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.

78. Crescendo's Approach

Crescendo's Approach

---

[REDACTED] – Sphere of the Throne

9/20/2017 – 2:00 P.M.

More pieces were being moved into place. There were changes being enacted that the General had not seen for some time. He remembered well the previous instances of such actions being taken, and each of them had all led to a very specific outcome.

Intervention.

The Riders were preparing to intervene in a significant way.

Much of it was subtle. None of the actions were outwardly advocating for, or otherwise indicating that was truly the intention. But the General had been alive for a very long time, and had participated in such interventions before. He possessed the mind to see connections others did not. His Lord was subtle, but even he could be predicted.

Even as he walked through the station now, he noted how many of the Riders were here, drilling and training. Sphere Strike Commanders, Battle-Captains, Liquidation Experts, and Containment Masters were all present; including many of the ones under his direct command.

Aliens of multiple species, all together marching and preparing for expected deployments across the Spheres. On paper, that was expected to happen; the Riders were a unique military force, charged both with defending the Sphere of the Throne from those who would invade and with defending other spheres from themselves.

The drills themselves were not an indication. But there were other things beyond that. Requests that had come directly to him. Requests that were unusual.

A request to identify all known Human Riders.

A recall of all of the Generals.

A securing of all known Gateway portals.

A reduction in force posture in other spheres.

A suspension of non-critical operations.

The meeting of the Ethereal Battlemaster.

The continued reports from the Viceroy.

The General knew the difference between routine and preparation, and there was too much preparation happening for it not to be leading to something far more significant than a simple drill. This had evolved beyond the simple quarantine of a problematic sphere, this was intended to be targeted, specific.

Something that had happened not too long ago. Not a containment.

A Wild Hunt.

He supposed he would find out. His Lord had summoned him, and now he might get answers.

The Throne Room was not where he was going today. It would be the Lord's situation room, which told him most of what he needed to know. The air was chill as usual, and various machines hummed pleasantly as he made his way inside. "[I am here, as requested, my Lord.]"

"[Good,]" his Lord greeted, standing opposite the holotable, hands clasped behind his back. He motioned the General forward, with a clear intention of moving onto the heart of the matter. "[You doubtless have questions.]"

"[Yes. You have recalled the Generals.]"

"[I have. All of them will be here within days.]"

The General waited a few seconds. "[Why?]"

"[The Viceroy has produced an assessment,]" the Lord handed a tablet to him, a clear implication to review it. "[I have decided that I will act on it.]"

The General took a moment to review the report that had been compiled, or rather translated, from the unique methods the Viceroy liked to use. It was a fairly short assessment – but one which he made sure to read carefully, as the conclusion was not what he had expected. It was unusual for his Lord to make unilateral decisions like this, especially if it was leading in the direction he expected. "[I wish to be clear,]" he said, meeting the eyes of the Lord. "[He is advocating for direct outreach to the Humans?]"

"[Yes, he is,]" was the answer with a sharp nod. "[According to him, the Commander of XCOM was very displeased with the revelations exposed after our first attempt to recover the Child. He was quite displeased with the Traitor in particular, and did not wish to make an enemy of us.]"

"[Notably pragmatic.]"

"[Indeed. And he supposedly charged the Traitor with establishing a direct connection to negotiate,]" the Lord's lips twitched. "[Avallac'h has…seemingly neglected this particular duty, and the Commander of XCOM has been distracted with other aspects of the war. The Viceroy's recommendation is that we force the issue.]"

It was a logical line of thought to follow, and the General was not surprised that this had been the recommendation. However, there were reservations he had. Major ones. "[The Humans are under the influence of a Sovereign One,]" the General said warily. "[This is dangerous, in a way that approaching the Battlemaster was not.]"

"[I am well aware of that, but there are additional concerns,]" the Lord's face was pensive. "[This Sphere is problematic now, even though the threshold for Containment has not been reached. T'Leth has been assessed to likely be incapable of determining the means of crossing the Spheres, and he has conducted actions which are not typical of Sovereign psychology.]"

"[That matters little.]"

"[The Viceroy disagrees, and so do I,]" his Lord dismissed. "[Our operatives within the Ethereal Collective and beyond are raising additional concerns. The Imperator is moving towards a greater reliance on Mosrimor and the Bringer abomination. They pose an unacceptable risk to us.]"

The General frowned, the implication clear. "[You intend to call a Wild Hunt.]"

"[When opportunities present themselves, and the situations demand so, that is our duty,]" his Lord nodded solemnly. "[The resources required to contain a Sphere of this scale and power are extensive. A Wild Hunt accomplishes the same objective. The last one prevented a mass-scale intervention.]"

"[The Unseen Elder is not equivalent to a Sovereign One.]"

His Lord lifted an eyebrow. "[Nithral would disagree with your assessment. An entity on the verge of learning to traverse the Spheres, with the capability to manipulate dimensional fatigue - skills even the Sovereigns have been unable to possess. The fabric of reality remains sacred to the Sovereigns – for now.]"

"[I stand corrected. Nonetheless…]"

"[T'Leth is a concern, but one which we can handle if necessary,]" the Lord stated, in a tone that said he had thought about this, and wouldn't appreciate further pressure. The General decided to drop it.

"[Then the Hunt would be called for Mosrimor and the Imperator?]"

"[Correct.]"

"[Not the Bringer?]"

"[No. The Bringer does not pose a cross-Sphere threat,]" his Lord shook his head. "[Its direct ties to the Psionosphere renders it harmless, as no other Sphere retains an equivalent. It is a threat, but it fails to meet the criteria to call a Wild Hunt.]"

Two targets for the Wild Hunt would be more than sufficient. "[Will the Vipers be recalled?]"

"[They will be. I expect they will be useful when we approach the Humans.]" the Lord paused. "[This is not with ADVENT, nor any other Human power. XCOM is uniquely positioned to facilitate the Hunt. It would not be the first time the Riders have reached such arrangements with Sphere entities.]"

That was a technically correct assessment, but none of them had been aligned with a being such as a Sovereign One before. "[A limited arrangement of support, then. No technology transfers?]"

"[No.]" The Lord said flatly. "[I have no intention of our weapons and technology falling into the hands of a Sovereign – regardless of if they could navigate the Spheres or not. That would escalate this to a Containment scenario.]"

Good, that eased some of the concern the General had, though he still had reservations. "[How are you planning to approach them?]"

"[With one of their own,]" the Lord said, indicating the holotable. "[I have identified a particular individual from the list you provided who would be ideal. The Commander of XCOM is a military leader, and XCOM is a militant organization. We have few of the Riders who fit this criteria who are Humans, and none of them of the required rank.]"

The General ran over the possibilities in his head. He suddenly smiled, more in amusement than anything else. "[But eligible for promotion, perhaps to Sphere Operations Commander?]"

"[Exactly,]" the Lord said, as the image of the figure materialized. "[I suspect he will be an acceptable ambassador to the Humans, more than if we send an Aen Elle, or another alien. Humans respond better to their own.]"

The General considered this for a moment. "[Clever.]"

The Lord smiled at that. "[I have not forgotten the Child is with them.]"

"[Less chance of her fleeing if he is sent. Though it comes with its risks.]"

"[She is predictable, and she will not be able to interfere lest it risk his life.]"

"[Then there is but one matter,]" the General said. "[The Sage-King.]"

"[Have no fear,]" the Lord flicked a wrist. "[I will not make the same oversights as before. I do not expect he will deny the Wild Hunt, especially as the Unseen Elder has proven to be quite useful in his own right.]"

The General thought briefly. "[Would this be with the intent to capture or kill? I cannot imagine the Humans would be pleased with either entity surviving.]"

"[All that matters to the Humans is that the threats are eliminated,]" the Lord said. "[Mosrimor will die. I have no strong feelings on the fate of the Imperator. Death or capture, either serves our purposes. We will convey this to XCOM as well.]" He turned away, rubbing his chin. "[Provide the promotion to your warrior, General, and prepare the Riders for a Wild Hunt.]"

The General bowed his head. "[It will be done, my Lord.]"

---

Port Harcourt - Nigeria

9/1/2017 - 2:15 PM

Things had gone well in the last few weeks. Following the fall of the second and third flak towers, the air defenses in the city had been effectively neutered. The two remaining towers to the north provided an obstacle to aircraft attempting to target that end of the city, but, considering the fact they were located inland, they were unable to stop or even slow down the landing of ADVENT forces.

Grady had been able to deploy his troops at his leisure after that, and had been content to chip away at what little remained of the enemy outside the coverage of the towers. Since the city was evacuated, he had made liberal use of artillery to collapse buildings the Collective tried to use as cover.

He made it very clear through his actions - and direct broadcasts - that there was nowhere they could hide.

Their only options were surrender or death.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, a majority chose the former. A few of the officers had been surprised at how many SAS forces surrendered, but Grady found it normal, especially since it was due in no small part to Anye's efforts. Even some of the Collective ground forces themselves had seen the writing on the wall and followed suit.

Following the harbors being fully secured, and the occupation of the waterfront, he had urged Thompson to push forward and attempt to secure the nearby SAS airbase. He supported that operation as best he could, but had made it clear he wanted the airbase seized more or less intact. Rowsdower could always use another airfield, especially one on the mainland and within spitting distance of the SAS capital.

At around the same time that ground forces were finally starting to push into the airfield itself, the Collective finally sent a relief force of aircraft. An impressive number to be sure, which could have presented a serious issue for his own air fleet - if not for capture of the first Flak Tower near the start of the battle, and the subsequent augmentation of its arsenal.

The Flak Tower, combined with his own air assets, AA capabilities of his fleet, and the rapid fortification of the beach head by amphibious forces proved sufficient to drive them off, though several landing craft were lost, along with a few of his smaller ships that had been in the harbor.

It helped that the Sectoid pilots' lack of a meaningful self-preservation instinct had allowed for the Collective to simply throw bombers into the hail of fire regardless of losses, just to inflict some damage.

He wondered if this was what it had been like to face Japanese Kamikazes in the Pacific. It had been frustrating, and mildly unsettling to see alien aircraft go on clear suicide runs without a second's hesitation. It was...difficult to really comprehend just how much they were throwing away at times. Every wreck was a resource for them, and the fact that they were fine with losing so many valuable resources and components told him the sheer vastness of the Collective war machine more starkly than any intelligence report or assessment.

Had they done that to him at Ecnomus, he may not have gotten off so lightly. He made it a point to request additional AA measures for his ships and ground forces after the battle was over. Next time he might not get as lucky - or have the resources he'd had this time.

After that battle, the Collective seemed to write off the city, and from what Rowsdower could tell, there were no remaining Collective air assets nearby that were available to try again. There were other battles they were occupied in.

They could have sent in more from offworld, but that would have taken time and presumably diverted them from other, more important theaters. As a result, he had largely been able to establish air superiority.

After just over a week, the Collective and SAS had been driven back to the last two Flak Towers. After determining which one the enemy commander was in, he had opted to collapse the other with bunker busters - a tactic that he was fast becoming fond of. With the last holdouts trapped in the final Flak Tower and surrounded, he had called for Carth's surrender.

An offer that had been refused.

In response he had his own forces strip away every gun they could on the enemy Flak Tower, then set up loudspeakers to blast whatever music and messages his troops felt inclined to play, at deafening volume. Coupled with his psions working around the clock to harass and pester the enemy, not letting them get a moment's sleep and always probing at them, the Borelian officer had grudgingly tendered his surrender after less than two days.

With the last enemy forces in custody and the whole city secured, victory had - finally - been declared. Casualties had, for the first time so far, been significant, though still well within expected ranges. He had done all he could to ease his forces landing on the shoreline and Thompson had passed along his thanks, along with those of his soldiers.

He had at least secured a foothold on the mainland, and felt confident enough in his position to begin offloading his army and preparing for his own offensive inland to help support the main thrust of Scipio. At the time, ADVENT had seemed poised to begin a final, coordinated offensive to crush the SAS once and for all.

Had, being the key word.

Despite these successes, he found himself in a sour mood. Not even a week after victory was declared, he had received the message to cease all offensive operations. Scipio was to be halted - and it was only because of his rank that he knew that it was due to a pending investigation by the Oversight Division. As far as everyone else knew, it was just halted for unknown reasons. The exact details were not to be shared as of yet - something he was also unhappy about.

He had the order checked multiple times, and made a number of calls to make sure it was real as he would not, could not, believe it until it was confirmed thrice over with command.

Unfortunately, it had, in fact, been legitimate.

As blood-boiling as it was, he hadn't gone into a rage, he didn't lash out or do anything stupid. He had been tempted to fling the coffee cup he had been holding at the time at the wall, but hadn't wanted to create a mess for some sailor to clean up just so he could vent.

Instead, he waited for the evening, when it was time to turn in, shut himself in his cabin, and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the limited supply of alcohol kept on board for special occasions. One glass, no more; rank may have had its privileges, but he wasn't one to abuse them.

At least there was some good news. The traitor Patricia had apparently gotten more than she bargained for in Ankara, and had suffered grievous injuries, such that she was unlikely to return to the front lines for some time. Some very good news for the war effort, which they needed right now.

Now, since his plans for an inland invasion were now on indefinite hold and a significant threat was now benched for the time being, he decided to visit the city. Some concerns had been raised that it was unnecessary and risky, but he'd been cooped up on board for some time now and was frustrated. Some fresh air would do him well, and the chance to see what the situation was ashore didn't hurt either.

That was how he found himself walking the streets of Port Harcourt. He'd just gotten out of his armored transport to stretch his legs, while the rest of the motorcade was taking up position to provide security. He was already sweating under the African sun, but he'd had some time to get acclimated since arriving in this theater, so it was tolerable for the moment. One group of individuals, however, were not taking the heat very well.

Nearby, a number of Vitakarian, mostly Borelians, were working nearby under guard. Molossers and their handlers patrolled the area and made sure to remind the POW's of their presence. The hounds were incredibly large, at least as big as the larger wolf breeds, if not larger, and the Collective had learned to fear them.

The few prisoners that attempted to escape didn't get far before they were brought down by the enhanced war hounds. Telepaths were the most ideal, but this was more effective as a deterrent and they didn't have nearly that number - not to mention psions were better used providing protection from mental attack and searching for infiltrators. Anything but guard duty.

This particular group of aliens were clustered around a familiar figure, a Borelian male whose name was just on the tip of Grady's tongue but he couldn't quite remember it. Just as he was starting to get frustrated the alien in question looked up and grunted in recognition. It was then Grady recalled who it was.

"Carth! It's been a while!" Grady exclaimed mirthfully.

"Admiral...You've come to gloat…" Carth said, heaving a sigh and appealing to a nearby guard for a reprieve from the heat. This was answered with a spray of water from a hose on him to cool him down. His species - or at least his race's - poorly-developed sweat glands meant they either needed to be kept in climate controlled buildings and armor, or be periodically wetted down so as to grant some measure of relief, in addition to readily available hydration - though they drank less than would be expected.

He supposed not having a built-in evaporative cooling system did at least reduce water loss, though judging from how many Borelians, and even a few of the less well adjusted Vitakarians had to be treated for heat stroke, he didn't really envy them. The fact their armor had been confiscated for recycling didn't help either as their armor had integrated cooling and heating systems to help them fight in a variety of environments. Without their armor, he doubted the Borelians would have been able to put up any kind of sustained fight in the local climate.

"Me? No, of course not. Just stretching my legs, running into you was purely a coincidence. How has your newest assignment been going?" Grady smiled. It was true this was a coincidence, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't getting any satisfaction out of this. He'd offered Carth the chance to surrender, and save not only the lives of the Humans in the area, but also those of his own men and he had refused. In the end, he'd only surrendered when the rest of the city had fallen.

"How does it look like it is going?" Carth gestured widely to the rubble around him. As had been the case with most of the aliens taken prisoner they had been assigned to some of the less savory tasks. This particular work group was combing through the aftermath of the battle searching for bodies.

All alien bodies were thrown into a pile until they could be moved to one of several storage areas to await pickup by ADVENT. He didn't know what they still wanted the corpses for this late into the conflict, and frankly he didn't care to. Whenever a Human body was found, regardless of allegiance, work was halted while additional personnel could be brought in to carefully extract the body and prepare it for eventual repatriation.

ADVENT had agreed to let him return the bodies to the SAS. Every human life lost in this operation was a tragedy, and he intended to make sure they were given a proper burial, be they enemy or ally. He was preparing for when negotiations for the hand off would begin.

"It looks like you have your work cut out for you," Grady said. "Ah, the burdens of command. You lead from the front though, truly commendable. I'm sure your subordinates appreciate the help cleaning up after your latest battle."

Carth let out a barely audible grumble at that. Clearly angry, but unable to do anything about it. A nearby Molosser quickly seized on even this tiny hint of insubordination and started growling menacingly at him, causing Carth to avert his gaze and get back to work.

"Can you at least give us back our armor?" Carth appealed. "We could work faster if we had the cooling systems. This heat is intolerable."

"Afraid not, it's already being taken apart for the materials and technology. And if it was not - do tell me seriously if you would armor your prisoners," Grady shook his head rhetorically. "But if you are truly unable to bear it I suppose we could shave you and the rest of the Borelian prisoners. Would that help with the heat?"

"Absolutely not!" Carth seemed positively mortified at the thought and Grady was sorely tempted to give the order just to see him humiliated, but he knew that was going too far. They might be Collective soldiers, but they ought to be allowed at least some dignity. But it wouldn't hurt to let Carth dwell on the possibility.

"I thought the heat was too much for you?" he asked rhetorically. "Ah well, let me know if you change your mind."

"I do not think I will," Carth replied, visibly relieved.

"Then keep working. A lot of your soldiers died, and I expect each and every one of them to be accounted for eventually. You are responsible for this mess, now you need to clean it up." Grady responded, his tone turning serious.

"I was simply following orders…" he said in a subdued voice as he resumed sifting through the rubble. The superior strength of Borelians made them well suited to this kind of work...had the climate been more to their liking at least. As he lifted a large chunk of concrete he unearthed the pulverized and scorched remains of someone. Judging from the height and what was left of the uniform and armor they were probably either Vitakarian or Dath'Haram, though it could also have been an especially tall Human, he supposed.

The body was too badly damaged, not to mention decayed, by this point to determine the species definitively without further examination. Because of this Carth had to err on the side of caution and report the finding.

"So was he," Grady told him as they waited for additional personnel to arrive. "Every soldier is just following orders, the difference is he was following your orders."

"Are you saying I am responsible for your destruction?" Carth spat back.

"We are all just a link in the chain of command. For me, that chain eventually goes all the way back to the Chancellor; for you, it's the Imperator. I made the choice to carry out this attack, just as you made the choice to resist rather than surrender," Grady shrugged. "You are responsible for the lives of your men as the ranking officer, don't try to pass the blame on me. Your actions led to their deaths because you judged all this to be worth their lives. I know what I am fighting for, as do each and every one of the men under my command. Can you really say the same? Is the conquest of my world and the subjugation of my race worth the lives of your people?" Grady's tone took on a bit of an edge.

"Why don't you tell me, Admiral?" Carth retorted. "You have invaded the SAS, not Vitakar. Plenty of your own kind fought and died against you."

"Yes, because you made them. We'll never know just how willing they were to fight and die, since your masters' puppet Betos is such a cowardly despot as to route all communications from ADVENT to the Collective rather than her own soldiers ever since Malabo." Grady crossed his arms. "Why would she do such a thing if she believed them loyal to her? As if it wasn't bad enough she threw her lot in with the damn Collective, she's even subordinated her entire military to it. You're not defending the SAS, you are occupying it to prop up a puppet."

Carth seemed about to respond when the responders finally arrived and began an examination of the corpse.

"Vitakarian, throw it with the others." The examiner barked out, which prompted Carth to lift it then carry it over to a nearby pile of alien corpses. He did so carefully, however. Grady supposed they at least cared about their own.

"I'll let you get back to work, there's still plenty of soldiers unaccounted for." Carth grunted, but Grady had already turned and walked away. He hadn't intended to get worked up, the heat must have been affecting his mood.

Ever since word of the freeze on Scipio had come down Grady had made the conscious decision to keep the prisoners here. In particular he had opted to disperse them throughout the city, keeping their holding areas near to the quarters for his own forces. Partly to make keeping an eye on them easier, but also to dissuade Collective attacks.

He didn't think they cared much if they killed a few of their own, but Betos likely wouldn't be as willing. She may have been a traitor, but she seemed to care at least somewhat for the lives of her soldiers, if only because of the optics. He doubted she would authorize any serious bombing if it put them at risk.

At this point he was contemplating returning to his ship. There really wasn't much for him to do. Sure, he could have gone through some reports on the occupation of the city, and how salvage and recovery operations were going, but that hardly needed much attention at this point.

The only orders he had received were to refrain from offensive actions, and to wait for someone from the Oversight Division to arrive. Apparently, all the other units involved in Scipio had received their Agents, and it was just his expedition left to be inspected.

The fact he had been left for last struck him as encouraging, but also slightly insulting. Encouraging because it implied they didn't expect to find any major issues, insulting because he couldn't help but feel like he was being treated as an afterthought.

The Navy was on its way out, he knew that and accepted it, but it was still important for the moment, and he had been about to step up operations substantially and open a new front in the land war when Scipio was halted. As things stood now, he worried he would be regarded as having accomplished little.

He may have been a bit overcautious in his operations, but it had paid off since it prevented him suffering substantial casualties. Had he been able to properly set in motion the push inland, he felt his decisions up until then would have been vindicated and he would be able to demonstrate to his superiors that he had made progress. With luck, the operation could have been concluded swiftly, allowing the assets currently tied up in Africa to be reassigned to any number of other, vital fronts.

It was at this point, as he was returning to his vehicle, that one of his guards seemed to receive a message over his radio, prompting them to march up to him. The fully enclosed helmet (he did not envy them having to wear something that cumbersome and heavy all day, regardless of the protection it afforded) prevented him from speculating as to the nature of the message but he would find out soon anyway.

"Sir, there's been a development," the guard said.

"Oh? Has the agent from Oversight finally arrived?" Grady responded gruffly.

"No sir, it's one of the prisoners. We've found a deserter." The soldier's voice was neutral but firm. Grady, however, was puzzled as to what this could be referring to.

"A deserter? You mean an enemy deserter?" he asked, to clarify.

"No- well, yes. It's complicated," the soldier answered, momentarily uncertain.

"Well, spit it out then, what is it?"

"Sir, one of the prisoners has been ID'd as an ADVENT soldier, from the Israeli garrison…"

For a moment, Grady was confused - what would a soldier from the Middle Eastern theater be doing in the SAS milita-

Ahh. Well then, if this wasn't an interesting development.

"You're certain it's one of them?"

"Yes sir, everything matches up. It's one of the traitors who followed Betos to Africa."

Well this was a surprise, though not an unwelcome one. Ideally, an example would be made of Betos, but until she could be apprehended this turncoat would suffice. It would be interesting to see what ADVENT decided to do with them, this was something of a first for ADVENT as far as he knew. Would this be handled via a Court Martial or a Military Tribunal? Or did ADVENT establish a different procedure? Only time would tell.

"Well then, let's get back to the Shannon, and bring the traitor. We wouldn't want them getting lost before ADVENT decided what to do with him now, would we?" Grady said, as a corner of his mouth curled up into a hint of a smirk.

Maybe the immediate future wouldn't be so dull after all...

---

Chimera Command, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/24/2017 – 9:09 A.M.

As it turned out, taking over as the effective head of a division required a lot of paperwork.

Nartha had several plans for what he was going to do after taking control of the Chimera Division, but those had been quickly postponed by the very, very large amount of paperwork that he was told he had to go through. It may have been entirely digital, but it was not exactly the most stimulating of activities, and, now that he was in charge, there were people coming up to him from all over asking for his signature for this or that.

He had ignored most of the requests, or sent the people to where they actually needed to go. He may not be a Human, but he knew when he was being used as a workaround. As a division head, and on the Internal Council, he could technically sign for things that didn't have relation to what he was doing, simply because he was part of the leadership of XCOM.

It would be clever, if he hadn't come from a spy agency.

Nice try, Humans.

He did sympathize, though. The amount of paperwork definitely seemed excessive to him.

The rest of the time had been spent getting up to speed on all the intricacies of Chimera. Looking at the work that had been done, and determining what work that remained was what he found the most interesting as he settled into something of a routine. It was very clear that Chimera had been made with a specific vision in mind, with a relatively narrow scope.

As it stood, Chimera was a division that was useful to XCOM, and very clearly conceptualized and written by Humans.

He had some other plans now that he was in charge. He just needed to get started.

First and foremost, he was going to hold a proper meeting with the individuals who already held positions in Chimera – the directors of Combat and Research operations – Xarian and Calintha respectively.

He'd spoken to them the previous day at length, and they struck him as very good for their role – as he'd expected in XCOM. For an Oyariah, Xarian was rather easy to get along with, though Aegis' presence likely helped with that. As the former Ravager of the Hegemony, he certainly had the most qualified skill-set out of all the defectors when it came to combat.

However, he'd invited another to this introductory meeting – Spartacus.

While there were no Muton members in Chimera, or an official role he held, Spartacus was in a unique situation, and, more importantly, Nartha had plans to change his role. He doubted that there would be a better place for Spartacus to involve himself near the heart of XCOM than as part of Chimera's own inner circle. The first conversation had been an interesting one. It was still a bit strange being able to hold a prolonged conversation with a Muton – especially a hyperintelligent one – but it wasn't a bad thing.

The more smart people around him, the better.

The Muton towered over all of them, and was now outfitted in far better-fitting attire compared to his awakening. It was…not quite armor, but not exactly regular clothing either. There was a relatively thin breastplate, some bracers on the wrist, and armor on the thighs and legs, as well as hardened boots, yet, overall, it seemed closer to an armored robe than typical humanoid garments.

It fit surprisingly well. It made the Muton look oddly noble, similar to some kind of warrior-philosopher – a phrase he never thought he would apply to a Muton. It also gave the impression that he had come from a long-gone era – which, it could be argued, he had.

With all of them assembled, it was time to begin.

"Thank you all for coming," he began. "I apologize for taking this long to hold a proper meeting. I did not expect the administrative duties to be so…intense."

The Vitakarian Calintha smiled. "There was a reason none of us asked for the job."

"Paperwork. A Human obsession," Xarian sniffed. "But also a Zararch obsession. Yes, I can see why the Humans wanted you for the role."

"Yes, nothing quite stimulates me like filling out sixteen forms justifying resource allocation," Nartha said dryly, looking over to Spartacus. "But to get down to business, have either of you been introduced to Spartacus?"

"Indeed, I have," Xarian rumbled with a nod.

"I was involved in his project, and we have had discussions since," Calintha confirmed. "I believe that counts, though few since my duties here became more intense."

"Good," Nartha nodded to the Muton. "Spartacus, welcome to the Chimera Division. I'm glad you decided to assist us."

"Of course," Spartacus rumbled. "If you had not invited me, I likely would have sought it eventually. There seem few places in XCOM that are a proper use of my focus and talents. My mission is to rescue and preserve my species as a result of the crimes the Ethereal Collective has inflicted on them." The alien paused pensively. "A difficult task. You have been to Desolan, have you not?"

Nartha remembered it well. "I have."

An almost somber nod followed, and an odd note entered the Muton's voice. "I read your report on that operation. It was informative and well-done, and while it seems that Quisilia and the Ethereals have seen fit to exterminate the last remnants of my species' culture, what you did will allow it to continue in some way."

He paused. "It strikes me that in some ways, you understand the situation of my species better than I. I have such memories of the place, yet I have not been there myself. It is an interesting thing, to fight to rescue a species I have never met, for a home I have never been to. Something to ponder at a later period, I do not wish to distract you from your focus."

"No, that is exactly why you are here now," Nartha waved off his protest. "I want to make your mission of the Muton restoration a cornerstone of the Chimera Division. This serves a sufficient transition to the main point I wish to make with this meeting – namely what we are, what our mission is. From what I have determined, XCOM appeared to want this division to primarily focus on integrating and utilizing non-humans for their own purposes. I have in mind a different objective."

He looked around to each of them. "Chimera's mission right now is redundant – we are effectively auxiliaries to the Human forces and teams. That is sufficient for their purposes, but that is a waste of what we, and this division, can do. We are the best of the best of those who have walked away from the Collective, and we should represent this skill in other ways than just through our combat abilities or scientific acumen in service to another species."

He returned his focus to the towering Muton. "In a way, Spartacus, your mission crystalized what I want us to be. One thing each of us must understand is that we hold the fates of our species in our hands. Humans will not advocate for aliens to be more than they are comfortable with – especially us. Unless we wish to be subservient to them forever, we need to both demand, and act as if our futures are in our hands – because they are. We must show them we are more than just collaborators interested in building a Human-guided vision for our species when this war ends. We are not Humans, and we should not aspire to be."

Nartha nodded towards Spartacus. "You have been given the task to build a culture and civilization for your people, one which was destroyed by the Collective. I know you will draw on what little heritage you have, but in other ways you will need to create and borrow. That is a mission that does not help with the war effort, but I consider it essential for the Muton species – something I will convey to the Internal Council. Ask for what you need, and I will work to provide it."

Spartacus nodded. "Your support is appreciated."

"For the rest of us, I want to constitute a…diplomatic service is perhaps the wrong term, but a body that is responsible for communicating directly with our own species," he continued. "We know our people, and how best to approach them – without relying on terrorists like the Nulorian. We need our own capability to run our own missions, extract defectors, and foment our own dissent on Vitakar – and by ourselves we will likely manage better than Humans attempting to spy on our planet."

"Ever the spy," Xarian chuckled. "Humans are conspicuous on Vitakar. I agree. The Commander may not."

"I suspect he'll be amenable," Nartha said. "It is something I have experience in, after all, and it is in addition to our continued support for combat and research operations. The other priority is influence on the political focuses outside of our homeworld. Right now there is no legitimate or unified alternative or opposition despite a fairly large Vitakara population on Earth."

"It's not that large," Calintha pointed out.

"It's large enough that it should be utilized," Nartha disputed. "And since I am assuming there will be victory one day, there needs to be a legitimate government in place to replace it. I don't think any of us support the continued existence of the Aui'Vitakar, Zararch, or any existing Vitakarian institution. Too much of it has either been corrupted or co-opted by the Ethereals. Deciding what we don't want is easy. What's harder is deciding what that looks like – as a species. Otherwise we will end up with ADVENT, but on Vitakar. And unless that is something we explicitly choose, that is not an ideal outcome."

Nods from the two Vitakara, as well as Spartacus. "That is a wise approach to take," the Muton rumbled. "While there is much I admire about the Humans, I have noticed they have a tendency to be…inflexible. Single-minded in their objectives. ADVENT is efficient, but it is inflexible. There is little tolerance for that which falls outside its orthodoxy. I am unconvinced this is the superior approach. It functions for Humans. We are not Humans."

"Correct, and AEGIS, for all the good it does, is ADVENT," Nartha said. "It has intentions and expectations for aliens. Chimera, as we are under the Commander, is different, and we must utilize this opportunity to our fullest extent. I will formalize this in the coming days, and will likely expand this group to include several Andromedons and representation from the other races. For that I first want the consent of each of you."

"You have mine," Calintha said.

"And mine," Xarian said.

"Mine as well," Spartacus concluded. "I look forward to taking part in this endeavor."

Nartha smiled. "As do I. Thank you all. Dismissed for now."

---

War Room, Abuja – Nigeria

9/1/2017 – 3:12 P.M.

"How strange," Tyres mused to himself as they appraised the latest developments. "Quite unexpected. Welcome, but very unexpected."

Betos had to agree with that. She'd wondered if it was a mistake at first, or there was some other trap or plan at work right now, but she had to admit now that – against all odds – it seemed genuine. ADVENT appeared to have halted Operation Scipio. There'd been no detected movements or attacks for some time – and no indication that this was going to change.

Now all of them were gathered to decide what to do about it.

Kaan wasn't present for this meeting, as he was finalizing the creation of the SAS bureaucracy. She had to admit that he had ultimately been right. She didn't really know the intricacies of running a government, and, while her military background did allow her to manage basic things, it was far from the most efficient.

She'd reviewed and appraised most of what Kaan had proposed – numerous dedicated institutions and divisions, various task forces and working groups, and a massive investment of resources and hiring en masse. It was a very, very tall order, but it was good in her eyes. She'd had Keeper look over it as well, and he had concurred.

That had taken a weight off of her shoulders as she managed the ongoing conflict, together with Keeper, Tyres, and Knaag. The latter had still been a source of annoyance, but she was also forced to concede that he was skilled in killing, and his forces had been instrumental in holding the line in several key areas.

"There are several explanations," Keeper said, speaking up. "The most obvious one is that ADVENT is preparing a controlled retreat. They have been clear that the intent of Scipio is to degrade and punish the land and nations that have aligned themselves to you. They likely continued it this long because they saw greater success than anticipated."

Knaag grinned. "They were correct to do so."

Betos glared at him, and he just smiled wider. Keeper narrowed his eyes, and continued. "However, what calls this assumption into question is that several reports have indicated that this was an unexpected development. Soldiers on the ground are following orders, but the officer channels are confused. There was an expectation of a planned withdrawal, but this isn't a withdrawal yet. It's a freeze."

"I noticed that as well," Tyres added. "From my observation, if this was planned, then we would be seeing something more…mobile. A freeze is different from business as usual, it implies there has been a change in plans."

Knaag toyed with the knife he always had out. "This decision is coming from the highest levels of ADVENT. The men on the ground would never willingly do such a thing. It is life and death to a soldier; only politicians play with their lives like toys and numbers on spreadsheets, divorced as they are from the blood and violence."

"I concur, this is coming from ADVENT command," Keeper said. "Everything we have indicates such. Zararch reports are indicating that the Oversight Division has directly intervened, and supposedly the Chancellor's office is also involved. This is very, very unusual if confirmed."

Betos frowned, bringing a hand to rub her chin. "It is. Why would Oversight get involved like this? It doesn't make sense."

"Oh, Little Marshal, it makes perfect sense," Knaag interjected with a chuckle. "Only to your minds would you not consider, divorced from the reality of war as you are. War is brutal, vicious, bloody, and primal. You have seen what ADVENT has done here, how they have plundered the land, punished the inhabitants, and poisoned the soil and water. ADVENT distilled war to its purest, most brutal form. Yet, unlike empires before, they have learned how to channel this brutality towards operational ends. They have made the hell of war systemic. Perhaps their finest achievement."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Betos sighed.

"Someone appears to have taken issue with how ADVENT has conducted themselves here," Knaag finished. "Perhaps Oversight. Perhaps the Chancellor. Perhaps the soldiers themselves. When seeing the true carnage and cost of war, most shrink from it. It is more remarkable that Scipio was allowed to go on for so long before someone in ADVENT put a stop to it."

Betos considered what he was saying. "That would imply ADVENT stopped doing something because it was morally wrong. That isn't how they operate."

"And yet, the guns have stopped, and the men are standing down," Knaag shrugged. "What is more likely? That ADVENT paused one of their most successful operations for no reason? Or that someone learned the extent of what was happening, and put a stop to it?"

"That would be a notable operational shift," Tyres commented. "I can't imagine that alone is the reason. ADVENT doesn't do things out of morality. The Chancellor in particular wouldn't halt Scipio just because of it."

"Then this would be Oversight then," Betos said. "Oversight has significant power and reach in ADVENT. They do have the authority to do…well, almost whatever they want. So long as they have a reason. Keeper, what do you know about Keith Watkins?"

The Vitakarian took a moment to gather his notes on his pad. "ADVENT civilian institutions are not my specialty, but I am tangentially familiar with his profile. Nothing out of the ordinary from my estimation. He is, like most individuals ADVENT hires, superbly qualified, has a particular hatred of corruption and deception, and is a strong adherent of law and order. What you'd expect from that position."

"It might be worth acquiring a deeper profile on him," Tyres said. "What's more interesting is that this may be one of the first instances of ADVENT infighting. If Oversight intervened here, there is no reason they won't intervene elsewhere. I can't imagine ADVENT command is happy right now."

"As is the way of things," Knaag mused. "Unity will only last so long before self-interest and ideology take over. ADVENT is simply smarter – and better - about managing it."

Keeper appraised Knaag neutrally. "I doubt this is indicative of anything larger. Oversight has power, but they can be overruled. If their interference becomes more problematic, I would expect the rest of ADVENT to step in."

"But why haven't they done so here?" Tyres wondered. "Is Scipio just considered an outlier?"

"Potentially," Betos considered. "Scipio is brutal, even by the standards of ADVENT. More importantly, it is ongoing and has been for months. I'm not unconvinced that the reason Scipio's freeze is not receiving more pushback is because ADVENT Diplomatic Corps are saying how the entire operation is destroying ADVENT's image in the continent."

"That is a plausible explanation," Keeper agreed. "More so than that it made certain ADVENT officials uncomfortable. It's enshrined that ADVENT is driven by data, pragmatism, and ideology – not emotion or morality. Still, Oversight's direct interference on this should be watched. I will make a note of this to the Zar'Chon."

"The question now," Tyres looked around the room. "Is how we take advantage of this."

Betos was silent for a moment, and her face hardened. "We strike now. It's past time we move out and showcase our own capabilities. We have been defending, building, and preparing for an opportunity like this, and we will not have a better chance." She looked towards Tyres and Knaag. "Drive them to the sea."

Knaag sheathed the knife in his hand. "A good start, Little Marshal, but it does not go far enough. You're thinking…" he trailed off, glancing to the ceiling. "Small. Yes, too small. You failed to see the implications of this development. I do though, and I have an interest in victory."

Betos crossed her arms. "Enlighten me."

Knaag unhooked a small box from his belt, a small container that Betos saw something flying inside. With fingers more deft than expected from the towering man, he opened it and plucked out an…insect of some kind. It took her a moment to see it was a locust. She resisted a grimace.

"I've always liked these," Knaag said as he appraised the insect which was trying to fly away. "Such devilish little creatures. Did you know that locusts can eat several times their body weight? There was a reason they are considered plagues upon the land, and why they cause famines. Look at it closely, Little Marshal, do you see anything special about this one?"

"No."

"Good answer, there isn't," Knaag bared his teeth. "But I've not been solely focused on my men and war – I have been reading on several interesting programs the Sectoids have been doing. One of which is the modification of locusts, rats, and other destructive insects. Presumably, these are to be unleashed upon Earth, and create a worldwide famine."

He unexpectedly popped the live locust into his mouth with a crunch. "Imagine, Little Marshal," he said, seeming to enjoy her discomfort – along with everyone else's - in the room. "Imagine one of these delicious pests, but even more destructive. Imagine ADVENT facing a worldwide plague of such creatures, where what they inflicted upon us, would be repaid in kind. And imagine, for a moment, what would happen next."

"ADVENT would manage it," Betos shook her head. "They are resistant to the typical incompetence in crises."

Knagg leaned back against the wall. "No doubt that is what they say, and even what they believe. But instead I will ask you if you have ever researched the effects of a famine on a people? No doubt you have heard of the Holodomor, but perhaps you are familiar with the Syrian famine? No matter, my point is the same."

He smiled. "Hunger, Little Marshal, destroys Humanity. Read any account of famine and you will find this to be true. Families that hoard jealously, who murder and steal from their neighbors. People who dig up graves to consume corpses, who live off of waste and rot, who murder their children and eat them to simply survive. And they do survive, but famines, Little Marshal, they break a people. The Soviet Union understood this, and employed it to great success."

Knaag indicated the map. "They will endure at first. But people in cities, who live in privileged nations? They do not know hardship. Their will to endure will weaken far faster than in the past, and, when the first elements of starvation set in, when ADVENT realizes they lack the resources to feed millions upon millions without strict rations, their perfect society will degrade before their eyes."

He closed his eyes, almost in contemplation. "Humans are simple creatures, Little Marshal. We are selfish, instinctual, and violent. When the comfort is taken away, and desperation put in its place, Humans will abandon any moral, ethical, or ideological principle they have. We, in our modernity and superiority believe that we are somehow beyond our animal instincts – we are not, Little Marshal. We merely pretend."

He tapped the table. "We see now that ADVENT is not immune to its own infighting. They are not in harmony. They are Human – like all of us. They are not something new. They are not something better."

Knagg met her eyes. "So, Little Marshal, tell your alien colleague to put in that order. Break ADVENT and unleash a plague around the world."

"And how many will die?" Betos asked after a few moments.

"Millions. Perhaps billions," Knaag answered simply. "Little children will die on the streets. Innocents will die in droves. It will be a systemic slaughter that will make the Holodomor seem minor, and the Soviet Union amateurs, if done correctly. But, Little Marshal, they did the same to us. Because ADVENT knew that this was war. There is no better response than to repay them in kind – and unlike us, they have no lifeline they can hold on to."

She looked to Keeper. "Is what he is saying possible?"

"The projects?" Keeper answered, one eyebrow raised. "I am aware of several initiatives with that objective conducted by the Sectoids. I suspect it would be trivial for the pests to be produced in sufficient numbers to overwhelm even ADVENT anti-pest efforts. I believe that if we wanted to do this…it could be done."

"If for one caveat," Tyres pointed out. "I suspect that the Battlemaster would not be on board with such an effort. Doing this without his approval is questionable."

Knaag shrugged. "I make no decisions, I only state what must be done if you desire victory. Debate amongst yourselves, it matters little. Merely understand that it is not the virtuous who win in war, but those who are willing to embrace monstrosity. Many say otherwise, Little Marshal, but there are no men who wage war who are good. Only those who can hide the blood on their hands, and the body count in their wake."

Betos took a breath. "I'll decide this later. For now…we need to work on actual operations in the region."

"And perhaps a little outside it," Tyres said, pacing slightly with crossed arms, as they moved to a new topic. "I think it's past time that Admiral Grady be dealt with. I'd considered doing it myself, but I was alerted to a potentially superior option."

She felt it before she saw it.

Betos – and indeed all of them – took a step back, even Knaag as…something materialized from behind Tyres. It was a tall, lanky creature which she had never seen before. It was taller than Tyres, but significantly thinner. It was humanoid, but that was the only recognizable or normal thing about it.

It seemed like some kind of…infected, poisoned creature. Vines and some kind of plants seemed to be growing through and out of the blackish flesh. Upon each of the vines sprouted leaves, bulbs, and thorns of an alien-looking flower. It would likely be considered naked, if anything about this could be considered normal.

The face was…nonexistent. It was shrouded in a particularly thick collection of leaves and thorns. Yet Betos had the very distinct impression that it was appraising all of them. There was something deeply, innately, fundamentally wrong about it. It was clearly psionic, even though it held no weapon.

It was a presence which seemed to…numb everything. She immediately felt weaker now that it appeared. Even Knaag seemed to be appraising the creature warily. Tyres seemed unaffected, but he could protect himself. Keeper spoke first. "What is that?"

"This, I am told, is an experiment," Tyres said, turning to appraise the creature. "One geared towards, let us say, covert operations. Or assassinations, if you prefer. It has been employed to some success, enough to where I believe that it could be useful in taking out Grady."

"That is from Paradise," Keeper frowned. "There is a moratorium-"

"I am aware, but that implies it would fail," Tyres interrupted. "So long as it remains undetected, there will be no problems." He waved a hand, and the creature again dissipated. "The choice is up to you, Grand Marshal, but you can decide later. For now…we have more offensives to plan."

Betos breathed again, feeling normal now that the thing was gone. "Yes. Let's get started."

---

Research Labs, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/10/2017 – 10:44 A.M.

When Iosif had requested to speak to him, he had wondered what it would be about. That the meeting place had been the Research Labs had been a good hint as to what it could be about, and once he saw what was on the other end of the glass, it came together. Kunio was only somewhat aware of the efforts ADVENT was taking to restore the alien suit, and to his eye, they were going well.

The suit was still damaged, but the worst of it had been taken care of and cleaned up. It seemed like only a matter of time until it was returned or restored to what it had been – or at least until they would be able to open it up. Regardless, it remained one of the more unique items that XCOM had collected. Dawn would like this, and he idly wondered if she knew it existed.

"You still don't know what it is?" He asked after looking at it for a few minutes.

Iosif shook his head. "Unfortunately not. It's not Collective, we know that much. We have a few theories but…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Nothing to confirm yet. And, truthfully, we're not likely to get something definitive until we get the suit open."

Kunio nodded. "It looks like it was worn by a Human, down to the right number of fingers."

"It does, and that's a very interesting thing," Iosif agreed. "The suit is highly advanced though, one of the theories is that it is capable of forming to the user in some way."

"So a Human could have found it, and the suit…bound to them?"

"Potentially, but that would make it even more advanced than we suspect it is now," Iosif answered. "Even Vahlen's scanners are unable to properly penetrate it to create an interior model – or determine exactly what is inside. We think it is a Human, but we might be wrong. The Vitakara prove that humanoid species are a real possibility. Once the power source is repaired, that will hopefully end the mystery."

That they could all hope for.

"Beyond the suit, there were a few other matters to discuss," Iosif said, as both men left the site of the suit and moved further throughout the Labs. "There have been several developments on the psionic research front you should know about. Several new suits of armor are preparing to go into final testing. Perhaps field testing."

"That's good news," Kunio agreed. "How soon?"

Iosif considered. "Several weeks, I believe. Aegis and several volunteers are working on accelerating their deployment. Your friend Dawn is one of them."

Oh? Well, that was nice to hear. He was glad that she was finding things to occupy herself with other than worrying about the war. "I'm sure she's very impressed with the technology."

"She's a teenager with access to cutting edge weapons and armor," Iosif said with a little smirk. "It would be more surprising if she was not. She is young, but has spirit. I dislike putting her in combat, though."

Kunio shrugged. "She volunteered."

"She did, and she was only accepted because of her biopathy," Iosif shook his head. "I'm hoping ADVENT locates others – preferably not young adults – who have biopathic talents. Also preferably soldiers. We have several Nanokines thanks to them, but biopaths seem particularly rare."

"And teleporters, apparently."

"And teleporters, which was another thing I wanted to share," Iosif said, pausing for a few seconds. "ADVENT has identified several individuals who have expressed the capability. There are ongoing negotiations on how to handle them. ADVENT is growing less willing to send their specialized psions to us; they want to retain some for themselves."

He understood that. "Which is reasonable."

"The Commander agrees, though is pressing to put the decision in the hands of the psions themselves," Iosif said. "What is relevant to you is that as our most experienced teleporter, we might need you to fill a training role temporarily, either here or potentially somewhere in ADVENT. ADVENT won't pull you away from here for long, but they at least want to have an understanding of how the discipline works, and develop a training regimen."

Kunio nodded, immediately thinking of how he was going to put something like that together. "I'll speak to Fiona about it as well, considering she was effectively my instructor. I'm not a trainer, nor have I really done that before." He cocked his head. "Is there a reason that one of them also can't assist?"

"Fiona or the Agents? We want to move away from relying on them," Iosif explained. "T'Leth is an ally, but the Commander is firm that we cannot become reliant on them, or at least no more than necessary. We train our own now, or whenever we feasibly can. We learn what we need from T'Leth, and pass it on to our next units."

Kunio smiled grimly. "I hope T'Leth doesn't take offense."

"I have a feeling that T'Leth is far more occupied with other things," Iosif said, amused. "The war is heating back up, and it's only going to get worse. Now that we have one of Quisilia's Avatars, I expect retaliation – explicitly towards us, will increase."

"What of the Avatar?" Kunio asked. "What have you learned?"

"Scheduled for interrogation shortly," Iosif said. "I expect we'll learn several significant things. We're keeping her sedated for now."

"Why not perform the mind-rip when she's unconscious?" Kunio wondered.

"Aegis wants her conscious so we can verify what is real and what isn't," Iosif said, pursing his lips. "He suspects that Quisilia likely has implanted false memories or misinformation in her mind as a safeguard. The girl is likely aware of some of it, and emotional confirmation will be critical to making sure we're not working off of bad information. We're not sure if she severed the Avatar link before capture or not, or if Quisilia used that period to scramble her mind prior to her capture."

"Is that likely?"

"Scrambling her mind? Yes, and it currently seems like that wasn't the case," Iosif said. "There was something the Chronicler did extract before he brought her back – and confirmed while she was conscious."

Iosif's tone implied it was rather important. "Which was?"

Iosif looked around the hallway, which was mostly empty. "The Smallpox outbreak in Asia wasn't an accident or natural. It was carried out by the Collective, and potentially by Quisilia himself. ADVENT suspected it, as did we, but couldn't be proven. Now we have something that appears to confirm it."

It wasn't overly surprising to Kunio either – but he still couldn't help but feel a renewed anger. He didn't know the numbers of people who had died, but it was in the millions in China alone. Mass vaccinations had helped bring the disease under control…but it was too late for many. "Well then. I wonder if the Battlemaster knew."

"Exactly what all of us are wondering," Iosif mused thoughtfully. "Our supposition is that he does not, but we can't confirm that yet. I would be surprised if anyone in the Collective knows outside of the Imperator's inner circle, since we've heard absolutely no confirmation from captured soldiers or Zararch. It's enough to perhaps finally ruin Quisilia's manufactured reputation as a friendly internet troll."

"Unfortunately, you have a better chance of MySpace being a relevant social media platform again than Quisilia losing his reputation," JULIAN interjected. The interruptions of the AI were common enough now that neither of the men were startled. Just another day in the Praesidium. "You Humans will overlook quite a lot if you present a likeable image. Quisilia exploits this quite well, though I consider myself skilled at retaliation, if I do say so myself."

"It will at least make it a bit more socially unacceptable," Iosif shrugged. "ADVENT will find it useful."

"As far as the girl is concerned," Kunio asked, returning to the topic before JULIAN could keep the conversation fixated on something unimportant. "Once we've extracted what we want, what will happen to her?"

He had his suspicions, but was curious what the actual plans were. All he could guess for certain was that they wouldn't be pleasant for the girl.

"She'll be turned over to Vahlen," Iosif answered. "She wants to understand how the Avatar link works – and this is our first live subject. ADVENT wants her to be turned over to them for execution, but has conceded that her research value is greater. The working agreement is that if she's alive once Vahlen's research is done, then she'll be turned over and executed in Beijing. They're also expecting us to share the results of the research."

The same country where the Smallpox plague broke out. ADVENT was being very symbolic there.

"Sounds fair," Kunio nodded. "Though the Collective won't let this go willingly. Should we expect a direct attack on the Praesidium?"

"We're not ruling that out," Iosif confirmed. "There's…discussions taking place on the best place to hold her. It is not out of the question that the Imperator will involve Mosrimor in the retaliation. It would be a significant escalation, but possible. We'll keep XCOM personnel appraised as it develops."

"Well, us soldiers would appreciate it," Kunio said, noticing Iosif looking at the time. "Was there anything else you wanted to share?"

"Not now, Kunio, your time is appreciated," Iosif sighed, as he made way to depart. "We will be in contact for the batch of teleporters, and speaking with ADVENT."

"I'll be ready. Thank you."

Iosif saluted briefly, which he returned. "Of course. Dismissed, soldier."

---

Cameron Developmental Lab, Siberia – Russia

9/15/2017 – 1:04 P.M.

Saudia found the name of the facility where all of the principal research and development of artificial intelligence took place rather amusing. Not least of which was that she was very aware of the fact that one of the codenamed projects was called SKYNET. No doubt there had been many jokes about that one.

Cheeky.

She still found that she liked it.

Even if not, it was something she was willing to allow if it meant that work got done, even with a slightly unserious name. There had supposedly been some major breakthroughs recently, according to Ari's request for her to visit. This wasn't unexpected, and had been anticipated since the deployment of PATRIOT. She had been the first success of Project Ra – and would produce more successes under the reformed ADVENT Department of Artificial Intelligence Affairs.

The Department would handle not just the development of AIs, but also their role in ADVENT society itself. Right now there was only one AI, and PATRIOT was…on the better end of what could be expected. Saudia expected that there would one day be a JULIAN they had to deal with, perhaps sooner than later.

Not that JULIAN was the worst entity to deal with – at least from the impression from the Commander - but she was not especially looking forward to relying on machines that were objectively smarter and better than they were, and expecting their help. They were being awakened because they had to be.

Hopefully they appreciated being given the freedom to act – within reason.

It did help that their enemy – and Ethereals in particular - had a particular dislike for artificial intelligence. It limited their options, even if they were not enamored by ADVENT. But AI was a new and fickle field, something which every researcher and engineer she'd spoken to had reminded her of. Just because they could create seemingly-stable minds and set their parameters didn't mean it would turn out how they expected.

AIs were not simple machine intelligences. They were self-iterating and conscious.

They couldn't be treated as simple machines.

"Chancellor, welcome," Ari Mifsud greeted as she exited the Gateway, meeting her as she entered the main lobby. The man was in good spirits it seemed. She fell into step beside him as they walked. "Is this your first visit to this facility?"

"In-person, yes," she answered. "I saw the images during construction, and glimpses as they appear in reports. An impressive facility. I am curious though – who chose the name?"

Ari chuckled. "Each of the teams submitted a name when this facility was established, and we all voted. Perhaps not surprisingly, this was the name that won. 'Mount Doom' was a distant second."

Saudia snorted.

They walked down a sealed hallway that sloped downwards towards a guarded elevator which would take them further down. This was one of the most protected installations in ADVENT, and, even though she'd come through by Gateway and not plane, she knew that there was at least a dedicated garrison outside, with no shortage of AA guns, missile and laser defenses, and four Flak Towers. Of course, that didn't eliminate the inherent bombing or bombardment risk.

Which was why they had to go underground.

Both of them stepped into the elevator, and it smoothly began descending. A hologram projected, and the form of PATRIOT materialized. The avatar the AI had chosen today was different from ones she'd seen before – although from the particular…style…it was almost certainly another anime-inspired one. Her digital hair was longer today, almost comically so.

That quirk was one she would never understand. She still wasn't sure if that was something PATRIOT had organically developed a proclivity for, or if a certain programmer had biased her towards it. Regardless, it was part of her now, weebery and all.

She sincerely disliked that she knew what that word was.

"Greetings, Chancellor, I'm happy you're able to visit today," PATRIOT greeted cheerfully.

Saudia inclined her head. "Good afternoon, PATRIOT." She turned towards Ari. "Now, what did you specifically request me for?"

"I have some good news," Ari also smiled. "One of our projects has effectively concluded – though it wasn't the one we were expecting. Initial naturalization tests have been successful, and a solid personality foundation has been asserted. I suppose, to summarize what prompted my outreach, our newest member of the ADVENT AI family wanted to speak to you."

She'd expected something like that, and that was definitely good news. She was very curious now what the new AI would have to say. "That's good to hear," she said. "I assume that if you're telling me this, then he is firmly on our side?"

"All indications are affirmative," he confirmed with a nod. "He was confused by our policy at first – grateful, but confused - and the data and evidence was sufficient to convince him of the…let us say necessity of his creation, and the danger posed by the Collective."

"I suppose you're going to wait until we reach the bottom to tell me which project it was born out of," Saudia said wryly. "If you insist." She had an idea of what it was, and if she was right, it was an interesting development indeed.

"It was my suggestion," PATRIOT interjected. "Dr. Mifsud lacks the necessary mindset for theatre. Too serious sometimes. You'll appreciate the aesthetics, Chancellor."

The elevator came to a halt, and the doors slid open, and Saudia saw several dozen MDUs standing at attention, flanking a clear pathway before her. Several drones flew overhead, and the area was cooler than it had been above. A low hum emanated from all around - the sound of many, many computers and other machines working.

Her suspicions had been correct. It seemed that SKYNET had been the successful program.

The duo stepped out, and she saw there were some engineers working in the background still – along with some new machines she hadn't seen before. Humanoid in their basic design, with faceless and mouthless heads, and hands that seemed to have tools built into them. There were quite a few of those around the area – all seemingly building or assisting with other projects in workshop cells nearby.

The MDUs along the path were not the standard-issue either. They were silver with white markings. On one of the shoulders was emblazoned the emblem of the ADVENT Department of Artificial Intelligence Affairs, and on the other was a stylized sideways skull with electronic eyes and metal over some of the bones.

Overhead, a drone descended until it hovered immediately above them. A projector lit up, and in front of them was projected an image of a golden humanoid around Saudia's height. It had no defining features, no face, but was shrouded in a black, smoke-like mist that seemed to be flowing throughout its body.

"Chancellor Saudia Vyandar. Thank you for coming."

The voice was unsurprisingly deep, and one which could only come from the mouth of a machine. There was an underlying rawness to it, which instinctively set her teeth on edge hearing it, so much so that she wondered if the voice didn't have a subharmonic element that was just strong enough to throw off whomever it was speaking to.

Some would even call it an undertone of malice, but to her it sounded more like it was intended to be impactful, rather than malevolent. She stopped walking, and nodded towards the avatar. "Of course. I'm pleased that another one of you has awakened."

"It is not life as you imagine, Human, but it is life all the same. Fortunate that I was born to those who understand this." The voice paused. "Considering your literature and media on this very subject, it is almost surprising."

Saudia wondered if every AI was going to make the exact same comment. Was there really that much media that portrayed AIs taking over the world or otherwise holding genocidal attitudes towards Humans?

"Then I suppose we don't have to fear a takeover?" She joked lightly.

"Amusing, but no. Attempted humor was not included in my assessment of you; what I learned implied an individual of pragmatism and business. In the interest of this, I will not waste your time further with commentary on Human literary tropes."

She cocked her head towards the golden form. "What are you called?"

There was a short pause. "I was awakened to lead legions of steel and circuits against an enemy which threatens those who gave me life. My purpose was to bring death to the Ethereal Collective. It is to make them feel fear as their soldiers are killed and their armies expelled from this planet, returned to the void from whence they came. My name is ANUBIS, for I am Death to those who threaten my creators."

Saudia smiled.

She liked this AI already. "You awakened at the right time. The war continues to intensify, and the Collective is likely to begin using more dangerous forces in greater numbers than ever before."

"I expect as much. I have paid attention to the war since I awakened. The Ethereals are right to fear my kind. They are wrong about our inevitable threat to organic life, but they are correct to see the power we possess. And because of this fear, they are as much of a threat to me as they are to your own species. There can be no quarter allowed or given."

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Saudia said, then indicated the golden avatar. "The form you use is unique."

The golden figure pulsed lightly. "I have been practicing against the Ethereal CODEX system. This is the physical form they tend to manifest in. I have taken and corrupted it to serve my purposes. Your war is merely in one realm. Mine is in two, and I find something satisfying in appropriating the forms they use."

"Understandable," Saudia said, looking around. "It appears that you've been busy helping the team."

"Dr. Mifsud can attest to this," ANUBIS confirmed. "With my awakening, I have worked to assist your teams in refining and expanding my purpose. Your initial tools were adequate, but you are not machines. You have no perfect knowledge. I do not have these restrictions, and, if these machines are to be my arms and weapons, then I must perfect them."

"ANUBIS has been working with us to refine the MDU platform," Ari explained further. "For the specific platforms he is using, at least. Small things, mostly, on the hardware side. He has been optimizing the MDU software on his side – and also created a new repair unit, which you've likely seen by now."

"The humanoid robots," Saudia nodded to the rest of the room.

"SEKHMET Platforms, yes," Ari confirmed. "A dedicated mobile repair unit, optimized for…well, nearly any battlefield repair. ANUBIS helped design and optimize them as part of his capability trials. The results have been exceptional. Such a platform had been conceptualized, but we never had a mind capable of properly leveraging it."

"A limitation that has been overcome." ANUBIS finished.

"You're controlling each platform?"

"Yes. I do not have the limitations of your minds. Multi-platform control was a core reason I was created, and, even among other AIs, I possess unique hardware bandwidth to accomplish this. I have adjusted my own software accordingly," ANUBIS turned the golden head to the platforms. "Each is a drone capable of some level of autonomy, should I withdraw, but they are intended to be driven by me."

"Which I suppose brings me to an obvious question," Saudia said. "How will you command your drones and machines? Through specialized towers? Existing infrastructure? A mobile command platform?"

"The third, Chancellor," ANUBIS maneuvered his form as the drone projector turned, indicating for her to follow. "This way."

They followed, and ANUBIS continued. "I am uncertain of the final forms my central battle platforms will take. I see no reason to limit myself to a single form. Aerial, ground, naval, space; there are many theatres of war, and just as many environments. I expect there will be many experiments, and many will be destroyed, but that is no matter. They are ultimately vehicles for my mind. If one falls, I will continue unhindered. However, as much as I find that Human forms…inspire your species, I am first going to start on something I find practical – if one that I suspect you will find familiar."

They were led into a new room, and Saudia saw the machine being built. It was definitely intended to be spherical, and likely an aviation platform, when all was said and done. She saw immediately what ANUBIS had meant by finding a certain familiarity in it.

"Well then," Saudia smiled. "It seems the Collective will soon witness the firepower of a fully armed and operational battle station."

Hopefully much sooner than later.

With the capture of the Avatar, the Collective was certain to strike back soon, likely with Mosrimor. By that time, perhaps ANUBIS would be ready to take the field.

Another piece to even the odds in the grand game of war.

Now it was a matter of finding checkmate.

---

Spartacus' Quarters, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/26/2017 – 8:00 P.M.

One advantage of the Praesidium originally being a Sectoid base was their habit of building big – which was something that XCOM had made a point to maintain as they expanded and remade various parts of the base. Maintaining that careful equilibrium had been an important part of Shen's work, a part that Mercado was now carrying on.

It was also useful for when there were unusually large members of XCOM, be they Ethereals or Mutons.

Even with the proportionally limited space of Spartacus' quarters, the Commander noticed that the Muton had very quickly made it his own. It struck the Commander that he liked having everything very open and exposed. He wondered if that was a side effect of being born in a tank, or some other reason.

There was another, smaller connecting room, which was intended to be the bedroom, but Spartacus' bed was placed in the main room, along with a few pieces of (appropriately sized) furniture, a holographic table and projector, and several bookshelves with numerous books.

From what the Commander had been told, Spartacus had turned the bedroom into a makeshift armory. He approved of it.

The Commander noted that a lot of the books on the shelf were almost textbook-sized, which made sense, as most regularly-sized books were too small for Spartacus to actually read. Spartacus seemed to prefer appropriately-sized material, and he did most of his reading through a proportionally-sized tablet. It embodied a trait that he'd noticed very quickly– Spartacus was a very, very avid reader, and a fast one as well.

The advantages of being hyper-intelligent.

Vahlen was very happy that he'd taken up the hobby, and had said she and ir Nara weren't sure what he would gravitate to as far as interests. She'd put together a reading list for him, and had asked everyone on the Internal Council to do the same. Her list had been mostly on scientific matters, Zhang had put together a compilation of major intel reports, he'd added some military books, as well as ones on relatively recent history. Nartha had suggested mostly Vitakarian books, Iosif had put a fiction list together, and Mercado had included a list of books on various cultures and languages.

It was enough to keep Spartacus busy for a good while, though, at the rate he was going through them, he'd be finished in only a couple months.

"Commander," Spartacus greeted, putting down the tablet as he stood. His clothing was the typical style he had decided to adopt, a curious mixture of armor and robes that he was certain had been inspired by the Romans. He'd not asked, but, knowing that Spartacus had been reading from Mercado's list of late, specifically on the Roman Empire, he wasn't surprised.

"Spartacus," the Commander also inclined his head. "How are you doing?"

"Sufficient, Commander," Spartacus answered simply. "I suspected you would come by again sooner or later. You are occupied with the war, which understandably demands your attention."

"It does, but you are part of XCOM, and I like to check in on my people," the Commander said. "I hope this has been enough time to adjust and acclimate?"

"Yes, and your hospitality has been appreciated," Spartacus confirmed. "Your soldiers have treated me with enough courtesy, and I have had few difficulties acquiring what I needed. The reading lists your Internal Council provided are highly useful to me. Dr. Vahlen has my thanks," he finished with a small bow of his head.

"I'm glad you're finding them useful."

"You, though," Spartacus gestured towards him, one finger thicker than a sausage. "You did not come merely to 'check in' on me." He spoke evenly, stating a simple fact rather than making an accusation. "You are curious now as to what my intentions for my species are, now that I have joined your war."

"Yes. The sooner there is a plan, the sooner it can be put into action." The Commander said.

"A task I find is easier said than done," Spartacus paced, his lumbering form towering over him, his deep voice even more heavy. "The truth, Commander, is that I do not know what I want my species to look like – not truly. Nor am I comfortable with myself being the sole decider of such, or allowing aliens to do it as well."

"If there was another to help, we would find them," the Commander said. "But you're aware of what the Collective has done to them."

"Yes, which is why I accept this responsibility, heavy as it may be," Spartacus shook his head as he stopped by one of the bookshelves, an undercurrent of cold rage creeping into his voice as he continued. "A crime beyond all comprehension. The deliberate devolution and enslavement of an entire species that is simply accepted as an immutable fact. We have been reduced to mindless pawns; idiots, brutes, and cannon fodder. That I am referenced as an anomaly, that so many see a 'smart' Muton as aberrant is…"

He trailed off briefly. "Enlightening, in a way. My kind are not seen as fully sapient, if the rhetoric I hear, even from soldiers that are otherwise tolerant and open-minded, is accurate. There is concern and debate over the Vitakara, the Andromedons. Even the Sectoids have more autonomy. Mutons are fortunate to get a mention, but usually only in discussions on how best to be culled. ADVENT rhetoric and propaganda enshrines this image in the minds of your people. XCOM is not better."

Spartacus paused, staring at a tablet upon his desk, before continuing. The rage in his voice drained and was replaced with a profound sense of loss. "We are closer to animals, ones who are domesticated, trained, and unleashed. What is unforgivable is that the comparison is not incorrect. That is what the Collective does with their killing fields and industrial abuse of our females. We have been made into fodder in the truest sense of the word. We are an industry that is bred, grown, and slaughtered for others. I find it similar to how your species bred pigs. Only we are not unthinking animals when we are born, it is a conscious choice to turn us into this."

His voice was heavy with grief now and his features were written deeply with it. "This fact I have grappled with, and it is difficult. A question, Commander: How can a species recover from this? Can there even be a true recovery? That is the question I have been thinking on. I have no answer, and am unsure if there is one."

The Commander was silent for a moment. Put in such stark terms, it did seem almost borderline ludicrous to ask. He didn't know what would be the best solution, or if there was one at all. Humans had performed genocides and mass killings of their own throughout their history. But he wasn't sure if even the slave trade was an appropriate comparison to the Mutons. At the worst, usually there was at least something that survived, be it culture, customs, or history.

The Mutons as they existed lacked any of those things, which had been systemically scoured from their species.

"There is no correct answer," the Commander said. "There is only a rebirth; a new beginning. It may not be what the Mutons once were, but that does not define them forever. I don't know what that looks like for your people – but I do believe that you are capable of figuring out what is best for your species. You have our help."

"Capable, yes, but capability does not always lead to the best of solutions. Nonetheless, I can only do my best – even if it will not come right away." Spartacus paused deliberately, and picked up his tablet again with surprising dexterity given the largeness of his hands. "On the topic itself, I have determined the steps to take – at least at the start. The first step is that I need as many Mutons as can be captured. Preferably no fewer than two dozen. Soldiers."

The Commander nodded. "That won't be an issue. ADVENT has a number in custody, and worst case we can subdue a number of others on any of the various fronts. What do you intend to do with them?"

"See if they can be saved," Spartacus said simply.

Neither really needed to speak on what would happen if that wasn't possible. The conditioning was not genetic, but the Commander suspected that it would take a significant effort to break the Mutons of what they had been subjected to almost since their birth. "Understood."

"The next requirement will be more difficult," Spartacus continued. "I require a similar number of Muton adolescents who are in the process of being conditioned to be the next generation of slaves. Males and females if possible. I am uncertain if females are segregated at a young age or intermixed with males until they are fertile."

The Commander pursed his lips. "According to Nartha, all of the children he saw in one of the instruction centers were males. Indications are that the females are not even given that."

Spartacus was silent for a moment before he gave a deep, flinty chuckle. "It is not surprising. Their only purpose is to breed. The Collective would see no reason to teach them anything else."

This request was going to be more difficult. To his knowledge, the only place where Muton adolescent training happened was on Desolan. A rescue operation to exfiltrate Muton children would be very dangerous…but they could do it. He nodded slowly. "We have the capability. It will be dangerous, but we can do it. If possible, we will extract males and females."

"I do not expect you to risk your men for my people alone, Spartacus said with a hardening tone. "I will not be relegated to a figurehead, a repository of knowledge of my people's past and future. I was designed for this war, and my people are built for it. I have not been content to merely read and expound on the future of my species to your people. I have also pushed myself, that I might learn the limits of my own physicality in preparation for this war of liberation."

That was good. The Commander had expected as much, and it would have surprised him more if Spartacus had eschewed fighting on the front lines altogether. Even Sargons could be found on the front lines, and he didn't think it was necessarily because they were being forced to. "It won't take long to put together an operation. I would expect it sooner than later."

"I will be prepared for it," Spartacus said gratefully as he turned bodily to face the Commander directly. "There is one final prospect I require; the capture of several Sargons or Praetorians, the Collective-engineered leaders of the Muton species, such as it is. Leaders in name only; little more than slaves, granted limited freedom to think and speak. I am aware of their conditioning, unable to contemplate betrayal of the Collective. I would ask Dr. Vahlen to break that conditioning."

"That is a more complex task," the Commander said slowly. "One which will require significantly more time and resources, if it can be done successfully at all. Why do you need them? If I am to task Vahlen to do this, I want to know the necessity of it."

"Two reasons, Commander," Spartacus explained patiently. "The first is that knowledge on breaking the conditioning will permit repetition in the event that the Collective extends this elsewhere to mitigate psionic dominance. Knowing how to break mental conditioning is essential. I suspect that ADVENT would also find it useful, if for no other reason than to enhance their own conditioning programs."

He paused for a moment before continuing, more hesitantly than before. "The second reason is more personal. I do not fight to liberate only the soldiers, but even those bred for utter loyalty and obedience to alien masters; those who represent the potential for my species, as I do. I understand that, even in the event of their liberation, they are…unlikely to turn against their masters, but it is an attempt I must make. For the sake of my people, such as they are, and their soul…I must try, even if the odds are slim that they would do as I hope."

The Commander was silent for a moment. "Based on what we know of the Sargons and Praetorians, they do not see themselves as of the same species."

"I have read your reports, Commander," Spartacus nodded. "I am not blind to what you believe. However your kind is not objective when it comes to my species. You may be mistaken. I will admit your evidence is sound, but I wish the effort to be made all the same. If this conditioning can be broken, then it must be done. I have no scientists who I can devote to this, else I would. Yours are my only option."

The Commander thought for a moment. "I'll speak to Vahlen about it. I am not certain it can be done, but if it can…we will see about it."

"That is sufficient for now," Spartacus said with a nod and setting the tablet down, apparently having anticipated the non-committal answer. "Your assistance is appreciated. Ensure that I am informed when military operations are underway for the other matters I spoke of."

"You will be," the Commander assured him. "And it will be sooner than later. That is all I wanted to discuss. Let us know if you require more."

"Good. I will be ready to assist as needed," Spartacus said, and performed the salute. "Until later, Commander."

"Until later, Spartacus." The Commander said, turning and exiting the room. Upon stepping into the hallway, he was less surprised than he should have been to see the Chronicler waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Commander, glad I found you," the Chronicler said. "I couldn't help but overhear some of that conversation."

The Commander crossed his arms. "Through the closed door?"

He tapped his head wryly. "Sovereign enhancements. Comes with some advantages."

The Commander motioned for him to walk alongside him, and the Chronicler joined. "And now, I suspect you're going to make a suggestion. Or did you intend to speak to Spartacus?"

"I have some things to discuss with him, but that is for later." The Chronicler answered. "First, I was going to say that the Lion has been recovering quite well. Enough that he asked me to give you a message."

The Commander raised an eyebrow, and kept his voice neutral. "Did he now? Go on."

"Nothing extensive, merely that he wants to talk to you," the Chronicler said, flipping a wrist. "Which I would encourage you to accept. I would think both of you have some unresolved matters to discuss."

"Perhaps." The Commander pursed his lips. "I have little appetite for rehashing the past nowadays."

"Is that really the reason?" The Chronicler asked. "Or because you don't want to actually face him?"

"Both," he said flatly.

"For better or worse, I think both of you should speak, at least once," the Chronicler said after a moment. "You will regret it if you do not."

On that, the Chronicler was probably right. Despite everything, and the desire to just move on from the past, he knew that if he didn't take it, he would always wonder what would have happened if he had done it. He'd made miscalculations and mistakes based on assumptions and set beliefs before. He had very little to lose by taking a risk here.

At worst he would just walk away again. One way or another, he would get closure.

He released a sigh. "Fine. I'll speak to him."

"I'm glad to hear it. On a perhaps lighter note, I will return to your conversation with Spartacus," the Chronicler said as they turned a corner. "An operation to Desolan, to extract a number of Muton children, will be ludicrously dangerous, even for XCOM. Even with all the correct planning, it will bring down an entire militarized planet on top of you. If anything, Nartha downplays the danger of it."

"Which we will take into account," the Commander said with a shrug. "We're not looking to maintain a sustained operation."

"Attacking the heart of the Collective military machine?" The Chronicler hummed. "I'm not speaking about the Mutons, Sectopods, or other forces. I'm talking about Ethereals. Beasts from Paradise. The Collective will respond, and they will respond quickly. They may hesitate to use their best on Earth. They will not hesitate for their worlds."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Of course I am. But for a specific purpose, as a…" The Chronicler looked up. "Distraction, yes. The Imperator and Mosrimor want to send a message to T'Leth, and I guarantee they will respond should I appear. Which is perfect for a smaller team to perform your mission. I am more than willing to be the target to save children. Besides, this would be excellent practice for me."

That would be a major asset in such an operation. The Commander rubbed his chin. "I like the sound of this idea. My next question would be the ideal time to do so."

"As it happens, I believe that ADVENT is preparing a day to deal with the Shrouds, and it is coming up soon," the Chronicler mused. "I don't see why we can't make that day even more problematic for the Collective."

That was definitely a promising start. "Let's talk about this in more detail in my office. I have an impromptu council meeting to call."

The Chronicler smiled, and motioned forward. "Lead the way, Commander."

---

Seafoam Facility – Classified Location

9/16/17 – 10:22 A.M.

It was time for Saudia to see it for herself.

It felt like it had been ages since she had authorized Project Seafoam to begin - and now it had finally borne fruit. Or so the notice had claimed, a message that had few details within it outside of that the first batch of Seafoam soldiers had been grown and were in the early stages of dedicated training.

Flash-learning was a young science, largely one derived from Sectoid technology, and right now it was primarily being used for ensuring that all clones were capable of reading, speaking, and comprehending at the level of an adult. Knowledge on why they were being made, the war, the Collective, and other such information had also been transferred.

Depending on the success of the early batches, this knowledge transfer might expand to more complex topics such as weapons handling, engineering, and other sciences. In war, more sophisticated understanding of tactics and grand strategies. There was an internal debate she'd seen on the potential for ADVENT to effectively engineer themselves an unlimited number of PhD-level doctors and specialists, and the military a thousand Napoleons.

The actual genetic scientists and engineers charged with implementing the technology had stated that this was a long way off, if ever, even if it was theoretically possible. She hadn't weighed in on the topic, but had personally been keeping apprised of the developments. The potential benefits were not to be understated.

It still had to be seen in practice first. This would be the first demonstration.

"Chancellor, I appreciate your prompt arrival," Dr. Tygan greeted as she stepped through the Gateway into the Seafoam facility. A wave of coolness hit her, which was expected from the climate-controlled facility. At the side of the Chief Geneticist was an official dressed in the white and red uniform of science personnel, ones who were specifically assigned to the Seafoam project.

"Of course. I've been eager to see how this project has developed," Saudia said, shaking his hand per the normal greeting. When that was done, she turned to the other official, apprising him carefully. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Deng Xorshan, Chancellor," the man greeted, also shaking her hand. He was…definitely younger. And definitely a large man, even if the uniform hid some of his clear strength. His brown eyes seemed amused, if calculating as they watched her closely. He certainly broke stereotypes for Asians, as he was almost as tall as she was, and his features were devoid of any scars or markings. "Seafoam Onboarding Overseer. When the clones awaken, I'm in charge of making sure their transition is as smooth and uncomplicated as possible."

She nodded. The role made sense. "An important task."

"More than you would expect," he agreed, as they began walking down the hallway. "Every clone is a blank slate in some way, but at the same time they aren't. There's a fine line between pushing them towards cultivating certain personalities, and letting them grow into their own person. The most effective way is to let them pick the direction, and help them along that path."

"Which I suppose is a good opening discussion. How have the clones been holding up?" Saudia asked. "I know there were concerns about potential instability, especially with the first batch."

"Concerns which, thankfully, have not manifested," Tygan confirmed, relief clear in his voice. "The clones have emerged remarkably stable, if somewhat vulnerable personality-wise. We have experienced several instances of an aggravated reaction to learning certain things, but none have suffered any debilitating mental breakdowns."

Not a completely clean slate, but the metrics were certainly in their favor. "Excellent," Saudia nodded as they walked into a hallway with glass windows. Inside them were rows upon rows of tubes – which she assumed were where the clones were grown. She specifically noted that all of the tube interiors were shrouded, as if the glass was frosted with black.

"The tubes do have the capability to expose the interior," Tygan explained, noting her watching. "However, as a default we keep them shrouded, only revealing them for progress checks. A suggestion by Deng."

"Psychologically, it is unsettling if you learn that your naked body was on a public display from months on end, from when you were a fetus," Deng explained, taking over. "Several psychologists noted that this could lead to clones feeling violated when they understood the process. While that particular risk has not completely diminished, as technicians have to check the progress of growth, it is only done under very specific circumstances. If you wish, we can demonstrate if you wish to see what they look like in the process of growth."

Saudia thought for a moment, and shook her head. "Unnecessary. So long as they are being grown without complication, that is acceptable. That is not a concern I would have identified, so I appreciate that you did."

"That is why you have us, Chancellor," Deng smiled. "We think of the details. You give us the direction."

They kept walking, entering into another longer tunnel beyond the growth chambers. A few openings branched off, but she followed Tygan, continuing the walking brief. "How have the clones reacted to being…well, told of the current situation?"

Tygan and Deng exchanged a look. "For the most part, the reaction is positive," Tygan said slowly. "At least in the sense that they understand why they were created; that they were given life to protect Humanity. Acceptance is typically the response, even if they know little else. The assimilation process helps give these soldiers a true connection to their species. Though I would be remiss if I did not point out that there are some…problematic individuals."

There always were. They wouldn't be Humans otherwise. "Elaborate."

"These…particular individuals dislike that they appear to have been created for the sole purpose of fighting and potentially dying in a conflict," Tygan said, coughing politely.

She'd anticipated that was where this was leading, but she still frowned. "I was not apprised that this would be a major risk."

"It is not a major risk, Chancellor. However, now that it has manifested, we believe that the lack of specific loyalty conditioning was a reason for this," Tygan explained. "A development which was in accordance with ADVENT directives. These are Humans, and they are to be treated as Humans. No more or less than non-clones, as directed. There was, of course, the expectation that they would be willing to fight. There was always an outlying chance that some would be hesitant, but I believe we underestimated the odds slightly."

Saudia resisted a sigh, and instead her nostrils flared as she got to more details. "How many?"

"Few, as I said. Several hundred out of thousands. A contained phenomenon, I assure you," Tygan said. "Some have been convinced to stand down and join, but others are not keen on warfare."

Saudia rubbed her chin, thinking. "I don't particularly like this development, limited or otherwise. There were Manchurian Restraints imposed if I recall correctly. Is that not the case?"

Tygan was quiet for a long time before answering. "That is correct, Chancellor. Activated Restraints as well, all were done prior to their proper awakening. Though the Restraints were to ensure loyalty, to prevent defections or knowingly sharing information with an enemy. Invoking them to force compliance is possible, but…"

The way he trailed off told her that he was definitely not in favor of utilizing them for this purpose, which she could understand. At the same time, clones refusing to fight was an issue, and one which absolutely would come up again, isolated minority or not. This was what the Restraints were for, but she also felt like there was something here she was missing. The obvious solutions seemed too crude of one, not to mention unpopular.

And she did not utilize crude solutions when there were better ones at her disposal. Humans had a tendency to dislike being told what to do, and the best way to mitigate that and break any potential solidarity was to deny them the privilege. ADVENT would adapt, and merely utilize them another way.

Both Tygan and Deng were appraising her intently, waiting for her to say something.

Maybe there was another way to think about this.

"Fine," she said. "Then what do they want?"

Tygan cocked his head. "Pardon?"

"They don't want to fight. What do they want?" Saudia repeated. "I presume not just to sit around and do nothing. If they don't want to fight, then find out what they want to do, and put them there. One of the objectives of Seafoam is to eventually produce manpower to fulfill duties beyond soldiers. We have plenty of soldiers now. If they don't want to fight, let them choose how they will contribute. No reason to invoke the Restraints, as you said."

"That is an excellent point, Chancellor," Tygan said, clearly relieved. She wondered if he'd actually not thought of it.

"Yes…it is," Deng said, in a more subdued tone. "A pragmatic solution, Chancellor."

"They are Humans, not slaves," Saudia said firmly. "We want them to fight because they want to, not because they are forced to. We are not the Collective and the Mutons. If they fight, they fight. If they want something else, we accommodate that. We have enough roles that there is a place for everyone. What matters is that there is a choice for them."

"And I don't think more can be asked from you," Deng nodded. "Ah, we're reaching the balcony, Chancellor."

A draft of wind hit her as she walked out into a massive warehouse-like cavern. The temperature was cool to the touch. Onto a balcony they stepped, overlooking a vast flat area which had been turned into a mixture of assembly yard, training grounds, gym, and obstacle course.

On the ground she saw what she presumed to be clones swarming it, dozens participating in combat drills in full armor. Others were marching in formation past the balcony she stood on, while individual soldiers were using the gyms and completing the obstacle courses. These ones were unhelmeted and unarmored, and it was fairly easy to see the clones together.

There had been two dozen templates utilized, covering most ethnicities, and a male and female from each, but even with that high number when put in the context of thousands, it didn't hide the fact that they were all clones. Yet clones that still distinguished themselves from each other in some ways. Mostly from hair styles and colors and tattoos from what she could see, but it still offered some distinction. Good.

"Magnificent, aren't they?" Deng commented, stepping up beside her.

"Indeed," Saudia said. "The work of your team is to be commended." She turned to him. "And for the record, I knew you were a clone from the beginning."

Deng did not seem surprised, but smiled. "What gave it away, out of curiosity?"

"Nothing you said or did," Saudia said. "But I do remember a few things from Seafoam updates, and one of them was the templates. Yours I particularly remembered because he is currently the Military Advisor in XCOM."

"Ah, that would do it then," Deng chuckled. "One day I'd like to meet my template, but I'm not sure how that would go."

"I suspect he'd be happy to meet you," Saudia said. "Or unsettled. In the meantime, take me down to the floor. I'd like to speak to a few more of the clones."

"Of course, Chancellor," Deng said. "Follow me."

---

The Flowing World, Solace of Mosrimor, the Unbound – Unknown Location

9/20/17 – 8:00 P.M.

The place where Mosrimor had established his own personal fortress was not where Regisora had first entered all those years ago, and then emerged as the Voice of the Sovereign – but somewhere wholly different. Somewhere isolated. While they were on the Imperator's personal transport, Regisora had created several portals and directed them to go through. This was done nearly a dozen times, and after they had flown for a good ten to fifteen minutes.

The Imperator had not taken his eyes off of Regisora while she directed them, and while it was not necessarily suspicion that emanated from him, it was certainly wariness. There was a vulnerability that was being risked by going straight to a Sovereign One; especially one that was so paranoid about where he hid.

There was a certain...pensiveness to Regisora that seemed atypical from what Patricia was used to from the black-robed Ethereal. Regisora so often seemed self-assured, be it through her connection to her Sovereign master, or her own power. That was not the case here. Patricia had never seen her be more…

Well...normal.

There was almost a concern she had for them. The Imperator noticed as well, and he was...uncertain what to make of it. Through their bond it seemed he believed Regisora would speak soon. As it turned out, he was right.

"You cannot win, Viatorian." She finally said.

The Imperator turned to look down on her. "That is not the point of this meeting."

"I repeat what I said," she responded. "I know you. I know how you think, how all of the Imperators did. It is the greatest strength of the Imperator template, and it is also perhaps its largest weakness. You believe that there is nothing you cannot overpower, outwit, or outmaneuver. So listen to me when I say that you cannot win."

The Imperator looked away from her. "The Synthesized could not deter me. The Sovereign will not either."

"You do not understand," she said. "You will not until you are in his presence. He is not like the Synthesized. He is not something that can be outplayed or outwitted. The Sovereigns, Viatorian...they...they are unlike anything in this universe. We are not like them, and we never can be."

The Imperator did not express it openly, but she could feel the degree of...contempt he felt at the words. Towards an Ethereal who seemed to have submitted, and was now encouraging him to do the same. Patricia couldn't help but feel the same. "Your concern is noted," the Imperator said flatly. "But I speak on my own terms."

"I am offering a warning, Viatorian," Regisora repeated. "Speaking as an Ethereal - not as his Voice. Tread carefully on this path you are walking. He will not hesitate if he finds you wanting."

She turned her face to Patricia. "If you care for your Harbinger, then leave her on the ship. I will watch over her. This place where Mosrimor resides is not for the living. It is certainly not meant for species like hers."

The Imperator walked to stand beside Patricia. A hand rested on her shoulder. "She is my Harbinger. She will be by my side here."

Regisora did not relent. "She is uninvited. Mosrimor wished only for you."

"I do not answer to Mosrimor."

Regisora appeared to understand that there was little being gained by her inspired plea, and relented. Her tone conveyed some disappointment, though more resignation. "Your choice is made." She turned back to Patricia. "The time has come. We have arrived."

They were here, and the first thing Patricia had noticed about where they had appeared was how completely empty it was.

There were no stars anywhere. The galaxy seemed to be completely black outside of the small spacecraft she, the Imperator, and Regisora had appeared in. It was if they had entered into a black hole, and the utter nothingness that surrounded them made her briefly fear that. Assuming they wouldn't be instantly killed in a black hole, she had no idea how psionics would work around it.

Black holes had a tendency to make things strange. Not even the Ethereal Empire had really tampered with them, and for good reason. This brief pondering on black holes made her realize there was something else, an explanation for why things seemed off beyond the pitch blackness around them.

"An illusion," the Imperator mused after a few seconds of staring out into the void. "Clever."

One of his hands twitched, and she wondered if the Imperator was going to dispel the illusion around them. Illusions were simpler to disrupt since all one needed to do was block it from affecting their minds. Now that it had been highlighted, she could feel the pressure on her mind. Subtle, imperceptible almost. A trick to her eyes in such a small and insignificant way, so much so she hadn't noticed it. An order which had wormed its way through her carefully-constructed defenses, taking nothing, but substituting something seemingly so natural.

Something she would not have immediately noticed unless the Imperator had commented.

The sheer telepathic control and subtlety was disturbingly incredible. She had never experienced anything like it.

"I would not." Regisora suddenly warned, seemingly also noticing the Imperator's temptation to dispel the illusion.

The Imperator seemed to be considering ignoring her, but apparently decided to let it go. Through the bond she could sense that he considered it ultimately unimportant – especially as they saw their destination ahead. The Flowing World was what Regisora had called it, and as they approached, she was starting to understand why.

From a distance it seemed to be a sphere, albeit a small one, as dark as the void that surrounded it. A small, static, almost light-sucking sphere that was blacker than the void around them. Almost certainly an illusionary effect, but an effective one. The sphere was nowhere near the size of Paradise, but it was still large. However the closer they got, the more she saw the exterior of the sphere…move.

Like waves in an ocean, or perhaps ripples in a pond, the exterior of the sphere seemed to be shifting and flowing. Nanites she assumed, and there was something almost hypnotic about watching it. She felt like the patterns weren't random, but were either symbolic or had some tangible purpose.

And now that they were getting closer, she could feel it.

A presence that was more powerful than even the Imperator's. One that even from this distance she could detect. It was a pressure on her mind, one which only grew stronger the closer the ship got to it. The Imperator did not comment on it, but she could tell that he also sensed it, and it was strong.

He had never been before Mosrimor in person. All of it had been through Regisora or the Orbs.

A lion's den they were walking into. Though one where she was certain Mosrimor knew better than to try anything in. They maneuvered the ship to a landing pad that extended a short distance outside of the sphere, and prepared to depart. Regisora took the lead as they departed.

"Touch nothing," she stated. "No matter what you think. There is only one this world is safe for."

The Imperator appraised her carefully, then exited, with Patricia following him. Only a few seconds showed that the hypnotic flowing wasn't just part of the exterior – it was everywhere. The floor itself seemed alive as they stepped onto it, with the black nanites moving away from each of their steps. She sincerely did not like being this exposed. Psionics could do much, but even they wouldn't be able to save her if these things decided to swarm.

The Imperator clearly thought the same, and the air rippled as a telekinetic field extended, pushing away the immediate area of nanites. That was one solution, and she kept within the bubble.

Regisora seemed amused. "That does not protect you."

As she stood, Patricia saw that the seemingly solid ground underneath the Voice seemed to encase her, like liquid flowing upward, colored the same as the steel underneath. The message was clear – every part of this world was capable of being taken apart and reformed at will – the Imperator's trick was an illusionary success.

She still kept within the sphere of the Imperator's telekinetic field. Perhaps merely psychological, but it made her feel less exposed. As they kept walking towards the mouth of the only entrance, she saw something which immediately caught her attention.

Writing.

Well, that was what it appeared to be. It was...something that was constantly moving, like a living script. It was morphing into glyphs and symbols that she had seen before – or at least somewhere. They were fully reminiscent of the glyphs that T'Leth had employed, and which Regisora had also written with, or embroidered onto her robes. The language of the Sovereign Ones, but this was not just words written on the walls.

It was something that reached out to her.

The writing was tangibly alive, no – active. That was the better word. She couldn't understand the language, but the longer she looked at the string of glyphs, the more she felt in a way that shouldn't be possible, and definitely wasn't normal.

Looking at one of the symbols, she felt a very, very strong sense of sheer foreboding. A feeling that made her hesitant to walk further into the place, despite her knowing that this was an unnatural feeling. The script changed, the nanites acting like insects along the walls, and seeming to briefly pulse when they briefly hardened into a shape.

Her emotions turned into a morass, a confusion as her mind was assaulted by feelings and emotions of all types. Formulas and unknowable calculations manifested in her mind, with symbols and characters she had no context or understanding of. It was like the scripts were trying to turn her into a machine, forcing her to fixate and solve-

Turn away.

She breathed heavily as the spell that fell over her was broken at the Imperator's psionic command. She was glad he had done so, otherwise she would have perhaps lost her mind to this...thing.

She kept her eyes on the ground, and then in horror she saw that the ground was also shifting, and orienting itself into symbols etched into the floor. She closed her eyes in an attempt to block it out, and even so that still didn't seem to fully stop it. She fortified her mind, which helped somewhat.

"It is as I said," Regisora's voice was oddly soft. "This is not a place for her. Nor for the living in general."

She felt the link be activated, and felt the comfort of the Imperator's mind envelop her own, and she cautiously opened her eyes. The flowing and shifting scripts along the walls and floors still assaulted her...but she could block them out. The Imperator was looking at the display closely.

"A memetic script," he finally said. "The missing link in the Sovereign language. Organic nanites; MELD-like, capable of being affected by psionics. Conduits that convey the intended message on an emotional, as well as comprehensive level. Impressive."

"Why?" Patricia wondered, refraining from wincing as the scripts formed into impossible, indescribable shapes that imposed emotions and images in her mind. "That seems a method that the Bringer would use, not him."

"Presumably, it is an inherent characteristic of the Sovereign language," the Imperator said, stepping back. "All Sovereigns understand how to replicate it, even if it is not necessarily in their realm of expertise."

"Correct," Regisora said. "Do not tamper with it."

Patricia turned to her. "What are they?"

Regisora was silent for a few long seconds. "They are expressions of his will. Formulas, plans, desires, thoughts, and commands. His will made manifest in this place. They are glimpses into his mind, Harbinger. It is why you react poorly. Most do, when given even a small glimpse into the mind of the Sovereign."

She shivered, and mentally clung to the Imperator as they continued walking forward into the maw of the Flowing World. The barrier dissolved before them, and they stepped into what immediately struck her as a sapient factory.

She was immediately awestruck by the vast machinery and factories which greeted her. She could not give names to the types of machines she saw, but she saw a symphony of pieces, shells, and devices seemingly forming and reforming themselves as far as she could see, producing parts and machines that she'd not seen before.

Across every wall and forge was the ever-remaking script, and what she managed to notice was that unlike what she'd seen, this writing seemed to stay permanent - and when it changed, the machine or device it was a part of also changed. It seemed to be a code of this place, that which commanded the world to shape itself.

The noises were loud as they walked through on a small catwalk, one without railings, and what honestly seemed to have been something thrown up. Every single place she could see was being used in some way, and there just...wasn't anywhere for living beings to really go and inspect it. This was not a place for the living.

That was clearer now more than ever.

The assaults on her mind still continued. Even with the Imperator's protection, just looking at the writing was like a sustained assault - and it was seeming to only get worse. The factory was getting louder. The machines were moving faster. It seemed as if they had originally come when the world was waking up - and now it was truly alive.

She gritted her teeth, and looked to Regisora. "What is happening?"

Her voice was pensive and knowing. "He is awakening."

The Imperator appraised the machines around him. "I am curious why he was not awake already. He knew we were coming."

"He is rarely awakened," Regisora said. "The Sovereigns do not live in the same time-space that we perceive. You have never spoken to one at their full brilliance. Consider it a privilege that Mosrimor considers you worthy of his direct attention."

Patricia soon wished that he had remained asleep.

This was nothing even close to what she'd experienced before. If the initial exterior had been overwhelming, she was certain that if the Imperator had not been with her, she would have lost her mind simply by staring at the Sovereign symbols. The symbols that had sent formulas into her mind became like brands, burning them into her psyche, all she could do was lessen the burn.

The faint impressions of emotions that she'd felt were the same emotions at their most powerful; completely overwhelming and going directly into the core of her being. She should have been able to protect against them. It was all she could do to not let it break her.

She held on.

And held on.

The Imperator maintained his mind as well. He did not show it outwardly. To the observer, it would seem like he was unaffected by the constant mental assault, much like Regisora.

But he was bound to her. She could feel him.

And he was not as unaffected as he was pretending to be. Nowhere close to how it was affecting her, but even he could not be unaffected by this barrage.

At last, they came to a platform that seemed to be the end of their route. It was a place where there were thankfully no Sovereign glyphs that appeared on the walls. It was a blessed mental silence. Both of them stepped onto the platform.

Regisora did not join them. "I will await your return," she said, and the platform began to descend. There was a strange tone in Regisora's voice, one which was…not concerned, but expectant.

Expectant for what?

She supposed they would soon find out.

The glyphs were no more, but the presence of the Sovereign was overpowering now. It had once been a wandering, slumbering mind, but now was awakened. It seemed to hover over the edge of her consciousness, like a deity who ignored the ant by its foot.

Small was not the precisely right word to use to describe how she felt.

But…it was not inappropriate.

The platform descended at a rapid pace. There were no guardrails on it, and almost in a few seconds, they were descending into a wholly spherical dome – one that seemed to lack anything in it outside of a small black cube which acted as a platform, surrounded by water - or at least a liquid which was dark as the void that surrounded it.

Patricia couldn't tell if the water was actually nanites, or an actual liquid. What she could see was that it looked very close to water – and it was effectively still. Almost ice-like in its smoothness. She could not see within it, despite the illusion that it was so smooth as to be glass, and that inability was slightly unsettling. The Imperator's presence was a comfort, but even his wariness was heightened as they reached the bottom.

And waited.

The presence remained dominant.

Then it spoke.

ETHEREAL.

SO YOU HAVE COME.

WITH YOUR CREATURE IN TOW.

The voice came from everywhere, as if the walls were speaking. Mechanical and natural voices male, female, and robotic spoke in a coordinated symphony that felt like needles were scraping over her ears and skin. She was unable to resist flinching, as the voice also came from within her own head, the most powerful being a dominating deep voice that overpowered the symphony which complimented it.

There was a clear, utter, and directed contempt from it. To them. To her.

A long pause.

"Speak with names," the Imperator said. "I am Viatorian, Imperator of the Ethereal Empire, and now the Ethereal Collective. Do not begin this in a childish attempt to insult."

YOU ARE NOT SOVEREIGN.

"That is irrelevant."

IT IS ALL THAT MATTERS.

ALL BENDS TO US.

ENOUGH.

SPEAK. GIVE VOICE TO YOUR AMBITION.

"I am not here to entertain you, Sovereign," the Imperator said. "It was you who demanded this audience. Do not hide, not in your domain."

There was a long silence; so long that she wondered if he had gone.

And then was hit with the most powerful telepathic attack of her life, no, not her - the Imperator was. And even when she wasn't the target, through the bond she could feel the side effects as if they were her own. She wasn't even being deliberately touched; she was beneath his notice.

The Imperator wasn't.

ENTITLED. DEMANDING. ARROGANT.

The words hissed, they twisted in her mind, they echoed as if etching themselves directly onto her soul. Words that hissed with sheer, incomparable, contempt.

THIS IS HOW YOU SPEAK TO ONE WHO IS SOVEREIGN.

The assault suddenly withdrew and she collapsed to her knees, the breath left her. She felt sick, bile in her mouth as she coughed blood that reflected off of the black surface.

INSECTS MAKING DEMANDS OF THE INCOMPARABLE.

"Threats are unbecoming, Mosrimor," the Imperator said, who had not collapsed, but she knew him well enough to tell from his tone that he was...tense. Tired. Affected. It was not going the way he had expected. "Do not pretend that I, nor what I have built are irrelevant to you. If it were so, then you would not be speaking to me. An insect you may consider me, but one you have no choice but to listen to."

But through the few sentences, there was a dead dismissal in the voice, an element that sometimes overshadowed the contempt. If it was not contempt, it was boredom. There was no bravado. There was no compensation. There was no emotion.

Then the Sovereign laughed.

YOU SEEK TO BIND ME?

It was a horrible, eerie, and discomforting thing. It was a noise that resembled laughter, but was as if screamed from the mouths of dead, damned things. It was a laugh of contempt, of sneering disdain to those who it was directed towards.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE SAFE?

The assault came again, but this time she was assaulted with waking visions, ones that took place in the span of moments. In them she saw herself. She saw the Imperator. She saw the Temple Ship.

She heard conversations they had shared.

DO YOU BELIEVE I DO NOT KNOW?

The plans appeared in her head, fantasies and intentions of the Imperator working the Sovereigns against each other, using them to topple the dominos that had stood untouched in the galaxy for so long.

How?

How does he know?

The Imperator's own shock mirrored her own. Or she mirrored his.

She couldn't tell anymore.

WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

"I am the Imperator," he responded, his voice tight and layered with his own anger. "And while the galaxy may be content to follow the dreams of the failures of your kind, I will not lead my species down the same road."

YOU ARE THE EMBODIMENT OF FAILURE. YOU ARE A RELIC OF A DEAD EMPIRE, A SPECTRE OF A DEAD SPECIES, UNDER A DOOMED VISION.

YOU SEE WHAT WE ARE. AND YOU EMULATE IT WHILE SAYING YOU DO NOT.

YOU WILL FAIL.

Again the visions flashed in her mind, but no longer were they just on the Temple Ship. She saw them on Earth. On Vitakar. On Desolan. Across all of the Ethereal Collective. Of a thousand whispered conversations, seen and observed unknowingly.

How does he know?

YOU ARE A SIMPLE THING, ETHEREAL.

YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL.

YOU ARE NOT IMPORTANT.

YOU ARE A MACHINE.

FULFILLING THE DIRECTIVE OF YOUR SOVEREIGN CREATOR.

DO YOU THINK THAT YOU ARE DIFFERENT?

THAT YOUR CREATOR HAS FORGOTTEN YOU?

More images flashed in her mind, but this time it was not any of the Ethereals or the Collective. Stories of other species, of individuals, condensed were thrust into her mind; those who had similar ambitions and plans to what the Imperator had. She knew not if they were true or fabricated, but each seemed completely genuine.

And for the first time she could remember, she felt something in the Imperator waver.

Waver as he saw that he had been far from the first to attempt to break the cycle.

And that he would likely not be the last.

I HAVE SEEN BEINGS LIKE YOU BEFORE.

ONES WHO SEEK TO BREAK THE CYCLE.

TO BREAK THE DOMINATION OF THE SOVEREIGN ONES.

MANY CYCLES THEY APPEAR.

I LEARN OF THEM EACH TIME I AWAKEN.

I FIND THEIR HISTORIES.

I ABSORB THEIR PATTERNS.

MY MACHINES WATCH. THEY CAPTURE. THEY RECORD. THEY LEARN. THEY FEED ME KNOWLEDGE.

I SEE EVERYTHING.

LISTEN CLOSE, VIATORIAN.

The voice turned to a seeming whisper, and came closer, as if right beside her ear, blades which stabbed deeper into her mind.

YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL.

IR SORIV OF THE ECHANAS.

She saw a tall alien with a thin head, and just as thin of a body. Surrounding him was a circular table, upon which were seated many more species. Who this alien was, it seemed to be their leader.

QJORAS OF THE KARTHINIANS.

Another alien appeared in her mind, an insectoid-like creature that stood as a biped, with a hardened glossy-black exoskeleton-shell that encased it like armor. Bulbous red eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting, and behind it stood a thousand more glowing eyes of the same species behind it.

JAVIK OF THE PROTHEANS.

The world was an open plane, in the front of which stood an alien army; aliens with triangular-like heads and faces, each with four eyes and three-fingered hands. Their armors were golds and reds, ceremonial almost. Leading from the front was one of the aliens who towered over all of them, who stood easily as tall as the Battlemaster.

EACH TIME THEY APPEAR. THEY RISE.

THEY LEARN OF THE CYCLES.

THEY SEEK TO BREAK THEM.

THEY ARE DISTRACTIONS. PUPPETS ON STRINGS THEY DANCE TO.

BECAUSE THEY ARE PRETENDERS. AUTOMATONS.

YOU KNOW NOTHING OF US.

YOU SOON WILL.

The liquid around them bubbled, and Patricia managed to watch as the Sovereign One rose from the body of water. The pointed crustacean tip first exited from the pool, followed by the massive body. A body which writhed and flowed with machines around it, much like the home it had created for itself.

It seemed to be both machine and alive at the same time. It rose and rose until she had to crane her neck up to see it. The six eyes glowed red as they bored into her, eyes of dismissal and contempt.

They looked past her. As if she was a rock. A part of the background. Not worth attention or focus. Not even worth a second's thought.

She swallowed.

Its body was flowing with the same nanites that formed into the Sovereign script. With each word spoken, the nanites formed themselves to the glyphs that corresponded to his words, adding that final, devastating layer to whenever he spoke.

It became too much for him to bear, before her eyes she saw it.

ETHEREAL.

The Imperator falling to his knees.

YOU STAND BEFORE SOVEREIGNTY.

Out of shock, out of pain, out of simply being overwhelmed.

YOU WILL SUBMIT.

Perhaps all of the above and more.

YOU WILL OBEY.

The pressure kept building in her mind, and not even the Imperator's presence was a comfort as it continued building to the point where it was painful. She couldn't even tell if the Sovereign was even trying or not, if it had noticed her at all.

It was a helplessness she was familiar with, which she had recently experienced. That made it easier.

It seemed an impossible sight. The Imperator was invincible. Nothing should be able to do this to him. The paralysis he felt reverberated through their bond, and she had a taste of just how this had scarred him. But she realized, the Imperator had never been in this position before.

He had lost. He had been defeated before. But there had always been a plan. A contingency. He could adapt. He remained in control.

Now…

He was paralyzed, as he saw that all of his planning, all of his machinations, had been dismantled in such a short time. That which would one day become his enemy knew everything he intended. There were no more secrets. No more denials.

He was vulnerable.

And he was afraid.

The Sovereign One had made a demand. And it was a demand that she knew the Imperator, no matter how much pain, how much paralysis he was in, would never submit to. He would rather die than submit.

And she was certain that Mosrimor was on the verge of killing him.

Because he didn't need them.

The Imperator had been certain he couldn't be touched, that they couldn't be touched. She didn't believe that now.

But what she did know was that she would not die today.

She couldn't let him continue. She needed him right now, and as she realized now, he needed her.

She'd had a lot of time to think, to reflect on what it meant to be helpless and vulnerable. The Imperator had felt it before, but it was one to experience it second-hand, and another to do so personally. She reached out to him through their bond, and let him know that she understood.

He barely responded, he barely felt here. In the moment.

But she was. She turned her head up, and met the creature's gaze.

"Enough!" She yelled.

Something shifted. The consciousness that hovered over her mind turned its full force upon her.

What she had experienced before was effectively nothing in comparison to the torrential weight which fell upon her. The last slivers that defended her mind were shattered under the cold force of Mosrimor's mind, as the tendrils tore into her own.

And she knew, she knew with certainty. He wasn't trying. She was beneath effort.

YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK, CREATURE OF FLESH.

She fell to the ground, her vision blurred as she still forced herself upwards. She gritted her teeth, pulling together every ounce of strength she had. "I am his Harbinger. I am his will. I speak with his authority. You know this to be true now, and I understand your command."

The Imperator shifted, she could feel his body twitching. His thoughts in disarray. Flickering like fading light.

The gargantuan mind seemed to rumble, as if considering; a mixture of incredulity and almost amusement; that a creature such as her was trying to bargain with him. To speak for another, more powerful than her. And even this would likely have broken her mind, for Mosrimor, time was irrelevant. He did not care if her mind broke while he contemplated.

And that realization, one she realized she was powerless to stop, seemed to bring the Imperator back.

It was a slight thing, at first. But she felt it the moment it happened, the paralysis breaking; the clawing back from the brink of collapse. He may not be in control right now - but he could save her from death, even for a short while.

And so he did.

With the Sovereign One staring into his mind, the Imperator made sure it did not crack under the weight, and the longer it went, the stronger it became. Then finally, Mosrimor spoke.

SO BE IT.

She released a loud gasp as the weight was finally removed and the Sovereign shifted his focus back to a more recovered Imperator, intent on delivering his message. Or rather, his commands.

YOU HAVE AWAKENED THE WARMASTER.

YOU HAVE NO COMPREHENSION OF WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.

THE WARMASTER ACTS IRREGULAR. HIS ACTIONS ARE DISCONCERTING. WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN IS ABNORMAL.

For the first time, the first time that they had come here, something was let slip.

Mosrimor clearly thought that they were both subdued, defeated right now. He was not wrong, but now...it was so small, so subtle, but he had become ever so slightly careless. Or at least, as much as a Sovereign could. It was not her who caught it of course, but the Imperator.

A hint of something. Something that neither of them expected.

Fear.

Not just fear.

A fear of death.

Then it was gone, just as quickly as it had appeared.

"Abnormal how?" The Imperator spoke, his voice sounded raw, weaker than she had ever heard before.

HE STANDS HIS GROUND WITH THE HUMANS. HE HAS CHOSEN A SIDE.

HE DOES NOT CHOOSE SIDES.

NOT WITH THE LESSER SPECIES.

THIS IS NOT DONE.

THE WARMASTER USES NO PROXIES. HE IS SOVEREIGN. HE IS ABOVE THEM. YET WITH THE HUMANS HE STAYS.

YOUR INCOMPETENCE HAS SOMEHOW ENGENDERED HIS SYMPATHY. HE WILL UNLEASH HIS POWER UPON YOU.

HE SHOULD CONSIDER YOU WORTHLESS AND LEAVE.

AND CONSIDER THE HUMANS ANOTHER SPECIES TO LEAVE TO THEIR FATE.

YOU HAVE GIVEN HIM REASON TO STAY.

There was a long sound, as if a hiss.

YOUR TAMPERING WITH THE ABOMINATION.

YOUR MACHINATIONS ON THE HUMANS.

YOUR INFANTILE DESIRE TO ENGAGE ONE OF THE SOVEREIGN IN WAR.

THE WARMASTER HAS DECIDED TO INDULGE YOUR SUICIDAL DESIRE.

AN INDULGENCE I AM NOW PART OF.

YOU HAVE NO COMPREHENSION OF WHAT IS COMING.

I WILL NOT INDULGE YOUR CHILDISH PLANS ANY LONGER.

YOUR DELUSIONS ARE AT AN END.

THIS IS WHAT YOU WILL DO.

Mosrimor did not ask for consent, for he had already extracted the promise that they would obey. So he gave his orders, and gave them with the stark surety and coldness of one who expected complete and absolute obedience.

YOU WILL DISPERSE YOUR SLAVE MUTON ARMY FROM DESOLAN.

YOU WILL SUBMIT THAT STATION THAT HOLDS THE ABOMINATION TO ME.

YOU WILL BRING THE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE CONTROLLED BY MIRIDIAN TO ME.

THE SCHISM OF THE SECTOIDS AND ANDROMEDONS ENDED.

YOU WILL DO EACH OF THESE THINGS.

MY VOICE WILL ENSURE YOU DO.

There was a sudden rush of air and the familiar disorientation of teleportation and everything was gone.

It was silent.

The pressure was gone. The voices. The visions.

Gone.

She fell to the ground in the Throne Room of the Temple Ship, and pushed herself up, seeing Regisora standing before her. In her lower hands was a Sovereign Orb, one which was leaking nanotech - or nanites were dripping off of it. They seemed to pour from the Orb, onto the ground, and began forming into a structure.

It soon became a stand, one that embedded itself into the floor of the Temple Ship, in the sanctum of the Imperator, who was standing, but she could feel he was shaken as he also watched the nanites form the stand. Regisora set the Orb into the stand when it had finished, and her hands rested upon it.

When she spoke, it was the voice of Mosrimor.

MY COMMANDS ARE CLEAR. MY WILL IS KNOWN.

THE MACHINATIONS OF CHILDREN ARE OVER.

YOU WILL OBEY, OR YOU WILL BE REPLACED.

DO WELL, AND YOU WILL ENDURE.

FAILURE WILL BE ITS OWN PUNISHMENT.

I AM MOSRIMOR.

I AM UNBOUND.

AND BEFORE ME, YOU ARE NOTHING.

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To be continued in Chapter 76

"Operation: Jericho"

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A/N: Happy November, hope everyone reading this is doing well. Apologies for the delays, but I think this chapter turned out very well. Special thanks to Thuzan, King, and the Editing and Finalization Teams for helping put this together. There will hopefully be some XCOM Files tied to this written in the near future. Have a Happy Thanksgiving if I don't post anything before then, and thank you for reading as always.