Location Unknown – 3 hours after crackdown

"Submit." The voice droned from the corner.

He blinked once and remembered. But he blinked again and room went hazy. He felt a push on his brain and walled it immediately. He blinked a third time.

The room snapped painfully into focus. A speaker on the wall. A slot on the door. He could neither lay down to full extension nor sit up to his height. He had been trapped on the diagonal long enough that his neck and back had stopped actively hurting and now just felt leaden.

Another psi probe came in, but he stopped it easily. The interrogators were careful now. The initial assault had been brutal and overwhelming. But once he had stabilized he had managed to turn the psi attack back on its source and brutally scour the mind of the Sectoid Commander who had sent the probe. Through his victim's eyes, he had seen the pistol come around to execute the compromised alien. The probes after that had been little tickles and presses, at all times and from multiple sources. Looking for weakness where it could be exploited, where his mind could be stripped.

They had told him the list of names of the people they had captured, the list of names, so heartbreakingly long. He had wept for every technicican, every engineer, every scientist, and most of all his troops. The men and women from all over the world, who had fought and bled for the freedom of humanity. Who had taken on mission after mission without fail, had dodged death by plasma and worse thousands of times, only to be captured now before they could truly act on his recall order.

There was a kernel of hope. The interrogators made no mention of the MEC Farm, and Bradford, Shen, and Vahlen were uncaptured, from the sound of it. He thought of Kislewski, the valiant operative who had been dragged off the Temple Ship by her squad, she unwilling to leave a man behind, and her squad unwilling to lose two of their number on the mission. They would have to carry on. They would have to somehow break the backs of an administration that had conquered not by force, but by prosperity. Against an alien enemy hidden so well that any rumor that they even existed would be quashed. As the psi probing returned, tickling his parietal lobe, he hunkered down and hoped.

MEC Farm, Renamed to XCOM Headquarters – One week after crackdown

A patrol of blue shirts on training exercises marched through the corridor, stopped at the junction, and assumed firing positions along the walls. The stretches of wall near every corner were notched with deep alcoves on every side, providing superb cover against any hostile force attempting to breach the base. One of their number poked his head around the corner and promptly dove back, hitting the floor with a clatter. A barrage of paintballs flew through the space he had formerly occupied. One of his comrades popped out and fired a barrage as well, as the squad stacked up on the side of the hallway not exposed to fire from the right. A corporal shouted orders and obscuring grenades were thrown down the hall towards the source of the fire, followed by a number of paint grenades. After a second volley of paint grenades was practically catapulted down the hallway by a former college baseball pitcher, shouts came to end the exercise.

Kislewski approached the force that had so liberally used the grenades to secure themselves a victory. They arrayed themselves in a line for inspection, their equipment perfectly standard excepting the paintball guns instead of their real rifles. She moved down the line, and stopped at the hero of the exercise, the grenade throwing guard.

"Name and rank soldier?" she queried.

"Private First Class Alexander Ilbiati, Sir!"

"How many grenades did you expend on the force you faced today Private?"

"Sir, I threw five grenades. One of my own and four of my squadmates', Sir!."

"And do you think that was the correct decision, Private?"

"Sir, I do yes sir!"

"What happens when you run across the next squad Private? And you need more grenades? Only to find that your wasteful overkill has left you and your squad high and dry! I expect better munitions discipline from this outfit! You are not going to fight one squad at a corner, you are going to fight ten at ten corners! Or more! And making your consumables last, treating them like they're actually valuable for more than just the immediate situation, is one hundred percent necessary! Am I understood!"

The excitement of the squad dissipated as the words struck them. In a more docile tone, the squad voiced in unison, "Sir yes sir."

Kislewski continued, directing her words at the squad that had been decimated by the grenades, "As for you Green Squad, learn to spread! It's a disgrace these chuckleheads even managed to kill you! You'll have the Saturday night shift instead of Yellow Squad."

This announcement brought a cheer from Yellow Squad as they began to slap the private on the back in congratulations. Kislewski felt her pager buzz from her pocket. Pulling it out, Bradford's code appeared. She barked a brief command at the security squads, "Clean up this mess! Then fall out and prepare for class on moving safely using suppression!" before moving back up the corridor towards her office.

Bradford waited for her there, grim-faced as usual. He handed Kislewski a stack of paper. She noticed that his middle and ring finger were sporting two new bandages.

She inquired, "How'd you get those?"

Bradford replied, irritated but with a hint of irony. "I cut myself on this report. The move back to lower tech to avoid tracking has not come without its sacrifices."

Kislewski laughed. "All of XCOM appreciates your dedication officer. What's the report?"

Bradford went back to being full-on serious, or rather, back to normal. "It's a series of documents obtained for us by an old friend of ours. Who got out well before the Crackdown but knows enough that we're not the terrorists the media claims us to be. Just read."

Kislewski skimmed through the documents, picking out key words and phrases. The ones that jumped out the most were 'high profile,' 'terrorist,' and 'public execution'. And there at the end, 'Moscow' and 'in one week'. The final page was almost entirely blank except for a brief memo in austere font.

Prisoner is psionically gifted. May have genetic modifications. Exercise extreme caution when transferring. Expect possible rescue attempt by terrorist forces. This man is their leader. They only refer to him as "The Commander". Make sure his death is an example to them.

Signed,

The name signed at the end of the memo was redacted. Kislewski's jaw dropped. Her heart leapt into her throat and she realized she was choking back tears. "He's alive? He's ALIVE! Bradford, we are going to jump hard. Every single soldier is going to volunteer. We'll take them all. We have to save him Bradford."

"Understood Colonel. Should I inform the troops?"

"Absolutely. I want them as psyched up as possible."

"Yes sir." Bradford moved to the PA system terminal, opened it, and began speaking. "XCOM personnel, I repeat all XCOM personnel, this is a priority one announcement. The Commander is currently a prisoner of Advent. We have discovered his location. We are going to rescue him. We are going to bring the Commander home! Bradford out." Bradford paused and cocked his head. "Do you hear that?" Kislewski did. It was the roar of cheering XCOM members echoing throughout the base, in exultation that they had a chance to save a still-living legend.

Author's Note: Realized after I got on the train today that this hadn't gone up. So here I sit in a Starbucks - I'll try to publish in the mornings from now on. Also considering moving to a Monday/Wednesday/Friday schedule to keep things consistent for me. I'll let you guys know if that's going to happen in a couple of chapters. As always, thanks for reading, and get hype as we watch XCOM 2 at E3!