Lost Count

Belonging

The meetings were a total success. The Red Line and the Spartan Rangers were now officially allies, and would send men over to each faction frequently in order to remain in contact as well as keep good relations upheld. There were other sides to their agreements as well such as supply arrangements and the like; Artyom was just not overly concerned with them now. All of that stuff would come later.

Before Artyom left Polis with his fellows, Pavel yanked him over to the side in a small archway. He pulled Artyom close in a powerful hug, arms wrapping almost entirely around him. "I'm gonna miss you, chuvak. Make sure you stay alive, huh?" His voice was slightly muffled by the fabric of Artyom's jacket.

Artyom patted him on the back and moved away, shooting Pavel a small smile that said all he needed to. They would meet again, hopefully soon. Artyom found himself happy and already missing him? Pavel returned the smile softly, brows turning up and having an expression that seemed almost familiar--

"Artyom!" Anna shouted, cupping a hand over her mouth. "Time to go!" Artyom jolted and turned away from Pavel, rushing over to get on the railcar before he could be left behind. He looked behind him one last time and Pavel did a cheeky two-finger salute. The context of it was completely different than the other time Pavel had done something similar. As Artyom heavily landed in the seat next to Anna she leaned in and asked, "Who's that? You making friends with the Red Line soldiers already?"

Artyom shook his head as the car started moving, holding up his hands and pointing his thumb behind him in the direction of where Pavel stood. Then he touched his own chest and did a back-and-forth motion several times. "You and that soldier...?" Anna began cautiously, wanting to make sure she was correct. He nodded and did a sweeping gesture in a large circle, pointing backwards. "Aaah--" She looked absolutely confused. Anna still had some trouble understanding Artyom sometimes, even though they had set up a method of communication that worked most of the time.

Instead of attempting to play charades with her, Artyom pulled out his journal and flipped to the very last page, scribbling down a few words in messy Cyrillic. There were a few other phrases back on the page as well, left behind from times where he had to explain things too complex for his usual methods.

We've met before. We knew each other.

"Oh," Anna said once she read it, understanding dawning. Then she went silent for a few moments before another aspect of that explanation made itself known to her. "Wait, you knew him when we were still enemies?" He flinched on the inside; the implications of what he had just revealed were not very good.

Artyom did a little noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, attempting to stay casual. Anna stared at him, mouth slightly open, before she shook her head and punched him in the shoulder. "You're lucky that we're no longer enemies with them, else I would've had to report you for fraternization." A few of the other soldiers laughed at the sudden exchange, despite not hearing what they were talking about. Anna at least had the courtesy to whisper close to him, in order to keep their matters private.

And at least she didn't know what Pavel had done. Artyom nearly sighed with relief at her dropping of the subject; Anna didn't seem to care as much about his affairs like before. She trusted him to take care of himself now, and if Artyom trusted someone then she wouldn't question his judgement.

The railcar groaned beneath him, puttering along on the track as they made their way back to D6. Artyom couldn't help but keep looking back to the rapidly disappearing Polis behind him, feeling as if he left something behind at the glittering city.

~*~

No matter what he did with his fellow Rangers, Artyom couldn't help but feel something was missing. There were a few of them he could claim some level of camaraderie with, but for the most part he felt alone. Most of them treated him like he was some sort of savior for defeating the Dark Ones, or scoffed at his quick acceptance into the ranks. No one seemed to care that he was just a normal human being like the rest of them, regardless of his actions or senses. Ulman, while not believing in all of that 'tunnel mumbo-jumbo', often made jokes about Artyom's Savior status. Miller still treated him like a grunt to quash under his boot despite everything, and even Anna made mention of their victory more times than he'd care to like.

Khan was... Khan. He didn't treat anyone normally. But he knew Artyom more than most, even going so far as responding to words the young man hadn't even said. He felt like Khan, out of everyone, was the one who understood him the best. And then he had disappeared back into the tunnels without even a goodbye; he didn't even feel the need to explain himself. Artyom sometimes found himself wishing he could have gone with him.

Whenever he was sent to the surface he always found himself lingering for longer than he should have. His filters would be on their last legs, still working diligently for as long as they could before he finally went back down under to safety. Artyom wanted a glimpse of the clear sky, expansive above him. But it was always muggy and clouded, like a dome had been placed over the Dead City. He would often stand on the edge of a roof or tall hill, stand there for as long as he could and gaze out at the decaying world around him. His fellow Rangers would then scold him and pull him along after them, claiming that their mission was done and that they had to go.

No one understood. Not the young men who felt uncomfortable at the very idea of not having a ceiling above their heads, not the old men who reminisced about their apartments and cars. No one could understand that single-minded longing that Artyom had. Even he himself didn't know what he was searching for. A chance at life? Other people? Landscapes that he had only read about in old torn-up books?

He couldn't talk about these feelings to anyone. They didn't care, didn't understand his want for more. Focus on the present; survive. That was the mentality down in the Metro. Casting your thoughts to the uncertain future was a surefire way to descend into madness.

So he kept his feelings to himself, kept his wants and desires tucked away neatly inside of him. It wasn't like he could even articulate what it was that he wanted, not without filling pages upon pages in his journal.

There were times when he stood upon the dead ground below him, staring up at the sky until his eyes burned with the effort and the glare. Clouds would pass and grab his attention; they would rush across the sky and dissipate then reform. Artyom's hands shook as they reached up to the straps of his gas mask without his notice, loosening them mindlessly and nearly pulling it off right then and there.

He would realize what he was doing at the very last second, shaking himself and tightening the mask again. He would fall to his knees and turn his face up to the sky again, breathing heavily and wishing he could taste the clean air that he couldn't remember breathing. Minutes later Artyom would return to his fellows, ignoring the obvious glances they would shoot his way.

He didn't try to hide his fascination with the land. There would be no hiding anything from the other Rangers, not without seeming suspicious. They probably thought he was crazy, surface-mad. A few other Rangers had succumbed to it; they would suddenly run off into the wilderness of the Dead City, never to be seen again. But this was something different, at least that's what Artyom hoped. He wasn't going surface-mad, he wasn't.

He just didn't know what he wanted.