The rumors had spread throughout the rest of the ship once the sun went down. Whispering huddles of techies and engineers became a common sight throughout the Avenger, each of them speculating on this or that theory concerning the Commander's absence. Some claimed that she'd been transformed into an alien and had to be put down. Another joker said that she had "ascended to godhood", and was prepared to bring fire and brimstone in a new Apocalypse.
None of the troops were bothered by this news. It didn't really concern any of them. They were hired guns, not professional mourners. They were also preoccupied with their own bodies to bury.
The ceremony occurred in the bar, with a grand attendance of three: Mrs. Sycamore, Petrov, and Matilda. Mrs. Sycamore and Matilda each carried a photo of one of the Rivera twins, while Petrov held onto a crumpled snapshot of Mutt.
Petrov inserted the photograph into one of the steel memorial frames. It didn't help that Mutt was staring right back at him, flashing that feel-good grin of his. Petrov, although he would never admit it out loud, had been an addict for those moments, and now he'd lost his fix.
"Ya po tebe skuchayu," Petrov said. He pressed a hand against what was left of his friend.
Mrs. Sycamore and Matilda repeated the process, placing the pictures of the Rivera twins next to Mutt's. Unlike Mutt's, these were clean and crisp ID photos, the ones that every soldier took upon recruitment into XCOM.
The two photos seemed more appropriate on a mantel or in a bedroom. Matilda could see Miguel's arm lurking in the background of Patricia's photo, with two fingers pointing above her messy hair. The man's own face, mischievous and sly, seemed to confirm that fact. Patricia seemed to be ignoring him, opting to gaze at the camera and smile her heart out.
They topped the rest of the funeral off with a few drinks. Mrs. Sycamore declined, and left early. It was only after a few dozen glasses when somebody spoke up.
"Where's the cat girl?" Petrov asked.
"In her room," Matilda said.
"Why wasn't she here?" Petrov said.
"She's distraught," Matilda replied.
Petrov crossed his arms. "Better be," he said.
Matilda glared at him over her drink, but said nothing. Instead, she tapped at her own glass, gazing into the clear liquid within. It swirled and sloshed, like a cup full of tears. Matilda drank it without hesitation.
"I'm leaving," she declared after a while. She slid her glass over to Petrov and left the bar.
Mrs. Sycamore had found Zip curled up in her bunk. The Chinese girl's face was buried in a pillow. Her brown cat ears poked up from a sea of messy, jet black hair.
"You all right, dear?" Mrs. Sycamore said.
Zip looked up from her pillow and sniffed a bit. Her face was smooth and straight, a porcelain doll's, notwithstanding her red eyes and tear stained cheeks. Mrs. Sycamore had to stifle a laugh. It was like looking at her teenage self, coming home drenched in tears and sweat after her first romantic failure.
"Yup," Zip said.
Mrs. Sycamore sat on Zip's bed. "Dear, I've had five children. And they're all better liars than you are."
Zip pouted, but allowed Mrs. Sycamore to intrude.
"Whenever you're ready to talk, dear," Mrs. Sycamore said. "I'll be ready."
The two of them were quiet for a bit of time, surrounded by a silence that was punctuated every now and then by sniffles.
"I wanna leave," Zip said at last.
"Any reason why?" Mrs. Sycamore asked.
"I touched the stupid lamppost!" Zip said, rolling back into her bed. "And – and Mutt's dead. And Barry's sick!"
"I see," Mrs. Sycamore said, serene. "So you made a mistake."
"I can't make mistakes!" Zip said. "Never!"
"You're asking the impossible, dear," Mrs. Sycamore said. "In all my years, I've never seen a single –"
"I can't!" Zip repeated. "It's never good! Mistakes put me in the club! Mistakes got me punished by the bosses! Mistakes killed Mutt!"
She turned and looked straight at Mrs. Sycamore, her red-rimmed eyes blazing with otherworldly fury.
"I don't want anyone hurt!" she said, collapsing into Mrs. Sycamore's body. The old woman felt hot tears drip against her lap, while the girl's body shook.
Mrs. Sycamore couldn't think of anything to say. It was better not to say anything, really. She only stroked the girl's hair and patted her back. She closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer for better days.
Claymore coughed up a wad of coagulated elerium dust and saliva into her napkin, leaving a glowing yellow smear against the white cloth.
"And that's why I'm Commander now," she said. She folded up the napkin and tossed it into a trashcan. It had already been two days since she'd been promoted. Three since Gatecrasher.
Barry nodded as best as he could from his makeshift harness.
"So they had a big party, eh?" Barry said.
"Sort of," Claymore said. "More like I walked on the bridge on day, set off a jewelry store's worth of alarms, and became Supreme Head of the XCOM Project."
"You kinda were before," Barry pointed out.
"Sure," Claymore said. "But it's for real this time. I have to sit here, cooped up in this ship, and give everyone their marching orders. And I mean everyone."
"Even the janitor?" Barry said.
"We don't have a janitor," Claymore said.
"Well, fuck," Barry said. "So I was supposed to use those trash things?"
"Obviously," Claymore said. The two of them chuckled – low, murmuring things devoid of sincerity. Each weak for its own reasons.
"Sorry if I'm annoying you," Claymore said. "I mean, I know I'm the 'great leader' of XCOM or some shit like that, but I'm not going to try to throw my weight around. You can be honest with me."
"You're fine, miss," Barry said. "Almost – what's the world? 'Fetching.'"
"You reading a dictionary in your spare time?"
Barry waved a hand and snorted. "Nah, it's just a word I heard before. Y'know, from Mutt…"
He trailed off. His face grew longer, stretching out his features little by little.
"Yeah," Barry muttered. "That was a long time ago."
He and Claymore looked down at the cracked, tiled floors. For Claymore, it was the first time she saw Barry look like this. Subdued, beaten down. Even inside this "hospital", he'd still been happy, for lack of a better word. Happy, even when the only things they had to treat his plasma wound with were a roll of gauze, a needle, and a scratched up bag filled with morphine.
Now? Well, now he looked like a crumpled piece of paper, kicked into the dirt and covered in sneaker tracks and dog piss.
"Claymore?" Barry asked.
Claymore looked up.
"How did you meet him?" Barry asked. "My boss."
"Huh," Claymore said. She leaned back and ran a hand through her red hair. "Now that one was a long-ass time ago.
"I definitely was hitchhiking," she continued. "Ten years after Unification. Got ambushed a week after I hit Europe – trucks, guns, the usual threats, yadda yadda. I was high as a fucking cloud that time, so I killed a good number of them. All of them, I think."
"Shit," Barry said. He grinned, just a little bit.
"Yep," Claymore said, happy for a reaction. "But the problem with being that high off your ass is that you hit the ground pretty hard. After falling unconscious, I woke up in that bunker you all used to live in. Mutt had found me and offered me a place in your little gang."
"I'm guessing you said no," Barry said.
"Sort of," Claymore said. "I said no, but I do try to repay debts. And I figured, well, this Mutt person hasn't raped or killed me yet. And he saved my ass from getting raped and/or killed. So I decided to help you out with some handy intel. Jobs to do, places to hit, things to steal."
"That was you?" Barry exclaimed. "You're the guy Mutt got all his info from?"
"Pretty much," Claymore said. "He was polite. Tried playing the romantic like he was in a shitty soap opera. But his heart was in everything he did – taking care of you two, having fun, whatever. Not the person I expected in the asscrack of the world."
Barry was smiling by now, his head nodding as if he was listening to an addictive pop song.
"Nice," he said.
"Yeah," Claymore agreed. "He was nice." She sniffed, her nose suddenly clogged. The rims of her eyes felt wet.
She shook her head, and reached out. Barry's eyes widened as she grabbed one of his arms and held it against her head.
"I'm sorry," Claymore said. "Jesus Christ, I am."
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears didn't fall.
"Hey, hey!"
Claymore looked up. Barry was leaning towards her, as far as his harness would allow. His free hand barely scratched her shoulder.
"Sorry's nice and all," he said.
He tightened his grip around Claymore's hand. His tone hardened, and Claymore saw a malevolent glint in his eyes.
"But if you're serious about making up," he said. "About paying debts? Then you kill every one of those bastards. Those fuckers in Advent and their alien bitches. You kill them all. For Mutt, the twins, hell, even for Shi."
Barry let go.
Claymore stared at him for a moment. She wasn't quite sure that this wasn't the elerium fucking with her.
"Alright," she said at last. "That's a debt I can pay."
Hours later, several things occurred within the Avenger.
Chief Engineer Lily Shen received a large order concerning medical supplies, modified ammunition, explosive ordnance, and guns. She also had approval to begin scouting out some unexplored areas of the Avenger if she could. The whole thing was typed out in a blocky, callous font, and signed to approval by "The Commander".
Dr. Richard Tygan, in the dark confines of his lab, had his scientific inquiries interrupted by a call. Listening to the orders being relayed, he dropped the chip he had been analyzing, and turned his attention to the sound of wheels. Moments later, a cart, with a red-armored body draped across it, was brought in.
There was no grand speech given that day. Instead, every member of the Avenger personnel, from trooper to technician, was given a personal talk with "The Commander". Every one of them came out refreshed and confident.
Claymore felt a tinge of satisfaction over the day's past agenda. She'd successfully fought the tide of emotional and physical exhaustion that had swamped the ship. But was she really prepared to go back into combat again? To take charge and lead orders?
Hell if she knew. But she remembered what Barry said.
She had a debt to pay. Not just to the troops, or XCOM, but to the entire world.