Chapter 3

Location: Line 3, Service Tunnel between Kurskaya and Arbatskaya

Date: March 13, 2032

Time: 01:05

Entry 3

Something's coming. I don't know what, but it's out there, in the dark, stalking the tunnels like a ghost.

It was supposed to be a simple run. Kurskaya was supposed to be safe, but there's no safety in the Metro anymore, is there? We tell ourselves the mutants stick to the surface, that they don't crawl into our tunnels, but the blood on my boots says otherwise.

I'm running. It's the only thing I know how to do. I should've never gone to Kurskaya, but I did. And now, all I have left is the path back to Arbatskaya. The same damn path I came down. Except now it feels twice as long and ten times darker.

I can still smell the blood—the girl's eyes staring through me as I left her behind. She was dead the second I found her. There's no saving people in this world. Not anymore.

It's survival. Nothing more. Nothing less.

My revolver's back in its holster, but my hand keeps twitching toward it. There's no use. If whatever did that to Kurskaya comes after me, six bullets won't stop it. Maybe not even sixty. And still, I keep walking—keep dragging myself down this tunnel like a rat searching for some hole to hide in.

The lamps are dead here too. Just my flashlight now, flickering every few minutes, threatening to leave me in the dark. The old tech doesn't hold up well, not after years of rot and neglect. I should've replaced it the last time I made it back to Arbatskaya, but that costs cartridges. And cartridges keep me alive.

At least, they used to.

Now I'm wondering if anything down here can keep you alive, if we're not all just crawling toward our graves one step at a time. I've seen enough corpses to fill a lifetime—bandits, mutants, scavengers who thought they could outrun death. We're all dying. It's just a question of how fast it happens.

My steps echo down the tunnel, but they don't sound like mine. It feels like I'm listening to someone else walk, someone else trying to survive this night. I'd laugh if I had the energy, but all I can think about is how I need to keep moving.

I don't know what's hunting me, but it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is staying ahead of it. I've been running these tunnels for years, smuggling junk and trading favors, but tonight… tonight's different.

Kurskaya wasn't just an accident. It was a slaughter, something deliberate. Something that wanted to send a message. And if I'm smart, I'll be halfway to Arbatskaya before it catches up to me.

But I'm not smart. Not tonight.

I keep hearing the girl's voice, a whimper, echoing in my head. The look in her eyes. She wasn't begging for help. She knew. She knew there was nothing I could do, no way to save her or anyone else left in that station. Maybe she was just waiting for the end, waiting for the thing in the shadows to come back and finish what it started.

The tunnel stretches out forever ahead of me, a black maw swallowing up the light from my flashlight. Every few steps, I turn around, expecting to see something. But there's nothing there. Just me. Just the echo of my boots against the rails.

It doesn't help.

I've been down this path a hundred times before. I know every crack in the walls, every loose stone, every turn that should lead me back to Arbatskaya. But now it feels different. The walls are closing in, the air's heavier, and every shadow feels like it's watching me, waiting.

Maybe that's just the fear talking. Or maybe I've finally lost it.

I stop, leaning against the wall, the cold concrete pressing into my back like a slab of ice. My heart's pounding in my ears, louder than the sound of the cart rattling along Kurskaya's tracks.

I need to focus. I need to calm down. I survived this long, didn't I? Survived the bombs, survived the wars, survived the mutants. What's one more run through the tunnels? What's one more nightmare to add to the pile?

I tell myself it's all in my head. The fear, the whispers. I've seen men fall apart over less.

Something's ahead of me.

My breath catches in my throat, and I freeze, straining to hear. The tunnel is silent again, but this silence feels different. Heavy. Like it's waiting for me to make the next move.

I flick off the flashlight, plunging myself into darkness.

I hate this. I hate the dark. But I've learned to trust it more than the light.

With the light off, I can listen—really listen. I close my eyes, standing perfectly still. There's a sound now, barely there, but I can hear it. Footsteps, soft, deliberate, like something is pacing just a few meters ahead, waiting for me.

I've been in this situation before. You don't survive as a smuggler in the Metro without learning a few things about how to listen, how to feel your way through a situation. I've been ambushed by bandits, nearly caught by patrols from the Red Line, and I've survived all of it.

But this is different.

This isn't human.

The sound stops. So do I.

Then a whisper.

It's faint, almost too quiet to catch, but it's there, slithering through the tunnel like smoke. I can't make out the words, but they twist in my gut, filling me with a cold dread that I can't shake. Whatever's ahead of me, it's not something I can fight. Not with a gun. Not with anything I have.

I take a step back. My foot scrapes against the dirt, the sound too loud in the silence.

That's when I hear it.

It's coming now. Fast.

I turn and run. My legs burn, my chest tightens, and I'm moving faster than I have in years, faster than I should be able to. The darkness claws at me, pulling me back, but I push through, sprinting down the tunnel like a madman. I don't know what's chasing me, and I don't want to know.

All I know is that if I stop, I'm dead.