White.
Beeping monitors.. the crinkle of fabric fluttering in the wind.. a low buzzing like a huge wasp darting to and from. For the first time in weeks, I feel secure. My back is resting against a cushioned mattress. I don't try opening my eyes at first, just taking in all the gentle sensations of touch. Minus the clammy hand entwined with my own. My thumb twitches on instinct to caress the knuckle. A habit ingrained. It doesn't stir the owner of the hand.
I smack my lips. Throat is ever so dry. I try to lean up, only for that searing pain to return. Right. Back down I go.
Makeshift clinic. The infirmary on the Avenger. Best we can do is a couple of beds, decent equipment and an emergency operating theater somewhere to the left. Curtains frame around each bed, with mine drawn back. Small desk beside me, chair pushed in close to the side of the bed with Klaus slumped into it. His chin just touched his chest, snores leaving him. One leg was cast and prone.
I bring his hand closer, to rest at my stomach, my thumb continues fondly caressing. I let my gaze wander around as coherent thought and my wits return one by one. I got rescued. A few weeks late, but it happened. My mind wants to work overdrive. Did the Warlock manage to pull anything useful from me? How did I get rescued? What has happened in two, nearly three weeks?
Throat's dry. I try lifting my arm to no avail. An inspection reveals it was sealed tight in a white cast. Oh, right. It got broken.
Reluctantly, I wiggle my hand free of Klaus', which inevitably awakens him. He coughs something fierce, straightening up in his seat and palming the socket of his eye roughly to dismiss the last vestiges of sleep. He offers me a tired grin. "Colonel." he addresses with a curt nod.
"At ease, Major." I rasp, voice hoarse. "Once your Colonel has bled all over you, I think we can skip formality whilst I'm out of my stripes."
He chortles a rattling laugh. Never quite fixed that wheezing cough, no matter how many medkits gets pumped into him. " – It's Colonel, too. Actually quite a few promotions since you've been here, but, I'll let you get settled back in, first." His face softens as indeed, he forsakes formality for our old familiarity. "Do you need me to call Dawn?"
"No, no." I'm getting my bearings pretty easily. The Specialist tended to mother hen her patients, much to her detriment, and the last thing I needed was a stressed out doctor flitting about me. The sheer volume of notes on my injury clipped to the end of my bed attested to how much time she spent over me already. I cough and clear my throat. " – You can get me a drink, though. A stiff one."
"Water, then." He pushes away from my bed, hobbling with his crutch somewhere deeper into the infirmary before he returns with a small plastic cup filled with water. He sets it to the side before helping me to sit up. For once, I don't protest to the aid and greedily gulp the cup of water down once I'm able to.
I do have many questions, though. I meet Klaus' gaze easily. Where to start? Probably the one that won't give me a massive headache.
"So, what's scarring?" Good place to begin.
Klaus shrugs at first, leaning over towards the end of the bed to swipe up the notes, flicking through and grumbling something about a doctor's handwriting. He settles on a full body, annotated image, taking a good full two minutes before he's able to decipher Dawn's penmanship. "Don't know why she likes filling in these archaic things. Could've just put it in a data pad -"
"Scars, Webnar."
" – The ones on your neck and jaw are gonna stay." he squints more closely to the text. "Two gunshot-like wounds on your right biceps. One where your left kidney is. That's all. Still looking as beautiful as the day we met."
"Oh shut it, you old dog."
I sink back more comfortably into my bed. It hadn't struck me how tired I actually am. I could sleep a week, but I've spent way too long being unable to move. Part of me wanted to head directly to the training ring. He deposits the notes directly at the end of the bed, but still the lingering questions float in the forefront of my mind. I turn my head towards him and offer Klaus a long, hard stare.
"What in the name of everlasting fuck took you guys so long? Were you taking the fucking scenic route to the facility or were the other priorities?"
Klaus had the decency to look sheepish, fumbling over his words, switching back to his native tongue of German as he often did to avoid answering me. But eventually he knew he had to provide something. "We had zero intelligence on the region you were being held at. The Commander had to get into contact with two separate resistance cells to even know that the facility existed, let alone be it the one you were stationed at. Hell, for the first few days, we thought you were dead, Jane. Central was preparing a military funeral for you until their propaganda machine let slip in dolled up words that they had you. That new Skirmisher helped us out a ton. If it weren't for her, you'd still be there."
Note: Talk to Pleb. In any case, my jaw clenches. "I'm just going to pretend that it was a daring, heroic rescue entirely planned and that the delay was caused by, I don't fucking know. An army of Sectopods terrorizing a small orphanage of dissidents or whatever is getting ADVENT's rocks off these days."
"I suppose that works, seeing as I was the knight in shining armour that swept you off your feet." he cheekily adds, knowing I can't reach over to cuff his ear. I measure him with a suitable glare instead. "Let an old man be romantic for once, Jane."
"You're about as romantic as Gatekeepers are graceful."
He laughs. " - And you love it."
"Twenty one days spent in ADVENT captivity. The Hunter as your interrogator – breaking the streak that his prisoners never leave a facility alive. You defied death." The cold voice pauses. "And yet you return with a fresh recruit for the Skirmishers, information on the three Chosen, inside intel on the ADVENT building you were held at and still keeping our own secrets secure. You are something, Colonel Kelly."
"All in a day's.. er.. twenty one day's work." I don't bother to greet Elena Dragunov and I think she appreciates my frankness. She's never been one for formality and where her loyalties lie were abundantly clear. If Volk says she is to obey, she will. For now. Hardly trustworthy, but in a firefight, she never lets us down. " – I take it you didn't come here to see how I'm healing."
"To the point. I like that." I shiver involuntarily as those words were almost beat for beat how he said it. I ease myself upright to pin her with a look. It makes her brow quirk, but otherwise, she brings no attention to my sudden alertness. A quick look around the clinic shows that Klaus isn't present.
"Once you've been cleared to leave the infirmary, Volk would like to discuss.."
She searches for the right word and it makes her stand-offish look twist into an imitation of a smile. ".. future opportunities with you. Beyond that of merely XCOM."
"Are – is Volk trying to headhunt me from the Commander? Now of all times?"
Elena actually laughs. It's a lot warmer than her outwardly frigid persona would have you believe, and slinks into the chair beside my bed, arms casually reclining over her sprawled legs. "Would it sound better if I said it doesn't happen often? You have skills that will end up underutilized without the proper guiding hand. You withstood three Chosen and never let it slip on any of our ops. You would make an excellent Reaper."
"No." The words leave my lips before I even register them, tone quickly softening upon her seeming so taken aback by my blunt refusal. " – No, I really wouldn't. Rifles aren't my thing. Isolation and winter isn't really my thing either."
I quickly move on before she has a time to rope me further into the pitch; "How, exactly, do you even know what happened to me in there?"
Elena shifted in her seat, appraising me with a hard look for the longest time. But she doesn't bring up about becoming a Reaper again, at least for now. I inwardly thank her being able to sense my discomfort, though no doubt she filed it away as a curiosity for a later date. "The Skirmisher. Pleb, I think she calls herself? She must have explained the entire story at least a dozen times now with how many have come to bug and ask her over bothering you."
"Dawn would mount the heads of those that dared disturb me on the armoury wall." I agree, then add, jokingly, "You risk a lot being here."
She thumps her plated armour. "I was born in the shadows, Colonel. I think I can slip past a middle-aged doctor without detection."
I smirk, but it drops shortly after. " – So, Pleb did join the Skirmishers. Last conversation I had, she was swearing they were traitors and that humans were kracsads, whatever that means. Quite the change of heart she had between the day and a half after our, ah.. argument."
"You would be better off asking her." she shrugs nonchalantly. "Although she and Pratal are fighting it out in the training centre. It is a way Skirmishers bond; learn and trust each other – What are you laughing at?"
I couldn't help myself. My face lit up the second 'Pratal' left her lips. Elena hadn't even noticed, evident by the furrowing of her brow as I struggle to contain my laugh. I fail and snicker under my breath. To her credit, she waits patiently until I finish so I can explain.
"Pratal, huh." Faintly. Ever so faint. There's red in her cheeks as her face colours in realization. "So, in the time I was captured, you're on first name basis with him? Your so called number one enemy? My, oh my, Dragunov. Puts a whole new meaning to the Reaper's idea of eating alien -"
"I have an sixty five percent chance of assassinating you without compromising my position as the Reaper liaison and a seventy two percent chance of shifting that blame to your new friend Pleb," she threatens me, leaning forward in her chair as she does so, voice dropping to a tranquil fury that would put the fear of God into anyone had she been a preacher. "And I like my odds, Colonel."
"I hit right on the money, didn't I, Dragunov."
"Thin ice, Colonel. Thin ice."
I howl with laughter, uncaring as it jiggled my insides painfully. Tears flecked the corner of my eyes and I flick them away with my uninjured hand. I purposefully let an uneasy silence sit between us before I innocently pipe up; "How.. alien is it down there?"
She looked ready to murder me. Instead, she exhales slowly, understanding that I was just trying to get a crass rise out of her for disturbing my peace and quiet. Serves her right. " – If you want to find out, there are men under Betos' command that have admired, quite openly, your prowess in battle, more so now with this recent event. You can sate your curiosity with one of them."
"I think I'll pass." I simper. "Unlike some of our soldiers, I'll never be able to see an alien in such a way."
She rose from her seat, all billowing black trench coat and air of loneliness that reminded me too starkly of someone else. Honestly, despite my teasing, I'm glad that Elena is seeing someone. She wouldn't have to brave the long hunts alone. She'll be safe.
"Recover swiftly, Colonel." were her parting words before she left me to silence once again.
".. and that's when I told him to fuck off. Right in his face. In front of his priests. Boy didn't like that."
The gathered crowd of rookies broke into excited murmurings as I finish wrapping up the portion of the tale that involved the Warlock. Some people might like to say it's childish, exchanging such a horrifying event like this – but I had to do my part to build morale. Keep people's faith up and shake their fear of ADVENT or the Chosen. Seeing someone in the flesh that survived, and came out unscathed and in good humour would set them in high spirits.
Dawn saw the benefit of that on the fifth day of recovery, finally relenting to let me have visitors. They swarmed by the dozen. They're.. okay. It's bad to think of them like this. But they're my family, god damn it. They're all I have left.
A rookie whose yet to rank her specialty – Daniella Dudek, if I recall – finishes carving a crude image of a Sectoid's head mounted on a pike at the base of my arm's cast. Comical X's over the eyes. Other such decal were the proud letters of VIGILO CONFIDO, our coat of arms, and several signatures. Jill popped by and signed it with her cursive, neatly looped callsign, right next to Jowah's god-awful fly scrawl. Judge and The Truth, side by side. Klaus, naturally, adorned my cast with a beautiful rendition of a bikini babe with my likeness, scars and all. Even Central put his initials on the inside, just to show his good faith.
"Weren't you scared?" Another rookie – Djordje Antic, 17, a whiz kid with a computer – piped up from the back. Probably someone whose never seen a Chosen outside the shadowed propaganda ADVENT broadcasts; where they stand like children of gods watching over them all. Less benevolent, more unnerving, I find. "The denmother in New Arctic told me about how he can raise zombies."
"Shit, boy, of course I was scared." I say, as if it would be common. Normalize that having a fear was okay. I stand by my eulogy. "If I didn't have my dignity, I'm pretty sure I'd be pissing myself. But that's the key, you know? I faced it. Despite the fact I was scared. I faced it – and anyone else here can, too."
I spot a figure hanging by the doorway of the infirmary, more than easily filling the small frame, despite her own short stature. I make a vague gesture at the small crowd around me.
"Alright, you've all had your fill of the story, now get back to training before Central chews me out. Mission could start at any moment, don't get complacent." I was met with a chorus of rapport of varying types as they shuffled and fanned out away from my bed. Good kids, the rookies. Some of them were barely sixteen. All of them had losses.
As they left, the figure approached. I eye Pleb warily as she sits in the unoccupied chair. Her lip's busted, but she looks so alive. Not so jerky in her movements and her skin sheens with sweat. Another session with Mox, likely.
"This ritual marking at the site of your injury. A thing of.. pride." She traces the crude drawings and neat signatures burned into the plaster of my cast. Mesmerized by it – able to interpret the meaning in a way I'm not capable of. "... Beserkers and Mutons do this as well. They look on their injuries as a proud endeavor. It establishes their dominance over the fresher faces; gives them individuality."
"Thankfully, in human culture, we're not required to break our arms or mutilate ourselves to stand out." I muse. But in the same, musing breath, I exhaustively sag and mutter; "Pleb. I. I really don't know where to begin."
That without her seeing the reason beyond my pitifully shit choice of words at the time, I wouldn't have been rescued? That I'd be laying dead in some dingy room at the Hunter's behest? Or strapped to a chair spilling all of XCOM's secrets and killing thousands, including those of my family, my friends – perhaps even the Commander?
"That is understandable, Colonel." It's strange hearing her, of all people, fall to a formality she didn't have to follow. "I am still very much trying to figure out where I should.. 'begin', as myself. Humans are.. born, I am told. You come into this world as an infant. I was activated as a grown adult of peak physical age with only the pre-built knowledge required to service the Elders."
Humbling.
She picks at the frayed cloth edge of the bed, hands unable to remain still. I can tell she's trying to control it, though. "I do not think I entirely trust the Skirmishers, much less XCOM.. yet they stand united to fight a common goal. One that I find myself sharing, too. I did think about what you said, about being my own person as well. The idea you planted the moment you gifted me my own name."
I wince. Do I tell her that I meant 'Pleb' as an insult, at the time? No, best not.
"There are others like me." She tilts her head curiously, and I'm struck with the image of a pug doing the same. " – Within the Skirmishers. I feel a sense of kinship with them that I should have had. Stun Lancers do not work alone – Beserkers and Mutons never do. They rove in packs."
I think on my so called progress with her during the time in the facility and I slowly come to some conclusions. "So, between a combination of dud programming, rushed activation, and a primal, instinctual yearning, it allowed you to subvert the psionic network and make your own choices. Correct?"
"Major Mox seemed to think so when I tell him my thoughts." she shrugs and I'm proud to see it looks entirely natural, now. One human gesture nailed, thousands to go. "I think back to the soldiers still stationed in that facility. How many of them serve, not all so blissfully if they too thought as I had. It strives me not to squander the opportunity I'm given."
"I wish there was a way to thank you, Pleb. I'd be dead, otherwise. No two ways about that."
"I was tasked to ensure your safety." She smiles in the way of a human that's just discovered how to do so for the first time. It's warm, doesn't look at all like what it's supposed to but you get the sense of it anyway – and pure, untouched by the horrors of the world or the stress of living. It reminds me how the pre-invasion folk used to smile. Made all the more endearing by her puffy lip. ".. and I preferred that directive over what was the prime."
"I'm glad." I say, so I don't just leave silence in my wake, trying not to let myself look so affected by such a simple thing as her smile – perhaps her first, that wasn't induced by all the battle steroids and other stimulants pumped into soldiers of her kind. Something about it.. My lips purse. " – You should return to training, Pleb."
She blinks. I can only wonder what she's thinking. " .. Yes, perhaps I should."
" … which is why I think we should plan to assault the Chosen Warlock's stronghold as our next course of action over the next few months, Commander. The fact I can't give you an answer as to if he managed to gain information or not doesn't sit well for me. He hasn't acted on it yet if he has it, but that doesn't mean he won't or is clueless." I chew on the inside of my cheek.
I shouldn't really be up and about. The Commander knows this. But I also couldn't lie there in recovery like nothing was wrong when I still had no fucking clue what happened during that mental block. It freaked me out enough that I clamored out of the bay in the dead of night, hobbled my way to our Commander's office in nothing but some casual clothes. They understood the urgency, if an attack was imminent.
"To many uncertainties. I don't like it either, Kelly." In the shadow of the Commander's office, chair tilted towards the darkness as only the light of a data pad illuminates their face with alien language, encryption and God-knows what else, our Commander might've been an intimidating figure. But after the shit I've been through, I think they'd have to step it up a notch. "The Templars sent the latest intelligence packet regarding him, to help us better understand what we're up against."
"You don't sound happy."
The pad slams and slides across the desk. I admit, I jumped at the suddenness. My gaze flicks across it before a barely concealed sneer tries to work across my face. Redacted. Ninety percent of it was redacted. We're in the middle of a secret war and the Templar leader tries something like this? "Is Geist having a fucking laugh? Excuse my language."
"At ease," they forgave. "Geist believes that I am mismanaging our Templar asset because of my hesitance deploying her. It's not like him to be petty. His faith in XCOM is wavering and he isn't willing to sacrifice sensitive information. Especially if he's deeming it too close to revealing something about psionics he doesn't want to be common knowledge. Uniting the Reapers and the Skirmishers under one banner was one thing, but the Templars are determined to be independent. Like they trying to handle some threat we're not aware of."
"So we need to raise influence with them," I say, more to myself than to the Commander. "Are there any ops they're struggling with that we can assist?"
"He may be willing to have some of our finest help his paladins protect the havens sworn under his care. If we can gain rapport that way, he just might let us help him with the problem of the Warlock." I hear the scratch of stubble as the Commander no doubt rubs their chin thoughtfully. Bouncing ideas back off someone like a springboard was useful. I liked this position I had with the Commander. "It'll be something to discuss at the next meeting of the Resistance Ring."
I can feel the Commander's eyes bore into me. Perhaps twenty one days ago, I'd have to resist the urge to correct my slumped, informal posture as I go over the pitiful intel packet that Geist supplied. Now, I'm pensive. Brows knitted and more than a little exertion shown on my face because damn, my side is fucking killing me.
"Commander, I would like to volunteer to assist in any covert operations with the Templars. I think I can really bond with them. I already have decent cohesion with Feng – "
"You can barely stand as of right now, Kelly." they point out. My knuckles whiten under the pressure of my grip on the table to keep me upright.
"With all. Due. Respect," I emphasized each word with gritted teeth. "The Templars need someone whose down to earth enough to yank them back into fucking reality, sir. I know what waits for them at the end of the road. The Warlock's living proof. You send one of the rookies, or lower ranks, Geist will be insulted. You send someone like Klaus – you know he'll say the wrong thing."
The Commander turns towards me, and I see the tiredness in their eyes. Bags under them. Bloodshot and weary. Their age is really starting to show. A soft chuckle rumbles under their breath, finding humour in something I wasn't privy to.
"I didn't think I'd hear you of all people vying to work with the Templars." They admit. "I believed Volk would have poached you from my service long before we'd even have this discussion."
"I think I should get a little credit, sir," I jut out my chin. " – I didn't rescue your ass just so I could abandon it at a later date."
"Don't let Bradford hear you, he'll have your stripes before you even step outside my office."
I didn't mention the fact that the Hunter had entirely soiled my perception of the Reapers, enough that it put off any aspiration I had of actually training with them. In a perfect world, maybe I would have transferred, once I knew there was an adequate soldier filling in my role as field command before taking off to help the resistance in other areas. XCOM was our greatest chance, but I felt like I could help elsewhere, too.
"I'll discuss the necessary information and matters of transfer with Geist at the meeting. In the meantime, recover well."
As it turned out, the small video feed did not do the Templar leader any justice when I met him in person.
I couldn't shake the idea that, perhaps with a set of hair, he might've been what the Warlock would've looked when human. A strong jaw, broad shoulders and a preternaturally sculpted, handsome face. He easily towered over me, but unlike the Chosen's maddening depths of power in his eyes, they were a muted lilac. One, his right, was clouded with a film – glaucoma – and rippling veins pumping full of purple energy criss-crossed his exposed biceps and flowed into the gauntlets fastened to his wrists. The veins traveled upwards still, creeping up his neck like ivy and spiraling at the back of his shaved head in an intricate, alien pattern.
"Colonel Kelly." Geist greets softly – always softly. I don't think I've ever heard it raise anything above an acceptable indoor voice. It was the kind that rolled on the waves of a shepherd herding his flock. Formality made me accept his extended hand, and I tried not to flinch as I felt the raw power that flowed within him. I guess after the Warlock messed around in my mind, it boosted my perception and susceptibility.
"Prophet." I saw the flicker of brief surprise. Yeah, you bet your ass I studied your Order's hierarchy and correct term of address. I can thank Feng for the crash course.
"Welcome to our sacred temple. Were these not such trying times, I would have more than happily offered a tour and allowed you as long as you like to adjust to our lifestyle." I doubt that, but I find myself being hooked onto his words nonetheless. He could read a data pad registry and I'd listen to him for hours. That – isn't normal. I shake myself out of it as he gently takes me by the elbow to lead onward. Like I'd wander into the wrong room, or something. I try to ignore the static, latent energy that migrated from his fingertips to my skin.
"If I may be so frank, Prophet, I would much prefer to get down to business." We enter through a set of doors to what looked to be a makeshift war room. Braziers stood at the corners of the room to provide a ghoulish, purple light, and a few yellow-clad knights stood. They bowed their head in reverence when Geist entered – eerily exact to how the Priests proffer respect to the Warlock. I clear my throat. " – You and your men are not military geniuses. By just glancing at the map, I can spot fifteen flaws already …"
I trail off as it seems Geist had no interest in discussing tactics. He cocks his head towards his followers. "Leave us," he orders, proving that you didn't need to shout in order to command. They obey without question and I slip my elbow out of his grip. Soldier's instinct had my alarm raised, but context forced it to quietened down. He settles his attention to me. "Whilst I will take your suggestions to our defenses into account, Colonel, my interest in you is not strictly military."
My hand immediately strays towards the combat knife hidden within my back pocket.
He continues; " – Even now, I can sense the lingering energy of the Warlock's touch. This.. Chosen's" the way he hissed that word, like he had just excommunicated him for eternal damnation sent shivers up my spine. "Existence defiles everything we stand for and learn. I wish only to return what he has stolen from the Earth and you are a stepping stone towards that."
I blink, my hand stalling. "I am?"
"I believe, with your consent, I can lift the shackles he has put on your mind. With it, we can determine his course of action from what is intriguing enough to have him leave such a lasting imprint of energy, either intentionally or not."
Not what I was expecting, but my curiosity heightens. I didn't bother asking him how he knew about it – if the Warlock is as powerful as they claim psionically, then Geist likely could sense it a mile away. I could be rid of that damn annoying mental block that just hits me with a headache every time I think on it. I can see the benefits of it. ".. And the catch is I'm going to sprout psionic tentacles, aren't I."
He smiles and it's perhaps more chilling than the Hunter's mad grin. It lulled a false security that I did not like in the slightest. He was like a.. a.. walking venus fly trap. All endearing and alluring and just waiting for the moment to snap shut. "I shall attend to this personally and I promise, the worst you will feel is nothing more than a static shock at best. You will be perfectly safe in my hands." He gestures to the table. "Shall we proceed?"
I find it very hard to say no to him. Even though a good chunk of me was screaming to raise more questions, the atmosphere he set was ethereal. I'm not saying he's using his psionic powers to enhance his already flawless charisma … but I'm not denying it either. He leads me by the small of my back towards the chairs, holding out one for me. I descend into it as he brings another closer to me – close enough that when he sat, our knees almost knocked together.
I watch him warily as he neatly undoes his gauntlets, letting the conduits for his energy fall with loud thumps on the table. He peels back the black gloves to reveal a worker's hands. Rough, calloused, with the difference of psionic energy in place of blue veins. Out of instinct, I pull my head away when they approach my face.
"This will be go more smoothly if you lower your guard, Colonel." Damn his.. power of suggestions. My muscles relax. One palm came to rest, thankfully, over my clear cheek, whilst his other moved upwards to push under my fringe and rest at my forehead. I close my eyes and try to think calming, relaxing thoughts as his psionics cast a hellish purple light in the room, overpowering the braziers that snuff out.
The energy is.. different than the Warlock's. It's... whilst the Chosen was no doubt a being of so much power, it often overpowered his mastery of such a thing. Geist, though lacking in raw strength, made up for in finesse that knew how to control what he could work with. Not to dampen the Warlock's skill or danger – but sometimes a fusebox shorts when there's more power than it can control.
The pain was like a dull headache in the back of my mind, or a sting behind my eyes, until I gasp sharply when he attacks the mental block. The repressed images flood to the forefront, and I'm assaulted with visions of fire, and death, and fire – and fire. And fire. So much fucking fire –
An image through the flames. The Chilean haven – wreathed in flames. That's – that's how he hid it! He.. he used my fucking phobia to –
There was no longer any doubt in my mind. The Warlock knew where the newly built Haven was located and with their minimal defenses, they were susceptible to an attack at any moment. The.. flames were dying down. Something was tugging on me. Or something within me and I risk opening my eyes.
Geist was glowing.
His eyes, now uncannily alight from the use of his psionics, watched me like a hawk. His hands were drawing back, pulling all of the lingering energy away from me, siphoning it. I was awestruck through the entire process of him gathering this.. power. It looked darker than the muted, washed out colours of his purples – more primal. Raw. He twisted it, draining it of it's essence and inhaled deeply as he absorbed the power.
I don't claim to understand what the fuck just happened, but I can say one thing: A sledgehammer hit my head.
Not literally, thank God. I cradle my head with a huge groan once he ends the meld. Duty drove me to suck it up as I hobble over towards the radio communication station to get a direct line to HQ.
Bradford's dour face popped up on screen almost immediately as I contacted him, though his features softened when he saw it was me. " – Colonel? You look unwell."
"The Chilean haven is in danger, Central." I triage my words carefully, getting straight to the point. "I have confirmation that the Warlock knows of it's existence and location. His assault to it is likely imminent. They haven't had time to set up defenses, so I advise the Commander to send a – "
"Belay that." Geist filtered into frame and his still-glowing psionics overexposed the crappy video feed and sent only static images that glitch in spits and spats. His face couldn't be seen in the camera, but I could see it. See the greed. The afterthought of desire to the power he'd just had a taste of. "My Templars and I will bastion this haven of XCOM's."
His hand rests on my shoulder and I nearly jump a mile high at the burn. " .. as a show of.. good faith, between our new union."
Central's jaw slackens for a moment before professionalism sweeps in to right him. "New union? Is this your official word, Geist? You're finally joining with us? It's hard to tell - your line isn't particularly stable." XO's eyes drift to me and we share a conversation entirely from eye-contact, which was a feat, considering how bad our line was. We both, at least, feel the same disbelief.
"You sound so surprised." Geist notes. "We will speak more on the details at a later date. For now, I must prepare for travel. Out."
The feed cuts and Geist pulls away from me, aiming to fasten the gauntlets back onto his wrist. A muscle in my neck twitches as I can see through this ruse. How obvious can he be? I follow him as he doesn't bother to address me. So much for being the 'stepping stone.' – had he got what he wanted?
"You're cynical for a prophet." That got him to pause. "I know it's just a front. Defending the Haven, joining XCOM? You're not even trying to hide the fact you're only interested in helping them because the Warlock may turn up to annihilate it. So you can have another chance at getting that power for yourself."
He cants his head towards me. "Colonel Kelly. If I did not know any better, that would sound like you were accusing my intentions as being anything less than pure. I value the safety of our true citizens above all else. After all, if I were to destroy the Warlock then and there, does that not benefit mankind? If I am to gain more power, does that not too, benefit man? I am nothing but a beacon of safety for our people."
Arrogance. I think, what I hate most of all, is that I am not surprised. Reapers – Templars. They're no different than the beasts of their burdens. Even the Skirmishers lamented how disposable they have been, how nothing they were, much like the Assassin contemplated her emptiness. In the end, she was right, wasn't she.
We weren't all that different.
A/N: .. and that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed the story whilst it lasted. Sorry this chapter is so long, but the only part I could really cut out would be the Templar portion, and I feel like this chapter's length is perfect for a finale. Thanks to all who gave this a read! Look out for future XCOM related projects, one may already be in the making..
