NOTE: I AM NOT PROMOTING ANYTHING POLITICAL IN THIS STORY NOR DO I HAVE A GRUDGE AGAINST CERTAIN RACES.
More trudging of the rough metro grounds was all he had done for minutes on end, each second feeling a millennia. There hasn't been a single light that could be observed at the end of the tunnel. The radio hardly still worked, not even a blurt of static. All Michail could do now was continue to move forward, with his only company being his thoughts.
The ghosts he encountered at the last station continued to give him reminders of memories before the war, before the world was engulfed by a global Chernobyl. He was just a young soldier, on leave from fighting against the Ukrainian forces in Crimea.
But despite all that he respected member of society instead of the deadly mercenary everyone saw before them. It all went sideways once the bloody Arabs decided they could play with weapons of extinction.
That second when the alarms screamed towards those around them infected them all with the thought it was every man for themselves. All of Moscow reverted to the primitive belief of individualism. He could remember the look on people's faces just as he was running to the Metro, their entire lives had just shattered into pieces like the buildings of old.
The elderly died first, one would say they were the lucky ones as they lived a full life and didn't have to experience the horrific aftermath. Perhaps all who died were truly lucky, spared from the hell that had conquered the globe. The adults were given the task of supporting their children in a tougher world, who now no longer had the full life they were promised at birth.
Those who survived would have been speculated by the idiots who still have faith that they all have sinned and must suffer for it. Even after the bloody end of the world, humanity never learns. Damn the saying war never changes, it's mankind who will never change. And being bombed back to the stone age didn't help at all.
If he could, Michail would rather have gone back and died in the blast. Join the few ones he loved, that's if there was even an afterlife at all. The thought of it was truly conflicting. After seeing those in Nagtinskaya he started to suspect there was an afterlife after all, but instead of going to heaven as a good man or going o hell as a bad one he'd be forced to relive his final moments over and over again for all eternity.
This only meant one thing, it was better if he stayed alive. When those who believed death was the true way out of the metro they were wrong, you should always live your life to the fullest despite the pain you experience. It's a better deal than what comes after.
More steps had been taken in the past half hour, the mercenary was already distracted inside his thoughts. Tulskaya was not too far away. Just an extra kilometre and he was home free.
His mind started to shift about what happened after they fled underground. The military stationed there were forced to keep order, but unfortunately weren't good at it once ammunition supplies ran low. The civilians decided to break off and create their own factions from independent stations to outright catacomb empires.
With all the wars that continued, Michail thought it best to side with the ones that didn't radicalise the entire metro, like Hansa, the Arbat or 1905 Confederation and sometimes even the rangers. He found he had a lot in common with the Order, some of them did involve his military comrades from before the war.
But to his mind, the new currency was all that mattered if he were to survive. More money meant he could buy more equipment.
He escaped his memories and philosophy of the mind, as a light finally beamed upon him. "Who the hell are you?" The speaker questioned, "Oh well if it isn't that mercenary we hired. Your boyfriend has been worried sick."
Michail gave him the shish gesture, "He's my partner you homophobic pricks." Even in the apocalypse he still believed in equality, and that's almost hard to find in the Metro.
"Yeah yeah, whatever. I'll open the door for you."
The creaking of the steel door emerging followed on after that. The ear bleeding squeak of the contraption rubbing against the rusted rails disturbed him greatly as he tightly pressured his ears. Hansa certainly didn't care much It all resulted with the blinding light of Tulskaya station.
A commander in a sharply dressed uniform accompanied by a group of the Hansa spetsnaz met with him once Michail took a few steps inside the spacious station.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," said the commander.
"That's a funny way of saying hello to the man that went through f*cking purgatory," Michail harshly replied.
"I pay you to get the job done, not to complain about the danger. You've been up there many times to know how much of a hell it is."
"Now I understand why nobody has dared go down this tunnel line. I almost got dragged down to Hades himself. Once in nuclear fire, twice in black ectoplasm."
"Ectoplasm? Now I'm really thinking you thought you saw ghosts."
"Enough of this. Just take your f*cking supplies and I'll take my bullets," the mercenary stripped his backpack and shoved it to the commander's chest with no respect at all.
"Of course. Anything to not have you dive deeper into madness. Your partner's at the pub, he already knows you're here," the news of Michail's arrival was unusually quick even for Hansa's standards, "You'll get your payment later."
He didn't respond, and decided to move through the station. Tulskaya, or called by most as Tula, was the station Hansa decided to place the poor and lost souls. It was large and spacious, perfect to dump all the hobos you didn't want. Beggars and sick people could be seen in almost every corner with poorly built shacks structured as far as the station stretched.
First, Michail returned his heavy armour back to the Ring Line Military, exposing his green turtle neck jumper and padded black trousers. Next destination was the pub merely 20 metres from both entrances of Tula. It was an unhygienic place, a few drunks lying at the doorstep, rubbish spread all around and for some reason a dead body laid right in front of the bartender's table, with the bartender themself an educated person not caring a little about his customers.
Sacha sat at one of the tables drinking beer brewed from shrimp, he was around the same age as Michail with greying black hair and a goatee slowly growing. He seemed to be wearing a camouflage shirt and an old military helmet placed on the table. Sitting with him was another man equipped with a heavy shirpa lined jacket as well as combat trousers, including a balaclava wrapped over his head. No doubt he was from Polis.
"Michail! Glad you made it through the tunnels in one piece," Sacha congratulated, "You mind telling me what exactly happened in the line?"
"Nothing happened," Michail lied trying not to show his insanity, "Signal just got lost. Best not to go down to those stations. Who's he?" he pointed at the unknown individual.
"I am Tariq of the spartan rangers," he introduced with an unusual accent.
"Tariq?" He took note of the non-Russian name, "Let me guess, you're an Arab?"
"Tehran born and raised." Arabs down here were quite common in a couple stations, mainly in the Arbat Confederation. Most of them in Moscow had been wiped out in the nuclear fire as had other ethnic minorities. Those who remained either took refuge in friendly territories or suffered at the hands of the genocidal Fourth Reich.
"He wants to hire us for a mission of his," said Sacha.
"No. I am taking a break from all of this, last job almost got me killed."
"All jobs almost get you killed!"
"Last one was too close a call!"
"I'm not expecting you to accept this job instantly. I understand the fact that you're under a lot of stress, take as much rest as you want," the Ranger said.
The mercenary took a drink of beer that was just provided by one of the scruffy staff, the consumption calmed him down a bit, "What's the job?"
"I need some men to accompany me to Polis," he simply requested, "You'll be payed 600 bullets each. 200 now, the rest once we arrive."
"What exactly is your business in Polis?"
"That's Ranger business."
One of the Hansa soldiers arrived holding a small box, "Your payment." They placed it neatly on the table. Sacha opened it to find at least 400 bullets inside.
"What the hell?! This isn't even what we were offered!" Sacha angrily exclaimed.
"I'm sorry, this is all we have right now. Some asshole gambled all our money away up in Serpukhov," the soldier responded, "Unfortunately you won't be paid any further."
"Bullsh*t, you're just stalling so you don't pay us!"
"Hey I'm just doing my job. Go talk to the commander about it."
Michail decided not to take any more of the dickhead Ring Liner's comments. He decided to accept the job offered by the ranger, hoping he and his partner could at least make better money than the bloody ring line. The people of Polis were honest people, omly reason he hardly took any jobs from them was because they didn't have any work needed doing.
"Cheers to Polis then," Sacha raised a bottle. Tariq didn't raise one up. "Right, Muslims don't drink alcohol."
"I'm no longer Muslim," he said, "Left all that nonsense a year after the war. Only reason I'm not drinking is because of the mask."
"Then take it off! What, you hiding you're a woman or something?"
"I'm harshly scarred under here. An accident from a few years ago, I wear it because people can't bare to see my face."
"Whatever, tomorrow we leave this hellhole. And to the Swiss we go."
The railcar moved across the tracks the next day through the guarded tunnel. The trio of men armed themselves for the journey. Michail with his trusty AK, Sacha with his double barrel and Tariq equipped with a modified 'bastard gun'.
Among the travel, they chatted a bit. Mostly talking about events through the Metro such as the war between the Reds and the Nazis. Including the missile strike up above, still nobody knew what happened there. Though Tariq believed the Order was involved.
"You're saying the Order just suddenly got their hands on missiles and just decided to wipe out the botanical gardens," the mercenary said hardly believing a word of it. Even if that was true, what was the point of nuking an old public attraction?
"Who else would have the capability of such power? The reds focus too much on manpower, the nazis are basically pricks, Hansa has no interest," the Iranian explained.
"Polis does seem the probable ones, their rangers were once old military officials," Sacha added.
"Alright, enough Metro politics. If I'm going to be travelling with you I might as well know your stories."
"You first, just want to make sure you ain't a paedophile or anything like that."
"Fair enough. I'm from Tehran, Iran as you already know. I moved to Moscow when I was in my adolescent years which was unfortunately near the time the bombs fell. Spent my first few years as some measly scrapper boy before getting into the action when the first factions were formed. The ones I went with formed into the Rangers, that's all you needed to know," the Iranian explained. There weren't any comments on his origins, his story, as English speakers say, was legit.
It was the old construction worker's turn to speak, "I was a construction worker before the war in Petrograd. Moved to Moscow with the same job and then the bombs dropped. I met a nice girl and formed a family living up in Kiev. Met Michail over a decade ago and we formed a mercenary duo, I believed it was the best way to support my family."
"Believed? You talk in past tense, why?" Tariq asked. He was shown an intelligent being with a high perception in sight and in hearing.
"Jobs have been very stale these days, with the large war occurring and Hansa mostly giving out jobs. It's been a nightmare for us. And I can't seem to get any money back to Kiev because of all the diplomatic bullsh*t going on and courier services these days are too greedy," the old construction worker explained. He lit up a cigarette as they started to exit the guarded area of the tunnel.
Tariq cocked his gun, ready for any blasted nosalis to get the jump on the car. "Calm down," said Michail. Sacha passed him another cigarette, "This tunnel has all been cleared out, we're safe."
"Can't be too sure about that. Few weeks ago I entered a supposed 'empty' area as Polis claimed it to be. And guess what, it was all infected with webbing and spider sh*t."
The railcar driver spoke, "No these tunnels are pretty clean. We're between two Ring Line stations so we're a hundred percent safe."
The ranger lowered his automatic, "Alright. So, Michail. What's your story?"
"I was a soldier before the bombs. Fought in Crimea, Eastern Poland and Belarus. Once I got shot in the shin I was sent back home, when bombs dropped I ran to the Metro, no family or friends at that time so it was quite easy to let go. Blah blah blah, some sh*t happened and I became a mercenary. Met Sacha and you know the rest."
"Soldier huh? I'm surprised you haven't joined the Order. Got an awful lot of old military vets in there."
"Serving myself is what keeps me alive, I have independence, freedom. Blindly following orders just makes you a pawn in someone else's game, and this isn't any game. In the new world, survival is all that matters whatever the cost. Death is just the punishment that awaits us at the end of every life whether good or evil, deciding to go for it is not best when you know what awaits after death."
Everybody on the railcar, even the driver who normally doesn't care for his customer's business, assumed something unusual had recently happened to him. Or his views on the underground prison that is life are as strong as a bull. It did give them a bit of thought, it was better to enjoy what you have in the living than the cold afterlife that awaited everyone for atomised judgement.
"Alright, we're a kilometre away from Serpukhov. Should just be a little over half an hour," said the driver.
Under 40 long minutes passed by, the entire trio suffered openly from boredom. Doing nothing but smoke old cigarettes, drink shrimp beer and chat meaninglessly. Passing over a flooded tunnel they finally arrived at Serpukhov.
Dismounting from the car onto the platform, is was slightly cleaner than the filthy Tula, families and friends living peaceful lives inside with traders and merchants seen in almost every corner, locals of the entire line sometimes referred to this place as the Metro Shopping Centre. Perfect for resupplying on ammunition and other worthy needs such as filters, grenades and also some leather armour for any bandits or mutant urged to gut their throats.
Sacha nicely donated a few bullets to a hungry beggar, though Michail saw it as a waste of time. The homeless would've drowned their immortal sorrows in alcohol and whatever new world drugs had been created.
Tariq stood by the tracks, purchasing a ride to Dobrininskaya, except this time it was on larger connected railcars with more people. They were just about to leave within the hour so this was his last chance to do any business inside the station.
Purchasing a laser sight and a holographic scope for his automatic, Michail approached him, "You all ready?"
"Almost," the Iranian replied fitting his new toys onto the gun. "Alright, now I'm ready."
"I forgot to ask, why would a skilled man like you hire some mercenaries to escort you to the Capital of the Metro?" He asked, "What kind of job are we dealing with?"
"Suppose you have a right to know. I-" He was cut off when a revolver bullet hit the concrete wall, inciting a panic among the inhabitants.
"What the hell was that?!" Michail fiercely questioned.
"The entire reason I hired you!" Tariq responded as another projectile flew immediately passed him.
The projectile flew straight past his ear thankfully missing. They both took cover behind some barrels, "Who in God's worthless name wants to kill you?"
"Just do your job!" He fired a burst of blind fire at their unknown attacker/s. Michail looked straight over, the hostile seemed to be a masked individual wearing a tattered jacket and common clothing armed with a revolver. Whomever they were also took cover behind a stack of boxes.
Sacha thankfully moved near their position, firing 2 shells to their face blowing it off. Unfortunately cleansing their identity off the face of the Earth. "You guys alright?" He asked.
"We're fine," said Michail wiping some dust off his shoulder.
The station guards arrived aiming their guns at the group. Their leader questioned, "What the hell happened here?"
"This madman attacked us out of nowhere!" Sacha exclaimed pointing at the faceless corpse already infested with flies.
"Any reason why he attacked?"
"Not a clue," said Michail, "You really need to up your security in this place! We might've had our brains splattered across your walls!"
"I apologise for this," the leader promised a horrible event like this would never happen again. He highly doubted that, Hansa officials were always sly. At first glance the armed trio definitely did not look like Ring Line Natives to them. The security left them to be, obviously not giving a care.
"I believe it's time to tell us the reason for our job," the mercenary demanded.
Tariq grabbed a beer bottle, opened part of his balaclava revealing his rotting dark skin. Desperately taking a drink, his heart went as calm as a guru. "There's this organisation, cultists you might say, calling themselves the Lord's Purists. I've recently discovered of their existence a couple days ago, and now they want to silence me," he explained.
"What exactly do these cultists want?" Sacha asked loading 2 shells into his shotgun.
"I don't exactly know, but I do know they act in the shadows, controlling each faction in the Metro. I believe they are part of the reason why the Reds and Nazis are reliving a Stalingrad. The reason behind the many conflicts across the entire metro."
"I highly doubt that," said Sacha, "I've fought with Michail against the Reds since that war started. I've officially confirmed this was all about the Line deciding to 'spread the revolution'. This war's no different."
"Who do you think gave them the idea? Who influenced them? They control the entire Metro, those of authority are puppets of a larger plan. I do not know what their goal is, most likely a secret genocide, but whatever it is will mot likely decimate the moral and population of the catacombs we reside in. The only ones who can help us deal with this is the Order, they're the only ones who will listen and the only ones who haven't been affected," he took another drink of beer, "Come on. Our ride will be leaving here soon."
It was at that moment, the two mercenaries discovered they were dealing with something larger than just some simple escort job across half the Metro. They've been through wars and skirmishes across the tunnel prison, but nothing was as large as this.