6:00 AM
Mainstreet, 3rd Security Precinct of Novgorod

"I said halt!" yelled Trooper #1. He hustled his way through the crowd, followed by his slimmer companion.

"What do we do?" Mrs. Sycamore whispered to Matilda.

The doctor could only shake her head. They stood out too easily from the crowd. Running would only confirm that their intentions weren't Advent-oriented.

Matilda hoped that they'd be able to resolve this without a gunfight, but she knew from experience that life always dealt you the shit hand, just for laughs.

So, just for posterity, she began to finger the trigger of the pistol in her coat. And with each step the troopers took, she felt the pressure on the trigger grow.

The troopers clonked their way to the group, causing the crowd to give the whole area a wide berth. Matilda noticed that they weren't pointing their guns at them. That was a remarkably good sign, considering that Advent peacekeepers were of the "shoot first and never ask questions" breed.

"Are you refugees?" demanded Trooper #1, his voice harsh and bureaucratic.

Miguel scowled in annoyance.

"No, sir," Shi said, calm and even. "We were recently registered. I have identification right here."

"Produce it, then," barked Trooper #1. "Quickly."

Everyone fumbled in their pockets before producing the needed items. Matilda, her arm outstretched with a plastic card in its grip, breathed a silent thanks to XCOM's foresight and the Resistance's ingenuity. It had taken a while, but they'd managed to find a printer who could make near-perfect Advent identification cards. Sure, they were obscenely expensive, but having the ability to travel unmolested in Advent territory was worth it.

Trooper #1 and Trooper #2, respectively male and female based on their form and voice, separated and looked over the cards.

Trooper #2, when she got to Matilda, stopped and took a good look at the French doctor. Matilda felt sweat bunch up on her bald scalp. Did she do something wrong?

The trooper's face (or what was visible through the helmet) gave a dismissive sneer.

"I'd suggest you check out a gene therapy center immediately, ma'am," she said. "ADVENT's got ordnances you need to keep up with. Plus, we wouldn't want to spoil the festivities with that 'hair', now would we?"

Trooper #2 moved away, leaving Matilda with a tic in her right eye, and a violent urge to tear someone's throat out.

"They check out," Trooper #1 finally said. "However, you all are in violation of several civil regulations," he told the group.

"Really, officer?" Shi asked. "We're new, so please excuse us for being... ignorant to ADVENT legislation."

"Well, for starters," Trooper #1 said. "Your lady friend there ought to get some hair regrowth done. The rest of you should buy some new clothes as well. Just a matter of public decency."

"Mhm," Shi said, a shit-eating grin pasted on his face. "We'll make sure to do that, Officer. Right everyone?"

Everyone else nodded. Besides Matilda, whose bald visage was fuming with anger.

"Alright then," Trooper #1 said. "You all have a happy Unification Day."

"Same to you, Officer," Shi replied.

The two Advent troopers planted their fists against their chests – the typical Advent salute – before moving away and disappearing into the crowd. Traffic resumed once more, and the rebels were on their way towards their target.

"Fucking ridiculo," Miguel complained. "Clothing regulations? Even my madre wasn't this much of a bitch."

"I hope those two are on patrol when we hit the site," Matilda seethed between her teeth.

"You and me both, missy," Mrs. Sycamore agreed. "Bloody common decency my ass."

"Shut it, all of you," Shi growled. "We're almost to the safehouse. Keep your traps closed and we won't have to put up with this shit again."

They took a left, and found themselves in a barren part of Novgorod. They went down a deserted alleyway, which Matilda found unnerving due to the lack of filth on it. It was like walking through the choking corridors of some kind of machine, rather than through the urban landscape she'd grown up with.

"There," Shi breathed. He patted a hand against a steel door built into the wall.

On the top of the door was the mark, just like the Resistance contacts had said. A small, blue "X", something that could easily be mistaken for a random piece of graffiti, stared down at them.

"Finally," Mrs. Sycamore said, grinning. "Let's start this damn thing."

7:00 AM

Edge of Novgorod, Security Precinct 37

After a few more minutes of awkward, curse-ridden conversation, the jeep finally slowed to a stop in a parking lot. The area was deserted, since it was far from the Unification day festivities. Snow gathered all along the black concrete, while the lights from advertisements and surveillance lamps glowed soft blues and reds in the overcast sky.

The jeep's door opened, and Barry snuck out. He shivered and patted himself down, beating warmth back into his frozen bones. Then, he surveyed the scene, looking as far as he could through the snow flurries to see if anyone was watching.

Satisfied with his preliminary scan, he banged the side of the jeep.

The passenger side door popped open almost instantly in response, with Zip tumbling out like a wet rag.

"Whee!" she chuckled, falling flat onto the snow. "It's soooo nice out here!"

Barry couldn't help but smile at Zip's childlike demeanor. It was definitely growing on him, like some kind of weird alien fungus.

Petrov, on the other hand, was unimpressed.

"Get up," he growled. "You're on a goddamn mission, not a game of tag!"

Petrov's meaty forearm moved forward in one great flash of pink, and lifted Zip from the snow. The Chinese dancer giggled, and flopped onto her feet like a shoddily built ragdoll.

Behind him, Banks had also emerged. The Canadian moved behind the jeep, and popped the locks on the trunk. A flurry of snow that had collected on the rear windshield hit the ground with a loud "flump" while Banks reached in.

"Everything's here," he called out. With one hand, he held out a beige-colored rifle.

"Mine!" Barry said, wrapping his eager fingers around the weapon. He cradled it against his frozen chest, his eyes dancing with glee.

If Central Officer Bradford's word was to be believed, then Barry was holding the most powerful automatic ballistic weapon on Earth. The X-10, built off an older model, was as next generation as one could get. Unbelievable rate of fire, increased penetration, inability to jam, and the capability to adapt to any ammunition type – in essence, a damn good weapon.

Everyone else grabbed their own rifles, as well as a few personal items. Barry grabbed a bandolier of grenades and clipped it against his waist. The explosive bundle tugged at his pants, pulling his trousers down until a good portion of his waistline was exposed.

Looking at Banks, Barry saw a similar bunch of objects dangling from the operative's waist.

Seeing Barry's glance, Banks tapped the payload. "Spray paint and smoke bombs – tools of the graffiti artist's trade. Never know when you might need 'em."

Mutt wasn't paying attention, his gaze pointed lovingly at the steel baseball bat in his hands.

"Agh, can't wait to use this beaut again!" he said, his voice quivering with almost orgasmic delight. "I can already see them Advent skulls!"

He gave a practiced hit, letting the bat fly through the air and knocking the shit out of a few snowflakes. Then, he turned back towards the trunk and leaned forward, sweeping his hand across the floor of it.

Mutt turned again.

"Guys?" he said. "I don't think we brought enough guns."

"What?" said Petrov.

"Yeah, we don't have anythin' for Zip!" he said. He leaned forward again, and then lifted up a small, black object. "Jus' this dinky thing."

Zip sprang forward, and snapped up the item with her mouth. Hitting the ground, she spit it into the snow, and then grasped the thing with both hands.

"It's mine, mine!" she chattered. "Miss Stripes gave me this!"

Banks leaned and examined the object, making sure not to get too close.

"Whew," he commented. "That's a bona-fide mag pistol if I've ever seen one."

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," Petrov said. "We get the shitty guns and she gets the serious firepower. Blin."

"Well, I can't hold one of those big guns," Zip replied. "I need bigger." She waved the magnetic pistol in front of Petrov's face. "Seeeeee?"

Petrov drew his hands up to his face.

"Woah, woah! Don't fuckin' shoot!" he cried. "Watch where you swing that thing!"

This only got Zip to swing the gun even faster.

"Aight, aight," Mutt said, smiling. "We gotta get going. The statue's just a few blocks ahead of us. We blow it, and we can dick around at home. Gotit?"

Everyone nodded.

"Yeah," Petrov said. "Just don't do anything stupid."

With that, the five of them marched into the city, disappearing into the slurry of steel buildings and twirling snowflakes.

8:00 AM

Advent Parade Ground, 3rd Security Precinct of Novgorod

"It's almost time!" Aphrodite shouted, her voice suffused with glee.

"Indeed it is," Hades said. "Let's get this over with."

"I can't believe we're in agreement for once," Artemis said, her elderly face completely deadpan. "I hope this doesn't become of a habit of yours."
"Nonsense, Artemis," Hades replied. "I'll always detest your cowardly cloak and dagger tactics."

"How touching," was Artemis's only reply.

Apollo merely gave a nervous smile, and adjusted his glasses and tie.

"Showtime," murmured Zeus, before he stepped outside from the backstage.

He felt simultaneously buffeted and energized by the cheering. Shouts of sublime joy rang from the crowd in front of him, filling the air with enough sound to coat the entire Earth, and then some. Makeshift banners and signs shook with epileptic frenzy, announcing the people's love for their favorite Administrator.

As Zeus took his seat at the conference table, his fellow Administrators followed him. The cheers that came were more subdued, but still filled with earnest energy.

"What a crowd," Apollo remarked, shifting in his seat next to Zeus's. "I – I didn't think we'd get this many."

"You're the most famous cyber expert in history, Apollo," Zeus replied, leaning back into his chair. "People would kill to be in your shoes."

Apollo grimaced. "That hits a bit too close to home, Zeus."

Zeus gritted his teeth as well. "Indeed it does," he said. Advent politics, while competitive, never devolved into full-blown murder. But Apollo had the misfortune of having a predecessor who had done just that to secure his place as head of ADVENT's cyber security. Just another issue to pile on the man's massive mountain of anxiety.

"WE ARE LIVE!" came a voice from beneath the stage. Upon that announcement, multiple cameras came to life, swinging towards the stage and leering about like mechanical serpents.

An Indian reporter took that cue to run up to the stage. "Tahirah Amiri here, live from Novgorod!" she said, waving to the camera and the crowd with a jovial smile. The cameras followed her every movement, watching her until she sat down in a seat besides Aphrodite.

"I'm here today at the center of this year's 20th Anniversary of Unification Day," Tahirah said. "Where the hearts and minds behind our great nation have, for the first time, decided to appear before the public!"

Clapping and cheers thundered throughout the area, with some people straining their vocal chords in order to let their support ring out.

When the cheering died down, Tahirah went on with the address.

"Forgive me for being so quick," she said to the speakers. "But I must ask, weren't there supposed to be six of you at today's address?"

The five administrators looked at one another, before turning to Zeus, their de facto head. He cleared his throat before leaning towards the microphone.

"Originally, yes, Mrs. Amiri," he said. "Unfortunately, our friend, the Speaker, was called on by the Elders to perform another address elsewhere in the city, in order to alleviate the heavy traffic Novgorod was experiencing."

"Another stunning display of our Elder's kindness and thoughtfulness, don't you think everyone?" said Aphrodite.

The crowd roared in agreement.

"With that out of the way, then," Tahirah said. "I'd like to talk history. Specifically, 20 years ago."

"Oh, I don't think you want to hear that, Tahirah," Artemis said. "It's too embarrassing."

The reporter chuckled. Guffaws and laughter rang from the crowd.

"She's right," Hades interjected. He was all smiles now, with a perfect grin floating across the surface of his face. "Why would we want to talk about what we were before ADVENT? Compared to what we do now, to what we are now, what we were twenty years ago was meaningless. It's like comparing preschool to college!"

"Wise words, Administrator Hades," the reporter acknowledged. "Ones I'm sure we can all relate to. But it's not that history I want to talk about. I want to go back, to the conception of the ADVENT Administration, when we first made contact with the Elders."

Aphrodite raised her hand. "Since we're talking school, do I have to ask for permission to speak?"

Tamirah laughed again. "No, no, Administrator. Speak away!"

"Gladly!" Aphrodite said. "It all began twenty years ago, in the year 2015…"

As ADVENT's propaganda administrator began to chatter away in excited, machine gun fashion about the corruption of the Old World and the brilliant beginning of the ADVENT Administration, Zeus took the time to stare absentmindedly into the crowd. His gaze scanned the throngs of adoring followers and true believers. Men, women, black people, Asian people, children, cripples; all walks of human life were present and united.

Zeus felt proud to be an integral part of this system, one he knew where people could coexist, where the unknown was something to explored and exploited, rather than feared.

As he continued to gaze, Aphrodite's speech hammering into his ears, his heart fluttered at a particular group of people. A group of men and women, dressed in rags. Likely refugees, probably traveling from one of the settlements that littered the Earth's surface.

Something like that was definitely admirable, Zeus decided. That people, from such a poverty-ridden background, would travel so far and still take time out of their day to learn about the Administration was another testament to ADVENT's influence and good will.

In fact, he noticed that they were moving closer. Almost as if they wanted a better look. Well, by all means, Zeus thought, let them get it. They can even take photos if they want.

Then, something clicked. One of the people was reaching into their clothes, and Zeus saw a glimpse of a beige colored object, with the unmistakable shape of a gun barrel latched onto it.

His military instincts kicked him, screaming warnings at him.

His legs tensed, and every hair on his body tingled. The world around him slowed to a crawl, allowing him to see one of the "refugees" pull a grenade launcher from their coat.

As the grenade flew in a deadly arc, popping out of its harness with nary a sound, towards the conference table, Zeus flew also. He leaped from his chair, arms wrapping around Apollo, causing the two of them to collide against the stage.

A moment later, a tremor hurled them a second time. Zeus felt his eardrums ring as his body was thrown onto the floor.
He turned his head, still deaf, and saw smoke and flame rising from the table. People were screaming, flailing about. Security forces were shouting, firing shots into the air.

In the midst of the chaos, Zeus saw Hades sprawled on the remains of the table. His blue eyes, held open by rigor mortis rather than the brutal intellect that had once resided behind them, stared at the sky, mercifully missing the scattered remnants of his lower body.

Why, was all Zeus could ask himself. Why?