After concluding negotiations with the Polis Council, Ward and Nick decided to remain in Polis for a while, waiting for word from Sevastopolskaya about a cure for the outbreak. Colonel Miller had already departed, heading back to D6 to see to his command and decide what role the Order would play in the battles to come.
Now, Ward and Nick sat at a table in a modest bar tucked into one of Polis's market districts. It wasn't much by surface standards, but down here, it passed for comfortable — clean walls, working lights, and the low hum of quiet conversation. A faint melody played from an old radio on the counter, barely masking the sound of boots on metal floors.
Nick leaned back in his seat, still clad in his protective suit, the mask pulled down just enough to speak. "Gotta admit," he said with a hint of admiration in his voice, "it's impressive what they've built here. Real civilized. You can feel the difference compared to the rest of the metro."
Ward nodded, glancing around at the well-kept surroundings. "Yeah… you can. It's like a different world down here."
Nick's tone darkened a little. "Most folks down there in the tunnels… they're just scraping by, barely surviving. Places like this are rare."
Ward sighed, resting his arms on the table. "You're right. But if this deal holds — if we can work together — maybe it won't have to stay that way."
Nick was quiet for a moment, scanning the bar, then leaned in a little. "You sure about this, General? Letting them set up shop in the Commonwealth? From the way those councilmen talked, the posture they kept… I'd bet caps they've got plans of their own. People like that don't give up power easily."
Ward looked thoughtful, then met Nick's gaze. "Maybe. But we've already been over this. We don't have the manpower to handle this war on two fronts . If Polis can tie up both the Reds and the Reich in the metro, we'll have a shot at taking their base's on the surface."
Nick gave a wry grin. "I just hope when it's all over, we don't trade one problem for another."
Ward chuckled softly. "That's a problem for future us."
Nick sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. "What about the cure? Any word on that yet?"
Ward let out a short chuckle, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah — actually, we got word not too long ago. Curie and the docs at Sevastopolskaya finally made a breakthrough. Shouldn't be long before they've got a proper cure ready."
Nick raised his brows in mild surprise. "Well, that was fast. Guess it helps having a genius on your side… and a lab not falling apart at the seams."
Ward nodded, his expression easing a little. "Yeah, it does. If we can get this under control, it'll be one less damn thing we got on our hands."
Nick gave a dry grin. "That still leaves about a hundred more."
Ward smirked. "Baby steps, Nick. Baby steps."
They both fell into a companionable silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the bar settling around them.
Moments later, Miller stepped into the bar, his heavy boots echoing faintly against the floor as he scanned the room.
Noticing him, Ward's expression lightened. "Well, look who decided to crawl out of the command post."
Miller smirked as he reached their table, pulling a chair around and dropping into it. "Took a bit to track you two down. Polis isn't exactly small."
Nick tipped an imaginary hat. "What can we say? We like to keep a low profile."
Miller grunted a chuckle. "Relax, nothing's wrong. Just came to give you an update."
He glanced at Ward. "My men are in position. When the time comes, we'll be ready to hit the Red Line hard."
Ward's expression turned serious. "Good. Anything you need from our side to make it happen?"
Miller let out a steady exhale, nodding. "Yeah… I'll need at least two of your power-armored troopers. We'll be hitting them from the surface too — need something that can smash through their defenses and deal with whatever mutants or heavy crap they've got waiting."
Ward thought it over for a beat before nodding. "Done. I'll attach a squad as well — give you some extra boots on the ground."
Miller gave a short, approving nod. "It's much appreciated. I'll have them briefed when the time's right."
Nick leaned back in his chair, glancing between the two. "Well, ain't this shaping up to be a real friendly get-together."
Ward gave a faint smirk. "Just like old times… except with more politics and fewer bullets. For now."
Just then, a sharp ping sounded from Ward's Pip-Boy.
He glanced down, tapping a button to bring up the message. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Noticing, both Nick and Miller raised their brows.
Nick spoke first, his synth voice carrying its usual dry edge. "Well now… judging by that look, either we're about to win the lottery, or you've got good news."
Ward looked up, meeting their eyes. "They've done it. The cure's finished. Now it's just a matter of making enough for everyone."
Miller let out a long breath, relief plain on his face. "About damn time."
Nick gave a short, approving nod. "Well, that's one nasty little nightmare off our backs. Won't miss it."
Ward gave a tight, satisfied grin. "We'll still need to lock down distribution, but it's the break we needed."
Miller straightened in his chair. "Good. Means we can shift focus back to the fight without watching our backs for some damn plague."
Nick chuckled softly. "I'll drink to that ."
....
In the days that followed, the cure was mass-produced and distributed throughout the metro. Some stations saw minimal casualties, while others weren't as fortunate — with more than half their populations lost before the cure could arrive. Still, it saved countless lives and earned the Minutemen a newfound respect among the people of the metro.
With their mission completed, Ward, Nick, and the rest of their team prepared to return to the Commonwealth. As they double-checked their equipment, one of the medics noticed a fellow colleague carrying a worn cardboard box filled with strange old devices.
Curious, the medic asked, "What's with the box?"
The other man grinned. "Picked these up from a local trader. Paid in caps, believe it or not."
"I thought the metro didn't use caps."
"Most don't. Guess this guy didn't mind, though. Said these," he pointed at a chunky, dust-covered device, "are pre-war computers , from this world . And these," he lifted a cracked handheld screen, "called smartphones. From what i understood , is something like a Pip-Boy, but with a few more tricks."
The medic raised an eyebrow. "If they're so useful, why sell 'em instead of using 'em?"
"Asked him the same thing. Said they're in good shape, but nobody down here knows how to fix or run them anymore. No one left with the know-how. So, figured I'd grab 'em. Could be worth studying — maybe someone back home can get these working again."
The medic sighed, glancing at the box. "With how things are going, folks from down here might be moving up top soon anyway. Could be worth having a few extra tools."
His colleague chuckled. "Exactly my thinking."
When the time finally came to leave, the man hefted the box onto a cart, ready to take it back to the Commonwealth .
--- Commonwealth - Boston downtown ---
The skirmishes between the Brotherhood of Steel and the Red Line had escalated into open war. With their forces replenished and supply lines secured, the Brotherhood launched a concerted counteroffensive, gradually pushing the Red Line's troops back. Brotherhood soldiers, once more accustomed to large-scale, conventional battles, quickly adapted to the brutal realities of urban warfare.
Two major operations were launched simultaneously: the retaking of the Combat Zone and the battle for Goodneighbor. While the Combat Zone was successfully reclaimed after several days of intense street fighting, the struggle for Goodneighbor raged on. The Red Line, bolstered by sheer numbers and fortified positions, fought bitterly for every block.
To better coordinate frontline operations in downtown Boston, Bunker Hill was repurposed into a forward operating base. Its central location and defensible position made it a natural staging ground for Brotherhood forces and Minutemen allies alike. Despite the Red Line's early territorial gains — having seized large swaths of the city thanks to their manpower — they were now being pushed back, albeit slowly. The Brotherhood's advantage in advanced weaponry, power armor, and Vertibird support gave them the edge, but even so, the fighting remained grueling.
The battle for Boston had entered a new, bloodier phase, with neither side willing to give an inch without a fight.
--- Commonwealth - Gwinnett Brewery ---
Inside the yard of the old, brewery, dozens of Red Line soldiers moved quietly, preparing for their assault on one of the Commonwealth's key Minutemen strongholds: The Castle. Their approach had gone unnoticed, having cleared a path through the old Boston subway tunnels, bypassing Brotherhood patrols and Minutemen scouts alike.
In charge of the operation was Pavel, a veteran officer of the Red Line, known for his ruthless efficiency. His orders were clear — capture the Castle, but preserve the artillery as much as possible. Command intended to turn those guns against both the Brotherhood and Minutemen once the stronghold was theirs.
Under Pavel's command were over a hundred soldiers, armed with a mix of light automatic weapons, battle rifles, grenades, and several rocket launchers to deal with power-armored defenders or fortifications if necessary. The Red Line troops moved with discipline, setting up makeshift command posts and preparing breach equipment under the cover of the derelict buildings surrounding the Castle.
Pavel stood near a rusted, overturned truck, checking a worn map , his expression tense. He was waiting for his scouts to return — the success of the operation hinged on their report. The old brewery yard was silent but for the muffled clatter of weapons being readied and hushed orders passed between squads. Every soldier knew the stakes. If they could take the Castle, it would deal a crippling blow to Minutemen morale and shift control of the southeastern Commonwealth.
Pavel exhaled slowly.
"Any minute now," he muttered to himself.
Just then, four silhouettes emerged from behind different buildings, moving swiftly through the shadows. The scouts came to a halt in front of Pavel, their faces grim beneath worn helmets and scarves.
Pavel stepped forward, his voice low but firm.
"Report."
The lead scout spoke first.
"It's a fortress, comrade. Thick stone walls, two ways in." He pointed to a rough sketch on a folded map. "First entrance is smaller — wooden gate. The road leading to it is lined with trees, could give us some cover."
Pavel gave a curt nod, pleased, but motioned for him to continue.
"Problem is, the road's too narrow. We'll be spotted if we move in with a large force. On the walls, we counted several automated turrets. A few looked like they're equipped with rockets."
At that, Pavel's faint smile vanished, his expression hardening.
"And the other way?" he asked, turning to the scouts assigned to the opposite side.
Noting the change in his tone, the second scout straightened.
"A large metallic gate. Guard post above it with only two enemy soldiers on watch. Same deal — automated turrets in position." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "From the nearest buildings to the gate, it's about one hundred meters of open ground. No cover."
Pavel exhaled, his jaw clenched.
Pavel didn't have much of a choice. Orders were orders — the Castle was to be taken, no matter the cost. Still, something about the situation gnawed at him. It felt too quiet, too easy to get this close. But he pushed the unease aside. Doubt had no place here.
He gathered his officers and laid out the assault plan.
"We hit the main gate head-on," he began, tracing a rough line on the map with a gloved finger. "The bulk of our force will advance with me. Meanwhile, a smaller detachment will circle toward the second gate. Stay low, stay quiet. Avoid detection."
The men nodded.
"Once the enemy's attention is locked on the main assault, the second team will engage. Use rockets to disable the automated turrets. Then blast through the wooden gate and push inside. Infiltrate, neutralize resistance, and take control of the artillery. Remember, we want those guns intact."
The group exchanged grim, determined looks. No one spoke. They all knew the risks.
Pavel straightened, his voice steel.
"Prepare the men. We move in ten."
As his officers dispersed to relay the plan, Pavel stole a glance toward the looming stone walls of the Castle.
...
The time for the assault had come. Pavel's forces were in position according to plan. Two of his men with rocket launchers were set up on separate rooftops, watching the main gate through their sights. Their task was simple — fire on the gate and blow it open.
A sharp whistle from Pavel, and the two soldiers fired in rapid succession. The twin rockets streaked through the air and struck the gate with a deafening blast, blowing it inward. The shockwave knocked the two guards in the watchpost clean off their feet.
"Charge!" Pavel roared, raising his rifle as his men surged forward.
The two rocketeers reloaded, ready to fire again. Alarms began blaring inside the Castle. Minutemen scrambled to the walls, manning their positions as the automated turrets whirred to life, spitting lead and plasma. The first wave of Red Line soldiers was cut down in seconds, bodies dropping in the dust.
But then — two more rockets slammed into the upper parapet. The explosions shook the wall and disabled several of the turrets. Taking advantage of their superior numbers, the Red Line soldiers laid down suppressing fire as they pressed forward through the blasted gate.
Pavel grinned grimly and snatched up his radio. "Second team, status?" he barked — but no reply came.
The detachment sent to the second gate was silent.
Frowning, Pavel looked around — and something flickered in the corner of his eye. A shimmer, like heat haze in the air.
He barely had time to register it before like from thin air, crimson bolts of laser fire cut into his ranks. Minutemen soldiers, previously cloaked by active camouflage, revealed themselves as they poured fire into the Red Line formation.
Within seconds, over half of Pavel's remaining force lay dead. Those who weren't hit scrambled for what little cover they could find, but it was futile. From his original force of over a hundred, barely thirty soldiers remained. And Pavel knew the detachment at the second gate was likely dead as well.
The gunfire tapered off.
Then a voice, speaking flawless Russian, rang out from beyond the wall.
"Drop your weapons! You are surrounded. Surrender now, and you will be treated fairly."
The survivors hesitated , but with no other options and not wanting to die , they started to drop their rifles and slowly raise their hands. One by one, the remaining soldiers capitulated.
Pavel cursed under his breath, his face twisted in fury and defeat. But he knew it was over. He let his rifle fall to the ground and raised his hands.
The Castle had held.