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.

66. Sever the Head

Sever the Head

---

Shooting Range, Abuja – Nigeria

6/5/2017 – 8:00 A.M.

The rifle felt good in her hands. Familiar. Simple.

Cathartic.

She'd never been the greatest marksman, either in Israel or later in ADVENT. The shooting, the killing; that had never been her primary motivation for military service. Patriotism, leadership, brotherhood; all of that was more important and consequential than shooting guns. Some people memorized gun types, and could list off the minute details of each, and had the perfect one for each situation. No shortage of those people.

Not her though.

She hadn't done it regularly for weeks now. Some evenings she and Mox had gone out, had some light banter and a shooting competition, before discussing what had to be done next. Never serious, and she'd privately wondered if she'd ever truly be on a battlefield again. She was head of a multi-state power bloc now.

Those kinds of people didn't go into battle.

How quickly things could change.

She couldn't decide why she was going to do this. On paper it was simple. It was to send a message of resilience, the leader of the SAS on the front lines to defend their nations. It was to contrast Saudia who would never risk herself like this. Saudia was not a soldier, and had probably never contemplated it.

But on a deeper, personal level, this was something she needed.

Perhaps she privately wanted it to end.

But not before she made them hurt.

She needed to make ADVENT somewhere, somehow, feel the persistent pain she felt now. It was more than just Mox being assassinated. That had been the catalyst for her pain she felt now, but it had exposed just how…fragile everything was.

She'd sunk every waking moment since deciding to take a stand against ADVENT, trying to do something to make it better. To show there was an alternative to what ADVENT was imposing over the world. And at every single obstacle she faced hardship, hurdles, cowards, and tyrants.

There seemed to be no good people left to hold power.

And I am somehow better?

One shot, one kill.

Not anymore.

It seemed…pointless now.

What was the point of trying to be better, to stand for something, if all it did was make you weak and cause you to lose your friends. This was her fault. Because of her stupid insistence on trying to impose some kind of accountability to ally and enemy alike, the aliens had withdrawn – at her order – and ADVENT had probably laughed themselves silly as they sent in the assassins

She had no one – no one to blame but herself for that.

Betos had watched the video of the shot; more times than was healthy. She didn't think the assassin had been aiming for her at all. There'd been nothing obscuring the shot. The sniper was either utterly incompetent – or she'd never been the target in the first place. ADVENT didn't send the incompetent.

Mox had been the target. It made perfect sense as she'd thought about it. Why exactly would ADVENT want to kill her? She was just making it easy for them.

Exploitable. Naïve.

Why tamper with a useful idiot?

She fired again.

One shot, one kill.

She'd known ADVENT was ruthless. They were driven by a machine's logic. But this simply seemed…cruel. Done for no other reason than to hurt her.

Then again, what had she truly expected? For ADVENT to approach an assassination with dignity and respect? That ADVENT was somehow not cruel to begin with? When they annexed countries? Sanctioned and starved others? Conquered the Middle East in a modern-day crusade? ADVENT was not moved by the plight or consequence their actions caused.

All in service to Humanity.

What exactly did they care if they killed her one friend? Her one constant anchor in this madness?

They didn't care.

She fired.

The gun clicked.

She peered down at it and sighed. New magazine needed. She had no intention of stopping, but had no more magazines on her. No more tears, she had shed all of those at the small, private funeral they had held. A few more had come afterwards at the realization that she was now well and truly alone. The aliens would help, but she didn't implicitly trust them.

Even within her own soldiers, there were none whom she had a bond with like Mox. Maybe in the future that would change, but she didn't know. All she knew was that she had to move on, and make ADVENT hurt. Somehow. Some way.

She turned to go to the tables with clips laying on them and froze in place.

"Hello, Marshal Betos," Patricia Trask said.

Beyond the fact that she towered over Betos – it was intimidating just how large the Harbinger was in person – she almost seemed somewhat ordinary. She didn't wear any armor, only some kind of Collective officer uniform of white and gold, with the Collective emblem embroidered on the chest.

Her chestnut hair fell sharply to her shoulders, and her face was, surprisingly, sympathetic. Both hands were clasped before her. Betos was almost surprised she was here, considering she was thought to be badly injured in New York. But then again…she was the Imperator's Harbinger. Nothing could keep her down for long.

Normally this kind of visit would have been…terrifying.

Now though, she just felt…apathy. She didn't know what Trask could have come for. To chew her out for kicking out Keeper? To say, justifiably, 'I told you so' in regards to ADVENT? She doubted Trask could make her feel worse than she felt right now. "Harbinger," she said in a dull voice. "I wasn't aware you were coming."

"I made an impromptu decision," Trask answered, slightly nodding her head behind her. "Macula informed me what had happened."

That made sense. "I see."

"I'm sorry," Patricia shook her head. "The area should have been secured beforehand. That should not have happened. I wanted to apologize for that."

"Accepted, but unnecessary," Betos sighed, walking over to the table and laying the rifle down. "I'm aware it's my fault. You don't need to dance around it."

Patricia almost looked at her with a grim knowingness. "I lost my best friend too. Early in the war."

Betos paused what she was doing and listened as she continued. "Her name was Paige. We'd been friends for…" she allowed a slight smile, thinking back. "A long time. Inseparable. We did everything we could together, no matter where we went, it was done together. We didn't have secrets, we had a close, unbreakable bond. In a way that's difficult to understand for people who don't experience that."

Patricia sighed. "We came into XCOM together as well, obviously. And she died to an alien. Something we didn't understand. A mistake. In retrospect, I know what could have saved her – or at least given her a better chance of living. But at the time…it did feel like my fault. Losing that part of me she'd become was…hard."

Betos hadn't…expected this. The way she spoke; the same things she was saying, it was definitely real. "And how did you get past it?"

Patricia gave a wan smile. "You don't ever forget, nor should you. But I had people who made it easier. The Commander himself actually helped me. He listened. I talked." She paused. "You don't have anyone to talk to here, do you?"

Betos shook her head. "Just him. There's no one else I can really be…open with." She indicated the area around her generally. "I'm leading the SAS. They need a leader. Someone to rely on. They don't see me as a friend, not truly. Which is fine. Preferable in situations like this. But with him gone…" She breathed heavily, briefly closing her eyes.

Patricia nodded once. "You're under more pressure than I was. I was just a soldier in XCOM then. The decisions were made by people above me. You don't need to say how hard it is, I can feel it very acutely."

Right, she was a psion. "I guess that's something I can't control." Betos shrugged.

"Nor should you," Patricia said. "It's not healthy and doesn't help. You have the right idea with…this. Taking it out on something."

"Is there a better way?"

"I can only suggest what the Commander told me," Patricia answered. "It helps to talk about it. Just saying it out loud. Remembering memories. Honoring them in a way, passing on what made them special." She appraised Betos. "I don't necessarily have the Commander's…skill when it comes to things like this. But I didn't come here to berate you, Betos, I came to help if I could."

Betos had felt a lot of emotions regarding Patricia. Negative ones, because of the decisions she'd been attached to, and the orders she'd given. But those all just seemed to…fall apart now that the woman was standing before her, giving her support and a sympathetic ear when she needed it.

Whoever this woman was, she couldn't be completely terrible. She couldn't be a true monster like ADVENT said and what she'd privately wondered about – though why one would believe ADVENT was a question for another time.

And right now, she needed something. If the Harbinger was sincere…

"I wouldn't know where to really start," she said haltingly. "It's…a lot."

The Harbinger nodded as if knowing what she meant. "Let's walk, and take your time. I don't need to be anywhere, and I will be sure that no one disturbs us."

---

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

6/5/2017 – 11:00 P.M.

In the past few days she'd come to like this part of the ship.

There were other places of peace and quiet, but it felt more natural here.

A place to kneel, mediate, and think.

Quiet.

Focus.

Recover.

She had almost died. There was no avoiding this fact. She'd been beaten wholly and utterly. Partially due to her own arrogance, and partially due to the skill of her opponent. She was certain that she could have beaten Fiona – but all was easy in retrospect. Fiona had known who she was about to fight.

While she had not.

Not truly.

Even with the unknown capabilities of the woman, it was not an obstacle that could not be overcome. Yet those…capabilities…those had stuck with her. Telepathy or something else, she wasn't sure. Her dreams after she had passed out had been confusing. Her life in endless branches; disorienting; disturbing; unyielding.

The Overmind himself had to be brought in, and return her mind to a state of comprehension, anchored to reality.

Echoes lingered.

Images of herself in other places. A doctor, a lawyer, a teacher. Images of herself looking slightly different. Some her hair color was different; altered. Cut short or left to grow long. In some she was married to a man she did not know, sometimes with children who had her features. Images alone would have been disconcerting, but it was the emotions tied to them which made them feel real.

It unsettled her. Feeling for people she did not know, over memories of things which did not happen.

The echoes lingered.

It forced some kind of retrospection. There had to be retrospection.

She realized that she missed having a Human connection; one which had frayed over time. People to talk to often. She'd had that in XCOM; she'd had that with Creed; the rest of the Internal Council.

Here it was…different now. The Imperator did not fully count, as they were joined on a far closer level. The aliens were either unsure of what to think of her, or did not like her. The few Humans here were apathetic or against her for her stances and actions, mostly those which echoed the Imperator.

Her talk with Betos had been one which she appeared to have needed as much as the mourning woman. It had been…good. Something beyond the disconnect between the scale of the Sovereign conflict and the everyday war millions experienced. With power like this it was easy to be…detached.

Easier.

Until retrospection was forced and what had been abandoned along the way was clear.

Perhaps abandoned for valid reasons, but the slide had occurred nonetheless.

She missed Creed.

It hurt now in a way it hadn't before.

He'd listened when she'd had the dreams and visions from the Imperator.

He would have said the right things after this. She wanted that right now. It was something that even the Imperator couldn't convey.

She'd tried reaching out to him. But the psionic shroud over the Praesidium prevented any from penetrating. So all she could do was look towards it, wishing she could speak to him. Let him yell at her, hate her, whatever he would do. But it would be something.

But it was not permitted, not by T'Leth.

Perhaps with him gone, she could try again later.

In a way, she maybe owed Fiona a favor. She'd reminded her that she was still mortal. Still Human. The Imperator allowed her enormous power, but she needed to do more than wield power. More than that would be needed to succeed. The Commander would not surrender. Saudia would not yield. ADVENT would not fall from a simple push.

The actions which had been taken in the aftermath had been eye-opening – and yet not at the same time.

ADVENT was dangerous. The Commander was dangerous. T'Leth was dangerous.

All in their own way.

This was larger than just the Sovereign One. Should the Sovereign fall, ADVENT would still not give in – that was not how the Commander worked. The change in strategy she had been contemplating was now more and more justified.

Retribution followed retribution.

So it would be.

It had to be.

She felt him enter the Throne Room. The imposing, enveloping presence which she had grown comfortable around in these long months. It was not Creed, but it was…something. Something more than tepid words of comfort. There was very little that needed to be said, for the bond communicated it more quickly and honestly than words could suffice. Even without the mask, she knew it was something that grew stronger as time had gone on.

A comforting thing in times like this.

It is time to move forward.

Bring forward the end of the conflict.

The end of this war.

She could not agree more.

And she knew the steps she needed to now take.

---

Miridian's Office, Nulorian Outpost – Borelian Wastes

6/5/2017 – 9:17 A.M.

The knife-slits of the Vitakarian bored into both of them.

Yet Miridian's voice was measured. "I see."

Nartha crossed his arms. "I don't know if you really do."

"Presuming I take your word at face value, which I have no reason not to, then I have a better idea than you think," Miridian answered evenly. "I did not anticipate the Crypt would have one of the Faceless protecting it. I was unaware that there was another that existed."

Nartha blinked at the term. "You knew this existed?"

"Not specifically this," Miridian pursed his lips and paced around, clearly thinking. Trying to articulate something. "The Dath'Haram had been heavily involved in genetic modification prior to the Plague – which you are aware of. While the Zararch did not have complete access to the Crypt – they knew some of what was produced. Among them were the Faceless. I do not know the original name of the project, or even if that term is one used still."

Shun, who stood beside him, asked the question. "What are they?"

"Organic automatons," Miridian answered. "Or at least that was the best description which had been provided. Cultured Dath'Haram brains within an artificial shell from which a skeleton is built around. The Zararch believed it to be a true immortality project of some kind; a tribute to the vanity of expression. Infinitely modifiable. A Faceless could be anyone and look like anything. Vitakarian, Borelian, Human, Ethereal."

"Transspecies," Nartha finished slowly. "We were truly on that verge?"

"Closer than anyone knows," Miridian humphed. "The Plague broke out before the idea could be refined and 'produced'. At the time, it did not occur to me that this kind of immortality would also render them immune from conventional wounds. All that is natural is the brain."

"One moment," Shun lifted her hand. "How do you know this?"

"Because the Zararch have a Faceless," Miridian answered tightly. "One - kept in an isolated station accessible only by Gateway. I never met the thing, and by all accounts it is very intelligent, and very dangerous. Even the Zararch know better than to try using it. I suspect they only kept it to study it."

He frowned. "But the fact that there is – presumably – another, makes me wonder how many more are out there."

It took a moment before Nartha caught on. "If there are more out there…then we wouldn't know about them."

"No, we would not," Miridian confirmed. "And that is…disturbing."

"But we know about them," Shun pointed out. "Blood tests, genetic tests, we could likely find any infiltrators easily enough."

"Filhallan has verified blood and genetic tests spanning hundreds of years," Miridian answered flatly. "He is, for all intents and purposes, a Dath'Haram. A real one. But real Dath'Haram die, and he does not. This also explains his unnatural lifespan, and non-Dath'Haram outlook compared to the rest of his kind."

"Is he a Collective agent then?"

"I'm unsure," Miridian rubbed his chin. "I'm inclined to say he has his own agenda, given that the Zararch still does not have access to the Crypt. But that is a very risky assumption – and I do not know what his agenda could be. If it is guarding the Crypt, he is a non-factor. But if additional Faceless are being produced, that has significantly larger implications."

Nartha closed his eyes. Wonderful.

"He was able to kill Sorras, one of the best Bladedancers who lived," Miridian continued. "A significant loss. But he at least forced the Bladedancer to reveal himself. His sacrifice will not be in vain. But we will need to determine a means of containing the Crypt." He looked to Shun. "XCOM may be required. I presume you will inform the Commander of this."

"Yes, I will," Shun nodded, though narrowed her eyebrows. "I don't suppose there are any other things you want to mention that the Collective may have, or otherwise could cause us problems. People died today. If we'd known this was possible-"

"It would not have made any difference," Miridian interrupted neutrally. "But in response to your question, none which come to mind. I had truthfully forgotten the project even existed until you explained what had happened. However, I will review what I know in the archives." He rested a hand on the table. "Siaru will scour them for potential references."

"Right." Nartha was unsure how he felt about that machine performing such a task, but it was better than nothing. "I presume we can expect retaliation for what happened."

"Absolutely, but this was anticipated," the lips of Miridian thinned. "Outside of the Crypt, the operation was a success. Fires burn all over the forest, and chemicals choke the vegetation and soil, and will persist for months thanks to our operatives. Half the Council of Dath'Haram are dead, and thousands joined them."

Shun audibly sighed. "Terror won't solve the problem."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Miridian tapped a finger on the table. "And terror is ultimately only a tool. The Zararch can be…overzealous in their operations. It is remarkably easy to frame someone as deviant. Easy to trip triggers on the CODEX network to force investigations. The Speaker will want to have a show of force; a tangible response to this 'terrorism'. He'll find it easy, thanks to us."

Shun paled slightly at the implication. "How many people did you frame?"

"Enough."

"How many is enough?"

"Enough to brag about, not enough that it can't be covered up," Miridian explained, taking a seat. "The flaw of the Zararch is that they believe they can do no wrong. They are brutal. Efficient. Targets disappear in the dead of night, with only a cursory notification to the family. Now will they learn they were fooled? Of course, but you were with the Zararch, Nartha. Would they admit to fault? Would they let them go, innocent or not?"

A pause. "Unlikely."

"And that is all that is needed," Miridian finished. "We know they are innocent. The Zararch will know – and the families will know. All the rage against the 'Nulorian terrorists' will fade, if not pale in comparison to the anger they will feel at the Aui'Vitakar." He smiled. "Especially when we begin releasing proof that they were framed. Siaru can impersonate a CODEX signature quite well."

"The Zararch will just clamp down harder," Nartha warned.

"Good. The more they are focusing on the citizens, the more they will be revealed, and the less they will be focused on us," he answered curtly. "People will wake soon enough. I've heard that the Aui'Vitakar are already holding a session to publicly expand Zararch powers to find the terrorists, and potentially abolish the local governments for good."

Nartha was stunned. The shock surged through him like a lightning bolt. Shun seemed equally surprised, even if she couldn't comprehend the full scope of what might be happening. "Impossible. The Authoritative Council, the Sar'Manda; they would never accept it. Even the Hegemony…"

"Quisilia himself is set to address the Aui'Vitakar," Miridian lifted a hand in interruption. "The Ethereals will make their personal support clear, and the Aui'Vitakar will go along with it like the hapless puppets they are."

He cocked his head. "And as you know, the Cobrarian Hierarchy is effectively gone. Purged due to treason. Half of the Council of Dath'Haram is dead, and the forest is burning. They can persuade the Republic and the Authoritative Council for reasons of safety. The Hegemony's support will be sealed thanks to the Ethereals. As for the Sar'Manda…" he shrugged, smiling. "I await their attempts to force their will upon the Empire. More likely they will ignore them, as they always do."

"So one government," Nartha said numbly. "It is happening."

"So it would seem," Miridian confirmed with a nod. "Admittedly faster than I anticipated. The Speaker is wasting no time it seems – a crisis is not squandered. A centralized Vitakara government fully under the Aui'Vitakar would grant extensive powers to the Zararch – removing the few restrictions they had. It will not be long before a militarized peacekeeping force is deployed."

"Were there any restrictions to begin with?" Shun looked to him, a question in her eyes. "The Zararch has always been in control, yes?"

"Technically, yes," Nartha sighed. "But there were some things which weren't touched. The Hierarchy, the Dath'Haram…the Zararch have chafed at not tampering with them significantly for years. If it were up to them…neither culture would have endured as long as it has. Both had their problems, but…this is how they should be solved."

"It is a significant measure," Miridian continued. "One I believe the Speaker is miscalculating. The public backlash will be swift if mishandled, and that would go against his image of racial unity. The crackdown will be harder. And when it happens, we will cultivate this anger and hatred against the Aui'Vitakar, before we move to slay them as well."

Nartha stared, hearing the words but still needing to ask: "You will kill the Aui'Vitakar?"

"Of course I will," Miridian said flatly. "Are you surprised? They have been responsible for the state our species finds themselves in. Alien puppets at best, or gutless sycophants at worst. Should they vote for the consolidation of the races, they will be condemning us to eternal alien rule. They are the definition of traitors."

Nartha was silent for a moment. "You know my father is in the Aui'Vitakar, yes?"

"I did not," Miridian answered blandly, but without emotion. "And why does that matter to me? If my family were traitors to my species, I would gladly end their lives. If that will be an issue, I suggest you either ensure your father changes his course or stands against the Ethereals. But he is not innocent, Nartha. None of them are."

"But he does not deserve to die!"

"On that we disagree," Miridian shook his head. "And you will not change anything for this operation. His fate is in his hands – or yours – but you will not risk it. Is that clear?"

"Clear," he ground out.

"Good," Miridian nodded once. "That's all I need from you. Despite the outcome, your team did the best they could. Sorras will be remembered, and the overall operation was successful."

He turned away as both of them moved to leave. "As of now, everything is still following the plan."

---

Medical Ward, the Praesidium – Classified Location

6/6/2017 – 10:11 A.M.

She looked better.

Not healed yet; not even XCOM medical tech was to the level of fixing a body which had been ravaged as Fiona's in just days. But she at least looked like she was resting…peacefully. Her body was propped on the bed, with her wounded limbs kept still. Uncomfortable perhaps, but from what he'd been told, she'd been out.

Only recently had she woken up.

Well enough to receive visitors now, and outside of Crevan and the Chronicler, he was fairly sure he was the first. Kunio sat on a chair near the bed, the odd medallion dangling from the chain he held. It was still warm and almost intangibly vibrating, which was why he wasn't holding it directly. Too much of a distraction.

Still, while waiting and looking over her injuries, there were details about her he hadn't noticed before.

The scar over her face glistened from the light above. It was a much deeper scar than he'd thought it was. Nor was not really the type of scar one got by accident. He belatedly realized that she'd never explained where she'd gotten it, or even acknowledged it at all. Perhaps in a battle after she'd joined T'Leth. Perhaps something else.

Her hair almost looked more silver in the light. More so than the ashen grey it normally looked. It suited her, odd as the color she'd chosen was. He wondered what it had originally been. Probably blonde, maybe brown. Those would fit her most naturally, but the grey was certainly unique.

She stirred, and her eyes opened. Kunio stood. She saw him and gave a faint smile. "Hello there. Glad that you're alive."

"I'm pretty sure I should be the one saying that, given what happened.".

She released a faint chuckle. "Fair."

Kunio breathed heavily and Fiona lifted an eyebrow. "You look like you want to yell at me. Close to the same look Crevan gave me."

His lips twitched. "Not…yell. But really Fiona, what were you thinking?"

Her head fell back onto the pillow and her eyes closed. "To be honest, Kunio, I wasn't. I saw Patricia invading New York; heard her speech and I just…snapped. I've just been feeling like I've held back this whole war. I could have killed her. I know I could have so long ago. All of them. I could do it. But I didn't. Because I was afraid. And when I saw her doing this…I just couldn't let it happen anymore." She paused. "So, like a fool, I took matters into my own hands."

"Well…hopefully you don't do that again." He gave a faint smile. "Next time you go with us."

"Don't worry," Fiona gave a pained smile. "Crevan…he made it very, very clear that I wasn't going to do this again. And he's right. This almost got me killed or worse."

"He told you what happened."

She grimaced. "He did. We're lucky it ended the way it did."

"I don't suppose you could explain some of it?"

She sighed. "It's…complicated. Sorry."

Not really the answer he'd been looking for, but right now probably wasn't the time to push that. She looked at his hand. "He said you have something from me."

"Yes, this," he handed her the medallion which she took with one hand, her features morphing into an expression of shock. "I assume Crevan told you who we…encountered. He gave this to me. He said you would know what it meant."

"Yes…" she almost whispered. "I've not seen this in…a long time."

Kunio cocked his head. "What is it?"

"A promise…" she said slowly. "This shouldn't be possible."

"Why?"

She hesitated briefly, and both of them said the same thing:

"It's complicated."

Both of them found that funny, despite themselves.

"In that case," Kunio paused. "I'll just have to wait."

"For now," Fiona said, sinking back into the pillow. "I don't suppose anything else has happened since then?"

"About that…" Kunio pulled the chair up behind him and sat back down. "Quite a bit, actually. And I have a feeling it's just starting."

---

Mount Olympus – Classified Location

6/5/2017 – 8:17 A.M.

The headquarters of the Pantheon was certainly an interesting one. A quite fitting name too – Mount Olympus was one he could definitely approve of. The massive facility consisted of at least a barracks, command center, and several training areas from what he saw. A few particularly large training areas, which were easily the equivalent to anything at the Praesidium.

Even as he, Creed, and Vahlen walked the halls, he could see most of them training in the distance. Some were unleashing destruction upon dummies or against the shields of others, some were hurling massive barge crates about telekinetically or moving several targets with coordinated, practiced precision. It was a testament to their training, and the frequency of it, that many parts of the ground bore the telltale signs of persistent psionic exposure.

No rest, even after they'd just completed one of the most dangerous and groundbreaking operations of the war thus far. It said something about their training as the most elite psionic force within ADVENT that their training did not stop, not even for a mission well-done. Though from what Axis had reported, not everything about the mission went according to plan.

Which was why he was here.

Awaiting him in the central command of Mount Olympus were those he'd come to see. Commander Christiaens was standing at attention, and by her side were Kwon Seul-Gi, the Pantheon's command strategist and the primary mastermind behind the Olganar-2 operation. Neither of them had interacted directly before, so this would be a first for both – which went for the Pantheon as a whole.

Beside her was a lean man who stood a full head taller than her. Black, with short hair to match, he seemed like an easygoing individual from the wide smile and relaxed posture. Although there was definitely a wary glint in his eye. Jude Davies, HERMES, the Pantheon's official public relations representative.

Interestingly, he'd not had a military background. Nonetheless the Pantheon didn't recruit just anyone, and it was a given that he'd undergone training by ADVENT Intelligence and probably from the Public Relations Division as well. What he was doing in this meeting was a good question, but one he supposed he'd find out the answer to soon enough.

The final individual was one of the actual squad which had participated in the operation – Dr. Harold Rivers, DIONYSUS to the Pantheon. An older Asian-American man who was nonetheless a noticeable presence – though slightly less so than his North Korean superior despite her shorter stature and lack of psionics. The Commander didn't know much about him other than that he was a powerful telepath.

"Commander, Mr. Creed, Dr. Vahlen, good to see all of you again," Laura greeted, giving all of them slight nods.

"Of course," the Commander answered, facing Kwon and her Pantheon counterparts. "A pleasure to meet you properly, Strategist Seul-Gi; Operative Rivers. It appears we have you to thank for the operation going as well as it did."

She took his extended hand and gave a firm shake. "Appreciated, Commander. Axis was essential to its success, and we're grateful that you allowed him to participate in the operation." Harold took the hand as well, but didn't say much to start with outside of a standard greeting.

"We're all in this together," he said as they gathered around the holotable. "For missions like this, we need to do all we can to make sure they succeed. And based on what Axis said, the majority of the objectives were achieved."

"Key word being majority," Jude agreed. "Operationally, we consider the operation a success, one which we've ensured that the Public Relations Division will use to its fullest potential. We have no shortage of explosions, psionic maelstroms, and multiple alien corpses to play off. The rest of ADVENT will see it as a resounding success."

"There is a 'but' coming," Creed predicted dryly.

"But there were unforeseen complications," Laura finished, lips pursed. "One which heralds unpleasant implications for the future."

"Axis gave me his breakdown," the Commander said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I want yours. Strategist?"

"Very well. I will be brief," Kwon said, expression grim. "The team responsible for the elimination of Hive Commander 666 encountered him and engaged shortly after arrival, as expected. While a difficult fight – the previous documents concerning the engagement of Hive Commanders were useful in preparing for this – we were able to defeat 666. However, the moment we penetrated his mental defenses to capture him, an automated turret terminated him."

Creed cocked his head. "That seems odd."

"But not necessarily unexpected," Harold interjected for the first time. "We had anticipated that the Hive Commander may have preferred death to interrogation. We intended to perform a field interrogation in the event it was too risky to extract him. This did not happen, though in retrospect it should have been realized that there was something else going on with how 666 was acting."

"Axis said that the turret shot him, but he didn't die." The Commander said. "Please elaborate."

"666 had been telepathically fighting us from almost the moment we stepped on the station," Harold continued. "It worked to our advantage in a way, since we were able to pinpoint him without any effort and the team went to deal with him. But the consequence was that we were all very familiar with how his mind felt. When he died, his psionic presence vanished as expected – and a few minutes later it came back."

He shrugged. "Each member on the retrieval team has been psionically examined to ensure nothing was wrong. Everything looks right, and it's left us with one ugly truth; Hive Commander 666 is not dead."

They took a moment to absorb that declaration. Creed asked the next question.

"Then what did you fight?"

"That is a good question," Kwon shot a glance at Vahlen. "We have several theories that have been presented to the PRIEST Division."

"I'm listening," Vahlen nodded, her tablet ready to take notes.

"The current prevailing theory is that the Hive Commander we fought was a decoy, a meat puppet as you designate them," Harold said. "We know that telepathic possession is possible thanks to the Ethereal Harbingers, so it could have been that 666 used an avatar of his own against us."

"Feasible," Vahlen frowned with a nod. "But there are telltale signs of outside possession or control. It is difficult to obscure, at least to telepaths; the mind is noticeably off. Did you sense any of these indicators?"

"No, and that's the obvious weakness in the theory," Harold admitted. "I wasn't with the team that attacked 666, but I could feel his mind clearly. It certainly felt like the real Hive Commander. If it was possession, it was utterly flawless."

"The other theory is that the Hive Commander performed some kind of consciousness transfer to a clone or other body to possess," Kwon continued. "The obvious issue with that is that, to my knowledge, that kind of ability isn't actually possible to do. Unless I am mistaken?"

"It shouldn't be," Vahlen agreed, tapping her stylus on the tablet idly, thinking. "To achieve such a feat… It would likely take time to perform such a feat. Perhaps a minute or so – possibly longer – to transfer a consciousness, though I will note that this is just speculation. Furthermore, assuming the transfer was successful, the original body would most likely enter a comatose state, if not expire outright. Was there anything like that evident?"

"No," Harold confirmed. "He was very much alive-"

"Until he wasn't." Jude finished dryly.

"Funny," the Commander said neutrally, not quite in the mood for amusement right now. "But you're certain that Hive Commander 666 is still alive."

"As sure as we can be. When he reappeared, it wasn't on the shipyard. It was deep within the Hive below. We didn't get another chance at a physical encounter with him after that." Harold radiated frustration as he spoke. "There was a clear period when he was gone. And then…he was back. Exactly the same."

"The point being that the Hive Commanders appear to have some means of cheating death," Kwon finished. "Which will be problematic, given how powerful they are."

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "That is making the assumption that this is something which applies to all Hive Commanders. It couldn't just be a skill that 666 possesses?"

"Unlikely," Kwon disagreed immediately. "If 666 were a telepathic specialist or had a particular focus on experimental psionics, I might believe otherwise. But 666 was…is primarily an engineer. If he is able to do this, it seems very likely that the others could as well. The Hive Commanders have no internal division. This is not something that would be kept secret from the others."

Creed looked very unhappy at that.

The Commander couldn't blame him. Assuming that it was universal, and not just something applied to 666, then that meant that the Hive Commander they'd killed when they'd first assaulted the Sectoid Hive wasn't actually dead – and Creed understandably had very bad memories around that incident.

And that Hive Commander that had attacked the Citadel? Also might not actually be dead.

How could that work though? That the Hive Commanders had managed to do this while the Ethereals had not? Something wasn't right about this.

"And there's more," Harold said with clear unease. "I think that killing 666, whether he stayed dead or not, kicked the hornet's nest even more than we already have. Once we felt 666 come back, this was deployed against us." He turned on the holoprojectors to show an armored Sectoid, wielding a host of unknown psi-tech.

It seemed to be larger than the Vanguard, and retained the sleek-looking armor that they wore. But this time the armor was clearly augmented with psi-tech much more intricate and extensive than previously known. The skin of the Sectoid was also more reddish, a contrast to the Vanguard and most Sectoids.

"Axis said it was as powerful as one of you," the Commander recalled.

"It was powerful enough to kill one of us," Kwon said grimly. "No small feat."

"The psi-tech," Vahlen fixated on that detail, staring intently at the projection. "What did it do?"

"The ones recovered were specifically tuned to Dynamo psionics," Harold answered. "It was a natural telepath. Since it only displayed those two fields, we're left to assume that all the psi-tech it had was tuned to Dynamo. There were others that showed up later that showed evidence of Aegii and Telekine psi-tech, but we weren't able to retrieve examples of those. Once it became clear that this was something new and not just a Vanguard with the element of surprise, we retreated."

"Smart," the Commander nodded. "Best to retreat until we know more about what these are."

"I'm sure we'll be able to make more determinations from the recovered corpse and technology," Vahlen nodded. "Artifact Recovery will come for transport shortly."

Jude cocked his head, and Kwon frowned. "Respectfully, Dr. Vahlen, we're not planning on releasing the body to XCOM," Jude said, diplomatically but firmly. "We asked you here in order to share what we've learned – essential considering the implications. It was not to give you artifacts we are currently researching."

"We have experience with this, Mr. Davies," the Commander pointed out. "And given the singular corpse, I don't think we should be taking risks with taking it apart."

"ADVENT specialists are more than capable of doing their jobs," Kwon pointed out. "This isn't the first alien corpse they've taken apart either."

Vahlen furrowed her eyebrows. "Given their lack of experience with psi-tech, they'll almost certainly damage the equipment it is using. More than it already is. We have extensive experience with psi-tech, and a far stronger grasp on the mechanics of it than ADVENT."

"Then I would suggest you share it with ADVENT to be sure there is no unnecessary damage," Kwon answered coldly, meeting Vahlen's eyes. "I lost two good soldiers in this operation, and this was the one prize we were able to bring back. I highly doubt this will be the last time we encounter this enemy. XCOM will live in not being the first to pick something apart."

"This is not a good time to be taking offense to our methods," Vahlen's eyes hardened, as did her voice. "There is a reason XCOM is on the front lines of alien research - because it is critical that we are able to determine everything possible about this enemy - accurately. XCOM is the best; ADVENT is skilled, but they are not us. Given that these new Sectoids are now active, and will be encountered in larger numbers soon, holding onto it is selfish."

"Dr. Vahlen, with all due respect," Harold said evenly. "Just because we weren't the first to dissect a Sectoid or a Muton doesn't mean we didn't learn just like you did. We're not incompetent. I'm sure we take the same care with our procedures that you do. You say we're being selfish, I think you're being a bit egotistical to think that only you can do a dissection properly."

Much as the Commander saw why they might be offended, the fact was that this was something XCOM had extensive experience in. Technically, XCOM could demand the corpse under the Advent Directive itself, but the Commander felt that would be unnecessarily controversial. Laura knew that perfectly well, but she was looking at him, silently asking him not to press the issue. He wouldn't – not completely, but he wasn't going to let ADVENT off the hook here.

"We won't take the corpse to the Praesidium," he finally said. "However, Dr. Vahlen will lead the autopsy and initial research on it. This can be done at an ADVENT facility of your choice, but given that we also had a crucial operative on this operation, we similarly have a claim to it, and under the Advent Directive, we are permitted to intervene in all matters involving extraterrestrial research and threats to Humanity. This qualifies as one, and as much as you dislike it, I, and everyone else, want this done properly, and XCOM is best suited to carrying this out."

He looked at Laura. "Is this permissible, Commander?"

Laura didn't seem to like being put on the spot, but gave a curt nod. "We can work with that."

"I'll make preparations to begin," Vahlen nodded to him, and then to Jude. "Inform me of the location and I will arrive as soon as possible."

Jude gave a thin smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You will be informed."

None of the Pantheon seemed particularly pleased with the compromise, but the Commander knew they wouldn't directly contradict Laura, and they would get past it at some point. Best they learn how to negotiate with XCOM, and what they were permitted to acquire and receive, now rather than later.

"I believe the only remaining topic is one of information sharing," the Commander said, looking around. "I presume the Pantheon has written reports of the operation, as well as armor cam footage. We will need that for our own review. We will of course, share our own reports and Axis's footage. Is that settled."

"We will get it to you, Commander," Kwon said tightly. "Beyond that, I do not believe there is anything else of note."

"Then I think we're finished for now," the Commander nodded. "Good work on the operation. Vahlen and Jackson will be in contact regarding what we discussed."

"We will be ready, Commander," Kwon stated, looking to the others, and Laura. "Are we done?"

"Yes," Laura confirmed. "Dismissed."

---

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

6/6/2017 – 10:00 A.M.

Ravarian swallowed as he stood before the Imperator.

Always acting through intermediaries, the fact that he had been personally requested to step foot upon the elusive Temple Ship was an honor in and of itself – or potentially a prelude to his removal. The Imperator would not have done this without reason. He sat upon the Throne, presence overwhelming even though Quisilia was shielding his mind.

Ravarian steeled himself as much as possible, and stood to the side of Quisilia. Before the Imperator stood Patricia in her ornate Ethereal dress of white silk and symbols, and beside her stood Sicarius and her own shadowed Harbinger. The Ethereal with the eyeless orb for a helm stood silent, and her counterpart was equally mute.

"Zar'Chon," the Imperator stated. "You have fully compiled the results of the attacks by XCOM and ADVENT against us, correct?"

"Yes, Imperator," he nodded, knowing it was a partial formality. "The report was forwarded to you. On Earth we suffered a fair number of losses, multiple African states have descended into chaos, and we believe that ADVENT and XCOM are now aware of the intimate defenses of the Observation Station."

"But they were driven off."

"Yes, Imperator. And we were able to acquire some interesting data on composition. Aliens are now in the ranks of XCOM."

"Not surprising," Patricia nodded. "The Commander wouldn't have forbade them from participating – provided they could be trusted."

"However," Ravarian continued grimly. "It's ADVENT which has likely caused the largest long-term damage. Olganar-2 was directly attacked by the Pantheon. We are waiting on a full autopsy, but initial estimates that the Hive Commanders have released are that the majority of the Hive was neutralized, over a third of the shipyards were destroyed, and Hive Commander 666 was killed."

The massive helm of the Ethereal nodded. "Quisilia. Tell him."

"Certainly," Quisilia turned to him. "The Hive Commanders are more…savvy than many give them credit for. Quite arrogant, soulless creatures, but let none say they are not intelligent. It is indisputable that ADVENT hurt the shipyards – however, they were not quite as effective as the Zararch believes."

Ravarian frowned. "In what way?"

"To begin with," Quisilia flipped one of his blades in his hands. "Hive Commander 666 is not dead. The Pantheon managed to kill his body, but the Hive Commanders have a rather…ingenious system which allows them to endure, in a sense."

Ravarian stiffened. "That cannot be. Two Hive Commanders have already died in this war. 072 on the Hive on Earth, and 043 during the failed Citadel attack."

"Yes, about that," Quisilia nodded. "They aren't dead."

"How?"

"Well, I suppose the more accurate term is that they aren't dead in a sense," Quisilia corrected a moment later. "Hive Commanders have multiple clones of themselves carefully grown. Dozens at a time. They quite frequently…" he waved a lower arm absentmindedly. "Upload copies of their minds into them. So in the event of their death, a new clone emerges, who is effectively the same. Same mind, same motives. Missing some amount of memory, but very much the equal."

Once the initial surprise of the revelation faded, Ravarian had to conclude that the system was…quite clever. Very much something the Hive Commanders would come up with – and what would definitely be a massive problem for ADVENT and XCOM. Especially now that they'd 'killed' some of them.

"Do the Andromedons know?" He asked.

"Of course not," Quisilia snorted. "That might trigger a war out of pure fear. The Andromedons, as arrogant as they are, believe that the Hive Commanders are incapable of contingency or subtlety. I fear that they underestimate our little grey allies. However, the Federation will keep them in line for now. That isn't relevant."

"What is relevant is that ADVENT knows now," Ravarian nodded. "Though they won't be able to do much."

"It's unlikely they know for sure," Patricia corrected. "Hive Commander 666 did not reengage with the Pantheon physically following his initial body being destroyed. But they likely felt his mind, or something familiar to it. They will put the pieces together. What is actually relevant is that ADVENT and XCOM forced 666 to activate a project prematurely."

Ravarian nodded. "Which was what?"

Sicarius pulled out a holodisplay, which portrayed a lanky Sectoid clad in sleek black armor, with various unknown gadgets of psi-tech attached to them. They were like the Vanguard, if the Vanguard had been bulked up further. This one stood as tall as a fairly tall Human – six feet roughly – and had skin more reddish than the orange of the Hive Commanders.

"This is the Lesser Hive Commander," Patricia said. "The answer of the Hive Commanders to the PRIEST Division and XCOM. Semi-autonomous by Sectoid standards, and grown from the genetic material of a Hive Commander. Designed to command the Sectoid legions, and also well-adjusted to being hijacked by the Hive Commander in question for direct control." She paused. "In a sense, it is their own implementation of the Avatar Project."

Ravarian couldn't help but feel some relief at that. Psions were already going to be a major issue as the war progressed. Actual, tangible counters to them were welcome. Fantastic that the Hive Commanders hadn't been idle. He did wonder if this had been done on their own initiative or if they were being pressured by the Imperator.

It perhaps did not matter.

"It is very likely you will be seeing mentions of this in intercepted ADVENT reports," Quisilia stated. "It's ideal if you are aware of the context before wondering what ADVENT is referring to. With this understood, the Hive Commanders are finalizing the first batches. The ones activated to deal with the Pantheon were not supposed to be ready, but circumstances required them."

"Understood," Ravarian nodded. "I will ensure appropriate classifications."

"Good, let us continue with the matter at hand," the Imperator stated. "Your report was an acceptable overview of our losses. I do not intend to let this be tolerated. XCOM has had a hand in the events on Vitakar and the collapse of the African states primed to join the SAS. They have struck at us. It is time to respond."

"Of course," he nodded. "There are a number of actions we can take to reinforce-"

"He is not speaking of reinforcement," Patricia interrupted, stepping forward. "Retaliation. The leaders of ADVENT are pushing the strategy; the response. They used a nuclear weapon on an ally of ours. They are supporting terrorists on Vitakar. T'Leth has flaunted his reach on Mars."

Ravarian pursed his lips. "I'm framing my strategy within the confines of the Battlemaster's directives. No assassinations."

"The battlefield has shifted," the Imperator stated. "His objections are overruled."

Well then. About time the gloves came off. "In which case, there are a number of high-profile targets I recommend be targeted and eliminated. Removing these individuals – while others would replace them – would shake civilian faith in ADVENT as an institution capable of protecting themselves and others. It would also significantly disrupt and halt policy writing within various organizations."

"Names?"

"Many. Some easier than others. Leadership, military, and intelligence are the most relevant. Chancellor Vyandar, Commander Christiaens, Ian Powell. National leaders, Legion Generals, all of those are applicable targets. The removal of figures such as the resurgent Japanese Empress would be directed to hurt morale. I would reserve others such as defected aliens as a minimal operational priority, but such would certainly send a message."

"There are a few others," Patricia noted. "Chief Stein. Chief Lancer Weekes."

"I would not put Chief Stein on the list," Ravarian disputed. "She is one of the more controversial high-profile figures in ADVENT. She is more useful alive than not. She is a rare source of hatred from within ADVENT by citizens and media. Her removal would likely benefit ADVENT more than hurt them, even if they continue her policies."

"If I may, Zar'Chon," the boy, Nico spoke up, stepping forward. "I would not target most high-profile figures at all."

Ravarian cocked his head. "Your reasoning?"

"Humans do one of two things when faced with hardship," he said. "They rally or they break. What do you intend to achieve with mass assassinations?"

"Sow fear and reduce operational capacity."

"Right," he nodded. "If that's your goal, then I would suggest a…refinement. You are unlikely going to be able to assassinate Saudia, or another high-profile figure. But there are hundreds of people the public has never heard of. Figures who set policy and law. People whose loss would hurt ADVENT. People would hear their names, but not know them. They can rally around the loss of Saudia, or Yamato, or another figure of the ADVENT class. But the many Generals, Admirals, officials…their removal would hurt more than someone like Saudia. She can be replaced. And she is one Human. The loss of one will change nothing."

The boy had a point…a good one. "Noted. Harbinger, I appreciate your input. I believe it can be refined…upon the direction of the Imperator or Quisilia."

The Imperator inclined his helmet. "I will let you set the operational parameters. Execute it as you see fit. But I expect success. You will coordinate with Patricia, as she will be in charge of a more direct response to ADVENT and XCOM. You will be provided with whatever you need."

He gave a short bow. "At your command, Imperator."

"Then we are finished for now," the Imperator straightened. "Go. I will await your success."

---

Project DH0022 Holding Station, Zararch Oversight – Classified Location

6/6/2017 – 2:18 P.M.

Much had happened.

ADVENT had retaliated for the New York incursion in a quite effective fashion.

Mechanical. Precise. Merciless.

Nemo found it quite fascinating to see the coordinated efficiency this species could bring to bear. Impressive. More so than it had initially given it credit for. The fact that it had been forced to abandon a long-term mission was…unfortunate. Nemo was not pleased it had happened, but there was little to be done about it now.

It would adapt. Remember for the future.

ADVENT represented something that had been absent it's long, dull life.

Challenge.

The naked, blank, and faceless thing stood in front of a mirror, a conundrum turning in the gears of its engineered mind.

It needed a new face to wear. The alien one it had worn was useless following the mission and it had grown tired of it; a reminder of its failure. Yet a new appealing one did not come to it easily – though not for lack of options, of course. There were many faces that could be taken, bodies to be sculpted, and it was a combination of indecision and the knowledge that it was likely to be used soon.

An idea struck.

It curled its lipless mouth in the mirror, not out of amusement or pleasure, but to compare to the face that would be forged. Yes, it was insufficient.

It grabbed the scalpel, the face clear in the mind's eye.

This face was unlikely to be relevant for the immediate future, but Nemo suspected that having the capability to wear it would be…needed in the future. The person whose face it was taking could almost be proud they had captured its attention.

Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, after all. He found some truth in that saying.

Most were too inconsequential to matter. Dust in the cosmic wisps of the universe.

Humans had quite a useful and surprisingly poignant collection of sayings and proverbs. A pity that such a minority were true intellectuals – though admittedly far more than any of the Collective species. Too much focus on the physical world and laws within, on comfort and rule, instead of the state of existence itself – a far more fascinating topic. The Oyariah, despite their foolish fanaticism, at least understood the concept of something greater.

Something more.

Transcendence.

Beyond norms.

Beyond laws.

Beyond binaries.

Beyond.

Beyond.

It began cutting as it contemplated.

News of the Nulorian attack against the Dath'Haram had been especially interesting. Such an expected action from the finely tuned mind of Miridian. A true predictable terrorist, though Nemo could not blame him, for he was accurately playing the Zararch and the illustrious Speaker of the Elders to his advantage.

The Zararch knew only one path – oppression and control.

Effective tools, though only if an enemy was not smart enough to understand how to exploit them.

Miridian was skilled at that.

The skin was off. The bones needed to be arranged properly. Cutting tools were needed. Nemo brought up an image of the face for reference. Yes, like that.

Pieces of the bone-like substance joined the soupy skin-liquid on the floor.

Nemo did not care about Miridian. Nor the Nulorian. Nor the Vitakara. Such activities were academic, viewed with all the passion of an apathetic, yet slightly interested bystander. Less interested in picking a side so much as observing the outcome – and the outcome promised to be very interesting indeed.

Ravarian was intelligent. Despite the single-mindedness of the Zararch, they could easily emerge from the conflict victorious – but perhaps defeat was what they deserved. The Zararch had not been properly challenged. Defeat would lead to growth. Such may be necessary. Or the monotony of the status quo would prevail.

It was ultimately irrelevant, as the outcome would not be decided by the power players, but outside forces. XCOM. ADVENT. The Nulorian were pawns even if Miridian did not realize it.

Just as the Vitakara were pawns of the Ethereals.

As so the cosmic cycles repeat.

It ran a hand under the jawline, judged the facial structure was largely accurate, and moved to the next stage.

What had been interesting to note about the Nulorian attack was there was no mention of the Crypt. How very curious. Miridian doubtless knew it was there, and any attack against the Dath'Haram would have included it.

The fact that it had heard nothing indicated that it had failed miserably.

It smiled with its skeletal face again.

Much better.

It would have amused him to see Miridian's reaction at hearing the thing that guarded the tomb. So obvious, hidden in such plain sight, and yet the simple, blind Vitakara had never put the pieces together.

Ah well, let the Vitakara believe the whitewashed history of the Dath'Haram. It did not affect it in the slightest.

The next stage was rather delicate, and Nemo let the idle thoughts fade as it worked on the face. Only several hours passed as the face took shape, one with feminine features which would be framed by long hair. An imposing, imperial presence. It had yet to be colored or voice-practiced, and was half-finished when the visitor appeared.

Nemo heard him enter. "A new assignment already?"

"Yes," it answered in its dead voice, then turned around to face Ravarian fully, who barely reacted to the half-finished undead ghoul before him. All Ravarian did was cock his head. "That face will be for nothing. You will likely want something less high-profile."

"Indulge me, Zar'Chon. It is good to have practice. I will change if necessary."

"So long as it is done."

"What do you wish from me?"

"ADVENT has performed their retaliation. Our response has been determined."

"Individuals to be removed?"

"Correct."

Nemo set the tools on the nearby table gently as it processed the news. "Unfortunate long-term operations are so…difficult against ADVENT. I would have liked to see how far they could be tricked."

"You may yet have your opportunity."

"My target is whom?"

"General Imraam," Ravarian answered. "A rather skilled military commander who has been an issue in Malaysia. He is a significant reason why our progress in the region has stalled. Remove him. Subtly, if possible."

The name was unfamiliar to it, but it was no matter.

An assassination was trivial, and the fact that he had not heard of him before also meant that the majority of ADVENT likely had not either. Still, he was a General, presumably of the Malaysian Legion. He would likely have some degree of protection. As if reading its thoughts, Ravarian frowned. "You're being assigned this because of its difficulty. General Imraam will not be killed easily. All Generals have PRIEST Division guards now."

"I am aware."

"Good. I expect you to succeed."

"I will need access to the Desolan Vault."

"It will be granted."

"Excellent. And the timeframe?"

"Sooner than later. Within a week."

"Understood."

Ravarian left, and Nemo was left alone once again, with only itself as the face which stared at it from the mirror. Despite the fact that it was unlikely to be a face useful on this operation – an assassination operation gave some flexibility. It would be…interesting to see the reaction should this face be kept.

It continued working on it.

It smiled again.

Perfect.

The body was next. It sculpted the feminine parts with the shaping tools, and after hours of work it became lost in, stood, the naked form indistinguishable from a real Human woman in function and appearance.

It flexed the digits, arms, legs, all to make sure it was working properly. Not a surprise that it was. It cleaned off the darkened skin of the fluids and chunks which flowed into the drains. Now it was time to practice the voice. The voice was important. Facing the mirror, it assumed a serious expression it had seen displayed many times.

Time to give a speech.

That was what this individual would do, yes?

"Citizens of ADVENT, this is Chancellor Saudia Vyandar."

---

Volk's Quarters – Mars Collective Base

6/6/2017 – 9:22 A.M.

They had not seen Nemo since the extraction. Just as well for everyone involved.

They hadn't been assigned any new tasks either, as of yet, and instead they'd just watched as events had unfolded before them, with both wondering at just how long this was going to go on. It seemed to him that the escalation would continue ramping up and up until one side obliterated the other.

Patricia was also proving herself to be a right proper villain.

Elena actively hated her. Volk really, really hoped that she never came by.

Though Patricia's actions may not have been without warning.

Is it really surprising? They willingly utilized Isomnum.

The difference being, everyone was quick to wash their hands of the Dread Lord. The Collective seemed less keen to even remotely distance themselves from Patricia. Which was understandably impossible, given that she was the Imperator's voice and will. That didn't mean he was happy with it.

Nor did many people in the base itself.

They'd not been here when…there'd been some kind of telepathic attack that hadn't been explained, but it was another odd occurrence in a series of odd occurrences. There was something utterly off about the whole conflict the more he thought about it. He'd done quite a lot of extensive reading of the Collective archives in the downtime; learning the quite fascinating history within.

It only raised more questions.

Sectoids? Approached and formed the Collective.

Vitakara? Cured their disease and they joined the Collective willingly.

Andromedons? Negotiated and willingly joined the Collective.

Mutons? Conquered by the Battlemaster alone following their own customs. Still nowhere close to a fair fight, truthfully, but it was more respect than they could have shown. And subsequently engineered genius-level iterations of the species which held legitimate command.

Humans? Invaded and killed.

Something seemed wrong with that shift. Even if the Mutons arguably signaled they were capable of this, there was a very distinct difference between them and the other alien species. Each of the latter were an intelligent, modern, civilization conversing in dialogue, as opposed to the Mutons which were engaged in primitive civil wars.

Humans, as violent as they could be to each other, were definitely in the 'more advanced' category, and if past actions were enough to refuse someone on, then the Andromedons definitely shouldn't have been admitted. On a strategic level it didn't make sense either – he could almost guarantee that if the Collective had come peacefully, Humans would have joined in very short order – no military, no ADVENT, no XCOM. Hell, even telepathy could have been used to control them.

But instead they had invaded.

The militant shift the Collective had dramatically slid towards didn't make sense.

He suspected that answer was well above his pay grade here.

But he didn't like it.

Elena hadn't taken long to come to a conclusion - That the war had been started under false pretenses. Now, he certainly wasn't one to trek in conspiracy theories…but there was more than enough evidence that the war hadn't been started for the reasons most thought it was. The Zararch distributed a story about how the Humans had declared war, and thus it was accepted.

Except, it seemed, the story was starting to be questioned.

Not obviously, mind you. But there were enough aliens who were starting to wonder if there was something else going on. According to everyone, the war should have been won by now. But it was still ongoing.

Why isn't the Collective bombarding the planet to oblivion?

Why isn't there an overwhelming land invasion?

Why hasn't the Imperator himself ended it personally?

It couldn't have been Aegis or Caelior. The Imperator was more powerful than both. His Avatar was more powerful than Caelior. The Collective had billions of soldiers. Humanity had millions at most. This, in theory, should not be a close contest – even a war of attrition would end in a clear Collective victory.

And while the land war was worldwide and sustained, it wasn't nearly at the level it could be.

So, what is it really?

What secrets do you hide, Ethereals?

He hadn't brought it up with Asaru, the few times they'd seen her. Asking that kind of question seemed like a bad idea. Of course, she probably knew he was thinking it, but had not commented on it. Or she hadn't noticed. There was a lot going on.

All culminating in the newest assignment today. To which he had a clear answer for his guest.

"No."

The figure of Asaru in her Human form cocked her head. "I'm sorry?"

Volk shook his head. "No."

"Elaborate."

Volk set the tablet on the table. "Well, you know why I decided to assist you and your Collective in the first place?"

"I remember what you told me."

"Good. Now I realize some things may have slipped your mind, but I don't target civilians. That is quite a deviation from what little I'm trying to do here, which your friend Patricia keeps making more difficult." He lifted a hand. "Nonetheless, I'm not sure why you thought that giving me a list of names of medical professionals was something I'd be jumping for. I'm fine with removing soldiers, heads of state, and people who are actively running ADVENT."

"Medical professionals are implicitly contributing."

Volk snorted. "Yes, and so are grocery store clerks, farmers, and cooks. Following that logic every person is 'contributing to ADVENT'."

"These individuals are actively assisting military forces."

"Yes, and plenty of civilians too," Volk rolled his eyes. "I don't like ADVENT, but I'm not completely blind to think that every person in it is evil. Helping heal people is their job if you didn't know."

"We are aware, that is why they are targets. This is a war, Volikov."

"And you know my conditions for fighting in it."

Asaru smiled. Coldly. "Is this a refusal to follow orders?"

He met her stare. "Is this an order?"

"We've suffered a bout of attacks and assassinations of our own, Volikov," Asaru said. "The Imperator is displeased. There will be retaliation. We are all doing our part, and as you have agreed to help us, this is the assignment the Zar'Chon has designated for you."

Ah, the Zar'Chon. That suddenly made more sense.

A loyalty test of sorts.

Well then.

The situation now was somewhat precarious. More so than it had been otherwise – because that told him that this wasn't going to be something that he could refuse to do without consequences. If it was Asaru pushing it, maybe he could push back since she was somewhat of a pushover on some topics.

But the Zar'Chon…

Not so much.

Asaru seemed to be making it clear that he was at the crossroads here.

"You'll have several days to plan and more to execute," she said gently, seeming to imply that she understood the implications as well. "They will die regardless. The sooner ADVENT falls, the sooner the war ends. Will there be issues?"

He was silent, but the silence indicated his answer easily enough.

"Good," she gave a slight nod. "I wish you well in your assignment. Make it swift."

When he looked up, she was gone, leaving him alone, and with a dangerous dilemma.

Elena would not be happy.

---

The Abyssal Plains, near the Mariana Trench

6/5/2017 – 10:22 A.M.

No matter what happened, Loke would always feel privileged to be able to walk the floor of the deep ocean.

The times when he wasn't having a heart attack, that is.

Air bubbles rose from around him as the small team of black-armored soldiers walked the ocean floor. Their steps were ponderous and deliberate. Sand blasted up at each step, and what little ocean life was around fled as they walked. Loke felt they were sometimes in a horror movie – but with them as the monster.

Something unnatural which shouldn't be here.

However, as this was their time for the weekly Depthtrooper armor tests, he was getting more and more accustomed to it. It was a wholly odd sensation. He could almost feel the weight of the tons of water above him; pressing against him; threatening to smother and crush him. Half of it seemed psychological, the other half seemed real.

It was not easy to move in the suit – initially. The suit was heavy, more so than other suits since it had weights. To keep them firmly on the desolate ocean floor. It was like walking in a mech suit, if the suit was ponderously slow. However…slow seemed the wrong word. Again, it seemed to be a psychological effect to some degree.

He could move smoothly, yet it was almost as if they were in molasses or another liquid which let them move – if everything was in slow motion. But also not in slow motion. It was weird, but something they'd gotten used to. In the unlikely event of an attack, Loke did wonder how they would actually fare.

If so, it might be the slowest fight of all time. He'd chuckled at the mental image of Human and alien fighting in slow motion, ponderously aiming their weapons and firing. They were armed with both sonic and physical projectile weapons, so it wasn't as though they were defenseless.

Today though, this mission was more than tests. There was a purpose.

"It's a new type of element," Zhi Xue was saying, the Neptune Scout who was one of many who were making daily trips to map the ocean floor. "It seemed odd, and the geologists couldn't determine what it was. They don't think it's alien, but I don't want to collect samples without taking precautions."

"Anytime," Loke said. "The more we get used to these suits, the better. Besides, I'm always up for a trek on the ocean floor."

"It is something, isn't it," Zhi floated above them, not bound to the ground like they were, and propelled by her movements and motorized water streams. "It's incredible. A bit isolating, but I enjoy it. There's so much of the world we still haven't explored that we can now."

"We're getting a bit far from Atlantis," Orla said, glancing behind them at the fading lights of the base. "Let's hope we don't get lost."

Zhi laughed. "I've been coming this way for days. Trust me, we're all on timers. Take too long, and search parties get sent out. Standard Neptune protocol. Ah, here we are." They stopped at a built platform, which held a small platform vehicle used by the Scouts for long-distance exploration.

"This isn't going to be fast, but I'd still hold onto something," Zhi advised as she took the controls. Lights turned on as the vehicle started up, and they moved out into the blackness. Before Zhi and situated just above the controls was a highly detailed map of the ocean floor.

"How far is this?" Loke asked.

"A fair ways," she admitted. "It's not so much far as deep. We're going to be going down shortly. Be ready."

True to her promise, the vehicle began dipping and it wasn't long before the complete blackness enveloped them. This was the part where he really became uncomfortable. The white lights of the vehicle seemed so completely inferior to the oppressive blackness. Still, he comforted himself with knowing that, truthfully, there wasn't anything down here but a jump scare.

He still hated jump scares though.

"So how did you find it?" He looked around. "Not through exploring personally, right?"

A snort. "Not this time. Scans taken of the area from Atlantis, which were verified by some others I'd taken of the general area, and now we're exploring ourselves. We didn't even get any hard images, only readings of the odd element. Not the first time this has happened, but definitely the closest."

"When you say-"

Orla's words died in his throat as they seemed to cross some invisible threshold and Loke stiffened as still as a statue, completely paralyzed without being able to move so much as move an eyelid. Invisible bonds wrapped around his body, pinning it in place like a pin at a bowling alley. Orla and Zhi were similarly incapacitated, although the vehicle itself still went forward.

But with them no longer anchored to it, it just kept going.

Down and down it went, and the light faded with it as they floated in the black.

In one of the few times in his life, he was terrified.

His heart pounded rapidly - and if he could have screamed, he would have. He frantically tried to reassert control of his emotions – a difficult task given he was surrounded by nothing but blackness and his wholly useless light – not to mention wholly cut off from Atlantis in a suit not designed to get back.

Then it got worse.

Something touched his mind.

He'd never been under a psionic attack before, but he knew this is what one must feel like. But it was more than something foreign, something formless touching it. There was such an immense presence to it, it was like comparing an ant to a giant. What little shield of his mind existed crumpled under the simplest touch of the thing.

He felt it go into his mind, ignoring the Manchurian Restraints which only prevented voluntary sharing of the information. Of course, they protected against mind control – only by preventing his body from moving.

Very useful right now. Truly.

The Thing went deep into every thought and memory; he saw many flash before him in a rapid-fire manner, many he'd forgotten, many he'd not. It happened immediately, and simultaneously seemed to take forever. The Thing kept poring through his thoughts, picking out each and every crevice until it was satisfied with…something.

Then there was a tangible shift as if the world was blurring, and they found themselves in…something. A blue-green light seemed to come from above, and Loke found he could move, and it actually seemed like there wasn't water around him.

"Breathe."

He exhaled. His heart rate lessened.

Calm set in.

The fear did not fade.

The commanding voice sounded from the Nothing, heard with his ears and within his mind itself, formed from the manifested thoughts of the Thing.

Helmets still on, they glanced at each other, terrified of saying anything.

"You should not have come this way."

A pause.

"Why do you come?"

Loke found his voice, trying to keep it steady even as pathetic as it sounded before the voice. "We…were exploring. Following some readings. We didn't mean to intrude…"

The air rumbled.

"This will not happen again, Humans. Be thankful for the agreement I have forged with your species."

What?

"You will speak of this to none. You shall ensure no operations are conducted. What led you here will be purged. This shall be done. Now go."

Each word spoken echoed deep into his mind, entrenching itself into reality inside his head as real as anything ADVENT had done to him. He didn't fully know what it meant, nor what the Thing had been implying – but he was certainly going to make sure that whatever it was, it wasn't ever disturbed again.

They found themselves a short distance from Atlantis, out of visual range, but able to walk it. They also saw the pad where they had launched for – with the transport resting atop it. As if they'd never left.

All of them looked at each other wordlessly.

"I think," Zhi said, her voice shaking. "We should do what the voice said."

---

Salt Lake City Garrison, Utah – United States of America

6/6/2017 – 5:19 P.M.

"So," Glen Dalton leaned forward, resting a forearm on the table. "I've got a theory."

Angela Blackburn resisted a sigh, because just from the smirk of their medic, she knew that whatever was coming next was going to be something 'funny'. "You're not going to ask me if I want to hear it?"

He leaned back in mock surprise. "Are you saying you don't want to hear my theories, Angie? I'm heartbroken."

She raised an eyebrow, a smile twitching on the corners of her lips. "Completely and truly?"

"Without question," he put a hand over his heart for good measure. "Cecilia! Did you hear how she insulted me?"

The Venezuelan woman rolled her eyes from the nearby couch. "Yes, Glen, I did. Angela, be nice to our medic, you know how he likes to get his ego massaged." Her eyes nonetheless glittered with amusement from her scarred face she'd gotten from a plasma grenade. Still was in good spirits all the same.

"Ooh, what's this?" Bradley Kerr walked into their barrack quarters, their group meal in hand. "Glen has a theory?"

Angela looked at the food, different than what he normally brought them. "What is this?"

"Thought I'd try something different," he said, taking a seat. "ADVENT's been rolling out their restaurants and meat production. So I got us all a fresh, patented ADVENT burger. Oscar! Young! Come over and get your food before Cecilia eats all of it."

Angela smothered another chuckle at that. Despite being a Shieldbearer, Cecilia was easily the smallest of the squad, and ate as much as one would expect. Oscar Schwartzman and Young-Mi Cho got up from their long-running chess match which neither of them ever seemed to win or finish and joined at the table.

All of them were in good spirits, which Angela could have sensed without her telepathy. Good reason to be. Word was getting around about how the Collective had been hit worldwide and the Pantheon had somehow pulled off a direct strike at the Collective shipyards. XCOM had hit the Collective hard in Oceania too, which Bradley had been gloating about all day.

Their resident Australian held out permanent hope that his nation would be freed. Indonesia wasn't Australia, but it was a step closer. It was good that he was happy for now, as he was a lot more focused most of the time, a regular trait of a sniper.

"Where's Joel?" Oscar asked as they began eating. "Not going to join us this time?"

"Officer meeting," Angela told them, glancing at the clock. "He said he had one. Probably just ran over time."

What she didn't think it appropriate to mention was that it was likely a contingency meeting. No matter how well ADVENT had done some days ago, the Collective was probably going to strike back – and Utah was right on the front lines of a push from the West Coast. Not unexpected that they could be targeted.

"I don't suppose you could…ask him where he is?" Glen asked, making a circular motion with his head. "I mean, you could find him?"

"Wh-? No!" She sputtered. "Do you want the spooks to arrest me for 'abuse of psionic power'?"

"Hey, dinner is serious," Glen shrugged. "But really. Meetings aren't usually this late. At least not Officer ones."

Angela decided it was best to continue the lighthearted tone before they thought too much about why their Officer was late. She bit into the ADVENT burger. Huh, it was surprisingly good. Much better than normal fast food. "Well, don't keep us in suspense, Glen. You clearly want to tell us your theory."

"Ah, right," he set a mostly-eaten burger down. "Now, here it is – Patricia Trask is actually dead."

Angela, and most of the others, raised their eyebrows; physically and mentally.

"Please," Oscar said dryly. "Do go on."

"So, I remembered some things you said, Angela," Glen nodded to her. "Way back when you were explaining the psionic theory around the Bringer. Or what we knew, anyway. Or what's public, I should say. So fact – we know that you can control someone telepathically – correct?"

Angela sighed, but said: "Correct…"

"And the aliens have clearly shown they can clone things quickly," Glen continued. "So – fact – they could mock up a Patricia lookalike. Or not. I don't think she was that tall. Plus she hides herself in a mask pretty often."

"ADVENT and XCOM seem to be treating her like the real thing," Cecilia pointed out. "I don't think they'd make it up."

"Plus, we've heard her talk," Bradley added. "It definitely sounds like her."

"Hey now, let me finish," Glen finished his burger. "I have an explanation for that. So – what the Ethereals did was extract her mind telepathically, and are storing it somewhere, and then temporarily putting it in her body when they want her to say something."

There were a series of groans. "Very funny, Glen," Young drawled. "I almost thought you had something serious. Angela, please confirm that's not possible."

She added an apologetic note to her voice. "You cannot do that Glen, sorry."

"Gah, skeptics all around," he wiped his hands. "That said, I'm pretty sure that's not actually her. Don't ask me how, just a feeling. Because I still don't believe Patricia fucking Trask would go over to the enemy."

"She probably didn't," Angela said. "Not really. What we know of the Imperator is that…well, he could easily force her to turn." She shrugged. "It's simple theory, actually. It's what makes telepathy so terrifying for a lot of people. I doubt she realized what she was becoming."

"I'm almost sad your theory isn't possible," Bradley said with a slight smile to Glen. "Because when we win, we get to free her spirit-mind and I wanted to ask what the afterlife was like."

"You know we could ask our resident PRIEST," Glen said with a smile, nodding to Angela. "Oh seer of the Psionosphere, what secrets of the beyond can you share with us mere mortals?"

Angela chortled. The squad never hid their amusement at the (admittedly extensive and arguably excessive) names of the various PRIEST Division ranks. Which she contributed to as well. Still, she liked the atmosphere when she'd been training, and people stopped laughing when they saw what the PRIESTs could do.

"Well, humble pilgrim," she began somberly. "What questions do you have and what offering you bring?"

"My question is but a simple one," Glen bowed his head. "Where do our spirits dwell when our souls break our mortal shell?"

"God you're laying it on thick," Cecilia facepalmed.

"Do forgive her," Glen emphasized. "She is but a non-believer. As for my tribute, I offer you nourishment of the body." He picked up a single french fry and left it before her. She plucked it up and pretended to appraise it as if it was a gemstone.

"It shall suffice," she said seriously. "The answer to your question is – I don't know."

"Boo," Glen said, ending the façade. "Sad no one knows yet. Seriously though, has that ever been asked in training?"

"Not when I was there," Angela said. "The Magisters were more focused on making sure each of us didn't accidentally kill someone else. The spirituality questions didn't come up. Wouldn't be surprised if they do at some point though."

"Psionics isn't really spiritual though," Oscar said. "Doubt ADVENT will go for it."

Angela thought back to some of the things they knew about the Bringer. "I'm not sure about that. Telepathy itself is…odd in that respect. It's difficult to describe, but navigating the Psionosphere with minds gives a…perspective. Not really religious, but definitely…ethereal, I guess."

"Ethereal doesn't sound good," Glen said deadpan.

"You know what kind of ethereal I meant," Angela retorted. "But yeah. Any questions about the afterlife are going to have to wait."

"A shame, that's something I'd like to know about before I die," Young said.

"I'd prefer not having anyone in that situation at all," Angela finished, taking a sip of her water as she felt a familiar mind coming up. "Joel's back."

A few seconds later their commanding Officer strode in, as serious as usual. Angela had been somewhat intimidated by the man the first time she'd met him. The scar added a lot, a thick one going over his right eye deep in his dark skin. But he was a very nice, if somewhat overly serious man.

Glen waved a hand. "Glad you made it to dinner. Bradley picked up some ADVENT burgers – they're pretty good."

"Appreciated," Joel came and picked one up, but didn't sit down. "News from command. We're to receive a visit from the Japanese Empress."

Everyone, Angela included, was surprised. Not that it was a bad thing – Angela was quite impressed with the woman from what she'd seen – but the circumstances seemed odd. "Why's she coming here?" Oscar asked, a frown marring his otherwise unblemished pale face.

"Officially, to help recruitment in Salt Lake and give a speech to us," Joel said, beginning to eat. "Unofficially – and I'll stress that this is something the Lieutenant just suspects – ADVENT's expecting things to heat up a lot here. We're in a dangerous spot, and the Empress could act as a deterrent. If anything happens…" he shrugged. "Well, she's right here and can help."

"Wonderful," Bradley said. "I hope nothing happens then. I'd like to meet her."

"She's not going out with you," Glen teased. "Don't get your hopes up."

"Glen…" Bradley rubbed his forehead, with Angela catching his embarrassment. "You do realize I can admire a woman for her feats and not just because she's moderately attractive."

Angela hid her smile with another drink from her glass, and exchanged a look with Cecilia and Young. The three of them knew very well that the Empress was definitely not considered just 'moderately' attractive by the overwhelming majority of the single male population. "Whatever you tell yourself at night," Glen finished, rolling up his burger wrapper and shooting it into the trash bin. "So do we have a role in this, or just attending?"

"We're on security," Joel looked to Angela. "Since we have a psion, they want us making sure there's not anything out of the ordinary. So we're going to be her unofficial escort, with several other PRIEST-integrated squads."

"Any dedicated PRIEST squads?" Angela wondered.

"A couple," Joel confirmed. "I saw several Protopriests named as tertiary escorts. ADVENT's taking her security seriously."

"Sounds fun," Glen said. "Nobody jinx it."

Angela hoped he was right, but another part of her wondered. Given what had just happened, and what could very easily happen, she had a feeling that the next few days were going to be…interesting.

---

Situation Room, SAS Command – Nigeria

6/8/2017 – 11:14 A.M.

Three different aliens stood in the same room, looking at a holotable. The Ethereal stood silently observing as the Human and Vitakarian discussed the latest developments. Ones which heralded the true war for Africa to start. Though the actions ADVENT was taking were certainly…bold.

"A fleet." Betos said flatly, a note of disbelief still in it, while looking at the holotable. "A naval fleet for that matter."

"So it would seem," Keeper agreed, rubbing his chin. "Curious."

"There must be something more," Betos muttered, furrowing her brow. "What do we know about the fleet?"

"That it's very well armed and armored," Keeper recalled from the Zararch reports Betos had briefly gone over. "Much of the ADVENT wet navy had been overhauled once the shipping raids started. They've been moderately successful in defending the supply lines. Augmented with AA defenses, reinforced hulls, and gauss, laser, and plasma weapons."

"Dangerous then," Betos nodded slowly. "We knew that. But assuming they're coming here – why? A naval attack is one of the least effective."

"The SAS doesn't have a modernized or large enough navy," Keeper pointed out. "Although if that is truly their rationale, then they failed to account for a mass deployment of Andromedon Aquatic Forces. Which seems like the obvious response should they be moving this way."

"Could it be a trap?" She wondered aloud.

"If it's a trap, it's a very poor one," Keeper narrowed his eyes. "Which makes me believe it's not a trap, and instead a clear signal which will be followed – or preceded by – a land invasion. A compliment to an attack, not something else. However, the size of the fleet is irregular. Far too large for us – or what I would expect. Alternatively, it could be misdirection for something else."

"If ADVENT is to invade us, they would want to send a message," Betos said grimly. "Literal overkill. They used a nuclear weapon. An overwhelming fleet wouldn't make them flinch. I assume there are submarines accompanying them?"

"Of course, some," Keeper nodded. "But this primarily seems to be a ship-based fleet. If the submarines were similarly mobilizing for this fleet, we would know about it."

Betos looked to Macula. "If they're headed our way, we'll need the Andromedons."

A nod from the helmeted alien. "They will arrive swiftly. If ADVENT wishes to use an overwhelming wet naval fleet, we can exceed them and send their soldiers to the bottom of the sea."

"It might not be easy," Keeper warned. "Crew compositions include ADVENT special forces and PRIESTs. They're preparing for us. Nonetheless, with an even larger fleet we should emerge victorious without much difficulty."

Betos still felt like they were missing something. "We should know of an equivalent land mobilization – and to my knowledge we haven't seen that."

"We have, actually," Keeper amended, shifting the holotable to Africa. "ADVENT has been mobilizing and steadily moving Legions to Egypt and European nations close to Africa. All of them are stuck in limbo until the sandstorms in the Sahara calm down. ADVENT clearly doesn't want to risk going through them."

"How long are the storms supposed to last?"

"At least several days more, according to forecasts," Keeper answered. "Probably a week before they calm down enough for ADVENT to effectively move through them."

Betos did find it somewhat amusing that a simple series of sandstorms was all it took to keep ADVENT at bay. "Maybe we should invest in a weather machine," she said dryly. "That seems to keep ADVENT at bay. A hurricane would be useful right now."

"Indeed it would," Keeper offered a thin smile. "However, that gives us time to prepare. We've estimated the places where ADVENT will strike once they mobilize. They should be prepared by the time ADVENT moves out. No more than one week."

"Good."

"We have half a million Collective reinforcements almost being deployed over that same period," Keeper added. "And considering the state of some of the nations XCOM so helpfully destabilized, we should move in and restore order. There is no government to speak of right now, and if we don't act, ADVENT will."

Betos didn't like the idea of the SAS effectively invading a country…but the fact was that there was no more government since XCOM had removed it. They needed to do something, and they were better equipped than ADVENT to restore order before military dictatorships happened or criminals carved up what was left.

"Unfortunately, that's true," she admitted. "Send in our soldiers. No aliens yet. XCOM tried framing the Collective, and people won't react well. We need food, medicine, aid first. I'll work with the acting heads of state to establish some kind of government. The sooner we start this, the better. All simultaneous. We can manage that, correct?"

"Correct, Marshal."

"Then I would suggest we start doing that," Betos drummed her fingers on the edge of the holotable, fixated on the image. "We have a short window before ADVENT strikes. Let's move as fast as we can."

---

Nartha's Quarters, Nulorian Outpost – Borelian Wastes

6/5/2017 – 2:20 P.M.

He felt better now.

It took a few hours, but some time to think and sharing a morning stimulant (in the afternoon) with Shun helped get his mind focused beyond Miridian's ruthless plans. Now they both sat on a couch in his largely sparse quarters, both of them seated basically right next to each, a proximity neither felt the need to comment on or change.

Shun swirled the drink in her mug. "We'll get them out."

Nartha pursed his lips. "I don't know."

"Why not?"

He sighed. "He's part of the Aui'Vitakar. He probably sees me as a traitor. Mother too."

Shun shrugged. "You're still his son. And your sister is in XCOM."

"Which means he is probably trying his hardest to prove his loyalty," Nartha finished grimly. "But he's like so many others. They don't see the Collective; the Zararch; the Ethereals as the enemy."

Shun nodded. "Propaganda."

"More than that," Nartha added. "They have good lives. If you get sick, you go to a hospital and get better. You are educated. You always have a job. No war, no hardship. Why would you want to get rid of that?" He lifted a hand. "Yes, I know. But most people are never negatively touched by the Zararch knowingly. All of what's happening just…doesn't affect them."

"No, I get it," Shun briefly closed her eyes. "Reminds me of China, in a way. Minus the guarantee of a comfortable life. But historically, we'd been taken advantage of by other nations. Then when it was our turn…we're more comfortable trusting our leaders who at least we knew were us. Belief because if we didn't, we'd have nothing."

She paused several seconds. "Then later throw in propaganda for several generations, an isolated internet, and control over education, and you got the pre-ADVENT Chinese state. And even then, it's not like we didn't know there was something outside what the CCP taught, we just thought we were better. Easier to stay with something familiar than fight for something better. So I get that."

"And now ADVENT fixed that."

"Fixed?" She snorted. "Not completely. Not for years at least. You can't change a mindset overnight. I was lucky; I got regularly exposed to others who made me think a bit more critically. Not everyone is in that position, or open-minded enough to change their minds like I was. But…ADVENT will make it better. You'll make it better for your people too."

He gave a wan smile at her. "Assuming Miridian leaves any alive."

She rolled her eyes. "No mass killings on my watch, or the Commander's. If there's one person I think he fears, it's him."

"Fears?" Nartha shook his head, amused. "I doubt that. Not when he has his pet machine around him. Miridian isn't the type of person who is 'afraid'. Which, I will say, is not necessarily a smart thing."

"Fear can keep you from making stupid decisions," Shun agreed. "Then again, it can also stop you from making smart ones."

"The line between healthy and unhealthy fear is thin," Nartha noted. "And I think Miridian may fall more on the latter – though the Commander can likely keep him in check."

"We can only hope," Shun said. "But I'm serious. You're not only the first Vitakara to realize something was wrong, and defect, but the first alien. If anyone's going to have a role, it'll be you."

"I almost hope not," Nartha said slowly, resisting a shudder. "I'm not a good person to lead. I'm much better at following orders; working within a box to get something done. I have no idea how to set up a government. I also don't want to be Speaker of the Vitakara 2.0. I don't think a former Zararch leading the new enlightened Vitakara would play well."

"No, no, not necessarily lead, but you can help the people adapt," she insisted. "Like you said, it'll take time – and people along the way. You know what they will be going through, and how you can help."

"Maybe if I have a few dozen defectors and ADVENT psychologists helping," he glanced at her. "You too. You'd probably be better suited than I am."

"Hey, I'm just a soldier too," she smiled, and took his hand resting on the couch fabric. "But I'd be more than happy to be the official XCOM liaison for this project. For purely professional reasons, of course."

He met her eyes. "No doubt."

There was a brief, very charged moment of silence between them.

"I've been thinking," Shun finally said, not looking away. "A while, actually, but really when you almost died to Quisilia. Things that…well…both of us may be avoiding, assuming you're picking up what I'm saying, yes?"

"I…think I am."

"Right," she nodded, taking a shaky breath. "Well then. Yes. I like you, romantically I mean, which is really odd to say that to an alien, but, well, it seems really dumb to deny it. Things are getting a lot more dangerous, and I don't want you to die and I never told you how I feel."

On some level, over some time, he'd wondered about this. Little hints which may or may not be indications. Something they kept more or less dancing around as they worked, talked, and fought together. He'd been confident…but not confident enough to really confirm. Not until now.

And the confession was enough to turn his previously stressful day around.

And he had, of course, done some research on Human romantic relationships. Initially very long ago when he'd been preparing to infiltrate XCOM, and more recently, just in case he was right about her interest. And if the movies and books were any indication, now was the time for the next step.

So he leaned down and kissed her.

He didn't know how long it lasted, but it was as long as both of them wanted.

When it finally broke, the euphoria both felt didn't abate.

It was certainly different from Vitakarian women – but in a good way.

She tried to sound accusatory, but it came out almost as a giggle. "You've been waiting to do that."

He smiled, looking down at her. "I've been thinking about it for a while."

"We could have done this so long ago," she groaned, closing her eyes briefly before opening them and looking at him intently. "Well then, what are you waiting for – do it again."

---

Salt Lake City, Utah – United States of America

6/10/2017 – 4:22 P.M.

Kaya was thankful that ADVENT was doing something to not make her tours completely superfluous. On some level she knew it was selling herself short, but on another, she didn't like the idea that she was getting out of the front lines of battle. Then again, right now, there weren't any major battles going on.

Though they were assuredly coming.

Probably after this PR event, actually.

"Africa," she grunted in the back room, which her squad was staying in before going out to the throngs of people. "I guess ADVENT is not going to tolerate them anymore."

"Apparently not," Genevieve tossed the tablet to the side after she finished reading. "Very vague though. 'SAS offensive' can mean quite a few different things. Either way, I admit, it will feel good to actually get back to killing aliens."

"Nah, it'll feel better," Vicki interjected. "If there's one thing worse than an alien, it's a traitor Human."

"Here, here," Fletcher nodded. "But in the meantime, we get to play bodyguard, so it's a nice change of pace. Beijing was honestly enough to give me my fill of fighting for a while."

"And I'm glad all of you are here, uneventful as it's been," Kaya smiled, glancing to the clock. "Speaking of which, we've got to move in a few minutes."

All of the squad moved to get up and ready themselves, putting on helmets and clicking on the safeties of weapons. Public event it may be, they were cognizant of Kaya's increased public profile, and it wasn't out of the question that the Zararch or another alien faction would try and assassinate her.

Especially given that they'd technically already tried.

Suited up, they marched out to significant PRIEST protection, many seen, a number unseen. PRIEST-embedded ADVENT Army squads were also deployed around the city. It was definitely a lot of work just for her, but she did take some solace in the fact that if something were to happen, it probably wouldn't just be an assassination, and the garrison would be ready.

There was, in fact, a good chance that the Collective was planning something from the West Coast. If it would come today, tomorrow, or a week from now was unknown – but it was likely to come soon; all in a wave of retaliation from the aliens after ADVENT had struck back.

But they would see.

The event was a relatively simple one, go to a venue, give a short speech, and then an afterwards discussion with a smaller group, usually a mixture of high-school and college-age people. If there was a Japanese population, they would also be directly spoken to. She preferred that, much less formal and she felt it helped dispel her as some mythical figure ADVENT was presenting her as.

ADVENT wanted her to primarily improve military recruitment, which was not something she really believed in. Not everyone was cut out to be a soldier. Instead she preferred encouraging them to work for ADVENT in some capacity. Intelligence, Medical, Science, Engineering, the Militia, to do something to contribute.

That struck her as a more balanced approach than solely military. ADVENT hadn't commented on it, so she assumed that they were satisfied by her approach. Data after her recruitment tours showed that she was having a tangible impact on hiring numbers, and that was all that mattered.

She was still somewhat surprised at how much interest she generated. No matter where she'd gone, there'd been a packed house. In Japan or Asia that would be one thing, but Americans and Europeans? They theoretically shouldn't care as much. She knew part of it was due to ADVENT, but it might be simpler than that. People liked a good comeback story.

Or a revenge story.

Both were applicable.

One thing which struck her as she talked with people all over the world was that there was, truly, no one who was untouched by the war. Everyone mentioned that a friend, or a sibling, a parent, an uncle, someone they knew had died, or they knew someone who knew someone who died.

There were way too many families which were now being managed by single mothers or fathers, or worse, the oldest siblings. Civilian PTSD was skyrocketing, as were other mental conditions made worse by the stress of war. There was no safe place on Earth, not really, and she saw it in their eyes.

A weary fear, as if they were waiting for the sirens to sound and the bombardment to begin.

It was always emotionally exhausting, but it did make these long events worthwhile. Thank goodness ADVENT existed and was managed by competent people. She didn't want to think about how the world would have dealt with a crisis like this without a strong, decisive government.

It would have been bad. It was also generous assuming that the world would have held on this long.

"Think that's another one down for today," Genevieve yawned as the last people trailed out. "That makes-"

The muffled sound of an explosion sounded, rattling the building's foundation as the squad immediately formed up around her, weapons up. Kaya immediately flung her own helmet on, and reached for her sword as the PRIEST squad nearby burst in and encased them in a psionic shield.

"What's going on?" She yelled.

"We're assessing, Empress," the Protopriest stated, "But there's been an explosion. Seems to be someone in the crowd who was intercepted. There are several suspects, ADVENT squads are moving out now. Stay put, we'll ensure they get no further."

---

Salt Lake City, Utah – United States of America

6/10/2017 – 4:02 P.M.

Angela was convinced that the best training that any telepath could do was to go outside, sit down, and listen.

Not listen, listen, since the Manchurian Restraints would prevent spying on people's thoughts without good reason, but what it couldn't stop was the picking up of emotions. Even that would be initially overwhelming for a young or inexperienced telepath, and at first it would be a soup of everything. Good luck picking out specific emotions, much less who said emotions could be connected to.

But with experience, it would eventually start to work itself out. Things would become clearer; the mind would be able to start separating and picking out what it wanted to. You could ignore or focus on specific emotions, and then tie them to people walking around you. It was enormous power, even if not ultimate, and she suspected that if people even knew that, it would make them uncomfortable.

It never made guard duty boring, that was for sure. The emotions always acted as adrenaline in some way; it required some degree of empathy to feel what they felt, and one would feel the emotions just as they did. Those were the most effective telepaths, in her opinion. Telepaths who were too clinical in their approach seemed to have more difficulty picking out specific entities.

Telepathy required connection, and that would always go both ways to a degree.

Hundreds of people milled around outside the event area, going about their business or waiting to get in or for the Empress to emerge. Angela and her squad were one of the many ones which were scattered around for protection and observation. Thus far, nothing but crowds. A lot, but not something that they couldn't handle.

Angela stood behind Oscar and Young. Bradley was stationed in a balcony above, sniper rifle at the ready. Glen, Cecilia and Joel were patrolling in sync with the movements of a dozen other squads, giving a permanent presence to the entire event. Oscar hated these kinds of events, and found guard duty very, very dull.

Young was a little more interested, but she much preferred to be in a team which was at least moving. Angela couldn't really blame them; they weren't telepaths and without as much stimuli as she was receiving, it would admittedly be very boring. So she'd also gotten good at talking to them while also being able to properly monitor everything.

And also used her telepathy to passively sharpen them. A Solii needed to always help her squad, and throughout this entire rotation, neither of them would feel tired or exhausted. And in the unlikely event something did happen, they would be able to react immediately. Both probably knew, even if they didn't comment on it.

"She's a good speaker," Oscar was saying. "I can see why Bradley is so infatuated with her."

"You both realize I can hear what you're saying?" The sniper muttered from atop.

Angela smiled, but didn't comment. "Yes, yes," Oscar said. "I'm saying you have good taste, man."

Bradley grumbled something unintelligible into the comms. "She is," Young agreed. "She did always strike me as a smart one. Kind of surprised she was actually able to get into the Order without anyone recognizing her."

"You've seen her before?" Oscar glanced over to her.

"I lived in Korea my whole life," Young reminded him. "We're pretty close to Japan. Not superfans or anything, but they were close enough where we generally followed if the Japanese imperials were doing something. Never thought it would turn into anything like this though. But good for her."

"Still, I wonder," Oscar mused. "Think she's writing her speeches on her own, or some ADVENT writing team is doing them?"

"Nah, I think she is," Young insisted. "You can tell if someone's speaking their own words or someone else's. You can tell, no matter how good of a speaker they are."

"If that were the case, Saudia would be writing her own speeches," Oscar pointed out.

"She actually does," Bradley interjected. "Said so quite a few times."

"Oh, come on," Oscar snorted. "Like the fucking Chancellor doesn't have a team of the best writers crafting her own Independence Day "We will not go quietly into the night" speeches. No way she's coming up with that on her own."

"Hey man, if she isn't, she's a really good actor."

"I'm not saying they're bad," Oscar protested. "They're great! But come on, that isn't how politics like that works. She probably practices a lot."

"She's a good speaker," Angela added. "A good leader. Like Treduant."

Despite the fact that she'd come from nowhere.

All these months later, there was a lot about how ADVENT came about that still made her uncomfortable. She, like pretty much everyone else, found it difficult to believe that ADVENT coming around had been a great Coming Together™ of Humanity for the greater good. There was a mechanical calculation around it, with Saudia being the top of it.

A void with no past or history.

And the only answers were found in conspiracies, a rabbit hole she was definitely not going to go down. Glen would do that, and on occasion would share some of the more outlandish ones, but underneath his excuse of humor, he was just as curious about the origins of the new world order as the rest of them.

Not that it was wholly a bad thing. ADVENT was indisputably needed and it was good to have competent leaders right now. At the same time, there was a lot about ADVENT which could generously be considered questionable.

Oscar and Young were still chatting. Angela let their conversation happen in the background as the crowds still moved. Until Oscar brought her up again. "Angela, I don't suppose you'll have stuff going on tonight?"

Angela raised an eyebrow under her helmet. "I don't think so?"

"Well…" he slightly glanced back to her. "You think you might?"

"Oscar…" Young sighed.

"She's a telepath! She can understand subtlety."

"You're about as subtle as the Battlemaster in a street of Humans," Bradley commented dryly.

Indeed he was. "Well," Angela said slowly. "Perhaps I will go get some target practice. I'm sure Bradley would love to come with me, and Glen too. Joel will probably be in a meeting."

"Oh, fine. You owe me, Oscar."

Oscar was likely grinning under his helmet. "Don't worry, I'll put in a word for you with the Empress. I'll try to get an autograph if they have them."

"One with a kiss too, if she's comfortable doing that." Young added with a giggle.

"I hate you all."

But he didn't, even if he was slightly embarrassed with all of the teasing. And Angela didn't have a problem letting Oscar and Young conveniently have the squad room to themselves for a few hours. One could only imagine what they wanted it for. Not that either of them had been especially subtle about it; Angela had figured it out pretty easily after the first time. Emotions were a dead giveaway, but all she'd done was give them a knowing look which they'd sheepishly returned and let them go more public at their own pace.

It was cute.

Though Joel had just rolled his eyes when he'd found out, muttering about the 'indiscretion of youth in war'. But she'd known he didn't have an issue either. With a war going on, there were more important things to worry about.

However her good mood quickly crystalized as she noticed something peculiar. She wasn't sure what had caught her attention, but there was a woman who was sitting and reading a newspaper nearby. She looked pretty normal, and not really even interested in what was going on around her.

But she had no emotional signature. None. There was a difference between having tight control, and not having any emotions at all. And she had nothing. "Bradley, see the woman across the street. Newspaper, black hair, white, jeans, green shirt?"

"Yep. Why?"

"She doesn't have any emotional signature."

A pause. "Well, that's not good. One of the Zararch infiltration machines?"

"Only one way to find out," Angela switched her frequency. "Salt Lake Local Command, this is PRIEST Blackburn. Possible location of a Zararch REPLICA unit. Request backup and permission to proceed."

"Stand by. Please provide description and location."

Angela complied, then waited a few minutes, and subtly noticed a number of other squads had entered the area. "Soldiers on standby, as well as applicable sniper and PRIEST units. Approach with caution."

"Copy that," she nodded. "Joel, did you get that?"

"I did," he confirmed, also now on their frequency. "Proceed. I'm heading back now, but if it's a REPLICA we want to take it out now. Be careful."

"Alright, let's go," she said, taking a lead before Oscar and Young who flanked her as she approached the woman. Said target looked up as they approached, though apparently judged to play it cool.

"Hello, is there an issue?"

"We hope not," she definitely looked and sounded Human. "Identification please?"

"Oh, of course," the woman fumbled around in her purse. A good actor, but now that she was up close, Angela knew that it was a façade. She made a show of looking at the ID – which did seem legitimate – before putting it in one of her pouches.

"There seems to be a small issue with it," she said. "I'm sure it's nothing, but you'll have to come with-"

She wasn't able to finish as the woman's face turned fully still and she leapt forward, pushing Angela with enough force to send her back into Oscar, and bolted through the crowd. A sniper shot rang out, which hit the woman in the arm, but didn't stop her. The crowd burst into pandemonium at that, and scattered in all directions at the shot.

But the line of ADVENT soldiers who'd formed had closed all exists. The REPLICA seemed to realize that, and briefly stood frozen, trying to plot a way out. "Cage coming up." One of the PRIESTs said over the comms. A small psionic box appeared around the REPLICA, who looked around it.

"Try to not damage it," Joel was saying. "We'd prefer it-"

The REPLICA exploded.

The blast rocked the ground, and the psionic shields weren't able to contain the full blast, which blew a number of bystanders back, though thankfully at first glance it didn't seem to have killed anyone. But the REPLICA was fully vaporized. Only shrapnel and ash remained. Angela breathed heavily.

That could have been much worse.

"Well," Oscar coughed, standing up. "I think that's enough excitement today."

Angela agreed, but she had a feeling that Oscar and Young weren't going to get their private time tonight. If there was one REPLICA, there were almost certainly others, and ADVENT wasn't going to let things return to normal until each one had been found and terminated.

---

Residence of General Imraam, Kuala Lumpur ADVENT Base – Malaysia

6/11/2017 – 9:02 P.M.

Subtle.

That was what the Zar'Chon wanted.

Easier said than done.

Penetration of the military base itself was trivial. It was a simple matter of tailing one of the soldiers who commuted each day from the city itself, breaking into their home, taking scans and data of their badge, then leaving. The data was transmitted to the Collective, who were able to fabricate a copy without issue.

The guards only really cared about the ID card being scannable or even just looking accurate, so flashing it was usually all that was needed. Nemo had done some modifications to the face to make it look not completely like Saudia, such as adding a small scar, cutting the hair far shorter, and adding glasses.

It was amazing how much a simple prop like glasses could change a face.

Not that anyone was paying attention to what it was doing here, nor was Nemo making their actions obvious. Simple observation for several days, learning patterns and keeping track of important people – its target included. General Imraam lived on-base – a smart decision, but military housing was still vulnerable.

It just happened to reside within a higher-risk area.

Simple.

Around the exterior of the house were three squads, and a full PRIEST Squad led by an actual Protopriest. One of the days Nemo had paid special attention to them. Three telepaths, two aegii, and one telekine. Mental and physical bases covered. Assassination by sniper rifle would be practically impossible given how thoroughly he was surrounded whenever he walked outside.

Scans taken of the residence revealed that it was not made out of regular material. Stronger walls, bulletproof glass, SHIVs which patrolled, along with MDUs. They really did not want anyone to touch this guy. Unsurprising, but it was not something which could not be overcome.

And it was time to act.

A frontal attack was obviously suicide. A stealth approach luring and taking out guards one-by-one was infeasible due to the psions and machines. Compromising the machines was equally impossible since its credentials weren't tuned for engineering, nor was Nemo confident that certain contingencies weren't hardcoded to prevent hacking. ADVENT would have likely done that.

It also didn't help that the entire residence was wired up with so many sensors that there was a high likelihood that the moment any movement was detected past the threshold, the door would slam open and alarms would go off. It was incredible just how paranoid ADVENT was being. No one could also enter without a psionic evaluation and verification.

They had learned quite a lot since the assassination of the Japanese Imperials. And presumably after they'd found its previous target dead.

Admirable, in a way.

With all of these factors, Nemo had come to the conclusion that breaking into the residence was impossible. Even something like compromising the ventilation wouldn't likely work since there were almost certainly sensors that would detect air changes, and there was even an anti-nanite contingency based on scans.

ADVENT wanted to play, as they would say, 'hardball'.

Well, that could certainly be done.

It wouldn't be…subtle…but it could be done.

Nemo clicked a finger to its ear. "Is it in position?"

The synthesized Andromedon voice answered promptly. "Standing by. Awaiting coordinates."

Nemo lifted the carefully tuned tracking rifle and took aim at the house. The laser was still risky because it could still be intercepted by the MDUs or SHIVs even if Humans couldn't see it. But from up high, it had a lessened chance of detection…for the first few minutes. A conventional airstrike was impossible due to ADVENT detecting such beforehand.

Missile strikes or other projectiles had the same issue.

Thus, unconventional technology had to be employed.

Union Omega was responsible for some of the most sophisticated pieces of technology that existed today. The Federation's own black operations Union had outdone themselves with this particular device. Even if the Shatterpoint Satellite was, by all metrics, a major waste of expensive resources.

A stealth satellite which could be inserted covertly into an orbit, designed to be invisible to scanners and radar. Over three months to meticulously put together, loaded with several hundred metal spikes, each approximately one foot long, specially forged and designed to be released and fly to the ground at terminal velocity, and impact a very targeted and specific point.

No engine, no thrust, no detection. Too small to be taken out by AA defenses. No signature to be detected beforehand. Shields would be the only tool capable of stopping it, but this particular base didn't have it. The impact would be more than enough to level the target structure and kill anyone caught in the radius.

Afterwards, the satellite would activate its nanoconsumer, and eat itself, leaving no trace it ever existed. The perfect assassination weapon, though due to the exceptional cost, the Collective only had a few on hand. It didn't help that due to the small size of the spikes, it wouldn't be equally effective against everything. It wouldn't take out a skyscraper, let alone a place like the Chancellor's residence.

But against a slightly-improved home to a military commander?

Perfect.

"Synchronized. Firing. Maintain laser."

In theory, all Nemo had to do was upload the actual coordinates, but with ADVENT's AI in play, risking their networks was not acceptable. This carried its own risks, but they were more manageable. Not to mention that the precise nature of the weapon meant that a wrong coordinate could throw off the entire attack.

"Firing complete. Severing and self-destructing."

Nemo turned off the laser. The machines hadn't seen anything.

It allowed itself a smile.

Time to watch the fireworks.

So Nemo sat back, and first saw the little orange bolts fall from the sky. ADVENT seemed to notice them as well – just as they heard the shriek and the first spikes slam into the house. It was fascinating to see the hundreds of spikes reduce the house to shreds like being shot point-blank with a flechette weapon.

Which was, in essence, what the Shatterpoint Satellite was.

Everyone and everything near the house was instantly killed.

Alarms blared.

Time to go. Mission accomplished.

---

Near Field Hospital – Brazil

6/12/2017 – 8:42 P.M.

They'd spent the last few days observing; watching patterns and routines the medical staff performed. It was a challenge that Volk, even now, still didn't want to complete. A small part of him was hoping that ADVENT would catch onto something and give him an excuse for not going through with it.

Unfortunately, they had not.

The field hospital was a fairly minor one, which was a good distance from the front lines of the South American conflict, near a city he didn't know the name of, though had been built beyond it for safety and expansion reasons. Wartime injuries, mostly, so as not to overburden the city hospital which still handled routine injuries.

Civilians, soldiers, anyone hurt as a direct consequence of the war was taken here. Large enough to provide care, and small enough to only have a small guard and still largely composed of tents and only a couple solid buildings.

And there was a routine the staff had every week, which was to gather in the main hall as something of a social event and morale booster. Everyone from the Hospital overseer to the medics themselves attended. Fish in a barrel, and the guards were minimal. ADVENT either didn't have the manpower or didn't believe that those kinds of locations would be attacked.

To be fair to them – this was a wholly out-of-the-way target.

Though in truth, it was clearly a test by the Zar'Chon.

"Time to move in," Volk ordered, as he and his soldiers coalesced around the hall where they were gathered. The guards had been taken care of, but there was only a limited time before people were sent to investigate. A dozen of them were spread out now; Volk motioned for a couple to cover the exits.

When they entered, some would likely try to escape that way.

"How are we doing this?" Came the question from one of his men, Arthur.

Volk pursed his lips under his mask. There was a plan they had come up with; several in fact, but he decided not to pursue those. Instead all he said was: "Follow my lead."

And so they flung the doors open, and entered, weapons raised. There were a few yelps of surprise and sputtering, as well as dishes and drinks falling to the ground as those gathered beheld the armored intruders. There weren't any others than they'd expected. Just medics, administrators, managers, and a few patients which had recovered enough to take part in this social event.

There were tables set out with food, from chips, salsa, and soup, and punch bowls with different colored liquids in them. Paper plates and plastic forks were set out at the ends, and small round tables were set up with some groups gathered around. Some smooth background music played at a low volume, which became the overriding sound as everyone got quiet.

He should have given the fire order then.

But he didn't.

Not yet.

"Up and against the wall!" He ordered, moving his plasma rifle to emphasize. They quickly complied, some tripping over each other. A healthy portion of them were holding in tears or expelled muffled sobs, all of them believing that they were going to die very soon. He shouldn't be giving these people hope.

He moved throughout the room, with his soldiers forcing compliance and making sure they didn't move. They complied; none of them tried breaking free or making a run for it. Smart. Except one man; a figure who was seated at one of the round tables with a bowl of soup. He was a doctor judging from his coat, and seemed to be middle-aged. Perhaps in his late thirties or early forties if Volk had to guess.

A day's worth of stubble had grown around his chin and mouth over slightly-tanned skin, perhaps he was a military doctor judging from the buzz cut, which was so close it was close to indistinguishable from him being bald. What was exceptionally odd about him was how unconcerned he seemed to be, simply appraising the intruders while eating spoonfuls of his soup.

"Against the wall," Volk ordered.

The man looked up at him. "Rather blunt. You could ask a bit nicer, considering the circumstances."

His voice was equally baffling; no trace of concern or fear. It was almost chastising him for a lack of manners like a stuffy aristocrat. Not someone who was now in a hostage situation with his life very much on the line. Volk aimed the weapon in his general direction. "Do you want to be shot?"

"Preferably now, than later," another spoonful of soup. "Although I can certainly see the appeal of such drawn-out executions. There's something so intoxicating about the feeling of power in your hands. The power over life and death; such control. A rush like no other. And right now, we could all use a little more control in our lives, wouldn't you agree?"

Volk frowned at the man who was smiling up at him knowingly, not expecting the conversation. "What are you talking about?"

The man smiled. "What else could I be referring to?" He gestured around him. "Please, do not try and fool me. Don't worry, I know about the Collective's orders. Killing the helpless medics – a test of loyalty for their Human collaborators. But that is a step just too far for you, so you're desiring control. Hence this current…situation."

Volk had a very bad feeling about the man, who stood up a moment later. He wanted him to stop talking. "Shut up and get against the wall."

"You will not be able to control this situation forever," the man almost taunted. "Indecision kills men just as surely as weapons. And it can happen in an instant." He followed up with the snapping of the plastic spoon he had held in his hands.

"Volk?" One of his men asked. "What are we doing?"

What were they doing? What he should do was shoot this man who definitely knew more than he should have, and was acting like he was expecting him, but…this whole mission was not something he had agreed to. And if he did follow through on this, then he couldn't hide from himself that he was now just an indiscriminate assassin of the aliens.

And for what? To make it easier for them to do this again.

It's not like this will stop Patricia from doing her own thing.

He pursed his lips. "Knock them out and take their IDs and access cards. We might as well get the supplies here."

"But…" his men didn't seem convinced. "Asaru…"

"I'll deal with her," Volk muttered. "Do it."

Elena gave a slight nod from beside him. At least she would be on his side, for what it was worth. "Except you," he looked at the man. "You're coming with us."

The man raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his amusement. "A prisoner of war? What an interesting turn this has taken, yet all the same, I must refuse." He shook his head in mock sadness. "I would suggest you leave now," the man said, his voice a mixture of sympathy and warning. "Else your losses will be painful."

"We've got the locations," Elena stated. "We can go. Leave him."

"I don't think he's a medic," Volk said slowly, narrowing his eyes. "ADVENT Intelligence, probably."

"He's not," Elena shook her head. "But I do not like him. I cannot read him. We should go."

"I do admire a perceptive woman," the man smiled. "Hold her close, Konstantin Volikov."

Volk gritted his teeth. If there was ever a red flag, it was Elena being unable to read someone. The only ones she couldn't were Ethereal apparitions and Nemo. Everything screamed that this person was not to be trusted, and that letting him go just like that was a bad idea. At the same time, it seemed like the man was willing to risk provoking and testing him.

He was far too confident. Suicidal almost, unless he knew something.

"Knock them out," he ordered. "And-"

There was an explosion outside, and the sounds of gauss and plasma fire. The ground shook and people fell to the floor, including some of his own. The man glanced to the sound of the explosion and his balance never wavered. Fingertips pressed together, he just appraised them with an amused expression.

Volk's weapon came up, and he immediately began moving back. Too late to deal with the mysterious man. "Retreat!"

Either ADVENT had prepared this as an ambush, or someone had decided to investigate the guards earlier than expected. The man had probably somehow known he was coming, and this entire event was a trap.

They burst out the door, and found themselves in the middle of a firefight.

He almost froze in place when he saw who it was. It wasn't ADVENT which was moving in.

It was XCOM.

What?

How?

Why?

One of his soldiers fell back as a plasma bolt slammed into her head. Green projectiles flew around him. They were not prepared for ADVENT special forces, let alone XCOM. They didn't bother fighting when they were so outmatched, and they retreated as fast as they could, falling back, taking cover and firing stray projectiles as the unknown number of XCOM soldiers advanced.

More of his people fell. He maybe got a few glancing blows on some of the black-armored XCOM soldiers.

No psions, thankfully was what it looked like.

"Volk!" Elena shouted, and pushed him to the ground as a rocket flew past and impacted close to them. His eardrums rang and he was flung against a tent, ripping a hole through it. Panic gripped him as he looked for Elena, and thankfully saw her a short distance away, stunned, but still visibly breathing.

Then went cold again as one of the XCOM soldiers reached her and a glove slammed into her head, knocking her out. The second wind coming to him, he pushed himself up – only to be thrown back to the ground as another explosion lifted him off his feet, and this time when he hit the ground, his consciousness faded.

The only thing left was panic, which persisted into his dreams.

---

Office of the Chancellor, ADVENT HQ – Switzerland

6/12/2017 – 11:25 P.M.

Saudia looked at Powell, her face set in a frown. "This is not acceptable."

"No, Chancellor, it is not," Powell conceded. "We're adapting as we speak. Coordination within applicable agencies is commencing."

"Useful after the fact," Saudia said pointedly. "But this was something we should have anticipated."

Reports had been coming in. Suicide bombings, murders, assassinations. At first she'd thought they were random attacks unleashed by the Zararch, but autopsies and breakdowns of them revealed a very clear pattern, far more subtle than she had expected, and an action which she'd wondered if the Collective would pursue at all.

The targeting was not random.

But the targets were not high-profile figures. The dead included low-key, but important scientists, medics, engineers, community leaders, and individuals which didn't have around-the-clock security details around them. A critical part of the war effort, but not one which was publicly known or 'important' enough to warrant individual protection.

Even if they were around known figures like the Empress, the violence only seemed to sprout because they'd been found out, and forced to defend themselves. Surveillance operations against them. The one piece of good news seemed to be that the measures taken to prevent another assassination of the Imperial family were working, with some exceptions.

"I suppose this means that the Battlemaster is no longer in charge," Powell rubbed his chin. "He wouldn't sanction assassinations against an enemy, even military targets – and the number of dead go far beyond the military."

"Unlikely," Saudia conceded, lacing her fingers together. "Not that it matters much. He'll go along with it. This likely was authorized by the Imperator, and there is a line that the Battlemaster will not challenge."

"He is unlikely to take any part in it," Powell nodded. "Nonetheless we'll be able to use it against them, as he is the face of the Collective – for better or worse."

"I'm not concerned with that right now," Saudia stood. "What I am concerned about is that the Zararch are mobilizing to target and cripple our best and brightest. They are one major reason we are holding our own right now. Even several of the Generals are being taken out, and that is to say nothing of the sabotage which has happened."

"It's not been wholly successful," Powell reminded her, leaning back in his chair. "There's been multiple thwarted attempts, especially against our military forces. But I agree – too many got through. I believe the consensus is that our science and engineering leads need protection. Same with state and community leaders."

"And too many have been infiltrated," Saudia muttered, standing by the window, looking out. "And we don't have enough personnel or psions to perform a sweep like what you did to ADVENT Intelligence."

"Not everywhere," Powell agreed, consulting his tablet. "But PATRIOT put together an interesting interpretation of the data. It might give us indication of where the Collective may be planning to strike next. South America, the Midwest of America, Southeast Asia. Not that other areas were untouched – but there's been a concerted effort to weaken us there."

"And just as Scipio is about to commence," she rubbed her chin. "Fortunately they seem to have not discovered that yet – though the SAS is being more decisive than we anticipated."

"Agreed," Powell adjusted his glasses. "It seems the Collective judged correctly that they could push Betos in that direction. Very easy to kill her confidant and pin it on us. It will make Scipio somewhat more difficult, but still doable. They're inheriting nations which have collapsed. The scope can be expanded as long as we account for it."

"So long as Laura is prepared," Saudia nodded. "Because it sounds like the Collective is signaling that more attacks are coming. This plus Scipio will be…chaotic. And I doubt the Zararch will stop their assassinations in the meantime."

"No, they will not."

"Then they must be mitigated."

"Of course, Chancellor," Powell stood. "And we have a plan to do so."

"Present it then," she turned back to him. "Because I will have to address this – and I'd prefer it be sooner than later."

---

Outside Busan – Korea

6/13/2017 – 7:24 A.M.

Busan, the site of continuous defeats for the Collective.

Today that would change.

Patricia stood outside of the long empty shelled plains of the no man's land, with the legions of Collective soldiers straight from Desolan. There was a slight sense of déjà vu from New York, but there were numerous differences. Namely that she was far outside the city which was doubtless preparing for the surprise army.

Sectoid transport ships had entered through the atmosphere and had been setting down behind her. Executors and Heralds had moved into positions; out of effective range, but at the ready. The objective right now was just to wait and watch. Let ADVENT prepare themselves as the Reinarm Cannon moved into position.

Patricia closed her eyes and reached out.

There were psions spread out throughout the Busan lines. The moment she touched their minds they recoiled and sounded an alarm that spread as fast as their minds could carry it. That she was here, and she was going to attack. With some effort she could have broken through, and then unexpectedly a shroud manifested.

T'Leth. Unsurprising that ADVENT and XCOM had augmented the front lines with the Sovereign's poison. No doubt they argued it was necessary, and if the goal was to stop her, it was. Regardless, T'Leth would not save them today.

Watch well, ADVENT.

The end begins now.

"The Reinarm Cannon is in position," the Andromedon informed. "We are prepared to fire on your command."

No sense in waiting any longer.

"Fire."

The thousands assembled from far away watched the destruction unfold. Streams of elerium-laced nuclear lava which fell from the sky, directly onto the strong fortifications of Busan which had withstood countless shells, bombardments, and even an Ethereal attack. Each droplet of nuclear fire destroyed vast swathes, leaving only radioactive sludge in its wake.

The trenches were flooded with liquid annihilation, and Flak Towers melted under the nuclear heat. Swaths of structures were swept away as the foundations dissolved. Nothing could stand against it or stop it. Patricia and the aliens watched as the city crumbled before them. Nothing would be preserved.

It would be razed and something new built atop it.

The bombardment took place for long minutes. The protection T'Leth had imposed was gone, either from him realizing it was pointless, or because not even the Orbs could resist being destroyed. Then the streams of fire from the sky stopped, leaving only ruin and smoke in the aftermath.

"Reinarm Cannon reserves depleted, Harbinger. We confirm the city defenses have been destroyed."

It wasn't a complete destruction, there was simply not enough nuclear lava to melt the whole city, but that wasn't necessary. All the defenses were gone, dozens of skyscrapers had been razed, and the devastation had swept throughout the city. Those who hadn't been killed instantly would have been killed now due to the radiation – or would be dying a painful death right now.

Patricia lifted a hand, and performed a telekinetic pull over the entirety of the no man's land. Mines and ordinance which had been placed underground were lifted into the air and promptly exploded, though the shrapnel was caught in the telekinetic bubble. She let the pieces fall back to the ground, which was now safe to traverse.

"March."

Seekers and drones flew forward first, to scout and report. Together the armies marched to the ruined city of Busan, this time unable to be stopped or halted. But as they got closer, there was something which was…odd. It was faint, but she realized that the shroud had fallen over the city again.

Blocking her.

Why?

There was definitely no counterattack coming, nothing indicated that. Collective teams were already moving deeper into Busan to gain control of the land itself. The radiation would be an issue for hours yet, which was why only Vitakara teams in radiation suits and Andromedons were moving deeper in.

Her suit was also treated to enter hazardous zones.

An incoming message sounded. From one of the teams. "Enemy contact, Harbinger, we're putting them down."

"Contact?" She demanded. "Who?"

"Survivors."

She determined where the strike team was, and teleported to them – and entered the center of a full-blown firefight. One side superior, but on the back foot by an enemy which was only driven by hate. Somehow, the surviving ADVENT soldiers were still alive – and not just alive, but fighting back.

They should have been killed by the radiation.

Though she saw they weren't unaffected. Many of them had thrown their helmets off, chunks of armor were missing from others. They looked pale, sickly, and sweating. Telltale signs of the radiation poisoning. It would be minutes or hours until they expired. Dead men walking, who were stopping to throw up every few minutes.

But with bile and puke smeared on their faces and lips, they got back up, clutching their weapons and charging forward, fury in their eyes. They were dead, the only thing left was to kill as many aliens as possible. The Andromedons were not prepared for this sudden suicidal charge. A few had fallen, and the Vitakara seemed shocked it was happening at all.

Shots in the arms or chests only slowed them down; an injury which would have incapacitated only slowed. It didn't stop one soldier from throwing herself at a Vitakara, holding a plasma grenade and then detonating it. It didn't stop the man with no arm from firing his sidearm into an Andromedon suit tank, causing a rupture.

Was this T'Leth? Puppeting all of these soldiers?

No.

That she would have been able to tell, and the only thing she knew for sure was that the Orbs were preventing her from penetrating the minds of all of them. It was T'Leth letting them take their last revenge.

Unexpected, but they would be dealt with.

As her mind processed this in seconds, her wrist flung up and all of the immediate ADVENT survivors were sent into the air. A fist closed and their bodies imploded in on themselves. Now they were dead.

More messages had come in. Pockets of suicidal survivors who were assaulting other teams and causing more unanticipated casualties.

She sighed, and set her lips in a thin line.

This was, unfortunately, going to take longer than she had expected.

---

Situation Room – Mars Collective Base

6/12/2017 – 9:25 A.M.

"This is not acceptable."

Quisilia released a sigh. "Well, to be fair, it has been a full year since the conflict began."

"Considering that very important context was withheld from me, as well as information about our objectives and enemy, one could argue I was misled from the beginning."

"Circumstances have changed." Quisilia shook his head. "I dislike that it has become necessary, but the longer ADVENT remains on Earth, the stronger they will become. Their removal must be accelerated, and all methods are on the table."

The Battlemaster appraised the Ethereal opposite him. This was a step which he had wondered if the Imperator would take, but had been uncertain if he would go through with it. It was not a relieving of command – not fully – but it was a clear signal that his authority was no longer final.

It was not good, for a multitude of reasons.

It was insulting, if not fully unexpected. "The war could be won without resorting to assassinations. Let ADVENT fall in the field of battle, or do you believe that our forces are incapable of facing ADVENT?"

"Of course not," Quisilia flipped a hand. "However, ADVENT is quite resilient, as you know, and that will take time. With T'Leth becoming more directly involved, time is something which is a critical factor. This cannot be won through a normal conquest. All strategies are being considered, and while I am aware that some of them you consider distasteful – they are justifiable."

"And how far will it go?" The Battlemaster demanded. "The Reinarm Cannon will do nothing but escalate further. You still intend to utilize the Bringer. That will never receive my support."

"And this is why the Imperator has superseded your authority," Quisilia reminded him. "If you cannot bend on this matter, then there isn't much he can do but authorize the Zar'Chon and Patricia to act as they see fit. At times it seems you are reluctant to fight this war at all."

"It has certainly faded as the Imperator's lies have been exposed," the Battlemaster hissed coldly. "He lied about why we were fighting. He lied about the Sovereign Ones. He lied about the Bringer. All for a plan which is unnecessary, and poses a direct threat to everything that I have built."

"You?"

A telekinetic pulse bent the equipment around them. The Battlemaster took a step towards Quisilia. "Yes, what I have built, Quisilia. I have been working to build the Collective military into what it is. I built it to protect what I thought was our mission. Our Collective to combat the Synthesized. Yet me, Sana, even Aegis did more to build the Collective than the Imperator did."

The Battlemaster spun to the side. "The Collective was a means to an end for him. It always has been, and so long as he is not threatened, it does not matter what comes of it. That is unacceptable to me, Quisilia. I cannot stop or countermand him, but do not expect my cooperation in these efforts."

"That would be…unwise."

"I do not care," the Battlemaster shook his head. "The military follows me. Not you. Not the Imperator. I will continue as I planned, but I will not condone what the Zararch and Patricia have begun. I will ensure ADVENT knows of it as well."

Quisilia sighed. "I will convey this to the Imperator," he flipped a weapon in his hand. "However, you are not making it easier for yourself so long as you persist."

"I understand."

"I certainly hope you do, Battlemaster."

Quisilia vanished through a portal after that, leaving him alone.

Things were moving fast now.

Very fast.

The Imperator was making it clear that he was out of favor. The Battlemaster suspected that it was only a matter of time before a more serious discussion about his role took place. The Imperator couldn't remove him from control over the Collective military, but he might try. Later, though, all he needed to do was find a reason.

And he was sure that the Imperator did not know how to truly fight a Sovereign One. Using the Bringer was far too risky, and if they were pressed too hard, T'Leth may just rapidly improve Humanity. And the Imperator's own distrust of Mosrimor meant they would be unprepared.

On this path, the Collective would be headed to collapse.

Concrete steps needed to be taken to prevent this. Not just words. The only way this worked to his advantage was that the Imperator almost certainly had the wrong read on him. Right now he considered him insubordinate – not treasonous. That was something he could manage.

But very carefully. He sensed Yang, and indicated that she should come meet him.

It was time for another meeting with the insurgent Andromedons.

---

To be continued in Chapter 64

The Vow and the Wish