Three days later…

Hawk stood in the transport ship with a stony expression, watching the movements of the six Jackals in his peripheral vision as he stared at the main door. The squad had very suddenly been told to gear up and head out on a mission, but they hadn't been briefed on what exactly this entailed. Clearly, it was urgent (or at least thought to be so), but the lack of an explanation was annoying.

"Alright, Bradford," the mercenary spoke into his commlink, "Mind telling us what the hell this is all about?"

"We've located another secret facility of some kind," Central answered, as if he hadn't been holding out on them, "Its exact purpose is as of yet unknown, but it's remote and heavily guarded. You're being dispatched to learn what this place is for, and hopefully bring it down."

The ranger sighed to himself. "Lotta guards, middle o' nowhere, kill everybody. You really couldn't've told us this earlier?"

There was a pause, then: "I don't like it any more than you do. But I was only filled in a couple of minutes ago."

Though he said nothing, there were many things that Hawk wanted to say. He gritted his teeth behind closed lips, endlessly frustrated at this. What was the Commander thinking? The Snake Eater was no stranger to improvisation, but if he hadn't asked for intel, it felt way too much like the squad would have deployed without any idea of what to do. The Jackals were quick to assure him that this wasn't how things normally went, but that only made him wonder why on Earth that had changed for such a seemingly important mission.

Minutes later, the hatch opened, and Hawk launched forward. As he neared the edge, the merc acrobatically flipped forward, grabbing a line while upside-down and finishing his rotation as he descended. One hand gripped the rope, supported by a leg pinching it under the knee, while the other brandished his rifle, and both eyes rapidly scanned the area for possible activity. The ADVENT facility was immediately apparent, so 'where to go' was established. As the Jackals scrambled to follow him, Hawk performed a visual sweep of their immediate surroundings to further ensure that the insertion point was secure. They were dropping into a house-sized pit with easily-scalable slopes on all sides―good cover, if nothing else.

"Fuck, man!" Voodoo exclaimed as she hit the ground, "This is a stealth mission, not a race! Where did you even learn something like that?"

"The school of life," the merc said brusquely, "Focus up, Kelly. I saw our target location for all of one second, and I can already tell you that we aren't doing this quietly." As the final Jackal landed and Firebrand sped off, he turned to address the squad. "We've got one hill between us and them," he motioned to the incline in front of the group, "The moment we cross it, we're up against MEC units, a couple of mutons, and at least a dozen regulars. Heavy-hitters; not the toy soldiers that you're used to."

One of the snipers piped up. "We've already hit valuable facilities, and the guards weren't any different there."

Hawk rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and these fucks tend to learn from experience. They'll have upped the ante since then. Plus, that train station was in plain sight; you post a bunch of heavy firepower by that, and everyone's gonna know something's up. I've hit remote sites like this before―the aliens put bigger guns and thicker armor out here. So find some good fucking positions and get ready; we only get one shot at an ambush." The Jackal leader looked like she was going to argue, so he snapped his gaze to her and gave a hard expression. "If anyone has objections, kindly shove them up your ass. You're in deep water, and I'll be giving the orders until you greenies learn to swim."

Each squad member found a position along the treeline surrounding the clearing, in which the mysterious building was located. Looking from the insertion point, the structure was at the far side of the glade with a small cliff running laterally in front of it, meaning that a head-on attack would give the enemy the high ground. Fortunately for XCOM, their new asset was an expert at fighting at a disadvantage and on uneven terrain. What he was not used to, though, was working with a team of more than one or two other people. People who possessed entirely different training, no less.

Thinking quickly, Hawk instructed the Jackals not to fire until his signal, or if they were detected. Creeping forward to take cover behind a large stone, he spotted two basic Troopers and a viper, making sure to avoid detection from any of them. Outrider was allowed to move up with him, as she was similarly skilled in stealth and had a relatively quiet weapon.

"It has been a long time since the Reapers have heard from you," Dragunova whispered over comms, "It is good to finally be working with you myself."

"I'm a busy man," the Snake Eater responded, matching her volume, "Got mouths that need feedin' and bastards that need killin'. And an employer with a steady supply of contracts. Eyes up; it's showtime."

Reaching down to a triple-holster of throwing knives on his left thigh, he drew one of the small blades, leaned around the boulder, and threw it, all in one smooth motion. The knife flew several meters, straight as an arrow, into the unarmored temple region of the viper. She was dead before her body hit the ground. Rolling with this attack, Outrider shouldered her Vektor rifle and snapped off a shot at one of the Troopers. The round connected, but failed to penetrate the soldier's helmet.

Hawk cursed under his breath, mind racing to compensate for this SNAFU. Practically throwing himself around his boulder, the mercenary drew another throwing knife and hurled it at the second Trooper as his other hand snapped to his belt to unsheath a fifty-centimeter cutlass. Launching forward, he met the concussed guard with a swift and powerful chop, his mechanical right arm providing enough force to decapitate the hostile with a single swift motion, supported by its organic twin, which grabbed the head of their victim in order to hold it in place for the attack. The thrown knife found its mark, embedding itself frighteningly deep into the other guard's spine just above the base of the neck.

"Fuckin' hell," the Snake Eater growled quietly, head on a swivel to ensure that the alarm hadn't been raised, "Dragunova, stay behind and play overwatch for me. I'm not lookin' to pull more tricks out of my hat unless―"

"Contact! We're loud!" One of the Jackal rangers shouted over comms. This was immediately punctuated by an eruption of gunfire, signaling the end of the stealth attempt. Hawk's jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder that his teeth didn't collapse; he had expected things to heat up, but not this soon. And these amateurs called themselves covert… Well, there was a reason why he carried five guns.

The Jackals had tried to flank around through the treeline, and had been detected as they reached the top of the small cliff. Voodoo had warned that rookie Sampson not to get too close, but he hadn't listened! Unlike most of XCOM's Rangers, Jane carried a standard rifle instead of a shotgun. She quickly leveled her sights on a Stun Lancer running for cover and squeezed the trigger. The burst missed for the most part, and the one bullet that did hit didn't seem to do anything; not even a flinch. A pit formed in the Jackal leader's stomach; this felt too much like her gun wasn't effective.

Orders quickly appeared on her HUD, and Kelly ordered one of her snipers, Sparrow, to peg a different tango with a headshot. The shot rang out and found its mark, making a sizable dent in the Trooper's helmet but not killing them. That confirmed it: their weapons, for some reason, weren't performing to spec anymore. Things were going south, and fast. New orders flashed across Voodoo's vision, and it didn't take a genius to see that they were rapidly becoming more reckless, most likely in an effort to compensate for this sudden lack of capable firepower. The Commander was gambling with the lives of the squad, but they had to follow their orders.

"Cover me!" Jane barked, vaulting over the felled tree that she had been using as cover and rushing forward. This was nothing like the clandestine, methodical tactics that she was used to, but a good operative was ready for anything, right? The other Jackals took turns firing upon enemy positions to keep them from doing the same to their squad leader, and it worked for the most part. A couple of lucky potshots managed to hit her abdomen, but the Predator armor absorbed enough of the impact to let its wearer keep going in spite of the burning sensation.

Coming up on her earlier target, Voodoo drew her sword and swung with all of her might, immediately feeling a pang of relief as the blade cracked the visorplate on the Lancer's helmet and dug into their face, finishing what the Ranger had started. Then… nothing. No further orders. She was a sitting duck here, but there was nothing in her eyepiece to indicate where to go next. This, as each squad leader had been taught upon first receiving their HUD-pieces, was to be interpreted as an order to stay put and hold fire.

The Trooper that Sparrow had tagged earlier had a clear view on the human. Already knowing this, Kelly whirled around, meeting the guard's gaze as they raised their mag-rifle at her. Something clicked in her mind―or, perhaps, something snapped―and Voodoo shouldered her own rifle, held down the trigger and did not let go, aiming for center mass. The remaining three-fourths of the magazine quickly disappeared in one long burst, though it was more of a mag-dump. In the heat of the moment, it was hard to tell when exactly the Trooper died, but it was one of the last three or four bullets that did them in. It didn't matter if she was technically defying orders; this was madness!

A single bullet hissed by, a couple of meters away from her head. It was accompanied by the corresponding gunshot, a loud gurgle and a thump, and Kelly turned to see the body of a muton on the ground behind her. Two holes permeated its skull; one small and clean, and on the other side, huge and messy.

"Eyes up, muppets!" Hawk called as he finished mantling up the cliff, "You're on the frontlines now!" He had shot the hulking alien with that massive revolver on his waistband―with one hand. The merc quickly holstered the pistol and unslung a strange, custom rifle from his back.

"How did you do that?!" Voodoo asked, bewildered, as she scrambled to reload her weapon.

"I just shot the fucker!" the Aussie answered pointedly, "And my guns ain't shit!"

"We have orders to―"

Hawk was jumped by a viper, who attempted to coil him. Without any hesitation, he moved his shooting hand back along the traditional-style stock of his rifle, and a short blade suddenly extended from the butt. Keeping that same grip, the Snake Eater swung the stock of the rifle upwards at an angle, slashing the serpent's tail, neck and chin in one motion. "Fuck your orders!"―he shouted, plunging the OTF blade into the viper's eye socket, then quickly removing it as her body slumped to the ground. In a flash, the blade shot back into the butt, and Hawk returned his hand to the rifle grip. "Kill everything that bleeds and blow up the rest!"

Jane quickly shook off the shock of witnessing this two-second killmove, yanking the charging handle on her rifle and preparing for the fight of her life. More orders finally began to appear, but they felt discordant―almost random. She could practically hear the Commander shouting at his screen in response to Hawk's massive deviation from the leader's plan. While most of the information flashed by too quickly to absorb, Voodoo was able to gather enough bits and pieces to safely assume that the Commander did have a plan regarding her very ballsy advance that would hopefully prevent her untimely death, but frankly, following the mercenary's lead felt like a much better decision in the moment.

"Sparrow! Queen Bee! Hold position and provide covering fire!" Kelly barked into her commlink, embracing her improvisational skills, "Everyone else, hard push! We've got momentum, so let's keep the train rolling!"

A quick glance at Hawk revealed an approving expression on his face. The Jackal leader had simply estimated what his plan was, and apparently 'hard and loud' was it. He pointed over her shoulder, and she whirled around to see a MEC unit on the charge. "Tag team!" Hawk shouted, "Shoot it!" It was a great thing that he added that, since otherwise Jane would have had absolutely no clue what he was telling her to do. With her most recent kill burned into the forefront of her mind, Kelly dispensed with the subtle tactics and leaned on the trigger. She was going to go for another mag-dump, but stopped halfway through to give her ally a chance to do… whatever it was he was going to do.

And Hawk did not disappoint. Leaping forward like a predatory animal, he released his forehand from his rifle and wound back the mechanical arm for a devastating punch, quite literally throwing his entire weight into the blow. His metal fist punched through the armor that had been weakened by Voodoo's gunfire, plunging elbow-deep into the torso of the autonomous soldier.

There was no time to continue gawking at this display, as more targets were moving in to engage, and she was still a sitting duck. Lunging into a slide behind a roughly waist-high rock, Kelly braced her assault rifle against the boulder, acquired a target, and let it rip. When the bullets stopped, she ducked back down and wrestled another magazine into the weapon. The adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream was causing her hands to shake, making this action more difficult than it would normally have been.

The other Jackals quickly took up positions nearby; one other Ranger, one Specialist, and of course, Dragunova. Two assault rifles, one shotgun, one marksman rifle, and two sniper rifles in the back. Hawk had been dead right: this was anything but a stealth op. Each time she popped up to shoot, Jane had to remind herself not to stare at the mercenary as he continued to fight outside of cover, bull-rushing targets and pulling off incredible acrobatics to avoid incoming fire. Not only did this serve to keep the enemy off-balance and on the retreat, but it also drew a significant amount of attention away from the Jackals, allowing them to pump out lead much more easily.

Hawk stood in the open, firing his rifle and migrating between targets with mechanical speed and precision. A Stun Lancer attempted to flank and rush him, hoping to lock him up with a stun baton. Upon reaching the mercenary, however, the ADVENT lackey was met with the lightning-fast reflexes and honed perception of a man who had been doing this for quite some time. Hawk saw the tango coming from a mile away, and when they attempted to jab him with their lance, he sprung up and over it, tucking his legs and rolling over the Lancer's back. Out came the stock-blade, and off came the soldier's head―mostly. The blade wasn't actually long enough for a proper decapitation, but considering that their head was practically peeling off, it didn't really matter; they were five kinds of dead.

"We're pushing inside!" the Snake Eater shouted, "Whoever's got that X-4 charge, get in there and plant it!" The squad had been provided with an explosive device to destroy the facility, in case such a thing became necessary or otherwise beneficial. They still had no idea what exactly this place was or what purpose it served, but blowing it all up felt like the right thing to do. This mission had already been dunked in shit―no need to pile on more by adding complications. As he was issuing this order, Hawk stowed his rifle and grabbed the other weapon on his back: a large pump-action shotgun. Its size came primarily from its length, though it did seem a little wider than most other shotguns. In a flash, he shouldered the weapon and loosed a round, turning the face and head of a second muton into a thick paste, shredding them in a wave of buckshot.

Following the mercenary's lead, the team pushed forward into the building, with Dragunova and the two snipers remaining outside to keep any remaining external guards from becoming a problem. Upon entering the structure, they were met with another MEC unit, standing mere meters away from the entrance. Hawk, being the first inside, did not stop his charge. Instead, he ran right up to the robot and snapped the butt of his rifle upwards in a punch-like motion, whacking the head of the machine in a sort of modified left hook. Following through, he then reversed the motion for yet another strike, this one positioning the muzzle right in front of the MEC's head. With a thunderous boom, the automaton's head was ripped from its mounting. This was all accomplished in just over one second.

Kelly detected movement off to the side, and quickly spotted a regular Trooper trying to take cover behind some kind of desk by the wall. Sick of spending dozens of rounds just for one kill, she grabbed her sword and raced forward, leaping over the makeshift cover and swinging the blade with both hands, driving down with as much force as she could muster. The Trooper's helmet cracked under the force, and while it did stop the sword, it did not save the wearer from death by head trauma.

"That's it!" Hawk encouraged, "This is how we do it in the bush!" Voodoo couldn't recall the last time she had embraced her anger like that… but it felt good. And it certainly seemed to be working; that was, in fact, a very fast and decisive kill. Wrenching her sword free of its latest victim's helmet, everything seemed to be coming together in her mind. The stress and panic were gone, replaced by a savage determination and focus. The Jackal leader's eyes darted around, scanning for a good place to plant the X-4 charge. After a moment, they came to rest on what certainly looked like an effective spot for an explosive.

This mission was FUBAR by any official reasoning. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and scrambling to complete their objective while fighting a heated battle. But there was something else that Jane hadn't expected. This was fun.

"This is Hell."

Weaver sat in his assigned workshop, pouring over the munitions and weapons supplied to him. It wasn't enough that he was improving XCOM's ammo quality; now the Commander wanted him teching on their weapons, too. Everything was stacked against him; from the calibers, to the weapon designs, to the quality of both.

Alia sat with him, doing her best to be a comforting presence in the gunsmith's time of need. Over the last few days, she had grown rather fond of Weaver, and vice-versa; her calm tenderness observably did wonders to keep the man on his feet, and he was a seemingly endless well of information that, while mostly useless to the viper, was unfailingly fascinating to her. It also helped that he had such a warm personality; the serpent found that the young merc was just very pleasant to be around, even when he was upset.

"I've been through shit you can't even imagine," he continued, "Seen shit you'd never believe. Done shit I could never adequately describe. But this might just be the worst goddamn thing I have ever had the misfortune of being dragged through." He spoke somewhat slowly, which the serpent had observed to be a coping mechanism for his stutter―when Weaver took the time to slow down his speech a little, he rarely, if ever, doubled back on himself. It was also less common when he was hyperfocused on something―a term that he had taught her.

"Explain to me again what the problem is," she urged gently, "Spare no detail, please."

Weaver threw a cartridge down onto the table in frustration. "Everything is the problem. These guns are over-engineered and under-maintained. The assault rifles have basically no rifling left, the sniper rifles are way too weak for their role, and don't even get me started on those dogshit shotguns!" His volume increased, as did his pace. "And the calibers! You can't just―Why would you―These standard service rifles are chambered in five-five-six! There are so many other better options―the five-five-six lacks the power to properly penetrate all but the most basic―the only ADVENT armor these little shits can penetrate is the stuff worn by the lowest fucking boot-lickers!"

"These so-called 'sniper rifles' are chambered in thirty-aught-six. With a barrel that heavy and―They come standard with a heavy barrel and bigass brake. That would imply a high-caliber round with a lot of pressure. But no; instead, they shove a tiny-ass mag in there and load it with a round that isn't even that much more powerful than a three-oh-eight! Four fucking rounds?! Are you kidding me?! You could get a Garand for twice that capacity and less weight to boot! Not to mention it'd be semi-automatic! Or at least an EBR or something! You don't build a bolt-action rifle with a four-round detachable box mag without chambering it in something big, like a four-oh-eight CheyTac or fifty BMG. An Intervention would be infinitely better than this, and could crack heavy targets as a treat. Oh, and when did we all just magically forget that armor-piercing rounds exist? Y'all are just using full-metal-jackets and expecting them to thwart armor!"

Alia raised her hands to stop him. "Okay, slow down. Take a deep breath. There are some terms that you are using which I do not understand, but I believe that I am grasping the majority of what you are saying. What about my rifle?"

Weaver gestured to the weapon, which was half-disassembled on a table across the room. "It's basically fine, I guess. It's actually chambered in three-hundred Blackout, so the bullets are big enough to accommodate your venom rounds without producing too much recoil." He paused, staring at the rifle for a moment. "Those loads are actually decent. Normally, that caliber is subsonic, but those are actually supersonic. Not as―It doesn't hit as hard as a three-oh-eight, but it still packs more of a punch than the bum-ass five-five-six. And most of the mods are actually of my own design, so you'd better believe it's good."

"Really?" the viper cocked her head, intrigued, "How did one of your creations make it into my gun?"

The merc chuckled quietly. "Leonidas. Technically, I gave some things to Razor, who then passed some of those on to Leonidas. The two are friends, y'see. I'm actually the one responsible for tricking out his shotgun. Your rifle is basically a prototype, built on a standard service rifle chassis but with all custom internals."

"That is amazing!" Alia smiled, fascinated by this hidden world of logistics and history.

Weaver shrugged. "It's business. I do my job so that the heavy-hitters can do theirs. Did you know that my brother is left-handed? I got into gunsmithing specifically to manufacture southpaw weapons for him."

The serpent nodded, absorbing this information eagerly. It was highly unlikely that it would ever be of any real use to her, but it was very interesting regardless. Much of her tenure on the Avenger had been spent desperately trying to learn as much as she could in order to better fit in; the bearded merc was willing to share a wealth of facts and knowledge, so she made a point to listen, no matter how trivial the topic seemed. Plus, it seemed to really help the boy mentally to have someone willing to listen to him talk. Most people seemed to be annoyed, bored, or otherwise unamused by his talking, but Alia could not figure out why; to her, the empath's various facts and tangents never failed to entertain and educate in equal measures.

"So, what is the problem with our shotguns?"

Weaver exhaled sharply, eyeing the small stockpile of weapons in the corner of the room. "Oh, there's more than one. For starters, it looks like someone tried to mimic the Kel-Tec KSG, but without any of the features that make it―that make the platform good. It has one magazine tube and isn't bullpupped, but retains the same overall length and similar appearance. So you end up with a thirty-centimeter barrel and a four-round capacity. That kind of length might be fine for a sawed-off, but this is supposed to be a combat shotgun; firepower and capacity are crucial, and this fails to―these shotguns lose both of those things. Plus, y'all use two-and-three-quarter-inch shells with double-aught buckshot. Not terrible, but it's bog standard; packs a decent punch, and works well if you hit a soft spot, but not exactly a showstopper. And out of a barrel that small, it's far from combat-viable in this day and age. Might be good for a sidearm, but that'd be about it."

"Well, what would you use instead?"

"Easy. Upsize to a three-inch shell, load it with ten pellets of triple-aught buck, and give it a bigger powder charge. The exact charge would depend on the strength of the weapon components. The shells y'all use have nine pellets of double-aught. So this upgrade would translate to―It'd be heavier pellets, with one extra pellet, all traveling at a higher velocity. Of course, these scatterguns are chambered for two-and-three-quarter, so the upsize is a no-go, and given their cheapshit components, there's no way they'd survive the bigger charge combined with the heavier payload."

Weaver let out a heavy sigh, leaning forward with his elbows braced on the table and his head in his hands. "What the fuck am I doing? I'm not a wizard; I can't magically take shitty gear and make it good. How the hell has XCOM even made it this far on guns this bad?"

Alia moved closer, gingerly taking the merc's hands and guiding him to his feet. Without a word, she pulled him into a soft hug, which he returned after a moment's pause. This hesitation was expected; the man was not anticipating such overt contact. Once the initial shock wore off, though, Weaver wrapped his arms around the viper and let his head rest against her collarbone, finding it much easier to control his breathing. The serpent had risen to her full height specifically for this, as over the last few days, she had learned that this was the most effective way to calm down the Snake Eater. At her normal, comfortable height, Alia was a few centimeters shorter than him, but that didn't quite have the same effect.

Suddenly, a bigger, stronger pair of arms closed around them. Weaver seemed to shy away from this into the viper for a split second, then looked up to see Leonidas smiling at him, arms wrapped around both of them. "I don't really know what's going on," he admitted, "But I'm not going to back down from a good hug."

The gunsmith laughed silently through his nose, offering a tired smile. "Hey, big guy," he greeted, "We were just―"

"I don't need any explanation from you, Bill," the Spartan leader interrupted, patting his fellow human on the back softly, "There's nothing happening here that I have a problem with. Oh, and is it alright if I call you Bill?"

"Sure thing," Weaver nodded, elaborating to Alia: "Most people aren't allowed to know, but y'all are nice; my real name is William. Those who know mostly call me Bill."

The serpent smiled warmly. "I appreciate your trust, William."

With a deep breath, the mercenary released his hold on the viper, and the three of them mutually broke the group hug. Leonidas cocked an eyebrow. "You alright, man? You seem tired."

"That obvious, huh?" the merc sighed, looking back down at his work, "Commander's got me working overtime on this shit. I'm stressed out of my mind, and what little sleep I get is terrible." He sat back down, cracking his neck in preparation for continuing to tackle his monumental tasks. "But hey, Alia's got a clean bill of health―or, she's ready for action, at least. I'll be sticking around for a while longer to make sure nothing crops up unexpectedly, but the Spartans should be back to full strength now."

"That's great!" the Spartan King exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "I've been itching to get back into the fight!"

While Alia was happy to hear that she was healthy and cleared for action, she couldn't help but notice that Weaver had quickly changed the topic away from his personal troubles, like he was deflecting it for some reason. This seemed to work, though, as Leonidas had immediately forgotten about it and was now entirely focused on the return of his squadmate. She decided not to pry, as this felt like something that Weaver was doing deliberately, but still made a mental note about it; whether it was habitual or a one-time thing, this kind of avoidance was not healthy. She didn't need to be an expert to know that.

The viper began to follow her leader out of the room, then realized that she actually had a private question for Weaver. "William," she asked quietly as Leonidas stepped out, not wanting anyone else to hear, "I have been experiencing some amount of… discomfort recently. I believe that I am concealing it well, but since yesterday, I have felt almost like I am living in someone else's body."

The Snake Eater paused, his brow furrowing. "You have molted before, right? Because that's what you just described to me. Sounds like you're ready to shed."

Alia shook her head. "This time is different. The symptoms extend beyond the physical."

"Number twelve," Weaver said, nodding slowly as he visibly rummaged through his mind, "My experience with this particular―I haven't dealt with this specific thing very much. But it might explain why you've been spending so much time with me recently; it's kind of a viper-puberty, and maternal instincts tend to flare up." He glanced up at her, pausing for just a moment as the serpent controlled her embarrassment at this. "I assume you know the traditions surrounding this. Whether you follow them or not is your call, but if you choose anyone to―but let me know who you select if you do. I doubt anyone else here knows what to do, and they should be briefed. I'll get my boss to pull some strings and give you a good spot to do your thing."

"Thank you," Alia said earnestly, "And a briefing will not be necessary; I know who to choose, and I am confident that I will be able to explain everything to him."

"Sounds like a plan," the mercenary winked, "I was going to recommend him anyway."

The viper smiled as she left. She wasn't certain that her new friend was right about her maternal instincts; frankly, he was just fun to spend time with. Though, in her experience thus far, the gunsmith rarely gave himself enough credit. The mind boggled as to how he knew any of what he did, let alone all of it. But Weaver had yet to be wrong so far, so it seemed like a safe bet to trust his input.

Approximately every eighteen terrestrial months, young vipers molted much like terrestrial snakes. Their twelfth was especially significant, signaling that they were done growing physically and, according to tradition, marking the final transition into adulthood. The precise timing was influenced by factors like hormones, stress, and general well-being, so the admittedly-inconvenient timing of Alia's own molting made some amount of sense; she was certainly old enough, and had been feeling great for the past few days, aside from the growing symptoms of being ready to shed. One might have expected her recent near-death experience to have a heavy negative impact, but with such a speedy recovery combined with a new connection to the man she loved, the rebel serpent felt invincible.

That feeling quickly disappeared as a familiar, not-so-friendly voice interrupted her thoughts. "Well hello there, you pretty little thing." Alia snapped back to reality to see Titus staring at her from a few meters down the hall. He was smiling, but this was not comforting in the slightest; his smile was… predatory. The viper attempted to retort, but could hardly open her mouth, let alone make a sound. There was no reason to be this scared, but something about the Centurion leader made her feel vulnerable. Naked. Like a rabbit staring at a wolf.

"What's the matter?" Titus stepped closer, his voice low and smooth like he was trying to be seductive, "Nervous?"

The next thing she knew, Alia had her back to the wall, all exits blocked by the purple-eyed man, who, as she now realized, was quite large for a human. If vipers could sweat, she would have been drowning in it. There was nothing about this situation that felt at all right. The Centurion was saying something, but she didn't hear a single word over the sound of her heart hammering against her ribcage. The serpent was in fight-or-flight, and the need to escape was rapidly growing.

Just as the viper was about to attempt to bite Titus in a blind panic, he was suddenly pulled back and down. Her wits returning, Alia saw that Leonidas had returned, and was now disabling the veteran with extreme prejudice. She could feel his anger, and it was a wonder that the Spartan leader didn't kill the other man on the spot given the blazing wildfire under his skin. But there was another presence here, too. On her other side was Hawk, who was clearly just as furious. Maybe even moreso.

While Leonidas held the Centurion in place, the grizzled mercenary produced twin pistols which bore a striking resemblance to Turris' hand cannon. He pressed one against Titus' temple and let the other rest at his side. The man opened his mouth, but Leonidas silenced him. "One word out of your mouth, shitfuck," the Kingslayer growled darkly, "and I'm gonna beat you so bad, your own mother'll come back from the dead just to not recognize you."

"You keep your filthy fucking hands off that girl," Hawk commanded, "Or I will kill you. Do you understand me?" Titus did nothing to respond, prompting the cyborg to bring his other pistol up to the man's crotch. The message was clear. "You got hearing problems, fuckhead?!"

The Centurion nodded, glaring at the two men as they released him and allowed him to walk away. Hawk raised one gun to aim at the back of his head, visibly considering pulling the trigger. "Don't," Leonidas muttered, "You don't want to deal with the fallout of killing the Commander's favorite soldier."

The mercenary's head whipped around to look at the Spartan. "What the fuck? I thought you were his favorite."

Leo scoffed. "Doesn't act like it. We've barely spoken since the competition. I don't really care." He then turned to Alia, and it was like a switch was flipped. Suddenly, his anger and resentment were nowhere to be found, replaced by heartfelt concern. "Are you okay? I doubled back to meet up with you, and he was there. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"I… no, he did not even touch me," the viper answered shakily, retreating into his embrace to once again feel safe, "I was terrified. I do not know what Titus wanted from me, but he cannot have it."

"Aye," Hawk agreed, "That mistake of nature is a stain on humanity. If he so much as looks at you funny, you let me know; I'll take any excuse to settle my score with Colonel Cunt there."

Leonidas nodded, running his hands along her back comfortingly. "Come to any of us. Hell, I'd wager even Weaver would step in if you asked him to. That guy'll throw himself at anything."

"Speaking of my brother," Hawk said, producing an object and holding it out toward the serpent, "I just got back from my mission. Stopped by his shop, and he said that he forgot to give you this. That's what I came here for; to give it to you."

Alia took the gift, seeing that it was a pistol tucked into a holster, which had a strap that looked like it was designed to fit around her waist. The weapon itself was highly customized, with a suppressor, reflex sight, and judging by the outline in the holster, a flashlight. After a moment, she recognized it as the handgun that Weaver himself had been wearing on his belt since arriving on the Avenger!

"I cannot accept this," the viper said quickly.

"You can and you will," the mercenary insisted, refusing to take the weapon back, "It used to be mine, and I gave it to Will some time ago. Now he's giving it to you, and if he says you're getting a gun, you're getting that gun. No two ways about it."

"Could be useful," Leonidas murmured into her ear, surprising the serpent, "You could wear it under your skirt―keep it hidden. If Titus bothers you again, having a sweet little forty-five like that could be nice."

Alia nodded, backing away from her friend slightly to fasten the holster around her hips. "Okay. I appreciate this gift, Hawk."

The Snake Eater gave a thumbs-up. "Don't mention it. Now if you'll excuse me, Colonel Coward should be tattling on me right about now, so I have to go listen to your Commander shout some nonsense at me for a few minutes. I'll see you lot later."

The mercenary strode off, and as he did so, Alia couldn't help but realize that Hawk didn't evoke in her any of the fear that Titus did, despite the fact that she realistically had much more to be afraid of from him. Based on what she had learned from his brother, Hawk was a highly-trained and experienced viper-hunter, who took great pleasure in killing members of her race. This was why the two men were called the Snake Eaters. Upon their first meeting, she had been intimidated by his presence―and still was to some extent―but never actually scared. It was as though the serpent could just sense that he held no ill-will toward her, and as she had just seen, was actually driven to protect her.

Still drowning in shock and confusion, the viper looked up at her leader, ferociously battling the butterflies in her stomach. She lost. "I… I have to go." Alia said quickly, darting off down the hall and leaving a confused Leonidas in her wake. She didn't know―but secretly hoped―that he had every intention of following her. He had no idea what she was going to need from him, but he was going to find out.


A/N: I hope this chapter isn't too fast; it all just kind of happened, one thing after another, as I was writing. I hope y'all like the new characters! The details about the weaponry faults are pretty much all references to the functional power, accuracy, capacity and such from the guns in-game, and the community's jokes/commentary on them (mainly accuracy on that front).

Oh, and the thing about vipers molting is mostly fanon from me and my editor; the fact that they shed is confirmed canon in Chimera Squad, but the whole thing about traditions and age is of our own design.

As always, leave a review telling me what you think, and feel free to PM me if you have questions. Let's make the new year a good one! -VV