[x] Metro Mafia roleplay, Day 1

Shit, "who the hell killed this guy" i say pointing to the dead caravan master on the floor. Looking into the impassive faces of the group of 9 people who had come to get this metal box, we had paid a terrible price for it lossing many of our comrades in the process of getting this thing.

But there was definitaly something very wrong here, who would in possibly our darkest hour kill the caravan master and take his key? who would do such a thing?

I had heard storys like this before have we all not heard them growing up, of entire stalker partys being eliminated by crazy nutjobs because they found somehing "Holy" thats when i realised that those storys might have all been true, what if there is a crazy man here it would explain the dead caravan leader but who is it

As the old american saying goes "I dont get paid enough for this shit"

 

The acid rain and heavy hail that pounded us relentlessly finally fell into the background as we scrambled into a crumbling vestibule. Breathing a sigh of relief I took off my helmet and cursed all the fresh dents on it before rubbing my bruised shoulders and back. A few more minutes out there and we would have been killed by a natural stoning. We weren't going anywhere till the storm stopped and so our commander ordered us to clear the place out. I didn't really like the guy having not worked with him before, to nit picky and sour about every detail. I had a few complaints of my own regarding his leadership. We lost to many men getting here and if he kept it up none of us would make it home. I'd be sure never to take another job with his limp dick in charge. All he seemed to care about wad that damned metal box we'd been lugging around this whole time. I didn't know what was in it, but it was apparently worth every life lost. I doubted it.

Clearing out each room with my Kalash I found nothing but dust and moldy furniture much to large to carry out, probably why it was still here. Poking my head out of the last cleared room I could see the silhouettes of two Stalkers coming out of a doorway and promptly jamming it shut with a wooden plank. Dull groans and an ominous tone could be faintly heard behind it and I decided I didn't even want to know.

Just then, a pained scream came from one of the other corridors and I rushed to the sound as quickly as I could holding my Kalash at the hip as I found the scene. Our comander lay on the floor in a steaming puddle of blood, his throat cleanly slit from ear to ear. A mans work. The others quickly showed up and a circle formed around his fresh corpse, a newly empty keychain dangled tightly in his hands. Questions started flying around a few seconds later and people started to eye each other. It was only now did it strike me that not one of these Stalkers was familiar to me, no one I could trust. I took a step back, "A hornet in a bee hive"

 

I hunched down to inspect the wiring to the elevator. The panel had been torn open, and the stuff inside wasn't in great condition, but whoever had been in here last hadn't salvaged any of the wires. If we managed to get a generator and some tools down here, we might be able to see if we could get it running again. Then again, we'd better take a look down below first to see what awaited us. I wasn't a fan of walking into another spiderbug nest, and would need to find a crew with good heads on their soldiers if I didn't want to end up alone with nothing but me and my trusty flamethrower to burn my way out.

That's when I heard the scream. Almost more of a screech, really; almost didn't sound human, though then again I wasn't exactly used to the sound of people being horribly murdered on a regular basis.

"Well, look at this load of horse shit," I sigh as we all gather around the body.

"Looks like somebody here decided to take it upon themselves to undo all of our hard work and good luck."

I look around, at each of the faces. Most are still covered by masks, and those that aren't provide no answers. Everyone seems genuinely surprised.

"Did we check all of the exits? Are we absolutely sure that nobody else could have gotten in here?"

 

After the "leader" give the orders the two other stalkers to guard the place, Vsevolod sit down near the campfire and started smoking. He put on the fire his teapot to make some tea in the process. Somehow he fell asleep and he dreamed. In his dream he was young boy once again, before the war. He walked on the streets, the sun is shined, there was a lot of people around him, not to mention the traffic jam, which was happend every day. Suddenly the passers-by's faces started to melting down like an almost burned out candle, the sky becomed grey and he heard a painfull scream. He woked up, and lighted a cigarett, than he saw that a few stalkers running towards the leaders place. He put his hood on his head, grap the Kalash and go to the others.

*The caravan master got what he deserved, a big and bloody smile...ear to ear.*-he tought.

"Uhm, mates, whe should chek every possible entry point, because it was not a mutants work. It is a clean cut with a sharpened blade..."

 

After pushing through a stormy day that appeared almost like a night, I'd thought my hands would have frozen off. But when I awoke in the bunker I found them still there, on the ends of my arms. However, there was not a single other hand in the room, and there had been quite a lot when I went of to uneasy, broken half-sleep.
I filled a tin bowl with some nasty concoction that was going cold already, with no-one tending the dying fire, I followed some faint commotion down towards the stairwell by the elevator.
People died all the time in the Metro. And even more on the surface. Nevertheless seeing the dead commander's red smile was slightly unnerving.
I drank down the broth and looked the crowd over. What would happen now? Would the caravan go on still?

 

I looked in disbelief at the scene before me. I had made it this far without getting my head chewed or shot off somehow, and none of these fuckers were gonna get in the way of me spending a well-earned night in Venice.

"Alright, so I'm going to guess that by our shocked faces that this wasn't some group effort."

People were silent, seemingly a bit nervous. I hoped it was that them coming to terms with the fact that someone from our group was a psychopath, not because I had figured out everybody's collective secret.

"Alright, so here's the deal. From now on out, we are going to set up camp together in the main room. If you need to leave, tell the group. We are going to keep track of everybody's whereabouts at all times. We've checked all the exits, so only person should be gone at once. I doubt anybody will be able to go knife-happy with everybody else here watching. I know we aren't all fans of each other's company, but our chances of catching this guy are a lot bigger if we all watch each other's backs."

"We also need to always have at least two people awake and on watch all the time. I understand most of you aren't happy about volunteering, so I'll take first watch, but I'll still need at least one other person with me."

 

"Ah, fuck it. I'll join you. I'll probably get called for it anyways, might as well get it out of the way. More time to sleep afterwards."

 

Borscht always wondered why his nickname was after a soup, Borscht wasn't happy with the name so Borscht was going to speak in the third person because Borscht does what he wants. But what Borscht was really unhappy about was the fact there was a dead man in front of him 'Ah, fuck." Borscht didn't swear much but he thought this would be a good time to. There was a murderer in this group and damned if this murderer was going to kill him and drink his blood like soup. Damn bastard who called him Borscht. But third person is difficult to write in so I really didn't want to die for some stupid treasure hunt, and could I trust any of these people, well, Borscht couldn't

 

As Matros saw the body he was disgusted by the smell of it, he sweared a few words and returned to the main room, to think about what happened.
"there must have been someone, or worse, something that had killed the fella. And it came right from the elevator shaft, as the door was broken."
Everybody seemed shockend about the murder, altough it wasnt clearly visible under the helmets an gasmasks. Matros couldn't make up for himself who to trust and who not to, so after this horrible event he decided to be even more careful than ever and to question everything done by others.

 

I was pretty fuckin glad I didn’t have to assist, in any way, in carrying the heavy crate for the remainder of the way during our selected expedition’s route. I was recently appointed as one of the caravan guards and told to keep watch for any oncoming threats; the rest of the crew was left, grueling, over whatever “package” was to be delivered. Whatever it was, it will bring me great fortune upon its delivery; and now, after several of the members of the caravan have been killed during a short-lived conflict with mutants, their pay will be distributed among the rest of us as an “extra bonus.”

We managed to find a sensible piece of shelter, rather quickly, in the muddled weather we tracked for hours through. There was no sign of a threat here –except for maybe some giant rats and some cockroaches that might crawl into your ear at night when you’re fast asleep- but for the meantime, my job as caravan guard was put to an idle. I rummaged through my front pocket and pulled out a wooden toothpick to practice dentistry on myself. Really, all I did was let the pointed twig hang limp from my mouth like you would a cigarette. I slumped down to the floor, near one of the two soft crackling fires that were set up, and placed my backpack underneath my head for some head support.

I dozed off into my own thoughts, but remained with an open ear in case trouble arose and my assistance was needed. Sure enough, the alarming cry of a man’s call for aid disrupted me from my doze. There were gurgling sounds and footsteps rapidly making their way toward the sound. When I got there, the caravan guard lay stiff as a board with a puddle of blood forming up underneath him. His throat had been slit. It was so profound that it almost looked like it would begin talking to you if you painted two little eyes above its vibrant red smile and asked it a question. “Who gave you the right of existence on this man’s throat, Mr. Smiley?” I thought of asking it.

A man, Vodyanoy, stepped forward and began issuing orders in keeping watch for any loose killers. Who gave him permission to lead? Perhaps the caravan leader did, on the side, in case something went wrong with him and didn’t manage to make it to our destination. I listened to some guys near by and some were thinking we had left some exists and entrances unchecked. Impossible. Not here. It’s been untouched for years and I even made a sweep of the perimeter to ensure my safety before I laid down for a rest. To me, it was obvious that this was an inside job from within the group.

Vodyanoy volunteered himself as part of the watch duty. Magpie, a real trooper, took second position as guard-number-two for the night. Vodyanoy also suggested to tightened our freedom and have our whereabouts know to the group at all time –typical but truthful. You couldn’t go about unknown territory in the metro all on your own in place like this, especially with a murder lurking in the shadows. Death was something you couldn’t hide from in the metro –it will follow you like your shadow. Perhaps, that’s what your shadow was anyway…Death. Looming at your side and eventually consumes you when it becomes erect to the form of your body. Then, your shadow disappears and you die, just like the caravan master.

“I’ll grab him by the torso.” I said, making my way toward the stiff. “We’ll put him far away from camp so we don’t attract the vermin….I wouldn't be able to sleep with all the chewing they will be doing later on tonight. We can even throw him down the elevator shaft, if needed.”

 

I still couldn't shake get the image out of my head, the way that Vsevolod looked at the caravan master. Everybody seemed horrified, but he seemed... relieved. He was on the payroll, same as everyone else. Maybe he was looking for a bigger bonus check at the end, but if he wasn't worried about the caravan master, I doubt he'd be worried about me.

We were running out of time, and something has to be done. I decided to openly confront the man.

"You seem too happy about this entire situation, Vsevolod. What's your angle here?"

 

I reached underneath the dead caravan master's arms, hefted him up to around the height of my waist, and began to drag him. His feet followed with him and ran over the puddle of blood he had been laying in. A thick trail of blood followed like an irregular set of railroad tracks and the smell of bowels filled the air. “Damn.” I said, aloud. “This guy reeks. Hey, somebody hand me my gas mask.” I said, wrinkling my nose and making signs of disgust. I didn’t really mean it. The comment was more of a joke to try to ease the tension between everyone; everyone except for Rusalka, that is.

He was the only one eating while everyone else stood, empty handed, and observed the scene. “What is this, some kind of performance act for ya, Rusalka? How many bullets did you pay for a seat, in the front row, and some nice warm meal? Come on, give me a hand, you.” I thought to myself.

 

Borscht liked jumping to conclusions and his conclusion was that Magpie wanted to steal the artefact because he was named after a bird which steals. But this was not the time for conclusion jumping. Borscht needed more information before he made the correct decision and Borscht always made the correct decision. Dead people are always an important thing to Borscht, whether for emotional or sustenance reasons, tasty, tasty reason. That was an odd excursion. Borscht decided to question Vsevolod, he did not care about the dead man. "Borscht thinks you're keeping to yourself, Vsevolod, Borscht wants a reason why." Borscht would get to the bottom of this

 

Everybody was casting accusations at each other, as if they could somehow gleam the answer from such little information. I wanted to not be as foolish, to take more time to actually figure this out, and keep as many people alive as possible. But if I didn't cast my own vote, I'd draw too much attention to myself, and would be no use dead.

"Yes, Vsevolod. What makes this so unremarkable to you? Used to being around dead bodies all the time, or something?"

 

After being ignored by everyone else as they either started argueing amoungst each other or in borsht case was busy mumbling the name borsht over and over again while staring blankly at me.

Getting back to the situation at hand i noticed that bishop was starting to loose his temper at Vodyanoy becasue he was trying to become a new leader, yet

standing up i looked at the one man who was always agreeing with the others, maybe trying to shift the glare of accusation.

"Magpie why are you always agreeing with everyone without a second thought? are you trying to make us forget about you?"

 

Yes, thanks, Komodo. I think that the added day and the coutdown timer will kindly lead us into geting us use to the schedule.


No one appeared interested in helping me move the body. I have now moved quite a distance from the group and the sense of being watched crept up from behind. I took a quick glimpse over my left should only to see a steady stream of blue fire shooting out of a homemade Bunsen burner lamp hung on a nail above some crates. There was always the sense of another presence –an entity- wherever you wandered around down in the tunnels, alone. Sometimes, you could break free from it all –the feeling of being watched- when you went up to the surface; shortly after, though, the sense of being watched would follow you. I can recall feeling only a few second of freedom, every time I went onto the surface, from constant watch from those invisible eyes. Even then, as if the metro realized that you escaped its labyrinths of terrors, it would rush everything out from within and gladly put unimaginable hellish creatures right at your feet to make you feel at home. “Don’t forget I’m here.” Is what it seems like the metro was telling me. “Don’t forget to come back soon! And here’s some souvenirs to remind you of me while you’re away!”

Just nonsense. I stopped dragging the body and laid it down on the cold concrete. “That’s far enough.” I said to the commander. I reached for some scraps of burlap that had been left in the pile of wooden crates underneath the Bunsen burner. As I lifted the snippets of mesh, some rats scurried down a hole they had gnawed through in the soft, decomposing wood, and disappeared from sight. “They’re getting ready for the buffet.” I thought to myself. I patted down the pockets of his jacket and pants to see if there was anything of interest before I covered him up -nothing there, really. Only a couple of stubby pencils, a working pen (which was rare to have), his lighter and a small green notebook with figures of his previous negotiations. I flipped through it quickly and stuffed it in the inside pocket of my jacket before returning to the group.

“Well, Vodyanoy. Do you care to tell us what the dead commander told you to do with us if he died on the journey?” I said, blankly. “That I know of, he didn’t inform any of us who the new leader of this group was going to be if we ended up facing the circumstance in which we’re currently in.” I said, crossing my arms. “Unless, of course, that thought never crossed him and you had to do something with this ‘little mishap’ and planed to take the course of this delivery to a new level. You’re bunker of bandits, perhaps?”

My suspicion is on Vodynaoy now; but I'm still keeping a close eye on that snack-time jockey over there called Rusalka. I'm interested to hear what Vodynaoy has to tell us.

 

Just as i had finished making my accusation on magpie i saw bishop finish draging the dead man before looting the corpse, i guess i should give magpie some time to form a defense for himself so after making sure at least two people was watching him i explored our temporary home.

It was very how to put it, cramped well thats a idiotic word to use since we live in the metro but this was different, this entire place had a feeling of 'evil' even though that is a cliched word to use but it is the one that best desribes it.

Coming back to the group i glanced at everyones faces to see what they were up to, of all of them only borscht gave me comfort, his massive build and passive face gave me a small amount of joy.

 

I stayed crounched when Bishop moved out the body.
"Magpie, why I look like happy? I am not at all. There is a killer lurking around, and all I want to go home station and get some drink with my comrades. And Vodyanoy what kind of stalker who don't get used to the dead bodies? Hm? Even the tunnels somewhere full of them, but should I explain it to a "stalker"? I don't think so."

I felt that I should lighten a cigarett once again. When I smoked Borscht just came for little talking.
"Everybody have secrets, but I did not kill here anybody. The caravan master was killed a well placed cut on the neck, with a knife which made for this kind of killing. I don't think that a regular hired gun have somethink like this. Vodyanoy and Magpie acting strangely. I am suspicious for them because I don't running away and panicing. When you lose your mind, you are pretty much dead in the Metro. Are we okay?"