We entered one of the boarded-up, one-story houses after more than ten minutes' walk.
"So. Um... Who are you? You don't look much like a member of the WOF," the man asked leisurely, latching the door and heading toward the sofa.
After a quick glance around the spacious, ordinary-looking living room and confirming that no one was there, he turned to his companion. The man had already removed his backpack, tossed it on the floor, and plopped down relaxedly on the living room sofa, his feet propped up on the table.
"Just another survivor, looking for a place to live in peace," Sergei replied curtly, placing his backpack against the wall and sitting down on the nearest chair, looking him over.
"I see... This... What are those strange clothes you're wearing?" he asked curiously, looking Sergei up and down. He'd only seen similar armor on Phaedrus, but they varied significantly in both color and components. The entire suit was dark beige, the helmet missing, only a hood with a radiation symbol. It was clear the entire garment was thick and wouldn't tear easily, indicating durability. He had a tactical vest with multiple pouches for machine gun magazines, grenades, and a first aid kit. It was also clear the vest had a bulletproof armor plate, and a gas mask hung on the side for quick access.
He also had a strange-looking belt with six compartments, a pistol holster on the right hip, and a knife with a sheath. He wore fingerless gloves and combat boots. This gave him the impression of a military man. And he looked like one.
"Custom-made gear. Never mind."
"Hmm... Okay." — deciding to ignore it, he took off his worn cap and scratched his bald head. — I won't ask you too many questions; it's clear you don't really want to talk. But I'll give you some advice: don't go to the WOF. They have a base in Seattle, at the Stadium, to be exact. And they're currently at war with those crazy fanatics... Scars. As we usually call them here. In this city, someone dies at their hands almost every day.
I used to be in the WOF myself, and I almost died in one of the skirmishes with them. That was my reason for escaping the WOF. What are the chances that I won't die a horrible death next time? I don't particularly want to be hanged from a pole with my stomach ripped open.
My point is that most people from the WOF go to war. And the only people who stay safe at the base are either the old or the very young, and the most essential people, like doctors, teachers, and others. If you join them, you'll likely end up caught up in this mess too. So, in my opinion, it's not the best choice to stay there," he concluded his long story.
Sergey fell silent and thought, although he already knew everything he'd said, including about these "Sirafites" fanatics. What's going on? In both the past and this world, I constantly encounter fanatics. He hadn't encountered the Scars yet, but he was more than sure he'd encounter them. He also hadn't intended to join the WOF; he was curious to know what timeline it was, closer to the first or second game. He'd like to try dating Ellie and Dina, since he'd liked them in the game. Although Ellie would probably be difficult, judging by her preferences for women. And Dina, if she wasn't pregnant yet. But it was worth the try. After all, who among time travelers wouldn't dream of meeting the main characters they knew? Since he had such an opportunity, why not take it? It was so moving. Joel; he wanted to save him from this tragic fate, if it wasn't too late.
And Abby's team, for that matter. Although he hated them at the beginning of the game, a little later, in some ways, you can understand why she acted the way she did.
He sighed heavily and tilted his head back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Glancing at the half-empty cigarette box and thinking he'd have to find more, he pulled out one and placed it between his teeth, lit it, and took a drag. Inhaling the smoke, he felt a little better.
Blowing out a puff of smoke, Sergey looked back at his interlocutor and asked, "I'll take that into consideration. So, what's your name?"
Still looking at him and then turning his gaze to the cigarette in Sergey's hand, the stranger began to speak, "Simon, this crap you're holding is poison. It will kill you sooner or later."
"My name is Sergey. I know. But I'm more likely to die from an infected person or a stray bullet or some other crap than from smoking." "Sergey said slowly and with a grin, taking another drag.
In the Exclusion Zone, one wrong step could cost a person their life, and cigarettes, along with a bottle of vodka or any other alcohol, relieved the stress of a stalker's depressive life. So, there are quite a few people in the Zone who smoke and drink, and
many people in the Zone always have a cigarette or alcohol in their backpack.
"Sergey, Sergey..." Simon whispered thoughtfully to himself, as if testing the sound on his tongue. "I'll remember."
"Simon, listen," Sergey called out, interrupting him.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Do you have a map of the city?"
"Yes, I have one," he said, puzzled.
"Want to trade?"
"Um... That could be arranged, but you probably wouldn't agree."
"More specifically?"
Simon glanced silently at his chest. Sergei followed his gaze, and his gaze was fixed on the machine gun on the belt hanging from his chest.
"No. Give me something else."
"What kind of machine gun is that? I've never seen one like that."
"A rather rare machine gun, an AEK-971, 5.45 caliber, made in the USSR, has a high rate of fire, good grouping and accuracy, and low recoil. Overall, a good machine gun."
"Where did you get it?" he asked curiously after examining it closely.
"Yes, I knew someone," Sergei said reluctantly.
"I see." Simon noticed him fall silent, paused for a moment, and then cleared his throat before speaking again. "Actually, I have a suggestion." The other day, I spotted a group of survivors a couple of blocks from here, apparently new to the city like you, and... along the way, we ran into a horde of runners. Some died right there on the street, while others hid in a building. The zombies broke into that building, too. Judging by the sudden stop in gunfire and screams, they're probably dead. Our job is to retrieve weapons, supplies, and everything we need. You'll get a map from me, and maybe something else, too.
Took a drag and blew out a smoke. Sergei considered for a moment. He only had enough food for a few days, and very little water left. This would be an opportunity to get both the map and the supplies.
"I agree."
"Excellent. We'll leave tomorrow morning. If we left now, it would likely be dark by the time we got there. I think you know it's not worth it. So now, let's gather our strength." Simon pointed his finger at the doorway. "There's a room on the right side; you can settle in there."
Sergey nodded, still smoking a cigarette, picked up his backpack from the floor, and headed to his room. Tomorrow I need to get a map and supplies, and then go to the aquarium and find out if Owen, Mell, and Abby have settled in. If that works out, I'll meet them; if not, he'll go to Jackson to establish contact there.
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Greetings to all readers, sorry for keeping you waiting so long for chapters. I'll try to release chapters slowly, as things have settled down in my life and I have quite a bit of time left. While that doesn't mean I'll be releasing chapters frequently, the motivation to write comes to me like watching a motivational video at two in the morning, accompanied by cool music or a great speech. But the next day you realize you've lost your cool, and that's pretty much the same for me. Along the way, I'll also be posting a fanfic about Chainsaw Man, which you can find in my profile. I'm amazed how some authors post chapters every day with so much text. They're literally superhumans. Maybe one day I'll be able to post like them. Thank you all for taking the time to do this.