Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

The door scraped open and an armed bandit stepped into the foyer – the Boar’s bodyguard. This was already an open breach of all agreements, but Gavrish said nothing. Having looked around, the bodyguard turned back and said something. Only then did the Merchants’ deputy himself step into the building. Having seen how the two parties shook hands, the armed bandit stepped back out onto the street.

“So, what’s the problem?” The representative of the older gang got straight to the point: “Spit it out, I don’t have much time.”

“You’re not hurrying anywhere,” chuckled Gavrish. “Don’t give me that shit, OK. We’ve known each other too long.”

“Foma won’t be happy.”

“Let’s forget about him for a minute, alright? Have a seat, get the weight off your feet.

The Boar looked around unhappily. He went over to a row of folding chairs leaning next to the wall. He chose one of the cleaner ones, unfolded it, brushed off the dust, and sat down heavily on it.

“Well? Have you got an explanation for what you’ve been doing?”

“What exactly interests you?”

The Merchant laughed, then briefly outlined their grievances. What it all amounted to was that Gavrish should remove his people from two nearby blocks and release the shopkeeper from his protection. That would mean the end of the gang, and the Boar knew it.

“Is that all?”

“For now.”

If Gavrish gave up that prized real estate – which covered some luxury developments and warehouses – his men would quickly start abandoning him in search of a more successful leader. Then the demands would get greater.

“You knew Kiryukha the Axe, didn’t you?”

“Knew him? The Axe was a respected thief. The fact that you let him die is a big black mark. Normally, there would have been questions.”

“They’ll be asked soon enough,” thought Gavrish to himself.

“Have you seen one of these before?” he asked the Boar.

On the arm of the fold-out chair, he placed a squashed pistol bullet on which the blue paint was still clearly visible.

“It’s a bullet. So what?”

“Kiryukha was killed in a closed room. Vitalik the Razor was standing next to him, and didn’t see anybody. I don’t know if you remember him, but he’s not one to make up stories.”

The Boar frowned as he searched his memory.

“Yeah, I remember him.”

“Right, so Kiryukha was eating, and suddenly he jerked back. Blood just started gushing out of him. Three bullets, but nobody heard a shot. And we were all nearby.”

“That’s bullshit…” said the Merchant uncertainly.

“Ask Vitalik – he still hasn’t fully recovered. And then,” says Gavrish with a chuckle, “he got a tender tickle behind the ear with a pistol. They told him to count to a hundred before turning round, and they made it clear that this wouldn’t be the only dead body. If we didn’t pull ourselves together, there could be plenty more.”

“Yeah, right. That’s a crock of shit…” The Boar’s shoulders twitched nervously. “There’s no such thing as invisible men!”

“Actually, there is,” said Gavrish calmly. “I’ve had chats with them, and I’ve never seen one of them either. They always show up out of thin air, and disappear in the same direction. They’re always behind you, always with a pistol at the ready. Kiryukha, rest his soul, decided to ignore their warning, and they set the soldiers on us. We barely made it out of there, and we left ten men behind.”

The Boar scratched his head in concentration.

“Are you sure you didn’t make all this up? You and the shopkeeper, and all the rest…”

“He came from them, too. Their man promised that Artemiy would make friends with us, and he did. The cops came along, and instead of fighting they gave us ammo. The USEC guys started bothering us – go over to the factory and see for yourself what became of them. This guy’s not fucking around. If I was Foma I’d take precautions too. You know, just in case. You haven’t crossed paths with them yet, or at least not as far as I know.”

The Merchant twisted the bullet in his hand, then dropped it.

“So who is this fearsome beast?”

“They call him the Predator. Must admit, I’d never heard of him before. You know about the Hood, don’t you?”

“The drug lord? Is he still alive?”

“He’ll outlive us both, I wouldn’t mind betting. Turns out he’s great mates with the Predator's man. It’s all hugs and kisses with them. He’s sending a package over soon, and I’ve got to meet it. You can come and have a look if you want. Come yourself or send some of your men, we’ll meet them.”

“I’ll think about it,” said the Boar, slowly getting up. “You have a think, too. I’ll hold Foma off for now, but if you’re lying to me…”

Morning again. I’m not much of an early bird, mainly because I’ve never been a great fan of getting up and going to work. Today, however, it’s a good one. The sun is happily throwing its rays in all directions, and a thousand little sunbeams are jumping and bouncing along the walls from a thousand shards of broken glass. The windows are all blocked in the room that houses my shag pad, so you don’t get to see this sort of thing. Which doesn’t bother me, obviously, as nearly all I do in there is sleep and you don’t need light for that. Moving into the next room, I see the sunlight bursting through the dirty glass of the window.

Mishka’s laptop is sitting in my backpack, and I’m taking it to the factory to plug it into the mains. Next to it is the equally useful uninterruptible power supply that I took from the two-floor flat. I picked it up a while back, and I’ve been planning to put it to good use. Now I’ll get to charge all this stuff, as I still don’t have any power in my basement.

Keeping my eyes skinned as usual as I go, I notice a few changes in the landscape around me. My visual memory is pretty well trained, after all, and even seemingly insignificant changes somehow register subconsciously in my brain. “The corner flat on the fifth floor. The window’s open, and there’s sandbags on the sill. A sniper’s nest? Quite possibly. From there you’ve got two streets covered at once. And why’s it not on the top floor? So that nobody can drop anything on them from the roof, of course. Plus, those windows don’t attract the same amount of attention as the ones on the top floor.”

It’s interesting how my subconscious works, it really is. I now notice things that just a short while ago would have meant nothing to me. It’s true what a wise man once said – social being determines consciousness. I don’t want to get beaten again, so I keep my eyes peeled. I remember everything that I’ve ever read or heard. And sometimes thoughts just pop into my head. Now, there’s the entryway to that flat on the corner. Have they protected it? Otherwise the bad guys can just climb the stairs and say hello. I’ll have to mention it to the boss.

In general, it’s worth paying attention. Gavrish, it would appear, is preparing for war. I don’t think he’s come up with all this by himself, so he must have found a reliable advisor. I’ll have to take notes. If I don’t watch out, they’ll have posts like that staked out round my pad, and then somebody will see where I’m living. Not sure that’s such a good idea.

Arriving at the checkpoint, I wave to the bandits and they answer me respectfully. That’s another turn up for the books, isn’t it? Who’d have thought I’d be offering my support to a bunch of thugs rather than, say, making friends with the police? After all, I know where the police are, and they’re not badly disposed towards me, which is worth something. Although they’re not all policemen there, either. Still…