Prologue*

April 21, 2033
Today I was assigned to scout out an area of importance, the 'Area of Importance' is an old weapons factory outside the city that will help us. Even with D6 in their control they want as many weapons as possible for the "Final War". I call bullshit on that, I bet when we meet another county that survived or government it will go into another war. Damn it all, why did war have to be in our nature? We live in a rough time, we lost our dominance to the world by our own hands. What were our forefathers thinking? Using those weapons would be our own doing. They were, and know we pay the price.

If we don't end war, war will end us. - H. G. Wells

The sound of mud under neath my boots as the radioactive rain fell onto my clothes. I could hear the rain hammer down on my hood, its continues march as it falls. Wiping the rain off my eyes I made a mad dash for a broken building trying to get out of the rain ASAP. As soon as I was in the building I ran up the stairs trying to gain enough distance from the ground floor and I. As I reached the top level I walked into a room closing a door behind me.

The room was a faded white; the wood already starting to rot. Walking over to the window I turned then sat down letting the wall take my weight. I left my Mischa on my stomach; keeping my finger on the trigger as my left arm laid limb on the ground. Mischa was a modified VSK-94 crossed with a VSSK "Vychlop", made it myself; as for the name that is a story for a different time. I could not let my guard down, not on the surface. As I laid there accompanied by the sound of rain against the window. My heart began to slow down as my adrenaline wore off. As much as I wanted to stay there I couldn't, my filters where bound to run out and I would suffocate on the radioactive dust in the air. I was about to get moving again until a blood curling howl made me freeze.

Howlers or Watchmen as they call them, they hunt in packs like wolves I used to read about when I was a child. Slowly I stood up making my way over to a window, looking out of it five Watchmen ran through the street; sniffing the air and road for my sent. I could easily take them down but these where just scouts and trackers. The main pack stayed behind waiting for their time to move and swarm me. A few long minutes later they ran off; believing they lost me I slowly stood up then made my way to the door, Opening it I raised my Revolver to bear; making sure the hallway was clear. Seeing that it was I made my way back outside and made my way towards the factory.

After avoidng watchmen patrols and other mutants and hazards I made it to my objective; searching for any weapon that could give us a leverage but small enough to carry back to D6. Sadly, I found no much things. The only thing I was able to scavenge was a Saiga-12 with an extended magazine, a few 12.7x108mm rounds for my Mischa, filters, gasoline, and a few cartridges. As I was about to leave a faint roar of an engine caught my ear. I stood there trying to see if it was getting closer; the steady roaring grew louder. Making my way to the top floor I looked out a window to see headlight heading my way. An armored truck, first I thought it was a Rangers but looking on its side I noticed the symbol on the side.

The Red Line; owning fifteen station in whole it was the largest of the factions. Its communist ways are despised by the rest of the metro. Knowing the new threat I quickly made my way down to the ground floor before running for the entrance; but they beat me to it. They opened the door, a flamethrower in the front as a few infantry men covered the rear. I quickly hid behind a piece of machinery hoping that it would hide me. They made there way past me and towards the armory; taking my chance I slowly made my way out of the factory and back into the storm. Then as fate deiced to turn on me as the search light found me. I could hear the gunner yell out before firing the machine gun. Bullet tore past me as the gunners aim seemed to fail. I jumped down into a trench bearly dodging a spray of machine gun fire. I used the trench to move away from the weapon that was almost my down fall.

As soon as I made it out of the trench I grabbed my Mischa and ran into a building. Behind me I could hear a few infantry men running my way. Shouldering my rifle I looked through the scope; the cross-hairs aligning on the flame-thrower in the middle of the group meaning if I shot the gas tank I would wipe them all out. Aiming for the easily noticeable fuel tank I fired a round, it burst into flames; igniting the Red Line soldier around the flame-thrower as the wielder was cooked in a steel coffin. Screams of pain were muted by the heavy rain storm. A few possibly managed to survive but I wasn't sticking around, this engagement could have alerted mutants of our presets.

As I approached Hanza territory pain rocketed through my left leg. Falling to the ground I yelled out in pain; rolling onto my back I grabbed my now severed leg, trying to stop the bleeding. Another round shot off my right arm spraying blood all over the concrete wall behind me. I began to cry, letting the tears flow down my cheek praying to God that he would save me. Rolling to my right I began to slowly crawl towards the outpost, believing I could report my findings, but another bullet flying over my head shattered that thought.

Looking towards the snipers position I saw a faint muzzle flash before another round flew over me. Beginning my crawl once again I was able to make it to a building before he was able to reload. Grabbing my revolver I sat there in wait, seeing if he would come over here; my suspicions where answered as faint foot steps approached my position.

As he rounded the corner he looked around before siting me and my revolver pointed at his head. The Red Line snipers were never armored good enough; pulling the trigger the guns recoil nearly bent my arm the wrong way as the snipers head jerked backwards; a spray of blood behind it before falling to the ground. I sat there for a few seconds before laying against the wall, looking to the sky again; watching the rain fall from the sky. Closing my eyes I welcomed death with open arms.