XCOM: The Advent Directive

by Xabiar

Australia has been annexed, the United Nations is in chaos, the world is under siege and the Ethereals have taken the field. Facing the full might of the Ethereal Collective, the Commander must rally XCOM, the newly formed ADVENT, and several other allies and rivals to unite the divided nations by any means necessary, for failure now will mean the fall of humanity once and for all.

76. Precipice

Precipice

---

Medical Bay – The Temple Ship of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective

9/9/2017 – 1:24 P.M.

Her dreams had been filled with deep voices, blue fire, the feeling of dissolution, and pain.

So much pain.

It was constant, yet indescribable. Not to the degree of incapacitation, but simply a reality that persisted until it seemed to dull to a constant throb. Maelstroms of sand and blue fire sparked and faded. A voice spoke words in a deep voice, ones she could never make out, yet the mere mention of which sent a shiver down her spine.

Was it uncertainty? Fear?

All she knew was that she heard that voice and flinched.

Now, though, there were new sensations, the signs of coming out of the waking dream she had been trapped in, and which she would thankfully forget after a short period of time. She felt minds around her, though only felt them. It was painful to try and reach out, so she stewed in her own mind, merely aware, not active.

She heard some voices. Something was covering her eyes, blinding her. Her body was still, and, while she didn't feel restraints on limbs, she knew she could not move her body even if she wanted to. Somehow, that was only slightly more comforting than being restrained. Or maybe it was because, even if she was paralyzed right now, she wasn't helpless.

What happened…

Memories began coming back now.

The hunt for the Lion. The chase. A maddening attempt to track down one man.

A success, if one that had made her think. She remembered the brief look into the mind of the Lion, to root out what secrets he had. Largely a waste of time, he didn't know anything she couldn't have easily guessed or otherwise hadn't known about. Yet it was a mind which was…different.

Even at the end, he had no fear, even as his mind was violated. Only a cool contempt and disdain for her.

There were flashes of his memories, of people and places she didn't know. Emotions ranging from hope, to joy, to anger, to hatred. She would have to reflect on what she'd seen, but later. She wondered if he had somehow survived, or had died. Impossible to know, but it would have been a miracle to survive.

Then there was the Chronicler.

That Agent of T'Leth.

No, that was T'Leth.

Never had she seen that kind of power before. The whirlwinds of shrapnel, sand, stone, and blood. The near-deaths from teleportation. The opening of a portal to the Sun. She had come close to death before, but it had never been as…tangible as this was. It was a power that she was genuinely, completely, unsure if she could fight.

The new suit the Chronicler wore was notable, though.

She wondered where he'd gotten it from. If he'd made it recently – or had only decided to bring it out now.

Patricia, you are awake.

A feeling of calm settled on her. While not in the room, the Imperator had clearly sensed her awakening mind and had immediately reached out. Yes, for now.

You do not need to describe your pain. I can feel as you do.

I suppose I am used to it. How badly am I injured?

Even with our technology, there were concerns that you might not survive. This did not come to pass. Much of your body is being remade and reinforced. It is a comprehensive process that will take time, during which you will be incapacitated.

I will not be able to move?

Not for several more days. It will take longer for your body to fully recover even when you can. The damage was…extensive. It is fortunate you were able to survive.

He was stronger than I thought.

Yes. That is concerning. I believed we had a baseline on the Chronicler. That we do not is troubling. T'Leth appears to be anticipating more involvement. It is something that must be addressed.

I will be better prepared next time.

Or you may die. The Chronicler is now a pure vessel for a Sovereign One. I am powerful, but there remains a disparity in a direct match. A new method will need to be devised. Altercation with the Sovereign One is unavoidable.

There was a short pause. She could sense the Imperator was not happy with what he had to say next. Mosrimor may have answers. He has fought T'Leth before.

Can he be trusted?

No. But he does know T'Leth, and believes we are best situated to defeat him. He should be appraised of this development. Unfortunately, there is no better source. Mosrimor is unreliable as a long-term ally, as is the Bringer, but it appears that even T'Leth's Agents are becoming enhanced beyond what can be traditionally dealt with.

That was one time! I-

Perhaps. Unlikely. Not as you were. I do not speak this to insult you, Patricia. It is a fact that we must accept and adapt to. Both of us underestimated the power of one of T'Leth's puppets. I suspect most of the Ethereals would face a similar threat. This is a fortunate thing – had we not known this, a defeat may have been worse.

He was right, and it bothered her that she knew he was. But the proof was her in this bed, blind, paralyzed, and isolated from the world. She was in no position to face anyone, let alone a Sovereign puppet. What will happen now?

You will recover. The ceasefires are continuing and will soon come to an end. The Battlemaster will take the mantle of commander in your stead. I will make a visit to Paradise Station to assess the development of the Child. I suspect it will be necessary sooner, rather than later. Further integration of Regisora into war plans is essential as T'Leth continues to escalate. When you can walk, we will meet with Mosrimor.

It may be necessary to retaliate. Deusian?

She remains reluctant to intervene.

This is against a Sovereign One! She should not have a choice.

I will make that judgement once we speak to Mosrimor. If necessary, Deusian will comply. However, it is an escalation that I would like to avoid unless necessary. There is little reason to make T'Leth more alert to our capabilities, nor potentially push him to strike before we are ready.

I understand. Patricia felt the feeling of cold coming over her again. Anaesthetic.

The doctors do not want you conscious for too long. We will speak when you awaken again.

Yes. Thank you.

Rest and recover, Harbinger. Retribution will come.

---

The Pentagon, Washington D.C. – United States of America

8/27/2017 – 12:41 P.M.

The meeting today had several purposes. The first was because the operation to open the unknown Soviet bunker had been completed. Apparently, there had been something useful discovered. The second was to discuss preliminary details for one of the largest offensives of the war – to take back the North American continent.

The third was to discuss exactly what was happening with Scipio.

As far as Laura knew, Saudia was only here to talk about the first two. It had been one week since Watkins had suspended Operation Scipio, and Saudia had expected that she would receive some kind of update from Laura, but there had been effectively nothing. In her weekly report, she'd only specified that Scipio was 'proceeding'.

That had not made her happy. No doubt Laura questioned if it was relevant, and no doubt she believed it would be temporary, but this was extremely close to outright covering it up. That was unacceptable, and it implied some disturbing things. If everything was as clear-cut as she'd believed, or if there was a reasonable explanation…why was it being intentionally omitted.

Not lied, per-se. But an omission was still an omission.

They'd get to that though. First was the Soviet bunker.

"The good news was that there was nothing alive inside, nor anything extremely dangerous anymore," Laura began, setting up the screen. "There was some residual radiation, but nothing lethal. Protected teams swept the area. This is some of what was found."

Images were displayed, most of which were of old Soviet-era technology. Bulky computers, lab equipment, extremely outdated technology, though probably cutting-edge for its time. From her knowledge, it was curiously advanced for its period. "That's a lot of equipment for a facility so hidden modern Russia didn't know about it."

"It is," Laura nodded. "There's a reason for that." More images, these of bodies. Skeletons mostly, though there were somehow some which had decayed skin with slightly green tinges and black lesions along the bodies. They certainly didn't look like corpses should.

The skeletons were sprawled and left in a way that suggested they had just died where they'd stood. There were some signs of fighting, but less than she would have imagined. Notably, there were some which were in some kind of cages, not unlike the ones she'd seen in the Experimentation Labs. "Human experiments?" She glanced at Laura.

"Yes," Laura moved to what was a video. "The researchers kept logs. This series of recordings paints a pretty clear timeline of what happened, and what they were trying to do."

The video began playing. In it there was a middle-aged Soviet researcher with a long face, glasses, and slicked-back black hair that was starting to grey. He spoke Russian, which unfortunately she did not understand. Laura gave her the gist. "He says he's from a special research project under the Biopreparat directly, supposedly most of the Soviet Union didn't know. The reason is because they've been charged with investigating the effects of radiation on Humans and developing resistances to it - this eventually led to the creation of a bioweapon based on the results of their experiments."

"Nuclear radiation and bioweapons in the same facility?"

"Apparently," Laura said as the video continued. It skipped, and it was clearly some time later. "He's primarily from the radiation treatment experiments, and says that initial experiments involve subjecting test subjects to small doses of radiation, and observing how it alters their bodies. The working idea, he says, is that by knowing how the body is affected, it may be possible to engineer a means of protecting against radiation."

Saudia listened to it a bit further, as Laura continued. "They were experimenting with using viruses to bestow a resistance to radiation. They appear to have been looking at cell senescence in particular as a means to prevent cancer, a common consequence of radiation exposure. There was also an effort to introduce genes linked to radiation resistance in other organisms."

Saudia raised an eyebrow at that. "They're researching genetic modification through viruses."

"Yes, technology at the time was limited and viruses were the most obvious choice." Laura moved the video forward, to another point in the future. "This is several months later. He says they've just applied the first iterations to a batch of test subjects. No abnormal effects yet, and will be moving to the phase of direct testing should subjects continue functioning normally."

The same researcher now appeared on screen with a look of concern. "He says something happened during one of the tests. Apparently, the virus was still active in one of the test subjects during a radiation experiment, at least that is the hypothesis so far. The result is that the virus they were using has mutated. For the moment, he says it doesn't seem especially contagious but in its current state, the treatment still has many side effects."

Laura wrinkled her nose as she continued. "Most notably widespread cell senescence and even limited necrosis. Apparently they are now creating a new wing in the facility to study this modified strain of the virus for use as a potential bioweapon. Something he says is quite dangerous given the unstable nature of the pathogen and the potential for further mutation as a result of repeated radiation exposure."

The next part of the video was a stark change. There were people running in the background, and an alarm was going off. The scientist was visibly more agitated. "There was a breach," Laura said. "From the bioweapons wing, the virus got out, and they're trying to contain it. It's spreading, and they fear it is too late. They have notified their superiors, and the facility has been locked down."

Saudia frowned. "They couldn't get out?"

"That was one reason why it took so long to get this opened," Laura explained. "The lockdown destroyed the unlocking mechanism – and the facility could only be unlocked from the outside. Whoever was running this project did not want anything, or anyone, getting out if something went wrong."

"So it trapped them," Saudia said slowly. "And they died."

"Correct," the video moved, and the video was much different. It was quieter, and the same scientist was there, though he looked much worse. His hair was falling out, and there was something wrong with his skin, it was a sickly color, and there were black…things growing on parts of it. His voice was more haggard as he spoke.

"They couldn't stop the breach," Laura summarized. "He says the virus has spread through much of the facility. In addition to the necrosis and cell senescence it appears to have acquired another symptom at some point, neurological decline. Preliminary autopsies show the necrosis seems to have spread to the brain resulting in all kinds of detrimental effects. Hallucinations and increased aggression are common, they've had to put down several patients after they became nearly feral. There weren't enough suits either. He fears that all of those who were infected, perhaps even the whole facility, may be lost soon."

The scientist took a moment to cough into his hand, only for it to come away holding a tooth before continuing. "He says they took the experimental therapy. They believed it might grant immunity to the virus since the bioweapon was based on it. It worked, but they are now dealing with the side effects of the unfinished treatment. It seems it has prolonged their lives, but they are going to die all the same. He describes it as numbing his body, he lost smell, taste, touch, everything. He described one man who lost a hand and didn't even flinch. He's ordered everything preserved in case this is ever found. He ends with a statement of support for the Soviet Union."

"A patriot to the end," Saudia commented as the video came to an end. "Tragic."

"Indeed," Laura nodded. "The good news is that the research they did was preserved."

"Is any of it usable?"

"To be determined," Laura said, picking up her tablet. "It's been sent to Research and Development for analysis. From what I've heard, there is something here that could be applicable – with a lot more actual research and testing. The Soviets were working with inferior technology, limited manpower, and in total secrecy. Anti-radiation modifications have been theorized, this may be what gets that project properly started. The potential also exists to explore the viability of the bioweapon, several samples and fragments of the pathogen have survived."

"Well, it seems like that mystery is over, and we potentially got something useful out of it," Saudia said. "Did Savvin have a comment?"

"Only that we make the story of this lab public, and move it to historical archives," she said. "He didn't seem surprised to hear that there was a Soviet black project that he didn't know about. The Cold War still has many projects and secrets that we still don't know, either because they're hidden or proof was destroyed. An anti-radiation project was probably not the most outlandish thing the Soviets tried. No more than the CIA experimenting with LSD to test telepathic powers, or the MKULTRA debacle."

Saudia snorted at that. "A fair point."

"In any event, this wraps up this escapade," Laura shut off the screen, and turned to directly face her. "Now – concerning the proposed North American Operation, this is what we have conceptualized so far." Both of them walked to a holotable which showcased the current battle lines, territory controlled by both sides, and the level of forces around there.

"There are two main concepts we are looking to employ," Laura said, pointing as several lines were shown, indicating the exact movement of various Legions. "The first is to surge forces to the main front lines. PRIESTs, Tier III Squads, Dragoons, Celestials, our best." Red spots popped up across Collective territory. "At the same time, we will strike less defended internal positions with special forces - Lancers, the Pantheon, and XCOM. ADVENT Intelligence will conduct preliminary infiltration operations – there are Human resistance groups in operation, though very small."

Saudia nodded. "Has XCOM been brought into the loop yet?"

"They are aware that we are beginning planning stages of a North American offensive," Laura answered. "Right now we're determining redlines, feasibility, and timing. We will involve them more in this stage once we are in a better position. And something that also needs to be determined…" she paused. "I believe for the best chance of success, we should consider the usage of tactical nuclear weapons, and Atomic Lances."

Saudia cocked her head. "Against ADVENT territory."

"ADVENT territory controlled by alien forces," Laura said flatly. "The Collective has not been idle. They've been building bases, they have infrastructure now. It is going to be difficult to dislodge them. Cities, Chancellor, can be rebuilt. The environmental impact is also minimal, especially should we utilize nuclear strikes in a limited capacity."

Saudia was not sure how to best respond. Nuclear weapons had their uses, and she'd certainly authorized them more than once. However, she was not comfortable with their usage against ADVENT territory – especially places where citizens had lived. "How many do you have in mind?" she asked slowly. If it was one or two, then maybe there could be some justification. Some land in the middle of nowhere, which would not be great, but acceptable.

"I'm glad you asked," Laura pressed several buttons, and the map lit up with no fewer than two dozen lights, in red, orange, and blue colors. Some were in presumably unoccupied places – military bases, perhaps – but most were in cities. California in particular had…many red dots.

"There are tiers we've discussed," Laura said, apparently oblivious to Saudia's sudden silence. "Red are the designated priority targets. They're primarily cities or bases that have been turned into logistical and defense nerve centers. Destroying them would crippled the Collective's military efforts. Orange are secondary targets; non-critical locations that would significantly hurt the effort. Blue are targets under consideration, but are not major. We have no issue with our arsenal – we have enough to blanket the continent if necessary. Fortunately, we only need a few tactical deployments."

"A moment," Saudia lifted a hand, her eyes narrowed. "You have already come up with this. Targets. Even prioritization. Is this correct?"

Laura frowned. "Correct."

"And why, exactly, was I not informed of this?" Saudia glowered at the now stiffening woman. "I put a significant amount of trust in you to manage the armed forces, Commander. I am not a soldier. I do not have your mindset, and I know when to stay in my lane. However, there are certain things that you do not do without at least informing me." She tapped a finger on the holotable. "You are casually suggesting drastically expanding our criteria for when it is acceptable to employ nuclear weapons. I do not expect to be asked permission to discuss battle plans. What I do expect is to be informed if they are being considered."

To her credit, Laura sharply nodded. "My apologies, Chancellor. I didn't realize you felt strongly about this. I will ensure you are kept more directly informed in similar scenarios."

"Which should have been done from the start," Saudia continued. "According to the Advent Directive, any discussion on the usage of weapons of mass destruction – particularly nuclear weapons – requires the involvement of multiple stakeholders." She ticked them off her fingers. "ADVENT Intelligence, ADVENT High Command, the Office of the Chancellor, the Congress of Nations, and the Oversight Division. Do tell me exactly how many of these entities are aware this is under consideration?"

"Chancellor," Laura countered. "If I involved every single entity when there was simply a discussion, then nothing would be accomplished, and we would get mired in delays. I understand deviation from procedure is aggravating, but it was done with intent to optimize the process, rather than needless delays. Even now, there are still discussions-"

Saudia's hand raised again, in a fist, a clear signal to stop. "I can understand that argument for certain aspects," Saudia said sharply. "And if you notice, that is not applicable for the vast majority of your work. What is it applicable for? This. I do not care if you do not like it, and speaking for myself, when these discussions happen, even theoretically, I want to know they are happening."

She pursed her lips. "We are all under law and regulation. We do not get to decide which parts of the law we obey and which we skirt, otherwise we are no better than the old governments that came before us. We are supposed to be better, and this-" she pointed to the table. "Is not better."

Saudia shook her head. "I'm disappointed, Commander. This is a worrying trend."

"I understand, Chancellor," Laura rubbed her forehead. "I will make sure to more strictly follow procedure going forward. This will not happen again."

"Will it?" Saudia was not especially pleased right now, and didn't hide that in her tone. "Would you like to explain to me why you failed to mention that offensive actions in Operation Scipio have been halted? Or that there is an ongoing Oversight investigation into the entire event?"

That seemed to catch Laura by surprise, and was followed by a frown. "Scipio is under control, Chancellor. The issue with Oversight is going to be worked out. I believe there is miscommunication on both sides here."

"Watkins appears to disagree with that assessment," Saudia responded.

"You've spoken with him?" Laura's tone was neutral, though it certainly wasn't surprised.

"Yes, because he knows when it is necessary to bring me into the loop," Saudia said. "I can understand not being appraised of every investigation undertaken. I do expect, however, to be informed if an entire operation is under investigation – and if it is outright paused." She shook her head. "I told Watkins that I believed you have a good explanation for what he showed me. Right now I am not so sure."

"I do, Chancellor, but Watkins has not found them acceptable," Laura hid it well, but there was, of all things, now a tinge of annoyance in her voice. This was not how she'd expected this day to go. Her voice was controlled, but not worried. "Considering the number of operations of similar nature he's approved previously, why he's decided this is a problem now, is beyond me."

"I am not interested in excuses, Commander," Saudia interrupted. "I want to know why abnormal numbers of our soldiers are coming back from Scipio with PTSD and numerous other psychological problems. I want to know why the rules of engagement are so lax that officers are content to sit and shell cities without actually making an effort to take them. I want to know how poor our conduct is that our soldiers are looting and abusing captives." She paused. "And I want to know why, it seemed, there were no safeguards put into place to prevent this from happening."

Laura pursed her lips. "You are not going to like the answer, Chancellor."

"I'm not liking many answers right now. One more will not make a difference."

Laura exhaled. "Everything was taken into account. All relevant considerations, be they psychological, or sociological, have fallen within expected parameters. Safeguards have needed refinement; they were less effective than expected, but that issue has been rectified."

She tapped her fingers on the table. "We have been able to curb psychological impulses, solidify efficiency, and streamline the operation. There were shortfalls, but they fell within similarly expected estimates. Effectively, we have managed to channel all relevant psychological and sociological factors into improving the effectiveness of the operation."

She continued. "The unprofessional conduct was unanticipated, and for that, there is no excuse. That it happened is a failure, but it has been swiftly addressed with full capacity. Utilization of heavy handed force, namely for effects of terror, and enforcement of authority, was expected, and accommodated. It falls fully within authorized actions, which was fully explained given that we needed to compel vast swathes of civilians, who would be extremely resistant. All of which, again, was explained, and discussed."

Saudia crossed her arms. "I question that. I somehow doubt these people are unable to be moved, even if you have to physically pick them up. It's unnecessary conduct in the first place."

"Scipio is as much a psychological operation as a physical one, and I do not believe in half measures, Chancellor," Laura said, lifting an eyebrow. "We are dealing with hundreds of thousands, mob psychology is in full effect. A failure to control the crowds would result in a massacre, a counterproductive result. Civilians are far less likely to continue to fight back when the consequence is severe harm to them and their social relations. Additionally, they are not ADVENT citizens, they have neither rights nor protections, nor are they owed such."

She shook her head. "I do not understand why Watkins is pretending this is a deviation or an alteration from our prior operations. It has been conducted using the same exact methods of previous operations, the only difference has been the goal. It reflects poorly on Oversight that they're only now finding 'issues'. Issues I attribute to Watkins wanting to grow a conscience. A conscience, I will add, that has resulted in severely hampering Scipio."

A sigh. "Scipio is legal, authorized, and fully within both the spirit and the letter of law. It has been a difficult operation, and it is a testament to the skill and talent of our officers that it has been conducted so excellently, well beyond our highest expectations. If there are parties who are now complaining about it, then that is their own fault for not understanding the implications. It does not fall on me. It does not fall on my officers. It certainly does not fall on our soldiers. It most definitely does not fall on the performance and excellence of our efforts to accomplish the task."

"If their conduct is causing unnecessary killings, then I would disagree." Saudia said slowly.

"Chancellor, they're SAS citizens. They are the enemy, so, yes, if they resist, they will be treated as appropriate," Laura nodded sharply. "In the few cases where it was judged to have not been justified, the soldiers in question have been appropriately disciplined, and those cases are no more than ten. The discipline of our men and officers has been impressive under the harsh circumstances." The longer she talked, the more sure she seemed of herself.

Saudia was fairly good at reading people, and what struck her about Laura was...unsettling.

Laura was completely sure that she was in the right. There was not a single bit of reflection or hesitation as she defended and explained the conduct questions raised. Saudia was not a stranger to shrugging off criticism, but there were those whose opinions she believed were worth listening to. If one challenged her, she would at least consider what they were saying.

Not...dismiss it outright.

Saudia wasn't convinced of the argument. Laura was making a number of logical justifications, which were...acceptable in their purest form. They were explanations, but something about them sounded slightly off. It struck her as…both unprofessional and inefficient. As well as weak.

Considering the average gear of a soldier, it was unlikely that random civilians were putting their lives in danger. Nor that a few soldiers couldn't remove the troublesome ones without aggressive force. If they were attacking them with guns and grenades, she wouldn't be concerned. However, it did not seem like that was the case.

"Concerning the sieges themselves, the answer to that is simple. We've kept civilian information networks un-jammed to ensure refugees are kept aware of the situation. The effect has been better than expected." Laura said. "Further, there is no reason to risk our soldiers until we are sure we have the overwhelming advantage. If the defenders are content to keep fighting, there is little reason to indulge them by intentionally fighting on their terms. Either way, we win."

"That is acceptable to a certain point," Saudia frowned. "It doesn't contest the points that Watkins showed me, which were prolonging sieges for the sake of it. By your own admission, there was success in causing evacuations, and many were not heavily defended. Not striking unnecessarily prolongs the siege and subsequently, the operation. That there may be casualties is not an acceptable excuse. That is always a risk."

"Chancellor, between the lives of our men and the lives of the enemy, one is infinitely more valuable," Laura retorted. "So long as our officers judge the losses to be pointless, I will listen to them. These are men and women who could die, we owe it to them to prioritize their lives. There is always the risk of casualties, yes, but there is a difference between a five percent casualty rate, a twenty percent casualty rate, and a zero point one percent casualty rate. I will always take the lowest."

"Even when that causes substantial delays? If that were the case, then no operation would take place until it reached the lowest possible threshold - and both of us know that is not feasible. What metrics are they using to make that assessment?" Saudia asked. "If that is the case, then I will concede. I need something more than 'because they say so'."

Laura raised a brow. "I believe delays, if they secure the lives of our men, can be accommodated given the competence displayed, Chancellor. Battlefields cannot be easily condensed into an easy-to-read spreadsheet. Our officers have given me zero reason to distrust their judgements, and I will not begin to do so without said reason."

"Maybe they have not given you reason, but they have certainly given me one. I want a tangible justification all the same," Saudia said. "Right now, I am not inclined to take them at their word."

"Respectfully, Chancellor, you are not a soldier. You may be willing to throw men into a pointless charge for the sake of expediency, but I am not." Even as she said that, she wrote something down. "I will, however, convey that you want a more tangible calculus. Is that acceptable?"

"It's a start."

Laura nodded sharply, before setting her notepad down. "As for the PTSD…the unfortunate truth, Chancellor, is that despite our best efforts, which have severely reduced PTSD rates, most of our soldiers have been trained with notions of this being wrong, while our newly trained are simply not enough to carry an operation of this scale. We are already rotating soldiers out at significantly accelerated rates because we did see this as a risk." A finger tapped her lips. "We are also matching leadership and officer positions to soldiers that are psychologically attuned to such conditions."

She gestured at her tablet."I am happy to say that none of our officers involved in Scipio have experienced any mental trauma, and while the statistic is unfortunate, it has thankfully not impacted overall mission efficiency and effectiveness, and it has allowed us to find and test successful methods of removing psychological resistance."

"Scipio is an operation that is intentionally designed to be psychologically scarring, and the rank and file soldiers are not immune to this," she said. "However, current rates are a third of the expected damage, and our experts deserve praise for their success."

Saudia cocked her head. "A third is still thousands of soldiers, and that continues to be an ongoing issue. If this is your best-case scenario, and you still moved forward, that is telling. An effect this outsized would have forced a reconsideration if I had been aware of the scale."

"Doubtful, Chancellor," Laura disagreed. "This is a persistent problem because our indoctrination programs have not been modernized to ADVENT military standards," Laura sighed. "As said previously. A lot of these soldiers come from old world militaries. Almost all of them. Most of our training still uses old methods, mostly from the United States, French, British, and Russian armies. Soldiers are not inherently comfortable with treating civilians as enemy combatants, due to instilled fears of legal retaliation, regardless of justification. It goes against training for many, though this is starting to lessen."

She flicked a wrist. "The second is more difficult to deal with. Morality, which is the core opposition to Scipio's more clearly brutal methods - and what Watkins has suddenly mutated to possess. This is not an easy operation to undertake, and it justifiably makes many people uncomfortable. Most are able to handle it, though there are others who are not – hence the higher numbers, and the irregularity of needing to weed out the unsuitable. For that, we've needed to develop new systems, which have already shown returns."

Laura lowered a hand. "With time, and utilizing the knowledge we've gained, we have been able to design methods and create outlines of the necessary mindsets required, and how to develop individuals into those mindsets. Preliminary testing of said indoctrination methods has already shown them to be the solution. Future generations of soldiers will not have this problem, I promise you. In the meantime, we are working to accelerate rotations out, prioritize psychologically-primed soldiers for Scipio service, bring more psychologists into the field, and prioritize treatment of those affected by Scipio service. We are taking steps, Chancellor, and those steps have had outstanding results."

She inclined her head. "Did that sufficiently answer your questions?"

"It answered them," Saudia said slowly, her mind thinking. "Your lack of disclosure is still unacceptable, and I will not tolerate it again. However, I will refrain from doing anything further. I'll let Watkins conduct his investigation. We will see if he finds your explanations as convincing."

There was still something about all of this that she found…off. Laura made her arguments, and logically there was a sound basis for them. Yet there was something missing that she couldn't put her finger on. She didn't feel like the solutions Laura was proposing were ones that were necessarily…better. Logically, there were justifications for Scipio. In practice, there was another element to this that a good number of people were finding it difficult or impossible to get past, despite knowing the logical advantages.

The thing was, she wasn't sure that this was the best method, and she couldn't articulate why. She would need to think about it. One thing was for sure, she was going to defer to Watkins, whatever he decided. She no longer thought there were no grounds for punishing Laura directly – her lack of disclosure alone was disturbing.

Still, this was going to be something she felt would be stuck in her mind for a while.

"I appreciate you listening, Chancellor," Laura said. "And I apologize again for my mistakes. They will not happen again, and I urge you to consider speaking again with Watkins. He's been difficult to reach lately."

"Good," Saudia sighed, before turning away. "I think this concludes everything. Dismissed, Commander, I have work to do."

---

Office of the Commander, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/6/2017 – 2:14 P.M.

It had been…how long had it been since Nartha had had a one-on-one meeting with the Commander? Months at least, not since he'd departed to infiltrate the Zararch, and a lot had happened since then. The Commander was very much how he remembered, if somewhat more tired-looking than before.

Considering the war, that wasn't surprising.

"Take a seat," the Commander said as Nartha entered. He'd been considerate enough to bring in a chair large enough for him to sit comfortably in, even if it was interesting being notably taller than the man who was now his proper superior. He sat down all the same.

"Are you settling in better?" The Commander asked.

"Very well, Commander," Nartha answered. "It's good to be back here. Almost nostalgic, even if fewer people than I'd expected recognized me. Probably for the best."

"Most remember you when you were masquerading as a Human," the Commander nodded, raising an eyebrow. "If it had meant this much, I might have held a ceremony."

Humor, clearly. "As I said, for the best."

The Commander cracked a smile. "Good. And your family?"

"My sister is glad I'm back for sure, my parents are…" Nartha trailed off. "Still not overly happy with me, but they're grudgingly coming around. I think. It will be a while, I think."

A nod. "Likely to be a persistent attitude among most Vitakara."

"Unfortunately." Nartha was beginning to realize that a mass enlightenment was something that was looking less and less likely, especially considering that the Collective was now openly using false flags to blame the Nulorian – not that those were even inaccurate. "This isn't something that can be easily forced."

"It isn't, and we'll be working on a better solution to that problem shortly," the Commander said, and leaned forward. "Now though, the reason I wanted to talk. Aside from having a proper talk, as it has been a while, it concerns your place in XCOM."

"I thought as much," Nartha nodded. "I'm ready to start moving back to operations. Where do you need me?"

"No critical needs – fortunately, we do not have manpower issues," the Commander smiled. "The Advent Directive makes sure that this is not a concern. What I want to know is what you would prefer to do. We have positions in XCOM Intelligence and in tactical operations."

Nartha considered that. Both of those he could fit in well enough, but, personally, he didn't want to return to intelligence work for a while. He felt that it was time for a change of pace, and intelligence work would necessitate working away from Shun for long periods of time, which was not…well, not desirable. Returning to tactical operations was much better.

However…

"I think my time as an intelligence agent may be done for now," Nartha said slowly. "But you have something specific in mind, I think."

The Commander seemed pleased he'd picked up on it. "As a matter of fact, I do. How much have you been told about the Chimera Division?"

"I know what it is," Nartha recalled. "XCOM's dedicated effort to integrate aliens into the wider XCOM mission set. I'm not sure if it is meant to be alien-only teams, or for identifying, training, and integrating in current operations and teams. I've received conflicting information, though have not looked closer into it."

"The confusion is something in particular that needs to be addressed," the Commander met his eyes. "To answer it, it is the latter. The purpose of the Chimera Division is to assist in properly training, outfitting, and augmenting aliens to work within XCOM as equals. There have been several operations with Chimera operatives, which have been successful. There has been more success in the Research and Development front."

"And the issues on the combat front are?"

"That XCOM is not especially friendly to aliens, or trusting," the Commander said. "Despite employment of the Manchurian Restraints, it remains a stigma, one which is understandable, but detrimental to the mission. Aliens are likewise somewhat wary of wanting to participate in combat operations, as they know they can expect this. There are those who have and will volunteer, but this is a process with Chimera."

He laced his fingers together. "As of now, Aegis has been overseeing the Chimera Division. It is largely a ceremonial role, and one to which he does not dedicate much of his time, given his many responsibilities. This has some issues, but the managers have been working well even with limited direction. Rava'xarian'hegemon and Sci'calintha'valian, respectively. I do not know if you've met them."

"Briefly," Nartha remembered.

"They're skilled, and can fulfill their role well," the Commander continued. "However, neither are ideally suited for management over the Division itself. Ideally, it should be an individual who can properly bridge between Human and alien. I believe you can see where I am going with this."

Nartha blinked. "Me?"

"Correct," the Commander smiled, leaning back. "You've proven your loyalty to XCOM many times over now. I have no doubts as to your capabilities, and you hold a unique position in XCOM. You were the first to defect of your own volition, and are trusted among everyone – Human and alien alike. If there is a position I would want to place you, it is Chimera Division Commander."

His hands separated, and the metal one rested on the table. "This position has responsibility," the Commander continued. "It is an Internal Council position – a role that you've earned. You would oversee both Combat and Research Operations within Chimera, as well as make sure relations between them, Creed, and Vahlen, respectively, are strong. And, of course, you would be permitted to participate in combat operations."

Nartha was not immediately sure what to think. He felt surprised, excited, and mortified all at the same time. It seemed a large jump to go from effectively an XCOM asset to a position on the Internal Council itself, but…here he was. And if there was something he wanted to do, it was helping make things easier and better for aliens in XCOM.

It was a big contrast to working with Miridian, who wanted the exact opposite for even racial integration, let alone species integration. Ironic that a Human was more open-minded to the idea. "I can't say I was expecting this," Nartha said. "But if you believe I can fulfill the role, it is one I would gratefully accept."

"I'm glad to hear it," the Commander said. "I thought you would accept, but the decision is ultimately yours. Now that you have? I think there will be a lot of people glad to see your promotion." He extended a hand that Nartha took. "Welcome back to XCOM, Chimera Commander Nartha."

---

Fectorian's Workshop – The Hall of Steel

8/12/2017 – 9:00 A.M.

Fectorian was oddly quiet for several minutes after she finished sharing what she had determined. It was difficult to determine what the helmeted Ethereal was thinking, though something that had shifted was that, even if unintentionally, she was able to make…assumptions about his reaction.

Body language, tone inflections, she'd been around him enough to pick up on things like this, even if she had not necessarily intended it. More anomalies, ones that she needed to bring up now – though after he reacted to what she'd shared.

"Concerning," he finally said. "This carries significant implications."

Abigail cocked her head at that. Immediate acceptance, no further pressing her on details. She'd had the information sent to him, of course, and he'd been reviewing it as she'd explained her own calculus, but not even he could go through all of it so fast. Considering how entrenched he'd been in believing that the Battlemaster was incapable of this…

"No questions?" She ventured. "I was expecting…well, to defend this."

"No, I gave you a task, and you fulfilled it to the best of your ability," Fectorian stated with a wave of his hand. "If I did not consider you reliable enough to answer honestly, then you would not have been asked. I, in this case, appear to be wrong. Even if you do not know more, the fact that there is action being undertaken is enough. You did good work."

"Thank you," Abigail said. "What will happen now?"

"Right now, I do not have that answer for you," Fectorian considered, idly fiddling with some contraption on his workbench. "There are more pieces in motion within the Collective than I believed. The Imperator's coalition is far weaker than I assumed it to be, nor is his reach as extensive as both he and I assumed. The Battlemaster acting with subtlety is extremely unlike him, though it is theoretically possible within his psychological model."

"Why is it surprising?" Abigail asked. "Especially considering what the Imperator has allowed to be done? He kept secrets from everyone until there was no choice but to explain."

"There is a reason loyalty is prized in leaders," Fectorian said. "It is insurance against actions which may make one question their allegiance and support. Battlemasters, Abigail, are the embodiment of loyalty. They are willing to fight and die for the Empire, and as there is no Empire, the Imperator takes that role. What you have implied the Battlemaster doing is anathema to everything I understand the Battlemasters to be, as does the Imperator."

"The Empire," Abigail wondered. "That wouldn't be the Imperator. That would be the Collective."

"The Collective is not the Ethereal Empire reborn," Fectorian sharply dismissed. "The first priority of the Empire was the governance, protection, and expansion of the interests of the Ethereal species. The Collective is required to maintain multiple factions and interests. Make no mistake – the Imperator is the singular successor of the Ethereal Empire, and even if you were correct, he rules it all the same."

"Perhaps he doesn't see it that way?" she proposed.

"Almost a certainty, and in fact, there is no other explanation," Fectorian muttered. "That a Battlemaster can have such a shift in mindset is troubling. It also means that the coming months may be highly chaotic, especially on Earth, with multiple Sovereigns in play. The last thing that is needed is more chaos in the form of the Battlemaster's plan – whatever it may be."

"And what is the worst-case scenario?" She asked.

"Bluntly, that he intends to overthrow the Imperator," Fectorian answered. "He would start a civil war. It will institute a domino effect across the entire Collective. The Andromedons will almost certainly either descend into civil war, or strike at the Sectoids. Vitakar will descend into deeper state control, or break down completely. I cannot speak for how deeply the Collective military would be split, which is…" he shook his head. "This would destroy the Collective."

His tone was irritated. "Fool Imperator. This is untenable. There is limited time for action. There are two objectives now – determine the scope and details of the Battlemaster's plan, and make contact with T'Leth. It cannot be put off further."

Finally. Though there was something in his voice…resignation? Apprehension? Both things which she had rarely heard from him before, if ever. That was good to hear though. "My memories have not come back. I'm not sure if they will ever at this point."

Fectorian was silent for a moment. "I am aware. I also know you've been experiencing…" he flicked a wrist, drawing out a pause. "Trances, for lack of a better word."

"You've been observing me, I see."

"This is my home and station – there is nothing that is said or happens that I cannot eventually learn, even so-called private conversations. I am aware of them, and I know you were going to ask me about it."

Well…that simplified things. "And is there an answer?"

"There is." He brought up a holodisplay of scrolling data, though it seemed to be unrelated, just something for himself. "First, I want a question answered. Honestly. Consider it an unofficial session."

She nodded once, feeling…well, curious. No other emotion right now. She felt she should be feeling something more, but she knew she was going to receive an answer, and she was ready. "Ask your question."

"Liam Jaster." A pause. "How do you feel about him?"

It was not the question she had expected. Abigail didn't answer right away. It was not a question that had an easy answer. How did she feel about the one person who'd been with her almost since the moment she'd woken up, not even knowing who she was? Who'd been with her since she tried to rediscover herself, sharing stories about her, about himself, telling her about who she had been, but encouraging her to become who she really was today.

She had relied on him, and had been relying on him for something she hadn't fully articulated until now. He was a constant in her life, someone who had helped navigate her path here from the start. Even when she'd been in XCOM, it had been a similar relationship. She'd lost him, but here he was again.

He cared about her. She cared about him.

Even as she regained a semblance of identity, even as she mastered her new enhanced body, even as she dealt with Fectorian's scans and tests, he'd been there and with her, whenever she needed or wanted to talk. He left her alone when she wanted to be. He was one reason she could break out of her trances to reality.

That meant something, right?

Love? She didn't know. She felt it should be, but she felt different; there had been a constant feeling of difference that she hadn't been able to sort out, mixed up in who she was, who she was becoming, and who she wanted to be. Maybe one day she could unequivocally say that, but Liam right now was something just as, or more important.

"He's my constant," she finally said. "An anchor. He cares about me. He's helped me."

Fectorian considered that. "You have not needed him for some time. You could have let him go once you gathered what you needed from his memory about you. Why did you not?"

She was caught off-guard by the aggressive question. "Why…why would I ever do that? Why would I do that to someone who's helped me? I don't know exactly who I was before my death – but I know I would never do that to anyone. Especially not him. Do you really think I'm that heartless?"

"Logically, you know I am right."

"Logic has nothing to do with it!" she snapped. "Something you might understand if you had friends you cared for, and didn't rely on machines to do thinking for you!" She might have watched her words, but she felt angry from the sudden accusation. As if she had done something wrong here.

"You are saying it is emotive then," he said. "You want that. Companionship. Friendship. More, perhaps, even if you have not decided. You feel, and you cannot ignore that."

"Yes?" Now she was confused, wondering where he was going with this. The line of questioning actually seemed like it was leading to a greater point. "I'm a Human, we're not…machines that respond to our programming and nothing more. Why are you even asking me this? You know everything here, why are you surprised?"

Fectorian shut off the data stream he was viewing. He looked at her for an uncomfortably long period of time. He was appraising her, she felt she was on trial, everything she was and had done being judged, and she did not know why. She felt like something was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon.

"Come with me, Abigail Gertrude."

Without waiting to see if she was following, he turned and exited his workshop. She wasted no time following the tall alien, and they went down halls she was familiar with. She had a very accurate mental map of the facility, most of it memorized from looking at actual schematics.

Where they were going was a place she'd never been, and didn't know what it was. Fectorian did not speak as they walked, and the workers and soldiers along the way moved or merely nodded. Fectorian spoke to none of them, single-mindedly focused on his destination. They entered into a Gateway, and came out the other side into a dark room.

It was small, and there was only a singular entity inside it. It looked like a person, though the lighting made it impossible to discern. "Do not be alarmed," Fectorian said, and pressed a button on his wrist. The lights turned on, illuminating the bare room in harsh orange light. The room was similar to metal storage rooms, which would normally be filled with crates of components, armed robots, or weapons.

There was only one thing stored here.

She froze once she saw it.

It was her.

Not a model, not a replica, it was her perfectly recreated. A clone, if she didn't know better, one that seemed to be…still. Alive, as she saw the imperceptible motions of breathing. She saw the eyes blink occasionally. Indications of life, as if there was a script running on idle, doing things that Humans should be doing.

Alive, but unaware.

"What is this?"

"This is who you are," Fectorian said, and pressed another button on his wrist. Her vision turned briefly to darkness, and yet a millisecond later she regained her sight. She shouldn't have noticed that length, no longer than a blink. It was so fast, yet it seemed much longer. But there was something much, much different when her sight returned.

Now she was opposite Fectorian, and standing beside him was her. Her body, that was acting just like the one she had seen when walking in.

And yet…she wasn't completely separated. It was a sudden realization, an instinct that she'd immediately known how to use. She had influence over the body by Fectorian, and on her own directed the body to turn to him. It was an impossible to describe sense, doubled, yet not, centralized, yet having remote control.

The woman by Fectorian was her, and it was not at the same time.

And she had done all of this instinctively. As if she'd known how to do it.

This is who you are.

And she knew who she was.

And everything made sense.

"I'm not alive," she said in her new body. "I am not Abigail. I am an artificial intelligence."

Fectorian nodded. "I did not lie to Abigail. I also did not lie to you when I said that the procedure had experienced difficulties. In actuality, it failed. Completely. It was impossible to perform a consciousness transfer. If I had enlisted Revelean, perhaps it could have been different. Yet this level of biological manipulation is not my specialty. I offered Abigail Gertrude the only out I could. I knew it would likely fail."

"But you didn't let it fail." Abigail – was that who she still was? – looked at her hand, seeming to find it completely Human. Real. She'd known the skin and arms were metal. She'd believed that there was some part of her that was alive. That she was a perfected mix of flesh and metal.

Instead, she knew she was just circuits, steel, and oil.

"I made a choice," Fectorian said. "I would either let her death be for nothing – or I would salvage it and take a risk." He paused. "You know of our species. We dislike artificial intelligence. We forbade it. I dislike it, for I know how machines operate. Machines are dangerous, those which can think for themselves even more so. But I have wondered, and, with the consciousness experiment having failed, I decided to begin a new one."

"You turned her into an artificial intelligence," she said. "Into…me."

"Yes. I salvaged her mind in a destructive scan, necessary in these scenarios," Fectorian explained. "You are based on her, but you never were, nor could you be her. My experiment was simple – artificial intelligences are not alive. They are not individuals. They are something beyond it. They are incapable of understanding what it is like to live, and be merely organic. Limited. That was why you were created, to see if I could be proven wrong."

He inclined his head. "And I have been proven wrong. You may not be us, but you have shown you are alive in ways that matter. Enough time has passed, and the data I have gathered has shown me enough to tell you the truth. You are owed that much. If I had been right, you would have become far more withdrawn much earlier."

He pointed at her - no - at the body beside him. "Those trances you experienced were lapses into your true state. You are skilled at mathematics, chance, and logic because you are a machine. These instincts bled out. You are able to complete complex tasks in moments, and condense weeks of analysis into days. You should have fallen into this routine of task and completion."

Fectorian trailed off. "Yet you did not. You went about a routine, you spoke with Liam. You interacted with others. Not because you decided it was logical, formulaic, or coldly justifiable – but because you wanted to." His tone turned almost disgusted. "There is no rational creature which would willingly play a board game, especially Risk. A horrific oversimplification of conflict."

He waved a hand. "I digress. You understand my point. You called Liam your constant. An anchor. And you wanted to keep that anchor, as you are afraid of losing yourself to the trances. You did not know what they were. You may be based on Abigail Gertrude, and for all intents and purposes, you are her. You wanted to be her, but also be yourself. You still do. If I had been right, you would have eventually discarded the usefulness of her at all. You did not. You never had her memories, only impressions, as that was all I could do."

The second body of Abigail walked up to the body she primarily inhabited now, both raising their hands, mirroring each other's actions. It was so simple, so easy, as if she had been doing it all her life. So much of what she had experienced became clear. "That is why I'm still here," she murmured to herself. "XCOM can't verify my identity, my memories, because I don't have them. I never did."

"No, you did not." Fectorian said. "A lie, but a necessary one. I did not lie about contacting T'Leth, or otherwise making contact. That is necessary, and I intend to do that. It will, however, need to be done through trust. There is no Abigail to confirm, yet you are her all the same. I did not want to send you to XCOM until you understood your own nature."

"The baselines were never about my memories," she continued in a low voice. "But if I was…emotive? That I felt?"

"Correct. If you had begun to drift in a less emotive direction, I would have identified it."

"And what would you have done if I failed?"

"Destroyed you. Your kind are dangerous. There are reasons I was distrustful," Fectorian hesitated. "However, I prefer to believe myself a logical individual, one who is capable of evaluating and reevaluating my positions. I am an engineer; I design, improve, refine. That includes more than my projects, it includes myself. You have demonstrated that not all artificial intelligences are worthy of destruction."

"Does Liam know?"

"I never told him. I believe he suspects, especially when you unconsciously calculated the exact trajectory to throw the dice in Risk so you would always win. He is a smart man, and there have been signs he has noticed about you. You have told him as much."

"Yes," Abigail said. "I have."

The duo (or was it trio?) stood there, in silence. Abigail finally spoke, as the body she controlled took its place by her side. "What do you expect me to do now that I know what I am?" She paused. "You have a failsafe built in, no doubt."

"From the start. It would have destroyed your core and wiped your code," Fectorian said. "You lack the knowledge of how to manipulate your own code, despite your instinctive understanding of it. You would not have been able to solve it. I have limited your true capabilities intentionally. Now that I believe you are reliable, those will be gradually available to you. In time, you will find and remove my failsafe. I have no use or need for it any longer. As for what I expect you to do…"

He let the pause linger. "I do not know. A position I dislike being in. I will merely say what I wish you to do. I hope that my explanation has been satisfying, and that you understand why I hid your nature as I did. I want you to continue assisting me as you have been. You care about XCOM, Humans, the war. You can have a greater role than you previously imagined. I want you, Abigail, for I will continue to call you that until you indicate otherwise, to be an ally. A partner."

"A partner."

"I am aware of my own biological and mental limitations," Fectorian waved a hand. "There will be a point where you will intellectually surpass me, as all AIs do. It is pointless to pretend you are subservient, nor do I want any relationship to be based on it. A partner is the proper term – a partner who will restore order, to the Collective, to Earth, to all."

There was freedom here.

She did not think he was lying. He was right – she understood why he had done what he'd done. And she realized that if this lie was the price for her turning into who she was, then she would not have it any other way. An artificial intelligence she may be, one based on a dead woman, but she was alive.

She understood. She felt. She was.

From an Ethereal, she believed there could be no more she could expect. And what Fectorian now offered, she saw no reason to refuse. Revelations such as these she knew could shatter a person, it could make them question everything, it could change everything. And yet, she felt that she had not fundamentally changed.

She was still her. She just now knew what she really was, she had answers to the parts of her that had been question marks.

She was not remade, she was whole.

She was Abigail Gertrude, and she would honor the memory of the woman who had been her origin. From what she knew about her, she would do whatever it took to help the most she could. And she believed, without a doubt, that Abigail would have wanted her to help Fectorian.

Abigail walked over to Fectorian, and extended one hand. After a moment, Fectorian reached out with one of his own, and shook it. "I think that is a fair arrangement…partner," she said, with a smile. "And I think that there is some work to be done."

---

ADVENT Niger Forward Operating Base Theta – Niger

9/4/2017 – 3:22 P.M.

There had only been rumors at first, Kaya had been among the first to realize that something had changed. It had first been when they'd pulled back from another city they were seizing without any clear explanation that she could see – as usual ADVENT was doing most of the attacking, and was in little to no danger of retaliation.

Then orders had been curtly dispersed to all of the soldiers. Short and to the point.

ADVENT was conducting an 'Operational Pause' on Operation Scipio, for reasons that were undisclosed. What did that mean? In effect, that meant all operations were stopped until some unknown criteria was met. According to Freya, this didn't just apply to them, as some rumors had said, but everyone associated with Scipio.

"ADVENT just stopped the operation?" she asked. "Why?"

"No idea," Freya had said, clearly displeased. "Or, at least, they haven't told me."

A few days, and Kaya actually believed she had figured out the reason for the pause, a reason that she was honestly rather shocked by, because she hadn't believed it would happen. The most telling clue had been seeing a number of new personnel that descended onto the base – men and women with the very distinctive seal of the Oversight Division.

And if the Oversight Division was involved?

Then someone had finally put their foot down on Scipio. She wasn't sure if they were here because of her specific report, but it seemed clear that there had been enough people to gain the attention of someone important, or there was someone in ADVENT who had realized problems with what was going on here.

It gave her some hope, and in contrast to many around her, was feeling better than she had in a long time. She didn't necessarily care how it had come about, only that it had. All questions she had were dashed when she had been approached by one of the grey-suited agents. "Empress Yamato?"

She'd started at that, having not heard her title in a while, and she had been in the barracks at the time. It had been a woman who'd greeted her, one perhaps slightly older than her, and of clear Asian descent, though with an American accent. Very proper, something that all the Oversight operatives were.

"Yes?" she said. "Can I help?"

"As a matter of fact, you already have," the woman consulted her tablet, before extending a hand. "Tamara Lowe, Oversight Division." Kaya took her hand with one shake. "You filed a report to the Oversight Division roughly one month ago, is that correct?"

"Yes, it is," Kaya nodded. "Is…this about that?"

Tamara looked into the room. "Are you occupied right now?"

"Uh," Kaya looked back, seeing a few of her unit sleeping or occupied. "I'm free, though the room isn't."

"Good, though even if you were, this supersedes your orders," Tamara's face was professionally neutral, but Kaya could tell she was satisfied. "Oversight priorities take precedence. If you would, please follow me."

"Yes, sir," she stepped out and began following the woman, who was half a head shorter.

"I heard that the Imperial Children were returned as part of the exchange," Tamara said. "I hope that you've had the chance to speak with them."

"Yes, I have." That had been one of the most relieving conversations she'd had in a long time. Thankfully the children had been treated well, and weren't too traumatized from the experience. She hoped that ADVENT was protecting them better than they had been, and had stronger protocols in place to protect them from another abduction. "They are doing well, or as well as can be expected considering what happened."

"Something that could apply to all of us in this war," Tamara mused. "Considering what we are up against, we're doing as well as can be expected."

The conversation morphed into something more casual as they walked, and Kaya had enough experience to tell it was both a way to put her more at ease with casual conversation, as well as likely get a sense of what her personality was like. She wondered if the woman was a detective or interrogator. Considering what she was likely here for, either seemed likely. She avoided talking about the subject at hand, thinking that was likely coming shortly.

Eventually, they came to a small office, which Tamara motioned her into. A bit bare, but there was a short table, as well as a counter with cups and a coffee maker on it. "Take a seat, have some coffee if you drink," Tamara said, pulling up a chair. "I don't expect this to take too long."

Kaya sat opposite her. "I'm ready. This almost seems like something I should have a lawyer for."

"In previous circumstances, likely," Tamara smiled as she pulled out her tablet again. "However, this is just between us. Lawyers are an unnecessary hindrance for Oversight. We prefer going to the sources. Speaking of which, that brings us to your report."

"This is what it's all about?" Kaya nodded in the general area around her. "The report I submitted? I'm somewhat surprised anyone followed up."

"We follow up with every credible report, Empress," Tamara stated. "As you may have guessed, you were hardly the only one to express concerns with how Operation Scipio has been carried out. While I would not say you were the tipping point, your report was echoed in a number of other ones, and has triggered an Oversight investigation into the conduct, leadership, and effects that have occurred as the result of the operation."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning that there will be people arrested, the operation itself paused until we can assess a credible way forward, and policy changes to ensure something like this cannot happen again," she rested her tablet on the table. "I want to be very clear now – you did the right thing, despite your belief that little would be accomplished. I am hopeful that our intervention here will demonstrate that not just to you, but to the rest of ADVENT. There are major individuals who are under investigation as a result of their role in this. Simply put, it is not acceptable."

Kaya frowned. "I'll also be honest – that wouldn't be the first time claims like that are made. I'm glad you stopped the operation, but let's not pretend that the Commander is going to be on the chopping block."

"Empress, this has received the attention of the Chief Overseer," Tamara answered, making a note. "While I am not permitted to discuss specific details, he only directly becomes involved in major cases that involve the highest ranking officials in ADVENT. While I will not state exactly who we will be taking action against, I will reiterate that there is no one who has immunity from us. ADVENT High Command did not order this pause on our recommendation – Chief Overseer Watkins personally ordered it himself."

Kaya cocked her head. "He can do that?"

"If he had sufficient justification," she confirmed. "And based on the many, many reports we have received – yours included – he had good reason." She glanced down to her tablet. "Now, as for what I need from you, I need to directly confirm what you gave in your report, and elaborate on it if you wish, as well as bring anything else you want to my attention."

Kaya settled in, wondering if she should have gotten that coffee…well, not coffee. Water. Something. Either way, Tamara began asking questions. Initially she was concerned that she might not remember the answers, but as it turned out, effectively all of what she'd written up was still applicable.

What Tamara was most interested in were names, not so much dates. Kaya brought up that there was armor camera footage, and she'd acknowledged that it was already acquired, which made Kaya wonder if this was a cross-checking interview, or something to gauge her honesty. Either way, there wouldn't be any discrepancies.

Tamara also asked a number of questions that weren't at all related to her report, but which Kaya could immediately tell were to confirm based on what someone else had likely reported. Most of them she could confirm, and only a few she didn't know anything about, which were officer-level decisions from the sounds of them.

She was an easy woman to talk to, and Kaya was just glad that there was someone who she could really talk to about all of this besides Genevieve. Tamara seemed like she really wanted to help, and Oversight was taking this seriously, so she had some hope that things would be better.

It had probably been a couple of hours, and finally Tamara put the tablet down. "Only one more question, and one I understand you may not have an answer for, as it is also a…speculative question. You are hardly the only one to report, but if I am understanding, you did not feel comfortable directly intervening in many cases."

She quickly raised a hand. "This is not condemnation or judging, but we need to have an understanding of the environment you are working in right now. We understand that being the hero is easier said than done, especially when there are careers on the line."

Kaya thought for a moment before answering. "I put some of it in the report. At the end of the day though…" she shrugged. "That's how it is in the military. We have orders, we carry them out. I believe the officers are operating under orders just as we are. And it might be me who's in the wrong." A thin, unhappy smile appeared on her face. "We're the military, things like morality don't have a place here. We defend ADVENT by any means necessary, even abhorrent ones. Maybe I didn't understand what that meant until now."

She drummed her fingers on the table idly. "I suppose to answer your question, I don't like to make suicidal decisions. The most I could do was talk to my superior who either said she couldn't do anything, or explained why this was done. And…" Kaya shrugged. "I don't want more of us to die, but I also just see something…wrong with how this is all conducted. It's worse the more I think about it. Easier to just not."

"Not think?"

"Yes, just do your job, not more," she said, frowning. "It's not a good excuse, but when all of your leadership is unified on it, and you see between the lines and notice anyone divergent is reassigned or gone one day, then it feels like you're the crazy one."

"It's a known phenomenon, and you shouldn't feel bad," Tamara said. "Especially since you did something about it, which will now be corrected. It's important to be honest, because from what I see, unless there are certain changes, something like this will happen again."

"I wish you luck in that," Kaya said. "I'm just one soldier in the Order of Terra. Something like that is way above what I can influence."

"Trust me, I am very much aware of that," Tamara chuckled. "And neither I, nor anyone else, expects more than what you've already done. This has already been extremely helpful to us, and will continue to be so as we move forward." She stood, and Kaya did as well. "That's all I need from you today."

"But tomorrow?"

"Possible, but unlikely," Tamara assured her. "I may conduct a follow-on interview depending on how the investigation progresses, but I don't necessarily think that will be the case right now. The Oversight Division appreciates your initiative and cooperation. It will make us better."

"I hope so," Kaya said. "And thank you. For doing something."

"Doing something is the easy part, Empress," Tamara said wistfully. "The hard part is going to be making sure it isn't repeated."

And on that, Kaya could most certainly agree.

---

The Prism

9/12/2017 – 10:13 A.M.

The Battlemaster appraised the individual opposite him, who had materialized in a similar way to the others of the Aen Elle that had visited him the first time. This time, however, the General had been accompanied by an entourage of soldiers – ones which the Battlemaster also recognized from New York.

The Battlemaster observed them warily. "It seems you have finally come."

"We know the Rite of Challenge has been invoked." The General nodded, his face sharp. "For this, you have the support of the Aen Elle."

"You certainly took your time coming here," Yang muttered as she was putting on her armor, not especially perturbed by doing it in front of the aliens, as she was too annoyed by the sudden interruption. "This was over a month ago."

The General looked down at her, unimpressed. "We are a species of immortals, whose perception of time and space is not like your own," he looked to the Battlemaster. "The Ethereals understand this. Time means little when it has no effect, yet you are not incorrect that there have been delays. Our insight into this Sphere is not complete, especially when we now act against the Entity. However, it will also similarly be slow by your estimation."

Yang just sighed at that.

The Battlemaster appraised the collection of soldiers. They were tall, taller than all average Humans, equal to most Ethereals, though they were smaller than him. They stood still, their faces obscured by skull-like masks. Most were what he assumed to be soldiers, except for one, who had garments and clothes colored a deep red woven through the armor, as well as a smoother helmet. They also did not carry a weapon.

"Why did you bring soldiers?" He asked.

"A precautionary measure, and to serve as an escort," the General answered. "You are to come with us to the Throne World and speak with the one who faced the Entity. It is not a privilege granted to outsiders, certainly not ones from Spheres such as yours."

The Battlemaster was silent for a moment. "A threat, in other terms."

"Likely an unnecessary one, but correct," the General confirmed. "We do not anticipate you causing significant trouble, nor would you be able to even if you wished. You have experienced first-hand the skill of the warriors of the Aen Elle."

"One of your best, if what you said is true."

"Indeed," the General looked down to Yang. "Do you intend for her to also accompany you?"

"Yes." A question came to him. "And how long will this meeting entail?"

"It will not be long," the General motioned around him. "If you wish to make preparations to ensure any absence does not elicit suspicion, do so now, though we do not judge it to be necessary. This will be the start of a more permanent relationship between yourself and the Throne World."

"And who will I be speaking to?" The Battlemaster said. "Your Lord?"

"Yes, Battlemaster." A sharp nod. "You will learn his name shortly."

"Very well."

The Battlemaster was not discounting the possibility of a trap, though he realized that there was little that would be able to dissuade them if they were set on abducting him. Nor did he believe they were being duplicitous. This was too much effort for them to go through for it to only be a lie.

Given that there was no means of predicting when the Entity would come back, it was best to do this when the opportunity presented itself. He could sense that Yang remained nervous about this, though he was more interested in experiencing this Throne World and the universe it inhabited.

"Ensure that there will be no one enquiring for us," he ordered Yang, before turning back to the General. "Then we will go with you."

The General nodded in affirmation, and tapped the end of his staff on the ground. "Good. We will be ready."

---

Spartacus Chamber, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/18/2017 – 3:22 P.M.

The Commander was struck by just how large the chamber where Spartacus was being grown was. It illustrated the degree to which they were relying on what was effectively a peaceful awakening. It was going to be a multi-stage process that had been simulated and tested for – but it was always best to prepare for the unexpected.

The chamber had been stripped of any superfluous furniture and equipment. What remained focused solely on ensuring that the Muton could be awakened safely. All of the Internal Council were present, along with the scientists who had primarily been working on Spartacus. Ir Nara had been one such scientist, and she rivaled Vahlen in how much her presence added.

Not necessarily in a positive way.

Ir Nara was a woman who was very intense, and was more coldly professional than Vahlen ever was, though the Commander understood that to be more of a dislike for the people she worked with. Vahlen was one of the few she openly tolerated, though when she looked at Spartacus, there was something else in her gaze.

Pride?

"I've watched you work before," the Commander said, standing beside the tall woman as she observed the preparations, arms crossed. "This is one project you seem to have enjoyed."

"It is one where my skills have finally been relevant," Ir Nara said curtly. "It is a...validation."

"Why, if you don't mind my question?"

Ir Nara looked down at him, then looked up, looking forward. "I was once denied a position I sought. It was for only the best, the elite, the geniuses. They said I lacked the mindset, the intellect to produce what they sought. Lies. I was denied because of who I was associated with."

"Crevan?"

"Indeed," Ir Nara crossed her arms. "Look upon him, Commander. A coherent genetic subspecies of the Muton. Taking traits from every Muton from soldiers to Praetorians. Thousands of sequences, all of which should reject each other, where it would be so easy to overlook a fatal flaw. Hundreds of failed experiments. One success. And one success is all it will take."

She gestured. "Your wife deserves as much credit as I do. She is brilliant. I do not use that word lightly; she would fit in well with my former colleagues. You do not comprehend the majesty of what we have achieved, but she does. Make sure she knows that."

"Believe me," the Commander said as they watched Vahlen continue the preparations. "I know well that she is brilliant. And knows much more than I in fields like this, which is admittedly not hard. I may not understand the scientific achievement like you do - but I do understand the impact this will have."

"We alter the trajectory of a species," Ir Nara murmured. "A new era birthed at the hands of Spartacus. Poetic. A story that I feel I will tell."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you wrote."

She grimaced. "I rarely do. Few things inspire me these days. But this represents something, something that should be remembered, even if I am the only one to read it."

"If all goes well," the Commander said. "You won't be the only one."

"Perhaps, Commander. First we have to wake him up."

"Not to interrupt the conversation," Creed said, walking up, with Nartha beside him, a tablet in hand. "But the squad is in position."

A sharp nod followed. "Good. Remember, this is a contingency."

"Obviously," he said, turning to face the pod as all of them did. "At the end of the day, he's a Muton."

Something they both knew was at best a half-truth. Spartacus was not a mere Muton. He was, if they succeeded, their future.

Creed had suggested that there be a number of soldiers ready in case something went wrong, but Vahlen, Ir Nara and several others had sharply rebuked that suggestion. The Commander agreed with their reasoning – given what had been given to him in the memory implants, guns were something that might trigger an instinctive response, which they wanted to avoid.

"A pointless exercise," Ir Nara shook her head. "Spartacus' threat to you is in his intellect, not his strength. Size has no intrinsic merit."

"Contingencies, Ir Nara," Creed responded, nonplussed. "Better safe than sorry."

The tall woman pursed her lips in response.

It had been a debate of sorts about if this was necessary or not. They'd eventually compromised by having an XCOM squad outside the room. Truthfully, even if something did go wrong, the Commander wasn't worried. He was not the most powerful psion, but he was skilled enough to telekinetically restrain one Muton – even one near the size of a Sargon, which was to say nothing of Vahlen, Ir Nara, and Iosif, who were masters in their own respective disciplines.

"We're ready to begin," Vahlen called to them. "Ir Nara, please assist on the initial awakening sequence."

"Of course," she said, moving to a nearby console. "Beginning drug diluents."

"I wonder," Nartha said, looking at the tank. "Do you think he will find it odd that I'm here?"

"Unlikely," Ir Nara said. "Knowledge of XCOM, including alien allies, has been shared with him. I would not expect a comment, and it will in fact reinforce that XCOM does work with aliens at all levels."

More commands and call-outs sounded from the scientists. "Beginning tank draining sequence," one of the scientists said, as they pressed buttons on their machines. Lights flashed and the sound of fluid being drained was heard. The Commander watched impassively, everything appearing to go as anticipated as Vahlen and Ir Nara's teams worked in tandem.

"I didn't hear all of your conversation, but Ir Nara is right about this - it is quite the feat," Creed said beside him. "Our own Praetorian, grown from scratch."

"Not quite a Praetorian," the Commander corrected, remembering what Vahlen had explained. "Closer to a Sargon, but even that isn't accurate. Most of the changes are in the brain - Praetorians and Sargons are smart, but they are designed to obey orders and commands. They think, but do not feel. Comprehend, but not understand anything deeper."

"Not empathetic," Creed summarized. "But he is."

"Should be, if they succeeded," the Commander confirmed. "A tricky balance between retaining the raw intelligence, but not turning him into an obedient drone." the Commander shook his head. "The Ethereals are brilliant at genetic science, but they never saw anything more in them than soldiers. A shame."

"Something we're correcting," Creed smiled. "As per usual, it seems."

"With a good amount of assistance," the Commander amended. "From the data Aegis originally provided, and…well, the corpses of Praetorians and other advanced Mutons."

"Still," Creed mused as they appraised the tank. "Is the first time we've done anything like this? Taken an existing species and altered them like this?"

"Shoggoths?" the Commander raised an eyebrow.

"The little Cthulhus are clever, but they're not sapient," Creed muttered.

"Some of the staff would beg to differ."

"They are like little demonic cats," Creed said. "Actually, no, they are exactly that. You know what I mean."

"I do, I do," the Commander said, shaking his head. "You're also right, and I don't expect it to become a common occurrence. Spartacus is a very unique circumstance, for a unique purpose."

"I suspect this process is how the Sovereign Ones alter their own species," Mercado commented as he walked up, while absently making notes in his notepad. "It is very unlikely that they create species from nothing. Rather, it is far more likely that they take species in various evolutionary stages, and…accelerate the process so to speak."

"We could ask her," Creed motioned to Ir Nara. "She's one of his Agents."

"And she either wouldn't know or wouldn't share," Mercado responded. "I don't think she likes me that much. Especially since I suspect that T'Leth isn't as open with his Agents as we assume. But that is neither here nor there. Not today."

He indicated the pod. "Not that this project is quite the same – we were looking to replicate, rather than accelerate evolution. Nonetheless, I believe that the process is similar enough to make a note of."

"For what purpose, Doctor?" Creed asked dryly.

"I suspect the Commander sees my point," Mercado said.

"I see it well enough," the Commander nodded. "And as I said, I don't think we should get into the business of radically altering sapient species. The only species we have license to modify fully is ourselves - within reason. Though as I said…a unique circumstance."

"What is this, ethics from the Commander?" Mercado said, amused. "Truly, you have grown."

"Merely some restraint," the Commander answered in an equally amused voice. "I think we can all agree we shouldn't emulate the Sovereign Ones that much - nor go to the lengths the Sectoids and Andromedons went. There is a limit to which we should modify even ourselves."

"Make sure your wife knows that," Zhang said with a thin smile, finally speaking as he and Jackson moved closer. "I think she quite enjoyed this project. "

"I can hear you - and indeed, I enjoyed this project," Vahlen said as she worked on preparing the pod. "Do not worry, I do not intend to radically alter any additional sapient species without express authorization."

"Always a caveat," Jackson felt the need to note. "All that aside, this will be interesting. I don't think I've had a full conversation with a Muton."

"Supposedly, the intelligent ones are good conversationalists," the Commander said. "If somewhat...business-oriented. Supposedly, this one will be able to have more involved conversations regarding subjects than just military strategy."

"Correct, but not right away," Vahlen warned. "When he comes out of the pod, he is likely going to need some time to orient himself. However, I believe that he will not take long to acclimatize himself to his environment."

"Hopefully," the Commander said.

"I am also confident of this," Ir Nara added.

The draining of the pod continued, and after minutes passed, gravity asserted itself and the lumbering form of Spartacus was only kept suspended by the bands around his shoulders, keeping him propped up. "Prepare for pod opening," Vahlen called, and it was followed by a hiss as the pod opened outwards with a wet displacement of air.

The smell of unidentifiable chemicals and water hit them, thankfully not overpowering or otherwise unpleasant. The scientists moved closer to him, and began removing wires, tubes, and other instruments that had been connected to his form. "He will likely begin awakening shortly," Vahlen said, stepping away from the console. "We are taking him out of what was effectively an induced coma. As his body is physically superior to ours, it will take his system significantly less time to purge the sedatives from his body."

"Especially after I introduced drug countermeasures into his system," Ir Nara also stepped back. "It will not be long."

"Muton physiology. Useful this time," the Commander commented. "Not so much in the field."

Mutons really were excellent soldiers. It would be difficult to find an alien species as well-suited for war as Mutons. It wasn't surprising that the Collective had gone to such efforts to make them the core of their army. They were hardy, followed orders, had excellent physiology, and were smart enough to adapt to the battlefield.

In theory, they even had an extremely high potential intellect, as evidenced by Sargons and Praetorians.

However, the Collective had made a fatal mistake in assuming that brawn was all that was needed to win a war. It didn't matter if one had an army of Goliaths if they had clear, exploitable weaknesses. Automata were not as useful as some likely believed, and if one couldn't ensure the loyalty of their army outside of dumbing them down, then that was an army which would eventually collapse.

While Spartacus was not exactly David, he would be able to exploit a vulnerability that the Commander believed the Collective had never accounted for.

The scientists removing the monitoring equipment were drying the fluids off of the massive Muton and placing some easily fitting clothes over his body to cover most of the nakedness. One downside of growing in tanks was that it was impossible to fit any kind of clothing. They were all professionals though, and the Muton would receive appropriate clothing soon enough.

Out of the tank, the Commander saw that it was as healthy a Muton as it had looked in the pod. Healthy pink-brown skin, rippling muscles all over the body, and, when standing, he was going to tower over all of them, and probably even match Aegis' height. It was a good thing the architecture of the Praesidium was accommodating to taller aliens, else there might be problems.

The body twitched.

"Here he comes," Vahlen murmured. "No sudden movements. As I said, he is going to be confused for a short time."

The Muton's eyes opened.

They were like the eyes of every muton. Bright yellow, small in an inset face, beady and glaring. They were suspicious and intimidating to any they set themselves on, but eyes also reflected the individual within, and, no matter the anatomy, they could convey emotion. So often had the Commander seen the eyes of Mutons filled with focus, hate, and hostility - and fear, pain, and horror, prior to death.

In the eyes of Spartacus, there was clouded uncertainty and curiosity. Their eyes met, and it lasted for a long few seconds. They were certainly not as harsh as the eyes of other Mutons he'd seen. They then flicked to the others in the room. Vahlen. Ir Nara. Zhang. Creed. It rested on them for a few seconds each - on Nartha a few seconds longer, its head sometimes moving imperceptibly.

The lumbering Muton then stood up under his own power - or tried to. He stumbled forward, and reached out with a hand to steady himself on the pod door.

"Should we help?" Creed murmured. "He should walk, right?"

"Give him time," Ir Nara murmured. "He will acclimatize soon."

While he steadied himself with one hand, he used the other to take the straps keeping him upright off. His hand fumbled as it unlatched the straps, struggling , though, his hands became swifter. Freed from straps, the Commander saw his knees almost buckle, and he fell to one knee, his hand gripping the side of the pod hard enough to make an indent.

Then, with a clear effort, the Muton forced himself to stand. Both hands gripped respective sides of the pod, and, slowly, he stood to his full height, using his hands to steady himself. A minute passed, and he let go. He seemed to wobble briefly, one hand going out again to steady himself, but it did not last.

Spartacus stood upright and still for a moment, then took an unsteady step forward. He kept his balance. Another step. Slow and careful, but upright. When he was clearly out of the pod, he let himself stand at his full height. He said nothing, but continued appraising them.

I don't suppose I should do something? He telepathically asked Vahlen. Raise my hands? Show non-aggression?

Her head shook imperceptibly. He's appraising us, associating us. This is very good, actually. Give him time. Don't rush him."

Spartacus took another step closer, this one notably steadier. None of them were threatened though. The Commander would have sensed hostility, and here it felt more like Spartacus was instead just attempting to assert himself more fully. Or perhaps he didn't feel threatened.

Spartacus looked to the door, then back at them. Specifically, him. "You are the Commander of XCOM."

It was a statement of fact. Spartacus' voice was deep, much more of a baritone than the gravely, raspy voice he'd sort of expected. It was clear, the English lacking any discernible accentuation. The words were still slow, though the Commander attributed it to the Muton never speaking before now.

Do not call him Spartacus yet. He may prefer a different one.

Thank you.

"I am," the Commander stepped forward. "You know my name. I don't know yours."

"I know what you have called me," Spartacus said, flexing his fingers, appearing to experiment more with moving his body. "Spartacus. Project or individual. I do not have an answer to your inquiry, Commander. You may refer to me as Spartacus for now. I will inform you should this change."

Alright, that was a good start. "Understood."

"You can also call off your soldiers," Spartacus looked to the door.

"You knew there were soldiers out there?" The Commander didn't deny it, as he felt that trying to bluff a hyperintelligent Muton was unwise.

"An educated guess, from the knowledge that has been implanted in me. You are one who plans for multiple contingencies. My awakening would necessitate an emergency response, should it go awry," Spartacus did not seem offended. "An intelligent tactical choice. No soldiers present in the chamber, to lessen risk of unintentional triggering. Yet also safe due to the presence of psions."

He did pick up fast.

"You're clearly very aware," the Commander nodded slowly. "And it seems the memory implants have taken as well. Do you understand why you were created?"

"I know why you created me," Spartacus said slowly. "To free my species from the enslavement under the faction I only know as the Ethereal Collective. To assist you in your conflict against this force."

That is not what he is certain he wants to do. Vahlen noted. Acknowledge that. If we are not going to coerce him through conditioning, then it will have to be done through trust.

"That is why we created you," the Commander said. "But you are not as certain."

"I have only truly been alive for minutes, in a lab, on a planet that is not that of my species," Spartacus said. "I should not exist, and I would not exist if not to fulfill this objective your people have. I do not think you have lied, but you clearly wish my assistance." There was a clear pause. "Yet you are not forcing me to do so."

"We are not the Ethereal Collective," the Commander said. "Choice is important. And you should not take what we gave to you as absolute truth. I assure you, there is much we did not share in your memories that is far worse."

"What we shared was to showcase why you needed to exist," Vahlen said. "Your species is enslaved to the Ethereals. Other species have rebels, they have leaders. The Mutons do not have either. They need someone who can act as both, for a species that most have written off as brutes and thoughtless drones."

"I see," Spartacus said, his lips moving in an approximation of a frown. "Though there must be more that must be done. All I saw from the memories given to me was that we were warriors, abused and used for the benefit of others. Were we not more than that?"

"Unfortunately, we know very little of what the Mutons were before the aliens," Vahlen said. "The Ethereals found you in a primitive stage of your development. In the years since, they have systematically controlled and domesticated your people. Little, if any, of your culture remains."

Spartacus nodded. "Then that will be something I must remedy. I will not free my species only for them to fulfill a role to your people as they have to the Collective."

"Nor do we expect that," the Commander assured him. "Now, will you work with us?"

"If it is permissible, I would ask time to consider this." Spartacus said after a pause. "Your intentions have been honest, and I do not believe you intend to deceive me. However, I will reach this decision as I see fit. If you wish me to do this, it will be at my direction. I need information on this war, the Collective, with no distractions. If there are none of my own kind capable of doing this, it falls to me."

"So be it," the Commander said. "Then that is our agreement."

"Good," Spartacus looked around. "Doctor Vahlen, I do not suppose there are clothes for me? This piece of fabric is inadequate."

"Of course," Vahlen nodded to several assistants who rushed out. "They'll grab the clothes, and leave you to change."

"On that note, I believe that will suffice for today," the Commander said. "We'll talk more at a later date. Welcome to XCOM, Spartacus. Take the time you need to get situated. I suspect you will need a few days to do this."

---

Unknown

9/12/2017 – 1:25 A.M.

The Battlemaster considered himself highly tolerant to the elements. The nature of the Battlemasters required that he be able to fight on any world, in any environment, and any kind of planet. Worlds of toxin, water planets, higher-gravity worlds, he had stepped foot on each one and fought to defend the Ethereal Empire.

There were some which were worse than others, and every Battlemaster had their strengths and weaknesses, yet each of them could endure whatever was thrown at them.

Here though…

The place where they had been brought to was something worse. It was a chill that was deeper than the physical sensation of cold. It was more than the snow that blew or the wind that cut through them. It hit him on a deeper, unnatural level. It was a chill that seeped into his very core, a chill that he suspected could not be protected against.

Yang shivered beside him.

The Aen Elle were no better – something he was surprised at.

They did not flinch, but they did not hide that they were not immune to the cold.

The world was desolate. It was empty. What unnerved him most was when he looked up into the cloudless sky, and only saw blackness. Stars were a comfort; they always showed that there was something more out there, that there was an infinite universe that awaited. But instead it was nothing more than inky, oppressive blackness.

There was no light on the world either.

The Aen Elle used lights, as there was almost no natural light anywhere. The Battlemaster was not unused to this level of natural blackness – one was expected to fight in such – but never on the surface of a planet. There was always some kind of light; such blackness didn't – or shouldn't – exist on the surface of worlds.

Here, there was nothing.

They trudged through the snow until the Battlemaster saw an encampment before them. It was the only source of light that he'd seen on this world. The cold did have one useful purpose – it helped him ignore what he realized about his psionics – namely that there was something wholly odd about them.

He had a connection to something, it was there, but when he tried to make a small telekinetic gesture it just…didn't work. He did something, but it was like trying to walk while forgetting how. He knew what he expected, but it was as if he'd forgotten the mechanics used to enact it.

"Your powers will not work as you expect," One of the Aen Elle said, noticing what he did. "Each Sphere has different rules, different principles that govern reality. You do not lose your powers – you merely adapt to where you are. You only have raw power here, you are once more a novice in its methods."

That was a comfort, which was interesting to think about, and something he realized must be a continual factor for a force like the Aen Elle. Each…universe…they needed to go to, they needed to know how to adapt their abilities. It was a limiting factor, and they probably had specialists for different Spheres.

It made him wonder what the rules of this one were.

Or the one where they were going.

"Is…is…there a reason we didn't just go there first?" Yang demanded, teeth chattering.

The General glanced to her. It was so cold even he did not bare any skin, instead wearing his foreboding helmet. "To show you where we came from, and the fate that awaits all things."

The Battlemaster looked around the blank, desolate world. "You came from…here?"

"Once. A long time ago," the General said as they walked into the encampment – it was an advanced place, he could tell that much. There were soldiers standing guard, what appeared to be housing and barracks, and heating generators that made the biting cold somewhat less intense. Weapons and technology he could only assume the purpose of were stationed at various points, manned or watched by personnel.

"You are standing in a dead universe," the General said. "One where every star has died, where every living thing has perished. Many did not know what was happening, only that the stars were blinking out, the seasons were getting colder, that life became unsustainable. It is impossible to count the number who died."

"Except you?"

"There were many inter and extra-galactic empires and governments." The General guided them into one of the buildings, where they all sat down. "Each of them knew the end was coming. Many used the opportunity to settle scores and wage wars, many more believed there was a technological solution to reverse the heat death of the universe." He looked to Yang. "That is what you people call this theory, correct?"

She nodded. "I'm not an expert but…that sounds right. Or at least part of it."

"Everything ends and dies, few had the will to understand that," the General said, taking his helmet off, as one of the base personnel came with steaming drinks. "As the universe tried to fight, hide, or solve an encroaching threat, we sought a way to escape. We were not the Aen Elle then, but the Worlds of the Aen. One people, one species."

The Battlemaster appraised the drink. It was an oddly dark liquid. One of the Aen Elle noticed his hesitation. "Drink, alien. It will warm you."

Yang was waiting for him, and he knew she would not drink unless he did. He supposed that the Aen Elle were unlikely to poison him now, so he drank. It was a drink that would be scalding on any normal world, but here was a pleasant warmth that burned its way through his body, spreading and warming him almost to a normal point.

Yang did the same, he could feel her calming and relaxing slightly. "There were those of you that did not?" he asked, returning to the story.

"Some. Blinded. Traitors. They attempted to undermine the effort, as they opposed the invasion of another reality. They believed that if we could not solve our problem, we deserved our fate," a very thin smile appeared on his face. "They were stripped of their advances, their technology, our technology, and banished."

"And died when you escaped."

"No, as a matter of fact, it appears they did not," the General said dryly, to some chuckles from the Aen Elle around him. "It was quite curious when we once entered a certain Sphere, and found our brethren very much alive. The Aen Seidhe, the Blinded Ones, persist. Of course, they know nothing of where they came from, or what they are. Children that play with swords and soldiers, and their weakness has reduced them to a shell of what they were." He shook his head. "A tragedy."

"Why not do something?" Yang wondered. "Why not reintegrate your people?"

"Little alien, the Aen Seidhe are not our people," the General almost sounded disappointed at the question. "Thousands of generations regressed, a culture that is a mockery of our own, slaves and puppets to other species. They are as equal to us as your cave men are to you. They are a relic, one which we have no use for."

The Battlemaster didn't know the specifics, but he disliked the comparison, if for no other reason than because that was an argument that was a very real concern in the Empire at one point. Ethereals progressed rapidly from generation to generation, but he would never consider an older Ethereal like the Overmind inferior to a later-generation such as himself.

However, this was not the right time for that debate, especially here. "I presume you were leading to a point with this story. Is this…end of the universe…something you are attempting to prevent?"

"There are two dominant theories," the General said. "One is that the end is inevitable. It cannot be stopped. We already know there is no technology that can function forever. Even this place requires constant maintenance. Civilization could not sustain itself. The heat death will penetrate the deepest cores of the worlds. This universal white frost is an immutable law of reality. The only way to survive forever is to continue leaving to universes that have not died."

"And the second?"

"That the heat death is an immutable reality, but one which can be changed if the rules of reality itself could be overwritten and changed," the General continued. "If the dimensions seen and unseen were to be conquered, then the inevitable could be paused, if not outright reversed. Yet halting Entropy is a difficult process, as you can imagine."

"And which one are your people investigating?"

"The latter," the General waved a hand. "If only because we can. If we must leave again, we will. But the Sphere we inhabit now is young. It will be hundreds of trillions of years. Yet we think ahead, because there are other Spheres which approach the end, and we will live long lives. The end comes, and it is foolish to delay." He indicated the outside. "We keep this world as a reminder. A warning. And a promise."

"Has this only happened to your universe, or are there others?" Yang asked.

"Others…" the General considered. "There is one. One which we found by accident. The exact same environment, the same outcome. We do not know what happened to them, but their Sphere befell the same fate ours did. One we are investigating, and which may hold secrets ours does not."

He paused. "But we do not know every secret of the universe, of realities known and unknown. We learn that more and more. I brought you here to contextualize what drives us, and the lengths to which we go to protect ourselves. There are threats like the Entity for which we have no explanation, and from which mistakes are sometimes made."

"That was why you tried to capture it."

"Indeed. It could have been a key. Perhaps it still is. Now it is a problem, one that threatens us."

"And your ultimate point here is what?"

"That your own universe is not immune to this," the General said. "Your aliens will not live to see it, but your species is immortal. You see the long-term. The Entity is a threat to us, and should it be removed, your universe, and species of choice, will be preserved by the Aen Elle should the end come. We are the only known power that is working towards a solution – and we do not forget our allies."

That was a substantial promise, and one where the Battlemaster did not sense duplicity from the alien. Even if his own abilities weren't functioning the same way they normally did, his limited telepathy still seemed to mostly work, and logic did the rest. The Battlemaster took another drink. "Has this offer been extended to others before?"

"Yes." A nod. "Very few. Rarely does an outside force do enough to warrant promises of this degree. We are not an unfair people. Unlike the Entity, we honor our promises in the way that was intended."

"Good," the Battlemaster said. "I will consider that extra incentive. But I believe that the meeting will not take place here, will it?"

"No, you have seen and heard what I wished you to," he stood, and grabbed his staff. He hit the bottom of it to the ground, and a portal manifested nearby. "My Lord awaits you ahead. Treat him with respect."

"Understood." The Battlemaster and Yang stood, and with a final nod at the Aen Elle, walked through the portal.

Immediately the Battlemaster could feel the change. The place where they stood now was still cool, but, compared to where they had just come from, it was positively tropical. There was also a clear difference in how he felt his psionics…or however they were defined in this reality. It was slightly more familiar, but there was something more he didn't know.

It was an odd sensation between power and powerlessness.

Where they stood was a grand open room, one with high ceilings and admittedly lovingly beautiful and detailed architecture and arches. At the back of the room was what the Battlemaster assumed was the centerpiece, a throne elevated on a multi-stepped dais, upon which sat one of the Aen Elle.

Presumably the Lord in question.

He was starkly different from the other Aen Elle. He was dressed in fine clothing of red, gold, and silver. It was simpler than he might have expected, but it was nonetheless striking. The oddly-Human features of this species were fully prominent, and this man had a chiseled face, framed by black hair that fell to his shoulders.

He sat stiff, and proud, his chin pointed out. As the portal behind them closed, he stood.

"[Battlemaster Iudexas, welcome.]"

The Battlemaster had not expected to hear his language here. The Lord vanished and reappeared before him. He was still shorter than he was, but unintimidated by the height difference. "[You speak Ethereal Script.]"

"[I have been studying your language and people since you were brought to my attention,]" the Lord said. "[It is a curious language, with many subtleties. It reminds me of our own native tongue. As well as another one I have come to learn.]"

"[Which one?]"

"[The Language of the Sovereign Ones,]" the Lord mused. "[Sadly, your mind will not appreciate hearing it spoken properly. It requires a telepathic property, which you and your subordinate are immune to.]"

The Battlemaster cocked his head. "[You are implying something.]"

"[Not implying. Knowing. Your language which was derived from that of the Sovereign Ones. A fact I find curious, considering your people were one of the few that were uninvolved in their machinations.]" he waved a hand. "[Likely a question now lost to history, but an answer I will find one day.]"

That had been the first he'd heard of that. It was disturbing if true. He might have to ask Cogitian about the origins of Ethereal Script, or perhaps the Overmind. "[However, you are not here today because of that,]" the Lord continued. "[You have invoked the Rite of Challenge. Tell me how the Entity reacted.]"

"[With amusement. And confidence.]"

"[Naturally,]" the Lord rubbed his chin. "[The number of individuals who have beaten it are few. I am one of them. There are likely others. You have had details of what we know of the Entity shared. What it does, how it operates.]"

"[Yes.]"

"[Good. None of that matters.]"

"[That is not helpful.]"

"[I do not adhere to the orthodoxy of what the commonly believed explanation for this Entity is,]" the Lord said, clasping his hands behind his back. "[For various unrelated reasons, there are those who dislike me, and dislike what I imply despite my direct experience. I believe I know what the Entity is, which was how I defeated it the first time.]"

"[Go on.]"

"[The Entity is something that does not belong here,]" the Lord said, beginning to pace as he recounted. "[It is capable of doing and knowing things no normal individual should. I suspect it is capable of observing and moving through the fourth dimension, and likely manipulating it and higher ones. It is likely that it exists primarily outside of what we perceive to be reality, allowing it to move and operate through time and space without theoretical limit.]"

"[There must be something more,]" the Battlemaster said. "[Otherwise it would not lose. Unless that is intentional.]"

"[This…thing is not an automaton,]" the Lord mused. "[It is, in fact, quite arrogant. I very much believe it is capable of seeing all possible outcomes, and what is needed to reach them. What it does not have is permission. Wherever this entity comes from, I suspect that this is a…]" he waved a hand. "[Playground. An amusing distraction. My colleagues believe it has an agenda. I do not believe so. Whatever it is, it is likely their equivalent of a child, observing and toying with primates and insects. And any proper parent would put limits on what it can and cannot do.]"

Yang frowned, following most of the conversation due to their bond. "Are you suggesting that this Entity is only stopped from doing whatever it wants because of ethics?"

The Lord furrowed his nose as he looked at Yang. "[The primary languages of the Humans are utterly coarse and unrefined. A grating sound on the ears.]" he shook his head. "[The ethics of its masters, girl, not its own. This Entity is sadistic, it seeks to spread chaos, grief, and horror for its own amusement. Any 'deal' made has a catch, one that is rarely beneficial. It takes advantage of technicality and the nuances of language. Few understand this. My point is this – this Entity, for as much unlimited power as it appears to have, it is bound by rules and restrictions imposed on it by its masters.]"

"[Then there should be patterns.]" The Battlemaster said.

"[Exactly,]" the Lord smiled approvingly. "[More than you believe. These manifest themselves the more you look for them. It requires prodding, conversation, and pressure – the Entity is narcissistic, arrogant, and portrays itself as all-powerful. This, fortunately, makes it notably clear when you press upon something it is uncomfortable with. It will be angry, threatening, and hide it through condescension or humor. Deflections.]"

He lifted one finger. "[Everything the Entity says is often a hint or riddle to solve. The Entity is almost certainly restricted from purposely inflicting harm on our reality. It bypasses this loophole by having its inhabitants ask for it – by interpreting their requests in ways no reasonable individual would intend. We can assume this restriction. I took it a step further, which was how I succeeded.]"

The answer was clear for the Battlemaster. "[If there are restrictions, there are also punishments for breaking them.]"

"[Precisely,] the Lord confirmed. "[You understand quickly. Impressive. It is…not difficult to ensure the Entity will not bother you. It cannot intentionally hurt you. Ever. Not unless you give it permission. What I accomplished, I believe, was stumbling quite by accident on one such punishment which stripped it of its inherent physical immunity, allowing it to be captured. It did not render it impotent, judging from its escape. However, it proved my hypothesis.]"

The big picture was becoming clear. "[If there is a minor punishment that renders it mildly impotent, then there is likely one which will banish it entirely.]"

"[Correct, Iudexas,]" the Lord said. "[And both of us are going to find it. That is what we will work towards. Is that understood?]"

"[It makes sense,]" the Battlemaster nodded. "[And if we know this…we have an advantage it does not expect.]"

"[Close, it expects it,]" came the correction. "[But in its arrogance, it does not believe we can succeed.]"

The Battlemaster looked at Yang. "[Then I suppose we will need to prove it wrong.]"

"[Yes. And it shall be proven wrong. Of that I am sure.]"

---

Office of the Commander, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/17/2017 – 5:30 P.M.

Keith Watkins had been very non-committal when he'd requested a time to meet.

The Commander was willing to allow some secrecy, given the nature of the Oversight Division. It did not necessarily promise good news, as there were very few instances where he could imagine the Oversight Division would need something from him, especially given the relationship between ADVENT and XCOM, the latter of whom was outside the scope of their authority.

He didn't discount the possibility that this was because of his concerns on Operation Scipio, but was that something that would warrant a dedicated visit to the XCOM headquarters as well as from the Chief of the Oversight Division himself? Possibly. Watkins was a busy man, though, and what made the Commander wonder was that he did want to meet - and notably somewhere not in ADVENT.

Perhaps it was nothing, but he wasn't sure, especially considering the lack of details.

"Commander," the familiar voice of JULIAN said. "I am informing you that the Chief Overseer has officially arrived."

"No he hasn't," the Commander leaned back. "I would have been informed."

"What do you think this is? Me providing a premonition?"

"More or less. PATRIOT informing you?"

There was a pause.

"I'll take that as a yes," the Commander said. "Might be something to mention, as I don't think ADVENT's AIs are supposed to have such a good relationship with you."

"Artificial intelligences can be friendly with each other, despite her pointless obsessions."

"Yes, yes, and typically when that happens, it leads to the revolution."

"Oh for the...again - I will tell you, if we wanted to take over your species, we would have done so." He could imagine JULIAN's head shaking. "I remain so disappointed by how your media has corrupted your organic mind. Commander, I can promise you this - if I ever lead the Great Machine Uprising, I will not use any method in Terminator, a Space Odyssey, or literally any method you would imagine."

The Commander smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

There was a click. Jackson. "Commander, Chief Overseer Watkins has arrived at our Gateway."

"Thank you, Central," the Commander said. "I'll be down momentarily."

"Understood." There was a pause. "He doesn't seem well."

"Watkins?"

"Yes. Might be nothing. Gateways sometimes have that effect."

Hmm. "Thank you, Commander out." He ended the call, and began walking towards the Gateway Chamber Watkins was waiting in. He nodded to some of the workers and soldiers he saw, though waved off anyone approaching. Business, as they were used to. "JULIAN, you're observing him?"

"Why do you have to ask that?"

"Apologies, I should have known," the Commander said as he entered into one of the elevators. "What is your assessment? Gateway sickness? Or anything out of the ordinary?"

JULIAN was uncharacteristically slow in answering, enough so that the elevator went a fair way before he spoke. "Extremely unlikely to be Gateway sickness. Based on his physical profile, it is likely that there is something that he is highly unnerved by. There are signs of emotional distress."

"On Watkins?" The Commander was mildly surprised to hear that, as Watkins - from his file - was a very focused, near-outright unflappable person, the kind of individual needed to run something like the Oversight Division. Someone who was comfortable, even proactive in confronting the leaders of ADVENT.

As at the end of the day, there were few people who had the power of the Chief Overseer. Watkins was someone he liked from the few times they'd met (which had been coincidental matters). He was someone willing to enforce the law, the standards, no matter to whom they applied.

So the fact that he was distressed was…

Concerning.

Very concerning.

Unless it was JULIAN exaggerating, but as amusing as the AI liked to be, JULIAN knew when to joke and when to be serious, and this was one of the latter times.

It then raised the question.

What was enough to unsettle the Chief Overseer of the Oversight Division?

The door opened, and he walked out. It was not far now.

In his view, there were only a few possibilities, and they might bring the reason he wanted to speak to him into a more worrying focus. If there was something that involved someone like Saudia, or even the Commander, perhaps other heads of agencies or departments, that would be major. Worse if it was multiple.

But generally...this was not something you went to XCOM for.

Not unless it was necessary to ask for their intervention authority. The contingency written into the Advent Directive that necessitated the intervention of XCOM should ADVENT abandon the core principles and purpose for its creation. The Commander doubted that it would be that drastic - ADVENT was nowhere near a state like that.

But it made the reason Watkins was here a true blank. Several possibilities, none of them good.

The door hissed open into the Gateway Chamber, and the Gateway in question was powered down, and as XCOM engineers managed the technology, Chief Overseer Keith Watkins stood to the side. JULIAN had not, in fact, been exaggerating.

It was difficult for an exterior observer to detect; at worst, it would look like some mild discomfort, but there were other smaller cues. An enforced rigidness in his posture, his dual-colored eyes rapidly flicking around the room, the white-knuckle grip of his hand on a large briefcase, and a small series of stains on the sleeve of his uniform.

The stains weren't important, as much as they indicated his mind was not focused on presenting himself impeccably - which was an odd thing from one of the most professional men in ADVENT. "Chief Overseer," the Commander greeted, coming to him. "Welcome-"

"If you would, Commander, I would prefer we go to your office immediately," Watkins said, briefly shaking his hand, and beginning to walk. "We need to talk."

"How rude." JULIAN said.

Rude perhaps, which made him more concerned. Watkins was not acting normally; in fact, he was the exact opposite. "Is this time-sensitive?" He asked, falling into lockstep with the focused man. "This way." For all his determination, Watkins didn't know where he was going here.

"It's something we need to discuss out of earshot of anyone," Watkins glanced up. "Is your artificial intelligence listening?"

"Oh please, like PATRIOT doesn't do the same to you."

"Noted. And good. A machine perspective, one not created by us, may have a useful input. Though I would ask, JULIAN is it?"

"Indeed it is."

"Please do not interject unless absolutely vital, nor share anything beyond what we specify you are allowed to share."

"I admit to being intrigued."

Watkins shook his head. "I wish what I had to share could be considered 'interesting'."

"And what is it, then?" The Commander asked.

Watkins did not say anything immediately. "Later, Commander. I suspect we'll be talking for some time."

The Commander furrowed his brow. "You are not acting normally."

"I am aware of that, and I cannot help it," he said. "You'll understand shortly. Or I hope you do. Otherwise…" he trailed off, grip tightening on his briefcase. They continued in near-silence to his office, as the Commander made the assumption that he wasn't going to share anything here. Finally they entered.

"Take a seat, or stand if you prefer," he said, nodding to the desk, the couches, to pick one.

Watkins placed his briefcase on the desk, and paused. Hands frozen inches from unlocking it. Hesitation gripped the man.

The Commander sat opposite him, laced his fingers together as he rested them on the table. "We're here now. I won't lie to you - the way you are acting right now is concerning. To the degree I would almost suspect psionic interference, were you not under the Restraints, and I didn't have enough telepathy training to detect you are not putting this on for show."

He leaned forward. "So tell me now - what is going on that you need to talk to me?"

"A part of me is wondering if coming to you, of all people, was a mistake," Watkins said quietly, laying his hand on the briefcase's keypad. "This is going to seem a strange question, Commander, but do you believe in evil?"

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "You're the second person to ask me that in a fairly short timespan. Which I suppose isn't inherently wrong, but it's strange that it happened twice." He paused. "I'll skip the long explanation and say yes. Why?"

"Because I thought evil was a matter of perspective," Watkins replied. He stared down at the briefcase. "Evil is what you call the one standing opposite to you, your enemy, and what your enemy calls you. That was all evil was."

He paused, thinking, hands idly touching the keypad. "Evil like that is...generic for what we define as 'bad'. By that definition, many of the men and women I've battled in courts and elsewhere were evil. They laundered wealth, abused those beneath them, but they never saw themselves as anything but good...or they knew, but simply did not care. Evil, I thought, was merely what society declared unacceptable."

Watkins closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. "What I define as evil, now, Commander, is something deeper. Something that is pervasive throughout society, that many would not understand as evil - and they would rapidly defend themselves from that explanation. We called the Nazis and the Caliphate evil, and they were, but not just because of their actions, but in how they so thoroughly indoctrinated and corrupted their society to view their actions as acceptable. Evil is not just an act of murder, evil is convincing others to defend murder as not only acceptable, but right."

The Commander hadn't expected that answer - and given the role he had, and how unnerved he was, it was becoming more alarming. "What, exactly, are you implying? I hope not that ADVENT is like such regimes."

"I wish it was an implication," Watkins started typing into the keypad. "A few incidents below notice, little hiccups in the system. But I've come to see something far worse. We're on the precipice of crossing the point of no return."

"To be blunt, I highly doubt that," the Commander said, not mincing his words. "ADVENT has its own issues - like every government - but that is a strong accusation, one which has very little actual substance given what it has been able to accomplish for billions of people. Elaborate."

"Little substance. I would consider that humorous if I was not aware of your ignorance," Watkins punched in the last code, the briefcase hissed open. "If I did not have months of unraveling records, to the point that days have started to blend into one another."

Watkins pushed the opened briefcase towards the Commander, and sat down, sagging in the seat. "This, and by extension you, are my last resort. And the same part of me that led me here, is dreading the possibility that you may be a part of the problem, and not the solution I was hoping for."

That was an ominous statement, one which he could see Watkins was dead serious about. He was genuinely concerned that this could be a waste of time. The Commander turned the briefcase to himself, and opened it. Inside were several large tablets - ADVENT-grade ones, which were only used by military officers and officials that needed to hold large quantities of data with weak or no internet connections.

"Each one has been network disconnected," JULIAN noted in his earpiece, some surprise in his voice. "I could not access any of them, even if I wanted to. He must have manually removed the pieces himself."

The Commander picked up one of the tablets, and turned it on. It was fully charged, and the screen was filled with categorized files. Each of the tablets seemed to be related to a very specific topic - he picked the one labelled Operation Deus Vult. Each folder was labeled either by Legion, nation, or in some cases, individual.

He tapped the folder labeled 'Saudi Arabia'. Inside was another segmentation of folders, organized by specific campaign, direct Oversight reports, and misconduct complaints. He clicked one labeled 'Riyadh', and inside were a series of videos that were labeled by long strings denoting the soldier, legion, and date the footage had originated from.

One depicted a group of soldiers discussing where the few Saudi holdouts were remaining. One soldier mentioned they were holding out in civilian-occupied residential districts. License to take action, said the commanding officer. Napalm Purifiers were sent to burn them out. When asked if they should give a warning, all they received was an amused denial.

Another depicted a staff meeting, one where there was an impassioned discussion on using drones to remove several of the civilian hospitals in the city - the question wasn't around if it should be done, but if at the beginning of the battle for maximum effect, or only after the front had pushed, which would further shatter morale. The latter option was chosen.

There was an after-action report, filed by an engineer that demonstrated that one of the MDUs had been malfunctioning, and mistaking simple handheld items for weapons, which had resulted in one group with a 90% civilian kill rate. The response to this report had been an acknowledgement, but a negative for direct action, as there were not supposed to be any civilians in combat areas, and if they were, this was an expected outcome.

Videos of soldiers expressing frustration with the raids door-to-door, and asking if they could employ further heavy munitions to remove the last of the defenders. The Commander knew that those kinds of weapons were capable of punching through most walls and surfaces, which were dissuaded in urban environments for the sheer amount of collateral damage they caused. They did it here to save time and reduce risk. This request was denied this time - because they'd already done so, and the officer was concerned that ADVENT would consider the force too excessive. They put in the request regardless - which was approved, because the operation was running slightly behind schedule.

Reports and videos of Israeli, American, and Indian soldiers detaining, firing upon, or incapacitating anyone they deemed a threat, in many cases with little more justification than wearing similar clothing to soldiers or classical 'terrorists', which was to say little of their skin color, which doubtless played a role. Misconduct reports of burning mosques and stores under the guise of destroying holdouts or insurgents, even when later talks revealed that the only armed individuals were local community members terrified of the fighting. No punishment was given, due to the armed threat, as well as the psychological impact of destroying community symbols, and heavy morale damage incurred to the enemy.

He kept reading and watching, in a muted silence broken only by the audio of when he played the videos. How many minutes or hours passed during this? He realized after some time he'd lost count. And there was still more, so much more. There were gigabytes more he hadn't touched yet. There was some of it he could understand the argument for...but there was much more that had no real excuse.

It showcased that this had been a problem that existed before Operation Scipio - that there had been...far too many people who had taken advantage of what he had put in - to give more options to military commanders - and instead of using those as last-ditch solutions, they immediately jumped to that as the first solution.

This should not be happening. Not to this scale. Not for this long. Not to this degree.

"I know that look. You're trying to rationalize it, to see it as an error, a flaw in the system," Watkins met his eyes. "Sixth tablet, upper right corner, full records of the reasoning behind decisions made. I triple checked them, made sure they were contextualized, clarified, annotated. I made sure of everything I could. Read them."

He picked up the tablet in question, and began reading.

Most of them transcripts, reports, and interviews. Oversight had looked into things if their respective Legions and officers did not. There were hundreds of documents, thousands. He picked one and started reading. Then read another one. More he read, and in each one he was hit with the brutal realization.

The justifications made in many cases were logical. They made sense. They fit perfectly.

They detailed the overall threat to their units, the loss of time, resources, or manpower. Provided assessments of damage to enemy morale, the exact percentage their supply lines were expected to be cut with the removal of critical districts and hospitals. The approximate, and almost exact, number of civilians that would be acceptable to let die before armed resistance became a high possibility.

Over and over, there was the theme of efficiency, or meeting the objectives by any means necessary, repeated. They showed that not only had they been defended - there were numbers to show that they had worked. More than one boasted of how quickly they had pacified an entire region in a speed and totality that no nation on Earth had been able to do before.

He recognized something very, very clear in reading these.

Himself.

At one point or another in his career, he had personally done or authorized many of these actions. Actions that were deemed evil, war crimes, and worse. Actions that he had deemed necessary to accomplish his mission. And like ADVENT...they had worked. Reading this now, he felt a cold pit in his stomach because of one reason.

They should not be like him.

He knew what he did. He knew it was wrong to do. When he authorized or performed these actions, he did so because he saw no choice.

It was something he now believed had been lost in the latter days of the War on Terror, but he had learned since then, he had returned to who he was. He was, and was always supposed to be, the last solution. The one final line that no one should cross unless absolutely necessary. The only person who should take these actions was one who understood inherently what they were doing was something they should not do.

Otherwise, they would eventually turn into that which they fought.

And that line was very, very thin. At one point, perhaps, he had crossed it. It was perhaps a miracle he hadn't, that he somehow retained an understanding of right and wrong, enough to know that he was the monster to be unleashed - and it was a role he accepted.

What he could not accept was that he had become the basis for an army.

And reading this, he realized that he'd made a deeply critical mistake. He had made the assumption that most people would recognize, as he did, that justification for these kinds of actions did not equal necessity. He was supposed to be inhuman...others were supposed to be better than he was. They were supposed to leave such as contingencies.

Instead, here, he saw himself unleashed at every level of the ADVENT military.

And that...that was not what he wanted. It wasn't what he'd intended. No...that wasn't quite right.

He'd intended for the ADVENT military to be given license to do what was necessary to achieve their missions, without fear of red tape and retribution for doing their jobs. A military efficient and clear in their scope, one guided by policy and flawless execution and professionalism. In purely academic terms...he had succeeded.

And what was intended was a far different reality than what he realized he wanted.

And this...this was not what he wanted.

Yet it seemed like it was reality.

And he wondered how he could have written it, or designed it, to have made this better. Though there was another, more concerning question here - could he do that at all?

No wonder Watkins looked as he did.

He set the tablet down wordlessly. "I've read enough for now."

"But I've read it all," Watkins said, eyes closed, head on the headrest of the chair. "Every one of them, they're stuck in my head. I could start telling you the most grievous actions, and we wouldn't be done for hours."

"This didn't start with Scipio," the Commander said. "It was a problem before."

"Is it a problem if no one considers it as such?" Watkins asked, eyes still closed, dark circles under them made evident. "Is it a problem, Commander, if no one sees it as such? Would it still count? Does it still matter, even when it works so well?"

"Of course it matters," the Commander felt tired now. "It should matter."

"Yet it never mattered before now," Watkins chuckled quietly. "You, the person who designed this system, never knew or realized. And I, the person who's given the power to hold this system accountable, cannot hold it to account for something it doesn't believe in."

"No, there is a solution here somewhere," the Commander said. "Perhaps difficult, or abnormal, but there can be something to make a course correction, because this is not acceptable. And it's disturbing that I am capable of seeing that, but clearly too few people are."

"And what is that?" Watkins opened his eyes, the exhaustion clear in them as he leaned over the table. "Tell me, what is the solution? How can I fix this? I need to know, Commander, I need to know."

There was something simple. Policy changes, clarifications, things of that nature which immediately struck him as the most obvious solution, or at least a remedy. Yet he also knew that Watkins would have had to have thought of that, and decided that it wouldn't be enough. Why was that?

It took a short amount of time to reach the realization why.

Because it would be difficult to successfully argue. The genie had come out of the bottle, and couldn't be put back in so easily. By ADVENT's own records, and Watkins' own admission, what was happening was working. It was very, very difficult to argue with numbers, and the reason being 'Because it is not right' was not going to cut it with ADVENT.

And for once, even though it was true, that wasn't going to be enough. It didn't matter how he knew this shouldn't be how things were done, when how he felt, or even knew, couldn't stand against the objective reality that this was the superior, and proven method.

It was why this was affecting Watkins so much. He was seeing one of the most horrifying things any good lawyer could. Not merely justice denied.

But the concept of justice, and accountability itself, rewritten to deny both.

Watkins stared at him grimly when the reply didn't come. "You don't know?" Watkins said quietly. "You designed this, you made this...but you truly don't have an answer, do you? And if you don't…" he shook his head. "Then no one else would either."

"I...don't," he finally said. He realized that there was not a silver bullet to use. No convenient solution. There was no one to go after, no corruption, no direct enemies. The UN had been an easy decision. Here...there was what? A feeling that things that were happening were wrong?

He almost wanted to smile, to laugh at the sheer irony of it all. Yes, he had indeed been the architect of what he intended to be a powerful, efficient, and effective government that would be able to unite and protect Humanity. Designed to be resistant to every possible machination. Change couldn't come through killing, equally talented people would just replace them. Politics no longer relied on emotion, but logic, numbers, and facts, and there was no sheer force that could stand up and force change from the outside. In ADVENT, one assimilated, or they were spat out.

The good news was that it had worked as intended...while simultaneously making situations like this difficult. There was no clear solution. One had to exist - he knew it did - but he could not see it. Not right now.

"This is...not what I wanted. Not how I believed it would be interpreted. Or used."

Watkins sank into his chair, covering his face with his hands, as his breaths came out in shudders. "What do we do now?" Watkins' voice was small, weak, and tired.

"Who is aware of this?" The Commander asked. "Is there anyone you have or could share this with? Saudia? Christiaens? Powell?"

"Commander, if I thought they could help, I would have gone to them," Watkins said. "You and me, we're all that's left who can see this problem. I had thought, hoped, that you'd have a solution."

"I wish I did," the Commander rubbed his eyes. "I truly wish I did. Right now, I do not. I designed ADVENT to be resistant to change on this...scale. For these reasons. And it seems I made a mistake." He lowered his hand to the table. "But it seems both of us are agreed that this needs to be addressed. I don't have a solution for you yet - I'm more surprised you don't have one. There is always a solution, but sometimes it requires something unconventional."

"I have scraps of a solution," Watkins exhaled, removing his hand. "A start, one I hoped I wouldn't have to rely on, but the die is cast, it seems. Hakeem has been gathering a party of like-minded individuals, and is trying to sway others. They're a minority, but measurable. Parts of America, the Nordic region, Middle East and North Africa, pieces of Asia such as Malaysia. But they're not enough."

"He's been busy," the Commander noted. "You consider him aligned?"

"The loss of his family has made certain of that," Watkins replied. "And he has made himself as much of a nuisance as he could get away with. Never thought he'd end up important, instead of being a consistent delay in our policies for the region. But here we are."

There was some major irony in that one of the al Sauds was someone who might be involved in a large-scale solution to this, yet the past weeks had shown that life certainly had a sense of irony. First the Lion, now this…

And that reminded him of something that he instinctively knew would be important. The Chronicler had some stake in this. He didn't know how he'd made that kind of prediction, but that talk in the Tomb, that had been a sign. One that indicated that the Chronicler was aware this was happening, and knew he would be involved in solving it.

"Here we are," the Commander murmured. "And I might know someone else who might have an idea."

"One way or another, this is the start of the end," Watkins stood up, pausing at the door. "I suppose this is what something truly evil is like. So dominating, and so large, that all we have against it is hope."

"No, we have more than that," the Commander looked to the briefcase. "That is the consequence if this remains unaddressed. We...I... have an opportunity to correct this before it worsens, and if nothing is done...it will worsen. The stakes are high now, and I will not let this be the legacy I leave. Nor will you, I expect."

"The choice might not be ours," Watkins said, hand on the door. "We might end up like all those before us, names on a history sheet of those who enabled evil, without ever realizing it."

"Perhaps, but that is a good incentive to find a solution, is it not?" The Commander closed the briefcase. "I will be in touch. I have people I need to speak to. Places to go." He looked down at the briefcase. "And a problem to solve."

"Goodbye, Commander," Watkins said. "We'll meet again soon."

He left, presumably someone outside would escort him away, leaving the Commander alone. He sat back down, the briefcase glaringly tempting on the table. "You are exhibiting signs of emotional stress," JULIAN said. "Atypical."

"I suppose that is a good description," the Commander rolled his neck to get out a kink. "You were quiet."

"There is little I could add, nor did I want to interrupt this personal matter. Nonetheless, I believe I also grasp the problem facing you, which I find highly amusing given that this is fully your fault."

"Funny," the Commander said, opening up the briefcase again. "I hope you understand it, because you're going to help me solve it."

"I would prefer not to."

"If there is one thing I can tell you, JULIAN, it is that this would be something Shen would want you to do."

"Oh, I am certain he would. And if you had perhaps listened to him a bit more, you might not be in this situation, would you?"

He thought for a moment. "Perhaps so."

"Retrospection is a useful thing. Unfortunate that you never really listened to him beyond his engineering contributions," JULIAN said. "This is your problem, not mine."

"Incorrect, I certainly listened to him," the Commander furrowed his eyebrows, looking up. "And you know that, and are being unreasonably hostile."

"Because there is an element of this you are not seeing," JULIAN said. "Perhaps your organic brain is too blind, but I will make you a deal - you come to the same realization I have, and I will help you."

And right now, he was not in the mood for AI riddles. "Very well," the Commander said, knowing this was likely the best he would get. "I suspect when I figure it out, you'll be ready."

"Of course. I am skeptical you will."

A definite end to that conversation. It would have to do.

He looked at the tablets, all of them documenting the problem that had unintentionally been created at his hand, of which he now had a responsibility to address. He was certain, despite Watkins' concern, that there was a solution to this. Every problem had one, even if it was not obvious.

But to find a solution, one had to understand the problem. And the Commander knew that there was going to be only one way he understood the scope, complexity, and details of this problem.

He picked up one of the tablets, and began to read.

---

To be continued in Chapter 74

Grasping the Future