The day had started earlier than usual for the Commander. He went through all the usually busy hallways, but they were entirely silent except for the faint air conditioning that his ears had gotten used to and filtered out. His senses were a bit on the dull side as his mind did whatever it could to get some sleep, despite him being awake. He had attempted to get at least an extra hour in, but it was in vain. The showers dealt a shocking blow to his body, causing it to coil under the steam and droplets.
The cafeteria become his next destination as the cooks started filing in. He wanted to see how they were managing their workload. Breakfast curfew was still more than an hour away, but they decided to serve the Commander early. Henry insisted that he would come back once they had gotten all the meals ready, per their schedule. The chefs blew it all away and gave him the first slices of quiche—fresh from the oven. It was too hot to dig in so soon so he spent time chatting while waiting for his meal to pipe down.
The Commander had decided to not tackle his reports until his morning routine was over. He was not in the mood to get to business and he wanted to enjoy the peace that reigned in his mind for longer. However, boredom took over so he looked through all the events he had missed, fork in hand. His appetite died down.
The Commander burst into the infirmary. He stopped himself at the entrance, remembering to follow the sanitary measures. He solicited a nearby nurse as she walked out of the reception booth. The Commander wanted to see his troops. The woman guided him to the ward where the wounded soldiers were being treated.
The glass doors slid open, revealing a large room filled with occupied hospital beds. The soldiers were sound asleep. He had the nurse make a round of all the wounded. They were all from 2nd Company. Only a few had minor wounds; the rest had been shot and the bleeding had to be contained with the medical kits used by XCOM's field medics. They would recover faster than usual since most of the wounded had undergone basic genetic modifications recommended by Dr Erena. However, there was one soldier who had been wounded by a plasma cannon. She came out with a nasty wound to the flank that would take a while to heal—even with rapid tissue regeneration.
Henry did not stay for too long as he was surely disturbing the peace. The nurse dimmed the lights back to off to let the asleep patients continue their rest. She pulled the curtains over the sliding glass door and left the room.
The Commander was brought to the other room where the patients only had minor wounds and stayed overnight. Some of the patients were awake and well and the Commander had a short chat with them. All they had to do was get a physician to examine them to be discharged back to the barracks.
Afterwards, the nurse stopped in front of the morgue. She presented a list of all the fallen soldiers. She looked at the steel door that separated her from the cold storage room and turned away to face the Commander. She presented her tablet to him. He did not need to enter the morgue; reviewing the list was fine with him. He nodded to the nurse and looked through the list.
All of the fallen were killed by ballistic weaponry. On every file, there was a list of family members to contact. XCOM had to honour the wishes of the fallen—even in times of crisis. Burial customs were added to the reports on every fallen soldier. They all came from different backgrounds where burials were done differently. Some wanted to be cremated. Some were simply to be buried. The Commander had to respect their wishes. He trusted his staff to make the arrangements.
"Sir," the nurse spoke, "we've also got another patient, but he isn't from XCOM."
"What do you mean?"
"He's of the enemy and was wounded and captured. He's in a special ward."
The Commander had forgotten about the "special ward" that was built. It was another ward in the infirmary but boasted more surveillance. It had to have patrols as it was meant to house wounded opponents. Even when hospitalised, there was much potential for a breakout or harm to XCOM's staff. There never seemed to be a reason for XCOM to be both detaining and treating a wounded combatant. Of course, Exalt came and shook everything up. The Arc Throwers and Immobilisers were non-lethal weapons so the captured foe had only to be put in a cell. The captive the nurse spoke of had been shot by Colonel Archer's task force and lived long enough to be noticed, brought back, and treated.
"Where is he, madam?"
"This way, sir," the nurse pointed with her tablet in hand.
After a few hallways, the nurse unlocked a heavy-duty steel door. The revealed hallway still had a hospital vibe until one noticed the overabundance of cameras. Every door was reinforced to a certain degree which gave the ward a prison look. Although, that was not far from what it was—a place to treat detainees.
The nurse hailed the officer acting as a security guard at the front desk. The officer did not question her for long due to her seemingly obeying the Commander's orders. That saved the nurse from the usual questioning one had to go through before proceeding into this part of the infirmary. The guard led them to the only patient in the entire ward. He unlocked the hospital room with a unique keycard. The three entered the room. The guard stood at the entrance. His hand hovered over a stun gun on his belt. The nurse stood in a corner and looked at the Commander. The patient moved as the commotion at the entrance of his room woke him up. Henry took the initiative and approached the awakened patient.
The man struggled to bring his head up to see his guests. Henry brought his hand up and motioned for the man to take it easy. A frown went across the man's face.
"Hey. Y—you're that army guy who came on TV," the man said.
"I'm Commander Henry Avant of the Extraterrestrial Combat Unit. You are?"
"Mike. Mike Schaeffer."
"Nice to meet you, Mr Schaeffer. Do you know where you are? Or what happened?" the Commander asked.
"I. . . I was shot. My chest hurts like hell," Mike Schaeffer replied with a groan. "Which hospital is this?" he said, looking around.
The room did not look any different from a hospital room. The walls were a light beige and the floor was caramel. The bed had two nightstands—one on each side—and on one was a small capsule of pills and an empty metal cup. The only thing that was lacking was a window and its accompanying vista. The room also had way too many cameras.
"This isn't a hospital, Mr Schaeffer. You're in XCOM HQ," Henry revealed. "The people who shot you were my men. Tell me, why were you attacking my soldiers?"
"Your soldiers? We were supposed to take down some heavily armed smugglers," the captive replied, confused.
"Heavily armed smugglers? And under whose orders?"
"I don't know. My boss works for the government. She never gave us her name. It was restricted information. I don't think anyone in the force knows her."
"And what exactly were you told to do—aside from eliminating my troops," the Commander pressed.
"Wait. Just wait. Those smugglers. Who were they? What do you mean your troops? I'm very tired. This ain't making sen—!"
"Easy, Mr Schaeffer," Henry interrupted. "Here's what happened last night. You were part of an Exalt cell. You and your comrades drove towards an alien landing site. That landing site was under our control—XCOM's. You then attacked XCOM soldiers. My troops fired back to defend the area. And my troops saw you bleeding out and saved you. You are the only one who survived. Now, you are in XCOM HQ where my staff are treating your wounds."
Mike Schaeffer went silent.
"Fuck me," he finally mumbled after collecting his thoughts. "It was a lie. . . You said they were Exalt? But we were a special ops team within the police!"
"They lied to you. Exalt has many ways of getting recruits. It seems you were tricked into thinking you were working for the police."
"Fuck. . . I received a letter," Mike Schaeffer explained. "They said they wanted me. . . I left the department and joined them! No wonder why everything felt so ragtag. I was working for some freaks who hijacked the news."
"Mr Schaeffer, I need you to answer my questions. First, what was your objective last night?"
Mike Schaeffer took a breath to calm himself down. He noticed the metal cup and extended his hand to grab it. His arm could not extend fully and he pulled it back as pain erupted from his shoulder. Henry grabbed the cup for him.
"We were told to eliminate a group of armed smugglers. Some of us were trained to dismantle alien devices. We were to guard them until they were done and loaded in all the cargo. We had to be quick since the smugglers would send another force to attack us. Then, we were supposed to drive back to our base and keep the artefacts in storage until the feds would come and take them."
Schaeffer rose his cup and slowly sipped at his stale water.
"Your base, do you know where it is?"
"Outskirts of Detroit. I've always lived in the city so I don't know too much about the surrounding towns and stuff. But the area was kinda abandoned. Everyone there seemed to be there working only to support us. There were restaurants and everything but no customers except us. Everything was free. It was part of the establishment, they said."
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Schaeffer," Henry replied, satisfied for now.
He did not want to spend too much time with the captive due to his health. The Commander wanted him to be a bit more at ease too; being interrogated just after waking up in an unknown location was not a desirable position. Mike Schaeffer was confused, injured, thirsty and hungry. He would provide more answers once he was ready. For now, the Commander had gotten the basics out of him. He knew that the captive was a victim too and showed no intent on resisting, unlike previous Exalt operatives and goons. He could safely say that Mike Schaeffer was not loyal to Exalt in any way, but happened to fight for them under deceptive circumstances.
Henry got up from his chair, but felt a hand grip his arm and retract with a groan. He turned around to face Mike Schaeffer who gently massaged his shoulder.
"Sir, what will happen to me?" he asked. "I've got a family to come back to. I was just doing my duty as a good citizen. I did not know they were like those news hijackers. I did not know I was attacking XCOM. Isn't that a crime at the international level?!"
"Unfortunately, that's not for me to decide. The U.S. is responsible for punishing you. Knowing the American justice system, I don't think they'll go easy on you. However, I could put in a good word for you."
"Oh, God! Thank you! Anything. . . Just do anything for me!"
"There is one condition," the Commander continued. "You will tell me everything you know. Perhaps after you've healed, I might need you for something more. I hope you're willing to cooperate."
"I'll do anything to atone!" Mike Schaeffer declared. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. As long as I can get back home."
"Thank you. I will be back to discuss some things with you. For now, my staff will ensure your recovery. And do cooperate with any guests that might enter your room."
Henry walked away from his patient and nodded at the guard and nurse. They left Mike Schaeffer's room and went back to the lobby. The guard went behind the counter and monitored the sole patient in the containment ward. Henry left the infirmary and wished the nurse well.
He pulled out his XCOM-issued device and wrote a note to Erena. If he wanted to keep the pressure against Exalt, he needed to be able to act quick. He had some ideas about what to do with Mike Schaeffer, but he needed him back on his feet. His wounds would take forever to heal unless he received some special treatment that only XCOM could offer. The Commander tucked the phone back in his pocket and went to the hangar.
The Commander stood in the control room of the hangar. The medical staff waited alongside him for the air transports to bring back the troops. The air traffic control officer received a heads up from one of the pilots and opened the hatch to the underground hangar.
The hangar had to be clear of staff during landing procedures. The risk of injury was high when aircraft taxied, but there also was the risk of hearing loss. The officer checked the cameras to prevent any fatalities or injuries. The high-volume speakers came on throughout the hangar. An officer activated his microphone.
"All staff, clear the hangar. I repeat, all staff, clear the hangar. Seek refuge behind soundproof installations."
Once the coast was clear, the air traffic control gave the landing air transport permission to hover into the pit. A faint metallic snap echoed throughout the facility, overtaken by a roar that got louder. The rumbling of the Skyranger's state of the art thrusters made the triple-pane windows vibrate during its descent. After it touched down and aligned itself with the main strip. The Skyranger drove towards its respective hangar.
After the other transports were parked, the medical teams went to perform their usual checks on the soldiers. The Commander joined the nurses as they reached the Skyranger containing Alpha-2. The squad walked out, relieved, now that they were back home. They looked tired. The mission was long and they had endured two fights. It was normal for them to be exhausted after a night filled with fighting and guard duty.
It was the first time that Exalt had directly launched an attack on XCOM forces. It took more than just courage—courage that the Commander had hoped to waver. He was aware that his own courage was wavering; the prospect of delivering a swift blow to Exalt seemed farther than ever before. He felt weaker than ever as he observed XCOM and the Council slowly lose influence on the international stage.
Everyone had been on board with the United Nations. Everyone had been on board with the Council of Nations; though a few countries showed little interest in combatting the alien menace on a global scale. Despite that, support for the execution of the XCOM Project was universal.
Afterwards, support for the Reclamation Bureau was widespread due to the fear of uncontrolled alien technology. It soon came to attention that control was defined as "alien technology being possessed only by us and not our competitors". One by one, the layers of trust peeled off. The Commander almost felt betrayed. Politics was a complex thing.
Henry had received enough preparation to be thrown at the centre of it all. Yet all that training seemed inadequate in retrospect. He almost felt used—as if optimism and naiveté were instilled into him and only allowed the doubt in his "partners" to grow stronger towards him. It had not been that long since he understood he had to be more firm. The alien forces pressured the world more and XCOM had to make its presence more evident. The Commander did his best to achieve noteworthy results. Defeating Exalt would be a testament to his competence as Commander and that he was worthy of the powers—that seemed more and more meaningless—bestowed onto him.
The Commander brushed away his thoughts as he noticed Colonel Archer passing through the blockade formed by the nurses. Archer stretched his shoulders and rubbed his forehead before noticing the Commander stare at him. He gave a salute and Henry replied with the sideways pull of his head, inviting the colonel to come over. The colonel wrested his helmet under his armpit like a ball and walked towards Henry.
"Commander," he said, "we've kept the artefacts under our custody. The Clean-Up Teams should be unloading them all now."
"Good work out there, Colonel. Tell the troops they deserve some rest. Grab a bite, crash to the bunks or shower; do what you want. You've all earned it."
"I'll tell the troops, Commander," Archer replied with a nod. "But. . . we had more casualties than usual, today. We've lost some good men and women. The others were flown back to the Infirmary."
"I checked on them this morning. They've all stabilised."
"Thank God. . . Commander, have you had the time to read my report, then?"
"I have, Colonel. Bradford and I will follow up on all your findings. Forgive me, but I'd like you to be available throughout the day. Definitely get some rest, but just know that I might need you to elaborate on some things."
"I'll be there when you call for me."
"Thank you, Colonel," the Commander replied with a small bow of his head. "You're dismissed."
The Commander went to Mission Control after taking a small break. Bradford had just started his day so Henry got to business.
The Exalt forces that attacked his troops guarding the Light Scout were disguised as law enforcement. Bradford had his officers unearth the identities of the assailants. Most of them were former police officers. Some were in the military. The Exalt force was entirely composed of experienced men. They also had a bunch of engineers who were supposedly tasked with dismantling the alien aircraft—some technical help. After contacting the United States, Bradford found out that the police department of Detroit had fallen victim to theft. Their increasing arsenal had a regress when a break-in occurred. When XCOM showed the recovered Exalt gear, the city of Detroit confirmed that it was indeed obtained through that incident. Henry was convinced that there was an Exalt presence in Detroit.
"Commander, there's something else," Bradford said.
"What is it?"
"The planes that departed from Khazakstan. . ."
"What of them?"
"They were empty, Commander. Our squads intercepted the cargo planes, but there was no cargo. The pilots they arrested were held hostage by the few Exalt operatives that had to be eliminated. Unfortunately, they do not know what happened to the cargo. Exalt kept them in the dark, pointed a gun at their heads and told them to fly where they asked."
"What about the satellite imagery, Bradford? Was the cargo airdropped? Did something happen?"
"No, Commander. If I may, I believe the artefacts stolen from China are still in Kazakhstan as we speak. I'd like to contact them for assistance."
"You don't need to ask me twice, Bradford. Do it! We need to intercept those Exalt forces."
"I'm on it, Commander!" Bradford declared.
Exalt had surprised him. Henry knew that Exalt was much stronger than he had anticipated, but now he realised that he had criminally underestimated them. Their beginnings as unorganised smugglers had cemented a standard for him. He assumed that they would remain that way. As soon as he got a small look under the hood, he realised that Exalt was something much larger. Now, he knew that there was also an Exalt presence in Kazakhstan.
That was enough. Henry had to act. He needed to get rough with Exalt. He could not allow them to throw him around for longer. He sent a message to Phoenix and Omega Squad. He needed to talk to them—separately of course. It made matters slightly complicated since he could not consolidate their strengths, but having two squads being able to act independently had its advantages. This was also the perfect opportunity to put Omega Squad and the United States to the test. He wanted to make a move on Detroit as soon as he could. The key was in the infirmary.
The Commander entered the infirmary for the second time. Dr Erena had replied that she would be in her office, waiting for him. Henry immediately took the corridor leading to her workspace. It only took a few hallways and the labelled oak door came into view. He knocked and waited for the door handle to twist. A small click came from the entrance and it swung open, revealing Dr Erena behind it.
"Commander, come in. Take a seat," she said gesturing at a cushioned chair.
Henry walked into the room, pulled the chair from the desk to make space and sat down. Erena went behind her desk and sat behind her computer.
"How have you been feeling, Commander?" Erena asked.
"Well, work has been work. Exalt has been causing us some issues, but I believe we may have caught onto something. I need your help."
"I'm all ears. But correct me if I'm wrong, I assume this has nothing to do with your medical examination?"
"Examination?" Henry questioned.
"Yes. You made an appointment with me yesterday," Erena reminded. "Did you forget?"
"No. . . Not at all."
Erena looked slightly sceptical but brushed it off.
Henry had been so caught up that the appointment had never entered his mind throughout the day. Now that he was in her presence, it would have been best to get it over with. Although, he had hoped to take some time to prepare. He did not want Erena to perceive him in a negative light. He was exhausted. His mind had been racing from one thing to another. Even with the little breaks he took, his mind never managed to relax. When one issue was resolved, another arose. The only thing that kept him going was his linear thinking; get one task done and proceed to the next. Now he had to talk about Exalt. Then, he would try his best to make a good impression in front of Erena. Next came the execution of his plans. Then his daily routine of going around the base and checking up on everyone.
"So what exactly did you want to discuss?" Erena inquired.
"I want you to perform some medical procedures on a certain someone," Henry dictated. "Mike Schaeffer."
"Mike Schaeffer? Who is this person?"
"He's the captive from last night's operation. He's the patient in the containment ward."
"Ah. . . I do recall his name. I requested the officers to fetch me any medical files on him. I wanted to have a dossier before I would tackle him. But what do you want me to do to him?"
"He has some gunshot wounds. I want you to heal him as fast as possible. I want you to heal him like our soldiers."
"Heal him as fast as possible? Our soldiers heal quickly thanks to stem cell therapy and the right genetic modifications. I can definitely administer the same treatments, but the genetic predispositions are missing. We need to tailor the body so that it effectively uses all available resources for tissue repair."
"I'm fully aware of that, Doctor. Can you genetically modify him?"
"I'd prefer doing it after he's healed from his wounds to prevent any complications. But if it's urgent, we can administer an engineered virus and keep him under supervision."
Erena turned her chair towards her computer screen hidden from Henry's view and navigated with her mouse.
"Perhaps putting him in a pod could increase the chances of success of the operation. We have some spots available throughout the week." Erena turned back to Henry and said, "If his wounds were from last night, then they are still really fresh. I'd like him to heal for at least a couple of days until I put him in a pod. Also, will the patient comply? Have you talked this through with him?"
The Commander felt his chest tighten. No, was what he did not want to say aloud. He realised that he had not told Schaeffer yet about his plan. He was an Exalt captive and Henry could do whatever he wanted with him in his custody. The Commander had done worse to Exalt captives. But blood had never been on his hands. Vahlen had conducted tests on them countless times—whether it was using them as targets for Sectoids or testing her interrogation chamber months ago.
Schaeffer looked cooperative, but the Commander doubted that he would agree just like that. Even if he did, would his consent be valid? Considering that he was a prisoner and to be trialled for international crimes, was he truly acting out of his own will or would he be taking a hit to the core of what composed his body to keep on living, knowing that one day he would return to his family? It was worse knowing the reason why he wanted the captive to be fully healed in the first place; he wanted Mike Schaeffer deployed on the field to guide his troops towards Exalt.
I'd like you to convince him, was what he wanted to tell Erena, but he was painfully aware that he would just be shifting the responsibility off of him and onto her. It was a lot easier when he had Vahlen between him and his actions. He almost felt bad about planning to dump the blame on his Chief Scientific Officer in case news broke out of Vahlen's experiments.
The Commander rubbed his forehead as Erena waited for an answer. The war against the aliens was different compared to any fought in the past. Exalt was an unknown, armed organisation that could challenge nations. Everything about his current situation was unnatural. Humanity was desperate for a release. The Commander was an integral part of achieving a conclusive victory. To do so, he had to be ready to face any tough decisions that came his way. He had always made tough decisions, but he made them according to what he perceived as right and wrong. He knew that forcing a prisoner of war to undergo surgery was wrong, but he had to sanction it. It was truly time for human blood to be on his hands.
"Not yet. I'll talk to him about the procedures," he replied after the pause.
Erena nodded.
"Tell me what happens. I'll do what I have to do, Commander," she replied. "Now, would you follow me to the doctor's office where we'll be doing your exam?"
The Commander got up from his chair and let Dr Erena lead the way.
Dr Erena dismissed her patient. Henry came out of a longer session than usual. Erena had done the usual examinations and asked the same questions. She could tell that the Commander had a load on his shoulders so she gave him the usual speech. This time she looked more sympathetic. Henry had done his best to answer honestly, but he still had to maintain his image of control—not that he did not have the situation under control. He had less control than he desired. Sounds about right. Something about that rationalisation did not satisfy him, but he ignored it. Erena seemed to have bought it; however, she had put up less of a fight. Not that she had given up as a physician but acknowledged the complexity of the issue as a comrade. When he thought about it some more, Henry supposed that Erena had let him off the hook. He felt slightly defeated—like he had failed to satisfy a certain expectation realised to be too much for him. He'd have to work it. It annoyed him.
Henry abandoned his thoughts for now. The Commander had his usual tasks to tackle. He would make his round around the base while he was walking around the second floor. Like that, he could dedicate his afternoon to me thoughtful matters. There was nothing of note in the infirmary so the Commander proceeded to the barracks. He crossed some members of 2nd Company as they profited from their special access to the cafeteria food outside of curfews. Henry had inquired about their situation. Most of those who had fought in last night's battle were sound asleep. The group had gotten a small nap in, but hunger interrupted.
As for the cooks in the cafeteria, they were surprised when news came that a large number of squads could receive special accommodation. They showed no quarrels. According to them, they were paid to cook all day. Every second they were not supplying XCOM with meals, they were making waste of the money poured onto them and into the kitchen. The Commander was surprised by the dedication.
Leaving the cafeteria, he went back to inspecting his troops in the barracks. The day was a busy one; the soldiers were spread all around the base helping out wherever they could. The staff around XCOM HQ had posted more tasks for the soldiers to help with than usual. The arrival of an intact alien vessel had surely contributed. The abundance of requested labour got rid of the troops' boredom. Otherwise, the men and women were catching up with family outside, watching the news or honing their knowledge by tackling the dossiers of relevant information released by Bradford's team.
The Squad Training School was mostly empty due to the lack of free time. The troops were not usually in the mood for combat simulations as the requests for labour were demanding enough to tire them out. It was a shame since Shen had dedicated a section of his staff to expand the training facility. He had also added some sections that catered to the needs of the engineers, scientists or officers; it was not just the soldiers who could benefit from simulations. But now was not the best time for them to be making use of it, though.
Henry looked at the list of available rooms and noticed a particular one that was occupied. A single person was undergoing a custom simulation that they designed. Specialist Sam Dodd, Alpha-2, the screen read. Henry frowned. Wouldn't she be tired after last night? It had been hours since the Commander greeted his troops in the morning. It was not exactly enough time for a soldier to rest and jump straight into simulations. The screen showed that Sam had reserved the room for an hour. She had been at it for 43 minutes.
The Commander was curious and decided to snoop from the control room. He entered his credentials into the system and selected to spectate the simulated scenario created in Sam's room.
Specialist Sam Dodd steadied her breathing. It was the first sign of her broken control. She maintained her eyes focused on the virtual entity. She was aware that it was only a product of the augmented reality helmet, but deep down, she felt a primitive reaction. She had to control it before it took over her rational mind. The mission was more important. Her comrades were more important. Her training was more important. Her status.
She looked up at the counter keeping track of the enemies she had neutralised. She was up to three, and she had failed with every one of them. Her fake, recoiling light machine gun allowed her to punch through the plating, but she just could not stare down the orange orb that served as its eye. Something about the Cyberdisc made her feel unnerved and she could not tell why. Every time she stared at it, a feeling rushed towards her and caused her to act out of line. She had never realised it until last night. If she had lost herself in the moment more than she had, Tre Riggs would have come home in a body bag. She was grateful that she did, at least, eliminate the alien machine.
The Cyberdisc floated idly in front of Sam. Without input from her, the entity created by the simulation had nothing to do. It was when she entered the command for it to do something that she lost some control. Even as it floated without malintent in front of her, she felt revulsion. She gave it another shot.
She grabbed her training weapon and adopted an alert stance. The training room was relatively small so there was no way for her to run away. It contained multiple placeholder obstacles that, using augmented reality, could be turned into a variety of urban combat environments. Sam navigated the interface and chose an environment that she had not fought in yet. She wanted to hone her adaptability to her environment as it required her to maintain her focus. She needed to remain focused against an enemy like the Cyberdisc.
After the helmet started displaying the simulated area, Sam set herself in the middle of a road and requested for the Cyberdisc to do the same a couple of meters in front of her. She prepared a countdown for the Cyberdisc to enter into combat mode as it would in the real world. She clenched the grip of her weapons and flexed her legs. She surveyed the area again to reinforce the habit. A building was to her right and had a partially opened door; she would rush into it for cover before the alien could deploy its cannon against her. Once inside, she could predict the alien machine would fling a plasma grenade. The thought of it made her leg tingle—the right one. She shook it to get rid of that manufactured feeling. She could not let it fester.
Sam took a deep breath to steady herself and primed the virtual Cyberdisc to begin the simulation. As she tapped for the countdown to begin, she shook off any more thoughts or feelings that would hinder her performance. Anything too primitive had to go away. They drove her to fight in the face of danger, but it had to be in doses so it would not take over. If she let it happen again, an actual life would be the charge someday.
The clock ticked away as Sam rehearsed her plans and mantras as much as she could to imprint them. Her thoughts suddenly faded away. Concentration purged anything that opposed itself. It was divided into two. One camp favoured the countless hours of training—honed skills, muscle memory, training, and experience. The other favoured some primitive urge to fight. It was strong but arrogant. It was at the core of what kept all alive.
As the final seconds came, a beep took over the announcing of the timer. Sam prepared to spring into action. The clock displayed its last digit and a louder beep emanated in Sam's helmet.
The Cyberdisc flipped vertically and unfolded its many plates, alien-made metal prongs protruding out of its otherwise slender profile. With a rapid and long-planned contraction, Sam dashed towards the door and burst through it with the force of her body. A bolt of plasma followed her as the alien had charged up its weapon.
She hid behind a corner until she heard the propulsion system of the Cyberdisc emit its buzz. The alien folded itself up into a disc and squeezed into the doorway. Sam fired off a burst from her machine gun and went back to running. The feeling that she was once again the prey dominated her senses. She ran into a tight hallway and turned into a room she knew had a window leading to the outside. As the buzzing of the Cyberdisc got closer, she vaulted out of the building and dashed to another one parallel to it.
Knowing the Cyberdisc, it would do its best to avoid tight spaces. After Sam saw its orange eye fixate her, it calculated the window to be too small for it and opted to exit the same way it had come out. The manoeuvre bought Sam some time and she used it by steadying her light machine gun behind a window. Now, she was the predator.
As she focused her aim on the doorway, the alien machine appeared and Sam fired into the fray. The alien absorbed the bullets but quickly spun around vertically and launched a green orb into the sky. Panic. The alien grenade would burn through her. At that moment, Sam felt a familiar, unpleasant burning sensation from the back of her mind. She ran from her spot as the orb descended towards the opening that was the window. Hiding behind a pillar, the plasma, unleashing intense heat into the room, had missed her. Sam swung out her light machine gun along with her body to finish the deed and steadied her aim on the enemy.
She saw the machine's mechanical orange eye pierce at her. It hovered vertically with its prongs sticking out from the back and the plates of its disc, like idle fins. A flash of green came from under the machine's lifeless eye and grew bigger and brighter. As Sam squeezed the trigger, abrupt pain erupted from her chest, throwing her aim off. Another flash of green consumed everything she could see and brought pain to her head. Her vision was eclipsed by darkness. She felt her body tighten, and seconds later, the floor slammed onto her without mercy.
The Commander entered the room. The soldier he had been spectating laid motionless on the floor. She had been there for around a minute—the time it took for Henry to find and reach her from where he stood in the control room. He approached Sam slowly, perplexed by her inactivity.
"Specialist Dodd?" he asked.
Sam's head bobbed up slightly.
"Specialist, are you all right?" the Commander called out again.
The soldier slowly pulled herself up and sat on the floor, taking off her helmet. She brushed some strands of hair off her face and examined the man talking to her. She suddenly sprung up to her feet and saluted.
"Apologies, Commander!" she said.
"No worries, soldier. . . Are you all right?"
"I was taking a breather, Commander. Yes. This new haptic suit will take me some time."
"Glad to hear that. . . I'm just surprised to see you here. . . so soon. The rest of your squad is resting. You had quite the exhaustive mission. You all did a good job dealing with the aliens. . . and the assailants."
"Thank you for the kind words, Commander."
Henry looked around the training room. It looked nothing like what he saw while spectating the simulation. He was most amazed by the simulations of the aliens Bradford's teams of programmers had constructed. The environment generation was also to be commended. It was all to get the troops familiarised with the aliens as much as possible.
It made him wonder, "Why were you fighting Cyberdiscs, if you don't mind me asking, Specialist?"
"Ah. . . Well, the Cyberdiscs are a formidable foe, Commander. I just wanted to train against them."
"I commend your dedication, but wouldn't it be better to fight a Cyberdisc as a unit? One person cannot oppose one alone. Maybe approach your squad leader about it?" he suggested.
"Well. . . it's not a squad thing, Commander Avant. It's more something I have to handle."
"Perhaps to an extent; your weapon does have an easier time getting through the armour."
"That's why I must succeed," Sam added with a look of guilt.
Henry examined the soldier in front of him. Sam looked tired. She was perspiring from the physical exertion. As the Commander expected, Sam was soldiering through her exhaustion. She had spent the night on guard duty and got almost nothing's worth of rest as it barely quantified as enough sleep. She had been fighting Cyberdiscs for a while now and successfully eliminated a couple, but the majority of her attempts resulted in failure. Another had just been added to the score. The look of defeat dominated her face.
However, Henry noted that she seemed oddly motivated. Although, it did not seem like pure motivation but rather a form of internal coercion. What would make her train against Cyberdiscs?
"Commander, may I ask you something?" Sam said, interrupting Henry's thoughts.
"What is it, Specialist Dodd?"
"When you are faced with a problem, how do you fix it? As Commander, I imagine you face many situations. How exactly do you. . . establish control? How do you manage it?"
Henry paused to think.
Control was a luxury. He always indulged in it. It created confidence, but he was not the type to plan too much. He just wanted an idea—somewhere to start. It allowed him to prepare. If things went wrong or not as expected, he adapted; his plans were always flexible. Inflexibility was a sign of a brittle plan.
No plan survived contact with the enemy, though. And enemies formed all around him. Allies could be if they were unreliable—which a lot proved to have been, and those who will, could not be predicted. The Commander could not choose his enemies, but that was part of the job. Most of his efforts were dedicated to fighting the unknown. But he also had to manage his allies. The Commander wished he could choose them. He had to keep them all in line and not show any form of favouritism as that would get his uniform shredded. That was not the worst that would happen. If severe, he could be locked up. Fortunately, compliance was present. Although, he hated it—compliance. It masqued the intent to do otherwise. Any second, one could simply stop complying.
He was expected to fight till the bitter end. Every nation held him accountable for the defence of Earth. And he made plans to fight without giving the aliens any ground. Of course, it all shattered when every government went back to focusing on themselves rather than the war at large. Was naiveté the problem or cynicism? Was he to blame or the others? XCOM was doing well against the aliens. The countless strings of victory proved it. Defeats happened, but they were a lot less numerous. As the aliens kept getting stronger, Henry had lost a few squads on occasion and had fresh faces to replace them.
There was no control. All that the Commander could do was make do—face every situation as it came and went. When the aliens attacked, he responded. When an Exalt presence was flagged, he responded. He never had the invasion under control. All he did was respond to what was imposed onto him—to be reactive.
"Being Commander isn't the easiest, Specialist," Henry finally replied. "You're always faced with situations you can't predict. That's why a lot of time was spent developing our ISR. Then, I can send you folks in."
Sam remained silent, waiting for some form of elaboration.
"We're very reactive, Specialist Dodd. In a way, being able to effectively respond to the unexpected is a form of control. But it isn't the best solution. If you want to succeed you have to be proactive."
Being proactive. That was what the Commander needed to do the most. It was hard to be when on any occasion you could be dragged into a fight. Henry could not choose his battles, but he could choose the conditions he fought them in. As he had said, that could be a form of control, but it was nothing compared to true proactivity. He needed to be proactive. He needed, for once, to choose the next battle. He needed them to fight on his terms. But how?
It all felt like empty advice. The Commander struggled to do and had not done anything proactive. Unlike Sam. She was here, training against Cyberdiscs for whatever reason compelled her. She was honing her knowledge of the Cyberdisc. She was studying them in and out. It was all in an effort to eliminate them before they could do anything to her or her squad. Henry should be the one following her. The excellent example of determination, planning, and as a result, control.
"If you keep training against the Cyberdiscs," Henry continued, "you'll manage. They're a tough opponent. At the same time, don't be taking them on alone. You've got a squad. You've got comrades alongside you."
"Yes, Commander."
"Is there anything else?"
"No, Commander. I shall continue my training."
"Do get some rest. . . And whatever it is you wish to accomplish, pull through."
Sam saluted the Commander and he replied in kind.
"Thank you, Commander."
As the door slid open and closed behind him, Henry felt his mind separate itself from his surroundings. It was hazy. But a single thought could be discerned amongst the unease that consumed him. He had to tackle down Exalt at fast as he could. He did not know how to restore the control he had been addicted to since the start of the invasion, but he knew that after a few steps, the light at the end of the tunnel would grow bigger. Darkness was all around him, but that one small light guided his path. As long as he looked forwards, he could make due. The tunnel pointed to Detroit.
With some help, he could eliminate whatever Exalt presence was there. More importantly, he had to contact Kazakhstan. He needed to get Phoenix Squad back on the move. Councilman Solberg could help them navigate the next destination he would send them to. If he could get to the bottom of Exalt, he could end them. If he could end them, he could focus on the aliens and bring his allies to ease. With his allies with him, he would not be fighting a global existential crisis alone. Selfishness could be defeated. If he showed himself, XCOM, and the council to be worth it, it would bring selflessness. He found it funny, though, how the best time to be selfless is when it benefits oneself. At this point, he welcomed it.
If he could choose this one decisive battle, he could have the enemy fight on his terms. He could be, for once, proactive.