"My mother told me I would grow up to be a good man. 'Artyom', she said. 'My light'. And I believed her. When I spared a life, I believed her. When I kill, I believed her. It was a lie. These things I have done. My hands are blackened with blood. If I would have my time again, I would, and then maybe I could become a good man."
Fear the future.
The bar was seemingly quiet if one ignored the noise of the news. The reporter covering it spoke of the cultural riots between the people who believed in Communism and the citizens of Vale who had to put up living with them. The footage displayed the citizens protesting in the streets, but the man at the bar knew the response of the Red Line. Armed soldiers in riot gear closed the road off before tear gas were catapulted over a shield wall reinforced by able-bodied believers. He wanted the channel to change into something light-hearted, but it was impossible if everyone else said otherwise.
Taking another sip of his beer, the communist quietly downed the last drops of alcohol before it burned in his throat. After what he endured along with the loss of his men, there wasn't much to live for except booze and wealth. He tried to work with the SDC mining facilities, but his… inefficient methods were not satisfactory for management. He did his best to represent the faunus miners and tried to reform the worker laws. However, those greedy men in business suits saw through his scheme. The ex-manager knew he could never return to the SDC when the eyes of those hopeful faunus miners saw him walk out the gates with only a suitcase and the clothes on his bag.
The guilt ate at him and there was nothing he could do about it.
The bartender, cleaning out glass, walked over to him with a smile. "Finished with the bottle, sir?' He asked.
"Da." The Russian answered calmly. "I could appreciate another bottle, if you're okay with that."
"Knowing your people know how to hold your drinks, sure. I'll hand you another one." His hand went behind the bar as be pulled out another bottle of cold beer for him. "Here you go."
When the Russian got the bottle, he was about to pry the bottle cap off. However, the corner of his eyes noticed someone out of place as she entered the establishment. She should have known better, there were signs outside that told her not to come here.
The bartender put the empty glass away and walked over to the bar closest to the door. "Hey! Didn't you read the sign! We don't serve faunus customers!"
All eyes inside the building turned on the bunny faunus in a business suit. Based on her face, she was weary and perhaps tired. However, the warning she received from the bartender surprised her. "I only came here for a quick drink."
"Didn't you hear, I don't serve your kind. Get out of here."
Disheartened by the man, she turned away and walked out door with her ears lowered in disappointment. Perhaps it was a genuine reason for why she was coming here.
"I'm sorry she disturbed the peace, sir. I put up enough signs for those White Fang sympathizers." The bartender apologized.
The Russian was unconvinced by his words. After all, he came to this place ever since the attack on Beacon. "Do you really think I believe that? You used to serve faunus customers three months ago."
"Well, not anymore. Those freaks attacked Vale and I'm not taking any chances."
"Not all the faunus are part of the White Fang." He replied.
"Why are you asking these questions? Are you an animal fucker?"
That was an offense that couldn't be taken lightly. Grabbing the bottle of beer he paid for, the man shook his head. "Nyet, I'm a communist." Then he snatched his suitcase beside the stool and walked out of the building.
Many customers were shocked at the revelation of such information, but he didn't care. They were assholes in some degree.
The rabbit faunus stood outside on the corner of the street, underneath the spotlight of the lamp post holding her briefcase in hand. She didn't deserve the discrimination back there, but perhaps he could give her something to console her mind.
The communist joined her, but she ignored him. However, he handed her an open bottle of beer. "Want it?"
She looked at him in surprise. He didn't blame her reaction, it wasn't the first time he did this before. "Are you taking pity on me because I'm a faunus?"
He shook his head. "Nyet. I have a bitter taste in my mouth when someone walks into the bar and leaves without alcohol in their system."
"You're one of those Russians."
"Da, but that shouldn't matter right now."
The faunus woman reluctantly accepted the bottle before drinking it down. "Thank you, I don't get much sympathy from humans every now and then."
"You're not the only one."
"Aren't you a human?"
He chuckled at the thought. "By Nazi standards, I'm a communist subhuman mutant who intends to defile human genetics." The Russian answered.
"That's a very vivid description they have on you."
"I'm a communist, we're eternal enemies with the Nazis." Then he decided to change the subject. "Do you want to get something to eat?"
"You're asking me out when I'm trying to get home?"
He shrugged the question. "You don't seem happy the asshole kicked you out. Besides, you don't want to be alone during those culture riots."
The faunus woman appeared reluctant. "You're a stranger that gave me a bottle of beer in the middle of the night. Why should I trust you?"
"When you put it that way, I don't have a defense for that."
"I won't take the beer, but I'll accept the dinner."
He was surprised by her answer. "You'd do that?"
She nodded her head. "Of course. At the very least, servers won't put anything in my drink."
"If that was the case, we should introduce ourselves. You can sick the police on me for any suspicious activity and I would know simply avoid you." Then he gave out his hand. "My name is Pavel Morozov of the Red Line."
The faunus woman slowly shook his hand. "I'm Vera Scarlentina."
The winds of the Dead City howled. The shells of the buildings still remained and if Miller's words were true, Moscow had defense missiles that were protecting the city from nuclear detonation. However, the city wouldn't escape the radiation unscathed, but it made the lone Ranger wonder why Moscow.
Artyom walked through the streets of the city one more time, heading to Ostankino Tower for the third time. His previous visit was because of his concern for the Dark Ones. He came there to see if they were thriving in the land where he tried to exterminate him. Thankfully, their presence was known when packs of mutants were repelled.
Ever since that party with Winter, he never had a chance to see her again. Professor Ozpin informed him that she would have to go in hiding or stay away from the public eye for her safety. He couldn't blame him, these were matters far beyond his capabilities as a Ranger. Any possibility to bring her to the Metro was a not possible since she would have brought attention to herself alone and the mere fact she wasn't Russian. Since their departure, Artyom had to continue and survive for her sake.
The forty-fifth, the forty-sixth? Climbing up the floors almost made him forget about how far he was off the ground. With each step, the Ranger made his way up the rusty remains of the tower and reached the top. If memory serves, this was where he killed his first Dark One and many more.
Unlike his first time, there was an old military green radio set waiting for him. The knob was turned off, but there was a chance that he could hear them again. As he turned the dials and heard the radio screech and spur to life, he continued to hope. His stepfather and his home station tried to discourage him from getting hear. They didn't understand that what he heard was true. He had heard them.
Consistency, Moscow couldn't have been the only one to survive the bombs. He even heard tales of old radio men talk about the beautiful city of Saint Petersburg and their calls before they lost contact with them. What did the people in the Metro know about the world? They were doing it from the tunnels, but this place would be a good start to begin with.
Only the whining from the radio remained. There was nothing speaking with life. Perhaps he just needed to initiate contact with the world. "Calling from Moscow. I repeat, calling from Moscow. Is anybody out there?"
There was still silence in the air waves.
Artyom's hand rested on the radio as he tried it once more. "This is Moscow, will anybody respond?" He waited again, but there was no reply. Filled with frustration, he punched a nearby electronic. It had been twenty years since it worked, it was better than breaking the military radio he had. He brought out his knapsack and began to get his radio inside. Maybe the heavens wouldn't allow his desire to be fulfilled.
When he was finished, the young Ranger pulled out a photograph of as he sat down on the concrete. Winter Schnee, the woman whom he adored and cared for. He almost lost his life during her hour of need. There was a sense of embarrassment whenever he would be in the company of his peers. The young man who hit the jackpot and found himself falling for a girl from a well-renowned family on Remnant.
Hopefully, the fight against Salem wouldn't be too hard for her. Their happiness can only stay apart for so long.
The people of Exhibition wouldn't be happy to see him return. He knocked on the hermetic door before checking his watch. "Open up!" He demanded.
An annoyed voice on the other side spoke back. "You know I can't do that."
"Petr, it's me, Artyom."
"I know, but if I order those men to open that door your stepfather would give me hell." He answered.
"Then let me take the blame for it. You're just the guard at the door. Besides, he has more reason to be concerned with me."
"You are the savior of the Metro. You don't deserve that."
Artyom shook his head at the thought. His prestige was born after he tried to commit murder on an intelligent race of creatures. "Sukhoi's my stepfather that doesn't mean I do not deserve a scolding."
"Alright, opening the door."
He waited for a moment outside, before he checked his watch again. Thirty-three seconds left before he should change into a new air filter. When the door cracked open, he walked into the entrance room before he heard the door close behind his back. After he took off his gas mask, he smiled at Petr. "Thanks."
The middle-aged Russian in the ushanka smiled back. "No problem, old friend. You should see Sukhoi before he gets mad."
Departing from the surface entrance, Artyom returned back to the familiarity of his home station. From the loud markets to the obnoxious bars, he felt comfort seeing the same old people again. As he walked past the citizens, many eyes smiled at his return since he don the uniform of the Rangers. After all, he was one of the few Rangers deployed outside the Hanza Circle Stations. He was the man in charge of ensuring the stations in the outside territories get the check up in case of a mutant attack.
When he arrived at Sukhoi's office, he felt the dread of seeing his stepfather again. Their previous time didn't leave the conversation on good terms. As he stepped into his office, he saw his old stepfather sitting behind his desk, but there was another man… a stranger.
At the sight of his presence, Suhkoi nodded to the stranger. "We will talk about this later."
The stranger was holding his hat below his chest and nodded. "I understand. I hope you won't forget."
"Don't worry. I'll be sure to give it to him."
The stranger was quick to leave the office of the station commander before closing the door.
Sukhoi's eyes expressed a warm smile any father would give to their only child. "Artyom, I see you have been busy. Did something happen in the tunnel to Riga?"
The young man spoke. "No, I went back on the surface and went to Ostankino Tower to hear the messages."
The old man shook his head. "Artyom, there is no one out there. We have been living in the Metro for twenty years and if you believe someone was out there, wouldn't we hear it before."
"It is hard to get a radio signal when you're doing it from the tunnels."
"Yet, we have not heard a single call from Paris, London, or even New York. I know you believe that you did hear it, but no one has for over two decades."
"Perhaps, no one tried."
Sukhoi stood up from his seat. "My boy, I'm worried for you. Remnant has brought a bright future. You even found a girl. What I'm worried about is your exposure up there. I want grandchildren and I'm worried your hair might fall out."
Artyom stared at his parent. "Perhaps you should have married? You could have had children of your own."
"Don't worry about this old fool. Look at yourself, you are a war hero and have much to look forward to. Even you admit it yourself, what can the Dead City offer you aside from radiation and infertility?"
"Hope." He answered. "I heard them, Sukhoi. We might not have been the only cities to have survived the bombs."
"Artyom, don't waste your youth on some senseless dream. There is no one out there to find us. Now tell me, why haven't I seen you with that girl?"
His stepfather was asking questions. At best, the Ranger had to answer with half-truths since the revelation of the Fall Maiden had to be kept secret. Even from those within the Metro. "She's been busy with work."
"Then why don't you visit her when you have the chance. It's far better to assure her that you're still around."
"It's very complicated."
Author's Note: Welcome to the sequel of Snow and Fire. I was thinking about completing this first chapter after a few other fics, but the previous entry is popular on this site.