Thump, click, tap. Thump, click, tap. Thump, click, tap.
I sat away with my legs held to my chest, my sangria eyes frozen forward into the abyss. The cold revolver trembled in my grasp, even as its engraved heart rested against my knees. I couldn't help but thumb at the hammer, hearing a soft clicking sound as the chamber moved, only to be set back in place. Heavy breaths left my lungs to join the sharp, stale air. I could see it in the darkness, just outside of the lantern's licking flame: the storm possessing my waking nightmares. With its blinding white light and oppressive roar, it tore the sky apart. Below the black clouds sat the barren bunker doors haunting this fog-ridden bog. I couldn't shake it; even now, as I ran from home, I always ended up running towards it. My spine rolled up and down with each shiver among these rags we carried on our backs. The tunnels were once an early grave this far south. It ran so far below the stone that your skin would've frozen before you reached half way. The stone still hates us, but we adapted. Like we always do.
We sleep beneath a husk of opulence and die over the ruins of a great monolith set above us. We move beneath a carrion queen. Beneath Краснобарда. Krasnobarda was once a beacon of life and wealth, even in the toughest of winters, but now it's nothing but a parasite. The fall brought her crumbling down with the rest of us, bringing our mere existence to our knees. It only became worse when The Chasm opened up and thousands died in its wake. The creeping radiation and the stories of monsters lurking within the deep darkness of the Metro infected the minds of every foal and never left. We all couldn't forget. Not after станция Дружба.
It was always a risk to run this far. Through the abyss between and toward Понянка, where the ragged and bankrupt rode. To us, Ponianka Station was known as the "City of Dreamers''. Something so rare here in the metro were dreams; nightmares brought us back down to the dirt beneath the rusted iron. Tales of fortune and escape were the city's legend, but we had no way of knowing if it was anything but.
Isolation was all we knew at the end of the line. The abyss at one end and certain death at the other. When we were foals, we would be awakened by the sounds of gunfire in the middle of the night. Beasts or wild men would try to breach the southern wall. We eventually grew used to the chaos. Горные Копыта only had so much for us at the end of the line, so we were forced to leave it behind in the end. To step into the embrace of the tunnels and away into the abyss. It never seemed so looming when I was a filly, but now I sit in its cold embrace—a step too far. This embrace only bit us deeper, gnawing through what little we slugged on our backs.
But it's what we sought that made it worth the ride. I don't know what the others wish for or what they hope to achieve when we arrive, but I know what I want—what I need. These nightmares—I need them gone. I need them out of my head. I see the storm, and I hear it echo while I'm still awake. I know it's coming, but why? I need my dreams answered, and there's only one place for that. The whispered rumors and hushed stories tell of fools searching the wastes to gain riches and fame, where whatever they desire is at the end of their fingertips.