(A/N): Well...so much for getting this done by the end of December.

Happy new year dear readers, and welcome to 2021! Sorry that this took longer than I thought it would - I had a rather difficult fight with writer's block just before the holiday season hit, followed up by a brief brush with "the plague" that left me feeling quite unmerry for the rest of 2020. Don't worry, I'm fine - I self-quarantined like a good little boy, and took a week off of work to rest, recover, and play video games. But now I'm back and much better, and I no longer feel like death, so let's start 2021 off on a high note with a brand-new chapter! This one's nowhere near as long as the last two chapters have been (thank the Lord) but it's just as vital - maybe even more so.

Hold onto your hats!


The atmosphere of the Bureau following Strike Three's return from Roswell was muted and somber. While the tech and science teams were definitely glad to have something as important as the phase plotter for the Avenger project, the rest of the base mourned the Agents lost in the effort to retrieve it. Doctors and orderlies in the medical wing held a quiet candlelight vigil for Michael Redmond, the sweet, sensitive Support Agent who always had a kind word and a bandage ready to heal any type of wound. The people working in Engineering chose to honor John Kinney in a different way, configuring five different television sets around the base to the pirate station broadcasting old serials of "Captain Thunderclap", the Engineer's favorite childhood movie series. And down in the mess hall, soldiers and operators and everyone in between raised glasses, shared drinks, and swapped stories about their experiences with Strike Two - and in particular, their experiences with Nico DaSilva, the eccentric but effective squad leader who captured the hearts of women and could spin an explosive out of just about anything.

Thomas Nils was not among any of these people.

Instead, he carefully guided his wheelchair down the hallway to the intersection between the medical bay, the hangar, and the morgue. There, at the crossroads between the three inevitable places an Agent could go after an op, hung a single large corkboard with a myriad of tacks pinned into the soft material. Each tack had a set of dog tags hanging from the metallic needle, along with a picture of the tags' former owner cut from their recruitment documents. Certain excerpts of their files were cut and pasted next to their pictures, detailing basic info, number of operations, and the date of their untimely passing.

It wasn't much of a memorial wall, but given the Bureau's lack of extravagant resources, it was better than nothing.

And yet...even if they had a floor-to-ceiling monument with plated name plaques, it would still feel hollow and worthless compared to the cost of every name on that list.

"Hey. Does Liz know you're up here?"

The former Recon agent craned his head back to see Summer approaching in her usual casual wear - a white tank top with gray cargo pants. Sighing, Nils stared at the ground, not saying anything until the silver-eyed woman stepped up next to him.

"I'm sure she's aware," Nils finally said in a quiet, broken voice. "She knows me better than I know myself, sometimes. And she hasn't come up here to fetch me or wheel me back to medical, so…she probably already knows how I'm doing."

Summer nodded, then went quiet for a moment. She eventually looked down to Nils, concern clear in her expression.

"And...how are you doing? I can't imagine that this is easy."

"It isn't," sighed Nils, "It's like...everything hurts. Even the numb parts, my legs and feet...the parts I'm not supposed to feel anything in anymore. And every single time I get reminded of those names that got put up there last night, it...gets worse…"

Summer leaned down and put a hand on Nils's shoulder, rubbing gently. "Wanna talk about some of those names? Will that help?"

Nils shrugged. "Might as well find out. Let's see…"

With a thoughtful hum, he scanned the names of the dead, trying to think of a story for each one he could recognize. He explained to Summer how Strike Two hadn't really been made a formal strike team until after the Groom Range attack - in the months leading up to the invasion, they were just "DaSilva's boys." Most of their work revolved around looking into odd weather balloons and strange sightings, often traveling across the country to investigate. He'd come to learn a lot about them this way, which made for easy material to pull a story to tell Summer from. Like how Redmond patched up the leg of a wounded coyote down in Flagstaff, or how a Soviet spy had pointed a gun at Ryan's head in Reno only to be shocked as the young man didn't do so much as flinch. DaSilva ended up getting three stories dedicated to him - one involved him capturing the hearts of no less than three married women at a charity ball in Salt Lake City, another had him blowing an entrance to the Elerium mine in Bannack using a half-empty gas tank and a "borrowed" car battery, and the final story detailed the time Dresner gave him a hallucinogenic gas for an experiment at an R&D facility in Hangar Six.

"It was...kinda odd watching him run around a completely empty room, not gonna lie," admitted Nils. "For like twelve hours he was just shouting orders to soldiers who weren't there, shooting weapons he didn't have at enemies that never appeared." He chuckled. "It looked like a kid who had too much sugar in his cereal playing soldier. But Dresner got something from the experiment - told DaSilva that Patient Zero really appreciated...whatever he was doing. Guess he thought it would help."

Summer smiled. "And did it?"

"I think so," said Nils, "Whatever the Kraut had DaSilva doing, it ended up working somehow. Patient Zero was one of the first victims of that 'Sleepwalker' virus, though we didn't realize it back then. The data was enough to help us understand a bit about sleeper agents, encoded orders, and ultimately, the signals we thought caused the condition in the first place. Helped us realize the Reds weren't our enemy...well, not for that, at least." He shook his head. "Maybe that exposure was what gave him the edge he needed to fight off the virus for as long as he did…"

The silver-eyed woman nodded sympathetically, blinking tears out of her eyes. She looked to the last one, the one that pained Nils the most to look at.

"And what about Kinney? Got any stories about him?"

A fresh wave of pain stabbed at Nils's heart, and he felt tears start to leak from his eyes. He wiped his face on his sleeve, sniffling.

"I...I could tell you a thousand stories about John, and I'd still have more to tell. He...we pretty much grew up together, me and him and Liz. Met each other on the playground during recess, and just sort of stuck together ever since. We didn't make many other friends in those days - John was a dorky goofball with glasses too big and clothes too small, Liz was teased by the other girls for not being 'pretty' enough, and I was a skinny little hothead who'd pick a fight with anyone who talked badly about either of them. We were outcasts who sort of fell in with each other...and as the years went by, we got closer and closer."

Nils bit his lower lip, shaking his head. "Thought it would make things awkward when me and Liz started dating, but he...took it really well. Gave us space when we asked for it, always ended up coming with when we changed our minds and wanted him there. He was like...like a brother I never had. Liz would always call him her 'backup boyfriend,' in case I wasn't available to take her out. Then when she went off to med school, me and John went into the Army together. We were supposed to set out for the Korean War...but it ended just as we were finishing up boot camp. But we showed enough promise for Faulke to notice us - and when he made an offer for us to join the Bureau, one of our requests was that Liz come on, and that we stay together."

Summer watched as a single tear slipped down Nils's cheek, prompting another frustrated sob and wipe on the sleeve.

"I've known John Kinney longer than I haven't known him," he finished with a choked noise. "And now...now he's gone. But I'm still here. And I don't know what to do now…"

A warm hand pressed against his cheek, turning his face towards Summer's. Her gaze was compassionate. Warm. So much like Liz's, and yet...

"You do the only thing you can do," offered the silver-eyed woman. "Keep moving forward, whatever it takes. It's going to be hard...it's going to be painful. But you're strong. Everyone can see that. Liz can see that. And wherever John is now...I'll bet that he can see that too."

Nils wanted to find comfort in Summer's words. He really did. But the darkness of his own mind, the rage and guilt at being stuck in that god-forsaken chair came to the forefront, drowning out any light that came from those eyes.

"Easy enough for you to say," he sighed as he pulled her hand off his face. "You...probably don't even remember having that kind of friendship, do you?"

Summer's lower lips trembled, and she pulled away, squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face into her hands.

"Sorry…" muttered Nils apologetically, "That...wasn't fair of me to...I'll just go now. Let you pay your respects in peace."

He had just begun to spin his chair around to go back to medical when he heard Summer speak through her tears.

"Nils...I'm sorry. I did everything I could to save DaSilva, Steel...Kinney and Redmond, I...I wish we had gotten there sooner... I'm so...so sorry…"

With a heavy sigh, the former Recon agent pushed forward on the wheels, carrying him further away from the list of names of the dead.

"Yeah, well…I guess even you can't save everyone."


Despite morale being at an all-time low, the days continued without incident.

The destruction of the shipyard had left the Outsiders scattered and confused, as well as marooning the remaining active UFOs and depriving them of a place to refuel. Unfortunately, rather than simply "peter out" as the Bureau was hoping, the stranded ships elected to cross the oceans, or simply return to high orbit where the radio towers could not track them. Presumably, the flying saucers had already constructed shipyards on other landmasses, but with global communications still down, there was no way of confirming. Either way, the war entered an oddly quiet phase for the next week, with few, if any, Outsider attacks spotted or operations conducted.

Weir and Dresner were quick to take advantage of the calm amidst the storm, working with their teams around the clock to expand their knowledge of Outsider technology. They split their time between two different projects: understanding the phase plotter, and reverse-engineering the new guns and gear Strike Three had retrieved from Roswell. The weapons and items were easy enough to figure out - while the "plasma" guns from the Command Ship garrison were a little trickier to rewire, creating more shield spheres and cloaking modules and gatling lasers was hardly an issue. But after a week of trial and error, the Project Avenger teams were finally forced to admit defeat on the other, far more important front.

"We can't integrate the phase plotter into the Avenger," said Weir in a defeated sigh, setting the little black box on the desk in front of the group gathered in Faulke's office.

Summer bit her lower lip and looked at Shen, who was staring down at his feet off to the good doctor's side. The other Strike Team leads and their ASLs were there, as was the Director himself, seated with folded hands behind his desk. Carter toyed with the new hat in his hands (which looked identical to the other hats he'd worn and lost in the field), Loveday and Briggs gave each other nervous looks, Weaver scowled and attempted to burn a hole in the floor with her gaze, and Cole took a long drink from his flask.

"Is it a matter of 'you cannot' integrate the phase plotter?" asked Strike Four's ASL, an older German man nicknamed "Commisar" (for reasons Summer didn't quite understand), "Or a matter that you simply don't know how to do so?"

"Based on my research, I'm inclined to believe the latter, herr Stauffer," answered Dresner. "This war has proved many impossible things as possible with the right tools and information. Unfortunately, for this particular conundrum, we lack both."

Summer watched as Vahlen slid a clipboard across the desk to the only sitting man in the room. "So far, all the Outsider tech has operated on a 'plug and play' kind of system. As long as you have a device capable of linking into the psionic network, and a source of elerium, you can control basically any piece of tech. It's how all our gear works, how we're able to use the alien weapons, even how Weir was able to manipulate the Command Ship in the first place. But the phase plotter's not responding to any of our attempts to connect with it - no matter what we try, we just can't get it to 'talk' to the Avenger, or even any of our other tech."

"So it runs on a different network than the rest of our stuff?" Bradford asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Basically, yes," confirmed Shen. "And we don't know how to access it."

"Maybe we don't," said Faulke, glasses gleaming in the dim light, "But I'll bet that our 'guest' might know a thing or two."

Summer's eyes lit up. "The Infiltrator."

"Precisely." Faulke took a draft of his cigarette. "His implant was a high enough rank to get us access to a Command Ship, plus he's the only Zudjari we've met capable of speaking English. If we want answers about the phase plotter, we'll have to get them out of him."

"Simple enough," nodded Loveday, "but it took Crawford weeks to get more than two-word answers out of him. And she's the only one he talks to."

"He'll talk to me," growled Weaver dangerously.

Faulke raised a hand. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Weaver, but this requires a bit more...discretion than your past interrogations." He looked to Carter. "I'm giving you and Rose forty-five minutes to get the info out of him. Think you can do that?"

Carter clenched his jaw and nodded. Summer, after a moment's hesitation, did the same.

"Good. Head on down to the brig while the rest of us finish up here. I'll radio Mark and Sean to let them know you're coming, and you can get started." Faulke snuffed his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. "Dismissed."

Carter snapped a sharp salute as he grabbed the phase plotter off the desk, with his silver-eyed ASL following suit. Summer could feel everyone's eyes watching her as they left, particularly the burning gaze of Weaver. On some level, she could understand the Officer's anger - like everyone else in the base, Weaver was mourning the loss of DaSilva, and was working through her grief in her own way. Said way, unfortunately, called for acts of extreme violence against the alien race that was responsible for the war...and with no missions in the pipeline, there was only one outlet for her stress, and she was being denied that outlet in favor of keeping the prisoner alive for answers. Faulke was right - the Infiltrator had secrets that it was unwilling to divulge, and no amount of bruises or wounds would spill them. This called for a different approach.

"So," said Carter out loud once they were in the elevator together. "I don't suppose you'd remember if you've ever interrogated someone before, would you?"

Only everytime I wanted to talk to Qrow or Raven in our first year at Beacon, Summer thought with a small bittersweet smile. Out loud, she shook her head.

"That's what I figured, just couldn't hurt to ask."

She looked at her squad leader with a reassuring smile. "Believe me," she lied, "if I ever recover my memory, you'll be the first to know."

Carter nodded, making an odd motion where he tapped the top of his closed fist against his open palm. Summer had seen this strange behaviour a few times before, but hadn't said anything, figuring it was just a way for the gray-hatted man to keep his hands busy. He didn't seem aware that he was doing it, even, nor did he seem to notice that he'd done it much more frequently in the last week or so. It struck Summer as a nervous habit, an unconscious behavior he couldn't control...and the fact that he seemed to do it anytime he talked to her only solidified that theory.

"What about you?" asked Summer, taking her eyes off Carter's hands. "I assume you had to do a few 'interrogations' back in your CIA days."

Another nod. "More than a few, yeah. Cartel leaders and mob bosses will say just about anything if you can make them squirm a little."

That was...a disconcerting thought. Still, she wasn't about to complain about her partner being good at a job they were about to do.

"Well then, I think I'll just follow your lead on this one," said Summer with a smile. "How do we wanna handle this?"

Carter hummed for a moment, then looked at Summer. "I'm thinking we go in together, and take two different approaches. One of us goes persuasion and tries to appeal to the Infiltrator's better judgement, while the other's there to put the screws in as needed."

Ah, so good Hunter, bad Hunter.

"Sounds like a plan," said Summer. "Which do you wanna take?"

"It'd be better if we swap as needed," said Carter. "I can start with being aggressive while you play peacekeeper, then switch if it's not working. Unless you wanna start off being willing to bring the pain?"

Summer smirked. "I'm fine with that. We all know how much of a people person you are."

Carter didn't bother to respond, simply nodding and staring at the elevator control panel as it descended deeper into the steel and concrete fortress, rumbling and creaking with every inch. When the doors eventually slid open, he took the lead as Summer trailed behind, traversing the maze of hallways, corridors, and checkpoints in near-complete silence. The two guards posted by the doorway of the Infiltrator's holding cell saluted the pair and unbolted the complex series of locks and bolts, ushering them inside a small decontamination chamber after a moment filled with the sound of mechanical clicking and clacking.

"For security reasons, we'll have to close the doors behind you," said the guard on the left, "But we've got a monitoring team over there listening to everything that happens in there. You need or want out, just say so."

"Good luck in there!" the other guard chirped enthusiastically. "If anyone can get answers out of that alien bastard, it's XCOM's own Bogie and Betty."

Summer felt her cheeks heat up at the comparison, and before either her or Carter could get a word out, the door slammed behind them. This was followed by a cold mist that killed whatever bacteria might have been trying to smuggle their way past the checkpoint, leaving the pair partially drenched and fully embarrassed.

"Bogie and Betty, huh?" Carter asked with a quirked eyebrow towards Summer.

"Hey, don't look at me," she said defensively. "I didn't start any rumors."

"...do you even know who those people are?"

"Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall," answered Summer perfectly. "One of the most popular silver-screen real-life couples of the 50's. Penny told me about them."

"Of course she did," said Carter with a shake of his head. He looked at the thick bulletproof glass wall on one side of the decontamination chamber to see a Faulke-shaped blur walk in and take a seat at one of the listening desks. The people from the earlier meeting, including Weaver and Weir, were also present...and it didn't escape Summer's notice that all of them were armed with both conventional and alien weapons.

"Carter, Rose, we'll open the other door from our end when you're ready," said the Director over the speaker from the corner of the room. "The Infiltrator is already awake and prepped for interrogation, and you'll find an emergency weapons cache next to the door in case the captive tries to escape. Your forty-five minutes will start as soon as you walk inside."

The pair of agents nodded in unison, and the door to the holding cell proper slid open with a pneumatic hiss. Once they were through, the gateway to freedom slammed shut behind them, locking them in with the alien.

Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that the alien was locked in with them.

The Infiltrator sat on a simple steel chair with minimal padding, a cord of wire rope binding its arms behind its back and securing it to the cold metal furniture. Four standing stage lights provided the only illumination in the room, all four beams casting near-blinding light on the table in front of the prisoner that was just as cold and featureless as its seat. Another chair that was equally uncomfortable sat across from the Outsider...but unlike its twin, this one wasn't bolted to the concrete floor with spikes the size of a toddler.

The only other feature in the room was the alien itself, vertical mouth expanding in and out with each breath as beaming red eyes sized up the new arrivals.

"You have questions for me," it drawled.

"We wouldn't be in here otherwise," said Carter pointedly as he took a seat, folding his hands as he rested his elbows on the table. "Unless you want to play 'dress-up' again, or go for another round with my ASL here."

"It would not be much of a battle," croned the Infiltrator. "All my weapons and gear were confiscated, and the systems that allowed me to hide were corrupted by the barbaric procedures of your 'scientists.' If you wish revenge for your fallen warriors, go ahead and take it. Nothing you do will stop the Zudjari, and nothing you say will make me turn against Mosaic. Your feeble attempt at playing war against us is barely more than a nuisance."

Summer scoffed and rolled her eyes, shifting the weight of her stance. "Sure, go ahead and gloat all you want about your 'superior technology' and your 'unstoppable army.' Meanwhile, we've got you tied to a chair with a rope, and not even your Sectopods or your Titans were as invincible as you think. But don't worry - we're not here for revenge. Not today, at least."

She nodded to Carter, who pulled the black box out of his pocket and placed it on the table with a soft clang. The Infiltrator's mouth flaps quivered for a moment, before returning to its normal vertical position.

"And what is this?" asked the alien with a quirked eyebrow.

"We were hoping you could tell us, actually," said Carter as he leaned back in an attempt to appear casual and friendly. "DaSilva called it a 'phase plotter' in his notes, and before we blew up that shipyard in Roswell, he told us how important it was. How it makes your ships fly and travel through space. And today, you're gonna tell us how it does that...whether you like it or not."

The Infiltrator chuckled. "You storm our strongholds, steal our technology, with no idea of how it works. How very...human of you."

"We'll take that as a compliment," said Summer with a smirk.

If the Infiltrator's vertical lips could have formed a smile, Summer had no doubt it would have done so.

"So what's it gonna be?" Carter asked with narrowed eyes. "You gonna tell us how to use this thing when we ask nicely? Or are we gonna have to give you some new bruises to think about while you're in here?"

Another reverberating chuckle escaped the alien's lips as it shook its head. "You are wasting your time. Even if I told you how the phase plotter works, the knowledge would be useless to you. You think you hold the key to our defeat, but you have nothing. Your fellow soldiers died in vain."

Carter looked up to Summer, nodding subtly. Responding in kind, the silver-eyed woman walked around to the other side of the table, grabbing a handful of alien flesh and slamming the Infiltrator's head against the metal surface. A resounding thud echoed off the walls, the sound of crackling cartilage filled Summer's ears, and when she pulled the prisoner's head back, a small dent in the steel and a few drops of blue blood were left behind.

The Infiltrator licked its bleeding gash with a long, tentacle-like tongue. "...was that supposed to hurt?"

"It was supposed to be a warning," scowled Summer as she narrowed her eyes. "A preview of what's to come if you don't tell us what we want to know."

"Pah." The alien shook its head. "I have been a conqueror and an infiltrator for hundreds of your human years. While your kind were slaughtering one another over a slice of religiously-significant land, I was toppling governments and paving the way for armies and fleets. There is nothing you can do to me, no pain you can inflict, that I have not already felt. Your strength is meaningless, as is your attempts at resistance."

Summer looked back at Carter with another nod, watching as the man changed tactics. He now leaned forward with his hands clenched into fists, narrowing his gaze.

"Alright, then how about we cut a deal?" Carter growled. "You tell us what we want to know, and we won't splatter your brains across the back wall. That sound fair?"

The Infiltrator cackled. "Please. If killing me was ever an option, someone would have done it by now. Your 'Bureau' wants me alive. They would not let you seriously follow up on such an...empty threat."

"Then maybe we could sweeten the deal," said Summer coquettishly, twirling her hair around her finger. "Get you a nicer room, one with a window. Maybe even bring you some reading material? You could learn more about the people you're trying to conquer."

"I know enough," snarled the Infiltrator. "I do not need to read your literary garbage to understand the minds of such simple-minded creatures. And on the fleet, I was waited on hand and foot by Sectoids and had a clear view of the cosmos as we traveled. Unless you can replicate that, I have no interest in your petty gestures of goodwill."

Ouch. Penny is not gonna be happy to learn this asshole thinks books are trash.

Summer shook her head as she looked back at Carter, biting her lower lips. Neither of them had to say anything - they could tell their approach wasn't working. Any threats they made, the Infiltrator could see through. And any promises they could make, the Infiltrator would dismiss out of hand. They needed a new approach, and quickly.

"Fine. Let's reframe the situation," growled Carter. "You have something we need. What will it take to get you to talk?"

The Infiltrator shifted, then looked to Summer. "I wish to speak with her. Alone."

Carter looked at Summer, who nodded. He tilted his head back towards the door, signaling the need to reconvene. She obliged, stepping around the Infiltrator (after making sure the rope was still tightly bound around its wrists) and joined him at the exit.

"You're not thinking of humoring him, are you?" Carter asked in a harsh whisper. "You know it's a trick."

"It absolutely is," agreed Summer, "But whatever our little friend is planning, I can handle it. He wants to talk to just me? Well...he'd better be careful what he wishes for. And don't worry - I'll stay in control."

The gray-hatted man pursed his lips in a frown, then sighed. "Fine. But the first sign of trouble, I'm coming in here and putting a bullet right between that freak's eyes."

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't already do that," said Summer with a small smirk. "Go. I got this."

"I know you do," relented Carter. "Just...be careful."

Summer nodded as the door slid open with another hiss. Carter reluctantly stepped through the doorway before it slammed shut again, leaving only the Huntress and the Infiltrator in the dark.

She turned and stepped back towards the table, taking a seat and crossing her legs. The Infiltrator simply gave no reaction, content to stare at Summer, a deathly glare that she was all too eager to return. The silence stretched for minutes that felt like hours, before the silver-eyed Huntress finally dared to break it.

"Y'know, if I'd have known you just wanted to ask me out, I would have worn a nice pair of heels," she said with a mock pout.

The Infiltrator groaned. "Don't flatter yourself. You humans are hideous."

The silver-eyed stunner scoffed. "Buddy, have you looked in a mirror lately? They're not exactly gonna be using your face to sell magazines anytime soon."

"Humans shun and shame what they do not understand," drawled the alien. "What is different, what is not considered 'normal.'" It chuckled. "I'm sure you know all about that."

Summer frowned, sending a warning glare before sitting straight in her chair. "Let's cut the chit-chat. You wanted to talk to me, right? Well...here I am. Start talking to me."

"Why are you here?"

She let out a soft laugh, smiling. "That's one of life's greatest mysteries, isn't it? Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic -"

"You know what I mean!" hissed the Infiltrator sharply, lurching forward as far as it could in its seat. "You can pretend and lie all you want to these humans, but you cannot change the fact that, like me, you came from another world!"

Summer stopped smiling. Her blood turned to ice, and her heart pounded inside her ears. The Infiltrator had just revealed her secret, exposed the lie she'd tried to build for herself, while some of the most powerful people in the Bureau were in the other room listening to every word being said. And with that outburst, the only way for her identity to remain a secret was if every single person in the monitoring room was either deaf or not paying attention. Given what she knew about Faulke, Weaver, Carter, and everyone else, neither of those circumstances were very likely.

She was trapped, in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

It all came together for her in that moment. The alien's intentions to her became clear - it was still committed to sowing discord against its captors, trying to turn them against each other without lifting a finger. Trying to turn them against her.

Well. If that was how the Infiltrator wanted to play, then Summer was more than ready to step up to the plate.

"...so how'd you figure it out?" she asked curiously, not even bothering to whisper. The monitoring team knew. The secret was out. No point in pretending anymore.

"Oh, it wasn't too hard to figure out," drawled the decidedly-less-attractive alien in the room. "Your combat prowess, your skill, your strength and speed...it far exceeds that of the average human of this world. But I have seen it before, once...when our kind first set sights on your world."

Summer raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what? You're saying you've seen Huntsmen and Huntresses before? On Remnant?"

The Infiltrator nodded. "Our kind has visited your world once before, hundreds of your human years ago. I was among those selected to scout it, and if necessary, destabilize it and its people. We sought it out for much the same reason we now come for Earth - abundant resources, favorable living conditions, and an... undeveloped native populace that would not oppose us. We thought it would be an easy conquest, but…"

"...you didn't account for the Grimm," said Summer, realization dawning on her.

Glowing red eyes flared as the alien scowled. "Those damnable creatures tore our outposts and expedition parties to shreds. We only sent four waves before concluding that Remnant was a death world, unfit for conquest. Remnant humans were not the dominant species, as we had thought - that planet belonged to the Grimm, and even we knew better than to try to take it from them."

So Remnant had been host to alien visitors once before. Interesting. In any other circumstance, this would have been a world-shattering revelation, something that blew her mind and made her rethink her place in the cosmos. But she was a stranger in a strange land herself, so the fact that the Outsiders had tried and failed to take over her world wasn't as surprising as she expected it to be. If anything, it amused her that not even a race as war-hungry and desperate as the Zudjari would risk fighting the Grimm - the monsters that plagued Remnant's nightmares were so good at what they did, even aliens didn't want to share a world with them.

I wonder if Ozpin or Salem ever knew about this, she thought idly. But that was a thought for another time.

"Yeah, the Grimm tended to do that to us, too," laughed Summer as she shook her head. "Although clearly, my people have found a way to survive. Maybe you should have tried a little harder."

Glowing red eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. But you still have not answered my question. Why are you here?"

Summer pursed her lips as the interrogator became the interrogated. "I...I don't know," she answered truthfully. "That's one of the things I've been asking myself ever since I showed up. One minute, I'm dying at the hands of Salem and her horde of Grimm...the next, I'm waking up in Carter's guest room in Groom Range, just moments before you attacked. Everything between those two points of time is a total blank...like a missing memory."

The Infiltrator blinked slowly. "So you know nothing."

The silver-eyed Huntress shook her head.

"Would you like to know?"

Those same silver eyes widened. "You...you know?"

"I do not," said the Zudjari with a honeyed voice, "but Mosaic would. Mosaic knows everything. Mosaic is eternal. I have seen what you can do, even with your...powers...diminished. Your abilities would be better suited to aiding the Zudjari, rather than opposing them. We can use Mosaic to restore your powers. We can give you the reason you are here. And when this world is ours...we can even take you home. It is an easy choice, Summer Rose. Make your decision."

The Infiltrator was right. It was an easy choice.

An easy to reject choice, at least.

"You honestly think I'd be dumb enough to listen to you and your culty bullshit?" Summer narrowed her eyes. "Even if you were in a position to fulfill that promise - which, by the way, you're not, you're sitting there tied to a fucking chair - I still wouldn't even think of joining up with you! So no. I will get the answers I'm looking for...when we pull your precious 'Mosaic' out of your Temple Ship and bring it here myself."

The Zudjari didn't seem all that surprised or hurt by her outburst. In fact, it only seemed more curious.

"Fascinating…" it hummed. "This is not your world. These are not your people. Yet you act and defend them as if they were. You are alone, a single Huntress adrift in a sea of humans that could very well turn against you simply for being different. Yet you continue to fight for them. Why is that?"

Silver eyes narrowed in turn, before their owner stood up and began pacing. She hummed for a good solid minute, before she finally spoke in a clear, confident voice.

"Because they may as well be my people."

The Infiltrator glared. "Elaborate."

"I should have died on Remnant," explained Summer, "I had failed my mission. That should have been the end for me. But...something brought me here. It's the only way I can explain it. Something brought me back to life, and put me here. And I think...no, I know...that it did so because it knew you were coming. It brought me here to fight you...and that's what I plan on doing."

She looked down at her feet and sighed as she paced.

"You're not...entirely wrong in your assessment of humanity," she continued, her eyes scanning the floor. "The people of Earth can be callous, careless, and cruel. Not to say that my people are perfect, of course - if we were, we wouldn't have to worry about the Grimm in the first place. But without the threat of monsters that devour them and prey on their negativity, they have allowed hate and rage and sorrow and fear to spiral out of their control, and into the world around them. And that's...manifested itself in some terrible, tragic ways. Two world wars. Centuries of oppression and persecution upon their fellow man. They have poisoned their oceans and torn up their lands, destroyed great works of culture without regard for their legacy, and they will silence ideas and entire ways of life simply because they can't agree or reach a compromise. Hell, before you even showed up, two of the largest global superpowers were staring each other down, seemingly waiting for a chance to rain devastation and obliterate the world. That's why the Bureau was founded in the first place - because two groups of humanity decided they couldn't trust each other."

Summer paused to let her words sink in, for both of her audiences, before she raised her gaze to look the Infiltrator square in the eyes.

"But they also have that same spark, that same drive, that has allowed my people to not only survive on Remnant, but thrive. For every destroyer in this world, there is a builder. For every killer, a protector. For every wrong the people of the past have committed, there is an attempt to make it right for the future. And in many ways, the lack of monsters waiting to devour them in the shadows have allowed them to do so much more than we ever could. They can found settlements and cities wherever they want, explore their oceans and their skies without fear of finding new horrors, and they've even begun to set their sights on reaching the stars. Their science, medicine, and technology, while different from those of Remnant, are just as advanced as ours, especially considering they don't have Aura or Dust to lean on as a crutch. They have a greater understanding of the world around them, its forces and its secrets, down to the very building blocks of life itself. And even now, when faced with an alien invasion, when outsiders like you descend from the sky and demand to take their world, they have chosen to plant their feet in the dirt and defiantly proclaim 'Just try and take it. See what happens.'"

The silver-eyed woman stopped pacing, planting both hands on the desk as she stood over her chair and stared down the Infiltrator. "My name is Summer Rose, and I am a Huntress. I took an oath to serve humanity, to protect those that cannot protect themselves. Whether those people are from Earth or Remnant, I will uphold that oath until my dying breath. I've done so before, for my family, for the ones I love, when I marched into Salem's underworld and challenged the Queen of Grimm herself...and for these people? The humans of Earth? I would gladly do so again."

Summer leaned forward, narrowing her gaze until her face was inches away from the other alien in the room.

"Tell me, Vaxil, Infiltrator in service of the mighty, 'enlightened' Zudjari...can you say the same?"

The Infiltrator said nothing, did nothing, and for a moment, the only signs of life was the twitching of the vertical mouth flaps. Summer panted for much-needed breath, steadying herself and trying to control her shaking arms and racing pulse. After a long, painful moment, however, the alien saboteur let out a defeated sigh.

"The phase plotter does nothing on its own. It requires a connection to a Shipmaster to function."

Summer nodded, backing up and taking a seat. "Go on."

"All our technology operates in connection with Mosaic," elaborated the Infiltrator. "But there are...levels of authorization to access certain technologies, layers of security that require specialized signals and transmissions."

Summer nodded. "The psionic network."

"That is not what we call it, but yes." said the Zudjari with a nod. "It is simply 'Mosaic' to us."

"You sure hold this Mosaic in high regard," said Summer. "Is it your deity? Your god?"

"Close, but not quite," clarified the Infiltrator. "Mosaic is our greatest asset, our unstoppable sword and impenetrable shield all at once. It gives us life and purpose. Guides us. Unifies us. Connects our minds to one another, allows us to communicate despite being galaxies apart. And even if lesser races were to worm their way into its depths, there are...safeguards in place, to ensure that they cannot access its deepest secrets."

"Like a locked barrier," mused Summer.

"Correct. And only Shipmasters possess the key to manipulate the phase plotters."

The Huntress bit her lower lip. "And how do we find these…'Shipmasters'?"

"You won't," answered the Infiltrator. "Shipmasters are responsible for the invasion efforts of entire galaxies, on Capital Frigates that can operate in dark space for thousands of your human years. They only directly involve themselves in two circumstances - a campaign of conquest on a targeted planet is finished, or it is failing. In the first case, this war of yours would be long over by that point - even if you survived at that point, any chance of using the phase plotter to save your race would be long gone."

"And the second?"

The Infiltrator seemed to smirk with its eyes. "The second has not happened since Remnant. That invasion was…an anomaly, an accident. A single footnote in a history of conquest that spans thousands of your years. The Zudjari always win their planet. Mosaic cannot be stopped."

Summer furrowed her brow. While she wasn't sure if the answers were what Weir and his team wanted to hear, at least they were answers nonetheless. Her work here was done. Now it was time to face the music.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she said as she stood up, snatching the phase plotter off the table and stuffing it into her pocket. "Let's do this again sometime."

The Infiltrator gave a hollow laugh. "After what the humans have heard? There may not be a next time."

"We'll see about that," said Summer as she knocked on the door.

Surprisingly, the door to the decontamination chamber slid open with the usual hiss, allowing Summer to step out of the frying pan and into the fire. Unsurprisingly, the door to the rest of the base remained sealed shut, even after the Infiltrator's cell was closed once more. Even more unsurprisingly, the blurry figures on the other side of the observation window all had their guns pointed at the slightly-damp woman standing there like a rat trapped in a cage. She caught the outlines of assault rifles, pistols, sniper rifles...and was that one person pointing a rocket launcher at her? That seemed a bit excessive.

Summer put on her best smile for the firing squad that was itching to pull the trigger.

"I hope the information about the phase plotter helps," she said sweetly. "And I meant what I said about Earth and her people. Every word of it. This is your chance to prove me right."

The silence in the wake of her words was downright deafening, only broken when Faulke's firm, authoritative voice poured out from the crackling speaker.

"Summer Rose, please put the phase plotter on the windowsill and stand against the wall with your hands behind your head. You are under arrest."

Not the outcome she had hoped for, but at least it was better than being shot on sight. Summer complied with Faulke's request, turning her back on the window as she slowly and deliberately surrendered. The outside door opened in a series of tumbling locks, and the rogue Huntress felt the bottom of her heart fall out as the last person she wanted to see walked in with a painfully complicated expression and a pair of handcuffs.

"...I'd be the first to know, huh?" growled Carter as he moved to cuff his former partner. "Should have guessed that was a lie, too."

Tears welled up as her own words were thrown back in her face. "Carter...I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt - "

"Don't," he pleaded harshly. "Just...don't…"

She wasn't upset about being arrested. On some level, she had expected this outcome, and knew it had to happen eventually. But the sheer betrayal and hurt she'd inflicted on her friends was all Summer Rose could think about as she was taken into custody, escorted at gunpoint by armed agents and allies she'd fought alongside. Her captors led her through a dizzying maze of tunnels and corridors, taking her deeper into the Bureau than she'd ever gone before. People stopped what they were doing as she passed by, stepping out of their offices or away from their desks to watch her forced march despite the guards warning them to stay back.

The rest of Strike Three stopped their card game to gape and wonder why their ASL was being carted away like a common criminal, a single glare from Carter making them cower. Nils almost leaned far enough out of his wheelchair to fall out as he tried to get a better view, eyes widening in shock and surprise. And Penny - poor, sweet Penny, who knew exactly what was going on - dropped her book to the ground and clasped her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face as she shook her head feebly in protest.

Maybe one day Summer would be able to make it up to all her friends.

Assuming this rose didn't wilt away in the darkness.


(A/N): And there you have it, folks. The beans have been spilled and scattered, the lid has been blown off and buried in a landfill, and the cat is most decidedly not going back in that bag. (Probably for the best, in any case. Who'd want to stuff a cute little kitty inside of a bag, anyways? Sure, they can be a little rambunctious sometimes, but they can't help it! That's just their nature!)

Welcome to the unofficial "Act Two" of Summer Declassified! This and the stuff in the coming chapters is stuff that I've been planning since the story's inception, and I personally cannot wait to show it to you guys! Now, I know it seems like things might be bad for everyone's favorite mysterious mother figure, especially when stuff has been so dire and dramatic lately. But don't worry! There's always a valley between two mountains, and right now we're right smack dab in the middle. But we're climbing our way out slowly, and we'll join Summer on the next mountaintop soon! It'll just take a little while to get there.

Also! While I have you here, I have an important announcement, one I've neglected to make in the last few chapters. I commissioned a very good friend of mine named for fanart of the two main leads, and said friend did a fantastic job at realizing Summer and Carter in the Bureau's style! Since FFNet is an absolute draconian overlord when it comes to linking external websites, I'll just say that if you want to see it, you can find it in the pinned post on my Twitter account! My handle there is Joey245, like it is for all my other accounts. (Yes, I'm on Twitter. I barely use it, and sometimes I forget I have it, but it's there.)

In any case, thanks for reading, hope your new year is wonderful and full of wonder, and I'll see you all next time! Stay safe, stay sane, and keep being awesome!