Story Overview
To be absolutely clear on the plot threads/tags and the relationships herein:
Tags: Alien/Human Relationships, Size-Difference, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Action/Adventure, Survival, Swearing, Humor, POV Alternating, Banter, Worldbuilding, Flashbacks, Slow burn
Relationships: (Female Viper x Male Human)/(OC Alien x OC Human)
Staying Connected: Curious about what goes on behind the scenes? Join me and other XCOM fanfiction authors in The Viper Pit Discord server: www.*discord.*gg / PBFpc4g (edited link to avoid fanfiction filters)
If you're looking for a better-formatted reading experience, please check this story out on AO3. It is under the same moniker.
Enjoy!
(Revised: 11/08/22)
Chronicles of the Resistance — Caretaker
I: Gatecrasher
City-23: Contagion Outskirts
Oct-18th, 2034, 18:27
"Rise and shine doctor, we're almost there."
Adrian Fairchild opened his eyes and readjusted his senses, which were still hazy from his most recent bout with an unsolicited state of comatose. As he turned in the direction of the voice, he spotted a man in a padded bomber jacket, decorated with bandoliers and several occupied leather holsters. The man was currently seated to his left, and while he couldn't make out his visage, mostly due to an oversized helmet and clouded visor, it was clear that he was the one who'd addressed him, but why?
And just where the hell were they for that matter?
As his vision finally focused, he felt a lurch in his stomach as his rather uncomfortable seat fell out from underneath him and he proceeded to slam his head on what appeared to be a heavy array of electrical paneling. Then, he promptly slammed the backside of his head as well due to the resulting momentum. The man gritted his teeth while he simultaneously clenched an aching forehead and scratched at a large transdermal patch on the back of his head.
"Come now, doctor, you of all people should know the importance of wearing a seat belt. I'd hate to be the one to have to reapply those bandages," the voice chided. "Although, I completely forgot to remind you. Huh, I guess that means that I'm shirking my duties as pilot in command, doesn't it?"
Adrian's memories came flooding back: his contact with the Resistance cell; the shootout with Advent forces, which resulted from an extraction that was supposed to take place at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of New Providence; their eventual escape aboard a repurposed Advent dropship; and—
"Fuck!" Adrian exclaimed. "No…nononono."
He went to dig through his worn coat pockets but found that his arms still hadn't quite registered the adrenaline that now coursed through his body, the added pressure from his medical wrappings wasn't doing him any favors either. Eventually, his urgent plea was intercepted and he felt his hand grasp onto a small wooden box—worn engravings in the shape of hearts lined its outer rim. As he opened it, he found that the single item stored within was in the same protected state as he'd left it. With his belongings accounted for, Adrian felt all tension leave his body as he returned the box to his coat pocket. He then allowed himself to sink further into his seat as relief continued to wash over him.
"I assume that the chip is alright, doctor?" his neighbor responded with a voice now devoid of any humor.
"Y-yes. It appears as though my chances of making it past your gates are still alive and well."
"Hmm...suppose we could always just turn around and give the Advent commander that tailed us another catcall? Wait, she was a viper. That would actually make it a—"
"No-no. I believe that we've had enough excitement for one day," Adrian immediately cut him off.
The other man smiled through the gap in his visor. It was as though he was getting some sort of childish amusement out of a joke that only he could rightfully understand. What a strange man that he'd been placed under the care of by the Resistance.
Their first interaction had occurred just five days prior after his soon-to-be warden had a rather overt altercation with a bodega clerk over the price of their premium sausage links. In the end, the clerk left the exchange with a broken nose, and his warden left with a trench coat heavily laced in discounted frozen meat.
The conversation about cultured meat came up shortly after (because of course it did), in which his warden was utterly convinced that that was the only bodega left in New Providence to sell 'honest-to-goodness' meat. Adrian knew that genuine meat had been outlawed by Advent for some years and such a claim was improbable at best but neglected to be the contrarian, mostly out of fear of earning his own deviated septum.
Adrian had concluded over the days spent together that his warden was likely a former XCOM operative. Despite his apparent lack of subtlety while they traversed the occupied streets of New Providence, the man was reliable when it came to keeping Adrian out of harm's way—at least from Advent forces anyways. Indeed, he had risked his own life during a series of firefights that occurred just before their getaway in the Advent dropship.
As he looked back at his partner's covered face, he noticed that the corners of his ebony beard created a sort of fade alongside the rather ostentatious blend of Advent's signature red. Adrian looked further up to where the other man's eyes should've been, where he noticed various light patterns reflect off of said visor, which must've been the digital readouts that he currently referenced to maneuver the Advent vessel.
Adrian took additional time to look around the crew cabin. Unfortunately, he was forced to rely solely on the dim afterglow of overhead dome lights. They were red of course, because what other color would they be? Overall, the cabin was sleek but failed miserably in the ergonomics department and the having anything department for that matter. Well, at least in terms of whatever his warden hadn't MacGyvered in an effort to get the dropship off the ground. Figures as much that the cushiony lifestyle that went hand-in-hand with being one of Advent's drones was well and truly dead. The man inwardly sighed as he hoped that he'd made the right decision when it came to cutting ties with his former benefactors.
'Advent never forgives, Advent never forgets.'
There was that state of self-loathing and perpetual sense of dread that had been surprising absent since their departure. Nevertheless, his neighbor brought him out of his downward spiral, if only for a moment.
"Come now, doctor, the day is not yet over. Just because we've almost reached Old-Town, doesn't mean the gatekeepers will play nice. Hell, that old set of spill-gates might be on the fritz again, and its keepers aren't exactly the amenable or frankly motivated sort." The other man added in a laugh for good measure.
So far, his warden had failed at every turn to use his given name, instead, relying on his assigned prefix to pick him out from the rest of the crowd. In retrospect, he wasn't sure if he actually knew the other man's real name. Sure, they were both supposed to be operating under different pseudonyms, but Adrian seemed to be the only one who referred to the other man as such.
"Well then, I guess we'll just have to hope that everything works out," Adrian fired back.
"Hope. There's a word that's been in short supply out here on the frontier. I guess that Advent is still spoon-feeding you civvies that manufactured bullcrap on a daily basis."
After he failed to get a rise out of Adrian, or Eugene as it were, the other man chose to blunder forward.
"Hey now, not saying that camping out with the Lost is the worst thing in the world, especially when I consider some of the conditions that I've been forced to sleep under while inside CZ-23's walls. With luck, doctor, you'll get to experience all of that very soon..."
"Look, Rooker, I honestly still have no idea what to call you. What exactly did you say your primary role at the Resistance stronghold was again?" Adrian finally replied with noteworthy hesitation.
His neighbor gave off a rather throaty laugh.
"All in good time, doctor. But yes...Rooker will suffice until we get ourselves established within the stronghold. Now, we should be in range of that Resistance transmitter beacon, so...sterile cockpit please."
With that, Rooker ran a hand across his opposite wrist, which was covered in some kind of control gauntlet, adorn with various displays and switches. Adrian knew more than most when it came to model human and alien cellular responses to outside stimuli, but these machines? The only 'mechanical gift' he could probably bestow on such an occupation vessel would be to stick the blunt side of a screwdriver—rather forcefully—in some circuit panel and hope for the best.
Come to think of it though, weren't all Advent vehicles ID-locked? Rooker had somehow managed to bypass the dropship's systems without having turned them into a fine red mist. That is, unless the other man had first arrived in New Providence with it?
Shit. Adrian had allowed his mind to bat all the way out to left field again. Looking for a means to escape the hazardous thought, he turned his attention back to the dropship's pilot.
After Rooker adjusted a few overhead panels, he flipped a switch, which opened a set of forward shutters. A hazy, orange sunset greeted the pair as they descended from a broken layer of clouds. Below them was City-23, more aptly referred to as CZ-23 by Resistance forces and Advent alike. The CZ stood for Contagion Zone and well...it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out the rest. As if it wasn't clear by the one-hundred-foot walls that surround the city, knowledge of what lied within was something that Advent didn't exactly want getting out to the masses, or civvies as Rooker liked to put it.
Due to CZ-23's rather uncooperative occupants (Resistance forces notwithstanding), Advent's presence in the area was stretched thin and largely indiscriminate, which proved quite the boon to the central Resistance hub that was buried beneath what they liked to call Old-Town. He was told that as long as the underground supply lines remained open, and you avoided the packs of roaming Lost, it was as safe as any other Resistance base, at least when it came to that ever-looming doomsday clock, which counted down the days before Advent peacekeepers would inevitably kick you in the groin and then burn your house down while you were still inside of it.
After finally getting established, Rooker keyed what appeared to be a microphone.
"Resistance Radio, Romeo-Oscar-Kilo-Tree-Niner, thirty from the southeast, inbound full-stop, with Victor-Alpha-Foxtrot…"
The pair sat in anticipation for what felt like an eternity. Rooker had since configured the dropship for slow flight, in which the distinct whine of the dropship's engines now filled the cabin. Getting impatient, Rooker went to key the mic a second time, only to be blocked from doing so by a husky voice on the other end, which was hardly diminished by the radio's shoddy receiver.
"Is that you, Rooker? I guess hoping that Advent would finally off you was just too much to ask for, unless you currently have a plasma pistol pressed against your forehead, in which case I would hate to intercede and spoil the moment."
Rooker only smiled at the snide set of remarks.
"Bosco, you son of a bitch! I knew that I sensed a disturbance in the Force. It warms my heart to hear that your voice still utterly reeks of unprofessionalism."
"I ain't doing it, Rooker, that phenetic bullshit can go to hell for all I care."
Even Adrian chuckled at that one. Not to mention the rather unfortunate name (if it was even his real name) of this so far outlandish individual.
"It's pronounced phonetic, you sorry excuse for an air traffic controller. Also, would it kill you to use proper phraseology for once in your miserable, self-absorbed life? Hell, you'd probably just veer us right into one of these godforsaken buildings if I really needed your help with vectors," Rooker groaned.
"Be an improvement if you'd ask me, for you and the building. Call it a professional courtesy in the way of exterior decorating. Anyways, you finally got that package in tow, I assume?"
"Affirmative. If your addled brain was actually paying attention, I stated the matter during my first transmission."
"Aye, that you did, boy, but then again...I don't care. The way I see it…I still hold the keys to the spill-gates and the set of hermetic doors. Start talking my language and perhaps we will come to see eye-to-eye."
Adrian couldn't help but frown at the notion. Say what you wanted to about living under Advent occupation, at least when they set their collective minds to something, they performed it with the utmost precision, and you generally had a sense of what would happen if Advent peacekeepers decided to pay a visit to you and yours. There was little left in the way for holes in the system, and if one was discovered, it was quickly filled in with about ten feet of reinforced concrete—for the public's protection of course.
Totalitarianism to a tee. However, with regards to the topic of checkpoints, Adrian figured that there was something to be said about all gatekeepers developing some sort of superiority complex, whether they were cradled by an Elder's bosom or not. Nevertheless, this man was a complete unknown, and what Adrian gathered from his slurred speech, more than a little inebriated.
While the informal way of handling things would've come as a breath of fresh air to some, Adrian was not like most men and wasn't one to muck about. He had appearances to keep and had waited long enough.
"Rooker, he's not seriously going to leave us out here, is he?"
"Seems likely, and he's larger than most, meaning he's got enough in reserve to outlast either of us. Let's see what the old jerkoff wants this time," Rooker replied as he inhaled and exhaled through his nose before keying the mic once more.
"Alright asshole, what's it going to take for you to get us past that reservoir and through the hermetic seal?"
A pause, but soon the gravely voice rose through the static.
"Now we're getting somewhere. I figure it's been...a week or so since your departure. Several days dedicated to travel and the mission sure, but for you, Rooker…that's a lot of downtime to scheme and scavenge about in Advent territory."
The perpetual smile that never seemed to leave Rooker's face was now beginning to falter. Clearly, he was connecting the dots in his head and didn't like where they were headed.
"Uh-huh."
"And with your 'friend's' acquired tastes…and habits. I wager that you managed to bag more than enough to share with old Bosco here."
"I have no idea what you mean," Rooker retorted, his agitation now readily apparent. "Message blocked. Say again."
"Oh no. I think that you've read me loud and clear..."
"Don't say it..." Rooker muttered angrily.
"I want my cut of whatever Advent Burger contraband that you currently have stowed away in that precious, little dropship of yours...then maybe I pull a few levers, flip a couple of switches, and you're home free. No sleeping with the Lost and feral berserkers, and everyone ends up happy."
Rooker's smile had now fully morphed into a full scowl. Adrian wagered that if there'd been a traditional yoke installed on the dropship, Rooker would've had it wrangled in a death grip.
"Bosco, you sectoid's ass! Enough games, you know damn well that that contraband is off the table. Do I need to get Rabczewska to rip off your head and shit down your neck?!"
Rooker was practically yelling at this point, and almost painfully so.
"The major won't do shit as long as he is kept in the dark. Say there was a…most unfortunate accident and Advent finally did catch up to poor Rooker. Hoffman can moan and whine all he wants, but he could always just start over..."
"B-but the tapes!"
"Rabczewska is too busy to care about those right now, and I can cover my own tracks, thank you very much."
"Ask for something else, anything else you primordial fuck!"
It would appear that the microscopically thin filter that he once had over his speech was well and truly gone.
"No."
Given what he had witnessed so far when it came to Rooker's temper tantrums, Adrian braced himself and expected the worst, however, Rooker surprised him as he let out an exasperated sigh. He was finally starting to cool off it would seem. Eventually, he turned to address Adrian.
"Well, by some miracle that idiot hasn't completely ratted you out to potential Advent anti-encryption protocols. Then again, our close proximity to the city center has probably been more than sufficient in masking our long-range signal, given the additional countermeasures that I've whipped up in the old girl. With that said, we're probably in the clear, so I say that we take our chances and wait it out until the next guard rotation."
Now it was Adrian's turn to get angry. They'd been on the run for several days now, in the same clothes, little food, and even less sleep. Come to think of it...why the hell had they eaten only MREs if they'd apparently scored the motherload when it came to Advent meat products? Was Rooker eventually going to tell him or was he secretly keeping it all for himself? With a seed of doubt now firmly planted in his mind, he turned to address the defendant.
"Let me get this straight? You're suggesting that we turn tail because of Advent Burgers? Burgers?! For that matter, when the hell were you going to tell me that you had Advent meat stowed away on board?!"
Adrian felt his own voice rising. In hindsight, he wasn't surprised given their past interactions, and while he was fully aware of what this man was capable of, at that moment in time, he was about to throw all caution to the wayside, damned if he went down with the ship too.
"What? No. I mean...fuck. Look, it's a lot more complicated than that. You'll see soon enough once we're inside."
Rooker let out another long sigh before he addressed Bosco once again over the radio.
"Fine, name your price."
"I want half."
"HALF! What the hell are you going to do with an entire pallet of frozen patties?"
Wait. He had at least two pallets stowed away this whole time?!
"And condiments. Don't you dare short-change me, Rooker. After all, I know full well whose gullet it would otherwise end up in, and I must say that Hoffman would be quite upset if he found out that you were fattening up his new favorite test subject, not that it would matter given the size of that thing."
Rooker's body squirmed at the last word, and judging by the fact that the color of his skin now nearly matched that of his visor, he was far from amused when it came to its glaring connotation. However, Adrian was more interested in this so-called test subject and Hoffman for that matter. The name had come up several times when he'd first reached out to the Resistance, however, much of his interactions prior to getting into contact with Rooker had been with another doctor, who apparently had quite the pull within the guerrilla organization.
Adrian had once been hopeful that his new role within the Resistance would have him leverage the medical advances gained during his employment with Advent, which had involved extensive genetic experimentation and the use of live, often unwilling, test subjects. Luckily, he remained out of harm's way from the safety of a reinforced, one-way mirror during the last few months of his employment. However, it was best not to dwell on that part of his life anymore, and it was time to move on and start fresh.
"Half you say? If you were to say that directly to my face on the ground, I imagine that I could think of several ways to force you to reconsider. However, I'm feeling unusually charitable today. Perhaps I'm just homesick and want to gaze upon your pulchritudinous face once again. I'm a man of my word, Bosco, let us in and you'll get your fifty."
"Err…there had better be a percent attached to the end of that sentence, Rooker. I may not be good with numbers or able to understand your flowery words, but you ain't weaseling your way out of this one on account of systematics."
Rooker uttered a long string of curse words before he forcefully keyed the mic again.
"It's semantics, you insufferable Neanderthal! Fuckin fine, fifty percent. But your fat ass is responsible for getting that frozen pallet off of my loading pad."
"Good…very good. I see that you are indeed a man of the people, Rooker. I'll get the water flowing and the hermetic seal open in short order. We'll touch base once you're on the ground and I'm finished with my rotation. However, for now...watch for the signal and you're cleared-to-land, second pad."
"Cleared-to-land on number-two, Kilo-Tree-Niner."
Rooker slowly reclined in his seat as he let out a final burst of hot air and took a moment to recollect himself. If he hadn't chosen to wear that oversized helmet, Adrian was sure that the other man would've adopted Adrian's earlier posture in an effort to support an aching forehead.
"Well, congratulations, doctor. It looks like you're going to get your wish. Just make sure that you eventually uphold your end of the bargain with that chip of yours, so that the good scientists don't come jumping down my throat too. Lord knows that I'm going to be in enough trouble as it is. I don't need walls from both sides closing in on me just yet."
"Is it really that troubling knowing that Bosco got his way?" Adrian questioned.
"It's not Bosco I'm worried about, rather who the contraband was originally meant for..."
In a moment of overconfidence, Adrian followed the reply with his own attempt at a personal jab. "Come on, Rooker, didn't your parents tell you while growing up not to feed wild animals?"
It was as if the temperature in the cabin had suddenly dropped several degrees, with Rooker as its primary heat sink. His right arm twitched as his hand simultaneously balled into a tight fist. Silence ruled the cabin and Rooker appeared to be in the process of deciding whether or not he wanted his fists to do the talking for him. However, one thing was certain—a wave of crimson had overtaken him. Adrian had been afraid a great many times in his life, but at that moment, he was utterly terrified of Rooker. However, again his warden surprised him as he turned a blind eye and recovered almost as quickly as he was spooled up.
"Yes...out of fear for what would surely come slithering home," Rooker whispered.
The pilot turned his head in Adrian's direction, however, his gaze did not meet the doctor's eyes. Instead, it wandered to a small crawlspace to the right of Adrian's seat.
"We should be closing in on that landing site. Also, I see that you still haven't fastened your seat belt and shoulder harness...it would be a shame if something were to happen to you now that we're so close to the end. After all, most accidents happen during the last few minutes of flight."
It was at that moment that Adrian could've said something, anything in the way to make things right between the two of them. However, in his cowardice, he silently secured himself to his seat and gazed out at the broken skyline as the dropship came to hover over a water reservoir of inordinate proportions.
As if on cue, the water beneath them began to swirl violently and a whirlpool that was over three times the size of the Advent dropship began to take shape. The spillway had opened and moved well over two-million gallons of water every minute. This continued for some time until the water level of the reservoir sat below that of a massive concrete inlet. After a short delay, a flare emerged from the dark passageway and continued to illuminate the area until it reached its apex and extinguished alongside a dying sunset.
This appeared to be their signal.
"Alright doctor, let's get a move on. I don't fancy sticking around in case Bosco decides to start those pumps early, especially while we're still maneuvering in the spillway. So, down the glory hole we go!"
While Adrian was momentarily relieved at the fact that the dark cloud that once hung over Rooker's head had come to pass, the feeling was quickly replaced with an uneasy sense of weightlessness as Rooker brought the engines to idle and the dropship quickly plummeted in a steep spiral towards the gaping maw of the spillway, which was still some five-hundred feet below them.
"What the hell, Rooker?!" Adrian cried out as he held on to his chair for dear life.
"Sterile cockpit, doctor; I need to concentrate. One wrong move in the spillway and they'll be flushing us out like yesterday's breakfast!"
Seconds later, the dropship was encased in concrete from all sides, with only the red dome lights from within allowing them to gauge any kind of relative distance. Adrian hated the fact that his life was once again in Rooker's hands.
"I swear if Bosco shut those hermetic doors early…" his warden muttered under his breath.
Finally, and with what felt like only an iota of time before impact, Rooker turned the dropship a final ninety degrees, flipped a series of switches to activate the outside floodlights, and re-engaged the engines, which propelled them through a secondary passageway and into a large underground cavern.
"Sorry about that, doctor, had to burn off some excess adrenaline before we landed."
Adrian was too occupied with recovering from his spatial disorientation to reply, and just when he thought that he'd found his bearings, his stomach lurched violently and its contents were displaced across the right side of the windscreen and lower shutters.
"Shit…I guess that I underestimated the limits of your spatial awareness. Don't worry, doctor, you'll be right as rain once we're on the ground."
Somehow Adrian figured that this was the punishment for any of his earlier transgressions. Frankly, he didn't care anymore and just wanted his feet back on solid ground. After that stunt though, he'd had enough of his warden for one day. However, judging the size of the Resistance hub based on the length of this cavern alone, at least what he could see through a bile-covered windscreen, it was likely that the two would once again be conjoined at the hip after they touched down.
Luckily, the final minutes of the flight were uneventful as Rooker landed on the lighted pad with ease. After he ran through a final shutdown checklist, the oversized helmet finally came off. Underneath, a red-blooded man in his thirties emerged. He wore a quartet of matching scars along the left side of his otherwise chiseled face. Blues eyes pierced through the darkness to match his green ones. Ashamed as he was to admit it, they were around the same age, with Rooker clearly the more seasoned of the two. Extended time with the Resistance after XCOM's fall would harden anyone.
What a truly unlikely pair they'd made thus far.
"Now doctor, this is how things are likely going to play out: the Resistance big wig, Major Rabczewska, is going to want to meet you at some point. Not necessarily today, but sooner rather than later. After all, we can't have unchecked civvies running amok given the possibility that you could very well turn out to be an Advent rat in a lab coat. Although you've proven your loyalty thus far by allowing me to surgically remove your implant tracker, anything you say or do within this compound will come back around and bite me equally as hard in the ass.
"So, until your new handlers officially turn you loose on whatever scientific or medical escapade that's currently being concocted in that oversized, domed head of yours, a word of advice: trust is hard-won and quickly lost out here, so keep your head down unless you intend to fight your way out. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," Adrian responded.
"Good. Now, because of our own little escapade, I have to deal with Bosco's bullshit. However, his side of things will come after we get you situated in your temporary living quarters. As much as I'd love to get you in touch with Rabczewska immediately, there's a certain someone that I'd like you to meet first. Call it a professional courtesy between like-minded individuals.
"Oh, and welcome to Terminus."
With that, Rooker disengaged the mag-locks and retracted the dropship's bay doors. After they exited through a door at the rear of the cabin, both men found themselves immediately being held at gunpoint by a line of security guards, which stood on either side of the aircraft. They all wore pre-occupation military attire.
Where the hell had they all been when the pair landed just moments ago?
A female officer soon stepped forward to address the disgruntled pilot. "Lieutenant Rooker, the major would like to have a word with you and the scientist. As of now, you're both in a heap of shit."
With both hands still held in the air, Rooker promptly turned towards what appeared to be a makeshift control center carved into an opposing rockface. After he filled his lungs with as much air as he could possibly muster, he bellowed across the underground facility:
"BOSCO, YOU BACKSTABBING SON OF A BITCH!"
[—]
Closing Notes:
Thank you for taking the time to read this story. Please expect some initial setup for the first few chapters as I establish the world and its characters.