What was the point of a Shadow Chamber if it only tells you half the threat?

Stupid, stupid, stupid..

The Sectopod should've been the worst we fought and if I can have a moment of arrogance, then with our Grenadier's shredding and holo-targeting, we made quick work of it. Had it stomping around in circles like a confused duckling. Those bluescreen rounds probably messed up it's protocol. Ha!

… I'm angry. At myself, mostly, for getting in this mess. I've had my fair share of fuck ups on missions: cost my squad their concealment by dashing right into a sleeping pod of ADVENT soldiers, thought it was a good idea to have a melee duel with a Muton and now my personal favourite has to be this with getting captured.

They're not interested in me, which set my status as a lucrative hostage to an unwelcome guest in record time. No, they want our Commander, or a way to get to them. What better bait than XCOM's sole Colonel? They'll want me back, though I can hardly send the message for them not to bother. So, I have a few options before me.

Make ADVENT realise just how bad of a guest I can be which will ultimately lead to a pre-emptive execution, bide my time until a rescue team comes crashing through the facility I'll be stationed at or escape myself.

Gazing at the deep black helmet of the trooper adjacent to me and two lancers sat at my flanks, the latter might be a little unlikely. It didn't help that my hands and arms were bound forward and the seat belt provided for the ranger's ride felt more like a harness. I could barely wiggle my toes in my boots, let alone stage a daring escape.

I spent most of the flight recalling the events leading up to this travesty. February 17th, 2035. Eve of my birthday. Morale was high, following our recent success of repelling a UFO's attempt to keep us grounded, permanently. I would be leading on the ground whilst our Commander directs us via network. One of our two Grenadiers, Lukas, was only mildly drunk, which was a promising sign to things to come.

We arrive at the slums in New Brazil with the element of surprise as Central continued to debrief us even on touchdown. He's diligent, but sometimes I can't help but wonder if he just likes the sound of his own voice. The mission was simple, get in, destroy the alien relay, get out. Apparently this relay contained critical information that would further the elusive Avatar Project, but – why on Earth would they plant the bloody thing in the middle of some backwater, underdeveloped shacks?

I've often thought they were decoys, or their importance greatly exaggerated by ADVENT for us Resistance to catch ear of and devote time, effort and resources into destroying. Especially when the real threat was out there, somewhere. But the Council seems happy enough when we destroy them. The Commander seems just a touch less stressed. And I don't know what ADVENT's budget is like, but those Sectopods can't be cheap.

'Colonel, scout ahead.' – the Commander's never one to mince words. They always seemed to have such a neutral tone, yet never gave off the air that they were emotionless.

Shit, I'm going to cause them so much trouble..

I remember the first two hours of this mission being uneventful. I vaulted over the fallen trees with ease, I kept my eyes alert for any pods of alien scum lurking and doing my best to avoid the civilians. They were thankfully just as flattered with the presence of aliens as we were and turned a blind eye when one caught notice of me sidling up to hide behind the dilapidated wall of a ruined building.

I got in the habit of not looking back fairly early. Unless the Commander ordered it, my job wasn't to work with the team. It was to be like a hornet, a sharp sting in and then phasing out. Quite like a Reaper, actually, but they didn't trust us as far as they could scout so counting on their aid was a pass this time around.

The Sectopod that I, Lukas and Neil reduced to a confused waterfowl was one of the first hostile we encountered. It was resting, when I'd found it, flanked by two troopers. Easy pickings for Jill 'Judge' McGill, our gunslinging sharpshooter. I had no idea that snipers could be so versatile, or quick to the draw. In any case, I kept watch as the Commander directed my squadmates into position for the ambush.

The first warning sign of things to come was the second pod. An ADVENT Priest, Shieldbearer and Archon. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but it was strange to see the priest so far off from city-controlled areas (who I'm sure their sole purpose is just to preach about the Elders) – which did not bode well in my experience. I had warned the Commander of the possibility of the Warlock joining.

Considering what did happen, I gladly would've taken a brawl with the Warlock.

At least the events leading up to the moment of my fuck-up were some of my most daring feats of strength, not including rescuing the Commander. I put in my usual suggestion of getting up close and personal with the hostiles with a little help from Neil's plasma grenade. Not only will it shred their armour for me to pierce through, but I can effectively clean up with three precise strikes.

The Commander had agreed to this tactic, and so with a bit of positioning, everyone else watched my back in case I missed and I darted from target to target, executing each alien with impunity. It was when I dashed, blood-stained, heaving and out of breath to the Archon did the realisation come too late.

I killed it, yes. But I also revealed another pod containing their King.

I remember ignoring the panicked chatter that exploded on the radio, attention solely focused on the fact that I was out in the open, in front of this supposed royalty and his three flanking Archon guards. Standing there with my Fusion blade (tech we developed from their staves, no less) dripping with the blood.. er.. oil – they were kind of a strange fusion of machine and living tissue – of their kin didn't make for a first impression.

The Commander had been deathly silent and the only thing I could think to do was whip my head around and shout for my squadron not to fire. It was too late. They were already in motion and I hunkered to the ground to avoid the sail of bullets. All the while the Archon King was working up a battle frenzy and had took to the skies, letting loose a barrage of rockets that would descend and reap devastation in no time flat.

I stared at my hands as the ADVENT Skyranger rocked a little in it's sharp turn, jostling me in my seat. The scorch marks where I hadn't quite avoided the blast still throbbed with a dull ache. Dawn, our field medic Specialist, had done her best to keep the team functional, but she had to triage my aid, especially when one of the rockets had exploded Jill's perch and sent her careening to the floor. Broke her leg and crippled the other.

I had thought she was dead. I had no vision of my squad and all I could see was that flying red bastard. All I heard was white noise after the explosions had been deafening, so if the Commander order that I stay put, I didn't hear them. It was extremely satisfying to slash at the King once he descended near enough to me that I caught him at arc's length.

Bad idea.

I managed only to successfully gain his attention. Turns out that those weren't black tattoos, but armour. I braced myself to spring out of the way of any swing of his staff or any shot from it, but it seems he had something his brethren do not share. Half a brain. I can still feel the cold, harsh metal of his gauntlets around my throat where his sickly long claws closed around it. I prepared myself to chop his arm off, but I was lifted. Up and up and up..

… Jill's alive, at least. I saw that much when I was granted view of the battlefield from such a height. Things start to get a little fuzzy around here, because I was losing air pretty fast and my head was getting light. I think the King saw that I was contemplating which death was worse: falling or strangulation. Red bastard had the gall to smirk, watching my legs kick out pitifully and my blade rest flat against the arm.

He acted eventually, after a missed shot whizzed past him. I was tossed forward, the sensation of gravity yanking me down, aided by the brunt of the staff shoved against my abused throat as he travelled down with me. That's when things went dark.

The next thing I knew was heaving awake, promptly vomiting to the side in a conveniently placed mess bucket and being forced back down onto the hover bed by not the motherly hands of XCOM's field medic Dawn, but the rough plated hands of the armoured ADVENT Medic. Things were pretty disorientating for the next few hours after stabilization. I don't remember much other than voicing my complaints to myself of a migraine that the alien's subharmonic chatter was causing.

So. I was captured some point after being knocked out by the Archon King's assault. I don't know the status of my squad or if XCOM even took out that blasted relay. Then I was shoved into one of their Skyrangers to be transported to God-knows-where. This isn't a tactical fuck-up that usually gets fixed by Jowah's longwatch. This isn't going to be patched up by Dawn's GREMLIN, or quietly picked off by a combat protocol. My fellow ranger Klaus won't be there to inspire me to raise my gun one last time.

I was utterly alone.

I did want to become a Reaper, was all I could think bitterly. If escaping this alive and with all of XCOM's intel intact doesn't earn me the right to train as one, then I'm retiring early.

The dropship's speed began to decline as I could only imagine we were arriving at our destination. I cringed openly as the lancer beside me spluttered out something to the trooper in that ugly imitation of human speech they had. It sounded like they were speaking in a language I knew but still somehow could not comprehend it.

The lancer leaned over me to unfasten the harness that kept me secure. I contemplated jerking my knee upwards into his exposed jaw – the only human-like features they had on their face. I squashed the urge when he pulled back and roughly shoved my shoulder to move. He spat something at me and I responded with a curse.

Lead out and descending the ramp of the Skyranger, my eyes tightly screwed shut as the morning light harshly broke across my face. Once the sting had lifted, I cracked them open carefully and squinted, though I must have taken too long because the lancer was quick to grab ahold of the metal bindings of my hands and drag me onward.

I assess my situation once more. I was stripped down to my under armour, which wasn't anything more than blast-padded fibre that could pass as casual digs. All of my weapons had been confiscated – hell, even my nails had been trimmed to blunt stubs. I'm surprised they hadn't filed down my canines if they were being that meticulous. Most annoyingly of all, they had taken my flat-back cap and my hair was freed from it's ponytail.

The facility loomed overhead like a dark shadow against the morning backdrop. Branded with the ADVENT sigil, it was like the Forge. Clinical – yet industrial at the same time. I prayed it was only similar architecture and that I wasn't going to be processed into some weird alien-human hybrid. It, strangely, looked more guarded than the aforementioned buildings. When we approached closer, I spotted some heavy turrets mounted on the roofs with at least one Elite Sniper prowling one tier lower.

On the ground floor, there was no shortage of troops either. I think I even spotted a Shieldbearer amongst their ranks. This was definitely a prison, so my fears of being modified into a horrific monster were alleviated, only to be replaced with the very real possibility of interrogation. And death. Always death.

I wet my lips anxiously. We've been preparing for this. Psionic assaults, torture – even bargaining and incentives to defect. I owe it to the Commander to stay strong. I promised Klaus that if we were going to die at some point in this long war, it'd be together, rangers in arms. I kept my head high as I was forced to enter the institute.

The first thing that came apparent was that the interior is clearly designed more for alien interaction in mind. I doubt most humans would see the inside of this place. It was strange decor and devices with only the sparsest furniture. Everything looked as if it had a function or a purpose. Things pointed out at odd angles and the doors, if you could even call the translucent holographic fields as such, were tall enough to accommodate a Chosen standing at full height and then some.

Pods stacked against the wall, but I couldn't dwell on that for long as my benevolent escort behind me shouted in that pidgin alien-english, clipped the back of my head with his gauntlet and forced me onward. It was far too tempting to fight back, but to my better judgement, I complied. For now.

I was ushered into a small black holding cell to which I quickly became acquainted with the four dark walls, the steel bed and the bathroom. Calling it that was generous, really. It was nothing more than a toilet and a wash basin. The metal cuffs remotely deactivated once the cell's door was shut and locked. I flexed my fingers and rolled my wrist out of habit, lowering myself to the metal bed.

Staring at the bare, black wall in front of me, the sense of overwhelming dread finally filled my stomach. Fuck. How long was I out? How was my squad doing? Were they even planning to rescue me? Fuck.

I have to escape. I have to.

Day One. Col. Jane 'Stalker' Kelly, signing out.

A/N: I haven't stopped writing Atropos - but I wanted to try my hand at a different franchise as well as, for the first time, writing in first person. This is quite a challenge for me, so we'll see how it goes. Mission events very loosely based on my own in-game experiences. - Guixi