Tarkov- No Escape

Chapter 4: Shit heap

After waking up from his long rest, Jason felt re-energized.  He stood up and stretched while looking around.  The initial joy he felt when he found the shelter had turned to utter disappointment.  The stash he had found wasn't as big as he thought and it didn't have as much as he had hoped, although the contents were welcome additions.  He also looked around at the shelter itself and realized that it didn't even have a working ventilation system.  The light fixtures not only were stripped of all bulbs but were completely gutted of wiring, there was no door, no bed, no stove, and worst of all, no latrine.  Jason let out an audible groan upon realizing that his situation was still not an ideal one.  Suddenly a sharp pain hit his shoulder.  The gunshot wound.  He tore off the old bandage and reapplied the new one but he knew deep down that this was not a contemporary solution and that sooner or later he would require real medical assistance.  While he knew basic first aid, field surgery was almost foreign to him.  He walked over to a crate and found a long range 2 way radio, which he powered on.  "Attention all remaining USEC PMCs in the immediate area, this is Private Jason Mitchell, Operation Fast Track has gone topside, requesting immediate backup," he said.  Static.  He repeated the same message only to be met with more static.  He sighed as he set the radio down and went back to digging through the stash.  He found 2 spare M4A1 Carbines, 2 Beretta M9A3's, boxes of 5.56 M855 and 9x19 PST GZH ammunition.  A deeper dig revealed 3 MREs, 2 cans of "tushonka" beef stew, a bottle of Dan Jackiel whiskey, and 3 bottles of water.  The last crate contained a spare headset and 2 PACA soft vests, meant to block mainly pistol rounds, and several stacks of roubles.   Jason sighed again and took off his helmet and ear protection, running his hands through his hair.  "GOD DAMN IT!" he yelled as he picked up an empty beer bottle off the floor and chucked it into the darkness of the hideout, savoring the loud noise of the bottle shattering.  

A couple hours later.  Pacing the hideout, silently pondering what to do next, some static was heard on the radio followed by his name.  He ran over and picked it up.  "Jason Mitchell, copy," he said.  "Ah, hello mercenary, I received your transmission and I am enroute to your shelter," said the voice, which sounded distinctly russian.  "Huh?" he said, blatantly confused.  "Do not worry, I do not wish to take anything from you, I look forward to meeting, until then, goodbye!" said the voice cheerfully.  "Ok," he said bluntly.  As soon as he put the radio down, his old Marine senses picked up.  "What if this is another trap?" he wondered as he put his helmet and ear protection.  He then grabbed his rifle, slapped in a new magazine, checked his sidearm, and waited.  

Half an hour later.  Jason heard footsteps outside the shelter.  He went outside the empty doorway and up the stairs to the surface to be met by what appeared to be a scavenger.  He raised his rifle and yelled, "Drop your weapon and show me your hands!" The man dropped his old AK rifle and put his hands up.  "Who are you?" he asked.  "I am man from the radio, I call you earlier," he said in a somehow thicker russian accent.  Jason lowered his rifle but remained alert.  The man slowly walked towards Jason with his hands raised and then extended his left hand, motioning for Jason to shake it.  "My name Nikita, I received word from my boss that you were new in area, I tracked radio to here and I was sent to help," he said.  "By who?" asked Jason suspiciously shaking Nikita's hand.  "My boss, Prapor," he said.  Jason shoved his obvious bewilderment aside while Nikita continued talking.  "Since I heard you were here, I decided to take look at your hideout, very important for survival, you see," he said.  Nikita's face changed as he looked at the shit heap in front of him.  "Well, its not much but we can make it work," he said in a bit more deflated tone.  Jason shrugged.  "Lets start with that," he said pointing at the ventilation unit.  "Sure," said Jason carelessly.  "Wait, I hate to be bother but, payment is required," he said.  "How much?" asked Jason in the same careless tone.  "Judging by looks, 25,000 roubles," he said.  Jason sighed as he handed over the money.  "Great, now we are in business as you Americans say, drag that crate over and hand me my tools!" he said.  Eventually Nikita cleared out and opened the vents, allowing for a flow of fresh air into the hideout.  Just as they finished, Jason winced from his wound.  Nikita looked over and saw the wound and reached into his pack, handing Jason a CMS surgury kit and a bottle of Tarkovskaya vodka.  "You need more than I do," said Nikita as Jason took it.  He then walked up the stairs, bidding Jason a cheerful goodbye, promising to return again soon.  Jason watched Nikita walk away and felt a sliver of hope.  Maybe he wasn't completely screwed afterall.