Wyatt of the Zone has a minion!

Anomaly the Nuclear Matter

Wyatt hurried into the ravine and looked up at the dark, clouded sky. The clouds glowed with bouts of inter-cloud lightning. “…it might storm soon,” he noted. “What do you think?”

“Well, it hasn’t yet today,” Drummond observed, “and we’re about due for one.”

Every veteran stalker felt they could sense a storm coming on, and Wyatt was no exception in that regard. The three of them decided to stay in the ravine until a storm blew past, as they wouldn’t have shelter again until they reached the cluster of buildings containing the Labyrinth. It was slower moving over ground in the snow, and Drummond was also not of mind to tempt fate.

Drummond opened his portal, pulling out a can of meat and a loaf of bread. Wyatt blinked at the black oval. “Oh,” he said, “you’re not a conjurer. You have a pocket dimension?”

“It’s why I travel so light,” Drummond confirmed. “I have all the survival supplies I need in here.”

Wyatt peered into the black void for the few moments before Drummond closed the portal. There was something about it that nagged at Wyatt, almost like something he should have remembered…

“Keep it to yourself, though,” Drummond cautioned. “I don’t like to advertise what I have at my disposal, but if we’re going to be working together you should at least know my basic capabilities.”

“Right,” Wyatt agreed. “Well, we can at least have dinner while we’re waiting for the storm to show up.”

The three of them sat down, eating their sausage and bread and sharing stories of their experiences with the Zone. Zone stores were one of Wyatt’s favorite things in the Zone – every stalker accumulated dozens of tales of harrowing escapes, logic-defying phenomena, bizarre fauna and flora, riches gained or lost, and friends, acquaintances and enemies lost to the Zone. Wyatt had heard hundreds, perhaps thousands of such stories, and no two were the same.

Of course, Wyatt knew the Zone like the back of his hand, more than well enough to pick out the inaccuracies in the average Zone story. Stalkers had a tendency to exaggerate, and the myths and lore of the Zone were frequently filled with lurid accounts of epic confrontations and exotic dangers. Wyatt knew firsthand that these tales were somewhat less impressive in person. But exaggeration was part of the tradition, and Wyatt had told his share of generous interpretations as well. He never lied – he never understood those who felt so jaded to the Zone’s wonders as to have to make up new ones – but if an ordinary pack of wild dogs managed to become ‘the largest pack he’d ever seen’ in the retelling, there was no harm in that.

Drummond built a small fire for warmth, and Wyatt allowed himself to relax. He’d been on the march all day, seen a man die, and still had a job to do. It was important to take what time one could to relax and regain one’s strength. Exhaustion was one of the most underappreciated dangers of the Zone.

“Wish one of you two had a guitar,” Akio said idly, in between bites of sausage.

Drummond just grinned. “I do.”

Wyatt perked his ears, removing the hood over his head now that they were out of the snow. “Really? Oh, right – pocket dimension.”

Drummond pulled an acoustic guitar out of his portal, plucking at its strings. Wyatt leaned back. The Zone had an aesthetic of its own, and its own genre of music and artwork. More than a few Bards had made the Zone their home, and even those who weren’t Bards could pass the time plucking at a guitar or blowing into a flute or harmonica.

The rest of the world had campfire songs too, he knew, but it wasn’t quite the same as the Zone’s music. The music of the Zone had depth, nuance, perhaps even soul. The music was simple, played only on those instruments which could be carried in the field. When it did have lyrics, they talked of adventure, of mystery, of danger and loss…

The outside world didn’t care for the Zone’s art – the genre had never been commercially successful, for those few who had tried. But the simplicity of the music was its strength – it was a simplicity borne of necessity, and foreign music always sounded loud and cacophonous to him in comparison. He supposed it was a genre you’d have to be a stalker to appreciate.Full story here.

Wyatt by shylarah - click

overlay by inki
profile template by Lea
story by SandyGunfox
Wyatt belongs to shylarah
Drummond belongs to Silver
Akio belongs to tacogewehr
Pidgeon and Ashula belong to SandyGunfox
story setting is a collaborative effort of SandyGunfox, shylarah, Silver, CoyoteKhan, tacogewehr, SSC, and Ramza
the Zone is loosely based on the setting of the S.T.A.L.K.E.R games, by GSC Game World, in turn based loosely on the novel Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky