XCOM: The Atlas Protocol

by Xabiar

After the destruction of the dreadnought, tensions between XCOM and the Council are higher than ever. Despite growing opposition and oversight, the Commander doesn't hesitate to push humanity further into uncharted territory, as well as dealing with an ancient global conspiracy, and a growing number of countries looking to take advantage of an invasion that is only just beginning.

35. Dark Mirrors

Dark Mirrors

---

The Bastion, Bedroom

Saudia stood in front of her mirror. On the surface at least, everything appeared normal, even if she wasn't currently in her EXALT uniform. She stared emotionlessly into her reflection, eyes lingering on the new scars on her neck. At the time she'd believed that had been an illusion, an effect of the Ravaged One's presence. But no, after waking up with bandages around her neck, she'd been told that the damage had been very real.

Not permanent, thankfully, but it served as a very stark reminder of what had happened. She didn't know if the Ravaged One had intended it to happen, but after analyzing that conversation so many times in her head…she wasn't sure he'd even cared if it had happened or not.

It wasn't as though she needed a brand to remember him by.

Apathy. Apathy and contempt. That was what stood out to her. For all his talk about her assumed superiority, he was the embodiment of it. But the stark difference was that she believed it. It didn't matter to him what her position was or how much power she wielded on this planet. In the end, she was human and subject to her physical and personal failings and that was something the Ravaged One had no sympathy for.

What had she done?

Everything was coming apart.

And it was her fault.

She wondered if anyone would say anything, or would even be brave enough to. She'd spent the last couple of days trying to recover and think about what to possibly do next.

Because right now, she was lost.

That was a word she'd never ascribed to herself. Not once. Even in the worst situations, she always had some idea of what the right path was. Some idea that made rational sense. But not here. What were the options? Help the aliens and betray her planet, or refuse and get everyone and everything that mattered to her destroyed or killed?

She'd screwed up. Badly.

The Ravaged One had been right. She'd been arrogant and that arrogance and superiority had blinded her. She could clearly remember at the beginning, back when she was confident that she would be the one to fulfill their ultimate goal of taking control of the world. That she would be the one to outwit the aliens, use them as pawns, and discard them when finished.

But she'd been outplayed. The Elders had tricked her, played to her superiority and pride in EXALT superiority. They used her as an unwitting puppet and she kept foolishly pushing and pushing, so sure she was in control, and they'd humbled her in the most effective way possible. What use was everything they had if one lone alien could tear it all down just by entering?

Should she step down?

That question had entered her mind several times. She'd been the instigator of this mess and should face the consequences. But then she'd be risking the future of EXALT, leaving it in hands of a possible alien puppet. At least with her, she'd never willingly betray humanity, but she fully believed the Ravaged One when he said they'd find someone to replace her. They existed, even in EXALT.

But was that a good reason to stay? Because she knew better? If anything, recent events had clearly proven otherwise. Maybe someone new was needed.

Maybe she didn't want to give up her power.

She'd rallied against the Ravaged One's declaration that she cared about nothing but power…but now wasn't really sure what to think about that anymore. Why was she doing this? Why did she want to become Director in the first place?

Because she had a vision for EXALT. A plan. A goal. She felt like she was best suited to lead EXALT. That's what she'd believed her entire life, but she'd have been lying if she said she didn't enjoy the power and authority her position entailed. She'd always taken satisfaction in utilizing it against her opponents or enemies in inferior positions.

But was that the only thing that mattered to her? No, that she could say for certain. But it had become a bigger part of her than she realized.

Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

She'd memorized those words when she'd decided to become Director. She'd studied tyrants and dictators, promising to herself that she'd never become what they had. That mantra was a personal warning for her, and one she now wondered if she'd misinterpreted all her life.

She'd done her best as Director, giving her subordinates respect, authority and motivation to rally around her. She'd tried to be as fair and level-headed when it came to making decisions, trying to get a variety of opinions before making important ones. She'd tried to improve the lives of her soldiers and those in the Bastion. All in an attempt to ensure she didn't fall to corruption.

But she had, though not in the way she expected.

She'd increased EXALT's power and influence in the world. While it might have been initially unintentional, she'd become the most powerful woman in the world. If she wanted something done, it would get done eventually. Governments, countries, people, none of their authority and power equaled hers. They were powerless before her directives. She pulled the strings they weren't even aware of.

Was that absolute power? She considered it so on Earth. Before the aliens. Before XCOM. And that absolute power had deluded her into believing that not only was she unstoppable, she was invincible. Nothing could stop her. Nothing could defeat her. She could change the world if she wished it. What could possibly challenge someone like her?

Arrogance. She'd been corrupted by arrogance. By believing she was infallible, she'd fallen into the same trap so many had before her.

She wondered if anyone else had even come to this realization, when the end was visibly in sight.

Maybe.

Maybe that's why some killed themselves, rather than seeing everything they'd built collapse into nothing.

"Saudia?"

Ethan's voice. She hadn't even heard him come up. She turned to see Ethan coming in from the doorway, in his unarmored uniform. He'd managed everything at the base while she'd recovered, and now she felt incredibly bad that he was the one holding everything together. She needed to get back to work soon, no matter how she felt.

He'd kept his distance, knowing that she'd needed time on her own. But right now she didn't want to be alone, she needed someone else to ask what to do because she didn't trust herself right now. So instead of giving some kind of answer, she walked over and pulled him into a hug.

He seemed surprised, and for good reason. She never did anything like this, at least not when things were stressful. That had been reserved for more intimate moments, never simply for comfort. But he seemed to get over it quickly and returned it, both of them relaxing against each other for an indeterminate amount of time.

Saudia finally let go and stepped back, slightly embarrassed at herself for doing that, though Ethan didn't seem to share the sentiment. "Hey," he said, taking her hands into his own. "You ready to talk?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "I don't know what to do."

He gave a small smile and led her over to the edge of the bed where they both sat down. "Yes you do," he told her. "You just haven't realized it yet. You have a solution to every problem, no matter what."

She sighed. "Maybe I do," she paused for a second. "Should I step down?"

She looked over at his shocked face, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Hear me out," she sighed, raising a hand to forestall whatever he was going to say. "This is my fault. Clear and simple. Because of me, we're facing the choice between being a puppet or being wiped out. I'm not sure my judgment can be trusted after it lead to this position. Like it or not, someone else may be more suited to leading us out of this."

Ethan was silent for a moment. "Why are you talking about it like everything is your fault?" He asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. "You are the Director, but the decisions that led to this point were not unilateral."

"But I'm the one who pressed them," Saudia insisted. "I'm the one who insisted on using the aliens. I'm the one who continuously underestimated XCOM. I was overly arrogant and this is a direct result of that."

"You convinced them to agree with you," Ethan pointed out. "For what we knew, the arguments you posed were good. You never forced anyone to agree with you, that's not how you work, you never have. You're one of the few Directors I know of who doesn't make unilateral decisions that affect us."

He shook his head. "You do deserve blame for this situation. So do I. All of us do. You are at fault here-but so is everyone else. The families agreed with you, followed you, and by doing so were agreeing that, while not ideal, this was the best way forward."

"Do you really think they believe that?" Saudia demanded wearily. "They followed me because they trusted me. They believed I knew what I was doing. Look where that's gotten us."

Ethan sighed dramatically. "Saudia…" he began slowly. "You're not special. You're not the only one who can make major mistakes. Great leaders do make them occasionally, trust me, I know. Your mistakes are not irreversible, and leaving isn't a good solution. Besides, who could possibly done any better than you in this situation? You worked with what was given, and to be honest, made decisions that the rest of us probably would."

Saudia pursed her lips. "But I don't know how to fix it. One way makes us traitors to our species, and the other will get us all killed."

"And those are the only two?" Ethan pressed. "Really?"

"The only two feasible ones," Saudia defended hotly. "We can't exactly do nothing."

"No," Ethan agreed. "But that doesn't necessarily mean we have to go to one extreme or another. There is a middle ground, and I'm sure you'll find it."

His confidence was reassuring, but wasn't enough to completely assuage the doubt she had. But he did have a point that resigning wasn't the best move. What would she do? Sit around and do nothing? No, it would feel like running away, and she had to at least try and fix this. "Fine," she said. "I won't resign on my own. But if the families make that decision, I'll abide by it."

"They won't," Ethan assured her. "Even if they personally feel otherwise, no one wants this burden. No one wants to make the decisions you do."

"But they will want a plan," she muttered.

"So come up with one," he said, leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "We need you to take charge again, Director. You'll figure this out, I know it." He nodded towards the bed. "C'mon, we're both exhausted and won't figure out anything tonight."

She smiled. "I guess that's a good idea." Both of them repositioned and laid out flat on the bed, Saudia curled up against him, head resting on his shoulder with his arm around her. She felt she needed to say something since tomorrow they might not have time. "I love you." She whispered.

She felt him pull her a little closer. "I love you too, Saudia."

She smiled in the darkness and took some comfort in that. Both of their admissions weren't really useful in the real world, but right now she felt they both needed to hear it. As Ethan quickly fell asleep, she remained fully aware, her eyes focused sightlessly outward as she listened to his rhythmic breathing.

Her mind worked furiously, trying to figure out some kind of solution. All the pieces were available, they just needed to play them in the right order. And the more she thought, about EXALT, the aliens, XCOM, and the world, an answer slowly emerged.

It needed refining. But right now, it was the best they had.

An idea realized, she finally allowed herself to fall asleep against Ethan's chest.

---

The Citadel, Office of the Commander

"In short, it seems as though EXALT was transporting a human psion," the Commander summed up. "Based on what we saw, the most likely explanation is that the aliens attempted to take the psionic and EXALT refused."

"And none of the EXALT soldiers…survived?" The Speaker asked.

"None," the Commander confirmed, shaking his head. "The psion escaped and killed them. Rather violently, I might add."

"I suppose that is to be…expected, given what she likely endured," the Speaker conceded. "Where is she now?"

"Being treated in the Citadel's Medical Ward," he answered. "We've identified both the psionic, Annette Durand, and her boyfriend, Latrell Moreau. From talking with him, I suspect EXALT planned to use him to coerce Annette into doing what they wanted."

"Is she stable?" The Speaker asked. "There is likely mental trauma from such an…event."

"To be determined," the Commander admitted. "In any case, she'll be staying here. The Citadel is the safest place for psions, and she knows important intel about EXALT. Stable or not, she's not fit to go free."

"Has she revealed anything of import?" The Speaker asked. "If EXALT is fielding human psionics of their own…"

The Commander hesitated. "From what she's said, no. They're still experimenting. Though she did reveal she wasn't the only one they had."

"That is…concerning," the Speaker muttered. "Though your team is to be commended for completing the mission so…efficiently."

"Appreciated," the Commander said, internally wincing as he moved onto the next topic. Much as he didn't want to, the Council did need to be brought up to speed on the danger of the Ethereals. The Council was aware they'd captured an alien spy, though he'd intentionally left out some details, such as the fact that Nartha had turned himself in.

He disliked leaving out details like that, but he couldn't trust certain elements of the Council not to use that against him. "There is another matter that needs to be discussed."

"And what is that?"

"The aliens are becoming more aggressive," the Commander revealed. "I presume you read the report detailing what we learned from the alien spy?"

"Yes, we have," he confirmed with a small nod. "It was…illuminating."

"That is was," the Commander agreed. "Recall what we learned about the Ethereals."

"The leaders of this alien collective," the Speaker recalled. "Supposedly very few and very dangerous."

"We've encountered one," the Commander stated bluntly. "The situation in Plymouth was the result of an Ethereal attack."

"And you failed to respond in time?" The Speaker demanded.

"No, we did," the Commander admitted. "And we failed to stop it. The entire team was killed, and we have confirmation that this Ethereal is likely as powerful as the alien spy believed."

The Speaker was silent for a few moments. "That is…worrying. The Council requests that you send the footage of the encounter as soon as possible."

"It will be done," the Commander nodded. "But the reason I bring this up is because the Ethereal might strike again, and the Council should be prepared for that eventuality. We are working to develop counters to it, but as of this point, we do not have a reliable means to defeat it."

"You understand what you are saying, Commander," the Speaker warned. "This does not instill confidence, regardless of your recent performance."

"In that case, please ask the Council to make up it's mind," the Commander stated wearily. "Do they want me to lie to them or not? Were this less serious I would not mention it until a solution was developed. But as it stands, the Council needs to know the precarious nature of the situation and prepare accordingly."

"Noted, Commander," the Speaker inclined his head. "Regardless of personal feelings of you personally, there is a consensus that XCOM is best equipped to handle this."

About time they realized that. Maybe the Council was finally not going to be something to worry about. Maybe China leaving was a blessing in disguise. "That being said," the Speaker interrupted. "The Council condemns the recent alliance between XCOM and Taiwan, and recognizing it as an independent state."

Oh dear. Whatever would he do? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead sighed. "Duly noted. Anything else?"

"The Council strongly recommends you reconsider any…further actions…against China," the Speaker warned. "Should your blatant antagonization continue, the Council will demand concessions from XCOM."

And just like that, the Council was back to being a problem. "Then perhaps China should not have left the Council," the Commander stated coldly. "In doing so they have put their pride ahead of humanity. I will deal with them as is necessary, whether the Council approves or not."

The Commander paused. "China may be leveraging members of the Council to push this, but that is something I will not respect. Everyone knows China is wrong when it comes to Taiwan. Maybe actually have the courage to stand by that."

"I will convey that to the Council," the Speaker stated neutrally. "Good luck, Commander. We will be watching."

The screen turned off and the Commander looked at it for a few minutes. Well, that went as good as it could have. The Council might prove to be a problem again, but he was well beyond considering them a major concern anymore. If all went well, soon the Council would be disbanded and XCOM would be funded in full by an alliance with actual power.

Now he should probably go check up on Annette.

---

The Citadel, Medical Ward

"Report," the Commander ordered Blake as he looked into the room where Annette was being examined. One of the doctors was asking her questions and young woman seemed to be giving half-hearted answers. She had been given a white XCOM-issue shirt and clothes. Latrell was also in the room, eyeing the doctor warily as he leaned against the wall.

"Extreme scarring on her arms and upper chest," Blake began as he also looked into the room. "It appears to be a direct result of using her psionic abilities. I'm not sure if this would be standard or a side-effect because of the way her powers were awakened."

The Commander frowned. "Can it kill her?"

"Kill her?" Blake repeated in surprise, turning to the Commander. "No, no. I'm not quite sure how it works, but it does appear to heal to an extent once she returns to…normal. But it does seem that the extent of scarring is directly proportional to the usage of her powers."

"So it could spread further," the Commander finished. "Does she know?"

"Not as far as I know," Blake answered. "I don't think she's been concerned about that. Besides, I'd prefer not to say for certain until we have data to back it up. I'm certain it's painful, but she seems to have…accepted it, for lack of a better word."

That she had. If that demonstration at the dam was any indication, she'd probably found a way to use it. "Is she stable?"

"Physically? Yes, pretty healthy, actually," Blake answered slowly, furrowing his eyebrows. "Mentally…I'm unsure. Psychology isn't my field, Commander, but I can't imagine that she's mentally sound with what she went through. She's volatile; surprise or startle her and it might set her off. I'd be careful around her. She isn't Patricia."

No, and that was a potential problem. While he didn't think she posed a direct threat to him, he didn't trust Annette Durand, especially if her mental abilities were as extensive as Patricia's. She might learn things he didn't exactly want public yet. She was a security risk, but she was also a tool he couldn't afford to remove.

"I want to talk to her now," the Commander said, walking towards the door. "Monitor her for any psionic bursts."

"Will do," Blake promised.

The Commander opened the door and stepped inside. The doctor that was speaking with Annette looked up, saluted and left immediately. With her gone, the Commander looked at the woman sitting in front of him. Cropped brown hair, oval face and the eyes of a frightened animal. Blake hadn't exaggerated; her arms were scarred to such an extent he would have thought they were a result of third-degree burns or acid if he hadn't known better.

Her mental pain tolerance must be higher than his if she could move them normally without screaming. Impressive.

"Annette Durand?" He greeted. "I am the Commander of XCOM."

"Commander…" she began hesitantly, waiting for a name. She was definitely French from her accent.

"'Commander' will suffice."

"Ah, yes, Commander," she said with a quick nod. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"Of course," the Commander inclined his head. "I don't know what exactly you endured with them, but rest assured that we are no friends of EXALT."

"I know," Annette nodded quickly. "It's why we were trying to find you," she nodded to Latrell. "We didn't know why, but EXALT is worried about you, so it made sense to try and find you."

Really. Now that was interesting. "So why did you want to find us?" The Commander asked. "Asylum? We can provide that if you wish. EXALT won't find you here."

"Because I want EXALT destroyed," Annette hissed, her sudden anger shifting the air around her. "You're the only ones fighting them. I want to help you kill them."

She didn't lack spirit. And she was probably not going to like what he said. "I see. Ms. Durand, do you know what XCOM is?"

"An anti-alien task force?" She guessed.

"Correct," the Commander answered slowly. "You won't like this, but EXALT is not our directive. We've taken steps to reduce its influence, and have actually begun crippling its media network over the past few days. But we've reach a point where EXALT does not pose a direct threat to us. The aliens do, and that threat is much more real than what the media says. I apologize, but EXALT is not a priority military target unless they decide to attack us again."

Annette scowled, but said nothing immediately. "What about after the aliens are gone?" She finally asked.

"Then EXALT will be dealt with," the Commander assured her. "I won't have the world influenced by a shadow organization. Especially one what commits atrocities that both of us have experienced."

"Good enough," she said, looking him in the eyes. "Then let me help you fight the aliens. EXALT can wait, or they'll die on their own. In the meantime, I can give you information about EXALT, where I was held and more."

The Commander pursed his lips. "You're powerful and talented, Annette. But this is a military. If you want to join, then you'll have to follow orders. I suppose it depends if you can do that."

"If those orders involve killing aliens, of course," she nodded.

"No," the Commander stated bluntly. "All orders. Even ones you disagree with. Especially those. I am lenient to a point, Annette, but I will not tolerate soldiers dying because of your refusal to follow my orders, or those of any other overseer. Your psionic powers do not grant extra privileges. Rank is earned here, not given."

"Point taken, Commander," she nodded. "My decision hasn't changed."

The Commander smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. That offer extends to you as well, Moreau."

"Accepted," Latrell said. "Someone's gonna need to help her around this."

"Now, with that out of the way," the Commander began, turning his attention back to Annette. "Let's discuss your time with EXALT in more detail."

---

Seattle, United States of America

"So what did you find?" Cerian demanded as Ren pulled up a chair.

"I just got back," Ren protested as he sat down. "Are there any water-"

"Way ahead of you," Olivia interrupted, tossing him one of the water bottle and pulled up a chair beside them. He caught it easily. "Now come on. I'm really curious what you learned about this guy."

"Very little, actually," Ren answered as he opened the bottle and took a sip. "I'm pretty sure he's not formally involved in Solaris Industries itself, though he's pretty much allowed anywhere."

"Probably an officer of some kind," Cerian guessed, already coming up with plausible explanations. "Intelligence, judging by how much he knew."

"Never heard mention of anything intelligence related," Ren shrugged. "But I did hear mention of a 'Chronicler'. Take that for what you will. It might be our mystery man."

"Yeah, he's not a librarian," Olivia snorted derisively. "That guy knew way too much to just be someone so…menial."

"Maybe EXALT has different naming conventions," Cerian proposed, crossing his arms. "And ultimately, it doesn't matter. Did you learn anything else useful?"

"That was my job," Ren pulled over the map of Seattle and circled a location with a red marker. "This is where he lives. Oddly secluded, but good for us."

"Because he's probably got it protected," Cerian guessed. "He wouldn't isolate himself without some form of protection."

"Not that I saw," Ren disagreed with a shake of his head. "I checked the place out several times. No security. No guards. It's something you'd expect from a civilian, not an intelligence officer."

Cerian frowned. That went against every instinct he had. But if that was the case…and he did trust Ren…then he wouldn't complain. "Interesting. And you have a daily pattern set up?"

"Of course," Ren confirmed easily, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. "Leaves around ten, wanders around the city, talks to random people, gets back between six and ten. He'll also usually stop by Solaris Industries at least once."

"Gives us plenty of time," Olivia nodded. "And no security? For sure?"

"At least not on the outside," Ren corrected. "He might have some in the room itself, but we can scan for those easily."

"Then we'll do that," Cerian confirmed. "The rest of them are setting up for the actual infiltration. Whoever this guy is, we'll soon find out and use that to help us."

"Just in case, what do we do if he actually shows up?" Ren asked, getting up.

"Capture him if possible," Cerian ordered. "If not…we don't have a choice but to kill him."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Olivia commented, getting up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some sleep before tomorrow."

"Second that," Cerian groaned. "Only got a few hours to daylight anyway. Let's make them count."

With that all of them went to sleep and awoke at the planned times without and problems. They'd discussed the plan at length well before now, the last night was mostly a formality and confirmation. Cerian wanted to know what that man had, and to accomplish that, they had to break into where he lived.

Simple enough, and in the unlikely event he showed up, Cerian was certain that he could beat him. He may be an old man, but that guy really was old. Likely not in as good of shape either. And with Ren and Olivia backing him up, Cerian was confident they could handle whatever they encountered.

The drive itself took almost an hour, but they had plenty of time before the man showed back up according to Ren. The place the apartment was wasn't that bad, overall. It wasn't luxury, but neither was it a shady dump. It was simply a nice, middle-class, apartment complex. Cerian even saw children playing in the streets.

"So, who's staying here?" Ren asked as he parked. "I know this area a bit better, so I'm up for it."

"You sure you don't want to see what's inside?" Olivia asked humorously as she checked her concealed pistol.

"I'm sure I'll hear all about it," Ren responded, rolling his eyes. "Go on. Let's try to get this done as soon as possible. I don't want today of all days to be the one he decides to come home early."

"Well, that's why you'll warn us," Cerian reminded him, opening the door. "Come on, Olivia."

Both of them walked up to the second floor and to the apartment Ren had marked. "Well, let's see what kind of lock it is," Cerian muttered as he tried to turn the handle and to his surprise, it opened.

"No lock?" Olivia muttered incredulously. "You sure this is right?"

Cerian double checked the number. "Completely."

Olivia withdrew the electronic scanner. "One moment." At her nod, he drew his pistol and pushed the door open to reveal a completely normal apartment entrance. It was fairly standard, with a small kitchen off to the right, and a living room with some couches and television in the rest of it. A hallway to the middle right likely led to some bedrooms and a bathroom.

Scanner still in hand, he and Olivia both advanced slowly, Cerian taking note of any oddities. Nothing really as far as he could tell. It was very clean, so much to the extent that this guy really didn't spend much time here or he was expecting guests. "Doesn't seem to be anything here," Cerian said. "Move to the hallway."

She nodded and they both walked slowly down them until they reached the end and it broke into a bedroom on the left, and bathroom on the right. Cerian looked in the bedroom and his lips curled into a smile. A suitcase was on the ground by the bed, and off to the corner was a file cabinet and setting on the nightstand was a laptop.

"Bingo," Olivia muttered. "Let's see what you've got."

"Get what's on the laptop," Cerian ordered as he went to the filing cabinet. "Let me check this."

While she did that, he knelt down by the cabinet and opened it. To his surprise, it was packed. Rows upon rows of files filled it. All of them were ordered in symbols he'd never seen, and he pulled one out at random to see what it said.

"The hell?" He muttered, squinting as he looked at the file. It seemed to be written in some kind of…symbol language. Hieroglyphics on steroids, almost. Whatever it was, he had no clue on how to even possibly begin translating it. He had to take one, just to see what exactly this guy was using to write his files. All of it appeared to be handwritten as well, an oddity in a digital age.

He glanced over to see Olivia still getting the data from the laptop and thumbed through some of the other files. By accident his finger caught on a paperclip, and on closer inspection, saw that it attached a photo to one of the files. Might as well see what it showed. Cerian pulled it out and raised an eyebrow as he saw who it was.

"Look at this," he muttered to Olivia, walking over and showing her the file.

She frowned. "Is that Stalin?"

"Looks like it," Cerian agreed. "Which raises a number of questions."

"Yeah, like what that…language…is and why he's keeping a file of a long-dead Soviet," Olivia added, appraising the file closely. "This is really odd, Cerian. I don't like it."

"I'll keep this one, to see if we can decode it," Cerian said, shooting a glance towards the door. Olivia was right, everything here was very odd. From the lack of security, sanitized rooms and files of dead dictators, he was getting a bad feeling. He didn't think it was a trap, Ren would have given some kind of warning, but he didn't think they should stay longer than necessary.

"Done," Olivia stated, pulling out the flash drive and closing the laptop. "We've got what we needed. Mary can dig through it later."

"Let's get out of here," he agreed, standing up and with the flash drive pocketed, Olivia joined him as they walked out of the room. Everything was still the same, and as they approached the door, he felt they were almost home clear.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Within seconds they had their silenced pistols out and aimed at the old man who was leaning nonchalantly against the far wall. Cerian internally cursed for not looking there when they'd entered. Rookie mistake and he wasn't sure how he could have forgotten it.

He'd worry about that later. Change of plans.

"Then you shouldn't have identified yourself as a threat," Cerian responded, taking a few steps forward. "You have information you shouldn't have. I needed to know what and how."

The man smiled. "All you had to do was ask, Cerian. What exactly do you want to know from me? After all, I clearly don't pose a threat."

"How you knew about us, for starters," Olivia growled. "Preferably any other EXALT secrets you have. Though I think we'll have plenty of time for that later."

"Ah, yes, your plan for if I showed up here," the man said knowingly. "Capture, or if not possible, kill. Standard in this line of work."

"How did you know that?" Cerian demanded icily, stepping forward. No one should have known that outside his team.

"Simple," the man tapped the side of his head with a finger, smiling. "I read your mind."

Cerian and Olivia were both silent initially, not quite sure how to react to that answer. "Perhaps you'll be less in the mood for jokes when we question you," Olivia muttered. "While funny, we don't have time to deal with them."

"I find it somewhat annoying you thinking of me as 'the man' or 'old man'," he continued, seemingly not hearing her. "You need some name, and it just so happens you've heard it. You may call me the Chronicler, a title I wear proudly."

"Great," Cerian said. "Well, Mr. Chronicler, we're taking you in on charges of espionage. Hands up."

The Chronicler sighed. "I did warn you, but perhaps that was pointless. We humans are not a rational species when it comes to verbal warnings. We need to see proof, consequences, and I suppose that is what you need now, Cerian Irelan. A demonstration."

Cerian pursed his lips and took a few steps forward when he spotted something that made him freeze and his blood run cold. The Chronicler's irises were glowing a vibrant purple. What the-

"Drop the gun," Olivia ordered, raising her pistol at him, her face expressionless and her own irises a lighter purple.

Cerian wasn't the type to panic or give into fear. He was too well trained for that. But for the first time in years he felt genuinely unsettled and afraid. He'd miscalculated badly. Not that this should have been possible, but it was clear reality didn't care what he'd presumed. "Olivia…" began quietly. "This isn't you. He's making you do this."

"Oh, she knows," the Chronicler stated, walking over slowly as Cerian turned to look at him. "She's trying to fight it, believe me. But she has no defense, and neither do you." Olivia suddenly pulled the gun away from him and put the barrel under her chin, a tranquil expression on her face.

"Don't…" Cerian growled at the Chronicler. "Or-"

"Or what?" The Chronicler demanded, raising a hand to catch the pistol which flew from Cerian's hand. "What exactly can you do here, Cerian?" He gave another smile. "Nothing."

"Who are you?" Cerian demanded. "What are you?"

"Human, same as you," he answered, as he expertly disassembled the pistol. "Just…enhanced, to put it simply. The aliens have found our world before, and they left technology. Technology one young boy might accidentally stumble upon…" he trailed off. "Ah, but that's ancient history, which is something I know a thing or two about. I've seen a lot, Cerian, enough to make some determinations about human nature."

He dropped the pieces of the pistol on the ground. "EXALT is not perfect, Cerian, far from it. But it is ultimately the best chance for human peace, and I will do whatever to protect it and guide its leaders to avoid the mistakes of history. I will not be remembered, but when humanity is finally united, it will be in part to my actions."

The purple light faded from his eyes and Olivia stumbled forward with a gasp, tossing the pistol away frantically. "This is your final warning," the Chronicler stated. "I don't want to kill you, but I will if you continue this misguided crusade. The aliens will be coming, and they are the threat. Leave, because the next time I see you will be your last."

Both of them quickly exited, Olivia breathing rapidly as she almost broke into a run. She slammed the door closed and began pacing frantically. "What the fuck happened to me? Did he…?"

"I think so," Cerian admitted quietly. "We need to get out of here."

She was in full agreement and both of them practically ran down the stairs and towards the car, only to skid to a stop once they saw Ren. "No…" Olivia whispered as she looked at his corpse. The pistol was in his hand, and blood was leaking out of his head, both the windshield and windows were splattered with blood.

"A final warning," Cerian observed, looking sadly at the body, wondering what to do now. "We need to reconsider what to do. Otherwise he'll just kill all of us."

"What?" Olivia demanded. "Give up? Let someone like than go free?"

"Of course not," Cerian scowled. "But we need a plan, and we can't do it here."

"Then let's get back," Olivia growled. "He'll die for what he did to me and Ren."

Cerian certainly hoped that would happen, but someone like the Chronicler would not be easy to deal with, especially if he figured out their plan again. There were some tough decisions to be made, and he wasn't sure at the moment what the right ones were.

---

The Citadel, Hallways

Myra was waiting, right on time. The recruits for the MEC program had arrived and this was something he was going to see to personally. It was unfortunate that Shen hadn't managed to overcome the loss of personality in the procedure, but until they could dedicate time to solving that, it would have to remain as such. They also sadly had more pressing problems to deal with first.

Although maybe it wasn't as bad as it could be. Despite being converted months ago, Myra still did seem at least mildly interested in her prosthetics, judging by how she kept looking them over, testing flexibility, strength and just doing things that wouldn't be possible with an ordinary hand. Such as now the wrist of her left hand being completely turned around.

"Does that hurt?" The Commander asked, walking up. Myra showed no surprise at his voice, simply flicking the wrist back to the natural state and turning to face him, immediately falling into a salute.

"No, Commander," she answered. "It does not."

"At ease," he told her, motioning her to walk down the hallway. She fell into step beside him, her mechanical feet clanging on the ground they walked. She'd abandoned traditional clothing, which made sense since almost every part of her was covered up, barring the head and even that had been modified to an extent.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked neutrally as they walked.

"There are four new candidates for the MEC program," he answered, glancing to her expressionless face. "Shen has already briefed them on the essentials, but you've actually experienced it. I think they could get a better idea of what to expect if you explain it to them."

"I'll do my best," Myra answered tonelessly. "But…it is not something that can really be explained. Not in a way you would understand."

Getting plugged into a giant MEC suit might be difficult to explain, true. Myra had said as much to Shen before. "I know," the Commander assured her. "Just do the best you can."

"Yes, Commander."

They walked for a few minutes. "How are you doing?" The Commander finally asked. "I haven't asked for a while. Are the prosthetics still holding up?"

"I am currently fully operational," Myra answered immediately. "No need to concern yourself, Commander."

"I know that," the Commander sighed. "I was asking beyond that. From the sounds of things you've been spending almost all of your time in the Cybernetics Lab."

"I am working," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Only Dr. Shen understands the suit like I do, I am most useful there. I have no need to be anywhere else."

"You just work on the suit?"

"You take care of your body, Commander," Myra responded. "I do the same to mine."

Hmm. The Commander was pretty sure that wasn't healthy, but then again, he wasn't sure ordinary human mental issues could be applied to MEC soldiers. Hopefully she'd now have some others to interact with once the new volunteers were converted. They came up to the Cybernetics Lab and the circular door hissed open.

"He is likely by the Ballista-class MEC," Myra suggested, pointing to the right where the two MECs were stored. Well, well, it looked like it had been just finished.

There was a significant contrast between the Ballista and Marauder-class MECs. For one, the Ballista-class was at least several feet taller and far more armored than the Marauder-class. It was certainly less maneuverable, but given the amount of firepower the machine was packing, that might be an acceptable tradeoff.

Both arms were heavily weaponized. The right one seemed to have a fully-loaded and enhanced rocket launcher and the other looked to be a modified grenade launcher. Both shoulders had a small suite of micro-missiles and attached to the back looked to be a kind of collapsed artillery cannon. Shen certainly had fulfilled his goal of an artillery-focused MEC.

That was the most impressive thing he'd seen so far today, until he looked towards the middle of the room where the majority of construction was taking place. He whistled as he saw what was actually being built. "I didn't realize Shen started construction on that," he muttered. Myra looked over to where he was watching and nodded.

"Ah, yes," she said. "He finished final passes of the Goliath-class several days ago. I'm certain he notified you, by message if nothing else."

That was actually very likely, but given the hectic past few days it wasn't a surprise he'd missed it. Shen had probably assumed he'd read it. Not that he'd needed approval anyways. Even from just the outline, he could tell that the Goliath would live up to its name. Whereas the Ballista-class was probably fifteen feet, minimum, the Goliath looked to be nearly twice that.

Right now, the biggest issue he saw was how they were ever going to be able to transport that thing. Well, he'd question Shen on that later. Time to go to him.

The Head Engineer was still talking to the small group, and paused once he saw the Commander and Myra walking up. All the volunteers also turned around, giving the Commander his first good look at them. All of them were combat veterans, with injuries severe enough to be discharged. But it was different reading the injuries and seeing them up close.

Two of them, Franklin and Amahle, from America and South Africa respectively, were in wheelchairs. Franklin had been paralyzed in a crash from an IED when stationed in Israel, and Amahle had been forced to amputate her legs after she'd been shot in both, and had become infected in the dangerous African jungles.

Sanya, the Russian Spetsnaz was missing his right arm, which had been the result of a crime gang using a chainsaw in self-defense. Judging from the scars on his face, it seemed lucky an arm wasn't the only thing he lost from that encounter.

The only one who was physically 'whole' was Duygu, the former Turkish combat engineer. His entire body was covered up, and the Commander knew it was likely to hide the scarring that covered his body. He'd been nearly killed by a flamethrower, burning most of the skin off his body and leaving him unable to feel anything aside from pressure.

"It seems the Commander is here," Shen said, motioning to him. "I think he'd like to say a few things."

"Yes," he said with a nod. "Welcome to XCOM, I am the Commander and wanted to personally greet you and thank you for volunteering for this project."

He focused his eyes on each of them, seeing nothing but resolve, determination and acceptance. Disabled they may be, but he could tell that didn't hinder them in the way people expected. Anyone who was here was because they wanted to defend their species in any way they could. That was something most people lacked, but it took a special kind of courage to do this, knowing the likely outcomes.

"Dr. Shen has explained the procedure," he continued. "You know the risks, you knew them before coming here. Yet you did so anyway, and that is more deserving of commendation than anything you could do. You don't need me to motivate you more than you already are, all I can do is thank you and assure you that we will drive the aliens off our planet, and you will be helping ensure that happens."

The Commander stepped back. "Myra has undergone the procedure and will answer any questions as best she can."

Myra stepped forward and began talking. The Commander was curious what she would say, but before they really started talking, his earpiece buzzed. He pursed his lips and clicked it on. "Yes?" He asked quietly.

"Commander," Bradford said. "Sorry to interrupt, but Vahlen insists you come to her immediately. She's finished the psionic pod."

All annoyance immediately vanished and after a quick farewell to Shen, he quickly turned and moved at a brisk pace to the Research Labs. If Vahlen had managed it…they could start determining psionic soldiers immediately, they might now actually have a chance to recover and prepare much earlier than he'd anticipated.

In what seemed like very little time, he arrived at the Labs and quickly saw where Vahlen was standing. It was in the corner, a very messy corner, with papers, tables and electronic equipment scattered around a black coffin-like pod.

"What do you have?" He asked immediately.

"I've successfully determined which brain patterns the sectoid tech awakens," Vahlen immediately answered, not missing a beat. "Admittedly, that was the easy part. What posed the most trouble was amplifying and 'pulling' the psionic power further. Left naturally, it might take weeks to develop into anything significant. With this, I'm confident that we can condense that time to roughly three of four days."

The Commander smiled. "Excellent. Have you tested it yet?"

She shook her head, biting her lower lip. "No…and I wanted to request something before I do."

The Commander smirked. "Do you really need to? I trust you."

"This is a little different," she continued, oddly subdued. "I'd like to test it on myself."

The Commander blinked. That he hadn't been expecting. He'd never really thought about non-soldiers being tested for psionic sensitivity. But he supposed it made sense, and if there was one person, besides Patricia, he could trust with psionic powers, it was Vahlen.

"Go ahead," he said. "Does that mean you think you're sensitive?"

"To be determined," Vahlen said, turning to face him. "I have a theory about the probability of psionic potential, and regardless of my own outcome, I'll get my answer. Better yet we'll be able to narrow down the possible soldiers and not waste valuable time."

"Good to hear," he said. "What of your other projects?"

"They can continue without me," Vahlen answered, looking around the busy lab. "By the time I finish, we'll be ready to start on a new project. We won't lose anything for a few days."

"When will you start?" The Commander asked.

"Within the hour," she answered, with a small smile. "I did anticipate you agreeing to it, but I did want to make sure. Hopefully you'll manage without me."

The Commander chuckled. "We'll see. But it'll be different, even for a few days."

"I'm sure you'll find some way to distract yourself," she said lightly, walking up to him, only stopping until a few inches separated them. "You'll be busy making peace between the Koreans, and figuring out the best way to enhance our soldiers."

"I can do the first on my own," the Commander answered, very aware of her proximity. "But the rest I'll need you for."

She smiled and looked up at him, placing a warm hand of his chest. "Yes, you will. Wish me luck?"

He wanted to kiss her. The way she was looking up at him half-expectantly indicated that she likely wanted the same thing. All he had to do was do it and acknowledge what they'd been skirting around for awhile now.

It took an enormous amount of self-control, but he held back and gently removed her hand off his chest. "Not here, Moira," he said quietly. "Not now."

She looked disappointed, but thankfully not to upset. Puzzlement was what he saw in her eyes. "You're a mystery sometimes, Commander," she commented.

"Hopefully not for too much longer," he told her, serious as he'd ever been. "But not until things calm down."

"Fine," she agreed. "Then we talk."

"We will," he promised. "And…good luck, Moira."

She gave a nod. "You as well, Commander. See you in a few days."

---

California, United States of America

"All set up?" Jochern asked grimly as they prepare to put their plan into motion. The first part was going to be the most difficult, and the second just relied on their target following the same schedule as always.

"Of course," Abby reassured him. "He'll be coming out in a few minutes. I told him it was important and he'd not miss the chance, especially when I told him it concerned the election."

"Good bait," Jochern agreed. "He'll definitely buy that."

"No cameras?"

"Took care of them."

"Good, take your position."

Jochern went to a shadowed area of the almost empty parking garage. Perfect place for a meeting.

Or an ambush.

Abby sighed as she looked at her watch. Late, which figured. Really, why should she have expected anything other from him? Fortunately she didn't have to wait much longer and heard his footsteps as he approached. He wore the same business attire as pretty much everyone, though he couldn't even do that without his own "style."

Red. That was the color of his suit jacket, and not a subtle, tasteful red either. No, this grabbed the attention of everyone in the vicinity. His brown hair was stylishly combed back and he wore a customary fake smile on his face. He was what she always imagined a con man would look like. Flashy and fake.

"Christine!" He greeted as he approached. "Good to see you!"

She didn't bother to match his enthusiasm. "Thanks for coming."

"Well, you've been invaluable so far," he said, clasping his hands together. "What do you have?"

She opened the file she'd been holding. Jochern should be moving now. While Nathan wasn't a small man, she was fully confident he could be taken down. Worst case, she'd help. "You ever heard of the United America Super-Pac?"

Judging by his immediate change in expression and rapid blinking, she figured he hadn't been expecting that. "Ah…once or twice."

"Makes sense," Abby continued, playing along. "They seem to keep a low profile. But there's a lot of suspicious activity from them. Maybe something to expose. You have more resources than me, so if anyone could expose this, it's you."

Playing to his ego seemed to temper him a bit. "Let me see the file," he asked, extending a hand. She complied, and he began flipping through it. Probably trying to determine the extent of the damage. "How exactly did-"

He was cut off as Jochern came up behind him and wrapped a thin rope around his neck and pulled. Nathan tried a back swing but it didn't even get close and a few seconds later, he fell to his knees, unconscious. While Jochern was taking care of him, Abby pulled on her latex gloves and prepared to secure him. They didn't want to leave any evidence.

"And he's out," Jochern said, relieved as he began binding Nathan. "Went pretty smoothly, all things considered."

Abby grabbed his legs and Jochern grabbed him by his chest and together they threw him into the trunk of their car. Abby grabbed the file and placed a lighter underneath it and let it burn to ash on the parking garage floor. Their first job done, both of them entered the car and quickly drove out of the station parking garage.

"Now let's hope Amy is home," Jochern muttered as he glanced back to the trunk. "She'll probably be easier than him."

"Not necessarily," Abby warned. "If she is with EXALT, it's possible she'd been trained in self-defense."

"Hmm, true." He acknowledged as they drove.

Fortunately, Amy lived pretty close to the studio, and within a half-hour they were parked outside her house. Abby grasped the taser and prepared to go talk to her. Jochern would be right behind her in case it failed and she needed his help. Wasn't as elegant as she'd have liked, but right now efficiency was more important than more convoluted options.

She took a breath after she parked. "Let's do this."

She opened the car door and stepped into the evening California air. This was a nice state, a shame she'd be leaving after today. Amy had a pretty nice house, modest, but it made sense since she lived alone, at least according to the intel Zhang had given her. She knocked on the door twice, her latex gloves still on.

The door opened to reveal a somewhat surprised Amy. "Christine?" She asked, eyebrows furrowing. "I wasn't expecting you."

Abby shook her head. "No, but I felt we should discuss what I have in person."

Amy frowned. "All right, hold on. This place is a mess-" the instant she turned around, Abby raised the taser and fired into her back. She let out a small shout and collapsed to the ground, convulsing. She'd set the shock level high enough that is should have knocked her out completely. After turning her onto her back, that did appear to be the case.

She grunted and hoisted Amy's limp body up, thankful her military strength was still intact enough to pick up a grown woman. Jochern was watching for witnesses and nodded to her that it was safe to move out. She gave a silent nod in return and quickly carried her to the car and threw her body inside the trunk with Nathan.

"All done," she said as they got back into the car. "Both targets secure."

"Now comes the hard part," Jochern muttered as they began driving towards the place where the interrogation was to take place. Fortunately there was no shortage of abandoned buildings and warehouses in the run-down parts of town. In those places, people tended to leave others alone, regardless of what was taking place.

If it got loud, they should be fine. Abby had considered using the small house they'd been in, but had quickly ruled it out since it wasn't soundproof. Zhang didn't have any established locations, so they'd eventually decided on an abandoned house a short distance from where they were. Everything was set up, all they needed were the captives.

"I assume no changes to our questioning?" Jochern asked after a few minutes, looking outside into the distance.

"I don't see a reason to," Abby answered quietly with a shrug. "They might be more inclined to talk if they're both in the same room together. You be good cop, I'll be whatever one is needed."

"Will you actually go through with it?" Jochern asked, looking back at her, his face expressionless. "If they don't talk…"

"I've seen enough to know when someone genuinely knows something or not," Abby said quietly. "If they do…I'll do what I need to. Regardless of what they plead."

"I hope that they talk," Jochern muttered.

"Not that it matters much," Abby pointed out. "They're going to die, regardless."

"I know," he ground out, then shook his head. "We both know where we stand. No need to go over it again."

She agreed. He'd made his opinion on the whole situation very clear, as had she. They differed and she knew she wasn't going to change his mind. As long as he did his part, she'd assume responsibility for the rest. Though honestly, she wasn't sure she actually could hurt them if it came to it. Sure, she'd seen people tortured before, even offered advice when pressed.

But never performed it. Not on her own.

Regardless of necessity, there was a deep part of her that abhorred even considering this. It went against everything she'd been taught by her family and reinforced in med school. Hurting people is wrong. That simple statement had been emphasized over and over, a blanket statement with no context.

But the world wasn't as black and white as she'd been led to believe growing up. Even as an adult there was a basic morality that was mostly followed regardless of who they were. But all that really couldn't apply to war. Things previously abhorred were used as the norm, or at the very least not frowned upon.

And she understood that, she understood necessity now all too well. But that still didn't make her feel any better as she pondered what she was about to do.

They pulled into the torn up driveway and quickly got out and removed their captives. Carrying them into the house only took a few more minutes and they began strapping them to the two stretchers set up in what had once been a living room.

In between the stretchers was a portable stand that held everything she needed. Scalpels, hooks, knives and towels. Resting on the ground was a bucket of clear acid. Above the stretchers were twin lights which would help with disorientation and psychological disruption.

Once they were both strapped in securely, they tilted the stretchers so they were mostly vertical. If negotiation failed, they would move them back horizontally. Abby put on her surgeons mask and after making sure it was ready, put it under her chin. She wouldn't need that quite yet. "Now we wait," she said, looking at the two captives.

They didn't have to wait too much longer. Nathan woke up first, blinking and wincing as he tried to look around frantically, clearly wondering where the hell he was. He blinked when he saw Abby and Jochern. "Christine-"

"That's not my name," she interrupted neutrally, raising a hand. "I'm with XCOM Intelligence. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"XCOM?" He sputtered. "What is the meaning of this? You can't just…." He moved his head around, indicating the room. "You can't just kidnap me!"

Abby raised an eyebrow. "XCOM is charged with protecting humanity, Nathan. If we feel that a threat is posed to it, we will deal with it. So yes, we can kidnap you if needed. There isn't time to do otherwise."

"And what exactly are you going to do to me?" He demanded angrily. "How could I somehow pose a threat to humanity? I'm human!"

"I'd advise you watch your tone," Jochern interrupted. "You don't want to make her mad. Look, it's simple. Answer our questions and everything will be fine. We have no interest in innocents here."

"Fine," he spat. "Ask your questions. I have nothing to hide."

"Good," Abby nodded. "Are you aware of the organization called EXALT?"

Her enhanced eyes caught the slight widening and intake of breath. Interesting. "No." He stated, and had she not noticed that, she might have even believed him.

"No," she began quietly, taking a couple steps towards him. "You're lying."

"I'm…not!" He insisted weakly, swallowing as she picked up one of the scalpels. "I'm not!"

Abby placed the tip of her scalpel on his jugular, barely applying any pressure. He immediately went still as he felt a warm trickle run down his throat. "You will bleed out within three minutes if I cut here," she told him quietly. "Let's be clear, I don't need you alive. It would be nice, but my primary directive was to deal with the threat. Killing you would accomplish that."

"Alright! Alright!" He shouted. "Yes! I heard that a few times. But just the name! I swear I don't know anything about it!"

Abby stepped back and looked at him. He was clearly terrified now, and at this point she didn't believe he was lying. "It wouldn't happen to be from that Super-Pac I mentioned earlier, would it?"

He pursed his lips, remaining silent. Jochern shoot her a let me handle this look and she decided to see what he did. "She's not kidding," he told Nathan, walking in front of him. "She'll kill you if you won't talk, just on principle. I personally prefer not to kill people, makes life more difficult. But you do have to tell the truth. Look, we wouldn't have brought you here if you were completely innocent to begin with."

He pulled out a file and held it up. "We know you've been receiving money from United America. We have enough evidence to put you in jail for decades on corruption charges alone. Because of you we have the opportunity to shape the entire Republican presidential primary. You're not innocent here, Nathan. But the only way you might get out of this is if you help us."

"Ok," he breathed, hyperventilating. "Ok. But if I talk, you have to promise to let me go. No charges."

Abby almost audibly snorted at that. He wasn't in any position to make demands. But it seemed Jochern had gotten through, so she just let him keep going. Jochern pursed his lips. "Letting you go is out of the question, I'm afraid. You've broken the law and will be punished accordingly. However," he raised a hand. "Your cooperation will be mentioned. You understand how to spin stories, so there is one where you could keep your pride after you serve your time. XCOM has influence, and if we say you came forward to expose this corruption, not only would you serve a far lesser sentence, but you might actually get the public on your side."

Abby was impressed at how easily and convincingly he told that lie. It played directly to all the things that matters, less consequences, attention, and public approval. "You would actually do that?"

"Provided you don't lie?" Jochern answered. "Of course."

"Alright," Nathan breathed. "Ok, but I don't know much. They…communicated with me quite a bit, United America, I mean. In the beginning they were just barely hanging on, like they wouldn't have lasted past the first month if they hadn't received a bunch of donations from a major anonymous source."

"Was it anonymous?" Jochern asked.

"To the books, yes," Nathan answered. "But the donor is actually very well known. You know Matthew Solaris?"

Yes. This was interesting. "I don't know who hasn't," Jochern said incredulously. "Are you saying he's been funding United America?"

"Pretty much," Nathan confirmed. "I didn't hear anything about this 'EXALT' until a few months ago. Some of the board members were wondering if Matthew had ties to that organization and asked me to look into it. I did and found nothing. Last I ever heard of it."

He was telling the truth, she could tell it from his tone, eyes and features. At least he believed he was telling the truth. It added up, Solaris Industries wasn't going to be found out by one corrupt journalist, but that did seem to raise the question of who EXALT was really backing in the election.

"That's helpful," Jochern said. "Thank you. Is Kamili aware of any of this?"

"She doesn't deal with Super-Pacs on principle," Nathan disputed, shaking his head. "So no. But even if she doesn't understand their necessity, others do, but respect her wish to not become involved personally."

Yeah, after this no way was Kamili the epitome of perfection and incorruption she'd shown to the world. It was looking more and more likely that she was a direct EXALT plant, and if that was the case, action would have to be taken. Both Zhang and the Commander were going to find this useful.

Abby quietly picked up one of her knives from the tray as Jochern prepared to finish. Both of them knew what to do next, and Jochern's tone audibly became subdued. "Thank you. Is there anything else?"

"That's all I know," he insisted. "So what happens now?"

"You cooperated," Jochern said, looking away. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you."

He let out a sigh of relief. "Alright, thank-"

Abby stabbed him directly under the chin, turning his last words into a gurgle. A few seconds later, he went still, his face frozen in confusion for all time. Abby withdrew the blood-soaked blade and looked down at her hand covered in blood. It had to be done, but she felt sick.

It was the first time she'd ever killed someone for no other reason than they'd seen her face.

Jochern looked at the body numbly. "We shouldn't have killed him."

"I know," she agreed quietly, setting the blade down on the tray. "But at least it wasn't for nothing."

"Maybe," he said quietly. "But he didn't deserve to die for it. There were other ways."

"We had orders," Abby shrugged, trying not to look at the corpse as she cleaned her hands.

"Fuck orders," Jochern growled. "That was wrong and you know it."

Abby spun on him. "Yes it was. But what could we do about it, hm? We had this conversation. Yell at Zhang later if you want, but stop making this harder than it has to be!"

"Yes, sir," Jochern muttered sarcastically. "Get ready, looks like she's waking up."

Abby looked over at Amy who was raising her head groggily. She sighed and prepared for another interrogation. She walked over until she stood in front of the chief editor who blinked rapidly as her vision adjusted. "Christine?"

"Abigail Gertrude, XCOM Intelligence," she corrected, noting that Amy's eyes widened at that. Though she could only speculate as to why, it was an interesting reaction.

"XCOM…" Amy murmured in amazement. "What…what do you want from me? I'm not a threat to you."

"That remains to be seen," Abby said neutrally. "Answer our questions and we'll go from there."

"You know who I am," Amy warned, growing more aware as she looked around the abandoned house. "They'll be looking for me if I'm missing for too much longer." She caught sight of Nathan's body and the blood drained from her face. "You…"

"You weren't the only one we suspected," Abby told her, keeping her voice firm. "We are not concerned with them finding you. Should you refuse to cooperate, the police will find you in your house, having tragically committed suicide while you were under the influence of heroin."

"They'll never buy that," Amy stated. "What you're doing is illegal. If the press were to learn of this, everything XCOM ever did would be tainted forever."

Abby's lips curled up. "No, Amy. They won't. And frankly, we do not care what the press does or does not think of us. We protect humanity from all threats, human or otherwise. I suspect the press will be more forgiving, should they ever learn of this operation, once they learn we executed two EXALT plants."

"You think I'm part of EXALT?" She stated incredulously. "Me?"

"I did find it interesting how your station was one of the few to refuse to cover XCOM properly," Abby continued, looking her in the eyes for any glimmer of falsehood. "It took a few of the papers I submitted to really notice your…bias against them, and to be honest, it makes little sense. Why would you dislike XCOM so much when they're actively defending Earth?"

"They aren't trust-"

"Shut up," Abby growled, rolling her eyes. "Either you're lying or an idiot. XCOM doesn't work that way if you haven't noticed. Or did you miss the evidence they presented that they recovered from EXALT? Or when they proved that video was fake? I don't believe you're an idiot, Amy. So then, what are you?"

"What do you want from me?" Amy hissed, anger in her eyes.

"Are you part of EXALT?"

Amy was silent for a few seconds. "No." She finally muttered, refusing to look at her.

"Look at me and say it." Abby ordered.

"No," Amy growled. "I'm done talking to you."

Abby sighed and turned to the table and picked up a small curved medical hook. Pulling up her surgeons mask, she turned back to Amy who was looking at her, mouth open as she realized what she was intending. "No…" she whispered. "You wouldn't…"

"Then answer my questions," Abby repeated, holding the top of her head still as she placed the tip of the hook over her right eye which was moving frantically in all directions. "Are you working for EXALT?"

She was still silent. Abby lowered the tip even lower until it was almost scratching the eyeball and that was apparently enough. "All right! Yes! Yes I'm part of them!" Abby drew back her hand and looked at the woman. She was clearly terrified, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. No, it didn't appear she was lying.

"Thank you," Abby said, moving again to stand in front of her. "Now we need information. Names, locations, whatever you have."

"And what do I get?" Amy demanded. "If I help you, EXALT will kill me. There's nowhere you can take me that they won't find."

Abby smiled. "You get to live, Amy, and we'll take care of you. If EXALT really knows everything, then they would have found our base by now. There are places you can be hidden."

Amy eyed her warily. "You promise that?"

"Only if you cooperate."

"Fine," Amy sighed. "You'll want to go by my house and pick up my laptop. You'll find much of the information you're looking for there. I don't have anyone under me, though I do have some contacts in the other states."

"Which ones?" Abby asked.

"Florida, New York, Washington and Iowa," Amy answered, and provided the names of each contact.

"Who do you report to?" Jochern asked.

"Falka Intelligence Control," Amy answered wearily. "I don't know who. I'm pretty sure it's different each time, but that's who I get my orders from."

"EXALT's Intelligence branch, I assume?"

"More or less," Amy confirmed. "Though not strictly military. How do you think we've been able to exist with no detection whatsoever?"

"Very carefully, I assumed," Abby commented. "Let's go back to your superiors."

They kept questioning her for the next three hours, asking every possible question they could think of. She complied, believing they would protect her. Most of the information they knew about in some form, but was reconfirmed. While quite a lot of it was useless, all of it was fascinating.

Once all the questions were exhausted, Abby nodded at Jochern. "Thank you for your cooperation. We'll need to put you under for transport, hold still." She took out an IV and attached it to her arm and prepared the injection. She knew what she had to do, but everything about it felt wrong, especially when this woman had ultimately done everything they'd asked.

Jochern shot her a look of disgust which Amy thankfully missed, but it still stung, because Abby knew that he was right.

But orders were orders.

Abby hadn't lied to Amy about one thing, she was going to be found dead tomorrow due to an overdose; a lost battle with an addition no one had suspected. But since she'd cooperated, Abby made sure that the heroin overdose she was giving her would be quick and hopefully painless. She didn't look away as she injected the drug into her, even after she started convulsing.

But a few minutes later it was over and her head fell limply to the side.

Abby stepped back, wishing she could be anywhere but here.

The hard part was done. Zhang would be very happy with them. Now all they needed to do was make it look like an accident.

---

The Citadel, Hallways

It had been an eventful couple of weeks, to say the least.

First the alien spy being captured, interrogated, and…well, Herman assumed he was being held in a very secure location. Under guard at least. Van Doorn had been reluctant to share exact details of the conversation the Commander had had with him, but had provided the cliff notes to deliver to the Council.

Fascinating stuff, especially that on these Ethereals. Van Doorn and he had both agreed that the story told was probably exaggerated in some form, because really, it was a bit of a stretch to believe that one Ethereal could subdue and entire species on his own. Powerful they may be, but not on that scale.

Still, they were probably powerful psions, and couldn't be taken lightly. But he'd figured they could manage easily enough. After the attack on the alien base, he'd actually been rather optimistic, especially since EXALT appeared to be quieting down. Even better was that with China leaving the Council, they actually seemed to be stepping back and letting the Commander do his own thing, at least according to Tamara.

Of course, that had been before the past few days.

Days which consisted of an encounter with an Ethereal, the Commander breaking every diplomatic protocol and recognizing Taiwan as a country and finally recovering a human psion allegedly from EXALT.

From what Van Doorn described, it did appear that the Ethereals were as powerful as the alien had described. He hadn't seen the actual footage, but he wasn't sure he'd wanted to. The Commander had allowed him to review the document describing the incident and it…wasn't pretty. Every soldier being mind-controlled and forced to kill each other…that was not what he'd expected to be worried about. No wonder the Commander had ordered a refocusing on psionics.

That aside, he couldn't fathom what the Commander was thinking by going to Taiwan. Oh, he knew, but he was frankly dealing with it terribly. Making China angry wasn't going to help anything, and if the Commander was crazy enough to recognize Taiwan, Mongolia might be next. If he even thought about Tibet…

It wasn't the Chinese military he wasn't worried about now. It seemed that the Commander had forgotten that China was a major economic power, and should they wish to punish XCOM, they could levy sanctions, tariff and taxes on any country allied with them. And since they were so ingrained everywhere, those would have to be followed or risk collapsing entire countries.

Although, that would essentially guarantee a more directed response from XCOM, and Herman was afraid that the Commander would actually start a war if he thought China posed a direct threat. Herman wanted Taiwan as its own country as much as most of the world…but not in a way that threatened to start World War III in the middle of an alien invasion.

Of course, China knew who they were dealing with, and they actually might fear the Commander enough to restrain themselves. He sincerely hoped that was the case. But he couldn't imagine the Council was happy about this. It set a dangerous precedent, and showed that the Commander wouldn't tolerate countries he considered treasonous.

Well, at least the operation in France had gone well. Though he wasn't sure the woman they recovered was entirely stable. At the very least, it showed that alien-EXALT relations were deteriorating. Herman walked through the Hanger doors, wanting to see if one of the engineers had a tool Lily needed.

All went well, and they'd have a working model to show the Commander tomorrow. Lily had insisted on making some final adjustments and asked him to pick up a tool only the hangar engineers had. Since he'd been headed that way, he'd agreed. Afterward Van Doorn had asked to see him. Why, he didn't know.

To his surprise it looked like one of the skyrangers had just landed and the ramp was coming down. A couple XCOM soldiers he didn't recognize walked out with a man Herman had never expected to see here of all places. He actually had to do a double take as they walked past, still not believing it. Yeah, he and Van Doorn needed to talk now.

He quickly got the tool and almost ran back into the hallways. In fact, he almost ran into Van Doorn as he rounded a corner. Van Doorn was dressed in full military uniform, which he would have found odd had he not just seen that man.

"Herman," he greeted cordially. "You should be careful while running, especially with that thing."

Herman had almost forgotten he was carrying the tool in his hand. "Sorry, was a bit distracted. Why the hell is Supreme Leader Gwan here?"

"Ah," Van Doorn said, clearly not sure how to answer at first. "You saw him."

"Yeah," Herman answered. "And it didn't look like he was a captive. Not that that would be much better."

"It's not as bad as you think," Van Doorn placated, raising a hand. "He isn't the only Korean dignitary to be coming. President Chia Seo-jun will be arriving within the hour as well."

Herman looked at him incredulously. "And just why are the leaders of North and South Korea here? Actually, how?"

Van Doorn pursed his lips. "Short version as to why; hopefully to bring peace between the two nations. Should that happen I'd imagine both North and South Korea will be allying with XCOM. As to how…well, the Commander insisted on it if North Korea was to become allied with us."

Herman was stunned. "XCOM has been in contact with North Korea? Are you insane? If this got out…"

Van Doorn rubbed his forehead. "And since when has that deterred the Commander? Supreme Leader Gwan actually contacted us and the Commander spoke to him. I can't say more without approval…but North Korea would be a major alliance. And if he helps ensure a peace between the warring countries…that will likely offset a lot of the fallout."

"The Council is not going to like being kept out of the loop on this," Herman muttered. "I've tried to keep the focus on the aliens, but keeping secrets like this are incredibly hard to justify."

"And what would the Council have said?" Van Doorn asked wearily. "Because I don't see it working out nearly as well as it did if they intervened."

"So what if the talks fail?" Herman demanded. "Will you still ally with either country?"

"Likely with at least one," Van Doorn answered. "Though the Commander will make the final call."

"Then I hope the peace talks work out," Herman muttered. "Because the Council is going to eviscerate the Commander if he has XCOM ally with North Korea alone."

"So do I," Van Doorn sighed. "So do I."

---

The Citadel, Situation Room

The Commander approached the door once he got notification Samuel and Carmelita were escorting President Seo-jun up to him. He and Iseul had exchanged some words, though he mostly left the Supreme Leader to look over the equipment in the room. He seemed very interested in the holotable. Should everything go as planned, they'd have to meet later to discuss the role of North Korea in the coming invasion.

Oddly enough, he was more concerned that the President would pose the greatest obstacle to any sort of peace. Iseul wasn't going to compromise or apologize for anything, or likely deny anything to begin with. If the President was looking to get an apology out of him, she was going to be sorely disappointed.

Still, she'd agreed to come in the first place, which couldn't be dismissed. Though he wondered how much of it was due to curiosity. Both leaders knew the other, of course, but to his knowledge, the only heads of state Iseul had ever met in person were Chinese. XCOM he believed was next, which would make Chia Seo-jun the third world leader to meet the enigmatic man.

Or second, since he wasn't sure he'd ever count himself as a world leader. Major influence. That was probably a better description.

The doors to his office hissed open and in she walked, flanked by Samuel and Carmelita. The Korean woman was half a foot shorter than him, her black hair professionally put up. She wore a simple navy blue professional jacket and matching pants. Both soldiers stayed at the door, saluted and walked away.

The Commander extended a hand to her as she approached confidently. "Madam President, thank you for coming."

"Appreciated, Commander," she answered neutrally, her voice deeper than he'd been expecting. "I'm thankful that we're beginning this. I'm not sure how you convinced the Supreme Leader to also attend, but now I think we can finally make progress on peace."

"Peace is in everyone's interests now," the Commander agreed, feeling more optimistic about how this would go. "We have issues beyond borders that must be dealt with."

She nodded as they headed to the holotable. "Yes, the aliens. Though you seem to be handling them adequately."

"XCOM will do what it can," he warned. "But the fate of the world cannot be won by one organization alone. Even us." She nodded once in agreement, but didn't elaborate. As the approached, Iseul looked up and inclined his head towards Chia.

"Madam President," he said, his voice kept deliberately neutral.

"Supreme Leader," she responded, just as calmly.

"Introductions aren't necessary," the Commander said, going to the end of the holotable, letting them face each other at different sides. "Both of you know of each other, so let's get to business."

"In a moment, Commander," Chia interrupted, not looking at him. "I'm curious. What convinced you to emerge from your seclusion now, Supreme Leader?"

"Because there are more important things to worry about," Iseul answered calmly, not breaking eye contact with her. "As of right now, our conflict is pointless."

She snorted. "Were it pointless, neither of us would have engaged in it."

"No, that's exactly how I'd characterize it," the Commander interrupted, making them both look at him. "Both of you were perpetuating a conflict that would never be resolved. Allies on both sides would have never permitted it. Korea is not going to be united this way, and at this point I suspect the war is only continuing because of resentment towards each other."

Chia bristled. "The citizens of the North deserve better than a dictator. I think a free North is worth achieving."

"Spoken like a true politician," Iseul commented dryly. "And as one who's never entered my country. I know you propagate the lie that my citizens are unhappy, but both of us know that isn't true."

"How could they, when they've never known anything else?" Chia shot back.

"Because they have a purpose, they are beneficial and contribute to their country," Iseul defended forcefully. "We are a truly united country because of me. I don't dispute the label you give me, Madam President, but I do dispute the propaganda you feed to your citizens."

"Then release the citizens that went to investigate your country," Chia demanded, crossing her arms. "Don't pretend they don't exist. My soldiers have died trying to find them."

"They broke the law," Iseul stated. "Democracies tolerate fabrication. I do not. They were lying, trying to influence my citizens and turn them against me. An unfettered media is dangerous, Madam President, and as much as you may dispute it, both of us know that the general population is not swayed by facts or logic, but by words and emotions."

"Assuming your citizens are unintelligent is not a wise idea," Chia chided.

Iseul smiled. "Even intelligent people can be swayed by emotion, Madam President. I never stated my citizens lacked intelligence. But I do know how they can be swayed. But we differ in how we do so, you use propaganda to tear down others. I use it to improve them."

"What could you possibly mean by that?" Chia demanded.

"You know what children are shown in our schools?" Iseul asked, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. "Propaganda. Yours, specifically. You can imagine how confused they are since what is depicted isn't even close to reality. But I think it is essential in making them recognize how much people will lie to fulfill an agenda. It helps increase loyalty, efficiency and pride in their country."

"You think you can impress me with your indoctrinated children?" Chia stated incredulously.

"All children are indoctrinated by your definition," Iseul responded. "I've read what your schools teach. My nation isn't exactly painted in an unbiased light."

"Or maybe that's what happened and you can't recognize it," she shot back. "Facts can't change, Supreme Leader."

"Enough," the Commander interrupted, tired of their arguing. Both of them were clearly not going to back down, and spending several hours debating the pros and cons of both governments would accomplish nothing. "Both of you are not going to change the other's mind. Recognize that and move on. You can both dislike each other and not fight, which is why we're here."

"The Commander has a point," Iseul agreed. "So my requests are very simple. Refrain from further attacks on my country and I will not retaliate."

Chia pursed her lips. "Generous."

"I am not the one provoking this war," Iseul continued, his voice growing quieter. "I simply respond to your aggression. How do you expect me to respond when you attack my soldiers and cut power to my cities? Ignore you?"

"No." Chia admitted after a moment. "But I do believe a united Korea free of tyranny is worth fighting for."

"Madam President," Iseul answered slowly. "Ultimately, I think we both want the same thing. We both want Korea united. But we differ in who should lead and how. With how things currently are, we should both accept that we will not achieve our goals. I do not want my soldiers to die in a pointless conflict, and I doubt you want that either."

Chia hesitated. "That is true. And the situation has not changed in the years either."

"Exactly," the Commander nodded. "But there is another reason you should end the war." He motioned to the screen behind them which began playing images of the experiments the sectoids were running in their base.

"What is this?" Chia asked, blinking rapidly as she looked at the horrific images.

"XCOM recently raided an alien base," the Commander explained. "What you're seeing is what was found. This is what the aliens will do to us if they succeed. They don't care about your war. North and South Korea are irrelevant to them. Those countries are simply areas to be conquered, and if you keep fighting each other, this is what ultimately awaits all of us."

It was admittedly somewhat of an exaggeration, since Nartha had said that the Ethereals would likely try to enhance them. But it would likely involve many more facilities like this for that to happen. Iseul betrayed no emotion, but he wasn't the one the Commander had to convince. He knew the threat of the aliens, but Chia had to be shown what they would do.

"I think we can both agree this is not in our best interests," Iseul said, turning to her. "You may despise me if you wish, Madam President. But I believe that we should devote our efforts to preventing this from happening anywhere else."

Chia gave a small nod. "I believe you are right. At least in this. But if we make peace, I want one thing from you."

"Which is?" He asked.

"Release any South Korean political prisoners you're holding."

He pursed his lips. "On the condition they do not speak to the press or any other media outlet. The exchange would be quick and quiet. Provide them with new identities, but I will not tolerate them spreading more propaganda against me."

Chia considered that. "We can do what we can, but I cannot guarantee they won't speak out anyway."

Iseul simply looked at her. "You have means at your disposal, Madam President. If they refuse to abide, ensure they are silenced. That is my condition."

Chia scowled, and was lost in thought for a couple minutes before she sighed. "Too much is at stake for ideals. Very well, Supreme Leader, I'll accept your condition. But all of them. No less."

"It will be done," Iseul confirmed with a nod. "After our agreement is formalized publically, I will contact your representatives to begin the transfer."

"Then I suppose it's settled," Chia said, somewhat surprised. "A cessation of hostilities."

"The end of a conflict continued for decades," Iseul added. "And the start of a new one."

"That it is," Chia said. "Though there are major issues I have with your country, may your own war with the aliens be victorious." She extended a hand to him, which he took with a firm shake.

"To yours as well, Madam President," he answered, inclining his head. "I wish nothing less."

---

The Citadel, Holding Cells

Nartha suspected something had happened. Not that he'd been able to do much in this cell, but just from listening and thinking about recent events, he got the feeling that there was more going on than he'd thought.

As for what that could be, the possibilities weren't very good. But at least it had given him time to reflect on his own situation. He was certain he wasn't going to be executed now, if the Commander had decided that, it would have happened. Which brought up what he was going to be used for. Because he was going to be used in some way, the Commander wouldn't ignore a resource like him.

The problem Nartha suspected they were trying to work out was how to use him while guaranteeing he wouldn't turn on them. He had no intention of that, but the Commander was smart enough not to just take his word for it. Frustrating, but understandable. He'd given Zhang all the information he needed on how the Zararch worked, and how to keep maintaining his cover to reduce suspicion.

He wondered if the others knew yet. Shun was probably almost recovered and might not have heard it, but Samuel definitely had at some point, likely just before the attack on the Sectoid Hive. The Commander had to know that people would ask questions, and might have just decided to get it out in the open right away.

He looked up as the door swung open and his guards motioned someone inside. For some reason, Nartha wasn't as surprised to see Samuel as he probably should have been. He'd have definitely come to see him at least once. He wasn't just in typical XCOM fatigues, but Nartha could tell from his face and posture that he was already suspicious and defensive.

"Samuel," he said neutrally, standing up. "I wondered if you'd come."

"I had to see for myself," he answered grimly, eyeing the alien closely. "I will say you played your part exceptionally well. I never suspected you weren't human."

"It was my job," Nartha nodded. "I'd be a poor spy if I couldn't act."

"Hmm," he pursed his lips. "Though you couldn't really help injecting your actual opinions sometimes. All our talks about the aliens, what they were and what we'd do afterwards, what you said makes a lot more sense in context."

"The casual genocide of my species isn't something I really support," Nartha stated firmly. "Nor any species for that matter."

"Perhaps," Samuel admitted. "Though I'm not sure it isn't fitting since your kind wants to wipe us out."

"No, they don't," Nartha sighed. "The Ethereals want you to be assimilated. Your species has potential and will be much more valuable to them alive than wiped out or enslaved."

"And is that why you betrayed them?" Samuel demanded with a pointed stare. "You didn't want to see your own species usurped from your position within this hierarchy?"

"You don't know anything about my species," Nartha scowled. "Our position is that of tools. I've felt that needed to change for some time, but never believed that the Ethereals could be challenged. Now though, humanity might be the one chance to force changes. I don't want your species to suffer the same fate as mine and be reduced to puppets under the Ethereals."

Samuel appraised him. "The Commander apparently trusted you enough to keep you alive, so I guess you're likely telling the truth. If that's the case…how do you kill an Ethereal?"

Nartha raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea. Each one is unique as far as I know. They don't hold the same strengths and weaknesses, if they have any to begin with. The only ones who could even have a chance are psions of similar strength…" he trailed off as several possibilities came to him. "One is here, isn't it?"

Samuel reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded picture, walked over and handed it to Nartha who opened it with dread. "It certainly seems to be one," he continued as Nartha looked it over. "It presumably wiped out the entire city, as well as everyone we sent to investigate."

"I warned the Commander what they could do," Nartha scowled as he looked the picture over.

"We didn't know it was an Ethereal until they made visual contact," Samuel defended. "But still, I didn't think death on that scale was possible with only one Ethereal."

"It only takes one to subdue a species," Nartha muttered, letting his hand fall to his side. "It appears this is the one chosen."

"Do you recognize it?"

"No."

"Shame," Samuel sighed. "Guess we'll have to kill it the old-fashioned way."

"That won't work," Nartha warned. "Not with Ethereals."

"Then I guess we'll use our small group of psionics to supplement them," Samuel amended with a shrug. "Nothing is invincible. Not even Ethereals."

"I hope you succeed," Nartha said, sitting back down. "But XCOM needs to figure out a way to kill them. If not, they've already lost."

"I'll be sure and mention that sound bit of advice to the Commander," Samuel muttered sarcastically. "Well, this was an interesting talk, but I have things to do now. Goodbye, Soran."

"Nartha," he corrected. "That's my real name. May I ask something?"

Samuel paused at the door. "What?"

"How is Shun doing?"

"Almost recovered," he answered neutrally. "She knows, and I think she'll be coming to see you soon."

Nartha smiled. "Tell her thanks when you see her. She'll know what I mean."

"I'll do that," Samuel promised, then left the cell, leaving him alone once more.

---

The Citadel, Medical Ward

"I'm not sure how long this will take," Patricia told Harkin as she gently moved the bed holding Creed slightly to the side. "Probably a few hours."

"So what happens if it works?" He asked, trepidation clearly on his face as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Patricia shrugged. "He wakes up."

"And if it doesn't?"

Patricia pursed her lips as she looked at Creed's sleeping face. "Either nothing changes or he'll be gone for good."

"Ah," Harkin said, looking at her with a degree of sympathy. "I'll be sure no one disturbs you, Psion. Good luck."

"Appreciated," she responded automatically. Sensing that he was more worried she was going to do more harm than good with this. But she didn't feel like she had a choice. Creed felt the exact same as the last time. Angry, scared and high-strung. That couldn't continue indefinitely without some consequences.

She heard the door close behind her and picked up her chair and set it at the end of the bed. She sat herself down and with some hesitation, placed her hands on the sides of Creed's face. He felt feverish and hot, not good signs. This wasn't entirely necessary, but having a tactile sensation would help her focus directly on the mind she wanted to target, and she didn't need to make it harder on herself.

She took a breath, closed her eyes, and let all the physical sensations of the world fade.

It was initially darkness, but that always happened. Voices surrounded her, shouts and screams intermixed with them, but it wasn't hard to locate Creed's mind since it was the closest proximity and emitting…well, there wasn't a word to describe it. But it…outshone the other minds around it.

She focused in on it, absorbing that reality as her own and suddenly found herself standing alone in an empty black space. She'd entered his mind, at least the initial portions. But unlike last time there was nothing, at least at first.

There was a distortion right in front of her, barely visible, but she walked forward and tentatively reached toward it. She refrained from touching it at the last instant, not sure what she wanted from it. Instead she focused on the disturbance and sensed…pain. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant.

She looked around, trying to see if there were similar distortions. Seeing none, she tried sensing for anything unusual and found nothing. Looked like the only way forward was ahead. She took a breath and stepped into it, and felt an awful sensation of freefall for a few moments.

Then landed inside a kitchen.

It wasn't a big one. Slightly larger than the one she'd had when she'd briefly owned a house in London. There was an island in the middle, while a sink, dishwasher and counters ran across the back of the wall. There were two entrances, one which seemed to come from a living room, and another to the left which lead into what she presumed was another room.

It wasn't that clean either. Unwashed dishes had piled up on the sink and counters. Half-eaten food rested on the kitchen table which was in the right corner, and none of the counters looked wiped down; flour, rice, drying vegetables all strewn about. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, florescent bulbs bathing the kitchen in harsh white light, only adding a starkness to the scene in front of her.

There were two people, a woman and a boy. The woman looked awful, her brown hair was unkempt and clothes dirty and stained with what looked like green paint. Her skin seemed a much starker white from the lighting, and her features were contorted in fury as she towered over the boy.

The boy himself couldn't have been older than eight, with short black hair and slightly tanned skin. He was holding a small paintbrush dabbed in green, which Patricia assumed was the source of the woman's paint stains. Right now he seemed terrified and that was also when Patricia noticed the most alarming thing about the whole scenario.

She was holding a kitchen knife.

Patricia realized that she'd processed this within nanoseconds, since time didn't exactly work the same here, and once she knew every detail in the room, both started moving as if someone pressed play on a video.

"Look what you did," the woman growled advancing on the boy. "What did I tell you about your projects?"

"I'm sorry!" The boy stammered, his voice tiny compared to the towering woman. "I didn't try to do it!"

"This is the third time this has happened," the woman stated, brandishing her knife. "You know the rule of thirds."

"No, Mom, please!" The boy pleaded, openly crying now. "It won't happen again!"

"No excuses!" She said, grabbing his arm roughly and rolling up the sleeve, revealing four thin scars, all conveniently concealed under the sleeve from where anyone could see them. It took all of her self-control not to do something, but she knew this wasn't real and she couldn't affect the outcome.

The mother slowly lowered a blade, a dark satisfaction in her eyes. But before she could do anything a very large, and very angry Creed stormed into the room, immediately attracting her attention.

"Go to your room, Anius!" She shouted, seemingly not intimidated by the much larger figure. He was wearing the same XCOM gear from the alien base, minus the helmet. A dark fury of his own blazed in his eyes as he drew his own knife.

"No," Creed growled, advancing on her. "I won't let you hurt us again." The mother turned to face him, when Creed struck with lightning speed and knocked the knife out of her hand and stabbing upwards, burying his knife in the woman's neck. "Never again." He repeated, as she choked on her own blood which coated his own hand. He never broke eye contact, and stared unblinkingly into her eyes until she presumably died.

He let her body fall to the floor, knife still sticking out of her throat, and knelt in front of the boy and pulled him into a hug, relief and care etched on his face. "It's alright," he whispered. "Everything's going to be fine."

Then everything flashed and it was as if that entire scene hadn't taken place.

"Look what you did," the woman growled advancing on the boy. "What did I tell you about your projects?"

Patricia suddenly got an idea of what was going on.

Her suspicion was confirmed when the scene played out exactly the same, only the method by which Creed killed who she presumed was his mother was different. This time she tried to fight back and he snapped her neck, went over to the boy and said the same words and the scene reset exactly as it had been from the beginning.

Ok, time to try and figure this out. She waiting until Creed entered the room and willed the memory to freeze. She assumed this was a memory at least. Well, not quite, something must have been altered. She walked around the frozen figures, trying to piece this together. Based on the context of what the woman had said, Patricia believed that this particular memory had occurred when he was much younger, and wasn't an adult either.

She also doubted he'd actually killed his mother…though if his eyes, features and actions were any indication, he'd certainly have tried if given the opportunity. This also confirmed a suspicion she'd had about him that she'd hoped wasn't true. She couldn't say she was completely surprised to learn he'd been abused as a child, but he didn't really…act like it, for lack of a better word.

It was insensitive, but had she not known him as well as she did, she'd have never suspected this. He seemed too normal, too well-adjusted. If she managed to break him out of this, she wondered how he'd react when he knew what she saw. Not that it mattered, she still had to fix this first.

That boy his mother was threatening must have been his brother. He looked a little like how she imagined a young Creed would look, but she could definitely tell he was related to the mother. The father must have been of Asian descent, and Creed inherited his father's genes since he looked almost nothing like the woman before her. Unless he'd been adopted, of course.

She pursed her lips at that thought, looking between the frozen figures. He and the boy were clearly related, no question about that. So it might be possible they were part of the American foster care system. She'd heard some stories about kids being abused in the system, so that might account for this…

She allowed the scene to continue as normal and this time Creed simply pulled out his pistol and blew her brains out. She paused the scene again just after he'd done it and focused on his face. No question about it. This was vengeance for him. Revenge of potentially years of torment, not just for him, but likely for his brother too. There was no remorse, no guilt, only satisfaction and fury.

She let the scene finish and it reset completely a few seconds later. She paused it immediately and began pacing the room, ticking off what she knew about how this was set up.

One: Creed was trapped in this memory, which seemed to end soon after he killed his mother.

Two: She was invisible. At least that's what she assumed. No one had acknowledged her and she'd been in plain sight. Yeah, no way they could have missed her.

Three: This memory was heavily altered in some way from the original, and she felt that was key to breaking him out of it.

Four: Creed was unbalanced here. Fury, anger and fear were all present, practically saturating the memory itself from their intensity, which she also suspected tied into keeping him here.

Alright. She'd seen it, not to see if she could influence it somehow. First test, to see if his mother dying was tied to the memory resetting. She let the scene play out like normal until Creed began attacking her. He pulled out a pistol again and fired several gauss rounds at her. But this time Patricia, using her control over the dream, made the bullets miss.

Both he and his mother seemed surprised. Creed scowled and fired again, and Patricia once more made his bullets bounce off into the walls and cabinets. He finally gave up, flipped the pistol in his hand and stormed up to his mother and smacked her in the face with it. Patricia paused the scene, trying to think if she should delay further…no, this had gone on longer than the last times and watched as Creed slammed the butt of the pistol into her head over and over again until a bloody mess remained.

Once that was done, he went over to his brother and comforted him as usual.

The scene reset.

Ok, that was very useful. One more time would confirm her theory and then she could move on. She paused the scene and simply clenched her fist, directing it at Creed's mother. Her head exploded and the corpse fell to the ground. Creed came in right on cue, and looked down in confusion at the headless body, then looked around briefly-

The scene reset.

Patricia paused it and assessed her options now. So his mother dying was tied to this, and now she had an idea of what to do. Her working theory was that the memory had to play out exactly as it had happened in real life. Now the question was what rules the Hive Commander had attached to make that happen.

There must have been some trigger to end it, and it couldn't be too far from the point where his mother died. But it seemed there needed to be more than simply his mother surviving for it to end, else it would have ended after she'd prevented Creed from killing her over and over. Unfortunately, the only person who knew how this was actually supposed to play out was Creed, and he wasn't in the correct frame of mind.

Everything he was feeling now was likely what he'd felt back then, but now he could do something about it. The Hive Commander had taken advantage of his abuse perfectly, creating a scenario where he'd willingly trap himself in a loop again and again without ever knowing it. And each time he'd repeat it with the same fury and intensity as the first time. He wouldn't escape without help, and luckily, she was here.

Time to save him.

Right. First she needed to see if she could make herself visible. Once the scene reset, she focused on making herself tangible and to her surprise felt like she was a more tactile part of the world. It actually felt like she was standing on solid ground instead of…well, whatever she'd been on before.

"Look what you did," the mother growled advancing on the boy. "What did I tell you about your projects?"

Time to see how well it worked. "Stop." She stated coldly.

Creed's mother spun around, brandishing her knife. "Who are you and how did you get here?"

Good, she could see her. This might work. "Step away from him," Patricia ordered, stepping forward. She saw Creed in the background. Time to see if the second part of her plan would work. She focused on freezing the memory for both him and his brother, leaving herself and his mother to still move.

"Get out of here now," his mother hissed. "Else I'll tell the cops you're the one who hurt him." Patricia glanced behind her to see Creed frozen just entering the kitchen. She smiled. Perfect. She knew what to do now.

"Give me that," Patricia said, raising her hand and willing the knife to fly to her hand, the hilt landing snugly in her palm. The mother's expression suddenly turned to worry.

"How-" She began when Patricia raised a fist and clenched, making her head explode in a shower of red again. She unfroze time, let herself become invisible again and let the scene reset.

Ok, now she knew what to do. Keeping time frozen, she left the kitchen to go look for where Creed was. She entered a small living room, with a small scratched wooden table with some old couches around it. The house had a second story, and Creed was coming down the stairs, looking like a man on a mission.

She took a breath and carefully unfroze time for him and he continued storming down, slowing down in surprise when he saw her. "Who…" he began, then trailed off, cocking his head as he looked at her. "I know you." He said after a few moments. "I don't know where, but I know you."

Ok, she could work with that. "Patricia," she told him. "Remember me? Patricia Trask. We're both part of XCOM."

He shook his head, scowling. "We'll figure this out later, move aside."

"No," she shook her head, stepping in front of him, sadness washing over her as he looked at her in a way she'd never seen before. Angrily. "You can't…"

"She's going to kill him," Creed growled, stepping forward. "This time I'm going to do something about it."

"No, you're not!" She shouted, taking a step towards him defiantly. "This isn't real. This has already happened. If you go in there and kill her, you'll just be trapping yourself here."

"What are you talking about?" He demanded. "I assure you, Patricia Trask, this is very real, and if you don't step aside, I'm going to hurt you."

"Think!" She insisted. "Look around you! Look at what you're wearing. Look at how long we've been talking and nothing has happened! You're too focused on vengeance to notice how much doesn't add up."

"Vengeance?" He hissed, eyes blazing. "You have no idea what she's put us through. No one else will give us justice, so I will deal with that myself."

"I'm not arguing that," Patricia argued. "I saw what she'd done to you and your brother. It's horrific, but think! How old are you?"

"Twelve…" he paused and frowned. "No, that can't be right…" He looked down, presumably for the first time at his XCOM armor. "What even is this?"

"Your armor," Patricia said, tapping her own. "XCOM issue. We've been serving together for months. But the point is that you've done this before dozens of times."

He scowled, beginning to pace, rubbing his forehead. "Let's say I believe you," he muttered. "What do I do?"

"You enter the kitchen," Patricia explained. "Your mother spots you and says, 'Go to your room, Anius.' You respond with "No. I won't let you hurt us again.' Then you kill her. The method is different, but you always kill her, some ways more violent than others."

"I've heard that before," he muttered. "She said that once. Then I…" He trailed off and looked at her, and she realized he'd gotten it. "If this isn't real, then how am I here? How are you here?"

She wondered how practical it would be to explain everything to him. "You were placed here by a powerful enemy. I want to help you break free. You're in a coma now, and once you wake up, you'll remember everything, I promise. But you have to trust me."

He appraised her, suspicion gone. "I do," he answered slowly. "I don't know why, but I trust you with my life."

It was odd hearing him state it so bluntly. She'd always gotten that impression, but never that he felt that strongly. But couldn't really ignore that it was good to hear him say it out loud. "Then here's what you need to do," she said, swallowing. "Finish this exactly as you remember it. No matter how tempting it is, don't kill her. Don't change anything. Let it happen and it'll end and you'll be free."

He looked apprehensively over to the kitchen. "Why hasn't anything happened yet?"

"I'm pausing the memory for the moment," she answered. "To give me time to explain this to you."

"I should probably be surprised at that," he noted. "But I'm not. Curious. But I know what I have to do."

She nodded. "I'll be watching, don't you worry."

He hesitated. "What happens if I can't do it?"

She shrugged. "Then the memory resets and I try this again."

"How many times would you do it?" He asked, turning to face her fully.

She looked him in the eye. "As many as it took. I'm not leaving you here."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "May I ask you something…Patricia?"

"Sure,"

He looked at her a bit before answering. "Just who am I to you?"

"A friend," she answered quietly after a few seconds. "A very close one."

"Ah," he looked towards the kitchen, a slight smile on his face. "That makes sense."

She raised an eyebrow. "What did you think, if you don't mind me asking?"

He paused some before answering. "My wife," he answered simply. "Don't ask me to explain why. It's just a feeling. But I know I don't trust easily, if at all, but you I do. Completely. Don't know anyone who'd even be remotely like that outside of family," he shrugged. "Take that for what you will."

Patricia wasn't sure what to say. Even in this dream state, the implications at least warranted some looking into, and she'd likely have to press him herself since it seemed he was keeping some of his personal feelings towards her a secret. But if he was….well, she was annoyed he hadn't said anything to begin with and kicking herself since she was normally good at picking up on these things. Men were highly unsubtle about them as well, but she supposed if anyone could keep his feelings hidden outward, it'd be him.

But she needed to free him from here first.

"Thanks for telling me," she told him. "You ready."

He nodded. "I am. Nod when it's time."

Patricia walked back over to the kitchen, nodded to Creed, and unfroze time.

"Look what you did," Creed's mother growled, advancing on his brother. "What did I tell you about your projects?"

"I'm sorry!" He stammered, his voice tiny compared to the towering woman. "I didn't try to do it!"

"This is the third time this has happened," his mother stated, brandishing her knife. "You know the rule of thirds."

"No, Mom, please!" His brother pleaded, openly crying now. "It won't happen again!"

"No excuses!" She said, grabbing his arm roughly and rolling up the sleeve, revealing the four thin scars. As his mother slowly lowered a blade, Creed entered the kitchen, his previous anger gone, replaced by calm and resignation. Still, his mother noticed and turned to him.

"Go to your room, Anius!" She shouted.

"Don't hurt him, mother," Creed insisted, stepping forward. "It's not his fault. I'm the one who gave the paint to him."

"I should have known," his mother seethed, turning her anger onto him. "You are still a troublesome child, always have been. You don't care about the sacrifices I make for you, no! Instead you try and make my life a living hell!" She saw him wince, but stare at her stoically as she approached him. "You need to be taught a lesson," she hissed, pointing the knife at him. "You need to be punished."

Patricia looked over to see that Creed's brother had fled the room, which was what she assumed had been the intention from the beginning. She wasn't surprised this was what he'd done, it was just how he was. A protector. He pulled the sleeves off his armor to bare his arm while his mother held the blade over the toned skin.

"One won't be enough," she said, eyeing the arm. "I think three is sufficient for the trouble and pain you've caused me."

"Go ahead, mother," he said. "Do it."

Patricia could see and feel him resisting the urge to break this, pull out his own knife and plunge it into her throat. It would be so easy…she was nothing against him. He winced as the knife cut the first time. She allowed herself to become visible behind his mother, to reassure him that she was there and watching.

She gave a small nod and she could tell he could see her.

Two cuts.

Almost done. He was trying to hold back, but each moment with this monster of a woman was pushing it. Just a little longer…

Three cuts.

Everything went dark.

Patricia found herself in her own body, blinking against the harsh lights of the Medical Ward. She focused on Creed, who was also moving his head around, wincing as the light pierced his eyes. He looked over drearily. "Patricia?"

"Hey, don't move too much," she warned, keeping her hopes down. "What was the last thing you remember?"

"The Hive Commander…" he managed, wincing as he tried to recall. "Then…something. You were there, I think…"

Patricia smiled and sighed in relief. He was back. "Shh," she told him, resting a hand on his forehead and gently stroking his hair back. "Just rest and think. It'll come to you, it's going to be alright now."

---

The Citadel, Office of the Commander

Things were stabilizing now, and just in time too. The Commander leaned back in his chair and took a brief moment to rest. It had been a rather eventful couple of days. There would be new MEC pilots soon, the Koreas had agreed to a truce and it seemed Patricia had managed to break Creed out of whatever he'd been in.

Vahlen would also be out in a day or so. It would be interesting if she was psionically sensitive, but that could only help them in his opinion. He'd have to test himself as well. More tools and methods at his disposal was never bad, and the possibility that he could utilize quite possibly the most powerful forces in the world was one he couldn't ignore.

In the meantime-

He looked behind him as he heard that EXALT holocommunicator beeping. He frowned and stood up. Odd. He'd had that hooked up soon after they'd raided it from the Mercado Estate, though hadn't expected to use it for a while since no one other than EXALT really possessed the technology to utilize it.

So that either meant it worked with traditional broadcasts, or someone from EXALT was trying to contact him. He walked over to the console and opened the screen. He knew some basic functions, but hadn't really devoted much time to figuring it out. The important parts were that he could send, receive and analyze calls.

He blinked as he looked at the broadcast number. How cute. He wasn't sure if it was a coincidence or not, but that frequency had been one of the ones he'd used back during the War on Terror. Knowing EXALT, they might know who he was and were trying to unsettle him before talking.

They were going to be sorely disappointed if that was the case. But it was interesting EXALT seemed to be calling. He might as well see what they wanted. It was going to be exceptionally awkward if they actually wanted a truce seeing as how he'd ordered Zhang to interrogate and kill quite a few of their number.

He accepted the call and the holocommunicator flashed to reveal a person he'd never expected to see alive again.

Ethan Delger stood in front of him, wearing a suit of all things. He was clearly older, but there was no way it could have been anyone else. He stood in a firm stance, hands clasped behind his back clearly not surprised to see him. "Hello, Commander," he greeted. "It's been awhile."

He was legitimately surprised. This shouldn't have been possible. He been sure to look into everyone on his old team and all of them had been executed. There were autopsy report, bodies, even videos.

"Ethan…." He began slowly. "I…thought you were dead."

"I can say the same thing about you," he answered, smirking slightly. "Though I was more surprised that not only were you still alive, you were also in charge of XCOM."

"This doesn't make sense," the Commander scowled, trying to figure it out. "I investigated if anyone was still alive after I was given command. No one, including you, was alive."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Ethan shook his head. "If you'd somehow found out any of us were alive, there would have been bigger issues for us."

"How?" The Commander demanded. "Did the UN not kill you either?"

"Oh no," Ethan answered darkly. "Trust me, the Iranians were very keen on executing me. No, I was rescued. A lot of us were, in fact. If you hadn't had your own personal guard, they'd have attempted it with you."

"Who rescued you?" He asked, trying to figure out who would have the resources or motive to do so.

Ethan hesitated. "EXALT did."

The Commander blinked. "What?"

"I know," he quickly forestalled. "I know how it sounds, especially with…this situation. But what we did impressed them enough to expend a lot to rescue us. We've been part of it ever since."

"You're working with them," the Commander repeated numbly. "You even ask who they were? Do you know? Controlling the world was never something we wanted. We hunted people like EXALT."

"And look where that got us," Ethan stated, taking a step towards him. "We destroyed a threat to the world, and in return they decided to kill us. EXALT is not like those tyrants we executed. They have a vision and goal that I believe in. The world is broken, you realized this first and did something about it."

"I wanted to fix the problem," the Commander protested. "I never wanted power, nor did I want to world to suddenly conform to be like me."

"But it should," Ethan pushed. "And that is why I first decided to stay. They understand necessity. They understand what must be done. The world will never change unless forced, and EXALT is going to be that force."

"And what a brilliant force that is," the Commander pointed out sarcastically. "Allying with the aliens. You're a traitor, Ethan. You cannot justify that!"

"Allying with the aliens was a mistake," Ethan nodded. "But we believed they could be used. We also didn't know you were in charge of XCOM. To me it seemed like nothing but another UN puppet, and just another obstacle in our way."

"So what now?" The Commander asked after a few seconds. "Why contact me? You think that will convince me not to take down EXALT?"

"No," Ethan shook his head. "I know your answer to that. But I thought we needed to talk. To explain. EXALT is not the threat you make us to be."

"Tell that to my dead soldiers."

"By my count more of our own are dead," Ethan stated neutrally. "But things have changed now. I can guess what you're plan is now: unite the world against the aliens, correct?"

"That will be needed," the Commander said slowly. "And I have a plan."

"You always do," he agreed with a nod. "But by the time you unite the world your way, it might be too late. You'll need everyone you can."

"Like I said," the Commander repeated. "I have a plan."

"As do we," Ethan said. "But when the time is right…EXALT will move against the aliens. It was planned from the beginning, and will come sooner than later."

"And what do you expect me to do?" The Commander asked. "Work with you?"

"I would prefer you not turn down help if it presents itself," Ethan amended slowly. "Our position is precarious. The aliens are becoming more involved. Should things go wrong, there might not be an EXALT left. But we are not traitors, Commander, we never were."

He was silent for a moment. "Or you could leave," the Commander suggested finally. "Whatever debt you had with EXALT has been paid. I could use you in XCOM, you could fight for the right side. I could use all of you."

"No," Ethan stated flatly, the intensity of it surprising him. "I'm not the same man I was, Commander. I have a family, I have a wife and son. I will not abandon them because you asked me to, and neither will the rest of them."

The Commander blinked. "How did you manage that?" He asked, not sure why he'd felt the need to have that question answered first. Although it was warranted since Ethan had been notoriously awful with women. Either he'd gotten a lot better or he'd found a woman who had the same personality as him.

Ethan seemed to remember that as well, judging from his small smile. "A lot of it was by accident, if I'm being honest. But things fell into place very quickly and I wouldn't really want it any other way."

The Commander sighed. "And who is the woman with that dubious achievement?"

"You've met her, actually," Ethan answered, slightly amused. "I believe you threatened to kill her too if I recall correctly."

Again, the Commander was surprised. "You're married to the Director of EXALT?" He asked in disbelief.

"Yes, Saudia," he answered happily. "She only wants what's best for humanity, Commander. She believes EXALT is the means by which that can be achieved. It isn't just about power for her, she's doing what she believes is right."

The Commander rubbed his forehead, trying to process everything that was being said. This had changed things, and he wasn't sure what the best thing to do was. He didn't think Ethan was lying or trying to trick him. He knew that would only backfire in the future, but he wasn't exactly an unbiased person in this either. Married to the most powerful woman in EXALT…no wonder he seemed to completely believe everything he was saying. Which in a way was validating, since at that level, he likely knew the inner workings extensively.

And Ethan was right. He was going to need everyone when the invasion finally came…and if EXALT was around…well, they might just end up being useful. He supposed it depended on what EXALT planned to do now. "So are you saying you're not going to continue this war between us?" The Commander finally asked.

"Not at present," Ethan confirmed. "It's pointless for both of us. We're both on the same side now, like it or not. If anyone can ensure we push back the aliens, it will be you and Saudia."

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "You really trust her that much?"

"With my life," he answered firmly.

The Commander thought for a minute, and an idea dawned on him that might have just solved one particular problem in the Directive. "Do you trust me?" He asked Ethan.

"Yes, I do," he said.

"Then I need you to do something for me," he said, stepping forward. "Is there a file on Saudia? Extensively detailed?"

"Yes…" Ethan answered slowly. "Everyone has one. Why?"

"I need you to send it to me."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you," the Commander shook his head. "Not yet. But I can promise I won't use it against her or EXALT. But I need to know what she's done and is capable of."

"And what could you possibly get out of that if not to use it against her?" Ethan demanded incredulously.

"Please," the Commander insisted. "I keep my promises. You know that. But the future of the world could hang on this. I don't say that lightly."

Ethan was silent for a moment, then sighed. "You'd better keep your word," he warned, picking up a tablet and typing on it. "Otherwise I'm going to hunt you down, Commander or no. You should be receiving it now."

The Commander looked down at the console and saw that a large file had just been sent to him. He quickly downloaded it onto his tablet and nodded at Ethan. "Thank you."

"I'm not sure we'll get a chance to talk again," Ethan said. "But I'm glad we spoke. Regardless of what's happened, I'm glad you're still alive."

"As am I," the Commander agreed, and formed his hand into a fist and gave the salute they'd used all those years ago. "Good luck, Ethan."

He returned the salute. "You as well, Commander. Remember what I said."

Then he ended the call, leaving the Commander alone. He stood there for a few moments, more questions he wished he could have asked popping up. But that time had passed and he needed to move on to the future. He walked back to his desk and sat down.

Once he was comfortable, he lifted his tablet, and opened up the file of Saudia Vyandar, Director of EXALT.