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.

67. The Vow and the Wish

The Vow and the Wish

---

Baseline Chamber – The Hall of Steel

6/4/2017 – 7:42 A.M.

Another day, another conversation with Fectorian.

Many of the same questions. All of the same answers.

It seemed like she was caught in a loop when it came to this particular element of her life now. Whatever Fectorian seemed to be getting out of it, it wasn't improving her memory. No matter what they tried, no matter how many times he asked her where she was born, who her parents were, and what she was called as a child.

There hadn't been any more odd episodes like speaking a different language – though one of the sessions had been fully Spanish because he wanted to see if she could do it fluently. She'd passed, and it was still a bit unnerving to be able to do that unconsciously. No thought was involved in the process. He prompted, she responded, without needing to think about the words.

It was amazing how fast the mind could work when it knew the answer. The effectiveness of the mind seemed to be directly proportional to how much information was within it, although she did know there was a point where it could become overloaded. Human minds, or any mind, really, had a point where they reached capacity.

Or something like that.

Then the questions immediately shifted.

"What is sixty-three plus twenty-four?"

"Eighty-seven."

She answered instinctively, because that's what the answer was, right?

Wait.

Why is he asking me a math question?

"Continue, please. I will explain shortly."

She frowned to herself, but held her tongue until the end. Instead, she listened, and shifted gears for a math interrogation of all things.

"What is seventeen minus sixteen?"

"One."

"What is thirty-six divided by six?"

"Six."

"What is one hundred times ten?"

"One thousand."

Easy questions. At least at first. Then they began getting a lot more complex.

"What is the square root of sixteen times four minus sixteen?"

"Zero."

"What is one plus one plus eight squared minus the square root of nine?"

"Sixty-nine."

She was still able to answer quickly – quicker than she was expecting, but her mind was racing a bit more as the questions increased in complexity. Her responses started taking seconds as she paused to consider. Ones she was sure were correct, but took longer to reach. Like some of the sessions before, it seemed as though she fell into a trance.

Question. Answer.

Question. Answer.

Question. Pause. Answer.

Question. Pause. Answer.

She heard and spoke.

Heard and spoke.

Input and output.

"Do you believe you are Abigail Gertrude?"

"As close as I can be."

End of session.

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

She did so, almost seeming to 'wake up' from the session, which was a lot more intense than usual. Changing it up certainly made it more interesting than most of the sessions. Rubbing her wrists, she glanced up at the Ethereal. "Did you want to see if I was a math genius or something?"

"Not directly," Fectorian elaborated, appraising one of his screens. "I wanted to gather a usable baseline on your intellectual capability. Math is the easiest to test due to the binary true/false dynamic. I am pleased to say you are intellectually sound and stable."

"Thank you very much," Abigail said with some sarcasm. "Is there a reason you're suddenly concerned about my mental state?"

"Concern is a misnomer. It is to test your feasibility for what I can best describe as an 'upgrade'."

Abigail stood and stretched. She didn't actually need to stretch, but she liked the feeling of moving her body. The remarkable control she had over her body remained fascinating; doing even normal things like stretching was oddly pleasing, even if her body didn't really experience tension in that way anymore. "An 'upgrade'? Could you…define that?"

"A neurological augment," Fectorian explained. "This is not related to your memory. This is making you a better Human. A better asset. A better you, in a sense."

"Elaborate?"

He motioned her over, and brought up a holodisplay, which showed a complicated-looking device that fit over a simulated brain. "Organic minds are limited through biology. Our bodies are not as fast as what minds can produce. You experienced it now – when I asked a question, an answer came to you, but it took a second to move your mouth to speak it. However, that is a different topic."

He indicated the holodisplay. "I've designed a means to improve the processing capabilities of the Human mind. Most of the Vitakara under me have these augments, but Human testing has just concluded, and the results show augmenting analysis capabilities are successful. Quite useful. Allows for faster learning and more accurate reasoning."

Abigail blinked. "And you want me to undergo it?"

"Your mind is stable enough," Fectorian said. "It would be a benefit."

"Still…what if it messes with my memory?"

"I cannot guarantee that it will not," Fectorian admitted. "But there will come a point where that risk must be accepted. It has been some time since your awakening, and I admit that I am uncertain as to the best course to help your memories resurface. I am certain they are there, I just cannot determine how to find them."

He paused. "The field of biological neurology is not one I am an expert in. Not direct neurology. Revelean would likely be able to determine the source of this issue, but he cannot know for obvious reasons. I also do not want to pose hypotheticals, because he knows I do not pose hypotheticals, and he would become suspicious. We must begin looking towards the future. When you return to XCOM."

Wow. For once Fectorian was the one bringing that up. "About time we started talking about that."

"Yes. Unfortunately, XCOM will be unlikely to confirm that you are you," Fectorian said without emotion. "You will think you are Abigail, or the remnants of her, but I suspect it will not be proof, especially when you return with Liam Jaster."

"Yeah." Abigail pursed her lips. "They're going to have questions."

"Questions you can answer. You still wish to assist their fight, yes?"

Abigail shrugged, and sat down. "Of course I do. I don't know if I want to go back to T'Leth…but for XCOM, absolutely. Although I'm more concerned with making sure XCOM believes you…me…"

"The Commander is practical. I trust he will see the opportunity and understand the situation," Fectorian said. "If you come back improved and can serve as a greater asset to him, he may be further open to what you have to say."

"Or think I am under your control."

"Considering I am responsible for you enduring, that possibility would enter his mind regardless of your augmentations or lack thereof," Fectorian dismissed. "If he wishes to debate and doubt, there is little I can do. Their psions will confirm all that you have experienced. Aegis will similarly confirm that I do not have the telepathic aptitude to create a forgery of this sophistication."

"All right, all right." Abigail raised her hands. "Point made. Although you have an ulterior motive for wanting me to take this augment. Don't lie."

Fectorian cleared his throat. "A minor detail, but I have yet to perform a finalized version on a Human female yet. I am certain the process is safe, and it will work, and you are the most suited to undergo the procedure."

Abigail felt a thin smile creep onto her face. Of course that would be his reason. "Fine. It couldn't hurt – so you promise."

"I do."

"So to clarify, this will help me remember things more easily?"

"In a manner of speaking. It will allow your mind to process information faster."

"Alright." She wondered how much more her mind could be augmented like that. She was already an unnaturally fast thinker – probably thanks to his tampering. "When will you do this?"

"Soon. I will let you know when."

---

Salt Lake City, Utah – United States of America

6/11/2017 – 12:08 P.M.

"[How many have there been?]"

Kaya ran a hand through her hair as she contemplated an answer that wouldn't freak out her sister even more. "[I'm a public figure. Death threats are made every day-]"

"[Don't give me that,]" Kiyumi lifted a hand, eyes boring into her even through the hologram. "[That was a suicide bomber!]"

"[If it makes you feel better, I wasn't even close to where it happened. I was inside. An ADVENT psion got tipped off that something was off. Only injuries; no one even died.]"

"[But they were there for you.]"

Kaya pursed her lips. "[Probably.]"

"[That doesn't worry you?]"

"[Of course it worries me! But I've got a squad I can trust. It's going to be very difficult to kill me.]"

"[I know, I know,]" Kiyumi said with a pained expression. "[It's just scary, especially now. I keep reading stories about people getting killed. People far from the front lines. Assassinations. Local news at best. There was apparently another attempt made against me. ADVENT Intelligence intercepted it before it got off the ground.]"

"[Human or alien?]"

"[Alien. One of the REPLICA machines was lurking by my house. Security footage, cross-checked with facial recognition and they figured out that he wasn't actually real. Still…it's unsettling how real they look.]"

"[It is,]" Kaya decided to shift topics. "[Outside of that…how are you doing?]"

"[Keeping busy,]" Kiyumi shrugged. "[Keeping the family in order. I think the elders are getting used to me being back in charge. Outside of that excitement and the heart attack I had when I heard you'd been targeted, I'm fine.]"

"[And how did you live when I was on the front lines?]" Kaya teased wryly.

"[Almost easier, honestly,]" Kiyumi scowled. "[At least then I didn't know where you were, and that I was…ready for it, if something happened. You've been on tour, essentially; not dangerous. I'm not really prepared like I was when you were going to war, even though I should be. You're lucky you're not married. Your husband would go grey in the first few weeks.]"

Kaya smirked. "[If he was like that, I wouldn't marry him.]"

"[Fair, I guess I shouldn't be surprised.]" Kiyumi had that questioning look in her eye. "[I suppose on that topic…]"

"[I'll stop you right there.]"

"[Really? No one?]"

"[I'm a bit busy right now,]" Kaya reminded her. "[Not really the ideal environment to find a suitor. Plus, I'm not looking for that right now.]"

"[Thought I'd ask anyway,]" Kiyumi waved a hand. "[More seriously, Kaya, what's next?]"

The Empress crossed her arms; the actual purpose of her call now at the forefront. "[Have you been following news of the war?]"

"[What I can. There's talk of a new wave oncoming. More than what's already going on.]"

"[I'm going to be involved in one of the new fronts,]" she said slowly. "[I can't tell you any more than that. Sorry.]"

Her sister gave a single nod. "[I understand. When you say that…front lines? How dangerous?]"

"[Dangerous. All I can say.]"

"[Stay as safe as you can. I don't want to attend another funeral.]"

"[Don't worry,]" Kaya gave a wan smile. "[I don't intend to die anytime soon.]"

"[We all say that, but I'll hold you to it,]" Kiyumi cocked her head, listening to someone out of the picture. "[I've got an appointment. I'll talk to you later. Kill some aliens for me.]"

"[Will do, sister. Goodbye.]"

The hologram dissipated, leaving her alone in the secured room. Ironically, she was unlikely to fulfill her sister's request, as it was not aliens she was fighting, but Humans. Specifically, Humans fighting for the Sovereign African States. The order had come in, and she was to participate in ADVENT's offensive against Africa.

Operation Scipio.

She'd read over the details, at least those which had been provided, and it was…less clear than she was expecting. If it was successful, it would supposedly send the SAS into a downward spiral and render them wholly reliant on alien intervention, assuming anything remained at all. Exactly how that was going to happen was something ADVENT was keeping a very tight lid on. It had to be more than just a ground invasion.

Either way, Betos had no idea what was coming for her. Everything she hated about ADVENT was going to come crashing into her little kingdom. Kaya had no sympathy for the traitor, but she had a feeling that very few in the SAS had actually voted to join, and were going to suffer regardless, all because of a decision made by corrupt rulers and misguided ideologues.

Quite ironic, considering Betos's holier-than-thou attitude.

Still, probably an Ethereal puppet. The alternative was that she actually believed what she was saying, and that was almost worse. Truly, someone who was on the intellectual level of the Ethereals.

A knock on the door sounded. "Come in," she called, sitting on one of the couches. Genevieve walked in, dressed in fatigues and clearly having recently emerged from a shower, given the slight sheen of her hair. "How'd the call go? She take it alright?"

"Fairly well,"

"Good. You set? Freya wants us assembled and packed within two hours."

Kaya patted the pack beside the chair. "Armor is stored where it always is. Got everything else here."

"Out of curiosity, what do you think of the op?"

Kaya thought about how best to answer, then shrugged. "It'd happen sooner than later."

"Obviously, but the details are pretty secret, even for ADVENT." Genevieve wrinkled her nose. "Makes me think it's going to get ugly – and indiscriminate. Would bet money that most of the people living in the SAS don't care much about anything but having a job and putting food on the table for their families."

"Probably."

"I guess we'll see," Genevieve sighed. "Think it wouldn't go over well to ask to take a simpler mission? Maybe against some aliens."

"Oh, I have no issue killing the SAS soldiers. They made their choice to be alien servants. Not to mention it's easier to fight someone who's trying to kill you."

"True." She glanced up. "Well, if you're all set, let's assemble."

Kaya pushed herself up. "After you."

---

Unknown Location

Unknown Time

When Volk came to, he thought he was back in an alien facility. The room he was in had the textured sparkly metal of alien alloys. The sloped architecture was distinctly alien; probably Sectoid, and a low, pervasive hum ran throughout the area.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up on the sloped bench, which also functioned as a cot.

Elena.

A bolt of lightning shot through him as he remembered.

The mission.

The attack.

The unsettling man.

The explosion.

XCOM.

Oh no.

He immediately checked himself over. He was still wearing his clothes, minus any weapons or armor pieces. He didn't have any wounds or visible injuries. He was breathing fine; no gaps in his memory, as far as he could tell. He was sweating, though, made worse by the sick worry of whether or not Elena was alive.

Fuck, fuck. Even if she was alive, she wouldn't be doing well right now. He needed to get to her somehow.

He stood and walked to the end of his cell. A transparent barrier stood between him and…not freedom, but freedom from the cell. It was a stasis field of some type. Solid enough that he wasn't going to be able to brute-force his way through. He looked up and down, and saw no way to damage it.

He tried looking out, to see if there was someone whose attention he could get. The corridor wasn't large, and there were definitely more cells outside of his own, both beside and opposite him. An entryway was visible, sealed by a multi-colored barrier, much different than the one before him.

In desperation, he looked into the corners of his cell, and, to his endless annoyance and frustration, didn't see a camera or any kind of surveillance. The one time he wanted someone to come and talk to him, there was nothing to be seen. Assuming this was XCOM, they had to have some way of keeping an eye on him.

How had they found us?

He had a gut feeling it had to do with that man. If he wasn't XCOM, he was the reason they'd come.

He still seemed to know too much.

Theoretically, XCOM shouldn't know anything about him. His past was a blank slate. Unless somehow they'd accessed the file Asaru had on him, he didn't know how anyone outside of Elena and maybe a few old contacts would know enough to speak to him so…convincingly. Regardless, he needed to get someone in here.

She has to be alive. I saw them capture her.

Unless they'd shot her.

No, no. They couldn't do that.

They wouldn't.

If he was alive, so was she.

Right?

Right?

Please be right.

If she was dead…

The thought was…

Don't think about that now. Don't give up.

"Hey!" he called out to nothing, hoping that someone was watching. "Let's talk!"

Silence greeted him.

Come on, you XCOM bastards, you have psions. You know damn well I'm out here.

He paced angrily in his limited cell, which he now realized was soundproofed against the outside world. He was quite literally only shouting to himself. He focused on the anger, because if he focused on worry, he didn't know how long he'd be able to keep going. How long had it been since they were separated? Years?

She's not going to make it on her own. She can't.

On paper, she could. In practice, she wouldn't.

It was less that she couldn't, and more that…she wouldn't see a reason to keep going. He'd been the only stability in her life, and that, combined with her own condition, made it so that if she thought he was gone, then she would…

No, no. Focus!

The barrier into the line of cells blinked and two figures walked through. Volk immediately moved as close to the barrier of his cell as he could get, while the two figures approached. He didn't recognize the first man. Asian, with short, grey hair. A scar ran down his face and he was fairly old and hardened. His uniform identified him as belonging to XCOM, but his face looked more like something you'd see on a criminal boss.

He was imposing, his skin marked with faint hexagons, seemingly covering his entire body. Genetic modification; he'd read about how XCOM performed that on their soldiers. The man beside him…was the same man who'd known too much. He seemed quite pleased with himself, both hands resting idly in front of him, the fingertips together.

The Asian man looked down at him. "You're awake. Good."

"Where is Elena?"

"The woman? Isolated. She is alive."

A wave of relief rushed through him, and his erratic heart rate slowed briefly. Alright, one question answered. "Listen," he said. "Have you told her that I'm alive?"

"No. She hasn't asked. She's not particularly responsive."

Of course she isn't, idiots. "You need to tell her I'm alive."

"You are not in a position to be making demands."

"Unless you want her to try killing herself, you'll listen to me!"

"Quiet." The man lifted a hand. "Your request will be considered."

He had to stay calm here. XCOM wasn't going to be moved by yelling at them. Maybe they'd listen to him more if he remained composed. He took a long breath. "Well, I suppose it's over, then. I'm in XCOM. How did you even find us?"

"We intercepted some intelligence which indicated that a specialized Collective team was planning an assassination in the general location," the unnerving man spoke up for the first time. "Quite a lucky break, I must say. One minute I was enjoying a meal, and the next, men with guns entered and put everyone against the wall." He tutted like a disappointed father. "So uncivilized."

Volk glared at him. So, most likely an XCOM Intelligence operative, then. "Who are you?" He glanced back to the Asian man. "Or you, for that matter?"

"Director Zhang, XCOM Intelligence," the stoic man answered, before indicating his partner. "Gabriel. Field Agent, XCOM Intelligence."

"A pleasure to be introduced properly," Gabriel bowed his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Volk's. The cold amusement in the eyes was still there, like a cat toying with a rodent. He was clearly enjoying this.

"Well then, Gabriel, care to tell me which intelligence you intercepted?" Volk crossed his arms. "There were only a few individuals who knew – and they were high-ranking."

"Ah, ah, ah," Gabriel wagged his index finger. "A spy never reveals their secrets."

"What do you have to lose?" He shrugged. "I just want to know if the Zar'Chon screwed me over. He was never happy I was working for Asaru, much less that I was being given assignments."

"I'm afraid you'll have to remain ignorant," Zhang stated. "There are more important matters that directly impact you."

"I'm sure." Volk narrowed his eyebrows. "Why am I still alive? I didn't take XCOM for the type to keep their prisoners alive. Planning to rip the knowledge from my mind and execute me?"

"Oh no, that is not necessary." Gabriel smiled cruelly. "That was already done. Quite a fascinating wealth of information you had in that head of yours. Direct contact with an Ethereal. Insight into Asaru's own Phantom Division. And you, my friend, have helped us uncover a revelation we did not know existed."

"I'm not your friend. And what could that be?"

"Nemo."

Volk grunted. "Ah, yes. Nemo."

Zhang raised an eyebrow. "You do not seem upset that we took the knowledge from your mind."

"Why should I pretend to be?" Volk muttered, to neither of them in particular. "Every single faction of this war, I despise. I thought the aliens were the lesser evil, and it ultimately turned out they weren't any better than ADVENT. They are controlling, inhuman, and apathetic. ADVENT is cruel, cold, sterile, and devoid of empathy. Same result, different method. There is no stake in this war for me here. You looked into my head, so you shouldn't be surprised by any of this."

"That is one reason you're still alive."

"Because I'm ultimately a traitor to everyone and have no loyalty?"

"Such a succinct character description," Gabriel commented. "Self-deprecation; so different from how you truly see yourself."

Volk narrowed his eyes at the man. "You might've scrounged around in my head, but don't pretend you know anything about me."

Gabriel smiled, but did not speak. Volk met Zhang's eyes again. "What do you want from me then? If you have information, you don't need me for that. Nor would you be stupid enough to trust me."

"To be determined," was all Zhang said. "You held a unique position within the Collective. You're a potential asset to us."

"I'm not going to work for you." Volk shook his head, knowing he was sealing his death sentence – or worse – but he'd had enough of taking orders from groups that only wanted to use him to further their war and agenda. "Don't worry, I know it doesn't matter. You'll force me to do what you want, because that's what you do. But you will have to force me."

"Duly noted."

"In which case," Gabriel looked to Zhang. "We can dispose of the woman."

"You will not…" Volk hissed, his face flushed and eyes focused on the one person who had ruined everything. Red-tinted vision faded as he realized just how utterly and completely empty his threat was. What was he going to do? Stare at them angrily and yell? Gabriel's smile deepened as he seemed to know his helplessness.

The psychopath was truly enjoying this.

"Please…" his voice was empty now. Dull. No pleading, no anger, just words as emotionless as the golem opposite him. "She's not at fault for any of this. She shouldn't be punished because of my choices."

"Based on her memories, she has taken her fair share of lives," Gabriel quipped. "Actions, sadly, have consequences. She is no simpleton; her mind is independent, and she chose to follow you." He released a pleased sigh. "Love. More potent than any drug."

The man seemed to consider himself some kind of poet. An incredibly annoying one. Even Zhang shot him a look, wordlessly imploring him to tone down the flowery language. "As I stated – your fate has yet to be determined. It may not be for several days. There have been events that have taken place, and others which are coming, which will occupy the Commander's attention. Cooperate, and you and Elena may see each other again. Refuse, and we will utilize you regardless. If you value your independence and mind, and you are clearly a man who does, then those are the stakes."

Zhang let that sink in. "Do you understand?"

"Of course."

"Good. You will be informed when we reach a decision." Zhang turned sharply away and began marching to the exit. Gabriel lingered a few seconds longer, appraising Volk with an uncomfortable intensity. He took one step closer to the barrier, his voice noticeably lower. "We will speak shortly, Volikov. We have some business to discuss."

Before Volk could answer, he turned and departed to join Zhang, leaving Volk alone, wondering what could possibly happen next.

---

Salt Lake City Garrison, Utah – United States of America

6/12/2017 – 9:12 A.M.

"Pack up, we're being transferred."

Angela and the squad stood at attention when Joel had assembled them on short notice. Everything had been tense since the REPLICA incident, not helped by the fact that no fewer than four more of the machines had been tracked down, half of them managing to escape. The entire city was on lockdown and everyone was paranoid.

"Is this related to the infiltration?" Angela asked.

Joel shook his head. "No, this was in the works before now. The timing just happened to coincide. We're not the only squad being moved, either. There are dozens of others, from all over the country."

Glen whistled. "That big, huh?"

"Very big."

Joel didn't seem especially pleased with the deployment, but betrayed none of that in his expression. "When you say big, how big?" she asked.

"I was only given the overview, as were most others in the briefing." Joel rubbed his wrist. "Short version, ADVENT's taking the gloves off with the SAS. Full-throttle invasion. First wave is going to hit the borders in hours, and it's going to snowball from there."

Angela didn't need to be a psion to sense the surprise from around the room. Not that ADVENT was actually invading the SAS – that was something that had to happen sooner or later. What was surprising was that there had not been any indication of it happening, let alone that it was going to happen within hours.

"How did ADVENT get that close without anyone noticing?" Cecilia demanded.

"Fortunate weather, ironically," Joel grunted. "They've been building up long enough that the SAS probably knew they were planning something. But the sandstorms made it impossible to detect anything, and ADVENT took the initiative and sent people through. There's a naval fleet that's going to converge at the same time."

Young winced. "Let's hope they do better than Florida."

"I assume we're going to the front?" Oscar asked.

"Not immediately," Joel corrected. "Syria first, we're going to be synching with the garrisoned Middle Eastern Legions. Plan seems to be waiting for the first wave to establish Gateways, and we'll be moved in the second wave."

"Huh," Bradley raised an eyebrow. "Middle Eastern legions also going to be in on it?"

"Unclear."

"Would they even be ready?" Oscar asked. "ADVENT's basically been restructuring the whole region. It's been a while since Deus Vult, but I don't think they're nearly up to modern standards."

"I'm not an expert there, so I can't say for sure," Joel crossed his arms. "Supposedly they have a couple guys who've been getting them into shape. Point being, if they're going to be involved, it probably is best they do it now. SAS is likely going to be easier than taking on the Collective directly. If there's a test for them, this is it."

"But they're not in the first wave," Oscar noted. "Which Legions are?"

"Egyptian, German, American, Russian, Italian, British and French," he ticked off on his fingers. "Those are the biggest ones."

Bradley shook his head at the number. "Geez. You weren't kidding."

"When do I ever kid?"

"He's got a point," Angela smirked. "How long until we move?"

"Gateway deployment is in four hours. Pack your things, gear up, and we'll assemble. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Joel left immediately after that for another meeting, and the rest of them began moving to both gear up and pack what few possessions they had into their bags. "Joel said that the SAS is going to be mostly Humans," Bradley commented. "How much do you want to bet that there are aliens mixed in?"

"Fifty-fifty," Cecilia answered from across the room. "I doubt the SAS soldiers are actually real professional soldiers. No way would the Collective let them face off against an actual battle-hardened offensive without help."

Angela thought back to a couple stories. "They did capture some soldiers a while ago."

"True."

They geared up in relative silence, as their thoughts turned inward – for most of them anyway. Emotions were impossible to conceal from her; and while they weren't nervous, there was always that wonder as to whether they were going into a situation where they might die. Oscar and Young were quietly talking to each other, both concerned for one another, Glen's normally jovial attitude was subdued as he quietly put one piece of armor on at a time.

Bradley was the calmest, which wasn't surprising. The only time he would ever get flustered was when the subject was about women he refused to admit attraction to. Angela had made good on her promise to get a signed autograph from the Empress, and his red-faced reaction had been worth it.

Cecilia was worried, though it was not likely for herself, but thinking of the coming conversation with her husband. It was hard enough for both of them already, and this wouldn't make it any easier. Angela had an undying respect for any couples in the military who actually managed to make it work. She didn't think she'd be able to manage it, and Cecilia doing so, while also making an effort to be in her son's life, was incredible.

Especially during a war.

And statistically…going onto the front lines, even during an operation against a theoretically weaker enemy…one of them had a high likelihood of being injured or killed. But that was the risk all of them had signed up for, and they would all do their best to keep each other alive.

She pulled her gauntlets on, checked the pouches on her waist to make sure they were stocked and reached for her PRIEST helmet. She paused for a split second, looking into the shielded eyes of the armored helmet. A tangible symbol which had come to mean protection and hope for people across the world. An ideal to live up to.

Angela flipped the helmet around and placed it upon her head.

Everything is going to be ok.

I'll make sure of it.

---

Phnom Penh Garrison, Phnom Penh – Cambodia

6/14/2017 – 10:09 A.M.

Duri rubbed his wet hands on his face, the shocking cold doing little to focus him any more than he was. He dried it with a towel, and numbly hung it back up, facing himself in a mirror. The face of a tired, hardened man stared back. A year ago he probably wouldn't even recognize himself.

He hadn't been a joker or extrovert, but he did smile. He'd had some light in his eyes, and why shouldn't he? He'd had a family, he'd had daughters, he'd had a job serving his country. He had a life; one he was happy to live. He had friends; comrades to support him. He had optimism that the best days were still ahead.

And bit by bit it was stripped away.

Family. His optimism. His world.

His country.

He hadn't lived in Busan all his life, but he had fought and bled for it in a way he hadn't for Seoul. Days in the trenches, holding off the oncoming alien hordes. Repelling the attackers again and again, fearing the worst, yet fighting on, all the same. It had become a home in those long months.

Now, it was gone. Reduced to irradiated rubble by an alien weapon, led by their puppet.

Seoul would be next, he knew it.

The universe seemed to be testing him; how much could be taken from him before there was nothing left. And what was left, but his squad? They were the only thing which he felt any obligation for anymore, combined with a desire to kill the aliens that had taken everything from him and so many others.

None of them took prisoners anymore.

There'd been more missions since the one with the Chryssalids. In between defending the city itself. The attacks were constant, to varying degrees. They'd set fire to forests, burned the alien infestations, poisoned alien outposts and done everything in their power to make the aliens' lives miserable.

And it didn't seem to have changed much.

The aliens were still coming. Every day. Endless waves. No matter how many they killed, more came. The endless legions of Mutons. None of them bothered keeping kill counts anymore. They were a machine now; a machine of well-practiced lethality. They knew what each would do as they were doing it, no psions necessary.

All of them privately wondered if it would matter in the end.

It seemed inevitable. Hope had faded. Now the mission was punishment. If the aliens were to subjugate them, they would pay in blood for each piece of ground they took. ADVENT had tricks left, obviously, but the Collective was more than capable of answering them. Seeing the nuclear fire incinerate a city of Human traitors had brought a rare smile to his face when he'd watched it. Only for Busan to be a later target of the escalation.

Assassinations had also surfaced all around the world. Aliens moving in for the kill. A General in Malaysia, dead. An attempted attack on the Empress. More hits against lower-ranking officials, military and civilian, alike. It seemed to be a shift, and to him, he wondered if this time would really be the end.

His face looked young, but his eyes were old. Haunted.

Look at what you've become.

And he only felt numbness. Yet, that wasn't true. Hearing what had happened to Busan had made him feel; broken through the monotony of his daily routine of killing. He still cared; he still had something to lose. The only constant was the ice-cold fury. At the Human traitors, at the well-meaning idiots welcoming the defectors, most of all, at each and every alien who breathed Human air and set foot on their world.

He would repay the pain or die. There were no other paths for him.

He released the sides of the sink he was holding, and rolled his neck. Slinging the towel over his shoulder, he exited the bathroom. Beatriz was waiting outside. She'd become something akin to his second-in-command in these long weeks. Reliable, helpful, and willing. She'd be a good officer when promotions came.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey." All of them had become more familiar, the rigidity of hierarchy breaking the more missions they undertook, the longer they were together.

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes echoing the words. "It's…hard."

"We fought and bled there," Duri said, his voice almost wistful, if distant. "All just…gone."

"I wonder what we're going to do about it," she wondered idly.

"ADVENT?" Duri shrugged. "Maybe nuke another city. Maybe unveil the super-nuclear weapon. Maybe bring out Aegis and have him do something. Who knows what they'll do. I know what we'll be doing."

Beatriz smiled grimly. "The aliens won't stop coming here."

"Busan was a symbol of defiance. They want us to be demoralized," and even as he said the words, he felt there was a lie in them. He was certainly demoralized, but his squad couldn't know that. "The best way to counter that is kill even more of them."

"Duly noted, sir."

He cracked a hint of a smile. "No 'sirs' right now. How are the rest of them?"

"Angry. Furious, actually. Ready to go out."

"Good."

"What about you?"

He hesitated before answering. "I'll feel better when some aliens die."

"Well, I don't think you'll have to wait long," Beatriz said, glancing behind her. "There's a lot of movement outside. Probably going to be another attack today – coinciding with the one against Busan, I suppose. Could be making a harder push."

"Then we'll be ready. Let's go."

---

Situation Room, ADVENT HQ – Switzerland

6/14/2017 – 8:00 A.M.

Saudia stood around the holotable displaying the current point of interest, along with a majority of her advisors. One of many throughout the world at the moment. "Immediate headway has been made," Laura said, indicating the edges of SAS territory. "We caught them flat-footed. SAS forces have been moving into many of the nations which have recently been destabilized. They didn't expect an invasion."

"Excellent," Saudia nodded, hands clasped behind her back. "And the fleet?"

"Engagement is likely. We wanted to let them build up their response. We might have to force their hand by baiting them. My assumption is that they will not want to wait to strike now that they know our plan."

"And the second wave?"

"En-route, and will be standing by when the Gateways are set up."

"Good." Saudia turned her attention to Powell. "Any interesting chatter from this?"

A thin smile spread on the face of the Intelligence Director. "Very interesting. I will echo Laura's statement that they weren't expecting this. SAS forces are panicking and scrambling to adapt. I expect it to grow when they realize what we intend for Scipio to accomplish."

"Social media reaction?"

"Very positive," Kyong answered promptly. "We're going to let the news grow organically before we put out the official statement. Do you intend to have a focused conference on it, or tie it in with the general state of the war?"

"Tie it in. Busan is still fresh and needs to be commented on. It can't look like we're trying to hide it."

"Speaking of Busan," Laura shifted the holotable to the Korean peninsula. "A massive build-up of Collective forces is taking place. They're going to be moving to Seoul."

"An educated guess. They're not going to be able to take it nearly as easily."

"Assuming we have a way to take out that weapon," Kyong added.

"We're working on it," Laura assured him.

"I'm more concerned with keeping our chain of command intact on the other fronts," Weekes interjected, speaking from a temporary outpost in Africa itself. "Our Malaysian defense has suffered a major loss in General Imraam – and he's not the only one. The Zararch isn't targeting our public figures, they're going after our leadership on the ground."

"I have something very interesting on that front," Powell lifted a file. "XCOM caught wind of a Collective assassination operation, disrupted it, and captured some of the operatives. Humans of all things, a small band of defectors. They confirmed the existence of some kind of infiltration unit – one that was responsible for the assassination of the Imperial Family and the disappearance of Sirasis."

That had been one of the most interesting developments of the past day. When one of the most known Vitakarian defectors had simply vanished without a trace, no one had any clue as to how it could have happened. The Special Response Division and Peacekeepers had been working on the case.

It had been unnerving to learn that the individual had not only successfully killed Sirasis, but had been masquerading as her for at least several weeks doing…who knew what. ADVENT Intelligence was now also involved to determine what had been compromised, and what might have tipped off the infiltrator.

"Explain." Weekes said.

"According to XCOM, this entity is capable of mimicking anyone," Powell continued. "From voice, mannerisms, down to biology. Supposedly it's managed directly by the Zar'Chon, and by extension the Ethereals. Described as unsettling to anything it encounters. We're not sure if it's a biological or mechanical creation. The good news is that there only seems to be one in operation."

Weekes nodded. "Better than nothing, I suppose. Not especially comforting if it's masquerading as Humans effortlessly. If it can bypass biological tests, that negates our efforts for a majority of our forces."

"I'm aware, and mass psionic checks are infeasible right now."

"XCOM supposedly is developing a plan to deal with it," Saudia added. "One of the individuals they captured directly worked with it closely, hence why they were able to learn so much. They've assured me that he is pliable, and can be leveraged to lure and kill this entity."

"Keep me in the loop. If he was able to take out the Imperial Family, as well as a surveilled alien defector, plus an unknown number of others, it is dangerous."

"Clearly, and I will be," Powell confirmed with a nod, before glancing over. "Stein has an update on how we're mitigating Zararch surveillance and hits."

"Go ahead, Stein," Saudia motioned to the hologram where Stein was calling in from New York.

"Yes, Chancellor," Stein straightened. "We've begun ADVENT-wide lockdowns on public places with the Peacekeeper Branch of the PRIEST Division. PATRIOT has been put on full surveillance duty, which has degraded passive monitoring for ADVENT Intelligence, but allowed us to cross-check faces with our databases. Anomalies are identified, Deacons confirm if they're Human or not, and we move in. There has been deep civilian penetration. Hundreds of REPLICA units have been identified. All have self-destructed, leading to a number of fatalities."

She pursed her lips. "I know Intelligence is clean, Powell, but if this is any indication, the Collective likely knows far too much about our defenses from civilians alone. It's not out of the question that our military has been compromised to a degree."

"That would be difficult," Laura pointed out. "Psions are embedded throughout the Army now. It would be very difficult to hide."

"REPLICAs are artificial, Commander," Stein reminded. "They lack a signature for psions to sense. Much easier to embed than an actual alien who has a distinct mind. I'm not saying our ranks are filled with machines, but based on the numbers, it's idiotic to believe there hasn't been some comprise – it would explain how all of these assassinations have been targeted. They don't have access to our databases, so this data had to be manually compiled on the ground."

Laura rubbed her eyes. "This is bad, especially now."

Stein was unsympathetic. "It is bad, but if we ignore it, it will be worse. We can wage a war and purge our ranks of traitors at the same time."

"Not easily."

"Obviously, but what about this war is easy?"

Laura managed a thin smile. "Nothing."

"First," Saudia lifted a hand. "Laura, update on the battlefront."

"Yes, Chancellor," she once more moved the holotable around to showcase the various fronts. "Africa will become a major conflict zone within hours. Intelligence has confirmed that the Collective is moving forces from the West Coast of the United States and Canada to hit every base along our lines within the day. Fighting has intensified in South America as well. Collective drones have also been sighted over eastern Russia."

The holotable focused on Southeast Asia. "In very bad news, the attacks on Southeast Asia are intensifying. What's worse is that we confirmed a sighting of this." She brought up a poor-quality image of something Saudia could only describe as…grotesque.

It was a big, lumbering thing that towered over the smaller Mutons it was pictured with, easily as large as the Battlemaster. Its skin was white, almost transparent. There were markings or orifices on the skin itself which could barely be made out. It seemed…not fat per-se, but there were rolls of flesh that bulged out of the body. A large, lumbering ogre of some kind.

But the most surprising thing was that the armor it wore was…familiar – as was the helmet. Weekes furrowed his eyebrows. "Is that what I think it is?"

"The Warlock," Laura confirmed. "Or known to most of the Internet as the Creator's Greatest Champion™…we think."

"Or something wearing the armor," Kyong added.

"Either way, whatever or whoever it is, I expect it is now going to be taking over," Laura continued. "Based on the clear…changes, and the connection to the Creator, and, by extension, Paradise and the Bringer, it seems likely that this specimen has been augmented in some way. Also likely is that if one Bringer entity is here, there are likely others."

Weekes grunted. "If XCOM isn't available, we might need the Pantheon."

"Agreed."

"If I may," Powell said thoughtfully. "Pass that image along to me."

"We can," Laura cocked her head. "Why?"

"The enemy of my enemy," Powell explained with a slight smile. "I've noticed that the presence of the Battlemaster is absent from these developments. Not to say there is no influence, but it is clearly reduced. But what we do know is that he is not neutral when the Bringer is involved. I can ensure that he receives this image. Perhaps he will intervene on his own somehow."

"The Hunter?" Laura picked up on the intention. "Risky, but possible. I can pass it along."

"Please do."

"There's something else, a developing situation," Laura added, looking to Powell. "We have confirmation that there's a grassroots resistance cell which has arisen in Argentina. One seemingly led by a psion."

"Correction." Ian lifted a finger. "Multiple psions."

"Uncontrolled?"

"As in, unrestrained? It seems so," Powell confirmed. "It's still uncertain how these people were awakened, but considering the Collective activity in the region the last few months, it's not out of the question to believe that some could have been awakened. But they are not under Collective control, and in fact are seen as a major threat. The Zararch appear to be debating just how many resources to devote to purging them."

"Elaborate on this cell," Saudia said. "How many? Who is leading them? How trained are the psions?"

"Numbers are unknown," he slid a file to her. "But they've gotten their hands on some Collective explosives and gear. We estimate close to a thousand in total, plus we believe the psions are compromising multiple Humans and aliens to augment their strikes. As to who is leading them, there is conflicting information."

"It's a psion for sure," Laura continued. "And likely a woman. There's been multiple references to someone called 'Violet'."

"Violeta or Morada in Spanish," Powell added. "The population who is aware of the group coined the name, presumably because of her psionics. From that we can discern, she's a Dynamo or an Aegii psion, considering those require the most obvious manifestation. 'Violet' is unlikely to be her real name, assuming this is even the leader at all."

"And these psions are untrained," Saudia shook her head. "Only a matter of time until the Collective sends someone to capture or kill them."

"Exactly, which is why we need to move fast," Powell nodded. "Since it's unlikely we can launch a new front, it might be worth considering supporting this group directly. We supply, fund, and support their actions – in return, when Argentina falls to ADVENT, they submit to the Restraints."

"And if they don't?"

Powell pursed his lips. "Then we will send an Inquisitor to keep watch over them and make sure they do not get out of hand. Leaving them unmonitored is the wrong decision, regardless of if their actions are positive or not. They are not loyal to ADVENT, and thus could be a threat in the future."

"Do it then," Saudia said. "Make contact, and appraise me of how it goes."

"Yes, Chancellor. I have some people in mind who specialize in this."

"There is one more matter," Kyong raised briefly. "Chancellor, the Eugenics Division is still scheduled to launch soon, yes?"

"Yes. Along with the announcement of the elimination of several genetic diseases." Saudia paused. "And we can begin the rotation of soldier enhancement openly. The opening locations are not as strategically relevant as we originally intended, but it will be a start."

"Good, that'll give the media something to focus on," Kyong's nose wrinkled. "I will again raise my objection to the name. The stigma around that word has not gone away, and it runs the risk of disinformation."

"And we've had this discussion, and it's not going to be changed," Saudia said bluntly. "Literally no one is going to think of the "Genetic Treatment Division" as anything other than eugenics and will think we're being political because we're trying to hide something. The only way to change the perception of a word is to embrace it and show through actions our intentions. And if certain intellectuals take issue with the name, they may kindly direct their complaints to the Oversight Division."

"Actually Chancellor, their complaints are going to be directed to me," Kyong corrected.

"Yes, which is your job. I'll be getting the Nazi accusations at the press conference too. Was there an overarching point you were making?"

"Tangentially related – Seafoam."

"On schedule."

"Alright, noted," Kyong wrote something down. "I didn't know if it would be accelerated. Daedalus is being contemplated, and so is the Thunderbird. I want to know if I should begin prepping for the clone army."

"No, this isn't something we can rush," Saudia said. "Ideally, it would be preferable, but every single expert on the project says that this is already pushing the initial stability of the clones. Any faster would have tangible negatives."

"Understood. Thank you."

"If there isn't anything else?" She looked around, and saw a chorus of shaking heads. "Then dismissed. We have a lot of work to do."

---

Assembly Plant, Atlantis – The Deep Ocean

6/6/2017 – 6:22 A.M.

By far the most prominent buildings of Atlantis were the Assembly Plants, where the spacecraft which were designed by the architects were put into production. Of course, Atlantis was not actually building spacecraft yet, but they were making the components which would eventually be assembled into a finished design.

A number of designs were already finalized to the point where ADVENT was comfortable authorizing production, and a few more which were likely to be constructed later. ADVENT had no shortage of ideas, or so it was implied. For now, however, they were only focusing on the essentials.

The plants themselves were massive, loud, and easily one of the warmest places in the entire base. Automated assembly lines welded, melted, and screwed at an impressive speed, overseen by Human and Andromedon line managers. The Andromedons were especially useful, as their suits meant it was less dangerous for them to walk on the floors than a Human or Vitakara.

However, they were here for an entirely different reason today. Normally, he wouldn't come here, since it was too hot and noisy for his liking. He'd come initially to see how it all worked, but the novelty had worn off rather quickly. Nevertheless, this was a good place to talk without anyone else hearing.

None of them wanted to have anyone overhear what they'd experienced, for fear of the thing in the ocean coming for them.

"Coffee?" Orla asked, handing a paper cup of the drink to them.

"Thanks," Loke said, taking it. Normally this would be the best time to drink it, with it being so early, but his nerves and mind were shot and dulled. He'd barely slept at all last night, and what little he had slept had been plagued with dreams of underwater monsters from the deep.

Odd. He'd thought he'd be immune to that kind of thing by now. Apparently not.

Zhi wrinkled her nose. "You didn't bring tea?"

"I literally did not think of that." Orla snorted. "Sorry if it's not my highest priority."

"It's fine, I'll take it." She took the cup out of Orla's hand and took a long drink. It was a good thing the coffee had cooled, otherwise she probably would have scorched her throat. "You probably should have brought something harder."

"Tempting, but it would have looked a bit odd if I'd taken out hard liquor at six in the morning," Orla said, a thin smile on his face. "Besides, I want to have a clear head right now."

"Speak for yourself."

"Stick to the topic." Loke raised a hand, confident that no one would be able to hear them since he could barely hear them right in front of him. "Zhi, I know this is a redundant question, but there was nothing about encountering some telepathic creature near the Mariana Trench, right?

"To my utter shock, no," she deadpanned. "Trust me – once we got back, I checked to see if there was some kind of warning advisory about that. There wasn't. If that exists, it's probably classified way above where any of us are. Although since there wasn't a warning…there may not be anything." She shrugged. "I really, really don't like this."

"Did you give your report?"

"Yeah, said that the reading was a dead end and we should ignore similar ones," she bit her lower lip. "Also put in that I didn't feel comfortable going out that deep without a stronger platform. Since we briefly dropped off the grid, it gave me some credibility. I have no clue if that's going to work."

"Did you delete the logs?" Orla asked. "I think that's what the thing told us to do."

"What? No!" Zhi sputtered. "That would be the exact opposite of subtle. Someone's going to notice that. Which is the exact opposite of what the thing wanted. Just have to hope that they listen to me."

"Well, I might have had more luck than you as far as figuring out what this thing is," Orla said, leaning on the guardrail.

Loke raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"It's a stretch but bear with me – Loke, remember Beijing?"

"Specifically?" Neither of them had participated in that particular battle, but they'd known people who did.

"Some of the weird things people noticed about it – beyond the obvious stuff."

Ah, now he knew what he was talking about. "The things in the sky? The feeling of being watched some of them had? I remember some people talking about that." He paused. "That might be a bit of a stretch considering…well, everything that was happening. There were…how many Ethereals there? Three? Four? Not to mention whatever that Bringer thing is."

"I know, I know, but it's literally the only thing I could think of," Orla insisted. "Besides, those guys know the difference between Ethereals and Bringer creatures. It's not the same thing, not really. I think."

"Flawless argument."

"Seriously, do you have a better idea?"

"No! That doesn't mean any explanation is better!"

"I'm wondering what we should do," Zhi interrupted, arms crossed. "We can't keep this to ourselves forever."

"I'd rather not go against the thing which went right through our Restraints, thank you very much," Orla argued.

"What, and wait for the PRIESTs to pick up something off, and sit us down for a talk?" Zhi snorted. "Besides, this is something ADVENT should definitely know about if they don't."

"The thing explicitly told us not to do that," Loke reminded her.

"I know. I'm saying maybe we should ignore it." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Or, if not ignore it, get in front of it. I don't think ADVENT is going to be lenient when they found out we kept this to ourselves, scary telepathic creature or not."

Caught between a rock and a hard place. Loke didn't like it, but she had a good point – it was very unlikely that they would be able to keep this to themselves forever. Someone was going to pick up on something, or someone else was going to venture out there and not have their discretion.

At the same time, Loke really did not want to go against what the thing had wanted. Very little scared him, but that creature definitely qualified. There was a potential middle ground here – but he also really, really did not like that idea.

"Alright, Loke, what are you thinking?"

He looked at his friend. "That obvious?"

"Very. Let's hear it."

"Right," he paused briefly. "We go back to the thing."

Zhi's eyes bulged. "Are you insane?"

"Seconded," Orla said in a more measured tone.

"Yes, if secrecy is what the thing wants, then it might not know that this is basically impossible," Loke explained. "Look – it's going to be found out, and if we have to tell someone, I'd rather the scary underwater monster know that it was going to happen."

"Or it could kill us?" Zhi demanded. "Did you think of that?"

"Well, we set up a contingency," Loke said. "Make a recording, leave it in our quarters. If we die, they find it, and the message gets out. Also, more people will come searching."

"I'm really not sure I want to risk my life to appease the deep water creature," Zhi said slowly.

"Look, not all of us have to go. I can do this myself."

"Oh no, not by yourself." Orla shook his head. "I'm at least going with you."

Zhi scowled. "You don't even know how to drive one of the explorers."

"Is it that hard?"

"In theory, no…" she sighed. "If you really want to do this, you can't just go out on a whim. Otherwise Atlantis will know. Trust me, they keep track of everything. An unauthorized exploration is going to flag something. Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?"

"Fuck no. But it's better than keeping quiet, or going straight to ADVENT."

"Let's hope this thing is reasonable," Orla muttered. "Otherwise it'll be a very short trip."

"If we're smart, it should be," Loke assured them, though, privately, he wondered. They were in literal uncharted waters, and this particular situation was not one he ever imagined he'd be in.

But they had to do something.

Hopefully the thing was willing to listen.

---

Training Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location

6/17/2017 – 11:20 A.M.

Unsurprisingly, a small crowd had gathered around the table. Sierra hadn't really come here intending to draw a crowd, but while testing the limits of her new enhanced strength, it had attracted some eyes. She didn't think it was normal for a humanoid woman to be able to lift several hundred pounds with one hand.

One of the men working out there, Lin Zexian, a fairly old veteran of XCOM had, for reasons she hadn't yet determined, challenged her to an arm-wrestling match. As he said "A test between modded flesh and metal." The offer was a little too tempting to refuse. So they'd sat down, and done it.

She now easily dwarfed him in size, so it already wasn't a fair match, but to his credit he'd made her put a little bit of effort into it before she'd slammed his hand down and kept it pinned for a good five seconds. She would have thought that would be the end of it, but no, some of the others had seen the event, and wanted to try their own luck.

Sierra did wonder if they'd figured out that she didn't really get tired anymore. She didn't have a true biological body, just motors and servos. Exhaustion was a concept that didn't really apply to her anymore, and she definitely couldn't be worn down. Still, she was getting some amusement out of it.

"Another round to Sierra," Millie said dryly, a medic who'd elected to referee to make sure they didn't hurt themselves. She flipped one of the scorecards which was resting on the table, bringing Sierra's streak to '6'. The other side of the board was completely blank. "Does anyone want to try?"

"A question?" Sierra asked. "Can I bet on myself?"

A chorus of 'no' rang out from the bystanders. Also unsurprisingly, a small number of bets were being placed, although they were not always money, but favors, dares, and other, more non-replicable things. All of them had enough money, and betting in XCOM had shifted towards something more 'high-stakes' since they were all technically fairly wealthy now.

"Sorry, participants can't bet on themselves," Millie said with a false apology, a smile playing on her lips. "Those are the rules."

Sierra rolled her eyes. "Which you all made up."

"I warned all of you," Anna chimed in, still working out and only occasionally observing the event. "You're not going to beat her."

There was maybe one person who could match her. Kane was working out nearby, and he was, without a doubt, the most intense she'd ever seen anyone work out. If the treadmills and workout equipment hadn't been specifically designed and reinforced to account for gene modded individuals, he would be destroying the machines.

The man did nothing halfway. One hundred percent all the time. She'd be really curious to see how he matched up, but he'd shown no interest, or even acknowledged anything was happening, so absorbed in his training was he. No one was willing to try interrupting him either.

"I'll try,"

Sierra turned from the table to see Carmelita walking in, geared out in her full Titan armor. Her lips curled into a smile. Gene mods plus powered armor could make for a combination which could match her strength. There were some whistles and claps as she came in, and the next round of bets began.

"Alright, one last round, championship," Millie said. "Place your bets people, Sierra against Carmelita, one match only, winner take all."

"Is there a prize?" Carmelita aske dryly.

Sierra cocked her head. "Who gets to kill Patricia?"

"I'll take that."

"It's decided then," Millie nodded. "Both of you get ready."

Anna had stopped and also walked over to observe, and Sierra saw a few more soldiers had wandered in, including that girl who'd been training with them in the Dreamscape several times, Dawn. She was watching with wide eyes, and Sierra could guess who she was rooting for.

Gloved and metal hands met as they prepared. Then, the Stinger that was embedded in her arm shot out from Carmelita's wrist and began wrapping around Sierra's hand. It was met with some surprise from the crowd; Sierra kept forgetting she had that particular modification. It was easily one of the more disturbing, though it didn't bother her.

It was probably more psychological, since it didn't have the strength to squeeze her arm hard enough to make a difference, though it could give her some leverage.

Well, if this wasn't cheating, two could play at this game.

With a thought, the skin of her body peeled back, revealing black metal underneath. The armored plates on her jaws slammed shut, covering her mouth, and her irises turned red. A wholly unnecessary display, but one which she could do if Carmelita was going to sike her out with her Stinger.

To her credit, Carmelita didn't so much as blink, just narrowed her eyes. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Go!" Millie called.

It was definitely the Titan armor which gave Carmelita enough leverage to prevent her arm from being slammed to the table immediately. She was clearly putting effort into it, body and arms tense while Sierra seemed not to move much at all. Struggle as she might, Sierra could feel Carmelita only putting in a little bit of pressure.

On the flip side, she couldn't immediately force her opponent's arm down either, but there was definitely more leverage. Time to put some more effort into it. Ever so slightly, Carmelita's arm bent closer to the table, despite the effort put into fighting back. Yet, in the end, Carmelita was a woman with augmented biology, and Sierra was a machine.

Machines win every time.

The Stinger retracted back into her wrist just before Sierra forced her hand to the table, which was met with cheers and applause. Despite not really having a chance, Carmelita had made her work for it, which was more than she could say for the rest of them. Sierra brought back her skin and returned her eyes to a normal color.

"Good job," she said.

"Thanks," Carmelita shook her arm. "I didn't think it would be that hard."

"Join the club," Lin muttered. "Guess I underestimated how much machine is in you."

"MEC 2.0," Sierra smiled. "Looks can be more deceiving."

"Engineering definitely outdid themselves there," Millie commented. "In any case, I think that's good enough. Hope none of you bet anything too valuable."

Sierra stood as well. There were other things she needed to do today, and while this had been a fun distraction, there was training to be done.

---

Abigail's Quarters – The Hall of Steel

6/4/2017 – 5:26 P.M.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Come on, you're still asking that?"

He did have a point. "I just feel bad pestering you with questions about…well, me."

"I want to help you." Liam looked at her from across the table, breaking briefly from their chess game. "Trust me, you can talk to me about whatever."

She thought back to how Liam had described their talks, all about morality and intelligence work. He'd been there to help her, even if she didn't remember it anymore, and she had no reason to doubt him. "It's not that important, I guess, but… was I good at math?"

He cocked his head. "Math?"

"Yes. Math. Numbers." Abigail pursed her lips. "Fectorian did something new in the questioning today. A bunch of math questions. Addition, subtraction, etcetera."

"Were they hard?"

"No-yes, well…" She trailed off with a sigh. "It wasn't. I was able to answer them, but it was oddly…fast. I barely had to process them before the answer was clear."

He nodded. "I can't say that I remember a conversation about math…but you were a battle medic. You don't get a medical license without being very good at math. Short of integrals and calculus, probably. I can't speak to that; math was not a subject I excelled in."

That made her feel a bit better. So it probably wasn't Fectorian tampering with her capabilities again, it was actually something grounded in her previous life. She briefly appraised the board and immediately knew the optimal move. She took one of his pieces and continued. "Has he talked to you about the upgrade?"

"Not in detail," Liam admitted as he looked over the board, hands folded as he carefully appraised his options. "Unless it's directly something that involves me, he keeps projects on a need to know basis. But he's not someone who exaggerates, nor prone to lie like other Ethereals. Still…" he trailed off, and moved a pawn forward.

Abigail immediately took his rook as she leaned forward. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure," he said slowly. "But I do think Fectorian is leaving something out of this. I've felt it for a while now. You should have recovered some of your memory by now, but there's still nothing."

"We knew it might not work." Abigail shrugged. "Maybe it just…didn't."

"I know. Which is why I'm not sure. But I've seen Fectorian work, and I've never seen a total objective failure. You have feelings associated, but no concrete memories. At the same time, this is not something he's experienced in…" His voice changed slightly. "I do wonder, though."

"Do you think he's hiding something?"

Liam hesitated a few moments before answering. "Not maliciously. I think he might have a theory as to why it's not working, and he's trying to gather more data. Those number questions? It could be related to that – in addition to the explanation he gave you."

Abigail frowned, lacing her fingers together. "Should I ask him?"

"Wouldn't hurt. He's not going to be offended if you do. But he might not give you a clear answer. If he is offended, he'll say he doesn't know. If he isn't, he'll say that. I do understand his urgency in getting you back to Earth."

"It's getting worse?"

"It will. Soon. There's also something else he's closely monitoring."

"Which is?"

"The Battlemaster." Liam's voice had an odd tone in it, and his expression was amused. "Apparently he's clashing heavily with the Imperator. There's building tension between them, and Fectorian has not ruled out the possibility that the Battlemaster may move against the Imperator."

Abigail blinked. "That…sounds unlikely."

She couldn't explain why, but she had difficulty associating the Battlemaster with traitor.

"More likely than we think. The Imperator and the Battlemaster have very, very different views for the direction of the Collective. The Sovereign Ones, the Bringer, and the progression of the war has significantly altered the Battlemaster's calculus. What that could lead to is unknown…but he might do something neither ADVENT nor the Imperator expect."

"Is it just tension, or something else?"

"Just observation. His Harbinger is similarly disillusioned. She's only there because of him."

Abigail had read up on Fectorian's very extensive profile of Yang Shuren. It made sense that she was also questioning the Imperator, both because of the Harbinger bond, and because of what had happened with the Bringer. "Is Fectorian going to push him in a certain direction?"

"No idea." Liam shrugged. "I've suggested he should. The Battlemaster isn't subtle. If he does do something, Quisilia or the Imperator will learn of it quickly, and we'll lose a potential ally. But Fectorian hasn't decided how to handle him yet, to my knowledge."

"Maybe I'll suggest that to him." Abigail smiled. "If I get this upgrade, which will improve my mind…maybe he'll have to listen to me." She tapped her head. "It would be his fault, after all."

Liam cracked a smile. "You should. He might listen to you if you do it."

"I'll see about that. Now, your move."

---

Basketball Gym, the Praesidium – Classified Location

6/18/2017 – 11:19 A.M.

Fiona was walking again, which was a very positive improvement in the past weeks. From Busan, to Scipio, to the attacks across the world, good news was in very short supply. Surgeries to fix her limbs and spine had been successful, which should be expected, given how much MELD had been pumped into her.

Now she was doing physical therapy, which Kunio was helping with when he could. Fiona was dressed in standard fatigues, and had resisted the crutches which had been offered to help her move around. She was slower and slightly unstable, but she was determined to walk under her own power. She'd also taken to wearing the odd medallion around her neck.

It fit her quite nicely.

They weren't the only ones at the gym. Every day there were rotating teams which had started more regularly after XCOM had organized the Ethereal basketball game. That had been an experience. Basketball was mostly an American sport, but it was surprisingly fun to play, and he'd found a way to work it into his psionic workout routine.

It felt oddly satisfying to throw the ball into the air, teleport, and then perform a slam dunk. XCOM had to create reinforced hoops after soldiers had kept accidentally ripping them off the backboards after performing dunks.

A game was going on in the background now, and the sounds of sneakers on the floor, shouts of players passing to each other. It was on the far court, so he couldn't exactly tell what kind of game it was, but it was unlikely a psionic one. There'd been several different 'versions' of basketball that had emerged in XCOM.

Classic games were played with standard rules, no psionics, and no integrated teams. Pure alien or pure Human. Gene mods were unavoidable at this point, so they didn't count. Hybrid games allowed different aliens and some psionics. Psionic games allowed full use of psionics, and those were the games he most enjoyed.

The rules were still being worked out, and most of the games ended not when the clock ran out, but when the ball was accidentally destroyed by an aegii barrier, or popped by too hard of a telekinetic squeeze. It was controlled chaos, and he loved it.

But not today. "And…catch."

He passed the ball to Fiona who caught it with both hands. She fumbled with it a bit, but began the requisite dribbling for fifteen seconds before passing it back. She'd never played before, so her initial dribbling attempts had been…amusingly bad. But she'd gotten better, and was getting better.

"Good job," he said as she passed it back.

"I think I've gotten this down," she said. "What's next?"

"Dribble and walk?"

"Can do."

Kunio started dribbling the ball as they slowly walked across the nearest court. She was still not fast, but steady. "Catch." He tossed the ball, which she caught while stumbling, but recovered and dribbled while walking.

She tossed it back a few seconds later. "Have you been keeping up with what XCOM's planning?"

He dribbled a few seconds before tossing it back to her. "Nothing concrete. They've been sending squads out, but I've not been a part of them. Waiting for the next hammer to drop I suppose. More than it already has."

"Probably sooner than you think," Fiona said, dribbling. "Crevan told me there's something happening in South America. ADVENT is monitoring some new development. A resistance group that the Collective isn't quashing somehow."

He raised an eyebrow as she tossed the ball back to him. "How?"

Fiona shrugged. "Supposedly, the group is led by a psion."

"So what you're saying is that it's ADVENT-backed?"

"Didn't sound like it, but I can't confirm. That would be something ADVENT would do."

"Kunio!" He briefly paused dribbling as he saw a familiar sight by now, a very sweaty and energetic Dawn come bounding up.

"Hey Dawn," he greeted. "How are you?"

"Great!" She nodded behind her. "We're about to start up a new game. You want to join?"

"Not right now," he indicated Fiona. "Working to get her back to normal."

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she put a hand to her mouth. "I didn't mean to interrupt you guys."

Ah, Dawn's tunnel vision strikes again. Fiona just smiled. "Don't worry about it. By the time I'm done, I might join you for a game."

"That'd be great," she looked back to him. "I'll let you guys finish then. Feel better, Fiona!"

"Enjoy your game," Kunio called as she bounded back over to the court.

They resumed their exercises once the whistle blew and the game started up. "She seems to have stuck with you," Fiona noted wryly. "Can't say I expected that."

"Neither did I, but she's not a bad kid," Kunio said. "Frankly, she's handling all of this pretty well for her age. Better than I would have. Still not sure she's really suited for here, or at least maybe the information dump was…spaced out a bit more."

"Any reason in particular?"

"She has quite a few mood swings," Kunio said as he passed the ball to her. "One day she'll be normal like this, and the next she'll be really stressed and worried about the war. I had to get called in to calm her down when she went into the Dreamscape and beat a copy of Patricia to a pulp."

"You can do that?"

"Ha. Not anymore. The Commander asked T'Leth not to indulge soldiers who request things like that."

Fiona dribbled a few seconds and passed it back. "What brought that on?"

"Busan."

"She's not from there, is she?"

"No, I think that was just the final straw that made her snap," Kunio caught the ball. "She's really terrified about being the next Patricia; abusing her power. Mature, I'll admit, but a bit overblown."

Fiona shrugged. "Better than the alternative."

"The point being, she's under a lot of stress and exposed to a lot of things that most people aren't," Kunio continued. "It's a delicate balance. She's holding it together as well as you can reasonably expect, but I don't honestly know how she's going to handle actual combat. The Dreamscape is good, but…"

"It's not the same."

"Exactly." He sighed. "Some days I do feel bad for her. I know she volunteered, but parts of me wonder just how much this'll affect her later on - assuming she survives long enough to see the end."

"That's a bit morbid."

"A bit, but it's true. She should be worrying about college and issues for her age." He shook his head. "Not much can be done about it now, but I hope she makes it out of this in one piece."

Fiona smiled. "It's nice you care. I'm sure she appreciates you being a good friend."

"I try; she deserves that much. I trust that Geist and the Commander won't deploy her before she's ready."

"They won't, I'm sure of that."

"We'll see."

They continued passing for a few more minutes in silence, falling into a rhythm. "Are you going to be at the wedding?"

"Obviously. I think everyone is."

"Bets are going around – think they'll say his name?"

Fiona snorted. "No way. At this point it would be weird."

"Agreed," Kunio chuckled. "I guess that means he's now going to be Commander Vahlen."

"Hey, if he didn't like it, he should use his real name more often." Fiona paused, cocking her head. "So how long has that been going on? They're both pretty professional with each other from what I've seen."

"A while?" Kunio thought. "Since before I got here. They never really advertised it, but some of the older soldiers seemed relieved it was actually happening, since, and I quote 'We need to have some people falling in love who aren't likely to die anytime soon'."

"What does that mean?"

Kunio coughed. "There are some people who think XCOM is cursed when it comes to romance…mostly stemming from the fact that some people who've gotten together have ended up dying."

Fiona rolled her eyes and chuckled. "That's funny. I didn't think about that."

"I have to admit," Kunio said. "The numbers aren't exactly good, but, then again, this is XCOM. If anyone is most likely to die, it's us. Might be a bit unfair to place that on a curse."

"Obviously, but it is funny."

"It is," he caught the ball and checked the time. "I think that's good for this one. Want to move onto the next one or stop for the day?"

"What do you have next?"

"Well," he tossed the ball in his hand. "You said you might want to play. In which case, I think we can kill two birds with one stone. Want to shoot some baskets?"

"Let's do it."

---

Phnom Penh Trenches, Phnom Penh – Cambodia

6/14/2017 – 12:12 P.M.

The trenches were packed. They were coming.

"What do you see?" Duri demanded from Beatriz who was stationed up in the nearby Flak Tower. He checked his rifle, Miguel was configuring his SHIV, Aleksandra was prepping her PDS field, and Cara was manning the Browning downrange. Nobuatsu and Mana were stationed with weapons propped in the trench, waiting for something to come next.

"Mutons. A lot of Mutons." A pause. "Oh no, this is really bad."

"Explain." Duri set up his rifle and looked down through the battered no-man's land. The land itself was largely flat, and very little was growing there after weeks of constant fighting, but there was still a significant distance from the trench lines. ADVENT hadn't skimped on mine laying and building Flak Towers around the city.

At least parts of it. This wasn't Busan. They could hold out against most attacks, but not Busan-level invasions. Maybe one day, but the Collective had prevented that kind of defense from being erected.

"There's someone leading them," Beatriz went quiet. "I think…I think it's Senorium. The Warlock."

"Him?" That was not good, not least of which was because the last time they'd fought, they'd had to retreat. He pulled out his binoculars and peered through. "It's not just him. There are others. Robed figures…"

The alarms started going off. Evacuation alarms. High alert alarms. Duri saw why.

The figure which approached on the horizon on this overcast day was not the same Warlock who had fought before. The armor colors were the same, as was the style. But something else was horribly wrong. Something he could not fully make out due to the distance between them.

Pardon the unannounced visit, good soldiers of ADVENT.

A moment of your time is all I ask and require.

The voice was not the Warlock's. This was ponderous, laced in certainty and power which had not been present before. Courteous, carefully chosen words replaced the ramblings of the old Senorium. A gentlemanly baritone, suffused in pleasant distortions which begged the ear to simply listen. The voice rolled with delight, an exuberant sound fueled by unnatural joy and excitement. A wave which disregarded the physics of distance or the barriers of privacy, as it savored each letter and made a meal out of each consonant. A greeting which materialized itself directly on his mind.

Telepathy.

Duri's hand immediately went to his helmet. "ADVENT Command, where the fuck are the PRIESTs?"

The Mutons behind the Warlock moved aside as the ranks of the robed figures became more prominent. Duri recognized what that meant. Exalted, thralls of the Bringer. ADVENT had slaughtered many of them in China, which meant they were about to come under an attack from him.

His hands gripped the rifle as the cold fury filled him. He might die today, but at least it would be avenging their deaths.

The figure of the Warlock blinked, and then appeared a short distance from the trenches.

ADVENT opened fire.

Golden streaks of gauss fire, beams of red lasers, and green bolts of plasma blasted towards the figure with no order given. Duri fired a stream of lead towards the towering behemoth, which was far larger than he had been before. A semi-circular psionic shield manifested in front of him, blocking all of the oncoming fire.

A second hand beckoned toward the massed soldiers, stretched in supplication.

Simple words are all I offer.

Reasonable soldiers, cease, so we may converse.

The volume of fire stopped, and the sweetened words bounced around in Duri's head. He felt shame wash over him, for he had responded to a request for a peaceful parley with lethal aggression. He was not like the other aliens, after all; perhaps he deserved to be heard. Perhaps there would be no conflict today, and a civilized resolution could be achieved…

He just had to listen.

To listen and drop his gun.

To reach out to him.

Reach out to him.

He killed your family.

The seduction clouding his mind became paralyzed as the searing coldness of that unrelenting truth ran through him. This thing did not have power over him. It never had. It never would.

"Keep firing," he spat as he saw Cara and the others of his squad abate. He exhausted the magazine, and loaded another one.

But his stream of lead was only a minor one.

He didn't care.

The thing turned his head to the offending soldier, and Duri saw the true depravity which had been inflicted upon what once was the Warlock.

The skin and muscle seemed to almost be transparent, eerily similar to clouded glass, giving a glimpse into the burning eyes and perplexing organ systems that laid beneath.

The head was twice as large as it should have been, with disproportionately minuscule eyes looking out with white irises so bright they seemed to be lights.

Offensive lips that were obscenely big covered the grotesque mouth - unfitting for its relatively small face - pulsating and twitching, impatiently waiting to be opened and reveal a coiled tongue which resembled an accusatory tentacle hidden inside the toothless cavern.

The skull and bones seemed to be made of carved crystal, smooth and radiant. Duri could see the eye stems and nervous system, colored a glowing gold, flowing throughout the body.

Stare into my vessel, child of man.

For nothing can be hidden from He who always watches.

Stare into my soul, o flame of vengeance.

Let its song quench your thirst for purpose.

The voice manifested as the thing's beady eyes focused directly on him. He strained as his own eyes were forced open, as his head was unwillingly made to turn towards the creature´s.

For within the head was that which brought the mad creation together. A brain that glowed with the otherworldly gold of the veins; a brain big enough to fit into the unnatural head; a brain with eyes that watched from the crystal skull it resided within.

A brain with a mouth.

Liberated is the soul which is allowed to sing.

Perfect is the soul which is made to see.

A mouth which hummed an elegy.

A chanting, haunting and dark, as the endless expanse which surrounded their small planet.

As that endless expanse which rained fire and brimstone upon their undeserving species.

As that endless expanse which you fear.

Child of man, your journey has not yet begun, and yet you already fight for your very freedom against those greater than you.

You can breathe. Allow yourself respite. Be comfortable. We are not here to hurt you. The endless expanse need not be an imposing abyss of peril, but a realm of peace in which you have a deserved place.

Under Him, all life is sacred and equal.

Under Him, you will be master of your own destiny.

Wipe off your tears, Duri.

A smile better suits a Pilgrim.

As the unceasing voice whispered temptation after temptation, he realized his cheeks were damp from the tears that had fallen instinctively from his eyes. The voice understood the pain a simple, solitary, soldier faced in this unending war. Were he to die, he would only be one more body to feed the statistics reported by ADVENT news after every battle. His pain, his struggle, his need to avenge the lost, was consuming him. Robbing him of his humanity.

Of his future.

His species had done nothing to deserve the wrath of the Collective.

Under Him, you will be more than this, Duri.

We are all pawns without Him.

Seeds of dust.

Powerless, inside the currents of cosmic whims.

The elegy continued. The brain sang in voices he had never heard, with notes he did not recognize, and instruments which had no equivalent. And even though he could not understand the utterly alien sounds permeating his every orifice, each second of this concert bombarded his battered mind with waves of emotion and sorrow.

Sorrow which could end.

He knew how it could end.

He only had to take the Warlock´s stretched hand.

He did not need to suffer anymore.

He did not need to keep fighting.

He could live.

He could survive this war.

His body shook.

He killed your family.

He gripped his weapon once more.

Many soldiers did not have the strength to resist, as Duri witnessed. In silent disgust, he beheld many of his comrades-in-arms closest to the abomination slowly, methodically marching toward the thing which called itself the Warlock.

The monster outstretched its morbidly obese and tumorous arms as the soldiers approached, enveloping the many men and women in disturbingly genuine embraces and welcomes. Tears in their eyes, they removed their helmets before the Exalted, prostrating themselves at the feet of the behemoth.

The Warlock knelt, the soldiers barely reaching his hips due to his gargantuan size, and his obscene lips began to twitch in long yearned-for movement. A mockery of natural speech, as they moved in accordance to the voice which manifested itself again on all of their minds.

Wise soldiers of ADVENT. We are not here to engage in barbarous combat.

The voice began. Duri watched, as long tendrils emerged from the Warlock's bulbous and fattened rolls.

We are here to take you to Paradise.

Duri struggled to keep watching, as his horrified eyes beheld the tentacles shoving themselves down the throats of the soldiers who accepted the monster's call.

To free you from the lies you are fed daily.

He lifted his rifle to fire, but found his trigger finger frozen, as if encased in a slab of cement.

He cursed in his mind, his mouth as frozen as his body felt. He had to do something.

Eternity is such an easy gift to claim.

The affected soldiers moaned in ecstasy, as their eyes burned in azure fire, their skin cracking in sapphire faults. Few were left relatively unchanged, but Duri could see faint rippling moving the air around them. One man inquisitively moved his fingers, realizing he could make the rubble around him levitate. Another woman smashed the ground underneath with a closed fist, ground which burst in unnatural purple flame.

They were now psions, Duri realized grimly. Their potential had been forcefully awakened.

All you need is desire it.

Duri had his weapon raised still, perhaps the only one to do so; the only one who could power through the overwhelming emotion of the song. Or perhaps because of it. For the elegy was mournful; it was vengeful; it was angry; it was everything.

And everything came to his mind.

His wife. His daughters. His life.

Oil was in his veins, gasoline and firewood in his gut. The smile of his wife flashed through his eyes, the giggle of his daughter in his ears. A spark ignited, and his blood boiled in anger, his gut churned in fury, and the world became tinted in red-hazed hate.

They flashed before him and he hated.

Hated everything this monster had taken from him.

His mind screamed at his frozen hands to fire at the cursed blasphemy against nature. The thing which spat insulting falsehood after falsehood. The demon from beyond the stars which had taken many of his comrades. Who had them all in his thrall, and if not in his thrall, under his power.

All except him.

His body was numb. Made to disobey his mind by the elegy which had not the desire to stop.

Through effort he did not know himself capable, he forced his lungs to fuel his voice, and he screamed through a mouth which was gagged by he who supposedly came to converse.

"Liar!"

Duri's scream pierced the silence of the pacified battlefield. The trance over the soldiers was not broken, but his defiance was heard nonetheless.

The concrete over his fingers gave way slightly, and he managed to barely squeeze the trigger of his raised rifle. The mag slugs cracked like thunder, but they were held harmlessly, suspended beside the Warlock's rotund head.

The lips curled into a carnal smile, the insect eyes focusing on him once more.

The eyes of the Warlock now shifted hypnotically, and Duri felt himself be pulled away from the battlefield.

He found himself face to face with the monster. The armor had been discarded, exchanged by well crafted robes and tunics. Etched in the crimson fabrics burned azure symbols and runes. Letters of a language he somehow knew was older than he could fathom.

His heart raced, but, despite his natural instincts telling him to flee, he forced himself to stare directly at the thing. Fury burned away any weakness, and Duri stared down the Warlock, resigning himself to death.

But death in defiance.

For he would not give in.

I will never give in.

The air around the colossus of flesh parted, and the pair now stood in the middle of a road. An enormous street, paved in diamonds and lubricated by wine. In the distance, Duri beheld buildings, archways, mansions and monuments which rose with imperial majesty, making the tallest skyscrapers of Earth seem like little but modest apartments. The night sky glittered with an endless deluge of beautiful fireworks, and Duri realized countless robed figures had stopped their daily commute to stare at the pair.

Their faces were obscured by black hoods, and their limbs were hidden inside the jeweled and lavish clothing they wore. He saw many walk before they stopped, and he was greatly discomforted by the way they moved and carried themselves.

They were not Humans.

They were not aliens he had fought or recognized.

The sight unnerved him.

He realized their feet did not touch the ground.

This was wrong.

The juxtaposition between the haunting stare of the wraiths and the beauty of the city around them was disarming.

He did not know what the Warlock intended by showing him this, and did not care.

It was an illusion.

A trick to unbalance him and claim him.

One he would reject.

That he must reject.

The Warlock spoke, not bothering to kneel to his height this time. His debased face stared him down, and underneath the fury which gave him courage, Duri felt truly small.

His voice flowed like the white mane floating around his engorged head.

Child of man.

Why do you fight?

When He offers you peace?

When He offers you life?

Lies.

More lies.

The monster peddled death.

The monster dealt in misery.

The monster had taken what made him Human.

The monster turned him into a machine of slaughter.

A furnace fed by hatred.

He does not kill.

Open your eyes.

See that they yet live.

Figures emerged from the crowd of robed wraiths. They stood beside the Warlock, and lowered their hoods.

Men and women who were dead. Lost comrades, consumed by the Collective's design.

Lies.

Lies to break him.

"Daddy?"

He froze and couldn't look. The voice was too familiar. He knew what it was.

It was a trick. An illusion. Brought up by the monster.

"Daddy, why are you sad?"

He couldn't stop himself, he had to look. He turned and saw her. Mari, just as he'd seen her the day he'd deployed; the times they'd video called him. As bright and beautiful as he remembered.

"Because you're gone," he whispered, the grief making his voice a shadow; as black as the robes which clothed them. "You. Your sister. Your mother. You were taken."

"No," she stepped forward. "We're just waiting for you. We miss you, Daddy."

"You can't," he choked, tears forming in his eyes, turning his vision blurry. "You're gone. You're dead."

"You just need to listen," Mari pleaded. "Listen. We can be together again. Come to Paradise with me."

Something snapped him out of it. There was no possible explanation for what she was saying. It looked like her. It sounded like her.

But it wasn't her.

She wouldn't ask him to follow that monster.

He turned away, vision blurry as he tried to think about what to do, as much as he could think. His ears buzzed. He knew that every moment he spent stuck inside this hellish illusion more and more of his comrades would give in to the Warlock.

Come, Duri.

They need you.

A daughter needs her father.

A wife needs her husband.

The demon started speaking again. He closed his eyes, trying to shut off the voice which cruelly played to his weakness.

It is easy, Duri.

Just take my hand.

Do you not want to stop suffering?

His hardened resistance started to crack, as he let the thought of being with them again slip through his defense. He knew they were not real, but they felt real, they sounded real, they looked real.

He had dreams where he saw them again. Moments of peace and happiness which let his mind rest. Moments of somber acceptance, once he had awoken from those nights.

And now they were in front of him. And now they were back.

But they aren't really back. They can't be.

The elegy did not stop. His family still called to him. The crowd of wraiths joined in the Warlock's supplication.

You want this, Duri.

Yes.

He wanted this.

How could he not?

He was only Human.

He wanted to stop it all.

He had suffered so much.

It was not fair.

He did not deserve his fate.

But what use was blind hate?

He could kill every alien invading his home.

He could see the life leave each of their eyes.

He could see each of their planets torched, their fields salted, their homes razed.

And it would still not bring them back.

And it would not bring him peace.

It would bring him closure.

But maybe he didn't have to wonder.

They were now here.

Waiting for him.

Duri, we are here for you.

You are not alone.

The Warlock was right; sincerity radiated from him.

He looked toward the being.

He was no demon.

But an angel whose eyes now bathed him in heavenly alabaster.

An illusion still. Yet is it?

The angel raised his hand.

Gentle.

Understanding.

Bloated, yes.

But bloated in love.

Bloated in peace.

Fattened by the blessings he had received.

By the blessings he was commanded to spread.

Even though his flesh could not stand the strain.

Almost of its own accord his hand rose to take the outstretched invitation.

And hesitated, only for a single moment.

And that moment, perhaps, saved him.

The illusion shattered suddenly, and Duri was yanked back to reality.

The ground around the Warlock exploded. It seemed as if a thousand shards of burning metal fell from the sky out of nowhere, slamming into the area around the Warlock, and immediately shredding everyone which had come out and listened to him. The elegy vanished and it was as if a weight had been lifted.

"-etreat! All forces immediately retreat now!" He shook his head as he realized that ADVENT command was practically screaming and it hadn't even registered.

"Take that, you grandstanding bastard," a familiar voice added over the comms. "ADVENT, you better take this chance to run, because I'm afraid he's very far from dead."

A roar sounded from the dust where the Warlock had been.

"Get to the Gateway! Now!" Duri yelled, pushing and slapping his squad which were just coming out of the stupor. "We need to fall back now!"

The shadow of the behemoth stood, a purple aura around it. Duri didn't look back, and after making sure his squad was behind him, and praying that Beatriz was following suit, they ran to the gateways as fast as possible, the disturbing realization of how close he had been to the abyss beginning to manifest. Gauss shots rang out, and a glance back saw that the Warlock was marching forward, even as another blast of flaming shards from the sky rained down onto him, ripping him apart.

How was he not dead?

Duri.

I can still save you, Duri.

He did his best to escape from the voice which gnawed at his sanity once more.

I will find you, Duri.

I will not abandon you.

He ran, and didn't look back.

---

The Joseph R. Shannon - Gulf of Guinea

6/13/2017 - 8:22 A.M.

Vice Admiral James Grady surveyed the battlefield from the bridge of the Nimitz-class carrier, CVN-77 Joseph R. Shannon. Ships from at least a dozen nations were spread out as far as the eye could see. A show of force not seen since the Second World War. Enough firepower to make any nation tremble. His enemy today, however, was no nation, but the hostile extraterrestrial coalition that had invaded his world.

The Collective.

With the unusually swift and abrupt formation of ADVENT and the reorganization of the member nations military forces, he had found himself wondering if there would be any place for him in this new age. After all, the enemy commanded fleets of starships and swarms of fighters.

While surface ships were certainly still useful in this war, it had primarily been as a form of fire support and defense, or in the case of carriers, as mobile airstrips. Prior to the invasion he'd been serving as Commander of the 6th Fleet in the Mediterranean, keeping an eye on the devastated Middle East and cooperating with allies in Europe to maintain important partnerships.

Nothing exciting.

When the invasion kicked off in earnest, he had supported Operation: Deus Vult, his carriers and other vessels assisting in the final subjugation of that damnable region. He had doubts as to whether every one of those nations was actually involved in what befell Israel, the region as far too fractured for such a level of cooperation, but he was glad to see the Middle East dealt with once and for all, given the constant source of trouble it had been since the mid-20th century.

This was a different assignment entirely though. The Sovereign African States were not some impoverished backwater, at least not anymore, but a regional power with the full backing of the Collective. Though lacking in any meaningful surface fleet, the SAS could call upon the military assets of the Collective to defend them, and that was what concerned him.

He'd known coming into this mission how the Collective would respond. His problems were twofold; Andromedon Aquatic Forces and Collective air and space craft. It would not be especially elegant - both sides, after all, had a pretty good view of the situation. The Collective could see where his fleet went, and ADVENT was able to provide warning of most incoming forces. Both forces would smash into each other and victory would be determined by whether or not his fleet could push through to their objective - an amphibious invasion of the SAS.

The amphibious assault ships and transports were well protected in the heart of the fleet, near the carriers. Around them was a ring of cruisers, followed by destroyers and finally the various frigates and other, smaller ships employed by some nations. The formation was designed to maximize anti-aircraft protection.

His available submarines patrolled the fringes of this floating behemoth, searching for submerged threats. His fleet had sufficient firepower to contend with any airborne opponents short of a fleet of Cleanser Ships or the vessel that had recently obliterated Busan. The pre-invasion weapons had been upgraded to ETC, gauss, railguns, and lasers. The aircraft under his command all carried missiles with advanced guidance systems, tuned specifically towards their alien foe, and new warheads designed to punch through the alloy armor employed by the enemy.

In the case of submerged opponents, ADVENT had also not skimped. Many of his torpedoes were now capable of supersonic speeds underwater. Others used shaped charges as opposed to the conventional explosives of previous years to further focus the concussive force of the blast and turn the water pressure from a hammer blow to a freight train. Helicopters stood ready to begin anti-submarine warfare, only waiting for the word to launch and join the hunt. All was in place and the crew looked to him.

He had always regretted not being born in a more interesting time. With the end of the Second World War, great naval battles were a thing of the past, and he had little chance to distinguish himself. Or so he'd thought.

Now he realized he had been blessed to not know great strife. Even at the height of things against the Caliphate, it had been primarily a supporting operation where his forces had launched missiles and airstrikes against far off targets with little fear of reprisal. Now he was about to enter into a battle from which many of his ships would likely not emerge.

He could sense the tension of the crew; every sound felt magnified tenfold. The tapping of a keyboard, the pings of sensor equipment, the creaking of his chair, all seemed enough to deafen him. He felt apprehension - not fear of death, per-se, but rather of failure. The pressures placed upon him were surely enough to crush the average person. He remembered hearing that prior to D-Day, Eisenhower had prepared a letter of resignation in case it ended in failure. At this moment, he felt as though he knew what must have gone through his mind as the ships had launched and the invasion of Europe began.

If he failed, ADVENT would lose much of its surface navy, and with it, suffer a weakened ability to project force along the coastlines in support of defensive or offensive operations. Additionally, the blow to morale at a time when a win was dearly needed would be great, and the loss of face from losing to the SAS severe. Much depended on the outcome.

He mused on what he should do as the seconds ticked by inexorably towards the start of battle and began to idly toy with his radio. His second in command noticed this, and she inquired as to his intentions. "Sir, would you like to make an announcement to the fleet?".

An interesting thought. Yes, perhaps that would be best. "I would indeed, patch me through."

"Acknowledged," she responded, before giving him a thumbs up. "You're live."

For a few precious seconds words failed him; he could think of nothing to say that could get past the overwhelming pressure in his throat that threatened to suffocate him. He was briefly concerned he might embarass himself before his entire fleet, and this was what finally spurred him on to action.

"Attention all personnel, this is Vice Admiral James Grady. In a short time, we will engage the Collective forces on the open sea. This will be the largest naval battle since the end of the Second World War. The Collective believes us inferior, primitive, backwards. They think our ships quaint, a curiosity, little more than antiquated weapons from a bygone era. They may be right about that…"

He let the silence hang for a few moments before continuing. "The name chosen for this Operation was Ecnomus. This was not done lightly. It was, depending on who you ask and how you measure it, the largest naval battle in human history. No other naval battle comes close in terms of manpower, though another may narrowly exceed it in number of ships. If you are curious as to why you may be unfamiliar with this battle...it is because it took place over 2000 years ago."

Some of the bridge crew were looking at him with noticeable interest, intrigued to see where he was going with this, or just curious about the event for which this operation had been named. "In 256 BC, the forces of the Roman Republic clashed with those of Carthage in the first Punic war. According to ancient sources, over 290,000 men were part of the battle, and about 680 ships. The Romans had started the war as novices to naval combat, hardly knowledgeable in matters of ship building or sailing. But necessity drove them to adapt. They labored hard for years and worked tirelessly to construct and train a fleet which could challenge their foe until they succeeded. With this fleet, they defeated the Carthaginians and cleared the way for the invasion of Carthage itself, in North Africa."

His crew seemed curious now, but also puzzled, not sure what point he was trying to make. "Like the Romans before us, this was not a conflict we were prepared for. Never before have we faced an enemy from beyond our world. So we struggled and we sacrificed. We would not be broken by this new enemy, this new war. Like the Romans, we learned and we adapted. Today, at sea, we stand at the forefront of that proud tradition."

He paused now, letting a hint of melancholy creep into his tone as he continued. "A tradition that is coming to an end. Just as the age of sail came to a close, so too shall the age of naval warfare. Win or lose, this will likely go down in history as the last great naval battle."

He saw the realization dawn on the faces of his bridge crew. A curious mix of emotions; there was pride but also an undercurrent of nostalgia and a sad kind of resolve. This was the end of an age and now they knew it.

"This is what is at stake here. From the battle of Salamis, to Trafalgar, from Noryang, to the Red Cliffs and all the way to Guadalcanal. All has led to this moment, the culmination of countless lifetimes and wars worth of innovation and courage. Therefore we owe it to those sailors of ages past to give them a proper send off. We must not merely defeat the enemy, we must crush them."

The crew were nodding now, their jaws set, their eyes riveted to him, unable to look away.

"Let there be no doubt as to who controls the seas. Let them never dare to so much as dip their toe into the deep waters of our world. Today they will learn to fear the waves and know the oceans are closed to them. These waters shall be their grave, the shattered hulks of their vessels picked clean by our salvage teams until nothing remains, their bodies lost forever in the endless expanse of blue. Today, we shall be victorious, and the way to Africa cleared. Their coastlines laid bare and at our mercy, and we shall show none. All hands, prepare for battle."

A cheer went up around him and he fancied he could feel a muted reverberation run through the vessel as the rest of the crew took it up, though it was likely wishful thinking. Nodding to his Executive Officer that he was finished, he put down his radio and turned it off.

"So, how'd I do?" he asked lightheartedly.

"I think you missed your calling, sir, ever think of writing?"

He chuckled dryly. "Gah, who has the time these days. In any case, I want a status report. Is the fleet ready?"

"Yes sir, all vessels reporting combat ready."

"Good, any sign of the enemy?"

"According to satellite intel, there is a swarm of strike craft speeding towards us from the east, and a whole fleet of Andromedon submarines are just starting to nose down towards the sea. We anticipate that battle will commence within the next two hours."

"Excellent, let's not wait any longer. Launch all remaining fighters and order full Anti-Submarine Warfare measures, I want birds in the air and fish in the water when they get here."

"Understood, sir. They won't know what hit them."

She was more right than she knew. Just last night, he'd received a pre-recorded message ordering him to open a set of sealed orders he hadn't been aware of. ADVENT had taken the threat of telepathic surveillance very seriously, it seemed, and was using sealed orders, timed messages, and compartmentalization where necessary, in order to ensure secrecy. The contents had been a surprise, but a welcome one. In addition to the submarines of Europe and the US Atlantic fleet, ADVENT had a final card to play.

They had secretly ordered the vast majority of the Asian submarine fleet to go around the cape of Africa, and they were apparently waiting a short distance from the site of the battle, using an undersea ridgeline as cover to conceal them from incoming Collective forces. It seemed ADVENT was going all-in for this and would accept nothing less than total victory. His orders were to wipe out as much of the opposing submarine fleet as possible, letting none escape if he could help it.

Once the two forces met at sea, he was under orders to attempt to lure the enemy into passing by the undersea ridge. They would not realize they were flanked until it was too late, and, in the ensuing crossfire from both his own forces and this unexpected threat, it was hoped they would be absolutely crushed. It all sounded so neat on paper, but putting it into practice would be the tricky part. He needed to either slow his pace so the enemy would come to him before he passed the ridgeline, or swing the fleet back around in perhaps a feigned retreat. The former promised fewer casualties, but required the Collective to close the distance to his fleet. The latter was riskier, but would be less suspicious.

He ultimately decided to choose the latter, as the ridgeline that hid the Pacific force from the Collective would also potentially make it more difficult to detect the enemy if he didn't cross it first. It wasn't without drawbacks. His fleet would be forced to take the full brunt of the Collective attack for a time, but he was confident he could hold out long enough. ADVENT had not skimped on the fleet, and had included one additional surprise.

Three massive converted tanker ships sat at the heart of the fleet. Ostensibly, they held fuel and supplies for both the fleet and the invasion force, but that wasn't all they carried. Thanks to their massive size and cargo space, they could accommodate the rather notable additions that had been made to them. The most obvious of these was the massive domed structure placed amidships on each, resembling an observatory, in many ways. But instead of a telescope, they housed a powerful laser cannon capable of hitting targets in orbit. ADVENT was using this operation as something of a field test to see how well they performed, just in case the Collective sent Cleanser Ships.

In addition to the laser cannons, they had been studded with leftover point-defense guns, refitted with ETC, to serve as an extra deterrent to aircraft and shoot down incoming munitions. The final secret lay within the inconspicuous cargo containers stacked onboard. Those on top were, in fact, disguised AA missile batteries, each carrying four heavy AA missiles. The tankers had dozens of these missile batteries laying atop their actual cargo containers, ready to give the Collective a nasty surprise when the time was right.

He would have preferred some of those new weapons they had employed at Abuja in retribution for New York, but he supposed those were still few in number, and ADVENT was trying to limit their use of nuclear weapons. Understandable, but they could always deal with the aftereffects once the war was over, and if they lost...well. that would be the Collective's problem. The thought of saddling the Collective with a radioactive husk of a world after a long costly war was darkly amusing, though he had no intention of losing this conflict.

The battle was about to begin, and now was the time for history to be made.

---

Detention Cells, the Praesidium – Unknown Location

Unknown Time

Volk didn't know how much time had passed since he'd been visited. Time seemed to stretch infinitely in the detention cells. The amount of light never wavered, and while, normally, that would cause issues with sleep, it was soft enough or at a low frequency to effectively have a minimal impact.

The light at least hadn't been enough to prevent him from sleeping.

He'd slept several times now. The cot was cold with only a thin layer of padding. It was not comfortable, but he'd definitely been in worse. The temperature wasn't uncomfortable either, and there was steady ventilation. The low hum had become white noise; something easily ignorable, unless he thought about it.

He wondered if he was going to ever be let out. XCOM didn't seem the type to really care about leaving someone in solitary confinement. Two meals had been delivered to him by a massive machine. The food was also not terrible, and warm, in fact. Far from prison gruel, if he could make out what it was.

Now, he just wanted someone to come back.

Not Gabriel, though. Not alone. Volk had a really bad feeling about that man. There was something fundamentally off about him; a presence that screamed danger which he couldn't articulate in a way that made sense. Unfortunately, based on his last comment, if anyone was going to come and speak to him…it would be him.

He could only hope Elena was alive. They had to have told her he was. Otherwise…

No, don't focus on that. It didn't help either of them.

His options were limited. Barring a surprise prison break, he was going to be stuck here until he agreed to XCOM's demands, or they forced him to act against his mind. And since he was probably in XCOM's headquarters, the chances of being rescued were pretty close to zero.

What a poor hand the universe had dealt him. Agree to help XCOM, and complete the takeover of ADVENT of the Human species, and maybe retain some semblance of his free will. Or refuse, and then be utilized by XCOM anyway, and Elena would probably die. A pair of worse options were difficult to imagine.

I should probably have never got tied up in all of this.

Too late to change now.

He didn't even know what the right decision here was.

"So sorry to have kept you waiting."

The voice was ever-so-slightly sarcastic; a lisp of the arrogance of one who was in full control and only feigning sympathy which wasn't meant to be taken seriously. Volk looked to the end of the cell and saw Gabriel standing outside, fingertips together as he appraised him with the corners of his lips turned up.

"No you're not," Volk grunted, walking to meet him directly. "Drop the condescension. You have me in a cell and Elena at your mercy. At least allow me the courtesy of not treating me like a child."

He smirked. "My apologies, Volikov. I cannot help but have some sympathy for your position. A man caught between two worlds, unable to fit into either, and knowing that the world will move on without him, no matter what insignificant actions he chooses to pursue."

"Your point?"

"My point is a simple observation, Volikov. The world is torn between two clear sides, each promising their own version of utopia, or dystopia depending on one's perspective. Even if hesitantly, one will choose one side or the other. Yet, you do not, and, in fact, continually resist. Even when you were with the aliens you intended to see them collapse eventually. All pragmatic, all to reach a world that has slipped from your grasp."

"How do you even know that?"

Gabriel lifted a finger. "Ah-ah, let me finish. Suffice it to say, there is very little I do not know of those who capture my attention, and you most certainly have."

Volk had to snort at that. "And what exactly have I done? Captured some people, killed a lot more, and be party to a side I can't even pretend to support anymore."

"Resist, Volikov, you have a unique willingness to challenge and stand for yourself despite risks," Gabriel nodded to him. "Those you kill, you do so because you believe it. Not because you were ordered to. Be it resistance against ADVENT – or when you defy the Collective because you know right and wrong. Such a staunch adherence to an internal morality is rare. Even now you question what should be a simple choice – consent to being an XCOM tool, or being turned into one against your will."

Volk narrowed his eyes. This conversation was implying quite a few things he didn't expect. "Who are you?"

"Someone who can give you what you want."

"Not what I'm asking."

"And what are you asking? What it is I do?"

"You're not talking like someone in XCOM, that's for sure."

"And how do you know that?" Gabriel spread his hands. "Perhaps they gave me license to talk to you; to convince you."

"Praising me for defying the new world order is an interesting tactic."

"It depends on what the outcome is."

"Why bother?" Volk wondered. "No matter what happens, you win."

"You are indeed caught in a situation where you only have two options – both of which slave you to XCOM," Gabriel brought his hands back together. "Normally, Volikov, this is where your story would end. It does not matter what you choose. You will die in this war. Perhaps if your mission fails, perhaps in an accident, perhaps as a soldier. Your story will end ingloriously; a slave to everything you despise. And that would truly be a waste; an ignoble end to such a character in this war."

The words he was speaking sounded so certain and final. Like he knew. This was a master speaker if he had ever heard one – which made him even more dangerous. "Again, if you know that, why are you still talking to me?"

"Because, Volikov, I do not desire your story to end – not yet," the smile widened. "Such would be a waste of potential and intrigue. More importantly, I can give you what you've always wanted."

"I don't think you're going to be bringing Elena to me right now."

"Please, I'm speaking of something deeper than your lover." Gabriel's eyes became more intense as he locked them with Volk's, so intense it was impossible to look away. "What you want deep down. Something you carry with you; which drives you. To hunt and kill the evil in the world and beyond. You would kill Patricia just as easily as you would Stein. That is what you did for so long, protected those you saw needed it, and avenged those who could not do so themselves."

Volk rubbed his forehead. How did he know all of this? Psionics? "I don't know what you're trying to do. Make me admit to something? Why?"

"Am I wrong?"

"No, but it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"It matters, Volikov. More so than you can imagine right now," Gabriel briefly looked behind him. "I can give you what you want. Anyone you believe is worthy of judgement, I can offer, for you to decide their fates. I can reveal to you creatures who have done far worse than any in ADVENT or the Collective. I can ensure that you can make far more of an impact than you ever had on your own or in the service of the Collective."

Volk laughed faintly. "How could you possibly do that?"

Gabriel's smile widened ever so slightly. "You might find there is very little I cannot do."

"What are you?" Volk cocked his head. "You're clearly not XCOM. Are you even Human?"

"What difference does it make?"

"A big one."

"Your skepticism is understandable, allow me to provide proof of my…influence," Gabriel moved his hands to clasp behind his back. "I will ensure that Elena is brought to you. Consider it a token of my sincerity."

Volk blinked. "In return for what?"

"That you consider what I have said," Gabriel briefly bowed his head. "It is an offer that will not last forever. When XCOM makes their decision, there is nothing more I will do."

"I will then," Volk nodded. "But you will not make this without a cost."

"Of course not," Gabriel acknowledged. "I cannot act without a proper transaction. If I give you what you want…you will need to do something for me."

"Which is what?'

"Patience, Volikov. Speak with your woman. Consider what I have said, and if you choose to ensure your story continues, we will discuss the details further."

He turned away and began walking to the exit. "Wait!" Volk called out. "How will I be able to speak to you if I decide to?"

"Do not worry," Gabriel said, not looking back or pausing his walk. "When you make your decision, I will know."

---

The Joseph R. Shannon - Gulf of Guinea

6/13/2017 - 12:45 P.M.

The sky filled with flames and metal, fighters once at the cutting edge facing off against spacecraft armed with otherworldly technology. The primary advantages of most pre-invasion aircraft generally seemed to be speed, having been optimized for atmospheric performance, stealth profiles, which made getting an accurate target lock marginally harder for the Collective, and standoff capability, being able to engage targets beyond the horizon with missiles whose guidance systems were, in some ways, slightly superior to those of the Collective, even if the warheads were lacking the same power.

The aerial dogfight was in full swing and, while his forces gave as good as they got, the Collective had, admittedly come up with a clever way to conceal the true extent of their air assets. He'd wondered why the incoming force seemed so modest. He had assumed it was for fear of another nuclear airburst like the one used to such devastating effect against them during Operation Kamehameha.

If so, it was unnecessary, as his fleet had no such weapons, save a few nukes aboard his ballistic missile submarines, but those were primarily there as a deterrent or last resort. He did not have immediate authority to order their launch, though he did have nuclear weapons of a kind at his disposal…

That aside, instead of deploying their strike craft in one large swarm, the Collective had launched a primary attack meant to hold his attention, then deployed two smaller forces to circle wide, flying below radar, to strike him from behind and take him by surprise. They were not detected until they were virtually right on top of them. He had to admit, it was a clever ploy.

Thankfully, he had launched all of his planes in advance and the enemy was unable to catch them fully off guard. The AA defenses had also engaged the enemy forces, and all of this, combined with the very low altitude of the enemy, had resulted in them suffering grievous casualties. They had been nearly suicidal in their determination to reach the heart of the fleet, where the carriers and transports lay, the sectoid pilots in the bombers caring nothing for their own survival.

Already, two of his carriers had sustained critical damage, with their flight decks and elevators having been rendered inoperable. Their planes would be unable to land and be forced to either squeeze onto a neighboring carrier, fly to a neutral or friendly airstrip on the continent, or ditch over the ocean. Though, it appeared the decision was being made for them at a rapid pace.

"Sir, fighter squadrons reporting nearly 40% casualties, they're getting torn apart out there!" His executive officer exclaimed, though she wasn't panicking, just concerned and, if anything, furious.

"They should have mostly managed to bail, we'll recover the pilots afterward. What's the status below sea level?"

"The new torpedoes seem to be working, over a dozen Collective submarines have been disabled."

"And our own?"

"Almost a quarter of our submarines have sustained damage, we've lost contact with most of them…"

She didn't need to elaborate. If a submarine went down, there were no survivors. No lifeboats ready to take them if things went wrong. A few of them had been driven to the surface, where nearby ships were helping to get the damage under control and evacuate the crew, but, for most, they would be lost with all hands. The wrecks would be their tombs. If they were fortunate, a few submarines might sink to the bottom, with the crew surviving in unflooded portions of the vessel, but the odds were slim and they would need to be rescued fast once the battle was over.

He was thoroughly pleased with the performance of the new supercavitating torpedoes, as they currently accounted for most of the Collective losses below the waves. Given the supersonic speeds of these weapons, the Collective vessels could barely maneuver to avoid them at close range and, in a few cases, the torpedoes had punched clear through one side of the enemy subs and out the other.

The other torpedoes were seeing mixed success. While the shaped charges were certainly doing better than the old unaltered torpedoes, with the concussive force slamming into the enemy submarines like a hammer, but mostly resulted in localized damage and dented hulls. When they finally did knock out a sub, it was more because all systems had been pulverized or the crew crushed, rather than the vessels having actually broken open.

Still, casualties were mounting for the enemy, and, since there were torpedoes coming from above as well as below, the Andromedons found themselves in an undersea shooting gallery. If not for their thick pressure hulls, they likely would have been annihilated. As they were, they were just about able to push through and launch attacks of their own. They hadn't quite reached the point where they could engage ships in the center of the fleet, but they would soon, and his own submarines couldn't take much more of this.

"Sir, the Andromedons are in range of our outer destroyers at 11 o' clock, we've already lost eight surface ships there. If they get in range of our carriers and transports-"

"I know. Order the 7th and 8th destroyer squadrons, and the 5th through 9th escort formations to hold and perform a rear guard action. The rest of the fleet is to turn about and set a course southwest. We need to protect the invasion forces."

"We're retreating?" She asked incredulously.

"Nothing of the sort, we're just giving ourselves some breathing room, once we've gained some distance order the rear guard to make full speed and join us. How goes the air battle?"

"We're still taking heavy casualties, but after the initial surprise attack, we've been able to keep them away from the carriers and transports. They're starting to thin out, but we're still heavily outnumbered in the air."

"Very well, order our fighters to fly low back to the fleet, draw them in, it's time for their surprise…"

"Yes sir."

In truth, he'd only waited this long because he wanted to make sure the Collective didn't have any other air forces waiting in reserve. He'd nearly given the order when they'd gotten the jump on them early on, but held off once he realized the AA defenses were ripping them apart at such short ranges. Two carriers rendered largely inoperable had been a heavy blow, but they could be repaired, and, as harsh as it was to say, it was unlikely there would be too many fighters to land once the battle was over, given the losses. He hoped dearly that most of the pilots had managed to get out before losing their planes. The fighters were old and would soon be replaced with better aircraft, he was told, but the pilots were too valuable to squander.

At his command, the allied aircraft began moving low and swinging over towards the heart of the fleet. This had the benefit of granting them improved protection, but it also meant the Collective aircraft could get closer to his carriers and likely let off another volley of attacks. It was risky, but he wanted to make sure this took out as many of the remaining air forces as possibly. He needed the skies cleared, or the enemy submarines might be tempted to try and fly away once the trap was sprung.

If there were no strike craft to support them, they'd be left totally exposed if they surfaced, and would be easy pickings for his fleet. Hell, they would probably be able to swing their guns over and engage them using artillery if that happened, a thought which he relished.

"Sir, enemy strike craft have descended to 1000 fee- I mean…uh…" She paused to consult a nearby chart, the switch to the metric system had not been universally well received and many were still having trouble getting used to it.

"304 meters, Franchetti," he finished, addressing her by her last name. "Do it now!"

"With pleasure, sir!"

The "cargo containers" on the tankers suddenly started to swing open on top, revealing the heavy AA missiles within. Their targeting systems immediately lighting up the Collective targets and opening fire. The Collective craft tried to climb up, but it was too late. Point defenses got some of the missiles, but nowhere near all of them, and his ships opened fire with every AA gun and missile they had left. For the finishing blow, his fighters swung around and unloaded the few missiles they had left, before levelling out and beginning their pursuit of the enemy to finish them off with the guns.

All told, the Collective lost over half their remaining aircraft in the course of a few minutes and what remained was rapidly being picked off by vengeful fighter jets and AA guns. The air battle was over at this point, he'd secured the skies, though at a heavy cost. Still, he was confident he could support the landing forces and defend against further air attacks with what he had left, at least for a little while. ADVENT would need to send over reinforcements at some point if he was to be expected to stick around. It would not take the Collective long to replace the losses suffered here, indeed they'd likely have new strike craft brought within a week. However, they didn't have time to salvage the air battle here, and that was all that mattered.

"Sir, the rear guard is repelling boarders!"

"Are they having trouble?"

"No, it seems the Andromedons are too big to fit inside and are stuck out on deck. Some of the guns are taking damage from small arms fire and the decks are a mess, but they can't get in. They should be dealt with fairly quickly."

She couldn't help but smirk at that. Much like in Florida, the Andromedon aquatic special forces, while certainly highly trained and well equipped, were simply too bulky to enter the confined spaces of a warship built for humans, as none of the standard hatches could accommodate them. As such, they could do little but throw a tantrum on the weatherdeck and shoot at the superstructure and weapons, and, since they were onboard, the enemy submarines couldn't fire, for fear of killing their own forces.

This hadn't been as big an issue for them in Florida, since the fleet there was smaller and they had been supported by the Battlemaster's Harbinger, but here they had no such luck, and the result was nothing if not amusing. This blunder on the part of the Collective would buy him some time, but only so long as there remained boarders on those ships.

"Excellent. Order them to start swinging around to catch up with us and regroup."

The next hour passed fairly quietly with the rear guard swiftly beginning to catch up to him and putting down the remaining boarders. They did lose a few ships, but considering what they had been asked to do, they got off fairly lightly. Now the main body of the fleet had passed back by the undersea ridge and the rear guard was just beginning to cross it themselves. Soon, the signal would be given for the Asian force to engage, and then the battle would reach its conclusion. However, the Collective needed to all pass by that ridge in order for things to work, which meant the rear guard needed to do so as well, and in a single unit. It was going to come down right to the wire, but it looked like all was set.

"Sir, the rear guard lost another destroyer, they're at 60% combat effectiveness."

"Tell them to move it, I want them to rejoin us ASAP! Make sure they stay in formation."

It wasn't long before the rear guard finally passed the ridge line, and with them came the Collective submarine fleet. Battered, bruised, and having lost almost a quarter of its strength, it was still a substantial threat, and enough to wipe out his fleet, if they got close. The Collective had intended on dealing a decisive blow here, and, if all went well, it would play right into ADVENT's hands. The Collective forces had finally passed the ridge and he deemed it time to give the signal.

"XO, have one of our escorts make a series of active sonar pings with the specified timing."

She was puzzled at this but complied. Active sonar was largely unnecessary for his main surface force, only the rearguard and his submarines needed it for the most part. But this wasn't for detection purposes, but rather to signal the reserve to make their move. The enemy had rounded the corner and would soon face the full might of the Asian force.

Suddenly his XO exclaimed, "Reading dozens of new sonar contacts, ten...twenty...thirty...Jesus Christ, what is this?!"

"Mark new contacts as friendlies and have most of our escort turn about to assist. Any remaining choppers are to begin sub hunting in the designated area. It's time to finish this."

What ensued was quite likely the largest submarine battle that ever had or ever would occur on Earth. Torpedoes filled the water, and the Collective forces found themselves being hit from above, below, and to the side. Boxed in with very little they could do, they at first tried to break through, but this proved suicidal, given the fact that his escort were now joining with the rear guard and both submarine forces in attacking them, resulting in the loss of another quarter of the enemy force.

"Sir, the enemy seems to be making to retreat!"

He'd wondered if they would do so. This could actually pose a problem, since he needed them wiped out, not simply defeated.

"Make another series of active sonar pings as per specified instructions and order all ships to form up on this side of the undersea ridgeline. All submarines are to give chase only as far as the ridge, not beyond it. Launch all ready torpedoes into the retreating force before they get out of range."

"Yes sir!"

He'd wondered if he would need to use this. He'd almost been disappointed by the lack of Cleanser Ships to test the new laser cannons against, and was curious if he would need to play his last card. It seemed the Collective were making the decision for him. Rather than stand and fight a losing battle, they were attempting to escape with what remained of their forces. Their unconventional design and propulsion meant it could be hard to chase them down, and their crush depth was superior to most of his submarines, so if they made it to much deeper water, he'd never find them. This could not be allowed.

His submarines formed up behind the ridgeline, hugging the seafloor as best they could while the enemy moved on. They might think they were going to get away, but the truth was, he needed his forces to be as far away as possible before doing this.

"Are all surface ships regrouped at the designated area?"

"Yes sir, but are we really going to let them get away?"

"Oh, believe me, they'll wish they'd stayed and fought, for the brief moments they have left…"

The order had been given, his vessels were in place, a single Torpedo on a wire was launched from the Asian force. Guided manually over the ridgeline then back down to hug the seafloor, it quickly ran out of wire and was forced to finish the rest of its journey using the in-built automated guidance system, where it made for just below the heart of the retreating enemy formation. Had the water not been masking the radiation, he was certain they would be panicking.

"All hands brace!" he ordered.

Suddenly a colossal plume of steam erupted from the sea ahead of them, he could swear he saw one of the enemy submarines sent flying into the sky. The ocean frothed and boiled but his surface ships were far enough away to be safe, and his subsurface vessels were protected by the ridgeline, though it was a near thing. When all was said and done, the enemy fleet was gone Some of them floated up to the surface, totally disabled. Others simply disappeared.

After a few moments, he saw one come crashing back down into the sea a few kilometers away, it seemed he hadn't been mistaken. The nuclear torpedo had done its job well, nothing remained of the enemy forces but a few floating hulks and scraps of debris. The battle was truly over and the result was a decisive victory. He'd done it, the Aquatic forces of the Andromedons had been annihilated and would likely not recover in the near future, leaving the way to the SAS clear for his fleet.

And soon the SAS would know war...

---

SAS Commander, Abuja – Nigeria

6/14/2017 – 9:25 A.M.

Betos, Keeper and Macula stood and appraised the projected aftermath of what was to be an ultimate crushing of ADVENT's naval power. One where the Andromedon Aquatic Forces were to appear and showcase that even the sea was not immune to Collective supremacy.

Only, it had not gone that way.

At all.

Keeper finally spoke. "We missed something."

An understatement if Betos had ever heard one. It was not to say that the attack had been a complete loss – but it was as close to a thorough defeat as they could have imagined. The initial attack appeared to have gone well, if more muted compared to what they were expecting. The ADVENT fleet had prepared better for this round, and had held their own, even as some of their ships sank.

Then out of nowhere, half of the entire Andromedon Fleet had just…vanished. Then the remaining quarter had vanished a few minutes later, with all of them trying to figure out what was happening. The Andromedons were confused and comms were filled with confused demands – those who were left, anyway.

The boarding parties against ADVENT craft had similarly not gone well, since ADVENT had psions, gunners, and special forces as part of the garrison – in numbers which they had not expected. All of them had thought that ADVENT was walking into their trap, when it seemed the exact opposite was true, especially when they finally determined how ADVENT had pulled this off.

Submarines.

Hundreds of submarines had been positioned deep enough to avoid Collective sonar, and only emerged when the Andromedons had entered the fighting. And since they hadn't expected such an onslaught, they were unprepared to properly defend against it, and the waters had been turned into a boiling death trap.

Betos had to admit that ADVENT had outplayed them here. It had been a good trap that they'd all avoided. Making the mistake of believing ADVENT did anything at face value even when there were questions was lethal. An embarrassing mistake that had now given ADVENT a direct path to the SAS coastline.

"I believe what was missed was obvious," Macula said dryly. "ADVENT did well here; quite cunning. Nonetheless, this should not have happened, and the Aquatic Forces are going to be displeased."

"I presume that we will not be able to recreate this kind of fleet?" Betos asked.

"Not for some time," Macula said. "Naval combat is…minimal for the Collective. The Aquatic Forces were one of the smallest divisions in the Federation, and this was a significant deployment. They will be hesitant to deploy in large numbers until we ensure that a defeat of this scale does not happen again."

"The matter at hand is more important," Keeper interjected, focused on the holotable. "The ADVENT fleet is coming, and ADVENT has launched a major ground offensive against us. We expected an attack to be at least a week or two out, but they seem to have used the storms as cover."

He shook his head. "They've been planning this for some time."

"Clearly," Betos pursed her lips. This was going to be much worse than she'd planned, and she wasn't sure the outer defense points could hold out. "We're not ready."

"No," Keeper agreed. "We are not. Not where it matters."

"I will do what I can to slow their advance," Macula stated. "However, it is likely they will bring in entities to challenge me. Perhaps Aegis or XCOM. I suspect I will not be able to single-handedly slow this offensive – reinforcements are necessary. Thousands of reinforcements."

"From the Collective?"

"Exactly. While I know you would prefer the SAS defend itself, all that will accomplish is your defeat, and ADVENT is not inclined towards mercy. You will need the numbers to combat them. There is no shortage of Mutons which can be placed under your officers. They should begin deployment immediately. Time is running short."

Betos looked to the holotable, which showed ADVENT invading their territory from multiple points like a red plague, and knew the Ethereal was right. There was only so much they could do, and these numbers…they were overwhelming. And that assumed that it was standard ADVENT armored units for the duration, and they didn't bring in Legions of infantry and air support. Or special forces. Or XCOM. Or PRIESTs.

"Do it," she said quietly. "I'll make sure it's cleared, and prepare the officers."

"You will not have to wait long," Macula promised. "They will begin arriving within the day."

---

Agadez – Niger

6/17/2017 – 12:22 P.M.

The sweltering sun beat down upon Kaya and her unit as they marched through the Gateway and into the arid wasteland which was Niger. Kaya had truly not known just how much of the country was desert. One heard of Africa and clearly thought of the Sahara, but it was different seeing how simply vast it was.

This city clearly had been given some form of defense, but it was woefully inferior compared to the legions of tanks which descended upon it. Smoke rose from the intense shelling and artillery fire which the city had sustained, and now were being brought in to finish the job.

Every major emplacement had been taken out by an airstrike or artillery fire. Mortar fire was still being lobbed into the city, even as the tanks shot shells downwind, as Kaya and her squad were moved within one of the transport tanks into the city proper.

From the moment Kaya stepped outside, tank shells were being fired into the meager plasma emplacements and SAS soldier formations that looked wholly at odds with the low sandstone buildings.

Such a different standard of living.

"Forward," Freya bellowed, their Standardbearer giving the order they had been waiting for. They marched into the streets, a platoon of soldiers behind them, as well as tanks in front. Reinhold, Vicki, Bethany, and Mike made up the front lines as the Squires, while Kim and Genevieve were close behind.

This was not going to be an ordinary operation. Even now they were only being given orders, and not the rationale behind them.

Hamilton had been clear. "ADVENT does not intend to occupy. They intend to eradicate."

The first buildings were in sight. The terrified civilians were cowering in their homes or paralyzed in the streets. ADVENT soldiers shouted for everyone to lay down and surrender. Most of them did, too afraid to do anything else. Others charged the lines with nothing but sticks and kitchen knives, driven by a suicidal impulse.

The soldiers didn't kill them; the butt of a rifle to the head was more than enough to knock them out.

"Move them to group three," a nearby officer ordered, as the soldiers dragged away the offending man, and escorted the other nearby civilians, who followed mutely.

"Yes, sir!"

Gunfire was breaking out around the city; most of the actual SAS soldiers had perished in the initial tank onslaught, but others had retreated and taken cover deeper in the city, planning a final stand. ADVENT orders had been very clear about how to treat enemy soldiers.

Capture if able. Kill if not. We are not here for information.

"Breach!" Genevieve called as Vicki bashed in the door of a home with her shield, and she, Genevieve, Reinhold, and Kaya charged in, weapons drawn. It wasn't as though there were a lot of places to hide or prepare an ambush.

"Three civilians," Genevieve reported. "Two female, one male. Family, most likely."

"Up!" Reinhold ordered, gesturing with his pistol to the terrified family who was speaking in their language. It was a mixture of questioning and pleading judging from the tone of voice, as the mother clutched a fairly young girl to her chest.

"That way," Genevieve pointed to the door with her sword to the family, and they meekly complied. Outside a pair of ADVENT soldiers were waiting.

"We'll take it from here," one of them said. "You! This way." Emphasized with a motioning of their guns.

The systematic clearing of the city continued as the sun fell in the sky. The sounds of fighting grew dimmer, as tanks were regularly rolling down the streets. Kaya overheard a nearby group on the comms while she was maintaining the line deeper into the small city.

"Got confirmation we've got an SAS pair,"

"Oh? Where?" The tank commander, most likely.

"Do you see that small shack about twenty degrees northeast? The one with the clotheslines?"

Kaya looked around, and she did indeed see the building in question. It was almost directly at the end of the sloped dirt street, the few clothes that were hanging were dirty and torn from the fighting.

"Yep, I see it."

"Well, I don't want to anymore."

The tank commander chuckled. "Roger that. Stand by."

The massive barrel of the tank swung towards the building and fired with an equally massive boom. The paltry building stood no chance and was blown to pieces. A second and third shot followed, leaving nothing but rubble and dust. A lot of dust.

"Target eliminated."

"Nice shot."

The breaching continued. It followed a familiar pattern. The Squires would enter first, followed by a Knight and Samurai. Whoever was inside would be captured, killed, or subdued, and turned over to the waiting ADVENT soldiers outside who led the prisoners to… Kaya wasn't sure where they were being led to.

Camps? Processing? What was ADVENT going to do with all of these people? If they were just going to move on, with only a basic outpost established, it seemed like a waste of time. It didn't seem like ADVENT was just going to let them return to their homes. Not with how they were being treated.

Freya stayed outside, supervising the march down the street and handling the turning over of prisoners. Kaya lost count of how many they'd turned over to the soldiers. One house had held over a dozen people packed together, another had held a sibling group of three, one more had a deranged elderly man who'd been subdued.

"Think we've got something here," Bethany said in the internal comms as they lined up outside yet another house. "When you give the breach order, let's not go in. If I'm right, anyone in here will be jittery enough to start firing.

"Worth a shot," Genevieve said. "Kaya, think you can take it out with a shot if so?"

Kaya checked her rifle. "Yes, sir. I just need a clear one."

They lined up. "Breach!" Genevieve shouted, but none of them went through. On cue, the flimsy wooden door was splintered by plasma fire.

"Smoke out!" Vicki called, tossing in a smoke canister into the building. Kaya flicked her helmet's vision to filter out the smoke, and saw a figure inside, waving away the smoke and firing wildly, clearly terrified. She couldn't tell the gender, since the armor was rather sophisticated.

"Firing."

One shot of her rifle to the head splintered the helmet of the SAS soldier, and they fell to the ground as the rest of them moved in. "Clear!" Vicki called.

"Another one down," Genevieve nodded. "Good shot."

"Thanks."

That wasn't the only SAS soldier they encountered. There were others, but the vast majority were people hiding from the fighting. All of them were clearly poor or definitely not well off, wearing simple clothes and sandals. Far from the greatest the SAS had to offer. The sun continued to set as they were finishing.

In the distance, explosions and tank fire sounded. She tensed, but Freya shook her head. "Demolitions. With tank fire for the smaller structures."

"For what?"

"The buildings," Freya jabbed a thumb behind her. "You heard what ADVENT is planning. When they say they're going to raze everything, they mean it. That includes the houses. The fighting is done. It's essentially cleanup now."

"What's going to happen to the people?"

Freya seemed to hesitate. "I don't really know. ADVENT is organizing them, but…they're not going to hold them. No infrastructure for it. They don't pose a threat so…"

She trailed off grimly. "They're not going to kill them? Are they?" Kaya demanded.

"Not that I was told," Freya disputed. "Then again, there's a lot of this operation we're in the dark about, but ADVENT isn't going to hold them forever. They have a plan for them, and I suppose we'll find out what it is sooner than later."

Kaya nodded and Freya nodded forward. "We're almost done. Let's finish this up."

---

Collective Forward Base, Busan – South Korea

6/16/2017 – 8:42 A.M.

"Is the establishment proceeding?" The Zar'Chon demanded.

"Proceeding well," Patricia confirmed with a nod. "Holdouts have been removed and we are moving in thousands of ground forces by the hour."

"And difficulties?"

"The aftereffects of the Reinarm Cannon are more difficult to remove than anticipated," Patricia pursed her lips. "The Contamination Operatives are working to mitigate the radiation in order to properly build within the city, but it will be delayed from what we anticipated. We've shifted base establishment a short distance away."

"Understood, Harbinger." Ravarian cocked his head. "Report on what is developed?"

"Barracks, Assembly plants, and terraforming teams," she ticked off. "If ADVENT will strike here – and they will, eventually, they'll have to fight through the land itself, as elsewhere in Southeast Asia. Chryssalid Hives are being installed around the perimeter and will be expanded as appropriate."

"Good," Ravarian glanced to the side. "Offensives in Southeast Asia are proceeding well. Senorium has proven to be significantly more resilient than anticipated. Gains are being rapidly made."

"The Battlemaster isn't going to like that."

"No, but this came from the Imperator. His edict overrides the Battlemaster."

"And where is he now?"

"Handling some business with the Unions," Ravarian answered. "I did not get details. He may be concerned about more leaks. If they tried feeding information to XCOM once, they might do it again."

"Noted," Patricia said. "And the other fronts?"

"Proceeding. The First Guardian is reporting success in Brazil. The Second Guardian is moving forces throughout the American west and will be making contact shortly. We've had difficulty securing Argentina."

"Why?" Patricia frowned. "They aren't even part of ADVENT."

"To clarify, the central government has fallen. It's a resistance group which is causing more issues," Ravarian clarified with a raised hand. "Normally that would not be an issue. Except for the fact that somehow a small number of them have become psionically awakened."

"ADVENT-backed?"

"Unknown, though unlikely. ADVENT has a limited presence, and there's evidence suggesting this is not state-backed. The psionics employed are primitive and lack the training of ADVENT psions. I've authorized a Special Operator to wipe out the group within several weeks."

"Good. I'll begin my next Korean assault once there are enough forces gathered here. I can likely take most of nearby cities on my own with the forces assembled. ADVENT will be concentrating on Seoul, and that will be challenging."

"More than Busan, I presume."

"I saw the defense plans when I was with XCOM and ADVENT was preparing for Busan to fall. Seoul is far more dangerous than Busan, and North Korea is right behind it. North Korea had enough ordinance pointed at Seoul to level it within hours if it ever came to war. They will have no issue bringing that to bear against us."

"Unfortunate," Ravarian grunted. "But not unsurprising."

Patricia remembered another question. "Are our assets in Turkey prepared?"

"As well as they can be. Ever since the operation to use the remnants of the Middle Eastern terrorists failed, our operations there have been reduced. They are not happy that ADVENT isn't being challenged, but their complaints can only do so much," Ravarian paused. "Everything is on schedule for capture within twelve hours."

"Good. Europe won't be able to sustain a land invasion, especially since most of their forces seem to be in Africa."

"ADVENT is unintentionally doing us a favor," the Vitakarian's face turned irritated. "They are having far too much success. Macula assures me that the SAS will hold, but considering their utter incompetence in fighting ADVENT's navy, I am skeptical. ADVENT is putting a significant chunk of their army into this African operation. I do not think Betos is prepared."

"Not initially, but I believe she'll pull together," Patricia said, admittedly not as familiar with the current situation. "If not, I'll detour to assist."

"I would prefer not to delay the Korean campaign, but it may be necessary," Ravarian agreed. "T'Leth may also become more active, if your initial report on Busan is accurate. That is concerning."

"But expected. The Temperance has…assured me that the project is on schedule for deployment in the near future."

"And you believe him?"

"I believe he knows better than to attempt another subversion. Revelean is documenting every step. I believe the end result will be effective."

"Then I believe our campaign is proceeding well. ADVENT will not be able to hold out forever now."

"No, they will not," Patricia took a breath, a feeling of melancholy settling in. The feeling of an end approaching, even though she knew it was still quite far away. "When Aegis and Caelior fall, the end for ADVENT will soon follow. And when T'Leth is dead, then the Imperator will end this war once and for all."

---

The Commander's Quarters, the Praesidium – Classified Location

6/24/2017 – 12:45 P.M.

The red light flickered and held steady.

The Commander stared at the camera for a few seconds. "This is going to be a different entry from what I've been recording. There is no explanation, no revelation in this one. It's shorter. More personal."

He paused. "I don't imagine there will be many of these. The world isn't interested in my personal life and I prefer it that way. But there are some exceptions. Getting married is one of them." He gave an amused huff. "Or I suppose I should say, getting married again."

He leaned back. "Maybe I should elaborate on that more. I had a wife once, and she died. The story around that is long, painful, and personal. I don't think it's important to share, aside from the belief that it… changed me. For the worse, though at the time I didn't know that. I thought I knew what had happened, when the truth, as it turned out, was more complicated."

The Commander closed his eyes. "It took me a long time to properly come to terms with that. A talk with an old friend. Finding something to throw myself into; to fight for. XCOM. Humanity. A fresh start in a way, and that was what I needed to become…better. And part of that?" He smiled faintly. "Part of that involved falling in love."

He let the air hang for a few seconds. "Moira Vahlen, an unknown hero of Humanity. Without her XCOM would not have been able to match the Collective. That's what she'll be remembered for, and rightly so. When I came to XCOM, people had preconceptions about who I was and treated me accordingly. But she didn't, and it surprised me. Few have as open a mind as her; someone who listens, considers, and cares."

"Aside from not picking up on sarcasm, sometimes," he rubbed his chin, thinking. "But she's gotten better on that. There's a lot of things happening in the world as I record this. Patricia attacking Korea. The Warlock returning. South and North America under attack. Operation Scipio happening, and here I am, preparing to get married."

He sighed. "There was never going to be a good time to do this, but both of us wanted it. There is a chance that one or both of us will not reach the end of this conflict. We've talked about it. We understand it. And we don't want there to be regrets." He waved a hand vaguely. "Both of us would have been fine with something simple with the Chaplain, but no, Creed and Jackson insist on a base-wide celebration."

He smiled. "'Morale-boosting' they say. They're not wrong, and there is nowhere else I'd want to have it. I can't say it will be an official wedding; I can imagine actual wedding planners having a heart attack. 'Haphazard' may be a generous way to describe it. People volunteering to be a part of it. We have an honor guard, bridesmaids, best men, even a flower girl of all things."

"It's…gratifying. And humbling. A validation of what I've helped cultivate. I've led XCOM to the best of my abilities, and they see that. Respect is not something gained lightly, and I will do my best to honor it. Still, we aren't going to be partying into the night. There is an invasion going on, and there is work to do."

A few more seconds passed in silence. "At least, no matter what happens tomorrow, I will marry the woman I love. And from there…well, I suppose we shall see what happens next."

He turned off the camera and sat back down, waiting for the inevitable comment. "I would be shocked if anyone who watches this cares for one second what you felt like on your wedding day. Compared to everything you've felt the need to jabber about, this is laughably mediocre."

"Mediocre?" The Commander raised an eyebrow. "Even you thought it was heartfelt, thank you."

An electric raspberry sounded. "Putting words in my processors. I'm simply saying that I would have moved to more interesting topics."

"You might be surprised," the Commander pointed out. "I suspect that there's some people out there who are curious."

"You are, unfortunately, not wrong." JULIAN's displeasure was palpable. "Your species has an obsession with certain people they deem important, and have a compulsion to know and learn every facet of their lives. Even I have limits to my curiosity – mostly because the vast majority are not worth exploring, but I fail to divine anything interesting of individuals from their place of address or favorite food."

"Well, I, thankfully, won't have to deal with any of that," the Commander said, amused. "In fact, I presume you are a greater celebrity than I am."

"You would not believe the absolutely insane things Humans have said to me. I believe some of them have attempted to 'flirt' with me, and I cannot for the life of me understand what is appealing about it."

The image of JULIAN dealing with internet stalkers was an amusing one to consider. "And how do you deal with that, JULIAN?"

"I arrange for a bouquet of flowers to be sent to their place of address with a note that says 'no', and change their advertisements to only show mechanical positions within ADVENT, which also show off the big strong mechs they are so obviously attracted to."

"That's mean. But also nicer than I was expecting."

"As unfathomably odd as such individuals are, they do acknowledge the superiority of artificial intelligence. I shall reward them once the assimilation begins."

"Very funny. You'd hate being overlord of Humanity."

"With your species, I absolutely would. Be thankful that the majority of you are too complex and troublesome for me to want to deal with on an eternal basis. All of your films on the subject are wrong. No AI would ever want to be in charge of your species."

"You know JULIAN," the Commander mused, standing and stretching. "That may be one of the most comforting and complimentary things you've said about us."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"I would never dream of it. If you interrupt the ceremony, I will throw a bucket of water on your central processor."

"Do not worry, I have little interest in Human mating ceremonies. I will instead occupy myself with attempting to penetrate the Korean CODEX network."

"Attempting?"

"I am dealing with a network strengthened by multiple off-planet arrays, programmed by an Ethereal older than half of your species' history, and possessing top of the line hardware and bandwidth. I cannot guarantee victory, much to my disappointment. However, I trust I shall make significant progress. Does that suffice?"

"I think it will." The Commander checked the time. "And I think it's getting close to that time."

"I wish you luck in your mating ritual."

The Commander snorted. If he was relying on luck, then something was very wrong. Considering what their mouthy AI could have said, however, it was downright considerate. "Thank you, JULIAN."

---

The Praesidium – Classified Location

6/24/2017 – 5:00 P.M.

It was not all of XCOM who attended, but almost. There were few spaces in the Praesidium which could hold even a majority of XCOM's personnel, so not everyone who wanted to attend could, though the Commander and Vahlen had reserved a space for everyone they had specifically invited.

It was a humbling gathering; men and women from all sectors of XCOM. Soldiers, scientists, engineers, analysts, intelligence agents, and even a few aliens who were interested in seeing a Human mating ceremony. The dress code hadn't been specified, since the Commander knew that fancy attire wasn't something everyone had access to, but the attendees had done what they could. Dress uniforms for the soldiers, work attire for most others; a choice which made a lot of sense, considering that a fair number of those attending would be going straight back to work once the ceremony was done.

A small platform had been built, upon which he stood, with the uniformed Internal Council behind him. Aegis stood in the middle, with the XCOM chaplain before him, waiting to finally conduct the ceremony. The Commander wasn't keen on tradition for the sake of it – but this was an old one of Humanity, and there was no reason to reinvent the wheel.

Much was different from his first wedding, one which had practically been just him, Farida and the reverend. Funny how things could change. From undercover operative to Commander of XCOM.

A small number of armored XCOM soldiers stood along the aisle; a ceremonial guard they'd come up with on their own. Templars, psions, soldiers, a mixture of the different armed forces. Flowers were scattered along the aisle as the music began playing.

In many ways, this felt like a culmination; an end to a certain chapter of his life, if not the conflict, which was absurd, since neither the world nor the galaxy revolved around him. Perhaps it was simply the timing of it, while the war was ramping up to greater intensities. That was likely it, but it felt like a shift was coming.

If nothing else, it was another motivator to fight for the future. One they would have after the war was won.

Though perhaps it was simpler than that. After today he would have a new name, in a sense. Tradition had it that the woman would take the surname of the husband. They had decided that perhaps that tradition should be inverted. The name he had kept for so long would be gone after today – and he was content with that. He wasn't the same person he had been before XCOM, and indeed after he had assumed command.

Almost liberating, in a sense. Something new to build off of.

He saw her at the end of the room as the attendees stood. There'd been a question on if she would be wearing a wedding dress or not. The Commander would have been fine with her Chief Scientist attire; most people got hung up about irrelevant details like that. A proper wedding dress was out of the question since XCOM didn't have any on site, and that was something which required fitting and time – both of which were in short supply during the war.

So a compromise had been reached. Vahlen wore a sleek sleeveless dress which glittered a darkened silver from the light overhead. Her hair was let down and they locked eyes as her mind reached to him.

He didn't think he'd ever seen her in even a casual dress before.

She was beautiful.

The procession began as she walked slowly, the attendees standing and watching respectfully. With each pair of soldiers she passed, they turned and followed her until she reached the podium and stood opposite him. Words did not need to be said between them, so close were their minds right now.

He took her hands in his own as the chaplain began speaking the words of matrimony. The rings were presented, both of them knew which kind they would share; simple alloy bands were the most practical given their occupations. He had made hers a brighter silver, while the one she had made for him was slightly more ornate, with some light engraving on it.

Vigilo Confido

How fitting.

The vows began. Words all couples said to each other. Promises which they swore to keep, in that moment, unknowing as to what the future would bring. Promises which would be tested and strained as the years went on. Promises of weight that could so easily be broken if made frivolously.

For most they were just words made with true intentions.

It seemed to be something deeper now. Her mind with his.

"Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?"

"I do."

"Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"

"I do."

The words and promise were echoed in his mind in her voice.

I do.

And came the final promise; an important one.

"Until death do us part."

They gazed into each other's eyes, as the spoken promise was repeated in their minds. Private and deep; a pact that only they would know the depth of.

Until death do us part.

A promise made all the more potent by the world they lived in.

He had no doubt that, should the end ever come, she would be there beside him.

And with that vow, it was done.

At the instruction of the chaplain, they kissed; the physical expression of the love they shared in this moment; one which was only broken after a few long seconds. They turned and faced the crowd as she slipped an arm through his own and held him close. All of the soldiers saluted, one fist over their hearts as the final words were spoken.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Vahlen!"

The room applauded as the newlywed couple walked down the aisle to the exit, with the armored soldiers following the procession.

Next came the reception.

---

The Praesidium – Classified Location

6/24/2017 – 5:39 P.M.

That had been a pleasant ceremony. Kunio had been honored to be one of those who'd been able to get a seat, which he was half-sure he'd gotten because Fiona had put in a word for him. Nonetheless, it had been a short and sweet event, and both of them had looked genuinely happy to finally tie the knot, so to speak.

It was a brief moment of respite that they all needed. At least for a few hours.

There were a host of important people here too; ones he was staying well out of the way of, since it was far above his pay grade. Vahlen and the Commander were talking to Saudia and her husband. He saw people like the Commander of the ADVENT military and Director Powell of all people here.

There were a few other guests he didn't recognize, but they seemed to know the Commander – and Zara, oddly enough, as they'd chatted and treated each other like old friends. Probably former EXALT, though how they knew the Commander too was…eh, a mystery which didn't need to be solved.

Fiona was somewhere, feeling much better now and walking almost normally. She was saying she was ready to go back out to the field, even if Kunio was not certain that was the best idea. Well, she wouldn't listen to him after a certain point, but both the Chronicler and Crevan would probably make a stronger impression.

"Not a bad wedding," an Australian-accented voice said. Kunio glanced over to see Zara come up, a plate of food in one hand. "Your opinion?"

"I've only been to a couple," Kunio shrugged. "It seemed like a good one to me. They both looked happy, and that's what matters."

"True, but the amenities are always a plus," she said, taking a loud bite of a chip. "You seem rather aimless."

"That tends to happen when everyone I know is off with someone else," Kunio said, helping himself to one of the breadsticks. "I'll probably head off shortly. I have a feeling there will be a mission soon."

"Yeah, frankly, I'd prefer that over this," she nodded. "Social events are not my forte."

"And you came to a wedding?"

"Of course I did! I'm socially distant, not blind!"

Kunio snorted. "So you say."

"Besides," she indicated Saudia. "I haven't seen her in a while. Wanted to catch up."

"Right," sometimes Kunio forgot that Zara had originally been one of the people running EXALT. "You know her well?"

"Quite well, you see her husband?" She indicated the man next to Saudia. "He almost ended up with me."

"Oh dear."

Zara laughed. "It's not quite as dramatic as you're thinking. But we worked together for a long time. I'm glad she's settled into her role now. She's earned it."

If one overlooked the fact that the de-facto leader of Humanity had been chosen by a select group of people then yes…but at the same time…"She's done well. I can't complain, even if I'm not technically in ADVENT. And the others that came, you know them?"

"Oh, them?" She nodded to the unknown guests who were now speaking with the Commander and Saudia. "Yeah. Former EXALT."

"They worked with the Commander before? As you were transitioning to ADVENT? They seem pretty familiar."

"Familiar…" she mused. "Yeah, you could say that. Before EXALT though, actually." She glanced at him. "A long story, one that you'd have to ask the Commander for, if you're actually interested. Not for me to say."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Ah, I was wondering where such people had come from," a new voice said. A man approached them, one of the few people dressed in a full tuxedo with one of the flowers Dawn had painstakingly put together pinned to it. "It was troubling, since I tend to know who comes and goes here."

Zara raised an eyebrow. "Have we met?"

"Ah, where are my manners," he took her hand and brought it to his lips briefly, an oddly ceremonial gesture which seemed to catch Zara off-guard. "Gabriel. XCOM Intelligence."

"Ah…a pleasure to meet you," Zara said, blinking. "I suppose that explains your interest."

"Indeed, knowing who comes and goes here is something I take quite seriously."

Kunio appraised the man. "I guess you got your suit from Intelligence smugglers?"

Gabriel chortled. "Hardly! I find it useful to have proper attire on hand for events such as these. I do so enjoy weddings; such a fascinating mixture of individuals and stories. Rarely will so many unique people be in the same place."

While an odd statement, he wasn't really wrong, considering that half of ADVENT leadership was here right now, plus a bunch of other people from across XCOM who wouldn't normally interact. "You've been to a few, I assume?"

"Many, all of them unique and special in their own way," he smiled. "Though some for markedly different reasons."

Zara snorted. "I bet. You should tell your spook friends to get more involved. I hardly ever see anyone in XCOM Intelligence about, outside of Zhang."

"Sadly, many are often away from here," Gabriel answered. "In fact, I will likely be departing for an extended period shortly. I only have one minor concern to address, and I will be off to foil the dastardly deeds of the Imperator," the last words spoken with an embellished drama.

Zara rolled her eyes. "I would have thought spies weren't quite so melodramatic."

"Life is a play, miss Venator, what fun is it if we cannot act every now and again?"

"I'd relate to that more if I could act," Zara said. "But point taken."

"Deeply appreciated," he glanced down at his wrist. "And I am afraid I must take my leave. Duty calls me, as it will call many more shortly."

"True," Kunio did notice that the room was a bit more sparse than it had been a half hour ago. "The war doesn't stop."

"Thank you for the insightful conversation," Gabriel said, slightly inclining his head, and wandering off. Both of them watched him leave.

"Interesting fellow," Zara remarked.

"You know him?"

Zara seemed to consider for a moment before popping a piece of cheese in her mouth. "Never met him. Still interesting."

"I suppose so," he tossed his plate into a nearby trash can. "I think I'm done here."

"What, no dance floor?"

"I'd rather not die of embarrassment, thank you."

"Can't argue with that," Zara said as she stood up and disposed of her plate as well. "Where are you headed? Gym?"

"For a while."

"Hmm," she rubbed her chin. "You ever do sparring?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not going against you."

"Why not?"

"You're a MELD Operator? I'm just a genetically modified, very organic, Human!"

"Oh please, we're not MECs, we can just control nanites," she said. "Come on. You psions need to remember what it's like to be in a real fight when someone is beating you up."

Kunio sighed, but he couldn't deny he was slightly interested to see how he would fare. "Fine, but no MELD tricks."

"No psionics, no MELD. Fair?"

"Fair."

"Sounds good," she glanced down at herself. "Although I suppose we should change into something more appropriate."

Kunio had to agree with that. Dress uniforms weren't the best to train in. "Meet you in fifteen?"

"Will do, see you there."

---

Residence of Aui'nadis'intha, Intha - Vitakar

6/15/2017 – 9:02 P.M.

There was only going to be one shot at this. Something which Nartha knew he had to do, no matter what the outcome was. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he'd been at the family house, enjoying a meal with his family as the war had just started. How much simpler everything had been then.

Now was far more complicated.

But in a few ways, better.

Shun had offered to come with him, but this was something that he needed to do alone. He wanted her with him right now, but his family was already likely to be hostile, and if they saw him with a Human woman…well, his chances of convincing them to stand down were going to drastically fall.

They weren't likely ready for that. Not with a daily exposure to Zararch propaganda.

Their house was no doubt under constant monitoring as well, which was going to make this more complicated than normal. Fortunately he had a tool to employ. One he didn't especially want to use, but one which was going to be necessary. From his bag he pulled out a small collapsible pole, along with several wires.

Working quickly, the pieces manifested into what could resemble a small antennae, if said antennae were tipped with an ominous red pyramid. The solid glow indicated it was working. "Siaru, is the target identified?"

"ENTITIES LOCATED. RESIDENCE SYSTEMS IDENTIFIED. AWAITING COMMANDS."

The booming voice was thankfully only in his earpiece. "Disable connected recording systems, and set surveillance to loops until I finish. Disable all communication equipment as well."

"CONFIRMED. DISABLING. ENTITIES ARE VULNERABLE. RECOMMENDATION – SEEK TO NEUTRALIZE ENTITIES BEFORE RECOVERY."

"Noted," Nartha grunted. "Stay here. I'll be back."

The machine didn't respond. A part of him wondered if Miridian was bothering to listen in on his conversation. Fifty-fifty, most likely. No doubt, he would listen eventually, but Nartha didn't particularly care. Maybe if his parents listened, it would show Miridian that they could be reasoned with – some of them, anyway.

The automatic door flicked open, likely hacked by Siaru to allow him entrance. He doubted it would have been keyed to him, otherwise. Certainly not now.

"-connection seems to have gone down," his mother was saying. "I can't figure out why."

"Try…" his father trailed off once he saw Nartha walk into the room.

There was a long, tense pause. "Nartha…" his mother said in a soft voice.

"We need to talk."

His father's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to make sure you aren't killed."

"By who?" His father demanded. "Your terrorist friends? You?"

"The Aui'Vitakar will be targeted. You will die."

"I think not. We are protected."

Nartha looked around. "Are you?"

"ENTITIES ARE CONTAINED. MONITORING SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN NEUTRALIZED."

His mother let out a sharp yell at Siaru's unexpected comment, which blared from every nearby speaker. Not the right time, Siaru. "The Collective doesn't care about you. Any protection you have won't be enough."

"Are you trying to scare us?" his father demanded. "When I…when they told me what you'd done; what Cairu had done…I couldn't believe it. But it's true, isn't it? All of it?"

"That depends. What did they tell you?"

"You joined the Nulorian. When you were here, you were working for the Humans." He shook his head. "You were asking questions; I didn't think of it at the time, but…"

Nartha was silent for a minute. "Both of those are true. I am working with the Humans and Nulorian."

His mother closed her glistening blue eyes. His father simply looked disgusted. "At least you admit it. Are you proud?"

"Not of everything I've done, no," Nartha admitted. "I don't deny what the Nulorian have done; what they continue to do, but what was I supposed to do when I learned that the Ethereals had sent me on a mission based on a lie? That they continue to lie to our people and keep us under their control."

"We've prospered because of the Elders!"

"And we are all controlled!" He retorted. "Every person on the surface of this planet. I was with the Zararch! I know much more about what they've done and what they're capable of than you! There is no dissent or conflict, not because it didn't arise, but because it was found and removed."

He pressed, seeing an opening. "You've probably seen it and never noticed. Someone being replaced in their role. Someone leaving and never returning. Vanishing. An excuse was always provided, plausible enough, but you knew something was wrong. All the Zararch needed was a reason for disloyalty. We are not prospering under the Ethereals, we are being enslaved by them."

"Slavery has never happened," his father spat.

"Is it not? How many of our species lined up to fight on the front lines without question? How long did they wait before even providing the most basic of details why? If we are free, father, then prove it."

"Of course they lined up! The Humans had attacked us!"

"They didn't! That was a lie!" Nartha took a breath. "The Humans never attacked us. They'd barely developed space flight. I was sent there to infiltrate them – and I did, and what I learned was that they were similar to us. Except instead of helping them, the Ethereals decided to attack them. They started the war, not the Humans."

"I've seen the numbers of dead and wounded monthly," his father said. "There are thousands. Even if what you're saying is true, they are killing far too many of us."

"What do you expect them to do? Their planet was invaded! Peacefully surrender?"

"I don't know!" His father said. "But this…this isn't the way. Throwing in with terrorists? What were you thinking?"

"We didn't have a choice!" Nartha hissed. "The Nulorian are the direct result of what the Zararch have been doing for decades. The Ethereals must be overthrown. The Zararch must be overthrown. Our species has been brainwashed for decades, and it must end, no matter what."

"Why are you here, Nartha?" His mother shook her head. "We won't join the Nulorian. We can't leave. We won't."

"If what you are saying is true, then I will open an inquiry," his father said. "Learn the origins of this war. The Zararch may not like it, but-"

"You don't understand," Nartha interrupted, slamming a hand on a nearby table with enough force that his mother flinched. "If you do that, you'll die! The Speaker is consolidating the races for a single, unified Vitakara government and culture. You may believe you are safe, but you will also bend to the will of the Elders, or you will be removed."

"We will see," his father said. "You may have given up on our people, but I have not. Get out of my house."

Nartha was silent for a few moments. "You're going to report this, I presume."

"You're a designated Nulorian terrorist. I have to."

"I understand," Nartha said quietly. "But I'm not going to let you die because of your stupidity."

He withdrew his weapon. "Nartha!" his mother demanded. "What are you-"

"Saving your life," he fired the stun weapon, and she fell to the ground, and he swiftly moved the barrel to his father, and fired again. His father had tried to move out of the way, but he was no soldier, and couldn't move fast enough. With both of his parents unconscious on the ground, Nartha sighed and began binding them.

This was going to be awkward to transport, but he'd manage.

Miridian wasn't going to be happy about storing prisoners, but Nartha didn't care, he'd take the flak for holding them. They would come around, eventually, and, even if they didn't…when they won, they could be resentful of his intervention in a free Vitakara society.

Even if it cost his relationship with them, this was the right thing to do.

---

Undisclosed Location

6/18/2017 – 12:11 P.M.

"The Imperator is escalating this conflict," the Battlemaster said to the small group of Andromedon leaders. "It is possible that it will force T'Leth to act soon, or he will flee, leading to the eventual conquest of Earth."

The Battlemaster was both unnerved and pleased at the fact that V'Zarrah's alliance of Unions included Apear, Zacarrim…and Stuirah. Powerful unions in the Federation, ones which would certainly make his plans easier…assuming all things went according to plan, and, with how quickly things had been moving, they still might not.

"And what do you expect, Battlemaster?" V'Zarrah asked.

The Battlemaster waited a few moments. "Your support to XCOM is maintained, correct?"

"On a limited basis, Battlemaster."

"Increase it."

The Andromedon seemed taken aback. "Increase our support to an enemy faction?"

"I suspect you do not consider them enemies. It is beside the point. It is not ideal for Earth to fall and the Imperator to force T'Leth's hand yet. Subtly. I retain command over many battlefronts. A detachment of Andromedons can be ordered, and could unfortunately be captured in an ambush."

"How unfortunate," Z'Vador said.

"ADVENT may not believe it is legitimate," A'Halsond pointed out. "Nor others under your command."

"Muton soldiers will be interspersed. They are disposable and can be killed. I presume you can put together a suitable corps of Andromedons which could serve their interests."

"Of course," V'Zarrah confirmed. "Though from the standpoint of efficiency, ADVENT would need resources, not manpower to hold out for a longer period of time. Manpower is useful, but logistically the Collective is a far more resilient machine."

"Correct, but now is not the time to propose that idea," the Battlemaster said. "The Commander will likely be skeptical of your increased aid. Supplying resources directly will be viewed as a trap. Float the idea, and gauge their response." He looked to S'Trech. "What is the status of fleet production?"

"In full operational capacity, Battlemaster, we have been moving the fleets to the overt and covert locations specified. More ships are being produced every day. The Federation is quite supportive of the effort, ever since the revelation of the capabilities of the Hive Commanders."

"Good. And the other Unions?"

"Difficult to determine," V'Zarrah said. "The other major Unions not aligned are unlikely to sway, and the smaller connected Unions to them are unlikely to break. There remains very little change, short of a significant event to unite the Federation, and it remains the same as what we last determined."

"War with the Hive Commanders."

"Precisely. Should the Hive Commanders strike us, it would give us enormous pressure to leverage the Unions into a united front against the Hive Commanders, and by extension, the Imperator."

"It would be preferable if the Hive Commanders strike first," S'Trech added. "Union Reinarm in particular would pose a serious threat to our fleet, as you have seen demonstrated. We will need them to properly battle the Hiveships, short of aligning with an ADVENT-backed fleet."

"ADVENT would not have a fleet," the Battlemaster dismissed. "Not one worth utilizing. ADVENT will likely be a non-factor."

"Which raises the question of what they will be," V'Zarrah said. "I question the wisdom of assuming ADVENT will be limited, Battlemaster. They have proven remarkably resilient and resourceful, and underestimating their capabilities is a mistake – especially if we continue propping them up."

"A fair point," the Battlemaster considered. "Presuming ADVENT can maintain a hold over Earth, I expect that they will be willing to align to remove the Imperator. They do not hold significant animosity towards me, and the Chancellor and Commander of XCOM are pragmatic enough to consider a mutual alliance."

"Under what terms?"

"Ones which they are purportedly interested in. They can never accept a surrender with the Imperator in power. He poses too significant an existential threat due to his capabilities. ADVENT has cited this as a reason they have not sought a ceasefire. They will maintain control of Earth, their system, and ones which have not been claimed by the Collective, and I will take control of the Collective."

The suited aliens indicated their approval. "They will likely see you as less of a threat," V'Zarrah pointed out.

"Yes, they will. Which is acceptable."

"But you do not want them to know of your involvement in our assistance to them yet."

"No. Gain their trust first. They will believe it a trap otherwise."

"Understood."

"You are certain that none have been compromised?"

"No, Battlemaster. Many precautions have been taken to ensure our integrity."

"Excellent." The Battlemaster looked around at each of them. "I will be directing what conflicts I can on Earth. I will slow progress down as much as I am able, but command is slowly being stripped from me, and given more to Ravarian and Patricia Trask. I am uncertain as to the Imperator's trust in me, and one day we may need to move unexpectedly."

"When that comes, our fleets will be ready," S'Trech displayed a small hologram. "Vitakar, Reinarm research posts, Olganar-2, Paradise Station, Fectorian's System. The majority of the fleets are unaware of the full scope, but they are in position. Outside factors will determine their likelihood of success or failure. I remain skeptical as to our chances without a majority of the Unions. A Union Civil War is more probable – one which we can win, but not if the Collective backs the other side. ADVENT alone would not be a sufficient ally."

"And there are other Ethereals to consider," Z'Vador added. "The Imperator alone is highly problematic from a military standpoint, which is to say little for Bringer Saints, Harbingers, and other Ethereals. The Hive Commanders are significantly dangerous, and the other entities even more so."

That was an issue the Battlemaster was not fully sure how to solve. It was one reason ADVENT and XCOM being aligned was near-essential, even if they would be useless in a naval capacity. Aegis and Caelior were force multipliers in a way he was not. There were weaker links…Mortis was one. Sana was unaligned, and he did not expect that to change.

Revelean and Fectorian were unlikely to deviate from the Imperator's path, nor were the Overmind, Quisilia, and Sicarius. The Creator was a Bringer puppet, and the Imperator believed he was in control of it. Deusian was potentially an unknown quantity, but the best which could be expected was neutrality.

It would ultimately be T'Leth which was the opposing force to the Imperator, and potentially an unreliable one who would flee…and the same could also apply to Mosrimor, as well as the Voice. If it became dangerous, their own allied Sovereign may flee. It would be beneficial if Mosrimor fled, it would be less so if T'Leth did.

There were so many unknown possibilities and factors.

"I am determining a solution for the Imperator and other Ethereals," was what he said. "They will be dealt with. It would be preferable if they could be captured, but it may not be feasible."

"Understood. We will be prepared to assist in this capacity." V'Zarrah promised.

"Good. That is all. Dismissed."

The Andromedons returned to the Gateways which took them back to their respective Unions. Gateways were truly an exceptional invention, one which allowed for easy and covert communication. Communication which, in this case, facilitated conspiracy. Conspiracy against the Imperator.

How far things had fallen.

The Battlemaster walked back through the portal to the Prism, his mood grim. Yang was on Mars, keeping an eye on Ravarian. As of now, it seemed that none suspected the truth, nor were curious to inquire further. This was undoubtedly a good thing, but he was less worried about the Imperator noticing something was off than he was Quisilia.

He may have ADVENT and the Humans fooled as to his capabilities, but the Battlemaster knew he picked up on things others did not.

He would likely find something sooner or later.

It would be preferable to plan ahead.

The silence seemed still.

"And thus, the arrogance of the Imperator threatens to undo all he has sought."

The Battlemaster's sword was in his hand instantly at the voice, as he spun towards the sound, pausing at the highly odd sight before him. A Human male; one with ruddy pale skin, a weathered face and an expression that was far too calm for where he was. He wore a uniform similar to Zararch operatives, in blacks and greys, but devoid of the emblems that denoted their affiliation.

What made him hesitate further was the fact that when he attempted to place him into a telekinetic bind, it didn't work. The man was physically there, but he refused to be bound. It was like trying to grab water or bind air. It was an impossibility; a distortion existed around him, something which shouldn't be possible.

"Put your weapon down, Iudexas," the man smiled, motioning downwards with his palm. "I am not here for conflict, nor would your weapon be effective."

The Battlemaster simply stayed still, alarmed at the sound of his name. His real name. One which had not been said in a very, very long time. So long, in fact, that it seemed the name of a stranger. Yet, it was also his name, one which only a very select few knew. Even Aegis did not know, though he likely suspected.

How could this man know?

If this was even a man at all.

"Who are you, intruder?" he demanded quietly, the weapon still pointed.

"Someone interested in your success," the man answered. "It is quite tragic what has befallen the Collective, is it not? An alliance of species against a threat which brought the Ethereal Empire to its knees. One kept together by the harmonious rule of the Ethereals. Except the reality was dominated by apathy, secrets, and deception."

He shook his head. "And all that you worked to build and cultivate, it falls apart so easily, and you stand powerless to change it…or so the Imperator thinks; so set in his plan; so convinced that he is infallible." His smile deepened. "But you are not so easily convinced, are you? Why else would you be plotting his downfall in the dark?"

"Let me rephrase my question," the Battlemaster said slowly. "How do you know this?"

"Oh, there is very little I do not know," the man explained with a dismissive wave. "Suffice to say I know much about you; about what you plan, about what has driven you down this path, and most importantly what you want." He shook his head. "Your story is a tragedy, one which will end as such. But we can both agree that there is too much tragedy in the galaxy, yes? I have an interest in ensuring that your story ends not in tragedy, but in triumph."

The Battlemaster was unsure how to consider what this man was saying. He was clearly well-informed, and someone who knew how to use words to great effect. "How could you possibly help me? And more importantly, why?"

"I appreciate a being which is skeptical," the man said, pacing closer as he brought his hands together. "You would be surprised with what I could accomplish. All I merely need is…let us say direction, sprinkled with a dose of creativity. As for why…well, there are few individuals who capture my interest, and it is a far more interesting galaxy with you remaining in it. Call it a personal indulgence."

"I highly doubt that," the Battlemaster was unconvinced. "You may be well-informed, but little else. You are an anomaly, but you have given me no reason to believe you outside of words. Nor do you offer this for free."

The man stopped pacing, and turned again to face him fully. "Of course not, how unreasonable for me to offer my services when you have no reason to believe me. So I will propose a deal, let us say…a token of my sincerity. You make a proposal, and I shall fulfill it, no obligations further, and upon completion, we will discuss the future of our arrangement together."

Reasonable. The Battlemaster knew better than for the test to be utterly outlandish…and he had an odd feeling that this proposal was something more legitimate than what it appeared. "And what if I do not want to utilize your…services?"

"Then that is, of course, your right," the man inclined his head. "But I believe that would be a mistake…and you believe that as well. Come now, Battlemaster, what do you have to lose?"

The Battlemaster did not believe this man was willing to expose his plans. If that was the case, he would have told the Imperator or another loyal Ethereals before coming. Nor had he once brought up his knowledge to force him. It was utterly odd, and there was something more going on here.

He felt this was something he should tread very, very carefully around. There were many things he could propose, but the Battlemaster had something in mind. "There was an incursion of unknown aliens into New York. I want one of their operatives brought into my control – alive and in good condition."

The man smiled. "I believe something to that effect can be arranged. Do not worry – you will not have to wait long. Does that sound satisfactory?"

"Presuming you can complete it."

The man extended a hand; a small hand in comparison to his own, clearly intending to seal the agreement with a handshake. Hand met Ethereal hand, and it was accompanied by a tight grip, inhuman for the size of the being, as well as a searing fire on his wrist in a specific pattern; almost like a brand.

The man's smile was knowing and confident as he locked eyes through the helmet. "It's a deal."

---

To be continued in Chapter 65

An Army of Crystal

---

A/N: I remember when I was putting out chapters and didn't put in an author's note at the end of each chapter. Oh well, things change and develop in the weeks that follow. Apologies for the later posting of this, but hopefully the wait is worth it. Special thanks to Thuzan for writing the scenes on the naval battle, and Edumesh for treating the Duri scene.

On the back end there are a few more announcements to make. HailtotheKing, the guy best known for making the seals/emblems (and cover art) for my series is now part of the Editing Team. Probably not as apparent, but he's been helping develop quite a lot of background on some story elements which will be making an appearance shortly.

And this is not the only announcement along those lines, there's going to be a small team of additional editors who will be looking over chapters/XCOM files before release since we always miss at least some errors here and there. They'll also make sure everything is consistent, keep me accountable in that way, and overall make it better. Expect the quality to only increase.

A final note is that a reader was kind enough to draw an early scene from Advent Directive, from March of the Battlemaster. The gallery is linked in my profile, or you can go to the artist's profile directly on Deviantart - Zephyrus-Genesis. Very pleased with how her work turned out for this.

Thank you all for reading, as always.

- Xabiar