The world had undergone a metamorphosis when the leadership of ADVENT encompassed the globe. Monuments were toppled, tourist trapped cities were razed and language morphed to match their regime. There was no longer called countries, or counties, or even continents – all of it uniformed into quadrants and sectors; patrol zones and restricted ruins. Some of the cities that escaped ADVENT's warrant of death were instead smoked out, leaving the area inhabitable, like a country wide Chernobyl disaster.
Such was the fate of New Zealand, or simply known within the Network as Quarantine-64. For the most part, ADVENT activity was non-existent within these ruins since they first invaded twenty years ago, which made it perfect ground to form a treaty between the elusive Reapers and their long-standing rivals, the Skirmishers. The ruins were said to be abandoned, although Dawn knew that dark, inhabitable areas seldom stay that way for long. Someone or something will find a way to live in it, be it adaption or otherwise.
Wraith-One's team had already been dropped off at the foot of the ruins after Dawn instructed them each to wear respirator masks. It may have been a quarter-life since those devices were said to have been dropped, but the last thing they all needed was an infection they didn't know how to begin to fight. The area was clearly still dangerous in some capacity if ADVENT hadn't swept in to repurpose it.
An open comm-line between the four agents and the bridge of the Avenger had been established which allowed Dawn to catch the tail-end of Elena's explosive response when Bradford finally decided to reveal the name of the Skirmisher's envoy; Pratal Mox. The man she would be meeting very shortly. Her escort, Lukas, looked quite pale once Dragunova detailed just a fraction of the crimes he had made against humanity, let alone ethical morality.
Of course, the factions had to send the two agents whom had a rivalry of biblical proportions – that even went greater than the scope of their splinter's hatred for one another. But that was why they, XCOM, were here. To put an end to it once and for all. They were all oppressed under the same thumb and Central hoped they could turn their animosity away from each other and directly to ADVENT in tandem.
Firebrand's ship began to decelerate once they arrived in the bowels of the mist-shrouded city ruins, the doors peeling back to reveal the sickly, ghastly scene below. It was like straight out of a war film with noxious fumes crawling at street level and putrefying the air a foreboding green. Dilapidated buildings, vacated shops, some even still full of goods that had miraculously survived the fallout, though more often than not it lay broken and degraded on the ground, back into it's contingent parts.
Securing the respirator tightly around the lower half of her face, she checks that Lukas' own mask was also fastened correctly before gathering the ropes in her hand and dropping down to the hazardous wilderness below. It didn't take long for her eyes to be attracted to the dormant, alien device embedded into the pavement with the scattered debris of road around it.
"It looks.. radioactive." Dawn speculates, suddenly wishing that they had access to full body hazmat suits rather than just the masks. But she supposed they could hardly fight efficiently within them. Her GREMLIN, nicknamed CAD-C, spluttered a small sound byte in agreement, displaying a very faint, mostly faded trace of radiation on it's monitor.
Doctor Tygan's voice drifted on the line, likely having came to the same conclusion on board the ship. " – We are detecting a lot of trace elements of unstable radiation both present in the dormant devices and within the biological signals scattered throughout the city. I advise caution."
"You heard him, Wraith-Two. Move slowly." Bradford interjected. Dawn had no issue with taking a paced approach, though unfortunately, it seemed that the occupants of the abandoned city had a different plan in mind. The ground shook and threatened to send them off balance when an explosion rumbled ahead – coupled with the inhuman moans and shrieks of the Lost. " – Contact, get down!"
Lukas ushered the CMT towards the shell of a totaled vehicle to use as cover, rifle muzzle pointed past the back light in anxious watch as the black smoke billowed from around a building's corner. A orange-clad ADVENT soldier emerged from the obstructing fog and he almost shot, had it not been for it's limbs flailing when it was dragged back into the unknown by a grapnel.
"Approach cautiously, Wraith-Two," directed Central. They did as they were instructed, rifles at the ready as they breached past the smoke. Bradford was quick to confirm before they take the soldier standing as a threat.
" – That's our man." He paused. " … Well, our contact, anyway."
Pratal Mox stood impressively imposing, donned in red and white fur-lined power armour. From the autopsies of ADVENT's soldiers that Dawn had assisted Tygan with, she could tell from the degradation of his skin – particularly around the puncture wounds that spread from his jaw to behind his ear – that he must have been fairly 'old' for the life expectancy of their troops. Three, maybe five years at an educated estimation. Grooves and ridges seemed to line around his cranium in ritualistic patterns that they could only guess the significance of.
He stood over the orange-clad trooper, eyes scanning the dying sister with a calm expression. "Kracsad." he grunts without malice. The near-death experience at the hands of the Assassin had instilled a certain humility within Mox. Many painful nights were spent in quiet contemplation of his existence and his freedom.
" – ADVENT 'puppet'," he clarifies as he was aware of the human audience behind him. Kneeling down to the soldier's eye level, he stilled her lolling head so that he may make a clean incision through her chin and access the implant within her.
RECEIVING, PURIFIER_6400131-322A.
CHECK, PRIME DIRECTIVE
PRIME DIRECTIVE: ELIMINATE ALL UNUSABLE GENETIC MATERIAL. REFER TO OFFICER_6400131
RECEIVING, PURIFIER_6400131-322A.
CHECK, SUB DIRECTIVE 1
SUB DIRECTIVE 1: ELIMINATE ALL UNUSABLE GENETIC MATERIAL WITHIN QUARANTINE-64
RECEIVING, PURIFIER_6400131-322A.
CHECK, SUB DIRECTI
! ALERT, UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS !
PROTOCOL CODEX_FIREWALL TERMINATING CONNECTION …
"Sent here to.. cull the Draktan – the Lost." he speaks what he finds. He didn't poke around the Network too long or for any important files, lest he further draw the ire of the Codex firewall, but he did seek out her directive. "Her squad is.. nearby."
He yanks the ripjack out with a sickening sound of flesh and scraped metal. He rose, turning to address the green-faced Lukas and impassive yet steadily disapproving Dawn. If he was deterred or embarrassed by their repulsion, Mox did not show it. "She is free of the imposter Gods. I would do anything if all my kind could say the same, even sit down with your.. Reapers."
"Pratal Mox." murmured Dawn in a way of greeting, her conduct always keeping with the air of a stoic surgeon. Mox unclipped his helmet from his utility belt, masking his hybrid face from their view and stepping forth. His gait was strong like the captain he used to be before becoming Betos' right hand man, taking an unofficial lead of the small fireteam.
"Let us dispense with formalities for now." he suggested. "Every second within this land is a risk of death. I managed to extract a map of the city from my fallen sister's chip. The fastest way through to your designated extraction zone is eastward."
"Confirmed. Proceed onward with Mox, Wraith-Two." filtered in Bradford.
They advanced tentatively but with steady pace through the city ruins, with Mox taking the lead as their guide. The distant wails of things not human resounded throughout; but it wasn't until they were approaching to the eastward pathway did they grow closer and louder. Rifles were raised from their slack position in preparation to fire, though the Skirmisher gave a swift, snappy signal to halt them.
"The … Squad," he announced quietly over the comms, realizing that perhaps 'squad' was an understatement when faced with a towering fuel truck that lay in the path of their extraction. They hunkered down to a position near to the back of the truck, using the brick low walls as cover to watch in horror ADVENT at work.
At least a squadron of six – possibly more – Purifiers swept the street path with their cleansing flame, dousing the shambling Lost with a pure fire that ate through their flesh faster than anything, yet when it seemed entire hordes were purged, more legions came to fill in their place. Several ADVENT Officers stood in rapt attention at the scene, monitoring the work and directing refuelling when necessary.
"That's not a squad," scorned Central. "That's a whole army!"
"Yes," blithely the Skirmisher agreed. "One we do not have time to face. I suggest covering your ears."
"What –" was all the rookie was able to say before Mox aimed his bullpup carefully and shot forth a burst of three. It punctured the tank on the back of the closest Purifier, the volatile fumes hissing out as the heat of the bullet fire irritated whatever gas they used.
The soldier was propelled, thumping on the side of the truck and it was only a matter of time before an almighty explosion that threatened to level the buildings around it rippled throughout the city.
Mox's meddling with the Purifier, alongside the sudden termination of many active agents, did not go unnoticed by the Network. The Codex of which that safeguarded the many layers of information forwarding the hijack to one of their defenses. Namely, the Chosen Assassin. Information popped up on the terminal screen and Fiducia, standing in for Hecate, contacted his master immediately.
Jax-Mon surveyed the data with a critical eye. What business could the Skirmishers have so far from ADVENT controlled areas? The quarantines were a deathtrap for all, infested with useless, hostile living corpses. Her initial thought turned to disruption of redevelopment, but no such plans have been scheduled for the abandoned quadrants. If anything, they were merely containing the situation so it did not spread and threaten the megacities nor the wilderness surrounding it.
It broke routine. She had patterned out their movements, their habits and attacking in such a manner was unheard of for the splinter faction. They had been unusually quiet as of late after she had taken the captain out of commission, but she knew Mox was not their sole officer. Betos, for as much of a pathetic traitor as the Assassin found her to be, was a practical woman. She would not waste even a second in idleness.
Something was happening and the fact she did not know irked her. Thus, she resolved to find out.
She focused her energies and let her psionic power warp her to her chosen destination. The soft hum of terminals and the warmth of the stronghold was replaced with the freezing cold of Wellington's ruins and shrieks of distant Lost. Jax-Mon embraced her power, letting it enshroud her from mortal view.
The first place she investigated was the site of termination of the containment unit. It was not difficult to find in the sprawling devastation. Fire charred the blackened streets strewn with bits of burnt flesh and ashen husks alike. She was regretting having such a keen sense of smell as the pungent odor felt as if it seared her lungs with every inhale.
She drifted in between the hordes of Lost that had gathered at the site, inspecting the area carefully. Some bodies that lay broken at the floor were simply too far away to have been caught in the blast radius. She suspected combat broke out.
Following the trail of bodies, she noticed that they all seemed to lead to an area north of the carnage – her brows furrowed puzzled, as the bodies seemed to.. stop. No further indication that they continued. It was as if the Skirmisher she was hunting simply vanished or flew.
Not out of the realm of possibility. She gripped a hold of a few rungs on a ladder attached to the fire exit of what was once an apartment complex, using it to assist her up towards the roof. Now given a broader scope of the area, she cast her psionics out like a net, trying to catch the signs of life. The Lost may have a biomarker, but they did not have a psionic pulse, as whatever psi-energy they once had has since been reclaimed by the Earth.
There, out in the distance, near the busted old-world monorail. Six signatures. Surprisingly.. bright. Skirmishers, unless they were formerly Priests – Elders forbid! – had such energy suppressed, like a shade thrown over a light. She recognized Mox's, at least, from the familiarity, but the others were new to her.
The conclusions were simple. Either the Skirmisher was among humans, or he was within a squad of five defected Priests. Jax-Mon decided that the former was most likely.
Her speed was unmatched by any human or alien creature alike, bounding through the air, bending through the reeds – but never breaking them – jumping from roof to roof. Never once did she fumble her leap, or miss a step. It didn't take long for her to overlook the monorail in question, taking in the sight of the approaching Reaper agent and Mox. Four humans – XCOM – stood as mediators to their respective sides.
Mox's gait didn't suggest one of a prisoner or of a man about to face death. The Assassin drew closer to the group, slinking over the guard rails and stalking towards the Skirmisher. None of the humans could see through her shroud – and she presumed that neither could the Reaper, without her mask. Her gun, a newer one that lacked the adornments her old sported, rested casually on her shoulder as she approached the rendezvous point, appraising Mox with open contempt.
"So, ADVENT's most brutal field general comes to parley." she sneered. Jax-Mon decided she rather liked this human. Strong, capable warrior – who had already faced her and lived without so much as a scratch. She couldn't let her older brother have his pick of all the best warriors to hunt and leave her with nothing, could she?
"I am no longer that being." Mox answered neutrally, willingly setting aside his animosity he once felt for Outrider for the sake of Betos – and the planet. "I am … free, now."
Elena's face darkened in affronted anger and Jane Kelly, the ranger tasked with being her escort, prepared her shotgun warily. "Taking off that helmet does not change what you are. Reapers have long memories and we do not forgive the thousands you've slaughtered. Vox kracsad."
The insult hit Mox hard and a low growl rumbled in his throat. If her goal was to play to his temper, she would certainly win. Her rifle leveled with him the moment he raised his arm, ripjack and grapnel threateningly at the ready. Jax-Mon couldn't help but feel a shadow of smugness that her assessment of humanity was correct. There was almost no need for her when they were going to do such a good job of killing themselves.
"Any time." coolly taunted the Reaper.
A tense stand-off settled between the two. The Assassin was not privy to Bradford's diplomatic handling, but something he said must have worked, for Mox reluctantly began lowering his gauntlet. Elena kept her rifle deathly still, though her finger noticeably moved off the trigger, her anger bleeding away to a pensive bitterness.
Until her eyes drifted very slightly over his shoulder. Elena's gaze locked with Jax-Mon's.
She shot – and curses erupted from the gathered soldiers - the bullet whizzing above the Skirmisher's shoulder. Briefly, the Assassin flickered into view as she somersaulted back through the air. Mox responded immediately, twisting around to shoot his grapnel not at Elena, but at the Assassin. Unable to keep her shroud up any longer, it dropped to reveal Jax-Mon once she deflected his attack back to him.
"Your sight is as keen as ever, Reaper." she praised, lips twisting into a pale imitation of a proud smirk. It unsettled those present. "If only the godless traitors had even a fraction of your awareness, my duty would be less culling lambs and more a worthwhile battle."
Her gaze drifted to Mox. His armour had since repaired from her attack and her smirk melted into a scowl. " – but I suppose they are more sturdy than I give credit for. I'm impressed you did not bleed out."
Wisely, he did not rise to her bait. The slash across his chest had left a rather deep scar from his side straight across to the opposite collarbone. It was a miracle he survived and Betos had refused to put him to work until this mission. He reached for his bullpup, letting the gunfire do the speaking for him. Jax-Mon merely deflected his assault and vaulted over the railings, vanishing with the wind.
She landed to the street level below silently, though she heard the two talk heatedly above.
"What was that thing?!" the human male that accompanied Mox asked, rightfully frightened of her and her abilities. The Skirmisher muttered something in his tongue, approaching the railing and scanning the area for her to no avail.
"We call her Vox Prima," he stated. " – Elder Assassin, as she seems to have no purpose other than to butcher those of the freed ADVENT. She is the Elders' scythe, slaying all without mercy or regret. Her focus shifted elsewhere once you successfully rescued your Commander from their grips, but I have no doubt that given the chance, she'll take the time to kill thousands of my kind."
"We share a common enemy." added Elena, tone aloof and masking her dread. "Another like her stalk my people. It is ADVENT's response against us. If she is even half as adept as the threat we face and the ruins of Leicester's haven attests to it, then we cannot face her and succeed alone."
Jax-Mon scoffed. How quaint. The hybrid traitor and the human degenerate found mutual ground.
"We can resume to kill each other later once the planet is not at stake." the Reaper finally and begrudgingly settled on. " – We have a better chance against her united. But do not mistake my pragmatism for friendliness."
"That, I can agree with, Outrider." murmured Mox. "I wouldn't dare think otherwise. Let us send this... Assassin back to her false gods."
"You are welcome to try." Jax-Mon taunted.
