Post by Lawnmower Joe on Sept 8, 2012 5:15:10 GMT -5
Sevastopolskaya, hydroelectric power station C:
The dripping of water trickling through cracks in the walls and ceiling filled the ancient service tunnel with crystalline noise. Mold had grown in large patches over various parts of the tunnel and rooms, making walking a somewhat slippery business. Vadim swore as he stepped in a viscous pile of grey mush, the tools in his carpet bag clanking as he came to an abrupt stop.
"How many times has this fucking power plant failed this week?", he said, his voice echoeing wetly through the narrow service tunnel. His colleague, Seriozha, turned around, his bright yellow rubber raincoat glistening from all the water that had dripped onto it.
"About three times", he said, not taking into account the sarcasm and annoyance in his collague's voice, "the humidity keeps making the moving parts rust and break."
"And every time that happens, I lose time spent with my wife and I have to go down past the hermetic doors. I fucking hate this", grumbled Vadim.
"Don't worry, we have an escort. Besides, it'll only take us a few minutes to replace the parts that broke."
"Yeah right."
The two Sevastopolskayan engineers finally entered a large and very humid room. Water ran in steady streams down the moldy walls, and the steel staircase leading into the room was slippery and red with rust. In the middle of the room was a small canal of sorts through which dirty water ran. The hydroelectric plant, a small metal and plastic thing arching over the water and dotted with rust and slimy lichen, was right in the middle of that canal. Seriozha gave the plant a quick glance and was displeased to see that the wheels had stopped turning, having been clogged up with filth and rust.
"Same as before", grumbled Vadim as they cautiously went down the stairs. The room was illuminated by a single dingy lightbulb that made shadows seem bigger and more terrifying than they should be. Fumbling for his tools, Vadim glanced uneasily around him, ignoring the steady crackling noise his old dosimetre was emitting. The water running through here was radioactive, and Vadim kept wondering regular exposure to it would affect him. Cancer and malformation were common things in the Metro, and he and his wife had been thinking of having children...
"Hey, Vadim, stay sharp or we'll never finish this job", snapped Seriozha with unusual irritation. Vadim shook his head, dissipating his worried reverie and handed Seriozha some tools. As Seriozha kneeled down on the slippery concrete and began to laboriously get the stuck wheels unfixed, Vadim cast a tense look around the dim room. Something wasn't right. A tension that wasn't usually there had appeared, like a cold dark hand grabbing his throat and throttling him.
Vadim started as he thought he saw something shift in the shadows. Sweat began to bead on the back of his neck and face. His hand reached hesitantly for the old Tokarev that hung from his belt, its metal body glistening dully in the weak electric light.
"Jesus...what the fuck?", he heard Seriozha say. His colleague was standing up, the task at hand completely forgotten. Vadim felt his stomach turn to ice when he saw the fear in Seriozha's brown eyes.
"I don't know what it is, but something's wrong here. Let's just forget about this fucking power plant and get the hell out of here", said Vadim, his voice almost getting squeezed out of his throat.
"Yes, let's", said Seriozha before heading for the staircase, his boots squeaking.
And suddenly, a large shadow obscured the room for an instant. There was the tinkle and pop of a lightbulb breaking and total darkness engulfed the room. Vadim's heart almost exploded in his chest and he heard his colleague curse repeatedly, his voice small and pathetic, like that of a frightened child. Trying hard to keep his hand steady, Vadim took his pistol out of its holster, feeling its comforting weight and shape in his hand.
"Okay, don't move", he whispered, "let me just get my lantern out..."
As Vadim fumbled one-handed for the lantern he carried on his belt, his nose was assailed by a particularly disgusting smell. Trying hard not to retch, Vadim unhooked the lantern. What on earth was this smell? It was as if someone had dragged a rotting corpse into the room. Maybe a rat had died somewhere...?
There was a snuffling noise, followed by a low threatening growl. Vadim fumbled for the switch on the lantern and flicked it, causing the weak lightbulb within to flicker slowly to life. The light was so weak it barely illuminated the area immediately around the two engineers, but it didn't fail to reveal the three pairs of shining eyes on the other side of the room.
"Ohhh fuck", wheezed Zeriozha, "Snouts!"
There was a high-pitched roar, almost a scream, and Vadim was knocked over by a stunningly violent blow to his stomach. His lantern fell to the floor and rolled into the water, its light dying out instantly. Tears ran down Vadim's cheeks, tears of raw terror. Where was his pistol? The room echoed hellishly as Seriozha screamed, his screams punctuated by ugly tearing noises and growls.
The bastards were eating him alive.
Breathing raggedly, his hands slick with sweat and filth, Vadim finally found his pistol and snatched it up. But just as he was about to raise the weapon and shoot, he felt something powerful, jagged and sharp clamp down on his throat. He tried to scream, but the force and the pain crushed any attempt at doing so. He felt the warm rank breath of the Nosalis on his face. The creature hoisted him up, grunted and shook its head like a dog shaking a stick. Vadim's life crashed into eternal darkness as he felt his neck break and blood run warmly and wetly from his torn throat.
Meanwhile, at Sevastopolskaya:
"All right everyone, get aboard! We're leaving now!" barked the caravan leader, his Bastard cradled in his dirty hands. Balalaika swore through her mouthful of dried mushroom and rat meat and hastily grabbed her rucksack and shortened Kalash. "Balalaika, you lazy whore, get your shit together!", barked the caravan leader.
"Yeah, yeah", muttered Balalaika after swallowing her crude meal. She'd been eating rat meat and dried mushroom for so long she'd forgotten what everything else tasted like. Her mouth was constantly filled with a nasty dull taste, like cardboard. Panting and cursing through her teeth, she hoisted her meagre frame up into the crude cart, sitting down next to an ancient Soviet machine-gun manned by an equally ancient caravan guard. The man looked so old Balalaika was sure he'd served in the Red Army that Red Liners used to squawk about so much.
The Red Line...she felt a pang of regret as she thought of her old home and her old job. Sure it had been unpleasant and she'd never been truly safe from being denounced or back-stabbed, but she'd always had regular meals and steady pay. Now she was covered in so much debt she would probably have to work her hands to the bone to repay it, or do as people said: sell her body. Balalaika chuckled wryly at the thought. Nobody would want something as dirty, scrawny and beat up as her. It would be like humping an old sack filled with bones.
The usual flow of Ukrainian cursing erupted as Chump, the caravan's mechanic, tried to start the railcar's motor. The accursed thing sputtered and coughed, occasionally releasing foul clouds of acrid grey smoke into Chump's ruddy face. Balalaika chuckled and settled in. It would probably take an hour before the motor started. She took the opportunity to finish her miserable meal, shoving another handful of shrivelled mushrooms and leathery rat meat into her mouth.
And suddenly, the lights in the station flickered and went off. Balalaika blinked, her half-chewed meal still in her mouth.
"Whafuck?", she said through her food. People were shouting and swearing, a few torches and oil lamps were brought to life, bringing some light to Sevastopolskaya. There was the clanking noise of heavily armed and equipped men thundering down the platform.
"Something bad's going on", said the machine-gunner next to her after lighting the lantern that hung from the side of the cart.
"Obviously", said Balalaika, swallowing her bland food while observing what was going on around her. A tall man with a Duplet in his hands strode over to the caravan and began talking to the leader. The leader seemed outraged at what the Duplet man was telling him.
"Okay everyone, I've just been told that Sevastopolskaya is on lockdown. Something went wrong in the tunnels and they don't want anyone leaving the station until the problem's been sorted out."
"What?!", spluttered Balalaika, "but what about our fucking pay? We'll only get paid once we get back to the Ring Line!"
"It'll have to wait, I'm afraid. Nobody's leaving this damned place until the Sevastopolskayans give the go ahead."
"Fucking shithouse", swore Balalaika before hopping down from the railcar. "I'm going to see what the fuck all this is about."
She strode off down the platform, her hobnailed boots clattering loudly, her dirty black ponytail bobbing up and down. She went past a group of frightened-looking civilians just as weapons were being handed out by a group of soldiers. She even saw children as young as twelve being given pistols and knives. Balalaika went up to a soldier and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Yeah?", said the soldier, turning round to look at the small woman.
"What the hell is going on?", said Balalaika, "I'm with a trading caravan and we've been forbidden to leave the station. Why?"
"In case you haven't noticed", said the guard sarcastically, "the lights have failed. We've also had reports of large numbers of mutants attacking and overruning our underground power plants, and our leaders are shitting themselves. This could be the biggest mutant attack we've ever faced and we don't even have electricity."
"Mutants...? Bloody fucking hell!"
As if to back up the guard's words, the savage sound of gunfire erupted from the Southern tunnel, the tunnel that all Sevastopolskayans were taught to dread and hate, the tunnel that regularly vomited hordes of mutated monstrosities. Balalaika shook her head in disbelief. She was stuck in a station in a state of crisis and where they could be overrun by mutants at any moment.
"Okay. Where do I sign up for defensive work? I know how to shoot and fight, and I fucking hate sitting around doing nothing when there's an enemy trying to creep up our asses."
The soldier smiled and pointed at an old information desk that had been converted into an ammunition trading post. "Go there and say you're volunteering to defend the station. They'll lend you gear. Say you're a mercenary and they'll pay you once it's all over."
An hour later, Balalaika found herself with a group of other soldiers marching into the dark Southern tunnel. She'd been given leather armour and some old Soviet webbing to carry her equipment, and she'd also been given a steel helmet (which was too big for her). With that she'd also been given grenades and ammunition. The group marched on into the darkness, everyone switching their headlamps on as it got darker. Finally they reached the outer defensive outpost, which looked like it had fought off a particularly serious attack. Three men were being carried back to the station wrapped in bloody bandages, and soldiers were busy shifting the ugly corpses of Nosalises off their sandbag walls. The man leading the group shouted at everyone to take up defensive positions, and Balalaika found herself standing behind a crude concrete wall tipped with steel spikes. Next to her were a bunch of heavily armed Sevastopolskayans, who ignored her utterly. Balalaika turned to face the dark expanse of the tunnel before her and lapsed into a grim silence.
"What a fucking mess", she muttered before taking some rat jerky out of her webbing and chewing on it morosely.
The dripping of water trickling through cracks in the walls and ceiling filled the ancient service tunnel with crystalline noise. Mold had grown in large patches over various parts of the tunnel and rooms, making walking a somewhat slippery business. Vadim swore as he stepped in a viscous pile of grey mush, the tools in his carpet bag clanking as he came to an abrupt stop.
"How many times has this fucking power plant failed this week?", he said, his voice echoeing wetly through the narrow service tunnel. His colleague, Seriozha, turned around, his bright yellow rubber raincoat glistening from all the water that had dripped onto it.
"About three times", he said, not taking into account the sarcasm and annoyance in his collague's voice, "the humidity keeps making the moving parts rust and break."
"And every time that happens, I lose time spent with my wife and I have to go down past the hermetic doors. I fucking hate this", grumbled Vadim.
"Don't worry, we have an escort. Besides, it'll only take us a few minutes to replace the parts that broke."
"Yeah right."
The two Sevastopolskayan engineers finally entered a large and very humid room. Water ran in steady streams down the moldy walls, and the steel staircase leading into the room was slippery and red with rust. In the middle of the room was a small canal of sorts through which dirty water ran. The hydroelectric plant, a small metal and plastic thing arching over the water and dotted with rust and slimy lichen, was right in the middle of that canal. Seriozha gave the plant a quick glance and was displeased to see that the wheels had stopped turning, having been clogged up with filth and rust.
"Same as before", grumbled Vadim as they cautiously went down the stairs. The room was illuminated by a single dingy lightbulb that made shadows seem bigger and more terrifying than they should be. Fumbling for his tools, Vadim glanced uneasily around him, ignoring the steady crackling noise his old dosimetre was emitting. The water running through here was radioactive, and Vadim kept wondering regular exposure to it would affect him. Cancer and malformation were common things in the Metro, and he and his wife had been thinking of having children...
"Hey, Vadim, stay sharp or we'll never finish this job", snapped Seriozha with unusual irritation. Vadim shook his head, dissipating his worried reverie and handed Seriozha some tools. As Seriozha kneeled down on the slippery concrete and began to laboriously get the stuck wheels unfixed, Vadim cast a tense look around the dim room. Something wasn't right. A tension that wasn't usually there had appeared, like a cold dark hand grabbing his throat and throttling him.
Vadim started as he thought he saw something shift in the shadows. Sweat began to bead on the back of his neck and face. His hand reached hesitantly for the old Tokarev that hung from his belt, its metal body glistening dully in the weak electric light.
"Jesus...what the fuck?", he heard Seriozha say. His colleague was standing up, the task at hand completely forgotten. Vadim felt his stomach turn to ice when he saw the fear in Seriozha's brown eyes.
"I don't know what it is, but something's wrong here. Let's just forget about this fucking power plant and get the hell out of here", said Vadim, his voice almost getting squeezed out of his throat.
"Yes, let's", said Seriozha before heading for the staircase, his boots squeaking.
And suddenly, a large shadow obscured the room for an instant. There was the tinkle and pop of a lightbulb breaking and total darkness engulfed the room. Vadim's heart almost exploded in his chest and he heard his colleague curse repeatedly, his voice small and pathetic, like that of a frightened child. Trying hard to keep his hand steady, Vadim took his pistol out of its holster, feeling its comforting weight and shape in his hand.
"Okay, don't move", he whispered, "let me just get my lantern out..."
As Vadim fumbled one-handed for the lantern he carried on his belt, his nose was assailed by a particularly disgusting smell. Trying hard not to retch, Vadim unhooked the lantern. What on earth was this smell? It was as if someone had dragged a rotting corpse into the room. Maybe a rat had died somewhere...?
There was a snuffling noise, followed by a low threatening growl. Vadim fumbled for the switch on the lantern and flicked it, causing the weak lightbulb within to flicker slowly to life. The light was so weak it barely illuminated the area immediately around the two engineers, but it didn't fail to reveal the three pairs of shining eyes on the other side of the room.
"Ohhh fuck", wheezed Zeriozha, "Snouts!"
There was a high-pitched roar, almost a scream, and Vadim was knocked over by a stunningly violent blow to his stomach. His lantern fell to the floor and rolled into the water, its light dying out instantly. Tears ran down Vadim's cheeks, tears of raw terror. Where was his pistol? The room echoed hellishly as Seriozha screamed, his screams punctuated by ugly tearing noises and growls.
The bastards were eating him alive.
Breathing raggedly, his hands slick with sweat and filth, Vadim finally found his pistol and snatched it up. But just as he was about to raise the weapon and shoot, he felt something powerful, jagged and sharp clamp down on his throat. He tried to scream, but the force and the pain crushed any attempt at doing so. He felt the warm rank breath of the Nosalis on his face. The creature hoisted him up, grunted and shook its head like a dog shaking a stick. Vadim's life crashed into eternal darkness as he felt his neck break and blood run warmly and wetly from his torn throat.
Meanwhile, at Sevastopolskaya:
"All right everyone, get aboard! We're leaving now!" barked the caravan leader, his Bastard cradled in his dirty hands. Balalaika swore through her mouthful of dried mushroom and rat meat and hastily grabbed her rucksack and shortened Kalash. "Balalaika, you lazy whore, get your shit together!", barked the caravan leader.
"Yeah, yeah", muttered Balalaika after swallowing her crude meal. She'd been eating rat meat and dried mushroom for so long she'd forgotten what everything else tasted like. Her mouth was constantly filled with a nasty dull taste, like cardboard. Panting and cursing through her teeth, she hoisted her meagre frame up into the crude cart, sitting down next to an ancient Soviet machine-gun manned by an equally ancient caravan guard. The man looked so old Balalaika was sure he'd served in the Red Army that Red Liners used to squawk about so much.
The Red Line...she felt a pang of regret as she thought of her old home and her old job. Sure it had been unpleasant and she'd never been truly safe from being denounced or back-stabbed, but she'd always had regular meals and steady pay. Now she was covered in so much debt she would probably have to work her hands to the bone to repay it, or do as people said: sell her body. Balalaika chuckled wryly at the thought. Nobody would want something as dirty, scrawny and beat up as her. It would be like humping an old sack filled with bones.
The usual flow of Ukrainian cursing erupted as Chump, the caravan's mechanic, tried to start the railcar's motor. The accursed thing sputtered and coughed, occasionally releasing foul clouds of acrid grey smoke into Chump's ruddy face. Balalaika chuckled and settled in. It would probably take an hour before the motor started. She took the opportunity to finish her miserable meal, shoving another handful of shrivelled mushrooms and leathery rat meat into her mouth.
And suddenly, the lights in the station flickered and went off. Balalaika blinked, her half-chewed meal still in her mouth.
"Whafuck?", she said through her food. People were shouting and swearing, a few torches and oil lamps were brought to life, bringing some light to Sevastopolskaya. There was the clanking noise of heavily armed and equipped men thundering down the platform.
"Something bad's going on", said the machine-gunner next to her after lighting the lantern that hung from the side of the cart.
"Obviously", said Balalaika, swallowing her bland food while observing what was going on around her. A tall man with a Duplet in his hands strode over to the caravan and began talking to the leader. The leader seemed outraged at what the Duplet man was telling him.
"Okay everyone, I've just been told that Sevastopolskaya is on lockdown. Something went wrong in the tunnels and they don't want anyone leaving the station until the problem's been sorted out."
"What?!", spluttered Balalaika, "but what about our fucking pay? We'll only get paid once we get back to the Ring Line!"
"It'll have to wait, I'm afraid. Nobody's leaving this damned place until the Sevastopolskayans give the go ahead."
"Fucking shithouse", swore Balalaika before hopping down from the railcar. "I'm going to see what the fuck all this is about."
She strode off down the platform, her hobnailed boots clattering loudly, her dirty black ponytail bobbing up and down. She went past a group of frightened-looking civilians just as weapons were being handed out by a group of soldiers. She even saw children as young as twelve being given pistols and knives. Balalaika went up to a soldier and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Yeah?", said the soldier, turning round to look at the small woman.
"What the hell is going on?", said Balalaika, "I'm with a trading caravan and we've been forbidden to leave the station. Why?"
"In case you haven't noticed", said the guard sarcastically, "the lights have failed. We've also had reports of large numbers of mutants attacking and overruning our underground power plants, and our leaders are shitting themselves. This could be the biggest mutant attack we've ever faced and we don't even have electricity."
"Mutants...? Bloody fucking hell!"
As if to back up the guard's words, the savage sound of gunfire erupted from the Southern tunnel, the tunnel that all Sevastopolskayans were taught to dread and hate, the tunnel that regularly vomited hordes of mutated monstrosities. Balalaika shook her head in disbelief. She was stuck in a station in a state of crisis and where they could be overrun by mutants at any moment.
"Okay. Where do I sign up for defensive work? I know how to shoot and fight, and I fucking hate sitting around doing nothing when there's an enemy trying to creep up our asses."
The soldier smiled and pointed at an old information desk that had been converted into an ammunition trading post. "Go there and say you're volunteering to defend the station. They'll lend you gear. Say you're a mercenary and they'll pay you once it's all over."
An hour later, Balalaika found herself with a group of other soldiers marching into the dark Southern tunnel. She'd been given leather armour and some old Soviet webbing to carry her equipment, and she'd also been given a steel helmet (which was too big for her). With that she'd also been given grenades and ammunition. The group marched on into the darkness, everyone switching their headlamps on as it got darker. Finally they reached the outer defensive outpost, which looked like it had fought off a particularly serious attack. Three men were being carried back to the station wrapped in bloody bandages, and soldiers were busy shifting the ugly corpses of Nosalises off their sandbag walls. The man leading the group shouted at everyone to take up defensive positions, and Balalaika found herself standing behind a crude concrete wall tipped with steel spikes. Next to her were a bunch of heavily armed Sevastopolskayans, who ignored her utterly. Balalaika turned to face the dark expanse of the tunnel before her and lapsed into a grim silence.
"What a fucking mess", she muttered before taking some rat jerky out of her webbing and chewing on it morosely.