Lost Count

Dreams

In the months that passed, Artyom fell into a routine. Clean up D6, go on scouting missions with a few other Rangers, occasionally make their way to the surface to secure a new outdoor base. It was easy to forget all that had happened.

Ulman was walking again. Anna had pretended like she had never come on to Artyom, and their friendship didn't suffer for it. Miller had lost his legs, but prosthetics were already in the works for his use. Everything was finally getting back to normal. Or as normal as you could get in the Metro.

But Artyom's dreams just wouldn't stop.

~*~

He was in his bed at the bunker, staring at the ceiling. It was completely silent, something strange for the normal activity levels that happened at D6. Artyom sat up and looked over to his door, feeling a strange sense of foreboding from it.

But he got up and went over to open it anyway.

It creaked open on silent hinges, revealing not the halls of D6, but the soft red glow of emergency lights. His home station. VDNKh. Artyom didn't think anything of the strange change of scenery; it just seemed like a natural progression as he stepped out into the tunnel.  He was facing south, towards the rest of the Kaluzhsko-Rizhskaya line.

Artyom turned around, now facing north and the rest of his old home. The door behind him was gone, instead replaced by the station. The tents and small hovels erected haphazardly were just as he remembered them before he left, untouched by the Dark Ones. VDNKh was deserted, dead silent except for a strange wind blowing. It was soft and deep, echoing throughout his mind. But something felt off about the peace.

Like it was frozen in time just before something terrible occurred.

His feet moved of their own accord, taking him through the makeshift pathways and past the communal fire. Even the fire's flames had stopped, licking up the wood and freezing in place. Dust had been floating in the air, halting in its meandering paths. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Artyom as the scenery got more and more unusual.

Vines had curled up around the walls and cracked the heavy stone with their weight; branches began blanketing the ceiling above him. With every step he felt a little more uneasy, but he was unable to stop. It was like something had possessed him to keep moving. He stepped on a vine and it shriveled under his boot, wriggling like an injured snake.

As Artyom walked everything became more wild and untamed, like nature had reached down and reclaimed the station regardless of how far below ground it was. Eventually he came to stand in front of a living wall, with it pulsing and undulating in front of him. He lifted up his hands and dived in, vines shrieking at his touch and burning away. The cries of the living plants were almost too much for Artyom to handle, but he kept pushing and finally broke free to find himself on the surface.

The moon was red and full, with a halo of clouds around it. The light from it drenched the scenery in its glow, looking like the bloody aftermath of a battle. Even the stars were red. The landscape was similar to his nightmares of the Botanical Gardens, but those had stopped once he helped the Little One reunite with his family.

These were remnants of his own city. Moscow.

The buildings were gutted like usual, steel bones exposed to the toxic air. The setting was even more unsettling than usual due to the red coating over everything, like blood dripping down the walls. The buildings still stood tall and proud, regardless of the pitiful structures that they made. The vines from before were gone.

Artyom began walking on the crumbled pathway, the husk of the once great city towering over him. The presence was oppressing. As he passed through the deserted areas and empty squares, he began to feel that something was guiding him to his destination.

Where, he didn't know. All he knew was that he must keep walking.

And so he did.

~*~

Artyom awoke in a cold sweat, shooting up on his cot in his room. This dream was just like the others, with him walking ever onward through the Dead City. But he never reached where he was going; Artyom always woke up before he got there. No matter what, he always woke up once he realized he was being guided.

He wasn't losing much sleep with these dreams, not like when he was plagued with nightmares after bombing the Dark Ones. No, they were just odd, probably his subconscious trying to tell him something. At least it wasn't that one...

There was another dream that Artyom began having once he returned to D6. It didn't have anything to do with Moscow or the dark ones. He just knew that it didn't, even though in that dream he could only ever recall one thing upon waking up. Just one thing, along with a strange feeling in his chest.

The sad blue eyes that seemed to continue haunting him no matter where he went.

They were the only thing he could remember. Everything else was hazy and washed away once he awoke. He could faintly recall a voice calling out to him from the distance, but he was unable to ascertain whether or not it was male or female. Or even what they were saying.

But he had an idea of who it was, haunting his dreams. There couldn't have been any other person with eyes that blue and a voice so pleading. Not Anna. Not Miller. Not Bourbon.

No. It had to have been him. Pavel.

No matter what, the man just wouldn't leave his thoughts. Every time Artyom left D6 on a scouting mission or some other task, he couldn't help but dread that he'd meet Pavel again down in the Metro. He almost thought that he could have died on the surface, but Artyom couldn't truly believe that he was dead until he saw it with his own eyes. Pavel was too quick, too resourceful to die by anything less than Artyom's own hand. And Artyom had stayed that hand, let Pavel go.

Miller didn't know that Pavel was alive. He didn't even ask if Artyom had killed him. Maybe he didn't care, as the fate of a single communist soldier didn't concern him much. No one else knew of Artyom's weakness, his sentimentality for an enemy. For someone who betrayed his friends so easily and had such unwavering loyalty to his government. Enemy... Perhaps they wouldn't be enemies for much longer.

There were whispers about, of the reform of the Red Line. Leonid had risen to power after the death of Korbut and subsequent dethroning of the Secretary General Moskvin. The young man was an idealist, urging for peace and prosperity through the Metro, but without violence.

Artyom had heard there were already three unsuccessful assassination attempts. Leonid was a smart man, surrounding himself with a small circle of others whom he trusted. Else he'd have never survived this long. But he used those attempts on his life as a bolster for his ideals, claiming that change must be made in order to prosper.

Leonid already established a contact with the Spartan Rangers, eager to form an alliance and begin uniting the Metro (if not by Communism then by at least civility). He also began forming his own relations with the Ring Line of Hanza, keeping the trade agreements and expanding on others. He treated his civilians with care, and his soldiers not like fodder to be thrown at the Nazis.

Artyom couldn't help but respect the young man. Leonid's goals were monumental and almost unrealistic, but his enthusiasm was infectious. It began influencing others. Waves began echoing through the Metro, feelings of a possible change. In order to fix the stagnation that they found themselves in people began rising up and taking matters into their own hands, inspired by Leonid's speeches and the fresh face of his leadership.

The new leader of the communists would be arriving soon, to talk with Miller about establishing relations. They were coming in a small group of about ten men, Leonid with his personal guard and a few other higher-ups. Artyom couldn't help but be worried as well as excited.

It could be a huge mistake.

Or, it might not be.