In late August 2026, a group of hackers calling themselves Black Mirror published on Telegram a series of screenshots presented as excerpts from the email correspondence of one of the leading figures on the Russian political and economic scene: German Gref, the CEO of Sberbank, the country’s largest bank. .
This document, published under the title “War Exit Scenarios in the Russo-Ukrainian Conflict,” is presented as an internal analytical note from Sberbank dated in April. It outlines eight scenarios for exiting the war, proposing in each case an estimate of their probability, as well as observations on the economic and geopolitical context likely to lead to that outcome.
Russian opposition media promptly relayed the leak, noting that they had – of course – been unable to obtain any confirmation of the document’s authenticity. Journalists, however, observed that certain data were consistent with German Gref’s own forecasts for the economy. .
The scenarios range from the most advantageous to the least favorable for Russia, and they successive address a victory on Russia’s terms, Western exhaustion, an agreement imposed by Donald Trump, a standstill, a prolonged war, a compromise peace, a peace on Ukraine or Europe terms, and, finally, the most unpredictable scenarios, up to a technological revolution and nuclear escalation with NATO.
The analysts’ most notable finding remains the extremely low—only 7%—probability of a Russian victory due to a decisive military advantage. Yet many other elements deserve close attention.
First, the text consistently refers to “losses,” even venturing figures authorities would never publicly disclose, but it never writes the term “human losses.” For Sberbank’s analysts, practitioners of abstract simulations and “game theory,” war is merely a matter of numbers, and, on that accounting, hundreds of thousands of human lives lost sit on the same plane as a tenth of a point of GDP.
The document furthermore confirms that in the circles closest to power, warlike extremists such as Sergei Karaganov and Nikolai Patrushev, who openly promote a nuclear outcome to the war in Ukraine, are indeed seen as “hawks” in service of Russia’s strategic communication—and, in other words, as specialists in agitation-propaganda. .
Finally, the “Sberbank leak” presents a somewhat unexpected view on the mental state of the Russian president and the breadth of his support in public opinion. On the one hand, analysts do not hesitate to articulate clearly a sociological reality that the Kremlin would prefer to suppress: popular backing for Vladimir Putin is eroding day by day, polls tending to overestimate it because respondents fear retribution. On the other hand, the report authors dwell at length on the Western view of the consequences of the “cognitive biases of the Russian leader,” which could push him to pursue costly operations in the hope of compensation rather than a sober, rational assessment of the real situation. The prose of senior Russian officials had not accustomed us to such honesty, which supports the hypothesis that this is an internal-note document intended for the narrower circles of the economy, not for circulation at the Kremlin.
Finally, note that some hypotheses raised in the April 2026 document have already been rendered obsolete by the rapid unfolding of international events. The Iranian conflict has been suspended and the Ukraine–Russia truce is now behind us, to the extent that they may already have faded from memory crowded by current events. By contrast, several factors highlighted, starting with deep Ukrainian strikes, the U.S. electoral calendar, and internal tensions in Ukraine, are today markedly more relevant, preserving the thrust of the main scenarios discussed by the Sberbank analysts.
One last observation is worth underscoring: the document assigns a very low probability to a direct NATO–Russia confrontation, at 1% to 2%. According to sources cited by the Wall Street Journal, CIA Director John Ratcliffe’s visit on August 25 was precisely aimed at warning Putin against “testing NATO’s resolve” via attacks on the Alliance, while intelligence sources in the United States estimate that Russia could seek to escalate its hybrid warfare against Europe by launching cyberattacks or by sending combatants to a country on the eastern flank.
This document presents eight scenarios for the evolution of the conflict, from the most favorable outcome for Russia to the least favorable one. Each scenario provides a probability estimate, an implementation horizon, notes on the strategies of the parties, sociological data, a legal framework, as well as remarks on technological factors and resource constraints. The respective probabilities are calculated so that they sum to 100%.
As of April 2026, and according to data from the Bank of Russia, Rosstat, and the Ministry of Finance, the economic context is as follows: policy rate at 15% (cut from 15.5% since March 23, 2026); annual inflation at 5.9% (Rosstat, March 2026), but perceived by the population at 15.6%; the exchange rate is 1 dollar for 76.97 rubles, 1 euro for 90.01 rubles, and 1 yuan for 11.25 rubles (Bank of Russia, April 11); the policy rate is forecast to end-2026 at 12–13% (Sberbank, Tsifra Broker).
First-quarter budget deficit: 4,580 billion rubles (against an annual plan of 3,800 billion); petrodollar receipts of 1,440 billion, a drop of 45.4%; expenditures of 12,890 billion, up 17%. The Finance Ministry attributes this to pre-financing of contracts. If Q1 cannot be extrapolated linearly across the year, the trend remains concerning.
At the level of the National Wealth Fund of the Russian Federation, the liquid portion decreased by 4,000 billion rubles (1.7% of GDP), for a total volume of 13,600 billion. In the first quarter, 400 billion was withdrawn. At the current tempo, the liquid pool could be exhausted before the end of the year.
An alternative would be to increase the issue of government bonds, given that public debt stood at 31,300 billion rubles in March 2026. The government is considering widening the deficit and boosting military spending. The military multiplier is estimated at 1.5x (every ruble of military spending thus generates 1.5 rubles of GDP, but at the expense of the civilian sector).
The geopolitical context features the following: an Easter truce on April 11–12, unilaterally announced by Putin on April 9 and accepted by Ukraine; a two-week truce between the United States and Iran in April, with mediation by Pakistan, bringing Brent under $100; Ukraine’s withdrawal from 116 accords with Russia, Belarus and the Commonwealth of Independent States.
A vital element here is ensuring rear-area protection. Before examining strategic scenarios, we must note the following: none of them is feasible without addressing front-to-rear protection head-on, both militarily and economically.
Militarily, Ukraine has since 2024 been conducting a systematic campaign of strikes aimed at Russian strategic infrastructure. Between 10 and 15% of refining capacities have been damaged: notably the NORSI refinery in Nizhny Novgorod, the plants at Saratov, Volgograd, Kirichi, Lukoil platforms in the Caspian Sea, the terminals at Novorossiysk, Primorsk and Ust-Luga. These drone strikes have touched Russian territory up to 1,000 kilometers, and even beyond the front line.
Ukraine’s arsenal has seen the emergence of a new cruise missile, the Flamingo (FP-5 from Fire Point, based on advances from the British Milanion Group). This missile, launched from a ground trailer, has a range of up to 3,000 km according to Ukrainian sources (Russian estimates favor 1,000 km), a speed of 950 km/h, and a military payload of 1,000–1,150 kg. Production is estimated at more than 50 units per month thanks to a simplified design. The first combat use occurred in February 2025, with strikes against an explosive factory and a nuclear installation 1,500 km deep. As of April 2026, the Russian air defenses had intercepted only four of these missiles, testifying to the difficulty of detection (composite hull, low-altitude flight). Finally, the FP-7 ballistic and FP-9 (850 km, up to 800 kg payload) are currently under development, and Ukraine is negotiating the acquisition of next‑generation SAMP/T systems from France to bolster its own air defense.
Russia, for its part, continues to rely more on hypersonic Tsirkon missiles, with as many launches in February 2026 as in the previous two years combined. The Kindjal continues to be used against strategic targets.
Furthermore, it is estimated that up to 35% of the components of rear air-defense systems have been lost. The replacement rate for S-300/S-400 has been slower than the losses. Without reconstituting the air shield guarding rear installations and equipment, strikes will continue to intensify.
In parallel, Ukraine systematically increases its deep strikes against airfields on Russian territory, thereby worsening aviation losses, which remain a critical resource (recall that Su-34 production runs at 13–17 units per year, with substantial losses).
On the economic front, the high policy rate (15%) chokes the civilian sector. Mortgage credit has fallen by 45%, construction by 8.2%, credit growth is capped at 2.1% versus more than 12% prewar. Investment activity is reduced to a bare minimum: these high rates deter companies from launching new projects. The forecast of lowering the rate to 12–13% by the end of 2026 therefore opens a prospect for relief, but the civilian sector is expected to remain stagnant at least until the summer.
There is also a labor shortage in defense industry enterprises, estimated at 80,000 to 400,000 people. By September 2025, munition production had begun to decline. Three areas are especially critical: microelectronics (without Western components, precision-weapon production rises sharply), ammunition (the limiting factor is manpower, not finances), and engines (production is overloaded across aviation, naval and ballistic sectors).
The technological factor plays a decisive role here. Drones have become the decisive factor of the war. Both sides are increasing production, each employing different strategies.
On the Russian side, there is a nominal capacity of 7–9 million FPV drones per year. The actual usable rate is around 60%–70%, with combat effectiveness (target destruction) of 30%–40%. The Lancet drone has acquired a basic autonomy allowing it to search for and destroy targets without operator intervention. The introduction of fiber-optic drones resistant to electronic jamming is now widespread. The chosen strategy is thus one of quantitative predominance.
On the Ukrainian side, FirePoint produces 200 attack drones with long range per day (about 6,000 per month), with seven successive generations in four years. The heavy drones of the Nemesis regiment can destroy air defense systems (Buk, Tor, Pantsir). The range of Ukrainian FPV drones has tripled, now reaching 150 km.
The favored strategy is therefore qualitative superiority, with GPS-independent navigation, machine-learning guidance, and resistance to jamming.
Nevertheless, the gap between the two sides is narrowing. If Russia retains the quantitative edge, Ukraine continues to hold the qualitative edge, while Russia gradually introduces artificial intelligence (autonomous Lancet) and Ukraine increases its production volumes.
Thanks to the introduction of artificial intelligence into the military chain, the cycle “observe–orient–decide–act” tightens, shrinking from hours to minutes. ISR operations are also handled by artificial intelligence, which identifies targets and automatically transmits their coordinates. In the face of drone swarms, humans are left “in the rear”: it is AI that sets the operational tempo. Under these conditions, the first side to create and employ fully autonomous drone swarms at the scale of a division would gain a decisive tactical advantage.
Russia envisions industrial-scale production, with its own AI models tailored to its military needs. Ukraine, by contrast, uses Western AI software, with a more flexible integration offering advantages in adaptability.
In terms of mobilization and cadres, Russia has set a target of 400,000 new contracted servicemen in 2026. The current recruitment rate is 80,000 per quarter. Losses (as estimated by experts with military adjustments) run at 20,000–25,000 per month. 90% of new contractees serve to compensate losses, not to form new assault units. Engagement bonuses now exceed 400,000 rubles. A general mobilization is not contemplated due to its political risk. Finally, NATO warns of a risk of Russian attacks on Alliance territory by 2027–2030.
In Ukraine, the mobilization reserve is reaching its limits, to the extent that reducing the mobilization age is being studied. A desertion rate of 15% is considered normal in prolonged conflicts (according to sociologists).
To set the legal framework, it must first be observed that Ukraine has broken 116 accords with Russia, Belarus and the CIS. De jure, the UN and the majority of states recognize the 1991 borders. De facto, Russia controls about 20% of Ukrainian territory. The UN Security Council is blocked by a Russian veto. The legal options for formalizing a solution are the following:
- Taiwanese model: de facto recognition, but not de jure (the United States recognizes without recognizing);
- Cyprus model: constitutional claim despite a de facto partition, with only part of the territory joining the European Union;
- FRG/DDR model: two states, one nation.
The analogy with the Cypriot case is the most relevant here: constitutional crisis (Zelensky finds himself without a mandate after the expiration of his powers), a claim to the entire territory despite an inability to exercise control. The United States could recognize a partition de facto; the European Union would categorically oppose it, because Ukraine’s EU integration process requires recognition of territorial integrity.
Socially, Putin’s approval rating is between 67.8% and 70% in Russia in March–April 2026, a minimum since 2022, with a downward trend. No polls in 2026 directly measured support for the “special military operation.” Independent polls (2024–2025) indicated 70–75% support. Experts nevertheless note that polls tend to overstate this support by 10–15 points due to the “spiral of silence,” so genuine support would be around 55–65%. United Russia’s rating for the 2026 Duma elections stands at 31%.
In the United States, the main polling institutes have not released new data on support for Ukraine for 2026. The latest data (2024–2025) showed a drop from 60% to 40–50%. Indirect indicators, such as the collapse of support among Republicans (18% in 2025 versus 35% in March 2025), suggest this trend will continue. This configuration gives Trump a blank slate for any deal.
Finally, in Europe, surveys show support for Ukraine stabilizing rather than declining. It is not fatigue, but rather the emergence of a new norm: Europe is prepared to support Ukraine for an indefinite period, provided it avoids escalation and major increases in spending.
First scenario: Russia’s decisive military advantage
Probability: 7%
Outlook: 12–24 months
This scenario provides for the full control of the four “new subjects” of the Russian Federation (the autonomous republics of Donetsk and Luhansk, and the Zaporizhzhia and Kherson oblasts within their administrative borders), as well as the Kharkiv region. It assumes Ukraine is forced to negotiate from a position of absolute military dominance. It does not envisage the capture of Kyiv, but rather the creation of conditions that render continued resistance militarily meaningless.
Prerequisites include a second wave of mobilization in Russia of at least 300,000, possibly 500,000 people. Without this mobilization, the forces remain far below the levels needed for a large-scale offensive. The current 80,000 contracted personnel per quarter offsets losses estimated at 20,000–25,000 per month, but does not enable real power buildup. 90% of new contractors are used to fill losses, not to form assault formations. Due to budget constraints, engagement bonuses, already over 400,000 rubles, cannot be raised further.
Andrei Belousov’s reforms in defense—focusing on digitalization and anti-corruption—have yielded tangible results: electronic processing is replacing 2.5 million paper documents per year; meanwhile, stockouts of ammunition have fallen by 40%. Nevertheless, personnel issues (notably the rotation of commanding officers who failed in their missions) are being resolved slowly.
To realize this scenario, a massive intensification of air support would be required. The production of UMPK bombs and guided bombs remains a bottleneck for Russian production. The Russian equivalent of the JDAM would cost $20,000–$30,000, versus $200,000 for high-precision weapons, prompting a shift toward the mass production of cheaper guided munitions.
Another critical point is solving the rear’s air-defense weaknesses; otherwise, Ukrainian strikes against refineries and airfields will continue. The Flamingo (FP-5) cruise missile can strike more than 1,500 km deep and uses a composite hull that complicates radar detection. Ukraine is also developing the FP-7 ballistic (200–300 km, 1,500 m/s, 14 m accuracy) and the FP-9 (850 km, up to 800 kg payload), while negotiating the acquisition of next-generation SAMP/T air-defense systems from France to bolster its own defenses.
A breakthrough in autonomous drone swarms would be decisive. The first side to realize this technological leap at the scale of a division, with thousands of units coordinated by artificial intelligence and without operators, would gain a decisive tactical edge.
Russia’s strategy in this scenario would center on concentrating forces along two or three axes: Sloviansk–Kramatorsk, the main defensive node in Donbas; Zaporizhzhia, controlling access to the industrial heartland; and Kharkiv as a political symbol. This option would imply heavy use of aviation equipped with UMPK bombs, AI-piloted drone swarms, and deep strikes against the Ukrainian armed forces’ logistics, as well as a significant increase in military spending—the Russian government thus contemplates raising the deficit beyond the planned 3,800 billion rubles.
Ukraine, for its part, relies on a deep, multi-layered defense. Its massive strikes on the rear (Flamingo against refineries and depots, FPV drones within 150 km against armored vehicles and troops, Nemesis regiment heavy drones against air-defense systems) aim to make the cost of an offensive unbearable for Russia. It relies largely on Western air-defense systems of the new generation and on the qualitative superiority of its software-guided, GPS-independent drones.
On the American and European side, pressure toward negotiations is to be expected if Ukrainian forces retreat en masse. Trump will aim to exploit this situation to push his “deal of the century.” Europe will increase its own military production (Czech investments in shells, German IRIS-T, French Caesar guns) for a combined output of 50–60 billion dollars in military production by 2027.
In game theory terms, in a war of attrition, the side that wins is the one most willing to bear the costs. Russia has a demographic and industrial advantage, but Ukraine compensates with external support. Under Nash equilibrium, both sides pursue the conflict as long as the marginal gain from continued operations exceeds the marginal cost. For Russia, the marginal gain includes territorial control and strategic security; for Ukraine, sovereignty and territorial integrity. Neither side is willing to reset the counters to zero.
Socially, mobilization is the principal risk for Russia. Indirect polls indicate a decline in Putin’s approval: 67.8% to 70% in late March–early April 2026 marks a low since the 2022 onset of the special operation, and the trend is downward. Experts adjust these results by noting polls overstate the popularity by 10–15 points due to the “spiral of silence.” Real support would thus be closer to 55–65%. A new wave of mobilization could push it down another 10–15 points. However, if the offensive succeeds, a rally‑round‑the‑flag effect could compensate for this decline. Historical experience shows that the months following mobilization measures are often accompanied by a surge in patriotic sentiment.
On the Ukrainian side, if mobilization reaches the limits of its reserves, it is important to note that defensive motivation is traditionally stronger than offensive incitement. Ukraine fights for survival, not expansion.
Jurisdictionally, Russia could invoke the 2022 referendums’ results (not recognized by the international community) in case it gains full control of the four “new subjects.” The United States could recognize this de facto partition; the European Union would categorically oppose, given the EU’s conditions on Ukraine’s accession. The UN Security Council remains blocked by Russia’s veto. The options for legal formalization are:
- Taiwan model: de facto recognition only; the United States recognizes but does not recognize de jure;
- Cyprus model: constitutional claim despite de facto partition, only part of territory joining the EU;
- FRG/DDR model: two states, one nation.
The analogy with Cyprus is the most fitting: constitutional crisis (Zelensky is left without a mandate after the expiry of his term), claims to the entire territory despite the inability to enforce control. The United States might recognize a de facto partition; the European Union would oppose it, because Ukraine’s European integration requires recognition of territorial integrity. The UN would remain in a status quo, though declaratory resolutions by the General Assembly could be adopted, given the Russian veto in the Security Council. Ukraine’s claim over the entirety of its territory would not disappear: in other words, the war would not end legally. Finally, sanctions could be partially lifted as part of an agreement on secondary sanctions and other financial restrictions.
In this “exhaustion of the West” scenario, Ukraine would lose access to critical Western resources: Western AI software for drone guidance, satellite data from Starlink and other commercial providers, electronics for command systems. Deprived of Western AI infrastructure, Ukraine would be forced back to manual drone piloting. All of this would erode Ukraine’s qualitative drone edge. Russia would continue to increase its industrial production: 7–9 million FPV drones, an autonomous Lancet drone, fiber-optic drones.
Thus, from the Russian viewpoint, this is the optimal scenario—“bloodless” in effect. Time would play in Russia’s favor: every passing month further weakens the Western coalition. Under current conditions, the Russian economy could endure another 12–18 months. The nuclear umbrella would remain a potent coercive instrument on the war‑hawk states of Europe. Each public mention of the nuclear factor pushes Macron and Scholz closer to compromise.
In the West’s view, Samuel Charap argues that Russia is a victim of the “sunk costs fallacy.” According to Prospect Theory, actors take more risks when they incur losses; Putin indeed finds himself in the domain of losses. 1.2 million losses, a ruined diplomacy, an economy under pressure: these elements would, in rational terms, push toward a crisis exit. But loss aversion prevents him from recognizing and acting on the failure. The rational arguments for stopping operations run up against the Russian leader’s cognitive biases.
We therefore estimate the probability of this scenario at 12% because it requires the alignment of three factors: American support collapsing, an European energy crisis in Europe, and a domestic Ukrainian crisis. Each factor on its own remains plausible, but their joint occurrence is less likely. Yet recent trends confirm a move in that direction, and the Iranian crisis has highlighted the fragility of energy balances.
Second scenario: Western exhaustion and peace on Russian terms
Probability: 12%
Outlook: 12–18 months
Western support for Ukraine would waver critically in the West. In this option, defeat is less military than political: allies simply stop financing the war. Russia would obtain a freeze of the territories, partial sanctions relief, and assurances that Ukraine would not join NATO.
The scenario rests on three factors:
- Support in the United States falls below 30% (a confirmed trend, since it dropped from 60% in 2022 to 35–40% in 2025–2026, and to around 18% among Republicans);
- An energy crisis in Europe during the 2026–2027 winter (US LNG is expensive and logistically fragile; any incident in the Strait of Hormuz or a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico would cause a spike in prices, as Brent approached 117 dollars prior to the 8 April truce with Iran);
- An internal political crisis in Ukraine (Zelensky finds himself without a mandate after it expires, leading to a constitutional impasse and contested legitimacy both within the country and among major international partners).
Russia’s strategy here is a multi-vector pressure:
- Maintaining occupied territories and gradual front-line progress;
- Using leverage over energy (preparing for winter 2026–2027, a period of heightened European vulnerability);
- Persistent diplomatic pressure via “disorganizers” within the EU (Orbán in Hungary and Fico in Slovakia), who could impede consensus on aid to Ukraine. Some analysts suggest Zelensky would devote part of Western aid to financing opposition in Hungary.
Time is the major asset for Russia: every month of delay weakens Western support, Ukrainian mobilization, and European unity.
In this scenario, Ukraine attempts to regain the initiative before its international support collapses by launching deep strikes against refineries to raise the war’s cost for Russia’s federal budget. Its FPV drones with a 150 km range strike rear depots and armored units, while the Nemesis regiment destroys Russian air-defense systems, thereby clearing the sky for its attack drones. It also exerts diplomatic pressure through the European Union to secure additional support.
In the United States, the 2026 midterm elections are Trump’s priority, and he will seek to seize a chance to declare a “victory.” But the electorate has already “abandoned” Ukraine. A back-channel between the Russian Duma and Washington could open, with a US delegation expected in summer 2026. The two-week truce with Iran, brokered by Pakistan, again confirms Trump’s ability to pull off sudden diplomatic shifts. After Iran, Ukraine would thus be the next target.
If Europe has planned $50–60 billion in military production by 2027, this is largely a substitution for American volumes rather than a real-power expansion. Remember that Orbán and Fico are not real Russia allies but rather useful disruptors of European consensus. In Germany and France, anti-war sentiment is growing, though not to a critical threshold. Europe thus reaches a “plateau,” with populations adapting to war rather than resenting it. Around 55–60% of Europeans continue supporting aid to Ukraine, as long as it does not lead to direct confrontation with Russia.
In game theory terms, this would be a “chicken game” between Russia and the West. Who will blink first?
Between these two actors, Ukraine is not an autonomous agent but rather an object: its gains depend on others (the United States through military support, the European Union through economic aid). In fact, Trump could unilaterally alter this matrix by ending Western aid. But this commitment mechanism proves unreliable: the costs of betraying an ally remain real, even if they diminish as backing for Ukraine wanes. Finally, one more update: if the Easter truce of April 11–12 holds, the probability of a diplomatic settlement rises; if Russia honors it, that probability increases further.
From a public opinion standpoint, the key factor is the dynamic of “adaptation” in European societies. Sociologists emphasize that we are not facing a phenomenon of “war fatigue,” but rather the emergence of a new norm in which Europe is prepared to support Ukraine indefinitely, provided that this support does not entail escalation or a sharp rise in spending.
In Russia, Putin’s popularity has fallen to its lowest level since 2022, and the “spiral of silence” conceals a genuine opposition. In other words, popular support is frozen, but not erased. United Russia’s poll rating for the 2026 Duma elections sits at about 31%, indicating that two-thirds of the population do not identify with the governing party, despite its control over the electoral process.
The legal framework for this scenario would be a freeze of operations without a formal treaty. The Cyprus analogy is the closest: the Turkish-occupied Northern Cyprus has been under Turkish control since 1974—and recognized only by Turkey—while the Republic of Cyprus remains a member of the European Union. In light of that precedent, Ukraine could join the European Union without exerting de facto control over its entire territory. At the UN, the situation would be a status quo, albeit with possible declaratory General Assembly resolutions, given the Russian veto in the Security Council. Ukraine’s full territorial claim would not disappear: in other words, the war would not end legally. Finally, sanctions could be partially lifted as part of an agreement on secondary sanctions and other financial restrictions.
Under this “West exhaustion” scenario, Ukraine would be deprived of access to critical resources: Western AI software for drone guidance, Starlink satellite data and other commercial providers, electronics for command systems. Deprived of Western AI infrastructure, Ukraine would have to revert to manual drone piloting. This would erode the qualitative edge of Ukrainian drones. Russia would continue expanding industrial production: 7–9 million FPV drones, autonomous Lancet, and fiber-optic drones.
It is therefore, from a Russian perspective, the optimal scenario—“without bloodshed.” Here, time is on Russia’s side: each passing month further weakens the Western coalition. In the current conditions, the Russian economy could endure another 12–18 months. The nuclear umbrella would remain a powerful instrument to pressure European “doves.” Each public mention of nuclear factors pushes Macron and Scholz toward compromise.
From a Western viewpoint, Samuel Charap argues that Russia is bound by the “sunk costs fallacy.” According to Prospect Theory, individuals tend to take more risks after experiencing losses. Putin, indeed, is in the loss domain. 1.2 million losses, ruined diplomacy, an economy under strain: these elements would logically force a crisis exit. But loss aversion prevents him from taking stock of these losses, and rational arguments to halt the operation clash with the leader’s cognitive biases.
We thus estimate the probability of this scenario at 12% because it requires the convergence of three factors: the collapse of American support, an energy crisis in Europe, and a Ukrainian crisis. Each factor individually remains plausible, but their joint occurrence is less likely. Yet recent trends confirm movement in that direction, and the Iranian crisis has shown the fragility of energy balances.
Third scenario: the “Trump Deal” or a frozen conflict with partial sanctions relief
Probability: 32%
Outlook: 6–12 months
This scenario is the most likely of all. Trump is eager to secure an agreement before the 2026 midterms, using his grip on American aid as leverage on the two sides. The conflict freezes along the current lines, a portion of sanctions is lifted, and Ukraine does not join NATO.
Recall the Iranian precedent of April 8, 2026: a two-week truce obtained through Pakistani mediation. Iran agreed to reopen the Strait of Hormuz in exchange for a suspension of American strikes. Markets reacted instantly, sending Brent from 117 dollars down to under 100 dollars. Trump indicated that he considered the Iranian ten-point peace plan “viable.” Thus, this model is validated: a negotiated ultimatum with a deadline and a mediator leads to an agreement. After Iran, Ukraine would be the next target. American voters are already favorable: supporters of backing Ukraine are around 35–40% in 2025 and only 18% among Republicans. The 2026 midterm elections only strengthen the probability of this scenario. Finally, the prospect of re‑sanitizing Russian oil sanctions remains, while a visit by a US delegation to Russia in the summer of 2026 confirms that the communication channel remains open.
The Russian strategy here is to maximize territorial control before negotiations open, pressuring Sloviansk–Kramatorsk and Zaporizhzhia to improve its starting position. At the same time, signals of willingness to negotiate should be transmitted via discreet channels. The Easter truce of April 11–12 is, from this point of view, an effective test of such signals.
Ukraine will seek to drag out negotiations to obtain maximum security guarantees. It will continue deep strikes against Russia to demonstrate the cost of continuing the conflict, while continuing to rely on the European Union as an alternative source of support should American backing wane. Zelensky, however, finds himself in a delicate position: the constitutional crisis related to the expiry of his term obliges him to show firmness to domestic opinion and willingness to negotiate to maintain Western support.
On the American and Trump side, the strategy is “the Art of the Deal,” applying pressure on both sides. Toward Russia, they threaten to lift all restrictions on Ukraine’s armament (including long-range missiles, submunitions, and F‑16 fighters); toward Ukraine, they threaten to stop all military aid (as in Afghanistan in 2021). Under the proposed agreement, Russia would retain de facto control of the territories. Ukraine would obtain bilateral security guarantees from the United States, the United Kingdom, France and Germany—not the Article 5 of NATO, but a bilateral security guarantee arrangement. A portion of sanctions would be lifted (secondary sanctions, banking restrictions), while sectoral sanctions would remain in place.
In this scenario, Europe is divided. France and Germany’s economic interests and energy dependence push them toward negotiation; by contrast, Poland, the Baltic states and Scandinavia, who view a Russia that could threaten their very existence as a real danger, oppose concessions. In compensation for Ukraine not joining NATO, the European Union accelerates Ukraine’s accession path.
From a game theory perspective, this is a classic “mediator” scenario: a third party (here, Trump) alters the payoff matrix for the two players. However, Trump’s commitment device is unreliable: he can change the terms of the deal at any moment. For him, the costs of image are minimal: the electoral price of “betraying” Ukraine is small, with about 18% support among Republicans. The main difficulty is that neither Russia nor Ukraine believes in the durability of American guarantees. The result is an unstable equilibrium: not peace, but a pause. Any change of administration in the United States could instantly thaw the conflict. Solidifying the agreement would require a multilateral format, but Trump avoids that, preferring bilateral accords.
From Russia’s public opinion standpoint, the outcome would be “neither victory nor defeat.” The Kremlin could present this as “protecting Russian-speaking populations” and a “withdrawal of NATO’s reach.” Putin’s popularity would stabilize, or even rise, thanks to the “peace effect” observed after the 1996 Hadzior. However, if Russian society views the result as an “unfinished war,” it could fuel opposition sentiment.
For Ukraine, the loss of 20% of its territory, despite its constitutional claim to integrity, would be a true trauma. Society would likely split between “realists,” who accept the situation to rebuild the country, and “recalcitrants” who insist on resuming fighting until the entire territory is regained. Zelensky—or a successor—could face charges of treason. A historical parallel is Finland after the Winter War of 1939–1940, which retained sovereignty and later joined the Western camp after losing 10% of its territory.
In the United States, Trump would secure his “Nobel Prize moment” before the 2026 midterms, with strong domestic support. In Europe, relief would predominate—but mixed with worry, as this would set a precedent for redrawing borders by force.
Technically, the likely format would be the absence of a formal peace agreement. The line of demarcation would be fixed de facto but not de jure, akin to Taiwan. The United States would accept de facto partition of Ukraine but would not recognize it de jure: interaction, guarantees of security, but Ukraine’s borders would remain a matter of international law. The European Union, however, could not recognize this situation. Ukraine’s path toward EU membership would continue, following the Cyprus precedent.
Who would guarantee the line of separation? UN blue helmets would be blocked by a Russian veto. Bilateral guarantees (United States, United Kingdom, France) would be weaker than Article 5, but still preferable to no guarantees.
Technologically, this freeze would not halt the arms race. On the contrary, it could accelerate it. Ukraine would integrate Western systems with a qualitative jump: fully integrated F-16s, new-generation SAMP/T, autonomous drone swarms guided by Western AI software. Russia would develop its own autonomous systems: next-generation Lancet drones, fiber-optic drones, and AI-enhanced reconnaissance and target designation. Five to ten years after a thaw, if conflict resumes, the war would bear a completely different technological face. AI investments for military use would become a strategic priority for both sides.
For Russia, this is the best possible ending. It preserves territorial gains, keeps NATO at bay, yields partial sanctions relief, and affords its economy a respite. The policy rate could be lowered more quickly thanks to partial sanctions relief and budget stabilization. The National Wealth Fund would have the time to rebuild. Still, a strategic problem would remain: in five to ten years, Ukraine will re-arm to Western standards, the European Union will have strengthened its defense infrastructure, and the overall context will become less favorable to Russia. This “slow‑mo pause” could translate into a long‑term strategic defeat.
From a Western perspective, this scenario represents a “manageable loss.” NATO would not have expanded to Ukraine, but it would not have capitulated to Russia. Ukraine would remain sovereign—at least partially. Yet this precedent would be dangerous: it would send a signal to other revisionist powers, starting with China regarding Taiwan and Iran in its immediate environment, that force can yield territorial gains. This would thus undermine the post-1945 international legal order. Note, however, that this would not pose a problem for Trump, but for the next administration.
The probability here is highest because all central actors’ interests converge: Trump wants his deal before the midterms; Russia wants to enact territorial control; Europe desires stability; the U.S. public wants this war over. The only potential blocking factor remains Ukraine, but its leverage dwindles as Western support erodes. If Zelensky refuses, Trump could unilaterally terminate aid, forcing him to sign the deal.
Fourth scenario: “Korean-style” freeze without a formal deal
Probability: 22%
Outlook: 6–18 months
The conflict fades without a formal agreement. The intensity of fighting decreases, the front line stabilizes, but, legally, the war continues. There is no peace treaty or armistice; only a de facto halt to large-scale operations. Drone warfare continues at a lower tempo.
This scenario assumes mutual exhaustion of capacities with no prospect of a decisive breakthrough. Russian gains stall at 100–200 meters per day; Ukraine cannot launch a counteroffensive like in 2023. Western aid does not run out but begins to fray. Both sides shift toward defending their existing positions. Trump cannot—or will not—press for a quick settlement, turning attention instead to Iran, China, or domestic politics. The conflict drops off the parties’ agenda: it ends by inertia rather than through a deliberate decision to freeze it.
The Russian strategy here is to hold their current positions, minimize losses, redeploy resources toward rebuilding captured territories and reintegrating them into the legal space of Russia. Military spending would fall from 6.3% of GDP to 4–5%. The primary goal becomes rear protection’s economic stabilization: lowering the policy rate, stabilizing the civil sector, reducing the budget deficit.
Ukraine emphasizes “strategic patience”: holding the line, strengthening Western-standard weaponry, and moving toward EU membership. Deep strikes with Flamingo and long-range FPV drones continue to maintain pressure on Russia and legitimize the effort in the domestic opinion by arguing: “We continue to resist.”
The United States decides to “forget and move on,” along the Afghan exit after 2021. Ukraine disappears from the news horizon. U.S. aid remains around $20–30 billion a year by inertia of already‑voted credits, but with little political attention.
Europe thus bears most of the burden. Security agreements with Ukraine are already signed with the United Kingdom, France and Germany. The path to EU membership is real and accelerating. NATO membership remains frozen for an indefinite period.
Game theory terms describe this as a stable Nash equilibrium: neither side can improve its position by unilateral action. The retreat would be worse than the status quo for both; any offensive would be too costly relative to the current balance of power. Both sides would find themselves “trapped” in the existing configuration. But instead of a stable peace, this would be an unstable armistice. Any external shock—such as a change of government in one of the two countries, an economic crisis, or a breakthrough in autonomous drone technology—could instantly thaw the conflict. The analogy with the Korean Peninsula remains imperfect, since, in Korea, the situation was resolved by the 1953 Armistice; here there is no such resolution. This scenario more closely resembles post‑Soviet frozen conflicts, such as Transnistria or Nagorno-Karabakh before 2020.
Socially, Russia would experience a “normalization of war.” The population would adapt to a protracted conflict, as in Israel during the Intifada or Turkey’s handling of the Kurdish question. Casualties would fall, the economy would gain some respite. Putin’s approval would stabilize around 65–70%, with real support around 55–60%. The “spiral of silence” would persist, freezing the potential for protest. If United Russia’s 2026 election rating sits at 31%, this indicates real weariness but not a revolution-ready popular uprising.
In Ukraine, this scenario—a “forgotten war” by the rest of the world—would be the most psychologically testing: neither victory nor defeat, nor a true peace. Emigration would continue and intensify (8 million abroad, plus 6 million internally displaced), demographic crisis would worsen (birth rate already halved). Desertion would persist at about 15%, as in any prolonged conflict. The economy would rely increasingly on external aid (the European Union and international organizations could contribute about $30–40 billion per year).
In the West, the logic would be “managed forgetting.” The war in Ukraine becomes a frozen conflict, a tool of pressure on Russia, usable as needed.
Yet legally, the war would continue. There would be no official line of demarcation, no demilitarized zone, no peacekeeping force. Sanctions would remain since there is no formal peace treaty. Russia would not gain legal recognition of the territories. With Ukraine having broken 116 agreements, there would be no legal ties remaining. The Cyprus model would re-emerge: a constitutional claim to the entire territory despite de facto partition, with part of the territory integrated into the European Union.
Technologically, both sides would use this pause to mount a major arms buildup. The critical period would be three to five years. Ukraine would integrate Western systems; Russia would intensify its own production and deploy its own AI. The war’s next phase, should it occur, would thus look entirely different technologically. The major risk of this scenario would be an uncontrolled race for autonomous weapons—a potential “flash crash” of military systems.
From Russia’s perspective, the main objection would be: “This is not why we fought.” Territories would be retained, but sanctions would remain, NATO would strengthen, Ukraine would rearm. The strategic situation would deteriorate each year of freeze. In other words, time would start to work against Russia for the first time.
Conversely, the West would have time on its side. Russia would weaken economically, exhausting the National Wealth Fund, raising the debt burden, and seeing civil sector stagnation. Ukraine would strengthen on military-technological grounds. At the current pace, Russia could exhaust its restorable armored reserves by 2027, without producing capacity to offset those losses. Growth in the defense-industrial complex would drop to around 3% in 2025, down from 57% in 2024, showing no “second wind.”
That said, this remains the second most probable scenario. If Trump fails to push for a rapid deal, the conflict risks freezing by inertia. Both sides are too weak to prevail, yet too strong to be defeated. It is also the most “slothful” scenario: ultimately no active decision is required by either party.
Fifth scenario: a prolonged war
Probability: 15%
Outlook: 24–36 months
In this configuration, hostilities continue at their current level of intensity, with neither freeze nor breakthrough. Russia would incur monthly losses of 20,000–25,000 soldiers, against a slow rate of advance—100–200 meters per day—and would continue the war of drones, with both sides striking adversary infrastructure. In other words, a strategy of attrition.
For this scenario to materialize, all diplomatic initiatives would have to fail.
Trump would refocus on other priorities: Iran, China, domestic politics, or the 2026 midterms. Easter’s truce on April 11–12 would not lead to any widening of the diplomatic track. Europe would maintain current aid levels. Russia could not advance, and Ukraine could not counterattack. Neither side is ready to yield, and loss aversion prevents both from rationally ending the conflict.
The Russian strategy here is “war until the economy’s last limits”: military spending of 14,000–15,000 billion rubles per year (about 6% of GDP). The Q1 2026 budget deficit already reached 4,580 billion rubles, versus an annual plan of 3,800 billion. At the National Wealth Fund, the liquid portion had fallen by 4,000 billion, and could be exhausted by late 2026. Financing would shift to debt: a higher government-bond issuance, with public debt reaching around 35–40% of GDP by 2028. With a 15% policy rate, debt service would consume more than 15% of the budget. Civil-sector stagnation would set in: mortgage credit down 45%, construction down 8.2%, credit growth at 2.1%. A target end-2026 rate of 12–13% might not be achieved if military spending remains high.
Ukraine would adopt a “survival strategy.” Mobilization would continue with growing resistance. Western aid would stay at a level just enough not to lose. The grid would continue to face constant strikes: 50% of electricity production capacity damaged, blackouts up to 22 hours per day, heating networks targeted in winter. The economy would rely more and more on external injections—estimates place it at about $30–40 billion per year from the European Union and international organizations.
In game theory terms, this is a pure attrition war. Each side suffers losses, hoping the other side will concede first. According to Kahneman’s Prospect Theory, actors tend to take more risks when they incur losses: Russia sees itself in the loss domain. The rational outcome would be to negotiate, but cognitive biases—loss aversion, sunk costs—keep the players locked in. For Russia, the logic is “We’ve already lost so much; we cannot stop without tangible gains.” For Ukraine, “We have sacrificed so much that we cannot retreat on territory.”
Socially, Russia would undergo growing “silent fatigue,” not so much in open protest as in social disengagement: rising alcoholism, depression, emigration of skilled workers, and falling birth rates. The “canon versus butter” economic model might function for two to three years but cannot last indefinitely. Putin’s approval could fall below 60% by 2028, with real support around or below 50%. The threshold of the “spiral of silence” would be crossed when people stop being afraid to speak out. Historically, this happened in Russia during sharp living standards declines, such as during perestroika (1986–1991).
For Ukraine, this would mean a true humanitarian catastrophe: 8 million refugees abroad, 6 million internally displaced, demographic collapse (birth rates cut in half) and the loss of a generation of men aged 25–45 due to mobilization, emigration, and combat losses.
The legal framework would be the status quo. On the backdrop of tightening sanctions, Russia’s isolation would deepen, though not to the Iranian or North Korean levels, since China, India and the Global South would continue some exchanges.
Technologically, this would also accelerate the arms race in drones. By 2028, both sides could possess fully autonomous combat systems. Cyberwarfare would intensify as AI becomes the central tool of warfare management. The risk would be a “flash crash”—autonomous systems from both sides interacting in unpredictable ways without human control, triggering a rapid escalation.
In keeping with 1912 and 1941 logic, Russia would assume: “We will endure; we always win long wars.” Yet the 2020s economy differs from that of the 20th century, given globalization (even under sanctions), dependence on microelectronics, and demographic decline.
Western observers would see Russia’s rapid economic weakening: restorable armored vehicles could be exhausted by 2027; military-industrial growth would top at 3% in 2025, down from 57% in 2024. Petrodollar receipts would have fallen by 45.4% in the first quarter of 2026, and the 1.5x military multiplier would fail to offset civil-sector contraction beyond two years.
Hence our 15% probability for this scenario. If diplomacy fails, the war simply continues by inertia. Both sides are too deeply committed to exit without external push. Loss aversion is active on both sides.
Sixth scenario: a peace by compromise
Probability: 5%
Outlook: 12–24 months
This configuration requires a genuine peace treaty with mutual concessions. Russia would cede part of the territories (part or all of Kherson and Zaporizhzhia regions) in exchange for recognition of Crimea and some Donbas autonomy. Ukraine would gain security guarantees and a pathway to EU membership, with a 15–25 year moratorium on joining NATO.
For this scenario to materialize, a political reconfiguration in one of the two parties would be required: either a significant weakening of Putin’s position (unlikely given the structure of power); or a change of government in Ukraine (with a constitutional crisis tied to Zelensky’s absence of a mandate, the military’s leadership possibly proposing its own candidates); or a strong external pressure from both blocs. The latter is the most realistic:
- United States pressure on Russia through sanctions and the threat of greater weapons support to Ukraine;
- China’s similar leverage over Russia through economic channels (the yuan representing 52% of the National Wealth Fund; Sino-Russian trade has become vitally important);
- The European Union acting similarly toward Ukraine, negotiating aid conditions and integration terms.
Most analyses tend to underestimate China’s role. Beijing could exert discreet yet effective pressure on Moscow through currency exchange rates, trade conditions, and access to technology. Xi Jinping has an interest in stability, and a prolonged conflict diverts Russia from acting as China’s strategic rear in facing the United States, while dangerously heightening energy instability.
Strategically, Russia would need to agree to return some territories—a politically difficult move given the current four “new subjects” narrative in the 2022 constitutional amendments. This would require reframing the dominant narrative toward: “We protected Crimea and Donbas; the rest are the peace price.”
Ukraine would need to acknowledge the de facto loss of Crimea and part of Donbas. The society would not be ready: more than 70% oppose territorial concessions in most polls. A constitutional crisis would be likely. Any constitutional modification concerning territorial integrity would require a referendum, which is impossible in wartime.
In game theory terms, this would be a form of Nash bargaining. Both sides would temper their minimum demands to the point where neither side can improve its outcome with a unilateral move. The equilibrium could only be achieved under external constraint, via a mediator with real leverage. The only pairing with enough weight would be Trump and Xi Jinping, but coordinating such a duo would itself pose a major geopolitical challenge.
Socially, this scenario would be the hardest for both sides to swallow. In Russia, returning territories after hundreds of thousands of deaths would feel like a “betrayal of the dead and their memory.” For Ukraine, recognizing the loss of territory and millions of citizens would feel like “capitulation.” Neither side can persuade its society to accept this option without fundamentally rewriting the narrative that underpins its struggle. These narratives have been in place for four years.
Jurisdictionally, the arrangement would require a peace treaty ratified by both parliaments. New borders would be inscribed in international law, and peacekeeping would likely be ensured not by the UN (blocked by veto) but by a coalition of neutral states such as Turkey, Brazil, India or the United Arab Emirates.
Thus we assign a 5% probability to this scenario because it requires a political transformation neither side is prepared to contemplate. The societies of both countries have made the conflict a core part of their national identity.
Seventh scenario: peace on Ukraine or Europe terms
Probability: 2%
Outlook: 24–36 months or more
In this scenario, Russia would be forced to retreat to its 2014, or even 1991, borders. Crimea would become a subject of negotiation in its own right—possibly returned. Ukraine would join NATO and receive reparations from Russia. A regime of arms-control would be quickly established.
This scenario presupposes Russia’s economic collapse (with GDP down more than 15%, hyperinflation and a default on domestic debt), a catastrophic military defeat, or a regime change driven by negotiators. None of these three hypotheses is highly probable. Russia’s economy is stagnating but shows no signs of collapse—growth remains around 0.6–0.8%. The army has adapted and the regime remains stable, in the sense that the power vertical functions. This scenario would require a systemic black swan akin to the 1991 collapse of the USSR—an extreme collapse rather than a slow decline.
In game theory terms, this would be a case of “total domination”—a corner solution in which one side maximizes its gains while the other only minimizes its losses.
Socially, Ukraine would experience a triumph of justice and a strong national catharsis. Russia would undergo a national trauma on the scale of 1991, including territorial losses, reparations, political instability, and the risk of fragmentation.
Legally, the framework would be a peace treaty ratified by both parliaments. New borders would be delineated under international law, and peace would likely be ensured not by the UN (blocked by veto) but by a coalition of neutral states such as Turkey, Brazil, India or the UAE. The possibility of Ukraine’s accession to the EU would continue under this scenario, given the Cyprus precedent.
We rate the probability at 2% because no indicator currently points in that direction. It would require a black swan—something not foreseen at present.
Eighth scenario: “Jokers” and other “black swans”
Probability: 5% (across all options combined)
Outlook: Unpredictable
Events that are unlikely but have enormous impact could radically alter the war’s course. None of these options is predictable by standard analytic methods, because they lie outside the probability cone. Nevertheless, their consequences could outweigh all other scenarios combined.
The first option here is nuclear escalation.
Russia would use a tactical nuclear weapon to conduct a demonstrative strike on an unpopulated area or a military objective in Ukraine. The theoretical justification would rest on the doctrine of “escalation by escalation,” publicly advanced by Sergei Karaganov, a member of the Foreign and Defense Policy Council. The rationale is that a limited nuclear strike would convince the West that continuing support to Ukraine would inevitably lead to catastrophe, thereby forcing it to withdraw from the game.
The immediate consequence for Russia would be an outright, total isolation. Support from Russia’s traditional allies such as China and India would quickly wane. Moscow would thus face near-total sanctions, akin to those currently imposed on North Korea.
More importantly, a conventional NATO response could be contemplated, in the form of destroying Russia’s positions in Ukraine without entering Russian territory. Retired Admiral Dennis Blair, former Director of National Intelligence, has argued that such a response would be “disproportionate.” Russia understands this well. Financially, there would be a global shock, oil prices could exceed $200 per barrel, and the world would sink into a global recession.
The probability of this option is therefore less than 1%. Karaganov is a designated hawk. It should be noted that his statements reflect strategic communication rather than an actual strategic plan. The real threshold for resorting to tactical nuclear weapons would be a direct threat to the Russian state’s existence, which currently shows no sign of materializing. Such a move would also be paradoxical: mutating radioactive territory Russia seeks to control would be counterproductive.
Option 8.2 is a “new Chernobyl” scenario: a nuclear accident or a targeted strike against a nuclear installation—Zaporozhye Nuclear Power Plant (the largest in Europe, with six reactors, under Russian control since 2022), the Chernobyl sarcophagus, or spent-fuel storage sites.
The immediate consequence would be radioactive contamination affecting several neighboring countries—from Ukraine and Belarus to Moldova and Romania, depending on wind directions. An immediate ceasefire would then be imposed by the entire international community, including China, followed by evacuation of millions. The humanitarian catastrophe would eclipse military aims. The International Atomic Energy Agency continually warns against such risks. The probability of this option remains low—less than 1%.
Option 8.3 would take the form of a direct confrontation between NATO and Russia. It could arise after an incident involving a Russian missile or drone over a NATO country such as Poland, the Baltic states or Romania, or a provocation in the Baltic, Black Sea or Arctic. Several analysts have noted the rising threat of Russian incursions against the Baltic states due to Ukrainian drone overflights of their airspace. NATO has warned that Russia could strike Alliance territory by 2027–2030.
The consequences of this scenario would depend on the incident’s scale. A single incident would produce at most a diplomatic crisis—recall the Przewodów (Poland) missile shot in November 2022, later identified as the Ukrainian air-defense incident. However, a series of incidents or a deliberate strike could trigger NATO’s Article 5 and escalate rapidly toward a confrontation between the two nuclear blocs.
The probability for this option ranges from 1% to 2%. It poses a higher risk than nuclear escalation because it could occur accidentally, from a drone navigation error, a guidance-system glitch, or any other unpredictable human factor.
Option 8.4 would occur in the event of a regime change in one of the affected countries. In Russia, this could be a palace coup orchestrated by elements of the security services. These actors from the FSB or the Ministry of Defense would topple Putin to conclude a peace on acceptable terms. There is, in fact, a historical precedent: Khrushchev’s ouster in 1964, accomplished without bloodshed or publicity, by a decision of the Party leadership. But this scenario remains extremely unlikely in the current power structure. All potential contenders have been neutralized: Prigozhin eliminated, Shoigu reassigned, Surkov sidelined. In Ukraine, the constitutional crisis would need to undermine Zelensky’s legitimacy; the military leadership (Syrsky, Zaluzhny) could in theory propose its own alternative, but the chance remains extremely low given broad public support for continuing resistance. The overall probability for this option is below 1%.
Option 8.5 relies on an Iranian domino effect: the April 8 U.S.–Iranian truce collapses, Pakistani-brokered talks fail, Israel continues strikes on Lebanon and Iran despite the truce—Israeli airstrikes having already occurred following the announcement. Iran then closes the Strait of Hormuz and Brent rises to around $200, triggering a global recession.
For the conflict, this implies a sharp increase in Russia’s oil revenue—Ural oil could trade at $150–$160 if Brent hits $200—easing fiscal pressure. The West would immediately face an energy crisis and a manufacturing recession, forcing it to shift its attention and resources from Ukraine to the Middle East. Ukraine would lose its priority status on the Western agenda.
A more extreme variant of this option would see Iran transfer enriched uranium or nuclear technologies to Russia, enabling unprecedented nuclear blackmail. This variant is unlikely but cannot be ruled out in the event of Iran’s regime collapse.
Overall, this option carries a probability of 1%–2%, despite the Iran truce’s extreme fragility, already breached by Israel’s actions.
Option 8.6 would be triggered by a technological coup, such as a breakthrough in AI-guided drone swarms that grants one side an absolute tactical advantage. Or a cyberattack on critical infrastructure (power grid, banking system, military command) that undermines one side’s ability to wage war. Other possibilities include a novel AI architecture, applying quantum computing to decrypt military communications, or a directed-energy weapon (laser air-defense systems intercepting drones for $0.01 per shot, vs $100,000 for a missile). In any case, the probability of this option is less than 1%.
In any “joker” or “black swan” scenario, Moscow would certainly employ nuclear rhetoric as a coercive instrument rather than a real strategy. Karaganov and Patrushev remain hawks serving strategic Russian communication. The true threshold for using tactical nuclear weapons would be a direct threat to Russia’s existence, a threshold none of the signs today indicates is being approached.
From the West’s perspective, jokers and black swans are the main source of concern for defense planners. The key factor here is not so much the probability of each isolated event, but the probability that an unpredictable event of any kind will occur. Nassim Taleb reminds us that black swans are by definition unpredictable. In this context, the best strategy is not forecasting but resilience to shocks. For the two sides, that means diversifying energy sources, building stocks of critical resources, planning evacuations, and strengthening cybersecurity.
Strategic conclusions
1. Russia’s maximum negotiating window lies in the summer–autumn 2026.
Beyond that period, the balance could shift. The liquid portion of the National Wealth Fund would be exhausted quickly at the current rate (around 400 billion rubles per quarter). European rearmament would intensify (roughly $50–60 billion in production by 2027), and Trump—fully absorbed by the midterm elections—could lose any interest in a “deal.” The optimal strategy would be to achieve as much as possible through diplomacy while maintaining constant military pressure—both approaches at once.
2. Time is a precious ally, but not unlimited.
Given current spending, the liquid portion of the National Wealth Fund could be exhausted by late 2026 or early 2027. The alternative would be greater borrowing (public debt stood at 31,300 billion rubles in March 2026). With a 15% policy rate, debt service would absorb more than 15% of the budget. The 1.5x military multiplier would not offset civil-sector contraction beyond two years. A simultaneous decline in mortgage credit, construction, and credit growth would signal civil back-end stagnation, undermining the war effort’s base. A policy rate reduction to 12–13% before end-2026 (per Sberbank’s forecast) would offer relief to the civil sector, but inflationary pressures could offset gains in a prolonged war.
3. Rear protection is a non‑negotiable condition in any scenario
No strategic advantage can be achieved without directly addressing rear defences. Flamingo’s range expansion to 1,500+ km and its composite hull complicate radar detection; FP-7 ballistic (200–300 km, 1,500 m/s) and FP-9 (850 km) continue to develop. FPV drones now regularly conduct deep strikes on previously secure installations. Between 10 and 15% of refinery capacity is damaged, and up to 35% of air-defense components have been lost.
On the economic back-end, the 15% policy rate stifles the civil economy. Investment is constrained, construction declines across the board, and credit for small businesses surges above 20%. The defense sector suffers a labor shortage (80,000–400,000 workers). Three critical bottlenecks demand attention: microelectronics (without Western components, precision-weapon costs rise sharply), ammunition (the limiting factor is labor rather than finances, with a first production drop observed in September 2025), and engines (production lines across aviation, naval, and ballistic sectors are overloaded).
4. A potentially decisive factor: technological superiority
The first side to deploy fully autonomous drone swarms on division scale—thousands of units coordinated by AI, without operators—would gain a decisive tactical edge. Russia has achieved industrial successes in this domain (7–9 million FPV drones per year, autonomous Lancet drone, fiber-optic drones), while Ukraine emphasizes qualitative dominance (GPS‑independent navigation, ML-guided targeting, anti-jamming capabilities, Western AI software). The gap is narrowing, indicating that investments in military AI are a strategic priority for both sides.
The Tsirkon missile is now widely used, with February 2026 showing launches equaling those of the prior two years combined. Ukraine responds with its own long-range systems and is negotiating the acquisition of next-generation SAMP/T systems from France.
5. The most likely outcome may be not a “victory,” but the best possible scenario among the available options.
Scenarios 3 and 4 (the Trump deal and the Korean-style freeze) together account for 54% of the probability space. Preparation for negotiations is thus as critical as military pressure itself. Diplomatic and military tracks must operate in concert rather than in sequence.
6. The sunk-cost trap is a genuine cognitive hazard.
According to Kahneman’s Prospect Theory, actors tend to take greater risks when facing losses; both sides are experiencing heavy losses: hundreds of thousands killed, diplomacy in ruins, enormous pressure on the economies. Rational calculations would suggest accepting the losses, but loss aversion drives the opposite logic: “Push a little further and those sacrifices will be offset.” A mechanism for objective, independent assessment is therefore essential to avoid policy inertia.
7. The Easter truce of April 11–12 is a signal to consider.
On April 9, Putin announced a unilateral 32-hour truce for April 11–12. Zelensky responded with “mirror measures.” If the truce is observed by both sides, the probability of a diplomatic track increases, strengthening the third scenario; if it is violated, the fourth and fifth scenarios gain in probability. The Russian Defense Ministry has ordered its troops to remain on alert for possible provocations, confirming that this is more a trust test than a genuine confidence-building measure.