A Shephard- ZoC Main Story Prologue Chapter 3

												Prologue Part 3 - Dead Flag Blues


2012


Mysteries abound within The Zone, but none is covered in such outstanding legend as the Chernobyl NPP itself. Half of the stores most stalkers will tell each other across dim campfires originate from here. And since no one had knowingly made it there and back alive, no one could disprove these whispers of myth. And so they grew. The best artifacts, or a vast oasis of green and tranquility. The most popular of these legends, known to most stalkers, was that of The Monolith. A stall, indecipherable object, it is said that if one were to find it in the sarcophagus of the old NPP plant, it could grant any wish you desire. For The Zone that was filled with nothing but men of many desires, the appeal was universal. Wealth, long life, peace, infinite knowledge; many believed in the legend of the Monolith; The Wish Granter. It was only a bit more far-fetched idea as the vampirious mutants that would drain you of all your blood, or of the wrong anomaly that would have you stuck in a void for all eternity. It was these types of dangers that convinced some there had to be a light at the end of the tunnel. That, in this hell, there was a zero sum game. There was a great good to be found, if you could find it. And it was at the center of the zone.
So many stared on, beyond the Army Warehouses at the forest to the north. Dominated by a gigantic antenna relay, all knew of it’s more sinister purpose. As a terrible barrier that denied any northward push into the abandoned metropolis of Pripyat, and the Chernobyl NPP beyond. The Brain Scorcher, it was called. It was said to have fried the brains of any who approached near it. And the countless stories of stalkers never returning seemed to prove that. Guarded by those mysterious soldiers in white and brown, The men who worshiped the Monolith like the most extreme zealots, they had adopted its name for their own. All these made it a pipe dream to be able to find the supposed riches to the north. But men waited with baited eyes and ears open in the small collection of bars scattered throughout the zone. Someone would find a way through, many were sure. The allure was too great for all of them.

But someone didn’t just find a way through. The man who would become multiple legends, The Marked One, had opened a door. A proverbial hanger door. He had done something impossible. He had shut down the brain scorcher.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVekJTmtwqM [Embed]

The rush was on. Hundreds, possibly thousands of the most heavily armed explorers, cutthroats, profiteers, and everyone in between poured north. Unabated by The Monolith stalkers that sought in vain to stop them. Many uneasy truces were formed between some of the factions as they entered the city, spearheaded by elite and veteran stalkers. Equipped with the latest experimental exosuits, powered by the miniaturization only made possible by harnessing the energy of some special energy based artifacts, Most did not make it through this new city frontier. Between the monolith who had been preparing for years, to the unexplored and unknown anomalies that swallowed whole groups of stalkers, the city streets of Prypiat became less of a maze and more of a slaughterhouse. The newly lit fires casting the large shadows of the dead and dying. The shattered windows casting the reflections of gunfire as more and more stalkers rushed earnestly to their deaths. The blacks smoke now rising to mix in unnoticed to the darkly overcast sky. The occasional scream punctuating the statico of gunfire.

It was in this gloomy hell that once again, The Marked One has found a way through. A narrow path through Pripyat, towards the plant. And the men of many colors rallied, and sallied forth towards the ultimate prize. The Chernobyl NPP.

At the southern gates of the plant, the most singular and concentrated event of violence ever witnessed in The Zone’s history was now occurring.

So close to the legend, to the supposed riches contained within the concrete sarcophagus, all sense of comradely broke down. Against the huge numbers of Monolith defenders, Stalkers of all affiliations threw themselves into the violence against the defenders, and each others. Men in suits of red fought those in green and orange. A small band of mercenaries, signified by their dark blue uniforms, tried to clear a path with explosives only to be gunned down by a sudden helicopter incursion of Ukrainian Spetsnaz. The military had gotten information of this incursion, and decided it was the best opportunity to finally seize control of the situation. The heaviest weapons were brought to bear with the most experienced men behind them. It would have been one of the most efficient slaughters in the entire zone had it not been for the shear chaos of all the men fighting. Monolith was now expending their entire arsenal; carefully collected from limited trading and from the hands of those whom they had previously halted in their attempts to breach their sacred, concrete church. Men screamed, at each other, at the monolith, at fate for seemingly denying their just reward, so close to the plant.

This many people, being so close to the center, the truth, was never a good idea. Some theorize that The Zone has some sort of will, and if this is true, it had acted that day with a righteous fury even beyond the scale of “The Second Disaster.”
In the cloudy noon sky of that day, the clouds darkened. Panic set in, as most of the incurring stalkers realized the importance. They ran everywhere; but mostly to the plant. What better cover than a gigantic concrete building? They were completely astonished, and then promptly cut down, by the defending monolith. Who continued to stand and fight despite the impending disaster in the sky; it turning an even darker shade of red. Were the monolith fighters ready to stand in die in the shadow of their supposed god?

The military, to their credit, tried to regroup and retreat; calling in another support gunship to try to evacuate the men on the ground. But this was not helped by the continuing violence and chaos as many stalkers then tried to fight their way onboard, and the military had to focus on defending their ride home.

And during all these, despite the doom most stalkers knew they now shared, they still tore themselves apart. As has been the entire history of this place, mankind’s thirst for violence itself can even trump the overwhelming destruction of nature, as men continued to fight as the groaning stopped. The quiet of the atmosphere settled in. Some stalkers looked up, and held their breath.


							[_____] (I will now use this to indicate smaller breaks within the story)


She awoke to a deafening roar and complete confusion. Sitting up, she could not comprehend the events transpiring around her. No time to think, but to witness the horror that was unfolding. Corpses, as far as the eye could see. Decorated in so many different colors of uniforms, it could almost be described as a beautiful rainbow mosaic save for the deep shade of crimson covering most of them. Standing in these fields of death were a few survivors. Men who shuffled aimlessly. There was even a man who kept bashing his helmet against the wall, a dull thud and sickening crunch finally ending his efforts. Other “survivors” still were firing wildly, screaming at imagined horrors. Grips white as snow as they continued to hold down the trigger long after the ammunition had run out. A helicopter could be seen in the distance; rapidly atrophying towards the earth. It’s explosion behind the transformer section of the plant adding a final exclamation mark to the violence. Throughout this, strange men in white uniforms with brown accents calmly walked through these gardens of monumental carnage. Pulling some twitching bodies out, shooting others. The screams unaffecting their calm, almost robotic process. Others pulling firearms and other equipment. All the while the screams of the wounded and dying continued, slowly being silenced by the occasional report of a pistol.
Her staring at this all through her completely white eyes, she couldn’t possibly understand. Where? Who? Why? And then she looked down. She was covered in blood. It was not her own. She came to the slow realization she was ontop of a man, most would say was too young to be here. His faded blue uniform almost completely white; with brown padding hastily stitched over the holes. His eyes, too, were completely white. And unmoving.


She didn’t know why. She couldn’t even think. Just stare down at her, and this dead man below her. And then she screamed. A most terrible howl that somehow encapsulated the raw horror of all the violence of the day. And she then lost consciousness.
She awoke once again, still just as confused. She was now in a small room, filled with racks of firearms. RPKs and AK-74sus. Closest to her were a few SVDs, with a slot that was curiously empty right next to her. Look to her right, she saw a large assortment of NATO firearms, including a few Famas G2’s and even a Steyr Aug. Why did she understand what all these things were? Why were many of them covered in blood? Interrupting her thought, she heard a conversation outside of the door, and hid herself on the other side of the crate labeled “F1 anti-personnel x50.”

“Have you heard the rumors? It’s gone.”

“Yes I have brother, but that does not diminish our faith. If you truly understand The Monolith, than the mere existence of the zone is a testament to it’s existence. Do not lose faith.”

“Of course brother, but what of the lower ones? Something is most definitely different, and the false clarity brought to their minds may delude them and they might stray.”

“We have carried on for a long time now, and we will survive this. Stay strong. Keep the weapons of the implementation of our justice secure, and we will dispense of faith to those of weaker wills soon enough.”


The dull echo of boots as they walked away from the door. She exhaled a sigh of relief. But again, her wandering mind asked why. Why was she afraid of the white object she peaked at, something she strained to see with her terrible eyesight? Why was she locked up here, and not somewhere else?
A knob was heard turning. Her ears twitched. Wait, how can ears-

The sound of the door opened and she slunk further behind the crate. Desperately, she wished she was anywhere other than here, imagining herself to be an impossibly small size. Remembering the violence shortly before, she became oddly calm. Why did that violence not bother her now? Had she seen it before?

Interrupting her thoughts once again, a shadow was seen approaching around the corner. She didn’t want to be found, for whatever reason. She was not scared of the violence earlier, but she was now scared of this man. A hand reached down at her now, looking at her with cold, indifferent eyes.

It picked her up, and set her on the rack.

“Almost stepped on it; our brothers should be more careful when racking out tools,” the monolith member said to himself as he replaced the SVD in the empty rack. He continued to look at it. It could have once been a beautiful rifle, but age, lack of maintenance, and some missing parts made it look incredibly shabby. It was a wonder how it even worked at all. Parts of the inscription on the rifle stock had become illegible, and the scope that was mounted on it was obviously meant for a different firearm. A shame.
His thoughts no longer lingering on the rifle, he turned and met the newer initiate outside the room. Not expecting much out of the dull minded soldier looking back at him, he had a good idea in mind for what firearm to assign him.

The monolith soldier, finally assigned orders, walked southward. There was a group of them, and their task was to head south, pick off any stragglers, and re-assert control over the city. None of this really mattered to the man who lazily clutched the marksman’s rifle within his hands. The Monolith was all, and all would be done in it’s service. Any thoughts more complicated than this were thrown out, as they were not necessary. He continued to walk through the city, heading south. South. South. Soon, he could no longer notice his brothers by his side. This was not necessary for the task at hand. South was necessary. Registering that it was night, and that his body may need rest to properly implement the monolith’s will the next day, he found an abandoned trailer in the forest and sat down. He opened the can of Tourists Delight he had in his pack, and lazily shoved the food into his mouth; staring into nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

His rifle was now gone. There was a girl staring back at him, terrified. Where was his rifle? He needed his rifle. If he did not have his rifle, he could not accomplish his goal. South. South. He grabbed the girl. He hit the girl. He asked the girl. Where was his rifle? Where was his rifle? She stopped responding. He was holding his rifle. He had his rifle. He picked up the spilled can, and continued to eat. Staring. Resting. South.

He walked through bushes, as roads sometimes had people unenlightened by The Monolith’s Will. He was stating to have errant thoughts, this far South. Why? But he quashed them. South. For The Monolith. He spent many days like this. South. Another night. He was awoken again. It was the thief. She was here for his rifle. This could not be allowed. She could not get away. He tackled her. Where was his rifle? She tried to answer. He continued to hit her. She would understand after this. To leave his rifle alone. To leave him alone. He did not know how long this went on for. When he woke up, he once again had his rifle. The optic was now missing, and there seemed to be some fresh gouges in the wood stock, but these were details that were not necessary.
What was necessary was South. It was a beacon for his errant thoughts, the pilgrimage for this martyr. Another couple of nights. A couple of weeks. A couple of months. He walked. Sometimes west, sometimes east, sometimes even back north. But then he would remind himself. South. Liberating supplies from unaware stalkers, leaving their desecrated corpses as a reminder of The Monolith. His errant ZigZagging crossing over much of the zone.

There was no longer the thief. He made sure of this. This was good. He was out of food. This was not good. He rested underneath a small bridge, the scenery here much different than it was north. There was a burned out car here, it’s military green paint had mostly flickered off and all was rust that remained. Good. He would wait here. Someone would come. A non-believer. He could get more food, and continue his pilgrimage.
The thief once again made an appearance. She sat opposite of him, starring as blankly into him as he did her. He slowly blinked. His rifle was here. He slowly blinked. She was there. She was taunting him now. The rifle again. Her again. He would not tolerate this on his mission. He moved once again to hit her. His fist connecting with the center of the rifle. It clattering against the ground. No. He needed this rifle. He grabbed it. It should still work. To do what he needs to do. He had long since expanded the extra ammunition for it, but faith was more powerful than bullets. He would only need the six bullets left in the magazine to do what he needed to do. South. A shadow could be seen rounding the corner. He readied his rifle. This man would provide food, he thought. He should be more than happy to help me on my task. I should just ask. Save the bullets for when I need them. He raised his rifle as the man rounded the corner. Looking back, wide eyes of someone who is very much unprepared for the zone. The man in white demands food, under the implied thread of violence dispensed from the rifle. And the young man, seemingly unarmed, could only stare back. He squeezes the trigger