Editor's note: I'm starting to think that Frank should pursue games marketing. The picture he paints below makes me more interested in Metro 2033. I wish the back of video-game boxes read like this. -Jay

Blood, sweat, and irradiated mud cake your clothes. You check to make sure your gas mask is still in working condition. Its thin glass faceplate and claustrophobic rubber clings to your skin so tightly that, at times, it feels like it is trying to suffocate you. This mask forms the only fragile barrier between you and the deadly air which surrounds you, and it is cracked and beginning to break.

The only things between you and the tomb-like freedom of the Metro are a broken road lined with abandoned cars and "it."

"It" stands there rotten and stinking of filth and gore. You have no way of truly knowing what "it" is. Perhaps its predecessor was some sort of dog or even a rat. Either way, you know that the creature is much larger than it would have been if this broken world hadn't warped and remolded it into a fearsome, mutated beast.

You know that one swipe of its massive claw could turn you in to just another of the rotting corpses you've scavenged countless amounts of ammo from.

At times, you find it easy to search the bodies. During those times, you can almost imagine they are just things placed there to perhaps offer you a shotgun shell or a few arrows. Right now, however, you remember that they are not simply things. They are bodies that have been broken and then left forgotten.

You know you must move soon or else it will locate you with its keen senses. You take a few deep breaths, clutch your rifle as close to your body as possible, and then you run. You run straight ahead hoping that the creature is alone. Your breath starts to fog the broken faceplate of your gas mask. Your view of the world seems to get more obfuscated with every breath. You make it past one car and then another. You know that in a few strides you will be on the beast. All you hear is your raspy breathing and your feet pounding on the ground, but then a howl fills the air and you know the beast has heard you.

You spin towards where you last saw it. It was just a few car lengths away, but you don't see it there now. Suddenly, you see a black shape out of the corner of your right eye.

Without thinking you pivot in that direction and fire. The impact of the blast knocks the beast’s head up over its shoulders, and a geyser of blood and brain shoots into the air.

You managed to take the creature down in one shot. This is a good thing, since every round spared is a round that you could use later or spend on supplies at another settlement, should you survive to see one.

You look down at the remains of the beast and see that it is caked in dried, old blood. You would not have been its first prey of the day if luck had been on its side.

You take one brief moment to collect yourself and then begin to move again. The open grate you seek is just a few more car lengths down the road, but before you continue you want to take one last look at the sky.

Many people who live in the settlements never even see the sky. They have a hard time imagining not being closed in on every side by the worn-down walls and railways of the Metro. You always have to remind yourself that seeing the sky is a privilege, even if every time you do so you know that death may be waiting around the next corner.

You decide to continue forward and, as you pass the next derelict car, you find the now-dead beast's morning meal. He was a young man -- probably out scavenging the wastes in hopes of finding whatever scraps that may exist in this dead world. He looks just like a young man you saw a few days ago in a settlement.

If you remember correctly, he talked about how he wanted to marry a merchants daughter, but he could not get approval because he had no wealth. You wince when you get close. You can almost smell the acrid tang of blood through your mask as you reach down and pull a few shells off of his grimy jacket. As you start to straighten yourself, you get a good look at the face of the body and realize that it does not just look like that young man -- it is him.

The world has claimed yet another innocent victim.

You continue onward toward the Metro. You see no benefit in being maudlin. These are the harsh realities of life now. You reach the open grate in a few more seconds. You step inside the metro tunnel, and darkness greets you like an old friend. It knows you and has been with you almost always.

Blood, sweat, and irradiated mud cake your clothes. You check to make sure your gas mask is still in working condition. Its thin glass faceplate and claustrophobic rubber clings to your skin so tightly that, at times, it feels like it is trying to suffocate you. This mask forms the only fragile barrier between you and the deadly air which surrounds you, and it is cracked and beginning to break.

The only things between you and the tomb-like freedom of the next settlement are miles of rails, tons of rock, and whatever beasts may be out there looking to make you their next meal…