I Tarkov Poorly

I had a dream last night. It's already fading and I want to get it written down before I forget it. Normally, I wouldnt' bother. My dreams are usually about my parents, my childhood, girls, or Tarkov. Most of them are about Tarkov, and this one is no different. I dreamt there was something I had to do for Prapor, and I was moving with urgency, upset perhaps. I hurriedly grabbed an armored vest, pushed a grenade in my pocket, and picked up a hunting rifle that I had recently modified with a huge suppressor. I had four magazines for that rifle, but could only find three. No time.  I jammed them into my vest and ran out. And then in the dream I was fighting some BEAR operative, but the damn rifle was too long and unwieldy.  I dropped it and rushed him pulling out a little submachine gun I had tucked into my vest. As I ran up to him I began firing, but too soon. The rounds, they emptied into the sandbags he was crouched behind and I brought the SMG up to his face but it was empty ...

I encountered Jerry today. That did not go well. I was checking if the way was clear when a trio of ex-USECs rolled into view. One of them was Jerry, my old rack-mate. I'd recognize him and his gait anywhere.  "Hey Jerry! It's me." I stood up and waved, weapon slung. Briefly I saw worry flash across his face - but not recognition. He raised his weapon and I dropped to the ground, fast, and rolled down behind the ridge I had been standing on. I hit the bushes and ran as a fireteam's worth of gunfire tore up the location I'd just been in.  (If you never witnessed it, it's a lot - a simple three or four man fireteam can put down a mind-boggling amount of fire). Fortunately they didn't follow. I ran away hurt. Not physically, but upset that Jerry, of all the people in Tarkov, had just tried to kill me.  I really am alone. Jerry and I were never close, but for a year we had bunked together - sharing a small room in the USEC barracks on campus. We had develo...

When Elvira told me there was a shortage of medical supplies, and salewas specifically, she was not joking. As I took care of business for Prapor and others, I was constantly on the lookout for them. Checking bodies of operatives, abandoned Emercom camps and staging areas, any place there might be medical supplies.  I went over to the Ultra mall - I remember Emercom had set up a staging area outside it during the evacuation of Tarkov. There were abandoned ambulances but no salewas. I even ventured into the mall, which is the demesne of that psychopath who calls himself "Killa" and cleared out a little dispensary that used to be there.  But not a single salewa did I find. It occurred to me, I could probably just make one. My hideout isn't exactly a medical grade environment, but having been the victim of gunshots, I can tell you that "Is it sterile?" is never an immediate concern  (unlike "Am I going to die?"). The empty red wrappers with their white on...

USEC was such bullshit. The recipe was simple: a serving of "ask no questions" combat vets mixed with a fat dollop of  corporate double-speak. It made money and covered asses.  Win win. As I've mentioned before, USEC didn't have the usual officer ranks. Instead of Lieutenants, Captains, Colonels, we had Managers, Directors and Vice Presidents. And instead of Warrant Officers and Sergeants we had Team Leads. And we had teams because, I kid you not, "there is no 'I' in 'Team'". "There's no 'I' in 'squad'", I pointed out to the drone giving us the mandatory bullshit corporate presentation. "There's no 'I' in 'division' neither" chimed in Jerry. "There's two 'I's in 'division'", corrected the drone. "Actually there's three 'I's in 'division'", I corrected. You get the idea. Where was I?  The helicopter .  So after the helicopter...

I had that dream again last night. I guess it's more of a memory - remembering that moment when I was standing on the tarmac at the Tarkov airport, lost, and about to make the dumbest decision of my life.  If I had a time machine and could use it only once, that's where I'd go, no question about it. It was the same day as the big banana. I bet a lot of people wish they could time machine back to that day, assuming they are still alive. When your job has you handling secrets and classified info, you begin to view information itself differently. Information becomes an obligation, a responsibility, a liability. Secrets are a hassle, and knowing more just means more work.  I can't speak for CIA agents and folk like that, but for me, handling classified material in the military, it didn't take long to develop an anti-curiosity. I don't know, and I don't wanna know.  So between that and the isolated habits I acquired in Sudan, my world had shrunk to what I could t...

Found a can of herring today, it was bulging - botulism.  Boiling water should kill that, right? So I had herring botulism soup for my daily meal today.  Hope that doesn't kill me.   Fucking "hope" is going to get me killed.   Also, it was freezing cold last night. I need to steal more blankets and get some heat in this sewer I hide out in. It's hard to believe this is my existence, shivering, scrabbling for scraps and counting every kopek.  And the irony is that stateside I have a lot of money.  USEC sucks and I will never forgive them for abandoning me here.  But they paid well. I was pulling in just a little under 200K USD yearly working for USEC.  When they hired me they said they were looking for candidates with combat experience, who had held security clearances, and/or were special forces.  I was two out of three of those so my starting salary was well north of 150K.  And I got a "sensitive operation" bonus my two years ...

In the service dog-tags are usually issued in pairs. If a service member is killed in the field and the body can't be immediately retrieved for some reason, then you take one of the tags back to a commanding officer to report the death, but leave the other tag on the body. Or, at least, that's the old system. Honestly, in my service before USEC bodies simply weren't left in the field, so it was a non-issue. Also there were ZAP cards (aka kill cards) in pockets, sewn into the uniform, in the helmet lining, etc.  Plenty of ways of identifying a casualty. If a body had only one dog tag, it wasn't supposed to be taken. It remained with the body to identify it.  There was probably some regulation about it. But, again, not anything I ever dealt with, because we didn't leave bodies behind, ever.  Nobody touched anybody's tags.  When I joined USEC, a private company, they issued us tags. But, like most things USEC, it was just for show - to impress a customer or a prosp...

I have very little communication with anyone. But I notice that in the tiny trickle of chatter on my old USEC comm device that everyone refers to the Tarkov residents as "Scavs".  I've adopted this terminology myself.  "Scavs", short for "scavengers".  Prapor had me kill a bunch of them that were hanging out in the Customs area. "Like flies" is how described them to me on one occasion, and "cockroaches" on another.   But is that right? Because, if I am completely honest, you know who goes scurrying around out of sight, lifting anything that's not nailed down? This guy.  I scavenge all the time. Even when I'm trying to get a job done, if I see some sugar left out on a table it's in my pocket before you can blink. And you know who doesn't scavenge and steal everything in sight?  These guys I keep killing for Prapor. Most of them aren't filling their pockets with half eaten crusts of bread - they are patrolling area...

So time before last, when I saw the Mechanic he was pretty testy, prickly. And one of the things he asked was for me to retrieve some message from "the Jaeger" for him. Which I did, and that whole affair was fairly profitable to me.  So, I shouldn't complain. But I will complain, though not about Mechanic, per se. Now I understand the whole bat-shittery and he was just trying to pass off an annoying problem, and he did. And now I'm stuck with the annoying problem. And that problem's name is "the Jaeger". So the original message pick up was suspect right from the word go.  Mechanic tells me "an old friend" is trying to pass an encrypted message to him, and he wants me to get it.  Ok, spycraft isn't really my thing, but I know what a dead drop is. And, sure, picking up the drop, getting it out without being tailed or followed, yeah - that's important and possibly dangerous.  Sure, I'll do it.   But then it gets weird.  So where is thi...

 Recognition noun identification of someone or something or person from previous encounters or knowledge. acknowledgment of something's existence, validity, or legality. Something has changed. Maybe it's all the scavs I've neutralized, or killing the FlyKing. But suddenly everyone has jobs for me. That creepy Skier guy wants me to scrounge up body armor and shotguns for him. The Mechanic wants me mod up a shotgun for him. And, of course, I still owe Prapor two shotguns.  Shotguns, shotguns, shotguns. If I have to pull them off dead scavs, it'll take forever.  But there might be a quicker way, at least for the MP-133s. But that means venturing into Priozersk Natural Reserve, aka Woods.  I heard that someone took down some of the wall that's there, opening up the accessible area, and, supposedly some fuck has put in landmines to keep the trespassers (like me) at bay.  Guess I'll find out. I also went and revisited Elvira.  She still doesn't remember me. She a...

Received a cryptic message on the defunct USEC channel.  "New Years Present" was all it said with some coordinates for an in-person meet.  Now what?  My first instinct was to blow it off. It's probably some corporate bullshit, like release-from-liability papers they want me to sign. But aren't they out of business? I mean, if not, I wouldn't be stuck here.   I couldn't help getting my hopes up. Maybe they were going to send me home.   So I went. As I walked there, I kept telling myself not to be optimistic. As an employer, USEC never failed to disappoint, why should this be any different?  But I didn't expect "surreal", so they well and truly surprised me.  "Hey, mate! Merry Christmas".  Corporate guy with an American accent talking like he was an Australian.  Poser? Or maybe he had just done a lot of time in southeast Asia?  Who am I to criticize?  Me whose mirror reflection is "going soviet" before my very eyes.  "S...

I can't believe I've been so blind. All these changes have muddled my thinking.  Prapor isn't only giving weapons to me, a stranger,  he's handing out weapons to everyone, and acting the part of the loveable grandpa.  But how and why?  Is he trying to buy everyone's loyalty? Is he building an army? Is it just to cause unrest and instability?   Or is it like Gilette razors, give the razors away but charge for the blades? Are ammunition sales where he makes all his money?  Except the last AK-74U he gave me was loaded with BP.  I may ditch it, but I'll keep the ammo.   And why does he keep saying "So, have you figured out what's what yet?" every time he gifts me weapons?  I approached this straight on. "No, I haven't figured out anything, I just want to get out of Tarkov alive. Why are you giving me all this weaponry and gear?"    But he was evasive. And where is he getting all this gear? Did his goons stumble onto a NATO arm...

The guy who hires me to go and kill random people is acting sentimental and caring. The guy who overcharges for used beat-up firearms is passing me military grade shit like were besties passing notes and gum in class.   "So, have you figured out what's what yet?" he says to me and hands me an AK-74 and some body armor. Like he's my father trying to help me out.  And then he does it again, gifting me a VPO-209.  And a third time with an AK-101 and some helmets. What the hell is going on? I really prefer the old Prapor, who I didn't trust and didn't trust me.  I know he's going to call in a favor, and I'm certain I won't like it. Why me? He barely knows me. Though the one thing he does know about me is that I'm not cut out for this. The average schoolgirl would probably beat me in a fight. Am I being setup to be some patsy?  I must be Lee Harvey Oswald awkwardly posing with a mail order 6.5 x 52mm Carcano. So who's the Kennedy? My stash is ov...

 Got a message from Prapor, he's giving me a "boost" (his word, not mine). And he sent over an AK-74, an AK-101 and a god-damned Kel-Tec RFB assault rifle! This can't be no strings attached, but he didn't ask for any favors. I was sure he was going to ask me to go kill Jaeger or Putin or something. Instead, he says "everybody calls me Prapor, let's get acquainted."  Like he want us to go out to a movie or dancing?  Introducing himself _again_ plus being overly generous - something is definitely wrong with him. Dementia. He probably had a stroke.  He sent over a SKS-OP too. Something I can put a sight on. I'll take that out next.  I'll set the others aside in case he asks for them back or tries to call in a favor I can't return (e.g. dancing).

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, whe...

 Went to see Prapor today. "I see you got my message. I have your insured items right over here, taking up space I could better use for real customers." "Uh, thanks." "You heading out again today? Maybe insurance could cost you not so much." "No, not today. Just picking up the items.  Thanks." "Hmmm" He didn't say anything but I could hear the disappointment in his voice, in his "Hmmm" with three "m"s. I don't know how he knows, but I get a feeling he knows exactly how many scavs I've killed so far (four) since I told him I'd help him out in Woods. And since I deal with him for the insurance, he's got to have a rough idea of how many raids I've been on (eight), and he has an exact count of how many I've claimed the insurance (five).  He's probably wondering how long it's going to take me to neutralize fifteen scavs. I'm wondering the same. Eight raids and only four killed scavs...