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What the Hell Is Happening?

Went to gear up today, to continue neutralizing scavs on Woods, but all my weapons were gone!  The SKSes, the Vepr Hunter, even "Ivan" - GONE.  Robbed! I knew I should have put a proper door on this hideout.  

But then, as I started to look into what remained of stash I saw an M4A1. Woah - I had never seen one before. Who left this behind?  Then I saw a second one. And then I saw two MP5 submachine guns. 

That's when I realized that some levelled player must have taken over my hideout.  No doubt due to its miserable shape, he thought it was abandoned and moved his stuff in.  I wonder what he did with my stuff? Sold it, probably. 

Oh shit, what if he's still here?  I scanned around, and no one. There was a bottle of whisky, I took a shot to calm my nerves while I decided what to do next.  I don't want to be here when he comes back, but I don't have any other place to go...maybe one of the campsites on Customs?  The solution, when it finally occurred to me,  was blindingly simple: install a damn door! 

Ha! What was his is now mine.  Started looking through the new stash. Headsets, assault rifles, SMGs, meds, food, water. And money! 500K rubles - more cash than I've ever had.  But PACA armor and day bags? No helmet? Also, no extra scopes, sights, mounts?  So who is this guy running around with multiple M4A1 but PACA?  Gear fear?

I headed over to Prapor to get an SKS and some ammo.  I'm not going to go scav hunting with a weapon I've never used, especially one I can't replace. That's when things got weird.  

"What's up, warrior? What's your interest? Cash? Goods? The right place for both, but who are you and what are you made of? It's the first time I see you and no offense, but I've lived too long to trust people right away, so you'll have to prove how tough you are in the field."

I swear to god, that is word-for-word how he greeted me over a month ago. 

"Hey, Prapor, it's me."

But he didn't recognize me. He asked me to prove myself by killing scavs in the area around the customs house, except only five this time, instead of seven.  What was he playing at? Is this because he's disappointed in how I was progressing in Woods? 

"Do you want me to bring you two shotguns as proof?" I interjected, cutting him off.  He seemed unsettled and displeased. 

"Yes, bring me two MP-133 shotguns as proof."

"Hey how much for the SKS?" That brightened his mood. I need to stay on his good side. But, now I'm worried about him, he definitely does not remember me. Is it Alzheimers? Did he have a stroke? 


I headed over to see Elvira. Between all the healing and the meds, I'm one of her best customers. She is also my therapist. I'm trying to work through some issues. My nerves and tendency to panic are interfering with the skills I need to survive, plus there is the moral weight of all this killing, and the pressure of being surrounded by psychopaths 24/7 ...and hardest to face.... maybe I'll never escape Tarkov. That's a real possibility I need to accept....or so she tells me.  

I have been living hand-to-mouth, scrabbling around for scraps and scratch - it seems silly to be paying 50,000 rubles an hour to sit in a chair and talk. But, it has a normalcy about it. Plus, it's nice to be in the company of a woman, you know?  I'm sure if one of the other guys found out they'd make some jibe about being ripped off:  50K for an hour with woman but not getting laid? 

Anyway, I stepped into Elvira's office, and it was the same as with Prapor. "Hello mercenary, are you interested in a job, by any chance..."  I couldn't follow the remainder of what she said. I looked into her eyes, looking at me. She didn't remember me, not at all. My throat constricted, I felt the tears behind my eyes. Not this. "...and for my loyal clients, who do not mind helping me with my business, I offer preferential terms for goods and services..."   I backed out the door before she finished speaking.


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