That moving fire, or whatever it is, looks like trouble—it’s moving in a predictable way, though, and I could reach that body if I wanted to. On second thought, it doesn’t look worth the risk.
He throws another bolt in the direction where a small space appears between the next anomaly and the wall. Immediately, a column of fire goes up an arm’s length away. He recoils with a jump. Finally, throwing three more bolts, he finds a zigzagging path through the three anomalies, even if it means to jump over the crates blocking the way. No matter how foreboding the next room is, he sighs with relief once he leaves the corridor behind.
More Burners loom ahead. Repeating the tedious bolt throwing to find his path through, he reaches a chamber where his search proves fruitfuclass="underline" a dead man lies there, wearing the orange hazmat suit of scientists. He is glad that the opaque plexiglass on the helmet spares him the sight of a head that had been decaying for many years. Quickly going through the containers on the protective suit, he finds a note, barely readable and half-eaten by mildew.
“Excellent, colleague! I’m glad that you’ve received second-level access. At last you will find out what goes on in our laboratory. Your access code is 1243. Chief of Laboratory X-18, Piotr Ilyich Kalugin.”
Stepping out from chamber, the Stalker removes his gas mask and wipes cold sweat from his face.
1243? Good God. Who is the bigger idiot? The guy using such a pathetic code or me for not being able to guess it?
For a moment, the Stalker is confused as to which of the two similarly dark corridors to take, and the barely readable pieces of paper that are fastened to a bulletin board on the nearest wall don’t give any clue. Then the fire emanating from the room lights up the two dead mutants on the far end of the corridor to the left. He takes the one to his right.
Avoiding more anomalies, he eventually finds a room with lockers still standing to his left and a broken wall section to his right. The anomaly detector beeps like mad, but the anomaly behind the broken wall section poses no danger for a moment. It seems to appear and disappear like a distortion in space, and if it wasn’t for the crumbled wall, it would just snatch and crush him in a vortex of power that would eventually explode and scatter his body parts all around. After a few more avoided anomalies and corridors turning, he soon finds himself back in the elevator room.
The combination lock still works. With an unpleasant screech, the steel door opens and reveals another staircase.
Good God, this one’s leading real deep.
After several turns, the staircase ends in a rubble of debris. A room similar to the elevator room above opens. Swiftly moving down the corridor to his right, he reaches a dead-end — one more code-locked steel door bars his way.
I’m getting weary of these stupid doors.
The Stalker decides to take the hard way and track down the source of the thumping steps. Finally, another staircase appears in the small light circle of his headlight. The ground is shaking. He almost feels more than a few hairs on his head turning grey from horror.
On the left side of the short corridor that appears to be the lowest level of the laboratory vaults, an opening in the wall leads into a huge, wide hall. The metal door that had once been there was removed, or shattered long ago. Inside a mutant is moving up and down, like a lion in a cage. It consists of barely more than a hulk, a short, reptile-like tail and two brawny legs. Its appearance would appear grotesque, ridiculous even if its growls weren’t blood curdling and the head emitting them resembling a squashed human face with the mouth and teeth of a shark.
Suddenly, the thumping steps cease. Hoping that the mutant thinks to have scared him away, the Stalker sneaks inside. He has almost reached the center of the hall, covered in complete darkness save for a few emergency lights far away from him, when the light of his headlamp suddenly illuminates the distorted face. Flashing its shark-like teeth, it stretches its legs and now towers over him, raising one leg to crush him. The vault shakes as the pseudogiant smashes his leg to the ground. The impact causes the Stalker to drop his shotgun.
Screaming with fear, he makes a desperate dash for the exit. Once back to safety, he bends forward and leans on his knees, heavily panting.
I must get into that hall.
Having caught his breath, he enters the hall once more and takes a few steps towards the metal fence that had once protected a machine resembling a huge generator. Immediately, the lumbering giant starts closing in on him.
I must lure that beast into grenade range.
The pseudogiant trots towards him but before it could crush the Stalker with its massive hulk, he is already back to the corridor, pulling the safety from a fragmentation grenade and throwing it into the hall. A groan follows the detonation and the thumping steps continue.
Peeking inside, his headlight beam falls on a red fuel drum not far from the door.
He enters the hall and yells. The mutant immediately attempts to charge him through. Swiftly, he kicks the fuel drum into the direction of the door, lets the mutant approach and just before it can reach him, he leaps out to the corridor. By the time he is outside, he has removed the safety from another grenade. He tosses it close to the fuel drum and then jumps to his belly to avoid the wave of the huge detonation. The power of the explosion shakes the underground and the deafening bang mixes with the mutant’s painful roar. Two more explosions follow as the shockwave makes two more fuel barrels detonate. For a moment, it seems that the whole vault is about to collapse.
The Stalker’s ears are ringing, but the pseudogiant’s steps echo no more.
He picks up his shotgun from the floor and reloads it. He looks around in the hall, keeping his weapon aimed at the dark shadows of some railroad containers from where something might still jump at him. Looking up towards the emergency light in the corner, an alcove catches his attention. A few metal stairs lead up there and continue in a catwalk along the walls. It looks like a good place for someone trying to hide from a monster. If Stalker lore about the fate of Lab X-18 is true, this was exactly what happened here.
To his disappointment, the alcove holds nothing useful. The rotting Saratov refrigerator in the corner is empty, so is the tool box on a table except for some junk.
Above the box, a photograph is glued to the wall. It shows a group of people, probably the scientists who had once worked there. Though the faces are barely recognizable, they look to the Stalker like a happy party, gathered up in front of their facility on a sunny day that had passed long ago.
So this is the bunch who built this lab… I wish I could better see the faces.
Walking cautiously down the stairs, he passes by a rusting metal casing with a locked door. It emanates a low, electric buzz.
Probably a generator. That would explain why some emergency lights are still on, but I haven’t the faintest idea what could make it still run after so many years.
Squeezed between a railway container and the stairs leading to a low platform, pipes protrude and connect to the floor like an inverted U, thick enough to offer a man cover. Even so, this refuge didn’t save the scientist lying dead behind the pipes. Any treasure hunter would hardly consider the body wearing an orange hazmat rewarding enough for venturing this deep into the vaults, not even for the Enfield L85A1 lying next to the body, but the Stalker even emits a low cry of joy when the corpse appears in the light circle. Patting down the pockets of the hazmat suit, his search proves fruitful — a small plastic card with a number printed on it.