Tobruk Outskirts, Libya

10/31/17- 9:20 AM

We rolled out of the suburbs, away from the storm, away from the violence, away from our failure.

The roads behind us were crowded with people - apparently the SAS hadn't gotten here yet, though they definitely would soon.

Hundreds if not thousands of people panicking and crying out; massive crowds of men, women and children holding whatever they could in their hands or bags.

Babies shrieked and cried; children, lost in the crowd, called out for their parents. The smell of smoke, sweat, and fire permuted the air, the shadow of the SAS slowly bearing down on us.

Was this any different than what Scipio did?

Was XCOM better? XCOM had helped with Scipio and ADVENT. ADVENT Africa's blood on its hands. Our hands. We had come here with the intention to tear this place apart, and now they replied in kind.

They didn't deserve it. In ADVENT's bloodthirst to defeat the SAS, they didn't care a thing for those they crushed. They hadn't seen how the people felt their hearts and minds being ripped from them and left to bleed.

And now the same was being done to us.

It was a sick joke. Innocents being taken advantage of and butchered. It was wrong. It was wrong beyond wrong could describe. Both ADVENT and the Collective were repeating the cycle, everyone else being caught up in the crossfire.

Was this what evil looked like?

Was this what it felt like?

The truck rumbled along the roads, shaking and bouncing with every uneven bump.

"Sometimes, I wonder what the point of it all is," Hassan whispered, voice low, uneven. "I'm used to the hurt. I'm used to shit deals. But God does it fucking gall. Does it bloody fucking hurt. Every fucking time, its another slice of hell with a dangle of hope to keep us going."

I sighed. "Some days I feel like that, too. Every fuckin' day something new shows up."

"Maybe I'm an idiot," he continued, leaning his head on a fist. "Maybe I'm too stupid to get it. To stop fighting, hell. I'm pretty sure I'm not okay in the head. But...isn't there a reason we're so desperate to fight?"

He looked at me. "That there's something worth it?"

"Way I see it, Hassan, everything I'm doing for XCOM brings hope, no matter how small. I've been all over the place, being a little thorn in the Collective's side, and yeah, sure. Things get bad. But they get better. You know I was there when the Hiveship fell? Helped Caelior pull it out of the sky. God, that was such a bitch to do."

"I've…" Hassan pursed his lips. "I've spent my life as a green flag. I fought against the Caliphate. I've fought against black flags. I've spent my whole life fighting and killing. I know evil, I know good, I know this fucking world isn't simple. But…"

He stopped, eyes looking out on the road. "I wanted the good guys to win for once, you know? I thought…I thought that after Deus Vult...maybe there's a chance to do good, maybe, maybe, all the pain I suffered was for a reason, that the green flag I wore, had a real meaning."

"I can't say I can fully relate to how you feel, Hassan, but XCOM did the same for me. Y'know, I was graduating high school when the war started. Felt like all the work I had done to prepare for college was pointless. Then ADVENT came along, gave my life some meaning, and then XCOM came along. Without them, no matter how weird it sounds, without them, I really don't know who I would be right now."

"Then Scipio reminded me to stop being an idiot," Hassan said, quietly. "Reminds me what the green flag was for. Some of the best bloody people I've ever known are in ADVENT. Some of the fucking brightest hopes I've ever seen in my whole, miserable, bloodsoaked life."

He paused. "And some fucking monsters that pretend they're better, dressed in suits, acting as if they deserve to be in the same place as us. Same twisted mindsets the Caliphate had. Only kept in check by people like us, people who've suffered, who know better. Who are better. Like you, like me. Like Kabir. Like Hakeem."

I played with my armored fingers. "Can't say that I disagree. We've all done bad shit in this war." I looked out the window for a moment. "I feel like I should say something. But I don't know what."

"Then don't.," Hassan's lips curled into a smile. "We don't need to say anything. We just keep fighting, and fighting, until we're killed."

"And then what?" I said. "We beat the Collective, then wait 'till the next enemy comes along? We just doomed to fight in an endless war, then what? My sister's kids grow up to be like me?"

"Maybe," Hassan said, too quiet. "I don't know. I've never known anything much, I don't even know if I'll be alive tomorrow. I just know good, I just know evil, I know how complicated the world is, and I know I'll keep fighting, hoping, maybe that…."

His hands white knuckled the steering wheel. "That it wasn't for nothing. That all the compromises. All the grey areas. All the pain. All of the hell and bloodshed. That it all lead to the dawn, to sunlight breaking over the horizon."

"Maybe I'm just an idiot," Hassan exhaled, resting an elbow on the door as he drove. "But I'm not going to give up. And I've got a plan, and it's a stupid plan."

"Oh? And what's that?" Right now, any plan was a good one.

"It's pretty simple, we avoid dying,and fight really well when we have to," Hassan said. "This way, we stay alive and our insides don't become our outsides."

I stared. "That is not a plan."

"I served in the Night Stand," Hassan said. "My standards for a plan are slightly skewed."

"Wait, the Night Stand?"

Shit. Don't fuck with this guy.

"It sounds more impressive than it really was," Hassan replied, fingers tapping on the driving wheel. "We just withstood several days of non-stop emotional trauma, getting killed, shelled, running non-stop, and holding the line. If you ask me, the hardest part was missing a shot. All in all, it was a good time."

A good time? How could you call it that?

"I...uhh...sure?"

"I am, in fact, messing with you," Hassan rolled his eyes. "My point is, our current situation is bad, but I've been through worse, and last time? I did not have the world's finest to save my backside."

"Well, I'm glad you're alive."

"Funnily enough, I share that sentiment, and I would like to keep it that way," Hassan jerked his chin towards the storage box. "Open the thing, and grab me the map inside of it."

I did so, handing the map to him. "Here."

"No, I need both hands on the wheel," Hassan replied. "Not because I physically need it, but because it is emotionally calming, and I am on the edge of losing my shit. Okay, listen. I want you to read me the list of the three closest cities."

"Uh...let's see. Derna, Bayda, and Benghazi." I frowned. "Hassan, I don't think this should work. If Tobruk's down, then so will these, possible.

"Aw hell," Hassan finger tapping sped up. "Think. Think. Think."

"What about Zuwara?"

Hassan blinked. "Show me the goddamn map."

"Look!" I pointed. "The SAS were bumrushing Tobruk, they've probably hit everywhere close, so that entire region would be down. If we go in, we'll hit SAS forces, a bad end. We'll need to go the furthest possible."

"Zuwara...Zuwara," Hassan muttered. "That's almost twenty hours. Twenty hours, alone, vulnerable, and without aid. Fuck...I hate my job."

"I do too, buddy. I do too."

Hassan took a long, tired sigh. "I suppose we should look on the positive side."

"What's that?"

"It's still better odds than my engagement with Kabir had," Hassan grinned.

"Oh."

Charming.

Tobruk Outskirts, Libya

10/31/17- 10:47 AM

Hassan stared through the binoculars, rifle slung over his back. "Is it too late to regret having ever been born?"

The road was empty, bar for the trails of a coming truck convoy.

"Um...no comment on that one."

"Think about it," Hassan said, handing me the binoculars. "It's a generally bad deal, being born that is. You get popped in, and, probably, get killed by some psion jackass."

"And let me guess." I smirked. "I'm that psion jackass?"

"Pretty much, which makes me entirely happy you're on my side," Hassan braced his rifle on a set of bipods, defly loading a magazine. "Just to make sure my rambling, incoherent speech didn't confuse you, remind me what the plan was?"

"Get our asses to Zuwara, and hopefully not die along the way?"

"Not that part," Hassan chuckled. "The part where I figured out how to not get bombarded, and how to find your friends."

"Oh. That one!" Damn. "...You didn't mention that part."

"Ah, it's pretty simple," Hassan said. "See, those fuckers are using a combination of old, and new tech. That means they can't just target any communication signals, they have to check if it's one of their old equipment, or new."

A truck in the distance came closer.

"Truck's coming, Hassan."

"You with me so far?" Hassan asked, glanced over at me. "So, if we want to kill two birds with one stone, the solution is pretty goddamn simple. Steal a truck, saunter over as if we belong in the area, and keep tabs on enemy movements using their own coms."

I nodded. "Got it."

"Which is, and I'm begging you, please tell me you're able to completely mind control someone, and make them seem natural," Hassan nervously chuckled. "Because, and I've realized this a bit too late now, if you can't, then we're kinda fucked."

"And we don't want to get fucked."

"Not unless it's our wedding night, no," Hassan said. "Should I take that as a yes?"

I chuckled. "No can do, buddy. I have an Ethereal boyfriend."

He looked at me.

"Kidding!"

"I am very much judging you," Hassan replied. "Though, for now, I suppose one makes do with what he has."

The truck came into view, the drivers chatting idly. As we waited, the anticipation built up inside me.

Hassan stood up, racked the bolt on his sniper rifle, and fired. The loud bang rang, and the shell case coiled vapor as it arced, hitting the sand with a bounce. The second driver's head cracked open, and the first driver nearly lost control.

I entered the first driver's mind, imposing my will on him. The truck slowed down, until it stopped right before us.

Hassan loaded a second round in, grinning at me. "Not so shabby a shot, eh?"

"Not bad at all. The Commander would be proud."

Our truck, hidden merely a few meters away, crossed the distance and stopped. Xarian hopping from the top, and leading the refugees out of it. Hassan gestured for me to follow.

"Fun fact," he said, taking out his pistol, and blasting open the supply truck's lock. "Did you know that taking enemy uniforms is a war crime?"

"Geneva Suggestions, I guess."

Hassan started stripping the dead driver, and changing into their outfit. "Precisely. Now, I hope you remember your squad's radio frequency?" he clambered into the truck, pulling out its radio.

"Yep!"

"Here's the fruit of our labors," he handed the radio to me. "Go wild. Hey, Xarian! Come out here and help me empty this damn truck!"

I activated the radio, tuning in to the frequency. "Fakhr? Fakhr?"

"Dawn? Holy shit, is that you?"

"Yes!" the words slipped out. "I'm alive! I'm with Xarian and Colonel Hassan!"

"Fantastic. Nalena's here."

"Alright. Good, that's good. Where are you?"

She gave me her coordinates, as I did mine.

"So what's your status?"

"We're working on a plan. We're going to attack an SAS outpost for supplies and to get their comms. You think we can meet up?"

"Seems safe. At the moment. We're outside city limits and heading fast towards a rendezvous. Come to us, if you can. Our location's secure."

"Qan and the rest are dead. Killed in an orbital bombardment."

"Fuck, really?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry. This day just gets worse and worse, doesn't it?"

"Also, why is your signal registering as a SAS signal?"

"Uh, we stole it."

"Heh. Looks like we're already corrupting our youth. Alright then. We're with the rest of the surviving ADVENT forces over here."

"They alive?" Hassan said, as he fixed his SAS supply officer hat, and wiped off blood. "How's it look from their side?"

"Somewhat decent. For the moment."

"They still on? Hello?"

"We're still here. Not dead yet

"Here's the sitrep, we're alive, we've managed to steal a SAS truck, and we're effectively incognito. We can cross SAS territory, and the daft bastards won't notice. Who's the commanding officer on your side?"

"Kabir."

Hassan froze, then grit his teeth as his eyes grew wet. He took a long, smiling breath. "Copy...copy that," he grinned wide. "Tell her Colonel Hassan is still alive, quickly, that should get her attention."

He turned to me. "She's alive," he whispered. "She's alive."

Oh my.

Someone was happy

"That she is- and pretty pissed off too."

"You're goddam fucking right I am!" Kabir's voice blasted through the radio. "Where the hell are you?"

I made the mind controlled driver start driving, turning the refugee filled truck around. The engine rumbled.

"Out of Tobruk, and heading for Zuwara."

"Then I expect to meet your useless backsides to rendezvous at Ajdabiya. We'll hit the SAS outpost there, ressupply, and outrun their forces."

Maybe we would have some hope of standing against the SAS, then.

"Heard and obeyed," Hassan said. "...heard and obeyed."

"...Don't you dare fucking die on me Hassan, and tell that pipsqueak I'll personally kill her if you die. General Kabir, out."

The radio clicked shut.

"Well." I finally said. "We're fucking doing it." I sighed, closing my eyes for a minute. "We're going to make it out alive."

"Or get killed by Kabir for letting me die," Hassan said. "Equally possible."

"Now then," Hassan offered me a thermal detonator. "Want to have the honor? We rigged up the supplies, and the dead driver. No evidence left if it's all destroyed."

"Hell yes."

I pushed the button. The thrown out supplies, and the dead body of the drivers, were all blown apart. The truck drove on, a plume of fire behind it.

Tobruk Outskirts, Libya

10/31/17- 12:37 PM

A SAS patrol helicopter passed overhead, completely overlooking them. Hassan snorted, hat covering his eyes as he napped. Xarian was behind them, in the compartment between the back of the truck, and the drivers.

"How are you holding up?"

I looked at the hulking Oyariah. "I don't really know right now. The mission's gone all the way to hell and back, and even though some of us are alive, I feel like we've still lost."

"I understand that feeling. Before I joined Humanity, I had felt like that when fighting against ADVENT. I do not hold it against you, but I have not forgotten how it felt. I lost many of my brothers and sisters, too many. Some ripped apart by your PRIESTs, others blown apart. Friends from childhood, killed in seconds. Yet here I am."

Hassan opened an eye. "Fate's a bitch like that, ain't it?"

"Fate is...that is a saying I am unfamiliar with?"

Hassan chuckled. "It's a saying we humans have, think of it like a metaphor. Female dogs tend to have terrible behavior when in heat. Hence, a bitch."

"I see. You have a military background as well?"

"Technically, a terrorist background, green flag fighter," Hassan shrugged. "I prefer freedom fighter, but some disagree. Especially if they're Westerners. Absolute fucking bastards they are," he glanced at me. "No offense to you, I'm sure you're a fine, nigh stellar, flesh melter of a person."

I opened my mouth, about to say something, but remembered that I'd worked with a close associate of an actual terrorist with a thing for maned cats. Instead, I chortled out a laugh. "My uncle served in the War on Terror. Killed a lot of those."

"Let me guess, Van Doorn?" Hassan asked.

"On the spot."

"Couldn't have found a better leader to serve under," Hassan murmured. "You've got no idea how twisted that war was. How ugly it was. They like to sanitize it, make it seem like a victory of the great west over the evil islamists. The fucking deluded idiots."

"Oh, I know." I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "I think my uncle's PTSD attacks and him screaming at night say enough. Be careful, Hassan."

Hassan stared back, without a hint of hesitation. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve. Warped, twisted skin exposed. "See this? See this? Pipsqueak? This is the scar of the napalm that burned my family to death at the hand of Caliph's men. Would you like to know how it feels to be burnt alive? To see my family killed before my eyes? To see my house rendered to ash?"

"No-no. I'm sorry."

"You Westerners think you suffered from the War on Terror," Hassan exhaled, rolling down his sleeve. "It wasn't you who buried villagers by the hundreds. It was not you who suffered the tyranny of a tyrant. It wasn't you who had to fight from an early age, or die crushed beneath an iron boot."

"Yes." I said quietly. "I imagine you all feared the Commander."

"I lost my sister and her family in Damascus to him," Hassan hissed. "I watched my homeland descend into anarchy beneath his bloodshed and terrorism. Fear? That ceased once we realized what he was, another fucking monster, just like the Caliph, and equally as deluded."

"I knew someone that fought him too. It's a, well, it's a long story."

"Then you know it ain't so simple," Hassan breathed out. "Deus Vult ain't so simple, not for us, who got murdered for it. Who have to live with it. With the pretentious accolades of conquest, with the humiliation of being massacred twice over. But hey, ADVENT's got excellent social services, makes it all good, eh?"

"So why do you serve ADVENT now, then?"

"Because if you want something changed, you change it yourself," Hassan said. "The funny thing about ADVENT? It ain't all evil. It ain't all bad. Ain't no such thing as being simply evil, or being simply good. World doesn't work that way."

A convoy of trucks appeared over the horizon, coming over from another road that tied into this one.

"And you're okay with that?"

"Because I'm an idiot who thinks he can make the world a better place, " Hassan breathed out. "Because we...we're a proud people. A people who believe. Who fight. Who know pain, we know it, and we know good, and we understand how complicated life is. We're the proud sons and daughters of the Islamicate. We do not give up, we keep fighting. We keep struggling. That's how it is."

"We're not like you," Hassam murmured. "We don't have the vanity of believing we're superior, of believing we're morally upright. Of being so much better, it gives us the right to wage war with impunity. Like ADVENT did to us, in the name of the greater good. What greater good is it, that stacks the bodies of the innocents like charwood?"

I nodded reluctantly. "I...I don't believe that. My uncle fought in the War on Terror, man. He saw firsthand what the Caliphate did. Child soldiers, all those people dead…" I trailed off. "Back then I believed it all. Glorious America saving the day yet again, sending her people into the breach to defeat evil. And while there was some of that…" I pursed my lips. "I listened to my uncle. I heard his stories."

I turned to Hassan, my brown eyes looking into his.

"Some days he'd talk about the way the corpses rotted and smelled. How his Lieutenant shot himself in his tent after seeing the dead kids, filled with lead, straight from the Caliph's barrels. We didn't come away from the War unscathed, Hassan. You accuse us of killing thousands for our conquest, but your Caliph treated the whole damn Middle East like his sick playground and did the same fuckin' thing. Believe me..I understand."

He raised an eyebrow.

"No you don't, you silly child," Hassan said, the heat draining out of his voice. "You haven't a clue, you're just another cog in the system, content to serve. You couldn't understand that the only true heroism, in that pit of hell, was to disobey and be crushed for it."

The man took a long, tired breath. "You couldn't understand," Hassan picked up the radio and offered it to me.

I scowled. "There is a point. From what I know about you, you damn near matched who you're telling me I am. You want a pet killer, talk to the Battlemaster's Chinese pet. Ask her the same question, I'm sure you'll get a great answer. Yes, I follow the Commander's orders…"

"But?"

"Doesn't mean I have to agree with what he says. Or does."

"Then don't you confront him about it?"

"I did. But he convinced me otherwise." I paused. "But couldn't you do the same for your position?" I said with a smirk. "We're all soldiers here, aren't we? Don't you ever wonder about some of the things ADVENT says?"

He paused, pursing his lips. "Fair point. What did he say? Did he simplify it for someone your age?"

"He put it to me in a way that made sense to me. At the time."

"And now?"

"I still trust him. He's done a lot for me. It's a long story, but I look up to him."

Dust trails from the convoy came closer, all of their trucks fully within view.

"Give them a heads up, I don't want to die by friendly fire," he said while gesturing towards the convoy, now almost within firing distance of them.

"Got it." I got on the radio, clearing my throat. "Testing, testing, testing. ADVENT, this is XCOM psion Dawn Conley, with Chimera Operative Xarian and ADVENT Officer Hassan. We're inbound with some refugees in a stolen SAS truck. Do not fire on us, repeat, do not fire on us."

The convoy slowed down, starting to park by the side of the road. A few dozen ADVENT soldiers stepped out, gently handling refugees getting out of the trucks for the break.

I got out of the car, my armored boot hitting the ground as some sand brushed against my face. I noticed, walking towards me-

"Fakhr! Nalena!"

The two ran - and slithered - over to me, as Xarian hopped out, with Hassan trailing him.

"Dawn! Xarian! Thank god!" Fakhr pulled me into a quick hug before releasing me. "We were afraid you were all gone!"

"Takes a lot more than some traitors to put me down."

Xarian lumbered over to us. "Glad to see you alive, Rocketeer." Nalena and him exchanged some words in Ethereal Script that I didn't bother to translate.

"I hate to break up this reunion, but we have things to do." Fakhr said. "Things are a mess right now."

"And here you shit heads are!" General Kabir's voice blasted out. "Is this everyone that survived?"

"Rest of her squad is confirmed dead," Hassan said. "Pipsqueak is alive though, so we've got the firepower."

General Kabir's hair was frayed, her uniform bearing scorch marks. Shrapnel cuts run all across the outer layer of her armor. She still stood tall. "Which I'm planning to use, we're low on supplies, and there's SAS patrols coming close."

"Which means there's a well equipped outpost," Hassan said.

"If it hurts the enemy, we'll hit it." I said. "We're down, but not out, Kabir."

"Agreed." Fakhr said. "We're ready to go."

"Which means I'm going to steal everything not nailed down," Kabir said. "And then blow the Gateway inside. See those refugees behind me? I'm not letting a single one of them die, which means we'll need better trucks."

"Copy that. We'll get you what you need, and then some."

"I fully expect you to, or I'll file a complaint on how useless you are," Kabir said. "Hassan, you're with me. As for you, you know what to do."

We immediately prepared for the raid, all in our own ways. I made sure my banged-up Gravity Gun was working, as well as my psi-pistol; they both were. Xarian cleaned his hammers with a large, wet rag, and Nalena did some off exercise exclusive to Cobrarians involving some kind of stretching and coiling of her body.

Ready.

The trip to the outpost was quick - it was only a few blocks, but it was oddly quiet the whole time. There wasn't anything to notice, but the sudden change to the scenery being quiet felt...eerie, if not downright creepy.

Just hoof it, Dawn.

You're almost there.

We stopped at a convenience store, one street away from the outpost. I climbed up onto the roof, scanning the area with my telepathy.

It wasn't much- some prefab buildings, two turrets, and ten guards. None of them had any heavy weapons, aside from two snipers and a machine gunner, currently with his helmet off smoking.

Looks easy.

As I looked across the 'base', I noticed several boxes with a strange skull logo on it.

Hmm.

"Fakhr, I'm ready. Minimal defenses."

"Got it." She turned to Xarian. "You and Nalena go on a frontal assault. Dawn'll stay here and give telepathic support, while I'll shoot rockets if I have to. But keep the damage minimal. We need these supplies."

We all nodded, splitting up, the two aliens taking cover behind a run-down coffee place.

Time to dance.

The machine gunner picked up his weapon, spraying his leader in the back before turning on his fellow soldiers. Xarian roared, charging like a freight train hopped up on Monster through the front gate, smashing through them and running over one of the frightened snipers.

Nalena charged in after him, grabbing a soldier who was hurriedly trying to use the radio and snapping his neck with her tail. 'My' soldier aimed at the guy trying to jump over the wall, turning his head into red mist. Nalena blasted another soldier in the face, screaming as the poison melted through her helmet and onto her skin, burning the flesh away. Xarian's hammer cleaned up the rest, painting its blunt business end crimson and quite literally knocking some heads. He grabbed the machine gunner last, throwing him to the ground and smashing him with the hammer.

Mission accomplished.

Quick and easy.

It took a few moments for the convoy to roll over, and for troopers to start taking everything they could. They grabbed the trucks, the boxes of supply, water, food, medicine. Everything they could, they took.

Hassan whistled in appreciation of the scene. "Well and truly, a psionic jackass."

"Want, you want a more personal demonstration?"

He raised an eyebrow, wry smile on his lips. "I'm quite fine alive and in one piece," he gestured at the truck. "Although, I'd suggest you take anything you want, and get in the truck. SAS is gonna come in hot, so we need to find a safe area. Kabir is planning to make camp a good distance away from here, and we don't want to get ambushed."

"Sounds good to me." I said. "We've come this far, I sure as hell don't want to stop now."

Libya

10/31/17- 6:28 PM

The camp, to put it matter-of-factly, was a mess. The night was close, the cold biting at the people's skin as they huddled under blankets, their teeth chattering. I felt almost too privileged in my climate controlled high-tech armor.

Injured refugees, their bandages blood-soaked, moaned and groaned. Amputees, many having lost two limbs or more, were being fed by others. Troopers, faces downcast, gathered around in social cliques, their talk hushed, demoralized.

Nearly all of them were stained by blood, soot, ash and sand. Not a single person, not one, had a smile on their face.

This is the dark part of war, Dawn. They don't show you this in the movies or TV.

Two years I would've seen this on the tv and changed the channel.

But now, I'm right here with them.

"Look at you," Hassan said, sitting down beside me. He was nestled inside a thick blanket. "You and your fancy armor."

He didn't shiver or chitter, he looked at ease.

"You seem to be doing fine yourself. What's up with that?"

"You survive in a desert hunted by the Caliphate Counter Insurgency unit for several months, and you get used to being miserable," Hassan wiggled inside his blanket. "Gotta say, I've gone soft. I'm actually slightly bothered by the cold."

"Fair enough." I said. "Coldest I've been was when our heater broke three years ago; only for a few days until the electric company came out, bless 'em, but damn was it cold."

"Speaking of being miserable, I need a favor," Hassan wrangled his hands out. Rubbing them against one another. "Qasira needs help."

"On it. Anything for a friend."

God knew she needed more than that right now.

"Word of warning, she's out of it, and I think your brain magic might help," Hassan jerked his chin towards where Qasira sat, alone. "PTSD, if I had to guess."

"I'll do what I can. No telepathy, though. I'm not cruel."

I stood up, walking over to Qasira, lying on a medical stretcher, blanket haphazardly covering her body. I took a knee next to her, looking at her as she squinted at me.

"Dawn? That you?"

Qasira sat up, wrapping her blanket tighter around herself. She stared blankly at my helmet. I nodded, taking it off and shuffling on my knees over to her. Her face was red - she was holding a tissue weakly.

"It's me."

"They're really dead, aren't they?"

I pursed my lips, not knowing what to say. What was I supposed to say- oh yeah, your mom and sister are dead, slaughtered by a bunch of mercs?

"It doesn't feel real," She said blankly. "All of this, it doesn't feel real. They're just...gone. Like that. One minute I had my life, and now...I don't have anything. I don't have anyone."

"Well…" I reached out, touching a hand with mine. "You have me and Hassan. We're not going to leave you until we're both dead."

Qasira stared at me. "Dad used to say that, then he died. Mom used to say that, now she's dead. Everyone says that, and everyone dies, and then I'm all alone," she laughed quietly. "Maybe I should die too. Maybe I will."

I shook my head. "No. That's not the answer. If you die, there's no going back for you. You're not alone."

"It's easier to die," Qasira said. "Easier than this. I can still hear it, mom. Mom screaming, I can hear her screaming, she's still screaming," she grabbed her head with both hands, nails digging into her scalp. "I wanted her to stop begging me for help. She kept begging me to help her, I can't help her, so why did she keep asking?"

Godamnit. What should I do? I'm not Doc Yates. I'm not qualified for shit for this. If I say the wrong thing, I'll make it even worse! I'll make her feel even worse!

"She-she wanted help. It's natural."

"The floor was red, red with her guts," Qasira said, looking at me. Through me. "I kept...I kept putting them in. I tried so hard, she kept screaming. Why did she keep screaming? Why did she keep begging me?"

I'm not a doctor. I'm not a therapist. "She was in pain. She was worried about you, about your sister. She didn't want you to go."

"Why did my mom have to die, Dawn?" Qasira asked with blank eyes. "Why did she die?"

"Because those monsters don't give a damn about civilians or the military. To them, everything with ADVENT on it is a target."

"Those monsters? Them? Just them?" Qasira said. "ADVENT killed my brother in Deus Vult. The Commander killed my brother in Damascus. The Caliphate killed my younger sister during the War. So why does everyone kill my family, Dawn? Why does everyone I love get killed when they haven't done anything?"

I gulped. "I don't have an answer for that, Qasira."

"Nobody has a fucking answer," she hissed. Clenching her fists. "All you have is your fucking wars, all you have is killing and killing and killng my family. ADVENT, SAS, Commander, Caliph, you! You."

Qasira stood up, heaving, eyes burning with anger. "You're all the fucking same! All of you! You keep fucking waging and killing my family for no fucking reason! Nobody has a fucking answer for me!"

Tears rolled down her eyes. "None of you have an answer, all you have is war and more war. That's all you have," her nails dug into her hand. Her blood dripped down palm. "You're all just killers doing whatever you're told, killing my family when you're told."

I raised an eyebrow. Normally, I'd get very pissed off by this, but I let it go, mostly due to her being traumatized. She had just lost her family, I wasn't going to make things worse by yelling at her or making an angry face. I didn't want to lay more on her then there already was on her plate. But it did really piss me off.

"You were fucking supposed to protect my family!" Qasira yelled, hurling herself at me, throwing weak punches and lashing out. "You were supposed to keep my family safe!"

XCOM- we protect, don't we?

Don't we try?

We go out there killing, but the damage is done.

Killing because of an insane dream, a want to break a cycle.

Is this worth the pain, Ethereal?

Violence breeds violence.

History repeats itself.

My grandfather saw this behind enemy lines in Nazi-occupied Europe, my uncle saw it in the Caliph-led Middle East, and now I was here, seeing this.

"The rebar cut her in half," Qasira stopped trying to hurt me, arms and hands bruised. "She pushed me out of the way. Warda pushed me out of the way. Why did she push me? Why am I alive? Why does everyone keep killing my family? Why am I still alive? Answer me goddamit!"

I didn't have an answer. I didn't know what to say.

"Damn them all." She said, meekly.

"Qasira." I shook my head. "I don't know anymore."

"It's all fucking gone!" She screamed, voice hoarse. "Everything I ever had is gone, all of it. Every bit I ever had."

She started bawling, burying her face inside her sleeve. I could use telepathy, but that wasn't right. What was I going to do, erase her memories and make new ones? That was just cruel. While I could erase memories, I hadn't really ever delved into making fake memories.

"Why did my family die?" she whimpered, shrieking through clenched teeth. "Why did they have to die?"

Ah shit.

What the hell was I going to say about this?

I didn't know what to say to that. I could say something like 'I'm sure he's fine' but later if he turned out to be dead, I'd look like a liar. But would she see me instead as someone giving her comfort?

In that moment, seeing Qasira like this: distraught, in pain, mentally and emotionally, I made a connection.

This is what war does to people - no.

This is what your actions do to people.

Every time I killed somebody in the field of battle, that was a family member I was taking away. That was one less son, daughter, husband, wife, father, mother - I took that from them.

This is what you do with every bullet, Dawn. This is what you do with every thought, every shot, every fist, every grenade.

The blood of over a hundred is on your hands.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning I saw Kabir standing there. "Qasira."

The girl didn't stop crying, muffling her sobs by biting on her sleeve.

"Qasira," Kabir said, kneeling and grabbing her. "Look at me, look at me."

Qasira looked at her. Kabir all but buried the girl in a crushing hug, and the crying grew louder and louder. Until the entire camp could see and hear it. Kabir rubbed circles on Qasira's back, gently brushing her hair.

God, I felt worthless in that moment.

I walked back to Hassan, my head hanging low as I walked over to the unaffected man.

"I did suggest you use your brain magic," Hassan said, without a hint of humor. "You look like shit."

"I feel like shit, too."

"Welcome to the Middle East," Hassan rolled his eyes. "Where we've been eating the bombs you rich asshats have been firing for yours or suffering under our own tyrants. Don't worry, war never gets better. It only goes downhill from here."

Like in South America.

Hassan sighed, softening his voice. "Sorry pipsqueak. That wasn't right of me to say. It's not your fault ADVENT military has a bunch of immoral, conquering pricks at the top...it's...it's not your fault, I'm just worried..."

He paused, and closed his mouth. He exalted, looking up at the sky.

"It's that you're basically the top honcho for ADVENT," Hassan said. "I'm no genius, but if ADVENT is fine with firebombing residential areas, then I wonder what kinda fucked up shit XCOM does. You're basically the go to killer. I'm too cynical to trust someone who trusts people behind the likes of Scipio and Deus Vult."

"Funny how that works." I said. "My grandfather killed Nazis. My uncle fought the Caliphate. 'Best of the best' they said, when they talked about it. Now I'm here, just like my uncle." I paused. "The Commander is...someone." I said. "There are, well, nuances about him."

Some, if true, aren't exactly flattering.

"You know what I learnt when I was hunted down by Caliphate Counter Insurgency?" Hassan said.

"What's that?"

"That burning me and my family alive to terrify my village into submission worked," Hassan said. "They justified it, 'cause it worked. Ain't that nuanced?"

"I can't speak for the Commander or what that sicko did." I said. "My uncle sure as hell didn't agree with it, and neither did I. I'm not some brainwashed American who just watches the news and takes ut for face value, swelling with nationalism like a fuckin' balloon of pride and false superiority."

"Then don't fall for the stupid shit they say to justify their actions," Hassan said. "Nobody thinks of themselves as truly evil, they'll make it sound perfectly justified. SAS just got half of their lands raped by ADVENT, so now they've told themselves 'it's only right we do the same.'"

He wrapped himself tighter with his blanket. "ADVENT was conquering us to make things better, so it's only okay to fight without holds barred. After all, things would be way, way better when they're done and are running the show, so why slow down because a few more nobodies would die?"

"And don't forget, the Collective is invading mankind, so it's only right they conquer the entire world by any means necessary, after all, if they don't, mankind would be subjugated," Hassan continued. "What's a few sacrifices for that? After all, they run things way, way better than the people they killed, if you run the numbers, it's a net gain, how could they ever do anything wrong-"

"Fuck that." I said, with gritted teeth. "Don't put this shit on me. I don't just take Vyandar and her EX-"

I cleared my throat. "Everything her 'excellent' cabinet does for face value. I don't want dyin' kids. I don't want people torn apart. I didn't do this. I don't want to be a part of him. But I'm here." I clapped my hands against my armored chest. For a long time I haven't thought about that. I just thought about the people around me. I thought about my sisters back in the barracks, what we do for each other. When I joined up, yes, I'll admit I thought it was going to be 'cool'. Power armor, killing aliens, winning, being the good guys, that G.I. Joe kinda shit. I thought about only that, but not everything else around it. Case in point, this."

I shifted. "But that's gone now." I blinked. "I can't get this out of my head. Qasira crying to me about losing her family, that's my job- protecting these people. And I feel like I've failed. I had one job, to protect Tobruk. And I failed."

"And you're one of the best killers they have," Hassan said, eyes locked to mine. "If you, for one second, think they're not manipulating you to think everything is hunky dory, and oh sweety, there's nothing wrong going on, don't make a fuss about nothing, oh it's all for the greater good, just listen to my flawless reasoning, then you're an idiot."

"And you'd think so, Hassan." I said. "XCOM's been upfront and honest with me from day one. I'd tell you, Hassan, but then I'd have to kill you and hide the body. Sometimes, it's not ideal, but they've given me what was needed."

But I'm not an idiot.

I willingly joined up for this, expecting something so...different. But when ADVENT came into my school that first day, I cheered them on. 'Unite Humanity!' 'Fight the Aliens' 'Make Everything Better!' I saluted just like everyone else that day. Wide-eyed, filled with the very same fervor I had just ripped apart, I gave myself to ADVENT that day, at school.

Don't ask questions about how we came to power. How we solved so much, so quickly.

Just say yes.

Blindly swear allegiance.

We're the righteous, you see - we'll succeed.

All we need is you.

Don't step out of line.

That was the picture ADVENT painted for us.

But here, in the desert, as darkness fell, where people for thousands of years had fought, kingdom after kingdom, ruler after ruler, we were here, continuing the cycle.

I looked at him. "It sucks, but we signed up for this."

"Yeah," he said, somberly. "Yeah."

I still couldn't stop thinking about how similar this was compared to what my uncle went through.

I turned to look at the desert ahead, the dunes and thousands grains of sand in the air dotting the landscape. Off in the distance, I saw a small group of camels, trekking over a dune, minding their own business, like the war everywhere else didn't exist.

I almost pitied the poor things.

I remember my uncle again - but not just the stories he told. He had several photo albums covering his life, including the War on Terror in his bedroom. The pictures were mostly what you'd expect - him and other allied soldiers in uniform, the various bases and cities he visited, things you'd expect.

But in the back, there was a part he didn't let us see. Ever.

Not until a few years ago when my curiosity got the better of me, and when he and his wife were out of the house, I opened it up.

I never told him I did that.

I looked at a reflection of my face on the windshield of one of the parked Humvees at the edge of our camp. I saw my face staring back at me, in particular my brown eyes.

You have your uncle's eyes, my mom said sometimes. She was right - not just the color, but the way I gave some 'looks' looked oddly familiar compared to him.

But, like her brother, her daughter would go through hell in the desert, too.

Only here, the stakes meant so much more.

Libya

11/31/17- 8:57 PM

As the night deepend, the air only grew colder. Howling wind sucking up heat, and cold sands draining it from below. It was almost freezing, in a dry, constant, way.

The refugees were either sleeping in the trucks or on the ground in sleeping bags. While I myself would have loved to be sleeping, Xarian and Fakhr had drawn the longest straws in the incredibly intellectual game of skill, speed, and luck known as 'picking straws', leaving me and Nalena to watch the dunes...for now.

I sat down on one of the sand dunes, my armor allowing me to lie down without needing a towel like at the beach. Nalena curled up next to me, turning her body into a large, scaly coil.

"You cold?" She hissed, tongue flickering.

"Not really." I said, tapping my Aurora armor. "Does the work for me."

"Hm." She snorted. "All I have to do is curl up like this and my biology does the work." She gestured to her tail. "Here, feel it. Unlike you, we don't generate heat."

I reached out with a hand, lightly tapping the scaly skin. To my avail, she felt...well, kind of warm, an insulated warmth that was barely seeping out.

"Neat!" I said. "Jealous, too."

"There are benefits to having no legs." She snorted. 'If you want to lean on me, I take no offense. My sisters and I did it many times while training in Borelia."

"Alright." I scooted over, leaning my unhelmeted head on her large, ciled form. "Huh. Feels like a pillow."

Hassan walked over, brow raised as he saw the scene. "Am I interrupting anything untoward? Because if I am, then I am very much judging you."

I snorted. "You wish, Hassan."

He chuckled, unslinging his rifle and putting it on his lap. He also flicked off the safety. "Never met the snake lady, name, as Dawn has introduced me, is Hassan. You?"

"The little hatchling is making friends, I see."

"I call her pipsqeak, or, when she's going to be used to enact mass murder, psionic jackass, both are equally apopriate," Hassan offered his hand for a handshake.

"Pip-squeak? What is that, a furry rodent?" She took his hand, cocking her head as she shook it.

"Word denotes a small sound," Hassan said. "And given her size, it seems very appropriate. Also, I don't like you, a snake person, talking about her like a furry rodent. Makes me worried you might eat her."

"Well, she is in a good position to get coiled up…"

"Try me." I said. "This hatchling has a nasty bite."

"Good to see your morale is still up," Hassan said. "Though I'd suggest you keep on watch a bit more. You might not have noticed, but we're upwind," he pointed his finger forward. "You won't be able to smell any attackers, and your vision, Cobrarian, isn't famed for its acuity."

She lightly hissed. "Someone's done their research. I suppose your men aren't as ignorant as ours."

"Oh no, it wasn't research, I've just gotten used to ambushing you guys," Hassan said, and winced. "Errr, no offense meant. What with murdering your fellows on a regular basis and all."

She grinned. "I like this one. His words are as strong as his actions."

"Never got to ask one of you guys before, what with shooting your heads off, but, well, here we go," Hassan picked up his sniper rifle. Using it to sweep the area, before putting it back down. "What's up with your male, female problem?"

"Us females outnumber them seven to one, and they keep leaving for elsewhere on Vitakar, despite the comfortable and easy lives we give them."

Hassan raised a brow. "I'm not a genius, but I think that might be part of the problem. They sound too hemmed in, and way, way too sexualized, gilded cages and all. Kinda messed up, now that I think about it."

"We used to be sex slaves and cannon fodder under them." She said flatly.

"Most of mankind used to be slaves of rich pricks," Hassan said. "Doesn't mean fixing the problem starts with gilded cages. Or maybe it does, rich people zoos sound fun, so long as it's the rich people in the cages. Errr.. you get my point."

"Yeah." I said "That's be like us 'solving' slavery by letting the Africans enslave the rich European and American assholes that did it to them in the first place. That's only continuing the cycle."

Hassan raised a hand. "As a technically African man, I would like that. Yes. Please. I vote for it. I would like to enslave Europe and be filthy rich."

I shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat."

"Ugh, the lack of enthusiasm," Hassan chuckled. "But hey, its your people Naleena, just because your people are wrong doesn't mean I'm right and that you guys should change things. Nope. At all," he winked.

"I have read some of your history. Your brutality to another is something I will never understand."

Hassan rolled his eyes. "Oh please, you make us sound like violen-"

A loud crack shattered the quiet, Hassan's arm exploded, blood and bone shrapnel raining. The man spun in place and fell down, ragdolling across the sand. More loud cracks rang, bullets whistling, pinging off of the sand.

His sniper rifle tumbled down beside him.

"The hell is that?" I grabbed my Gravity Gun. I took cover, putting on my helmet as the sand was blown into the air by various gunshots.

"That's goddamn sniper fire!" Hassan yelled, groaning as the pieces of his arm wetly hit the sand. "Also, thanks for the concern! God it hurts!"

"Need help?" I turned to Nalena, who had partially buried herself under the sand. Reaching to my pack, I pulled out an aid kit and pulled out a bottle of nanite healing spray. His bleeding slowed down, then stopped.

"I lost an arm you idiot! Yes I need help!" Hassan groaned, suckling in a breath through clenched teeth.

"Fuck! This can't fix that! This is not meant for amputated limbs!"

"Just stop the bleeding!" He yelled, eyes bloodshot and tearing. "And grab my goddamn night flare and shoot it!"

I reached out with my mind, scanning the area. At first, I felt nothing, but on the second examination I felt something- no, someone!

More than one.

But their minds were different. All human, but they were being shielded. They were advancing, bouncing from point to bounce with clinical, perfected precision. Quickly, every moment they moved closer.

Then the sprays of machine gun fire, suppressing us ever further, hit. They stopped trying to hide, and systematically charged us, bayonets at the ready. A rocketeer took position, eying our position with blind determination.

We were pinned.

"Nalena. They've got a telepath. Solii," I said, keeping my head low.

"So they cannot mind-control?"

"Nope."

"I see. How many?"

"Fifteen, maybe-"

Nalena recoiled as she grabbed her head. Fuck! The Solii!

"Oh hell, it's the Skull Brothers, this is bad, oh God this is bad," Hassan groaned, motioning for me to come closer. "Can you telepathically feed me their positions?"

A sniper round whizzed past my helmet.

"Yes or no, quick," Hassan hissed.

"Yes! Yes, I can!" I reached out with my mind, trying to focus as bullets shot through the air and explosions rocked the ground.

Hassan grunted, grabbing his flare gun with one hand. He took a long breath, and aimed it up. "Second I fire this flare, you kill their machine gunners at any bloody cost, understand me?"

"Copy all."

He fired the flare, and the night drowned in blinding white light. The gunfire stopped as the attackers were, for a single second, blinded.

Go time.

I felt fifteen Skulls closing in, their minds protected by the Solii.

Let's dance.

I saw one Skull pop up over a sand dune. I aimed my Gravity Gun and pulled the trigger. He screamed as his helmet crumpled onto itself, crushing his head.

The machine gunners aimed their weapons at me, me almost feeling the sights locking onto me. I slammed into their minds, feeling the Solii try to push back. He was powerful, but something about him felt different, something...inexperienced. I found a crack in his defenses, letting me find a way to bypass the defenses. With a thought, the four Skulls dropped dead.

Within a second, he closed the crack. Stronger now, angry and focused.

"Alright, now's the easy bit," Hassan turned his head to the side, and spat bloody phlegm. "Dawn, pick me up, Naleena, cover us. And as for what we're doing? We fucking run. We run to camp, and get the firepower before those pricks kill us."

"Can do!"

We got up, Hassan's stump covered up, Nalena helping him walk as we ran back to camp, crouch-running back to our encampment.

Overhead, helicopters shrieked as more SAS troops dropped, the air was filled with yelling and screaming.

I rushed across the sand, shots hitting the sand around me, whizzing by me. Seeing the two black-armored Dynamo psions stand out from the Skull Brothers running for us. I was panicking, feeling my heartbeat go up as I dashed across the sand, heavily breathing.

Shitshitshitshit. Don't die now.

I aimed my gravity gun at a couple of SAS soldiers raising their guns at me.

I don't think so.

The artificial telekinetic field generated by the gun picked up the soldiers, them dropping their guns and waving their arms in a frenzy, yelling for help. With a gesture, the gun threw them to the right, sending them right into one of the psions, slamming into him and knocking him over. I took a Thought Bomb, turned its level all the way up, and chucked it with an underhand throw right at them, the whole lot of them falling flat, dead.

The battle stopped for a second, a black banner with a white skull was flown into the air, and the sound of a megaphone growled out loud.

We took cover behind a sand dune, catching our gasping, heaving breaths.

"My name is Erco van Skedelbroers. I have an offer of mercy to you refugees, and to you soldiers," Erco started, even as he spoke, SAS soldiers and Skull Brothers were preparing mortars, and moving into position. "Surrender, right this moment, and the only ones who will suffer will be the XCOM troops. Your lives will be spared as prisoners of war."

Uh oh. Tough guy's here.

"Refuse me, and I will shell your little refugee camp with white phosphorus, and you will beg me for mercy, which I will not give," Erco pointed at me. "I will tear you limb from limb, and I will leave your flayed skulls as ornaments. You have ten seconds to decide."

Standing out in the open like that?

"Hey pipsqueak, I need you to do me a favor, yeah?" Hassan said.

"Yes?"

"Take the scope off of my rifle, and place down the bipods for me, please," Hassan said, taking off his helmet, as he wiped off the sweat on his forehead. "Quickly, please."

"Uh...okay." I did as instructed.

"Three seconds left!" Erco yelled, malice dripped out of his voice.

Hassan, with his remaining arm, took a hold of his rifle, breathing hard as he strained to aim. "Say, can you telepathically message Kabir?"

"Yes." I felt for Kabir's mind.

"Please, inform her to tell the men to ready all their flares. All of them, and fire them at the same time. Also, to close their eyes," Hassan swallowed dryly. "Side note, is your armor sniper proofed?"

"Yeah?"

I did so, feeding the information through my mind to hers.

"One second left!" Erco yelled.

Hassan opened fire. Erco's head was blown out. His headless body stumbled a step, then fell. Red painting the sand.

Silence and stillness dominating for a second.

"Still got it in me," Hassan chuckled. "Also, so very sorry about this, okay?"

"Sorry about wha-"

Both sides burst into motion.

He pushed me in front of him, using me as cover as sniper rounds rained on us. It didn't penetrate my armor. But it hurt.

ADVENT troopers fired their flares, closing their eyes, as sheer searing light blind everyone in sight. The SAS mortar crew fired on reflex, their shells striking the camp. Fires broke out, men and women and children screamed, the stench of burnt flesh dug into my head.

Hassan kept firing, every shot hitting a head, body dropping left and right. ADVENT troopers ran to us, bracing their weapons and firing, exploiting the momentary blindness.

And dying, a sniper shot hit a trooper, sending him tumbling down the dune. A mortar shell hit a trio, burning them alive, they shrieked their voices hoarse, until they rolled down the dune. Dying in a flaming pile.

Holy crap.

Oh God.

Holy shit.

The Skull Brothers rushed at us. The SAS troopers kept at the back. The scale of gunfire and mortars was barely slowed down by us.

A Skull Brother, clad in powered armor and genetic augments, rammed clean through a trooper. Sliced his throat with a bayonet, and used him as a meat shield, as he killed another two with pin-point accurate bursts.

I aimed my Gravity Gun at him, crushing him with a telekinetic grip.

I heard a loud scream from behind me. Turning around, I saw Nalena getting mobbed by
several Skull Brothers.

She shot one in the face with her Venom Spitter, breaking their helmet in half, the mercenary fell to the ground, seizing as blood poured out of the cracks. She twisted herself around another, squeezing him to death while firing at another-

Only for a fourth to jump on to her back with a knife and plunge it into her back.

Oh hell no.

She yelped as yellow blood dripped from her back. I felt her pain, clenching my teeth.

Now it's on.

I aimed the Gravity Gun at the one on her back, wrapping him in telekinetic strings, reducing his head and limbs to a pulpy mess. A Skull Brother tackled me, pulling out a gun and firing right at my head. The shields took the plasma shot okay, but he whipped out a knife, grabbing me by the neck and preparing to stab me.

His mind was shielded, but I was one step ahead.

I grabbed my holstered psi pistol, whipped it out, jammed it into his neck, and held down the trigger, firing three times.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The psionic blasts blew through his armor, a blood-red spit spewing out of the opposite side of his head. His body, straddling mine, fell backwards into the sand.

I looked over at Nalena, who'd been relieved by Xarian, surrounded by Skull Brother corpses. She wasn't doing too well - she was bleeding from multiple points on her body, and her left arm looked almost broken. But she was alive.

A trooper stumbled towards me, fist sized holes punched clean through him. He opened his mouth, but fell down. Bleeding out in the sand, muttering words I couldn't make out.

The gunfight didn't slow down, it sped up. The sands were stained red, Skull Brothers tearing through troopers, troopers tearing into SAS soldiers. The endless staccato of gunfire nearly drowned out all cries and screams.

A Skull Brother was crushed by Xarian's hammer when he got too close, getting a shotgun blast that ripped into Xarian's knee. Nalena took a full round of six, five round bursts, when a Skull Brother flanked her, her armor pierced through, her wounds weeping yellow.

She spat venom that ate his face, and he still managed to pull out his pistol and empty it at her. Injuring her further. The Skull Brothers didn't slow down. They kept going faster, better, killing troopers, rushing and taking pieces out of us at every weakness we exposed.

A sniper round blew out the brains of a trooper besides me, his rifle flying out of his hands. His blood splattering over my armor. Machine gun rounds showered Xarian, forcing him to hunker down.

Mortar shells fell all over the place, one next to Hassan's position, exploding in a spray of sand and shrapnel.

We were losing.

Is this how I go out?

We were being slowly killed.

Are we done for?

I could hear the refugees screaming.

Is this how I end?

Rounds pinged off of my armor.

Surrounded by these freaks?

Every shot pushed and shoved at me.

Dying having saved no one?

Hassan dragged himself towards me, crawling, step by step, until he was next to me. "Pretty shitty situation, eh?"

"Yeah."

"I've got a solution, if you'd like to hear," Hassan grinned, pain muting the expression. "It can't make things worse, but it would make things better."

"Yeah?"

"You're a telepath, that means you have almost perfect awareness of where living things are," Hassan started. "It's pretty simple, you take my rifle, and you hit every last telepath they have in the head. You instinctively know where they are, so it should be easy to pop their heads."

I breathed in and out. "Yeah. I think I can take a crack at it."

My hands shook for a moment.

Fear drummed in me, almost as deafening as the gunfire.

He offered me his rifle, yelling towards his fellow troopers. "We'll cover you even if they tear us to bloody shreds. You'll get one shot. Make it count."

"I don't know if I can do it, Hassan."

"Nah, see it's pretty simple, you either do it, or we all die, pretty goddamn simple, I'd do it if I could, sadly can't do it," he showed me his remaining arm, shrapnel from a mortar shot buried into it. "You're the next person for the job. It's pretty easy - you aim, and you shoot."

He offered it to me again, gritting his teeth from the pain of moving. He was still smiling to comfort me.

I took it.

"Ready or not?" Hassan grinned.

"Yes."

"Who wants to die a martyr?" Hassan laughed. "Seventy-two virgins, remember that. Victory or fucking martyrdom boys, ain't no other ways about it."

The troopers laughed back at him, reloading their guns.

"Alright, if you motherless bastards will, I'll go first, eh?" Hassan said. "Ready? Steady? Fire."

Hassan was the first to rise, pistol in hand, firing away.

The troopers rose up, firing non-stop to give me a chance to take the shot. Return fire came immediately, one trooper danced like a puppet, every bullet shaking his body until he fell, lifeless and bloodsoaked.

They didn't stop firing away, giving me a chance at the cost of their own lives.

I could feel their fear.

It didn't stop them.

I focused on the telepath, feeling his mind as it tried to hamper me. This guy was good - if the rumor were true, they were trained by Ethereals themselves.

But so was I.

What happened next flew by in a few seconds, like a slow dream. I shouldered the rifle, the adrenaline kicking in as time seemed to slow around me.

I raised the rifle, finger on the trigger as I saw the purple-painted helmet of the telepath, the air around him crackling in a purple shimmer. He was reaching for a gun as one hand flew to his waist.

My breath slowed as I aimed the gun right to his head, lining the sights up with the skull on his helmet.

Fire.

The gun bellowed.

His head exploded into red mist with the pull of a trigger, his headless body rolling down the dune, his neck spurting a shower of red blood that left a trail down the dune.

As soon as he died, my mind reached out, enveloping the surrounding SAS, their minds succumbing to my will. All the rage and anger from the past two days built up, my mind like a lance penetrating their minds like wet paper.

Obey my will.

They stood stiffly.

Submit to me.

Their gazes went blank.

I command you.

They aimed their weapons at one another.

Obey my order.

Without hesitation, they opened fire on each other as plasma ripped them apart, mowing each other down. Soldiers turning to one another with knives, pistols, and grenades and rifles and machine guns. They killed each other with every tool they had, they mauled each other.

I fell to my knee, panting as sweat dripped down my face as enemy soldiers collapsed around me like dominoes.

In seconds, all that was left was dead bodies, and dying men torn to bits.

And then I chuckled.

"I did it." I said. "I did it."

I broke into hysterical laughter.

"I won."

Libya

11/1/17- 7:25 AM

To say it was not good was an understatement.

Out of the three hundred people here, fifty or so had been killed, either by indirect fire or via direct fire. Some had been near completely immolated by the exploding vehicles or grenades, leaving only bloody messes of clothes and flesh. The rest were traumatized and downright scared.

The ADVENT soldiers with us had been halved, down to ten now, and those that were left were pretty badly injured. We'd lost most of the armored vehicles, leaving with us only a few spare rocket launchers and machine guns for cover.

The massacred civilians made me sick. We'd lined up the dead, taking pictures for evidence. If anything, the inevitable war crimes trial over this wouldn't be lacking in proof. The data from their suits confirmed it, the memories I'd seen confirmed it, and the actions they took were recorded.

Seeing all those dead, with the final looks of fear and terror frozen on their faces as they were riddled with bullets.

It was horrible. Granted, I'd seen things like this before, and while, in a morbid way, you got used to it after a while, there was a small part of your mind that never could really shake it. The part of your mind that told you to stop staring, to look somewhere else.

So I resigned myself to sitting one one of the truck's beds, staring out into the distance, trying to hold my emotions in.

"Hey Dawn, guess what I've fucking found!" Hassan yelled, dragging a body with his hand. "You get one guess!"

"A live one?"

He kicked the body towards her. The body coughed, weakly struggling against the sand. It was a Skull Brother, white paint around his helmet.

"I'm almost tempted to just off the bastard," Hassan said. "Thought I might as well ask if you want to do it yourself."

I looked at the struggling mercenary, blood and scars covering his helmet. His legs were bent in an unnatural position, and it was very clear he was in pain. I looked at the skull painted on his helmet, looking away for a moment at the destruction he'd caused as I took his helmet off.

A grin of satisfaction grew on his face.

"You know what?" I said, rubbing my hands. "I think Mister Mercenary here needs a little...mental engagement."

"Try, white girl," the Skull Brother reached up, taking off his helmet. One of his eyes was missing. "Try, I'll just have fun. It's not a tenth of what we'll do in reprisal."

"Oh?" I said. "You think I wanted Christiaens's little masochistic rampage fantasy to go like this?" I shook my head. "See, a dog only really works when it's leashed. An unleashed dog's gonna run, hide, go places you don't want it to." I cracked a knuckle. "And in this case, well...Saudia's little attack dog got a bit too, shall we say, overhyped. But as the saying goes, in the case of ADVENT, monkey say, monkey do."

The Skull rolled his eyes. "Spare me the words, and fucking kill me. All you do is talk, talk, talk. As if you have anything of worth to say. Pull the trigger."

"It's almost, almost tempting to leave you out here to die of heat," Hassan said, kicking the Skull Brother. "But if you ask me, two wrongs don't make a right."

"Of all the people, on this cursed earth, I get the two soldiers who want to talk with me," the Skull Brother exhaled, turning his head to the side and spitting blood. "What do you, white girl, know about pain? You were born amidst wealth, amidst law, amidst order. Your people enslave, bomb, kill, and pillage."

He crawled to the truck, resting his back on it as he took out a cigarette, and a lighter. "There is no honor among your kind, you are no better than I, killers, murderers, and pillagers. Yet you have the gall to pretend to be better? Fuck off."

The Skull Brother lit his cigarette, taking a puff as he closed his eyes. He gestured to the camp. "You started this, and you complain when you get a reply in kind. Like rotten, spoiled children."

"Honor." I scoffed. "Honor is a lie people tell themselves when they're killing the other side. 'Yes, let me bombard cities and slaughter thousands that cannot dream of even bruising me.'" I shook my head. "As much tact as some 'honorable' people claim, at the end of the way, killing is killing. The Battlemaster and his goon. They're both killers. They put on a show, try and make it seem better than it is."

"You're a mercenary, killing people for money, you're not one bit better. There is no honor in war - it's people killing people, no matter how much flair you put on it. I don't lie to myself and say that I have honor. I don't pretend to be better than I am."

"What's it matter to you, white girl?" the Skull Brother asked, blood leaking from his destroyed eye. "Did you know any of these people, were they family, friends? Lovers? Kin? You don't know them, so what's it matter if we killed them now? You didn't care before when you didn't see it happen."

"Because I can't change it," I said. "Walk into High Command and politely tell them to stop?" I sighed again. "You're going to die, you're not wiggling your way out of it."

"Fuck off," the Skull Brother flicked his cigarrete into my face. "Give me a knife, I don't need the likes of you to end me."

"Enjoy hell, it won't be pleasant," Hassan threw his knife at the Skull Brother, who only sneered.

"Don't worry," he replied. "You'll be joining me, kicking and screaming. My brothers will avenge me."

Without a hint of hesitation, the Skull Brother reached for his throat. Before he could, though, I grabbed his throat, entering his mind and ripping out all the information I could. What I saw was a blur, nothing that seemed vitally important. A briefing room, going through a Gateway, riding a boat…

A few things stood out to him, though.

A tall, scarred man, his skin scorched by the desert sand.

A huge man in black armor with axes on his hips and a beard.

Killing civilians.

A burning city.

Traitor.

I released him from my grasp a moment later, his falling to the ground, gasping as he looked at me with a scared face. I beckoned my head towards the knife.

He did not hesitate, stabbing himself in the neck and collapsing.

"I want to kick him," Hassan murmured.

I looked at his dead body with nothing but contempt. At the end of the day, he was nothing but an agent of those more powerful than him, luring him with money to do the things he did. Power, money...tools of those more powerful, using people like us to do what they wanted.

But as I stood there, watching his dead body, it made me think.

ADVENT's actions had done this, a domino effect. One falling domino caused more to fall. Scipio, then this.

This wasn't right.

What Saudia let happen wasn't right.

Something had to be done.

Dead parents. Dead kids.

I could've stopped this.

We failed them.

I failed them.

It reminded me of what my uncle had seen during the War on Terror. Civilians slaughtered, put on crosses and left to die, roasting in the desert sun. Towns full of innocent burnt to the ground, places of worship bombed to ash all under the order of the Commander.

It's sick.

Its twisted and fucking sick.

You did this then, and now the SAS is doing it now.

I gritted my teeth, looking away. I'd seen death and devastation like this before, but it wasn't like this. For some reason, while it felt more personal on the outside, I couldn't help but feel a bit numb. Just seeing them all lying there made me feel...almost empty.

Powers clash, and the innocents in the middle always pay the price. The sons being sent to the meat grinder, the mothers getting the news of dead children. Broken families, broken countries, the people who just want to wake up every morning and go about their day, who did nothing wrong, bombed and killed.

Hassan took a long, aggravated breath. "I'm going to go help bury the bodies," he said, leaving me. "This fucker too, I'll bury him."

The cycle repeats itself, again and again.

And I am one of its unwilling agents?

Did I ever really control my fate?

Every person I kill, every person that is saved by my hand - I have contributed to it.

I've orphaned children, made widows and widowers out of wives and husbands.

When the kids ask why daddy isn't coming home, when the mom knows what the children will have to live with for the rest of their lives, what she will have to live with - but she cannot bear to tell them.

Because they're innocent. Kids should worry about school and when their next fucking playdate is, not if they'll be left parentless or dead the next day. Not if someone like me massacred their loved ones.

And somewhere on Vitakar or some alien colony, such news is being told to a family. The ones left will be filled with rage and anger - who did this to mommy and daddy, they will ask? Who killed them?

And somewhere soon, the families of the people here today will get the same news. They will wonder, they will be sad, they will cry, their hearts filled with despair and anger.

All because of me.

Because of what I wield.

I hate this fucking war.

I hate this fucking joke, where evil is okay so long as we win. Fuck the Imperator, fuck ADVENT, and fuck the Caliphate.

I turned my head up, running a hand across my dirty hair. I sat down beside the truck, near the dead body. Its dead, glaring eyes haunting me ever so slightly. Thoughts about the Commander and Elijah came to mind.

Monsters have a habit of returning to haunt men.

What is dead cannot die, and the truth is hidden in plain sight.

You forget the attack on the United Nations Assembly. A tactic very similar to the one he used in Damascus.

I'd mostly ignored the rumors that he'd been a subordinate to, or worse, the Commander himself from the War on Terror. Rumors are rumors, I'd thought. Nothing too different from the gossip from high school.

It scared me, but at the same time I remembered the good

I thought about the talks I'd had with him. The two of us sitting down, him doing his best to make me feel comfortable, all the work and effort he'd put into making sure I went into this in the best state possible. He could've just seen me as another soldier like the others, and mentally wrecked me, turning me into someone like Nico or the Second Guardian, driven only by what was left of their mind in a state of constant pain, depression, and anger.

But that's not what happened.

He, like a parent or guardian figure, cared for me. When I needed to talk, he was there. When something nearly overcame me, he was there. When I was a fresh wide-eyed recruit, he was there to help guide me, like a shepherd and his flock, guiding me down the path he made for me. You never thought someone like him would care like that, but actions didn't lie.

Not his, anyway

Everyone had their secrets, though. Of course the Commander would hide something, be it classified information or personal facts. And though things were lining up in my head, strangely, I didn't find the hate for him I thought I might have.

Only...acceptance. A warm feeling of a father-like figure.

Hm.

And...people changed, right?

I certainly thought so.

"Thanks, Commander." I said quietly. He'd done nothing but good for me, shielding me from the nastier parts of the war. And although I don't think he foresaw how bad this op would go- I felt nothing about him but respect.

A/N: Sorry about this taking a while to release. Had some rewriting to do, though I think it paid off immensely. You may notice the dates in this chapter are different then previous chapters, and that's because due to some miscommunication between me and Xabiar, my fanfiction has been drastically ahead of the Advent Directive timeline. So over time, I will be modifying my fanfiction's dates for the past group of chapters to accommodate this error.

So, some things for you readers. I'm going back to college for my sophomore year in August, so there may be some delays in New Blood's writing/reviewing/releasing. But, I can assure you New Blood as a story will not be stopping anytime soon. Over the summer, I have been officially diagnosed with OCD and anxiety, which led to some very bad episodes. I am taking medication and therapy to deal with it, and while I hope I will get better eventually, right now these diagnoses are like a wild card in terms of my mental health, and may affect my writing- we will see.

Besides that, I am doing more planning for the future of New Blood. New characters, new arcs, new plotlines, and more are sure to come in the future to make this story better and more enjoyable. Writing this has brought me much joy and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. Again, I would like to thank the entirety of the Xabiarverse server and fandom for giving me the proper support for this story. Every comment and review helps, and I appreciate all of them.

To be continued in:

The Bloodstained Sands