Metro 2543

by Alkarasu

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Yaks, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Minotaur
Length: 3364

After a world-ending cataclysm removes the humans from the face of the Earth, some places change in a way you would never expect. Some keep their purpose. Which one of them is Moscow Metro?

One day, Mike the minotaur has to guide yet another caravan through the depth of one of the deepest and largest artificial cave systems humanity had ever made.

Provides a bit of in-depth view on one of the locations mentioned in Fimbulvetr.
Happens in Ponies After People setting.

A short story for Ponies After People Third Anniversary Contest. Second place winner, woohoo!

Published 2018-05-23 21:30:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-05-23 21:30:06 UTC

Chapter Only

There was little in this world that Mike disliked more than the guide duty. There was, of course, the cleaning of THAT place, but it rarely called for a citizen touch. The guide, on the other hand, had to be a citizen. It was one of the most important duties in the vast underground city. It was universally hated.

First of all, it required them to learn the map - the ever-changing web of tunnels and caverns, with every single marking meaning the flooding, cave-ins and the restricted areas. That was the part that wasn’t hard - after all, what minotaur would have a hard time learning a maze?

Second, it involved a lot of walking. That was also not a big problem, since what minotaur would admit that he’s too weak to walk?

But there was the third and the forth, and they made up for all the pleasantries of a good evening of reading a map and a nice walk through the city. The guide job required the guide to leave the tunnels and speak with non-citizens from the surface. Every self-respecting minotaur loathed the first and was disgusted by the second. That’s why the job often fell to the newcomers and Returns who were yet to learn the way of the Labyrinth.

Unfortunately, Mike fit both.

So the pale late autumn sunlight found him at the gates of Khovrino gatehouse, waiting for a caravan from Dubna. Since the station was never completed, the gatehouse had not a trace of the pre-Event construction. It was so new that it was actually open only after Mike had come to the city - after it became clear that Rechnoy Vokzal was getting way too dangerous to use. In fact, the gatehouse had barely a trace of any construction at all - since there were no tunnels going further north, no effort was spared to hide it from the prying eyes. When the gates were closed, it looked just like an ordinary hill in the forest.

The caravan was slowly closing in, and even from this distance, Mike could tell that this was going to be one of those days. He could stand ponies, had nothing against a griffon or two, but his sensitive nose had many objections against camels. As if just to annoy him even more, a towering form of a yak was clearly visible among the wagons.

“Good morning to you, honorable Stationmaster!” said the first camel of the caravan, stopping several steps away from the minotaur and bowing his head. “I hope our walk together would bring us both enormous joy and wealth!”

“You are two days late,” answered Mike, standing up, which brought him eye to eye with the camel. In the world dominated by the creatures the size of a large dog, that was a feat few could pull off. “You are lucky our travel committee is full of kind-hearted wimps, or you’d had to go around. It would still cost you ten percent extra fee.”

“Truly, you can’t be so heartless!” the camel raised a hoof to his chest in a fake shock. “We are spending the next two days on the same trail, we’re practically family! Don’t you think that dropping that extra fee to three percent would be a good way to treat your family members?”

Mike stiffed his desire to groan, but this conversation was a huge part of the reason he hated working with camels. For someone who knew nothing about their culture, it looked like the caravan master is trying to haggle his way through. The truth was that the damn tylopoda was more honest than in any other part of his life. A camel could lie, cheat and haggle all they wanted, but everything concerning a trail was sacred. Guiding the caravan really meant that every camel in it would consider him family for the duration - and that meant they will be expecting the same in return. Of course, they will forget about it the moment they leave the tunnels… but until then, it was Mike’s job to keep them at least moderately content. The trade they’ve brought in was enough reason to endure some of their quirks.

“You are like a brother to me already, but you must understand that if I take anything less than five percent, our great protector would have beef for his next meal.” Mike’s smile couldn’t be faker, but the camel knew that part of the game well, so he just shrugged.

“Deal! But you must tell your superiors that they are skinning us poor traders alive with their rates!”

They won’t mind really skinning you alive, thought the minotaur, counting the coins handed to him by the camel. Or force you to drain the pits for the rest of your life. Of course, none of it was said aloud. Instead, Mike signaled the two assistants to open the gates. Despite being ridiculously short, the ponies were strong enough to easily pull the construction open, revealing the dark and narrow passage. It was barely enough to pull the carts through. The tunnel lead to the station proper, where the entire caravan gathered to listen to the travel instructions. Despite the fact that every member of the caravan heard that many times, the tradition was very strict. Everyone entering the Labyrinth had to listen to the holy Technical Safety Rules. Of course, that meant that they’ve got it easy - Mike, as a citizen, had to recite them every morning. The ritual only took a few minutes, but in the end, even the yak was openly yawning.

“...and in case you fail to abide by this Rules and cause property damage or injury or death by your negligence, let the Wyrm be your doom,” finished Mike, and went to the head camel again, to talk about the route.

“Now, if you would’ve arrived on time, we had a shortcut open from Belorusskaya to Park Kultury. A bit stiffy, but would’ve let you cross in a day. Yesterday they had noticed a sign of flooding and closed the thing off until the team could fix it, so we’re stuck with the old tunnels. Kievskaya is off-limits and they won’t tell me why, but the good news is that the opposite side of the Ring is absolutely safe. The bad news is that we can’t go to Chertanovskaya unless you are prepared to visit the surface inside of the city limits and that only leaves us the orange line. If you cause any trouble there, you’re the transit expenses. You all know the rules, this is not negotiable. Got it? Got it. Now, let’s go.”

Of course, Mike was lying. It was also the part of his job - but the part that he understood well and liked. That was the reason only a minotaur was capable of being the guide. No caravan crossed the Labyrinth through the same route. No caravan was allowed to see the real life of the city. Given the reason, Mike himself could cross it in about three hours - since he wasn’t bound by the size of a cart, and because unlike the outsiders, he could enter the inner parts of the city, inside the Ring. The outsiders only knew that the innermost part of the city was taken by the reason Moscow became the Forbidden City.

The caravan has slowly pulled into the first transit tunnel - the last one to be built before the Event had stopped any construction for two centuries. Glancing back, Mike had noticed that the gates were slowly closing, cutting sunlight and returning the underground to the pleasant dim glow of the magic torches. Mike had raised an eyebrow. This caravan had to be rich to be able to afford this many. Not a common sight for a common camel caravan, that’s for sure. He made a mental note to warn the guards once they’ve reached the Ring.

The first transit was always the most uneventful since it took some time for the caravan to get used to the underground and become more talkative. Mike, obviously, wasn’t too happy about the next part, where they’ll become unbearably talkative, so he just enjoyed one of the last traces of the times long past left almost untouched by time. Sometime after the Event, this tunnel collapsed on its both ends, sealing the insides and sheltering them from the ravages of time. Being the new tunnel, it hadn’t yet developed a vast network of adjacent tunnels and chambers, remaining in its pristine concrete glory. This was the sight that eventually drew the young minotaur out of the ancient Tube, across the Stink Sea, through the griffon-infested forests of Europe, and into the largest and the deepest of the remaining subway systems. He hadn’t had a reason to regret his decision.

By the time the caravan had reached Dynamo and none of the camels expressed any desire to chat, he was almost certain that something is up. It wasn’t anything new - many had desired the riches of the Labyrinth for themselves, but it was foolish to try to take it through the outer tunnels. Many had tried, and the minotaurs made sure enough survived to tell the tale. So, the proper way to handle it was to ask directly.

“Well, ‘brother’, mind if you tell me what’s that you are planning here?” he asked, glancing at the caravan leader. “I’m not the first time guide and I know that your kind can talk an ear off a dragon. You’ve kept your silence for three hours straight.”

“Forgive me if I’ve offended you with my silence, brother,” responded the camel, hanging his head low in shame. “I know that it’s improper to hold the news and joyful gossip from your friends, but the news I bear, the ones that held our caravan, are too heavy for me to start the conversation with, or to put in the middle of the idle gossip. But since you ask, I’ve no choice but to answer. Hear me, oh mighty Stationmaster! The Northern Deep is no more!”

The dusty ceiling of the station shook with the massive groan of the minotaur. A pair of diamond dogs that was tending to one of the tunnel entrance arcs yelped in fright and hid in the tunnel. The caravan master looked at Mike, who was hiding his face in one of his massive hands and said:

“It sounds like those news are less dire for you than I’ve expected. Were your unfriendly with them?”

“It’s… They… again! Oh, the paperwo… oh, excuse me, it’s just… look, just how much do you know about the Dungeons?”

“I’ve heard stories about your underground cities fighting for some noble cause all around the world. I know the names of the Dungeons I meet in my travels - the Labyrinth, of course, the Northern Deep, Littleville and the Worm. I know the rules you recite every time we go through your territory, and that every time the trail is different. I don’t know much above that, I’m afraid, your people are very good listeners, but don’t talk much.”

“Remind me to find some guy from the External Awareness Committee and punch him after we’re done. That’s supposed to be common knowledge! Argh! All right, nothing better to do before we reach Prospekt anyway. Listen.

“I think, you know what the world was like before the great catastrophe that wiped off the humans, right? Don’t look at me like that, not everyone knows, all right? So, you must know that they used these tunnels for riding trains in them. Then everything went right to hell, and all of the trains that were moving just went and vanished with everyone aboard. That wasn’t a problem for anyone not on the train. Then, one fine day in the Tube, we’ve learned where they went. You see, back then, the tunnels were just a place where you live, grow your kids, hide your stuff from the thieves and all. Normal underground stuff, good for any minotaur, diamond dog or even a changeling.

“Then the first train returned. It was a small one, just a pair of cars moving from one depot to another. It wasn’t even going that fast. But the tunnel that it was in when it disappeared, caved in fifty years prior, so there was no place for it to return. I’ve no idea how all this magic stuff works, but when it found out that it can’t put the train where it was, it went and put it where it was open enough to fit it. So, now we know what happens if the train returns and what happens if it returns into a solid stone. And it only cost us fifty-seven lives - four from the train crew and fifty-three from the village that was in the way of it on the surface.

“So yes, we do have a noble cause. It’s for every train to return safely. For that, we clean the tunnels so they won’t hit the surface. We maintain the rails, so they won’t collapse the tunnel. And every single morning we pray that no train would return while we’re at it.”

“So, a train can appear in any tunnel as we walk it?” asked the camel nervously.

“Of course not!” answered Mike in a very offended tone. “I’d like to die in a trainwreck about as much as you do. We have the list of the train locations from before the Event here. When we go around a perfectly safe looking tunnel, it’s not because I like to walk around, it’s because we’re avoiding a train. Be happy we have it, by the way. Where I came from, the Tube, we had no such a thing, so the only safe parts are those where we’ve found the remnants of the trains that were not moving. Anyway, every Dungeon has the same mission, and there’s at least one that seems to be cursed. Yes, that’s the Northern Deep. It’s built in a place no such thing should be built. They are constantly being flooded, the land around is a marsh, so no farms, and the damn thing is huge. It’s a nightmare to maintain, and since it seems they’ve managed to get it flooded again, we’ll have to deal with the refugees, organize the restoration expedition and… well, I guess, you can understand why I’m not very enthusiastic about the whole affair.”

“Thank you for sharing this story with me, Stationmaster,” the camel bowed his head. “I will make sure that I pass it on, so every creature on the surface would know of your noble goal. I’m sorry I might be the herald of its demise…”

“I knew it!” growled Mike, making a small, almost invisible step to a tiny patch of the wall that no creature from the surface would’ve been able to discern from any other. “You guys never learn, don’t you? I think we might have a time for another small story, don’t we?”

“I’m sure we can arrange it,” nodded the caravan master, watching as his ‘peaceful traders’ unpack various weapons from the saddlebags of the few ponies and the yak, who looked more terrified than the rest. Mike took notice of every single one of them.

“It’s not a very long story, but it’s precious to me since it’s my own. You’ve probably guessed, but this world is pretty alien to me. I wasn’t born into it, and I was perfectly happy with how it was before the Event. No one asked me, though, so here I am. I had Returned far from here, in London. I was working as a train driver in the Tube for twelve years. Nice job, if you don’t mind the dark, the noise and the hours. I didn’t, so… well, afterward, the life in the Tube was fine, but it lacked something, you know. Still the same old tunnels, even same old trains, they had saved those Returned to mark the spots, but missing something that had me going underground every day. I’ve spent two years searching, and then went over the Stink Sea to the continent, to look around. Two more years I’ve traveled from one Dungeon to the other, but it was still missing. Until I came here. At first, I wondered why do they tolerate that oversized lizard up above. Surely, in hundreds of years, something could’ve been done about him. Now I know that we need him, and he needs us. Who knows, he might even tell you his part of his story, old Gorynych is pretty talkative with his food. Now…”

With a quick motion that the camel was unable to stop, Mike threw open a small hatch in the wall and pulled out a large wrench. Smiling, he swung it at the head of his interlocutor, knocking him out and throwing him against the far wall of the tunnel. He stepped to the shaking mass of the more scared caravan members, giving out mighty blows with his improvised weapon. All around them, from the doorways in the sides of the tunnel, appeared the figures of other minotaurs, all armed, easily overpowering the remaining caravan guards while avoiding the ones pointed by Mike.

“This is likely a distraction,” said one of the minotaurs when the last of the resistance was subdued. “They are too weak and there’s only a small number of them.”

“Them. Be. Raiders,” the new voice was deep, the words were slow and it was clear that the yak was not used to using them much. “Them. Thought. One. Guard. Kill. Then. Steal. Run.”

“Ah, the robbery,” sighed the minotaur, calming down. “Well, esteemed passengers, we are sorry you had to suffer this while in our care. Please, be patient, you will continue your journey shortly.”

It took three more days, but in the end, Mike had the pleasure to open the gates of Yasenevo for the much smaller caravan. Of course, they still had to circumvent the heart of the city, no outsider was even allowed to know it existed. They went through the bazaar of the orange line, where the surface dwellers could go into a bit of shopping and see a glimpse of the underground life that was otherwise unknown to them. Still, it was a good journey, and in the end, one of the ponies, large mint-green unicorn stallion, has gathered the courage to ask him a question:

“Stationmaster, I might be rude, but that story you’ve told the raider… what was it?”

“What was what?” asked Mike, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve said you’ve found something here, something that was not in any of the other Dungeons. What is it?”

For the first time since very long ago, Mike’s smile wasn’t an angry scowl or a condescending smirk. It was big, warm and very uncommon for a minotaur.

“That’s a good question, my friend. Too bad those raiders would never know the answer, or they might stop and we will have to find our workers elsewhere. Well, since you’ve asked the right question, you have the right to an honest answer. What was missing from all other places, what we have here, is a purpose these tunnels were built for in the first place. They are not just caves deep underground. They are not a deathtrap for some unlucky trains. They are a way to get to places. I had to travel a lot to realize it, but my joy from going underground every day was that I help so many people to safely get where they want. Like I just did with you. The Labyrinth is still a route. Others are just caves underground. Now, my esteemed passenger, thank you for using the Moscow Metro, and we hope to see you again!”

With that said, he smiled once again and retreated underground. The passengers were waiting, and even though Mike really disliked the guide duty, it was the only way he could guide a train full of passengers.

And nothing in the whole new world would take it from him.