Stalker zone law read online. Dmitry Sillov

“The zone is a natural phenomenon that lives according to its own laws, which have nothing in common with the laws of the mainland. And a person who does not obey them very soon realizes his mistake. If, of course, he is still alive by this time.”

"Encyclopedia of the Zone"

We passed through the Monumentites like a knife through butter. The guys I pulled out of the Director's autoclaves were maybe a little worse at shooting than I was, but not by much. The weapons that we found near the dimly gleaming, shriveled Wish Machine were quite enough to arm our group. The stalker whom I first pulled out of the autoclave even joked that if we wanted, we could become the most powerful group in a very short time. After all, none of its inhabitants would risk shooting at the legends of the Zone who reached the Monument. But everyone understood that it was just a joke. Loners can never become a pack. Yes, they don’t need it.

Without saying a word, we stopped at the exit from the complex of underground laboratories. Opposite the place where the Stones were embedded in the opposite walls of the tunnel. Now the inscriptions on them no longer sparkled from the inside, but were still clearly visible in the light of the headlamps.

“It’s time to sign,” one of the stalkers said harshly. Then, with a subtle movement, he replaced the empty magazine in the machine gun with a full one and pointed the barrel at one of the Stones. But the second stalker gently took his machine gun to the side.

“You shouldn’t violate the Law of the Zone again,” he said. – If it’s customary not to shoot at local legends, then there’s no need.

"STALKERS always come back."

One of his comrades chuckled faintly.

“As always, a little pathetic, Mercenary, a little arrogant, but to the point,” he commented. – It seems that you have now prescribed a new clause in the Law of the Zone.

At this time the Zone shook. So much so that we could barely stand on our feet. From the side of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, a giant crimson whirlwind soared into the sky, and streams of dirty water, glowing with a soft bluish light, fell from the sky.

- Wow, a throwaway! – The Mercenary shook his head. “It’s good that we didn’t have time to leave the tunnel.” Otherwise they would have died from radiation like rabbits, despite their legendary status.

“Local rabbits don’t die from radiation,” his comrade grumbled. “They themselves will irradiate whoever you want and eat them instead of carrots.”

“That’s for sure,” noted the stalker, from whom the Zone saved the world—it seems, temporarily. – After such a Release, a lot of work awaits us. There will be countless mutants. Well, let's get to it, guys! Judging by Sniper’s stories, someone here has slightly forgotten about us. As well as about the Law of the Zone, which is written in stalker’s blood. I think it's time to remind...

* * *

I walked through the Zone. And I felt that, in general, nothing had changed either in her or in me. The PDA just received a message from the Mercenary - he got to the ZGRLS and reported that the release put in place all the antennas that were blown up by me and the army helicopters. And that the over-the-horizon station is already coming to its senses, and is slowly beginning to compost its brains. Well, it’s common for the legends of the Zone to return.

Memories of my past life took their proper place in my mind, but I felt neither joy nor sadness about it. Perhaps the reason for this was Clear Sky, the calming effect of which I felt even through the container. And, most likely, I no longer cared much about the past, for the sake of which I walked through the Zone, sweeping away everything in my path.

Right now I was most interested in my future. Which I had no idea about. Wander around the Zone alone in search of artifacts? And then go to the merchant, who with an arrogant face will exchange the fruits of my labor for colored pieces of paper? Or, dressed in black and red “Borg” armor, destroy people from a parallel world who, by chance, lost their minds and became mutants? Alternatively, you can, as they say, get a job in your specialty and become a mercenary. But is survival at any cost and killing one’s own kind for the sake of food, ammunition, equipment and lodging a goal worth living for?

A man was walking towards me. Something about his figure seemed familiar to me. I've undoubtedly seen it somewhere. But where?

The man caught up with me, pulled back the hood of his duster, and smiled in a way that people rarely smile in the Zone. Warm and open. Kindly.

“Hello, Sniper,” he said.

I chuckled to myself. It seems that the new memories have knocked my memory a little. And I was surprised. Did Cyclops, Zon rest in peace, lie to us then? But for what purpose? Unclear.

“It seems like you were killed recently,” I remarked semi-affirmatively.

The man sighed sadly.

“This happens to me... sometimes.” People do not like prophets, that is why they are not in their homeland. As well as other legendary heroes, by the way. They shoot at both of them more often than at ordinary people.

It was hard to disagree with this.

“You don’t want to stay in the Zone,” Kalika continued. - And this is understandable. You think that nothing is keeping you here. And you're right, but only partly. You can always follow the roads paved by me and people like me. Both from the Zone and from this reality. You have on your belt the key to the interworld, which at the same time cures any diseases and deflects bullets. But it will not protect you from a knife, from a point-blank shot, or from yourself. The Zone needs you - although you are perhaps the only mortal among them whom it cannot keep.

I shrugged.

– If the Zone needs me, then that’s its problem. I don't need her.

Kalika nodded.

“You’re right again, stalker,” he said. – Everyone chooses their own path. But not only the Zone needs you...

I looked at the back of this strange man who travels between worlds and knows how to die without visible harm to himself. The question was on the tip of my tongue, but somehow I knew that the man, who in some ways vaguely resembled the Wanderer laid to rest by the Zone, would not answer me.

“Well, life itself will put everything in its place,” I said, and went the same way. Which was no better and no worse than others, trampled in the gray grass by the feet of artifact seekers.

The speaker of the recently turned on PDA began to crackle disgustingly in my ear, and I began to search intensely with my eyes for an eyeless dog, even a dead one. The best time is to start a new life by fulfilling an old vow.

However, this time the ancient handheld had nothing to do with it. The static began to subside and a hoarse voice broke through.

– Peace to our common home, tramps, stalkers and everyone who is now trampling the Zone or sitting by the evening fires! Welcome to the first free radio station in the Zone, which has no relation to Volya or any other group. Listen to us at a rest stop and on a hike, remembering to turn it off when you need to save your life, and turn it on again when you need a little warmth after a shootout. Or just a good song.

The first sounds of a guitar were heard, and I involuntarily listened. Music in the Zone is a rare phenomenon, and any stalker is ready to listen for hours to the strumming of a beaten instrument in the hands of a comrade in arms who has learned three thug chords. And here a good expert in his field played. When a woman’s voice came through the earphone, I stopped completely and turned my ears. Women in the Zone are even rarer than guitar masters.

Tomorrow I'll take it out of the closet again
your duster
I'll get you ready for the road again.
Just look don't forget
your wings,
See, I'm not asking for much.

Fly, take off, fly away, reach for the sky
And look from above, find the zone of happiness,
The place where we meet, the place where
I saved you from bad weather.

If you don't find it then
fly further
You will definitely find happiness in flight.
And I'll wait for you
as before.
I've been waiting all my life, I'll wait, I can do it.

Law of the Zone Dmitry Sillov

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Title: Law of the Zone

About the book “The Law of the Zone” Dmitry Sillov

The book “Law of the Zone” is part of the well-known “Apocalypse-ST” series, which includes only 7 works. Each book is a continuation of the previous one. The very first work is “Degtyarev’s Law”, the last is “The Law of Freedom”. All these works were written by Dmitry Sillov, a famous author of unusual science fiction books.

The work “Law of the Zone” is the third book in the series; it belongs to the fantasy action genre, where there is a story about an interesting main character who tries to fight mythical creatures and real enemies. He is a real sniper who knows his business. His main goal has always been to kill others, but it is also important to take care of his own safety, which he has always been bad at.

Dmitry Sillov did not go into a description of the appearance and character of the main character, but he very clearly described the appearance of Chernobyl and its inhabitants. These descriptions are interesting and modern. Reading the description of a long-abandoned city is fascinating. Those moments of the surrounding world surprise and fascinate at the same time. The reader has to see a long-forgotten city in which mutants live who are subject to direct destruction.

In the book "Law of the Zone" the main character has to sit on a pedestal and kill all the approaching monsters. He is surprised by the ominous silence; the man understands that such silence simply cannot exist in the discomfort zone, but he simply does not know what to do. For some time he will have to go down to his comrades to talk about the situation that happened.

Together they decide to check the zone, after which they find many fresh corpses, but who destroyed these monsters and what exactly happened to them is, by and large, unknown. The protagonist is sent back to his post and begins follow-up. What will happen next in the book “The Law of the Zone”, how will the comrades, together with the main character, be able to identify their opponents or, conversely, comrades in the zone? Will everyone be able to get out of this piece of Earth or will they still remain there for a long time?

Dmitry Sillov surprises with his unusual style in writing and describing the surrounding nature. The writer managed to create an interesting and truly vibrant book that is easy to read and comprehend even for an untrained reader.

On our website about books, you can download and read online the book “The Law of the Zone” by Dmitry Sillov for free in epub, fb2, txt, rtf formats. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

Dmitry Sillov

Zone Law

The STALKER series was founded in 2012

The publisher is grateful to Boris Natanovich Strugatsky for permission to use the title of the series “Stalker”, as well as for the ideas and images embodied in the work “Roadside Picnic” and the script for A. Tarkovsky’s film “Stalker”.

The Strugatsky brothers are a unique phenomenon in our culture. This is a whole world that has influenced not only literature and art in general, but also everyday life. We speak in the words of the heroes of the Strugatskys’ works; the neologisms and concepts they invented already live their own separate life, like folklore or wandering stories.

Maria Sergeeva, head of the editorial and publishing group "Genre Literature" of the AST publishing house, and Vadim Chekunov, head of the "Fiction" direction of the editorial and publishing group "Genre Literature" of the AST publishing house for supporting and promoting the projects "STALKER" and "KREMLIN 2222";

Mitenkov Andrey Fedorovich, head of a separate radiation reconnaissance group of the city of Pripyat, the “Red Forest”, the roof of the 3rd power unit, from July 1986 to March 1987, who carried out especially dangerous work on localizing high-level waste in the area of the 3rd power unit and the “Sarcophagus” and Mitenkov Fyodor Mikhailovich, a direct participant in the liquidation of the consequences of the accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, for assistance in working on the novel;

Oleg “Fyf” Captain, an experienced stalker guide in the Zone for valuable advice during my work on the novels of the literary projects “STALKER” and “KREMLIN 2222”;

Pavel Moroz, administrator of the websites www.sillov.ru and www.real-street-fighting.ru;

Alexey “Master” Lipatov, administrator of thematic groups of the social network “VKontakte”;

Semyon “Gloomy” Stepanov, Sergei “Ion” Kalintsev, Vitaly “Vint” Lepestov, Sergei Nastoburko and Vadim Pankov for assistance in the development of the “Sniper” project;

as well as certified Microsoft engineer, MBA graduate of Kingston University UK Alexey Lagutenkov for qualified advice on technical issues.

Chapter first

Law of Duty

Unidentified individuals detained in the zone of influence of the Borg group and who do not have an identification barcode are subject to identification and identification at the nearest commandant’s office. Citizens of the Zone located in the territory of influence of the Borg must necessarily report all suspicious persons to the group’s commandant’s office and contribute to their detention for identification and identification. Citizens of the Zone who evade compliance with this article of the Law are deprived of their civil rights and are subject to exile to hard labor.

Law of duty, Art. 12, part 1

“And why the hell did you bring a corpse here?” He's fresh, he'll be a zombie by nightfall. Throw away this trash immediately and don’t forget to cut off the head.

– I know what to do with fresh corpses, Petrovich. But you have connections in the commandant’s office, and the Law of Duty...

– I don’t care about the Law of Duty! Each group nods at the Law of Debt and reinterprets it in a way that suits its interests. I have my own law, guy, and I don’t care about other laws. Throw him out of here, I tell you, quickly!

- And it’s better to go straight to the “witch’s jelly.” No bones, no traces. Why the hell do I need this deja vu? It happened once already, they brought a falcon. Then the entire Zone washed itself with blood and expanded almost to Kyiv.

I was lying on something hard. This “something” pressed unpleasantly on my shoulder blades and the back of my head. I tried to change my position, but I didn’t succeed – it was as if a grenade had exploded in the back of my head. I screamed. At least that's what it seemed to me. In fact, all that came out was a faint groan.

- Already? It's a little early for a newborn zombie.

There was a brief clang of metal to the left.

– I don’t care... He’s a stranger. First time I see him. There are plenty of strangers at the Cordon even without him, every day they come from outside the perimeter. I didn’t throw away the Sword either, I regretted it - and what happened. The zone has already reached here, this has never happened before...

I tried to open my eyes. It was not possible right away, as if a hard crust had pulled over the eyelids. Light flashed into my eyes. I closed my eyes and moaned against my will again.

The metal clanged again, but more quietly. Then someone’s deft fingers ran over me.

“Not a rich catch, Wanderer,” rattled the one they called Petrovich. - Miscarriage, two crackers, cigarettes... five in a pack, a Chinese watch. At most for fifty rubles. Is it coming? Or will you use canned cartridges?

“Another fifty dollars for disposal if he dies,” the Wanderer boomed. “Or drag him yourself to the “witch’s jelly.”

“You’ve gotten used to the Zone well, boy,” Petrovich chuckled. - He brought it for free, but took it away for money. Damn you guessed right. For me, for twenty, whoever wants and wherever you want will drag him. Take seventy rubles worth of canned food, your surplus - and goodbye. Of course, unless you decide to sell your knife. Just think, I'll give you a very good price for it.

- The knife is not for sale. I look at you and keep thinking: people sometimes call you Zhmotpetrovich among themselves. Is it a coincidence?..

– Haven’t you come up with anything new? - the one who was called Petrovich interrupted the Wanderer. - Self-taught wits. What would you do here without me?

I didn't really understand what these people were talking about. It was important for me to open my eyes. And I did it.

The eyes seem to have become accustomed to the light, just as the brain in the back of the head is accustomed to the tearing pain. And I also somehow knew that you can only moan when you know for sure that there is no one nearby. Otherwise it will be very, very bad.

I made an effort and, jerking myself up on my elbow, tried to sit up. I was shaken, but overall the experiment was a success.

I was sitting on something like a table, roughly but soundly knocked together from thick, rough boards. It smelled of basement dampness and something slightly rotten. Perhaps the smell of rotten meat came from a fat elderly man with small pig eyes on a puffy face. The fat man was sitting on an expensive leather swivel chair that somehow didn’t fit in with his surroundings.

The situation was very reminiscent of a food warehouse combined with an army weapons store. Along the walls were piled boxes with inscriptions in different languages, meaning the same thing - “Stew”, “F-1 grenades, 20 pieces”, “Dry rations”, “Cartridges. Caliber 7.62"…

There was a lot more written on those boxes. On some of them were stacks of unpacked camouflage suits reinforced with armor plates, some cylinders, cardboard boxes...

And there were weapons here too. Machine guns, grenades, rifles, army knives with or without sheaths. Some were clearly used, with discolored bluing and rust stains. Others are new, shiny from factory grease.

All this splendor was guarded by two sets of ugly armor, clutching brand new Kalashnikov assault rifles in their hands. Human eyes were not visible behind the round eyecups of helmets protected by light filters, but I had no doubt that inside the motionless army armored suits there were quite mobile people. If only because their weapons were pointed directly at me and a blond guy in washed and patched camouflage, not very different from the brand new uniform laid out on the boxes. The guy looked at me gloomily, and in his gaze one could clearly see dissatisfaction with the fact that I had once been born.

“Here we go,” the fat man rejoiced, turning to his desk, on which stood an elderly computer, and beating out a cheerful fraction on the keyboard. The column of numbers on the ancient thick-assed monitor became one line longer. “The body has woken up, so there is no need for disposal, and it will crawl to the border of my site on its own.” And you spend him for ten. Is it true, Stranger? – the fat man threw over his shoulder.

The guy muttered something incomprehensible, picked out a stack of canned goods without labels from a nearby drawer, threw them into his skinny backpack and headed for the exit. The barrel, shining from poorly wiped off grease, in the hands of one of the guards smoothly accompanied his movement. All this time the Wanderer was in the firing line. The slightest extra movement - and a bullet to the head is guaranteed.

– What do you want, a special invitation?

I realized that this applied to me.

Gritting my teeth to keep from groaning, I slid off the table and walked unsteadily towards the thick metal door. The barrel of the machine gun, like the nose of a devoted dog, accompanied me to the exit. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the armored guard unexpectedly quickly moved from his place and slammed the heavy door behind me. From inside, invisible bolts rustled metal on metal.