XCOM: The Advent Directive

by Xabiar

Australia has been annexed, the United Nations is in chaos, the world is under siege and the Ethereals have taken the field. Facing the full might of the Ethereal Collective, the Commander must rally XCOM, the newly formed ADVENT, and several other allies and rivals to unite the divided nations by any means necessary, for failure now will mean the fall of humanity once and for all.

55. A Strangled Paradise

A Strangled Paradise

---

3|26|2017

She was aware she was awake before opening her eyes.

Confusion.

She finally opened them to see a ceiling that was only dimly lit by orange lights placed along the walls. It was a soft light, nothing harsh shining directly down into her eyes. The ceiling was smooth and white; plain. She shuffled in the bed, turning over, the need to move her body filling her. Eventually she pushed herself up.

Odd. Something felt odd and she didn't know what it was.

Sitting, she ran a hand over the sheets. White and clean; cushioned but not overwhelmingly soft, one fairly large pillow. And a blanket large enough for the bed. A good one too, as she reached for it. She couldn't explain why at that moment, but she liked having it. It wasn't perfect, but it was good quality, thick and soft…

She let the blanket drop from her hand as a thought stuck her…why? How do I know that?

A few seconds of thought.

Disjointed flashes and pieces of information appeared in her memory. Stores? Right, she knew what those were, in fact she seemed to know what a lot of things were…but there was some kind of context she was missing. Specifically, what she was doing in this bed. Specifically, where she was.

How did I get here?

A few moments passed before a much more alarming query manifested.

Who am I?

That set her body on edge, and she stiffened in some kind of fear about forgetting. Names appeared in her head, names of people she knew…or presumably knew. Ruth Shira, Paige Broker, Patricia Trask, Mira Vauner, Moira Vahlen; all of which she felt something towards. But those weren't her, but people she had some kind of connection to.

Abigail.

She latched onto that name. Something about that clicked. Almost there.

Gertrude.

Abigail Gertrude.

I am Abigail Gertrude.

A nod to herself. That…it fit. It felt right. It would have to work…for now, anyway. She needed some kind of place to start working out who she was and why she was here. For some reason, she felt amused at her predicament. She focused on the flashes of memory; all of which were unclear and fuzzy, but she remembered being…entertained by them.

What could that be? Movies? Books?

She sighed.

So, she liked movies and books. And potentially had read some where there was an amnesia plotline. A plotline she was now living, apparently. She wished she could remember how those had been resolved because she was really not enjoying it right now.

Better figure out where I am.

She looked down at herself. Or see what I'm wearing. She pinched the fabric of her T-shirt between two fingers. Grey and dry-fit, comfortable at least. Although she felt some annoyance when she realized she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. At least the shirt was loose enough where it didn't matter as much…although she personally wasn't sure why it really mattered. Only that it did. For some reason.

She wore some shorts of the same color; not tight ones which she liked. What you wear for sports. At least her brain was remembering useless details like that. She frowned and reached down to her ankles to peel the socks off her feet, feeling oddly confused. Why would you wear socks before going to bed?

Assuming she had been going to bed?

There were a lot of assumptions as to how she was here right now.

Still, she didn't need to be wearing socks now.

She finally stood up, taking stock of the room as her soles landed on the warm and carpeted floor. Lights were placed in each of the four corners, growing brighter in intensity the more she moved, it seemed, until the room was fully lit. The walls were white, though she noticed there were no electrical outlets. Was that normal?

At the opposite end of the bed against the wall was a dresser, and perpendicular to that was a table cleared of anything save some kind of device. It looked like a tablet, which felt normal enough. Besides the dresser was a mirror, so she made her way over to it. Opening the dresser, she was surprised to find out that it wasn't a dresser at all.

It was an armory.

She stood still, confused emotions moving through her. On one hand, she was pretty sure that this wasn't normal. On the other…it felt very familiar to her. She tentatively reached for one of the weapons; which looked like a plasma rifle, and froze.

Why did she know that? With some apprehension, she looked to the other weapons. Laser and plasma pistols, gauss rifles and SMGs, some of them having odd references in her mind like 'ADVENT' 'XCOM' and 'Collective' to differentiate them. She didn't know for certain, but when she looked at a weapon and the words came to her mind…she felt they were right.

It raised a lot more questions than answers. Was she a soldier? Was she just good with weapons? Was she being pursued?

Now she felt much less safe than she had minutes before.

She picked up a gauss pistol, and automatically began moving it to her hip but stopped herself when she remembered there wasn't a holster there. She had – or was – definitely familiar with weapons, regardless of what she'd used them for. She didn't know if she liked that or not. Closing the armory, she turned to the mirror.

Blue eyes stared back at her, set within a pale-skinned and flawless face and framed by blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders. She licked her lips, not quite sure what to think about it. So, this is me? Something seemed…off about it. She lifted a couple fingers to her cheeks, looking more closely at the skin. No, she was pretty sure that was fine.

Not that. She leaned forward and cocked her head to look at the eyes. The shining blue eyes which were enrapturing, even for her, even when set in the face of a visibly confused woman. Shining. Bright. They were too bright. Electric? She looked as close as she could, and while she didn't see anything indicating that…it was still too bright. Almost fake.

Or was she just misremembering?

Maybe it was the hair. She knew for certain that it was too long. If she was a soldier, it made sense to have shorter hair. Probably cut off around the shoulders or a little above it. That sounded right. She turned around, and spotted some kind of door beside the armory. She walked over to it and pulled on the handle.

She jolted back as it hissed aside and revealed a new room within. Abigail grabbed the pistol, flicking the safety off as she waited for it to finish. A white light finally shown down upon what seemed to be a suit of armor. This…this appeared to be the 'dresser' of all things, as there were neatly stacked bundles of clothes, undergarments, socks, shoes, and even nightwear.

Cautiously stepping forward, she entered into it, glancing at the armor, half-afraid she was going to wake it up and find out it was actually a robot. Although…she was getting the impression that this was hers and she wasn't actually in danger. If she was, why would these mysterious people give her weapons, a nice bedroom, and a robot/suit of armor?

There was some big puzzle piece she was missing.

She decided to get dressed properly, still occasionally glancing at the armor warily as she tried thinking of answers. Perhaps the simplest one was the right one? Maybe she'd gone to bed and woken up with amnesia? No, that didn't sound right. Maybe she'd tripped, hit her head…and just so happened to fall straight into her bed and get amnesia.

That was just stupid. It would be the dumbest way to get amnesia in the history of amnesia, maybe ever. Hopefully more things would come back to her – or she had a friend or three who would be able to help her understand what she was if it didn't. She went back over the list of names that stood out to her.

There was a woman, Patricia Trask; oddly enough though when she thought of the name, she was hit with confusion and anger. Probably not someone she was on good terms with then? Ruth Shira, Mira Vauner…she had fond feelings for them, mixed with sadness. Maybe they were also on less-than-good terms with her?

Or, as she looked around at the weapons and armor, the more likely possibility was that they were dead.

Liam Jaster was another one of fondness, mixed with sadness, but she felt these stronger than the others, intermixed with something else intangible. He had to be dead, but she got the impression that she'd cared for him more than others. Was he her husband? Lover? Just a really close friend?

She really needed to find out what had happened otherwise this was going to eat away at her now. She thought of more names. Anius Creed, Shaojie Zhang, Raymond Shen, the Commander…Commander of what? And who? He definitely was someone she'd known. Him and Zhang. There was confidence and respect there – and not sadness.

Good, maybe they were still alive. From what little she could tell, they were her superiors? That was definitely what she needed right now. Someone to tell her what to do. Where to go. Literally anything about what was going on.

Holstering her pistol, she looked up at the armor. She was tempted to try putting it on, since she didn't know what exactly was waiting for her. But the problem was she didn't know how – and her really selective memory wasn't giving her anything useful – and she didn't want to get stuck in it. Or get caught in the middle of putting it on.

It wasn't going anywhere, and she didn't feel like she was in danger right now. The pistol stayed with her, though.

Does this have a bathroom? She didn't really need to use it, but wanted to adjust her hair a bit. She exited the…armor room? Which closed behind her automatically, and as it turned out, there was another room beside the table. It opened similarly, and showcased a white bathroom complete with a spa, shower, and a weirdly varied collection of cosmetic and hair care items around a dedicated mirror.

Now she was just confused. Her brain wasn't any help now.

She wasn't aware of what even half of these makeups and brushes were, and got the distinct impression that she never had to begin with. Not that the spread wasn't…useful, or anything like that. But it felt like someone had given her a gift which she really hadn't wanted or needed. Nor did she think that a bathroom needed to be this…luxurious.

She really hoped she wasn't some kind of brattish rich girl…who was a soldier too…

Shaking her head, she walked over to the mirror and began fixing her hair. There was definitely some kind of contradiction here. Just when she thought there was some kind of foundation, she found something which threw that into question. Abigail considered trimming her hair right then, but decided against it since she had an innate feeling that cutting her hair by herself was a bad idea.

When she was finished, she was about to leave when she saw double doors which led into presumably another room or closet. Opening them up revealed a small closet – full of dresses. There were probably about a dozen, all hanging in the pretty limited space, and all of them looked absurdly expensive. Pretty, but expensive.

Did she wear dresses that often or like them?

At best the only emotion she could scrounge up was indifference – and more confusion. At least they all looked to be in her size.

So to recap – I'm a rich girl who likes makeup and dresses, and am a soldier for my day job who has superiors who I respect, while also having some friends, most of which are probably dead, and may or may not have had a husband at one point. And I am completely confused.

She really hoped the Commander, whatever his real name was, could explain things to her.

Closing the closet, she turned to leave this time for real, and a sharp chime rang out, and the door presumably leading outside sounded. She froze, her hand falling to her pistol. "Yes?" She called out, her voice surprisingly strong.

"Abigail Gertrude?" Came a distinctly male voice from the outside.

"That's…me," she said slowly, becoming calmer. "Come in?"

It probably shouldn't have been phrased as a question, but the door slid open to reveal something she did not expect. She was extremely close to pulling out her pistol and shooting, but indecision and confusion paralyzed her. The man who walked through was not a man at all, but…something else.

Alien. Dark grey skin covered his body, which was notably Human-like, with glowing blue eyes. That seemed to be the most 'real' parts of him, as the rest of his body was made out of cybernetics. Black and silver prosthetics existed in place of limbs, and armor covered his torso. Implants were around his head, and Abigail felt that even though he had no weapons, he could kill her without trouble.

Alien. The word invoked a flurry of emotions. Confusion, fury, hope, concern, joy, curiosity…all of which seemed to exist when compared to Human. Enough to make her not immediately jump to the conclusion that aliens were something bad. For his part, the alien just looked down at her. "You likely have questions," he said blandly, slightly tilting his head towards her pistol. "You're not in any danger."

So…they knew something was wrong with her. "What happened to me?"

"Fectorian will explain," the alien said, motioning to the door. "Follow me."

---

Zararch Command – Mars Collective Base

3/20/2017 – 8:19 A.M.

It did feel excellent to score a notable victory. Patricia, despite his reservations, appeared to finally be the shot in the arm needed to end this war once and for all. Ravarian had been impressed with her plan, and having it be executed as near-flawlessly as could be hoped was highly encouraging.

Of course, T'Leth had responded by wreaking havoc against Australia. That was going to be a…setback. It could all be rebuilt eventually, that was not in question. What was the most concerning thing about this was the fact that T'Leth was almost certainly going to keep doing this. So long as they completely controlled Australia, then T'Leth would be able to attack freely.

Should secrecy be disrupted…

Lips pursed, he considered options. While Australia – the bases and personnel – were ultimately not crucial, especially now, it was going to result in an extremely high cost in manpower, resources, and time, all of which could become in short supply in the uncertain future. Right now he could pass off the massive loss of life as a surprise ADVENT attack, but if there was another attack of this scale by T'Leth, it was going to become a lot harder to explain to the Aui'Vitakar – all of whom were already incensed given the incursion of Aegis and XCOM.

This needed to be handled carefully.

It appeared that a good portion of the materials had been scavenged by T'Leth, or potentially XCOM, but that ultimately would not help them. Not forever. ADVENT couldn't afford to retake Australia now, a piece of good news in this particular mess; not when so many additional fronts had been opened up. However, things were finally progressing in a major way. REPLICA units were providing feedback throughout Earth, Humans from the SAS were being converted into sleeper agents and sent into ADVENT territory, and at the moment the ADVENT media was frenzied trying to cover Patricia's revelations.

It was enough for him to feel justified in leaning back in his chair, and petting the cat on his lap. The little creature had definitely grown on him, and was purring loudly now. It was becoming more comfortable roaming the base, though it had learned to stay away from Mutons when one stepped on the end of its tail. Frankly, it had seemed like the Muton had been just as startled.

It yawned, showcasing its mouthful of teeth, and he scratched under the chin. And it then proceeded to start biting his hand, while wrapping its paws around his arm and kicking it with the lower legs. He had never figured out what prompted these mood swings, and research on the Human Internet appeared to confirm that this was just something cats did.

"You appear to be in an excellent mood," Quisilia materialized in front of him. "Deserved, of course. Minus the attack by the resident sea monster of Earth."

"Lashing out was expected," Ravarian said, setting the cat down which sauntered off, still purring. "This is not a welcome development, though it is also likely he will not do that again. Secrecy remains a priority, and the only option is no witnesses. And if he goes to Australia again…" he pressed a button on the desk to activate the holoprojector. "We shall see how a Sovereign One can deal with Executor-Class Blaster Bombs."

"Contingency plans are commendable, but please," Quisilia waved a hand, while looking at his phone that he had in a different one. "I would be shocked if a Sovereign One was killed – or even phased - by something so…mundane. It would almost be disappointing."

"Arrogance can lead to stupid deaths," Ravarian pointed out. "Sovereign Ones are among the most arrogant beings one can imagine. Everyone thinks they're invincible until they're bleeding out on the ground."

"Very true," Quisilia flicked one of his blades up. "Next time I'll have to deal with his Agents in a more permanent manner. Luck won't be as useful next time. Truthfully, neither of us were prepared for our little duel. Actually…" He looked to Ravarian and the phone floated over to him. "Hold this will you, I need to record something."

Sighing, Ravarian grabbed the phone and prepared to record. "Wide-angle, please," Quisilia ordered in an exasperated tone. "I'm not going to be one of those people."

Ravarian was very, very tempted to keep the phone in a portrait orientation, but complied. Quisilia pulled out his blade dramatically. "I see you've come back! Yes, you know who you are, and I think we have unfinished business. Next time you feel like fighting a real man, you come to me, unless you'd prefer to be a coward. It's time for a rematch, and I can feel it coming, just name the time and place!"

Every time Ravarian felt like he had regained some semblance of life and hope, Quisilia did something like this and he died a little more on the inside. He numbly pressed stop, and the phone floated back to the Ethereal's hand who rapidly began typing on it. "Please tell me that you did not do what I think you just did."

"See for yourself," Quisilia showed him the screen.

It was a twitter post which had the video he had just recorded uploaded to it, with accompanying text underneath.

Quisilia TheGreatQ - Mar 20, 2017

This goes out to a very special someone. You know who you are. Name the time and place. #callout #rematch #challenge #secret #sovereignshowdown #video #xcom #advent #wwe

"My spontaneous ideas often are the best," Quisilia said, amused as he pulled the phone back and resumed scrolling down it. "It'll get people talking.

"You called out a Sovereign One. On Twitter."

Quisilia cocked his helmet towards him. "And? Did you want me to send him a letter?"

"I…" Ravarian considered answering, then just transitioned into a facepalm instead. "Never mind." It was a good thing Quisilia had some other redeeming features beyond trolling Humans, otherwise he didn't know what he would do. Times like these he just wished Quisilia would be normal.

"Onto some more serious topics," Quisilia said, looking to the holoprojector. "You've given some strategic commands to hinder ADVENT. Useful, and likely overdue."

Overdue was certainly the right word. "Identifying trade routes resulted in us being able to shut down or sabotage straits, ports, and other chokehold areas. Humans continue to rely on naval shipping for supplying many of their needs. Andromedon Aquatic Forces were deployed to seed their oceans with water mines. We have Sectoid Fighters standing by for strafing runs on poorly guarded fleets."

"Taking the initiative is good," Quisilia appraised. "It will make their lives difficult for a time. Zar'Chon, do you know why we didn't take this action well before now?"

"No," he shook his head. "I do not. Fear of provoking T'Leth?"

"Partially, at least to the Imperator," Quisilia said, his weapon twirling in his hand. "But largely because you still have an issue grasping the actual threat Humanity can pose." A pause. "Actually, what ADVENT can pose. If it were just Humanity, there would be little issue."

"Enlighten me, Quisilia," he said, looking to the hologlobe. "This is doing exactly what we need."

"In the short term, yes," Quisilia mused. "And it will hurt, especially now. The problem is that all of us need to think in the long term. Humanity has a rather annoying tendency to adapt and overcome when faced with adversity. They've done it the entire war. What you've essentially done is shown them a weakness."

"And I'm sure they will adapt," Ravarian agreed. "But they will be forced to devote time and resources to protecting ships and scanning for mines. An acceptable trade-off."

"No, no," the Ethereal shook his head. "You assume that ADVENT will bother keeping a supply fleet. Why would they devote resources to that when they have a far more efficient gateway system they can use to overhaul their entire logistical framework? Now, I'm sure they were working on this before, but now when their naval supply lines are disrupted…" he paused. "Well, I imagine that project will become more prioritized."

That…was an unfortunately accurate point. He pursed his lips. "I see."

"It is very tempting to exploit holes and weaknesses in the Humans," Quisilia said. "But in such cases, we now need to consider what they will do in response. Sometimes, it's more beneficial to let the Humans use an outdated system safely than exploit it, and have them build a better system as a result. Keep this in mind."

That he would. "Yes, Quisilia."

"However, it is reaching the point where some loose ends need to be tied up," Quisilia said a short time later. "With Patricia revealing herself, it's only a matter of time before Nartha learns of it – assuming he hasn't already."

"We waited too long," Ravarian said, shaking his head. "He's not performed regular check-ins for nearly a week now. He likely knows – or has somehow figured out he's compromised. XCOM could have gotten back in contact with him."

"An unfortunate development, but an ultimately irrelevant one," Quisilia mused, flipping a blade in his hand. "Nartha was useful in finding some additional holes in the Collective. His own use is limited now, and he knows it. If he shows his face anywhere on Vitakar – have him captured or killed."

Ravarian frowned. "You're not going to go after him yourself?"

"Knowing XCOM, as well as their aquatic ally, they could very well be hoping I do that," Quisilia pointed out. "He is merely an Agent. A good one, but only one. I would gain more going after the Nulorian directly than him. I do not care enough about him to seek out revenge such as this. If he is found, I will deal with him. Until that point, I will continue pursuing more important vectors."

"Very well," Ravarian began, though wasn't completely thrilled. "Though as you said – this is a loose end. One we should make an effort to tie up."

"I suspect my days are going to be spent handling an increased XCOM and Sovereign presence," Quisilia said. "Infiltrators in our territory. They need to be hunted down and killed. More important than a rogue Zararch Agent. However, there is nothing stopping you from sending someone after him. Perhaps that thing that calls itself Nemo?"

"Nemo is being utilized on Earth at this moment," Ravarian shook his head. "More critical than Nartha."

"A shame, it is an interesting creature," Quisilia noted. "There is not another one?"

"Only one that we know of," Ravarian recalled. "But it doesn't work for us directly. And it will not be coerced. It is more useful where it is right now. I will assign several of my top Agents to removing him though. I am not comfortable with him running around unchecked."

"That is your call," Quisilia said. "And if you find him, do let me know."

"Of course."

A few moments passed, and a completely unrelated question popped into his mind. "Do you plan to undergo the Avatar Project at some point? It appears to have substantial benefits."

"Originally, I was going to pass," Quisilia answered absentmindedly. "But the results have indeed won me over. Of course, the candidates the Imperator suggested weren't compatible with me. So I've been working on my own."

Oh no. "And…how have you been doing that?"

"Please. How do you think?" He held up the phone. "I have a lot of fans. Who better suited to be my own Harbingers than the most devoted of my fans?" And again, Ravarian felt himself want to sink into his chair. "I've been running meme and video contests, as well as two-page essay submissions on the nature of Humanity and Alien relations," Quisilia continued. "I've been pleased with the turnout so far. It will be difficult to narrow down the finalists. Ah, here is one of my favorite submissions."

He tossed the phone to Ravarian who caught it and looked at the meme. It was in a format with three images with text to the left of each. The topmost image was of a Runianarch soldier, with the accompanying text: He protec

The middle image was of another soldier fighting. Ravarian could swear it was from the current war, but he didn't know for sure. The text was a similar affront to grammar: He attac

Before the final image was a short sentence: But most importantly; with said image being a picture of a Vitakarian sitting in a chair with a cat on his lap, with the text as: He pet cat; which was then when Ravarian noticed something really familiar about the last image.

Blinking, he looked up in disbelief at Quisilia. "Wait. That's me!"

"Good! You did see it." The phone was telekinetically yanked back to the Ethereal's hand. "It's one of my favorites."

"How did they get it!" He demanded.

"I uploaded a vault of various pictures," Quisilia answered easily. "Difficult for people to meme about aliens or with aliens without pictures to help them out. I just did a public service. And don't worry, nothing was classified."

Another facepalm. "I suspect the Humans think I am a joke."

"Which is a good thing," Quisilia commented. "Better that they underestimate you than overestimate you. I don't include information on you merely because it's amusing, it serves to exasperate ADVENT and make them underestimate the Zararch. After all…" his voice turned amused. "How could the Zararch possibly systematically be infiltrating ADVENT if their leader is being continually undermined on social media?"

It was a good point, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Shaking his head, he wanted to go back to something Quisilia had mentioned he'd found interesting. "Returning to the previous topic, you said Harbingers? Plural?"

"Indeed I did," Quisilia answered approvingly. "Why have one when I can – according to Revelean – have more? Two or three I believe is sufficient. I have decided to use this unique opportunity to create what Humans call a 'harem', which, had we not taken Japan twice and killed their royal family, I believe would have helped sway a few of them to our side."

The word was unfamiliar to him, but if Quisilia was using it…"Do I want to know what that word means? Does it have to do with honor, if the Japanese approve of it?"

"Certainly," Quisilia nodded. "A harem refers to the old Japanese tradition of a man's sacred duty to care for the loved ones in his life – primarily women – and protect them from danger and evil. It is very romantic, and I highly recommend you research it for yourself."

Ravarian sighed. "When I have time." At least that hadn't been as bad as he'd expected, though knowing Quisilia, he was probably leaving some other important detail out. In the end, it didn't matter too much as who Quisilia wanted to be his Harbinger (or Harbingers) was his business. He had more work to do, which didn't involve social media.

He looked back to say as much to Quisilia, but the Ethereal was gone.

Typical. He didn't know what else he'd expected.

---

Living Quarters – The Prism

3/20/2017 – 8:17 P.M.

Yang almost felt guilty being here right now. But after days of fighting almost nonstop it was good to have a break. And it wasn't as if she was the critical component to the operations taking place. She was a force multiplier to be used across the world. She preferred it that way. Easier to be a weapon. Simpler.

She wasn't as thrilled with the authority she had as she thought she'd be. Officers would come up to her for opinions or commands, and almost all the time she'd defer to what they wanted. She didn't feel qualified to completely overwrite entire campaigns, although she did occasionally make a few changes here and there.

Her kill count was…at a number high enough to where the Collective was immediately emboldened when she came, and ADVENT very terrified. It was high enough that she really didn't care anymore. At a certain point, it was just a number. The enemies which posed mortal threats for soldiers were barely a consideration to what she could do.

It didn't feel right.

It felt unnatural. She shouldn't be able to face a dozen armed ADVENT soldiers and wonder if this was all they had. It was an adjustment; something which she felt it would take time to get used to. It wasn't like the Prism. Then it was all…fake. This was real. Except when it didn't. Truthfully, she'd been surprised she'd been recalled back, if only for a day or two.

And that was before Patricia's little rampage through XCOM. She legitimately wondered how Patricia had been able to do that. XCOM hadn't ever done anything to her. To go after them with such ferocity was unsettling to her. Even when Yang had planned the deaths of the Communist Party and President Qin, she didn't intend to extend her fury to those who had nothing to do with their treatment of her and her family.

In that respect, Patricia scared her. It showed she had no empathy or care outside of what the Imperator demanded. Though perhaps this was less Patricia and more the influence of the Imperator. Regardless, she was now going to be used as his attack dog against his enemies – as well as a wielder of his own influence. Patricia was already making decisions in the war, and was being deferred to completely.

She saw it, the Battlemaster saw it, Quisilia saw it. This was the Imperator attempting to exert his influence over the war.

It was tiring. She knew he felt the same way.

But like a good soldier, he continued to do his job as well as he could. At least the Florida Operation was progressing well enough. Well enough that he could come back tonight. And so they were; Ethereal and Human, the latter sitting against a wall with the head of a mechanized tiger in her lap while the Ethereal sat on a chair befitting his massive stature.

She hadn't even known he'd had a tiger until she'd seen it prowling around. The first time it had appeared, she'd shrieked and almost killed it. But it hadn't done anything aggressive, and in fact had been rather…cuddly. It was certainly an interesting creature. She'd always liked tigers, and one that was partially made of metal should have made her nervous, but it was surprisingly nice.

Besides, it wasn't as though it could hurt her now. Farath, the Battlemaster had called it. He was cute, and she liked having it around. It was a good comfort animal, surprising as that was to say.

The Battlemaster himself was, like her, not in his battle armor. Although the slight difference was that while she wore light and comfortable clothes, he appeared to have a slightly less armored suit which was for less dangerous situations. It was a rare time he didn't wear a helmet either. Ethereals really were alien-looking. It was easy to forget that under their helmets.

"You're troubled." He had waited a while before speaking, just letting her pet the tiger while he'd eaten and sat. The way he had said it meant it wasn't a question. Through their bond, it made sense that he'd pick up on that. As she had with him.

She rested her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "I'll get over it."

"Not unless you address it," he said. "I wanted to talk to you before you are sent back. Distraction will get you killed. It is only a matter of time before XCOM or the Pantheon is sent after you."

She was tempted to hold her own; defend herself; but she wasn't that self-deluded. "I don't know. I feel…" she opened her eyes, scowling. "Unfulfilled."

A nod from the Battlemaster. "What happened in China?"

"I'd dreamed about how I was going to kill them," she said quietly. "Quick. Clean. Final. Over and done. Didn't matter if they even knew who I was or not. I'd have done it. Now they're gone," she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Or not, if the Bringer is right. Which makes me more furious. Anything was better than…what actually happened."

"I know," the Battlemaster rumbled quietly. "And it was for nothing anyway."

She slumped against the wall. "And now I have nothing, and never will have it. They're all gone, and they're not coming back. The only thing I can see coming close would be finding every single soldier of the Bringer, and executing them for what they did."

"The Bringer will be punished for what he did," the Battlemaster said. "Even the Imperator cannot overlook this."

She let out a sharp bitter laugh. "No, he won't. He'll reprimand them for sure, but they will not feel consequences. He's too much of a pragmatist for that. You saw how effective just a few hundred of those things were. He's not seeing the millions of deaths, he's seeing a way to conquer everything that opposes him. Why would he ever weaken the Bringer when he's getting exactly what he wants?"

"Yang," the Battlemaster said after a few seconds of silence. "If the Imperator does not take sufficient action, I will."

He appeared to believe everything he said. The bond at least confirmed that. She gave a wan smile. If nothing else, she liked his conviction even if it worried her privately. "Just…don't do anything that'll make the Imperator retaliate." She sighed. "At this point I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I suspect you would manage," he said. "I would be more concerned for something untimely to happen against you than me."

"Touching," she answered, as Farath nuzzled her face. "It was…different at the start. All I had was a promise of revenge. I didn't care about anything else. The Imperator saw me as a weapon, and I was fine with that." She trailed off. "Now…I don't really have anything left. Nothing driving, anyway. Patricia is driven by her vision, Nico's revenge extends to all of ADVENT, me…I don't care as much anymore."

"Why?"

"Because nothing we do matters in the end," she sighed. "We win, the Imperator continues with his mad plan and we die. Best case scenario he ticks off a Sovereign smarter than him and is destroyed that way instead of something going wrong with the Bringer. He isn't going to listen to anyone who doesn't subscribe to his singular grand vision. It doesn't matter what we do here, when anything can be twisted and changed to suit whatever the Imperator wants." She reached out and a soda can flew into it, which she drank furiously.

"You're one of the very few who has some semblance of sense in this entire mad Collective," she continued. "You're more interested in preparing for a real threat instead of playing chess with the Sovereign Ones. You-" she pointed at him. "Don't want to be an Emperor. But the Imperator does. If the one person who I respect and like here is gone…where exactly do I go? I don't fit in the Imperator's Collective, and never will."

The soda can was crushed in her hand and she let it fall to the ground, realizing she needed to sleep instead of rant to the Battlemaster. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "I do. Sorry for…that. Probably not what you need to hear now."

"I have little issue with it," he said neutrally. "Though it is amusing to hear you so critical of the Imperator and his plans. Especially when you are so young."

"Being old doesn't make you smart," she shrugged. "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting things to change."

"Unless one believes they are the ones to change it," the Battlemaster mused. "But I believe you are correct. The cycles here cannot be broken by following their path. It must be broken some other way." He stood. "You should sleep, Yang. You will be coming with me to Florida when I depart. I will require you, and a Battlemaster should not fight without his Harbinger beside him."

That was actually good news for her, and it gave her a warm feeling to hear her described as such. A good night of sleep wouldn't hurt either. Maybe she should stay here and let the tiger act as a pillow.

She was reasonably sure she wouldn't be eaten in the middle of the night.

---

Throne Room of the Imperator – Temple Ship of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective

3/20/2017 – 9:24 A.M.

The holoprojection showed the devastation T'Leth had wrecked upon Australia. Harbinger and Imperator stood opposite each other, appraising the development. "All of them were hit," Patricia noted. "Completely destroyed. Zararch teams report nothing salvageable."

"Unfortunate, but not completely unexpected," the Imperator said. "The Zar'Chon has authorized replacements to be constructed immediately."

"Nothing stopping him from doing the same thing again," Patricia pointed out with a frown. "He doesn't have to worry about secrecy there."

"Yes, which is why if he tries this again, he will not be able to remain secret," the Imperator nodded. "The trick with cloud cover works for satellite disruption, but should he try this again, he will find his rampage broadcast to the world. Though I suspect he was merely venting rage at being outwitted by a mere alien." His voice became amused. "I believe that he will not do so again."

"I agree," Patricia said. "Though his Agents are likely to become more involved. And the Commander's response will be coming. He will not take this defeat lightly."

"I am certain of it," the Imperator sat down on his throne. "The loss of so many soldiers will be a blow to the Vitakara, but they can be explained as casualties of war. The population needs to be calmed. You will be needed to assist in restoring faith in the Collective."

A nod. "Have there been developments on the planet?"

"The Aui'Vitakar have formally demanded an investigation into Paradise Station," the Imperator said, shutting off the holoprojector. "I have formally recognized this. Within two weeks they will be given a tour of Paradise Station and see how it is being put to good use."

"But this will be after the Bringer has been reprimanded," Patricia noted. "Waiting longer is not something I recommend."

"No," the Imperator said slowly; deliberately. "I intend to deal with the Bringer far sooner. He believes in his importance. That assumption must be quashed. I am perfectly willing to abandon the Bringer if he is unreliable. Two strikes is dangerous. One more and Paradise Station – as well as the Bringer – will be destroyed."

That sounded fair. "Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Patricia said grimly. "Monstrous as they are; the Orders are useful."

"If excessive," the Imperator sat back. "I have put forth the idea of letting the Battlemaster cleanse the Dream Weavers completely. It would remove the most obnoxious and controversial section of Paradise and make him more amenable to continuing operation if he sees action being taken. Considering the Dream Weavers were responsible for Beijing, this would be a fitting punishment."

"Yes," Patricia agreed, though rested her chin on a hand. "However, they produce powerful telepaths and biopaths. Not to mention help maintain control over the other Orders. It might be more intelligent to cull the Dream Weavers and turn their focus to something more productive than idiotic sacrifices and cannibalism. Culturally, the Dream Weavers are important to Paradise. I'm unsure what effect removing them would have."

"To be blunt, the only Orders that matter are the Baptists and Flesh Sculptors," the Imperator mused. "The remainder are either agents of the Saints whose loyalty and reliability is questionable, or the Dream Weavers who serve no additional purpose beyond cultish rituals. The Baptists are soldiers, and the Sculptors are necessary to create creatures and the body for the Crossing."

"Bodies are disposable to the Bringer," Patricia sighed. "There is very little that can ensure continued and reliable cooperation. Killing the Orders ultimately solves little aside from assuaging consciences like the Battlemaster's. It does not solve the issue of dependability."

"Not completely correct," the Imperator mused. "There are two things the Bringer values. The Dead World, and the Saints. We have three we can execute, and the world itself can be destroyed. The threat of such loss would likely be enough to ensure continued cooperation – as well as a needed refocusing of the Orders."

"This needs to be a threat we follow through on," Patricia said. "Half-measures won't work."

"And it will be," the Imperator said. "If it comes down to it, I suspect the Bringer needs to be free of the prison it is in, and it will accept anything in order to achieve this, even if becoming a weapon. It is a creature motivated by the fear of eternal imprisonment. Perhaps it had resigned itself to its fate but now it sees a chance. I am not yet ready to give up. Not when it has the potential to achieve what the other Sovereigns could not."

And that was ultimately what it came down to. Why it was worth the cost the Bringer demanded.

It could break the unending cycles permanently.

Of course, it all depended on everything being done perfectly.

No room for errors. No room for risk.

A very fine tightrope.

"What of you, Patricia?" The Imperator asked. "Fighting your former comrades extracts a toll."

She sighed. "I didn't enjoy having to do it. Necessary, but I wish it hadn't come to that." She looked up, face set and firm. "But I would do it again. Before this is over, I believe I will have to many times." She closed her eyes briefly. "It will get easier."

"And why is that?"

"Because by the end, I won't know who I am killing."

"Many of those people you didn't know," the Imperator pointed out. "You would not have considered killing Shen if he hadn't released his pet AI."

"Maybe not, but you helped me there," she tapped her head. "And I'm glad. Like I said…it will get easier, until I won't need your resolve to do what needed to be done."

"Good," the Imperator looked down on her. "But you want to preserve Anius Creed. You were pleased he lived. You do not need to justify your feelings. I know how you feel about each other."

"I suspect he does not feel the same about me anymore," she said, shrugging. "I don't think he'd listen to anything I have to say. I just…" she sighed, scowling. "I want to talk to him without anyone else influencing him. No Commander. No XCOM. No T'Leth. Just me and him. I might be able to talk some sense into him. It's difficult to learn everything you believe is based on deception and lies."

"And do you really believe his response would be any different?" The Imperator asked softly. "You and him will never be together, no matter how much you wish it were otherwise. It is healthier to move on. Love will find you again one day."

Realistically, she knew he was right and that she should move on for good. But she couldn't shake the feeling that it could work. Maybe. The Commander she could deal with much easier. Not that she would easily kill him, but she wasn't attached in that way. "No offense," she said slowly, rubbing her temple. "But that's easier said than done. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you've not been in love?"

"Not like what you have experienced, no," the Imperator answered. "Human love is…alien to us. We do not experience the same kind of intensity and passion you do. We are more tempered, though the love we allow is just as strong. Human love bears more similarities to obsession than what we define love as."

Well, she couldn't really argue with an alien on the definition of love. It was something different for everyone, and every species it seemed. "Perhaps you're right that I need to move on." She turned back to the holoprojection. "Besides, there is a lot of other work that needs to be done now."

"Specifically, the issues within the Collective itself based on what you have told us," the Imperator mused. "Andromedons in XCOM. The traitor Unions will need to be handled."

"Do you want me to handle it?" She asked. "Assuming that the Unions actually agreed to continue supporting XCOM."

"No, I will have you continue to manage Earth," the Imperator said. "I will give the traitors to the Battlemaster. We have not agreed on many things, as of late, but we both cannot tolerate traitors. Giving him license to bring the Unions under control will be appealing to him. Provide him what you know, and he will handle it."

"And it will take him off Earth for a time," she noted. "He won't like that."

"He can leave his own Harbinger to observe, if he is so paranoid," the Imperator dismissed. "This is a matter important enough to not make him believe this is some scheme to oust him from Earth. He wishes more of a say in the management of the Collective. This will provide it." A pause. "And it serves a greater purpose."

Patricia waited. The Imperator continued a few moments later. "This is an ideal opportunity to begin turning the Collective against me. I'm certain he has considered it. If his loyalties are in doubt, then there would be no better opportunity than to acquire several Unions for himself. To capitalize on the perceived weakness. How he handles them…it will tell me a great deal."

She crossed her arms. "And if he does?"

"Then I will take action. The other Ethereals will not be able to defend treason," he answered. "The Battlemaster is no spymaster or schemer. Should he plan to betray me now, I will know soon enough."

Patricia bowed her head. "I will inform him of what I know. Let's hope he's still loyal."

---

3|26|2017

She must be in some kind of factory. The hallways were sealed off, but she could see through the transparent barriers machines working to construct various weapons and technology. Machines and icons of war she had no name for, though some of them triggered words in her mind. Sectopod. Seeker. The majority though she had no word for.

But they looked dangerous.

Squads of a dozen augmented soldiers marched past her, none of them paying her any significant attention. All of them were just as radically modified as her escort, faces set in stern and serious expressions; emotionless as the machines they were surrounded by. What was curious was how they weren't composed of just one species.

There were…at least a half dozen that she saw. Tall furred aliens that reminded her of Bigfoot and other large creatures from…well, movies she'd probably seen. There were the grey-skinned humanoids, hulking brutish looking aliens, unsettling-looking creatures with bulbous eyes, white-grey skin, and other Humans.

Some of their…names popped into her mind. Or at least she assumed. Borelian. Vitakarian. Sectoid. Not all of them, but a good amount. But everything about this struck her as off. She got the distinct impression that this wasn't supposed to be happening, or at least definitely wasn't normal. The name 'Fectorian' didn't ring any bells either.

"What is this place?" She finally asked her escort.

"Fectorian's workshop, lab, and production facility," he answered immediately. "That he calls the Hall of Steel."

She raised an eyebrow. "He likes dramatic names, doesn't he?"

"Fectorian takes inspiration from many sources," her escort explained as they passed another patrol. "There was an old Vitakara story about the first Borelian warlord who united the disparate tribes into one unified army. His source of his technological superiority was dubbed the Hall of Steel. Fectorian saw some similarities in the story and what he envisions his role to be."

"And what's that?"

"A key instrument in the uniting of this galaxy," the Vitakarian cyborg motioned around. "And proof is all around us now. Species previously divided now faithfully unite, believers in Fectorian and the plan he will execute. It will be through our efforts, and that of Fectorian, that this galaxy is saved and ultimately protected."

"So to clarify," Abigail said slowly. "He plagiarized the name because he thought it was neat."

A pause. "I do not think Fectorian makes decisions with those words in mind, but I would say a more accurate one is appropriated. As I said, he is not especially picky about the sources of his inspirations."

"Right." Abigail didn't say anything for a few minutes as they entered some kind of tram. "So, who are you? Your name?"

"Morias," he answered after a moment, as if expecting a follow up question. She felt there was something off about the name, but didn't know why. It wasn't exactly normal, but it was an alien. At least she could pronounce it.

"Nice to meet you," she said, then frowned. "Have we met before? Sorry if we have. I'm…not remembering a lot of things."

"No, we have never met, Abigail Gertrude," he clarified. "I was aware of your condition here, but know little more. Fectorian will explain."

The tram stopped and opened up to reveal something that was definitely a workshop of some kind. Or a surgery room? There were a lot of tables where tools, metals, and components were strewn out, and there were surgery tables which were actively performing modifications on some aliens. Black-armored humanoids stood around at various doorways and stations.

She knew she'd seen them before. They definitely seemed off, but she couldn't remember why. They held plasma rifles of some kind, and two approached her as both of them walked forward. In front of a holographic display, she saw what she assumed was Fectorian…or at least she hoped she was right.

Ethereal.

The word appeared as she beheld the massive alien. Like most everything else here, he was heavily augmented where it looked like two of his four limbs had been replaced by prosthetics, and there was a series of additional manipulator extending from his back. This was to say nothing of the internal cybernetics he probably had.

"Abigail Gertrude, as requested," Morias said without ceremony. "Are there additional orders?"

"No. Dismissed." The voice had an electronic tinge, but it didn't take away from the imposing voice as the alien turned to her; an intimidating sight as she stared into the electric orange eyes of the towering alien. "Abigail Gertrude. A pleasure to see you again."

So they'd definitely met before. Something she'd assumed, but good to have it confirmed. Odd that she had absolutely no memory of who this was. "I'm afraid I don't…remember a lot. But you know that, right?"

"Something I anticipated, yes," he said, waving a hand, making her jump as a chair moved by itself across the floor before her. "Sit down. There is much that needs to be explained. This was a potential complication, but we will need to make do." She complied, and waited for the Ethereal to continue.

"Are you with XCOM?" She asked. "Is the Commander here?"

He stared down at her. "No, and no. Before I explain, tell me exactly what you remember."

She grimaced. "There…isn't much to say. I don't remember a lot. Not specifics. Not memories per-se. I know my name is Abigail Gertrude. I know a lot of names. I feel something for each of these names." A pause. "Some who've died, I think. Others I just don't know. I can recall certain words when I see things. When I saw you, I knew you were an Ethereal, though no one told me."

"Interesting," he commented. "Yet no memories?"

"It's…" she paused. "Yes and no. I get some kind of flashes, only a few, but they exist. They aren't clear, but I remember some things that happened in them even if visually they are confusing. I remember something or someone dying on a place of metal. I remember being restrained somewhere. I remember standing in front of what I think was a memorial. Minor things; pointless things," she sighed. "Please, tell me what happened. I don't even know who I am right now."

"I see," a chair pulled up behind Fectorian and he sat down. "I cannot claim to know you well. Your current predicament is a matter of coincidence and risk. I will recount what I can about you, but it is far from a complete picture. I was not your friend, and many who you would consider such are dead."

Abigail nodded, and waited. "You are Abigail Gertrude, once a Marine of the United States, later a soldier of XCOM, and finally an agent of XCOM Intelligence. You were considered one of the most reliable operatives, and developed a connection to an individual called the Chronicler who himself is an agent for a Sovereign One. You were trusted enough to wear armor of the Sovereign, and hence my interest in you was born from this fact."

"I…" Abigail trailed off, absorbing this new information. "Were we at war? And with who?"

Fectorian released an exasperated breath. "The summation of the situation all factions are currently in is long and more complicated than you would assume. Yet you need a complete understanding before we go forward. Do not interrupt, as I wish to take as little time as possible to explain this."

Abigail listened as Fectorian explained the state of her species, and the current war taking place. She tried keeping her composure, and for the most part succeeded, but it felt like continual gut punches as she learned of the invasion, the subsequent war, psionics, Patricia Trask, the Sovereign Ones, XCOM and ADVENT, and the Ethereal Collective.

She…was not as optimistic now that she knew she was in the hands of an Ethereal who was technically an enemy.

"So what am I doing here?" She demanded once he finished.

"We finally come to the relevant part," he said. "You were captured and I requested to examine you to attempt to remove your armor. This was a ruse to propose an idea. You were going to die, and I offered an alternative. A way to preserve your memory and place it in a clone body to cheat death and assist me in contacting T'Leth. You agreed."

"Really?" She asked. "How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Because I made a promise, and I intend to keep it," Fectorian pulled a fairly large holoprojector before them and the recording began playing, showing a restrained Abby in armor speaking with Fectorian. "I suspected you would want proof. Here it is."

Abigail watched as her past self and Fectorian talked, from the moment she awoke to the moment she agreed to his proposal. A funny feeling grew in her. Something she couldn't really describe. It felt like she was looking at someone else, and the reality of what she was facing was creeping up on her. It reached the end, and after it shut off she felt…numb.

"So." She finally said. "I'm not Abigail. I'm a…" She looked down at her hands. "A clone?"

"All organic material is based on Abigail's genome," Fectorian explained. "Though I took the liberty of improving your body from what it was. I estimate approximately fifty percent of your body is cybernetically enhanced. Particularly the skeletal structure, your skin, and several other components I included which are improvements over your original body, which you will likely want to test out later."

Abigail shook her head, not wanting to fixate on that when there was a more important detail. "The procedure didn't work."

"Unfortunate complications, but not completely," Fectorian said after a moment. "However, it would be a mistake to say that it was a complete failure. Some things successfully transferred over. You know who you are, you know important people in your life, you already have flashes of memories. I admit, my colleague Revelean would have been useful on this project, but I do not count him as reliable."

Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. "Is there a chance I'll…eventually be me? Or…her?"

"The first thing I would suggest is to not fixate on who you were before," Fectorian said bluntly. "This is not healthy for your mental state. If you think in terms of what 'Abby' would do or not, then the chances of you doing something contrary to her increase. It is an interesting psychological conundrum. The more you try and be something, the more you likely will not be. I believe there was enough of Abigail that was successfully transferred. Act as you see fit; speak the same way. The Abigail Gertrude you saw is dead. You are Abigail Gertrude now."

He paused. "Now, there is a fairly high possibility that memories will surface and you will begin remembering more and more. Your first few hours like this are encouraging in this regard. Perhaps all your fears will be for naught. This complicates meeting T'Leth, which means you need to figure yourself out before we proceed. T'Leth will sense any confusion and uncertainty, and see it as a trap, which I do not want. You are believed dead by everyone. Your return will raise significant questions."

"I'd imagine," she said. "I guess…I'll do my best here."

"Yes, and I will do my best to assist in this," Fectorian said. "While the procedure was not flawless, it represents a significant step forward and I will continue to refine it. In the meantime, I have prepared for this contingency and have a procedure which will help track your progress in remembering who you are."

"How?" She asked.

"A combination of a psychological interview and technology," Fectorian answered, sounding more enthused. "I ask you a series of questions, and you answer. Previous research indicates that this can result in triggered memories and information. If nothing else, it will provide me with valuable data."

"I guess I owe you that much," she leaned back in her chair. "How…much research have you done on this?"

"Memory loss and recovery? A recent topic of interest for me," Fectorian said, waving a hand. "As it applies to Humans, I read a number of published papers and academic material on the subject, all of which was sadly limited in use. As well as not useful for my needs. Your entertainment arguably has more content relating to this. Amnesia is a common plot device."

She blinked. "You…watched movies?"

"And read books, and watched videos on the subject," he said. "The Borne Trilogy was a fascinating tale, and was farseeing for its time. Conditioning in particular I was impressed by the inclusion. Fiction is an excellent source for inspiration. I do not limit myself to what has already been done – I look to what could be done. In this this respect, your species has been exceptionally fascinating."

That…was definitely interesting. And not really something she expected. "Huh. I think I've seen that trilogy."

"Most likely, for Humans it was fairly popular," Fectorian stood. "Now, unless you have objections, I would like to begin. Follow me."

Abby stood as well, and followed the Ethereal out of the workshop, her thoughts in flux as she continued processing what she had learned.

---

Volk's Quarters – Mars Collective Base

3/20/2017 – 9:18 A.M.

Sleeping in late today made him feel slightly lazy, but all of them needed the sleep. Volk laid in the very – almost unnaturally – soft bed with Elena curled up beside him and sleeping soundly. The first time in a nearly a week he'd seen it. She'd still woken up once in the night and he'd had to calm her down, but aside from that, it had been an uneventful night.

He was worried about her.

The illustrious Dread Lord and his insane decisions had messed Elena up badly. For perhaps the first time, Volk considered himself lucky that he didn't have a perfect memory. He'd made the mistake of watching even some of Isomnum's broadcast from Beijing and it had taken him a few nights for the visceral images to fade.

Elena…she didn't have that luxury. And unlike him she'd watched a lot more. He'd found her in front of a chair just watching and immediately pulled her away and she'd just…let him do it without any sort of protest, which was already alarming. The only time she'd let him do something like that was back when she was half-delirious on drugs when he was dragging her out of that Russian base.

Which was…years ago. Shit. A lot had happened.

He knew her well enough to know that not only would she not forget what she saw, she'd dwell on it even if she knew she shouldn't. Something like Beijing would drive her mad, and he didn't know how to handle it and help her. All he could do was hold her close as she sobbed and screamed into him. She needed help, and he was not who she needed right now.

He felt bad for all of the therapists and psychologists that were no doubt overworked in the aftermath of that nightmare. Elena needed some kind of psychological help, and the aliens weren't going to be any help here. They didn't have anyone trained to handle Human psychological issues, and given Elena's condition, that was only another subtlety and complication that still wouldn't help.

Nico had offered to erase the memories, and Elena had responded by almost blowing the poor kid's brains out. Messed up as she was right now, she had made it very clear that she didn't want anything psionic touching her. Volk appreciated that the kid's heart was in the right place, but he didn't know anyone – himself included – who would willingly submit to having their memories removed.

It came down to trust. You didn't know what else they might remove along with what you wanted – and you'd never know again.

He was terrified of leaving her alone now, afraid he was going to come back and find her on the bed with her brains blown out. It made him snappish to everyone else because at this moment he didn't care about the war, Nemo, their plans, his own responsibilities, nothing but helping Elena. If he lost her because of his own decision to get tangled up in this stupid war…

He closed his eyes. Don't think about that. She's getting better. She's getting better.

Asaru had politely informed him that he would be needed in the next few days, and he'd politely told her to go fuck herself. In retrospect he should be treating the Ethereals with some more respect…but he had come to realize that none of them really understood what it was like to have someone they cared about suffer. Really suffer; to the extent that you could lose them, especially knowing it could be traced back to you.

Even Nemo had been more respectful and kept his distance, though Volk figured it was more because he knew that he was just going to be distracted the whole time. Besides, it was clear that they didn't exactly need him. Not when they had Nico and Sicarius to pull off assassinations at a whim. If only they'd pulled one on the Dread Lord before things in Beijing had gotten so bad.

Unfortunately, the only person he knew probably could have helped Elena was Sana'Ligna, and she had understandably left and went down to Earth. Nemo had said she hadn't defected, but merely left. Either way she was gone, and he couldn't blame her. Hell, he'd been sorely tempted to just leave everything and try and go back to how it had been.

Something which was impossible now. At least the Battlemaster had tried to pull the plug on Isomnum, but Volk knew very well that the great Imperator had let him pull from Paradise Station and continue on his mission of terror.

He'd pulled out a vodka and held a celebration with his men and women when they'd heard ADVENT had killed the Dread Lord, and he'd had to admit that Saudia's little speech before the attack had been quite inspiring. Had it not been ADVENT leading the charge, he would have been one of the first down there, leading the charge against the mad Ethereal.

Instead, he'd had to content himself with following their slow and steady victory. The aliens in the base were…uncomfortable with the unexpected support of ADVENT, though none of them really complained. Volk believed that they hated the Dread Lord just as much as he did, and that was why no one had terminated him for 'treasonous behavior'.

A point in the Collective's favor, he guessed.

Still didn't fix Elena, though she'd also given a small smile when she'd heard Isomnum was dead. Though her comment stuck with him. "Why did it take so long?"

Obviously she wasn't referring to ADVENT. The Collective; the Imperator, could have prevented him coming to Earth at all. Or just executed him a long time ago. But no one did, and that begged the question why? There was, in his view, no possible reason for keeping someone like Isomnum alive. It benefited absolutely no one aside from having weapon of pure terror on your side.

Or having someone to take the fall.

No wonder the fabled Ethereal Empire fell if everyone made decisions like the Imperator.

Elena stirred, then in a smooth motion sat up in the bed and rubbed her eyes, blinking. Volk joined her, careful not to touch her yet until she indicated she was ok. She stared blankly ahead, eyes still haunted, and they would be haunted possibly forever. He could tell whatever she was thinking about wasn't healthy.

"How are you?" He finally asked.

Her lips twitched, and she blinked once. "I am better." She laid a warm hand over his own, surprising him. "Thank you."

"Oh?" He asked lightly; she was definitely better from the previous days. Or more talkative. "You…slept better?"

"A little," she answered with a shrug. "More black, less dreams."

He wondered how much of that was from pure exhaustion rather than her improving. Either way he was glad she had at least a night of moderate respite. "I'm glad. I don't like seeing you like this."

"I don't like being like this," she said, face falling and closing her eyes. "But I can't forget. I can't erase it. It keeps coming back. I can't fight it like I have been." She took a short breath. "You are going to help me."

"Whatever you need," he said without hesitation. He was willing to try whatever Elena had in mind, since he didn't have a plan beyond helping her whenever he saw an opportunity. "I'm here for you."

"You told me to not focus on what I saw," she said after a moment. "To think of something enjoyably. Something happy. Something good. You talked for a long time to try and keep me from thinking. It helped me. Last night I thought about you before I slept." A pause, and a smile appeared. "It helped."

Volk very clearly remembered what she was talking about, and he remembered a lot of pointless rambling to try and get her mind on something else…and it seemed he'd done something right. And he had an idea of what she wanted to try. "Are you hungry?"

Her mouth parted slightly, then she nodded. "Let me get you something," he said, rolling out of bed and throwing on a shirt. "And I'll tell you another story." She got up as well, and made a bee-line to get dressed herself, a renewed energy for both of them. It wasn't really a cure, but having some more positive memories would help even out the bad.

Anything she needed, he was going to provide as best as possible. No exceptions.

---

Borelian Wastes – Vitakar

3/19/2017 – 10:17 P.M.

"I guess you're not going to be going back to the Zararch now," Shun commented as they sat together and watched the snow blow around the wastes. "Can't say I'm not happy."

Nartha sipped his stimulant, grimacing. "I did not want to make a decision like this. But you're right. Patricia knew…" he trailed off, still in some slight disbelief over what had happened. "Have you heard anything from XCOM?"

"No details, but they're recovering," Shun shrugged, mood soured again. "I don't understand it. Of all the people to turn, why did it have to be her?"

"Wrong place at the wrong time," Nartha suggested lamely, though even he knew how unlikely that was. "Or the Imperator knew what to say to her. She would never have come to this conclusion on her own. She had to be shown the way."

"And like an idiot, she just had to listen," Shun shook her head, shifting back into her chair. "I guess she probably didn't have a lot of choice."

"She was a prisoner," Nartha agreed. "Maybe she's more of a victim that we think."

"I'd like to think so, but I don't know," Shun admitted with a sigh. "From the sounds of things, she's not really an unwitting victim in all of this. I think she really turned."

"Then I don't get that," Nartha shook his head. "She knows everything wrong with the Collective. And those running it. I told her that. She's seen it. It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe it's just a thing that happens," Shun wondered. "People turn traitor for idiotic reasons. We already have Betos and other Humans who've turned traitor."

"They make more sense," Nartha pointed out. "ADVENT was their catalyst. They consider the Collective the lesser of two evils. They're wrong, but that's how they see it. Patricia was one of the founders of the Advent Directive. She doesn't have any personal problem with it, and I doubt the Imperator convinced her of the so-called evils of it."

"Or we all just misjudged her?" Shun really didn't like that implication, given how she drank her still-hot coffee immediately after saying it. "She was always trying to become more powerful. There were warning signs, I think. She enjoyed what she was capable of. There isn't a person more powerful than the Imperator. If he offered her power, maybe she just took it." She snorted. "'Harbinger of the Imperator'. Did you ever hear of that kind of title?"

"Never," Nartha confirmed. "Or anything about this Avatar Project. You have a point though. I've read the file Aegis made for the Imperator. Everyone thinks they'd be principled and refuse offered power, but in reality…" he shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't even malicious. Patricia may think she can use the power for the greater good."

Shun flinched as a piece of hail hit the window. "I hate that justification."

"It's not necessarily a wrong one," Nartha said. "Morality doesn't win wars. Nor does mercy and pacifism."

"I'm not saying that, but it's a cop-out justification for progressing something everyone knows is wrong," Shun clarified. "It's the 'greater good', but only in the context of the power of whoever's saying it. It can lead to abuse, even if starts out well-intentioned. I don't trust people's intentions when they say that. China particularly liked it, when they gave an explanation at all. Something I perpetuated when working for them, but we all knew what was going on." She rubbed her forehead. "And yeah, I know ADVENT and the Commander like using it too. Doesn't mean I always agree with them."

"Fair," he nodded. "I'm not endorsing it, but I can see how she might view it. I think we can both agree that she's wrong."

A few minutes passed. "Do you think things will change for the Vitakara after XCOM showing up?" She asked. "I'd say it was a victory if Patricia hadn't attacked."

"It did what it needed to," Nartha said. "No one is going to forget this, even if the Zararch are going to try and stamp it out. It will put some doubt in their minds, but this won't amount to permanent change. It never will as long as the Zararch are in control."

"Something easier said than done," Shun muttered. "And with Patricia with them…that isn't happening anytime soon. I hope it will have some kind of positive effect, even if it doesn't lead to a complete revolt."

"Hopefully," Nartha agreed. "But we should keep expectations in check." They sat and watched the snow continue to fall. Shun took another drink from her mug.

"Creed must be feeling awful," she said after a few minutes. "Don't know how you reconcile that your girlfriend is not only a traitor, but one of the biggest threats to our species as well."

Nartha considered for a minute. "This is what Humans would call a 'bad breakup', yes?"

Shun chuckled. "A worse one than usual, but you can call it that. At least you never had to deal with that problem, right?" She cocked her head towards him. "Are you even allowed to have relationships in the Zararch?"

"Technically yes, but it's very discouraged," he answered. "If it happens, it's usually between agents. Relationships between an agent and someone on Vitakar or a colony usually don't work out. Distance and secrecy. No potential vulnerabilities or weaknesses."

"And the Zararch has never had an instance of an agent falling in love with a target or someone inside an infiltrated place?" She asked dryly. "Or are you the one spy organization that doesn't use seduction?"

Nartha snorted. He knew that the Zar'Chon would have probably shot someone with a stun gun if they asked that question to him. "If you have to rely on your sexual attractiveness to complete a mission, than something has gone very wrong. Your species has an interesting obsession with sexuality, and to date it's an anomaly. Applying it to something like the Zararch just doesn't make sense. Otherwise my first action when I infiltrated XCOM would be to seduce Dr. Vahlen." He shivered. "The idea alone sounds harrowing."

Shun sipped the coffee slowly. "Maybe you should choose someone who wouldn't vivisect you if caught. The first Human psion would be a better option."

"Are we really going to do this?" Nartha asked, shooting her a mildly bemused look. "That is an idiotic idea based solely on the fact that she can read my mind."

Shun winced. "Right."

"I really hated being around her," Nartha recalled. "At least when I was undercover. I knew she could ruin everything if I wasn't careful."

"Are Vitakara even attracted to aliens?" Shun asked. "Your own races look distinct enough."

"Depends on the Vitakara," Nartha answered. "For the most part, no. Races tend to stick to themselves. There are a fair number of interracial matings, particularly between Dath'Haram and Vitakarians. Borelians are also in the grouping for some reason. Cobrarian males only ever mate with females of their race – and they have no shortage of options. Females will sometimes find other mates, but usually the physiology just…doesn't work. At all."

At her bemused look, he sighed. "The Zararch is – or was – keeping an eye on that. Last I checked there was growing political discontent in the Hierarchy since a large chunk of the males were leaving due to underrepresentation. The Hierarchy is female-dominated, you see."

"Right, you've mentioned that before," she nodded.

"And since the males have limited political power, they leave," Nartha continued. "Which is a problem since that could actually lead to a population crisis if not addressed. Not to mention the swarms of females who chase off after the now-liberated males."

"I'm not a Cobrarian," Shun said slowly. "But it seems like there is a fairly obvious solution to that problem?"

"Obviously," Nartha agreed. "Essentially everyone who isn't in the Hierarchy is in agreement that the time of segregation is past, but when you know their history, it makes some sense why its set up with females in power. The limited number of males leads to a much easier acquisition of political power than a more balanced population, considering how vital they are for reproduction."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there a story there?"

Well, it seemed his stint in learning Cobrarian history was actually going to produce something good. "A bloodier one than most know. Prior to the hierarchy there were dozens of tribes, all of which had their own king. Cobrarian males are aggressive for Vitakara, and this translated to a notable amount of conflict and slaughter. Sometimes alliances, but an equal number of massacres. Obviously, the primary soldiers were unmated females, with the lucky ones being given to subordinate males or were the broodmasters of a king. Not excellent career odds."

"Hmm," Shun mused, as she drank again and waited for him to continue.

"Many of the broodmasters were tired of the war, and there had been sightings of others," Nartha said. "Most likely Vitakarian scouts, but this was not confirmed. They were afraid whatever was out there would kill a weakened species. The kings weren't concerned, or were leaving it until after the Cobrarian were conquered. The broodmasters secretly formed alliances, and in one night all struck the kings down, along with the elder male subordinates."

"And that worked?" Shun asked incredulously.

"Most of them were clever about it," Nartha shrugged. "Poison; wounds that could come from accidents. Not to mention it was easy to cover up. The conflict had gone on long enough that everyone was willing to overlook oddities for peace. And thus, the Cobrarian Hierarchy formed with the broodmasters forming the Council of Matriarchs. The restrictions on males were made to prevent another interracial war. Necessary at one time, perhaps, but it's gone past that point. One reason why the Zararch wanted to collapse it."

"I somehow doubt that was the only reason," Shun commented.

"Of course not," Nartha agreed. "The Hierarchy has never toed the line like most of the others. They're more willing to stand their ground against Zararch propaganda. They're marked as threats to this day. Natural allies for us, once we can establish something more formal." He paused. "All that to say that the Cobrarian don't really go for other species. Or Oyariah for that matter."

"Sar'Manda?" She asked with a rhetorical smile.

"They'd probably be repelled by the idea," Nartha snorted. "And to be fair, everyone would consider the feeling mutual." He paused. "But if you're asking if my species is attracted to Humans, I say to a degree. Not all races, and not all within those races. You have hair, which is going to be off-putting to some Vitakarians and Dath'Haram. Borelians would like it though."

Shun didn't appear to know how she felt about that, from her confused expression. "It helps that you're physically similar to Vitakarians," Nartha noted. "Minus the hair, your shortness, and your various skin colors. Darker-skinned Humans would generally be more attractive. Closer to grey, even if not the same."

"Huh, interesting," she looked down at her own tanned skin. "So, what about you?"

He internally grimaced, knowing she was going to ask that question. "I do find y-Human women attractive," he said, only stumbling a little bit. "Probably from being around so many. Human eyes are…expressive. Even if they are smaller than Vitakarian women." He looked to her. "Your turn. You don't get to avoid the question if you asked me first."

"Fair enough," she smiled. "Fine. Yes."

"How shocking," he said, not surprised at all. "Quisilia is right about one thing. Humans will likely fuck anything."

"Generalizations," Shun countered. "But…not completely wrong."

They sat in silence for a few moments as the levity of the previous conversation faded. "I wonder what will happen next," Shun said quietly. "The Commander isn't going to let the attack go unanswered. He's going to do something."

Nartha remembered some of what the Commander had sanctioned, and he couldn't help but share in the concern. "Hopefully he won't go unreasonably far."

"Shen is dead," Shun said with a shrug. "He was the one person who maybe could have tempered him. He's gone now, and his advisors are Vahlen, Zhang, the boyfriend of Patricia, Iosif…" she shook her head. "Everyone is furious, and I am too. But no one is going to be holding him back. Especially not the Nulorian."

"Do you think he'll try something on Vitakar?" Nartha inquired, surprised she'd suggested it. "After what they successfully did here?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Shun said, looking out into the flurries of snow as the storm intensified. "We're probably going to find out sooner than later."

---

SAS Command, Abuja – Nigeria

3/20/2017 – 1:42 P.M.

Constant bombardment, chaos and conflict. That more or less summed up the past two weeks Betos and the SAS had endured. ADVENT seemed to have dedicated every European unit to run harassment operations against the SAS. The first few days had been brutal with the usage of nukes for EMPs, followed by CIF3 and napalm raining from the sky over fields and bases.

Eventually the power was restored and air attacks – at least in cities – were able to be repelled by the superior ground-to-air defenses. ADVENT had eventually slowed their constant barrages from the seas after the missile strikes were continuously intercepted. They still hadn't stopped, and the size of the fleet waiting was large enough that anything short of a small army wouldn't work against it.

Not to mention there was definitely something off about the ADVENT naval fleet barraging the nations from the ocean. They were too advanced and numerous. ADVENT definitely wanted some kind of reprisal. One which Keeper was insisting they hold off on until they knew more.

China though had been a test for everyone. Although it was something she didn't completely know the story to until Isomnum had been disavowed by the Battlemaster, although everything else…it was a nightmare, and she actually didn't feel like the Collective had suffered a defeat when Isomnum had been killed. As far as all of them were concerned, it was better off that way.

Although it had shown some disturbing truths about the Collective and how much sway the Ethereals held over everything. When she'd demanded how Isomnum had acquired so many soldiers from Paradise Station, the answer was that – as an Ethereal – he could allocate forces. Forces he continued to utilize after being disavowed.

She knew ADVENT was going to say that there was no chance the Collective was not secretly supporting Isomnum, but after thinking about it closely, she was skeptical. If anything, she wasn't unconvinced that the Imperator and Ethereal leadership also knew that Isomnum was problematic, and what better way to get rid of a problem than have them die conveniently in battle?

Normally such callous disregard for subordinates would make her angry. But this was perhaps the only case where that would be justified. ADVENT had yet to explain why the Imperator would want Isomnum with him, or how what happened in Beijing benefited anyone in any way. It made more sense to consider Isomnum a rogue element instead of assuming that he was being secretly backed by the Imperator.

Not that it excused the Imperator from having someone like Isomnum to begin with, but she suspected there was some missing context. Context she would not have to worry about anymore. It had definitely been a good thing the Battlemaster had disavowed him so quickly, otherwise there would have been many more legitimate issues.

Now that Isomnum was dead, they could move forward. The fact that Patricia Trask of all people was now not only on their side, but the avatar of the Imperator himself, morale had spiked dramatically and Betos personally had been very interested to hear her little speech. The formation of ADVENT had always seemed too convenient, and hopefully that was going to be dragged out into the light.

But it was Patricia who was the most important.

If one of Humanity's greatest heroes had abandoned her former comrades, then it meant that there was deeper rot in them than met the eye. It was…cathartic in a way, to be finally validated in her decision. And it was good for everyone else to see such a famous figure make the same statement in such a visceral way.

Keeper had confirmed that Patricia had hit XCOM's primary headquarters and that the mission was a success. It was the first time she'd actually seen him genuinely smile. Hearing the news had definitely provided a morale boost to the entire SAS, and she suspected that things were going to significantly change going forward.

It was time for the SAS to grow – and for ADVENT to be pushed back.

"Seems ADVENT has taken a diplomatic hit," Betos noted as she reviewed the holotable. "No further update on some of the negotiations. Unusual for them, considering how they were bragging about the progress."

"They are reconsidering," Keeper said, pulling up a report facing him. Not that she could read it anyway since all Zararch documents were in their own language. "They want answers from ADVENT before committing now. Some of them, anyway. The rest are entering a wait and see stance. We've seen renewed interest in the SAS now. Gabon, the Central African Republic, and the Republic of the Congo have signaled they want to talk."

"Well, do it," Betos waved a hand. "Strike while the iron is hot. If nothing else, keeping them away from ADVENT is just as important."

"Yes, it is ideal," Keeper shifted the holotable to display military icons of both ADVENT and allied positions. "As it stands, ADVENT needs to be dealt with. Their fleet sitting in the ocean should be destroyed, and our forces are ready to be deployed against their armies. SAS psions are starting to come back from training. Green and untested, but they are better than nothing."

"Can the Cleanser Ships take out the fleet?" Mox asked.

"They'd have to get uncomfortably close for the shots to be accurate," Keeper answered. "Close enough that the fleet could respond back. This appears to be a heavily modified fleet. Several carriers and warships, all seemingly enhanced with ETC and gauss weaponry, not to mention sporting a new kind of ADVENT soldier."

He brought up an image of one of the soldiers, a silver-white individual with sealed armor which included fins, jets, and tanks. "An aquatic soldier?" Betos frowned. "Why would they make that? The ocean hasn't been a significant factor in the war so far."

"Not yet," Keeper corrected. "ADVENT is doing what they always do – thinking ahead. It doesn't appear that this is standard yet, but they are anticipating the war moving to the waters at some point, and us blindly rushing to take them out will end badly. That said, it is time we test them to see the extent of their capabilities."

"How?" Mox asked. "Our navy is non-existent, and the Collective doesn't appear to have one either. For water, at least."

"We have options," Keeper stated. "The fleet is content to shell us from the water. It's time we fire back. They are in range, we merely need to position our own equipment to fire back. Second, we can call for the deployment of the Andromedon Aquatic Forces. A sufficient number will give them a challenge. At best we will cripple or destroy their fleet. At worst we know how powerful they really are. Either way is advantageous for us."

"That sounds acceptable," Betos nodded. "I'll have that started immediately."

"What about the Vitakara who live under the water?" Mox pointed out. "Those do exist, right?"

"The Sar'Manda?" Keeper seemed bemused. "Unreliable. They are highly independent and far more trouble than they would be worth to use them here. Which is unfortunate, as even the Aquatic Force do not compare to them. With the situation on Vitakar not completely controlled at the moment, the risk is unacceptable. We will use the Aquatic Forces."

All of them nodded. Things were moving along well.

Hopefully it would continue to stay that way.

---

3|26|2017

"Let's start with your name."

Abigail sat still on the padded chair in the small enclosed room. She wasn't physically uncomfortable – but she felt off and claustrophobic. She didn't like the room at all. It was stark white, fairly cold, and the hum of machines ran in the background. Fectorian was beside her facing a holographic display which she couldn't read, but there were definitely Human-esque models shown.

Two wires were attached directly to her hand, and one to her back, physical ports which she didn't even know she had, and it was an odd sensation to see the skin – which she now knew was made up of nanites – pull back and reveal something mechanical. According to Fectorian this would allow him to gather perfect physiological data on her. Breathing, heartrate, and other physical reactions.

Polygraph. That was the word that appeared in her mind. She remembered what it was…but not if she'd taken one before. This didn't exactly seem to be the same thing, but there were enough similarities. Fectorian had said he was going to ask a series of questions, she would give immediate answers, and they would do this every day which would provide him with progress on how her memory was returning – or if it was not.

"Abigail Gertrude." She at least knew that. Even if she wasn't the 'real' Abigail, it wasn't as though there was anything else she could even pretend to be.

"Where were you born?"

"Maine, United States." That was all she could muster. She couldn't remember what city, or even what hospital she'd been born in.

"Who were your parents?"

"Margaret and Paul."

"Who were their parents."

"I…" she paused. "Don't remember…"

Something felt wrong with saying that. She…should know who they were, right? Were they even alive?

"Do you remember if they are living?"

"I don't remember."

"Do you have friends?"

She hesitated slightly before answering. "I think most of my friends are dead."

"Name them."

She really hoped she was wrong, but the feelings associated with them made her think otherwise. "Liam Jaster, Luke Warner, Mira Vauner, Ruth Shira, probably some others I haven't remembered." She shook her head, trying to focus.

"When you think of the names, what do you feel?"

"Sad," she answered. "Like I lost something I'll never get back. Anger, directed at those who took them. Sometimes regret for taking the time I had for granted."

"What do you know of the Commander of XCOM?"

"I respected him and thought he was a good leader," she sighed. "I can't remember why I think this."

"What do you feel about ADVENT?"

"Only really what you told me-"

"No. What do you feel about ADVENT. Not what you know."

"Ah," she paused, thinking. "Resolve. Hope. Guilt." She grimaced as that realization caught up to her. A roiling feeling of discontent, sadness, and self-hatred. She wished she knew why she felt this way, but wondered if it was maybe best she didn't know. Had ADVENT done something to her – or had she done something for them?

No good intelligence agent becomes valued because of their morals.

Am I a good person?

She both wanted to know the answer, and at the same time to wish the thought had never entered her mind. Fectorian continued asking questions, mostly relating to feelings and people she'd named and what her reaction to them was. It was long, but eventually she fell into something of a rhythm of answering questions which almost seemed to be flying at a fast pace.

But they had to be reaching the end.

"Do you believe you are Abigail Gertrude?"

The question made her pause. She was Abigail Gertrude, or at least that was what she called herself. But was she Abigail Gertrude? That was a more nebulous question she couldn't really answer. Her body wasn't that of Abby, even if the organic parts of her were drawn from her genome. What little personality she had was based on the memories and emotions of Abigail…but could she really call herself Abigail when her personality was incomplete? Did it follow that she was a different person who just so happened to be based on a dead woman?

Fectorian wanted her to be truthful. So she was. "I don't know."

"Thank you. You can take out the wires."

Feeling suddenly free, Abigail reached over with her free hand and pulled out the wires, watching in fascination as the skin grew over in seconds. She reached back and pulled out the wire from her back, finding it an odd sensation to be pulling something like that out of her physically. Do I have a charging station in me?

Probably shouldn't ask that question yet.

"Did you get what you needed?" She asked as Fectorian reviewed the data.

"Yes, it is a good start," he answered neutrally. "Within the predicted parameters. One day of data cannot be extrapolated, obviously. So this will continue in largely the same format. Questions may change depending on the evolution of your answers."

She stood, and flexed her fingers, idly noting that she had absolutely perfect control over each digit. Probably an enhancement Fectorian had made, since she doubted the original Abigail had this level of control. "What do I do in the meantime?" She looked to the Ethereal who had shut down the display. "Just wait and hope I start remembering things?"

"Revelean would likely believe that to be the most accurate method, so as not to trigger false memories and recollections," Fectorian answered, half-focused. "But I am not one to merely wait for something to happen, nor do either of us have time. Instead we will be proactive. You are not an unknown to the Zararch, and I suspect they have a limited dossier on you. Aside from that, I expect you to get caught up on the war in more detail. You might remember something that way."

A plan she could get behind, and nodded until she realized Fectorian was leaving the room and scrambled to follow. "Alright, I can do that. I want to know about…me…as much as you do."

"Good, and I have several other options that I believe will help the process," Fectorian added, looking down at a holographic display on one augmented forearm. "Unfortunate that the people who know you well are largely unreachable. I suspect that neither the Commander, Zhang, or the Chronicler will be available. Nor do I think abducting your parents would be a wise idea."

Abigail sighed. "Neither do I. Especially since I doubt they'd believe it was me."

"Not at first, but perhaps they would be a trigger," Fectorian mused. "However, that is a contingency I will hopefully not have to rely on. There are far simpler options to utilize first. The war will not end for months yet. Time is limited, but not short." He looked down to her. "Your mental stability to this point is a good sign. You will need to do a large portion of work for this. I will do what I can, but you are not my only project."

Despite herself, Abigail did wonder just what else he was working on. "Can I ask what?"

"Perhaps later," he said idly. "You need to become acquainted with the capabilities of your own body first, nor do I typically let my projects become aware of other critical functions here. Yet you are not a typical project, so we shall see." They were reaching another room. "Focus. There is one thing I will show you before you return to your room. Likely where you will be spending a large portion of your time."

The door opened up to showcase what appeared to be a mixture of an engineering lab, library, and museum. There were physical bookshelves, holotables, and plaques and places where objects and artifacts were stored. Some weapons, some were statues. There were tablets and other electronic devices strewn on tables, along with physical tools and objects like papers and writing utensils.

"This is nice…" Abigail began, impressed with the room. This was probably where a good portion of information could be found, which later could be used for…something else. Probably was used by Fectorian's people; engineers and scientists (assuming he had them) or general subordinates. The room appeared empty, but she soon realized that was wrong.

A human man stood before a holotable, a physique she immediately recognized as a soldier's. If anything, he was taller than the average soldier, much less the average male. Short black hair covered his head, though he also sported a full beard now. Something which may have obscured his identity to most, but Abigail immediately recognized him and was hit with a wave of confusion and disbelief.

Impossible. It couldn't be.

"Hello Abby," Liam Jaster flashed a small smile and accompanying wave. "Long time no see."

---

Communications Hub – The Prism

3/24/2017 – 7:12 A.M.

The imposing hologram of the Imperator appeared before them. Both the Battlemaster and Yang were in armor, having planned to return to the front lines and continue the coordination of the forces in Florida and throughout the world. The Imperator's summons had been somewhat surprising, but not completely unexpected.

"What is it?" The Battlemaster asked neutrally.

"I want you to come to Paradise Station," the Imperator answered. "The time has come to appropriately address what the Bringer has enabled."

Good news, though the Battlemaster was skeptical. "And do you plan to do more than say threatening words?"

"Yes." The answer was clear and immediate. "The Bringer appears to be under the illusion that he can act with impunity. That he is too valuable to be discarded." A pause as the Imperator's voice tinged with…satisfaction. "It is time he became aware of the reality that he is not as important as he thinks he is. There will be appropriate punishment. The Bringer has much to lose."

"Such as?" The Battlemaster asked. "Putting the Orders to the sword would be a start."

"Perhaps, if it comes to that," the Imperator waved a hand. "I am not opposed to the elimination of large portions of certain Orders, but our culling must be appropriately directed. I have ordered the stasis chamber of the Embrace to be taken there. Deusian will be joining us as well. As will Mortis. The Bringer is a necessary component of the plan, but if it becomes a significant risk, I have no qualms eliminating it."

The Battlemaster was quiet for a few moments. It was not far enough, not yet. But it was at least a step, assuming the Imperator intended on following through. Though he would not bring Deusian if he did not intend on doing something to show his resolve. And if any Saint was to die, the Embrace would be the most fitting.

He would drop her corpse next to that of Preximius.

He hoped the Sectoid might feel a flicker of fear before his head was crushed.

Likely not. The Sectoid was too insane to consider that a possibility. Fanatics didn't fear death.

An idea came to him. One which he had learned from the Nemo creature. None of the Bringer's minions feared death so much as they feared separation. That was, arguably, a worse fate for them. Perhaps a fitting one for the Order commanders who lived. Though the Sectoid abomination would die, that was decided.

"I will be the one to execute them," the Battlemaster said. "Their lives are owed to me."

"You are no Arbiter," the Imperator said, lifting a hand, palm vertical to the ground. "No executions will happen without my command, though should they happen, you will be allowed to perform the deed."

"Very well," the Battlemaster said slowly. "We will travel to Paradise now."

"I will be waiting." The form of the Imperator winked out. The Battlemaster looked to Yang, and through their limited bond, he sensed her wariness.

"I don't like how non-committal he was," she said, crossing her arms. "Paradise requires more than a culling. It requires a purge. Every single member of those cursed Orders deserves to die, and the Saints along with them."

"I do not disagree," he agreed, turning around with his cape snapping behind him. "The Imperator will use Deusian to destroy something symbolic. The Temperance will reassure him of his loyalty. The Imperator does not want to cull Paradise of its most potent weapons. He merely wants to send a message." His voice turned hard. "A message is weak. Punishment is necessary. Let the Bringer feel the cost of acting against our interests."

"Yeah, but the issue is you're not in charge," Yang grunted. "If the Imperator wants to keep them alive, they will be kept alive. Screw justice and logic."

"That is what the Imperator believes," the Battlemaster agreed. "However, I am tired of his inability to see Paradise and the Bringer for what they are. If he will not take action, I will."

She raised an eyebrow, but he felt her approval – and growing excitement spiked with fear. "With him there? He may restrain you?"

He looked down at his Harbinger. "I do not need to move to do what I must. He cannot touch my mind. He will not strike against me." He pulled out a holocommunicator. "I have little intention of making this simple for him."

A few minutes later, and the image of Mortis appeared. "Battlemaster. It has been too long."

A nod. "You have been following the situation on Earth?"

"Moderately," he answered with a snort. "In addition to learning what we have imposed upon the Vitakara. Not to mention the Mutons. We need to talk soon."

He wondered what Mortis meant specifically with that, though he had another question. "Has Sana attempted to contact you?"

"Yes, she is working as best she can. I would not advise going to Sanctuary at this point," Mortis sounded amused. "I am not surprised she left. Nor that the Humans are not interested in peace. My sister means well, but in this instance I disagree with her. The Humans have no reason to trust any sort of peace. So long as they leave her alone, I have no quarrel with them."

On the point of trust, the Battlemaster didn't disagree. Though he didn't know the details, he was unsurprised Sana's likely pacifistic approach was rejected by the Humans. Though it also appeared Sana was not being solely confined to Earth, and was indeed still using her blacksite. It made sense, though he wondered if the Imperator would let it stand. "The Imperator has contacted you about Paradise."

"So it seems. I expect to be disappointed," Mortis's voice was resigned bitterness. "Too useful of a tool, and the Imperator will not willingly compromise his own goals. Perhaps I will be impressed, but I highly doubt it."

"I intend to ensure the Bringer is properly punished," the Battlemaster said. "If the Imperator will not, I will. But I will need you to ensure there is no interference."

"Ah," Mortis's voice became brighter. "Then you have whatever I can provide."

"I will explain in detail when we meet," the Battlemaster said. "Go to the Sanctum of the Sovereign."

"Understood, Battlemaster. I look forward to it."

The hologram blinked out. Yang chewed her lip. "No one goes to the Sanctum, at least that was what the Imperator had told me."

"A fact which had confused me, until I learned his ultimate plan," the Battlemaster nodded. "He is afraid of Mosrimor learning his intentions towards the Sovereign Ones. Nonetheless, we will need the Voice."

She blinked. "You aren't going to tell him are you? About what he's planning?"

"Of course not," the Battlemaster disputed flatly. "Mosrimor is no more trustworthy than the Bringer, but he is more useful – and has his own dislike of the Bringer. And it will force the Imperator to be more careful. It is time the Bringer's puppets meet the Voice of the Sovereign personally."

"The Imperator won't like that," Yang said rhetorically with a smile.

"No, he won't," the Battlemaster said, entering another frequency into the holocommunicator. A few moments later, the figure was projected in front of him.

"Battlemaster." The sound of her voice was unnervingly deep, a Sovereign's voice with the electronic tinge of a female. "You speak to the Voice. What is it you desire?"

"Your assistance," the Battlemaster answered. "Prepare to depart the Sanctum. You will be coming with us to Paradise."

---

Level 1 – Paradise Station

3/24/2017 – 5:02 P.M.

Yang had not been sure what to expect when they'd flown to meet the enigmatic Voice of the Sovereign. Based on the limited information she had, she'd expected a slightly modified Ethereal with a dark robe, like the more cerebral Ethereals liked to wear. What did a puppet of a Sovereign wear, anyway?

The Voice of the Sovereign was nothing like that. There was no small and limp Ethereal, but a figure in smooth and faceless black carapace that stood as tall as the Battlemaster. As it turned out, it was similar to the Meat Puppets – if the Meat Puppets were even more armored and imposing. Black nanites floated around it in a faintly-obscuring black cloud, with an orb continually hovering just above the right shoulder of the Voice.

She did not speak more than necessary, and merely listened as the Battlemaster explained his intentions. She agreed just as quickly. Even Mortis seemed to regard the Ethereal warily, and kept his distance. As it turned out, the Voice could control the nanite cloud, and in enclosed space the nanites returned to her body like a magnet.

Now on Paradise Station, they were surrounding her once more. Yang did not blame her at all. The station was notably busy, as there were Caretakers and Order soldiers everywhere, moving crates, machines, and test subjects around. The Umbra escorted them once again, and Yang kept her sword close at hand. They were followed by a small team of armored Baptists.

Yang was slightly pleased to see the Umbra look at her in a mixture of anger and disgust – and realized that her wearing the armor she'd gotten from the Dead World from the Bringer, and subsequently rejecting him, made her a walking insult to everyone in Paradise.

That thought pleased her very, very much.

She smiled, and wished she wasn't wearing the helmet so the Umbra could see it.

Oddly enough, it wasn't her and the Battlemaster who elicited the largest reaction. It was the Voice. The Umbra and the Baptists had visibly reacted, though quickly controlled themselves. But suspicious and concerned looks were shot towards the augmented Ethereal; not quite fearful, but definitely worried.

The place looked like it was being sanitized willingly, which was definitely not good enough. Hiding the truth didn't solve anything, and was simply propaganda. It wasn't going to be acceptable for any of them. Hopefully the Imperator would grow a spine and actually do something.

Given what she was seeing already, her hopes were not high.

They walked further until they reached what seemed to be a small amphitheater; a room designed as a semi-circle showcasing a window to the void of space – only the station was oriented so it faced the Dead World, the false illusion that hid the vibrant and alien life on it. The room was densely populated with Baptists guarding the doors, along with one of the Trusted – a female Human whose helm bore a face of rage. Caretakers and various Order members stood and were awaiting what was to come.

Towards the base was where the figures of importance were. Silent Overseers stood by the stairs, and watched impassively. The Imperator stood beside Patricia, who wore her new armor with the mask hanging from her belt. A stasis chamber was placed against the wall, likely containing a Saint within.

The servants of the Bringer stood close to the duo. The Temperance stood silently, the Creator close beside him, with the Immortalis, Preximius, the Sentinel, and Stormwalker who were joined by the Umbra. Many of the Order commanders reacted visibly, both to the sight of the Battlemaster and Mortis, but mostly to the sight of the Voice. Immortalis's face turned to stone, Preximius cocked his head, a distressed smile playing on his lips. The massive fist of the Stormwalker tightened as she saw the Battlemaster. The Sentinel turned and presumably said something to the Temperance.

Standing apart from both groups was Deusian, the Ethereal Reaper. She stood roughly as tall as Mortis, though didn't come close to the Battlemaster, let alone Imperator. A purple robe covered her body, though Yang noted that she also wore a greyish undersuit. A hood covered her head, and the area around her occasionally cracked and split with purple mist and fire. The robe she was wearing had to have been made of special material, otherwise it would have been torn apart.

"Imperator," the Battlemaster greeted cordially. "We are ready."

"I see," the Imperator said slowly, looking to the Voice. "I did not expect you to come, Voice."

"The request was made by the Battlemaster," she answered. "A wise decision. The Bringer must be brought to heel and punished for his arrogance."

"Such intimidation is unnecessary," the Temperance stated emotionlessly. "As I have explained previously, we did not intend to undermine you or the Collective in such a manner. We merely intended to provide support to an Ethereal who is waging a campaign against the Humans – and the Sovereign who lurks below."

The Imperator turned to face the Temperance fully. "The situation your master finds himself in is tenuous. Do not insult my intelligence," he took a step forward, lifting a hand with the air rippling around it. The Umbra was suddenly lifted into the air, short gasps emanating from her as her windpipe was closed. "Your continual belief that I do not know your intentions is insulting. I know exactly what I need to complete the Crossing – and much of Paradise is not among that number."

Immortalis had a hand on his sword and looked to be ready to charge, but a hand from the Sentinel deterred him. "Your point is made, Imperator," the Temperance stated. "Direct your focus to those who gave such orders."

The Umbra fell to the ground as the hand of the Imperator fell. "Then explain."

"An opportunity presented itself," the Temperance said, not perturbed by what just happened. "We were observing the events on Earth. The assault by Isomnum was proceeding well. The Battlemaster pulled support, and threw the plans into jeopardy. We have an interest in seeing Earth under your control, and considered this a mistake. As a result, forces were sent to assist Isomnum, upon his request."

"You had no authority to do that," the Battlemaster said harshly, stepping forward. "Do not play like this was something you did not expect. You knew what would happen."

"We did not make the decision to deploy Isomnum on Earth," the Temperance said slowly. "Otherwise we would have advised a different approach."

"Supporting Isomnum is one thing," the Battlemaster jabbed a finger towards the Temperance and Order commanders. "It is another to do what you did in Beijing. What you did across the country. Your idiotic and sadistic minions handed ADVENT a significant propaganda victory, awakened T'Leth fully, and sullied the image of everyone who does not support this abomination!"

He drew himself up to his full height. "Each and every one of you deserves to be executed for this alone."

"Those who perished are in Paradise now," Immortalis stated coldly. "Had the attack been carried out any other way, they would merely be dead. Their deaths would be pointless and mean nothing."

"Their deaths already mean nothing," Yang hissed. "Now they just feed the entity you're enslaved to!"

"Lies!" Immortalis snarled. "You should know better than any here, Yang Shuren. You walked Naztrum Ognis. You saw the minds of those who persist in the Gestalt. Do not dare suggest otherwise."

"And unlike you, I was not seduced by illusions and lies," Yang snarled back. "You are a weak-willed coward. A failure in your life, a broken man who can only find solace when dominated by something else."

"Enough!" The Imperator lifted a fist in a swift motion. "I do not accept your innocence, Temperance. I am not blinded enough to believe you are a mere servant; a mouthpiece. Your intelligence is useful…and dangerous. I suspect your records include information on myself; dossiers and profiles." He took a step forward. "I know very well what you consider me as, the words that Inspirars writes. But he is merely a deluded and fanatical fool. You are not a fool. You should have known better than to try and consider me one."

The Imperator turned away briefly. "I have taken a significant risk in assisting the Bringer. A risk which has cost my reputation in the eyes of many others whose opinions I consider important. But a necessary risk for the future. I have limits to my tolerance for your pointless scheming." He looked back. "You have already misled me once, and taken advantage of my trust. You attempted to undermine me now. There will be no third chance given."

He turned back to face the Temperance. "You do not understand, even now. It is time you realize the truth. You are expendable." At his last word the Sentinel was engulfed in a pillar of psionic fire which was so bright it looked almost white. The Stormwalker and Immortalis stumbled back, weapons drawn.

The Imperator had not moved at all, and merely looked at the burning pillar which persisted a few seconds longer. A short yelp caught Yang's attention, and she looked around to see that others throughout the room were also caught in pillars of psionic fire. Not everyone, but at least half. Silent Overseers had psionic shields in front of themselves, while Baptists had drawn their weapons, focusing directly on the Imperator.

The weapons shattered in their hands seconds later, and they stared warily at the Imperator, and moments later the psionic fire stopped, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Yang looked to Deusian, who was watching, but did not seem to be the one who had killed the soldiers of the Bringer. It…certainly spoke to the power the Imperator commanded.

"Is this clear?" The Imperator asked the Temperance.

"It is clear," if the Temperance was even remotely affected by the display, he didn't show it. The others weren't as composed. Preximius just stared at the spot the Sentinel had once stood, while Immortalis glared murderously at the Imperator. Yang smiled at the sight. Good. Let them feel helpless, that was exactly what they deserved.

A humbling, if not death.

"An incident like this will not happen again," the Temperance said. "You have my assurance."

"Words are air and lies," the Imperator dismissed. "You do not care about consequences. Those I just killed can be replaced. You believe you cannot be hurt or punished. Perhaps the Bringer cannot be permanently hurt – but there is something to lose." The Imperator turned to look out the window. "I have brought Deusian to destroy the Dead World – what you call Naztrum Ognis."

"No!" The Umbra stepped forward. "You would be destroying the only place where all can experience the Gestalt! Trillions of minds and lives which cannot be touched as such again!"

"You gain nothing by destroying such a repository of knowledge and history," Preximius added, looking as nervous as a Sectoid could. "The planet means nothing to you."

"It does not," the Imperator answered neutrally. "But it means something to you. Something irreplaceable. I care not how Inspirars will rework his prophecies and promises when the site of the Bringer's rule is space dust. Let him spin new lies to placate the slaved minds."

"Consider that you would be depriving yourself of a resource," the Temperance added. "The weapons and armor which is worn by the Battlemasters could never be replicated again." To Yang's complete amusement, he looked to the Battlemaster as if he would take the side of the Bringer.

She could sense his own amusement when he answered. "The Battlemasters are more than armor and weapons. We will find something else. Destroy the planet."

The Imperator nodded to Deusian. "Do it."

"Yes, Imperator," she answered, voice low and raspy. Within moments she was surrounded in a purple field of corrosive energy, and directed her hands to the planet below. Nothing happened at first, and then Yang saw it. A ring of purple energy sped across the planet, ripping up the ground. A full minute passed before it finished.

The multiple rings of destructive power joined and ripped apart the layer under that. Ring by ring, layer by layer, the planet was shredded not into chunks, but into dust. The rings became faster and larger as the mass of the planet became smaller and smaller. There was no massive explosion, no dramatic cracking of the ground, but the reduction of a planet into dust.

As they reached the core, molten lava began spilling out and immediately hardening in the vacuum, now that the atmosphere had been fully destroyed. The obsidian and lava rock were similarly obliterated.

Where there had once been a planet, now there was nothing at all.

Deusian lowered her hands, and the flaming aura around her returned to normal. Yang looked back to see the servants of the Bringer in, or on the verge of tears. The Umbra was being held by Immortalis who looked utterly shocked at what had happened. Preximius's eyes were watering as he stared at the place where the planet had once existed. The Creator visibly trembled as she beheld the aftermath.

Glorious. Yang wished they could see the wide smile on her face. It had been a long time since she'd felt this satisfied, and she was hoping it would be dragged out as long as possible. Maybe they couldn't be physically hurt, but they could be shown just how powerless they really were. Part one was done, now it was time to move to the next punishments.

"It was the Dream Weavers who were responsible for the worst aspects of Beijing," the Imperator continued, waving a hand and the stasis chamber hovered over to him. "I see little reason to enable this type of degeneracy. The Saint you call the Embrace must face execution."

Somehow, that somehow elicited a stronger reaction. Even the Temperance moved with surprising concern, raising a hand. "Imperator, you cannot."

"I believe you misunderstand," the Imperator replied. "I can do whatever I wish. You have no power, Temperance. It is no fault but your own that you failed to realize this."

"It is one thing to kill our soldiers and destroy Naztrum Ognis," the Temperance insisted. "It is another to kill a Saint of the Bringer. It will have severe repercussions. It will hinder you." The Imperator moved the stasis chamber and stepped before the Temperance.

"Explain, Saint. Tell me why she should be spared."

"We are not merely servants and thralls," the Temperance said. "We are vessels for the Bringer. Inseparable for him. We are him. I am his Temperance. She is his Embrace. Should she die, that part of the Bringer will die with her. The Embrace is his empathy and love for this galaxy and beyond. Should you take that away, you will achieve the exact opposite of what you wish."

Yang snorted at the ludicrous idea. "If that is his love, then the galaxy is better off without it."

"Indeed," Mortis added. "I will add that the mental state of the Bringer is not a significant concern for me. Let him suffer."

"He will not suffer, Dead Ethereal," the Temperance stated. "He will change. If you believe Him to be brutal and horrific now, it will not compare to what He does next. You cannot kill a part of himself to achieve what you want. Only all his vessels, all his Saints, can ensure that the Bringer retains what you wish to harness."

"He lies," the Battlemaster stated. "He continues to lie. He desperately is trying to save his puppet who is responsible for spawning the worst of his minions. They must be purged, starting with the vessel." He looked to the Temperance. "Should you create a future Embrace, ensure that it isn't mad and sadistic like this one."

"You do not see," the Temperance put a rare note of emphasis on the word. "Your suggestion is impossible. The Embrace cannot be remade if she is dead. Everything she was is gone forever. How can something new be created from that which does not exist? From that which is no longer understood?"

"Wait," the Imperator lifted a hand. "At this moment, I do not sense deception. Not from him, not from any of the thralls in this room. Yet the Battlemaster makes an acceptable point. Your actions do not engender trust."

"We do not ask for forgiveness or reward," the Temperance said. "But I will insist now – spare the Embrace. You gain nothing by her death outside of temporary gratification. You stand to lose far more. Even if you do not believe me, is this a risk that can be taken?"

Here it came.

"The Bringer does not matter," the Battlemaster stepped forward. "Execute her. Now."

"I would prefer to not jeopardize what we have already gained," the Imperator mused, looking to the Temperance. "You tread dangerously, Temperance. But here you may be right, and should you dare move against me again, you will not have an opportunity to exploit this mercy-"

"No!" Preximius suddenly cried out, falling to his knees.

All of the Bringer's minions reacted in the same way. Yang saw every one of the few Dream Weavers in attendance fall to the limply ground. Immortalis and the Umbra rushed to the stasis chamber, weapons drawn. The Stormwalker roared, and was suddenly encased in a psionic box the Voice manifested. The Temperance stiffened. "What have you done?"

Immortalis ripped open the door to the stasis chamber, and inside there was only melted slurry which had once been the Saint. Yang looked back to see the faint rippling around Mortis fade. She smiled wider.

"I did what was demanded," the Battlemaster said, before suddenly charging forward and slamming into Preximius, driving the sword straight through his heart, before throwing the dying Sectoid to the ground and stomping hard enough on the face to turn it to grey and yellow mush. Immortalis was pulled back before the Voice whose orb floated down beside him and he fell to the ground in a state of shock.

Yang drew her weapon, and held it before the head of the Human, waiting for the Battlemaster's command. "Let him go!" The Umbra materialized before Yang, and grew stiff before also falling to the ground.

Fools. The connection to the Bringer made them weak. Vulnerable.

"Stand down." Yang felt herself unable to move, and the Voice suddenly pulled back; the orb returning to her shoulder, with the two Order commanders pushed forward with a dismissive flick of the black-armored wrist. The Umbra and Immortalis slowly got to their feet away from the towering Ethereal, faces still in shock. A few seconds later, Yang felt she could move again, and looked to see the Battlemaster and Imperator facing each other.

Blood dripped from the sword of the Battlemaster onto the metal floor, with the smaller of the two standing in a stance ready to defend himself. The power she could feel building even still. The Imperator in his rippling gold and purple robes stared icily down upon his subordinate. He said nothing, but even through the mask, anyone could tell that the Imperator was angry.

From the Battlemaster, she only felt satisfaction and concern. Though not, she was interested to note, for himself. But for Mortis. And her.

Well, she wasn't going to let the Battlemaster face the Imperator on his own, and rushed to join him; the denizens of Paradise temporarily removed from her mind. Some surprise emanated from him...but also gratitude.

The Imperator was hesitant to do anything, so the Battlemaster instead looked to the Temperance, blade pointing towards the Saint. "The next time you dare act within the sphere of my authority-" he trailed off as the Saint suddenly began grasping his own head. First with two arms, then another pair emerged from his robes to Yang's mixed horror and fascination, followed by two more pairs. As the Saint fell to his knees, grasping his head with four gloved hands, the others flailing and grasping at nothing, his face began to shift.

Throughout much of the event, the creature´s face resembled that of a Human; smooth and marble. It reminded her of a Greek statue, complete with a well-maintained beard and serene eyes. Now, the flesh began reforming itself, as if the marble was suddenly turned into a paste and thrown inside a blender.

She had briefly noticed the Saint do this very same thing during various parts of the gathering. The skin moving and morphing into other shapes, but it was always subtle, slow; clean, unobtrusive. She would not use the word "delicate" for such a thing, but it was the closest concept she could think of.

Invisible. Something one noticed, but wasn't inclined to pay attention to. Only the end result caught the eye. This was nothing like that.

This was much more violent. Uncontrolled. Grotesque.

Tearing her eyes away from the face of swirling mush, Yang glanced over to the remaining Order commanders and their reactions told her more than she would have asked for. Throughout the event she had enjoyed their shock, helplessness, and mourning. But she felt none of that now.

She saw only fear.

Immortalis looked mortified as he beheld the ever-composed Saint in such a state, furiously shouting at Mortis. "What have you done to him?!" while the respective Ethereal backed away, lifting a hand to prepare to defend himself. The Umbra was speechless, her eyes wide, mouth agape in uncharacteristically open horror as she pressed against the Baptist General. The massive Muton just stared at the Saint, her expression hidden behind the helmet, but Yang did notice a visible shaking from her gauntleted hands that held her warhammer. The Creator was recoiling from the sight, rendered silent as many of them were.

She watched as the flesh tried to knit itself into new shapes. She saw the six eyed face the Saint showed when the Embrace had been killed appear and shift away into what now seemed like an Ethereal´s face. She saw many more shapes that defied logical convention assault her eyes in; shapes that could not belong to something alive, shapes that could not belong to something normal.

The sight set her teeth on edge and the feeling of wrongness crawled over her like thousands of tiny ants. Goosebumps sprung on her body the longer it lasted. Wrong, wrong, this isn't right. The last time she had met one of the so-called Saints, the thing had almost ended her life with a thought. The memory tightened her grip over her swords which had unconsciously been called to her hand.

As she watched the Temperance writhe and struggle on the ground, the previously hidden arms flailing and grasping, she realized just how alien the Bringer´s creations truly were when stripped of the facade and composure surrounding them. It was unnatural. It was wrong. She could not say she knew what life looked like in the rest of the galaxy or beyond, but she was sure that what she had seen and was witnessing now could only arise from the mind of something truly mad.

The flesh would not stop changing, and the Saint was now convulsing on the floor. She did not care it suffered, but she no longer felt a desire to make it last. She wanted it to end and someone to break the uncomfortable silence now blanketing the room like fog.

But it did not stop, the hair on the back of her neck stood up as the sound reached her ears; a sound she remembered well from the previous descent into the station.

A heartbeat.

It was low and slow at first, but began growing faster and louder each passing second the Saint writhed on the ground, until each thud of the heartbeat seemed to shake the ground itself. She asserted herself by the Battlemaster, but their weapons felt almost pointless against the intangible throbbing.

She swallowed. This was not supposed to be happening.

The Imperator had seemingly grown tired of the display and stepped forward, with Patricia pulling on her mask and taking an offensive stance, body enshrined in purple fire. "Enough of this, Saint. This show serves no one unless you intend for your own death to follow."

The Saint did not respond, but he stopped convulsing seconds later; his face stopped transforming, remaining an unnervingly blank slate, and simply went limp. The rest of the Bringer´s minions followed suit, collapsing onto the ground with soft and loud thuds. Yang heard a few sharp cracks as heads and limbs hit jagged corners and unforgiving floors.

Silence reigned, excluding the ever-present heartbeat.

Half a minute passed, with Yang and the Battlemaster prepared for anything.

Then the Umbra rose.

There was none of the grace which usually accompanied her movements. She was still; similarly, she noticed, to the Temperance´s Overseers. The Dath'Haram then opened her eyes and they glowed a crystalline cobalt so potent she would have been forced to avert her gaze if not for her helmet.

The Creator, Immortalis and the Muton stood next, followed by the Order members still alive who had stood throughout the room. Their eyes were the same tone of blue and all then moved their heads to stare directly at the Imperator, mouths unmoving; posture unchanging.

Then the doors to the room suddenly burst open, with Order soldiers and Caretakers pouring in a slow and controlled steam. The Battlemaster, the Voice, Mortis, and herself immediately reacted.

She threw her own twin swords telekinetically to the nearest Caretakers, effortlessly impaling them while gesturing with a hand and crushing the skulls of several Caretakers into bloody sludge. Mortis assaulted the minds of many, killing them instantly while melting others into slurry. The Battlemaster and Voice immediately went after the Overseers, as they posed the biggest threats, and with surprising ease ran one through his sword while nanites flowed off the Sovereign vessel that ate dozens alive at once.

"Cease," the Imperator interjected unexpectedly, pulling all the floating nanites to hover above the carnage, freezing her and the Battlemaster in mid-strike, and telekinetically pulling Mortis back. "They are not attacking." A pause. "Let them give their message."

As if on cue, the swarm all locked eyes with him. The azure fires focused directly at his face; Yang noted that they were corroding the skin around their eyes and likely rendering them blind - and in significant pain. The Ethereals and Harbingers were now completely surrounded, the masses of robes and armor packed perfectly through every inch and corner of the room, ignoring the piled bodies, sludge, and blood.

Then the Temperance awoke.

He stood in the center of the room, eyes blazing in the same cold blue, but with even more intensity, if such was even possible. His face was that of the Human, and he silently stared at the Imperator, like the rest of his thralls. He slowly lifted a hand, two fingers pointing directly at floating space where the Dead World had once existed.

Yang turned her head in the direction of the hand, and that was when she saw it.

Where the planet´s molten core had been before spilling into the void and turned into atoms afterwards, she saw a faint shimmer. A rumbling that did not seem natural, as if reality itself was protesting the transgression.

A tear opened, and she could only see pitch black tinged with violet emanating from it. The tear expanded, and slowly swallowed the dust which had been the entirety of the former Dead World.

The window in the fabric of reality was now enormous, and they could all clearly see it from their vantage point. It was a hole without end - or so it initially seemed, as inside the very bottom of the hole, she saw… something.

It was a sphere. Small and far away, and yet her eyes quickly tired the longer she tried staring at it. It was blue, like the eyes of the swarm surrounding them, but she could not make out many details from the blurry image. It reminded her of trying to stare into the sun, and she had to look away a few times, and each time her eyes fixated on it, it seemed closer.

The intensity of the brightness went down, as if reacting to her discomfort, and she could now make out more of the details. The sphere hung from a web of tendrils suspended inside the void. They resembled a disgusting combination of tree roots, arteries, and veins. She nearly looked away again as she saw one pulsate and transfer some kind of substance into the sphere, which rumbled and vibrated as if in thanks.

Immediately after the unknown transfer, the sphere began growing. It slowly enlarged itself so much as to become the only visible thing inside the tear. It floated to what looked to be the end of the portal, then stopped. Seeing how close it was to breaking out...it made her grip her swords tighter. Do something. She silently pleaded to the Imperator who was merely observing the entity. Please do something.

Deusian apparently had the same thought, as the Reaper glowed in power. The void which held the blue sphere was suddenly surrounded in purple tears and rips, psionic hurricanes bursting from nothing as the Psionosphere was torn apart. The sphere pulsed once, and all of the energy surrounding it was sucked into the void, into itself. For a brief moment, the sphere seemed brighter before returning to its previous luminance.

Deusian ceased her attack. Yang could not read her mind, but her body language said all that was needed. She was stunned.

The Imperator continued observing.

An eye opened on the sphere. Followed by two more.

They were black and beady, like a spider´s, but with inconceivable power surging behind them. She could never have guessed the eyes of an insect could look angry, but they blazed with pure fury Yang had rarely seen throughout her life. It was enough for her to consider taking a step back.

Stand firm.

She clung to the Battlemaster's resolve like a lifeline through their bond.

I am here.

She fought every urge to flee as fast as possible as the ghastly organs looked at her directly. She felt a vast alien presence on the edges of her sealed mind; it was the mind of the Bringer she had felt once before, but with the false veil stripped away.

This was its true face.

The Sphere began to shift. Two colossal arms sprouted from the underside, and soon extended into finger-like tentacles which seemed to sprout deformities and thorns, as if it had not used them for long ages. Several of them reached towards the edge of the portal; the invisible veil between reality and the prison.

Yet it hesitated.

A small measure of relief overcame her as she realized it couldn't come out.

The tendrils remained close though. A reminder of how the barrier was so very thin.

She saw fins emerging from the sides of the sphere, and a thousand other tendrils and indescribable appendages bursting through every single side, each wiggling and flailing violently, as if each wanted to skewer her body a thousand times before many bound together to form pulsing muscle that only seemed to barely contain the blue fury. Four membranous wings pushed their way outside the sphere´s back, each with sizes so enormous as to wrap around the main body completely around themselves.

The result, if she had to use words to describe such a sight, was one seemingly aquatic in its origins at one point, but she could not imagine where exactly such a monstrous thing could grow and evolve naturally. Like everything touched by the Bringer, it was an abomination of what life was.

Only the Bringer could produce things that were such affronts to the universe.

This was the Bringer. All his talk of love, peace, and understanding was a lie. A lie so many had been taken in by. A lie so many continued to believe, even as they were dominated and shaped by this thing. So warped were they that they could no longer see the wrongness in a reality shaped by a mad god.

Her hand shook as she beheld the thing in the void.

Had she not maintained her resolve, she would be the servant of that thing.

Run. Run away.

How could something like that be fought?

A hand fell on her shoulder. Firm and strong. She stiffened herself, the Battlemaster would face this thing, and so would she.

It only became worse.

Faces began materializing in the thing´s writhing sapphire skin. They ranged from all types of emotions and origins. She could distinguish laughing Humans, crying Vitakara, screaming Mutons, and pained Andromedons amongst the sea of unrecognizable faces emerging and vanishing from the monster's flesh.

She thought her eyes were playing tricks, but she could swear she saw Preximius as well, taunting her with his mocking smile before being lost in the wave of faces. There were thousands of different alien faces in the sphere she did not recognize, each likely from a species lost to the Bringer.

The faces extirpated themselves from the skin in sickening detail, and dematerialized as they began to float in orbit of their parent sphere, like planets following a star´s pull, turning to blue mist as more faces formed and repeated the process. They began their orbit and sped up as to become a blur surrounding the sphere, like bright rings around a planet.

A symbol materialized above the sphere´s eyes. Four circles arranged in such a way as to form an upside triangle, similar to the Imperator´s helm. They began to glow in intense ghostly fire, more and more indescribable colors appeared the longer she stared. Should she stare too long, she feared she would go mad.

The hand on her shoulder tightened, and she could feel concern emanating from their bond towards her. The sword in one hand dropped as she reached up to grip it, not caring how it looked. She needed something to keep her from breaking before this creature, and did not fail to notice he was tightly gripping the handle of his sword, while his free hands emanated telekinetic power.

The thing clasped its hands together, tendrils joining together as one flesh, bright eyes looking out from the void as if appraising them.

Then it spoke.

"I see mortals who do not comprehend their place."

Its voice drowned out any possible sound anyone in that room could have made in response. It was extremely deep, it echoed and reverberated after every syllable. The true voice came from no mouth or orifice. The other sword in her hand dropped as the voice caused her head to throb in pain, the vibrating in her skull making it seem as though the world shook.

Finality rang from its voice.

It was as if the Psionosphere itself spoke to them.

Or the entity which commanded it.

This effect was amplified by every single thrall, Order Commander, and the Temperance, spoke in perfect unison with the entity, which created what would be an overwhelming cacophony of sounds that could easily drive a normal being insane if exposed.

But compared to how it affected her mind, and the mind of all psions, the voices of the thralls were almost background noise.

The Imperator still appeared undeterred, and walked forward, to face the creature directly, with even Patricia resting a hand by her head. It was one of the few times she could genuinely appreciate his composure in situations like this.

Please stop this.

"Only now do you show yourself," he seemed to muse, almost more curious than afraid, though his previously dominating voice paled in comparison to that which the entity commanded. "The veil falls. Name yourself, entity."

"I am Omnima, Sister Core of the Trinity. I am known to the worthy as the Sapphire Star. Us Who Became One are the three centers around which all souls of the Mind Cosmos orbit. We are the three hearts of the being you comprehend as the Bringer of Paradise."

The voice became deeper as anger tinged its words. "You have murdered one of my brother's vessels, a transgression which demands my presence."

Yang initially found herself far more surprised at the fact that this thing was a female, though now that it was mentioned, if one put aside the power in the words, there was a female tinge to the voice. A small, unimportant detail, as the implications of her words were much more troubling.

Assuming the thing´s words were true, it meant that the Saints were not the true centers of the Bringer, but whatever this Trinity were. It begged the question of what the Saints were, if not aspects of the Bringer himself...though it seemed apparent that their understanding of the Bringer - at least her understanding - was flawed at best.

The Imperator remained unaffected. "All that has happened, your vessels and thralls brought upon themselves. Upon you."

"Silence, Viatorian."

Yang gritted her teeth at the severity behind such simple words. The Imperator went unexpectedly silent, and mutely realized the entity had spoken his real name. A name he had likely not heard in many years.

How did it know?

The Imperator remained silent. Potentially wondering the same thing.

It continued speaking, words dripping with power and contempt; addressing the Imperator Viatorian once more.

"You believe yourself to be powerful. A player at the table of the gods.

You believe yourself above all mortals; above the mistakes of the past and the mistakes of the future. You believe yourself better than those who came before, that you alone will break the cycles.

You believe that you are special."

A rumble. Almost a laugh.

"Do not lie and state that I am wrong. I have watched you since you were an embryo in a sterile pod."

To say Yang felt small before this incalculably old thing was an understatement. The words were meant for the Imperator, but they cut into her as well. As usual, the Imperator did not appear affected, though the helm could hide much.

"You have watched much, but understood little. You have not entered my mind since I was a young and untrained Ethereal. Your will was expunged from my mind as that of all others who have tried have. Brave and meaningless words from one whose freedom depends upon me, Omnima. I merely have to give a command, and your Saints die. Your thralls die. Your station dies. Your hope dies."

Yang thought it was a good retort, but Omnima´s tone did not make her feel at ease. Like the Imperator, the monster seemed almost… amused. Both Entity and Imperator engaged in a game of intimidation and dominance, waiting for each other to show weakness.

"Ah. The young Ethereal thinks he can challenge the Sovereigns. The lone mortal thinks he can change his fate, control his destiny.

Do you understand how many times I have heard those words? How many heroes and revolutionaries such as you have risen throughout the ages, convinced of their own perfection and ability to correct the wrongs of the gods?

Each one lies in some forgotten graveyard on a desolate world, in a shattered galaxy. You are not different, you are not exceptional, you are not special.

You are convinced that you are my master. That you can direct my will, use me as a weapon. You pay the price I demand because you know you are powerless without my offerings. You fracture the bonds you share with the last of your kind, you showcase such vulnerabilities to your Collective, all on the laughable hope that you can control the divine and force its focus."

The Imperator was silent when she finished. In truth, Yang had thought the very same things this monster now spewed, but it took a being exceptionally arrogant - or powerful - to openly taunt the being who, objectively, still had the upper hand. Yet the power behind Omnima´s voice seemed to make the statements unbreakable law.

The creature took its eyes off the Imperator and washed over the rest of the party.

"What have you brought to my temple, Imperator? What insects sully my eyes and pollute my rivers?"

The creature´s, and the thrall´s eyes swung over to Patricia, who had been awfully silent during this whole ordeal, and her mask stared directly into the eyes. She seemed stronger than Yang, at the moment.

"A Human who has bought your lies and has sold her soul. A resource who thinks of herself as irreplaceable. In reality a speck of dust struggling against cosmic gales of wind."

The eyes seemed to glow brighter. "You will die at the hands of T'Leth, Trask. You will not be remembered as a savior, but a traitor of the worst kind. Your name will not be forgotten, as you desire, but it will remain a black stain on your species, while your Commander ascends to the stars."

"Insults and mockery are worthless," Patricia answered. "You have no weapon but that."

Omnima ignored the retort, and directed her gaze to the Voice.

"A disgusting creature of simple metal. One who had potential, but forsook it for false ascendance. You are no different from the infinite legions of the Apostate I will crush in my Crusade.

I know your master is watching. Let him know he is to be the first Sovereign I assimilate after my chains are broken. See if the coward chooses to stay behind and save his Collective after I am unleashed."

The Voice seemed as unperturbed as the Imperator. "Displays of illusion and deception. Emotional appeal. Intimidation and fear. Your taunts merely bring your enemies to ensure your demise. You are a vile and irredeemable creature. You shall die, by my hand or that of the Sovereigns."

"Let them come. They will all be consumed."

Then to Deusian.

"A promising tool of destruction, if wielded by a trained hand. You will have a place in Paradise once I am free."

The response was immediate. "I will never take a place in your Paradise," she rasped, before Omnima cut her off. Yang suspected she had heard that same answer a million times before. The Psionosphere rumbled in a deep laughter.

"Your consent is not required, Reaper".

Mortis stood silently, awaiting his turn, probably readying himself to dismiss whatever this creature would tell him.

"Dead Ethereal. You have made me bleed."

Dark finality echoed in the words, Omnima´s clear fury at Mortis´s killing of the Embrace.

"It is only just that blood repays blood. I will take your sister as an offer of your atonement. A life for a life."

Whatever Mortis had likely planned to say was lost as the Ethereal stiffened. He said nothing at first, his own fury likely boiling at the stark threat made to the only one in the galaxy he unconditionally loved. Every single Caretaker in the room fell down, dead as the air around the Ethereal rippled.

"Should you touch her," Mortis rasped. "The loss of your vessel will seem paltry to what I will bring upon your people."

"You may try. You will fail."

Yang was uncomfortable with just how much the Bringer knew about each of them.

He knew things which shouldn't be possible.

She froze as Omnima moved on to her, a moment she had dreaded, silently praying that the entity would pass her over. That she was too insignificant in the eyes of this alien god. A futile hope.

The Bringer never forgot.

He had not forgotten how she spurned Him once before.

Run. Run away.

She could feel the cobalt eyes of the remaining thralls boring deeply into her back, even as more came to replace the bodies Mortis had killed, but she could not pull her eyes off Omnima´s gaze.

Run away!

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the hypnotic fire burning from the entity from the void. She started shaking. She wanted to fall to the ground; flee and run. To flee from the thing that she could never hope to ever match. Something she was terrified she couldn't escape now.

Stand firm.

I am here.

She continued to cling to the Battlemaster's resolve. She had nothing left in the face of this.

Before, Immortalis´ anger at her refusal to join the Gestalt was highly comical and satisfying to her. Now she stood to be judged for what she had dared do. She had refused the command of a god, and now it was waiting to deliver the sentence for disobedience.

Omnima must have sensed Yang´s fear. Her apprehension.

"You understand me better than most here. Unlike Viatorian, you do not delude yourself with the hope of escaping me once I am free. Of being so arrogant as to think I can be tamed."

It seemed only an illusion, but the thing in the void seemed to creep ever so slightly closer, the voice slithering deep into her soul.

"I have tasted your mind Shuren, and I hunger for it. I will feed you to the God Shaped Hole when you inexorably fall into my grasp once more."

Now the Battlemaster interjected, as she did not have the strength to even meekly respond. "Our minds are forever isolated, Bringer," his voice betraying no fear or apprehension. "You have learned nothing today. Ponder this as your thralls pay the price."

The Battlemaster turned, weapon in hand, and moved to kill the Temperance who stood defenseless in the center of the room, still possessed by Omnima.

The stab which would have gone straight for his heart was stopped when suddenly a psionic barrier encased the Saint. The Battlemaster looked up to see the Imperator holding out a hand, not even turned to the duo.

Typical. Even now; even with this display, the Imperator was learning nothing.

"Do not give it what it wants," the Imperator said calmly. "It understands that the only weapon it has left is fear. It knows what fate awaits it. All it has left is to manipulate emotions to sabotage us."

The Psionosphere rumbled once more in deep laughter.

"You are a weapon, Battlemaster. A sword which has suddenly decided to grow a conscience. Yet you lack the will to defy your superiors, a clawless animal who mewls in protest but is swiftly brought to heel like a loyal dog."

"Are you done?" The Imperator asked quietly; dangerously. It seemed even he was growing tired of this display.

"No."

Omnima´s reply was charged and cracked with power once more.

"What you have done today, Viatorian, is not to be forgotten, but do you believe what you have inflicted upon me is severe? Unique?

I have seen worlds erased. I have felt species go extinct. I have witnessed the very same cycles you seek to stop a thousand times.

I have felt pain and known defeat far greater than what your small hands can inflict. It has never stopped me, and it will never limit me.

You cannot stray me from my purpose, for you are but an atom in a universe of flesh and steel."

Omnima drew close to the edges of the tear. The tendrils slithered and pulsed, separating into the two hands seen before. On one hand, the colossal digits curled, reality groaning and screaming as each claw caressed the inside of the void. One finger was left extended, an obelisk blaspheming against nature, pointing towards the Imperator. Energy rippled from its tip, an unsightly mixture of crimson and black which flowed with primal aggressiveness, an expression of psionic power Yang had not seen until that moment.

"You have my attention. It has been ages since I have destroyed false dreams as irrational as yours.

Pray that your scheme to contain me succeeds, for should I escape and do so of my own will, I will drag you through the ashes of your planets, and I will savor your mind as you witness your hopes and ambitions crumble to nothing."

The voice grew softer, if such a word could be ascribed to it.

"Treat my words as you treat the passing of time or the coming of the dawn, for they are inevitable".

Omnima drew back into the depths of the tear, and the portal disappeared, leaving only empty space. They were left in silence, as even the heartbeat of Paradise slowly faded into nothing. The thralls of the Bringer exited without a word, eyes burned and blinded, but nonetheless directed by something beyond.

Yang finally allowed herself to collapse to one knee and tore off her helmet, hyperventilating and eyes watering as she struggled to keep herself under control. The Battlemaster knelt down beside her, saying nothing, but keeping a firm hand on her shoulder.

The Imperator stared out into the void where the thing had been.

This game he played with the Bringer had now turned into a dangerous situation, not only for him, but for the entire Collective, and the billions throughout the galaxy who depended on their choices. The stakes for success were astronomically high, and any sane person would stop this experiment immediately.

But all of them knew that would not happen.

For perhaps the first time in her life, she had no idea of what to think or say to this. She could not add anything else of worth. They all had experienced it. They all knew what they were dealing with.

She was just powerless to do anything about it but watch and pray this monster wasn't released on the galaxy.

A day which had gone so well, had turned into a nightmare that none of them could wake up from.

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To be continued in Chapter 53

Ashes of the Avatar

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A/N: Special thanks to Edumesh for helping expand and write the final scene. Would have ended a bit differently without his help and input.