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.

59. Enemy Lines

Enemy Lines

---

Tampa, Florida – United States of America

4/30/2017 – 4:50 P.M.

A short click and the intermittent red light began flashing.

"I am the Commander of XCOM, current location is Tampa, Florida, and the time is four-fifty P.M. Around an hour ago ADVENT and the Ethereal Collective agreed to a temporary ceasefire. This is only limited to the current hostilities in Florida, and engagements around the rest of the world still continue."

Formal part out of the way, he shifted his position to be less stiff since he didn't want whoever would be watching this to think it was – ironically – some kind of hostage video. "I suspect there are or will be some who question the wisdom of such a move, because as much as it gives us, it also benefits them. We successfully negotiated the return of current POW's held in the region, and in exchange we gave them our own. This was agreed upon due to the fact that everything of value was extracted already. A few thousand soldiers ultimately won't make a difference in either side one way or another, but it will boost morale for ADVENT, and we do have an obligation to save as many of our soldiers as possible."

He sighed, looking into the camera and resting his forehead against several of his fingers. "As should be apparent now, the Battlemaster is no fool. The agreement also includes an exchange, one individual from each side to serve as collateral. I agreed to serve in this role, and in return the Battlemaster provided the currently wounded Yang Shuren."

He lowered his arm. "I've laid out to our allies that the likelihood of the Battlemaster breaking the agreement is low, and that is the truth. I fully believe the Battlemaster will hold to the agreement. However, there is a non-zero chance that others within the Collective will not do the same. I doubt my death would be considered a sufficient escalation, especially since I am replaceable. Yang would die, but only the Battlemaster seems to care about her. The point being that despite what I have implied to ADVENT, the danger here is very much real."

The Commander paused for a short time. "The truth is that the ceasefire was never meant to do anything other than buy time. I suppose history will show if it worked or not, but each day of the ceasefire buys time for the Gaia Contingency to be put into effect. Whether I die or not is irrelevant if Gaia is successfully implemented. It can and will change the course of the war, and that is worth risking my life for."

He tapped a finger on the chair. "There are concerns with the Gaia Contingency. Fears that it could get out of control. Unfortunately, we don't have a choice. JULIAN laid it out very clearly. We are outmatched in nearly all theatres except arguably psionics. These kinds of measures are necessary if we hope to survive, let alone win. Earth may look very different at the conclusion of the war. I don't know. But I can assure anyone with doubts that if we did not take these steps, we would lose the war."

The Commander shook his head. "That is all for now. This could be my last time speaking if this goes wrong, but there are few things in life I have regretted, and no matter what happens, this was the right move and right decision. Vigilo Confido."

The light flicked off and was replaced with a solid green one. The Commander looked behind the camera to Vahlen. "You want to record one?"

"No," she said wearily, leaning back in her own chair. "I'd prefer to keep my composure on camera."

"I know," he stood up and walked over to her, and pulled her into a hug and both gripped each other tightly.

"I know it's necessary," she said into his shoulder. "I do. But it didn't have to be you."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I know I can do it, and I know I will learn something from there. I'm good at that."

She didn't physically flinch, but her concern and worry spiked through her telepathy. "Or you could die."

"Very possible."

She grew less stiff against him. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so honest."

Despite himself, he smiled. "And remove one of my more attractive qualities?"

"You could die."

"And if I do, someone else will replace me." He reminded her. "And the war will continue. If the Imperator thinks my death will change anything, he is very mistaken."

"Logically…" she sighed and they broke the embrace, though both hands were still held. "You've been in danger before, but this is…different. I don't know if you'll come back this time. I've never felt that before."

He ran a hand through her hair, putting some stray strands back into place. "I can't make a promise, but I'm confident I'll be coming back. For better or worse, the Battlemaster will keep his word."

"And both of us know that's not who we worry about," she replied, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "You're not safe there, no matter what he promises. He is a loyal dog of the Imperator, and will fall into line even if there is a violation of his honor."

"Perhaps," the Commander mused, his thoughts turning to what would come next. "I hope to discuss it with him while I'm there."

"Be careful," was all she said, leaning into him again. "As much as you are able." Determination radiated from her as her tone turned from concerned and sorrowful to a somber steel. "And if something happens to you, make sure you inform him that I know how psionic bonds work, and I will skin Yang Shuren alive repeatedly if you do not come back safe."

He chuckled; it was certainly a very personal incentive for the Battlemaster to do everything in his power to comply. Especially since coming from Vahlen, it was no idle threat. "I'll ensure he knows, and I expect nothing less."

"While very touching, Commander, I will remind you there is a limited time until the transfer is to take place," JULIAN interjected from the phone on the bed. "And I presume you want me to store that oddly sentimental and very sensitive video somewhere?"

"File it under PROMETHEUS," he said.

A few seconds of pause. "Ah. What an interesting project. I'm surprised I overlooked this earlier."

"We've been busy," Vahlen said.

"In any case, it is done. I will leave the two of you alone now. If you want to have sex for potentially the last time, I suggest you work fast, which I doubt will be a problem for any of you."

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "Cheeky little machine. Fuck off JULIAN."

Vahlen actually laughed, despite herself. "You should tell him that more often. Might teach him some humility."

He looked back to her, a question in his eye. "Think he killed the mood?"

"No, let's enjoy this while we can," she said, leaning up and pulling him into a kiss he immediately returned, and both soon found themselves upon the bed, as the clock ticked down ever so slowly.

---

Tampa, Florida – United States of America

4/30/2017 – 3:32 P.M.

Hallian had not expected to be relocated so quickly, and from the sound of it, he was far from the only one being moved. The order had come directly from the Battlemaster, and his first thoughts were that either there was a major push happening and the wounded were more than the current medics could handle, or someone important had been seriously injured.

As it turned out, it was the latter.

The Battlemaster had literally charged towards the medical team which was running to the meeting point, but apparently that was too slow. Close behind him in his telekinetic grasp was what Hallian suddenly recognized as Yang Shuren. Oh no, this is not good – both for the woman in question, and for his stress level.

All Hallian knew about the two was that they were presumably close and both were very important to the war effort, and dangerous to ADVENT. On one hand, it was almost flattering that he was among the first called when someone of this caliber was injured, but on the other, if they couldn't save her – if he couldn't save her – he didn't know how the Battlemaster would react.

He wasn't the type to execute those who displeased him…at least Hallian was fairly sure of that. But there was a first time for everything, and the Battlemaster could find a new medic much more easily than he could find a new Harbinger. Hallian pushed those thoughts to the side and prepared to get to work even as the Battlemaster set her down.

"Take care of her now," he ordered, even as Hallian was calling to a triage pod. "Immediate medical update. I want to know her chances."

"Pod's on its way now," Hallian told him, pulling out his dispenser and rushing to the woman, along with his team as he quickly looked over her. "What was she hit with?"

Questioning witnesses was necessary, and sometimes they were too distraught to give an answer, but the Battlemaster was at least collected and would understand the need to ask these questions. "Armor was hit with gauss and plasma projectiles. Most damage has come from chlorine trifluoride, napalm, and nanites of some kind."

Not good, and Yang did not look good at all. She was effectively a blackened husk of chipped and irregularly dented armor. The ClF3 had done severe damage to essentially everything that wasn't armor, and that would need to be taken off her. Despite appearances, the armor appeared to have largely held up, even if layers were burnt away throughout.

"EMP pulse," an assistant tossed to him which Hallian placed on her chest. "Clear!"

"Clear!"

A micro-EMP burst detonated over her body. Nanites were fickle, and XCOM ones tended to have a timer. Nanoweapons were also very directly targeted, and didn't have extensive programming. When they found something to eat, they ate, and it was usually directly down, meaning an overhead and outside pulse would cleanse them. Not always completely, but it was the standard first step.

"Do you know how you take the armor off her?" Hallian asked the Battlemaster. "Straps or locks we should be aware of?"

"Yes," the Battlemaster lowered a hand and Yang lifted off the ground, and as he pointed out the locks and straps – the latter having been burned away – the medics were able to begin quickly taking the armor off her and placing her body onto the nearby medical pod which had just arrived. She was even worse out of the armor than before.

It was amazing that she hadn't lost limbs or digits during their escape, as the majority of her body was missing a layer of skin, some due to burns, and the rest due to the nanites. The joints especially showed where the fire had almost burned to the bone, while almost the entire throat was just barely held together to the point he knew the windpipe would have torn if it had been even an hour later.

He didn't know how conscious she was, as both eyelids were gone, as were parts of the eyes. There were occasional twitches, but he was almost certain she was in shock. She'd need extensive treatment to be back to normal, and nothing major appeared to have been lost. Skin could be regrown, as could organs.

The suspension field would at least keep her from feeling any pain when she regained consciousness as the medics coated her body with gel which would prime her body for skin repair grafts and medical nanites. Straps were placed over her eyes which would also prime them for eventual repair. Hooking her up to several IV drips, she would be kept in a coma until enough of her body had healed to be safe to awaken her.

It was tense, fast-paced work, but soon they were done. "We're going to move her to the treatment facility now," he told the Battlemaster, letting out a breath he'd been holding the whole time. "She's not in danger of dying, but I highly recommend she be moved off-world for treatment. We don't have the appropriate facilities right here."

"Understood, move her there for now and I will authorize her transportation," the Battlemaster nodded, his massive frame seeming to relax. "You and your team saved her life. Thank you."

Hallian began to relax a bit more, his weary mind filled with pride. Acknowledgement by the Battlemaster himself was something one could only dream of. He'd done his job, and done it well. "Thank you, Battlemaster. Where do you need us when we move her off-world?"

"I will determine that," he said, stepping back. "For now, stay with her."

"Yes, Battlemaster," Hallian answered as the Ethereal went off one way, and with the pod in tow, the medics rushed off another.

---

Phonom Penh – Cambodia

4/30/2017 – 6:00 P.M.

The wall had been hit here, and Patricia decided a new tactic was in play. Given the recent events in Tampa, she thought she would take a page and try…speaking to ADVENT. There would certainly not be a ceasefire, but she was curious to see who they would send – and what they would say. The invasion had largely proceeded – and still was proceeding – well.

They were quite easily moving through the region, onwards and upwards, and ADVENT and XCOM were throwing their best to slow her down. Admittedly, they were still holding on to the capital city of Cambodia, but the price for this was that they weren't elsewhere as her soldiers continued expanding.

Transplantation and terraforming were also proceeding well; the plants were adapting to the conditions on Earth, and Sectoids and Andromedons both were carefully observing the effect on the ecosystem. It would take time before the full effects were accounted for, but preliminary information was always good, and soon it would be her mark she left on the planet and the path she carved.

The bombardment from both sides had stopped and now she walked onto a war-torn battlefield which had once been a complex of cheap houses and streets, and now was composed of dirt, rubble, metal, and unidentifiable liquids. Her mask was off, as she did not need to be connected right now to the Imperator, but there was a telekinetic field around her, one which she kept vibrating to set off any mines nearby.

Approaching the designated area, she spotted her counterpart, and was only mildly surprised to see the Chronicler approaching. She'd known he was here, as was Aegis, along with a number of XCOM psions and Agents of T'Leth who were still alive. Without all of them, this city would have fallen days ago.

Both psions met besides the shells of houses and torn vegetation. Patricia crossed her arms, appraising the Chronicler. "Surprised they sent you."

"It was me or Aegis," the Chronicler answered with a thin smile. "I was deemed the better negotiator."

"Were you now."

"Easy to negotiate when the answer is going to be 'no'."

Patricia was mildly amused, but not surprised. "You don't want to hear me out?"

"Not particularly."

"The Battlemaster and the Commander appear to have worked something out."

"The Battlemaster and you are very different," the Chronicler snorted. "He operates within his own rules and code. He is predictable. You are not. Don't pretend that you're surprised by this."

Truthfully, Patricia was very much surprised by the ceasefire in Florida, and similarly concerned. She knew the Commander, and him taking that kind of step meant that he had a plan – and she knew it wasn't whatever reasons he had given the Battlemaster. Even if he was giving himself up, he knew what he was doing. He never did something like that without a reason or plan, and the Battlemaster simply had the wrong mindset to see that.

She'd deal with that later.

"How many days have we been here?" She asked rhetorically, looking past him to the Flak Towers and haphazard trenches. "Ten days? Fifteen?"

"Length doesn't matter," the Chronicler shook his head. "We'll fight for months if need be. You can't convince us to give up."

"Let's work through this logically," Patricia said, deciding to try a different tactic. She sat down on an appropriately sized piece of rubble. "You can theoretically hold out here as long as necessary. Between you and Aegis, I know you can. However, both of you have to be here all the time and can't assist elsewhere. I don't have that restriction. I have an army of billions at my disposal, and I am using them to take the ground you cannot defend."

"And we're slowing your efforts," the Chronicler added.

"Slowing, not stopping," Patricia agreed. "Casualties are largely Mutons. That I can afford easily. You are losing ground by the day. Soon you will be completely surrounded and even you and Aegis cannot last forever. If I bring in a few more psions or call in some Cleanser Ships, you will be forced to do something. Then all of you will die, and ultimately for nothing."

"This works both ways, Patricia," the Chronicler raised a finger. "As long as you're stuck with us, that means you aren't elsewhere. We both cancel each other out, and this is a status quo we find acceptable, but you clearly do not. So while we appreciate your inevitable offer, we're quite content with the current situation."

"Perhaps, but you can't hold out forever," Patricia pointed out. "You'll become tired, exhausted. You will get sloppy. You will make mistakes. It won't be you either, it will be your soldiers who are fighting for days straight. I can call upon fresh forces whenever I wish. Your soldiers do not have that luxury, nor do you."

He actually chuckled, and his eyes briefly flashed blue. "I've been doing this much, much longer than you have, girl. I'm very likely older than your entire family combined. You've been joined to the Imperator for what? Several months, if that?" He shook his head, amused. "Both of us know soldiers are little obstacles against beings like us, and I can assure you that no matter how long you last, I can last longer."

He was entirely too smug for the situation he was in and it was rather irritating. Patricia frowned. "I'm not taking pleasure from this, Chronicler. I'd prefer to end the war with as few Human casualties as possible."

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't have betrayed us." He shot back, allowing some raw anger into his voice. "Don't you dare say that after what you've done."

"And leave them to what?" Patricia demanded. "I guarantee that there will be far fewer lives lost here than when T'Leth goes to war. The Sovereigns will sacrifice us when they see fit. We are less than nothing to them. We are tools to use and discard when finished."

"Remind me," the Chronicler shot back. "What was it you were saying about the Mutons again?"

"That is not the same thing and you know it," Patricia snapped.

"Really?" The Chronicler demanded. "Because it sounds just like what your imaginary Sovereigns would say about us. And if you really think the Imperator would not do the same thing, then you are deluding yourself and everyone around you."

"You're wrong," Patricia disputed with a shake of her head. "You've never even met him. You can't say that. I'm certain T'Leth says differently, but I've seen inside his mind. I know him better than you or your master ever could."

"You accuse me of not knowing the Imperator, but you turn around and treat T'Leth the exact same way," the Chronicler pointed out. "I base my opinion of the Imperator on what he had done and what he has allowed. You base your opinion on nothing but words and trust."

"Ah, you're wrong," Patricia gave a thin smile. "When I was still with the Imperator, and I hadn't made my decision, I decided to try and contact the Commander. Telepathically of course. I met your Sovereign there and he effectively told me to leave before I could even explain what I wanted to do. He accused me of being tainted by the Imperator."

For the first time, the Chronicler frowned. "Did he now. I see. I can guess what his reasons were, but that was…overzealous."

She nodded. "One word for it."

Silence fell between both of them. The Chronicler finally waved a hand. "Alright, let's hear your offer. Doubt I'll agree, but I'll hear you out."

"I will allow ADVENT military forces to evacuate the city completely," she said. "We do a prisoner swap. You get our captives, we get yours. Once you leave and send us an all-clear, we move in and take the city."

"You said military forces," he said slowly. "Not civilians?"

"I imagine that the civilians won't want to leave their homes," she said, choosing her words carefully. "If ADVENT wants to force their evacuation, then I suppose that can't be stopped. I would argue that would not be conducive for your image."

"Right," he said dryly. "Thank you for your concern. You want the civilians too, and you probably have a time limit on this that would make a large-scale evacuation impossible."

"I wouldn't want to think you were stalling."

"Obviously," the Chronicler rubbed his beard. "Here's my counter-offer. You allow all the civilians currently captured in your territory the option to leave, and we send a representative to confirm. Make our cases. Those who want to stay in your grand vision can, the rest get to leave, no strings attached. Same with this city. You give us as much time as needed to get them away safely. You do that, and we'll leave."

Patricia sighed. "I was hoping for something more serious."

"I am serious, Patricia, I see exactly what you are doing," the Chronicler met her eyes firmly. "For better or worse, you think you're doing the right thing, and think this is the correct direction of Humanity. So sell it. All you've done is conquer them. No one joined you willingly. Granted, the same can be said of ADVENT in some instances, but what ADVENT offers is unquestionably in their own interests. The Collective? Not so much. Consider this an opportunity to use your ideas and words to convince people to join you, not your armies and threats."

She looked at the Chronicler, thinking. He had a point, even if something of a distasteful one. A population that was unwilling was eventually unreliable and reshaping them would take some time…the Chronicler was confident this would be an easy win, and clearly did not expect her to say anything other than 'no'.

But she wondered if she should take him up on his offer. It would be a massive blow to ADVENT if, given the chance, Humans willingly elected to stay with the Collective, and not rejoin ADVENT. Oh, they would push their theories of intimidation and telepathy, but privately such would freak the leadership out. On the flip side, it could go badly for her and she'd be embarrassed before ADVENT and Humanity at large, much less the Collective.

High risk, potentially high reward.

She was tempted. "I need to speak to the Imperator," she finally said. "I will be back within the day."

He blinked. "You are actually considering this?"

"Correct," she stood up. "I hope you meant what you said, and that you were authorized to propose that deal, because that's what I'm going to bring before the Imperator. If you aren't, then let me know."

He gave a single nod. "I will do so. I will speak to you later."

"Yes, until later."

Patricia began walking away, then paused. "One more thing?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated, then decided to ask anyway. "How is Creed?"

The Chronicler's expression stayed completely neutral. "I wouldn't call him 'fine' after what you did. Let me put it simply, Patricia. The next time he sees you, he's going to kill you."

It wasn't a surprise, and she understood and gave a short nod. "Then I hope we never meet on the battlefield." She paused once more. "If you see him, do tell him I'm sorry it happened like this."

With that, she turned around, and left, this time not stopping until she was safely behind Collective lines.

---

Dedicated Defensive Fortress of the Sovereign African States – Nigeria

04/27/2017 – 12:02 P.M.

At last, there had been a breakthrough in negotiations. For Betos it seemed like the entire continent was in a self-imposed neutrality, with everyone fearing to commit to one side or the other for fear of retaliation from the other. A valid fear she could respect, but the continent was a number of dominos, and they were eventually going to fall one by one for one side or the other.

It was a mad rush between ADVENT and SAS diplomats, most of whom were either ignored or treated with the most delicate and neutral of negotiations for fear of committing too strongly to one side or the other. The threat of ADVENT annexation hung over every country, and that had been cited as a major reason nations had not committed to anyone.

However, the African nations in general were wary of ADVENT, hence why they weren't joining them. To Keeper's mild chagrin, none of the nations actually seemed to fear the SAS or aliens, and appeared to believe that if they joined, ADVENT would protect them. But ADVENT in many of their eyes was a wholly western superpower, and the legacy of colonization and exploitation still endured.

That China had also joined had only made it worse.

Then ADVENT appeared to have decided that they were tired of waiting, and had imposed harsh sanctions against all non-ADVENT aligned nations. The effect had been almost immediate, and a number of nations had at least signed non-aggression and non-alliance treaties with ADVENT, essentially allowing themselves to be ADVENT proxies in return for sanctions relief.

The ones who didn't give in were forced to seek alternatives, no matter the danger or risk. If something wasn't done, food, water, and resources would run out, and the last thing any of these governments wanted was an internal crisis on their hands. Larger nations could hold out for some time, and trade between themselves still existed.

For smaller countries, that wasn't an option, hence why four small nations were represented in a small and defended bunker. They were by no means committed, but Keeper believed that they could be swayed easily enough.

Sitting around a circular table were Presidents of four nations, Teghan Obito of Benin, Gaspard Diyoka of Togo, Sadaou Moundi of Ghana, and Mvondo Kumba of Gabon. Some were originally of their nation's military, others weren't. All were concerned and desperate enough to consider an alternative.

However, the concerns were immediate.

"ADVENT has been clear," Mvondo stated. "If we align ourselves with you, we will be destroyed."

"Propaganda," Keeper disputed. "Annexations require resources. ADVENT is currently engaged on multiple fronts, all of which they mistakenly believe are more important than your own nations. They will certainly be unhappy, but they rely on fear and intimidation to succeed here. When you and many of your nations saw they were skeptical – and rightfully so – they showed their true face."

Mvondo wasn't convinced. "I do not want fancy words, alien, I want a guarantee. What will you do to keep my country safe from ADVENT?"

"A number of steps," Betos spoke, looking around the room as this question was one they all had. "The SAS is African-run and led. Protection is essential, and to pre-empt any ADVENT attack, I will order SAS forces – all of whom are Human – to your countries to protect them from reprisal. All major government officials will receive dedicated protection."

She tapped the table. "Second, we upgrade your military to modern standards. Plasma, armor, psionic testing, everything, no questions asked. Your own military forces will be integrated into the SAS and when your soldiers are appropriately trained to use the equipment properly, they will serve as the core garrison of the nation, with additional support if necessary."

"Now," she pulled out a small holopad and activated it, showcasing a Collective emblem. "We know the sanctions are already affecting your countries. Through the Collective, we will continually keep your nation supplied with food, water, and other resources. Engineering teams from the Collective will arrive to modernize your infrastructure, networks, and defenses. We can provide you with all of this if you align yourselves fully with the Sovereign African States."

Betos met each of their eyes, lacing her fingers together. "ADVENT does not want a prolonged war here, but we've been under siege for over a month now, and they haven't broken through. They cannot win, and they know it. Each and every one of you they will coopt regardless of what you insist in their march to destroy us. Proxy bases are already being developed outside our borders. All due to ADVENT threats and fear. ADVENT does not have your best interests at heart. They never have or will care about neutrality."

"Neither does your own Collective or government," Gaspard snorted. "As has been throughout history, we are caught in the middle of two sides who care nothing for us except our land, people, and resources."

"We of course wish your support," Betos said. "But we do not require it and never have. We were content to let you maintain your neutrality without penalty. ADVENT does not believe in this. The SAS is allied with the Ethereal Collective, but we command and manage ourselves. Africans control the SAS, not the aliens."

"Please, you are not even African," Gaspard pointed out. "Do not speak as if we are brethren. You are no more of an African than I am Israeli."

Internally, Betos winced because that was a valid point. It was admittedly difficult to sell the idea of an African-run continental power when the face of said power was not even African, even if a majority of the interim government and military forces were. "No, I am not, but I am the reason that Africa as a whole is relevant in the world now, and the most influential it has been in centuries. I may not have come from here, but a majority of my advisors, government officials, and military personnel are, and they wholly support me."

"Her skin color is irrelevant," Teghan dismissed with a sharp wave. "I only care if she can do as she promises."

"I do not care so much about their promises as what happens later," Sadaou said, looking to Keeper. "ADVENT is right about one thing – too much alien influence is undesirable. I do not wish to align myself or my country with an alien proxy, nor do I wish to expand any coalition to include non-African nations, else it will become dominated by western interests again, and nothing will change. It was such with the UN, and it must not be repeated. Will the SAS retain full autonomy from the rest of Earth?"

"Of course," Keeper said immediately. "The interests of the Sovereign African States are decided internally with our own advisement, of course, but I do not see a need for the SAS to expand beyond the continent. This is, of course, subject to the internal deliberations of such a government. Your peers may feel differently, but as it stands, we do not need the SAS to expand unnecessarily."

Sadaou frowned. "You would support multiple Human governments? Autonomous Human governments?"

Keeper smiled. "Currently on Vitakar, there are six racial local governments, each of which control and manage certain parts of our planet, as well as sponsor colonies they have direct influence over. The Andromedon Union contains dozens of autonomous and independent Unions, all of whom control their own affairs with minimal to no oversight."

He lifted a finger. "Now, each of these have established a…unified government structure, the Aui'Vitakar and Andromedon Federation respectively, to manage planet and system-wide affairs. But it is largely used to streamline trade, unified military strength, and species-wide directives. It is rare that it interferes on a local government level. The point is, Mr. President, that despite what ADVENT would have you believe, the Ethereal Collective is highly supportive of its allied species and wishes them to develop in their own ways. We are a Collective, after all, not an Empire."

He lowered his hand. "ADVENT has no such belief in diversity. They will, if you have not noticed, homogenize society, military, and culture to whatever they deem as the most acceptable. They do not care for opposing views and beliefs, except for ones that support their plan for eventual Human domination. You see how they even treat Humans who do not fall in line, imagine what they will do to those not of their species."

Betos certainly appreciated individuals like Keeper who could succinctly explain the flaws of ADVENT and the advantages of the Collective, though she knew it certainly wasn't as simple as the picture he painted, but much of it was correct – or at least easily arguable. She doubted that ADVENT was necessarily hostile to aliens, but if it suited their interests…they could easily become that.

Gaspard still looked skeptical. "You paint a vivid picture, alien. I have a question though." He looked Betos in the eyes. "Betos may be the face of the SAS, but she was not alone initially. There were others with her. Other national leaders. So-called allies. Where are they now, Betos? Why are they not endorsing your vision?"

Betos was very grateful they'd anticipated this potential roadblock, and Keeper smiled and pulled out a thick folder, set it on the table, and slid it to the opposing Human. "The simple answer is that they were corrupt, brutal men who cared more for personal profit and glory than the threat of ADVENT or the well-being of their citizens."

He shook his head in pretend mirth. "We compiled evidence before we acted. All there for review. Unfortunately, it seems some men believe themselves above the laws they themselves agreed too. I cannot say if they intended to use the SAS to enrich themselves, but such actions cannot be tolerated, and they were arrested, prosecuted, and executed."

"I heard nothing of a trial," Gaspard said, though he sounded like he was backing off this topic.

"And were you observing?" Keeper shrugged. "It is unlikely you would have observed as it was only kept within our own networks, networks which do not rely on Human systems."

"I can assure you that the men and women working with me now are fully committed to the future of the SAS," Betos added. "While a hard lesson to go through, it was necessary. I am certain you are aware that in some of these nations justice is fleeting or absent, and to acquire the trust of the people, to give them hope, they needed to see even the powerful are not immune to the law."

She gave a smile. "I can assure you that if you're dedicated to your people, then you have little to fear. But all of us must move beyond old national and ethnic rivalries. ADVENT faces us with a united front, and if we intend to survive, we must do the same."

The men were nodding and exchanging glances with each other, communicating in different languages under their breath. It appeared to be a good sign. "You make a strong case for an alliance," Teghan finally said. "But we want more details. Specifics."

Keeper moved the holoprojector closer to the center of the table with a smile. "Of course. Ask us anything you wish to know."

---

Briefing Center 17, Cambodian Military Command – Cambodia

4/29/2019 – 10:14 A.M.

Three ADVENT squads were seated in a room, most of them not in uniform, but knowing they would need to don it soon enough. Both Duri's direct superior, Lieutenant Maxwell. and the commanding Colonel of the Cambodian Joint Company Command, Zachery Ilo, were laying out the mission for the soldiers present.

"Right now we don't have a full picture of what the Collective is doing in Vietnam," Maxwell was saying, a map displayed behind him. "We know they are modifying the environment extensively, but if the plants they're using are alien, terran, or hybrids is an open question. As you can imagine, this is unacceptable, and ADVENT is clear in that we are to stop this terraforming effort immediately."

"To do that we need hard samples," Ilo said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Soil. Leaves. Seeds. That kind of thing. We have that, the scientists can study them and develop countermeasures or poisons. If we can taint the land, we should be able to prevent terraforming from being possible, even if they claim the land itself."

One of the officers, Sam Sujin, a woman from Korea, the Seoul Legion, raised a hand. "To cut to the chase, sir, we're being sent after plants?"

"Plants which are within enemy territory," Maxwell clarified. "But yes. All of your squads have demonstrated exceptional skills and performance, and operations such as these are of more use to ADVENT then sticking you in a trench."

"Right, sir," she nodded. "Just checking."

"Which brings us to the next point," Ilo highlighted another portion of the map. "We're sending you to a location where terraforming efforts are taking place, but satellites don't show a dedicated Collective presence. There are likely patrols and countermeasures in place. Your mission here is not to kill aliens, but to recover the samples quickly, and then leave immediately. Leave the killing to the special forces."

"Question, sir," the third officer, Brenden Pox, from one of the American legions raised a hand. "Do we have any kind of support for this?"

"If things get too bad, we have a reserve Dragoon unit nearby," Maxwell confirmed. "We'd prefer they not be deployed, however. There are several Intelligence Agents in the area, and by tonight we'll have up-to-date intel. We expect the operation to launch in no more than three or four days, and to last no longer than four hours upon insertion. Do not take longer than this."

"Any further questions?" Ilo looked around the room. "It's straightforward, but important this get done, especially while Patricia and her army are still being held to this position. The aliens are continuing to advance outward, and we might not get this chance again if we delay."

"One," Duri raised a hand. "Will we be escorting any scientists or specialists? If there are civilians, we need to account for that."

"Undetermined," Maxwell said. "Potentially, and it would improve the operation. However, R&D isn't sure they want to risk someone for a bulk grab. We will know well before the operation. You will have appropriate time to prepare."

"Thank you," Duri nodded.

"Return to your duties for now," Maxwell said, as they all stood and saluted. "Further details will be forwarded within the day."

---

Near Tampa, Florida – United States of America

4/30/2017 – 6:30 P.M.

On a shelled-out city block, both the Collective and ADVENT prepared to make the exchange. Along several dozen similar points, prisoner exchanges would be conducted, per the agreement which they had come to. But all attention was on the small groups that made their way to the middle ground between the battle lines.

Today at least, the No Man's Land was populated with something alive.

Both armies on opposing sides were tense, but weapons were kept idle. The Commander saw that the ADVENT soldiers were holding their weapons in such a way that if they needed to, they could lift and fire in seconds. He also knew that multiple teams of snipers were also keeping track of the parties.

On the Collective side, the aliens had completely stood down, or so it appeared. Mutons were in an idle stance, and the Runianarch soldiers held their weapons idly, seemingly more fascinated by the oncoming Humans than concerned about anything else.

In particular, they were focused on him.

He only wore his grey fatigues, having elected not to wear armor here. He felt that wouldn't play well with the Battlemaster, and if the aliens really wanted to kill him, armor wouldn't protect him. His uniform was fairly plain, though displayed the XCOM emblem on the upper right chest. He kept the pistol on his waist, but aside from that, he appeared fairly normal.

Well, almost normal. His skin displayed the hallmarks of genetic modification, as well as his eyes. Perhaps enough to distract from the small ring he wore, silver and plain, with a tiny Sovereign Orb embedded in it. He certainly wasn't going to go unprepared, and if the Battlemaster thought that his mind could be scanned here, he was sadly mistaken. In the opposite hand was a briefcase containing some essentials for his short stay in enemy territory.

Accompanying him was Commander Christiaens, Vahlen, and a squad of XCOM soldiers who walked behind them, armed of course. On the alien side, the Battlemaster accompanied a medical team who surrounded a white pod the Commander assumed was the injured Yang Shuren. Curiously, that was it.

Both parties stopped short of each other. There was a period of silence. "Four days," the Battlemaster said, looking to Laura. "Then we talk again."

She gave a sharp nod. "Understood. You understand the consequences if you break the terms?"

"I do," he motioned to the medics who began moving closer, and the XCOM squad moved to escort them more overtly. "As do you understand the consequences of your own failure to adhere to the terms?"

"We can be trusted to hold to our word," the Commander said, stepping forward and looking up at the Ethereal. It really was disconcerting how much larger than everyone he was. He'd never really appreciated the size of the Battlemaster until in person. Well, the reports had made him aware enough, but it was another to experience it.

A few moments passed, and the collateral had been exchanged. Now alongside the Battlemaster, the Commander met Vahlen's eyes. Don't worry about me, he thought, knowing that she was listening to him. I'll keep you aware of what's going on.

A small nod followed, and he gave her a smile, and a quick salute which she returned. They'd worked out a way to keep in contact, assuming that the Collective hadn't set up anti-telepathy precautions around their territory, which was admittedly possible. Psionic contact was possible, and while the Commander was no telepath, Vahlen was.

He was sure she could find him without too much of an issue.

"Follow me," the Battlemaster turned, and the Commander followed suit as they walked ever-closer to the enemy lines. The Battlemaster didn't seem interested in speaking to him in front of the Collective, but he seemed highly distracted, no doubt planning his next moves. Fine by him, the Commander had a feeling they would have an interesting talk later.

The aliens were silent as he walked alongside the Ethereal. The Mutons didn't react at all, but the Vitakara stared in rapt attention, and he idly wondered what was going through their minds. He was not a public figure, but the enigmatic Commander of XCOM was no doubt a figure they knew about. Someone they perhaps respected.

Someone they most certainly feared.

He wondered how many of them were disappointed, or perhaps relieved that he was only a Human. Not quite a Chronicler, a Kane, or a Geist, but for him that was for the best. It was always better to be underestimated than the opposite. The aliens didn't seem to like maintaining eye contact, even through helmets when he looked their direction.

Perhaps they considered it unprofessional; displaying interest in a high-profile enemy figure.

To a degree it made sense. Some constants in all soldiers it seemed. While he was certainly looking forward to a chat with the Battlemaster, he was almost more interested in speaking with some of the true believers of the Collective. The alien soldiers who maintained their loyalty despite the actions of the Ethereals.

Or perhaps that was all an illusion, and all some of these soldiers needed was someone to give them something to think about.

Four days.

He could do something in that timeframe.

---

Near the Sudan Border – Chad.

5/3/2017 – 10:17 A.M.

Betos was not American, but she knew a decent amount of their history. The story of the American Revolution had always been one of her favorites, one complete with long odds, heroism, hope, and ultimately victory. To some extent, she could see the parallels here. A smaller regional power fighting to crush the reigning global Empire.

Of course, the American Revolution hadn't had someone like Macula. Or an advanced alien ally, but there were still parallels.

For the first time in a while, she felt like she was about to do something tangible. It had been negotiation or hiding from ADVENT shelling, and she was past confining herself to the cage ADVENT was trying to construct around them. If they wanted to strike at them, fine, but they would no longer be able to strike with impunity.

She was about to cross the Rubicon and kick off what she knew would be a long, brutal, and bloody war. No longer were the SAS going to hold back; now they marched on the emplacements which had been shelling them relentlessly, which had caused the deaths of soldiers and civilians, which had made the shelter drills a common occurrence.

It was time to move the war somewhere else.

ADVENT had been establishing airstrips and artillery positions within Libya and Sudan, which were used to strike against cities and bases in Chad. Thanks to their efforts much of the defense had been destroyed, but now vengeance had come, and Betos intended to make a statement. Her best soldiers followed her, with Macula at her left hand, and Mox at her right.

"Changes to the rules of engagement?" Mox asked as they looked in the distance at the first ADVENT airbase, one which she idly saw panicked soldiers running in the distance and hurriedly trying to evacuate – or defend. He checked his rifle and looked over his shoulder at the soldiers who stood at attention behind her.

It was to be the first true test of the SAS Military, and a usage of a very few of their psions, the few who had been trained enough to be useful. However, they were on other operations. She had Macula today, and she suspected that would be all they needed. "No change," she said idly, crossing her arms and pacing as she observed. "They raise their weapons, defend yourselves. However," she looked back to the Ethereal. "We're not here to kill them today, yes?"

"I suspect that your gambit will fail, Lady Betos," Macula twirled one of the blades in his hand. "Nonetheless, if you wish to attempt it, then I will ensure that it is successful."

She pointed forward. "Go. We'll be right behind you."

With a speed that belied his size, Macula shot off, racing towards the airbase. Mox looked after him. "They run fast, don't they?"

"It appears so," Betos was also kind of surprised – and intimidated just how fast they were capable of going. Then again, the Battlemaster she remembered seeing cross hundreds of feet in a matter of seconds through his psionic dashing, so by comparison this wasn't as impressive.

No, it was definitely impressive.

She turned back to her soldiers. "You have your objectives. I understand that for some of you…it won't be what you want. But to defeat ADVENT, we need to be smarter than them, and exploit the weaknesses they have. Their soldiers are their most important asset, and if we threaten that, we will have an advantage."

She pulled out her own rifle. "Today we expose ADVENT as an illusion. They will be defeated without firing a shot. March!" Normally there would be objection to her leading this kind of operation, but this was an instance where she did not fear any danger, and as they walked the open Sudan land to the airbase, not a single shot was fired.

Instead the defenders were frozen in place, statues seemingly made of stone, their bodies locked into position as their minds lingered in induced purgatory. Near the center of the airstrip stood Macula. "Inform me when you wish to release their minds," he said idly, seeming pleased as the SAS soldiers began cuffing and binding the soldiers for transport, as the hovercraft followed a few seconds later.

"I brought enough soldiers," Betos said. "It shouldn't take long."

"Excellent," the Ethereal stated jovially. "Almost a shame they didn't even have a psion."

"I wouldn't worry," Betos cautioned, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. "I get the feeling that you'll be fighting one soon enough."

---

ADVENT Trauma Center, Tampa – Florida

4/30/2017 – 9:16 P.M.

ADVENT certainly hadn't stashed them in the most open place in their medical camp, but it was more than serviceable for the team of medics with one subject in the pod. Hallian and his team had actually seemed to attract less attention than he'd thought, though that was probably due to them being taken along a tightly monitored path, under a heavy escort, and everyone in the medical facility was focused on more immediate things than the group moving through them.

ADVENT had given them a few amenities, namely a bed, IV stand, and a number of other archaic technology which Hallian and his team promptly ignored. ADVENT meant well, but their medical tech still had a while to go before it was on-par with that on Vitakar, much less the rumored Ethereal facilities of Sana'Ligna.

He idly wondered what she was doing now since she'd left.

Yang was stable now. The skin was beginning to heal, but Hallian knew that she wasn't going to be going out into the field for at least several weeks. If it was up to him, she'd not do anything combat-related for several months. Despite never having her as a patient before, he knew she wasn't going to do that. She'd likely regain consciousness in a few days, but even if she wanted to, she'd need time to recover.

Not even women like her were invincible, much as such beings believed sometimes. He could see she was special, but she was no Ethereal.

One thing he would wait to fully address would be the scarring. It was certainly possible to remove it completely, but he didn't know if she'd want to keep a reminder of what she survived or not. If it hadn't been for an encounter with a Borelian who'd been very irritated he'd healed the scarring, he was very aware that was a touchy subject for some. He wasn't sure if Yang fell into that category, but he didn't really want to make her upset.

Right now though, he did not have much to do. His assistants could watch Yang for any irregularities, and the systems were slaved to the haptic control panel on his wrist. If something happened to her, he'd know about it. He'd already made the executive decision to keep Yang artificially sedated until further notice. She might reawaken naturally, but having her wake up in the middle of an ADVENT facility without any idea what was going on…

That would be a problem.

Hopefully her awakening could be coordinated with a visit by the Battlemaster. He'd ensure she was calm, more so than a Dath'Haram she'd never seen before. Until that point, he was in the middle of a medical facility, which meant he had work to do. Assuming ADVENT would even let him of course. Opening the door to the Triage area, he watched the medics and nurses rush around.

The medical facilities were organized, if compressed. It was clear this room wasn't originally supposed to hold this many, and it alternated between soldiers being rushed in, who were treated by the nurses and doctors on staff before being moved when they were stabilized. Human terminology did confuse him sometimes, and their constant referral of 'casualties' for alive, if wounded, people was utterly confusing.

His case of medical equipment in hand, he looked around for someone who was the chief medic, or at least the person in charge. There were no Officers he saw, oddly enough, though several soldiers had seen him come out and were walking towards him, hands holding rifles that were soon pointed at him.

"Where are you going, alien?" One asked, a male.

He gestured to several of the wounded on the beds. "To help. Can you direct me to the chief medic here?"

The two soldiers looked at each other. "And just why?" The second soldier said, a woman, taking a step forward and waving the barrel of the weapon threateningly. "Would we think that's a good idea? We're not fools, lizard. You're not going anywhere near our soldiers."

Hallian sighed. "I'll wait to hear from someone in charge, thank you. I assure you I have no intention of hurting your people. My duty is to heal the injured, this extends beyond my species and those allied to us."

"Yeah sure," the first soldier grunted. "All the same to you, lizard, we'll take our chances."

Human insults were highly odd; the whole species seemed to have a fascination with insults they thought were clever, but in reality just made them sound like children. "Do I really look like a lizard?"

"Eh, kind of," the second soldier shrugged. "Would you prefer the term 'xeno scum'?"

"Not especially,"

"Too bad, we're not under any obligation to make you feel good, frogman," the soldier said. "Get back in your room and take care of your traitor."

"Ha, good one," the second one chuckled. "You-"

"Hey!" A new voice called out, and the soldiers immediately stiffened as the Officer Hallian was looking for finally walked in, striding directly towards them.

"Officer!" The first one said. "We-"

"Were harassing the alien, I heard," the Officer said, crossing his arms. "You'd do well to not forget I can hear everything you say. This is not acceptable conduct, especially unprovoked. I don't care if he's an alien or not. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Dismissed," the Officer waved sharply, and the soldiers rushed out of there quickly. "Apologies for that, doctor."

"Appreciated, Officer," Hallian said, relaxing slightly. "I do understand it."

"Personally, I can't say I'm happy to have loyalist aliens here either," the Officer grunted. "But that sets a bad precedent, especially for our defectors. In any case, you wanted me. For what?"

"Yang is stabilized, and I can help your medical team here," Hallian gestured around. "There is little point in me sitting alone when you appear to need all the help you can get."

The Officer cocked his head. "Why?"

It was almost kind of sad how that appeared to be the first question asked. "I'm a medic, Officer. This is my job, regardless of species."

"Huh," the Officer looked around. "I presume you're smart enough not to try anything, since we have cameras and soldiers everywhere. Though I'm not going to let you work unattended. Abraham!" He motioned one of the doctors, an older male with greying hair who was changing his gloves. He looked up, and walked over while drying them.

"How can I help?" He asked, shooting a glance to the alien.

"The alien wants to help out," the Officer explained, indicating Hallian. "Doctor's code or something I guess, supervise him or find someone to do that. This is your specialty. If you think he's a risk, send him back. I'll defer to you."

"Yes sir," the doctor nodded, and then looked at Hallian. "Doctor Abraham, ADVENT Medical Corps. If you really want to help, follow me." Without spending any more time, the doctor turned and walked over to one of the wounded who had just been brought in, with Hallian following close behind him.

---

Cambodian Forward Outpost of the Harbinger – Cambodia

5/1/2017 – 12:20 A.M.

"My personal assessment, Harbinger?"

Patricia could make an assumption of what he was going to say from his projected emotions, but motioned him to continue. "Of course."

"It is a stalling tactic," Marian said, swallowing, but continuing. "They are exploiting your psychological vulnerabilities. XCOM and ADVENT gain far more from this level of capitulation than we would. The only reason to indulge is ideological, and right now I can guarantee that it would result in public embarrassment for us and we would walk away with nothing but a piece of land."

"I concur, Harbinger," Assimilator-2 agreed, looking down at her. "This is the equivalent of such a proposal taking place on Vitakar. The population is predisposed to a certain view regardless of appeals, facts, and insistence. De-radicalization and de-programming do not happen in a span of weeks, but months or years. Even with accelerated programs proceeding now, not Humans, nor most sapient species, change their minds immediately."

"I see where you're coming from," Miriam said, leaning against the wall. "But the Chronicler is smart. I read the very extensive profile the Zararch had on you; and you can be played if someone says the right things."

Patricia pursed her lips. "Not easily."

"No, but it's going to bother you, I can tell," Miriam said knowingly. "You really, really, don't like walking away from proving someone wrong, even if it's impossible or it wouldn't work for you. Well, with all due respect Harbinger, please move past your pride and understand you don't have to prove anything."

Patricia scowled, because she could understand the cyborg wasn't completely wrong. "I dislike backing down in this manner. It will be used against me."

"I will point out, Harbinger, that you do not have a shining endorsement from ADVENT right now," Marian said, coughing slightly. "You must understand that no matter what you do, ADVENT will attack and belittle you regardless of the outcome. Their approval is not something to be sought."

"Something the Battlemaster would do well to remember more," I'Sari rumbled. "This does not gain us anything worthwhile, and we stand to lose much."

"A question, Harbinger," Casas lifted a hand, eyes seeming brighter than usual. "Have you spoken to the Imperator about this?"

"No, I wanted to get your input first," Patricia answered with a shake of her head. "If you thought it was worth doing, I'd bring it up. If not, then I won't waste his time. He'll learn it eventually, but as it stands…well, it seems to be a universal no."

"A fair assessment, Harbinger," Assimilator-2 agreed. "While your ideological reasons for consideration are admirable, it is not a wise strategic or practical decision."

"At least I know now you'll tell me if I'm making a mistake," Patricia took a breath and leaned on the holotable, looking at the unlit board. "With all this said, we need to make adjustments to our own strategy. The Chronicler was right when he said keeping us occupied isn't ideal. The plans stall considerably when held up in one or more locations."

"Special Forces strikes against European nations?" Marian wondered. "It could draw away the Chronicler and other Agents of T'Leth."

"Won't work," Patricia rejected. "I'm the largest threat. They know that. XCOM will be sent, or ADVENT to deal with a problem like that."

"Perhaps if you are presumed somewhere else, they will be forced to move," I'Sari proposed. "It would allow us to proceed."

"And be wiped out by Aegis," Miriam grunted. "The Chronicler isn't the only heavy-hitter ADVENT has."

"And the Chronicler can teleport, as can Fiona," Patricia reminded him. "Wherever I go, they will follow."

"You really don't believe you can beat him?" Marian asked, cocking his head.

"Alone? Perhaps," Patricia mused. "He's strong. I could probably drive him off though. We're…very even. Superhumans who can't be killed by mortals, only those who are like us…" She trailed off, a new thought entering her mind. "Perhaps that's it…"

"What is?" I'Sari asked.

"I believe I have determined your assessment," Assimilator-2 said slowly. "Your personal attributes and skills have not been adequately utilized in pursuit of the greater strategy."

"Along those lines," she smiled, feeling far better than she had a few minutes ago. "The best way to escape a stalemate is not being in one in the first place."

"I don't follow, Harbinger," Marian said, picking up a datapad preparing to make some notes. "What are you thinking?"

"That my forces are going to have to be able to win this war without me," Patricia said, turning on the holotable. "But the good news will be that XCOM, and T'Leth will be similarly paralyzed. They can stand against me, but those who follow them cannot. Perhaps they should be reminded of that."

---

ADVENT Trauma Center, Tampa – Florida

4/30/2017 – 9:39 P.M.

Working with Human tech was a curious, if somewhat frustrating challenge. He only had so much modern medical equipment and medicine, and it all needed to be preserved for Yang. So instead he worked with simple bandages and the most basic application of medical nanotech which could barely do more than seal wounds.

Abraham, the medic, was the most professional Human Hallian had interacted with thus far. Direct, friendly enough, and good at his job. Hallian realized that at least both of them had the same objective in this case, which was saving as many people as possible. For Hallian it was easier than treating Collective soldiers, since ADVENT soldiers were almost always some variation of burns from plasma, with the occasional missing limb or shrapnel.

"You're remarkably good at this," Abraham said after they finished on a soldier who'd taken several direct shots. "You've worked on Humans before?"

"Not especially," Hallian refuted, as he washed his hands. "Since I've come to Earth, I've found a few, but these types of injuries are fairly easy to treat and are common on battlefields. Vitakarian and Human physiology is remarkably similar, the former of which I have a lot of experience in. I am less comfortable performing invasive surgery on Humans, but I suspect I could do it without significant issues."

"I see," Abraham tossed him a towel. "I'd ask where you went, but I know I wouldn't recognize it. I assume you have alien medical schools, right?"

"We do," Hallian nodded. "The Ligna Hospitals. Every region has at least one. Highest standards too, have to be able to operate on every current member of the Collective. Vitakara, Andromedon, Sectoid, Muton," he counted them off on his fingers. "I believe they recently added Humans to that list."

Abraham looked at him oddly. "Ligna as in Sana'Ligna? The Ethereal?"

"The very same," Hallian confirmed. "I met her once. It was incredible to see her work."

"Yeah, I bet," Abraham grunted. "Suppose I should give her some credit, at least she's not fighting for the wrong side." He coughed awkwardly. "Well, you know what I mean."

Hallian waved a hand. "Let's not get into that right now. We're not done."

"Nope, we aren't," Abraham cracked his neck as they moved to the next group of wounded soldiers who had been brought in, these ones more severe than the previous batch. "I don't know whether to be grateful or sad that a damn alien is somehow more competent than a lot of my assistants."

Hallian handed him some bandages, med-kits, and helped remove the armor to get to the wound. "If it helps, I'm one of the more experienced medics for the Collective."

"Makes sense," Abraham sprayed the med-kit on the burn. "Battlemaster wouldn't have sent a novice to keep his pet alive."

Hallian winced. "I don't think she's really a…pet."

"Figure of speech," Abraham shrugged. "Humans have a lot of those if you didn't know."

"So I've heard," Hallian said neutrally, figuring it best not to press on that topic. This Human may be nicer than a lot of them, but he definitely harbored resentment for the Collective. Admittedly not without reason…but it didn't make Hallian really feel comfortable. "Humans seem to have a lot of ways to get around saying what they mean."

"That we do," Abraham nodded. "But I think we're getting better on that front. Slowly."

Both worked with minimal conversation for the next while. Hallian wasn't keeping track of the time, and instead just focused on moving from soldier to soldier, helping Abraham stabilize them. The wheeling in of carts sounded as more were rolled in, more wounded soldiers on them, most knocked out or half-conscious.

Abraham gave a low groan, and Hallian sympathized, as it seemed they were just starting to make a good amount of headway. "They don't pay me enough for this," Abraham muttered, as he disposed of his bloodstained gloves once more.

Hallian frowned, blinking. "You get paid?"

"Figure of speech," Abraham repeated, then shot the Dath'Haram a suspicious look. "Wait. What do you mean 'you get paid'? You mean you don't?"

"Not…exactly," Hallian considered how best to explain it. "Not in money, no, but I get housing, food, medicine, essentially everything I need to survive. Currency as you have on this planet, is not really something we have on Vitakar."

"Huh," Abraham mused. "So what do your people work for then? What do they get in return?"

"I…" Hallian didn't really understand the question. "They get to do what they trained for? What they want to do? Very rarely do Vitakara get something in return, unless it's a trading or negotiating job."

Abraham suddenly burst out laughing. "You've got to be kidding me."

Now Hallian was confused. "Well, why would you want to have a job doing something you didn't want to do? I don't really understand why that's a motivation for your species, I'd think it'd just make you miserable."

"Eh, depends on the person," Abraham chuckled, wiping some tears from the corners of his eyes. "I get what you're saying, but it's hilarious how you aliens are a bunch of communists. I'm shocked ADVENT hasn't run with that yet."

"What's a communist?" Hallian inquired as they prepared to start work.

"If we have time later, I'll tell you," Abraham said. "Come on comrade, let's finish this up. If we're good enough, we might be finished before the sun comes up."

---

Collective War Camp, Clearwater – Florida

4/30/2017 – 11:17 P.M.

The room they had set aside for him was not terrible, all things considered. It was fairly small (though with a tall roof which he assumed was to account for the Battlemaster), but it had a small bed, a fridge, table, and seats. Blankets, a medical kit, and other small necessities, including some chips he assumed they'd taken from a store, were also set out.

Homey.

He set out his clothes for the next few days, ate some of the food, and waited while thinking of what he'd experienced so far. His time had been largely insulated, but it was only the first night. He'd certainly attracted a notable amount of attention, though he and the Battlemaster hadn't spoken much, outside of him saying he would return.

There were two Custodians guarding his room, and he presumed those would be his escorts through the ceasefire. A shame; he would have preferred living guards. Those he could talk to, get to know a bit. He didn't know if it was actually intentional on the Battlemaster's part, and knowing him, it was not for the psychological effect, but because Custodians were among the most dangerous infantry units the Collective had, and for a guest like him, such precautions made sense.

He'd rearranged the small table and chairs, and set out the chess board he'd brought along with him. It almost made him nostalgic for the many games he'd held in his cell…it seemed like a long time ago, but in reality, it was only a couple years. Too long since he'd played a full game with a somewhat competent opponent. Vahlen, for all her brilliance, was not a good chess player.

The Commander looked to the door, sensing something was off. The ring he wore protected against telepathic intrusions, but he could still tell when something had shifted, even if only minutely. He leaned back as the door slid open and the Battlemaster walked inside. Interestingly enough, he was…different.

He'd never seen the massive Ethereal in anything other than his armor, but now he wore…well, it was armor, but less of it. Closer to something Macula or Caelior wore. His leisure outfit he supposed, and he wasn't carrying his weapon, or any weapon the Commander could see. Once he stepped inside, he reached up with his upper arms and removed his helmet.

The Commander raised an eyebrow as the Battlemaster walked over to him, setting the helmet on the floor as he took a cross-legged position on the floor, as the chair was far too small, and even still he was above eye level. He was surprised the Battlemaster had taken off his helmet, something that most Ethereals, even Aegis, didn't do. Perhaps a sign of respect, or perhaps it was a quirk Aegis had failed to mention or didn't know about.

"Battlemaster," the Commander glanced around. "Reasonable accommodations, I appreciate it."

"Good," the Ethereal answered. "I am making an assumption my Harbinger will receive quality treatment. It is important that yours is equivalent."

"She is," the Commander nodded. "I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, but I would prefer not to lie."

"Not a pleasure, Commander, but our meeting is long overdue," the Battlemaster stated. "It is because of both of us that we are in this phase of the war."

"I doubt that," the Commander laced his fingers together. "If it wasn't for me, there would be no force to oppose you. The war against us would continue regardless of if you were in charge or not."

The Battlemaster hesitated. "Perhaps. I lack your radical tactics and willingness to go to the lengths you do to achieve your goals."

Interesting. "I did not expect you to admit to that."

"It is an observation, Commander, not what I consider a flaw," he answered flatly. "We are similar in some ways, but we are not the same. This war has taught me much about myself, and I suspect you as well. I have come close to death before, I have suffered defeats, and each time I learn from them."

"As we have noticed," the Commander moved a chess piece forward to start the game. "You know that you can't survive forever." He nodded down. "And your move."

The Ethereal blinked his fiery eyes. "A game of chess?"

"Good. You know what it is."

"A favored game of strategists and military leaders," the alien recalled, a tone of sarcasm in his voice. "Supposedly a strategy game. I did not see the similarities before, and I do not now. This game does not simulate battle or strategy in any realistic fashion."

"Oh no, it definitely doesn't," the Commander smiled. "Anyone who says that is just trying to impress someone. I personally play because I enjoy it, not to enhance my so-called 'tactical skills'." He looked to the board, resting his chin on his folded hands. "Although one thing I have noticed is that it can show an interesting amount of a person's priorities with how they treat their pieces. There are several types of people who play chess. The ruthless, the conservative, the aggressive, and the lucky. You can win with any of them, but they reflect how a person will act in a situation where decisions must be made."

"A significant assumption, Commander," the Battlemaster telekinetically moved a pawn forward, his fingers too big to properly pick up the pieces. "And you want to learn what my priorities are? I would be surprised if you didn't have a dossier on me."

"We do, and I can make a prediction," the Commander said, moving his own pawn forward. "I'm curious how close it will be."

"As am I." They played in silence for a few minutes. "I am curious, Commander. Do you believe you can win? Regardless of your answer, I do not intend to share it."

"So long as you answer the same thing," the Commander shrugged. "I define 'winning' as the Imperator dead, the Collective shattered, the Bringer destroyed, and your species reduced to a degree where they cannot threaten our species again. Preferably Mosrimor dead, but I suspect he will flee long before that point. Since we're being honest, I cannot say for certain that victory is assured, but I can say that I will die before I allow Humanity to fall to you." He moved his piece. "Your turn."

"Your war is ultimately irrelevant," the Battlemaster almost sighed. "This conflict is irrelevant. Aegis has shared how our Empire fell to the Synthesized. I know they are still out there, and it does not seem like the Sovereign Ones are capable, or even interested in, stopping them. It does not matter which of us wins, Commander, because they will come again."

"I'm aware," the Commander nodded. "And that is a concern. One that ADVENT and XCOM will address. Unfortunately, we're already in a war for the future of our species, and until we secure this, worrying about a future conflict is…unwise."

"I do not begrudge that," the Battlemaster said. "You do understand that even should you win, you will not be free."

"T'Leth, I presume?"

"The Imperator is not wrong about this," the Battlemaster said slowly. "Allying with this Sovereign may be something you consider necessary, but he is not your ally. Not truly. An ally who can assume control of your species should he desire it is no ally, but a benevolent overlord. You have none with the power of the Imperator who can stand against them. Your dream of an independent Humanity will never be realized so long as you ally yourself to a Sovereign One."

"And the Imperator is a better alternative?" The Commander asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But I am aware of the implications."

"Then why take the risk?"

"What would you do?" The Commander demanded, pursing his lips. "We're outnumbered, outmatched, have inferior technology, and a space force nowhere near your own. Surrender isn't an option, not now. Your Collective pushed us into a corner, where our most reliable means of survival is an entity that could one day turn on us."

He moved a piece, sighing. "I've spoken with T'Leth a number of times now. I don't believe he's interested in taking control of us, but he certainly considers us useful. Admittedly because I helped him recognize that, but the point stands. But you're also right. One day that could change, and what can we reasonably do to prevent that?" He looked up at the Battlemaster. "And at the same time, if we don't, we lose."

The Battlemaster said nothing for a few minutes, and they both moved their pieces. Despite seemingly not playing the game before, the Battlemaster was holding his own fairly well. Neither of them was deliberately sacrificing pieces, but had moved to a move-countermove stage of the game, where both were trying to lead, anticipate, and trick the other.

Difficult to determine who was winning.

The Commander finally broke the silence. "This entire conflict is unjust and unnecessary, and I believe you know that. If you had just came peacefully, I suspect that we would be a willing member of the Collective, for better or worse."

"I had initially thought similar," the Battlemaster admitted. "But I had orders, and later the reason was revealed. I do not know how the Imperator determined that T'Leth was on Earth, but in hindsight it is understandable."

"No, it isn't," the Commander shook his head. "You invaded a world which had done nothing wrong, abducted thousands of our people, and it becomes justified when there was something else – which also hadn't done anything wrong – also on our planet." He was able to capture a piece as he continued. "I know you have an honor or code you follow, and I can respect that to a degree, but you don't follow it where it matters most."

"I also follow orders Commander," the Battlemaster pointed out firmly. "I had little reason to doubt the Imperator, and I followed his orders. You would not have, but you have also not faced the machine hybrids which ravaged worlds, or seen how through the Imperator we were able to just barely survive. I knew I could trust the Imperator, and I will not apologize for that, no more than your own soldiers follow your orders."

The Commander picked up on something very important there. And very interesting. "But you don't anymore."

"I do not support the Imperator's plan," the Battlemaster said. "I suspect my actions have revealed to you as much. I would see Paradise razed to atoms, divest ourselves from the whims of these Sovereign Ones, and focus on the true threat to this galaxy."

"Yet you still wage this war," the Commander shook his head. "You know you're on the wrong side here, but you continue regardless."

"Wrong is a strong word, Commander," the Battlemaster said in a low voice. "Your people ceased to be helpless when they accepted the help of a Sovereign One. I wage this war to end it, regardless of intentions, T'Leth poses a threat to the Ethereal Collective, and it is my duty to defend it."

"Excuses," the Commander pressed. "You've helped us when you didn't have to. Paradise. Isomnum. You know what you're doing, and try to assuage your conscience by doing the bare minimum; to try and forget what the Imperator intends for anyone who defies him. The Imperator may want to assimilate our species because we are not 'under its influence', but do you really think he's going to treat others the same?"

The Commander looked the Battlemaster directly in the eyes. "Let's consider for a moment what happens if you win. If I die, Humanity is assimilated, and T'Leth is killed. The Imperator doesn't care about the Synthesized, he wants to destroy the Sovereign Ones in a misguided crusade. Assume that he harnesses this Bringer. Do you think he's going to not use it?"

He tapped a finger on the table. "You'll see planets of species under another Sovereign fed to that creature. There will be no conventional war, there will only be a slaughter matched in equal barbarity in a desperate high-level conflict. You see what happened in Beijing, and now realize that applied on a galactic scale." He moved a piece aggressively. "And are you going to let that happen?"

"I do not believe that will happen," he said. "Nor will I let it."

The Commander snorted. "You lie and you know it. The death of T'Leth will solidify the loyalty of the Ethereals to the Imperator, either out of fanaticism or fear. Your token resistance and hand-wringing will mean nothing to him should he win here. Your only options will be to leave in disgrace, or die. You are replicable, Battlemaster, and if the Imperator judges your worth as lost, he will cut you loose."

The Battlemaster shook his head. "If that was the case, Commander, he would have only surrounded himself with loyalists. He does not sacrifice or remove individuals in that way."

The Commander crossed his legs, looking down at the board, though thinking about where to take the conversation, which had not gone in the direction he had anticipated. "Perhaps he changed. He knew nothing of the Sovereign Ones before awakening. When he learned…you saw how his priorities changed. He wants to break a cycle, and in doing so, ensure the galaxy remains locked in a new one."

"I will pose the question you posed to me earlier," the Battlemaster said after a short time. "What options do I have? I could abandon the Collective, but I will not do that. There are too many who rely on me, and to do so would be cowardice of the highest level. I am aware of my limitations, Commander. I lack the power to stop the worst actions of the Collective, and the Imperator prioritizes his own plan over all else, and while he would not kill me, he could remove my authority."

"Would you let him?"

"Not willingly."

"Then maybe you should push harder," the Commander suggested. "You are perhaps one of the only Ethereals who maintains popularity within the Collective and holds professional respect among my species. You have the power to make an impact, and you deliberately choose not to. Why?"

"Causing such a schism would be beneficial to your species," the Battlemaster noted. "I know what you are doing now, Commander. Manipulating me is not as easy as that."

Perhaps not, but you're definitely thinking about what I'm saying. "Am I? You're not a completely mindless tool of the Imperator, much as your actions indicate such at times. You're not a fanatic. If you hadn't had doubts before, you would have denied them much stronger than this, if you had bothered to listen at all." He smiled. "Ironically, I'm the only person who can broach something like this and it not be treason."

The Battlemaster unexpectedly chuckled, a low rumble as he claimed one of the Commander's knights. "And just what should I do, Commander? Surrender myself to you? Lead a coup against the Imperator? Withdraw all forces from Earth? Do you really believe any of that would change a thing for you? Do you really believe such solutions are so simple?"

"Not as simple as you make it sound, but yes," the Commander uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on his knees. "I was once a good soldier who followed orders too, regardless of how valid or intelligent they were. Then when I saw what the actions or inactions I was allowing to happen were causing, I had two options. I could stand by and allow it to happen, or I could do something about it."

He leaned back. "I prefer to solve a problem than letting it perpetuate. I knew what the solution was, and what needed to be done. You know my history, so I won't repeat too much of it. My superiors during the War on Terror had their own plans, ones they believed would work. I knew they wouldn't, and their objectivity was compromised since the conflict was another tool to them. So I acted. Regardless of what history decides, my actions ended the conflict and led to extremist ideologies being purged throughout the world, as well as those who followed them. My reward for that was years in prison, years I lost, but which I don't regret."

He paused. "In a way, it was the best I could hope for. I expected to die for what I'd done, and with that in mind, prison wasn't so bad. Regardless, it was a sacrifice I made, and given the chance, I would make it again.."

He moved another piece. "More recently, I was placed in command of XCOM. Not without controversy, and there were those who sought to control me and limit what I knew had to be done. The Council of Nations believed they knew what was best for Humanity, and had I not acted, our species would have capitulated. But instead I removed the obstacles necessary to establish ADVENT and defend my species. None of these actions were easy, but it simply came down to identifying a problem, and taking steps to remove it."

He paused. "I don't know what that looks like for someone in your position. I do not know the right path, but I do know that the Imperator is the root of all the problems in the Collective. If he remains unchecked, he will turn everything you support about the Collective against you, or into something unrecognizable. The Collective is a tool to him, as are you."

Both played for a few more minutes in silence, then the Battlemaster moved his queen forward. "Checkmate, Commander."

He'd seen the signs, but there had been three things the Battlemaster could have done, and he'd unfortunately guessed the wrong one. A shame, as he was only a few moves from a checkmate of his own. "Good job."

The Battlemaster lowered a hand as the game was concluded. "Did I perform as you assumed?"

"Almost," the Commander looked over the board. "I was wrong about one thing."

"Which was what?"

He scratched his chin, thinking very hard both about the game, and what they'd discussed. "That you're far more deceptive than I believed."

---

Testing Range – The Hall of Steel

5/1/2017 – 10:17 A.M.

The testing range was an area that was both familiar and alien to her, and Abigail didn't fully know why that was the case. So many things seemed familiar; the constant sound of weapons fire, the parade of individuals going in and out, the targets going up in smoke or disintegrating from a well-placed shot.

But…there was something off about it she was trying to figure out. It wasn't the aliens, she'd eliminated that possibility. It was something deeper, more intrinsic than that. She thought it was connected to XCOM…they must have had a firing range. Had she visited one often? Were there similarities to it that she was just forgetting?

She'd been firing various weapons for over five hours now, processing things she'd seen and read in the past month she'd been here. A renewed war, ADVENT losing ground in some places, and holding their own in others, the ceasefire in Florida, some Vitakara leader emerging from nowhere to do…something.

As for herself?

Little luck.

At so many times it seemed like she was just on the verge of remembering something important, something crucial about herself. But it stayed out of reach, and she didn't know what the next steps were. Liam recounting their discussions didn't trigger anything she didn't already know, nor did reading her file or other information collected on her.

Reading the profile…there were things in it she didn't know how she'd done. Her suspected activities with XCOM Intelligence, her work in Australia, her connection to the Agents of T'Leth, it felt like a completely different character than who she was, and that bothered her. She felt like there should be some kind of kinship or common ground, but the entire time the thought of 'There's no way I could do that" kept popping up.

Was she regressing? At times it felt like she was, but the problem with that was that she had no baseline to compare to. She wasn't the Abigail of the pre-joining XCOM, good at her job, but a bit unsure and timid. If anything, she was disconcerted about how skilled she was in certain things, skills that she didn't know she'd possessed.

As she'd been observing in her time shooting.

She fired the plasma rifle almost without thinking, and it blew the head off the target. Intrinsically, she knew to some degree that her sudden aptitude with weapons was something Fectorian had enhanced in her, but she'd run the numbers compared to the other cyborgs in Fectorian's army, and while all of them almost always hit the target, she alone had a 100% accuracy rating.

It wasn't just rifles either. Pistols, sniper rifles, shotguns, all of it she achieved perfect accuracy in without necessarily trying that hard. She lifted, aimed, and shot within what felt like an instant. Each time she felt something like a rush, but not fully; not enough to distract her. Each weapon she felt like she knew oddly well too, despite being fairly certain she'd not wielded any before.

Recoil didn't exist thanks to her enhanced strength, or at least not enough to affect her much. After some thought, she believed she had narrowed down the unsettling feeling to the knowledge that if she wanted, she could probably fight almost anything and she would have a fairly good chance of winning, which was mildly alarming to her since she did not believe she possessed that capability before.

A soldier she'd been, yes, but clearly not an invincible one.

Now the capability to take life so…efficiently, it bothered her. Potentially a holdover of her medical training; a desire to do more good than harm. Her old self had likely interpreted her switch to an intelligence agent as fulfilling this, which led to another thing, and then to what she'd become. It wasn't necessarily bad, but right now, Abigail didn't feel the same way.

Perhaps, she mused, that would change.

But if she didn't change…she sighed, wondering how long she wanted to keep waiting and hoping that something would trigger in her mind, something that would get rid of the uncertainty and make her whole again, instead of a disparate collection of feelings, information, and physical features. She looked like Abigail, she sounded like her, but she wasn't her.

Even if she somehow remembered everything, she wasn't sure she'd still be the woman Abigail had been.

She raised her head, suddenly aware that Liam had entered the training range. She had become very attuned to when he came up near or around her, it didn't matter where or what she was doing, she'd notice. She attributed that to her connection to him, and the enhancements Fectorian had added.

"Guess you escaped the chair," Liam said, referring to the interrogation chair that Fectorian interviewed her in.

"Hardly," she shrugged. "But it was a short session today. I don't know why he insists on continuing to do it."

Initially she'd thought that Fectorian wouldn't do the polygraph-esque interrogations, but those had oddly enough become a regular thing, where sometimes he would ask different questions, but many were the exact same, or at best some slightly different wording. "He didn't tell you?" Liam cocked his head. "Or you didn't ask?"

"I…" she paused. "Well, I didn't ask."

"Personality drift," Liam answered. "To see how your answers match against previous ones. Deviations could be because of new memories or information…or a developing personality organically. You're a unique situation, and Fectorian wants to make sure everything is within certain parameters," Liam paused. "Admittedly, the specifics I don't know, but that's why he's continuing to do it."

Abby suddenly stiffened. "And…what happens if I go outside those parameters?"

He realized what that implied and quickly moved to reassure her. "No, no, don't worry about that. Nothing's going to happen, and after a certain point, you're going to go beyond it. Especially if none of your memories come back."

Abby rubbed her forehead. "I don't know what to do about that. I'm not sure what more I could do except going back to XCOM. But Fectorian…" she trailed off.

"Too risky, so he says," Liam nodded. "Although between us, I think he's waiting for something to happen. With what the Collective has access to, it isn't difficult to mock up someone who looks like Abby and with the right story, it could work. But XCOM will be suspicious, not to mention T'Leth."

"I know," both of them walked to sit down. "I just want to do something more than sleepwalk through my time here. There are things I'm curious about, things I want to do, that I pull myself back from because I don't know if it's something she would have done or liked or been interested in, and could ensure I don't remember anything."

Liam pondered that for a minute. "I'd talk to Fectorian about that. If it was up to me, I'd say do what you want. I've been around you enough to know that you're still fundamentally Abby, but I get why you're afraid of moving beyond that."

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking sightlessly out into the range as the station hummed and weapons fired. "I think I'll do that."

---

Collective War Camp, Clearwater – Florida

5/2/2017 – 12:31 P.M.

The Commander was slightly surprised that he had as much freedom of movement as he did. The previous day he'd mostly spent the day wandering around the Collective base, making note of a number of installations, potential critical points, and some of the routines that seemed to exist. A few more days would offer firmer confirmation, but it was a good start.

Although it wasn't full free movement, as many of the actual installations he couldn't enter, not to mention he was accompanied by his Custodian guards at all times, and he'd noted no fewer than four aliens of the various Dath'Haram races watching him; some covertly, following him fairly discreetly, while others were more open, carrying sniper rifles they had trained on him from watchtowers or elevated positions.

They were very paranoid he was actually going to try something, which he found amusing.

Then there was the very out of place Human who the Commander legitimately had no idea who he was. At first he'd wondered if it was another captive, but the way he walked around had a blustering authority to it which marked him as another traitor, albeit one he didn't know about. Potentially a psion, but he couldn't confirm because the man hadn't approached him yet.

The Commander doubted he was actually supposed to be watching him because he was remarkably bad at being discreet. It was almost comical how bad this person was at tailing and observing someone without them noticing. Even by the Commander's standards, it was a poor showing and the man clearly didn't realize that you had to do something a bit more complex then immediately turn around or pretend to be busy when your target glanced your direction.

Being a Human in a middle of an alien base was also a strike against his espionage skills.

One of the few places he was able to enter was their equivalent of a mess hall, which housed primarily alien food, although he'd received a list of substances which were "supposedly" safe for him to eat. Though he'd stuck to water and taken from the Human foods which had been placed out, seemingly as some kind of prize from the stores they'd captured.

The aliens did seem to like the chips, judging from how many were scattered throughout the tables, and there were a number of them who were just carrying around a family-sized bag and eating from it. It was somewhat amusing to see.

When he entered, he definitely attracted some attention, judging from the glances and whispers directed towards him. It wasn't to quite the extent of his first days here, but it was still enough to cause a small scene. He gave a smile and short wave before getting some water and cookies – chocolate ones which sadly meant no Vitakara could eat them unless they wanted to experience a high.

He was mildly surprised they were just set out, but maybe the Vitakara were now treating it as a substance closer to caffeine than a recreational drug. Or maybe it was safe in smaller quantities. He located a table that was sparsely populated, and walked over to it, approaching close to two Vitakarians who looked over to him in a combination of wariness, fear, and uncertainty.

"Hello," he greeted. "Is this place open?"

Hesitantly, the first one nodded, and the Commander sat down and began eating from his fairly sparse plate. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes with all of them eating and trying not to focus on the other, before the Commander sighed. "You can talk to me; I'm not going to do anything that'll get me shot or you in trouble." He frowned. "Or can you not understand me?"

"No, we can understand," the first Vitakarian said. "We…usually do not speak to enemy combatants."

"Or leaders," the second said.

"Fair enough," the Commander nodded. "It's uncommon, especially in the middle of a war, but as long as I'm here, it's always good to learn from the opposing soldiers. The only perspective I have is from Vitakara who've defected, which is not necessarily accurate anymore."

There was a visible reaction to the word defectors, one that was fairly subtle, but oddly enough wasn't based in anger, but fear. "We should not talk about defectors," the second said slowly. "But you are correct that they know nothing of importance."

"Yes," the first agreed emphatically. "If their belief in the Collective was so weak, we are stronger without them now."

"And if you don't mind me asking," the Commander said, pushing the now-empty plate away. "What makes your belief in the Collective so strong?"

"You have met the Battlemaster, Commander," the first one said. "He is the strongest example I can point to of the strength, power, and wisdom of the Elders. They took us from a dying species and transformed us into what we are today, and we can never forget that, and one day they will raise us further."

"I see," the Commander nodded, currently uncertain if this was something they actually believed, or were saying because this conversation was doubtless being monitored. "So you're fighting in this war because you believe them?"

"We fight in this war because we joined the Runianarch and the Elders decreed that this planet was to be conquered," the second said. "It is as simple as that."

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "In that case, perhaps you can answer the question of why they invaded my planet? Did we commit some crime unknowingly against your people?"

The two Vitakarians didn't seem to know how to effectively answer that question, judging from the long pause. "That…is not for us to question, Commander," the first effectively shrugged. "I believe you might know the reason more than us, but we trust in the Elders that their decisions are sound."

"Ah," the Commander nodded. "So you're fighting and dying in a war, and you don't know why? Or what the reason is?"

"Commander!" A new voice interjected harshly. The two Vitakara stiffened, as the Commander looked back and saw the unknown Human striding towards them, looking highly irritated. "We need to talk." He looked to the Vitakara. "Leave." His eyes dimly glowed with psionic power and instantaneously the Vitakarians stood and left, blank expressions on their face.

So he was a psion then, a slightly temperamental one too.

One who also seemed to use his power unnecessarily.

"You didn't have to psionically command them," the Commander said as the Human took a seat opposite him. "I'm sure they would have left if you'd asked."

"Likely, but I also had to purge that conversation from their minds," the man said, glaring at him. "Do you really believe that I will allow you to sow division in the ranks so easily?"

"If asking questions is all it takes to 'sow division', then perhaps there are deeper problems," the Commander smiled grimly. "Between us, I think if you're going to order soldiers to go to their deaths, they should have a reason to believe in, or at least they should know why they might die in this war."

"Unnecessary," the man dismissed with a wave. "We face no rebellion. We win, and they will soon forget any doubts they have, should they possess any at all."

The Commander cocked his head slightly, looking at the man in confusion. "If you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

"You don't know me? Good," the man smirked. "I am actually a consequence of you, if I remember right."

"No, I think I know who you are," the Commander clarified. "You're that psion who our Priests detected. A fairly clumsy one too, but I appreciate you exposing yourself so we could properly defend ourselves. However, beyond your general ineptitude, I don't know you personally."

The man lost his smile. "You're not in friendly territory, Commander. You'd do best to remember that."

"Really," the Commander was now wholly unconcerned. "Even if I can only speculate, I suspect that you hold no power over the Battlemaster. If I am harmed, it will be on his orders, not because I hurt your pride."

"So you believe," the man narrowed his eyes. "But you would be wrong. I am Ivan Smirnov, Harbinger of the Overmind."

The Commander awkwardly coughed, resisting the urge to laugh and instead settled for looking at Ivan in disbelief. That was something that he hadn't expected, and it didn't really fit with anything he knew about the Overmind. "Is that so? How did that happen."

"Well, let's go back a couple months," Ivan crossed his arms. "Due to changes within ADVENT, no doubt spearheaded and approved by you, my job was effectively eliminated. Seeing no other option, I decided to try and apply to the PRIEST Division. As it turned out, I was a powerful psion, but they refused to awaken me saying I wasn't fit for them."

Huh. "From what I see, they made the right call."

"Perhaps if the Overmind hadn't given me an alternative," Ivan smiled darkly. "It's a shame, because I could be fighting on your side now, and instead the power which is rightfully mine is turned against you. And since I believe you had a hand in determining the requirements, this is entirely your fault."

Right now he was more confused and relieved than intimidated by this man who believed he was powerful, but in reality was…almost sad. Well, now they had a case study to point to for justifying the requirements for awakening, because giving psionics to someone who wasn't responsible enough to use them would give the world someone like Ivan.

"I suppose I should accept responsibility for that," the Commander nodded. "However, I believe we will be able to handle you, especially if your recent performance is anything to go by."

"Don't get cocky, Commander," Ivan warned. "Especially not here. The Battlemaster may not have the will to treat you as the threat you are, but I am not so blind. I will be watching you."

"Duly noted," the Commander took a drink of water. "As enlightening as this conversation was, I believe I have other and more important things to do than listen to someone who makes vague threats and who has little true authority." He fixed the traitor with a firm stare. "I have a short list of people I fear or who I have concerns about, Smirnov, and you are not one of them."

"I don't fear you, Commander," Ivan sneered. "Underestimate me at your peril."

"You shouldn't fear me," the Commander agreed. "You need to actually pose a threat for me to take your contributions into account. But all the same, I would avoid targeting me, because there are a number of people who take my safety seriously, and while you may not fear me, you should fear what Vahlen would do to you if you fell into her grasp."

He gave the man a mock salute before walking off. "Good day, Smirnov. I doubt we'll meet again."

---

ADVENT Trauma Center, Tampa – Florida

5/3/2017 – 8:09 A.M.

Her gradual return to consciousness was slow and elongated, like she was being drawn out of warm water to a much harsher climate. Sounds came first, a screeching symphony that seemed unnaturally loud and chaotic. She felt a brief moment of panic since she couldn't move her body, but then managed just a millimeter and her arm shot jolts of pain through her body.

Voices were becoming clearer, the clearest one of which she didn't recognize.

"-waking up now, careful, she's going to be out of it for a few minutes."

"I'm aware." The voice of the Battlemaster? It had to be him. "And it is safe?"

"Yes, I've made sure she can't injure herself. Just make sure she doesn't freak out."

Her throat felt dry and parched, and she felt hot all over. Cognizant enough to begin trying to figure out what was happening, the first thing she tested was the bond with the Battlemaster, who she confirmed was near her, a comforting presence wherever she was. She calmed down more, since she knew that was something that couldn't be faked.

A few minutes later, with the voices going in and out, she managed to open her eyes and even the dim lighting was bright enough that she needed to close them immediately, and would have winced if she could have controlled her mouth. "Light sensitivity, it's normal," the first voice said. "She'll adjust to it."

Whoever the person speaking was, he was right, and she eventually adjusted and two faces looked down on her. A Dath'Haram in a medical uniform, and the mask of the Battlemaster. "Yang Shuren, can you hear me? Don't move, just blink."

She did.

"Good," the alien nodded. "I'm Dr. Hallian, after the Battlemaster rescued you, I've been responsible for your treatment. You suffered extensive wounds which are still healing, which requires that you are restricted from moving as your skin regrows." He paused. "The Battlemaster says you want honesty, so I will say that you are very lucky to be alive right now. Your body was afflicted by both nanites and chlorine-Triflouride, which caused not only superficial and internal damage, but structural damage to your body. You will be unable to fight for a minimum of several weeks."

Weeks? She couldn't stay on the sidelines for weeks, especially not with the technology the Collective had. She couldn't speak, so she tried communicating confusion and alarm through the bond – and deep gratitude for him saving her life, as well as an apology for putting him in that situation. She needed to be better.

She'd made a near-fatal mistake, and was now paying the price of it.

"He is not…incorrect," the Battlemaster said slowly. "It is not safe for you to fight until your body has been restored and your modifications repaired. Your body is not that of an ordinary Human, injuries take longer to heal. I have assigned Hallian as your personal medic, and you will listen to him and his recommendation. I do not want to see you die because you were impatient. The war will last long enough for you to return."

She blinked once for the benefit of her new doctor, and confirmed her acknowledgement through the bond, along with curiosity as to what had recently happened. The Battlemaster looked to Hallian. "I want to talk to her alone. Dismissed."

"Yes, Battlemaster."

The Dath'Haram moved from her field of view and she heard the door close. "At this moment there is a temporary ceasefire between us and ADVENT." She widened her eyes at that. "ADVENT and ourselves are using this to reorient our strategies in preparation for when the fighting renews. This required…assurances. At this moment the Commander of XCOM is residing in our base as an observed guest. We are currently in an ADVENT Trauma Center."

Shock like a bolt of lightning shot through her, realizing where she was, and she was grateful that she was restrained, else she didn't know what she'd have done to escape this trap it seemed like they were in. "It's safe," the Battlemaster reassured her, both through words and the bond, gradually calming her down. "I've made assurances. I…am sorry I did this without your permission, but XCOM insisted on an equivalent trade. They will not act so long as the Commander is under my watch."

Intrinsically, Yang knew she should feel upset that she'd been used in a trade when she'd not even been conscious…but realistically, if she'd been fully aware and the Battlemaster believed this was the right decision, she'd have been the first to volunteer for it. The Battlemaster knew her well enough to know this was something she'd be fine with, but she let him know through the bond all the same.

"It will only be for another two days," the Battlemaster said. "Adequate time. A limited number of visitors were allowed halfway through. I came today, and the chief XCOM scientist went to see the Commander. When you return, I will be moving you off-world. I have an idea of what could streamline your recovery, but I am uncertain it can be done. I will know shortly."

She heard the door open again as the Battlemaster straightened. "Do not worry, the next time you awaken, it will be in a far safer place." He looked to the medic who'd returned. "Go ahead, and thank you for healing her."

"Of course, Battlemaster,"

The doctor must have injected some more sedatives into her, because a few minutes later she drifted off, clinging to their bond before she slipped away into the darkness once more.

---

Collective War Camp, Clearwater – Florida

5/3/2017 – 10:02 A.M.

Vahlen had her own escort of Custodians as she was brought into the camp, though the machines backed off to let both of them embrace for a short time. It hadn't been the first time they'd been separated, but this situation was a little different from the danger he normally found himself in. While he still believed the Battlemaster would hold to his end of the agreement, there was always the chance that Ivan would snap, temperamental as he was.

Communicating with Vahlen telepathically was…pleasant, but it simply wasn't the same as being together. With the amount of thinking he'd been doing in his isolation, always watching over his shoulder for who was following and listening to him, he was probably more stressed now than he'd been in actual warzones.

It was a – perhaps needed – reminder of his own mortality.

Surrounded by aliens and hostile actors with little to no protection would do that to you.

"We might want to move," he said into her shoulder. "Unless you want to attract some attention." Some of the Runianarch soldiers had noticed their reunion and were watching from a distance, though more were joining. Ironically, it seemed like they were more at ease when there were two of them than just him.

Perhaps they were thinking of loved ones back on their planet. Observing him and Vahlen was more…relatable and less threatening than the rumors and danger he posed on his own. For the sake of war it wasn't ideal to realize that the other side wasn't stoic and evil; but for him it was important to remember that there were only a few entities in the Collective who were the true enemy.

Everyone and everything else was an obstacle to be mitigated, one way or another.

"Perhaps we should," Vahlen agreed, smiling up at him as both of them separated. "I suppose you could show me around."

He chuckled. "I never thought I would be showing you around an enemy base, but why not?" Both of them began walking on the roads, with the Custodians following threateningly behind them. Both ignored them, talking openly though privately they forged a telepathic link where they could say what they really meant without threat of eavesdropping.

"I suppose Yang is still alive then?" He said. Is everything on schedule?

Yes. Our territory is nearly primed. Special Forces and our own soldiers are prepping for when the ceasefire ends. A few days at most. "She is. The Dath'Haram medic hasn't been idle either. Doctors have said he's been helping our own soldiers.

"Really?" That was actually interesting. The Vitakara are definitely the weak link in the Collective military. They don't know what they're really here for, and it seems to be starting to affect a number of them. They're loyal to the Battlemaster at most.

"Yes," she nodded. "Somewhat surprising, but it appears medics have similar ethics across species." That makes sense. I don't know how we can exploit that more than we already have. There isn't an alternative for them, at least one they'll theoretically survive.

Staying is the lesser of two evils, I agree. "I hope the soldiers have treated them well."

"There were a few initial issues from what I know," she said. "But those were resolved." How are you, really? You're stressed and on edge, even more than last night. Does it have to do with your talk with the Battlemaster?

"That's good to hear," He'd kept the details of the talk with the Battlemaster to himself for now since he didn't want to risk anything leaking, and he certainly wouldn't put it past the Imperator or Overmind to try and listen in. Even with T'Leth observing, he didn't want to risk it for the sheer implications alone. Yes. The details need to be discussed in person. Far away from here.

He saw her lips purse, her mind clearly at work. Can I see?

Yes.

She reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm really glad that you're alright," she said as she penetrated his mind, a familiar feeling at this point as she went through his recent memories. It was an odd sensation, and it was the only time he got a glimpse into how her own mind worked, an organized and methodical focus, which was kept entirely on him whenever she was inside his mind.

What continued to strike him was that she took care not to disrupt him too badly, and didn't just acquire what she was looking for, but looked for any signs of tampering. It was sweet how protective she was, and it was a level of trust he at least possessed that he knew few would allow. He reached up and placed one hand over hers on his shoulder, waiting the few long seconds she spent in his mind.

Truthfully, the Commander didn't know how long they stood there, perhaps it was only a few seconds, perhaps a minute, but then Vahlen withdrew and his mind was fully his own again. He blinked once and looked to her, her face possessing a slight sheen from the exertion, and who was taking short breaths.

"Well," she gave a distracted smile. "Let's keep going." I…did not expect it to be like that.

Nor did I. I wonder if… "Right this way."

Maybe. Maybe. If we can do something…how would this affect the plans? If he's also a weaker link…

The Commander put an arm around her, and smiled. I suspect Aegis may have some insight. Tell him I want to know how best to use this. Give him the memory.

I will. I think he'll find it very interesting.

---

Collective War Camp, Clearwater – Florida

5/3/2017 – 1:17 P.M.

There was much to consider. At the moment all the battle plans were in place, and when the conflict resumed, he believed they would be able to answer anything ADVENT threw at them. Yet there were…other things to consider. After Florida was resolved, there were a number of issues to solve in the Collective that the Imperator had tasked him with.

The solution to them was something he would have to consider.

Now though, there was a call he needed to make. One which he did not expect to necessarily achieve what he wished, but he owed it to Yang to at least attempt it. He punched in the frequency and waited. It continued for several minutes, and then the form of Sana'Ligna appeared.

"Battlemaster," she nodded once. "It's good to see you."

"You as well, Sana," he answered cordially. "I…trust you are doing well."

"I am managing," she said. "I am moving towards the conflict in Southeast Asia and establishing permission between ADVENT and the Collective to move between the lines. And if they wish, to serve as some kind of mediation."

"A futile gesture, Sana," the Battlemaster released a sigh. "Neither will agree, nor should they."

"I will at least make the attempt," she insisted. "Why are you speaking to me? I will not return to the Collective so long as Paradise Station exists and the black projects of the Collective are allowed to endure."

"I want your help," he admitted after a few moments. "Yang was seriously injured in the fighting. She will recover, but it will take several weeks. Could you briefly return and assist in her recovery?"

Sana appraised him for a few minutes. "Yang will survive, as you've implied. There are many more who are not so fortunate and require more immediate help."

"I am aware," the Battlemaster said. "And I also know that you don't pick and choose who you help."

"No, I did, for a long time," Sana shook her head. "I stayed in my station and devoted myself to experiments and tests I believed would help all. But the Collective has little interest in what I develop, or they seek to pervert it to suit their objectives. To manipulate the weaknesses and patterns I identified. I have only helped those sanctioned by the Imperator and those we deemed allies. That is not what I will do anymore, I will help who I can, even if both sides insist on this devastating war."

He decided to answer directly. "I know. You are justified in your feelings. I have no intention of forcing your return, all I am doing is asking for your help."

"And if I help her, you'll throw her back into this war," Sana accused. "She does not deserve that. None of them do."

"And the soldiers you will heal won't?" The Battlemaster pointed out. "This war will not end because you want it to, Sana, you know it. If your answer is no, then tell me now."

"The difference, Battlemaster, is that if you wanted to, you could end this war," Sana said. "You could change the Collective. I know you're not like the Imperator or Isomnum, or obsessed with this circular conflict we have become involved in. You can stop it, but you continually don't."

"Your naivety doesn't change reality, Sana," he growled. "I know very well what I can and cannot do. If you believe it is as simple as taking a stand, you know nothing. If I did any of what you say, I would be replaced by someone who is more willing to do what the Imperator demands. My absence will not end this war, Sana."

"And my departure didn't either, yet it was the right thing to do," she said. "Do the right thing. I know you, and I know you do not want this war any more than I do."

Everyone now seemed to know what he wanted or how he felt now, and the Battlemaster was growing tired of it. Everyone wanted simple solutions centered around their beliefs or ideology and mistakenly believed that he desired the same end goals as they did. They spoke of solutions, of what would happen, using what they knew of him as gateways to convince him to do something.

He hated what was happening now.

He hated what this war had become.

He hated how everyone had been swept into a conflict they had no part in.

He hated the Imperator for his plan and his decisions.

He hated the Sovereigns for their mere existence and their gradual corruption of the Ethereals into this pointless conflict.

He hated how complicated things had become.

He hated being perceived as the only one who could do something.

He hated how they assumed the solutions were simple.

But what he hated most was that the underlying truths were not wrong.

There needed to be change.

He could be a change.

He could not ignore that anymore, not when it had become rooted in his mind.

"Battlemaster?"

The armored Ethereal snapped back to the blue figure of Sana, and belatedly realized that the room had suffered damage. A number of computers were sparking and smashed, some of the paneling had been torn off the walls and the ceiling had partially caved in and the lights shattered. The figure of Sana was also starting to flicker, and he took a breath and released the fist he had unconsciously clenched.

Sana was looking at him in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I am fine," he lied in a monotone. "If your answer is no, then I have no desire to continue this conversation."

"Wait." She lifted a hand. "I think we need to speak. In person. Where there are none who can listen. There's something wrong, and you don't have to admit it now. I will come to your base in two weeks, and we can speak. I will also ensure that Yang is healed. Is that sufficient?"

"It will suffice," was all he said, no longer wanting to continue the conversation. "I will speak to you then."

With that he shut off the holocommunicator and stormed out, a roiling storm of contained emotions and conflicting thoughts. He wished now that the conflict was renewed so he could vent. But he had an image to maintain; an expectation for his soldiers and the Collective.

So he would keep it inside him for now.

Locked away from the outside, perhaps, but no matter where he went, he knew the thoughts would not leave him. Not until he did something, one way or another.

---

Barracks, Cambodian Military Command – Cambodia

5/1/2019 – 7:19 P.M.

"Anyone ever gone on a mission like this?" Miguel asked as he did a final maintenance check on his SHIV.

"Not really," Cara shrugged, taking a drink from her water bottle. "We're special forces."

"Technically," Duri pointed out. "This is not necessarily special ops."

"Yeah, sure," Cara snorted. "It just involved sneaking into a specific place, grabbing something, and then getting out without getting spotted. Sounds pretty much like special forces to me."

"'Special operations'," Nobuatsu proposed. "Maybe that's a better word for it, and no Miguel, though I've worked with special forces before. Backup in case I was needed, but it never happened."

"Are we getting someone to escort?" Beatriz asked, leaning against the wall

"Negative," Duri confirmed. "Unnecessary complication. I think all of us are able to pick up a few plants."

"Permission to speak?" Cara lifted her hand.

"Sure," Duri motioned to continue.

"There is approximately zero chance that this is going to be as easy as 'go in, get the plants, get out'," she said, her arms crossed, looking around the small group. "I don't think ADVENT is sending us on a cakewalk. I'd like to point out that these plants were supposedly ordered by fucking Patricia Trask. She's already screwed over ADVENT before, and she's not planting stuff like this because she likes the décor. That stuff has a purpose."

"Cara, we're not going to be treating this lightly," Beatriz frowned. "What point are you trying to make?"

"I'm saying we're looking at this the wrong way," Cara insisted, striding over to the nearby table and lifting a map which had markings over it. "There aren't any patrols, or at least not consistent ones. What's more likely? That they just gave up protecting their perimeter? Or that all of this alien vegetation is a trap? I'm saying that maybe we should look into some incendiaries instead of taking guns to shoot alien patrols that are probably not going to come."

She had a point, one which admittedly had been brought up before, though the others had largely decided that the chances of that being dangerous enough to hurt them were low. Cara hadn't let the point drop though. "Alright," Duri said. "We can do that. Miguel, does that SHIV have a flame attachment?"

"It does, sir," Miguel nodded. "Want me to install it?"

"Yes, and everyone take at least one incendiary grenade," Duri instructed. "While I doubt killer plants are going to be our biggest problem, no point in being unprepared. The other squads will thank us if the vegetation turns out to be a problem."

"Thank you," Cara sighed in extravagant relief. "I can sleep easy, for the maybe three hours I'll have before we move out."

They all had a few laughs at that, and Duri cleared his throat. "She's not wrong. If you want sleep, get it now because we're moving out in a few hours. If we're lucky, we'll get the samples, kill a few aliens, and get back before sunrise. We get unlucky, and things will obviously be a bit harder. I want everyone ready as they can be. Understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Get some rest. Dismissed."

---

Near Tampa, Florida – United States of America

5/4/2017 – 4:00 P.M.

A new scene played out now; similar to the one only a few days previous. Another exchange was to be made, though this time it was to return the respective collateral back to the appropriate sides. The Commander approached with the Battlemaster, his Custodian escort a short distance behind him, though likely unnecessary given the Battlemaster's watchful eye over him.

Opposite them the Commander saw Laura, Vahlen, and a squad of XCOM soldiers approaching, escorting Hallian and the pod containing Yang, surrounded by the small team of medical assistants. On the far lines, both ADVENT and Collective forces stood ready, though this time both sides were more at ease, even if snipers from each were no doubt watching raptly.

"Well," the Commander said as they watched the opposition walk up. "Did you get everything you wanted out of this?"

"I accomplished enough," was the only answer. "We shall see if ADVENT did the same."

"Good," he glanced to the static mask the Ethereal wore. "I do hope your remember our conversation."

"I have not forgotten."

"I doubt you have," a pause. "When the time comes, I think you'll know what to do."

"Perhaps, Commander," the Battlemaster turned the cold stare of his mask to the smaller Human. "But you should also be careful what you wish for."

The Commander was not certain what the meant, but knowing the Battlemaster…well, it could mean a number of things, the clearest of which was essentially saying 'I will not be your pawn'. Something the Commander could respect, even if he appeared to misunderstand his intentions. Nonetheless, it was a positive sign.

Something to develop further.

"Commander," Laura greeted as they came close enough to speak. "I assume you were treated well?"

"As well as can be expected," the Commander agreed, inclining his head. "I did not experience any issues."

"I can confirm the same for me and my assistants," Hallian added. "We were treated well."

"Your medic was surprisingly helpful," Laura nodded. "In any event, we appear to have concluded this agreement successfully. A mild surprise, honestly."

"It appears so," the Battlemaster agreed. "We will not be extending it."

"No reason to do so," Laura nodded. "We're ready, and I assume you are as well."

"Yes."

Laura waved Hallian and the medical assistants forward. "Go back. Commander?"

"I'm coming," both Commander and medics crossed the short boundary between the two sides, and within a few moments they were back where they belonged. Vahlen gave him a short hug, and the Battlemaster quietly looked into the pod and asked something to Hallian. "Six hours," Laura said. "Last part of the agreement, correct?"

"Correct," the Battlemaster's gaze swept over the Humans. "Then we resume."

"We'll be ready," Laura said. "I'd wish you luck, but I don't think it'd be appropriate."

"Likewise." The Battlemaster turned away, and began marching back to the Collective lines. "I suspect the next time we meet will not be under these circumstances."

The Humans likewise turned around, the XCOM squad stepping backward with their rifles trained on the Collective lines in case of a surprise attack. "I hope you managed to finish what you needed to," the Commander said in a low voice to Laura.

"This gave us plenty of time," Laura answered with a subtle nod. "Thank you."

"A pleasure," the Commander glanced back. "I learned quite a bit on my own as well. There is a lot to discuss."

"Not here though."

"Absolutely not."

They walked a few more steps before the Commander asked the primary question. "What of GAIA?"

A thin smile formed on Laura's face. "Everything is in place. When the conflict resumes, it will be a matter of days. Worst case scenario…the contingency is in place. Florida will remain ours."

"Excellent," the Commander breathed a sigh he'd been keeping in. One which had hinged on if this plan would work or not, and all signs were pointing in the right direction. He doubted the Battlemaster would be able to predict it, as surprisingly perceptive as he was, but he wouldn't put much past the Ethereal now.

The Battlemaster had the potential to surprise him, but this time…well, the Commander believed they had an edge.

All things considered, this had been a productive experience.

One which could very well result in ramifications that would change the course of the war.

---

To be continued in Chapter 57

Black Earth, Purple Sky