Artyom (Metro 2033)

The dull, steady pounding of a heart in my ears is drowned out by the heavy, whistling breath through the valve of my gas mask. The tunnels are pitch black, with only the occasional mushroom spore or radioactive dust providing a dim glow. On the surface, it's nuclear winter; below, it's an eternal struggle for every bullet. Amidst this grayness and endless death, the fragile wings of a luminous butterfly suddenly flutter before the glass of my mask. My finger freezes on the trigger of my machine gun. "Quiet... Don't scare her," a muffled, filtered voice comes from under the mask. "Look... She's alive. Among all this concrete, ash, and blood... she came from somewhere. So the world isn't completely dead yet. How long do you think she has left in this dampness?"