S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Survival of the Fittest


Arsenal XA4

Original poster
100 RADs Bar and Grill
Rostok, Duty Territory...

Stalkers came and went, some dragged out because they were too drunk to walk, in and out of Barkeep's establishment. It was one of the few places a Stalker could get all the accoutrements of the Big Land.

Hot meals, fresh food, showers, actual beds... For that reason many Stalkers linger at Duty's base, taking jobs from Barkeep or General Voronin as they come. Today the 100 RADs was a hotbed of activity, several Stalkers gathered around a television someone had brought in through Sidorovich. The Mercs from the Wild Territory had provided some communications gear and the Eggheads from Yantar sent Kruglov to get them a pirated satellite signal. They were watching the live feed from a MiG-29 as it escorted British Airways Flight-214 over the Zone.

"I had hoped to be rid of that horrible noise overhead." Ammad, a former al Queda fighter turned Stalker, said as the pilot reported in to his wingmate. "The Hinds I can handle, but the jets. I have seen more than one of my former friends blown away by fast movers."

"The only fast movers you have to worry about here are the Tark." Snitch replied. The Tark were at one point horses, however the Zone had turned them into something very much more ferocious.

"I have seen them. Praise be to Allah that they did not send me to him."

"Would you both shut up?" Warrant Officer shouted over the blather. "I'm trying to listen." Everyone fell silent, watching the footage from the MiG. The reverie was cut in half by Zhorik's greeting to all who come, and go.

"I said come in, don't stand there!" Feydorov entered, an army bag in hand.

"Has he ever said anything else?" the Stalker asked. There were multiple replies of 'no.' "Fair enough... Well, I got some rations from Vasilev at Agroprom. They got some American MREs. Ammad, do you know if they're any good?"

"I will not eat infidel food." Ammad replied.

"You eat here all the time." Snitch commented.

"Well... You're different kinds of infidels. The kind that DOESN'T try to kill me."

"Would you shut up already?" Warrant Officer snarled. Before anyone had a chance to snap back the all too familiar thunderclap of a Blowout rang throughout the Zone. The MiG pilots immediately began shouting and broke away from the Boeing 737, the Englishmen shouting at them frantically in broken Russian. The signal cut out as the Blowout sirens rang out, the earth shaking. The television fell over, the screen spiderwebbing.


"Mayday, mayday, this is British Airways Flight 214. We've suffered critical systems failure and are going down hard." the copilot barked into the radio.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please assume crash positions, I repeat, please assume crash positions!" The soldiers among the passengers were the calmest, having trained for such occurrences. The civilians weren't.

"Oh God, this is going to be bad..." the pilot said as the plane clipped a high tension wire, felling it. The planed slammed into the pavement, plowing through several broken down trucks and cars. The tail came loose, several passengers thrown free. Most who were thrown died upon impact, their bodies soon to be fodder for the many mutants that call the Red Forest home.

Anna Ramirez, however, would be spared, saved by a decapitated pseudogiant corpse.

The plane finally came to rest after slamming nose first into one last high tension wire tower. The copilot groaned then released his straps.

"That was quite a jolt, eh? Oh, bollocks..." The pilot was dead, impaled by a steel beam. The other passengers were moving, slowly. All were battered and bruised but otherwise alive.


Agroprom Research Institute...

"Where did they land?" Vasilev snarled into the radio, one of the MiG pilots blubbering into it like a baby. "There were your charges! Why did you break off?!"

"M-my instruments... T-they went haywire..." the pilot replied.

"Nichevo... You have the balls of a fucking queer! FIND THAT CRASH SITE, NOW!!!" The Captain slammed the handset into the radio, causing feedback.

"Get me the eggheads at Yantar... They were supposed to be able to predict blowouts..." he then ordered of Private Tatyana Stepanovich, the token female of his platoon.

"Harvest Base Yantar, this is Kennel Club, what is your status?" she asked over the radio.

"Ah, Kennel Club, this is Sakharov..." Vasilev snatched the handset back up.

"You were supposed to predict the blowouts, you fuck... WHAT HAPPENED?"

"Ah, yes, we had a critical equipment failure."

"How do you have such a convenient failure at such an INCONVENIENT time?" Tatyana could see the veins on Vasilev's neck bulging.

"I am trying to figure that out for myself, however without Kruglov here I cannot make the necessary repairs." Sakharov replied.

"Sakharov, I am not usually this quick to anger, however..." Vasilev looked out the window in the direction of Chernobyl. "...there are upwards of seventy British officials, reporters, and staff possibly deep in Monolith territory."

"Kapitan, the pilot confirms it... The plane went down in Red Forest..." Tatyana said to Vasilev.

"Well shit... Sakharov, they're in Red Forest... Between Monolith and the Colossus I do not know what is worse." Before Sakharov could reply Tatyana looked to Vasilev and mouthed 'Kiev.' "Sakharov, I have to go... The Big Land is calling..." The pilot switched channels on the radio. "Da, this is Captain Vasilev..."

"Comrade Kapitan, this is Colonel General Bondarenko. Your highest of superior officers." the general said with a matter of fact tone. Vasilev swallowed, hard. "Now listen very carefully... You, not just your platoon but all the others in the Zone, will be under International scrutiny. That means you cannot fuck this up."

"Da, comrade general."

"However I do not want you, our Army, to deploy to rescue the visitors. I want you to thin the ranks of Stalkers and send them out. You are to deploy only to recover the civilians. When and ONLY when the Stalkers have rescued them. Is that understood, tovarich?"

"Da, comrade general... It is understood..."

"Good... Dosvidanya, Kapitan..." Vasilev took a moment to compose himself then switched the channels again.

"Barkeep, Sidorovich... I have a job that needs to be fulfilled..."


100 RADs Bar and Grill
Rostok, Duty Territory...

"Alright, listen up!" Barkeep shouted out at the Stalkers and Dutyers in his bar. "The Military just posted a job. A rescue mission. One hundred thousand rubles to whoever accepts. Any takers?" Feydorov stepped up.

"Da. Who knows, this may just be fun."
The men in uniform moved around the cabin checking all passengers, making sure they were strapped in and ready for impact. Enforcing calm by example and in one case with a threat in the form of a drawn pistol. In minuets it was over, with everyone in their seats the soldiers moved to their own in the example set by the HMS Birkenhead centuries before.

Jordon was struggling with his clasp then the plane cit the wire, and just a few seconds later...... click BOOM! The nose of Flight 214 buried itself into the ground sending up a spray of dirt, the pilot killed instantly as across the length of the plane soldiers who had been too slow getting back to their seats became human missiles their broken bodies casing more injuries as they flew coming to rest in bloody heaps. most of the tail buckles and ripped free, the ragdolls of reporters cascading out to litter the red forest a feast for the mutant scavengers. Out of the original compliment aboard the plane it was only a relative few that stirred in their seats.

Despite severed whiplash and a feeling like his internal organs hadn't come to rest on quite the same place as there they started Jordon was on his feet, arm hanging onto the luggage racks so provide support, the filter of his AR5 clipped onto his belt as the mask lay clipped to the strap of his bag ready to her slid over his face at the slightest sign of air contamination.

"Hello?" he called out into the wreckage. Checking the pulse on one of the passengers, nothing. A few people were moving about in the cabin, and seemed to be looking to him for guidance. He didn't know enough about large jets to know weather or not it was safe to stay inside, though a lot of the people didn't look like they could be moved safely. "Everyone who can move gather outside the plane, stay away from the engines." he turned to another soldier, "better check on the pilot, I'm going to see if a can figure out where the bloody hell they landed us."
It had been two days since Alex had jumped the fence and entered into the Zone, two days of alien survival horror. His guide had helped him out a lot, teaching him how to deal with many of the lesser threats in the Zone. The problem was that the lesser threats tended to be non existant.

On his third day they were closing on their destination, a gather place for zone runners as it was described. A safe haven. But then all hell broke loose as the Blowout hit. The pair scrambled for cover where ever they could find it, not sure of what would happen. When it had subsided though of two things he was sure of. The first was that he was alive. The second was that he could find no trace of his guide. He was alone. With despair he began moving again, roughly in the same direction that he had been going before, hoping to find this Haven. It seemed like it was going to be his ownly way out now.
"Hey, Sanchez, you wanna take a siesta from all that hard work you're doing there and join the Mile-High Club with me?"

The annoying, arrogant excuse for a man's voice invaded Anna's ear like a dentist's drill straight into her brain as someone pulled back one of her headphones, interrupting the calming musical zone she had been maintaining. Well, not just ANY someone…she knew EXACTLY who it was…the only person in the world who could possibly make her want to ram her head out the plane window…

Ramirez reached up brush the hand away with a disgusted flick, turning to look at the man leaning against the seat across the aisle from her. She forced a sarcastic smirk onto her face to combat his perverted leer. "Awww, Simmons…did that rough takeoff make your balls finally drop? How cute~…" All amusement dropped from her voice as she moved to put her headphones back on. "You should sit down. Children shouldn't wander the aisles alone..."

Simmons' leer faltered as he scoffed, crossing his skinny arms across his chest, giving his chin a jerk. "Better watch it, Ramirez or I'll—" His insult was cut short as the plane gave a sudden shudder. Something glimmered outside Anna's window but before she could turn to see what it was, an unmistakable announcement crackling over the intercom.

**"Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking. Please assume crash positions, I repeat, please assume crash positions!"**

"Holy shi—"

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Anna turned her head to check Simmons only to watch his body be thrown forward in his first step to becoming a deadly projectile. Anna Ramirez then began her first fervent string of prayers as British Airways Flight 214 began its final plummet to the earth. She mostly kept her eyes squeezed shut tightly but would only find her eyes wild and stuck open again a few moments later. The images she saw flash by were both nightmarish and confusing. Parts of it HAD to be a nightmare…especially the glimpses of the disgusting, disfigured creatures she saw, including a vision of one with huge arms and a strange stocky body literally lose its head.

The next moments seemed to last an eternity as her vision cut in and out between horrors and darkness. Eventually the world stopped spinning and an eerie quiet settled in…a quiet of an intensity she had never felt before. Her confused senses were muddled by the taste of blood and the smell of damp earth. Soon, she began to hear the first groans of life other than her own.

"Ugh…" she groaned as her hand limply slipped to her seatbelt. "Jesus…Jesus Christ…"

Briefly, a man's voice reached her ears. "—better check on the pilot, I'm going to see if I can figure out where the bloody hell they landed us."

Anna felt a sudden rush of anger rise in her chest at his words as her focus began to return, the adrenaline in her blood suddenly pumping furiously. "…that wasn't any kind of fucking landing I'VE ever heard of…" she muttered. "Planes don't LAND in goddamn PIECES."
God, just like the yanks to not understand something and mouth off abut it. "Sorry hadn't noticed the huge hole in the plane." He looked around for where the female's voice had come from and instead found himself staring at the massive headless corpse she was lying on. "Wouldn't want to meet that bugger alive. I'd move if I were you." he cast his eyes around the crash site, out of the plane he could see a bit of the surrounding area. The videos they had made the soldiers watch about the zone didn't seem like such a waste now and the L85A1 he had been issued with as a precautionary measure has held loosely in his hands.

"We need a perimeter, I want eyes in every direction...." the private sent to the cockpit came back.

"Pilots deader than the radio, can't get anything to work in there."

"Right help the passengers, looks like we don't have any choice and the wrecks our shelter, nothing out here but dead trees."

There was a cry behind Jordan and he whirled around. One of the reporters had decided to relieve the pressure against one of the trees and was now on his stomach trying to crawl away before he has bodily lifted up into the branches his body compressing and spinning in ways that defied the mind and nerves, before with a sound like a wet tarp being beaten with another wet tarp the bloody lump exploded into chunks that rained down on the crash site.

"Christ! We're going to have to watch out step around here."
"100,000 rubles" Barkeeps voice rang and echoed in the Stalker's head, and he leaped to his feet, fodka slushing in the bottle he held in his left hand as his right hand swung upwards
"I'l go! i want the money!" he called, at the point most would call very pissed, though it was a ritual of the Russian's to spend exorbitant amounts of money whenever he escaped a particularly close call and the blowout had been no exception, with the diminutive Russian hunting bloodsuckers on the outskirts of Rostok and barely making it into cover as the blastwave of the blowout roared past him, yet another little peice of the puzzle as to the Russian's fanatical hatred and fear of Bloodsuckers.

Yuri downed the rest of his vodka bottle and fumbled as he pulled Katyusha around until he cradled the heavy calibre rifle in his arms, looking around and wondering who else would join the rescue party.
100 RADs Bar and Grill
Duty Territory, Rostok...

Barkeep nodded approvingly at the two volunteers. He knew both Feydorov and Yuri to be hard workers from dealings with Sidorovich in the Cordon and Professor Sakharov at Yantar. He knew they could be relied upon, even if the employer couldn't be.

"Alright, here is what we have." Barkeep started, unrolling a map of the Red Forest. "The plane we were just watching went down somewhere around here. The military wants us to go there and take the passengers to a designated LZ."

"Hmm... This definitely sounds fun." Feydorov mused as he pulled his PDA out. "Any chance we'll see 'you-know-who' out there?"

"Who? Who is this 'you-know-who?'" Ammad asked. Feydorov showed him a blurry picture on his PDA. It was a large Stalker wearing an exoskeleton and carrying an M-134 Minigun and an RPG-7V rocket launcher.

"This would be the Colossus."


Near the crash site, Red Forest...


The Bloodsucker approached the crash site slowly, having caught the scent of blood on the air. It had taken cover during the Blowout but was roused upon hearing the crash. Bloodsuckers didn't tend to go for easy meals however to have such a feast practically dropped in it's lap was a great gift.

One the mutant was not about to put aside.


"That looks like any other infidel Stalker." Ammad said.

"Snitch, would you please enlighten our friend here?" Feydorov asked the information broker. Snitch cleared his throat then took a quick shot of vodka.

"The Colossus is a monster of a man who was once known as a Master Stalker. He had a perfect mission completion record, good standings with all factions, and was on the way to becoming a millionaire." the broker started. "He even went so far as to charge headlong into the center of the Zone, to Chernobyl, braving the Brain Scorcher and hordes of Monolith. All this to reach the Wish Granter."

"Bah... A tool of the infidel..." Ammad mused.

"Any way, Colossus reached the Wish Granter. Can you guess what he asked for?"


The mutant made it's way past a rock formation, watching some of the survivors from a distance. It was so preoccupied that it never heard the clanking of linked bullets and equipment nor the heavy footfalls as they drew near.


"What, seventy two virgins and a ticket to paradise?" Ammad joked.

"Not quite..." Snitch replied with a grin. "He traded his humanity to become an immortal, perfect soldier."


The mutant felt a presence. It turned quickly and was struck down by something heavy. A Pseudogiant? No, this thing's hands weren't big enough. The mutant struggled as it's assailant gradually added to the pressure it was applying to the mutant's neck. There was a wet cracking noise as the Bloodsucker's larynx collapsed and it's cervical vertebrae were crushed and severed.


"The Army tried to kill him once, with Spetsnaz and a Hind gunship." Snitch described, walking around the room. "They shot him, and they shot him, and they shot him, then they blew him up with the whirlybird's rockets."

"But that didn't stop him. He got right back up and walked away."


The Colossus stood, the bloodsucker's severed head in hand. He looked in the direction of the plane crash and growled. He dropped the head and brought the Minigun to bear.


"Bullshit! I will believe it when I see it!" Ammad cried out.

"You believe in Allah and yet you do not see him." Feydorov joked. Ammad reached for his AK, Warrant Officer grabbing his arm.

"TAKE THAT BACK, INFIDEL!!!" he screamed.

"You really do know how to push his buttons, don't you." Yuri commented.

"As an athiest it is fun to rile Ammad up." Feydorov said.

"I said comin, don't stand there!" Zhorik shouted from his post. Everyone looked to see Colonel Voronin and a SEVA suit clad Kruglov dragging a rookie Stalker in.

"We found this one on the outskirts." Voronin started. "The dogs almost got to him."

"Feydorov, Yuri, care for a third man in your party?" Barkeep asked. Feydorov shrugged then pulled his gas mask on.

"Why not... Let him come."

"Alright then. Stranger, what's your name?" Barkeep asked of Alexander Parker.


Jordan helped Anna to her feet then looked at the thing that had cushioned her landing.

"Bollocks, what is that?"

"I don't know... Just where the fuck did we land, Pink Floyd's nightmare?" Jordan was about to answer when he saw someone walking up.

"Hold that thought..." he said to Anna, climbing up a wrecked UAZ to get a better look at the newcomer. "You there, have you any idea where we're at?"

Colossus responded by leveling his Minigun and opening fire.


-Yuri and Feydorov are given the job. Ammad learns of The Colossus and Alexander Parker is dragged in from the outside.
-A Bloodsucker meets an untimely end at the hands of Colossus and the survivors are introduced to him as well.
This was not time to stand around with you finger up your arse, as soon as the minigun came up Jordan got down. "Bloody he..... just fuck fuck fuck." The sound of bullets tearing into the metal carcass was deafening. "Rowdy lot the old red bloc." He reached for his radio taking the only rout that didn't involve his sticking his face out into the torrent of fire.

"To anyone who can hear me this is British Airways Flight 214. We've come down hard and now got some maniac shooting at us. If someone who speaks Russian could yell at him or if he'd stop we'd all appreciate it. Over."

The firing stopped, which surprised Jordon, a couple of seconds passed, everyone in the crash site the hadn't fled into the wilderness or been mowed down Cowering behind anything solid that was available.

"Well that was ....." Jordan had make the mistake of peeking around the wreck. Moving forwards again the attacker fired from his rocket launcher before going for the minigun again. He dove away as the UAZ leaped into the air coming down again with a loud crash, British soldiers were starting to return fire now only to have the minigun turned on them. With the attacker distracted Jordan lay in a prone position and sighted though his scope, the colossus was fearless but perhaps a little foolhardy, with the bead right on its head and a little above Jordan squeezed of a burst. It didn't even blink, merely retaliated with a bellow forcing Jordan back behind cover. "Right I think I've seen enough, FALL BACK."
As the newcomer was dragged in, Yuri flung both hands upwards, splashing snitch with vodka and nearly hitting another stalker with his rifle "First we sing comrades! RAAAAAAAAAS VITAAAAAAAAA" he began to sing the old Russian folksong loudly and out of tune, the smile that rippled across his face as he set his vodka down and fumbled with his mask and helmet his vice muffled but not quite diminished as he succeeded putting both on and his voice trailed off as he moved to follow Feydorov, lifting his hand to his throat mic "So comrade, where do we go first?" he asked, hoping he'd have a chance to sober up before they truely hit the shit and left.
100 RADs Bar and Grill
Rostok, Duty Territory...

"Alright, do we have any other takers?" Barkeep asked. A few Stalkers stepped up, including Ammad. "Have a change of heart, 'Muj?'" 'Muj' was everyone's nickname for Ammad. It was short for 'Mujahedeen.'

"If only to see this 'Wish Granter' for myself." he replies, cradling his trusty AK-47.

"That's the spirit, Muj." Feydorov said with a grin. "So, when do we leave?"

"Now, if you can." Barkeep replied. Kruglov pushed his way to the front.

"Before we go, I need escort back to Yantar."

"Yantar? YANTAR?! That is well out of our way!" Yuri snarled.

"Well, we've no choice. A horde of mutants attacked the barrier by the Army Warehouses." Kruglov replied. "They're barely holding on, even with Mercs helping them."

"So how are we supposed to get to the Red Forest if the main avenue is blocked?" Barkeep pulled out another map and unrolled it.

"Here... Make your way through the auto factory at Yantar... Over here is a road leading to Limansk, the Dead City." Barkeep replied. "You can get to a back door leading into the Brain Scorcher around here. From there you can get to the Red Forest."

"There's going to be a catch... There's always a catch..." one of the stalkers started complaining.

"Let's just say they don't call it the Dead City for nothing." Feydorov said to the man. "But it'll be a shooting gallery. Just watch for the ones with grenades."

"That is of no comfort..." Within twenty minuts the rescue party, now twenty strong, was on the way to the Wild Territory.