Exhibition Station was on high alert and Bourbon couldn't blame the people in charge. Artyom was missing and it was all because of his drinking or perhaps his ill care when he was on guard duty. Sukhoi was going to give him an earful and perhaps throw him out of the station if he was angry enough. However, he couldn't blame the man. Artyom was all that he was living for. No man should be calm when their adoptive son goes missing just after they achieve stalker age.

He quietly sat at his guard post, but his mind was elsewhere as he ensured no mutant dared to come past him. Whatever caused him to fall into a coma, it was not normal. There was something about it that made him worry about the possibility of experiencing the strange shit the Metro was rumored to have. He would have believed such were true in front of Artyom, but it was best that he didn't express his fearfulness in the tunnels. People would make fun of him for being scared, particularly the Hanza guards. Thankfully, he wasn't in Hanza territory and he was in an independent station that was out of their range of influence. Had Exhibition not be under threat of these 'Dark Ones' or the usual tunnel trash, they would have definitely threw him out.

Bourbon took another sip from his bottle of mushroom vodka, it was perhaps the shittiest drink to experience, but it would suffice. He missed the drinks in the days before the war, wine, bourbon, vodka, beer, or whisky. It was a pity that young men like Artyom would never experience such tastes of the paste before they were incinerated by the radioactive bombs. Instead, they would spend their life drinking bottles of shit that was preferable than piss.

His ears began to hear small scratches on the tunnel floor, but it concerned him greatly since he had not heard any scratching during his time on guard duty. Bourbon drew his automatic shotgun from his side and loaded a shell onto the clamps before pumping the shotgun shell into the chamber. Perhaps there was a lone mutant probing the station's defense. He rose from his seat and manned his station, turning on the light switch, allowing his eyes to see the road ahead. There was something about it that irked him and he hated it. "Hey, who the fuck is there?" He questioned.

Silence was his answer. Maybe he was just hearing things, but it never harmed anyone to be cautious in the tunnels. To relax when there was danger was any man's greatest mistake. Yet, his eyes were noticing something in the distance. He couldn't make it out, but Bourbon sensed someone was there. He didn't know why anyone would be living in the Northern Frontier, there was nothing there for anyone. The figure of a man grew closer, but the stranger sprinted towards him. "Ave Caesar!"

The threat revealed himself in blood-red while dressed in football padding. This time, his hand was carrying a spear and as he slowed down he lunged the spear towards the guard post.

Bourbon was quick to take cover behind the wall of sandbags as the spear flew over him. When the wooden spear landed on the tracks, he rose from his cover and returned fire with three shotgun shells. The pellets gibbed the assailant's body into pieces as he fell to the ground. "What the fuck?" Bourbon pondered to himself as he reached over to the bell on the left. The drunkard immediately rang the alarm and shouted to the layered defenses. "Anyone at their post?! We got company!"

His eyes looked back towards the main defenses and saw the station's militia ran into their positions and manned their barricade. "Bourbon, get back here. We'll cover you!"

From the north, battle cries shouted from the darkness as the stalker left his position for the better defended barricade. He sprinted towards the sandbag wall, sprinkled with spikes as the gated door was swung open for him. As soon as Bourbon got through, the guards were quick to close it shut before a man stepped in to forcefully reinforce it with sandbags.

"Everyone, get to your positions!"

Bourbon walked over and joined the militia behind their barricade as they loaded their Bastards and their Kalashnikovs for the fighting to come. Some were as young as eighteen, but others were older. Simple people of the Metro, people with 'normal' lives if it can be called in such a way. He immediately filled his clamps with shotguns shells while his fellow defenders slipped their magazines of dirty ammunition into their weapons. A hand fell upon his shoulder, surprising Bourbon as he glanced over his shoulder. "Sukhoi, what are you doing here? I thought you were looking for your son."

Sukhoi, he was much older than Bourbon and his white hair proved how old he was. Unlike most men in the Metro, he had not reached any bald hairs while his wrinkled face expressed the stress he experienced. "I heard the alarm. What's attacking us? Is it the Dark Ones or just the usual mutants?"

"More like who is attacking us. Apparently, someone is attacking us from the Northern Frontier. I don't know who, but all I knew is that the fucker decided to throw a spear at me."

"Bourbon, have you been drinking too much?" The leader of Exhibition asked.

"No, I'm not stupid to do something like that. Maybe off-duty, but that doesn't matter. Right now, someone is attacking your station."

Sukhoi shook his head in disbelief. "A new breed of mutants and now this, I wonder what we're going to deal with."

One of the defenders alerted everyone. "Look, there's someone coming in!"

Sukhoi was quick to stand behind Bourbon as flashes erupted from the darkness and flew in their general direction. "Get down!" He ordered. The men were quick to duck behind their wall of cover as the hail of gunfire pinned the militia from defending their positions. On the right, the gunner's hands was holding the handles of a heavy machine gun while he crouched behind the concrete wall. "Ivan, I need you to suppress those guys."

The gunner shook his head in acknowledgment before he stood up behind the safety of the gun shield and returned the heavy ammunition back on the flashes in the darkness.

"Men, return fire! Return fire!" Sukhoi ordered as he drew his Kalash from his side and peeked over. Then he pulled the trigger and began to inspire the younger men into joining Exhibition's defense.

Bourbon made three quick breaths before he stood up and began firing his Shambler upon the attackers. With each pump, he watched as the assailants fell in the open to the gunfire of the Exhibition defenders.

A man beside him took a bullet, slumping onto the ground before he screamed in pain. "Motherfuckers, I'm going to kill you!" While his hand was pressed on his wound, a doctor dragged him away from the barricade with a trail of blood following him.

The fighting continued, but Bourbon noticed a heavily armored soldier walking forth with a giant sledgehammer in both of his hands. "Take him out!" Bourbon shouted as he blasted the next shots into the armored soldier. To his surprise, the man's armor was enough to protect him. "Get a DShK on that fucker!" Although he was a stranger from another part of the Metro, the machine gunner headed his orders and focused the full firepower upon the armored warrior.

The attacker with the sledgehammer charged forth, but the heavy mounted machine gun was enough to put him down. The large caliber rounds riddled his armor without mercy causing him to fall over and land face-first into the ground. When his blood began to spill onto the tunnel tracks, it was clear he was dying. However, killing him seemed to have an effect as the attackers began to flee from the barricades while gunfire followed after them.

Bourbon finally felt safe, knowing they wouldn't return, but he noticed Sukhoi looking around. "Whoever these people are, we can't let them have a second chance." He said. "We're going to have to blow the tunnel, get the charges ready we need to close off the Northern Tunnel."

The drunkard stood up beside the leader as he lowered his automatic shotgun. "So, what are you going to do now that the fighting is over?"

Sukhoi saved a glance to the man, but his expression was different from Bourbon's last encounter. "Bourbon, you might think I'm crazy, but I need you to head over to Polis and tell them about this. The rest of the Metro needs to hear this. No one has ever returned from the Northern Tunnels and to see that these people arrived and attacked us makes me worry there is something wrong."

"Me? To Polis? Are you crazy, my friend? They'll never let a man like me just to meet with the Council. My reputation as a drunkard in debt isn't exactly a secret."

The older man shook his head. "Damn, you're right." He said as he turned his head over to the bodies. "Maybe you can convince them. Look there, see if you can take something off of their bodies and show them to Polis. It might be enough evidence to get the Spartan Order to come over here and help us."

"Are you sure?" Bourbon questioned. To be given a task that was similar to Artyom's made him wonder if he had any thoughts just like him about the matter.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay then, if I end up leaving I want to make sure you and the rest of your people-here can hold out while I'm gone."

"We'll be fine. If the Dark Ones haven't destroyed us, these people won't." Sukhoi assured him.

The heat on Artyom's body was new, refreshing, but uncomfortable. Although the Moscow Metro was cold, who would have thought that the heat could be so terrible to a man's soul. As he walked to the front of the building, he looked up at the sign and see it read 'Prospector's Saloon'. Why could he understand this weird language? This question concerned him, more than he ever wanted to ask.

Lowering his head back to the earth, he saw an old man rocking back and forth in his chair. His face weary, but his eyes could still be enough to scare him. The strange hat he had on him made Artyom wonder, but he didn't want attention to himself. "Young man, what's wrong with you?" He asked in his old creaking voice. "Can't you read the sign?"

The young man expressed a smile to the man of his age. "No, it's just that I'm not around here."

"So I heard that you're the other person that Victor dug out of the grave. I'm surprised that two could take a bullet and live. Though the gal doesn't look like she'll do much." The old man commented.

"I don't want to be rude, but who are you?"

The old man raised his eyebrows. "Me? Everyone calls me Easy Pete. I used to be prospector before I decided to retire to this good ole' town. What about you? What brings you here?"

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time." It was an honest answer. Maybe a half-truth, but it was still the truth.

"I see. Why are you still here? Did the doc say that you should be resting?"

Artyom shook his head. "I'm here to find someone who goes by the name of Trudy."

"Oh, she's inside." Pete replied as he pointed to the door. "She's the owner of this place, nicest person you'll ever meet. She'll make you a meal you'll never ask for and you can't say know to a person her."

He nodded his head. "Spasibo, thank you."

"You talk funny, but maybe that's just me. Welcome to Goodsprings, young fellow." He was a nice man that was all Artyom could think about him. Old, rough, but was nice enough to give him directions. It was strange to think that Bourbon was something like him.

As the Russian walked into the saloon, he looked around to hear the glasses and the drinking around the corner. However, he couldn't explore when there was a dog and it's owner present. A blonde began petting her pet as she raised her head and smiled. "Hello there, you seem like a new face in town." She said. "Say, what are you here for?" The girl asked.

"I'm here for Trudy." Artyom answered. "Do you know where she is?"

"Look to your left and you'll find her."

"Thank you." He said, turning away from the girl taking care of her pet. The young man followed her direction and it came to fruit when he noticed the stools and the seats were empty while an older woman was standing behind the counter, wiping glasses with a rag. After she was finished with that glass, she continued with another. "Excuse me, are you Trudy?"

After catching her attention, the woman placed the glass underneath the counter and expressed a smile as she came over to him on her side of the counter. "Yes, I'm Trudy." She answered. "Welcome to my saloon- wait a minute- you're one of Mitchell's patients. No wonder why you looked so familiar."

"You know me?" Artyom asked, curious about this woman.

"Of course I recognize you. I saw Victor bring you and the courier gal over to the Doc's house. Now I don't trust Victor, but it's good to see that you're still alive." Trudy answered. "Now, do you know anything about that courier gal. Doc said she didn't seem too good."

Artyom was immediately reminded about that girl who lied on her cot, moaning and groaning. "I don't know. I didn't stick around enough to notice her."

"Well, what a pity. I hope she's alright." Her attitude immediately changed. "Now that you're up, let me cook you something good for you to eat. You looked starved. Don't worry about paying me, this one is on the house."

Trudy did not need to do that, but Artyom didn't object such a meal. It was a rarity to find people like her in the Metro. Even the cooks at their stations wouldn't be so keen on feeding a complete stranger if there wasn't anything in return. The sad part; however, he was not here for the meal. "I appreciate the meal, Trudy, but I am here to ask some questions."

The woman turned away from him and began to head over to the refrigerator. "Sure, ask away."

"Do you know anything about a man in a checkered shirt walking around?" Artyom questioned. "I want to know where he is."

After the lady closed the refrigerator, she walked over to his side of the counter with a plate of steak. "Oh, the kid from the city? Yes, I remember him. He brought some Khans with him and told them to be all hush-hush about some big payday." She explained to him. "Not hard to forget about them since one of them 'accidentally' knocked my radio over. Before they left, I heard they decided to head south since there was some sort of commotion going on up north. The question I want to know is what kind of business did they have here?" Her eyes were looking straight at him.

Artyom shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

Trudy expressed a smile as she slide the plate over to him. "Alright then, enjoy your meal." She said.

He looked around and noticed that it was just himself and Trudy. Rather than break the silence, Artyom took his seat at the counter and picked up the silverware set beside his plate. After he sliced a piece of meat away, his fork slowly reached into his mouth. When his mouth savored the taste, the taste made him feel alive. The sense that he had reached the forbidden fruit of heaven when his meals in the Metro consisted of mushrooms. There was the occasional bits of pork, but it was rationed for the rest of the Metro in case the mushroom farms didn't grow well. Even at celebrations it was very rare to find meat. If there was a chance to return back to the Metro, he would have to tell his people at Exhibition and perhaps everyone else about this place.

Artyom turned his head towards the door when he heard a loud kick swing it open. Who would open the door so forcefully?

At the doorway, a shaved dark-skinned man stepped into the saloon with his hands on his hips in a blue uniform covered by his armored vest. The stranger looked around and began to walk into the area where the counter was. As he passed by, his eyes noticed the young man at his seat. "What the fuck are you looking at?" He demanded. Artyom immediately turned his head back to his meal focusing on the meat.

Yet, he couldn't ignore him. There was something about the man he didn't like. The very same feeling he had when he made contact with bandits along with Bourbon.

When the man took a seat on the far side of the counter, he began to get the woman's attention. "Joe, what are you doing here?" She asked. "I thought you were looking for Ringo."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Trudy. I know you have that piece of shit in this damn town." Joe accused, confronting the waitress across the counter.

She crossed her arms. "Again, I'm going to tell you once more we don't have him here."

"One of these days, my boys and I are going to search the town whether you like it or not."

Trudy was not convinced at his intimidation. "Look, are you going to be buying something or not."

Joe slipped out of his seat and did not bat an eye towards the woman as he departed from the saloon. When he was at the doorway, Artyom took one more glance at the man, only to see an acronym marked on his armor, 'NCRCF'. Was he part of some kind of authority around these parts? Why could he understand this strange language?

"Don't mind him, he's just barking with no bite." She commented.

Curiosity about this matter made him stop eating for a moment. "Who was that man?" Artyom questioned. "He's seems hostile."

"Him?" Her eyebrows directed where the man departed from. "That's Joe Cobb, he's one of the Powder Gangers who broke out of the NCR Correctional Facility south of here. He's looking for a guy named Ringo and I hope he leaves and brings the trouble with him as well."

"What would happen if I helped Ringo? Get him out of the town or confront this Joe."

Trudy was quick to express her skepticism. "I don't know. You just got out Mitchell's house, but if you do manage to get rid of Joe you'll be doing this town a huge favor. Though, it might bring more trouble if killing Cobb reaches the facility."

"The facility?"

"It was a prison that was used to be runned by the NCR, the New California Republic. That place would be used to get people to work on the lines, but the problem is that dynamite and criminals don't work well." She explained to him. "After they broke out and killed the guards, they called themselves Powder Gangers."

"Why does he wear that uniform if he's a criminal?" He asked.

"Joe probably killed the person who owned it and now wears it." She replied. "Be careful if you meet with them. Pete says they're nothing, but trouble and he usually doesn't say something like that around these parts."

After learning about this place, Artyom returned his attention towards his meal while his thoughts were focused getting rid of these bandits. Strange to recall his moments when he first traveled the Metro with Bourbon. Perhaps there was something to learn from his small experience.

Artyom walked out of the saloon with a full stomach as he was given a back of a strange drink called 'Sunset Sarsaparilla'. He had heard many names for drinks, but this one was the strangest of them all. Trudy had told him that it's a drink that doesn't give off radiation while it also doesn't make him drunk. It would have been amazing if it was introduced into the Metro since its taste was preferable to the mushroom Vodka.

As he slowly walked towards the edge, he heard someone crying out for his name. "Hey, where are you going?"

He turned around, curious about the person. "Wait, you are that girl from the saloon. What are you doing here?"

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself, name's Sunny Smiles, Trudy asked me to warn you about going off to south. I'm just here to tell you to be careful when you head down there. The only safe place there is this town called Primm. It's the town with the roller coasters." She explained to him.

"Roller coasters?" Artyom asked.

She shook her head. "It's the town with the fancy structures. You'll have to pass by the prison, but the gangers will keep themselves."

"Are you sure? You said there was a prison I have to pass by."

"Unless you're a merchant or from the NCR. They won't bother you unless you bother them."

"Okay, thank you for help."

The young woman expressed a smile. "No problem, just want to assure Trudy that you'll be safe since you just got out of Mitchell's table." She turned away and walked back towards the saloon as the young stalker looked around. He was all by himself and without any sense of direction in this strange place.

Artyom continued to walk out of the town, but there was a strange feeling that someone was watching him. There was a possibility that Sunny was doing the watching, but her attitude didn't fit the feeling. He stopped in his tracks and observed his surroundings, he noticed a strange dark figure on the mountains on the right. When he blinked his eyes, the dark figure disappeared. "I must be seeing things." Then he noticed an inhuman figure looking at him from the left, but unlike the previous watcher there was a white mark on it's face. However, it turned away as its figure disappeared over the horizon.

The young man drew his Bastard gun as his finger lay near the trigger. Whatever was watching him, he had to remain cautious.