Chapter 5

Location: Line 3, Tunnel near Arbatskaya

Date: March 13, 2032

Time: 02:35

Entry 5

I don't know what's happening anymore.

The thing—whatever it is—has me pinned to the ground, its weight pressing down on my chest like a slab of stone. My hands claw at the cold concrete beneath me, but I can't move. I can barely breathe. My revolver's gone, lost somewhere in the dark. Even if I had it, I don't think it would matter. Nothing I've ever seen, nothing I've ever fought, has been this fast, this strong.

I should be dead by now. I'm not sure why I'm not.

The whispers are back. I can hear them clear as day, curling around my mind, twisting my thoughts like a knife digging into old wounds. They're laughing at me. Taunting me. It's like they know what I'm thinking—like they're playing with me.

The thing above me doesn't move, but I can feel its eyes burning into me, piercing through the darkness. It's waiting, holding me here like some kind of predator playing with its prey. I try to turn my head, to see its face, but all I can make out is a shape—vague, hunched, twisted.

This isn't real. It can't be real. It's just in my head. I've finally lost it.

But the pain in my chest is real. The weight pressing down on me is real. I can feel the coldness seeping into my bones, freezing me from the inside out.

I have to do something. I can't just lie here and die. Not like this. Not in some forgotten tunnel, alone, without a fight.

With a grunt, I try to push against the force holding me down, my muscles screaming in protest. But the thing doesn't budge. It's like trying to lift a mountain. My arms tremble, my breath comes in shallow gasps, but I don't stop. I can't stop.

Not like this.

I twist my body, trying to throw it off balance, and for a brief moment, I feel the pressure on my chest lighten. I don't think it's because of me, though. It's letting me move.

I roll onto my side, gasping for air, and the thing lets go of me completely. My chest aches, my ribs burning from the pressure, but I don't have time to think about it. I scramble to my feet, my vision swimming as I look around for my revolver. The tunnel is spinning, the world tilting beneath me like I'm caught in a nightmare.

I see the gun, just a few feet away, lying in the dirt.

I dive for it, my fingers closing around the cold metal just as the figure moves. It doesn't lunge at me this time. Instead, it steps back, retreating into the shadows like it's letting me go. But the whispers… they're still there. Still inside my head.

"You can't escape," they say. "Not from this."

I stand, revolver in hand, my heart pounding in my chest as I aim it at the figure. My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely keep the gun steady. But it doesn't move. It just watches me from the darkness, its glowing eyes burning holes in my soul.

"What do you want from me?" I shout, my voice cracking. "What the hell are you?"

No answer. Just the whispers, crawling into my skull, wrapping around my thoughts like vines.

I pull the trigger.

The shot echoes down the tunnel, the sound deafening in the confined space. The recoil slams into my arm, but I keep firing. One shot. Two. Three.

But the figure doesn't flinch. The bullets pass through it like it's made of smoke.

What the hell?

I take a step back, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold onto the gun. I fire again, and again, until the chamber clicks empty. Nothing. No reaction. No movement. The thing just stands there, watching me, like it's amused by my desperation.

I don't understand. I've fought mutants. I've fought bandits. I've survived every nightmare this Metro has thrown at me. But this… this is different. This isn't something I can fight. Not with bullets. Not with anything.

The whispers grow louder.

I drop the gun, my hands trembling as I clutch my head, trying to drown out the noise. But it doesn't stop. It just keeps getting louder, digging deeper into my mind, filling every corner of my thoughts until there's nothing else.

"You're not worthy," they say. "You're nothing."

I fall to my knees, my chest heaving as I struggle to breathe. The world is spinning, tilting, collapsing in on itself. I can't think. I can't move. All I can do is listen to the voices, the whispers that tear me apart, piece by piece.

The thing steps closer, its form shifting, twisting into something even more grotesque, more monstrous. I can't look at it anymore. I don't want to see it.

I just want it to stop.

The whispers reach a crescendo, the sound tearing through my skull like nails on a chalkboard. I scream, clutching my head, but the sound barely escapes my throat. My voice is nothing compared to the cacophony in my mind.

I can't take it. I can't do this anymore. I've fought for too long. Survived for too long. I should've died back at Kurskaya. I should've died a long time ago.

The world blurs. Everything fades. And for a moment, I think this is it. This is where it ends. This is where I die.

But then, just as quickly as it came, the pressure lifts.

The whispers stop. The weight on my chest disappears. And I'm left alone, kneeling in the tunnel, gasping for breath.

I open my eyes, blinking through the haze. The thing is gone. The tunnel is empty, save for the distant sound of dripping water and the faint hum of old machinery.

I'm alive.

I don't know why. I don't know how.

But I am.

I sit there for what feels like an eternity, my chest heaving, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. But there's no sense to it. There's no explanation. Nothing in the Metro is ever this clean, this easy.

I should get up. I should keep moving. But my legs won't work. My arms feel like lead. I'm too tired. Too broken.

Maybe this is it after all. Maybe I'm just waiting for whatever that thing was to come back and finish the job.

But it doesn't.

I close my eyes, leaning back against the cold tunnel wall, and for the first time in a long time, I feel… empty. Not scared. Not angry. Just empty.