Agent Recall: Ruth Shira
The Citadel, Commander's Bedroom
The Commander opened his eyes wearily, greeted by the sight of Vahlen's brown hair. She was breathing lightly, a content smile on her face while she slept. He smiled as well, lightly stroking her hair as he snuggled back down behind her, wrapping his free arm around her. He'd forgotten how nice it was to wake up with someone beside him instead of alone.
Although by doing that, he might have accidentally woken her up as she shifted under the sheets and eventually rolled over to face him. Giving a long yawn, she opened her own eyes, happiness emanating from her as she saw him. "Guten morgen," she said, her mind apparently not awake enough to speak English. Or maybe she just felt more comfortable speaking it now, since he could figure out parts from context. She'd actually reverted to German quite a bit last night, which he found very funny.
"Morning, Moira," he replied contentedly. "I didn't mean to wake you."
The small smile didn't dissipate as she instead snuggled closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder with his arm draped around her holding her close. "Nein," she said. "I know you didn't. I likely would have woken soon anyway."
"Oh, really?" He asked, resting his hand over the one she had laid relaxed on the bed, slipping his fingers between hers. "How long do you normally sleep?"
"Six hours, give or take," she answered absentmindedly. "Never really on anything comfortable either. An actual bed is much nicer for…" she leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "…multiple reasons."
"I won't argue that it's much better than before," he chuckled, and both of them laid there for a few minutes in silence, just enjoying each other's presence. But unfortunately they couldn't stay that way forever. "There's a lot to do."
She sighed into his chest. "Agreed. I've got quite a few tests to run. I have some new genetic modification ideas to begin work on, as well as continue refining the Manchurian Project."
"What do you have in mind?" he asked, looking up at the blank ceiling.
"I'm currently considering trying to create less…extreme modifications," Vahlen explained. "Mods that give an increase to speed and strength without much risk, and allow for further modification in the future. It would give our entire reserves a boost to their effectiveness. The mutons might provide some insight into how that could be accomplished."
He mentally nodded at that, not wanting to bump her head. "That sounds promising. I'd also expect Shen to come to you later, he'll likely need some of your scientists for his Firestorm project."
"Mhmm, yes, he's told me about that," Vahlen said. "I'll be sure to help him as much as possible. What are you planning for this fine day?"
The Commander hesitated before answering. "I'm going to call a meeting. Tell the rest who I am."
Vahlen lifted herself off his shoulder and moved around until she was somewhat propped up with her arm, looking at him. "So soon? I thought you'd…well, allow some more time. I didn't realize you wanted it done this fast."
He also straightened up, resting his back on the wall and mass of pillows. "There's no point delaying. The longer it goes on, the worse the fallout will be. Especially if they learn you knew well before."
She pursed her lips at that, glancing down at the sheets. "Ah. True, I hadn't considered that," her gaze returned to his. "Do you think they know?"
"About us?" He raised an eyebrow. "I doubt it will take them long to figure it out. Bradford and Van Doorn especially. I don't plan on advertising that much, in case you were wondering."
"You'll get no argument from me," Vahlen agreed. "I'd prefer not to have rumors flying around."
The Commander chuckled. "That ship sailed long ago. I'm certain the soldiers suspect, especially if Bradford was able to figure it out."
Vahlen frowned. "I was really that unsubtle, wasn't I?"
"Very," the Commander confirmed. "But I appreciated it. Most women have an annoying tendency to be…vague about their interest or lack thereof."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "I find that very counterproductive. Why be so coy about it?"
"A question that has been asked for decades," the Commander said, his lips curling up. "And I still don't know the answer."
"One concern neither of us have to worry about," Vahlen finished in satisfaction. "Although I do wonder if any of them will have a problem with this. Relationships like this are usually frowned upon in the military."
"I highly doubt it," the Commander dismissed easily. "One, this isn't a traditional military, and two, I really don't care if they approve or not. If they have some well-reasoned argument against it, I'll listen, but I doubt that they can form a cohesive argument against us other than 'chain of command abuse.'"
Vahlen snorted at that. "Trust me, if I'd not been interested, you would know it."
"Not to mention you're a telepathic psion," the Commander pointed out wryly. "If anything, I'm more at risk of improper abuse than you are."
"I think we're even," Vahlen chuckled. "Telekinetic tactical mastermind versus telepathic military geneticist. Could go either way."
"That it could," he said, then swung his legs over the side, resting his feet on the ground. "Well, I think we've spent enough time here. We do have a world to protect, after all."
"That we do," Vahlen agreed, with some resignation as she pushed herself off the bed to stand by him. Without any prompting she leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. "Come on, let's get dressed."
The base she was in was deserted.
Patricia blinked wearily as she glanced around the perfectly circular room which seemed to have been constructed entirely out of steel. She stood in the center, four paths to potentially take. One in front, one behind, two to her sides. All seemingly endless corridors, the gray steel illuminated from a source she couldn't determine.
Something seemed off about all of this. Which way was she supposed to go? It should have disturbed her that she couldn't sense anyone, but she felt strangely…calm. She wasn't in danger, but she did have somewhere to be. Someone to meet.
After a few minutes considering, she ultimately decided on taking the path in front of her. It wasn't as though there was another clear choice. Her boots clacked on the steel floor as she walked forward which was then when she realized she was wearing her armor. She blinked and looked down at the scarred red plates, a scratched XCOM insignia still emblazoned on the center chest.
She couldn't have forgotten about that, right?
She glanced down at the helmet she hadn't realized she was holding and cautiously put it on, it hissing and clicking into place as it sealed itself to the armor. She reached back and wasn't surprised to find her Autorifle attached to the back of her armor.
Now she was becoming concerned. Something was wrong, she knew she hadn't been armored a few minutes ago.
Right?
She scowled, raising her weapon and walking into the foreboding corridor.
The silence was louder than should be possible. There was nothing here. No sound. No life. Nothing. Just endless corridors and steel walls. She was missing something, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what it was. The corridor kept twisting and turning at sharp angles, making impossible paths that somehow didn't collide with each other.
But something soon changed. There was light at the end. Clarity. Something that had answers.
As she kept walking she couldn't help but notice that the steel walls were fading into glass, revealing the black expanse of space. Utter blackness with sprinkled with the faint twinkling of stars. At the end was a glass box, a room facing the one patch of color in the void.
Earth.
The room wasn't empty either. A figure stood observing the blue and green planet. A man standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back. Patricia slowed to a stop as she saw that. He looked familiar, yet there was only one person who came to mind.
This couldn't be real. There was no way he could be here…or her too, for that matter. She scowled as she stepped forward cautiously, trying to think of her last memories before arriving here…wherever here was. In space? Impossible. XCOM didn't have access to interstellar flight, or any means of leaving the atmosphere. Not to mention she'd had some memory of arriving.
She sucked in her breath as everything clicked into place. She was stuck in her consciousness.
"Are you really going to shoot me?" The man asked, mimicking his voice perfectly. Exactly as she remembered, with buzzed graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. His crystalline eyes commanded the same respect and attention they had when she'd been a little girl, even as she'd learned not to be intimidate by them so much as she'd gotten older.
"Why shouldn't I?" Patricia asked, aiming her weapon at his impassive face. "You're not my father."
He gave a smile. "You adapt quickly, psion. I thought you'd prefer this conversation be with a friendly face."
She attempted to focus on the being impersonating her father, but it was…oddly silent. She couldn't sense a place to strike. "I don't like imposters. If you really wanted that, you shouldn't have decided to have this conversation in the middle of space."
She let a burst of gauss fire loose from her autorifle which sped toward the body and impacted with dull thuds and tears. The doppelganger didn't react at all to the bullets striking his body, his expression unchanging as blood started leaking down his shirt, staining it red.
She paused after seeing it have no effect and he smiled, while shaking his head. "Come now, psion. You knew that wouldn't work." The rifle flew from her hands and came to rest above a bloodstained palm, hovering as it began to be telekinetically disassembled. "You know as well as I that physical weapons have little power. Not to being like us. We are beyond these toys, pieces of machinery that have purpose other than to destroy."
The doppelganger released his telekinetic hold on the pieces of metal and machinery that had been her weapon and they fell to the ground, scattering across the glass floor. Patricia felt herself suddenly lifted up and drawn towards the being, only stopping a half-meter or so away, hovering a few inches above the ground, unable to move anything.
The being cocked his head at her. "You are powerful, psion. Very much so, yet you are still untrained. Still a novice at best. But you have talent, skill and ambition. A useful combination, and combined with your intelligence, that has warranted my interest."
He turned around and released his hold on her. She landed upright, taking a second to right herself as she eyed the imposter warily. "What are you? A Hive Commander? An Ethereal? Something else?"
"Who do you think?" He asked, without looking behind him.
She thought furiously. To the best of her knowledge, she suspected that a Hive Commander wasn't powerful enough to initiate this kind of telepathic contact. She'd seen a lot in its mind, as well as its limits and sincerely doubted that it would even have an interest in such a talk. And as there were no other psionic aliens she knew of, that only left the option of the Ethereals.
So an Ethereal for sure. But could this be one they knew? That she knew? Was this the one from New York? The one the Commander called Aegis? She honestly didn't know what would warrant one of the Ethereals to go out of their way to talk to her. The Commander made sense, but her? True, she was psionic, but could it really be as simple as that?
"An Ethereal," she answered slowly. "Aegis?"
He turned around, a smile on his face. A sinister one, the smile of a being that was fully in control and knew it. The smile that looked terrifying on her father, alien. His irises were also changed, no longer the crystalline blue, but a stark purple. "No," his voice rumbled, no longer the aged voice of her father, but far deeper. More commanding, layered and echoing. Each syllable reverberated in the air and echoed in her mind. It was the voice of a being of power. "I am not Aegis, though I can understand how you have come to that conclusion."
She began circling him, her eyes never leaving him. "Then who are you?"
"The one who you have been waging a war against since the beginning," he answered, his voice boring its way into her mind, forcing every word deep into her mind. "Similar to your Commander, I have no name that would matter. The words describing me you would not understand, but know that I am the Imperator, Commander of my Ethereal Collective."
Patricia went cold as she heard that. They'd speculated on who the ultimate leader of the Ethereals was, but that was essentially an impossible task since they knew so little about them to begin with. But if he was telling the truth. Fuck. She was screwed. No way around it. Apparently resisting the Ethereal in New York had warranted their Commander dealing with her.
"Silence those thoughts," the Imperator warned, raising a hand. Almost instinctively, she immediately complied. Simply hearing the command made her feel compelled to follow. And if it was like this here, in a dream, she imagined the effect was almost overwhelming in person. "I have no desire to hurt you."
"Maybe you should tell that to your friend," she shot back. "He didn't exactly seem to care."
"The Ravaged One had no reason to allow you to live," the Imperator stated flatly. "He had no directive or orders to deal with you. Yet you survived. You did not triumph, but you resisted. You survived and that has earned my attention."
The Ravaged One. The Ethereals sure seemed to like overly symbolic words or phrases to call themselves. "Or maybe you're not as strong as you think you are."
"I had considered that at first," the Imperator mused, beginning to pace to his right, his purple irises boring into hers. "But I do not believe so. You are no accident, Patricia Trask, no fluke. You have the Gift within you and it is strong."
"I do my best," she said, eyeing the alien cautiously, unsure what he would do. She had the feeling that if he wanted it, he could kill her or drive her insane. "Is it really that uncommon? Surely you've seen other species wield the same powers I do."
"Incorrect," he disputed flatly. "Few species can wield the Gift, not pure as you or I do. We have seen species advance, and in doing so, corrupt themselves, turning their powers into a shadow of what they could be. For humanity to not only be able to wield the Gift, but remain pure in doing so? That is rare."
"I assume the Sectoids fall into this category?" Patricia asked.
"They can wield the Gift in its purest form, yes," the Imperator confirmed, turning to look out at Earth. "But they are a small-minded species. Incapable of using it with any form of creativity. To them it is a convenient tool, not a power with limitless possibilities." He shook his head. "But I am getting ahead of myself."
Patricia walked slowly up beside him, and they looked out over Earth together. "Your world is pleasant," the Imperator said. "I was not surprised to find life here. Lush worlds like this are fewer than you might think, though sentient life like humanity is few and far between."
"So can I ask something?" Patricia said, glancing over at him.
"I did want to talk," he nodded. "I know what you want, but go ahead."
"Why are you doing this?" She asked, motioning towards Earth. "You invade our planet, but don't send enough to win? You're far more advanced than us, yet you still hold back? Why do you need to fight us?"
"We are not at war," the Imperator stated, each word containing the gravity of hammer blows. "Were we at war your world would be turned to cinders. Your people would be thralls to be used or executed. You do not pose enough of a threat for us to go to war, psion. But you are asking the right questions."
He turned fully towards her. "You wonder why I hold my armies back. Why I fight at all in the first place. The answer is simple. Your species has potential, and I want to know how much. So I push, test the limits of what you are capable of. Where you deserve to be under us."
"So this is an experiment," Patricia said slowly. "Nothing more than tests?"
"In a sense," he confirmed. "And your species has done better than I anticipated. You are proof of that. There is only one more test to pass and then it will be over."
"And what test is that?" She asked, not expecting an answer.
"You will know when it happens," he said, unfortunately confirming her guess.
"So why tell me any of this at all?" She asked. It was one of the most puzzling things about the whole scenario. "Why not talk to the Commander? He might actually be a more useful person to talk to."
"I have studied the Commander," the Imperator said wistfully. "An intriguing and intelligent character for such a young species. But the difference between the two of you is that he is a constant, a force that will never change. You, on the other hand, are a variable. A woman who can be reasoned with, someone who won't be used or follow blindly."
Patricia snorted. "If you're trying to insinuate that I'll be helping you, I can give you an answer now."
"I know what your answer is now," he said, the corners of his lips extending into an unnatural, knowing smile. "But I shall see in the coming months. Because I know what you want, and that is answers. It will be interesting to see what you do if those answers aren't what you expect."
Patricia fixed him with a cold stare. "Get out of my head."
He inclined his head. "As you wish, psion. I believe we will meet again."
Everything went black and then she woke up.
The Citadel, Situation Room
Moment of truth.
Well, there was never going to be a good time to get this over with, but he still felt apprehensive about the entire ordeal. It was necessary, but it wasn't something he was currently enjoying. Not that he really should. The interesting him for him personally was that he couldn't really predict the fallout with any certainty.
He doubted Zhang would care much, as they had similar thought patterns and ideologies on certain things. Patricia either, since she'd begun developing a more pragmatic mindset. Bradford and Jackson he couldn't predict, either they'd accept it, or…not. And the not was the question, because in all honesty, what could they do? Threaten him? Yell? Leave? Possible, which was why he was anticipating worst-case scenarios.
Van Doorn and Shen would probably have problems with the revelation, although again he didn't know to what extent they'd express their feelings. They weren't unreasonable people, but then again, emotion tended to cloud judgement.
All of them now stood around the holotable. Vahlen and Bradford at his sides, Van Doorn and Patricia at the left and right sides, respectively, and Jackson, Shen, Zhang and Patricia on the other side. They might need to get a larger holotable since it was getting a bit crowded.
He swept his gaze around the table, friends and colleagues he easily trusted with his life, as they likely had with theirs. No more delaying, time to do this. "Thank you for coming on short notice," he began. "I don't want to take up too much time, so I'll make this as quick as possible."
Jackson raised an eyebrow. "This sounds oddly serious, even for you."
"Because it is," he stated flatly, feeling all of them focus on him a little more, as well as their curiosity growing stronger.
"Commander?"
He glanced over at Patricia, trying to limit the irritation in his voice. "Is it important, Patricia?"
"I won't take long either," she promised, straightening up. "I was contacted by an Ethereal last night."
Every head in the room swung to her. His irritation vanished as she dropped that bombshell. That was a development he hadn't expected, and certainly not now. "What happened?" He demanded.
"I don't know what he looks like," she began, pursing her lips. "He took the form of my father. But he wanted to talk, so he says."
"Did he say his name?" The Commander asked, wondering if it was the same one.
"It wasn't Aegis," Patricia clarified. "He called himself the Imperator, Commander of the Ethereal forces."
There were a lot of intakes of breath and he and Van Doorn exchanged a look. If the Ethereal was telling the truth, then Patricia might have had contact with the one overseeing this entire invasion. "When you say commander…"
"I mean he was the one commanding everything," Patricia stated with no doubt. "He's the one behind it, I'm sure of it. Even in the dream…" she trailed off. "He was powerful. Even more than the other one."
A cheery thought. "Why you?" Zhang questioned, narrowing his eyes at her.
"Because I am a variable," Patricia said, clearly unsure how to feel about that. "So he says. Perhaps he thinks I can be persuaded easier, or it's because I'm a powerful psion. He didn't give a clear answer as to me specifically."
"So what did he tell you?" Vahlen asked, her tablet at the ready to record whatever was said.
"He confirmed that this invasion is nothing but a test," Patricia said grimly. "The ultimate purpose of which I'm not sure, but that puts to rest why the Ethereals haven't conquered us completely."
"Unfortunately as we suspected," the Commander nodded. "There really wasn't another good explanation. Although that means that we've likely not even gotten a full glimpse of what the Ethereals are capable of."
"But they can't keep testing forever," Shen noted slowly. "Do they simply want a war of attrition? To see how many we can kill before succumbing? What could they possibly have left to test that we have not faced before."
"The Imperator said that we'd done better than expected," Patricia added. "And that there was only 'One final test' which he refused to specify."
The Commander and Vahlen exchanged a glance. He pursed his lips at the thought. One final test. So that meant that either way, the endgame was coming one way or another, and as for this final test, he already had a decent theory. Which meant that time was almost out.
"And what could that be?" Bradford asked, frowning as he crossed his arms. "Like Shen said, what do we have left to prove besides facing a full invasion?"
Patricia rested her hands on the holotable, looking at the blank screens. "It's actually pretty clear," she began quietly. "I've been thinking about it all morning. There is only one thing that would warrant a term with that much finality. The final test is if we can kill an Ethereal."
There was silence at that.
"It makes sense," Vahlen finally said after a few seconds. "We know that the Ethereals have each species in a certain hierarchy of sorts, with the Sectoids and Vitakara near the top and the Mutons at the bottom. How better to test how valuable we are than pitting us against their best?"
"One thing doesn't make sense in all of this," Van Doorn interjected, his brow furrowed as he stared down into the blank holotable. "Why specifically go to war with our species? They didn't with the Vitakara, and presumably the Sectoids either. The Mutons, yes, but from what Nartha described, they were far more primitive than us. We're capable of diplomacy, so why not even attempt it in the first place?"
"It might fail?" The Commander shrugged. "I cannot see our species willingly submitting ourselves under another power, whereas it was clearly the case with the Vitakara and Sectoids."
"Yes, it might," Van Doorn nodded. "But I'd at least understand them going to war if that happened. But as it stands I don't know why our species is singled out among the others."
"The answer is simple," Zhang interjected flatly, his tone neutral but firm. "They want soldiers. Warriors. They are not interested in our diplomatic talents or negotiations. They don't plan for peace. They are planning to go to war, either with the galaxy or with these others who they supposedly fear. How else are they supposed to determine if we have what it takes unless they put our species through a war against a technologically and logistically superior enemy? Do you think they care how many of their own die if in return they learn that we have the potential to defeat them?"
"But taking that so far as to gamble one of their own?" Jackson asked, shaking her head. "Aren't there only a few of them left?"
"Sacrificing one powerful Ethereal for potentially hundreds just as strong?" The Commander asked. "I'd consider that a valid move. These Ethereals are a dying or dead species. They are powerful, but they are limited in numbers. But if they have access to humans just as powerful, they could use us and no longer have to risk themselves."
"Regardless, I think an invasion is coming soon," Bradford warned quietly. "If we kill an Ethereal, we will likely be deemed a threat that needs to be neutralized. If we don't, XCOM likely falls and the Ethereals end their experiment and come to enslave us."
"A no-win situation," Patricia muttered. "And we're running out of time. But what else can we do?"
"Nothing," the Commander stated, resting his hands on the table. "We're doing everything we can. But this tells us that the Ethereals are likely going to strike soon. Perhaps at another city, perhaps even here. We can't do anything except prepare and make sure everything is in place to execute both the Advent Directive, and the Demeter and Hephaestus Contingencies."
"The Atlas Protocol too," Patricia reminded him. "But we have a name for their leader and what their strategy is here. That has to count for something."
"Agreed," the Commander nodded.
She inclined her head towards him. "That's all, go ahead with what you were planning, Commander."
He almost snorted. That's all. Sure, understatement of the week. He wondered if that was going to overshadow his own, much less severe, revelation.
Unlikely.
He took a breath. "There's something all of you need to know," he looked around at them, all of them awaiting what he had to say. "You knew I had once worked under the Commander." There were a couple nods. "That was a lie." Some frowns and cocked heads. Here it went. "I did not work for him, I am the Commander."
Van Doorn and Bradford looked stunned, their mouths partially opened in shock. Patricia was blinking rapidly, intently trying to stare at him in undisguised appraisal. Shen looked like he was going to faint, and Jackson leaned on the holotable for support. Even Zhang was expressing an emotion, curiosity, which radiated out of him as he appraised him in a seemingly new light.
"I'm going to guess you're not fucking making this up," Jackson said, in between breaths. "Noo…of course not. God…"
"How?" Patricia and Bradford asked at almost the same time.
"Because the UN faked my death," he answered simply, calmly. "I didn't know why. Still don't, truthfully. It might have been to take command of XCOM. It might have been in case they needed me. Whatever the case, they felt I was more valuable alive than dead."
"I…can't believe it," Van Doorn muttered, staring down in disbelief. "Even after what you did, they still let you live. They lied to everyone…"
"Everything makes sense now," Shen said hollowly, his voice aged and devoid of all emotion. "The contingencies, the experiments, your tactics, so many boundaries crossed and it never occurred to me to wonder if the reason that seemed so obvious was ever correct. Everything about you reminded me of the War on Terror, and I thought it was because you had worked with him. But no, it was because it was you."
"And the Council…" Bradford said in wonder. "That was why they were so divided. They weren't all on board putting you in charge, were they?"
"No, they were not," the Commander nodded.
"It seems so obvious in hindsight," Van Doorn muttered. "You never hid your intentions. Not really. But I never believed that the answer was that th…you were leading us. A war criminal. Leading humanity's first and last line of defense. Because they felt there was no better choice."
"I understand why you didn't tell us before," Shen said slowly. "But…why? Why now?"
"Because I don't want to lie to you anymore," he told them quietly. "Each of you deserved to know the truth, especially as the end likely approaches. I've worked with all of you for a long time, enough for you to reach your own conclusions about me. I know perfectly well what I've done and why I'm despised. But I am not the irrational murderer, terrorist or villain I have been characterized as."
"And do you regret any of what you did?" Van Doorn demanded. "Do you feel any remorse for the thousands you've killed?"
The Commander looked the General in the eye. "I regret that it came to a war. I regret that the Caliphate rose into a power capable of threatening the world. I am sorry that so many had to die, and were there a way to change it, I would have found it. But no, General. I do not regret anything I did during the War on Terror. I performed my duty, which is protect the world, no matter the cost."
"Something you've clearly not forgotten," Shen muttered.
"No, because I never hid that," the Commander reminded him. "I've given each of you the authority to question my plans, which you've taken up on occasion, but each order you're no doubt thinking about now, that was done with us together. I may have written it and defended it, but the reason that these are in place is because we all agreed they are necessary."
"How far we have fallen," Shen said softly. "What kind of saviors are we? Torture. Human experimentation. Plotting the dismantling of nations. Killing innocent people. How can we really be humanity's best chance?"
"And where do you think we would be if we hadn't taken those steps?" The Commander demanded harshly. "Do you think I enjoyed what I did? No. I did not. But the reason I'm able to sleep at night is because everything I did, that I've done, and that I'm doing, I can justify. War is unfair. It is wrong. But that does not mean that we can ignore reality, and the reality is that without doing what is necessary all of us will die!"
Everyone was silent as they stared in varying stages of shock, disbelief and confusion. "I know what I've done and ordered has been wrong, morally and otherwise," he continued in a much quieter tone. "I'll burn in hell for it. I accepted that long ago. But that doesn't change what has to be done. We still have a planet to defend. Now you know. I want to continue working with you, but with you knowing the truth. If you decide against it, I won't hold it against you."
He stepped back. "Take some time, think it over," he sighed. "I'll be working around here, as always. But if you do make your decision one way or another…just let me know."
The air of shock and disbelief was still strong, but all of them visibly composed themselves and walked slowly out of the room, save Vahlen. Despite the strong emotions, he could tell that them completely abandoning XCOM was low. All of them knew what was at stake and how it was bigger than any one person. He suspected Van Doorn was more upset that he hadn't noticed anything, than about the details of his past. He'd known more of the Commander than anyone else, especially during the war on terror, so this revelation was likely to affect him a little more than the rest. With the possible exception of Shen, of course.
Guess he would see later. As the door slid shut behind them, he let out a sigh. "And there it is."
Vahlen stepped up beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulder, and he did the same to her as she rested her head against his shoulder. "I think that's probably as good as you could have expected."
"I think most of them are still in shock," he muttered. "I guess it's not every day you find out that your boss is actually the most infamous war criminal in the last few decades."
"Or friend," Vahlen murmured.
"Or friend," he agreed. "I guess we'll see."
"What Patricia said was also concerning," Vahlen remembered. "I don't like where this is heading."
He nodded, pulling her in a little tighter. "If this Imperator is getting involved, I guess everything is coming to a head. The war is coming."
She looked up at him. "A war of the worlds?"
He snorted, then chuckled at the cheeky comment. "I walked into that one."
She pulled away, and lifted a hand to straighten some unruly hairs. "Let's get to work. I suspect we'll have to pick up some slack today."
"That we will," the Commander agreed, turning to the screen. "Let's hope there are no more exciting events for a while."
Seattle, United States of America
Rifle set up, primed and ready to fire.
"Target on approach," Mary informed him from his earpiece. "Estimated five minutes."
"Copy that," he confirmed, looking over the street through his scope. Taking the Chronicler out near his home was ultimately the best location for the purposes of minimizing collateral damage. Not that he was going to miss, but he didn't exactly want pandemonium to break out, though that was likely going to happen to some extent.
Overall, his vantage point was excellent, atop one of the apartments which gave him a clear view of every entrance into the Chroniclers apartment. There were a few people milling around the run-down streets. Several kids were playing near a rusty basketball hoop, doing their best not to let the ball run away from them and add another dent to the banged-up vehicles around the vicinity.
He looked down towards where Ruth was hanging around on the street. Backup one, in case it went south. If it did go south…well, they were not in a good position to put it lightly. But the Chronicler expected him to be gone, and didn't know XCOM agents were operating in the area, much less who they were.
"Hey, heard from the others recently?" Mary asked.
"No," Cerian answered, sweeping the street again. "Don't really expect to unless the safe house is compromised. I'm already posing a risk by being here."
"Right," she sighed. "Just wanted to make sure it was good. I don't like how blind we are in this."
"If you ask me, we're already going overboard," their second backup, agent Kalon-something interjected from his place under a tree. "Psions are not invincible, especially human ones."
That man was the best actor Cerian had ever seen. Switching between accents and speech patterns within seconds, and changing his entire body into something else was incredible to see. Right now he looked the perfect homeless and depraved victim, the kind parents kept their children away from. No one would ever suspect he was actually an assassin.
So in total there were three ground agents. Him, Ruth and Kalonymous, with Mary tracking the Chronicler through the city. Since this Chronicler likely knew who his team was, there was the likely possibility that he would detect them if his whole team showed up to help and they'd lose the element of surprise. But he didn't feel that a large team was needed, especially with a single target, psion or no. The rest of the team knew the plan, or course, but it was too large a risk for anyone outside the XCOM agents to accompany him to do the deed.
Mary had only picked up the Chronicler's location a few hours ago, which was fortunate because he'd worried that they wouldn't have any prior warning. But Mary was good, and had likely gotten help from XCOM's own computer expert.
"Mary, you preparing to knock out cell reception?" Cerian asked.
"Already done," Mary said. "One minute, stand by. Yellow taxi, license plate 7GT-12M."
"Affirmative, Ruth, you got that?"
"Ready and waiting,"
He took a breath and overlooked the area once more. Knocking out cellular reception was necessary in order for them to make their escape without suspicion. Someone would doubtless try and call 911 and he'd prefer to have vacated the scene long before then. Or worst case, it would prevent more people from getting killed if it turned into a shooting match.
"Target sighted," Ruth informed urgently. Cerian swiveled till he overlooked the drop-off point, hovering over the passenger side door of the taxi as it pulled up. He held his breath, then let out a sigh of relief as he confirmed that it was in fact, the Chronicler. The taxi sped off and without any concern, he started walking normally back to his apartment.
No need to communicate what was going to happen. They had planned it well in advance. Once the taxi was out of sight, the kill would be executed within thirty seconds. Then the Chronicler suddenly stopped in his tracks, frowning. No time to wait.
He fired, the bullet streaking towards the aged man's face.
And nothing happened.
Impossible. He couldn't have missed. There wasn't any impact anywhere. Unless…
He took another look through his scope and noted in dismay that the bullet was hovering a few inches from the Chronicler's face, he lifted a hand and plucked the bullet out of the air and pocketed it with one smooth motion. Then he looked right into the scope and smiled.
"Target is up," Cerian hissed, quickly lining up another shot. "Move."
Ruth pulled out her pistol and began approaching, and the Chronicler pulled a small pistol from his jacket, raised it to the right and fired at the disguised Kalonymous with no warning whatsoever. He didn't have time to react, the bullets striking his head and throat and he slumped to the ground, a stunned expression plastered on his face.
Everyone in the vicinity ran away as gunshots rang out. Cerian fired several more shots, and Ruth began firing with her own weapon. None his sniper rounds hit, as he simply raised a hand to freeze the bullets in mid-air. Ruth fared no better, and he directed his attention to her, raising a hand towards her and she collapsed to the ground a second later.
He had to get out of here now. This had gone horribly wrong. "Mary! Get out now! Mission aborted!"
Silence. Fuck.
He had to get out of here now, Ruth was as good as dead and the Council needed to know this psion was a bigger threat than they realized. But eluding a mind-reading man was going to be a difficult proposition, so he had to be careful and sneak out as quickly and quietly as possible. He opened the door leading to the lower floors and drew his pistol, preparing for an attack to come, either mentally or physically.
Seattle, United States of America
Several hours earlier
The safe house shouldn't be too far now. According to what Ruth had provided Zhang, there were only a few likely places they'd establish operations and fortunately, both were pretty close. She was hoping she looked nondescript enough, wearing a beige shirt with a brown leather jacket over it carrying one of Shen's new Pulse pistols, and brown pants. The combat boots might be a little out of place, but she'd prefer the enhanced mobility if something had happened.
Right, so here she was. A fairly ordinary hotel, just on the outskirts. Not a dump, but also unlikely to attract much attention. She walked into the mostly empty lobby, her boots clacking on the tile as she walked to the elevator.
Room 2-24, second floor, 24th room. Hopefully Akello would be monitoring the security cameras and would see her coming. Provided they were here in the first place. The carpet absorbed all the noise she made as she strode towards the door. Standing in front of the chipped wooden door, she raised a hand to knock, then hesitated.
As unlikely as it was, if something had happened, they would know she was coming. Besides, Ruth would know she was here and let her in without needing her to knock. So instead she leaned against the nearby wall and waited for a minute. Than two. She sighed and looked up in the direction of the camera. Anytime Akello-
Then froze, her enhanced eyes focusing on the camera. For all intents and purposes, it looked working, but she could clearly see that the power had been cut. She went cold and withdrew her pistol, taking some comfort in the red glow of the laser.
Ok. How best to deal with this. She needed to get into the room, that much was clear, but how to do it in a discreet way. She thought for a moment, and the answer soon came. It wasn't perfect, but it might allow her to keep the element of surprise. She aimed the pistol at the handle and fired, turning the cheap metal to slag after a few seconds of sustained fire.
She'd fortunately worn gloves, a small habit she'd gotten into recently. Much less chance of leaving incriminating evidence if fingerprints weren't able to be found. And it also came in handy when you needed to touch hot objects. She pushed the door forward and fell to one knee in case there were any hostiles.
As the door swung open, she immediately saw two people, none of whom she recognized. A man and a woman. She didn't hesitate and fired two quick beams at their heads, melting new holes in their brains. They collapsed to the ground and she took a step forward into the small room, weapon still raised.
And froze in horror.
Sitting at the far corner at a desk was Akello, slumped over with several bullet holes in her back, the desk, laptop and floor stained with her blood. She quickly swung her weapon around, confirming that there were no other enemies. She carefully knelt down to the bodies of these people and turned the woman over.
Her face was a melted mess now, but she was definitely a soldier. She had some body armor underneath her civilian clothes, as well as a pistol in her jacket. Abby quickly rifled through her pockets, finding a pocketknife, some change and a wallet. She quickly opened it up and took out some cash and credit cards. There was an ID, but she'd seen enough fakeries to know this wasn't real. But frustratingly no solid ID.
She repeated the same thing with the man, and similarly found nothing worthwhile. She scowled and rose, her heart pounding as she struggled to piece this together. No markings or identification. All signs pointed to an EXALT attack, but it felt wrong. Zhang had said they had something of a truce with XCOM now, unless they'd been lying….
She stepped over the bodies and slowly made her way towards Akello, grasping the body lightly by the shoulder and pulling it up. It was surprisingly easy to move, and the skin still felt warm which meant that she'd died recently. And she was dead, no doubt about it. No one could survive this much blood loss and a shot to the head.
Akello's face was oddly serene, which only told her that she hadn't been expecting this attack. Abby looked to where she was sitting, then back at the body. It didn't add up. These shots had been at point-blank range, and the glass was intact meaning that this wasn't done by a sniper. She'd also been working, and there was no way that anyone could get to the angle needed without her noticing.
So what did that mean? Had Akello known these people? Let them in and when she'd gone back to work, they'd shot her in the back? Following that logic, that did rule out EXALT, but then that raised the question of who?
Right, she needed to put together a much clearer picture. She walked back toward the door and shut it to prevent someone from looking in on this. Right. So before she'd unceremoniously melted the handle off, it appeared that the door had been completely fine. There weren't any scratches, scuffs or any other signs that indicated it had been a forced entry.
So two possibilities: Either Akello had let them in, or they'd had a key of their own. It had to be the former. Akello would have ensured that there was no other key, not to mention she had control of the cameras and would be able to know when someone was coming up. Even if they did have a key and used it, why would Akello just sit there as they came in? She had a direct line of sight to the door, and couldn't have missed it opening.
Abby nodded. The chances of her not knowing these people was close to nonexistent. In which case, the next question was who these people were. She knelt down by the bodies again. Israeli agents, perhaps? It would explain why Ruth might allow others in, but neither of them looked Israeli. Both were Caucasian and if she had to have guessed, maybe American or European. Besides, why would Israel want to not only hurt XCOM, but take out their own former agents for no reason?
They couldn't have just been mercenaries or grunts either. Ruth didn't have close contacts with those kind of people, not to mention again that regular people wouldn't have been able to get the jump on them. So that only apparently left one suspect: EXALT.
But that still didn't make sense. Maybe if Zhang hadn't said there was something of a truce, but even taking that away, they still shouldn't have been able to surprise them unless of course they knew they were coming? Abby pursed her lips as she stood. Something was really off here. No suspect made sense. Perhaps agents from another country? But who and why?
She reached down and picked up one of their pistols, taking a good look at it. Grasping it, she walked back to where Akello's corpse was, trying to recreate exactly what might have happened. So Akello was working, perhaps one of these operatives had come up behind her when her guard was down, raised her pistol like so, and…
Abby mimed aiming the gun at Akello's bullet-ridden body. Three shots and one to the head. Yes, that had to be what had happened. There were no other ways for her to be shot like this, especially since the window was intact and there were no bullet holes on the opposite wall. Abby tossed the pistol on the bed in disgust. That was most likely what had happened, though she'd likely not know who until the bodies were ID'd later. But now she had a more pressing concern.
The good news was that Ruth and Kalonymous were gone. Hopefully they were still alive, but if they had been working with…someone, they were walking into a trap would die unless warned. That meant she needed to know where they were headed. Abby looked at the blood-splattered screen, only seeing several documents and programming shells open.
She looked at the papers on the table, her eyes immediately drawn to the markings on a map. She grimaced as she picked up the map which had some dried blood on it, but didn't really have a choice. There was definitely something supposed to happen at one particular…housing complex? Apartment? Whatever the case it was circled, with several lines drawn in different colors to and from here.
There were also an array of numbers on the map. Times. She looked down at the list. 4:30. Was that when the operation was supposed to happen? She glanced at the time right now. 2:41. Damn it. She might be wrong, but it didn't look like she had a choice. Ruth and Kalonymous were walking into a trap, and if she couldn't get there in time they were probably going to die.
"I'll come back," she promised Akello's corpse, feeling a stab of guilt over leaving her so quickly. But she didn't deserve to die like this, and the least she could do was make sure she was taken care of. But not before the people who did this paid for their crimes. Grabbing the map, she quickly exited the room, furiously planning how she was going to get there.
Seattle, United States of America
Cerian had never been spooked in an apartment, but there was a first time for everything it seemed. Every sound warranted a response, and it wasn't a stretch to assume that the Chronicler was heading his way so he had to be quiet.
The narrow hallway didn't provide any cover in case he ended up coming here. Cerian scowled, he needed eyes outside and in retrospect, coming in here was probably what he shouldn't have done. He needed to put distance between him and the Chronicler, and he'd effectively boxed himself in. Going out the front door wasn't going to happen, so he needed another approach.
After some hesitation, he picked one of the apartment room and pushed it open. Thankfully it wasn't locked and he stepped into a clearly lived-in room, which was incredibly similar, if not exact to the Chronicler's. Couches were arranged around a small TV, and the kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes. He glanced around, and seeing no one, cautiously made his way over to the window to get a good look outside.
Concrete all the way down. No way he could get out this way. The sound of fabric rubbing together reached his ears and he spun towards the sound, pistol raised at the young woman who clearly lived here. But she was standing in a way he suspected she was unaccustomed to. Straight and with her hands clasped behind her back, something an executive or businesswoman would do, not a young woman who lived here.
Not to mention her irises were a faint violet.
"Do you really think you can leave here, Cerian Irelan?" She asked, though he knew that the Chronicler was speaking through her.
"Remains to be seen," he muttered, not lowering the weapon.
"Put that down," she…he…said, scorn emanating from her light voice. She had an unnatural smile on her face as she appraised him. "You are not going to shoot an innocent woman."
Cerian lowered his weapon. "You're right, I won't," he said, before flipping the pistol around in his hand and taking a step forward then swiftly clocking her on the head, causing her to collapse in a heap.
"Sorry," he apologized as he hastily exited the room. He needed to put some distance between him, since he likely had his exact location. He jogged down the silent hallway, past the rows of doors as he looked for the stairs down.
"Do you really think knocking out one single woman changes anything?" A man with similar purple irises asked from the end of the hall, leaning casually against it.
"Let them go," Cerian demanded, raising his pistol again. "It's me you want."
The man shook his head. "I'm disappointed, but not surprised. But no. You brought this upon yourself and all these people. Your people will die because of you."
Cerian smiled. "No they won't. They'll be long gone by the time you try to find them."
The man's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed to the ground. Cerian frowned, and slowly began moving down the rickety stairs, and just as he reached the next floor the lights went out. He scowled into the darkness, wishing he had a flashlight, although that would make him very obvious. The Chronicler was clearly trying to get into his head and unnerve him.
He couldn't really say it wasn't working.
Darkness didn't intimidate him, he suspected that was likely the same for most people. They didn't fear the darkness. They feared what was within it.
He froze as a pair of glowing irises appeared and began moving towards him, contained in the silhouette of a child. "You've made things difficult for me, Cerian," she said, the words sounding odd coming from such a young girl. "But not impossible. Not nearly that. Did you really think it was luck that allowed your woman to locate me and track me?" The girl tsked. "You never once asked where I was before that."
Cerian had a horrible feeling in his gut. That couldn't be right…"Oh, but it is," she continued. "I found your team. Two of them went and killed that XCOM operative and will be instrumental in leading agent Gertrude here."
"You're lying," Cerian growled, wishing he could believe that. But deep down, he didn't.
"Stop pointing that at children," a familiar voice demanded from behind him, and Cerian turned as the child collapsed to the ground to see the familiar form of the Chronicler, glowing eyes and everything.
Cerian immediately began firing, the Chronicler not even flinching as he emptied the magazine at the demon before him, not stopping until the gun was clicking. "The other two will deal with each other," the Chronicler continued, taking a step toward him. "I suspect the police will have questions as to why one committed suicide after murdering the other one, but they will never know for certain."
Cerian pulled out a knife, even knowing it was futile. "And you wondered why we consider you a threat."
"You made me a threat," he hissed, a tangible tremor reverberating in his voice. "I let you go. I warned you to leave. But you couldn't do that, no, you couldn't risk leaving a threat like me alive. But I suppose I already knew, that. What you would do. I never stopped watching your team, Cerian, I was near when you conceived of your plan to assassinate me. I listened when you contacted agent Shira. I knew your plan from the beginning, because you made it so obvious what you were going to do."
He involuntarily shivered as he realized just how clearly he'd been played. This had been a trap, yes, but only for him. He attempted to keep some conviction in his voice. "Killing me will only raise questions," Cerian warned, not breaking eye contact. "The Council knows you exist; who you are. Not to mention how XCOM will react when they find their agents dead."
"The Council is irrelevant and obsolete," the Chronicler stated with absolute certainty. "And yes XCOM will retaliate when they learn who killed their agents. But it will not be at EXALT, nor me."
"Maybe not at first," Cerian said, taking a ready position. "But they'll ask questions. The Commander is smart. He'll figure out what happened."
"You misunderstand me," the Chronicler corrected, smiling slightly in the darkness. "They will know who did it. XCOM has sent another agent to bring Ruth and her team back. How do you think they're going to respond when they identify your team? How do you think she is going to react when you execute her friend right in front of her?"
Cerian went cold as he realized what was going to happen. "I won't do that."
The Chronicler's eyes flared. "You won't have a choice."
Cerian gasped as what felt like an unbearable headache appeared in his mind, with something beyond it. A voice searching for a way inside. It pounded against him, weakening his will every second. He gritted his teeth, clutching his temple to keep it out. He wouldn't let this man inside his head.
"You are strong, for one untrained," he heard the Chronicler say above him. "But not quite strong enough."
Cerian didn't know how long he held out for. It could have been as short as a few minutes or as long as a few hours. Either way he knew at one point he broke and something else entered his mind. And oddly enough, it didn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would. Everything felt faded around him, like he was sleepwalking, seeing the world, but not quite comprehending it.
Was that all this really was? A bad dream?
He'd have to think on that. But after he retrieved his sniper rifle. He had a feeling like he was going to need it later.
Seattle, United States of America
This was very bad.
She'd sent a quick update to Zhang, who'd authorized her to continue investigating and here she was. The run-down apartment complex was seemingly deserted, the dilapidated parking lot holding several rusty cars and one body lying on the ground. It looked like a homeless man, but one who was reaching into his jacket for something, possibly a pistol.
Abby drew her own weapon and cautiously walked forward until she got a good look at the corpse. "Damn it," she muttered as she realized who it was. Kalonymous must have tried to launch a surprise attack, though from his dying expression, she guessed it had been the other way around. The shots were exceedingly precise too, one in the head and one in the throat.
She glanced up towards the roofs. A sniper?
She looked back at the body, noting that the shots seemed to have impacted directly from the front, and his body wasn't facing the roofs, so that lowered the possibility of a sniper. Regardless, whoever had killed him was an excellent shot.
"Sorry," she murmured to him as she kept going. So whatever happened, she'd been too late to stop it, which either meant that Ruth was dead or captured. There was a possibility of her escape, but if she had she would have contacted Zhang since they were compromised so badly. She focused on the apartment in front of her.
Something was telling her that she'd find some answers inside, though she really didn't have much more than that to go on. Perhaps someone who'd been here could answer her questions. Although…as she looked at the building again, she couldn't ignore that there was no light coming from it. Was the power out? Was anyone even living here?
From what she'd been able to read on this place, it was being lived in, but then where was everyone? A shooting would have attracted attention, and at least gotten some kind of police response. Unless of course the residents couldn't tell them…
This was not boding well for anyone.
Abby cautiously made her way towards the foreboding door, cautiously reaching down to opening it while keeping her pistol up. The wooden door opened with a squeak that was as loud as a scream compared to the silence around her. Yep, the power was out, or at least the lights were off.
The hallway seemed like a typical apartment complex. Long and narrow with doors leading into rooms with a staircase in the middle leading to another floor. Which meant it was a place she could be easily ambushed. She glanced around for anything that looked like a light switch and…nothing.
Made sense. It was probably all controlled in a central administrative building which she didn't have time to go looking for. So for now she'd have to fumble around in the dark, which wasn't as hard as it could have been since her eyesight had been enhanced. She couldn't quite see in the dark, but she could make out objects much easier which she supposed in a way was the same thing.
Now the question was where to start searching. Room by room? No, too impractical and it would take forever. She looked around on the floors and doors, seeing if any seemed unlike the others. She frowned and walked over to one door a few feet away. The carpet before it had some kind of dark liquid staining it, only a few drops, however…
She knelt and lightly placed a finger on it. Wet. She brought it to her nose. No mistaking it, definitely blood. She stood and aimed her pistol at the door and fired at the handle, melting it off and pushed the door open.
"Fuck!" She snarled as she looked at the sight before her, anger replacing any trepidation she had. Ruth laid on the ground, stripped of almost all her clothing and bound at the hands and ankles. Her body was covered in purple splotches, bruises at first glance. She'd also been cut at the elbows and knees, locations that were surgical and only intended to debilitate.
Abby felt some hope as she saw her chest rising and falling. She needed immediate medical attention otherwise the joints would get infected and then…well, worst case they'd have to be amputated. She dashed over to Ruth, pulling out her knife. "Stay with me," she ordered here. "I'm getting you out of here."
Her voice apparently woke her up, or at least grabbed her attention. "Abby?" She murmured deliriously. "What are you doing-"
"Zhang sent me to recall you," she explained hurriedly, slicing the bonds on her wrist and pulling out a roll of gauze she began wrapping around her cuts. "Hold still. What happened?"
"Tricked," she muttered, her head slumping forward. "It was a trap. He knew we were coming."
"Who?" Abby demanded as she wrapped an arm around Ruth, preparing to lift her up. "Who tricked you?"
"Cerian," she muttered, her voice fading. "Asked us for helping dealing with…someone. EXALT agent."
Abby frowned. "He's an EXALT agent?" Making sure Ruth was secure, she stood, propping up Ruth's body as she suppressed a moan of pain.
"No," she hissed, as she shuffled forward a couple steps. "UN."
Abby froze in disbelief. "The United Nations? Cerian is one of them?"
"Had a team," Ruth wheezed as they took a few steps forward. "Promised to help. Shoulda known he'd…" she trailed off and her head dipped.
"Hey! Stay up," Abby ordered, thinking furiously. "We don't have far."
Ruth simply nodded and they kept moving, foot by excruciating foot. This was much worse than she could have imagined. EXALT or the aliens she could understand, but the UN? Why would they want to attack XCOM? Or had Ruth been close to uncovering something? Wait….
She perked up as a new idea entered her head. If Ruth had been ready to uncover something, it might not have just been dealing with EXALT. Maybe the United Nations was involved as well, and in response had sent their own team to get rid of the troublemakers under the guise of dealing with EXALT. But what could that mean?
Zhang would have to sort that out. All she needed to do was get out. "Almost outside," she encouraged as they got close to the exit. "This Cerian, he still here?"
She probably should have asked that question first, but they were somewhat pressed for time regardless. "Assume so," Ruth muttered in a daze. "Didn't really say he was leaving after he beat me up. Didn't even ask any questions."
Righteous fury filled her at the thought of that happening to her. Fortunate for Cerian that she was more interested in making sure they both lived else she would find this traitor and kill him. "You're going to be fine," she promised as she pushed the door open.
A cool breeze swept over them as they took in the evening. But something was different. There was someone-
Ruth's head snapped back and Abby's face was splattered in blood as Ruth's head took the impact of the bullet. A perfect shot, splitting the forehead wide open, killing her instantly. Self-preservation took over and Abby dropped her now-dead friend and spun back into the apartment, near the entrance.
No no no. This couldn't happen. Not now. Another bullet slammed into the wall behind her, the sound of the impact louder than the shot itself. Silenced. A sniper. She risked a glance outside and saw him propped up behind a rusty car, at a distance that would be almost impossible to hit at this range.
But fortunately, she wasn't an ordinary human anymore. She risked another glance out to get a better look at the man. If this was Cerian or not, she didn't know, but it was clearly an older man with gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Oddly enough his blue eyes seemed more vivid than normal, almost with a hint of violet.
She leaned back as two more shots thudded into the wall behind her and prepared her shot. One pulse shot would be all it would take, and she only had to hit the weapon to debilitate him. She swung out, raising the pistol and fired a simmering red beam towards the sniper which hit the rifle dead-on, making it spark and forcing him to step back.
Taking advantage of his distraction she dashed outside firing several more bursts in his general direction as he reached for a pistol at his hip. She snarled as she locked her weapon on him, firing another beam that burned into his wrist, slicing the hand clean off. He let out a yell of pain and stumbled back, clutching his amputated limb.
She lowered her weapon, letting her fury simmer as she watched the man who'd killed Ruth stumble back, gritting his teeth in pain. With practiced movements she reloaded the pulse pistol and slowly approached the man. He held up his good hand. "Wait."
She instantly aimed her pistol at his knees and fired a sustained beam and directed the beam left, neatly cutting the legs at that point. He screamed as his functioning body fell to the ground, sweat pouring down his face and flushed red from the pain, as well as panting heavily.
"You killed her!" Abby snarled, the anger inside her rising even higher as she stood over him. "Why? Who are you!?"
"Orders," he gasped. "Cerian, that's my name, Cerian. You don't understand what's happening!"
He's lying.
Abby frowned at the voice in her head. It was hers, yes, but with a conviction and certainty she wasn't sure could be possible. Except…after thinking about it a few seconds, she ultimately agreed with it. He wasn't lying about why he'd done it or his name, but she was pretty sure she understood what was going on. "Maybe better than you think," she stated coldly, aiming the pistol at his head. "Who do you work for?"
"You're being tricked!" He shouted frantically. "We're being played against each other."
She hesitated. His tone seemed genuine…maybe….the image of him blowing Ruth's head off appeared in her mind in vivid detail, and there was no question as to who'd pulled the trigger. Her gaze hardened and she looked mercilessly down upon him. "Answer the question."
"I…" he winced and looked down, panting heavily. "The United Nations. The Council specifically."
So it was true. Her pistol wavered. What should she do? Take him prisoner for interrogation seemed the smartest thing to do. If this extended beyond the Council, they needed to know exactly how high up this went. That was assuming that he even knew anything. It wasn't as though they could use him as a reliable witness if it was true. He would just be disavowed. The UN would never risk using someone who would actually be able to implicate them.
There was actually a much simpler way to solve this problem.
Kill him.
She recoiled at the thought initially. Kill him? He clearly wasn't a threat anymore, and keeping him alive was the tactically smarter option. Right?
Do you really think the Council would actually leave anyone behind who could actually tell us anything?
She scowled, that thought making more sense that she liked. Still though, was killing him the best solution? And for what? Because she'd feel better. No, of course not.
Because he deserved it.
She looked down on him, an elder who actually at the moment looked his age, crippled beyond all repair. But he wasn't a friendly old grandpa. This was a veteran killer, one who'd killed her mentor and friend, not to mention was skilled enough to take out a team of Kidon agents. Kalonymous and Akello had died because of him. Really…what other fate did he deserve?
But that should be for Zhang to decide. She argued in her head, not sure what to do. Not me.
Why not? The other voice persisted. You know he is going to die anyway. Why shouldn't it be by your hand?
Because she realized that she wanted him dead, and she wanted to be the one to do it. Abby shook her head. Sure, maybe he deserved to die for what he'd done, well he did. But…she wasn't a killer, not like Ruth or Zhang.
Yes you are. You became one the moment you executed those people.
And the worst part of that persistent little voice was that she feared it was right. She didn't like it, she hadn't wanted anything like it. But the fact was that it was a part of her, her darkest aspect, but one that existed nonetheless. No matter how much she tried to deny it, that would never change. She was a killer, now and forever.
Still though, even if she accepted that, she didn't have to act like one all the time.
Of course not. Only when it's necessary.
Like now, maybe. She doubted that either the Commander or Zhang would begrudge her if she killed this man. But this was different from killing those two people back in California. Back then she'd been under orders, but if she killed him here it would be of her own volition. She'd cross a line that could never be taken back.
But it really? How is this any different than killing wounded aliens? He is an enemy. He is not innocent. Unlike those two, this man actually deserves it.
Her hand steadied as she aimed at the man's head, barely registering anything around her. That was a good point. It wasn't as though she had an innocent man before her. This likely wasn't the first time this man had killed someone, and it probably wouldn't be the last had he succeeded. If anything, she'd probably be doing the world a favor by removing such a dangerous person.
"He's in your head," Cerian muttered, looking pleadingly up at her. "Those aren't-"
He was cut off by a red beam drilling into his forehead. Mouth half-open, he fell back into the concrete, dead eyes looking skyward as red and gray liquid leaked out of the neat hole the laser had made.
Abby lowered the pistol slowly, looking on the corpse with a coldness she hadn't known she'd possessed. Oddly enough, seeing him dead before her…didn't elicit a response. She didn't feel bad, didn't feel like she'd done something wrong. And in a way, it did make sense. He was a threat, an enemy combatant, and she'd just neutralized him.
Problem solved. Ruth would have been proud.
Zhang might be disappointed that she hadn't brought him back alive, but she knew intrinsically that it would have been a waste of time. He wouldn't have cracked, and even if he had, he wouldn't have told them anything that could help them. Besides, if he'd been killed in a shootout there really wasn't anything she could have done to capture him.
Her lips pursed at that. She disliked lying to Zhang, should it come to that, but she didn't feel that bad about it. He owed her one after making her kill two civilians, and this would be sufficient payment. But the Council really doing this…
She shook her head. She'd personally felt the Commander's dislike of them was irrational, but perhaps he had good reason to be. Perhaps he'd already known the Council was moving against them, else why activate the Demeter Contingency? Why create ADVENT unless the old institution needed to be destroyed and rebuilt?
Maybe all that was happening wasn't as outlandish and irrational as she'd first wondered. Maybe the Commander was right to consider the UN an enemy…especially if this was happening. She walked back over to Ruth's body which had been unceremoniously dumped on the ground, blood leaking from her forehead and splattering the rest of her face with blood.
Abby sighed and reached down to close her eyes. It wasn't much, but it did make her look a little more at peace. Marginally. She rose and pulled out her phone. She wanted out of this place now.
Preferably before any cops showed up.