Upon surviving the Scum ambush, we reloaded our weapons and patched up Lightfoot's wounds. While Mink was helping the man, I checked the corpses for valuables. Their outfits were interesting, stale red tracksuits and leather jackets. Somebody had made space in the jackets to fit small pieces of armour, which probably would not stop bullets but could help with shotgun pellets fired from far away. They had typical bandit weapons, AKs without stocks and sawn-off shotguns, for easy concealment, but what caught my eye was a musket, an actual old musket on one of them. I realized now that the smoke-billowing, loud gun had been this, but it nonetheless made me wonder why these men would carry such antique pieces.

I took it with me to the two men, and Lightfoot looked at it with confusion. Mink, on the other hand, seemed unfazed.

"Yeah, low-ranking bandits have those on rare occasions. Thing is, in a fight that is going to cause a big commotion, more so than other guns, and if you're working on primal instincts, you may aim for the guy making the most noise and smoke.", Mink explained.

"So they're literally given these as bait? Where do they even get these?", Lightfoot asked, and under his helmet lenses I saw two wide-open eyes.

"The bandit technicians, Spades, who are responsible for most of the shitty gun modifications and homemade bastard guns, make those. I wouldn't fire it, personally.", Mink scoffed.

I nodded, looking at the crude work. Still, the ruthlessness of handing your rookies a weapon with the intention that it will make them a bigger target than you made me feel very uncomfortable. I made a mental note to not get captured by these Scum bandits. Once Lightfoot was back on his feet, we continued through the birch forest, arriving to a railroad track after a short walk. In the distance, I could see a loading crane and a blocky building covered in vines. Lightfoot raised his hand to point at a clearing in the woods. There, nestled between the white-barked trees, I spotted a small camp. An old brown train wagon protected by wooden barriers. Concrete blocks and even a large metal garbage bin had been arranged in front of the camp to provide cover, and floodlight covered every inch of ground ahead. There was a rusted water tower behind the camp, and crosses of those fallen years ago.

But most striking were the men manning the camp. Their uniforms were a combination of green and black, made up of leather and synthetic materials. Some among them had vest similar to those found in Skat suits that the military used. They waved at us with no hesitation, seemingly having spotted and identified us even before we saw them. I could see them eye up Mink with resentment, however, which did not make me feel particularly brave.

"Lightfoot, wasn't it? Welcome to Final Destination.", the leading man said, dressed in those Skat-vest suits.

"Thank you. And unless I'm not mistaken, you're Kirov, right?", Lightfoot replied, getting a nod in return.

"I presume you got our call for aid? The bar is up ahead, but there is a pack of dogs heading this way that needs to be dealt with first. And I mean a big pack, our scout reports at least twelve blind ones and two black ones, so take cover and prepare yourselves.", Kirov ordered, and something about his tone made it natural for us to follow.

There were four of the Bravehearts standing guard, and they had fixed weapons on the concrete barriers around the camp. I saw multiple Czech weapons, a vz.57 machine gun and vz.58 assault rifles of various styles, from old plain wood ones to modernized ones. That was about all I could get to observe, as loud barks and howling closed in from the front. One of the black-fur dogs rushed into the clearing first, foaming at the mouth and gnashing its teeth at us. One of the old vz.24 rifles used by the Braveheart sniper barked back, and the creature's skull was shattered. Other mutants barreled into the clearing however, and the horde assaulted our barricade like a storm of claws, fangs and primal hunting instincts.

Now, I could once again embellish the story and say I did a lot to kill those dogs, but the truth is that the Bravehearts absolutely crushed those mutts. In a concentrated salvo of machine gun fire backed by accurate bursts from the rifles, the mongrels were cut down before even one reached the barricades. I had seen stalkers fight before, and the average stalker is not much of a shot, but these guys had the precision of a sniper even when firing multiple shots in a row. I had managed to get one burst off by the time the creatures lay dead on the forest floor, their blood soaking into the damp ground. Lightfoot grunted in approval, raising his smoking guns.

"That's them done, but the bar needs our help. At arms, gentlemen, we have a battle to win.", Kirov directed them, and set off into a combat jog before the last corpse had even stopped twitching.

Me and my boys followed, but I was struggling to keep up. I'm in not the worst shape but still, these guys kept up a fearsome pace and clearly had some sort of body-cooling artifacts that made their stride faster and less tiring than ours, since the terrain was far from ideal. Mink was not doing too hot either, only Lightfoot really kept a steady sprint with the Bravehearts and he was in an exoskeleton after all, so he was most likely not even sweating. Only when bullets began raking the forest around us did me and Mink catch up to them. The birches took a beating from various small-calibre guns and shotguns, but thankfully whoever was shooting had panicked.

"Scum, up ahead! Stalkers, cover us, we'll deal with them!", Kirov shouted over the gunfire.

I began shooting short, quick bursts into where I expected the enemy to be. There were some large shipping containers where the forest ended, hiding under the shadow of a massive loading crane, and I thought I could see muzzle flashes there. Mink's North Korean machine gun joined in, and we kept the defenders' guns silent for a moment. I saw the Bravehearts attack while ducking and weaving between the trees, never stopping for more than a few seconds. They moved like a well-oiled machine, when one stopped, others advanced, and whenever their guns roared, it was likely one of the Scum bandits would fall.

"They're making us look like jokes.", I complained to Mink, but he missed it completely as a burst struck the underbrush around us.

I hastily replied with my Colt, but all I could see were some sparks flying off from where I had seemingly shot at. Yet my poor marksmanship mattered little, as the Bravehearts now went for a final charge. Leaving behind their slow advance, I saw the men rush forward at full speed, guns firing as they ran. Grenades flew from the rearmost stalkers, and before the explosions began, the Bravehearts made it into the shelter of the crane. I saw three large flashes and the ground shook from the explosions. Dust and smoke was kicked up to obscure our view to a large extent, but the occasional muzzle flash and cry of pain told us that our allies were still advancing.

"Let's move, we're no use sitting back here.", Lightfoot ordered, and rose from his cover to our left.

We marched rapidly to the crane now that the Scum resistance had crumbled, and saw our enemies in full retreat. One man in crude exoskeleton and scarlet red hood fired at us with an AK that seemingly had an extended barrel, and we had to take cover behind a crate. The camp was a collection of multiple brown containers, a small campfire and some chairs, between them the ground was littered with empty bottles and garbage. The lone exo guy seemed to be the last survivor, rest of the Scum group scattered around the camp with blood puddles under them. Some were now running far in the distance.

I snapped a few shots towards the Scum leader's hiding spot, but he replied in turn before I could land a proper shot. His AK rounds drummed on our container's edge but failed to penetrate, and I could hear him curse us. His final curse changed midway into a gargling sound, and I rounded the corner to see a stalker, dressed in mere rags, shanking him. The bandit's lifeless body dropped to the ground, and the lone stalker picked the rifle with trembling hands. We stepped out of cover, guns held high, and Lightfoot ordered the man to stand down.

"Please, don't shoot! I'm just a regular stalker, these fuckers have kept me prisoner for weeks now.", the rag-wearer pleaded.

"Prisoner?", Mink asked.

"Yes, me and three others. They've been making drugs here for a while, and given how volatile work parts of the process is, they use slave workers to do those parts. The others died in a chemical leak when the containers were sealed so we couldn't escape, I was sick that day and thus survived.", he explained.

"Scum uses slaves now? Good God, I knew they were horrible, but to this extent?", Mink exclaimed.

"Don't worry lad, you're in good hands now.", Kirov said as he stepped into the encampment.

"We finished off the last survivors. This was just a minor outpost, and not really our main target, but at least this poor soul is free. What's your name, stalker?", Kirov continued.

"Golem. I was looking to visit Final Destination when these bastards jumped me and stripped me off my gear. They had this sort of artifact attached to our skin, it's an Itcher. Apparently, one of their bosses had a bigger variant, which he could activate somehow and cause these smaller ones to produce immeasurable pain.", Golem replied.

"It gets better and better.", I sighed.

"So they produce their drugs in the Zone? I always thought they were smuggled in. The bastards.", Mink cursed.

The conversation was cut off by a radio message crackling inside Kirov's helmet.

"Kirov reporting.", the Braveheart commander responded.

I could hear faint talking, and then the transmission cut off. Kirov turned to us and relayed the message. The bar was under attack by Chaos forces, assisted by some other elements of Scum bandits. None of us knew who Chaos were, but for the moment it was more important to stop them from destroying the only local safe haven. Kirov gathered his men and prepared to strike the enemy's rear, but Lightfoot was instead ordered to take us to the bar to shore up defences and make sure Golem would get medical attention. I was still processing everything that had happened in the last hour or so, but I was given no respite as we immediately set off towards the bar. While I did not know it then, I would take part in one of the largets battles of the rekindled faction wars, and this one would see the destruction of one of the new factions in its entirety.