Inside Sanctuary's converted war room — formerly briefing room — General Ward stood at the head of a long, sturdy table. A large, weathered map of the Commonwealth was spread out across its surface, marked with pins, notes, and markings. Around the table sat several Minutemen officers, along with one of the former Institute scientists. The air was thick with tension , the faces of those present marked by weariness and resolve.
One of the officers cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention.
"Since our failed assault on the Reich compound last week, they've grown bolder," he began, gesturing toward the northern quadrant of the map. "We're holding them off from taking Covenant, but we had to evacuate the civilian population to avoid noncombatant casualties." His finger slid to a pin marked Greentop Nursery. "Unfortunately, we lost Greentop Nursery. The Reich overran the settlement, executed the defenders, and now they've enslaved the settlers to work the fields, feeding their war machine."
There were grim mutters around the table. Another officer spoke up.
"And what about the tank? Since the battle, it hasn't been sighted, maybe we demage it and they are now repairing it."
"That may be the case," the first officer replied, "but one of our recon teams reported seeing what seem to be car parts being moved from the subway station into the hospital's garage. I believe they're building something else — maybe another tank, maybe something else. Whatever it is, we need to be ready."
As he spoke, he traced lines across the map, marking troop movements and enemy positions for the others to follow. Another officer, his face shadowed by fatigue, leaned forward.
"And the situation with the Red Line… or the Reds, as the men call them." He pointed to downtown Boston. "They've begun harassing settlements on the outskirts — attempted an assault on Bunker Hill, but we held them off. Bad news is, they took Goodneighbor and the Combat Zone. Urban warfare seems to be their specialty, and our troops are struggling in those conditions. However —" he allowed a small note of optimism into his voice, "— our scouts confirmed their main base of operations is set up in the area of Milton General Hospital."
General Ward nodded slowly, his expression grim. "We'll have to adapt — devise counter-tactics for urban fighting. Fast, before we lose any more ground."
The room fell silent for a moment as the general turned his gaze to the lone scientist seated near the end of the table.
"You've been quiet. Any good news for us?"
The scientist nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Yes, sir. We've been working from recovered Vault-Tec blueprints and have successfully begun constructing a prototype Stealth Boy. Early field tests are promising. With a little more time, we'll have a functional model ready for deployment."
Ward allowed himself a rare, faint smirk. "That's exactly what we need for infiltrating their bases. Good work."
General Ward leaned over the table, eyes scanning the marked-up map of the Commonwealth.
"What's the Brotherhood's status?" he asked, his voice steady.
One of the senior Minutemen officers , straightened and answered.
"They've been working closely with us behind the scenes, sir. Their primary focus has been the Reds — specifically preventing them from getting their hands on advanced tech. Energy weapons, pre-war military hardware, even intact vehicles. They know if the Reds secure anything like that, it could tip the balance in the city."
He pointed to several marks on the map — downtown Boston, Cambridge, and the ruins of the Mass Fusion building.
"For now, they're holding the line and intercepting Red patrols in key sectors. They're also securing old military sites and caches before anyone else can. We've been coordinating our patrol routes with them when possible. They've made it clear they intend to fully engage the Reds once they're reinforced and better positioned for a large-scale operation."
Another minutemen officer nodded, his tone measured .
"It's been a help, sir. Their presence has kept the Reds pinned in certain areas, which has allowed us to redeploy some of our forces against the Fourth Reich. Without them screening the south side, we'd be stretched thinner than we already are."
Ward considered this, then gave a curt nod.
"Good. Keep that coordination going — and if they move openly against the Reds, we back their play where we can. The sooner we weaken those bastards downtown, the more pressure we can put on the Reich."
The room murmured in agreement. The general turned his attention back to the map.
"Alright. Keep recon patrols tight, and get me updates if there's any shift in Red or Reich troop movements. We can't afford surprises."
The heavy doors to the war room creaked open, a Minutemen soldier stepping inside, his uniform dirtied from the field. He snapped a crisp salute.
"General Ward, sir!"
Ward turned from the map table, his brow furrowed.
"Report."
The soldier cleared his throat, slightly winded.
"Sir — Colonel Miller has returned. He's requesting an audience."
That made several heads in the room turn. Ward exchanged a brief glance with Sargent Major Cole, then nodded.
"Send him in."
"Yes, sir." The soldier saluted again and exited.
A few tense moments later, Colonel Miller entered the war room, his face weathered and grim. Sam followed close behind, alongside Stepan .
Ward stepped forward, clasping Miller's hand in a firm shake.
"Good to see you, Colonel. Wasn't sure when—or if—we'd hear from you again."
Miller gave a faint, weary smile.
"Good to be back… though the circumstances aren't exactly worth celebrating."
Ward gestured for them to join around the table.
"What happened?"
Miller's face darkened.
"I made it to Polis. Managed to get an audience with the council. Some of them were open to talks, saw the sense in cooperation. Others… still clinging to old wars, old fears. Claimed we'd be putting the entire Metro at risk working with you ."
He exhaled slowly, resting his hands on the table's edge.
"Then things got worse. A virus was released in the Metro — something from the old world, taken from D6's vaults. We traced it back to a Red Line operative. Infiltrated the Order, and stole the virus."
Gasps and grim mutters filled the room.
"It's bad, Ward. People are dying. Stations are sealed off. Hansa's in chaos. Half the ring line's under lockdown. They're desperate."
Ward's expression hardened.
"And Polis?"
"They agreed." Miller said grimly. "Told them about your medical equipment, your people. If you help contain this thing, help stop the deaths… they'll back our fight against the Reich and the Reds."
A heavy silence followed. Then Ward gave a sharp nod.
General Ward turned toward the former Institute scientist seated quietly at the far end of the table.
"Do we have what we need to combat this virus?"
The scientist straightened, his face tense but determined.
"We do, General. The problem isn't the equipment — it's containment. It's too dangerous to bring infected individuals to our labs here. Risk of a surface outbreak is too high. It would be far safer for a mobile team, with proper equipment and an armed escort, to be dispatched directly to the quarantined stations. We can work on a cure where the infection's isolated."
Ward nodded gravely.
"Alright. Go inform your specialists. Get everything you'll need prepped and ready to move — medics, decontamination gear, the whole lot."
The scientist gathered his notes and left quickly, a sense of urgency trailing behind him.
Miller watched him go, then turned back to Ward, an unspoken thought pressing at him.
"Ward… mind if I ask you something?"
Ward raised a brow.
"Go ahead."
Miller gestured vaguely around them.
"During my tour of Sanctuary… I didn't see any kind of lab building. Not above ground, at least. Where's all this medical equipment and research happening?"
For a moment, Ward looked surprised. Then a smirk crept onto his face and he gave a low chuckle.
"Ah. Yeah… I guess I never mentioned that part. Not like it's a big secret."
He gestured for Miller to follow, already heading for the door.
"C'mon. I'll show you."
As they walked, Miller frowned, curiosity growing.
"Wait — you don't mean… one of those vaults you told us about? The underground bunkers built to… experiment on their own people?"
"Yep." Ward confirmed, giving a short nod. "That's the one. Thankfully, this one wasn't one of the real horror shows. Still a Vault-Tec experiment, mind you… but nothing like the others I've read about. I won't bore you with the details right now."
They passed through the settlement gates and started up a path leading toward a series of fortified structures on the hillside, the defenses growing denser the higher they climbed. Minutemen patrolled the perimeter.
Ward continued as they walked.
"After we took down the Institute, some of the scientists — the ones who managed to get out before the place went up in smoke — they had nowhere to go. Spent their whole lives in a sterile, underground lab. No idea how to survive in the wasteland."
He gave a small shrug.
"I couldn't just leave them out there. I offered them shelter. Moved them into Vault 111 after we cleared it. It was in decent shape — a little rebuilding, some security upgrades. Enough space for living quarters and a proper research wing."
They approached the heavy metal Vault-Tec service lift, embedded into the top of the hill, flanked by sentries and automated turrets and a cabin where the control's for the platform are located.
"So yeah, our labs are down there . Out of sight. Safe. Secure. And now, probably the only place in the Commonwealth with the means to fight something like this virus."
Miller looked at the vault entrance, processing the idea.
"This is it," Ward said, stepping onto the platform shaped like a giant cog.
Miller followed, glancing around with curiosity.
Ward nodded to a Minuteman soldier at the controls.
"Take us down."
The soldier gave a sharp nod, pulling a heavy lever. The platform shuddered for a moment before it began its slow, steady descent into the earth. As the daylight above began to shrink away, Miller looked around the cylindrical shaft walls with a sense of awe.
When the platform finally came to a stop, they were met by a pair of Minutemen guards in combat armor, standing ready with laser rifles at ease. The heavy Vault 111 door stood ahead of them, its iconic numbered emblem catching the light from overhead lamps. The blast door had long since been opened and propped securely.
As they stepped through the wide entryway, Miller's eyes widened in surprise.
The vault's interior had been refurbished and repainted. The once bleak, industrial walls were now mostly white, giving the halls a clean, clinical appearance, though hints of the original blue-and-yellow paint still showed through in places. Overhead lights cast a steady, sterile glow over the corridors.
They passed a few patrolling Minutemen inside the vault, each one giving a sharp salute to Ward as he strode by.
"You really did all this after the war?" Miller asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Had to," Ward replied. "We needed a secure, sterile environment for research — couldn't risk this kind of work in open air with radiation and raiders about."
Ward gestured for Miller to follow as they moved deeper into the vault. Eventually, they reached a large room labeled 'Medical Research Division' in crisp stenciled letters above the bulkhead.
Inside, the laboratory was a hive of activity. Scientists in clean white lab coats moved between workstations, setting up mobile diagnostic equipment, loading supplies into portable kits, and readying protective suits for field deployment. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic.
Miller stepped inside, his eyes scanning the orderly scene. High-tech equipment whirred and blinked on tables. Diagnostic terminals displayed bio-readouts. Cryogenic containers and sterilized surgical tools gleamed under overhead lights.
"I never thought I'd see something like this ," Miller murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Memories of pre-war medical centers flickered in his mind — long lost to the bombs and darkness of the Metro.
Ward gave a faint, knowing smile.
"Neither did I. But sometimes you've gotta build something better out of the ashes."
The two men stood there for a moment, watching as the scientists hurried to finalize preparations for the mission that might decide the fate of thousands.
--- Moscow . Metro 2 ---
Deep beneath the cold streets of Moscow, far from the flickering lights of the regular Metro lines and even deeper than Polis, a secret meeting was underway in the fortified tunnels of Metro-2 — a clandestine network known only to a select few since before the bombs fell.
Inside a secret, fortified bunker carved out of concrete and reinforced steel — a tense meeting was underway. The hum of old ventilation fans and flickering light fixtures cast a dim pall over the long table, around which several figures sat.
Some were recognizable members of the Polis Council — the same ones who had stubbornly opposed Colonel Miller's appeals for unity. Others were unknown men in plain, utilitarian clothing, faces hardened and weathered by years of secrecy and manipulation. All of them bore the sharp, watchful demeanor of people long accustomed to pulling strings from the shadows.
"It's out of control!" one council member hissed, slamming his fist against the metal tabletop. "The Fourth Reich and the Red Line were meant to be tools — controlled opposition to keep the people divided and dependent on us. And now they've broken away like rabid dogs, claiming the surface as their own!"
"We created them," another spat bitterly, an older man with sunken eyes and a scar down one cheek. "Arming them, training them, giving them their ideologies… and they've cut themselves off now that they've crawled out of the Metro and tasted fresh air."
Murmurs of frustration rippled through the room.
"And what of the Spartan Order?" another asked sharply. "Miller's faction is barely holding to our authority. The words of being able to live freely on the surface are spreading like wildfire — people are beginning to question the old ways, the old rules. That's dangerous. It threatens everything we built."
"Not to mention the virus," a wiry man muttered, adjusting his glasses. "The Reich and Red Line stations are untouched. The rest of the Metro is dying. And now, thanks to our own short-sightedness, we need outside help. The Minutemen." He spoke the name with thinly veiled contempt.
There was a moment of silence, heavy and bitter.
Then one of the unknown men at the far end of the table leaned forward. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the room like a knife.
"Like it or not, things are changing," he said. "And if we wish to maintain control, we will have to change with them. Adapt, or be swept away."
Several faces turned toward him, some grim, others resigned.
"We still have our influence," he continued. "If the Minutemen succeed, we can claim credit for facilitating peace. If they fail, the people will turn to us for protection. Either way — we maneuver to stay on top."
A few nods followed, though reluctance lingered in their expressions.
The older councilor with the scar spoke up, voice low and hoarse.
"Very well. For now… we cooperate. But the Minutemen won't realize the price they'll pay for meddling in our affairs."
A final round of murmured agreements passed through the table before the discussions shifted to logistics, messengers, and watching key figures in both the surface and the Metro. The bunker's air felt heavier, the flickering light bulbs doing little to chase away the oppressive atmosphere of treachery and long-laid schemes.