Personal Growth Metro 2034 English Epub


Thursday, May 23, 2019

You can easily Download Metro Pdf, Metro Pdf by Language: English Metro is simply the best book I read this summer. This is the translation of the German version of Metro into English. English is not my first language. This translation is as closest to the German Version is it. I found this guy on youtube, he translated Metro book from German to English. You can download the book and thank to him.

Metro 2034 English Epub

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We've moved to r/metro. Are metro and free to download, like the first book, or will i Amazing, though is there version?. Buy the eBook Metro , The novels that inspired the bestselling games by Dmitry Glukhovsky online from Australia's leading online eBook store. Download . METRO Home · METRO Author: Glukhovsky the button below! Report copyright / DMCA form · DOWNLOAD EPUB Metro · Read more.

At the Sevastopolskaya the war for the destruction of mankind, which had lasted for two centuries, had never. If you live long enough in the face of death, fear makes place for fatalism, talismans, believes and instincts.

But who knew what waited for them between the Nachimovski prospect and the Serpuchovskaya? Who knew if they could break through this mysterious obstacle or if there was still something behind it that was worth fighting for?

Istomin thought about his last trip to the Serpuchovskaya: Markets, homeless on benches and those who still had something sleeping behind curtains. This station didnt produce anything; they didnt have any animal farms or greenhouses. The residents of the Serpuchovskaya were thieves but they were smart.

They lived from speculation, sold expired goods that they had bought from late caravans for almost nothing. They also offered the inhabitants of the Ring line services that could have brought them in front of the courts at Hanza. This station was a parasite, a fungus, a growing tumor inside the powerful Hanza. It was the last union of rich trade stations, appropriately named after the German model, a stronghold for civilization in the Metro. Everything else sank into barbarism and poverty.

There was a real army in Hanza, electrical light and even in the poorest parts a piece of bread for everyone that had earned the much sought after stamp of citizenship. Even on the black market those cost a fortune, and if the border patrol caught somebody with a fake passport it would have cost you your head. Hanza owed its wealth and power to its extraordinary place: The Ring line united all other lines of the star shaped complex together and opened up the possibility to switch from one line to any other line.

Traveling merchants that brought Tea from the VDNKh, trolleys that brought ammunition from the weapons forges of Baumskaya they all unloaded their cargo at the nearest toll station of Hanza and returned back home. It was always easier for them to sell their goods at the safe Hanza than to embark on a hunt for higher profits throughout the whole Metro, which often proved fatal.

It sometimes happened that Hanza affiliated neighboring stations, but mostly those were left to their own fate a tolerated grey area, in which the leaders of Hanza didnt want to get involved in.

Of course those Radial Stations where filled with Hanzas spies, and to be exact the stations had been bought a long time ago by the businessmen of Hanza. But they remained, formally, independent. So was it was with the Serpuchovskaya. In one of the tunnels between this station and the Tulskaya a train had broken down on that day a long time ago. Istomin had marked the place with a Catholic Cross, because the wagon that stood in the midst of the tunnel and was inhabited by members of a Christian sect.

They had transformed this lifeless part of the tunnel into an oasis in a black desert. Istomin had nothing against the sect. Their missionaries lingered in the neighboring stations, trying to save fallen souls, but these shepherds never came to the Sevastopolskaya nor did they hinder passing travelers with their missionary talk.

The clean and empty tunnel between Tulskaya and Serpuchovskaya were preferred by the caravans. Once again Istomin looked along the line. The Tulskaya? Their residents lived from what the bypassing convoys of the Sevastopolskaya and the smart merchants from Serpuchovskaya left behind. They repaired every possible technical piece of scrap metal and others searched for day jobs.

For days they sat there and waited for one of the foremen offering slave labor. They were poor as well, but at least they didnt have the greasy crook look in their eyes like the people from the Serpuchovskaya.

And in this station there was order, outside dangers welded people together. The next station was the Nagatinskaya. On Istomins plan it was marked with a short line, meaning that is was uninhabited. But that was only half the truth. Nobody remained there very long. Only shady figures resided there, living like animals.

Absolute darkness reigned there and small groups hid from strangers. Only scarcely the dim shine of a campfire lit through the pillars and illuminated the dark. Only unknowing and brave individuals stayed overnight because not all of the inhabitants of this station were humans.

In the whispering darkness of the Nagatinskaya you could sometimes see the grotesque silhouettes of creatures scouring in the dark. And sometimes the shrill scream of a homeless person filled the remaining residents with fear until the victim got dragged into a cave and eaten.

Nobody dared to go further than Nagatinskay, so the area between this station the strongholds from the Sevastopolskaya was an empty wasteland. It wasnt entirely empty though and the scouts from Sevastopolskaya tried not to meet the creatures lurking there. But now something new has emerged out of the tunnels.

Something unknown. Something that swallowed everybody that tried to pass through this supposedly explored route. How should Istomin know if his station, even if every able resident picked up a weapon, would form an army big enough to deal with this unseen danger? He stood up burdened, walked to the map and marked the area between the Serpuchovskaya and the Nachimovskaya prospect with a pen. Right next to it he placed a big question mark.

He wanted to place it next to the word prospect but somehow it landed next to the Sevastopolskaya. At first glance you could believe that the Sevastopolskaya was uninhabited.

No trace of army tents in the train station that served them as homes at most stations. But instead they had barricades of sandbags, which looked like big ant hills in the weak lights of the lamps. Those barricades were never manned and the quadratic pillars were covered with a thick layer of dust.

Everything was built so that a stranger that passed through would think this station was abandoned. But as soon as the unwanted guest just thought about staying here, he risked staying here forever. Then machine-gun teams and the snipers, which stayed at the neighboring Kavochskaya, manned their posts in seconds and instead of the dim lamps, powerful quicksilver search lights on the ceiling were activated, burning the eyes of all invaders, humans or monster. Neither were used to the strong light.

The train station was the last carefully planned line of defense of the Sevastopolskaya. Their homes were located in the belly of this deceptive station under the station. Under the enormous granite plate, invisible from foreign eyes, there was another floor not much smaller than the station above, but divided into smaller cells.

There were the lit, dry and warm apartments, the steady humming air filters and water purifier, hydroponic greenhouses it seemed that the residents of this station felt only safe and comfortable when they retreated further into the ground.

Homer knew that the crucial battle didnt await him in the tunnel, but at his home. While he walked through the narrow hallway, past the half open doors of the former service rooms which were now where the residents of the Sevastopolskaya lived, his steps slowed down more and more. He thought of his tactics and revisited his answers as time ran out.

What am I supposed to do? Orders are orders. You know how the situation yourself. They didnt even ask me. Dont blow it out of proportion that is ridiculous! No I didnt volunteer. Out of the question. That would be desertion, understand?

He mumbled on and on, sometimes outraged and determined, sometimes gentle and pleading. On the doorstep of his apartment he went over everything again. It seemed a scene wouldnt be avoidable, but he wouldnt back down. He made a dark look and opened the door ready for a fight. From the nine and a half square meters apartment very luxurious, he had waited for one for four years while living in a dirty tent was occupied by a two-story military bunk bed, a small neat dining table and three big stacks of newspapers that reached to the ceiling.

Would he have been an old bachelor that mountain would have already buried him. But fifteen years ago he had met Yelena, who tolerated the dusty old papers in their small apartment, kept them in order and away from the stove; otherwise this mountain would have transformed itself into to a papery Pompeii long ago. She also tolerated so many other things. The endless alarming parts from newspapers with titles like The arms race goes on, Americans test anti-rocket system, Our rocket shield grows, Farewell.

She tolerated so much, but not everything. Not his juvenile eagerness and curiosity, that brought him into the middle of a storm every time there and that with almost 60 years of experience! Nor the ease with what he accepts all the orders from above, without thinking about the last expedition that had almost cost his life. If he had died he didnt want to think about it. When Homer left for guards duty once a week, she never remained in the house.

She fled with her troubled thoughts to the neighbors or went to work, even if she didnt had to it didnt matter where, everywhere was fine if it distracted her from thinking that her husband had already died, laying on the ground, dead and cold.

She thought that his typical male composure regarding death was stupid, egoistic, yes, even criminal. Fate had wanted it that she had already returned from work to change her clothes. She had put her arms through the sleeves of her patched jacket when he entered.

Her dark, slightly grayed hair she hadnt even turned 50 was tousled and you could see fear in her brown eyes. Kolya did something happen? I thought you had guard duty till late in the night?

His courage to start his argumentation dissolved immediately.

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Of course this time others were responsible, he could have said that they forced him, with clean consciences. But now he hesitated. Maybe he should calm her down first and mention it later casually during dinner? I am asking just one thing from you: Dont lie to me. Lena, he started. I have to tell you something Did somebody she asked the most important, most feared question right away.

Did somebody die, but she didnt spoke it out loud, like if she feared that her words would make it happen. No Homer shook his head and added: The freed me from guard duty. They are sending me to the Serpuchovskaya. Dont think it will be dangerous. But Yelena didnt know what to say. But that is did they already return, the It is all nonsense. There is nothing.

The conversation turned into an unexpected direction. Instead dealing with curses that he is trying to play a hero and wait for a good moment of reconciliation, he now had to face a far harder test. Yelena turned away, stepped to the table, put the salt from the table somewhere else and smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth.

I had a dream she stopped and cleared her throat. You always have one. A bad one. Then she started crying. What am I its an order. He stuttered and stroked over her fingers. He realized that his tirades werent worth a cent now. The one-eyed should go himself! She called out angrily and moved her hand away.

Oh that devil with his beret!

METRO 2033

They can only boss around others What does he have to lose? He is married to his rifle! What does he know? When you make a women cry, the only thing left is to hold her in your arms. Homer was ashamed of himself, he was really sorry.

But it was too easy to give in now, to swear that he wont follow that order, to calm her down and dry her tears and to remember this missed chance forever. Maybe the last chance in his long life. So he remained silent. It was time to gather the officers and instruct them further.

But the colonel was still sitting in his office. The cigarette smoke didnt even bother him anymore, but it still tempted him. While the commander of the station moved his finger along the line of the Sevastopolskaya on his map of the Metro and was whispering to himself, sunken in thoughts, Denis Michailovitsch tried to understand what was behind Hunters mysterious return at the Sevastopolskaya.

Why did he decide to settle down here and why did he wear his helmet in public almost all the time? That all meant that Istomin was right: Hunter was hiding from something and he had chosen the southern guard post as his hiding place.

There he replaced a complete brigade and had become irreplaceable. Whoever demanded his return, whatever price had been placed on his head, neither Istomin or the colonel would have given him up. His hiding place was brilliant. There were no strangers at the Sevastopolskaya and compared to other caravans that traveled to the big Metro, everyone passing through this station kept their tongue behind their teeth. In this small Sparta that desperately held on to their small piece of earth on the end of the world, it was the most important thing to be reliable and relentless in battle.

Here secrets still meant something. But why did Hunter give all this up again? Why did he travel to Hanza out of his free will and risked being recognized? He had volunteered for this operation; Istomin wouldnt have dared to think about appointing it to him. It probably wasnt the fate of the lost recon unit that interested the brigadier. He didnt fight for the Sevastopolskaya because he loved the station so much, but because of his own reasons that were only known to him.

Maybe he had to fulfill an assignment? That would explain a lot of things: His sudden appearance, his secrecy, the stamina with which he holds the guard post and of course his decision to leave for the Serpuchovskaya immediately.

But then why did he forbade him to inform the others? Who could have sent him expect for them? No, that was impossible. He was one of the Order. A man that dozens, if not hundreds of people including Denis Michailovitsch owed their lives to, who wouldnt be able to commit treason.

But was this Hunter that had appeared out of the void the same? If he worked for somebody did he receive a signal? Did that mean that the disappearance of the recon unit was no accident, but a well planned operation? And what part did the brigadier play in all of this? The colonel strongly shook his head, as if he wanted to shake away his suspicions that hang on him like leeches, becoming bigger and bigger.

Why would he think this about a man that saved his live? Hunter had served the station without any mistakes and he had never given him the slightest reason for doubts. Thus Denis Michailovitsch forbade himself to think about the brigadier as a deserter, spy or something else.

He had made his decision. Another tea and then I will go to the boys, he said overly energetic and snapped his fingers. Istomin rose from his Metro plan and smiled tiredly.

He wanted to dial the number for the adjutant when the telephone ringed. Both were startled and looked at each other. They hadnt heard that sound for a week. If the officer on duty wanted something he knocked on the door and there was no one else in the station that was able to call the foreman directly.

Istomin here. Vladimir Ivanowitsch! The Tulskaya is on the phone he heard the hastily voice of the adjutant, but the connection is very bad probably our men but the connection.

Connect me already! Istomin screamed into the receiver and hammered his fist on the table with such force that the telephone ringed in pain. The adjutant turned silent immediately. Istomin could hear a ringing sound, then static and then he heard a distant, almost unrecognizable voice.

Yelena had turned her face towards the wall, to hide her tears. What could she still do to hold him back? Why did he always reach for the first possibility to leave the station? His miserably excuses Orders from above and Desertion she had heard them a hundred times. What wouldnt she have given, wouldnt have tried to get rid of his nonsense in these 15 years?

But once again it drew him to the tunnels, as if he thought to find something other than darkness, emptiness and doom in it. What was he searching for? Homer knew exactly what she thought, as if she had spoken it out loud.

He felt miserably, but it was too late to retreat. He opened his mouth to say something excusing, something warm, but he remained silent, with every one of his words he would just added oil to the flame. Over Yelenas head Moscow cried. A carefully framed color-picture of the Tverskaya Uliza, shining through the translucent midsummer rain, cut out of a shiny almanac, was hanging on the wall.

A long time ago, when he was able to move through the Metro freely, all of his fortune was made up by his clothes and this one picture. Others carried crumpled, torn out pages from man oriented magazines in their pockets.

But for Homer that wasnt a replacement. But this picture reminded him of something unspeakable beautiful something that has been lost forever. Helplessly he whispered: Forgive me, stepped out into the hallway, closed the door carefully behind him and sat himself in front of his apartment. The door of the neighboring apartment was open and two sickly pale children played on the doorstep a boy and a girl.

When they saw Homer they stopped. The patched up teddy bear, about whom the children had argued just one second ago, fell to the ground.

Uncle Kolya, uncle Kolya! Tell us a story! You promised to tell us one when you returned! Homer couldnt hold back a smile. He forgot the argument with Yelena immediately. About what?

Metro 2034

Headless mutants! I dont want mutants! They are so terrible, they scare me! Homer sighed: What story do you want, Tanyuscha? But the boy answered before her: Than about the fascists! Or the partisans! I want the story about the Emerald city! But I told it yesterday. Maybe about the war of Hanza against the Reds? About the Emerald city, about the Emerald city! Ok, agreed Homer. Somewhere, behind the end of the Sokolnitscheskaya line, behind the seven abandoned stations, the three destroyed bridges and a thousand times a thousand doorways, there lies a mysterious, secret city.

It is magical so humans cant enter. Wizards live there and only they can leave through their portals and enter the city through them again.

On top of it, on the surface there is a castle, with towers where once the wizards lived. The name of the castle was Virsity!

Yelled the small boy and looked at his sister triumphal. University, Homer nodded his head. When the war began and the atomic bombs were dropped on the earth, the wizards retreated into the castle and laid a spell on the entrance so that the bad humans, that started the war, wouldnt be able to reach them. And then they lived Homer cleared his throat and stopped. Yelena was leaning at the doorway, she had listened. He hadnt seen her when she stepped on the hallway.

Ill pack your things, she said huskily. Homer walked over to her and took her hand. She clumsily laid his arms around him, it was embarrassing for her in front of the children, and asked silently: Youll come back soon?

Nothing is going to happen to you, right?

For the thousandth time in his long life he realized how much women longed for promises it didnt matter if he could fulfill them or not. Everything is going to be alright. You are so old and you still kiss like you two just married, said the girl, making a grimace. The boy yelled after them cocky: Daddy says that nothing of the story is true. There is no emerald city!

Maybe, Homer shrugged his shoulders. It is a fairy tale. What would we do without fairy tales? The connection was truly bad. A vaguely familiar voice fought against the terrible static: It seemed it was one of the recon team that they had sent to the Serpuchovskaya on the railcar. At the Tulskaya we can Tulskaya, he tried to give their position. Understood, you are at the Tulskaya, Istomin yelled into the receiver. What happened? Why havent you returned? Tulskaya here you cant everything but Again and again parts of his sentence were swallowed by the static.

What cant we do? Repeat, what cant we do? Dont storm the station! Everything but storming the station! But the voice was no longer to be heard. The static became louder and louder, then the line went dead. Istomin didnt want to believe it at first and kept the telephone in his hand. What is going on there? Afterlife Chapter 3 That look that the guard on the northern post gave him, Homer would never forget it, as long as he lived. A look filled with admiration and melancholy, like for a fallen hero.

He could hear the salute shots of the honor regiment in the background.

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Like a farewell forever. The living didnt get those looks. Homer felt like he climbed the shaky ladder of a small cabin of a plane, unable to land, that the Japanese engineers had outfitted wit bombs.

The emperors flag, with the red stripes flattered in the salty wind, on the summery airfield mechanics ran around, motors roared and a thick general with wet eyes, filled with the envy of the samurai, raised his hand in a military salute Why are you so excited? He on the other hand wasnt in a rush to find out what happened at the Sevastopolskaya.

His wife was standing near the train track, his oldest son on one hand, a screaming bundle in the other, holding it carefully. It is like a sudden banzai attack: You stand up and run directly at the machine guns, Homer tried to explain. Courage out of distress. In front of us lies a deadly fire No wonder why you call it a suicide-attack growled Achmed and looked back to the tiny bright light at the end of the tunnel.

The right thing for somebody as crazy as you. A normal human doesnt run straight into a machinegun. Those heroics dont bring anyone far. The old one didnt answer immediately.

Well, thats the thing. When you feel that your time is over you are starting to think: What remains when I am gone? What have I accomplished? I dont know about you, but I have my children. They wont forget me. After a short pause he added: At least not my oldest.

Homer wanted to reply upset, but Achmeds last sentence took the wind out of his sails. Of course it was easier for him to risk his old and childless hide.

That boy on the other hand had his entire life in front of him and didnt need to think about achieving his immortality yet. They had passed the last lamp; a glass can with a weak light bulb and a grit out of steel, full of burned flies and winged roaches.

The chitin-mass moved almost unnoticeably: Some insects were still alive, trying to crawl out of a pit like wounded death candidates trying to crawl out of a mass grave.

For a second Homer got stuck at the trembling, reaching, weakly-yellowish light, looking like it swelled out of graveyards lamp. Then he took a deep breath and dove into the deep-black darkness that reached from the Sevastopolskaja to the Tulskaya if the station still existed. It seemed like the sad woman and her children had grown together with the granite plate. They werent the only ones: A little bit next to them a one-eyed man with shoulders like a wrestler looked after the group that was vanishing into the darkness.

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Behind him a thin old man in a military jacket was silently talking with the adjutant. No, we can only wait. You can wait. It was Andrej. The leading officer of the railcar that we sent. Vladimir Ivanovitsch could hear the voice out of the receiver once again he couldnt get it out of his head. The colonel raised his brow. Maybe he talked under torture. There are specialists that new certain methods. You didnt hear his voice. There is something different going on.

Something unexplainable. A surprise attack wont matter I can explain it to you. At the Tulskaya there are bandits.

They overpowered the station, killed some of our guys and took the others hostage. They didnt cut the power of course, because they need power as well and they didnt want to make Hanza nervous. They probably just turned off the telephone. How else would you explain that the telephone works some times and then it doesnt? But his voice was so mumbled Istomin as if he didnt even listen to the colonel.

Well how? The adjutant carefully took a few steps back. When I drive a nail under your fingernail then you will scream differently!

And with pliers I could turn a bass into a soprano for life! He knew what he had to, he had made his choice. Now after he had defeated his doubts he was on a new high and his fingers twitched to his sword. Istomin can complain as much as he wants. Istomin didnt answer immediately. He wanted to give the colonel time to blow off steam. We are going to wait. It sounded assuring, but relentless. Denis Michailovitsch crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Two days. This was so terribly written, it just made no place being there, if you want to confuse the reader, you did it there. I always find it amusing when reading Russian fiction, the authors always seem to use a characters full name. It's rather a quirk I've come to chuckle at instead of groan. Groaning isn't a good thing, what next, apathy?

I've not really touched on the story. Hunter is pissed off, he is a confused mesh of wanting to kill everything and everyone and of saving everyone and everything.

Sasha is his foil, she helps he remember what he was. To a extent Homer also does this.

Hunter wants to purge a virus that has spread through a neighbouring poleis Tula , by purging he means the station itself and the populace. The posit of the story sits around his fight within himself mentally and of Homer and Sasha. A nice side story fleshed out by the author is Homer's attempts to write something credible. Metro is essentially about fate and chance.

Can a awful experience Hunter change who you are, or can a chance meeting bring you back from the brink and remind you of who you really are Sasha. I liked the fact that Homer is not a hero who is skilled with weapons, but instead use words to try to accomplish something although there is little in the book that listens to him. Like its predecessor so imbued in of a typical melancholy, which does not make the book dull and monotonous.

Violence is raw, terror arrest and they will survive strong. Metro is simply the best book I read this summer. The fact that competition has downright been lamentable means that Metro is even more memorable for me.

Highly Recommended. Just click on the below link to download Metro Pdf:. Name Required.This isnt just about our problems here and now! This cursed station seemed to be one of those borders that marked the end of human rule in the metro. However, it was still very entertaining and interesting to learn more about a different place of the Metro world, especially with the mysterious Hunter as one of the main characters.

Alone at the Nachimovski prospect: The story before the events of this book is told in the book Metro

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