Many years ago, there was a great war. The war had those on both sides scrambling to make scientific progress, to gain a leg up on the opposition. Eventually, the war ended, as all wars must, and the rapid advancement of science and technology slowed. The facilities were still in place, and there were still those of a curious and learned disposition, that craved the understanding that comes with progress and advancement. But there was less funding being poured into specific areas, and so the research had slowed, which in turn led to a slowing of results, used to further justify a slowing of funding. A vicious cycle of slowing gains and returns. In one last ditch effort, one of the research stations directed all their resources and efforts towards a line of research that had been put down at the end of the war. Something big, that would be certain to secure funding for years and years to come.
With the hurried nature of the research, proper precautions were not taken. Due care was not given to failsafes, nor to proper equipment to shield those working on it from hazards. Inevitably, there was an incident. And another. And another. Until eventually, all the little incidents and accidents led to one catastrophic incident. The entirety of the research station was leveled, all the scientists killed, or worse, and the surrounding 100 square km was rendered uninhabitable. Inhospitable to life, for half a century at minimum. Once it had been deemed 'safe', at least for excursion into, the true extent of the calamity that had occurred started to reveal itself.
Scattered throughout the entire zone, dotted here and there amidst the wreckage and destruction of the labs and homes, the farms... little pockets of anomalous activity. Gravity wells, whirlwinds, fountains of flame, and others yet more dangerous and fantastical. Those that saw could hardly believe their eyes, and those that didn't almost refused to believe. The local fauna and flora began to mutate as well, affected by the explosion and release of the strange energies during the initial criticality event. The entire area was written off by the government, cordoned off and signposted. Entry forbidden, no access allowed, hazardous, no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here.
But of course, where there is a restricted area, particularly one that has things inside that some would find valuable, there are those that violate that restriction. The smell of money to be made, or the call of adventure. The two main motivators for such salvagers. But, in addition to the expected salvage that was found, they found something else. Strange objects that carried strange properties, items that seemed to exhibit behaviors akin to the pockets of anomalous activity. Bolts that always returned to the hand when thrown, stones that seemingly made gear weigh less, flowers whose mere presence helped to dull pain and grant restful sleep. These objects, when the nature of them was discovered, commanded a high value. The practical applications of them within the Restricted Zone were obvious to those that trekked and salvaged it, but the potential uses for those outside... that was where the real value was. Soon, these became the main draw for these intrepid individuals, worth more than the salvage itself as they were, though more sparse to find.
But then the first of the Aftershocks occurred. Many of those who had come to pick over the bones of what was were killed, though the majority were spared, either by happenstance of just... not being in the Zone, or having been in a reinforced structure that was able to either block or blunt the effects of the pulse wave. There were also those that were not so lucky to be protected, and not even lucky enough to just die outright. They were changed, affected by the energy, mutated like the wildlife.
Outposts, depots, stations... even small shanty towns began to crop up across the area, of those who were left, and those who would come after. The Zone almost became its own little nation, albeit an illegal one. As far as the government was concerned, it wasn't fit for anyone to live in, and with how bad things were, and the risks of something being brought back, travel into it was too risky for anyone not adequately trained, prepared and certified. Though, it stopped no one, of course.
There's a bunker, firmly planted within the Zone, but in a sector on the outskirts, where it's considered to be relatively safer than the rest. It is here where this tale of tragedy, sacrifice and woe begins.
II
Four men are gathered around a table in a room prepared to be an operations center, all of them looking at a map, making occasional remarks and pointing to areas on it. The four are short of stature, all sharing in common a long, thin pink tail, and large, rat-like ears. Two of them have grey hair, one white, and one black, though his hair has a patch of bald along the right of his head, through which a shock of white runs. The quartet are having a mildly heated discussion, talking about choosing a location. With the tactical survival gear they're wearing, it's a safe assumption they mean to look for salvage, and artifacts.
After a short while of this, another man enters, with the same sort of ears and tail. He towers over the others, and is easily half again as broad as any of the others, if not twice as much. His hair is black as night, shaggy, and hangs into his eyes, keeping them covered. He has to turn to enter the room, if only slightly.
"Gear's organized, cleaned and ready, captain. We go when you say, boss." When he speaks, his voice is deep and bassy, carrying the same weight he does. The white haired rat looks up from the map at the man and gives him a nod. The others pay his entrance no mind, still looking over the map, making their arguments and cases for location. The one who actually looked up at him raises a hand and waves him over.
"Good work. Maksym, come over. Everyone but you has had their say in this, why don't you weigh in?" The large rat, Maksym, makes his way over to the table, looking over the map. He hums, thinking, looking over the marked locations.
"Which one did you say, boss?" He looks up from the map to the group's evident leader, the white haired rat. The others groan in unison, having known this would be the outcome of Maksym coming to the table. The white haired rat taps the map, a location not all that far from the red marking that represents the bunker.
"Right here. The building that Grigoriy scouted a while back. We haven't been there yet, and it's likely gone untouched, given that it was never a government building. I think it's worth checking out. Might find some good scrap and salvage, and maybe even an artifact if we get lucky." Maksym nods, listening as the group's leader speaks. He brings his hidden gaze up at the group, looking between them.
"What about the rest?" Next in turn to speak is one of the gray haired rats, the shortest of the group, though he himself is the closest to matching Maksym in breadth of chest, the intense gaze focused on the large rat as he jabs a finger at the map.
"I think here. It was a dump site for the army when they were here. We all know how the army throws things out. Half broken and away it goes, easier to just get a new one. Plenty of good salvage to be had, spare parts for our guns. Even parts for that ural we found, maybe." Maksym nods, listening to him speak, letting out another deep hum.
"It all sounds good, Oleksiy, and we could use those parts. The only problem is that we have to go through a mutant hot zone." The intense, short rat's frown deepens, as the next in turn speaks, the other gray haired rat. The second tallest, but with a very lanky build. He points at a different spot.
"Old lab here. Difficult to get to, surrounded by anomaly fields. Sure to be good salvage and a handful of artifacts." Again, Maksym nods and hums as he thinks.
"Lots of money to be made, Grigoriy... but we don't have what we need for the anomaly fields. I just did a full inventory of our gear, and... we will need more to run at it." Grigoriy nods, his shoulders slackening some. Finally, the last rat speaks, though as he does he merely shrugs his shoulders and lifts his hands.
"I didn't make a choice. I'm easy to please as long as I get to have fun with it, you know me." He offers an easy grin, though the blast scarring alongside the right side of his face makes it look more manic, his wild blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Maksym nods one more time.
"Expected from Amvrosiy. Well... I think we go with the captain's idea. Should be easy money, can set us up for the next one." He nods, crossing thick arms over broad chest. Their leader smiles, looking at the others. Oleksiy looks over at him, also crossing his arms.
"It's bullshit, Artyom, you know that Maksym always agrees with you." The white haired rat chuckles, looking over at his diminuitive companion.
"Maksym just knows a good idea when he hears one."
III
It takes the quintet a full day of travel to get to the building, and with great fortune there's a smaller building nearby they're able to hole up in for the night. At first light, on a full night's rest, they make their way to the tall, imposing concrete structure. They all look up, seeing the many floors marked by the rows of windows. Artyom is the first one to speak up, breaking gaze with the building to look at another in the group.
"How many floors, Grigoriy?"
"Fifteen. Maybe a basement for utilities." Artyom nods, reaching behind himself and pulling the rifle slung around him to the front.
"Weapons hot, bratans. We don't know what we'll see in there." The other four pull up their weapons, checking them again and speaking in unison, their voices a well practiced chorus.
"Weapons hot, captain." Artyom nods, walking up to the building and going in first, the others close behind. What awaits them inside is... not quite as expected, given the exterior being so intact as it is. There are piles of rubble strewn about, segments of flooring from levels above having collapsed. They look around, the entryway leading out into a large atrium. At the center of it, a massive, squared central pillar, with a metal door at the center, and a button panel next to it. Leading out from the atrium are a pair of hallways, one to either side of the elevator pillar. After a moment, Artyom raises a hand and gestures to the left hall, before leading the group down it.
The hallway leads to a series of offices, filled mostly with useless paperwork, though there are a few computer terminals in there. Artyom pulls out a small notebook and pen, making a note of it before tucking them away, and leading them back to the right hallway. It leads to a turn-off, and as they approach and make the turn, it's clear they aren't getting through. The ceiling has collapsed, blocking it off. The group returns to the atrium, fanning out to search for a staircase. After a few minutes, one is found, and the group ascends the stairs to the second level.
The second floor appears to be where the apartments start, and the team begins to sweep through. Artyom gestures to a door, and Maksym boots it open, ripping one of the hinges clean from the wall. The sight inside the room is surprising to the group, however...
Several small objects within are floating mid-air, the majority of them small glass and metal shards. There are wooden splinters mixed in, some of them fresh from the door having been kicked in. The quintet look amongst themselves, and excitement begins to fill the air, almost tangibly so. Amvrosiy lets his gun fall from his hands and dangle from the sling, as he clenches his hands into fists and slowly raises them into the air, shaking.
"An anomaly, bratans! Anomalies means artifacts! We're going to be rich from this one!" He starts to laugh wildly, turning towards Grigoriy as his hands shoot out, grabbing the scout by the arms and shaking him. The others chuckle amongst themselves, shaking their heads as the lanky rat is near throttled.
"Alright, alright, let him go. He's up." Artyom gestures into the room as Amvrosiy lets the scout go, and after a moment to resettle himself, he takes off the rifle he's carrying, handing it over and sidling into the room. He makes his way in deeper, eyes wide open and scanning the room. He takes a deep breath, turning his head back towards the door.
"The anomaly is irregular. Not cloud shaped, it's... it bends and twists. Thinner in places." His voice is droning and cold... clinical, almost. He presses further inward, looking through the room, gently perusing what's been left behind. His eyes settle on a bookshelf, glancing across the titles on display. He reaches a hand out, gently brushing across the spines in a wistful sort of way. When he speaks again, it's in hushed tones.
"I am sorry, my friends... not today. I must leave you to rot a while longer... but I promise I will return for you." His hand comes away from the bookshelf, and he returns to examining the room. Soft rays of light come in through a broken window, filtered through bent and dirty blinds. He watches the way the dust dances in the light, taking a moment for himself, before turning to leave the room once again. The rat only moves half a step, turning back to the room as a twinkle catches his eye. He kneels, leaning forward for a better look, and a small, round object sits in the corner under a table, just barely catching the light.
Grigoriy reaches into a pocket, pulling out a small rivet, rolling it in his hand before chucking it under the table. He watches closely as it moves, bouncing off of the wall and rattling as it skitters across the floor. Satisfied, he reaches in, grabbing the rivet and pocketing it again, before taking the object, holding it up to look at it better. It's only the size of a walnut, but inside the small glassy bead is... breathtaking. Seen at one angle, lightning arcs inside of it. From another... the universe itself, twinkling in all its glory. The scout's ears and tail go slack, his muscles slowly relaxing... before he clenches the thing in his fist, and shakes his head violently.
Quickly, he makes his way out of the room, swearing under his breath as he comes out. He looks over towards Artyom, extending his hand.
"Bag, boss. We've got a live one, don't look at it here." The white haired rat quickly retrieves a small, canvas bag from a pocket, opening it wide as the scout lets go of the object. Into the bag it goes, the string pulled and cinching it. Artyom tucks it away, nodding.
"Good work, bratan. This will make it worth it on its own." He smiles, clapping the scout on the arm, and handing his rifle back to him. With a loud whistle, he nods further down the hallway, and the group continues onward.