(A/N): Tis the season to be spooky! What better way to celebrate the advent of Halloween than with the last DOUBLE FEATURE for Summer Declassified! I'd had a lot of the segments for both these chapters written months or years in advance, and it only seemed fitting to start Act Three with a big event like this. Sadly, despite the timing of this update, there's not much scary stuff in these next two chapters...unless you consider the base being invaded by hostile aliens scary.
We've got a lot of cool story stuff to get through, so hold on tight! See you on the other side!
The call to action came over tinny loudspeakers and blaring klaxons. The sound of pounding footsteps and weapon racks being emptied became the new drums of war, urging people to move faster and take up arms quicker. Everyone, no matter who they were, where they were, or what they were doing, knew one thing and one thing only.
The Bureau of Strategic Operations and Command was under attack.
Faulke's orders across all radio frequencies became a rallying cry as soldiers, agents, civilians, and everyone in between rushed through the narrow halls of the underground base. Some took up positions in the midst of the storm, preparing for the fight of their lives. Others started packing and ferrying cargo and documents to the numerous Skyrangers and armored personnel carriers, beasts of steel and oil that hummed and rumbled as they came to life. The work was done with no idle chatter or hesitation - each second before the plasma and lead started flying was spent by everybody doing something, if only to quell the tension and unease of the coming attack.
It wasn't working for Penelope Cohen.
The comms operator-turned-Engineer stared at the vast collection of books and notes that littered her desk like an exploded paper factory, unsure of what to pack for the journey ahead. While she felt compelled to cram her entire literary collection into her tiny power pack, she knew there wasn't time nor room for it. She always hated packing in a hurry, simply because the fear of leaving something important behind gripped at her heart - but the Outsiders probably wouldn't just sit patiently outside and wait for her to finish collecting her things.
Armed with that knowledge, she finally made her choice of what to bring: a well-worn copy of the World Almanac, a dog-eared paperback version of The Iliad, and a pad of notes detailing that fateful first written conversation between herself and Summer. The rest of her personal library could be repurchased or replaced, but these particular tomes meant the world to her - almost as meaningful as the silver-eyed woman that had changed everything, or the wispy black-haired Recon agent that had swept her off her feet. How she wished she could stay by either Summer or Crawford's side during this crisis, but her girlfriend was helping Nils and Strike Two evacuate the wounded, and her friend was...
Well, Penny didn't know where Summer was. She knew that the Huntress went to the labs with Carter after the Avenger landed, but everything after that was a blur. And that lack of knowledge didn't help the pit in her stomach at all.
"All comms operators, report to the ready room," came Chulski's voice through the small radio on her hip. "We need to help coordinate the defenses."
Slinging her power pack over her shoulder with a small sigh, Penny pushed her glasses into place and sprinted out of her office, plasma pistol in hand and eyes narrowed into a tight gaze.
She could only hope that when all was said and done, she and her loved ones would see each other again.
"Strike One, report to the hangars to cover Skyranger evacuations and form the first line of defense against the invaders."
Weaver's chest pounded as she bolted up the stairs three steps at a time, hands tightly clutching her Springfield rifle and boots pounding against the concrete. Part of her felt a little self-conscious running through the base in a gray tank top and cargo fatigues - the rest of her didn't care that she was underdressed. Between recovering Mosaic, escorting Carter to the lab, and then the entire clusterfuck that had happened in the last five minutes, she'd never gotten a chance to properly change out of her space suit and into her usual jacket and slacks. While she was sure that the extra bells and whistles in the suits would have been useful in defending the Bureau, it would have slowed her down too much - speed and agility were her greatest weapons, and she needed them now more than ever.
She slammed her shoulder into the door to knock it open, taking her out of the emergency stairwell and into the halls of the first floor proper. Then she joined the flow of doctors pushing carts and wheeled stretchers heading for the hangar, moving with the crowd instead of fighting her way through. Less than a minute later she was in the hangar in all its spacious glory, every inch of it filled with people moving and shouting.
"Get the wounded on Skyranger-Two! Cargo on Three!"
"Hurry, people! Faulke wants most of the stuff loaded up before the aliens break through!"
"Get on those Brownings! Load up the DEAF rounds and keep the motors hot! Be ready to fire at any second!"
Sure enough, towards the back of the hangar and facing a large circular bulkhead sat a pair of M2 machine guns, their noses pointed towards the coming enemy and their handles gripped tightly by trembling hands. At least a dozen other base security personnel stood with a mix of ballistic and laser weapons, some armed with power packs while others simply had their denim jumpsuits to protect them. And at the front of the hastily assembled firing squad was Strike One, fully kitted out in their usual arsenal and staring down at the gray metal barrier that was slowly but surely turning red.
Van Doorn looked away from the door he was aiming his rotary plasma cannon at, nodding to Weaver with steel in his eyes. "Good to see you here, ma'am."
"Not like I have anywhere else to be right now," she quipped back as someone handed her a spare power pack. "What's the situation?"
"The troops up above did what they could," answered Bradford as he shifted his grip on a plasma rifle. "But there's only so much they've got against flying saucers and plasma bullets. Was only a matter of time until the Outsiders found the main tunnel to the surface - the bulkheads have held them off so far, but they've punched right through every slab of metal we put in their way. That door's all that's keeping them out for now...and it's not gonna last much longer."
The glowing spots on the bulkhead changed from dull red to an autumn orange, and Weaver could feel the change in temperature even from twenty feet away.
"So we hold the line here," said Weaver, perfectly reciting the defense plan Faulke had drilled into her a hundred times. "Give the Skyrangers enough time to evacuate, then fall back to the armory entrance. If we get overrun there, move to the elevators. There's no victory in this fight, boys - just survival." She looked over the assembled men of Strike One. "Wait. Where's Holt?"
"Still getting treated for that plasma shot he caught with his leg back on the Temple Ship," said Bradford morosely. "Docs managed to stabilize him, but he won't be walking anytime soon."
Weaver grit her teeth. "Biggest fight of our lives right now and Strike One is down a man before it's even started. The odds of everyone getting out alive just dropped."
"Maybe I can help even them out."
Dozens of eyes turned in shock as a spacesuit-clad Faulke joined the formation, plasma rifle in hand with a machine pistol strapped to his hip. He gave everyone a cool, calming stare through his glasses, then stood next to Weaver and raised his weapon as orange turned to yellow on the doors.
"Sir?" Weaver raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be coordinating the defenses?"
"I can do that from here, too," said Faulke, pointing at the collar-mounted radio. "I wouldn't be much of a director if I couldn't multitask. Besides, if this really is humanity's last stand, I'm not going to spend it in my office having one last cigarette. Not yet, at least. For now, I'm going to be out here fighting with the troops under my command...and standing side-by-side with someone I've always considered to be my daughter."
A chorus of "awww"s echoed among the security guards. Weaver ignored it (and the heat rising to her cheeks) and locked her gaze on the glowing spots on the door as they finally turned white.
"Appreciate the sentiment, Myron, and I'm glad you're here. I just hope you're ready for whatever comes through that door."
Faulke's smile could be felt even without looking his way.
"Haven't you learned by now, Angela? I'm always ready."
BOOM.
The bulkhead to the hangar finally caved in under the assault of heat and pressure, the remains of the twelve-inch steel crumpled and torn away by a trio of Muton Elites. Behind the red-armored brutes, a mass of glowing Outsider eyes, bulbous Sectoid heads, and shrieking Silacoid packs were crammed into the tunnels, all driven by a frenzy borne of losing their greatest weapon. And in the distance, behind rows and rows of Mutons in firing squad formations, the telltale hums and footfalls of Sectopods echoed through the stone, their cannons already warming up and preparing to attack.
"Weapons free!" Weaver cried, firing the first of many shots into the alien horde.
The battle for the Bureau had begun.
"Strike Two, coordinate with medical officers and oversee the transport of wounded or otherwise incapacitated personnel."
Nils shuffled awkwardly through the hallways in a bulkier-than-usual space suit, the added width from the walker servos constantly bumping against the concrete walls of Sub-Level One. It was definitely harder to navigate than the last time he had to fight up here - but then again, he wasn't paralyzed from the waist down last time, either. Though his lower body struggled to move in response to the plasma fire coming down the hall, this was not the case for his upper body - a fraction of a second was all he needed to snap his fusion lance's SCOPE onto the head of a yellow-caped Outsider, blasting apart the skull and shoulders with a single beam of emerald energy.
"Tech Commander neutralized," he reported as he watched the hastily-built turrets fall to pieces. "Echo, bring up the next group."
"Copy that, Tango. Fourth wave, go."
He stood to the side as best he could in response to the sound of pounding shoes and squeaking wheels coming around the corner, letting the doctors and medics cart the injured and the broken to safety. Some of them headed straight for the hangar with their gurneys, while others with less severe wounds were led up a side passage to the motor pool. Elizabeth Walters brought up the rear with green eyes watching for sudden movements, plasma pistol already drawn and prepared to fire if anything threatened her patients.
"Is this the last group?" Nils asked as he kept looking down the sights of his gun.
"There should be one more coming," answered the Support with cold professionalism in her voice.
"Any of them need an airlift?"
"No."
Nils toggled the radio on his collar. "Firebrand, you've got one last group of evacuees coming your way. Once they're on board, you're clear to take off."
"Much obliged, sugar," called Dolly over the radio. "Good thing, too - those Outsiders are pouring in like ants at a picnic, and I hate to be the ones on the menu."
"I doubt they'd find us very appetizing," chuckled Nils. "Right, Echo?"
Elizabeth didn't respond to his joke, instead narrowing her eyes. "Might be better to funnel the last group through the side stairs, since everyone else can make the climb. Tango, give me a scan through the walls, see how crowded the side passages are."
"Yes dear."
"Without the sass."
Nils laughed softly and held back his next joke, toggling the thermal settings and sweeping his rifle from left to right. He furrowed his brow as he spotted glowing orange figures of all shapes and sizes crawling through the Bureau's many, many side passages, searching for any that didn't have alien assholes on patrol.
"Looks like they've already started tunneling into the side routes," he reported grimly. "Not surprising that they'd try to find ways around the blockade Strike One's set up, but it's gonna be a problem all the same. Passage seven looks clear, though...for now."
"Then passage seven it is," answered Liz as she toggled the radio on her white nurse jacket. "Charlie, Alpha, you hear that? Start leading the last group to passage seven, and keep your heads on swivels. We'll regroup with you after everyone's safe."
"Copy that, Echo!" Massey answered, while Crawford hummed in agreement. Nils was just about to toggle his SCOPE back to its normal mode when he caught sight of a trio of bulky figures coming down a set of nearby steps.
"Echo, heads up! Mutons on our six, coming down passage four!"
Without missing a beat the green-eyed medical officer drew, primed, and flung a flashbang just as three green-armored brutes burst through the door, making their eyes and ears swim in light and pain. Nils followed up with a perfectly-aimed shot right in the forehead, dropping one of the Mutons like a sack of potatoes. Another one was quickly dispatched by a twin burst of coordinated pistol fire, as both plasma and DEAF rounds punched through its armored chest and splattered the wall behind with boiling green blood. The last one opened fire seconds after Liz threw down a shield sphere, only for its gun to be blasted to pieces by a precise shot from the sniper.
Enraged and weaponless, the final Muton roared and beat its chest before sprinting at full tilt towards the pair while drawing its sword. Nils's eyes widened as he watched the blade turn blood red with heat - he'd seen enough of Summer in action to know what was coming next.
"Liz, watch out!"
He shoved his fiancée out of the shield sphere just as the Muton came rushing in, swinging the sword in an arc of red light. Nils just barely managed to duck under the slash and the follow-up punch, slamming the butt of his fusion lance against the brute's ribs with all his might. Unfortunately, not even the extra strength from the Venn Brace and the spacesuit was enough for his blows to have any meaningful impact against the toughened green armor, a fact that became apparent when his opponent barely even flinched under the attack. The alien brute let out a throaty derisive laugh as it grabbed Nils by the collar and lifted him up off the ground, slamming him into the wall again and again with bone-breaking force.
"TOM!"
Despite most of his upper body feeling like a steak being tenderized, Nils barely managed to grunt out his own cry between slams.
"Liz, go! Save - agh- yourself!"
The blond medic just stared at Nils as the Muton pummeled him for a moment, emerald eyes wide with horror. Then they narrowed as she dove into her power pack, fishing out a syringe as big as her forearm with a needle so long and sharp it could have easily been mistaken for a kitchen knife.
What is she…?
Nils would get his answer soon enough as Elizabeth Walters ran straight towards the Muton just as it raised its sword to finish him off. She fired an electrified cable from her own Venn Brace that delivered a shock to the back armor; it didn't do more than rattle the plating, but it succeeded in getting the brute's attention. The Muton whirled to face her and swung its sword while roaring in defiance. The medic leaned to avoid the blade, then jabbed her own weapon of choice into the softer flesh of the alien warrior's face. Ignoring the roars of pain and protest as her "patient" struggled, Liz didn't draw back until the syringe's plunger was pushed all the way down the barrel, at which point she yanked it out with enough force to draw blood.
The results were nearly instantaneous. After a brief second of howling at the human who had dared to attack it, the Muton's muscles seized up and its throat tightened to the point of choking. Moments later, Nils felt the hand grabbing his collar go limp as the brute fell over, dead.
"Holy shit...that was amazing...ow…"
Liz was quick to run to the side of her fiancé, immediately locating fractured bones and giving each spot a quick spray of the medkit. The pain started to fade almost instantly, but Nils had other things on his mind.
"That was nuts, what you did back there," he said in an awed whisper. "What the hell was in that syringe?"
"Absolutely nothing," answered Liz quickly. At Nils's look of disbelief, she added, "No, seriously, there was no crazy chemical concoction in that tube. What you just saw is what we in the medical business call an venous gas embolism - basically, an air pocket in your blood that looks and acts just like a giant clot. And it doesn't matter how big and tough those Mutons are, twenty milliliters of air injected straight into the bloodstream will mess up its brain just as well as a bullet to the head."
"Goddamn, woman," breathed Nils. "You always just carry empty syringes full of air with you?"
"Ever since a certain someone got himself paralyzed from the waist down by an alien intruder around here, yes."
Nils chuckled in embarrassment. "Clever and prepared. You're a natural fit for Strike Two, Liz." His smile faltered. "DaSilva would have loved having you under his command…"
A hand touched his face and pressed into his cheek. "You're doing a good job of making him proud, Tom," said Liz softly, with a gaze that was somehow cold and calculated yet warm and loving at the same time. She gave him the barest of smiles, then snapped back to her professional demeanor as she drew back. "Now come on. Let's meet with the rest of the squad before reinforcements show up."
Nils groaned as he pulled himself up from the floor, servo motors whining in protest.
"Follow you anywhere, dear," he said as he reloaded his fusion lance. Pausing only to grab Strike Two's dog tags off the memorial wall, he and his beloved moved to save more lives.
"Strike Three, we have multiple reports of hostiles breaching into general quarters and operations through subterranean means. Find the tunnels and plug them up - if they get access to the middle ground, the base is practically theirs."
Knox grit his teeth and kept his trusty rifle steady as he sprayed lead into the alien crowd, laying down a blanket of suppression against the advancing Outsiders. Adam and Zhedrev were on either side of him doing the same, machine pistol chattering and plasma rifle humming as they added their fire to his. Dawson was slightly behind them with grenades at the ready, dropping a smoke-filled one at their feet and a flash-filled one into the tunnel that taunted them twenty feet away.
"Can't we just chuck some explosives in there and be done with it?" Adam groaned as he ejected yet another magazine.
"If we do that now, those blue-caped fuckers will just pick the grenades up and toss 'em back!" Knox shook his head. "They've learned how to counter that particular trick of ours, it won't be that easy anymore!"
"What about rocket?" Zhedrev asked. "Is faster than grenade, da?"
"Sure, if we had an opening! But it's taking everything we got just to push 'em back! For now, we just gotta keep firing and - hit the deck!"
The grizzled Commando ducked just as a heated blade arced through the air where his head had been moments before, slamming the butt of his rifle into the offending Phantom and riddling its newly-decloaked form with piercing bullets. While Dawson, Adam, and Zhedrev were all able to similarly avoid and dispatch their silent attackers, the melee specialists had gotten what they wanted - a moment's pause in the volley of suppressing fire was all the enemies in the tunnel needed to start pushing forward again. A trio of Mutons sprinted towards Strike Three with murder in their eyes, breaking through their meager cover and sending them scattering.
God fucking dammit, I did not walk off trenchfoot in the Chosin Reservoir just to die to an overgrown chimpanzee, Knox mentally growled as he slammed against the wall, ducking under the giant meaty fist that continually pounded the wall in an attempt to crush his skull. Where the hell are Whiskey and Sierra? If they're off making out in a broom closet somewhere I'm cutting off Whiskey's family jewels and mounting them above the fireplace, chain of command be damned.
Fortunately, he wouldn't have to castrate his CO today, as when the Muton drew its fist back one more time, a familiar sound filled his ears.
SCREEEEEEEE!
A hyperballistic ball of black goo launched itself at the Muton's face, covering it in a thick corrosive layer of slime. The alien brute clutched at the Silacoid and tried to pull it off, but a silver blade suddenly emerged from its throat and swung outwards, messily decapitating the alien warrior. As the headless Muton slumped to the floor, Knox got a perfect view of Summer Rose flowing between the other two brutes like a river of death, slashing the throat of one while plunging her sword into the back of the other.
"Kilo!" she shouted, unconcerned with the blood staining her capris and tank top, "Spade!"
Without even questioning he pulled the shock spade off his power pack, unfolding it with a shake and tossing it to the alien Huntress. She nodded in thanks, then proceeded to wield the shovel like a spear against the Outsiders running towards her, stabbing and thrusting into the advancing aliens while she waited for the charge in the head to build up. When the light switched from red to green, she leapt backwards and slammed the tip into the ground, sending a cascading shockwave into the horde that sent them all flying back into the tunnel depths. Knox didn't hesitate in pulling out his HEAT launcher and aiming it, quickly firing two missiles into the mouth of the cavern and feeling the detonation even from this far away.
BOOM.
The entire ground shook and trembled and nearly drowned out the alien shrieks and cries of alarm. Rocks and rubble began to pour out of the ceiling, as the entire tunnel collapsed in less than a second. Only when the debris stopped falling did Strike Three let out a collective sigh, shoulders sagging as soon as it was clear that nothing survived the cave-in.
"Hah, there is favorite roza!" said Zhedrev after a moment with a tired laugh. "Was wondering where you were!"
"Always a treat to see you kick ass like that," said Dawson with a smile that faded to confusion. "Where's the boss, though?"
"Whiskey's gone rogue," said the silver-eyed Huntress simply as she yanked her sword free of the grounded Muton. "The alien artifact he found and bonded with at Groom Range is alive and has been helping him this entire time, and he's choosing now of all times to get all pissy about it. We have no idea where he ran off to...but I don't have time to worry about that right now."
There was a lot that Knox didn't understand about what Summer just said, but he could ask more questions later. Right now, it was clear that Carter wasn't gonna be showing up to pull any more miracles out of his ass...and that Summer seemed just as disappointed as the rest of them at this news.
Well, at least I don't have to worry about them making out in a broom closet, he thought grimly, though he wasn't sure if this was better or worse than that.
He cleared his throat as Summer tossed the shovel back to him. "Right, well, Shen's off with Strike Four escorting Weir and the other eggheads, so it looks like it's gonna be just us in Strike Three. We did manage to find the commie on the way here, so he's sticking with us for now while we take out the tunnels those Outsider bastards are digging. We're holding out alright, but I'm just a soldier, Sierra - I take orders, I don't give 'em. You good to take the lead?"
Summer hesitated for a moment, then nodded tersely. Knox snapped a salute in response.
Dawson gasped in mock surprise. "Sergeant Knox Dolan, willingly taking orders from a woman?!" He grinned. "Man, this must be the end of the world."
"Hey, if it gets us out of here alive, I'd follow that cocksucker Stalin himself," quipped Knox, then looked to Zhedrev. "No offense, commie."
"None taken," replied Zhedrev with a toothy grin. "He was, as you Americans say, a 'demented fucker of mothers.'"
"Eh, close enough."
Summer's eyes, usually warm with joy when the squad fell into banter, were cold and distant by comparison. Knox still wasn't sure what all went down in the labs between her and Carter, but he could tell it weighed on her heavily. Twenty-three years in the US Army had given him an understanding of when people were at their breaking point, and he could tell that the alien Huntress was getting dangerously close to hers. Even Silas slithering up her legs and perching on her shoulder didn't get much of a reaction out of her - and that always got at least a smile and a headscratch.
Fortunately, Adam seemed to pick up on Summer's terseness and fatigue too, because he pulled his pack off and opened the lid just as the silver-eyed woman turned away.
"One sec, Summer," he called as he rummaged around. "We found this in the laundry room on the way here. Doesn't smell great, but…we figured you might still want it."
The Recon tossed a bundle of white cloth towards the Huntress, whose eyes widened and lower lip trembled as she unfolded it to reveal her trademark cloak and hood. The faintest shadow of a smile finally broke through when she threw it over her white tank top with a flourish, swung her sword in an arc of silver, and struck a pose. If there was any wind in the underground base, Knox was sure it would make her cape billow dramatically.
"Thanks, Adam," she finally said with a true grin. "Guess those sticky fingers ended up being good for something after all. Come on boys, enough standing around - let's go find the next tunnel."
The men nodded and gathered up fresh weapons and ammo from the dead aliens, falling in line behind Summer as she led them down the halls. It didn't escape Knox's notice that her steps seemed far lighter once she had the cape on her shoulders. It wasn't much, but even such a simple gesture carried an encouraging message with it, one that the Huntress clearly needed to hear.
Whatever was going down between her and Carter, Strike Three had her back.
"Strike Four, cover the science teams, secure all research and report to the Avenger for evacuation."
"Doctor Weir? We need to go."
Alan Weir stared intensely at his alien workstation, half-moon glasses dimly reflecting the lines of code that scrolled by on the holographic display. He and his allies were behind the glass wall that separated the Elerium Reactor from its observation deck, one-half of his face draped in shadows while the other half was bathed in green light shining from the massive floor-to-ceiling cylinder beyond the glass. Across from him, the old and wrinkled Doctor Dresner was at a desk of his own, stuffing papers, samples, and equipment into a suitcase with silent haste and precision. Weir doubted this was the first time his fellow lead scientist had to pack in a hurry - but hopefully, it would be the last.
At his side, the impatience of Raymond Shen was starting to show itself again through the serene core he had worked to build. "Doctor? Please, we have to go now," he repeated anxiously. "The aliens are inside the base as we speak - it's not safe here anymore."
Vahlen raised an eyebrow at the young Engineer, who was starting to pace back and forth nervously. "Shen, relax. Commisar's got the whole hallway leading to the labs locked down, while Wright and Murphy are watching the vents. Nothing's getting in here, I guarantee it."
"I know, I know," said Shen, long-lost agitation rising in his voice. "I just...we shouldn't be staying this long. We should be halfway to the Avenger by now. And if we don't move soon, we might -"
"Breathe, Raymond," reminded Weir gently as he glanced over to the reactor. "Find your center. Concentrate on what you hear and feel, not on what you see and think."
The young Engineer scowled, but complied nonetheless, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. When he opened his eyes again, they were considerably calmer.
"Thanks, Doctor," he said in a far more even tone. He tilted his head as he looked at his mentor. "I assume that what you're working on is something we can't leave until you finish?"
The good doctor smiled. There was the young man he'd come to know in the last few months.
"An astute observation, friend," he said while his fingers continued to type. "And a correct one, at that. This is too important to abandon - it must be completed before we can evacuate."
Shen's curiosity got the better of him. "And what are you working on, exactly? Is it some kind of defense program?"
"In a sense, yes." Weir pushed his glasses into place and talked as he continued typing. "Faulke gave Dresner, Weaver, and I very clear instructions for this specific circumstance. Even with all the technology and fortifications we've established, we don't have the manpower or equipment to mount a full defense - especially not if Origin himself is ordering every UFO to converge here. If at any point the Zudjari find and mount an attack on the Bureau's primary base of operations, my colleague and I are meant to activate the Omega Protocol."
Vahlen tilted his head. "What's the Omega Protocol?"
"The detonation of the Elerium Reactor at the heart of the base," explained Dresner as he carefully disassembled a microscope. "If the initial cascade of explosions don't wipe out the attacking force, the weight of the entire base folding in on almost certainly will. That's why we're evacuating everyone - once all agents and personnel are clear, the explosive charges along the reactor will detonate, and everything in a ten kilometer radius will be buried by rubble and sand."
Shen frowned and looked apprehensive. "But...everything we built...everything we made…it'll all be gone? Just like that?"
"It's all just things, Raymond," said the good doctor with a soft smile. "Things can be replaced, rebuilt, repaired, or rediscovered. What's important is the people that made them - the people that give them meaning, even after they're lost or gone. That's what we're saving."
The young Engineer didn't smile, but he did nod slowly and carefully. Dresner finished packing his equipment and papers into a suitcase, then fished a key out of a desk drawer.
"Herr Doktor, are you ready?"
Weir nodded to Dresner, producing another key from his pocket. "Ready, Heinrich."
"On three, then. Ein, zwei...drei."
In one synchronized motion, the two doctors inserted their keys into their respective desks and twisted with a click. Immediately the emerald light from the Elerium Reactor changed to blood-red, and a series of smaller red lights along the side of the massive cylindrical power source began blinking softly.
"The main power has been shunted and the C4 charges are armed," reported Dresner. "All that remains now is the actual detonation."
Weir nodded and finally closed his workstation and grabbed the handle. "Then our work here is done. For obvious reasons, the detonation won't happen until everyone is safely out of harm's way. So now we may leave, Raymond."
Shen loosened the grip on his Scatter Blaster and let color return to the drained knuckles as he toggled his radio. "Commisar, what's the situation out there?"
"Just took out a patrol of Outsiders," reported the new leader of Strike Four. "You have a clear window to cross the hall and head up to Sector Zulu. Better hurry, though - thermals show more of the aliens running around the stairs. Seems we might have less time than we thought."
"Keep tracking them, we'll be out in just a moment," said Vahlen as he reactivated his plasma pistol. "Dresner, with me. Shen? I know I don't need to tell you this, but stay on Weir like glue."
Shen smiled. "Hey, that's all I've done since he got here. I see no reason to switch it up now."
As Weir smiled and followed his young protégé into the halls alongside Dresner and Vahlen, his lie of omission weighed heavily on him. The Omega Protocol didn't have a timer, and there wasn't a way to transmit the detonation codes through the radio or other means. No, the network of explosives that wove their way through every floor, wall, and ceiling were all hard-wired to one central switch, and that switch sat in the Director's office with a manual toggle and release.
Which meant that in order to fully erase the Bureau and any record of this last war, someone would need to stay behind and finish the job.
And with a heavy heart, Weir had a feeling he knew who that someone would be.
"Strike Five, defend the Avenger and her auxiliary systems. We cannot allow the Outsiders to compromise such a high-risk asset. Strike Six, oversee the loading of the APCs for evacuating non-essential personnel and cargo..."
William Carter was not having a good day.
The radio on his damaged spacesuit was constantly spewing out static-laced orders and updates on the war happening right in the halls of the base. His leg burned as blood pooled out of an improperly-healed bullet wound, his hand pressing his hat against the torn flesh to try and stymie the flow of vital fluids. Gunfire and screaming and shouting and rumbling explosions echoed all around him, as the men and women of the base fought tooth and nail against an alien menace.
He didn't care about any of that.
All he cared about was getting the asshole that had been pulling his strings for the last seven months out of his head.
"It's been you the whole time, hasn't it?" Carter growled as he limped his way down the halls. "The powers, the voices, the little thoughts that give me commands like 'stop' or 'focus'...it was you. It's always been you, hasn't it? Ever since that light back at Groom Range…god damn. No wonder every one of those alien bastards kept calling me a puppet - you've gotten all the spotlight and attention, while I've been cast aside. Forgotten. Abandoned."
There was no answer from his warden, no thoughts that were not his own that crossed his mind. Not that he was in the mood to listen, anyways. He grit his teeth as a wave of pain shot through his leg again, nearly making him trip and stumble over a pile of fallen rubble. Clutter. It was all just clutter.
"Well I've had enough of taking orders," he snarled defiantly as the ephemeral entity tried to correct his course. "That's all I've ever done my whole life. First from MacArthur, then from Frost, then Faulke, and now you. And at least those people were actually people - you and your kind aren't even supposed to be here. The Outsiders, the Sectoids, the Mutons, you assholes; wherever you all came from, you should have just stayed there. Earth was perfectly fine before you all showed up, and it'll be better once you leave. Every last one of you."
An image rose to his mind, unbidden, of a woman with silver eyes and dark red hair and a bright alluring smile. The entity in his mind said nothing, but the memory it chose to recall voiced a pretty pressing question.
What about Summer?
"...what about her?" growled Carter, though there was more apprehension in his tone this time. "She's just another one of your cosmic playthings, isn't she? You brought her here against her will, with no way back to her home and real family, just because you wanted a mommy."
That was, of course, assuming that what the silver-eyed woman said about being from another world was true. Which, given how Carter was feeling particularly uncharitable, was a tough pill to swallow.
"Besides...why the hell should it matter how I feel about her? She doesn't give a shit about me - she fell in love with you, not me. She loves a man that doesn't exist, a mask and a facade that you made up just to protect yourself and smother the real me. It's all a lie...just like everything else she ever said. Everything youever made me say."
Silence. A glorious relief. For a moment, Carter wondered if the alien was done tormenting him.
And then the voices began.
Will! Please! Save us!
Daddy, where are you? I can't find you! Daddy!
Heat and flames that didn't exist blasted and bombarded him, as the hallway suddenly erupted into fire. His clothes burned and his skin melted, his eyes boiled and his bones withered away into ash. He didn't care. He couldn't care. He knew it wasn't real. Just another illusion, like the one Origin tried to trap him in on the Temple Ship.
All he had to do was power through it again.
"Stop it," he snarled through grit teeth. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to toy with me, trying to remind me of them. Trying to guilt me into doing what you want, trying to convince me that...that I'm supposed to be better. Supposed to be 'good.' Well you're wasting your time, you freak. I see this shit everytime I close my eyes. You can't scare me with this."
The illusion shattered for good when another voice came over the radio.
"All XCOM operatives and agents, be advised: Omega Protocol is active. I repeat: Omega Protocol is active. Please report to your designated evac points, or the nearest one if access is blocked. Do not approach the Elerium Reactor."
Carter smirked. Omega Protocol, huh? That sounded...final. Permanent.
Perfect.
With a grunt of exertion he started trudging his way down the hall again, fighting against the invisible strings that kept pulling him in the opposite direction. The cries of Julia and Richard returned and became little more than background noise, pathetic attempts to soften his heart and make him relent to the alien's control once again.
"You just don't get it, do you?" Carter furrowed his brow as he caught himself mid-stumble once more. "I couldn't have saved them, not even with your help. When they were taken from me, I thought I lost everything...until you took the last of what I had. You took me from myself. And now it's just us. Me and you."
He pulled his hat away from the messily-healed wound on his leg, and set it on his head - blood and all - with a determined smirk.
"And if it comes down to it...neither one of us is getting out of here alive."
