The nimble Hoplite helicopter shook violently as it began its descent. The small clearing it intended to use as a landing platform now received all the attention from the downwind, making trees and bushes sway aggressively underneath. Despite the small space, Sokolov masterfully navigated between the flora and put the flying machine down slowly, letting the rotors spin to a halt. Once the roar of the engine faded, three men in Belarusian uniforms appeared from the forest. They were greeted by two men leaving the chopper, one in Ukrainian Security Service uniform and one in a massive exoskeleton reinforced with ballistic plates.

"Bloody hell Degtyarev, I thought you wanted me to transport some lowlife over the border, not a walking tank.", one of the Bielarusy remarked as the armoured suit

"Contrary to your expectations based on the conscripts in dregs, armed with pitchforks, that you Belarusians call an army, in Ukraine we do actually have proper gear and not just Soviet surplus, Gromyko.", Degtyarev shot back.

"You wound me, colonel. Anyway, why is the guy so important?", Gromyko asked, and Boris noticed his ranks as major as he stepped into the light.

"None of your business, as I said earlier. All you need to do is drive him to Minsk, and mission complete. He will not bother Belarusian authorities, nor cause any trouble you'll not benefit from. Is that clear?", Degtyarev ordered.

"Besides, my story is nothing you should care for. Get me in and I'll find my way out, nobody will know you had a hand in it, comrade major.", Boris noted in a placative voice after seeing Gromyko's expression.

The major scowled at Degtyarev, then nodded to Boris, a gesture that seemed to order him to follow. Boris did so, saying his final thanks and goodbyes to the colonel and Sokolov. He followed the Belarusian soldier out of the small meadow and into the forest, arriving at a road where an old Ural truck painted in deep green was awaiting them. Gromyko pointed at the truck's cargo space and Boris climbed up top, while the soldiers entered the cabin. With a pained groan, the ancient engine whirred to life and the Ural 4320 lurched down the road. Sitting there, in the darkness of the night, Boris contemplated his self-assigned mission. It was time to end it all. He reflected the hard times as a renegade, the feeling of shame and despair, and while he could have used it to justify his vengeful act that was about to happen, Boris found more at calm with the situation.

The man he had been, the security guard at Minsk working a relatively easy job, had had a future ahead of him. A good future, a normal future. Wife, kids, a family, house in the local area. Good life, for an Eastern European, perhaps. But whatever could have come of it, it was all gone now. An alternate reality. His past self would not recognize the stalker he was now, scarred both mentally and physically. Yet Redemption, his faction, was all he lived for now, the bond between him and his men stronger than ever.

Despite all that he had experienced in the Zone, the faction had been his greatest creation, and his new reason for existence. Through the faction itself, Boris had found purpose, gained respect and trust back as a stalker and found brotherhood unlike nothing he had experienced before. Now awaited the final hurdle he had to conquer to leave his past behind, and then, Boris would be free. Free to lead his men without fear for those in the Big Land. Having resolved his train of thought, Boris dozed off to get some rest before the battle ahead. The truck rumbled onwards, striking a few holes in the road, much to the dismay of Gromyko's driver. The man sent a barrage of curses at the old engine, which momentarily stirred Boris from his dreams. The night grew darker, and a herd of heavy clouds swirled overhead. Eventually, they burst open and released a cargo of torrential rain. A lightning bolt shattered the darkness, revealing the truck barreling down the road, scaring away a family of deers.

Hours later, the thunderstorm still continued over Belarus. Maksim stepped out for a smoke, the light of the warehouse illuminating the outside enough for him to find his lighter. Guarding Harkusha's warehouses was not particularly exciting, but it beat being a drug dealer, weapon smuggler or loan shark for him. Maksim had done the last one at times, but last time he had gotten a bit too "enthusiastic", as his boss, Sergey, put it, and the guy had ended up dying at the hospital. To be fair, he had asked for it, not giving up the location of his cash stash when asked in a friendly manner. Maksim smirked slightly and drew a long breath from his smoke. Just as the relaxing feeling left his body, Maksim felt a cold touch of steel on his throat.

"Scream, grunt or shout, and your shirt front gets repainted. Now, listen to me if you wish to survive, how many men are in the warehouse and how well armed are they?", a voice ordered.

"Su-uka, uh there's six men here, all with pistols except Sergey with a shotgun... Who the hell are you?", Maksim managed to stutter out.

"None of your business. And the other warehouses, are they similarly manned? Don't try to deny you know of them, your life is at a precipice.", the voice continued, and the blade dug slightly into Maksim's throat, not far enough to be dangerous but far enough to sting.

"They are... All have guys with pistols and carbines. Can... Can you let me go now?", the thug asked.

Maksim never got the reply. The kukri on his throat dug deeper and severed his windpipe, making the guard fall down on his knees. Minute later, inside the warehouse, Sergey leaned on the rail on a catwalk overlooking the whole facility, and thought to himself that the shadowy figure now entering the room had to be Maksim returning from his break. Only when the strange whirring coming from the figure entered his ears did Sergey reconsider this, but it was too late then. A 9 millimetre rifle bullet blew his brains out, causing the corpse to slip over the rail and down into the floor. The remaining guards watched this unfold in horror, when a monstrous form made up of machine and man intertwined opened fire on them. They responded with various Soviet era pistols, watching in horror as the armour on the attacker blocked their shots like if they had thrown pebbles at him. With every bark of the suppressed rifle, one man fell down, until only one remained. He tried to escape through the back door, only to trip on a wire placed there.

The man tried to get away by crawling forward, but the unknown man was too fast. With inhuman speed granted by the heavy suit, he was soon on top of the escapee, grabbing him by the neck. Raising him off the ground with little difficulty, the guard stared into dark eyes through a slit in the helmet. Eyes which had seen more than the man could imagine, horrors beyond human comprehension. With a single stab, the attacker finished off the last guard, his blood trickling down from the open wound. No alarms had been raised, no eyewitnesses left alive. Moments later, the warehouse was lit ablaze, the various weapons and illegal goods in it burned to ashes. When the police would arrive hours later, they found only ruins and embers.

Yet in the meantime, similar events occured in various suburban and rural facilities around Minsk. If there had been survivors, they would have recounted a shadowy man in a gigantic, almost robotic suit entering the houses, opening fire on sight and slaughtering the guards without mercy. Every time, without alarms raised. Many tried to escape the wrath of this interloper, praying to whichever god their rotten hearts believed to bring the salvation. Yet all met their ends, crushed by a steelclad boot, shot down by a special forces standard issue bullet or sliced apart by a kukri. In total, ten warehouses and garages were torched that night, all belonging to the same crime syndicate. Police units responded to calls all around the night, yet every time they arrived to the scene to find a burned husk of a building, half a dozen corpses and not much else.

Yet Boris was not yet satisfied. There was one more target left on his list, one far more personal to him. He consulted a map of the city given to him by Felka back in the Zone and got his bearings. Upon discovering the location of Harkusha's mansion, Boris set off with two more hours until dawn. He knew that once most people woke up, he would need to have hidden his suit and weapons to avoid being cut down by the Militsiya, but two hours was plenty enough. He travelled through less populated areas, sneaking through yards, crouching behind vehicles and avoiding streetlights. At times he had to stop and wait for a pedestrian or a driver to pass, often times the pedestrians being quite inebriated. Yet with every street, every yard and every city block, the stalker got closer to his target. After roughly an hour, Boris stood outside the gate of his most hated enemy.

Taking a moment to check his gear, Boris observed the place out while methodically checking his weapons. While it was a grand and luxurious estate, its location within the city limits made it far less of a gigant than some other mansions around the world. Still, it had a considerable green yard in front of it, with neatly trimmed and maintained bushes, trees and flowers. There was a large stone path leading up to the front door, and the house itself was a two-story building with large windows and a marble-coloured finish. Boris did not spot anyone at the windows, but after a moment of consideration decided to take the back route. Better safe than sorry, he thought to himself. Circling around to the back street, the Redemption leader used the strength of his exoskeleton to bend a man-sized hole into the iron bar fence. Thankfully, neither the exo nor the fence had made too much of a noise during the ordeal.

Boris slipped through into the yard, covered partially by hedgemaze spread artistically on the backyard. He didn't have time to look for the optimal route, so Boris simply broke through the hedges and made it near the end of the maze. Taking Dima's Val rifle out, he shot two rounds at two separate surveillance cameras, hoping to cause a blackout. The cameras fizzled out, seemingly broken. Boris seized the moment and made it to the door, checking it for any sort of alarm system. When he found no visible system, Boris crossed his fingers and used the exoskeleton to force the door open. The sound would alert anyone within earshot, but in such a big house he may have been able to get away with it undetected. Raising the Val to eye level, Boris began creeping up the hallways. It was a very decorative place, with expensive oriental rugs on the floor, beautiful baroque furniture and vivid sculptures and paintings near or on the walls.

"Luxury doesn't buy you safety.", Boris muttered to himself, switching his rifle to full-auto.

He heard steps coming from up ahead and hid behind a particularly statue. His senses had been honed by long years in the Zone, while whoever was approaching did not benefit from such experience. A man in a black pants and white shirt was approaching, mumbling something in an angry voice about faulty tech. There was a visible pistol pouch on his belt and a patch of Harkusha's syndicate on his arm. Boris waited him to get next to him, and he could see the man recognize his presence millisecond before Boris' kukri sunk into the man's throat.

Boris pulled him into cover, cursing the visible bloodstain on the floor, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He rushed onwards, hoping for the element of surprise to still remain. Muted chatter could be heard from one of the rooms in the end of the corridor, and Boris looked through the slightly ajar doorframe. Two guards with similar attire sat in front of monitors, where security camera footage was displayed. Two boxes on the screen were black, yet the guards seemed to be not on alert. Boris' Val rose to position, and its muffled barks finished the conversation for the two men.

Boris checked the footage on the screens now that only two bleeding corpses inhabited the room. Two more guards seemed to patrol the corridors, while Harkusha himself was still asleep in his room. Everything important now remained on the second floor, and Boris could feel an odd sense of resolve in the moment. This was it, the end awaited. With every step he took up the staircase, Boris tensed up, knowing that it was about time to finally sever the threat to his family. His Val swayed from side to side as he prepared for the remaining guards to spring an ambush, but to his surprise, nothing happened and the stalker made it up the stairs in no time.

"This really isn't the Zone. Can't get too complacent, but still, these people aren't used to constant danger... And it shows.", Boris thought to himself as he prepared to attack the last hurdle.

One of the guards was approaching, and Boris leaned from cover behind the stairway wall to shoot a burst at him. While the man was wearing a body armour, the heavy-duty special operations bullets struck it like it was made of wet paper. The noise of his corpse hitting the floor alerted the other guard, who came running. Boris executed a spin to catch him as well, hearing the footsteps of the man, but was a bit too slow. The Kedr submachine carried by the guard spat almost its entire magazine into Boris' armour, and the bullet rain spattered onto it, leaving quite the collection of bruises underneath. Still, a Kedr alone was not going to stop the Absolver suit, and as the man watched in horror, Boris raised his Val in reply. The guard fired the rest of his small magazine but it was in vain, as Boris' rifle spat in return. The lead-core bullet caved his chest in, and the guard fell to the floor, life leaving his eyes.

Harkusha had heard this, Boris was certain of it, and not to give the man any chances, he barreled down the hallway and smashed in the door that he suspected to lead into his enemy's room. The deafening sound of splintering and bent wood crashing out of his way was joined by a sharp bang from a revolver. And this time, Boris felt pain in his side. It burst out like a flower of agony, and in its wake three sharp thuds struck his battleplate. Three more craters had appeared on the front of his suit, and one more hole lay in his side.

"Injecting blood coagulant. Administering painkillers.", the robotic voice coming from his suit informed him.

"What the hell are you even?", Harkusha asked, and with his concentration regained as the painkillers took effect, Boris now observed the room quickly.

Harkusha was behind his bed, an old man in his 60s or 70s with a shaven grey hair, short stubble and noticeable scar on his left eyebrow. He was the typical Slavic man in retirement age, with a beer belly and face made with an axe from a block of concrete. Without knowing his profession, he could've gone for the average construction worker or truck driver. Yet his robe and the MP-340 revolver Harkusha was holding betrayed his wealth. One does not become the biggest crime lord in Minsk without it showing through one's personal items eventually. Boris saw a look of horror on the man's face, who was now staring at the Absolver in utter shock.

"You had probably forgotten about me. Years ago, your little svoloch of a son killed my fiance. I took my revenge, yet you drove me out of the city.", Boris answered the man's question.

"Karnitsky? Pizdec, should've sent my actually good men after you.", Harkusha cursed.

"Indeed. I went into the Zone. You would have never heard of me again, most likely, unless that Serbin motherfucker hadn't contracted you to kill my folks.", Boris replied.

"Who is Serbin? I've not taken any contracts like that, I'm the biggest crime lord in Minsk for fuck's sake, not some small time mercenary!", Harkusha shouted.

"Curious, you claim to not know him then? Either way, can't leave loose ends.", Boris said and raised his Val.

"I hope you rot in hell, Karnitsky, for the death of my son.", Harkusha said and raised his revolver as well.

"We'll all see each other there one of these days. Now, shut the fuck up.", Boris ordered and fired his gun.

Harkusha had tried to hit him in the weakspot again, this time at the throat, but his bullet merely struck the MASKA and disoriented Boris. Boris' reply burst struck the unarmoured man and sent him back. The corpse crashed into the wall behind him, blood spurting on it in a gruesome repainting of the room. When the echo of the shots rang out, Boris could feel the blur of the hit on his helmet wear out. It was over. He had done what he needed, not for revenge. Whether it had actually saved his parents or not, mattered little. The past was buried once more, and Boris could only hope that this time, it would be permanent.

Half an hour later the mansion was torched, the hungry flames engulfing it and the victims of Boris' nightly rampage. As the first police and fire department cars began to arrive, Boris observed them from afar. The rain tried to hold back the flames, but as before, Boris had helped the latter with gasoline and it would require far more to put in out. When the roar of the inferno joined the sirens in a cacophonous choir, Boris slipped into the darkness. There was one more thing left to do in Minsk, but for that, he would not need his gear at all. The leader of Redemption dissolved into the night, a burden lifted from his heart. Boris Karnitsky was no more, only Boris Unforgiven remained.