0600, Resistance Camp Terran Independence, near Las Vegas.
He was standing in front of them.
He was too late.
The moment when he saw that figure, he knew that the guy spoke trouble through his stance. The way he wore, the way he stood, hell, the way that bastard moved and when he raised his hand like he was trying to summon something, all of it meant that he should have take him down already. But no, his curiosity had killed the cat. In this case, his VIP.
Just how many times he underwent into a mission where he had to escort a Resistance contact, or to carry a Dark VIP, back to base, where his superior could put them into Room 101 for the Darks, or get them back to the nearest camp for the contacts, only to see them unceremoniously killed mid-way, or to see their ropes got shot, making them fell down into their doom? In this case, this VIP tried to protect her own daughter, and paid the price in return. Why didn't he run faster? Why didn't he act sooner? What holy cock is he going to suck or what god is he going to kill in order to rewind time? What is going to happen next after this? Why does the universe likes to troll him like this?
"You are not hurt, right?" The VIP, lying on the hands of her own daughter, who was starting to leak her tears, weakly asked her. "Tell me you're okay..."
"I'm fine, mother..." The younger girl choked on her word, her tears started falling. He needed to stabilize her, hold her blood, remove the shrapnel, perform a quick patch up. He ran into the pair.
"Ma'am, I need you to focus, don't go into the light! I'm gonna patch you-"
"I'm... so glad..."
VIP deceased. Cause of death: shrapnel lodged into body.
The piercing scream of a broken girl sounded all over the place, echoes followed soon later. Her siblings immediately ran towards her, but stop when they saw the body of their own mother.
"You there!" The older brother held a sword, glared at the assailant with the heat and anger that could kill a man, and charged at the figure, fully intended to kill the son of a bitch. Surprise, he hit the robes, not the person. Still with vengeance flowing through his blood veins, he looked around, searching for the killer. "Show yourself!"
He looked back, and decided that if the brother had it rough, the daughter had it even worse, with actual flames coming out of her body. It looked like someone has just opened her psionic potential just by being traumatized enough. Being the idiot he was, he walked to her, trying to stop her trance.
The blast made him hit the former statue in the middle of the area.
He was in a wreck.
Multiple contacts were nearby. He couldn't figure out if they were humans or X-rays. The invisible cloak seemed to partially cover them from eyesight, but the shimmering like water, the reflected light, the smell of rotten flesh and the murdering intentions revealed their poz, making them still visible and easy to kill. Still, those things were nightmares made physical form. He thought that electric Faceless-Cryssalids hybrid from his last dream were crazy enough.
One of them screamed at him, shouting some ancient language and then pointed at him. It doesn't take a genius to see that they wanted him dead. He aimed his assault rifle and killed the leader with a well place shot to the head, and incapacitated the other two with a body shot. They didn't wear proper body armor, and they squirmed in agony as a result. At least these were nightmares that he can kill with ease.
Under his feet, was a woman. A kind woman, a queen, who was caring to her subjects. A mother, who was loving to her children, and a friend, to those who were close enough. Sure, she had her fault, but she deserved to live, not to ended up like this. Why does the benevolent ones have to die first? He is sick of that cliché trope. Life is unfair.
In front of him was a mess of a town. He could say it was based by medieval Japan, he could say that it was colorful, vibrant, with friendly people to boot. Sadly, the attack has turned the town into a battlefield. Rubble, debris, corpses everywhere. In front of him was only X-rays, a similarly-pissed off group of warriors. And one suicidal lobster-like human with a lightning katana. Not the weirdest thing he had witnessed.
He was bleeding. Nothing he couldn't handle, he got worse. His GREMLIN was next to him, patching him up. But he was in the open, no cover will protect him. He wasn't concealed, everyone knew where he was standing. He was in a deathzone. For a moment, he briefly wondered what would kill him first.
His internal bleeding...
The X-rays in front of him...
Or the mad dragon behind him.
A deafening roar woke him up.
He woke up in a small hut. The images were still blurry at best, and messy at worst. He doesn't know where the hell he is first, but as he looks around, he realizes that he is in a small hut in a Resistance camp. He has a small headache, but nothing he can handle. After all, he got shot by magnetic bullets and plasma rays, being in the center of a grenade explosion and being fall down from height before.
...and getting shot by magical arrows.
...and getting stabbed by cursed swords.
...and being actually cursed.
Yeah, it's just a minor pain in the ass in these days for him.
He still doesn't understand what baby did he kill (hell, if he killed any) to deserve that kind of punishment. Because he is sure as hell that he didn't, and the universe just loved to screw him up for shits and giggles.
God knows just how many days, months, or hell, even years or decades after his disappearance from somewhere in Boston City Center, trying his best to support his teammates with doses of nano-spray from his trusted GREMLIN drone, Shocky (some original name, he knew), zapping ADVENT human hybrids and aliens with said drone, and clearing the rest with his trusty Coil Rifle to hack a small laptop containing files relating to the next month's enemy tactical research and the Avatar Project, before falling into a psionic trans-dimensional asshole (actually, it might be a different thing than psionic, given that the color of the portal was blue with taints of purple), giving a 'up yours' to the space-time continuum and...
Well, he had the worst holiday vacation ever.
"Die, Nohrian scum!"
"You are not hurt, right? Tell me you're okay..."
"I AM THE FORGOTTEN DRAGON, THE BETRAYED KING, THE ENTOMBED GOD. IN THE NAME OF THE KING OF VALLA, I SENTENCED YOU TO DEATH!"
Let's just say that his days were never good to begin with.
Stuck inside a different place, a place where people were more... dynastic, a place where technology is thrown into the garbage of bullshit and given the middle finger treatment, and the place where magic (actual magic, not the stage magic stuff) are real, and knighthoods and samurai spirits are still a thing will mess shit a lot for a person that came from a near-polar opposite world, where technology reigns upon anything but nothing, which is also currently in a war against the aliens.
And there was also another incident with being teleported into another different world from the aforementioned place, but that's a story of another day. He doesn't want to talk a lot about it.
It's been a while since he returned home, and a while since his life went upside down, and a long while since he asked himself why does his life has to go oh so wrong. There are things he wishes that he didn't see, and things that he wishes that it went differently. And he wishes that he can still accept that he is far from it, where there are more troubles that he can't deal with that loves to hit him in the head and the ass, and less troubles that he can avoid. Life just loved to fuck him over, isn't it.
The point is, he had seen too much for a person. And his definition of bullshit has changed over the years. But after being a crucial part of overthrowing two dictatorships in one night, and after predicting that his... position will be revealed and shown publicly, he had to act fast and had to leave the place he was in to reunite with his homeworld. The point is, he couldn't get out without making a mess, and there are a lot of people that don't want him leave. All of them are close to him.
He had also predicted that they will catch up with him, but that is also a story for another day. Today, however, is the day where he reunite with his long lost family.
Finally back home.
XCOM.
Well, the plan is simple: When entered the homeworld, track the nearest Resistance-allied camp with working radios and call back to the Avenger, XCOM's mobile headquarters. He got the tracking down a settlement already (he never thought there are so many camps without radios, at least he got something to cover his disappearance when he talks to Central later), and he called the Avenger already. Now, all he can do is wait.
And if he can, lend a hand for the locals. Which is what he is planning to do.
After drowning himself with another bottle.
Now he knows how Central feels. After all, if a man went through what he and CO Bradford saw and done, it wouldn't be far-fetched to see them being alcoholics like this.
And to think, he had never touched a bottle before... that happened. He was like a boy scout before... that happened.
But then, he always think about this, day and night: will they pick up the call, and will they accept him after all that happened?
You already know this, man. They won't. Least we can do is to stay here and help the camp, 'cause they'll think you left and walked away.
No. They'll understand. They always do.
What makes you think that? The fact that you acted like you called them already when you know you didn't, or the fact that you always chickened out when you're about to borrow the radio? C'mon, man. We know you won't do it. And if you won't, will they?
Stop it. If I'm not doing this, then I will, tomorrow.
How many times did we hear this song and dance, huh?
Whatever he is doing at that moment, he stops. Yeah, just how many times did he said the same line to ensure himself that that was not the time? A week? A month? And he thought that they won't forgive him. He'll understand, though, because he basically disappeared after that operation in Boston for God-knows how long. If he doesn't try, how would he will know?
Yeah. Just finish your job, and contact XCOM later. For real, this time.
See, all you need to do is to grow a pair and waltz into the radio room. Let's hope that you won't chicken out, Mike.
Michael Kamui looks at the sickle and the rice plant (imported from Vietnam, because they imported a lot of rice before and during ADVENT administration, even though it's illegal and it's lacking in quality, but you don't have a lot of choice during a war) planning to drop the tool if he isn't busy, fully intending to complete his quotas and to finally return home.
For real, this time.
Princess Corrin of the three kingdoms of Hoshido, Nohr, and now Valla woke up comfortably from her queen-sized bed, her vision of the world was clear as day and night when her eyes opened. She instantly remembered where she is. She is in her castle, gifted by Lilith, her savior.
She firstly didn't find her close friend, Mike, either waking her up with his military alarm clock (also known as hitting two pans together, making unholy sounds of rude awakening), or standing next to her, smugly snark about her missed appointments with important folks that she had to meet up for diplomacy's sake, or other things. She finds it both irritating and funny at the same time.
But she noticed that none of them happened.
She had a keen eye on small details. That is something you would pick up after throwing yourself into war. She proceeds to throw her blanket, fix her hair (usually, Jakob would be the person to do this, but she doesn't see him around, but she doesn't mind), wash her face, and wear her armor. She walks out of her room, and moves toward Mike's room.
What surprises her is that he wasn't there. Maybe he's in the mess hall.
Another short walk downstairs. Gods, why does the castle has to be built that large? She is sure that she hasn't discover half of the castle.
Entering the large hall, she sees her partner, Azura (who makes her shudder just by looking at her), and her maid and butler, Felicia and Jakob, respectively. But no sights of her person of interest.
Both her servant immediately bow to her.
"Hello, Corri- I mean, milady"
"Good morning, milady. Did you have a nice sleep?"
She sighs. "Again? Oh gods," She never keep counts on how many times they address her like she's their god. "You do know that I would prefer it if you just consider me as your friend, right?"
The two servant immediately stop preparing for another high-class reply, and Felicia starts blushing furiously.
"I-I'm so sorry! I forgot about it! I didn't mean to offend you, Corrin!"
The butler, however, remains unfazed. "I believe that you should hold the title. After all, as princess of the Hoshido and Nohr, and as queen of Valla, a high title, for me, is mandatory."
"Seriously?" Well, she is the queen of Valla, but between the completely destroyed landscape that she can see back in the old Valla, and the fact that with tension between the two other kingdoms is still high, even when both sides agreed to hold hostilities. Word has it, there is a fraction of the Nohrian Army, which has a huge bigoted view towards the other country, that has cut themselves off the kingdom, and gained a surprisingly huge support to boot. It didn't help it that the new king of Nohr decided to execute every single nationalistic renegades that worked with ex-king Garon, who wanted to destroy both nations just because his former master told him to. Anyway, thanks to internal complications, the two kingdoms can't give her any acres of land to rebuild her own nation.
Actually, she doesn't mind at all. She knows that she is a warrior, not a ruler. A tactician, not a queen. It is easy to command her troops in battle, but it is another thing to keep her subjects well-fed and happy in life, or to keep other politicians from sinking their claws too deep into her kingdom. She is fine and happy with her lot, as of right now. Less responsibility, more fun with her friends and family.
"Anyway, let's get into other matters right now." She decides to veer the topic back. "Did you see Mike? I didn't see him back in his room."
"Well, I didn't, either. I thought he would be here, or he would have meet you already. But the question is..." Azura suddenly smiles like there's no tomorrow. "Why did you ask about it? Surely you are interested in him, hmm? Are you not interested in me?"
"Whaaaaaaat?! No! I-I'm not - what makes you say that?" The poor princess suddenly starts a good attempt to cover her cheeks with red. "Surely you jest!"
This earns a chuckle from the songstress. She feels like she's entitled to tease Corrin about her life. Her reactions are so adorable. Felicia can't held it but to laugh at her friend's reaction, but stops when she almost drop her tray of tea and food, and Jakob is trying his best to keep a calm face.
Key word being tried.
"Why do you have to torment me like that?! You're like Camilla when she visits us! It's not funny!"
"At least I don't want to bed you every time I see you, dear."
This suddenly makes the half-dragon princess wants to cover herself into her bed again. She doesn't want to remember the time when her dear, overprotecting big sister, who used to be a doting mother figure to her, turned out to be a violently lovestruck woman who is also revealed to be a bisexual, just like her, when the fact that they are not related at all, at least not by blood. Just like her! In fact, she is willing to bet that Camilla becomes bisexual just so she can be closer to Corrin. After the revelation, she shudders to think about it ever again, and refuses to see her with the same light ever again.
"Oh, by the gods, can we just have our breakfast peacefully, please? We'll deal with Mike later, I think he's doing something on his own now, and we shouldn't be worry about him. Now, let's eat!"
"Aww, why? Did I mention that you want to-"
"Please, just stop already! I thought we were partners, Azura!"
He doesn't know what to do when they find him.
Look at him. His Predator armor, even though he tried his best to maintain it, is now zigzagged with strings, poorly-snitched pieces of clothes, and the remnants of his roll of electrical duct tape that he accidentally carried during that fateful operation. It doesn't help that there isn't any compatible metal for his armor in that place! Seriously, where the hell would you find a metal alloy with a strange ambient magnetic properties, as strong as... well, a fucking tank (what did you expect?), and as light as hell? His Chitin Plate has already destroyed a long time ago, the thing was designed to be disposable, and only made for giving soldiers a month or two in the Infirmary, instead of death.
His uniform is also tattered. He didn't mind it until this time, when he takes a good look at his gear. Tears and cuts are everywhere. The XCOM insignia, hidden from the world by the armor's shoulder protection plates, is worn away. He can see a lot of burn marks and scorches littered from place to place, remembering how did he receive those - mostly because of damn ninjas and mages thought that he wasn't dangerous because he didn't have a sword. At least, they got some well deserved punches or even a neat little bullet per brain.
He looks at his rifle. Goddamn, even when he had to pass a lot of dangers, even when he was being shot/sliced/etc, the damn assault rifle stays defiant toward any kind of damage. He can see some scratches and some bend, especially in the stock, but it's still workable like it was made yesterday, thanks to the alien alloy and the hands of the owner, it stands still, waiting for another kill... if it still has any bullets, which he had spent all on that fight against the mad dragon. Well, at least his pistol still have some spare mags.
How, and more importantly, why the hell did his rifle had a luckier fate than the owner himself?
As he waits around for his extraction, he had to wonder, what was him before all hell came loose over there, and how much of him had died in somewhere in that place, and just who he is right now. He knows that he used to be a boy scout, or something close to it. He knows that he used to be idealistic, used to believed that everything can be solved after the dust has settled, but that all changed during both the Long War and The War of Kingdoms, and he felt that the latter affected him so much in that department. It's one thing to see your teammate nearly lost his/her arm by a plasma beam. It's another to see one died in front of him by some barbaric marauders who was as dumb as a cow, or died by a freak accident, or else. It was even worse when you have to fight the possessed. He was used to kill whatever was mind controlling his buddies before, and after that,...
He doesn't know what part of him is Michael Kamui, XCOM Specialist, or The Butcher of Cheve anymore.
It's still a wonder that Corrin and co. still trusted, and befriended him after all that has happened. A trust so kind, so compassionate, that he later betrayed to get back home.
Goddamn, that part still stung him till this day...
His musing is, once again, cut short, by a group of soldiers. 1 Grenadier, 1 Gunner, 2 Rangers, 1 Assault, 1 Psi Op, 1 Specialist and a Skirmisher (and possibly, the officer), if their guns are any indications.
He can't make out of the body armors, those have some faint blue lines on some parts, but he still can make the X cross on their shoulders. Friendlies. Not to mention that there is a Skirmisher-lookalike leading them. He can't identify their weapons either, because those guns look like the rip-off version of the plasma rifles, with added variants for specific classes. But that means...
Just how long had he been out of the loop?
He doesn't notice the Battle Scanner on his feet. At least it proves that he is not a Faceless.
"Central, this is Menace 3-5. We have found the High Value Target." The synthetic voice of the Skirmisher booms across the desert. "First Lieutenant Micheal Kamui-"
"He's armed!" The Gunner yells, stating the obvious with fear and suspicion.
"It's okay, just hold your fire." Another voice comes, with a thick Russian accent. He thinks it's the Grenadier's voice.
"I don't understand, what the fuck is he doing?"
"Damn, just look at his eyes." And there is a pause. "Somethin' not right. Nhìn mắt thấy lạnh lùng bỏ mẹ..."
"First Lieutenant Michael Kamui, we are with XCOM. We will extract you out, but first, I need you to lay down your weapon." The officer says again, raising his hand towards him, his bullpup lowering. Amateurs. He's dropping his guard. A nice bullet to his brain will be-
Wait, what the fuck? They're here to help him!
"He's not complying." The Assault tenses, possibly after seeing his inner turmoil. His plasma-shotgun thing is rising, still pointing towards him.
"He is shell-shocked, if that is what you say, so just give him a few seconds." The ex-ADVENT gets closer to him. "Hand me your weapon, Lieutenant. We are here to take you home."
Is this it? Is this the time when he finally escapes hell?
Is this the time when he leaves the demons and sins that he made in that hellhole?
Is this a little bit of too easy?
What will happens next? After all, he had been off the grid for fuck-knows how long. He will surely be questioned, sure. Interrogated, yes. Suspected as a Faceless, or an ADVENT spy, true. But it doesn't matter right now.
He can always prove his allegiance. He can prove that he is XCOM first.
He can prove that he is innocent.
He can prove that he can, and will be back at action.
And no matter what happens, things will be better at the end.
...or is it?
He takes a few seconds before lowering the pistol, before dropping it into the sand. The officer quickly catch it before it touches the ground.
"It's over," The tattered Specialist muttered. "Time to go home."
They move to a waiting APC, with a turret on watch. The ADVENT logo has been long eroded, and had been replaced by the familiar cross and three stars. Suddenly, his thoughts of wiping out the rescue team resurfaces, but he quickly drags it down, knowing that he called them to save him. He then takes a long look at the desert, and the image of the three kingdoms starts appearing in the desert, alongside with the skeleton of Las Vegas. Just like his previous thought, he quickly shakes it away, knowing that he will never return back to it again.
"You should know this, Lieutenant." As the Skirmisher drives the car, and with Mike behind him, he says this. "After your disappearance, the entirety of XCOM had tried to find you. And we stumble toward some... things, that makes not sense to us. A while after that, Central Officer Bradford called off the search, and listed you as MIA. He does not believe that you are dead, and surveillance has confirmed that. And then you came back."
The 1st Lieutenant waits for his question. Possibly Where had you gone, or Did you desert XCOM, or else. Instead, the driver seems to understand his turmoil.
"I do not understand why you were gone, but I shall not judge. But I would like to ask you this-"
"How did I survived?"
"Yes, lieutenant. I was wondering about that."
He keeps his head down, as if the gods above are watching him suffer. Did he still retain what was him before Nohr? Of course, no.
Hoshido only made it worse.
He probably lost it in Valla, or even earlier, hence the nickname of The Butcher of Cheve.
So, he can only think of one answer only.
"Who ever said I did..."