*Knock*
My hands were shaking. This is what I had come to.
*Knock*
Who would have thought that this place would be swarming with creatures? Another trip to the surface, another disaster I hadn't anticipated. Radiation must have changed everything it touched beyond recognition.
*Knock*
All I had left was a Makarov pistol with a single bullet. My entire ammo supply was gone, as if fate itself had decided to leave me without a choice. One bullet. A clear message.
*Knock*
With a trembling hand, I raised the pistol to my temple. Behind the door, I could hear rasping breaths, the sound of creatures trying to break in. They pressed against the last remnants of my hope. I didn't want to become one of them. I didn't want to live in this nightmare.
"Well," I whispered. "This is the end."
*Bang*
*****************************************************************
The first moments after the nuclear war felt like an illusion. No one wanted to accept reality the world had been turned upside down. The surface, poisoned by radiation, had become a death trap. All measurements showed lethal levels of exposure; no one could survive up there. The Metro became salvation. The underground tunnels shielded people from the worst of the radiation. The levels here were still high, but at least survivable with the occasional dose of anti-radiation medicine.
At first, things weren't so bad. People tried to adjust to life underground, where there was no sunlight. Electric lamps lit the tunnels, stations remained functional, and trains still ran between them from time to time. For a while, humanity scraped by on stockpiled food and medicine.
The total population of the Metro was around 40,000 people a pitiful handful compared to pre-war Moscow. Yet even this small number placed an immense strain on resources. And soon, it became clear that things were far worse than they seemed. Without a steady supply of fresh water, food, and reliable energy, the Metro began to descend into chaos.
The weakest were the first to disappear those who were sick or unable to adapt to this new way of life. But then came another threat, one no one had foreseen. The radiation had given birth to mutants. Rats, feeding on corpses and drinking from the sewers, evolved into something monstrous. They infiltrated the Metro's systems, destroying everything in their path.
This was only the beginning.
Then came the first victims of the "rat plague." No, it wasn't a disease. Enormous rats, banding together in swarms, attacked people, stripping them of both their supplies and their lives.
I first encountered this horror when I was sent to check on a group working to restore the power lines. What I saw there would stay with me forever. The bodies of people, torn apart beyond recognition, and the rats sitting calmly beside them, as if waiting for their next victim. I barely made it out alive.
I was only twenty. I had never seen anything like it before. That nightmare changed the way I saw everything. Even the nuclear blast itself had felt almost unreal, like something from a dream. Seeing a man crushed by a hermetic door hadn't shocked me as much as the sight of a person being eaten alive, piece by piece.
It took only a year for the old order to completely collapse. The Metro, which had so effectively sustained life, began to crack under the pressure. Food and medicine were running out, and tensions among the survivors were rising. When riots started breaking out, it became clear the end was near.
The old world was nothing but a distant dream. We prayed for a miracle, but none came.
Food became scarcer. One by one, stations lost contact with each other. Survivors fought amongst themselves for resources, but it didn't save anyone. New leaders didn't try to unite the people everyone thought only of themselves. And so, our society began to fall apart.
I tried to stay away from the chaos. I locked myself in my repair room, listening to old songs on a battered radio. Most of the technology left after the war was useless. The bombs had destroyed everything that once connected us to the outside world.
Sometimes, I tried to pick up a radio signal, but all I got was static. No one was answering. Maybe there was no one left out there.
"Vadim, are you serious?" asked Pyotr Nikolaevich. I had never left this station, spending most of my time here. We had a tight-knit crew, and honestly, I had nowhere else to go.
"Why not? I think it's worth checking out," I replied, trying to hide my uncertainty.
Some people in the Metro had dared to venture to the surface, hoping to find supplies, but every time, it seemed like madness.
"Ah, son, just be careful. You're a good kid, and there aren't many like you. Take care of yourself," Pyotr said, patting me on the shoulder with concern.
I decided to take the risk and go up. Somehow, it felt like the right choice to escape the never-ending darkness of the Metro, to see the sun again, to feel fresh air on my skin. Even if that air was poisoned by nuclear war. The station walls, though they protected us, always felt like they were closing in.
"I'll do my best," I answered shortly.
"Godspeed," Pyotr said, pulling me into a tight embrace.
In a way, he had become like a father to me. My real parents had lived in the Moscow region, and they were likely dead. Maybe one day, I'd find them and at least give them a proper burial.
When I first arrived here after college, Pyotr Nikolaevich was always there to help me adapt. Now, in this era of chaos, he remained a symbol of resilience, showing us how to overcome any hardship.
With a nod, I took my seat in the makeshift train, which now consisted of a single surviving car. This wagon, seemingly patched together from the remains of destroyed structures, had lost its original engine. Instead, it was powered by a manually operated makeshift motor. Such transport allowed us to move quickly through the Metro lines.
A few other people boarded with me, each on their own errand. The train jerked forward and began sliding through the dark tunnel. The vaulted ceilings of the Metro flashed past in the dim glow of the railcar's lamps. The shifting shadows looked almost alive, like lurking monsters ready to devour us. My initial excitement faded.
My journey didn't take long. We soon arrived at my stop, and I stepped out to continue on foot. The rendezvous point was about a twenty-minute walk away. According to our calculations, the exit to the surface was far enough from the epicenter of the blasts.
Surface expeditions were our only hope of finding anything useful. But I had no illusions. The chances of discovering traces of a surviving civilization were slim. I knew all too well that the nuclear explosions had wiped out nearly all life. If this was truly the Third World War, surviving in such conditions was nearly impossible.
Just thinking about the aftermath of the two previous nuclear attacks in human history comparatively weak in destructive power was enough. And now, by all estimates, modern bombs were dozens of times more powerful. The major world powers had stockpiles in the thousands. If all those warheads had been launched, then Earth had likely become nothing more than a barren wasteland.
So why continue living? Just to prolong our existence? Or was it to rebuild civilization from the ashes? I didn't know. I was just an ordinary guy, incapable of changing the course of history.
And yet, deep down, I still dreamed of reclaiming the past of escaping the suffocating Metro that had become our concrete tomb.
When I finally reached the meeting point, I noticed there weren't many people around. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was exactly nine in the morning. The departure was scheduled for nine-thirty.
As I moved closer, I noticed that many of those gathered wore uniforms that resembled military attire. One man stood out with his rigid posture and insignia on his epaulets. His uniform was reminiscent of the Soviet era, and judging by the look of him, he was from the "Reds" faction.
This group had formed relatively recently, bringing together those who longed for the days of the USSR mostly former Soviet citizens.
I had never lived in that time and felt no particular connection to it, but many found solace in the idea.
"Hey, are you a volunteer?" a man asked as he approached me. His deep voice was accompanied by the bitter scent of tobacco.
"Yes, Vadim," I answered with a nod.
"Good. Here, take this personal protective equipment. There's also a Geiger counter inside it will measure radiation levels. You've got a watch, right? The filter lasts for two hours in high-radiation conditions. Keep that in mind," the officer said, handing me a set of gear.
He gave me a brief rundown of the mission details. After listening carefully, I put on the issued equipment as we prepared to go topside.
Taking the offered backpack, which contained a special gray protective suit, I began pulling it on over my regular clothes.
The suit consisted of two parts an upper and a lower section that fit tightly together. The hood had special attachments for a gas mask, ensuring maximum protection against radiation. However, even in this gear, staying on the surface for long was impossible. It didn't provide complete isolation from radioactive particles. The longer one remained in the contaminated zone, the higher the risk of irreversible consequences.
"Step forward, everyone will receive an anti-rad injection," announced a man in a medic's uniform.
Those who hadn't yet undergone the procedure lined up. I joined them, having put on only the lower half of my suit, letting the upper part hang loose for now. The medic quickly disinfected the injection site before administering the shot. A slight burning sensation followed, but this dose would help my body cope better with radiation exposure.
A few more minutes passed as we finished preparing. In these conditions, haste was a luxury that could cost lives. I checked the time on my watch, strapped to the outside of my suit's sleeve. It was exactly 9:30.
"All volunteers, gather around," the officer's voice rang out. He held a tablet displaying a map and a list of objectives. "I'll brief you on the mission."
We formed a small circle, listening attentively.
"Our task is to scout a storage facility located roughly one hundred meters from the exit. There, we might find essential supplies. Your contribution will be highly valued," the officer stated, pausing for emphasis. "For your safety, you'll be issued weapons but only pistols. Two armed soldiers will accompany you for additional protection."
His gaze swept over us as he added,
"Be aware that rats may have survived on the surface. These aren't ordinary pests they are mutated creatures that could pose a serious threat."
With the briefing complete, the officer gestured toward a crate filled with firearms. We moved forward to gear up.
In the end, no more than three volunteers had gathered. I had expected more people to join, but it seemed not everyone was as reckless as we were.
We approached a massive steel door, our designated exit. The soldiers began breaking the locks, forcing the door open. A blast of cold air rushed inside.
"Everyone, secure your protective gear," the officer reminded us. "Radiation levels will rise rapidly from this point on."
I double-checked my suit, ensuring that everything fit tightly. All the fastenings were secure, and my Geiger counter was on.
Our group pressed forward. The first obstacle a rusted staircase leading upward loomed ahead. It still held firm, but its corroded state was unsettling. The lead soldier, clad in a military-grade protective suit, ascended first. His equipment looked far more reliable than ours.
After climbing about ten meters, we reached a hatch. The soldier cautiously unlocked it and peeked outside.
"All clear," his muffled voice reported through his mask. It was difficult to make out his words, but it seemed the area was safe for now.
We climbed out into the open. Before us stretched a corridor of city utilities, just as grim as everything else around us. Old, rusted pipes some ruptured and buried under filth served as a stark reminder of a long-lost era. Thick cables, like veins, snaked along the walls.
Faded Soviet-era markings and symbols still clung to the cracked and mold-covered walls, remnants of a world that no longer existed.
I glanced at my Geiger counter. The readings were already reaching dangerous levels. The device's beeping was steady, but each sound was a reminder we couldn't afford to stay on the surface for long.
"Move forward," said the soldier, finishing his survey of the area.
We advanced, following the narrow corridor. The air was gradually becoming colder. We were approaching the surface.
Although I was a former metro worker, I only knew my own station and the nearby tunnels. I had only a vague understanding of the entire network. I had never even suspected that some exits were connected to the city's infrastructure.
"Semyon, check the map," ordered the lead soldier.
Semyon opened the commander's bag and pulled out a metro layout. I couldn't see it clearly from a distance, but I noticed a few details. It was a technical map, marking all the infrastructure, exits, and emergency service points.
"The exit should be somewhere around here," Semyon said, pointing to a spot on the map.
He approached a door in the wall with a rusted sign hanging on it. He tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge.
"Give me a hand," he said, turning to me.
I stepped forward, and together we began pulling at the door. With a screech and considerable effort, it finally started to give way.
Geiger counter
"Radiation levels are dangerous. Avoid sharp corners to prevent damage to your suit," ordered the lead soldier before moving forward.
A staircase led upward with six landings. The soldier carefully examined every potential threat while we followed closely behind.
Upon reaching the exit, we saw a metal grate secured with a chain, blocking our path.
"Bolt cutters," commanded the leader.
One of the volunteers removed a bag from his shoulder, took out the tool, and handed it to the commander.
Within seconds, the chain was severed, and the metallic clang echoed through the chamber. We ascended to a door leading outside.
The leader tugged at the handle, but the door wouldn't open.
"It's locked," he said.
"Let me take a look," Semyon offered. He approached the lock, pulled a set of makeshift lockpicks from his pocket, and began working on it. Strange skills for a soldier but it wasn't my place to judge.
Semyon's efforts paid off. After a couple of minutes, there was a click, and the lock gave way. Even then, the door only opened slightly, allowing a thin strip of dim light to pierce through. That light sliced through the darkness but did nothing to make the place feel less eerie.
"Something's blocking the door from the other side. Let's push it together, Vitya," Semyon suggested, addressing his comrade. So that's his name.
"On three!" They both braced their shoulders against the door and shoved.
With a loud creak, it finally yielded, revealing a world that would never be the same again.
Before us stood a building with shattered windows, crumbling walls, and the unmistakable scars of catastrophe. Above it stretched a heavy, gray sky, shrouded in an ominous nuclear winter. There was no better way to describe it.
The cold rushed in instantly, cutting through to the bone and making us shudder. The air was deathly silent, broken only by the howling wind. In front of the building lay the rusted remains of vehicles and the charred remnants of bodies, barely distinguishable beneath the snow.
If the calendar was to be believed, it was June. But weather like this could only be the result of an anomaly. It was terrifying to imagine just how much colder this world would become when true winter arrived.
A faint ember of hope still burned. Maybe not everything was lost. Maybe something had survived. But looking at Moscow now, it was clear the world was destroyed. Everything we once knew and loved was gone forever.
Memories of the old city resurfaced a place so grand and beautiful. Now, it was nothing but ruins. Only one question remained: why had the war begun at all?