Disclaimer: The characters and story originally created by Dmitri Glukhovsky in the book and video game series "Metro: 2033" and its sequels do not belong to me. Those properties are owned by Glukhovsky, 4A Games, and Deep Silver. This work of fiction is intended for entertainment purposes and is not meant to be canonical, though I tried very hard to make it fit within the parameters. I do retain my rights for the creation of my own original characters and ideas. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Song Recommendation: "Imperial Heretic" – Parkway Drive, and "Ghost" – Saint Ansonia

Chapter 37: Liberation

Artyom made his way to the other side of the blocked tracks and then thought for a moment if he'd rather follow directly behind his former partner or his newer one. The tunnel on this side was still littered with refuse and a few ragged rats and oversized spiders scurried out of their path. Ulman headed their group and pulled his favorite set of night vision sights down over the visor of his helmet. Mikhail remained on the right edge of the tracks and could apparently see Ulman well enough to only leave a few paces of difference between them. Artyom hunkered down at the rear as they shuffled quickly along, their footsteps almost soundless and rifles pointed forward into the unknown. This was it, he was finally taking place in a meaningful mission and doing quite well if he did say so himself. He felt a solid kind of resolve in his chest, he was ready for anything.

Ulman held up a fist and then a flat hand, 'Stop, wait.' And Mikhail repeated it for Artyom to see. He had only been able to keep up with the other two Rangers by sound and by feeling along the rail with his right foot. There was a soft rustling, Ulman made a brief grunt of effort, and then there was a clicking like metal on metal. Boots slowly grew fainter but he could still hear Mikhail's steady breathing right in front of him. There was another more distant click, and then Mikhail started inching along again. Artyom replayed the sounds in his ears a few times trying to work out what had occurred. Then he felt a limp length of wire snag momentarily on his boot laces and understood; Ulman had disarmed some trap triggers. So, the fascists knew something about this back alley after all.

Another hundred meters passed and Ulman had taken apart five can-chimes and another tripwire along the way without raising the alarm at all. But then the three Rangers huddled up together at the sight of a divergence of the tubes in front of them. Ulman and Mikhail looked at each other for a moment before Ulman signaled that he would check out the left path on his own and that they should continue to investigate the right. Mikhail gestured his acknowledgment and turned on his toes to give Artyom a new signal, 'Stay on my six, don't make a sound, move out.' And they put their plan into action.

Artyom stuck diligently behind Mikhail like two connected train cars, periodically looking behind them to listen for evidence that they weren't followed and hadn't missed anything on their first pass. Several minutes crept slowly along with them into this pitch-black abyss before faint voices began to echo towards them. Around the next bend, the orange light of a fire barrel danced on the crumbling ceiling and Mikhail gave the signal for Artyom to switch over to the other side of the tracks. They somehow advanced even slower than before, trying to get close enough to figure out who might be present and why.

"You know what I miss most? Cheese," an older man droned longingly.

"Oh, for sure, and real fresh bread," a second younger man agreed heartily.

"Apples," the first man added in.

The unidentified guards were having a reminiscent discussion about food. Artyom pressed his lips together so as not to smile at the absurdity, and listened with interest to see what else they would say. Were they Nazis? They didn't sound any more evil than the average person. But then he remembered Kirill from the tavern, 'Service is compulsory, idiot.' So, there must be a sizeable portion of the population in Reich that were enlisted or serving in support roles who were at least indifferent to the fascist leadership if not conscientious objectors. After all, the people he knew who had come from these stations – Andrei Ivanovich, Aleksandrya, and even Mikhail - had disagreed with the Führer's laws enough to risk their lives to escape.

"Rice?" The second man suggested after a thoughtful minute.

"Nah, chocolate cake," the first man concluded with a smacking kind of sound as if he could taste the ghost of the dessert.

"Ooh," the second man agreed in awe.

'I've got the left, you take the right, on your mark,' Mikhail made the motions with his right hand but looked at Artyom for visual acknowledgement. Artyom widened his eyes in disbelief and looked ahead to the silhouettes of the two men seated comfortably up ahead of them. He pushed his head forward as if to have Mikhail clarify his specific intent, but he knew what the commands signified. Mikhail narrowed his own eyes insistently and then took his aim and waited.

Artyom bit his lip, drawing the Vintorez up and pressing the stock into his shoulder. He looked into the scope and through the scratched glass with the lines and numbers on it, and the only way that he could keep himself from freezing up was to tell himself that there was a separation. Through that glass, nothing was real, it was all just pretend and didn't mean anything. He positioned the central inverted V shape over the right man's head, let out a long breath, and then gently curled his finger towards himself. 'Intentional action.' And the thread was cut.

Barely a sound had gone off at all, for a nanosecond he heard that same familiar ripple of a soundwave moving away from him and echoing off to the left from the barrel of Mikhail's suppressed Simonov. The silhouettes of the hungry men slumped over and didn't move or speak about food again. The amazement of this performance struck Artyom across the face but he wasn't afraid of it. He wasn't afraid of himself, or Mikhail, or the two men who might have done the very same to them if they had tripped the alarm. No, he was amazed at the ease of it, that he'd hardly felt the Vintorez push back against him or heard the spent cartridge spilling out onto the ground with a muted clink. It was done, and Mikhail moved forward to look at the men up close and inspect the area.

Ulman had stolen up behind them just as Artyom had found the control button for his legs again, allowing his boots to make contact hard enough for Artyom to hear and not be spooked by. He began sweeping the laser sight of his VSV across the space and acknowledged Mikhail's signal that the area was secure. Finally, they were able to stand up and stretch their legs out straight. Artyom decisively ignored the lumpy potato sacks of black uniforms that were lounging next to each other and turned his gaze into the fire barrel while the two senior Rangers discussed their next move.

"Dead end on the left, cave-in, no other entry points, more like a trash heap," Ulman reported quietly, raising his infrared sights and the visor of his helmet.

"Two down, here, no sign of much further on. Sixty meters more there's a closed blast door with their logo, it could connect to Tverskaya maybe, but this way looks like it goes into some storage rooms," Mikhail leaned his rifle on his shoulder and pointed to a closed door next to where the sentries had been sitting. Had they been guarding it?

"That must be it," Ulman pulled out a scrap of paper that seemed as if it'd been torn from Melnik's notepad and examined the door before nodding his head. "Yup."

"Alright, how do you want this to go down?" Mikhail asked impassively, giving Ulman the leeway to plan out the most important part of the operation. "Ivanovich said we're blowing a hole right into the holding cells."

"Well, with that much nitro it should give us enough room to maneuver through but hopefully it won't hit anybody who might be on the other side… 'specially not Aleks," Ulman mused aloud, holding up the paper for Mikhail to see.

"Hopefully?" Artyom said with a raised eyebrow but he didn't get or expect an answer.

"I'll cover you while you infil, then you can pass her through and cover me on exfil. Artyom, you're the middleman and we need a positive ID before we take anybody out of there," Mikhail ended up creating the plan anyway. Did he outrank Ulman? Artyom still hadn't found out that much about his new partner.

"Whatever you need," Artyom nodded readily.

"Call it in, let's do it," Ulman prodded Mikhail's arm with his own to express his endorsement and eagerness, then removed his rucksack and looped it onto his arm for quick access.

"Spartan-117 this is Sparrow-310, we're all clear at marker 6891 and ready to begin extraction. Do you copy? Over," Mikhail spoke calmly into his radio as he compared the note paper with the numbers painted on the door.

Artyom suddenly wondered why he hadn't been given a codename. Did he need one? Would it be chosen for him or could he come up with it on his own? Ulman's code name made sense, of course, but what was the significance of Mikhail's? And what did the numbers mean? Their birth dates? Service dates? Kill count? There's no way Artyom could bring himself to believe that Ulman had taken out 612 enemies.

"Chhk, Loud and clear, Sparrow-310. Begin extraction phase, over. Chhk," Melnik's voice sparked quietly through the tiny speaker.

"Roger, Spartan-117, beginning extraction phase. Sparrow-310 going dark." Mikhail released the call button and then flicked the volume dial all the way down to zero. He gave a nod to Ulman, who let out a mischievous chuckle, and they flanked the doorway to the side-passage.

Ulman cautiously leaned his head towards the door in profile, trying to listen and see if anybody might be inside. Then he suddenly recoiled and kicked it with his right foot as hard as he could. The door gave way a few inches and rattled harshly, it was loosely chained on the other side. The comedian reached in a pouch strapped to his left leg for the heavy pliers he had used to disarm the traps earlier. Artyom was crouched down beside him and watching intently, he wanted to learn as much as he could from these two proficient men he had been following and trusting with his life. He wanted to be as adept and knowledgeable as they were. 'We all had to start somewhere,' he remembered Mikhail saying on their way to Mayakovskaya.

Ulman made quick work of the chain links and the three Rangers assembled in a line as they entered the side wall of the tunnel. Most of the adjoining doors were closed, locked, or rusted, Mikhail checking the left side and Artyom the right. He wondered what all these rooms were here for. At the head of the line Ulman didn't seem interested in any of it, already convinced that the place was deserted and raising his head to read the inscriptions along the walls of the long corridor they were devouring with their boots.

"Do you think they know about all these passages?" Ulman asked in a low voice.

"Doubtful, or they'd be better guarded and inhabited," Mikhail replied confidently but quietly. "Reich is always trying to expand; it's overpopulated despite the strict requirements for citizenship. Despite all the people they send off to die."

"Despite all the people they kill," Artyom said darkly, now extra thankful that he and Mikhail were able to avoid active engagement. Aleks was right, taking down an unsuspecting target silently was definitely preferable to a firefight. She would be proud of him right now.

Ulman finally held up a fist to indicate that they were at the right location. Mikhail went two steps further and watched the corridor that still stretched on ahead of them so Artyom took up the rear guard, pulling in a deep breath and readying himself for the flurry of action that was likely to ensue once Ulman pressed the detonator. Was Aleks on the other side of this wall? Was Kirill the courier standing by in the next room over with that Obersturmführer Varnayev? Artyom checked his watch: it was quarter to six in the morning, so Kirill was definitely nearby somewhere.

The overzealous comedian took less than ninety seconds to place the charge in the middle of the wall and insert the tiny little receiver. He looked quickly at each of his partners and they retreated back down the hall and into one of the open side-rooms they had already cleared, crouching down and ready to jump through the hole that was about to be created.

"Here we go," Ulman whispered excitedly and then lowered the visor of his helmet.

Artyom and Mikhail did the same and tucked into themselves, weapons under one arm and faces into the other to keep the respirator vents in their helmets clear. A tiny beep broke the expectant silence and then a huge blast spread its energy out down the hallway and beyond their hideaway. Artyom's ears were ringing, dust was blowing around and swirling through the open arches of broken doors.

Ulman took off towards the spot where he'd placed the explosives and Artyom rushed to follow. They could see well enough through the dust to pull up to their previous stop where the wall was now blown open, crumbling away at least a meter and a half of space. The edges of the reinforced concrete were singed with soot and there was at least 25 centimeters of it separating the two areas. From the other side of the wall there was distant yelling as well as timid, panicked cries. Artyom wondered what they had just entered into. The holding cells, Mikhail had said, and it was completely dark inside so they would have to rely on the ambient light of the few small bulbs burning in the hallway. Ulman pulled out a small object from his rucksack and tossed it inside with an underhanded throw, moving his head around the opening to assess the layout of the next room. The object bounced along the floor with a hollow metallic sound, and then began hissing, it was a smoke grenade, just like Ivanovich had requested.

Artyom crouched down at the cracked open concrete as Ulman stepped inside swiftly, then his gloved hand reached out and indicated that he needed assistance. Leaning through the hole awkwardly, Artyom absorbed the arms-length amount of visibility they had left and tried to stay close to Ulman to see what he needed him to do. Wasn't Aleks supposed to be right here?

The echoing cries became louder, two men with deep voices barked unintelligible orders. Scrambling boots tore forward but then stopped presumably at the edge of the grey clouds which divided the space off from their targets. Unsuppressed automatic fire began on command and hot bits of lead chipped away at the concrete ceiling, making dust and debris fall like rain. 'I'll shoot at the ceiling, I hope you'll do the same,' he thought of Kirill again and the courier seemed to be keeping his promise. But Artyom was sure that even though they weren't being aimed at directly, there was still a possibility of getting hit. He aimed the Vintorez in the vague direction of the unsuppressed muzzle flashes but then a random pattern of semi-automatic shots came from behind him. He glanced back, Mikhail was angling his rifle through the blast hole and firing broadly, ducking his head as low as possible while still being sure that his aim was intentionally off.

With that aspect taken care of as promised, Artyom turned his attention back to Ulman who had slung his rifle behind his back and unsheathed a large knife. As he side-stepped, Artyom could now make out a thin form standing up straight, no, hanging down from above. He inched along closer, flinching whenever a round from either side strayed too close for comfort. Dainty bare feet dangled lifelessly, there was a piece of wood tied to her left leg with strips of cloth, a short blue smock covered the rest of her body, her usual red shemagh scarf was tied around her neck, and her long hair was matted and clipped back behind her head. Her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping, but even the most exhausted person would have awoken to the sounds of this tense engagement.

"Aleks, we're here" Artyom said breathlessly, knowing nobody would hear him over the gunfire. She had streaks of blood and grime all over her, indeterminable stains were spreading throughout her simple surgical gown, and her face was beaten and smudged. Was she unconscious? He tried to look a little closer; she had yellowed candle wax serving as ear protection, so Kirill and Ivanovich really had done their best to prepare her for rescue. He kept drinking in the sickening sight, she had been tied up at the wrists with a fraying rope that was looped through some hooks on the ceiling and he realized that the limited confines of the cell around her were made of steel reinforcement bars. Then he remembered that he needed to confirm her identity and called out, "Positive ID on target!"

Ulman reached up without replying and began sawing at the rope with his trench knife. Artyom was already in position, he'd slung the Vintorez over his shoulder and reached up to encase her battered torso in his arms. The rope gave way almost instantly, and Artyom tightened his hold around Aleks just as her restraints went slack. She came down by gravity alone, her body completely limp and motionless, but he swore that he heard a pained moan. He momentarily savored the feeling of having her in his hold, metaphorically shielded from harm and finally being liberated from captivity, and then he considered how he was going to carry her out of here. Ulman held up his rifle and took over the job of firing through the gaps of the metal bars. Mikhail set his Simonov down and was ready to receive their precious package, understanding that it was going to take both him and Artyom to get Aleks through the opening. Somehow, they managed it without speaking, Mikhail taking hold of her shoulders as Artyom fed her head-first into the hallway. Once she was through, Mikhail heaved her onto his back and started to quickly retreat towards the tunnel.

Artyom watched them go as he pushed himself through next, tucking his head as he rolled onto the floor. He popped back up instantly and copied Mikhail's strategy, holding the thick silencer in the crux of his hand against the right edge of the hole. At the last second he remembered to aim a little higher, then he clicked out the little appendage which switched the Vintorez to automatic fire and pumped the trigger in short bursts. For a minute, he almost wanted to call out to Kirill to try and thank him, but then he remembered the extreme secrecy and risk of being involved in the Resistance and didn't want to sell him out, so he said it to the courier only in his head.

"Go, go, go!" Ulman cried out after he leapt through and crouched down behind the wall, taking out another spherical smoke grenade from his pack and laying it at their feet. Artyom did as ordered and Ulman kept up the rear, pausing occasionally to fire back at where they had come from so nobody could or would follow them. The Nazis probably hadn't even fully understood from their side of the wall exactly what had just taken place. They'd have to wait for the smoke and dust to clear away before they realized that they had lost a prisoner. Their most important prisoner.

Artyom put it all out of his head, he didn't care anymore what was left behind, the subject of his desperate concern was right there in front of him, balanced on the shoulders of his blonde partner who was swiftly making his way back out to the tunnels with little effort.

Ulman fired a few last shots as their team stumbled out into the red light of the dying fire barrel between the dead guards. Artyom tried to look at Aleks in the light but she was still unresponsive. He noticed that her hair clip was beginning to fall out, as it sometimes did. He jogged an extra step forward to fall into synch with Mikhail, reaching up to grab the black plastic jaws before they fell, but as he collected the hair accessory, he noticed something stuck curled up inside it. Mikhail raised the visor of his helmet and looked over curiously but Artyom just shook his head, he didn't know what this new scrap of paper was about either. He shoved it down into his front pocket, they could decipher it later once they'd made their final escape. Or maybe the note was for Aleks?

Hearing their reckless return, Colonel Melnik revved the engine of the flatbed and readied for a hasty getaway. Ulman zoomed past the leading pair and nearly slid through the blockage point like a baseball player, taking a knee on the other side and holding both arms out so they could get Aleks through like they did from the cell block. Artyom pressed himself as close to the rubble as he could, also extending both arms as a mid-point in the man-made stretcher. Mikhail had to set Aleks down on the ground partially before lowering her carefully into Artyom's grasp. He and Mikhail shuffled her gradually, inching Aleks through the opening where Ulman finally took full hold. Artyom crawled through once he saw Ulman's boots heading away and Mikhail came through last but remained prone to watch the side they had come from.

Ulman stood next to the flatbed and looked intensely at Artyom to signal him to climb in so he could pass her off again. Artyom vaulted up into the car in one swift motion, dropping his weapon almost carelessly and reaching out both arms to take Aleks from Ulman. Damir popped his head up as he had gotten in and began waving his hands acceptingly, ready to perform his triage. Ulman groaned as he pressed her upwards and kept supporting her as he climbed into the railcar himself. Artyom swiftly carried her over to the cleared spot, lowering her down into it and holding the back of her head so it wouldn't hit the floor. He decided to sit down cross-legged to make a cradle for her to rest on.

"Clear!" Mikhail called out loudly as he hopped up and took position at the back wall of the rail car, aiming his weapon into the tunnel.

At the sound of the confirmation, Melnik pushed the accelerator forwards until it wouldn't go anymore, looking back at the group and counting everyone with his eyes. Then he stared concernedly down at Aleksandrya as if to confirm for himself that they had really gotten the right girl, and so quickly. It had taken maybe twenty minutes to clear that outpost and break Aleks out of the prison. Ulman went to the front corner of the railcar, ready to jump down and switch all the crossings for them as they rocketed back down the tracks of the Tagansko-Krasnopresnenskaya line.

"Bravo team, this is Spartan-117, we have secured the package. I say again, we have secured the package. Return to base, over," Melnik called clearly into his radio, trying to contain his enthusiastic relief that the mission had been successful.

"Chhk, Hell yeah! Uh… Chhk," The speaker responded excitedly but then the unknown Ranger remembered radio protocol and began again, "Chhk, Roger that Spartan-117, we're returning to base, over. Chhk."

"We'll see you there for debriefing, over and out," Melnik concluded less formally.

"Fuckin' Dukov," Ulman chuckled sarcastically, assumingly referring to the eager person on the radio. Artyom didn't know the name.

Gently stroking her tangled hair, Artyom watched anxiously as Damir performed his tests, waiting to hear what he would pronounce as Aleksandrya's full diagnosis or status. The medic donned his stethoscope and pressed the opposite end of it to her chest and sides in several places, then lingered in one spot and counted something while staring at his watch. After thirty seconds by Artyom's count, he let out a tense breath and pressed his palm to Aleks' forehead briefly. Next, he began waving the flashlight into her eyes one at a time, prying open her eyelids to reveal their secrets.

"Pupils are responsive, no brain stem damage… hm, but they aren't quite equal," Damir was beginning to glower intently.

"What does that mean? Is that why she's unconscious?" Artyom tried to meet the medic's eyes but he was too focused on his instruments and their readings. He decided to put his own hand to her forehead, she was burning up with fever. From the radiation? From an infection? Did the fascists not treat her at all? Or had they only made things worse?

"Grade three concussion, at the least, but I think the unconsciousness stems from other factors. Dehydration is the number one concern right now, and getting her stable enough before we move her back to the base." He turned sharply and unzipped a pouch inside his pack, taking out a small rolled up paper which he laid on top of her stomach and then began to assemble an intravenous hydration package and tubing, "You'll have to hold this up for now, sorry."

The medic squished and shook the clear plastic pouch to mix up the liquid inside and then handed it to Artyom, making a pose as an example of how he needed him to hold it. Placing the little flashlight in his mouth again, Damir began to unfold the paper envelope and remove a sterile needle. The light was unsteady between the medic's teeth and began to tilt horribly to the side before he lost his grip of it and it fell to the floor and began to roll away. Artyom started to lean over to retrieve it but then realized he was stuck supporting Aleks and the IV bag.

"Shit! Zakharovich, get the light for me, quickly!" Damir cried hurriedly, he kept his hands on the paper and needle so as not to lose them. No, Artyom thought, he's trying to keep his hands as clean as possible for the procedure.

Mikhail turned his attention from the rear guard and swiftly intercepted the rolling object before it went off the edge of the railcar, scooping up the penlight and coming over to assist. At first, he aimed the beam onto Damir's hands so he could finish the preparation, and then he held it up higher so the light spread out evenly, illuminating Aleks' pallid and impassive face. She almost looked peaceful, as if in a deep slumber, so at least she wasn't currently feeling any pain. Did she even realize that anything had happened at all? Damir began to insert the hypodermic needle into Aleks' arm and Artyom was unexpectedly a little squeamish. He looked over at Mikhail and immediately recognized an expression of fearful astonishment in the Ranger's eyes but he didn't understand the reason behind it. His partner was completely frozen as if in shock and had drawn his free hand up to cover his quivering parted lips.

"What the fuck…?" Mikhail's voice came out as an astounded whisper, "It can't—"

Mikhail moved the light closer, angling it back and forth while performing his own evaluation. Did he notice something that Damir had missed? Artyom followed the Ranger's gaze and inspected every bit of Aleks that he could see from his position, not understanding what was so concerning. Ulman leaned over to check on the procedure just as Artyom was beginning to formulate a sentence, and he seemed to decipher exactly what thoughts were churning away in the back of Mikhail's mind.

"Mischa?" Ulman prompted gently, "You know her?"

"I… I uh, I think…" Mikhail could barely form a solid syllable, shaking his head as if to jumpstart the words.

"You think?" Artyom finally got a question out, his curiosity piqued to the highest degree.

"I… yeah, we were… acquainted." Mikhail removed his helmet and leaned closer to Aleks as if to see her better, his face still displaying a kind of disbelieving agony.

"You mean you dated her," Ulman blurted out in a tone of voice that was half a joke and half condemnation.

Mikhail didn't answer, instead shifting forward onto his knees and reaching his free hand towards Aleks with hesitation. Damir was curious now, as well, and sat back to watch the moment unfold as it might be relevant to her care. Mikhail gently turned her face away from him and swept her hair back. Artyom tried to help, lifting her head up a bit with his free hand, and everyone watched in awed and intrigued silence. With another delicate brush stroke of his fingers, Mikhail revealed a small symbol on the back of Aleks' neck, almost hidden in her hairline.

"It's a… bird?" Ulman raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to try and get a better view.

"It's… a sparrow," Mikhail confirmed quietly, almost sounding ashamed or let down by the discovery, closing his eyes tightly.

"Well, apparently you know her well enough for her to have your name tattooed on her neck!" Ulman began a laugh but it had a tone of discomfort, unsure how to handle such a strange and delicate conversation. "Damn, she's got good taste in men, eh?"

Artyom didn't know what to say, switching his attention between the three men crouched around him and then looking down at the tattoo again. Colonel Melnik looked back over his shoulder with concern but remained at the controls of the railcar.

"Everything alright?" He inquired with an unusual amount of concern, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

"She's beginning to stabilize, sir, but it's not looking good right now," Damir replied as he had pressed the stethoscope to Aleks' chest again.

"We're almost there," The Colonel reported confidently, still glancing back with interest.

A million words were flying around in Artyom's mind and he was desperately trying to grasp at them, gathering a few but then dropping the lot and beginning a new phrase. He broke it down into simpler terms; Mikhail - speechless and frightened, Aleksandrya – unresponsive but free from the Reich, Chekhovskaya, Tverskaya, Pushkinskaya - they all escaped… Ivanovich, Kirill, Varnayev… and now a tattoo of a sparrow. Sparrow-310. His callsign was his name.

"Voronin?" Artyom thought of the name out loud, misremembering the species and still trying to digest this sudden development.

"Vorobyov." Mikhail answered curtly. He handed the flashlight off to Artyom absent-mindedly, his gaze fixed on Aleks as he readjusted her head more comfortably.

"So, are you about to tell me that the Sasha on your arm isn't your mom's name?" Ulman pointed to his own right arm to indicate the location of the accused marking but Mikhail didn't take his eyes off Aleks.

"My mom's name was Odessa," he answered in a flat tone.

"That explains a lot," Ulman rolled his eyes and then turned his gaze over to Artyom, prompting him to start asking the questions because Mikhail was doing his best to evade them.

"Well, what's the story?" Artyom tried in a calm tone.

"It… wasn't serious or anything—" Mikhail began dismissively.

"Bullshit," Ulman chimed in but then pressed his lips closed as he realized he was becoming a detriment.

"Okay. We were… together. It was… we just had, I dunno, common ground. A mutual distaste for our given duties."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Artyom pried with his nose wrinkled up. He'd gotten one answer so far, would he be able to elicit more?

"I was in the Honor Guard, a subdivision of the station security forces. We were the poster boys of the Reich, keeping the peace in the stations and looking good while doing it. Supposed to be the model citizen of our race… intimidating people and inspiring them at the same time. It was a lot of pressure."

"Why didn't you say you knew her before?" Artyom asked nervously, looking down at Aleks to see if she would respond to what was going on. She was still blissfully ignorant to everything, what was wrong with her?

"I-I didn't know… I didn't see her until now. I thought… well, how could I ever imagine—just think of the odds!" Mikhail broke himself away finally, as if the sight of Aleks was bringing up painful and sickening memories. He caught sight of Ulman's raised eyebrow which was pressing for further details and laid into him harshly. "She's been at D6 for what? Three days? I was on patrol - because some of us actually do some work once in a while!"

Ulman rolled his eyes at the accusation and gave up trying to ask anything further because it was clear that Mikhail's gut reactions had taken over his rational thoughts. Colonel Melnik began to take more interest after the outburst, nudging Ulman to man the controls so he could come over to see Aleksandrya and Mikhail for himself and hear more about this alarming revelation. The Commander squatted down next to Damir and narrowed his eyes like he normally did when taking in sensitive information, always wary of people's emotions. But didn't he already know at least a little bit about Mikhail's history?

"I couldn't remember her full name, and back then everybody called her Sasha like normal. This was almost ten fuckin' years ago! And before her mother apparently married a dictator!" The agitated Ranger was clenching and unclenching his hands, pressing his fingers over his eyes, and then placed both fists on the floor and took several ragged breaths.

"It's alright, Mikhail, nobody is blaming you for anything," Melnik said calmly, holding a hand out reassuringly.

"C'mon Zakharovich, stay with me. I don't need two patients right now. Breathe," Damir spoke encouragingly and put his stethoscope to the pulsing artery in Mikhail's neck and stared at his watch again. "Breathe."

The blonde Ranger seemed to take that as a signal to try and slow himself down before he completely imploded. Artyom was astounded that his normally reserved and thoughtful partner had been reduced to a panicked mess in a matter of seconds. There were more expressions cycling around on his face than he'd ever seen on him, ever seen on anyone. So, Mikhail and Aleks had been together at one point? Ten years ago? But he still remembered her and reacted this strongly after all that time. What happened to them in the Reich? How could Mikhail have gotten away eight years ago and Aleksandrya only three? Had they broken up? Is that why Aleksandrya had never mentioned anything about him before? He wondered if she would be reacting as strongly to Mikhail as he was to her, if only she would wake up.

After a few tense minutes, Mikhail's temperament evened out and Damir withdrew, turning his attention back to Aleksandrya and grabbing a thin metal tool to remove the candle wax from her ears. The medic untied the red shemagh scarf and unwound it from her neck, then passed the fabric over to Mikhail because Artyom's hands were still full. Mikhail took the item with reverence, rubbing the material between his fingers and then holding it against his chest before tucking it into one of the straps on his armor.

"So?" Artyom dared to enquire now that Mikhail was quiet again, hoping the recent camaraderie with his new partner up until this point would allow him to extract the rest of the story. "How did you meet?"

"She… repaired my uniform once. I was on duty the night before a big ceremony and I tore a seam in my trousers," The Ranger admitted reluctantly, sitting back on his heels and closing his eyes again.

"No way," Ulman tried not to laugh from up at the controls, pointing an amused but accusatory finger over at his friend.

Mikhail's face began to turn bright red and he scrunched up the bridge of his nose indignantly.

"Shut up! You want the story or not?" He growled back, annoyed or just embarrassed perhaps, but he soon became tranquil again when his eyes returned to Aleks.

"Do you… think she remembers you?" Artyom asked softly, again trying to use that select tone of voice that conveyed interest and not judgement.

"I don't know… it was so long ago. No, s-she probably doesn't… But the night we met, I was freaking out because it was late and if I showed up with a fucked-up uniform it'd be a week of extra duty. A guy can only clean so many weapons in a day!"

"I dunno, I kinda enjoy it," Ulman mumbled from the front of the railcar but looked on intently. Melnik waved a hand at him as a final voiceless command to cease antagonizing Mikhail.

"I ran down to the workshop thinking I could somehow patch it up myself but she happened to be there. She was really nice about it and we talked while she worked. She said she always came in for the late shifts because she didn't like to be at home when her mother was there with some officer or other. How was I supposed to know what that would turn out to mean?" Mikhail looked around as if he expected one of the other men to chastise him for something but he only received looks of encouraging sympathy, so he continued his story. "I'd go and visit her in the shop... a lot. We both despised the fascist society, and that's bordering treason already just by talking about it. She just wanted to get away from her family as much as possible, so… we… could rely on each other to be honest."

"If you were together, why didn't you take her with you when you left?" Damir asked somberly, absorbed in thought just like the rest of the men. Artyom had also been wondering that same thing, beginning to ponder the alternate realities and fates. Melnik remained quiet and Mikhail stared at the Colonel as if he was silently asking permission to answer this question. The Commander only gave a vague gesture, seeming to imply that the decision was Mikhail's alone.

"I… got cut off from her. There was… I had my opportunity to break free and I took it. It wasn't planned out or organized in any way." Mikhail closed his eyes one final time, bringing an end to his time-travelling thoughts. When he reopened them, there were tears building up and he took one of Aleks' hands in both of his own tenderly. "But I guess now, I have done it after all."

Author's Footnote: Would you like to hear about how Aleksandrya and Mikhail met? Click on over to my other posted work: Liberation: Deleted Scenes