Chapter 1: Russian Luck
"War... war never changes."
"If it's hostile, kill it."
Despite being decades after the bombs fell, there was one fact that remained with humanity, war. It was bound to happen in the stations aligning to their political beliefs. The communists and the fascists becoming eternal enemies for life while the capitalists made money off their wars. The only sensible people were the independent stations that stayed away from these conflicts, but they were too few, assimilated by the Nazis or the Reds, or simply dead.
Such was life in the tunnels, but there is one station that has survived all these years. The Polis Station and it's Rangers. While the normal independent station would be killed by mutants or coerced into joining a faction, Polis was respected for its authority to broker peace in the Metro and fight creatures that threatened the last bastion of humanity as a hole. They were the white cells that fought off the monsters that tried to purge the last remains of humanity.
It was time to stop thinking, otherwise the rest of the guards would have yelled at him. Artyom, stood against the wall of sandbags and bricks, accompanying the older men guarding the northern frontier against any stray mutants. The young man was at the front of an extensive defensive line should there be two or more packs trying to break through.
Artyom felt a hand press onto his shoulder. "You should take a seat and relax." An older man commented. Glancing over his shoulder, Artyom saw a bald old man take his seat underneath the lightbulb with his custom Kalash resting in his lap. After adjusting his cap, he looked up to him. "Boy, you should know that we have tin cans out there for a reason." He said. "The mutants are too stupid to avoid them."
Taking his words to heart, he sat across from the older man. "Bourbon, how can you be so comfortable when an attack could occur at any moment?" Artyom asked, concerned about the safety of his station. "Isn't it a bit risky?"
Bourbon dragged a bag out from behind his chair and began to drag it over to his side. "Yeah, but so is running off to Polis all by yourself." He replied. "Had I not known you would be Sukhoi's boy, I would have let you go. Alas, here we are guarding your station."
"Aren't you worried about the threat of the Dark Ones? The Invisible Watchers? They could attack us at any moment."
The man produced a bottle from his bag. "If I had to choose between these 'Invisible Watchers' or my debt collectors, I would choose the mutants. At the very least, they won't suck my money out of my pocket every time I pass by." He said jokingly. "Besides, maybe if I stick around they might leave Exhibition alone."
Artyom lowered his head before he looked to his makeshift machine gun. It was not aesthetically pleasing, but it would do as his own weapon. He had been tasked to send a message to Polis Station about the threat of the Dark Ones, but the situation had changed. His step-father had told the guards to never let him out of Exhibition for his quest while the threat was still out there. Artyom couldn't blame him, he didn't want to lose his adoptive son to the dangers of the Metro just like how his mother was eaten alive by rats as they swarmed his former station. As he thought about it, he could never recall the name of his station or the face of his mother.
Then he smelled the scent of alcohol in the air. "Take a sip, it should pass the time while we are on guard duty." The young man hesitantly reached for the bottle as he began to take a sip. "Kid, I want to make a deal with you before I leave." He began. "It is something important."
After removing the bottle from his mouth, feeling the burning sensation in his throat, Artyom looked to the man with questions. What does he plan to do?
"Do you remember when I taught you how to survive on the surface?" He nodded. "Good, when you get older I want you to remember those lessons I taught you and you will learn how to survive."
"Bourbon, where is this going?"
"By the time I return to Riga, there will be Hanza debt collectors looking for me and they'll probably confiscate everything I own to pay off my debts." He answered before bringing his assault rifle out. "I'll let you have this gun, but don't tell Sukhoi I gave you this. It's between me and you." Then Bourbon looked towards the front of the defenses and turned his gaze towards the extra layers of guard posts far away. "Only go to the surface when you really need to. Otherwise, I want you to stay in your home and be safe. I don't want you to go on that mission of yours and getting yourself killed trying to get a message to Polis."
"Why not? A Polis Ranger told me to do it before he went up north." Replied Artyom.
Bourbon's expression went blank. "Artyom, you'll find yourself on a road you'll never expect and you will have one hell of a ride." He explained as he passed the weapon over to him. "Here, it's yours."
In exchange for this gift, Artyom handed the bottle of vodka back to the man named after a drink only to get his hands onto the pre-war weapon. The Kalashnikov or the Kalash for short, was a prized weapon in the Metro. It was one of the few things of the past that had survived the harsh reality that was brought by the evidence of nuclear bombs. Artyom aimed down the sights of the Kalash towards the north tunnel, knowing that if he fired a shot it would have at least fired off in the direction he was guarding.
Despite being gifted such a weapon, Artyom's eyes noticed a figure off in the distance. "Oh, my head." Bourbon commented, catching the young man's attention.
Artyom quickly glanced over to Bourbon's body just to find him sleeping in a coma. He had seen these signs before when he was heading towards Riga Station, but this time he had to wake him up. As he rose from his seat, he glanced over to the front of his station's defenses, but was met with three of those strange figures. This time, they were standing before him. He didn't know when to be horrified or brave in the eyes of these creatures, but Artyom saw their strange features.
Theses mutants were tall and skinny. With their lengthy hands, their arms could reach out for something a normal human couldn't reach, but it's eyes were what concerned Artyom. The large eyes of the Dark Ones were looking at him, in his soul, without hesitation. The stories of men's souls being broken at a whim were enough to terrify the young man about what thoughts went through their heads.
Then a voice echoed into his mind. 'He is the one…' All three Dark Ones reached their hand out towards him, but the voice seemed to soothe him despite its intention. 'He has come to destroy us… No… He will be the ones to save us…' Why were they talking to him in such a manner? Why were these creatures not maliciously trying to kill him just like his neighbors or his friends? 'Send him…' A strange feeling came over the young man as he felt stiff and terrified of their presence. What where they trying to do? 'Do not be afraid… it is the best alternative…'
. . .
There was a bright blue light that shimmered before his eyes, catching Artyom off-guard. He had to close it, it was too bright for his eyes to handle before his hand covered his eyes. The light was too much for him, what were the Dark Ones trying to do. Then he felt his body violently brushed aside from below before he felt like he was falling, but it was only for a moment.
When his feet hit the ground, he felt the harsh feeling of his boots sinking in. However, there was one issue that concerned him. Why was the temperature warm? Moscow was not known for its warm climate, based upon the information he learned in the books. Artyom opened his eyes before removing his hand to see what had happened. Yet, his curiosity would have to wait on another time as five men were standing in front of him.
However, there was one who was different from the other, looking at him with a checkered suit with a sidearm in hand. "What in the… You know what, nevermind." The stranger said as he directed the barrel of his pistol towards Artyom. "Sorry kid, but I can't let you walk away with a beating heart."
The young man raised his hands, but it was too late. The man's gun fired and the last thing he saw was the two flashes from his pistol as his body slammed into the dirt.
"Bury this one. We can't leave a trace." The stranger ordered as he heard the dirt crunch past him, but Artyom felt the Kalash slipping out of his hand. "A Kalashnikov, what's this thing doing here. Let me bring this baby with me, I guess tonight is worth the cost."
Author's Note: I decided to repost this story from SB just to see people's reaction to this.
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