Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

So, if I want to live, I don’t have all that many options. This is the one I chose. Maybe I can’t become a great special forces warrior myself, but I’m quite capable of creating a virtual one, or a whole group of them, and imbuing them with the most unbelievable talents. My task is to maintain the existence of this legend in any way I can. So far, it’s going well, but we’ll see what happens in the future.

There’s a familiar scrape of bolts, and the door to the shop opens.

“Aha! I had a feeling you were coming. Back when the cops turned up and passed on your greetings, I told them you’d be along yourself soon. You’re a tough bugger, aren’t you?” Such was Pavel’s greeting.

“You’re no weakling yourself, from what I can see.”

“We do what we can. Healthy lifestyle and all that. Come on in, the boss has been waiting for you.”

I take the shotgun off my back and place it in the basket, then pull my pistol from under my shoulder and put it in the same place.

“Should I unload them?”

“We’ll manage without.”

Another sign of trust, which is nice. And here comes the proprietor of this admirable establishment.

“Your dealer’s alive,” I announce in place of a greeting. “And his business is going the same as before.”

“Alive, you say. I can’t say that’s happy news.”

“That’s the way it is. His security system is pretty impressive. There’s no way whatsoever for a stranger to get in there.”

“But you got inside, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t easy, and I had a recommendation. There are some people even he’ll listen to.”

The shopkeeper chuckles.

“Don’t start bullshitting me now. You didn’t even know who he was a few days ago. And now you’ve found these friends with connections?”

“It was only because of some old friends of mine that I got to see him at all. Without them, I wouldn’t have got within a mile of him, but those guys are scary enough that even he had to agree to a meeting.”

“Yeah, fucking right,” sneers Artemiy. “Why didn’t you go see them earlier, then, rather than loitering round here?”

“Look, I’ve known these guys for a long time. If you’ve forgotten, I used to work as a system administrator. Basically, I looked after computer networks, and not always official ones, if you get my meaning. Everybody needs an IT guy, whether their business is legal or not. The money they pay’s exactly the same colour, and it doesn’t smell any different either. Thing is, you can’t go and see those guys empty-handed either. Deadbeats aren’t welcome anywhere, as you yourself said. Your assignment happened to come at just the right time – a little present for them had fallen into my hands. You can ask Pavel – he saw what I was going around with earlier, and what I’m carrying now.”

For a while, the shopkeeper rolls a nail around on the counter while he works something out. Then he raises his eyes to me.

“Alright, let’s say you’re not bullshitting. That’s a conversation for another occasion. I need to think a bit more about that. For now, I’ll say this – you did the job. Did it very well, in fact. So now I’m in your debt, and I don’t like being in anyone’s debt for long.”

He lays on the counter a camouflage vest with a huge number of pockets and all sorts of straps.

“It’s webbing, but not only. The foreigners call it something like a “plate carrier”. Which means that you can put armour plates in it, and you end up with something between webbing and a bulletproof vest. It’ll stop birdshot, buckshot, and pistol bullets. I’m not so sure about automatic fire, so best not to expose yourself to any. I’ll give you a couple of plates, and the rest will have to be for money, I’m afraid.

I take the thing in my hands. It’s well put together and pretty solid even to look at.

“I’ll take it.”

“Have you got an assault rifle?”

“Shorty.”

The shopkeeper frowns thoughtfully.

“Ah, you mean a mini-AK?”

Ivan said something of the sort, I remember.

“That’s right.”

“The standard model, I’d imagine?”

“What else would it be?”

“Bring it here, and the boys will put something useful on it. We’ll get you a silencer you can use with normal bullets, and a sight of some sort.”

“Alright.”

“And from me personally, there’s a case of tinned meat, the same of sardines, and three boxes of soups of some kind. Are we even?”

“That’s good with me. Is it alright if I don’t take everything at once?”

“Take it a tin at a time, if you want. See that cupboard over there on the right? I’ll put it all in there.”

“Suits me.”

The shopkeeper offers me his hand, and I shake.

“At some point, there’ll be some more work for you, but that comes later. There’s this one woman they call the Therapist. She trades in all sorts of medicine, and a bunch of other junk as well. I’d like to have a word with her. Anyway, that’s for another day.”

“No problem.”

I turn around, taking my new vest with me.

“Just a moment,” says Artemiy from behind me. “Who are these serious friends of yours? What’s their business?”

“There’s this guy. They call him the Predator.”

Saying a friendly goodbye to Sledgehammer, I collect my guns. Having transferred everything from my old waistcoat to the new vest, I put it on. It feels unfamiliar. The armour plates add weight, and I won’t be able to move as freely as I used to. But then I never was much of sprinter, so I think that can safely be ignored.

As usual, the bolt scrapes behind me. Hoisting my now much heavier backpack on my shoulders, I walk down the steps. Vova is waiting impatiently for me at the bottom. I offer him my old waistcoat.

“A gift for you.”

“Wow, cool! Thanks, I owe you one.”

I can see there’s an unspoken question in his eyes. More than one, in fact. Judging by the change in my dress and the bulges in my backpack, my business with the shopkeeper must be going well, so it makes sense to get closer to me – maybe he’ll get some other freebies.

After a little thinking, I take a pack of shotgun shells out of my backpack and nod to my companion.

“Your shotgun’s a twelve-gauge, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“The pockets in that waistcoat are empty. You’d better put something in them.”

That’s all it takes. Now he’s devoted to me. Of course, his boss will ask questions when he sees his new outfit, but I doubt he’ll take it away. I’ll have to think of a way of winning over the bandits who guard the checkpoint, too. But that’s definitely a question for another day.

Lounging in the shag pad, I spend some time loading up the pockets of my webbing with all sorts of useful stuff. For example, I find a pocket where a field dressing fits perfectly, and there’s also somewhere to put the bottle of antiseptic. It’s plastic, so there’s no risk of smashing it. I could, of course, go back to the shopkeeper’s again today, take my assault rifle, and bring back another load of groceries. But no, not today. I need to rest. My excursion this morning took a toll on my nerves. I need to soothe them somehow, and I even know how I’m going to do it – eat well, knock back a glass of brandy, and sleep. First, though, I’m going to heat up some water. Not too much, but at least a panful – I can’t waste too much gas. Even that’s enough for me to wash with. Sure, I’m not going to soak in a bath, but at least I’ll be able to get rid of the dirt. And there’s plenty of that. Sadly, there’s no water that can wash away the dirt from my soul, but there is good medicine that helps to forget that kind of problem.