The River.
Of course I had no idea about the Boston River, at that time. How would I, anyway? But then, even Piper wasn't ready for the sight of an underground river running through these manmade catacombs. Now we just had to get through it, though even today I still wonder why we didn't just turn around, and why I didn't notice so much sooner what was wrong with my reserves...
"What?" Piper walked on, closer to the reflective surface. Her own light now illuminated it as well, as the magelight had moved on. Strangely it seemed to have stopped just a hundred meters down the tunnel, as if it had hit the limit of its tether. There was a shadow or some sort of obstruction near it, breaking the silhouettes. Curious, that wasn't how the spell worked. His companion, meanwhile, tapped the tip of her boot at the surface, rewarding her with ripples that disrupted the mirror images; "Huh... Okay, yeah that's, uh, that's water alright... Damn it, if there's water here..."
"...this is more than wet feet then?"
"Hoh boy, yeah it's going to be a problem alright..." she grumbled, pacing back to where he was still walking up; "This is the Washington tunnel, it dips down from here to the station. If there's water here... the whole thing's flooded, gotta be. River's pretty close by, see. Geniuses of the past thought they'd put the line through here, but there was already some sort of building with cellars above, so they had to dig the line even deeper...It's weird though..."
"That it flooded?" Martin frowned, looking out over the water. Far as the eye could see, the tracks had vanished beneath the reflective surface. There was something in the water, further ahead. The magelight had stuck to it.
"I know people have come through here recently," she explained; "Weird thing is they're said to have come from the eastern tunnels, not the western ones. So there should be a way to get through here, without taking a dip in potentially radioactive water..."
"There is something by my magelight..."
"Where?" Piper seemed to squint at the light; "Wait, I see it... kinda looks like..."
"A boat," he recognized the shape now, given context. It was barely illuminated by his spell, because of the contrasting shadows, but the outline was clear enough. Boxy and crude, it was still recognizable as something meant to ferry people across water; "It's a boat."
"Well, good for whoever's got a rope and hook, I guess," Piper snorted; "Water's not exactly great for your skin here. Unless you fancy a dip to fetch it?"
"Can't say I do," The boat had probably been left on the "shore" by the last unlucky soul, and then eventually drifted off. It was a small blessing that it was still this close; "...how far would you say?"
"Dunno..." she paused, a frown visible in the uneven light; "Maybe...thirty feet?"
Thirty feet? He could do that, probably. The only problem was the state of his magicka reserves as they were already, replenishing nowhere near as fast as they ought. Still, it should be something within his capabilities. Hopefully.
"Tunnel's not going down by much," He noted; "Water's not too deep, right?"
"Probably up to your knees out there." Piper muttered; "Look, we'll go back and find some rope or something, I'm not going to end up with you wading through all that radioactive shit. Magick hands or no."
"Not through it." Martin allowed himself the smallest of smiles, borne of professional pride. He might not have much left in terms of magicka, but what he had... he felt like it would suffice. The Institute of Restoration always emphasized the importance of fine-control over raw power anyway. And his was very fine indeed; "Mind these."
He dropped his shoes at her feet, flexing and curling naked toes on the cold, wet rock. It felt almost like rotten wood, so permeated and ruined was the concrete here. Breathing in, deeply, he set the first foot out unto the the water's surface.
It froze solid, a small iceberg of his own make, just large enough that it had the stability to bear him as he followed through, setting another foot against the toxic water. The ice was not a clear, pure white but a brown, sickly-looking color instead. But it was cold.
"...and now he's walking on water." Piper muttered behind him.
Step by step, he left the shore behind. Each new stepping stone stood on increasingly taller pillars of frozen waste between his foot and the bottom. It was almost as much an exercise in balance as it was in not pouring every scrap he'd left into the next step, just to be certain it did not collapse under him. This was...new, and honestly it was going much better than he'd thought it might.
By the time he made it to the boat, there was at least a meter between him and the bottom, and the stepping stone felt like it might snap and plunge him into the darkness any moment now. The boat itself looked like it might have started out as an ordinary rowboat, but had over the years been repaired and modified again and again, until it no longer resembled anything he would have ever put to sea.
Strangely, right now it felt a lot safer than his current vessel, and he more threw himself into the creaking, wooden frame than not, splashing water all around. Behind him, the icy stalk had snapped from his takeoff, the whole thing now floating in the water like some bizarre mushroom.
"Jesus Christ..." Piper's exclamation reached him like an afterthought, barely audible over his own, strained breathing. His magelight had disappeared now, flickered out of existence when he disturbed the boat it had stuck itself to. He tried bringing out a new one, but nothing came but a tiny, sad spark of light. He'd finally scraped the last scraps out of his barrel; "Hey, Martin! You alive over there?"
"I..." he tried speaking, but found every breath of air was a fight he almost didn't win; "Yeah"
"...you okay?"
"Tired," he managed to wheeze the word out like he'd run a mile.
This kind of strain... he wanted to go home, to his small apartment. To his bed, where there weren't any inhuman monsters or toxic air or beasts or water that could kill you if you stepped in it. Compared to this place, the Imperial City was paradise. If he ever did come home from here, he would never touch Nirnroot again. He was tired, he was cold, his arm hurt, his clothes were torn and he was lying in some makeshift boat floating on aforementioned deadly water, in some underground tunnel in a world that had blown itself to Oblivion.
"Okay, take a breather," Piper called, unnecessarily loud for the short distance, and the way the tunnel amplified sound. For all the horrible things he'd seen here already, she at least was a positive. Strange really, that such unseeming brightness could exist in a world as destroyed as this one; "I'll keep an eye out. Something I can do?"
"No..." Breathing was getting easier again, though he still felt hollow, scraped bare like too little butter on toast; "I'm just... drained. I used... up last bits of my res...reserves."
"That bad, huh?"
"...running out of magicka...sucks," Martin groaned, mostly to himself. For twenty-six years, magic had coursed through his veins, and only a very few times had he actually run out of it completely. Mostly because Mundus was in constant convection with Aetherius, and fresh magicka always flowed to the material realm. Here, the sun was not Magnus, he'd felt as much from the very beginning, like a wrongness about the world. And it had left him with so little in the way of replenishment that he'd now run dry, and felt the headache known to punish the careless mage.
"I can imagine," Piper quipped; "Okay, so in good news of the day, the boat's actually tethered to the rebar over here. Rope didn't rise above the water until you rocked the boat. Lie back and chill, I'll haul you in."
He did not argue that. The sound of his own, ragged breathing was soon joined with splashing water, and the grunts of effort as Piper started hauling the boat back to land. It was unsteady work, and each tug rattled the boat's interior, himself included. With the light out, he couldn't see a thing, but it sounded as if the vessel was not as empty as he'd first thought.
The boat scraped the bottom a few feet before it was close enough to dry ground for Piper to board it. at that point, Martin had gathered himself enough to sit up, though the headache was no less fierce than before.
"Catch!" little more was given as warning before something heavy struck him in the side, though soft enough as well that it didn't really cause him hurt. Aside from adding to his headache.
Piper had tossed her backpack across the meter's worth of water, and followed it up with two long steps through the shallow muck. She fell more than anything into the boat, tumbling headfirst in. Luckily, there was cushioning. Namely, him.
"Nice catch," she chuckled, still lying in a mess halfway on top of him. There was an elbow in his gut and it didn't make breathing any easier; "Sorry 'bout the landing... you okay?"
"Ow..." she did at least remove herself, and her elbow, from him, allowing him some unrestricted air again; "Why...didn't you just pull the boat up?"
"Wouldn't ever have gotten it back into the water then, with our weights in it," she shrugged, the light from her headband dancing around as she righted herself.
Illuminated better now, it became clear that the boat's former owner had not intended to permanently abandon it. A pile of unused rope, several cans of the same kind they'd found before and a hatchet that looked more rust than iron or steel. A folded up, darkly colored jacket of some sort of leather was nestled in a small box at the end. Several dark bottles too, though all of them empty. The boat bore clear evidence of extensive use, and in more than one place the wood had been either repaired or replaced all together, reinforced with iron plates and brown, metal spikes lining the prow, and at the back there sat a strange box, with a purpose he couldn't really make out... It looked like something a pirate would use.
"What now then?" he asked, looking around; "There are no oars."
"True," Piper nodded, knocking on the strange box. A hollow, but still somewhat dense sound came back, like a sloshing liquid was within; "But there's petrol. Gotta wonder where the hell the poor bastard found that, not exactly swimming in it upstairs."
"Petrol?"
"Yeah, it's..." as she spoke, she yanked some thin, weird piece of string connected to the box. In response, it started to growl. Martin flinched but remained where he sat, transfixed on the alien device; "...fuel. Before the War, everyone had it, used it to power everything you couldn't slap a fusion core into," the growling subsided a little, becoming softer in level; "Way people tell it, the War started because there wasn't enough to go around between us and the other guys."
As she spoke, the water started bubbling and foaming where some of the strange construct disappeared down below. He couldn't see what was going on, but slowly, suddenly and softly all at the same time, with great sputterings as if the machine itself was choking, the boat began to drift. No, it wasn't drifting; the boat was sailing. With oars or sail, the boat was propelled forward and Piper took up a seat near the stuttering box, one hand on a piece of iron tube tied to it like a... a rudder.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she laughed; "Well, not as scared as before but still. What, there's nothing like this where you're from?"
"Admittedly no, we have no thing like this," he felt no shame in saying it, for it was beyond evident now that even the remnants of this world still surpassed Imperial technology by leagues. Especially as there was no magic here to account for it. It was all the ingenuity of people, and even with their world in ruins they held onto it; "A boat that sails with neither wind, oars nor magic for it? I would call you mad before, if you'd mentioned a thing like this."
"It's not thát amazing, Martin," she grinned again, tapping her fingers on the grey box; "Petrol goes in, ignites, drives some pistons which turn the propeller under the surface. Like... a windmill, I guess, just underwater, and instead of the wind making it turn, it turns and makes wind? Man, I did not think I'd need to remember this stuff in the subways."
He did not answer immediately, instead quietly pondering the concept. A flammable liquid, no doubt if it had to fit those small spaces, igniting under what must be strictly controlled conditions or the machine would combust. Then, to use those ignitions to power pistons, like a stamping mill in reverse, turning the shaft and in turn a propeller? The sheer scale of metallurgy and fine-control in production was staggering to him, but... now that he knew of it, the concept itself was not actually that complex. Piper, meanwhile, seemed content with watching him as she steered the boat, sputtering away as it pushed them further into the dark waters. Luckily, it seemed the flooding had not reached above a few meters in height, and though the ceiling was closer now, it did not look to be merging with the water any time soon.
"Your civilization was grand one, to construct such machines," he finally said, fishing the jacket out from its place. It was old and weathered, but seemed less a jacket and more a coat, a long, dirty duster, the likes of which he'd heard people used in Daggerfall. Only, this one was of a material that wasn't quite leather after all. He put it on all the same, relishing in the warmth it gave off compared to his own, shredded coat. It did smell, though; "All the greater a tragedy that it destroyed itself. The Empire could have learned much from you."
"That's your homeland, right?" she sounded interested, shifting her seat whilst keeping a hand on the rudder. He still found the combination of propulsion and rudder, in one single handle, to be an amazing feat; "What's it like?"
What was the Empire like? He'd never left it before, not even for another province. The Heartland had always been his home, and the Imperial City had been where he'd spent by far the most of his time. The rest of the Empire, though? Could he speak of what he only knew from books and stories?
"It's peaceful," he settled with the truth, though a simple one as it was; "Uriel Septim the Seventh rules almost all Tamriel, uniting man under one banner. Most of other races too, like Orsimer, the Nords and Bretons and most of elven peoples. It is uncontested superpower on the face of Nirn, though... I am rather glad it never had to face up against your people before this destruction."
"Where'd you live?"
"Imperial City, capital of the Empire and seat of Emperor," he felt some small amount of pride at saying that. It was no small secret that merely finding a place to live within the walls of the city was a privilege, but to attain scholarship within its colleges? He'd succeeded where most did not, but had sacrificed more or less his entire social life to do it; "It's... ubava, ah, beautiful. Grand. Metropolis of marble and stone as far as eye can see. The White-Gold Tower is in center of all, but it's...palaka? ...more of palace than a simple tower, I suppose. Most students like me, and scholars of the Colleges live in Talos Plaza district, one of the six districts of the city. It's, ah... like great circle in shape, the city. Perfect circular too, with walls as high as towers and thicker than any other. You could sail entire Hammerfell fleet into the bay and fire at the walls, and they wouldn't crack. Every street is lined with trees from all over the Empire, and always music playing somewhere, from some window or hall, or from the Temple, and there's flowers everywhere, of all different sorts..."
"Sounds like it's a helluva lot prettier than here," Piper hummed.
"It is," he nodded, though he felt then it might be taken as an insult to her home; "Though, I'm sure this world was too, before war. If Oblivion opened over the Imperial City, I doubt it would be much different afterwards either. But, it's not like I know what to tell. Everything at home seems, voobičaeno... that's... commonplace? Everything here is..."
"Strange?"
"Foreign," he shrugged; "I can so easily recognize things for what they are, like your houses and this boat, but at the same time this place teems with things I'd never imagined. Your handheld cannon is weapon the Legions would kill for - and with - I think. Such power in hands of each soldier? It would change world in an instant."
Though, given how this world had turned out, maybe it was for the better that such power did not come to Tamriel.
"I thought you said people like you, who can use magick, were everywhere?" Piper asked, frowning; "How can a gun be better than throwing magick shit at people? Ice or fire or whatever else you've got hidden away in those sleeves of yours."
"Mages are commonplace," he said; "Mages who can wield magic to point of being actually useful in a battle? Less so. Battlemages are worth weight in gold, and I think there's not ten thousand in the entire Empire who could claim that distinction. Most are... well, like me I suppose. Those who only need a few years are the ones the Legion takes."
"Legion... sounds familiar, kind of... It's a military thing, right?"
"Mmm," he nodded, picking at the rest of the boat's contents. The cans still amazed him, the notion of using such quantities of metal on something as simple and trivial, yet vital as food. Why not just put it in a bottle, or a glass jar, or ceramic pot? Metal seemed a waste.
"But you can kill with magic, why're you not in the Legion then?"
"...would it sound strange if I told you I'm not fan of violence?" In truth it was more the case that he feared violence against himself, less so than violence as a concept. It was not cowardice, more a sense of self-preservation in a world where peasants with pitchforks would run at giants or minotaurs; "I really just wanted to be left in peace to study, work. Maybe raise family, someday see my children off to similar fates as my own?"
Was that a strange thing to admit, especially to a friend as recent as Piper was? He wasn't sure, but it had felt... right, in a way, to say it. Not that he'd ever had much of a chance at fulfilling those dreams, given how few women he even knew at home. Mari was almost an older sister as far as those relations were concerned, and either way not in his league. There were scant others he even knew of. So, it had always mostly been an ideal, the 'Imperial ideal' of raising a family and adding to the prosperity of the Empire with proper values and parenting. To ensure the future of mankind, in his own small ways.
"That's not a bad standpoint. When you have that kind of power I can imagine it'd be tempting to abuse it. Out here especially, seeing as no one else do," Piper nodded when he looked back to her, as if she acknowledged his...goal? Was it even a goal or more of a dream? "Hey, Martin... how old are you, just curious?"
"Twenty-six," he shrugged; "But I've no idea if it means the same here as back home. You?"
"Twenty-seven, give or take some months I guess," she said, offering a weak grin; "Huh. Figured you'd be the elder. That's neat, means I'm still big sis."
He wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Did she mean she was taking him under her wing as a sort of sibling? Had they been children, he could have found that endearing. Considering they were both adults, however, it was somewhat...odd
Piper in general seemed to fit that description, for better or for worse. Once again she seemed irrationally upbeat despite their surroundings, jesting while they sailed through the flooded ruins of a dead world.
But then, she'd grown up with this world being what it was, hadn't she? To him, a ruined landscape like the one above, and these desolate crypts, was unsettling and depressing, while she knew nothing else. He'd grown up with lush forests and bustling cities, not a wrecked cityscape where the very skies could bleed poisoned winds.
"The next station," he asked later, as minutes had passed by in relative quiet. When Piper was not instigating conversations, he found it hard to discern what could be discussed. There had to be some sore points in a place like this, and he didn't want to press them; "Nobody lives there, right?"
"Not if it's like this, no," she said, shaking her head; "Next one's Washington, I think. But it's apparently pretty small, just a single platform with a staircase up. Don't think anyone ever lived there. Hopefully nothing's moved in since either, and we can just cruize through."
"What should have moved in?" He doubted neither rats nor the ghouls would care much for a flooded station, and it seemed doubtful the Super Mutants would either. People were people, so no bandits would probably want to live in that kind of sewage, right?
"Oh, all kinds of stuff," she shrugged; "Sewer 'gators, Mirelurks, Flesh-eating dolphins, giant leeches... you stick around enough and you realize there's always something new waiting to make a meal of you."
"Cheerful, this place is not."
"Hey, at least it's never boring," Piper grinned. The light from her headpiece flashed for a moment, almost as a reaction. She tapped the glass with a frown; "Wouldn't mind it if things could stop breaking down, though. Couldn't tell you how many lives the Wasteland's claimed because a gun jammed or a gas-mask got knocked loose."
"What, and swords are entirely useless?" he snorted at the idea. Even if half the population of Tamriel had been mages, he doubted swords would have disappeared from use. It was always easier to kill a man with a blade than a spell, he figured, considering how long he'd spent on learning the proper use of his own magic. Even most battlemages still bore arms, just in case.
"Well, I've never seen anyone using a sword, but raiders seem to like machetes and hammers and that stuff," she mused; "Thing is, you really don't want to get up close and personal to a lot of the things going bump in the night around here."
"Noted." Though that did still raise the question of raiders. If the Wasteland was so dangerous; "How do the raiders stay alive if they only use machetes and hammers?"
"Oh they use guns too, don't get me wrong," the headband flashed again, more this time, and Piper's annoyance seemed to match it as she tapped the glass; "Old piece of... Well, thing is it's pretty far between a gun that's not made by Stockton or the DC smiths that won't blow your hands off half the time. Most of the pieces you see the raiders use are made from pipes and wood and screws. It'll take on unarmed traders, sure, but you don't wanna rely on that stuff."
"Pipes?" for a moment he wasn't sure if he'd heard her right. Pipes? The Redguards were the only reference he had for cannons, and he knew their weapons were things of mastercrafted scientific endeavours. The notion that these people did the same thing with some regular pipes... it actually hurt. To throw away the very idea of metallurgy required for a functional cannon barrel, and rather just... take the nearest metal pipe? A simple tube?
"No one ever said raiders were a smart bunch," she shrugged; "That and they're usually flying all sorts of highs. Might not even realize it when they lose a hand to it, with all those chems. Well, that again, and again the fact that most of the actually skilled gunsmiths..."
He didn't understand at first what made her trail off, only that for some reason she'd stopped in the middle of the sentence. There was a sound in the distance, like moving water. He could not tell what she might be thinking, only that the sound registered as deeply familiar. Running water.
"You hear that too?" she asked; "Sounds like... water's moving."
"There's a river nearby?"
"The Boston River, yeah, but..." once more, her face contorted in a frown as if to solve a greater mystery; "...huh. Must be where the water's from. There's probably a breach up on the Worcester Line somewhere. Current means water's going somewhere else too, so there's bound to be more down the line. We hit the current we might just float all the way to... wherever the tunnels stop being flooded, I guess."
"I'm not hearing cheers," he noted, because there was a definite note of apprehension in her voice. Piper shook her head.
"Not cheering till I'm back in Diamond City," she muttered, raising her voice as the noise of running water grew closer, and louder too. Her flashlight did not do much for illuminating the darkness ahead, so Martin allowed a Candlelight to grow forth, fastening it to the boat's spikey prow, just below eyesight, so it wouldn't blind them. Piper nodded, deactivating her own light; "Smart. Thing is, I'm worried those breaches means the tunnel's not as abandoned as we'd want it. Mirelurks love these places, remember? If there's an actual current there's definitely a connection to the river."
"Should we head back then?"
"And what, leg it through the Radstorm?" she asked, sighing. It was the sound of resignation, one he did not much care for; "Mirelurks depend mostly on vibrations for hunting, not much their sight, if the name wasn't a clue. I'm thinking if we sail by some, we kill the engine and lie down, all quiet-like. Just another piece of driftwood, right?"
"...that works?" He still had little notion of what a Mirelurk actually was. It seemed the safer path to take if he just let Piper lead on, figuratively speaking. Something about her plan still nagged him though, yet for the life of him he couldn't tell. The boat, for all that it seemed makeshift in construction, was solid enough, and the stream - growing ever more present and louder by the moment - would probably carry them along just fine; "But if we drift on current, won't we be carried with it outside again?"
For a while, she did not give him an answer, though visibly not out of dismissal. It was evident she'd not pondered that, and now he almost wished neither had he. She knew this place, these creatures, of which he could only guess. From how she said they lived, he prayed to the gods that Mirelurks were nothing more than mudcrabs. Preferably even smaller, but then, why would she be wary of them? They were probably even bigger, maybe even faster too, and capable of things he couldn't even imagine. What if they were like trolls, and could regenerate when wounded? What if they could run faster than a man, and swim much, much faster too?
"If we don't get noticed by the locals, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it. If we get noticed by the locals..." Piper finally spoke, almost bemused; "Well, let's just say I hope this thing can push some serious knots."
As the drag of the current started having an effect on their vessel, she silenced the engine. The air itself seemed to change now, like more than water was coming in from the river she'd spoken of. It tasted drier, nothing like the dampness he'd almost grown used to so far. It seemed a little clearer too, and over the edge of the boat, in the spell-light's glow, he could almost see the bottom of the tunnel beneath them. Something moved, but he couldn't tell what. Fish, perhaps?
"What are Mirelurks, really?" he asked, when no sounds but the rushing of water against eroded concrete accompanied their drifting. From a purely scientific, if not biological point of view, he would admit to some curiosity.
"Big," That answer at least, came fast. Almost too fast, and did little to lessen his own, mounting anxiety. There was still something about Piper's plan that nagged him, some detail that didn't work. She spoke again before he could ponder it further though; "Like, real big. It's like a crab, you know those?"
He nodded, yes, he was aware of what a crab was. Students at the Colleges couldn't get much cheaper food than the crabs and crawfish from the bay, after all.
"So, like a crab, only it's about as tall as a man, probably weighs half a ton. They're usually covered in this hard shell, like a shield on their backs and heads. Can't shoot through it, they literally make armor of the damned things. Gotta take them by surprise, or wait for one to come so close it rises up to gut you," Piper snorted, almost as if amused; "Dangerous things, definitely. There's a few settlements that specialize in farming them, like Brahmin. Kill them while they're softshells, then sell the meat. Diamond City's got a desalination plant, in case the water purifiers fail. So, we sell them the salt and they use it to preserve the meat until it gets to Diamond City."
"Circle of life," Martin noted.
"Of business, definitely," she grinned; "Single Mirelurks usually won't bother people, they've learned that much about us, at least. But soon as there's a few of them, better keep your distance and pack a wallop. I did a story once about some fishermen down by the docks near DC." she leaned back, wistfully, almost like the occasional veterans he'd sometimes seen in the bar near the College. If they felt like it, there was always a story to tell; "Apparently they figured, since those guys up in Nordhagen could pull the whole Mirelurk farming thing off, anyone could do it. Came across what was left of them, plus the diary with a whole program written up."
"Messy?"
"Oh, definitely messy," she grinned, whistling appreciatively; "Ever seen a human body, snapped in half with a pair of claws big as your arms?" she waved for emphasis. Luckily, he had not. It was probably a grim sight anyway; "Weird thing is, critters seem to prefer intestines to flesh. They'd sucked out the guys' insides like you'd slurp up noodles."
He tried imagining the sight, though found it surprisingly hard. A human body was nowhere near rigid enough to be sucked out like a crab's claw. Nonetheless, it was disturbing, and brought him into silence for a while.
"What do we do if they do come after us?" he asked, as a minute had passed in relative silence. Only the lapping of the current-waves against concrete walls and the boat's frames broke the silence, and the sparse light illuminated only a dozen meters ahead. For all that he could tell, the world itself ended beyond that light. There was nothing else about them, below nor above. Only the river where once manmade carts had rolled. Now instead it was a boat, in near absolute darkness.
There was also a smell, though it did not at all seem familiar.
"Hit the engine back on and put it to max," Piper muttered, her voice lower now, though the echo still carried and mixed with the perpetual lapping and rushing of water. She frowned with what looked like disgust; "Yikes though... smell that?"
"I do." he said quietly, figuring her own doing so was a wiser move; "It's nothing I've smelled before."
"Mirelurks smell like that," she said, covering her nose with her sleeve; "Dead animals, fish, their own shit, seaweed... it's not for the faint, right? Ears open and quiet now, and kill that light would you?"
They returned to darkness as he extinguished his light, and she hers. Absolute, pitch-black darkness ate their boat, and momentary panic seized him. It was such a sudden and stark change that his senses revolted against it. No nights in Cyrodiil had ever been this dark, so absolutely devoid of light. Only the boat's frame, already pressed against his back, reassured him that the world itself had not up and vanished.
It felt like hours, yet was likely no more than minutes, before something changed. The smell grew in intensity, more and more as they drifted on the stream. But at the same time, something seemed to appear in the water. At first he could barely make anything out with certainty beyond the lights that would flash behind his eyelids. Increasingly, however, he could make out where the water ran, for some sort of light glowed beneath it, or more like, on its surface.
It looked like algae, but of a bioluminescent sort he'd not seen before. With every minute they drifted, they seemed to grow in numbers and density, until the surface of the river was made visible outright, by a tapestry of azure-glowing algae, casting the tunnel in a weak, yet all the same present light. The stench was making it hard to appreciate, however, as each breath he took made him now wonder if he was poisoning himself, and like Piper tried his best to breathe through a sleeve. That his was blood-soaked and grimey did not make matters more bearable. And the temperature was rising, he could tell that much.
The first either of them became aware of the colony was when something audibly scuttled to their left, meaning there was land there. A bank maybe, or an edge in the tunnel? Before he had a chance to even turn towards it, something heavy fell over him, pressing him down into the bottom of the boat. He would have screamed, but the soft skin of a human hand pressed over his mouth. It was Piper, who'd fallen on him. Or rather, with the way she was now unmoving, it was clear she'd not so much fallen as deliberately thrown herself on top of him.
"No sound."
Her lips were by his ear when she whispered, her breath almost cold against his skin in the warm air. He became, in spite of his own, mounting dread, acutely aware of her body pressed against him. It was a different sort of anxiety mixing with his dread of the Mirelurks now, though miniscule in comparison. Trying his best not to notice which part was pressed against his back, he nodded, and the hand was removed from his mouth;
"We're right next to the colony."
He peered up, trying to look past her body over his. Over the edge of the boat, something was vaguely visible in the weak algae-light. No sound came from there anymore, but he could see something... round, against the darkness. Not just round, but oval, and more than one. A lot more than one.
"Eggs." Piper whispered; "No sudden movements. Don't rock the boat. We're just driftwood."
He started to understand the size of the colony only when breath after breath went by, and more and more of the same, oval silhouettes still appeared on the bank, barely even visible in the glow. It was only their size and proximity to the water that even allowed him to see them. And he was very aware of each breath, for the air was now warm and heavy with the thick stench of decaying flesh and seaweed, salty and rotting. Each breath was a struggle with his own body to accept the disease-wafting air.
"Just driftwood."
They were drifting by slowly, far too slowly for his liking. To make it worse, every so often the boat felt as if it had gotten caught on something, and threatened to stop entirely. The current was weak here, somehow having almost died without him noticing, and sludge and slime seemed to fill the water. Each time a new cluster of eggs passed by, they seemed to do so slower than before.
"We're slowing down." Piper hissed, still trying to keep it at a whisper. However, the agitation was evident, and he could feel her body tense up against his; "Jesus, we're slowing down..."
"What happened to the current?" he asked, trying to listen against the darkness. No longer could he hear the lapping of waves or the current, there was only distant scuttling and their own breathing.
"Goddamn bugs must have stuffed the tunnel, the current's gone," she was getting up now, slowly and deliberately moving in the weak light, if one could even call it that. A blind man would have had an easier time finding his way around the boat. He heard the rattling of metal. What he did not grasp, was how there could have been a current at all if the tunnel was blocked at the end. Maybe, in the darkness, they had somehow drifted away from the current itself and into a side-passage? "I don't hear any of them though. Gonna turn on the light."
"Isn't- Isn't that a really bad idea?" he forced himself to whisper again, in spite of mounting panic. What if she turned on her light, and somehow woke up hordes of these Mirelurks sleeping around them? Piper did not respond, and for a blessed moment he thought he'd made her pause and reconsider; "Divines...O, bože, zaštiti me!"
Then a cone of sharp, painfully bright light erupted from a foot away from him, bathing the tunnel in white. He flinched away from the light, already a spike of ice crawling from his palm. The air smelled like it might as well be flammable, and he wanted no part in spawning flame here.
"There's nothing."
Her voice was like a thunderclap next to the earlier quiet, and each second it echoed down the tunnel was a second he spent in dread of whatever might suddenly react to it. But, after he could no longer hold his breath and was forced to exhale, he found she was right. There was nothing moving about in the tunnel; "Nothing grown up at least."
"By Magnus, what would you have done if..." Martin stopped, knowing already the answer. If there had been 'Mirelurks', then from how she'd described them they'd have been caught anyway. Light was a bigger advantage for them than the animals, at least. When she turned and looked back through the tunnel, the light of her torch revealed eggs in numbers beyond counting, each the size of his head. They stuck out of the mud like mushrooms, halfway buried in the black-green, silty sludge and sand; "...how many are there, you think?"
"Too many," Piper muttered, casting her light about in the other direction now; "Looks like they've completely blocked off the tunnel, and the engine can't push against the current back, plus I don't even know if there's enough gas left in it... how the Hell did the other guy get through then?"
He already knew what she was going to say, much as he disliked the idea of it. If they couldn't go back... there was only forward, and not for the first time he cursed himself for ending up in this desolate world.
"Adults wouldn't leave this many eggs unattended where I'm from." he noted, cursing now his own tongue. He wish he hadn't said that, it felt like he was delivering a promise of suffering onto them both. But the fact stuck, that no sustainable species would leave this many eggs unprotected. Unless, of course, they were counting on the location alone being enough to safeguard them. Even so, this was a bad place to be; "And we can't sail through this."
"No kidding?" Piper scoffed, already wielding her shotgun again; "Strip the boat, we take whatever we can carry and leg it. Tunnel can't be that much further till we get to Packard's Corner. It's rising from there, so shouldn't be flooded. Hopefully."
They stripped the boat quickly, most of the essentials already in her backpack. Martin took what had already been in the boat when they found it, shoving whatever wouldn't fit his own pockets into the pack. He wished the gods would have left him some better shoes in the boat along with the jacket, stepping from the rickety wooden construct onto - and into - the slimy silt. It felt less like the insides of a manmade tunnel, and more as if he stood on the bank of some bog or, perhaps appropriately, a mire. At the end of it, Piper was the last out of the boat, shotgun in hand, and gave the old vessel a kick, visibly if quietly frustrated.
"We're still on the right track," she sighed, tapping the flickering torch on her forehead. Its irregularity would have made Martin anxious, if not for his own spells. Though, not that he was all that keen on expending magicka anyway. His reserves had only just started rebuilding now, when they should have done so mere minutes after his little stunt across the water. Something was wrong with this place, and he feared it meant a severe limitation on his magic. For most people, magic was a boon, a bonus in their livelihood. Soldiers would light pipes or boil tea with a weak spellflame, and others again might find amusement in employing it on occasion.
As a Healer, he was nothing without his magic.
"We're still going to..." he cursed himself, what was the next station called? She'd just mentioned it, something where the tunnels had a bend or... a corner? "...the corner?"
"Packards Corner," she nodded, a softer tone in her voice now; "We'll be halfways then. You doing okay?"
"I've never seen a place this unsanitary, but..." he snorted and followed, and it seemed to amuse her; "Nothing a bath won't fix... I think."
"Man, a hot shower and a beer after this shit, I'll be right as rain then." Piper grinned, a stark contrast to the ensuing disgust as she stepped in what looked like it had once been...some sort of marine mammal, maybe. It was barely recognizable, eaten and rotten to the point of only a weird, gooey puddle of putrid flesh standing out. He'd once stepped on a beached jellyfish, and had much the same reaction; "Ew, definitely a shower."
"Shower?" it was not a word he recognized, but... maybe it was a kind of bath? He trudged on behind Piper as she led them through nest after nest, taking surprising care not to step in the eggs. It still confounded him that not a single adult animal was present to protect the eggs. Maybe they were like turtles?
"You know, like, taking a shower?" she said, watching him until something like realization and comical horror dawned on her face; "You... don't have showers where you're from? Holy shit, you've never had a shower before?"
"Unless you refer to when it rains..." he grunted, dragging his foot from where the silt was more mud than not, and had sucked down his shoe; "Then no, I don't have a point of reference."
"Damn..." it was almost unsettling the way she said nothing more, as if it was some bare necessity in life that he'd somehow been without, and worse off for it. Minutes of slogging it through the muck eventually came to a close when the tunnel seemed to be dipping upwards, and the ground became drier. Soon enough, they started seeing the lower parts of the walls on both sides, though still with almost a meter yet before they'd see the bottom. At least, Piper said so. Still, his curiosity nagged him.
"...so, what is a shower, here?"
"Oh, I'm not telling you," he frowned at her response, almost rude as it was. A teasing tone lingered in it though, a refreshing change from her irritation. It brought a sense of... optimism wasn't the right word, but something close by it; "Far more fun to show you, full shock factor and all. Gotta get back to DC first, of course and... okay, hold up..."
The silt suddenly ended, leaving a small, earthen ramp of sand, mud and old seaweed to be descended. Leading, Piper took the first slide, grunting when she hit the concrete floor. She left absolute darkness in her wake, prompting Martin to sacrifice some magicka on a light of his own. The Magelight danced about as he slid down, coming at least to a more elegant stop than her. Then again, he had both hands, she did not.
"Never thought I'd miss concrete so much," she said, scraping her foot on the wet rock. It was a weird notion, that the Mirelurks had managed to block off an entire tunnel from the river's current. Or, maybe it had just naturally filled with sand. The tunnel was heading upwards, at least, so maybe they were finally done with the darkness of the toxic river; "Can't be far to Packards now. Lunch when we get there?"
"What time is it even?" Martin wondered. The tunnels had robbed him of his sense of time entirely, and he had no way of knowing if it was the dead of night or still afternoon. Had they been down here for a few hours or days now? Did the world outside still exist?
"'bout seven or eight in the evening, I'd say." Piper said; "We've been down here for... maybe three hours? Usually takes half a day to get from Diamond City to where we met, but the tunnels go all sorts of directions before they hit the central hub. At least there's no Radstorms down here, eh?"
"'Point," he nodded, and his guts agreed; "Lunch, or... well, more like dinner?"
"Yeah, but canned meat sounds less depressing when it's lunch than dinner, you know?" she grinned, tapping the lower part of her backpack, where the metal cans were stored. It couldn't be a light burden, but he wasn't sure if he should ask if she wanted to give it to him instead. For not the first time, he cursed his inability to read those around him. What if every step she took made her more annoyed with him not being a gentleman? Was that a thing here? "You can make a fire, right?"
"I am fairly sure I can manage." he hummed, procuring a dancing flame from the tip of his finger. He snuffed it almost as quickly, unkeen to expend magicka where it wasn't needed; "What's Packards Corner like?"
"Empty, hopefully," she said, casting her voice about in the dead darkness; "Though the Fifty-Seventh goes parallel to it, on the other side of the walls, mind you, but who knows if there's a whole lotta holes or something. It's an open station, one of those people lived in until the surface was okay again, and even then people still used it as a shelter when the Radstorms rolled in. We might see people there, or we might not."
Her last words accompanied her fingers as they danced over the side of her weapon.
"People?"
"Vagrants, raiders, scavengers..." she shrugged, as if there was no great difference. Maybe there wasn't; "Whomever was around when the Radstorm hit, really. Just means there's less likely to be mutants there, is what I mean. Still... gotta care for your fellow man, right?"
"Scavengers are as bad as raiders?" he left it unsaid that she herself had proclaimed it a successful scavenge when they found the shotgun and the backpack. Were they themselves then not also scavengers?
"No...unless they think you're also a scavenger, but not from their group." Piper kicked a rock as she spoke, sending it a few feet up the tunnel until it landed on the edge of light and darkness; "So it's much the same, really. Both are gonna shoot at you more likely than not. Vagrants are okay, as long as they stay the heck away from me. They're the sort who don't scoff at work, no matter how dirty it is, morally speaking."
"Cheerful."
Indeed, what a cheerful world this was, where other people were as great a risk as the monsters that prowled surface and tunnels both;
"Aren't there any nice people around here?"
"Well there's me. I'm plenty nice, aren't I?" Piper frowned, though even he could tell it was put-on. It actually made him smile, to know he could read her at least this much. Maybe he wasn't completely lost, then; "But, aside from yours truly, the kind and beautiful Piper... I guess there's the traders and settlers, though I've never heard of either coming out here. Traders don't go where there's no settlers, and settlers don't go where there's no settlement."
Martin, for a moment, mulled on her words, though he himself could not immediately say why. They made perfect sense. It was the 'kind and beautiful' part that had him stuck, he realized. It was the sort of words you'd come up with a retort against, for the sake of humor, but... she kind of, sort of, actually was. Being in a state of either constant danger or just overall confusion, had robbed him of the notion that she was even a woman, until she'd pressed down on him in the boat.
Now, he didn't know what to do with those thoughts. Ignoring them definitely seemed the safer bet, best as he could at least. Piper was the only friendly face he'd met in this blasted crater of a necropolis, and he'd be the fool for aspiring for more.
Strangely, it wasn't even a hard choice to make.
"Settlements?" he asked instead, forcing his mind elsewhere; "Not cities or towns?"
"In case you missed it, we're kinda in the middle of a ruined, massive city. Diamond City's a city inside that city. We usually call them settlements though, because it sounds weird to refer to a town in a city, I guess..." she shrugged, blessedly oblivious to his wandering thoughts; "Settlements don't really come in one size either, hard to classify them. Some have just a few dozen people, others like Bunker Hill have a few hundred, Diamond City a few thousand."
"You mentioned somewhere that actually... farmed these things, the Mirelurks?"
"Nordhagen, yeah." The name almost sounded like something from the Heartland, maybe Nibenese; "It's east of Diamond City, across the bay and past the old airport. It's pretty small, but they run a large complex of those softshell tanks. Maybe there's, like, fifty people there, tops? They prep the meat there and sell it off to caravans."
"Sounds organized," which was actually surprising; "But there's no central government? Diamond City doesn't make laws for the settlements?"
"Oh Jesus, no." Piper's laughter echoed up the tunnel, likely scaring off anything that might have been lurking in the darkness. As fast as it had come, the sound was gone, leaving only their footsteps on the broken concrete. Humidity seemed to have completely rotted away the crossties, leaving only warped and rust-brown rails slung across the floor like dessicated metal snakes; "Diamond City's barey got the manpower to patrol the immediate surroundings, much less prop itself up like some sort of government."
"So, it's more like independent city states or tribes?" he asked, trudging alongside her. His own little light danced above them, casting some light where Piper's did not; "Each with its own army or militia?"
"Some do." she said, her tone softening; "Most don't, and either pay the raiders or get wiped out. Sometimes they get wiped out even if they pay. Used to be we had something called the 'Minutemen', who tried keeping order."
"Past tense."
"Yep, kinda," Piper sighed; "Past tense, definitely, these days. Not that anyone in DC would notice, until the food stops coming. Too late by then, of course...Hey, wanna give the backpack a try? Shoulder's kinda starting to be killing me, you know?"
"Of course." throwing the straps on, he was actually surprised at how heavy it was. He didn't think what few things they'd scrounged up could weigh this much, and it made him embarrassed, that he'd let her carry it for this long, without offering to take over; "How's the arm?"
"My ar-? Oh..." she paused, in the middle of rolling shoulders now freed of their burden, as if the question was a strange one; "...it's so weird. I nearly got it torn off and barely feel a thing now... Like, not even sore."
"Awesome," he smiled to himself, knowing it was perhaps a bit prideful. But it meant he was good for something, at least. And that his journeyman papers had not been in vain; "Shoulders?"
"Eh, I'll get it sorted once we're back in DC. Hot shower usually does the trick." she sighed, though now it was a great deal more wistful and longing than before; "Wouldn't say no if you've got some magicks that could fix shoulders too, though."
Usually, he would have said yes. But, usually his magicka reservoirs didn't feel like stretched out butter on far too much toast. If he told her that, she might realize just how little actual use he was. But at the same time, lying felt dirty, especially to her.
"Not presently, no..." he said, adjusting the backpack. As far as the light reached, the tunnel simply kept climbing, and he was starting to once again realize just how unconditioned for this kind of travel he was. His insides growled for sustenance, his legs were shaking and he felt cold, even through the extra layer of leather. His blood sugar was running low; "If there's other people at the station...?"
"Depends on the kind." Piper slowed down a bit now, and lowered her voice, as if the walls themselves had ears. Maybe they were so close to the station that someone might overhear them? The gaping blackness of the tunnel when Piper turned her light away from it, almost gave the impression that something was listening, just beyond the light's edge. It was the same, unsettling sensation he'd gotten when first stepping foot into the tunnel. Of something unnatural; "Vagrants and Scavvers, we just keep our distance. Raiders... we go back into the tunnel and wait for them to move on. They're a bunch of psychos and I'd really rather not mess with them. They're worse than the mutants, because they're still human but they'll laugh as they gut you. Rule of the Wasteland; you see a lone raider, you kill him if you can. Don't hesitate, ever. Because they won't."
He didn't know what to say to that. What kind of people could turn Piper this cold? What kind of world created those people, if it still allowed for optimism? He extinguished his own light, letting Piper's guide the way, and spare his own reserves.
Packards Corner emerged before he'd mentally prepared himself for it, appearing around the bend of the tunnel like a trap sprung. The first sign of trouble was the campfire already lit inside, with sleeping rolls huddled around it. All were empty, from what he could tell at least.
The next sign of trouble came as he took in the station in its entirety, and pondered yet again on just how alike every station so far had been. Those who lived before the destruction of this world had surely built to last, and to a standard. Piper walked ahead, slow and careful steps as she neared the campfire, her cannon aimed at the shadows across it.
"That's far enough, friends."
Martin could have soiled himself then and there, as a hushed voice spoke almost into his left ear, close enough that it accompanied something hard and cold jabbing lightly into the top of his neck. Piper swiveled on the spot, her weapon aimed almost dead-center on his own head, though more likely she was taking aim. Personally, he had no idea what was happening now, beyond the complete surprise that someone had snuck up on them, and now pressed a weapon to his neck. Before he'd met Piper, the notion of something flat and cold pushed on his skin like that would not have registered as a threat.
Now, however, he understood that it was.
"Drop it!" Piper snapped, eyes wide with surprise and anger, even as other figures emerged from the shadows. Martin could only see a few of them, but all appeared armed, a few with only bladed and blunt weapons. The man behind him chuckled; "Drop the gun!"
"Come on, really?" he laughed, and the cold metal pressed just a little lighter against his skin; "You're not seeing your friend here between us? Look. Put your gun down and kick it over here. Then we'll have a friendly chat and see if you're raiders or not. Can someone get some light on them?"
Martin winced as a sharp, almost burning light came on, projected from several people at once upon them. Some were handheld, but most seemed to have their lights in the same manner as Piper's. Something in the weapon held to his neck shifted, like a mechanism rotating. Arkay, Kynareth, Stendarr, Julianos!
"Gun down," the man behind him said, gesturing with a hand clothed in fingerless glove. Piper, eyes shifting between him and the people surrounding them, finally relented, putting her weapon on the cold tiles; "Awesome."
"We're not Raiders." Piper said, though she remained where she was, hands raised; "Fucking Hell, look at us, will you?!"
"More like Scavengers to me." one of the others said, all features concealed behind the bright light from his torch. They stood surrounded by what almost appeared to be nothing but floating lights, only those close to the campfire visible as people. From what he could make out, no more than a dozen in all. A wary voice spoke next; "Hunters?"
"Hmm..." something clicked in the weapon behind him. He breathed, deep, eyes pressed shut. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready at all to die; "Nah, don't look like them either."
And the weapon vanished from his neck, leaving almost an empty sensation. He didn't yet dare breathe.
"You, look very familiar, actually." the man behind him said, pointing at Piper; "Have I seen you somewhere in Diamond City before?"
"Publick Occurrences." Piper breathed, lowering her hands; "Piper Wright, it's my press."
"No shit, the illustrious Piper Wright?" the man guffawed, from the sound of it; "In our little station"?
"...this mean I can pick my gun back up?" she asked, eying the weapon. Martin only now dared a breath of air, and found he'd almost run out; "You're not gonna shoot us?"
"Mayor of yours would probably thank me if I did." something slid against leather; "Lucky you two, I don't like him. It's fine, people. they're not baddies." A fingerless glove patted Martin on the shoulder, and nearly made him jump; "Hey, sorry 'bout the welcome committee. You two waltz out of a tunnel supposed to be a dead end, and my people are already on edge here."
"It's fine, we'd have done the same thing." Piper said, dusting off her weapon; "Worried there'd be raiders here. A campfire with no campers isn't much less creepy, you know."
"Heard footsteps in the tunnel, didn't have time to snuff it." Now Martin finally had a look at his ambusher, as the man stepped past him, arms in a gesture of peace. Spotlessly bald under a brown cap, and spectacles of black glass that didn't show his eyes. He wore the same kind of dirty coat as many of the others now coming into view. Only the large piece of metal now sheathed like a sword on his hip gave away how dangerous he might be; "Name's Tom, I'm seeing these people back to their settlement up north, but the Radstorm rolled in. Obviously we all know Miss Wright here, but who's the mysterious stranger?"
"Martin," he did not know how to react to these people, especially when the one now so amicable had been the closest to killing him. His already shredded laboratory coat now clung cold to his back with the sweat of fear; "I am...doctor, not from here."
"Accent tells as much." Tom laughed, beckoning for them to follow towards the fire. The rest of Tom's group visibly relaxed, though still seemed... on guard, would be one way to put it. Not fearful, but... tense, maybe? "Where from?"
"European," He still didn't fully understand where or what 'Europe' was, but Piper had made it sound like a country somewhere far away, and it would cover for his accent. Though, how could he have an accent, if he didn't hear one in Tom? Shouldn't it be a two-way street? From the look Piper shot him, it wasn't what she'd hoped he would say; "I came here by accident, and met Piper out... west from here, I think. I can't tell in the tunnels."
"What, just bumped into each other?" their... captor? host? asked, dragging up a chair seemingly made from a material like wood, but far more flexible from the way it bent under its occupant. It was red too, though the paint was flaking.
"Ran, more like," Piper said, warming her hands over the fire, though she remained standing; "Martin shot a Super trying to make a meal of me, then fixed me up."
"I'd raise a toast to any dead Super, if I had anything to drink." Tom chuckled, waving a small, white enameled cup, with something in it that steamed and almost smelled like tea; "Thing is, all I've got is some water and some leaves. It's pure, more or less, if you want some?"
Piper squinted at the man; "How much?"
"Free of charge," he said, procuring a Nuka-Cola bottle, though the contents were decidedly watery; "Promise it's not poison too, by the way. Come on, people, relax. We're all buddies here, or at least not raiders, and that's just as good. Martin, right? Take a seat, want some water?"
"I've...had enough water for now, thank you." Though he did take the offered seat. Piper then, maybe because of this, did the same, though she never quite let her weapon go. She still accepted the water when offered.
"We've got some canned food, enough to share." Piper offered, revealing from the backpack one of the flat, metal cylinders. Tom raised an eyebrow behind his shaded spectacles; "We're just going to Diamond City, shouldn't be more than a day's trip, total."
"If you're sure." their host nodded, accepting the trade.
Piper ended up distributing all but three of the metal cans, a donation eagerly accepted by their hosts. There was still something about these people, Tom notwithstanding, that set Martin off. It was something in the way they seemed to react to their surroundings, like they were as foregn to them as they'd been to him. The canned food Piper handed him, once cut open and heated over the fire, was some sort of beefy mince. The taste was so alien, he couldn't tell if it was just too old or intended to taste like this. She ate hers though, and messily at that. Then again, he was not much better, in the end licking up the last scraps inside.
"So, how'd you even end up waltzing out of that tunnel?" Tom later asked, as time had passed in relative quiet around the fire. With a hot meal in his stomach and gods-knew how many miles behind him, Martin was feeling the exhaustion set in, and wanted nothing more than to creep into one of those sleeping rolls on the ground. All were, of course, taken, and so the choice remained between conversation or the floor; "Everyone knows the next station's flooded, and you don't look the types to fancy a dip in that kind of water, and it's not like the stations after that are any better..."
"No kidding," Piper scoffed; "We noticed."
"The Dead Station too?" their host leaned in, something almost gleaming behind those reflective black glasses; "The stuff they say about it, that true?"
"Nope," she waved him off, snorting. In the flickering light, Martin felt like he caught a look from her, but far too short and vague for him to make sense of; "Been there, nothing but rats. Stories are complete bull, including about all sorts of treasures there. Skeletons, rats and bad memories, that's it."
"Man, talk about a downer, huh?" Tom shrugged; "Yet another piece of Wasteland magic, gone with the blastwave..."
There's a little reference to the Metro 2033 book in this chapter, see if you can spot it.
One thing I love about the tunnel chapters is how they allow for some degree of streamlining. Once we get to the surface, it's probably going to get a whole lot messier.