Author's Note: Hello and welcome new readers! After the Chapter 31 upload I decided to go back to the beginning again. I'll be running through for grammar and spelling mistakes and cleaning up some sentences and structure for clarity. I do plan on completely re-working the battle that takes place in Chapter 2 and 3 because it never really made sense in the first place. I started writing this story in 2014 after my obsession with Metro: 2033 really took off. I played the original Xbox 360 game and loved it so much that I sought out the book series immediately. Thank you to those that have been along for the ride since those early days! I really didn't have a complete story idea in mind when I began working on this; I just thought the series needed a strong female character (though Anna turned out to be a much more rounded character in Metro: Exodus, they didn't do a very good job with her in Last Light or in Metro: 2035 if you ask me). Everything with Aleksandrya's faction, her back story in Reich, her history with Hunter, it all evolved over time as I delved deeper into the series. Anyway, I'll shut up so you can enjoy! Please do leave a review with comments or questions, I've had many helpful tips and edits from my fans and continue to encourage constructive feedback. I've also added a fiction disclaimer to cover any potential legal woes.

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 (A subsidiary of Koch Media GmbH). This work of fiction is intended for entertainment purposes only 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.

Chapter Two: Sparta Base

Disembarking from the transport trolley at Oktyabrskaya, Ulman headed for the stairway passage to the adjacent metro line and Artyom followed closely. This Hansa station wasn't much different from any of the others that Artyom had visited, except for the salvaged train body that had been pulled up onto the platform and seemed to serve as some kind of office. Two men in combat dress stood by one of its doorways and Artyom heard what sounded like an authoritative female voice echoing angrily from within.

Radial Oktyabrskaya was a free-transit station, really just a small appendage of Hansa's main circle line, with whom the original inhabitants must have struck a good deal with early on. It was a much more plainly decorated station, with sharp straight columns leading up to a smooth arched ceiling. There was a market in the middle of the main hall and every crevice smelled of delicious cutlets of pork and fried potatoes. Artyom wondered if it usually smelled this good or was it only because too much time had gone by since his last meal. He was tempted to stop but Ulman's pace through the pedestrian traffic was relentless.

"Maybe on the way back, eh?" Ulman called back to him knowingly, who was just noticing how loud the area was.

Artyom nodded a solemn reply, patting his pocket to make sure he'd even remembered to bring any cartridges for trading with. The slight clink of the metal clips confirmed his query.

Reaching a small fire barrel at the other end of the platform, Artyom counted four soldiers gathered around it. Ulman spoke quietly to the one on the far left. Another soldier offered a cigarette to his neighbor, who gladly partook, and they begun a quiet but enthusiastic conversation about their latest excursion to a local brothel. Artyom tried not to listen to such sordid gossip, having never understood the appeal of that kind of transaction with a woman you didn't even know. He looked away from the pair, noticing Ulman's man nodding his head precisely once and then turn to his comrades, all of them taking up a metro-made rifle stiffly in their hands.

"Two going out." The guard stated sternly, the other three men taking positions around the iron barricade that separated them from the outside world. The man who had offered the cigarette manned the control box, and upon flipping the switch the door began to squeak so noisily that nearby people covered their ears and cringed.

"See you around, Yuriy!" Ulman called over the noise of the creaking door before pulling the visor of his helmet down and turning to step into the blinding light. Artyom guessed that he had already been friendly with that person as well, if he said his name so casually.

Artyom followed suit, sealing his own visor over his face, double-checking the filter he had placed in it earlier. He watched intently as every ray of light that sprawled its way across the filthy marble floor multiplied. Several residents in the vestibule near them shielded their eyes and turned away, Artyom thought it was possible that they hadn't seen the light from the surface before. It wouldn't be implausible.

The team of four guards each took paired positions beside the door frame, aiming their weapons keenly up the escalators. Only labored breathing was heard for a minute as they searched, watching and listening, and then at last the commander eased up and stood straight. He gave the two Rangers some sort of lazy salute, wished them luck, and ordered his men back inside the confines of the station and the door began to grind shut again.

Artyom was surprised to find himself walk forward first, taking a deep breath and hoping to feel in his lungs the crisp air he had been fondly remembering a few minutes ago. But there was only the staunch and close embrace of the filtered sludge in his nostrils. It was clean, but somehow he could tell the difference. The air, if you could call it that, was heavier.

Ulman stepped up the first few feet of the escalators, checking for its stability before uttering a satisfied grunt and blazing the trail. At the top they found themselves in what was a remarkably undestroyed building with pinkish marble walls, the ceiling was arched in a strange fashion, with little divots carved out that were probably once individual lights. The plaster was cracked and discolored, but it almost seemed as if this were a place abandoned by time and not by war. Even the turnstiles were still intact, though rusted and covered with moss. It gave off an eerie feeling, as though there might have been people here just moments ago and yet for some reason they just picked up and left without touching a thing.

Artyom was in amazement, letting himself wander just a bit from Ulman's path. The air was a bit lighter here than at the bottom of the escalators, and any fears he might have had about returning to the surface again were quelled. Instead he had begun to dread returning to the darkness of the tunnels.

Before he could get too caught up in his internal philosophy, Ulman was prying open the metal gate that led out to the street and summoned him closer. Artyom jogged for a few steps to catch up and could already see the narrow street that Ulman had mentioned before. The Orthodox Church was sitting stoically in the distance; its golden onion dome shining dully in the light of what he guessed was late afternoon. There wasn't a soul nearby or sound to be heard, it almost seemed too easy.

"Hurry up now, the guys are waiting for us. I bet they've made some tea." Ulman chirped and Artyom could tell he was smiling beneath his helmet.

Tea sounded amazing, and while their journey hadn't been long or arduous, Artyom was looking forward to being still for a time, to catch up on the thoughts he was immersed in earlier.

Ulman pushed the gate back into place after they had passed through and they took up a quick stride in the direction of the outpost. Artyom was timing the beat of their footfalls with the sound of their breathing and it began to meld into some kind of natural music. He relished the rhythm, trying a bit harder than usual to stay in step with his partner. They were soon at the threshold of their home base for the next few hours. Ulman knocked forcefully on the huge wooden doors.

"Password!" Shouted a husky voice from inside the sanctuary.

"С днём рождения!" Ulman called back quite excitedly. Artyom tried not to giggle, but also wondered if it was actually anyone's birthday.

The heavy door opened with a creaking groan, and inside a heavyset older man with a huge machine gun stood at ease.

"Спасибо!" The man replied in a deep but cheerful voice, placing his weapon carefully on a tripod stand nearby.

Ulman and Artyom stepped inside and someone else closed the door behind them. Each of them removed their helmets and Ulman ran a hand through his hair, straightening it towards the back of his head. His dark brown mane had gotten quite long since Artyom last observed.

"Come in guys, we just made a fresh pot of tea!" Spoke the young man who had been behind the door; he looked to be about Artyom's age.

"Aha, see, I told you!" Ulman winked at Artyom and then followed after the old man towards the fire.

"You're Artyom, yeah? I'm Grigori, Grigori Igorevich. It's nice to meet you!" The boy smiled and eagerly shook Artyom's hand.

"Nice to meet you as well. How long have you been a Ranger?" Artyom looked into the stranger's face, there was a certain naivety about him, but he had to trust that he had earned his position somehow. Not that Artyom himself was really one to judge such things.

"Not long, for sure. I just graduated the training. I was orphaned in Polis from the beginning, a few of the Brahmins took me in but I always wanted to be a soldier, to protect people." Grigori led the way over to the fire to join the others and begun pouring the newcomers each a cup of mushroom brew.

"To protect people, yeah." Artyom mused to himself. He took his cup in slow motion, blurred to the ensuing conversation around him as he contemplated the meaning of the sentence. He recalled the inspection officer they met earlier that day at Belorusskaya and how he had referred to Artyom as a 'savior.' Something soured in his mouth at the memory and he set his cup down on the table between himself and the wall.

To protect people usually also meant to sacrifice something, and what had he sacrificed along the way to protect his home station and the people that he loved there? What had he sacrificed of said station in order to get to Polis on Hunter's deranged mission? How many people sacrificed things for him, in support of his journey? What had it all been for? Artyom thought that peace and calm would naturally overcome him when he had reached his destination and accomplished his goal but it had always seemed like one thing led into another without him knowing where it ended. Now even though he thought he had finished his big journey, life continued on. The only difference was not knowing what the next step was. To live in underserved comfort in D6 and going out on scheduled patrols for the rest of his isolated, and likely irrevocably shortened, life? No, that could not be the whole of it.

For a time, he watched the interactions of the men around him in a daze: talking, joking, laughing, and it all seemed so ridiculous. How could the weight of the dead city around them not affect them in any way? How could they sit around so complacently and make light of it? He quietly excused himself from the group by the fire, offering to take over the post upstairs in the bell tower. A tired-looking Ranger in the tower was relieved when Artyom offered him a mug of tea and sauntered off, muttering something about the searchlight facing out the window.

Artyom went straight back to work contemplating the meaning of life, if you could call this existence anything of the sort. What exactly had been worth saving at such a cost? The relative ease of the people and the hallways he knew so well at VDNKh. Their well-being had seemed like such a noble thing to defend that he did so without a second thought. He had felt responsible for it, for all of it, for leaving the northern barrier door open to… them. The Dark Ones. Those alien beasts who crept into the tunnels, giving people nightmares, and turning the strongest man completely insane. The tall and black-skinned creatures that took Hunter, or killed him? Nobody knew. No one had ever seen him or heard from him again since that night after Artyom's last watch at the four-hundred and fiftieth meter.

Hunter - the mysterious and strapping Ranger who had showed up at the Exhibition without fanfare and immediately inserted himself into Artyom's business. Although he recalled having seen the man several times before talking with Sukhoi, Artyom had not been on a casual first name basis with the enigmatic Stalker. He figured that his stepfather and Hunter had been friends even before the war, but they weren't really that old after all. Hunter usually visited around a holiday or Artyom's birthday and came bearing some small trinket from a faraway station as a gift. Despite this, Artyom couldn't say that he understood the man or his background as they had never conversed by themselves or at length. Instead, he was coerced into telling his dirty childhood secret to the Ranger who had then disappeared in his effort to correct Artyom's blunder. Had Hunter even managed to close off the door at the Gardens? Artyom's stomach turned and he could see Hunter's stern face looming in the wisps of the fire. He shook his head and blinked his eyes, reminding himself that he had indeed done as Hunter had asked – way more than he had asked, in fact. Reaching Polis to speak to Melnik about the Ranger's fate had turned out to only be the beginning of his excursion from home. The ending, if he could decide for certain that it was over, had been aiming the missile volley at the nest of the Dark Ones atop the television tower. That was it, yes: death upon more death, missiles coming to impact what had already been pelted with a hail of hellfire twenty years ago.

Now here was Artyom, standing on the other end of his mission and he was realizing that he hadn't known Hunter much at all. The only reason to undertake the astronomical task of traveling to Polis was the urgency and the forcefulness of his voice. He could still see Hunter, thrusting that cartridge memento into his hands and turning his back, striding off with such vigorous confidence, or was it indifference? Had the veteran Ranger known he would die?

Come to think of it, Artyom had never found out what was written on the note inside that peculiar capsule. Was that a regular system of secret messaging between members of the Order? He was hard pressed to recall any other Ranger using such technology to communicate. Was everyone, perhaps, issued a cartridge like that for a dying message in case of emergency? And if so, why had he not received one? On the other hand, what would he have even written on it? At this moment in his life he didn't really have family or anyone else he could say was a close friend. He had thought of returning to Prospect Mira in hopes of tracking down where Sukhoi and the others from VDNKh may have fled to, but he wasn't about to admit to being terrified of journeying back to where he'd come from. Things would have seemed impossibly hopeless had he returned there, now that everyone had been evacuated and they were going to blow the tunnels to that whole stretch of the Kaluzhsko-Rizhskaya line. He wondered, had anyone even tried to go back to VDNKh since the missile strike on the Botanical Gardens? Was the station in danger anymore now that the news had spread around the Metro? Couldn't they go back and live there again? Were the Dark Ones truly dead?

A flash of white light preceded a darkness in his vision and he felt faint. Leaning crookedly against the wooden railing of the bell tower at the top of the church, he grasped at the frame of the small window in front of him, trying to steady himself. A searing pain crept under his skull, making his senses short out. He blinked, he strained to see, struggling to stay on his feet. Flickering flames danced in the distance and he was drawn to it, unsure if he was walking or floating. He looked left and right and only saw the velvety black of nothingness, just the vast expanse of empty space, dark but without the oppressive ceilings of tunnels. Closer and closer he approached it, until he reached the orange glow which had steadied and then stood still. He was watching the sunset, and what had been shadowed before was gradually illuminated to reveal the broken city around him. He shielded his eyes from the glare until the light dissolved. A tall black body stood rigidly in front of him and he knew instantly what it was. It couldn't be possible. Cold terror overtook his whole body and a shiver ran down his spine, every hair stood on end, the electricity of his fear was building up.

He ran, turning on the heel of his boot he took off as quickly as he could in the opposite direction of this monstrous being but it was hopeless. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw the figure still standing behind him, just a few paces away, as if he had barely moved at all.

"Wait." It spoke in a monotone voice, reverberating in his ears as if there were hundreds of them speaking all at once. "You don't understand."

"I don't want to!" Artyom cried, still in mid-step in slow motion.

Time now seemed to have stopped entirely for everything but the Dark One. It shifted itself in front of him without even moving its legs, staring at him with its cold pupil-less eyes.

"You don't understand." It repeated. Echoing. Playing over and over again inside his mind.

"Let… me… go!" Each word from his mouth took so long to spit out and still retain its ferocity.

"We need you." The Dark One spoke in a whisper and then faded back into darkness. Everything was in shadows. "Need."

There was a howl, a piercing scream as if he'd never heard before, then there was nothing. Next, Artyom found himself looking quite closely at the gap between the wooden floor boards. He had returned to the real world, and time was going fast here.

"Come on Artyom, get up, we need you! Are you okay? What happened to you?" Ulman shook him vigorously; grabbing the edges of his armor he lifted him up onto his feet like his body was a sack of potatoes. "Never mind now, the guys need our help out by the Black Station, come on!"

Ulman rushed back down the stairs with his rifle already in his hands. Artyom looked below to see a few other Rangers gathered by the door. He turned and grabbed his weapon, feeling his head reeling, and trundled down the stairs after his partner.

"Tomilin and Arseniy got the car stuck in the mud, if we don't help them soon they'll either get captured by Nazis or eaten by mutants so lets make it quick boys!" Cried the soldier whom Ulman had been joking with by the fire. Either he was the most senior man in charge at the moment or he was the one who had answered the distress call.

Everyone nodded their heads with determination and double-checked their kit and weapons. Grigori and Ulman pulled the doors open and the big man with the heavy gun stepped out first. A total of six Rangers rushed out of the Church doors and the two men left inside pulled them closed again to preserve the seal against radioactive particles and mutated creatures alike. Artyom only looked back for a few seconds, mostly trying to examine if there were any dark-skinned forms lurking on the rooftops or anywhere else. Had that whole vision just been in his head? Had he fallen asleep? And why did they say they needed him? Didn't they understand that he had killed them all? Was it just their ghostly conscience reaching out to ask him why he had done it?

"It's not too far on foot, everyone keep in sight of each other and we'll be there in no time." The senior Ranger said with reassuring confidence and led the way along the cleared path to the south-east.