Hecate's pilgrimage did not land her at the foot of the Warlock's sacred temple, but rather in one of the facilities that she felt the twins' signature holding the strongest presence at. She'd tried contacting him several times during her journey, but she was met with blackness and silence. She was vaguely aware that XCOM's commander had regained her senses and it seemed to have effected the Chosen in a way none of them felt. Her psi-strength – and that of her sisters – were simply too weak to trace the Commander in such a way they could.
She found herself wistfully desiring a swift return back to the Assassin's stronghold with every step. It was no wonder why most soldiers of ADVENT had such things suppressed: the yearning for her bondmate and to serve her master, one who she considered her true superior over the Warlock was eating her alive. But.. Jax-Mon believed she could do this task for her. The least she could do was not disappoint her and have her intentions revealed on day one.
Humans have a word for it, she thinks. Homesickness. That stronghold had been her home for years after she was excommunicated from the Warlock's service and she felt like she belonged. Not as a religious servant whose sole job was to preach or to manipulate, but to communicate and command like the access level they actually had. It was a disservice to her sisters to keep them confined.
Although, If that was the Elders' will, it was inarguable. She chastised herself for even raising a doubt. Claiming free-thinking as per Jax-Mon's orders would not hold much water if one were to find out.
"Sister!" Uriel's faked surprised inflection made her wince behind her helmet as Hecate found her no less irritating now than she did when the twins bothered her on duty. The younger pulled her into a hug, though the older seemed nowhere in sight. The Assassin's Priest did not return the gesture, stiffening under her touch. Things had.. changed, since she had worked for the Warlock. She couldn't imagine he'd allow for such contact.
Politely, though firmly, she shoved Uriel away, lips twitching as it became harder for her to suppress a frown. Emotions were barely a shadowed thing until she bore witness to Jax-Mon's growth. The twins may claim that she was no shepherd, but she did impart some wisdom to her followers. Wisdom she knew both her brothers would abhor in an ADVENT "lackey."
"I cannot contact the Warlock." Hecate tells, getting straight to the point. Uriel prepared to answer, though was mollified to silence when one of the facility's cell doors pulled back to reveal the older twin, stepping out lightly and innocently cleaning away at her bloodied gloves. The Priest's former mistrust for the two decidedly reared it's head and intensified all in one moment.
"He must not be disturbed today." Gabriel informs, making a slight noise of dissent when she spotted flecks of blood – psionic laced, Hecate could 'see' that it was human – dotted on her pristine, white armour. She offered her more reserved sibling a glittering smile and the temptation to have them both dragged to Reconditioning struck the Assassin's Priest. " – But we're so glad that you decided to see that we were right. It was only a matter of time, in the end."
She perceived Hecate's uneasiness faster than she could conceal it and appraised her bloodstained hands, humming in dissatisfaction. "Our guest is being quite unruly. Humans can be so willfully obtuse, but.."
" … she'll come around to see our way. The smart ones always do." chimed Uriel, assured, before her head tilts, pondering; " – Or expire before then."
"Perhaps I should take a look at her." She didn't need sight to feel the twins' stare upon her, stoicism settling nicely without so much as an anxious twitch of her muscles. "A fresh perspective never hurts. It would be quite the.. sacrifice to prove myself to the Warlock."
Truthfully, she just wanted to be out of their presence, finding the company of a prisoner a more enjoyable prospect than entertaining the twins. They acquiesced and Hecate followed the dull, flickering psi-signature like a broken overhead light fixture threatening to break. The cell's door opened automatically to grant her entry and wooshed shut when she walked inside.
Her psionics painted the picture of the doleful creature at her feet in her mind's eye. The energy that the human housed was confined so tightly that it scarcely had a chance to shine; her Gift but a dull, muted hum. She did not know what she looked like past the vague shape of a muscular woman and so she carefully peeled off her heavy gauntlets, settling them silently to the floor when she lowered to a crouch.
Gently she reached out, fingertips brushing bare shoulder – and the body violently jerked into life, with the scrapes and rattles of groaning, thick chains. Suppressors, likely courtesy of the Hunter. She couldn't imagine a greater pain she must be enduring right now and found herself impressed that the Templar was not a mewling, grovelling mess. No, instead, she sensed an ire that only mounted the longer she remained.
"Don't … touch me." the Templar warned and the Priest noted a slur to her voice. Psi-mixed blood was detectable around her mouth and, well, generally everywhere. If the twins had resorted to physical violence, of all things, then they must not have had as much luck as their confidence would have others believe.
"You are slowly dying." the Priest merely said. " – And I can assure you that they will eke out your life to be as miserable and painful as possible if you continue to defy them."
Hecate did not flinch when air rushed towards her and the snap of a chain echoed throughout the cell chamber. It proved to her that the knight was more restricted than she initially thought. Caged like a wild beast awaiting the slaughter, spending the last days beaten when her death should be on the battlefield, reciting her Vedic hymns.
There was no honour in this. She could hear Jax-Mon's disapproval already. At least any prisoner of the Assassin's was dealt with cleanly and, dare she say, humanely. Her early blunders and mistakes not withstanding.
"Pain is just weakness … leaving the body," Luminița grunts in response, the clanging of metal as it swung and scraped across the ground indicating her restless pacing, looking for the opportunity to lash out. "I happily accept my fate … allowing the Earth to reclaim what I have taken from it, rather than to putrefy my soul with your false Gods."
"Grass withers. Flowers fade – and planets die." coolly lectures Hecate. "Are you happy preaching the finite when the word of the Elders' are only thing that is eternal?"
"Rather a mortal than a Devil's whore." She can only imagine that the Templar was leering, though with her shallow breaths and weakening signature, she was too racked with pain to keep up her malicious contempt. The Priest did not understand why someone riding out the last waves of their life would prefer to spend it so entrenched in their own callousness when help was crouching just an arm's length away.
"Then I shall leave you to the tender mercies of my sisters." told the Priest, mind abuzz with unasked questions and frustrated uncertainties that she simply wouldn't get an answer for yet. " – They will not indulge you as much as I have."
Delicately, Jax-Mon's feet touched the floor of her inner sanctum, body rejuvenated and not so much as a fleck of blood staining her smart, ebony armour. She flexed her new arm, wiggled each of her four digits and thumb. Rolling back her shoulders, she found herself exercising the freshly fixed body and becoming satisfied that it was perfection. It was as if she'd never been momentarily rapping at death's door.
Her content was short-lived as flashes of the battle before rose to the forefront of her mind. Bringing Mox to her stronghold over one of the several facilities she had was a mistake that could prove costly. If he ever made it out alive, by some Elder given miracle, the humans would have more than a sporting chance at finding where it was located. True, he was dazed and confused – and psionically inept, but she was not prone to take needless risks just for the sheer sake of taking them like her brother, the older.
The Assassin would always be true to her word, too. If she promises Mox his life after he gifts them a way to the Commander, she would ensure that he was protected. By no love for the traitorous scum, of course, but she would not allow herself to become so corrupt and warped like her siblings, or disgustingly vile like humanity.
She did not fault herself for idolizing them the way that the Elders had, or for her previous curiosity. It was a weakness of her that she struggled to see past their callousness or sordid, dishonourable nature that overshadowed their brilliant tenacity and determination.
In a way, her elder brother's deplorable act of keeping her focus so askew upon the humans was nothing she could blame him for. How eager she had been to lap up his advice, believing that her newfound thoughts and emotions were correct because she did not wish to face the truth of her imperfections. He was just giving her what she wanted to hear, like a good brother, as he'd no doubt claim.
But her heart still raged at the betrayal. That was something she could never forgive him for, not even death would absolve the grudge. She needed a guide, someone whom firmly told her that she was wandering the wrong path. Not comforting encouragement that served only to lead her further astray!
Was his vanity so great that love of family was meaningless? Yet when she thinks that, she chastises. Who was she to scorn on love when she was born – made – without the concept of it? All she knew was an obedience to the Elders. Perhaps all she knew was a love to the Elders, then.
Jax-Mon stalks outside the door of Mox's cell. The door had no way of looking inwards, but she could feel the signature of him slumped to the far wall. She enters without warning, startling the Skirmisher into rising, though with his ankles bound together, he had little movement.
All armour and weaponry had been stripped from him, leaving him in a thin white undershirt and matching shorts. The first thing that caught her eye was the scar she bestowed upon him in their second skirmish, alongside a variety of others that were too old to be of recent combat. Self-inflicted, if she had to guess – Beserker's and their unending rage to fight was hard to sate without the Network's trance of compliance. She couldn't imagine his early years of freedom were pretty.
"I abhor this," she grumbles to Mox, who kept a wary eye on her as she remained statuesque at the door. " – Although you sacrificed your right to have honour the moment you became a renegade, it taints my respectability that I would keep prisoners. No creature should be without a chance to fight for their right to live."
At first, Mox did not respond to her commentary. Frankly he believed he could stomach pure violence better than knowing that his torturer seemed to hold some semblance of regret, however selfish that it may be in the reason why. But if they had a mind, it could be used to his advantage. He was in no position to let his fists do the talking, after all.
"What of the infirm?" he slowly asks, his tone guarded. " – The weak, the children? Are they inherently honourless in your eyes for they have little or no chance of fighting back?"
"I am aware that not all creatures are created equally, defector. They may appoint champions in their stead – one that humanity has decided shall be XCOM. The Elders have responded in turn with my siblings and I." She steps closer within the cell, noting the way the muscles in the hybrid's body tensed up in preparation for a strike that will not happen, yet. "I wonder how willing you are to spill the secrets of the champions that revile your kind with just as much animosity as I do."
"Their suspicion is just." Mox mutters, though his conviction was sorely lacking. " – We share an unfortunate face with the enemy and I do not hold grudge to those who have their vision clouded at times. Trust is a precious thing that simply cannot be found. It must be earned and we do everything in our power to do so."
"Yet the humans make no effort." she muses. "Is trust not built both ways? Is it not in human instinct to take the option that least effects them? They could risk building a bridge that burns.. or they can set alight the one that is being built towards them. One is substantially less time consuming than the other."
"Trust is not without risk." he would've shrugged, if his binds permitted him. "One we are all too willing to take time and time again. A common goal makes for a powerful adhesive."
"A goal that is hardly achievable if they spend every waking moment believing that you are all sleeper agents just waiting to sabotage the effort."
"If I didn't know any better, I would say your expectations of humanity have been dashed, Prima." he responds dryly. He was well aware of the faults; some that he had personally relayed back to Betos herself. But if this is how he sounded all those times … he was surprised that his battlelord still kept such high faith in him all this time. A testament to her optimism, he thinks.
Jax-Mon scowls. They had. Until she could learn to forgive their faults, failings and come to adore them unconditionally as the Elders did, then her disappointment remained strongly.
" – And your view of them infantile." she responds harshly. "You do not belong to their race no more than you belong to ours and yet you will throw away your life for them when we offer understanding and acceptance. ADVENT is your birthright."
"ADVENT. A family built on lies and forced compliance." Surprisingly, he does not grow angry like she thought he might. Mox merely gazed at her coolly. "I pity that this is what you believe a family to be. That such a birthright is something to be proud of – if they have allowed to let you feel at all."
Jax-Mon's hand shot out and struck across his scarred jaw in a vicious backhand. He stumbled and tripped over his own ankle bindings and was sent sprawling to the floor, landing with a gruff grunt of pain and response. A thin cut lined where the metal of her gauntlet caught on his skin and spats of his orange blood dotted the red plate. She wiped it away without so much of a thought and glared down below at his form as he struggled to resume standing.
He still spoke, heedless of the consequence. "You've killed so many of my kind and you intend to slaughter however more at the Elders' behest. You've watched countless of ADVENT die without sorrow or regret and you cannot see past your jaded view of humanity. Do you even understand empathy?"
The Assassin did not hit him a second time. Empathy was just as strange a concept to her as love. Compassion – she'd preach it, or a form of it. But her definitions were lost in translation when adopted from humanity's values – and for a moment, if only just for a moment, Mox saw the truth that hung densely in the air left in the wake of her silence.
"Do you?" she asks and he couldn't tell either if she was genuinely asking him, pleading him to reveal what such a principal meant, or if, just like her brothers, it was said in sarcastic spite.
Mox had to be content that he would never find out, for she leaves him in the cell shortly after.
Tension was high in the Avenger. The XCOM soldiers and single faction envoy returned in restless stress; with the first order of business being Klaus wheeled away, flanked by a very frantic, terse doctor. She was understandably excused from the field debrief when a soldier's life was hanging in her hands. She muttered something as she passed a concerned Bradford – he'll live, he'll live – before the infirmary door's slammed ominously shut.
He, however, did not allow the same courtesy to Elena whom attempted to barrel past him.
"Move aside, old man." she grunted. " – I must speak with Volk urgently."
"Nobody is talking to anyone until the briefs have been covered." Central firmly stated, brows furrowing into a tough scowl at her continued lack of disrespect. But then again, he didn't want to have her anger drawn to him when it seemed to be directed elsewhere for now. He added, to placate her. "Volk is currently about to engage a meeting with Betos regarding the unfortunate capture of Captain Mox. You can imagine how delicate this is that I don't need you interrupting."
"Volk is – here?" That did change Elena's course, though for better, he wasn't sure. "On the Avenger? With Betos? Willingly?"
At Central's look, she took that as a yes. Surprise seemed to win over the ire she felt, before it settled for a palpable determination as she wasted no time maneuvering around Bradford's protesting and strode onward to the Commander's Quarters. He exhaled a long, drawn out sigh before swiftly addressing the remaining, tired XCOM soldiers.
"Get some rest Kelly, Vaun." he grunted. Their rapt stances of attention slumped immediately, " – Although both of you check in with Dawn before crashing. Today could do without the discovery of some kind of.. infectious.. zombie disease."
Bradford didn't stay to monitor if they did as so, swiftly ascending through the various compartments within the Avenger by elevator. He didn't beat Elena once he arrived at the Commander's Quarters, as once he entered, she was sitting rather chastised at Volk's side of the couch.
"I apologize …" Bradford began, addressing both Reaper patriarch and Skirmisher battelord, but it was Betos whom silenced him with a mere wave of her hand.
"There is no time like the present." she said, head canted towards Volk. "I appreciate the swift response of your yearling, I will be the first to admit that I would not have expected a Reaper to burst in here full of vim and vigour regarding the rescue of one of my own."
"Me either." he cheerfully agrees, half smoked cigarette pinched between his lips as his gaze sidles across to Elena, who could make stoicism into an art form. He tugs the cancer stick out from his mouth and flicks the ash into the tray by the table. " – I don't know what happened down there, but Reapers have long memories. Your boy did something admirable and well, we'll be keeping it in mind."
"I want to spearhead the op to get him back." Outrider added, seemingly like she somehow belonged as an officer among them. Bradford didn't know if it was just her cool confidence or grit, but either way, it was making him feel like the embarrassed intruder. He dared not interrupt, lest he broke the fragile cohesion. "None knows these lands quite like a Reaper. But seeing as Mox is stationed in a facility.."
"I will lend you my sergeant." Betos offered without question or pause. "We have vague or fuzzy recollections of the Network we were once chained to. It may be of assistance."
"And I sanction Dragunova as lead. Take Hornet and Stryker with you." The Reaper patriarch snubbed out the cigarette into the tray, aged, brown eyes drifting up to the quiet Bradford, who was frankly in marvel at how much willing co-operation he saw between them. It was uplifting, to say the least. "Do we have your approval to start covert actions, John?"
"Ah – " He straightened up, now that he had all eyes on him. " – Yes. Co-ordinate with our Resistance Ring officer. If you need immediate evac or additional firepower, I'll see what we can spare."
"CENTRAL OFFICER BRADFORD to the SICK BAY." the ship's AI rang out, requesting his presence. He cursed under his breath as he set himself as unavailable whilst the meeting was to take place, but given as the two (three, he supposed, Elena had integrated herself well) didn't seem like they were going to slaughter each other, he supposed he could risk letting them mediate themselves.
"Play nice." he warned, much to Volk's stifled laughter and Betos' blank confusion. Bradford cut Elena a glare that very much put the responsibility of the budding faction relationship on her shoulders and she had the decency to look somewhat shamed. But not by much.
Bradford slipped out of the Commander's Quarters, ignoring the droning of the ship's AI again as he made his way over. Tygan hadn't mentioned anything regarding the status of the Commander, so either it was urgent, or it was a complaint that could wait for another time. He entered, fully expecting to see the scientist scowl, only to see the back of someone all too familiar.
He stared.
Commander Kingsley stood – without aid required – beside the bed that had held her vegetative body since they'd rescued her. Her hands were quite animated, fiddling with the small buttons on the cuffs of her uniform blouse. Bradford was used to the sight of her glasses always slipping halfway down her face when her head was tilted down that he almost thought she was a different woman entirely.
Evidently being in ADVENT's care had changed a few things. Her eyesight was corrected, for one.
He made a startled noise as words died on his tongue. Brown eyes met his and his throat tightened, constricted to a point he thought he was going to suffocate. Flecks of silvery hair lined her face out of the tight bun and heavy wrinkles dragged on her eyes and mouth. She stopped fussing with her cuffs to gesture to him.
"John."
He spent twenty years without so much as a sniffle. Five years spent fighting the trouble of starvation and foraging for food and not a complaint or a whimper. Years even before the contact of aliens braving the wars forged by humanity. Losing his friends. His comrade in arms in a trench or succumbed to wounds. One word was all it took for him to break down.
His shaking hand covered the lower half of his face as he stared, wide-eyed in horror and despondently to her growing concern. Tears fell silently as he fought with himself to keep his sobs back. His other hand lean on the raised bed, knuckles white as he gripped the sheets. His shoulders trembled.
It wasn't until she moved around the bed and gently wrapped her arms around him did he finally heave the loudest sob into her shoulder, burying his forehead against it. He barely could feel her soothingly rub his back in reassurance when he embraced her so tightly, fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt like she'd suddenly poof if he let go.
She didn't say anything and John appreciated that. He aired out twenty years of grief into one long moment of flowing tears and ugly sobs.
It wouldn't miraculously fix anything or give him his lost years back, but for once, above all the high stakes missions, death and misery, he was allowed to be human and express his sorrow in the basest way possible.