A/N: Wellp, twoish years, and we're back from the dead. I'd lost my story notes, and basically dropped it, but a couple of meddler's brought it up, and reminded me of it, and here we are again. The chapter name rather fits I think.

BLAKE

The gunfire had ceased, replaced with the sound of wailing sirens and the roar of the inferno engulfing the warehouses along the river front. Alan looked to his left and right as the battered soldiers doggedly ran on, one foot in front of the other. Though, running might not be the right word. Some limped, while the dead and wounded they'd been able to recover were carried between them. And the wounded far outnumbered the able. With no signs of pursuit he called a halt within a small city park, taking refuge within the concealment of a garden ringed in a large stone fence and radioed for pickup from the Skyranger. No need to transmit coordinates with Big Sky operational.

For the first time since the panicked retreat from the mill, he realized that the British troops were with them as well. While a few able bodied soldiers took up defensive positions around the vulnerable position the remainder set about triaging the wounded. Setting down the girl who'd saved them, he grunted in frustration seeing the injury. A smoking whole had been blown clean through the center of her back and out the front of her chest. Regardless of what she was, she'd have died instantly from the shock alone. Closing her crimson eyes, he moved on to take accountability of the survivors.

"Who do we still have?" he asked, the pain evident in his voice.

"No sign o' Grant, an' Smith n' Kayla are both out, but they should live." Vincent rumbled, his deep voice not betraying his shock at the brutality they'd all witnessed.

"Kern and McCarthy both ate it." He continued, while applying bandages to his wife's wounds. "Sander's an' 'is boys are alright though. They're en route now."

"Make sure they're stable, the Skyranger will be here soon." Blake said as he moved over to the SAS operatives tending to their own wounded.

"I'm Captain Blake" he announced as he approached, purposely withholding his affiliations. "Who's in charge here?"

"That'd be me. Corporal Wilder." Replied one of the troopers, removing his mask and holding out his hand. "Sure glad you yanks came along when you did, those freaks were better prepared than we thought."

"Freaks? You knew you weren't up against humans?" Blake asked, taken aback.

"What? You think we were busting a drug ring or something? Of course we knew. Question is, what are Americans doing operating in England?"

Blake paused for a moment, his mind racing at the implications. If the English were conducting their own operations against the invasion without coordination with XCOM, they lacked faith in the organization.

"Classified. All you need to know is that we have authorization to act across international borders. We'll need to get this mess sorted out. Once our exfil arrives we'll be bringing you with us for debrief and medical attention."

"Suit yourself" Wilder answered candidly. "Orders is orders after all."

"You're coming that easily?"

"Aye, if you wanted us dead, you'd have left us back at the mill. This way at least we might know what the bloody hell is going on."

Seeing the jovial manner, and the stoicism of the troopers before him, Alan couldn't keep from shaking his head as turned back towards his own squad. The brits were some crazy bastards, alright.

NATALIA

Natalia rubbed her temples as the morning's events raced through her mind. Everything had gone wrong, several of her people were dead, the abductees had presumably been killed, a good portion of an English town was on fire, and somehow, one of her pilots had been given false authorization codes to conduct an air strike. There were too many moving pieces here, and none of them made sense. She was missing some piece of this puzzle, and there was very little time to find it. The council was already demanding answers, and threatening to dismantle the project. A missile strike into a densely populated area? How was this going to be justified? And if it was foul play, how could it have been allowed to happen? How lax were their security measures? All these questions and more had already been asked of her following the initial brief with the council. And yet, none of them had been able to answer her one question as to who those British troops at the mill were. It was too convenient, one way or another, they were involved, and hell or high water she would know how. Sighing as she looked down, it took her a few moments to register that she was bleeding. In her frustration she had crushed the glass in her hand, covering her desk in broken shards, and a mixture of blood and alcohol.

"Between my head and my body, at least something knows it's too early to drink." She chuckled to herself as she began cleaning the mess.

SERAS

Seras walked alone along an empty street flanked by nothing but swirling shadows.

"Pip? Haytham? Anyone, can you hear me?" She called out into the darkness, just as the last dozen times though, there was no response.

"What happened? Where am I?" She mused to herself, clasping her arms to her chest, suppressing a shiver.

"Isn't it obvious?"

The voice seemed to come from inside her head, and this was only reinforced as she wheeled around and around, seeing nothing in the inky darkness.

"Who's there? Where are you?" She demanded, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"Come now, Police Girl, I taught you better than that."

"Ma... Master? Master is that you? How is that possible!?"

"Think Police Girl, what are you? Look around. You walk through the shadows, as though they might devour you. You think like a human." The last word ended with a characteristic, disdainful sneer. "Do you need a reminder of what that means?"

"But Master, I don't know what's happening!" She cried into the nothingness, as she saw the street falling away in all directions, leaving her precariously standing on a small circle of light, completely surrounded. She began to breath rapidly, and felt a painful hammering in her chest, something she'd not felt in years. Every where she turned, the darkness got closer, and closer, and she felt smaller and smaller before the void. Suddenly, even her small space grew dim, and shadowy, broken up by small beams of light. She was in a closet, eye level with the doorknob, pressed against coats, and standing on an over turned shoe rack. With an ache in her chest she knew where she was. She was home, on the last day she ever had a home.