Lost Count

Hurt

Moscow was cold today.

Artyom picked his way through the ruins of buildings as he made his way back to the hermetic doors that sealed the Metro off from the surface. There was nothing to be found, as per the usual. His radio picked up no signals, his searches for supplies turned up short, even his careful scanning for mutants revealed nothing. The city really was dead now. There was nothing left. Artyom sighed through the filter of his gas mask and cast a glance at a nearby car. Nothing salvageable.

There truly was nothing left.

Another reason why Artyom had to leave. He couldn't stay here any longer; couldn't stay in this dead world with its denizens on the decline. He needed to escape, to find a new place to call home. There had to be something out there. Even if it was impossible to find other people, Artyom would relish the opportunity to breathe in clean air and to dig his hands into untainted ground, to drink clean water. The idea of having a place to call home on the surface, to share with another, was so alluring to Artyom.

He was lost in his daydreams as he continued on through the city. It was still quiet, so Artyom felt his careful awareness of his surroundings slipping away the farther he walked. The farther he fell into wishes and goals. His feet began to fumble slightly, snapping him back to reality some. He had to be careful where he walked, else he could end up flat on his face with a broken mask.

And then he'd never be able to escape.

But as the adrenaline faded away from his few close calls, Artyom found himself slipping back into that same cycle as he drew closer to the entry to the Metro. And as he let his mind wander, he found his dreams becoming more and more focused. More and more specific, with one theme beginning to appear in every single one. One person. One cabin.

The cycle continued. Daydream, trip, snap back. Daydream, trip, snap back.

Daydream--

The cabin by the sea. It was small, not suitable for more than maybe two people. But it was perfect for them. All they could ever want. Artyom could imagine others living nearby, but with a healthy degree of separation. He and Pavel didn't need to live so close to them.

Trip--

Artyom nearly fell over when the toe of his boot got caught in a crack in the road. The filter regulator of his mask beeped, warning him that he would need to change it soon.

Snap back--

Artyom carefully picked up his feet and hopped across the cracks, screwing in a new filter and placing the used one in his bag. There was a man at the station who could refit them for use later. He was drawn away from his dreams for just a moment, scanning the landscape for any danger. But there was nothing there.

Daydream--

Pavel laughing as he saw the ocean, calling back to Artyom to come join him; Pavel sitting back on a chair in a small cabin, relaxing into the soft cushions; Pavel's soft gaze as he leaned in forward to brush his lips against Artyom's--

Trip--

A short scuffling to his right was masked by his foot kicking an empty can across the pavement. Artyom didn't hear it. Nothing there, nothing he could see. Especially not when he was distracted like this.

Snap back--

The low growl was what finally snapped him back to awareness, but it was too late.

~*~

Artyom was the first to awake again, not long after he took Pavel's hand in his. He came to with the feeling of fingers intertwined with his own, searing hot wherever their skin touched. It was enough to make Artyom break out in a sweat. Pavel hadn't woken up yet; he hadn't caught Artyom.