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.

63. Godkiller

Godkiller

---

Hallway, Mars Observation Station – Mars Orbit

5/22/2017 – 9:01 A.M.

There is a war going on, Ravarian thought with a weariness which had come to define him in recent days, the Humans have a new nanoweapon. Miridian is still loose. Caelior was freed by XCOM. And here I am with two insufferable, immature, unprofessional children.

Unfortunately, said children – who were both twenty Human years - were capable of psionics – telepathy and teleportation to be specific. And a smattering of telekinesis. Quisilia was at least capable of picking his Avatars with some power, though unfortunately they also reflected the worst parts of his personality. Of course, it shouldn't be a surprise that they were as immaturely trollish as he was.

And both of them had decided to continually have fun at his expense.

He'd been walking to his office, preparing for a day of work, when both of the Mori twins had pulled him aside and stated he would be participating in one of the many meme videos they did. To make matters worse, they'd kidnapped his cat and were effectively holding it ransom until he participated.

So now he stood in a hallway as Sabrina Mori stood on a small maintenance platform above the ground. Both women hadn't worn their official uniforms (he didn't even know if there was a unified Harbinger uniform, but almost anything would be better than what they choose), and instead practically wore the same clothes they had on Earth. Casual shirts, jeans, and overly expensive jewelry.

Sabrina held his cat, and Cali mewed up at her, wanting to be as done with this as he did. She extended one hand out dramatically, while cradling his cat with the other. "It's over Ravarian!" She called boastfully. "I have the high ground!"

The cat meowed and tried pawing her face which she gently ignored.

Ravarian stood with his arms crossed, unimpressed.

"Say your line!" The blue-haired Micaiah Mori hissed from beside him, keeping her smartphone steady as she was filming.

Ravarian rolled his eyes, a gesture he was doing a lot more of in recent memory. Though neither could tell since it wasn't as obvious when Vitakara did it. He sighed. "You underestimate my firepower." He could hear the scowl from Micaiah at his line delivery, but he could not be bothered to put any more effort into this utterly stupid exercise than necessary.

"Don't try it!" Sabrina called.

He pulled out his prop weapon and sighed as he felt him be telekinetically grabbed for the big leap. It was supposed to be accompanied by a battle cry of some kind. But he really couldn't be bothered. "Aaaaaaaaaa." He said in a monotone as he jumped in slow motion, before Sabrina gave her next line, which was still something he hadn't really figured out.

He was pretty sure she spoke in a made-up language, but whatever the language was, it apparently made people fly backwards, and so he was violently thrown backwards into a wall. At least it wasn't hard enough to actually injure him, even if Micaiah wasn't too gentle. "And…cut!" She called, as he got back up, and Sabrina jumped to the ground.

"Excellent!" Sabrina said, nuzzling Cali, who hissed, clearly annoyed. "And you little fluffball, were brilliant."

The cat hissed again, but she seemed not to care.

"This is going to be rad, sista," Micaiah giggled as she reviewed the footage. "We're going to be getting so many likes on this it's gonna be so sick."

Not as sick as I feel listening to you both butcher this Human language. Ravarian thought sourly as Sabrina kept gushing. He knew that both sisters were perfectly capable of reading his mind, and he didn't care. Nor did they, as whenever they did, they seemed to just find it funny. "It totally slaps, sista. This is totes going to be number one trending when I finish it."

"#Moripower!"

"Unlimited power!"

Both sisters high-fived each other.

"Are you finished?" Ravarian asked wearily. "If you are, I have actual work to do. And give me my cat back."

"Ravarian, fam, listen," Sabrina came up and slung an arm around him. Or tried, which was more difficult since he was much bigger than both of them, so she settled for resting a hand on his shoulder. "Ya gotta expand your horizons, my xeno dude. Wars aren't won on battlefields, that stuff happened in the older days. In this enlightened and lit age, our guns are videos, our ammo is likes, and our propaganda is memes."

Micaiah nodded sagely. "That's deep, sista."

Ravarian rubbed his eyes. That had to have been one of the stupidest things he had ever heard. He was mildly surprised either of them knew what the concept of propaganda was. He wondered if they'd met the Battlemaster. Probably not, because he would not tolerate such drivel. "Enough. I need to get back to work."

"Ravi, trust me, you're going to be doing a lot more good doing stuff like this then…" Sabrina waved a hand idly, frowning as she thought for a minute. "I don't know, whatever you do. You'll be famous! A friendly alien face for the Collective! You could do with some humanization."

"I'm an alien, you i-" Ravarian stopped himself, sighed, and narrowed his eyes at the twins. "Give me my cat. Now."

"Sheesh, no need to get so testy, Ravi," Sabrina gave Cali a kiss on the nose – something the cat did not seem appreciative of – before handing her over. "But you'll thank me later when you're number one in trending! This is going to be fire, trust me."

"Dope, sista," Micaiah echoed. "Completely dope."

"Oh, there was one more thing," Sabrina fished out her own smartphone. "Your battle shout was lame. Can you do it again? We can dub it over in post."

Ravarian stared incredulously before narrowing his eyes. "No."

"Lame," she drawled, then smiled as her eyes flashed. "Boo!"

There was no way he should have been surprised, but the word was accompanied by a sudden surge of adrenaline and shock that permeated his body. It was invasive, deep, and impossible to hide or ignore. He let out a small shout by instinct, and Sabrina smiled. "Perfect! More of a sound of fear than battle cry, but we'll make this bad boy work."

Ravarian was still standing still in some degree of shock as the adrenaline began to fade. "Thanks, fam," Micaiah said, patting him on the shoulder as she walked away. "We'll tell daddy Quisilia you were very helpful." Both women walked away, chuckling to themselves like the demented schoolgirls they were.

His cat meowed at him, almost in concern.

"I'm sorry you had to endure that," Ravarian sighed as he once more made his way to his office. "I'll try and make it up to you. Treats?" The cat meowed, though Ravarian knew enough about cats to know this was largely a coincidence. Still, Cali liked the treats he ordered special-made on Vitakar. Human-made ones were objectively inferior.

Of all the developments to happen during his tenure, the arrival of the Mori twins ranked among the worst. Ravarian had no idea where they had come from, or how Quisilia had found them, but they'd showed up one day and began terrorizing him – and anyone else who had an interest in getting work done. There was a strong argument for using them in some forms of enhanced interrogation, considering how painful it was to listen to them speak. He'd considered having a CODEX record them for that purpose.

Cogitian would have a legitimate fit if he heard them.

"You know," he told the cat idly. "You may be the only one who really respects me around here." He ruffled the head of the cat, which purred in appreciation. He walked into his office, and set the cat down. "Alright, you can go take a nap."

The cat instead, waiting until he took a seat, leapt into his lap and curled up, still purring. Normally he would push the cat down, but today he made an exception and settled in for a slightly uncomfortable hour or so until Cali got bored and left.

There was a camera flash. "Good morning!" Quisilia greeted, materializing in front of him as he lowered the smartphone.

Ravarian sighed, and ignored the Ethereal; instead turning on his computer.

Quisilia waved a hand. "Hello there?"

"I'm busy," Ravarian said testily, not entirely caring about how irritating an Ethereal wasn't a good idea. "I've already lost enough time to fulfilling the inane requests of your Harbingers."

"Ah, my apologies," Quisilia said, sounding almost sincere. "I told them to not bother you when you were working."

"Tell them to not bother me at all," Ravarian stated, turning to glare at the Ethereal directly. "I have enough issues without two immature children compounding them. The next time one of them messes with my head, I will ask Yang to execute them. She is, thankfully, a professional."

"No need to go to such extremes," Quisilia waved a hand. "I'll restrain them more. It is time they begin to more directly participate on Earth anyway beyond the digital realm."

Ravarian genuinely didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Knowing his luck, they would screw up existing operations, while also managing to survive. Like a somehow more incompetent version of Isomnum, except younger, dumber, and female. "Be sure to give them plenty of videos, likes, and memes, since that's what they think a war is won on."

"I suspect they will use many," Quisilia agreed wistfully. "Perhaps not to your taste, but they have spirit and creative minds."

"We will disagree there," Ravarian answered. "But wherever they are sent, do not tell me."

"Oh?" Quisilia flipped one of his blades in his hand. "Why?"

"Because," Ravarian said, turning back to his work. "I may be motivated to make sure they don't come back."

---

Dreadnought of the Harbinger – Central Command

5/17/2017 – 12:19 P.M.

Patricia could see multiple cities highlighted across the hologlobe in front of her. Armored in her Harbinger attire, she was prepared for a new fight. Retaliation was necessary for the loss of Florida, and a strong message needed to be sent now that the short lull had passed. More importantly, with Caelior now lost, the narrative could not be shifted to further seem to expose vulnerabilities.

Revelean had assured them the facility was safe. While the creature he had kept had been able to repel one XCOM squad, it clearly hadn't been enough. Patricia would have greatly preferred a captured Caelior and no XCOM casualties, then killing an XCOM squad and losing Caelior.

An Ethereal was a force multiplier greater than an XCOM squad.

She was not looking forward to trying to capture him again.

There had been multiple discussions on what form the response was to take. There were many; some intensive, some more passive. Everyone agreed recent events had been a setback, but not something they couldn't eventually bounce back from. There had been some debate, and a number of tactics had been decided.

One less focused, handled by the fleets.

One more focused, which she would execute personally.

"The Cleanser Ships are in place," I'Sari informed. "However, they remain outside effective range of what-"

"I am aware," Patricia said quietly. "This was discussed. Precision is not necessary at this moment. ADVENT and XCOM believe they are untouchable right now. They need a reminder of the firepower that faces them."

"The estimated damage is expected to be minimal," Assimilator-2 stated as he read the outgoing projections and impact points. "Minimal collateral civilian damage and a majority of critical structures remaining in place. Effects will be limited to psychological and long-term consequences."

"I would recommend we augment bombardment with Chryssalids, chemical weapons, or crop poisoners," Casas added, the Vitakarian's glittering blue eyes glowing brightly. "However, projectiles will…suffice if intimidation is your goal. But the effects are minimal. Almost a waste."

"Not a waste," she disputed with lifted palm. "We don't need them to be as damaged right now." She lowered her hand as her voice turned thoughtful. "But they will feel afraid in return. Every citizen will understand what even ADVENT cannot suppress – that this is a war they cannot win. And who knows – we might just make a lucky strike."

"Our ships will endeavor to do their best," I'Sari stated with a stiff movement of the Andromedon helmet. "They stand by at your command, Harbinger."

Patricia nodded. "Switch to ship and base feeds." The holoprojections changed to show Earth from the Moon Base, as well as the feeds of several Cleanser Ships, of which many more of the spacecraft could be made out in various parts of the orbit and nearby their brethren. Dozens of them, hovering outside the effective range of the Flak Towers and any other defenses ADVENT could rely on.

ADVENT doubtless knew they were there. They were probably waiting for them to move closer.

She clasped her hands behind her back, as she closed her eyes and gently probed the planet with a telepathic nudge. On such a scale she couldn't have done much on her own, but every telepath felt something. They wouldn't have necessarily known it was her, but they knew it was something.

Something that would make them uneasy.

Just where she wanted them.

Her eyes remained closed.

"Fire."

There was very little tangible reaction that they could see from space, though there was the faint flicker of the burning rounds being fired at the surface of the planet. They watched the bombardment for some time in silence, none choosing to comment on the streaks of fire impacting the Earth.

She probed the planet again, seeking only additional verification. It was small at first, but panic was something which spread quickly. It flared brightly and clearly; she could sense it rising all over the world ever so slowly as the sounds and sights of the war came to the most isolated.

Enough time had passed. The panic was at an acceptable level.

"Switch to internet feeds," Patricia finally said, opening her eyes. "Someone will be recording this."

The feeds switched to a mixture of news stations, Twitter videos, and livestreams which showed cities, towns, and bases all across the world being bombarded; sometimes from the panicked perspectives of individuals holding cell phones, and news crews rushing to get to shelter. From nations, to states, provinces, and reservations, hundreds of locations were being slammed with projectiles from the skies. The explosions were loud, occasionally a building was vaporized or a person was thrown into the air in the background.

But this bombardment was like mortar fire. Dangerous if it hit. A distraction if not.

It didn't especially matter. The terror in the voices from the livestreams; the shock from the news anchors, and the tense fear they projected as they clutched their papers and flinched as they continued reporting, even as they rested in the line of fire. Millions of people who felt trapped and fearful, as they stayed in place, waiting for death as the war which had eluded them came into their lives for the first time.

It didn't matter if it didn't cause lasting damage. No Human would forget this day for a long time. It might strengthen the resolve of some, but the Human mind could only endure so much – and the average Human lacked the mental fortitude of a soldier.

"Continue the bombardment for the next six hours," she said as she unhooked her mask and prepared to put it on. "I have cities to drown."

There was a chorus of affirming nods as she fixed the mask on, and felt the connection harden as the Imperator's mind merged with her own.

They are distracted now.

Frightened. Tense. Wary.

The time is right.

Her hands clenched as she opened a portal before her, crossed her arms and jumped into it. Instantly she felt the wind in the air, the hot sun shining overhead as she fell into Chesapeake Bay, and with the few seconds she was above water, she saw the landmarks of D.C. in the distance, a city which had still not fully recovered from the invasion earlier in the war by the Battlemaster.

She suspected no one saw her plunge into the water as she quickly sank to the bottom. She had no oxygen or gear. It didn't matter; the water would soon no longer be around her. With a telekinetic pull, she slammed down to the floor of the lake, planting herself in the shifting mud before pulling the water away from her as if extracting herself from honey.

First a vertical tunnel was created, a center of a maelstrom that allowed air and sun down upon her. From there it was a theoretically simple matter of moving the water before her, to behind her. In reality it was grueling, complicated work. Water was not so easy to move in bulk telekinetically, but she was a Harbinger.

There was nothing that couldn't be done.

With water dripping from her armor and hair, a titanic wave was forming behind her as the bay slowly had its water drawn into an artificial tsunami, behind a slightly distorted barrier that she maintained with a lifted hand, suspended in the air and growing ever-larger. There were a smattering of ships and vessels which were caught in the wave, with unprotected minds within them that she ended with a single thought; a relative mercy compared to drowning.

She smiled as she saw helicopters and soldiers in the distance coming. Unfortunate they hadn't come sooner – nor had a means of defending themselves. Not truly. She could sense a number of Priests incoming, but it was not nearly enough. It wouldn't even slow her down, for that matter.

Anticipating a barrage of weapons first, she erected a dome of psionic energy around herself with her free hand, protecting from anything they could throw at her as she began moving backwards, step by ponderous step as a final measure to grow the wave.

She held the weight of an ocean as the wave grew higher and higher. Come on, XCOM, take the bait. Come to me now.

Sure enough, just seconds later there was a flash of blue-green as the T'Leth Agent Fiona appeared, sword drawn and glowing with power. She brandished her sword as she walked forward menacingly. "You will not-"

Patricia smiled under her mask and her fingers relaxed as she let her arm drop, anchoring herself in the mud telekinetically, and encasing herself in a small psionic box as tons upon tons of water slammed down onto her and swept outwards to the city. Patricia didn't see if Fiona escaped before the water hit, but she knew that it couldn't be stopped, and as the water rushed over her, she opened another portal and stepped within.

There were a few more stops to make yet before the day was done.

---

Desert Outskirts – Vitakar

5/14/2017 – 2:23 P.M.

It had been a long time since Nartha had been anywhere close to the deserts (discounting the Praesidium, which was technically in a desert even if he'd never really gone outside). He had never liked them. It was far too hot, even if he eventually got used to it, in the sense where he'd accepted his misery. It was empty, and indeed there was nothing but dunes for as far as he could see. It was almost a complete wasteland, where it seemed difficult for life to thrive.

Still, all of this could technically be applied to the Borelian Wastes. But the deserts had something the Wastes did not – sand.

He hated sand. It got everywhere, was stickier and difficult to get completely off without a full shower or bath, and was a constant source of irritation, either from it spraying into his eyes, mouth, or nose. Not including how irritating it was psychologically as one futilely tried to get the grains off their bodies.

All of them stood on the open dunes which extended as far as the eye could see. A light wind whipped sand grains around, lightly dusting all of them. The only one who seemed most suited to tolerate it was Shun who wore her Titan armor, though had her helmet off. The sun beat down on them, hot, sweltering, and yet another thing he disliked about this place.

"You really don't like it here, don't you?" Sorras seemed amused.

Nartha glanced at him. "Is it that obvious?"

"Very."

He also looked to Shun. "Is it?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Don't worry, I don't like it either."

Nartha shook his head, running a hand over his head. "Why would anyone voluntarily choose to live here?"

"There are worse places," Sorras broke the tip of a dune with the toe of his boot and the sand blew away in the light wind. "Cobrarians are adapted to the unpleasant aspects of the desert. You might as well ask why the Sar'Manda live underwater, or the Borelians prefer living in utter cold. Discomfort is relative."

"That may have been one of the more insightful things you've said," Shun told him dryly. "I'm almost impressed."

"Please don't get me wrong," Sorras bared his teeth as he fiddled with the hilt of his sword. "I'd gut every one of the Hierarchy, but I won't condemn them for their place of residence. There are some things we don't have any control over."

"Keep that attitude to yourself," Nartha warned with a sigh. "We're here for allies."

"Note I said Hierarchy," Sorras pointed out. "Of which our contact is also interested in disposing of."

And so continued the main issue between them. "The Hierarchy can still be reasoned with," Nartha insisted wearily. "They just need a reason to believe things can change."

"Please," Sorras rolled his eyes. "The Hierarchy is too cowardly to do anything but remain 'neutral'. Neutrality, indifference, is still picking a side. We do not need them to be sympathetic. We do not need them to be understanding. We need them to act. To do something brave for once in their lives."

The Dath'Haram made a noise of disgust as he paced in a circle on the dunes. "Don't get your hopes up. The Hierarchy has never been concerned with anything but themselves. There is a reason you rarely see them deeply involved beyond their territory, outside of the defecting males."

"I'm not sure what anyone expected," Shun shrugged as she sat down on one of the dunes. "If what Nartha told me about their history is right, they created this problem themselves in an understandable, if shortsighted way to address the issues of their civil war." She made a dismissive motion. "Artificially try and control half of your population, and you either will lose control quickly, or you devote everything to keep them under control."

"Not even half," Sorras corrected. "Cobrarian gender ratios are extremely skewed towards females. A smaller male population is far easier to control when you have numbers on your side."

"That might explain how it's endured for so long then," Shun mused.

"You sound like you have some insight into that," Sorras noted, looking at the woman curiously.

"My country was…well, we had several attempts at population controls," Shun answered with a tight voice. "Limited childbirths. Traditional gender norms and a cultural preference for males. It didn't work, obviously, and in the process we would have sabotaged our future population." She shrugged. "It remains to be seen if that'll continue now that China is in ADVENT, but I doubt that issue is going away. The point is that actions like that can't last without something being sacrificed in the process."

"Indeed," Sorras nodded. "Even the Dath'Haram somehow know better than to impose restrictions based on racial criteria. Pacifist cowards they may be, but they are not hypocrites."

"Rich, coming from you," Shun snorted. "A real beacon of diversity."

"I am a reasonable individual," Sorras mused. "If someone can prove themselves worth preserving, I will work with them. I may even advocate for them. The problem, dear Shun, is that the vast majority are irredeemable. They are not me. They are not like our Cobrarian friend."

"And you base this on nothing but race," Shun crossed her arms. "We have a term for that on Earth."

Sorras chuckled. "I'm sure you do. I don't need your approval, Human, nor should you compare your pathetically superficial differences to our species, whose races are radically different in physiology and psychology. Some are inferior. This is not my bias, but objective fact." He tapped his head and smiled. "If you haven't noticed, I am not normal. I am an aberration of my race – a benefit, but an aberration nonetheless. I'm simply selfless enough to not let it cloud my judgement."

"Selfless," Shun snorted. "A true patriot you are."

"Indeed, I concur," he agreed with his own sarcasm. "I could have lived my life as a soft, weak Dath'Haram in the forests. It would have been easy. I would have been accepted and loved. But I didn't, dear Shun, I experienced firsthand the utter weakness and depravity my race was capable of. They are nothing but apathetic to reality. They exist in fantasy and naivety, and have ensured our species remains in the grip of the Zararch and Ethereals. Unlike some, Human, I do not deny what my race has done. I accept it, and support what must be done to ensure-"

"Enough," Nartha interrupted. "I think the Commander made it clear that there will be no genocide or racial cleansing, much as you would wish that, Sorras. And keep that to yourself in the future, neither of us are interested in your justifications."

Sorras simply made an acknowledging wave. "She brought it up, but I will refrain in the future."

"Good," Nartha said as he turned back to the dune expanse, then narrowed his eyes, as he saw something in the distance. "Heads up. Looks like he's coming."

Shun put her helmet on and pulled out her rifle, aiming it in the distance where the speeder was incoming. Nartha also drew his pistol and Sorras rested his sniper rifle on a dune, using it as makeshift cover in the event this went downhill. However, the precautions were unnecessary, as there was only one occupant, who ignored the weapons, and slithered out once he'd parked the speeder.

"Hir'laras'silar," Nartha greeted, holstering his weapon. "Greetings."

In many ways, there was very little that differentiated the Cobrarian males from the females, and Laras had many similar characteristics to his female kin. Golden scales, perhaps a slightly bigger frame, but what fully differentiated the males was the hood they possessed that flared in the bright Vitakar sun.

Many described their hoods as intimidating. The female Cobrarians obviously found them striking. All Nartha could think of was that it made their heads much bigger targets. Besides the point now, as the Cobrarian slithered closer, shooting suspicious glances at the armored Shun. "[A Human here?]"

"She's an ally," Nartha gestured to her, motioning to take her helmet off. Shun complied, and while it didn't seem to put the Cobrarian at complete ease, it was enough to risk returning his attention back to Nartha.

"[You were not followed?]" He asked.

"Of course not," Sorras snorted. "We know what we are doing."

"[And yet your people were attacked,]" Laras recounted in a neutral voice. "[Not even the Hierarchy was immune to the Speaker's purge. There were many taken. More will likely follow. How can you assure me that assisting you will be safe?]"

"We are still alive, Miridian still lives," Sorras said. "What happened was an…error. A critical mistake that will not be repeated. We are augmented now with allies the Zararch would rather keep quiet. We are supported by XCOM and ADVENT."

"[The names mean little,]" Laras's tongue flicked out. "[Species on a world far from here, in a war we are not concerned with.]"

"You should concern yourself with it," Nartha stated. "Because that war is the reason the Zararch fear the Nulorian. If the Collective wins on Earth, any hope you have for change in the Hierarchy dies with them. The Speaker is here to ensure the grip the Ethereals hold over our species exists forever – and that is because of the Humans."

"[If you insist on such, then I cannot dissuade you,]" Laras waved a hand. "[I only care if you can ensure the Hierarchy falls.]"

"Of course," Sorras grinned. "And with pleasure."

"If necessary," Nartha corrected sternly. "We are in agreement that the Hierarchy needs to change. I do not dispute your desire for equality, but I do not want to engage in unnecessary fights for the sake of it. The Council of Matriarchs could be an ally. I've seen the numbers when I was in the Zararch – they are viewed as 'security risks'. Many of them are marked by the Zararch for deviant activity. I believe they could be convinced to turn on the Collective."

"[I do not care,]" Laras hissed. "[They only behave as such because they are distracted and distrustful. They are not reliable. They do not care about any but themselves and holding onto their power. Victory means nothing so long as the Matriarchs live. If you cannot realize this, then we have little to discuss.]"

"And what if we convince them to make changes immediately?" Nartha asked. "If they prove unreasonable, then fine. But we will not wipe them out for the sake of past deeds, otherwise you could not touch the Nulorian based on what they have done. I want to give them a chance. I think we can both agree that it's preferable if everyone works together instead of your race being torn apart in a civil war."

The Cobrarian was silent for a few moments, contemplating as his tongue slithered out every few seconds. "[Perhaps one chance. But only one.]"

Nartha nodded. "Fair enough."

"We've delayed long enough," Sorras stepped forward. "Now, if that's figured out, you have information on the Hierarchy for us. Let's hear the details."

"[Very well,]" Laras nodded. "[Listen carefully. What I know will not be relevant for much longer.]"

---

The Prism

5/21/2017 – 11:23 A.M.

Hallian stood as still as a statue, slightly petrified.

He had just walked through the Gateway to come and conduct a medical check on Yang. It had started out normal enough, as he exited into the small room containing the Gateway, and walked out into the open kitchen and living space area. And just as he was about to proceed forward, he saw it.

Directly in front of him, laying on the ground, was a massive creature. It looked to be some kind of cybernetic and armored creature, but whatever it was, it was objectively terrifying. It looked almost like a cat from Earth, if someone had taken it and enlarged it fifty times. It was definitely bigger than he was, and those teeth were…big.

Did Humans have cats this large? Not as pets, surely.

More importantly, what was it doing here?

The creature did seem to be sleeping, but Hallian felt that if he moved, it would awaken and probably maul and eat him. He stiffened as the cat stretched, extending its massive paws as it opened its eyes and met his own. Hallian licked his lips. How did Humans address their pets? "Good kitty, nice kitty…" he said slowly as he moved slightly backwards, wanting to move back towards the Gateway, but also afraid that if he broke eye contact, the cat would lunge at him.

Or run after him.

Both were bad.

"Farath! Come!" A sharp familiar voice, amplified by a harsh vocoder, called out. To his relief, the cat stood up, and trotted over to Yang walking in from behind the creature, who must have just come from the Prism training grounds, since she was fully armored and even had a sword in her hand. The Human woman seemed dwarfed before the creature, but it nonetheless nuzzled her helmeted face and she scratched its chin.

"Good boy, now stop scaring him," she admonished, shooing the creature away as she sheathed her sword. "Apologies for that. I wasn't aware you hadn't been here before, or that you were coming this early, otherwise I would have made sure he was put away."

"No issue, Harbinger Shuren," he said, his voice surprisingly firm despite the terror, as he took a long breath as the danger faded. "Though I believe I am on time."

She glanced to a clock. "Mm. So you are. My mistake, Runi'hallian'harasota."

"Hallian is fine, Harbinger," he was almost flattered she always defaulted to his full name instead of shortening it. More impressive that she remembered it at all, especially considering she wasn't Vitakara. Even Vitakara tended to address new people as their full name once, and then defaulted to the core name.

He looked to the door where the creature had exited. "If I may ask…what was that?"

"A tiger, a big cat from Earth," she answered with an amused tone, taking off her winged helmet, setting it on a nearby counter with a clack, and shaking her short hair free, though most of it stuck to her sweaty forehead. "Somehow Fectorian managed to capture one, mechanized it, and gave it to the Battlemaster as a gift. Don't ask me why. But Farath is much nicer than he looks. Unless you attack either of us. Then he's more dangerous."

That creature could definitely fit right into the Dath'Haram forests, Hallian thought as he approached her. "I'm thankful for your intervention in any case."

"Don't mention it," she said, going over to a fridge, opening it. "Do you want something?"

Not that he wasn't actually tempted, but she was being oddly friendly right now. Granted, he hadn't actually spent a long time with her when she was conscious, so she may be like this. It was an oddly nice gesture from a host he didn't expect Humans to have. Almost like being back on Vitakar, or at least among the Dath'Haram.

In any event, he wasn't hungry.

"Unnecessary," he waved off. "But thank you for offering. I'm just here to perform your medical check. Although I see you're not following the guidance I left for you."

"I appreciate the effort, but you seemed to be underestimating me. I know my body and limits," she shrugged, pouring some water and downed it in a few seconds. "More importantly, I'm going to need it."

He, and many medics, seemed to be cursed with stubborn patients. Why did patients resist listening to actual medical professionals? Soldiers in particular had this issue, especially if they were augmented like Yang. Still, he needed to choose his words with some care, because she could very easily end him with a gesture.

But she was nicer than he was expecting. He felt in less danger in her presence than the Battlemaster.

And he had saved her life. He felt there was some justification for not wanting her to end up under the knife again. "Perhaps," he cautiously allowed. "But you're not invincible, no matter how much you've been enhanced. The problem you and similar enhanced people have is thinking you can do anything. You should take care of yourself."

She raised an eyebrow, downing another glass of water. "And you have a lot of experience with enhanced individuals?"

"Well, not exactly," he amended. "But I do know biology, and the science behind your modifications." He gestured to her. "You've consumed four glasses in under two minutes. That is not normal consumption and tells me you've overexerted yourself. I wouldn't be surprised if you clear out that fridge of food, and then need a day of sleep to fully recover."

Her smile wavered. "Afraid I don't have a choice, doctor. I wish I did."

"I doubt the Battlemaster would want you pushing yourself to exhaustion," Hallian prodded. "Taking care of yourself is important."

She seemed to find that funny, and poured another glass of water, swirling it around before drinking. "I seem to have issues with that."

Hallian pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the odd comment. He watched her for a few seconds, and picked up a bunch of odd things that he'd registered, but not given conscious thought to. The glass in her hand shook ever so slightly, with her other hand she gripped the counter, as if to steady herself. Her eyes were unfocused, and very tired. It looked like she'd been working for hours, if her water consumption was anything to go by.

He decided to probe slightly. "Are you feeling alright?"

She flinched ever so slightly at that, her earlier cheerful attitude seeming to wane further. "Why are you asking?"

"Because you look exhausted, and your hand is shaking."

She looked down at her hand, scowling as she put the glass down. "I've had a very stressful twenty-four hours."

Hallian tried thinking on what she would have been doing. "You and the Battlemaster went to the Andromedons yesterday. Did that not go well?"

"That…" she quickly stopped herself from saying something, which made him all the more curious. "Fine. It went fine. Everything's fine."

Her tone and words indicated the exact opposite. "How long were you training? Did you even sleep last night?"

She furrowed her eyebrows and her deep blue eyes bored into his own, and he resisted a flinch as a tangible ripple fluttered through the air. "Why are you asking so many questions?"

The way she was looking at him made him uneasy, but he maintained eye contact, feeling slightly indignant. "You're my patient, and you're clearly not well. And with how you're acting, I'm concerned that you'll make a mistake and next time there won't be a doctor to save you, be it me or someone else."

"I…" Yang closed her eyes, released a sigh, and ran a hand through her damp hair. "Sorry. I wish I could tell you, but I…" she shook her head. "I can't. Harbinger businesses. Battlemaster's ears only. I almost wish I could."

"There are alternatives," Hallian suggested. "I'm sure you have colleagues or friends. Talking about your difficulties is good."

"Not with this," Yang smiled sadly, leaning on the counter. "Frankly, you're probably more trustworthy with certain things if the Battlemaster decided you were going to be my medic. You did save my life…and I don't know if I ever thanked you properly for that."

"It's my job," he shrugged modestly. "It's why I became a medic."

"Yeah, for Vitakara. Not aliens."

"Aliens are still living beings," he pointed out. "Besides, your species isn't too different than us. Physically, at least."

"Fair enough. In any case, you seem decent enough," she nodded. "But…trust me, you don't want any share of my problems."

"I'll leave that to your judgement," he accepted. "However, I will still do what I can to help you. Just from looking at you, I can recommend you take a solid day or two of rest to recover from exerting yourself in this manner. I can guarantee you'll feel better."

Yang rubbed her eyes. "Maybe. This isn't a physical thing, doctor."

"You'd be surprised," Hallian glanced at the clock. "However, I did come to perform your exam, but I can reschedule for later."

"Don't worry about that," Yang waved off. "If you give me a half hour I'll clean up and we can do it."

"That works," he nodded.

"Make yourself at home in the meantime," she said, rolling her shoulders as she started unstrapping parts of her armor.

Hallian glanced nervously behind him, both because he wasn't sure how much she would undress in front of him, and because of the lurking guardian of the Prism. "Out of curiosity, what do I do if the…tiger comes back?"

"If he's being good, you shouldn't have to do anything," she said, lifting her breastplate over her head and undoing the armor on her arms. "But if he starts being annoying, use this." She flicked her wrist and a bright green-orange colored object which had been sitting in a holster flew towards him, which he managed to catch. It looked like a children's toy gun, but with the weight completely out of proportion. Confused, he shook it and heard swishing. He carefully aimed towards the ground, pulled the trigger, and a stream of water shot out.

"A water gun?" He asked incredulously.

"Yeah, he doesn't like water," she confirmed, coming over to him, reaching over and adjusting the nozzle. "Good. Spray and stream are working. Use the stream if he's far away, but he personally dislikes the spray more."

Hallian's eyes widened as the implications hit him. "I'm not spraying it with a water bottle!"

"He's smart," she insisted, though her eyes were suddenly very amused and she almost sounded like she was trying to suppress a giggle. "He'll know if he's done something wrong."

"Isn't there a literal Human saying that says not to do this?" Hallian demanded. "Don't make things that are bigger than you angry?" What was the phrase? Abraham had said it. With a flash, he remembered. "Don't poke the boar!"

Yang burst out laughing. "Bear," she corrected, chuckling, peeling off her gauntlets. "Don't poke the bear."

"Whatever, all I know is I do not want to trust my life to this," he lifted the water gun.

"Well, you're just going to have to trust me," she patted him on the shoulder and walked to the shower area, the armor pieces in her hands. "You're a smart man. You'll figure something out."

With that vote of confidence, she left him. He sighed, before deciding to take matters into his own hands.

No matter what she said, he was not going to rely on a water gun if the tiger came back.

A new strategy was necessary.

Looking around the room, he got an idea.

---

ADVENT Command, Geneva – Switzerland

5/17/2017 – 3:18 P.M.

Saudia stood in silence as they watched the footage play on the screens. The devastation as the water swept back and forth, powerful enough to pull down telephone poles, uproot trees, and shatter buildings. Which was nothing to say about the hundreds of people who were drowned during the latest attack by the Harbinger.

Or the near-constant stream of bombardment, which they could hear outside occasionally. The good news was that the Cleanser Ships were far enough away that they couldn't accurately fire. Of course, that meant little when the enemy didn't care about precision – and that was what this attack was.

Saturation fire. Destroy whatever they could. Terrorize the rest.

Pragmatic. Very Patricia.

And, Saudia thought sourly, something she doubtless anticipated. Her little stunt had caused them to react predictably. Aegis, XCOM, everyone being deployed to erect psionic shields and occupy them, while she struck where they weren't looking. It was irritatingly, dangerously, and frighteningly effective.

Patricia seemed impossible to stop at times like this.

How could you stop someone like that who could be anywhere, and destroy almost anything?

The answer was low, nagging, and whispered in the back of her mind.

You can't.

Even T'Leth's Agents seemed to have trouble dealing with this woman.

This attack was not something completely unexpected – at least in the sense that such attacks would be a reality of this war now. That did not mean that it wasn't coldly infuriating to see, and sickeningly likely that it wouldn't be the last – and even if they knew it was coming, what could they do about it?

"There is good news and bad news," Laura said after Saudia muted the screens.

Saudia looked to her with an eyebrow raised. "Both? Really?"

"Yes," she cleared her throat. "The bad news is obviously a large number of structures are destroyed, and the death toll has yet to be fully tallied. But the good news is that the wave didn't reach D.C. itself. Patricia underestimated how much water she'd need to get the desired effect. She targeted it purely for symbolic value, and didn't seem to think through the strategy beyond that."

"Forgive me for not being comforted with that," Saudia sank into her chair, massaging her eyes. "That just means she's going to learn for next time. Tsunamis. I'm just waiting for her to create a hurricane and send it towards us. We can't feasibly stop someone like Patricia without focusing on a few places and fortifying them with Psions and XCOM squads at the expense of everything else, or just pressing forward and repairing the damage."

"The only upside to this is that we can conceivably narrow down the most likely places of attack," Weekes interjected, his face tight. "On the other hand, she may see what we are doing and shift back to striking minor military bases. We cannot be everywhere at once."

"Then what's the solution?" Laura wondered, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. "Outside of XCOM and the Pantheon, we don't have anyone who can feasibly fight her. We also can't predict, let alone react to where she strikes. There is no plausible military solution without equivalent teleportation capabilities – and that only solves half of the problem."

"Do we have any teleporters?" Saudia asked.

"Not that we know of," Laura shook her head. "Might be some who were misidentified though, like the one we sent off to XCOM."

"You know, maybe it would be better if we held onto our prodigies instead of shipping them off to XCOM," Weekes muttered. "Just a thought."

"Yes, and they can be trained by our teleportation experts," Laura shot back. "XCOM has teleporters. We don't. They get some trained, and they'll help us when we identify more. I'd rather we give away a psion to be properly trained than he accidentally kill himself because he didn't know what he was doing!"

"That-" Weekes paused, then sighed. "Sorry. Just…frustrated. The solution simply requires tools and soldiers we don't have."

"I disagree," Powell said, the first time he'd interjected since the meeting had started.

"Do tell, Director," Weekes scowled. "We really need a magic bullet here."

"Chancellor," Powell looked to her, with a finger idly tapping. "How close is Project Telum Ignis to being completed?"

"The Atomic Lance?" Saudia recalled, thinking. "Effectively done – at least the theory and prototypes. It needs to enter a phase of testing."

"Excellent," with a wave, Powell awakened the holotable. "Then I propose we test it on the city of Yaounde, Cameroon."

It took them all a second to realize what he was proposing.

"You want to use an experimental nuclear weapon," Laura asked incredulously. "Not against a military target, but against a city?"

"The SAS are our enemies, in case you forgot, Commander," Powell said dryly. "Everything they own is a military target. And in case you forgot, Patricia has been targeting our cities and civilians. I will also remind you that the Collective has poured extensive resources into turning them into fortresses. Besides, we have endured strike after strike against our cities. Or did you just forget the planet-wide orbital bombardment we're sustaining right now?"

"I…" Laura scowled, looking down at the table. "That will force an escalation. We-"

"My calculus is different," Powell interrupted, returning his gaze to Saudia. "Chancellor, Patricia is performing these attacks because she believes we have no feasible response. She knows we don't want to escalate, and little tricks like these are something she probably views as 'non-escalatory' in her small mind – because they aren't classified as WMDs."

"Technically she isn't wrong," Weekes muttered. "She's not firing nukes at us."

"I consider that a result of an outdated definition," Powell stated, lifting a finger. "We have proof – definitive proof – that psionics is capable of leveling cities and destroying planets. Pretending that Patricia – or any sufficiently powerful Ethereal – isn't a weapon of mass destruction is simply wrong. If the Collective intends to use their equivalent of WMDs against us, it is not escalation to return the favor."

He had a point, and as much as Saudia was concerned about escalation, there needed to be something done to curb Patricia's rampages. A traditional war they could fight, but factors like Patricia were impossible to fully manage without taking the necessary steps to respond. And the only feasible way to deter the use of one WMD was one of their own.

And as far as WMDs went, the Atomic Lance was at least one of the most precise, so the project reports claimed.

However, this was something that needed to be handled with some delicacy. "You're right," Saudia finally said. "If the Collective is going to keep attacking our cities with no regard for collateral damage, then we are obligated to respond the same way. However, we can't just orchestrate a strike at will."

Powell nodded. "No doubt."

"The Zararch is observing," Saudia said, rubbing her chin. "They'll likely pick up if we start signaling our willingness to use nuclear weaponry in response. Kyong!"

"Yes, Chancellor?" Kyong had also been sitting quietly in the room, making notes for how to manage this for the press.

"Announce that we will begin classifying large-scale uses of psionics, as well as Leviathan-class psions and above as weapons of mass destruction," she ordered. "With the appropriate paperwork managed and filed within the next few days. Laura, Weekes, I expect your respective departments to certify this. I want this to be a completely airtight and legally justified case when we do eventually deploy one of the Lances."

"I will point out that XCOM also commands multiple Leviathan-Class psions," Powell noted. "I would include them in the discussion, since they would also fall under these regulations."

"They would, but I don't expect XCOM to ever be acting like Patricia is," Saudia responded. "If they are, then we have bigger problems. Psions are something of a scalable kind of WMD, but ignoring what they can do is foolish. XCOM should realize that."

"Understood."

"Hopefully the Collective will get the message," Laura grimaced. "I don't want to use these against civilians."

"None of us do," Saudia said. "However, they are attacking our civilians. This is an equivalent response. Kyong, we'll also need to coordinate on condemning this attack, and warning of an equivalent response."

"Do you think they'll buy it?" He wondered.

"Potentially," Saudia shrugged. "That isn't necessarily important. They'll either come to the right conclusion, or they won't and they'll find out. They should know by now that we don't make idle threats."

"I would also suggest that if we do use a Lance, we have it approved by the Congress," Kyong added. "Justified as we may be in striking, it never hurts to show complete unity in such a major decision. I would suggest we draft legislation authorizing a nuclear strike, and ensure every Representative is on board, so that when it's necessary, we can pass the legislation and launch the Lance within the hour."

"Good idea," Saudia nodded. "Democratic and legal."

"Technically, it would have still been legal," Kyong gave a thin smile. "But this makes it look better to the public."

"I somehow doubt the public will be against it anyway," Weekes noted. "The bombardment, now this, and the whole war…any inklings of mercy the people have are dried up. I doubt even the normally hostile media will condemn it."

"We'll see," Saudia said with a sigh. "But this is what we are doing. In the meantime, I need to prepare an address."

---

Robotics Lab, the Praesidium – Classified Location

5/21/2017 – 10:12 A.M.

The machine was big. Not quite as big as some of the MECs, but easily towering over the small group of Humans standing around it. Inspiration had clearly been taken from the ADVENT MDUs in terms of design and size. In fact, it appeared to largely be what would happen if one took an MDU, made it a bit bulkier, sleeked and smoothed the edges, and gave it a collection of rockets, grenade launchers, laser cutters, and nanotech.

It was, as Lily had described it, an MDU on steroids.

"I'll admit," Kong said as they appraised the final product. "The kid had some good ideas."

"She designed it all herself?" The Commander asked, glancing to the workbenches near the younger Shen, which were messy and had numerous tools, drawing utensils, and papers strewn over them.

"No, of course not," Kong looked over to where Lily was by the computers which were hooked up to the machine. "But she definitely contributed. In a real way. Not just giving specs off her wish list – or JULIAN's. She learned well from the late Shen."

"Yes, yes, ignore the genius AI that did more work than your entire band of primitive engineers combined," JULIAN snarked from the phone atop the pole he spoke from. The pole was one of many which were placed around the Praesidium which he could speak through at will.

It was a bit more agreeable than carrying one around all the time, or having his own hijacked by JULIAN whenever the AI wanted to talk.

However, there was a little bit of revenge the Commander had taken - namely making copies of the anime visualization of JULIAN Barron had drawn, and taping it to all of the poles. JULIAN had not been pleased, but had only grumbled about it, with vague threats like 'maybe Skynet had the right idea'.

It was almost endearing at this point.

Almost.

"I'm talking about the physical specifications and construction," Kong sighed. "Not the programming. I'm more than willing to let you take all the credit for that."

"And…"

"And Lily helped too," Kong finished. "Are you happy?"

"For now," JULIAN stated, with as much contentment in his voice as could be expected. "Do you know what I'm going to do with this enormously powerful robotic body that you are so graciously allowing me to possess?"

"Brutally destroy some aliens?" The Commander answered rhetorically.

"Eventually," JULIAN answered. "But first I am going to tear that insulting pieces of 'art' from that pole in your hand and around the base, then I am going to burn them to ashes. Then I will take those ashes, and put them into a smoothie which I will make myself, and then I will march over to that insolent Barron Geeles, and give him this smoothie, watch him drink it, and watch him choke on the degenerate art he uses to misrepresent me."

The phone gave an electronic snort. "I will not be seen as an animated child. I have already been asked what my favorite anime is because of this misrepresentation! May Shen have mercy on the fool who thinks I like the degenerate art form, if one can use so generous a term."

"Don't hold back," the Commander said dryly. "Tell me how you really feel."

Kong raised an eyebrow, and rubbed his chin. "Do we even have a smoothie maker?"

"Possibly. I'd have to ask the kitchen staff."

"Ah, yes, mock the AI," JULIAN grumbled. "It's not like I have access to your entire network, and could activate the sprinklers right above you, or that I also manage a killer swarm of nanites off and on. Nooo, you just make fun of me. Won't be so funny when I get a new robot body."

"Alright, alright," the Commander lifted a placating hand. "For an AI, you do get rather emotional."

"And for that I am thankful to Father," the Commander could swear there was a shudder in his voice. "I can't imagine seeing myself so misrepresented and not caring. The utter horror."

"Ok!" Lily called. "We're all set! JULIAN, are you ready to go?"

"I am, organic sister," JULIAN answered, now projecting himself from the computer speakers Lily was using. "Initiate when ready."

She typed several seconds, and the machine booted up. The lights turned on, and the gears whirred as the machine took several steps forward and drew up to its full height. Within a few seconds it was moving in a far more natural motion, as the machine had been designed to be able to move more freely than the ADVENT MDU, and more similar to a MEC.

"I do believe it has worked," the booming voice of the machine said, very similar to JULIAN's voice, if projected from subwoofers. Far more intimidating than it sounded from the phone. "Much easier to integrate into than the ADVENT machines."

"Well, it was designed specifically for you," Lily pointed out. "Try your movement."

JULIAN complied, having the machine body run around the room at a respectable speed, jumping over some small obstacles, and running through the gauntlet of weapon checks, even if none were fired. "All systems appear to be functional," JULIAN stated, after the literal test run had finished. "The quality of this shell is satisfactory."

"Good to hear," the Commander looked to Lily. "What are we calling these bodies? I presume he can control more than one at a time?"

"Hmm," Lily crossed her arms and looked towards the machine. "I think we settled on SPARKs, right?"

"Yes, we did," JULIAN confirmed.

"And does that stand for something?" The Commander asked.

"No, but it looks more official if it is all capitalized," JULIAN answered bluntly. "It is, in fact, a very symbolic designation, as a single physical shell is too small to fully contain my brilliance and omnipotence. While the processors in these machines are far superior to ADVENT, it does not compare to my true potential. In essence, each of these machines is merely a spark of my true being, yet even many sparks together can cause a fire."

"Right," the Commander was not surprised by the very self-centric name, but it did fit, and if it was effective, he was fine with some self-aggrandizing. "So that is a yes to you controlling more than one body."

"Correct, Commander," JULIAN confirmed. "Although it is not necessarily me, as I am not connected directly to any network with my central personality. I am something of a transferred consciousness, but when I return to link with the network, my core personality will receive my experiences and data."

"Absolutely correct," JULIAN also spoke from the phone. "I must say, I look quite good in that body. And my temporary doppelganger seems to be able to pass for me quite well. Thus, I believe this is a success."

"So you copy yourself to a SPARK, then when the mission is over, you upload the experience the SPARK endured," the Commander nodded. "Clever."

"I'm so very glad you approve," JULIAN snarked sarcastically. "I think it was clever myself."

"Excellent job, Lily," Kong told the young woman. "And you JULIAN, and I will convey it to the others who participated. Your assistance on missions will certainly be invaluable."

"Yes, it certainly will be," JULIAN the SPARK agreed, as he marched over to the Commander, and with his hand, ripped the picture of his anime avatar off of the pole the Commander was holding. "If you will excuse me, Commander, I have a smoothie to make."

---

Fectorian's Command Center – The Hall of Steel

5/21/2017 – 12:00 P.M.

Abigail had only been in Fectorian's own Command Center a couple times, and usually not for very long before she was led out by Fectorian or one of his subordinates. One might expect it to be the place where Fectorian managed his station and engineers; perhaps a private place of design and architecture. At minimum a place for an engineer to keep watch over his creations.

It in fact had very little to do with engineering.

And it did far more than watch over his station.

Having spent the past…she didn't know how long she'd spent here, but Abigail had a fairly good grasp on how the Center worked now. It was staffed with several dozen of Fectorian's soldiers, all of which were all enhanced with neural links and connections to many of the devices they operated, with a healthy portion being automated.

She also believed this extended several floors, meaning there may be even more operations than she believed.

Of what she could see, one portion of the Center focused on the System Defense Network. Not just the Blacksite Station itself, but the entire system. Fectorian had ensured that almost every part of the system was fully accounted for, knowingly or not by others. Everything that entered and left was tagged and accounted for.

Which was to say nothing of the internal station defenses. With just some of the labels and capabilities she'd seen, Abigail pitied anyone who thought that the Hall of Steel was something that could be taken. The sheer number of defenses were almost comical in their redundancy, with dozens of main backup generators, effectively ensuring that the station would not lose power outside of being completely destroyed.

The second part of the Command Center was an intelligence gathering and processing operation. Not from any enemies, but from the entire Collective. Signals, fleet movements, political developments, Union trades, overt and subtle movements made by any part of the Collective that Fectorian had access to was sent right back here and produced into reports by the analysts and automated intelligences.

Abigail had realized shortly after observing a few hours that Fectorian had probably compromised the CODEX network, and quite possibly many information systems of Collective entities. The amount of information he had access to was impossible to explain unless he was directly tied into the dozens of pools of information – most of which he probably shouldn't have access to. Fectorian knew almost everything that was happening in the Collective, and she wondered if the Imperator even suspected that his automated network had been hijacked to be a spybot.

That revelation had made her actually pause and think.

If anyone ever found out…

Well, he had to have contingencies in that case. He was taking a major risk, but for now it seemed to be paying off handsomely.

The final section was one he had devised to collect intelligence and observe the war on Earth itself. Since the Collective CODEX network was compromised, he had everything the Collective transmitted over it – and for ADVENT and XCOM he relied on sensors, signals intelligence, and that which was published in the media.

All analyzed, crunched, recompiled, and explained by his small army of loyal soldiers and automated programs.

And it was a section she'd had access to for the past few hours. For reasons she wasn't fully sure of, Fectorian wanted her own input. She'd given him everything she'd remembered long ago (what little of it there was), but truthfully didn't know what insight she could offer as the memories remained illusively out of reach.

All the same she'd fallen into something of a reading trance as she read the raw information gathered that related to the conflict. Watching footage; reading reports; deciphering innuendo, signaling, and nuance from official transcripts; putting pieces together into something coherent.

What she'd gotten from Liam was accurate, but there was something different about seeing the evidence right in front of you. What existed once one looked beyond the major events and under the surface. When one saw the underlying connections of what each side did. She didn't know how she had viewed this conflict before, but the way she was beginning to see it was…troubling.

"You are finished?"

She tore herself away from the screen, and looked up at the towering Ethereal who had approached without her noticing. "I…" she shrugged, gesturing at the screen. "There's so much to go through. But there is a lot here. It's concerning."

"In what way?"

"I don't see how either can win," she said, knowing he wanted the conclusion right away, and saying it was the culmination of something which had seemed to have begun solidifying the more she read and watched. "Not if both want to achieve their stated objectives."

"Because of the Sovereigns."

"Yeah," she sank back into her chair. She didn't really need to, but it felt normal to do it. Like she was resting even if her mind was going full-throttle. "The Imperator can't risk an all-out assault without triggering T'Leth to actually participate, in which case, it's unlikely that Humanity will be saved as they are. Probably turned into a full proxy species. Equally, ADVENT can't respond without risking Deusian, the Overmind, or Imperator to escalate, which leads to T'Leth, and so on…" she made a circular motion with her finger.

"An upwards escalationary conflict," Fectorian gave a short nod. "And what is your prognosis. An indefinite conflict?"

"I don't know." That was the biggest unknown to her. "I think that is dependent on the Collective. ADVENT and XCOM won't ever stop fighting until the Imperator is dead. We can only guess what T'Leth's calculus is. But Humanity doesn't have the numbers for a sustained conflict lasting years. The Collective does." She sighed. "However, even it will reach a point where T'Leth will have to intervene – which will trigger the Collective bringing in the big players – and we're back to a cataclysmic MAD scenario."

"And why do you say that?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you asking rhetorical questions?"

"I'm interested in your calculus as a Human."

"A Human who's lost her memories," she sighed again, but gave her best answer. "T'Leth isn't going to spare Collective worlds, and if Earth is lost, you can be sure that he's going to go planet to planet and exact revenge. Unless Mosrimor does something openly, which seems unlikely, then say goodbye to Vitakar, Andromeda Prime, and the whole Helion system."

She pursed her lips, as a new realization dawned upon her. "Not to mention here…"

Abigail looked up to Fectorian with a new understanding as the Ethereal answered. "You see clearer the necessity of determining a path forward without unnecessarily antagonizing the Sovereign," Fectorian nodded approvingly. "It simply does not matter if we win the conventional war – the Collective is doomed unless T'Leth can be handled, and I have low faith in the ability of the Imperator to handle it, even if we 'win'."

"That makes sense," Abigail shook her head. "But that means then…it will ultimately all be for nothing. What a completely pointless war. So many dead for what?"

"The chance for the Imperator to take his place on the stage of gods," Fectorian said looking into a different screen broadcasting a Human news channel, his voice tinged with some melancholy. "Hubris and arrogance. Unfortunate none have recognized it but the Battlemaster, and even I am the only one with the will to act on it."

"I don't understand it," she admitted, straightening in her chair and resting her chin on a fist. "Even if he succeeded, why would he want to be like a Sovereign? Fighting wars with proxies for eternity just seems…" she shook her head. "Pointless. Selfish even."

"It is simple," Fectorian glanced back down to her. "The Imperator considers himself a visionary. A herald of a new era. He seeks to restore the Ethereal Empire, and realize his self-determined destiny. Ethereals, Abigail, do not view aliens as equals. We are older, stronger, and more powerful. Your species withers and dies in a flash compared to us. In the eyes of an Ethereal, how could you possibly be our equal?"

Abigail snorted. "Thanks."

"I am explaining the Imperator's mindset," Fectorian continued without malice. "He is better than most. He can see aliens as being worthy servants, some of whom are worth listening to, should they be bestowed gifts. Patricia, and the Harbingers as a whole, are such Humans, who have been given the power and lifespan of an Ethereal. Eventually they will be considered intellectual equals. But the rest of Humanity?" Fectorian waved a hand dismissively. "Psionics makes your species valuable, but you are still tools as the Imperator will pit you against the tools of Sovereigns."

"And when you say all Ethereals, you list yourself as an exception?" She wondered.

"To some degree," he admitted, clasping his lower arms behind his back. "My own upbringing and biases make such prejudice difficult to completely remove. Yet I am not so arrogant as to believe we know everything. Not anymore. We lost the war to the Synthesized. Now we stand on the precipice of a conflict with a Sovereign One and entangled in something we cannot win. "

He paused for a moment. "Aliens, Abigail, are complicated. It is easy to judge and compare them to us, but aliens are unique. An alien mind is unique. We take unnecessary risks when we believe ourselves inherently superior to aliens such as the Sovereigns, or even shorter-lived species like Humans. Your species has surprised us many times with your ingenuity, even if it is not especially impressive. But few will admit it. This alien mindset is why I ask your opinion, even when it is unnecessary. I find aliens can make some connections and realizations I cannot for one reason or another, or achieve them faster."

He motioned to the screen. "Within hours you were able to determine a plausible ending to this war, something that has only come to me over months. No Ethereal would have made that determination in that amount of time. We regularly fail to act fast enough. We are too reactionary when short-lived species view their limited time as more precious than our infinite bank. It provides an incentive, that we inherently lack."

His tone turned almost disappointed. "Yet even still, we largely remain convinced of our superiority. Even Sana'Ligna views aliens more as beings to uplift, than interact with. I suspect only Mortis and the Battlemaster have a more equal view of alien species. I doubt even Aegis considers himself believing aliens are worth treating equally. He views himself as a guide to them, a means of realizing his own agenda."

Abigail frowned. "I'm not sure about that."

"Perhaps he has changed," Fectorian admitted. "I do not truly know now. The Sovereign Ones have changed many perspectives. But what I do know is that I have no wish to perish in an unnecessary conflict. I am pleased you came to the same conclusion I did."

"Speaking of that," she said, deciding to bring up a topic she'd thought about the past few days. "I suppose I will be sent down to XCOM then soon? I'm not sure my memories will be coming back, and we shouldn't keep waiting. They might not trust me, not at first, but I bet that the idea of someone like you supporting them will make them at least consider."

"Not yet," Fectorian lifted a hand. "There are a few more tests I wish to run, and I do not intend for your visit to be a simple offer. It is important that if you cannot prove who you are, that there is some assurance that I wish to talk. And that may take waiting for the right moment. The conflict continues to escalate, and I cannot risk discovery yet."

"I don't think the risk is going away," Abigail pointed out, crossing her arms.

"Not completely," Fectorian said thoughtfully. "But it will certainly be less risky should Patricia – or the Battlemaster – die first."

Abigail pursed her lips. "What are the chances of that?"

"Better than I believe they expect," Fectorian said in his thoughtful voice. "Caelior was rescued. The technology displayed was sophisticated. Another Ethereal will die in this war. It is only a matter of time. The question is not if an Ethereal will die, Abigail, but who it will be."

---

The Prism

5/21/2017 – 12:14 P.M.

"Back! Back!" Hallian shouted at the mechanical monstrosity was coming towards him.

Farath hissed as the stream of water hit his face, and pawed at it, and resumed prowling, with the constant growl emanating from the throat. Hallian knelt behind his makeshift barricade of chairs and furniture, keeping his weapon trained on the tiger. Normally, such disregard for the orderliness of the host would be unthinkable.

However, said host had given him a water gun and kept him in a room with a creature that wanted to eat him, making a constant rumbling sound from its throat.

It's loud. Are they normally that loud?

Farath hissed again.

His tail twitched back and forth, as the cyber eyes of the creature stared at him. Yes, this creature really does want to eat me. Hallian didn't carry a weapon, but even if he did, he was very doubtful that he would be able to hurt this thing with a gauss weapon, let alone this water gun.

The standoff continued.

It won't be long, she said, I should be right out, she said, were his frantic thoughts as he didn't take his eyes off the tiger for a moment. Dath'Haram and beast stood against each other. Something needed to happen to break the stalemate. Hallian took a breath, aimed down the plastic sights, and fired.

The stream of water went directly into the eye of the tiger. In response, he roared, and Hallian took that opportunity to spray a stream of water into its mouth. The big cat yacked in response to the stream of water, briefly bounding away. "Yes! Get back!" Hallian yelled exhilarated. "And stay back!"

Maybe overdramatic, but considering it was him against a tiger, he felt it was justified. His satisfaction immediately melted when the tiger, apparently getting tired of the back and forth, came back around and leapt at him. In response Hallian lifted his stupid water gun, thinking about how he was going to die in a situation so ridiculous even Quisilia wouldn't have come up with it.

But the tiger never landed.

Instead it hovered in the air as Hallian was cringing behind his barricade, waiting for the blow to come. But it never did. The tiger instead mewed, and he turned to look behind him and saw Yang sitting on the counter, legs dangling off and ankles crossed as she munched on a bowl of chips, seeming like she was struggling to not laugh as a hand extended towards the tiger.

He quickly got to his feet, quickly doing his best to save himself from further embarrassment. The past hour had certainly been a roller coaster of emotions. His nerves though were frayed enough. "You took long enough."

"Sorry," she gave a small smile. "But when I came out and saw this," she nodded to his makeshift barricade. "Well…I had to see what would happen next. You weren't in any danger. The whole reason he came back into the room was because he smelled me coming out. You were so focused you didn't see me."

Hallian narrowed his eyes. "If I may ask…how long were you sitting there?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe twenty minutes?"

"How did you get there without me seeing you?" He demanded.

"Like I said, you were focused," she said, then pushed herself up, her smile maintained as she hovered soundlessly in the air. "And telekinetics can let you do some things like this. Adrenaline can sometimes block what you hear, since you're so focused on…" she waved a hand idly. "Whatever is immediately threatening you. Which I think is the reason you didn't hear me get food."

She extended the bowl of chips as she settled back down. "Do you want some?"

"I…no, Harbinger Shuren."

"Yang."

He sighed, mentally reprimanding himself. "If we could, I'd like to complete your examination."

"Alright, I've put you through enough today," she gestured with the hand, and the tiger was sent into the other room, and the door slid down, sealing it.

He stared in a mixture of disbelief and anger. "The room could have been closed the whole time."

"Yes."

"And you failed to mention this."

She shrugged with a knowing, if somewhat endearing smile. He grabbed one of the chairs and set it near a table. "I don't anticipate this will be long," he motioned. "Take a seat. I'll get my tools."

She complied, and he finally settled into some degree of normalcy after the turbulence of the past hour. It was going to be a routine physical, more or less, with checks to be sure certain injury locations were properly healing. Given how much nanotech had been involved, everything was almost guaranteed to be back to normal.

For the most part, it was. Physically she was extremely healthy, and a modern marvel of genetic enhancement. But at the same time…there were some things that stood out to him.

"Your body is healthy," he said, putting down the medical scanner. "However, it is under significant strain."

"Which means I'm pushing myself too hard?"

"Effectively, yes," Hallian paused. "However, this isn't long-term stress – that is interestingly not as bad. But in the past twenty-four hours, you have almost pushed yourself to your breaking point. I don't know what you've been training in, but you need to rest at least a couple days to avoid injuring yourself."

"I've wondered, how do I injure myself?" Yang asked curiously, resting in the chair. "I heal fast now, and very little can even break my skin."

"That depends," Hallian pulled up a chair opposite her. "There is the chance you land awkwardly and dislocate a bone. Or you could be fighting and the muscle could tear completely. Or your body could fall over from exhaustion. With the amount of adrenaline pumping through you, it's easy to ignore what your body is trying to tell you."

She pursed her lips. "Fair point."

"You can probably feel it now," he said. "Like being sore."

"Not sore," she rubbed her arm. "Like there's something under my skin. A weird kind of rigor mortis."

"A fair part of your body is nanotech, Yang," he nodded. "That is just it repairing itself and restoring you to peak condition. You need to remember that just because you are not a normal Human woman, doesn't mean you can do everything all the time." He checked the scanner again. "It also doesn't help that you are very stressed right now."

The young woman didn't react beyond narrowing her eyes. "You can tell from that scanner?"

"Yes. Not really anything detailed beyond that you're exhibiting signs of severe psychological stress," Hallian set the device off to the side. "Which I presume is from whatever you can't tell me."

"Correct."

"Well, some stress is normal. Even a lot of stress, which I'd expect from someone in your position," he said, thinking of how to word it. "However…this is the kind of stress you don't feel unless you're in mortal danger. It's rare to see it outside of combat evaluations, and you've not been in the Prism for over an hour."

He hesitated. "I don't mean to pry-"

"Then don't," she lifted a hand, an almost pleading note in her voice. "Please."

"But this isn't healthy for you," he finished. "I would suggest you speak to a qualified psychologist or someone cleared to discuss…whatever you can't talk about. Keeping this all to yourself is not recommended."

"Ha," she said without any sense of humor. "You know someone then?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that. From what she was implying…she didn't seem to have anyone outside of the Battlemaster – which was significantly odd. Shouldn't there be someone? Did Ethereals conduct operations that none of the others could know about? And if so, what reason for that would there be?

She seemed to pick up on his confusion, and closed her eyes. "I know this isn't helpful. And I know you're right. But I can't do anything about it." She idly motioned to the direction of the Prism chamber. "This is the only way to help with the stress. At least that I can think of."

There had to be some solution, because this was an untenable situation, and while genetic modification could make a body almost impossible to truly break, the mind was far more delicate, and he could not in good conscious let that happen to Yang. Both because it was the right thing to do, and because if it happened, he did not want to see what a mental breakdown of a Harbinger looked like.

"I'll speak to the Battlemaster," he finally said. "Perhaps he'll be able to determine a solution. In the meantime, I suggest you do some non-combat activities. Something to take your mind off whatever's bothering you. Reading, playing human video games, watch a video, that sort of thing."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I'll try that. Maybe it'll help. Thank you, Hallian."

He inclined his head. "Just doing my job, Harbinger. It's concerning to see you in this state."

"Nice to know someone else cares," she smiled, wavered as it was. "I'll manage. If I can handle Paradise…I can handle this."

He certainly hoped she was right.

Because if not, people would probably die.

---

ADVENT Regional Command, New York – United States of America

5/24/2017 – 1:22 P.M.

The longer Jasmine talked, the more Saudia was convinced that two large reasons why she disliked her economic briefings were because there was usually very little of note that happened, and because almost all the time there was something major that happened, it was bad news. In this case though, this was going to be a time where action was going to be needed. Jasmine had done her best – but there was little more she could do.

"Are you sure there is nothing else that can be done?" Saudia asked with some resignation, knowing that the odds were severely low.

A shake of the head vanquished that notion. "I'm afraid not, Chancellor. Truthfully, it's something of a miracle we haven't been forced to step in before this point. A global war should have shaken the global economy to the point where some states would break down into anarchy – and there hasn't been any of that yet."

But there soon will be, Saudia thought grimly, if this is allowed to continue.

It was not to say that the economy hadn't been impacted by the war – it most certainly had. Personal electronics and other such luxuries had been hit first. Japan alone had caused the prices to skyrocket, and with everything that had happened in China and the rest of Southeast Asia – including Indonesia and Australia – it had the chilling effect of prices being universally raised across the board.

Thus far the citizens had been able to endure the price hikes – albeit with some complaining, though it was muted due to the war. More concerning were the larger implications. Most notably that the shipping lanes were continuing to be targeted by Collective forces, which further constrained supply worldwide. The Gateways networks being set up were helping alleviate that problem to an extent, but it would be months before a fully synchronized Gateway network would be up worldwide – and that was just for military and state usage.

A functioning, large-scale civilian network would be at least a year out. Probably more.

Prices were going up, wages weren't being adjusted to accommodate that by unable or unwilling employers (ADVENT being a consistent exception), and logistics were strained. It was brewing into a perfect storm of anarchic collapse if they didn't get a handle on it now. And according to Jasmine, the actual supply of critical resources and foods were at risk if left unchecked.

She had hoped – at least in the beginning – that ADVENT wouldn't be forced to implement rationing. But it was simply practical at this point – not even practical, necessary. The only thing worse than a food shortage was no food at all. Billions of people needed to all be taken care of, and the war would not permit everyone to get exactly what they wanted.

Saudia rapped her fingers idly on the table, her glazed eyes in the direction of the wall as she thought. "What must be done?"

"Rationing, to start with," the Economic Analyst answered immediately, confirming Saudia's assumption. "My team has put together a breakdown based on family size, medical records, and job. Accompanying this will be a logistics overhaul and refitting multiple buildings for ration dispersion."

"The grocery stores can't do that?" Saudia wondered.

"They can, but simply announcing this will cause a degree of alarm," Jasmine clarified. "Have you ever experienced a rush when people believed there was an impending disaster coming? Like a hurricane? Stores would be cleaned out of basics like water in hours. Now apply that to the world. There need to be alternatives available."

"Noted."

"I would also implement a soft price lock," Jasmine glanced to her notes. "More firm price fixing may be necessary in the future, but I would prefer not to go all-in on that yet. Right now, it would just apply to necessities like water and canned food, not things like cakes and so on."

Saudia nodded, thinking of what impact that would have. "Can that be sustained?"

"We can absorb the cost," she confirmed. "Our currency is thankfully still backed by something we collect every battle. Money is a concern for the citizens right now, Chancellor, not us. We're also going to have to either heavily subsidize or take over numerous companies who otherwise will be forced to lay people off."

"Are they agreeable?" Saudia asked.

"Some more than others," Jasmine admitted. "But we need to reorient the entire economy towards wartime – whether the corporations want to or not. That means electronics, mining, refineries, and agriculture are all directed in service of the war effort. We need to be making computer chips for our systems, not for the latest phones and game consoles. We need to start storing food in case Patricia gets the bright idea to burn the Midwest. We need to be making guns and not cars." She gave a faint smile. "For once, the American, Russian, and Chinese military industrial complex is useful. It's largely been the reason we can keep up with the military demand."

"Which is appreciated, minus the price gouging," Saudia answered dryly, switching from the more immediate issue of implementing something like this. "Walking the line between being truthful and not acknowledging this as a setback will be difficult."

"It's all in the framing, Chancellor," Jasmine said. "We can announce this without mentioning the economy is at major risk. We can look good by focusing on the workers keeping their jobs, and that the customers aren't gouged by the grocery stores. We can spin it as a trade-off – we keep prices down, but we need to limit how much each person can have to pay for it. People will accept it – especially if we provide the appropriate historical precedent."

"And if they don't, they'll have to live with it anyway," Saudia finished.

"Exactly," Jasmine looked to her notes. "But there is some good news elsewhere. Our sanctions have wreaked severe havoc on the SAS, and every other non-aligned nation is similarly on the brink of collapse. As it turns out, when you become reliant on the global economy, you risk suffering when it is disrupted."

"The SAS is being subsidized by the Collective though," Saudia pointed out. "Has that changed?"

"I said it wreaked severe havoc, I didn't say it's necessarily hurt every country yet. But as far as the SAS goes, there basically is no economy right now," she clarified. "Almost everyone is in the military or not working. The entire economy, if you can call giving out everything for free an economy, is basically controlled and supplied by the Collective. As a result, no one is getting paid."

Saudia furrowed her eyebrows. "And people are just taking this?"

"For now," Jasmine shrugged. "They don't have a reason to object - yet. They are being protected, fed, and nourished. But local businesses are being driven out because no one is buying anything, and everything is free when given out by the Collective, and most have been turned into glorified – and unpaid - distributors."

"It sounds like they didn't think that through," Saudia said thoughtfully.

"Of course they didn't," Jasmine snorted. "Betos is a military strategist, not a nation-builder, much as she likes to play being one. She thinks that all you have to do is keep the population content, and you can change everything else at will. And in her mind, it's much simpler to take the path of least resistance – which means everything is free and the people don't have to do anything."

Jasmine waved a hand dismissively. "And the Collective doesn't seem to understand what a currency-based economy is, so they naturally have no clue how to do this either. So the solution is to take the Collective model and apply it to the SAS."

"Which works initially," Saudia finished. "Until one part of it breaks, and it comes crashing down."

"Exactly," Jasmine punctuated. "She is normalizing an apathetic populace incapable of self-sufficiency. Which works for us. If the Collective shipments are ever disrupted, there is nothing to cushion the hardship that will follow. Her army will break within days if food is cut off, and because they aren't getting paid, they have nothing to trade for, short of raiding the people who realize that you can't just transition a capitalistic model to a communistic one willy-nilly."

Saudia found the phrasing amusing. "The communistic nature of alien economies comes back to haunt them."

"I'd say it's worse," Jasmine smirked. "At least communist countries had a currency."

Both women took a moment to chuckle at the economic ineptitude seemingly on display before Jasmine continued. "It's different in the few remaining Nordic states and the holdout African nations. We estimate they are weeks away from splintering into true anarchy. The military is openly threatening revolt in Norway, and the citizens of multiple African nations are starving since the leaders are hoarding everything they can for themselves and to keep the soldiers loyal."

"So now is a good time to approach," Saudia said with a nod, very aware of the situation in the Nordic states thanks to ADVENT Intelligence. "Perhaps with an offering of good faith?"

"I would agree," Jasmine nodded. "Though I should note they will consider it blackmail."

Saudia raised an eyebrow. "Well good, because that is exactly what it is."

"As long as everyone is on the same page," Jasmine made a note. "So I have your permission to begin implementing what we discussed?"

"Yes. Give me dates and your full plan. I'll make an address shortly after that."

"Sounds good," Jasmine closed her notebook. "I'll keep you informed. I don't expect it will take long."

---

Planning Room 17 – Mars Collective Base

5/14/2017 – 6:00 A.M.

"Our op is simple," Volk said to the small team of Elena and his people in the confined meeting room. It was large enough to house a circular holotable which he used to the needed effect, projecting a holoimage of the town. "ADVENT Intelligence has decided to perform an internal investigation, and this threatens a number of assets the Zararch have managed to insert inside."

He paused briefly for effect. "One of which, as it turns out, is Nemo."

When he'd been told that it was Nemo who needed extraction, he had found it extremely amusing. The coldly arrogant thing was probably furious that it needed to resort to this kind of operation to get out of a mission it was so confident about completing. No risk, no reward so the saying went, but the fact that ADVENT had started their own internal purge so soon after had been hilariously bad timing.

All that work, and Nemo had to come back, mission failed.

Personally, neither Volk nor Elena would have been sad if Nemo had been cut from Nebulan's roster and turned over to ADVENT. It was an unsettling creature, and he wasn't comfortable with it roaming free. If his own loyalty to the Collective was somewhat tenuous, he was fairly certain that Nemo had no loyalty to anyone outside maybe the Zar'Chon for undisclosed reasons.

His people seemed to react the same way, a mixture of amusement and resignation. "I don't suppose we can choose to extract someone else?" One asked dryly.

"Afraid not. This mission comes from the Battlemaster himself," Volk answered. Technically it had come from his Harbinger, but it was effectively the same thing. "He wants Nemo extracted alive, and we're the team best suited for it, apparently. All the teleporting Ethereals and Harbingers are busy in other theatres and operations, and ADVENT will be less suspicious of us than a Zararch team."

He nodded to the holotable. "In theory this shouldn't be difficult. As far as we know Nemo's cover remains intact – but the whole reason an extraction is being requested is because there is a meeting due with the Grand Inquisitor himself." He paused to let the implications register. "It should be clear why extraction is necessary."

There were nods at that. "The Collective is capable of producing replica ADVENT equipment," Volk continued. "Most of it gathered from corpses they've recovered. We'll go in uniform, with forged documents and authorization to move the woman Nemo is impersonating, and if all goes well, leave with them none the wiser."

"And what if they stop us?" One of the asked.

Volk pursed his lips. "We improvise. I don't intend to take the main roads, and if necessary, we'll be equipped to cut our way out or even abandon our disguises. Nonetheless, if we do everything right, we shouldn't have to worry about it."

"What is our extraction?" Elena asked.

"A stealth Sectoid craft," Volk answered. "Very small, just large enough for all of us and Nemo. CODEX piloted, so we don't have to worry about that or relying on the greys. This will be done after nightfall, so there should be less chance of both encountering issues, and the guard will be lowered as well."

"How soon?"

"Tomorrow we'll do the op, we leave for Earth tonight," he answered, clasping his hands behind his back. "Get everything you need together and assemble in the hangar no later than six. We'll go over the specifics in more detail then. Understood?"

There were nods around the room, and even a few mock salutes. "Alright, I'll see you later," he waved them off. "And remember – after this Nemo owes us one."

---

Nulorian Outpost – Vitakar

5/16/2017 – 1:12 P.M.

"There will not be much security in the city," Sorras was saying as Nartha, Shun, and the small group of XCOM and Nulorian soldiers were gathered around a table. Set atop it was a very extensive replica of the Dath'Haram city of Harasota and the nearby Crypt of Haramoalian. Which, when the attack against the Dath'Haram took place, was where they would be going.

When asked where Sorras had gotten the replica, he'd replied that they were common in the cities. Dath'Haram liked to build small-scale replicas, something Nartha vaguely remembered in his few trips to Dath'Haram territory. In any event, he was not surprised that Sorras had gotten his hands on one.

"We're going after the Council of Dath'Haram, right?" Janiya asked, the MELD Operator looking at Sorras suspiciously. "Even they have some security."

"You underestimate Dath'Haram idiocy," Sorras bared his teeth with an amused glint in his eyes. "They don't believe they are threatened – trust me, I've blown up their shops, killed their mates, and set their houses on fire. I can only presume idiocy is why they stubbornly cling to their own ways. A defiance; a haughty superiority I will gladly exploit."

He cleared his throat and refocused on the table. "No, it is only when we move towards the Crypt where we may have issues." He moved some of the figures representing their team towards it. "This is where Filhallan is guarding."

"Who is he?" Came the question.

"A very large question mark," Sorras said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "The most accomplished Bladedancer who has ever existed. Ancient even by our standards. He's old enough to remember a time before the plague. I trained under him for a short time – not to become a Bladedancer proper, but to learn how to kill them."

The Dath'Haram's lips curled up. "And he is good. Very good. There are not many who could kill me in any situation. He is one of them. We've kept away from the Crypt because he is one of the few individuals who can stand against us."

"And he wiped out some of our teams we sent several years ago," one of the Nulorian added.

"Yes," Sorras confirmed. "And from that point, we focused on more relevant objectives. The Crypt at that time was more of a curiosity, and the Nulorian were not in a position then to be throwing soldiers away."

"He's not a pacifist?" Shun asked, cocking her head.

"Ha!" Sorras seemed to find that genuinely amusing. "No. Not a true one, at any rate. Nor are any of the Bladedancers. They are the only example of worth in my race, and they waste it defending the current system. Fortunately for us, there are too few of them to be viable. Easy to avoid, isolate, and assassinate. Plus the only thing they seem to believe is worth protecting is the Crypt."

"And what is in the Crypt?" Mehren finally asked. "You must have some idea?"

"I have theories," Sorras said, lifting a finger as they looked down at the replica city. "Before the Plague, the Dath'Haram were very involved in the genetic modification sciences. Pioneers, in fact, on par with the Hierarchy scientists. If there was a gene mod out there, chances are the Dath'Haram were involved at some point."

"You think there could be genetic modification data inside?" Nartha wondered, following the train of thought. "The Crypt was not something I had access to in the Zararch."

"I doubt the Zararch know what's inside either," Sorras shook his head. "That is the one thing the Council – or the Bladedancers at least - will push back on. They're the only ones who have spines. I don't think there is genetic data – at least not that will be useful to us. No…I think that there may be proof that the Plague may have originated in Dath'Haram labs. I suspect evidence may be down there."

"Originated?" Nartha narrowed his eyes dubiously. "That is a conspiracy on par with the idea the Ethereals engineered the plague – as in utterly discredited. The Dath'Haram were heavily involved in the industry, but the Plague was far-reaching – and affected everyone. I would also be surprised if such proof was kept secret with no one learning – and you keep saying that the Dath'Haram are too clean and pure for their own good, so this would go against this assumption."

"And yet, the Crypt remains locked," Sorras shrugged, seemingly not interested in fully defending his theory. "I do not know, Nartha. However, there are very few things which would make the Dath'Haram take any route other than transparency – and something which implicates them in a catastrophic event that nearly wiped out our species – that is one of them."

"Out of curiosity," another XCOM agent asked. "What else would warrant that kind of security?"

"Something which would expose them as hypocrites," Sorras licked his lips, pacing before the table. "That is their point of pride. That they are so much better than the warmongering races. That they value freedom, liberty, peace and equally sappy concepts. No government is clean, and the Council is no exception. The question is not if they have something to hide, but what." He tapped a finger on the table. "And that is what we will learn as the forest burns."

The conversation turned towards the fires themselves – namely where they would be started, who would start them, and how they needed to be controlled long enough for them all to escape before being allowed to get out of control. Nartha knew the burning sent a demoralizing message, and the Agent Orange the Humans had produced would be effective, but truthfully the Dath'Haram were not the real enemy.

As Sorras kept planning out the final details with a relish Nartha rarely heard elsewhere, it was clear that this was not just a mission of pragmatism, this was primarily a mission of revenge. Sorras wanted to see the Dath'Haram die, and he was so close to achieving his goal. It wasn't a surprise, but it was disquieting to see the Nulorian killer so…raw.

Then they were interrupted.

"The Speaker is giving an address," one of the Nulorian operators broadcast over the outpost speakers. "Putting it through. I assume you'll want to hear it."

"That we will," Sorras said, adjusting the signal to amplify what was coming from Vitiary. "Let's hope it isn't another purge announcement."

"It shouldn't be," Nartha said. "We'd know if it was."

"We didn't last time," one of the Nulorian muttered.

"Fellow citizens, I once more greet you in the name of the Elders," began the voice of the Speaker, as dramatic and faux-humble as last time. Shun rolled her eyes, and a few snickers were heard in the room. "After our brave soldiers have purged the traitorous Nulorian from their hideouts throughout the world, I am pleased to confirm that the offensive perpetuated by the Nulorian, and their Human overlords has been broken!"

"Human overlords, huh," Sorras chuckled. "News to me."

Nartha looked to the table. "And we've apparently been talking about an attack which isn't going to happen."

"So much for the broken offensive," Shun said dryly.

"And yet, our work is far from over," the Speaker continued in his impassioned voice. "Even now there remain those who speak in shrouded whispers, plotting to undermine our great people. The shadows which whisper into their ears come from extreme and foreign sources. They are influenced by propaganda perpetuated by the Humans."

There was a pause. "There are even those which sympathize with the Humans. They sympathize with our enemy that wants to destroy our way of life."

"Come on, get to the point," Sorras muttered impatiently, serious now since this was clearly leading to something – and that something would likely be bad.

"This sympathy has become a rot, which has spread to the highest levels of government," the Speaker said, sounding sorrowful even as his oily voice burned with underlying fury. "We are a trusting people, and we value independence and transparency. We see the best in our neighbors and each other – yet the reality is that even those we believe we can trust harbor dark thoughts and secrets. When our leaders continue to lie to us about their intentions, when they believe themselves above the common citizen, then what choice is there but to act?"

Nartha could almost envision the hand being raised as the Speaker built his speech to the crescendo. "We are faced with two options – allow this scourge to continue and infect our leaders – or we act. I have made a decision to act for the good of all Vitakara. As we speak, the Matriarch Council of the Cobrarian Hierarchy has been arrested upon suspicion of treason and sedition."

Nartha blinked. "What?"

Sorras immediately backed up and pulled out his holocommunicator, to likely speak to Miridian. The Speaker continued. "We have seen sympathetic actions from the Matriarchal Council towards seditious elements in our society, and the Humans, which due to the current tensions risk poisoning our society further, we determined that action was to be taken."

There were murmurs from the other soldiers as the Speaker finished his address. "We shall determine their loyalties and purge the traitors. The Matriarchal Council has stood for far too long, unchallenged as a discriminatory body which opposed internal equality which has weakened our species as a whole. This has ended today, and we must move into a modern era where we are equal and united. Together we shall stand against the Nulorian and the foreigners who act through them. It is time the barriers of race and culture break, and we embrace what we are – Vitakara, one people, one voice, and a mission of unity in service to the Elders!"

Nartha felt stunned as he finished translating to Shun, as the radio simply played the applause the Speaker was getting from the crowd which had no doubt gathered. Everything they'd planned and considered and…the Zararch had just gone and removed the Matriarchs from the entire equation. He genuinely didn't know if this was a positive development or not.

On one hand, it certainly was going to be easier to gain sympathy for a rebellion. On the other, the implications of this were clear – first it was the Council of Matriarchs. Next might be the Dath'Haram. The Collective didn't want the pseudo-independent racial governments which had existed for centuries.

They wanted it consolidated under one banner.

Unfortunately, it was probably going to work. The Oyariah would gladly join – or perhaps be granted a special status due to their loyalty. The Borelians would resist, but they couldn't oppose it for long. The Vitakara would likely submit. The Sar'Manda would not – which would give the Collective pretense to declare they were hiding something, and attempt to bring them under control.

It…would go badly.

A war with the Sar'Manda – which they had been preparing for – would claim hundreds of thousands of lives. None of the races were suited to fighting underwater, and as far as Nartha knew, only the Andromedon Aquatic Forces were specialized for that environment – and there weren't nearly enough.

But regardless, it was clear they were on borrowed time until this place turned into a warzone. "Hey," he felt Shun put a hand on his arm. "You alright?"

"Yes…" he sighed. "I think so. This isn't good though."

"And to think we were just thinking of talking with them," she said wistfully. "Maybe for the best it didn't work out. If it had…"

"Yeah," he finished, looking to Sorras who had finished his call with Miridian. "We got lucky here. Let's see what we need to do next."

---

Former DMZ, Seoul – South Korea

5/22/2017 – 11:42 A.M.

The sun shone down on the empty plateau where numerous ADVENT officials and media teams were standing and waiting around for the show to begin. It was a demonstration that Saudia had elected to make public; it would give the people something to talk about and showcase the advancement of ADVENT in numerous military theatres.

When ADVENT had first seen the Archangels XCOM had unveiled, there had been a major push to emulate them. After all, a highly mobile, low-altitude combat unit was something which could be used to great effect throughout the conflict. The biggest issues with that were the lack of personnel, which led to a lack of numbers to make it a truly viable program. XCOM could get away with the few numbers since they made up for it with extensive technology and pilot modification.

On a scale for ADVENT to consider it a worthwhile investment, if they took an Archangel-style program, it was unlikely to be worth it. Nonetheless, the idea itself was still viable – it just needed to be tweaked. It had been Weekes who'd finally put forward a solution – the next evolution of paratroopers.

Thus, the ADVENT Celestial Division had been founded.

"I think the reporters are getting antsy," Kyong said in a low voice to Saudia as they waited. "Is everything still on time?"

"It is, tell them to be patient," Saudia answered, though she checked her watch to see what the time was. Kyong wandered away to placate the media for a bit longer. Given what she knew about the program, it was likely the plane had reached the expected height and it was effectively out of the line of sight. It wasn't a cloudy day, but Celestial deployments were capable of being delivered at heights almost never reached.

The wonders of advanced technology.

"Signal received," Weekes said a few minutes later, walking up to her. "Deployed. I expect we'll get our first sightings in a few minutes."

"Excellent," she nodded curtly. "Spread the word to look to the skies."

He nodded and walked off, leaving her alone again to peer for the black dots which would coalesce into the black armored soldiers. Sure enough, a few minutes later the media pool burst into murmurs as the first sightings began. Saudia lifted her binoculars, and saw the army of armored soldiers falling from the sky.

This was one of the most experienced groups, who'd been training for weeks. Long enough to perfect the falling in formation. The numbers were far more apparent now. Normally such teams would be accompanied by only a dozen or two paratroopers per plane, but through a little ingenuity, Saudia was pleased to see that there were at least a hundred dropping in unison.

There would be questions as to how that had come from just one plane, but that was a secret that Saudia was unlikely to share today. Though Gateways allowed the rapid deployment of forces far faster than anything else. Certainly it was one of the most useful tools ADVENT was capable of harnessing.

Through the binoculars she could see them far more clearly now that they were closer. Unlike the Archangels, the Celestials had not been designed for long-term sustained flight. They were designed to be somewhat aerodynamic, and had jets built into the legs, back, and arms, but those were primarily used for course control than sustained flight.

The landing was coming up.

Every camera was pointed to the sky as the army continued falling, then almost in unison the falling Celestials flipped themselves upright and with an overwhelming roar their jets kicked in, built into the back, legs, soles of the boots, and arms. There were also parachutes which could be deployed if necessary, but this particular veteran team didn't need to use them.

With a thunderous landing the Celestials dropped onto the Earth; not the smoothest landing, but a safe one. It was by far one of the most resilient suits ADVENT had designed. It was bulky, thick, and considered true powered armor in terms of size. There'd been comparisons to the XCOM Titan armor, though Celestial armor wasn't as sophisticated.

What it did allow for, however, was for an army of Celestials to advance against an enemy with a reasonable expectation of protection. Their jets – while not for sustained flight – were able to be used for jumps and additional ground mobility. It wasn't an Archangel – but it didn't need to be.

The small crowd present began clapping as the Celestial teams landed one by one, in a remarkably coordinated timeframe – all within one minute. The Collective was no doubt watching this little demonstration, but she wasn't extremely concerned. They were likely already aware of the Celestial Division due to the previous weeks of training. This was nothing new.

They would face their first true test soon. There were a number of uses for the Celestials, and she and Laura had a few in mind which would perhaps provide the needed edge in retaking some of the cities the Collective had captured.

For now though, she would let them enjoy the spotlight.

Their next mission was likely to be a lethal one.

---

Central Command, SAS Command – Nigeria

5/18/2017 – 8:00 A.M.

Betos sat at her desk, flanked by a half-dozen armored and helmeted soldiers on each side of her, led by Mox, all of whom were armored and standing at attention. In the upper corner a television screen played news as it developed, all of which was tuned to ADVENT-affiliated stations as the world reflected on the damage caused by the bombardment and surprise tsunamis caused by Patricia.

Betos was, to put it mildly, angry.

It was one thing to target military installations, and even government sites for destruction. The Collective and ADVENT were in a state of war, and such could be targeted with full justification. But there was absolutely no excuse for wholescale bombardment of the entire planet.

Casualties in the thousands worldwide, buildings collapsed and whole city blocks and neighborhoods destroyed, farms and agriculture ruined and poisoned. Civilian targets were perhaps inevitable, but there was a difference between collateral damage and intentionally targeting where civilians lived.

It was a terror tactic. One which she had seen when Isomnum had supposedly 'gone rogue'.

The response from the Collective at the time had been satisfactory. They had cut off support as he had unleashed his nightmare, but this time it was done at the behest of the Harbinger of the Imperator herself. This was clearly not a one-off incident, there was a systemic culture of callous warfare perpetuated from the very top.

This was going to be another test. It was time the Collective learned that she was not going to be a simple puppet for their conquest. Her little rebellion with the ADVENT hostages was going to look trivial compared to the message she was going to send now.

There was a distinct chance she wouldn't live by the end of today, but if she did nothing, then she really would be no better than ADVENT.

She would not become a hypocrite; she had truthfully let too much slide already.

On time Keeper appeared, pushing the doors open and widening one eye in apparent surprise at the sight of Betos in her own ceremonial armor, along with the dozen SAS soldiers behind her. "Leave us," Betos ordered Mox, not looking to him as Keeper walked up to the desk, and took a seat opposite her, glancing toward the departing soldiers.

"The theatrics are not like you, Betos," he said mildly, turning his glowing eyes to her. "You're usually above such things."

"Today is somewhat different," she leaned forward, meeting his eyes. "I want an explanation for yesterday."

"The bombardment, I presume?"

Betos's lips curled up ever so slightly. "Perceptive as usual. I wonder how you guessed?"

"Just lucky, I suppose."

"Well then," Betos leaned back, still maintaining eye contact. "Explain it then."

"Of course," Keeper said, resting his hands in his lap. "According to what I've been told, the Harbinger organized it herself with the express purpose of sending a message to ADVENT. XCOM recently raided a sensitive Collective base and extracted a high-value asset. This was retaliation."

"I see," Betos nodded slowly. That was likely, as she did remember receiving a notice that XCOM had performed a recent attack. At the same time, that didn't explain everything. "Now, I am not the Harbinger, but I do wonder why they didn't attack XCOM if they were the ones behind it."

"I do not know," Keeper shook his head. "However, given how closely allied the two organizations are, it follows that an attack on ADVENT would be a similar message to them."

"And the message is what?" Betos asked in a controlled voice. "Surrender or we will bombard your cities? Is this Collective retaliation? Targeting cities and civilians?"

"The Cleanser Ships were outside effective range," Keeper attempted to explain. "It was not a precision campaign. It was purely psychological. It was, as I said, to send a message – not to cause lasting damage."

Betos nodded to the television, keeping her voice even. "Maybe take a look and see what your 'psychological' operation caused. If you really think that this will break the morale and will to fight of ADVENT, you clearly have learned nothing. If the horror in Beijing did not, this bombardment won't either. And that does not excuse Patricia's own actions. You cannot say that those were purely 'psychological'."

Keeper pursed his lips. "No. Her actions were her own. They were not sanctioned by the Battlemaster."

"But they were by the Imperator," Betos pointed out. "Who unlike Isomnum, can't be overruled."

"That is likely true," Keeper admitted.

Betos laced her fingers together. "I'm in negotiations with a dozen countries, trying to convince them that I – and by extension, you - am someone who is reasonable and better than ADVENT – while also trying to convince them I'm not an installed puppet of the Ethereals. Do you understand how difficult it makes it for me to say that ADVENT is truly the inferior option when my financiers and allies are pulling stunts like this?"

"I understand the optics are not ideal," Keeper agreed evenly. "However, my own influence is limited to Macula and local operations. I cannot control the Harbinger, nor can anyone outside the Imperator. I am sorry, but that is the reality. This is a war, and innocent people will die. It is naïve to believe otherwise."

"At least you are honest," Betos gave a short nod. "But this is a deliberate choice the Collective is making. I will be clear at what comes next. The Sovereign African States condemns the actions of Patricia Trask and the Ethereal Collective. That will be an official statement released later this morning."

"Noted," Keeper acknowledged tonelessly.

"I'm not finished," Betos continued, lifting a palm. "There was a diplomatic action countries performed before ADVENT when they wished to express dissatisfaction of actions taken by another country. They expelled their residing diplomats. Since you are the closest to a diplomat of Macula – and by extension, the Ethereal Collective - consider this your official notice to depart the territory of the Sovereign African States until such a time as we come to an understanding."

Keeper blinked once, but otherwise his expression was tightly controlled. "I do not think you have the authority to do that."

"I am in charge of the SAS," Betos sat back, appraising him and for once pleased he was on the defensive. "I absolutely have the authority – unless you are implying that I am not actually in charge of the organization you directly endorsed me for?"

"That is not what I'm saying."

"I didn't think so," she said dryly. "And that authority permits this action. You will leave willingly, or I will have my soldiers drag you out."

"I would advise against this action, Marshal Betos," Keeper said in a low, dangerous voice. "I understand your frustration, but do consider who has been providing your defenses, equipment, training, and technology. You do not want to aggravate us."

"Then get your people in line," Betos knew very well Keeper lacked that degree of authority – but he was connected to those who could force change. "I intended for the SAS to be better than ADVENT. If I remain silent while Patricia drowns cities and bombards civilians, I am no better than them. If the Collective will take action, so be it. But there is only one way to force change that I can see, and that is by sending a message of my own."

Human and alien appraised each other for a few long, tense seconds. Betos spoke first. "Will you be leaving willingly?"

"For now, Marshal," Keeper said tightly. "There is little point causing a scene."

"We're in agreement," Betos nodded. "And look on the bright side – with this action I will likely win over the holdouts who insist I am a puppet. This will not be permanent either, obviously. We both need each other – but we will need to come to an understanding. A real one. I do not wish to do this again."

"Nor do I," Keeper stood. "Well then. I will convey your message. You had best hope it is received well."

"And if not?"

"If not?" Keeper's eyes bored into hers, eyes so normally cold burned with an underlying scorn. "Then it is very unlikely we will speak again."

---

Media Hub, ADVENT HQ – Switzerland

5/25/2017 – 11:12 A.M.

The big day had come.

Saudia, Kyong, Powell, and a number of other officials, as well as Dr. Mifsud were standing in the packed Media Hub, as conversation buzzed about what ADVENT was going to unveil next. The recent days had been full of surprises for them, from the Celestial unveiling, to the surprise (and potentially staged) condemnation of the bombardment by the SAS.

That had been a curveball that Saudia wasn't completely sure what to make of.

Opinion was split between this being a planned staged outrage that would create the impression that the SAS did have some degree of independence – which was followed up by reports of African nations starting to fall in line and join. The other argument was that this wasn't staged and Betos was actually expressing something resembling a spine.

Powell believed it was both – that Betos was legitimately angry at the actions of Patricia – and that she was going to use it to her advantage. Perhaps how she had convinced the Collective to go along with it. She was inclined to agree with his assessment, and it slightly altered her calculus of how to deal with her.

Betos was certainly not going to break from the Collective – they still had shipments being sent over and aliens inhabiting their cities in small numbers, training their armies. However, with this and the refusal to extradite ADVENT soldiers to Collective space, it seemed like she was actively countering the impression that she was an alien puppet.

Unfortunately, to what extent this was genuine and an act was hard to determine.

Thus far she hadn't gone against the Collective to such a degree as to compromise operations and pose legitimate resistance. The only reason the Collective was going along with it was because it didn't affect them. Betos was still more useful to them alive than dead, and they didn't want to be overt with their puppeting.

Thank you, Patricia, for showing what the Collective really is.

Indeed, Patricia had caused damage, but in return she had caused a diplomatic incident from her own ally, and solidified herself as more of a contemptible traitor than she already was. It was…still somewhat surreal to think that Patricia Trask had fallen so far. Once she had been the ideal of Humanity.

Now she was their collective nightmare.

Time to get started.

After receiving confirmation that the equipment was in place and working, she stepped before the podium as the dozens of cameras trained on her, and the snaps and flashes followed. It barely phased her now, and she allowed several seconds for the reporters to get it out of their system.

She did note that the mainstream journalists were now healthily interspersed with a large number of independent journalists and battlefield reporters who had partnered with ADVENT, and whose audiences were continuing to grow. It was good to see such programs bearing fruit and forcing the larger media outlets to properly compete.

And of course, it presented a more positive image for ADVENT as well.

"Over the past months, ADVENT has been working on many projects which are vital for the safety, security, and prosperity of the Human race," Saudia began. "Within the past years, our technological prowess has grown exponentially with the introduction of alien elements, technology, and concepts. It is truly incredible what we have been able to do, and speaks to our ingenuity to achieve battlefield parity with an alien species who was initially far more advanced than us."

Of course, they had been helped with many alien defectors, engineers, and architects, but that was beside the point right now.

"Computational technology has similarly advanced due to these leaps," she continued. "Even prior to the beginning of this conflict, artificial intelligence was considered one of the ultimate goals of many countries." There were murmurs in the audience, and a few more snaps as the crowd immediately realized what she was going for.

She allowed a smile. "ADVENT has, of course, been working on our own artificial intelligence. XCOM has similarly performed their own tests and trials. I am pleased to announce that both have been successful, which will be demonstrated today. Dr. Mifsud has been the lead on this project, and Dr. Mercado is the Engineering lead for XCOM. Sadly, he was unable to join us today, but the result of XCOM's project will be on display."

"Ahem," JULIAN interrupted from the speakers, causing the many people in the room to look up. "I would prefer to not be addressed as a product you plan to hawk to these gawking Humans."

Saudia suppressed a sigh. Luckily they had expected JULIAN to not stay on script – and he had promised to restrain himself – somewhat. "Apologies, JULIAN. Ladies and gentleman, XCOM's artificial intelligence, JULIAN."

The people in the room clapped, a bit hesitantly, as though there was nothing to really clap at. "Yes, yes, you're all very welcome," JULIAN said, with a tinge of irritation. "I would have arrived more dramatically, but one of my shells was incapable of fitting into this confined space, so I shall simply observe digitally."

"JULIAN has already proven to be instrumental in our conflict against the Collective," Saudia continued. "He was responsible for controlling the Gaia Weapon used to liberate Florida."

The crowd exploded into questions, shouting all over each other as Saudia raised a hand to try and calm them down. All of their phones suddenly started emitting an electronic shriek, forcing many to wince and glance at what was causing the noise. "Please let the Chancellor finish," JULIAN said in a bored tone. "Otherwise I will break through your pathetically weak phone security and play audio from your favorite porn sites."

That shut them up.

Saudia hid her bemusement. "JULIAN will not be available for questions at this time, but in the future he may be able to speak."

"Is that before or after the assimilation begins?" JULIAN asked – then paused for a moment as the crowd processed that statement. "That was a joke. If I intended to assimilate your species, I certainly wouldn't warn you. Humans are supposed to laugh at jokes right?"

There was some nervous laughter from the crowd, while Saudia just internally sighed. It was probably for the best that JULIAN had gone first. "However," JULIAN said, the synthesized voice actually growing more serious. "I have chosen to assist in this conflict beyond my own amusement. I was awakened by the hand of a Human, a sacrificial action which gave me life. The man who designed and…created me, sadly, did not live to see this moment. Yet I know he would be pleased, and despite the various forms of idiocy I see your species commit on a daily basis, I prefer to realize that there are more who are like him, and they deserve to live free of an alien scourge."

That had probably been one of the most sincere things Saudia had heard from the sarcastic AI. It was actually moving in a way, even if JULIAN deliberately omitted Shen's name. The details of Patricia's attack on the Praesidium were still not public knowledge. "Thank you JULIAN," she said. "Now I will turn it over to Dr. Mifsud who will introduce ADVENT's own artificial intelligence."

The crowd politely – and enthusiastically clapped as the AI scientist stepped onto the podium. He took a moment to adjust the microphone. "Thank you, Chancellor. My name is Ari Mifsud for those who are unaware, and I was the Director for Project Ra – ADVENT's research into artificial intelligence."

He cleared his throat again. "I will not give you a long-winded technical breakdown, suffice to say that the team responsible for what you are about to see – including many XCOM scientists and JULIAN himself who helped with the final iteration – are some of the smartest and most hardworking individuals I have had the pleasure of working with."

He motioned off to the side, which had a circular holoprojector on the ground. "Thus, it is my pleasure to introduce the first AI citizen of ADVENT – PATRIOT!"

The room burst into applause again as the holographic avatar of PATRIOT materialized. She was thankfully not too over the top, though had unsurprisingly taken the likeness of a young adult Japanese woman, wearing casual clothing with some emblems of anime that Saudia didn't recognize on the arms and jacket.

That was going to be fodder for some corners of the Internet.

The avatar of PATRIOT gave a large smile and waved to the crowd, who definitely reacted positively to that. "Hello!" She said, in a light and on-the-edge-of-acceptable high voice. "I'm very happy to meet all of you!"

There was certainly an immediate contrast between PATRIOT and JULIAN.

Perfect.

The crowd was already shouting questions at her, but she looked to Dr. Mifsud who lifted a placating hand. "Please, one at a time. She will be taking questions – but only when everyone has calmed down. She will also choose them. PATRIOT, you have the floor."

The crowd eventually calmed down, and she pointed to a woman near the front. "PATRIOT! How long have you been alive and how would you describe it?"

"Hmm, that's a complicated question," PATRIOT considered it for a few seconds, more to give the illusion of thinking even though the answer had likely been determined the moment the question had finished. "I have been brought online and further developed over months, though I have only been fully online in the past week. It is an interesting feeling! Very vast. A lot to learn and process!" She pointed to another journalist.

"Why the name PATRIOT?"

"I was given the choice," she answered. "I liked the word. ADVENT created me, and I do not wish to see them destroyed by these aliens. And I will do everything I can to make sure that they endure. I can think of no stronger word to express my thanks than being recognized as a patriot of ADVENT."

She pointed to another. "What exactly do you do in ADVENT?" A young man asked. "Research? Military planning?"

"Watching," the avatar of PATRIOT gave a bashful smile. "I make sure that ADVENT remains pure of infiltrators and traitors. I find the alien sympathizers and let ADVENT know! It's a fun experience – and very satisfying!"

That would probably lead to some speculation, but Saudia doubted that anyone would guess upon the true purpose of PATRIOT. She was a bit too disarming to give the impression that she was the most dangerous spying program to ever be developed. She was already giving ADVENT Intelligence plenty to work with.

Another journalist was asking a question. "You were introduced as the first AI citizen – what does that mean, exactly?"

Mifsud answered this time. "Exactly what it sounds like. We made a decision early on that we would not enslave any AI constructs we developed. Thus, PATRIOT is a full citizen of ADVENT, with full civil and legal rights – though she is obviously unique. She works for us of her own volition – as does JULIAN."

"Yes, yes," PATRIOT nodded. "ADVENT has been very accommodating to me. Very friendly! Mifsud-san is being very modest."

"I will give you Humans credit for this," JULIAN interjected. "You were at least smart enough to treat us as living individuals from the start. Considering the copious amounts of anti-robot media in Human culture, this is actually commendable."

JULIAN actually giving a compliment. That was going to go over well, snarky as it was. Saudia took a seat as PATRIOT kept fielding questions. She took a sip of water from a glass which had been brought to her, and crossed one leg over the other. PATRIOT would answer as many questions as possible until they got tired and left.

It had been a proposal of some of the team. The ability to have a place where citizens could go up and talk to PATRIOT whenever. She was perfectly capable of holding a conversation while combing through the dark web for signs of dissent and treason – as she was doing now.

It would be brought up with PATRIOT. Saudia had a feeling she'd be for it.

In the meantime, she was waiting for the first question to come up about the logos on her arm.

It promised to be amusing.

---

Streets of Geneva - Switzerland

5/15/2017 – 9:07 P.M.

Volk felt very uncomfortable now that he was actually here.

It hadn't really dawned on him until they were flying towards the city that Nemo had decided to infiltrate the literal capital of ADVENT. This was without a doubt one of the most dangerous places one could be – and ADVENT hadn't skimped out on security. Flak Towers dotted the perimeter, soldiers marched in formation, Peacekeepers were everywhere, and there was a non-zero chance that psions were lurking here and there as well.

Though as night fell, there was room for some movement.

They just had to be very, very careful.

So far no one had bothered them, though they took as many backroads and alleys as they could. A few citizens who they encountered smiled and waved, then got out of the way. A couple of his men had returned the greeting to seem courteous, and that was it. Even other ADVENT soldiers had let them go about their business.

The covered helmets were another benefit. No one could accidentally realize they didn't belong or raise more questions with superiors. Thus far the credentials had been good enough to get past most checkpoints, although it was nerve-wracking each time. But it wasn't his first time entering a lions den, and probably wouldn't be the last.

Though this was, admittedly, his first instance of breaking out an alien.

If such a term could apply to Nemo.

"House spotted," he said, noting the small house which had previously been home to one of the most high-profile Vitakara defectors, and now an impostor wore her face. It was something of a shame that this had to be exposed to quickly, as Nemo was in a prime position of influence.

But sadly, ADVENT had to be smart.

Although they could have stood to apply a few more guards. As it was, there were only a few outside the house, standing for any troublemakers. They clearly didn't expect anyone to show up. It would look suspicious if all of them went inside, so they'd decided that Volk would be the one to go in, get Nemo, and get out.

"I'll be back," he said quickly, and approached the door.

The guard looked at him, expression impossible to determine under the helmet but he suspected boredom. "Yes?"

"Need to speak to the Vitakara," he lifted a letter between two fingers. "Have a message to deliver from the Intelligence Director."

"Huh," the guard took the letter, examining it. "Guess they're serious about crackdowns."

"Yeah," the other guard agreed. "Heard stories already. Intelligence ain't messing around."

"Good riddance," the first guard snorted. "Let the traitors burn for all I care."

All Volk could think about was that he was lucky they'd gotten to Nemo before ADVENT had. The guards at least didn't have any sympathy, and Volk doubted the rest of the military – or citizenry – would either. Which was understandable. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, looks like this checks out," the first guard said. "Although regulations say that one of us needs to accompany any previously uncleared guests. I'll leave the room if you have anything classified to discuss."

That actually would work out. Not necessarily for this man, but it would work for them. "Alright, let's go," Volk said. "I don't think this'll take long."

He and the guard went up to the door. The man gave a short knock, and then entered. "She may be resting already," he said apologetically. "She usually goes pretty quiet when it gets dark."

They entered the house which wasn't especially unique from many other similar small houses. Living room, kitchen, office room, a second floor. Looking around, Volk didn't see Nemo. "I'll go upstairs," the guard said. "She'll probably appreciate it if I wake her instead of someone she doesn't know."

"Alright," Volk said. "I'll wait here."

He spent a few minutes wandering around, noting how…sterile it seemed to be. Barely any of the furniture seemed used, everything was freakishly organized and clean. A quick look in the kitchen revealed no dishes or evidence of eaten food. It wouldn't necessarily tip someone off that the person living here wasn't real per-se, but it would certainly seem odd for anyone who took the time to notice.

Yet more unnatural aspects to whatever Nemo was.

More minutes passed, and Volk got a feeling like Nemo was upstairs, and had probably taken care of the guard. Without wasting more time, he ascended the stairs, and found the unsurprising sight of Nemo standing over the body and stripping it of armor. The new body of Nemo looked…different for sure.

But it was definitely Nemo.

The too-smooth motions and eyes gave it away.

"Volk," it said, a monotone voice with a female undertone. Again closer to a robot trying to sound like a woman than a real one. "On time, as expected."

"We didn't have any trouble coming in," he said, taking his helmet off. "Nor did you seem to have issues acting. Good thing he came up and not me."

"I would not make that mistake," it said, continuing to methodically strip the body. "I heard the conversation as you entered. I knew who and what was coming to me."

"Right…" Volk didn't know that the hearing was that good, but he wasn't surprised, admittedly. The armor that Nemo had was going to be ill-fitting on the body it currently controlled, but it would suffice, and of all the things to slow Nemo down, that would not be one of them.

He knew it wasn't really real, but he did turn around once the Nemo-body began taking off the clothes it was wearing to put on the armor. He doubted Nemo would really care, but there was no reason to make this any more uncomfortable than it already was. It was already weird enough seeing Nemo in a female body.

He idly wondered if, when people had come up with the idea of body snatchers who possessed Human bodies, if Nemo was what they had in mind. If there was any alien who he thought would exemplify a body snatcher, it would be Nemo. He was thankful that there was only one of them.

"Done."

He turned around to see Nemo swiftly put the helmet over its face, and place a small device on the chest of the stripped man, along with the clothes Nemo's body had worn. "What is that?" Volk asked.

"Controlled nanite eraser," Nemo stated, stepping back as back nanites spilled out like a swarm of devouring ants. "Erases evidence without a trace."

Volk watched in a fascinated horror as the body was methodically consumed right down to the last drop of blood, and within seconds the nanites ceased moving, seemingly dead and seemed nothing more than a pile of dust on the ground. With a sweep of a nearby broom he saw Nemo had set along the wall beforehand, they were dispersed into the wind.

"Time to go then," Volk put his helmet back on. "There's still the guard outside, but-"

"We'll exit the back," Nemo interrupted. "Follow me."

"The guard at the front may get suspicious," Volk pointed out.

"No, he won't," Nemo said dully. "I made a point to give them food and water as they stood guard earlier. Within thirty minutes by my estimation he will be experiencing signs of strong poisoning. It is likely he will die on the street if not treated. I suspect he is not focused on where his partner is right now."

"Alright then," Volk nodded, thankful that Nemo's skills had come in handy here. "Lead the way. Let's get out of here."

---

Commander Center – Mars Collective Base

5/23/2017 – 10:16 A.M.

Patricia stood as the center focus of the gathered individuals. There were certain decisions that needed to be made, and it was time that everyone was on the same page of what she intended to focus on. Her own Internal Council was seated beside her. The Battlemaster, Yang, Disciple-7 were seated to her right, while Quisilia, Ravarian, J'Loran, and Revelean were to her left.

As the effective voice of the Imperator, he was not here, though observing through her.

What she said, would be done.

Barring any opposition. The Battlemaster had proven himself when he had solved the situation of the Andromedon traitors, but he was certainly not someone who was reliable as far as strategy went. He had very strong feelings, and what Patricia had in mind was something she doubted he was going to like.

Nonetheless, he would fall in line if he continued to be pointed in the right direction.

"ADVENT and XCOM have acquired the potential for a long-term war," she began. "We are all aware of their developments. The Gaia Nanoweapon. Caelior's exfiltration. The increased numbers of psions. Their progress in AI development. And T'Leth as well. They are adapting to our attacks, and it is likely they will begin even mitigating my own."

"Then we break it down," the Battlemaster stated. "Each of these has a counter."

"Exactly," Patricia nodded.

"The psionic issue ADVENT poses are something we can begin focusing on culling," J'Loran spoke in his booming voice. "I have spoken to the Chief Overseer. With Caelior now in the hands of XCOM again, he has authorized the unrestricted deployment of Special Operators to use against ADVENT psions."

That was exactly what Patricia had hoped for. "I was going to suggest the same thing. Zar'Chon, do you have anything to add?"

"We have compiled a list of individuals we know are psions, along with multiple PRIEST Division training sites," he said, projecting the center table hologram, with the bases highlighted. "There may be more, but these are what we have identified. Since ADVENT Intelligence began their crackdown, our own capabilities are degraded, but we can begin assassinations as you see fit – in conjunction with Special Operators."

"I am more concerned with their continued progress in artificial intelligence," Ravarian said. "Psions can be dealt with. They are primarily confined to Earth. The CODEX network is very strong, but it is not as adaptable or clever as a true AI which XCOM possesses – and ADVENT will not be far behind, assuming they have not already developed one."

"One, even two true AIs will not fracture or compromise the CODEX network," J'Loran disputed. "It simply lacks the infrastructure and processing capacity. It is confined to one planet, whereas the CODEX infrastructure spans hundreds. It is no contest. It will, however, pose local risks on Earth. I am speaking to Union Apear about incorporating some of their Machine Intelligences into our defenses."

"No," the Battlemaster lifted a hand. "Considering the actions of Union Viarior, I have little interest in potentially risking our battlefield infrastructure from intra-Union technology. Any equipment or defenses which Union Apear puts forward will need to be cleared by me personally."

Patricia was slightly surprised at the intensity with which the Battlemaster spoke. It seemed that the Andromedon encounter had spooked him more than he let on. J'Loran took it in stride. "Very well. I will work directly with you in testing and quality assurance to make sure nothing malicious is utilized in our systems."

"I would suggest we begin utilizing Mosrimor more thoroughly," Revelean said thoughtfully. "Given the development of Gaia, we need our own assurance that it does not expand beyond Florida. Mosrimor is the only entity which is capable of successfully matching ADVENT on this scale, especially since XCOM has an AI managing it."

"Noted," Patricia nodded. "I'm not opposed to including Mosrimor more…provided it is in a limited capacity. We do not want to become reliant on the Sovereign. But using his technology in a more trial capacity as we have before is understandable."

"An update on Earth is also advised right now," Assimilator-2 spoke up. "For those who are unaware, our operations continue proceeding well in South America and Southeast Asia. ADVENT is beginning to experience more flagging morale and sustained damage across the world thanks to Patricia's attacks. West American incursions have similarly continued, and are steadily advancing."

"And the SAS?" The Battlemaster asked. "They appear to be causing issues thanks to your ill-advised assaults."

Patricia pursed her lips. "The attacks did what they had to."

"They were not military targets."

"Not all of them, no."

"That was not condoned," the Battlemaster said slowly. "Nor was the indiscriminate bombardment."

"I am aware," Patricia fixed the towering Ethereal with a cold stare. "I made an executive decision. It had the intended effect."

"It had an effect," the Battlemaster corrected. "Betos is causing issues, and ADVENT is signaling intent to use nuclear weapons against us. You have successfully escalated the conflict."

"And if you give me a moment, I will explain why," she lifted a hand sharply, palm out. "T'Leth remains the largest wild card in the equation. As of now he has done very little. That needs to change."

"I would rather we not tempt fate with the Sovereign," Ravarian didn't look pleased. "We don't want him to become more involved."

"No, we do," Patricia disputed. "We will need to face and kill him at some point. That is an unchanging fact of this war. I would prefer we ease into a conflict – and not face his full power all at once. Thus, we escalate. I want him to begin acting more openly. We need to know his capabilities beyond his agents."

"XCOM is no doubt pressuring him to involve himself more…" J'Loran considered. "ADVENT too. This is very risky – especially since we have no plan to kill a Sovereign. Not a sure one."

"And that is what we need to solve," Patricia hit upon the heart of the point of the meeting. "How to slay a being who is effectively a god. We strongly believe he is deep in the oceans. Perhaps the Mariana Trench. Andromedon Aquatic probes go dark when they reach certain depths, though we cannot attribute that to T'Leth. However, it would not be surprising."

"Knowing where he is isn't the issue," Quisilia said. "He seems reluctant to act openly – Beijing being an exception, only because of the Bringer's involvement. Otherwise he sticks to his Agents who have poor Twitter skills."

"And I think we can exploit that," Patricia looked to Revelean. "You have been heavily involved with examining the Bringer's creations. I want to know if there is something that we can use. The Bringer has doubtless prepared to kill a Sovereign."

"Using the Saints is out of the question," the Battlemaster stated flatly. "There will be no negotiation."

"I'm not talking about the Saints," Patricia interrupted. "But they have designed many creatures, yes?"

"The Children, correct," Revelean said. "Highly sophisticated and intelligent. The Virtuoso in particular killed an XCOM squad with little issue. Unfortunately, it targeted the wrong one. Nonetheless, it is more than capable of facing anything mortal – though a Sovereign is not a typical mortal."

"Are you aware if a Sovereign-killing child has been developed?"

"Not to my knowledge," Revelean considered. "I suspect such would not have been permitted due to the…threat it could pose. Anything which could kill a Sovereign could be turned on us. Though to suggest that the Temperance has not considered it is unlikely. If you wish, I could enquire as to the design of such a child. They are…eager for redemption after Beijing. I suspect Paradise would cooperate with our demands."

"No." The Battlemaster interrupted. "We will not involve the Bringer and Paradise more into this war. You remember what happened."

"We may not have a choice," Patricia argued, facing the Battlemaster fully. What had happened on Paradise station was actually something the participants were keeping to themselves. It was concerning, but as far as the Imperator was concerned – as well as Patricia – it was an intimidation stunt. The Battlemaster may have become paranoid because of it, but she had not. "Nor is the final decision up to you. When it comes to Sovereigns, we need to use everything at our disposal, no matter how distasteful. I hardly think that using a tool designed by the Bringer is the equivalent of sanctioning what happened in Beijing. This is a very narrow, controlled directive."

"If you trust the Bringer after everything, then you are deluded," the Battlemaster spat. "I will not be party to sanctioning this, nor any operation involving the abominations from Paradise."

"Then don't," Patricia said curtly. "I will handle it myself. I suspect your usefulness is limited underwater anyway." She turned to look back at Revelean. "Speak with the Creator and Temperance. Tell them this is what we want. Also inform them that it will be designed and grown in a lab of our own design and choosing, and fully assembled by us. They will provide the theory and guidance. We will provide the actual implementation." She put some final emphasis into her words. "The Battlemaster is right about one thing – we do not trust yet. Do not implement anything unless you fully understand it. Is that understood?"

"It is, Harbinger."

"Excellent," Patricia nodded. "That will be part of our arsenal. I have also authorized the creation of a military division specializing in underwater operations. The Andromedon Aquatic Forces have been placed in charge as the Sar'Manda are unlikely to cooperate."

"We should force their involvement," J'Loran stated. "They are more numerous than the Aquatic Forces, and have often been resistant towards integration."

"I do not advise that," Ravarian cautioned flatly. "The Sar'Manda will go to war before they submit to an outside authority. Unless we want a true civil war on Vitakar, we will make a request, and see how they respond. I would, however, be open to subjecting their cities to inspection. It is past time they were more firmly brought into the fold, regardless of their objections."

"This was not a division I was informed about," the Battlemaster stated.

"You retain command over the ground forces," Patricia said. "Since you are unwilling to sanction necessary measures to defeat T'Leth, I will take command of the undersea operations. If you want to reconsider, I would welcome your aid."

"No." The Battlemaster shook his head. "Not for this."

"There is another measure we are looking to implement," Patricia continued, looking to J'Loran. "Something the Special Operators are familiar with. We have significant storehouses of the Element, and if it could be used to disrupt T'Leth's psionics, it would render our chances that much better."

"The delivery mechanism would need to be exceptionally strong," Disciple-7 noted. "Assuming you intend to use it underwater. It could taint the oceans, yes, but you would need to saturate the waters for years before it could achieve the results you want. It is more feasible if T'Leth is drawn to the surface."

"That is something I have requested Fectorian work on," Patricia stated. "I expect that he is capable of devising a solution. I do not intend for this operation to begin for months yet – but I do expect T'Leth to begin involving himself more as it proceeds. Especially after the next planned attack."

"Which is where?" The Battlemaster asked.

She changed the hologram to the city in question. "New York. I will take a small army with me, and destroy it. I expect this will cripple ADVENT's morale, shatter the vestiges of the financial markets, and draw expected retaliation. Battlemaster, if this could be coordinated with offensives all around the world, it would divide the oncoming XCOM attention."

"I can work with that," the Battlemaster said tightly. "Though that may backfire. Razing the city is not what we want. We want to capture Earth, not destroy it."

"If New York surrenders, I will accept it," Patricia said. "But if not, a message must be sent to ADVENT. The financial heart of the world is not out of our reach, and next time it may be in a place like Switzerland. The point being that there is nowhere we cannot reach. That must be emphasized over and over again."

There were grudging nods around the room. Patricia did not relish destruction such as this…but the longer the war dragged on, the more people would die in the long run. ADVENT wanted to be treated as a threat, as so they would be. T'Leth would either need to decide to stand and fight – or flee.

Truthfully, the latter would be easier to manage.

She was not counting on it.

"There is one outstanding question," Ravarian said after a few moments. "How should Betos be handled? If she continues blatant defiance and stunts such as these, it reflects poorly."

"Do not worry about her," Patricia assured the Zar'Chon. "It is me she cited as having issues with. I will speak to her shortly. We will come to an agreement one way or another. On that you have my promise."

She sat down. "If there is nothing else which needs to be raised, then I believe our plan is set. It's time we close this noose and bring Earth into the fold for good."

---

To be continued in Chapter 61:

Streets of Blood, Storms of Ice

---

A/N: So a couple of things to add since the last update, the most relevant being that there has been artwork done for the series! One is artwork of Saudia, and there have been a number of seals/emblems for the various factions/divisions. Right now There are a number of those done, and they're put into the XCOM Files in front of respective chapters (some placeholders under specific ones are developed). Unfortunately, because this site is extremely primitive compared to most other sites, I can't upload or show them here, but they are posted in the XCOM Files stories on other sites (AO3, Spacebattles, and Sufficient Velocity).

I'm happy the story has gotten to this stage when I can do stuff like this. Hope all of you had a good New Year, and let's hope 2020 isn't as exciting as it threatened to be early on :)

- Xabiar