Chapter 6

Location: Line 3, Service Tunnel near Arbatskaya

Date: March 13, 2032

Time: 03:15

Entry 6

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the tunnel wall, waiting for something to happen—waiting for that thing to come back and finish me off. But nothing did. Nothing moved, nothing changed. The silence that followed the whispers was louder than anything I'd ever heard.

I should feel relieved. I should be grateful that I'm still breathing, still alive. But all I feel is numb. Empty. Like something was taken from me back in that tunnel, something I'll never get back.

I've fought men and mutants alike, lived through the worst this Metro has to offer, but nothing has ever made me feel like this. Weak. Helpless.

Maybe I've finally lost it. Maybe everything that's happened tonight was just in my head. Some kind of twisted nightmare brought on by the fear, the exhaustion, the constant weight of surviving down here.

But I know it wasn't a dream. I know that thing, whatever it was, was real. I felt it—its weight, its presence pressing down on me like a vice. The whispers, the laughter, the way it moved… no nightmare is that vivid.

Arbatskaya isn't far now. I need to get back. I need to put as much distance as I can between myself and whatever happened back there. But no matter how far I run, I know the feeling won't go away.

I finally push myself up off the ground, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. My legs feel like jelly, my arms heavy with exhaustion. But I force myself to move. One step at a time. Back down the tunnel, back toward the station that's supposed to be my safe haven. If there's such a thing as safety in this world.

I don't even care about the cart anymore. The supplies, the deal with Kurskaya—it doesn't matter. Nothing does, except getting out of this tunnel alive.

The walk back is a blur. My body is on autopilot, one foot in front of the other, moving forward because that's all I know how to do anymore. My mind is numb, the world around me reduced to shadows and echoes. There's nothing left to think about. No reason to dwell on what happened. I just need to get back to Arbatskaya, to something familiar, something real.

I don't know how long I walk for. It feels like hours, but it could have been minutes. Time doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters except the light I finally see at the end of the tunnel—the faint, flickering lamps of Arbatskaya's checkpoint.

It's still standing. Still there, like it always is. The guards will be waiting for me, rifles slung over their shoulders, bored out of their minds, asking me about the run. But what the hell am I supposed to tell them? That Kurskaya's gone? That the station was slaughtered by something we can't explain? That I barely made it out alive?

No one would believe me. Hell, I don't even believe it.

As I get closer, the shapes of the guards come into focus—two of them, as expected, standing near the checkpoint gate, just like they always are. They're talking to each other, laughing about something. I can't hear them clearly, but the sound of their voices pulls me out of the fog I've been in.

For the first time in hours, I feel something close to normalcy. Like maybe everything that happened back in the tunnels was just a fluke. Maybe I can forget it, move on, pretend like it never happened.

I step forward, into the light.

The guards turn to look at me, their laughter fading as they realize who I am. One of them, a tall man with a scar down the side of his face, raises an eyebrow.

"Velentin? Where the hell have you been? You're hours late."

I don't know what to say. The words are stuck in my throat, caught between telling the truth and staying quiet. I want to explain, want to tell them everything, but I know they wouldn't believe me. Hell, they'd probably think I've lost it.

"I… ran into some trouble," I manage, my voice hoarse. "Kurskaya… something happened."

The guards exchange a glance, their expressions hardening. The man with the scar steps forward, narrowing his eyes at me. "What kind of trouble?"

I open my mouth to answer, but the words don't come out. I don't know how to explain it without sounding like a madman. The thing in the tunnels, the whispers, the slaughter at Kurskaya—none of it makes any sense, even to me.

Instead, I shake my head. "It's gone. Everyone's dead."

The man's eyes widen, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something like fear in his expression. But he covers it up quickly, nodding toward the other guard. "Get the captain. Now."

The other guard nods and rushes off toward the station, leaving me standing there with the man. He crosses his arms over his chest, his face hardening as he studies me.

"What do you mean, 'everyone's dead'?"

I feel the weight of his gaze on me, but I can't bring myself to explain. I don't have the energy to relive it. I just want to get out of this tunnel, out of this nightmare, and find a place to rest.

"Something happened," I say again, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't know what. But it wasn't normal."

The man narrows his eyes, clearly not satisfied with my answer, but he doesn't push me any further. Instead, he gestures toward the checkpoint gate.

"Come on. We'll sort this out inside."

I nod, following him through the gate and into the station. The familiar sight of Arbatskaya's cramped, dimly lit tunnels is almost comforting, but I can't shake the feeling that something's changed. Everything looks the same, but I know it's not. Not after what happened. Not after what I saw.

The guard leads me to a small room near the entrance, a makeshift office where the captain handles station affairs. The door creaks open, and I step inside, my body heavy with exhaustion. I collapse into a chair without waiting for permission, my legs barely able to hold me up anymore.

The captain is already there, a stern-faced woman in her forties with sharp eyes that miss nothing. She looks up from her desk, her brow furrowing as she sees me.

"Velentin," she says, her voice calm but commanding. "What the hell happened out there?"

I don't know how to answer. I don't even know where to begin.

"Kurskaya's gone," I say, my voice hollow. "Everyone's dead."

Her eyes narrow, and she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk. "Gone? What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"I don't know. Something attacked them. Killed them. All of them."

She watches me carefully, her eyes searching my face for any sign of a lie. But I'm too tired to lie. Too tired to do anything but sit here and try to piece together what happened.

"It wasn't human," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I don't know what it was. But it wasn't human."

The room falls silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air between us. The captain doesn't say anything for a long time, her sharp gaze never leaving me.

Finally, she leans back in her chair, letting out a slow breath. "We'll send a team to check it out. In the meantime, get some rest. You look like hell."

I nod, too exhausted to argue, and push myself up from the chair. My legs are trembling, my body on the verge of collapse, but I manage to make it out of the room without falling.

As I walk through the station, past the people huddled in their makeshift homes, past the guards patrolling the narrow corridors, I feel the weight of everything pressing down on me again.

It wasn't human. I know that now. But what the hell was it? And why did it let me go?

The whispers are gone. But I can still feel them, lingering at the edges of my mind, waiting. Watching.

I need rest. But I don't think I'll find any peace here. Not anymore.