Bit of a catch-up time, for those not on track with my adventures. Last I wrote, I had met a Pirate named Mink and escaped an ambush by the Peacekeepers thanks to his help. We agreed to travel together as Mink was looking for a new faction to join, one I would most likely write another entry on. At the Final Frontier camp, one of One-Eye's men in the famous Trailblazer exoskeleton agreed to take us to the neutral zone nearby. Final Destination was its name, something which sounded quite ominous, but our guide, Lightfoot, explained that it was the name of the local bar run by Bravehearts. We agreed to leave in an hour, which me and Mink spent by buying gear from the local trader, Goldtooth. The man did not actually have a golden tooth, but what he did have was various highly expensive but good quality helmets. I bought the Cazador helmet to replace my shitty respirator, it was an interesting combination of a improved respirator and military helmet.

Mink simply got ballistic glasses and an ammunition belt, which I remarked to make him look like a cheap Rambo knockoff. Mink commented that he was more of a Terminator kind of guy, which caused Goldtooth to remark that the mercenary wasn't a bad example to take inspiration from. I and Mink shared a confused glance as to what merc the man was rambling about, but as the trader turned towards his stock, it seemed no more answers were forthcoming. We left, bought some more food from Runt and then met Lightfoot at the village's outskirts.

He waved at us to follow, and we started trekking northwards. For a long time, only sound that accompanied our entourage was the thumping of boots and the occasional howl of mutants. We ran into a single flesh, but it was scared by our presence and escaped into the nearby river bank, disappearing into the rotten reeds. Not long after, Flytrap, one of the local anomalies, could be heard triggering, and the screaming of the flesh telegraphed the situation to us.

"Poor piglet, I heard they can sense anomalies but Flytraps are very hard to spot even with detectors.", Lightfoot noted.

"Well, one less monstrosity in the world.", Mink said.

"One billion left to go in the Zone, by the looks.", I commented as well.

"Weird how we have so many factions solely focused on mutant culling yet they just keep coming.", Mink pondered out loud.

"The Zone replies to our presence like a living organism. Mutants are like white cells fighting the virus, which is us. And besides, there are still running labs churning out those abominations.", Lightfoot answered Mink's question.

"There are? I thought they were all abandoned.", I asked, intrigued by the guide's knowledge.

"Yeah, Bravehearts just helped some new faction of journalists, historians and other academic eggheads discover one. I think it was called X-11. The raid was an utter failure though, with the squads from both factions killed by the guards. I think the lab is somewhere near Depression, some Digger guy tipped them off.", Lightfoot explained.

"Seriously? I think I know the place, we were ambushed by these black-clad, pox-infested fuckers in Depression. Damn near lost my life there, many others did.", I said.

"Sounds depressing. Uh, sorry, that was unintentional. But yeah, sounds about right. Better stick clear of the place, until we can get big enough force to smoke them out. If they can kill a group of Bravehearts, they're serious business.", Lightfoot shrugged.

"How so? What's so special about them?", Mink questioned before I could ask more about the lab.

"They're probably the strongest bunch of free stalkers there is. They're almost exclusively either master stalkers or ex-military, with some mercs or former Monolith guys in their ranks. You know how back in the day defecting Speznaz or military stalkers would join Duty? Well, these days it's Bravehearts. They've got a reputation of being the meanest sons of bitches of the New Zone, and only legends like Interception, Applied Science Division or Monolith Inquisition really hold a candle to them in a fair fight."

"A-ha. And what is that they do with all that skill?", I queried in turn, and Lightfoot laughed as he saw me take out the journal.

"You're better off questioning them later, if they allow you to. Still, they're essentially the local loner defence force as well as the ones you hire when you don't want mercs to potentially stab you in the back. Unlike Guard, who are pretty static defenders of camps, Bravehearts take the fight to the enemy, infiltrating military camps or commando-raiding Monolith outposts. They're not many in numbers but when they strike targets, it's either too late for the enemy to notice or the most spectacular shit ever. I once saw one of their exo lads attack a bandit village alone, and the gopniks laughed until they saw him carrying an AGS-17, firing it from the hip.", Lightfoot chuckled.

"Bullshit, you're lying.", Mink retorted.

"May the Zone take-", he started, when a bullet whizzed past us.

I had been so mesmerized by the conversation that I had not realized the passage of time. We had walked for roughly an hour, and had arrived to a birch forest. There was barely any cover, and as we scrambled back into combat readiness, I saw a flash of bright crimson up ahead. A figure in black leather coat, with red sleeves and chest area and Adidas track suit, darted from behind one tree to another. A massive bang erupted from up ahead, and a thick cloud of white smoke spread from behind another tree as a bullet struck the birch bark next to me. I leaped into cover, when Lightfoot cursed somewhere behind me. Some type of submachine gun let out a staccato burst at us, and Lightfoot's armour was hit. Final Frontier seemed to focus more on mobility than armour in their exos, as he yelped in pain and blood trickled down from his hand.

The rhytmic barks of Mink's machine gun retaliated, and the man behind the birch tree fell down, three holes in his chest. I tried to see the others, when another mighty roar echoed from up ahead, followed by white cloud of smoke and a bullet hitting my armour. I stumbled back, fighting back the pain, which was quite honestly the worst I had experienced in a while. Lightfoot caught me with his undamaged arm and I managed to get back to some form of stability. Mink claimed another victim, this time a man in dirty black trenchcoat with red hood. The last ambusher ran, but despite my pain, I managed to snap a burst into his back. He fell down, face first into the forest grass, and moved no more.

"Scum.", Lightfoot managed to breathe.

"Who were they?", I managed, just as painstakingly as our guide, to say.

"I just said it. They were Scum, fucking lowliest of the low of bandits. Drug dealers, mostly, hooking rookies on bad stuff and then mugging them or worse. It's surprising to see them this far into the Zone. And before you ask, you'll have to wait until I heal my arm until I'll help you write a chapter on them, blyat.", Lightfoot laughed, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"I'm not that selfish. Here, take a stimpack as proof.", I defended myself and handed the man my last stimpack.

"Can't you loners aim or what? Do the bandits have to do all the work here?", Mink joined the conversation in a mocking tone.

"Bandits sure do like shooting other bandits, don't they?", Lightfoot quipped back, looking at me, and I smirked at Mink.

"Fuck off, cranberry.", Mink retorted, looking at our guide's red armour.

"Beats being turd coloured.", the man replied.

"Alright children, how about we continue our journey? Or do you want more Scum to show up while we bicker?", I commented.

Before any of said a further word, Lightfoot's long-range radio crackled to life. A female voice urged all free stalkers hearing it to head to Final Destination, as the settlement was under siege by hostile forces. Our group shared a quick look, and it confirmed our shared thought. It was time to make haste. If Bravehearts were calling for aid, it was truly not a prank call.