It watched with disdain and fury at the events that had passed. The puppets were failing.
It contemplated its next move with great care. The children were expanding their influence to quickly. Within a galactic cycle they would be able to influence and prevent many species from following the plan any longer.
They needed to be stopped. Nazara's puppets were impotent against the children. Their pointless belief in peace and talk would allow the children too much freedom to grow. More violent puppets would be needed. Tools that would bite and hunt and feed upon the children.
It reached out. Stoking the fires of hatred within those that lived on It's world. Hidden beneath the seas, It's poison touched the minds of those who led. Any desire for peace was removed, orders to cease were ignored. These puppets had failed before, but would obey like the rest. Their skills at killing were needed once again.
This time they would not fail.
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When a person imagines a scientific research laboratory, they imagine many things. Clean white walls. Shining silver machines. Odd tools, glass beakers, and dozens of computers with trailing wires. The laboratory of Kevin Knives was anything but. His walls were stained, the machines were tarnished. The tools impaled into the ruined remains of overclocked computers.
The loss of Shanxi and the creation he had made in retribution haunted the prestigious doctor. His white hair hung in ragged strips from a balding head. Bloodshot eyes gazed unblinkingly at the single remaining monitor in the room.
Dr. Knives kept his eyes on the screen as he injected himself with a combat stimulant, guiding the needle with peripheral vision. "Just one more... Only one more..." he muttered to himself, gently rocking back and forth. It had been just under a week from the 'Invictus Outbreak' and the good doctor had refused to sleep after watching his creations work.
One-hundred and forty-one years ago his family had fought against the Ethereal monsters and their army. His ancestors had fought, bled and died to defend the human race against the nightmares from the stars. They stopped them with determination, vigilance, and sacrifice.
And he had spit upon that sacrifice.
The Chryssalids were not only his mistake, they were an unforgivable sin. Not only had he brought back a terror from the dark, he had made it stronger as well. The doctor paused from his rapid typing to wipe at his tearing eyes. "Christ forgive me..." he thought to himself, not for the first time and certainly not the last. "If there's a god listening to me, please let me fix this..." he prayed aloud.
The Chryssalid data had already been deleted. The samples, both live and dead, and research notes were all destroyed. The remaining Chryssalids would die out soon enough, their hyper-fast metabolism would kill them within a day without a constant source of digestible bio-mass. Multiple fail-safes had been built into the Chryssalid strain to prevent it from harming humanity. "If I had known how effective they would be, I would have never bothered to tamper with them at all." The doctor bitterly reflected, with true remorse.
The Doctor's plan was put together with the idea that the strike would be on a Turian World, with Turian victims. The purpose of his plan was to slaughter the Turian people and demoralize them. The people of Shanxi had suffered an unsurvivable slaughter, and that's what Knives had planned to give them. In his haste to get revenge, and make up for personal failures he had destroyed the lives of hundreds of millions. Many times the price humanity paid at Shanxi. "An eye for an eye, indeed."
The loss of alien life would be considered terrible by most. The loss at Shanxi had shaken the elder in many ways. Things that he had been taught in life had been brought to question.
After the Ethereal war every capable human was taught to fight. Survival, both wilderness and urban, was taught in schools. Students gained several courses on tactics, weaponry, and defensive skills as a requirement to graduate. Military enlistment was made mandatory. For over a hundred years humans were taught to fear, hate, and kill anything alien.
Over eighty years of life, and the Scientist considered, for the first time, that humanity had been wrong.
The Turians had been a spark, but without the build up of racial hatred for an unseen foe the conflict at Shanxi might not have been the utter disaster it had been. If Saren's half-dead body hadn't been strung up like Christ at the crucifixion then the Turian General would not have given the furious responses he had.
If Humanity had made first contact with any of the Citadel races, rather than wait for a passing patrol to find them, then the Relay incident would have been little more than a filing of paperwork instead of the opening salvo to a intergalactic war.
"If I hadn't tortured the prisoners, and treated them like prisoners-of-war instead of test subjects I wouldn't be responsible for the deaths of ninety million people." Knives thought morosely. "This war will be the death of me..."
Depression, age, and fatigue tormented the old man. Involuntary tremors shook his arms. Side effects of overdosing on the stimulants had already set in. Within the hour his body would tremble as if he were suffering from seizures. A soreness was already setting into the muscles.
The Doctor kept at his work, ignoring the potential health hazards for the potential gain. Weapons, armor, omni-tools and other tech recovered at Shanxi had been brought to Luna, reverse engineered, studied, and replicated within a week. Within two weeks Alliance modified models were being produced and tested. At week three, new upgrades to existing Alliance Infantry technology was being released.
At week four as operation outbreak was underway, more extreme weapons were devised. At week five, the Parameters of Operation Outbreak had been changed, and the Alliance fleet was undergoing a massive overhaul. As Operation Outbreak hit its peak on week six, Knives was proposing more advanced MEC Suits based designs found on Turian Ships.
Then, seven weeks after the loss of Shanxi, the Wolfpack returned with a library's worth of data and their Asari captive.
Combat data on the Chryssalids was horrifying. Not only were they far more capable than they had ever been at the hands of the Ethereal, but they bred and mutated at an unforgivable pace. With every generation of Chryssalid, traits from the previous generation and the victims used to host the newborns became dominate on the Meld-strain abominations. Most mutations were failures, melted or oozing features preventing them from being as much of a threat as their precursors. Some more frightening traits surfaced however. Chryssalids with multiple eyes, vestigial limbs, exoskeletons, even newer strains that would resurrection from what would have killed the other strains.
Several videos from Invictus had appeared painfully familiar to the scientist. It had not been long before he realized how. With growing dread he had retrieved several recordings from the Ethereal war, the Chryssalid terror attacks on South America. The Doctor spent hours watching the same clips with the same traumatizing realization. "I've been continuing the Ethereal's work..." He had thought with loathing and self-contempt.
If it hadn't been for the drain he felt upon his immortal soul at that very moment, Kevin Knives would have taken his life in agonizing despair. Half a day later, the doctor made a new set of plans. He would fix this: End the war, kill any remnants of his creations, and make reparations for what he had done. With obsessive focus, the mad doctor poured himself into new projects and designs, pushing himself beyond his limitations time after time.
He could do no less.
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The monsters were spreading! The chittering, the screaming, the eating! They thought they could escape the burning world, to flee to the stars for refuge!
They had been wrong, so very wrong.
The monsters were getting smarter. They were learning. They hid aboard their ship, stowed away till their hunger forced them to feed. Then they attacked, slaughtering the crew to make more of their kind.
Now only he was left.
He had to scuttle the ship, stop them before they could infest another world! The chittering grew louder as the monsters searched for him in the dark. They sniffed the air, clawed open containers, violently searching.
He felt a monster's claws pierce his chest. Worse than the pain of his looming death, was the pain of knowing that the monsters would spread when the ship inevitably crashed.
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The Alliance council looked over the Invictus Report with disgust, fear, and shock.
Pro-Diplomacy members watched the slaughter of new species with dread, believing that a chance for peace and a sharing of culture with any peaceful alien races would now be impossible. Colonist representatives trembled at the thought of surviving Chryssalids rampaging upon their worlds. Earth representatives sat in their seats, with blank faces carved with granite. Once upon a time, their ancestors suffered from the same fate that they had just unleashed on another world. A weapon they had wholeheartedly approved of under the notion that it would only strike at the species they were at war with.
What was meant to be a demoralizing weapon could very well become the Turian's Alamo. An event that could very well rally the remainder of the Citadel races into a war with humanity should the truth ever be discovered. The Council of Humans was not pleased and they let the XCOM Commander know they were displeased.
"Do you mind telling us why you felt it was necessary to risk Alliance resources and operatives in the field to promote this theory that another species was behind the attack?"
Harper had been grilled for hours over the events of Invictus. Every detail from his choice in operatives to his decision to bring back the Asari. "Honorable council, I admit it was a gamble." Harper explained calmly, standing firm. "During the course of Operation Outbreak the Wolfpack reported that they had adopted disguises to better move within the population. According to their reports, knowledge of Humanity has not spread to the edges of Citadel territory. However, I felt there was no point in risking discovery. "
"When I had learned of the Quarian people from the weekly transfer of data and reports I devised this gamble. If my plan is successful the Citadel government will waste valuable time and resources investigating this disaster. The weapon's test was successful and it seems as if the Turians took the bait are are currently blaming the Quarian people." he stated coldly, "I fail to see the problem."
Several councilors shifted in their seats, others glared. "Our problem is that before, we could have used diplomacy to make peace with other races or at the very least made a non-aggression pact. Permission to use the Chryssalids was provided under the belief that we were attacking the Turians. Not giving the entire galaxy a reason to exterminate us!"
Many Councilors muttered noises of agreement, "Commander Harper, when you learned that Invictus was a colony with other sentient species besides the Turians you should have called off the operatives. Instead you used them to promote a civil war that may instead point every army in the galaxy after us!"
"Councilors, please." Harper cut in, "According to news taken from Invictus before our attack, the Turians are being ordered to stand down at Shanxi by the Counsel and diplomatic parties are being sent to Shanxi to try and make peace with the survivors. The Citadel is reporting to its people to be on the lookout for our refugee fleet. They believe us to be scattered to the stars! They have no reason to believe humanity could be behind this! Most aliens have yet to realize what we look like!" He protested.
"While what you say is true commander, it does not change the fact that what you have allowed will have drastic diplomatic repercussions in the future!" An Earth representative stated, "Unless you intend for our people to spread war throughout the galaxy, at some point we will have to make some form of peace with these species!"
Those trained in even the mildest form of expression reading could recognize the instant of disgust that passed over Jack Harper's face at the thought of peace with anything Alien. "Be that as it may councilors, we are at war right now. The Turians wont back down, their pride as a species and their very culture demands our deaths."
One of the Councilors leaned forward in her seat, glaring at the Commander, "You just told us that their command has told them to stand down. Why would they continue a war their superiors have instructed them to cease? Or are you simply warmongering?" she asked with slight interest.
"Just because the Citadel has commanded them to remove themselves from Shanxi does not mean they aren't still looking for us. If you look in the report you will read that the Inquisitor was sent to infiltrate and steal Turian communications and military information." Harper opened several displays with Turian documents, files, and their translations. "The Turians still intend to fight us. Even now several Turian patrols have been sent to other Relays connected to the Shanxi system in an attempt to find us. They have switched to wartime production and reactivated a large number of troops. They have been forced to leave Shanxi, but there is no doubt they intend to finish us off."
Jack Harper was not thrilled with the less than convinced looks he received from his superiors.
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The collective was in a stalemate. New factors had come into play.
Without proper data, consensus about the new species was impossible. The new species 'Human' showed multiple signs of self-contradiction.
They acted like a militaristic race, yet did not follow established war tactics. Transmissions from Human worlds claimed desires for peace, for war, for genocide, for interbreeding, and for domination. Data suggested that humans were incapable of consensus on multiple levels. The collective were considerably confused as to how any species could be so divided and yet accomplish anything. It was paradoxical.
The collective was aware of the Human's attempt to implicate the creators and the Asari of creating the Invictus situation. Evidence claimed by the survivors was low, limited and easily misunderstood. The collective agreed that the Council-Citadel would take cautionary measures against Creators and Asari. The Collective was also aware that many organics would blame the creators, despite the judgment of Council-Citadel.
An eighty-seven percent chance that the organics would attack and harm the Creators existed. If this occurred the Creators would face extermination.
The Collective had debated for hours. If they stayed in isolation, the Creators would be at risk. However the necessary level of intervention would risk the Collective.
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Morinth was bored, irritated, and sexually frustrated.
The first two problems were from the same cause. The moment the Wolfpack's frigate landed, she and Beltway had been locked in a isolation cell together. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, but the two had been left alone for days. The entire time they had been trapped, her cellmate had spent in a corner. Pointedly ignoring her.
The last problem was entirely Beltway's fault. The cell was small. Two cots, a standard bathroom set with a privacy curtain, and four cameras in each corner of the room. For a normal Asari the urge to mate was no stronger than any other species, it was a genetic drive but could be ignored with discipline or self gratification. As an Ardat-Yakshi the rules were different. It was a constantly growing need, similar to hunger. For years she had hunted hundreds of mates, melded with them, only to be denied a proper release. Then she had melted with Beltway in a moment of desperation. To use a human comparison it was as if she had been dying in the desert, only to find an oasis. The explosive release she had finally achieved from the bomb maker was divine gospel to her body.
Morinth scowled slightly, as her body demanded she take Beltway then and there. The man sat across the room from her with out armor or weapons. His rugged face accentuated by a thin whiskery beard. His arms were muscular but thin. A swimmer's build. The sex crazed Asari was daydreaming about the man as she continued to undress him with her eyes.
Beltway felt every second of her stares, and to his shame it made him feel unsettled and aroused at once.
Morinth's vast assortment of memories had settled in the bomber's head. The results were mixed. On the one hand he had nearly five hundred years of culture and knowledge of the various races in his mind, on the other hand he knew every single sexual experience Morinth had ever had. Beltway's mind was swimming in an ocean of porn. He knew every curve of her body, what got her off, and how to make her beg for more. Your average human male could get turned on with a minor suggestion, thanks to Morinth, Beltway had hit the inter-species porn singularity.
Finally he had had enough with the stalker eyes from his cellmate. "Do you need something?" He asked her with his smart-ass drawl. Morinth's reply was a scream of sexual frustration and leap at the bomber to tear both of their clothes off.
Several XCOM guards watched the resulting video feed with shock, disgust, awe and several shades of jealous blue balls. The Video was recorded and a legend born.
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The Prisoner drifted between the darkness and the blurs. Shades of green and blue swirled around him and his cell. The cold uncaring caress of liquid covered him, covered him.
The Prisoner could hear his jailor outside the liquid. The familiar dull tones of his voice barely pierced into his tiny world.
The wires, pipes, and chains that held him in place twitched as they continued their experiments on him. Knowledge flowed into him, guided by their accursed machines. Drugs and potions entered his war-torn body, forcing new changes upon his atrophying flesh.
The Prisoner was broken in mind, body, and spirit. At one point he had craved freedom, now he would do anything to just die.
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Shanxi had been a paradise, an otherworldly garden of Eden. Every Earth year hundreds of thousands would move to Humanity's frontier world, seeking a new life.
It was now a desolate wasteland covered in the ruins of hundreds of burnt out cites. The bomb scorched remains of millions littered the planet. A chocking cloud hung over the sky, blotting out the sun and casting the land in shadow. Shattered buildings and crashed warships littered the landscape, bleeding fuel into the already tainted soil. Wilting plants struggled to grow in a world that could no longer support them. Poisoned water, stained with blood, flowed over the soot stained streets of a once thriving society.
David Anderson sat in the ruins of an underground railroad, munching on one of the few military grade survival rations his team had left. His left leg was held in a poorly created cast. When the bombs fell they had been two miles away from the nearest evacuation point. Their options had been to duck underground or make a run for it. They took the safer bet, hiding in the metropolis' subways system. Their Prothean Titan armor had been essential for shielding them from the worst of the nuclear fallout. Many Alliance soldiers survived the blast, using their training to save as many civilians as they could.
It hadn't been enough.
The bombs fell, targeting cities, bases, anything that could hold or support any number of humans. Overkill had become the word of the day as the Turian fleet lay waste to everything. The people who couldn't escape huddled in fear underground, many of those who fled underground found themselves pinned or trapped, buried alive. The Fallout and flood of radiation slaughtered most of the remaining civilians within the first day.
After the first week, the Turians landed on Shanxi again, this time searching for surviving technology and humans. Demoralized Alliance soldiers fought with desperation, every Turian encountered was brutally tortured for information. The persistent invaders were then subjected to humanity's ingenuity and talent when it came to killing. Trip mines, burial traps, hit and run raids, if they thought of a way to kill a Turian it was used.
Anderson had been chosen to lead. A position he was very hesitant to take. For weeks the remnants of Shanxi had fought their invaders, both out of spite and need to survive. No word had come from Earth, no sign of the Alliance returning to save them. When the Turians left the planet, it came as a surprise.
No more bombings, no cleaning strikes, nothing.
The remnants let out a collective sigh of relief, they were stuck in a nuclear hell-hole, but they were still alive. Plans to re-establish communications were undergoing when a new report came in from one of the surviving comm stations. A new fleet had entered Shanxi's orbit and was broadcasting to and scanning the planet. Not Turian, Not Alliance. When a dropship was detected Anderson was determined to see who the newcomers were. A squad of six rushed out to observe.
Anderson's eyes were locked onto the ship the moment it entered the remains of the Capital. The vessel was a remodeled Turian design, several places on the hull had obviously been rebuilt with parts from other ships. It moved with more skill than its original design possessed, possibly as a result of it's modifications.
The Vessel landed on the outskirts of the destroyed city. The ship opened up, exposing several turrets and a ramp for the crew to disembark from. From inside, two dozen troops marched out, using debris as cover to take defensive positions. Anderson's trigger finger slipped into position. He had chosen to hide in the remains of a tower, the height advantage worth the risk of a quick demise if his roost collapsed beneath him.
The new Aliens had canine like legs and three fingered hands. Unlike the open yet bulky armors of the avian-like Turians, these newcomers wore tight closed suits. Possibly due to the abundance of radiation. With no obvious threat discovered, the new species called for more of them from inside the dropship. These wore different colored suits, with less visible armor. With them came devices, even to a jar-head they had the look of a scientific device to them.
"Whats the order Captain?" a squaddie asked over the short range comm.
Anderson hesitated. His people were wounded and starving. Already many of them were showing signs of radiation poisoning, even with the minor treatments they could provide. The survivors were low on weapons, ammo, power supplies, and medicine. If the new species could help them, it could mean a new asset against the Turian threat. If this fucked up, and it had a massive chance of that, then the Shanxi remnants were going to die.
"Everyone, stand down." Anderson felt their judging disbelief staring at him, even though none could actually see him. With the speed and grace expected of an XCOM elite David Anderson swiftly jumped, ran, and maneuvered to the bottom floor of the tower, less than thirty yards from the newcomers.
"I'm going to try to talk to our new visitors. We need help, and this is a chance we can't let us slip by if we want to get off this rock." Anderson holstered his rifle, "Also whether this goes belly up or not, someone slap me for this later on."
With the dread filled sensation of having said his last words Anderson approached the landing party, his hands held up in a position of surrender.