The Zone

A short S.T.A.L.K.E.R. based fan fiction ^^

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A shrill grating sound , followed by a freezing wind , blasted as the rusty , age-old gates of Yanov train station opened . The din inside , laughter and the occasional plucking of guitar strings , all present but a moment ago , now lay silent , replaced by a low murmur - all eyes were on the one who walked in .

By any standards he was a bear of a man , tall and massive , a machine-made-god , all the more imposing in the midnight blue exoskeleton suit he wore and the heavily modified Heckler&Koch assault rifle slung over one shoulder . And behind him , hidden from the view of most and easily dismissed as a mere shadow , stood a small figure , a ragamuffin obscured in a tattered assortment of military canvas and shreds of fatigues , sewn into a kind of raincoat . They certainly were an odd pair , odd as they get in the Zone .

The armoured one removed his gas mask , revealing first a neatly trimmed goatee , then an aging , weather-beaten face ridden with scars and fresh cuts . His blue eyes were emotionless , scanning the assembled stalkers while he fished through his vest's pockets and procured a pair of apparently ancient corrective spectacles with round , slightly bent frames . Having put on the glasses , he strode past the whispering and angry glares to the far end of the main hall , up to where the booking office had once been , his diminutive companion matching his long steps with a cheery skipping pace , much like that of a child's .

Ivan , snug in his little shop he set up in the ticket booth , was painfully aware of what , or rather , who , was coming his way - the arrival of these two usually signalled the onset of a shitstorm of trouble . On the other hand , they were well-paying customers , remarkably well-to-do compared to the average human denizen of Chernobyl , and they dragged in some of the craziest stuff ever ... So the young shopkeeper , dreaming of untold riches and bizarre artefacts , shrugged off the dread instilled by the armoured goliath's presence , and put on his trademark goofy grin before saluting the man in broken English slang :

" Yo 'sup , Magnus bro ! You got anything good for me today ? "

Magnus Fryd , a.k.a. "The Surgeon" ; a cold and calculating mind combined with a steady hand and an unsmotherable will to kill . Said to have incapacitated many men with his superior marksman skills only to have a go at them later , with a hunting knife - all that is ever left to tell the tale is a wake of bodies marked by a cold-steel instrument with a serrated edge . The Zone , however , does not judge ...

Strangely enough , not much was really known about the man at the time , and even so the little history he had was fading fast into myth . He was an enigma , a phantom , coming and going as the change of seasons , bearing the markings of Duty , though never truly claiming allegiance . Quite on the contrary , the soldiers of Duty stood well clear of The Surgeon - to stray in his shadow was to invite death .

" I brought you a little souvenir from up North ! " - said Magnus in a heavy German accent , rummaging through his backpack . Ivan marvelled at the artefact the man pulled out a moment later .

As the two plunged into a bartering debate , the little shadow kept pacing around Magnus happily , now twisting and turning in time to an invisible tune .

Ivan raised an eyebrow - " Ah , so you still keep *that* with you , do you ? " - absent mindedly picking up a candy bar ( truly a luxury item this far into the Zone ) and offering it to the small passenger . Pale , cherubic fingers enclosed upon the sweet morsel , carrying it up to the mouth , hidden somewhere beneath folds of fabric . Then the makeshift hood fell down and full , red lips curled into the cutest smile in the world that warmed the shopkeeper's heart - a girl in her mid-teens , no more than 16 years old , with shoulder-length flaxen hair , a snub nose and a wondrous pair of eyes , one stark yellow , the other a soothing green , both staring up mirthfully , if somewhat distantly , at Ivan .

Unlike Magnus' , whose were clouded over with murderous intent : " Her name is Nadja . Make me repeat it just one more time and I swear I'll come in there and break your fingers . "

Yes , many people come to the Zone looking for solace , luxury and perhaps even a place to belong . Like them , Magnus Fryd , a sociopath of questionable morals , ran from reality in search of a home . He found it in the form of a teenage girl . Nadja , he called her , a mute child of the irradiated wastes , his redemption , his absolution ... his home .