A remastered Crysis and a GFL sequel…? Pinch me, I'm dreaming.

My thoughts on Crysis Remastered: While I'm practically the conductor of the hype train, I hope CryTek does more with it than polish up the graphics. It would be a bit of a let-down if that ends up happening… but eh, I'll still buy it, especially if they keep the humble "Ascending Frog" glitch. (To anyone who has no idea what I'm talking about: Throw a frog at any hard surface and watch the magic.)

Oh, and shout-out to the reviewer who made it two chapters in before claiming this story is "annoying for any Crysis fan" and whining about wanting nothing but action scenes. If only you stuck around a little longer, buddy.

(Road to Base 796)

Just hear me out for a moment: Contrary to what I suspect most people believe, I'm actually quite fond of Alcatraz. He's always been a good soldier. A little rough around the edges, maybe, and I'll admit I grew concerned when he started communicating with rocks, but overall, I'm proud to call him my successor. I told myself I wouldn't interfere with his life again unless he absolutely needed me.

Hardly the first time I've broken one of my own promises.

You have to understand, I wouldn't have taken control again if the circumstances hadn't changed enough to warrant it. Before, I was content to simply be the observer. Alcatraz was right to call me a ghost haunting the machine. Fact is, that's all I really am at this point: a copy of a dead man's mind, stored inside the world's most advanced combat suit, which fused with and reanimated the dead flesh of an innocent marine who happened to be in the right place at the worst time.

But that's okay. I've made peace with who I am. What I am.

Now that my mission to slay the Alpha Ceph is over with, and Sangvis Ferri did what I couldn't by fixing up Alky, I feel it wouldn't be right for me to cause him more distress by showing myself, especially when he already has enough on his plate to deal with. Especially after the unspeakable acts I committed on the poor kid.

Again though, this is necessary. He's not the only personality in this body seeking closure. If I'm- if we're lucky, I can take care of what needs to be done before sunrise without him ever suspecting a thing. I can place him back in bed and he'll wake up none the wiser.

I curse loudly and almost lose control of the truck when it bowls over another goddamn speed bump. Alcatraz wasn't kidding about this thing – I've felt safer in Ceph lithoships. His new pal Damir must be a natural behind the wheel if he can make this trip on a semi-regular basis. I don't know if he and his brother were startled awake by the noise of the engine wheezing to life; didn't stick around long enough to wait and see. If they were, hopefully the handwritten note I'd taped to the front door will mitigate some of the damage that's sure to follow.

I can't help but wonder what Alcatraz would think of this.

Having assimilated with his mind once, I know that boy's personality inside and out. I know what makes him tick, his motivations and his deepest fears. Yet even I'm not sure how he'll react once morning comes around and he finds himself on the receiving end of questions he'll have no answers for.

If the worst comes to pass and he comes knocking, I'll be ready. Just because I'm masking my continued existence doesn't mean I'm trying to just hide away from it all. Sooner or later he'll figure out the truth, and when he does, words will be exchanged between us. Personally, I'd prefer it all happen later – like I mentioned, he's going through a lot of shit already, and it would pain me to make him more upset.

I ease the truck to the side of the road when I'm about half a klick from base, parking it in a safe spot before venturing out to make the rest of the trip on foot. Thanks to power mode, it doesn't take long; I make out the twin guard towers on either side of the front gate less than a minute later. I slow my pace to a casual walk as I approach.

Then the floodlights turn on and suddenly I'm blind as a bat.

"Stop right there!" an unseen woman commands. "Hands in the air!"

I comply immediately, my eyesight slowly adjusting to the harsh, warm light spilling over my face. Through the glare I can barely make out a pair of T-Dolls, one in each tower, aiming antiquated yet still very serviceable rifles in my direction. SECOND, sensing danger, silhouettes the girls in red outlines and serves up their IDs: Mauser Kar98k and Walther WA2000. The former soon lowers her gun after seeing that I'm apparently unarmed. WA2000, on the other hand, keeps me in her sights, one gloved finger hovering over her weapon's trigger. Both are stunners in their own right, but I didn't come all this way to hit up feminine androids.

"Identify yourself!" Kar98k's voice carries a tone of authority that leaves no room for argument.

"Relax, I'm not here to cause any trouble," I try to assure her. "I'm a friend of Commander Sykes'. My name is Laurence Barnes."

My eyes are adapted enough to the glare to see the white-haired T-Doll scrunch her face up in disbelief. "Laurence Barnes… The Commander has mentioned that name before. Why are you here, Mr. Barnes, and why come at such a late hour?" she demands.

I try a different tactic, hoping to appeal to her sense of comradery. "Isn't it obvious? I came here to catch up with an old war buddy. Is that so wrong?"

My reasoning works, sort of. Her defiant stare softens a bit. "…I suppose that would be understandable. Though why not wait until morning?"

The wine-haired WA2000 cuts me off before I can answer. "Don't be stupid, Kar. Trusting what he says at face value would be a foolish mistake," she warns her fellow sentry. "Ugh. First some weird Doll with no given manufacturer shows up, now a human who claims he knows the Commander? On the same day, in the middle of the night?" She scowls at me. The red eye that isn't covered by her scope burns with suspicion. "What kind of idiots do you take us for?!"

Not a very sociable machine, is she? If Alcatraz were the active host, he'd likely snipe back with a smarmy comment before getting himself sniped in turn. Good thing he's slumbering away in the back of his own brain. I keep a cool head as I give my reply; putting aside how difficult it would be for these girls to actually wound me – let alone kill me – they haven't opened fire yet, meaning diplomacy's still on the table.

"Listen ladies, I apologize for coming here out of the blue but I'm afraid I don't have time to explain everything in detail. I worked with your commander for many years. I need to speak with him. If you still don't believe me, call him and see for yourself."

The German pair exchange glances.

"Wh-What are you looking at me for, Kar?!" WA2000 squawks. Her cheeks flush bright pink, though I can't tell if it's more out of embarrassment or frustration. "Just… contact the Commander, I don't care! As for you," she addresses me, "stay right where you are. Don't move unless we give you permission! Got it?!"

"You'll have no trouble from me," I tell her calmly, watching as Kar98k raises a pale hand to her ear. I don't bother hacking the comms, already knowing who's on the other end of the line and what the topic of discussion is.

A couple of minutes pass. I spend the whole waiting period trained in WA2000's crosshairs, occasionally catching muttered snippets from the cranky Doll about beauty sleep and unfair rotations and that British muppet should feel honored I put up with him. Kar98k remains silent, her expression unreadable, though she too watches me closely.

I breathe out an invisible sigh of relief when something finally happens. A loud hiss fills the night air; the hydraulics in the front gate decompress, and it's followed soon afterward by the sounds of whirring gears and creaking metal. I risk lowering my arms as Gate 01 rolls aside.

Bad move.

Both sentries, along with the dozen or so Dolls approaching our direction from beyond the threshold, immediately make it clear I've just messed up. Now I'm back to square one, having two gun barrels pointed at me while the other group huddles protectively around a figure in the center of the cluster.

My heart leaps into my throat when a gruff voice calls out, "Stand down, ladies, stand down! For the love of Christ, I might be old but I'm not fucking defenseless!"

And there he is. The now-Commander Sykes elbows his way through the wall of artificial women, and true to his word, he's packing some serious heat in the form of a M2014 gauss sabot rifle.

Judging by the scowl in his face, he's inclined to use it. Michael never did like having his precious few hours of sleep interrupted. "Now what the hell's going on out here? This better not be another of P7's little pranks, because if it is, then so help me God I'll track that cat nun down and-" The rest of the Commander's threat goes unsaid when his gaze lands on me. I pull together a small, awkward smile. His jaw drops. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me…"

"Hello, Michael." My smile tugs upward at seeing Psycho so utterly gobsmacked. "It's been a few years, hasn't it?"

Michael doesn't say or do anything for several moments. The Dolls standing cautiously behind him take advantage of his inaction to huddle around him again, though he gently brushes the taller ones blocking me from view aside, keeping me squarely in his sights. "Prophet… Barnes… is that really you, mate?" he asks quietly. The shock on his face soon melts away; his green eyes flash in the low light, sharpening like knives. There's suspicion in them. "Is that really you? What happened to your suit?"

Of course, how could I forget? I hadn't been able to shapeshift when we last saw one another, or rather, I'd been too preoccupied with the Ceph and their wormhole to give it much consideration. He'd expected me to show up wearing the Nanosuit, not a set of clothes I'd borrowed from Damir.

"Remember what Claire said in the skinning lab, about the nanites having the ability to change into anything imaginable?" I watch bemusedly as a whole host of emotions plays over his face. "She was right, Michael. The suit's more symbiotic than ever. I… I can be human again."

"Heh. That's honestly a bit rich coming from you, Barnes." There's a joking tone to his response and the suspicious glare fades, but his posture's still rigid. Time to break out the trump card.

"Maybe." I shrug indifferently. "I'm glad to see you escaped from that harness, by the way. And for the record, it's actually fortunate you were trapped in that VTOL when you were – don't get me wrong, Sykes, you're the toughest son of a bitch I know, but even I don't think you would've survived getting pulled into the vacuum of space."

"…It really is you," he murmurs. To the astonishment of everyone watching, he drops his rifle and strides toward me, then pulls me into a brotherly hug. "It really is you!" His voice chokes, caught between laughter and relieved sobs. "Jesus Christ, I thought you were dead! Where the hell have you been, boss? You never call, you never write… Hell, not even a postcard!"

I return the embrace in full, feeling warmth and contentment swell up inside just at having my brother back. I catch WA2000 frozen in disbelief out of the corner of my eye. She looks unable or unwilling to believe what's right in front of her, of her Commander tightly hugging a total stranger who waltzed up to their home in the dead of night. She grinds her teeth when I send a faint smirk her way. I'm wondering, though – why all the hostility? Or is she simply protective of Michael?

Thankfully her possessiveness doesn't extend to any of the other T-Dolls. Kar98k and her watching sisters visibly relax at the brotherly display of affection, regarding me with mixed levels of curiosity. One of them, a silver-haired girl in heavy black clothing, pulls out an ancient flip phone and snaps a picture. Her devilish grin doesn't fill me with happy thoughts.

Michael releases me from the hug and gives a wide smile of his own. "Kar said you came all the way here to play catch-up? Bloody poor timing on your part, but hell if I'd ever turn your cybernetic ass away!" He punctuates his declaration with a hearty laugh.

"That is the reason, yes. We have a lot to go over." I nod, then peek over his shoulder at the Doll congregation. "Is there somewhere on this base where we can have some privacy?"

Michael jerks a thumb at the command building. "My office. God, it still feels weird knowing I have an office…"

He turns to leave, motioning for me to come along. The T-Dolls blocking our way step aside for their commander like he's Moses parting the Red Sea. I quietly observe the strange girls as we walk, eyes roving over them, half-listening as Michael speculates out loud whether his new employers would have a collective stroke if they learned he'd just let the last nanosoldier into one of their bases.

Perhaps some of Alcatraz's paranoia is rubbing off, because I'm privately relieved to find none of the handful of Dolls he's familiar with are around to watch us.

Regardless of the long stretches of time we're often separated, my former teammate possesses certain habits that not even the end of the world could break; one in particular being his staunch refusal to tidy up whatever hole he's living in beyond what he deems acceptable. Which, to the chagrin of all his superiors including myself, was never a hard bar to reach.

Put simply, Michael Sykes' office looks like it houses a herd of buffalo instead of one soldier – all that's missing is the feces and their accompanying stench. Considering that we came in from a pristine white hallway, the transition is jarring.

The room itself isn't all that large, maybe ten by twelve feet, and only about one foot of wall space doesn't have makeshift wallpaper composed of charts, maps, photographs, and old newspaper clippings. Most of them revolve around the Ceph resurgence in late 2047 and the collapse of CELL Corporation in early 2048. One article in particular, proudly framed and displayed above a metal desk strewn with overturned paper coffee cups and unfinished forms, is headlined with the following: "CryNet Board of Directors Found Dead in Apparent Mass Homicide".

The corners of my lips pull upward at the sight of it. Psycho, you insane son of a bitch.

We quickly discover we're not alone in here. A blonde-haired girl wearing a maid outfit puts her current task of sweeping the garbage littering the floor into a dustpan on hold, standing up straighter as Michael and I enter.

"Master Sykes, welcome." She does a polite curtesy, one hand still holding her broom. Her voice, laced with a thick German accent, is calm and professional. "I anticipated you would need your office after being informed we had a special guest and decided to do a little tidying up before your return. I apologize for my inability to finish."

For the first time in memory, Michael looks honestly touched. "Aw, you didn't have to do that, love."

"Nein, but it needed to be done soon anyway. Allow me to be blunt, Master: You work in a pigpen."

The commander brushes her slightly annoyed assessment off with a hearty chuckle. "What can I say? I'm not really the organized type. Everyone I've served with knows that." He shrugs, then motions my way. "And now that the subject is relevant… our 'special guest' turned out to be none other than my old CO, Major Laurence Barnes. Remember when I told you about him last month?" He addresses me next before she can answer. "Barnes, I'd like you to meet G36. She's my secretary, as well as one of our most experienced fighters."

G36's icy blue eyes meet mine. They've been narrowed ever since we entered; put together with her serious frown, she cuts quite the intimidating figure despite the maid getup. Maybe she's bothered by us tracking more dirt into the room. Maybe she knows she'll have to clean the hallway outside next.

Whatever grievances she might have, she hides them expertly. Another curtesy is directed at me.

"Guten Abend, Herr Barnes. Master has shared a number of stories regarding the days you fought alongside one another." She nods approvingly, though her stony expression doesn't budge. "If what he claims is true, it was you who slayed the Alpha Ceph and triggered the Bloom. For saving the human race, you have my sincerest gratitude."

The Bloom… Kalina mentioned that term earlier. I nod back at G36, then turn to Michael.

He reads the puzzlement on my face easily. "When the wormhole collapsed and the Ceph warship exploded, it created one hell of a light show," he immediately explains. "Doubt there was a single bloke on Earth who didn't feel the shockwave, either. Someone on social media compared the whole spectacle to a flower suddenly going into bloom. The name sort of stuck."

"I see."

Truth be told, I never gave much thought to how the planet's population would react to my – our – harrowing exploits, nor did I care back then if I survived to see the consequences. When I think about it now, however, I realize that if I too were an everyday civilian, I also would've been scared shitless if I happened to look up at the sky one night and see an eldritch Cthulhu-like war machine emerging into low orbit. Scary how detached you come to feel from other humans when you technically aren't one anymore. Took me a long time to remember who I am.

Perhaps that's why – only after all was said and done – I finally felt the guilt begin to creep in.

"Since any further cleaning will likely have to wait…" G36 steers the conversation back toward the present. "How about I prepare some tea instead? If Master would allow it, of course."

I hate to be the one to stereotype, but I'm pretty sure I catch Michael's eyes twinkling at the offer. "Tea would be perfect, darling. Go make it happen. And put a few extra drops of lemon in mine!"

"As you wish, Master." G36's lips twitch into a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile. She exits the room with one last bow, carrying the broom and dustpan with her.

Michael moves around his trash heap of a desk and falls into his cushioned chair, letting out a content sigh. I seat myself on an adjacent folding chair, and for the next thirty awkward seconds, neither of us say a word, both waiting for the other to make a move. As his former CO, I decide to take the plunge first.

"You look good for a man in his seventies," I take note.

He cracks a grin. "Don't I though? My suit might've been ripped off before the symbiosis was complete, but I still came away with a few nice perks. I age about half as fast as a regular person does, for instance."

Huh. Depending on the date the skinning took place, I guess that helps explain why he more or less looks the same now as he did at Lingshan. Come to think of it, he showed zero signs of breaking or slowing all throughout New York when he was in his fifties. Good for him, I say.

"And that's not all. I've also got enhanced reflexes and reaction time. Perfect night vision, too." His already wolfish grin widens. "Damn fucking useful when you're infiltrating, say, a corporate-owned safe house in the middle of the night."

"I take it you had something to do with that, then?" I point to the framed newspaper article detailing the massacre of high-value CELL personnel.

"More like everything. What?" He gets defensive when I raise an eyebrow. "You know damn well better than anyone what those bastards did to me, Barnes! Just because CELL was left powerless after their pet generator alien got loose didn't mean I was going to leave the job unfinished. Doubt any of their board of directors would've survived the angry masses clamoring for revenge anyhow." He shrugs. "Hell, I practically showed them mercy."

Left unsaid is that Michael has a very twisted definition of 'mercy'. I ask anyway. "Did you make it quick?"

"What do you think?"

"Honestly? I think they were begging for death by the time you were done with them."

"Wouldn't be a bad assumption."

For those curious individuals wondering why he got the callsign 'Psycho', there's your answer. Michael's always been the kind of guy to take sensitive humanitarian matters into his own hands if he feels an injustice has been committed – it's a characteristic I sometimes have trouble working around, but I can never begrudge the results. He has his own ideas of justice and won't let something as insignificant as bureaucratic red tape get in the way.

A troubled feeling suddenly overtakes me. I know from our years of service together that Michael Sykes is a transparent, 'what you see is what you get' soldier. And if there's one critical thing Lingshan taught me about him, it's that he hates secrets; he never quite forgave me for keeping the true nature of our mission under wraps. For all his occasional reckless bravado, even he prefers to run ops with all available intel. Which begs the question…

"Michael… why didn't you tell me a third World War was raging right outside the Nanodome? How come you never said anything about Dolls? Or this ELID disease?"

Why did I have to find out about all that only after the Ceph invasion was thwarted, when I scavenged a working radio? When I thought my twisted second life's work was finally complete? The war, ELID, T-Dolls… I didn't find a single reference to any of them back in New York. Not one.

Michael's been thrown for a loop. It's clear he hadn't anticipated such a question, nor does he seem to know how to answer it. He's given a temporary out, however, when G36 politely knocks on the door before entering with a tea set expertly balanced on one hand.

"Your tea, Master Sykes, Mr. Barnes. Will there be anything else?" The blonde Doll sets the tray, containing a teapot and two steaming cups, on the desk, then folds her hands in front of her frilly skirt. Her eyes, still squinted as though she's perpetually agitated, lock themselves onto her Commander's.

Michael grabs one of the cups and immediately downs half its contents. Whatever's in that tea, it smells good. "Thank you, darling, and no thank you. You're free to turn in for the night; you've worked hard today. As always." He offers her an easy smile. "Besides, G36C must be missing her big sister, yeah?"

"Perhaps, though it's likely she already fell asleep before curfew," G36 muses with a sigh. She bows gracefully. "I will take my leave now. Have a pleasant night, Master. Mr. Barnes, it was an honor making your acquaintance."

"Likewise," I reply while Sykes simply nods. Once she's gone, I help myself to some tea before turning my full attention back to my squadmate. I have to hand it to G36 – she makes a damn fine pot. The warmth of the beverage settling in my stomach (ALCATRAZ's stomach, a regretful part of me screams) dispels a bit of the tension in me. "So. World War III. ELID. How come I never heard of these events until later? Spit it out."

"Would it have changed anything?" Michael fires back.

Now I'm the one who's been caught by surprise. What's he getting at here?

"Of course it would've!"

"See, I have trouble believing that." He pauses to finish his cup. As he refills it, he goes on, "We both know you'd changed when we reunited in Mexico. It was always Alpha Ceph this, Alpha Ceph that. Nothing else fucking mattered to you, did it? Even after the Resistance risked their necks to get you out of CELL's clutches, even after we lost Dane and Bandit in the process, your priorities never changed." He frowns at the cup, swirling the dark liquid around. His mind is absorbed in the ugly days of the past. I don't dare interrupt. "And yeah, I know – you were right in the end. No need to rub it in. But ask yourself this: Would you have acted any differently if you'd known what was happening in the outside world?"

I swallow bile. Michael's lured me into a corner. What would I have done back then? What could I have done? The Ceph's Manhattan pathogen, although deadly enough to cause an extinction-level event, was only in effect for about a week before Alcatraz thwarted the scheme, and it was contained to New York City. Whether by coincidence or design, I still don't know. ELID, on the other hand, had already been around for twelve years by the time I was freed from CELL's containment. And if what M4A1 said was true, it hit way, way faster than its predecessor. Could I have done something to prevent its spread?

The technical answer is yes, possibly, if I'd been at the right place at the right time. But I wasn't. One of our old team, Fire Dragon, had broken off to scout the Beilan Island lithostructure by himself while the rest of us hit Wuhan. He reported back that he'd failed to find the Alpha Ceph there. I never gave the place a second thought afterward.

How goddamn stupid of me to ignore the tension radiating from him. I'd picked up on it, of course, but back then I wasn't in the mood to play hearts and minds. Only the Alpha mattered. Nothing else.

"No," I finally admit. "I wouldn't have. But now I wish I could've."

A fresh wave of guilt crashes into me when Michael doesn't look surprised at all by my answer. Instead he just savors another sip of his cup. "I know you do," he says to reassure me. "Don't beat yourself up too much over it, Barnes. We had a damn huge to-do list and we couldn't be everywhere at once. We were the best ones to handle all the crises, no doubt about it. Though honestly – and I hate to say this – I don't think even we could've saved the world from sliding down the shitter."

"That's oddly pessimistic coming from you."

"Yeah, well… a lot has changed." Michael echoes the words he'd said to me shortly after we infiltrated the Liberty Dome. "Maybe we could've stopped the release of ELID if we hadn't been ambushed in Siberia, or maybe not. Either way, by 2047 it was too late to solve that problem."

I lean back in my chair and breathe a quiet sigh. If we'd evaded capture just a little longer… if I hadn't been so blind to reality… then perhaps we wouldn't have 'snot zombies,' as Alky's taken to calling them, running around in the present day. Michael claims we couldn't have predicted everything that would happen. He's absolutely right, but there's still a bad taste in my mouth.

I try to wash it down with more tea. It helps, sort of.

"We all made a lot of human mistakes back then," I muse aloud before broaching the next subject. "What about World War III? What's the full story behind it?"

"Oh my god…" Michael sighs, reclines in his chair and runs a hand down his face. "If there's one silver lining about sleeping away ten years of your life in a containment pod, it's that you weren't there to see it begin. You thought the situation in Liberty Dome was cockeyed? Outside it was worse. CELL tried to keep order after ELID spread out of control – calls for unity; global military policing; new rules and guidelines to keep people in check; broadcasts assuring the public they had everything under control. Typical propaganda. It even worked for a time, surprisingly."

"Except things didn't stay under control." And why am I not shocked that CELL played an indirect hand in ushering in the third World War…

"Obviously fucking not. Fast forward to 2045, ten years after the Beilan Island incident. Livable space had shrunk to an all-time low. Food was scarcer than ever. Several remaining countries declared martial law as riots got more and more violent. Finally, CELL just couldn't keep the lid from blowing any longer."

He takes a break from his story to fill his teacup a third time. His expression is a complicated mixture of pain and acceptance; SECOND points out, rather needlessly, that his stress levels are elevated. I nurse my own drink and wait for him to continue.

"It was a fucking mess, boss," he grumbles bitterly. "Every nation on earth was trying to kill the other, take their land and resources. North America invaded South America. The New Soviet Union was in its infancy when the Chinese apparently decided Siberia was suddenly prime real estate. The Middle East is an irradiated wasteland, and not just because of ELID. Only Africa emerged from the war mostly unscathed, and that's only because the European Union nations were too busy tearing each other's throats out to pay them much attention at the time. The survivors raced to colonize it after the ashes settled."

...Damn.

"Sounds to me like nobody won that war."

Michael sighs – a deep, heavy sound. "In a way, yeah. On the other hand, with CryNet scrambling to restore some type of order, a few disgruntled folks saw an opportunity in disguise. Think about it: CELL finally lost control of their global regime, at least temporarily. It was the perfect time to hit them where it hurt." He looks directly at me, weathered lips curling into a smug smirk. I already know what he's going to say next. "And I knew just the right person to make that dream into reality, even if it took two bloody long years to track him down."

More missing pieces of the puzzle are fitting into place. Besides the barbaric procedures he suffered through at St. Bartholomew's – along with whatever he had going on with Dr. Fontanelli – I still have the bare minimum of information about my old friend's time in the resistance group. He never spoke much about it, and I wasn't interested in prying.

"I always suspected you hadn't rescued me out of the kindness of your heart." My reply is lighthearted, almost teasing in nature. It feels… good. It feels human. If the way Michael's smirk grows is any indication, he's picked up on it.

"Believe me when I say this, boss – war or no war, I didn't forget about you. Would've freed you a whole lot sooner if I had my Nanosuit."

"You still pulled it off, and that's what matters most." I assure him. "Back to the war, though. When and how did it conclude?"

His answer is instantaneous. "2052, and only because mounting casualties and ELID took their combined toll on the major nations' armed forces. Nowadays it's private contractors like Griffin that fill in the cracks…" He tilts his head, eyeing me inquisitively all of a sudden. His smile fades. "I get you weren't around for the start of the war, but you should know how it ended. Why do you need me to explain it? Where have you been all these years, anyway?"

A deep breath fills my lungs. I've privately been dreading this moment, truth be told. We're close as brothers but I still find myself apprehensive… There's no telling how Sykes will respond to what I have to say.

I stall for time by pouring more tea as I think of how to begin. There's not much left in the pot.

"I told you I got spaced, right?" I venture carefully. When he nods in the affirmative, I continue, "Take one guess where I crash-landed after blowing up that abomination."

"Vegas?"

A brief, hollow laugh escapes me. "Heh, I wish. I hit just off the coast of Lingshan."

"That would've been my second guess," Michael insists. Voice analysis via SECOND confirms he's telling the truth, not that it really matters. He sighs, rubs his forehead and grumbles, "Those cursed islands… You really went full circle, didn't you, boss?"

"I suppose I did." I polish off the last of my tea, gently setting the cup on the tray. "That's not the strangest part, though. I remember wearing the suit when I blacked out on impact. When I woke up, it… well. See for yourself."

Mimicking the way Alcatraz showed off his inhuman side to M4, I raise my arm and envelop the length of it in a mesh of titanium and multi-million-dollar CryFibril nano-weave. Unlike M4, however, Michael's reaction to the partial shift is far more subdued; he lifts a brow, maybe sits up a little straighter, but that's about it.

"So that's what full symbiosis looks like," he mutters to himself, eyeing the blackened limb up and down.

"It works as an effective disguise, too, as you've just seen. I can look like a normal person again." Except for the eyes… which I'm only now realizing Michael still hasn't commented on yet. I wonder why? It's impossible for him not to have noticed them by now. I revert the arm to normal and resume, "Anyway, with the Ceph dealt with, I decided it was finally time to retire. Built myself a shack on the waterfront and figured I'd take it easy for a few years. Take some time to reflect on what I did, make peace with my mistakes."

And when I finally came to terms with the sins I'd committed – I'd find a way to bring Alcatraz back. I took his body because I needed it to fight the Ceph. With them gone, what reasons did I have left to keep holding onto it? What was left out there for me?

My plan was originally to catch a flight back to the U.S., dig up my list of old contacts and see which ones with Nanosuit expertise were still kicking, and work my way up from there. Nice and easy, right?

The discovery that another, separate war was raging outside Lingshan changed that plan.

"One of the first things I got was a radio set tuned to long-distance frequencies. That's how I initially found out about ELID and World War III… I spent a lot of nights lying awake listening to the reports." Just as many were spent analyzing the human DNA in my body and cross-referencing it with the medical data of Major Laurence Barnes. Never a match, no matter how much I tried to alter it.

There's a stinging sensation in my eyes. "Those revelations… they crushed me, Sykes."

"Boss, I-"

A spark of rage flares somewhere deep in my chest. I abruptly pound my fist on the desk, G36's tea set rattling at the impact. "You know what I sacrificed to stop the Ceph, dammit!" I cut Michael off. "Do you have any idea how much it killed me to learn they still got the last laugh in? Do you?!"

"No they fucking didn't!" he raises his voice to match mine. He meets my devastated gaze with a firm, composed one. "They didn't," he repeats, softer this time. "Their goal was to wipe us all out. The fact that we're having this conversation almost fifteen years after the Alpha died means that they ultimately didn't succeed. Sure, things aren't great currently. I'll admit that. Humanity had to adapt to a new normal."

He stops to down his remaining tea, sets the cup next to mine, then steeples his fingers together. In that moment, he looks as serious as he did when he first declared he wanted to end CELL's tyranny.

"But we survived. Maybe not thriving, but we're managing. And we're not struggling alone – we made our own help in A-Dolls. Dedicated combat Dolls got out of the prototype phase a year after the Bloom… hmph. Suppose New York would've been a shitty testing site…"

A contemplative expression overtakes his features, though he quickly shakes it off. "Look, the point I'm making is that those alien squid bastards used every nasty trick in their arsenal to kill us and failed. Even if it's a murky one, at least humans earned the right to shape their own future. The best we can do now is face it with our heads held high."

"Yeah…" My shoulders slacken. "Yeah, you're right."

Spitting in the Ceph's faces by living life to the fullest... It sounds like wishful thinking; a human concept. I can accept that.

For some reason I'm reminded of Damir. Alcatraz's new friend might come to conclusions a tad too hastily in my opinion, but for a guy who's aware he's living through an apocalypse, he's remarkedly chipper about it. He and his brother aren't suffering from the Ceph or their legacy.

Heck, Alky himself is coming to adjust to this new world despite the utter hell that followed his revival. He made a few new friends in the Paskovs and Griffin. He has a temporary yet stable place to stay. And while I'm nearly certain he'd throttle me for saying this, he's even beginning to see M4 as a replacement figure for his sister.

He's making himself a life, one step at a time.

Though it may not have happened if I… if I…

"Boss?" Michael's tone is unusually hesitant. "You alright?"

He needs to know. He deserves to hear every detail. Who else do I have left to turn to? Michael Sykes is the sole person who I implicitly trust, as well as the only man who might be able to offer me an explanation.

"I was captured again."

His green eyes balloon into saucers. His next word are pretty much what I'd expected:

"Fucking pardon me?"

"CELL took me in again, Michael. Or I believe it was a group formerly affiliated with CELL." I close my eyes and inhale another deep breath, struggling to bring the appropriate details to the forefront of my mind. It frustrates me deeply how fuzzy they are. Whenever I try to press deeper, all I get is a headache and a sound like TV static.

"I was still on Lingshan. 2051, I think the year was. I know its cliché but it happened so fast… One minute I'm strolling along the beach watching the gulls overhead, and the next my back is on the sand and I can't move a muscle. My ears were ringing. It felt like I was having a goddamn seizure."

Sykes rests his hands against his chin, a grim expression betraying his thoughts. "You reckon it might've been an EMP attack?" he asks seriously.

"It had to be. I know for a fact it was done deliberately – I was on a deserted stretch of coast at the time. Even if a malfunctioning electrical tower had been nearby, some faulty wiring couldn't have caused that amount of damage so fast. And then there was- I think I saw…"

A sudden jab of pain has me rubbing my thumb and index finger against my temples. Snippets of memories belonging to myself and Alcatraz flit through my mind; although they come and go before I can pick apart their significance, they each share one common factor: CELL.

Michael's concerned voice sounds like mud in my ears. "Barnes? Barnes! You okay, boss? Answer me, Laurence!"

"There was… Someone else was there with me, Michael."

That day, through the fog in my eyes, I saw a shimmer; the slightest distortion in the humid air. I thought maybe I had heatstroke – it was close to a hundred degrees that day – except I shouldn't be able to get heatstroke anymore.

"I know I saw something… a figure? I'm not sure…" I attempt to delve deeper, claw away at the metaphorical dirt burying the truth from me, but each layer I dig through accelerates the pressure building in my head until I'm convinced it might explode. "No, someone was definitely there… I'm certain of it."

"Who was it? Tell me what they looked like!" Michael presses.

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

What I do know, however, is that visible heat waves can't form a human-shaped silhouette.

A Nanosuit's cloak, on the other hand…

"Alright, so that's a dead end." Michael rises from his chair, then paces the length of his office, stopping to examine a particular newspaper clipping. I trace his eyes to the headline and zoom in: Something about a massive economic upheaval following CELL's dismantlement, dated January 2048.

"Any ideas on what might've happened?" I ask. A shadow crosses the Commander's face.

"Not many I'm afraid, although I can almost guarantee one thing: You're right to think the perpetrator had ties to CELL. My best guess? Whoever attacked you was employed by one of their business partners. Someone with mutual goals."

Considering what I remember afterward, the place where Alcatraz and I awoke, I take a calculated shot in the dark. "Sangvis Ferri?"

"Possibly. Likely, I'd even say." He shrugs and turns away from the yellowed paper. "SF dabbled in nanotech for a couple of years before CELL decided the risk of classified info leakage was too great. They redirected the company's focus toward Tactical Doll manufacturing."

"What does Sangvis Ferri want with me?"

"To study your biology."

Scarecrow's explanation was as vague as a woman's romantic hints but I'm beginning to glean a couple of valuable clues. This body is especially unique, and it's apparently a big enough game changer that even the human staff at Sangvis wanted-

"Commander? Are you in there?" a faint inquiry accompanied by several soft knocks on the door cuts off my line of thinking.

"One moment, boss." Michael sidles up to the door and opens it. He looks surprised by the T-Doll on the other side. "Magal? What brings you here at this hour, sweetheart?"

"I woke up when I heard shouting earlier. I'd assumed there was danger and came to lend you my assistance… I'm glad to see I was wrong." The girl replies in a voice barely above a whisper. She stows the law enforcement carbine she's carrying and breathes an invisible sigh of relief.

While she would already pass as an oddity among humans, her appearance seems overly standout even by Doll standards. The most extravagant thing about her is the incredibly long mane of glossy green hair that nearly touches the floor. Her wardrobe consists of a black tac jacket worn over a leotard and miniskirt (Alky raised a good point about those things); the latter two garments are made out of a dark, plastic-like material. A combat knife is sheathed on the one stockinged thigh that ends with a boot.

Citrus eyes flicker to meet mine. "Mr. Barnes, could I ask you to please not upset my Commander? Some of us are trying to sleep."

"You know who I am?" I ask in bewilderment.

She wasn't part of the mob at the front gate earlier, was she? No, I'm sure I'd have noticed her. The hair alone would've given her away like a beacon.

The Doll tilts her head slightly, expression unreadable. "Not personally. I overheard the commotion surrounding your arrival from my dorm room." She exhales another inaudible sigh. "I apologize on WA2000's behalf. She is… not good at expressing herself in a friendly manner."

"Think nothing of it. I'm used to being shouted at." Comes with a lifetime in the Army and leading squads of temperamental soldiers around. What really interests me is, how did she manage to eavesdrop from so far away?

And right on cue, Sykes sees fit to fill me in.

"Magal was programmed to have hypersensitive hearing. Like really, really sensitive." He gives his subordinate a pat on the shoulder, though it garners no reaction beyond a curious stare. "See these headphones she's wearing? Her system would probably crash from a sensory overload if she didn't have them."

"Sometimes I think Miss Persica hates me."

"Aw, come on, darling. You know that's not true."

"Oh yeah? You're not the one forced to suffer through Mk23's fantasies about Lev night after night when she thinks no one's-"

"Hey, um, Magal, since you're here and we've clearly established that I'm not in any danger, how's about you take G36's tea set back to the kitchens, yeah?" My chair scrapes sideways as Michael barrels past at a speed that belies his age; he grabs the tray and its contents and dumps them into the surprised girl's arms. "You can go back to sleep once that's done. Run along now, chop chop!"

She narrows her eyes at him. "I know what you're doing, Commander. You just don't want to admit I'm right." She makes to leave, though she pauses at the foot of the doorway to address me.

"Your heart rhythm is abnormal, Mr. Barnes. I'd get that checked out if I were you." Satisfied that she'd left me feeling plenty confused and disturbed, Magal heads out.

Michael shuts the door as soon as she's beyond the threshold. "Bloody hell," he mutters as he returns to the comfort of his seat. Then he sees my perplexed expression. "Magal is… ah, how do I put this? She's a nice girl, very sweet when you get to know her, but the hearing thing causes her to view the world a mite bit differently than us."

I recall a few of the quirkier Dolls both Alcatraz and myself were introduced to. "Sounds like you have quite the collection of characters on this base," I note with a hint of humor.

"You don't know the fucking half of it, mate."

Something else Magal said comes to mind. "Who's this Persica person?"

"Bigshot in the Doll industry. Mad genius, apparently behind a lot of IOP's design choices." He waves off any further specifics. "What were we talking about earlier? Right, you getting captured. So tell me…" Practically radiating curiosity, Michael leans across his desk, hovering uncomfortably close to my personal bubble. "If you got caught again… then how in the name of Jesus H. tapdancing Christ are you here now?"

This is it – the moment of truth. No sense chickening out now that I've come this far. I'm not much of a praying man, but inside I silently ask whatever deities are watching that my old squadmate won't have a heart attack, or faint, or chew me out or any number of other things that strange green-haired T-Doll might detect.

Now then, how to begin…

"Do my eyes remind you of anyone you've met recently, Michael?"

The commander's own eyes flash. "Don't change the fucking-"

"I'm not changing the subject. This is relevant, I promise," I insist.

"Fine, whatever." The heat in his voice dissipates somewhat and he reclines away from me, back to his side of the desk. "I wasn't sure how to bring it up before, but yeah; a few kids visited earlier today to, uh, deliver some important hardware." Despite the serious atmosphere, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking.

Sykes's expression turns quizzical. "One of them had eyes that perfectly match yours. Hold on. That wasn't…?"

"No, it wasn't me in disguise." At least not in any traditional way. I close my eyes again and take a long, slow breath. "Michael… you once asked me whose face I wore under that helmet. There's your answer."

Silence pervades the cramped office for several moments. Michael averts his gaze. I can almost picture what's happening in his head: a mental archeological dig to unearth long forgotten memories; each one uncovered is carefully brushed off, examined, and sorted to its relevant pile. A full minute ticks by and he's still no closer to finding the right one.

But find it he does, and his loud groan conveys his disappointment.

"Fucking hell, Barnes! I know you've always sucked at the whole 'humanity' thing but I never thought you'd stoop that low!"

"What are you talking about?" I ask in honest puzzlement.

"Quit playing dumb!" he snaps, jabbing an accusatory finger toward me. Seems like I've accidentally pissed him off yet again… "It was bad enough that you hijacked Alcatraz's body; now you have the bloody nerve to walk around in his skin pretending to be him?!"

"What? No! And keep it down!" I hiss back. The absolute last thing I need is for Magal to be listening in. "I just told you it wasn't me. That boy you saw was the real Alcatraz."

"Impossible. He's dead."

"He was never truly dead, Sykes. The suit created a backup of his personality just like it it did with mine. It was unstable, however, so it ended up being moved to indefinite storage."

Michael wasn't aware at first about my original death in the New York incursion. That changed not long after our world tour to hunt the Alpha Ceph began. He quickly picked up on the fact that unlike the rest of our team, I never ate, slept, or did anything as simple as remove the N2's faceplate for some fresh air. He'd joked that I basically became the suit.

He refused to speak to me for a week after I spilled the ugly truth.

It's a testament to how fucked up I'd gotten during that time period that it never crossed my mind to tell him SECOND was still holding onto the damaged personality file. That doesn't mean I didn't occasionally think about it. It confused me – the data was corrupted, so why did the AI insist on holding onto what was basically garbage data? Why not just delete it and put all the possible risks that stemmed from keeping it behind me?

Perhaps – in the deepest recesses of my psyche that still retained a shred of humanity – I was the one subconsciously urging it not to. That if the worst came to pass and Prophet fell in battle, Alcatraz could've possibly-

No.

What am I trying to convince myself into believing? That I see him as nothing more than a tool? That I don't care about him? While I'll say right now he wouldn't have been my first choice for a replacement, beneath the mask of drunken antics and snarky humor lies a well-trained FORECON marine. Sharing in his memories also added in another, more personal touch. To this day I wish I could've checked in on his sister at least once more.

His last words before surrendering complete control were to remember him. Even when I was at my most inhuman, for better or worse, no matter how subtly I'd done it, I'd honored that request.

"Laurence." Michael's tone is eerily composed. "Explain what's going on. Now."

(One Hour Later)

I start from the very beginning, from the moment I sensed the cryo-pod decompressing all the way to earlier this afternoon, leaving nothing out.

Almost nothing, I should correct myself. For the sake of Alcatraz's integrity, I mention neither the rock nor how badly he broke down after learning how many years had passed since he last saw the world through something other than our symbiotic link. I delve into the details surrounding his escape from the Sangvis facility, his scuffles against the Ringleaders, and his days of wandering through the forest.

Michael stops me at a handful of intervals to ask questions or seek clarification, but otherwise hangs onto every word. He scowls when I reveal SF's peculiar interest in me-slash-us. He listens intently as I confess my inner turmoil over whether I should've taken temporary control again after Alky was knocked out in the elevator shaft. He grins when I explain the circumstances behind Scarecrow's defeat and rolls his eyes at how the marine resorted to headbutting M4A1 in a fleeting moment of panic. All in all, he takes the series of events far better than I thought he would.

"So Alcatraz was the bogeyman wiping out all those Sangvis by the outskirts? Damn, I would've paid him extra if I knew that sooner," is the first thing he says once I've finished. "And what about you? Does he know you're still around?"

My shoulders rise and fall in a halfhearted shrug. "Hard to say. I think he suspects something…" I recollect on the way we 'conversed' through the Ceph carapace at the farm. It's difficult to discern how much of it can be chalked up to his fragile mental state versus any real semblance of communication. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if he knows and he's just choosing to ignore it."

"Have you tried reaching out to him?"

"And what would that achieve?" I feel my mood deflate. "He's not exactly fond of me, Michael. I'll intervene if I have to, but until then I'm content to sit back and let him do as he pleases."

"Hmph." Michael's obviously not thrilled although he nods in begrudging acceptance. "It's your call, boss. Personally I don't think it's healthy for the both of you to keep dancing around the issue, though what do I know? I'm not a bloody psychologist." His bald head suddenly snaps higher. "Wait a minute. You can see what Alcatraz sees, right? Is he watching us right now?"

"He isn't. I made sure he was asleep before taking control."

"Good. That would've been pretty fucking awkward." We share a brief chuckle. "In all seriousness, though, I'm glad he's getting better," he says with utmost sincerity. "That kid's been through just as much hell as we have, maybe more. What are his plans for the future?"

"He's still debating that. For now he's lodging with the Paskovs." Whatever he decides to do, I'll be there to watch over his self-deprecating ass and keep it safe. Hmm… "Michael, can I ask a favor of you?"

"As long as it doesn't involve hooking you up with one of my girls, I'm all ears."

Good old Psycho.

"Nothing so carnal. Listen… I'm going to give him back control after I return to the village. Depending on how Alcatraz chooses to live his life from then on, there's a very real possibility this might be the last time we see each other."

He never considered that. The surprise on his face confirms it. Being the strong-willed soldier he is, however, he manages to force down whatever personal grievances he may have and looks me dead in the eyes.

"Go on."

"I'd like you to keep an eye on Alcatraz while he's in the area." I state simply. "He hides it well, but he's still hurting on the inside. He needs a safety net; if something goes wrong, he'll need a place to fall back to with people who care about him." He came perilously close to losing his grip on sanity just twenty-four hours ago, and there was so little I could do for him. But there are plenty of folks around now who can help – Michael, Damir, Lev, M4… hell, even the pair of Dolls from the restaurant. "I'm not asking you to recruit him. Just… make sure he stays safe, okay?"

I lose track of how much time passes as Michael stares at me. The look on his face is cautious, searching. Why, though? Did I say something wrong?

Finally he speaks up. "So what you're saying is, you want me to be there for him in case he cracks under pressure."

"That's exactly what I'm asking, yes."

Michael grins. "Damn, boss. I guess you really are human after all." He relaxes further into his seat. "Sure, I'll look after him for you, though not just because you asked me to. If that batshit tale of yours is even half true, SF might soon come sniffing around. Let me just leave a message for Helian-"

"NO!" My hand slams over the desktop phone before his can reach it. I suddenly don't care who or what might overhear us. "You can't tell anyone what Alcatraz really is," I stress when I meet his stunned gaze. "What will your new 'superiors' do if they find out? Huh?! Never mind how I'm still astonished you'd even consider joining a PMC after what you went through, if Griffin is anything – anything like CELL, they'll ruin him!"

"G&K is nothing like CELL," Michael fires back instantly, withdrawing his hand. Then he darkly adds, "Trust me, I would've done something about them a long time ago if they were. Have I told you anything about my life after cutting the heads off of those corporate CryNet snakes?"

I shake my head. The phone is kept out of his grasp. He grunts in disapproval but continues anyway. "Spent most of it doing global humanitarian work of the mercenary kind after World War III; I arrived in the NSU about eight months ago. Not even five minutes after getting off the plane at Moscow, I met Berezovich Kryuger – he's the co-founder, quick history lesson of the day – I met him in line at an airport burger joint. We struck up a conversation. Came to like him after he said airplane food is almost as big a scam as the Work Away Debt program."

"Seems like he has an interesting personality." Knowing full well how much issue Sergeant Michael Sykes normally has with authority figures, combined with his hatred of private militaries, it speaks a ton about what kind of man this Kryuger is if he could convince my hotheaded ex-teammate to work under him.

"Yep, he sure does. Kryuger was an officer in the war before transferring to the Ministry of Internal Affairs; he said that witnessing so many deaths and atrocities is what gave him the idea to start up a PMC. I'll spare you the nitty-gritty details but remember this, Barnes: I wouldn't have chosen to follow him if I didn't think he had his head on straight."

There's irony in that statement when you consider how he loyally stuck by me during the year and a half we spent tracking down an alien serpent.

"I'll take your word for it." And if his current situation is anything to go by, it didn't appear to be a bad deal. My best friend is surrounded by ladies in a secure installation. What more could a man want?

Michael stands up and stretches. "Alrighty then. Here's how it'll go: Since you and Alcatraz technically haven't done anything wrong, I won't tip off the brass. I already gave the order to beef up perimeter security and send more frequent patrols earlier today after Kalina mentioned increased Sangvis activity, so that's that covered. I'm sure I can just pull an excuse out of my arse if the higher-ups ask questions. Heh. They're under the impression I'm some sort of tactical genius, so they'll trust my instincts."

"Thank you, Michael. I know I'm asking for a lot here. I'm not trying to compromise your job, believe me." I tell him earnestly, rising to my own feet.

"Wouldn't have accepted if I wasn't confident I could handle it, mate."

We close the distance and embrace for what might be the last time.

"You know it's going to be hard to look at Alcatraz's eyes and not see you in there," he murmurs into my shoulder.

"It's for the best. He deserves to live out the rest of his life," I try to explain again. He grumbles something into my shirt. "Sorry, what?"

"…So do you, you bloke."

Our moment ends when the phone abruptly rings and snaps me from my shocked stupor. Michael swears under his breath and for a second looks tempted to ignore it, although duty wins out in the end. That still doesn't stop him from sounding annoyed with whatever asshole interrupted us.

"Commander's office, Sykes speaking… Kalina? Shouldn't you be- Whoa, slow down, what are you- What? Echelon 10? The goddamn Suicide Squad?! That's impossible; I sent them into the most heavily infested territory I could- Yes. Yes, and bring out the yarn. We'll need all the distractions we can get. Be strong, my dear."

He slams the phone down and turns to look at me. His eyes are wild with an emotion I've never seen from him before: fear. "Boss, you need to leave right fucking now."

"Michael? What's wrong?" Okay, now I'm nervous. Not even the Alpha Ceph scared Michael! Actually, I've never seen him so obviously terrified of anything period!

"No time to explain." He's already shoving me out the door. "Listen closely now – there's a back door further down the left hallway, behind the mess area. I don't know if you still have that cloak handy but if you do, use it liberally. Time is of the essence here!"

He pulls me into one final brotherly hug before shooing me down the corridor. "I'll miss you Barnes, you son of a bitch! Now go!"

Honestly, what the hell is up with him all of a sudden? Is he preparing for an attack? There's no time to dwell on the possibilities; if something so horrible is coming that even Michael motherfucking Sykes is telling me to get out of Dodge, I'm hoofing it.

I fly out the rear exit the same moment a banshee releases its bloodcurdling scream:

"IDW DA NYAAAAAAAAAAA!"

My skin goes pale; my blood freezes in my veins. Don't even ask me how that's possible anymore. But I keep moving. I have to keep moving.

I wonder if Magal has crashed.

Alcatraz, if the noise woke you up – please take your body back. I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, yadda yadda and all that good stuff. I just came here to say goodbye to Michael; whatever happens with the rest of this G&K circus, it's all on you now. Because I sure as shit ain't dealing with it.

Sorry for the long wait. This chapter didn't want to write itself… ugh. Might go back and tweak a few things later.

I think the main issue was that Prophet is way more challenging to write than Alcatraz. Alcatraz has a whole novel written from his perspective which gave me plenty of source material to work with. Prophet's personality is harder to pinpoint, especially when you consider how much of it the Nanosuit took away or changed. I'm shooting for a 'mature yet guilt-ridden' approach, closer to how he was portrayed at the end of the third game.

Anyway, I think that about ties up most of the background exposition needed. Next chapter will return to Alky's point of view. Things are about to get hectic, so buckle up and get your popcorn ready.

And in case anyone's curious, Soppo should appear by Chapter 11, maybe 12 at the latest.