>The Chernobyl Exclusion Zone is a merciless place to those who inhabit it.
>I'm one of the dumbasses who had delusions of grandeur and willingly came to the Zone.
>I came here 3 months ago with nothing but a handgun I bought off the streets, a backpack filled with food and water, and the clothes on my back.
>I came here to get rich and.get the hell out of here, but it's easier said than done. 
>All my experience has taught me is that you can't trust anyone in this horrible place.
>All you can trust is yourself and the rifle at your side.
>In my case, that rifle was an AKS-74U.
>I found her in a trading depot inside a beached boat called the Skadovsk, run by a guy named Beard.
>I got her much cheaper than they usually went for, and I could see why.
>All the furniture was stripped from the rifle, sans the pistol grip, the dust cover was gone, but other than that, it was in good shape.
>I couldn't pass up the opportunity, so I bought it to replace my inadequate Makarov as my go-to weapon.
>And so begins the story.

>I bought a couple magazines and boxes of ammunition to go with it, until I realized I would either have to hold my rifle like a pistol, or burn my hand by holding the barrel.
>Neither option was acceptable to me.
>So, with some duct tape and a carved out table leg, I fashioned my own handguard to use with my new rifle.
>Well, that's all fine and good, but full auto fire is uncontrollable without a stock, and many things in the Zone need more than a couple precise shots to kill.
>So, to again fix the problem, I bought an AKM under folder stock.
>Little did I know, it didn't fit with my rifle's attachment point.
>Señor Duct Tape is once more ever useful.
>Now I had a horrific mass of duct tape, shittily carved wood, and exposed rifle internals.
>Perfect.

>I didn't find a receiver cover until much later, so I thanked Mikhail Kalashnikov's infinite wisdom of incredibly loose tolerances for his firearms for quite a while.
>I always got a few laughs about my rifle whenever I visited a trading post or Loner meetup, but I didn't care.
>I took care of her, and she took care of me.
>It didn't matter what I dragged that rifle through, she always came through. 
>I don't remember it jamming on me once.
>I killed 13 bandits, 5 snorks, a wild boar, and a bloodsucker with her.
>It didn't matter if I had to use ungodly amounts of duct tape to keep her together, I would take that stripped rifle to the gates of hell.
>Eventually, I managed to find a proper folding stock for her, which greatly aided shooting and consumption of duct tape. 
>I still had that goofy handguard for her though.
>Also, I managed to find a metal heat shield that was made to fit on an AK74, but with a bit of persuasion, I had a metal upper hand guard.
>And after a while, I managed to find a bandit with another compact AK74 like mine. 
>I grabbed the dust cover and a curious Bakelite lower hand guard with a foregrip, and installed both onto my frankenrifle.

>Later that day, I pitched a tent, gathered some rocks and firewood, rolled out my sleeping bag, and set up a small camp in the forest.
>It was a quiet spot, free from some of the horrors of the zone.
>To pass the time as I waited for some meat to cook on the fire, I took out my guitar and began to idly strum it.
>The deep, resounding notes were somewhat soothing amidst the faint whispers of Chernobyl air, snaking through the trees.
>It was if I was in the bloodstream of the Zone, an intruder among the life force of the irradiated wasteland.
>I continued to idly play my guitar, so deep in my thoughts that I didn't realize there was a girl sitting next to me...

>I glanced beside me, then did a double take as In saw the mysterious girl on my left.
>She was wearing a black pair of cargo pants with kneepads and bloused boots, similar to how a Duty member would wear them. However, her jacket was digital woodland ala something Freedom would wear. Atop her head were two canine ears, and a matted, dirty tail curled around her waist. She was quite short, looking to be only 5 feet, if that.
Could you keep playing, please?
>Shrugging, I oblige and keep playing. She rests her head against my shoulder, and I can feel her soft ears twitch.
>Honestly, by this point, I've seen so much shit in the Zone a dog-woman would not surprise me.
>I continue playing, the wind carrying the noise to god-knows-where...

>I soon finish, and set my guitar to the side. The dog woman is still leaning on my shoulder, and I can hear her breathing.
>I look down toward her, and maintain as little physical contact as I can.
>Suddenly, I realize that my rifle is missing.
>In a quick motion, I reach for my knife in my hip sheath.
What the hell did you do with my rifle?!
>She rises up and kicks my hard in the shoulder. Before I can rocket up and stab this bitch, I hear her shout out.
I AM your rifle, you fucking retard!
>Wait, what.
>I slowly stand up, putting my knife back into my holster.
Excuse me?
>She crosses her arms and stares up at me.
You heard me.
>Alright, this is officially the weirdest thing that's happened to me in the Zone.
Well, in that case, can you go back to your rifle form?
>She nods, and once I blink, my AK is laying on the ground in front of me.
>I pick it up, racking the charging handle and taking off the dust cover to look at the internals.
>Suddenly, I feel a hard slap on my right cheek, and I see the girl in front of me crossing her arms across her small yet perky breasts.
Pervert!
>I look down and see her jacket in my hand. I toss it over to her, and she turns around and puts it on.
Sorry.

>She turns around again, giving me a death glare as she does the last button on her shirt.
Where the hell did you learn how to treastreast a woman?!
>I slowly begin to grasp how this works.
Sorry, it's just a little hard to tell how this... gun girl thing works.
>She raises an eyebrow at me.
'Gun girl thing'?
>Now I'm the one insulted.
Well, excuse me, but I just found out that you're a woman who is also a Kalash.
>She sighs and squats next to the fire, mindful of her tail.
Your food's done, by the way.
>I squat down next to her, using a metal rod to skewer some canned meat I cooked. I hold some out to her, but she waves her hand away as a declining gesture.
>I begin to chow down, and as night falls, I put out the fire and get ready to retire for the night.

>I take off my Sunrise suit, leaving me in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I kick my boots off, setting them aside as well. I slide into my sleeping bag, hearing my Kalash follow me into the tent.
>She curls up on the ground next to me, her tail doing the same.
>It's going to be cold tonight, she needs some warmth.
Hey.
>She tilts her head toward me.
Yeah?
>I prop muself up on an elbow as I talk to her.
If you want to join me, you can.
>She sighs, and I see her take off her jacket and slide her own boots off.
Fine, but if you touch my boobs I'll jam the next time a bandit is about to cheeks breeki your shit up.
>She slides in next to me, and I can already feel her body heat against me. I can also feel her tits squish against my chest. I look down at them a little bit.
No looking either!
>I sigh and let my eyes go back up. I shut them, and gently hold onto her midsection.
>She seems a bit apprehensive about it at first, but she seems to at least tolerate it...
>Although, I can feel her tail curl around my waist...


>Dead, radiation scorched grass and twigs crunched under my hobnailed boots as I made my way out of the forest. I kept checking my PDA map to ensure I was going the right way. Getting lost is a death sentence in the Zone. They say strange things happen to you the more you get lost. Stories at Loner meetups often consist of stories where people get lost in the Zone. 
>I heard one where a guy strayed too far from his group during a Stalker expedition. The guy returned to their camp 3 days later with a thousand yard stare, shredded clothing, and a Makarov he didn't have before. The guy supposedly stood still for hours, until he snapped and magdumped into another Stalker.
>Needless to say, he got cut down immediately, but when they shot him, some kind of oily black substance leaked out of him instead of blood.
>Then, the guy stands up, still leaking this black fluid, and runs off into the woods, never to be seen again.
>It's a load of bullshit, I know, but anything's possible in this shithole.
>Well.
>I HOPE it's bullshit, anyway.

>I clutched my Kalash tightly, a low fog rolling in. I didn't like that. Fog is a bad omen, it could mean a Controller's trying to get into your mind.
>They shouldn't be out in Yanov, but again, I've heard stories...
>Oh yeah, another thing about fog: it reduces visibility to jack shit 
>A Bloodsucker could be hiding out in the fog for all I know... stalking me, it's prey...
>I check my PDA again, sweating bullets as I feed my own paranoia. I've dealt with Bloodsuckers before, but I really fucking wish I didn't. They scare the fuck out of me. They can cloak behind you and dig their tentacles into your neck like that...
>My Kalash must have realized how fucking terrified I was, so she turned into her human form and hugged me.
Hey, calm down. I've never failed you, this is no exception. Besides, it's just fog.
>I sighed and rubbed her ear with my calloused fingers clad in fingerless gloves, finding a bit of comfort.
I know... but thank you anyway.
>She hugs onto me a little more and goes into her rifle form, holding her tight as I continue beelining to the abandoned factory. 
>I can see the fog begin to cleasr up, and ly it dissipates.
>The Zone won't take me today.

>I come to the rusted, overgrown gates of the factory. The gate is flanked by a barbed wire fence long past it's heyday. I push open the gate, hearing the aging hinges creak and groan in protest as they get used for once in their life.
>I venture into the factory grounds, the concrete cracked and overgrown.
>In fact, this entire place seems overgrown...
>Vines climb up the brick walls like snakes, and the grass in the grounds were just below my head in height.
>I walk on, the grass rustling as it comes into contact with my legs. Wind blows across my back, the tall grass tilting to the north.
>It's quiet.
>Too quiet.
>I walk further, and I hear a kind of warping sound up ahead.
>Shit.
>I reach into my pocket and pull out a rusty bolt, throwing it as hard as I can at the sound.
>It bounces off an invisible force, as if it were a wall.
Are you fucking kidding me...


>I realize there's a anoma!y in my path, and that I'll have to find a way around.
>However, the only way around is through the grass...
>I gulp and decide to take my chances in the obscuring grass, my Kalash at the ready.
>I slowly trudge through the thick underbrush, pulling out my artifact detector. I switch over to the anomaly detector setting.
>I get a ping behind me. It must be the anomaly I just encountered. 
>I feel the wind pick up, the grass moving in waves. Surprisingly. I don't see anything in the grass.
>I keep an eye on the detector, slowly making my way inside the factory proper.
>I open a side door and walk in, switching over to the artifact detecting setting.
>I get a ping, about 30 meters down the hall.
>This is gonna be good.

>I make my way down the hall, hearing the pinging increase in intensity as I got closer.
>The cool concrete walls made clear the fact that this was a very utilitarian instillstion. From what I could tell, this used to be an automotive factory, with fraying posters of cars on the wall. Also, from all the broken computers and old desks, this was an administration section.
>I heard the pinging grow louder and louder, and as I turned the corner, I expected something good.
>Nothing.
>I scratched my head in confusion, until I realized it was a level above.
>I sighed, finding a stairwell and heasheasding back to where it said the artifact was.
>I found the artifact on one of the old desks. It was a Bubble.
>A fucking Bubble.
>As I contemplated keeping it or selling it, I heard some loud talking and laughter.
>I walked over to one of the windows, poking my head in the window to see what it was.
>There were 3 people walking toward the building, wearing balaclavas and long trenchcoats, talking amongst themselves. They were all armed, one with an MP5, and the other two with AKM's.
>They were Bandits.


>I had to think quickly. They outnumbered me heavily, and outclassed me in firepower. However, they were in thick, dry grass, and I had a height advantage.
>Wait...
>Dry grass...
>I smiled mischeviously as I took out a half empty bottle of vodka, and stuffed a wash rag down the neck. I recorked it, taking out my lighter and flipping it open. 
>I walked to a window the bandits were in front of, and took a peek.
>It looks like they were arguing about something, so they were stopped.
>Perfect.
>I light my zippo and hold the rag to the open flame, waiting it to catch fire.
>As I stand up to throw it, one of them notices me and points me out to the other two.
>Too late.
>I throw it out to them, the bottle breaking and catching the alcohol on fire. The dried grass ignites like kindling, causing the bandits to shout and run. One of them takes a couple potshots at me, but it's inaccurate and misses me.
>I aim my Kalash and let loose my own fire, tagging one twice in the back. 
Yeah! Run you bastards!
>My victory is short lived, as I realize the flames are licking the vines on the side of the building, etching them on fire.
Oh, fuck.
>I run like a motherfucker down the stairs, seeing the fire begin to come in from the opposite end of the stairwell.
>I find a broken window, and quickly jump out of it to escape burning to death. 
>I continue to run, checking my PDA.
>I was on my way to a safe section of the woods.
>I pause to catch my breath, sitting down in the dirt.
>I take out a bottle of vodka, and take a long swig from it as I watch the factory burn.
>My Kalash appears next to me.
May I have a sip of that?
>I silently hand it off to her, spending a solid hour passing the bottle and watching the fire.
>Such is life in the Zone.

>The sky went overcast as me and my rifle trudged through the forests. Small droplets turned to heavy ones, and heavy drops turned to gargantuan drops.
>They hit me like hail, forcing me to pull up my hood and endure.
>The leather and kevlar armor I wore made me hear pitter-pats of the drops against me, slowly getting harder and harder.
>It was a little better once I got deeper into the forest, the raindrops hitting the leaves first, but all that water had to go somewhere.
>Damn you, gravity.
>I was miserable. The ground beneath me turned to thick mud, sucking at my boots like a Thai lady boy with a foot fetish.
>My clothes were drenched, my asscrack felt like a fucking swamp had relocated there, and my exposed skin was freezing due to a sudden wind just that had decided to show up.
"Fuck this fucking shit, cyka."
>I made no attempt to hide my discontent. I usually was more easy to piss off when buzzed, and an entire bottle of vodka shared with a Russian rifle certainly made me more than buzzed.
>Then, in the distance, I saw a small shack.
>Curious, I began to walk toward it, and I suddenly hear some shouting in... German?
"Halt!"
>I don't know hat the fuck that means, but I assume pointing a loaded rifle at my face is a good indicator that I should stop.


>I hear some more shouting, and I slowly see what my newest friend looks like.
>He's wearing a dirty flecktarn windbreaker, along with a steel pot helmet with a screwdriver duct taped to the top of it. He's wearing a pair of dark try sweatpants stuffed Into a pair of jackboots that look a size or two too big on him.
>His house has a makeshift flagpole out front, a telephone pole with a canvas sheet nailed to it, painted red with a white cirle in it. The circle had a Y with a semicircle coming off of every arm, very badly painted.
>His rifle appears to be a Mauser variant, the stock sporterized and duct taped on the stock. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the stock, but he put duct tape on it anyway. I guess because this wehraboo wants to look cool.
>The guy starts shouting in very broken Ukrainian.
What reason of come?!
>I try to compose myself in this hour of rampant autism.
Shelter! From the rain!
>He lowers his rifle and beckons me over.
Alright, come in. Tea is on stove.
>Stove?
>I step onto his porch and kick the mud off my boots. I open the door to see something I didn't think I'd see in the zone...
>For one, he had a cheap reproduction Third Reich flag hanging above his questionably stained bed, a stack of porno magazines sat beside said bed. He had a pile of pipe shotguns along with what was seemingly an attempt at trying to make an MP40 out of a Sten design, with the receiver tilted 90 degrees.
>His stove was a wood burning stove with a cheap steel kettle resting atop it. He took the kettle with an oven mitt and poured brown liquid into an old steel measuring cup with the handle snapped off, and a white chipped coffee mug with the words 'Who needs sleep anyway'? printed on them frkofrkom days long past.
>The guy hands me the mug and sits down at a small two person table, motioning for me to sit across from him.
So, what brings you to the HQ of the Fourth Reich?


Fourth Reich?
>He nods and takes a drink of his tea.
Obergruppenfurher Hans Lind, at service.
>I set my pack down beside the door and tentatively sat down, my Kalash dangling off a sling at my side.
>I take a drink of the tea, and I find the taste to be... odd, but okay...
You like? Made of mushroom.
>Mushroom tea? That's... new...
>I take another drink and answer his earlier question. 
Again, I'm trying to find some shelter, maybe some place to stay the night.
>He takes a loud slurp from his cup and sets it down with a thud.
Well, lucky you. I have shed out back you can use. Small, but comfy. I will let you use, if take this.
>He digs into his coat pocket and pulls out a small notepad. Masking tape is laid over the front, with the words 'Mein Kampf: Fourth Reich Edition' written on it in what I presume is sharpie.
You read and spread word of glorious Reich! Ja?
>Since this was my only chance at a warm place to sleep tonight, I play along and take the booklet.
... Yeah, sure...
>He beams at me, his helmet slightly lopsided.
Vundibar!
>why.jpg
>I finish my tea, standing up and taking my pack. The Nazi strands up, slams his fist against his chrst, and thrust out his fist.
Heil! 
>I halfheartedly return the gesture and walk out the door, heading out back and entering the shed.
>Inside is simply a somewhat clean mattress, no Nazi or German symbols in sight.
>I sigh and unsling my rifle, letting her go into her human form. I unroll a blanket and drape it over the mattress, stripping down to my underwear and climbing in. The small girl clings onto me, cuddling up with me, wrapping her tail around my waist.
You're awfully buggy today.
>She nodded and kept her head buried into my chest.
It's been a while since I've had an owner like you, Anon...
>Puzzled, I gently stroke her tail.

How?
>She blushed a bit and began to speak.
I once belonged to a Freedom soldier. He wasn't very nice, and he was a rookie. He never cleaned me, never gave me good ammo. He was always complaining about how he got stuck with a shitty AK instead of a slick NATO rifle, and always made deprecating remarks about me...
>I stroked her tail more, her soft fur tangling between my fingers.
So one day, I got my revenge. I jammed on him during a shootout with Duty, intending to maybe get my point across as to how I wanted to be treated.
>She sighs a bit.
Instead of trying to clear the jam, he just dumps me on the ground and runs back to his patrol, hiding behind their lines. The patrol was forced to retreat, and...
>She sniffled a little bit.
... a bunch of Duty guys came over and stripped my furniture... they said it was some kind of... Bakelite or something.
>She hugged a little harder onto me.
I was left naked on the ground, cold and shivering. Then, a stalker came up and found me, carrying a couple other rifles left from bodies from the shootout. He took me reluctantly, and I was left in the care of Beard. It was so embarrassing, being put on display naked. Then, you found me, and took care of me...
>She smiled a bit.
I just wanted to say thank you, Anon...
>I gently kissed the top of her head, cuddling with her.
Hey, I wouldn't want anyone else...
>She gets an evil look on her face, looking into my eyes. I feel a soft palm grab my junk, and then I hear a whisper.
I wouldn't either.

>She begins to slowly jack me off, and before I can respond, she kisses me roughly, squeezing my dick with all the strength her small hand allowed for. 
>She slowly pulls away and kisses down my jawline, down my throat, my chest, my stomach, and then, gives a soft kiss on the head of my dick. I begin to speak, but she places a finger on my mouth.
Just shut up and let me bang you, durogoy...
>She drags her tongue across the underside of my shaft, gently moving her head back and forth. She then slowly takes my tip into her mouth, her tongue running around it. She then goes deeper, getting to about half the shaft before I can feel her gag reflex kicking in. She still continued to force her head down, eventually getting her soft lips around the base of my cock. 
Holy fuck...
>She slid her head up and down, giving me some much needed attention. I hadn't felt the touch of a woman for years, and even that was just drunk dry humping and a shitty handjob. 
>She slowly continued, sliding down her pants. She had no underwear on, so I could see her plump asscheeks bare over her shoulder.
>Something about this turned me on to no end.
>I leaked precum into her mouth, and she slowly withdrew, by dick flopping out with a slight /pop/. 
>She turned around and bent over, sliding up her shirt a bit to fully expose her perky rear. 
Mhm... I know we've both been waiting for this, Anon...
>I grab her ass, my fingers sinking into it like a pillow. I take my dick and guide it to her sopping wet folds, slowly oushing in. Her face is one of pure pleasure, letting me know I was hitting all the right spots. I pushed in further, and I heard her moans.
Oooooh.... fuck.... deeper....
>I did just that, pushing deeper and deeper with every thrust. I hilted her, and saw her cute butt jiggle as it came into contact with my hips. She was getting really wet, and was letting out louder and louder moans.

>She suddenly tightens, and I hear her emit a loud scream as she does so.
>I orgasm with her, her sudden constriction tipping me over the edge. We both slowly catch our breaths, ending up in a cuddle on the bed.
>Her head is resting on my chest, her tail wrapped around my leg. I throw the covers over us, grab her ass a couple times, then close my eyes for much needed sleep.
I love you, Anon...
>I remain awake enough to reply back.
I love you too...

I slowly woke up to my rifle cuddling up to me, her nude body against mine. I gently stroke her tail, and she wags it a bit and looks up at me with groggy eyes.

"Morning, Anon~"

Her voice trails off a bit, yawning loudly as she slowly wakes up. She goes to her knees and leans back, stretching a bit. It gave me quite the view of her perky breasts... 

After a few more minutes of snuggling, we get dressed and pack up the camping equipment. I step out of the shed, seeing the dawning sun on the horizon. It was a beautiful sight. 

I begin to make my way out of the Reich territory, but I begin to hear snarling and growling getting closer. I flick the safety off and raise my Kalash, scanning the area. I then see a pack of five Boars, slowly stalking toward me.

>GETOUTOFHERESTALKER.gif

I go full retard and begin to pump lead into the lead boar, the others charging at me. One slams right into my left leg, knocking me down and sending a sharp pain into my calf. As another attempts to gore me, I hear numerous shots from behind me, and boar blood splatters over my face. I hear more shouting in German. This is the only fucking time I've ever been happy to see a Nazi.

I push the dead boar off of me and begin to magdump into the others, grabbing a full magazine and flicking the empty one out like the Spetznaz do in action movies. 

Another boar charges me, but I step to the side and light him up with my Kalash. I suddenly hear screaming, and I whip my head around to see a naked Lind wearing his spiked screwdriver helmet being attacked by two boars. I run over and shot them both dead. I owed the guy, he gave me a place to sleep last night.

The old Nazi slowly catches his breath, clutching an empty Luger in his right hand. I offer a hand out to him, which he takes gratefully. 

"Danke, kamaraden."

I smile a bit under my mask.

"No problem, I owe you."

He looks at me quizzically, as if I had two heads.

"You pay much more than debt, friend."

He walks into his house and returns with a pair of pants on his person and an SVT-40. It was outfitted with what looked to be an authentic WWII scope, and a bayonet.

"Here, I not use anyhow."

Now it was my turn to be dumbfounded.

"I can't, we were even well before-"

He thrusts the rifle into my hand, piling a 50 round cardboard box of 7.62x54R on top of the SVT, including 3 spare magazines.

"Least I can do. Take as symbol of gratitude."

I nod and put the box of cartridges into my cargo pants pocket, preforming a brass check on my new rifle. It was loaded alright, fully it looked like.

"I don't know what to say, thank you."

The old Nazi simply smiled.

"Best of luck on travels, komrade. You always welcome here."

I smile back and wave as I head eastward, toward a town I knew. I began to load up the SVT magazines, my rifle strapped to my back. Suddenly, I hear a voice beside me.

"Who's this faggot?"

I turn to my side and see a pale girl with black hair looking at me, her eyes boring into me behind her round glasses. She was wearing an olive green Telogrelka that pushed against her breasts, with a pair of tan trousers with that. Her butt filled the seat out nicely, the trousers bloused into her boots.

My Kalash appeared beside me and slapped her on the shoulder.

"That's my owner, cyka! Yours too!"

She scanned over me, seemingly unimpressed. She crossed her arms, pushing up her breasts.

"What the hell are you dressed in? Some kind of retarded hazmat suit?"

Now I was getting irritated.

"It's light armor. It stops pistol rounds, and the mask protects me from radiation and toxic gases.

She laughed a little bit.

"Just pistol rounds? Have you fucking seen what people use out here? Pistol protection just isn't gonna cut it."

My Kalash begins to try and retort, but I silence her.

"She does have a point, though..."

I knew I needed to upgrade my armor soon, but I kept putting it off in favor of spending more time hunting for artifacts. I was seeing more people with rifle caliber weaponry, and it would only get worse until I upgraded. 

"I'm just worried about the cost..."

My Kalash then replies.

"You have that Bubble artifact, with that and a couple thousand rubles, you could get an Exoskeleton."

The SVT looks at her with confusion.

"Exoskeleton?"

I cut into the conversation.

"It's a powered metal suit you wear that provides protection against near wverything. Thing is, you can't run too fast in it without any upgrades."

The SVT seems quite interested.

"Well, I assume that's a decent tradeoff. Shall we go?"

I sigh and nod, making my way to the trading post.

I stepped into the trading post and saw a familiar sight. Two Stalkers were chatting it up over vodka, meat, and bread. And one of them was female, about as rare as a unicorn in the Zone. I'd hit on her, but... I have my own girl now.

Also, there was a guy passed it on the floor in the corner clutching an empty bottle of cheap vodka. That was a usual sight too.

I walked up to the trader's counter and rapped my fingers on the counter to get his attention. He was turned away from me, looking st something on his PDA.

"Excuse me?"

The man turned around. He had a thick beard, a cigar clutched between his lips. An eyepatch covered his left eye. A rough voice replied.

"You need something?"

I nod and pull out an artifact container. I set it on the counter.

"What do you think I can get for this?"

The shop owner put on a protective glove and popped open the container. Since he was probably expecting a Slime or something, he had a disintrested look on his face. His face goes to one of surprise as he picks up the Bubble artifact, whistling.

"Nice find. Tell you what, you give me this and 4000 rubles, I have an Exoskeleton for you in the back."

I take out my wallet and count out the money, setting it on top of the artifact container.

"Deal."

The trader nods and takes the money and the container, heading into a storeroom. He returns wheeling out the Exoskeleton on a cart, fiddling with it.

"What's your height? I'm guessing... Six one?"

I nod, and he adjusts the joints to fit an average human that's six foot one.

"Here's the undersuit that goes with it. Change in the storeroom."

He hands me the suit and I walk into the storeroom, setting my pack on the floor. I shut the door and strip down, beginning to figure out how to put on the undersuit, until I hear my SVT.

"You know, you're pretty cute when you're naked."

I put on the pants and turn to her.

"Cute?"

She's back into rifle form and on my pack before I can reply. Damn, she was a bitch sometimes.

I put on the oversuit top, a flecktarn pattern adorning it. This might be an old Freedom exo, for all I know. 

I walk out and get my exoskeleton situated. I fit all the clamps and straps, and before long, I'm wearing a second skin. 

"The extra 4000 was because the servos are upgraded on it. You can actually run in this thing, unlike most."

I nod and lash my backpack onto the back.

"Where'd you get this?"

The trader shrugged.

"Not sure. Might have been a dead Freedom, who knows?"

I stretch my arms out a bit, the servos and hydraulics whirring as they moved with my body. It didn't feel much different. It moved with my movements, and there was no discernable input lag. I had a great find.

I thank the trader and walk out of the post, catching a few stares as I walk out of the town. A guy shouts at me as I make my way out.

"I have a Kalash I can give you for your exo! It's a real Spetznaz one!"

I whip my head around and retort back.

"This isn't armslist, faggot!"

I continue to walk out, cradling my SVT in my hands as I make my way into the woods. I head North, where I hear there should be some good salvage spots there.

As I walk, I see some figures moving in the distance. I use my SVT's scope to get a better visual. It looks like a Duty patrol, two armed with Kalashnikovs, another with an unscoped SVD. Suddenly, I hear one of them shout.

"Freedom with weapon, 9 o' clock!"

Before I can explain, I'm immediately shot at. A bullet hits a tree beside me, throwing up splinters and dust near me. I shit bricks and run behind a tree, shakily preforming a brass check. I had a round in the chamber.

I took a deep breath and leaned out from cover, sighting up one of the Kalash armed Duty soldiers and squeezing the trigger.

A bang reasembling a thunderclap rings through the hills, and I see the soldier fall forward with a hole in his chest. I'm in deep shit now.

I hear more shots pepper the treeline, and I can hear them get closer. I hear one shouting for reinforcements, presumably into a radio. Then, I hear a thud at my feet. 

A frag grenade has now taken residence behind my cover.

Fuck.

I haul ass to another tree. I would have made it if the Kalash guy hadn't tagged me right in the shoulder.

I'm thrown onto the ground, holding my shoulder as I groan out. I try to fire with my SVT, but the two rounds I let off don't hit anything. 

This is how I die.

I was ready to make peace with my maker, but an act of what I can only describe as divine intervention happens to me. I get dragged behind a tree, and I can feel hands on my shoulder. I hear gunshots next to me, sounding like NATO weapons. 

The gunfire fades out as I feel a sharp pain in my other shoulder. Then I get drowsy... really drowsy...

When I wake up, I'm lying on a cot with a bandaged left shoulder. I sit up and wince as a sharp pain goes through my wound. I lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

Then, a face appears above mine. He seems to be an older guy, dressed in a flecktarn jacket line mine, except with all the correct Freedom insignia.

"Young man, you have some explaining to do."
That's all for today, folks. I'll be back tomorrow.