Mikhail "Misha" Turgenev

Hanza

Posts
115
Last visited
September 27, 2020
Player
AnOriginalAccountNam

Custom Fields

Playby
Aleksandr Kayandovskiy
Age
34
Occupation/Rank
Stalker

Character Information

Born in October of 2005, Mikhail "Misha" Turgenev was almost 9 when the world ended and his family sought shelter in the Metro at Mendeleyevskaya, a station that would later become part of Hansa. Over the next twenty years, Misha would live the life more or less expected of someone living in the Moscow metro, taking care of pigs and chickens, and farming mushrooms all the while Mendeleyevskaya continued to slowly flood. Despite the circumstances and despite knowing how lucky he was to live in a Hansa station, Misha continued to dream of going back to the surface, by 2021 he would begin to save up all the bullets he could, buying his first Kalash in 2023, and by 2025 he bought a radiation suit. In 2026 he was finally prepared to go on his first trip to the surface. Despite nearly being carried off by a demon, nearly eaten alive by watchmen soon after and losing most of what he had scavenged, Misha returned back to Mendeleyevskaya happier then he ever had been since before the war, and despite protests from his parents who wanted something of a regular life for him he would continue to be a stalker for Mendeleyevskaya. By 2029 the station was still falling apart and flooding, and his parents were dead from a tuberculosis outbreak, due to this he decided it was time to move on, he would begin to become a freelance stalker, working at and for numerous stations and parties all along the ring line, heading further south with each job and by late 2029 he would take up residence at another Hansa station, this time in the south; Serpukhovskaya.

Ever since moving to the station, Misha has been continuing his career as a stalker, as well as getting involved with the more shaddy elements of those in the southern portion of Hansa.

He would meet one of these shaddy elements in the summer of 2031, when he met a former guard from the Arbat Confederation named Gregory "Grischa" Blok, an elderly man who had made numerous connections with the black market in various stations in Moscow and it's many gang controlled stations as well, and would be one of the many reasons for Misha's continued descent into the metro's criminal underworld.

Misha and Grischa would become partners for a few years, moving between the Arbat Confederation and Serpukhovskaya constantly, taking numerous stalking jobs and moving their goods through Hansa and occasionally into parts of the Redline, such as the armory but the two would mostly stick to either Hansa, Polis (very rarely) or other independent stations, it was in early 2036, at the independent station of Savelovskaya that the two partners would meet a redline refugee who had survived a protest gone wrong in 2035, a woman named Yekaterina Antipina, otherwise known as Katya; who much like Grischa, would continue to get Misha into trouble with authorities.
Possible Plots

Possible Plot 1 Trapped in the dead city: In a mission gone wrong, Misha has been trapped in the dead city, running low on filters and with the radiation beginning to damage his suit it is a race against time to get back to Serpukhovskaya, all the while trying to find ways to not get eaten or run out of clean air, or go insane from the ghosts in the city. Along the way he will meet other Stalkers in the city who either might help or impede his attempt to escape.

.(More to come maybe?)

Possible Plot 3: Deal Gone Wrong (Something of a sequel (both literally and thematically) to Trapped in the Dead City for those interested) The stations around the southern portion of Hansa such as Katay-Gorod, Venice and the stations between Shabolovskaya and Novye Cheremushki are all known throughout the metro for being the center of crime, controlled by numerous bandit gangs, kingpins, drug and weapon dealers, smugglers and other members of the criminal underworld, any upstanding citizen of Hansa would never, officially, be caught dead here. Unofficially is another story. Hansa is quite lassie-faire when it comes to how money is made, some take this more literally, such as Misha and Misha has been offered the chance of a lifetime by an old friend of his to make some medicine from Oktyabraskaya disappear and to find its way to some Shabolovskaya. As expected not everything goes according to plan and Misha must shoot his way out of the technical tunnels where the deal was taking place and make his way back home, avoiding the authorities and the bandits trying to find him.

Topics I Participated In

Clock's Ticking

Started by Maksym Vasylchenko · August 15, 2020

Maksym's father had not been happy to see him leave, but it was what it was. He had things he had to do, and Timur could more than handle the shop with him gone.
For now, Maksym had men's work to do. Four spare magazines of 7.62mm ammo for his Mayak, three for his Nine, and the long knife he'd found at a shop in Venice. Combined with the old mask, compliments to Vadim, he was almost ready to go.
All that was left was time.
Maksim lifted the watch in front of his face, slowly turning the dial to the proper time. 5:30 A.M. The sun would be rising by the time they reached the surface. All was well, all was right. Throwing his rifle over his shoulder and placing his pistol inside the holster on his chest, Maksym secured the seal on his gas mask, and took a deep breath. He'd brought three spare filters in his pack. Hopefully he wouldn't need more than that.
He gave himself about 10 hours before he'd run out of clean air. He'd have to get this done quickly. That shouldn't be too difficult. With preparations complete, the Ukranian left the watchman's shop he'd called home many times over, and waited for his new employers. The halls of Polis were still mostly quiet... for now.
@AnOriginalAccountNam
Earning Forgiveness 2

Started by Gleb Borodin · August 9, 2020

@Morrigan @Dragon
----Two Weeks Ago-----
The caravan continued on into the darkness, the nearly burnt out lanterns gave them just enough light to see the rails that the railcarts glided across but beyond that it was pitch black, a sight they had all become accustomed to over the past few days. They had been traveling for about a little less than a week by this point. Day after day of moving around the redline, using maintenance tunnels long forgotten to time, bribing patrols and once they left the redline, fighting their way through bandits and mutants in the tunnel.
No one said it would be easy but this was worse than any of them had expected. Their caravan left the redline days ago with sixty people, now only twenty remained. Many of them were either injured, dehydrated, hungry, exhausted or all of the above. Many had wondered if they truly were marching off to a better life somewhere else in the metro and had not been tricked into a death march.
“Halt!” a male voice called out. Stefania raised her head and looked ahead, in front of them was a man in a hoodie with an AK in his hands, behind him were several more guards behind sandbags their machine guns and spotlights focused in on the caravan.
Are we finally here? She wondered. She was starting to get comfortable, as was her travelling companion. The trip had not been easy for someone as sick as him.
“…Are you Popov?” The caravan leader asked.
“I am.” The man replied a moment later and soon a sense of relief spread throughout what remained of the group as Popov walked over.
“Welcome everyone!” He said. “Welcome. Please, get your things, my men will help you inside.” He explained and as more soldiers walked ahead Popov, as Stefania had been told, went directly for her part of the caravan and stopped alongside their railcart.
“Mr. Antipin? Are you alright?” He asked. The old man had been resting on the floor of the railcart as best he could, he could barley walk and was perhaps the weakest out of the caravans people.
“I’ve been better…” He whispered and Popov nodded.
“Do you think you’re still up for what you discussed with Andrew?” He asked and Antipin managed to weakly shake his head. Andrew the Black Smith was the man who had helped them set up this caravan, a former weapons maker from the Armory turned smuggler, with people being what he and his friends, men such as Popov, would smuggle out of the Redline. They had been doing it for years from what Stefania had been told.
“No?” Popov asked.
“No…she will…” He muttered weakly. Stefania didn’t argue, they had agreed days ago.
“…Does she know your daughter?” He asked and Antipin nodded.
“We’re best friends…” Stefania explained.
“Do you know where Yekaterina is?” Antipin asked weakly.
“Not yet, but I’ve sent word to friends of mine.” Popov added. “They can find anyone, and quickly too. When we find her we’ll decide what to do next.”
---- One week Ago----
“Ah, Stefania; come in.” Popov said, holding the tent flaps aside and walking back behind his desk.
“So…did you do it, did you finally find her?” Stefania asked after taking a seat, hoping he would not be wasting her time again.
“I did.” Popov said and Stefania breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived.
“I have…good news and bad news though.” He explained. “Well bad news for a communist such as yourself.” He clarified then shrugged and continued “The good news is she is alive as you suspected, she made it out of the Redline and is alive; last my sources checked anyway and it was pretty recent too. A few days back in fact.” Popov explained, leaning back in his chair, and going through a cabinet nearby.
“Well…then what’s the bad news?”
“She’s not in an independent station or at Oberon as we had hoped. She’s at Serpukhovskaya—in Hansa.” Popov explained, finally finding the home-made map he had been looking for, unrolling it and pointing to a station, his index finger landing on a station just north of Hansa’s southernmost station of Tulskaya. While Popov had expected a more animated reaction, Stefania merely looked at the map in confusion.
“W…what is she doing there?” She asked
“Living her life, I presume. From what I have been told she’s been working as something of an assistant to a stalker, well two stalkers actually.” Popov began. “One of them…a Mikhail Turgenev seems to be her boyfriend in fact from what we’ve gathered.” Popov explained and Katya felt almost as if she had been punched in her stomach at the boyfriend part but she kept that to herself.
“She’s working for those…capitalists then? Living as one of them?” She almost spat out and Popov nodded.
“Tell me about these…men of hers.” Stefania asked.
“Well Mr. Turgenev is in something of a partner ship with a Gregory Blok, another stalker slash explorer from the Arbat Confederation who sort of moves between the Arbat and Serpukhovskaya every couple of days; they both scavenge from a neighborhood on the surface called The Dead City. Place is a nightmare but a gold mine for stalkers. When their not picking that place apart they go to other parts of the city as well; Mikhail from what I can tell is nothing special.” Popov said. “But Mr. Blok is, he’s actually rather infamous in both the Hansa and the Arbat and other locations as well.” Popov explained and once more Stefania was confused, but also concerned.
“A criminal?” She asked. “Is…is she with them willingly?” Stefania asked soon after, hoping she misunderstood.
“Blok is not a criminal" Popov said seriously, noticing her nervousness. "At least not officially. He keeps finding loopholes and hiring others to move things for him; we’ve even used him to get our weapons a while back actually but only through an intermediary at the armory. As far as I can tell he’s more of a weird combination of stalker, arms dealer and smuggler, but despite all of that from what I can tell he’s not violent unless need be--he’s not a murder essentially is what I'm saying--he’s not a kidnapper either; so I’m sure she’s there of her own volition.” Popov explained, trying to come off as reassuring.
Stefania stifled another breath of relief, still suspicious about these men of hers…at the same time at least they knew where she was, hopefully. After a few more moments of staring at the map in silence, remembering how far they’d have to travel she looked back up Popov.
“When can we head out?” She asked.
----Present Day------
It had been the better part of a week since Misha had been banned from entering Polis. In that time a wedge had been driving between the members of the family.
“Are you coming, Mr. Turgenev?” Grischa called from the platform, Misha forced down the urge the tell the old man to knock it off. He was in his tent, still getting his radiation suit on and his pack loaded, normally Katya would help or at the least make conversation as he got everything together but she was still giving him the cold shoulder…mostly. In the past few days she had began to talk again, look at him more, she was seemingly coming around but still pissed off all the same.
The same could not be said for Grischa, the old bastard had become all business, more so than usual, the usual chit-chat in between business ventures was gone, most of what could be considered corner stones of their friendship were gone. Grischa treated Misha more and more like a soldier everyday, and himself more like a commander.
Fine, if that’s how he wants it then fine…Misha thought, finishing with his radiation suit and quickly throwing everything into his pack, staring at Katya who just sat on their bed in silence. Misha sighed and grabbed his RPK and slung it over his shoulder and began to walk out.
“I’ll be back in a few hours he said.”
“Misha…” She muttered and he stopped, hoping she’d say something, accept his apology, ask to come with, anything.
“…Just…be careful, please?” She asked, while Misha was disappointed that it wasn’t more, he also felt he couldn’t complain. It was something at least. At least she still cared to some extent.
“I will.” Misha told her with a nod and then left, heading for the stations airlock.
“Finally.” Grischa said, to which Misha glared at him but the old man, unshakable as always, just moved on ahead as if the dirty look meant nothing at all and looked at the two other stalkers present, Adam and Vasha. Both had worked with Misha and Grischa before, but they normally operated independently. They would need the extra help this time though, and not just for what they had found up top a few days ago; but also due to the lack of trust between Misha and the old man.
“Everyone ready?” Grischa asked once more, getting affirmative replies from Adam and Vasha, and before Misha could even respond the old man turned back around to tell the station’s main airlock guard to open up the gate.
“Heard you basically got grounded last week?” Vasha whispered and gave a soft but devious chuckle.
“Shut up!” Misha almost shouted back, the noise of the airlock gate opening up muffling most of it.
“Alright, it’s open; get moving!” The guard ordered and the stalkers threw their gas masks on, activated their watches and made their way through the airlock which quickly closed behind them and they began their ascent up the decrepit escalators, up towards the surface.
----Meanwhile at Polis-----
“How much for the tent at the far end of the platform?” Gleb asked.
“That one…ten bullets?” The ‘hotel’ owner asked. In all four of Polis’s station there were little groupings of tents that made up ‘hotels’ for travelers. Despite the stations opulence they were not exactly five stars, the tents were old, very close together, some even had holes, but they’d be good enough for the travelers who’d be at the station for only a day or two anyway and they'd have just enough privacy for him.
“Ten? Just for the night” Gleb asked then put the bullets on the table. “Gonna make me go bankrupt with how much I’ve already spent getting here. Every little bit counts these days…”
“You can try another station; they’ll ask for more.” The owner replied and Gleb nodded before muttering a thanks and heading to the tent. Waiting.
“May I come in, sir?” A female voice asked from outside the tent and he opened up the flap.
“What for?” Gleb asked expectantly.
“I got some new sheets for your bed.” She explained and Gleb nodded.
Good.
“Alright, come in.” Gleb ordered and the woman entered, laying some blankets down, and quickly sliding a folder across the bed to him, which Gleb quickly grabbed and looked through before looking outside the tent. Most people were already heading to the bar or going to bed, and the tent’s location gave it a bit more privacy than others but not much.
“I didn’t think it’d be you, Gleb.” The woman explained. “I thought they’d get me for this…but they told me they wanted you.” She continued.
“Yeah.” Gleb continued skimming the folders contents once more. “Jurisdiction, as always Natasha.” He added. “In an odd way.” He continued.
“…It was someone from the Redline then? Rather than someone from Polis?” She asked, their employers only told them so much, just enough for their job. Asking another person in the know was one of the few ways for people like them to get more information if they wanted.
“So it seems.” He said. “But that’s only part of it. They want me to… ‘have a word’ with Belikov. One of the Kshatriya here I believe.
“The Kshatriya chief, yes.” Natasha confirmed and Gleb nodded.
“Who will come after him?” Gleb asked and Natasha gave a small smirk.
“For right now it’ll be some higher-ranking members of the Polis council, a Dmitry Yahontov being the most likely. Took some time for him to see reason.” She muttered softly and Gleb nodded again.
“As for Belikov, how can I get him to see reason?” Gleb asked.
“Check the back.” Natasha explained and Gleb flipped through the papers in the folder, finding a picture of a young woman and a small document.
“Nadia Belikova....pretty girl…” Gleb muttered, knowing where this was going.
“His niece. Only family he’s got from what I’ve heard.” She explained and Gleb nodded.
“Good…” Gleb muttered.
“He there now?” He asked a moment later and Natasha nodded.
“Last I checked anyway, just before I came here.” She explained then pointed out the set of large wooden double doors that was the entrance to Belikov’s office.
“He’s too comfortable it seems, unlike the last chief there’s no one outside his office most days.” She whispered and Gleb nodded.
“When you’re done how will you leave?” She asked quietly.
“Same way I came in. Thank you, Natasha.” Gleb said and left the tent with his small satchel and made his way across the platform then to the other side of the station.
----
“…Hey, what the hell—who?” Belikov started when the doors opened up quickly then stopped when he saw who it was.
“…G-Gleb?” Belikov asked as Gleb closed the door.
“What…what are you doing here?” He asked nervously, his eyes already darting around the room as Gleb walked over and sat down at the chair in front of Belikov’s desk. A thousand different possibilities began to play in Belikov’s mind.
“…No.” He began and Gleb kept silent. He knew Gleb well, and his 'employers' as he called them. Many knew them in the metro, especially those like Belikov...do a favor or two for them and they'd pull some strings, they got him this job after all.
“No. No. There’s no way they would. Not me…not now.” Belikov muttered, an overconfident smile forming on his face which soon disappeared when Gleb tossed the picture from the folder down onto the desk. Belikov felt his heart stop momentarily, and his face went white as he looked back at Gleb desperately, already beginning to beg the younger man when Gleb finally spoke up.
“Those tunnels.” He said, and for a moment confused Belikov. “You know the ones. Those ‘maintenance’ tunnels.”
God damn you, Grischa!
“Just…please, leave her alone—I…I’ll tell you whatever—” Belikov stuttered, once more returning to his begging.
“I’ve been told it was a woman who found them. I’ve been told her name was Yekaterina Antipina? She is supposedly a refugee from the Redline. Came with some stalkers, one your familiar with? A…Gregory Blok?” Gleb asked and Belikov nodded quickly.
“Good. We know their names but tracking them has been harder. You seem to be a friend of this Mr. Blok. I’m guessing where he goes, they do?” Gleb asked and Belikov nodded once more.
"Y-yes..." Belikov stuttered. "Their...business partners--more like a family actually." Belikov explained weakly
“Good. Where is he?”
“I…” Belikov began, his mind was boggled by now; what should’ve been easy to answer escaped his mind and he began to remember conversations, pointless ones from years ago; anything Grischa had briefly mentioned about anything that could count as a home for a man like him.
“I…He’s—He’s at—” Belikov continued.
“Enough.” Gleb said calmly, silencing Belikov again. Gleb gave him a stern look then nodded to the picture of Nadia.
“Look at the picture, look at your niece. I know what she looks like, she is a pretty girl. Beautiful even, I bet she's already caught the eye of a man or two around Polis." Gleb began and Belikov, almost out of instinct, nodded.
"I know where her tent is. I know her schedule." He continued, staring Belikov dead in the eyes, calm as ever while the old man could hardly keep still in his seat.
"I know where she works, I know where she spends her off hours, which restaurant she likes to frequent when she can afford it, I know that you know damn well where this Mr. Blok is, and I know that Ms. Antipina is with him, most likely anyway, as you have implied.” Gleb explained. “So, you have ten seconds when I’m done talking, ten seconds to say whatever little shithole station their in. Or I will leave this office and I will find your niece, Nadia Belikova, whether it’s at her job, at her favorite restaurant, or most likely her tent while she is asleep and I will make sure she is no longer the pretty girl that I keep saying she is." Gleb said, this time becoming more forceful, his tone becoming more sincere and stern as Belikov continued to try and plead and was once more cut off by Gleb.
"And that’s if I choose to let her live, and you know the power men such as myself have, Belikov. You know that if I so choose so I can do that, and there is nothing that you, or Valkov, or Marcianus, or even the Polis council can do to stop it. We know everyone’s little secrets, we know what can win people over and what terrifies them, and if all else fails we learn their lives and when we can end them--So, just to remind you, when I’m done you will have ten seconds to tell me where the people I want live, or I will get up out of this chair and find your niece, and even if you grow a spine and grab that pistol from your desk, they’ll simply send another after you and your niece. So, as of right now, the clock is ticking.” Gleb said, leaning back in his chair slightly and going silent once more, all the while Belikov’s heart continued to beat, louder and louder, pulsing in his ears until it was deafening.
“…Serpukhovskaya…” Belikov managed to weakly mutter out.
“Serpukhovskaya? The Hansa station north of Tulskaya?” Gleb asked, wanting to be sure before he left, already standing up once he saw Belikov give a weak and defeated nod. Belikov could hardly think. He couldn’t lose Nadia…she was all he had left besides his job in life.
“See, was that so hard?” Gleb asked with a smirk and Belikov glared at him angrily but still to terrified to do much else.
“Will…there be anything else?” Belikov managed to say through gritted teeth and Gleb just nodded.
“Just one thing…” He muttered.
----------
Quickly now, quickly, quickly! Gleb’s thoughts commanded, his tried his best to hurry along but not to look as if he was trying to get out of Polis in a hurry. He had done this countless times before but every time he tried to make his escape, paranoia and doubt would set in and he felt as if he were on display for the whole metro to see.
He would take the normal tunnel, the one he took to get here. He had feared that that girls discovery of it would put everything into lock down but it seems the Kshatriya just wanted everything to go back to normal and other than a simple lock there was no guards hanging around the entrance to the ‘maintenance’ room. The key to the lock had come from Belikov’s desk, quickly he undid the lock, pocketed the key and hurried into the maintenance room, closing the door behind him before any passerby saw him and began to make his way down the tunnel. It didn’t take long to find the false wall and begin his journey back home. He'd have plenty of time, and more importantly resources back there to find make it to Serpukhovskaya.
----
Natasha had been ‘working’ as a maid for Polis for a while now, almost two years. No one really paid to much attention to her, no one would raise an eyebrow at a maid heading to Chief Belikov’s office. Still though she made her way to the office quickly, opened the door and let it close behind her.
Good job, Gleb. Natasha thought as she walked over to check Belikov’s body, feeling his neck for a pulse and finding none. Part of her had feared Belikov would fight back, pull a gun or make some noise, call for help or something, even with his niece on the line but thankfully it seemed Gleb got through to him. Soon her job would truly begin.
She gave the office a once over, the same with Belikov’s body. Nothing seemed too suspicious. No blood, nothing knocked over, no signs of a struggle. Gleb got in and out cleanly thankfully. If it all worked out it’ll look like Belikov had a heart attack.
With that…it’s time to get to work. She thought and began to breath, heavily at first then more forcefully then went for the door as quickly as she could, forcing it open.
“Help!” She screamed out into the station, the few passersby soon rushing over.
----A few hours later, Serpukhovskaya---
The gasmask was perhaps the worst part of getting undressed due to his injuries. He had returned from the Dead City was cuts and stab wounds all along his torso and shoulders, those hurt like hell but were well on their way to completely healing over the last few weeks, most of them weren’t as bad as they appeared when he had to escape the dead city last time. Even now they still stung but they were nothing compared to the pulsating pain that would shoot throughout his face and then cause it to throb for a while afterwards, sending out more little pin-pricks and a sharp pain afterwards.
He practically had to force himself to continue, taking a deep breath and gritting through the pain, Misha had pulled off his gasmask upon returning. The decontamination process wasn’t as bad but water and cleaning products didn’t exactly feel good to the cuts on his face either.
Usually, before all that nonsense with Joe and Polis, they’d all go to the bar after getting changed into their day clothes. Or rather, Grischa would take them but now there were no talks of going to the bar, no jokes or happy conversations or thankfulness for return from the surface safe and sound once more, there was no comradery, no Grischa had simply told them to get going while he looked over what they had collected, saying he would find a buyer for all the fuel, scrap, spear parts and ammunition they had found and then send every man their cut. No one tried to challenge it, there was no arguing with Grischa when he was still this pissed. So, everyone returned home. Misha had been dreading his return home for…the first time in his life probably, now that he thought about it anyway.
We gotta fix this…He thought as he rounded the pillar on the platform, soon finding his tent…and Katya still inside. She had a small book in her hands and looked up at him and after a brief moment gave a small smile and Misha felt himself relax. After their argument last week he had found himself more nervous around here. He could handle the anger and annoyance that came with walking on eggshells around Grischa, when it came to Katya though…all it brought was pain. He was more angry at himself then how she had reacted.
Who could blame her after all?
Misha entered the tent and forced a smile at Katya, it hurt to smile. Anything with his nose or face was a chore now; and no doubt would be for however long it took everything to heal. Once he got in he put his RPK in the corner and then zipped up the tent and began to strip down his radiation suit and begin to get dressed.
“What are you reading?” He asked as he looked around for his shirt, she shrugged and flipped the book over. Despite Hansa having many impressive libraries in most of their stations, Serpukhovskaya was one that had very little in the way of well maintained books, many were like Katya’s at the station’s library; missing pages and covers, you’d have to ask around and wait for either a stalker or a caravan to bring in books that had not fallen apart or had begun to rot unlike in the rest of Hansa, where some stations had printing presses and were actively making and selling them left and right.
“It…seems to be a biology textbook.” She said and Misha smirked.
“You thinking of becoming a biologist then?” He asked and she gave a small chuckle.
“Maybe—I think I could be.” She said then shrugged. “Mostly I was just going through the library and just flipped through it…then I found this.” She said and turned the page to him, inside was an incredibly faded picture of a large animal; one he hadn’t seen in years.
“It’s an…elephant?” He asked and then nodded to himself after he made out what was left of the picture on the page and Katya nodded back.
“Yeah.” She replied. “…you said you were…nine? Right? When the war happened?” She asked and after throwing his shirt on, Misha nodded, his mind going back to July of 2013, the last time he lived on the surface rather than made quick expeditions to it. The age gap between the couple had been weird at first, for Misha at least. Misha had been born on the otherside of Moscow, north west of what is now Hansa territory, back in 2005. He had plenty of memories of life on the surface, of the sun, the fresh air, snow, rain, ice cream, cars everywhere. All the things Katya had never, and now that he thought about, would probably never see, except with a few exceptions such as the surface during her brief training runs years back. She had been born underground, according to her the day after the wars first anniversary. The tunnels were all she knew, and much like the age gap these two different life experiences was weird, at first, they learned to make do despite it; and in a weird way it was a plus to have conversations like this with her. While many in the metro would go into bouts of melancholy when reminiscing or crying over the world, they had all lost, Misha actually enjoyed talking about the old world, why he could not say. He missed it sure, but he supposed he was not the type to cry over it.
“Well a few months shy, but yeah; pretty close to nine.” He explained.
“…Did you ever go to the zoo?” She asked and he smirked and nodded, finishing with his clothes, and sitting next to her on the bed.
“I did, a few times. My family…wasn’t really well off, basically dirt poor but we would go to the zoo when we could.” He explained then continued on, knowing where her conversation would go.
“…I can kind of remember the elephants. They were huge, obviously, taller than those city buses you might find on the surface. Slow as hell.” He explained. “Smelled.” He continued with a smirk and a shake of his head. “I liked other animals though…” He explained, thinking back to his few trips to the zoo with his parents, there was a few specific ones he liked more than others.
“Like?” She asked and he shrugged.
“The monkeys, penguins, a lot of the birds actually…wolves, foxes.” He said, wondering which of those she’d be familiar with. She merely nodded and was silent for a moment.
“….I’m sorry, Misha.” She muttered and the barley visible smirk that had formed on his face disappeared and they both became tense again.
“It’s fine—” He began to tell her.
“It’s not.” She said back, calmly, seemingly having thought out what she had to say and accounted for Misha trying to brush it aside.
“I…I shouldn’t have lost it on you.” She began. “And I definitely shouldn’t have smacked you.” She said. “No one should, I…I just…” She sighed and shrugged. “I was angry…afraid.” She explained.
“I fucked up.” Misha muttered.
“Yeah…you did, but I still shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry…I really am.” She said, a tired but hopeful look in her eyes as she became silent, waiting for him to either accept her apology or to keep justifying her actions. She doubted he’d tell her to fuck off but she was afraid of what this would do to them. Misha remained quiet for a bit, thinking everything over. Neither of them were good at apologies, never had been for the few years they’ve been together.
At least we’re trying…He thought.
“….Do you still think I’m an idiot?” He asked after a few more moments of silence, giving her a small, almost childish smirk and she laughed a little in response and nodded.
“Sometimes…but not all the time.” She explained.
“Reckless. Reckless would be the best way to describe you sometimes.” She said a moment later and he nodded.
“Yeah—that sounds like me.” He said and she made him turn his head to look at her, looking over the bandages on his face.
“Does it still hurt?” She asked and he nodded slightly.
“Little bit…”
“Just a little bit?” She asked.
“…Ok, more than a little.” He muttered back after a moment as she took her hands away from his face after deciding against touching his wounds.
“…Think a drink might help with that?” She asked.
“It might.”
“It’s on me.” She added.
“…Alright, I’m in.” He told her.
“Well…come on then.” She said, taking his hand and stepping back as he pushed himself up off their bed and she pulled down the zipper on the tent flap and walking out with him and beginning to make their way down the platform.
“Hold up!—Mr. Turgenev!” Someone shouted from behind Misha, who, along with Katya, stopped and turned to see a man in a hoodie and an AK slung over his shoulder approaching them with a young blond woman in tow behind him.
“…Do I know you?” Misha asked as the man came over with his companion. By now, Katya had already begun to ignore the conversation between both of the men, and the words the woman began to say that interrupted their conversation also fell on deaf airs. For Katya the world stood still, and the face of the woman was one she had never expected to see ever again.
“S…Stefania?” Katya muttered. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her.
“Yes…Katya, I—” The blonde woman began to say before the man with her spoke up.
“…Would it be possible to continue this somewhere else?” He asked. “The bar maybe?” He added, looking off in its general direction.
“I think you should explain it now.” Misha told the man sternly.
“I will. At the bar. Trust me, we’ll be needing some drinks.” The man explained, taking Stefania by the hand and beginning to head down the platform, before Misha could react Katya followed.
“You know them?” Misha asked, hurrying after her.
“All will be explained soon.” The man replied. They continued down the platform then stopped again.
“Mr. Blok!” The man called out, Grischa had been walking back towards his tent but stopped just as Misha had at the call of his name. He ignored Misha, for once not out of malice but seemingly genuine confusion on who this man could be.
“What’s all this?” Grischa asked, gesturing to the tiny crowd in front of him.
“Come with us to the bar—I need to speak with all of you.” The man explained and Grischa, after a brief moment of thought nodded and gestured for the man to lead on.
What the hell Grischa!? Misha wanted to shout, when they had stopped for the old man he had hoped he would help stop whatever the hell was going on not agree to this weirdo’s need for a conversation. The man lead them towards the bar without another word, the little crowd following behind him the entire way.
----Meanwhile at Polis---
“Welcome back, corporal. How’s Riga doing?” Valkov asked Voloyda walked into his tent. Valkov had sent him to deal with some bandits in Riga’s tunnels, a small group but they proved to be craftier than he had expected. He had hoped for a quick mission, get to Riga, get to the tunnels, off some bandits, go to the bar, be the local hero then spend the next day or so returning to Polis.
“Could’ve been better, sir.” Voloyda said bluntly. “The intel was off, it wasn’t a group of ‘five or so’ as we heard. It was more like ten, maybe twelve. A lot smarter than your usual bandits, came across more trip wires and traps then I think I’ve seen in my life. Some crazy mother-fucker with a Shambler, high as hell, nearly took my head off with it.” Voloyda continued.
“Jesus” Valkov muttered, judging by Voloyda’s tone none of it was exaggerated, then again the Ranger wasn’t one to do that anyway…well too much at least.
“Oh it gets worse. Trying to sneak through the place was impossible. I only took down two of the sentries before the whole tunnel and the maintenance room they lived in turned into a warzone. Riga’s militia had to get involved. They lost two guys trying to save my sorry ass.”
“God damn it.” Valkov sighed and Voloyda nodded.
“Well…we got it done in the end. Those tunnels are safe again, at least from bandits. That anomaly between Alekseyevskaya and Riga seems intent on staying there.” Voloyda commented then shrugged. “If you can, send me with someone else next time, unless we know for sure.” Voloyda said and Valkov nodded.
“I’ll try…well, you got it done like you said. Hopefully nothing else comes up today, I say you’ve earned a break for now.” Valkov explained and dismissed Voloyda soon after who left the tent and returned to the barracks and stowed his gear in his locker before walking into the rest of Polis, it was late and he could use a drink right about now
He stopped on the tracks and looked over at the platforms that contained the home for the more well to do Rangers. It had been a few days since they interrogated Joseph, and Joe, as usual was angry; he considered heading over and seeing if she was home. She wasn’t on a mission last he heard, a drink could do her good if she was willing, he thought and began to head over.
“Help!” Someone shouted, an old woman; her voice echoing throughout most of the station, easily heard by most due to how late it was. Voloyda turned, soon finding the source of the screaming at Chief Belikov’s office. Voloyda began to sprint over.
“Help, I think he’s dead!” With that many who had been staring began to crowd around Belikov’s office just as Voloyda entered, making his way past the maid and walking over to the old man, checking his pulse and finding none.
God damn it. Voloyda thought, looking around for what could have killed the man but saw nothing.
Did the fat ass finally have a heart attack? He asked himself and kept looking around. It’s what it seemed like, there was no cuts, no bruising, no blood or anything else. It’s like he just died. The maid continued with her screaming, asking passersby and the crowd to get some help. As Voloyda walked back over to the maid to calm her down some in the crowd ran off, some saying they were gonna get Valkov, others to find Dagonet while some began to hurry off to find the first Kshatriya they could get their hands on.
Guess it’s back to work then…Voloyda thought before turning his attention back to the maid.
Overprotective 2

Started by Charlotte Daniels · July 27, 2020

Charlotte was being escorted back to where she was normally, out of the way and behind Ranger walls when they ran into Dagonet. Joe had a budding bruise on her forehead and eye from where the vulture had headbutted and punched her but she didn't seem to notice so much as her knuckles hurt worse.
She was looking at them for the tenth time when the major walked up.
"Sir," she said as she looked up to him and put her hands back down to her weapon.
Charlotte smiled up to him. "I've had a bit of an adventure today," she said up to him.
@Dragon
Death is for the Weak

Started by Joseph Sousa · July 26, 2020

Joseph finally started to recognize some places. There were changes, a lot of changes but that didn't matter, he knew where to go. He had to know where to go. He wasn't going to let that place be the cause of his death. He had to see his daughter again, had to make sure she knew he didn't leave intentionally. It was important to him.
Even as he stumbled, he was hungry and thirsty. It had been a day since he had anything to eat or drink but now wasn't the time to dwell on that. He pushed himself back up and forward.
Just another mile.
Just another step.
He could do this.
The filter he had was old and probably not even functioning anymore but he was as stubborn as his daughter.
By the time he reached the station entrance he could barely stand. The guards were up in arms. "Who the hell are you?" they shouted as he collapsed.
"Sousa," he said before he blacked out.
The guards scrambled. "Isn't Sousa a woman?" some of them said. "That's what I thought."
"Just get him inside and cuff him to the bed. We'll figure it out if he survives."
They dragged Joseph into the entrance and decontaminated him before taking him to medical and tying him to the bed before a doctor checked them out. Once he was stable they went and found Joe and told her a guy had asked for her which confused the hell out of her but she went anyways. She figured it was probably the dumb ass vulture hoping she'd not let him get kicked out of Polis or some shit. When she entered the curtained off place she actually stopped dead in her tracks, her hands dropping to her sides as she blinked to be sure it was real.
Voldya was behind her. If he tried to go around her she would stop him. "Just give me a second."
@AnOriginalAccountNam
Lessons for a cannibal.

Started by Yekaterina "Katya" Antipina · July 25, 2020

@Grimscythe
Park Kultury was considered something of a second capital for Hansa. The art work that made the station famous before the war had survived, still as clean as the day the bombs dropped, despite the communistic depictions in such a capitalistic station the residents had come to love the artwork and treated it almost with reverence to a past long gone, and almost forgotten to many within the station. The station of Park Kultury, unlike the true capital of Hansa; Komsomolskaya which lay far to the northeast, on the other side of the ring, was a heavily militarized place. Guards armed not with the usual assault rifles instead carried their larger brother, the RPK, and were covered from head to toe in riot gear. It almost reminded Katya of the Redline, just minus the communism. Well, except the murals, which offered a strange sense of familiarity, but also anxiety.
There were not many civilians in Park Kultury, it's transfer to the Redline station of the same name had made Hansa nervous, even before their war over D6, and ever since then it's been one giant military base that allowed in Stalkers and the occasional caravan. Katya almost didn't make it in, if it wasn't for her refugee status....and Misha.
They had been gone for almost a day, and by now she could hardly focus on the book that she had bought from the stations sparse library, her hands kept shaking, and her mind was filled with all manner of horrors. She had told them about that tunnel in the direction of the abandoned Park Pobedy, while Grischa mocked her for saying it might lead to Emerald City, Misha had convinced the old man it might still have something worthy of looting. Even if it was hidden, unmarked on any map, only existing in rumors, and....hundreds of meters from the nearest station, from safety. Filled with Lenin only knows what.
She forced down as much of her anxiety as she could but not matter how much she tried to ignore the feelings they kept returning, as did all of the images her mind forced into her head of what could have possibly happened to those two on a trip that should have been maybe ten hours at most! Not only where they here employers they were also the closest thing she had to friends since she ran from the Redline years ago. Grischa may have been an asshole, even a bully most days, but he was almost fatherly when something came along to make him act as such. And then there was Misha...
"Opening up!" One of the guards shouted, and the airlock gate leading to some of the southern side tunnels let out the same mechanical screeching that she had grown accustomed to in the two weeks she had lived her with Misha.
Why don't they oil it, maintain it or whatever they need to do? She wondered.
"Hey, Andreyvich--Get the doctor!" One of the guards shouted, and she knew. She didn't know how she knew but she knew. It felt like someone had hit her stomach, she couldn't breath but she still threw the book down on her bed, ran out of the tent that had become her home and ran off in the direction of the barricades near the tunnels.
The guards came in, with what looked like a stretcher.
Oh no-no-no-no! Her thoughts screamed and she rushed forward, bumping into a guard who had been watching them pull in what looked like...a woman? She looked around, eyes darting for any signs of her family. Her ears picked them up first, all of the anxiety left in an instant as she looked towards the source of that old bastards voice.
"Well, Mikhail Ivanovich we did it." Grischa said as he entered and turned to look at Misha.
"Mikhail Ivanovich?" Misha asked, not hearing his friend using his given name and patronymic name in years. "Something tells me I'm in for a lecture." He said.
"Oh you are....later though." Grischa said.
"MISHA!" Katya shouted rushing over.
"Wait, Katya-don't!" Misha yelled back but couldn't stop the overly affection girl from grabbing both of the men in a bear hug.
"Oh...God!" Katya gagged. "What....in Lenin's name is all over you two?!" She coughed out.
"Sewage" Grischa said bluntly as Katya looked in dismay at her shirt and pants, now covered in it.
"Wha...sewage?" She asked. "What happened?" She continued. "Where's you're shirt, Grischa?" She asked now looking the shit covered shirtless old man over.
"....Let's get changed." Misha said. "Then we'll tell you.
Meanwhile, Katya had been put onto a stretcher back in the tunnel. An shoddy home made one. They had cut the crap covered shirt of the old man off of her and then taken her into the station, it's blindingly bring lights and towards the field hospital.
(OCC: Russian names are weird, but I tried to make it realistic with the inclusion if Misha's father name/middle name.)
Echoes

Started by Elenya Orlov · July 22, 2020

Coming to the surface was always accompanied by a set of feelings for Elenya. Gut wrenching, sweat-inducing, heart hammering; the fear always welled up inside her when she neared the surface. She would check and recheck her mask to ensure the straps were properly done, check to see if her filter was screwed on all the way and that his watch was working. Her fingers would dance along the pouches on her belt, reaching in blindly to fumble with whatever was inside to ensure it had not disappeared or fallen through a hole that suddenly appeared. The rifle in her hands would click and clack as she pulled out the magazine, gazing at the shoddily crafted bullets within before returning it to its slot. The firing pin would be pulled back once, twice, maybe even three times to ensure there was in fact a bullet loaded and more that could be loaded should she find herself squeezing the trigger with all her might. Hopefully there would be no need for that, but that fear always made her think that there could be. Fear was good, though. Fear kept you aware, and being aware kept you alive. She always welcomed it when it came and held on to it.

After the fear always came the nostalgia. It was strange to only half-remember the world before it was blown to shit again and again until all that was left was a desolate wasteland plagued by monsters. Elenya would feel a thrum of excitement at feeling the rays of sun - filtered through grey skies of radiation or not - upon her body. Every time she marched up the steps of the nearest subway exit she could feel himself wanting to run out and look for those towering green trees that lined the street. Her mind would create facsimiles of the people she knew, all dressed in clothes not rotted from the passage of time or covered in the grime one always seems to accumulate from living underground. She would picture cars driving down the streets, honking their loud horns at each other as their engines roared with the push of a pedal. It was easy to imagine when birds flew in the sky instead of demons, when humans walked dogs on a leash instead of humans fleeing from watchers.

Of course, that nostalgia was immediately replaced by a sadness. Her boots would scrape against the topside, aged and cracked asphalt broken into chunks separated by cold hard-packed earth and reality would come crashing down. There would be no smiling faces of neighbors waving hello, no sounds of children running with little regard for etiquette and rules; instead there was only an acute awareness of the world around him.

No more time to think of things that once were.

Elenya pulled out an old map, the browned paper crinkling softly under her gloves as she unfolded it. Each surface trip he focused on a certain area to pick through. Last time it was inner city, this time it would be the Dead City. A certain risk level came with coming to this area, more so than other places. Stalkers would whisper about strange happenings here. They would warn everyone to stay away lest they lose their minds to whatever force made this zone perilous to traverse. More than once he had been called crazy for daring to visit for anything, though Elenya had a sneaking suspicion that the reason for these rumors were less about ghosts from the war and more about what there was to scavenge. Spread enough horror stories and it would lessen the people you had to contest with for the treasures that had been left behind.

There were a few items on her list this time around, the usual "anything useful", medicines, preserved foods, tools, weaponry, gear, and something unique. That last one was technically not on the list but it was something Elenya was always interested. Relics of the past that told stories of the beings that lived before the mess of this world were, to her, things to be treasured beyond bullets or a fresh pair of pants. She considered what she might find within these ancient-feeling halls, carefully picking his way down the street. It was a slow process, moving from cover to cover. There were always things to keep an eye out for and it was those who rushed that never made it back home. Elenya took her time, preferring the ritual of attentive travel. Anything was preferable to fighting for your life, best to avoid a situation all together.

A few hours later Elenya made it to the neighborhood she had circled on his map. The broken windows leered at her from the towering buildings. With unease she gazed at them as she crossed the street. It was equally oppressive and freeing for her to enter into a building like this. At least she would be sheltered from the openness of the streets, but Elenya could never shake the feeling that someone or something would always be lurking around every corner. Quietly she entered through a doorway that had long since lost its door. From within her mask he gazed outward, reaching for her flashlight and flicking it on. The beam of light illuminated particles in the air as she shined it around the entryway. Her father had told him of how these buildings contained dozens of families all at once, and they stacked them higher and higher to accommodate the sheer number of people in the city.

"The whole station could live here, each of us with our own room even."

The sound of her own voice startled her and suddenly Elenya felt the need to press herself up against a wall. She squatted behind a counter that faced the doorway, with the stairs to his left. There she listened, straining for even the smallest of creaks or groans.
A Gentle Craft, For Gentle Hands

Started by Maksym Vasylchenko · July 20, 2020

Maksym Vasylchenko's biggest problem with watchmaking nowadays wasn't the tedium of it. After many a long day out on the surface, facing all that the world had left to offer, the tedium was practically a gift from God.

It was more that he wasn't built for it. No longer was he the gangly, acne-pocked boy of 16, he was a grown man now, broad of body and hearty. He'd spent so much time lugging shit about the surface that his hands were more like bear paws. A watch was a small, delicate thing, and it wasn't something for his hands, yet he tried nonetheless.

The parts were painstakingly milled and crafted to his father's exact specifications and the customer's preferences. While Piotr had a few timepieces on display, most of those were easier-to-construct digital watches that sold for a modest number of rounds. His handmade pieces? All made-to-order, and at a hefty premium, but oh, you got what you paid for. The one he'd built for Maksym had needed a battery replacement only last year, and the battery had lasted almost six before that. Quartz was extremely hard to come by on the surface unless you specifically went looking for watches or other such appliances, and usually, it was Maksym or Timur who would go to the surface and look for them, and every hand-made piece came with fine quartz, not to mention the finer parts going into the analogs, hand-milled faces and perfectly-articulated hands.

Maksym wasn't much for watchmaking, but he had to try his best while he was under his father's roof again. The old man needed the help, and Maksym was once again on his own after one argument too many.

The watch in front of him was a custom project, one that had taken his father a fair two weeks to tweak to his satisfaction. It was all pretty much assembled now, it just had to be calibrated. Maksym looked to his own watch as he slowly turned the knob on the new piece. 1805 hours. It would be time for dinner before long.

"It's done!" Maksym called out, turning his head back to the other end of the 'shop floor' of Piotr's home. 'The Hands of Time', the little board that advertised him said, sitting in one of the windowsills. It had been Piotr's home for the past five years, far better than the huddled corners they'd slept in back when the world went up in flames. "The order for Simon!"

"Ah, yes, yes," came the throaty, aged voice of his father, like a deep rumble from the Metro's darkest corners. The air in Polis was better than other parts of the Metro, to be sure, but it wasn't doing Piotr many favors. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, mind, but he wasn't going on any treks much farther than Hanza at this point. "Let me see, please."

Gingerly, Maksym took the timepiece, and met his father near the door to their establishment. They'd cut out another awning and placed a wooden shutter over it to use as a display, and that was where his father would usually sit when he was manning the shop. Watching the people of Polis pass by, no doubt reminiscing about the surface, and when such a thing was normal, but not... this normal. Maksym placed the watch next to his father, who turned and examined the piece with bleary, tired green eyes. Through a thick, white beard, he began to smile.

"Excellent, excellent, excellent. Thank you, Maks. I'm sure Simon will be pleased."

"It's not Simon who needs to be pleased, papa, it's Sasha. That woman's a hellion. Still, you did fine work. Not our fault she thinks herself above it." Maksym clapped a gentle hand on his father's shoulder and smiled. "Your work, not mine."

"Nonsense, you've been a far greater help these past few months. I wish you would stay like this more often. Timur works himself to sleep somedays, bless him."

"I worry more for you," Maks replied, pulling a second stool from the side of the stall and taking a seat next to his father. No doubt it was a strange sight to those who knew him, seeing him inside the shop instead of on his way out the tunnels and into the Metro beyond, or up to the surface. "Timur surely cannot be the only help you can find."

"He's the only one who cares, Maks. I can't just have anyone making these pieces, it requires a gentle touch, care. I do not sell cheap labor, and I do not want cheap labor to bear my name. Otherwise, I would just tell you to bring me those watches from the surface so I could resell them. Timur understands the craft, cares about what he creates. I cannot find that just anywhere in Polis."

Maksym sighed. His father was so stubborn, and over something as silly as a watch. "Papa, you're killing me. No, you're killing yourself with this nonsense. What about Misha, the butcher's boy? He always seems to be around here nowadays."

"He's here more for you than me," Piotr stated, matter-of-fact. "Your adventures on the surface are all he cares about."

"Well, for now, I'm not doing any adventuring, and he knows that. Maybe you can use that to your advantage- he can get closer to his hero through his work, no?"

"You're asking me to take advantage of a little boy."

Maksym shook his head, chuckling. "Not taking advantage of him, papa. Just... using alternate methods of persuasion. I'm not saying you shouldn't pay him for his work, but maybe introduce him to the concept. Surely there's someone in Polis who wants to learn how to make a watch."

"It's not just 'making watches' that I do, son."

Maksym sighed once again, longer and deeper. Not this conversation again. "Right, right. Do you need anything? I'm thinking I'm going to go out and get some drinks, run some errands."

A few bullets were passed. "If Nikita has any kvass ready, could you spare the time?"

"Of course, of course." With that, Maksym pushed himself back from the stall with a grunt and stood up, stretching stiff limbs. He needed to stretch a bit more in the mornings, that was for sure. "I'll be back within an hour or two."

"Be well, son."

Maksym opened the door of the shop, and stepped back out into Polis again. Another day in 'paradise'.
Overprotective

Started by Charlotte Daniels · July 13, 2020

Charlotte had been in Polis officially for a few months now. She was showing more which answered the question that everyone was too afraid to ask one of their high ranking commanders. Rangers feared him more than they cared to know why his girlfriend was transferred from Bumansky to Polis permanently. The only thing they cared about was that they got to Bumansky, got her stuff and got back again safely.
Charlotte was feeling stir crazy and despite knowing that Dagonet may be checking in on her soon she left her little make-shift shop to wander around Polis a little, stretch her legs. Maybe get some "fresher" air.
Chance Encounters

Started by Sofka Vladimirov · July 11, 2020

Sofka crept quietly through the tunnels, always listening. She moved with the familiarity born of running them on the days the Great Worm was silent for the majority of her life, and she could navigate them in the dark. It wasn't her preferred method, but her ears and nose were just as good as her eyes when it came to guiding herself. Sofka usually worked these days, but she'd asked permission to return to the tunnel where she'd last seen Dima. She knew her in her gut he wouldn't be there, but she could always look again.
It wasn't until she reached the place where they'd strung up that one man so many months ago that Sofka stopped. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a lighter and flipped it open, sparking it. Her eyes squinted against the sudden flicker of light as the sound of a cough carried through the tunnel. Her eyes widened and she put the lighter out, withdrawing against the wall as the sound of someone else's footsteps echoed. She waited.
Escaping the Dead City

Started by Mikhail "Misha" Turgenev · June 28, 2020

{Misha woke up gasping and coughing as he regained consciousness. He tried to sit up but stopped as pain shot through his body and head as he did.}
"Fuck..."
{He turns his head and notices the rather large watchman that had pounced on him when he exited a ruined apartment building. It had knocked his Kalash from his hands, and he smacked his head hard on the pavement while the Watchman began to claw at his chest, he had managed to get his knife out and hit its neck, then it fell on top of him and he passed out from the shock. With what little strength he had left he pushed the Watchman off of him and then, on hands and knees began to crawl towards his Kalash, grabbing it he forced himself up and stumbled off towards the apartment building, forcing the door open and collapsing on the floor in the kitchen, gasping for air once more as he does. He manages to get his backpack off and begins to wrap bandages around his wounds just as his watch begins to beep.}
"What...?"
{00: 50....00:49...00:48...}
"Not now..."
{Misha pulls a new filter out and screws it into his mask before looking into his backpack once more, three filters.}
"God damn it..."
{Just then footsteps are heard in the apartment buildings hallway, Misha grabs his Kalash and sets it to automatic and levels it at the door, listening to the footsteps getting closer. They weren't the normal pitter-patter of the watchmen, these were heavy and loud, the familiar sound of boots hitting the ground. The stories of ghosts, trapped forever in their final moments from when they died, and for those in this city, when the world ended, were all to familiar to Misha. He knew there were things in the metro and on the surface that humans could not understand, but now he found himself hoping it was the spirit of someone long dead then a possible stalker from the Nazi or the communists stations. Gather up some strength, he manages to call out}
"Whose there!?"