Petya, began in a rather dreamy yet simultaneously serious voice. 

“What have you heard, about the fields just east of what was Orenburg?”

“On the borderlands?” Scar asked and Petya nodded in confirmation.

“The traders coming in from the south are deathly afraid of dealing in valuable loot from stalkers on the border because those cursed lands are in the way. They say the hills there are infested with more ghosts than blades of grass!” Petya explained.

“Bullshit, there are no such things as ghosts, and if there are then I’ve seen much more scarier creatures and damn if those traders aren’t willing to face them just to get some loot.” Scar chuckled.

“Well, here’s the thing, those hicks are growing mushrooms there, profitable stuff, a monopoly, cause you can’t grow that stuff anywhere else this side of the Urals. When they realized that their fields were being ravaged by some critters they were completely baffled. They hired some poor stalkers to go and hunt those creatures to extinction. Those fellows had a hell of a time in the hills.”

“Smoking shrooms I guess, with that amount of green stuff, you could dream up a whole alternate universe not just some specters, it’s kind of a perfect example of how those idiots down there lack the creativity to come up with something original!” Scar said disdainfully.

“You seem really full of hate towards the southerners, and besides – stop interrupting!” Petya said, a little annoyed.

“My bad, just couldn’t help myself. Please continue.” Scar apologized.

“Well, according to reports, those stalkers, decided to kick back and relax, taking full advantage off of the planter’s wealth using the draisine to transport themselves down the local railroad, taking potshots at all sorts of small vermin as they went. As night fell, they made camp on a hilltop which lay fifty or so meters away from the draisine and they  left up one guard for the night watch. They had seen no serious predators or any bandits so they weren’t worried. The other two began dosing of to sleep when just an hour later the watchman wakes up the most experienced one, Badger, and frantically whispers to him that he just saw a tank rumble across an open field several hundred meters away. He was promptly dismissed by the irritated Badger who waved it off as a wild imagination.” Petya stopped to look at the facial expression of his listener.

“Just ten minutes later they hear screaming and Badger wakes up in a panic to see the watchman throwing all of his belongings back into his pack and heading for the draisine as the sky above is lit up by trails from rockets. The deafening sound of a helicopter is heard thundering overhead and the rockets whine as they disappear, like shooting stars behind the treeline. Suddenly the whole area erupts in chaos as heavy machine gun fire was heard from inside another treeline on a tall hill, not so far away. Voices were yelling orders but they couldn’t determine the exact direction that they were coming from. The other two stalkers panicked and jumped on the draisine, speeding away and leaving Badger there to die.”

“The cowards never made it back to the planters, days later they found the draisine, or more exactly what had remained of it, torn to shreds and burnt, the two stalkers along with it. The large hole in the thing’s side and damaged rails made it look like it was hit with a huge shell.”

“But what of this Badger?” Scar asked.

“Well, apparently that lucky bastard had fallen low to the ground and crawled disoriented forward. He continued to do so, somehow not dying to some marshland, and made it to sunrise when the explosions and sounds of gunfire stopped. He was at that treeline where he heard the machine gun fire. He ventured forward carefully only to find a field full of old skeletons, rusted guns and burnt out vehicles, decades old, he ran as fast as he could and returned two days later to the planters. They say he was going completely insane from exhaustion and fear or from some sort of psychic effect, they couldn’t tell. It took them quite a while to draw the full story out of him in any coherent fashion and afterwards… Well, he wasn’t much of a stalker after that. He sort of became the village drunk and idiot. A far as I am aware, he might be dead from alcohol poisoning by now.” Petya finished.

“Damn unbelievable!” Scar exclaimed.

“I know, right!” Petya said.

“Yeah, how’d they even survive to tell the tale and didn’t die to an overdose right then and there baffles me!” Scar joked and Petya sighed at the stalker’s unending skepticism.

“Are you telling stories here, gentlemen?” came another voice, also deep but full of bass. It belonged to an older man, short and stout with a bushy grey beard, yet his face was still the face of a middle-aged man and the strength of younger days was still present in his arms. He was Vassily, the traveling general craftsman, who had come with the caravan which Scar had accompanied.

“Yes, would you like to join us?” Petya asked.

“I’d be honored to!” Vasily chuckled merrily, reaching into his satchel which hung over his shoulder and pulling out a bottle of beer.

“Well, then have a sit, the more the merrier!” said Scar in a cheerful tone, reaching into hidden pockets of his specialized suit and pulling out three collapsible traveler cups, well scratched with constant use.