A/N: Hey, look at that! It only took me about...two...months to write this one! One of these days I'll get into a routine for writing. Maybe. Until then, enjoy this chapter! It's another "go around the Bureau and meet people and do stuff" kind of chapter, but I guarantee that next chapter's gonna have the action pick up a bit again. Thanks for your continued support, and keep being awesome!


"Again."

Summer grit her teeth and clutched her rifle tightly, sprinting as fast as she could to the chest-high wall on the east side of the mock battlefield. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Knox make a beeline for a stack of crates on the west, while Carter fired a burst of blanks at a group of cardboard cutouts hiding behind a brick wall. The sailing whistle of a Satchel charge flying through the air caught her ear, while a smoke grenade landed at her feet and sprayed a cloud of thick pink mist around her. Before the "explosive" charge could go off, the wheel-mounted targets rolled out from behind their protective barrier...only to be cut down first with a well-aimed sniper rifle shot, then by twin salvos of blanks that came at them from both sides as they moved. A loud bark from a shotgun, a few shots from a pistol, and one more burst of simulated rifle fire followed up, and just like that the "encounter" ended.

"Mark. What's our time, Captain?"

"Fourteen seconds, Carter. On the dot."

"Not good enough. Needs to be under twelve. Summer, Knox, back to starting positions. Dawson, Shen, grab more smokes and charges. Goldstein, fix that damn bipod, you almost missed your shot. Everyone get ready to run it again. Watts, reset the clock."

"Already on it. Carter."

The days following Summer's arrival at the Bureau (or XCOM - she had heard it been called both interchangeably) were filled with discovery, learning, and more physical drills than her entire time at Beacon combined. Most of her training consisted of these drills, but she also gained some insight into how the Bureau operated. She quickly learned that much like Huntsmen academies, XCOM preferred to field small teams of agents, and each "Strike Team" consisted of a Squad Leader, an ASL (short for Assistant Squad Leader) and at least one of the four different specialist agents employed by the Bureau. With highly specialized equipment and creative tactics, these Strike Teams could handle missions too delicate or complex to be solved by a standing army or an aerial bombardment, while still bringing enough firepower to handle just about anything they encountered.

Recon agents like Thomas Nils or Adam Goldstein were the team's resident snipers, tasked with picking out targets from a distance and eliminating them at long range. They also served as the scouting units for the team, and were trained in the use of camouflage and infiltration - the logic being that if the enemy couldn't see them, they couldn't shoot them.

Then there were Engineering agents, often just called Engineers, such as John Kinney or Raymond Shen. They specialized in deploying traps, delivering explosive payloads, or sewing general mayhem into the enemy squad. They were also tasked with maintaining the squad's gear and weapons, as well as making sure enemies were well and truly dead with a point blank blast from a shotgun.

Commandos like Knox Dolan were either brave, insane, or both. Their primary job in a firefight was to draw the enemy's attention - and their guns - to themselves, giving other operatives that brief window of time they needed to get set up, deploy a trap, or move to a safer location. With a preference for fully-automatic weapons and brazen, in-your-face tactics, it wasn't too hard for a Commando to return fire even under pressure.

Finally, Support agents like Gray Dawson were responsible for the squad's well-being, both on and off the battlefield. While Carter's strange ability to heal his fellow allies was useful, the fact remained that he couldn't be everywhere at once, and he was the only one with such an ability. So having a dedicated medical officer in the squad was still necessary - especially a medical officer that carried an assortment of smoke grenades, flashbangs, and combat stimulants everywhere he went.

Each and every Agent, no matter their specialization, were run through numerous drills and training to be entirely self-sufficient, while still working in tandem with other operatives. The more they accomplished individually, the more freedom they were given, and were given promotions based on their meaningful successes. Summer came to learn that Agents had a number of "ranks" they would climb through during their time at the Bureau, starting at Specialist and working their way up to Third Rank, then Second, then First, and finally Officer rank. Only a handful of Officers would be on base at any given time, which included Angela Weaver and Nico DaSilva - and their Strike Teams were only deployed on the most vital of missions.

When she wasn't running drills with the rest of Strike Three, Summer often found herself watching the other Strike Teams practice. Observing the tactics of each of the different squads gave her insight on how each Squad Leader thought and acted, as well as speaking volumes about their character. Carter, for example, focused heavily on controlling the battlefield, locking down high-value targets and pushing enemies into clean, efficient kill zones of crossfire and sniper shots. By contrast, DaSilva seemed to prefer using the environment and superior positioning to flank or outsmart the enemy, often toying with heavier targets as their allies were picked off one by one. And finally, Weaver's MO involved inflicting as much damage to one target as possible, picking off enemy units one by one until there was nothing but blood and bullet-riddled corpses.

On the rare times she wasn't in the training room, Summer spent hours upon hours voraciously reading the books that Penny had generously let her borrow. Reading through the history of Earth seemed to confirm her suspicions - things like Aura, Dust, and Faunus simply did not exist in this world, and the only Grimm she found came in the form of a family of authors. She wasn't sure if that made this world safer or more dangerous - without a common enemy to unite them or a nightmarish monster horde lurking to prey on their negative emotions, humanity saw fit to wage countless wars between nations over the most trivial of reasons. Nevertheless, part of her was impressed at the sheer variety of weaponry and technology humanity had developed - in place of Dust, humans had learned how to use chemical reactions in the world around them to power their cars, their planes, and their bullets.

There was a lot for Summer to learn, and she'd need to do so fast. Her fatal confrontation with Salem had granted her a second chance in this new world, but it was still a world that was not her own. And considering that everyone here on Earth was extremely paranoid of two of the biggest global superpowers dousing the world in nuclear fire, to say nothing of the literal aliens invading their planet in secret, knowledge of her true origin would cut this second chance extremely short. And Summer was not about to let that happen.

Because if she had come from Remnant to Earth…

...then surely there must be a way for her to go back home.

"Again."

Summer shook her head to clear her thoughts, running the same drill for the fifth time that day. She and Knox ran, Shen threw a satchel charge, Dawson popped off a smoke grenade, and Carter and Goldstein landed precise shots. Within seconds, the encounter was once again over.

"Time."

"Eleven point seven seconds, Carter. New best time."

"Good. Now let's get it under ten seconds. Back to starting positions."

Summer groaned. It was gonna be a long day.


"Officer Chulski?"

The woman at the desk brushed her dirty-blonde hair out of her face, before standing up and nodding to her guest. "Ah, hello Penny," she said. "Your next shift doesn't start for another two hours."

"Oh, I know," said Penny, fidgeting with her book, "but I just wanted to give Summer a more...comprehensive tour. Weaver didn't exactly give her much of a chance to get acquainted with the people she'd be working with."

Chulski nodded, turning to address the silver-eyed stranger next to Penny. "I see. And...I presume that you're this 'Summer Rose' I've been hearing about."

Summer scratched the back of her neck. "Guess word travels fast around here."

"Kinda hard for it not to," said a man with darkened skin at a nearby terminal, "This far underground, gossip spreads like wildfire." He stood up and offered a calloused hand, which Summer shook enthusiastically. "Michael Redmond, Strike Two's Support Agent, Second Rank. Kinney and Nils speak highly of you, Miss Rose. Nice to finally meet you."

"Some of the agents volunteer their time here at the comms when they're not on assignment," said Penny with a smile, "That's Ryan Steel over there, in the blue hat - " Ryan tipped his hat towards Summer, "- Howard Vahlen, in the green one -" Howard gave a charming smile, "- and over there in the corner is Dennis Cole." In a low whisper, she said, "He's not the most sociable person on base."

Dennis grunted vaguely in the direction of the women, then went back to work on the typewriter. Chulski frowned as she noted the half-empty bottle of whiskey next to the Squad Leader for Strike Four - she made a mental note to herself to speak to Faulke if his habits got anymore out of hand.

"It's nice to meet you," said Summer with a pleasant smile, "All of you." She turned to the communications specialist. "And I assume this means you're Officer Chulski? Penny speaks very highly of you."

Unlike her easily-flustered subordinate, Chulski simply nodded stoically with a small smile. "I should hope so. I am the Chief Information Officer for the Bureau, after all."

"Information officer?" Summer tilted her head. "What does that mean? If you're an officer, does that mean you're an agent too?"

Chulski shook her head. "No, I don't do field work. But I do make it possible for agents like yourself to do theirs. I'm in charge of researching, investigating, and following up on possible leads, I oversee the dispatchers both locally and abroad, and I manage our public communications and keep our profile low. For the time, my job also includes keeping the American people from knowing the full scope of the threat."

Summer bit her lower lip, frowning slightly. "So...we're the only ones who know about these Outsiders?"

"For now, at least," said Chulksi with a grimace. "Tensions and fears about foreign invaders are already high thanks to that jackass McCarthy. If people find out about this, there'll be anarchy. And rioting mobs of civilians are the last thing we need right now."

"While us agents contain alien attacks and strike back where it hurts, people like Chulksi here keep the panic levels in check," added Redmond. "And they do a bang-up job of it, if you ask me. Course, it won't make much difference if we don't win...but hey, wars are all about winning hearts and minds, right?"

The silver-eyed Agent seemed to understand, though Chulksi could tell that she wasn't completely satisfied. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Rose?"

Summer hummed thoughtfully, looking around. "How, exactly, are you broadcasting in the first place? I thought the enemy was jamming all Earth-based communications."

"They are," replied Chulksi as she nodded. "They've been saturating everything with interference, using some kind of strange signal. Most broadcasting equipment has been cut down to less than five percent of their maximum effective range."

"Then, how are you -"

"Our technology is significantly more robust," answered Chulski, a small gleam in her eye. "We're currently operating at about ninety percent of our effective range, and we're constantly tweaking and tuning to try and eke out a few more miles to try to bring that up. Because even just a one percent increase can mean a couple miles - and that can make all the difference when trying to track an enemy as elusive as this one."

"Have there been any attacks lately?"

"A few, but they've mostly been small skirmishes. A few minor counties, a couple small towns, but a handful of agents have taken care of those. They haven't launched another major attack on the scale of Groom Range for a few days now...which is both a blessing and a curse, since it means that it gives us time to prepare, but it also gives them time to get ready for something else just as big."

"If not bigger," said Redmond with a sour grimace. "If they attack a major city, it's gonna be a PR nightmare."

Dennis gave no input other than to take a swig of whiskey. Steel and Vahlen gave each other looks, then went back to work.

"How is the public mood, by the way?" asked Summer. "If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"They're worried about the communications blackout," said Chulksi, "but we've got agents in major cities helping to keep them in line."

Summer raised an eyebrow. "Keeping them in line? That sounds an awful lot like declaring martial law."

"It's not quite that bad," said Penny, "It's mostly just a series of emergency preparedness tests. Siren drills, rationing orders, where to find the nearest bomb shelter, that sort of thing. It'll be tense, but organized. They seem to be pretty compliant for the most part - right now the main thing they're all worried about is that they're missing the latest episodes of As The World Turns. Not that I can really blame them…"

The woman hid behind her books once more. "Sorry...I'm oversharing again…"

Chulski let out a soft laugh. "It's quite alright, Penny. Good on you for taking the initiative to introduce Agent Rose here to the rest of the facility. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should get back to work. There's some journalist in Washington who claims to have photos of one of the Outsider attack ships, and we need to quash it before it can get picked up by the Post. Will that be all, Miss Rose?"

Summer looked at the ground with a frown, then looked at her friend with a smile. "Yes. That will be all. Keep up the good work."

"You as well, Agent. Vigilo Confido."

As the two women walked away, Chulski could hear a brief snippet of their conversation.

"I've been hearing and seeing that phrase a lot. What does it mean, again?"

"It's a Latin phrase. The 'vigilo' part translates to 'I am vigilant,' while the 'confido' part is supposed to mean 'I believe.' It's a bit of a loose translation, though, so it doesn't exactly follow the grammatical structure used in…"

Chulski allowed herself one more smile for the day before she went back to work.


"You were there. You saw what the two of them were capable of."

"I did. It's just...his file paints a different picture. And I still think it's a mistake to bring her on just like that. We just don't know who she really is or where she…oh, speak of the devil. Well, one of them anyway."

Carter grimaced as he walked into Director Faulke's office, passing the secretary and bathing in the light coming from a single sunlamp in the corner...as well as the greyish glow of ten different monitors and a computer lining the back wall. In front of the mahogany desk, Director Faulke and Agent Weaver turned from their conversation, greeting him with a curt nod.

"Carter," said Faulke. "Good. Have a seat. Weaver, we'll talk later."

The brown-haired woman saluted, then walked past Carter, her usual scowl on her face.

"Didn't know I was such a popular topic of conversation," said the gray-hatted man as he took a seat in a big green armchair in front of Faulke's desk, his eyes scanning the faux-wood walls. He took special note of the number of degrees and doctorates framed and hanging proudly over a low side table, which was neatly organized with a pair of film reels on the corner and a collection of books held up by bookends. "Though next time you wanna talk about someone behind their back, it helps if you close the door first."

"You'll have to excuse Agent Weaver's...less than enthusiastic support of your new assignment," said Faulke as he himself sat down in a leather seat, reaching under the table for a bottle of whiskey and two small glasses. "She's afraid you don't play well with others. I, on the other hand, tend to see that as an asset."

Carter raised an eyebrow. "You're offering me a drink? You sure that's a good idea?"

"This may very well be the last bottle of Jack Daniels we see in our lifetimes," said Faulke as he filled the glasses. "If it is, I don't want it to go to waste. Here."

Taking the glass that the Director slid to him, Carter sampled it with a small sip. It was bitter and burned, but it still had a rich taste to it, a subtle muted sourness that added to the flavors, instead of overpowering them.

"Not bad," he admitted.

"I only accept the best," said Faulke with a cold smirk.

Carter decided the elephant in the room had gone without being mentioned long enough. "Sir, you didn't ask me up here for drinks and small talk. What do you want with me?"

Faulke's smirk vanished. He pushed his glasses into place with one finger. "You're not here in this facility by chance, mister Carter. I brought you here quite purposefully. You see, I've been following your career for some time, and -"

"What career?" interjected Carter. "The one where I've been stuck behind a desk for who-knows-how-long?"

"No, I'm talking about the one where you were a hell of an agent before you sat behind that desk. And you know what else I know?"

Carter knocked back another sip of the whiskey, then raised an eyebrow at Faulke.

"I know what put you behind that desk."

The gray-hatted man clenched his teeth. "The Brass put me there."

"They made the call, yes. But it was you who kept yourself there."

A pit formed in Carter's stomach as he narrowed his eyes. "I don't need another round of psycho-babble. I had enough of that from the company shrinks after the...incident."

"Accident, Carter. It was beyond your control."

"Right, right," said Carter dismissively. "Yeah, and next you're gonna tell me how I can't save everyone."

The Director of XCOM hunched his shoulders. His voice grew cold. "It's too late for that. You already know that. You already know that what happened to your family was an accident, a tragic loss of life. How you deal with that is up to you. But the fact is, while you can't save everyone, you can save some of them. And right now, that might be enough."

Carter's grip tightened on the glass, threatening to crack it in his hands. "And you're sure that this...artifact, whatever the hell it is, isn't the main reason you're keeping me here?"

"Quite sure," said Faulke. "Doctor Dresner's working theory so far is that the artifact has bonded to you on a molecular level. Preliminary testing on the artifact found it to be virtually indestructible, rapidly regenerating any damage the scientists did manage to inflict on it, as well as emitting energy far beyond the scale of our instrumentation. By bonding with it, you seemed to have inherited some of its more...remarkable abilities. But it doesn't make you a squad leader, or a field agent, or a marksman. That's your ability, not the artifact."

With a grimace, Carter leaned forward. "See...that's the thing. I'm not so sure if it is."

At this, Faulke raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, Carter?"

"I mean, sometimes when I'm planning, it feels like…" Carter paused, looking for the right words. "...like time slows to a crawl. And I visualize my squad as...puppets of light, in advantageous positions. A half a second feels like it takes ages when I'm focusing, and it's almost like…"

Faulke's head tilted to the right. "Almost like what, Agent Carter?"

"Like I'm looking into the future. Or part of it, at least."

The Director of XCOM hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting. Be sure to keep me updated on this…'battle focus.' Let me know if anything changes, when it triggers, how often it happens, or how long it lasts. If we're in command of what's left of our nation's forces...this might just make you our best weapon."

Carter nodded with a frown, draining the rest of his glass and setting it down. "Anything else you wanted to talk about, sir?"

"Not right now," said Faulke, knocking back his own glass and setting it aside. "We might have a mission for the strike teams in the coming days. I'll keep you posted. Be ready to go at a moment's notice. For now, though? Dismissed."

The man with the gray hat nodded, standing back up and turning to walk away.

"Oh, and Carter? One more thing."

He looked back to see Faulke's silhouette staring at him, the light from the monitors casting a shadow on his face.

"It's okay to forgive yourself. I'm sure it's what Julia and Richard would want."

With a scowl, Carter readjusted his hat and walked out.

Probably, he thought bitterly, but I can't exactly just ask them now, can I?


"Ah, Fräulein Rose. Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice. I will try not to take up too much of your time, ja?"

Summer shivered as she stepped into the laboratory (or perhaps "lair" would be a more accurate term) of Doctor Heinrich Dresner, the wrinkled old man she had seen around base every now and again. The "Kraut," as the other agents sometimes called him, certainly looked like a batch of sauerkraut that had stayed in the fridge for too long, but age didn't seem to slow him down as he darted and dashed from station to station. While not quite as fast as she'd seen Doctor Oobleck zip around the classroom - that man had to have had more coffee than blood in his veins by now - Doctor Dresner's speed still took the homeless huntress by surprise. Especially considering how...cold it was.

Though part of the problem might have been the attire she'd been asked to wear. "Yeah, we should probably make this quick," she agreed, looking down at her undergarments exposed for the world to see. "I feel like I'll turn into a popsicle if I stay here too long."

"Ach, no need to worry about that, fräulein," said Dresner as he relit a Bunsen burner, "If anything, the cold stimulates the mind, and lets us think more clearly. And besides, it is only five degrees celsius - or about forty-one of your silly fahrenheit degrees, if you insist on being difficult. Well above freezing point. You'll be fine!"

"If you say so," said Summer. "But I sure hope there's a reason I had to ditch my uniform before I came here."

"Better to get an assessment of your vitals," replied the doctor in a clipped voice. "Speaking of which, let's begin. If you'll step up to the scale, please…"

For the next hour or so, Summer's stomach twisted itself into knots as Doctor Dresner measured her height, weight, blood pressure, pulse, visual acuity, hearing, muscle reflex, gag reflex, BMI, and about a million other things she could only hope wouldn't reveal her true nature. She stood in front of a rather large machine Dresner called an "X-Ray", felt a wince of pain as her finger was pricked for a blood test, and held her breath as she was dunked into a tank of water that was somehow even colder than the air around it. Throughout the whole process, the German scientist hummed and hawed, writing down notes on a clipboard and occasionally pausing thoughtfully.

When all was said and done, Summer finally got to feel the warm-ish embrace of a thick towel. "Well, doc? Hope you found what you were looking for, cause I sure as hell don't wanna do that again."

Doctor Dresner hummed thoughtfully once more. "Well...wherever you came from, you were certainly well cared for and thoroughly trained. Good bone density, excellent muscular strength and response, an extremely powerful cardiovascular system, and an efficient metabolism...if I subscribed at all to that ridiculous 'Übermensch' theory, I dare say you would come close." He smirked. "Ah, the Führer would have delighted to have laid eyes on you...until he realized you were a woman, of course. Then he would have been furious. 'Why was this great power granted to the weaker of sexes?' he would have cried to the heavens...ah, but listen to me ramble on. Have you had any of your memories return?"

Summer shook her head. "Not recently, no. Only reason I know anything about what's happened in the world has been those books Penny gave me. Still, I guess it's good to hear that I've got nice...bones, at least."

The doctor laughed as he set his clipboard on the table. "Ah, fräulein, if the stories of you rushing those Outsiders like some kind of barbarian are true, I don't think that was ever in doubt. Which makes you the ideal person for my next task. Well...possibly second best. Herr Carter's mysterious healing ability might be better suited. But I'm sure I've gotten the devices to the point where they no longer spontaneously combust!...in theory, anyways. Now, follow me Fräulein Rose, and don't forget to grab your pants on the way out…"

The silver-eyed Huntress hurriedly threw her clothes back on and let Doctor Dresner lead her to another part of the lab, one that was far less spacious but contained significantly fewer valuable objects. On a table in the corner sat two odd devices - a very hefty-looking device with all sorts of wires, tubes, and dials, and a large bulky backpack connected to said device by a pair of cables. Summer also noticed a stack of Outsider weapons next to the table...as well as a rather nervous-looking lab technician with a pistol.

"I think the agents are going to enjoy this one," said Dresner as he stepped behind a secure bulletproof viewing station. "Go ahead and slip them both on. The larger one goes on your back, like a backpack, while the other one goes on the wrist of your dominant hand...the straps are adjustable, so it should fit any size...make sure the cable doesn't twist around your torso, you'll need the freedom...ah, wunderbar! A perfect fit!"

Summer winced as something dug into her forearm, and a moment later the strange gizmo on her wrist lit up with a soft hum. "What exactly is this thing, doctor?"

"My greatest creation thus far," said Doctor Dresner, eyes gleaming with pride, "It amplifies the natural strength and stamina of the wearer, monitors and transmits vital signs, creates a non-lethal electric shock field at the point of impact, and allows the wearer to interface with Outsider technology. A marvelous hybrid of terrestrial and extraterrestrial engineering, with the strength of both and the weaknesses of neither. I call it...the Venn brace."

The homeless Huntress curled her fingertips, feeling a surge of something flood through her. It wasn't even close to how she felt when her Aura was active, but it still felt good. That last part intrigued her, though, even more than the other features. "Interface with Outsider tech? You mean like their weapons and stuff?"

"Not only their weapons, but their panels and computers," answered the doctor, a manic grin on his face. "These Outsiders, their technology is all coded into their DNA. Any attempt to interface by something with non-matching DNA accomplishes nothing at best, and a fatal scorching at worst. The Venn brace fools the alien biocomputers into thinking that the wearer is an Outsider - or a Sectoid, or whatever other species these invaders may have allied themselves with. Clever, is it not?"

Summer smirked. "I guess when Faulke told us to make the enemy's weapons our own, you took that command literally. And what's the backpack for?"

"A mobile power supply and ammo storage unit," said the doctor, "plus personal shield generator."

That definitely got Summer's attention. "Shield generator? You mean like the one on that guy Carter and Nils and I fought in Groom Range?"

"The very same one. Turns out it's quite easy to cobble together a kinetic barrier generator - all it takes is a few grams of Elerium-115, a bundle of wires, and a steel casing. Do be careful though, as these generators aren't as strong as the one you encountered - but it should at least allow you to survive a handful of shots without bleeding everywhere. Now...Frauline Rose, would you do the honors?"

With a grin, Summer picked up one of the alien rifles, looking it over pensively for a moment. Aside from the cold metallic surfacing, the glowing red panels that hummed to life as she picked it up, and the angular designs, it still bore all the classic characteristics of a standard rifle. It had a stock, a trigger, a slot for power cells similar to a magazine port, and a fire selector just above the handle. It even had a pair of sights on the top - which, upon examination, could unfold into a small scope for precision shooting.

Both human and alien weapons seem to follow a lot of Remnant's weapon design, she mused, I guess violence and warfare is a language everyone speaks, regardless of origin.

After a bit of experimenting, she lined up the sights on the target plastered against the wall, steadied her aim, and fired.

PEW PEW PEW PEW PEW.

As soon as she squeezed the trigger, a salvo of nearly-blinding red beams of light shot from the tip of her weapon. There was surprisingly little kickback from the alien rifle - it was almost as if the weapon was a toy in her hands. The result was anything but playful, however, as the paper used for the target went up in flames as soon as the lasers connected. The smell of burning ozone filled the air, and Summer just stared down at the weapon, then looked to the small fire on the wall, then grinned.

Dresner seemed to share in her joy. "Wunderbar. It's beautiful. Now, hold still, Frauline, and try not to move…"

Summer was confused for a moment, then it clicked in her head as soon as she heard another click from the corner. Moments later, the echoing sound of gunfire reached her ears, and she braced herself for the sensation of being shot...a sensation that never came. Instead, she looked over her shoulder to see the technician holding a smoking gun, while a faint shimmer of blue light fizzled in front of her eyes before vanishing.

"Großartig! Herrlich! Oh, the Director will be quite pleased!"

Summer arched her brow at Doctor Dresner's enthusiasm, and for a moment considered asking how he would have reacted if the shield didn't work. However, his joy was infectious, and soon she smiled as well. "So how many of these things do we have? Both the Venn braces and the shields?"

"Just that set for now," said Dresner over the intercom, "but I'll put the engineering and science teams to work on manufacturing more of them right away. This could change the tide of the war before it's even begun...thank you for your contribution to human history, Frauline Rose. You're free to go as soon as you return the gear. Good luck, and be careful!"

Blushing a bit at the idea of her - an alien herself - being invaluable to the war effort of a conflict against aliens, Summer nonetheless discarded her prototype gear, set it neatly on the table, then left with a bow of respect.


"Squad Leads and ASLs for Strikes One through Three, report to Operations immediately."

The words of director Myron Faulke echoed throughout the base as he stepped away from the intercom, folding his arms across his chest as he turned his back on the floor-to-ceiling projector screen. Exactly thirty-seven seconds after the call went out, Angela Weaver marched into Operations, followed by a rugged-looking young man in a green sweater. William Carter was the next to arrive with an already-loaded handgun and a fresh new hat, the same shade of gray as his old one, but with fewer bullet holes and alien blood. Summer Rose and Thomas Nils followed soon after, standing at attention.

The man in green nodded to Nils, then tilted his head at the woman that wasn't his Squad Leader. "Summer Rose, I presume?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

"Depends on who wants to know," said Summer with a smirk. "If I happened to know you before, I'm afraid you'll have to introduce yourself again. I've...forgotten a good number of things recently."

With a chuckle, the man reached out a hand. "Believe me, I'd remember meeting someone like you, even if you didn't remember me. Steven Bradford, Strike One ASL, Recon agent, Second Rank. Weaver's told me everything about you."

Another mischievous smile. "I certainly hope she hasn't told you everything. A lady's gotta have secrets, after all."

"Cut the chatter," snapped Weaver, "This is a briefing, not a barbeque. Carter, do try to keep your squad in line. If you can't control them off the battlefield, how will you control them on it?"

Bradford immediately snapped back to attention. Carter grumbled "I'll manage my own squad, thanks" under his breath, which earned a glare from Weaver, but neither of them pressed the issue further. Summer just looked at Nils, who tried to smile at her comfortingly.

"We'll begin the briefing in just a moment," said Faulke in an attempt to occupy the silence before tensions could rise again. "We're just waiting on Agent DaSilva, and then we can -"

"Sorry I'm late!"

Everyone in the room turned to see Nico shuffling into Operations, buckling up his pants and panting heavily. His suit vest was buttoned haphazardly, his tie was crooked and loose, and he had smudges of lipstick all over his face and his neck. It didn't take a genius to guess why he was late.

"Had to finish saying goodbye, sir?" asked Nils with a grin.

"Well, you know me," chuckled Nico as he tried to wipe at the smudges, "Not exactly the sort of person to leave someone unsatisfied."

Weaver scowled. "We wasted two minutes and forty-five seconds because you couldn't keep your hands off some broa-"

"That will be all, Agent Weaver," said Faulke sharply. "Now that you've all assembled, we're ready to begin. Oh, and Agent DaSilva? Be sure to follow up with my secretary by giving her something nice. She likes flowers."

The leader of Strike One bit her lower lip, while Carter smirked vindictively. Nico just about froze on the spot, then redoubled his efforts to rub off the lipstick marks. Eventually, six pairs of eyes followed Faulke as he pulled up a set of images on the screen behind him, smiles and spirits fading.

"Four months before the Groom Range attack," he explained, "we began working remotely with one Doctor Alan Weir, operating from Rosemont University. He's proven himself to be an exceptionally gifted researcher and engineer, skilled in the transmissive properties of Elerium-115 and how it can be used to make our computers 'talk' with one another. He's the reason you haven't seen a single punch card or vacuum tube around the base - his advancements have set our computing technology ahead at least a decade."

The slide changed, showing a map of the United States with several large red triangles converging around Georgia. The message was clear, even if Faulke hadn't directly said it yet.

"Approximately twenty-one minutes ago, an unidentified flying object began an assault campaign, bombarding the surrounding area and deploying large numbers of troops. Their target: Rosemont University. As you can imagine...the fight didn't last long."

Nico shook his head, while Carter grimaced. Nils swore under his breath, while Bradford's brow furrowed. Summer narrowed her eyes, while Weaver showed no outward emotion. No one spoke up, so Faulke took that as a sign to continue.

"We believe they're making another attempt to set up an outpost, like what they tried to do during the attack on Groom Range. If they're successful...they'll have the entire West Coast under their thumb in a matter of hours. And we cannot let that happen."

The slide changed again, showing a map of the university with red markers detailing a plan of attack. He faced the screen, pointing as he spoke.

"We're deploying three strike teams to counter this enemy attack, each with different objectives. Strike One is to locate and neutralize the field commander - from our intel, this particular Outsider is required to initiate their terraforming procedures. Strike Two will be tasked with sabotaging any and all alien structures that have begun construction, either by disabling their electronic systems or by dismantling them with explosives. And Strike Three, your job is to locate and safely extract Doctor Weir - his expertise will be invaluable, and his research can tell us what the enemy wants and how they think...and how we can stop them."

Faulke turned once more to address the Squad Leaders, who all reacted differently. Weaver nodded silently, Nico grinned an impish grin, and Carter mumbled something about "getting stuck with babysitting duty again." Nils and Bradford both nodded, while Summer looked pensive.

"Any questions?"

Predictably, Summer's hand shot into the air. "Any secondary objectives? What about survivors? And do we have enough Venn braces and packs for all the agents on this mission?"

The director smiled slightly. "No secondary objectives, agent Rose, beyond eliminating as many hostile contacts as possible and recovering as much salvage as you can. Doctor Dresner and his team have pulled several all-nighters to manufacture enough Venn braces for three full Strike Teams - in fact, he's specifically requested that agents try to use the electric shock function to 'capture' several smaller enemies, like the Sectoids. As for civilians…"

Summer watched as Faulke's smile vanished. "Given the sudden nature of the attack, it's unlikely that any non-combatants survived. If you do find any, however, radio in your designated Skyranger for pickup. We'll transfer then to an offsite facility and...help them process the trauma."

Process. Such a clinical term for an ugly procedure. It was nothing invasive or fatal - quite the opposite, in fact. Processed civilians would come out of the offsite facility blissfully unaware of the alien threat, happy and optimistic no matter how their life was before. In fact...it would be as though they had just woken up from a very bad dream, with only bits and pieces of the life they had before lingering in their minds. They would go on to lead meaningful, fulfilling lives, free of hardship, free of nightmares, and free of fear...at least, that was what the Bureau hoped would happen.

After all, erasing a person's entire identity wasn't an exact science quite yet.

"No more questions, then," said Summer, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Is there anything else you wanted to tell us?"

"Just one more thing," said Faulke, "We're not sure if our enemy has been able to decipher our communications, or if they understand our language. So from now on during field ops, I want everyone to be using code names. They'll consist of the NATO phonetic alphabet equivalent of the first letter of your first name, followed by your strike team number. If two people have the same first name, we'll work around it, but the point is I don't want to hear any real names out in the field."

He pointed at Weaver and Bradford, then DaSilva and Nils, then finally at Carter and Summer. "So for instance, Alpha-One and Sierra-One. November-Two and Tango-Two. And finally...Whiskey-Three and Sierra-Three."

Carter rolled his eyes derisively, then glared at Faulke. "...I suppose this is your idea of a joke, sir?"

"It does seem a bit on the nose," said Nico with a grin. Weaver just glared at both of them, and looked to Faulke, who was forcing down a smile of his own.

"I can guarantee that any...insinuations based on previous behavior is purely accidental. Now, we can stand around arguing over who gets called what, or we can go out there and save the world. What'll it be?"

"Right," grumbled Carter as he adjusted his hat. "Let's go get him."

"Good choice," said Faulke with a nod. "Dismissed. Get out there, complete your missions, report back here. Vigilo Confido, and good luck."

The director watched as the Strike Leaders filed out, their ASLs right behind them as they made their way to mission prep. For a brief moment, Summer turned and caught Faulke's glance, before she too disappeared around the corner.

Myron Faulke let out a sigh, lit up a cigarette, and made the trek back to his office.

The good doctor was waiting for an XCOM rescue.