The mountain of objects on the table in front of me grew threateningly fast. Elements of camouflage uniform. Helmet with attached mosquito net. Ballistic goggles. Knife in a sheath. High boots. Flask. Belt. Knee pads. Backpack. Tactical gloves… Is that all I have to wear???

Do you have light or medium armor? - A huge and shaggy warehouse manager named Vasiliadi turned around, waiting for my answer.

Who knows? It seems that the limitations of the Prospector class did not allow only heavy and power armor, nothing was said about medium armor. I asked for an average. A Kevlar jacket with some additional plates-inserts crashed down on the table in front of me.

– Have you taken the Medium Armor skill yet? And then it’s good to carry extra pounds on yourself, if protection from this does not grow!

By the way, the manager of the warehouse is right... It's just that I already managed to take Mineralogy as the seventh skill, as the high authorities demanded of me, and puzzled over the last available skill. Exactly! You also need to worry about protection!

Obtained Medium Armor Level 1 skill.

- Do not ask for 12-gauge cartridges, they have long been out of stock. But bullets for any pneumatics, even eat your ass!

“But what’s the use of her ...” I said disappointedly, to which Vasiliadi did not agree:

- Do not say that! Until the production of automatic cartridges was established at our base, even the “First Legion” with air rifles went to war, although, of course, the caliber and power were more than your fart. For your information, a good 9mm PCP air rifle will go right through the head of a bear! Although such a weapon and skill also requires an appropriate one - at least level 30, and preferably higher.

thirtieth? My Shotgun skill was only level seven so far, so it was still a long time before I had a good rifle ... I asked about a weapon for the thirteenth or even tenth level of the skill, to which the shaggy man burst out laughing:

– What are you, Mosquito?! Here I have a serious arsenal, not toys from kindergarten. More precisely, there are weapons for absolutely zero beginners, which are undemanding to skills, but you yourself will be better. Upgrade your skill to at least the twentieth level, then come and see. Or ask our mechanics, they will improve your existing weapons for a coin - they will wind up various modifications: for accuracy, for damage or for noiselessness. By the way, you asked about Sour. There he goes.

I turned around sharply. We were really approached by a most colorful uncle with a shaved head and a thick thick black beard. But I did not even immediately pay attention to such an unusual distribution of vegetation on the head of the detachment commander, but to his actually square figure. Sour was not tall, half a head shorter than me. But on the other hand, the shoulders are really that oblique fathom, each arm is as thick as my leg, fists, if not with a watermelon, then certainly with a melon. Yes, and Sour’s voice, as it immediately turned out, was not inferior in volume to the ship’s whistle:

“Mosquito, why the hell haven’t you changed yet?! The car leaves in ten minutes, and you're not ready yet!

“So they told me to get ready by ten, and now it’s only fifteen minutes past ten ...” I tried to object, but the commander only barked in response:

- Balda! At ten o'clock we should already be changing fighters at the Eighth Antique Beach Outpost. And it's still half an hour to get there! Dress up live!

I did not expect from myself such an ability to quickly change clothes, but after a minute and a half I was standing in front of the commander, putting on all those numerous items that had previously been on the table. Sour nodded approvingly, but then still could not resist and burst out laughing:

- Mosquito, what was that now? Does the experience of the situation “I’m lying with a girl, and my parents came at the wrong time” affect? Have you forgotten that you are in the game? You just open your inventory, put the item in the slot, it appears on you. And it’s not at all necessary to jump on one leg, trying to stick your leg into the trouser leg.

Damn, blunted ... Indeed, I had no idea that in the virtual world you can simply shift objects, and not suffer with buttons and laces. Meanwhile, a walkie-talkie went off on Kisly’s belt, a pumped-up fighter with a gloomy face listened to some message, confirmed it and switched off, and only after that allowed emotions to spill out:

- Why do I have a kindergarten nursery group ?! Hey, Komar, two more will go with us. Some new ones, they say you know them. Zheltov is already carrying them on his starship. In the meantime, since there are a few minutes to spare, move your character's spawn point here to the base and allocate skill points, if any. Antique Beach is a fairly calm place, but you can also die there.

I did not neglect the valuable advice of an experienced fighter, and in the settings I began to look for where the respawn point was changing. And here! Some coordinates and even a mini-picture. Apparently, the place of my respawn was the same point where I first appeared in the game that distorts reality. I even managed to make out the gekh diplomat's tent in the mini-picture.

Would you like to change your spawn point?

Yes, I do! I have chosen a free unoccupied place in the central, most fortified and safe base of my faction, and set new coordinates for the revival of my Mosquito in case of death. Great! Now it was necessary to deal with the accumulated skill points.

All six in Scanning and Mineralogy, as Tyulenev strongly advised me? I would have done so, but according to my calculations, the next sixth level of the Scan skill was just around the corner - after arriving at the base, I had already activated the scan icon several times and used this skill, so it would be foolish to lose this progress. And spending free points on Mineralogy was generally irrational - the very first levels of any skill are always pumped very quickly, and I thought first to get five to seven levels in the usual way before spending precious points.

Therefore, hoping very much that Tyulenev would never find out about this, I invested all six free points in Shotguns, increasing this skill to the thirteenth level. Still, patrolling the border is a dangerous and responsible business, and I felt very uncomfortable with my miserable fart, which was incapable of killing anyone (as the supply manager Vasiliadi dismissively spoke of my pneumatic gun).

Even for a self-made “on the knee” assembled, our vehicle looked too exotic and clumsy. It was a kind of huge wooden container, sheathed on the outside with sheets of metal and mounted on a frame with eight wheels. Four wooden benches inside, polished to a shine by numerous asses from a long time of use. Loopholes cut in the walls of the hull. A tarpaulin patched-patched cover that could cover this moving coffin from the top from rain and dangerous creatures.

Half of the internal space was reserved for the transported goods. The driver, on the other hand, was looking through the road through the hazy bulletproof glass, on the outer surface of which one could see several white matte streaks. All eight wheels of this infernal chariot were not rubber at all, but metal hoops stretched over some kind of wire-spring structure. Perhaps this increased the resistance of the wheels to punctures, but the depreciation clearly suffered, and I painfully felt every stone we met with my fifth point.

I was sitting on the very first bench next to a Level 63 Driver Mechanic named San-Sanych, a red-haired, curly-haired joker who has been regularly delivering people of the H3 faction to shifts and posts on his jalopy for six months now. The driver turned the “steering wheel”, pressed the pedals and pulled the levers, while not stopping for a second and telling me, as well as other beginners, about himself and his unusual vehicle.

As far as I understood from these stories, our "bus", as San Sanych affectionately called his car, was the very first vehicle built by our faction. Parts for the diesel were machined and assembled in the Capital, as were most of the other parts for the "bus", the rest were bought from the Geckho or brought from the real world.

“The border of the Yellow Mountains node,” the driver announced loudly and demanded that the passengers sitting behind him pull on a canvas cover. “There will be a forest ahead, where extremely disgusting predatory flowers grow, spitting hydrofluoric acid,” San Sanych drew my attention to whitish blots on the windshield. - Caustic muck, tempered bulletproof glass corrodes. And most importantly, nothing can wipe off such a white drip later, you have to change the glass once a month, when the review is completely spoiled. Such a spittle kills a person immediately, if he is lucky. Or he has to walk around like that with a terrible non-healing burn until he dies and is reborn ...

Irishka, Medic Level 2, who was sitting behind me, upon hearing these words of the driver, sobbed again and began to rub angry tears down her beautiful girlish face. Today, my friend from the very appearance in the Capital was darker than a cloud, without stopping roaring and cursing her unlucky fate. The reason for the mental suffering of the beautiful blonde was simple: no matter how hard Irishka tried to distance herself from her unloved medicine, the choice of professions set before her in the game was not rich: either a Medic or a Veterinarian. And since the girl endured any living creatures even worse than the sight of blood, she had to agree to the role of a Medic.

Over the ten minutes that have passed on the trip, we have already heard from Irishka all the options for moaning about the hated and, most importantly, completely useless profession. Like, why do we need Medics in this game at all, if it’s easier to die and fifteen minutes later enter the game again without wounds and injuries? The leader of the group, Sour, which was quite strange for me, generally supported the girl's opinion. When your base is very close, as a rule, it is easier and more efficient for a bleeding or crippled fighter to actually die on the battlefield and soon be reborn, returning to the battle already with a full supply of health points and with full clips of cartridges. On Irishka, who was already very upset by her profession, the words of the commander had an extremely depressing effect.

The second “newbie I know” in the group was Imran, a Level 2 Gladiator from Dagestan. The Caucasian athlete was today in a very elevated and even inspired state, and just because of the class of his character. As far as I understood, the choice between the Bodyguard and the Gladiator was quite conscious and prudent, Imran even went out and consulted with Tyulenev about the “correct” profession. The bodyguard, in addition to mastery of offhand shooting from light weapons, had a huge supply of hit points and could take some of the damage received by other members of the group. The gladiator, on the other hand, was a recognized specialist in hand-to-hand combat and had an interesting ability to make quick dashes of thirty to fifty meters, finding himself close to enemies in order to shred them into cabbage one by one with his deadly blades. Blade, some kind of overgrown sickle, Imran already had. However, like the machine gun, the Gladiator also knew how to use small arms, except for Heavy and Rocket.

In addition to us, three newcomers, Kisly's group included four more players with levels from twenty to thirty-five. But, as far as I understood from the conversation in the cabin of the "bus", they had to get off earlier, at another outpost. Sour was going to maintain constant contact with them, so that in which case both parts of the group could quickly unite and come to each other's rescue.

Cartography skill upgraded to level 7!

The Scan skill has been upgraded to the sixth level!

Scanning really quickly pumped up to the sixth level. However, the Cartography skill grew much faster. In the "Capital" I categorically refused to take from Vasiliadi a set of ready-made maps that every newcomer relied on - after all, if there is nothing to open, the Cartography skill will not work, which categorically did not suit me. And I made the right decision - even if not as fast as from Zheltov's "starship", but when traveling in the "bus", Cartography was pumped over very quickly. Moreover, I saw the world around me not through a narrow slot-loopholes, but through a normal viewing glass.

The eight-wheeled "bus" without incident passed a dangerous forest with uncultivated spitting plants and, with a strained engine rumbling and bouncing on stones, began to climb higher and higher along the mountain road.

- What fierce battles went on three months ago for these passes! - the joker-driver continued to bring us up to date. - The territory of the node was considered to be like a no man's land, but this did not prevent all sorts of centaurs, goblins and Atlanteans from regularly sending sabotage and reconnaissance groups here. On the left, the tower is burned and the palisade is visible. Here our faction tried to set up a fort, but it turned out to be a bad place, and the centaurs burned it down. Then, on another pass, the “First Legion” burned out the surrounding forest with flamethrowers and managed to gain a foothold. And then normal outposts were built along the perimeter of the node, and then it became calm.

At some point, the bus drove into a gray cloud, and I completely stopped distinguishing anything through the cloudy and wet glass. Accordingly, the Cartography skill also stopped pumping, I specifically watched the progress bar for a long time and paid attention to it. I did not understand how San Sanych could sort anything out through this dregs. Apparently, he had some kind of secret skill "carried-don't give a damn" or something like that, since the "bus" continued to confidently jump over the stones, and my neighbor did not stop talking for a second.