Grey reached for it. His fingers touched the glass.
Here’s a story called : Shadow of the Zone The rusted Ferris wheel at the edge of Pripyat groaned in the wind, a sound like dying metal. Dmitri "Grey" Markov pulled his worn hood tighter and checked the PDA duct-taped to his forearm. The screen flickered, then resolved into a distorted map. A blinking dot marked his target: a derelict bunker buried beneath the old cultural center. Somewhere inside, according to the rumor that had nearly gotten him killed three times already, lay a prototype artifact—codename: Shadow . gm21.link.S.T.A.L.K.E.R.Shadow.of.the.Zone.1080...
Grey wasn't a hero. He wasn't even a particularly good stalker. But he was desperate. The Zone had a way of chewing up desperate men and spitting out their bones as anomalies. Still, the bounty on Shadow was enough to buy a new life outside the Perimeter. A real life. Grey reached for it
Not walked. Shifted. As if reality flickered and the shadow had always been three steps closer. Dmitri "Grey" Markov pulled his worn hood tighter