FROM RANGER TO HUNTSMAN:
REMNANTS OF MANKIND
CHAPTER 1: OBJECT-666
A hot, anxious air permeated the dark, industrial hallway as golden lights flickered from the ceiling, the electric alarms screaming fiercely and analog bells singing madly. Artyom silently hurried behind Miller, Uhlman, and Khan as some Rangers scurried down the way they came beside them, the thumping of their boots and the chinking of their guns unnerving the thick air. When the group burst out into the empty silo area, they piled onto the nearest lift and began their slow, laborious descent into the maroon, gaping maw of D6's interior.
Leaning against the railing, Artyom watched his superior growling and gritting his teeth, his foot twitching against the old metal floor. "Can't this damn lift go any faster?!"
"Sorry Colonel," Artyom heard Vladimir say at the other end of the lift, and he barely saw him crouching underneath the control panel, "but this is gonna be the fastest the lift's going to get. You gotta love old Soviet technology."
"Hollywood never depicted how slow these damn things can be, that's for sure."
The circumstances themselves were strange despite the impending Red doom that was clawing and roaring through D6's tunnels as they spoke. At the time, it seemed like Miller intended to blow up the bunker to deny the Reds, or anyone else, from stealing its vast store of ancient biological and chemical weapons; Artyom had believed the Rangers were going to retreat to Polis afterward to bolster its defenses. That line of thinking was dashed when Miller had ordered him and the others―Khan came along with them despite not being asked to come, but Miller either did not seem to mind, or had not enough time to care about inviting a non-Ranger―to come along with him to be briefed for a "top-secret mission," and from then on it was a race to the bowels of D6.
A faint bellow shook the silo, snapping Artyom out of his gaze and alerting the others. Then Miller's radio woke up nearly screeching on his shoulder strap, gunfire bellowing faintly in the fuzzy background; a Ranger was screaming despite the bellows.
"South Gate to Windmill, please copy, i-is anyone there?!"
Miller frowned, his eyes squinting, and he held down the talk button. "Windmill here. What's the situation?"
"Oh God- T-The Reds, Colonel, t-the Reds have breached the South Gate!"
Breached. Artyom stared at the radio in disbelief as Uhlman gasped, Vladimir bumped his forehead against the panel's lid and cursed under his breath, and Khan gazed. The South Gate was one of the entry points to D6 where Miller predicted the Reds will strike hard, for it was the shortest route into the main interior of the bunker, so he had stationed much of the Order's experienced Rangers in that zone. And Miller was right.
"What?" Miller's eyes became wide and he nearly shouted, "How the hell did they managed to…?"
"T-They used some kind of armored train to breach the gate! Shit, w-we didn't even see it coming!" screamed the radio, then a fuzzy explosion bellowed in the background. "What the hell was that?! Rear to Windmill, requesting permission to fall back! The Reds are pouring in by the hundreds!"
"Permission granted, get your men out of there at once! Leave the dead, and take as many wounded as you can out of there! You know what to do!"
Miller released the radio's button and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Artyom turned his stare onto the rusty floor, apprehension washing over him, as Uhlman cursed obscenities and Vladimir muttered "Oh God," to himself. This was worse than he―than they all―had previously thought; the Reds were striking the whole of D6 with merciless impunity despite heavy losses, and they were literally throwing bodies at the Order until they could stem the Red tide no more. It was only a matter of time before the Reds start appearing in the interior; in fact, Artyom could not help but glance up at one of the upper silo levels, pondering if he might see steel helmets poking out, the barrels of Kalashnikovs, and the flickers of headlights.
Well, there was not much he could do about it right now, so Artyom turned to Miller for clarification on the mission. "Colonel, is it alright if I may ask as to the nature of this mission now?"
"Hmm," Miller hummed, leaned on the railing and crossed his arms, glancing around the lift; after what seemed like a moment of contemplation, he finally faced Artyom and the rest. "Alright, I suppose it's no use keeping you all in the dark about this now."
Uhlman and Khan turned to Miller, the former eager for answers, but Vladimir stopped fiddling with the lift's control panel and gazed at Miller. "Colonel, is this top-secret mission related to the, err, thing I'm thinking of…?"
Miller took a deep breath. "Yes, Vladimir, it is―but let me explain it to everyone else first; Khan, technically you shouldn't be listening to this, but now that I think about it I doubt it will ever matter in the first place." He faced Artyom, Khan, and Uhlman. "Everyone, what you are about to see shortly is something that none of us―not even Vladimir―ever thought was possible. Months ago, while we were exploring the deeper levels of D6, one of our expeditions came across several old warehouses of some sort near the bottom section. It turns out that D6 isn't just a research facility for chemical and biological weapons―it was also a place where the government, both the old Soviet and former Federation ones, stored away much of their top secret military projects. We have barely scratched the surface of these warehouses, and yet we've already found all sorts of strange equipment and technology none of us had ever seen before. What we are going to see here, however, is probably the strangest of them all—and that is what our volunteer will use in this mission."
Volunteer, as in, someone was going to willingly undertake this mission? Artyom tilted his head. "What do you mean by that?"
"Yeah," Uhlman said, nodding, "now you got me curious here, Colonel. How dangerous is this mission for it to be that someone has to volunteer for it?"
"I would say this mission is incomprehensibly dangerous, but if the volunteer manages to pull it off, it is one where humanity will likely don't have to worry about being on the brink of extinction for a long, long time."
Artyom stared at Miller, understandably confounded by this cryptic answer. To Artyom's knowledge, there was not anything, man-made or otherwise―maybe barring time―that could rescue humanity from the clutches of oblivion at this moment, so whatever Miller was planning it must have been something groundbreaking.
Uhlman scoffed, of course. "And the plot thickens."
"Interesting," Khan said, however, his eyebrow raised. "You posit that this ancient technology may be the key to humanity's survival?"
"Whatever that is," it was Uhlman who spoke, and he was smirking at Khan while applying a wet cloth on a bloodied cut that marred his forehead, "it's probably something that makes your soul-magic bullshit look like a bunch of parlor tricks."
Khan's gaze narrowed. "I would not be so quick to reductively judge all natural phenomena, especially of those birthed from the conditions produced by nuclear war, as 'a bunch of parlor tricks,' and I simply had the time to sufficiently understand the mechanisms of these phenomena, so I can assure you that I am not responsible for the creation and manipulation of what you call 'soul-magic bullshit.' In fact, well before the war―before the rise of modern humanity, even―there were fantastical, yet natural forces in this world that few knew of―and even fewer who understood and, astonishingly, mastered them."
"Right," Uhlman scoffed, rolling his eyes, "and the Gifted are real. Don't tell me you believe in those crazy pre-war stories– Actually, why the hell am I saying that, this is you we're talking about for Christ's sake, why wouldn't you breath them?"
"I will concede, my experiences are, very likely, 'unique' relative to the average person. That said, I will confirm your suspicions and claim that the Gifted are real, and I've known quite a few in a previous life."
"Of course." Uhlman rolled his eyes, then he muttered under his breath, "Next thing you know, Khan can suddenly run a hundred kilometers an hour, and bullets deflect off of him like he was a literal human shield…"
Artyom glanced at Uhlman, his attention drawn by his utterances. One-hundred kilometers an hour; bullets deflecting off a person as if they were a literal shield? Most stories he heard in his time were urban legends and rumors spawned from people's encounters with the unknown throughout the Metro, and while he had heard of the so-called "Gifted" in passing he never quite paid much attention to them. Perhaps this was an opportunity to educate himself on the matter, at least until the lift reaches their destination.
Miller, having heard Uhlman and Khan talk about the Gifted as well, turned to them and crossed his arms. "Well, while we're waiting for this goddamn lift to take us down," he shot a glare at the console, cursing it as if it was conspiring against them, "what exactly are the Gifted? I've heard of them before, but I haven't gotten the chance to hear most of the stories about them."
"Oh man, where do I even begin?" Uhlman sighed and rubbed one of his temples with his free hand. "Okay, let's just say the Gifted are a strange people. They look like us, but that's the only thing we share in common―no, they're literal superhumans: they can jump up to three stories high, they can run as fast as a car on full throttle, they can see you reaching for your gun the moment your hand moves for it, they can leave fist-sized holes on meter-thick steel plates with their fists… That's not the craziest part, oh no―some people say bullets just harmlessly bounce off of them and you need tank rounds, artillery shells, or even anti-tank weapons just to take them out; hell, some people believe the Gifted even possess a 'sixth sense' that allows them to see and detect other people's souls. Luckily―and I would leave it at that, personally speaking―the stories surrounding the Gifted are a complete mess."
That was… an interesting description. It was rather difficult for Artyom to imagine a person who could literally run as faster than a watchman and is virtually immune to small arms fire, much less understand how such abilities could come about through natural means. Of course, the aftermath of the nuclear war brought about a strange and hostile world, one that he grew up in and still does not fully understand to this day; anything could happen while one traversed these desolate lands.
"I've never heard of a person who could do all of that," Miller said, rubbing his chin with intrigue. "Sounds like utter bullshit, but then again, we're going to be using this piece of technology in a top-secret mission… Do you know if the stories mention anything about how the Gifted came about?"
Uhlman hummed. "Let's see… I believe the story goes that they've been around since humanity came about. Supposedly, most of them hid themselves away in the shadows for most of history until relatively recently; something forced them out of hiding, though what that is I have no idea because most of the people that knew died when the war happened. After that, though, nearly all the major powers in the world tried to study and harness the power of the Gifted, and it was said that some of them―including us―were successful; some people say that was the reason why World War III started."
Artyom raised an eyebrow at this, but he remained quiet. It was a rather bold claim, especially since he did not know much about the Gifted.
"So you're saying that these 'Gifted' are the reason humanity's living underground right now?" Miller said, his expression dubious. "That's strange, I always thought it was because NATO tanks finally started firing on our guys at Crimea. I should know, I've been stationed there a few months before the nukes fell; lucky that I ended up being stationed back in Moscow at the last minute."
"Nah, I think the Gifted are just made-up bullshit despite what Khan says," Uhlman said, shaking his head. "You have to be crazy to think there are people out there who can do superhuman feats like that. Besides, the Nazis think the genetically-impure brought about the end of civilization, and I don't need to tell you what the Reds think."
And of course, Khan looked at Uhlman with a solemn expression; Uhlman noticed and frowned. "Come on Khan, don't tell me you got actual proof of them."
Khan was about to reply, but Miller shushed them all as Artyom felt the lift slowing down; when he looked around the silo, Artyom realized the lift had finally reached the bottom-most section. Across from them were two giant steel doors that parted away to reveal metal scaffolding, forklifts, and pallets of steel construction materials spread around in a large room up ahead. The group hopped out of the lift and flew down through the doors. They found themselves inside the middle of a huge, horizontally arced room with stacks of shiny building materials and misplaced tools all lying about. Artyom had never been to this level of D6 before, but it looked like there had been construction workers here decluttering and refurbishing the room; however, the forklifts, welding tools, and other equipment were strewn about the place disheveled and unorganized. Perhaps they must have been evacuated in lieu of the Red invasion. Then a chilling thought passed through Artyom's mind, one that implicates he, Uhlman, Khan, Miller, and Vladimir as the only friendly souls left in D6.
To the front of the group was a barely-constructed stairwell that seemed stable enough when Miller took the first several steps; the stairwell led the group up towards the pressurized door of a transitory airlock area. There was a small terminal built to the side of the door that Miller approached, and he punched some numbers of a code unknown to nearly all of them but him and Vladimir. When the door slid open for them, Artyom found himself entering a large control room area. There was another pressurized door―which happened to be open―that led to another similar room―which happened to be open as well―and another one, and another one, and another one―as far as the eye could see to a certain point. As for the control room itself, the consoles appear to be dead, but Vladimir had already thrown himself onto the computers and began furiously typing, pushing, flipping and twisting buttons and knobs.
Pre-war plexiglass separated the control room from whatever was on the other side. When he looked through the window, his eyes became wide and he gasped.
As Vladimir turned on the spotlights, the darkness burnt away from the bright light. The lights' gazed upon a gigantic elliptical room of shining chrome, where a large grey capsule stood in the exact middle. Oddly enough, the capsule's design reminded Artyom of a spacecraft developed during the space race of the last century, a period in history Artyom read about in one of Polis' libraries once. The capsule had four thick stilts for legs and what appeared to be a rocket engine protruded underneath; there were antennas and other strange metal protrusions sticking out of the top of the capsule too. Despite its strange look, the capsule was surprisingly pleasing to the eye: an industrial, yet shiny and well-maintained device that was a relic of a bygone era, now forever lost to the annals of history―well, what was left of it anyway.
Miller gazed at Artyom, his eyes solemn and narrowed. "This may sound crazy Artyom, and believe me when I say I didn't believe it too at first, but what you are seeing here is a legitimate time machine."
Artyom stared at his commanding officer.
"Yes, you heard me correctly: a legitimate time machine."
A… time machine, as in, a device that could theoretically transport someone throughout time? Was such a technology even feasible back in the era of the old world?
Miller saw the incredulous look on Artyom and Uhlman's eyes and sighed. "The Soviets officially called it the Worldline Transposer, or Object-666. It was given that designation after some kind of accident, though what that was we don't know for sure."
"Whoa," Uhlman said, stepping back and waving his hands. "Alright Colonel, slow down there. Are you saying that this thing," he pointed at the capsule, "is a fucking time machine? Really? What is this, the opening scene to some bad Hollywood movie?"
"Watch your tongue, Uhlman," Miller scowled. "I grew up on Hollywood movies!"
"Well at least I didn't had such an unrealistic view of the Russian military before everything went to shit!"
Miller and Uhlman were about to squabble, but Khan spoke up as he rubbed his chin. "Colonel, how are you certain this machine is even capable of functioning?"
"Can't say it doesn't," Miller said, thankful that Khan interrupted, "but the old reports we collected on it claim it's fully functional."
"How so?"
"I'm not an engineer, so I can't say shit. Vladimir, on the other hand, claimed to have been part of a top-secret government project to revive research on time travel called Poseidon back in 2010, and he says that the only thing missing is fuel. And, apparently, we need a lot of it."
Khan frowned. "Then, is it even possible to use the device as of now?"
"Well, about that," Miller sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "I don't know how Vladimir and the scientists did it, but he somehow managed to gather enough fuel for one trip―a one-way trip, though."
Artyom frowned, his expression creased in thought. So before the war, the Russian government started a top-secret project called Poseidon, which was apparently a revival of research pertaining to time travel… That would have meant that the government must have worked on time travel research before. And if this Worldline Transposer―or Object-666, as it was grimly known by official designation―had been in D6 all this time, and whatever Miller was planning involved this device…
"Colonel," Artyom said, staring at his superior, "if you intend for whoever volunteers to use this 'Worldline Transposer,' then is your plan," Artyom lost his breath, realization freezing him, "Oh my god."
Miller nodded, confirming everyone's suspicions. "Yes Artyom. Our volunteer will be tasked with the impossible: they will travel back in time and change the outcome of World War III."
"Holy shit," Uhlman muttered, staring at Miller as well. "Are you serious, Colonel?"
Vladimir sighed. "I'm afraid so, Uhlman. Personally, I think the Colonel's just lost his mind, but then again I didn't think actual time travel was likely until I was assigned to the Poseidon project."
Khan did not seemed fazed, but Artyom knew even he was likely not expecting this. "Intriguing; it seems that humanity had possessed one final trick up on their sleeve before they pulled the proverbial nuclear trigger. However, I am curious: which of us five men will be the volunteer who will be tasked with rewriting history and rescuing humanity from an untimely fate?"
"That, I don't know," Miller sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not sure if there's someone among us crazy enough to pull something like this off, but I had to try. It sounds too good to be true, I know, but if there was even a sliver of a chance that this endeavor succeeds…"
Uhlman scratched his neck. "I don't know man, I don't want to make the situation even worse. Maybe Vladimir could–"
"I'm the only one here who actually has first-hand experience on operating the Worldline Transposer," Vladimir said, shaking his head. "To put it in layman's terms, the Transposer works by physically transporting organic matter back in time. If I volunteer, I and the Transposer physically won't be on this worldline anymore– uh, that's the terminology we use when referring to an object's position in space-time, by the way; think of it as the 'timeline' of an object. Anyway, I'd rather stay here and monitor the Transposer, because if something goes wrong on the way at least I can provide some troubleshooting to the volunteer. Worse-case scenario I'll still be here and know a thing or two about getting a jury-rigged version of the Transposer up and running, provided I have the materials and equipment, of course."
Uhlman bit his lip. "So, Vladimir is automatically out." He groaned, "Of course… Alright, that leaves Miller, Khan, and Artyom."
"I can't abandon Polis to the Red Line, I'm still needed there," Miller said, scowling. "My hope was that either you, Khan, or Artyom volunteer. Actually, Vladimir, didn't you mention once that the Transposer's cockpit can seat two people?"
Vladimir nodded. "Yeah, it can, but I don't think that'll matter―unless we get two volunteers for the mission."
Uhlman hummed. "Alright then, so that leaves us with Khan and Artyom. Khan?"
"I think I like to hear Artyom's opinion, first. Artyom?"
Artyom blinked, then he pointed at himself. "Erm, m-me?"
Miller nodded. "I don't want to put a too fine of a point on it, but we don't have much time to make a decision, Artyom―who knows how the long we have before the Reds swarm this base? And I mean it when I say we don't have much time; I already got someone to initiate the self-destruct sequence, so we got about ten minutes before we have to leave."
Ten minutes. Ten minutes before the Reds overrun D6. Ten minutes before D6 self-destructs. Ten minutes before someone has to volunteer―if Miller absolutely demanded it. Artyom took a deep breath as he cast his gaze down, trying to steady his racing heart and tensing back. Did he had a home to go back to? No, Artyom did not have the heart to go back to Exhibition and face his stepfather for his lie. Even if the station had been saved, Artyom could not conceive of any reason Alex would welcome him back with open arms; he was a Ranger now, reckless and violent by nature, as Alex once said―and untrustworthy too, if Artyom may amend his words.
In fact, there was perhaps nothing for Artyom to go back to―not even the Metro itself. He was not sure if the little Dark One was willing to forgive him for the atrocities committed against his people; no, in fact, there was no reason the little one should. A monster, that what Artyom was―a butcher who should be remembered as such for all of history, for as long as there still remains one last person left on this broken world. There was no home for him, no reprieve, no forgiveness waiting for him at the end of the tunnel; all that lied before him was a dark, endless tunnel, to be wandered alone by sinners for all of eternity. No repent, no second chance.
Artyom clenched his hand, not looking at Miller. "This will be a one-way trip, correct?"
"Yes," Miller said, nodding. "If this mission is successful, you'll live in a world that will never have to know true meaning of nuclear war. I won't say this will be a cakewalk―hell, I'd say it's a suicide mission―but you would be doing good for the whole of humanity if you succeed, Artyom. I'm not going to force you or anyone else to do this, though―this is an extremely difficult endeavor for any man to take and I will let you all decide for yourselves."
"I already made my decision," Artyom muttered, his voice low. "I'm going."
Uhlman stared at him. "Shit, are you really sure, Artyom? You heard what Miller said, this is a one-way trip! If you fail, you're gonna get incinerated by the nukes or die from radiation poisoning if you somehow survive."
"I know the consequences if I fail, Uhlman, and I accept whatever fate awaits me."
These were not the words of heroism however, though the others may think otherwise. To Artyom, he did not see this as another chance at redemption―no, he was far beyond that. After the battles for D6 had calmed down, Artyom once and for all decided that whatever happens, he should stand trial for his crimes against the Dark Ones, whatever that may be. Perhaps it would be at the hands of cosmic deities, who in their infinite wisdom will be capable of judging him fairly for crimes; or perhaps it could be the little Dark One, who will no doubt return with the surviving remnants of his kind and dispense long-due justice upon Artyom for condemning their people to a fate of nuclear fire. Whatever the case, the opportunity to enact justice had appeared before him, and he just happened to take it.
At least Artyom was going to do something good for humanity, one last time.
Miller's expression was grave as he gazed at Artyom. Then, in silence, he produced a manila folder containing documents of some sort from his backpack and gave it to Artyom.
"That folder there describes your mission in greater detail, but to give you the gist you'll be traveling back to 2009 so you can have a four-year head start to figure out how World War III happens, and hopefully have the means to change its outcome by then."
"Is it really that simple?"
Miller sighed. "I wish it was. To be honest, Vladimir can explain this time traveling shit better than I can. Vladimir?"
To Artyom's surprise, Vladimir shook his head. "Sorry guys, I'm not a physicist, I was an engineer working on the project at the time. I can only tell you that you need to be careful of accidentally changing events that could lead to a paradox; the eggheads at the time called it 'worldline convergence,' basically time's way of ensuring an actual paradox doesn't happen."
"What is 'worldline convergence?'" Artyom said.
Vladimir shrugged. "I don't know the specific details, but from what I heard at the time, it's a phenomenon where a worldline corrects itself if something happens that violates its causality. Now, World War III is the reason we're even in this mess in the first place―that's why we said want you to change the outcome of the war―so, the idea is that maybe you could try to effect a change where you could still have World War III happen but the outcome is ultimately better for humanity as a whole in the long run. Basically, don't try to wipe out the reason you went back in time in the first place."
"So we're not stopping World War III―we are simply changing its outcome."
Vladimir nodded, sighing. "Yeah, that's the gist of it; I know, this time-traveling shit can make your head hurt. Luckily for us, the circumstances of the event doesn't matter; all that matters is that the event happens in the first place."
"Just make sure that we all can still walk on the surface, Artyom," Uhlman chuckled, "but seriously, you got a tall order on your hands that you gotta make. Good luck to you, man." Uhlman smiled at Artyom, but it disappeared into shock crossed his expression. "Wait. If Artyom succeeds in changing the outcome of the war, then what happens to us?"
"Oh, we just get rewritten, that's all," Vladimir said as he went over to the analog consoles and began operating it. "We'd still exist, it's just that our entire lives will get written over with the ones that we will end up having to compensate for Artyom changing the outcome of the war; basically, we live new lives and we probably wouldn't even notice that it happened."
"Oh." Uhlman frowned. "Well, I hope I'm still alive in my new life."
"Same here, buddy." Vladimir pushed a button and the Worldline Transposer outside shuddered into life. "Artyom, I'm inputting the coordinates into the transposer so you won't have to worry about putting them yourself, plus it would really be embarrassing if you traveled back in time to this exact spot and you end up in space."
Artyom stared at Vladimir. "That's possible?"
"Yep, we're dealing with space-time here, after all. Now, remember, you only have one shot at this, so make it count. If you do, well, let's hope you don't end up violating causality in the process," Vladimir chuckled.
Artyom swallowed. The cards were stacked against them, and Artyom only had one trick up his sleeve that may or may not work in his favor. They were truly desperate, weren't they?
"Alright, making some final adjustments you don't need to know, 'cause it's boring for the layman to hear," Vladimir muttered, typing final corrections and adjustments into the console, then a final click. "Alright, transposer's all set. God's speed, Artyom."
"Before Artyom goes, Khan," Miller turned to him, "the transposer can hold one more passenger. We haven't heard your opinion on volunteering for this mission yet."
Khan nodded. "Indeed, and I will now: I will go. If this mission is to have a greater probability of success, Artyom will need the necessary guidance in the old world."
Artyom froze and stared at Khan. He will come along with him on this journey? Well, Khan always seems to have all the answers, but this was a one-way trip. What if Artyom fails―not that he cared much for himself now?
Uhlman smirked. "Aw man Khan, but the Metro needs more soul-magic bullshit-wielding crazies like you!"
"Do not patronize me, Uhlman."
Miller sighed, shaking his head. "Enough chatter you two; let's get you and Artyom inside the transposer."
Artyom nodded and, with Khan following behind him, he left the control room and headed through a large airlock area. The doors hissed as they slide open, allowing them entry into the chrome room. Artyom and Khan approached the spacecraft-like transposer and climbed up on its ladder, but as Khan went in first Artyom could not help but gaze at his fellow Rangers, who were staring back behind the glass of the control room, one last time. Once he and Khan steps inside the Worldline Transposer, there was no turning back; it very likely this will be the last time he will ever see them. Some part of Artyom felt sad that this is how he and the Rangers part ways: not by a climactic battle for the fate of humanity, but by a quiet, one-way slip into the throes of space-time.
Swallowing down his anxiety, Artyom climbed up into the transposer, shutting the thick door behind him, and secured himself in the other seat of the cockpit; Khan sat in the opposite seat, already strapped and ready. Artyom looked around the cockpit as he made himself comfortable: there were arrays of advanced-looking computers and analog consoles that seemed reminded him more of sci-fi novels than old-world pictures.
In fact, Khan himself was inspecting the computer systems as well. "Quite advanced for a project revived in the 2010s. Assuming this was developed during the Cold War, I dare say that it is almost as if the government was merely building off of someone else's work."
One of the consoles, a radio from the looks of it, began buzzing before Vladimir's voice became coherent. "Alright you two, we're going to prepare for the jump. Now let's just hope this actually works."
Artyom released a sigh that was anxiously building up in his lungs. Some part of him doubted the machine can actually work and this happened to be a failed project of the government's, but he kept those thoughts imprisoned in the recesses of his mind.
"Alright, going through pre-flight checks… Making sure you do have enough fuel for the jump… There. You're all set."
Both Artyom and Khan felt the transposer shuddering as it began to hum. Was it working? Artyom looked around the cockpit and saw that the computers were running indecipherable calculations on their screens.
"Any last words you guys might want to say before you take off?"
Artyom said nothing, sensing that he didn't have much to say, but Khan spoke. "Whatever happens, I am honored to have been part of this attempt to save humanity. Artyom may not believe it himself, but he is a good man–"
Uhlman shouted, "Shit, we got company Colonel!"
The radio screamed as Artyom and Khan heard gun reports muffled in the cramped interior of the transposer. Oh no, the Reds were already here. Artyom found himself clutching his VSV as the radio continued screaming and spazzing, the gun reports growing louder and more numerous by the second. When he glanced at Khan, he saw that he remained perfectly still and calm―even though his hand was touching his Kalashnikov. Khan turned to Artyom and shook his head.
Then the guns were silent, and the radio calmed down. The low humming that grew by the minute and the moments of silence that passed by were enough to send chills down his spine. The Reds were here, they came down here faster than he thought they would; what's going to happen to them now? Artyom looked at the shut door and wondered if the Reds weren't already behind there, their guns pointed at the inside of the cockpit.
Men were screaming angrily outside, but Artyom could hardly make out their voices. A glance at one of the computers and he realized it was counting down to the jump: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6…
Artyom felt the walls shivering with reverbs as gun reports bellowed all around them. Oh god.
…5…
"We must remain calm," Khan said.
…4…
The guns were silenced.
…3…
The Reds were shouting again.
…2…
Silence fell once more.
…1.
Explosions rocked the cockpit, shaking Artyom and Khan in their seats. However, the waves subsided immediately only for Artyom to feel heavier all of the sudden. He found it somewhat difficult to breathe, and he was starting to feel nauseous; Artyom tried to look at Khan to see his reaction, but it proved difficult to crane his neck up. As he tried to look at Khan, a thin cloud composed of lights began floating throughout the cockpit. The sight enamored Artyom, and he found himself trying to get a good look at the phenomenon.
"I believe," Artyom heard Khan grunting, "these lights must mean we are traveling through space-time. Some say they're," Khan grunted again, "they're souls floating through this ether, traveling from their home worldlines to return to whence they came from to be baptized once more―of course," Khan groaned, "I use the term loosely, but the idea remains the same."
"H-How do you know this?" Artyom choked out.
"Let's just say," Khan groaned again, but his voice sounded less strained, "humanity before the war still had much to learn about, ugh, the nature of space-time and its relationship with the," he choked out, though it did not sound as strained as Artyom's voice, "human collective unconscious."
Before Artyom could inquire further, some of the consoles began screaming as crimson lights flashed on their screens and light-bulbs. The transposer began shivering amidst the intense forces, and Artyom felt every single reverb of those shivers.
"Shit," Artyom choked out, "those e-explosives… t-the Reds must have, agh, damaged the transposer!"
"I agree," Khan groaned, his voice now sounding even less strained. "It seems that the transposer may not last longer if we remain in space-time."
"Do you know how to change the coordinates―o-or get the transposer to stop?!"
"I am afraid that any change I enact to the coordinates might worsen the situation, Artyom. Only the fates can decide our future now."
God, were they going to fail already? The damn Reds, they've been sabotaged by them and they haven't even reached their destination yet! Was this worldline convergence? Was the very act of them traveling back to 2009 going to lead to a paradox at all? A profound terror began creeping up Artyom's spine despite his best efforts to stamp it out; shit, the stacked cards have all but countered Artyom's trick in his sleeve!
The transposer shuddered once again, and one of the consoles began bleeping. Artyom, struggling to breath and move at all in his seat, barely saw Khan looking at the console.
"It seems that we are actually accelerating; the g-forces will only grow higher from here on out."
"W-What are g-g-forces," Artyom realized his vision was blurring and darkening. "W-What's happening t-to me…?!"
"Your body is not used to being subject to this force of acceleration; try to keep conscious, if you can."
"I-I can't…!"
"Let us hope that you do not perish on the trip, then; all we can do is wait, I am afraid…"
Artyom's vision was… was blurring… getting hard to see…
"...Artyom?"
…hard to hear…
"...Shit…"
…hard… hard to… breath…
As Artyom fell into the darkness, he barely made out Khan buckling in his seat as the cockpit began tumbling.
Surprise, surprise, I'm back!
Well, after nearly two years of hiatus I finally revived the damn fic. I actually have a synopsis of the first book of From Ranger To Huntsman written up in my Google Drive, so, for the most part, I can write up the rest of the fic; I'm afraid the next update is not going to be coming anytime soon, however, because I actually don't do well with the predetermined schedule I tried setting myself up for last time. So, I'm just going to write and update whenever I feel like it, which may take months in the interim; that should give you an idea of the length of the interim to expect.
That said, at least the fic's revived and I'm writing it again; I think that's cause for celebration in my eyes. Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter; the next one will have Artyom and Khan in Remnant.
Oh, and all that stuff about worldlines and worldline convergences is definitely intentional. Not to the point where From Ranger To Huntsman ends up being a three-way crossover―I have not planned for that in my synopsis, *shudders at the thought of balancing three fandoms in a crossover where it was only planned to have two fandoms*―but I didn't reference Steins;Gate's time travel mechanics just because I was lazy, ;).
Until then, fare thee well, dear reader.
-Sda.
