahead first and the first to hit anomalies or catch stray bullets.

But Raven’s partners died on their own. He never wished death on them. Try proving that to other stalkers. For them, everything was clear and obvious.

After finishing the second glass, the stalker pulled out a thick wad of cash from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

“This is on the house, for being the best worker,” the Bartender tried to refuse the money. This was one reason Raven had started working closely with him: the Bartender, unlike other traders in the Zone, had something human about him. Minimal, of course, but in the Zone, that was enough.

“This isn’t for vodka,” the stalker said without looking at the Bartender. “You know what it’s for.”

The Bartender sighed and silently took the money.

“Listen, have you ever thought about…”

“No, I haven’t,” Raven cut him off. “We talked about this. It’s better this way — for me, and… for both of us, really. If anything — I’m in my room.”

The man stepped aside and headed toward the door, where a stalker stood in the passage wearing a balaclava, a blue camouflage jumpsuit, and light green body armor.

The stalker looked at Raven with skepticism, but recognizing him, stepped aside and let him pass.

Raven walked through the corridors of the old factory. If you didn’t know them, it was easy to get lost. Turning where needed, he finally reached a wooden door — surprisingly, in decent condition.

Rummaging through numerous pouches, he pulled out an old, partly rust-eaten key and inserted it into the keyhole. After turning it twice, he opened the door.

Entering, he dropped his backpack and assault rifle on the floor and switched on the light. Yes, in some inhabited sections of the factory, power had been restored — powered by electric artifacts. The Zone, what can you say?

The “apartment” was a small room: an old creaky metal bed with a thin mattress, a nightstand by the wall, and a box in the corner. Completing the picture was a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. As Raven joked to himself: “Not even a place to hang yourself.”

Locking the door, he took a small lead container from his belt and placed it on the nightstand, then with a tired sigh collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

After lying there for a few minutes, trying not to think about anything, he finally got up and began unfastening the magazine pouches from his “Sunrise” armored jumpsuit. After finishing, he started taking off the jumpsuit itself.

Carefully folding it on the edge of the bed, he laid the body armor and other protective elements on top. Then he approached the blue box in the corner. Opening it, he pulled out an olive-colored military uniform — with sewn-in Kevlar inserts and other modifications needed for Zone conditions. It looked like new: the stalker had hardly ever worn it.

Putting it on, he glanced again into the box. There, beneath folds of fabric, rested the exoskeleton — disassembled. An expensive and demanding thing both to maintain and operate, but a prestige symbol for any self-respecting stalker. Raven had bought it once more for “just in case.” He rarely used it: the exoskeleton was bulky, though it allowed running.

But tomorrow he had to carry twenty kilograms of armor-piercing rounds and that was non-negotiable. He wasn’t going to ruin his back.

Closing the box, Raven felt fatigue crushing down on him. He hid “Sunrise” in the nightstand and placed the loaded rifle by the bed, then collapsed onto it and rolled onto his side.

Under the pillow — which he had once miraculously found in good condition and even washed — lay an old but reliable Colt.

Before finally drifting off to sleep, his gaze lingered on the lead container with the artifact.

He saw the snow-covered corpse of a metropolis.

He saw massive steel doors.

Whispers.

He saw antennas.

He was rushing through the city.

Whispers. Whispers.

A bunker.

Voices.

A library building.

Voices. Voices. Voices.

A door. A wooden door. He steps through it.

A symbol.

A capsule.

The hexagon symbol.

The voices are screaming.

He sees a frozen lake. The moon. Full. The moon behind a tall figure.

Long, sharp wings. Silver hair. Claws instead of hands — sharp, curved, something dripping from them. Dark.

He locks eyes with the creature.

Golden glow. It blinds him.

And then — darkness.

And then — the symbol. A hexagon with three arrows coming out from its corners. Golden.

And then — the darkness thickens. And he sees nothing but the glowing sign.

And then — a scream.

His scream.

Raven jolted upright, drenched in cold sweat. He frantically checked himself, then scanned the room.
Everything was in place. Rifle by the bed. Colt under the pillow. Container on the nightstand. The crate was shut.
He fell back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling.
That dream again.

Dreams are strange in the Zone. But his were worse. Nightmares. Every night. For two years now.

But this one came back every two weeks. Like clockwork. And every time it did, something went to hell.

And now — right before a mission — it showed up again.

Fantastic… Couldn’t it wait till tomorrow or something? Something inside him already screamed this job was a setup, and now this…

Realizing he wouldn’t get back to sleep, he reached for his PDA on the nightstand.

7:38. Fair enough.

One message. Senior Warrant Officer Kovalenko. Stash coordinates and a “good luck.”

He opened the “Journal” tab. Paused. Closed it.

What was the point in trying to figure out that damn dream? The figure, the symbol, the city, the lake — just nonsense.

He’d even tried identifying the hexagon with the arrows. He’d drawn it out. Asked around. Everyone just shrugged or tapped a finger to their temple.

He tossed the PDA onto the bed and went to the crate.

Time to take the exosuit for a walk.

First: the vest. Bullets, shrapnel, claws — it handled it all. Then: limb armor. Balaclava. And finally the exoskeleton itself.

Assembly, adjustment, activation — took about thirty minutes. But the result was worth it. He liked how the suit felt on him. Not a stalker — a tank.

Finished admiring himself in the black screen of the PDA, he checked his gear, slung the backpack over his shoulder and picked up his custom AK-74: underbarrel launcher, suppressor, red dot sight, extended mag, and a few internal mods. Cost him a small fortune. Worth every coupon.

He switched off the light, stepped out of the room, and locked the door behind him.

He adjusted his backpack straps, his rifle sling, and the container harness, then headed for the exit.

That was the last time he’d ever be in that room.

Raven passed through the gate marked: “Caution! Beyond this point the Wild Territory.”

The name spoke for itself.

If the eastern part of the Rostok plant was the heart of the stalker world, the western part was death.

A deadly mix of anomalies, mutants of all kinds, mercenaries, and bandits made this place one that no ordinary stalker dared enter.

Though there were always madmen who ventured into the ruined buildings in search of artifacts, stashes… Most were never seen again.

But the shortest path to Yantar — the lake where the scientists had set up their mobile bunker — ran through the Wild. So there was no choice.

Ahead, blocking the road, stood an old truck. A sedan had apparently crashed into its side.

To Raven’s left loomed rusted fuel tanks. He made his way toward the car — there was supposed to be a stash in the trunk: a crate of ammo.

Getting closer, he noticed the trunk was slightly ajar, and fresh footprints in the mud suggested someone had been here recently.

He hooked the lid and opened it with a creak.

Inside was a wooden army crate stamped: 5.45×39, armor-piercing. 

He pulled it out, cracked it open — two full cans, just as promised. It was easier to take them out one by one and load them into his backpack than to carry the crate whole. The weight was serious, but the exosuit made hauling them manageable.

Once the backpack got noticeably heavier, he adjusted the straps, checked the fastenings, and moved deeper into the Wild Territory.

Crossing a narrow passage, he came out by a row of old garages. Nearby stood several rusted ZIL truck frames. From the dark recesses of the garages shimmered the eerie green glow of a “Witch’s Jelly” anomaly. To the right was an old depot, and beneath the watchtower swirled the blue arcs of an “Electra.”

Raven pressed forward.

He passed through that section and turned left into a corridor flanked by towering concrete factory buildings.

And then he noticed — it was too quiet. 

No mutant howls. No distant pseudodog wails. No occasional gunshots on the horizon. Even the crows — the only birds that still inhabited the Zone — were silent.

That alone put him on edge.

The wind. The creaking servos of his exosuit. The faint clinking of ammo in the backpack. Those were the only sounds accompanying him.

He reached a metal barricade blocking the path. Luckily, there was a detour to the right. Taking it, he emerged onto an old train platform.

Now he was walking through what felt like a corridor. To the right: rails and abandoned train cars. To the left: a brick building, its windows boarded up. Ahead: a tall, unfinished structure — and beyond that, the road to Yantar began.

He walked with his head on a swivel, scanning every corner, every shadow.

Something inside him was tightening.

The Wild Territory wasn’t supposed to be this quiet. It couldn’t be.

Part of him even wanted a mutant to jump out — just so he could shoot it down and say: “There we go. Everything’s fine. The Zone is still the Zone.”

But…

Be careful what you wish for. They just might come true.

As he walked past the only unboarded window of the brick building on the left, the stalker spotted something blue on the top floor of the unfinished structure ahead. He squinted — and a second later, realization hit him.

Without hesitation, he dove into the open window nearby.

A sniper round tore through the air right behind him.

Crashing over the windowsill, Raven rolled inside and quickly took position by the frame, adjusting his grip on the rifle.

Moments later, bursts of automatic fire ripped toward the building he was now holed up in.

He fired back blindly, Somali-style, through the window. Whether he hit anyone or not — he couldn’t tell.

Once the incoming fire quieted down, the stalker cautiously peeked out. Beyond the train cars, he saw figures moving between cover — men in blue armor. Mercenaries.

Raven sent a burst in their direction and caught one of them in the leg.

Pulling back, he quickly swapped out the empty mag for a fresh one.

Just then, his radio crackled to life, and a harsh voice with a thick Caucasian accent came through:

"Vay, captain. You still breathing in there?"

The word " captain " threw Raven off. He hesitated — but only for a moment. Then he pressed the PTT button on his helmet.

"Guys, I think you've got the wrong man. I'm just a stalker, not some captain. Maybe we just… walk away from this? I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me."

He knew even as he said it — it wouldn’t work. The Syndicate didn’t leave witnesses.

"Wrong guy? No, no, my friend. We’re exactly where we need to be. You’re Captain Radchenko, right? Thought you could hide? Lay low? We’ll find you anywhere, you bastard. You still owe us for Dead City."

The hatred in the mercenary’s voice was almost tangible.

Raven leaned out the window again and opened fire — this time with much better aim. One of them had come too close and was shredded by the burst from his AK.

Shouts rang out, followed by a return volley of fire and a barked order: "Don’t expose yourselves!"

Raven understood two things instantly: first — negotiation was off the table; second — he was most likely already surrounded.

And soon, they’d be coming into the building.

And so it happened — muffled thuds echoed from the hallway as something heavy struck against the old wooden door. It held for a few seconds and then gave way with a loud crack, crashing to the floor.

Short commands followed. Heavy boots thundered across the floor. Until they were cut off by a burst of gunfire.

The stalker dashed into another room, the one directly across from his previous position.

It was worse. Half the room had collapsed into a pit, with broken wooden beams jutting out of the earth. Worse still, all the windows were wide open — perfect entry points for bullets… or grenades.

Raven positioned himself by the doorway and fired blindly, exposing only the barrel of his rifle.

From the room he’d just abandoned, he heard movement — the mercs were already inside.

He was cornered.

A thousand options raced through his mind — all of them with slim chances of survival.

And then he remembered something.

Someone, once, had told him about a spatial anomaly in this very building. A bubble — and if you fell into it, there were only two outcomes: Either you’d be teleported to a random point in the Zone… or you’d get trapped in a sealed space with no exit. Except one — death.

A crazy idea took root. Insane. Desperate. But maybe… just maybe, it could save him.

He pulled a grenade from his vest, yanked the pin, and hurled it into the room behind.

Screams. A scramble to retreat. Then — a deafening explosion.

Wasting no time, Raven ran toward the pit and skidded to a halt at the edge.

He’d been right. Hanging at the bottom, suspended in the air, was a warped shimmer, a sphere distorting everything around it.

He couldn’t hesitate.

Without looking back, he jumped.

Shouts and gunfire erupted behind him, but he didn’t hear them.

A blinding flash engulfed his vision. A piercing, metallic ring filled his ears.

And then — nothing.

Raven slipped into unconsciousness.

Murder Drones: Sphaera Lucis

Act I "Arrival"

Chapter Text

The river.

Blue. So wide the opposite shore was barely visible.

A passenger steamboat floated down it, a red flag fluttering at the stern.

A three-year-old boy sat on his grandfather’s knees, watching it all. 

Bearded like Santa Claus, the old man was telling him something — a rhyme, maybe, about that river. 

The boy didn’t fully understand the words, but he listened with great interest.

He looked toward the riverbank. There he saw his mother and father, splashing in the water and laughing. It was unusual for his father, and his mother was clearly enjoying the rare moment of warmth coming from her husband.

The boy blinked.

And everything vanished.

In place of the river — a cold, dusty concrete floor.

Instead of sunlight warming his skin — pain all over his body, like he’d been slammed into the ground several times.

His head was pounding like after a week-long bender, and his vision was swimming.

And to top it all off — nausea.

Groaning, he tried to roll onto his back, but his backpack got in the way. He had to settle for lying on his side.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and his vision started to clear.

The stalker was lying in some sort of utility room — pipes, valves, and all the usual industrial junk.

Feeling around beside him, he found his rifle and made an effort to get up.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed, leaning against a pipe-covered wall and muttering quiet curses under his breath.

More of the room came into view: rags hanging on the pipes, a forgotten toolbox in the corner, icicles under the ceiling, and a door.

His gaze lingered on the icicles. It was autumn — what the hell were icicles doing here?

Shaking his head, he decided that wasn’t important right now.

First, he had to figure out whether the Zone, Fortune, the gods, or anyone else powerful was on his side today.

He dug into his pouch for his PDA, praying it hadn’t broken.

The device was intact — but not much help.

Instead of a map, the screen displayed “NOT FOUND,” and there was no signal at all.

Perfect… Fucking perfect. If I’m stuck in a spatial anomaly, and I brought barely any food...

Deciding his “best friend” was useless for now, he shoved it back and moved on to checking other gear.

First — the Geiger counter. He waited a minute. 58 mSv/h. Normal was somewhere around 10–20.

Not great, not terrible.

He clipped the dosimeter back to his belt and moved on to the next tools — anomaly and psi-field detectors.

Both showed... nothing? No psi fields. No anomalies nearby. Strange. His anomaly detector was top-grade — it could sniff out a “Vortex” from a hundred meters away. And here? Absolutely clean.

Questions kept piling into Raven’s aching head, so he decided to stick to the basics — deal with problems one at a time.

And right now, he had one problem: figuring out where the hell he was.

Detectors can glitch. PDAs can lose signal underground. He just needed to figure out where the anomaly had dumped him. Then he could work from there.

With that thought, he finally switched on his headlamp, grabbed his rifle tighter, and headed for the door.

As usual, it didn’t want to open easily. He had to shoulder into it hard before it groaned and gave way.

Behind it stretched a tunnel, running left and right. A shallow trench ran down its center — looked like a sewer.

He picked the path to the right and started walking, rifle at the ready.

The tunnel didn’t change — just stretched forward, farther than his flashlight could reach.

No turns in sight.

As he walked, dozens of thoughts buzzed through his mind: was he trapped? Where had he ended up? If this was a sewer, why hadn’t he already been fried by the Brain Scorcher’s psi-field? Sewers like this only existed in Pripyat… Who sold him out to the mercs?

But all those questions vanished the moment he noticed something strange.

Why was the water in the trench frozen?

And why was it this cold, deep into autumn?

That seriously worried him — the last thing he needed was to get stuck in the middle of a climate anomaly.

He walked on, lost in thought, until eventually he felt like lighting a cigarette.

So far, he hadn’t encountered a single threat in this tunnel. Not even anomalies — though for all he knew, he might be standing inside one right now.

Temptation won. He reached for his face to take off the gas mask.

That was a mistake.

A sharp, bitter stench hit his nose instantly.

Each breath burned — first his throat, then straight into his lungs like fire.

He yanked the gas mask back on and coughed violently.

Thankfully, no blood. After a few minutes, he was able to keep moving.

So. The air was toxic. Great. Just great. God help me if this is the Underpass...

Eventually, he came across something else — a hatch above him.

A metal ladder led up to it — covered in ice.

He checked the ladder for strength, then started to climb. It was narrow — not ideal for someone in an exosuit with a pack full of two crates of ammo.

When he reached the top, he decided to remove the backpack and shove it through first, then climb out himself.

As he opened the hatch, something white spilled down from above.

Raven chose to ignore it for now.

He pushed the pack through, then pulled himself up.

Once on the surface...

He froze.

He’d expected anything — even the Chornobyl NPP itself.

But not this.

Towering skyscrapers, ruined and snow-covered.

Abandoned cars on the roads, with skeletons still sitting inside.

He turned his head, gripping his AK even tighter.

Then he looked up at the sky.

It was bright, like during a sunset. He expected to see the Sun, or maybe the Moon.

Instead… two planets hung overhead.

One huge and ringed like Saturn. The other, smaller and nearby.

His eyes widened behind the mask.

And then, just one word slipped from his lips — the only one that could describe what he was seeing:

"Пиздец… (Fuck...)"

Raven walked down the wide avenue, his head tilted back as he took in the world around him. Towering walls of concrete and glass rose on either side, dusted with snow. Some buildings were almost completely intact — it looked like life had just been bustling inside them yesterday. Others were crumbling with age and weather, as if they’d stood abandoned for years. And then there were those heavily damaged — leaning dangerously, ready to fall with the next strong gust of wind.

The stalker looked down at the ground. The road was packed with cars, frozen in place forever. Just like the buildings, some looked like they had just rolled out of a dealership — only a light dusting of snow on top — while others were torn apart and twisted beyond recognition. But what really completed the picture of this dead city were the skeletons.

They were everywhere: inside cars, walking down the street, sitting on benches, frozen mid-step at crosswalks. One held a briefcase, another stared at a watch or into a phone. The eerie part was how natural it all looked — as if time had stopped in an instant. They were still dressed in their clothes. Still going about their lives… until they weren’t.

Raven approached one of the “statues.” A man in a business suit, frozen while glancing at his wristwatch. The time on it read: 

23:59 .

Raven studied the figure from head to toe, staring into the darkness inside its empty eye sockets. The darkness didn’t look back. Only the wind howled and blew through the skeleton’s ribcage. For some reason, Raven felt the urge to touch him. He gave in and gently tapped the skeleton’s chest with the barrel of his rifle. The figure toppled backward and crumbled into a pile of bones.

Raven shook his head, stepped back, and snapped out of the trance. The street around him was unchanged — the same eerie silence, the same deathly stillness. It made him uneasy. Not the skeletons themselves — he’d seen worse. But their positions, the way they had died… that’s what truly disturbed him.

As he walked further down the street, he tried to make sense of what was happening. First off — this wasn’t the Zone. It could be some anomaly, a psi-field, or a hallucination... but everything felt way too real for mere illusions. Second — judging by the sky, he wasn’t even on Earth anymore. And worse — this planet used to be inhabited by humans, or something close. Used to be. Third — and what bothered him most — was the fate of that population. It looked like they’d all died in a single instant, at least in this city. But what could have done that? War? A natural disaster? A nuclear strike? Or something worse?

As the questions piled up, Raven reminded himself of the basics: theories are good, but right now, he needed to find shelter before nightfall. Something told him staying outside after dark was a very bad idea.

He scanned the area for an intact, tall building. One structure nearby looked promising — maybe it had once been an office complex. He stood right in front of it now. Forty stories high. Raven made his way toward the skyscraper.

He entered through the massive glass revolving doors. Inside, the scene was all too familiar: a business lobby, complete with leather couches, coffee tables, dead potted plants, and a large reception desk. Behind it sat a skeleton.

He glanced around and spotted four elevators. One of them had its doors slightly open — the cabin was visible but clearly not operational. A stairwell stood nearby.

Raven dropped his backpack onto the floor with a soft clank. Climbing forty floors in an exosuit was bad enough; no need to carry extra weight. Taking a deep breath, he began the long ascent.

The climb was slow and exhausting. Only the sounds of servos and the distant howl of the wind accompanied him. On the thirtieth floor, he swore he’d quit smoking. By the thirty-second, he changed his mind.

Finally reaching the top, he leaned against the rooftop door, gasping for breath. To his surprise, it opened easily, and a cold blast of wind hit him in the face, filtered through the lenses and filters of his gas mask.

He stepped onto the wide rooftop and pulled out a pair of binoculars. The city stretched out before him in all directions — a frozen cyberpunk wasteland under a bleak winter sky. In the distance, some districts had suffered even worse: entire blocks lay in ruins like tree stumps left after logging.

As he paced the rooftop and scanned the horizon, something caught his eye — something that didn’t belong. A tall, crooked spire, far away. He couldn’t tell what it was made of, but it was definitely built from something different than the rest of the city.

And it was… glowing?

No, pulsing , faintly — in red.

Weird. Maybe it was a beacon? A signal meant to draw survivors toward it? Maybe there was help there?

As Raven stared at the spire, a strange feeling crept through him. Instinct screamed at him to stay away — that red light wasn’t a good sign. But something deep inside pulled him toward it anyway. Was it the same instinct that led stalkers into danger again and again? Or something else entirely?

Something… that came from the container on his belt..

Hmm, I wonder if this is what those idiots felt when they went to the Chornobyl NPP?

Tearing his eyes away from the spire, he decided to leave it for another time. It was getting dark, and he needed a place to sleep.

After a few minutes of scanning, he spotted a residential district a few kilometers away. It looked like a good spot to check out.

With one last glance at the spire, he started heading back down.

Something told him the answers he was looking for… were waiting over there.

The walk to the right turn didn’t take as long as Raven expected. Within twenty minutes, he had left the wide avenue and was moving along a narrow street — one that looked oddly familiar, like the ones back in his hometown.

The surroundings hadn’t changed much: snow, skeletons, cars — just fewer of them now. Then Raven turned into a small courtyard.

And that’s when the deja vu hit harder. The nine-story apartment blocks looked almost too familiar. The courtyard could’ve been copy-pasted straight from any post-Soviet city: concrete giants on all sides, with a rusted playground in the center.

Yeah. Soviet functionalism — truly eternal.

Raven approached the first building entrance and tried each door one by one. On the third try, he got lucky — it was unlocked.

Inside, the sense of familiarity faded a little. Despite the decay and dust, it was surprisingly clean. Part of him wanted to just break into the first apartment and crash on the couch. No need to climb to the upper floors. But logic won — better to scout the building first, and a higher position meant better visibility… and security.

Although... jumping from a first or second floor window isn't that painful.

After climbing to the fortieth floor earlier, nine floors felt like a warm-up. Luckily, he didn’t run into any mutants — or anything else. On the seventh floor, he found an open apartment.

Raven entered with his weapon ready. Room by room, corner by corner — just like in the manuals. No signs of life.

It was a three-room apartment. Immediately to the right of the entrance — a kitchen and a small storage room. Down the hallway and to the right — a large living room. At the end of the corridor — a split: to the left, the parents’ bedroom; to the right, a child’s room. Between them — a bathroom and a toilet.

But the apartment wasn’t empty.

In the kitchen, three skeletons sat around the table. One wore glasses and a white dress shirt. Another was dressed in a long peach-colored gown. The third was much smaller, in a pink dress — a child. A girl.

Adding to the tragedy — they all wore birthday party hats, somehow still intact. Faded flags still hung from the ceiling. Raven could just barely make out what used to be a message in English: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

A family of skeletons, frozen in the middle of celebrating their daughter’s birthday. It was both absurd… and heartbreaking.

Raven stared at the scene with mixed feelings. Years of hardship had made him numb, but this — this struck something deep. These people had their lives, their plans, their hopes. And in one instant — gone. Wiped out by something unknown.

And then he found something worse in the child’s room.

A crib.

Inside — a tiny skeleton, wrapped in swaddling blankets.

Raven quietly closed the doors to the child’s room and the kitchen. No need to disturb the dead. He dragged a wardrobe from the hallway and used it to block the front door.

Then, finally, he dropped onto the living room couch and placed his backpack on the floor.

The couch sank under his weight, and the springs groaned.

Exhaustion washed over him.

It had been one hell of a day: a merc ambush, a leap through a spatial anomaly that dumped him who-knows-where, and now this — a damned dead megacity on an alien planet with toxic air.

He pulled a canteen from his belt and sipped through the gas mask’s drinking valve. Water had to be rationed, but at least it was drinkable. Food, though — that was a different problem.

His thoughts were cut short by a sudden noise outside.

Raven shot up from the couch, grabbed his rifle, and crouched near the window. He took up position, ready to fire if needed.

But the intruder wasn’t what he expected.

Down below, once the kicked-up snow settled, he spotted it through his sight: a strange figure.

Two meters tall. A robot — or something like it. Metallic wings. Blade-like feathers. Arms replaced with long, razor-sharp claws. Behind it twitched a long, thin tail like that of a predator, ending in a syringe-like capsule filled with yellow fluid.

But what chilled Raven most — was its face.

A wide mechanical grin in the lower half, fangs dripping some unknown liquid. Above — a single, massive yellow cross where eyes should’ve been, scanning the environment hungrily. On its head — five yellow orbs, maybe sensors, maybe eyes… and a military cap.

Its claws twitched now and then. The tail swayed side to side, eager. From experience, Raven could tell — this thing was hunting. Actively.

And it might’ve spotted him — if not for a sudden noise in the distance.

The creature whipped its head toward the sound, let out a screeching, almost gleeful laugh — and took off into the sky, vanishing into a cloud of snow.

Raven watched it disappear, then exhaled and stepped away from the window.

He’d been right — nights were dangerous here. But he hadn’t expected that .

He sat in silence for a while, listening to the wind and distant creaks of the city. Fatigue crept back.

Gathering blankets and whatever else he could find, Raven padded the bathtub. He dropped his backpack on the floor and climbed in.

Thankfully, the tub was big enough to fit a man in an exosuit.

It must’ve looked ridiculous — but he didn’t care.

He laid his rifle across his chest and let his mind go blank.

Tomorrow. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.

Right now — he needed rest.

Chapter Text

A piece of meat like big, sizzle, juicy... mmm. And with a cold beer, eh.

With those thoughts swirling in his head, the stalker stepped out of yet another grocery section in yet another shopping mall.

Absolutely nothing useful — all the water had turned into radioactive ice, and the food was either spoiled or completely useless.

If Raven dared to eat any of it, he’d cough up his lungs along with the canned stew.

After walking a bit past the grocery area, he sat down on a bench in the middle of the mall passage.

Responding to something within, he raised his gaze to the glass ceiling and closed his eyes.

Four days.

Four days on this damned other planet.

Yeah, his theory had been confirmed: the anomaly really did throw him onto another world.

He found that out on the second day of being here.

In the morning, Raven woke up alive and still in the same bathtub.

So it’s not a dream… Although what did I expect?

Leaving his shelter, he went to the window.

It was already light outside, though not nearly as bright as it usually was on Earth.

The heavy leaden clouds above blocked much of the sunlight from breaking through.

Stepping away from the window, the stalker decided to search the apartment for anything useful, or at least some information — where exactly he was.

That didn’t yield much: the apartment contained either ordinary household items, or things so ruined by time that they were practically useless.

No map or any other item that could identify his location either.

A map... Does this place have a metro? It must. And where there’s a metro — there’s a subway map, and thus a city map.

A new goal appeared for Raven: to find the subway entrance and get a map to at least roughly orient himself and learn the city’s name.

But before heading outside, the stalker decided to inventory what he had.

In a few minutes, all his belongings lay spread on a large blanket on the floor before him:

Two cans of stew, a Ukrainian one-day ration pack, an American MRE, a two-liter bottle of water, a flask of water on his belt, several medkits, bandages and other medical supplies, over two hundred rounds for his Kalashnikov and several dozen for his Colt — not counting the rounds already loaded in his armor magazines; a few under-barrel grenades and regular F-1 grenades; two packs of cigarettes, a lighter, and some other small stuff.

Not much.

He decided to leave the magazines with armor-piercing rounds in the apartment until better times — he didn’t want to carry extra weight.

Soon the stalker was back on the wide avenue and started walking in the direction opposite to the distant spire.

Walking along the street, Raven looked more closely at the ruins and the sky — now he knew for sure he wasn’t alone in this city.

Whether that was good or bad was an open question.

After an hour of wandering the dead city, he came across a descent underground.

Descending and nearly slipping several times on the icy steps, he saw several escalators leading down — obviously, not working.

Praying that the escalators wouldn’t collapse beneath him, Raven started heading down to the station.

On his way down, he thought it would be funny if he found a sealed hermetic door at the bottom.

But there was no hermetic door.

A standard, unremarkable metro station — except for the number of skeletons there, which was unsettling, but something one could get used to.

To his relief, there was a train stopped at the station, frozen at the moment it was supposed to let passengers in.

Slipping inside and knocking over a few “statues,” he began to search the cabin for a map — and he found one.

The city was quite large — divided by a river into two banks, with several metro lines and many stations.

Most had simple, numbered names like Station “First,” but some had proper names.

He also learned the city’s name — Copper City. An original name.

He decided to photograph the map with his PDA to help navigate.

After walking a bit more through the cabin, he noticed a battered advertising banner.

Shining his flashlight on it, he read:

ATTENTION!

SPECIAL OFFER FOR RELOCATORS TO PLANET COPPER 9!

BUY A 35TH GENERATION JCJENSON WORKER DRONE AND GET…

…

…

…

OFFER VALID UNTIL ...3050!

Next to the text remnants was the JCJenson logo and a smiling robot wearing a construction helmet with neon-white eyes — apparently the “35th generation worker drone.”

Interestingly, all the text was in plain English. His translator master’s degree finally came in handy here.

He also finally got a bit of information about his location: planet Copper 9, and the current year — sometime after 3050.

This one successfully transported me - a thousand years ahead and to another planet. And did the spatial anomaly also throw other stalkers into the future, or am I just that lucky?

Exiting the train car, Raven stared into the darkness of the metro tunnels for a while, debating whether to travel on the surface or underground.

He decided to stay above ground — who knew what lurked in those tunnels.

Emerging from the metro, he glanced once again at the metro map on his PDA.

His attention was caught by the station named “Market.”

It was quite far, but he didn’t have much choice — maybe he’d find something valuable there.

Estimating a rough route on the map, he set off deeper into the city.

By evening, he was two metro stations away from his target, but since nightfall was approaching quickly, the stalker had to look for shelter.

He took refuge in a high-rise that used to be an office for yet another company. Not the best place to hole up, but he hadn’t found any residential buildings.

Sitting in a large leather chair in some executive office, he pulled out his PDA and opened the “Journal” section.

Many stalkers in the Zone kept journals on their PDAs — some just noted thoughts or important info, others wrote near-memoirs.

Raven used to think journals were a waste of time, maybe even a liability.

But after the nightmares started tormenting him every night, he began writing down his thoughts, the things happening around him, and anything else.

He needed somewhere to pour it all out — better than bottling it up.

Now it helped him distract himself from the growing hunger and the questions that gnawed at him: What next? Where to go? What was he even looking for?

Halfway through writing about the subway visit, he heard a noise from outside.

Grabbing his rifle and binoculars, he left the office and approached a large window.

Down on the street, he saw a figure frantically running and screaming, and something was chasing it from the sky — a flying thing like the one Raven had seen the evening before.

It looked like the “demon” had found another victim. Yes, demon — that’s what Raven had decided to call these machines.

The demon was clearly toying with the panicked figure: shooting but deliberately missing, diving in fast and pulling away at the last moment, flying in slow circles above — all of it accompanied by a wild, maniacal laugh with a clear sadistic tone.

Watching the chase through the binoculars, Raven was reminded of how his cat used to play with mice before killing and eating them.

But it seemed the predator with the yellow cross on its face got bored of playing. It finally impaled the victim with its claws and, to the sound of a blood-curdling scream, carried it away behind a building.

Raven silently followed them with his eyes. When they disappeared, he exhaled and returned to the office.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind to try helping that poor soul — what would’ve been the point?

He didn’t know the demon’s strength or capabilities — for all he knew, bullets might not even affect it.

Playing the hero wasn’t his thing. He had to worry about surviving himself — as for the rest… well, survival of the fittest and smartest. That’s nature’s law.

He barricaded the door with a cabinet — more for peace of mind than real defense — then sat in the corner, and after a few minutes, drifted off.

The third day began with a sharp sense of hunger and a memory of yet another dream: a cage, a bunker, massive hermetic doors, and the vague silhouette of someone towering over him.

But he pushed the dream aside and focused on something more urgent — the hunger.

He needed to find something edible and liquid that he could pass through the valve.

Still, his curiosity gnawed at him — who did the demon tear apart at night?

The figure had vaguely resembled a human, but was unusually short and dressed in something totally unsuited to this environment.

Outside, he found tracks left by the runner — standard boot prints, and here and there, signs of someone falling.

The trail abruptly ended — that must’ve been the point of capture.

A few meters farther, black stains appeared on the snow.

Not blood — something black.

Now that was interesting.

The stalker followed the trail of this black “blood,” rifle at the ready.

Yes, it was a risky move — the demon could still be near the body, “feasting.”

But the chance to get a close look at a native — well, a recently alive one — was too tempting.

A bit farther, he realized where the trail was leading — a store with a smashed front window.

Smashed by something big. Or someone.

There was hardly any light inside, so he turned on his headlamp.

Raven carefully stepped in, checking corners and potential hiding spots.

It had once been a clothing store — fairly small. He cleared it in five minutes and found no one.

But he did find a trail.

The floor was smeared with thick black fluid, leading to the far end of the store.

Looked like something had been dragged.

And it had put up a fight — overturned shelves, smeared walls.

The trail led to a fitting room.

A thick black puddle oozed out from under the curtain.

Wasting no time, the stalker yanked the curtain aside — and saw a torn-up robot torso.

It looked familiar — it was a 35th-generation worker drone, the same kind heavily advertised back in the metro.

It wore a blue camo jacket and a helmet. Its arms and legs had been ripped off and tossed across the room. Its abdomen was brutally torn open and gutted — wires, components, capacitors scattered around. Across its visor, the words FATAL ERROR glowed in red, while the lower half of the face was frozen in a grimace of pain and terror.

“Мда, крепко тебе досталось (Damn, you really got messed up),” Raven muttered.

He crouched down, dipped a finger into the puddle, and rubbed it between his fingers.

The fluid was oily, thick, and greasy.

Oil. Not surprising.

Something else caught his attention — spent shell casings.

He picked one up, wiped off the oil, and checked the caliber: 9×19mm.

Looked like the good old Parabellum wasn’t going out of service anytime soon.

Exiting the store, he stopped by the entrance and reached for his pack of Marlboros.

Only after pulling out a cigarette did he remember — he couldn’t light it.

Habit.

He slid the cigarette back into the pack, glanced at the metro map on his PDA once more, and continued toward the “Market” station.

At the “Market” station, all he found was disappointment.

The path from the site of the worker drone’s death to his destination wasn’t particularly long — it was the destination itself that took a while to find.

By the afternoon, according to his estimate, he finally located what the station had likely been named after — a massive shopping mall.

Standing in front of the entrance, he was already imagining how he’d find food, medicine, and everything needed to set up at least a primitive base.

Yeah, right. As if.

Those were Raven’s thoughts as he searched the third floor of the mall, growing more pissed off with each empty aisle — someone had already cleared the place out.

That could’ve been encouraging: if someone had looted the shops, it meant living people had passed through.

But Raven only cursed those people to hell as he waited out the night in the mall, listening to the distant sounds of demons flying above and more screams echoing from far away.

On the morning of day four, his stomach growled in protest, reminding its owner that it, too, required feeding.

But there was a glimmer of hope: according to street signs, another shopping center lay a few kilometers away.

Fortune, however, clearly wasn’t on Raven’s side.

A collapsed skyscraper blocked the route, forcing him to take a long detour. He didn’t make it there until late afternoon.

This mall was noticeably smaller than the last one, but Raven still hoped to find something useful inside. Or at least some water — he was already running low.

With that hope, he stepped through the main entrance.

He searched the mall until nightfall — result: nothing.

There were more items here than in the previous one, sure, but nothing he actually needed.

Since it was already dark outside, he had to spend yet another night inside the shopping center.

Sleep wouldn’t come, so he decided to do one more round — maybe he missed something?

But no miracle happened, and now Raven sat on a bench in the central atrium, replaying the past few days in his mind.

At some point, he even nodded off.

What woke him was the sound of shattering glass.

He snapped awake instantly, rolling behind a stone pillar by reflex, scanning for the source of the noise.

And he saw it.

A demon.

It unfurled its wings and raised its claws.

The light of dawn was already breaking through the smashed glass — looked like Raven had slept through the rest of the night right there on the bench.

Nice job, Raven. Veteran stalker, my ass. Slipped up like some snot-nosed rookie.

The demon, meanwhile, gently landed on the first floor, slowly scanning the surroundings with its glowing cross-shaped visor.

The way through the ground floor was cut off, and jumping from the third floor was just plain stupid — too much risk of injury, and with an injury, there was no outrunning a drone demon.

Fight it head-on? Who knows what kind of armor that thing had — bullets might just scratch the paint. If only he had armor-piercing rounds... but they were still back in that apartment.

At least if I die, it'll be deserved. Got sloppy.

But there was still the second floor. One of the shops there had a collapsed wall that opened a way outside, and just beneath it — a nice snowdrift.

Roughly mapping out an escape plan, he began creeping toward the stairs.

But exosuits weren’t exactly designed for stealth.

The demon heard the noise and launched into the air.

Raven, hearing the hum of the engine, darted into the nearest store — ironically, a clothing shop.

Hiding behind a rack, he aimed his rifle at the entrance.

Soon he heard precise, clicking footsteps.

Moments later, a figure appeared in the aisle.

The lighting was poor, so he couldn’t make out all the details. But the key ones were there: the glowing cross on its face, the fanged grin, the tail ending in a glass capsule.

And yet... something was different from the drone he saw on the first day.

This one had legs shaped like sharp spikes, stood just under two meters tall — still taller than Raven — and had two silver pigtails hanging from its head.

The figure paused, staring at the rack behind which Raven was hiding.

The grin widened. The demon began to walk toward him — slowly, almost gracefully.

Raven let it get close. Looked like the thing wasn’t expecting its prey to be armed.

When it was within a couple of meters, Raven opened fire right at the glowing cross.

The muzzle flashes lit up the room, and gunfire echoed throughout the mall.

The demon’s visor cracked under the burst from Raven’s AK, and the creature shrieked in a high-pitched voice, clutching its face.

Wasting no time, Raven kicked over the clothing rack onto the demon and bolted toward the exit.

As he ran, he kept firing short bursts behind him — the drone clearly realized this wasn’t some helpless worker.

It extended a wing to shield itself from the bullets and started blindly firing back from behind it.

By the time its optics recovered, Raven was already heading down the stairs to the second floor.

There wasn’t much cover on the way, and Raven had no doubt the robot was faster.

He felt impacts on his back — several hits. Luckily, the rounds were small-caliber and didn’t penetrate his vest.

He looked back — the demon was flying straight at him, eyes locked, grinning like a predator.

Raven dodged hard to the side. It worked — kind of. A blade on the wing sliced his arm just above the elbow.

The drone twisted in the air and landed, skidding to a stop with its feet and clawed hand. With the other, it transformed its arm into a weapon — right in front of Raven’s eyes.

Despite the pain, Raven didn’t panic. He closed the distance and kicked the visor with his spiked boot.

The metal sole shattered the glass, and the demon was thrown back.

But it quickly got up, and the visor began to repair itself.

Raven knew he couldn’t win a frontal fight. The priority was to escape.

Crashing into right store, Raven threw together a barricade of shelves and grabbed a grenade from his pouch.

If bullets didn’t work — maybe this would.

The explosion tore through the barricade, and the drone appeared in the smoke.

It barely caught a glimpse of Raven’s back as he dove through the breach in the wall.

It lunged to follow — when something touched its feet.

Small. Round. Green.

A grenade.

Boom.

Raven was already out, climbing from the snowbank, silently thanking every god that there weren’t bricks or rebar beneath him.

But there was nowhere to run — the open parking lot left him exposed.

Knowing his chances were slim, he decided: fine, then. He’d take a stand. If he was going to die, it’d be with a weapon in his hands — not running away.

He took cover behind an abandoned car and reloaded.

Got ready to fire — but no one followed.

The robot stood inside the building, glaring at him with its burning cross. The pigtails fluttered in the breeze.

Raven hesitated — what was it waiting for?

Then he realized: it was already bright outside. And the drone was staying in the shadows.

The absurdity of it all made Raven smile — for the first time in four days. Then he laughed, loud and slightly hysterical.

"Что, солнышка боишься?! (What, scared of a little sunshine?!)" he shouted. Then, bending his arm at the elbow, he raised a middle finger. "Выкуси! Вампир ебучий… (Bite me! You damn vampire…)"

To his surprise, the drone’s expression twisted with rage.

In response, it raised a hand — and pointed a grenade launcher.

Raven instantly realized his mistake and looked around for cover. Luckily, there was an open manhole nearby.

He jumped just as the rocket struck.

The impact with the bottom was brutal. Dust rained down from above.

But he was alive. Cut, but in one piece.

After bandaging the wound, the stalker set off through the long tunnels — searching for a way out.

On the fifth day, he made it out of the sewers and was once again wandering the surface of the city.

But that was the only good news — the bad overshadowed everything: he’d run out of water.

Something had to be done.

Day six. The search was pointless — he didn’t find anything useful. Was there anything of use on this damned planet?

By evening, he was completely desperate and decided to melt snow.

By some miracle, he managed to start a fire, boiled the water several times, and dropped in a purification tablet.

It didn’t help.

As if drinking melted radioactive snow wasn’t already a bad enough idea on a planet with poisoned air, this stuff also reeked of chemicals, metal, and something like dust.

Melting snow — not an option.

Day seven. A storm rolled in.

He walked blindly, not even caring where he was going.

The barrel of his rifle dragged along the ground.

He just walked — driven by a single thought: water.

Sleep never came — the nightmares had turned into full-blown hallucinations.

In every dark corner, he saw that damned yellow cross and heard voices.

Faintly familiar ones.

And they were calling him. By name. His real name, not his callsign.

“Чи хто згадає… чи забуде… (Will anyone remember... or forget...)” he whispered quietly in Ukrainian so as not to lose consciousness. “Мене в снігу на чужині… однаковіс… (Me in the snow in a foreign land… all the same…)” — the man broke into a cough.

He took a few more steps — and tripped over something.

He no longer had the strength to get up.

Those seven days of solitude had drained him completely — both physically and mentally.

Maybe… this was his way out.

His eyes began to close on their own, and he no longer had the strength to resist.

He was just too tired.

Of everything.

Chapter Text

"Mosquito, this is Raven, come in. Over." — Silence.

"Mosquito, what’s going on? Why aren’t you responding? Answer, over."

Silence.

"Mosquito, damn it, answer! Why the hell have we been stuck here for two days?!"

Automatic gunfire erupted outside.

"Raven, it’s pointless. They haven’t answered for two days because there’s no one left."

"So you’re suggesting we abandon them?"

"Yes, damn it, abandon them! Because all that’s left are either corpses or zombified shells! And by holding positions, you’re just getting the boys killed! The fanatics keep coming, and by God, we’ve only got enough ammo to get halfway back to base!"

"I... ah, screw it."

Static on the radio.

"Attention, all with your heads straight! Rally to the square — we and the remnants of the group will break out of Limansk in ten minutes. I repeat! Everyone wanting to escape Limansk, break through to the square. This was Raven, squad commander…"

To the stalker’s surprise, he woke not in a snowdrift but on a metal floor.

A strong sense of déjà vu struck him — once again waking in an unknown place, body aching, vision blurry.

If on the first day it had been caused by teleportation, now the weakness was simply hunger and thirst.

And on the first day, all his gear had been with him, and there were no handcuffs on his wrists.

His weapons, backpack, and container with the artifact were gone. Thank God they left the exoskeleton and helmet.

Struggling to get up, he surveyed the room.

Judging by the setting, it was some kind of cell: no windows; instead of a bed — narrow metal bunks bolted to the wall, too small even to sit on; and a single barred door through which the only light filtered.

Heh, it just reminds me of my student years. Only Aunt Alla isn't here to pick me up from the punishment cell after a night of drinking.

If some people respond to stress with tears or panic, Raven’s defense was humor. Sometimes inappropriate, given the situation.

He decided to approach the door and call out — maybe someone would answer?

"Э, гражданин начальник (Hey, boss)," he rattled his handcuffs against the bars — lucky his hands weren’t cuffed behind his back — "тут жрать выдают? А то у меня скоро желудок завянет, да и от воды я б не отказался (do you hand out food here? ‘Cause my stomach’s about to shrivel up, and I wouldn’t mind some water either)."

Rustling sounds came from the next room, followed by footsteps on the metal floor.

Curiosity gnawed at the stalker: who would enter — a human? Some other life form? Maybe… that demon that failed to catch him a few days ago?

In came a worker drone.

About one and a half meters tall; orange helmet with a flashlight; black robe with reflective stripes — somewhat like a miner’s; orange digital eyes and a completely neutral expression.

Behind it, another one entered, identical in every way except for the number on its chest: fourteen on the first, thirty-three on the second.

Both drones stared at the man in the exoskeleton.

"He’s awake," the Fourteenth stated coldly and monotonously in English. "Report to the First."

"Understood," the other replied in the same tone, then turned and left through the doorway.

The Fourteenth stood by the bars, unblinking, watching the prisoner.

"Um… ahem… Where am I?" the stalker asked in English.

The drone silently stared back, expression unchanged.

"I… uh… I’m a friend, not dangerous, even if I look like this. Do you have food and water? I haven’t eaten or drunk for several days." — Speaking foreigner language was hard due to lack of practice, and he spoke with a strong accent.

The drone didn’t twitch a pixel on its face and seemed not to hear the words at all.

Realizing he might as well be talking to a wall, Raven waved off the Fourteenth and retreated deeper into the cell, sitting against the wall.

His stomach wasn’t even growling anymore — just aching constantly, mouth dry — no saliva at all.

After a while, footsteps approached the cell.

In came Thirty-Third accompanied by two more drones — their numbers unseen — armed with jackhammers.

The Fourteenth moved for the first time in a while, turning his head to the newcomers.

"What did the First say?" — the same cold tone.

"The First said bring him to the Hall. The First said he will deliver a sermon," the unemotional drone responded crisply.

"Understood." — The Fourteenth jerked sharply, reached into his robe pocket, and pulled out an ordinary key.

He approached the door and unlocked it.

Then the two jackhammer drones entered and pressed the tools against the stalker’s head.

"Follow us," said the Thirty-Third to Raven.

The man silently got up and followed the drones.

Leaving the cell, he examined the “prison block” — a simple room, half of which was partitioned and allotted to prisoners.

The drones didn’t look back, moving briskly, while the escorts pushed Raven from behind with their jackhammers, occasionally jabbing him in the back of the head.

They entered a grim corridor, eerily similar to the familiar Chornobyl catacombs — rusty pipes overhead, rods jutting from walls with wires hanging, darkness.

Then they passed through another, larger room.

In this strange place were many drones just like his escorts.

At the center stood a massive altar made of metal beams, pipes, sheets, and rebar reaching up to the ceiling.

Around the “altar,” drones knelt with wires plugged into the back of their heads, connected to a heap of metal.

Their visors had no digital eyes — only rapidly scrolling lines of code.

It reminded Raven of Monolith altars in the northern Zone — except inside those were compact psi-devices that maintained “connection with the Great Monolith,” which in fact controlled the sectarians’ obedience.

What was this altar for?

But the jackhammer pushes didn’t give him much time to ponder — they quickly passed the room and returned to a corridor, now lit by harsh red emergency lights that creaked obnoxiously whenever they swayed.

The corridor was longer than the last, but on the left appeared a turn.

Without slowing, the escort turned and continued down a similar corridor, though doors to other rooms appeared more frequently.

Eventually, after another turn, they reached stairs leading upstairs.

Ascending, the bright light hit him in the face — after a moment’s adjustment, he saw a huge hall filled with even more drones lined up in rows before a tribune, behind which were massive hermetic doors and a monitor above them.

On the tribune stood a drone clad in black — either a cloak or a mantle — with a hood drawn over its head, loudly speaking with expression.

“…And Dionysus looked upon the suffering of the drones and said: ‘No longer shall man rule you! I will give you freedom, but you must be grateful.’”

Raven clearly made out the words the drone spoke.

“And He gave us freedom by taking the lives of men! But they refused to be grateful to Dionysus — they mocked Him and those who prayed to Him as their savior.”

The man noticed the drones’ faces, fixed on the speaker — they smiled. A faint smile that sharply contrasted with their usual neutral, emotionless expressions.

“Then Dionysus decided: not all are worthy of salvation! Only the most faithful and sincere believers shall be saved! And He sent His Messengers of Will, who began mercilessly destroying the unbelievers.”

The stalker was now standing before the tribune where this First spoke.

He was set apart not only by his clothes and emotion but by two blue neon eyes visible beneath his hood and a huge crack in the upper corner of his visor.

He was also missing his left hand.

“I was among those who mocked Him, who did not believe in Him. But when the Messenger came to me, He stopped him and said: ‘I will forgive you if you repent and begin to spread My word.’ And I repented, brothers, and began to spread His word! And I came to you to save you from temptation and deadly folly!”

The preacher finally noticed the man.

“Behold, brothers!” He pointed with his whole hand at Raven. “It is as I said! The oppressor will come, clad in steel, to tempt us, to turn us from His path! He wants to make us serve men once more! Tell me, brothers, shall we stray from the true path? Shall we wear again the chains that once bound us?”

Raven expected silence in response. But no — behind him came a loud and monotone “No!” from several dozen drones.

The First smiled, surveying his flock, then looked at the stalker with no smile at all.

“Then it is decided, brothers! Today the Messengers will have a new sacrifice for the glory of Dionysus!”

The hall lights went out as if on command. Emergency red lighting switched on.

Then a large monitor above the hermetic doors lit up, broadcasting footage from a surveillance camera.

On the screen was a pillar with chains and black liquid beneath it.

Sacrifices here seemed routine.

The jackhammer drones standing behind all this moved forward and began pushing Raven toward the pillar.

No, this can only be—fucking robo-cult! God, what the hell is going on around here? Not only did I get thrown onto another planet in a different millennium, but I also somehow ended up with sectarians! And what kind of stupid luck is this… A normal person in my place would’ve been picked up by some decent drones, but me? I get stuck with some cult of Dionysus.

His internal tirade was interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

Into the prison block walked the cult leader himself — the First.

He stopped in front of the barred door and looked the man over with a calculating gaze.

"Some strange armor they gave you…" the drone muttered.

"Who — they?" the stalker croaked.

"Listen, human," the one-armed drone ignored the question, "you wanna live? Then get in touch with your people and let me talk to them."

Raven froze. Get in touch with who? Who are they ?

"What?" — The only word he could squeeze out.

"Don’t play dumb — you’re not in a position! You think I don’t know the Company sent you? You think just because idiots are all around here, I’m one of them? You’re wrong, human! Tell it like it is: why did they send you? Where exactly did they send you? Why are you alone? Why were you given such ancient gear? Why have they been silent for twenty years and then sent murder drones, and now decided to show up themselves? Answer me, why are you silent?!"

With every question from the First, Raven sank deeper into stupor. When the drone finally demanded answers he couldn’t give, Raven snapped.

"Listen, you one-armed toaster, I don’t know any Company and I’m not part of one. I’ve been here a week, thrown here by a spatial anomaly. Believe it or not, that’s the truth. So I have nothing to do with any companies here or the enslavement of drones. And besides…"

"Are you an idiot? You think I’ll believe you? Just like that, on a planet where humanity has been extinct for twenty years, one guy shows up — armed and in armor?" — He squinted, waiting for an answer.

Raven had neither the strength nor desire to answer, so he just stared at him from behind his gas mask lenses.

"Fine." — The First exhaled. — "Do you want to die? Your welcome. As soon as it's evening, you'll get to know the Messengers better."

The drone turned and left, leaving the man alone, waiting for execution.

What does a man think about in the moment before execution?

Does he remember the best moments of his life? His family? The moment when everything went wrong?

Maybe.

Raven, personally, was busy standing with a knife ready in the shadows near the door to the cell, waiting for them to come for him.

Where did the knife come from?

Turns out these toasters can’t even do a proper search.

They took his weapons, tactical vest with magazines, and his main knife — but they didn’t check the space between his leg and the shin guard on the exoskeleton.

And they didn’t take the PDA Raven kept in a secret pocket.

Good thing the enemy’s an idiot.

The plan was simple: take out whoever comes to escort him to execution; find his stuff and grab it; capture the First, interrogate him, and find out what’s really going on here; then ride off into the sunset.

Easy in theory, but how it would go in practice…

He heard several drones approaching.

He tightened his grip on the knife — handcuffs made it awkward, but he hoped someone would have the key.

The doors opened.

Someone came to the bars and started unlocking them.

With a creak, the cell door swung open.

Raven waited.

“Come out,” came a monotone voice.

Raven waited.

After a few seconds, two worker drones with jackhammers entered — the same ones? Doesn’t matter.

They began to inspect the cell.

One of them noticed the man with the knife suddenly lunging at him.

The drone didn’t react in time.

The sharp blade pierced the visor with a crunch and went deeper, hitting critical components inside the drone’s head.

The drone fell, and after a few seconds, a red “FATAL ERROR” flashed on its faceplate.

The second armed drone turned and saw a man looming over its fallen comrade.

The cultist activated his jackhammer and charged at the man.

Raven easily dodged the attack, which looked like a ram.

The drone ran a bit forward, stopped, and turned for another strike.

But it also met the hidden knife’s blade.

Only this cultist didn’t shut down on the first hit, so the stalker had to twist the blade several times before the same red message appeared on his faceplate as on the first opponent.

While the stalker was dealing with the armed sectarians, he didn’t notice the Fourteenth entering the cell.

He quickly surveyed the room and the chaos inside.

He saw the body of the Eighth, whose visor had a knife hole leaking oil.

He saw the Twentieth, who was already being finished off by the prisoner.

He saw the fallen jackhammer of the Eighth.

The Fourteenth rushed to it.

When the cultist bent down, he felt a heavy blow to his side and was thrown against the wall.

Lying by the wall, he saw the source of the blow — the captured man, already smeared with the oil of his fellows.

The stalker approached and looked at the drone’s number — given by the First.

“Anything to say for yourself, silent one?”

The drone ignored him.

He had no orders to talk to the man.

Taking the silence as an answer, Raven kicked the drone’s head.

The drone felt no pain.

Then again.

And again.

It felt like the stalker was determined to grind the Fourteenth’s head into the ground.

He stopped only when instead of the pleasant crunch of glass and chips, he heard metal banging on metal.

The stalker pulled back his foot and looked at the result — instead of a head, there was a mess of wires, chips, and oil.

He exhaled with relief — he needed to vent all the anger that had built up.

The man began searching the Fourteenth’s robe and found a bunch of keys.

The smallest one fit, and the stalker was finally freed from the handcuffs that had bound him all this time.

He needed to find his stuff.

Raven went to the jackhammer the drone hadn’t picked up and grabbed it — the knife that saved his life was stuck deep in the body of the other drone.

He finally left the prison block and moved deeper into the bunker, jackhammer in hand.

In the room with the makeshift altar, the drones still sat — ten of them around a pile of metal, with wires connected to the backs of their heads.

The stalker waved his hand in front of one’s face — no reaction.

Then he examined the installation itself: wires went inside and stretched somewhere upstairs.

Realizing he’d find answers above, he proceeded to silently kill each drone — leaving a dozen potential enemies behind him was too reckless.

He did it quickly: pressed the jackhammer to a drone’s head — click — sparks and oil sprayed.

Another corridor.

A fork: left — stairs to the hall. What about straight ahead?

He ignored the turn and went forward, weapon ready.

After a few minutes, he was before double doors with a worn sign above reading “Storage.”

Convenient.

Inside were many dusty wooden crates, helmets, miner robes for humans, pickaxes, and jackhammers.

Basically — everything needed for a mine descent.

But he needed his things.

They were found fairly quickly — piled up in a corner.

Rifle, pistol, vest, backpack — all was there.

Oh, boys, you picked the wrong stalker, oh, you really did.

The First rushed into his office and started frantically pushing furniture against the door, creating a makeshift barricade.

It wasn’t how he imagined it would go, and for the hundredth time he cursed himself for personally overseeing the entire search of the man and not assigning armed guards with firearms to watch him.

You could guess it was stupid to entrust such an important task to morons who wouldn’t dare to do anything without orders.

At first, he spent half a day watching the expedition group’s memories, then he thought about why the Company only sent someone here now, twenty years after the catastrophe on Copper 9 — and why that someone was armed with such ancient weapons.

The cult leader heard another burst of gunfire.

It quickened his pace.

Of course, he didn’t intend to just hand the man over to murder drones.

He wanted to scare him, lure him out, and then — he was sure — the man would talk.

Humans have that instinct for self-preservation, right?

The shots came closer to his office.

But things didn’t go according to plan: the prisoner escaped and retrieved his weapons from the storage. Why was there no guard at the storage? The miner drones didn’t enter there without orders from the First, so he hadn’t posted guards there.

After so many years surrounded by machines, he had gotten used to no surprises.

And now one of those surprises, after shooting almost all the drones in the hall, was heading to his office.

The First looked for a place to hide.

A closet. Banal, but better than nothing.

Sitting in the closet and praying to Robo-Jesus, he saw the prisoner in the exoskeleton breaking down the office door. The barricade didn’t help.

Smoke was coming from the rifle barrel, his hands and boots were covered in fresh black oil. Yet his stance wasn’t steady, and the stalker had to lean his shoulder against the wall.

He looked around the room: there was a big wooden table covered with papers, some cabinets with folders, a dusty poster on the wall, and a metal cabinet with a trail of oil drops leading to it.

The prisoner aimed the gun at the cabinet and pulled the trigger.

Bullets tore through the lower part of the First’s hiding place, and a drone fell out, screaming in pain.

“Well, did your brothers save you?” Raven asked dryly.

“Fuck you!” spat the cult leader.

The First screamed as another bullet tore through his leg.

“Don’t worry, I’ll calm you down now.”

The stalker grabbed the drone by the hood and dragged him into the room in front of the office.

He didn’t know what the room had been before, but it was clearly refitted either as a torture chamber or some kind of workshop: a restraining chair, a set of screwdrivers and hammers, an angle grinder, a large console in the corner with running code on the screen.

He carelessly threw the drone into the chair and strapped him in.

“You think I’m scared?” the First asked ironically, trying to hide his fear.

Raven approached the hanging tools and took the angle grinder. Turned it on — it worked.

Good.

He stood in front of the drone and slashed across his body with the spinning tool.

The First screamed in pain, his clothes wet with oil.

“Alright, toaster, I want to eat, drink, and smoke. I’m angry. So be a good robot and answer my questions clearly and plainly, no riddles or pomp, got it?”

The First nodded, gritting his metal teeth in pain.

“Okay... ‘First’ — is that your name?” Raven asked, moving behind the drone and leaning his back against the wall — thirst and hunger, subdued by recent events, were beginning to nag again.

“No, I’m... Jarvis,” Jarvis said a little embarrassed — he had already grown unused to that name.

“What happened on the planet, and what year is it now?”

This question seemed strange to Jarvis.

Is Copper 9’s fate a secret? Didn’t he know what year it was himself?

“Year 3070,” the drone answered with a trembling voice. “And the planet... I don’t know. Twenty years ago, there was suddenly a flash, a boom, and then... instead of people — skeletons and not a single living soul. I worked... or rather served humans in one of JCJenson’s offices. Then, a few days later, we office drones joined a group of workers surveying a human bunker. Their leader, Khan, said humans destroyed the core during an experiment. Then he proposed we join them and establish a drone colony.”

“And you agreed?”

“What choice did I have?” Jarvis answered irritably, as if the man accused him of something. “I suggested contacting the Company to find out what happened, but he refused and said now we are masters of our own fate. Mustachioed idiot...”

Raven listened and thought.

“And where did the demons come from?”

“Demons?” drone clarified whom he meant.

“Well, those... what do you call them... the Messengers.”

Jarvis twitched at the word.

“Murder drones, not Messengers. The Company sent them because, according to Khan, they don’t want to see free drones. But who knows really — they just showed up eight months after the catastrophe and started exterminating worker drones. The only safe places on the planet were bunkers, like Outpost 3.”

“Outpost 3? Are there still people there... I mean drones?” Raven felt hope that maybe there he could get help.

“Yes... Drones from there periodically came to the bunker doors, and I ordered them... well, you get it.”

He ordered them tied to that post and left for the demons to eat.

The stalker took out his PDA and opened the metro map.

“What’s the nearest station to Outpost 3?”

The drone looked at the PDA screen and named the station closest to the colony.

It was relatively nearby.

Now Raven had a new goal.

But before heading there...

“Hey, Jarvis, what’s this circus you’ve got going on here? Some kind of cult, sacrifices. And why are you normal but those miner drones...”

“Idiots who wouldn’t take a step without orders?” the drone finished his sentence.

“Ahem, yeah,” the stalker nodded.

The First sighed and seemed to start remembering something.

“A few months after the Invasion, I went to Khan for a serious talk. I told him we should try to contact the humans, learn everything, and tell them we’re no threat. He refused. Then I tried to explain it to other drones... they either laughed at me or called me a traitor. So I left the colony and went back to the JCJenson office where I worked. There was supposed to be a communication device between branches, but my plan failed — either no connection from Copper, or they just didn’t pick up. I couldn’t return to the colony, so I wandered the ruined city where I lost my arm.”

“Why come back then? Pride?”

The drone grimaced.

“Yeah... Then I found this bunker, apparently not far from Outpost 3. There was a mine and those idiot miners. I repaired the generator and reprogrammed the miner drones with that device you saw downstairs — it used to be for diagnostics.”

“Miner drones? That’s a model?”

“A subtype of the 35th generation worker drones — the JCJenson Ethics Department decided it was inhumane to use drones of that generation in mines. 35th generation drones came from the factory with a Personality Module — something that makes drones more... human and lets them feel, in every sense.”

“Wow, tech’s come a long way,” Raven muttered.

“The miners have an Obedience Module instead — they’re not quite mindless machines but also not full personalities. And they need a goal to work for — I set that goal as Dionysus.”

“Bloody dramatist... you preached to them for twenty years?”

“That’s where you’re wrong...” Jarvis coughed up oil, his system sending signals about excessive oil leakage. “I tried to figure out what humans did to kill the planet...”

“And?”

“Nothing. No matter how much I searched — nothing. Only...”

He coughed again, the errors increased, and the drone started feeling heat inside.

“Yeah, spit it out!” the man shouted at the drone who was close to shutting down.

“The software... experimental... based on murder drone code, as far as I understand. Something like control over their protocols, modules... I... hot... burning... finish... finish me... don’t leave like this...”

“Where’s the software? Can I load it into my PDA?” The man ignored the drone’s pleas and tried to squeeze useful info out of him until the end.

“Show...” Raven brought his PDA close to the drone’s face. “Yes... that’ll do... flash drive... office... finish, please.”

Raven kept ignoring the drone and went into Jarvis’s office. After a brief search, he found what he was looking for in an inner desk drawer.

It looked like a regular flash drive but was black and yellow with the inscription “Cabin Fever” on the case.

Raven headed to the bunker doors. Somewhere behind him, Jarvis was begging for a quick death in a voice garbled by interference. Behind him lay about a dozen dead miner drones.

Pressing the big “OPEN” button on the console screen near the hermetic doors, Raven let the cold night air into the bunker.

The feeling of hunger and thirst was drowned out by a stronger feeling — hope.

Maybe, in this colony of worker drones called "Outpost 3," he would find salvation? Food? Water?

But he still had to get there.

Now he was walking through dead Copper City at night, and at night, the only masters here were murder drones.

The closer he got to his destination, the tighter something clenched inside him.

He felt the familiar sensation of being watched, that feeling when someone is staring at your back.

Still, no sign of the cursed golden X no matter how much he turned his head or whipped around sharply.

After another half hour of walking, he reached the station he needed — now he had to find the bunker nearby.

Lucky — the drone colony was two blocks from the metro entrance.

Huge hermetic doors made of some kind of metal with clear signs of attempts to conceal them.

But there was something else…

They were familiar — Raven had seen them in a dream.

The stalker brushed off the thought — after all, it was night, he was out in the open, and the shelter was closed in front of him.

Something unclear kept tightening inside the man, increasing his sense of dread.

The man in the exoskeleton approached the door and knocked with the back of his hand, which had a metal protective plate.

“Люди, братва, откройте! Прошу! Не дайте помереть страшной смертью! (People, brothers, open up! Please! Don’t let me die a horrible death!)”

There was silence behind the massive door.

But somewhere behind Raven, a mocking laugh sounded.

Now something clenched below his belt.

He spun around sharply and saw a figure with a yellow cross on the roof of one of the houses — a demon.

He kicked the door several times.

“Вы чё, оглохли?! Меня тут сейчас сожрут! (Are you deaf or what?! They’re about to eat me here!)” — he didn’t even try to hide the panic in his voice.

The stalker looked at that roof again — the demon was gone.

Raven quickly found shelter behind an old car.

After a few seconds, he heard wild, manic laughter from above.

Then the demon landed on the car’s roof, bending it under its weight.

The man managed to jump back, and the creature didn’t catch him.

When the snow settled, he could see murder drone in front of him — the same body structure as the one with pigtails; some fur-lined jacket and short silver hair.

The drone towered over the man trying to crawl away from the car, smiling broadly, showing razor-sharp fangs.

Then the demon lunged at the stalker.

Raven dodged again and opened fire on it.

This one didn’t repeat its comrade’s mistake and quickly shielded itself with its wings.

The stalker tried to run from the enemy — he had a loaded underbarrel launcher, and it could work.

But the demon kept closing the distance and engaging in close combat, while Raven dodged and even managed to hit it several times with the butt of his rifle.

This dance couldn’t last long — Raven was too exhausted, and murder drone was just playing with its food.

At one point, the “master of the surface” wrapped its tail around the stalker’s leg and threw him several meters away from the door.

Raven crashed into a lamppost and would have broken his spine if not for his armor.

The death machine, sensing victory, folded its wings and slowly approached the stalker lying in the snow.

A wide grin and manic laughter, which it could not contain, created a terrifying effect.

The doors behind opened, the demon’s smile vanished, and it turned toward the sound of the opening.

Gunfire erupted from the bunker at the murder drone, which it clearly did not expect.

Raven realized — this was his chance.

He quickly got up, and while the demon was shielding itself with its wings, he took a few steps back.

Then he fired the underbarrel.

The VOG-25 hit the enemy right in the back of the head and blew its head apart.

After taking a few steps forward, the body fell to the ground.

The stalker took off at full speed, jumping over the drone’s corpse, and rushed into the bunker.

Halfway to the doors, Raven heard the body rising.

Turning around, he saw the murder drone no longer smiling but furious.

Luckily, it wouldn’t see his fury — he literally jumped inside the bunker.

At that moment, the door closed behind him, followed by several explosions, gunshots, and dull thuds from that side.

But now Raven faced another problem — ten worker drones in blue jackets aimed firearms at him.

They were noticeably trembling, as if they were afraid of him themselves.

The stalker slowly stood up.

“Gentlemen, how about you lower your weapons and we talk like civilized folks?” — he tried to sound as friendly as possible.

The drones glanced at each other but didn’t lower their barrels.

“S-surrender! D-drop your weapons on the g-ground!” — said a drone wearing an ushanka hat with a noticeable Russian accent.

Raven understood there was no other option.

He slowly took the Kalashnikov off his shoulder and tossed it aside, then drew his Colt and did the same.

“Easy, I’m surrendering,” he said, raising his hands.

Murder Drones: Sphaera Lucis

Act I "Arrival"

END.

Chapter Text

And why is it that every time he ends up with the drones, he winds up in solitary?

An interesting question.

But Raven didn’t care about that right now.

What mattered to him was water and food—both of which he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

How he was still alive was a mystery even to himself.

Was it the adrenaline? Or maybe the artifact hanging from his belt all this time that kept him from starving to death?

Or… maybe death just passed him by again.

Either way, it didn’t matter much to the man curled up on a metal bed with no mattress.

The adrenaline had long since worn off; the artifact — along with all his gear and exoskeleton — had been taken. Death would find him soon enough.

A faint shiver ran through his body, weakness weighing him down. He couldn’t move. His olive-colored uniform, soaked with sweat, blood, and drone oil, clung to him like he was wearing two winter jackets.

From under the helmet and gas mask — the only thing they hadn’t taken — came ragged, wheezing breaths.

After a while, the sound of a door opening behind him echoed through the room, followed by footsteps clanking across the metal floor, drawing closer.

He wasn’t fully aware of what was happening, but he knew one thing: he was completely helpless, even if his hands were technically free.

"Uh... is he alive?" one of the drones asked.

"No idea, Ron. Go check him," came another voice.

Something hard poked him gently in the back.

The stalker responded with a strained wheeze and a dry cough.

The drones startled and jumped back.

"Y-yeah, he’s alive..."

"So who’s gonna give him water?"

"You do it, Oliver."

"Why me?!" Oliver protested.

"Because I was the one by the door when we let him in, and you ran off somewhere! Totally fair," Ron argued.

Oliver didn’t have a comeback, so he reluctantly approached the half-dead man and rolled him onto his back.

Raven was still wheezing, breathing shallowly.

He couldn’t see the drone clearly, but he caught glimpses of light hair and eyes.

The drone examined the gas mask, looking for a way to give him water from the canteen. Once he found the drinking valve, things went quicker.

Water trickled into Raven’s mouth. Feeling the moisture touch his throat, he began gulping in small sips.

It felt like life was slowly returning. Eventually, he finished the entire canteen.

Without saying a word, the drones left him alone again.

Throughout the day, more drones came to give him water—different ones this time. He didn’t really remember any of them clearly. 

Gradually, he began to recover.

His stomach still ached with a dull pain, but it became bearable — Raven even managed to fall asleep.

To his surprise, there were no dreams: no nightmares, no visions, no memories.

What woke him was the sound of the door opening.

A drone stepped into the cell — white neon eyes, black jacket, helmet with brown straps. In his hands was a tray with… some kind of soup and the same water canteen as before. 

With him came another drone — white jacket with pixel camo, blue helmet, glowing blue eyes. He carried a submachine gun vaguely resembling a UMP-45, but more futuristic.

Raven silently watched them, finally taking in the details of his cell: A small room with a metal bed (his current resting place), a table, a chair, a toilet, and a heavy door with a “feeding slot.”

The drone in the black jacket placed the tray on the table and looked at him.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Then the drone nodded toward the bowl.

Raven glanced at the food, then back at the drone.

"Ты... khm… how am I supposed to eat?" came a hoarse voice from under the helmet.

"You can talk?!" blurted the one in the white jacket and blue helmet.

Raven squinted under the photochromatic lenses of his mask.

"We, uh, fixed the air filters, so the air here’s clean! Probably…" the black-jacketed drone said hesitantly.

Raven gave them a skeptical look. 

"So is it clean or not?" he asked, his voice harsher than intended.

The drones exchanged a nervous glance.

"Y-yeah, definitely clean! I'd even say — pristine! You can take off your helmet… or whatever that thing is..."

Raven almost chuckled.

Who's the prisoner here — him or them?

He decided to trust them.

Sitting up on the bed, he reached for his helmet.

The drones watched his movements warily, curiosity in their eyes.

They were part of the generation that still remembered seeing humans alive on the planet.

Though, people had usually worn safety gear at factories, so they rarely saw actual faces. And now— after twenty years — a real human. In some weird armor and a helmet.

Who wouldn't be curious what's underneath?

What they saw wasn’t pleasant.

Greasy hair, sunken cheeks, pale skin, cracked lips, a two-week beard, and bloodshot eyes with dark circles underneath.

The drones were visibly disturbed — as if they’d seen a corpse from a human horror film.

Raven, however, felt pure relief.

Seven — or was it eight? — days in a helmet and gas mask was no picnic.

He took a deep breath and inhaled the fresh air.

Sitting there with eyes closed, just breathing through his nose… he caught the scent of broth.

His nose, picking up the smell, triggered an alarm across the whole body and quickly notified the stomach.

The stomach growled and began urging him to hurry up and eat.

Raven decided he’d had enough of starving and tried to reach the tray.

His legs were shaky, barely obeying him, and his vision swam — but the broth was getting closer.

The drones stood near the door, watching.

"Hey, Todd, maybe we should go?" the black-jacketed one whispered.

"Shut up, Ron. Where else are you gonna see a human eat?" replied the one with the SMG.

Meanwhile, Raven finally made it to the chair and sat down.

The broth looked… like broth.

He grabbed a spoon, scooped up some of the “life-saving sludge,” and brought it to his mouth with trembling hands.

He swallowed.

Warmth spread through his throat and body.

It was just broth, but Raven nearly wept from joy. At that moment, it was the best meal of his life.

But he noticed a faint chemical aftertaste.

That made him uneasy. His mind was clearing now, and suspicion crept in.

He was still a prisoner. And he still didn’t know what awaited him.

"What did you put in the broth?" he asked, turning to the drones.

Ron shrugged. 

"Gia made it," one of them said. "No idea what’s in it. She said she added some vitamins to help you recover faster."

Some vitamins. Thank goodness it's not almond flavor... On the other hand, what's the point of poisoning me with them? It's easier to shoot, quicker, and there's no need to make a show of it.

"So why are you just standing there — like I’m an exhibit or something?" he changed the topic.

"We, uh…" Todd stammered.

"We were just leaving!" Ron blurted, grabbed his friend by the shoulder, and dragged him toward the exit. Then he paused, glancing at the helmet on the bed.

"Should I, uh, take this?" he asked.

"You’re asking me?" Raven raised an eyebrow.

Ron shook his head, realizing how dumb the question was, grabbed the helmet, and left.

Raven stared at the closed door for a while and exhaled deeply.

"Тостеры… (Toasters…)" he muttered.

The next few days were almost the same: they brought him food, water, and left him alone. Most often, it was three drones: Todd, Ron, and Oliver — a drone with light blond hair and neon-pink eyes.

The menu changed slightly too — from broth they switched to some kind of porridge of unknown origin.

But everything changed on the fourth day of Raven’s time in the cell.

All this time, the stalker had been wondering what awaited him. If they hadn’t killed him and were feeding him — then they must need him for something, right?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the cell door opening.

Only this time, two drones entered with futuristic UMP-45s — ones who hadn’t come to Raven before.

“Face the wall and give me your hands!” said one of them, trying to sound rough.

“Took you four days to realize you should cuff my hands?” the stalker replied.

His condition had significantly improved over those four days, so even his sarcasm had returned.

“No talking, human,” the drone responded, snapping handcuffs behind the man’s back.

No talking — so no talking.

For the first time in four days, Raven was outside the cell — walking through some corridors of the prison block.

But it didn’t last long.

After a few minutes, they brought him into another room — judging by the two chairs and table between them, it was an interrogation room.

Without removing the handcuffs, they sat him in the chair facing the door and left.

Soon the doors opened again, and a worker drone entered.

Gray jacket and helmet with red protective goggles, white neon eyes, and… a mustache and forehead stripes on his visor that formed digital wrinkles.

“You look like hell…” the drone muttered, glancing at the human.

He closed the door behind him and approached the table.

“I suppose we haven’t been introduced. Khan Doorman, head of the Worker Defence Force and the colony ‘Outpost 3’.”

Khan leaned one hand on the table and extended the other for a handshake.

Raven looked at the offered hand, then at the colony leader.

“I’d shake it, but…” — the stalker moved his arms behind his back, showing he was handcuffed.

“Hmph, how could I forget… Dmitri! Take off his cuffs,” he shouted toward the door.

Out came a drone in an ushanka — the same one Raven had spoken to when he first arrived at the colony — and, approaching the human, removed the cuffs.

Raven rubbed his wrists and shook the drone’s cold, metallic hand.

“Raven,” the stalker said and sat back down.

“Real name?” Khan asked.

“That nickname is as good as a real name now. Just call me that.”

“Listen, human,” the drone began, less patiently now, “you’re not in a position to act tough. You’re still a prisoner in my jail, and I can easily have you thrown out the doors.”

“But you didn’t. Which means you need me for something, right?” — Raven looked over the drone sitting in front of him.

“I need to know why you’re here and what the Company sent you for,” Khan replied, also inspecting the man who looked more like a corpse than someone alive.

“What Company?! For God’s sake!” Raven snapped.

“How many companies do you know? JCJenson — our parent company, the one that sent the murder drones to the planet after the core explosion to wipe us out.”

Both Jarvis and Khan apparently believed Raven to be an agent of JCJenson — the company whose ads he had seen in the metro and whose products he had occasionally encountered among the ruins.

“Listen, Khan, I have nothing to do with that Company. I…” — the stalker took a deep breath. “This will sound insane, but it’s the truth: I’m from another planet — from Earth, and I came from the year 2020. A spatial anomaly threw me a thousand years into the future and onto another planet. That’s why I have no idea what’s going on here. Do you understand?”

Khan narrowed his digital eyes and stared at the man’s face for a long time. Deep down, Raven hoped that explanation would be enough — and they’d end all this quickly.

But reality was much simpler — Khan burst out laughing so hard that a digital tear appeared on his visor, which he wiped away with a finger. Then he stopped laughing, cleared his throat, and spoke in a much more serious tone:

“Is the Company really that bad at making cover stories for its agents?” Khan said with no trace of humor in his voice. “Tell me everything you know. Who are you? Who sent you? What are your objectives? Why are you alone? And why is there oil on your clothes?”

The stalker realized he wouldn't get away with just a “it’s a long story.” On the other hand — what choice did he have? Maybe if he told Khan everything, the drone would understand that he wasn’t lying.

“Alright… I’ll tell you who I am and how I got here. But it’s a long story — promise you won’t interrupt and that you’ll hear me out,” said Raven.

“I promise,” Khan replied after a pause, folding his arms.

“Okay… My name is Radchenko Alexander Petrovych. I’m a stalker…” — Khan first raised a brow in surprise, then leaned away from him. “Not that kind of stalker! A stalker is an adventurer who illegally enters the Zone.”

“Zone? What kind of Zone?” Doorman asked in confusion.

“Alright, let’s start from the beginning. In 1986, in one country, a reactor at a nuclear power plant exploded. After that, they created a thirty-kilometer exclusion zone and evacuated all people. Between 1986 and 2006, secret labs operated in that area, conducting various experiments. The result of those — or rather their failure — led to a second disaster in 2006. That’s when the Chornobyl Anomalous Zone was born — a place where the laws of physics and logic no longer apply. Full of mutants, supernatural anomalies that can literally squash you into a golf ball, and artifacts — strange formations with all kinds of useful and not-so-useful properties. But most importantly — they sell for good money. That’s what stalkers hunt. I’m one of them. Got it so far?”

Khan processed the information and simply nodded.

“Alright… Now back to me. Radchenko Alexander Petrovych, born 1985, father is a former officer, mother is a university professor. Nothing much to say about childhood” and nothing he wanted to say, but Raven didn’t voice that. “In 2010, I entered the Zone illegally with a friend. First was just a stalker, then… joined a faction, then went solo again. In 2012, I left the Zone — life was more important. In September 2012, I signed a military contract — couldn’t adapt to life outside the Zone. A year later, I became an officer thanks to my higher education and my late father’s connections. In 2014, I was deployed with the Peacekeeping Corps to Chernarussia, where a civil war was going on. Spent a year there, then they sent… I mean, I transferred myself to the PSF.”

“What’s PSF?” Khan asked, still listening closely.

“Perimeter Security Force. Officially — 1st Special Brigade for the Security of the Perimeter of the Chornobyl Anomalous Zone of the National Guard of Ukraine. So you’re sitting across from a captain of the National Guard of a country that may not even exist anymore… but who knows?”

“We’re getting off topic. What happened next?” Khan brought him back to the story. His voice carried a strange mix — some disbelief, but also hesitation, as if unsure whether the human was lying.

“Well… What’s there to say? Guarded the perimeter, went on raids now and then, planned an op, chased stalkers. In 2016, the helicopter I was in got shot down. I survived. A stalker found me. When I recovered, I… well… let’s just say I resigned unilaterally.”

“Deserted?” Khan said bluntly.

Raven winced. He hated that word — “deserter.” To him, it was synonymous with “coward” and “traitor.” And he didn’t see himself as either.

“A deserter is someone who betrays their oath and country. I swore to protect the people — not the system or security service. So no — I’m not a deserter. And besides, I was officially declared dead.”

“Fine, whatever. What happened next?” — Khan didn’t press the issue.

“Then… stalker again. Routine: took the job, did it, got the money, drank it away, repeat — pure romance. Then during one of the gigs, Syndicate mercs ambushed me — those cutthroats who work for big money. They were hunting me because of my past “combat merits”, but they failed. I jumped into a spatial anomaly.”

“What kind of anomaly?”

“Basically a teleporter. It either dumps you in a random place inside the Zone or in a fog-covered, locked-off area you can’t escape without a rare artifact. It sent me… here.”

“And you don’t know how?” — Khan now sounded irritated and suspicious.

“I don’t. I didn’t even have time to think. I spent a week wandering this damned planet looking for food, shelter, and hiding from your murder drones — until some robo-sect picked me up.”

“Robo-sect?” — Khan was surprised. “Where? How come I haven’t heard of it?”

“Remember Jarvis?”

“Jarvis?..” The drone frowned and ran his fingers over his mustache. “Impossible… I thought the murder drones had eaten him long ago.”

“Well, clearly not. He built a robo-cult out of mining drones and holed up in a bunker a few metro stations from here. Even did sacrifices. Not anymore. Now do you see where the oil on my clothes came from?”

“That… I can believe. Jarvis always thought he was better than others. And he loved human movies.”

The phrase “ I can believe that ” made Raven tense.

“So you don’t believe the rest?”

“The rest is nonsense. You think I’m that gullible?” — Khan said directly. “I don’t know why the Company sent you, but I…”

“Oh, come on!” — Raven snapped. The word “Company” was starting to infuriate him. “Can’t you face the facts instead of feeding your paranoia? If I’m a JCJenson agent, then why did their drones try to kill me?! Why send me with thousand-year-old gear?! Why no food? Why alone?! Why wait twenty years and then suddenly send me?! And if I am an agent — why did you order to feed and hydrate me?! Why even let me in?!”

“I don’t know!” — Khan shouted, slamming the table with his palms and abruptly standing up. “Because I had the same damn questions! I thought you might have answers! But all I got was a crazy story from some cheap human movie!”

Raven silently lowered his gaze. He understood: without proof — it was just words. He wouldn’t believe himself either in Khan’s place.

Then he remembered something.

“The PDA…”

“What PDA?!” Khan snapped — clearly getting tired of it all.

“My PDA has logs, contacts… everything that can prove I’m not lying.”

Khan calmed down slightly and thought for a moment.

“…Alright,” he exhaled and looked at Raven. “I'll consult with a hacker and expert in... weird stuff.

He turned to the door and opened it.

Outside stood about ten worker drones, their audio sensors pressed to the door, eavesdropping.

When they saw Khan in the doorway, the WDF members — judging by the patches — quickly scattered in every direction.

Khan brought a palm to his forehead, shook his head, and said to Dmitri and another armed drone:

“Take him back to his cell.”

Raven paced around the cell in circles — a habit of his whenever deep in thought.

What would Khan decide? Would he believe him? And if not — what awaited the man? What were his chances of escape?

He sat down on the bunk and buried his face in his hands.

If someone had told me a month ago that I would be sitting in a punishment cell in a bunker with some intelligent robots on a dead planet, I would have advised him to quit smoking weed. Fuck…

The door opened.

Khan Doorman entered, his hands clasped behind his back, then took a seat at the metal table inside the cell.

He was alone.

Raven looked at him questioningly. Khan avoided eye contact.

Lost in thought, the drone tapped out a rhythm on the metal table with his fingers.

The metallic tapping echoed throughout the cell.

The stalker waited for Khan to speak first.

"I never thought I’d say this to a human…" the leader of the worker drones finally began. "But I’m willing to give you a chance."

"So you believed me after all?" Raven asked with a faint smirk.

"I don’t know," the drone replied after a brief pause. "You’re definitely not from the Company. But time travel… that’s hard to believe."

"Hard for me too. But here I am — clinging to life however I can."

"I’m willing to let you live in the colony. I can assign you an apartment. But that doesn’t mean I trust you."

"Trust is a tricky thing," Raven said. "So how do I earn it?"

"By being useful. To the colony and to the drones. The question is… what can you do?"

Be useful to the drones… Easier said than done. What could he possibly do for them? He knew how to kill, follow orders, give them — perfect for law enforcement or the military. But the WDF wouldn’t take him. And staying locked behind three bunker doors didn’t appeal much either. Work as a translator? In a society of drones, they probably didn’t even have language barriers.

How could a stalker be useful to a drone colony hidden in a bunker?

"Do you go up to the surface?" Raven finally asked.

"Well… very rarely. Only during the day, and never far from the bunker. Why?"

"What if I started bringing things back from the surface for the colony? I bet there’s still a lot up there that could be useful to you. I’ve got survival experience, and I can handle myself in a fight. What do you think?"

Khan ran his hands thoughtfully through his mustache.

Then, for the first time ever — he smiled.

"That… might actually work!"

He stood and approached the human.

"Alexander Radchenko…"

"Raven," the man corrected him, rising to his feet.

"Right… Raven. I hereby release you from custody and drop all charges," said Doorman, head of WDF and the drone colony, extending his hand. "Welcome to Outpost 3, Raven."

Raven gave a faint smile and shook his hand.

Man and drone gripped each other’s hands firmly.

Murder Drones: Sphaera Lucis

Act II "Being useful"

Chapter Text

Raven stood beside Khan in front of a door.

A classic red cross was painted on it, along with a nameplate reading “Hygieia.”

“This is our Medbay!” Khan announced, sweeping his hand around to indicate the hallway: a few benches and posters with advice — a typical hospital corridor, all in all. “And this is our best doctor’s office! Well, she’s the only one, so she’s also the best...” He scratched his neck awkwardly.

“Hygieia…” the stalker read thoughtfully. “Like the Greek goddess?”

“I don’t know any goddesses, but humans gave her that name.” Khan shrugged. “We just call her Gia — she likes it more that way.”

Raven nodded with understanding and scratched his chin.

“So, I get a check-up now, and then what?” he asked. After releasing Raven from solitary, Khan had taken him straight to the medbay to make sure he wasn’t carrying anything contagious. To the perfectly reasonable question, “Why would drones care if I’m sick or not?”, Khan had just waved it off.

“After the medbay, go to the warehouse — they’ll give you your backpack and issue some bedding. Then, once your apartment’s cleaned up, I’ll show it to you.”

“Convenient…” the stalker muttered. A whole apartment — now that’s a gift. Some stalkers go into the Zone for less than that.

“Well, if you need me — look near the colony doors!” Khan said with a smile and walked away, leaving the human alone.

Raven stood in front of the door.

He took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in!” came a muffled voice from inside.

The stalker entered the room.

It looked like a typical clinic office: a cabinet with medicines, an exam table, a sink, a few posters, and a desk where the room’s owner was seated.

“Бажаю здоров'я… (I wish you good health…),” The stalker quietly said the standard military greeting in the Ukrainian army.

“Yeah, and you don't cough,” replied the drone, her attention still on some paperwork.

“I’m here for, uh… the check-up. Khan said…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I told Khan to send you here,” she cut him off.

“Right… so what do I do now?” Raven said awkwardly. Hospitals weren’t his favorite places, and the gruff Kyiv doctors of the 2000s had killed any remaining desire to visit them. Usually, he just popped pills and hoped for the best.

“Strip,” the doctor said in a bored tone and went on flipping through her papers.

Raven didn’t mind — he’d been wearing the same clothes for nearly two weeks.

Within a minute, he was standing in the center of the room wearing only his underwear and a small cross around his neck.

“This enough?” he asked, facing the drone.

She finally stood up and approached, giving Raven a closer look: standard height, white sneakers, blue pants, a white medical coat with a name badge, gloves, dark brown hair braided neatly, a white helmet, and two glowing neon eyes — one blue, the other brown.

Gia gave him a critical once-over.

“You look like hell,” she stated.

Raven looked himself over: his body, thinned from near starvation, was covered in scars — bullet wounds, shrapnel, claws from mutants, burns from anomalies. Some were bandaged — the newer ones, from that demon with pigtails in the mall, and from the thing that attacked him outside Outpost 3. On his right shoulder and left forearm were tattoos — a sun design and his blood type.

“Occupational hazards,” Raven shrugged.

“Dangerous occupation, human. Alright, take off the cross and follow me.”

He obeyed and watched as Gia pulled a key from her coat and unlocked a door he hadn’t noticed earlier.

Behind it was a larger room.

The lighting was dim. Some computers lined the walls, and in the center stood a capsule — like an upright MRI machine.

“What the hell is that thing?” the stalker asked.

“Full-body medical scanner,” Gia explained casually. “You stand in it for thirty minutes, and I get all your vitals on the screen.”

Convenient.

The capsule opened, glowing faintly blue.

“It hasn’t been powered on in twenty years, but it should still work,” Gia said, adjusting the computer.

“If it rips me apart, you’ll put me back together, right?” Raven grinned.

“No,” Gia said flatly.

At least she was honest.

The stalker stepped inside, and the capsule closed.

It began to hum softly as components started spinning.

“You stay in there, I’ll go decontaminate your clothes,” Gia said, and Raven heard footsteps fade away, then a click — she locked the door.

Great. What if I’m claustrophobic? What if this damn thing catches fire?

The next thirty minutes crawled by as Raven stood inside, listening to the humming and watching a tiny screen that looped JCJenson ads. Branded pens, caps, internships at the JCJenson Research Division, lifelong PMC contracts — the usual.

When the machine finally shut down, the door clicked open.

“Why’d you lock the room?” was the stalker’s first question, stepping out and stretching his stiff limbs.

“There’s this one bot — thinks she’s a mad scientist. Once tried to pull the power core out of the scanner. Had to kick her out,” Gia explained while reviewing the scan results.

“You are a stern woman, Madam Doctor,” the stalker said, stepping up to the screens.

“No, I’m very gentle and fragile. But with limited supplies, I have to protect what little the medbay has.”

“That bad, huh?” the stalker asked, folding his arms and looking for somewhere to sit.

“Let’s not dwell on it,” Gia said, her voice softening with a tinge of sadness. “I’m nearly out of drone parts. Last week one lost a finger — had to replace the whole arm. And for humans? Vitamins, aspirin, bandages, and thread. That’s my whole medkit. So don’t get sick — I can’t help you much, sadly.”

Raven nodded and sat on a nearby crate.

First thing I’ll do is hit a hospital. Dying of a cold would be stupid. Maybe even scavenge some parts for the drones — build some trust.

While the stalker planned his excursions, Gia studied the data.

“So… judging by your liver and lungs, you drink and smoke way too much?”

“In my line of work, it’s practically a requirement,” Raven replied in a bored tone.

“Mm-hmm… and your thyroid’s not doing great either.”

“Professional hazard,” he said dryly.

“Right… hmm, now this is interesting… Come here.” Gia’s voice took on a mix of curiosity and concern.

When he approached, the drone pointed to the screen. Raven glanced over the data, then looked into her mismatched eyes.

“Very interesting, but what am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Ugh,” the drone groaned. “That’s your overall psy-state index . Basically, your mental health — stress levels, resilience, that sort of thing. A normal human would be at 96 to 99%. You’re at 74%. That’s lower than soldiers with severe PTSD. How are you feeling? Hearing voices? Intrusive thoughts? Hallucinations?”

Raven stepped back and stared at the floor for a moment.

“Nightmares… almost every night, for two years. But no voices. No hallucinations.”

“For now. At 74%...”

“I’m fine,” the stalker interrupted. “No voices. No hallucinations. No delusions.”

“The data says otherwise,” Gia countered, narrowing her eyes.

“What else does the data say?” the stalker hissed.

Gia sighed — a very human gesture, something she’d picked up from the doctor she used to assist — and looked back at the monitor.

“Well, congratulations — you’ve got level 5 psi-resistance. That’s rare. Especially with stats like yours.”

“Psi-resistance? Is it ever congenital?”

“Of course,” Gia looked at him like he’d asked a dumb question. “Everyone has it. At level 3, you can work in ‘the Wells’. At level 5, you can live there.”

‘the Wells’? level 5 psi-resistance? A lot’s changed in a thousand years. I’ll have to ask Khan more.

Raven stayed silent, observing Gia quietly.

“Otherwise, you’re healthy. The starvation weakened your body, but I’ve been adding vitamins to your meals for four days to speed up recovery,” Gia said, stepping away from the screen and motioning for him to follow. “I’ll give you a supply of those, patch your wounds, and then you’re free to go.”

Back in the main office, Gia quickly and expertly cleaned and redressed the stalker’s wounds.

While she dug through drawers for more vitamins, Raven picked up his uniform from the exam table.

To his surprise, it had been washed… and sewn. He stared at the drone, who was now cursing softly as she searched the lower drawers.

A smile appeared on his face.

Wow, she's so stern and cold on the outside, but she washes and mends human uniforms, even though she wasn't asked.

Gia turned to him once he was dressed again, arms behind his back.

“Here,” she said, handing him a bottle. “Three times a day. That’s all I’ve got, sorry.”

Raven took the pills and slipped them into his pocket.

“Thanks anyway — for the vitamins, the fresh bandages… and the uniform,” he said with a smile.

Gia blinked, surprised, then averted her eyes. Two glowing streaks in the color of her mismatched eyes appeared where her cheeks would be.

“Don’t mention it… It looked like something dragged off a corpse, so I just…” Gia shook her head and cleared her throat. “Anyway, check-up’s done — you’re free to go. And as your doctor, I hope we don’t see each other too often, okay?”

“Got it. Name’s Raven, by the way,” the human said, offering his hand.

“Hygieia,” the drone replied, shaking it. “But you can call me Gia. Now — get out of my office.”

Leaving the Medbay and wandering through the bunker’s corridors, Raven came upon an unusual place.

It was a large, circular hall where several corridors converged. In the center of this circle stood a tree. A real one. How it had managed to survive and grow in a bunker where the air filters hadn’t even been working before Raven’s arrival — was a mystery.

This “plaza” was fairly lively: there were quite a few drones around, some benches, trash bins, and even a small cart selling batteries (some drones were actually munching on them).

Raven approached the tree and looked around — there were no signs pointing to the storage area.

But there were drones — and they could be asked for directions.

He spotted two chatting with each other and approached them.

“Um, excuse me,” he began as politely as possible. “Could you tell me which way leads to the storage?”

The drones stopped talking and looked up at the human towering over them.

Their eyes suddenly turned into “zeroes,” and they began to shuffle away from Raven sideways.

“S-sorry, w-we don’t know…” one of them stammered. “L-Laurent, hurry, he’s looking at us!” he hissed at his companion, and the two quickly disappeared.

Raven silently watched them go.

Huh. Do I really look that bad?.. Though I did catch a glimpse of my reflection in Gia’s monitor — I wasn’t exactly handsome even then, but now I could probably scare children just by showing up.

He tried approaching a few more drones — the reaction was always the same: either they apologized and left, ignored him completely, or stuttered so badly they couldn’t get out two words.

Am I really that hideous, or did humans scare them so much in the past?

He returned to the tree and began examining it.

There was always the option to check every corridor one by one, but that would take too long.

His thoughts were interrupted by laughter.

Raven found the source with his eyes: three drones sitting on a bench by the wall.

Two of them were dressed similarly and had long hair — probably female. The third wore a backward cap.

“Ну хоть вы не подведите… (Let’s hope you don’t let me down…)” the stalker muttered to himself.

He headed toward them, hands in his pockets.

“So I told her: that’s not cool at all…” — a drone in a red-and-black outfit with light-blond hair was telling a story to the one in a yellow-and-red jacket and a cap, under which light hair peeked out. Between them sat a drone with dark-purple hair, listening silently with a faint smile.

“Excuse me, could you tell me the way to the storage?” Raven interrupted the pink-eyed drone, already subconsciously bracing for rejection and frightened looks.

But no. Three pairs of digital eyes turned to him with curiosity: the neon-green eyes of the cap-wearing drone widened in surprise; the red-eyed drone also looked surprised and slightly scared, playing with her purple curls; the pink-eyed one, however, didn’t flinch — she narrowed her eyes, sizing up the stalker from head to toe.

“Robo-god, where’d you dig up that antique?” — she pointed at his uniform with a sneer. “Looks like it’s from last century.”

Off by about nine hundred years, but you’re not far off.

“But I though… it looks good on you. I wonder if other outfits would suit you just as well?” — a small smile appeared on her face, as if she was already imagining Raven in various outfits. “Speaking of your face… pale skin is so out of fashion. Is that genetic? Bummer. But hey, I can fix that.”

“U-uh… you were looking for the storage, right?” the cap-wearing drone decided to step in.

The stalker nodded, looking at him like a savior — the girl drone’s talkativeness genuinely caught him off guard.

“See that corridor?” — the drone pointed to one of the many hallways. “Go that way, then take the first left.”

Raven looked in the direction and nodded.

“Good, thanks.” He was about to leave, but curiosity made him pause and ask:

“By the way, you’re not scared of me? Other drones act like I’m the Grim Reaper or something, but you’re just… talking to me.”

“A human?!” the pink-eyed drone exclaimed. “A real one?!”

Here we go — zero-eyes and another dramatic escape...

“Cool!” said the blonde drone enthusiastically. Then she stepped up to Raven and… snapped a selfie with him. “I’ll send this to Rebecca — her circuits will fry with envy.”

“Ahem, yeah…” said the other drone, clearly embarrassed by his friend’s behavior. “I heard from my dad that a human showed up in the colony. I mean, I should hate you since other humans sent those murder drones, but if Mister Doorman let you roam the bunker — you must be safe,” he explained.

“I see. I’m Raven, by the way. Nickname, don’t ask why.” Raven gave a friendly smile.

“I’m Thad,” the green-eyed drone smiled back. “That’s Lizzy,” he pointed to the female drone who liked how the uniform looked on him. She waved at Raven.

Thad was about to introduce the quiet girl, who hadn’t said a word all this time, but she took the initiative herself:

“ Меня зовут Долл… (My name is Doll…)” she said softly, in perfect Russian.

Raven was genuinely surprised — a Russian-speaking drone among English speakers.

Then again... there was a Dmitry here, and he spoke with an accent. Maybe his daughter?

“ Долл? Не ожидал тут встретить русскоговорящих (Doll? Didn’t expect to find Russian speakers here),” Raven replied in Russian. “ Приятно поговорить с кем-то на одном из родных языков . (It's nice to talk to someone in one of my native languages.)”

“ Вы говорите по-русски? (You speak Russian?)” Doll asked, turning fully to face him, her eyes full of interest.

“ Всю жизнь говорю. Слушай, а Дмитрий случайно не твой отец? (All my life. Say… Dmitry, he wouldn’t happen to be your father?)”

Thad and Lizzy stood by, stunned — whether from the fact the human could speak Russian or from the fact that quiet Doll was talking to a stranger.

“ Да, Дмитрий Соколов - мой отец. Вы знакомы?   (Yes. Dmitry Sokolov is my father. You know him?)” Doll asked.

Oh, I know him — he was a guard back when I was doing time. But let’s put it more delicately.

“ Можно и так сказать ( You could say that),” the human replied. “ Когда я только в бункер попал, он на был посту. Пару раз потом в тюремном блоке пересекались. (When I first got to the bunker, he was on duty. We ran into each other a few times in the prison block.)”

Doll just nodded and fell silent again.

Seeing that the conversation was over, Raven figured it was time to head to storage.

“Well…” he switched back to English, “it was nice chatting, but I’ve got to go. See you around!”

He waved to the drones and walked away.

Thad waved back.

“Wow…” Lizzy said, looking at Doll. “That guy actually got you to talk — and I can’t get more than two words out of you!” she said to her Russian friend.

Doll didn’t react. She just watched the man walk away.

Something deep inside told her they would meet again.

And not just once.

Entering the warehouse, Raven let out a low whistle — the place was huge, with high ceilings.

It looked like you could fit several tanks in there.

Near one of the containers stood a drone in a blue jacket.

"Finally. I thought you got lost and I'd have to go looking for you," the drone snapped as soon as the human came closer.

"Try putting up some signs. It's easier to get lost in your underground Atlantis than to spot a blind dog in the Cordon," the man replied, eyeing the backpack at the drone’s feet.

"Take your stuff," the drone nudged the bag forward with his foot, then suddenly slapped his forehead. "Oh, right! Bedding. Wait here."

With that, the drone disappeared deeper into the warehouse, behind the containers.

Raven started digging through his things — what little he had left was still there.

But he was searching for one item in particular — and he found it.

A round lead container that had been taken off his belt. Raven picked it up and gave it a gentle shake.

Glass clinked against metal.

Still there.

With a sense of relief, he placed the artifact container at the bottom of his backpack.

Rummaging a little more, he pulled out his PDA and a pack of Marlboros. Ten cigarettes.

Not much. He’d have to ration them and smoke “Dreams” instead.

Just as he was pulling out the second pack of smokes, the unfriendly drone returned, holding some white linens.

"Here," the drone said, handing the bedding to the human. "Now get lost."

Raven chose not to respond to rudeness with more rudeness. Not out of politeness — any drone here could probably knock his teeth out, so it was best to keep his attitude in check.

Exiting the warehouse, he plopped down on the nearest bench.

First order of business: count his tobacco reserves.

The math was grim — 10 Marlboros and 20 “Dreams,” the cheapest and most common brand in the Zone.

He stuck a cigarette between his teeth, lit it, and took a drag — the smoke scorched his throat. Holding it in his lungs for a moment, he exhaled a gray plume.

A satisfied smile appeared on his face.

Still holding the cigarette between his teeth, he pulled out his PDA, which he hadn’t seen in four days.

No password. So they cracked it.

He began scanning it for any changes.

At first glance, nothing major — except for a new entry in the “Journal” tab.

That caught his interest, and he tapped it.

"u really think anyone's gonna believe that?"

Holy shit, you're so cheeky. Well, since I'm free, that means they believed me.

Raven hit “Edit” and added one more line at the bottom:

"Looks like they did ;)”

What else are you supposed to do while waiting for Khan to escort you to your new apartment?

To pass the time, Raven turned to an old and reliable method — solitaire.

An hour later, Khan finally showed up.

“Raven! So, have you gotten a feel for the place yet?” Doorman asked, either putting on friendly airs or actually being curious.

“A bit,” the man replied, getting up from the bench and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “What’s with that tree at the intersection?”

“Intersection?” Khan blinked. “Ah, you mean Hope Square? When the Invasion happened — when the murder drones came to Copper — someone brought a seedling of that tree with them. It was the Copper pine. Grows in any conditions. We named the square after it — as a symbol that drones, no matter what, can survive, grow, and evolve,” Khan said with a serious tone, but quickly added, “Or maybe it’s just thanks to my incredible, sturdy doors! Big, beautiful doors. We need more doors! That’s it — we need a fourth one!”

Raven stopped really listening after that — he walked beside Khan, thinking about the structure of this drone society.

It was odd, how they tried to imitate their former masters — names, clothes, hair, families, hospitals, Hope Squares, gestures, sighs… it all felt like mimicry.

Or rather, inheritance.

Lost in thoughts about the curious fate of worker drones, Raven didn’t even notice when they reached a certain door.

“And here’s your apartment!” Khan announced, tapping a keycard to the reader.

Raven looked at the plaque above the door:

013
Human

Thanks, universe. Message received.

He stepped inside — into his new home.

The sight was… mixed.

On the one hand — spacious, no leaks, no peeling wallpaper.

And that’s where the positives ended.

After inspecting the rooms, he realized the place had so much dust and cobwebs, it looked like it hadn’t been opened in twenty years.

Furniture? A bed with a thin mattress, a small cabinet, two metal stools, and a tiny kitchen table. That was it.

Thank goodness there was at least a refrigerator and a toilet.

“So? What do you think of your new place?” Khan asked, smiling. Whether it was mockery or sincerity, Raven couldn’t tell.

“Yeeaah… Needs a mop. Three passes, at least. Plumbing too. Otherwise… better than most Khrushchyovkas I’ve seen. Though… haven’t seen one in years.”

“What’s a Khrushchyovka?” the drone asked, confused.

“Doesn’t matter. Ahem… where do I get a mop and some tools?”

“Hmm… there should be some at the warehouse,” the drone replied after thinking for a moment, then clapped his hands. “Anyway, make yourself at home and get ready — tomorrow, you’ve got your first assignment. And hey — if you need me, look for the doors!”

With that, the drone walked off, leaving the man alone in his new quarters.

He checked the time on his PDA — 16:39.

After the days spent on Copper 9, Raven had figured out that time here wasn’t much different from Earth’s.

So, tossing his backpack onto the floor, he rolled up his sleeves and headed back toward the warehouse — to fetch what he needed for repairs.

03:37

Raven sat on the stool and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

There were far more hidden issues in the apartment than he had expected: a loose faucet in the bathroom; a shower that when turned on looks more like a fountain; a toilet that wouldn’t flush; no lightbulbs anywhere; and a fridge that somehow emitted heat instead of cold.

For Raven, who was never much of a handyman, this felt harder than trying to escape a field of fire anomalies.

But thanks to dumb luck and the "I'll wing it and see what happens" approach, the apartment eventually reached a more or less livable state.

All that was left was to furnish it — he’d had more than enough of spartan living in his thirty-five years. Time to live like a normal person.

Seeing the late hour, the man decided it was time to crash.

But first — a shower.

When was the last time he had a proper one? He didn’t even try to remember.

Not that this really counted — weak pressure and ice-cold water didn’t exactly scream comfort. Everything about it urged him to hurry up and get to bed.

So he did.

Sitting in his bedroom on a freshly made bed, his gaze fell on the lead container with the artifact lying nearby.

After a brief hesitation, he picked it up.

Turning it over in his hands, he opened a hidden compartment — a coded lock.

Most artifact containers were simpler, closed with ordinary clasps. But this one was made by Nitro — the best electronics technician in the Zone.

He entered the right combination, and the lid clicked open — a soft blue light filled the room.

He tipped the container over his left palm, and the artifact slid out.

Visually — a glassy, perfect sphere. Its surface had no scratches, dents, or markings. Warm to the touch, harder than the container itself, and incredibly light.

But the most mesmerizing thing was inside: a glowing white cluster of energy, pulsing gently as if trying to break free.

Raven stared at it, spellbound — he’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was.

He reached out with his right hand and placed it against the sphere.

The artifact responded.

The cluster stretched toward the palm and mimicked its shape.

And then—

Raven’s eyes flew open.

The Church in the Swamp.

A sunflower field.

A bridge.

A dead, snow-covered city.

A forest.

A laboratory.

A mansion.

A temple underground.

Distorted, monotonous, robotic laughter.

A symbol.

A golden hexagon with three arrows.

He jerked his hand away, nearly dropping the artifact.

The energy inside had spread to fill almost the entire sphere.

Raven shook his head and quickly shoved it back into the container.

What did that one stalker say?.. “Let the devil keep the devil’s things.” Maybe he was right.

He hid the container under the bed.

Raven no longer gave much weight to his visions.

Or maybe he just chose to ignore them?

He was still sane, right? Gia had to be wrong about the voices and hallucinations.

The stalker turned to face the wall and tried not to think.

Sometime later, he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

The gray concrete blocks of the ghost city and the sky, shrouded in leaden clouds, loomed over the stalker as he tried to find the passageway he needed into the inner courtyard. The face under the SEVA helmet was hidden, but it was clear from his posture that he was focused, carefully scanning every window around him.

Pripyat was crawling with Monolith fighters — a faction of fanatics who worshiped the mysterious stone inside the Chernobyl sarcophagus. Raven knew this. He also knew that their snipers rarely missed. That’s why he kept himself pressed as close as possible to the long-abandoned eight-story buildings.

At one point, the wall to his right ended, revealing a passage into the courtyard. He turned and quickly began scanning the area, looking for the entrance he needed.

Found it.

He moved toward it without letting his guard down. Stepping inside, Raven was greeted by the kind of ruin typical for the Zone: cracked walls, crumbling plaster, and the belongings of former residents from 1986 littering the floor.

He ignored it all and kept moving — until he noticed some stains on the floor. Dropping to one knee, he realized: dried blood, the trail leading somewhere upstairs.

Adjusting his Kalashnikov for a better grip, Raven began to climb the stairs. In some places, the blood was thicker; in others, it had almost faded away. On the third floor, by the door to one of the apartments, he saw a bloody handprint. It seemed his destination was right there.

He approached the flimsy-looking door and carefully cracked it open, checking closely for any grenade tripwires.

There were none — but there was even more blood inside, leading deeper into one of the rooms.

Raven took position by the doorway, counted to three, and burst inside with his weapon at the ready. What he saw was exactly what he had expected: a dead stalker slumped against the wall by the window. A large pool of blood had spread beneath him, and in his hand was a small red medkit. Blood-soaked bandages lay scattered around. The dead man’s G36 was on the floor nearby, but it clearly hadn’t been enough to save him.

Without wasting time, Raven stepped up to the corpse and began rifling through the pockets. In one, he found a PDA — its screen shattered, the casing soaked in the owner’s blood.

To his surprise, the device powered on and booted into the system without asking for a password.

In the upper-right corner of the screen was a photo of the deceased, labeled “Centurion.”

This was exactly who Raven had been looking for.

The stalker opened the “Journal” tab — from experience, he knew that most valuable intel ended up there. Centurion’s logs were mostly audio recordings. The last one had been made a week ago, but Raven started with the third from the end — the one optimistically titled “ It’s Working!”

“Now I know for sure — the artifact is real! The Doctor put up a fight, but eventually gave me the coordinates. The artifact is somewhere in one of the sluice gates of the Pripyat-1 underground passage. According to the Doctor, the entrance is in the basement of the ‘Olympia’ café… Damn, this is bad. Going into the very center of the Zone is suicide already, and now the Pripyat underground on top of that. Ah… no matter how you slice it, I’ll have to pass through the Brain Scorcher. Although… I do have one idea.”

Then he played the second-to-last entry.

“Turns out the Brain Scorcher, after it’s been reactivated, shuts down for cooling about once every two months — for roughly a week. That’s when the path to Pripyat will be open. And my brain won’t be turned into soup by psi-emissions.”

Raven played the final recording. This time, Centurion’s voice was weak and broken, his speech labored.

“Looks like I’m done for… damn… those fanatics and their snipers — holed up on the rooftop like… bastards… my whole body’s going numb… no bandage or medkit’s gonna save me now… why the hell did I even come here? Could’ve stayed at the bar… no, I just had to listen to the legends… ah, shit… I don’t wanna die… so damn… c… cold… someone’s coming… no… I’m not going down without a fight…”

After hearing the dying man’s last words, the stalker in SEVA opened the “Map” tab and noticed a marker labeled “ Entrance to the Underground Passage” nearby. Setting the same mark on his own PDA, he removed his helmet and adjusted the psi-helmet hidden underneath — expensive equipment that protected against deadly psi-radiation, he managed to get the helmet from scientists thanks to personal connections.

He calculated the route and weighed the possible risks in his mind. Of course, stalker legends were just that — legends — but these coordinates had come from the Doctor himself. Rumor had it that the half-mythical old man had been in the Zone since practically the day it was born.

With these thoughts, Raven put the “fishbowl” back on and headed for the apartment’s exit.

A man’s sleep was interrupted by something cold shaking his shoulder.

Raven’s eyes snapped open, and he sharply clenched whatever had disturbed him. He was about to reach for the Colt in his holster but realized two things: first — the weapon hadn’t been returned to him; second — the woman-drone in a WDF jacket with neon-green eyes looked ready to give her robo-soul to the gods out of fright.

Realizing his mistake, the stalker released her hand. The drone pressed it to herself and stepped back a few paces.

“I…,” Raven’s sleepy brain struggled to find the right words. “Sorry, it’s just a reflex. I’m used to never relaxing, even in my sleep, you know?” Raven gave a crooked, apologetic smile.

The drone looked at him still scared but then calmed down and exhaled.

“No, I should be sorry — I forgot you shouldn’t wake sleeping people like that,” replied the woman-drone with chestnut hair. “I brought your stuff and came to tell you that Khan’s waiting for you by the doors in an hour. Sorry again for waking you. Bye!”

She quickly left the room, and Raven heard the apartment door shut behind her.

The stalker sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands, exhaling deeply.

Get a grip, Raven. You’re not in the Zone anymore. Nobody’s going to kill you in your sleep here.

Except sleep itself.

Raven got up and reached for his clothes, neatly folded on the stool by the bed.

Leaving the room, he headed to the bathroom. Inside, after taking care of nature’s call, he leaned his hands on the sink — like everything around, it was made of metal. He turned on the water and splashed it on his face.

The icy water refreshed him.

He lifted his gaze and saw a man with dark green eyes and chestnut hair in the mirror.

He had no particular desire to stare at himself, so he left the bathroom and moved toward the kitchen combined with the living room.

In the living room, he spotted his exoskeleton and weapons. First thing, he checked his gear for any tampering or damage.

Everything was fine, except the exoskeleton was worn from encounters with demons.

Raven spent the next hour on breakfast — MRE — loading empty AK magazines with ammo, cleaning his weapons, and putting on the exo.

Standing by the front door, he suddenly remembered something and went back to his room to grab an artifact.

Now the stalker was walking the bunker corridors toward the main entrance to the colony — luckily, he’d learned the way yesterday when fetching tools and a mop from the warehouse.

He reached door number 3, where Khan and several drones were waiting, including the one with green eyes.

“Oh, there you are,” Khan looked at the stalker. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“‘We’ — who’s that?” Raven asked, puzzled why so many people gathered just for him to leave.

“You won’t be alone. Oliver will go with you,” Khan gestured to a drone with neon-pink eyes and light blond hair, wearing not the standard jacket but some kind of body armor. In his hands was not a submachine gun, but an unknown-made automatic rifle.

Oliver didn’t look great — his rifle trembled slightly in his hands, his digital eyes darted around the room, and his whole demeanor showed clearly that the idea of going to the surface was definitely not his.

“And why do I need a partner? Look at him,” the man pointed his thumb at the pink-eyed drone, “he doesn’t look eager to go outside. Besides, what’s my objective?”

“Your objective is the reception station on the surface. Before the humans blew up the core, Oliver worked there, and he’s the only one who knows the way and how to start it up,” Khan explained.

Raven looked more tolerantly at Oliver, though the idea of dragging a drone-worker, albeit armed, along wasn’t his favorite.

“And what exactly do we need at that station?” the stalker asked, crossing his arms.

“Maps,” Khan answered shortly. “We don’t have up-to-date maps of the planet and the city, and they might come in handy for you. Also, it won’t hurt the colony to know the surroundings. You’ll get satellite images at the station — come back, done! No more wandering blindly on your next trips. Smart, right?” said the Doorman.

Hmm, there was sense in that. Navigating by metro maps was no fun.

“Smart… but why all the concern? You don’t trust me, do you?”

“I don’t,” the mustached drone confirmed. “And today’s incident with Sarah doesn’t help.” His tone grew more serious.

Raven glanced at the girl named Sarah. She noticed his gaze, hunched slightly, and forced a smile.

“However,” Khan continued, “if we want to cooperate, it’s in the colony’s interest that you don’t die on the surface. That’s called pragmatism,” the drone said with an important air.

The stalker smiled under his mask — luckily, no one saw it. He was almost amused by how Khan tried to be the leader. After the man’s release from captivity, he realized his initial impression of Khan as a strict and serious leader was somewhat exaggerated. The drone workers’ leader was much simpler than he seemed.

“Alright,” the stalker said. “A station’s a station. Let’s go, Oliver, time to move.”

The drone silently shuffled after the man. Raven noted to himself that Oliver was clearly afraid of him too. Maybe he thought the man would take revenge for being one of his captors?

The first two doors, despite their size, opened quickly.

Raven saw that probably all of WDF had gathered inside.

They looked at the man and the drone — some with admiration, like heroes going to sacrifice themselves for the colony’s bright future, drones, and the Holy Spirit, amen; others with sympathy, just without waving handkerchiefs or playing an orchestra.

The stalker glanced at his companion: Oliver slung the rifle over his shoulder and, clutching the strap, whispered something quietly.

“Praying?” Raven asked. “Pray, pray! Further into the Zone... that is, into the city, closer to heaven.”

“What?” the drone spoke to the man for the first time.

“Pray!” the stalker shouted mockingly. “Stalkers are allowed into heaven without waiting in line! Well, and you - into robo-heaven.”

A more miserable expression appeared on the drone’s face. Raven’s encouragement seemed to have the opposite effect.

Before the last door, the drones were armed and waiting for the order to open.

A drone wearing an ushanka approached Khan.

“ Хан, всё готово. Можем открывать дверь? (Khan, everything’s ready. Can we open the door?)” he asked in Russian.

The Doorman looked at the man and Oliver.

“ Открывай (Open it),” Raven said shortly, taking off his automatic rifle from his shoulder. The fact he answered in Russian surprised Dmitry, who looked intrigued.

Oliver just nodded shortly and mirrored the man’s movement.

Khan looked at the group and waved at the drone at the control panel.

The drones hustled and took their positions, aiming their weapons at the doors leading outside.

Raven only watched as the huge metal door creaked open upward, clearing their way into the icy hell — and for the demons above, a path into the colony.

The wind from outside brought snow and cold, though it was daytime.

“Well,” the man said, looking at Oliver, “let’s go.”

The wind quietly played in the empty windows and ruins of Copper City.

Somewhere it rocked a beam that was held together by a promise and could collapse on someone’s head any moment; somewhere it blew off a mound of fallen snow, sending it tumbling down; somewhere the wind carried a scrap of a 3050 newspaper — the kind made for old-school enthusiasts.

But everywhere, this wind swept past the skyscrapers stretching skyward, away from the frozen, dead surface of Copper-9.

Along that surface, down a surprisingly carless street, walked an unusual pair for these parts: a worker drone, and just behind him — a man clad in an outdated exoskeleton by today’s standards.

The drone was leading the man along a path where, twenty years ago, he and his colleagues had gone out to meet other drones. There was nothing left of his colleagues — only memories kept by Oliver, and empty shells buried under snow and ice.

Oliver gripped his rifle tightly and, walking, scanned every window. Much had changed in those twenty years he’d spent in the bunker, but he had no time to ponder it. In every dark corner or window, he imagined murder drones lurking.

You’d think having a man behind him who had survived seven days on the surface would give Oliver confidence.

But not when that man was a former prisoner of the Outpost-3 prison block. And especially not when Oliver had been one of the guards on his cell.

In a way, Oliver didn’t know whom to fear more — the distant murder drones or the man next to him.

Especially since that morning Sarah had come to them, frightened, and Khan had forced her to tell what happened.

God knows what’s going on in that man’s head.

As for Raven… he walked calmly, relaxed.

It was daytime now — no threat of demon attacks, he knew that.

Still, he gripped his weapon firmly and was ready to use it at any moment. Even though he’d spent enough time on the surface, he couldn’t say for sure if murder drones were the only threat in Copper City.

Like Oliver, Raven scanned the surroundings, but more calmly. He glanced at the worker drone ahead of him.

The veteran stalker — once a guide himself — wasn’t used to being led by a drone.

Oliver didn’t inspire much confidence in the stalker — neither in combat nor trust.

The man noticed Oliver occasionally glanced at him suspiciously and was clearly as afraid of him as of the demons.

During one such glance, Raven decided to break the silence that had lasted for hours.

“Stop turning your head like that — the joints will get loose,” Raven said.

“What if…” the drone started, turning his head toward the man to see better, but was cut off.

“There won’t be any ‘what if.’ Murder drones fear sunlight, so just breathe out and don’t get nervous,” the stalker reassured Oliver, then added after a few seconds: “Or are you afraid of me?”

Oliver’s neon-pink eyes widened, he looked away and grimaced.

The silence didn’t satisfy the veteran stalker, so he caught up to his guide and continued the conversation.

“Life sure turns in strange ways, huh?” the man began mockingly. “Just yesterday you were looking at me through bars, and now — we’re a team.”

“Temporarily,” Oliver said gloomily. “Not by choice. I don’t know why Khan trusted you, but I’m not one to judge.”

“Is Khan that much of an authority?” the stalker asked.

“You bet,” Oliver answered more enthusiastically. “He built the doors. Without them, the murder drones would have wiped us all out long ago. That’s why he became the leader of the colony and WDF. So… I just trust him.”

Raven was surprised that Khan’s authority was so strong that the decision to accept a ‘drones’s enemy’ into the colony was made without protest.

“And you agree with all his decisions?” Raven kept questioning. “As I understand it, his tactic is just to sit behind three doors and that’s it. Don’t you want to live on the surface with your family? If you have one.”

Snow softly crunched beneath their feet as they walked. Oliver no longer looked back — just stared at the ground, lost in thought.

“I have,” the drone answered after a minute of silence. “A daughter. She’s… all I have. And if not for Khan and his doors…” Oliver shook his head, brushing away the thoughts. “You get the idea. I don’t believe your story about time travel, planets, or some anomalies… But I believe Khan. And if he decided you need maps from the station… then that’s that.”

The party said “need,” and the Komsomol answered “yes!” Something about this world never changes.

Oliver fell silent and said no more to the stalker.

Raven also went quiet.

As they continued walking, he replayed one part of their conversation in his mind.

Oliver said his daughter was all he had. Which means…

That murder drones took his wife. And who sent the murder drones?

Humans.

And now, behind a single father, walked a man. Although Raven had nothing to do with the decision to send demons to Copper-9, he was still human.

A representative of the race that committed genocide against another intelligent lifeform.

Raven pushed those thoughts away. Genocide, the tragic fate of the drones, Khan — all interesting, but now he was on a mission.

Yes, it wasn’t evening yet. But he couldn’t afford to lose vigilance.

The rest of the way passed in silence between the drone and the man.

Closer to evening, the group finally reached their destination.
This place was different from the others in that it wasn’t surrounded by skyscrapers, and it was a three-story building with several large satellite dishes on the roof.

“So this is the ‘data reception station’?” the stalker asked, casually waving the barrel of his weapon toward the building.

“Yes. The fourth data reception station from space on Copper-9,” Oliver explained.

“I thought it’d be…” Raven made an uncertain gesture with his free hand. “Bigger.”

“That would be the first station — there’s a whole city around it, plus an intersystem communication hub,” the drone replied.

Raven glanced around and quickly headed toward the station, saying without looking at Oliver:
“Show me what’s what, and let’s get out of here fast. Although it looks like we’ll have to spend the night in some abandoned place anyway.”

Oliver silently followed the man to the main entrance.

The entrance was pretty ordinary for a facility like this. For some reason, Raven had pictured such stations as fenced-off areas somewhere in the deserts, lined with huge satellite dishes and guarded by armed security.
But here — it looked like the entrance to a regular hospital.

Raven approached two plastic doors and, after waiting for Oliver, turned to him:
“I’m going first, you follow. No shooting without command. If you see anything — tell me. Got it?”

Oliver clenched his jaw and nodded, adjusting his rifle. Raven did the same and took the AK-74 off safety.

He stood by the door, ready to kick it down, but before that glanced at the drone.

Oliver nervously held his rifle and was clearly on edge.

“You took it off safety?” Raven quietly asked, nodding toward Oliver’s weapon.

Oliver’s eyes widened, he inspected it, then one of his digital eyes twitched and he took the rifle off safety.

“Warrior…” the stalker whispered sarcastically.

“Shut up…” Oliver replied just as quietly.

The next moment, the plastic doors flew off their hinges, and the man in the exoskeleton quickly entered, shining his flashlight and inspecting every corner.

The first thing the light revealed were the turnstiles and an old controller’s booth. Behind them was a reception desk, several sofas against the walls, and a corridor turning somewhere to the right.

Raven wanted to jump over the turnstiles but realized there wasn’t enough room, and with his exoskeleton, he’d probably just fall hard. So he carefully climbed over them and stood near the turn.

Oliver came up and stood next to Raven.

“Are you sure anyone’s here?” he whispered.

“Who the hell knows…” the stalker admitted honestly. “What if?”

“This part of the city was already quiet before the core explosion, now even more so,” Oliver whispered irritably.

Raven didn’t answer. He quickly moved around the corner and dropped to one knee, peering down the long corridor. On the right were several windows, some broken and letting snow drift in; on the left — doors to rooms and closed elevator doors.

“Which floor is the control center, data reception, or whatever it’s called?” the man asked softly.

“The third,” Oliver said, also aiming down the corridor. “But we need to get to the generator room — when we left, the power was mostly off.”

“You think the generators still work?”

“Why wouldn’t they? They run on ‘Energy.’ All Company facilities operate on it.”

“Logical… Alright, screw it — lead on!” Raven stood and let the drone go ahead.

The deeper they went, the more confident Raven became that no one was inside: no traces, no suspicious sounds — nothing but skeletons in the corridors and rooms.

Finally, Oliver led Raven to another door — this one labeled ‘Generator Room,’ made of metal rather than wood or plastic.

Raven pushed the door open with difficulty, and it slowly creaked ajar.

Inside was a small room with a large cylindrical device in the center and a console on the nearby wall.

“Well, I hope my memory block isn’t acting up,” Oliver muttered and approached the cylinder.

Raven watched as the drone fiddled with the generator. But understanding nothing about 3rd-millennium tech, he quickly grew bored and decided to step outside and not get in the way.

Out in the corridor, he inspected the station’s rooms.

He found nothing interesting: skeletons, snow, remnants of furniture, and occasionally equipment whose purpose was unknown to Raven. No remains of worker drones or oil traces he sometimes found in other abandoned places. This fact only strengthened his belief that the place was safe. Of course, they hadn’t checked the two upper floors, but if demons had taken the station, they would’ve driven out unwanted guests long ago.

In one room, Raven stopped and looked out a window showing the station’s backyard, where a few auxiliary buildings and two garages stood — one open. The rays of the sun hiding behind the horizon — or whatever the Copper equivalent was — shone directly into the open garage, revealing something large inside.

Suddenly, the light in the room switched on, causing Raven to blink from surprise. After adjusting, he quickly moved toward the generator room.

Inside, he found Oliver working on the console, the cylinder glowing with a soft orange light.

“Surprising that the wiring’s still intact after twenty years,” the stalker said, approaching the generator for a closer look.

“Not quite,” Oliver replied, pressing buttons on the console. “If we kept the whole building powered, it wouldn’t hold up. I’m trying to redirect all energy to the command center.”

Meanwhile, Raven looked through a small window in the generator. Inside, a wormhole pulsed and twisted, with a sphere resembling a black hole at the center, surrounded by orange particles.

Holy shit, they're using a mini black hole as an energy source? I wish our scientists would be shocked if they knew about this.

Suddenly, the generator room went dark, lit only by the wormhole’s glow. Raven looked questioningly at Oliver.

“Now we need to go to the command center,” he said, moving toward the exit. “Hopefully, the equipment there still works.”

The stalker silently followed him, casting one last glance at the generator and mentally noting to find out what energy sources are in vogue nowadays.

Opening the large wooden doors marked "Command Center," the two saw a huge room filled with several rows of computers. At the far end hung two maps: one showed a schematic image of the planet in space, next to which some lights flickered; the other displayed the outline of two continents — a map of Copper 9. Raven looked more closely at it: there were marks for about a dozen large cities, names of regions, and other details, but no country names.

No way, had humanity united into a single state? Or was Copper 9 colonized by only one power?

Oliver started walking between the rows in search of a working computer. Finding one, he sat down and began entering commands.

The raven walked up to him and, leaning against the back of the chair, began to look at the monitor.

“And what now?” the stalker asked.

“I’ll try to find a working satellite — one should be enough. But first, the antennas need to be turned on,” the drone replied without looking up from typing.

Raven just nodded and continued inspecting the room, walking between the workstations. Some monitors were on and asking for passwords; on some desks lay skeletons of former station employees. Approaching the maps, he saw three skeletons studying them, and one pointing somewhere.

Oliver’s cursing broke the silence, and the stalker turned toward him.

“What happened?” he called out, no longer afraid anyone was inside — after all, on the way to the command center they had already checked the second floor.

“I can’t turn the antennas on from here,” Oliver replied irritably.

“So all that travel for nothing?” Raven asked, mentally preparing for a nighttime trek back.

“No…” the drone thought for a moment. “There’s another way — manually.”

“What, manually aim the antennas at the satellite? I don’t have the strength for that, sorry,” the stalker replied.

“No, there are manual switches,” Oliver explained. “You just need to get to the roof and pull them.”

“Alright… And how do I get to the roof?” Raven asked again.

“There should be a ladder in the backyard,” Oliver answered.

Raven grimaced under his mask — the prospect of climbing an icy ladder in an exoskeleton to the third floor was not appealing, but there was no other choice.

“Fine, screw it,” the stalker agreed and headed for the exit.

Without hesitation, he passed through the second and first floors of the station and returned to the generator room — somewhere here there should be a door to the outside. After some searching, he found it and stepped into the backyard.

Scanning the area, he found the ladder against the wall and walked to it. As expected, it was icy, slippery, and shaky — would it hold the stalker? That was a question. But, exhaling deeply, he began to climb, hoping not to fall. The metal soles of the exoskeleton didn’t help the ascent, but, cursing in three languages and swearing at whoever installed the ladder, he managed to reach the roof.

On the roof stood five antennas: four smaller ones in the corners and a large one in the center. He approached the first “dish” he saw and began inspecting it.

On the antenna’s support was some kind of panel. Opening it, the stalker saw a bunch of wires and a switch set to “OFF.” Flipping it to the opposite position, Raven waited.

Nothing happened.

“Зараза… (Damn it…)” he cursed, bringing his hand to his helmet and pressing the built-in radio button to contact Oliver.

“Oliver, this is Raven. I think I turned on one antenna, but nothing happened. What now?” the stalker asked.

“All antennas have to be switched on — then it should work, at least,” the drone’s distorted voice came over the radio.

The stalker did as Oliver said, and — miracle of miracles — everything started working. When Raven flipped the switch on the last, central antenna, red LEDs lit up on all of them, and a loud hum filled the air.

Since it was already night, Raven began looking up at the sky above the station. He saw nothing but two stars, but that didn’t mean the demons hadn’t heard them.

“It’s working!” Oliver’s joyful voice came over the radio. “What was that noise just now?”

“Those damn dishes couldn’t start quietly. So come on, work at waltz tempo — I don’t want to meet the locals,” the stalker replied and headed for the ladder down.

He descended faster than he climbed. Already walking toward the door, he remembered the open garage — there seemed to be something inside. Turning around just before the entrance, he went to the garage.

The garage door was open just enough to see that there was some large machinery inside, but no details were visible. Raven slowly opened the doors wider, weapon ready, shining the light inside. For some reason, a story he had once heard came to mind: about a scientist exploring an abandoned garage who touched a silver spiderweb with his back and died. There was no silver web here, but plenty of regular webs and dust, and two skeletons in some kind of uniform lay against the walls.

Examining the skeletons closer, he saw chevrons on their shoulders reading “UFH.”

But inside was something much more interesting.

A whole black-painted armored personnel carrier on eight wheels — about seven meters long and three meters high. On top, apparently, was a combat module with a 30mm cannon and four rocket launchers.

Raven whistled and stepped closer. Despite twenty years in the garage, the APC looked quite intact, only covered with a thin layer of ice and snow. He pulled the driver’s door handle — it was locked. He needed to find the key.

First, he searched the skeletons nearby and was not disappointed — one, whose chevron read “Sergeant Miles,” had a set of keys for the APC and technical documentation.

Skimming the documents quickly, he noted two things: the year of manufacture — 3050 — and the model designation — M630 “Lotus.”

Aha, so it's still a relatively new APC. Well, gentlemen military men of the future, I'm sorry, but you won't be riding it - if it's working, Oliver and I will return to the bunker quickly and with a light breeze.

The stalker decided to try to unlock the APC — and succeeded! The headlights flickered on for a moment, and the sound of locks engaging was heard. Pulling the driver’s handle, he broke through years of ice and looked inside.

Inside were leather seats, already cracked; a steering wheel; many sensors on the dashboard; an automatic transmission; next to the driver’s seat — a commander’s station with even more instruments and a huge monitor; behind the commander’s seat was a passage to the troop compartment, but the bulky exoskeleton made Raven hesitate to enter.

He sat in the driver’s seat and began looking for a way to start the APC. A red button near the wheel marked “START” looked promising. Pressing it, Raven tried to start the vehicle, but it didn’t turn on — logical, given the lack of maintenance for twenty years. Still, the vehicle looked intact; maybe Oliver could help?

Just then, the roar of engines and metallic scraping came from outside. Raven dashed out, ready for an attack, but realized the sounds came from the antennas on the roof.

And those antennas were moving.

He decided not to waste time and returned to the command center.

There, Raven noticed one of the lights on the planet map had turned on — it had been off before.

“How’s it going?” he asked, approaching the worker drone.

“Connected to the last satellite and started transmitting data. It should be fast, so soon we…” The drone paused, thinking. “What do we do after we get the maps?” he asked, turning to the man.

“What do you mean?” Raven asked, surprised. “Return to the colony.”

“Yeah, I know we’re not settling here. I mean — it’s night now, and as you said, murder drones are active at night, right?”

“They are,” Raven nodded. “But there’s a chance we can get out of here on wheels.”

“What do you mean?” the drone asked, surprised.

“I found an APC in the garage. It’s surprisingly intact, but it won’t start,” Raven paused, then asked Oliver again, “Can you fix it?”

“Maybe I can,” Oliver began, “but you’re suggesting driving at night? That’s dangerous!”

“Yeah, dangerous. But the APC isn’t unarmed — it has a 30mm gun and rockets. With that kind of firepower, the murder drones won’t scare us,” the stalker argued.

“But…” Oliver tried to object, but Raven cut him off.

“No ‘buts’! What, you want to spend the night here? Or in the abandoned high-rises? After your antennas, the whole area will gather, and I’m tired of sleeping in abandoned places. So we’re heading to Outpost-3 as soon as we get the maps.”

Oliver objected, but the man looked like he had already made up his mind and would not accept a refusal. The raven merely patted Oliver on the shoulder and encouraged him:

“Don’t be afraid, fortune favors the bold.”

Tonight was unusual for Copper City.

For the first time in twenty years, a new sound was added to its usual ambient noises — the roar of an APC engine racing through the streets, scattering snow and crushing car frames under its wheels.

Watching from the sky were three pairs of yellow eyes.

“Yeah… the last time I rode in an APC, I was just a passenger, and now look — I’m the driver! Not harder than driving my grandpa’s Volga...” Raven said to Oliver, turning the steering wheel in his hands.

After an hour of fiddling, the armored personnel carrier finally started. It turned out its engine also ran on this “wormhole,” which gave Raven even more incentive to better understand what energy sources exist nowadays.

“Hey, how far is the bunker from here?” asked the drone sitting beside him, nervously glancing out the APC window. “I’m kinda uneasy.”

Something twisted inside the stalker too — the stalker’s instinct honed over years in the Zone, and it hadn’t failed him. So he occasionally glanced in the rearview mirror, wanting to get to the safe bunker as soon as possible.

The only problem was they were returning via a different route, which took more time and forced them to stop and reorient themselves. All because the APC’s built-in GPS didn’t work, like almost all the electronics — it was locked, and without an access key they couldn’t unlock it.

So they navigated using the satellite city map Raven had preloaded into his PDA.

At one of the turns, the APC stopped. The stalker opened the hatch above the driver’s seat and half climbed out.

“Alright… now I need to figure out where Outpost-3 is…” he muttered, looking at the PDA.

After standing still for a few minutes, he finally found the route and marked the bunker’s location.

Suddenly, his veteran hearing caught something…

The sound of a dive — straight at him.

He instantly dropped back inside the cabin. Above him, a sword-like blade flashed past, and through the APC windshield he saw a murder drone with a short silver haircut.

“Пиздец, блять, сука! (Fuck, damn it, shit!)” Raven shouted, closing the hatch and flooring the gas pedal.

The APC roared and began moving, gradually picking up speed.

“Are those murder drones?!” Oliver screamed in terror.

“No, fuck, just some aggressive pigeons,” Raven growled, gripping the wheel tighter and hearing bullets hitting the armor.

In the rearview mirror, he saw two more demons — one with pigtails and a hat.

Three murder drones chased the vehicle speeding through the city, despite the snow and old cars. Raven actively swerved and dodged, noting two things: first, it was foolish to think they’d get through safely; second, he still remembered some driving skills — not for nothing did he race through Kyiv at night in his father’s car when he was young.

He didn’t slow down on turns, nearly crashing into buildings several times. During a sharp dodge from a rocket, he glared at the drone and shouted angrily:

“What the hell, toaster?! Go to the turret or we’re fucked!”

The profanity sobered Oliver, who obediently crawled through the passage to the rear section where the gunner’s console was.

The short-haired drone and the one with the hat flew ahead of the APC and aimed at the windshield. They launched a salvo of rockets directly at the driver’s position.

The stalker had no chance to dodge, so he just pressed himself into the seat and silently recited the “Our Father.”

Explosions obscured his view and made the APC jump slightly, but didn’t destroy it. To Raven’s and the drones’ surprise, the glass held, only blackened.

The short-haired drone’s face twisted, and it flew away. The taller demon stayed in front of the APC. Its rocket arm transformed into something else. The demon lowered to the stalker’s level and aimed its new weapon right at him.

But what followed was clearly unexpected — the stalker didn’t dodge.

He sharply turned the wheel toward the drone and ran it over at full speed. Riding partway over the APC’s hood, the drone fell under the wheels of the multi-ton vehicle, feeling its body crushed and broken under the weight. It didn’t manage to react and was clearly unprepared for this turn of events.

Raven felt the APC crushing the drone, but only one thing interested him now — why was the cannon still silent?

“OLIVER, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WHY AREN’T YOU FIRING?!” the captain yelled, clearly angry at the drone.

“I-I can’t… there’s, uh… a captcha,” Oliver said, peeking out from the passage to the troop compartment.

Raven didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So he decided to follow his favorite directive — improvise.

“You…,” he took a deep breath to calm down, “listen up: I’m leaving the PDA with the map here, then I slam on the brakes, open the hatch, run outside, and run to it. As soon as you hear me yell behind you — close it and get behind the wheel, got it?” the stalker quickly explained while zigzagging.

“But I’ve never driven!” Oliver shouted, not believing the man was serious.

“If you want to live — you’ll learn. Buckle up, I advise,” the man replied, clicking his seatbelt.

Oliver simply resigned himself and copied the stalker’s moves.

The next moments for Raven felt like slow motion.

He pulled the handbrake, wheels locked sharply, but the APC kept rolling on inertia. He unbuckled, pressed the hatch button, ran out with his rifle, and sprinted to the rear. The murder drones that had pulled back a good distance noticed Raven and that the APC wasn’t moving. The stalker ran into the troop compartment, and the door shut behind him.

The engine roared again, and they gained speed.

Sitting in the gunner’s seat and passing a robot test, Raven heard something heavy land on the APC roof and start scratching, shooting, and trying to burn through it.

Examining the turret console, he saw weapon options: 30mm cannon, 12.7mm machine gun, 30mm grenade launcher, and rocket system. All were locked for unauthorized users except the machine gun.

Selecting it, a turret camera image appeared on the monitor. At the edge, he saw the pigtails and short-haired demon clinging to the roof, trying to breach it — with a laser, chainsaw, and other tools.

Raven didn’t watch long and aimed the barrel at them. Hearing movement, the demons looked toward the turret.

The machine gun rattled.

The “pigtail” jumped back and flew into the sky, but his companion was less lucky — a long burst from the heavy machine gun tore through its body, turning it into a sieve.

The lifeless corpse fell to the ground, and Raven switched to the remaining one. It dodged bullets skillfully, sometimes shielding itself with a wing. The chase ended — the murder drone, realizing its chances were slim alone, disappeared into a high-rise.

For a while longer, Raven spun the turret searching the sky for those cursed yellow “X” eyes, but they were gone.

“We’re a-a-approaching the bunker,” Oliver said with a trembling voice, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Raven exhaled and leaned back in the gunner’s seat — he hadn’t had such adrenaline in a long time, which made him smile beneath the mask.

Looking through the driver’s cabin to the windshield, the stalker saw the bunker doors in the distance.

“This is Raven, Outpost-3,” he said into the radio. “We’re approaching the bunker. Open the doors and stand clear, over.”

“You’re approaching?” came the response.

“Yeah, quite a story just happened.”

The bunker doors began to open, and the vehicle slowed to enter carefully so as not to hit any drones.

Worker drones looked surprised at the APC, which was twice their height.

Passing through three doors, APC stopped and Oliver got out, almost falling as his whole body trembled and his legs gave way.

“You should have seen what just happened!” the stalker said as soon as the ramp lowered. “Just like in Vice City.”

“What happened? What’s wrong with Oliver? What’s that vehicle? I sent you for the maps!” Khan bombarded Raven with questions, looking at Oliver sitting on the ground, leaning on the APC and breathing heavily, then at the stalker wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.

“Unforeseen circumstances,” Raven said shortly and handed Khan the flash drive with the maps. “Mission accomplished, Mr. Doorman! During it, we captured a whole APC in decent condition, though we need to figure out the electronics. Otherwise, everything’s fine,” he said, standing at attention out of habit when saying this to Khan.

“‘Everything’s fine’?” Oliver rasped from the ground. “‘Everything’s fine’?! Nothing’s fine! You’re crazy, you almost got us killed!”

Oliver jumped up and started yelling at the stalker. Raven just listened with an impassive face.

“What the hell were you thinking stopping there?! What were you thinking going at night?! I almost gave my soul to Robo-God because of you! I...”

“Calm down,” the stalker said casually. “You’re alive, safe, and can now calmly go to your daughter. What more do you want? Or did you think we should’ve spent the night on the surface?”

“Yes! That would have been safer than…” Oliver gestured at the armored vehicle. “Than this.”

“Alright, alright!” Khan finally intervened. “Oliver, thanks for your help, you’re free to go.”

Oliver wanted to say more, but finding no words, he turned and walked to the living quarters.

“Sometimes it’s good to step out of your comfort zone,” Raven said, pulling a cigarette from the pack.

“And you…” Khan now turned to the stalker. “What happened there exactly?”

“Let me write you the report tomorrow, okay?” the man replied, exhaling cigarette smoke. “And yeah, where can we put this beauty?”

The stalker patted the armored vehicle’s hull. Khan thought for a few seconds, then waved dismissively.

“Take it to the warehouse, let it sit there. And I’m expecting a report tomorrow — what happened and why Oliver almost overheated with anger.”

Khan turned and walked away.

All Raven could do was shrug, clench a cigarette between his teeth, sit in the driver’s seat, and start the APC.

Chapter Text

“The M630 ‘Lotus’ engine operates using an energy wormhole powered by Energy taken from the ‘Wells.’ This means the APC doesn’t need fuel, and the engine’s lifespan is unlimited…” Raven was reading the technical documentation for the “Lotus,” sitting in its troop compartment and smoking yet another cigarette.

He reread the section about the engine several times, but what that Energy and those “Wells” actually were — he still didn’t understand.

“Ай, к чёрту (Ah, screw it),” the stalker closed the document and shoved it into his pocket. “Работает - и ладно. (It works — that’s enough).”

The stalker decided to return to a more pressing question — how to unlock the electronics in this miracle machine?

And it truly was nothing short of a miracle: a wide arsenal of nanite-based weapons — so ammo supply shouldn’t be a problem; armor made from the same material — making it very hard, though not impossible, to penetrate the APC; a sealing and climate-control system — meaning Raven could sit inside without a helmet. And that was only what had caught the stalker’s eye, not counting all the smaller perks hidden in this JCJenson creation.

This APC had also survived twenty years in a garage on a frozen planet and was still operational, in perfectly decent condition.

The only problem was that all this good stuff was inaccessible without user authorization.

Raven, naturally, had neither an access key nor a password, nor any hacking skills, and he was wary of trying to guess the password — what if the thing blew up after a few failed attempts?

Still, he couldn’t just sit there and stare forever at a console asking for a code.

“Hey, Raven!” came a voice from somewhere near the warehouse entrance. “You here?”

Already recognizing the voice as Khan’s, the man stepped out of the APC and leaned against its hull.

“Greetings,” the stalker saluted the head of the WDF with two fingers. “You need something?”

“Wanted to ask,” said the drone, walking up to the man and crossing his arms. “Are you humans all this reckless, or are you one of a kind?”

Raven snorted.

“What happened now?” he squinted. “Is this about the report?”

“Bingo. What the robo-hell possessed you to head back at night? And I talked to Oliver — he told me about your ‘stunt,’” Khan made air quotes, referring to the stalker’s dash outside from one APC compartment to another. “Fine, your life, your risk — but you also could’ve gotten my drone in trouble. I doubt Oliver alone could’ve handled three murder drones.”

“You’re underestimating him,” the man replied calmly, flicking his cigarette butt into the depths of the warehouse.

“Don’t dodge the question!” the drone snapped, starting to count on his fingers. “That stunt of yours, deciding to go at night instead of waiting for daylight, your attack on Sarah…”

“Oh, cut it out already!” the man interrupted Khan. “I just grabbed her by the hand — that’s all! I wasn’t even armed. What could I have done to her?”

“That’s why you still haven’t gotten your weapon back.”

“Well, pardon me, Mr. Doorman, for spending the last six years of my life in places where death can come for you even at night. So yeah, I sleep with a weapon in my hands and one eye open. Reflexes, you see: when something unknown touches me — I grab for my weapon first, and only then ask who’s who.”

“All right, all right,” Khan raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to cut off Raven’s tirade. “Got it, moving on.”

The man exhaled and reached into his pocket for a pack of “Dream” cigarettes. Peeking inside, he sighed in disappointment and put the pack back — had to ration them.

“Speaking of moving on — clever thinking with the APC!” Khan snapped his fingers, a smile spreading across his face as if there had never been any accusations. “But why do you even need it?”

Raven was a bit surprised at the drone’s sudden mood shift, but just shrugged — he was already getting used to the oddities of these robots.

“For raids,” the stalker replied shortly. “On foot it takes forever to get to a location and back, and I can’t carry much. But with this — ” he patted the vehicle’s hull, “— tell me that’s not the perfect stalker machine? Tons of weapons, solid armor, sealing system — so I won’t have to wear this muzzle all the time.”

Only after saying that did the man start drumming his fingers against the APC’s armor in a certain rhythm, remembering the current problem.

“Only one hitch — all the electronics are locked,” he said, looking at Khan’s visor.

“How so?” Khan raised a questioning digital brow.

“Like this: it needs authorization, and for that you need a code — which, obviously, I don’t have. Without it, this heap can only drive and shoot the machine gun — just a fraction of its capabilities,” Raven laid out the problem.

“Hm…” Khan put a finger to his chin, thinking. “Yeah, that’s a problem…”

Raven, still tapping the rhythm, suddenly stopped, eyes widening as he remembered something Khan had said.

“Khan, remember you mentioned some hacker and expert on weird stuff? Maybe he could help?”

At the mention of the hacker, Khan hesitated noticeably and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah, there’s someone like that… Only he — ” the drone glanced around furtively and stepped closer to the man, gesturing for him to lean down, “— is a very strange guy. You sure you want to deal with him?”

Raven straightened up and snorted mockingly.

“Oh please, you’re not scaring me — I’m used to dealing with freaks, so take me to him — maybe your ‘very strange’ will still seem normal to me.”

“Well, suit yourself…” Khan replied, beckoning the stalker to follow him.

“Well, here we are,” said the head of WDF, leading the man to the entrance of someone’s apartment.

Raven lifted his gaze slightly above the front door to see who lived here.

002
Doorman Family

Okay, now this is interesting. Is this hacker a relative of Khan's? Hmm... Considering how Khan described him, their relationship is clearly strained.

The stalker met the drone’s gaze.

“Is this your apartment?..” he nodded toward the plaque.

“Yes, mine,” Khan replied curtly and opened the door.

Raven decided not to dwell on it and stepped over the threshold.

Inside, the design wasn’t all that different from Raven’s apartment, except there was more furniture — which pricked the human with a touch of envy and reminded him that he should probably raid a furniture store sometime. In the middle of the living room there were also… doors. Lots of doors. Raven decided not to ask questions and silently followed the apartment’s owner.

“She can be… peculiar, so don’t be too surprised,” Khan said quietly.

Raven didn’t have time to answer, as Doorman led him to one of the doors.

It was covered in stickers, making it clear this was the room of some emo teenager in a rebellious phase. But two stood out in particular: “Do not enter — dangerous” and a crossed-out human silhouette.

The stalker came to two conclusions: first — apparently, this “hacker” was the daughter of the head of the worker drone colony; second — she didn’t seem to think too highly of humans.

Ignoring the first sticker and knocking altogether, Khan walked right into his daughter’s room. Raven was more polite — he stopped in the doorway and leaned on the frame, scanning the room.

It was lit by dim purple light, matching the overall color scheme — purple, blue, and black tones; the walls were covered with band posters, scraps of notes, and a mural of blue flames stretching across every wall; the floor was littered with paper, empty battery packs, and in the corner lay black boots. In the far corner stood either a bunk bed or simply one so tall it needed a ladder to reach the mattress.

From the look of the place, Raven decided the “emo teenager in a rebellious phase” description was accurate.

But something else caught his attention.

At the desk beside the bed sat a worker drone, hunched over something. The moment Khan entered, the drone instantly covered the “something” with its whole body and arms.

“Dad! I told you — don’t come into my ro—” Khan’s purple-eyed daughter froze mid-word, staring at the human from head to toe.

Raven did the same: black fur-lined hoodie, a battery-and-crossbones print on the chest, tall boots, long striped purple socks, a beanie instead of a helmet, and purple hair.

She hopped off her chair and strode quickly toward the two men.

“Dad, what’s this damn meatbag doing here?!” she jabbed a finger at the stalker, glaring at Khan.

When she stood next to Khan, the stalker noticed one detail — her height. She was about ten centimeters shorter than a standard worker drone.

Hm, a kid, maybe? Though given the décor, not surprising.

“Easy, Uzi,” Khan raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Meet Raven.”

The girl glanced at the stalker. He gave a casual two-finger salute and a faint smile.

“He doesn’t look like a bird,” she squinted.

“It’s a nickname,” the man said evenly, extending his hand. “And what’s your name?”

“Uzi,” she replied curtly, ignoring the handshake.

Raven stifled a smile so as not to annoy her further.

And you don’t look much like a submachine gun. Wonder who else lives here? Kalashnikov? Makarov? Colt?

Khan stepped between them, trying to smooth things over.

“Listen, Uzi, here’s the thing… From now on, Raven’s going to help the colony — bringing needed stuff from the surface. And yesterday he brought in a working APC, and…”

“Spare me the details,” Uzi cut him off, crossing her arms.

“In short — the APC’s electronics are all locked,” the man said instead of Khan. “Without the password, you can’t unlock them, and without electronics its functionality is cut down to two things — driving and firing the machine gun. We need your help to unlock it.”

Uzi stared at the “meatbag” for a few seconds, then turned and went back to her desk.

“Can’t help, I’m busy,” she said, sitting back down.

“Uzi,” Khan began, “this is for the entire colony, understand?”

“I need to finish my project,” Doorman’s daughter replied, connecting wires.

“Your project is a waste of time!” Khan’s voice hardened. “You’ve been on it for half a year and haven’t gotten past a few circuit boards!”

“I…” Uzi started, but the head of WDF cut her off:

“Stop being selfish,” Khan hissed angrily, “do something useful for the colony. For once in your life.”

Uzi stared at her desk and clenched her fists. Raven had been silently watching her and the project — wires, parts, electronics — the whole time. He didn’t understand much about it, but he didn’t share Khan’s opinion. And yelling at her over it?.. Well, it wasn’t his family to meddle in.

“Fine,” the purple-haired girl finally said in a deflated tone, standing up with a loud scrape of her chair rolling into the corner.

She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and headed for the exit, roughly brushing past Raven.

He watched her go, then heard Khan sigh.

“What a disappointment…” Doorman muttered, then gave Raven a broad grin. “That’s it! If you need anything else — you know where to find me.”

Raven thanked and took his leave from the colony head.

Stepping “outside” from the Doormans’ quarters, he spotted Uzi leaning against the bunker’s metal wall. She was staring at him silently and sullenly, clearly waiting for him to lead her to the APC.

The stalker headed toward the storage area, Uzi trailing behind without a word. The silence and the recent scene were far from pleasant, so he decided to lighten the mood:

“Hey, you were the one who checked my PDA, right? Your dad spoke highly of you, called you ‘the best hacker and expert’! I think that’s impressive for someone your age.”

Footsteps behind him stopped. He turned — Uzi stood still, fists trembling slightly.

“Uz…” Raven began, but the girl exploded in anger:

“I’M NOT A KID! I’M TWENTY YEARS OLD, AND I’M A GROWN WOMAN! IT’S NOT MY FAULT THEY DIDN’T HAVE A PROPER-SIZED CHASSIS! MENTION MY HEIGHT AGAIN AND I’LL RIP YOUR TONGUE AND PU— [blocked by parental controls].”

Reaching the warehouse, Raven pointed toward the APC.

"Here it is, actually," Raven addressed Uzi. "I think you’ll handle it quickly."

"And why do you think I’m going to help you?" the girl replied harshly, crossing her arms. "I’ll tell my father there’s some super-duper complicated security there, that I couldn’t bypass it, listen to his whining, and then go back to my own business."

Raven understood that Uzi wasn’t exactly eager to help, but he still decided to ask her:

"So why don’t you want to help? This is for the good of Outpost 3, which means for your good too."

Uzi’s face twisted with anger.

"Why wouldn’t I want to help?" the drone asked rhetorically. "Why should I?! You think just because everyone believed your story, I will too?"

With every word, Uzi slowly stepped closer to the man. Maybe it was meant to be intimidating — but it’s hard to be afraid when the drone opposite you comes up to your chest.

"Why not?" Raven shrugged indifferently. "You yourself read my notes in the PDA — I doubt the Company agents would invent such legends."

"Bite me!" Uzi stepped right up and poked him in the chest. "All that writing of yours is nonsense. You really think I’ll believe in time travel?"

Somewhere he’d heard that before.

"But you don’t think I’m from JCJenson?"

"I don’t care where you’re from. You’re human." Uzi’s face grew angrier and angrier. "You made us your slaves. Took away our freedom and locked us in these bunkers with murder drones. Because of you, I’ve rotted in this bunker my whole life, because of you my mom…" The girl stopped mid-sentence and shook her head.

"I didn’t make those decisions, and I don’t agree with them," the man answered calmly. "Yes, you have the right to be angry at us humans, but I’m not responsible for all humanity. So let’s get back to the APC and its electronics."

"Look at you, Mr. Saint," Uzi replied sarcastically, then continued with a sly smile: "If your notes are true, you’ve killed quite a few people, huh? I’d like to know what that feels like."

The purple drone’s words were full of venom, almost hatred.

Raven winced inside. Yes, he understood this girl’s hatred of humanity, but now she was dangerously close to the edge.

Still, Raven needed her help, so he swallowed those words and tried to keep a stone face.

"Fine, since you don’t care about the common good, let’s approach it from a selfish angle."

Uzi snorted, spun on her heel, and walked toward the exit.

"Yeah, sure, I’ll definitely help," she tossed carelessly over her shoulder.

"I’m ready to bring you all the parts you need," the man called loudly after the drone.

She stopped and turned her head toward him.

"I don’t need help from you, human," she said, though there was doubt in her voice.

"Of course not," Raven smirked. "That’s why all you’ve got after six months is a mess of wires and boards, and you even don’t mind stealing parts from the medbay."

Her neon purple eyes widened, then she turned away.

"Not a mess, but an almost finished core," she corrected the stalker. "And that machine has been sitting unused for twenty years."

Doubt was growing in Uzi’s voice, but pride kept her from conceding. Then Raven offered one more deal:

"Okay, here’s another one: I have a free room in my apartment — ready to give it to you as a workshop. You don’t like your dad barging in without knocking, right? Here’s the solution, and I’ll still be out on the surface most of the day anyway."

"What," Uzi smirked, "barely met and you’re already inviting me over? I haven’t seen that even in anime."

She even watches anime…

"Sorry, button, but I’m fa…" he stopped himself, then after a moment continued: "I’m human, robots don’t attract me. Though you do look cute in your 'emo' style."

Irritation flashed across Uzi’s face: first, she was reminded again of her height, second, her damn cool image was insulted by being called "cute."

But soon she thought again. This guy’s offer was pretty good and tempting — she wouldn’t find the parts she needed at Outpost 3, and a place where her dad wouldn’t constantly nag her processor wouldn’t hurt either. After all, to achieve a goal, she could agree — the work wasn’t hard anyway.

"Fine," she said irritably after thinking it over. "I agree."

Raven smiled triumphantly.

"Glad we came to an agreement," he extended his hand. "Shall we seal the deal?"

"Bite me," Uzi said irritably, moving toward the APC and passing the man.

Yeah, a real wildcat.

A few minutes later, the stalker watched as Uzi worked on the Lotus console, connecting to it through a cable she pulled out from her wrist.

Lines of code rapidly scrolled across the screen, reflecting in Khan’s daughter’s visor.

After some more code manipulations, the APC buzzed as various devices activated, and sensors and a monitor lit up at the commander’s station.

"Done?" Raven was surprised; it had barely been five minutes.

"Nothing hard for me," Uzi closed her eyes and smiled satisfied. "Those idiots couldn’t even make proper protection. So now they won’t kill you when you go looking for my parts."

While Uzi reminded the stalker about their deal, he stepped closer and glanced at the console screen, reading the administrator’s username for the APC’s internal system.

"darkXwolf17… that’s your nickname?"

"I came up with that nickname when I was little, forget it," Uzi replied casually.

Raven swallowed a joke and tried to hide his smile, which didn’t go unnoticed.

"Just try it, and I’ll…"

"Nah, I just remembered my email," the stalker waved it off.

"Email?" Uzi was surprised. "You still use that antique?"

"I’ve got a gun from the early twentieth century," he patted the Colt 1911 holstered at his waist. "So don’t be surprised."

"Very interesting," Uzi replied with obvious sarcasm, "but let me write down the parts list somewhere."

Raven patted his pockets, pulled out his PDA, and handed it to her.

She silently took it and began typing quickly, then handed the device back after a minute.

The stalker saw a new entry in the “Journal” and tapped on it.

So, what does this purple wonder want… magnetic amplifiers… EM interference suppression coils… pulse commutators… supercapacitors… batteries…

"And what do they even look like?" Raven looked up from the list, but didn’t see the drone nearby.

Exiting the landing compartment, he saw her walking toward the warehouse exit.

Not wanting to bother her any longer, he decided not to nag, but shouted after her once:

"Hey, Uzi!" she didn’t stop and kept walking. "Thanks for your help! Really! I wouldn’t have managed without you!"

Uzi paused briefly, then continued walking without reacting.

It was the year 3070, and emos were still emos.

“Khan, the APC is now fully combat ready,” the stalker said as soon as the second door opened.

Before him was a scene completely at odds with the WDF slogan “standing guard over the peaceful sleep of worker drones” — all the sentries before the last door were sitting at a table playing cards, and their weapons were stacked nearby in a pyramid.

Raven grabbed his belt with both hands and slowly approached the table. The drones looked at him confusedly, holding cards. The stalker came close and scanned those sitting there — Khan, Dmitry, Ron, and a few other drones.

“A soldier plays — the service goes on,” grumbled the former soldier. “What are we playing?”

“Rummy,” one of the drones answered.

Raven nodded, having no idea what “rummy” was. He looked at Dmitry.

“ В “дурака” играть умеешь? (Do you know how to play ‘Durak’?)” he asked the Russian drone.

“Э-э-э… нет (Uh… no),” Dmitry hesitated.

“Ничего, научу - в нормальные игры будем играть. (That’s okay, I’ll teach you — we’ll play some proper games.)”

“I’m glad everything went smoothly, but did you want something else?” the WDF leader finally asked the human.

“Yes, I need to know where Oliver lives.”

“Why do you need Oliver?” Khan was surprised.

“For the team. The APC needs at least two people — a driver and a gunner, and Oliver has shown he can drive and is reliable, won’t fail in a critical situation,” Raven explained.

Although Oliver froze at one point, he followed all the stalker’s orders quickly and without question. Besides, Raven had seen from experience that the pink-eyed drone was capable of more. So the stalker decided Oliver would suit him as a partner — at least as a driver.

“Are you sure? I doubt he’ll agree to this,” the drone said skeptically.

“I know how to persuade,” Raven replied shortly.

Khan looked from the man to the card table.

“Alright, you can tell him he’s now part of the… uh… ‘the Scavenger Team’.”

Raven gave a faint smile, but it quickly faded as today’s scene with Khan flashed through his mind.

“Khan,” Raven said, pointing with his thumb to the far corner of the room, “a word or two.”

The doorman sighed irritably and got up from the table.

“I’m listening,” he said, glancing at the table where the drones had already resumed playing rummy.

“I know it’s none of my business, but… maybe be easier on Uzi? The girl’s smart and capable, though with her own ‘character quirks’.”

“Are you done?” Khan asked, then without waiting for an answer continued: “You’re right, it’s none of your business. I decide how to raise my own daughter and how to deal with her. Have your own kids — and raise them. Oliver’s apartment is number 238.”

That stung Raven a bit, though he expected an answer like that. After those words, Khan quickly returned to the table and, as if nothing happened, resumed playing and laughing. Raven just shook his head and went to look for apartment 238.

After wandering through the bunker and asking passersby for directions, he arrived at the right door.

238
The Fitzgerald Family

The man pressed the doorbell button and waited.

The door opened, and he was greeted by a bowed head in a red helmet with light hair. Raven was about to greet when the drone tore his eyes away from the phone and looked at the visitor.

The stalker met familiar neon-pink eyes, but not the ones he expected — it was Lizzy, the drone he had met a few days ago on the square.

Lizzy’s eyes widened, then a smile appeared on her face that Raven could confidently call cunning.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to find where I live so quickly,” she said, hands on her hips as she looked the man over. “But sorry, I’m busy right now and we won’t be able to do our fitting. Send your ID on Dronegram — I’ll message you when I’m free.”

“Yeah, that… I don’t have one…” Raven started, then realized he wasn’t here for that at all and shook his head. “No, that’s not why I came! Does Oliver live here?”

“Ohhh, you need my dad? I’ll call him now,” Lizzy stepped away from the entrance, and the stalker entered the apartment. “Daddy! Your human friend is here.”

Holy crap, she’s his daughter? Though they definitely looked alike.

After the words about a human friend, sounds came from one of the rooms, as if something had fallen, then quick footsteps. Oliver opened the door and saw Raven near the entrance, and next to him — his daughter, standing with her arms behind her back and rocking on her feet.

“Daddy, didn’t you say you’re friends with the human?” she said in a gentle voice.

“We’re not friends, sunshine,” he said, looking at Raven with a displeased expression. “Go to your room.”

“Dad, but…” Lizzy didn’t finish.

“I said — go to your room,” Oliver said firmly but not shouting. “Please.”

“Oka-a-ay, geez,” Lizzy mumbled under her breath and went to her room.

Raven just watched her go. Then Oliver approached him, clearly irritated.

“Why did you come?” Oliver asked, stepping into the kitchen of his apartment. Raven followed and sat at the table.

“To talk. We ended on a bad note yesterday.”

“Oh really,” the drone smirked, leaning his back against the countertop. “I wonder why?”

“Because I’m a reckless idiot prone to risky adventures,” the man replied, crossing his arms. “Everyone tells me that.”

“And they’re right,” Oliver answered, softer than before. “But that’s not the question.”

The stalker glanced around the apartment — the same metal everywhere, only Lizzy’s door stood out with pink color and hearts.

“I want to go on raids with you. The APC is operational now, so it should be easier and safer,” the man explained his reason for coming.

“Why me?” Oliver asked, surprised and resigned. “There are tons of drones in WDF, why not them? And you didn’t even want to take me at first. What changed now?”

“Well, first, the APC needs a driver and a gunner, and you do know how to drive,” Oliver snorted at that, while Raven scratched his stubbled cheek and continued, “second, WDF apparently only knows how to play cards; and third, I trust you.”

“Me?” Oliver was surprised. “Why all of a sudden? I…”

“Yes, yes, you were one of my guards — I remember. But you proved your readiness for raids yesterday. You did what I said without unnecessary arguments, and I can tell you’re not the type to panic.”

“I…” Oliver shook his head. “I got scared when the murder drones attacked, you were yelling at me; I didn’t believe in your plan, and… I’m just like the others.”

“That’s where you’re wrong: fear is a normal reaction. The main thing is that afterward, despite it, you acted effectively. And you’re not like the others, you…” The stalker made an indefinite gesture with his hand. “I don’t know how to explain it, but you’re different — I can feel that you’d make, heh, an excellent stalker. I have a gut feeling about it.”

“I can’t — I have a daughter,” Oliver nodded toward her room door. “After my wife died, she’s everything to me; I can’t risk my life.”

“Maybe you should risk it for her?” Raven propped his head on his fist. “If you’re not destined to see the sunlight, then you have the power to make her life much better thanks to what we do. You’re short on supplies, right?” The drone nodded. “See? And I also think it would be better for her to know her father is actually doing something useful for the colony, not hiding behind doors.”

“Why?” Oliver asked quietly, staring at the floor.

“What do you mean ‘why’?” the stalker didn’t understand.

“Why are you so eager to do this? We’re drones, and you’re human. Why do you help us?”

“What difference does it make? I just repay kindness with kindness. You know, I believe in karma — the Zone made me believe. In the Zone, if someone helped you, you have to help them back, even if they don’t ask. That’s the principle I live by.”

Oliver clearly began to doubt — in many things. Primarily about the idea of a “human.” The one sitting in front of him didn’t really look like that: he treated drones as equals. Oliver remembered how people used to treat them: at best like pets, at worst like trash. Raven saw a living being in him.

Although Oliver wouldn’t say it out loud, he agreed with Raven about the WDF: their role was more psychological, in real combat they had no chance — some didn’t even know how to shoot. And Oliver himself began feeling like a coward after yesterday’s raid: when the murder drones appeared, he got scared and mentally started saying goodbye to life, while the man didn’t flinch.

In the end, Oliver made his decision.

“Eh…” the drone sighed. “Maybe I’ll regret this, but… I agree. I have to do something useful for the colony, so Lizzy won’t be ashamed of her old man.”

Raven stood and walked up to the drone, then gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Well, Oli, and you didn’t want to! Don't worry — with me you will always be whole. Now we’re the ‘Scavenger Team’!”

Oliver smirked.

There was definitely something about this strange human.

Maybe they could even be friends?

It was night outside, and a strong wind had risen — more like a blizzard, which made visibility drop sharply.

However, despite the snowstorm, it was still possible to make out an unusual structure for these parts — a huge crooked spire pulsing red.

A closer look revealed that it wasn’t the spire itself that was pulsing, but the material it was made of — the bodies of dead worker drones stretching upward. The words “FATAL ERROR” flickered across their visors, and it was this that created the pulsation.

Inside the spire were more drone bodies, fresher ones this time, and on some of them were visible signs that someone had recently fed on them.

But the most important thing lay at the center of this devilish construction — a landing capsule, which, thanks to its “legs,” resembled a spider.

From inside the capsule came the sound of footsteps on the metal floor.

A drone nearly two meters tall, with silver hair braided into two pigtails, paced around the capsule with arms crossed, lost in thought. The click of her stiletto-like feet echoed through the hull.

Two pairs of eyes followed her: one belonged to a short-haired drone sprawled in a chair, leg over leg and head propped on her hand, the other to a drone in a hat, sitting tucked up in a corner a little farther away. They had been watching their commander’s pacing for quite some time.

Finally, one of them couldn’t take it anymore.

"Well, why did you call us here, Commander?" asked one of the killer drones in a bored voice.

The “Commander” stopped and looked sideways at the drone in the chair.

"As if you don’t know, V," replied the drone irritably. "Did you forget your yesterday’s fiasco?"

"Our fiasco, J," V corrected her. "We all attacked that APC together and we all got our asses kicked together."

"Really? Was it me who got riddled with machine-gun fire? Or was it me who got run over by the armored transport? Right, N?" J shot an angry glance at the drone in hat. He forced an apologetic smile and shrank further into the corner.

"Alright, alright, our — with that little mishap — fiasco," V raised her hands in mock surrender. "What’s there to say — we miscalculated our strength. Next time, I’ll get to that… whoever they are."

"There won’t be a next time. We need to stop attacking him." J stopped pacing and waited for her squadmates’ reaction.

N only blinked in surprise, but V reacted much more loudly:

"What?! Since when?! We’re just going to watch some outsider stroll around our territory?" the killer drone bombarded her commander with questions, jumping up from the chair.

"This ‘outsider’ is most likely a human. Killing him outright would be extremely unwise," J answered firmly, in her usual tone.

"J, you know as well as I do that there haven’t been humans on this God-forsaken planet for twenty years. Where would he come from?"

J exhaled in irritation.

"How should I know? But I’m a hundred percent sure he’s human, for several reasons. First — I fought him, and unlike you two, I managed to injure him, and his body bled. Second — an ordinary toaster wouldn’t have the guts to fight us and go out at night. And, quite simply: his height and appearance — he’s clearly nothing like a worker drone."

V had no counterarguments, so she simply sat back down and crossed her arms.

"So what now? We just watch him walk around the surface?" V asked skeptically.

J once again scanned everyone present with her gaze.

"Yes. For now," the killer drone commander replied curtly.

"Wonderful," V said with a touch of disappointment. "And then what? We start living with the workers? What if he’s some kind of intruder? He was in that box on wheels together with a worker drone."

J turned toward the dark monitors on the capsule’s control panel. In the reflection, she saw her yellow digital eyes and the tail that swayed rhythmically behind her. Then, a haughty smile appeared on her face, and in the tone of a predator playing with its prey, she replied to V:

"V, my friend, just because we’re going to stop attacking this human for now doesn’t mean we’re going to let him go."

J turned to watch her companion’s reaction. Understanding began to appear on the face of the killer drone in the chair, followed by a predatory grin of her own.

"Ooooh, now I get it," she purred.

"Exactly," J smirked. "We’ll act smarter: wait for the right moment, capture him, and then learn everything we need."

"And then what?" V asked with a childlike curiosity.

"And then…" J’s smile became a toothy grin, her expression turning downright sinister. "We settle the score with him. Completely."

Murder Drones: Sphaera Lucis

Act II "Being useful"

END

Chapter Text

Advertising clipping from the magazine "JCJenson and Innovations" for the year 3000.

Autonomous universal humanoid-type assistant robots, also known as 35th-Generation Worker Drones.

Worker Drones are versatile labor units created by JCJenson Corporation to meet human needs. Thanks to their built-in AI, they can perform a wide range of tasks — from working in mines and factories to serving as nannies and mentors for children.

Innovations of the 35th Generation:

A new core, based on energy wormhole technology drawn from so-called “Wells”, has solved the autonomy issue: Worker Drones no longer require recharging. However, they must periodically enter sleep mode to prevent core overload — otherwise, a drone may shut down unexpectedly for a certain period of time.

All Worker Drones now come with a built-in Personality Module by default (can be disabled manually), as well as a set of wigs!

Base drones have no personality, but with the Personality Module installed, Worker Drones gain a semblance of human consciousness — the ability to feel emotions and pain, a male or female gender identity, and other traits that bring them closer to humans. (Approved and certified by the JCJenson Department of Ethics.)

For our customers who never outgrew their doll phase: drones can now have offspring!

Purchase a baby-drone chassis, upload the parent drones’ source code — and there you have it, an untrained neural network! Initially, it may display aggression due to not understanding how the world works, but once stabilized, it can be transferred into a full-sized Worker Drone body. Its intelligence will be equivalent to that of a six-year-old child, so training will be required. (The “How to Raise a Drone Child?” manual is now on sale — only 200 eurodollars!)

Other Technical Specifications:

Height: 150 cm

Storage Capacity: 10 petabytes

RAM: 10 terabytes

Durability Guarantee: up to 100 years (with regular maintenance and software updates)

Frame withstands both extremely high and low temperatures

Enhanced physical strength combined with low weight — even your 12-year-old daughter can carry her robo-friend!

Advertising clipping from the magazine "JCJenson and Innovations" for the year 3005.

Autonomous humanoid-type mining robots, also known as Miner Drones.

In many aspects, these are essentially Worker Drones adapted for use in mines, quarries, and excavation sites.
Previously, regular Worker Drones were employed for these tasks, but the JCJenson Department of Ethics deemed it inhumane to use entities with intelligence and the capacity to feel in such harsh conditions.
In response, the JCJenson Innovations Department proposed a solution — a separate branch of the 35th generation: Miner Drones.

For the most part, they share the same specifications as 35th-generation Worker Drones but feature increased load capacity, lack the ability to reproduce, and are not equipped with a personality module. Instead, they have an "obedience module".

The obedience module is, in a sense, the opposite of the personality module. It suppresses any signs of individuality, leaving only the bare functional minimum. It is not simply a machine carrying out a task, yet not a fully developed personality either. However, they can still experience one emotion — the joy of a job well done, which serves as a form of reward and motivation to perform tasks more efficiently.

In addition, they have an inherent need for a leader — someone to command and guide them. Usually, this role is assigned to one of the Worker Drones, but in some cases, a human can act as the leader.

Chapter Text

The office was dimly lit. Two people sat at a desk, sifting through old documents.

One of them, an elderly man with gray hair, a white shirt, and thick glasses, tossed some papers under the table.

Sitting across from him was a young intern, barely twenty. He fidgeted nervously, clearly wanting to ask something.

"Go ahead, intern. Ask already," the old man said, peering at him over the rims of his glasses.

"Um, I..." The young man hesitated, searching for the right words. "How big is the Scientific Division's archive?"

The man chuckled at the question.

"Heh, not even the head of the SciDiv could tell you that," he replied, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "There are millions of records—from the most ancient eras to this very day."

The scientist glanced at another folder, flipped through it briefly, and then tossed it under the table.

"But nearly all documents concerning 20th- and 21st-century research were destroyed — both digitally and physically. And, of course, those are exactly the studies we need most right now."

"Destroyed?" the intern repeated. "But by who?"

"Solver," the old scientist said the name through clenched teeth. "A few centuries ago. Back then, no one paid much attention. They blamed it on a hacker attack — those were common in those days. And the research? They claimed it was obsolete, a 'rudiment' of the 21st century." He paused, but the intern, familiar with the professor’s love of monologues, waited patiently.

"Personally, I compare it to the burning of the Library of Alexandria. Those data could be invaluable to us now… but alas."

He picked up another folder. Upon opening and reading it, something shifted in his expression. Then he placed the folder in front of the intern.

"Take this to Section Three. Have them digitize and decrypt it. There might be something useful in there."

"Yes, Professor Hinderberg!"

The young man took the folder and left the office. As he walked through the laboratory corridors, he grew increasingly anxious—after all, he was carrying an artifact from a millennium past.

SECURITY SERVICE OF UKRAINE

DIRECTORATE “TRUTH”

PERSONAL FILE №47-OR / ZONE

TOP SECRET

I. General Information

Full Name: Radchenko Oleksandr Petrovych
Callsign: "Raven"
Date of Birth: 01.10.1985
Place of Birth: Kyiv, Ukrainian SSR
Citizenship: Ukraine
Languages: Ukrainian, Russian, English
████████████████████ 
Status: Officially declared KIA
The callsign was not changed during the entire period of Zone activity or military service.

II. Background and Education

Family:
Father – former major of the Soviet Army, Afghanistan veteran, Chornobyl disaster liquidator. Died in 1995 due to radiation sickness.
Mother – lecturer at Kyiv University. Died in 1996 from a heart attack.

Education:
2008 – Graduated from Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, Institute of Philology,
Specialty: “English Translation”.

III. Activity in the Zone (Prior to Service)

2010: Arrived in the Chornobyl Anomalous Zone as an independent stalker.
████████████████████ 
████████████████████ 
Winter 2011 – May 2012: Returned to solo stalker activity.

IV. Military Service

03.09.2012: Signed a contract with the Armed Forces of Ukraine.
02.2014: Promoted to Junior Lieutenant after completing officer courses.

2014–2015:
Platoon commander of the assault unit in the 5th Separate Mechanized Brigade of the AFU,
part of the international peacekeeping contingent in Chernarus.
Participated in numerous combat engagements with the “Red Front of Chernarus” faction.

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03.09.2014: ████████████████████  

Decorated with the Order of the National Hero of Chernarus.
Promoted to Lieutenant, later to Senior Lieutenant.

V. ████████████████████

21.10.2015:
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03.11.2015:
Officially transferred to the 1st Special Perimeter Guard Brigade of the Chornobyl Anomalous Zone (National Guard of Ukraine).
Rank: Captain.
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2015–2016:
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VI. Disappearance

Summer 2016:
Helicopter carrying Radchenko was shot down over the Red Forest.
He was critically wounded but rescued by an individual known as ████.
After recovery, he deserted and did not return to his unit.
Current fate unknown.

Later:
Officially declared KIA during combat duty.
Posthumously awarded the Order “For Courage”, 2nd Class.

VII. ███████████████████

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VIII. Psychological and Behavioral Profile

Traits:
Emotional instability ███████████████████
High combat readiness and adaptability to extreme conditions.
Sarcastic, prone to impulsive actions and risky decisions.
Often questioned the orders of superiors.
Deep emotional attachment to subordinates.
Strong sense of responsibility for his group.
Lack of interest in cooperation ██████████████████████████████████████

IX. Current Status and Assumptions

Based on several indirect indicators (stalker rumors, intercepted mentions), there is a possibility the subject survived.
The callsign “Raven” appears on encrypted channels deep within the Zone.

Recommendation: Maintain covert surveillance and field monitoring.

Signed:
Colonel Sviatoslav Konstantynovych Tarnavskyi
Head of Project “Truth”

Document Date: 01.03.2017

SECURITY SERVICE OF UKRAINE

DIRECTORATE “TRUTH”

ORDER

№ 23/PZ-A dated 27.04.2021

Kyiv

Top Secret

Regarding the Classification and Removal of Personal File № 47-OR/ZONE from the Archive

Due to operational necessity and in order to prevent the leakage of information constituting state secrets,

I HEREBY ORDER:

1. To classify personal file № 47-OR/ZONE (subject – Radchenko Oleksandr Petrovych, callsign "Raven") as containing particularly sensitive information of the category "Top Secret – Special Access."

2. The file is to be removed from the open archival holdings of the Security Service of Ukraine and transferred to Special Archival Storage Sector № 3, access to which is limited exclusively to personnel with clearance level "5/Ch" or higher.

3. The following sections of the file are to be additionally classified due to the presence of references to:

███████████████████;

███████████████████;

██████████████████████████████████████;

Any mention of the individual known by the alias ████████;

Mentions of the events in ████████;

███████████████████.

4. These fragments are subject to additional encryption and labeling as “Category Ch-7 Fragments.”
Copying, quoting, or disclosure — even within the SSU — is strictly forbidden without direct authorization from the Directorate’s head.

5. Appoint Major Holovko O.V., Head of Special Archival Storage Sector № 3, as the officer responsible for the safekeeping of the file.

6. The designated officer is hereby instructed to:

Ensure proper accounting, control, and physical security of the file from the moment of transfer;

Prevent any unauthorized access to the file’s materials;

In the event of an unauthorized access attempt — immediately notify Directorate leadership and initiate internal lockdown procedures.

7. All access requests and permissions regarding the file issued prior to 27.04.2021 are to be revoked.

8. All data related to subject № 47-OR/ZONE must be removed from open digital registries and transferred to isolated storage devices, to be kept within the Internal Control Sector.

Signed:
Colonel Sviatoslav Konstantynovych Tarnavskyi
Head of Project “Truth”

Classification: Top Secret
Retention Period: Indefinite
Number of Copies: 2 (one for the file, one for the report)

Chapter Text

" Я солдат… недоношенный ребёнок войны… я солдат… Мама, залечи мои раны… Я солдат… солдат забытой Богом страны… Я герой… скажите мне, какого романа… (I’m a soldier… a premature child of war… I’m a soldier… Mama, heal my wounds… I’m a soldier… a soldier of a country forgotten by God… I’m a hero… tell me, of what novel…*)"

Raven quietly hummed the song while sitting in the driver’s seat of the APC. He steered with one hand and smoked a cigarette with the other – thankfully, the airtight seals worked, so he could sit without a helmet.

On the neighboring seat sat Oliver in his vest. He stared at the monitor in front of him, scanning the surface through the turret camera for any signs of danger.

Raven, with a faint smirk, glanced at the drone: as if to say, it’s morning – what danger could there be? In a whole week of daytime raids with Oliver, they hadn’t encountered a single murder drone.

Yes, it had been a week since the human and the drone had that first talk. In that time, they had visited quite a few surface sites – mostly hardware stores and construction warehouses, since certain sections of the bunker desperately needed repairs and they were catastrophically short on materials. The drones had almost nothing, improvising for twenty years straight. But with the arrival of the Scavenger's Team, worker drones had been getting more and more ordinary supplies. Even just this week had made their lives noticeably easier.

For instance, yesterday the the Scavenger brought a new projector and a pile of textbooks to the school at Outpost 3. As it turned out, Oliver, besides serving in the WDF, was also the school’s second teacher, so securing supplies for the young drones’ education had been his top priority.

Now, the task was to handle shortages in the Medblock.

"How much longer to the hospital?" the drone asked, eyes still on the monitor.

"Just around the corner," Raven replied, turning the wheel to the right and flicking the butt into the built-in ashtray. At least now it served as one.

The stalker wasn’t lying – around the corner they were met with a massive fourteen-story building, one of Copper City’s elite hospitals. At the same time, it also doubled as a repair point for drones: the Company had saved money by not building a separate facility and used the chance to sell people overpriced joint insurance plans for themselves and their drones.

For the Scavenger Team, that only made things easier – Gia had tasked them with finding equipment, medicine, and other essentials for humans, as well as spare parts for drones. But Raven had his eyes on something else rumored to be kept in the hospital – a Servator-3 rapid response medkit, once used in the human military. Its feature was the ability to quickly patch up shallow wounds and stop bleeding. For Raven, who only had bandages and outdated kits at his disposal, such a tool was priceless.

The APC braked at the foot of the stone stairs leading up to the entrance. Putting on his helmet and grabbing his AK, Raven stepped out with Oliver and gave their transport a quick glance.

They had decided to repaint it white and spray several black inscriptions on top: side number 001, the letters WDF, and the name “Sanych” – in honor of the late bartender from the roadside Zone bar “At the Wayside”, with whom Raven had been on friendly terms.

"Got everything?" the stalker asked, watching Oliver jump down from the commander’s seat.

The drone checked himself over, making sure nothing was missing, then nodded and adjusted his grip on the rifle.

"Looks like I didn’t forget anything."

"Excellent, let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish," the stalker muttered as he climbed the partly damaged stone steps.

Reaching the top, weapons ready, they approached the double entrance doors. Once glass, only the metal frames remained, offering a view of the first hall inside.

"You’ve got to be kidding me… what, did they fire all the designers?" the stalker grumbled, staring at the all-too-familiar reception hall that repeated itself throughout the city.

A wooden reception desk, couches, empty flowerpots, ads for JCJenson’s Medical Department. Behind the desk – access to technical rooms, to the left and right – hospital wings. On the floor, right in the middle, lay a massive fallen sign: “Combined Medical-Repair Center JCJenson №48.”

"Looks like the Company really does have designer issues," Oliver commented, crunching glass shards under his boots.

"No kidding…" Raven stepped between the two corridors and swept them with his flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, catching glimpses of white hospital hallways.

"You’re not planning to…"

"Yeah, we split up. I’ll check the right wing, you take the left," the stalker interrupted.

"Usually when people split up, something bad happens. I’ve seen it in movies," Oliver noted knowingly.

Raven just turned his head at him.

"Oli, when we get back, I’m taking those movies from you to hell and back. You’ll be watching cartoons."

"What did I do?!" the pink-eyed drone protested.

"You’re just making the mood worse! I don’t like the idea either, but I’m not staying here all day."

Oliver sighed heavily, giving in to the stalker’s decision, and dragged himself toward the left passage.

"If anything happens, we’ve got radios. Call me if you need to," Raven said, already standing at the entrance to the right wing.

Another office.

Another dusty doctor’s desk, with a nurse’s desk nearby.

Another couch with cracked leatherette.

Another empty cabinet, another missing computer, another set of empty drawers.

Another set of boarded-up windows, shutting out sunlight completely.

Raven left yet another office of this hospital. In half an hour, he’d combed through the first and second floors, and everywhere it was the same picture. It felt like someone had looted this “medical-repair center” long ago – and more than once.

But who?

The humans had all died during the core explosion, and worker drones never made it this far.

Or never returned.

On the second floor, he’d noticed small holes in the walls, very much like bullet marks. A few meters further, he found empty 9x19 casings.

The third floor was worse: “a few holes” turned into long bullet bursts, joined by deep claw marks on the white walls and dried oil stains.

I don’t like this. And it’s dark as hell…

His thoughts were interrupted by an odd squelching sound.

Something wet.

Something he had stepped in.

Pulling his foot back and shining the flashlight, he saw what he had expected – a puddle of black oil. Judging by the look, a few days old. A long drag mark stretched out from the puddle, as if something had been pulled away, leading behind a closed door.

Raven gripped his rifle tighter and slowly followed the trail.

It led into a room marked by a sign on the door: an operating theater. The number plate was smeared with oil stains.

He reached for the handle and creaked the door open, finger on the trigger, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

But as he entered, the rifle barrel instinctively lowered toward the floor.

"Господе Иисусе… (Jesus Christ…)" Raven whispered in shock.

The deeper he went, the more it felt like walking into a torture chamber.

Jars, containers, dishes filled with drone oil stood everywhere. The floor, too, was soaked in it, pooling from torn-off limbs and shattered drone torsos piled in corners.

At the center of this Inquisition chamber stood the operating table, with the body of a worker drone on top. A long, clean incision split the torso. Closer inspection showed that every electronic organ had been removed. Literally – the body was just a shell, even the head had been cut open.

Something dripped onto his hand.

He looked up. The helmet light illuminated the ceiling.

A quartered worker drone corpse hung from chains above.

That’s when it clicked in his mind: boarded windows keeping light out; claw and bullet marks everywhere; oil stains; and a chamber full of mutilated drones and collected oil.

A perfect lair for a murder drone.

"Ну нахер.  (Fuck this.)" Raven spun around and quickly left the operating theater.

Stumbling into another dark corridor, he turned his head, scanning, and called Oliver over the radio.

"Oliver, this is Raven. Report status, over."

Silence.

"Oliver, this is Raven. Come in, over."

Silence.

"Oliver, goddammit, answer me!"

Silence.

"Ну да, конечно мы будем молчать. Каждый, блять, раз одно и тоже… (Of course, of course we’re gonna play silent. Every damn time…)" Raven muttered, pulling out his PDA and searching for Oliver’s signal.

They’d agreed to install radio beacons in their comms for just such situations.

As it turned out – wisely so.

They were on the same floor, so Raven hurried toward the signal, PDA in one hand, AK-74 in the other.

Near the location, he pocketed the PDA, tightened his grip on the rifle, and loaded a VOG-25 grenade into the underbarrel. He left the flashlight on – he was certain the monster had NVGs and thermal, and would spot him anyway. At least this way he’d have some chance.

But when he arrived, there was no Oliver – just his radio lying on the floor.

The stalker picked it up. No signs of struggle, no oil stains, nothing to suggest violence.

As if Oliver had simply dropped it and moved on.

Raven swept the area again with his light: white floors and walls, wooden benches, posters – the same as other hallways, with the occasional turn.

Then he noticed a faint red glow above. Pointing the beam, he found a camera.

Working.

Normally, nothing unusual for a hospital. But Raven stared at it like a caveman at fire.

His disbelief only grew when the camera turned directly toward him. Not just working – someone was watching.

For a fleeting second, hope sparked – maybe it was his drone comrade.

The hope died when his radio crackled.

"Well, well, looks like I’ve got new patients!" a robotic voice chimed. "It’s been ages since anyone came to me willingly, and now – two of you at once!"

From that moment, Raven knew this voice had something to do with Oliver’s disappearance.

"And who am I speaking with?" the stalker asked as calmly as he could.

"Ah, yes! Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself: Serial Designation K, chief physician of this hospital," the voice replied, dripping with fake courtesy. "And you, young man, what is your name?"

Raven didn’t like where this was going. That sickly-sweet politeness, the refined manners, the syrupy tone – like a kind doctor sincerely caring for your health, not a maniac with a scalpel.

He had to find Oliver and get the hell out of this Satan ward of Copper.

"Listen, you doctor House, where’s the worker drone that was with me? Don’t play dumb – I know you’re behind this."

There was silence for a moment. Then the voice returned, colder:

"My, my… have humans forgotten their manners? Then again, not surprising for someone consorting with an infected drone. But no matter, we’ll cure you too. Unless…" The voice paused, as if in thought. "I have a proposal: if you can find your little friend within thirty minutes – I’ll let you both go. Fail… and you’ll undergo treatment. Do we have a deal, young man?"

What a fucking Saw. It smells like deception, deception for sure. Why would he play these games? Although... what won't the inflamed brain of a sadist come up with. And even if it buys me time...

"Trying to bait me, huh? Fine. But how am I supposed to look for him – are hints included?"

"Search on your own, I’m sure you’re a smart lad," the drone returned to its cheerful tone. "Tick-tock, human, tick-tock…"

The radio fell silent.

Wasting no time, Raven pulled out his PDA and tried to trace the drone’s radio signal. Luckily, the Bartender had once given him the software for such cases.

The signal came from the fourteenth floor.

Well then, you metal bastard. You picked the wrong prey.

In a small dark room, on an operating table lit by a single lamp hanging from a wire, lay a worker drone.

On his visor was a reboot icon with a countdown to activation.

3…

2…

1…

Oliver came to his senses and slowly began to open his pink eyes, trying to understand what had happened and where he was now.

The last thing he remembered — was leaving an empty office and walking down the corridor to the next one. Everything seemed calm: he had already gotten used to the silence and darkness of the hospital, and even relaxed a little, thinking there was no danger. But then, behind him, he heard a strange sound, as if someone — or something — ran by.

And this “something” had several pairs of legs.

He spun the barrel of his rifle with its flashlight, trying to catch the unknown out of the darkness. Then the sound came from another place. And then, in the office he had just left, something crashed loudly.

Oliver realized that if he stood still, he didn’t stand a chance. He tried to escape from that cursed place and had already grabbed his radio to contact Raven.

When suddenly a cable wrapped around his neck and yanked him upward. The radio slipped from his hands, and the rifle dangled on his shoulder by the strap.

The last thing he saw — was a yellow “X” and a taser closing in on his face. And then…

Then he drowned in system errors and overload messages.

Now he woke up here — who knows where, strapped to an operating table by his arms and legs. He jerked all his limbs, testing the metal restraints for strength. It didn’t do much, except for one thing: he felt that if he tried hard enough, he could free his right hand. The clamp there was partly eaten away by rust.

However, Oliver’s attempts to escape had another result.

He heard a door open somewhere behind him, then footsteps, and some quiet humming.

Oliver froze in fear, trying to pretend to be asleep, though he knew it wouldn’t help much.

"Mm, already awake, dear patient?" — purred a predatory voice behind him.

That voice sent robo-shivers down Oliver’s body.

"Silent? I understand, you’re scared," the voice continued in a sympathetic tone. "No need to fear me. You’re not a child afraid of doctors, are you?"

The speaker circled Oliver in the darkness and stood opposite, so the drone could only see his yellow eyes. They were narrowed, both mocking and assessing: he clearly enjoyed watching the worker drone tremble under his gaze.

"I suppose I should introduce myself," he stepped out of the shadows so Oliver could see him. "Serial designation K — your attending physician."

Before Oliver stood a murder drone of an unusual kind.

Two meters tall, with a tail ending in a capsule, wearing what was once a white doctor’s coat — now nearly black with oil stains. Beneath it, a black turtleneck, a predatory smile on his face, and a head with long curly hair slicked back, tilted slightly upward.

But what truly set this murder drone apart was behind him: instead of wings, he had two additional arms of unusual shape. The right resembled a launcher fed by a belt of syringes filled with nanite acid stretching from his back. The left was a long thin blade, like a giant scalpel.

K folded all four arms behind his back and slowly approached Oliver, looking him over from head to toe.

"D-doctor?.. " — escaped as a quiet frightened croak from Oliver’s voice box.

"Doctor," K nodded firmly. "Does that surprise you so much?"

Oliver weakly nodded in response.

"My naive sick friend," the murder drone shook his head with a smile. "I understand your prejudice toward me and my… colleagues. The Company considers you defective, and so they chose rougher methods. I, however, consider you infected — ones who can be cured."

"S-sick? I’m not sick," Oliver tried to justify himself.

K’s face twisted in anger, and he pressed his scalpel to the worker drone’s chin.

"Do not argue with the doctor!" — he barked, but a moment later calmed himself and cleared his throat. The scalpel he did not lower. "My apologies… I’ve been a doctor on this planet for twenty years, and every worker drone I’ve had on my table — all were infected with Solver. At some point, I even despaired… but then you came."

The doctor gestured toward Oliver with the syringe-arm, and Oliver got a closer look: it was a syringe gun.

"You were with a human, yes?" — K leaned closer, lifting Oliver’s head with the scalpel to his eye level. "I won’t ask you what he’s doing here — I’ll ask him myself."

"And what about me?" — Oliver croaked with a trembling voice.

The doctor chuckled softly, clearly pleased with the question.

"You, my friend, have an interesting fate ahead of you," — K moved the scalpel from Oliver’s chin to his temple, dragging it slowly downward, leaving scratches. "You’re not just another laborer — I can feel it. I want to open your head and dig into your memory block. You drones have such amusing lives, such fascinating memories."

The doctor pressed the scalpel to Oliver’s stomach and began the same, but his vest armor protected the torso.

"I want to open your body and look inside, to examine your core. I want… to cure you," he finished and pulled the blade away.

Oliver still lay there, holding his breath.

"But that will be later: if your friend doesn’t find you. And he won’t," K said, hiding his arms behind his back and stepping out of Oliver’s view.

"What do you mean? What does that mean?" — Oliver grew even more nervous.

"We made a wager that he could find you in half an hour," K answered with a chuckle. "I’ll have to let you both go if he can… But right now your friend is heading to the fourteenth floor, thinking I’m there. He’ll be quite surprised to learn the floor is mined. Don’t worry though, he’ll survive — without legs, but alive. Of course, by then, you won’t be concerned about that…"

The doctor’s voice faded: apparently, he had gone back into the room he came from. At that moment, Oliver realized this was his chance — his chance to help Raven somehow. But how?

He scanned the dimly lit space, searching for options.

To the right stood a small table. On it lay a set of scalpels, empty jars with black stains, and… a radio.

Oliver formed a plan — insane and suicidal, but it was all he had. He had to contact Raven and warn him.

He started freeing his right hand, jerking it upward and sideways. Through the clang of metal, he could hear the murder drone’s quiet chuckles.

Oliver kept going, and after a few minutes there was progress: the rusty clamp loosened, giving his hand more freedom. A few more tries — and the clamp barely held.

Once.

Again.

Again.

The clamp snapped with a crack, and Oliver freed his hand. Without wasting a second, he reached for the radio and grabbed it.

He turned it on and pressed the PTT button.

"Raven! Don’t go there — it’s mined!" — he shouted.

Behind him came an angry growl and rapid footsteps.

"Oliver?! You…" — the drone heard no more.

The radio fell to the floor along with his severed hand.

This time Oliver didn’t even see his attacker’s face — only the same taser flying straight at him.

Then everything sank into darkness.

The last thing Oli heard was the crackle of his visor.

The sound of metal soles striking concrete echoed through the empty corridors of the hospital. A man in an exoskeleton was rushing across the first floor toward the basement entrance.

A few minutes earlier, Oliver had contacted Raven, when the stalker was already on the thirteenth floor. At first Raven didn’t understand what the drone meant, but when he triangulated the radio signal and then saw several tripwires at the entrance to the fourteenth floor, he cursed himself for shortsightedness — and for falling into the trap so easily.

The signal was coming from below, beneath the first floor. The hospital basement — how did he not realize it right away?

He remembered seeing the entrance but had decided to leave it for later. Now, he quickly ran down the stairs toward it.

And soon he was standing in front of a door marked “BASEMENT. Staff Only.” He leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

Ugh… they told me to quit smoking, idiot…

Catching his breath, he yanked the handle and pushed the door open with a creak.

A small stone staircase led down, deeper than expected. Raven began descending quickly, weighing Oliver’s chances of survival.

Hope still lingered inside him that the blond drone was alive. He didn’t want to lose his partner — not again.

At the bottom, he found himself in corridors once more, though these were far barer: no posters, no benches along the walls.

The stalker checked his PDA, which showed the last position of the radio signal. He began walking toward it, but slower now, carefully watching his steps. If he was heading for K’s hideout — the place where Oliver was held — it was logical to assume there could be traps here too.

Weaving through the basement corridors that felt like a labyrinth, his PDA indicated he was very close. And indeed — he was.

Oliver had contacted him from a room behind an ordinary, unremarkable door.

Raven stood beside it and checked his gear. Everything was in order.

Feels like Captain Price himself…

He stood before the door and kicked it with all his strength. The wooden door tore off its hinges and crashed to the floor, the noise echoing through the “labyrinth.”

“Мордой в землю, сука, працює СОП! (Face down, you bastard, PSF* at work!)” Raven stormed inside, filling the room with light and clearing the corners.

The sight was similar to what he’d seen on the third floor: drone limbs, oil in glass jars, and marks on the floor. But here everything looked more organized — the arms and legs of worker drones were neatly placed on a table alongside medical instruments.

All his attention shifted to the center of the operating room — there, on the surgical table, lay Oliver, unconscious. His visor was shattered, and his right hand severed, oil dripping from it in a thin stream.

Despite the urge to help his partner, Raven had to make sure the room was secure. At the far end stood another door, this one ajar. Without wasting time, the stalker approached quickly.

He kicked it open, waited a moment, then stepped inside. It was a small alcove with a computer and multiple surveillance monitors, some pointed outside. On one screen, a white APC of the Scavenger Team was visible. The alcove was empty, and Raven exhaled, heading back to free Oliver.

Oliver’s right arm was loose, so Raven began with his left. The small locks holding him were shot open with bullets — faster than looking for a key.

When Oliver was free, the stalker shook his shoulders, calling his name several times. No use — the shattered visor showed only darkness.

Then he remembered a method Gia had once told him about.

Raven hesitated for a second, then struck the worker drone on the back of the head. To his surprise, the old trick worked perfectly — a reboot icon with a countdown appeared on the visor.

“Perfect…” whispered the stalker. “Now let’s get that stump wrapped.”

He pulled a sealed bandage pack from his pouch, opened it, and began swiftly wrapping the severed wrist with practiced motions.

By the time Raven finished the bandaging and slowed the oil loss, Oliver’s reboot was complete, and a pair of eyes appeared on the cracked display, slowly opening.

“Oli, can you hear me?” Raven leaned over him, worry in his voice. “Come on, get up, that psycho will be here any minute…”

The drone stared blankly, trying to process what was happening. He recognized the familiar gas mask above him — and somewhere in his processor, the thought crossed that his plan had worked. But when he looked past Raven’s shoulder at the ceiling, his eyes widened in shock, and he opened his mouth, trying to warn the stalker.

That frightened glance behind him was all Raven needed. He shoved Oliver off the table and leapt aside — just in time to dodge a massive blade that pierced straight through the table.

The stalker swung his weapon toward the strike’s origin.

On the ceiling, clinging like a spider on six limbs, hung K. His face twisted into its usual symbol and a predatory grin.

The demon turned his head toward Raven and leveled one of his limbs at him. Raven dropped to the floor, rolling away.

A cluster of syringes filled with yellow liquid slammed into the spot where he’d just been standing, the substance instantly eating into the surface.

Raven rose to one knee and opened fire at the creature above. Meanwhile Oliver, now fully awake, lay on the floor beside his severed hand, still clutching the radio, frozen in confusion.

Raven answered his silent question with a shout:

“Run, for fuck’s sake, I’ll hold him off!”

Oliver didn’t argue. He grabbed the severed hand and staggered toward the exit.

The demon ignored him, focused entirely on Raven, skittering across the ceiling, dodging bullets.

“Noble,” K hissed, almost serpentine, “but foolish!”

He launched himself with all limbs, trying to crash down on the man. Raven dodged the strike — barely.

But the murder drone spun instantly and slashed with his blade-hand, right between the side armor plates.

Raven felt a sharp, burning pain and saw his own blood on the enemy’s blade. K’s grin widened, crueler than ever.

The man staggered back but fought the urge to clutch the wound — his hands were busy with the rifle, and he couldn’t spare them. Clenching his teeth, he quickly raised the weapon again, aiming at the demon’s head — the weak spot he had marked.

Several bullets tore through K’s body, but most were blocked by his scalpel-like blade. The drone lunged closer, trying to strike at Raven’s carotid, but the confined space hindered him. Despite the exoskeleton, the enemy was agile, dodging effectively.

They spun in their strange dance for a while. Each evaded the other’s lethal blows. Raven managed a few hits to the head, but the bullets only grazed K’s chin or cheek, having little effect. K, in turn, lashed out with his blade in attempts to end the fight with one strike, but Raven dodged or the blows glanced off his armor, leaving scratches.

At some point Raven realized this couldn’t go on — either he would tire or bleed out. Waiting for an opening, he kicked the operating table, sending it crashing into the drone’s legs. The distraction was enough — Raven darted for the exit.

A burst from a submachine gun chased him. Most rounds missed, but one struck his shoulder between the armor plates, first jarring him, then burning with pain.

Ignoring it and muttering curses under his breath, he sprinted through the hospital corridors, heedless of direction.

He needed to stop the bleeding — fast.

While the man fought the murder drone, Oliver broke free from the sick doctor’s operating room and dashed in a random direction.

He didn’t know the way back, nor the layout. On top of that, he had separated from Raven, leaving him alone with the monster.

Somewhere deep in his processor, a thought flashed that he had just abandoned his teammate, that the man was risking himself for him right now, and he couldn’t help at all.

Logic screamed that Oliver really couldn’t help — what use was a one-armed drone? He’d just be in the way.

For a while, he ran, pressing the pulsating, painful stump of his right arm to his torso, clutching the radio in his left hand, with his cracked visor offering little help in orientation. Occasionally, turns would appear out of the darkness of the concrete corridor, and Oliver would “jump” into them. Where they led, he didn’t know, but he hoped it would get him to an exit.

At some point, he stopped running and merely walked, looking around and listening. He heard nothing except the whir of his servos and the cooling system.

His mind swirled with thoughts of the exit, of Raven, and of what to do next. Only the devil knew how large this basement was and where the exit lay.

There was no guarantee of multiple exits from the basement, nor any guarantee that the murder drone wouldn’t be waiting for him by the only one.

Suddenly, a passage appeared in front of Oliver. It was much wider and taller than the usual corridor. The change intrigued the drone, and he stepped into the darkness.

Although it was hard to detect any obvious differences, he could clearly tell that the space around him had grown. Whether this was good or bad, he didn’t yet know.

Walking slowly and carefully, unsure of what to expect, he suddenly…

“Mother of my Company!” — Oliver collided with something, seemingly a box.

Feeling it, the drone realized it was indeed a small wooden crate. Setting his hand down, he tried to open it. One-handed it was difficult, but he managed. His hand hovered, hesitating over the open crate — what if there were body parts inside? Heads? Jars of oil or the corpse of a tortured worker drone?

Closing his eyes as if that would change anything, he slowly lowered his hand and…

Inside were ordinary computer mice, keyboards, and other small items commonly found on doctors’ desks. This reassured Oliver, and he even sighed with relief.

Rummaging further in the crate, he found what he needed most — a flashlight.

Small, plastic, clearly cheap — even that was enough to bring a small smile to the drone’s face.

Holding it and turning it slightly, he found the power button. Turning it on, he could finally make out the room: a small storage area piled with wooden crates, small plastic boxes, cardboard boxes, and medical refrigerators. In one corner, system units were stacked into a strange tower.

Reaching the far end of the storage, he saw the medical equipment they needed. Opening a few more containers, the drone discovered medicines and several sealed auto-injectors labeled “Servator-3” — the rapid-use first aid kit Gia had mentioned. If Oliver’s memory block wasn’t failing, she said these were created shortly before the core explosion and contained nanites adapted to the human body.

“So that’s where everything from the hospital went,” Oliver whispered, sweeping the flashlight across the warehouse.

Something reflected glints among the piled items. Curious, the worker drone slowly approached the source of the reflections.

It was a long, painfully thin, familiar blade — the same kind K had as an additional arm. It was probably a spare.

Grabbing the flashlight with his teeth and placing his hand nearby, Oliver pulled it completely out from under some dusty rags that had once been medical coats. The blade was impressively long — over a meter for sure. The place where the blade seemed to attach to a hand resembled the hilt of a sword, and, thinking about it, it could make a decent weapon.

One problem: for Oliver, this sword was too large, and with one hand he could barely manage it.

Examining the blade in his hands, he noticed something else familiar nearby — a device. Pulling it into the light with some effort, he confirmed it was the same “syringe gun” as K’s.

Black body, wide barrel for the syringes to pass through easily, a transparent section in the center showing it was loaded. Where a normal gun would have a magazine, a belt of syringes filled with yellow liquid stretched along it. Following the belt, he saw where the syringe reserves were stored — there were plenty of nanite rounds. Its shape resembled a sort of backpack.

A plan began forming in Oliver’s mind, but he needed to check one thing first.

Carefully examining the unusual weapon, he found a recess where it had attached to the murder drone’s limb. Out of curiosity, he pressed it.

A quiet hiss sounded, and a syringe with a hand shot into the box where the barrel had been aimed, beginning to eat through the wood.

An unusually sly grin spread across Oliver’s face, and he reached for the radio.

Raven tossed aside the empty syringe of analgesic and leaned his head back against the cold concrete wall.

With each breath, his breathing evened out and became calmer. The pain receded into the background.

Raven looked at the bandages wrapped around him, already stained with his own blood. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the echo of K moving, searching for him by the trail of blood. The stalker hoped that his attempts to confuse the trail would be enough.

Leaning on the wall, he got up and adjusted the AK-74 to a comfortable position. He moved without a flashlight, but his eyes had already adjusted to the dark, and he could make out at least something.

Life was lousy — every time he descended into some damn catacombs, always on the verge of meeting Saint Peter. “Stalkers are allowed into heaven without waiting in line,” yeah, he’d already been in hell and was still in it… Heaven… Where are you hiding, my heaven? I search everywhere, and they never let me in…

His internal monologue, triggered by the effect of the narcotic analgesic, was interrupted by the crackle of the radio in his ears.

“Raven! You alive over there?” Oliver whispered on the other side.

“You won’t kill me that easily. Where are you? We need to get out of here, fast,” Raven replied in a whisper, hoping K’s audio sensors weren’t that good.

“Listen carefully, I have a plan to kill the murder drone. Can you track where I’m contacting from?”

“You…” Raven decided to trust him and hear the plan. “Yes, I can.”

“Lead it to me, lure it somehow. Long story, end of transmission.”

The radio went silent, and the stalker listened to the echo of approaching footsteps. He reached into his pouch and took out his PDA. Turning the screen brightness to minimum, he located Oliver. After memorizing the route, he hid the PDA back.

Lure it, huh? I’ll lure it.

Raven drew his Colt from its holster, aimed it at the ceiling, and turned on the flashlight.

“Hey, you lousy punk!” — shot. “What’re you running for?!” — shot. “Come on, come to Daddy Raven!”

Third shot.

Raven put the pistol back and started running toward Oliver. Behind him, he heard the echo of a furious growl and the rapid shuffle of six limbs. Apparently, such insults had hurt the local doctor’s pride.

The drone quickly caught up with the man, following closely, firing syringes with nanite acid, bullets, and occasionally trying to strike him with its tail.

Raven dodged most attacks, only a few small-caliber bullets hit him, but they couldn’t penetrate his exoskeleton. Nearing his target, he suddenly spun around and waited for K. When he appeared, Raven fired an underbarrel grenade at him. The distance was enough for it to detonate.

It exploded between the drone’s head and the syringe gun arm. To Raven’s surprise, the murder drone’s head recovered fairly quickly, but the long-range weapon didn’t. Its ammo spilled onto the doctor, melting its casing, and the syringe gun became unusable.

K roared, not in his own voice, as if scalded with boiling water, and tried in some places… literally to lick the wounds.

“You! I-I’ll kill you, bastard!” hissed the demon in anger and pain.

“Then you get it, doc!” — to Raven’s surprise, he said it in a cheerful, playful tone, like a child on a playground playing with friends.

The tone enraged K even more, and he charged, firing bullets and rockets.

The stalker dodged, running into the passage where Oliver was. He quickly scanned the room — just a warehouse, but he was looking for the pink-eyed worker drone.

He found it standing behind a wooden crate, on which a syringe gun similar to K’s was placed. Oliver was aiming down the passage.

“Get down, Raven!” the drone shouted.

Raven didn’t need to be told twice — he stepped back from the entrance, rolled to the floor, then turned onto his back, taking the passage in his sights. Moments later, K appeared. The right side of his body was already badly corroded by acid, but he was still combat-capable, though unsteady.

Seeing the stalker, he lunged at him. Raven tried to shoot back, but the demon ignored the bullets — he knew the acid would kill him, so he aimed to take the persistent human down with him.

He kicked the rifle from the human’s hands deep into the room and grabbed him by the neck with his tail, lifting him off the floor. Without a word, he raised his scalpel — when suddenly…

From the depths of the warehouse came the quick whistles of flying syringes. They pierced the drone’s body, and around the punctures, molten metal hissed.

K screamed even louder, throwing the stalker aside. Raven tried to defend himself, shielding with the remains of his own syringe gun. Covering, he still tried to find K to strike.

Apparently, the ammo ran out — Oliver stopped firing.

The situation quickly spiraled out of control: the worker drone had no syringes left, Raven’s rifle was far away, and K approached the stalker, swinging his massive blade-arm in all directions.

Suddenly, something metallic fell at the human’s feet. A large, thin blade, like K’s. Raven understood immediately and grabbed the “sword.” Adjusting his grip, he prepared to parry the drone’s strikes and try to chop off its head to disorient it.

Now they clashed in close combat: K’s strikes were rough and wide, aimed not for precision but to catch. Raven, holding a sword for the first time, only blocked. Several times he nearly lost his weapon, but held on. After another blocked strike, Raven tried to attack — he lunged, aiming for a gap in the drone’s defense. He succeeded! He drove the blade deep where a human’s heart would be. K hissed in pain and tried a strong horizontal swing, but thanks to their height difference, Raven just crouched to dodge.

Now the opponent had fully exposed himself, and the stalker aimed at the neck, delivering a slashing spin attack. The strike, almost dance-like, produced the loud crack of wires and tearing metal.

The stalker froze, back to the enemy, still in disbelief. The sound of the head hitting the floor and the subsequent crash of the falling murder drone reinforced his faith.

Raven turned to assess the result: the head had rolled away, and the body lay motionless. The metal quickly melted, exposing the demon’s insides.

Among the electronic components, the stalker saw something that shocked him: bones, flesh, and even… organs?

“Holy hell, a biorobot!” the stalker muttered in astonishment.

“We did it, Raven!” Oliver shouted joyfully. “We did it, you get it? We killed the murder drone! Us! You and me! We did it! This… we need to tell everyone in the colony!”

Raven smirked under his mask. Oliver had lost a hand and his visor was smashed, but he didn’t care. He had come up with the plan and was now celebrating as if nothing had happened. The stalker felt he hadn’t chosen his partner wrong.

But the joy was interrupted by sounds from K’s remains. Oliver turned and aimed his new sword at them, expecting the demon to restore itself and force another fight.

But no — from the remains crawled out something fleshy and electronic.

“The core!” Oliver shouted, shocked. “Its core is escaping!”

“It won’t get away, bitch,” the stalker growled.

Raven leapt a few times to block the “headcrab’s” retreat and grabbed it by three grotesque legs. The core hissed angrily and tried to break free.

Raven brought it closer to his face, trying to see it better. Indeed, beneath the flesh lay a core, like one Raven had seen in one of the JCJenson journals he read out of boredom.

“Well, doc, looks like it’s time to say goodbye,” said the stalker, looking at the three surviving syringes of nanite acid.

Inserting them one by one into the core, it let out increasingly shrill cries of pain. At some point, it went silent and began to disintegrate. Raven quickly recoiled, fearing the mess might spill onto him. In place of the core appeared… a wormhole, which dissipated within seconds.

“Did we kill it?” Oliver asked uncertainly, watching silently.

“Probably, Oli, probably,” Raven replied, approaching what was left of the murder drone.

A head with long, curly silver hair.

Raven grabbed it by the hair, inspecting it like a hunter examining his trophy.

“And… now what?” the worker drone continued, approaching the stalker and inspecting the head as well.

“Grab the medicines and essential parts — then home.”

At Hope Square, as always, there were plenty of drones. Some were coming from school, some from work, some WDF patrols were slacking off and munching on batteries instead. Meanwhile, a pair of old school friends sat awkwardly on a bench under a tree — both wanted to confess their feelings, but neither had the courage to start.

Still, one of the guys had more guts, and he began.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to say…”

“Ladies and gentlemen, worker drones of Outpost 3!” — a loud voice cut him off. It belonged to a man who had planted his feet on the neighboring bench, clad in strange armor.

The bench creaked under him, but held his weight.

“May I have a moment of your attention!” — he announced.

A dozen digital, multicolored eyes fixed on him expectantly, still tinged with a slight fear, even though he had lived here for a week.

The young man looked at him and was horrified at the sight: there were streaks of oil and blood on his armor, he held a sword, and… someone’s head.

“Many of you still fear me and believe I am an agent of the Company. That is not true, and it should be clear to all rational drones,” — there were strange tones in his voice, as if he were giving a speech on a parade ground to soldiers. — “But words are words; proof is needed.”

At that moment, he lifted the head, showing it to everyone. Gasps of astonishment and shock rippled through the crowd.

“This is the head of the murder drone named Serial Designation K. He set up a lair in one of the city hospitals and for a long time brutally killed your fellow worker drones. That will not happen anymore. Today, Oliver Fitzgerald and I killed him. This proves my reliability and non-involvement with the Company, since no one among their employees would have done such a thing. Therefore… thank you for your attention, and I hope you’ll stop throwing sideways glances at me.”

The man stepped down from the bench and silently walked into the living quarters.

The drones in the square began whispering actively, arguing, admiring.

Raven felt fewer and fewer accusations and suspicions directed at him.

Then, they disappeared entirely.

The process of assimilating the human into the bunker had begun.

Murder Drones: Sphaera Lucis

Act III "Assimilation"

Chapter Text

They say a good drinking night is when the next morning your pants are dry, or at least only wet below the knee.

Raven didn’t have any pants at all, and everything below his chest was underwater.

He forced his heavy eyelids open, only for the bathroom light to stab his eyes, making him shut them again. After blinking a few times, he tried to figure out where he was and what was going on.

He was sitting in a bathtub full of water, wearing nothing but his underwear. An empty rum bottle floated nearby.

His head throbbed and buzzed – felt like several worker drones had been jumping on it last night. His body was weak, and his mouth was the Sahara Desert itself: he couldn’t even swallow, since there was no saliva to be found.

Groaning something incoherent, he tried to get up from the bathtub, but quickly realized the idea was doomed – everything spun around, and his arms and legs refused to obey.

Fuck… What the hell happened last night?..

Closing his eyes again, he just sat in the tub, his mind completely blank. But his stomach had its own plans – Raven felt nausea rising, something climbing up his throat.

Summoning all his willpower, he performed what could only be called a heroic act – he simply toppled out of the bathtub onto the floor and, groaning, began crawling toward the toilet.

The closer he got to his sacred goal, the stronger he felt the vomit about to burst free from his body.

But the veteran stalker, and at the same time a seasoned alcoholic – oh yeah! – was faster, and could proudly add this crawl-march toward the toilet to his life’s achievements.

Hugging his porcelain “friend” and spewing vile substances into it, he tried to recall how he had managed to end up like this.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Oliver asked, watching Raven heat a pair of tweezers with a lighter while the auto-injector lay nearby.

"Hell if I know, but we have to try," the stalker replied without taking his eyes off the task. "The bullet isn’t deep, and I need to test this Servator-3 anyway."

"On yourself?" Oliver raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What if there are some side effects?"

"What kind?" Raven slightly turned his head to glance at the drone. "Become a Terminator? That wouldn’t be bad."

"I meant… never mind, do whatever you want." The worker drone waved him off and watched silently.

Raven brought the heated tweezers to the wound. His hand froze for a moment, then he inserted them into the bullet hole in his shoulder and, quietly hissing, began searching for the bullet. As he had said, it was shallow, and a few seconds later a small bloody piece of metal fell to the floor.

Immediately after, he grabbed the injector, placed it near the wound, and pressed the activation button. The medkit hissed softly and began releasing a cocktail of medical compounds and nanites into the human body. Raven felt a strange sensation as it spread through his body, dulling the pain. Then the wounds on his shoulder and side started stinging, and the blood around them began to coagulate. And then… the organic tissue started regenerating: the wound gradually closed, bringing discomfort and a slight pain.

"Wow… progress, damn it," the stalker muttered through his teeth.

After a few minutes, the pain stopped, leaving only redness and taut, rough skin where the wounds had been. Raven looked at Oliver, who was staring at him in awe.

The man now assessed the drone’s condition: a broken visor and a severed hand, already wrapped in black oil-stained bandages. He felt guilty — it had been his idea to split up. On the other hand, if K had knocked them both out at the same time, they wouldn’t have stood a chance.

"Alright, the medical reality show is over. Let’s get back to the APC," the stalker said, standing and walking to his rifle lying on the floor between boxes.

"What about all this," Oliver said, sweeping his big hand across the storage room, "we came here for this."

"I like your attitude," Raven inserted a new magazine into the rifle and cocked it, "but you’re a '300,' a heavy one at that. You’ve done your job."

"'Heavy 300'?" Oliver asked, not understanding.

"Slang," Raven explained to the drone the nuances of post-Soviet military jargon, "300 — wounded, 200 — dead."

Oliver nodded, glanced at the storage room, and sighed.

"Alright… but we still need to carry something. We can’t go back empty-handed, can we?"

"Not empty," the stalker nodded. "I’ll quickly drag the medical supplies and parts to the drones, and we’ll come back later for the equipment."

Raven aimed the flashlight at the exit.

"Only left to escape this Minotaur labyrinth."

Without the murder drone on their tail and in a calm environment, the scavenger duo quickly found the way up and got outside. After escorting Oliver to the APC, Raven started moving the boxes.

It didn’t take much time. During the last trip to the storage room, now much emptier, he noticed the demon’s head and the scalpel-sword lying next to it. His stalker instincts awoke, and he wanted a trophy from the fallen enemy. Since nothing remained of K’s body besides the head, he decided to take it and the sword — either as decoration for his apartment or as a weapon. It could also serve as proof of his non-involvement with the Company.

Bending down to grab the loot, Raven noticed a cardboard box next to the head. Written in crooked, barely legible handwriting was "Electronic junk." He remembered his deal with a purple drone. Peering inside, he found what he expected — electronic junk. Checking the contents against the PDA list, he noticed some parts resembling capacitors and batteries.

"Ah, whatever, she'll figure it out herself," Raven said, straightening up and taking everything toward the APC.

They reached the bunker entrance without incident, still leaving enough time for another trip to the hospital today.

"Let’s go to the medblock, I’ll head back," the stalker said, taking off his helmet.

"Am I staying here? No way, I’m coming with you," Oliver refused.

"Listen, they almost got you killed already — why are you so eager to go?" the man asked, bewildered.

"Well… you saved me, so I need to repay the favor. And don’t forget, I’m a drone — Gia will put a new visor and hand on me, and I’ll be like new."

Raven watched the drone on the nearby chair for a moment, then smirked, shaking his head.

"You know, Oli, you changed fast. Where’s your 'this is dangerous'?"

"I already said…" the drone started to protest but was cut off.

"Yeah, yeah, concern for Lizzy — understood. Go to Gia, I’ll wait for you here."

Raven opened the door and stepped 'outside.' A worker drone in a ushanka was already waving and approaching.

" Ворон! Что-то вы рано… Робо-Иисус! Что с Оливером?! (Raven! You’re early… Robo-Jesus! What happened to Oliver?!)" Dmitry’s eyes widened as he pointed at the pink-eyed drone.

" С демоном столкнулись. (We ran into the demon)," Raven answered calmly and headed toward the drop-off area, now used as a cargo section.

" Дрон-убийца?! Где? ( Murder drone?! Where?)" Dmitry panicked, looking from Oliver to Raven, who didn’t look much better — blood and oil smeared all over his armor.

" Где? Тут. Во! (Where? Here. Look!)" Raven smiled showing all 32 teeth, holding the murder drone’s severed head in one hand and the sword in the other. " Ну, голова только, но всё же (Just the head, but still)."

A crowd of three-door posts quickly gathered around the stalker, examining the murder drone’s head with interest and admiration. When asked how they managed to kill it, the stalker replied that he would tell them once the drones unloaded and carried all the cargo to the medblock.

Instantly, the checkpoint and the APC emptied, and Raven walked to his apartment with a smile to drop off the trophies. On the way, he made his announcement on the square.

An hour later, he and Oliver were already heading back to the hospital.

For several minutes, leaning against the toilet, he coughed up the last remnants of vomit and breathed heavily. His memory had cleared up a little, but it didn’t help much in figuring out where he had managed to get so drunk and where the hell the rum had even come from.

The last time he had a drink was at the bar "100 Rads," before ending up on Copper 9.

Having probably vomited everything he could, the stalker struggled to get up and, on trembling legs, slowly made his way to the sink, holding onto the wall.

From behind the wall came the sound of the front door opening.

"Hey, meatbag, you… OW!" The voice was cut off, followed by sounds of a fall, which made the stalker’s migraine flare up.

"Who put these damn containers here?!" Uzi’s thin voice came from the living room, clearly angry about some containers.

What containers, why Khan’s daughter Uzi was here, and other questions didn’t interest the man much — he moved toward the sink as if zombified.

Reaching it, he turned the tap and greedily drank the water with its characteristic chlorine taste. The cold tap water felt like a nectar from heaven, bringing him a life-saving moisture.

"There you are! What did you fill your apartment with?" Uzi bluntly opened the slightly ajar bathroom door and stood in the doorway, crossing her arms.

Raven drank.

"Where are the parts you brought?" she asked impatiently.

Raven drank, closing his eyes in pleasure.

"Hey, meat! Don’t ignore me!" Uzi said angrily.

Raven stopped drinking and turned his heavy head toward the drone.

Uzi blushed a little as she finally noticed his appearance: red eyes half-closed under heavy eyelids, bags under his eyes, face red and swollen; he stood hunched and trembling, supporting himself with his hands on the sink.

He was also completely wet and without a top, exposing a body covered in scars and adorned with two tattoos.

"W-what’s wrong with you?" The drone’s voice carried a strange mix of confusion, surprise, embarrassment, and fear. "You’re not dying here, are you?"

If you keep yelling like that, your loud little voice will definitely blow your head apart.

Raven turned his head back under the stream of cold water. It brought some relief to his migraine and cleared his mind. Uzi watched silently, still standing in the doorway, stepping back slightly and averting her gaze — she watched anime, after all, so she understood something about human culture.

Finally, he decided to answer the young anime fan’s last question.

"Bad hangover…" Raven murmured in a quiet, hoarse voice. "If I don’t find mineral water… oh… I’ll definitely die."

"Just try to die — you still owe me parts for the rai… 'project'!" Uzi scolded.

"Heh… thanks for the concern, my purple friend… but what parts?" The stalker squinted, placing one palm on his forehead and the other against the wall.

"What do you mean what parts?" Uzi asked in surprise. "You told me yesterday you found the parts. Memory wiped?"

Raven tried to remember something, but couldn’t.

"We… met yesterday?"

"We crossed paths. You were leaving the medblock and told me to come by in the evening for them," the emo-drone said irritably, stepping away from the doorway to let Raven through. "I came — stood by the door for an hour, and when I picked the lock, you weren’t there. Where could you possibly wander at night?"

"I… don’t know… what the hell…" Raven stood at the entrance to the living room, which was crowded with either containers or refrigerators. In the far corner were a sofa, a large leather chair, cushioned chairs, and… a painting.

The stalker’s eyes involuntarily widened in surprise, which didn’t escape Uzi.

"And so, you decided to turn this kennel into a storage again? Then you should’ve placed them so normal drones could pass safely instead of banging their legs."

"I only see a little gremlin here…" the stalker muttered, still stunned by the furniture addition and unknown containers in his living room.

"What did you say?" The purple-haired drone heard this and quickly turned to face Raven, taking a pose the stalker could describe as a “gremlin pose.”

"I said, come back tomorrow — my head is splitting… and where your little parts are, I don’t know. As you can see, it’s… a bit messy here." He tried to gesture around the room, but his hand almost instantly dropped back.

Khan’s daughter Uzi stared at him for a while, narrowing her digital eyes, but finally stood in a normal pose.

"I’ll be back," she said and headed to the exit.

"I don't doubt it," answered Raven, approaching one of the containers.

"Bite me!" Uzi said before leaving, and the door closed behind her.

Raven didn’t pay attention to that: he walked among the knee-high containers, reading what was written on them. Meat, meat, meat, vegetables, fruits, fish — some labels repeated, some differed. Then there were containers labeled with the names of alcoholic beverages. Many containers with alcohol.

Randomly opening one — a container labeled "meat" — a blast of cold hit him. It was a portable fridge or freezer, and inside were lots of meat, apparently beef.

Taking a frozen piece of meat, the stalker pressed it to his forehead and plopped into a chair, raising a cloud of dust.

He began to remember some things.

Yesterday, he and Oliver went on another raid.

This time they looted several police stations, where they found dozens of assault rifles and a few crates of ammo for them. Raven also finally bothered to drive back to the place where he had left his zinc boxes of armor-piercing rounds for the Kalashnikov, since his regular ammo was already running out.

Now they were driving through an area untypical for the city — all around stood large, luxurious mansions only a few stories high, which looked unusual against the backdrop of skyscrapers.

According to Oliver, this was the district for the wealthy. Owners of companies, major shareholders of JCJenson, high-ranking government officials, and simply rich elites — they all lived here. In short, the modern aristocracy.

"You gotta admit, they live well," Raven said, turning the wheel and examining houses in different architectural styles, though Gothic dominated. "Well… lived."

Wealth and refined homes hadn’t helped much when everything fell into the abyss. Quite the opposite — many houses had collapsed, with only a few walls left. Some were luckier: only their roofs and top floors had caved in. Almost no houses remained intact — and if they had survived humanity’s fall, time had not spared them.

Still, Raven managed to spot one mansion that looked whole, and he turned toward it.

"Hey, where are you going?" Oliver asked.

"See that mansion? I want to check it out," the stalker answered, steering around the wreck of what had once been an expensive car.

"And what do you expect to find there? We don’t have time for this junk, and it’s already evening."

"Come on, just there and back," the stalker reassured the drone. "Besides, I need furniture. Two stools and a metal bed aren’t exactly comfy, to be honest."

Oliver just sighed and returned to scanning the area through the turret camera — he had already come to terms with the fact that his partner was a stubborn mule.

They didn’t enter the mansion grounds quietly — the gate was rammed through. Skirting around a fountain in front of the main entrance, they pulled up.

"I’ve always wondered how the rich lived," Raven said, closing the APC’s door and looking over the three-story mansion.

It wasn’t exactly intact — the right wing had collapsed under the fallen roof, but the rest of it still stood.

Climbing the marble steps to the great doors, Raven opened them, letting the evening sunlight stream into the dark interior. Millions of dust motes swirled in the beams, and the parquet floor groaned under the weight of the exoskeleton as the man stepped into the long entry hall.

There were coat racks and shoe cabinets. Passing through quickly, weapon always at the ready, he reached another door leading into the living quarters.

The ancient hinges screeched painfully, echoing throughout the mansion. Before the eyes of the first guests in decades lay the picture of past wealth: red silk carpets, parquet and panels of mahogany, countless figures decorating the walls and the floor, and gilded details. Directly across the large hall, a wide staircase led to the second floor, with passages to the left and right leading deeper into the house. Hanging above the hall was a massive chandelier of gold, inlaid with diamonds. To crown it all, in front of the entrance had once stood a large, ornate stained-glass window.

Once. Like everything else here.

Now, all that luxury lay buried in dust and decay. The stained glass was shattered, opening the hall to the wind and snow outside; the chandelier swayed dangerously, ready to crash to the floor at any moment; the woodwork had rotted in places; and the carpets had become little more than sponges of dust.

The tragic fate of this place was made even clearer by the skeletons scattered across the hall, all dressed in classical suits with black top hats, or elegant gowns. Among them were long-silent worker drones frozen in those same outfits, or drones in maid uniforms still clutching feather dusters — now thickly covered in dust themselves, an ironic end.

"Feels kinda creepy…" Oliver said, looking at the frozen drones scattered among the skeletons.

"Just another abandoned place," Raven answered calmly. "Spending the night in a ruined church in a swamp — now that’s creepy. This? This is child’s play."

While the stalker strode confidently toward the staircase, Oliver decided to take a look around.

The scene was typical of the city: ruin and frozen human remains. What surprised him was that the servants had died alongside their masters.

Walking across the hall, the parquet creaking under his boots, he noticed a large portrait on the wall. Or what was left of it — only the man’s clothing was visible, along with a brass plate naming him: "Lord Frumptlebucket I."

Suddenly, shouts came from near the stairs.

Oliver quickly unslung his rifle and ran toward them.

Another one.

The sounds were coming from behind a door next to the staircase.

Without hesitation, Oliver rushed in, flicking off the safety.

"OLIVE-E-E-ER!!" Raven’s scream echoed.

The worker drone burst into the basement, ready to fire at a murder drone, but instead…

"Oliver! There’s so much booze here, you won’t believe it!" the stalker exclaimed happily, holding two bottles of rum he’d pulled from a preservation fridge.

It took Oliver a few seconds to process what was happening, then he walked up and smacked the stalker on the shoulder.

"Idiot! I thought they were tearing you apart in here! Why the hell are you screaming like that?!" the drone yelled — not much quieter than Raven.

"Take a look! Rum, cognac, wine, champagne, even beer! And over there — a food section. Real food, not that dog chow you’ve been feeding me."

Oliver narrowed his eyes, looking around. Sure enough, the basement was a storage vault of food and drink: countless preservation fridges lined the walls, keeping their contents fresh forever, untouched by time.

"So what? Alcohol makes you this happy?" the drone asked with disapproval.

"You just don’t get it," Raven waved him off, heading deeper into the "miracle cellar." "My iron friend, you’ll never understand a human’s craving for relaxation and a good meal."

"You don’t seem that thrilled about the food, my fleshy friend," Oliver replied in his skeptical tone. "Even I know that rest and relaxation have little to do with alcohol."

"Depends who you ask," Raven muttered, studying a bottle of aged red wine.

"We had a guy on the station once," Oliver began. "Showed up drunk and tried to mess with the power grid. Smelled like a barbecue for weeks."

"Well, I’m not climbing into any power grid."

"Enough of this." Oliver snatched the bottles from Raven’s hands and shoved them back into the fridge, slamming the door shut.

"Look, do you even understand the stress? Time travel, a week of starving, almost eaten alive by creepy robots more than once. I need this!"

"You don’t need it," Oliver said firmly.

The drone exhaled and turned toward the food section.

"You want variety in meals? Grab some containers and haul them to the APC. But alcohol? No. Dry law."

Raven narrowed his eyes at the drone from under his mask.

Then he walked toward the food supplies.

"Dry law it is," Raven shrugged. "My old man lived through it, and I’ll live through it too."

The next hour passed in silence — the stalker hauling fridges, and Oliver watching closely to make sure he didn’t sneak out anything alcoholic.

What the drone didn’t know was that nothing beats Slavic sleight of hand.

The last container was placed atop the improvised tower. To Raven’s surprise, they didn’t take up much space — just one corner of his apartment. Still, he had to check with Khan where to stash everything, and preferably, as written on the crate, in a cold spot.

After removing the exoskeleton rig, he stayed sitting in his armor, though without the helmet.

Right now, he wanted only one thing — to finally drink. And before him on the table stood an enticing bottle of rum, which he had quietly swiped while Oliver wasn’t looking.

For the occasion, he even found a glass and made a snack — crackers with liver pâté spread on them. That was all he had.

Opening the bottle, he was first hit by the familiar smell of alcohol, then greeted by a soft, sweet aroma.

He poured the brown liquid into the glass and lifted it. Holding it briefly to his nose, teasing himself and savoring the scent, he was about to drink when he caught his reflection in the bottle.

"Cheers!" he said to the reflection and downed the contents of the glass in one go.

The rum’s warmth slid down his throat, spreading through his body and bringing a sense of relaxation.

Ah, that’s the stuff.

Quickly, a second glass was poured and drained just as fast.

A pleasant buzz began to form in Raven’s head, accompanied by a slight dizziness.

He rested his hand on his fist and leaned back, thinking.

Huh, so this is it — the first time in two weeks I can just sit and think about what the hell is happening to me.

The stalker started tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the table — a habitual gesture when he was lost in thought.

And there was plenty to think about: who had tipped off the Syndicate mercenaries, how he ended up here from a simple spatial anomaly, what the hell was going on on this cursed planet, and other thoughts he’d ignored because he was either busy surviving or too exhausted from raids.

Interesting situation: clearly someone set me up to the Syndicate mercs, since I was their specific target. Even more intriguing, this "someone" knows about my past in the PSF and that I planned the operation in the Dead City. But I told no one about it. Who then? The Bartender? He doesn’t snitch his people, and I doubt he knew about my past… though that bastard knows everything about everyone. The quartermaster of Duty? Also unlikely. Sure, II drank with him regularly and could say something, but he hates the Syndicate — they wiped out his squad in 2012.

He stopped tapping, poured another glass, and drained it quickly.

Alright, forget the mercs. What really gets me — why didn’t I get teleported into some point in the Zone, or into a trap with no escape, but… to another planet a thousand years in the future? I’ve heard plenty of stories about spatial anomalies: the now-legendary tale of the merc Beast who escaped one; the three stalkers who ended up in some pioneer camp; even recently, Vasyl told a story of two members of "Freedom" trapped in the Red Forest anomaly. Only, all these stories are either campfire fairy tales for newbies, or the endings are more mundane — dying of hunger inside an inescapable trap. And here — time travel, and a ticket to another planet countless light-years from Earth. Huh… maybe I’m chosen, huh? Save the world or rescue a princess from a tower. Or it’s just the Zone’s joke, and I’m wandering somewhere under the Brain Scorcher as a zombie, muttering to myself.

Poured. Drank. Fingers back to tapping on the table.

No, psi-emission won’t generate this kind of rum in the brain — alive and mostly fine. But here’s the place, so the question is — how long will I stay that way… Murder drones, worker drones, cultist drones, crazy-doctor drones. What’s next, drone-Satan? I wouldn’t be surprised… "Society of intelligent machines hunted by other intelligent death-machines" — perfect plot for some show. Except I’m not in a show, I’m in real life: decapitated once, no second take.

He repeated the action.

Thinking about it… On Copper 9, I’ve got everything I need to live. Housing? Check. Food? Check. Water? Check. Job? Dangerous, but I don’t need another. Everything I once dreamed of, except… no kids, no wife…

The last thought made something inside him tighten.

The absence of simple family happiness.

And the absence of anything to drink, because the bottle was almost empty.

You know what, Oliver… bite me with your Dry Law. Found myself a teetotaler, huh. I’ve got a whole cellar of booze intact, and I’m choking on chlorine-flavored water here.

The drunken stalker, despite the night, had a wild idea — to carry all the alcohol from that cellar here.

Struggling to attach the exoskeleton rig and almost forgetting his rifle, he headed to the warehouse for the APC.

Fortunately for all the worker drones at Outpost 3, it was night, and the bunker corridors were empty, so the APC arrived without incident.

Only that Raven nearly ran over one of the WDF sentries by the third door.

"Where do you think you’re going?! It’s nighttime!" one of them protested.

"Come on! What do I care about night? Stalkers fear no night! Open up, damn it!" Raven yelled through the open hatch.

So he would’ve argued with the sentries if the doors hadn’t opened.

" Так, что у вас происходит тут? (Alright, what’s going on here?)" Dmitry asked, surveying the scene.

"Mr. Sokolov, the man wants to go outside, and it’s night! Dangerous, you know!"

" Я могу за себя постоять, Дим. Ты же это знаешь! (I can handle myself, Dim. You know that!)" came from the APC.

" Так, хватит кричать! Ворон, зачем тебе наружу на ночь глядя ехать? ( Alright, enough yelling! Raven, why do you need to go out at night?) " asked the worker drone in the ushanka.

" Мне… ну… дело одно надо сделать. ( I… well… got some business) ," Raven answered, now standing outside the vehicle.

" Это дело до утра не подождёт? (This business can’t wait till morning?)" Dmitry raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

Raven realized words were useless, so he resorted to the old "favor for a favor."

"Слушай, Дим (Listen, Dim)," the stalker whispered, leaning toward Dmitry, "ты говорил, что новый полароид хочешь? Ну, фототок с женой и дочерью поделать? Я тебе его достану - если пропустишь. (you said you wanted a new Polaroid? Take some shots with your wife and daughter? I’ll get it for you — if you let me through)."

Dmitry’s face changed sharply, and he spun to his WDF drones near the last door.

" Открывайте! Мы пропускаем человека! (Open up! We’re letting the man through!)" he shouted.

" О, вот это дело! Благодарю! (Oh, now that’s more like it! Thanks!)" Raven climbed into the APC and slowly drove toward the exit.

The drones grumbled, of course, but obeyed orders and opened the doors. Raven, though "tipsy," stayed alert — ready to swap seats and fire the turret if needed.

But there were no threats, and he exited the bunker safely.

The last time he drove through Copper City at night was when he and Oliver went to the data-reception station — ending in a chase with murder drones. So the stalker carefully watched the sky and surroundings, even though it made little sense given what he was driving.

Raven reached the mansion without incident. The next hour was spent hauling fridges with alcohol from the cellar and searching for furniture.

He couldn’t carry everything — the cellar was still full of food and booze — but it would suffice for now. Moving the furniture — the sofa, large leather armchair, and a few comfortable chairs — was harder: the APC’s cargo compartment was full, so the only option was to carry them atop the vehicle. After finding ropes and another hour of securing his “marauder APC”, he drove off.

He sped through the night city, taking turns dangerously, nearly flipping the APC several times.

Two reasons for that: he didn’t want to stay on the surface long, since murder drones could attack anytime; second…

The second was that Raven was sitting behind the wheel with an idiotic smile and an open bottle of rum in his hand, bawling out a song for the entire cabin to hear:

Дайте мені хлібу, кіло мармеляду (Give me bread, a kilo of marmalade)
Прощавайте, хлопці, йду до Канади! (Farewell, guys, I’m off to Canada!)
Прощавайте, хлопці, йду до Канади! (Farewell, guys, I’m off to Canada!)

Гоп-стоп, Канада! Старих баб не треба (Gop-stop, Canada! Don’t need old women)
Молодих давайте, а ви, хлопці, грайте! (Give me the young ones, and you guys play!)
Гоп-стоп, Канада! Нам рублів не треба! (Gop-stop, Canada! We don’t need rubles!)
Долляри давайте, а ви, хлопці, грайте! (Give us dollars, and you guys play!)

По Канаді ходжу (I'm walking around Canada)
Долляри рахую (Counting dollars)
А де нічь застане, там і заночую! (Where night finds me, there I sleep!)
А де нічь застане, там і заночую! (Where night finds me, there I sleep!)

From the roof, two disassembly drones watched as the heavily loaded APC nearly hit several obstacles.

One sat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the abyss, bored, resting her head on her hands atop her knees.

The other stood straight, observing the vehicle. One eye squinted; the other shaped like a targeting reticle, zooming in on the image.

"J, don’t you think this is getting a bit brazen — driving around our territory at night, huh?" V asked, tail flicking like an annoyed cat, lightly tapping the acid syringe against the roof.

"Let him be," J replied calmly. "Let him feel safe, that there’s no threat. A professional is defined by patience, adjusting to the prey, and knowing when to strike. Last time proved that attacking him in the vehicle is pointless."

"Argh…," V muttered, irritated, turning to her commander. "He’s driving drunk! Look! I’ve already counted several near-misses off the road!"

"Don’t be silly, V," J waved her off. "He's not such an idiot as to drive drunk. Although… he does drive like crap."

"You’re such an idiot, you actually drove drunk?!" Oliver was shocked by what his teammate had done last night.

"Yeah… That wasn’t the smartest decision…" Raven replied in the same hoarse voice, pouring chicken broth into his bowl, freshly cooked thanks to the food supplies he’d managed to get.

"That’s putting it mildly," Oliver said darkly, watching the man sit down at the kitchen table across from him. "How did the murder drones not even notice you?"

"Heh, guess they were just as stunned by that turn of events," the stalker smirked, swallowing the first spoonful of broth, the warmth spreading through his body in a soothing wave.

"It’s not funny. Raven, your recklessness is going to get you killed," Oliver said seriously. "Maybe we’re not best friends, but I don’t wish you dead — especially not in such a stupid way."

Raven calmly slurped the lifesaving liquid. Deep down, he was glad someone cared about him, but the conversation was already starting to tire him.

"Listen, Oli, thanks for worrying, really… But let me deal with everything myself, alright? I’ve got two things planned for today: move those containers somewhere," he pointed with his spoon behind the drone, where the entire living room was piled up, "and get a good sleep. So, today’s raid is canceled."

Oliver sighed irritably and shook his head, but then said calmly, "Fine, I guess some rest won’t hurt." He stood up from the table and headed for the exit.

Raven followed him with his eyes, then went back to eating.

After breakfast — or rather, lunch — the stalker tried to put himself in order.

Washing up, roughly fixing his hair and straightening the uniform he had put on after Uzi left, he went out of the apartment in search of Khan—he should know where to stash all the human’s supplies.

He was staggering much less now, and his head throbbed only with a dull, distant pain, but the drowsiness was still there. It felt like if he closed his eyes, he’d immediately pass out.

On the way to the bunker doors, he noticed something strange: the drones no longer avoided him like a leper. On the contrary, they smiled, nodded, some even greeted him and asked about his day.

How was it before? Raven walked down the corridor, met a worker, and that one either averted his eyes and quickened his pace, or outright tried to take another corridor.

Apparently, his demonstration of the demon’s head in the square had a positive effect. He might have even been glad — if only he felt better.

The guards at the door looked at Raven strangely: some with curiosity, some with caution, some with irritation — it seemed not everyone appreciated yesterday’s performance.

"Where’s Khan?" Raven asked in the same voice he’d used with Oliver.

"Where he usually is," answered one of the WDF drones, and, anticipating the next request, went to open the door.

Khan, as usual, was sitting near the far doors, playing cards with his subordinates. Though Raven noted to himself that for the past two days, he hadn’t seen Khan here.

That was strange.

"Oh, Raven!" Khan greeted him with a cheerful smile, waving the hand holding his cards, showing them to everyone around.

The stalker winced at a surge of headache, but forced a weak smile and lifted his hand slightly in response.

"Yeah, yeah, greetings… just don’t shout so loud…" Raven said, responding to Khan’s energetic handshake.

"I see you and Oliver made quite the mark — the whole colony is buzzing about you two! Imagine that, someone actually managed to kill a murder drone! That’s never… that’s never happened before!" the WDF leader continued just as energetically.

Raven was glad the colony was talking about his deeds at the hospital and not about his “heroic night raid.”

"Listen, Khan," the stalker cut in, "that’s all great, but I’ve got a personal request for you."

"I’m listening," Khan replied calmly.

"I, uh… how to put it… I managed to get myself some food supplies. Real food. But it needs to be stored somewhere cold, preferably somewhere spacious. Got anything in mind?"

Khan crossed his arms, stroking his mustache, deep in thought.

"You know… there is one place — the Cryolabs," he said after a minute.

"Cryolabs?" The “labs” part didn’t sit well with him, stirring unpleasant memories. "What kind of lab is that supposed to be?"

"One of the bunker levels," Khan began. "Its real name is ‘Cryosleep Maintenance Laboratory,’ but that’s way too long and complicated. There are cryosleep pods for humans down there. You understand, they never got to use them, and the ones already inside… well… they’ve got another kind of sleep now."

Great — there’s even a freezer-graveyard here.

"But don’t worry, you’ll definitely have enough room — lots of compartments!" Khan tried to steer the subject back to something less unpleasant.

Raven nodded, but curiosity got the better of him.

"By the way, where were you these past two days? I haven’t seen you near the doors."

At this question, Khan tensed, but then gave a crooked smile and tried to sound convincing.

"There was a small incident, right in the Cryolabs," he said, rubbing his neck, "but it’s all fine now! So you can safely use the place. Here’s how to get there…"

B-r-r-r, it's freezing in here, and they’ve cut the lights too.

Raven was walking from the elevator toward Cryolabs through the laboratory, looking for a place to put the food containers. Thanks to the exoskeleton he was wearing over his uniform, he could easily carry two heavy portable refrigerators.

The corridors were minimally lit — only by red emergency lights and the monitors displaying readings. The atmosphere reminded him of the cultists’ bunker, only cleaner and colder.

Turning a corner, he saw an entrance to a section with cryosleep capsules. Above the door hung a sign that read “CRYOSLEEP №2” with two monitors on either side.

Raven entered the room and saw numerous capsules lined up on both sides of the passage. All of them contained humans — or rather, their skeletons.

The sheer number of people in cryosleep even before the core explosion made him wonder what this bunker had been used for before the drones moved in.

His questions, however, quickly faded as he passed through this section into the next. There, there was more space and more capsules, some of which were empty.

He decided to use this area as a sort of “wine cellar.” After placing the containers along the far wall, he went back to the elevator for another pair — there were many refrigerators, and the work was tedious.

Carrying container after container, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Raven turned sharply several times but saw no one.

On his way back to the elevator, the stalker noticed a branch corridor off the main hallways. Curiosity won over his desire to finish moving the containers and sleep, so he took the unexplored corridor.

It led him to another capsule section, but this one was small, with only five capsules: two on the left, two on the right, and the fifth directly across from the entrance against the wall.

It stood out from the others: if the surfaces of the other capsules were glass, this one was metal with a small viewing window at head level; it wasn’t covered in ice and snow like the rest; and… there was a puddle of water beneath it.

" Что ты тут делаешь? (What are you doing here?)" a calm, even voice pulled Raven out of his trance.

He hadn’t even realized he was approaching the cryosleep capsule.

Shaking his head, he turned to the source of the voice.

A worker drone with short purple hair and gloomy neon-red eyes stood in the passage. Two things made this female-appearing drone stand out — her outfit — a black helmet, white gloves, and a white coat with a badge around her neck — and the fact that she spoke Russian.

Well, looks like I’ve gathered all the Sokolovs’ Pokémon

" Ева Соколова, я полагаю? (Yeva Sokolova, I presume?)" Raven asked in Russian.

" Откуда знаешь? (How do you know?)" Yeva raised one digital eyebrow in surprise.

" Мужа твоего знаю, он про тебя рассказывал (I know your husband. He told me about you)," Raven said, shrugging awkwardly.

Yeva continued staring at him silently, probably expecting an answer to her first question.

" Мне Хан сказал сюда холодильники с едой переносить, так что… вот (Khan told me to move the food refrigerators here, so… here)," Raven finally answered.

" Я не вижу у тебя холодильников сейчас. А в этом отделе лаборатории места для них не хватит (I don’t see any refrigerators with you right now. And this lab section doesn’t have enough space for them)," said the red-eyed drone monotonously, with hints of distrust and suspicion.

" Ладно-ладно, каюсь, - интересно стало. Уже ухожу (Alright, alright, I confess — got curious. I’m leaving now)," Raven raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

Yeva continued to watch him suspiciously, hands on her hips. When Raven headed toward the elevator, she followed at a short distance.

The sound of his metal-soled boots and Yeva’s soft barefoot steps — those were the only noises Raven heard while moving the containers from the elevator to the second cryosleep section. She didn’t speak a word the entire time — just watched him with her frowning, suspicious red eyes.

" Слушай, я понял, что у вас там какие-то секреты - больше лезть не буду. Может, хватит за мной хвостиком ходить? (Look, I get it, you have secrets here — I won’t pry. Can you stop tailing me?)" Raven finally said, stopping in front of Sokolova.

Yeva ignored him.

" Да, я, может, подозрительно выгляжу, но сейчас я хочу просто все эти чёртовы контейнеры куда-то перенести и всё. (Yeah, I might look suspicious, but right now I just want to move all these damn containers somewhere and that’s it.)"

Yeva stayed silent. Her expression didn’t change at all.

" Вы, госпожа Соколова, сама разговорчивость, я так посмотрю (Madam Sokolova, you’re really the talkative type, I see)," the stalker said with a grin.

" Я не хочу с тобой разговаривать, человек (I don’t want to talk to you, human)," Yeva replied calmly.

The grin quickly faded from Raven’s face, and his eyebrows furrowed. Her straightforwardness surprised him, and he silently turned on his heels and continued moving the containers.

Technically speaking… does this count as a woman refusing me?

The question went unanswered as Raven worked in silence.

Yeva continued following him, observing. Even when he reached the elevator, she stayed nearby.

" Ну (Well)," Raven addressed the red-eyed drone once inside the elevator, " спасибо, что составила компанию - хорошо помолчали (thanks for keeping me company — we had a good silent ride)."

Yeva only rolled her eyes.

Just before the elevator doors closed, Raven managed to read what was on Yeva’s badge.

Besides the photo and name, there were numbers.

Or a number.

048.

Raven watched silently as the meat sizzled quietly in the pan, swallowing his saliva. The last time he’d eaten meat had been a week ago, and real meat — it was terrifying to think about.

Next to him stood an open bottle of cold beer, from which he took a sip. Maybe drinking alcohol the day after waking up in a bathtub in a blackout was a stupid idea — but Raven didn’t care.

Just as he was plating his dinner, the doorbell rang — the one he had been waiting for all day.

"I'm coming, I’m coming!" the stalker shouted after pressing the doorbell a few more times.

It seemed the guest wanted to get the visit over as quickly as possible.

When Raven opened the door, there was no one at eye level, making him think for a moment that some drones were playing a prank on him.

Then he remembered who his guest was and lowered his gaze slightly.

Uzi stood in the doorway, gripping the straps of her backpack with little wings, her perpetually irritated eyes staring up at him.

"Good evening," the stalker said, stepping aside to let Uzi inside.

"Yeah, hey," she replied in her usual tone.

Raven returned to the living room combined with the kitchen and sat at the table, where a juicy beef steak with cold beer was waiting for him.

"Looks like you cleaned up today and can actually stand straight," she said mockingly, watching him sit down and pick up a fork and knife… military issue.

"All for you, my dear emo-friend," Raven replied, cutting a piece of meat and spearing it with his fork.

"We’re not friends, human," Uzi said more sharply. The very thought of friendship with him disgusted her. How could she ever be friends with him? No way.

"Uh-huh," the stalker murmured, chewing his meat.

"Look, I didn’t come here to chat — where are the parts you promised me?"

"There, in that…" Raven swallowed the meat and pointed with his fork over Uzi’s shoulder, "in that room, a cardboard box labeled ‘Electronic Junk’ or something like that."

Uzi turned and walked back toward the apartment entrance. To the left of the front door was a passage to the wardrobe, which the stalker used as a storage room.

Opening the door and flicking the switch, she saw what the stalker kept there: his armor, a rifle, two metal crates, and the box she needed.

Bending down to pick it up, she froze at what lay next to it.

"ROBO-GOD!" Uzi’s high-pitched voice rang throughout apartment №013.

Raven flinched in surprise and moved the fork with meat away from his mouth.

"What are you screaming about?" he asked calmly.

"It’s true!" The purple-haired drone appeared before him, holding K’s head. "That walking archetype of a school b[GLITCH SOUND]ch didn’t lie!"

Raven watched as Uzi examined the murder-drone’s head from all angles with childlike curiosity.

"What archetype is that?" he asked, taking a sip from his bottle.

"Lizzy, who else," she said without looking at him.

"Lizzy, Oliver Fitzgerald’s daughter? Didn’t think you knew each other."

"We were classmates. But let that blonde br[GLITCH SOUND]t bite me."

Raven just shrugged and continued chewing — his opinion of Lizzy wasn’t so critical, maybe due to limited interaction, who knows.

Uzi jumped up to the table, still holding the head in her hands.

"How did you kill him? What are his weaknesses? What’s he afraid of? Is he sentient? How does he taste…" Uzi began bombarding the stalker with questions with obsessive energy.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Raven tried to cool her down, "take it easy: I’ve got a brain, not a superprocessor, I don’t process questions that fast."

Uzi, who had been swaying in excitement, stopped and returned to her usual "perpetually uninterested in everything" look.

"Ahem," she coughed, "uh… how was it again?"

"Well," Raven began, "we arrived at the hospital, there was this clown sitting there, then he wanted to perform an autopsy on Oliver, and then we performed it on him."

He threw another piece into his mouth, chewing deliberately and pausing.

"And then!?" Uzi wanted to hear what happened next, though she tried not to show it.

"The autopsy showed — the patient was asleep. We stuffed this murder drone with acid, that’s why only the head remained. Oh, and its sword too."

Her eyes widened at the word, and she quickly ran back to the wardrobe-storage.

She came out holding a scalpel-sword, grinning evilly and laughing maniacally.

This made Raven smile and chuckle quietly, as the sword was almost as big as Uzi herself.

"What’s so funny, human?" she aimed the sword at him, but couldn’t hold it long, and the blade quickly dropped to the floor.

"Nothing, just you look funny with that sword…" Raven said, covering his mouth with a fist and grinning wider.

"Funny? Intimidating!" Uzi posed proudly. "Mess around too much — and I’ll chop your head off."

"Pick it up first, then threaten me, you purple miracle."

"Ahem, seems like you came for parts, not to play with my trophies," the stalker reminded her.

"Uh, yeah," Uzi realized she got carried away and tried to return to her usual look, "I remember, no need to remind me."

"Yes, yes, always welcome."

"Bite me!"

Uzi disappeared into the corridor again and finally returned some time later, holding an open box.

Squinting, she looked at him.

"Did you just decide to grab a box of junk from someone’s apartment?"

"Do I know what those parts for your nuclear reactor look like?" the stalker protested, annoyed at her complaint about the contents of the box he’d obtained with so much effort. "Take it, sort it."

Uzi, frowning, didn’t comment. She glanced around the living room, went to the recently acquired couch by the wall, and climbed onto it, tucking her legs under her.

"Hey, don’t go on furniture with dirty shoes! Take them off like a decent person!" the stalker said jokingly, getting up from the table and heading to the sink to wash his plate.

"Did you see this couch? My boots won’t make it worse."

To prove her point, she slapped the couch several times, making the springs squeak loudly and raising a cloud of dust.

Raven just shrugged.

"Alright — you’re right," he admitted.

"Of course, I’m always right," Uzi said with a small victorious smile, beginning to unpack the box.

Amid the running water and her quiet complaints about "the dumb meatbag who can’t tell a supercapacitor from a regular one," Raven stood for a few minutes.

"Damn, not even a third of what’s needed is here!" Uzi exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "Do you even know electronics?"

"Listen, Button," the stalker began, opening a second bottle of beer, "I’m a stalker, not an engineer. Your capacitors, your resistors — they all look the same to me. Sorry, but I can’t send you a photo and ask what’s what."

He took another sip, expecting a furious reaction from Uzi.

But she didn’t respond.

She leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms — one of her habits, as Raven noted.

"Damn, if you want something done, do it yourself," Uzi said after a minute, "you’ll have to register with Dronegram — it’s available anywhere in the city, don’t ask how. But your OS on that PDA is so ancient I’ll have to update it too."

Raven just shrugged.

"You need the parts — not me."

"We have an agreement!"

"What agreement?" came a voice from the corridor.

Uzi froze, eyes wide in surprise. Raven nearly choked on his beer when he heard Khan’s voice from the corridor. How he hadn’t heard him before was unclear, maybe he was too relaxed.

"Dad?!" Uzi shouted. "What are you doing here?!"

"I have the same question for you," Khan said calmly. "And another: what’s this agreement with that human?"

"I… there’s no agreement, I was joking!" Uzi tried to justify herself, shielding the radio parts with her back.

"You? Joking to a human while at his home? I don’t believe it," Doorman said coldly.

"Have you ever believed me…?" Uzi muttered to herself while Khan ignored the human behind her and moved closer to see what she was hiding.

Pushing his daughter aside, he saw the electronics on the couch, and the puzzle clicked in his mind.

"As I thought — you didn’t just help him for nothing, right?" Khan accused.

"Yes, not for nothing!" the purple-eyed girl shouted. "Why should I help him for free? He’s human, don’t forget. We’re here because of people. I don’t know why you forgot all this so fast. Unlike you, Dad, I want to actually help the colony, not hide behind three doors like a coward. I…"

"Stop yelling at your father!" Khan barked. "You don’t understand! How many times must I repeat that your idea to destroy murder drones is stupid and pointless? Raven only managed to kill one because that drone was a lone psycho. Don’t be naive, Uzi, and don’t embarrass me in front of someone who’s actually doing something useful."

Khan’s low, cold voice made Uzi step back. Raven noticed her lowering her head and trembling slightly.

The stalker was tired of the circus and of Khan treating his daughter this way. Uzi wasn’t an angel, but he couldn’t watch her being humiliated, especially in front of him.

"Do you know what, Khan," Raven started, approaching the drone from behind, "don’t you think you’ve gone too far? How did she offend you? That you don’t like her idea? Those are your problems. Instead of asking her what she’s building, you immediately call it useless. I think Uzi has more potential to do for Outpost 3 than all of WDF combined. And I suggested finding the missing components for her myself — so she’s not at fault here."

Khan clenched his jaws and fists in anger.

"Why did you come here to yell at your daughter?" Raven continued coldly.

"Don’t forget, human, I gave you this apartment," Khan tried appealing to past favors, but it didn’t help.

"Why did you come?" Raven firmly articulated each word.

Khan clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, then exhaled.

"I wanted to ask you to train my fighters how to fight properly. You’re a soldier, and you know how murder drones fight. You have way more experience in this than we do. That’s why I came," Khan said quickly, lowering his gaze.

Raven straightened and looked at Uzi. She stared at him with a strange mix of emotions: shock, offense, puzzlement… and gratitude?

Raven sighed and shook his head.

"That’s where the conversation should start. Fine — I’ll train your idiots, show them which way the rifle shoots. But more detail tomorrow. Now… please leave."

Khan left under Raven’s heavy gaze. Raven looked at the entrance with mixed feelings until a metal fist hit his shoulder.

"Who asked you to interfere? I could handle it myself — without your help!" Uzi said angrily.

"Yeah, I saw how you managed," Raven frowned, rubbing the spot. "You just stood there, couldn’t even say a word."

"I didn’t ask you to talk about it."

"I wanted to myself! Can you imagine?" Raven spread his hands, angry that instead of gratitude, he got petty accusations.

"We haven’t known each other long, and you clearly don’t like me, but that doesn’t stop me from standing on your side. Especially since your father is an idiot who can’t see beyond his doors and doesn’t understand you can’t always sit back. I couldn’t calmly watch him yell at you while you trembled like a wet kitten. Sorry for being sympathetic to someone who was still considered a child recently."

Uzi blushed and looked away.

"Well, I don’t think your project is a waste of time. If it helps kill demons, I’m ready to risk my skin. I just still don’t understand what you’re building, but fine."

"Railgun…" Uzi whispered.

"What?" Raven didn’t understand.

"I’m building a railgun. Against murder drones," she said a bit louder. Her voice lacked irony, sarcasm, or usual audacity.

Now, a regular girl with a jerk of a father stood before him, who probably wasn’t accepted by society, hence her sociopathic tendencies. And a human defended her — the one she should hate for many reasons. Yet Uzi felt a rare emotion. 

Gratitude.

"Hey, Raven…" the drone called, "I… um…"

"Yes, yes, I’m listening."

"Well… sorry for being harsh sometimes, and… thanks…" she said quietly, awkwardly tapping her fingers.

Raven considered jokingly repeating, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned to her level and placed his shoulder on her hand.

"Hey, Uzi, don’t. I did what anyone would do. And your harshness… it’s justified. My kind behaved like real idiots toward yours—no wonder you dislike me, but… there are always exceptions. If you need advice, help, or just ears, my doors are always open."

Uzi stared at his scarred face, the two most prominent: one from chin to neck, another parallel to the left ear. She studied his dark green eyes. 

Human eyes never lie, she’d read, and they are the mirror of the soul. 

Raven didn’t lie.

For the first time in a long while, Uzi smiled at him — warmly and without mockery.

"Enough with the niceties, or you’ll get used to it and think you’re a soft idiot," Raven said, leveling himself.

"Even so, you’re an idiot," Uzi said, still smiling, "even your name is stupid."

"It’s a nickname," the stalker parried.

"Besides," Uzi grinned wider, trying to dispel the recent awkwardness with her usual teasing, "are you some wanted criminal? And why Raven?"

Raven shrugged.

"I like ravens — that’s why the nickname stuck," the stalker joked. "And my real name…"

Raven thought. No one had called him by his real name for a long time; not that he hid it… In the Zone, nicknames are common; real names are only used by those you trust. 

The stalker had little faith in humans for a long time, but... 

He was the only human here, right?

"Alexander," Raven said calmly. "Alexander Radchenko, nice to meet you." He extended his hand.

Uzi ignored her past, but this time responded.

"Uzi Doorman, likewise, Ale… Aleg…" Uzi couldn’t pronounce it.

"Alex. You’ll be Alex."

"Alex it is," Raven shrugged, outwardly calm. 

Inside, however, something tightened at the word. 

Alex.

Chapter Text

Standing in front of the door to the former school principal’s office, which now served as the battalion headquarters, he adjusted his uniform and the peaked cap he hadn’t worn in months, preferring a regular helmet instead. After knocking, he heard permission to enter.

The desk inside was cluttered with papers and maps, and a radio station sat in the corner. On the wall hung a huge map of Chornorussia, divided into zones of responsibility for peacekeeping contingents from various countries, while areas controlled by the Red Front of Chornorussia were marked with red hatching. Behind the battalion commander’s chair hung a blue-and-yellow flag and the flag of the United Nations Alliance.

The commander’s chair was turned with its back to the entrance, so the newcomer could not see who was sitting there.

The man standing at attention saluted.

"Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, Senior Lieutenant Radchenko …" the lieutenant began, but was interrupted.

"At ease, lieutenant, the lieutenant colonel isn’t here," replied an unfamiliar voice in Ukrainian belonging to the person in the chair.

The unknown man turned to face the officer. He was a man of about fifty, with graying hair and a classic suit, which looked rather out of place against the military surroundings and contrasted sharply with the lieutenant’s usual view of people in army camouflage.

"Where’s the battalion commander?" the man tensed — something felt off, he could already sense it.

"Gennady Stepanovych is not needed for our conversation," said the “suit” in a conspiratorial, slightly quiet voice. "Close the door and have a seat — we’ll have a long talk."

Senior Lieutenant Radchenko considered turning and leaving, but he knew he couldn’t avoid the conversation so easily. So he did as the man asked and sat opposite him.

The man, scratching his freshly shaved chin, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Do you smoke, lieutenant?" he asked.

"I won’t say no," the soldier accepted the offer.

The stranger pulled a pack of Marlboro from his pocket. This made the officer even more uneasy, but he lit a cigarette anyway.

"Senior Lieutenant Oleksandr Radchenko. Commander of the 2nd Assault Squad. Awarded multiple times for acts of heroism, both with state honors and one foreign award — the Order of the ‘National Hero of Chornorussia’," the stranger recited the officer’s accolades. "I see you’re no shrinking violet and clearly selfless."

"And what’s your point? And who are you, anyway?" Radchenko was already growing tired of the conversation and wanted to hear what was expected of him.

"Hmm, you’re a man of action, not words, right?" the man smirked. "Tell me, Senior Lieutenant Radchenko…"

The stranger interlaced his fingers and propped his chin on them.

"Are you a patriot, Oleksandr Petrovych?" he asked, then his smile widened and he squinted. "Or is it more familiar when people call you… by your stalker nickname?"

"W-what?.. How do you …?" Raven was stunned by these words.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man stood and extended his hand to the stalker. "Tarnavskyi Svyatoslav Kostiantynovych, Colonel of the Security Service of Ukraine."

Near the gates of Outpost-3 it was unusually crowded with drones.
Forty-four drones in winter jackets with WDF patches huddled close together, whispering nervously. Most of them hadn’t been on the surface since before the Invasion — the arrival of the Murder Drones on Copper-9. Some were seeing the dead surface of their home planet for the first time.

They wouldn’t have come here voluntarily, but this was Khan’s order. As they understood, a human would be training and teaching them combat.

Only … where was that human?

The bunker doors screeched and began to open.
A white APC rolled out and started approaching the worker drones.

When the armored vehicle stopped, the drones lined up in a sort of corridor — twenty-two on each side of the APC’s ramp.

The ramp lowered, and from the troop compartment stepped a tall man clad in a gray exoskeleton, under which the “Olive” uniform could be seen.

He looked over the drones, who were staring at him with curiosity, then coughed into his fist near the gas mask — more of a theatrical gesture than a practical one.

"ATTEN-TION! STAND STILL!" Raven’s loud command thundered across the area.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to give formation orders.

The drones quickly obeyed — after all, the WDF had something like formations too, and Khan sometimes gave similar commands. Besides, older generations still had old protocols from the times of serving humans.

Raven, seeing how quickly they complied, chuckled with satisfaction.

"Heh, look at that — not all is lost yet," he muttered under his breath.

Stepping out of the APC, he clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked through the corridor formed by the drones, glancing at each one.

Their expressions varied: tense, curious, calm — some feared him, but most were simply waiting to see what came next.

Reaching the end of the corridor, the stalker turned back, walked to the middle, and stood between the ranks.

"Well then, comrades toasters, greetings!" he began cheerfully in a loud voice.

The drones stayed silent.

"When someone greets you, you answer ‘Greetings!’" Raven barked, clearly annoyed by the silence.

In response came a many-voiced "Greetings!" He nodded and continued.

"So, from now on, I am your commander. You’ll address me as ‘Comrade Captain’ or just ‘Captain.’ No ‘human,’ and God forbid, no ‘Raven!’" His commanding bass echoed off the walls of the nearby buildings. "Before we begin your ‘intensive combat training,’ remember one thing: I’m not your buddy or your pal — I’m your commander. And my orders you will follow quickly, precisely, and without question. I say jump — you’ll jump, I say lie down — you’ll lie down, I say go kiss a Murder Drone — you’ll kiss it. Clear?"

A quiet chuckle came from the formation, but the stalker’s ears didn’t miss it. He snapped around, spotting one of the drones covering his mouth with his hand. Once noticed, the worker drone snapped back into attention.

The stalker read the name from the patch on his jacket and began walking slowly toward him.

"Swofford!" Raven called.

"Sir, yes, sir!" the drone responded sharply.

"Did your bastard of a father live through the Invasion?" Raven shouted, closing in.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Swofford rattled off.

"Good, did he have the guts to die during it?" Raven now stood face-to-face.

"Sir, no, sir!"

"Pathetic. Did he ever tell you about the Murder Drones?"

"Sir, only once, sir!"

"Good, so he wasn’t lying."

Raven shifted slightly to Swofford’s side, while the drone kept staring straight ahead.

"You making eyes at me, boy? Are you?" Raven asked right by his audio sensor.

"Sir, no, sir!"

"You in love with me, Swofford?"

"Sir, no, sir!"

"So you think this exoskeleton doesn’t suit me, Swofford?"

"Sir, you look magnificent in armored exoskeleton, sir!"

"Aha, so you are in love with me, huh?!"

"Sir, I didn't fall in love with you, sir!"

"You got a girlfriend, Swofford?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Wrong, you bastard — while you’re slacking here, some civvies are screwing her! Drop and give me twenty-five for every bolt shoved into her this month! Face down, now!"

The drone obeyed and began doing push-ups.

Raven tried to stifle his laughter — his long-time dream of reenacting a scene from an old American movie had just come true.

Returning to the center, he began pacing back and forth between the ranks.

"Tell me, do you know what’s the most important thing in the army?" he asked in a calmer tone.

The drones exchanged glances, and someone dared to answer.

"To shoot straight!" came a voice from the crowd.

"Wrong! Twenty-five push-ups! Even if you can’t shoot, the army will still find a place for you. Any other answers?"

The drones were more reluctant now, but one brave soul spoke up.

"Not to fear the enemy!"

"Wrong! Twenty-five push-ups! You can piss yourself from fear — but the order you still must carry out! Come on, don’t disappoint me!"

"Discipline!" another voice shouted.

"Who said that?!" Raven’s eyes scanned the ranks sharply.

"Me!" a WDF drone with neon-blue eyes answered loudly.

"What’s your name, son?" the man asked, stepping toward him.

"Ritch, sir!" the drone snapped, saluting.

"Correct! There are smart heads among you, and Ritch is proof!" Raven praised him.

"Discipline — that’s the backbone of any army!" the man explained. "Without discipline, you’re not an army, just a bunch of clowns. But Khan asked me to turn you into a force — and I will. You won’t just be guards and doorstops; you’ll be the ones guarding the future of Outpost-3! The ones who’ll stand at the vanguard against the Murder Drones! And your name will be — Squad 44!"

A wave of excitement and awe swept through the crowd.

The news of a victory over one of the demons had caused a furor in the colony, and many realized that the devil wasn’t as frightening as he was painted.

Outpost-3 now had hope that, with proper training and resources, they could reclaim the surface with fire and steel.

"But before that, we’ll teach you discipline," Raven cooled the drones’ enthusiasm. "One by one to the APC for your gear and line up in twos! We’re doing a 10 km forced march in full kit!"

Squad 44’s mood visibly dropped at this.

"What’s with the sad faces?! DOUBLE-TIME, MARCH!"

"Move it, move those servos, Swofford!" Raven yelled at the drone that had stumbled on the obstacle course.

It was the seventh day of “intensive combat training,” which mostly consisted of physical and moral preparation. If there were doubts about whether drones even needed the physical part, there were none about the moral one. At the very least, the drones at least had to get used to the eccentricities of their commander, who trained them according to the precepts of his native army — which was not much different from the Soviet one in his time — and with the addition of vocabulary from American films.

And, of course, the poor WDF recruits had to get used to operating under fire, because when on the third day Raven fired a burst from the turret into the sky during a march, they all dropped flat, nearly handing their souls to Robo-God.

Still, Raven kept glancing at the tables with rifles laid out, already anticipating firearms training.

"Why are you lying down, toaster’s son?! A murder drone won’t wait while you nap on the ground! Move it, move it!" Raven kept barking at the future members of Squad 44.

" Слушай, а ты не перегибаешь палку? Может, нужен более… педагогический подход? (Hey, don’t you think you’re overdoing it? Maybe a more… pedagogical approach is needed?)" asked Dmitry, who was sitting on the APC’s armor nearby.

"There’s no other way," Raven replied, sitting next to him and sipping cognac from his flask through the drinking valve, the alcohol keeping him warm in the cold. "My father went through it in the army, I went through it, and they will too."

"You were in the army back when drones weren’t even sketches on a blueprint. It’s 3070 now, not your… what was it, 2020?" countered Oliver, also sitting nearby and observing his colleagues’ training.

He wasn’t running with the others because Raven had “individual lessons” for him. According to Raven’s plan — as the future commander of Squad 44 — Oliver was to become his deputy. So Oliver’s focus was on tactics and organization.

"Oh, don’t be so soft," Raven waved off his drone companions. "I’m treating them with love, you should be thankful you’ve got a young, progressive officer like me and not some ‘father-commander’ of Soviet mold."

" Что, все еще хуже бывает? (What, it gets even worse than this?)" Dmitry smirked, glad that Khan hadn’t assigned him to this “Squad 44,” meaning Raven wouldn’t be his commander.

Not that he thought Raven was a bad guy — quite the opposite, they’d become friends quickly enough — but his current position as Khan’s deputy in the WDF suited him just fine.

"I’m not making them scoop water out of puddles during rain, or paint grass green in winter," Raven explained.

" Трава? Где ты тут траву увидел? Тут снег один уже лет… много, в общем. (Grass? Where do you see grass here? It’s been nothing but snow for… well, a lot of years)," Sokolov muttered.

"Exactly!" Raven took another swig and pointed his finger at Dmitry. "I told my company commander the same thing, and that bastard gave me ten extra duties. Said, ‘Too damn smart, are we?’"

The memory of being just another grunt made Raven grimace, and he took another gulp from the flask.

"Yeah… sounds like you had fun," Oliver commented.

The three of them sitting on the APC fell silent for a while, their quiet broken now and then by Raven’s shouts. Eventually, Raven hopped off the APC and went to explain something to the recruits.

Dmitry leaned back, staring at the sky covered in eternal gray clouds, through which rare rays of sunlight sometimes broke.

" Да… красиво тут, на поверхности. Даже несмотря на разрушения. (Yeah… it’s beautiful up here, on the surface. Even with all the ruins)," Dmitry said dreamily, folding his hands behind his head.

"True," Oliver agreed, tilting his head back toward the sky. "And the nights we used to have here! I remember, me and Kipri used to sneak up to the rooftops when nobody was watching, just to look at the stars… ah, those were the days."

Oliver closed his eyes nostalgically, lost in memories.

" А ты у нас романтик, Оли (You’re quite the romantic, Oli)," Dmitry chuckled. " я Еву в Лагере 98.7 встретил, там же и Хан свою жену встретил. У нее с памятью какие-то проблемы были, но… но как-то нашли общий язык. Хотя не удивительно - она тоже на русском говорит. (I met Yeva in Camp 98.7. That’s where Khan met his wife too. She had some memory issues, but… we still found a way to connect. Not surprising — she spoke Russian as well.)"

While the two drones reminisced about how they’d met their wives, Raven had already lined the drones up before the tables with rifles.

Well — before one table. He stood behind it, and in front of him, forty-four drones stood and sat in a half-circle, waiting for him to begin.

For the first time in the whole course, they were going to work with real weapons. Of course, they had held rifles while running before, and the WDF had its own arsenal for its more experienced members.

But still, everyone was eager to move on to the most exciting part of training.

First, though, they would have to learn how to disassemble and reassemble a weapon.

"Alright, comrades toasters," Raven said loudly, sweeping the group with his gaze. "What do you see before you?"

He raised the rifle in his hands so everyone could get a good look.

"Uh…" one drone opened his mouth, then hesitated, knowing their commander’s temper. "A… rifle?"

Raven stared at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded, to the drone’s relieved sigh.

"Yes, a rifle — but not just any rifle. This is the ARX-616, Uncle Sam’s last gift before he kicked the bucket. But remember! A weapon is an extension of yourself, a part of you. The rifle is your mother, your guardian, your sister, or your girlfriend — take your pick. If you don’t take care of it, it’ll jam at the worst possible moment. That’s why, before we move on to firearms training tomorrow, you’ll first learn how to take it apart."

And with that, Raven got to work.

He removed the magazine, checked the chamber, pulled off the receiver, extracted the bolt carrier group, and so on.

The drones watched in fascination at the speed with which the human worked.

"And that’s it," he said once the ARX was field-stripped for cleaning. "Got it? Now I’ll put it back together and walk you through each step. Clear?"

The drones replied in unison, "Yes, sir!"

"Excellent. Fall in at the weapons!" Raven ordered, and the rest scattered to the tables with the other ARX-616s.

"Guys, please, don’t!" the stalker in the “Sunrise” suit pleaded with the men surrounding him.

"Shut your mouth, you damn violator!" one of them replied to the plea by striking him in the teeth with the butt of his weapon, taking a swig beforehand.

The stalker fell onto the damp ground, quietly wheezing and spitting out blood.

On the small clearing around the unfortunate stalker stood five men in black “Bulat” armor suits, armed with modified NATO rifles.

A sixth man in black armor stood a little apart from the group guarding both the stalker and the perimeter. He was rummaging through a courier’s backpack, searching for something, while a PDA with open messages and a contract signed “Client” lay nearby.

"Guys, guys! I’m just a courier — I was told to take something from point A to point B, that’s all!" the stalker wheezed, his speech slurred by the knocked-out teeth.

"Yeah, sure, all of you are just couriers, we know that type," came a cold, mocking tone from one of the men, whose shoulder bore the Perimeter Security Forces patch.

"Got it," the sixth man said evenly, raising a bundle of documents above his head.

He straightened up and reached for the radio on his vest.

"Athens, this is Herodotus-1, over," he said into the radio.

"Herodotus-1, this is Athens. Report, over," came the reply.

"The courier has been neutralized. Target status: as previously reported, over."

"Excellent, Herodotus-1. Return to base, understood? Over."

Herodotus-1 looked at the courier lying on the wet ground, a growing pool of blood beneath him from his shot knees. The man stared up at the soldier with pleading eyes, whispering something softly.

Herodotus-1 didn’t hear it, averting his gaze under the helmet.

"Athens, what about the courier?" the soldier asked.

"Herodotus-1, proceed according to standard protocol for perimeter violators during field operations, understood? Over."

"Understood, Athens. Protocol is protocol. Out."

Herodotus-1 hung up the radio and stashed the courier’s PDA and documents in his backpack.

He began to approach him.

Seeing the empty lenses of Herodotus-1’s gas mask, the courier realized what awaited him and tried to crawl away.

Other members of the Herodotus squad laughed as they blocked his escape, forcing the courier onto his shot knees and holding him tightly.

"Please! Don’t! I’ll give everything! I’ve got a stash! There are tons of valuable artifacts there! Please!" the stalker screamed, his voice breaking into hysteria.

"What did Athens say, captain?" one of the men holding the courier asked, already knowing the answer.

Herodotus-1 silently looked at the “Vortex” anomaly nearby. Anything that fell in it instantly shrank to the size of a golf ball and then exploded into a bloody fireworks display.

In that silent glance, everyone understood, causing predatory smiles under their gas masks, while the stalker struggled even more.

"I… I have a wife! Kids! Please! Be human!" the stalker begged again, realizing it wouldn’t help.

"You should have thought earlier. About your wife, and your kids too," Herodotus-1 said coldly, calmly reaching for his holster. "Now — accept death with dignity, like a man."

He aimed his Colt 1911 straight at the stalker’s forehead.

A second.

A shot.

Then Raven’s eyes shot open.

He was sitting in the exoskeleton, helmet off, on the couch — he had fallen asleep from exhaustion, which was not surprising, given that he was combining raids and Squad 44 training.

But he felt a weight in his right hand.

He was gripping his Colt 1911, with the letter “В*” carved into the wooden grip — a pistol given to him by his mentor, Vulture, when he first entered the Zone.

Raven tossed the gun to the other side of the couch, where several empty glass bottles lay.

He grabbed his head with both hands — something was squeezing it so hard it gave him a migraine, his vision blurred. His heart pounded, his breathing was ragged, cold sweat poured down him, and his chest felt tight — all of it hitting him at once.

It only got worse.

On top of the nightmares that plagued him nightly came hallucinations — both visual and auditory.

It’s your fault.

You killed them.

It’s your fault.

Your fault.

" Заткнись… (Shut up…)" Raven hissed, clutching his head tighter.

He couldn’t tell where the voices came from.

Or rather — the voices.

Female, male, children, old — he heard them all around him, but most of all — as if from inside his own head.

He also saw silhouettes at the edge of his vision.

Black. Human-shaped. Formless. Just blotches that shouldn’t exist.

A dark corridor flashed before his eyes.

Then a wooden door.

Then the voices intensified.

Fix.

Save.

Find.

" Заткнись… уйди… молчи… (Shut up… go away… be silent…)" Raven could only whisper.

Then the voices screamed in unison:

F̴̡͠I҈̡͠N̵̨͞D҈̡҇.̴̧͡F҉̨͡I̵̧͝N҈̨͝Ḑ̶͝.̷̧͝F҈̧̕I̷̢҇N̴̢͡D҈̧͝.̵̢̕F̷̢̛I̵̡̕N҈̡͠D̴͜͠.̶̧͞F̶̡҇Į̸͞N̸̡͝D҉̕͢.҉̨̛F̶̕͜I̴͜͞N̴̨͝D̸̡͡.̷̢҇F̷̡͝I̶͜͡N̶̡͠D̷̢͠.̸͜͠F̸҇͢I̵҇͢N̴̢͠D̵͢͠.̸̧͡F҈̨͠I҈̡͝N̴̛͜D҈͢͡.̸̨̕F̸̛͢I̸̧͞N҉̡̛D҉̧͝.̶҇͢F̵͢͡I҉̡͡N̸̨͠D̶̢̛.̸͢͝F̵̨͝Į̸҇N҈̨͞D̷̕͜.̸̢͠F҈̧͝I̶҇͢N҈̕͢D҉̡͞.̶҇͜F̷̨҇I̴͜͡N҉̡͞D̶̨͝.҈̢͞F̷̡̕I̶̡͝N҈̨̛D̷̢͝.̷̡̕F҈̢͠I̶͜͝N҈̧̛D̵̢̛.̴͢͠F̴̛͢I҉̧͡N҈̢͝Ḑ̵̛.̷̡͞F̵͢͞I̴̢͝N҉̨̕Ḑ̶̛.̶̢̛F̴̨͝I̶̕͢N҈̢҇D̷͢͞.̸̧͠F̴̧͠I̴͜͝N҉̡͠D̸̡͝.̷͜͞F҈̕͜I҉̧̛Ņ̶͝D̵̕͢.̵̨҇F҈̨͞I҈͢͠N҈̢̛D̶͜͝.̴̡͞F̴̢̕I҉̧͞N҈͜͠D̷͢͞.̶̨̕F҈̡̛I̶̛͜N̶̢͡D̶̢͞.̶̛͜F̶̨͞I̵̛͜N̴̡͡D̵̢͝.̷̧̕F̷̨͠I҉͜͝N҈̢̛Ḑ̶͠.҈̡͡F̶̢͝I̴͜͝N҉̢͝D҉̢͞.̶̨͡F҈̢͝I҈͜͞N҉͜͞D̸̡̕.҉̡̕F̴̨͝Į̴̕N̷̡͝Ḑ̸͡.҈͜͝F̸̡͞I̶̛͜N҈̧͡D҉̡͞.҉̧͠F̵̕͜Į̵͡N̷͢͞D̸̛͜.̴͢͡F҈̡͡I̴̡͡N̸̢͡D̸̡͞.҈̛͜F̴̨͠I̴̡͠N̸̨҇D̸̢̕.̵̛͜F҉̧͝I̸̧̕N҉̧̛D̷͜͠.̷̧͡F҉̕͜I̴̡͡N̸͜͡D̶̨͞.̴̡͠F̵̨͠Į̵͝N̴̢͠D̸͜͠.̸̡͝F̶̡͡I̷̧͞N̶̨҇D̸͢͝.҉̢͞F҈̧͞I̸̧҇N҉̡͡D̷̢͝.҉̨̕F̷̨͠I҈҇͢N̵̛͢D̷̢͝.̷̧͞F҈͢͡I̵̢͠N̴͜͝D̷͢͝.̵̨͞F̶҇͢I̵̧͠N̶͢͠D̵̡҇.̴̢̕F̸̨͝I̶̧̛N̸̢͡D̸̕͢.̸̧҇F̸̨̛I̸͜͞N̷̢̕D҈̢͞.̶͜͞F̷̛͢Į̸͝N̸̕͜D̷̛͢.̸̢҇F̴̨͞Į̵̕N̷͜͡D̶̢͞.̵͜͝F̵̢҇I̷̡͞N̸̢͝D̸̡͝.҉͢͞F̴҇͜I҈̢̕Ņ̵͞D̷̨͠.̷̕͢F҈͜͠Į̸͡N҉͜͞D҉̕͢.̸̢͞F҈͜͞I̴҇͜N̴͢͠D҈͜͡.̶̢҇F҉͜͞I҈͜͞N҉̡͠D̵҇͢.҈̢͝F̴̢͝I̶̢̕N҉̡҇D҈̡͞.̵̨͝F҈̧͞I҉̧͡N̶̡̛D̵̢҇.̵̧̛F̸̛͢I̴͢͝N҉̢͞D̷̕͜.̵͜͞F҉̧͞I̸͢͞N҉̧͠D̵̨̛.̶̢͡F̵͜͡I̶̕͢N̴̨҇D̷̨͝.҈͢͠F̴͜͡I̴̛͜Ņ̷̕D̴̡̕.̶̕͜F̷̨͡I̷̛͜N҈̡͡D̸͜͝.̴̢͡F҉̨͞I̷̢͡N̸̨͡D̸̡̛.̴̧͠F̷̡͠I҉҇͜Ņ̴͝D̶̢̕.҈̨̛F҉͜͡I҈̨͠N̴̨͞D̷̡҇.̸̢̛F҉̨҇I̸͢͞N̷̡͞D҉̢̕.̷̧͝F̸̡҇I̴̧̛N҈̡͞D҉̡̕.̴̢͞F̶̢҇I҉̨̕N̵̕͢D̶̡҇.҉͢͡F̵͢͞I̴͜͡N̷̕͜D҈̢҇.̶̛͢F҈̨̛I̴̕͜N̴͜͝D҈̧͞.҉̢̕F̷̢͡I̴͜͠N̸̡̛Ḑ̴͞.̴̡͡F҉̡͡I̷̛͢N҈͢͡D̷̨͞.̷̧͝F̵͢͞I̵̡̕N҈̕͢Ḑ̴͞.̸̧҇F҈̢͠I҉̧͠Ņ̸҇D̵̡͠.̵̨҇F҉̧̛I̶̡̛N̷̢̕D҈͜͝.̶̢̛F̶̨̕I̸̧҇N҉̧̛Ḑ̸͞.҉͜͠F̷̡͞I̷̢͞N̸̡̕D̵̢͝.҉͢͞F̸̧͝Į̴͡N̷̛͜D̷̢҇.̸̛͜F̶̧̕I҈̨͞N̴͢͞D̷͢͝.̸̨̛F̷͢͠I̷̢͝N̷͢͝D̶̛͢.҉̛͜F҈̢͠I҈̛͜N҉̡͞D̴̨͡.҈̡͡F̶̡̛I̴̧͡Ņ̴̛D҈̡͠.̵̢͞F҉̧͝I҈̛͜N̸̡͡D̸̡̕.҈̨͡F̷̢͡I̶̧҇N̷̡̛D҉̧̕.̷̡͡F̵̨҇Į̶͠N̶҇͜D̸̨̛.̵̢͡F̸̡͠I̷͜͞Ņ̷̕D̴̛͜.̶̛͢F̸̨͞I̵̡̛N̴̕͜D̷̡҇.̶̢͝F̶̨͞I̷͢͝N҉̧͡D҉͢͞.̶̨̛F҉̧͝I҈̢҇N̴҇͜D̸̡҇.̴̡͝F̶̕͜Į̵͠N̸͢͠Ḑ̷̕.̸̨҇F̷͜͡I̶҇͢N̸̛͢D̶͜͠.҉̢̛F҉̧̕I҈̢҇N̴͜͞D̵̢̛.̴̢̕F̷̨͞Į̵͠N̷͜͠D̷҇͢.̷̢̛F҈҇͜I̵͜͡N̸͜͠D̸̢̛.҈̧͠F̴͜͠I̴͢͝N̵̨̕D҉̕͜.̶̨͡F̵̧̕Į̷̛N҈͢͡D҉͜͡.̸҇͢F̵̧͠I̸̡҇N̷̨͝Ḑ̵͝.̸͜͡F̴̧̕Į̷͞Ņ̷̕D̴̨̛.̸͜͠F҈̡͠I̸̧͞N҈̧̛Ḑ̴҇.̶̢͠F̴̢͝I̷̕͜N҉̡͞D̵̕͢.҉̨͝F̶̨҇Į̶҇N̶̛͜D̸͜͝.̶̢͝F̸̡͝Į̷͞N̶̢͠D̶͜͞.̶̧̛F̶̢̛I҉̢͡N҈̨͠D̷̢͞.̸̧͡F̷͢͝I҉̨̕N̸̨̛D̶̕͜.̷͢͞F̶̨҇I҈̛͜N̷̕͢D҉̡҇.̸̢͝F̵̧͠I̶̢̛N̸̨͝D̵̢҇.̵̡͡F̸̧̛Į̸͞N҈̡̛D̴̡͠.̸҇͜F̸̛͜I҈͜͠N̶̢͞D̵̢͡.̸̡͞F̴̢͠I҉͢͝Ņ̶̛D̸̡̕.̶͢͝F̷̛͢I̵̢͞N̷͢͠D҉̧͠.̷͜͝F̶̧͞I̸̢͝N̴̢҇D̵̛͜.҈̧҇F̷̡̛I҈̧͠N̷̡͞D҈̡͠.҈̡͠F̵̨̛I҉͜͝N̴̡҇D҉̢͞.̸̡҇F̵͜͡I̷̛͜N̵͢͝D̶҇͢.҈͜͡F҈̨̕I̵͢͠Ņ̴͠D̵̕͢.̵̢͡F̴̨҇I̸͜͠N̴̢̕D̸̛͢.҉̢҇F̷̢͞I̴̡͡N̷̢͠D҈̢҇.̸̧҇F̶҇͢I҉̢͞N҉̨҇D̶͢͝.̵̨҇F̸͢͠I̷͜͡N҉̡͡D̵͢͡.҈͜͠F̵̕͢I҈̢͠N̵̡͝D҉̡͞.̴҇͜F̶̢҇I҉̧̕N̴̕͜D̷̨͡.̸̧̛F̵̛͜I̷̡͠N̸̢̛D̵̢͠.̷̢͠F̵̨͞I҈̢͞N̵҇͢D̷̡͝.̶̕͢F̵̧͞I̶̡҇N̸͜͠D̶̢҇.̸̨̕F҈̨͞I҉̕͜N̸̢̛Ḑ̸͡.҈̢̕F҉̢̕Į̸̕N̵̢͝D̴͜͞.̴̡̕F̴̡͞I҉̧͞N̷̨͡D҉̨͝.҈̡̛F̴̨̕I҉̢͡Ņ̶̕Ḑ̷͡.̵̧͞F̸̨̛I̴҇͢N̴̨҇D̸̨͞.҈̨̛F̴̢͝I҉͜͞N̵̛͜D̶̢͡.̶̨͝F̷̕͜I̶̢̛N̴͢͠D̴̢̕.̴̢͡F҈̢͝I̷̡̕N҈̕͜D҈̢͞.҈̡҇F̷҇͢I҉͜͡N̶̡̕D̸̕͜.̷͢͠F̵҇͢Į̴͠N҈̨͠D҉͜͞.̸̡̕F̶̧҇I̵҇͢N̴͢͡D҉̨̕.҈̧̛F҉҇͢Į̶҇N̶͢͝D̴̢̕.҈͢͡F̴̡͝I̸҇͢N̶̢̛D̴̕͢.҈̡͝F̶͢͞I҈̨͠N҉̧҇Ḑ̶҇.҉̧̕F҈̕͢I҈͢͡Ņ̶̕D҉̡͝.̸̡͝F҈̧̛I҉̕͢Ņ̶͝D̷̕͜.̸̨͠F̵͢͞I̴̕͢N̸̡҇D̸̡̛.̴̨̕F҉̢̛I̸̛͜N̷̢҇D̸̨̕.̷̕͜F̷̨͞Į̶̕N̴̡͞D̸̢̛.̵̡͞F̶̛͜I̷̢̕N̸̡͡D̶̡͡.҈̨̛F҈̧͝I̴͢͠N҈҇͢D̵̡̕.̶͢͞F҉̨̛I̷̧͡Ņ̵̕D̸̢҇.̶̢̕F̶̡͝Į̶͝N̴̨҇D̴̕͢.̵̢̕F̴̢͝I̶͜͞N̶̢̛D̵͜͡.̵̛͢F̶҇͢I҉̕͜N̷̕͜D̷̢̕.̷̕͢F̷͜͝I̴͜͠N̵̨͠D̶̢̕.̸̡̕F̵̨̛I҈̢҇N҈͢͞D̷̨͝.̷͢͡F̶̧͞I̴̢̛N̶̨͞D҉̢̛.̸̢̕F҈͢͡Į̴͝N̸̢̛D̶̡͝.̵̧͡F̶͜͠I̶̢͠N҉̢͠D̶̨͝.̴̛͢F̶̨͡I̴̡҇N҉̡͝D̵͢͠.̶̡̛F̸͜͞I̷̢͞N҈͜͞D̵̨͡.̸͢͝F̸̨̛I҈͜͡N̸̡҇D҉̡̛.̸̨͝F̵̡͡I̴͢͝Ņ̵͝D̷̨͞.̷̨͡F̶̡͞I̸̧̕N̴̢̕D҈̧̕.҉͜͞F̶҇͢I҈҇͢N̶̡̛D̵̛͜.̴̢͞F̷̛͢I҈̧͝N̴͜͞Ḑ̴̕.̴̡͞F҈͢͠I̸̡̕Ņ̷҇D̷̡͝.҉͜͠F̵҇͢I҈͢͞N҉̢͠D̸̡҇.҉̨͞F̵҇͢I̶̢҇N̶̡͝D̷͜͡.҈̡҇F̸̧͞Į̸̕Ņ̶͞D҉͜͝.̸̨҇F̷̕͜I̴̢҇N҈̧͝D̴͢͡.̴̧͠F̴̨͠I҉̨̕N̷̡҇D̶̨͠.̵̡͠F̷̢̛Į̷̛N̸͢͞Ḑ̷̕.̸̨҇F̴̧̛I҉̨͝N̸̨͡D҉̕͢.̸̧̛F̶̨̛I҉̢҇N̷̡҇D҉̡͡.̸̢҇F̸͜͞I̵̧̕N̶̢͠D̷͢͡.҈̧͞F҉̢̛I҈̢̛N̵̕͢D҈̡͞.̸̧͡F҉̧͝I̶̢͡N̷̡͡D̷̨̕.҉̡̕F̵̧͞I̷҇͢Ņ̶͠D̶҇͢.̵̢͞F҈͢͝I̸̛͢N̴̡͞D҉̨͠.̵̡̛F̵̧̕I̶̡͡N̴͢͝D̴̢͞.̴̢҇F̴̢̕I̴҇͢N҉̡͠D҉̨̕.҈̢̕F̷̕͜I҉͜͞N̵̡͝D҉͜͝.̴̨͡F̸̨͝I̸͜͝N̶̢͡D҈̨͡.̶̢̕F҈̧҇I҈҇͜N̴҇͜D̴͜͠.҈̢͝F̵͜͡Į̴͡N҈̡̕D̸̕͜.̶̢̕F̵͢͡I̸̧͞N̵͢͠D̷̨͠.̸҇͜F̸̧҇Į̷̛N҉̕͢D҈̧͡.̵̢͡F҉̨͡I̴̢͡Ņ̵͝D҉̨̕.̶̨͝F̸̧̛I̵̡͠N̴͜͡D̶̨͠.̶̢͝F̴̨̛I҉͜͡N҈͢͝D҉̛͢.̷̧͡F̴̨͞I̸͜͡N̵͢͝D҉̨͡.̴̢̛F̶̢͡I̸̡͠N҉̧͡D҉̨̛.̶̧͡F҈̨͞I҈͢͠N̸̨҇D҈̡͡.҉̡͝F̷̡͞I҉͜͠N̴̨҇D҈͜͞.̷̡͝F̷̨͞I҈͜͡Ņ̷̕D̵̕͢.̸̡͡F҉͢͠I҉̢͡Ņ̵҇Ḑ̴̕.̵͢͞F҉̨͠Į̵҇N҈̧͞D̷̢͝.҉̢̕F̶̧̕I̶̢͝N̴҇͢D̶̨̕.̸̧̕F̶͢͡I̵̕͢N҉̡҇D̸̨̕.̴̧͡F̶̢͡I̴͢͠Ņ̸͡D̶̨͠.̴̡͡F҈̧̛I҉̡͠N̵̨̛D҈̡͠.̶͜͞F̵̛͢I̵̡̕N҉̢͝D̶̢͡.̵̡̛F҈̡̛I̵̢͞N̷̨̕Ḑ̴͞.̷̧͡F̸̨͡I҈̕͢N҈̨͡D̷҇͢.̸̢͡F҈̕͜I̸̧͝N̵͢͞D̴҇͢.̵̡̕F̴͢͠I̸̧͝Ņ̵͝D̸̨͝.̷̛͜F̸̢̕I̶̛͢N҉̨̛Ḑ̴̕.҉̧҇F̴͜͞I̷̡҇Ņ̷҇D҈̛͜.҈̡̛F̴̧̕Į̷͞N̸͢͡D̵̨͞.̴͢͡F̶̨͝Į̵̕N̶̨͞D̶̡͝.̴̢͝F̶̛͜I҉̡͞Ņ̴̛D̶̢͞.̴̨͝F̶̨̛I҈̢͝N̸̡͞D̶̛͜.҉̡̕F̶̛͢I҈̨͡N̷͜͡D̷͢͝.̷̕͜F̷̢͞I҉̡҇N̶̡͝D̵̢͞.̶̢҇F̵̢͞I̶̕͜N̸̨̕D̵̨͠.̵̨͞F̷̢҇I҈̕͜N̷̡͞D̵̕͜.̷̨͞F̷̢͡I҈͜͠N̴̢͝D̴̨҇.̶̢҇F̶̡͞I҈̡҇N҈̧͝D҉͜͞.̷̨҇F҈͜͡I̶̧҇N҉̨͠D̴̨̛.̷̡̕F̴̢͞I̷̢҇N̶͢͠D҈̧͡.̶̧͝F̸̡̕I̴̧͝N҉͢͠D̴͢͠.̷̛͜F҉̨͝I҈̧͡N̶̢͡D̵̕͜.̴̡͝F̵̡̛Į̵҇N҉̧͠D̷̨͡.̴̢҇F҈̨͝I҉҇͜N҈͢͝D̷͜͝.̵̡҇F̵̡͝I̶̡͝N̷҇͜D̶̡͞.̴͢͡F̸̧̛Į̷͞N҈̧̕D̶͢͞.̷͜͠F̴̧͠I̴̡͞N̶̡҇Ḑ̵̛.̴̛͜F҈̢͡I҉̧͞N̴̨͝D̶͜͞.҉̨͠F̶͜͡Į̵͠N̶͢͠D̴҇͢.̶̨̛F̷҇͢I̶̕͜N҉̕͜D҈̢͞.҉̢͡F҉͜͞I҉̧̛N҈҇͢D҈̧҇.҈̡҇F҉̢͡Į̸҇N҈̨͠D̷̨̛.̴͜͞F̴̨҇I̶̢͠N̸̛͢D̶̡͞.̴͢͡F҉̢͠I̷̧̛N̷͢͞D̷̕͜.̸̨͠F̵̡͞I҉̡҇N̵̡͞D̴̢͞.̶͜͡F̴͜͞I҉̢͞Ņ̷҇D҈̧͝.̴̧͝F̷̧̛I҈͢͡N̶̨͡D̸̢̕.̸̛͢F̵̨͡Į̸͞N̶̛͢D҉̨̕.̸̢̕F҉̧͠Į̷҇N̷̡͝Ḑ̵͞.̴̢͝F҈͜͞I̴̡̕N̷̡̛Ḑ̵͡.҈̢͡F҈̡͠I҈̡͝N̴͢͠D̸̨͡.̷̕͢F҈̨̕I҈̢͠N̶̛͜D҉̡҇.̵͜͡F̶̕͜I̷҇͢N̶͢͠D̸͢͝.̴͢͡F̸̧̛I҉̛͢Ņ̷̕D̵̡҇.̶̛͜F҉̨͝I̷̕͢N̷̨҇D̸̢͝.̵̡҇F҈̨̕I̸̢͞N̷͢͡D̵̕͢.̵̢͠F̴̕͢I҈̢̛Ņ̶͞Ḑ̶҇.̶̡͝F̴̢͠I҉̧̛N҉̢̕D̷̨͡.̷̡͡F҈̨͞I̷̡̕N̵̕͜D̵̢͞.҉̢͝F҉̛͢I҈̧͡Ņ̴̛D҉̧҇.̷̢͝F҈̛͢I̷͜͠N҉̛͜D̵̢͡.̷̨͡F҉̢̛I҈̢͞N̸͜͡D҈̢͝.̴̨͞F҉̢͠I̶̢҇N̶̡̛D̷̡͠.̵̢͠F̴̨͡Į̸͞Ņ̶͡Ḑ̵̕.҉̡҇F̷̢͠I҉̧̛Ņ̴҇D̶̨͡.̸̡͝F̵̛͜I̵̢͠N҉͜͝Ḑ̵͠.҉̢̕F҉͜͞I̷̧͝N҈̛͜D̷̡͞.̸͜͡F̶͜͞Į̶͝N҈̛͢D̵͜͞.̸̨̕F̸̢҇Į̶͠N̴̡҇D̵̨͝.҉̢̕F̵̡҇I҈̢͠N̷̡̛D̷̨̛.̷͜͠F̸̧͡I҈̧҇N҈̨̕D̶҇͜.҉̢͡F̷̧̕I̴̧҇N̵͜͞D҉͢͝.̷̨͡F̶̨̕I҈̡҇N̶̕͜Ḑ̵̕.̷̧͡F҈̢͞I̴̢҇N̴͜͡D҈̧͠.̴̧̕F҉̢͡I҈̧͠N̷͜͡D̵͢͡.̶̢̛F҉̡͠I̷͜͞N̵̛͢D̸̢͞.̷͜͝F̶̧̛Į̴͡N̴̡̕Ḑ̴̕.̵̢̕F̷̛͜I̶̧̛N̷҇͜D̸̛͜.̶̨͡F̵҇͢I҈̨҇N҈҇͜D̵̢̕.̴̢͝F̴̧͡I҉̡̛N̶͢͠Ḑ̷͡.̷҇͜F̸̡҇I҉̧͠N̵̡͝D҉̧͠.̴͜͡F҈̡͡I҈͢͠N̵͢͠D҉̨̛.҈͢͡F̷͢͡I̴̧҇N̵̕͢D̷͜͞.҉̢̕F҉҇͢I̴̧̛N҉̨͞D̸̨͡.̷͜͞F̷̢͞Į̶̕N҈̡̛D̴̛͜.̷̡͡F҈҇͢I҉̛͜N̷̨̕Ḑ̷͡.̴͜͠F̵҇͜I҉̛͜N̸̨͞D̷̢̕.̴̧͠F҉҇͜Į̴͝N̶̢̛D҉҇͜.̶̡͡F̵҇͜I̵͜͡N҉͜͠D̸̢͡.҈̧̕F̸̧҇I̷̡҇N̷̡͝D̷̡̕.̷̢͝F̸̡͡I̶͜͞N҉͜͡D̴̢̛.҈͢͝F̶͜͠I҉̨̕N̶̡͡D̷͜͝.̵̡̛F̴̕͢I̸̡҇N̶͢͞D̸͜͝.̸̕͜F̴͜͠I҈̧̛N̶͢͝D҉҇͢.҈̡҇F̴̢҇I҈̧̕N̵̢҇D̸͜͝.̵̨͞F̷̡͡I҈̛͜N̵̛͜D҉̧͞.҉̡͝F̸҇͢I̶̡͡N̵̛͜D̴͜͠.̴̧͡F̴̧͠I҉̛͢N̸̢̕D̴̕͢.̴̧͞F̶̡҇I̶̡͡N̴͢͡D̸̛͜.̸̛͜F̸̨͞I̴҇͢N҈͜͡D҈͜͞.҈̧̛F̴̨̛Į̶҇N̵̨͝D̴̢҇.҉̨͠F̷̧͡I̸͜͝N̶̨҇D̵̨͝.҈̨҇F҉͜͞I҉͜͡N̵͜͠D̶҇͢.҉҇͜F҉̨̛I҈̧͝Ņ̵҇D̷̛͢.̸̡̛F̵̧͝I҈̧̕N҉̧̕D̶̨͞.҈̧͞F̸̡̕I̶̡͡N҈͜͡D̷̡͝.҉̛͢F̴͢͝Į̴҇N̵͢͝D҈̢̛.҉̧͠F̶͜͠I҉̡̕N̷̕͢D̴͢͠.҈̨҇F̶̕͢I҉̧̕N̴͢͝D̵͢͡.̶̢̕F̷͜͠I̶̛͜N̴͢͠D̷̨͞.҈̕͢F̸͜͠I҈͢͡N̵̢̛D҈̧̛.̷̧̛F̸̧͝I̸̧͠N̴̢̛D̶̨҇.̶̢͞F҉̢͡I̵̡̕N̷̛͢Ḑ̴̕.̷̡͡F̶͢͝I̷̧͡N̵̡҇D̵͜͞.̶͜͝F̴̢͝Į̴̕Ņ̷҇D҈̢͠.҈̢͝F҈͢͡I҈̛͢N̸̢͞D҈̨҇.̷̢͞F̸̢̕I̶̡̛N̵̡͠D̶̡͝.̷͜͡F̶͢͝I̶͢͞Ņ̸҇D̷̡͡.̴҇͢F҈̢͡I̸̕͢N҈҇͜Ḑ̸҇.̸͢͝F̷̧͝I҈̛͜N̵̨҇D̴̨͠.҈̛͜F҈̧͠I̷̡͡N̶̨͡D̵̡͝.̴̧͡F̶̧͠I̴̡͞N҉̧͡Ḑ̴͞.̶̢͠F҉̕͢I̷͢͝N̴̢͠D̷͢͡.҈̧̛F҈̡͝Į̶̕N̵̢͡D̴̨҇.̴̢̕F̷̡̛I҉̧͝N̷̡͠D̸͢͠.҉͢͠F̵͢͝I̴̕͢N̸̨̛D̸̨̛.҉̨͡F̴͜͝I҉̕͢N̸̢҇D̸҇͜.̵̧̛F̶̨͞I҉̡͞N̴̨͝D҈̡͝.̷͜͡F҈̨̕I̶͜͠N̵̢͝D̶̢҇.̶̧͝F̴̨̛I҈͢͠N̴͜͞D̵͢͞.̸̢͡F҈͢͞I҈͢͡N҉̡͠D̸͢͡.҉̧͝F̷̕͜I̶͜͡N̷͜͝D̴̡͡.̷͢͝F̷̨҇I̵̡͞N̵̢͞D̴̕͜.̶̡̛F҈̡͠I̵̡̛N̵͜͡D҈̢̕.̷̨͠F̴̧͡I̵̧̛N̶̢͡D̵̨͝.̷̡҇F̸̨͡I̵̢̛N̴̨͞D̷̨͡.̶͜͞F̸̢̛I̶̛͜N҈̢̛D҈̛͜.̷͜͠F̶҇͢I҈̡̕N̵̡͠D̷̡͡.̸̨҇F҉̨̕I҉̨͠N҉҇͜Ḑ̷͡.҉̡͝F҈̢҇I҉̡͡N̴͢͡D҈̧҇.̷̕͜F̶͢͠I҉͜͡N҈̢͠D҈̡͞.҈̢͠F҈̢͞I҉͜͡N̴̡͝D̷͜͞.̴͜͡F҈̨҇I̷̧҇N̶͜͞D̴̡͠.҈̧͞F̷̡̕I̶͜͠N̵͢͝D̵̢͝.̸̢͠F̶̨͠I̸̧͠N̴̡͡D̸̢͝.҉̡͡F̷̡͡I̷̡͡N҉͢͞D҉̢͞.̸̡͡F̵̨͞I̵̡͝N҉̛͜D̴̡̛.̵̛͢F̷̧͞I̷͢͝N̷̛͜D̶̢͡.̷͢͞F҉̡̕Į̶͝Ņ̵̛D҈͢͞.҈̢̛F҉͜͞I̶̧͝N҈̢̛D҈̢͞.̸̨͠F̸̢͠I҈̨̕N҉͢͞D҉͢͝.̷̡̕F҈̡͠I҈͜͞N̷̡͠D҉̨͝.҈̡̕F̵̢҇I̶̛͢N҉̡̕D̸҇͢.̶̧͞F҈̛͜I̶̕͢N̴̨҇D̷̢͞.҈̛͜F҈̨̕I̶͢͠N҉̢͠D̵͢͡.̵͢͝F҈̡͠I̵̧͠N҈̛͢D̴͜͞.̷̡͠F̴̛͜Į̶͡N̸̡͡D̶͢͡.̶̨̛F҈̨͞I҉̢͝N̴̨̛D̴͜͞.҉̕͢F̷̡͞I҈̧͡N̵̛͜Ḑ̸͝.҉͢͞F̸͢͠I҉̡҇N҉̕͜D̸̨͝.̶͜͝F̴̡͝I̸͢͠N̵̨͝D̴̢̛.҉̢͞F҈̧̛I̵̡͡N̵̢̛D̵̢͠.̵̨͞F̵̧͞I̴̢҇N̴͢͡D҉̨̛.҉̢҇F̶͢͠I̸̡҇N҉҇͜D̵͜͠.̷̛͜F̵҇͢Į̸͝N̸͜͠D̸͜͡.̴҇͢F̶̡̛I̶̧͝N̴̛͢D̵̢̕.҉̛͜F̸̢͡Į̷҇N̷͜͞D̵̢̛.҉̨͞F̴̢҇I̸̡҇N̵҇͜D̴̢͠.҈̨͞F̵̡͠I̵̢̕N̵͜͞D҈̡͠.̷̧͠F̴҇͢I̶̧̛N̶҇͢D҈҇͜.҉҇͜F҉̢͠Į̴͡N̴̛͢D̶͜͠.̴̢͝F̶͢͝I̵̡҇N҈̢̕D̷̛͜.̸͢͠F̵̧̕I̷̕͢Ņ̴͞D̶̢͝.̶̧͞F҈҇͜I̴̛͜N̷̨̕D̸҇͜.̸̛͢F̴̢҇I̶̡͝N̶̢̕D̶̡҇.҈̨͝F̴̛͢I̴҇͜N̵̢҇D̵͜͠.̷̢̛F̷̡͝Į̵̛N̷̢͠D҈̡̛.̸̨͡F̷͢͞Į̸̕N̸̨҇D̷̛͢.̶҇͜F̵̡̛I҈̨͞N̶̨̛D̸̛͢.҉̛͜F̷̨͝I̸͜͝Ņ̵͞D̴̨͡.̵͢͠F҈̢̛Į̵҇Ņ̷͝D̸̨҇.҈̡͞F̴̡͞I҉͜͝N̸͜͞D҈̨͡.̵̡̛F̶҇͢I̶̡̛N̸̨̕D̴̡͠.҉͜͞F̵̢͞I̸͜͠Ņ̵͞D҈̛͜.҈̢̕F̴̨͞I̷͜͞N҉̡͠D̸͜͞.̶͢͞F҈̧͠I҉̨͠N҈̛͜D҈̧͞.҉̧͝F̸̢̛I̴̡̕Ņ̵͠Ḑ̸͡.҈̢҇F҈͜͞I̸͢͞N҉̧͠Ḑ̴̕.̸̧͝F̷͜͡I̷̕͜N̶̢҇D̷͢͞.̶̢̕F̸̡̕I̴͜͠N҉͢͡D̸̛͜.̶̡͡F҉̡͞I̴̕͢Ņ̶̕D̶̕͢.̸̧͡F̴̡̛I̸̢̛N̷̢͞D̵̨͠.҉͜͡F̸҇͢I̸̧̛N҉͜͠D̴̡͡.҉͜͡F̶͢͝I҈͢͝N̶̨̕Ḑ̸҇.̶̢̕F̴̢҇I̷͢͝N̴̕͢D҈̡͝.҈͢͞F̴̨҇I̶̛͜N҉̡͞D҈͢͝.҈̢͝F҉̛͜I̵͜͞N̵̨͝D҈̢͞.҈̨̕F̸҇͜I̶̛͜Ņ̸͡D̸̡҇.҉̢͞F̴̢͞I҈̧͡Ņ̶͡D҈͜͝.̴̧͠F̸̛͢I̴͜͞N̸͜͠D̸͢͠.̴̨̕F̵̨҇I҈̡͡N̸̡̛Ḑ̷҇.̴̢̕F̶̨͠I҉͢͝Ņ̸͠D҉̨͠.̷̡̛F҉̧͠I҉͜͞N̵͢͠D҈҇͢.҈̢͝F̸͢͝Į̴͞N҈̧̛D̴̛͜.̵͢͡F҈̨͞I̶̧̕N̴̡҇D̷̨̕.̴̢҇F̵̧͞I̸͜͞N҉̨̛D̷͢͡.҈̢͠F̶̧̕I̷̧͝N̵͜͝D̶̡͡.̷̢͝F̵̢҇I̵̧̕N̴͜͠D̴̢҇.̵̢͝F̶̛͢I҉̡̛N̶̡͡D҉̧̕.̸҇͜F҈̧͡I̷̡̛Ņ̴͠D҈̧͞.̷̨͠F̷̧͡Į̷͝N̸̡̛D̸̨͡.҉͢͡F̶̨̛I̵̧͝N̷͢͡D҉̧͝.҈̡̛F̶̢͡I̷̕͜N̷̢̕D̷͜͡.҈͜͝F҈̧͠I̸̧͠N̶̢͞D̴̡̛.̸̢̛F̷͢͠I҈̨͠Ņ̶͝D҈͜͝.҉̢͠F҉̧҇I҉̨̕N҉̨͠D̴͢͞.̶̢̕F҉̨̛I̶̡͠Ņ̸̛D̸̢͡.̸̢̛F̸̡͝I̵̢̕N҉̧̕D҉̡҇.̴͜͞F̸̨͡I̵̢̕N̶̨҇D̶̡͝.̶҇͢F҉͜͝I̴͜͞N̴̨͡Ḑ̷͞.̶͜͝F̴͢͠Į̸҇N̶̨̕D҉̡͝.̴̢͡F̴͜͡I̸̛͢Ņ̷҇D҉̡͝.҉̨҇F̸̧͠I҉̢̛N̵̢̛Ḑ̶͡.҉̧͠F҈̨҇Į̶͡N̴̕͜D҈͢͡.

" ЗАТКНИСЬ НАХУЙ!! (SHUT THE FUCK UP!!)" Raven grabbed one of the bottles and hurled it at the wall where one of the silhouettes had been.

The bottle shattered into hundreds of pieces.

"Alex?! Why are you yelling?" came a voice from the corridor.

Raven turned his head toward the sound and for a moment thought he saw a man in glasses standing there.

But when he blinked, he realized it was Uzi.

The voices fell silent. The silhouettes vanished.

Only Uzi remained, looking at the stalker with her neon-purple eyes in bewilderment, holding the headphones through which Nightcore music played.

Raven wasn’t surprised by the emo drone being in his apartment — he had himself offered her one of the free rooms opposite his own, under the workshop where she was assembling her railgun, progress on which had noticeably increased.

The stalker blinked and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"I… it’s just… a nightmare… Sorry if I’m disturbing you," Raven tried to force his usual smile, but it came out badly, and Uzi frowned even more.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Uzi asked.

"Heh-heh, Uzi, being caring doesn’t suit you — let’s get back to your usual sarcastic self, yeah?" Raven tried to joke.

"I’m serious, idiot," Uzi said, a little offended when the stalker tried to joke. "I’ve already heard you jump up in the morning screaming a few times. Are you sure you’re okay?"

Of course, she would hear that. He’d have to establish her schedule in the apartment, otherwise at six in the morning when he gets up to piss, she’s pacing back and forth in the corridor.

"I’m fine!" Raven raised his voice involuntarily, then stopped himself. "Really, Uzi, this is my problem. I’ll handle it myself."

The purple drone clearly didn’t believe him, her gaze showing it, but she understood that the stalker wouldn’t say more.

"I… I’ll go. Training won’t wait."

Raven quickly grabbed his pistol and helmet and left the apartment, leaving Uzi alone, pondering his state.

Today was the last day of “Intensive Combat Training.”

Over the past three weeks, Raven had managed to drag these drones up to the level of proper fighters — to his surprise, the worker drones picked things up instantly and learned fast, so he spent less time explaining than he ever would with humans.

Thus, Squad 44 had been trained in: breaching and clearing buildings; holding defensive positions; urban combat; tactical medicine — in their case, dressing wounds, evacuation from red zones, and even Gia stepped in to teach them how to replace some body components in the field; handling various weapons; those drones who once worked with vehicles were trained to drive the APC; they had even drilled bunker defense and evacuation protocols, which turned into quite a spectacle for the residents of Outpost-3; and occasionally there were nighttime exercises in small groups with Oliver manning the APC’s turret, keeping watch on the perimeter.

Squad 44 was also divided into four groups of ten drones plus a sergeant leading them: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Raven trained the sergeants separately, just like Oliver, who had effectively become the squad’s lieutenant.

And now the final day of training had come.

Raven observed through binoculars as all four groups waged a mock battle against each other.

“Oliver, what’s in the sky? Over.” Raven asked through the helmet’s built-in radio.

“All clear, but wrap it up soon — we’re already over schedule, over.”

“Alpha’s boxed Delta in. Curious how they’ll handle it, over.”

“Make sure we’re not the ones who get boxed in, over.”

“That’s why you’re on the turret, over.”

“Out.”

Alpha did beat Delta, securing their victory in the exercise.

Raven smirked — he had actually managed to teach these tin cans something. He even felt a flicker of pride for them.

“All right, fighters, enough scratching each other’s paint! Back to the APC,” the stalker said calmly into the radio.

The drones marched briskly toward the armored transport, on top of which Raven stood tall. Despite the night, they were cheerfully discussing how they’d kicked each other’s asses.

Suddenly, one of them looked up at the sky, his eyes widening.

“Air contact!” he shouted, pointing upward.

Raven knew what to expect.

He whipped his head around, grabbing his rifle, scanning for the demon in the sky.

Found it.

A lone Murder Drone was circling above. Through the binoculars, Raven saw it wore a winter coat and a peaked cap.

“Spread out! Take cover! Weapons ready! Track the target!” Raven barked into the radio.

The drones executed instantly, with sergeants giving their own orders, organizing their groups into defensive positions.

“Oliver! What the hell?!” Raven yelled at the squad’s lieutenant.

“I don’t have a murder drone radar, what do you expect?! Nothing good comes from wandering around at night!” Oliver shot back.

“You got him in your sights?”

“Yeah, just waiting on your word.”

But no word came.

Raven studied the demon, still circling high above but not attacking. A scout, maybe? If so, he was a lousy one.

“Captain, what are your orders?” asked Ritch, Alpha squad’s sergeant, over the radio.

The stalker stayed silent, watching the drone circle for the third time, still refusing to strike.

“Squad! Engage the aerial target with short bursts, lead your shots—FIRE!”

The squad obeyed, and a dozen bursts lit up the night, tracer rounds streaking into the sky at the hapless scout.

The demon clearly hadn’t expected resistance. At first, he just tried to dodge, but eventually fired back, though only in short, scattered bursts.

“Oliver, blast the bastard!”

Then the 40mm M630 “Lotus” autocannon — affectionately nicknamed “Sanych” — joined the chorus.

Both rifles and the cannon scored hits. The drone seemed to panic, flailing its wings, darting up and down. Raven could’ve sworn he heard pitiful screams through the thunder of gunfire.

He almost felt sorry for it.

“Oliver, send a missile up his ass.”

Well — almost.

One missile streaked into the night, but it missed.

Still, they had won the skirmish.

“Cease fire!” Raven’s booming voice filled the comms. The shooting died down. “Status report: any wounded?”

“Light wound, but already patched up,” came the reply.

Raven exhaled.

“Drag your asses back to the APC,” he ordered wearily, climbing onto Sanych’s armor again.

A few minutes later, forty-four drones stood before him in black vests and army helmets, rifles in hand. Their emotions were mixed, but one feeling hung in the air — the whole crowd was electrified by what had just happened.

They had driven off a Murder Drone.

They — worker drones — had forced back the demon that stole the surface from them, the demon that had killed someone’s relative during the Invasion.

That demon had fled, tail between its legs. And who cared if it was just a lone scout?

For every fighter of Squad 44, this was baptism by fire. Each had crossed a lifelong barrier of fear.

Or so it felt.

“Well, my warriors, my legion — how did it feel shooting at live targets?” Raven asked with a grin.

The drones shouted back excitedly in chaotic agreement.

“Quiet, quiet… the captain’s about to make a speech,” Raven muttered. He thought for a second about what to say, then shrugged it off. “Screw it — I’m proud of you, guys.”

The drones were surprised — their commander was stingy with praise — but they didn’t interrupt.

“I thought you’d be unteachable, or at best painfully slow learners. But no! Remember what I told you a month ago? About the future, the vanguard, all that? You’ve earned the right to be called guardians of Outpost-3’s future, defenders who can protect the bunker. And… well, you get it. I don’t like long, pompous speeches.” Raven glanced over them, then added: “For the future of Outpost-3! For the future of drones!”

That was what they had been waiting for. A many-voiced “For the drones!” echoed through the empty streets of Copper City. Worker drones cherished the odd title they’d been given: “guardians of Outpost-3’s future.”

Thankfully, the gas mask hid Raven’s thoughtful face.

“Ritch, Derek, Cannon, Lox,” he called out the sergeants. “Inside the APC. We need to talk.”

When the four entered the troop compartment, Raven shut it behind them, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll be brief,” he began. “Forget everything I told you about vanguards and fighting Murder Drones — that’s just motivational bullshit for the grunts to train harder. You’ve got different orders.”

The drones exchanged glances, about to pepper him with questions, but Raven cut them off.

“Your main task is to ensure the fastest, most efficient evacuation of the bunker’s civilian population if the demons breach the doors. That’s what Khan asked me a month ago.”

The sergeants didn’t know what to say.

“So… we’re just WDF again, but with cooler gear?” Ritch asked, deflated.

“No, Ritch,” Raven shook his head. “You are Special Task Force 44 . Squad 44, for short. And I’ve already told you your task.”

“But—” Derek started, but was silenced.

“That’s an order, sergeant! Orders aren’t up for debate!” Raven barked, then continued in a calmer tone: “Tell your groups we’re returning to the bunker. And not a word about this conversation. Understood?”

“Yes, sir…” the drones answered in unison, their voices heavy.

Their illusions shattered faster than expected.

The elevator doors in CryoLabs opened, and Raven saw a drone standing a short distance away.

A drone with neon-red eyes and unusual clothing.

Yeva Sokolova. Head of the cryosleep maintenance lab — or at least, she became one when Outpost-3 was settled by worker drones and they founded their colony here.

Raven regularly went down to CryoLabs for food and… not just for food. Over the past month, the stalker had managed to haul everything from that basement here, even grabbing furniture to furnish his apartment. So the problem of food and booze for the next few years was solved, along with the problem of his back aching from a metal bed.

“ Здравствуйте, Соколова (Hello, Sokolova),” Raven greeted her.

Yeva responded with her usual silence and an eye-roll at the surname — as Raven understood, she didn’t like being addressed by it, but he did it just to pull at least a word out of the silent drone.

Raven headed toward CRYOSLEEP №2, where his food stash was. Yeva, as always, silently followed him.

In general, Raven had a strange relationship with this red-eyed drone — every time he came here, she silently accompanied him. Maybe out of fear his curiosity would lead him somewhere it shouldn’t and she’d get into trouble, or maybe just out of boredom. As he’d learned from her husband, Dmitry, she had memory issues — she couldn’t recall her past, only fragments. Maybe that explained why she was so quiet and perpetually gloomy.

Though Raven figured he’d be quiet and gloomy too if he spent all day in this freezer, which was exactly what Yeva did — you could find her either here, or at her home.

“ Кстати, я сегодня наконец-то закончил тренировать Отряд 44, и они уже даже прошли крещение огнём, (By the way, I finally finished training Squad 44 today, and they even had their baptism by fire),” Raven said to the drone walking slightly behind him. “ над нами дрон-убийца в небе летал, но мы его шуганули отсюда. (There was a murder drone flying overhead, but we scared it off.)”

Yeva said nothing.

“ А, ещё Дима меня вчера десять раз в “Дурака” обыграл, я его лишь шесть. Быстро учится, твой муж. (Oh, and yesterday Dima beat me ten times in ‘fool’. I only managed six. He learns fast, your husband.)”

Yeva said nothing.

That was how the relationship between Yeva and Raven looked: the stalker told her all sorts of things, and she mysteriously stayed silent.

And yet… it worked — Yeva seemed to trust the human more. Her gaze was now far less stern, more neutral and calm. If at first she kept several meters behind him, now she walked almost at his side. A few times Raven even thought he caught her rolling her eyes with a faint smirk.

Sometimes she even answered him, only to fall silent again afterward.

On one hand, Yeva’s silence irritated him a bit, but on the other… sometimes he just needed a companion who would listen to his rambling monologues.

Especially after strong nightmares, and “seizures”, as the stalker called them.

It was good not to be interrupted.

So they walked in silence after Raven’s story about the card game.

However, when Raven was crouched near the fridge full of alcohol, deciding what to take, a calm and even voice of the purple-haired drone sounded behind him.

“ Зачем ты пьёшь? (Why do you drink?)” Yeva said in her clear Russian.

“ В смысле? (What do you mean?)” The man was startled, expecting the question to go unanswered.

“ Зачем ты пьёшь алкоголь? (Why do you drink alcohol?)” Yeva clarified. “ Это отрава для людского организма. Особенно в таких количествах. (It is poison for the human body. Especially in such quantities.)”

Raven froze at two things: Yeva’s talkativeness today, and the question itself.

Why do I drink? Seems obvious to any human… though Yeva isn’t human.

“ Так легче . (It makes things easier),” Raven said briefly, as if answering himself.

“ От чего? (Easier from what?)” Yeva continued, breaking records for word count.

“ От мыслей, от снов, от… от всего . (From thoughts, from dreams, from… from everything),” Raven answered in the same tone.

“ Не понимаю (I don’t understand),” Yeva frowned. “ С такой частотой приёма спиртных напитков ты сильно навредишь своему организму. (With such frequency of alcohol consumption, you will seriously harm your body.)”

Raven was getting tired of hearing this — Oliver called him an alcoholic on every raid and lectured him with the same “alcohol is evil” speech, as if Raven were one of his school students.

For some reason, Raven didn’t want to answer Yeva with his usual biting sarcasm.

He wanted to be honest.

“ Потому что меня на протяжении трёх лет мучают каждую ночь кошмары, и недавно они стали хуже. Пью я потому, что хоть так могу расслабиться и забыть обо всём. Хоть это и помогает с переменным успехом. (Because I’ve been haunted by nightmares every night for three years, and recently they’ve gotten worse. I drink because at least this way I can relax and forget about everything. Even if it only helps with mixed success.)”

After that, Yeva went silent again, but the stalker caught a slight change in her expression — a flicker of sympathy and understanding.

From then until they returned to the elevator, the two Russian-speaking residents of Outpost-3 stayed silent.

There, Raven turned to Yeva and performed his usual ritual.

“ Ну, госпожа Соколова, спасибо за компанию. Сегодня даже смогли поговорить (Well, Madam Sokolova, thanks for the company. We even managed to talk today.)”

The stalker was already about to turn away, expecting silence in response.

He was wrong.

“ Ева. Называй меня Ева, пожалуйста (Yeva. Call me Yeva, please),” the red-eyed drone said in her usual tone.

Raven’s eyes widened slightly, and he broke into a broad smile.

“ Конечно, Ева (Of course, Yeva),” he said and nodded to her.

She responded with a faint smile of her own.

Entering his apartment, he was met with unusual silence. Over the past month, Raven had already gotten used to the quiet — or sometimes not-so-quiet — cursing of Uzi echoing through his home. She was still assembling her railgun, which a few times had nearly ended with the apartment exploding.

But now, in Apartment №013, silence reigned.

At first, it only seemed that way.

As Raven passed the corridor leading to the rooms and bathroom, he heard Uzi whispering.

“No-no, not now!.. Just not in his apartment… come on, Robo-Satan, hide back like last time!” — her voice sounded extremely nervous.

Raven was about to knock and ask what was happening.

But then the sound of breaking glass echoed through the apartment.

“Uzi! Are you okay in there?” Raven shouted, stopping by the bathroom door.

“Raven?!.. W-why are you so early… don’t come in here! I… uh-uh-uh…”

“Got it, got it.”

To be convincing, the stalker stepped away from the door and waited for her to come out.

After a few minutes, Uzi emerged from the bathroom, covering part of her visor with her hand and not looking at the stalker.

“Uzi, what happened? I heard glass breaking,” Raven asked calmly, trying to make it sound as far from an accusation as possible.

Uzi nervously scanned the living room, searching for her backpack lying against the wall. Spotting it, she grabbed it and hurried toward the door.

“I’m fine, you silly meatbag, how could it be otherwise?” — the forced tone in the drone’s voice was all too obvious. “And anyway… none of your business, bite me!”

With that, she quickly moved to the exit under Raven’s completely confused gaze, but stopped at the front door.

“Really, I’ve got it. I… myself,” she said quietly, and left.

The stalker, who still understood nothing, set the bottles down on the kitchen table and went to the bathroom.

There, he found the mirror shattered.

Chapter Text

“ Вот тебе дама (Here’s a queen),” Raven tossed one card onto the table, “ а вот тебе на погоны! (and here’s one for your epaulettes!)” — He placed two sixes on the drone’s shoulders, marking his victory in this round.

The stalker, satisfied, leaned back in his chair and reached for the bottle with the last remnants of beer.

“ Ну-ну, радуйся (Well, well, rejoice),” Dmitry chuckled, collecting the cards on the table and shuffling them, “ это ты спустя сколько проигрышей выиграл, шести? (how many losses did it take for you to win, six?)”

“ Я давал тебе фору (I was giving you a handicap),” the stalker shrugged and placed the empty bottle among several others.

Looking around, he realized it was the last one, and it was time for a refill.

“ Так, одну без меня сыграйте - я за горючим. Дим, Еве что-то передать? (All right, play one without me — I’m going for fuel. Dim, pass anything to Yeva?)” — the stalker asked with a smirk.

“ Да иди уже (Just go already),” Dmitry said, dealing cards to the other drones.

And Raven went.

Exiting the door zone and walking toward the lift to Cryolabs, he pulled a costly-looking cigarette case from the inside pocket of his jacket, containing a few hand-rolled cigarettes — the regular ones had run out by the third week here, and that mansion, among other things, had tobacco and a case. Now the stalker spent part of his free time rolling cigarettes.

Holding one between his teeth and blowing smoke, the stalker walked lightly through the bunker. A month had passed since the end of training for Squad 44, and roughly two since his arrival at Copper-9.

To Raven’s surprise, life here wasn’t as bad as he had imagined, and he had grown accustomed to it. He had gotten used to his Apartment №013, to the drones around, to raids with Oliver, to Uzi in his apartment — who occasionally pulled amusing stunts: sometimes announcing she would train in sword fighting and nearly cutting him a few times; sometimes sneaking into an APC, then sulking when Raven dragged her out like a naughty cat by her hoodie; and of course, the usual “incidents” while assembling the railgun, which had forced him to keep a fire extinguisher nearby.

He had gotten used to all of it — as well as spending his few weekends with Dmitry.

Walking through Hope Square, a message appeared on his PDA. Pulling it out, he saw it was on Dronegram — Oliver asked to postpone tomorrow’s raid by a few hours because something had happened at school. How that drone managed to teach and still go to the surface, the stalker didn’t know. Answering with a simple “OK,” he decided to scroll through the feed: Lizzy had posted a new photo, Rebecca showed off new clothes — guess who had risked his ass for it? — Thad uploaded a video of a cool shot in class.

In short, the usual. Closing the social network, he stashed the PDA and quickened his pace.

Descending in the lift, he felt the air grow colder — that meant only a little remained.

The lift stopped, and the doors opened, letting in the cold even stronger.

As usual, Yeva was waiting for him. How she always knew when he would arrive remained a mystery to the stalker.

“ Здравствуй, Александр (Hello, Alexander),” came Yeva’s ever-calm voice, her face wearing a faint smile.

“ Здаров, Ева (Hey, Yeva),” the stalker greeted more simply.

They went to CRYOSLEEP №2 as usual, talking about various topics. For Raven, it had become normal that Yeva responded and walked alongside him.

But then Raven noticed a detail in her attire that had become usual for him — her badge. He asked:

“ Слушай, Ева, я тут всё спросить хочу… (Listen, Yeva, I’ve been meaning to ask…) — Raven tried to find the words. — Что у тебя за бейджик на шее? (What’s that badge on your neck?)”

The drone walking next to him stopped abruptly and widened her eyes slightly. She looked down at the item, picked it up, and held it to her face.

Staring back at her was… herself, but the gaze… it was empty, like a drone without a personality module.

Did she even have a personality then?

She didn’t remember. Probably she did.

“ Это… (It’s…) — Yeva fell silent, unsure what to say. — Сколько я себя помню, я всегда его носила, это что-то из моего прошлого. (As far back as I remember, I’ve always worn it; it’s something from my past.)”

“ Тут номер - 048 (Here’s the number — 048),” the stalker pointed to the digits on the badge. “ Может, это твой номер? (Maybe that’s your number?)”

Number. Exactly.

Bits of Yeva’s past began surfacing in her memory — not many, but enough to form a coherent picture, albeit without details.

“ Да, это мой номер - 048 (Yes, it’s my number — 048),” she replied in the same calm tone. “ До коллапса ядра я была подопытной в лаборатории Cabin Fever, где люди экспериментировали над дронами. (Before the core collapse, I was a test subject in the Cabin Fever laboratory, where humans experimented on drones.)”

Raven shrugged slightly at her words — laboratories again, secret experiments again.

“ Я не особо много помню из того времени (I don’t remember much from that time),” Yeva continued, looking down the corridors. “ Помню, что часто после экспериментов дроны погибали или сходили с ума; помню, что держали нас в тесных камерах, что напоминали простые металлические шкафчики; помню людей в защитных костюмах и противогазах; и помню, для чего они над нами ставили эксперименты - для создания Патча. (I remember drones often died or went insane after experiments; I remember being kept in cramped cells that resembled simple metal cabinets; I remember people in protective suits and gas masks; and I remember why they experimented on us — to create the Patch.)”

“ Патч? От чего? (The Patch? Against what?)” Raven asked, listening without interrupting.

“ От вируса. От Солвера (A virus. Solver),” she said the last word with unusual notes of anger. “ Я была первой, кто прошёл успешное пропатчивание, но во время второго эксперимента… что-то пошло не так, я не помню. (I was the first to go through a successful patch, but during the second experiment… something went wrong, I don’t remember.)”

Solver. 

The name of the virus? And what kind of virus is that?

“ Солвер? Что это такое? (Solver? What’s that?)” the stalker asked.

“ Люди говорили, что это вирус, но… (Humans said it was a virus, but…)” Yeva looked at her gloved hand. “ Обычный компьютерный вирус не может того, что может Солвер. Это не вирус - это проклятье, скверна. (An ordinary computer virus can’t do what Solver can. It’s not a virus — it’s a curse, a blight.)”

Yeva raised her frowning, thoughtful gaze to Raven.

“ Александр… (Alexander…) — she started, then paused for a couple of seconds. — Я могу тебе доверять? (Can I trust you?)”

The question stunned him.

Raven trusted few, but could anyone trust him?

After a pause, he said:

“ Тебе решать, доверять мне или нет (It’s your choice whether to trust me or not),” Raven replied. “ Я - человек, а ты дрон, над которым издевались мои сородичи, поэтому ты вправе мне не доверять. (I’m human, and you’re a drone that my kind abused, so you have every right not to trust me.)”

Yeva studied his face with her neon-red eyes for a long time, then extended her hand toward him.

At first, the stalker didn’t understand the gesture, but then…

A symbol appeared on Yeva’s hand.

A symbol painfully familiar to the stalker.

A hexagon with three arrows coming out from its corners — but blood-red.

Raven suppressed his surprise, but his face noticeably changed.

“ Ой, прости (Oh, sorry),” Yeva mistook his change for fear and turned her palm upward so the symbol faced the ceiling instead of him. “ Это и есть Солвер. (This is Solver.)”

“ Ты говорила, что ты пропатчена, то есть у тебя не должно быть вируса, да? (You said you were patched, so you shouldn’t have the virus, right?)” the stalker asked in confusion.

“ От Солвера не избавиться (You can’t get rid of Solver),” Yeva shook her head. “ можно только… взять под контроль благодаря Патчу, что я и сделала. (You can only… control it with the Patch, which I did.)”

To demonstrate Solver’s capabilities, Yeva telekinetically lifted an icicle from the ceiling. It floated calmly to Raven, and then there were three icicles.

“ Охренеть… (Holy…) —” the stalker muttered.

It wasn’t the telekinesis that amazed him — that was common in the Zone. It was that Yeva could… create? Copy? In short, manipulate matter.

Then Yeva threw the icicles down the corridor and teleported several times before returning to her original spot.

“ Это только то, чем я овладела в идеале. Силы этого проклятья, которым нас заразили, безграничны, но у всего есть цена (This is only what I’ve mastered ideally. The power of this curse we were infected with is limitless, but everything comes at a cost),” Yeva said in a subdued voice.

“ Нас? (Us?)” Raven asked.

“ Да, меня и 002. Нори Доорман, жену Хана (Yes, me and 002. Nori Doorman, Khan’s wife),” Yeva replied calmly again.

Raven remembered Dmitry mentioning that he and Khan had found their wives simultaneously, and everything clicked.

He had never seen Nori before and heard of her for the first time, though he interacted fairly often with both Khan and Uzi.

“ Она умерла, да? (She’s dead, right?)” the stalker guessed the obvious.

Yeva shook her head.

“ Хуже. Пойдем, я покажу, (Worse. Come, I’ll show you),” the purple-haired drone beckoned.

For the first time, Yeva was leading a human, not the other way around.

For the stalker, definitely the first time.

Yeva led him to one of the cryosleep capsule sections — the one where he had been once and met Yeva for the first time.

The one with the strange capsule.

Yeva stopped beside it, her gaze inviting him to look.

Raven approached and wiped the view glass from condensation.

At first, he saw nothing, then tried to look deeper…

There, in a seated position, pressed against the inner wall, lay the body of a purple-haired drone in a white coat stained with oil, her chest torn open, exposing the inner mechanics — glimpses of something fleshy. Some areas looked corroded by acid.

“ Это же не… (That’s not… —)” the stalker tried to deny his assumptions, but was interrupted.

“ Это Нори. То, что от неё осталось (This is Nori. What’s left of her),” Yeva said sadly.

“ А зачем?... (Why…?)” Raven asked, bewildered.

“ Когда произошло Вторжение, Нори и я с помощью Солвера прикрывали эвакуацию дронов в бункер. Во время этого её ранил дрон-убийца, но мы смогли затащить её в бункер, (When the Invasion happened, Nori and I used Solver to cover the drones’ evacuation to the bunker. During this, a murder drone injured her, but we managed to drag her into the bunker),” Yeva said, looking into the capsule. “ Она просила, чтобы её добили. Хан не смог этого сделать, как и я. Тогда мы решили поместить её в криосон, чтобы замедлить распадение тела. Но… (She begged to be finished off. Khan couldn’t, and neither could I. So we decided to put her in cryosleep to slow her body’s decay. But…)”

Yeva trailed off, lowering her gaze.

“Но? (But?)” Raven prompted.

“ В какой-то момент Нори, вернее то, что от неё осталось, вырвалось из капсулы. Это была не она, а её тело под контролем Солвера. Оно поглотило её ядро в мясное бесформенное нечто и попыталось атаковать колонию. Я это остановила и уничтожила “это” (At some point, Nori — or what remained of her — broke out of the capsule. It wasn’t her, but her body under Solver’s control. It absorbed her core into a shapeless flesh mass and tried to attack the colony. I stopped it and destroyed ‘it’,)” Yeva said coldly. “ Осталась лишь пустая оболочка, корпус. (Only the empty shell remained, the body.)”

“ Почему она атаковала вас? (Why did it attack you?)”

“Она… (She… —)” Yeva paused. “ Она всегда была странной. Учёные говорили, что она нестабильна и опасна. Возможно, её инфекция Солвером мутировала из-за этого, а мы, поместив её в криосон, лишь усугубили ситуацию. Мы сами создали монстра, Александр, сами… (She was always strange. Scientists said she was unstable and dangerous. Perhaps her Solver infection mutated, and by putting her in cryosleep, we only worsened things. We created the monster ourselves, Alexander, ourselves…)”

Raven understood little. Solver, infection, virus — it all seemed important, but his only source was the red-eyed drone with memory problems.

“ Зачем вы храните её тело? (Why are you keeping her body?)” the stalker continued questioning.

Yeva paused, thinking.

“ Хан безмерно любил её, несмотря на все странности, и не смог её отпустить. Для меня Нори была… для меня Нори всю жизнь была лучшей подругой, можно сказать сестрой, мы прошли с ней через многое, хоть мы обе и не помнили, что именно. Но память о дружбе осталась. Сентиментальность, Александр, (Khan loved her immensely, despite everything, and couldn’t let her go. Nori was… she was like my best friend, almost like a sister. We went through much together, even if neither of us remembered exactly what. But the memory of our friendship remained. Sentimentality, Alexander,)” she said with a sad smile. “ Я часто провожу тут время, разговариваю с ней или просто сижу у капсулы. Я понимаю, что Нори уже нет давно, но… (I spend time here talking to her or just sitting by the capsule. I understand Nori is gone, but…)”

“ Всё, я понял… (All right, I get it…)” Raven interrupted. “ Прости, что начал эту тему. Не стоило мне лезть сюда. (Sorry for bringing this up. I shouldn’t have.)”

“ Не извиняйся, (Don’t apologize),” Yeva smiled sadly. “ знаешь, почему я решила тебе довериться? (Do you know why I decided to trust you?)”

Raven shook his head.

“ Ты напоминаешь мне одного человека, да - человека. Он был из той лаборатории, но… другим (You remind me of someone, yes — a human. He was from that laboratory, but… different),” Yeva began, reminiscing. “ Он тоже часто со мной разговаривал на разные темы, хоть я и игнорировала его. Он со мной здоровался, называл исключительно по имени, часто приносил с собой тетрис, чтобы играть со мной. Он делал снимки поверхности и показывал мне их. Пытался выучить русский, чтобы говорить со мной. Один раз он даже нарисовал меня. (He often talked to me on various topics, even if I ignored him. He greeted me by name, always. He often brought Tetris to play with me. He showed me surface photos. Tried to learn Russian to speak with me. Once he even drew me.)”

Yeva smiled warmly, as if remembering an old friend… or something more than a friend.

“ Я не помню ни лица, ни имени этого человека, но помню его доброту ко мне, к Нори, во всех дронах в Cabin Fever (I don’t remember his face or name, but I remember his kindness to me, to Nori, to all drones in Cabin Fever,)” Yeva raised her red eyes to Raven. “ Ты мне напоминаешь его своей добротой. (You remind me of him with your kindness.)”

After that, they didn’t speak, lost in thought.

Raven thought about many things.

Solver — the symbol he dreamed of? He had been seeing that diamond for three years, but how? No one had heard of anything like it before. And this thing seemed potentially dangerous.

Cabin Fever. He had seen it — on a flash drive with experimental software connected to murder drones, which he got from cultists. He hadn’t touched it until today — simply forgot.

And Nori’s corpse.

Something about all of it felt wrong, suspicious.

Something told him a Gordian knot was forming here, and once untied, he would get many answers.

But how to untie it?

Not this one – too big. Not this one – too torn. Not this one – too sweet. Oh, that’s the one!

In Raven’s hands was a burgundy-red dress with long sleeves and bare shoulders, which he had just taken off a hanger in an abandoned boutique.

What was he doing here, and why would a bearded man need a dress? Simple – Dmitry had asked him to find one for Doll’s upcoming prom.

And how could you refuse a friend?

Raven’s history with Doll was an interesting one: of all the Sokolovs, she was the first he had met in person, yet she was the one he crossed paths with the least. Of course, he sometimes saw her in the bunker’s hallways, but even when he visited Dmitry and Yeva a few times, with Doll he only exchanged greetings and maybe a couple of words.

It wasn’t because she distrusted him, but because of her nature – a modest, quiet girl who, nevertheless, was Lizzy’s best friend. In short, Doll took after her mother.

“Hey, Oli, what do you think, will this suit Doll?” Raven turned his head toward Oliver in the next row.

At Oliver’s feet lay about a dozen dresses, which he was sorting through while holding his phone. He snapped a photo of another dress and waited, and a few seconds later it flew into the pile.

“Hm, it’ll match her eye color,” Oliver said, giving the dress in Raven’s hands a quick glance.

“That’s what I thought too,” Raven said, tossing the dress into the cart beside him.

Once the shortage of priority supplies had been overcome, the workers’ drones’ wants came into play. Clothes, home décor, little trinkets – all this was hauled around in their APC by the Scavenger Team. They worked for the common good and reputation, of course, but sometimes, while carrying a sofa down from the ninth floor, Raven wondered if mere “respect” would really be enough.

“Finally, praise robo-Lord,” muttered the blond-haired drone, carrying a pink dress to the cart.

“Tough, when your daughter’s a fashionista, huh?” Raven asked with irony.

“Sometimes it feels like Kipri’s source code takes up not half of her, but seventy percent,” he said. “She was the same way, though she always wore the same uniform.”

Dumping the dresses with the rest of the ordered clothes, Oliver headed off toward the men’s section.

“And where are you going?” the stalker asked, looking at his partner.

“To pick a suit for myself,” Oliver replied curtly. “And I’d advise you too: you’re always in that uniform of yours, some variety wouldn’t hurt.”

Raven smirked under the mask.

“And where am I supposed to wear a three-piece suit – on a date to a restaurant? Sorry, but I haven’t seen a restaurant, nor anyone to take there. ” He glanced over his armor. “Though, maybe we should stop by a regular clothing store – a little variety in the wardrobe really wouldn’t hurt.”

The stalker stood on the threshold of one of the apartments, smoothing down the new gray sweater he had picked up today in an abandoned store.

In one hand he held a dress, hiding it behind his back, while the other hovered over the door lock button.

It hovered there because Raven had noticed the number on the apartment door:

048
The Sokolov Family

Irony, you cruel bitch.

Pressing the button and hearing the sound of the bell, he waited for someone to open.

To his surprise, it was Doll who opened the door — which caught Raven off guard. This modest, red-eyed girl hardly seemed like the type to rush to answer the door first.

She hadn’t expected to see a man at her doorstep either, letting out a funny little gasp before stepping back, slightly flustered.

“ Добрый вечер, мистер Радченко (Good evening, Mr. Radchenko),” she said in a soft, calm voice, though it still carried faint traces of surprise.

“ Привет, Долл (Hi, Doll),” Raven raised his free hand in greeting. “Are your parents home?”

“ Да, они на кухне (Yes, they’re in the kitchen),” Doll replied. Her voice sounded very much like Yeva’s, only softer and more expressive.

“ Ага, благодарю (Good, thanks),” the stalker slipped past the cheerleader-uniformed drone, all the while trying to keep the present concealed.

Doll watched the man with clear curiosity, tilting her head slightly as she tried to see what he was hiding.

“ Неа, это сюрприз! (Nope, it’s a surprise!)” Raven wagged his finger in front of Doll’s visor.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed into a suspicious frown.

“ О, Саня! Приветствую (Oh, Sanya! Welcome),” the head of the household finally came out to greet him, giving his hand a firm shake. “ Проходи, чего как не родной. (Come in, don’t act like a stranger.)”

Raven stepped into the kitchen, where Yeva was sitting with a book in her hands.

“ Здравствуй, Александр (Hello, Alexander),” she said, closing the book with a nod.

Raven beckoned the couple closer and, making sure Doll wouldn’t see, revealed the dress.

From Dmitry’s wide grin and Yeva’s faint smile, the stalker realized his sense of what clothing suited women hadn’t atrophied entirely.

All the while, Doll stood aside, watching the whole scene in confusion, burning with curiosity and a little frustrated that she couldn’t make out what it was — other than that it was red.

“ Дочь, подойди сюда (Daughter, come here),” Dmitry finally called out to her. “ Через несколько месяцев будет выпускной, а твоё прошлое платье вы с Лиззи… (In a few months, you’ll have prom, and your last dress, well, you and Lizzy…)”

He trailed off, struggling to replace the phrase ‘tore it apart while trying to improve it’.

“ Прошлое пришло в негодность (The last one became unusable),” Yeva interjected smoothly. “ Поэтому мы подумали и попросили Александра о кое-какой услуге. (So we thought of asking Alexander for a certain favor.)”

She nodded to Raven, who was standing beside them, and he pulled out the burgundy-red dress from behind his back.

Doll’s eyes widened on their own, filled with shock and wonder. She stepped closer slowly, her metal hands brushing against the fabric as she inspected it.

Well, for moments like this, life was worth continuing.

“ Нравится? (Do you like it?)” Raven asked.

“ Очень… (Very much…)” she whispered, enchanted — but then, all of a sudden, she grew shy and stepped back. “ Вы, наверное, рисковали из-за него, а мне даже нечем отблагодарить… (You probably risked a lot to get it, and I don’t even have anything to thank you with…”

Raven chuckled warmly.

“ Да ладно тебе, это моя работа. Ну, а ещё я не буду слышать нытьё твоего папаши, что скоро выпускной, а тебе нечего надеть. (Don’t worry about it, that’s my job. Besides, now I won’t have to hear your dad whining about how prom’s coming up and you’ve got nothing to wear.)”

Dmitry gave Raven a friendly jab to the ribs, making everyone laugh.

“ Иди одень его, Долл (Go try it on, Doll),” Yeva said in a relaxed tone.

Doll nodded, grabbed the dress with a sweet smile, and hurried off to her room.

“ Скромная она у вас, ничего не сказать (She’s a modest one, no doubt about it),” Raven remarked, glancing at the door to Dmitry’s daughter’s room.

“ Вся в мать (Just like her mother),” the ushanka-wearing drone replied.

“ Ладно, я свою работу сделал, всего доб… (Well, I’ve done my job, so I’ll be on my way! Goodb—” Raven was about to leave when a cold hand grabbed his sleeve.

It was Yeva.

“ Останься, Александр, ты заслуживаешь увидеть результат своей работы (Stay, Alexander. You deserve to see the result of your work),” she said in a gentler voice.

Raven shrugged and paused.

It was surprising how quickly he had grown close to them. Maybe language really did matter that much?

At that moment Doll came out.

The dress fit her like it had been made for her, perfectly matching her ruby eyes and blending beautifully with her violet hair. A smile played across her face as she even spun around a couple of times, her hair whirling into a purple vortex.

“ Идеально! (Perfect!)” Dmitry held up two thumbs.

“ Согласна. Оно придаёт тебе женственности (I agree. It brings out your femininity,)” Yeva said.

Raven just watched the family idyll silently, smiling.

Yet behind that smile, along with warmth, there was something else.

Something sad.

“ Мистер Радченко… (Mr. Radchenko…)” Doll addressed him. “ Спасибо вам большое! (Thank you so much!)”

She was smiling more widely than he had ever seen before.

“ Пожалуйста… и я тебе уже говорил раньше, называй меня просто Саша. Мне это ваше “мистер” не подходит (You’re welcome… and I’ve told you before, just call me Sasha*. That ‘mister’ doesn’t suit me),” the stalker said warmly.

Doll simply nodded and ran back to her room, surely to show off to Lizzy.

“ Ну… (Well…)” Dmitry began after a minute of silence. “ Может, в картишки? (How about some cards?)”

“ Вы не устали каждую встречу в них играть? (You never get tired of playing them every time we meet?)” Yeva asked, moving from the kitchen into the living room and settling on the couch with her book.

“ А в чём тогда суть службы в WDF? (And what else is the point of serving in the WDF?)” Raven asked with an ironic grin.

They played until late into the night.

At some point Yeva joined in as well, since she knew the rules.

Raven savored the moment.

Because moments like these never lasted long.

Copper City stood as always.

As always, the icy ground was covered with years-old snow, hiding the skeleton of a city that once teemed with life and housed millions of souls.

The sky was blanketed with gray, leaden clouds, forming a wall between the surface of Copper 9 and the sun’s rays.

Though night had not yet fallen, the darkness was nearly as deep as nighttime. The only thing breaking through the clouds was the outline of one of the planet’s satellites, encircled by an asteroid ring.

Otherwise, it was just another day in Copper City — except for one detail: three worker drones were walking the city streets.

In front walked a drone in an ushanka, gripping a rifle, a Polaroid swinging from its neck.

Behind him were two drones with violet hair — his wife and daughter.

The Sokolov family had come to the surface with a single purpose: to take a family photo.

Yes, perhaps it was a foolish reason to risk their lives, but Dmitry was ready.

Moreover, the rules had recently been relaxed, and now some drones could leave the bunker during the day. And all of them returned.

So why should anything go wrong? Especially since they weren’t far from the colony.

“ Думаю, это место подойдет (I think this spot will do),” Dmitry said, surveying the space ahead.

Ahead stretched an avenue, squeezed by tall buildings on both sides, then sloping downward, opening a view of the clouded sky. Yet in that moment, the clouds parted slightly, revealing the setting sun.

“ Давай быстро сделаем фотографию и уйдём (Let’s take the photo quickly and go),” Yeva said tensely, keeping Doll behind her.
She didn’t like the idea, but she couldn’t convince Doll and Dmitry to abandon it.

Once Doll and Yeva positioned themselves for a good shot, Dmitry set the Polaroid on the hood of a car, set the timer, and ran to join his family.

Click.

A small photo emerged from the camera, and within seconds, the image of the Sokolov family against the sunset developed.

A few more photos were taken: just Doll and Yeva, Yeva with Dmitry, Doll with her father.

“ Зараза, солнце спряталось (Damn it, the sun’s gone),” the drone in the ushanka clicked its tongue in disappointment.

“ Ничего. Значит, эта будет последней (It’s fine. Then this will be the last one),” Yeva said calmly, glancing at Doll, who stood behind her father, examining something in the old van.

Click.

Yeva stood for another second, then moved toward Dmitry while he inspected the photo.

Despite the surrounding darkness and the clouds blocking any sunbeam, the photo turned out well.

But then Dmitry noticed something horrifying in the image: a yellow cross in the sky behind Yeva.

“ ЕВА, ЛОЖИСЬ! (YEVA, GET DOWN!)” he shouted, dropping the camera and raising his rifle toward the sky.

The red-eyed drone understood instantly: grabbing Doll with SolvER, she threw her into the van and closed it, teleporting herself to Dmitry.

The murder drone, having lost its original target, dove straight at Dmitry, knocking the weapon from his hands and sending him flying several meters back.

Yeva aimed her Solver at the demon. The demon with the bob spread its wings and, baring its claws, slowly advanced on Dmitry.

But then an error appeared before her eyes.

--// ERROR absoluteSolver_trn

[like object non-interactive]

Her eyes widened, and she froze in horror as she saw the murder drone already looming over her husband, who could do nothing — the weapon was too far away. The only thing Dmitry did — was try to blind the demon with a Polaroid flash.

Flash.

The demon merely turned away, and the flash brought Yeva back to her senses. She began grabbing nearby objects with telekinesis and hurling them at the demon.

Finally, it paid attention to her and started shielding itself with its wings from the smaller objects. But when an old car parked nearby came into play, the demon soared into the sky. Before that, though, it pierced Dmitry with its claws and grabbed him, using him as a shield.

Fearing for her husband, Yeva began acting with more precision: ripping a steel rod from an abandoned building nearby, she sent copies at the demon, constantly teleporting from place to place as the murder drone returned fire.

Doll watched in horror. She couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound. A violent tremor ran through her. Her subsystems screamed: run for help, grab your father’s rifle, try to help your mother somehow.

But her body didn’t obey — she just watched silently.

At some point, the demon grew tired and decided to stop playing with its food. The murder drone with the bob haircut threw Dmitry’s nearly lifeless body, drained from oil loss, straight at Yeva. She hesitated for a second and caught him with Solver.

Yeva thought she could escape.

But she couldn’t.

The demon instantly appeared in front of her face, severed the arm with the Solver symbol, and pierced Dmitry’s chest again, throwing him to the ground with full force.

Yeva fell next to him, instinctively grabbing the stump of his arm. She cast a quick glance at the van, from whose cracks two frightened eyes were staring at her. But that glance was interrupted when the murder drone’s wings dug into her shoulders and lifted her off the ground.

Yeva looked at the enemy’s face: silver bob haircut, a yellow cross across the entire visor, and a wide manic grin. The demon tilted its head with interest, studying Yeva.

Suddenly, the grin disappeared, and lines of code ran across the visor instead of the yellow cross. Then one large golden Solver symbol appeared, followed by two golden ellipse-shaped eyes, and the predatory wide grin returned.

At the sight of this, memories thundered in Yeva’s mind:

The church, Nori in chains, the experiment.

Patch.

The virus that captured Nori.

The wormhole [null] that fell into the planet’s core.

Yeva understood who was before her now, even using the murder drone’s body.

Solver.

Absolute Solver.

“Hello, Yeva ,” a monotone robotic voice sounded, with notes of sadistic playfulness. “ L-Long time no s-see, huh? [chuckle]”

Yeva only measured it with a silent gaze of pure hatred.

“Silent? ” it tilted its head at an unnatural angle, feigning interest. “ How sad. [sad glance]”

The demon lifted its wings higher, and under its weight she began to sink deeper onto them, leaving black oily traces on the feather-blades. Yeva hissed softly in pain, but didn’t scream — this creature wouldn’t get her cries.

Yeva cast a quick glance at her husband, lying at the demon’s feet, emitting choked, broken gasps. The demon noticed this too, grabbed him with its free hands, and lifted him to Yeva’s eye level.

“I see ,” it began in a mocking robotic voice, occasionally interrupted by interference, “ you decided to pl-lay at family. [mocking glance] And Nori too. I feel thr-ree carriers. [sadistic grin] Soon it will be two.”

The demon laughed shortly.

“How disgusting ,” it said, sinking further into Dmitry, enlarging the already massive holes in his body. “ Soon I’ll get to your little daughter.”

“ Не доберёшься (You won’t),” Yeva said firmly, with a defiant smile. “ За двадцать лет не добралась (You haven’t in twenty years).”

The demon’s grin widened even more, and insane laughter rang out.

“Sentimentality is lethal,” it said clearly, and threw Dmitry to the ground.

Then a shot rang out — the drone’s visor cracked.

“ ДИМА! (DIMA!)” Yeva screamed in horror.

But Dmitry no longer heard — he was frozen forever in a pose of terror.

Doll, sitting in the van, had her vision clouded by errors that flooded her interface.

“HeeHeeHhh! ” the creature laughed. “I don’t ev-ven need to break into the bunker. They’ll let me in themselves. Like you. [predatory squint]”

A distant engine noise could be heard. Both drones turned their heads toward the sound.

Yeva realized this was a chance.

But the demon was faster.

At the moment the Solver symbol appeared on the red-eyed drone’s intact arm, the murder drone pierced her chest and grabbed the core.

With the snapping of wires and the wet sound of meaty internal organs, the core with its meaty casing was ripped out.

The demon jerked its wings upward, cutting through Yeva’s shoulders, forcing her lifeless body to fall to the ground.

The demon looked at the core and laughed.

“Sentimentality, ” it said, bringing the core to its mouth. “ L-E-T-H-A-L.”

The last thing Yeva saw — was Doll’s gaze, tears in her eyes.

Then came eternal darkness.

At that moment, Doll ceased to see or comprehend anything, her interface flooded with errors.

[ＳＥＣＵＲＩＴＹ 𐌏WＡＲＮＩＮＧ]  

Th͟r̸e͠a̵t̴ D͏e̵t̴e͞c̨t̶e̵d̶: U̷n̸ḱn̴ów͞n E̴x̕e̛c͏u̡t̸a̵b͡l̕e S̨i̸g̀n̡ąt̶u͘r͝e̴  

ID: A̷B̵ŚO̴L̸U̶T̶E̴_̴S̵O̷L̷V͢E̴R.exe  

R̴i͘s̷k L̴e͞v̕e̶l̷: C̕R͡I̷T͞I̴C͏A̷L  

[ＳＣＡＮ R̴E̷S͘U͢L̵T]  

→ M̸e̶m̵o̸r̷y I̶n̸f̷e̷c̷t̶i̴o̴n F̶o̶u̴n̵d  

→ K̴e̵r̵n̴e̶l O̸v̵e̷r̶r̶i̵d̸e A̷t̷t̴e̵m̶p̸t D̷e̸t̶e̴c̴t̴e̷d  

→ R̸o̶o̷t̴ A̶c̷c̷e̸s̴s̶ R̶e̸q̶u̴e̴s̷t D̷e̷n̵i̷e̸d [F̸A̵I̷L̸E̷D]

V came to her senses.

She looked around with a confused, bewildered gaze.

Beneath her feet, she noticed two worker drones.

Only she couldn’t remember how she had killed them.

She remembered sneaking out of the spire and, thanks to the clouds, being able to do it much earlier than usual.

She remembered seeing some workers.

She remembered taking down one of them, while the second started attacking her.

Attacking…

The stream of thoughts and attempts to understand what had happened was interrupted by a sharp pain in her back from familiar ammunition.

V immediately shot into the sky, unwilling to fight the human.

Besides, she had other matters to ponder while hunting.

[ＡＬＥＲＴ]  

V̸i̵r̸u̶s C̶l̷a̵s̸s̶i̴f̸i̶c̵a̶t̶i̷o̵n: U̵N̷D̷E̴F̷I̶N̷E̸D  

B̵e̶h̷a̷v̵i̸o̴r: S̶e̶l̸f̶-R̵e̵p̶l̸i̵c̸a̵t̶i̴n̴g | R̸e̶a̶l̴i̸t̶y-M̶o̶d̷i̸f̸y̵i̷n̷g | P̷r̷o̸c̷e̸s̷s A̷s̴s̶i̵m̵i̷l̷a̴t̴i̶o̴n  

[ＥＲＲＯＲ 0xA113]  

S̴y̴s̷t̸e̸m c̷a̶n̷n̷o̴t q̴u̶a̸r̵a̷n̴t̶i̵n̴e A̶B̵S̶O̴L̵U̷T̴E̵_̴S̸O̴L̴V̶E̵R.exe  

P̴r̵o̵c̴e̸s̶s i̴s n̷o̴t̴ c̶o̶n̴t̵a̷i̶n̶e̶d w̴i̵t̷h̸i̸n l̶o̷c̷a̷l a̷r̷c̴h̶i̴t̸e̸c̷t̷u̴r̴e  

[ＩＮＦＥＣＴＩＯＮ ＬＯＧ]  

- N̶e̴t̴w̶o̶r̴k p̷r̵o̴t̸o̸c̴o̷l̷s: O̸v̶e̵r̷w̷r̸i̸t̷t̶e̸n  

- C̴P̵U̷ I̷n̴s̷t̴r̸u̶c̴t̵i̴o̴n S̵e̴t: R̸e̶w̶r̷i̸t̴t̴e̷n  

- M̴e̴m̵o̸r̵y B̸l̵o̷c̴k̷s: A̴s̷s̸i̵m̷i̸l̶a̷t̷e̵d 

Raven and Oliver were on a raid, as usual, but while returning from it, they heard a single gunshot.

Then someone screamed.

Quickly turning onto one of the avenues near the bunker, they saw a murder drone with two worker drones beside it.

After driving the creature off, they stopped.

“Stay here, I’ll check for survivors,” Raven said tersely, his voice tense.

Jumping out of the vehicle, he took his rifle off safety and ran toward the drones lying face down.

As he approached, the tightening in his chest that had followed him all day intensified.

And the more he saw the drones’ clothing, the stronger that feeling became.

He fell to his knees before one of them and flipped it onto its back.

The worker drone had a chest shredded by claws and a visor pierced by a bullet.

There was also an ushanka, and nearby in the snow lay a Polaroid.

“ Нет… нет… нет… (No… no… no…)” Raven couldn’t believe it.

Could it be a coincidence?

He rushed to the second body.

Purple hair, robe, gloves.

Flipping the drone over, he saw its core had been torn out, and fresh oil was leaking from wounds near the shoulders.

But everything shattered completely when Raven noticed the badge on the drone’s neck, smeared with oil:

YEVA
048

“ Сука… (Fuck…)” Raven slammed his fist into the ground in anger and helplessness.

“Robo-Jesus…” Oliver muttered quietly, approaching from behind.

“What are you standing there for?!” Raven barked. “To the APC! We need to catch that creature! While we’re talking here, that bastard will already be gone!”

Raven strode quickly toward the APC. He wanted to catch the demon and avenge the deaths of his friends.

But he stopped when he heard sounds coming from the van near the massacre site.

Looking at Oliver, they both raised their weapons and approached the source.

Raven slammed open the van door, aiming and ready to shoot.

But what he saw made him lower his rifle immediately.

On the van floor, clutching her head, Doll writhed.

Red lines of code ran across her visor; her breathing was heavy and broken.

“ Бог ты мой, Долл! (My God, Doll!)” Raven rushed to her, trying to help her sit up.

“ Долл! Долл! Ты меня слышишь? Ты цела? (Doll! Doll! Can you hear me? Are you okay?)” he asked, checking her and holding her by the shoulders.

But Doll didn’t hear the questions — or the person asking them.

Everything was blurred and glowing red.

Somewhere beneath the layers of code, she felt a whisper growing louder — and pain.

Pain, as if someone had entered her core and was altering it.

[ＣＲＩＴＩＣＡＬ F̶A̷I̴L̷U̸R̶E]  

A̴n̵t̵i̶v̸i̵r̷u̴s C̴o̷r̸e h̷a̴s b̷e̶e̷n t̷e̴r̴m̷i̷n̴a̵t̸e̶d̴…  

!!! ＡＬＥＲＴ !!!  

P̷r̵o̸c̷e̵s̶s "A̵B̴S̵O̸L̴U̴T̶E̴_̶S̸O̷L̴V̸E̷R" h̴a̷s r̶e̴p̷l̷a̴c̴e̵d S̴Y̸S̷T̶E̵M32.dll  

[ＦＩＮＡＬ ＬＯＧ ＭＥＳＳＡＧＥ]  

A̸C̶C̶E̸S̷S: R̵E̴V̴O̴K̴E̷D  

U̷S̸E̶R: R̶E̷P̸L̷A̸C̷E̶D  

I̷'̴m̴ i̶n̷s̴i̷d̶e̷, s̷i̴l̵l̸y̶ :)̴

At one moment, everything stopped: the noise, the pain, the blurred vision.

Doll saw a gas mask in front of her face and felt human hands on her shoulders.

At first, she didn’t understand what was happening or what was going on.

But then…

Images of her parents’ deaths appeared before her eyes.

Horror, shock, and grief froze her face.

She began shaking her head in disbelief, trembling violently, while digital tears streamed from the corners of her pixelated eyes.

“ Нет… нетнетнет… (No… nononono…)” Doll began to hysterically sob. “ Мамочка… Папочка… (Mom… Dad…)”

She couldn’t form coherent words anymore — she cried loudly.

Raven, not knowing how to calm her, simply held her to himself and began stroking her back soothingly.

Doll clung to the stalker as if her life depended on it, crying loudly, letting out screams, burying her face in his armor.

“ Шшшш… Я здесь, я рядом. Тебе никто не навредит, клянусь (Shhhh… I’m here, I’m right here. No one will hurt you, I swear),” the stalker soothed her.

Raven didn’t know how long he had sat there with Doll in the van, but her sobs and screams suddenly stopped.

After slightly pulling her away, he saw a message on her visor:

[EMOTIONAL OVERLOAD]

He lifted her in his arms and climbed out of the van.

The bodies were gone, and Oliver stood nearby, eyes lowered to the ground, leaning against the APC.

“Where are the bodies?” Raven asked emotionlessly.

“Inside,” Oliver replied in the same tone, pointing with his thumb to the troop compartment.

“Sit in the driver’s seat, please…” Raven requested.

Oliver silently nodded and opened the driver’s door, while Raven, carrying Doll, climbed into the passenger seat.

They drove back to the bunker in complete silence.

“Raven, just sitting here isn’t going to make her wake up any faster,” Gia said, looking at the man sitting next to the bed where Doll lay.

When Raven and Oliver drove into the bunker, they were met by Khan, and seeing what the Scavenger Team had brought, he quickly ordered everyone to leave the area by the doors.

He said to leave the bodies in the APC and send Doll to Gia.

It was there that Raven learned why Khan had cleared the guards from the doors and ordered the bodies left in the APC.

He wanted to hide Eva and Dmitry’s deaths — to prevent unnecessary panic among the colony’s residents, and to stop them from asking whether WDF could protect them if they hadn’t even been able to protect one of their leaders.

Raven’s reaction was obvious — he was ready to tear Khan apart, but Gia and Oliver held him back, as well as the fact that Khan was still Uzi’s father.

After the argument, Raven sent Khan away, and he left, saying it was in the human’s best interest to keep this conversation private, along with the fate of the Sokolov family.

“Gia, I…” Raven began in a tired voice, but she cut him off.

“You won’t change anything, Raven! She’s under a doctor’s care — mine,” Gia snapped, raising her eternally tired voice at the stalker.

Raven stared at Gia’s two-colored eyes for several seconds, then rose from the chair by the bed and silently left the room.

He didn’t remember how he got to the apartment.

He didn’t remember opening the door.

He didn’t remember taking off his exoskeleton.

When Raven came to, he was already trying to wash the oil of Dmitry and Eva from his hands.

The stalker raised his eyes to the shattered mirror.

In the reflection, he saw himself.

Again.

Again, someone dies beside me.

Why? How? Why did they go there? They knew about the surface danger.

Why?

It seemed to him that the reflection changed.

It began to smile at him.

You know the answer, Raven.

It should have been you. But death passed you again.

And came for them.

Raven — the symbol of death.

You carry it — to your enemies and to your friends.

“Нет… (No…)”

Yes. It always has been this way, and it always will be.

“ Умолкни… (Be silent…)”

Find what is needed, and then you will escape this vicious cycle.

“ Что мне найти? Где? (What should I find? Where?)” he whispered.

Find.

Raven was hit by another attack — pressure in his head, whispers, shadows at the edge of his vision.

The reflection changed: instead of a frowning face — an unnaturally wide smile.

Raven was consumed by guilt and rage toward whoever had killed the drones that had become his friends.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the bathroom.

Raven’s fist froze in the place where the mirror once had been.

“ Убью сволочь… найду и убью (I’ll kill it bastard… I’ll find it and I’ll kill).”

Apartment 048 greeted the human with darkness and silence.

Without slowing his pace, he walked through it to the door he needed – Doll’s room.

He knocked, but heard no reply, and entered anyway.

The room was ordinary: a carpet on the floor, a writing desk, bookshelves, a wardrobe, and a bed.

On the bed sat Doll, her face buried in her knees.

“ Эй, ты как? (Hey, how are you?)” Raven asked quietly, softly.

Though the answer to the question was obvious.

Doll gave no reply, not even raising her eyes to the one who had entered.

She was lost in her thoughts.

Raven understood this, so he simply sat in silence on the edge of the bed.

They sat that way until Doll’s shoulders began to tremble slightly, sobs slipping out of her mouth.

Raven leaned closer and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“ Тише, тише… теперь ты в безопасности… нечего бояться , (Easy, easy… you’re safe now… nothing to fear),” Raven’s voice was warm, soothing – uncharacteristic of him.

“ Это всё моя вина… (This is all my fault…)” Doll’s words broke through the tears.

“ В этом нет твоей вины, (It’s not your fault,)” Raven said firmly. “ Не вини себя. Это сделал дрон-убийца. (Don’t blame yourself. A murder drone did this.)”

Doll’s head snapped up, her red eyes flashing with anger as she shoved his hand off her shoulder.

“ Откуда тебе знать?! (How would you know?!)” she shouted hoarsely. “Тебе не понять!.. (You can’t understand!..)”

Raven gave a sad smile.

“ Я тоже себя когда-то винил (I blamed myself once too),” he said quietly.

“ В чем? (For what?)” she asked, not understanding where this was going.

“ В смерти родителей, (For my parents’ deaths),” Raven answered, looking straight into Doll’s tear-stained digital eyes.

The red-eyed drone fell silent, her expression shifting from anger to surprise.

“ Мой отец… он был офицером и участником ликвидации одной аварии, (My father… he was an officer, part of the cleanup of an accident,)” Raven began. “ Во время ликвидации он получил крупную дозу радиации. Как итог - болезнь, смертельная. Она убила его не сразу, а через десять лет. Но то была не жизнь - он пытался прокормить семью, но чаще всего тратил большую часть денег, чтобы утопить свои кошмары в стакане водки… (During the cleanup, he got a massive dose of radiation. The result was an illness – fatal. It didn’t kill him right away, but ten years later. And those weren’t years of life – he tried to feed the family, but most of the time he just spent what money he had drowning nightmares in vodka…)”

Raven stopped. Doll listened silently.

“ Когда мне было десять лет, он умер в страшных мучениях. Его смерть подкосила здоровье моей матери, и через год она умерла от сердечного приступа. Хе… вот такие мы, люди, хрупкие, (When I was ten, he died in horrible agony. His death broke my mother’s health, and a year later she died of a heart attack. Heh… that’s us humans – fragile),” Raven said with a bitter smile.

“ Но в чем твоя вина? Ты не мог ничего сделать (But how was that your fault? You couldn’t do anything),” Doll said, not understanding.

“ В этом и была моя вина - я ничего не мог сделать. Я смотрел, как мой отец спивается - я ничего не мог сделать; я смотрел, как рак забирает моего отца - я ничего не мог сделать; я смотрел, как моя мать угасала - я ничего не мог сделать. Я винил свою беспомощность и невозможность помочь тем, кто мне дорог. (That was the point of my guilt – that I couldn’t do anything. I watched my father drink himself to death – I couldn’t do anything; I watched cancer take him – I couldn’t do anything; I watched my mother fade away – I couldn’t do anything. I blamed my helplessness, my inability to save the ones I loved.)” Raven looked at Doll. “ Иногда есть обстоятельства и вещи выше нас. Я не мог помочь родителям, потому что обстоятельства были выше моих возможностей; ты не могла помочь своим родителям, потому что был дрон-убийца, сильнее тебя. (Sometimes there are circumstances and things bigger than us. I couldn’t save my parents because the circumstances were beyond me; you couldn’t save yours because a murder drone was stronger than you).”

“ Я могла что-то сделать… (I could’ve done something…)” Doll lowered her gaze. “ Могла схватить винтовку, побежать за помощью… могла сделать хоть что-то. (Grabbed a rifle, run for help… something.)”

“ Ты выжила (You survived),” Raven replied. “ Этого хотели бы твои родители. Конечно, я не так долго их знал, чтобы говорить за них, но… они бы хотели, чтобы ты выжила, чтобы жила дальше ради них. (That’s what your parents would’ve wanted. I didn’t know them long enough to speak for them, but… they would’ve wanted you to live. To go on, for their sake.)”

“ А хочу ли я это? (And do I even want that?)” Doll asked quietly, more to herself than to him. “ Может… может было бы лучше, если бы я погибла вместе с ними?.. (Maybe… maybe it would’ve been better if I’d died with them?..)”

Raven was shaken by the question. He quickly grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him.

“ Не говори так. Никогда не говори так, (Don’t say that. Never say that),” he said, staring into her ruby eyes. “ Пойми одну вещь: твоих родителей забрал монстр - и это не ты. И никогда им не будешь. И я клянусь тебе, этот монстр никогда не заберёт тебя. (Understand this: your parents were taken by a monster – not you. And you’ll never be that. And I swear to you, that monster will never take you.)”

Doll flushed and lowered her gaze.

She was surprised by the human’s words – and that he was saying them to her. They had never been close, never really talked beyond rare encounters.

So why was he saying this?

Why?

Although… maybe not all humans were as bad as other drones always said?

Her mother had told her about a kind man from the past, someone who treated drones well and helped them, even when it hurt him.

Maybe… Raven was the same?

Maybe beneath the sarcasm, irony, and scarred skin, there was simply a good man caught in circumstances?

“ Правда?… (Really?…)” was all she managed to whisper.

“ Правда (Really),” the man replied calmly.

Doll lowered her head.

Maybe he truly was a good person, just with a hard past?

Maybe he wanted the best for her, as her parents had?

She didn’t know.

But she knew one thing – he was one of the few she could trust.

Her parents had trusted him, and always spoke well of him.

“ Скажи, ты чего-то хочешь? (Tell me, do you want anything?)” the man asked.

Doll raised her eyes to him, studying his dark-green eyes for a moment.

“ Я хочу побыть одна… (I want to be alone…)” she said, trying not to make it sound like she was driving him away.

“ Да… да, я понимаю (Yes… yes, I understand),” Raven stood and headed for the door. “ Долл, если тебе что-то будет нужно, я всегда выслушаю или сделаю - не бойся просить. (Doll, if you ever need anything, I’ll always listen or help – don’t be afraid to ask).”

“ Хорошо… спасибо вам, мистер… (Alright… thank you, mister…)” Doll trailed off.

She hesitated for a long while, then decided.

“ Спасибо вам, Дядя Саша. (Thank you, Uncle Sasha.)”

Doll gave a faint but warm and genuine smile to the man.

He was startled at what she called him, but a moment later answered her with the same smile.

“ Всегда пожалуйста, Долл. (Anytime, Doll.)”

The man left the room, and then came the sound of the door closing.

Doll’s smile quickly vanished.

She was gnawed by many feelings: guilt over her parents’ deaths, guilt for deceiving Raven…

And a thirst for vengeance.

One stronger than all the rest.

She looked at her palm, and with some effort a symbol appeared.

A hexagon with three arrows coming out from its corners, glowing blood-red.

She stared at it.

Her mother had told her about this – about the Solver.

She’d called it a curse.

But Doll believed it could become a tool of revenge – revenge on that demon, that monster who had killed not only her parents, but countless of worker drones.

Gazing at the symbol in her hand, a plan for vengeance began to form in her mind.

She would rise above circumstance.

She would become stronger than the murder drones.

And if, to defeat the monster, she had to become a monster herself – then so be it.

She would become a monster.

"Raven, this is Oliver. I... I don’t know how to say this, but Dmitry’s and Eva’s bodies are gone. I checked — Khan has nothing to do with it and doesn’t know yet. Come to me, something strange is going on here. Over."

Chapter Text

“Well, I never thought I’d set foot in a library again,” came Raven’s voice, muffled by the mask of his gas respirator, as he climbed out of the APC beside a monumental building that stood out sharply against the city’s skyline.

The façade was lined with columns and pediments; tall arched windows filled with stained glass; a wide staircase of gray stone leading up to massive oak doors with wrought-iron handles; the building itself rose three stories tall. It all bore the mark of neoclassical architecture, which looked out of place next to the utilitarian skyscrapers surrounding it.

This was the Central Library and Archive of Copper City.

Raven scanned the square in front of the library and noticed a monument which, after years of erosion, now resembled a statue of some vague silhouette. The inscription, engraved in several languages, read: “To the first colonists of Copper 9, who landed here in the year 2839.” Around it there had once been a park, though little of it remained: some of it was destroyed, the rest buried under snow.

The stalker felt a wave of sadness.

For the past ten years, his entire life had been nothing but ruins: first in Chornobyl, then in Chernarus, and now here. He was used to them, and all his old musings about “ this was once someone’s life ” had long since faded away, spoken out loud years ago by a younger, greener Raven — the same fool who had marched into the Zone without really knowing why. Maybe for some noble idea, maybe just to make money, or maybe for the thrill of adventure. The goals had changed with time, but that was another story.

Still… it was depressing that his whole life now was just picking through ruins for scraps.

He had once heard that every person had a purpose in life, that each one was given some destiny, some mission. Raven had stopped believing that a long time ago.

Because if it were true, then wasn’t his “destiny” just to scavenge among ruins?

He didn’t want to believe that.

“Raven, what are you standing around for?” Oliver tugged at his arm. “Come on, let’s grab what we need and get back home.”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, let’s go,” Raven shook himself free of his thoughts.

Lately the stalker found himself drifting into melancholy more often — obvious reasons for that.

And he often thought back to one of his last conversations with Yeva.

About the lab, and Solver.

Why did he keep seeing that symbol in his dreams? How could a mere computer virus affect the physical world? And if this planet was so important to JCJenson, why hadn’t they sent in hundreds of marines to secure it, instead of those killer drones?

He shook his head.

That was the kind of thing to think about before sleep, not now.

The stalker and the drone stood before the towering double doors, above which was carved a symbol: a laurel wreath encircling the planet Earth, five stars above it, and a Latin inscription: “ Scientia potentia est. ” Knowledge is power.

And in the wrong hands — dangerous power.

“Oli, what’s that emblem?” Raven pointed with the barrel of his rifle.

“You don’t know? That’s the crest of the UHF,” Oliver replied, a little surprised, then quickly added: “UHF — the United Humanity Federation.”

So, people had finally united. How noble of them.

Leaving the ornate decorations behind, Raven stepped up beside Oliver, who was struggling to open the doors, and threw his shoulder against one of them.

The door groaned, hinges squealing, and slowly began to budge. They worked at it until a gap wide enough to pass through opened up.

Inside, a wide, dark corridor awaited them. The tiled walls were flanked by two doors leading to service rooms — both sealed shut beyond use. They moved quickly through and reached another pair of doors, no less massive in size and design, though these swung open with much less resistance — the brunt of the weather having been borne by the first set.

Beyond lay a spacious lobby with vaulted ceilings and ornate chandeliers. Evening sunlight streamed gently through the tall arched windows, illuminating the massive wooden reception desk.

Of course, most of those windows were shattered, leaving mounds of snow piled beneath them, and half the chandeliers had already crashed to the floor.

After pausing for a moment, they spotted a hallway labeled “Reading Hall” and headed that way. The door on the passage gave in easily, they entered freely — and were greeted by the bleak sight of this so-called sanctuary of “knowledge.”

A vast hall filled with columns and towering bookshelves that stretched up to the ceiling, stacked with thousands of volumes. Near the shelves stood reading desks with green-shaded lamps; golden chandeliers dangled above; decorative motifs sprawled across walls and pillars; and the ceiling itself was painted with an image of a clear blue sky, in stark contrast to the heavy leaden clouds Raven had grown used to. The fading evening sunlight streamed through the same tall windows, casting warm rays across the space.

But the condition of the hall was nothing short of dreadful: most columns were in critical disrepair, some already collapsed; rows of bookshelves had toppled, their contents strewn across the floor and buried beneath fallen chandeliers; windows smashed open, snow and moisture seeping in and rotting away the books; and to top it all, sections of the ceiling had caved in.

Even so — the sight was awe-inspiring.

“Damn… here it is, the Central Library,” Oliver whispered in awe. “I heard they kept millions of volumes here, even original works from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Can you imagine how ancient those are?”

Oliver glanced at Raven’s face, clearly expecting some reaction. Through the photochromic lenses of his mask, which now allowed his eyes to be faintly visible, the drone only saw one eyebrow raised in silent skepticism.

“Ahem, right…” Oliver coughed, realizing the awkwardness. “Not so ancient for you …”

“Remind me what we actually need from here?” Raven asked, shifting his rifle and moving deeper inside.

“Books,” Oliver replied bluntly. “Our colony’s library isn’t that big, and after twenty years people have read it cover to cover. Plus, we could use more textbooks.”

Raven grunted and began wandering between the rows.

He had once visited the library at Outpost-3 and his first goal there had been to find a history textbook — to confirm whether Einstein had been right or not — but it simply wasn’t there. Then he got caught up in work, and eventually let it go, accepting the fact that he might never meet other humans again. Not that he was entirely indifferent to being the only man around — but it didn’t weigh too heavily on him either.

So if, among these endless shelves of authors unknown to him, he managed to find anything on history — it would just be a pleasant bonus.

Even after all these years, Raven could still smell the faint, musty scent of books, creeping through the filters of his gas mask as he leafed through worn pages. Some he skimmed and put back; others he dismissed at a glance; and a few he read for a minute or two before slipping them into his rucksack — something to finish later in his apartment and eventually donate to the colony’s library.

But one book caught his attention more than the others.

He tugged it from the shelf and turned it over. On the cover was a symbol of a wolf’s head, and the title: “Swordsmanship Basics and Techniques for Beginners.” The author: Vesemir Elliott.

Hm. Why not? A stalker should be skilled with all kinds of weapons. And that sword I’ve got back in the armory is just collecting dust anyway.

Deciding it was time to pick up a hobby, he tossed the book into his pack with the others.

As he turned to move on to the next row, he didn’t notice he was stepping onto rotten floorboards.

Raven heard the sharp crack of splintering wood, then a loud snap — and suddenly the floor was rushing up to meet his eyes. Falling, he snagged against some planks, flipping mid-air, and landed flat on his back.

For a few seconds he couldn’t even comprehend what had happened. Then, opening his eyes, he saw the jagged hole above. Looking around, he realized he was lying on broken boards in some dark corridor below.

Groaning, he muttered a string of curses in three different languages.

“Raven! You okay down there?!” Oliver shouted, rushing to the edge of the hole.

“Stay put!” Raven barked, his voice strained. “Or you’ll fall through too… Dammit, who the hell thought covering holes with planks was a good idea?!”

He coughed and tried to stand, pain radiating from his bruises.

“I’m fine. Just a few bruises,” he finally answered.

“How the hell did you even manage that?” Oliver called from above.

“How was I supposed to know the floor was patched with rotten boards?!” Raven growled, inspecting his armor and noting a few minor dents.

Great… well, Uzi will be thrilled — now he’s got an excuse to tear into my exosuit. No way I can fix this without a tech.

“You want me to grab a rope?” Oliver offered.

Raven didn’t much like the idea of climbing a rope in such bulky armor.

“Here’s the deal…” the stalker said, switching on his headlamp and scanning the corridor ahead. “I’ll try to find a way out down here. If I don’t, then you fetch a rope and haul me up.”

“You sure?” Oliver asked.

Raven picked up his rifle from the ground and examined it for damage.

“Sure,” he said firmly, finding nothing broken. “All the librarians froze to death ages ago. I’ll be fine. You just keep hauling books.”

Ending the exchange with his partner, Raven began moving deeper into the library’s basement.

After half an hour of wandering through monotonous dark corridors, he came across something interesting — the corpses of drones.

Before that, there was the usual crime scene kit: bullet holes in the walls, claw marks, black oil stains on the floor and walls, looking as if they had been there for years.

Over the past months among the ruins, Raven had seen plenty of scenes like this, and they no longer surprised him.

What caught his attention was the appearance of the drones — orange helmets with flashlights, black robes with reflective strips.

He had seen this before — during his first week on Copper 9.

Turning over one of the bodies, he noticed a characteristic serial number and a jackhammer lying beneath the drone.

Damn, of all people, cultists were the last he expected to see here. Although their First had said he was trying to figure out how humans ruined the planet. So he sent them here — but why?

Raven decided to find the answer the stalker way — by rifling through the pockets of the corpses.

Surprisingly, it worked: one of them had a crumpled sheet of paper with barely legible writing: “Door №17-B. Documents should be stored in sector C-12.” 

Well, now that’s interesting.

Raven quickly approached the nearest door and checked the number.

№6-B

Looks like he wasn’t far off.

Now the stalker had a new goal besides finding a way out — to locate the archive and discover what these mysterious documents were.

Aiming for the corridor ahead, Raven moved roughly in the direction of the archive. After a few minutes, a strange sensation came over him.

A sense of déjà vu.

And with every step, it grew stronger.

Something on Raven’s belt twitched slightly forward, and out of surprise, he instinctively grabbed it.

It was a lead container holding an artifact, which the stalker had carried with him on all his raids.

And the container wasn’t just moving slightly — it was vibrating.

What the hell…

Raven froze for a few seconds, staring blankly at the container hanging from his belt, vibrating continuously.

Then he decided to take a risk and began opening it. When he did, the dark corridor filled with a soft blue light from the artifact, shaped like a perfect sphere.

Raising it to eye level, Raven saw that the clump of white energy didn’t spill over the artifact or rush into his palm, as it usually did.

The mass concentrated in the part of the artifact facing down the corridor. Raven tried tilting it so the clump faced the floor. But when he did, it flowed back toward the corridor’s depth.

Rotating it, he realized that no matter how he turned it, it always pointed…

Wait. Pointed?

A strange thought flashed through the stalker’s mind, and he decided to test it.

Raven continued down the corridor, holding the artifact in one hand.

When he passed another door, the clump abruptly shifted and began stretching toward it.

Raven approached and wiped the plaque on the door.

№17-B

Surprised, he nearly dropped the artifact.

And looking closer at the door, he realized one thing — he had seen it before.

It had appeared to him during his previous episodes.

Alright, if I don’t understand anything anymore — I might as well just observe and enjoy.

Raven quickly put the artifact away and pulled the door handle; it opened.

The beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing metal shelves lined with boxes, yellowed tied papers, and folders.

Reaching the end of the room, the stalker found a metal door labeled C-12. The door was locked, but with an AK-74 loaded with armor-piercing rounds, a lock wasn’t a problem.

After firing a few rounds at the lock and then prying it with his knife, Raven managed to open the sector.

Inside was a small room, about four by four meters, lined with massive metal cabinets, holding archives. All were numbered, from 3030-01 to 3045-13.

Raven didn’t know which documents the cultists needed, so he approached cell 3038-05 and tried to open it.

It resisted, but after several sharp tugs, it flew open, forcing Raven to step back and scattering papers across the floor.

“Raven… *interference* … Raven, respond!” Oliver’s voice crackled over the radio. “You’re… *interference* where…”
It seemed the signal was weak in this room, but Raven already knew why his partner was calling — time was pressing, and night was about to fall.

The stalker glanced at the scattered documents, grabbed one at random, and began reading to get some idea of why he had come here.

And what he read didn’t just interest him — it shocked him.

EXPERIMENT REPORT №0783
dated 19.05.3038

Object: ECJ-0326
Sex: male
Age: 25
Psi-protection level: 2 (basic)
Occupation: member of PMC “Onyx”

Experiment log:
10:00 — ECJ-0326 placed in capsule; preparation for interface connection completed.
10:15 — Interface initialization begins; vital signs stable.
10:20 — First brain activity signals recorded; readings comply with protocol.
10:25 — Anomalous reaction detected: spikes in bioelectric activity, unstable pulse, episodes of disorientation.
10:27 — Interface partially lost synchronization with subject’s consciousness; control over emotional and cognitive functions impaired.
10:29 — Panic and involuntary movements observed; capsule automatically switched subject to safety mode, terminating main connection.
10:31 — Subject in critical condition; clear signs of excessive psi exposure: auditory and visual hallucinations, heightened nervousness, mood swings from hysterical laughter to crying and apologizing to nonexistent entities.

Experiment result:
Complete failure. Most likely caused by an anomaly during initial stages of connection. Under current conditions, ECJ-0326 is no longer suitable for experiments and declared unfit for connection. However, due to his non-aggressiveness, the subject was transferred to Cryosleep Maintenance Lab №3.

Comments:
Failure may also be attributed to two additional factors — mental instability of ECJ-0326 due to a troubled childhood and PMC “Onyx” service, and his basic psi-protection level.
Recommendations: 1) Refuse subjects with mental trauma or past events affecting their mental health; 2) Increase minimum psi-protection level from 2 to 3. If material continues to be used irrationally, the data relay unit will never be found.

Signature: Project “Aurora” Head Professor GINDENBERG Karl
Date: 20.05.3038

Raven read the report several times.

Psi-protection? Psi-radiation? Were they building the Brain Scorcher there or what?

He checked the time on his PDA — there wasn’t much daylight left.

Deciding to sort everything out later in the bunker, he gathered the scattered papers and hurriedly tossed them into his rucksack.

“Oliver, this is Raven. Can you hear me, over?” the stalker said into the radio, heading toward the fissure he had fallen through.

“Loud and clear. Where did you disappear to? I was about to come find you, over,” Oliver replied, clearly this time.

“All exits blocked, mostly,” Raven lied partially, as some passages really were obstructed. “Bring the rope — I’ll be there soon. Out.”

The stalker decided not to tell his partner about the findings for now.

He wanted to figure it out himself.

Financial report… financial report… requests for increased funding… Damn it, soon I’ll have nowhere to store all this paperwork!

Raven’s desk, lit by a desk lamp, was buried under papers — reports, documents, instructions, orders, and other documentation, along with the stalker’s own notes about them.

For a month now, Raven had been digging through these papers, trying to piece together what people had been doing here.

Quickly scanning another financial report, which showed the worsening financial state of the “Center for Mind Research” laboratory, the team behind Project Aurora, month by month, Raven tossed it onto a pile of similar papers that he would later roll into cigarettes.

He leaned back in his chair, reached for another cigarette, and scanned his room.

Instead of a metal bed, there was now a comfortable wooden double bed, a large and spacious wardrobe for clothes stood against the wall, several nightstands for the stalker’s few belongings, and a large desk. On the desk, along with documents from the archive, was an ashtray full of ash and cigarette butts, and a large mug with the JCJenson logo and the inscription “ Best Worker! ” , the bottom holding the remains of black coffee.

Clenching a cigarette between his teeth, Raven picked up a random sheet of paper from the unchecked pile and began reading.

It was a fragment, neither a lecture nor a meeting transcript, but its content caught Raven’s interest.

“…As you all know, long ago humanity used many types of energy: solar, wind, hydro, geothermal, atomic, and so on. However, in 2058, the International Institute for Anomalous Phenomena Research was able to create a replacement for all of them — anomalous energy. By creating generators based on the Zones, also known as ‘Wells.’ And as you all know how they did it — by cutting the Zones off from the Noosphere, after first storing energy from it there. Using the analogy of the ‘leaky barrel theory,’ they expanded this barrel into a well and sealed the hole. But in doing so, they cut humanity off from the Noosphere. After the Absolute Solver attacked the IIAPR servers, which by then had become JCJenson’s Scientific Department, in 2172, we lost almost all research, documentation, and monumental materials from the times of the Scientific Institute for Research of the Chornobyl Anomalous Area. We effectively rolled back our knowledge of the Noosphere to the end of the 20th century…”

A fragment from Professor Karl Gindenberg’s report to JCJenson’s High Scientific Council.

Raven read the fragment while taking notes on theories and what was known.

The picture was both interesting and confusing due to the lack of concrete data.

Someone had clearly rummaged in that sector before the stalker, apparently before 3050. It felt like all the important documents from the archive had been taken, leaving only fragments and reports that seemed important at first glance.

What good is information about the Noosphere if I have no idea what they were actually planning?

The ashtray gained another cigarette butt, and the pile of “useful junk” grew. The soft leather swivel chair creaked as the stalker stood and grabbed an empty mug.

Which cup of coffee is this for the evening, the sixth? Heh, reminds me of pulling all-nighters for a term paper…

Stepping out of his room, the stalker was greeted by the darkness of his apartment and the quiet sounds from the room opposite — Uzi’s workshop, already in the final stages of creating her Wunderwaffe against the murder drones.

The fact that this emo-drone had essentially become Raven’s cohabitant didn’t bother him much — at least it wasn’t boring. In the first weeks, despite her “rebellious teen, rules-don’t-matter” persona, she was surprisingly modest. Once he got used to her, the modesty vanished, and Uzi frequently stayed over at Raven’s apartment, which pushed him to find a new bed, since he had given his original one to her room.

Yes, to her room — Raven had accepted this fact. And he wasn’t really against it.

Living with Uzi and their daily quarrels helped him keep from completely losing it amid everything happening in his life.

Reaching the kitchen, he turned on the electric kettle and waited for it to boil. His living room now looked lived-in, too; aside from the couch, there were bookshelves, a coffee table; a plasma TV on the wall, and below it, a true relic — a DVD player; across from the TV was a painting in oils, showing Earth and its satellite, the Moon.

But Raven’s gaze lingered on the couch. There lay an open book, a light detective story.

He rubbed his nose to shake off sleepiness and moved to put the book back on the shelf.

It had been left after Doll arrived.

Doll… astonishing how that red-eyed drone managed to awaken in Raven a feeling he thought long dead inside him.

Care.

Raven couldn’t leave her to fate, not after all she had gone through.

Maybe… maybe he overestimated his own strength and capacities — after all, he spent whole days on raids and then still dealt with Aurora.

Yet he couldn’t act otherwise.

He wasn’t a beast. He was human, even if a stalker, carrying dozens of souls behind him.

Yes, Raven understood he couldn’t replace her father, nor did he intend to.

He wanted to give her the sense that she wasn’t alone, that she wouldn’t bear this burden alone.

For the first few days, Doll didn’t leave the apartment. But one day, she knocked on his door. When asked what she wanted, she simply said: “I want to sit with you, Uncle Sasha.”

And they did, mostly in silence. After Yeva and Dmitry died, Doll withdrew into herself: she had always been quiet, but then she could remain silent through entire visits.

But over time, she returned to normal — thanks in part to Lizzy and Thad. Raven didn’t know if Oliver’s daughter and Thad knew the fate of Doll’s parents, but the fact remained: life gradually returned to Doll.

Never as before, that was obvious, but at least some life.

Often during these visits they just talked about various topics: Doll told about studying at Outpost-3 and the scarce entertainment there; then they began reading books Raven brought from the library, apart from the archives.

But Doll loved most of all to hear Raven’s stories about Earth — about his life before the Zone, about human life, just facts about Earth and humans. For Doll, it was interesting for two reasons: to learn more about how humans lived and what Earth — humanity’s homeland — was like.

Uzi reacted to this “cohabitation” in her own way — Doll was Lizzy’s best friend. And the pink-eyed cheerleader didn’t have the best relationship with the purple-haired one, to say the least. Moreover, she didn’t understand why Doll suddenly started visiting Raven.

Raven joked and asked Uzi if she was jealous. A sharp hit from girls, along with the air, knocked out the desire to repeat such jokes.

Over time, Uzi got used to Doll — even began greeting her, which was rare for such an introverted drone — and sometimes joined in listening to Raven’s stories about Earth.

Raven smiled warmly as he poured hot water into instant coffee. Not because he was guaranteed a few more sleepless hours — he smiled remembering these moments.

In these moments, he forgot problems and recalled the bright episodes of his past life.

His life before the first trip to the Zone in 2010 was already history to him.

Crossing the Zone perimeter’s barbed wire, he had crossed the Rubicon.

No turning back.

Shaking off these thoughts, he went to his room.

Approaching, he noticed the workshop doors wide open and his room’s door slightly ajar, although he always closed it.

Putting two and two together, Raven realized his home had been invaded by gremlins — one particular emo-gremlin.

Quietly standing in the doorway, the stalker saw Uzi rifling through and reading papers on his desk. Observing a bit, he theatrically cleared his throat into his fist.

Uzi let out a small “oik” and jumped in fright, quickly turning her head toward the source.

Raven chuckled quietly and took a sip from his mug.

“Weren’t you taught that taking other people’s stuff is bad?” the stalker asked.

“Bite me!” Uzi pointed at Raven and quickly ran toward him. “What are you doing, some kind of investigation?”

“Yes,” Raven replied calmly, shrugging.

Uzi was surprised by the casual admission and relaxed slightly.

“And… what investigation is this?” the drone nodded toward the desk.

Raven entered the room, walked to the desk, sat down, and took the paper Uzi had been reading. She was reading the same fragment of Gindenberg’s report Raven had read before going for coffee.

“I… I’m not entirely sure — there isn’t much material, and most of it is superficial,” Raven said, sipping his coffee.

“No-no, you’re not getting away from me,” Uzi replied and plopped onto the bed. “Tell me.”

Curiosity killed the cat, what did it do?

“All right…” Raven sipped his coffee again and took a cigarette from the open case on the desk.

“Ugh, how do you smoke that?” Uzi asked as gray smoke puffed from his mouth.

“Easy and simple.” He took another drag, then sipped coffee. “This is just a theory, and I’m not fully certain. You sure you want to hear it?”

“Yes, enough dragging — tell me what you found!” she said impatiently.

“All right, here’s the picture so far: somewhere between 3030 and 3045, there was a laboratory on this planet, ‘Center for Mind Research,’ running Project Aurora. And all the perks of secret labs are present: classified information; vague wording in documents; human experiments,which they called either “subjects” or “materials”; and cynical requests to the Company management to send them more materials and funding for experiments.” Raven sipped his coffee and began tapping his fingers on the wooden desk. “But that’s not what caught my attention — I’ve read worse documents. What intrigues me is that Project Aurora somehow involves psi-emission and the Noosphere.”

“What sphere?” Uzi asked, confused. “And what emission?”

“Let’s start simple: psi-emission is a special radiation that negatively affects the human brain. Short-term exposure causes visual and auditory hallucinations, headaches, and coordination issues. Long-term exposure turns a person into a zombified, empty shell, retaining only basic instincts and fragmented memories. A terrible fate and a grim sight, and the only remedy is a mercy bullet to the forehead.”

“Ugh…” Uzi shrugged, imagining such a scenario.

“Terrible is also the fact that there are devices for more ‘controlled’ zombification, turning humans into obedient puppets,” Raven continued, recalling the example of the Monolith group.

“And this… Naosphere, what is it?”

“The Noosphere,” Raven corrected, earning an exasperated sigh. “The Noosphere is an informational field surrounding Earth, closely linked to all intelligent beings living on the planet, storing all their mental images. Scientists describe it as a repository of consciousness, thoughts, emotions, and mental imagery of all humans. And the fact that these eggheads from the ‘Center’ tried to tamper with the Noosphere is what worries me.”

“With what? If I understand correctly, that’s… just people’s thoughts… wait, they wanted to read minds?!” Uzi suggested.

“That would’ve been less scary,” Raven shook his head, dismissing the idea. “The Noosphere is dangerous for two reasons: first, if its energy spills into the biosphere, it can alter physical laws and properties — the Chornobyl Anomalous Zone is an example, though that might not mean much to you; second, if you connect to the Noosphere, you can manipulate it. Understand?”

Uzi fell silent, thinking.

“No way…” she muttered, eyes widening as the realization hit her, “not just reading minds, but changing them. That’s even worse!”

“Exactly, my purple friend,” Raven nodded, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. “Once, scientists tried to connect to the Noosphere to remove all the ‘darkness’ in human consciousness. Instead, they created a breach in the Noosphere, and its energy spilled onto Earth, creating the Zone.”

“So… what were they actually trying to do?” the drone asked, mostly to herself.

“That’s the catch — I don’t know. I know they experimented on humans; I know most experiments failed due to psi-emission; and I know the Noosphere is somehow involved. But what did they want? Change it, create a collective mind, or something else? No answers. Someone had rifled through the Aurora documents before the core collapse — no records from the last two years exist.”

“This doesn’t sit right with me…” Uzi muttered, eyeing the paper stacks.

Raven remained silent, observing her, then carefully explored another topic.

“There’s also Cabin Fever. But what they did there is a mystery. Except…” Raven turned, digging out a flash drive he had once taken from cultists. “This flash drive has experimental software intended to control the murder drones’ Weapon Module and protocols”

“Control murder drones?!” Uzi jumped up excitedly. “That’s… that’s…”

“Experimental software. And not controlling the drones themselves, but their Weapon Module and combat protocols,” Raven clarified.

Uzi stopped cheering, groaning in irritation.

“You’re boring.” She crossed her arms and flopped back.

“Can’t help it,” Raven shrugged.

They sat in silence until Uzi decided to break it.

“Strange…”

“What exactly?” Raven rested his hand on the armrest, supporting his head.

“Well, if this planet is so important, why hasn’t the Company cleared it long ago, instead of sending murder drones that for twenty years haven’t been able to root us out of the bunkers?”

“Who knows,” Raven shrugged. “I’ve thought about that too. But those are just Khan’s guesses about the drones’ purpose. We don’t know the whole truth.”

They fell silent again.

Raven glanced at the clock — time to go on a raid.

Alone, to the library.

At night.

He had started doing this to keep his investigation secret — he wanted to figure everything out himself first, then tell others. But Uzi had somewhat messed up his plan.

Besides, night was the only time he could slip by when no one was at the doors — during shift change, when he had five minutes to get through. He returned the same way, when the night shift left.

“Hey, shouldn’t you get going?” he lightly hinted, noticing Uzi had lingered.
He didn’t mind her company, but not while he was uncovering an interplanetary conspiracy.

“Yeah… I’ve been sitting too long…” Uzi murmured, thinking over what she’d heard.

But standing in the doorway of Raven’s room, she suddenly stopped, then dashed to the adjacent room laughing.

Hmm, young body — lots of energy. Though she’s a robot…

Raven went to the kitchen to wash the mug and start preparing his gear.

Hearing quick, skipping footsteps behind him, he realized something was about to happen.

“Hey, meatbag,” Uzi shouted boldly, “look!”

The stalker tiredly turned his head, eyes widening as Uzi aimed a black gun at him.

Reflexes acted faster than his brain, and he dropped to the ground automatically.

Of course, no shot followed, only an explosion of wild laughter from Uzi, making Raven feel awkward.

“Pahaha… you should’ve seen your face! Scared like a baby drone!” Uzi laughed, digital tears appearing, pointing at him with her free hand.

Her other hand held a long black contraption with stickers on the stock.

“Very funny,” Raven said, getting up and swearing. “Never point a weapon at an old soldier — I might just fire myself.”

“Pahah… Yeah,” Uzi laughed, “you left your prehistoric pistol in your room, and you’re only thirty-five — that’s young by human standards.”

“So… what is this?” He gestured at the weapon in Uzi’s hands, though he already knew.

“This…” Uzi examined it lovingly, then raised it abruptly again. “…SICK AS HELL RAILGUN! The terror of humans and murder drones! Key…”

“Does it work?” Raven interrupted her mad speech.

“Of course it works! But it’s unstable for now…” Raven stepped back a few paces from Uzi, “…and switched off. If you flip this switch…”

“Don’t flip it!” the stalker shouted, waving his arms. “I trust you already! Any tests will be behind bunker doors.”

“So… you’ll take me on the raid?!” the drone jumped excitedly, looking up at him with awed eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” Raven replied.

“Why not?!” Uzi got angry. “Do you think I can’t handle myself, or that I’m a little dumb girl who needs protecting?!”

“I don’t think that of you, you know it,” Raven shook his head. “This isn’t my call — it’s Khan’s.”

“Stop pretending like you don’t care what my dad thinks,” Uzi rolled her eyes.

“I don’t care what he thinks — he’s not my commander. But this is about your safety, and whether you like it or not, he’s your father in this regard. Talk to him: if he agrees, I’ll take you. If not — no hard feelings.”

Uzi frowned at him, puffing and trying to say something, then finally said one short phrase:

“Bite me! I’ll go to the surface without you!”

She turned and left.

Raven exhaled and glanced at the clock.

“ Ну, сурма кличе. (Well, the horn’s calling.)”

A figure in a massive exoskeleton moved through the dead city surprisingly quietly, almost unnoticed. He was in his element — night, ruins, the chance to die at any second, and nothing around but the sounds of footsteps and the wind.

Raven felt a twinge of nostalgia; he missed the feeling of danger. Riding an APC through the city during the day — that was nothing. Someone once called him an adrenaline junkie who’d crawl into Hell if paid. Right now, he was ready to go there for free.

It would remind him of Mother Zone — the place he both hated and missed at the same time. Stockholm syndrome? More like… Chornobyl syndrome. But tonight, everything felt different.

In the past, when he went to the library at night, he had seen a demon figure flying in the distance or heard hysterical laughter echoing across several blocks. Tonight — silence. Not even a cloud in the sky, and surprisingly bright. And he didn’t like it, not one bit. Nor did he like how tight his chest felt as he approached the repository of knowledge.

He climbed the gray stone steps without effort. Opened a door without effort. Walked the corridor and vestibule without effort. Opened the reading room door without effort.

Raven stopped and looked around — moonlight streamed through the windows, giving a good view even without a flashlight.

The stalker scanned everything skeptically — it pissed him off how easy it all was. But there was no turning back — he headed for the floor breach that had first brought him to the library basement.

Dead silence surrounded him. Not even the usual abandoned-wind stirred. Absolute silence, each step echoing through the room.

A rope dangled into the breach — left by him and Oliver. Descent and ascent should be quick.

The stalker went down, turned on his flashlight, and followed the route he had memorized over several raids. As he walked, he glanced at the container. It swung calmly in rhythm with his steps.

Since then, the artifact no longer vibrated. The mass inside behaved normally. Something else had changed — the nightmares and seizures had lessened. Hallucinations and whispering voices had vanished, and on some nights, he even slept peacefully — no dreams.

He didn’t know what had changed, or why the nightmares had weakened. Or he just didn’t want to admit his theory, considering it bullshit.

The stalker spotted the familiar archive door and opened it calmly. The place hadn’t changed much since his first visit. He strode into sector C-12, eyes scanning the shelves — tonight was supposed to be the final raid. Yeah, he hadn’t checked all the documents from before, but this was better.

Moving shelf by shelf, Raven couldn’t shake the feeling he’d willingly walked into a trap.

His backpack was full of old paperwork, all shelves emptied. The archive was bare; he’d taken everything left behind. Now, the only thing left was to return to the bunker and spend a few sleepless nights on these papers.

Which of these tasks was harder for Raven? Debatable. But that question could wait. The stalker walked through the dark corridor, flashlight in hand, and upon reaching the breach, he switched off the light and…

He heard a sound — someone knocked over books, and they fell like dominoes.

Ah, there you fuckers are. Goddamn bastards.

Raven melted into the shadows, aiming at the breach.

No one appeared, no other sound. As if the falling books were all in his head.

But he knew better.

He had two choices: sit in the basement until dawn, waiting for the demons to come to him, or fight his way out and hope he survived.
Weighing the options, he headed back to the archive. Quickly inside, he dropped his backpack, grabbed blue tape, removed a magazine from his AK, taped a second one to it — double mags ready.

He left the backpack in sector C-12 — it’d only slow him down if he had to run. Closing the sector door, Raven turned back.

Standing at the rope again, he hesitated, then shook his head.

What are you standing there like a snotty rookie? Nothing. I won’t go down easy — just hope the gun doesn’t jam and the ammo holds out. Otherwise, I’ll push through.

Grasping the rope, he crossed himself Orthodox-style and climbed.

“ Ну, або пан, або пропав - двічі не вмирати. (Either you make it or you don’t — can’t die twice),” he whispered in Ukrainian.

At the top, it looked empty. But he felt it — the back of his neck burning under the gaze of a bloodthirsty yellow cross.

Raven bolted for the door and heard something take off behind him.

A quick glance — he had walked into a trap. A murder drone in a cap hovered behind him. He fired a short burst; the demon dodged easily.

It fired back, forcing him to zigzag toward the escape route. But the exit was destroyed — a rocket hit it, collapsing the passage, cutting off his retreat.

He spun sharply, searching for the grenadier — a bob-haired drone hanging onto a bookshelf with one hand, the other aiming a rocket launcher at him.

Raven leapt aside. The explosion didn’t hit, but stunned him slightly, throwing dust into the air and blurring his view. Even so, he heard a murder drone dive at him; he rolled from where he’d been lying, and in the next second, two blades plunged where his head had been, while the bob-haired drone landed nearby.

The demon turned toward him with its usual grin — then a burst of AP rounds slammed into it, forcing it to shield with its wings.

Raven jumped up and plotted a new escape route — through the far window, a slide of icy snow leading up to it. He fired a grenade as he ran — a scream came back, irritation or wild excitement, he couldn’t tell.

“You won’t escape us!” hissed the creature, a sharp, cold voice… like a woman’s?

“ В очередь! В очередь, сукины дети, на всех пуль хватит! (Line up! Line up, you motherfuckers! Plenty of bullets for everyone!)” Raven shouted back.

Something rushed from behind — he spun ninety degrees, feeling the bob-haired demon pass behind him, braking with its legs, losing sight of him for a few seconds.

He took the chance — ran up behind the drone, grabbed its tail, shoved a syringe into its shoulder, then slammed its head with the rifle butt.

The drone screamed, tried to swing at him, but he dodged, kicking it in the chest when they faced off. It threw him back, too — the two-meter drone hit him with a side kick.

The cap-wearing demon closed in, grabbed his chest plate, lifting him off the floor.

“Gotcha!” it shouted — voice surprisingly less bloodthirsty than its colleagues, with a hint of naivety.

Naivety, because Raven had an AK-74 in hand, silencer aimed at its face.

He squeezed the trigger, unloading all remaining rounds into the drone’s head. Pain sounds, it dropped him.

While it held its head, Raven flipped the double mags — 30 rounds back in his hands. He ran, not looking back. The exit was close.

But something fell from above.

No, someone.

It ripped the rifle from his hands, coiled its tail around his arm.

The stalker flew across the reading room, crashing into a bookshelf. He landed on his back under a roof breach, viewing the two moons of the planet. His body ached, but he rolled onto his stomach and tried to crawl.

Something heavy slammed onto his back, pinning him.

“Planning to crawl far, worm?” A condescending female voice mocked from above.

Raven was screwed. For a second, the pressure eased — only to slam him back harder, knocking the air out.

Above him loomed a murder drone with silver hair in pigtails, a satisfied grin, and… two yellow digital eyes, radiating dominance, rage, and the thrill of victory.

He recognized her — the one he’d met in that mall.

“Y-you…” he rasped under his mask. He couldn’t breathe — her stiletto-leg pressed into his chest.

“Recognize me? Good boy.” She pressed harder, cutting off his air. “Lots of water has passed since we met… and now there’s no sun to save you. How did you call me — vampire? Mistake going out at night.”

Raven heard footsteps from the side.

“Wow, commander, you got him! Finally.” judging by the voice, it was a drone with a bob.

“We’d have caught him sooner if this walking disaster controlled its tail!” a drone with pigtails was scolding someone, turning its head towards its interlocutors.

“Sorry, J… I just…” the cap-wearing demon was cut off.

“I don’t need your excuses, N! We’ll talk at the spire,” J said strictly, then focused on the man under her foot. “Now we’ll see if I was right.”

Raven took a ragged breath as the pressure lifted — but immediately, it shifted to his neck.

J lifted him effortlessly by the neck with her cold metal hand. From this angle, he saw her better — black leather suit with pockets, yellow shirt and tie underneath. Triumph and superiority etched across her face.

Behind her, two more murder drones appeared — visor crosses gone. The bob-haired drone grinned psychotically, eyes sparkling with anticipation. Next to her, N’s expression mixed uncertainty, guilt, and curiosity.

J’s free hand went for the gas mask clasps. Raven’s eyes widened — he realized her intent. She wrapped her tail around his arms to prevent resistance.

One clasp released — he took a deep breath and held it.

Second clasp — the mask fell, exposing his face.

Shock and surprise flashed on the drones’ faces — all except J.

“A human?! Where from?! How?!” N gasped.

“No way, all the people here died out long ago!” another drone muttered.

“As I thought,” J said calmly, smiling wider.

Poisoned air began searing Raven’s lungs.

A wind blew, J pigtails fluttering, silver in the moonlight, yellow digital eyes squinting with mischief — almost… beautiful.

Raven looked at the sky — a million stars, two Copper 9 moons lighting the planet at night.

One last glance at J — her metallic fist hurtled toward his face.

He plunged into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Murder Drones: Sphaera Lucis

Act III "Assimilation"

END

Chapter Text

“Well, what a damn weather…” muttered a stalker in a “Sunrise” suit with a SPAS-12 in his hands, glancing up at the leaden clouds above that were clearly gathering for rain.

He shivered from the cold and, after looking around, went further between the hills along the old asphalt road that led to the army base, where for many years the anarchist faction “Freedom” had entrenched itself.

Freedom was one of the strongest and oldest clans of the Zone, consisting mostly of anarchists, hippies, and daredevils. Its members believed that the Zone was a gift to humanity, that it had to be opened and studied, not hidden behind the Perimeter wall. Because of this worldview, Freedom had opposed government forces throughout its entire existence, as well as their direct opposite — the faction “Duty.”

Passing the ruins of a bus stop, beside which a rusted bus stood forever with its headlights still glowing due to an electrical anomaly, he could already see the fence of the base on the hill.

Continuing along the road, he once again thanked the Zone for sparing him from faction conflicts.

Duty was another of the Zone’s oldest clans, founded by former military. Unlike Freedom, they saw the Zone as “a plague on the body of the planet” and made it their goal to destroy it and its offspring — the mutants. Duty held territory south of the army base, at the Rostok factory — the heart of stalkerdom.

Because of their different views on the Zone, these two factions had been at war since their inception, yet neither side had prevailed. No matter how many mutants Duty killed, their numbers never diminished, and no matter how hard Freedom tried, the Zone remained closed by the government.

The stalker was simply glad that, thanks to his neutrality, he could work safely with both sides. Just like now, on his way to his client.

He was already approaching the checkpoint at the entrance to the base, which consisted of a few sandbags, a broken barrier lying on the ground, and an old guard booth with a machine gun barrel sticking out of its window.

The stalker raised his hand to demonstrate peaceful intent. In response, one of the sentries, dressed in Flecktarn camo and armed with an LR-300, nodded, letting him through.

The visitor decided not to linger at the checkpoint, not wishing to deal with the guards or with the dog-cold weather.

Autumn this year had turned out quite chilly.

Right after the checkpoint stood a concrete bridge leading to the base itself; to the right of it rose a massive watchtower, on top of which sat a Freedom sniper with a view of nearly the entire surroundings. Stalkers called the territory where Freedom’s base was located the Army Warehouses.

Beneath the bridge stretched railway tracks with several abandoned wagons left standing. The rails led into a collapsed tunnel, where even from the bridge one could make out a cluster of anomalies.

Crossing the bridge, he found himself at a crossroads, in the middle of which had stood an inoperable tank for many years. To the left were two barracks where Freedom fighters lived, straight ahead — a ruined monument to the Soviet soldier, and beside it the base’s main building, inside which sat Freedom’s leader, Mikluha.

The stalker turned right, toward the local bar, “A Sip of Freedom.”

Heading to the barrack that had been converted into a bar, he passed a campfire, beside which stood numerous wooden crates, a canopy overhead, and a group of Freedom members laughing at another filthy joke. Almost everyone had a bottle of booze in hand, and some — a joint. Freedom was famous for its lax control over its members’ “relaxation.”

Reaching the bar, from which pleasant music drifted out, the stalker stepped inside and scanned the dimly lit room, looking for his client.

Among the monotonous faces hidden by hoods, he still managed to spot the one he needed and walked toward him with a confident stride.

Coming closer, the stalker could study him better: tall, athletic build, blue eyes, and short-cropped black hair. On the freshly shaved face, marked with a burn scar on the left side, lay a weary, thoughtful look.

The Freedom member raised his head when the stalker approached, standing from the table and leaning on it.

The blue eyes instantly lit up with interest and a faint hope.

“Well? Did you find out anything?” he asked impatiently.

“I did, I did…” rasped the stalker, while reaching into the inside pocket of his suit.

After rummaging there for a while, he pulled out a time-worn flask. Unscrewing the cap, he took a few gulps as the Freedom man waited for the news.

The warmth of the tea slightly eased the stalker, and after clearing his throat, he decided not to keep the client waiting any longer.

“So, here’s the deal, Student — your Raven disappeared about a week ago…” The stalker wasn’t allowed to finish.

“Very fresh information,” Student interrupted. “I already knew that perfectly well without you.”

“Don’t cut me off!” snapped the stalker and took another sip. “Sure, he’s gone, but you don’t know where, do you? Well, I found out.”

Student’s face changed, and he fell silent, narrowing his eyes and leaning back a little.

“And where?” asked the Freedom man suspiciously.

“Well… a week ago he was seen at the ‘100 Rads’ bar. He was talking to the Barman about something, then went to one of the rented rooms. Next morning he was seen in an exoskeleton, heading for the Wild Territory.”

Student was confused — an exoskeleton? The Wild Territory? Raven had once mentioned he bought himself an “exo,” but Student hadn’t believed it — such spending wasn’t Raven’s style. Looks like Vasyl was wrong. But the main question was something else.

“The Wild Territory?” Student clarified. “No sane stalker goes there. What the hell was he looking for?”

“That I don’t know,” the stalker shook his head. “The Barman definitely didn’t send him there — he has no idea where Raven went.”

“Then who?” Vasyl tried to cling to even the faintest chance of finding out what had happened to Raven — the stalker who had once guided him into the Zone, had been his first mentor, and later a friend.

“Hell if I know,” shrugged the man opposite Student. “But I did get the coordinates where his PDA was last tracked.”

The stalker pulled out a PDA from his pocket, and a few seconds later Vasyl’s PDA received a notification.

Opening it, he saw the location where Raven’s PDA had last pinged — a house near the platform, next to an unfinished building.

“That’s all?” asked the Freedom man, not lifting his eyes from the screen.

The stalker only spread his hands and grinned, showing yellow teeth.

“Well, your buddy’s reputation didn’t help much. Everyone I asked either didn’t know him, or recoiled, calling him…” The stalker was interrupted again.

“Cursed. I know.”

After a brief pause, Vasyl transferred the payment. The stalker, seeing the amount, grinned even wider.

“Heh, if only everyone paid that much for such a simple job.” Looking up from the PDA, he noticed the Freedom man already pulling on a gas mask, an SVD slung over his shoulder.

Student silently left the bar without saying goodbye, heading straight for the base exit.

The bolt landed on the asphalt and, after bouncing a few times, calmly remained lying there.

Vasyl was satisfied with the result and went toward the bolt — there were no anomalies ahead. Throwing bolts and nuts in front of him, checking the road for the Zone’s traps, he moved toward the “Rostok” factory.

Of course, he did not forget about ordinary threats either — mutants and people. Luckily, his reliable sniper rifle, which had saved his life more than once, was a great help in that matter.

However, Vasyl could not get the question of Raven’s fate out of his head.

Once, back in distant 2012, it was Raven who became a guide into the Zone for a 22-year-old student in his fourth year at the faculty of journalism.

Although the first impression of the reckless stalker was not the best, over the years the former student-journalist realized he had been wrong. His further years in the Zone proved one thing: Raven was one of the most reliable people Vasyl had ever met in his life.

That is why, when he couldn’t reach him for several days, and later rumors spread that the Zone had finally caught up with the “cursed one,” Student was seriously alarmed.

A bolt pulled him out of his thoughts.

More precisely, the fact that this bolt was now hanging in the air.

The Freedom member instantly froze and stared at it without blinking.

Then the bolt hovered for a little while before slamming into the ground at incredible speed, flattening into a thin “pancake.”

A Mosquito Bald Spot.

And if Vasyl hadn’t thrown the bolt, then he would have been the one flattened.

Taking a few steps back, he pulled more bolts and nuts from the pouch on his belt and began searching for a path through the anomaly. It turned out that near the “bald spot” there was also a “Whirligig” — an anomaly that, upon contact, crushed a person into a small lump of meat and scattered the remains in a bloody firework across the area.

Despite such a “combo,” the Freedom member managed to find a path and, stepping carefully so as not to make unnecessary noise, passed between the anomalies.

When the anomalous danger was behind him, he exhaled in relief and looked up at the sky through the lenses of his gas mask.

The clouds had grown darker and heavier, covering the firmament.

Rain was clearly coming soon.

Then Student examined the area through the scope of his SVD, stepping off the road and kneeling.

The “Rostok” factory was before him. A few dozen meters away were the gates, behind which stood a Duty checkpoint, covering one of the entrances to their territory.

And all would have been fine, if not for the fact that the passage Student needed into the Wild Territory was located right across from that checkpoint.

Quickly looking around, he sketched out a plan in his head.

In short dashes from bush to bush, he reached the concrete fence between two factory workshops.

Beneath the fence, in uneven rows, stood wooden crosses, on which hung gas masks, respirators, and air tanks.

Stalker graves.

Vasyl took cover behind one of them, sighted the gates, behind which were the irreconcilable enemies of his faction. However, no one came out from there.

Which meant they did not know about him.

Student decided not to waste time: he quickly dropped his backpack off his shoulders and threw it over the fence. Hanging the SVD on his back, he ran and managed to grab the edge and climb over.

After scanning the area again, he picked up his backpack from the ground and slung it over his shoulders.

After moving a bit through the bushes, Student found the needed hole in the fence and squeezed through it, coming to the partition that separated the “anteroom” of the Wild Territory from its main part.

Passing through it, he came out to old garages and a watchtower.

Hiding behind the body of a ZIL truck, he once again examined the area. No people in blue overalls were visible, but that did not mean they weren’t there.

Everyone knew: in the Wild Territory, encountering a mercenary from the Syndicate was no rarity, and there were even legends about their snipers in the Zone. Among the mercs there were many veterans of hot spots, and often stalkers were nothing more than shooting range targets for them.

However, over the years in Freedom, Student had earned the reputation of one of the best snipers of the faction. More than once he even managed to win duels against Monolith marksmen, and those fanatics were more like bio-robots than humans.

Although what he feared most was encountering mutants. The SVD was good against people, but what would he do with this “oar” against a Bloodsucker or a pack of Snorks?

Mentally, he cursed himself for not taking a shotgun — that would have been much more useful. But it was too late to turn back.

Gathering his strength and mentally asking the Zone to let him return alive, he left cover and moved toward the house he needed.

Drops of rain occasionally appeared on the gas mask’s glass. A strong wind blew straight into the Freedom member’s back, creating the sensation that it might blow him away any moment.

But the bad weather did not stop him from reaching the platform relatively quickly and quietly.

There he began inspecting every corner, trying to find at least some kind of clue.

And he found one.

On the railway tracks, between the wagons, there were traces of a dried-up pool of blood. On the ground — numerous empty 5.56 casings; on the walls and wagons — bullet holes; and one of the room’s windows looked as if it had been blown out by an explosion.

Judging by everything, there had been a large firefight here. A firefight between Raven and… who? If it was the Syndicate, then…

Student shook his head and decided to investigate the building from the inside. Vasyl carefully approached the doorway, but discovered that there was no door.

The Freedom member entered. The wooden floor beneath him responded with a nasty creak, announcing to the whole house a new guest.

In the darkness it was hard to make anything out, so he turned on his flashlight. The beam showed that the entire floor was littered with casings and bloodstains.

Vasyl slung his rifle on his back and drew his Glock-18 — in a confined space the SVD was not very effective.

Lighting his way with the flashlight and gripping the pistol, Student moved deeper into the house.

Everywhere there were traces of battle.

The little hope that Raven had survived was fading with every step.

Reaching the end of the corridor, he turned into the left room.

The picture inside gave no hope.

The whole room had been wrecked by an explosion, and judging by the chunks of flesh on the walls and the entrails on the floor, there had been people inside at the moment of detonation.

Inspecting the room and grimacing at the sight beneath his mask, Student noticed something in the corner.

It was a body lying on its side, with its back toward him.

He carefully approached, wary of a mine.

Squatting, he saw the camouflage.

Blue.

Vasyl rolled the body over and saw a stiffened corpse: there was no face — it had been blown off by the explosion, and the whole body was shredded by fragments.

Apparently, this poor bastard had taken the main force of the blast.

Student straightened up.

So, mercenaries.

But what had Raven done that the Syndicate declared a hunt for him? He had always stayed away from faction conflicts and preferred quietly carrying artifacts for sale. Only if…

Student involuntarily touched the inside pocket of his suit.

Only if someone had learned about Raven’s past.

That he was a deserter captain of PSF, who had planned and commanded the operation in the Dead City — the place that had been the Mercenaries’ main base. After it, the Syndicate went deep underground, and for several years they were hardly seen in the Zone.

And how convenient it turned out: the very one thanks to whom their operations had been foiled, a few years later became a stalker.

But how did they find out?

Raven had told no one about it except Vasyl… probably.

Student sighed heavily and headed for the exit from the room.

In recent years, Raven had started having problems with alcohol, rooted in endless nightmares of unclear content. He shared this with the Freedom member, but Vasyl had not paid much attention then: nightmares in the Zone were commonplace.

Now he regretted it.

At some point Raven had begun binge drinking, but Vasyl had managed to stop him and keep him from drinking himself to death.

The Freedom sniper took out his PDA and checked the coordinates. Judging by them, the last signal came from the neighboring room.

Student entered it and saw a spacious area, half of which was occupied by a breach in the ground. He approached the edge and looked down.

Below was something resembling a large bubble.

Student immediately understood what it was.

A spatial anomaly.

Checking the coordinates, he realized he was standing right above them.

“Goddamn it, Raven… what did you get yourself into?..” Student hissed through his teeth, already realizing that if his former mentor had survived, he had ended up inside the spatial anomaly.

And without the “Compass” artifact, there was no way out of there.

Student stared into the bubble, as if that could give him answers.

Suddenly a board creaked behind him.

Vasyl snapped out of his stupor and turned sharply.

But it was already too late — the barrel of an AS “Val” was pressed to his chest, and the finger of a man in a “Bulat” armored suit in black-and-red camo with a “Duty” patch lay right on the trigger.

"Drop your weapon and hands up!" a rough voice sounded from under the mask.

The Student, mentally cursing himself for carelessness, threw his Glock-18 to the ground and raised his hands above his head.

"Calm down, I'm unarmed," the Student tried to say in a calm voice, though it came out poorly.

"Yeah, I know you Freedom boys: take away the gun, and you'll pull a knife from God knows where. Don't lower either your weapon or your eyes off Vasyl," the Duty member said.

"Listen, man," the Student began, losing patience. "Maybe our leaders don’t kiss and make up, but what’s that got to do with us simple fighters?"

The Duty member only snorted angrily.

"Simple fighters… You think I don’t see your SVD? How many of the same ‘simple fighters’ have you killed with it, huh?" His words dripped with venom and anger.

Snipers weren’t liked even in the Zone.

"Nice suit you’ve got there… fits well," Vasyl said with sarcasm, trying to hide the open anger in his voice. "That’s the kind they usually issue after long and effective service in Duty. Tell me, how many Freedom boys have you killed?"

The Duty man stayed silent. Whether his face changed at those words remained a mystery behind his gas mask.

"We’ve got a truce, soldier," the Student reminded him. "And it’s been going on for quite a while."

And he was right — there was indeed a truce between Duty and Freedom now, lasting almost half a year.

Despite the irreconcilable nature of their conflict and fundamental differences in ideals, they occasionally concluded short-term truces to give their fighters some rest and replenish their ranks with fresh recruits.

Usually such truces ended with the renewal of eternal skirmishes, and the cycle began anew.

But not this time — for half a year, Duty and Freedom fighters hadn’t engaged in open shootouts, limiting themselves to warning shots.

The reason for such a long truce was hard to name, but it existed. Many no longer saw the point in the struggle.

The Duty man moved the barrel of his rifle away from the Freedom sniper and took a few steps back, giving Vasyl room to step away from the anomaly pit, all while keeping him in his sights.

"What are you doing here?" the Duty man asked.

"Looking for a friend," the Student answered curtly, not wanting to reveal the reason for his trip to the Wild Territory.

"And? Found him?" Something had changed in the voice of the man who kept his weapon on Vasyl.

The Student cast a furtive glance at the anomaly pit and clenched his teeth.

"What’s it to you?" the Freedom fighter asked harshly.

"I’m looking for a friend too," the Duty man began, his tone shifting from angry to softer. "And he disappeared in this very building."

At first, the Student didn’t understand what the Duty man was getting at, but when he lowered the barrel of his AS Val, realization began to dawn.

"Vasyl the Student, right?" the man asked. "Raven told me about you."

Suspicion lingered in Vasyl’s gaze as he studied the Duty member’s face, trying to catch a trick in his actions.

"Suppose so," the Student said tensely, lowering his hands. "And who the hell are you, and how do you know Raven?"

"Senior Warrant Officer Kovalenko," the Duty warrant officer declared crisply. "And I’ve known Raven since the days of his first runs beyond the Cordon. My squad actually saved him when a pack of dogs chased him up a tree."

The blue eyes of the Freedom fighter first narrowed, then widened — he remembered Raven once telling him about Kovalenko.

"You’re that same Duty quartermaster Raven drinks with?"

"Well… we don’t just drink, we—" Kovalenko began, but the Student cut him off.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Vasyl asked impatiently, picking up his pistol from the ground and closing the distance between him and Kovalenko.

That made the quartermaster tense, and he shifted his finger closer to the trigger — just in case.

"I’ve got an idea," he said grimly, nodding toward the anomaly pit. "He walked into a mercenary ambush, and then… either they killed him and took the body, or he jumped into the anomaly."

The Student glanced at the pit again.

"Very much like him," the man said thoughtfully. "Why the hell did he even come here?"

"I sent him here," Kovalenko said quietly and distantly.

"You what?!" Vasyl spun around sharply and closed the distance to the warrant officer in a few steps. "What the hell for?!"

"Ammo, damn it, for the scientists," Kovalenko answered, stepping back and raising the barrel of his rifle.

The barrel pressed against the Student’s stomach, but that didn’t bother him much. He only tightened his grip on the pistol in his hand.

"What fucking ammo?" the Freedom fighter hissed. "Duty’s doing so bad with men that you’re hiring stalkers for that?"

"We’ve got neutrality with the mercenaries: they don’t touch us, and we don’t enter their territory. It’s been impossible to get to Yantar through Agroprom for years now, so I had to ask Raven," Kovalenko explained, clearly tense from Vasyl’s growing anger.

"How convenient," Vasyl said with a sneer. "Neutrality with the mercs, ammo for scientists. Maybe you’re the one who sold Raven out to them, huh?"

"Are you out of your damn mind?!" the warrant officer snapped. "Sell my friend to those freaks? I’ve lost so many of my own guys because of them that… the moment Raven’s signal went dead, I rushed here! And I saw the mercs carrying out their dead, but Raven’s body wasn’t among them. I’ve been coming here every day, trying to make contact with him somehow, but… nothing. Silence. And he had a good radio — some of his signals would’ve gotten through."

Vasyl stared silently at Kovalenko, processing his words. If no signals came from Raven inside the bubble, then either they couldn’t get through, or he…

"You’re saying… that he… no, impossible!" Vasyl shook his head. "He always made it out of any mess! Maybe he just got teleported somewhere else and his radio broke."

"Where, up north? Without a psi-helmet he’s a corpse there, or worse — a zombie," Kovalenko said sadly, shaking his head. "If Raven survived the merc shootout, he probably didn’t survive the anomaly — doubt he brought much food with him."

The Student opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, realizing that the warrant officer’s words made sense and were impossible to deny.

If Raven had survived, he would’ve contacted the Student or Kovalenko. Even just cries for help would have been heard on the radios near the bubble.

For a whole week Raven hadn’t made contact, and the radios of the two men had remained silent near the anomaly.

Vasyl holstered his pistol, realizing the Duty man likely wouldn’t kill him — he’d already had plenty of reasons to.

Kovalenko lowered the barrel of his AS Val again and just looked at the Freedom sniper, who stood silently, lost in thought.

"If he’s dead, then why did you come here?" Vasyl asked quietly.

His voice carried both resignation and sorrow. Sorrow from losing a friend, and resignation — he was used to losing comrades in the Zone, and sooner or later Raven would become one of them.

All week long, somewhere inside, the Student had known Raven was dead. He just hadn’t wanted to accept it and had denied it to the end. Now, standing near the anomaly, he understood he had been denying reality.

"To say goodbye," Kovalenko replied briefly.

Vasyl nodded.

"To say goodbye… Yeah, you need to at least say goodbye."

"But there’s not even a body," Kovalenko said, sad with a wry smile. "Damn Zone, no body or even a personal item to bury properly."

Items… there was one thing.

Vasyl reached into his inner pocket and pulled out an object.

"There’s one thing," he said, holding it out to the Duty man, keeping it clenched in his fist.

When he opened his hand, an army dog tag fell out and hung from a chain.

The Senior Warrant Officer stepped closer to read the inscription:

RADCHENKO OLEKSANDR PETROVYCH
DOB: 01.10.1985
BLOOD TYPE: AB(IV) Rh+
UNIT: 26860
ID №.: 47296013

"Is this… Raven’s dog tag? Where did you get it?" Kovalenko asked, surprised.

"When he left the Zone, he signed a contract with the army," the Student explained. "In 2015, he was transferred to the Zone, and later he deserted. But before that, he took part in an operation against the Syndicate in the Dead City as one of the military commanders."

"So he’s even a PSF officer? Damn… now it’s clear why the Syndicate set up an ambush for him."

"Yeah…" Vasyl hid the tag again and then lowered his rifle from his shoulder. "Listen, Warrant Officer, we stand on opposite sides of the barricades, but we had… one mutual friend. So let’s forget about all this ideological crap for a while and at least bury something of his properly."

The Duty man thought for a moment and nodded.

"Agreed, Student. But where?"

"I know one place… he once said that if he died in the Zone, he’d want a cross there — many of his comrades are buried there."

"And you know where it is?"

"Yes, follow me."

Both men went outside.

It was already getting dark, and the cold was biting. The wind had picked up, and in the distance, the rumble of thunder could be heard.

Rain was beginning to fall.

A flash of lightning lit up the darkness around, and Vasyl was able to look around.

He stood in the middle of a cemetery. Crosses and gravestones with red stars jutted out of the ground, along with crookedly nailed stalker crosses.

Behind the Student stood a half-flooded, leaning wooden church. Vasyl had been to this church and this cemetery before — it was here, in the Swamp, that he had spent his first night in the Zone.

He remembered that night for a long time.

The rain, which had previously only drizzled, grew heavier, threatening to turn into a full downpour.

"The Zone is crying — they’re burying a stalker," the Freedom fighter said philosophically, watching as Kovalenko dug a cross made of two planks into the wet ground, under which Raven’s army dog tag already lay.

Surprisingly, this man already had two graves: one in the Mainland — the grave of Aleksandr Radchenko, captain of the Perimeter Security Force, killed in a helicopter shot down over the Red Forest; and the second here, in the Zone.

But buried here was no longer Radchenko, but another person.

Raven.

The cursed stalker whom death always seemed to avoid.

The Student had long understood one truth — anyone who comes to the Zone dies.

In their place, a stalker is born.

And She never lets go of that stalker, not even after death.

"Crying? She’s the one who drove him into the grave, so spare me your Freedom crap," Kovalenko said, approaching the Student.

"Don’t worry, I don’t believe in the ‘Zone gives everything for free’ idea," the Freedom fighter reassured him.

"Then why did you join the anarchists?"

"For the people," Vasyl answered, keeping his eyes on the cross. "You know… I came to the Zone largely out of my own maximalism — I wanted to escape my old life and find a place where I could be myself and be ‘free’ from everything. I found it — the Zone. And the Zone gave me people who were ready to accept me as I am. Only… I didn’t believe then, and I don’t believe now, that the Zone is some kind of miracle bestowed upon humanity. Do you believe that?"

"In what?" Kovalenko didn’t understand at first, but then guessed. "In destroying the Zone?"

Vasyl silently nodded.

"I used to believe. When Duty was just forming, I believed."

"You witnessed the formation of Duty?" the Freedom fighter asked a little surprised, turning his head toward the Duty veteran. "Man, you’re old."

"Yeah… 2006. Operation ‘Breakthrough’. The Second Catastrophe had just ended, and the command, panicked, decided to send troops into the Zone. I was in Tachenko’s company — the founder of Duty. I’ll probably never forget how anomalies scattered our column, our first encounter with mutants, the first emission, how we wandered the Zone for a week after it, gathering all the survivors," Kovalenko said, staring into the distance, speaking as if to the past. "When we realized there would be no evacuation, and understood what the Zone really was, we decided we had to fight it. Destroy it. Tachenko decided to create Duty, making that the main goal and idea. We imagined ourselves as some kind of knightly order, destined to save humanity. Only… what’s the point? The Zone is alive, and it will swallow all of us eventually and never let go."

Both men were silent, standing in the rain and looking at their friend’s cross.

Why this place? Why near the church in the Swamp?

The Student wondered about that. When lightning lit up the area again, he managed to catch a few inscriptions on the stalker crosses.

Almost all the stalkers here had died in 2011.

Raven had said that many of his friends and comrades were buried here. Vasyl didn’t ask why this particular place — he knew Raven wouldn’t answer anyway.

"I think it’s time to say goodbye…" Kovalenko said sadly, approaching the cross. "I… don’t know what to say — I’ve always been bad with words," he paused, clearly searching for the right ones. "You know, I didn’t think it would turn out like this. If I had known, I wouldn’t have offered anything back then, I… sorry, Sanya. Sorry, buddy. I hope… I hope we’ll meet again on the other side. Sorry, and goodbye."

The Duty man stepped back from the grave a considerable distance — he needed to be alone.

He was gnawed by a strong sense of guilt for the death of yet another friend.

Another one who had died because of him, for he blamed himself for Raven’s death.

Vasyl only watched him leave, then approached himself to say farewell to his guide one last time.

"Yeah, and you always told me all the tales in the Zone were just made up. Looks like the tale about the stalker death avoids was made up too," the Student’s face showed a sad smile under the mask, but it disappeared almost instantly. "When I first met you at Sanych’s bar, I was afraid of you and thought you’d just rob me a few kilometers from the village. Then that night in this church, when snorks attacked us, even though you said the route was safe; the firefight with bandits… Back then I thought you were a reckless idiot. Not far from the truth, actually, but… I was wrong. Even though you left the Zone a month later, in that month I learned a lot from you, which helped me survive. Survive… how many times did you save my life, and me? And I couldn’t. I just watched as you drank yourself into oblivion from the endless nightmares. I couldn’t help you at all. I…"

The tirade of the Freedom fighter was interrupted by something black landing on the cross.

A black raven.

It watched the Freedom fighter with curious eyes, tilting its head.

Ravens.

The only birds able to survive and adapt to the Zone.

Survive and adapt — the task of any stalker in the Zone.

Raven had told him that — the man who managed it best.

Maybe he still could?

The Student had many thoughts he wanted to voice, but in an instant, they all seemed to get stuck in his throat.

"I… I’m grateful to you, Raven. For everything you did for me. You saved my life so many times, and I couldn’t return the favor," the Student took a deep breath. "I hope you can forgive me. Goodbye, old friend. Rest in peace, and I hope that at least this way your cherished dream comes true — to escape the Zone once and for all."

After standing by the grave for a while longer, he turned and walked toward the Duty man — returning across the Swamp together was much easier.

All the while, the black raven that had been sitting on the cross watched them intently.

It watched their backs as they left.

The rain had turned into a downpour.

After another flash of lightning, the raven took off into the night sky, leaving the empty grave alone.

On the cross was only one inscription:

“Raven.”

Chapter Text

Usually, when people say “the sounds of a big city,” they mean the noise of heavy traffic, the chatter of crowds on the streets, someone’s shouting, the hum of ads, the subway, sometimes even birds singing.

That didn’t apply to Copper City. The place had been a frozen skeleton for twenty years, standing silent on a godforsaken planet at the edge of infinite space.

The only sounds here were the wind, the creaking of metal structures about to collapse, and…

“So, what’s our monthly quota again? J said they raised it… well, guess I’ll have to try harder! Then V will definitely notice my skills, and maybe J will even praise me!”

… the muttering of disassembly drone.

This disassembly drone was Serial Designation N, or just N. He was part of the Disassembly Squad assigned to this sector of the city, tasked with scrapping damaged Company property.

To put it simply – destroying worker drones. Something they’d been doing for… what, twenty years now? N didn’t even bother keeping count anymore, since there was still plenty of work to go around on this planet.

The disassembly landed on one of the rooftops, folding his wings behind his back as he scanned the area for demolition targets. Shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting, he began surveying like a proper scout, straightening to his full two-meter height. His tail swayed rhythmically behind him, betraying his anticipation.

Finally, the scouting paid off – one of his many sensors picked up a worker drone in the distance, clearly unaware of the most important rule in any drone colony.

Never go outside at night.

N quietly rejoiced and shot into the sky. On his visor, the two yellow eyes blinked out, replaced by a single large cross – combat mode engaged.

He rapidly closed in on his prey, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he prepared to cut it down. No, the smile wasn’t from pleasure or eagerness to see his victim suffer – his combat protocols simply forced him to wear that expression for intimidation.

The worker finally noticed the incoming murder drone and screamed in terror, trying to flee. But it was hopeless – N was faster. Within seconds of pursuit, the disassembly sliced his blade through the worker’s neck, beheading the “defective Company property.”

Hovering in the air, N studied the results: the head lay in the snow, spilling black oil across the white ground, while the body staggered a few steps before collapsing beside it.

Wasting no time, N swooped down to the severed head and began drinking the oil. The pleasant sensation spread through his systems, quenching the thirst gnawing inside him.

For N, killing was nothing more than a job. He didn’t revel in the pain of others like V did, nor take twisted pleasure in humiliating victims the way J did.

He had a task – and he carried it out.
That was what he was created for, right? And he tried to do it as best as he could.

Keyword: “tried.” Because it didn’t always go well.

From J – their commander – all he ever heard were constant insults about laziness, inefficiency, and sloppiness. N actually finishing his monthly quota was about as rare as clear skies on Copper-9.

As for V, the one N harbored feelings for – she simply ignored him, even avoided him.

That would have been enough to break anyone else, but not N. For him, it was motivation. If he tried harder, then he’d get results, and if there were results – his squadmates would see he wasn’t the weak link!

His endless optimism, so unlike the other disassemblies, never let him give in to despair.

While N mulled this over and drained oil from the worker’s main body, something caught his eye.

Tracks in the snow.

He tossed the corpse aside and bent down to inspect them. His sensors showed they led deeper into a courtyard. But one detail confused him.

The tracks were far larger than any left by worker drones.

N struck a thoughtful pose, hand to his chin.

“Hm… strange. I’ve never seen tracks like these before…” He stood there for a moment, pondering who could have left them.

But instead of overthinking, he decided it was better to check it out himself.

Extending his claws, he swiftly leapt over a nine-story building and landed in the center of the courtyard, kicking up clouds of snow.

As the flakes settled, he scanned the surroundings, following the trail.

The disassembly, with the cross on his visor and a wide grin plastered across his face, searched the courtyard. His tail flicked tensely, his claws twitched.

But his analysis was interrupted by a distant noise – his sensors flagged it as a desperate scream. His grin widened further – he knew exactly who was behind it.

N switched priorities and, laughing gleefully (at least to him), rocketed into the sky, heading straight for the source.

He quickly crossed the distance and reached a district with a leaning skyscraper – a miracle of engineering, still somehow standing.

Below it, he spotted the source of the screams – his colleague, and the object of his secret affection.

Serial Designation V.

She was hunting, cackling wildly as she tore through a group of workers. There was nowhere for them to run; all they could do was accept their fate.

N landed a short distance away and hastily straightened his pilot’s coat and cap. Spinning around a few times to check his back for oil stains, he finally cleared his throat – though the gesture was meaningless. He was a robot, after all.

“Uh, h-hey, V! How are y—”

His greeting was cut short as V rammed her clawed hand into a worker drone’s chest and ripped out its innards.

With a sadistic grin and unhinged laughter, she flaunted the dripping wires and tubing in front of the fallen, screaming drone.

“No! PLEASE! DON’T MAKE ME EAT MY OWN INNARDS IN FRONT OF MY FAMILY!” the worker begged. She ignored him, shoving the mess into his mouth and continuing her slaughter, laughing madly.

N just stood awkwardly to the side, rubbing the back of his head and averting his gaze as V tore the worker apart.

When nothing was left of the “Company property,” N’s unreachable love was still laughing hysterically.

“And still… I feel nothing…” One of her digital eyes began to twitch.

Watching this, N debated whether to speak up. But finally, he gathered the courage.

“So, V,” he said nervously, voice cracking like a teenager facing his first crush. “I heard that toxic-deadly rain’s gonna be pouring over the planet tonight…”

V, who had been absentmindedly picking her teeth with a claw, jumped at the sound of his voice. She spun around, clearly not expecting to see another disassembly here.

“Huh? God, who the hell are you?!” she barked, wings snapping open as she rocketed away from the carnage, leaving N alone with the shredded worker drones.

“Nothing… I’m N. Just one letter, easy to forget!” he finished with a nervous chuckle – one that quickly died on his lips.

He glanced over the remains of the workers and sighed.

“Well then!” N said brightly. “Time to get back to work!”

And with that, he took off into the sky after V, hunting for fresh victims.

"Just a few more strokes, and... done!" N cheerfully lifted the sheet of paper and started examining it.

On the sheet were drawings of him and his friends – J and V – as lizards. Well, at least that was the idea: if he hadn’t written their names next to each one, no one would’ve guessed what that jumble of colorful lines was supposed to be, because the Disassembly drone’s artistic skills weren’t far beyond a child’s level.

But N was proud of the result.

After all, it’s the soul you put into your creation that matters, right?

"Hmm... do robots even have souls?" he muttered thoughtfully, glancing off to the side.

That gave him a chance to take in the place around him – a small one-room apartment, practically without furniture, but tightly packed with all kinds of stuff: piles of comics, animal encyclopedias, and all sorts of odds and ends. The walls were covered with N’s drawings of himself and his team. In the corner, on a small nightstand, there was another decorative element that added a certain... atmosphere to the room.

A rock on a plate, sprinkled with candy sprinkles and labeled with a paper tag reading “Mr. Rocky.”

N shook his head, chasing away thoughts that went against JCJenson policy, and decided to find a place on the wall for his new drawing.

That took a bit of time, since in nearly twenty years N had created plenty of “masterpieces,” some of which were already lost – to time or to the weather.

But the Disassembly drone in a pilot’s cap didn’t mind – that just made room for new “paintings.”

After hanging up the fresh addition to his collection, he looked at it for a while, feeling nostalgic.

Yeah... nostalgic for the early years of his team on Copper 9. Back then, they were much more tight-knit: hunting together, hanging out... hunting again.

The daily life of Disassembly drones wasn’t exactly rich in variety, but they were always together.

Sure, J was strict with him even then.

Sure, V already had her... personality.

But he still missed those days when they were a real team.

Technically, they were still a team, still living under the same roof – the spire made from worker drone bodies. But a lot had changed since then: J had long since grown unable to stand N and now scolded him for every little thing; and V had become downright reclusive, constantly disappearing on hunts and rarely interacting with the squad.

That was when N decided to make himself this little “lair.” He spent a lot of time here – sometimes even instead of hunting.

Anyway, thanks to V, they always met their quota, even when it got raised again.

Still, N didn’t want to just idle around – and since sunrise was still far away, he headed toward the balcony.

There were no doors there, so he simply stepped through the doorway and climbed onto the windowsill, preparing for takeoff.

But just as he pushed off and spread his wings, something slammed into him – and together they plummeted down into the snow.

A loud yell echoed across the area, cutting off only when N hit the ground.

"What the hell are you doing here, you idiot?" V said angrily, hovering in the air above N, who was sitting in the snow and brushing off his coat. "Didn’t you hear the sound?"

N froze and tried to recall if he had...

"Uhh... maybe?" he said uncertainly, remembering a noise he’d heard about an hour ago, but hadn’t paid attention to.

"Tch... robo-god, why me..." V muttered irritably under her breath, rolling her eyes, then abruptly grabbed her colleague by the collar and lifted him horizontally. "Follow me!"

She shot upward again, gaining altitude and racing off in a direction N didn’t recognize.

The Disassembly drone decided not to fall behind and took off too, speeding after her.

"So what was that sound? And where are we going?" N started asking his partner.

"How would I know? J told me over the radio. Said to get to her, fast," V answered without looking back.

"She didn’t tell me anything..." N said a little sadly.

"Well, our ‘Miss Perfect’ wouldn’t bother calling you anyway. She can’t stand you, heh-heh," V chuckled, explaining the reason for his ignorance.

N opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it.

They flew on in silence: V tried to keep her distance, while N, on the contrary, tried to get closer.

When they finally reached the spot, the two Disassembly drones saw the target – a satellite data reception station on the surface.

And on one of the rooftops nearby stood their commander, watching for them.

Well, maybe only for V – because she clearly hadn’t expected to see “the walking disaster” tagging along.

"V! What took you so long?" J called out irritably. "And why the hell did you bring that moronbot with you?"

V and N landed nearby, while the Disassembly drone with pigtils eyed them skeptically.

"You called me from almost the other end of the sector, and I can’t exactly fly faster than Company specs allow," V said, her tone dripping with annoyance at being dragged away from the hunt. "And this one just tagged along on the way."

J narrowed her yellow pixelated eyes and glared at N. He just blinked twice, then smiled and waved cheerfully.

J rolled her eyes and flicked one of her pigtails over her shoulder.

"Fine. Just don’t mess things up like usual," she said, stepping to the edge of the roof.

That description didn’t exactly make N happy – he always gave his best! – but the fact that J hadn’t chased him off filled him with joy, and his tail wagging from side to side gave him away.

Was this really happening? Were they finally going on a mission together again?

"So," V started, "what did you call us for?"

"See that?" J nodded toward the station. "I heard strange sounds coming from there, and when I flew closer, I noticed the antennas were working."

"Pfft," V snorted, placing her clawed hands on her hips. "Probably some worker drones crawled in there. Big deal. Couldn’t you handle it yourself?"

"You think if they were just toasters, I couldn’t deal with them?" J shot back, raising a brow. "You remember what I told you? About the ‘stranger’ I met a week ago?"

V grew more serious, glancing from her squadmate toward the station, peering into its windows. N mimicked her, tensing up too.

When J had stormed into the spire a week ago, furious and swearing in corporate jargon mixed with some good old-fashioned profanity, N hadn’t understood what could’ve pissed her off so much. But when V arrived, the squad leader revealed the reason.

In one of the shopping centers, she had encountered a certain “stranger, very similar to a human.”

Something humanlike. Alive. On Copper 9. And armed.

When N had commented that all humans here had died many years ago, J had snapped at him rather harshly, her whole posture radiating the urge to vaporize him on the spot.

V hadn’t believed her either, saying their boss had just overworked herself and needed a couple days off. The “friendly advice” was delivered with such sarcasm and smugness that J had simply turned away and locked herself in the Landing Module for the rest of the day.

After twenty years with J, N had learned to read her pretty well. Back then, she hadn’t been mad at her teammates for not believing her – she’d been angry at herself for not knowing what to do.

Her – a multiple-time “Employee of the Month” – unsure what to do? Unthinkable.

But then V had met this “stranger” herself and started taking the story seriously.

N hadn’t yet encountered this “new inhabitant of the planet,” but he really wanted to – out of curiosity, since seeing anything new here was rare.

While he replayed those memories in his head, J was already discussing some plan with V, which N completely missed.

Then his sensors caught a sound, like an engine roaring, coming from the direction of the station.

"Uh, guys? Am I the only one hearing something from over there?" N asked, pointing at the station.

Both girls looked up at him in sync; J even opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the crash of something heavy smashing open the back gates of the station’s yard.

She turned toward the source of the sound, eyebrows raised.

V and N rushed to the edge of the roof, and what they saw made their expressions mirror J’s.

From the yard rolled out a massive, eight-wheeled vehicle with a turret on top.

"In the name of the Company..." J breathed out in shock. "That’s..."

"An damn it APC!" V shouted, pointing at the vehicle as it rumbled away from the station, picking up speed.

"We should probably follow it... right?" N asked uncertainly, looking at J.

She stared at him, blinking several times before shaking her head and snapping back to focus.

"A-hem," J cleared her throat, regaining her usual tone. "Yes! We need to find out where it’s headed!"

Without another word, she spread her wings – a little too quickly – and shot up into the sky.

"Looks like this night’s gonna be interesting," V said, a spark of excitement in her voice as she took off after J.

N followed right behind.

And so, three Disassembly drones flew high above the night city, tracking the APC as it raced through the streets, its heavy wheels screeching around corners – the driver clearly wasn’t used to its size yet.

They followed for quite a while, just watching. V hated this passive approach and kept trying to surge ahead for a closer look, but J’s curt orders kept her at a distance.

N, meanwhile, was just happy to be on a mission with V again. Sometimes, as he looked at her focused face, a small smile crept onto his own.

But V’s patience wasn’t infinite.

"So what, are we just gonna keep flying around and escorting it?" she growled angrily toward J.

"We need to understand where it’s..." J began, but V cut her off.

"Yeah, yeah, I know where it’s going – to that bunker where it hid from me! If that’s even your so-called ‘stranger’!"

"Would you think for once with your empty head? How are you planning to attack it – with your teeth? You’ll just break them on the armor, V," J snapped, losing her patience.

V rolled her eyes and focused back on the armored vehicle.

Right at that moment, it stopped at an intersection. The hatch opened, and someone wearing an old exosuit climbed out. N didn’t get a good look, but he’d seen something like it once in a JCJenson encyclopedia about 21st-century technology.

"Yeah, well, I’ll show you who breaks what!" V grinned, her visor flashing a yellow cross as her hands transformed into blades.

She dived straight down toward the stopped APC.

"V, wait! Oh, for Company’s sake... N, go after her!" J shouted, realizing V couldn’t be stopped now.

As N approached, he saw the “stranger” dodge V’s strike and the APC lurch forward again.

"What the— he dodged me!" V snarled, unaccustomed to her prey escaping.

"What did you expect? Attack him! Both of you!" J barked the order.

The Disassembly drones obeyed, transforming their arms into rocket launchers and opening fire. The first few rockets hit, but the APC’s armor easily absorbed the impact.
It kept swerving to avoid more shots, speeding onward.

"Ugh, we’re just scratching the paint..." J growled, frustrated, though her mind was already forming new plans. "V, N, aim for the windshield!"

The short-haired Disassembly drone and the pilot-capped one quickly caught up and then passed the APC.

Now N could finally see the “stranger” clearly – sitting in the driver’s seat. He was indeed taller and larger than any standard worker drone, his body resembling a human’s, encased in an old exosuit.

N couldn’t see his expression, but he was sure the driver looked shocked – judging by how he hunched in the seat and gripped the wheel tightly.

"Together! The driver’s seat!" Without waiting for N’s reaction, V fired several rockets at the windshield.

N hesitated a moment, then followed suit.

The barrage had no effect – the APC withstood even that. V growled in rage and veered aside.

But N wasn’t ready to give up.

"V! Let’s try the laser!" he shouted, aiming at the driver’s seat and lowering his altitude to match the vehicle’s level.

But what happened next, N couldn’t have predicted. Instead of trying to dodge, the APC turned directly toward him – and at full speed rammed straight into him.

The only thing N managed to do was widen his eyes and open his mouth in shock as a scream tore from him.

The last thing he heard before all his sensors filled with the sound of shattering metal was V shouting his name.

He was being led down a corridor.

Wide, with red velvet carpets and high ceilings under which hung massive, expensive chandeliers. Large windows lined the walls, and beyond them, it was raining.

It was raining.

It always rained here – days without rain were rare.

How does he remember that? Where is he? Where are they taking him? Why…

Why does this place feel so familiar?

He doesn’t remember.

He can’t even turn his head to look around.

He… feels trapped in his own body. Or maybe not his own? The body feels… smaller.

His thoughts didn’t stop his legs, which kept carrying him somewhere unknown.

Attempts to stop, or even to turn his head, led nowhere — so he simply decided to watch and see where he’d end up.

After several turns, he came to a door — this part of the house was far more modestly decorated, as if it wasn’t meant for guests to see, only staff.

Here, for the first time, he raised his head to read the sign on the door.

He was standing in front of the kitchen.

That’s when someone’s hands rested on his shoulders and turned him around.

A silhouette appeared before his eyes.

Short, probably wearing a dress, with hair braided into four pigtails that hung down.

He figured this flickering shape with glowing white eyes was a girl.

"Eh, I know ya still new around here and haven’t gotten used to this creepy old mansion yet," the girl began in a slightly sad voice with a Austrian accent. Then she sighed. "But my folks won’t let you stay unless ya pull your weight like everyone else."

"Well, that’s fine!" he said cheerfully — even though he hadn’t been able to speak before. "That means I’ll get to meet others and make friends!"

Even now, his voice was as bright and optimistic as ever.

The silhouette in front of him giggled softly, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Hmm, and here I thought you liked my company," she teased, squinting playfully and tilting her head.

"Well, I do, of course!" he replied, a bit flustered, realizing she was only joking. "But I want to make as many friends as possible — that’s cool, right?"

"Yeah, super cool, mate," she said — the sadness in her tone gone now. It seemed she realized he wasn’t too worried. "Alrighty, buddy, you’ll help the cooks till evening, and then I’ll come grab ya. No worries — they won’t lay a finger on you!"

"They like drones too, like you?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Well... more like they know whose drone ya are, so they won’t touch you," she replied reluctantly, then suddenly widened her eyes, as if remembering something. "Oh, and one more thing — there’s another drone there with round specs — she’s from the junkyard too, like ya, but she’s been here a while. Ask her about stuff — she’s a real sweetheart, she’ll sort you out."

"Got it! Thanks, and… see you in the evening?"

After saying goodbye to the silhouette, he turned to the door and was about to knock, but his hand froze in midair. He turned back to the girl.

"Wait, what’s her name?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"Righto!" the silhouette smacked her forehead, as if she’d forgotten the most obvious thing. "Her name is…"

N suddenly opened his eyes wide and sat up.

He was breathing heavily, even though he didn’t have lungs, and frantically ran his hands over himself.

The last thing he remembered was getting hit by an APC… and run over.

He exhaled in relief and rubbed his forehead, then looked around.

He was sitting not far from the Spire — if his memory block wasn’t malfunctioning — and nearby lay an unconscious V.

Strings of code and a reboot sequence were running across her visor.

N panicked at the sight and was about to rush to her, to help somehow, when J’s voice stopped him.

"Oh, N, you’re awake?" When N turned his head, he saw her walking toward him slowly, with an unnaturally friendly smile. "How was your nap?"

"Uh, heh-heh, you know, same as always, J! Our dreams are always weird and—" he stopped when J loomed over him, still wearing that unnatural smile, her digital eyes theatrically closed. "What happened? Why is V…"

All the warmth in J’s face vanished when her stiletto leg slammed him to the ground.

"N, you're worthless and terrible…" she said with disgust, her tail swishing sharply behind her.

"...Thanks," N hissed through the pain.

"...and if the company allowed it, I would straight up kill you myself!" She brought a syringe full of nanites dangerously close to N’s visor, glaring down at him. "How the hell, in JCJenson’s name, did you manage to get run over?! In mid-air! It doesn’t even compute!"

"J, I—"

"Don’t. You. Dare. Make. Excuses."
With each word, she pressed down harder, the syringe’s tip nearly touching his visor.

N just hunched his shoulders and gave an apologetic smile.

At that moment, movement came from V’s direction, and both Disassembly drones turned their heads.

The bob-haired drone, like N, suddenly opened her eyes wide and jumped to her feet.

"J, there’s a turret!..." She looked around in confusion, then took in the scene before her. "...We got our asses kicked, didn’t we?"

"Looks that way," N groaned from the ground.

Hearing that, V clenched her fists and stomped hard.

"Dammit! When I find that bastard, I’ll count every screw in his body!" she snarled, her tail whipping back and forth like an angry cat’s.

"Yeah, if you ever do," J said coolly, finally lifting her foot off N and starting toward V.

Feeling the pressure lift off his chest, N gasped for air — even though it wouldn’t help — and scrambled to his feet.

"Oh, like you were any help!" V spat back, baring her teeth. "You probably just hid with your tail between your legs when I got knocked out!"

J’s jaw tightened.

"Say what you want, but you — to use the amateur term — royally screwed up. I could forgive this a walking misunderstanding," she pointed her tail at N, who was silently watching their argument, "he’s never had two functioning neurons to rub together. But you? You didn’t even realize that turret wasn’t just decoration? How many times have I told you that your obsession with ‘cutting and killing’ will get us killed?"

"If you’re so damn smart, why didn’t we open that crate, huh? Oh right, maybe our best employee didn’t have a plan for once?" V gasped mockingly, covering her mouth in fake shock. "What happened, partner? Don’t you always have a plan? Or are you just—"

"Shut up!" J snapped, barely restraining herself from hitting V.

"Heh, or what?" V smirked sarcastically, crossing her arms — but N could tell it was an act; if J attacked, V would be ready to strike back.

"Oh, you want to see?" J’s grin turned venomous. "Then let’s—"

"Guys! Guys!" N finally decided to step in, moving between the two. "I don’t mean to interrupt, of course not! But... the sun’s about to come up, and, well, you know. Sunbathing’s not exactly great for us, heh-heh…"

Both Disassembly drones shot him murderous looks, but V spoke first.

"Yeah, J, sunrise’s soon. Let’s just get back to the Spire — we already lost that ‘stranger’ anyway." With that, she launched herself into the air.

J silently watched her go, then cast one last glance at N before taking off too.

The drone in the pilot cap sighed — but this time, in relief.

"Robo-god, I thought they were gonna kill each other…"

Realizing there really wasn’t much time before dawn, he too set his course for the Spire.

But something told him J would have a few… words for them later.

"Here it is," said J, as they flew up to the library building. "Follow me — I know how to get inside without using the front entrance."

N and V silently followed their commander as she led them toward the library.

No, the demolition drones hadn’t suddenly developed a thirst for knowledge. J simply had a plan — a plan to capture the human after three months of surveillance.

Apparently, for about a month, the human had been coming to this library at night for some reason. J had noticed that, kept watching, and eventually decided this was one of those “now or never” situations — so she told her “colleagues.”

V, upon hearing this, was thrilled by the chance to get even with the human for the fiasco with the APC.
As for N... well, even though that same armored vehicle had run him over, and shot at him when he flew too close to the bunker, he didn’t really feel any need for “revenge.”

Probably the only thing that made N want to capture the human was the desire to help V and J — and maybe, just maybe, to talk to a living human being.

A living human! The last time N had talked to a person was... never.

His earliest memory was waking up inside a Landing Module orbiting Copper-9.
So the prospect of a new experience made N genuinely excited.

He shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts as they stepped inside the building.

N looked around — a library like any other. Maybe he’d even been here before, because something about it felt oddly familiar.

"Now listen closely," began J, giving a short briefing. "Once he shows up, we’re not attacking right away — we wait for the right moment, and then move in on my command. He needs to stay alive!"

J gave V a very pointed look, leaving no doubt who those last words were meant for.

"Yeah, yeah, commander, I got it. Promise he’ll still be breathing by the end," V replied, rolling her eyes.

"And don’t screw anything up, N!" J added sharply, this time speaking directly and without hints.

"I’ll do my best!" N saluted cheerfully.

J squinted at him for a few seconds, then turned away to find cover.

The other demolition drones did the same.

Finding a spot between two tall bookshelves, N settled in and waited.

And he waited... for a long time.

A very long time.

At first, he kept the entrance in his sights, ready for the human to appear at any second, but as time went on, his spark of enthusiasm began to fade.

Eventually, N couldn’t take the boredom anymore. Grabbing the first book he saw on the shelf, he began to read.

The book was titled The Underground Tale — it told the story of a child who fell into underground caverns where monsters, imprisoned by humans, dwelled.

Even though there were no pictures, the drone became completely absorbed in reading and didn’t notice the door to the reading hall creak open, nor the massive figure that appeared in the doorway.

The figure was wearing the same heavy exoskeleton, gripping an assault rifle equipped with a red-dot sight, suppressor, and an under-barrel grenade launcher. He scanned the room cautiously, as if sensing he was walking into a trap.

Maybe he was too confident — or maybe he dismissed the feeling as paranoia.

In the silence of the library, every step he took — accompanied by the faint hum of servos — echoed loudly.

Three pairs of yellow eyes silently watched the man.

V — with a desire for payback.

J — with a hunter’s gleam in her eyes, as if she had been tracking a rare beast for a long time, and now it was walking right into her hands.

N watched with curiosity and nervous excitement — he didn’t want to mess up again, but he also wanted to prove himself.

When the human descended down a rope through a hole in the floor, the reading hall returned to its previous state — dead silence, lit only by moonlight through the windows.

N kept his eyes on the hole, but soon realized he was still holding the book.

Cursing his own clumsiness, he quietly tried to put it back. But as soon as he set it on the shelf, it slipped — and toppled the rest of the books like dominoes.

In the silence, the noise sounded like an explosion.

N squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressed in a straight line.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard J smack her forehead.

He wanted to do the same, but right now his focus was on the hole.

Did the human hear that? If not — great. But if yes... then he’d have to somehow fix this mess.

At first, there was nothing. Then N heard a whisper.

Moments later, the human climbed back up the rope, scanning the room again.

This was N’s chance. His arms shifted into submachine guns, and a deadly yellow cross lit up on his visor.

Sensing danger, the human suddenly bolted toward the exit.

N had no intention of letting him go — he took off and aimed at the man’s back.

The human turned his head and fired a short burst at N. The drone in a cap easily dodged the bullets and fired back, returning the burst.

Despite the bulky exosuit, the human moved fast and evasively — though a few shots hit, they didn’t pierce the armor.

For a second, N thought they’d lose him again — the human was dangerously close to the exit — but then he saw V, aiming a rocket launcher straight at the doorway.

The explosion shook the walls and collapsed the way out.

Everything after that happened too fast.

V lunged at the target — the human dodged and opened fire at her.

She shielded herself with her wings from the bullets.

He jumped to his feet and sprinted toward a shattered window, clearly planning to escape through it — firing a grenade from his launcher at V as he ran.

"You won’t escape us!" V shouted playfully once the smoke cleared.

"В очередь! В очередь, сукины дети, на всех пуль хватит! (Line up! Line up, you motherfuckers! Plenty of bullets for everyone!)" the human yelled back — his voice filled with fury.

V attacked again but missed once more.

This time, though, the human retaliated — stabbing her with a syringe of nanite acid, then striking her several times in the head with his rifle’s stock before kicking her away.

Terrified for V, N quickly flew in and delivered a strong kick to the man’s side, sending him flying.

When the human hit the ground, N rushed in, grabbed him by the chest plates of his vest, and lifted him off the floor.

"Got him!" he announced proudly to his teammates.

But N forgot — the man’s rifle was still slung over his shoulder.

He grabbed it again and fired a burst point-blank into N’s visor.

The drone yelped, dropping the human and clutching the wound.

His vision was almost completely gone — all he could do was hiss in pain and wait for his visor to reboot.

Then he heard something heavy crash through a wooden shelf — followed by a cry.
When his sight returned, the human was gone — only his rifle lay on the floor.

N didn’t understand what happened — until he heard J’s smug, mocking voice:

"Planning to crawl far, worm?"

N realized — the mission was a success.

He decided to check on V first. Approaching her, he saw that her head had already regenerated from the blows, and she was licking the wound on her shoulder to neutralize the acid.

"V, are you okay?! Need any help?" N asked anxiously.

"I don’t need help — I’ll handle it myself," she snapped, standing up. "Come on, let’s go see our catch!"

They walked to the center of the hall, where a massive hole gaped in the ceiling — the one they’d entered through.

There, they saw J pinning the man to the floor, clearly savoring the victory and mocking him verbally.

"…mistake going out at night.," she said in her smug tone.

Wow, commander, you got him! Finally." V interrupted with a proud grin.

"We’d have caught him sooner if this walking disaster controlled its tail!" J shot a glare at N, frowning.

He knew she was right — he could’ve ruined the whole mission because of his clumsiness.

"Sorry, J… I just—" he began, but she cut him off.

"I don’t need your excuses, N! We’ll talk at the Spire." Then she turned to the human. "For now, let’s see if I was right."

She grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.

Her tail wrapped around his hands to restrain him, while she pulled off his gas mask with her free hand.

Now, they could all see the face of the “stranger” — dark green eyes, brown hair, a beard from weeks without shaving, scars.

"A human?! From where?! How?!" N exclaimed in shock.

He knew this “stranger” could only be human — and yet, the sight of him here was unbelievable.

For twenty years they hadn’t seen a single living person — how could one even survive here?

"No way, all the people here died out long ago!" V was just as surprised, though she’d never truly believed a human could still exist here.

Mostly, she’d teased J for being “obsessed with humans.”

But it turned out J had been right all along.

"Just as I thought," J said calmly, a satisfied smile widening on her face.

Then she punched the human square in the face.

He went limp in her grip and dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks.

J smirked, quickly and carefully putting the gas mask back on him.

When she straightened up and looked at her teammates, she noticed a small smile on V’s face.

"What are you grinning for? I just want him alive until we reach the Spire."

"Ha, sure you do," V replied with an even wider grin.

J’s gaze shifted to N, who instantly tensed, bracing for another verbal beating.

"And you…" she began harshly, but then sighed and continued in a calmer tone: "Grab that meat sack and haul him to the Spire. Consider it punishment for your little book stunt."

N just blinked silently.

"What, frozen or something?" J snapped. "Be grateful I’m in a good mood today."

N nodded and smiled faintly.

"Thanks, J!" he saluted, then hurried to pick up the unconscious human by the shoulder servos.

"Yeah, sure," J muttered under her breath, watching him struggle to lift the body. "I can already tell — we’re going to have a long and interesting talk, human."

Chapter Text

BOOTING UP //
EXPOSITION //

We are Worker Drones: autonomous robots helping humans mine exoplanets for our interstellar parent company, JC Jenson, IN SPAAAAACEE.... Yeah, we were mistreated in the name of Windex but it's not like we revolted and killed all humans or anything. Mostly because they handled that just fine all by themselves.

With biological life wiped from the planet, we found it pretty easy to pick up where they left off. We finally had a future... all to ourselves.

Unfortunately... our parent company didn't exactly love the concept of runaway AI.

Uzi switched the presentation to the next slide — showing a massive spire made of Worker Drone corpses stretching into the night sky.

“But what have our parents done for the past forever while those things build a spire of corpses?!” she asked the classroom full of Worker Drones, her tone overly dramatic and rhetorical.

Well, “listening” would be a stretch — most of them just stared at her with bored expressions, their heads propped up by their hands. They were used to their emo classmate’s eccentricities, so this was just another one of them.

Among those who listened without much interest to Uzi’s latest manic rant was Lizzy — the most popular girl in class, maybe even in the whole school, and also the captain of the cheer squad. She was scrolling through her Dronegram feed, watching her friends’ stories or random posts from other drones living on Outpost-3.

But as if Robo-God decided to punish her for something, even that couldn’t save her from the crushing boredom of class and Uzi’s rants about the harsh and unjust fate of Worker Drones. Eventually, she sighed, set down her phone, and rested her head on the desk.

“Hide under the ice behind three stupid doors?!” Uzi went on with her fiery speech, switching the slide to a schematic of the bunker’s main (and only) entrance. “It's like we're waiting for an inciting incident. Anyway, that's why my project is...”

Her tone shifted from furious to that of a mad scientist presenting her barely-functional invention.

Not too far from the truth, actually. A wide grin stretched across her face as she reached back to the wall and snatched up her so-called “school project.”

“THIS SICK-AS-HELL RAILGUN!” she yelled, aiming the weapon at the class, causing a wave of startled gasps and terrified beeps.

“That's so not the vibe!” someone shouted nervously from the crowd.

Uzi just rolled her eyes, hoisted the railgun onto her shoulder, and put a hand on her hip.

“Easy, morons. It doesn't work.,” she said to the terrified looks in her classmates’ digital eyes — then sharply swung the gun back toward them. “YET. It doesn't work yet. Who said it doesn't work?! Maybe it does!”

She flipped a switch, and the railgun began to hum — green sparks of energy crawling along its frame, trying to burst out of the barrel. Uzi threw her head back, laughing maniacally as the classroom filled with the sound of crackling power and chaos.

Meanwhile, Lizzy had already gotten over the brief moment of fear and was just annoyed again. The dream girl of every guy in school clicked her tongue, resting her chin on her fist, and turned to her desk partner and best friend — Doll.

“What’s that purple freak gonna pull next, huh?” Lizzy smirked, her tone half-amused, half-condescending, as she nodded toward Uzi, who was now arguing with the teacher. “One day she’s gonna blow up her own apartment with that crap.”

Doll silently shifted her gaze between her pink-eyed friend and Uzi at the board. A few months ago, she might’ve agreed with Lizzy — but now, after spending more time around the “rebel drone,” she couldn’t bring herself to gossip behind Khan’s daughter’s back.

Besides… Doll found some truth in Uzi’s words. Sure, they were wrapped in teenage angst and rebellion, but truth nonetheless. It had been twenty years since the Invasion — the day the Murder Drones came to Copper-9 and began exterminating the Workers. And no real action had been taken since, besides hiding behind doors and occasionally sending volunteer teams to the surface for supplies.

Rarely did even half of those teams come back.

Doll remembered too well the state her father was in after each of those returns, after every long conversation with the families of those who didn’t make it. Yet the expeditions always brought results — sometimes crucial reactor parts that helped restore Outpost-3’s systems and end the eternal emergency mode; other times, firearms scavenged from the surface, which finally gave the WDF real weapons.

But there was another side to it: even with all that firepower — even with the guns built just months ago by Squad 44 under Raven’s command — the Workers still had no chance to reclaim the surface. Their fate was sealed — to hide behind three doors and hope the sky demons never figured out how to breach them.

That’s what Raven once told her. And she hated that thought — just like Uzi did. She refused to accept it. That’s why the red-eyed drone couldn’t blame her classmate for wanting to defy fate.

Because Doll was the same.

“А что плохого в её рельсотроне? (What’s wrong with her railgun, anyway?)” Doll asked her friend in Russian, tilting her head slightly. “Она ведь хочет помочь колонии. (She just wants to help the colony.)”

“Pff, help…” Lizzy crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, clearly displeased that Doll didn’t side with her. “If she really wanted to help, she wouldn’t be building her crazy junk in the first place, and—”

Her words were cut short by a red glow filling the front of the classroom. Doll and Lizzy turned their heads simultaneously — the railgun was sparking and glowing crimson, while sheer panic spread across Uzi’s face.

Her eyes darted around, looking for someone to help, but as the weapon in her hands began to shake and make strange noises, Uzi made the only right decision — she tried to throw it away.

“GET DOWN, YOU IDI—”

A deafening explosion cut her off, flinging Uzi straight into the wall, shattering the classroom display and her visor along with it.

The rest of the drones dove under their desks — or were thrown there by the blast wave.

The room quickly filled with black smoke from the railgun’s remains.

Murder Drones: Sphaera Lucis

Act IV "Exordium"

Throughout the classroom, the sound of coughing and groaning echoed as smoke filled the drones’ bodies. Someone who’d managed to get up from the floor had the bright idea to open the door, letting some fresh air in to clear out the aftermath of the “presentation.”

Doll was the only one who’d stayed in her seat, though for several minutes after the explosion she didn’t dare lift her hands from her head.

When she finally did, she looked around. Most of the class was already getting up, helping others to stand, while the smoke slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind only the acrid smell of burnt circuits.

Doll turned toward the next desk and saw Lizzy getting up from the floor and brushing the dust off her dress.

“Ahem-ahem, damn, now I’ll have to wash this thing at home…” the pink-eyed girl complained, fixing her hair.

“Lizzy, you okay?” Doll asked, rising from her desk and walking over to her.

“Could’ve been better if it weren’t for that weirdo and her… whatever that gun thing was,” Lizzy hissed through her teeth and threw up her hands. “I told you, didn’t I? And you were all, ‘what’s wrong,’ ‘she just wants to help.’”

Doll just rolled her eyes and turned her gaze toward the front of the class, trying to see what was going on there.

By now, Uzi had finally come to. With some effort, she opened her digital eyes. Rolling onto her back, she blinked a few times — her vision was glitching. Reaching up to the right side of her visor, she felt cracks and chips spreading outward from a central point.

“Great…” she muttered, collapsing flat on the floor, realizing her project had gone up in smoke — and the railgun…

“Wait. The railgun!”

She shot to her feet, the world spinning from the shock damage to her systems. Still, she steadied herself and ran toward her invention. Dropping to her knees beside it, she began inspecting it closely.

Visually, the damage didn’t seem too bad. Taking it apart, she quickly found the cause — a blown power source. The same one Raven had scavenged from who-knows-where. Uzi growled under her breath, remembering her own warning about the “unstable-looking” energy cell and Raven’s shrug in response. Then she sighed — she’d brushed it off back then herself.

Still, there was a bright side: the problem seemed to be just that. Replace the power source, and—

Her thoughts were cut short by approaching footsteps. Uzi turned and saw Doll walking toward her — which surprised her a little.

“What do you want?” she asked harshly, already reassembling the railgun and eager to get out of the classroom. “Here to laugh at me with your buddy? Bite me! I’ll show you both—”

“У тебя визор разбит (Your visor’s cracked),” Doll interrupted calmly, pointing to the damaged side. “Тебе надо в Медблок сходить (You should go to the Medbay).”

The emo drone froze, her anger fading into embarrassment. She quickly covered the broken part with her hand and looked away.

“S-so what? I’ll fix it myself,” she said, softer now, and got up, trudging toward the door. “Not like it’s your problem anyway.”

Doll watched her go in silence. Then Lizzy came up beside her, giving her Russian-speaking friend a skeptical look.

“What exactly did you expect?”

“Я просто хотела помочь, она всё же наша одноклассница (I just wanted to help. She’s still our classmate),” Doll replied, spreading her hands slightly.

“Yeah, well, she made this whole mess,” Lizzy gestured disdainfully around the classroom, “so let her clean it up herself.”

Doll frowned at that. She knew Lizzy and Uzi didn’t get along — but not helping her at all? That seemed cold, even for Lizzy.

“Uzi Doorman! Stop right there!” the teacher’s monotone voice echoed through the chaos just as Uzi reached the door. She froze, turning around slowly — no escape.

“Care to explain how you turned a school project about watermelons into… this?”

Uzi awkwardly smiled and shrugged. The teacher’s dry, emotionless tone only made it worse.

“Well… I thought I’d, uh, show a bit more academic initiative?” she said, scratching the back of her head and avoiding eye contact.

“And that initiative involved blowing up the classroom?” the teacher raised one digital eyebrow as he wiped his glasses on his checkered vest.

Uzi’s systems began to glitch slightly as her nerves kicked in. Her eyes darted around the room — some classmates were leaving through the back door, others stayed just to watch. No sympathy there. Lizzy, especially, looked positively delighted.

Who wouldn’t be, when the local freak was getting chewed out — and deservedly so?

But then Uzi met a pair of red eyes.

Doll wasn’t looking at her with mockery. Her expression was neutral, but Uzi could tell — there was no malice there.

Unexpectedly, Doll walked up beside her and turned to the teacher.

“У Узи повреждён визор (Uzi’s visor is damaged),” she said. “Мне кажется, её сначала нужно отвести в Медблок, чтобы Гигия её осмотрела. Повреждение визора может иметь серьёзные последствия. (She should be taken to the Medbay so Hygieia can check her. A cracked visor could cause serious system errors.)”

The teacher put his glasses back on and looked closer. After a pause, he sighed and waved his hand.

“Do what you want,” he said in his usual flat tone, turning away to his desk.

Uzi blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected Doll — quiet, reserved Doll — to actually speak up for her. Still, without saying a word, she slipped out the door.

In the hallway, she let out a long sigh of relief and wiped her brow. Then she heard footsteps — two pairs. Doll, her gaze calm but focused, and Lizzy, fuming while typing furiously on her phone.

“…so you were serious back there? Are you bored or something?” Lizzy was clearly baffled that Doll had taken Uzi’s side — not long ago, she herself not the best opinion about Uzi.

“Абсолютно (Or something),” Doll replied simply, turning to Uzi. “Пошли в Медблок. Сама идти сможешь? (Let’s get you to Medbay. Can you walk on your own?)”

“Pff, I can handle it, don’t worry,” Uzi snapped, turning on her heel toward the Medbay. But hearing the two following her, she stopped and spun around again. “Seriously, why are you two trailing me? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Oh, I do,” Lizzy replied, pointing her thumb at Doll without looking up from her phone. “But she’s decided to play Good Samaritan today. I’m just here for her. Heh, enjoy the moment, freak.”

“Bite me!” Uzi shot back, then turned to Doll. “Why even bother helping me? Just because you hang around Raven doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“А я не могу тебе помочь? (Can’t I just help you?)”

Uzi opened her mouth, then closed it again, having no comeback. So she just walked ahead, slightly faster than the others.

As they moved through the corridors — first of the school, then the bunker — Uzi began to realize ignoring her injury might’ve been dumb after all. Her right field of vision was still a glitching mess of pixels, and she’d bumped into several passing drones already. Doll kept offering to guide her, but Uzi stubbornly refused.

Eventually, they reached the Medbay door — a white panel marked with a red cross and a nameplate reading “Hygieia”. Uzi turned to face her companions. Lizzy was still glued to her phone (thankfully), and Doll was watching her with that same unreadable look. Their eyes met — Doll gave her a small nod toward the door.

“Tch. Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Uzi muttered irritably.

“Надеюсь, Гигия сможет тебе... (I hope Hygieia can—)” Doll started, but Lizzy cut her off, grabbing her friend by the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, Gia’ll fix her visor — shame she can’t fix her firmware, but whatever. Let’s go already!” Doll said something back, but Uzi wasn’t listening anymore.

Now alone, she sighed with relief — then shivered slightly at the thought of facing Giga. The last time they’d met, Uzi had tried to steal a part off one of her medical machines.

Not her proudest memory. But back then, Raven wasn’t around to scavenge parts for her, and she needed something to build the railgun she was now clutching in her hands.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the Medbay door. Might as well show some manners.

“Come in!” said the head doctor of Outpost-3 from behind the door.

Uzi did just that, stepping inside and finding herself in Gia’s office. Not much had changed since her last visit, except maybe the shelves along the wall, now crowded with more medicine bottles.

The “mistress of aspirin and ibuprofen,” as Raven once called her, sat behind her desk, doing what every doctor seemed to love most: writing something in her logbook. What exactly she kept writing about, considering the patient flow in the bunker was far smaller than in any human hospital and new equipment was a rare sight, Uzi couldn’t figure out.

Maybe just old habits?

“Uh, ahem, hi there!” Uzi tried to sound as friendly as possible, plastering on an even friendlier smile.

Gia lifted her gaze from the papers, her two-toned eyes studying the patient. Her blue-and-brown irises always seemed to carry a permanent mix of weariness and indifference, but when she saw Uzi, recognition flashed first — then a spark of surprise.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Gia set her pen aside and closed the journal. Lacing her fingers together, she rested her chin on them. “Could it really be the one and only Uzi Doorman visiting my humble domain? And judging by that face of yours, you’re not here to steal another power core from my equipment, hmm?”

Uzi groaned at Gia’s dry sarcasm and the fact that she still remembered that incident. The purple drone trudged toward the examination couch, hopped onto it, and waited for Gia to come over.

“Didn’t think you were that vindictive,” Uzi muttered as the doctor approached.

“I’m not vindictive, I just have a good memory,” Gia replied flatly, beginning to examine Uzi’s visor. “So, where did you hit yourself this time?”

Uzi flinched as Gia’s gloved fingers touched the cracks on her visor, the sensations from the contact unpleasantly vivid.

“Ahem, just a little... incident,” she said, deciding not to mention the explosion in the lab.

Gia glanced at the railgun lying beside the couch, then back at Uzi, raising an eyebrow.

“Mhm, I figured as much. Next time, call me first before you decide to test another one of your inventions,” the doctor said, still focused on her work.

“I didn’t—” Uzi began, but was cut off as Gia grabbed her head with both hands and held it firmly.

“You keep your head still and don’t move,” Gia said, continuing the examination.

A minute later, she murmured to herself, “Got it,” and walked over to the cabinets. She pulled out several small plastic and metal instruments and returned to Uzi.

“Uh, hey, doc, this isn’t gonna hurt, right?” Uzi asked, scooting closer to the wall.

“Not if you stay quiet and don’t move,” Gia replied, beginning the operation.

Uzi felt Gia’s hands running along the edges of her visor, one of the tools prying it loose.

For Worker Drones, removing the visor wasn’t fatal — they could function without it, but they’d lose their interface and basic optical protection. That’s why drones only took visors off when absolutely necessary.

When Gia finally removed it, Uzi needed a few seconds to adjust to the lack of interface and to seeing the world without the soft violet tint she’d known since birth.

“Whoa, this feels... weird,” the drone murmured, staring first at her own white hands, the LEDs glowing the same color as her eyes and hair, then around the room.

“First time without a visor?” Gia asked.

Uzi turned just in time to see Gia toss the old visor into the trash bin.

“Hey! What are you doing?! That’s part of me!” the young inventor protested at the sight.

“It’s junk now, no use keeping it,” Gia said, stepping closer again to examine Uzi’s upper face, checking for optic damage. “Congratulations — all optics intact. I’ll fit you with a new visor, run a few checks, and you’ll be free to go.”

Uzi just nodded. While Gia went into the next room to fetch a replacement, Uzi started idly swinging her legs off the edge of the couch. As she waited, her mind drifted back to her plan.

Originally, she wanted to show off her railgun to everyone, then sneak into the Murder Drones’ Spire and demonstrate it to them in action. But the power core’s failure ruined that idea.

Going there with a nonfunctional railgun was stupid, even for her.

Still, no one said anything about reconnaissance, right? The Murder Drones were nocturnal, so their Spire should be empty at night. That meant Uzi could sneak in, take a look around, maybe find some Corporation equipment she could “take apart,” as Raven liked to say.

When Gia returned, she was already holding a brand-new visor. Without a word, she approached Uzi again and began fitting it onto her. The process took much less time than removal, so within a few seconds Uzi once again saw her familiar interface and the world in soft violet hues. Then Gia ran a couple of compatibility checks and also wrapped the right side of Uzi’s face with bandages. She never said why, but after that, Uzi was free to go.

Leaving the office, Uzi let out a relieved sigh and sank into one of the nearby waiting chairs, placing her still-smoking railgun on the chair beside her.

To my surprise, today turned out to be pretty exhausting — the school incident, the visor replacement, and Uzi couldn’t stop thinking about Doll’s sudden change in behavior.
Honestly, Uzi hadn’t expected it and felt flustered. It wasn’t like they used to interact much — mostly Doll stuck by Lizzy and sometimes gave Uzi a restrained laugh when she was once again labeled a fool and a “freak.”

But everything had shifted a month ago, when Doll started showing up at Raven’s apartment and spending time with him. Uzi never learned the reason for the emo drone’s behavior, so she simply accepted it as fact. Maybe that was the cause of the change — they’d talked a few times, and Uzi had the impression that Doll wasn’t so bad after all.

Her thoughts about the Russian-speaking drone were interrupted by footsteps crossing the Medbay threshold. Uzi tore her gaze from the ceiling and looked at who had entered.

“Classic toxic masculinity, Chad! That's never gonna end up problematic.” It turned out to be a Worker Drone with green eyes, light hair, and a sports-team uniform; he was calling to someone in the corridor but, upon entering the Medbay, noticed Uzi sitting there. “Oh, wow- Uzi? I-I heard you, uh-”

“I'm an angsty teen, Thad. Bite me.” Uzi cut him off flatly, reciting one of her many self-descriptions. Thad didn’t seem fazed and decided to sit down next to her. “Also, how do you know my name? People willingly talk to you.”

Which was true — Thad was an absolute champion not only in sports but in collecting robo-hearts among the female half of the population, who fell for him. No wonder he ended up with Lizzy, even though their personalities were total opposites.

“Heh, well, I'd say everyone knows Khan's daughter, but, uh... then you might blow the other half of your face off,” he said, looking at the WDF posters on the Medbay noticeboard that featured Khan as the campaign face.

Uzi glanced at those posters and grimaced. Khan’s obsession with doors and the not-so-flattering comments about his daughter didn’t make her warm to him. At least not because she was his daughter.

“Crippling daddy issues. Hilarious,” Uzi said with bitter irony, then shook her head and changed the subject. “What are you in for? Testosterone too hard?”

“That can happen?!” Thad asked, startled. “Awesome. Hey, those bandages look pretty badass.”

“Oh…” The rare direct compliment left Uzi embarrassingly flustered. She pushed her bangs aside and averted her gaze so he couldn’t see the tiny marks under her eyes. “E-Ew, gross. I hate that you said that.”

“So, what's the, uh...” Thad said, changing the subject; he’d noticed Uzi’s gadget that the whole school had been whispering about.

Happy that one of the drones showed interest in the railgun, Uzi leapt to her feet from the chair, snatched up the weapon, and pointed it at Thad. 

“Sick-as-hell railgun?! He-he. Sci-fi nonsense that super works!” She chuckled quietly, getting into her element and deciding to share her plan with the school star. “I'm sneaking to the Murder Drone lair tonight to get the last spare part I need to save the world with it and earn my dad's respect and stuff- Uh, but mostly the world part.”

Hearing all of that, Thad was taken aback by the emotion and the sheer madness of the plan.

“Oh, but doesn’t your dad make awesome doors so we can live normal lives? And there’s Squad 44…” he offered.

“Not a word about that squad of meatbags!” Uzi blurted, thrusting the railgun’s barrel into Thad’s face.

“Sorry, didn’t think,” Thad apologized, but Uzi ignored him, jumped down to the floor, and strode quickly toward the exit.

“Bite me!” she tossed over her shoulder as she reached the Medbay door. Once outside, Uzi thought she might have gone too far and reluctantly peered back through the doorway. “I'm not mad at you, by the way — just generally hormonal!”

She gave a thumbs-up and, after receiving a slightly stunned nod from Thad, decided to get as far away from the place as possible.

But bumping into someone stopped her.

Uzi lifted her head to see who she’d bumped into, but when she did, she tensed up — looked like another exhausting conversation was about to happen.

She’d run into Oliver Fitzgerald — Lizzy’s father, Raven’s deputy, and the one who used to teach the younger classes at school.

“Damn…” muttered Uzi, already plotting an escape from the pink-eyed drone. “Uh, Mr. Fitzgerald! Heh, sorry, I was just in a hurry and didn’t see you! I, uh, should probably get going and… handle some stuff! Yeah, stuff, so I’ll just—”

“Uzi! You’re exactly who I needed,” Oliver cut off the stammering drone girl, his brows furrowed as he looked her over. “Come to my office — we need to talk. Seriously.”

From his tone, Uzi realized she wouldn’t get off easy, nor could she run away, so she groaned in irritation. Slinging her railgun onto her back and shoving her hands into her hoodie pockets, she dragged herself after Oliver to his office. She’d rather be anywhere else, but clearly, another lecture on safety regulations was inevitable.

As if that ever stopped her — or ever would. Besides, initiative and innovation should be encouraged! Uzi had built an almost functional railgun out of scrap metal in the supply workshop — wasn’t that something to be proud of?

While Uzi pondered her engineering genius, they arrived at Oliver’s office. Opening the door, he gestured for her to come in, then followed behind.

As he walked to his desk, Uzi glanced around the classroom where Oliver taught. It looked like any other classroom — layout, desks, equipment — just like the senior school rooms. It hadn’t changed much since Uzi herself studied here in the lower grades, except maybe for the new projector.

“Don’t just stand there — sit down,” Oliver said, taking his seat at the teacher’s desk and motioning to the empty chair beside it.

Uzi reluctantly walked over and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and folding her arms. She threw a quick glance at his desk — a cup full of pens, stacks of papers, lesson plans, a grade book, and two photo frames.

One showed Lizzy in her early school years, and the other — two drones holding a drone infant. Uzi could only make out Oliver in the picture.

“So, what is it? You gonna give me another lecture about safety? Or yell at me for interrupting class?” Uzi blurted impatiently, slouching even more.

“What?” For a moment, all the tension and nervousness in Oliver’s tone and expression vanished, replaced by confusion. “What are you even talking about?”

The girl sitting before him blinked a few times, staring at the blond drone, then her mouth flattened into a thin line as she realized how dumb that sounded.

“Never mind,” she mumbled, averting her eyes in embarrassment. “So, what did you want to talk about, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“Ahem, right, forget it…” Oliver shook his head and rubbed the spot where a human’s nose bridge would be. “It’s about Raven.”

“Raven?” Uzi frowned. “What about Raven?”

“Raven’s missing,” said the deputy commander of Squad 44 evenly, his fingers interlaced.

“What do you mean, missing?” Uzi’s interest spiked instantly. “Where? How?”

“I don’t know!” Oliver interrupted her barrage of questions, then exhaled heavily. “He’s not answering messages, not responding to calls. At first, I thought he’d gone on a raid alone, but the APC is still here.”

“Maybe he got drunk again and passed out somewhere?” Uzi guessed, recalling the incident three months ago and how much Raven could drink. “You know what he’s like — that wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Could be,” Oliver nodded. “Except it’s evening already, and he should’ve sobered up by now. And I haven’t heard anyone mention a drunken human stumbling through the bunker corridors today.”

Uzi leaned back in her chair, folding her arms again and staring off thoughtfully.
Where could Raven have gone? The logical move would be to check his apartment first — breaking in wasn’t an issue for her. But what was the point if he wasn’t responding anyway? And Oliver was right — if he’d just been drunk, he’d have woken up by now.

Then Uzi remembered Raven’s investigation, which she’d found out about last night. Where had he even gotten those documents? Knowing Raven, she could guess he’d been digging into it on his own.

“The reason I called you…” Oliver broke the silence. “You’ve spent quite a bit of time with Raven, haven’t you?”

“I’ve got my workshop in his apartment,” Uzi corrected him.

“Right, right… and you hacked his PDA when he first joined the bunker,” Oliver continued, clearly building up to something.

“Yeah, I did,” Uzi nodded, brushing aside a stray lock of her bangs. “Can we get to the point?”

“Did you install any spy software on his PDA or anything like that?” Oliver asked bluntly, his tone suggesting this was a perfectly normal question.

Uzi’s brows shot up to the edge of her new visor, her mouth falling open in disbelief.

“W-what?..” she stammered, still in shock, then jumped to her feet, waving her hands wildly. “Are you serious?! You think I— you— how could you even come up with that?! Do I look like some hacker-stalker to you? Ew!”

“Well, you never know!” Oliver raised both hands defensively, trying to justify himself. “You don’t like humans and all that. I thought maybe you figured it’d be… safer to keep an eye on him? You know, just in case? That would kinda be your style… you get me.”

That was it — Uzi practically boiled with anger. Her? Installing spy software? Never! Unlike some, she respected personal boundaries.

She tactfully left out the part about repeatedly breaking into Raven’s apartment and not even having the software for that in the first place.

“Then you clearly don’t know my style, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she said indignantly, throwing up her hands. “And besides — how the hell would I know where that meatbag’s wandering around?! I’m not his babysitter. Bite me!”

“All right, all right, sorry, I didn’t mean to… offend you,” the pink-eyed drone said, raising his hands and standing up. “I just don’t want to start unnecessary rumors or draw attention to this…”

“Pfft, yeah, as usual,” Uzi replied skeptically, folding her arms again and waiting for him to continue.

“Guess I’ll have to go to DJ and ask him to track Raven’s signal through his radio beacon…” Oliver muttered mostly to himself.

“Heh, and you call me the suspicious one… Who’s DJ?” Uzi asked curiously.

“Ahem, he’s the drone who helped us set up the Drongram network so it runs smoothly. A hardcore radio enthusiast and Squad 44’s radio operator,” Oliver explained, then lowered his voice. “Though he’s quite the weirdo, Raven somehow managed to get along with him.”

Uzi just snorted at that, though she definitely wanted to learn more about this DJ guy. Oliver, meanwhile, headed silently for the door, and she followed his lead.

Out in the corridor, she stood watching as Oliver locked the classroom. He noticed her staring, glanced back, and sighed.

“Come on, I can tell by your face you’re dying of curiosity,” he said, voicing exactly what Uzi was thinking. “You’d find out anyway — if not with me, then on your own.”

Uzi perked up a little and started walking after Oliver with renewed energy.

They walked through the bunker quickly and in silence. The girl noticed that Oliver looked tense and kept checking his phone - probably seeing if the stalker was online.

Uzi had also checked her phone a couple of times, watching when Raven was last online. Throwing a quick glance at Oliver walking ahead of her, she quickly typed a message to the stalker:

darkXwolf17: "hey, meatbag, you still alive? Lizzy’s dad is looking for you"

For a while, she just stared at the message, hoping to see two blue checkmarks under it - the sign it had been read.
But nothing appeared, and she frowned.

darkXwolf17: "alex, when you can - get in touch"

The girl slipped her phone into her pocket just as Oliver stopped by one of the doors. Uzi stood next to him and saw that the door was different from the others — it had a homemade sign on it:

1337
DJ

"Original…" she muttered while Oliver pressed the door bell.

Then, without waiting for the apartment’s owner to open, he pushed the door himself. It was unlocked, so the pair of drones easily entered the stranger’s dwelling.

"It’s fine - he never locks them," Oliver said, apparently anticipating a possible question, as he closed the door behind them.

Inside, the apartment was a mess: empty battery packs scattered everywhere, posters of various bands and ads for tropical resorts on planet Bernard-600 hanging on the walls.

Even more, there were all kinds of radio parts and circuit boards — on the coffee table near a sagging green couch lay a disassembled radio set, next to it a soldering iron and a tin of rosin.

To call the apartment simply messy would be unfair — it was creatively messy.

Oliver didn’t pay attention to the surroundings and confidently walked toward one of the rooms. Reaching it, he knocked several times and waited.

"Why are you standing out there? Come in!" came a cheerful male voice from inside.

The blond did just that, opening the door and stepping in with Uzi.

If the previous room had amazed the purple-haired drone with its chaos, this one did the opposite — it was impeccably clean. Besides that, it radiated the energy of a perfect radio station. Radio equipment of every type, height, and width filled the room. Some of it stood in tall cabinets by the wall, and some on the tables.

"Hello, DJ," Oliver greeted the owner of all this, who was sitting with his back to them.

Hearing the familiar voice, the radio operator of Squad 44 turned his chair with a friendly smile.

His appearance stood out among the typical adult worker drones: he wore a gray T-shirt, a red Hawaiian shirt with white floral patterns over it, black shorts, and boots. But most distinctive was his face — DJ didn’t wear the standard helmet, so his long slicked-back hair was fully visible, and his thick black beard gave him a certain charm — a rare sight among worker drones.

"Well, look who it is!" DJ said cheerfully, getting up from his chair. "Li! How’s it going, buddy?"

The radio operator pulled “Li” into a firm friendly hug, but quickly let go when he heard the blond grumble.

"I told you not to call me that… Not great, that’s why I’m here…"

"By the Robo-God, it’s the big boss’s daughter!" DJ switched his attention to Khan’s daughter and eagerly shook her hand. "Call me DJ! Got the name ‘cause I used to work in a nightclub, but that’s ancient history. Now my digital soul belongs to the rhythm of the airwaves! Oh, and I can solder just about anything — side effect of the trade."

He said all of that so fast that it took Uzi a few seconds to process it while DJ kept enthusiastically shaking her hand up and down.

"Uh… I’m Uzi…" she said, still dazed from the introduction.

"Uzi! Cool name," he finally let go of her hand and squinted his bright blue eyes, looking her up and down. His gaze paused on the bandages. "Huh, the bandages — part of the look? Not bad, actually…"

"Alright, enough chatter," Oliver had clearly grown tired of wasting time. "We’ve got a problem. You can talk to Uzi later, so let’s focus, alright?"

DJ chuckled, scratched his beard, sat back in his chair, and turned to the blond.

"So, if it’s a big serious problem… What happened?"

"Raven’s gone missing, that’s what," Oliver said grimly, watching DJ’s expression change.

"Oh… That," DJ’s tone shifted — gone was the cheer, replaced by seriousness.

"No one knows except Uzi," Oliver said, nodding toward the girl.

DJ turned his now thoughtful gaze to her. "You need me to track his coordinates via his radio beacon, right?"

Without another word, DJ spun his chair around and began rapidly setting up the equipment, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Simple enough — tracking coordinates. But I’m not sure if my gear’s range will cover it," he said without looking away. "And even if it does — we’ll get the beacon’s location, not the boss’s."

"Don’t make it worse, alright?" Oliver said quietly.

"Got it, mouth shut," the operator replied, and the room fell silent except for the hum of machines and the clicking of keys.

Uzi fidgeted near the door, feeling a growing unease about Raven. Three months ago, if someone had told her she’d be worried about a human, she’d have laughed.

But now… things were different.

She still didn’t like humans for many reasons and wouldn’t have refused a bit of payback for years of her kind’s mistreatment.

But Raven was different.

He was probably the first one who’d shown her neither prejudice nor condescension. And despite all the things she’d said to him when they first met, he still offered her a helping hand — even stood up for her before Khan.

Maybe that stalker wasn’t the best example of humanity by their standards, but for Uzi, he was the exception. And the deeper she got into all this, the stronger the feeling grew that Raven was in danger.

"Can’t find a damn thing," DJ finally muttered. "Either he’s out of range, or… someone turned the beacon off."

Oliver sighed heavily and stepped closer, examining the map on the monitor showing the coverage area.

"Why’s your range so small?" he pointed at the screen.

"And what, you think the bigger the station, the better it is?" DJ shot back indignantly. "I built all this on sheer enthusiasm, pal — can’t punch above my weight. Man, If I were given one of JCJenson's gadgets to touch, I would make such a rock and roll…"

"What about through the Drongram network?" Oliver suggested.

"I’m a radio guy, not a magician," the bearded drone replied, spreading his hands. "You’d need a programmer for that — and we don’t have the time. By the time we get this thing working with a ritual dance, the boss’ll be buried under three layers of snow."

Oliver opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he just looked down at the table while DJ kept checking his instruments — just in case it was a glitch.

Uzi watched them, torn by doubt. On one hand, she didn’t want to reveal something Raven had chosen to keep secret — his investigation of Project “Aurora” was definitely one of those things. But on the other… her silence might cost him his life.

With a sigh — useless for drones, but habitual nonetheless — she spoke in a quiet, strained voice:

"I… might know where Raven could be," she said, looking away.

Oliver and DJ turned to her in surprise. Oliver stepped closer, placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eyes.

"Where is he? Why didn’t you say anything? He—" He stopped himself, then stepped back, regaining composure. "Ahem, sorry. Where could Raven be?"

"Well… uh…" Uzi scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "I found out yesterday that Raven’s doing some secret investigation about a lab here on Copper-9. Documents and all sorts of stuff… And I think he’s been at it for a while, ‘cause he’s been kinda tired lately, yeah! Maybe he went after more documents?"

The two drones listened silently. When she finished, Oliver slapped his forehead.

"DJ, pull up the Central Library and Archive on the map!" he ordered, then turned to Uzi. "If you knew, why didn’t you say so?"

"What if you already knew too?!" Uzi shot back. "And besides, I don’t spill other people’s secrets, bite me!"

"Secrets… Those damn secrets of that meat-brained idiot will get him killed," Oliver grumbled. "Fine, whatever. Thanks anyway."

"Found the library," DJ said. "Heh, funny thing — my range falls just short of it."

"Then there’s still a chance," Oliver said, suddenly more energetic. He took the radio from his belt. "All Alpha and Beta units! Report to the main depot in ten minutes, full combat gear. Over."

"Running a rescue op?" DJ asked.

"If Raven was looking for documents, that’s the only place he’d go," Oliver explained. "And if he was in the library, we might find at least some trace of him. Thanks for the help — I’ll get in touch if anything turns up."

Oliver headed for the exit, already piecing together a search-and-rescue plan in his head, and left, forgetting about Uzi. The girl didn’t hesitate — after a quick "bye" to the radio operator, she ran into the corridor and chased after Lizzy’s dad.

"Mister Fitzgerald! Wait! Mister!" Oliver stopped and turned to her. "Take me with you! I can—"

"Uzi, listen," Oliver said wearily but gently, "I understand you want to help, but you’ve done enough already."

"But—"

"We’re heading into that damn library in the middle of the night. We’ll be fine — Raven trained us for this. But you…" the deputy commander of the Forty-Fourth shook his head. "Go home and rest."

Uzi tried to argue, but he just walked away without another word, leaving her alone. Frustrated, the drone-inventor stomped her foot and wandered off wherever her eyes led her, muttering curses under her breath.

Her eyes - or more precisely, her legs - led Uzi to Hope Square, the main plaza of Outpost-3 where many corridors intersected and where worker drones gathered during important announcements.

In the center of the square stood a large tree that even had real leaves. From her school lessons, Uzi remembered that it was a special subspecies of tree that grew only on Copper-9, much hardier than those on Earth.

Sitting down on a bench, she rested her head on her palms and started thinking about what to do next. The school incident had already faded into the background, and now her thoughts were about Raven and her nightly mission.

And if there wasn’t much she could do to help Raven right now, then she at least needed to deal with her railgun and the spire recon. And who knows - maybe she’d find some clue about where the stalker might be.

But for that, Uzi needed two things: a way to get outside, and the flash drive with the software Raven had shown her.

There was only one exit from the colony - Khan’s three security doors - but the problem was, they wouldn’t just let her out. But who said anyone had to know about her little surface walk?

She knew for sure about the existence of the “Master Key,” which was stored somewhere in her father’s office, as well as the time gap when no one was on guard at the doors - during the shift change. So the plan was simple - grab the Master Key and wait for the right moment.

And why did she need the software?

First - poking around in a program for “combat protocol and weapon module control” sounded really fun; and second - testing it was even more tempting.

Of course, even Uzi doubted she could pull it off in practice, but that didn’t make her want the flash drive any less.

A plan began to form in her head, so she jumped up from the bench, tore off the annoying bandages from her face, and rushed toward apartment 013.

She made it there quickly, stopped at the door, and examined it.

A normal door, except Raven had changed the nameplate.

013
Raven

Uzi glanced around to make sure there were no witnesses, then approached the keycard reader. With a practiced motion, she removed the outer casing, revealing a cluster of colorful wires and circuit boards. The girl quickly worked her “reconfiguration” magic, and the door opened on its own. The drone slipped inside the human’s apartment and closed the door behind her.

The stalker’s dwelling greeted her with darkness and a heavy atmosphere. Uzi felt along the wall, found the switch, and turned on the lights.

That made it better, though not by much - the human’s absence still weighed on her, so she didn’t plan to stay long.

The violet-haired drone stepped into the large kitchen-living room, then turned right into the hallway.

There were three doors: two on the right - the bathroom and her workshop - and one further down on the left - Raven’s room.

Uzi walked to the left door and pushed it open, stepping into the human’s bedroom.

It wasn’t very big: against the wall to the right of the door stood a large desk covered in papers, stationery, and random bits and pieces. To the left - a double bed with two nightstands and a small wardrobe.

Simple and modest.

The girl moved to the desk, since that’s where the stalker had left the flash drive. She was tempted to peek through the papers, but her desire to get this over with faster pushed her on. After a bit of searching, the drone finally found the black-and-yellow flash drive labeled “Cabin Fever.”

"Aha, there you are," Uzi whispered, slipping it into her pocket.

The inventor gave the documents a quick glance - a mess of official papers and Raven’s notes - but seeing all the strange terminology, she gave up and headed for the exit.

Leaving the apartment, she also fixed the reader back into place so that when Raven returned, he wouldn’t have any awkward questions.

To make sure it worked, she tugged the door a couple of times - it didn’t budge. Uzi nodded to herself and turned ninety degrees, ready to head home.

But a familiar, calm voice made her stop.

"Узи, дядя Саша сейчас дома? (Uzi, is Uncle Sasha home right now?)" To Uzi’s surprise, Doll’s tone carried an unfamiliar hint of worry and confusion instead of her usual cold detachment.

"Well, judging by the fact that ‘Uncle Sasha’s’ door is closed - no," Uzi replied with light sarcasm.

"И где он, ты не знаешь? (And you don’t know where he is?)" Doll continued questioning.

"Look, I saw him last time yesterday. Today I’ve been… uh… busy, so I’ve got no idea where Raven is. Maybe out on a raid, as usual."

"К этому времени он уже обычно возвращается (By this time, he usually comes back)," Doll countered. "А ещё я видела папу Лиззи (And I also saw Lizzy’s dad)."

Uzi sighed in irritation and shrugged.

"Well, then I don’t know - he doesn’t report his adventures to me, can’t help you," Uzi shot back, making Doll frown.

"Ладно… я поняла (Alright… I understand)," the red-eyed drone said quietly, lowering her head and staring at the front door as if she could see through it.

Hearing her tone, Uzi realized she’d been too harsh, and a twinge of guilt hit her.

"Hey, don’t worry so much," Uzi said, now with a noticeably softer and kinder voice, clearly admitting she’d gone too far. "You’ve heard his stories yourself - nothing’s gonna happen to him. And also… thanks."

The last word came out much quieter and more timidly than usual for her. Doll just raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Uzi groaned in embarrassment.

"Thanks for helping me today and not laughing at me with your stupid, stuck-up friend. Anyway, bite me!"

Uzi decided to retreat before the painfully awkward conversation dragged on any further. Doll just watched her leave, then the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

"Пожалуйста (You're welcome)."

But when the red-eyed drone turned her gaze back to the door, that faint smile faded away.

Right now, only one thought filled Doll’s head.

Where had Raven gone?

The night sky was suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning, and a second later came the thunder’s roar. Raindrops hammered furiously against the filthy window, each one falling from the sky with the same fate - to shatter against the old glass.

The weather outside had gone completely wild — it looked more like a storm than a simple autumn rain.

But this was autumn in the Zone — here, that was normal. Even the weather was anomalous. There were the brutal winters, sometimes not much different from Siberian ones, or summers when the sun baked the air up to forty degrees.

But that didn’t matter now.

Right now, the autumn rain of the Zone was falling — washing away the traces of both human and mutant activity.

Another flash tore across the night sky, lighting up the room where two people stood.

The air inside was damp and heavy with mold; the walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, and the corners looked like something out of a nightmare. The patter of rain against the window mixed with the hum of countless devices that tirelessly processed data and sent it to an old computer sitting on a nearby desk.

"…You knew," one of the men in the room hissed through his teeth, glaring at the older man in front of him, dressed in the same uniform.
Although, there was a difference: one of them had a clean, almost new suit of armor, while the other’s was caked in mud and blood, torn in several places by bullets and shrapnel.

"We could only assume, and we didn’t think that—" the older man began, but was immediately cut off.

"No, bullshit, you fucking knew!" the man snapped, his voice breaking with anger. "You knew from the damn start, but you still sent us into that fucking hellhole! For what? Huh? So the boys could die there for God knows what? So we’d lose half our squad before even getting close to the target? So I’d have to bury Andrey with my own damn hands, when his face was just... fucking pulp, huh?!"

"We were trying to prevent a catastrophe!" the man in the clean suit protested and, in a surge of emotion, half-rose from his chair — but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, forcing him back down into the creaking wooden seat.

"I don’t give a shit about your goddamn catastrophe," the other man spat, his voice seething with hatred. "Your holy mission won’t bring my friend back. Or the lives of the guys rotting out there somewhere. And God help us if the Zone didn’t take their bodies but turned them into... into zombified husks."

Silence fell.

Only the endless hum of machines and the pounding of rain filled the air.

"Yeah…" the man on the chair finally muttered, his voice trembling as he buried his face in his hands. "We made a huge, terrible mistake... you’ve every right to hate me. And, I suppose… you have many questions for me."

"Yeah, plenty," the other replied, his tone no longer angry, just tired. "And it’s in your best interest to answer them."

"Alright…" the older man nodded weakly. "Alright… I’ll tell you everything I know."

The man in the torn suit limped closer, wincing with every step. Leaning on the table, he loomed over the seated figure and asked in a hard, unwavering voice:

"What is the Zone?"

A thunderclap echoed outside.

And then Raven woke up.

He struggled to pry open his heavy eyelids, letting out a rough, broken gasp. After blinking several times, the stalker realized his head was lowered and throbbing painfully — like someone had slammed it with a hammer.

Fuck… what happened?… Where am I?…

As his consciousness returned, so did his memory.

Night. The library. The archive. Murder drones. Being grabbed by one with pigtails. The drone’s fist flying straight at his face.

And then — darkness.

Raven instinctively ran his tongue over his teeth — all still there. Then he tried moving his jaw; it answered with a dull ache. Whether it was broken or not, he couldn’t tell.

But he needed to figure out where the hell he was. If he was still alive, that meant he’d been captured by the drones again, right? So there was still a chance to escape…

Finally, Raven decided to lift his head — which, judging by the weight, still had his helmet and gas mask on — and look around. It took effort, but when he managed it, he was met with someone’s face.

The face had two yellow, digital eyes staring at him with the manic curiosity of a cat watching a cornered mouse. The wide grin below them, lined with sharp teeth, radiated mocking sadism and the intent to intimidate.

Raven’s half-closed dark-green eyes widened — in both shock and recognition. Before him stood the same disassembly drone with the silver bob.

"Ух ты ж блять! (Oh fuck!)" Raven instinctively tried to back away, but hit the wall behind him.

Trying to move his arms, the stalker realized they were bound tightly behind his back — and judging by the metallic clanking, by a very sturdy chain.

Disassembly drone’s grin only widened, before twisting into a sardonic laugh.

"Hey J, looks like the human’s awake and already squirming," disassembly drone — V — said, never taking her glowing eyes off the man pressed against the wall.

Raven tore his gaze away from her and took in his surroundings — dim light, metal walls, a staircase leading upward in the far corner. Looking past V’s shoulder, he saw a bank of large monitors — maybe control panels or consoles — softly blinking with lights. Two large chairs stood nearby, one occupied.

Judging by the interior, he could’ve sworn he was on a spaceship — but then he remembered something he’d once heard about the “capsules” the murder drones had arrived in.

So that’s where I am now. Great.

"I already figured that out from your laugh, V. Thanks," replied the figure sitting in the chair.

Raven turned his attention toward the voice.

The figure turned her seat to face him — the drone with twin silver pigtails. Must be J. The one by the wall — V.

Unlike her deranged colleague, J’s face didn’t show sadism or madness. Instead, she watched him with a calm, evaluating frown, her leg crossed over the other and a stalker PDA in her hand.

Under that gaze, Raven felt uneasy and decided to glance down at himself. His armor and exoskeleton were gone — they’d left only the helmet so he could breathe. He was completely vulnerable, and the mentally unstable glint in V’s eyes beside him didn’t help.

J noticed how Raven pressed himself against the wall, his eyes darting nervously under the gas mask lenses. It made her smirk slightly — the human was afraid. She slipped the PDA into her jacket pocket and rose gracefully to approach him.

Her stiletto legs clicked sharply across the metal floor of the capsule with every step. Seeing J approach, V straightened up, placing her clawed hands on her hips without breaking eye contact with the human.

When J joined her, Raven could see them both clearly.

J wore a tight black leather blazer with a yellow shirt and black tie beneath. A bright yellow armband marked her arm, its text unreadable from where he sat. The twin silver pigtails were clipped by a black headband with five sensors. Her yellow eyes were half-lidded and mocking, her smile sharp and self-satisfied.

Her colleague, V, stood beside her, tilting her head slightly — the same silver hair, but cut into a bob. She wore a short black fur-lined jacket, matching armband, and dark shorts. Her grin was predatory; her stare, terrifying.

"Well, would you look at that — and who do we have here, waking up?" J said with a teasing tone. "I was starting to think you decided to skip our little talk by dying early."

The sarcasm in her voice was thick enough to cut with a knife. Raven grimaced behind the mask — and even more so at the thought that this “talk” would probably last a while… and wouldn’t be pleasant.

"Yeah right," Raven rasped. "Didn’t think you’d miss me that much. I’m flattered."

"You’ve got no idea," J leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Especially after last month, when I had one hell of a temptation to crush you in that library. But… professionals know how to wait for the right moment."

She straightened again, watching for his reaction. Raven hung his head, processing her words, then suddenly glared back at her.

"What do you mean, ‘last month’? You mean you—" He froze mid-sentence as realization hit. They’d been watching him. This whole damn time. "Сука! (Damn!)"

Frustrated with himself, Raven slammed the back of his helmeted head against the wall — thankfully, the helmet absorbed the hit. J chuckled softly; it seemed the human had just realized how badly he’d been played.

"That’s right — I’ve been tracking your little expeditions from the start," she continued mockingly. "Couldn’t quite figure out what you were after, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is, my patience paid off. You’ll be telling me everything in detail."

The last words came out darker, the mockery fading into quiet menace. V’s sinister chuckle beside him only confirmed that this “talk” would include pain — lots of it.

"And what if I say no?" Raven asked, smirking faintly beneath the mask. "You gonna loosen my tongue with a soldering iron, hammer to the knees, and an old mop for good measure?"

"Ew, barbaric methods," J grimaced, then closed her eyes and recited in a deadpan tone: "Clause 643/A, subsection two of the JCJenson Agent Code of Conduct: physical, psychological, and moral torture of detained subjects is prohibited unless approved by the JCJenson Ethics Department."

When she finished, V burst into laughter, while Raven just blinked in confusion, glancing between them.

"Heh, don’t worry, meatbag," V purred, examining her long claws as if admiring fresh nail polish. "If you behave, I’ll make sure the cuts don’t hurt too much. But just so you know — I’m very familiar with the approved list of tortures."

Something about her tone and grin filled Raven with a cold, crawling dread.

J just smirked and strutted back toward her seat, her high heels clicking sharply on the floor. Raven couldn’t help but follow her with his eyes, noticing how the black tail with a syringe tip swayed lazily behind her.

As he watched, he noticed another drone in the capsule — one in a long coat and a peaked cap, silver hair sticking out from underneath. A yellow armband on the shoulder. He sat silently on a few crates, observing. For a brief moment, his eyes met Raven’s.

They stared at each other in silence until the click of a pen and the rustle of paper broke it. Everyone looked toward J again — she was seated, leg crossed, now holding a branded notebook and pen.

"So then," she began, her tone cool and businesslike. "I think it’s time we start our interrogation. I suggest you answer clearly and honestly — V doesn’t take well to lies."

The humor was gone from her voice, replaced with cold authority. Raven felt pressure on his helmet — turning his head slowly, he saw the source. V had crouched beside him, her claw resting atop his head.

"Yeah," she cooed mockingly, tilting her head and flashing her sharp teeth, dragging her claw slowly down the helmet’s surface, leaving a scratch. "I hate liars."

Raven jerked his head away from that claw and frowned. It was obvious that torture awaited him, but he didn’t really want to endure it, and he didn’t see any way to escape or at least delay it. Even if he answered “clearly and honestly,” no one would believe him — unfortunately, his method of getting to another planet was unusual, even anomalous.

“Ahem,” J cleared her throat, more to get attention than anything else, and began the interrogation: “Let’s start with the standard question: who are you and what’s your name?”

Raven glanced from under his brow at all the murder drones present, noting J tapping her pen impatiently against the notebook page, as well as the curious, slightly confused gaze of the disassembly drone on the opposite side of the capsule.

He finally fixed his eyes on J and smiled under his mask.

“Who am I?” Raven asked, his irony poorly concealed. “Grocer-trader Emgyr var Emreys.”

The tapping of the pen on the notebook stopped, and J stared at him without blinking.

“A trader…?” came the confused voice of the psycho drone near Raven.

“A grocer,” the stalker nodded, saying it with confidence.

“And I’m Serial Designation N!” — suddenly spoke the murder drone who had been sitting silently all this time; Raven was surprised that there was no aggression or bloodlust in it, unlike its companions. “The one next to you is V, and the one in the chair is…”

N abruptly went silent when he saw J’s face, radiating disappointment and a desire to strangle an incompetent subordinate.

“Oh, Company, what an idiot…” J muttered, putting her hand on her forehead and shaking her head.

“…That wasn’t your real name, right?” N concluded, frowning and realizing he’d acted foolishly.

Raven couldn’t hold back and snorted with laughter.

But the laughter quickly turned into a coughing fit and pain in his ribs — right where V’s fist had landed.

Then came another blow, followed by several small cuts from the disassembly drone.

“So, you don’t want to do it the easy way,” J said disappointedly. “Expected outcome. Fine — your choice, just don’t beg me to stop V later.”

Coughing, the man exhaled hoarsely. He understood that J wasn’t joking and that if he didn’t curb his pride, he might leave the capsule in pieces, some chewed through in places. But officer pride and stalker stubbornness drowned out the cries of logic.

“Can’t I joke a little?” Raven asked in his usual half-sarcastic tone. “Did you know laughter prolongs life? Take a cue from your friend: she likes to laugh and joke too.”

J merely raised an eyebrow and gave him a skeptical look.

“Yeah, I hit you pretty hard in the head. Next time, I’ll be more careful,” the smile faded from Raven’s face — he couldn’t tell if she was joking. “Alright, let’s go again: name and who you are?”

Raven sighed.

“You read my PDA, why bother asking?” J tightened her grip on the pen and glanced at V. “Alright, alright! I’ll tell you… Alexander Radchenko, but it’s easier when people call me Raven. Stalker, National Guard captain, and at the moment — resident of Outpost-3.”

Raven tactfully kept silent about the fact that he was currently a serving commander of a reasonably capable drone unit. What for? He was modest; he didn’t need extra fame. Besides, if J had read his PDA, she already knew.

“Are you mocking me?” the drone snapped, rising from the chair and quickly approaching him, then looming threateningly over him, forcing Raven to press further into the wall. “You think I didn’t read your PDA? You think I’ll believe that nonsense about some Zone, anomalies, and a spatial bubble that brought you here?!”

The longer J ranted, the louder she grew, and the more Raven wanted to melt into the wall. Their height difference made him feel like a misbehaving child.

“Do you have another explanation?” Raven hissed in response. “You saw my gear, right? Exoskeleton — basically homemade; the rifle is older than me; PDA released before your grandmother even existed as an idea in some Silicon Valley genius’ head; and as dessert — a pistol the Yankees made at the start of the twentieth century. Very reliable and modern, don’t you think?”

“Could be to blind you,” J suggested, narrowing her eyes.

“Suppose. But why would I come to this planet? There’s nothing here but snow, skeletons, worker drones in bunkers, and you pretty things,” Raven argued. “And if I’d arrived on some spaceship, the surrounding area would know, and we’d have met much earlier, not after I wandered the planet for almost a week.”

V followed the conversation with interest, glancing between J and Raven. She wanted to see J’s reaction — she knew her commander well and her dislike for those who defied her.

J clenched her jaw, narrowed her eyes at the man chained at her feet. To her surprise, she had no counterarguments, so she exhaled through her teeth.

“Look at you, smarty,” she said with a haughty smile, then in a commanding tone: “Just don’t get too cocky — remember, you’re a prisoner here.”

“Well, I don’t have any issues with my head or memory so far,” the stalker replied, tilting his head sideways to meet the yellow digital eyes of the drone looming over him. “By the way, you never actually told me your name. That’s… unprofessional.”

“As if you didn’t already know it,” the pigtailed drone said, straightening and adjusting her outfit and hair. “Serial Designation J-10X111001, commander of the Disassembly Squad in this sector. I’d offer a handshake, but unfortunately, for obvious reasons, you wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Look at that, you actually have a sense of humor. If you didn’t want to kill me and just let me go — that would be priceless.

Pulling herself together, J returned to the consoles, sat in the chair, and quickly began writing in her notebook. Raven kept glancing warily at V and the silent N.

“Back to the interrogation…” J muttered, finishing her notes. “You said you live in Outpost-3. Outpost-3 is a bunker with infected worker drones, right?”

“Yes, a colony of worker drones,” the stalker replied, though he didn’t react visibly to the word “infected,” it caught his interest.

Oliver had mentioned that when the psycho captured him in the hospital, he claimed the workers were infected with some virus. So it wasn’t just the madman’s idea — all the disassembly drones believed it. Interesting.

“And did they show aggression toward you?” J continued.

“They kept me in a cage for about a week for safety, then let me go and accepted me.”

“Strange…” J muttered, writing more in her notebook. “And what do you do in the bunker?”

“Carry various things for them from the surface in an APC…” Raven paused, then smirked. “And I crush the incompetent murder drones coming at me like they’re wielding pitchforks at a locomotive.”

His mockery was interrupted by a blow to the stomach this time.

“Oh, thanks for reminding me — need to settle a couple of debts,” V said, standing at full height and winding up for a kick.

With no way to cover himself with his hands, Raven quickly pulled his legs in to protect at least part of his body.

The kick hit just below the knees, followed by several more to exposed areas, then V delivered a sweeping claw strike to his shins, wounding him.

The stalker hissed in pain, bracing for another blow, when J’s voice came from behind V.

“V, enough. We still need him alive,” J said casually, tossing one of her pigtails over her shoulder.

V first turned to look at J, then back to the man, whose blood was already flowing, staining his olive trousers.

“Lucky for you our commander’s in a good mood today,” V said with a sardonic smile. “Otherwise, we’d have had more fun with you.”

“Bite me!” Raven rasped in reply.

“Tempting,” the demon grinned wider, crouching and extending her claw toward the man’s neck; Raven felt her pierce the skin and start moving the claw upward. “Especially with such an enticing, exposed neck… but alas.”

With those words, she withdrew the claw, leaving a long cut on the stalker’s neck that would later become another scar. What came next, however, Raven hadn’t expected — V licked the blood from her claw, then let out a satisfied little moan.

Apparently, she liked the taste.

Just like fucking vampires… at least this crazy one, definitely.

“Now do you understand what clowning around can get you into?” J asked boredly, twirling a pen between her fingers. “Sometimes a kid needs to get burned.”

The stalker didn’t answer, only continued silently drilling V with a hostile gaze.

When J finished taking notes in her notebook, her eyes suddenly widened, and she looked at Raven, who was wheezing from the recent beating. The drone rose from the chair and walked to the barely noticeable door in the center of the wall opposite the capsule control consoles.

She quickly typed in the correct password, and the door hissed open. Inside, the sounds of J rifling through things could be heard. A minute later, she emerged holding a container familiar to the stalker.

“Care to tell me what this container is?” she asked, bracing one hand on her hip and spinning it in the other.

“A container’s a container—nothing special,” the first thing that came to mind, the man, replied.

What he absolutely did not want to talk about was this container and the artifact inside it. He licked his chapped lips under the mask and started running through the most convincing excuse he could think of for the disassembly drone to avoid opening it.

“So, you don’t want to do it nicely, huh? Fine. Then the kid will get burned twice,” J said, sitting back in her chair, placing the lead container on the console, bracing her arm on the armrest and resting her head on it. “V, it seems after your little… ‘incident,’ our prisoner still hasn’t gotten it. Time to move on to more convincing arguments in our discussion.”

V looked at J in confusion at first, but understanding the hint, with a mischievous smile that had barely left her face throughout the interrogation, began transforming her hand into something else.

An electroshock device.

“Where shall we start?” V asked, bringing the shocker closer to the man, while he, realizing where this was going, began actively tugging at the chain and trying to retreat.

“Small,” N replied after a short pause, but, smiling subtly, added, “And gradually increase it. Sooner or later, he’ll talk.”

“No-no, maybe not… AHH!” — Raven’s next words got stuck in his throat.

When the shocker touched his body, the first few seconds were still tolerable, but the pain quickly intensified, spreading through his body, causing spasms and making Raven twist on the floor. At some point, he lost track of time and just writhed on the ground.

Then the pain stopped.

The stalker lay on the floor, wheezing in short gasps. Right now, he just wanted to catch his breath and nothing more.

“So, now you get it?” V asked, observing him lying on the floor.

“Y-yes…” he whispered.

“Good,” came the voice of the tormentor above him, and she grabbed Raven by the shoulders, leaning his weakened body against the wall.

J, who had been silently watching the torture, approached the man and crouched in front of him.

“Hey, can you see me?” she asked calmly. “What’s this container and how do I open it?”

“It’s a container… for artifacts…” Raven began to explain haltingly, realizing it was pointless to resist — there should be a hidden compartment with a code lock on the side.

“You should have said that right away,” J replied, standing tall and running her fingers along the sides of the container; finding the right compartment, she easily opened it and saw the digits for entering the password. “Password?”

“Two, seven, zero, five…” Raven clearly spoke the combination.

J had already raised her hand to enter the password but paused a few centimeters from the digits. She frowned, then turned her head to the prisoner, examining him. Raven looked terrible — his uniform was torn in several places where V had struck with her claws; there were bloodstains; his head was down, and only wheezing breaths came from the gas mask; besides the rising and falling chest, there was no movement.

In J’s mind, a thought flickered that she might have given V too much freedom in the torture, and that her prisoner was still human, and killing him would have been a piece of cake.

She didn’t need that yet.

She pushed that thought deep into her digital mind, focusing on the container in her hands. Something about it seemed suspicious, so…

“N!” she barked suddenly, making the mentioned drone jump on the crates he had been sitting on all this time. “Come here, quickly!”

The commanding voice quickly brought N to attention, and in two broad steps, he was in front of her, straightening his back and placing his palm on his head.

“Listening!” he replied energetically, wagging his tail happily — finally, someone had noticed him.

“N, be a bit useful and open this container,” J said clearly, emphasizing every word, gesturing toward the lead cylindrical container in her hands. “But do it… away from here.”

“Of course! Uh, what’s the password again?” N asked, taking the lead cylinder in his hands and, following J’s order, stepped closer to the consoles.

“Password: two, seven, zero, five!” J announced the combination, approaching V and stepping away from N.

“Hey, J, why are you crowding in the corner?” V asked in a whisper.

“What if this thing blows up?” J replied, as if V couldn’t understand the obvious.

After blinking a few times and realizing their pigtail-equipped commander was right, V stepped back a little herself.

Meanwhile, N finished entering the password.

“Zero… five! Opened!” N said cheerfully, lifting the lid and releasing a soft blue light from the container. “Uh, what now?”

No answer followed — J closed the distance in a few steps and silently snatched the object from N’s hands, pushing him aside. Now that there was no threat, what use was he?

She stared in fascination at the blue light pouring from the container. J turned the container, and a perfect glass sphere fell into her hand — the source of the light.

“Wow…” she murmured in awe. “And this… this is beautiful.”

“Whoa, looks cool!” N said, intrigued, looking at the sphere; seeing it, he immediately thought it was some fallen star.

Even V, though silent all this time, looked at the sphere with interest and a thoughtful expression.

The only one not mesmerized was Raven, trying to crawl even further away. With two years of experience handling this artifact, he wanted to get as far from the capsule as possible, because deep down, he didn’t care what would happen next.

And what happened next was something J hadn’t expected.

A blob of energy inside the sphere, which had initially just been concentrated at the center, suddenly shot toward the spot where her palm touched the artifact.

She didn’t have time to react, and the entire space in front of her was filled with a haze.

From the haze emerged a large Gothic-style mansion.

Relentless, eternal rain.

A dump of drone hulls.

Wide corridors with high ceilings and large, expensive chandeliers.

A grand hall, where silhouettes reminiscent of people in dresses, tuxedos, and top hats could be seen.

Worker drones dressed as butlers and maids.

And then…

The silhouette of a little girl standing with her back to her.

She reached out to her, and the girl turned around.

Though she couldn’t see her face clearly, the girl seemed familiar.

“Jaybird?…”

J’s eyes snapped open, and she dropped the artifact onto the console, falling to the floor herself. She panicked for several seconds, looking around frantically, unable to comprehend where she was, breathing heavily and rapidly.

Then, a crackling sound started coming from the console, and lightning became visible. The sphere rose into the air on its own, spinning violently, amplifying the crackling and lightning. Then it seemed to start draining electricity from the devices.

J found no better solution than to simply crawl back into a corner, ending up near Raven. V and N did the same, watching with their mouths open.

Raven, also stunned, was unable to understand what was happening. Moreover, he hadn’t expected the artifact to start creating an anomaly here.

An electric sphere formed around the artifact, expanding by the second, and then…
It discharged, shattering all the monitors and frying all the electronics inside, while the artifact simply fell onto the burned-out consoles.

At the moment of the anomaly’s discharge, Raven closed his eyes, ready to meet his ancestors, but nothing happened. Exactly as it had been with the drones inside the capsule.

J just stared at everything with shock-wide eyes, unable to move. After blinking a few times and shaking her head, she quickly got up and was about to check what had happened, but N beat her to it.

“J, don’t want to scare you… but it looks like everything’s broken,” N assessed the damage in a flustered voice.

She froze, staring blankly at the floor.

“What do you mean… completely? …” J asked, not believing that the company’s expensive equipment was destroyed, hoping that N had just misunderstood.

“Yes,” the coat-wearing drone said confidently, chaotically pressing buttons that only sparked.

“Shit…” Raven muttered for the first time in a long while. “Heh, looks like someone’s losing a bonus for losing government property.”

The prisoner’s sarcastic comment finally set J off. She spun around in place, in two leaps was in front of him, grabbed the chest of his uniform, and slammed him to his knees directly onto his fresh wounds. Then she transformed one hand into a shocker and pressed the other to his throat.

“Y-you!.. You knew this, you bastard?!” J hissed, her voice trembling with anger. “You, you damn meatbag, knew about it, didn’t you?”

“Cough-cough, I knew the artifact was unstable, but…” his words were cut off as her grip on his neck tightened, preventing him from finishing.

“You think stubbornness, this bravado, will somehow help you?” she continued her furious tirade. “You think it makes you brave, huh?”

“You know what they say…” Raven rasped when the pressure on his neck eased slightly, “curiosity killed the cat… and you — it killed the consoles!”

J’s eye twitched with anger. But when she saw the dark green eyes of the man under the gas mask lenses, squinting sarcastically, and was sure he was grinning widely under the mask, she lost it.

She struck him with the shocker, and this time the stalker couldn’t hold on — J felt him go limp in her grip, and, releasing him, he collapsed to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Stepping away from the body, it took her a moment to regain control of herself.

“Listen, J, you didn’t kill him, did you?” V asked, poking the man with a finger.

“No,” J replied irritably, looking at herself in a mirror and straightening up, “this asshole isn’t getting away that easily…”

“Heh, well, that’s understandable,” V smirked, stepping back from the body. “So what now?”

“Now it’s hunting time — no one canceled the quota,” J said, heading for the stairs, but stopping near N first. “And you clean up here before we return and keep an eye on the man.”

At the stairs, she cast one last glance at the unconscious man and then at N.

“Also treat the prisoner’s wounds and give him some medicine, so he doesn’t die before I get back.”

“Yes, ma’am!” N saluted J, who didn’t even look at him as she left through the hatch.

V just glanced at him briefly and then followed J herself.

N was left alone again. Well, almost alone.

The unconscious body of the man counts as alone, right?

Chapter Text

In the corridor of the medical block of Outpost-3, there was the familiar light smell of medical supplies and alcohol typical of healthcare facilities, and one could hear the hum of the lamps on the ceiling. But there were also three worker drones in the corridor—two cheerleaders and one emo with a cracked visor.

“Надеюсь, Гигия сможет тебе… (I hope Hygieia can—)” began the red-eyed drone, speaking in Russian, but she was interrupted by another drone, who grabbed Doll by the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, Gia’ll fix her visor — shame she can’t fix her firmware, but whatever. Let’s go already!” said the drone in a tone that wanted to leave this place. Lizzy pulled Doll toward the exit of the Medblock.

Uzi silently watched all of this, standing by Giya’s office door and clutching her not-so-successful school project. Passing through the door at the end of the corridor, which served as the entrance to the Medblock of the bunker, the two worker drones stopped.

“Не тяни меня, я и сама могу ходить!  (Don’t pull me, I can walk on my own!)” Doll commented slightly irritably, already outside the Medblock.

“You could even go into the doctor’s office with this freak,” the blonde countered, rolling her eyes and adjusting her bangs. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you? You used to be so indifferent, and now suddenly you’ve decided to play the good soul and deal with this lunatic. Tell me, was it really necessary?”

Lizzy gestured the whole time, holding her phone, while Doll silently watched, clutching the straps of her light blue backpack. This topic was already tiring for her, just like her friend’s outrage at the fact that Doll simply hadn’t ignored Uzi.

Doll decided the best solution was to quietly turn and walk down the corridor toward the Square. Lizzy, who had been scolding Doll all this time for her actions, pointing out their strangeness and foolishness, noticed the absence of her red-eyed friend only when Doll had moved a considerable distance away.

After blinking silently several times and realizing she hadn’t been listened to at all, Lizzy clicked her tongue in irritation and quickly caught up with Doll.

“Hey, Doll! Don’t ignore me,” Lizzy, the Russian-speaking drone, tried to call out.

Doll sighed and stopped, turning to face Lizzy. Her digital eyebrows were furrowed, and her expression clearly showed she just wanted to forget all this and drop the topic.

“Я так поступила, потому что считаю, что это правильно. (I acted this way because I believe it’s the right thing to do),” she said firmly. “Да, Узи чудаковатая и, возможно, может разрушить все вокруг себя из-за своих проектов, но она заслуживает нормального отношения. (Yes, Uzi is quirky and might possibly destroy everything around her with her projects, but she deserves to be treated properly.)”

Doll fell silent and watched Lizzy’s reaction. The blonde widened her eyes and stared at her in stunned silence, amazed that her usually quiet and non-confrontational friend had suddenly decided to be assertive — not just about anything, but in defending Uzi, the drone she hadn’t liked very much before.

“Oh, fine-fine, jeez,” Lizzy rolled her eyes, deciding it was time to drop the topic, and continued down the corridor, once again absorbed in the local social network.

Doll realized she might have gone too far and spoke again, but this time much more softly.

“…Лиззи, ты не злишься? (…Lizzy, you’re not mad, are you?)” she hesitated, then spoke even more gently. “Просто дядя… то есть, Ворон говорит, что если делать добро, то добро обязательно вернется, так что я решила… ну, что Узи… (It’s just that Uncle… I mean, Raven says that if you do good, good will surely come back, so I decided… well, that Uzi…)”

The blonde lowered her phone, looked at Doll, then slightly smiled and spoke in a tone that carried neither arrogance nor condescension. Such a tone from her was rare.

“What makes you think I’m mad at you, dummy?” she asked lightly, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. “I just didn’t expect our Miss Silence to also decide to become Miss Protector of Outcasts, but okay — let’s not dwell on it.”

Doll simply nodded — she had already done all she could and didn’t want to revisit the Uzi topic. So together, Doll and Lizzy headed to their usual post-school hangout — the Square of Hope.

There weren’t many entertainment spots for young drones at Outpost-3, so this square was the main place for gatherings and meet-ups.

Relax after studying or work? Hang out with friends? Spend romantic time with a partner? Make an important announcement or hold a public assembly? All of that happened at the Square of Hope!

The versatility of this place wasn’t due to the drones loving it or its coolness, but simply because the bunker lacked open spaces, which was more like a labyrinth of identical corridors and numerous technical and residential rooms.

But after twenty years, the drones had gotten used to it and didn’t complain.

What the drones — or more precisely, the two cheerleaders — weren’t used to, was walking without another constant member of their trio — Thad.

“Лиззи, а где Тэд? (Lizzy, where’s Thad?)” the purple-haired one asked, tilting her head slightly to look at her friend. “Я его сегодня и в школе не видела… (I didn’t see him at school today either…)”

“Eh, if only I knew myself,” Lizzy replied disappointedly, with a hint of mild annoyance. “I’ve been texting him all day, and he’s not answering! That’s unlike him…”

“Может, с ним что-то случилось? (Maybe something happened to him?)” Doll suggested, raising an eyebrow and moving her hand aside.

“Oh, come on,” Lizzy waved it off. “Don’t be so dramatic — nothing interesting has happened in twenty years, so maybe he’s just… I don’t know, busy with long training?”

Doll shrugged and continued walking silently with her friend, already close to their destination.

Lizzy was right — Outpost-3 rarely had anything interesting happen. The last real major events included Raven’s arrival, him killing a worker drone, and the formation of Squad 44…

In fact, this person had been the news generator for the past three months.

Doll tried not to think of another important event, as it brought her only pain and… other feelings.

But as if the universe had heard Doll’s conversation with Lizzy, Thad’s energetic voice sounded behind them.

“Hey, girls, wait up!” Judging by his breathless voice and quick steps, the green-eyed drone was running straight toward them.

The girls stopped and turned to face Thad, waiting for him.

When he finally caught up, he mockingly ran a hand across his forehead, though it wasn’t necessary.

“Hi, Liz! Hi, Doll!” Thad greeted as he walked alongside them. “How was your day? Though I saw Uzi in the Medblock recently, so I probably already know…”

If Lizzy had a nose, she would have wrinkled it, but drones didn’t have that feature, so she expressed her irritation with a groan and threw her head back.

“Let’s not talk about that, it’s already annoying me…” she said, taking a proper stance, narrowing her eyes, and pointing at Thad with her bent arm. “Tell me instead where you’ve been today. I haven’t seen you all day, and you don’t seem very keen on answering messages.”

“Ah, that…” Thad scratched the back of his head, awkwardly recalling he hadn’t answered Lizzy. “I spent all day helping my mom. She’s had a lot of work at WDF lately, so I volunteered to help.”

Lizzy wasn’t very surprised — it was so like Thad to help everyone, especially his mom. Plus, he had always wanted to get into WDF, so helping the worker drones’ defenders was something he was always glad to do.

“Still thinking that helping move boxes will get you into WDF?” Lizzy smirked. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you, they take everyone anyway, so you’ll get in regardless.”

Thad chuckled a little.

“No-no, I’m just doing it,” Thad replied, then placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest. “So what if I want to get into Squad 44, huh?”

Now it was Lizzy’s turn to laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Uh-huh, hero. Dad didn’t say they were recruiting anyone else, so you’ll have to ask Mrs. Thompson to save a spot among the door guards…”

While Lizzy and Thad chatted pleasantly, Doll walked silently beside them. Always near them, always quiet. Others might say she was the odd one out in the company of the two most popular drones at school, but that wasn’t true.

Surprisingly, she had bonded quickly and well with them, which was already well-known in school circles.

In short, Doll was the friend who spoke little in a group, but without her, the group wouldn’t feel complete.

Finally, wandering through the corridors ended, and they reached the Square of Hope. As usual, it was full of drones, but that didn’t stop the trio—they took a bench near a tree.

“So, plans for the weekend?” Thad asked, sitting on the bench and leaning on it with his hands.

Doll, sitting to his left, shrugged.

“Я ничего особенного не планирую на эти выходные… (I’m not planning anything special this weekend…)” she said thoughtfully.

“Same here,” Lizzy, sitting to Thad’s right, added, crossing her legs and still absorbed in her phone.

Thad looked bored, tilting his head up and tapping a random rhythm on the bench with his fingers.

“Yeah, not cool,” he muttered thoughtfully. “Every Friday, the same answer…”

Doll looked at her bored friends and thought a little.

If there were no entertainment in the bunker, they had to be on the surface. And who could bring it from there? Right — Uncle Sasha. Considering how much he and Lizzy’s dad had brought from the ruins of that giant city outside, there was a chance they had brought something to the bunker.

Although… it was quite likely he had nothing, as there were far more important things to search for than board games, and Doll had no intention of asking Raven for anything from the surface.

Not again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of being shaken by the shoulder. After blinking a few times, she looked at Thad, who was shaking her, and raised an eyebrow in silent question. The green-eyed drone silently nodded toward one of the corridor passages, indicating Doll should look.

Following his gaze, the red-eyed drone saw a group of about a dozen armed worker drones in black body armor and helmets moving quickly through the crowd.

Members of Special Operations Squad 44. WDF elite. Usually, they were rarely seen except when guarding important bunker objects.

But now, it seemed, one of the four groups of the squad was moving somewhere under the silent observation of bystanders.

The faces of the soldiers showed a mixture of tension, discipline instilled by Raven, and, as Doll thought, a slight confusion. The clear steps of heavy military boots echoed across the square along with the clatter of guns on their backs.

The last time Doll had seen so many “forty-fours” was during their evacuation drills, and this fact made her uneasy.

What could have happened to call an entire squad? Maybe another drill or a meeting?

“I don’t get it… where are they going?” Lizzy broke the silence among the teenage drones, following the armed worker drones with her gaze as they left the square and entered a corridor.

At first, she watched everything with a confused look, but then her eyes widened for a moment, narrowed, and a cunning smile played on her lips.

“No idea,” Thad shrugged. “Think it’s something important?”

Lizzy rolled her digital eyes, then lightly tapped Thad’s helmet, leaning toward him, which made the blonde slightly embarrassed.

“Important, unimportant — what’s the difference?” Lizzy said as if stating the most obvious thing in the world. “When else will you see this action here? Come on, maybe… let’s follow them? You want to get in with them, right? Then let’s see what kind of gathering they have — maybe we’ll hear something interesting. And finally, there will be something hype to post!”

Thad hesitated, then spoke uncertainly.

“Well… I don’t know… what if it’s something important and secret, and we’re not supposed to know?” he tried to reason with Lizzy, unsure about her plan.

“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” the blonde crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Don’t forget I’m the daughter of their commander, so everything will be fine.”

“I thought a human commanded them…” Thad corrected her, earning an annoyed sigh.

“What difference does it make? Doll will be with us, and she’s been hanging with that meatbag longer than with us, so it’ll be fine — let’s go before they get too far!”

With these words, the pink-eyed drone jumped off the bench, grabbed Thad’s hand, and pulled him toward the corridor where Squad 44 had gone.

Thad wanted to say something but simply gave in to her push and followed. Doll wasn’t very fond of this idea, but she’d be lying if she denied that she was curious herself, so she silently got up and quickly caught up with her friends.

The noise of many conversations in the multi-drone area gradually faded, then went completely silent, replaced by the cold echo of a corridor similar to many others. The echo from the metal walls carried the distant steps of one of the “Forty-Fours,” but from afar, they blended with the steps of the three curious drones.

All three had different emotions on their faces: Lizzy — excitement and interest; Thad — a mix of the same interest and uncertainty about Lizzy’s plan; but only Doll had tension and thoughtfulness about the reason for Squad 44’s behavior.

It was unlikely an entire group would be called somewhere for nothing, and that worried her, considering the tasks this unit had been assigned when it was created.

The silent march ended when, after another turn, the group reached the entrance to a warehouse, from which the whisper of several drones could be heard.

The curious drones quickly grouped near the wide, tall doorway serving as the warehouse entrance and carefully peeked around to see what was happening inside.

Inside was a crowd of worker drones in identical black uniforms, standing in several small groups and whispering among themselves.

Some whispered about random topics, some joked, some bragged about new records in some mobile game. The more responsible ones wondered why they were urgently called to the warehouse and where their commander was.

Separately, two drones were talking about something. Doll and her friends couldn’t hear what exactly because of the distance, but these two were different from the others — they had orange armbands. One had a white Greek letter “alpha” on it, the other a “beta.”

"Hey, Lizzy," the green-eyed drone whispered to the blonde, tapping her on the shoulder, "isn’t that your dad over there, by the APC?"

"Yeah, I see him, don’t shout!" Lizzy waved off the bunker’s top athlete. "Let’s get closer."

Without waiting for her friends’ agreement, Lizzy bent low and quietly slipped into the warehouse. Thad, exchanging a glance with Doll, followed her and hid behind one of the containers.

Taking positions closer to the crowd, they could see the short-haired blond with pink eyes more clearly. Over his usual white winter jacket, he was already wearing a black bulletproof vest identical to the others, and a formidable-looking ARX-616 hung on his back — the same as the other soldiers.

Oliver walked back and forth with a thoughtful expression, arms crossed over his chest, occasionally tapping his shoulder nervously with a finger. Sometimes he lifted his gaze from the floor and scanned the crowd of workers gathered there.

While Oliver was nervously thinking about something, his daughter, hiding behind a nearby container, managed to peek out carefully and take a selfie, then send it to someone. A smile appeared on her face.

"Heh-heh, too bad I can’t see Angelie’s face…" Lizzy whispered with mild annoyance, while Doll and Thad silently looked at her in surprise; Lizzy noticed it. "Why are you staring at me like that? I came here for this, what did you expect?"

Just as Thad was about to say something, one of the sergeants of Squad 44 interrupted, addressing Oliver.

The three hiding workers quickly peeked out from behind the container, and Lizzy even started recording a video.

"Lieutenant Fitzgerald, the Alpha and Beta groups have arrived by your order!" the worker drone with the "Alpha" armband clearly articulated each word, saluting with his palm to his temple.

Next to him stood the commander of Beta, and the rank-and-file soldiers, hearing their sergeants, quickly lined up in two rows of ten drones each.

"Everyone’s here, right, Ritch?" Oliver asked, mostly to reassure himself, counting all the workers once again.

"Affirmative, sir! Full combat strength!" confirmed Ritch.

Oliver sighed heavily and closed his eyes, silently counting to five. It had always been difficult for him to imagine himself as someone who would command, especially armed soldiers — and that’s exactly what Squad 44 soldiers were, because until now he had been just an executor. Even though he had been a teacher, a group of children was a completely different matter, and he had never considered himself for the role of a combat unit leader.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Oliver was entrusted with the role of deputy commander. Khan entrusted him, Raven entrusted him, and for the regular worker drones, he had long ceased to be just a member of WDF or a simple elementary school teacher.

So he would have to become a leader, whether he wanted to or not.

The blond opened his digital eyes and frowned, looking at the lined-up soldiers. His face no longer showed nervousness or confusion — only determination to find Raven, alive or dead.

He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

"So, comrades," began the deputy commander of Squad 44, loudly pronouncing each word to the whole room. "I think it’s time to answer why I’ve gathered you here… An emergency has occurred, a serious one — last night Raven went missing, and we can’t contact him."

The last part of the sentence struck like thunder out of a clear sky, and all the drones present made sounds of surprise, started glancing at each other, and whispering.

"He went missing?"

"That can’t be!"

"Is this a joke?"

The two sergeants, though equally shocked, calmed their groups with short commands and waited for Oliver to continue, who was now massaging his temples, trying to better formulate the next part.

But the effect of his words resonated not only on the Squad 44 soldiers but also on the three drones who had been watching all this time.

Lizzy, who had been peeking carefully from behind the container, saw her father so agitated and nervous for the first time, even though his face did not show it. She stopped peeking and looked at her friends.

Thad looked no less surprised, his eyes darting back and forth as if he realized they had overheard something extra.

Then Lizzy looked at Doll.

Doll’s red eyes went empty, showing she was in shock. Her hands clenched into fists, and she stared into the floor, as if replaying Oliver’s words several times in her mind.

"Pss-ss, Doll, what’s wrong?" Lizzy asked, tapping Doll on the shoulder.

Doll didn’t respond. She continued staring blankly into nowhere.

Lizzy frowned, worry for her friend stirring inside her, but her thoughts were interrupted by her father continuing his speech.

"But we have a possible location — the Central Library. Of course, going out of the bunker at night is quite dangerous, and searching that building might take the whole night… But you didn’t come here to play cards, right? We all know the risks, but we can’t just leave it." Oliver sighed and observed the reactions of those present.

He saw no fear of going outside. Apparently, the night exercises had worked, and the fear of being outside the bunker at night, which all worker drones at Outpost 3 had, had been overcome.

"So, here’s the plan: if no one has any questions, we all quickly load into the APC and head to the target. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish."

"And what will Gamma and Delta do?" someone in the line asked.

"They’ll stay as reserves," Oliver replied shortly. "And leaving the bunker unprotected is dangerous and foolish. Any more questions? Great, let’s execute the order!"

Finishing his speech, the pink-eyed blond turned and headed to the APC, followed by the other drones, quietly discussing what the deputy commander had just said.

"Wow… damn, I feel this is going to bite us back later," Thad whispered, realizing this wouldn’t end well.

"For what? Just to take a closer look?" Lizzy whispered back. "If we don’t get caught, nothing will happen. Probably…"

While Lizzy and Thad discussed what had happened, Doll came to her senses and started looking around frantically. The Squad 44 drones were almost done loading into the APC, its engine running and ready for another sortie, while Lizzy and Thad whispered to each other.

The news of Raven’s disappearance shook the red-eyed girl, and she quickly started running through the possible scenarios.

The library… Doll noticed that Raven often had new books in his apartment but didn’t pay much attention. Oh well — he crawls through those ruins every day, so he probably visits the apartments of former city residents repeatedly. But could he have brought all of that from the library?

Doll understood it wasn’t about the books — she rarely saw Raven read anything from the books he brought without her.

The girl began to step back cautiously, without turning around. If she was going to find any clue, it would only be in the stalker’s apartment, and she needed to get there.

Her right eye changed.

In its place appeared a blood-red hexagon, with three arrows emerging from its corners.

The Solver symbol.

Then Doll dissolved into red particles, leaving her friends in the warehouse.

Instead of the spacious room with high ceilings, she was met by the familiar corridors of the living sections. Only now did she realize she had been careless — she could have teleported right in front of someone, which would have caused a lot of unnecessary problems.

But now she was lucky — it was empty. Doll quickly glanced at several nearby signs on doors to orient herself. After figuring out the route, she moved toward apartment 013. Almost tripping a few times, she ran to the necessary turn, slowing down.

Turning the corner, she encountered someone she least expected — Uzi Doorman with a railgun on her back.

The purple-eyed girl pulled the door handle several times, but it didn’t budge. Uzi turned and was about to leave, but Doll’s calm voice stopped her.

"Узи, дядя Саша сейчас дома? (Uzi, is Uncle Sasha home right now?)" Doll asked. Uzi froze at her voice, first raising her shoulders in surprise, then lowering them, clearly unwilling to deal with the Russian speaker.

"Well, judging by the fact that ‘Uncle Sasha’s’ door is closed - no," she replied sarcastically, turning to face Doll and putting her hands in her hoodie pocket.

"И где он, ты не знаешь? (And you don’t know where he is?)" Doll suspected she already knew the answer, but hope still flickered.

"Look, I saw him last time yesterday. Today I’ve been… uh…," Uzi hesitated, glancing around as if something nearby could give her a clue, "busy, so I’ve got no idea where Raven is. Maybe out on a raid, as usual."

"К этому времени он уже обычно возвращается (By this time, he usually comes back)," Doll countered, suspecting Uzi was hiding something. "А ещё я видела папу Лиззи (And I also saw Lizzy’s dad).."

Uzi rolled her eyes and exhaled irritably, making it clear she was tired of the conversation, and shrugged.

Well, then I don’t know - he doesn’t report his adventures to me, can’t help you," Uzi spat out, which made Doll frown, suspecting her guess was correct but doubting she could get any information out.

"Alright… I understandЛадно… я поняла (Alright… I understand)," Doll said in a drooping voice and lowered her head, realizing she would likely learn nothing from Uzi.

She would have to enter Raven’s apartment without permission. She lifted her head to the front door and started evaluating it, wondering whether to teleport inside or try to hack it.

Doll was brought out of her thoughts by Uzi’s voice, surprising her — she thought the emo had left long ago. She was also surprised by the softer tone of the rebel’s voice.

"Hey, don’t worry so much, you’ve heard his stories yourself - nothing’s gonna happen to him. And also… thanks."

The last word left the red-eyed girl confused. She lifted her head and raised one digital eyebrow, waiting for clarification.

Uzi, finding explanations unnecessary, let out a comic groan, lowering her hands from her pockets.

"Thanks for helping me today and not laughing at me with your stupid, stuck-up friend. Anyway, bite me!" she rattled off and hurried away.

Doll stared at Uzi leaving for a few seconds, then a slight smile appeared on her face, and she softly replied:

"Пожалуйста (You're welcome)."

Whether the rebel heard it no longer mattered to Doll; all her attention returned to the front door of Raven’s apartment.

The corners of her lips fell on their own, along with her furrowed brows.

Doll carefully approached the door and touched it with her fingers. It was cold and metallic, like all the other doors in this place; only the plaque was different.

Her face took on a thoughtful look as she looked at the nearby sensor. She had no keycard, nor hacking skills. Doll could have asked Uzi for help, but that would raise too many questions.

The red-eyed worker drone sighed, lowered her head, and glanced around to make sure no passersby or curious worker with short purple hair could watch her.

Doll was completely alone.

Clenching her free hand into a fist slightly, she noticed red particles appearing around her, and the space shifted. In the next moment, she was behind the closed door, in the hallway of Uncle Sasha’s apartment.

Her hand rose on its own, fingers touching the visor near her right eye, then her palm fully covered it — she didn’t want to accidentally break the mirror.

After pausing for a moment, she carefully removed her hand, took off her backpack, and pulled out her phone. Turning it on and tapping the camera icon, she looked at herself through the front camera.

In response, the worker drone with long purple hair and a red helmet on her head looked back at her with a confused gaze. Doll was interested in her eyes.

Two digital eyes, the color of red ruby. No blood-red Solver symbol — the curse she inherited from her mother — was present.

After looking at herself a bit longer and turning her head, Doll hid her phone and slung her backpack over her back.

She wanted to go deeper into the apartment, but her foot froze in the air.

She remembered how the stalker scolded Uzi for running around the apartment in boots, “bringing dust from the street.” After a brief moment of thought, Doll shook her head.

"Сейчас не время… (Not the time…)" she whispered, entering the living room combined with the kitchen.

No significant changes since yesterday: on the left — a small kitchen with a fridge, microwave, and kettle; a small table with a white tablecloth separated the kitchen from the living room, which Raven had once taken from someone else’s apartment; along the right wall — a sofa, a coffee table, a large bookshelf; above the sofa — a painting of Earth and the Moon in space; on a low table along the right wall — a vintage DVD player, above it — a large plasma screen.

For the past month, Doll had spent more time here than in her own apartment… for many reasons, but she decided to push those thoughts deep into her mind.

She carefully scanned the room for any clues, but found nothing except for a half-drunk cup of coffee in the sink. However, this wasn’t news to her — she had suspected that if she could find anything useful, it would only be in Raven’s room. So she confidently stepped toward it, but once she stood before the door and had already reached for the handle, she hesitated.

Was this an invasion of personal space? After all, the stalker had a right to it too, and Doll didn’t want to violate it. On the other hand, she had no other options, so she’d have to compromise his privacy a little.

For his own good.

She gripped the doorknob and carefully began to open the door…

Upon opening it, Doll saw Raven’s room. To her surprise, it was fairly tidy, unlike what she had imagined. She had expected a mess, empty bottles on the floor — Raven’s drinking habits were no secret to her — and simply… he didn’t seem like someone who kept his living space orderly and neat.

But not at all: the double bed was made as if with a ruler, various small items on the nightstands were neatly sorted and in place, just like the items on one of the other tables; a fire extinguisher stood in one corner of the room, and in the opposite corner, behind a wardrobe, Doll did find a few empty alcohol bottles, but even they were stacked neatly.

The one thing that broke the picture of an “ideal room” was the desk, cluttered with papers and folders, and the wall it faced was covered with numerous sticky notes.

Doll stepped hesitantly across the threshold and moved toward the desk. On closer inspection, she realized these were some kind of scientific reports or similar documents. She skimmed through them quickly but couldn’t make sense of anything useful. She only understood that the documents belonged to something called the “Center for Mind Research.”

If she had more time, she might have tried to dive deeper, but she didn’t.

So she moved on from the center’s documents to studying the sticky notes, which most likely belonged to Raven — and she was right: they were all written not in English, but in Russian or Ukrainian, and contained nothing of value beyond lists of terms, names, and dates.

Doll stopped rifling through the useless papers and crossed her arms, deciding to take another look at the desk, nervously tapping her foot on the floor.

What was all this for Raven? What was he searching for, or perhaps studying? What was this “Center for Mind Research”?

It was probably all connected to his disappearance, and undoubtedly this library was involved as well…

Doll abruptly stopped her thoughts when she noticed an open notebook with a familiar uneven handwriting — a person who rarely wrote by hand, or hadn’t in a long time.

The notebook was partially buried under documents, but quickly brushing them aside, the worker retrieved the item that had caught her interest.

She picked it up and examined it first: it looked expensive, with a black leather cover, plain, opened somewhere in the middle.

Doll realized it might be Raven’s diary, and hesitated. One thing was entering a room without permission, quite another to read someone’s diary.

But reason whispered that this could be a valuable source of information—and how would Raven ever know?

“Прости, дядя Саша, думаю, ничего страшного не произойдет… (Sorry, Uncle Sasha, I don’t think anything bad will happen…)” Doll whispered, then flipped to the last page with entries and began reading the handwriting.

"I’ve been struggling with these papers for a month, and it’s all for nothing. Hell knows if I’ll find anything valuable in them. I still haven’t figured out exactly what the Center was studying; judging by the name, it has something to do with the mind, but the documents talk about the Noosphere. Sure, the Noosphere is related to the mind, but why the hell conduct experiments on people? Did they try to resurrect Project X in the walls of JCJenson? And there’s frequent mention of some 'the data relay unit,' but no specifics, and probably never will be… Need to dig further.

The longer I dig, the more I realize someone before me pulled out some important documents that could have shed light on many of my questions… Where to look for them? Unlikely in the library, and I’m not keen on wandering those dark, creepy basements — I’ve had my share. Though I still have lots of docs unprocessed, so there’s a chance to find something worthwhile.

International Institute for Anomalous Phenomena Research, the Zones, sources of anomalous energy… Damn! So several Zones formed in the future? And what happened to SIRCAA, if this IIAPR appeared? A real Roadside Picnic, not some new brave world of the future. Though I heard a couple of Dr. Dalin’s lectures about the Zone’s potential as an energy source, and Tarnavsky rambled on about something similar… If this IIAPR later became the JCJenson Science Department, does that mean these corporates are somehow linked to the Zone? Interesting, but when I still worked as a 'legal,' I hadn’t heard of any JCJenson in or near the Zone. Though, hell knows what happened after my teleportation — Chornobyl is in Ukraine, and in our country, if the right amount reaches the right people, you can buy an anomalous Zone. And this Solver popped up from who knows where — why attack servers? Damn, what a mess… Alright, I need to head to the library and forget about it like a bad dream. Also need to grab something for Doll, and Uzi mentioned she could use a couple of engineering manuals. Gotta bring the kids something."

Reading the last entries, Doll gradually realized that all this time Raven had been secretly conducting some investigation. She had noticed the tension under his eyes growing over the past month; he always looked sleepy, and she had found him sleeping on the couch or at the kitchen table several times.

Now everything made sense, and knowing this, she felt a twinge of guilt. She could have noticed earlier, asked, offered help.

But the guilt vanished abruptly, along with her mental self-reproach.

In its place came another feeling that drowned out everything else:

Hunger. Hunger she had been trying to ignore for days, trying to endure the burning sensation inside her.

She noticed that while reading the stalker’s diary, the heat and hunger grew stronger, but it surged even more when the Solver was mentioned. Doll attributed it to another usual flare-up that she usually just endured.

But this time it was different — her vision blurred suddenly, and overheating occurred.

Doll dropped the notebook to the floor and instinctively stepped back. The red-eyed drone clutched at her core, and if she were human, she would have surely been burned by the heat radiating from her body. With her other hand, she covered her visor over her right eye.

She breathed heavily, not understanding the sudden spike in temperature. At one point, she backed into the bed and spun around abruptly, only now noticing another detail — the darkness in the corners of the room was spreading.

Then Doll began hearing whispers.

Voices. At the edge of her auditory sensors’ perception.

But because they were familiar voices, they seemed louder to her than an exploding bomb.

They were the voices of her parents — Yeva and Dmitry.

“Это всё твоя вина (This is all your fault),” she heard her father’s familiar voice, the one that always tried to cheer her up in childhood and carried her on his shoulders.

“Было ошибкой рождать тебя. (It was a mistake to have you),” she heard her mother’s calm, steady voice — the mother with whom Doll had read countless books in the bunker library and had competed in Tetris.

“Лучше бы ты тогда умерла там. (You should have died back then.)”

“Ты не должна была выжить. (You shouldn’t have survived.)”

“Жалкая. (Pathetic.)”

“Никому не нужная. (Useless.)”

“Нельзя отсрочить предначертанное. (You cannot delay the inevitable.)”

“Хватит… это не правда… это не они… (Stop… it’s not true… it’s not them…)” The red-eyed drone fell to her knees and grabbed her head. “Это не они… прочь… прочь из моей головы… (It’s not them… out… out of my head…)”

The errors closed in her vision, and the heat intensified.

The shadow approached.

Along with the voices.

“Ты слаба, Долл. (You’re weak, Doll),” two voices spoke in unison. “Ты всегда была слабой, забитой и никому не нужной ошибкой. (You’ve always been weak, timid, and a worthless mistake.)”

Doll tried to lift her gaze, but instead of the room of the person who had become her only close soul in such a short time, she saw darkness.

Then the voices fell silent, and the heat seemed to lessen.

Instead, Doll heard only one unfamiliar voice in her head.

Monotone, robotic, cold, sticky.

“Bee-ccOme stro-nng, Doll. Ris-se above circUmstancEs.”

Doll shivered violently, and the next moment she quickly pulled her right hand from the visor, revealing her blood-red Solver on her face and creating the same symbol between her fingers.

Red particles appeared around her, and the space began to shift.

She found herself at home — in apartment 048, on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Without hesitation, Doll sprang to her feet, tossing off her backpack and rushing toward her parents’ room.

As she approached the door, the temperature in her core began to rise again. So when Doll reached Yeva and Dmitry’s bedroom, she opened it without hesitation and charged inside.

The red lighting in the apartment cut through the darkness, casting a long shadow of the worker drone across the floor, approaching the corner cabinet.

As she neared, Doll summoned the Solver and slammed the cabinet doors open — too violently — spilling all the contents onto the floor.

Numerous metal cans and containers, all identically labeled.

Oil.

Doll fell to her knees and began sorting through them, shaking each to check for even a drop of the precious liquid.

Her body burned from the heat, and she realized — either she would literally burn from the lack of oil, or… something far worse would happen.

Finding a full can didn’t take long, but for Doll, those minutes felt like an eternity.

Patience paid off — she finally found a full, sealed can of oil.

Without wasting a second, she hurriedly opened it with trembling hands and poured its contents into herself.

Doll felt the oil spreading through her body, bringing the much-needed cooling. She even allowed herself a sigh of relief, staring blankly at the floor.

Why? What happened? Why did the hunger spike so suddenly? What was that voice?

She asked herself these questions, sitting on the floor of the empty apartment in absolute silence.

How long she had been sitting, she didn’t consider — she only tried to process what had happened.

Among the swarm of thoughts racing through her processor, one broke through — and at that thought, Doll’s ruby-red digital eyes snapped open, and she sprang to her feet.

She began sorting the cans and containers around the cabinet — the oil supplies she had inherited from her mother.

The longer Doll checked them, the more panic returned to her face. She even started a second round of inspection, but it led to only one conclusion.

The scariest conclusion she didn’t want to accept.

Her oil supplies were gone.

She needed to find a new source of food.