Snippet #1703543

After what seemed like ages, the tiny railcart finally came to a slow stop, its rusted wheels scraping against the tracks. Alla Adamov was among its occupants, along with three other men who looked as if the Metro had shaken all the life out of them. Needless to say, it hadn't been the most enjoyable trip Adamov had been on, and he was more than happy to see the backs of the three as they took off down the walkway. Picking up his bag, Adamov slung it over his shoulder before raising his head and having a look at his surroundings. Polis, the largest station in the Metro, or more accurately, collection of stations. It wasn't quite big enough for people to have a sense of personal space, but it was still something. Stepping out of the cart, he was immediately approached by one of the many sentries that defended Polis. In most cases, being approached by the local militia meant one was in a heap of trouble, but in this case, the man was an old friend of Adamov's. "So they're still letting your fascist ass in here, eh Alla?" He let out a quick laugh as he gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "What brings you to Polis, my friend?" Adamov shrugged before replying "I heard over in Armoury about a man looking to pay some serious bullets for a job. Apparently I'm supposed to be able to find him here." His friend gave a quick grunt "I'll say you can. If we're talking about the same guy, that little shit has rented out the bar for the afternoon. It's a real pain in the ass."
Adamov smiled "He must have some big clankers to keep you away from the vodka. Oh well, might as well get going. I'll see you later." They shook hands "I hope so, my friend. Be careful out there!" With that Adamov turned and walked off in the direction of the bar.

As he made his way through the twists and turns of ramshackle huts that housed Polis' residents, he couldn't help but think of his home station. Naturally, Reich was far cleaner and more tidy than stations such as this, the society there focusing on discipline. Spending so many years traveling throughout the Metro, he had seen the deteriorating conditions of the various stations, and they were getting worse every day. The Reds were clueless on how to handle resources, and the independent stations only wasted them in vain attempts to defend themselves from the hordes of mutants that infested the tunnels. So far, the only people he had seen utilize the limited resources of the Metro properly were his own people, the Nazi's. That is why wave after wave of Reds is continuously gunned down on the frontlines. Nevertheless, total victory for the Fourth Reich is now impossible. Their numbers are too few, and growing fewer with each skirmish. He had held out for years, hoping that one day they would embark on one last crusade, to at least go out fighting. But the leadership seemed to prefer a slow death.

"Oh well."

It can be easy to get lost in a place like Polis, but Adamov had been through the station enough times to know how to get to the bar. It was a relatively large structure, it had to be, as it's where the majority of the populace and passing traders spend their time. In this case, however, Adamov picked up an unusual quietness as he approached the place. It looked as if the bar had indeed been cleared out, and whoever could do that would have to have some serious funds. As he approached the entrance, he found the way blocked by what looked like the most heavily-armed man he had ever seen within or without the Metro. Guns and knives were holstered just about wherever they could be, and all that could be seen through his helmet were his cold, staring eyes. Adamov walked up to him "I'm here for the job." The man lowered his gaze on him "The briefing doesn't start for half an hour. The boss wants to make sure we have everyone here who's participating. You'll have to wait." Adamov folded his arms "Right." Taking a peak over the mans shoulder, which was no easy task as he was even taller than himself, Adamov could see into the bar. The majority of the lighting was out, and sure enough, Adamov could see a man reclined in a chair sitting in one of the darkened corners. Turning around, he found a place to sit, or rather, he just sat himself on the ground, leaning against the wall opposite the bar. Setting his bag beside him, he tipped his head forward, his chin touching his chest as he dozed off.