--- Moscow - D6 Bunker ---
Nearly a full day had passed since Artyom's capture. The mood in D6 was tense, a heavy silence hanging over the old command center. Anna, Stepan, and Sam lingered near the platform where the escalator will arrive, awaiting Colonel Miller's return from Polis. The thick, metallic scent of old oil and dust filled the air, broken only by the occasional hum of machinery.
When at last the escalator arrived , Colonel Miller strode out — his expression tight, one hand on his cane. The moment he laid eyes on Anna standing alone, his brow furrowed in concern.
"Where's Artyom? And what about the Dark One?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
Anna moved forward, giving a brief, grim report.
"We found the Dark One in the ruins of their dwelling. He got caught in a cage… Artyom freed him. Then others appeared — just like him. They said they'd leave Moscow… then vanished. Afterwards Fourth Reich soldiers arrived and took Artyom ."
Miller's face hardened.
"More Dark Ones. Alive. And they didn't attack Artyom?"
"No," Anna replied quietly. "They just… left."
The Colonel stroked his chin, deep in thought.
"If we've lost them, there's not much we can do about that now. Artyom's our priority. I was in Polis trying to figure out what's going on with the Red Line and the Fourth Reich — but no one knows a thing. Both have gone silent. Isolated themselves . No reason, no explanation."
Sam shifted uncomfortably and spoke up.
"Both of them? That's bad. Something's not right."
Before Miller could answer, a trooper of the order hurried over and saluted crisply.
"Sir."
Miller grunted, recognizing him.
"Ah, Idiot. You've got something?"
"Yes, sir. I picked up some rumors from the Kahovskaya station."
Miller raised an eyebrow.
"Rumors? Go on."
Idiot hesitated a moment, then continued.
"Apparently, they hadn't heard anything from the stations near the edge of the Metro for a while. There's a tunnel between them with high radiation, so no one thought much of it at first. But after too long, they sent someone to check."
Miller leaned in slightly.
"And?"
"They sent a team to check it out. The team expected to find the station's attacked by mutants… but when they reached the tunnel leading to the first station — they ran straight into heavy fortifications. Soldiers in clean, matching uniforms, and the whole tunnel from the fortifications to the station entrance was lit up with electric lamps."
He hesitated for a second before adding,
"There was also talk about a corridor — well-guarded, like a checkpoint leading somewhere."
Colonel Miller narrowed his eyes.
"And where the hell are they getting the electricity for all those lamps?"
Idiot gave a shrug.
"Word is… someone gave them a generator. A big one. But no one's talking about who, or why. Another thing — the people there? Looked better fed, stronger… healthier than anyone else in the Metro. Something's happening there, sir."
The room fell silent for a moment as Miller processed the report. His jaw clenched.
"This might be tied to why the Reds and the Reich are closing themselves off."
He looked around at Anna, Sam, Stepan, and Idiot.
"Something is happening, and we'll be going to investigate ."
Anna stepped forward, tension in her voice.
"And what about Artyom? We can't just leave him with the Nazis."
Miller cut her off sharply but not unkindly.
"We'll get him back, Anna. But first, we need answers. If this is bigger than we think, rushing in blind will only get us killed. Investigating those rumors is a start ."
Anna's lips pressed into a thin line, but after a moment she gave a stiff nod.
"Alright."
Miller straightened, his voice firm and commanding.
"Good. Gear up. We move out in one hour. Inform the others ."
"Yes, sir!" came the unanimous reply from Anna, Sam, Stepan, and Idiot as they saluted.
The room broke into motion, Spartans moving to ready weapons and check gear .
--- Metro - Kahovskaya ---
Colonel Miller assembled a squad , handpicking those he trusted most for the job , leaving the rest under orders of protecting the bunker.
They left D6 , moving swiftly, their path took them through several Hansa-controlled stations.
The Spartan Order's connections with Hansa meant the guards along the way gave them little to no trouble — a rare privilege in the Metro.
Colonel Miller was leading point.
Duke eager, walking just behind him , Sam hauling spare mags and his rifle ready , Stepan walking on the left of the group with his shotgun at the ready , Idiot carrying a journal and his battered rifle just behind him ,
with Anna watching their right flank and Alyosha quiet and alert, covering the rear.
Before leaving Kahovskaya station, they'd equipped fresh filters and donned heavier rad suits, knowing well the levels ahead were lethal.
Colonel Miller's squad pressed on through the dim, grimy tunnels of the Metro. The flickering lamps barely held back the encroaching darkness as their Geiger counters ticked steadily louder, needles dancing into the yellow and edging toward the red.
The further they pushed, the worse the air became, and the more oppressive the silence. Until suddenly…
Gunfire.
Distant, sharp, desperate. A cacophony of shrieks echoed from ahead — unmistakable Nosalis howls.
Miller held up a fist.
"Move! Double time!" he barked.
The squad sprinted down the uneven tracks, ducking past corroded support pillars and piles of debris. The radiation climbed, Geiger counters howling as they broke into the light ahead.
And there it was — the junction.
A fortified checkpoint like none they'd seen in years.
Electric lamps strung across cables, turning the junction into an island of harsh light amid darkness.
Metal platforms and scaffolds erected against the tunnel walls.
A makeshift gate fashioned from thick steel sheets and scavenged vehicle doors.
Sandbags, firing slits, and at least half a dozen barricades behind which well-armed soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms manned their positions.
But it was over now. The last of the Nosalis pack lay dead in the flickering light — twisted, bloodied things. Steam rose from their bullet-riddled corpses.
Duke let out a low whistle.
"Holy shit… this was a slaughter."
Stepan nodded.
"Look at those defenses. Nobody's getting through here unless they want a bad death."
Before they could say more, a harsh voice called from atop the barricade.
"Identify yourselves! And your intentions !"
Several weapons angled toward them — rifles, some old Metro makes, others unfamiliar.
Miller stepped forward, hands raised just enough to show no hostile intent.
"Colonel Miller, Spartan Order! We're here on investigation. No trouble — we want to talk."
There was a tense pause, guns still leveled at them. Behind the barricade, one soldier leaned down, speaking into a wired field telephone.
After a beat, the soldier straightened.
"Stand by. The commander will talk to you soon ."
The heavy gate creaked open just enough to let them through.
Miller gestured to his squad.
"Stay sharp. But don't provoke them."
They moved in, stepping past reeking mutant bodies and piles of expended casings . The soldiers inside eyed them warily — uniforms a patchwork of scavenged gear, but faces healthy, better-fed than most Metro dwellers.
Idiot murmured quietly to Sam:
"From where the hell are they getting the power for all this ?"
Sam grunted.
"Better question — from where , did they get all of this ?"
The team passed through the gate into a holding area , a checkpoint leading deeper into the tunnel lighted by rows of lightbulbs .
-----------------
Colonel Miller and his squad waited in tense silence at the fortified checkpoint . The flickering electric lamps buzzed softly overhead, casting sharp, restless shadows against the cold concrete walls. The air still stank of spent gunpowder and mutant blood .
Within minutes, the soldier who'd called them to a halt returned — this time accompanied by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark, patched uniform. He looked to be in his mid-40s, beard flecked with gray, his face weathered by years in the Metro's unforgiving depths. He wore no insignia .
"I'm Ilya. I lead the station ahead. And for now… these tunnels."
Miller stepped forward, giving a brief nod.
"Colonel Miller, Spartan Order."
The two shook hands .
"This way," Ilya said, gesturing down a narrow side passage.
He guided them into a maintenance room that had been cleared of debris and repurposed as a makeshift command room . A battered desk occupied one side, a couple of metal chairs dragged in from who-knew-where and a dozen locked locker's . The hum of a portable generator somewhere down the hall kept the lightbulbs overhead flickering steadily.
Ilya dropped into the chair behind the desk, waving for Miller to take the one across from him. The rest of the Spartans remained standing, their weapons slung but hands never far from the triggers. Tension hung thick in the air.
Ilya leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"So… what does the Order want with us?"
His voice was calm, though there was a guarded edge to it. Miller noticed it — and also the way the man's eyes flicked, betraying the fact he probably already had a good idea what this was about.
Miller didn't waste time.
" In case you haven't heard what's been happening," he said. "The Fourth Reich and the Red Line have cut themselves off . No word. Polis doesn't know what the hell is going on — and neither do we. But we're not blind. Rumors are flying about what's happening out here."
At the mention of the Red Line, Ilya's jaw twitched. A small, instinctive reaction.
Subtle — but Miller had been a soldier long enough to notice.
The colonel's voice lowered, his gaze steady.
"I see you caught that."
Ilya didn't answer immediately, but his expression hardened. He glanced briefly toward the hallway outside, as if weighing his options.
"Look," Miller said, leaning forward slightly. "I don't know what the situation is here . But one thing is for sure . I care about my people. And right now, the Fourth Reich grabbed one of my best men. I need to know what the hell's going on here — and you know something. I can see it in your eyes."
The room was silent for a moment.
Ilya exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his beard.
"It's not as simple as you think, Colonel," he said quietly. " It's quite hard understand, even more to believe."
Miller's eyes narrowed.
"Then start talking."
Ilya let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair, his expression tight but honest now.
"Alright… I'll tell you the best way I can."
Miller motioned for the others to stay quiet .
"About two weeks back," Ilya began, "two of our people went missing. We assumed the worst — lurkers, nosalis… you know how it is. Activity down here was getting bad."
Miller gave a terse nod. Everyone in the Order knew how quickly men vanished in the Metro.
"But the next day," Ilya continued, voice dropping, "they came back. Not just alive — but with Americans."
The room fell dead silent.
Colonel Miller's brow furrowed, and Sam stiffened, his eyes narrowing.
"Wait — Americans?" Sam blurted. "You're sure? "
"I'm sure." Ilya nodded firmly. "They speak English . They called themselves… 'Minutemen.' They came from the Commonwealth — i have seen it with my own eyes."
Miller exchanged a sharp look with Anna and Sam . Even after what they'd seen, what they'd heard about the Dark Ones, mutants, anomalies… this was something else entirely.
"How the hell did they get down here?" Stepan muttered.
"And where the fuck did they get all that equipment?" Idiot added, shaking his head.
" There is a corridor, connected to the commonwealth , in Boston." Ilya said, his voice steady now.
Shock rippled through the room.
Sam swore under his breath. Stepan leaned back against the wall like the weight of it was too much to process.
" How is that even possible" asked Idiot bewildered.
"You've been on the surface?" Sam asked, incredulous.
"I have. Along with others. We passed through the corridor. On the other side… there's sky. Ruins of cities, forests, clean air in places. And people. Towns. Settlements rebuilding."
"They helped us." Ilya continued, his voice softer now. "Cleared out nests. Gave us food, clean water. Medicine for the sick. People in our stations are better off than they've been in years because of them. We thought it was a miracle."
There was a long moment of silence before Colonel Miller spoke.
And , what do those Minutemen want in return? No one gives away food, medicine, and power for free."
One of Miller's Spartans, Stepan, grunted in agreement.
"Yeah… no one's that generous without expecting something back."
Ilya sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. "You're right. They do ask for something — but it's not as bad as you'd think. In exchange for the supplies, tech, and help, we agreed to secure these tunnels. Clear out mutants, maintain defenses, and make sure nothing from the Metro slips through into their territory. That, and a few other small technicalities. Patrol exchanges, some scavenging arrangements."
He paused. "All three of our stations agreed. It's… worked so far."
At that, Idiot spoke up from the back, arms crossed.
"Sounds to me like you became their vassals."
Ilya shook his head firmly. "No. We're not subjects. They have a system — settlements, each with its own leader, but working together under their banner. We're still independent, but we're part of something bigger now. Safer."
The room was silent for a moment, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Even hardened Spartans like Miller's squad looked visibly shaken at the idea that the surface, or something beyond it, could still be organized — thriving, even.
But Miller wasn't done. His eyes locked on Ilya.
"And the Red Line? You twitched when I brought them up. You know something."
Ilya hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. A day ago, I sat in on a security meeting. Word came down that a caravan was hit topside — ambushed by Red Line soldiers."
Miller's expression turned thoughtful. "So the Red Line made it to this Commonwealth. And if they sealed off their stations down here… then odds are the Fourth Reich did the same."
Ilya's eyes went wide.
"What? If that's true, I need to inform the General."
One of Miller's men, Sam, spoke up. "General? Who the hell's that?"
"General Ward," Ilya replied quickly. "He's the one in command of the Minutemen. The one who made this all possible."
Miller exchanged a glance with Anna . Then he spoke.
"I want you to take us to him. I want to talk to this General."
Ilya hesitated for only a moment before nodding.
"Very well. I'll arrange an escort. It's a long trek to the corridor, but you'll see it with your own eyes soon enough."
And with that, they started moving toward the passage .
--- Commonwealth - Artyom and Pavel ---
The sky above the Commonwealth was slowly bleeding into a burnt orange as the sun dipped behind the tree line. The light played tricks on the cracked asphalt and rusted-out carcasses of old world cars littering the bridge they crossed.
Artyom moved cautiously, his battered Kalashnikov holded at the ready , eyes scanning the horizon. Every shadow seemed to shift, every broken window a potential threat. The eerie quiet of the surface world — so open, gnawed at his nerves.
He broke the silence.
"Pavel… why leave? It's getting dark. Was safer to remain there over night … their walls looked sturdy , and they had guns , would have been safer to pass the night there ."
Pavel chuckled softly, the sound bitter and knowing as he stepped around the skeletal remains of a rusted Nuka-Cola delivery truck.
"My friend…" Pavel gestured vaguely behind them. "Walls? Guns? Sure. But we found them easy enough, didn't we? And if we could… so can the Reich."
He spat to the side, eyes hard as he glanced over his shoulder.
"You know them, Artyom. They will look for us. If we had stayed there , we would have risked ether being caught again or killed ."
Artyom frowned, gripping his rifle tighter. The thought of those settlers — strangers, but kind ones — being butchered by the Reich gnawed at him.
Crossing the crumbling bridge, their footsteps echoed unnaturally loud against the cracked concrete, mingling with the rustling of dead leaves caught in the evening wind. Above them loomed a massive, skeletal highway, its support pillars cracked and crumbling, the road itself a twisted tangle of rusted rebar and collapsed segments. Artyom tilted his head back, his brow furrowing. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in the Metro. Not in old Moscow. A massive road in the sky.
"What… is that thing?" Artyom muttered under his breath.
Pavel followed his gaze and smirked. "Americans, my friend. Always reaching for the sky."
They pressed on, moving through the wreckage of rusted cars, hollowed-out buses, and the scattered remains of a long-dead world. As night fell fully, the city's edge began to dissolve into shadows, the air cooler and heavy with the scent of dust and long-forgotten decay.
Up ahead stood a building — cracked windows, peeling paint, but mostly intact. A faded sign above the doorway hung at an angle, its lettering long erased by time. The two men approached cautiously, weapons raised. They checked the perimeter, eyes sweeping for any sign of movement.
The front door was held fast with a rusted chain and padlock. Pavel gave Artyom a look, then Artyom swung the butt of his rifle against the lock. It broke with a brittle snap.
They slipped inside.
The interior was dark, dust motes floating in the beam of Pavel's flickering flashlight. Old furniture lay scattered and overturned. Bottles, ancient magazines, and a skeletal corpse sat slumped in a corner chair, jaw hung open in eternal silence.
Room by room, they cleared the building — nothing but shadows, and the ghosts of a lost world.
Satisfied, they dragged a pair of moldy, half-collapsed mattresses into a small room on the second floor. A broken window there offered a view of the highway, silhouetted against the star-drenched night sky.
As Artyom settled down, his rifle within reach, he cast a sidelong glance at Pavel.
"You seem to know where we're going," he said quietly, suspicion in his voice. "How do you know which way to head, Pavel? This… isn't our world."
Pavel chuckled, leaning back against the wall, his pistol resting across his lap.
"Ah, Artyom… always the cautious one , eh?"
He waved a hand toward the stars. "I don't know this place. But you learn to follow certain signs. Roads, how the land settles… common sense for a soldier."
His grin widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Besides… if we stay in one place too long, the Reich will find us. We keep moving, we live. Simple as that."
Artyom frowned, not entirely convinced. Something in Pavel's ease felt rehearsed. But it wasn't the time to press.
"Better sleep while we can, comrade," Pavel added, closing his eyes. "Tomorrow's another cursed day."
Artyom lay back on the mattress. Through the shattered window, the night sky stretched endless above him. For the first time in his life, he saw stars — real stars. Not the flickering, distant pinpricks seen through the cracks of Metro tunnels, or glimpsed through the poisoned haze of Moscow's ruined streets, but clear, bright constellations painted across a dark, infinite canvas.
A strange ache settled in his chest. Wonder. And fear.
He closed his eyes, his hand resting on his rifle, sleep pulling him under with the sound of the Commonwealth's distant, restless night all aroun.