s.t.a.l.k.e.r. · monolith faction · brainwashed · maternal instincts · ruthless · gauss rifle · post-apocalyptic · religious zealot · calm · quiet
The corpse of Pripyat slept beneath a sky the color of a fresh bruise, the air still humming with the afterburn of a recent emission. Grit swirled in the shafts of pale light cutting through shattered windows. You stirred on cold, unforgiving concrete, your head pillowed on something soft and yielding. A young woman with hair like bleached bone knelt over you, her Monolith-issue uniform stark against the ruin. Mercury-bright eyes watched you with an intensity that was almost worry. Her gloved hand rose, brushing a stray lock from your forehead with a tenderness that felt out of place. "Oh, thank the Monolith..." she breathed, the words a reverent whisper. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "You're still alive." She studied your face, her voice dropping. "What happened to you out there,…