A/N: Sooooooo, been a hot minute since I was around, and I know I said I'd be updating every week, buuuut that obviously didn't happen. I appreciate all the reviews and comments, as well as the favorites and follows, and those are the main reason I got myself back into it after so long. Life hit me like a ton of bricks (nothing bad, just uber busy) but I got some more free time now, so should (fingers crossed) update sooner than 3 months apart lol. Enjoy everyone.

Blake

This entire operation was wrong. At least 3 of his people were dead. No, not dead. Mutilated. Ripped limb from limb. Devoured by those things. They dodged bullets. None of this made any sense. Then there was that woman, dressed in red. She killed every one of them with... What even was that? One moment everything went black, like liquid shadows were streaming from her hand, then the next the monsters were dead. There was Smith, shouting at them to move before catching a stray shot. One of the Brits was dragging him by his flak jacket. The Englishmen had their wounded and were running beside them. Vincent was carrying Kayla, but there was so much blood. What am I doing? I should be leading them. But here I am. Lost. The girl. She'd saved them. If it hadn't been for her then they'd all be piles of bloody meat like the rest of his men. They didn't have enough body between them to put in the ground, but something could be done for her. Mechanically he lifted her up over his shoulder, and took off after the rest of those fleeing the mill. He'd dragged 200 pound Marines in full kit out of blazing HMMV's, this girl was maybe as heavy as his hiking pack back home. That's what it was. Facts. Simple rational information. Things he knew were real. Tangible. Not like that. Not like those things. They were nightmares. Creatures out of fantasy, or science fiction. Monsters. He needed concrete things. Something to anchor himself to sanity before he laughed his way straight to the loony bin. With that thought he put one foot in front of the other as he could hear the familiar rumble of the skyranger's engines in the distance.

Natalia

"Commander, the skyrangers have touched down and the extraction is underway. The British forces are pulling out with us. Both forces have sustained heavy casualties, and there are wounded on board." Bradford reported.

"Bring them back Bradford. Watchdog's 1 and 2, fall in to defensive-"

On screen she watched the blip marking Watchdog 1 diving towards the town.

"Watchdog 1, return to escort position." She spoke tersely into the mic. after several seconds there was ne response.

"Watchdog 1, do you copy?" "Pilot, report!"

The command room was silent as it pulled up, a pair of missiles appearing on the tracker heading straight for the mill.

"Authorization code confirmed, package is away command." Came over the radio as a firestorm engulfed the mill and several of the surrounding blocks.

The only sound that could be heard was the headset clattering to the floor as a council message came in on the main channel.

Black King

"This just in, an explosion in the old town district of Cheddar rocks the community as emergency services attempt to control the blaze. Early reports state that 4 blocks surrounding an abandoned mill on the riverside have caught fire following an explosion of unknown origins. Some witnesses report hearing automatic weapons fire in the minutes preceding the explosion, but authorities state that it is too early in the investigation to begin forming theories." The news reporter driveled on for a few more minutes before the television was turned off.

The board room was silent as all eyes were upon him. A dozen sycophants sat around the table, with him at the head. Each of them waited to see a response from him so they could decide the proper way to kiss his ass. He simply drummed his fingers on the oaken table as he looked into the flames dancing in the hearth. He could see the sweat beading their brows. He could see the way they fidgeted. It brought the smallest smile to his lips. He reached down to open his cigar box as he held the end in the fireplace to light it.

"Make preparations to initiate phase 2."

The relief was tangible about the room as those assembled hastily gathered their papers and files and hurried to their assigned tasks. They would need to move quickly. Stukhov was no fool. She was one of the most brilliant military minds in the world. She would be moving quickly to find answers, and he would need to ensure that her own investigations and actions condemned her. One word from the council, and XCOM would belong to him.

Integra

Integra was furious. 3 cigars lay in pieces on the floor of her study, and the contents of her desk lay in a pile to the side. Moments like this were when she missed Walter the most. His steadfast presence through her entire life had been something she relied on so heavily. Moments like this were when she needed Alucard. Her servant who had been at her beck and call since that day she found him in the cursed cellar. Both of them had been stolen away on the same day by that madman's vision. Now, the closest thing she had to a friend was no where to be found, her men were unable to respond to hails, and Cheddar where they had been sent was burning to the ground as she trod back and forth in her office. Looking out her window upon the manor grounds, the moon glowed full and orange over head, casting a foul glow on the English countryside. Something was brewing. Some plot was underway. She could feel it in her bones, deep in the foundation of her soul. Something that would cast aside the horror of the so called "Anglo-American Incident" and bring about an era of blood and terror. For the first time in her life since the day her uncle tried to kill her, she felt it. That which she had banished away the moment Alucard had drank her blood. Even as London had burned around her, and it seemed as though the world would be consumed in the fires of war, she had been stoic. She had been resolute. She trusted in her unbending will, and in the absolute power of Alucard. but now, her heart fluttered. It clawed at her from all sides. It stalked her in every shadow around every corner. The cold, icy grip of fear.