The city is vast, and most of the shops and pharmacies have already been picked clean. You can still find supplies inside the houses, of course, assuming you can actually find one that's still standing.
About 800 meters from the man who lives beneath the bridge, there were some markings on the wreckage. They seemed to belong to different groups, territorial boundaries, to be more precise.
They're problematic most of the time. "You're either with us or against us," is what they say. If someone else enters their area, it usually doesn't take long before they're taken down. The best way to move through these places is at night, or while carrying the symbol of the faction.
Night was out of the question because of the cold, but it shouldn't be too difficult to find a member of one of the groups and steal their clothes.
In this region, the symbol of a hand with an eye at its center is the dominant mark, so it shouldn't take long before one of them appears.
As I moved deeper into the city, flags started to appear on the buildings. Children's footprints no longer marked the snow, and silence began to engulf everything. A chill crawled up my spine, it felt as though dozens of eyes were watching me, but from where…?
From the buildings!
CLANK!
A rifle shot cracked through the air. The bullet tore into the snow just centimeters from my foot. A man stood on top of an abandoned building, smoke still curling from the barrel of his rifle.
I ran and dove behind the first pile of rubble I could find. Two more shots slammed into the stones behind me. There were more shooters, but spotting them was impossible right now.
— Come on… I've only got three shots.
A whistle cut through the silence. Moments later, several men started to close in on the rubble. three of them, by the looks of it.
One of them was wearing a red beanie. As soon as he saw me, he raised his rifle, at the same moment, I raised the mini-shotgun. I pulled the trigger first. His brain splattered across the wall.
I took the opportunity to grab his rifle, checking it, there were still four shots left. I knew the position of one of the snipers, but two were still unaccounted for. Judging that one of them was on the ground, the other might be as well.
Fiuuuu!!!
Another whistle, this time, the sound was right beside me. When I looked to the right, I saw a man with a backpack pointing a shotgun at me.
BLAM!!!
I barely had time to duck. I fired back the moment I saw him, but my shot only hit his shoulder.
I kept running away from that mess, but the gunshots seemed to follow me relentlessly. Why? Wasn't I far enough already? Why were they still chasing me?
With every whistle, I looked in every direction. This thing was making me paranoid, even the city's alleys felt like they were getting narrower and narrower.
— Поймал!!!
What did he just say? Something's soaking my left foot…
Shot… damn it.
I had to hide as fast as possible. There was a convenience store nearby. I could take cover in the back. The windows were all shattered, glass scattered across the floor, the shelves completely empty.
As soon as I got inside, I barricaded every door I could find. I tore off a piece of cloth and checked my leg. The exit wound was the size of a grape, but the bleeding had already stopped.
My sock was soaked with blood, so I had to discard it. A waste of fabric, but it'll serve as fuel for a fire once I get out of this situation.
In the distance, I could hear footsteps and muffled voices. How I wish I understood Russian at times like this… But it doesn't matter. They're in an enclosed space now. They must think they're hunting a helpless animal — and that's good. Very good.
— Он тут, внутри!
Yes, shout so I can hear you clearly. I aimed the mini-shotgun at the door the sound was coming from.
BLAM!!!
I caught a glimpse of his face, frozen in despair. A hole was blown through his chest, and fragments sprayed across his face. The shotgun is useless now, and there are still two left.
His buddy was firing that damn rifle from behind. I managed to evade the shot. He's in front of me now, with a long-range weapon. At least now, this can be a fair fight.
I removed the barricades from the store's exit and ran toward the nearest window, but his ears were sharp. The moment I showed my face, he fired, my ear rang from the blast.
I had to go around and enter through the front door. A clean shot to his back, would that be it.
I don't hear his footsteps, so he must be standing still somewhere around here. On the other hand, his friend is still groaning on the floor.
He might be trying to do something.
Yes. He should be there.
Step by step, I moved closer, slicing through the corridor with the rifle and—
— Иван… Иван!… Пожалуйста… Иван.
What a horrible sight. The person I had shot was agonizing on the floor, alone. The hole in his chest was so deep I could see his lungs. One of his eyes had been destroyed by wooden splinters. He tried to breathe, but he was drowning in his own blood.
It would be better if he died soon. There's no saving him anymore. Besides, his rifle was damaged as well. I have no idea what he's saying, but he keeps repeating "Ivan." Is that his friend's name?
When I stepped closer to inspect the body, he emerged from behind the shelves in the back. However… he fired first.
I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen, followed by something warm and wet running down my skin. But he didn't fare well either, my shot hit his stomach as well. I could hear him collapsing to the floor.
He was finished. I could have just waited for him to die patiently, but patience has never been my strong suit.
When I moved forward, a trail of blood led to a wall where he was resting. This time, he didn't point a weapon at me. Looking at his stomach, I could see him pressing against the wound.
— Похоже, я проиграл…
Again with that…
— Sorry, but I don't speak Russian.
He smiled.
— I figured you weren't from around here.
His eyes widened. He seemed to be staring at my abdomen.
— You… prufh! — He started laughing. — Hahahaha, seriously!?
He laughed like a madman, but I couldn't tell if it was despair or pure insanity.
— What the hell! Hahaha, were you from Kholm? Damn, what bad luck.
— I'm not part of that group.
— No? Then how do you explain that? — He pointed at my abdomen.
The bullet wound had already stopped bleeding, and it was closing at a slow pace.
— What do you know about Kholm?
I aimed the rifle at him. For a moment, he hesitated. His breathing grew heavier.
— If you're going to kill me, then just do it already. I'm a dead man either way.
— Just tell me what you know about Kholm, and I'll leave.
The man pulled a canteen from inside his coat and drank almost everything in a single gulp.
— Three months ago, a man showed up with a symbol on his coat. A mountain with a rising sun behind it. — He drank more. — I'll tell you something, I've seen all kinds of people in this life. Plenty with a screw loose. But that guy? He must've been missing five screws.
The man's expression already seemed distant. He was losing too much blood.
CLANK!
He threw the canteen away.
— That guy went door to door asking for some Axionil, but nobody wanted to hand that shit over. — He looked at me. — He looked like a crack addict. Then he snapped and started attacking everyone.
He kept rubbing his face, trying to dull the pain. His expression made it obvious, his lips kept tightening, again and again.
— That bastard… he killed twenty in total. Six of ours, fourteen from other groups. He attacked anyone who crossed his path. He was worse than an animal. — He stared at me apathetically. — That fucker took, like, sixteen shots, and he still wasn't going down. He was not human, I refuse to believe it was.
— And where did he go?
— Hell if I know. He grabbed a handful of Axionil and got the hell out of here. — He raised his arms. — That's all I know.
— But he never said he was from Kholm.
— Does he need to? I've seen that symbol before this hellish cold arrived, remember? That used to be on TV every day.
If that's all, then I have nothing more to do with him. I simply picked up his rifle, which was a few meters away. As promised, I didn't kill him, but the moment I turned my back to leave, he pulled out a knife and slit his own throat.
Well… maybe that's for the best. The world doesn't have hospitals anymore, after all. Still, it's a shame, I won't be able to steal their clothes. It would've been much easier to move around with their faction's symbol.
But now that I think about it… There were four of them.
Where's the other one?