Screaming
Forge of the Outsider - Zudjari-7
12/24/2016 – 11:02 A.M.
The Battlemaster found the planets of the Zudjari both miserable and beautiful. From surveys and what records Cogitian had been able to find, they had only colonized extremely arid or desert planets, and built their crystalline pyramids seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Of course, the Collective had only managed to stumble across them completely by accident, well after the species had been purged.
The Battlemaster piloted his new Overseer, choosing to keep the same name of the Cultro, to set it down right before the massive pyramid. To this day Zudjari technology was still mostly a mystery, and the working theories were that it was some application or adaption of Sovereign tech, but primarily having to do with energy manipulation and generation, which was not how their own research into Sovereign technology seemed to work.
Fectorian visited this planet every so often, and always returned in a bad mood, which the Battlemaster never knew if it came from his inability to understand how Zudjari technology worked, or from dealing with the lone operation of the Forge himself. As he approached the slightly brighter rectangle the seemingly solid surface began retracting and folding in on itself.
The entire pyramid was without a doubt one of the most interesting structures he had ever seen. It was made out of the same crystalline material as what the Outsider Forge produced, which gave the structure an orange, transparent look, although it still managed to hide the complex machinery within.
One interesting fact about this Forge was that it was placed at the exact point where it would always be perpetual day. Day and night existed on the planet, but the nights were exceptionally short, and only near the equator due to how close the planet was to the resident star. Fectorian was positive the pyramid was able to absorb or convert solar energy to power the Forge, which explained a lack of any traditional power source.
His suit protected him from the worst of the heat, but it was by no means comfortable. Fortunately the temperature dropped off significantly once he was inside and the wall closed behind him. The Battlemaster had no idea how the temperature was controlled since not once here did he see vents or anything resembling temperature control.
"Welcome, Battlemaster of the Ethereal Collective," came the voice of the resident machine intelligence, in a gratingly screeching tone. The Zudjari may have been able to create technology even the Collective couldn't replicate, but they had clearly never been master programmers. From what he'd learned, the Zudjari Intelligence managed the Forge and ran most of the machines and Outsider production plants, but nothing else.
And it couldn't operate without instructions.
"Battlemaster, welcome, welcome," the lone resident Zudjari greeted as he stepped out of a wall. The Battlemaster was still unsure if there were designated paths through the Forge, or if one could walk through any part of it and a path would be created. "I have long been expecting you. It has been far too long since one of the Imperator's own graced this forge."
"Save your groveling," the Battlemaster dismissed as he began walking forward. "I am here because your creations have disappointed me."
I'llan Ceen, the one Zudjari allowed to operate the Forge was a figure the Battlemaster didn't hold any fondness for. While Mu'ut Jeen had been a traitor and idiot, he at least had a spine when he had made the intellectually questionable decision to reward the Imperator's actions in bringing him and a tenth of the Zudjari in stasis out of it by instantly betraying him and enslaving a small portion of the species on this planet.
Of course, Jeen had been promptly killed by Sicarius on Earth before their existence was compromised. A few telepathic tricks here and there ensured that the entire "Outsider Incident", as only the highest ranked of Humans called it, was remembered as an isolated event and not something to worry about.
It was a good thing that Jeen had only managed to escape with only a small force and not hundreds. Otherwise the damage would have been far too extensive to be repaired. Of course, it had informed Humanity that alien life did exist, and it could be extrapolated that the Outsider Incident was the reason XCOM had been created, and by extension, the cause of many of the problems today.
I'llan Ceen on the other hand was a mere…engineer. Or so he was classified as. There were no scientists, unfortunately, so the mystery of Zudjari technology would remain such, but Ceen was able to operate the entire Forge and even apply improvements and alterations to what it produced. He was also a coward and terrified of all Ethereals after Sicarius had brought back the corpse of their most powerful psion.
The Zudjari were a tall species, the smallest being eight Human feet tall, with stone grey skin or green, depending on genetic stock; in addition to thin, beady eyes with small glowing orange pupils. Their heads were slanted, bald, and had a mouth which opened vertically. Ceen was likely standard as Zudjari went, with grey skin and a missing eye.
He had yet to explain the eye, as he was found that way.
It might explain his cowardice.
"I have, of course, reviewed the footage and data you have sent to me, Battlemaster," Ceen continued as they walked through the Forge. "These Humans, very dangerous, very intelligent. Nearly an equal to us at our infancy, but of course they do not compare to the power of the Ethereals-"
"Your Outsider units are obsolete," the Battlemaster interrupted flatly, not looking down at him. "Their usefulness has ended. Physical weapons can break them apart with disappointing effectiveness and energy weapons will overload them. But you know this, even though I specifically recall you stated that they would be immune to energy weapons."
He stopped and looked down at the alien whose eye had widened. "I expected better."
"I deeply apologize," Ceen quickly said. "I did not know that particular…flaw…existed. I swear that we had never seen it before-"
"Then your enemies must have been either weak or stupid. The Humans figured it out almost immediately after they developed laser weapons."
Ceen quickly walked forward as he led the Battlemaster down another path. "Outsider units as they exist are inefficient. Agreed! I have been working exceptionally hard to correct the mistakes and have produced upgraded units which will more than suffice against these Humans." He paused. "However, I want to point out that….well…individually this is a lot of work…"
He trailed off as the Battlemaster stared at him, but pressed forward in a rush of breath. "My work would proceed much more quickly…if I had some more help…"
The Battlemaster held his gaze until the alien looked away. "No. The Zudjari lost their place in our Collective. They have not earned a second chance," he paused. "If your work produces results, that will be reconsidered."
"Ah, then let me waste no further time!" The wall opened into a large triangular area which had an entire wall of suspended Outsider crystals. The other two walls were moderately transparent, and through the orange-tinted glass the Battlemaster saw one aspect of the Forge. It appeared that light was being concentrated into vials, all of which had a crystal of some kind seeming to grow in it.
In front of one of these walls were tables of certain kinds of equipment or technology that seemed already made. "The base Outsider form has been improved, it will regenerate far faster. The crystalline-repair aspect was extensively improved and the mono-crystalline manipulation was further refined into what you will soon see."
The crystal began expanding and seeming to fold outwards. The Battlemaster had given up trying to think of how they worked. If Fectorian and Revelean were baffled, he certainly would not be able to figure it out. Eventually the crystalline Outsider was standing before him, an orange glow emanating from the chest where the core crystal resided.
The Battlemaster without warning lashed out with his sword and the Outsider moved by leaping away with surprising agility. A blade-like extension folded out of the right arm and it tried striking back which the Battlemaster easily deflected and lightly dueled the Outsider as it used its speed to try and move around him.
The Battlemaster telekinetically pinned it to one place, as well as the bladed arm, and followed up with an overhead swiped downwards. The Outsider raised the free arm and a shield folded outwards from the arm and took the full blow, sending cracks through the shield.
Interesting.
The Battlemaster telekinetically blew it into one of the walls, which cracked but immediately healed itself. The shield the Outsider had retracted into its arm, as it appraised the Battlemaster. For his part, the Battlemaster had seen enough and psionically dashed forward and stabbed deep into the chest of the Outsider, shattering the core crystal.
The alien creation dissipated into nothing, and the Battlemaster turned back to Ceen. "This is an improvement. Good."
"Excellent, excellent," Ceen picked up another crystal. "That is what I have designed as a Navigator. Fast, agile, and capable of killing enemies in enclosed spaces with ease." He activated the second crystal. "This one is a Commander unit, one designed specifically for front-line combat."
The Outsider that formed was identical in shape to the previous one, but at least two heads taller than it. "The difference with these is that for optimum effectiveness, they must be fitted with additional equipment," Ceen said as he walked over to the table and picked up what looked like a piece of hardened crystal. It was a dull orange, almost brown, and didn't look alive like most of the crystalline structures here.
"I have come up with the concept of hardening crystal to serve as a form of armor," Ceen explained as he placed what looked like a single breastplate on the chest of the Outsider. "The downside is that, as dead crystal, it cannot be integrated into the unit itself and must be applied manually. The Outsider will fuse to the dead crystal, and there will be superior protection provided."
The Outsider took the cue and walked over to the table and began assembling the armor, by essentially sticking it on various places of its body until it resembled an Outsider, but one that had no glow and looked far more protected.
At a nod from Ceen, the Battlemaster slashed upward and while there was a deep cut in the armor, he hadn't actually cut through it. "The crystal sadly won't heal," Ceen noted. "But it will easily protect it from extensive damage."
The Battlemaster nodded. "An improvement. You have indeed been working diligently."
"Much appreciated, Battlemaster, I thank you very much," he said as he rushed to another, noticeably larger crystal. "And this is the final unit I have refined. The Overlord. The Humans will not be able to stand up to it, I can assure you." The crystal folded outwards and the Battlemaster was staring at an Outsider his height and size. Unlike the other Outsider units, this one did not have hands, but constantly folding and unfolding stumps.
They then materialized, each arm in a different configuration, with the right arm morphing into a cannon of some kind, and the left forming into a kind of shield. Ceen handed the Overlord a piece of dead crystal which had a small device on it pointing down. The Outsider placed it on the shoulder, and it shot a laser directly into the Overlord. This made it glow brighter and the cannon fired a bright beam of orange which began cutting through the thinner crystal walls, which began cracking. It switched, and then began firing orange bolts which caused other cracks on the wall. The laser shut off, and the firing stopped.
"A unit with the ability to harness energy and convert it into destruction," Ceen for once seemed highly proud of his work. "It, of course, can wear the specially designed armor, and integrated energy dispensers. I trust that this is a marked improvement."
"It is," the Battlemaster gave him genuine credit. The alien had proven his worth today. "Of course, they need to face the Humans in battle. Should they perform well, we will revisit the situation of your people."
"You are generous, Battlemaster, I thank you," Ceen said, bowing his head. "I will work to outdo myself even now; you will not regret giving my people a second chance."
"We shall see," the Battlemaster said as he turned around to leave. "But know that there will not be a third."
Union Viarior Trade Command – Andromeda Prime
12/28/2016 – 1:09 P.M.
Nartha had not expected the headquarters of a Union which primarily, on paper, was known for power brokering, trade, and otherwise exerting unparalleled economic dominance having something equivalent to a military fortress. While he wouldn't have been surprised if some of their bases were heavily armed, this looked like they were expecting an army to invade.
His onboard computer had informed him that every one of the sixty AA plasma turrets had been trained on him, along with the vast majority of their missile defense systems. In comparison to its defenses, Union Viarior Trade Command was very…small. It consisted of a large square patio which had landing areas for all kinds of spacecraft and seemed to be perpetually full.
There was a significant amount of traffic, with ships entering and leaving at a steady pace. As Zararch, he had a spot reserved for him but knew the Andromedons were likely not happy about this.
The main structure in the center of the square was the Trade Command itself, a supermassive skyscraper which put the tallest buildings on Earth to shame. It lacked any windows and looked like a vertical grey rectangle, with defense platforms what looked like every fifteen floors wrapping around the outside with visible Battlefield Engineers and soldiers.
Union Viarior clearly didn't mess around.
He certainly hoped V'Zarrah was on their side, otherwise there was a good chance he wouldn't leave this building alive. As it stood, one mistake and one suit rupture and he was dead. The full-body suit wasn't uncomfortable, but he didn't like the prospect of being on a planet which would kill him if he breathed the air.
Then again, this was what the Andromedons dealt with literally everywhere else, so perhaps he shouldn't complain too much.
The Andromedon guards on the planet were also different than the ones that were normally seen on Earth. True, there were some of the suited Andromedon Soldiers guarding the entrances and manning important equipment, but the vast majority of Andromedons were unsuited and wearing some more form-fitting clothing. Andromedons were very…spindly out of the suits. Definitely not a physical threat.
Some of them were cybernetically enhanced, especially in the eyes, but most seemed unaugmented. However, there were a lot of unsuited guards who were numerous enough to have full patrols of ten around the docking area. Nartha walked into one of the doors marked "Client" in both Andromedon and Ethereal Script. The only other option was "Viarior Personnel".
It was probably safer to choose the former.
The doors slid open as he entered, and he ignored the looks he received from the others in the room, the majority of whom were Andromedons of various Unions. However, all of them clearly saw the Zararch insignia on his shoulders. Even the Andromedons knew better than to interfere with Zararch operations.
There were a few suited Vitakara around, but he ignored them and let them deal with the various Andromedons. He stood in the line with the Andromedons as he waited for his turn to speak with Viarior Initial Management. To their credit, the Andromedons were efficient, going through clients, potential or otherwise, in mere minutes.
He did know something about how they operated. Initial Management was essentially scheduling appoints to make more permanent arrangements; it wasn't exactly traditional customer service. They heard what you wanted, then scheduled you with someone who could discuss that, then one came back at that time.
There was a steady stream of Andromedons using the dozens of elevators that lined the walls of the room – a clever insulating tactic in the event of an attack – which took them to various floors. There were five hundred levels in total, with the elevators being able to reach speeds fast enough to bring a being from floor one to floor five hundred in five minutes.
However, he was already expected. He didn't anticipate this would take especially long. The Andromedon in front of him finished, and Nartha stepped forward and rested his hands on the desk. "Zar'nartha'intha. I should be expected. A meeting with V'Zarrah."
The Andromedon manager appraised him a few seconds as he manipulated the haptic display that was written fully in Andromedon, which Nartha was nowhere near fluent in. "The Zararch agent, yes. Your scheduled meeting is in two hours. It will be level two-fifty, there will be a Viarior Soldier to escort you to him. In the meantime you have authorization to walk the premises. Be advised there is a constant watch on all visitors."
"Understood," Nartha nodded. "Interesting. I would have thought V'Zarrah would have the highest floor."
"Perhaps he does," the Andromedon said with some annoyance. "But he wants to meet you there. The whereabouts and location of the leader of Union Viarior is not shared with anyone outside his inner circle and bodyguards. You already pose a security risk, be thankful he is willing to deal with the Collective at all."
Nartha widened an eye, even though he knew the Andromedon couldn't see it. "Given the level of security, the Imperator himself would have a difficult time here. But I will not pose any more of a security risk than I already do."
He stepped away and another Andromedon immediately took his place. So, he had an invitation to explore, with drones probably watching his every step. Fair enough, he would be suspicious too. With that said, perhaps he could learn something by wandering around. The first thing to do would be to explore the defense pads, assuming he was allowed.
He walked to an elevator and selected the fifteenth floor. Given the absurd amount of floors in the building, he had to enter the number manually, instead of just selecting the floor. It also didn't help that the elevator was in Andromedon numbers, but they were luckily in the same order.
As it also turned out, there was also an Andromedon guard in the elevator, and Nartha didn't fail to notice the gas dispenser on the ceiling of the elevator box, and a tiny micro-turret in one of the corners, with a camera in the other.
He smirked under his helmet and shook his head in amusement. And he thought the Zararch were paranoid.
Training Arena – The Temple Ship of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective
12/28/2016 – 10:18 A.M.
"I don't think this is a fair fight anymore," Nico said slowly, as the point of Yang's weapon lightly jabbed into the back of his neck, while another one had the blade under his wrist which held his own weapon. "Fighting you up front is suicide."
Yang smiled and recalled the weapons to her hand with a gesture, rather pleased with how she had been improving. Even better was that Nico was a fairly significant distance away from her, exactly the position she wanted him to be. She still had her standard telekinetic skills, and the more subtle manipulations of weapons were becoming close to a second nature.
Literal days of practice had that effect.
None of the Mutons or Vitakara posed a threat any longer, using weapons or no, handicapped or not; the only thing that would be able to provide a suitable challenge was another psion. Preferably one who was able to defend themselves. If there was one area she knew she could improve, it was in telepathic defense.
Although she didn't know anyone she trusted enough to let into her mind. Because that was unfortunately a requirement.
"Looks like we have a watcher," Nico said as he walked up, nodding to the edge of the area. Yang cocked her head and pursed her lips. Patricia Trask was leaning against the wall, just watching them, wearing the elaborate clothing of the Ethereals. It was somewhat uncanny how the Imperator had been able to determine their exact measurements.
He'd given her a similar piece of clothing, and she'd stuck to much less elaborate clothing even if it probably wasn't as good. Wearing it once had been an unnerving experience because it was too tailored to her, not a centimeter off. The only people who should know about that would be her husband (If she'd had one), her parents, and her stylist (Which she no longer had).
The Imperator was none of those things. And she didn't want to think about how exactly he knew about it. Measurements were one thing, but when it came down to the damn material and color, very specific details she hadn't told anyone, that crossed a line into somewhat creepy. Of course, the Imperator likely hadn't intended to come off as a stalker, but that didn't mean she had to wear it.
But Patricia seemed not to have that reservation. Good for her, and to the Imperator's credit, it did look good on her. Definitely designed to command attention.
Well, she'd been avoiding actually meeting the esteemed guest of the Imperator, largely because she hadn't cared all that much to begin with, and also because she didn't want to see her at all. But she supposed it was only a matter of time until it happened. Nico seemed to think she was fine, and the kid had a decent ability to read people, but that didn't really mean anything when the person in question was one of the most powerful telepaths Humanity had produced.
"Might as well say hello," she sighed. Nico smiled as she walked over to the telepath. Yang wasn't especially thrilled that Patricia was a notable few inches taller than she was, even when she was wearing much heavier armor. However, even if she wasn't really a telepath she could easily sense that Patricia had a much more noticeable presence than Nico, even as powerful as he was.
Probably more training. "Hello, Yang," she nodded. "We had to meet eventually, despite your attempts to avoid me."
Yang narrowed her eyes. "Sorry, I was busy focusing on more important things. Another Human, regardless of if she's supposedly important, didn't concern me. Nothing personal."
Patricia simply raised an eyebrow. "It's not really recommended to lie to telepaths. Emotion sensing is one of the first things I taught myself."
"Fine," Yang shrugged. "I'll be honest and say that I have no clue what the Imperator was thinking when he brought you here."
Patricia actually looked somewhat solemn at that. "I see."
That annoyingly piqued her curiosity. Which admittedly did exist regardless of if she wanted it or not. She had to admit that she wanted to know what the Imperator had said to make one of Humanity's greatest warriors change sides. Assuming she was on their side. "Well, do you know?"
"I think so," she said slowly. "He told me some things…I needed to hear. I almost wished he hadn't. I suspect he likely enticed you to stay as well."
"Didn't need to entice me much," Yang said. "But yes; that seems to be a general theme. Imperator knows what we want, what's important to us, and then gives us it."
The woman opposite her cocked her head. "And you don't think that's manipulative?"
Yang snorted. "I'm not a moron, and I doubt you are either. There is not a damn thing the Imperator does which isn't manipulative in some way. He has his own agenda and plans, but he isn't a liar. Not to me. So I don't care, I'm happy to train and get ready to kill people on Earth."
"Really." Patricia said it as more of an observation, not like a question. She focused on the swords in her hand. "There was a telekine I knew which tried a similar technique. You're much better at it."
Yang suddenly chuckled as she knew what Patricia was talking about. "Oh, the one who tried throwing her swords at the Battlemaster? That was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. She should have stuck to throwing aliens in the air."
"Ha ha," Patricia said without humor. "Hilarious. She was a good woman though."
"In XCOM? No," Yang sheathed her swords. "Anyone who is in XCOM is definitely not a good person, not anyone who works under the Commander. And don't pretend like you don't know who he is."
Patricia sighed. "Most of the soldiers don't, nor about our more…morally dubious actions either."
"Hm," Yang wondered if that was true or not. She didn't see how word wouldn't get out in a much smaller organization like XCOM, but the Commander likely ran a tight ship. Or killed anyone who began asking questions. "I suppose it doesn't matter. As long as the Commander is leading XCOM, they'll just keep doing the same thing."
Patricia looked mildly irritated at that. "Says the woman who openly states her intention to kill more Humans. A paragon of Humanity, you are."
"Please," Yang sniffed. "I never said I was a good person. But at least the people I kill will deserve it."
"Who then?"
"The Chinese government to start with," Yang ticked off. "Then ADVENT leadership. Probably a good number of soldiers. Then anyone who was part of the old government and system. All the cowardly and corrupt who looked the other way while regular people were pushed down, or victims of power plays."
"Ah, so you're a champion of the downtrodden," Patricia nodded, and Yang couldn't figure out if she was sarcastic or not. "More idealistic than I guessed."
"I'm not doing it for anyone other than myself," Yang shrugged. "Not anymore. People can't be worse off under the aliens than they were under their own species. I'm not lying to myself; this is revenge, Trask, not anything more."
She nodded slowly. "And you think every single person you will kill deserves it? Every soldier or politician?"
"Doubt it," Yang admitted. "But it's a necessary sacrifice. They are part of the old system, and the old system needs to be destroyed completely."
Patricia now looked amused. "Funny. Necessary. That is very close to the justification the Commander used as he planned the destruction of the United Nations. He knew not everyone, or even most of them, were beyond redemption. But their deaths were necessary to usher in ADVENT." She paused. "The point is that I don't think you can use the Commander as some point against me when you seem to use his exact logic."
Yang had to admit that Patricia did raise a good point. One she hadn't really thought about, largely because she didn't know much about the Commander to begin outside his actions and reputation. But not necessarily why he had taken the actions he had. She scowled. "For someone with us now, you sure don't sound like one."
"I'm most definitely not on your side," Patricia said. "Not yet, at least. I'm…staying for now. Seeing how things work, talking with people. I wish it was as simple as choosing a side, but this is unfortunately a…complex situation." She looked away. "I wish it was as easy for me as it was for you."
Yang might have made a sarcastic comment on that, but she didn't really feel like doing it. Which was unlike her. Patricia definitely seemed…conflicted…even more questions as to why the Imperator was risking this, but it was definitely something that was bothering her. A lot. She was now both curious about what the Imperator had said that had made her reconsider her entire life, but at the same time wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Yang knew she was a useful weapon. She didn't need to know the deepest secrets of the Imperator. Those seemed to be dangerous and bad for your mental stability.
"I did want to point out something," Patricia focused back on her. "Your telepathic defenses are very weak."
"I really hope you didn't poke around in my head."
"I don't do that," Patricia shook her head. "But it's impossible not to notice. I'm sure Nico has as well, but he's too nice to say anything. But if you don't fix that, you'll die against any competent telepath. I would be able to take control of you in a few seconds, no matter how fancy your swordplay is."
"I'm aware," Yang sighed. "But I don't trust anyone to be poking around inside my head. Definitely not you."
"Fair enough," Patricia conceded. "But you're not going to get better on your own, not really. If not me, then maybe ask Nico. He seems to get along well with you."
Yang paused. "Perhaps. But it's weird if it's him. You know he's just a kid, age-wise at least."
Patricia shrugged. "I suppose you'll have to decide if you'd rather not because it's 'weird', or die when you fight a telepath. I'm sure the Imperator would be willing?"
A pause. "No."
Patricia cracked a smile. "Well, if you change your mind regarding me, I could help."
Yang appraised her suspiciously. "Oddly helpful for someone aligned against your friends."
"Who knows?" Patricia said with a smile. "Maybe I want to give them a challenge. Or maybe what I teach you is flawed and will let them kill you easier. Up to you, but you're not my enemy. Not yet, at least."
She glared back at Patricia. "Very funny."
"I'll see you later, I think," Patricia said with a farewell wave. "Good luck with the Battlemaster."
"Yeah," Yang was somewhat apprehensive as she knew what was coming. "I'll need it."
Union Viarior Trade Command – Andromeda Prime
12/28/2016 – 3:02 P.M.
As it turned out, Nartha was not allowed to view the defense platforms. Not unreasonable, but he had to admit to being somewhat disappointed. Well, he had certainly seen quite a bit of Trade Command regardless. There wasn't too much of note that wasn't either restricted or otherwise blocked. It was an exceptionally smooth operation, and most of the floors he visited had steady streams of traffic.
Now though it was time to actually meet V'Zarrah.
Stepping into floor 250 was little different initially from the other floors. All of them seemed to have a similar structure. A hallway which went around the perimeter, and had paths around four square rooms, four on the outside and one directly in the center. There were different markings and indicators on them, obviously, but the basic architectural layout was exactly the same.
However, this floor had Andromedon Soldiers on it. Nartha doubted it was typical for the floor, but it certainly meant that V'Zarrah took his security seriously. Already four Soldiers were walking up towards him, and he saw no fewer than two Contamination Operatives standing in front of other paths. Several Battlefield Engineers were also accompanying the soldiers, their drones hanging in the background.
"Come with us, Zararch," one of the unidentifiable soldiers ordered, voice low and booming. "No surprises."
"Of course," Nartha said, keeping his hands up so they saw he wasn't armed. "You need to scan any electronics I have?"
The Andromedon motioned to one of the Battlefield Engineers who approached with his drone, which began floating around and scanning him. "One holoprojector, one datacube – encrypted. No weapons, explosives, or oxidizing agents."
"The datacube is for V'Zarrah's eyes only," Nartha added. "It won't be plugged into any Viarior devices."
"Ethereal datacubes cannot be connected into our system regardless," the Soldier said. "A security weakness. He poses little threat. Continue the escort."
In the middle of the four Soldiers, they marched him to the center square room. Inside he was surprised to see nothing but a decontamination field which led to a circular tube. The rest of the room was a cold grey, and there were no fewer than six microturrets on the ceiling, and a small area where an armored Andromedon was operating the decontamination field.
"Step through and into the tube," the Andromedon ordered, pointing with his weapon. "It will take you to V'Zarrah."
Nartha nodded and stepped through slowly and deliberately. Since no alarms were raised he assumed it had gone alright. The steel tube opened up, and he stepped inside. So V'Zarrah wasn't actually on this floor, but it was a ruse for anyone who might be listening. He didn't exactly like being in a coffin-like tube, but he doubted anything would happen to him.
Wording flashed on a monitor at the top of the tube, thankfully Ethereal Script, which said Microgravity Engaged. He heard the start of a machine and he found himself weightless. It wasn't quite like being in space, but he was lightly hovering off the ground. Ah, clever. Going up or down would be important information for anyone who intended to harm V'Zarrah.
If the individual didn't know if they were going up or down, that piece of information was lost. Nartha knew the systems on here to maintain that must be at an extreme level of precision, as moving in either direction would pull a certain direction. Interesting.
It seemed slow as a result, and perhaps ten minutes later the gravity returned to normal and he was firmly on the floor. Nartha was fairly sure they had gone down, but thanks to that little security measure he didn't know for sure. The door slid open and he stepped out into a similar room, minus any Andromedons and decontamination equipment.
There only seemed to be one path forward, and Nartha followed it as harsh white lights lined the top of the walls. Minutes later another metal door slid to the side and he stepped into what he presumed was the private office of V'Zarrah. To his surprise there was an entire wall of physical documents and books, and opposite that was a massive screen showing the explored galaxy. Likely intractable as well.
V'Zarrah stood at the end of the room, in a full battle suit and standing in front of several holographic displays which were showing scrolling information in Andromedon. He also didn't fail to notice the small armory behind him, openly displaying plasma rifles, grenades, and other destructive equipment. Even suit attachments were included.
"Zararch." V'Zarrah shut down the display with a wave as he turned to fully face the Vitakarian. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before the Ethereals demanded a show of loyalty. Perform it, I have little to hide."
Nartha tried not to focus on how much larger the Andromedon was than him. He could barely see the silhouette of the Andromedon within the suit, which was also looking down at him. "No need to be defensive, V'Zarrah, I don't intend to cause unnecessary problems."
"You may not, but the Ethereals do," the Andromedon didn't hide his irritation. "Both them and I know that the time I waste here could be put to better use. But instead they send their investigators to probe for non-existent problems."
"Hardly non-existent, Overseer," Nartha said, deciding to use his title. "Union Viarior was one of the Unions who voted against resuming military contributions to the Ethereal Collective. I'm sure you can see how that could look suspicious."
"The Imperator did the bare minimum," V'Zarrah answered bluntly. "And yet the Unions prefer to curry favor with them despite only having words as promises. Union Viarior would have preferred to see the Imperator's words translate to action before contributing further. The Ethereals have not been reliable partners in this endeavor, and I do not fear saying so. We were justified in our vote, and if they take issue with our politics they are welcome to speak to me in person."
"I will make a note of that," Nartha said. "However, there are other matters. There are…concerns…that Union Viarior is supplying and funding smaller Unions for their own purposes, some of which have been connected to the so-called "Sectoid Problem". What is curious is that they are becoming more vocal and numerous, even as Viarior deepens connections." He held up the datacube. "There is, of course, proof. The Zararch is skilled at disseminating data. I am sure this was done without your knowledge, but perhaps this should be investigated? The last thing the Collective needs right now is another war."
It was as veiled a threat as he could make. Both of them knew very well that nothing happened in Union Viarior without the Chief Logistics Overseer being aware of it. The idea that he wouldn't be aware of such actions was laughable. V'Zarrah's suit was silent for a moment. "Union Viarior supplies and finances every single Union in the Andromedon Federation. That is our way of business. Their political platforms or how they use the equipment we supply them with is not our concern. I fail to see how this is a relevant concern."
"Then I am sure you would suspend business with those the Collective has identified as…troublesome?" Nartha asked. "Ignorance is acceptable to a point, but knowingly funding potential dissidents would be…inadvisable."
"No." V'Zarrah stated bluntly. "Union Viarior keeps careful track of our clients. We will not break from them without reason. Certainly not at the whims of the Ethereals. Again, if the Ethereals wish to accuse me, they should do so in person."
Well, this had gone on long enough. "I presume this room is secure, Overseer?"
"Yes."
Nartha pulled out a holoprojector and activated it. "Then I presume you are aware of V'Thrask? An Andromedon who, along with a number of others – some of whom are also from Viarior – defected to XCOM during the Battle of Seattle. At your instructions."
V'Zarrah was still, looking at the image of V'Thrask. "Where was this acquired, Zararch?" A pause. "The knowledge of Andromedon defectors would have reached me before you."
Nartha smiled under his helmet. "From the Commander of XCOM himself." He pressed another button on the holoprojector and the image of the Commander appeared, hands clasped behind his back as he began addressing the Andromedon leader.
"Chief Logistics Overseer V'Zarrah," the Commander began. "That is the title which was provided to me by V'Thrask, and I apologize if it is too forward. I am the Commander of XCOM, and currently enemy of the Ethereal Collective. I suspect by now you are aware of our alliance with Aegis, and the Imperator, or another Ethereal, has attempted to lessen the impact of this revelation."
The Commander paused. "From what V'Thrask has told me, you are not impressed with Ethereal leadership. I suspect you have been told this war would be over in weeks or months. That we have no chance of success. However, I would claim the opposite. Despite what you have been told, we pose a threat to the unity of the Collective. We have pushed back the Battlemaster, the armies of the aliens, and our defiance has made…ripples across the Collective. Aegis is one of many aliens who are rejecting the Collective and seeing another way."
The image gestured behind him. "Nartha is another, a double agent within the Zararch. I know you are no friend of the Collective. Your species and Union is threatened by the Ethereals and the Sectoids. As long as the Imperator is in power, there is nothing you can do. However, there are other paths to take. We need allies. So do you."
The Commander clasped his hands in front of him. "We have means of infiltrating Collective territory. We can provide Union Viarior with technology and equipment beyond your own. We can provide psions. We can provide you with the tools necessary to ensure your Union will emerge from this conflict as the undisputed Andromedon power. And in return, all we require is your action against the Imperator when the time comes. We are in a lull in the war, a time of reflection and rebuilding. We are still confined to our planet, but that will not last forever."
The Commander gave a small smile. "I would carefully consider this, V'Zarrah. Nartha has more details if you wish to converse further, and inside that datacube there is evidence of our capabilities. I see no reason for us to continue this farce of enemies, and I hope you feel similarly. Until then, I wish you good fortune in your endeavors."
The hologram shut off and Nartha lowered it as V'Zarrah was silent. "So," he rumbled. "A Zararch traitor. I was skeptical such a thing was possible."
"Most are," Nartha nodded. "An oversight that will likely be corrected if I am ever discovered."
"Give me the datacube," the Andromedon said, extending a gloved hand. Nartha complied as he held it in his hand. "An…intriguing offer. One I did not anticipate." He looked down at the Vitakarian. "But I suspect you will need…evidence to maintain your cover."
"Correct," Nartha nodded. "My orders were to search your databases for anything…suspicious. If nothing was found, documents of your transactions would be needed. I suspect you could forge them if necessary."
"I am amused the Zararch would believe such a simple demand would suffice," the Andromedon rumbled, possibly laughing. "I can provide the 'evidence' you need to show our innocence to the Zar'Chon. And I wish to meet with the Commander."
"Good," Nartha breathed in relief, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "On here is a secured network. I will contact you through it when the meeting is ready. On this topic…I don't suppose there are other Unions who have similar reservations?"
"That is a discussion between me and the Commander," V'Zarrah said slowly, turning away. "My people will provide you with the evidence. Leave me, I need to see what the Commander has provided me. I will await your response."
With that, Nartha turned away and headed back to the tube, ecstatic at how well that had gone. Having one of the most powerful Unions as an ally was going to improve their chances significantly.
The Commander was going to be happy to hear it.
Training Arena – The Temple Ship of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective
12/30/2016 – 8:20 A.M.
The Battlemaster supposed it was time he met the woman who the Imperator had suggested as a potential candidate for the Avatar Project. As far as candidates went, on paper she seemed to fill the requirements he would expect from one in her position. The daughter of a military general, a powerful telekine, physically capable, and willing.
What he didn't know was if she could actually fight. He had little interest in strategists and leaders who failed to participate on the front lines. Human generals for the most part sent others to die in their wars, as they considered their own lives too important. He continued to find that stance amusing, as it proclaimed a self-importance that they couldn't be replaced.
Tactics and strategy was not as difficult as military leaders liked to believe. It was a simple matter of assessing information and acting on it in the optimal manner. Logistics were arguably more important than pure strategy, and it certainly wasn't a gift for the privileged few. No, actual military leaders needed to be warriors and involved beyond the situation room.
A climate-controlled area would never be anything close to resembling an actual battlefield. Reports never fully addressed the nuances of the true situation.
Nevertheless, he was mildly curious as to how Yang Shuren would have prepared. She would never be his equal in combat, but he at minimum expected her to be able to defend herself. At best she would surprise him. At worst she would die.
It had been a decent while since he had returned to the Temple Ship. It was far too quiet for his liking, but it was good for introspection. He wondered how different it would be if he was able to sense what the other psions did; the presence of the Imperator. He had heard descriptions of his power, but more importantly, seen it in action.
Yet the Imperator was not like most Ethereals, and the Battlemaster was unsure if that was an advantage or not. On one hand, he understood the need for aliens and abandoned the xenophobic policies of the Empire, but on another the Battlemaster did not understand his full plan. The Imperator was keeping things from him, moving pieces into play, executing hidden plans without his knowledge.
He trusted the Imperator, that had not changed. Yet he didn't know if the Imperator fully understood what he was doing. He was barely over two hundred years old, little more than a young adult in the Empire. But he was now in charge of the last of the Ethereals. Even with the Overmind assisting him, the Imperator was a relative child in terms of his experience.
It made the Battlemaster feel unfathomably old. Hundreds of years of life seemed more apparent to him. He'd seen the Empire at its height, and watched its entire collapse. He'd outlived the vast majority of those he'd known, though most had been lost in battle. He'd had time to form his own ideals and opinions through the centuries.
The Imperator did not have that experience. He had the intellect and raw power, but the Battlemaster did not know if absolute power should have been given to him without question. The Empire had been desperate, but the Imperators were not all-knowing or powerful.
The Battlemaster would have personally preferred if the Overmind had initially taken control, or even Aegis. If someone with experience had taken control of forming the Collective, it might not be in the position it was today. The Imperator could take his position as a leader when he'd earned it. He had made too many missteps, mistakes that would and should not have happened under someone else.
Then again, it could be worse. Isomnum could have been placed in charge.
Or Quisilia.
But what was done was done. The Imperator was learning and eventually the Collective would be what it should have been from the start. He might have forced the Imperator's hand in this instance, but it would lead to a stronger Collective, and the Imperator was aware he wasn't perfect. He knew when he was wrong.
The Battlemaster didn't like the Temple Ship for this reason. He became too focused on the failures of the Imperator and what could have been done instead. The entire concept of the Temple Ship seemed an unnecessary extravagance, a deification for some kind of god-like figure. The Battlemaster had been sorely tempted to smash some of the murals Cogitian had made.
He'd never bothered asking why the Imperator needed such deification. What exactly had the Imperator done to earn it? Because while the Battlemaster had killed his share of the Synthesized, he never found a need to brag about it. Especially when they had lost the war.
That was the thing which most irritated him. Not necessarily that such murals existed, but that they venerated a war when he had ultimately lost.
The idea that one would openly flaunt this was baffling. The millions of dead Synthesized meant nothing if the end result was defeat. The Temple Ship also seemed to serve little purpose other than to avoid contact with the rest of the Collective. Even the Andromedons had a central location of government. The fear of assassination or attack was far too weak, and it seemed like the Imperator didn't really care about maintaining his Collective when he could stay here and conduct his secret operations.
The Battlemaster shook his head and pushed the thoughts aside. He wasn't thinking clearly right now. The first thing he would do was take Yang Shuren out of this place, assuming she lived. And she was going to be facing a moderately annoyed Battlemaster.
The woman in question was waiting at the edge of the arena. She fit the image he'd seen of her. Slightly taller than average for a female, Chinese ethnicity, cropped black hair, dark brown skin, younger-looking than her age suggested. She was in armor provided by the Imperator, grey with red tints and to some would look inspired by ADVENT armor.
The materials were undoubtedly better, however.
"Battlemaster," she greeted respectfully. She spoke English, with a noticeable accent but easy enough for him to understand. "Thank you for this opportunity."
"The idea was not my own," he said bluntly. "However, I am willing to consider you upon the prodding of the Imperator. But you must know if this is something you want. I will fight you momentarily, and if are not sufficiently skilled, you will die. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Battlemaster," she confirmed. "I will do my best to assist you in whatever capacity you wish."
He cocked his head. "I am not interested in blind subservience, Yang Shuren."
"That was more to give you an indication of what I can do," she corrected. "Be that fighting on the front lines or deciding how to cripple ADVENT. Trust me when I say I've been looking forward to both since I have arrived."
"We shall see," he withdrew his sword and held it beside him. "I do not expect you to beat me. Survive." He thrust out with a lower arm and she went flying backwards. She unceremoniously slammed into the far wall, but quickly got back up, drawing both short swords from her back. Duel wielding was a curious choice, but not inherently bad if one was skilled enough.
The Battlemaster advanced forward, and Yang tossed the weapons into the air, which remained suspended as she reached out with a free hand and yanked back. His sword was suddenly yanked forward in her telekinetic grip which he had to physically tighten to maintain his control over. The two floating weapons sped towards him at the same time.
Now this was a technique he hadn't seen in a long time. He vaguely recalled one of the Templars performing similarly, but Yang seemed more skilled at it. Unfortunately for her he was familiar with the style and knew its weaknesses. Two arms raised and telekinetically deflected the swords which flew behind him, and he let his sword go.
Yang surprisingly didn't lose control of her sudden grasp on his weapon, and threw it as far across the room as possible as she focused on the Battlemaster himself. He very clearly felt the telekinetic grip encasing him; present but weak. One he could easily break free of if he wished, but he would rather she exhaust herself this way.
Her two floating swords returned, an impressive range of control, and sped towards his helmet as silver streaks. They halted just before his faceplate, in his own projected telekinetic field, and were directed towards his open palm which he grasped as Yang was hit with another telekinetic blast. Weapons in hand he sent them directed back towards her, which she froze with a raised hand as she struggled to get up.
At the same time he recalled his own blade to his hand, flourishing it as he closed in on the woman. He slashed down and she manipulated the blades to catch his own in a scissor maneuver while she quickly dashed away. He helped her along by catching her in a telekinetic grip, and slamming her into the wall.
Her control over the blades lost, the only thing which stopped his second downward swipe was her hands raised up as she telekinetically held the blade back, and redirected it into the wall while she hit him with her own telekinetic blast which barely made him stumble.
He'd done this long enough. She was competent, and would survive against most opponents. A Battlemaster was not a fair match for anyone, but she had performed decently. Enough where there was potential for her to become far better. He lifted her telekinetically and rested the tip of his sword on her throat.
She didn't look afraid so much as resigned, even as she continued to make indirect telekinetic assaults. Fighting to the last. Good. He withdrew the blade and let her fall to the ground. "You have potential, and can be better. Come with me." She coughed, but summoned her own weapons back to her hand as she followed him, clearly relieved.
"Tha-thank you," she coughed. "Where are we going?"
"Away from here," he answered. "We do not hide in the shadows. The Collective is our responsibility, and we must be a part of it. Is there anything you need from here?"
"No," she shook her head. "I'm fine with just leaving this place."
Busan – South Korea
1/3/2017 – 8:28 P.M.
Duri wasn't sure why he had bothered actually issuing this challenge to begin with. With a smirk on her face Aleksandra easily maneuvered his arm to rest flat on the table. To his credit, at least he hadn't gone down easily. But a regular arm against a mechanical arm was almost doomed to fail. The rest of his squad laughed at the ending.
"You lose," Aleksandra said. "Like everyone else."
"I blame all of you," Duri said, rolling his eyes at his so-called squadmates. "What made you think that I could beat her? Cara is probably stronger than I am!"
"Hey, maybe we all would have weakened her," Beatriz shrugged. "Not fair if you get out of doing it too."
"Fine, fine," he grumbled good-naturedly. He was pretty sure most of them were jealous of the Shieldbearer's new arm, since it seemed much better than their weak flesh ones. All of them were in pretty good spirits, especially since there hadn't actually been much alien activity for close to a month. It was a little strange, but something Duri wasn't going to complain about.
The lull had been great, in fact. He'd been able to speak with his family much more regularly, ADVENT was getting ready to roll out new upgrades, there were even a few alien defectors who were getting more acquainted with the soldiers. At least now he could attest to that not all of them were bad.
Overall, he was suspicious in thinking that things were going really, really well, but they certainly seemed to be. They were at least all alive, which was more than he could say for a lot of aliens, and unfortunately a good number of humans. But the casualty numbers could be much, much higher.
"Oh, did you know what I had to do today?" Nobuatsu asked, as they ended and all got drinks.
"Don't drag it out, just tell us," Miguel said.
"I had to treat an alien," Nobuatsu continued. "For chocolate poisoning."
Duri snorted. "The hell?"
"Oh! I've heard of that," Beatriz recalled brightly. "Isn't it poisonous to them?"
"Poison? Not exactly," Nobuatsu explained, gesturing aimlessly. "It's like marijuana for them. Although they can overdose with it as I found out. The alien was high as a kite when he came out of the anesthetics, couldn't understand a word he was saying."
"Who was the one who gave chocolate?" Cara asked. "Some prank?"
"No, just a mistake," he said. "One of the soldiers gave him some to 'expose him to real human food'."
"And that is why regulations like "Don't share food with aliens" exist," Duri finished. "None of you better be feeding aliens."
"You make it sound like they're some kind of zoo animals," Cara snorted, miming a deeper voice. "Please do not touch, feed, or entice aliens you encounter."
"I swear we're going to get a TV show like this if they ever get their own town or something," Beatriz said. "Today we observe the Vitakarian in his natural habitat…"
All of them laughed at the absurd concept. "Don't think ADVENT would like that," Duri chuckled. "Although who knows. Have any of you seen that XCOM show?"
"Oh, god," Cara facepalmed.
"You mean the best and most realistic show ever to grace the medium?" Beatriz asked sarcastically. "Oh yes."
"I hate that show so much," Miguel said. "I swear it's like every single character has magic armor and can't be killed."
"It's called plot armor," Cara supplied.
"I don't know about you," Beatriz said. "But when I saw the Commander of XCOM tank six missiles, and then proceed to rip the spine out of an Ethereal, I was on board. You can't tell me that isn't awesome."
"Nah, my favorite part is when that Korean lady single-handedly took out an entire UFO alien team," Nobuatsu said. "And when she blew it up, she said to that guy she was with "I guess their plan…blew up in their faces.""
"Pure poetry," Miguel shook his head in disbelief. "Where did they even find people to write this?"
"The whole team is a bunch of comedy writers," Beatriz said. "I don't know who thought it was a good idea to turn a show about XCOM into an over-the-top comedy, but they completely pulled it off."
"I also like how they somehow made the character who is totally not Patricia Trask even more overpowered," Duri added. "I mean, being able to control armies is clearly not cool enough, no, give her…" he looked at Beatriz. "What did you call it?"
"Exterminatus powers," she supplied.
"That," Duri finished with a nod.
"Having Quisilia being the one to defect instead of Aegis was great," Cara added.
"I'm not so sure that isn't him," Duri said slowly. "I mean…would it be surprising if he was playing himself?"
"That's not happening," Beatriz began, then frowned. "I…think…"
"I wonder what XCOM thinks about it," Miguel said. "They are either really insulted or really amused."
"How could they not like it?" Beatriz asked. "Real life is depressing. We've already got a realistic alien invasion going on. Why bring that to a TV show?"
"That…" Miguel frowned. "Is a good point."
Duri tapped the table. "All right, I'm turning in. Drills tomorrow bright and early. And next time it comes on we're all watching the next episode together, since apparently we all do anyway."
Cara gave a mock salute. "Copy that, Officer." All of them gave their goodnights, and most turned in for the night. All in all, a fun time. There were a few bright spots in this war, even if they were few and far between.
Seoul – South Korea
1/8/2017 – 11:49 P.M.
This was perhaps the worst plan in the history of plans, maybe ever.
The Hunter cared about very little in the world. As far as he was concerned nothing really mattered except what he wanted. The Ethereals, Humans, Collective and ADVENT, ultimately pointless and worthless groups that would eventually fade away. The only thing he could really say he enjoyed was the art of killing. Maybe it was a genuine feeling; maybe he'd just been designed to feel the rush of euphoria when he blew the head off something.
It didn't really matter. Killing made him feel alive. Who or what it was didn't matter as long as it was alive and prey.
With that said, he wasn't an idiot.
Right now he definitely could not say that for the illustrious bitch herself.
He was on top of a skyscraper, looking through the scope of his rifle onto a hotel which was housing displaced civilians from the south of the country. There was much less security now, especially since the Collective had been doing fuck all the past month. But there were…he paused, thinking of the number.
Ah right. Over three thousand, according to the information the Caretakers had shared. Three thousand, four hundred and eleven. How the hell they knew that was something he'd given up on long ago. The Caretakers always had eerily accurate and exact knowledge, and the less he was involved with those freaks, the better.
He had been given the dubious honor of being responsible for clearing the hotel in question. Some were marked to be captured, for whatever horrific fate awaited them in the ironically named Paradise, and the rest he was free to murder. In one of the few times of his life, he was conflicted.
Not because he was going to kill hundreds of Humans in their sleep, he didn't care at all about that. There was something of a thrill in the operation, he wouldn't lie, but it didn't override his more important sense of self-preservation. Namely, that the moment the Battlemaster found out about this – and he would find out one way or another – he could safely assume he would either be killed or kept in constant torture forever.
Neither option was appealing.
At the same time, going against the illustrious Creator was not an option, since no matter how bad the Battlemaster was, the Creator would somehow find a worse punishment. So in short, he was completely fucked regardless. And now he was frantically thinking about the best way to salvage this so he wouldn't be screwed.
In all honesty he was probably screwed one way or another. So the current plan was to carry out the Creator's plan (Of which he had no fucking idea what the goal was aside from getting her more Humans to experiment on), be sure to get footage of him following orders, then go to the Battlemaster and ask very politely to not be disemboweled.
The Battlemaster was a reasonable Ethereal, a rarity, and he could at least understand the delicate predicament he was in…or perhaps not.
The Hunter hadn't actually considered the idea that the Battlemaster wasn't actually aware of what was going on in Paradise. He'd always assumed, since the Battlemaster was as close to the leader of the Collective (The Imperator wasn't worthy of the title) as anyone. But if he didn't know…oh boy, the Creator would be lucky to not immediately be executed.
He grinned a sinister smile as that thought entered his mind. If anyone could put a stop to whatever the fuck was happening with the Creator, it would be him. Normally he wouldn't care, but there was a point where the stuff that happened there was plain unnatural. It went far beyond the corpse-looking Caretakers. It went far beyond the dozens of test subjects being subjected to every kind of torture.
No, the Creator was involved in something much older and dangerous. He didn't know what it was, but it was perhaps the only thing that terrified him. An endless void which had once touched his mind, promising comfort, joy, and love to him. It had taken a full week to shake the persistent voice in his head, and he'd almost shot himself in it just to make the dangerously tempting words stop.
After that he'd never gone beyond the first level again.
He stood, and walked to the robed figure. It was a Vitakarian, or at least, was supposed to be. The skin looked dead, the figure was gaunt and it wore little more than a full black robe with the gibberish of the Creator written in silver. "Six rooftop guards," he reported. "Standard guard. I can take them out easily."
"Unnecessary," the voice was cracked and raspy, though with undertones of authority. "Four are marked for retrieval. You will execute the unmarked."
"Right…" he drawled. "And I suppose you'll just mark them for me?"
The alien lashed forward with a hand and placed it on his temple. The Hunter found he couldn't move, even if it only lasted for a moment. "You know now," the Caretaker said. "Prepare to return the souls to Him."
And he knew now. He glanced back to the rooftop and somehow knew which ones were marked for death, and which were to be extracted. "What now?"
The Caretaker gestured, and beside him a blue-rimmed portal appeared, psionic mist obscuring where it had come from, but more Caretakers stepped out, far more than he had ever seen before. Lanky and thin Sectoids who looked based on the Vanguard template, also wearing black robes. Humans were also in their number, their eyes pale and hair grey; looking somehow more degraded than the Vitakarians.
There were a total of twenty of them. One of the Humans, a decomposing female, extended a hand towards the hotel and began speaking in some language that made his skin crawl. It sounded old. Old and primal. Even the damn Sectoid had joined along telepathically. "They have deafened the world to our presence," the Vitakarian Caretaker said. "Go. Accomplish your mission. The world will not hear the misguided cries of those who are still mortal."
"What about cameras? Alarms?" He asked, gripping his pistol.
"The Stalkers have neutralized them," the Caretaker stated with surety. The Hunter had no clue what the hell a Stalker was, but perhaps he didn't need too. As long as they did their job, it wasn't his business. "His will is absolute and final. There is no obstacle." Another portal materialized. "Now enter and begin."
Here went nothing. The Hunter stepped through and found himself on the roof. Now, he had several ways of carrying this out. He could be stealthy and take them out with a little telepathic trick he'd learned, or he could do it the fun way.
Might as well, the Caretakers certainly didn't know the meaning of the word.
He raised his pistols, and began firing at the guards. It was sad how slow they were as he shot the weapons out of their hands, shot their kneecaps out, and then followed up with any arm or hand which moved towards a weapon. In roughly ten seconds the entire rooftop team was neutralized. He twirled a pistol in his hand before blowing off the head of one marked for death, and following up with killing the other one with a shot to the throat.
Perfect shot.
A portal appeared in the center of the roof and the Caretaker stepped out, now with several Muton Caretakers, which wore light armor instead of just robes. They looked just as healthy as the rest of them, which was to say like a recently exhumed corpse. They grabbed the wounded ADVENT soldiers and dragged the screaming people back to the portal before throwing them into it.
Poor souls.
The Caretaker once again placed a hand on the Hunter's helmet. "Your next targets."
He was not going to get used to the sudden transfer of knowledge anytime soon. Shaking that off, he entered the top floor and considered where to start. Thanks to the uncanny abilities of the Caretakers, he somehow knew every single name on this floor and their room number. Well, he might as well start at the beginning.
He gave a polite knock and the idiot Human opened. A woman whose eyes widened before he blew her head off in a spray of red. Only occupant and marked for death. Time to move on.
The Hunter had a plan of action, he would target all of the rooms with single occupants first, the vast majority of whom he could just kill, then move onto the rooms with more than one occupant. It proceeded smoothly enough, although he had to make some forced entries. It was amusing to see their terrified faces right before they died.
The Caretaker appeared at the end of the hallway, portal working as he brought the targets and ended up just tossing them in the portal which likely went straight to Paradise. He continued with the rooms of multiple occupants. One had a small group of women, half of whom he shot. Another had a family which only the mother was required to be captured. One room was just older human children with some younger siblings. Not much of a challenge.
Even on the first floor he was picking up on something rather interesting.
Nearly all of these Humans seemed to have some connections to a soldier. In certain cases it was clearly a mother or father with some children, or it was a spouse. But it was an extraordinarily high number of coincidences. If the Creator was being bold enough to target the families of soldiers…well, he wished her good fortune when the Battlemaster found out.
One floor was cleared, and he moved to the next one. Same deal, the Caretaker transferred the knowledge to his mind and he got to work. One door he just kicked in. This one had a mother with two children. Only the older child needed to be kept alive. The woman shrieked before he ended her life, and quickly ended the life of the smaller girl sleeping on the bed before pressed a hand to the mouth of the other one, sending a telepathic sleep command.
Loud children were far to annoying to deal with.
He tossed her into the portal, and continued working. The more he continued, the less fun it became. He now remembered why he rarely bothered killing civilians. They didn't pose a threat, they usually just accepted their fate and died, and basically made his job easy. Which made it boring. There weren't any actual fighters around to be outraged, which was half the fun of killing civilians.
So he had to be creative. He took out an entire floor without his guns, and then another just by using whatever was in the room. Scissors, as it turned out, were highly versatile weapons. At this point he was shooting into the air, or just opening the doors and calling people out to fight him to see if there was at least some entertainment to be had.
It was slightly enjoyable when he managed to get an entire floor to gang up on him. Some rushed him with makeshift weapons, others simply tried protecting children (Which he shot first if they weren't marked, since they screamed), and he had some good fun as he ended their lives or crippled them before their one-way trip to hell.
"You are efficient," the Caretaker said as they reached the tenth floor. "The Creator will be pleased."
"My life's goal has been achieved," he answered sarcastically. "We're good on time? Status of other operations?"
"Occidera has nearly cleared her building," the Caretaker answered. Shocking, his all-serious sibling was going to beat him in efficiency. Well, good for her. "Senorium is finishing the last fifteen floors of his building. We have three hours before our window has expired."
And also a shock, his more idiotic and fanatic sibling was taking forever. Either way, it didn't matter. That little bit of recording was going to be very interesting to the Battlemaster. "You know why the Creator wants this many people?"
"No," the Caretaker said. "And you do not need to know."
And irrefutable proof the bitch herself was behind this. The Battlemaster was going to have a field day with it, and would probably murder her. The Hunter was quite aware that the only thing that would make the Battlemaster more livid than going after families of soldiers (And probably families in general), was going after kids.
And there were a lot of both who were dead. He didn't care, but there were definitely those who did. As far as he was concerned, every person he shot or captured was another mark to the Creator's death warrant.
It would be so ironic if he was the one to finally bring her down. That was the dream.
He looked to the hotel hallway that awaited him. More targets and walking dead left to deal with.
Time to make that dream into reality.