A/N: Welcome, one and all, to the very first (and hopefully not last) Summer Declassified DOUBLE FEATURE! Yes, that's right - not only are you getting another chapter a single month after the last upload, you're getting two chapters at the same time! The main reason is because I ended up accidentally writing most of the next chapter before I finished writing this one...but hey, I'm still really proud of how they both turned out, so I figured I'd give you both of them!

For this chapter, we get to see how various characters are reacting to the Infiltrator incident that happened last time, as well as tie up a few loose ends from that chapter. (By the way, thanks to everyone who left a review last time! I'm really glad you guys enjoyed it so much, and here's hoping I'll be able to top myself!)

For now, enjoy!


Summer rarely had dreams anymore. She wasn't sure why. Maybe the stress of learning and fighting in an unknown world occupied her subconscious. Maybe she lost the ability to dream when she died. Or maybe it had to do with her missing Aura. Whatever the reason, her mind was blank and dark as she slept, a void of nothingness in the center of her sleeping mind.

Except this time.

This time, she saw a young girl in a darkened forest, pulling a vibrant red wagon behind her as she explored off the beaten path. In the wagon there was a toddler with red-and-black hair, sleeping peacefully. The girl leading the journey wasn't much older, long golden hair lighting a path through the darkness.

"Come on, Ruby," said the older girl, "You gotta stay awake. We gotta find mommy."

Ruby? Mommy?

Through the dreamlike haze, Summer recognized her daughters in a moment of clarity.

"Yang," she pleaded, "Yang please. Go back home. It's not safe."

The blonde girl ignored the cries of the desperate Summer, who was reaching out to them but kept at bay by some kind of invisible force. Instead, she pulled an old photograph from her pocket, unrolling it to reveal that it was stained with blood and tears.

"Can't be much further…" she muttered in a very tired sounding voice, "...gotta be close…"

"Yang, please…you don't know what you're looking for...you don't want to find it. You don't want her to find you."

Again, her pleas went unheard, her presence went unnoticed, her advice went unheeded. The little girl in the wagon stirred, then looked up...at her.

Silver eyes stared into each other, and Summer dropped to her knees and wept.

The next time she opened her eyes, the forest and the girls were gone.

In their place, she found herself on a bed, in a room painted with white walls and decorated sparsely. Tubes connected to her arms and legs, a soft blanket covered most of her bare body, and her head was propped up against a pillow. Machines chirped and beeped in the background, melding with the idle chatter of other people too far away for Summer to understand.

"You're finally awake."

Dull silver eyes struggled to track the source of the voice, eventually settling on a green-eyed blonde smiling sweetly. She reached over and flicked a switch, raising the back of Summer's bed enough to put her into an upright (but still reclined) position.

"...wha…wha…"

It was only when Summer tried to speak did she realize that her lips were cracked and bloodied, her throat dry and swollen. Elizabeth Walters chuckled, reaching for a nearby glass of water and brought it to the huntress's lips, slowly tilting back as her patient took long, loud, greedy gulps.

"Easy. Not so fast."

The water felt cool and refreshing, and Summer instantly wanted more of it as soon as the glass was taken away. Elizabeth set it down on the table, then snapped the ends of her stethoscope into her ears as she placed the frigid metal circle against her chest.

"You've been unconscious for five days," explained the nurse as she performed the physical checkup. "The medics were able to seal up most of the cuts you took during the fight with the Infiltrator, but...you lost a lot of blood. You were practically swimming in the stuff by the time Carter found you. Took two transfusions just to get you looking a little better. We're just lucky the Infiltrator didn't slice any major arteries."

Summer didn't feel very lucky. Still, she tried to put on a grateful smile, before her eyes looked to the left to inspect the splashes of color. As she stared, she realized she was looking at flowers in a glass vase. Lots and lots and lots of flowers. Roses, specifically, in every shade imaginable. She almost laughed at the irony.

Elizabeth seemed to notice, and laughed quietly. "Yeah...you've had a lot of visitors. Felt like everyone and their dad was bringing flowers and 'get well soon' cards. Carter came by at least once a day to check on you. Penny visited twice a day, and stayed with you for hours at a time. And they're not the only friends of yours who've stopped by. Shen, Adam, Dawson, Knox, Barnes, Doctor Weir...even Director Faulke came down to see you once."

The thought of the director of the Bureau taking the time to check on her was amusing, and heartwarming at the same time. She looked back at Elizabeth with silver eyes, her throat preparing to speak a name she expected to hear in that list, but didn't.

"...Nils…?"

The nurse's smile vanished, and she looked over to Summer's right. The huntress tracked her eyes...to see a sight that made her wish she hadn't.

There, behind the privacy curtain, was the shadow of a man in every sense of the word. His arms and legs hung from wires, wrapped in casts that were elevated off the surface of the bed. A rather large uncomfortable looking brace extended from the base of the spine to the back of his neck. And though the machinery beeped in a steady rhythm to indicate life, the sheer number of tubes and pipes that flowed into him suggested that perhaps death may be a preferable alternative.

"He'll live," said Elizabeth shakily, warmth and confidence vanishing from her voice. "That much is certain. What's less certain is what happens next. His injuries from when the Command Ship in Rosemont blasted the Skyranger still hadn't completely healed, and when the Outsider turned his own gun against him, the bullets grazed his spine. It was all we could do to use a medkit to stop the bleeding, but...by the time Carter refreshed his healing powers, there was nothing he could do. The damage had already set in. And we can't operate on the spine to remove the bullets...it's just too risky, even with the most advanced medicine we have. So it's more than likely that he…"

Elizabeth forced back a choked sob.

"...he might never walk again."

Summer's heart sank. Her hands balled up into fists. Disbelief coursed through her body like a poison, consuming her thoughts. Nils, the man who had been there during her first few hours on Earth. Nils, the man who made sure to give her a smile and a proper greeting everytime he passed her. Nils, the man who watched trash TV with her and Elizabeth just before the Infiltrator came in. Nils, the man who volunteered to walk in the darkness alongside her when the power went out. Nils, the man who saved her when the Outsider spy had her dead to rights. Nils, the man who chased the bastard through the base all the way to the Morgue, despite bleeding heavily and taking serious hits.

Nils, the man she had failed.

The disbelief turned to anger, hands shaking violently as they clutched the sheets until her knuckles went white. She could have prevented this. Could have saved him. Could have stopped all this pain. If only she had been smarter. If only she had been faster. If only she had put a bullet through that alien asshole's brain when she had the -

"Hey. Summer, look at me."

A pair of hands grasped her trembling fist, rubbing softly and gently until Summer's grip on the sheet relented. The hands were soft, and smooth, and slightly cold to the touch - it was enough to snap her out of her inner spiral and look at the nurse with tears streaming from silver eyes.

"It's not your fault," said Elizabeth, her own voice shaking, "You did...everything you could to protect him. He's always been...reckless, quick to act and slow to think things through. Maybe this will teach him to...slow down, to take his time. Or, knowing him...he'll try to get back on his feet as soon as possible. Or find another way to help. Either way...I can't thank you enough. The Infiltrator did this to him...but it might have done worse if you hadn't shown up."

One of the hands running up and down Summer's forearm departed for a moment, long enough for the huntress to wonder what it was doing before a small pinprick of pain left a mark. She gasped sharply as fatigue flooded outward from the point of contact, and despite her attempts to keep them open, Summer's eyes drooped closed.

"For now, rest," whispered Elizabeth, stroking the back of Summer's hand. "You've more than earned it. And you're going to need it…"

The silver-eyed huntress could only settle back into the bed as it sank back down, returning to that land of dreamless sleep.

Much to her dismay and relief, the forest did not return.


In contrast to the well-lit offices that made up most of Sub-Level Two, there was one area that was kept dark and quiet on purpose. A single agent in a brown suit and thick-rimmed glasses entered silently and without much joy, nodding wordlessly at other agents already seated at rows of desks illuminated by desk lamps. They spared him a moment's glance before they went back to their delicate tasks, the only ambient noise coming from the clicking of film reels and the squeaking of permanent markers.

This was the Editing Room. Where the truth came to die.

The Bureau might have been aware of the Outsiders and their threat, but the country at large and the rest of the world was not, and Faulke intended to keep it that way. Life continued on while XCOM and the Aliens engaged in their little shadow war, and that meant documentation for the purposes of bookkeeping, daily reports for hypothetical higher-ups, and newspapers delivering the latest current events to the unaware American's doorstep. It would look highly suspicious if future historians were to look back and notice that months - even years, perhaps - worth of legal records simply didn't exist, so it was up to those working in the Editing Room to create a highly-monitored, extremely classified version of their own history. To falsify the facts and maintain the masquerade.

Here, agents went over documents and newspaper drafts with a fine-toothed comb and a roll of black masking tape, covering up sensitive info about aliens and their victims with perfectly-cut black little boxes before either filing them away or sending photocopies back to the publishers. Photographs taken of UFOs, Outsiders, or the Bureau were confiscated and manually edited, with the offending material cut out like a cyst with the precision of a surgeon wielding a scalpel. And reels of film captured by either local investigators or aspiring filmmakers were reviewed frame-by-frame, any footage of the hidden battle snipped out and tossed into an incinerator.

Someday, maybe, the world would know about XCOM and their enemy unknown.

But that day would not come for a very, very long time.

Back in the present, Dennis Cole had to admit as he made his way to the back room that the setup was as ingenious as it was insidious. Faulke had people working around the clock here to conceal what was really happening, to bury the battle for survival taking place right under America's nose. The work here took its toll on people in every sense - mentally, physically, and emotionally. So agents were typically swapped out every two weeks, given a two-week break, and then slotted right back into editing duties.

Dennis hadn't had such a break in three months.

Not that he minded too much. He had ways to cope with the stress. And as he sat down at a typewriter already loaded with a fresh sheet of government-issued paper, he reached under the desk for one of those "coping mechanisms" instinctively.

The bottle of whiskey made a quiet thunk as he set it on the desk, and the noise was soon joined by the clicking and clacking of hands moving across the typewriter keys.

Bureau Operations Report, 18th of November, 1962

The first line flowed out of Dennis's fingers like muscle memory. How many of these damn things had he written? Even he was starting to lose count. He'd really prefer if, just once, he could do something else. Something that wasn't just another daily report. But he was good at writing them, so Faulke kept making him write.

It was bad enough that this one was already a week late. No sense delaying the inevitable.

The start of the report was simple enough. Operation code names and their outcomes, dispatch mission results, what was "borrowed" on supply runs, ammo spent, weapons in need of replacing or maintenance, all very standard stuff. That wasn't hard to write. But the hardest part came when Dennis got to the end, taking a swig of whiskey to give him the courage to write out the last three lines.

Number of Agents KIA: 17
Number of Agents Wounded: 9

See attached document for casualty list

Dennis clutched his forehead, shaking his head slowly and pinching the bridge of his nose. His drink was strong, but not nearly strong enough for what this required. That damn Infiltrator had made a real mess of things - seventeen agents dead, most of them from friendly fire due to the rampant suspicion the alien among them had sown.

Not that he could pin all the blame on the Outsider. After all, he'd personally been responsible for two of those deaths himself. One was in self-defense, the other was...less justifiable.

Another mouthful of whiskey. Damn, was he really gonna finish the whole bottle so early at this rate? When he hadn't even gotten to the main body of the report?

He was thinking about it, at least.

On November 18th, 1962, at approximately 1709 hours, an Outsider Infiltrator breached XCOM's headquarters through the sewer system leading to Sub-Level Four. After disabling the main generators and planting an electro-magnetic pulse device for future use, the Infiltrator began to take on the appearance of other agents, attacking and killing a number of personnel and instilling paranoia among the rest. Its current objective at this point was unknown.

Another shot of whiskey. Paranoia...almost seemed like too soft a word for what happened. Friend turning on friend, shouting and arguing in darkness, even shooting on sight in some cases...it was brutal. It was horrifying.

It was fucking brilliant.

Another shot of whiskey, another low groan. Time to write the part that kept this report held up, as Dennis required information that only the witnesses had access to.

At 2147 hours, the Infiltrator was found taking the form of Communications Operator Penelope Cohen, and eventually caught in a lie by Agent Summer Rose, Third Rank. Agent Rose, upon questioning the Infiltrator's intent, gleaned several relevant bits of intel, the most notable being the existence of an entity known as "Mosaic."

Mosaic...if Dennis had any mirth left, he would have smiled at the irony. A mosaic was typically an art piece, a picture created out of thousands of tiny little individual pieces of glass or stone. When viewed up close, it resembled little more than just a collection of odd shapes and colors. But from a distance, the entire image became visible, and the pieces, so small and individual on their own, lost their identity in the sea of color.

Of all the words the Infiltrator could have used, it picked "mosaic". That had to mean something.

But that was all the work of speculation. Right now, he was simply writing the facts.

After its cover was blown, the Infiltrator attempted to escape, but was apprehended by the combined efforts of Agent Rose, Agent Thomas Nils, Third Rank, and Agent William Carter, Third Rank. Agents Rose and Nils sustained heavy injuries during the fighting, but they were ultimately successful. The Infiltrator regained consciousness shortly after capture, and is currently being kept under observation in Doctor Heinrich Dresner's laboratory on Sub-Level Four.

The casualty report is as follows:

Dennis went ahead and chugged half the bottle of whiskey, partly as a "reward" for getting this far, and partly to fortify his nerves for the list of names he was about to write. Because god knows there were a lot of them.

Ann...Kevin...the things I do to keep you safe…

He slammed the bottle back down, adjusted his wedding ring, realigned the picture of his smiling son, and began typing out the names of the dead.


"Seriously? They kept that thing?"

"Yeah, Faulke wanted answers from it. He's been trying to talk to it for a week now. But everytime he goes in, it just clams up like my girlfriend on prom night."

"Well what if it gets out? What the hell is the Director playing? I swear, if I lose another friend cause that shady four-eyed bastard fucked up, I'm gonna…"

"Shut up!"

"No, do go on. I'm quite curious what he thinks he'll do to me."

The two guards standing outside Dresner's lab suddenly went quite pale at the sound of Director Faulke's voice, snapping a panicked salute and swallowing nervously.

"N-nothing!" The guard on the left said, "M-Mark here didn't mean nothing! Just idle chit-chat, that's all!"

"Yeah, yeah," added the right guard hastily, "Just talking with Sean a bit. I uh...I got nothing against you, sir. Nope. No problem whatsoever."

Faulke sighed and shook his head. Idle gossip and unhappiness were already a problem this far underground. If there was mistrust and fear spreading around too, the Bureau might not last long enough for the Outsiders to defeat them. He stepped forward and put a hand on Mark's shoulder.

"You know that I keep an open door policy," he said gently, yet firmly, "and accept criticisms and suggestions. If you have issues and concerns with how I'm running things, don't be afraid to tell me. I don't want to be the kind of man who rules XCOM through fear. If you're more scared of me than you are of the Outsiders, then I've failed, and we might as well have already lost. Understood?"

Mark looked to the floor, his gaze softening. "Y-yes sir. It's just…"

"I know, Mark," said Faulke, patting his shoulder twice. "I know. And for what it's worth, I truly am sorry for the loss of your friend. We lost a lot of good agents in the Infiltrator attack. Rest assured that I refuse to let that happen again."

He looked over to Sean. "Have Weir and the surgery team arrived yet?"

"They're waiting inside for you now, Director," said the other guard with a nod. "Arrived just a few minutes ago."

"Very good," affirmed the Director with a nod. "Keep up the good work. Vigilo Confido, men."

"Vigilo Confido!"

Faulke stepped through the door and past the saluting guards, hearing them both give a sigh of relief before the metal slab slid shut behind him. He smiled inwardly, glad he'd helped defuse the situation. Being a good leader meant knowing when to be lax and when to be strict. When to loosen his grip and when to crack the whip. Experience and failure were his greatest teachers, and they'd served him many times throughout his storied life.

But he absolutely could not afford to let them coach him this time.

As he stepped into the chilled lab, he noticed how most of the projects Dresner liked to monitor were paused, as the doctor chose to put all his focus on the most important one. He and Doctor Weir stood on opposite sides of a surgical bed, a half-dissected Outsider corpse splayed out in front of them.

Faulke wrinkled his nose as he approached. "I certainly hope this isn't our alien guest."

"No, no, nothing of that sort," said Weir with a small laugh. "The surgery team merely wanted a better look at Outsider physiology, so we had this one brought up from cold storage to review what we already know."

Faulke nodded in approval. "And what exactly do we know about them?"

"Well, as you know, we've performed a number of autopsies on the Outsider corpses our recovery teams have brought in," said Dresner. "They appear to be largely carbon-based like us, presumably with the same base needs as any living being. However, they show extensive signs of mechanical augmentation, particularly in the circulatory, nervous, respiratory, skeletal, and muscular systems."

"These modifications are quite precise and consistent across multiple units," added Weir, using his pen to point out the exposed parts on the subject, "and appear to be synthetic in nature. Of particular interest is a small triangular bead located here, at the base of the skull, which resembles a computer chip of some kind. Unfortunately, my attempts to study these devices have been...less than successful, as the implants seem to burn themselves out upon the death of their host."

"It would help if our agents weren't so...liberal with explosives."

Weir shot an annoyed glare at Dresner, a rare sight for a man as calm as him. "We've discussed this numerous times, doctor.. Our agents need to do whatever it takes to - "

" - to survive in the field, yes, yes, I know," interrupted Dresner, waving his hand dismissively. "They do good work in the field, and they bring back many samples. I just wish they would use their Venn Braces more to capture more of them alive. It would certainly help with my...other experiments."

Faulke could tell Weir was about to say something about the dangers of 'close range', so he cleared his throat before the argument could start. "Regarding this 'bead'...you think it's important?"

"Very much so," said Weir, anger abating. "That component in particular receives the most damage from the 'burn out' process I mentioned. It's possible the failsafe comes from this device, maybe even triggers it based on external input."

"It may even be connected to this 'Mosaic' that Frauline Rose reported on," added Dresner. "But there's no way of knowing for sure. Not without looking at an...undamaged sample."

The director nodded. "So you plan on pulling this chip out of the Infiltrator's head while he's still alive."

Weir and Dresner shared a look, then nodded. It made the most sense. Whatever this Mosaic was, it seemed to affect the Infiltrator's actions on a subconscious level, possibly explaining why their prisoner was so reluctant to speak during Faulke's "conversations." If it could be removed, and studied, while also affecting the Outsider's behavior…

"We're just waiting on Nurse Walters and Agent Dawson to finish prepping for surgery," said Weir.

"You are waiting no longer!" A voice from the speaker above crackled. "Come on in, Doctors and Director. The show is about to begin!"

Faulke had to suppress a grimace as the red light above a door across the room turned green, as he and the doctors stepped into the small operating room built into Dresner's lab. Ordinarily this was used for autopsies on recovered corpses, which was usually done by a team of highly-trained surgeons. But no one else was brave enough to operate on a live Outsider, especially not on a live Outsider that had sent the entire base into disarray. No one, that is, except for the still-hurting Elizabeth Walters and the always-smiling Support Agent of Strike Three, both of whom likely held grudges against the patient but were professional enough to mostly hide their disdain.

Gray Dawson approached the trio to pass out surgical masks while Elizabeth got to work on tightening the restraints holding the unamused, glaring Infiltrator down onto the surgery bed. "Okay, boss. So...good news and bad news."

The director wasn't in the mood for games. "Report," he commanded as he put on the mask.

"Good news is, our new friend here is stable and ready for his operation. Bad news is...none of the anesthetics we have in supply have been able to knock him out. So unless you wanna call Carter down here to smack him around a few more times…"

"Not an option."

"That's what I figured, just wanted to ask. In that case? He'll be completely conscious while we're cutting him open, and feeling everything. Sooo...this might get a little messy."

Despite his words, the corners of Dawson's smile never dipped beyond the edge of his own surgical mask. As if he was thrilled with the idea of performing a live surgery on the Infiltrator. Faulke wasn't sure if such a reaction warranted confidence or concern.

He'd decide later. The cold, silent glare of the Infiltrator reminded him of more pressing matters.

"If that's what it takes, then so be it. Begin the operation as soon as you're ready."

Dawson nodded, looking back at Walters as he snapped a pair of disposable gloves over his hands. "How's he doing, Liz? Is our little trooper all nice and snug?"

"Restraints are tightened and triple checked," answered the nurse, ice in her voice. "He's not getting out of these, no matter how much he squirms."

"Good. Then let's flip him over and get to work. Don't worry, mister alien - when we're done here, you can have all the ice cream you want. We even have a special flavor just for you - it's called Coward's Chocolate Chunks."

Despite the circumstances, Faulke almost smiled at the dissonant display as Dawson and Walters rotated the surgical bed like a barbecue roasting spit. As soon as the Infiltrator was upside down, the facade of cold anger shattered, and it began thrashing against its bindings. The nurse's work held firm, however, keeping it restrained in leather and steel as Dawson methodically selected a scalpel.

So much for that stoic attitude.

"You pathetic creatures!" spat the Infiltrator, once it realized it wasn't escaping so easily. "Children with sharpened sticks pretending to be warriors and doctors and priests…"

"Mm-hmm…" mused Dawson, either not hearing or not listening to the Infiltrator's speech as he stepped over to the bed. "Base of the neck definitely shows signs of prior surgery. Healed over a while ago. Making the first incision to investigate…"

"...but the moment you find anything worth knowing, worth believing in, you just cut it open to see how it wo - AAAAAUUGHHHH!"

"Liz, be a dear and fetch the gag if you please," said Dawson as he lightly dragged the scalpel through the alien flesh. "It's a little hard to work with all the screaming."

Walters almost looked disappointed at the request, but nevertheless wedged a padded metal bar between the Outsider's teeth. It wasn't a perfect fit, what with the vertical lips and all, but at least the screams were muffled.

"Gag applied," she reported, securing the straps for stability.

"Thanks. Remind me to sew the mouth shut next time we do this. Now, let's see…"

With a curious expression, Dawson pinned back the split skin flaps to create a diamond-shaped window that left the underlying muscle and bones exposed. Faulke caught a glimpse of deep purple musculature and a steel-gray spine, lined with what appeared to be crystal-clear wires that ran up and down the length of the back. Judging by how the Outsider continued to scream into the foam gag, he could only guess that the pain from the live surgery was excruciating.

Not that anyone in the room had much sympathy, of course.

"Looks like these glass threads go all the way down to the base of the spine," reported Dawson. "They seem to lead up to the skull, too. Might be our trail to the implant Weir's interested in. Making additional cuts to follow them."

Faulke watched and almost winced as Dawson ran his scalpel almost effortlessly along the back of the Infiltrator's neck, ignoring the gagged screams and attempted thrashing as the alien subject reacted poorly to the operation. Eventually, after cutting another small window to examine the base of the skull, the Support agent's eyes lit up. He'd found the chip.

"Aha! There you are. Look at you, all nice and functional. Lemme just cut these threads keeping you down, and then we can pull you out all nice and clean. Liz, get the tweezers and forceps ready."

"Already have them, Gray."

"Alright, here we go then...snip, snip, snip!"

Dawson's scalpel cut through the wires connected to the sides and tips of the greenish-blue metallic triangle, then gingerly separated the edges from the flesh and bone it had bonded to. Once that was done, Walters reached in with her tools and gently, carefully pulled the implant out, the device easily sliding out on three long metal prongs.

As soon as the tips of the implant left the flesh, the screams and the thrashing stopped.

"Well, would you look at that?" said Dawson with a smirk, "Looks like those anesthetics finally kicked in."

"Unlikely," said Walters as she dropped the implant into a glass tray, glancing at an EKG nearby. "Heart rate is still at normal levels, as is the respiration. Might be a response to having the chip removed."

"We've never been able to observe the effects of Outsiders separated from their implant," confirmed Weir, "It's possible that they've been bonded to these devices for so long that their brains effectively need to 'reboot' themselves to remember how to function without it."

"Fascinating…" mused Dresner, a wicked smile stretching across his face.

"We can look into it later," said Faulke impatiently. "For now, we need answers. Wake him up."

"You got it, boss. Sewing him back up now."

A few perfectly-placed stitches, sutures, and seams later, the exposed flesh was closed back up with nary a scar nor incision visible. The surgery bed was flipped back upright, and Walters immediately went about injecting vials into the alien's arm, then removing the gag.

"Okay. Bringing the patient back to consciousness...now."

And then the nurse unceremoniously slapped the alien across the face so hard that even Faulke felt it.

"That's probably not something they teach you in med school."

"Oh shut up, Gray."

The Infiltrator groaned as its glowing red eyes slowly came back into focus. "What's...happening? Where am I?" He looked to Faulke. "Who are you?"

Despite the layered voice lacking any kind of hostility, Faulke wasn't about to let his guard down.

"We'll be asking the questions here." He turned to Dawson and Walters. "Take him to recovery."

As he stepped out to let the doctors do their work, a small smile crept up on his face, hidden by the surgical mask.

Maybe now their alien guest might be willing to be a little more...talkative.


Bang!

Miss.

Bang!

Another miss.

Bang!

Oh, that one hit! ..no, wait, no, yet another miss.

Click.

Penny sighed in dissatisfaction, searching for the magazine release lever on the pistol that Quartermaster Webb had loaned her. She was extremely grateful she was the only one at Sub-Level Three's firing range, because otherwise she'd likely have been chased out two hours ago. Only the old World War Two veteran responsible for the upkeep of the Bureau's weapons was there to witness her fiddle with the small gun in her hands, trying various buttons and switches before she finally found the one that sent the now-empty magazine clattering to the floor.

Why am I doing this to myself?

She already knew the answer to that thought as she leaned down to pick up the dropped magazine.

Because she couldn't get those awful eyes out of her mind.

Those beady little red orbs that seemed to stare right through her, the chromed teeth that reflected what little light there was. The cold clammy hand that pushed against her mouth, suppressing her scream and attempts to warn Summer.

That was the last thing she saw in the Armory before she had passed out. Just after Summer had consoled her following her fight with Agent Percy, and just before she woke up to see Knox's stern but concerned gaze checking her over.

The Infiltrator had slipped away, had hurt Summer and Nils and so many other people, all because she was too helpless and shell-shocked to do anything to stop it.

She resolved to never be that weak again. And that meant learning how to defend herself.

Well...more like beginning to learn, if the number of bullet holes around the targeting sheet were any indication. But by God was she going to try.

"Mind if I join you?"

The sound of the voice behind her made Penny's heart flutter, followed by tears in her eyes. She set the gun down, pulled off her ear protectors, and practically launched herself into Summer's arms, wrapping her own tiny appendages around her friend's trunk and squeezing tightly. She pulled her glasses off to better rub her face against the larger woman's chest, feeling the warmth and security of her friend returning the hug. After squeezing the air out of each other, they parted slightly, giving Penny the chance to look up at Summer with a bashful smile.

God, how she so badly wanted to just reach up on her tippy toes and kiss those perfect lips, to be caressed by those strong muscular arms, to drown into those maddenly gorgeous silver eyes…

But that wouldn't be proper. Can't have any of that on a military base. She'd gotten in trouble for acting on those...urges before, and this job was too important to mess up. So she settled for reaching forward again, this time pressing her face into the taller woman's arm.

"You should be resting," she mumbled into Summer's shoulder. The silver-eyed woman chuckled softly, her breath tickling her ears as she started running a hand through Penny's dark, matted hair.

"I rested for almost ten straight days, Penny," said Summer. "I'm not hurt. I was just...tired."

"I'll bet." Penny didn't mean to sound so tired herself. But she was. She very much was.

The two of them just stood there, holding each other, grateful for the other's presence. Penny pulled her face away from Summer's muscles just long enough to catch a glimpse of Quartermaster Webb chuckling to himself, then stepping out of view. She closed her eyes and leaned into the embrace, grateful for the warmth that seemed to settle over them like magic.

The spell couldn't last forever, though.

"I'm sorry."

The comms operator pulled away, looking up at her friend who was no longer smiling. This was a crime, one she had to make right.

"It's okay. I'm not -"

"I abandoned you, Penny." Summer shook her head sadly. "That Infiltrator took your face, your voice, and I took it with me. I walked in the darkness, trying to comfort it, when it should have been you by my side."

"You still found it," said Penny, trying her best to smile. "And you knew enough about me to see through its disguise. I don't have many friends, so I don't think anyone else could have -"

Without another word, Summer pulled Penny into another hug, this one so tight Penny worried if she'd be able to breathe. She returned the hug instinctively. Half-breaths would have to suffice if she wanted to make Summer feel better.

"...I was so afraid I'd lost you…" she whispered. Now Summer was crying. An even worse crime than the missing smile. "That the Infiltrator had killed you or done something worse and I'd never get to share books or meals with you or that I'd never get to see you smile or hear you laugh and that I'd never be able to live with myself if you died because then you'd never find out that I've been lying to everyone!"

Penny's blood froze. Summer's last words had come out in a quiet hiss, but to her ear it sounded like a desperate scream. She pulled away from Summer, pushing with all her strength against those broad shoulders. The woman eventually loosened her grip, giving Penny a chance to put space between them again - and to reinflate her lungs.

"Wh...what do you mean?"

Summer wiped her eyes, flicking a few tears off her face. "Penny, I...I have something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a while ago, but...couldn't. I'm - "

The comms operator put a single finger to Summer's lips, shushing her quietly.

"Not here. Follow me."

Resolve flooded into Penny as she returned the gun and led Summer by the hand back up the steps to their office, to the spacious room with a wide desk that lined the walls and provided enough space for two people to work at. Summer's half of the desk was neat, pristine, and orderly; Penny's half was messy and cluttered, with books, headsets, loose papers, and notes scattered about.

She motioned for Summer to take a seat at her side of the desk, which she did so. Then she retrieved a notebook and two pens out of the clutter, pulling her chair up next to Summer's and writing in neat, pristine penmanship.

Faulke has microphones everywhere that record everything. It's how he knows what happens in the Bureau. If you're going to tell me a really important secret, it'd be best to do it like this.

Summer swallowed the lump in her throat, then took the other pen and wrote a reply shakily.

Thank you. I'm not ready to tell the others yet.

Penny smiled inwardly. Looks like passing notes with pretty Veronica in sixth grade was finally paying off. And Mister Wormwood had derided them for such an "infantile activity that had no place in the world beyond school!" Ha! If he could only see her now.

Personal pride aside, she wrote her response.

Why not?

Summer stared at the paper, swallowing another lump before a shaky reply flowed out.

Because I'm afraid of what will happen if they find out I don't actually have amnesia.

If there was a word to describe feeling both excited and terrified, Penny was certain it could be used to describe her at that moment.

You remembered your past?

I never forgot it.

Then why lie?

Because I'm not from Earth.

The excitement was gone. The terror took over. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead as she read the message, as she gazed over Summer, trying to imagine how the silver-eyed beauty's face could split open to reveal a maw full of razor sharp teeth.

Breathe, she reminded herself, Breathe and think. If Summer is an alien, she wouldn't out herself like this unless she really trusted you. And if she was going to hurt you, she would have done so by now.

Still, better safe than sorry. Her next few messages were less neat than her first few, but that hardly mattered.

You're an alien?

Yes.

Are you with the Outsiders?

No.

Do you want to hurt us?

Absolutely not.

The conviction in Summer's eyes (as well as the way she had underlined her last answer several times) was all the proof Penny needed that she was telling the truth. But there was still something that confused her.

You look human, though.

Summer almost looked insulted for a moment, then smiled.

I am human. Just...not an Earth human.

Humans could exist on planets besides Earth? That was already intriguing. Perhaps Captain Thunderclap wasn't as unrealistic as Penny had previously thought. Well, not for that reason at least.

Where are you from, then?

Remnant.

What's it like?

Summer hummed thoughtfully, tapping the tip of her pen against her chin before finally writing a brief paragraph.

It's a lot like Earth, but smaller. We don't have all these countries, we just have four kingdoms. Less people, too. And we don't have stuff like oil or nuclear weapons. We have...other kinds of technology though. I trained to be a warrior, to protect the people I love.

Penny's imagination took over, and in her mind's eye she saw sprawling cities with castles made out of rising glass, guarded by knights in shining silver armor. And at the forefront of those armored warriors was Summer Rose, gleaming sword in hand with a massive flowing cape billowing dramatically behind her. The entire battalion of knights saluted her, and by her command, they charged into battle on golden dragons against an unknown enemy, a mass of darkness and red eyes that sought only to tear down what the humans on Remnant had built.

She would later learn, through further conversations with Summer, that her imagination wasn't quite that far from the truth, though not as elegant or beautiful. But the image of Summer dressed up as a literal alien knight brought a light blush to her cheeks.

Then she imagined Summer Rose in an outfit like Wonder Woman's, and the blush only darkened. She bit her lip, and began writing again.

How did you get here?

I don't know.

Can you go back?

I hope so.

Penny bit her lower lip once more, noting the sorrow in Summer's eyes. If she wasn't sure how she got here, then that confirmed that this Remnant didn't have a space program like the Outsiders did. So at least Earth wouldn't have to worry about another alien invasion.

But that wasn't what worried Penny in the moment.

Do you miss it?

Yes.

What do you miss the most?

She almost regretted asking as Summer wrote with tears forming in her eyes.

My family. My husband and two daughters. They have no idea I'm alive, they must think I'm dead at this point, and I have no way to tell them where I am.

Penny's heart shattered. Not just for the situation Summer found herself in, but also for any prospect of a relationship between her and the woman by her side. She had a feeling that Summer hadn't felt that way towards women - people like Penny were hard enough to find - but she should have realized that of course someone as amazing and beautiful and wonderful as Summer would have found love already. Even if they were on another world, the gorgeous Rose's love for her family was apparent, as visible as the shimmering silver eyes that fought to keep back tears.

The comms operator reached over and took Summer's hand in both of hers, squeezing it gently and drawing shapes on the palm. The heartbreak of yet another stillborn romance would fade, like it had so many times before. Right now, Summer Rose needed a friend.

And Penny was determined to be that friend.

Summer finally let the tears burst through her mental dam, reaching forward and hugging Penny while crying in relief of finally being able to bear her true pain. The comms operator returned the embrace, rocking her softly just as she'd done for her. Her top became stained with mucus and tears, Summer's feeble whimpers and sobs almost prompted Penny to do the same, and the grip around her waist was so forceful it felt like she might snap in half. She didn't mind too much. She pressed her cheek against Summer's, running fingers through the black-red hair carefully and putting her lips next to the alien woman's ear.

"I love you, Summer," she whispered as softly as she could, "You've been...the most wonderful light in this darkness. Not just for me, but for everyone. The entire base loves you, Summer. Maybe not the same way I do, but it's there. You inspire everybody - from people like Mister Carter to people like me - to do more, to be more. To keep fighting, even when there's nothing left worth fighting for. And...it's okay if you don't love me as much as I love you, or the same way I do. I'll always be your best friend, your pillar of support, your confidant. And I won't tell anyone else what you've told me. Not a soul. Not until you're ready to tell them, if you ever get to that point. And when you do...you have my full support."

She planted a gentle kiss on Summer's cheek, lingering for a moment before forcing herself back, pressing cheeks once more.

"I promise, I'll be here until the end."

Penny could make out a brief choked "thank you" before a fresh wave of tears spilled out, though thankfully this seemed to be the last of the sorrow Summer had been concealing. She pulled back, wiping her face on her sleeve, and gave her best attempt at a glowing smile. The expression was bittersweet, and contained the all-too-familiar "I wish I could love you back" look the young woman had grown accustomed to, but it still held so much charm that Penny had to fight the urge to go in for another hug.

Instead, her excitement flowed over into her pen.

So tell me more about Remnant. How many people are there? What's the climate like? What about the food? Can you describe the ecosystem? The economy? How many continents are there? Have you figured out astronomy yet? What's your solar system like? How many planets orbit your sun? How many moons do you have? And where is Remnant relative to the other planets? Do you have any kind of standardized measurement system? Language? Mathematics? Science?

Summer's expression of relief soon morphed into one of shock at just how fast Penny was writing. Then she smiled, shook her head, and picked up her own pen.

Well, maybe I should start at the beginning. Like I said before, the people on Remnant live under the protection of four separate kingdoms. There's Atlas to the north, Mistral to the east, Vacuo to the west, and Vale - that's where I come from - right in the middle of the other kingdoms. Each kingdom has its own values and beliefs, but they all try to live in harmony with each other - and they're mostly successful, though more out of necessity than principle…

For the next several hours, the two women "talked" endlessly about Remnant, and how it was different and similar to Earth. Penny didn't understand all of it, but she understood that talking about it made Summer happy.

And for now? That was more than enough.


"You're married, Mike? You never mentioned that."

Nico DaSilva spared a glance from the open road to look at the bewildered expression on Kinney's face in the rear-view mirror, smiling at Redmont's bemused expression.

"Yep, been married fifteen years now," said the dark-skinned, kind Support agent of Strike Two. "My beautiful Katy and I met during med school, when I was training up to be a field medic to join the Allies. Course, by the time I finished up my basic training, Hitler had already given up and the war was already won, but I didn't mind too much. Gave me more time to settle down and start thinking of my future...and that future involved her."

Kinney smiled. "Cool! How'd you do it?"

Redmont chuckled, his deep yet gentle voice carrying over the rushing wind. "Oh, you know. A few drinks, a lot of talking, and we discovered there was something there. Didn't help that I ended up serenading her…"

"No way! You can sing?"

"That's what folks say, anyways."

"Well come on then! Don't leave me in suspense, sing us a little number!"

Redmont smiled, then cleared his throat, and started singing in a rich honeyed voice. Kinney and DaSilva laughed at first as they recognized the song, then joined in by the end.

K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy

You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore

When the m-m-m-moon shines over the cow shed

I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door

K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy

You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore

When the m-m-m-moon shines over the cow shed

I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door

The three men in the red Bel Air laughed uproariously as the song ended, their laughter carried away on the wind.

"Man…" said Kinney as he shook his head, "Nils and Liz are going steady, you've apparently been married this whole time, Nico's divorced and getting girls every other week...and here I am, never getting kissed by any girl but my momma!"

"Ah, you're young," said Redmont encouragingly, "You'll find love in your own time. Keep your chin up, you'll find someone."

"What about that silver-eyed girl in Strike Three?" DaSilva teased as he looked back at the road. "You seem pretty interested in Summer Rose."

"That's-!" Kinney blushed and tried to hide his face. "I don't! I can't...I mean, have you seen her in action? You think I have a shot with that?"

"Never know until you try," advised Redmont. "Maybe you can impress her with your singing voice."

As much as DaSilva wanted to keep talking, he tapped the side of the car. "Lessons will have to wait, though. We're close."

With that, he steered his car off the side of the road, driving the "borrowed" convertible up to the top of a hill before stopping at the overlook.

There, the three men looked across the field...and gasped.

It was an impressive sight, to be sure. Miles and miles of wheat and corn and other staple crops, not too far from the harvest and stretching as far as the eye could see. But the beauty of the world wasn't what provoked a reaction. That was the job of the thirteen perfect circles that dotted the landscape in strange, almost haphazard arrangements in the fields. More of them extended into the horizon, out of visual range in the setting sun. And along the edges of the crop circles extended thin rows of trampled stalks, forming perfect pathways that were almost invisible to the naked eye.

"I thought that old farmer back in town said there were only nine circles," said Kinney in disbelief.

"He did," confirmed Redmont, "Which means that there's more of them now than there were when this first happened."

"And if each of those crop circles are cloaked ships…" mused DaSilva, "and each ship is carrying a building crew…"

He pulled a specially-modified pair of binoculars from the pack on the front passenger's seat, activating the thermal vision mode as he zoomed in on the foremost circle. There seemed to be some kind of rudimentary start of a structure, and he could see shuffling humanoid figures lining the pathways between the circles. Whatever the aliens planned on building, they'd already started, and DaSilva doubted that they'd cleared their construction with the Roswell City Council.

"But why hide themselves in the first place?" Kinney asked. "Why now? They've had no qualms about just attacking out in the open before. Why not just raze Roswell and build over it?"

"Maybe they need the people that live there?" Redmont offered. "Maybe they need the infrastructure. Or they've changed tactics. What do you think, Nico? ...Nico?"

DaSilva didn't hear the question at first over the insanely loud humming in his ears. It wasn't painful or especially disruptive, but it was unsettling. His teeth rattled and his spine reflexively shivered, but he did his best to keep his composure until the strange sound finally went away.

"Sir? Sir! Sir, you okay?" Kinney's voice was on the edge of panic.

The Squad Leader shook his head. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just got a ringing in my ear for some reason." He looked back at the young Engineer and forced a smirk. "Must be someone talking about me back at base."

Kinney didn't seem all that reassured. Redmont didn't look convinced. "Nico, I think we really ought to take a look at you. You've been spacing out a lot lately. We still don't know what being this close to alien ships does to people, and we should take every available precaution to -"

"I'm fine, dammit!" DaSilva snapped back, in a tone of voice that surprised even him. Ignoring the shocked look on his teammate's faces, he took a breath and continued in his usual voice. "Besides, I heard your question loud and clear. And I don't think they're trying to hide from the people."

He focused his binoculars just in time to see someone shamble towards the edge of the nearest crop circle, then vanish altogether.

"I think they're trying to hide from us."

The binoculars clicked, then printed out a fresh photograph that came out looking like a black square. DaSilva grabbed it and fanned the photo a few times, the image becoming clearer in seconds. He handed it over to Kinney and Redmont, who studied it closely.

"Definitely looks like they're using Sleepwalkers to help with construction," said Kinney. "But why?"

DaSilva smirked as he turned the keys in the ignition, the Bel Air's engine roaring back to life as he switched gears.

"Well...why don't we go and find out?"