Chapter 10

Location: Old Tunnels, Deep within the Metro

Date: March 13, 2032

Time: 09:00

Entry 10

I can't run anymore.

I sit there, my back against the cold stone wall, my revolver clutched in my trembling hands. The darkness is suffocating, thick and oppressive, pressing down on me from all sides. I can't see anything—not the tunnel, not the thing that's been chasing me. But I can feel it. I can feel its eyes on me, burning through the shadows.

You can't escape.

The voice echoes in my mind, low and guttural, like it's crawling up from the depths of the earth itself. I try to block it out, but it's no use. The words are etched into my thoughts, repeating over and over again.

You can't escape.

I want to scream. I want to tell it to shut up, to leave me alone. But my throat is dry, and my body is too weak to fight anymore. All I can do is sit here, waiting for whatever comes next. My legs are useless, my muscles burning with exhaustion. My heart pounds in my chest, every beat a reminder that I'm still alive—for now.

Why didn't it kill me back at Kurskaya? Why did it let me go?

I thought it was mercy. I thought maybe I was lucky. But now I know the truth. It wasn't mercy. It wasn't luck. It was a game. It let me run, let me think I had a chance, only to chase me down again. It was always going to end like this.

The whispers have stopped now, replaced by an overwhelming silence that's even worse. It's the kind of silence that fills the air just before something terrible happens. The calm before the storm.

I clutch the revolver tighter, my knuckles white, my hands shaking. Four bullets left. Four bullets to hold back the darkness. But it won't be enough. It was never enough.

I hear a sound. Soft at first, like the distant shuffle of footsteps, but it grows louder, closer, until it's right in front of me. I don't move. I can't. My body is frozen, paralyzed by fear, by the cold, by the knowledge that there's nothing I can do to stop it.

The tunnel is still pitch black, but I don't need to see it to know it's there. I can feel it, the presence that's been stalking me, chasing me, haunting me. It's here now, standing right in front of me. I can feel its breath on my skin, cold and damp, like the air in a tomb.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. I raise the revolver, pointing it into the dark, aiming at where I think its head might be. My finger hovers over the trigger, but I don't fire. Not yet.

What's the point?

The thing from Kurskaya. The thing that's been following me, tormenting me, marking me. It's right here. And I know now that it can't be killed. Not by bullets. Not by anything I have.

I hear it move again, shifting in the darkness, and then the glowing eyes appear, burning through the black like two embers in the night. They lock onto mine, and I feel a wave of cold wash over me, like ice settling in my veins.

I can't escape.

The voice is louder this time, clearer, as if it's speaking directly into my mind. I flinch, my finger tightening on the trigger, but I don't fire. What would be the point? I'm not even sure if this thing is real anymore. Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe I lost my mind back at Kurskaya, and I've been running from ghosts ever since.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, but the voice is relentless, cutting through my thoughts like a knife.

"You're marked," it says, the words dripping with malice, with finality. "You were always marked."

I grit my teeth, my hand trembling as I hold the revolver steady, aimed at its glowing eyes. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my chest. This is it. The end.

But I don't pull the trigger.

The thing moves closer, its form barely visible in the flickering light of my dying flashlight. I can see its twisted shape now, hunched and monstrous, something that doesn't belong in this world. Its eyes burn with an unnatural light, like fire and darkness combined, something not of this earth.

"You're nothing," it hisses, the words slithering into my ears, wrapping around my thoughts like a noose. "You can't fight. You can't run."

I close my eyes, my finger still on the trigger, and for a moment, I think about pulling it. Just ending it here. But I can't. Something in me refuses to give up, refuses to let this thing win. Not like this.

I open my eyes again, staring into the glowing embers of its gaze, and I realize something. It's waiting. It's always been waiting. For me to pull the trigger. For me to give up. It's been playing with me from the start, testing me, pushing me, waiting for the moment I break.

But I won't give it that satisfaction.

"I'm not afraid of you," I say, my voice weak but steady. "Not anymore."

The thing doesn't move, but I can feel the air shift around me, the temperature dropping even lower. Its eyes burn brighter, and I can hear the faintest whisper of a growl deep in its throat. It doesn't like that.

I tighten my grip on the revolver, my finger on the trigger, and take a deep breath. This is it. The final moment. I know I can't win. I know I can't escape. But I'm not going to let it control me anymore. If this is the end, then I'm going out on my own terms.

The thing moves closer, its glowing eyes locked onto mine, its twisted form looming over me like a shadow. I raise the revolver higher, pointing it directly between its eyes. My hand is steady now. The fear is still there, but it's different. Controlled.

You were always marked.

The voice echoes in my head one last time, but this time, it's weaker, less certain. I smile, just a little, and then I pull the trigger.

The gunshot is deafening in the silence of the tunnel. The recoil slams into my hand, but I don't let go. I keep my grip on the revolver, my eyes locked on the thing in front of me.

For a moment, nothing happens. The darkness is still, the silence heavy. And then, slowly, the thing begins to fade. Its form flickers, like smoke caught in a breeze, and the glowing eyes start to dim.

I watch it go, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The whispers are gone now, replaced by an eerie quiet. The tunnel is empty again.

I lower the revolver, my hands still shaking, but the fear is gone. The thing is gone. I'm alone again.

I let out a long breath, the tension draining from my body. It's over. Finally, it's over.

You were always marked.

The words linger in the back of my mind, but they don't hold the same power anymore. I don't know what it means. Maybe I'll never know. But right now, all I care about is that I'm alive.

I stand, my legs unsteady, and look around the tunnel. The darkness is still there, but it's different now. Less threatening. Less… alive. I holster the revolver and start walking, my steps slow and deliberate. I don't know where I'm going, but it doesn't matter. I'm free.