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Artyom barely managed to slip between the heavy oak doors first, with Pavel close behind. The ceiling of the library was still as high as Artyom remembered it, undiminished by his impressions of the endless sky outside on his prior travels to the surface; its grandiose archways another reminder of the old world. Artyom never had a reason to return to this place until now, over a year later, and nearly nothing had changed. What would? Who came here? Artyom and the Polis force were most likely the last. Yet cast aside, strewn across the lobby, were now mangled and mutilated metal coat racks and umbrella stands. Some were completely torn apart, their thick metal frames distorted and barely recognizable. Artyom knew but didn’t want to think about who or what could’ve torn the things to shreds. The same wretched stench from back then had invaded his gas mask, even more potent and head-spinning than then; it was moldy and putrid. It smelled like dead rats and rain. Pavel was furiously readjusting his mask in feeble attempts at relieving himself of the wet mossy odor— it broke the brittle yet immutable silence that covered the library, and Artyom took it upon himself to play the mentor part he rarely got to.
“Pavel,” Artyom hissed through his filter, “I know, I know. But you have to stop— the rules of the library are still enforced here, even now.”
Artyom watched as Pavel looked up from his groveling and released his mask, letting it suck itself back onto his face. Pavel’s shoulders began to bounce before Artyom heard his low chuckle, and he scowled at the notion that he wasn’t being taken in the least-bit seriously.
“Pavel!”
Artyom could barely berate him without violating his own rules, and so he settled for hissing through his teeth. “Shut your mouth!” He playfully smacked his friend upside the head, nearly knocking his mask back out of position.
“Oh yes, yes, Mx. Librarian, bahaha! Please don’t tell my mum!” Artyom stopped in his tracks at Pavel’s comment; he sat there still for what felt like a full minute, and then maybe two, before he could finally find his wits and hiss out in a feeble whisper:
“Don’t you dare call me that. Pavel do not use that word— please.” Pavel watched Artyom in his statue-like brilliance, but his confidence and charisma were unwavering.
“What, librarian?” Pavel smacked his fists to his hips and cocked a brow. Artyom didn’t have the time to explain the whole fiasco— the two weren’t even planning on heading anywhere near the main archives, and so he didn’t particularly want to anyway. One door away lay the card catalogue, and all that Artyom was looking for. He tried to appear as intimidating as he could (and as intimidating as anyone could through the dingy and goofy visor of a Russian gas mask) and snatched up Pavel’s sleeve in his right hand. He pulled him across the corridor, their uneven and unmatching steps penetrating and shattering the once near-tangible silence, towards the card catalogue. At the bottom of the stairs Pavel no longer needed his childish watch, and both trudged up, struggling in their heavy and bulky surface-eligible gear. Neither was properly suited to stay long, and their technology was outdated and likely to succumb to radiation... they needed to hurry. Only one door to the catalogue remained on its hinges, as Artyom remembered, the other singed off long ago perhaps in nuclear fire. He shoveled Pavel in through the door infront of him and snuck past, leaving Pavel to gaze endlessly and with wonder at the ancient vaulted ceilings. They were just as beautiful as the entrance, if not more so, and the arched windows let in as much natural light as anyone could hope for. Artyom used Pavel’s stunned silence to search frantically through the drawers and shelves that lined the room, hoping to find some evidence of what he needed.
“Artyom—” Pavel hissed from across the room.
“Pavel what did I tell you, hush.”
“Artyom—” Pavel said again.
“What?!” Artyom looked up and around, losing his place in the manilla envelope he was thoroughly inspecting. Not 10 metres from the two of them, though obscured by the darkness of a doorway, stood the brooding ape-like figure Artyom dreaded encountering on their trip. Pavel took a shallow step backwards, towards his partner.
“Holy shit—”