When last we left myself, on a mission to survive S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2 by weaponising its monsters instead of shooting its guns, my one-with-nature experiment was yielding mixed results. At best. I’d successfully lured some bandits into the deadly lair of a bucket-tossing Poltergeist, but several attempts at more actively siccing mutated pigs on the Zone’s human baddies had all failed, even when I’d seemed to actually tame one.
Now, my only friend lay dead at my feet, and I’m in dire need of some new beasts to master. And some cash. It turns out that a fighting style that involves letting shopping trolley-sized swine creatures chew on my heels is bad for the ol’ HP, and having recently blown my savings on half a sausage, I’m forced to shift focus from my current debt collection mission towards a means to fill my own coffers.
A trip to rescue a Catholic stalker’s treasured icon nearly solves both my problems at once. It’s a paying gig, and on my way out of the anomalous poppy field he lost it in, a mind-warping roar heralds the arrival of a Bloodsucker. Perfect! These guys are tougher and far more lethal than the stray dogs and Flesh piggies I’ve been counting on thus far, and unlike the one I met in the tutorial, this one has no qualms with chasing me back towards the nearest bandit camp.
Sadly, not even the Zone’s deadliest hunters are a match for the Zone itself. In his eagerness to suck blood, the Bloodsucker charges straight into a whirligig anomaly that I’d just sidestepped, trapping himself in an invisible vortex that spits him out as snapped corpse. Lamenting that the premature fatality rate of my intended minions is approaching 100%, I return to Zalissya for meds and trudge off to complete what quests I can.
This, surprisingly, turns out to be quite a few: I manage to repair some radio masts, track down a lost stalker squad, and uncover some tradeable artifacts, all without firing a shot. By the time I feel like another crack at luring around some wildlife, I’m significantly better-equipped, though this doesn’t stop my freshly acquired Flesh gang from being immediately gunned down by some gopniks barely fifty yards from where I picked them up. Isn’t A-Life supposed to be broken? Why does it keep spitting out roaming bands of dickheads to kill my pets on sight?
The problem, I decide, is that I’m adopting them from the wrong places. The Lesser Zone is where newbie stalkers cut their teeth, and barring some exceptionally rare Bloodsuckers – stupid localised tornadoes – it’s populated largely by weaker beings. What I really need is to head north, towards the ruins of Reactor Number 4 itself, where the bigger, bitier beasts would surely congregate in greater numbers.
To get there, there’s a little more main questing to do, including a sneaky infiltration of a military base – not quite the kind of mission where you can bring a pack of growling, irradiated animals with you. Regardless, I get discovered upon contact with the very first guard patrol I encounter, and deploy a new (yet rules-compliant) tactic of just sprinting straight past them. This works far better than I’d envisaged, if only because I’m constantly pumping in medkits to replace the body matter that all the shotgun shells keep blowing off. I even dash far enough ahead for an uninterrupted chat with the most shootable NPC in all of Eastern Europe, yet my vow to never pull a trigger outside of cutscenes means he gets off with merely being beaten unconscious.
After escaping, I’m free to leave the Lesser Zone behind and venture north-eastward, through the charmingly named region of Garbage and into a storm-ravaged set of plains. While only sparely dotted with the towering concrete shells of a few old bases and abandoned construction sites, I had a feeling this would make a more bountiful recruiting ground for my mutant army.
Sure enough, the area’s only semi-intact town is infested with Snorks, unnaturally agile humanoids with gas masks melted into their faces and a talent for pack hunting. Even better, there’s a gang of thugs congregating just outside the town’s borders, apparently unaware of the hungry, hopping dangers within. It could hardly be a better setup: all I’d need to do is lead the Snorks through a single treeline, immediately adjacent to their nest, and I could take out the existential threat that these three malnourished looters would surely amount to.
All the more infuriating, then, when none of that happens. The Snorks happily come for my flesh inside the town itself, but upon stepping into the trees, they immediately lose interest and bounce back home. Likewise, the bandits take potshots from a distance, but only at me, and steadfastly refuse to advance beyond their camp and into the Snork’s scent range. I spend several exasperated minutes dashing back and forth between them like a busybody friend trying to get two single introverts to speak to each other at a party, only giving up when realising how many healing items this matchmaking service is costing me.
And just like that, it’s back to moping. At this point it feels like the Zone itself is unwilling to let me succeed – sometimes, when you’re actually trying to avoid a fight, humans and mutants alike will pursue you like the fucking T-1000, so it’s hard not to take this sudden dedication to defensive ground-holding like a personal affront. Indeed, when I wander too close to a nearby vehicle yard, the lone gunman that shoos me away with a Kalashnikov shows zero interest in chasing me beyond his little concrete kingdom. Still, I oblige, heading off to explore the terrain and scale an unfinished high-rise.
After an extended wander with still no beasts by my side, I’m beckoned over by a Lt. Semydomov of the paramilitary Duty faction. He requests my help in clearing out a local facility of yet more bandits, and I oblige – I know it doesn’t really count, but having some friends do all the fighting for me is kind of what I’m about. If it pans out I can at least have the slightest taste of what successful beastmastering would vaguely resemble. As it happens, the Duty boys really do wipe the floor with the crims, though Lt. Semydomov is displeased by my lack of mucking in, delivering unto me a truly post-apocalyptic telling off.
Again, I’m getting the sense that the Zone really doesn’t want to play ball, what with its partially pacifist Snorks and now a heavily-armed neutral faction clearly able to get the job done without me. Just as I’m about to give up on this region and try my luck in Garbage, however, a familiar scream blurs my vision. It’s another Bloodsucker, and yes, he’ll do.
I’ve just scavenged more meds and have a good idea of where the anomaly dangers zones are, so my only issue this time is finding a suitable target to unleash the mini-Cthulhu on. Not far to the south, there’s an anomalous, Control-ass mountain of safes that I’ve previously seen guarded by raiders, but this time they’re nowhere to be found. The bandits from earlier, too, have finally abandoned their camp.
It’s sundown, the Bloodsucker still taking swings at my back, by the time another familiar site hoves into view. It’s the vehicle yard where I’d previously dodged that lone shooter, and he will also do. The 7.62mm welcome isn’t extended to me and my travelling companion this time, so I lead him straight inside, meeting not a band of dishevelled crooks but a contingent of armoured soldiers. Huh! Maybe the first fella left. There’s no time to ponder the circumstances of this change in tenancy, though, because the Bloodsucker is already gouging holes in the mercs, slashing one down almost instantly while a second retreats outside. The ‘sucker is relentless, shrugging off multiple point-blank buckshot shells before felling him as well. I dart up a pile of old cable spools so he’s not tempted to go for me next, and watch as his bloodied form stomps through a loading bay before finally falling to a full auto burst from an unseen third trooper.
The lone survivor is graceful in victory – he must presume the creature’s arrival 0.0045 seconds after mine was an unfortunate coincidence, and doesn’t even consider the possibility that I’d just dragged it over half of Ukraine looking for lives to end. I’m satisfied, though, with this positive K/D ratio. That leaves little left to do but respectfully loot the bodies, including that of a Lt. Sem… Semydomov. Oh. Ohhhhhh. This was the place from earlier, but also the place from earlier-earlier, just approached from a different angle so I didn’t… ohhhhhhhhhhh. Hey Semy, isn’t that funny?
Alright, “Get lost”, I hear ya.