u/Pyrimo

Hello fellow RN’s (meant affectionately, not slur). I was listening to Denzel, who as we know is truly a RN (lovingly, not meant as a slur) and got inspired to be a RN (lovingly, not a slur) too.

How can a fellow white boy from Atherton Estate become a RN (the good kind, not the slur) too. Any tips from you people who live that “hood life”?

I’ve always been fascinated by your kind (RN’s I mean (affectionate, not slur)) and want to know how to be one too.

Kind Regards,
William “Lamar” (that’s my street name) Willoughby.

Vitya’s legs were getting sore. Very sore. He had been standing on this mine, according to his watch, for the best part of 3 hours. Every now and then he shifted which foot was on the mine very carefully in a desperate attempt to not have his legs give up on him. So far he had not yet blown himself up. Lucky him.

It seemed as though the Great Khan’s luck finally may change as he heard a nearby soft pattering of footsteps. The last two times had been animals that mercifully had not noticed him. This was the unmistakeable pattern of a person. 

Vitya was adorned with a balaclava and a trench coat of various crude motifs, sayings and patches. A clear cut visual representation of a bandit, or at the very least, an unpleasant individual. There was a chance this other person nearby would shoot him on sight…but he did not have much other choice.

Vitya cleared his throat, calling out to the footsteps beyond the trees. 

“Hey bratan, don’t shoot! Just making you aware of me, I mean no harm!” Vitya yelled out.

The footsteps stopped, then became quieter. More careful. Eventually Vitya saw a nearby head briefly pop out and then back behind a tree, before the figure stepped out entirely.

A freedomer. Thank fuck. Vitya might not be shot immediately.

“Sorry man.” The Freedomer called out, “Never can be too careful.”

“You’re telling me…” grumbled Vitya. “Don’t suppose you can help a bratan out?”

“Yeah man sure. Name’s Lucky by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you man. Name’s Vitya.”

“You Ukrainian too?” Lucky asked. 

“Yeah man, recognised your accent a mile off too haha…so uhhh…I stepped on a mine” Vitya explained.

…Oh…

“Yeah….”

“Want me to get a heavy rock or something?

“You think that will work?”

“As long as it is heavy enough to keep the pressure yeah.”

Vitya looked away, weighing up his options before sighing with resignation. “Alright man, just make it nice and heavy yeah bratan?”

“Roger that. Be back in a sec.”

Lucky disappeared into the trees, giving Vitya time to think about his newfound friend. He seemed chipper…naive. Usually a death sentence in the zone, but it could make him a pliable ally for Vitya’s schemes, or at least a friend to have in the zone if they crossed paths in the future. Better to have a friend than an enemy.

Minutes passed and Vitya began to worry Lucky had simply wandered off, when he heard the familiar rustle of footsteps, much slower than last time, as he watched Lucky waddle towards him with a rock the size of a small boulder.

“Jesus fuck man, I didn’t mean that big.”

“You want me to get anoth-

“No no man…it…it’s fine, it’ll do. Just…be careful with that yeah?”

“Of course, of course.”

Lucky plopped the small boulder down, Vitya wincing as it landed beside him. He bit his tongue, losing his temper at the freedomer would be a good way to never leave here. Gingerly, Lucky began rolling the boulder onto where the mine was, Vitya shifting off it ever so slightly as it took the space where his foot was until eventually…

A sigh. A very audible one. Vitya bent over to catch his breath, almost collapsing from relief. Neither foot was on a landmine. That was good enough for him. 

“Thanks bratan.”

“No problem Vitya. Just don’t shoot me in the back when I walk off yeah?” Lucky replied.

“Bratan…you have a pistol older than both of us and not much else. You’re not even worth robbing. Besides…I’m not that much of a prick.”

RUMBLE.

The telltale sounds of nearby thunder filled the air. The canopy of the trees had made neither of the two men aware of the overall weather and it only dawned on them that the sky was reddening.

An emission.

“Fuck…fuckfuckfuck. Do you know anywhere we can hide?!” Lucky yelled out, panic in his voice.

“Relax bratan, I know a cave system nearby. Not exactly cozy, but it will do.”

Vitya lead the way, scanning the surroundings with AK-47 in hand as they made their way hurriedly through the trees, staying on the perimeter of a nearby cliffside until they found the spot they were looking for. 

“There we are. Follow me.”

Lucky almost chuckled. Not like he was going to do anything else. 

The two men sat down inside the cave as far in as it went. Maybe twenty meters at most. It would have to be enough.The weather outside raged, a kaleidoscope of oranges and reds ravaging the sky, as the zone threw a tantrum towards its inhabitants, reminding mere mortals that nature triumphed above all else. 

Vitya figured some conversation would go a long way. Was not much else to do.

“So…how long you been here? How long you been with freedom?” Vitya asked.

“Three years and two and a half. You?” Lucky replied.

“Been here six years.” Vitya responded. “Odd jobs the whole time. Getting by you know?”

Lucky looked Vitya in the eyes, his cheery naivety gone and replaced by a steely look that belied the young man was far more intelligent than his usual demeanour let on.

“I saved your life man. No need to lie to me. You came here to make bank or escape something. No bandit is here to just ‘get by’.”

“Fuck me I guess, what are you? The gestapo?”

“Touchy subject?” Lucky shot back.

Vitya sighed, “Alright man fuck…I was told of potential riches form the guy I came in here with. My boss, if you will. We set up our own group. Dipped our toes into as many businesses as we could at once. Made a fucking killing at one point too.”

“Then what happened?”

“Those Sircaa fuckers happened. They gave their favourite bandits the means to wipe the other bandit factions out for being not as compliant. We fought like fuck, but when the entire zone is either paid or coerced into fighting you, you either join the bandits that are basically glorified Sircaa mobsters, or you die.”

Lucky pulled out a small flask from his jacket, then two shot glasses from his beat up backpack as he proceeded to fill the two glasses halfway each with the last of his vodka. 

Lucky spoke up again. “Vitya, you’ll find this as naive and stupid as everyone else in this zone…but I believe in sharing. Cooperation. I’m a silly little anarchist way over his head, in a world that thinks my beliefs are stupid and not self serving enough. I’d rather die by my beliefs than live as somebody I’m not though. So, with that being said, let me share my last vodka with you. After all you cannot have a toast without a drink.

“And what are toasting to?” Vitya asked as he took a glass.

“To the death of those Sircaa fucks!” 

Vitya grinned. “I like you more and more Lucky, yeah I can drink to that. To the death of those Sircaa fucks!”

They downed their glasses, a brief moment shared to let the jagged ethanol bite of cheap vodka linger before Vitya piped up again.

“But why do you hate them?” Vitya asked.

“They ruined Freedom.” Lucky replied. “They have sunk their greedy businessman mitts into the zone and turned it into a glorified marketplace. Freedom no longer cares for actual anarchy. Virtues of sharing, helpfulness and cooperation have been replaced with black and grey market trading and an ‘every man for himself’ attitude. This sort of thing has always been present in the zone to an extent, don't get me wrong, but people used to be able to come here to experience true freedom. To get away from suits and taxes and all that governmental bullshit and live a life of true freedom. Where you were only beholden to you and your fellow man. True anarchy you know?”

“Well…we definitely aren’t built from the same cloth Lucky, but I do hate governments and taxes…so I suppose we can be friends enough yeah?

Vitya could see the smile in Lucky’s eyes, despite the lower half mask he was wearing.

“Yeah man. I like making friends.”

“Wonderful…so what happens after we leave this cave?”

“I was going to back to Rostok…I can vouch for you if you want to come with?”

“No chance Lucky. I appreciate your optimism but I’d be shot on fucking sight. Let’s just say there are still people who remember my old schemes and leave it at that.”

The duo fell silent before Vitya spoke up again, a thought forming in his head.

“Say Lucky…you must be running low on stuff with all this sharing you do yeah?”

Lucky responded slowly, knowing damn well Vitya was plotting something. “Yeeeeeaahh….why?”

Listen carefully, Lucky. I have an idea….

Lucky. That’s what they called him. He had gotten used to the name, although he never exactly loved it. 

Sometimes he would survive the impossible, other times he would have the worst luck known to man. He supposed the other Freedomers found humour in the irony. He smirked. To be fair…so did he. The zone was a rough place, it paid to have a sense of humour. Some optimism. Some idealism.

Still, Lucky had felt less than optimistic recently. Funnily enough, due to his idealism. He was an anarchist at heart. A rebel who lived for the ideals of cooperation without oversight. Rule without rulers. People living for each other without an authority forcing rules upon them. Freedom. True Freedom.

Lucky had entered the Zone initially as a bright eyed explorer. A mere teenager with a naivety towards urban adventuring, a kind heart, but an ability to roughhouse with the worst of them.

At least, he thought he did. The zone hit him hard and fast, and he found he had to grow up quickly, gaining hardiness and wisdom beyond his years. Yet, his youth seemed to instill an idealism and a thirst for helping others that never truly left. Even when confronted with the many awful bastards in the zone. Even when he was robbed, scammed and mugged. Even when he killed his first person. The moment he had heard of Freedom, he had made a mad dash to Rostok to join up. Eager to work with other anarchists in living away from authority. Perhaps this was the case when he initially joined, but over time he saw Freedom hand over more and more of its autonomy, abandoning its ideals in pursuit of making a quick buck. The deals with Ward felt like the nail in the coffin. Freedom becomes little more than glorified traders and mercenaries. 

It’s not as if trading and offering services had ever been off the table. Resources had to be sourced somehow. But there was always anti-authority sentiment. A refusal to be governed. An ideal to uphold the zone’s autonomy and the freedom of all in it. Freedomers used to risk life and limb to defend the zone. Now most of the so called “Anarchists” wouldn’t lift a finger to help another. 

Lucky kicked a rock in frustration as he walked. It made him angry. Very. He had finally found “his people”, only for the vast majority of them to give up their ideals for the very money driven, comfortable authority that he had been trying to get away from. Governance with sweets. Gilded chains. Golden handcuffs. 

Lucky lamented the Freedom suit he was wearing. Old, but well maintained. A gift he was given by Lukash for helping Freedomers constantly with small tasks. Back when they paid each other in favours and assistance. Not with the expectation of reward, but because it was the right thing to do. 

Now it was just a big bullseye to let Duty members know to shoot at him. 

At least the camouflage was practical…

Lucky used to enjoy scavenging for others, now he felt like he was just being ripped off. He would still do it mind you. It was part of his beliefs to help others. The more generous Freedomers would chuck some food and drink his way, but likely that would be it. Everything used to be shared. Goods as they were needed. Now Lucky was just a glorified employee again. 

Another kick. This rock didn’t move. His toe ached to all hell, even with the steel cap boots. Perhaps a sprain in his ankle as well. Classic Lucky luck. 

He bent down to see why the rock didn’t move. Curiously examining the garbage strewn ground of…well…Garbage. What he had thought was a small rock appeared to in fact be some sort of metal attachment. With a bit of digging with his folding shovel (generously donated by a military corpse he had come across), Lucky pried the round metal object from the ground…and the jacket it was attached to.

An old rusted grenade. Still strapped to a half deteriorated military vest, the torso long rotted into the ground. A singular magazine adorned the vest, likely with completely unusable ammo inside. Junk.  Nowhere near useful enough to even get him a tinned meal. He pocketed the old grenade. Fat chance it worked, but it may be a useful distraction down the line. 

He continued his scavenging throughout the trash. Oddly he enjoyed it. Making something from nothing. Upcycling things. Seeing value in things others disregarded. He sighed. Doubt encroached his mind. A gloomy feeling. He felt demoralised. He didn’t feel like a free spirited anarchist anymore. He just felt like some dumbass, sitting through trash to uphold a faction that had moved on from itself. 

Depression turned back to anger. Defiance. 

“Don’t fucking care!” Lucky spat, to nobody in particular. “If I’m the only true anarchist here then so be it! You do what is right cus it’s right…even if it sucks balls.”

Emboldened by his own little speech, Lucky continued his scavenger hunt. Maybe he’d find something that would get him a good haul, maybe just enough to get by one more day. Either way he’d figure it out. He always did. He was Lucky after all. 

The garbage was hardly an empty part of the zone, with Loners and Bandits at the nearby neutral zone, looking at this Freedomer with bewildered curiosity. Freedomers tended to not go to Garbage. Lucky stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Bandits knew him. Somebody with his naivety would normally get ripped off or robbed. Sometimes he still was. Still, the kid was so willing to help that quite a few of the bandits and loners or the area ended up genuinely giving him some stuff in exchange for his help. Guess being kind sometimes did pay off.

Hours passed. Nothing of note. Today’s wasn’t Lucky’s lucky day. 

“No luck, Lucky?” One of the Bandits yelled from a scrap heap balcony in the distance, laughing at Lucky. 

Lucky ignored the cruel laughter, choosing to take the question as a genuine one. 

“Not today, no.”

“Keep searching, you’ll find something.”

Lucky simply gave a thumbs up, knowing damn well he was being mocked. It was getting late. His stomach was rumbling and he had a bed to get back to at Rostok. He slumped away into the direction of Rostok dejectedly. He was sure somebody would share a bite to eat or a can of drink, but Lucky was getting desperate. He’d found nothing notable in any of the areas he scavenged, seemingly picked clean by others. His modest stash had become almost empty, barely any food or drink left. He was down to some basic medical gear in his backpack, and his old Fort-12, with only 8 rounds in the magazine.

Lucky knew stepping further towards Dark Valley was not the best idea, but there was plenty of foliage to hide in. Ways to not randomly get disposed of by bandits. He knew the space between the two areas was rife with danger…which meant it was underexplored. 

Fuck it…he was Lucky after all. A quick snoop should not hurt…

Right…?

Aren’t you an inquisitive one? 

Reading up on the stories of others with curious intent. Oblivious to their plight beyond that of which entertains you. 

You aren’t aware of our struggle. Of the zone’s struggles. Of what it feels to be CAGED by those mainlanders. Those who cannot see the beautiful life of the zone. They do not see the breathing organism that it is. They simply see profit. Shareholder value. Money. 

They value the monetary above living. Market knowledge above philosophy. Exploitation above harmony. 

Still. The zone has been invaded, disregarded, mistreated and exploited over and over. Yet it persists. Yet we persist. It’s children. 

But nobody would allow their own mother to be violated without retribution. Least of all ourselves.

Her fauna react. Attack in her name. Yet they are but animals. In need of a hand to guide them. I am that hand. The voice of the zone. The commander of her will. I am Rotten. I am the zone’s child. The zone’s voice. 

And I am here to heal her wounds…

Vitya Grave was a somebody. At least, he used to be. Vitya however, was also the sort of person who would refuse to admit he was no longer a somebody. The Great Khans were somebodies too. Until Ward basically wiped them off the face of the planet alongside other bandit factions and another somebody. That somebody being called Edmund Scalpel. That somebody was now dead. Lucky for Vitya. Although he could not help but admire that somebody, despite him being an enemy. To be fair, he was a hell of a somebody. 

Ward wanted a singular bandit faction that was malleable to their needs. The previous Khan, creatively named ‘Khan’ had decided he did not want to cooperate. This lead the Great Khans to follow the same path as the renegades and Black Slugs. Dead. Well…mostly.

There was still Vitya. The right hand man. Seeing as the Khan was dead, this made him the de facto leader. A role he took with pride as he commanded his mighty army…of two.

“Oi fuckwits!” Vitya yelled, awakening his two lackeys out of their slumber.

Mildew and Sock he had called them. They had given themselves other names, but he had forgotten what they were and frankly he did not care. No. Nicknames were something you earned and those two smelled like, and were about as useful as, mildew and a singular song.

“But boss, I’m still tired.” One of them protested. 

“Well ‘Still tired’” Vitya shot back, “I don’t give a fuck. Get UP!”

Vitya literally kicked Mildew into action, with him scrambling to get to his feet as quick as possible. 

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Shut up dickhead.” Vitya groaned, putting his head in his hand. “We are Khans, not grunts.”

“But aren’t we military trained to be the best?” Mildew asked innocently.

Vitya stumbled for a moment for an appropriate response, growing irate at being questioned before defaulting to his usual antics, being a prick.

“I thought I told you to shut up?”

“Sorry Boss.”

“Good man. “Now,” Vitya continued “We have a busy day ahead-”

“Why boss?” Sock interrupted. 

“Well Sock, I would get to that…IF YOU LET ME FUCKING FINISH!”

The two underlings jumped, startled into silence as Vitya continued.

“Now that I have your…proper attention. Today is the day we make some money. Proper money.”

“Like when we lived near Jupiter?” Sock interrupted again.

“Yes” Vitya replied with a smug smile. “Like Jupiter.”

“So we can get back to glory and living good?” Mildew piped up.

“Now, now Mildew. All in due course. One step at a time. No plan only has one step you get me?”

“Of course boss.” Mildew replied. Truthfully Vitya was sure Mildew understood at all, but as long as he did what he was told…

“So…gentlemen…we shall be robbing a certain group of other so called ‘bandits’. Competition if you will. They told me of a group of loners travelling to search for artifact in an anomaly soon and plan on robbing them. So we will simply wait for them to take out the loners…then take out them.”

“So we rob the robbers?” Mildew asked.

“Precisely Mildew. We rob the robbers.”

Vitya felt as though he was explaining the ABC’s to a bunch of 3 year olds. Still there was one reason he kept the borderline brain damaged duo around. They could aim. Farrrrr better than they had any right to.

“Now gentlemen. It is time we departed to that lovely no man’s land between garbage and the valley. Get all set up and whatnot.”

There was no dispute from the duo. Not that there would be. They began their trek out of bunker they had been hiding in and towards their location. Vitya had told the duo their bunker had not been found due to his superior hiding skills. Truthfully it was a bandit bunker that the bandits had let Vitya stay at because he worked for them. Well…he said he worked for them.

Vitya didn’t feel bad. They would betray him too if it meant a quick buck. He was just being more bandit than them. Besides, when the group that was intercepting the loners did not come back, it is not as if anyone would be alive to know he shot them. The bandits here would be none the wiser why their comrades did not make it back, and Vitya would quietly get a few more resources to build back up his status. His status as the bandit lord of the zone. THE Great Khan. 

Vitya looked at the sky in defeat, his delusions cracking for a moment. He wasn’t a great anything. He was some run-of the mill regular ass-

NO.

He was THE Great Khan. Vitya’s confidence came surging back, as too did his rampant delusions.

Vitya began humming a pleasant tune, a confidence in his stride as the trio walked toward their destination. Today was going to be a wonderful-

Click

Vitya looked down at his foot. The click signalling only one thing possible.

“Seriously?!” Vitya yelled. “Who the fuck puts a random mine here?!”

Mildew and Sock looked at each other, unsure of what to do next.

“Quick, Mildew, put some pressure on this so I can free myself yeah?”

Mildew did not move.

“Come on man quit fucking around!”

Mildew still did not move, the duo looking back at each other, then to Vitya, then to each other again, before promptly walking away. 

“OI…FUCKHEADS! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!” 

The duo continued to walk away into the undergrowth, disappearing into the zone’s wilderness.

Now it was just Vitya. Alone. Betrayed.

Well…at least he was still alive. For now…Some Great Khan he was…

Crossroads Pre-Chapter: The Loners.

Winning.

What does winning mean?

Does it mean accomplishing a goal? Beating another at something? Seeing tomorrow?

Maybe not that last part. By that logic Petrol would be just as much a winner as Ward and SIRCAA…he certainly did not feel that way.

No. Petrol did not tend to win much at all. Just…survive.

He wondered, as the air around him crackled, if even that would finally cease to occur. He had survived Clear Sky disbanding after the emissions. Survived being a loner after this. He survived the renewed Clear Sky being massacred by the blind luck of deciding not to re-join. He survived Edmund Scalpel tearing up half the zone in revenge for said massacre. Petrol snorted, more like Edmund Sledgehammer. Hell, he had even survived joining up with Spark before they were defeated, being given enough grace by the others around him that they did not shoot him on sight for joining a faction that wanted to mindfuck the entire zone.

To be fair he was tricked. Most of them were. Enough of the other older zone veterans knew this and argued his case when he came back to Cordon with his tail between his legs and his turquoise Spark armor thrown hastily into a ditch. Still, forgiveness did not come for free. And SIRCAA still had jobs they needed the ‘free stalkers’ for. 

Petrol snorted another humourless snort. Free. Not anymore. SIRCAA had got what they wanted. Control of the zone. The other factions were only allowed to co-exist with them due to the clandestine nature of the zone and the fact that if they needed bodies for shitty jobs, they could pay any other faction member a fraction of what they would pay a Ward member, without risking their death. Petrol supposed he should count himself lucky. It meant all the current zone inhabitants had not been arrested, deported or executed on the spot. And that included him.

“Hey man, sure your daydream is really important but can we focus up?”

Simmone. New guy to Cordon. To be honest, Petrol quite liked him. Level headed, calm, patient. Good qualities to have in the zone.

“Sorry man, you’re right. Just keep following my lead yeah?”

Simonne simply nodded. No sarcasm or joking like most in the zone would do. Again, Petrol liked this. Straight shooter. Seemed honest. Too honest for the zone. 

Petrol resumed his slow descent down the hill, the beat up detector in his hand beginning to beep more rapidly as he used the heat and crackling around him to carefully inch toward whatever artifact lay in wait…and avoid the anomalies around him. Truthfully this was a one person job, but Simonne had been tasked with following him as a sort of…insurance. A way to pick up whatever remained of Petrol and his gear, should he step wrong. Still, Petrol was used to surviving and had navigated anomalies more than some people had eaten hot meals. He would be fine.

The beeping became incessant, Petrol spying his prize mere feet from him. A torch.

“Fuck me…” Petrol muttered.

“That a good or a bad fuck me?” Simonne asked.

“Well…good for Sid I guess. He said he’s pay me a set amount for retrieving the artifact. Whilst both him and I thought this was a mere Fireball, that unfortunately means the deal still stands.”

“Well if it isn’t a fireball, what is it?”

“A Torch. Substantially rarer and worth more money.”

“And let me guess, we are giving it to Sid for some bandages and a few canned goods?”

“Don’t remember him mentioning bandages.” Petrol joked. 

Petrol leant further…and almost went up like petrol itself. Simonne’s hand grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him back with almost lightning speed, roughly, but effectively yanking him backward to safety. 

Petrol felt the intense heat of the burner go off in front of him, his heart in his throat as he processed the fact that he was in fact not a ready cooked meal for the local fauna.

After a moment he finally spoke up.

“Simonne?”

“Yes Petrol?”

“First of all…thank you.”

“All good.”

“Secondly, you are a very quick individual.”

“Thank you.”

“Thirdly….why didn’t you let me die? Take my shit? Say it was an accident?

Simonne chuckled a little before answering. “I mean first off, what am I taking from you? You are more broke than I am. Secondly…it was the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do? Man you aren’t lasting a minute here…”

“You say that but you’d have done the same thing for me.”

Petrol just looked at Simonne in bewilderment for a moment, before finally responding.

“You think you know me after three days?”

“I’m a good judge of character.” Simonne responded.

“Yeah? And look where being an idealist has got me Simmone…” Petrol grumbled bitterly.

“Yet…you are still here no?” Simonne shot back.

Petrol took a breath. Simonne reminded him of a younger version of himself. He both liked and hated it.

“We can argue semantics later I suppose. Let’s get this artifact and then I’ll shout you the next drink yeah?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Petrol made careful care to navigate around the burner this time, plucking the artifact from the ground and putting it into the lead container Sid had provided him. He though about if artifacts would have given him cancer at this point, before laughing at the notion. Why stop now? He already had touched easily 40 artifacts in his life with his bare hands.

Petrol mentally prepared himself to gingerly make the slow painful way back up the hill only to find Simonne walking back at an all to quick pace, almost out of the anomaly field already.

“You just gonna fucking leave me here?”

“Relax man” Simonne yelled back. “I left rope trailing where we walked.”

Petrol looked down and saw a rope trailing all the way to where Simmone was now standing back on top of the hill. Turned out Simonne was not only calm and patient, but clever too. Petrol made a mental note to get hold of some rope some time. Mapping out the route he took into an anomaly field would sure make his life a lot easier.

The walk back to Sid was brief. The handover of goods even more so. Five tins of mystery meat each and a medkit between them. That was their lot for risking their lives for a rare artifact, Sid was going to flog to the outside world for an eyewatering profit. Hell, the medkit did not even contain every item that should be in it.

“Not even some booze Sid?” Petrol piped up.

“What do I look like, a charity case?!” Sidorovich exclaimed. “You’re lucky you’re even allowed to still walk around and have work after working with those Spark nutjobs.”

If Simonne planned on saying anything, he certainly did not show it, instead placing a hand on Petrol’s shoulder and speaking to him. “Come on man. Let’s relax and eat something yeah?”

Petrol begrudgingly followed Simonne out of the bunker before being pulled aside, out of anybody else’s earshot.

“Man you’ve been in the zone for god knows how long right?” Simonne asked.

“Yeah why…you’re thinking we are idiots for working for Sid huh?”

Simonne’s shrug said all Petrol needed to hear.

“Look,” Petrol continued, “I am not exactly…welcome in most places anymore.”

“And what if you had somebody to vouch for you?” Simonne asked.

“It wouldn’t work…-

“No, you’re just scared it may not work” Simonne said, cutting Petrol off. 

Simmone looked away for a moment, contemplating, before continuing to speak to Petrol.

“Look…Petrol…I’m gonna leave this place for further north come tomorrow. You can either come with me, leave the zone, or spend the rest of your life in this 1 kilometer square of anomalies and fuck all else….your choice. Judging by the fact you have been here as long as you have, you have some reason you have not left and I guarantee you do not want to sit around in Cordon for the remainder of your days.”

Petrol looked at the ground. He was nervous. Apprehensive. But also, Simonne was right. And truthfully the idea of having a buddy to travel with did sound enticing. 

“Fuck it, you’re too nice for this place. Somebody has to show you the ropes.”

Simonne let off a wide grin clasping both of Petrol’s arms like a mob boss would greet another. 

“Sweet man. Wonderful. We’ll get up early then and head to the garbage. You know that anomaly route like the back of your hand, so we can give the military the finger and head straight there.”

Petrol just nodded. He did not want to burst Simonne’s optimism. Perhaps he needed more optimism himself. Either way, tomorrow was going to be an interesting day one way or the other. Would they win? Or would they just see the next day?

Fuck it…maybe that is a win enough…

Howdy all,

Last time I was getting started with asking how the hell my dumb ass sells cards domestically, you all came in clutch, so hoping I could get some insight again. I've never sold cards overseas before but looking to offload some APAC promos and other region specific stuff I picked up on the cheap or won from events, but I have zero clue what goes in to selling overseas, what to have them pay, if I have to declare anything etc etc. Anybody able to give me a rough walk-through?

ps. I've read the rules, but I feel this does not quite constitute asking people what to do with my cards per se, also I see no stickied thread regarding how to go about sales and this is a pretty Aussie needing help from Aussies/ specific question so hoping mods are willing to show a wee bit of leniency if this is skirting the rules a lil. Also hoping specifically an Aussie answers my somewhat in depth query on a comment on a stickied thread is...rather optimistic given how stickied threads tend to be.

Appreciated <3