Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

“You can sit back down. It’s not your time yet. We’ll be taking you for a walk this evening.”

Taking advantage of the fact the guard doesn’t have his torch on me, I bring the pistol out from behind my back. Holding the stock with both hands, I train my gun on him. His silhouette is pretty easy to make out. As well as the weak light from the corridor, the reflection of the torch beam off the walls illuminates the tunnel-dweller reasonably well. My pistol cracks quickly, the bolt shoots back, and the empty shell case clatters off the wall behind my back.

“Ahh…” gasps the guard.

He bends double, grasping his stomach. I squeeze the trigger again, and this time he says nothing, just drops in a heap on the floor. I jump over to him and pick up his torch from the floor. In its beam I see a skinny man in some sort of dark robe. The butt of his gun is sticking out from beneath his body. Judging by the shape of it, that’s not a hunting gun.

“Are you coming with me or what?” I say, turning to my cellmate.

In the torch beam, I see him drop a piece of brick onto the floor. So, that’s what he was scraping away at – he was breaking a brick out of the wall, would you believe it? He’s a stubborn sod, I’ll give him that.

“Fuck, no. I’m going to hang around here and wait for the second coming,” laughs the former policeman.

“In which case, grab his gun. I’m no greater marksman, I’m afraid.”

He bends down and pulls an assault rifle out from underneath the guard, then goes through the dead guy’s pockets and finds a spare magazine.

“Let’s go. You take the lead, I’m no great walker.”

I laugh. We make quite the pair – one of us can hardly walk, and the other can hardly shoot. I hope he can at least use a gun better than he can get around.

The corridor seems endless. Strange, when we were coming down here I didn’t notice any great distance. Or is it because I’m more nervous now? I have just shot a guy. I pulled the trigger absolutely calmly, knowing full well what the consequences would be, and I didn’t feel the slightest twinge inside. Absolutely nothing at all! Just as if all I’d done was squash a mosquito. An avatar, nothing more. I just can’t accept that they’re real, living people. Sure, they walk, talk, and shoot guns, but they’re still just characters in a game. And that’s why I don’t feel the slightest remorse whatsoever.

We turn a corner, then turn another. A door appears in the torch beam. If memory doesn’t deceive me, this was precisely the room I was questioned in. I halt and explain this to my companion as quickly as possible. He nods silently – he understands. I switch the torch to my left hand, and grip my pistol in my right. Who knows what’s waiting behind the door, so it’s best to be prepared. Walking out of here and leaving the room unchecked when there could be an armed enemy sitting in there would be extremely stupid.

I push the door. It’s locked. A question is shouted from inside. I mutter something under my breath, trying to make the words reasonably loud but still incomprehensible. From behind the door, I hear the sound of footsteps and the bolt sliding back. The door swings open, and I pull the trigger almost immediately. There’s the crack again, and another body in a robe crumples at my feet. I push the door hard and stumble inside.

Sitting behind the table is the same man who questioned me. There’s a piece of bread in his right hand, while his left hand is reaching towards a mug standing at the end of the table. I don’t have time to say or do anything before a shove from behind slams me against the wall. My companion barges past me. A single blow sends my interrogator flying into the wall. The policeman bends over him and smacks him again with his gun butt. And again, and again. Then he slumps to the side and sits down on the floor.

“Well, now I can die happy!”

“What are you so pleased about?”

“That arsehole,” he nods to the body lying next to the wall, “is the leader. I don’t mean their top boss, who I’ve never actually seen. But this guy’s the one who actually decided the fate of all the prisoners down here. He’s the one who sentenced me to death, the bastard! As you heard, they were planning to off me this evening. Good luck with that! I swore to myself right there that I would spit on his grave. Well, I’ve no idea where his grave’s going to be, but I can spit on him right here.”

Which is exactly what he does.

“Maybe you’d like to wait a bit before you die, then? It’s not far to the exit from here, only about a hundred metres. After that we’re back in the city and everything’ll be a little easier.”

Ivan considers this for a second.

“Well, I can keep going for a bit longer. If it’s really only a hundred metres or so…

While he’s gathering his strength, I search the guy I killed. I find a pistol on him like the once I collected next to my old house – police issue. Overcoming my squeamishness, I also go through the interrogator’s pockets. Surprisingly, I don’t find anything useful in them, only a small knife with a wooden handle hanging off his belt. Ah, well. When the fish won’t bite, you can always catch crabs. I hang it on my own belt, and also grab the bag that’s standing by the table. That was where he put my property. I don’t have time to rummage around for it now, so I take the whole thing. I pull the magazine out of the pistol I’ve just picked up, slide a few bullets out of it, and use them to refill mine. The bullets are the same calibre, so I hope there won’t be any problems. I have managed to get used to this pistol more or less. Plus, it shoots quietly, and in these underground tunnels every sound echoes.

We manage the rest of the way to the front door without incident. It turns out not even to be locked. One push, the hinges groan, and we’re back outside. Is that it? Either way, we need to get out of here as fast as possible. I look around and see a familiar building – that’s Mishka’s house.

“I need to pop in there,” I nod towards the building. “I left some things behind.”

Ivan says nothing for a few seconds.

“Alright. I don’t give a shit as long as we get away from here,” he says. “That way’s no worse than any other. Just don’t go running off – walking’s not easy for me.”

He didn’t have to say anything about that. I haven’t gone quite crazy enough yet to go running around the streets in broad daylight. We manage to reach the building without any real problems, although we did have to slip into a ditch of some sort to let two guys go past. Who they were and where they were going was of absolutely no interest to either of us. They walked past, and that was enough for us. Now we reach the familiar building and Mishka’s staircase. I turn to the policeman.

“The stairs here are covered in all sorts of junk. You need to step carefully. Upstairs there’s a guy who’s already ratted me out once to those arseholes. I don’t know how he called them, but they weren’t inside the building. They’re hiding out somewhere nearby. I don’t see any point in the both of us going up.”

“That makes sense,” Ivan agrees. “I’ll find some cover nearby, and if I see any bastard coming this way…”

He chuckles, and I don’t envy anyone who tries to get inside.

Once again, I’m climbing the stairs. I don’t take off my boots this time, but I take care to choose where I put my feet nonetheless. I don’t want to make a sound. Up one floor, then another, and there’s a familiar door. Under a pile of junk, I find my shotgun and my waistcoat. My backpack’s lying behind the couch, too. But I can actually pick it up later, and I don’t really need the bag of looted stuff right now, so I leave it there. I’m better off working light for now. I push the door to Mishka’s flat with my shoulder. I take a quick look to the right – the kitchen’s empty. I take two steps to the side, and see my old friend in the sights of my shotgun, sitting at his desk. His laptop is open in front of him, so I guess he’s working.