Lost Count

Comfort

VDNKh wasn't small station, Pavel realized quickly after a few visits. It was quite spacious and densely packed with people, all who had their own goals and quotas for the day. As an outsider who wasn't familiar with their customs, Pavel found himself immersed in their way of life. He was content to just watch as the citizens went about their daily business. He had his own business to attend to as well; business that had nothing to do with the Red Line. And while he waited, he could people-watch.

Where is he? Pavel thought, looking around in order to catch a glimpse of messy dark hair. He hadn't shown up yet, and the possibility that he wasn't back was very real. Many of the station's residents regarded him with a cool air of formality; his uniform and stance screamed 'Red Line soldier'. But they were used to seeing him by now, and they knew that he didn't come to stir up anything with them. He was here for one reason and one reason alone. Pavel would visit every now and then on his journeys through the stations, in order to make sure everything was going alright. To make sure he hasn't gotten himself killed yet.

"He's out right now," A man said, hefting a heavy crate of mushrooms. "He'll be back in some hours. That is, if they don't get him this time." The civilians knew why Pavel was here, knew who he was searching for every time he came to visit. Their resident Ranger, the 'Savior of the Metro'.

Artyom.

"Thanks, I can wait," Pavel replied courteously, squatting down and electing to pass the time by counting tiles. Why was he even surprised? Of course Artyom would be up there now. He seemed to live up on the surface at this rate. Pavel cast a glance at the station's clock, noting the time. 11:00. Artyom would be gone at about this time. He could only hope that the Ranger would be back in time before Pavel had to leave and return to the Red Line. I could always stay a night or two here, go up with Artyom the next time. He probably needs the support. The Red Line can wait a few days, my mission isn't vital to anything.

Pavel knew that Artyom was going through a tough time right about now. He had been for the past couple of months, not long after their factions had become allied with each other. Both the Red Line and the Spartan Rangers were flourishing, and Hanza would have been alarmed had they not been part of the alliance as well. Peace was finally starting to take hold in the Metro. But Artyom didn't sit back on his laurels, didn't relax or retire early with his heroic deeds under his belt.

No. Artyom was always searching for more.

He had set his sights on the surface, confiding to Pavel about a radio signal he had heard ages ago. Seemed convinced that there were other survivors out there, that people lived above ground. Pavel didn't know whether he could believe the other man or not. Such idealism was foolish. But look at where similar lofty goals had gotten Leonid; the boy had almost single-handedly reformed the Red Line and changed everything. Pavel didn't know what to think anymore. He only knew one thing.

That he must support Artyom. Because no one else did.

If not us, then who? The phrase drifted through his mind, never being more true than it was today. If not Artyom's people, then who? If not his Ranger comrades, then who? Who would make sure he didn't get himself killed with his almost daily excursions? Who would be there to support him when he returned, stumbling and barely able to stand? Who would keep him safe, rebuild his determinations?

Because it seemed no one would.

So the burden fell to Pavel, who let the comforting weight envelop him. There was a purpose to his life, a duty to be done. It was a tie to Artyom. And Pavel relished any tie he could gather in his fumbling fingers, any thread to keep him near the Ranger. Artyom kept him moving, kept him alive. Pavel had to repay the debt of gratitude he owed, and this was the least he could do.