Village of Death - STALKERSick and tired of hearing the rasping moans that always preceded a hail of bullets aimed in his general direction, a stalker by the name of Nazariy climbed up the steep incline that led to the abandoned village looking over the swamps of Zaton, just north of Pripyat near the center of the Zone.
Though it had been a long time since the last emission which turned all the unfortunately exposed stalkers' brains to mush, there were plenty of them still wandering about. So many that Nazariy wondered if the other survivors were actually killing them. This question was answered the moment he finished his ascent.
As he reached the incline's summit, gunfire erupted before him. Smacking off of the old wooden walls it burst fourth from every direction inside what remained of the small village. He ducked behind some nearby rubble and crept fourth, seeing a group of three zombies lurching forward clumsily as an oblivious stalker in a black overcoat backed towards them.
Raising his SMG, Nazariy fired
The BorderHis uniform glittering in the beginning half of twilight, the Premier of police enforcement stood tall and relaxed in a room draped in gold-lined, red fabric that felt invitingly warm as the sun set. Small swirls of dust followed the officer stepping dutifully onward.
"Sir, we've got a problem. People are starting to break curfew."
"Problem? Why should we care? Just let them get themselves killed, no skin off our noses." The Premier scratched a scab on the back of his hand, watching his surroundings.
"Only problem is, they're not getting killed. Whole communities are growing under our noses in the dark. It's not killing them off."
"I see. We're still protecting everyone, am I right?"
"Yes, but if this spreads... Surely you understand the situation."
"Naturally. Send out troops to enforce curfew every night. Anyone caught breaking it is to be shot on sight. No acceptations. Understood?"
"That's a bit steep, sir. Our oath..."
"Do you understand the magnitude of this situation?"
This is a gunThis is not a car. It's not a knife, a bat, an axe or even a crowbar. It's not a club, a sword, or a mace. It's a gun. It doesn't have any other purpose. It's made to kill. And it's the best at it. You can't use it to cut bandages, pound in a nail, weld parts together, or erect a house. You can only kill with it. It can't clear out a space, excavate a hole, or demolish a building. It's only a weapon, only to take the lives of human beings. To kill people.
This was made to kill humans. This was made to kill people. People just like you. Just like your best friend, your group of friends, your classmates, colleagues, comrades, and family. It's not for killing personality-less bears that charge at innocent civilians, it's made to kill persons. To wipe them off the face of the earth, so nobody will ever again hear their voice, what they have to say, their deepest secrets, greatest fears, and biggest dreams. To take them away from everyone who loves them and knows them.
This is a gun. A tool
Four types of apocalypsesBy my count, there are four types of literary apocalypses.
This is a destroyed world ripped apart by either war between people or war by people against something else... that's winning. This something, be it zombies/airborne rabies, aliens, or a massive world power that's destroying its conquered land, causes the majority of the surviving population to spend every waking hour fearing death or fighting to it. There is little time for rebuilding; it's mostly spent surviving and hoping for a time without such violence. The irony is that those wishing for peace had spent their peaceful lives hoping for violence, one way or another, for one reason or another.
A shit load of people are dead, most stuff doesn't work and/or has been abandoned and/or looted, salvaged, etc., and those surviving are doing what they've been doing for thousands of years but on a smaller scale. With the population and technology available so limited, the world becomes smaller. States feel more like
Battle Skadovsk - STALKERThe battle started off the stern of the Skadovsk at 5:00 hours. A group of free stalkers were poking around the swamps while some bandits walked by on their way westwards, when a pack of dogs rushed the former and shooting began. Some bandits were hit and so they returned fire, starting the fight in what appeared to be just another skirmish.
Another group of free stalkers came from artifact hunting to the west and started firing down upon the bandits, while their friends entered the scene from the south. With another skirmish just off the ship's port-side, the pitch firefight quickly attracted the attention of the night's hunters in the area. Quickly, the gunfighters were swarmed by dogs, bores and pseudo dogs.
From inside the Skadovsk, a free stalker named Aleks grabbed his messenger bag full of medical supplies and, leaving his rifle behind, dashed up to the ship's upper deck and leapt into the battle. Just after he flew past, the stalkers near the doors locked the ship down, sealing