(A/N): Sorry for the delay! This chapter's gonna be a shorter one, but just because it's small doesn't mean it isn't important. We're coming close to the end of Act Two, so I figured a nice breather chapter that helps bridge the gap and follow up on the events of last chapter would be warranted. Especially considering how we ended last time…
Enjoy!
The sky burned red as the sun set on the western horizon, bathing Summer and the rest of the military base in a cool crimson glow as another day ended. The silver-eyed Huntress closed her eyes and leaned her head back as she knelt, focusing on her surroundings and doing her best to drown out the negative thoughts. She concentrated on the fistfuls of coarse sand that slipped through her fingers. The warm breeze blowing through her tank top. The marching footsteps and barking orders of the Bureau's surface crew as the soldiers ran drills, performed chores, and did everything they could to pretend there wasn't a literal underground resistance beneath their base.
None of that helped clear her mind.
Her thoughts were still plagued by the events of Pima, her memory tainted by the faces of every person she and the squad had failed to save. The final scream of Ennis Cole and his family still rang in her ear, and if she focused hard enough, she was sure she could still catch a whisper of her own guttural roars in the wind. And even though she understood why Carter and the rest of Strike Three had opted to incinerate the town, that didn't make the pit in her stomach and the pain in her heart any easier to deal with.
And Carter...she'd never seen him so angry before.
So angry at her.
"Enjoying the view, Agent Rose?"
Summer opened her eyes to see Faulke standing next to her, half-burned cigarette between his fingers and glasses reflecting the dying light back to its source. She gave an attempt at a smile, which the Director met with a nod.
"It is a nice view," she said. "It feels...familiar. Warm. Reminds me of home."
"Seems some things are universal," noted Faulke, taking a draft of his cigarette and exhaling in a smoky puff. A moment of silence settled between the two, during which Summer moved from a kneeling position to a sitting one, hugging her legs to her chest.
"I...guess I'm in trouble for disobeying direct orders again, huh?"
Faulke considered the silver-eyed Huntress for a moment, before sitting on a nearby ammunition crate with another smoky sigh.
"Not this time, no. Considering the circumstances, and the outcome, I can't in good faith extend your probation following what happened in Pima. If anything, I feel that the responsibility for what happened falls squarely on my shoulders. Had I known that the aliens were planning a terror attack on Pima...had I trusted my instinct that Ennis Cole would be distracted by his emotions and break at the worst possible moment...I wouldn't have put either you or him on the mission. This one isn't your fault, Summer - it's mine."
Hearing such an honest admission of guilt should have been a salve for Summer's aching heart, but if anything it was just more salt being poured into open wounds.
"That's not the only thing that's bothering you, though. Is it?"
Faulke's words held no judgement, just understanding. Summer let out a long sigh of her own, shaking her head.
"I just…" she started, hugging her legs tighter, "...don't understand why we need to do what we did in Pima. Erase the stuff we couldn't save, and even some of the stuff we did. My head can process the reasons why, but my heart...can't. It goes against everything I believe in. Everything I stand for as a Huntress."
Faulke nodded. "I suspected as much for why you didn't help Carter with covering up Pima."
"I didn't burn it down, sure, but I still let it happen," said Summer bitterly. "I'm still complicit, and that just...doesn't sit well with me. How can I say that I'm a force for good when my friends are burning down the truth?"
"Good and evil are moral relatives," said Faulke, gazing up at the emerging stars. "And in war, they're usually the first of our beliefs to be abandoned. There's a reason that things like the Geneva Conventions exist - it's all too easy to slip into our darker, more monstrous side when confronted with an enemy, especially one as dangerous as the Outsiders. But even in regular warfare where you're fighting not a nebulous alien from the stars, but a human being with an opposing ideology, the temptation to cross that line is strong. And the choice you think would be the most humane, or morally right, can have far-reaching consequences. Consequences no one could have seen or planned for."
Summer didn't find that particularly encouraging. "So, what? I should just abandon my morality and give up trying to be good?"
"Far from it," countered Faulke. "I'm saying that every moral decision we make in war carries far more weight than we could ever expect."
At the lack of understanding on the Huntress's face, the Director turned to look at Summer. "Y
Let me give you an example. You've read about how World War II ended, correct?"
Summer nodded without looking at Faulke. "Yeah. The Germans took huge casualties on both the eastern and western fronts, forcing them to surrender, while Japan only yielded after the United States dropped two of the world's first atomic bombs on their cities."
She made no effort to hide the disdain in her voice during the latter half, which Faulke noticed with a nod.
"The decision to nuke Hiroshima and Nagasaki was not made lightly. Many people at the time considered it to be the lesser of two evils. Many still do."
Summer scoffed. "What could possibly be a greater evil than incinerating entire cities with those damn things?"
"An ocean that ran red with blood."
The silver eyed Huntress finally looked at Faulke to see a rare sight in his eyes.
Pain.
"I was there in the Pacific during the last days of the war," said the Director. "You'll find many veterans of that theater here in the Bureau - myself, Weir, Webb, even Carter. They can all share their horror stories with you, if you'd ask, and while the details are different, they all share a common theme. The Japanese military forces at the time were spurred on by Imperial doctrine and long standing tension with other Asian powers, so not long after all-out war erupted across the planet once again, they seized their opportunity to strike. Thousands of troops and boats spread like wildfire over the ocean to claim what they believed was theirs all along, taking huge areas of land and entire islands for their new empire. They controlled nearly all avenues of warfare - the land, the sea, and the sky, and that made their conquest swift and merciless in a way that no one had seen before. And while I wouldn't dare compare any nation of Earth to the sheer viciousness of the Outsiders, they were particularly monstrous and reprehensible in their own way...including their eagerness to slaughter unarmed men and violate innocent women."
A shiver shot down Summer's spine.
"To combat their expansion efforts and make our way to Japan's homeland, we had to fight our way through conquered territory. Our main strategy consisted of hopping from one island to the next, forcing the Japanese out of their captured colonies and even taking two smaller islands of their own for ourselves. But the opposition we faced was relentless and violent - the Empire of Japan had no qualms about indoctrinating their civilians to fight back against us, and the garrisons could be reduced to the last man standing yet he'd still madly fire a machine gun at us with a broken hand. Surrender, in their culture, was seen as the highest dishonor. They would fight us to the death...or strap bombs to their planes and fly straight at our ships, intent on taking as many lives with them as they could."
Faulke took a long, patient draft of his cigarette, while Summer waited in silence.
"Over eighteen thousand of our people died in the effort to take Iwo Jima and Okinawa, and while Japan had lost over a hundred thousand men in the latter battle alone, their government showed no signs of bowing in the face of our advance. If anything, they seemed more determined to fight back than ever, desperate to drive us off no matter how much it would cost. The original endgame plan was for a combined land, air, and sea assault to take one of Japan's largest islands, and use it as a staging ground for the conquest of the rest of the country. But the death toll from Okinawa gave everyone pause, and estimates were run by the generals and higher-ranked officers for just how many human lives that the strategy would cost. Assuming that every sovereign citizen of Japan would fight to the last, as they had in Okinawa...the projected list of fatalities went from the thousands to the millions. On all sides."
Summer's jaw dropped.
"For some, this was simply too high. Other avenues of attack were considered, everything from chemical warfare and firebombing sacred sites to skipping the occupation of Kyūshū and taking Tokyo directly. They all fell apart under scrutiny, or proved ineffective in provoking a surrender, until one final option was proposed. The Manhattan Project had successfully developed the world's first nuclear weapon."
Faulke took another long, patient draft of his dying cigarette as he watched the sun slip out of sight.
"So...as the final days of the war loomed closer and closer, and Japan became more and more violently desperate, the people in charge of the US Army were faced with a choice. Do they send over five million war-fatigued men into the heart of enemy territory, with the expectation that up to a million of them wouldn't be coming back home? Or do they unleash, for the first time in history, a weapon so powerful and destructive that it would change the way that wars are fought forever? No one at the time knew, or could have predicted, that our modern world hinged on the outcome of that choice...that dropping those bombs would lead to an age where fear and distrust ruled everything...and yet, when looking at the projected casualty numbers, at all the blood that would be shed on every side, the decision to purge two cities in atomic fire seemed almost merciful by comparison."
The embers on Faulke's cigarette finally burned out, so he simply flicked it towards a trash can.
"As the sole coordinator of humanity's first, and final, line of defense against an alien menace, I find myself faced with similarly difficult choices on a daily basis. Perhaps not in the same magnitude with the same dire consequences, but the burden of dictating how this war is waged still falls on my shoulders. There are no easy decisions in this conflict, no guaranteed solutions, no morally clear paths to victory...all I can do is hope and pray that the choices I make are the right ones, the ones that lead to a world that still spins when all is said and done."
He looked over to Summer with a tired glance. "From what you've told me, I imagine that your...Ozpin...carries a similar burden."
The Huntress nodded solemnly. "He...he told me once that he'd made more mistakes than any man, woman, and child who'd ever lived. I didn't understand what he meant at the time...but I think I'm starting to get it now. He made sacrifices to make sure others wouldn't have to suffer...chose to abandon the past for the good of the future. Kinda like what you do. What everyone here is doing."
Faulke nodded as well, walking over and putting a hand on Summer's shoulder. "We do what we must, because we must. If we don't fight for Earth and her people, no one else will. Whatever mistakes we make must fall to future generations to correct...but first we must win, to make sure that there are future generations in the first place."
Summer bit her lower lip, wiped her eyes, and stood up. "...thank you, Director. I...I don't know if that helped, but I'm glad I was able to talk to you."
"It's my pleasure, Miss Rose," answered Faulk with a quick pat. "This war takes its toll on all of us. If there's anything else I can do to help, you need only ask."
Taking one look at the spherical moon as it rose above the horizon, Summer turned and nodded to Faulke before moving back to the entrance to the base elevator. She was just about to open the door when it swung out on its own, revealing both the first and last person she wanted to see right now.
Carter.
Summer watched as her closest friend on Earth removed his hat and looked down at the ground, doing his best to not appear nervous or bashful (and failing).
"I...look, I'm…sorry about what went down the other day," he said with a remorseful expression, "It wasn't fair of me to yell at you like that, especially after what you'd just gone through. I know I wasn't very open about it in the field, but...if you need to talk about what happened, I'm here. If you want, that is...can't blame you if you don't."
The silver-eyed Huntress gave a tired smile. Carter was clearly trying to make up for being distant and harsh during the mission, and she didn't have the heart (or the words) to shut him down. There would be time to talk about the incident later, but she didn't feel strong enough to do so at that moment.
So she settled for burying her face into his chest and letting out a low whimper, feeling a strong pair of arms instinctively wrap around her and hold her tight. She returned the embrace and squeezed as hard as she could, closing her eyes as a rugged hand ran itself through her hair.
For now...this was enough.
The weeks that followed in the wake of the Pima Incident were tense but uneventful.
At first, operations slowed to a crawl as the Bureau once again went on the defensive, keeping an ear on the comms to listen for any sign of an Outsider attack. Agents embedded in major cities did their best to remain vigilant and keep an eye out for signs of alien activity, but it soon became clear that the Zudjari had no interest in attacking the big population centers with their guerrilla tactics. Their targets ended up being smaller towns and villages that were small enough to fly under the radar, but big enough that it still added hundreds more to the growing death toll. Burn teams and cleanup crews were deployed just as often as combat squads, to such an extent that the Bureau's stores of flamethrower fuel were nearly depleted. Twice.
It wasn't all doom and gloom, however. For every town that XCOM wasn't fast enough to save, there was one that they could. An early warning system that used signal-bouncing to cut through the jamming - the same trick that Strike Three had used to call for rescue back in Rosemont - was adopted and served as a way to inform the Bureau of possible targets, allowing the Skyrangers to quickly depart with a full team at the drop of a hat to protect the people. Agents quickly rose through the ranks as the number of successful defense missions began to add up, and each terror strike that was repelled boosted the morale of the organization. Evidence of conflicts still had to be erased, of course, but thanks to their expertise in killing Outsiders at this point, the Bureau only had to cover up small town blocks, instead of entire settlements.
As the war continued to wage above ground, Weir and Dresner kept working around the clock on the Bureau's secret weapon. The Avenger, a hybrid UFO made from combining human and Zudjari engineering and technology, finally began to come together over the course of a scant few weeks. The salvage recovered from the ship graveyard in New Mexico, as well as a few other derelict sites in the Midwest, gave the brightest mechanics and scientists everything they needed to bring the ship to life at long last. For better or worse, there was no other ship like her - but without the inner workings of the phase plotter, she wasn't going anywhere.
Until one fateful day - April 9th, 1963, seven months after the attack on Groom Range - Alan Weir finally created a stable portal through the phase plotter. It lasted for all of forty-two seconds, and it destroyed half of Heinrich Dresner's highly-organized lab, but it was a success all the same.
The beginning of the end of the war was finally in sight.
Deep within Sector Zulu, Leon Barnes took a shaky breath as he approached the massive circular vessel propped up on concrete blocks. The Avenger was almost too beautiful for him to look at - part mobile command center, part VTOL troop transport, part spaceship, and so much more all at once. She was a fine ship, almost identical to the sleek saucer-like UFOS that once dominated the skies, except for the weld beads and rivets across the patchwork hull and the custom dark blue paint job.
Today, she was gonna fly for the first time.
And to his surprise, Barnes had been the one picked out to pilot her.
Ever since he was a little boy, he'd loved flying. Sometimes he dreamed about flying the first rocket into space, maybe even being the first to land on the moon. Those dreams and that love of the sky had been what drove him and his sister Daisy into service for the United States Air Force many years ago, yet now they seemed like child's play when he stood face-to-face with a ship worthy of escaping Earth. Emotions welled up within him, making him feel honored, exhilarated, and terrified all at once.
"Staff Sergeant Barnes? Are you ready?"
The voice of Faulke's voice brought him back to reality. He nodded tightly.
"Ready as I'll ever be, sir."
"Then please proceed to the Avenger's cockpit. Weir and Dresner are waiting for you inside."
Barnes stepped towards one of the open hatches along the circumference of the ship, walking up the ramp and navigating the clean, pale white interior. The Bureau had opted to scuttle most of the hallways and rooms found on an Outsider Command Ship in favor of a more open design, though some chambers were still left intact for armories, engine maintenance, and troop barracks. In the middle of the ship he passed Weir and Dresner sitting at a hexagonal table that encompassed the phase plotter enclosure, the former of whom turned to face him with a nod while the latter kept his gaze locked on the little black box sitting in its glass dome.
"No psionic variance detected within the last forty-three hours…" mumbled Dresner as his wrinkled hands scribbled something in his notes. "Spectrum analyzer is outputting nominal results...this is good, this is very good…"
"The cockpit is just up ahead, Leon," said Weir with a smile and a twinkle behind his glasses. "I'll guide you through the pre-flight checklist, but I have a feeling you won't need my commands after the first few steps."
The pilot nodded as he stepped through a pair of sliding doors to see an array of buttons, controls, and a fancy leather seat. With a soft chuckle he sat down and gazed over the consoles, shaking his head in amazement. Aside from the floor-to-ceiling panoramic view made from transparent metal, everything felt familiar. Very familiar.
"You're pulling my leg here, doc. It's just like I'm sitting in a Skyranger."
Weir's gentle laughter rang in his earpiece. "Believe me, that was intentional. We wanted to give the pilot a setup they'd be familiar with, so they don't need to learn a whole new set of controls to fly the Avenger."
"Makes sense to me," Barnes said with a nod as he cracked his knuckles. "Anything beyond basic controls I should know about?"
"For safety reasons, we will be departing from the ship just after activating the phase plotter," Dresner added, his harsh German accent cutting into every word. "The Gateway will remain open for five minutes, so you will only have a short window of time to give the Avenger a test run. Any longer than that and we risk the spatial rift becoming unstable, tearing the base apart on a molecular level."
"Understood," said Barnes as he flicked the proper switches in sequence. "And where exactly will I be taking this lovely lady for our afternoon flight?"
"King Ranch, Texas," said Weir. "It's a pretty sparsely-populated county where we know there's no Outsider activity, so you shouldn't have to worry about being spotted. Not unless the cows start talking."
"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing that happened in this war," laughed Barnes as he gripped the twin joysticks. "Ready to fly when you are."
"Excellent, Herr Barnes. Opening the Gateway...now."
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight as the sound of fracturing reality flooded his ears, unobstructed by the tons of alien steel that surrounded him. He looked up through the canopy of transparent metal to see a glowing cyan-blue portal swirling above him, crackling with unstable energy barely contained by unimaginable forces. At the same time, emerald lights began to pour out from between the panels of the Avenger, as the engines began to hum and rumble softly. He felt his teeth rattling in his mouth and beads of sweat start to form on his forehead. There was no turning back now, even if he wanted to.
And turning back was the last thing he wanted.
"We're clear of the ship and the docking bay," reported Weir through the earpiece after a moment. "You're good to take off whenever. I recommend starting with seven percent of overall thrust power until you're outside, at which point you're free to fly however fast you want, wherever you want. The sky's the limit, Leon - and even that's more of a gentle suggestion."
"Just remember that if you miss the window for the portal, you'll need to wait ten minutes before another one can be opened," cautioned Dresner. "And do try not to crash it on your first flight - that ship represents the pinnacle of our knowledge and technology, so please exercise caution."
Barnes let out a slow breath, adjusted his grip, and lightly tugged on the joysticks.
"Understood. Bringing her up to seven percent thrust now. The AG field is active...all systems look green...making my ascent in three...two..."
The Avenger shuddered and shook as her thrusters roared to life, propelling the almost-weightless craft upwards and through the crackling Gateway. One moment, Barnes had a clear view of the engineering staff whooping and hollering on the other side of the ship's canopy; the next minute the dull gray walls of the base were replaced by clear blue skies, the earthy floor was suddenly greener than anything he'd seen in weeks, and the whirring of machinery was silenced in favor of rushing wind. Even the noise of the portal seemed to fall away as the ship rose higher, and Barnes took a minute just to savor the fact that he was the first human to ever pilot an alien ship.
And now, with the freedom of an infinite sky, it was time to see what she could do.
Barnes pushed forward on the control sticks experimentally, directing the ship forward at a moderate speed. The Avenger answered his command almost immediately, dipping forward slightly as she raced across the grasslands faster than even a Skyranger could manage. His stomach pushed up into his chest as adrenaline flooded his system, gripping the controls with more confidence and making the ship drift lazily from side to side as the Avenger picked up speed.
He had to give the Outsiders credit - they knew how to build ships. The Avenger practically swam and glided to meet his every command, from simple banking maneuvers and climbs to more complicated moves like hard turns and loops. Part of what made it such a smooth flight was the anti-gravity field generated by the Elerium conduits along her hull, which cancelled out most of the ship's mass and made the thrusters that much more effective. More than once, Barnes almost forgot that he was flying an alien battleship - he was the one racing and soaring across the horizon, as if he had suddenly sprouted wings and was taking to the sky under his own power.
But a spaceship was worthless if it couldn't reach the stars.
When he was satisfied with the Avenger's ground performance, Barnes directed full power into the thrusters as he began an aggressive climb up into the clouds, soaring higher than man ever dared to fly before. Crystals of ice began to form across the hull and his visor, which were almost immediately broken by the vibrations of the ship itself as it flew higher and higher. Yellow warning lights flashed in the corners of his eyes to indicate straining across the hull, but a few quick switches recalibrated the anti-gravity field.
In less than thirty-two seconds, Barnes felt the ship break free of Earth's atmosphere, and he was suddenly the first man in space.
He gasped.
The blue sky had completely given way to a clear black expanse of stars, unobstructed by the light of the sun or moon and shimmering with their full glory in complete darkness. The Avenger lazily spun as she floated along with the Earth's orbit, filling the lower half of the canopy with the edge of a bright blue orb. Barnes spent a good long moment just gaping at the view, committing every detail to memory and giving the ship's cameras enough time to capture this beautiful starscape.
It was an unforgettable, almost religious, experience.
Eventually, though, he had to return to Earth.
He reluctantly pushed on the controls again and reactivated the thrusters, feeling his stomach rise again as the Avenger zoomed back the way she came. Streaks of red danced across the canopy as she pushed back through the atmosphere, but the alien steel held up well under the strain of the sudden heat and pressure. A holographic image overlaying the transparent metal window highlighted the Gateway back to the base; Barnes used the info to point the Avenger's nose directly at its location, keeping the harsh dive up for as long as he could before the rushing ground forced him to pull up.
Barnes let out a whooping holler as the craft leveled out above the ground, the leftover forces from atmospheric re-entry giving the Avenger a burst of speed as she soared along the horizon. The man-made UFO drifted and banked from side to side as she approached the Gateway, slowing down and easing off the thrust as she bled excess velocity the closer she got. By the time Barnes lined the portal up with the ship for the final time, she had slowed to a precise crawl; a slow descent later, and the Avenger was back underground and facing an entire base full of cheering Agents, scientists, and engineers.
The Gateway closed overhead moments later, and Barnes nearly collapsed in his chair.
"Well? How does she fly?"
In response to Faulke's question, Barnes just grinned as his inner child did backflips and cartwheels.
"Like a dream, sir. Like a dream come true."
The Avenger's first flight was a much-needed shot in the arm for the Bureau. For hours after the test run, it was all anyone talked about, and it was almost always accompanied by breathless laughter and wide smiles. Yet even something as significant as man's first trip to the stars carried a bittersweet truth that couldn't be ignored: now that the Avenger was complete, the end of the war was in sight...and with it came XCOM's most dangerous mission to date.
The mission to steal Mosaic.
But Summer did her best to push the rising stakes out of her mind as she watched Piotr Zhedrev approach Strike Three's table with a big steaming pot, observing the Russian man scoop servings of something dark red and sticky into her bowl. With a proud smile and an unfamiliar hum, he went and did the same in front of Carter, who nodded in appreciation and picked up his spoon with no hesitation.
"Thanks, Zhedrev," he said as he stirred his bowl. "If I'd known earlier you knew how to cook, I'd have had Faulke put you on kitchen duty months ago."
The Russian man chuckled. "Hah, ah, is nothing fancy. I am not, ah...master chef. Just know a few recipes, is all." He looked at Summer with an expectant smile. "Well, roza? What do you think?"
Summer followed Carter's lead and popped a spoonful of the mystery soup into her mouth. Immediately she was swimming in a sweet, slightly tangy flavor, a deep earthy taste topped off with a hint of vinegar. The heat threatened to burn the roof of her mouth, but she still savored it with a delighted smile, as it was unlike anything she'd ever tasted.
"Mmm...it's amazing!" Silver eyes shone until they were as bright as stars.
Zhedrev laughed again. "Ah, the roza approves! That is all the praise Zhedrev needs."
The other men at the table weren't quite as thankful, as Dawson poked his serving experimentally while Knox gave the bowl of thick red soup a skeptical glance.
"...Commie, what the hell is this again?" Knox asked gruffly.
"Is borscht!" Zhedrev answered happily. "Beet soup, with fresh vegetables and meat stock. Just like mamushka used to make."
"Where did you even get beets?" asked Adam with a raised eyebrow. "There hasn't been any kind of supply chain for weeks, no one's growing any food, and I know for a fact we don't put those in the ration kits."
"When you are Soviet agent on American soil, you make friends and form connections," said Zhedrev mysteriously. "Is not considered good form to reveal them...after all, must still leave some secrets for after the war, da?"
To the shock of everyone and yet nobody, Summer ditched her spoon and picked up the bowl with both hands, slurping greedily straight from the dish. Knox and Adam just looked on in abject horror, Carter rolled his eyes and ate normally, Shen smiled warmly while he sipped his tea, and Dawson just grinned.
"You know...I think I'm inclined to agree with Summer over here," said the medic. "As unconventional as this stuff is, I think it's pretty good. Besides, if we're really gonna be flying into space and stealing the heart of an alien intelligence network right out from under the Outsider's noses, I'd much rather have this in my stomach instead of Van Doorn's latest culinary war crime."
"I heard that!" called the bald Commando from a nearby table.
"Good, that means your ears work!" retorted Dawson. "Too bad your taste buds don't!"
Summer finished draining her borscht and set the empty bowl back down as she looked around at the lively mess hall, watching as nearly every Agent in the Bureau occupied all the tables to partake in one last meal together. On her left, she could see Nils and Walters feeding each other like flirty teenagers, while on her right she saw Crawford hugging Penny from behind and reading over her shoulder as they ate. Van Doorn and Bradford were swapping stories of their kids over a game of cards with other members of Strike One, while Strike Five were inviting anyone brave or foolish enough to try their hand at out-drinking the Mucallins. To the Huntress's dismay, she saw no sign of Weaver anywhere among the groups. She could only guess that the newly-repromoted Officer was spending these last few calm hours working with Faulke yet again.
The intercom crackled to life and drowned out the atmosphere of cheer and revelry.
"Would the leads for Strikes One, Two, and Three please report to Director Faulke's office? This includes Strike Leaders and ASLs. Thank you."
"Of course he'd wanna talk to us just before everything goes down," groaned Carter. He looked to Summer. "Come on. Let's go see what he wants."
The silver-eyed Huntress moaned in protest, but nevertheless stood up from her seat and waved farewell to her friends. After exchanging handshakes with the soldiers who came to approach her (and giving Penny a hug as she passed by) she and Carter pushed into the elevator alongside Bradford, watching as Walters wheeled Nils up alongside them.
Carter raised an eyebrow at the paralyzed Recon Agent. "So you finally stepped up to fill Nico's shoes? No offense."
"None taken," said Nils with a small chuckle as the door closed. "Figured I'd be the only one familiar enough with his tactics to lead the team...and with Liz here watching my back, I think we can honor Kinney too."
Walters smiled and nodded as she kissed Nils on top of the head. "I'll make sure everyone else comes back safe. Promise."
"You know…I'm pretty sure appointing your girlfriend as your ASL counts as nepotism."
"Says the guy who's literally dating an alien huntress."
"Hey, she was my ASL before she was my girlfriend. That's different."
Summer smirked. "Oh? What was that? Did you actually admit out loud that we're a thing? Who are you, and what have you done with William Carter?"
The gray-hatted man gave no response other than a faint blush, which prompted a laugh from Nils. Even Bradford failed to suppress a grin as the laughter died down, the sound of the rumbling elevator filling the silence.
"Wonder why Faulke wants to see us, though," wondered Nils after a while. "Thought his explicit orders were mandatory downtime until 0300 for everyone."
"Your guess is as good as mine," said Carter with a shrug. He looked to Bradford, who was trying and failing to conceal his smirk. "You got any idea, John?"
Bradford just shook his head. "It's not up to me to say. You'll see soon enough."
The elevator doors opened, and after one short trip through winding hallways, Summer and her group found themselves either walking or rolling into Faulke's personal office. As she expected, Weaver was standing off to the side with her arms folded over her chest, though her stare towards Summer lacked the death glare that had once been a staple of her expression. Faulke, on the other hand, chose to sit behind his desk, resting his chin on the backs of his hands as he watched the group approach.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said with a nod. "I promise you, it's nothing serious. Just...taking care of some unfinished business."
"Well, that's not ominous as hell," chuckled Nils as Walters pushed him along, though his smirk faded when he saw what was laid on the front of the Director's desk. Summer's eyes fell upon a set of what looked like golden bars laid across a crimson red cloth, shimmering with reflected light. Walters's jaw dropped, Bradford smiled knowingly, and even Carter seemed stunned.
"...sir," the hatted man finally said, "...these are…"
"Officer medals?" Faulke finished, chuckling softly. "I know what they are, Carter; I picked them out myself specifically for you. I apologize for springing these on you without the proper etiquette - it may not be a proper show, but make no mistake that this is a very real award."
"But...why?" Nils asked, nearly choking up. "I've barely been out in the field since Groom Range. And Liz, she...she only hit Second Rank a few days ago. Are...you sure about this?"
"I am, Nils," said Faulke with a nod. "More sure than I've ever been about anything before. There's more to this promotion than just the material benefits - the symbolism behind these medals cannot be overstated, for they're only worn by the best and brightest that the Bureau has to offer."
"As for the why…" said Weaver, "Well, the fact is, in a few hours this war will be over. No matter what happens out there on the Temple Ship, this is it. We need everyone at their best, physically and mentally...and that includes making sure every Strike Team is led by a pair of Officers."
"This war hasn't been an easy one," added Faulke as he pulled a bottle of amber fluid and a tray of glass tumblers out from under his desk. "We've all lost someone - a friend, a family member, a superior officer, sometimes all three. It's up to us, the ones left behind, to carry on the fight in their stead. To finish this war, and make sure their sacrifices weren't in vain."
The Director began pouring the bottle's contents into the glasses, carefully measuring what little of the drink remained and topping each serving off with the last few drops.
"Which is why I wanted to share one last drink with all of you," he explained. "Not just to celebrate those that we've lost...but to celebrate the ones who are still here. Every person in this room has had to endure things no one should ever have to experience - from being paralyzed to being a part of the healing process, from losing a family to being ripped away from the world you called home. Yet you've all shown tremendous growth and change along your journey, and that is just one of many things that we are toasting here tonight."
Faukle raised his glass, prompting Summer, Carter, and all the rest to do the same.
"We win or lose everything in the next few hours. Make me proud. Make yourselves proud."
Clink.
"Vigilo Confido, Director," said Summer meaningfully. "It's been an honor fighting for your world, and I pledge to do everything in my power to protect it as if it were my own."
"The honors all ours, Officer Rose," responded Faulke. "We're all very thankful that you're here to see this through to the end with us."
"Especially me," said Carter as he put a hand on her shoulder. "I promise, no matter what happens...I've got your back."
"As do I," added Weaver with a nod.
"Me too." Nils raised his glass.
"And me." Walters smiled meaningfully.
"We'd follow you anywhere, Rose," nodded Bradford.
Summer smiled and leaned into him as she downed her shot, watching as he did the same. The others in the room followed suit, and soon the little party descended into respectful silence.
One more moment of calm before the storm.
And she would have traded anything to make it last just a little longer.
(A/N:) And that's it for this chapter! Next up is another major story mission from the game, though it's been heavily retooled for the context of our story. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you next time, where we boldly go where no man (or Huntress) has gone before...
