Chapter One:
"It's too late now. The boss is angry, wants to see you immediately." A gruff voice stated haltingly, echoing out and reverberating in the pitch black space.
"No, wait! Tell him I'll get everything he wants, please!" The shrill cries of a scrawny man kneeling on the tracks of this barren stretch of tunnel did nothing to sway the large and imposing soldier who was standing over him with an automatic machine gun. A single beam of light shone down upon him, making it impossible to see anything beyond his outstretched arms. "I h-had trouble at the border, that's all. You know how it is with these rules about passes to transport goods through the Ring!"
There was a tense moment of silence with no reply, then the soldier began to grin as he cast his eyes down the far end of the tunnel. The smaller man timidly followed his gaze, his brows twisted in terror. Distant footsteps were thundering from the darkness and the echo made it difficult to discern whether it was one person or an army. The sound grew steadily, until three figures began to emerge from the abyss. Two strong, similar-featured men in grey uniforms flanked a third figure who seemed to be the boss that the soldier had forewarned about; each carrying a Kalashnikov and a stern look. The one in the middle halted squarely on the cross tie in front of the kneeling man, leaning into the beam of light and casting an ominous shadow. He looked from the worn pair of combat boots upwards, the sight becoming more shocking as his eyes climbed the unexpected form.
"Well then." Spoke a smooth light 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, armored in a leather vest and black spaulders with red arrowheads painted on. She held an older machine gun, but as he had caught a glimpse of it in the shadows, she was slinging it onto her back. Her long light auburn hair fell around her face, slipping from a clip behind her head. Her face was young and porcelain pale, grey eyes piercing at him. She planted her hands on either side of her slim waist and waited for his response. His jaw hung agape, his tongue struggling to form a word.
"Y-you're a... I mean you-you're Aleksandr Dmitriyev? I thought—" The small man stuttered.
"Aleksandrya. Though you won't be repeating that to anyone." She raised her eyebrows, 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 Aleks—" His sentence was cut from his lips by the swift motion of her drawing a silenced Makarov pistol from the holster at her hip and aiming it at his head. It seemed like a flash of lightning had gone off in that 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 this, so I will tell you now, if it 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." She motioned to the thickset solider whom the man had initially been pleading with and he winced at the thought of being followed by the brutish man.
The man nodded silently, slowly, the whole time as 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 making their fantasies a reality. Anything to make it out of here alive.
"Did I make anything unclear to you?" She leaned down to him, finally returning her pistol to her holster.
"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!" His breathless gratitude poured out uncontrollably. 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 and relaxed her stance as the man's footsteps faded away, rolling her eyes in annoyance. She took a few steps forward to where he had been kneeling. The large soldier began to chuckle and stepped forward with a lopsided grin, shaking his head incredulously.
"What is funny, Ivanovich?" Spoke the shorter flanking soldier.
"The look on their face - never gets old." Ivanovich balanced the box magazine of his weapon on his shoulder and put his free hand on his belt.
"Stupid traitors, thinking they know everything. Thinking they can get away with slacking off. You would think the Fourth 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.
"They aren't all spies, Nikolai." She spoke in a voice so low that it was almost consumed by the expanse of the tunnel. "Not him, anyway."
"What do you mean?" The same young man raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"A real Reich operative wouldn't cower and piss on themselves. Think about it - they send expendable scouts, outcasts like us to do their dirty work and report back. Nobody wants to come down this far, especially not to Paveletskaya." She shook her head and turned around to face her companions. "I almost 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 made a pouting face.
"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 territory of the Fourth Reich - 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 sleepily and rolled onto his side, his senses slowly shifting back into reality. He remembered that they were in D6 now, that he didn't live in a station anymore. It was the electric lights in the small room that surprised him the most. Never had he thought that he would live to see such a mythical place, to find out that it even existed, let alone have his own room in it. He absorbed every detail of the concrete enclosure that he could until Ulman began knocking again. Pulling the heavy metal door open, he was greeted by the mischievous expression on his partner's face. After his fortunate meeting with Ulman on the front lines of a faction war, Colonel Melnik had assigned the veteran soldier to make Artyom more comfortable as he adjusted to life in the Spartan Order.
"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 looked back over his shoulder and went to his locker. Inside was a new Spartan Ranger uniform - black and blue camouflage pants and jacket, shiny black leather boots, a black tactical vest and all the little pouches and accessories one could ever need or want - all crisp and smelling of a musky wooden crate. He assembled it all over his undergarments quickly, Ulman was tapping his fingers and humming outside impatiently, but Artyom knew it was just for comical show. Ulman's lighthearted banter and laid-back approach to work often reminded him to relax a little and not get too wrapped up in his own thoughts and anxiety. It was a welcome relief, as Artyom had been plagued by nightmares for the past few weeks since he completed his last mission - on the surface at Ostankino Tower.
Just a few short hours later, the combatant pair were rolling down the tunnel in an electric trolley 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 seen battle before. Just how many weapons or other military artifacts had been in storage at D6 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 circular Koltsevaya Line, controlled by a faction called Hansa which served as a barrier between the inner Greater Metro stations and the outer branch lines. They controlled much of the trading and agricultural operations and were known for their strong defenses and exclusionary citizenship. He looked disbelievingly at Ulman.
"What, no guards?" Artyom asked pointedly, 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 Mayakovskaya for now – precautions." Ulman spoke with an unusually solemn voice, letting Artyom know he didn't intend to speak further about it.
Artyom 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 him, as he remembered many people telling him how difficult 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, he thought to himself.
"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 perked up as if he had never been irritated. "They just want to be sure that we aren't going to try to take over the whole Metro now that we are in charge of D6. 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 and keep his mouth shut. He deduced that Hansa agreed to be courteous and permit transit to the Order 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 entered the main station they could hear the bustle of the market – this particular station being an important exchange point 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 haul faster loading up a cart with goods and wrangling a fattened sow into a carriage. A few Hansa soldiers patrolled the area, usually in pairs, 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 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 white banner hung on the back wall displaying the brown circle logo of the Hanseatic League.
Making a swift step in front of him, Ulman crossed the main platform towards a small table at which sat an aging man in a gray uniform.
"Artur Sergeyevich!" Ulman stepped up to the man with his arm extended to pat the him 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 to return the gesture. Ulman explained to the officer quickly where they were headed and about his companion, which Artyom understood 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 spoke shyly and bowed his head; 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 got the feeling that Ulman must have already 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. The men were probably friends before their discovery of D6, and perhaps even before the war that ended the world, although Artyom reminded himself that Ulman was not that much older than him – perhaps he was about thirty?
Enduring a quick pat-down and an examination of their rucksacks, he and Ulman 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 backpack. 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 in the frying pan after it's been cooked. Once you got higher up, the air was thin and crisp. Had all of the air been so clear in the old days of their beautiful Moscow? He thought maybe, if there was a way to rid the soil of that disease, to dispel the fog, then perhaps it would be possible to live on the surface of the Earth once more.