Chapter One: Business as Usual
"It's too late now, the boss is angry; wants to see you immediately." A gruff voice stated haltingly.
"No, wait! Tell him I'll get him everything he wants, please!" The shrill cries of a short and slim man kneeling on the tracks of this particularly barren stretch of tunnel did nothing to sway the larger one, who was standing over him with a machine gun in his hands, finger stroking the trigger guard impatiently. "I h-had trouble at the border, that's all. You know how it is with these rules about transporting goods past the Ring!"
There was a cautious moment of silence before the large man grinned as he cast his eyes down the far end of the tunnel ahead of them. The smaller man timidly followed his gaze, his eyes wide and his brows twisted in terror. Distant footsteps were heard thundering forward and the echo made it very hard to discern whether it was one person or a whole army.
The sound grew steadily, until three figures began to emerge from the abyss. Two strong similar-featured men in grey uniforms and green armored vests flanked the third figure who seemed to be the boss that the large man had forewarned about; each one carried a Kalashnikov and a stern look. The one in the middle came to a halt squarely on the cross tie in front of the kneeling man, he followed the worn pair of combat boots upwards; the sight becoming more shocking as his eyes climbed the unexpected form.
"Well then." Spoke a smooth feminine voice, it would have been comforting, had he not known the context of the situation he was in. "What seems to be the problem, Herr Schmidt? Are you no longer in need of our services, or have you simply ceased to function as a useful member of society?"
She spoke like a scholar or politician, calmly and yet condescendingly. He examined her stature quickly; tall and thin, lightly armored - yet armored. She also carried a Kalashnikov, but as he had caught the glimpse of it in the dim emergency lighting she was placing it into a holster on her back. Her long reddish-brown hair fell in soft loops beside her face, as if it were slipping from the clip behind her head. Her face was smooth and porcelain pale; she couldn't have been any older than twenty-five. His jaw hung agape, his tongue struggling to form a word. Her colorless eyes pierced at him, both hands on her hips, and she waited for his response.
"Y-you're a... I mean you-you're Aleksandr Dmitriyev? I thought—" The small man stuttered.
"Aleksandrya." She raised her eyebrows and leaned forward at the waist, challenging him to continue prattling, daring him to continue to delay answering her question. He received the hint quite clearly.
"No, no, of course not. I-I mean, there's no problem at all miss—" His sentence was cut from his lips by the swift motion of the woman drawing a silenced Makarov pistol from its holster at her hip and aiming it at his head. It seemed like a flash of lightning had gone off in that brief moment, as if she had manipulated the very fabric of time. His hands flew up beside his ears to protect himself instinctively and he crumpled further downward, cringing.
"You may not have known, so I will tell you now, if there is one thing I cannot stand - it is a liar." She took a deep breath and then relaxed her weapon arm, crossing it over her other arm pensively. "Now, I shall give you two more days. Ivanovich will be keeping his eyes on you until you reach Venice. You will deliver my message and bring the supplies to Novokuznetskaya. Ivanovich will take them from there, since you're so stunningly incompetent." She gestured in the direction of the large solider whom he had initially been pleading with and the man winced at the thought of being followed by the brutish man.
The small man nodded silently and slowly the whole time she was talking. Anything to keep that pistol from pointing in his direction again, anything to keep these soldier's from tearing him apart in their minds, and to keep them from making their fantasies a reality.
"Did I make anything unclear to you?" She leaned down to him again, returning her pistol to her holster. The small man was finally able to let out a breath.
"N-no, I'll get on it straight away. Thank you, thank you. I'll never speak a word of this to anybody, I swear!" He began to stand up and back away slowly, gathering up his pack and jacket that had been dropped during the initial scuffle.
"No. You won't." She seethed, letting the malice in her eyes show through until he turned his back and ran as fast as he could back towards the Koltsevaya Line.
Aleksandrya sighed with annoyance and relaxed her stance, rolling her eyes as she took a few steps forward to where the small man had been kneeling down. The large soldier began to chuckle and stepped forward out of the shadows with a lopsided grin.
"What is funny, Ivanovich?" Spoke the shortest soldier to the biggest.
"The look on their face - never gets old." Ivanovich grinned as he balanced the large box magazine of his weapon on his shoulder and put his free hand on his belt. "I think he might have pissed himself just looking at you, boss."
"Stupid traitors, thinking they know everything - thinking they can get away with slacking off. You would think Reich would stop sending so many spies. How many have we turned into errand boys, Aleks?" The other soldier who had been standing at her side said with disgust, slinging his rifle strap over his shoulder.
"They aren't all spies, Nikolai." She spoke in a voice so low it was almost consumed by the expanse of the tunnel. "Not that one, anyway."
"What do you mean?" The same young man raised an eyebrow.
"A Reich operative wouldn't cower and piss on themselves. Think about it - they send paid scouts, outcasts like us to do their dirty work and report back. None of them want to come this far, especially to Paveletskaya." She shook her head and turned around to face her companions. "I sort of feel sorry for him."
"So why scare the poor guy like that, then? If you knew so much about it…" The soldier called Nikolai crossed his arms and scowled.
"Because we can't afford to show any weakness. Outcast or not, he is still being used by them, and they do not easily give up." She narrowed her eyes and turned her head back down the tunnel. Many kilometers north on the very same line was the Fourth Reich territory - her former home.
"Hey, Artyom!" There was a muffled knock on the hard metal frame of the door. "Are you awake or what? Can't stay in bed all day forever, you know." The voice was playful. It was definitely Ulman, come to check on him.
Artyom groaned and rolled onto his side, his senses slowly shifting back into reality. He remembered that he was in D-6 now, that he didn't live in a station anymore; it was the light in the small room that surprised him the most. Never had he thought that he would live to see this mythical place, or find out that it even existed let alone have his own room in it, he absorbed every detail he could until Ulman began knocking again. Pushing the heavy metal door aside, he was greeted by the mischievous expression on his partner's face.
"Come on, it's time you got out for a bit. We've got a mission. Orders came down from Melnik this morning!" Ulman nodded excitedly, beckoning him outside.
Artyom took another quick look around and then went to his locker, inside was a new Spartan Ranger uniform - gray and blue urban camouflage pants and jacket, shiny black leather boots, a black tactical vest and all the little pouches and accessories you could ever need or want - all crisp and smelling of a musky wooden crate. He slipped it on over his undergarments quickly, Ulman was tapping and humming outside impatiently, but Artyom knew it was just for comical show. Ulman knew just how to keep the mood light even in the most serious times and Artyom welcomed it, having been plagued by nightmares for the past few weeks since his previous mission almost two months ago - on the surface at Ostankino Tower.
Just a few short hours later, the combatant pair were rolling down the tunnel towards Belorusskaya in a small electric cart; they were to be the replacement fire team at the Church outpost on the surface. Artyom inspected his newly-issued automatic weapon thoroughly, impressed by its metallic sheen. He was certain after a few moments of admiration that it had never been fired before. Just how many weapons or other military artifacts had been in storage at D-6 all this time? Had the previous world's inhabitants stockpiled such items in anticipation for what might come upon them at some point? Perhaps they knew exactly what would happen.
Ulman stopped the cart just before the entrance to Belorusskaya and dismounted from the driver's seat. Artyom looked ahead to the entrance, expecting to see a searchlight or checkpoint but there was none. Only two dim emergency lights flanked the opening to the passageway to the Hanza Ring. He looked disbelievingly at Ulman.
"What, no guards?" He poked, hoping his simple question would evoke Ulman into a full explanation.
"They know it's only us Rangers coming through here. We've cordoned off the Reich territory for now – precautions." Ulman spoke with an unusually solemn voice, letting Artyom know he didn't intend to speak further about it.
He was then handed a new passport, within the pages of which he found an entry stamp for the whole of Hansa territory; and they hadn't even been to a customs table! It was completely astonishing to Artyom, remembering how difficult everyone had always told him it was to enter Hansa – even if you didn't intend to stay there. He recalled with disgust his last journey through that line and it began burning him up inside how easy everything seemed to be going. How helpful this passport would have been before he had set out to reach Polis…
"They will still search us; they want to make sure we aren't planning anything." Ulman stated plainly, heaving his rucksack onto his back.
"Like what?" Artyom spat out before he could think. Sometimes his curiosity got the better of him.
"Like a takeover." Ulman shot him a look of annoyance, but then flashed a smile as if he had never been irritated. "They want to be sure that we aren't going to try to take over the whole Metro now that we are in charge of D-6. Melnik and the council at Polis had a hell of a time striking a deal with them. For now at least, we have an… arrangement."
Artyom was still curious but decided just to nod his head in understanding and keep his mouth shut. He deduced that Hansa had agreed to be courteous and offer transit to Sparta Rangers in return for preventing a Reich advance. All the pieces were starting to fall into place in his mind.
"So we'll go along the ring to Oktyabrskaya, then up to the surface through the radial station." Ulman nodded his head at Artyom as a way to elicit his affirmative response.
"How far is it from the exit to the church?" Artyom asked after he had nodded back.
"Not far, there's already a pretty clear path to there because of the car." Ulman referred to the armored truck that the Rangers used to traverse the surface sometimes. "But always be on the lookout for mutants, you can't predict them for long."
Artyom nodded his head again and they passed into the transfer passage with no further conversation.
When they did enter the main station, they could hear the bustle of the market – this being an important trade post for the Collective Farm stations that supplied nearly the entire Metro with pork, chicken, mushrooms, potatoes, and liquors. Angry sounding foremen barked orders at their workers, pushing them to work faster loading up a cart with goods. A few patrolling Hansa soldiers were about, usually in pairs, probably making their rounds to see that everything was running smoothly. Artyom almost thought it was strange that they didn't carry rifles, but only a sidearm in a holster at their belts.
He admired the beautiful lighting that he had so fondly admired upon his first visit, there were real lamps shining down on them from decorative brackets sticking out from the relief carvings on each pylon arch. The marble tiled floor was immaculate, though dulled from heavy traffic. A banner hung on the back wall displaying the brown circle logo of the Hanseatic League stations.
Making a swift step in front of him, Ulman crossed the main platform towards a small table at which sat another officer in a gray uniform.
"Artur Sergeyevich!" Ulman stepped up to the man with his arm extended to pat the aforementioned man on the shoulder.
"Ulman, my friend! What brings you to visit me today?" Artur rose from his seat promptly and extended the opposite arm towards Ulman and returned the gesture. Ulman explained to the man quickly where they were headed and about his companion, and Artyom understood that as his cue to step forward.
"Ah, so this is your strong young man who saved the Metro. It is my honor, Artyom. I am Artur Sergeyevich; I'm an inspections officer here in Hansa." The man smiled warmly, seemingly quite proud of his job.
"Nice to meet you." Artyom shyly spoke and bowed his head slightly; he hadn't fully considered that he'd saved anybody, or that it would seem so alien to him that a complete stranger would know anything about his actions.
"So then, we'll just go through the formalities and get you on your way." Artur smiled at them both, reassuring Artyom that this wouldn't be as terrifying as a typical inspection. He thought that Ulman must have known this person for a while and that perhaps Artur Sergeyevich wouldn't take notice even if they had tried to bring a massive arsenal through his station. They were probably friends before their discovery of D6, and perhaps even before the over world disaster, although he reminded himself that Ulman was not much older than him – perhaps he was about thirty?
Enduring a quick pat-down and an examination of their rucksacks, they were soon sitting on the transport trolley that ran between all the Ring stations regularly. Artyom counted the three filters he was given for the surface trek, and screwed one into his mask before putting everything back into his small pack. He began to mentally prepare himself to go to the surface again, doing everything in his power to not relive any moments from the tower. Instead he chose to think about how clear the air had been at the top. He considered that it was only radiation in the ground and the water that hung like a fog over the city, just one thick layer at the bottom that had congealed like pork fat left in the pan after it's been cooked. Once you got higher, the air was thin and crisp. Had all of the air been so clear in the old days of their city? He thought that maybe, if there was a way to rid the soil of that disease, to dispel the fog, then perhaps it was possible to live on the surface of the Earth once more.