When Sergey stepped out of the dilapidated dark gray bus with its many dents and rust holes in the center of Neo Yakutsk, he looked like one of the simple farm workers who tried their luck here in the metropolis, just to be swallowed up by the gigantic behemoth of concrete and steel after only a few days. The sons and daughters of farmers from far away were lost in the dangerous streets and alleys in large numbers, never to return to their families for one reason or another. The city was like a beehive, with all the bees working against each other unless held together by a greater force. That force was the PFN, the *Party Future Northlands*. It had grown out of an early movement in the settlement period and had great influence over almost all of the cities, which were mainly of Russian culture. The party leadership itself resided in Utopia, the largest and most influential metropolis in the Northlands, several hundred kilometers away. They ruled with a firm hand, officially presenting themselves as the party of law and order, with a focus on the military and expansion. In reality, however, corruption, anarchy, and brute force reigned in many places. And things were getting worse, as even Sergey had noticed far out in the country.

Shortly after his arrival, Sergey's clothes began to stand out, not so much because of how poor they looked, but because of his fashion, which, in contrast to the people here, looked as if he had spent the last 200 years in a cave. Passersby in futuristic clothing gave him scornful looks as he walked through the large hall of arriving trains. They probably thought he was a homeless day laborer with his homemade backpack and fur-trimmed jacket. It was late afternoon, and a perpetual, thick bell of smog hung over the city. Here in the north, even during the day, it was already darker than in the south of Purgatory because of the diffuse light. But the gray veil of exhaust fumes that covered everything intensified the oppressive atmosphere of the dense prefabricated buildings and skyscrapers many times over. There was no nature here, not a tree, not a bush, not a bird. There was only concrete desolation. How could people voluntarily live like this? Sergey shook his head in disbelief, paused, and looked around for orientation. The only bus line near his parents' house had taken him directly to the city center in six hours. His real destination, the barracks, one of the first buildings of the settlement, was west of here. He could still remember his first and only visit with his brother there many years ago. Hopefully, he would be able to find the cross-shaped building with the high barbed wire fence again. He would rather save his money than take the subway or a taxi, after all, he would have to return home sometime and his budget was extremely tight. His plan was to walk there directly from here. Breathing in the cool but stuffy air, Sergey trudged in his heavy boots along the poorly cleared sidewalk and through an ankle-high layer of dirty snow. He was leaving the area of the main station, where, of course, all sorts of shady characters roamed. It had been no different years ago. Several times he was approached by prostitutes of both sexes who openly offered their services. Others tried to sell him drugs, waving injection equipment and small vials at him from a distance. One man even opened his long coat right in front of him on the sidewalk and held up a row of handguns he had lined up on the inside of his coat. Sergey pretended not to hear or see the offers, quickly looked straight ahead again, and quickened his pace to get out of the center as quickly as possible. As fast as his still aching foot would allow.

As he walked, he continued to look around, seeing the windows of stores that offered just about anything you could imagine. The neon lights and advertising signs dazzled him in an unusual way through the milky fog that hung motionless in the valleys of the skyscraper canyons. A jumble of voices, car noise, music from the shops, occasional shouts from the distance. Sergey brushed his long black hair out of his face, thinking as he put one foot in front of the other. It was an open secret that the police of this city were generously bribed by the underworld and therefore seemed to turn a blind eye. But he had not expected this place to be so rotten already. It seemed to be much worse than he remembered. He had to be careful, he didn't know the customs of this place, he had to be as inconspicuous as possible. At the same time, he had to find his brother. He was still sure that he could do it. The feeling that Artyom was still alive had not left him.

A loud horn behind him jolted him out of his thoughts and made him jump as he found himself in the middle of the crowd heading west along the main artery. He turned to see a recklessly speeding car slam into another waiting at a red light. Tires squealed and the crash of metal boomed loudly over the already considerable background noise. The apparently drunk driver got out and staggered into the street. The driver of the car waiting at the light got out and immediately began hitting the other. Moments later, bottles and other objects from the passing crowd flew onto the scene, and the aggressive mood erupted into a rapidly growing brawl with more and more people involved. He had to get out of here, fast! Just as Sergey thought this and turned around to continue on his way, he bumped into a brutal-looking man wearing a blue-painted suit with lots of silver studs and even more conspicuous sunglasses with green lenses. In his left hand he held a relatively thin but very sturdy looking chain. It was made of small steel rings and at the other end was a black iron ring forged around the neck of a girl. The girl looked at Sergey somewhat absentmindedly. She must have been about 20 years old, her clothes were worn and far too revealing for the temperatures. Her shoulder-length brown hair hung unkempt and shaggy over her unwashed face. Her pupils were dilated, probably from drugs.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Hey, asshole, what are you bumping into me for?" the man yelled at him in an angry voice in his tough city dialect. "Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry..." Sergey mumbled, trying to step aside to avoid getting into trouble.

"Sorry's not good enough, punk! I know scum like you! You bumped into me because you wanted to steal my wallet!" the man shouted obsessively. He must have snorted a line of coke or been on some kind of stimulant like the girl? What was going on here? Did this happen in other cities? The man reached into his suit and cursed. Sergey narrowed his eyes and growled tensely as the noise of the street fight grew louder. Sergey was a hunter and could sense danger as it approached. He had to defuse the situation, try to de-escalate.

"Look, I really just want to walk down the street here... we don't have to..." Sergey began. That was as far as he got. The man, still holding the chain with the girl in a tight grip, pulled a pistol out of his suit pocket with his right hand.

"I'm going to blow you away!" the man growled, stretching the gun forward to aim at Sergey. His hand shook slightly as he did so.

"No, you won't..." Sergey hissed. Then he grabbed the man's wrist with his left hand out of a half turn and pushed the gun to the ground. The man had not expected this action, apparently his reaction had also been slowed by the substances in his blood. The man pulled the trigger and a shot went off straight into the cobblestones. Nearby people screamed and ran away in panic. Sergey didn't know what to do. The man did not drop the gun and began to hit him with his other hand. The chain tightened and the girl on it screamed as she was pulled towards them with a jerk. What could he do? This had to end, quickly! Now! Sergey jerked the man's gun out of his hand with all his strength, and the man lost his balance and stumbled forward. Another shot was fired from the gun. What if one of the passers-by or he himself was hit in the scuffle? Suddenly Sergey panicked. In one swift movement, he reached behind him and grabbed the handle of his father's old hand axe, which he had hidden in the back of his backpack. He drew the axe and swung, striking the man in the side of the neck with a powerful blow. The axe lodged in his opponent. The man stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide as blood began to gush from the wound. Then he finally dropped the weapon. Sergey pulled the axe from his neck with a jerky motion and the man collapsed slowly, dropping the chain as well and pressing his hands to the gaping wound. A cold shiver ran down Sergey's spine. In a moment of life and death, only his instincts had responded. But the battles he had fought so far were nothing like this. Against predators, in the wild. It was something else to wound and kill a man in self-defense. By now, there was open panic all around him, and the fight in the street was still raging.

"You have to get out of here..." the girl addressed him somewhat dispassionately, suddenly standing close to him and slowly seeming to realize what had just happened. The death of her tormentor had awakened her, the veil over her eyes lifted.

"I didn't really want anything else... I just wanted to get away from here," Sergey replied erratically, looking at her for a moment. Strange how she stood there so calmly in all the commotion and excitement.

"You should take the gun," she continued, pointing thoughtfully at the man's pistol that had landed at his feet.

"Well, I don't know..." replied Sergey, dazed.

"You should take it, you might need it," the girl insisted, wiping her face as the pool of blood under the twitching man's body grew larger. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, picked up the gun and slipped it into his pants pocket. Then, with a practiced motion, he tucked the bloody hatchet back into the holder on his backpack.

"I... I have to go now...", Sergey spoke to her. She nodded.

"Yes," she replied curtly. He was about to leave when she called after him.

"Wait!" He turned to her again. She walked up to him and held out the end of the chain.

"Take me with you, don't leave me here," she instructed him dryly.

"W-what?! You want me to take you with me?" Sergey yelped in surprise and made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "That's absolutely impossible! You don't even know where I'm going."

"Why? Why wouldn't it be possible? Take me with you. What am I supposed to do here? He's dead," she explained, pointing to the man on the ground who had dragged her here.

"This... I can't do that," he stammered, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I'm sure the police will be here soon. Killing a man in the street is no small thing, even here. They'll lock me up. Because of you. Is that what you want?" she spoke now with an offended undertone.

"Fucking hell..." Sergey muttered and rubbed his eyes for a moment. What had he gotten himself into? He had been in this unspeakable city for less than an hour and was already in the biggest trouble possible.

"Take chain!" the girl ordered sternly, waving its end in front of his face. Sergey took a deep breath. For a slave, her tone was rather authoritative. But she was right: he had to leave this place, too.

"Can't we do without the chain? Just run after me like that?" he replied, slightly annoyed.

"What, without the chain?" she asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. Sergey groaned loudly. There was no time to argue. He took the chain and started to leave with her. She made a satisfied face and followed him through the crowd and into the bustle and stinking fog.