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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 2, 2011 22:55:00 GMT -5
Tulskaya station, Ring Line:
A short woman stood on the platform of Tulskaya station, dumping her backpack on the worn concrete floor and looking around her wearily. The woman was none other than Anastasia Malenkov, AKA Balalaika. She'd come all the way from Borovitskaya, Polis, following the line that lead through the abandoned station of Polyanka and through the stations of Dobrininskaya and Serpukhovskaya. Getting through the many control points had been complicated, as the Hansa had recently tightened its border policy. Weapons tended to be confiscated, which was why Balalaika carried a Helsing, a compact air-powered spear gun. It was easy to hide in her backpack, and guards tended to be rather lazy when inspecting the belongings of a known stalker.
Balalaika looked for the nearest trader stand. She had a carpet bag stuffed with various valuables she had collected from the surface, and she wanted to sell them. Evidently, she would have preferred to go to Kitai Gorod to sell her finds, but good relations with the Hansa were like mushroom farming. They needed regular tending, and the best tending was selling her finds to them. Her eyes saw a trader sitting at one end of the platform, various objects spread out before him on a woven rug. Balalaika went over to him and crouched down, starting a conversation.
"I have some stuff that you might find interesting", said Balalaika as she opened her carpet bag. The trader leaned forward, putting on an old pair of glasses. Balalaika pulled out a few lengths of copper pipe as well as some pornographic magazines. The latter were unsurprisingly popular in the metro, and were a good way to earn a few bullets if one didn't find any valuable materials on the surface.
The trader seemed more interested in the smut mags than the pipes. "Fifty bullets for the lot", he said, tapping his finger on the magazines.
"-Sixty", said Balalaika.
"-Fifty-five", said the trader.
"-Fifty-seven", answered Balalaika, unrelenting.
"-Deal."
A few minutes later, Balalaika pocketed her fifty bullets. What could she do now? Tulskaya didn't have that much to offer except a small, measly bar. Since the Hansa had outlawed shroom sale and consumption on its territory, getting hold of the stuff in its stations had become nigh impossible, although a small border station like Tulskaya might have a dealer somewhere.
In the end, Balalaika decided to go the bar and get a few drinks into her system. She set off towards the drinking establishment, her heavy, hobnailed boots clunking noisily on the concrete as she walked.
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Post by Roj Makhnovsk on Feb 3, 2011 0:01:25 GMT -5
A tall, rugged man of no particular importance promptly sat down on a chair in what was formerly a metro lounge, and currently a crowded Hanse bar. The middle-aged bartender turned instinctively to him, and, while cleaning a somewhat broken glass with a towel, asked him what he fancied.
"Vodka."
The man, whom often refered to himself as Roj, replied blankly. The awful beverage was all he could afford right now. He had moments ago blown most of his spare cartidges on provisions, a new jacket, and a few luckless games of blackjack. Soon, he would have to reluctantly do some odd jobs, get paid the minimum, then he would spread what little money he had earned as thin and far as he could, before repeating the process. He may of loved exploring the metro and living like a vagabond, but at times he sure as hell hated it.
A scratched, plastic cup was placed in front of Roj, and the strong-smelling liquid soon followed. Reluctantly, he sipped the bitter beverage. Better to have a buzz than to not and be dehydrated, at least.
"-So, where are you from?" He heard the bartender ask. "You don't look like a Hanse, and I don't recall seeing you around here before..."
And so the conversation began.
"-I'm from Prospekt Mir," Roj lied. He figured that, generally, most people would not respond well to a native of a fascist station. "I am a trader. I left to go bring some, er, 'items' to Tulskaya. And to, you know, find my fortune." That's what I tell everybody.
"-'Find your fortune', eh?"
"-Da. But, I lost it. I'm not very good at the blackjack table."
The bartender appeared amused. His face relaxed into a smile.
"-Well," He started speaking quieter, as though he feared someone would over-hear him. "If you give me a cartidge or two I could, say, point you in the direction of another fortune."
This guy's not merely amused, Roj immediately realised. He's a fucking con artist.
Normally, Roj would have simply walked away upon having this realisation, however, something made him stay... perhaps sheer curiousity.
"-Oh, really?" He tried to act as though he had fell for it. "And what sort of fortune is this?"
The con's smile widened. "-Five cartidges."
"-What?" "-In my hand, five cartidges, and you'll know where to get your fortune."
Roj thoughtlessly handed the man five cartidges. Curiousity had bested his instincts. Did I just-- god damn it. 'Fucking sucker' is what this bastard must be thinking right now. His smile growing slightly wider, the man made a gesture to the map of the Moscow Metropolitan behind him.
"-See that map, son? The majority of the stations on this line are completely untouched. That's correct: touched by neither mutants nor Hansa. One could easily just go down there and..."
Although he kept talking, Roj stopped listening. He already know what the bartender was trying to say. Abandoned... untouched... It sounds like a perfect place to loot. Stalkers, Roj had once heard, made very good money selling whatever they looted from the surface to metro vendors. Of course, the money was only barely worth it: stalking is very dangerous. The threat of death and radiation poisoning are everyday matters for stalkers. But, take away those worries and place the setting in an area as convenient as the metro itself and... heh, I could make a lot of easy money off of this. But, how do I know if I can trust him? And surely there are mutants in those stations. The only reason inhabitated ones lack mutants is because they were all cleared out by firepower...
He pondered these thoughts while staring expressionlessly at his cup of vodka, unaware that the bartender was still ranting on how genius his advice had been.
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 3, 2011 6:45:29 GMT -5
Balalaika stomped into the bar, her entrance eliciting a few glances from the local patrons. These glances lingered, as none of them seemed used to seeing a woman in the gear of a stalker or a merchant, which was understandable since women were often assigned to more traditional roles down here in the metro. Balalaika walked through the bar to the counter, where the bartender was talking to a dark-skinned man with dreadlocks. She sat atop a rather rickety stool and interrupted the barman's soliloquy.
"Oi, bartender, get us some vodka", she said. The Hansa were the only ones able to make real vodka instead of the foul mushroom moonshine other stations produced. The barman put a tin mug down on the worn wooden counter and filled it with vodka. Balalaika didn't even bother with smelling the stuff or looking at it, as she gulped some down almost immediately. She shook her head slightly and clapped a hand on her knee as the alcohol burned its way down.
"I swear I'll probably drink myself to death one of these days", she said before clearing her throat. She then turned to look at the dark-skinned man, who seemed to be deep in thought.
"Hey, I don't remember seeing you here before. You new to this station?", asked Balalaika. Evidently, she seldom went to this station, since she spent most of her time on more important Ring Line stations or Polis. This meant she was not particularly familiar with the local residents, and this question was nothing more than an attempt to engage in conversation.
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Post by Roj Makhnovsk on Feb 3, 2011 10:58:11 GMT -5
"Hey, I don't remember seeing you here before. You new to this station?"
His thoughts were interupted by a feminine voice, which belonged to a fellow patron seated just next to him. Taking another sip of vodka, he nonchalantly turned to her. Her appearance was... interesting. Unlike most females in the metro, whom were stereotypically seen as being weak, gentle beings with pretty hair and face, she looked tough; like she could take care of herself just fine with a Kalashnikov. Buzz cut, military fatigues, and... is that a facial scar? Hell, she could pass as a stalker.
Not a sexist, Roj expressed no surprise to her appearance, as his other patrons quite seldom did. Instead, he merely nodded at the woman, and said,
"-Yes, I suppose I am new. I'm from up north: Prospekt Mir. Comrades call me 'Roj'." He extended his hand. "I came here for, eh, monetary reasons, you could say. What about you? You don't look like a Hanse."
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 3, 2011 13:32:02 GMT -5
"I'm my own boss", said Balalaika with a smile before shaking Roj's hand. "Although I do business mostly with the Hansa, since they pay me the most. Call me Balalaika."
She took another swig of vodka from her tin cup and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She suddenly noticed that she was hungry, which wasn't surprising since she hadn't eaten since she'd left Borovitskaya.
"Barman, have any dried sausage?", she asked. The barman obliged and set the food down on the counter, for a cosy of two bullets. Balalaika drew the sausage to herself and took her bayonet out of its sheath before cutting the pig meat into thick slices and stuffing a few into her mouth.
"Bloody hell, I was starving", she said. "Chewing dried mushrooms keeps it down, but not forever."
She stuffed two more slices into her mouth before wondering out loud:
"I've never been further South along this line. My job has more to do with going to the surface anyway...any idea as to what there is beyond this station?"
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Post by Roj Makhnovsk on Feb 3, 2011 14:17:40 GMT -5
Roj nodded, feeling a strange mixture of glee and surprise. The surface? Perhaps she is a stalker. And in that case...
"I have heard stories." He swiftly downed the cup of vodka, then continued. "Supposeably, the entire line south of here is uninhabitated. Utterly. 'Touched by neither humans nor mutants'." He mockingly quoted the bartender.
"Sounds like a load of shit, though, in my prospective." He seldom need to explain why: mutants were widespread and espically more common in unpopulated lines, and Hansa constantly suffered from over-population. Why would Hansa not expand further south? It made little sense.
It is noteworthy to add, however, that --despite this logic-- Hansa still hasn't expanded...
Roj's dialogue was slowly making him realise that perhaps he wasn't quite as conned as he had thought he was, although he was still skeptical on the prospect of going anywhere in the metro with no mutants encontoured whatsoever, espically on an unoccupied line. He would like to have had a few more lonesome minutes to think of this, but nonetheless, he still felt the urge to keep the conversation alive.
"Eh, nevertheless, any particular reason why you wanted to know?" He asked Balalaika. "And are you, like, a stalker or something?" He added, curiously examining her attire.
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 3, 2011 15:11:16 GMT -5
"No mutants eh?", said Balalaika, raising an eyebrow. "Not that unlikely. See, there's this tunnel that runs between your station, Prospekt Mira, and Chistie Prudy. It's completely fucking clean. No mutants, nothing! But that's where you notice there really is nothing, as in, not even rats. And when there are no rats, it means it's time for you to start worrying."
She picked up her cup and finished it off.
"And that tunnel is not a good place. People who go in it alone never come out, while those who in a group do. It's strange. I went through there a couple of times, always with other people, and saw nothing strange there. Just a nice, quiet tunnel. And yet, people still disappear there..."
The bartender served her another dollop of vodka that Balalaika attacked with gusto.
"Dunno really. Just wanted to know out of curiosity. And yeah, I'm a stalker of sorts."
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Post by Roj Makhnovsk on Feb 3, 2011 19:46:44 GMT -5
Roj raised an eyebrow. People go into threatless tunnels, and never return, except if they are travelling within a group? With no rats, bandits, or mutants, what else is there to fear? Roj may have seen his share of the metro, but he was completely unaware of whatever mystical occurances may be found. He always had the tendency to label cult-like stories as, "bull shit".
After asking the bartender for a cup of water, he responded to Balalaika: "I don't seem to understand; if there is nothing there, what is there to fear? The dark?"
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 3, 2011 20:14:02 GMT -5
"Oh, the fact that people have disappeared of course", said Balalaika. It was rather self-evident. "Nobody wants to vanish like that. Who knows what happens to those people who vanish? Maybe they get eaten, like some of the guys in the tunnel between Tretiakovskaya and the Ring Line."
Balalaika took another swig of vodka.
"And well, I've been trudging around the metro for a while, and let me tell you, when there are no rats, it means something nasty is around. It could be anything. Mutants, toxins in the air...but it's bound to be bad, because rats sense that kind of stuff before we do. If they avoid a place, it means something about it is scaring them away completely, and rats are bold and clever little bastards."
She stabbed a slice of dried sausage with her bayonet and pulled it off with her teeth before adding:
"Hmm, I've eaten rat a few times. The Muslims can't eat pig. Not allowed. So they cook rat meat instead. Pretty damn good for rat meat. They cook it to make it really tender, and they add spices and stuff to it. Really good. But yeah, rats. Here, let me tell you about the Great Library, up on the surface. I've been there four times, and every time I went I saw no rats.
"That's because the place is crawling with dangerous mutants the people at Polis call librarians. The rats are scared of these beasties, so they avoid the place where those things live. Same thing in the tunnel. Rats are your best danger detector in the metro. So. Those stations to the South. Has anyone ever been down there before?"
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Post by blackpapermoon on Feb 3, 2011 20:37:10 GMT -5
Yuras sighed reluctantly, he had hoped to find a new way to the surface in the southern part of the metro, he had hoped that he could use it to gain access to the untouched "virgin" parts of the dead metropolis. Yet all he found was an uninhabited station. Of course he only went as far as the first station after Tulskaya, before turning around he dared not proceed any farther on his own. There was something not right about that tunnel, there where absolutely no signs of life human or other wise. Even the rats the most fearless creatures in the metro where absent, he was not superstitious or easily frightened for that matter but that station made his hair stand on end and his blood run cold.
He hated traveling through the metro's dark, humid tunnels. The labyrinth of underground networks where full of strange phenomenon that defied both logic and science, unbelievable and dangerous. He would rather be locked up in the Great Library full of its hideous and bloodthirsty inhabitance then continue any farther down that line. Finally making his way back to the little backwater station he headed straight for the shabby bar. After ordering some of the Hansa made liquor, he pulled out a bag containing a kind of pork jerky and began to gnaw at it only half listening to the conversation next to him. If he had been paying more attention he would have recognized the woman who was siting new to the dark skinned man.
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Post by Roj Makhnovsk on Feb 3, 2011 21:49:03 GMT -5
This woman is really making me think. Roj thought, always philosophical.
"Not to my knowledge." He said between mouthfuls of water. "Perhaps it is like the situation you described, with the rats: people are too afraid to go down there. Fear of the unknown, perhaps? Xenophobia has its toll on everyone.
"But, still, at the very least, I suppose it would be quite likely that some desparate, stalker-esque bastards were to have gone down there to strip the stations of anything useful, then quietly returned. Hell, that was what I was planning to do. That is, until you gave me an education in stalking; now I feel rather paranoid." He ended his sentence with another mouthful of water.
As he briefly thought about what Balalaika had said, he realised that everything the bartender had stated made perfect sense. Nobody went down there because they were afraid of something. Something horrible enough to frighten away the powerful Hansa. But still, this did not kill Roj's love of adventure, nor the fact that he was broke and had few other options.
"...Yet, I am still very curious to discover what is actually down there. Stories of fiction can only tell so much." He had originally wanted to leave solo and take his chances as an amateur survivalist, but if he had a stalker's assistance... Why not imply that she should join me as well?
He flashed an arragont smile.
"I suppose there is only one way to answer our questions, eh?"
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 5, 2011 14:47:18 GMT -5
"I bet", said Balalaika, finishing her vodka with one last gulp. "Best thing to do would be to go South and see for ourselves."
She got off her stool and stumbled slightly, the alcohol having gone to her head quite quickly. She was a fast and hard drinker, who didn't give a fuck about things like "taste". She stomped towards the bar's exit, but her attention was caught by a man sitting in a corner. He looked very familiar, and it took Balalaika a few minutes to recognise him.
"Well, look who we have here", she said, going over to Ferret's table and leaning on it. "It's old Yuras. Still doing errands for your wifey?"
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Post by blackpapermoon on Feb 7, 2011 12:09:53 GMT -5
“Funny seeing you here Anastasia,” Yuras said as he looked up at the woman; he was rather surprised to find her this far in the south, “I’m starting to worry where else you may pop up…anyway it probably a good thing that you just happened to be here.”
Reaching down he dug into his bag and pulled out a weathered old notebook and that a peculiar reddish-brown satin on the cover. Opening the book he showed it to her, the page was filled with the names.
“I got this from a skinhead,” he said in a whisper, “The fascists are playing a new game, they are going after stalkers and scavengers now. They have our names highlighted, so next time you go up keep an eye out for any two legged scum.”
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 7, 2011 13:09:22 GMT -5
"Huh", said Balalaika, unimpressed by Ferret's news. She only felt a vague pang of anxiety as he told her about the Fourth Reich's new targets, after all, the KGB was after her already, so she was used to being chased by the metro's authoritarian regimes. "They must be rather bored to go after people like me."
She straightened and looked back at Roj, who was still sitting at the bar.
"C'mon, Roj, do you want to go explore those Southern stations or not?"
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Post by Roj Makhnovsk on Feb 12, 2011 16:25:31 GMT -5
"Of course. It's seldom necessary to ask me twice."
Roj responded, before leaving his seat and joining Balalaika. "Is this guy a friend of yours?" He asked, looking at the new-comer with a blank expression. He mentioned fascists... "And what's this shit about those fascist mother fuckers?" Roj added, sounding quite hard. He never hid his hatred of fascists quite well; they always brought back cold memories of Pushkinskaya.
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