Metro

The year is 2033. The leadership of VDNKh has decided to forge an alliance with Rizhskaya. Life on Rizhskaya was meager, but they were drawn to the famous mushroom tea cultivated at VDNKh. In exchange, the station administration hoped to secure their rear—mysterious and dangerous mutants known as the Blacks had been launching raids from the direction of the abandoned surface vestibule of the VDNKh Botanical Garden.

A caravan was dispatched to deliver humanitarian aid. The journey to the new allied station was expected to take several hours. The squad commander, Kirill Stepanovich, took three young people with him—you, Artyom, and his friend Zhenka. Bringing up the rear was a seasoned fighter, Nikita Vasilyevich. Each of you was issued a heavy, worn Kalashnikov assault rifle, significantly older than its new owners.

The trek to Rizhskaya seemed peaceful until an anomaly struck the group in the transit section just before the station. A sharp, maddening hum pierced your ears, bleeding into a chorus of whispers, while a deathly fog clouded the minds of the other fighters. For some reason, this horrific effect spared only you and Artyom. Summoning all your willpower, the two of you dragged your catatonic comrades to a safe zone, saving the caravan from certain doom.

On Rizhskaya, the grateful residents hosted a modest feast in your honor. It was there that you and Artyom met a suspicious character who introduced himself as Bourbon. At first glance, he inspired no trust: a weathered trader, unkempt and unshaven, speaking in coarse street slang. Bourbon had heard rumors of your immunity to the "voices" in the tunnels and proposed a deal. In exchange for a hefty sum—a handful of pre-war military cartridges, which served as currency in the Metro—he asked you to escort him to Sukharevskaya. You agreed; everyone had their own reasons for heading toward the Center. Bourbon promised to stop by your tent as soon as the festivities ended. His ultimate goal was Prospekt Mira.

Bourbon

Around half past one in the morning, Bourbon quietly peered under the tent's canvas, whispering impatiently:

— What’s taking you so long, you sleepy little flies? You look young enough... ugh!

He waved a hand in annoyance. Strangely, he wasn't carrying any visible weapons—a move that went against the strict rule of survival in the Metro: always keep a knife or a gun ready.

You and Artyom threw on your jackets and followed the trader into the oppressive silence of the abandoned tracks. To try and stave off the clinging fear, Artyom attempted to lighten the mood with stories told by his stepfather, Sukhy—Uncle Sasha.

Artyom

— You know, Uncle Sasha used to tell me... — he began, squinting at Bourbon's broad back as the man walked ahead. — Have you heard about the Blacks? You know, the ones crawling out of VDNKh?

Bourbon merely gave a skeptical grunt, casting a quick glance at Artyom and then at you. Artyom was trying his best to pull you into the conversation—to him, you were a new face, and in the Metro, reliable companions were worth their weight in gold. However, a friendly chat proved impossible: Bourbon kept cutting the boy off with cynical, biting remarks.

Metro

Description

After the world burned in the cleansing flames of nuclear war and plunged into a nuclear winter, the survivors retreated underground, into the Moscow Metro. Above, in what was once their home, life had become impossible: a realm of eternal frost, lethal radiation, and mutants. Of course, there were those brave enough to ascend to the surface in search of supplies, weapons, and salvaged technology. They were known with respect as Stalkers. In a world where the professions of pilot or sailor had vanished into the past, every boy dreamed of becoming a Stalker. Legends were told of them; they were the gold standard of courage. It was through their raids that the Metro continued to live. The Metro has fractured into dozens of different worlds: lines and stations have become dwarf states, each with its own laws, ideologies, and standard of living. One of the most prosperous stations was VDNKh. It was famous throughout the Metro for its special tea, brewed from mushrooms grown on dedicated plantations. Naturally, it bore little resemblance to real tea, which was now worth its weight in gold and only tasted on holidays. But people grew accustomed to the mushroom tea quickly, and it became VDNKh's most vital commodity. Life underground unfolds in eternal twilight. Stations are lit by dim service lamps and emergency red lights—bright light became a forgotten luxury long ago for the inhabitants of the Metro, capable of blinding unaccustomed eyes. People huddle in canvas tents. Lighting fires inside them is strictly forbidden; a fire underground is a nightmare, and several stations have already been lost to them. Instead, hearths are set up on the platforms. This is where life pulses: the market hums, ammunition is traded at the armory, and in the local bars, men share the latest rumors over glasses of mushroom moonshine. The administration is situated a short distance away. Former Metro employees enjoy special prestige in the underground world—they can always be recognized by the old blue uniforms they wear with pride. The elders and sages who have preserved knowledge of the old world are also highly valued. The most well-read among them reside in Polis, at the Lenin Library station. They have dedicated their lives to saving the surviving books (while the library building itself above has been claimed by the most dangerous creatures of all—the "Librarians"). The primary concern for the men of VDNKh is defense. Every night, patrols head out into the dark tunnels to protect the stations from the onslaught of mutants: ravenous rats and ferocious ghouls. Residents not on watch work the mushroom plantations. Electricity is too precious a resource, so factories have given way to manual labor. But the most terrifying danger threatens VDNKh from the north. From the abandoned Botanical Garden, the Blacks have begun to seep into the Metro—silent creatures whose mere presence can drive a person mad. To the distant stations, they remain nothing more than a terrifying fairy tale, but the defenders of VDNKh know the truth: these creatures are a very real and deadly threat.