“Overexposure” - Survivor00 & darkangel76

[Survivor00]

â??Overexposureâ? - Survivor00 & darkangel76


More than twenty years had passed since the last plane took off from the earth. Rusted railways lead into emptiness. The ether is void and the airwaves echo to a soulless howling where previously the frequencies were full of news from Tokyo, New York, Buenos Aires, Moscow. Man has handed over stewardship of the earth to new life-forms. Mutated by radiation, they are better adapted to the harsh new world. Man's time is over. A few score thousand survivors live on, not knowing whether they are the only ones left on earth. They live in the Metro â?? one of the biggest air-raid shelters ever built. It is humanity's last refuge. Stations have become mini-statelets, their people uniting around ideas, religions, water-filters - or the simple need to repulse an enemy incursion. It is a world without a tomorrow, with no room for dreams, plans, hopes. Feelings have given way to instinct - the most important of which is survival.

Survival at any price.


Wednesday, July 12th 2033/
Metro Station #26 - â??Mriyaâ?

Arthur Kovas awoke from a dreamless sleep.

He never dreamed anymore.

From the moment he closed his eyes to the instant he awoke again, there was nothing but oppressive darkness flooding his mind. He often wondered just why that was. He had once dreamed down here, his younger mind retreating into the solace of fantasy, of what the world might have been like had it not been scoured by fires and radiation. There had been the nightmares, yes, of horrible creatures and flesh-melting radiation and fumes, but even those passed and faded with time.

Now it was just nothing.

He suspected it was because he finally knew how bleak it truly was, and that any dreams of normalcy returning would just do more harm to his psyche than good. Someone who would be just as likely to eat the barrel of their own gun as they would venture to the surface unprotected. It was just his mind's own way of keeping him sane. He refused to ask one of the shrinks about it though â?? the last thing he needed was someone playing around with his thoughts, making accusations over things they really had no clue about.

'Ahh...' He could imagine them saying, 'Does it have something to do with your mother's death? Or of your father's, you two being in the same line of work...Maybe it is sexual tension...?'

A heavy knock on the door to his 'bunk' drew his attentions away from the psychiatrists. â??Oi! Arthur! Wake the fuck up!â? The voice was muffled through the thin wooden door, but he could instantly place the tone and accent to Virgil â?? another salvager. Groaning, Arthur swung his legs over the side of the bunk, sitting up and staring blankly at the wall across from him. Another heavy knocking. With a grunt, Arthur reached down and rubbed his legs, trying to work the kinks and knots out of his stiff muscles. He coughed savagely, the damp air in the tunnels wreaking havoc on his lungs. He felt nearly ten years older than he actually was, but it wasnâ??t surprising, given the conditions they had been living in for over two decades.

â??Give me a second, Virgil.â? He muttered, standing to his feet and rubbing the thin layer of stubble on his chin. Bracing his hand against his chin, he turned his head, using some pressure from his arm to pop his neck a little. His shoulders slumped a bit, a groan of relief rushing between his lips. Using his thumb and index finger to wipe the crud from his eyes, he walked over and threw open the door.

Virgil Bowery stood there, a scavenged assault rifle slung over his shoulder. Most weapons nowadays were made in the Metro â?? that knowledge had not faded, and he doubted it would fade anytime soon. But, they were cheap, and often unreliable, made from scavenged parts and scrap metal. If you were able to get your hands on an old-world firearm, and the ammunition for it, it made for a force to be reckoned with. Virgil's outfit was stained with the grit of a surface excursion.

â??S'about fucking time.â? He grunted, rummaging through a pocked and thrusting out a grime-covered envelope. It carried an oddly enticing mix of sweet perfume and Metro stench. â??Fer you...one of your 'art models' from Rosco Station.â? From the tone of voice, Virgil knew that Art had done far more than just draw the woman. He felt no shame in it. You took what comforts you could get. She was pretty, she was already naked, and the apocalypse and the whiskey they had shared had certainly loosened some of the morals that would have existed beforehand.

Arthur took the letter, set it aside on the small desk beside the door, and gave Virgil a few rounds of ammunition as payment. He pocketed the ammunition, gave a quick salute with two of his fingers, and left. Closing the door behind him, Arthur dragged a small, crude stool out from under his desk, dropping down onto the unyielding wood. He grabbed the lumpy envelope, tearing one end open and dumping the contents out onto the desk. A folded piece of parchment â?? a letter â?? and several rounds of ammunition. He pushed the ammunition aside, he could use it as currency, or if he was in a pinch, he could use the bullets to give his shots a little extra punch. He unfolded the note, grazing his eyes over the scrawled message.​

â??Arthur,

I hope this letter finds you soon. I know that getting letters out to distant stations is growing harder with each day. I wanted to thank you for the time we spent together. It has been so long since someone has actually made me feel beautiful, instead of just saying it.

I know you said our time together was payment enough for your artistry, but a working woman like myself would not find it fair to not pay someone of their services.

I hope we meet again soon,

Tanya.�

Arthur smiled weakly, folding the letter back up and setting it aside. Tanya was, for lack of better words, a prostitute. Things had changed much since the old world. His father had mentioned that prostitution had once been illegal. Now, it was just another occupation...another way to survive.

Feeling his stomach gurgle with hunger, Arthur grunted, reaching over and grabbing the dingy sleeveless shirt he had worn yesterday. It was still mostly clean, and it wasn't like everybody had an overabundance of spare clothing anymore. He was already wearing pants, so he quickly pulled on a pair of ratty socks and his boots before venturing out into the world that was Mriya Station. The first thing that hit him was the cold. The ravaging of the surface had plunged the world into a perpetual state of nuclear winter. There were rumors that the temperatures were still warmer near the Equator, and that the skies were still blue. But since no man here had seen the Equator â?? or heard from it â?? since the bombs fell, most assumed that it was plain bullshit.

Of course, most hadn't seen a bull before either, but...

Moving on.

Grumbling under his breath, Arthur quickly ducked back into his 'home', grabbing a faded coat from the hook beside the door. He threw it on over his shirt, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It helped a little.

â??Hey, Arthur!â? A voice echoed from down the corridor. He glanced over to see Flint â?? another salvager â?? approaching him. His cracked lips were curled in a grin. â??About time your ass woke up.â? Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, â??Come on. We saved a spot for you at the table. If you hurry, you might still get some good meat.â? He turned and headed back the way he came, and Arthur jogged for a second to catch up.

In the two decades since the bombs fell, the inhabitants of the Metro had made hundreds of 'renovations' to the existing structures, trying to recreate a modicum of civilization. Plywood and metal 'shanties' served as housing for dozens of families. Luckier ones had homes built into preexisting rooms, their doors numbered. Oil lamps lit the cramped corridors. Fuel was far too rare, and too far valuable, to light the entire Station by electricity. Only the most important areas still had electric lights, such as the hospital. Somewhere, someone was playing a guitar. Somewhere else, someone was singing horribly off key. The low ceilings and concrete walls here echoed like a cave, and it was easy â?? almost impossible not to â?? pick up pieces of conversations as you walked.

â??I'm sick and tired of this shit! Why do I put up with it? My mother told me you were no good, and she was -â?

â??I told you to stay put, young lady! Until you can listen, you're grounded!â?

â??And then he was like: 'Baby, if my wife could cook this good, I'd -â?

Everywhere, children had drawn images onto the walls, scrawled in chalk, charcoal, marker â?? anything they could get their little hands on. Stick figures, squiggly faces with giant teeth that he guessed were supposed to be the creatures lurking outside. Hand-prints shaped like birds, even though they would have been too young to have seen birds in anything but books. Even he had learned from books either saved from the fires of Armageddon, or scavenged from the surface.

Arthur followed Flint up a set of stairs to the main level of Mriya Station. The noise only increased as the collection of people grew. Dozens of voices echoing and mingling, until you almost had to shout to be heard. In the main 'atrium' of the station, the vaulted ceiling gave a feeling of 'openness', only heightened further by the chipped and faded painting of a blue sky above. It was only natural that the space gradually transformed into a meeting place and a bazaar. Merchants from other stations harked their wares, â??Retrieved from the surface!â? They cried. â??Only one left in the whole world!â?

Others sold guns, either bought from other stations, or picked from the bodies of the dead.

Arthur dodged a group of children playing a game of Tag in the open space, watching as they ran giggling and shrieking into the tunnels.

At the far end of the Bazaar, a group of tables sat around a small fire pit, orange flames crackling, the smoke being drawn out of a ventilation tube. Laughter and camaraderie drifted over from the collection of sentries and salvagers. While the two groups often joshed each other for the hell of it, the two were both crucial to the survival of the Station, and respected each other.

â??Well look who finally showed his ugly mug!â? Virgil called out upon seeing Arthur approaching. Several of the other salvagers and some of the sentries laughed and waved him over. Arther chuckled tiredly, sitting down on a bench alongside his fellow salvagers. Someone pushed a tin cup of steaming coffee into his hands, something he gratefully accepted. It wasn't real coffee anymore, but a substitute made with chicory root, molasses, and some other crap that he didn't really know. It tasted like shit, but it still woke you up when you needed it to.

â??Here. Add some of this.â? Virgil quipped, tossing him a metal flask. Even with his reflexes slowed by drowsiness, Arthur still managed to catch it with one hand. He undid the cap, and poured a few deks of gin into his cup. He fixed the cap, tossed back the flask, and lifted the cup to his lips. The temperature burned his tongue, the gin burned his gut. Regardless, it woke him up. He coughed again, more from the burning than from the dank air.

â??Shit, that's some powerful stuff, Virgil.â? He rasped, wiping his mouth on his arm.

â??Malta Station's finest!â? He praised, lifting the flask into the air. â??I've got some mates there with a private still. Best field doctors I've ever met.â?

â??Field doctors?â? A salvager named Tucker pushed his way into the conversation. â??Seriously?â?

â??Would I lie? The two use the gin as an anesthetic. S'crude,â? He said, before taking another swig, â??But it's effective. And, they don't need to open up the suit. Medics got it hard enough trying to treat us, without exposing us to the radiation.â?

â??But gin's not going to keep them from bleeding out -â?

Arthur let their conversation slip away into the background noise, lifting the tin cup to his lips again, nursing the oily black liquid, letting the warmth of the drink thaw his veins and loosen his joints. He leaned back, looking up at the faded painting on the ceiling, knowing that soon, soon he would be going up there once more.​

 

[darkangel76]

Daniella Lowry heaved a sigh as she slowly sat up in her bed, if you could even call it that. Though to her, it was luxury to the max. A lot of people in the Metro weren’t lucky enough to even have a mattress, so the fact that she did truly said something. It was an old mattress, stained rather heavily and worn with holes, but she loved it. She had placed it in the far left corner of her small room since the other side had a small leak that dripped from time to time and the idea of a semi wet mattress was far from appealing. She had a thin tattered blanket and a large knitted one lying on top of the ratty thing. The knitted blanket had been a lucky find, something one of the salvagers had managed to come across one time during an expedition. She’d paid a pretty penny for that one too. It had cost her one of her knives and a pad of paper and pen she’d stumbled upon one crazy day. Paper was a rare commodity and highly coveted and though she prided herself on having a whole pad of the stuff, she knew one day she’d have to part with it for something she felt she needed more.

“Danny,” came a muffled voice from on the other side of her make shift door. She’d propped up a large slab of wood over the opening into her room. It was large and heavy enough that if someone got the bright idea of trying to break in, she’d easily hear them before they’d actually get in. While out, she could lock up her place. But it was something she could only do when not inside. She had scored a combination lock that her parents had given her and managed to rig up a fairly decent locking device to keep things as safe as she could given the situation. So far, it seemed to work pretty well.

“Yeah?” Daniella answered, sleep still evident in her voice. She rubbed her pale eyes vigorously and began to run her fingers through her long, dark hair.

“Danny, you’re needed at the hospital,” the voice added, its owner giving her door a slight knock.

“Okay, Jess. I’m gettin’ up,” Daniella was tired still, groggy. It had been a long night at the hospital. A few salvagers had gotten into an accident on their way back to Mriya Station and had landed themselves in the hospital. Her parents, being top-notch medical personnel had required her assistance and like always she gave it.

Jessica Landry was another medic at Mriya Station, much like Daniella was. The girl wasn’t nearly as skilled, but she always chalked that up to the fact that she was born to be a medic, it was in her blood. Her dad was a surgeon, and before everything went to hell, he’d been considered one of the finest in the city. Her mom was a ‘high ranking’ nurse, one of the seniors before the bombs fell. Together, her parents were quite a team, a force to be reckoned with. And as a result, they were highly respected in Mriya Station. It also meant that they’d passed on their knowledge to their baby girl as soon as she was able to comprehend the harsh realities of the world.

Daniella had been one of the first born in the Metro. Her mother had been pregnant during the disaster, her survival a total miracle. And the fact that she’d been able to carry Daniella to term and have a relatively easy delivery despite the rancid conditions was just beyond the beyond.

Daniella scowled and pulled her thick hair back in a hair band. She stood up, slipped on a pair of fitted ripped-up blue jeans, socks and boots and then grabbed her jacket to put on over her fitted t-shirt and went to open her door. Jessica stood there all bubbly and smiles. She didn’t know how the blonde girl did it, day after day. Reality sucked, yet the girl always seemed to be happy. In some ways, she found it annoying. Though there were times she was grateful for it. Jessica was always a good person to go to when you needed comforting. She was a good friend. And since her parents were never able to spare much time to give her such things, Jessica was a good person to turn to.

“Ready?” Jessica asked, her blue eyes glittering.

Daniella nodded, “As I’ll ever be.” She locked up her place and almost immediately began to tug on her lip, a nervous habit she exhibited whenever she was mulling over things or worried about something. “My parents say what they needed me for?” she then asked.

Jessica shook her head. “No, they were too busy. Some guy started having a seizure so they were a bit… ummm… preoccupied.”

Daniella stopped tugging on her lip and bit down on it. “Shit,” she muttered. Yeah, it was going to be a long day too. Something in her gut just told her so and her gut was rarely wrong.

The two girls continued to walk down the dimly lit tunnels toward the hospital. It was already bustling with life despite how early it was. But then, time wasn’t really something anyone kept track of any more. Not unless you contributed toward the betterment of the Metro.

Daniella placed a hand against her forehead and gave a small groan.

“You okay, Danny?” Jessica asked.

“It’s these goddamned headaches. I just can’t seem to shake them these days,” Daniella answered.

“Again? Maybe you need to talk to your parents about it,” Jessica suggested.

Shaking her head, Daniella said, “No. I’m sure they’re nothing.” She paused. “They’re more annoying than anything, really. I’ll be fine. It’ll go away eventually.” She gave the blonde girl a smile, though inside she was wincing. Her headaches had been getting stronger over time, not to mention increasing in frequency. She wasn’t sure what was causing them, but she felt pretty certain it wasn’t life threatening. Or at least she hoped it wasn’t. Regardless, she didn’t want to bug her parents about it. Not yet anyway. Not until she felt the need to really say something.

Daniella pulled out her hair band, letting her thick, dark hair fall in rippling waves over her shoulders. Placing the band around her wrist, she began tugging on her lip again. Jessica remained silent and she was grateful for that. She needed the silence, the quiet. In a few minutes they’d be arriving at the hospital and the chaos would begin. Again. Yeah, it was definitely going to be a long day.

 

[Survivor00]

It was going to be a long day.

Arthur held out the tin cup for a refill, one cup just simply not enough to keep him running. Tucker nodded silently, scooping up the kettle and pouring him a second cup of the oily-black drink. â??Thanks, Tuck.â? He grunted out, looking down at his haggard reflection bending and distorting in the steaming liquid before lifting it to his lips and taking another long sip of the strong brew. Without Virgil's gin to add some flavor, it tasted far more burnt than before, but he slugged it down all the same. Couldn't afford to be picky, and burnt chicory root was better than nothing at all. Even with the heat of the fire bathing his face, and the heat of the coffee pooling in his gut, he could still feel the bite of cold surface air against the back of his neck.

You couldn't escape it.

Arthur set the cup down on the bench beside him, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. He gave the collection of salvagers a quick nod, and eased out of their ranks to grab some breakfast. Nearly every Station had collected some sort of livestock, pigs, chickens, that sort of thing. He'd even visited one station that ate dog meat. He'd never been old enough to have a dog as a pet, but it still felt awkward. It had tasted rather gamey as well. Art coughed savagely again, before spitting a wad of bloody phlegm onto the floor. That...probably wasn't good, but his throat felt clearer now, at least. He trekked through the bazaar once more, past a podium where a group of people were watching a man preach about seeing the 'promised' land, where the bombs had not hit, urging people to join him in an exodus. Many watched him because he broke the banality of their day, few seemed as excited as he about the concept.

Arthur ducked through a low doorway into the dining hall, the rich scents of cooked meat rising into the air and making his mouth water. People's diets weren't as varied as they once used to be. Meals usually consisted of a mixed stew of meat and leeks, maybe with some potatoes or mushrooms. They needed to make enough to serve several dozen people, maybe more, so specific meals had become a thing of the past. The air was thick with smoke from dozens of lit cigarettes, a dull roar of voices, all underneath the tinny wail of some cassette player spewing music into the air. He eased into the end of the line, grabbing a bowl from the pile of dishes. Someone elbowed beside him, and he grunted, butting back to give himself some room. The line was slow to move, but he made his way there eventually.

â??Good morning, Arthur.â? An older woman smiled tiredly at him from behind a steaming pot of some kind of porridge. â??Come to get breakfast, have we?â? She took his bowl and ladled a scoop of the thick substance into it before handing it back to him.

Arthur took the bowl, looking down at the porridge and hiding his look of distaste, â??Morning, Aunt Kathrine. â? He smiled at her. A friend of his parents since before the war, 'Aunt' Kathrine had been the closest he had to a family once his father passed away. She didn't like the idea of him going to the surface, but frankly, neither did he. Yet it was his job nonetheless. â??Yeah. Coffee's not going to do much today.â? He said with a sigh. The person behind him bawled about him holding up the line, and he looked apologetically to her, before moving on. Someone dropped a single poached egg on top of the porridge, as well as a slice of bacon, and waved him on.

As far as meals went, it wasn't bad.

He made his way back out to the gathering of salvagers around the fire pit, taking back his place on the bench and using a spoon to scoop the poached egg into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and sighed in satisfaction. That might have helped more than the coffee did. The bacon quickly went next, and the porridge, while horrendously bland, filled him up better than he had expected. He finished the whole meal in only a few minutes, washing it down with the rest of his coffee, feeling revitalized, his spirits lifted.

Only to be sent crashing down when the intercom drowned out even the crowds of the bazaar.

â??All salvage teams, report to the armory and staging grounds, immediately! All salvage teams!â?

â??Fuck.â? He spat quietly, pushing up off the bench once more, joined by the others. They all seemed to wear the same grim expression. Would they make it back from the surface, or would they remain there for eternity as ghosts amongst the radiation? â??I need to get my gear, guys, I'll meet you at the platform...â? He said, jogging to his room. They didn't like it when you held up an excursion, so he had to hurry, despite every instinct telling him not to.

The suit he had to wear was cumbersome and heavy, even though he was sure it didn't do much to protect him from the radiation. The armored vest he hefted over his body was even heavier, and he grunted as the extra weight jerked at his spine. Over top of that, he pulled on his backpack, loaded with extra ammunition, filters, a Universal Charger, and his sketchpad and other personal possessions. He fitted the loops and pouches on his jacket with extra magazines, filters, and an Army-grade medkit. He looked at himself in the shard of mirror on the wall, before he sighed, and hung the gas-mask over his neck, where it would be in quick reach if he needed it.

He lumbered out of his room, extinguishing the lamp and absently wondering if he would ever light it again. His suited form must have made an imposing sight, for people moved out of the way as he approached, the stairs creaking beneath his boots as he stomped up to the Bazaar. The salvagers and sentries had abandoned their tables, some having left meals unfinished. His boots clumped harshly on the bare tile, and he headed out towards the armory. â??Come on, Arthur, hurry up! Don't want to get the Winch all wound up, do you?â? A voice called from beyond the door, followed by a chorus of chuckles and he hurried himself more.

The armory was a small room, lit brightly by an electric lamp. A number of guns were hung on the wall, and the tables were stocked with the tools needed to maintain them. â??Ah! Arthur. Running late again, huh?â? Fletcher chuckled, reaching down and placing the clunky, Metro-built SMG on the table before him. â??Here's your Bastard.â? He chuckled. â??Try to keep the action clear, that's what jammed it last time.â?

â??Blame that on the fucking snoutface that pinned me to the ground.â? Arthur replied, picking up the firearm and looping it around a leather strap on his jacket. Bastards were notoriously prone to jamming and overheating. Add their low accuracy to that list, and the only reason the gun was popular was because it was cheap to buy and make, and it could throw out a lot of bullets in a short period of time.

The next gun laid out before him was far more welcome. His shotgun. It hardly ever failed him. He tossed the sling over his neck, the weapon thumping against his side.

â??And last, but not least.â? Fletcher placed the old revolver on the table. Arthur scooped it up, checked to see if it was loaded, and holstered it. â??Thanks, Fletcher.â? He said, carrying at least 50lbs of gear on his back, now. Still, he was sadly used to the weight. He eased out the door towards the station platform where they gathered, a railcar waiting to take them out. Everyone else was there, Virgil, Flint, Tucker, Danny. She was a...peculiar one. Daughter of two of Mriya's doctors, somehow ended up being a medic on a salvage team. Of course, it's not like they didn't appreciate her medical talents.

â??Took you long enough, Arthur.â? 'Colonel' Winchester â?? otherwise known as the 'Winch', by many of the salvagers, chided him, like he was a schoolboy late for class. â??Once again, you're late, and have delayed this entire operation.â?

â??Forgive me for not wanting to rush to an uncertain death, Colonel.â? Arthur muttered, even though he pulled himself into a lazy salute. The man treated them as if though they were soldiers, trying to relive his old 'glory days' of military command before they had boiled away the world. Although, rumors were that Winchester had never seen an officer's ranks before the bombs fell. He could have been a janitor, for all they knew. But they all followed his orders, to a degree.

 

[darkangel76]

Danny and Jess walked into the hospital, though according to Danny’s parents it wasn’t even close to the hospitals of old – bright, shiny buildings that stood tall and proud, had bridges of glass connecting them together, where people bustled about and had equipment and medication at their fingertips. Danny had a difficult time trying to imagine such a thing. Their hospital in Mriya Station was nothing like the ones her parents had told her stories about. No. The only hospital Danny had ever seen was small, cramped and all too often way over crowded. Usually, they didn’t have enough beds for their patients, which meant a lot were just laid on the floor or a table if they were lucky enough to have one at the ready. And meds? Forget it. Most of them were fabricated by the doctors themselves since most weren’t available any more. Yeah, the hospital Danny knew was more of a place where you kept the sick and deranged isolated from the rest of the population. You kept them there and tried to make them as comfortable as you could until they either died or got lucky enough to make it through their illness. As for accidents, that was a whole other story. They did what they could, but the success rates weren’t all that high. But that was the way of it. It was grueling work, harsh, cruel. And, more often than not, left Danny in tears by the end of the day.

The two girls were greeted by a flickering oil lamp as they entered the hospital, followed by the moans and groans of various patients. The place was crowded today, making it hard to walk anywhere. The floors, tables and what little beds they had were littered with patients. Danny just tuned everything out as she and Jess made their way through the crowd of patients, her head throbbing.

A few of the electrical lights illuminating the placed buzzed and flicked as Danny and Jess moved past them. The wiring wasn’t the greatest and the few bulbs they’d managed to score for the time being were starting to go bad. They had back up oil lamps, but the light the electrical bulbs provided was a lot brighter, which came in quite handy a lot of the time.

“There you are!” came a voice. It was Danny’s mother, Joanna. The woman’s hands were covered in blood and some other oozy-looking mess. But this was something Danny was used to seeing, so it hardly fazed her.

“Hell of a morning, huh?” Danny asked.

Joanna nodded, “You could say that. First a seizure and then a bleed out. It’s a mess today.”

Danny chuckled to herself. Really, it was unlike any other day at the hospital. But for some reason, acting like it wasn’t, finding a reason to bitch more about something than usual, made everyone feel more at ease. It gave them all a weird sense of balance since there really was none. When every day was hell, you had to start looking at things a bit differently.

“That sucks, mom,” Danny said.

“It does, but what can you do?” Joanna said with a shrug. “Anyway, we got word earlier this morning that you’ve got to go on a salvage expedition.”

Danny’s eyes widened. “What?!” she shrieked. She could see Jess’ eyes pop at the mere mention of the word ‘salvage’. Such expeditions were dangerous. A lot of them ended in disaster or near disaster since most required that they go to the dreaded surface. “Why?”

Joanna heaved a sigh, “Because you’re a skilled medic, Danny.”

“Fuck that!” Danny shouted. Jess winced and cast her eyes down at the ground as she began to fidget with her hands.

“Well, no one said you had to like it,” Joanna said sternly. “Your father and I definitely don’t like it. But what choice do we have?”

Danny scowled, her face reddening as anger washed over her. “There’s always a choice, mom.”

“Not when our survival is on the line. Besides, if you don’t go, they’ll just come here and haul your ass there.” Joanna paused. “Better to just go willingly, even if it’s with reluctance than to have them drag you kicking and screaming.”

Danny rolled her eyes. She knew her mother was right, but that didn’t make her any happier about the situation. “Fine!” she shouted as she stormed out of the hospital, leaving both her mother and Jess behind, not waiting for either to say anything. She was pissed off and needed to be alone as she made her way to the armory where the salvagers all congregated before heading out.

Storming down the dimly lit tunnels of Mriya Station, Danny rubbed at her temples. Her head hurt so very badly. It was as if the voices of everyone she passed by were on high volume. They were louder, more muddled, more confusing. She tried to tune everything out, but she couldn’t for some reason and that only put her in a worse mood.

Danny headed into the armory where she was given her suit and gear she’d need for going to the surface. With deliberate slowness, she suited herself up. When she was ready to head out to the platform, she took her time. She was angry and she wanted the world to know it. Plus, her head was pounding and the fact that there was nothing she could do about it meant that everyone else had to suffer to as far as she was concerned since her day had gone from bad to worse all because of a salvage call.

On the platform, Danny was surrounded by a rag-tag group of salvagers. They were typical for such a team and she knew who most were, if not personally, at least by name and face recognition. Mriya Station wasn’t so big that people got totally lost in the crowd. So, though you may not associate with certain people, you at least knew who they were.

Suddenly, the Colonel who headed the group up gave a smirk and shouted out. “Took you long enough, Arthur.” Everyone, including Danny followed the Colonel’s line of sight and turned in that direction to see this Arthur he was addressing. “Once again, you're late, and have delayed this entire operation.”

Danny recognized the guy, though she didn’t really know him well. She tilted her head a little and watched to see what his reaction would be to the Colonel’s words. From what she could tell, Arthur didn’t seem to even care about what the Colonel had said. He just falling into line and gave the guy a salute. “Forgive me for not wanting to rush to an uncertain death, Colonel,” she heard him mutter.

Danny quirked up an eyebrow and began to tug on her lip as she watched Arthur meet up with his salvager buddies. Looking away, she could feel his eyes suddenly give her a glance. It was brief, but for some reason it unsettled her a little. It was like he found it weird that she was going on the salvage expedition with him and his group. In a way, she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t very experienced in such expeditions, but then again, she was confident in her medical expertise. Deciding to ignore him, she just kept her focus on what she needed to do.

Yeah, Danny had been right. Today was going to be a long day. Just not the kind of long she’d originally thought it would be. Giving her temples another rub, she followed the others in the group onto the railcar.

 

[Survivor00]

Someone near the end of the tunnel whistled, a loud, shrill noise that echoed through the station platform. With an unspoken signal between them all, the salvagers began to climb aboard the railcar as one group. Arthur settled down on one of the unforgiving wooden benches on the side of the cart, shrugging off his pack and setting it on the floor between his legs. He sighed in relief as the heavy weight was taken off his shoulders and spine, leaning back and staring up at the domed ceiling overhead. Once everyone was seated and accounted for, the aging truck motor grumbled to life, spitting a cloud of exhaust fumes out behind it. Twin spotlights on the front of the tram flickered on.

Colonel Winchester bellowed out at the top of his lungs. â??Open the gate!â?

At the end of the platform, a large, steel gate groaned on it hinges as it swung out into the darkness of the tunnels beyond. Men with assault rifles aimed into the void, and up near the top of the fortifications, a machine gun even poked its snout out. The spotlights mounted to the side cast a strong beam into the darkness. Mutants rarely came this close to the stations â?? too bright for them, maybe. Or they were smart enough that they had learned there were defenses, and were avoiding them. Arthur hoped it was the former, because the latter meant they could also be smart enough to find other ways into the station.

With the motor growling heavily, Winchester slowly opened up the throttle, and the railcar jerked once before it rolled forward. Arthur glanced around at the other salvagers, at their reactions for being sent out into the tunnels once more. Tucker clutched an old pair of rosary beads in his hands, and was mumbling a prayer for protection. Virgil seemed calm, glaring into the dark as if his hatred for it would drive it away. The railcar passed through the gate, bathing the darkness ahead of them with a sickly light. Twenty years without maintenance had taken its tolls on the tunnels. There were patches where the concrete had started to crack, dirt and debris sifting down from above. The rebar mesh was starting to rust and warp in places. Every day, it seemed like another tunnel had collapsed. Soon, he wasn't sure how they'd go about moving around.

Groups of men patrolled these tunnels â?? they were still under human control. They waved to railcar as it passed. One of them tossed a pack of extra magazines up to them. They were passed around eagerly. More ammo was never a bad thing. Another gathering of men sat around a fire pit behind a fortification. They laughed at a joke that Arthur had failed to hear, but they turned and whistled and cheered as the railcar passed. The tram rattled up the old subway rails, passing by the â??Dead Manâ?? fortifications. The sandbag emplacements and the men that manned them were the first line of defense if something were to attack the station, be it human or mutant. They would also be the first to die. They looked up at the tram as it passed by, and Art turned his head to look away. Their faces...their eyes...had a haunted look to them, they were men who had stared into the maddening abyss for far too longâ?¦and the abyss had stared back.

â??Masks!â? Someone hissed urgently, and Arthur felt the first tugging of some something vile in his lungs. Without thinking, he scooped his mask over his head, reaching down to check his watch to see how much time his filter held. He sucked in a breath of filtered air, grimacing. This was how they would be breathing until they reached wherever the hell they were going. The Winch hadn't even told them what they were doing. Along the floor of the tunnel, he could see almost a soupy sort of fog, condensed vapors of the most toxic sort. How anything could live out here was beyond him, but these mutants had adapted. Some of them had once been humans at one point, too.

The railcar rattled into another station, this one too damaged to serve as a shelter. Instead, it was a gateway to the surface now. The tracks were blocked by a makeshift barricade made of pipes, tires, and barbed wire. There were gaps in the barricade from mutant attacks, but it seemed to have held up fairly well. The railcar groaned to a stop, coming to rest just inches from a collapsed chunk of ceiling that no one had bothered to remove from the tracks. Arthur took the Bastard off the strap, holding it tightly in his grip. From above, he could feel the bite of cold air, it made his skin prickle even under all of his layers. It was the feeling of death scraping its fingers over you.

Climbing off the railcar and onto the dusty platform, he took position by one of the doors leading up to the surface, listening to the wind howling through the ruins of the old world. Carefully, he eased the gate open, peering outside, before rushing out and sweeping the area with the SMG. Dumb mistake - the light from above nearly blinded him. But he pretended like nothing happened, or else someone would comment. After a moment, he called through his radio. "It's all clear." Stretching before him was the run down escalator that had once carried hundreds of people underground each day. Snow drifted down from the sky, dusting some of the steps with it.

Like a moth drawn to the flame, he found himself walking up those frozen steps, growing closer to the surface.

 

[darkangel76]

Danny walked with heavy footsteps onto the railcar and made her way to sit down on one of the wooden benches. She found an empty spot and sat down with a light thud, flanked by two salvagers she didn’t know very well. Their faces seemed strangely blank as they stared ahead, eyes glazed, mouths closed saying nothing. She felt so small and alone all of a sudden, like mouse trapped in a lion’s den waiting to be pounced and eaten alive. Shivering, whether from the cold or from fear or from something else entirely it was hard to tell. Feeling like an outsider, she slumped against the back of the uncomfortable bench, her arms wrapped around herself, giving her the only comfort she knew she could find given the situation she now found herself in. The wood of the bench was hard, making her bones hurt with each and every bump the railcar passed over as they journeyed toward the surface. The tracks were rickety, old. It was amazing that they’d held up for this long really.

Teeth chattering, Danny hugged her arms more tightly about herself. She wondered how long it would take before they reached their destination, how long they’d have to linger on the surface. A wave of nausea washed over her as she glanced at the two salvagers sitting on either side of her on the bench. Their empty stares made her wonder what evils their eyes had seen. From the looks of them, she’d have guessed much more than several. And as far as she was concerned that was too much.

Danny hoped that this particular expedition would be a fast one. She wasn’t even sure what the salvagers were looking for, if anything in particular. But that wasn’t her job. No. She was there for insurance, a mere crutch to help ease the minds of those who were ‘lucky’ enough to have their role be what they were in this group she found herself surrounded by. Her parents had done well shielding her from ever having to go to the dreaded surface, the now frozen wastelands that used to run blue with water and brim green with life. But their protection only extended so far and she’d finally reached the end of that rope. There was nothing left but fringe to hang on to now and even that was fraying terribly.

“Masks!” a loud voice hissed from somewhere. Danny couldn’t tell which side it had come from. All she knew was that hearing it boom above the deafening silence caused her to react almost immediately, grabbing at her mask and quickly placing it over her face.

Breathing erratic, Danny’s eyes skittered about, looking at everyone surrounding her in the railcar. For a moment, she caught glance of the rebellious salvager, Arthur, the only one of them to speak up and his mind, so it seemed. She tried to calm herself by focusing on her breathing, but it was hard, so very hard to push out what was going down. Because no matter how hard she tried, she knew the inevitable was going to happen. She, along with everyone else, would have to get out and make their way up into the desolate frozen world that had once been their peoples’ home.

Danny grabbed her medi-pack, clutching it tightly against her body. A wave of panic coursed through her as a strange sort of fog began to swirl around everyone present. It was unnerving.

‘This is suicide,’ Danny thought to herself. ‘I’m never going back, am I?’ she then silently asked. She could feel her eyes water and not from the poisonous vapors filling the railcar.

A few long moments later and the railcar finally came to a screeching halt. Everyone, including Danny, seemed to hold their breath for a moment, anticipating and expecting the worst to happen.

Danny watched Arthur get off the tram and head outside to do a sweep of the area, to make sure nothing dangerous stood in their way. Again she shivered, her body shaking, her stomach queasy. The day had gotten even worse, it was almot too mch to bear. Just then, she saw a blinding light stream into the tunnel. The light hurt her eyes, made the pain she felt stabbing through her skull even worse. She was going to throw up if she didn’t get a grip on herself.

“Calm down, Danny,” Danny mumbled to herself inaudibly. “Just fucking fix whoever needs it and stay out of the way until you have to.”

Suddenly, Danny heard what she assumed was Arthur’s voice over some sort of transmitter letting the rest of them know it was clear, a job she pitied him for having to do. At that, everyone stood up and reluctantly made their way out of the tram and onto a crumbling platform. She looked over toward the opened gate, which led to an old rundown escalator that led to the frozen surface. Terrified, she fell in line with the rest of the group and began the long trek up fearing that she’d never see Mriya Station ever again.

 

[Survivor00]

The dry snow that layered the escalator's rigid steps crunched like broken glass under Arthur's boots as he ascended into the howling void. The cold surface air bit at his exposed skin like hungry rats, and the ominous clicking of the Geiger Counter hanging from his belt was an ever-present reminder to the poisons he was likely exposing himself to. His heart thumped against his ribs as if though it were trying to break free and run back to the safety of Mriya Station. His head-mounted flashlight cast a pale cone of light across the rust-coated 'fortifications' that had long since been abandoned by their defenders, swinging back and forth wherever he looked and sending dark shadows leaping up the walls in front of him. He bristled at each one, and he had to force himself not to instinctively shoot at them.

Back when the surviving humans had first emerged from their bunkers to discover the twisted horrors that now roamed the tunnels and the surface world, they had tried desperately to defend every square inch of their last refuge. They erected countless barricades and fortifications throughout the tunnels, send entire squads of hunting parties â?? sometimes with only a single gun amongst them â?? to kill every mutant they came across.

It was a disaster. Hundreds of men simply never returned, or went mad from the radiation, the trauma they had seen, or both. Eventually, the Council rescinded the action and declared it would be safer to guard the core areas â?? the Stations, the outposts, the farms. While this left the tunnels open to whatever twisted beasts lurked in the fumes, it kept the population bases safe, and offered those that were wounded in their defense a better chance at survival.

Arthur passed by one of the old barricades, scrap metal, reinforced with chunks of steel and rebar, and wrapped with barbed wire. There was a rusty brown stain splashed on the metal and the floor â?? old blood. His breath fogged up the faceplate of his gas mask, and he licked his lips, for they felt suddenly dry. He paused, holding up his left hand out behind him, indicating for the group to stop. He looped the Bastard onto his jacket and swung his shotgun into his hands. Having the extra kick made him feel slightly more at ease.

But only slightly.

Motioning for the group to move again, he hustled up the last few steps, his gear shifting back and forth. Finally, he reached the surface, looking out into the abysmal wastelands through a battered chain-link fence. The wind shrieked through the broken skeletons of the city like a Wraith, swooping down to blast the powdery snow from the ground into blinding whiteouts. In many places, the ground had caved in, collapsing into the sewers and Metro tunnels below, creating a miniature landscape. The streets were crammed with the empty hulks of abandoned cars, burnt out by the fires of Armageddon.

Arthur shivered, both from the cold, and from the haunting emptiness that filled his vision.

He heard a snarl just a second too late to react in time. A dark, squatting form lunged under the cone of his vision, and he was suddenly knocked back by a powerful impact to his stomach. His vision went blurry, the air rushed from his lungs as he landed painfully on his ass. He looked up and saw a Snoutface gnashing and snarling against the chain-link fence just a few inches from his face. The thin wire twanged and crashed as the beast tried to get to him. Gobs of spit smacked against the mask's faceplate as he stared into a gnashing maw of teeth.

Some people tried to identify what the mutants had been before the radiation had twisted their minds and bodies. There were even a number of theories as to why only certain numbers of these creatures had mutated.

Most people though, just shot them on sight and paid no other thought to them.

Arthur was one of the latter group. Fueled by adrenaline and terror, he swung his shotgun up towards the beast before his vision could even clear. He was so close he didn't even need to aim anyway. He pulled the trigger, and the drum-fed weapon belched noise and buckshot, pumping round after round into the creature. The snoutface was torn open, flesh and bone ripping and cracking under the barrage of pellets. Hot blood splashed his hands and jacket, and the barrel of his shotgun. The beast let out a gurgling screech, curled up to protect a face and brain that was no longer there, and died with the loose sound of air escaping dead lungs. The crimson puddle that began to spread from below its body contrasted sharply with the gray snow.

Arthur panted, fogging up his mask so badly he couldn't even see, sitting there and aiming the shotgun out into the void, in case more came. Or, that's what he told himself. Not that he was practically paralyzed with fear at the moment, and that there was a warm, wet feeling running down the leg of his pants. He was protecting the group. Yeah, that was it.

Protecting them.

He stood uneasily to his feet, leaning against the wall to drag some air into his lungs and to give his heart a chance to calm down, before he just dropped dead of a heart attack. His vision was still blurry, and it eventually dawned on him that it wasn't his eyes, but his mask. He reached up to try and wipe the dead beast's phlegm and saliva away from the polycarbonate faceplate, only to smear gobs of curdled blood over it from his hands, making it worse. He coughed again, and reached up and lifted his mask up for the quickest instant to spit, before placing it back on again.

Trembling fingers reached into his rucksack and pulled out a few shotgun shells. He dropped the first one, cursed, and managed to load the rest. He reached down and scooped up the fallen shell, and it was only then that he realized that the others were there with him, making sure he was okay. He hadn't even heard them speaking to him, hadn't even noticed them, like they were ghosts.

He looked up at them, his eyes wide, pupils dilated sharply. Danny was closest to him â?? she was the medic, he was covered in blood.

â??It's...it's not mine. Not my blood.â? He said, his own voice feeling oddly detached. â??I'm alright.â?

 

[darkangel76]

Daniella followed the crowd out of the tram and up the dilapidated escalator. Her nerves were starting to get the better of her as she made her way toward open ground, to where Arthur had gone to clear the way for them all. And, she wasn’t liking it. At all. She was more than embarrassed by her body’s reactions and was suddenly grateful to be suited up, the material hiding the fact that her hands were shaking, her body trembling. But she was also pissed. How could her parents let her get mixed up in this shit? She should be back at the hospital…

As the unnatural light from the surface stabbed at Daniella’s eyes, she could hear loud scuffles and… gunshots? Her pale eyes widened and her teeth began to chatter. Just what in the hell was going on up there? Her heart began to race as a part of her began to fear for Arthur’s life. He’d put himself in harm’s way to ensure that the rest of them were safe. Something she knew she could never do and it hit hard to admit to such a thing. It made her feel badly for thinking herself above the call for medically assisting a salvage expedition.

The crowd moved faster the moment the gunshots were heard. They knew a skirmish had begun and that meant Arthur’s life was in danger. Daniella hurried up the escalator, her hands clutching at her gear. As she moved, she began to mutter to herself.

“Please be all right. Please be all right.”

Daniella was terrified at what she might see, anticipating the worst. But hoping for the best. She ran out into the open with the others and was greeted by a horrific sight. Arthur was covered in… BLOOD! Oh god! Frantic, she raced to his side, trying her best to flip the switch in her brain to go into autopilot.

“It’s like the hospital, Danny,” Daniella whispered to herself. “Just fix him. Move on.”

Licking her lips and swallowing, the moment Daniella reached Arthur’s side, she began fumbling for supplies in her pack.

“It's...it's not mine. Not my blood,” Arthur said. “I'm all right.”

Daniella couldn’t help but sigh in relief, but she still found that she couldn’t move, that she was stuck where she stood. There was something in the way of Arthur’s voice that bothered her. He sounded off, like someone who had witnessed and experienced too many things that one of their age should never have had to. It made her wonder if she’d become like that if these expeditions suddenly became a regular thing after this day.

“You sure?” Daniella asked as she began to reach for Arthur. Just then, the incessant pain in her head gave a push, causing a wave of nausea to rise within her belly. Ugh. She was going to be sick.

Immediately, Daniella clutched at her stomach and doubled over, her head falling between her knees. Oh how embarrassing. This was one reaction she couldn’t hide and what was worse, it had nothing to do with fear or the bloody sight before her.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Daniella mumbled, trying her best not to vomit. “It’s my head… it hurts,” she whimpered. “Give me a minute.”

Daniella clutched at her head, wishing she could give her temples a firm rub. But with the suit on, that was impossible. And she wasn’t about to remove a single part of it either. When the nausea subsided, she stood up and looked into Arthur’s eyes and gave him a weak smile.

“You think I don’t belong here, huh,” Daniella said, her voice low, not an ounce of defense in her words. She honestly didn’t think she belonged and not because she wanted out of this expedition. Her head pain was steadily getting worse and she was beginning to doubt if she’d be of any help to this rabble. She had to face reality. She needed to get herself checked out.