In the evening, almost dusk light, the whole world seemed to be at a standstill. The rocky hills held little vegetation to signal a wind was blowing, and only the occasional lifted pebble told that this wasn't a picture that the Assassin was walking in.
Of course, to an outside observer, there was no one around. Fal-Mai made sure her psionic cloak was tightly wrapped around her shoulders as she lightly stepped from rock, to hill, to ground, and back again as she traversed the terrain. Her footfalls were so light they didn't even disturb the very dust at her feet. She thought herself one with the Earth itself—it knew her and allowed her undisturbed passage.
As was opposed to her quarry. She could not see them right now—the terrain offered natural cover for those at far distances. But she could hear them as if she was right next to them. Their rough, occasionally uneven footfalls. The stilled breath as they exerted themselves climbing the rocks. Their chatter. They kept their volume low but it was still enough to hear.
Fal-Mai knew she would have visitors soon after XCOM and the Skirmishers' last incursion. She had let them go, then. They didn't seem keen on sticking around. This time, she was intending to show them what they were in for, should they dare transgress after this.
Soon enough, she was properly upon her prey. She had correctly guessed there were three of them—two XCOM, one Skirmisher. They were far from her base at the present, but it was clear they knew where they were going. She roamed her eyes over them, taking in their details.
Leading the squad was a man—gathered from the voices she heard earlier—covered head to toe in armor. His helmet had two vents to filter air, like a gasmask. One of XCOM's GREMLINS floated close to him, hovering behind him as he scaled another deeper hill. Her eyes picked out the medkit attachment on it and she supposed this was the medical backup for the crew. A Specialist.
Right behind him was another man, his face visible. A scar ran down his right eye, accenting the light blue of his irises. The color of them further stood out against his dark skin, which was nearly completely black in the vanishing evening light. The rest of his head was covered by a netted, tactical hood, but a finely-woven dreadlock or two peeked out of it. A Plasma Rifle hung from his back and a matching pistol was on his belt, signaling him as a Sharpshooter.
Finally, at the back and having little difficulty with the terrain, was the Skirmisher. One of those despicable "redecorated" Skirmisher helmets covered his face and a cape fanned out from his back, both of them and his armor accented with blue instead of the usual red. His Bullpup was on his belt, and the Assassin noted the Plasma Grenade as well. Brought for her, no doubt. The thought made her gut twist.
The Skirmisher looked up and around as he scaled the next hill, stopping where he was in the conversation. The other two looked back at him and he cleared his throat. "Sorry, sorry... um, what were we talking about?"
"Samhien, I'm not even sure how you lost track." The Sharpshooter paused at the top of the next hill, taking in his surroundings before continuing. "But, hm. I'm sure it was something about the hike." Looks like someone wasn't paying too much attention, themselves.
"Sorry, Herod. I got distracted for a second," "Samhien" replied. If the Sharpshooter was Herod, then the Assassin could piece together the name of the last one based on the conversations she'd heard leading up to meeting them. Vlad. What an odd name. It didn't strike her as usual, from what she'd heard, which was admittedly little. Still...
"Ah, yeah, distracted by the great big amounts of nothing going on around here," Vlad said, almost biting back with his comment. His accent was heavily... Russian, if some of her ingrained memory and knowledge served correctly, which the Assassin supposed answered the question of his name. "So enrapturing. Breathtaking. Could really lose whole days to it."
"Cut it," Herod shortly replied. "Honestly, maybe it is easy to get distracted. Knowing the Assassin, she's probably breathing down our necks right now." If only he knew, she mused. Would he—and the rest of them—be as free with speaking if they knew just how accurate that statement was?
Samhien seemed to put some credibility into it, because when he spoke next, his voice was lowered just a touch more. "Right, right... plus, it is almost impossible to keep an eye out for her. If she does not want to be seen..."
"Then she can sit in that damn cloak all day," Vlad grumbled. "She can't attack and stay in her little safe space. She's gotta become visible somehow if she wants to stop us. Either she stays silent and we complete the mission, or she shows up and we kick her ass."
"Vlad, we are a squad of three people." Herod was proving increasingly to be the voice of reason. He helped Samhien up a climb, though it looked like he didn't need the help. "If the Assassin shows up, the best we can do is convince her to back off. We've got the means to do so."
Samhien nodded at that, his head still on a swivel. "The Assassin is a practically-minded Chosen. She will not engage in a prolonged confrontation if it proves detrimental. That said, we must strike fast when she does show."
Herod nodded, and the group lapsed into silence, further scaling the cliffs. It seemed their commentary was done for now, and the Assassin was glad for the quiet. She much preferred the natural ambience of the area, even if it was marred by the sounds they were making now.
She followed behind them, easily hopping up and on hills and inclines they had to trudge up or occasionally climb. The hills built up to higher ground steadily, and whatever natural shrubbery there had been before began to be laced with tinges of purple. Some plants were even beginning to mutate from the presence of Elerium. They were drawing ever closer to her Stronghold. Fal-Mai would not allow them to leave with the information unscathed... even if a part of her wished to let them leave with the information. Killing a small search party would not be a challenge. Fending off XCOM's strongest squad as they sought her out? Infinitely more rewarding.
But she was not soft of heart. One of them might leave alive to pass on the information—but she could not say the same of the other two. Or even perhaps... two could leave. One could "stay." There was no valuable information to be found from a corpse. Already her eyes trained on Samhien. Of course, she would be drawn to inflicting the most suffering on the Skirmisher. It was in her very DNA. The sight of him almost repulsed her.
Samhien seemed to shudder, but did not comment as the trio scaled the last hill. Two other hills flanked it, slightly taller on one side and considerably taller on the other. It overlooked a natural basin in the landscape—in the valley of which, sat the Assassin's stronghold. The group seemed taken back a bit by the sight of it, but Herod wasn't awestruck for long. He unclipped a pad from his belt and held it up. "Well, here we are. Taking a picture, recording coordinates."
She waited for the picture to be taken and for Herod to record the info. As she did, she stalked closer to Samhien. A cut at the back of the legs would leave him crippled—and XCOM out a soldier. Good. The more of them she could put down, the better. She gently unsheathed her sword, readying it. This deserter would know his place. He had his chance. He threw away his life when he denied the embrace of the Elders. Making him suffer would be a treat. With admittedly gruesome thoughts rising to the front of her mind, she drew back her blade—
—and Samhien tenses, whirling around. That's enough to make Fal-Mai take a step back to avoid him, and it garners his squad's attention. Did... did he notice her? How did he accomplish that? He seemed to scan the area around her, but remained near her location, as if he knew her general area. Herod fully turned around. "Sammy, what's up?"
Samhien swallowed thickly, the noise ringing off of the Assassin's ears. "We are probably..." He began, but swallowed again and shook his head. "We are being watched. I felt a bad omen, just now. A very bad omen."
"An 'omen.' An 'omen?'" Vlad scoffed. "What, you some sort of prophet now? Thought you were a goddamned ADVENT Medic, not one of their Priests."
"Vlad, shut it. Samhien's always had good hunches, and god knows they've saved us a time or two before." Herod wasn't having Vlad's skepticism, it seemed.
"Hunches are hunches and I'm not letting some flimsy feeling take us off-track."
"Gut instinct is more valuable than you think. There's been times..."
The Assassin stopped focusing on the two's argument, and she supposed Samhien had, too. The two were locked in a stand-off. Fal-Mai was gauging if he could see her or not, or if it had been some sort of sense, as the squad was positing. She raised her sword in a striking position as a test, and Samhien did not respond. Not sight. So what was it? He couldn't be privy to her thoughts—especially not now, with the Elders' gift.
Samhien shifted on his feet, head glancing back towards his two currently-bickering squadmates. Fal-Mai knew that even if he could sense her by some means, right now would be the best time to strike, as his allies were distracted. Perhaps it would make this more of a fight than she had thought. Her eyes narrowed and dropped to his knees again. If not the backs, then the fronts... and simply removing his legs could work, but the blood loss might prove fatal. Not if you usher him to a medic fast enough, a thought said, and that was enough for her. She brought her sword back into a proper position, intending to strike. Her blade rushed forward properly, peeling from the veil of her psionics.
In under a second, Samhien's head snapped to hers, a half-second before she began to swing. He jumped back and only the tip of her katana caught the front of his knees—a glancing blow, but the metal the katana was made of cleanly severed his armor. Samhien was quick to ready his weapon, expertly stepping back. "Assassin spotted!"
Vlad exclaimed something she didn't catch and Herod spat something she definitely did but didn't wish to think over. She was far more concerned with propelling herself into a flip, vaulting over to the highest of the three hills, already hunkering down behind a larger rock. Samhien had done it again! She could not rely on her cloak to aid her against him this fight—but it was no matter. Already she had made sure she had the high ground, which was always a boon. She would make sure that XCOM knew that they were not safe, even if she did not make use of one of her greatest strengths.
She risked looking out for a quick second to confirm their positions. Samhien had stayed where he was at in the valley, electing to use one of the taller rocks as cover. Herod had moved father back onto the second tallest hill, with Vlad a few paces in front of him. Herod noticed her quick peek and she caught the rush of air as his arm reached for his pistol faster than her eyes registered his movement, and she was back in cover by the time a stream of plasma was darting by where her head used to be. A close shot, Fal-Mai would give him that. The Commander sent no slackers.
With that knowledge, she knew she had to keep her exposure short—which meant she could not rely on her eyesight, either. Fine by her; her ears were one of her other greatest strengths, and she would use them accordingly. So she did, closing her eyes. The Assassin could pick out their individual heartbeats, the rubbing of their palms on their weapons... and the close shifting of someone slightly repositioning, and the priming of a grenade. Judging by the closeness, it was the Plasma Grenade Samhien brought, and she drew her katana again. Her eyes were still closed as she heard it sail through the air, waiting until the time was just right—then, she stood up. With the flat of her katana, she knocked it out of the air and to the land they had just traversed, putting as much strength into the swing as she could to propel it. The resulting explosion still harshly rang in her ears, but far less than it would've if she had just deflected it normally.
The Assassin opened her eyes just in time to spot Vlad making a move up. Him drawing closer was a death sentence, and she was sure to let him know just how much of one it was. With a graceful, clean motion, she sheathed her katana on her back and then used her momentum and flexibility to transfer the action into pulling out her Arashi. A kick from it and Vlad was sent scrabbling back into cover close by as he screamed out—with a new wounded leg for his efforts.
They were all close together. She needed to end this swiftly, and considering how they were lined up? The answer was obvious. Fal-Mai put her shotgun away and pulled out her blade once more, returning to her crouch and stabbing the tip of it against the earth. The blade hummed with power as it began to draw up the energies latent in the ground, combining with her own as she channeled them through the blade. The purple psionics of the Earth floated up in pieces. The Assassin knew she couldn't channel long, lest she risk bombardment from any devices she didn't take into account. This Harbor Wave would be thinner, but no more weaker. Sliding the tip of the blade across the ground, she brought the energies to bear, cloaking the katana in them.
In a fluid motion, she stood and swung her katana towards them, arcing the rampant psionics towards them. She focused her fire on Samhien—and as the wave travelled, it struck Herod in the line, too. Both of them slumped against their cover and gripped their heads, the psionic backlash no doubt coursing across their minds. They would be dazed for a good while as they attempted to recover from the crashing of her power.
She watched as Vlad limped over to Herod, letting him practically drag himself. There seemed to be no thought in his mind for his other companion... it seemed he thought as highly of Skirmishers as she did. Perhaps she was doing him a favor, in his eyes. If she further drove a wedge between him and his allies because the Commander chose to trust a Skirmisher on this mission... then that would be how things went.
This time, she caught a muttered "Samhien" from Herod as he was roused. While she was... dare she say, vindicated in Vlad's apparent distaste for Samhien, she also had to begrudgingly admire Herod's dedication to him. It would be his downfall, however. Vlad hesitated for a long moment before gesturing to his machine. The Assassin remembered the medkit attached to it and she knew she couldn't let it reach its destination.
From a slot on her belt, she produced a throwing knife—weighted so that it would travel smoothly in the air, point first. Fal-Mai deftly handled it and then whipped her arm forward as she leaned out. It caught the GREMLIN by its stabilizers and it spiralled out of control, giving distressed beeps as it tumbled to the ground. Not destroyed, but it wasn't going anywhere.
This was her chance. With two of the squad immobilized and unable to help him, the Assassin vaulted over her cover and landed next to Samhien, who had dropped his weapon in the commotion. She grabbed him and held his weakly struggling form close as her eyes settled on the other two members of his squad.
"Let your Commander know that she is welcome in my Stronghold, if she wishes to test her troops' strength against me. But if this is how they will perform, my hopes are not high."
With that, she summoned the psionics she had to bear, and in a column of purple light, she disappeared.
Silence hung in the air. Herod and Vlad were the only two left.
Herod gripped his head. The psionic wave was still taking its toll on him, but he was aware enough to know what just happened. Blearily, he looked into the visor of Vlad's helmet... then his hands flew to his comrade's shoulders as he focused his eyes into a stare. "Vlad. Vlad. Why me."
"Why you? You're my fucking squadmate, Herod, did you want me to leave you?"
"That's not why," Herod bit back, his hands roughly gripping the other's armor. He knew prejudice when he saw it. "I'm just a goddamn Sharpshooter. Another face in the crowd. A good shot, maybe, but another soldier. You should've went for Sammy."
"What's he got that you don't? Why do you want me to save some goddamn..." Vlad trailed off. He seemed to realize what he was about to say. Herod glared at him, his mind returning in force.
"'Pugface,' Vlad? Is that what you were gonna fucking say?" He shook him, showing his teeth in his frown. "We'd be fucking dead if not for him. Several times over. Several missions over. People back at base are going to wonder why their favorite Skirmisher didn't come home and I'm going to look them in the eye and I'll have the choice of telling them it was your fault. You know how O'Leary takes to people like you."
Vlad didn't respond. Herod dropped his hands, swearing under his breath. With his senses came a headache, and by god, the psionics-induced ones were the worst. He drew himself up on the rock, grabbing for his datapad. "We got what we need. I'm taking five to regain my balance and then we're walking home with our tails between our legs. Maybe I can get Firebrand out here if they haven't moved yet."
Vlad continued to be silent. Herod used the rock to ease himself into standing, starting to tap a few things on the datapad. He offered Vlad another look. There were a lot of other things he wanted to say... but at this point, it'd all be just coming around to Vlad's prejudices and Herod's belief that he was ultimately expendable. In that way, there was nothing more to be said. He clipped the datapad back onto his belt. "Come on. Get your GREMLIN. We've got a long hike ahead of us."
The Assassin finally touched down in front of her Sarcophagus, Samhien still held to her body. The force of the teleport seemed to have amplified the daze her Harbor Wave had inflicted on him and he hung limply in her arm. Fal-Mai saw no problem with that and strode onwards to the pad.
Another teleport and she was in her Stronghold proper. She kept her pace up—best to assume Samhien was going to wake up any moment rather than take her time. The Assassin rounded a corner and waited for a door to slide open. Beyond it was the Cells, rarely used unless the Assassin herself had detained one of XCOM's or the Resistance's numbers. Even then, rarely for long. While she was fine with torture, she didn't want any of them spending long at her own fortress, lest they somehow broke free. It was less potentially messy to ship them off to another of her facilities in short order.
She chose the closest cell and tapped the pad, walking in with her prisoner. Setting him down a little roughly against the far wall, she stepped back. Fal-Mai returned to the thought of how exactly he sensed her. It wasn't sight, and from what she could tell, he did not possess the Gift. But still, his signature was brighter than most of the Skirmishers she had come into contact with. Little more than a lantern, especially since he was still in some unconscious state. That left one possibility.
As she thought on it, her eyes wandered to his equipment. Best to rob him of it. Thankfully he'd already dropped his gun back in the field, but that left his armor, Ripjack, and any under armor he was potentially wearing. She knelt down and started with his helmet, placing it to the side. He was much like any other Skirmisher—save the circular, ritualistic scars atop his head. She'd noticed many a Skirmisher had them. It seemed they were trying to distance themselves from the circumstances of their creation. The thought of it was... curious, to Fal-Mai. For once, she found herself genuinely wondering, rather than dismissing it. Individuality... something that they could not have, under the Elders? The Elders had made a perfect design. Should they not all be glad they followed it?
She let the thought go. There was no use really thinking over it. Fal-Mai took the dagger out of her katana and worked it under the straps of his armor, leaving him in his under armor. That, she figured, could stay. After collecting his Ripjack, she took his armor and helmet as well, bringing them out of the cell and putting them on one of the tables in the middle of the room. When she walked back in, she caught his fingers slightly twitching—and her ears caught his change in breath. Must've been coming to. This was her chance to test out that possibility. She slipped back into her shroud, watching him.
It took a bit, but Samhien's head lifted and he blinked a few times. His hands sluggishly felt around him, and then felt himself. He looked himself over, squinting. Slowly, realization dawned on his face. Instead of panicking, like she'd seen many do, Samhien slowly drew up his legs, his knees coming to his chest. Then, he hugged them closer with his arms, closing his eyes and resting his head against his legs. A word stuck out at her—resigned. He seemed resigned to his fate. Normally, Skirmishers that had been caught like this fought. They were angry, furious they had been caught, or at the very least afraid. This was a very unique Skirmisher.
But, unlike the feeling in the pit of her stomach might say, she had no sympathetic thoughts for Skirmishers. They chose their fate, she assured herself. That assurance went right into what she wanted to test. She let herself dwell on that thought—they had the ideal life under the Elders. To serve Them was the noblest destiny of all. To go against that was ungrateful. Short-sighted. The audacity of it made her want to forgo holding him as a prisoner at all.
It had the intended effect—as she thought further and her emotions slipped out, Samhien's head rose. He looked around his cell blearily, but his eyes eventually settled right in front of him. He hugged his legs closer to himself and his mouth settled into a worried frown. "... Nightmaiden," he murmured, "are you here?"
That was enough for her. She took a breath to clear her thoughts before she dropped her shroud. Samhien didn't jump, but he did deflate further at the sight of her. She regarded him coldly for a moment before speaking. "How were you able to sense me?" Fal-Mai already had a hunch, but it was best to confirm her notions. If he tried to lie, at least she would know.
Samhien hesitated for a moment, eyes shifting to the side. "I don't know." Fal-Mai's exceptional hearing picked up on the slight lilt of his voice that conveyed nervousness and falsehood. She drew out her sword and pressed the tip of it against his head.
"How."
He went cross-eyed focusing on the blade, and he swallowed thickly. "I don't know. Not... not exactly, I don't. I get... feelings, from people. 'Vibes?' They are like... auras. I can tell their emotions, a bit. You were... angry. And disgusted."
She held her blade there for a second more before drawing it back. That must be why his psionics were just slightly better than usual. There were cases of those who had just a slight tendency towards the Gift, only enough for parlor tricks, from what she had occasionally read. Samhien was an... empath. His psionics were too weak to read anything else, it seemed.
But the thought process led her back to her cloak. She was used to her emotions potentially affecting the effectiveness of her shroud... but not being read through it. It seemed as if she still had more left to learn. "So you truly do not know the nature of your ability?"
Samhien shook his head, withdrawing a bit. "I do not."
Her head tilted upwards a bit and she took a moment to look over him again. Her free hand gestured upwards. "Stand."
He fixed her with a somewhat blank stare for a second before complying. Putting his hands on the wall for support, he unsteadily got to his feet, leaning back to keep himself upright. The Assassin still towered over him like this—he barely met her waist. "What is your name, Skirmisher?" She knew one of the names he carried—but not if it was his first or last.
Samhien wouldn't look at her. His eyes remained elsewhere, but he answered. "Samhien Kai."
"Samhien Kai. You are only alive through my good graces. It would have been far less difficult to kill you where you stood rather than to capture you. I am going to ask you questions, and you are to respond truthfully. If you do not, or if you act out, I will not hesitate to kill you. I have everything to gain from doing so, and nothing to lose. Do you understand?"
Samhien nodded shallowly but quickly, eyes shifting nervously. His fear was evident, and the Assassin relaxed. He'd be easy to get answers out of. "What were you when you were ADVENT?"
"An ADVENT Medic."
Now, that was interesting. The Assassin consulted the Network for a moment. With both the Commander and the Hunter gone, there was noticeably more time between a query and a response. The two of them were the greatest bits of processing power it had, and with their absence, the Elders had to rely on a Commander proxy.
The Network eventually returned with an answer—ADVENT Medics were a discontinued line. Their genetics were rare in the fact that they used one of the races the Elders had uplifted that was not suited for combat directly. It was a more pacifistic variety, which suited the short line of the Medics. Samhien was, at the very least, five years old. A standout age for a Skirmisher, short of the one she had been hounding for almost as long as she had existed. Samhien was almost... interesting.
With that interest, she continued. "Why did you leave the embrace of the Elders?"
Samhien's eyes flickered about, but he met her eyes for a second before speaking. "I... was, part of a patrol. It was past curfew. Myself and my Stun Lancer guards. We were on the outskirts of the city and there were... 'teenagers?' They had been hiding near the edge of the city for some reason. My guards—they brutalized them." His voice took on some conviction, far different than the meek tone it had just before. "There was no need for their Stun Batons. Excessive shocks would only serve to damage their nervous systems when all they needed was a strong reprimand! Not to mention the internal bleeding they assuredly caused from the blunt trauma! What use was there in hurting those humans so thoroughly when the shock of seeing us had been enough to make them apologize and try to leave for home? It wasn't right, Nightmaiden!"
He finally looked up and met her gaze, eyes firm. But under her own returned stare, he deflated again. "I... pulled them off of the 'teenagers.' They wouldn't accept my reasoning as valid for why I had to stop them. They wanted to turn their aggressiveness on me. So I had to... exploit their physiology. A few pressure points, nothing that would seriously harm them. I told the teenagers to run and they did, but I knew my own actions would put me under potential review for 'reclamation.' I had no other choice but to flee, myself. I eventually came into contact with the Skirmishers, and..." He trailed to a stop, indicating the end of his story.
Fal-Mai was lost in thought, afterwards. Most Skirmishers had somewhat similar stories. They didn't want to partake in their usual duties. But, his own story... He didn't sound like he was lying. Samhien had witnessed brutality and done his part to stop it... and from the sounds of it, the actions of the Stun Lancers had been unjust. "Teenagers" were hardly people that required the use of violence to get into line, especially if they had been ADVENT-aligned and simply engaging in foolish activities. For once, she found herself understanding of a Skirmisher's reason for defection.
But, her understanding did not excuse him. He was merely not as reprehensible as his other allies. The Assassin nodded, satisfied with the answer. Her mind searched elsewhere for questions she could ask—and she happened upon the fate of her brother. Her gaze turned harder before she spoke. "What has XCOM done with the Hunter?"
Samhien's eyes flickered to her for a second before he shook his head. Her lip curled and she brought the tip of her blade to his throat. It was sharp enough that even the tip was enough to draw a bead of orange blood. He swallowed in fear and it made his throat jump forward enough to bring forth a bit more. "The Banehound is with XCOM." When she squinted at him, his hands shook. "The Banehound... is with XCOM."
It took her just a moment to pick up on the implication of that stressed word, but when she did, her gut twisted with emotions. Mordenna... defected? He was fighting for XCOM now? Some part of her was... thankful. He was alive. He wasn't being interrogated. He was simply defying the Elders as much as he possibly could by siding with the enemy. Lest she forget! She scowled, keeping her sword steady. "My brother would be better back in the Elders' care. Whatever the Commander has done to make him cooperate, They have far better intentions for him."
"You're lying."
She scoffed. "The words of a Skirmisher mean nothing—"
"N-no," he said, ever so slightly shaking his head. "I mean, you're—you're lying to yourself."
Now that was enough to stop the Assassin's current train of thought, and she stared at him. When she didn't say anything, Samhien continued. "I-I can get a general f-feel for when someone is lying. Not... it's not as accurate as my other ability... but if it's blatant, I can tell easily."
Her grip on her katana began to shake and she pressed the blade against him just a touch further. Orange blood was starting to slide down his throat and he was doing his best to mold to the wall. "You know not of what you speak, betrayer," she hissed, her gaze drilling holes into him. "The Elders' love extends even to him as he disrespects Them! Any pain They might inflict upon his return is... purely for the best..."
But even as she said that, the memory that she had been trying to fight down came roaring back, and suddenly her whole body was on fire again and she was squeezing her eyes shut from the sheer pain of it all and why couldn't she have done better, why couldn't she just done as They asked?
"Fal-Mai..." Samhien's voice was soft, and brought her out of the memory, revealing she'd shut her eyes in the present, too. She tentatively opened them to see Samhien recovering from wincing, gingerly looking her in the eye. He seemed... concerned. The Assassin realized he probably just caught the emotions that had ran through her. "What did they do to you?"
The Assassin took in a deep, shaking breath. Her vision got blurry and she could feel her blade waver for a second. No. This would not be a time where she would show weakness, especially not to a Skirmisher. Her blade steadies and Fal-Mai glares at him, eyes narrowing. "Do not prey on my emotions, Skirmisher! The Elder's love is all-encompassing!"
"You don't believe that."
In response, Fal-Mai quickly draws her blade away and turns it in favor of a right hook, connecting squarely with Samhien's jaw. The force of it sends him right to the floor, cradling his jaw, orange ichor flowing between his fingers. The Assassin spun on her heel and started striding towards the door. She knew when she would get no further valuable information, not when she let him speak like this. He would be best elsewhere, pitted against his former brothers and sisters. She would like to see him prey on them.
"It doesn't have to be like this," she heard behind her. Samhien's voice was slightly muffled by the forming bruise, it seemed. Despite her better thinking, she stopped in her tracks, the grip on her katana tightening. Killing him right here and now would be so easy. She did indeed say she had everything to gain from doing it, didn't she? Yet, something stopped her. When she said nothing, Samhien continued. "Eliza was with you, was she not? In her tank? She knows what happened." The Assassin picked up on the slightest wavering of his voice. From uncertainty or fear, she could not tell. Still, his words made her arms tremble. Eliza... "Eliza could help you. Eliza could show you what it's like to be—"
Before he could speak any further, before could further weaken her with these emotions she was fighting off, the Assassin's hand flies to her belt and then whips a dagger indiscriminately in Samhien's direction. Samhien's ensuing cry of pain at least meant it wasn't immediately fatal. She offered a short glance back. The dagger had embedded in his hand, and he was clutching it, having the sense of mind to not pull it out. Without another word, the Assassin opened the door to his cell and walked out, making sure it was locked behind her.
She stood there for a minute, reflecting on herself. It seemed that her emotions hounded her wherever she went. Absence of them at the wrong times was punished. Having them at the wrong times was preyed upon. Was there no proper way for them to exist? Was she doomed to always have this part of herself that others could pick apart and exploit? Her hands tightened themselves into fists and she forced herself to return to the present. Turning around, she tapped the pad next to the door, using one of the commands to summon for medical attention. As much as the Assassin would love to let him deal with the dagger in his hand, she wanted it back. It was a waste to leave it in a Skirmisher, and she would retrieve them when she could.
When that was done, she stalked off in the direction of the entrance to her Inner Sanctum. Killing him would have been best, to just send off the rest of his squad limping home. Perhaps she would gain some info out of this venture when he was sent off, but... meditation. What he said could be thought over in meditation. There was no need to skulk around with these thoughts in her head.
With her stride, it wasn't long before she reached the room with the teleporter in it. But, a thought stopped her in front of the pad. These thoughts she was about to meditate over... of the Elders' love for her, of why They did the things They did... these were not things she wanted to entertain in front of her sarcophagus, not when They could be so close without her knowledge.
Fal-Mai turned, closing the door to the room. From there, she walked back to being just in front of the pad and settled into her usual meditative position. She let her thoughts return to Samhien's words and what he meant. Her mind drifted to her brother, and what him joining XCOM truly meant. A surface level guess was that this was his whole plan—to join XCOM, gain their trust, then take the Commander and bring her back to the Elders, effectively taking the rug out from under her and Jax-Rai. But... something deeper said otherwise. There was no threat of the Elders' kind of punishment with XCOM. He did not have to work with his siblings at XCOM. Maybe, just maybe, he was fighting for them without any true ulterior motives.
She went deeper. Samhien's words also stuck out at her. He could have been lying, easily, but she thought on it nonetheless. Was she really trying to convince herself about the Elders' love? It should be absolute, a guarantee. The Assassin shouldn't even be questioning this. Did she not believe herself? The Elders always had a reason for everything they did. Their words, Their methods, Their punishments...
Yet she could find no reasoning for the severity. She had more plausible reasons for Ref-Il truly fighting for XCOM.
That was enough. The Assassin opened her eyes, taking in a deep breath and sighing it out, standing up. There were other matters to be attended to. Dipping into the Network, she pinged her head Officer. The send time was noticeably longer. The Assassin half-wondered how else the Network was suffering without its two main power sources.
Eventually, the door opened behind her, and Fal-Mai turned to face her Officer, who was already kneeling respectfully. "Nightmaiden. You called for me?"
Fal-Mai nodded. "I have captured one of the Skirmishers aligned with XCOM. He will be seen to shortly regarding an injury or two, but when that is done, I want him moved to a different facility, as usual."
"Understood, my Chosen." The Officer rose to stand. "Is there anything else?"
"XCOM will most likely be moving on our territory soon. That Skirmisher was from their last scouting party, and the other two members I allowed to escape. We shall not run from them—prepare our defences. Bring in our numbers. XCOM may come, but they will not be allowed in so easily. That will be all."
The Officer nodded, turning away and then striding off. That left Fal-Mai to her thoughts once more.
XCOM were going to come. The Commander was going to come for her. Most likely, the Commander would attempt to capture her. Would the Hunter come as well? She had questions, and not as many answers as she would wish for. She let herself slump, eyes dropping to the floor.
Eliza had been there. Maybe, just maybe... she dare not think it so boldly, but maybe capture would present her with new opportunities.
