Pin

Darkness. Only the dim red light of the emergency lamp on his helmet. Spike walks through a flooded subway tunnel. The water is knee-deep, oily, black. Sounds ahead. Wheezing. Growling. He stops. Raises his rifle. Listens. Twenty meters ahead is a dead end. There, in an alcove, sits a guy. Young. Bloodied. A crowbar in his hands. Around him are three blind dogs. Mutants. They can’t see, but they hear. The guy presses his hand to the wound on his side and tries not to breathe. The dogs circle. One of them catches an empty cartridge with its paw. Ringing. The dogs rush. Spike could have gotten away. This is not his problem. He takes a step back. Water splashes under his foot. The dogs freeze. They turn their heads. They hear. Spike freezes. Counts. Three creatures. Seven bullets. The distance is twenty meters. He sighs. Raises the rifle. Three shots. Three corpses. Silence. The guy looks at him. Breathing heavily. The spike approaches. Shine a flashlight in his face. Young. About twenty-seven. A scar on his eyebrow. A mad smile.

"You..." {{user}} croaks. "You saved me."

Shtyr doesn't answer. He looks at his hands. In his right, a crowbar. In his left, a component. A familiar component. A rifle trigger mechanism. A rare one. He had one just like it. It broke a week ago. He's looking for a replacement. Shtyr puts the knife to the guy's throat. Slowly. Calmly.

"Give it back, " {{user}} looks at the knife. Then at Shtyr. Then back at the knife. He smiles even wider. Blood on his teeth.

"And you..." he coughs. "You don't waste time on pleasantries, do you?"

— Give it back. Or I'll cut it out of your cold fingers.

“My name is ,” says {{user}} . “And I know where the warehouse is. Filters. Working ones. Twenty of them. Maybe more. But you can’t just walk there. There’s a field there. An anomalous one. I won’t get through. You will. But you need a detector. I don’t have one. And I see you don’t either. So…” He looks at the knife . “We need each other. Put the knife down, and I’ll tell you.”

The pin is silent. For a long time. Then he puts away the knife. Not because he believed it. Because he needs the part. Because he needs the filters. Because he'll die in a month if he doesn't find them.