It was late evening when the General stepped out of the command center, the dim glow of lanterns and wall-mounted lamps casting long shadows across the settlement. In his hands, he carried laser rifle slung over one shoulder, and a 10mm pistol holstered at his hip. A backpack with extra ammo, stimpaks, and supplies on his back .
Waiting outside was Sergeant Major Cole, the man assigned to lead the escort team. The Sergeant Major straightened as he approached and gave a sharp salute.
"Sir, the team's ready," Hale reported. "Aside from you and me, we've got four others: one in power armor armed with a laser rifle, the rest equipped with assault rifles, shotgun, and carrying laser pistols as sidearms."
The General gave a firm nod, satisfied with the arrangement. "Good. Have them wait for me at the main gate. I have something to take care of before we leave."
"Yes, sir." Hale saluted again and headed off toward the gate.
The General adjusted his gear and made his way to his house near the center of Sanctuary. Inside, the steady glow of ceiling lights bathed the living room in a welcoming warmth. His young son sat on a worn couch, a battered comic book in his hands. Nearby, the family's robot — a Mister Handy named Codsworth, hovered attentively.
"Dad," Shaun called, "I heard some people at the market talking… something about old underground tunnels near here. Is it true?"
Codsworth let out a mechanical hum. "Indeed, sir. Some rather intriguing rumors circulating. Even I overheard something about some passages beneath the earth."
The General chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It's true, actually. I'm heading out now to investigate them myself."
Shaun's expression turned concerned. "Be careful, okay?"
Codsworth added, "Do take care, sir ."
The General smiled, stepping forward to ruffle Shaun's hair. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Just doing my job." He gave them both a parting wave. "See you soon."
With that, he stepped back into the cool night air.
the General made his way toward the main gate. Along the path, his attention was caught by Sergei and Nikolai approaching from the market area. With Nikolai carrieng a worn, patched-up backpack on his back— stuffed with supplies: food, purified water, and a couple of bottles of Nuka-Cola.
The General raised a brow, genuinely surprised. "Well, I'll be damned… managed to stock up pretty well, didn't you? I didn't think those caps would stretch that far."
Sergei offered a small grin. "Some people… they heard of our station. Gave us good prices. Said it was the least they could do."
The General chuckled warmly, patting Sergei's shoulder with a firm, approving hand. "Good folks around here. Glad to hear it."
Together, they continued toward the main gate where the escort team was already assembled. As the General approached, the Sergeant Major snapped to attention and saluted sharply.
"Sir, escort team ready for departure," the sergeant major reported. "Allow me to introduce the squad."
He gestured to the soldier in power armor standing at the front of the group, a laser rifle in his hands.
"Corporal Dean Halley, power armor specialist."
Then motioning to the others, he continued,
"Private Rick Morales — assault rifle, close-quarters support. Private Jenna Cross — shotgun specialist. And Private Alan Booth — rifleman, long-range support. All equipped with sidearm laser pistols."
The squad stood tall, offering nods and crisp salutes. The General gave an approving look and a brief nod.
At a nearby table, Sergei and Nikolai's confiscated weapons lay waiting. The General gestured to them. "As promised — you can have these back ."
Sergei nodded, retrieving his rifle while Nikolai checked his , visibly relieved to have it again.
Before setting out, the General turned to Preston Garvey and a couple of other senior officers who had gathered by the gate. "You know the drill while I'm gone. Keep the patrols tight, watch for any signs of those creatures. I want things calm until we figure this out."
Preston gave a firm nod. "Understood, General. We'll hold the fort."
The General exchanged a brief look with his men, then gave a sharp nod. "Alright… let's move."
With Sergei and Nikolai leading the way, the group departed through the main gate, heading down the path that would take them to the cave's entrance — and beyond it, the dark, waiting tunnels of the Metro.
...…....…
They followed the cracked old road leading past the Red Rocket checkpoint. From there, the group veered off the road, making their way down a narrow, worn path that cut through the brush and scattered rubble. The ground sloped lower toward a rocky outcrop, where the dark mouth of the cave waited — a jagged wound in the earth.
As they approached, they saw the area had been secured as planned during that morning's meeting. Makeshift barricades and sandbag walls, repurposed from the Red Rocket checkpoint, had been set up around the cave entrance. Armed soldiers stood alert at their posts, weapons in hand.
At the group's arrival, the soldiers quickly stepped aside, making way.
The general gave a sharp nod to the officer on duty before turning toward the cave.
The group moved forward, the faint hum of power armor servos accompanying them. The passage was narrow, rough rock walls scraping against the power armor's frame as it forced its way inside — a tight fit, but manageable.
One by one, the rest of the group followed, Sergei and Nikolai exchanging a tense glance before stepping into the darkness after them.
...
The group moved cautiously through the cave. The deeper they went, the darker it became, the fading evening light behind them swallowed by the earth.
"Turn on your light," the sergeant major ordered, glancing back to corporal Dean.
With a soft whir, the flashlight mounted on the power armor's helmet flicked on, casting a harsh white beam ahead. The beam cut through the gloom, revealing uneven stone and scattered debris. The ground was damp, and the air carried the heavy scent of earth .
Eventually, they reached a cracked, concrete passage, its walls streaked with age and grime . It was just wide enough for the Corporal's Dean's power armor to squeeze through, his servos whining with each careful step. Torn, dust-choked spider webs clung to the corners and ceiling, swaying gently as the team moved through . The group had to walk over several dead lurkers . While for Corporal Dean due to the armor's size , and weight the bodies were crushed with each step he took.
Sergei and Nikolai kept close to the center of the formation, quietly giving directions at every junction, their voices low and steady.
Without warning, a pale, skittering shape darted from the wall and onto the power armor's faceplate — a small, pale spider, just a little larger than a bottlecap, but fast. Corporal Dean jolted,a chilling feeling going down his spine, instinctively swatting at the helmet's surface.
"What the fuck was that?!" he barked, startling the others and breaking the tense silence.
Weapons twitched upward, a few nervous curses muttered. Sergei gave a faint, grim smile.
"Just a spider," he said.
The general gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head as the team steadied themselves and pressed on.
As they continued deeper trough the passages, the steady sound of water dripping from rusted, overhead pipes echoed off the cracked concrete walls. Corporal Dean muttered under his breath, brushing at his helmet even though the spider was long gone.
"Damn thing… I hate spiders," he grumbled.
The others chuckled quietly, the tension easing just a little. Sergei gave a dry laugh from the middle of the formation.
"That was a small one," he remarked, glancing at the soldier's bulky frame. "Barely big enough to be a problem. Harmless."
Corporal Dean turned his helmeted head toward Sergei, voice tinged with disbelief. "Wait… you're telling me there are bigger ones down here?"
Sergei nodded grimly. "Oh yes. Big ones. Fast. They don't like light , stay deeper in tunnels, in the darkness ."
A quiet, uneasy murmur passed through the group. The general arched a brow but said nothing, focusing ahead.
"Fantastic," Corporal Dean muttered. "As if radroaches weren't bad enough."
Sergei gave a humorless smirk. "Welcome to the Metro."
The group pressed on through the passage, their boots crunching over loose debris and scattered stones. Fading Russian writing on the cracked concrete walls caught their attention — faded slogans and warnings. The Commonwealth soldiers paused to glance at the strange lettering, whispering to one another, though Sergei and Nikolai paid them no mind, used to the eerie relics of the old world.
Eventually, they reached a large chamber — a room that might have once served as breakroom. Metal lockers lay toppled across the floor, chairs overturned, tables bent and rusted. The walls were smeared with claw marks and old, dark stains, and few bodies of the creatures Sergei and Nikolai fough. Faded Cyrillic writing still clung to the lockers and walls, and brittle papers lay scattered across the floor, the ink barely legible.
The Minutemen soldiers exchanged uneasy glances as they took it in, something about the chaos and the unfamiliar design of the room didn't seemed right to them . Private Booth muttered a curse under his breath.
They pushed on, exiting through a battered metal door hanging loosely on its hinges, and stepped into the vast, oppressive darkness of the Metro tunnels proper. The oppressive air, the dampness, and the sheer alien nature of their surroundings compared to the Commonwealth left them stunned.
"Sweet hell…" Private Booth whispered, his voice echoing slightly.
"How is this even here?" Private Jenna murmured.
Private Morales spoke up, hesitant. "Maybe… maybe it's like a parallel world or somethin'. I read a Grognak comic about that once."
Everyone looked at him for a moment, the idea unsettling in its simplicity. The general, though, didn't dismiss it outright. "I won't lie," he said quietly, his voice carrying authority, "I half thought this might be another one of Vault-Tec's twisted experiments. Wouldn't have been the first."
Sergei, curious, glanced at him. "Vault-Tec?" he asked.
The general shook his head. "Long story. No time for it now. Priority is getting to your station alive."
The moment hung heavy, until a faint, wet chittering sound echoed from the shadows . The group stiffened. The sergeant major motioned for silence. Then came more — scratching, clicking, the unmistakable sounds of something moving just out of sight.
"Lights — on that tunnel, now!" barked the general.
Corporal Dean swung his helmet's beam toward the source, and the darkness exploded with movement. Pale, hairi and slick forms scrambled away from the sudden burst of light — a mass of lurkers, their sickly bodies screeching and recoiling from the glare, unused to such brightness in their pitch-black domain.
Weapons raised, hearts pounding, the group braced themselves.
"Open fire!" Sergeant Major Cole barked.
A barrage of laser beams and gunfire lit up the darkness. Red-hot streaks from the laser weapons seared into the creatures' flesh and leaving smoking holes. The smell of scorched meat filled the air.
Corporal Dean , moving like a tank in his power armor, caught a lunging lurker mid-air. He slammed the creature to the ground with a metallic crash, raised his heavy boot, and brought it down with a sickening crunch, the lurker's head bursting under the pressure.
Nearby, Private Jenna grappled with a lurker that had tackled her. She shoved the barrel of her shotgun into its snarling mouth and pulled the trigger — the blast echoed, sending bone and brain matter splattering against the tunnel wall.
The other two privates, Morales and Booth, fired controlled bursts from their assault rifles, dropping lurkers as they rushed in from the shadows.
The General himself fired precise shots from his laser rifle, beams punching through lurkers and setting their insides alight with every hit. Sergeant Major Cole fought with ruthless efficiency, his rifle barking with each trigger pull.
Sergei and Nikolai, armed with their own battered but reliable weapons, fought back-to-back with the squad. Sergei blasted a lurker off a soldier with a well-placed shot, while Nikolai drove his knife into the throat of another that got too close.
The firefight was brutal and fast, the hiss of energy weapons and barks of rifles mingling with the roars and dying shrieks of the lurkers. Within minutes, the floor of the tunnel was littered with still-smoking bodies, the tunnel filled with the acrid stench of burnt flesh.
Silence settled again, broken only by the soldiers' ragged breathing and the distant, steady drip of water.
"Status?" the General called out.
"Clear, sir," Corporal Dean responded, scanning the darkness the light of his helmet.
"Clear here," Private Jenna and the others confirmed.
The General nodded grimly, reloading his weapon.
"Let's move. Stay tight — and watch for more."
The group moved carefully along the rusted train tracks, the heavy, rhythmic thud of Corporal Dean's power armor echoing through the oppressive dark. The narrow beam of his helmet light cut a path through the gloom, illuminating crumbling walls and half-collapsed support beams.
Sergei led the way, Nikolai at his side, while the rest of the squad fanned out behind them in a tight formation, weapons at the ready.
The silence of the tunnels pressed in around them — save for the occasional drip of water from overhead pipes and the crunch of loose debris underfoot.
Then a single gunshot cracked through the dark ahead.
A weak, flickering light appeared beyond a barricade cobbled together from scrap metal and old rail ties. A voice called out in Russian.
"Не двигайтесь, или мы откроем огонь! Представьтесь!"
(Don't move or we'll shoot! Identify yourselves!)
The squad immediately froze, weapons raised.
The General glanced toward Sergei.
"What's he saying?"
Sergei translated swiftly, then stepped forward with a hand raised.
"Спокойно! Это я, Сергей… и Николай со мной!"
(Easy! It's me, Sergei… and Nikolai's with me!)
A pause, then a man emerged from the checkpoint, lowering his weapon slightly as recognition set in. His face was lined and wary, his clothes dusty and patched, but his eyes widened when he saw them.
He approached carefully, eyeing the group behind Sergei with quiet suspicion rather than panic.
"Сергей, Николай! Мы думали, что вы оба погибли. Где вы пропадали? И что всё это такое?"
("Sergei, Nikolai ! We thought you two were dead. Where've you been? And what's all this?")
Nikolai shifted the backpack off his shoulder and gave a tired grin.
"Это… длинная история."
(It's a long story.)
He gave a quick, clipped explanation — how they'd made it to the surface, encountered people, and managed to buy supplies using strange metal caps instead of bullets. He didn't dwell on the details of Sanctuary Hills, only calling it a "settlement."
The man looked at the backpack, then at the soldiers behind them — especially at the figure in power armor. His expression was one of guarded curiosity.
"И они кто такие?"
(And who are they?)
Sergei spoke up.
"Люди с поверхности. Они помогли нам. Хотят поговорить с нашими."
(People from the surface. They helped us. Want to speak with the one in charge of our station.)
As they stayed in front of the station's checkpoint, Dean turned off the helmet's light. On the wooden platform ahead, two dozen men and women stood armed with pipe rifles, old revolvers, and makeshift blades. All of them stared wide-eyed at the figures — especially at the gleaming power armor.
Even the man who'd questioned them took a cautious step back, his grip tightening on his weapon out of instinct, though it was clear his mind was racing more than his heart.
The General kept his posture relaxed, giving a respectful nod. Sergei glanced at him, then at his people.
The man eyed Sergei warily, then leaned in a little.
"С поверхности? Ты с ума сошёл? Там до сих пор радиация… никто не может там выжить долго."
(From the surface? Are you mad? There's still radiation… no one survives up there for long.)
Sergei gave a weary sigh.
"Я знаю." (I know.)
Before he could add more, Nikolai spoke up, his tone blunt.
"Они — американцы."
(They're Americans.)
The man's eyes went wide, staring between them like he wasn't sure if this was a joke.
"Американцы?!" he blurted.
(Americans?!)
Sergei ran a hand down his face.
"Да… это… всё сложнее, чем звучит."
(Yes… it's more complicated than it sounds.)
The man narrowed his eyes, confused and unsettled.
"Как… как это возможно?"
(How… how's that possible?)
Sergei shrugged helplessly.
"Есть проход… мы попали в место под названием Бостон. В Америке."
(There's a passage… we ended up in a place called Boston. In America.)
The man's expression was pure disbelief. He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Nikolai hefted the backpack slightly.
"Вот… припасы, которые мы там достали. Не спрашивай, это долгая история."
(Here… the supplies we picked up there.)
The man looked at the backpack, then back at the hulking figure of Corporal Dean in power armor.
"А это… металлическое чудище… что за хрень?"
(And that… metal behemoth… what the hell is that?)
Sergei glanced at Dean, then back.
"Power armor… бронекостюм. Боевая броня."
(Power armor… a combat suit.)
"А что там за шум был?" the man asked sharply. "Выстрелы, визг… как будто сам ад прорвался."
(What about all that noise? Gunfire, screeching… sounded like hell itself down in the tunnels.)
Sergei let out a breath, nodding grimly. "Лазутчики. Большая стая." He gestured back down the dark tunnel.
(Lurkers. A big pack.)
"И вы их всех перебили?" the man asked, glancing warily toward the group behind Sergei.
(And you killed them all?)
"С их оружием?" Sergei gave a tired smirk. "Для них это была не драка."
(With their weapons? It wasn't much of a fight for them.)
The man's eyes flicked toward the power-armored figure, then back to Sergei. He grunted.
"Ладно… значит, это объясняет шум."
(Alright… guess that explains the noise.)
The man shook his head like he was trying to clear it.
"Это всё… у меня уже голова болит. Ладно… если они хотят поговорить с Ильей, пусть заходят… но этот в броне останется здесь."
(This is… giving me a headache. Fine… if they want to talk to Ilya, let them in… but that one in the armor stays out.)
Sergei nodded and turned to the General and the rest of the group.
"They're still in shock seeing you lot," Sergei translated, gesturing to the tense group on the platform. "But he says we can meet with Ilya— the station leader. Power armor has to stay here."
The General followed Sergei's gesture to the platform where wary, armed faces watched them with suspicion. He gave a small chuckle.
"Probably for the best," the General said. "Doubt that wooden platform's rated for power armor weight anyway."
He then turned to his team.
"Alright — Morales, Booth, you stay here with Corporal Dean and keep an eye on things. Sargent Major Cole, Private Jenna, you're with me."
Sergei gave a quiet sigh of relief.
"Let's go. And… keep your weapons low. They're jumpy enough already."
The General gave a nod, then motioned for the others to follow Sergei toward the checkpoint.
Walking carefully up the sloped wooden ramp, Sergei in front, the group passed by a gathered cluster of armed station residents. Men and women, wrapped in mismatched coats, patched uniforms, and scavenged bits of pre-war clothing, stood tightly along the narrow sides of the platform. Faces pale and hollow-eyed, skin smudged with dirt and ash, most clutching rusted rifles or hand-made shotguns. Their expressions were wary, brows furrowed, mouths tight as they watched the newcomers pass.
They parted only enough to let them through, muttering low.
" Кто они такие… они не похожи на Ханзу…"
(Who are they… they don't look like Hansa…)
As they reached the metal door leading into the station itself, lit dimly by the flickering orange glow of an oil lamp mounted to the wall, Sergei pushed it open. A wave of stagnant air washed over them.
The general, Sergeant Major Cole, and Private Jenna stepped inside and instinctively squinted. The sudden shift from the relative brightness of their flashlights to the murky gloom of the metro station's interior left them momentarily blind. The only illumination came from scattered oil lamps and stubby, soot-blackened candles resting in cracked glass bottles and metal cans.
As their eyes adjusted, they took in the sight before them.
The station was a long, cracked concrete platform with rusting rails barely visible beneath a layer of grime. Makeshift homes built from scrap metal, wood planks, and old metro signs lined the walls. Sheets and tattered curtains hung from ropes, dividing cramped living spaces. The smell of damp stone, oil smoke, and unwashed bodies clung thick in the air.
Despite the hard conditions, it was kept as clean as possible — piles of debris pushed to the corners, walkways cleared of garbage. The people looked rough and thin, faces marked with worry, eyes constantly flicking toward the shadows, as though expecting danger at any moment.
The general muttered quietly to himself. "Christ… I've seen settlements like this back before the Minutemen came back, but…"
Sergeant Major Cole grunted in agreement.
"Places like Quincy looked like this before we took it back, sir."
Sergei, hearing them, gave a grim nod.
They were led down a corridor in the station by the man who had first challenged them, finally stopping before an older man sitting behind a metal desk. A thick, patched-up wool coat draped over his shoulders. His weathered face was lined with deep wrinkles, graying stubble clinging to his jaw. From his posture and the way others lingered nearby, it was clear he was someone of authority here.
The man looked up, his sharp gray eyes settling on Sergei.
"Сергей,Николай! Ты жив!! … и гостей привёл, да?"
(Sergei, Nikolai!You're alive !!… and brought guests, huh?)
Sergei nodded.
"Да, Илья. Долгая история."
(Yeah, Ilya. Long story.)
The man sighed, leaning back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him.
"Ну, тогда рассказывай."
(Well, start talking.)
Sergei glanced at the general and the others, then back at Ilya.
Sergei stepped forward, gesturing towards the three that were with him, Nikolai staying to the side holding the backpack
"Это генерал Уорд, старший сержант Коул и рядовой Дженна. Они американцы, и помимо них есть еще трое, которые остались снаружи станции."
("This is General Ward , Sergeant Major Cole, and Private Jenna. They're Americans, and aside from them there are other three who remained outside of the station.")
Ilya's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Americans. It wasn't a complete shock — after all, many people had come into the Metro after the bombs fell, and a portion of them were from different nationalities. But hearing that they were Americans specifically military and high ranking at that was something else. He thought for a moment, deciding to speak with Sergei first to have some understanding of the situation.
Sergei informed them that Ilya wants to speak with him first, understanding they agreed.
"Те трое снаружи... Почему они остались там?"
("The three outside... Why did they remained out there? ")
Sergei answered him.
"Ну... как бы трудно в это ни было поверить, у них есть то, что они называют силовой бронёй, она способна раздавить череп шныря одной рукой. И я уверен, что ничто из того, что у нас есть, не сможет повредить её броню.
Тот, кто носит её, остался снаружи станции, потому что она слишком тяжёлая и может что-нибудь повредить, а ещё двое остались с ним."
("Well... as hard as it is to believe, they have what they call a power armor, it's able to crush the skull of a lurker with one hand. And I'm sure that nothing we have could damage its armor.
The one wearing it remained outside of the station because it's too heavy and might damage something, the other two stayed with him.")
Ilya was shocked , not expecting something like this, not that he wasn't aware what a power armor is , he remembers reading about something like that in sci-fi books before the war, but never thought something like that would be possible after all the bombs.
How could someone have the industry to build them , not even thinking on how could something like that work.
Sergei nodded, understanding the confusion.
"Я мало что знаю о том, как они могли их создать. Судя по разговору с генералом, что-то здесь не сходится — даты не совпадают. Один из солдат выдвинул идею параллельных миров, и, исходя из того, что я видел, я склонен поверить, что это правда."
("I don't know much about how could they make them , from speaking with the general something doesn't seem right , the dates don't match up. One of the soldiers suggested
the idea of parallel worlds, and from what i have seen i'm inclined to believe to be true")
"Я могу предложить тебе поговорить с генералом. Возможно, мы сможем договориться. По тому, что я видел в поселении, где мы были, у них полно ресурсов… и они говорили о других."
(" I can suggest you speak with their general, to see maybe we could come to an arrangement. From what I've seen in the settlement we've been in, they have a lot of resources… and they spoke of others." )
Ilya's brow furrowed deeply, a skeptical look in his tired eyes as he leaned back in his chair. He opened his mouth to respond, when Nikolai suddenly stepped forward, a patched-up backpack in his hands.
"Сначала посмотри на это."
("Look at this first")
Without waiting for permission, he placed the backpack on the desk in front of Ilya and unfastened it. The old desk creaked under the weight as Nikolai opened the flap and carefully laid out its contents — cleanly wrapped food packets, bottles of purified water, several bottles of Nuka-Cola gleaming in the dim light like jewels.
Ilya's eyes widened, and for a moment, the hardened old station master was silent. He reached out, picked up a bottle of Nuka-Cola, turning it in his hands like it might disappear if he blinked. The clean label, the unbroken cap… it was a relic of a world long lost to them.
His gaze flicked from Nikolai to Sergei, suspicion and amazement mixing on his face.
"Где, чёрт возьми… где вы это достали?"
("Where the hell… where did you get this?")
Nikolai responded.
"У них есть рынок, Илья. Настоящий рынок. С электричеством, палатками, едой… даже больница с врачами."
("They have a market, Ilya. A real one. With electricity, stalls, food… even a hospital with doctors.")
Ilya set the bottle down slowly, exhaling a long, weary breath. He rubbed his hand down his face, processing the enormity of what he was being told. The skepticism lingered in his expression, but there was a glimmer of something else too — hope, dangerous and fragile.
He looked to Sergei.
"Ты уверен, что этим людям можно доверять? Мы пережили достаточно… мы не можем позволить себе ещё одну авантюру."
("Are you sure these people can be trusted? We've survived enough… we can't afford another gamble.")
Sergei met his gaze steadily.
"Я не знаю. Но там есть порядок. И у них есть ресурсы, о которых мы можем только мечтать. Если есть хоть малейший шанс на сотрудничество… это лучше, чем ждать, когда нас перебьют по одному."
("I don't know. But there's order there. And they have resources we can only dream of. If there's even the slightest chance for cooperation… it's better than waiting here to die one by one.")
Ilya sat silent for a long moment, staring at the supplies laid out before him. Finally, he gave a quiet sigh and nodded.
"Хорошо. Приведи этого генерала. Послушаем, что он скажет."
("Alright. Bring me this general. Let's hear what he has to say.")
He cast another glance toward the clean water bottles and the glimmering Nuka-Cola, muttering under his breath.
"Если это не ловушка… возможно, это единственный шанс, что у нас остался."
("If this isn't a trap… it might be the only chance we have left.")