The bright light of the sun roots gleamed through the window, beaming into Artyom's eyes. He slowly began to wake up, dazed and drowsy. He felt around his general vicinity; it was a strangely familiar feeling, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why, until he was fully awake and realized he was in his childhood home.
Confused, He glanced over at the door. Next to it, he could see the markings his mother had made, which indicated his current height. *5'9* it read, and his heart sank when he saw that number. He knew he was currently 6'2, which meant..... this must be that dream that has haunted him for the past four years; this was a dream he often had about his fifteenth birthday, and yet again, it had come to haunt him.
Artyom began to hyperventilate, not wanting to go downstairs, no matter what. The dread in his eyes was unparalleled, yet he knew he couldn't prevent himself from going. With all his might, he resisted opening the door to his room, but the dream maliciously ushered him on his way; it was as though an invisible force was attempting to take control of his body as he slowly but surely made his way to the door. "Why?" he thought to himself. "Must I be haunted even in my sleep?" He was now opening the door, all the while resisting with all his might. He felt cold, and a chill ran up his spine as he heard the doorknob start to twist slowly yet surely. Soon enough, the door was open; however, Artyom mustered up enough will to latch on to the hinge of the door with his right arm. He looked to his right; the stairs leading to the living room, seemingly an endless dark abyss, lay before him. He mustered up enough strength to keep a firm grip on the door, effectively halting his body from proceeding down the stairs. This seemed to anger the force that was ushering him forward, as it began to weigh even heavier on his body until he could barely hold on. Artyom remained strong; he absolutely refused to go downstairs, even if it cost him his life. The force cared not for Artyom's determination, as it was pulling him with unimaginable force, Artyom thought he'd be split in half, and sure enough, one by one, his fingers began to loosen as his fingernails were ripped off one by one. Artyom screamed in agony, however no amount of pain would be worse than what lay down those stairs. Unfortunately, the pain was too much, and Artyom was forced off of the door. Before he knew it, he was walking down the stairs, unable to control his body at all. He subconciously grabbed a gas mask lying on the wall as he made his way down, not by his own volition, of course.
The house was dark. It was as though night had suddenly fallen, as though the sun roots had suddenly vanished, and it was deathly silent. As he made it to the living room, the windows were shut, and the only thing that illuminated the room was a candle in the middle of the living room table, sitting next to the top of a crude cake his mother had made for his fifteenth birthday. Such a thing was a rarity in the wastes that are the sprawl, but Artyom's mother always found a way to make one for such special occasions. Despair befell Artyom as the force suddenly started moving him towards the kitchen. "No!!!" He cried, "Please, anywhere but there!" He cried out, but the dream didn't care. As per usual, he would inevitably end up going into the kitchen, no matter what. As he turned the corner, the kitchen was also dark; however, there was a faint red color that faintly illuminated the area. As Artyom looked around, there were many mushroom-like growths carpeting the walls and ceiling, glowing in a deep crimson red hue. And soon enough, he heard it—that distinct noise that had haunted him for all these years, *squish* *squish* *squish* It was a sound similar to a thick paste being sloshed around in a bowl. In horror, Artyom knew exactly what it was.
As he was slowly forced into the kitchen, the crimson glow of the fungus grew brighter, and there was much more of it permeating every oracle. As he entered the kitchen, the squishing sounds got louder. Something was visibly moving behind the countertop; it seemed to be the source of the grotesque squishing sound. Artyom knew what came next; he started to panic; laborer breathing grew loud through his gas mask; he tried to close his eyes but he couldn't; and soon, he came upon the lifeless eyes of his father, or what was left of him at least. He was a mangled mess all over the floor; there was blood everywhere, and on top of him lay a creature that could only be described as a festering corpse laden with red grotesque boils all over their body. This creature was devouring his father. *squish* *squish* That sound reverberated through Artyom's skull. He wanted to fall to his knees, but he couldn't; the dream wouldn't let him. All he could do was let out a choked whimper, and suddenly, the squishing stopped. The creature slowly but surely looked up, gore dripping from its face; it locked eyes with Artyom, and as he stared back, he was met with his mother's eyes. The creature let out an ear-piercing wail as it lunged at Artyom. The creature was inches from Artyom's face as he let out a horrified scream, before his vision went completely dark.
Slowly, a yellow light begins to bleed into Artyom's vision, as a golden field unfurled before him. Tranquility fills his mind. As he opens his eyes and becomes tense in the sight, he's back to his 19-year-old self, and before him, he sees his life unfold before his eyes. The special training he endured with his father, the warmth of his mother, the time he found Rose abandoned in the wastes, raising the pup as his own. "Am I dead?" He thought to himself as he watched, until suddenly, yet again, his vision went dark, and he felt the destiguishable feeling of Rose's tongue on his cheek.
Artyom woke up in a cold sweat, Rose at his side, his heart was now calm. Though he couldn't quite remember what he saw after the nightmare in his dream, he knew was that it was something that he had never experienced before; night after night, the nightmare from the past would haunt him. Could this new, pleasant slice of a dream be a sign? Is there hope of him and his canine companion ever making it to the surface, free of the murky wasteland known as the sprawl? Artyom pondered this as he stared at the metal bars that served as a makeshift cell in front of him. Artyom realized that he felt a great pain coming from the back of his head. He felt around and found that a decently sized welt had formed on the back of his head; he'd been knocked out, but by who? And why? There were many questions he wanted answers to, but he was glad Rose was okay.
Looking around, Artyom noticed that it looked like they were inside what he assumed was an abandoned school bus, or at least what was left of it. The back of it seemed as though it was being used as a makeshift cell to contain him. Artyom noticed that all of his supplies were missing, including his weapons. His faceplate was also alarmingly missing, though the fact that he wasn't dead right now must mean that the air was free of any of the many deadly contaminants that reside below. It was dark, the sun roots must had long gone out, marking the end of daytime, so it was hard to see. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Artyom called out. In response, a light flickered on at the other end of the bus, along with the figure of a man getting up from the driver's seat. Artyom was still dazed by the concussion he'd received, however he could discern that the figure was making its way over to the cell. As the light came closer, he noticed that the light was a gas lantern and that the figure had a slight limp on his right leg. Strangely enough, Rose didn't get into a defensive position, which she would usually do around strangers. The figure was now right in front of the cell, peering down at Artyom, and as he lifted the lantern, Artyom saw the grizzled face of what looked like a man in his early fifties. A scar lay across his left cheeck; he had bushy brows with a mustache and furled hair, which was a silvery brown in color. "Well well, it seems you are finally awake, my friend," the man said in a grizzled yet polite tone. "Do excuse me for earlier, I wasn't sure if you had been infected by those vile crimson mushrooms or not; they bloody took all of Site Delta over night, and now the place is infested with begotten" the man sighed. Artyom was speechless; he'd almost forgotten what he'd seen at the entrance to Site Delta, his home, well, old home now. His worst fear had come true, site Delta was gone for good. History had repeated itself yet again. "Who are you?" Artyom said in a calm voice; he was too lost in thought to complain about the situation he was currently in. "Hah! Well, the name's Dimitri, but you can call me Doc, my friend." Doc said in an enthusiastic voice; however, his expression turned more serious as he uttered, "Well, my friend, are you perhaps interested in getting out of this hell hole?" Artyom seemed confused; as far as he knew, it was almost a fantasy—the idea of escaping the sprawl and making it to the surface, where humans had supposedly once dwelled. "Surely, you jest. There isn't a soul down in this wretched wasteland that wouldn't want to; however, doing so is an impossibility, a fairy tale" Artyom replied, seemingly annoyed. Doc simply smiled and said, "Heh, well, what if I told you that I knew the location of a means to escape this, as you put it *wretched wasteland*" Doc then leaned in even closer to Artyom, "What if I told you, I can be your ticket out of here?" Doc said with a crooked grin on his face.