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.
Chapter Five: Avtozavodskaya
Here at Avtozavodskaya, there was a moderate amount of activity despite the late hour, though it did not seem as bustling as a larger station would be. There seemed to be no need for defenses or watch patrols either. It was a strangely decorated station, with very tall straight walls and only a very narrow platform in the middle of the two tunnels which seemed to stretch on forever into the darkness. There were many square marbled columns that fanned out at the tops and blended seamlessly into the cracked plastered ceiling, illuminated by the red and occasionally white emergency lights if the protective casing around the bulb had been broken.
Artyom sat at the edge of his given tent in the long row of them set up between the columns on one side of the platform. Leaning his back against the cot, the flap was open and he watched the activity of every passerby. He remained dazed by the events that had just taken place, by the personalities he had been captured by. The predicament with Aleksandrya's connection to Hunter was peculiar and the way she and her group had gone about looking for clues was extremely clever. It proved, at least to him, that they didn't intend to harm him. He was agreeably surprised to learn that he was not the only one who had been mentored by Hunter. Knowing that someone else shared the pain of the veteran Ranger's disappearance was a relief.
He still contemplated how Aleksandrya had come to know Hunter. When and where could they have met? How long had they known each other? Was she perhaps a family member of his? If not, then what experiences did they share or what had Hunter taken an interest in with her to begin with? Obviously, the fact that she was intelligent and resolute was a fine basis for any faction soldier, or even an officer. In fact, she technically was one; she declared herself the leader of Roten Spaten and none of her male counterparts seemed to question or disparage her. Everything they did was for her support or was in line with an order she had given them. She was like a brilliant mastermind, watching her orchestrations go along like a graceful melody.
And what of the Revolutionists? Mentioned by Nikolai, it seemed as though Die Roten Pfeil had some kind of agreement with them to inhabit and defend their reserve base in their absence – unless they were just one small squad of a larger ideal and each collective force had its own name. Artyom remembered Comrade Rusakov offhandedly mentioning Avtozavod before the squad of energetic men dropped him at Paveletskaya not more than six weeks ago. How could he have imagined what was really down here besides maybe a few hidden stockpiles of ammo and canned food in case of emergencies? Surely not an entire populace of people who were never mentioned in the rest of the Metro. He supposed that most stations that were situated outside the Ring territory weren't of note to most of the larger factions who controlled the central confederations. Even his own station at Exhibition had relative anonymity before stories of the Dark Ones reached out to the larger audience – and ended up drawing in Hunter to his doom.
Artyom was basically a nobody when Hunter had come to VDNKh. Yet somehow the clever Stalker had chosen to trust him with such an outrageous task for someone who had barely left their home station before. Uncertain was a severe understatement for what Artyom had been at the time, and he knew nothing of the types of despicable people who controlled the key areas that he had to travel through in order to get to Polis. It all seemed so impossible at the time and yet here he was, still breathing, on the other side of the finish line.
Either Aleksandrya was just as ordinary as he was, or Hunter could read minds and see into the future. Perhaps it was both. Though reluctant and terrified, Artyom had carried out his mission dutifully, even though it had actually lead him in a whirlwind across half of the Metro and always landed him on the wrong side of the barricade. Aleksandrya didn't seem afraid of anything, on the contrary she seemed quite in charge of herself and her station – did it belong to her? Maybe the residents could give him some clues to all of his wonderings.
The people here were unusually quiet and went about their business at an unhurried pace. There was one communal fire on the tracks of the far tunnel just off the platform; several residents were gathered around it having a pot of tea and a laugh. There were many decidedly non-Russian people here, and Artyom remembered fondly the members of the Revolutionist squad. The population was the same here: most people were of some brand of European culture, but also he could recognize a few Americans, Chinese, Africans, and Spaniards. There was at least one person of every heritage that he could see from where he was sitting.
"So, this is what Nikolai meant when he said these people had nowhere else to go." Artyom spoke quietly to himself. With all the increasing standards for genetics in the Reich territory, and with Polis and Hanza being so wary of outsiders wanting to immigrate, there truly weren't many places for simple people just wanting to lead a life of peace. Although this station was small and dark, it was beautiful because of its diversity.
Artyom had never really considered the question of racial purity. A small part of him supposed that the complete loss of Russian culture would be a shame, but he never understood why racial background held such precedence if these people had been living in Moscow before. None of it mattered now anyway, there was no Russia anymore really.
On that sour note, Artyom decided he had done enough sitting and thinking, and struggled to his feet lazily. Letting out a long breath, he walked down the main platform for a ways, listening to random conversation and the laughter of some children. He wondered if he would have children someday; if he would live for a long enough time to care for them, or whether it was worth it at all to risk having a child that was sickly and condemned to live in this underground cesspool forever.
Too much thinking, he had to immerse himself somehow. He tried his luck sitting in the small kitchen area, hoping to integrate himself into another person's conversation, but the few people who were sitting down to eat remained aloof to his presence. Next, he walked over to the fire. There was always a good conversation to be had when sitting around the community fire, even with people you didn't know. This time he ventured an introduction.
"Hello, may I sit with you?" He asked timidly, adding in a weak smile.
"Of course, my friend, pull up a crate. The tea is a bit cold now, but you're welcome to a cup if you can tell us a good story!" A middle-aged man with a short beard spoke with a gentle but deep voice with a slight accent. He had broad shoulders and blonde hair, and wore a brown tweed jacket.
"A good story…" Artyom mused for a moment. He had no shortage of stories but wouldn't particularly call any of them good. He also didn't want to reveal his origins or give up any sensitive information, not because he didn't trust these simple people, but because it was part of his duty as a member of the Order.
"Come on, you're a Spartan Ranger, you must have something interesting to tell us!" This strange voice belonged to a woman; she was also middle-aged, with long black hair and very tan skin.
His uniform gave away that he did not belong here but the people knew exactly what he was and didn't seem to mind. Instead, they seemed to welcome him warmly, their faces full of wonder at what he might tell them. Maybe they had known Hunter as well? Artyom silently questioned how often new people came through this station, as the residents didn't seem to be phased by his unusual presence.
"Well, there was one time; I was on a watch with Pyotr Andreevich at the border of my station. Beyond us is darkness and there is a strange noise from the tunnel. We had a few guys disappear the last week so everyone was on edge." Artyom looked around to see the horrified expressions on the faces of the people who had gathered. He knew he had to continue quickly or risk alienating everyone from talking to him again. "Well, I took my rifle and walked a few paces into the tunnel, another man Andrey was shining his flashlight but it was so dark. I called out 'Stop. Password!' only there was no reply."
"Was it a Dark One?" Someone in the small crowd said with a quiver in their voice. Another person gasped and Artyom forced a smile to prevent a panic. He was becoming more and more accustomed to hearing strangers talking about the Dark Ones. It seems everyone in every corner of the Metro had heard the tale by now. In that aspect, the Metro didn't seem so large and divided.
"We went back to our tea and the fire, until we heard the noise again, it was like a scratching and moaning. This time Andrey went into the tunnel. We heard him scuffle a bit and then he fired some rounds. Then there was yelling so Pyotr shined the flashlight on him and as he's walking back we can see in his arms there was a puppy, no bigger than a lurker." Artyom held up his hands for size reference.
"All that over a dog!" The blonde man exclaimed with a large grin on his face, holding out a chipped mug to Artyom. "Here my friend, you've earned it."
"Did he keep it?" Asked a frail woman who had earlier been gripping at her cloak in terror.
"Yeah, he took it home with him and cared for it." Artyom relaxed and sipped the cold tea, having broken the ice successfully; he savored its mild flavor as his reward.
"So, are you just visiting from Polis, or are you here to stay?" The blonde man leaned forward with his arms folded on his knees.
"Just visiting." Artyom pondered how to explain himself. "I had a message to deliver to Aleksandrya Dmitriyev. I'll be heading back in the morning."
"Oh, that poor girl, she works so hard to keep us all safe and happy." Spoke the dark-haired woman with a thick accent that Artyom was now recognizing as Indian. "I hope it was a nice message, she's been very stressed out lately."
"Had another interrogation with a merchant?" Asked a young Chinese man with a long thin beard.
"Of course, Nikolai told me that's why the shipment has gotten so delayed." The blonde man spoke with a grunt, "Well if they don't want their filters cleaned."
"Filters? You're not all part of the Red Arrow?" Artyom cocked his head to the side, his brows knit in question.
"No, of course not." The blonde man said with surprise, turning his attention back to Artyom. "Aleks and her people protect us. She makes sure we have anything we need and they handle the trading."
"Really it's the Revolutionists who own this station, but they don't come by very often, so I suppose they appointed her as the station leader in their stead." Spoke an older man with sunken eyes and a long white beard.
"We make soap here and Nikolai and his brother take it to be traded in return for food and medicine. There are vines that grow in the far tunnel. If you burn them, they make good charcoal which is excellent for cleaning. So, we also pack most of the filters that people use on the surface." The Indian woman said with a proud smile.
"Heaven knows where she gets the strength. It can be difficult here sometimes, but we lead simple lives and we don't need much." Said the frail woman with a distinct twinkle in her eye.
"I see." Artyom looked back towards the tunnel he had come in from, at the soft glow of light from inside the supply room. He felt somewhat empathetic, having no idea that she basically held the role of station master. At first, he thought of the group more as a bandit clan, and perhaps they wanted to be seen as such by the majority of people they encountered. But in actuality the structure and purpose of their group was just as in any other station: survival, trading, and normal day to day life.
"So, you can thank us next time you go up to the city then, Stalker." The Chinese man gave a nod and a knowing smile.
"How exactly does that work, then? What about when they leave to do the trading?" Artyom asked, hoping his question wouldn't be seen as too prying.
"Well, you probably know about Paveletskaya, people hardly go through there, and on the other side of us is a dead end. The tracks leading to the bridge and the rest of the line are sealed off. Nobody bothers us because nobody really knows we are here. Even if Aleks or her men leave, there's always someone to help us." The blonde man said succinctly and the others around him nodded their heads in agreement with the assessment.
"I see." Artyom said again, not knowing how to respond or if asking more questions would seem too nosey, he remained quiet after that.
The others chatted on for a bit, speculating about the arrival of the shipment mentioned and the intricacies of the soap production which Artyom didn't really understand. It sounded like a similar operation to the tea factory at VDNKh. He wondered where the workers from his station had gone and if they had managed to set up shop elsewhere. Exhibition tea hadn't become much more expensive that he noticed, so they must have been able to resume their manufacture. What he wouldn't give to work a simple shift at the tea factory with Zhenya, chatting about what life was like in just the next station over, let alone at the opposite end of the line.
"Well, it's getting to be late. Good luck on your journey home tomorrow Spartan." The blonde man clapped Artyom on the shoulder, the other hand held the kettle and he offered him one last cup.
"It was nice to have met you!" said the Indian woman as she rose from her seat. "Hopefully you will visit us again sometime."
"Thank you, I enjoyed talking with you all." Artyom refused the refill but expressed his gratitude with a sincere grin.
All who had been gathered around the fire wandered off to their respective tents and Artyom looked around the station. It seemed that everyone had decided to go to bed at the same time as there was nobody near the kitchen and even the children had gone home from playing on the floor. The large clocks in the station had long ceased to tell time, so he didn't have any idea what the hour actually was, though his body told him it was beginning to yearn for slumber. Glancing at his watch confirmed his inkling, it was nearly one in the morning by his account.
He stood up and walked back towards his tent, taking in the statements he had just heard from the residents of Avtozavodskaya. He had no idea that they made soap or cleaned gas mask filters, and only now was he becoming more curious. He should have asked more about it when he had the chance but perhaps he would ask Nikolai about it in the morning. He dared to think of Nikolai as a friend for a moment before remembering that he didn't really know him that well. Although the man's demeanor hadn't changed much after going into that room, he definitely hadn't introduced himself as a Revolutionist mercenary either.
Artyom looked over to the glow of the supply room, wondering if anyone was still there at this hour. Of course, there probably was someone on watch at all hours somewhere, but he remembered what the blonde man had said about being anonymous, so they couldn't be anticipating anyone coming down the tunnel that they didn't invite. This station seemed eerily absent of mutants or rats. Although initially Artyom had been comforted by the relative cleanliness, he also recalled what Bourbon had said long ago about the absence of even rats from an area. It was usually a sign that something more sinister was lurking about.
Lost in his thoughts, he found himself walking to the corner of the platform. Stopping at the top of the metal stairway that led down beside the tracks, he held his body tense. He remained as still and silent as he could possibly manage, hoping to hear a voice or a sign that someone was inside the supply room. There seemed to be no sign of the brothers or Aleks, and yet the light was still on. He stirred himself, willing his feet to descend the steps slowly, quietly. Creeping up towards the doorway he pressed himself against the wall and listened again. There was no talking, no footsteps or shuffling, but there was a faint sound echoing back at him. It sounded like someone was crying, it didn't take him long to figure out who.
He took a deep breath and looked back at the station, wanting to make himself turn back, but he couldn't make his feet turn around. He couldn't ignore the fact that she had been upset by the news that he had brought to her and he was still uncertain of her exact involvement with Hunter. But he felt responsible, too responsible to turn away. It didn't seem like anyone was with her inside, so perhaps this was his chance to find out what he wanted to know when she wasn't pressured to stay strong in front of her comrades. Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, he set his foot inside the doorway. Slowly inching forward, he stopped again before the opening to the room. He looked to the left, where the room was shallow and saw nothing, so he very carefully leaned inside and looked to the right. There she sat facing the back wall, her head in her hands and strands of hair covering her face. She sobbed forcefully, covering her mouth to muffle the sound of her sharp breathing.
Stepping fully into the room he knew he needed to make himself known somehow, but quietly, so as not to startle her or incite anger for his intrusion. He made his next step more forceful, making sure the heel of his boot hit the concrete hard enough to make a noise.
Aleksandrya gasped and looked up at him with such fear and guilt that Artyom had to look away. She immediately started wiping her face with her sleeve, straightening her hair with the other hand.
"I'm sorry." Artyom squeaked, holding his hands out as if to show he was unarmed.
"No, no. This has nothing to do with—" She stopped herself short, attempting to get a hold of herself.
There was a long moment of silence, during which Artyom was sure she would turn spiteful and tell him to leave the room. Yet, she remained seated and staring at the floor.
"Would you like to sit?" She gestured to a chair adjacent to her.
Artyom said nothing but hesitantly went to sit down. It was hard for him to admit that he was more apprehensive of this woman's emotions than any battle he had ever faced, knowing for sure that her reactions were somehow his responsibility. He looked her over for a moment; she had discarded some of her armor pieces and simply wore her grey fatigues, scarf, and boots. She began to look up at him and he turned his gaze to the side, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring.
"What station are you from, Artyom?" She spoke quietly, watching his face and probably searching for eye contact. After a minute had passed and he hadn't answered her, she spoke again. "I used to live at Pushkinskaya… or should I say 'Schiller' station."
"You lived in Reich?" Artyom was surprised and looked back at her without even remembering that he had been trying to avoid her gaze. Her face was gentle and pink, irritated from her tears, but it made her look so striking. There was nothing more honest than staring into her eyes in this moment, as she was unable to hide her emotions from him.
"I lived there with my mother, we were in Chekhovskaya at first but then after a few years they made that mostly for the military and government, so Pushkinskaya was for families." Aleks pressed her hands between her knees, seeming somewhat uncomfortable, but bit her lip and then attempted to smile. "Was."
"What happened there?" Artyom ventured, genuinely curious. Not particularly in her story, but more about Reich as a whole.
"You tell me first." Her expression flattened. He had almost forgotten that she had started this conversation with a question.
"I'm from Exhibition," Artyom paused, not knowing if she would have known where or what that was. "Where they make the good tea."
"You are a long way from home, then." She eyed him with a heavy dose of suspicion.
"No one is there anymore, I don't think."
"Because of your Dark Ones." She had probably meant it as a question, but her tone gave the impression that she knew something about it. Whether she had meant to implicate him somehow or just to speak of known facts was unclear to him.
"All of it is my fault." Artyom whispered, barely audible. Here he had come to investigate the sound of her sorrow and he was beginning to wallow in his own.
Aleks looked up at him somewhat with pity and somewhat with disbelief, her hand lifted as if to get his attention but then it fell back to her lap. She was biting at her lip again, perhaps attempting to decide whether to console him or to continue the conversation. Letting out another breath, she straightened up in her chair and looked directly at him.
"What you don't know, what hardly anybody knows, is that the Führer is strict about mutations because he was one of the first to experience it." Apparently, she had decided to continue the other part of her story without provocation and Artyom was thankful for the change of subject. "His wife was pregnant when this madness began and she gave birth to a mutated child. From then on, he was increasingly paranoid. Even perfectly normal people are abominations in his eyes for some reason or another. Even tiny children who don't know anything… and then the parents get blamed too."
Artyom watched her eyes as she talked, even though she wasn't looking at him now. There was a resentful longing in the bluish steel color of them. Tears gathered and then waned without falling as if she had shed enough of them in memory of her past, having to relive it so many times that all that was left was anger. Who knows what she had witnessed in her years. She seemed to be about the same age as him, and he had seen more than enough of pain and death to last a lifetime.
"He was so terrified that it had come from his genes and he was in such denial. Even now he keeps them hidden away from everyone so he can continue enforcing his ridiculous laws. Hypocrite." Aleks growled in shame of the Reich's leader, and as she shook her head and placed it in her hands, the brass pendant around her neck came loose from her vest and swung on its silver chain.
"The cartridge." Artyom pointed his finger at it without moving his whole arm. "Hunter gave that to you?"
Aleks locked eyes with him and they expressed distrust and fear. Tucking the cartridge back into her scarf, she slowly nodded her head as an affirmative.
"How did you meet him?" Artyom asked forcefully, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. He convinced himself to smooth his expression, trying to convey to her that he wasn't going to hurt her or make any sudden movements so that she would answer him.
"Hunter," she said his name warmly, as if he was standing next to her, "Hunter met me."
Artyom readjusted himself in his chair, leaning his head onto his arm propped on the adjacent table with the intent to listen to every word she was about to speak as if they were the words of the gods.
"Ivanovich is on his way back, so I'll take the next watch—" Nikolai began to report calmly as he stepped into the room. The look of shock on his face subsided quickly into what looked like annoyance or revulsion. Artyom hoped it wasn't directed towards him. "What's going on in here?"
"I was just asking Artyom about the situation at Hansa. He would know the route to Polis better than us." Aleks sat back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other, she looked very authoritative with an air of passive aggression, probably putting that mental armor back on for Nikolai.
"Right, and?" Nikolai pressed, walking over to the two and standing almost between their chairs.
"It's business as usual there, nothing serious going on lately." Artyom attempted to seem casual and knowledgeable, leaning back in his chair in the same fashion as Aleks did. "I passed through there the other day just fine." He bragged for good measure.
"Good, so we'll try our luck getting in at Paveletskaya and go from there." Aleks stood up abruptly and took a side-step around Nikolai before turning back to Artyom. "You should get some rest, Ranger. We'll wake you when we are forming up."
Artyom nodded and rose to his feet cautiously. Seeing her smile weakly, he felt compelled to smile back. He cautiously followed her subtle cues to be smooth around Nikolai who was staring at him quite sternly. Nodding his head at her suggestion, he mumbled a quick 'Goodnight' and left the room swiftly. Heading back to his tent for the night he continued to smile to himself. It was comforting to have spoken with Aleksandrya at leisure, and not under the pressure of an official interrogation. Knowing that she was just as human and vulnerable as any other person was humbling, and he slept that night with no trepidation.