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February 27th, 2021
Today would be the day in which we would finally leave this desert, the Watcher's Bunker, the ruins of 626's fortress, and the remains of the Hive marking the downfall of this region's prospects of ever being inhabited again. Everyone here had their piece of the pie and left it, the Worksite 14 survivors, the Overwatch Forces, the Xenians, and the Trader to boot. The only person who will be inheriting the leftovers is the Watcher, the sole governor of this barren stretch and as for my friend the Stranger? Well, even after my journey with him I could still not decipher his motives. Much like this place he had his own history with it and like myself tried to make sense of it in our own ways, mine with a pen and his way with a gun. In actuality I found myself gravitating towards the latter despite only three months ago vowing to never carry the former again. I only wanted to document history as a partly impartial observer, though that rarely paints the full picture.
If there were to be an answer to this tale then it would be something along the lines of those who live by the sword dying by the sword. If they do not perish then the blade leaves a mark on them in other ways. The Stranger had a sense of duty to what was and it shined through him, although his illusive skittishness and violent swift reactions built a psychological barrier around him. Death was around every corner, a fact I knew all too well by my own foolishness, and the Stranger had the tell tale mark of the sword. I gather what I witnessed back at the terminal building was only a fraction compared to what that man saw in a lifetime. The one thing we had in common at this point is that we were sick of these cat and mouse games, we will find their hideout and die trying if we must.
Few days ago when the attempt on my life by the Trader's lackey unravelled, only thing the dead scumbag left me was a yellow emergency service van, the type used by the Infestation Control workers for overrun sectors such as this Hive. It was in pretty great condition which told me they it was either abandoned during the Combine's attempts to recapture the city or it was bought from a wealthy supplier, regardless it would be idiotic not to use it. The Stranger and I got ourselves ready to use that very vehicle, pulling up alongside our previous hideout spot outside the main camp. Something was going to happen, most likely the departure, Ramos tipped me off on that at least. It was right on cue too when some vehicles rolled outside the walls, was it who I think it was? We waited for a good while behind that wheel, parked close to a small mound. In my mind everything rested upon this moment as I called out for my 'contact' inside the camp.
Coming from a relatively well to do background I had my doubts that I would ever have to speak Greek again. I originally learned this language to aid my studies abroad in Athens when I had aspirations of becoming an archaeologist. To my disbelief it finally paid off after recognising a week ago that the camp leader Lucas' close associate possessed a Greek accent which gave me the insight I needed. We conversed with my admittedly foggy recollection of her native tongue over radio explaining as much as I could, all the while still remaining cryptic. We had to know where and when these merchants were going to depart or if they had any association with the Trader, who we had come to know as Firouz Shah. Fortunately we had the blessings of the Gods as she knew this was for a good cause, keeping our mission a secret over public airwaves. My belief in the survivors of Worksite 14 had been renewed with just this conversation. Even though the survivors often make brash decisions that costed them allies such as the Watcher, there was still enough decent folk among them that understood the gravity of our quest to bring Shah to justice.
She could not conclusively say for sure that these merchants who were visiting the camp had any affiliation with our mutual adversary although they were soon getting ready to depart. It was very much do or die that our van went into gear as we tried to stop them from getting away. Neither the Stranger nor I wanted anybody intervening after we come so far to get answers in our pursuit outside the camp walls. Our targets whether aware of our ambush or not immediately sped away heading through the Hive. The Stranger and I continued in full throttle, had they known? Whichever way we looked at it, the region was going to be overrun by Combine soon giving anyone very little reason to stay. In that moment of desperation I even sounded the siren to grab their attention, yes, this vehicle in particular did come with such a thing. Yet still despite all this our targets did not stop for one second.
We were now on the open Highway and we were soon losing track after being given the round around by the fleeing merchants. Surely they were more than a match for us but then again, maybe the Stranger's reputation was known far and wide. Just as we were catching up a stray bullet whizzed past, denting in the wing mirror. It was the Trader's men and their own envoy band with a small armada of armored vehicles encroaching behind. So that's why our targets were so desperate to get away? Maybe they just lured us right into their trap. I had the van was swerving side to side as they sent torrents of gunfire after us, they were not taking chances and this time they meant it. Suddenly, it was then that the Stranger unbeknownst to me surged up from his seat using the weapons I broke from the evidence locker returning fire from his side of the vehicle. It bought us a few precious seconds as their gunfire died down, overcome with swift tenacity of the Stanger's willingness to fight back at the first sign of danger. They had no idea what kind of man the passenger I had in the back there was, even going as far as to open the back van doors while vaulting over the seat. I had to keep an eye on the staying on the road 'part', still swerving and driving erratically to avoid further damage to the vehicle.
Somehow the Combine Maintenace Core went out their way to reinforce this particular van, a costly investment for them and a lucky win for us, that is if you call getting shot in a van a win. Of course none of that would matter much if I got shot in the back of the head with the back exit already exposed behind me. The Stranger continued laying down furious fire just as they had us being on the retreat, using almost everything and anything as cover. Be it the already dented doors or the thin wall frame holding the whole vehicle together. We were still outgunned and relying on the merchants ahead to either lead us to another settlement or to their hideout. Who were we kidding? We wanted this, there was no sense having regrets now. Especially not when the gunfire turned to grenades being lobbed. A loud BANG sounded off in the back, I turned to check the Stranger who was fending off the attackers... he was still alive, but he definitely must have been hit by something. I could not stop the vehicle and one of the Trader's cars was pulling alongside mine. Who knew that a small armored van built for carrying cleaning supplies was not going to outdrive a band of smugglers?
The Stranger despite his best efforts, even he could not fight them all off, he was bleeding heavily and I could not take my eyes off the road, but I had to do something. Despite never vowing, the shotgun that I threatened the Watcher with was seized by my own hands, pointing it through my side window towards the rival driver. Another bang, far more subdued but still carrying the force of both barrels. I had no time to see the dirty work or if I actually hit anything, but needless to say one of the vehicles was falling back. It bought the Stranger more time to lay down fire. One of the Trader's vehicles then attempted to overtake at an ill-fated moment as the others launched another grenade to finish off my accomplice and I for good. The third explosion certainly rocked the vehicle making the wheel nigh impossible to control, yet throughout this the Stranger still fought on hard, clinging to the battered metal innards of our speeding coffin. I could soon see up ahead a sign.. 'Atyrau' or City 30 as it was known to some. The fleeing merchants were but a blur ahead but the slavers were hot on our heels, we were within breathing distance of our salvation, then more gunfire came.
To some miraculous intervention the roads ahead were dotted in traps, our pursuers having ran into what might have been the Combine's handiwork or possibly, just possibly the Watcher's. It looked like a hopper mine, obliterating the foremost chaser in our midst, in turn causing a collision with the other vehicles. The rapid onslaught of lead and bombs died out to pot shots, they were pulling back? I kept driving regardless, driving and driving until City 30, our 'salvation' was in view. Never had I been relieved to see another city in my life. It seemed as if for a small van we had caused more than enough trouble for them to deem the chase worth it. Those merchants would be there and I would be able to finally get my answers, if not, it was the nearest destination the survivors would flee to next. We knew the man responsible, we just had to know where they were hiding. After a few minutes I turned to check on the Stranger only to find... nothing? In the back there had been a scattering of casings and even some perforation through the thick metal, yet the Stranger was no where to be found. Only blood smears, did he fall out the back?
I was reaching the end of the road, the end of the road of my journey. One thing was for certain, much like the Watcher his path diverged from my own. If I learned anything, sometimes you do not get the answers, nor the ones you are looking for, the only question is what will it cost you? The Stranger was his own enigma like the Watcher, and the Trader, Hell even to some extent Ramos. You go through one rabbit hole and there's ten more waiting for you at the end. He had his own reasons for fighting and I had mine, sometimes that was enough. When the rubber hit the road literally, I had put down the pedal while he fought them all off, buying me time to reach the City. It was not the original plan but it was there at City 30 I would find my own answers, or die trying. I never even got to know the man's name nor his rank. He did not ask for pay, he did not even ask for any favours or recognition. I failed in my duty as a historian to properly document the man, but then again I would be failing in my duty as a human being if I gave up now.
The Stranger once again had left me with likely more questions than answers, with nothing more than a small pool of blood to show for it. Had I been the one responsible in his demise or did he still live, fighting on? I just hope someday the Stranger and I will meet again in far better circumstances.
Today would be the day in which we would finally leave this desert, the Watcher's Bunker, the ruins of 626's fortress, and the remains of the Hive marking the downfall of this region's prospects of ever being inhabited again. Everyone here had their piece of the pie and left it, the Worksite 14 survivors, the Overwatch Forces, the Xenians, and the Trader to boot. The only person who will be inheriting the leftovers is the Watcher, the sole governor of this barren stretch and as for my friend the Stranger? Well, even after my journey with him I could still not decipher his motives. Much like this place he had his own history with it and like myself tried to make sense of it in our own ways, mine with a pen and his way with a gun. In actuality I found myself gravitating towards the latter despite only three months ago vowing to never carry the former again. I only wanted to document history as a partly impartial observer, though that rarely paints the full picture.
If there were to be an answer to this tale then it would be something along the lines of those who live by the sword dying by the sword. If they do not perish then the blade leaves a mark on them in other ways. The Stranger had a sense of duty to what was and it shined through him, although his illusive skittishness and violent swift reactions built a psychological barrier around him. Death was around every corner, a fact I knew all too well by my own foolishness, and the Stranger had the tell tale mark of the sword. I gather what I witnessed back at the terminal building was only a fraction compared to what that man saw in a lifetime. The one thing we had in common at this point is that we were sick of these cat and mouse games, we will find their hideout and die trying if we must.
Few days ago when the attempt on my life by the Trader's lackey unravelled, only thing the dead scumbag left me was a yellow emergency service van, the type used by the Infestation Control workers for overrun sectors such as this Hive. It was in pretty great condition which told me they it was either abandoned during the Combine's attempts to recapture the city or it was bought from a wealthy supplier, regardless it would be idiotic not to use it. The Stranger and I got ourselves ready to use that very vehicle, pulling up alongside our previous hideout spot outside the main camp. Something was going to happen, most likely the departure, Ramos tipped me off on that at least. It was right on cue too when some vehicles rolled outside the walls, was it who I think it was? We waited for a good while behind that wheel, parked close to a small mound. In my mind everything rested upon this moment as I called out for my 'contact' inside the camp.
Coming from a relatively well to do background I had my doubts that I would ever have to speak Greek again. I originally learned this language to aid my studies abroad in Athens when I had aspirations of becoming an archaeologist. To my disbelief it finally paid off after recognising a week ago that the camp leader Lucas' close associate possessed a Greek accent which gave me the insight I needed. We conversed with my admittedly foggy recollection of her native tongue over radio explaining as much as I could, all the while still remaining cryptic. We had to know where and when these merchants were going to depart or if they had any association with the Trader, who we had come to know as Firouz Shah. Fortunately we had the blessings of the Gods as she knew this was for a good cause, keeping our mission a secret over public airwaves. My belief in the survivors of Worksite 14 had been renewed with just this conversation. Even though the survivors often make brash decisions that costed them allies such as the Watcher, there was still enough decent folk among them that understood the gravity of our quest to bring Shah to justice.
She could not conclusively say for sure that these merchants who were visiting the camp had any affiliation with our mutual adversary although they were soon getting ready to depart. It was very much do or die that our van went into gear as we tried to stop them from getting away. Neither the Stranger nor I wanted anybody intervening after we come so far to get answers in our pursuit outside the camp walls. Our targets whether aware of our ambush or not immediately sped away heading through the Hive. The Stranger and I continued in full throttle, had they known? Whichever way we looked at it, the region was going to be overrun by Combine soon giving anyone very little reason to stay. In that moment of desperation I even sounded the siren to grab their attention, yes, this vehicle in particular did come with such a thing. Yet still despite all this our targets did not stop for one second.
We were now on the open Highway and we were soon losing track after being given the round around by the fleeing merchants. Surely they were more than a match for us but then again, maybe the Stranger's reputation was known far and wide. Just as we were catching up a stray bullet whizzed past, denting in the wing mirror. It was the Trader's men and their own envoy band with a small armada of armored vehicles encroaching behind. So that's why our targets were so desperate to get away? Maybe they just lured us right into their trap. I had the van was swerving side to side as they sent torrents of gunfire after us, they were not taking chances and this time they meant it. Suddenly, it was then that the Stranger unbeknownst to me surged up from his seat using the weapons I broke from the evidence locker returning fire from his side of the vehicle. It bought us a few precious seconds as their gunfire died down, overcome with swift tenacity of the Stanger's willingness to fight back at the first sign of danger. They had no idea what kind of man the passenger I had in the back there was, even going as far as to open the back van doors while vaulting over the seat. I had to keep an eye on the staying on the road 'part', still swerving and driving erratically to avoid further damage to the vehicle.
Somehow the Combine Maintenace Core went out their way to reinforce this particular van, a costly investment for them and a lucky win for us, that is if you call getting shot in a van a win. Of course none of that would matter much if I got shot in the back of the head with the back exit already exposed behind me. The Stranger continued laying down furious fire just as they had us being on the retreat, using almost everything and anything as cover. Be it the already dented doors or the thin wall frame holding the whole vehicle together. We were still outgunned and relying on the merchants ahead to either lead us to another settlement or to their hideout. Who were we kidding? We wanted this, there was no sense having regrets now. Especially not when the gunfire turned to grenades being lobbed. A loud BANG sounded off in the back, I turned to check the Stranger who was fending off the attackers... he was still alive, but he definitely must have been hit by something. I could not stop the vehicle and one of the Trader's cars was pulling alongside mine. Who knew that a small armored van built for carrying cleaning supplies was not going to outdrive a band of smugglers?
The Stranger despite his best efforts, even he could not fight them all off, he was bleeding heavily and I could not take my eyes off the road, but I had to do something. Despite never vowing, the shotgun that I threatened the Watcher with was seized by my own hands, pointing it through my side window towards the rival driver. Another bang, far more subdued but still carrying the force of both barrels. I had no time to see the dirty work or if I actually hit anything, but needless to say one of the vehicles was falling back. It bought the Stranger more time to lay down fire. One of the Trader's vehicles then attempted to overtake at an ill-fated moment as the others launched another grenade to finish off my accomplice and I for good. The third explosion certainly rocked the vehicle making the wheel nigh impossible to control, yet throughout this the Stranger still fought on hard, clinging to the battered metal innards of our speeding coffin. I could soon see up ahead a sign.. 'Atyrau' or City 30 as it was known to some. The fleeing merchants were but a blur ahead but the slavers were hot on our heels, we were within breathing distance of our salvation, then more gunfire came.
To some miraculous intervention the roads ahead were dotted in traps, our pursuers having ran into what might have been the Combine's handiwork or possibly, just possibly the Watcher's. It looked like a hopper mine, obliterating the foremost chaser in our midst, in turn causing a collision with the other vehicles. The rapid onslaught of lead and bombs died out to pot shots, they were pulling back? I kept driving regardless, driving and driving until City 30, our 'salvation' was in view. Never had I been relieved to see another city in my life. It seemed as if for a small van we had caused more than enough trouble for them to deem the chase worth it. Those merchants would be there and I would be able to finally get my answers, if not, it was the nearest destination the survivors would flee to next. We knew the man responsible, we just had to know where they were hiding. After a few minutes I turned to check on the Stranger only to find... nothing? In the back there had been a scattering of casings and even some perforation through the thick metal, yet the Stranger was no where to be found. Only blood smears, did he fall out the back?
I was reaching the end of the road, the end of the road of my journey. One thing was for certain, much like the Watcher his path diverged from my own. If I learned anything, sometimes you do not get the answers, nor the ones you are looking for, the only question is what will it cost you? The Stranger was his own enigma like the Watcher, and the Trader, Hell even to some extent Ramos. You go through one rabbit hole and there's ten more waiting for you at the end. He had his own reasons for fighting and I had mine, sometimes that was enough. When the rubber hit the road literally, I had put down the pedal while he fought them all off, buying me time to reach the City. It was not the original plan but it was there at City 30 I would find my own answers, or die trying. I never even got to know the man's name nor his rank. He did not ask for pay, he did not even ask for any favours or recognition. I failed in my duty as a historian to properly document the man, but then again I would be failing in my duty as a human being if I gave up now.
The Stranger once again had left me with likely more questions than answers, with nothing more than a small pool of blood to show for it. Had I been the one responsible in his demise or did he still live, fighting on? I just hope someday the Stranger and I will meet again in far better circumstances.
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