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S.T.A.L.K.E.R Bandit Cheeki Breeki in kyrillischer Sprache Sticker

Designt und verkauft von ajmcmast

2,24 $

~~2,99 $~~ (25% Rabatt)

1,79 $ beim Kauf ab 10 (beliebige Designs)

25% Rabatt – nur noch für kurze Zeit

2,24 $

~~2,99 $~~ (25% Rabatt)

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S.T.A.L.K.E.R Bandit Cheeki Breeki in kyrillischer Sprache

As I sat in my makeshift camp, cleaning my unfortunately well-used Makarov handgun, contemplating why I came to the Ukraine in the first place, to be more specific, the Zone itself, where all the horrors you can imagine come to life. The fire cackled as I became lost in thought, my AK rifle thrown lazily upon my old Soviet rucksack, the scent of chopped boar chops cooking over the small, hopefully unnoticeable fire. I had lost many of my friends here, some that I made while in my time here, but the one that hurt me the most, was my dear friend Saava Judge, he had been a Ukrainian immigrant, who was my greatest friend, not only in the States, but the one who followed me through everything, he came to the zone with me, he had my back and I had his. Times were tough, but throughout everything, everything the world had thrown at us, we had made it together, because together, we could do anything. I never watched him die, because I am unsure if he did. One day, while in camp, I fell to sleep right next to a still-awake Saava, I said my goodnights, and fell into slumber as he drank from his small flask, usually hidden behind a magpouch. When I woke up Saava was simply gone. His rucksack, his rifle, his sleeping bag. Everything. He didn’t leave a note, he was simply gone, as if he never existed. I will never forget his forgiving green eyes, how they would nervously drift about when we would find ourselves in a bad situation, how they would silently speak volumes to whomever they reached, the laugh lines on his face blatantly showing just what kind of man he was, an optimistic friendly kid who would find the best in any situation, no matter how bad. My thoughts were interrupted by a small snap of a branch in the distance. My eyes shot open and I was about to tell Saava to be alert— but I remembered just as my mouth opened. I readied my rifle and tried to hide from the telling light of the fire, I studied the treeline and prayed it was simply a wild dog, boar, wolf maybe? Even a mutant is better than a person, people don’t have guns. The hair on my neck snapped to attention as I heard another step behind me, about 20 meters off. I heard a metallic lever click, slightly but surely I knew this click, a Makarov pistol. I knew what was about to happen, so I embraced it. I stood up and yelled as loud as I could, the words “I’m friendly! I won’t shoot!” as more or less a plea of mercy, they had the jump on me, I could barely make out the two or three figures. They had seemingly looked at eachother, and one lowered his firearm. Perhaps I am safe? This thought was cancelled out with a sound I dreaded to fear, the one phrase that could make a man stop cold in his tracks, the phrase that Sirens themselves would once heard, dive back to the seas and retreat to the depths of where they came. “A NU CHEEKI BREEKI AV DAMKE!”