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.

68. An Army of Crystal

An Army of Crystal

---

Residence of the Chancellor – Switzerland

6/25/2017 – 6:22 P.M.

It was, Saudia mused, a welcome throwback, of sorts, to the old days. She hadn't expected to be wistfully recalling the days of EXALT as 'simple', but, in comparison to what she was responsible for now, it was remarkably straightforward. An internal focus, a straightforward mission, and everyone on the same side. No aliens, no psionics, and simple opponents.

Simpler times, though, not necessarily better.

This was, after all, what she had wanted to achieve. Granted, ADVENT wasn't exactly the way she had envisioned EXALT achieving its mission, but, in some ways, that was probably for the best. She didn't take many breaks nowadays, but tonight was an exception. It had been a spur of the moment event, almost.

A pleasant dinner with some of the old guard. The Chronicler and Zara, the latter of whom had gotten permission to come over for a few hours with the Chronicler. Ethan had made a modest dinner, and the four of them were seated around the table. They weren't strictly talking about the war or strategy, but…almost…reminiscing about the past.

"Were you at his first wedding?" Zara asked. "You never told me."

"Yes, if you could really call it that," Ethan said, swirling the wine in his glass around. "Barely anyone there, very much a secret. Though he was on-mission at the time, so not surprising. This one was much better."

"He looked happy," Zara nodded. "Good for him."

"Yeah, I'm happy for him. He was never really the same after Farida died," Ethan mused thoughtfully. "I'm still surprised they faked his death so well."

"Goes to show that our reach had limits," Saudia said. "Although admittedly, we didn't have a reason to investigate."

"Indeed."

Zara looked around the dining room. "ADVENT really gave you a nice place."

"It's nice. If only I lived in it more," Saudia chuckled. "Feels like I spend more time in my office or in the field than my own bed."

"Unfortunately," Ethan grunted. "I don't think there's any 'feeling' about it."

"I do approve of this place," the Chronicler said as he finished his meal. "Though I personally still prefer the Bastion."

"I think we all do," Zara sighed. "It was in a frozen wasteland and a pain to get to, but it was a nice place. Always wished I could stay there a bit longer."

"It was nice," Saudia recalled fondly. "A bit gratuitous in some areas, but it was home for a long time. Unfortunate what happened to it."

"Good thing we got everyone out when we did," Zara agreed. "You'd know better than I do – did the aliens ever attack it?"

"Well, 'officially' ADVENT only has reports that the Collective has somehow established a massive structure in the Antarctic and are using it as a base," Saudia sipped from her glass. "A base which appears to have almost come out of nowhere, curiously enough."

"Hopefully the traps took out a few of them," Ethan said.

"Oh, I'm sure they did," Zara pointed out. "I worked with Mercado on the defenses. I'd be shocked if they didn't lose a few hundred people getting it secured."

"Still, it's a shame," Saudia said. "Leaving behind everything non-essential. The portraits I especially miss. I do hope they were kept somewhere."

Zara snorted. "Not if the traps went off."

"A shame. At least the digital scans are somewhere."

The Chronicler had frowned, and appraised Saudia. "Out of curiosity, what was taken from the Bastion?"

"Right, you weren't there," Saudia remembered. "Where did you go right after ADVENT was formed?"

"Australia. T'Leth wanted a first-hand appraisal."

"Still can't believe you were actually a psion the whole time," Zara shook her head. "You must have found it hilarious when we were doing the tests and banging our heads against the walls."

"It was somewhat amusing, though at the time I didn't think you'd necessarily be understanding if I revealed a secret like that," he inclined his head slightly. "I was, after all, a simple Chronicler."

They all had a good chuckle at that.

"To answer your question, not much," Saudia told him. "Mostly digital data, a few personal items for those who lived there. Stuff we didn't want the Collective to use. Science projects, weapons, whatever we couldn't take we destroyed and kept the data. The furniture, ornaments, reserves, all of that was left."

"Which was too bad," Ethan sighed. "I liked my chair."

The Chronicler's expression was oddly serious. "And the Vaults?"

"Left alone," Saudia shrugged. "Like I said, if we had time to take the historical stuff, we would have. I'm sure there's plenty of museums which would appreciate it. But none of it was practically important. I don't think we even trapped the room, did we Zara?"

"Just the entrance, we didn't want to damage the stuff inside," Zara answered. "I know you liked that stuff, Chronicler, but we didn't have time to take it out. If it helps though, I doubt the aliens touched it either."

The Chronicler briefly rubbed his eyes. "I'm not quite sure how to put this."

Ethan cocked his head. "Put what?"

"That…" the Chronicler paused briefly. "Some of what was put in the Vaults was not useless, but extremely valuable."

"It was all valuable," Saudia reminded him. "I believe you personally rated the whole collection close to several billion dollars."

"Apologies – practical," the Chronicler amended, lifting a hand. "All of you thought that there were only trinkets and artifacts in the Vaults – most of them were. But there were a few pieces which were more…unique. Pieces which we should hope the Collective didn't find."

The mood at the table had quickly turned serious. Saudia leaned forward, her eyebrows furrowed. The Chronicler wouldn't say this without reason. "What are you talking about? Everything there was approved…" she trailed off. "By you."

"Yes. The artifacts I had were…easily mistaken for showpieces or too plain to really stand out," he said. "Ones which could not, under any circumstances, fall into the wrong hands. EXALT was the safest place in the world. The most secure, or so I believed." He sighed. "I suppose this is my fault for not checking earlier."

"Is there something you want to tell us?" Zara asked curiously. "What could there possibly be in there that you'd be worried about?"

"That," the Chronicler steepled his fingers together. "Is a very long and complicated story. One which goes back well before I became embedded in EXALT."

Saudia was somehow not surprised to hear that the Chronicler had another chapter to his past which he was only now sharing. "Well, if this is so important, then maybe we should hear about it. It would be interesting to hear some about the real history of the first Agent of T'Leth."

"I suppose so," the Chronicler cleared his throat. "In which case, I suppose we should get comfortable. This will take some time to fully tell."

---

Aleppo Garrison – Syria

6/14/2017 – 10:16 A.M.

It was very hot in Syria.

Angela supposed it could have been worse.

"They've really fixed up the place," Bradley noted as he stood alongside her in the dusty street – a fun day of guard duty as they protected the exterior of the base. Around the perimeter of the city could be seen the skeletons of the Flak Towers under construction, some of which were close to completion.

"You've been here before?" Cecilia asked.

"Operation Deus Vult," Bradley said with an odd note in his voice. " Was part of the force that came in and cleared out Syria. Fun times."

"Ah, that makes sense," Angela nodded. "I figured you would have mentioned if you were a War on Terror vet before."

"Wouldn't have counted on that," Bradley shrugged. "I'm a vet – but I'm not that old. Know some people who were vets from that, though. They don't usually talk about it. These were guys that were on the front lines of the Battle of Syria, burned the Caliphate oil fields, etcetera."

"Ah."

"Yeah, it was bad," Bradley fiddled with some imaginary gear on his scope. "Makes Deus Vult look like a cakewalk in comparison."

"It kind of was," Cecilia said. "No one in their right mind expected them to be able to hold out against ADVENT."

"Eh, a few did," he shrugged. "Or, at least, they didn't expect the region to fall as quickly as it did. If XCOM hadn't helped out, they might have been right, since this was before the PRIEST Division was active."

"Still, all things considered, it was a relatively clean operation," Cecilia said.

"You can make that argument," Bradley said. "Not sure I would. Quick, yeah. Efficient, definitely. Clean…? Not really. It was a good demonstration of ADVENT battle doctrine. In essence – if you're in the way, you die. Very messy, and it took its toll on everyone."

Angela didn't feel the need to press, she could sense his mood easily enough. It was not a time he really wanted to recall, and there was some lingering guilt over the whole event. Bradley was a good man, and Angela doubted that any of them would have done much better. Considering what Deus Vult was, she wasn't surprised he remembered it like that.

It was something all of them would go through at one point or another. ADVENT was not merciful to their enemies, and, while she could see the practical justification for some of their methods, she wasn't particularly comfortable with them.

Maybe time to turn the conversation to something more positive. "You've said they've rebuilt it, though?"

"Yeah," he pointed out into the distance. "The whole city took a lot of damage. Now, it looks better than it ever did. I'm glad that ADVENT fixed everything up instead of just abandoning it like the UN did, after the War on Terror."

"Hopefully it'll be the start of something better," Cecilia said.

"Hopefully," he agreed. "And it just might be. They had their elections recently, seemed to elect a guy that they overwhelmingly support. Have no clue how ADVENT pulled that off, but he seems good enough."

"You know him?" Angela asked.

"Nope, never heard of him before the elections," Bradley shook his head. "I would have put money on them picking that Saudi defector, but no, they went with someone who seemed to come out of nowhere. Pretty sure he's Saudi, but not royal family."

"That'd be difficult, considering all of them except that one guy are dead," Cecilia recalled.

"Yeah, it does make me wonder who he is," Bradley leaned against the wall. "Not that it matters too much. If he cleared ADVENT standards, good enough for me. The region could use some actual unity and leadership."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, with the wind blowing and sun beating down on them. Patrols of soldiers walked past, and they could hear the sounds of the drills from further inside the base. "I'm kind of surprised they aren't going to use the legions here," Angela said. "They seem ready from what I've seen so far."

"If a bit informal here and there," Cecilia added. "I've talked with some of them. Nice people."

"They are," Angela nodded, remembering some of her brief talks with the Middle Eastern soldiers. "Guess ADVENT doesn't want to take any chances for handling the SAS."

"Maybe," Bradley said thoughtfully. "Do you want to hear my completely unsubstantiated theory?"

"Not you too," Cecelia groaned. "Just because Glen isn't here right now doesn't mean you have to take his place."

"No, no, I actually have something to this," he placated. "The Middle Eastern Legion is largely untested. No reason to risk them in Africa – but do you know who just happens to be right next to the Middle East, and isn't a part of ADVENT?"

Angela cocked her head. "Turkey?"

"Exactly," Bradley nodded. "Turkey. Isn't that interesting?"

"Wait, Turkey isn't part of ADVENT?" Cecilia asked. "I thought they were!"

"It's not as though they're that important," Bradley waved dismissively. "They usually get lumped in the rest of the Middle East, not surprised you didn't know. But yeah, they're still doing their own thing…for some reason."

"They wouldn't be stupid enough to attack ADVENT," Angela said slowly, glancing to Bradley. "…would they?"

"They're a bunch of revisionist fascists who think the Ottoman Empire was a good thing and want it back." Bradley shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised. My point being, I'm not dismissing the idea that ADVENT thinks the Turks are going to try something, and they want the Middle East Legions on standby when it happens."

"Huh," Cecilia mused. "Not the worst theory I've heard."

"You didn't even know Turkey wasn't part of ADVENT," Angela pointed out. "You're just trusting what he's saying! He could be completely wrong!"

"Ahem, who do you think I am? Glen?" He said in mock amusement. "Like I said, unsubstantiated theorycrafting here. But do look it up, it's actually pretty interesting what the Turks have been doing in the meantime."

"Oh, that reminds me," Cecilia's voice turned amused. "I heard something interesting. You know who's also going to be going to Africa?"

"Please, don't leave me in suspense."

"The Empress herself," Cecilia and Angela exchanged a look and smothered a chuckle. "Say, if you run into her again, you should talk. Maybe exchange phone numbers."

"You are never going to stop with this joke, are you?" he said dryly. "That autograph? Real cute – thanks for that, by the way."

"You're welcome," Angela said sweetly. "Have you framed it yet? Stared at it longingly?"

"I hate both of you," he groaned. "She probably thinks I'm one of those obsessed stalker fans now."

"Nah," Angela dismissed. "She was more than happy to do it, what with you being part of the squad which prevented an assassination."

"You know, I hope that if we do get sent to Africa, it is far, far away from wherever she is," Bradley said. "Seriously, I feel like I'm part of a bad rom-com movie sometimes."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you're going to be complaining about getting hooked up with the Empress of Japan," Angela said sarcastically. "Or is that what you're saying?"

"I mean…" he began, then trailed off.

"I think we got him," Cecilia said, lifting a hand which Angela briefly high-fived. "Operation Bradley's Empress is a go."

He groaned. "Please don't say it like that."

They both chuckled, very satisfied with themselves. Angela was glad that he was feeling a bit lighter about everything now; much as they enjoyed teasing him, that was probably enough for the moment, and it was getting close to the end of their shift where they could go do something a bit more interesting.

Joel was getting daily briefings on the situation in Africa, so if there were any developments, they'd hear them this evening. Until then, best to do what they could to enjoy to pass the time. Good thing she had these guys in her squad, or otherwise she just might go insane from much of the mind-numbing boredom that punctuated military life.

Sooner or later though, they'd get their own trial by fire.

No matter what it was, she had a feeling they'd pull though.

No matter what.

---

Agadez – Niger

6/18/2017 – 5:20 P.M.

The city was almost completely destroyed now, only the few buildings that ADVENT was using to house resources and equipment remaining. Portable Gateways had been established, and more soldiers had been pouring through hourly, as ADVENT disposed of the remains and salvaged what they felt was worth keeping.

They were getting close to moving out again. The long and arduous night spent clearing out the few remaining vestiges of resistance had concluded, and all the residents who had surrendered were in custody, preparing to be handled by ADVENT in designated locations. Kaya had wondered if they were going to transport them away through the Gateways.

As it turned out, that was not the case.

"They're doing what?!" she inquired.

Freya's face was grim as the Standardbearer appraised her carefully. "Getting ready to push them forward."

"Forward where?"

"Away from here," Freya said, shrugging. "Ideally, they want to push them towards cities deeper in the SAS, but they don't really care where they go. Hide in the desert, starve in the heat, ultimately doesn't matter. They aren't our problem anymore."

Kaya tried to think of the reason for that. "Why push them towards the other cities?"

Freya snorted. "Not really that hard to figure out, Kaya. Just think for a few minutes."

"...They want them to know we're coming."

"Probably one reason. More likely because it'll drain their resources." Freya indicated the area vaguely behind her. "The SAS cities deeper in are probably equipped for a siege of some length. Add several thousand refugees and it'll strain their logistics. Unless they're prepared to outright reject them – something I don't think they are – then they're stuck with them."

"And we're going to be doing this for every place we attack," Kaya finished.

"Exactly. Best case scenario, we elicit surrenders from overburdened populations. Theoretically, by the end of this, the last cities will be overpopulated, broken, and resource-deprived. Either the Collective is forced to provide, or they start shutting the doors. Both work for us."

She supposed it did., but still…"There are a lot of people who are going to die in the desert. Hell, just out in the open."

"Probably," Freya agreed grimly. "But that isn't ADVENT's problem. We're not intending to stay here, if you haven't figured it out. We're not kicking out the SAS completely – they won't let it fall. But if we can't outright kill them, they'll be forced to basically start over. Will take them out of the war for a good while at minimum."

"If that's what ADVENT wants," Kaya asked. "Then why make them go on foot? We'll just overtake them when we move out, even if we wait a few days."

"I'd agree, if we didn't have a number of other targets along the way," Freya said. "ADVENT is being thorough. Farms, mines, oil fields, small outposts in the middle of nowhere. We're fanning out to all of them. Take whatever's useful and torch the rest."

Kaya nodded numbly. "ADVENT really isn't holding back."

"No, we're not."

It did make her wonder. "What happens if they refuse to leave?"

"ADVENT brought in PRIESTs," Freya told her. "If they refuse to leave on their own, they're going to be forced to. There isn't an option for them here."

"Using psionics on them? Is that legal?"

"They aren't ADVENT citizens," Freya shrugged grimly. "It's more humane than tear gas or microwave guns."

Kaya pursed her lips, conflicting emotions running through her. "No wonder ADVENT kept the details of this quiet."

Freya didn't answer it directly, but did slightly nod. "We have a job to do, and the SAS isn't going to surrender without a fight. Our job is to deny them everything they need to thrive. It won't bankrupt the Collective, but it will force them to invest far more than they planned. That is what we need right now. The land, the buildings, they can be healed and repaired."

But the people living wouldn't be. Kaya didn't especially like that, even if she could see the strategic benefits to this kind of scorched-earth operation. One which she was directly participating in. She wondered if this was how some of the soldiers had felt during Operation Deus Vult.

Something that ultimately needed to be done, but was carried out with ADVENT's certain brutal touch.

And yet…she remembered what they were up against. The Ethereals, the Bringer, the overwhelming numerical odds. They were facing traitors like the SAS and Patricia, and who knew how many other collaborators. There was no good option here, and the best she could do was try and limit the unnecessary violence and focus it to those who deserved it.

Freya was appraising her. "Are there going to be any issues?"

"No sir."

"Good to hear," Freya patted her shoulder as she walked past. "Get some rest. You've had a long couple of days. Consider that an order."

"Understood."

---

London Garrison, England – United Kingdom

6/16/2017 – 10:22 A.M.

"Hey, are you there, soldier?"

Duri's head snapped up at the voice, and quickly answered. "Yes, sir."

The woman opposite him simply appraised him, her expression clearly skeptical, but she didn't openly challenge him. Both of them were in fatigues, not armor, and in a small empty room bereft of everything except a table and chairs. White light shone down on both of them, almost too bright for his eyes.

Normally, taking a visit to what amounted to an interrogation chamber would be cause for concern, but he was too…out of it to really care. He almost preferred being in this box compared to what he'd experienced; what all of them had experienced. It had a cold reality to it that he sorely needed right now.

He wondered if he'd gone insane on that battlefield, and this was an asylum of some kind. He was probably a bit too lucid to be in an asylum, though, but there was no telling how ADVENT was treating him. The moment they'd rushed through the Gateway, the Warlock's voice still whispering in his ear, everything had happened very fast.

All of them had been quarantined and debriefed, one by one. Duri had never seen the entirety of the soldiers he was around so…broken. Haunted faces, eyes staring wide open or squeezed shut, open weeping, curling up in corners and just wanting to shut the world out, with only their memories and thoughts to torment them.

He'd given his own report; all of them had. All of them had lived, thankfully, and resisted the initial call of the Warlock to join him. That was the only good news that Duri could really see. He wondered if this was what it had been like to fight Isomnum; he'd read plenty on the carnage, but this was…beyond what could be described.

One by one, they'd cleared the soldiers to reintegrate with their squads. Him as well, although he'd been singled out for a separate interview. He suspected he knew why. To his knowledge, he was the only one who'd been able to stand his ground and resist Senorium for as long as he had. That had likely gotten someone's attention, especially if they looked at the armor footage as well.

And, now, here he was. The woman stood opposite him, a few centimeters shorter than him, with features and skin color that indicated Arabic descent. Black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell to her neck. He noted idly that her left eye wasn't real, a convincing fake at a distance, but it was definitely cybernetic up close. Blue, though only slightly brighter than the natural color of her real one.

"Do you want a drink?" She asked, lifting a couple of water bottles. "I have water, soda, tea, whatever you want, I can get it. This isn't an interrogation, you're not in any trouble. The opposite, in fact."

He shrugged. "Water is fine, sir."

"You can drop the 'sir', Duri," she said, handing him the cold bottle, which he wordlessly took and opened. "I'm not an officer. Jordan Hill, ADVENT Analytical Psychologist."

He raised an eyebrow at her name, something she seemed to pick up on as she gave him a smile. "I know, not a lot of female Jordans around. My parents wanted something unique."

"Sorry," he said, feeling slightly bad for his ignorance. Not really the impression he wanted to make off the bat.

"Don't be. It's understandable if you didn't grow up in the west," she said nonchalantly, flipping her hand. "Besides, you're entitled to a little cultural ignorance, given what you've gone through. If I was easily offended, I wouldn't be able to do my job here."

Duri just nodded. She pulled out a pen and a pad of paper. "I know what you experienced was…painful. I've reviewed your file. I was unaware that you lost your family in the Seoul Massacre, otherwise I would have pushed for ADVENT to delay this discussion a few more days."

"No, I prefer this," he shook his head. "Otherwise, I'll start thinking."

She nodded once. "I understand. If this is too difficult to talk about, we can take a break until you're ready. We have all the time we need. As I said – you're not in trouble. Don't feel like you are."

"Then what am I here for, doctor?"

"I'm sure you can guess," she said, making a short note. "ADVENT has been conducting hundreds of interviews of the survivors from Phnom Penh. Every single one of them was incapacitated. They couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't act. All of them, notably, except you. You were the only one who – outside of the PRIESTs - was able to resist, even to this limited degree."

"I was," he took another sip of the water. The shocking cold of it was pleasant. "I don't know how you want me to explain it. I don't think I can. I'm not a psion, I know that much."

"No, but I think if you could walk me through what you were thinking and feeling, it can help us start," she said, shifting in her seat.

He cocked his head, slightly puzzled. "I can do that, if you want. But…no offense, but wouldn't this be simpler to just have a psion look into my head?"

She seemed slightly surprised by that. "It's not quite as simple as that. I'm surprised you're offering."

A faint, sad smile grew on his face. "It's not a gift. Nothing I say can really convey what I feel. How am I supposed to say how I felt when I saw a perfect recreation of my dead daughter speak to me just like how I remember her? Love, grief, pain…all of them, all at once. Do you have children? A spouse?"

"No, and I'm not saying you have to repeat it exactly," she said calmly. "Just as you describe is perfectly fine. Strong emotions have been correlated with some degree of telepathic resistance."

"Have they?" Duri found that tangibly curious. "If you want to know what kept me free for so long, I can tell you. You won't like it, though."

"Do tell."

"Hate," he answered simply. "The Bringer, the aliens, they have taken everything I've cared about. My wife. My kids. My home. My friends. My planet. I only have my squad left, and they want to take them away too. I know ADVENT is pushing the pro-alien integration. I know this doesn't fit your propaganda. I don't care. The aliens can burn, and I would die before I let one willingly take my mind."

"Given what you've experienced, that's understandable," she nodded, making a few more notes. "And what you said is helpful. While this is not a hard science, hatred is quite a strong emotion. Enough to focus the mind, at the very least, and we do have data showing that individuals who are heavily focused make it more difficult for telepaths to affect."

She set down her pen. "You asked why we didn't just refer to a telepath recalling your memories. The reason is that you were deemed 'unsafe' without specific preparation."

Duri furrowed his eyebrows. "'Unsafe'?"

"As in, there is a chance of psychological trauma if your memories are experienced without restraint," Jordan explained. "You do not have a typical psyche, Duri. You've lost your entire family, and are carrying an immense amount of pain and hatred, which I will note is likely strong enough to have allowed you to resist Senorium when hundreds of others failed – even if only for a little while. Imagine what would happen if an unprepared psion looked into that, experienced exactly what you felt. It's not a simple matter of observing the memories like an emotionless drone. You feel exactly how they felt."

"Ah," he said, actually interested now. "I didn't know that was a risk."

"Most of the time, it isn't," she admitted. "Ghost-Trauma is the working term for it. However, the number of people who pose this kind of unique risk are very few in number. Few have the trauma and history you have. In any instance, I don't believe that we need a full memory certification. Based on what you've said, we can put together an accurate assessment, and for that I thank you."

"Of course." he paused briefly. "What will happen now? London isn't where I thought I'd end up."

"That," she said slowly, "actually depends on you."

"Me?"

"Have you ever heard of the Phobos Project?"

He shook his head. "No…wait – yes. Only briefly, though. Heard some people who fought in Beijing were designated as 'Phobos'. I don't know more than that, though."

"Yes, we did find a few from Beijing," she said. "As you've heard, your ability to resist even a simple telepathic suggestion is rare – but it happens. You aren't the only one. Phobos is an…experimental division within ADVENT, one which is exploring resistance to telepathy in non-psions, and to eventually deploy them against targets like Isomnum and Senorium – both of whom use telepathy to weaken morale and manipulate through emotion. You were largely able to resist both of these – you were affected – but you resisted all the same."

Duri cocked his head. "What are you saying?"

"That you fit a very specific criteria we are looking for," Jordan said slowly. "Potentially one of the few non-psions which we could feasibly deploy against entities like Senorium, Isomnum, or other Ethereals whose powers rely on emotional manipulation. As I said…this division is experimental. It may not work to ADVENT's standards – but you qualify for admission."

This was not something he had expected. He felt he should be flattered, but right now he didn't know how much he felt anything. He needed some time to process everything, talk to his squad. "Do I have to decide right away?"

"Of course not, I know this is sudden. Talk it over with your squad."

"What will happen to them?"

"Nothing, they will operate as normal. But they aren't Phobos material. You would return to them eventually – but only once your Phobos training has concluded. It is difficult to say how long it will be."

"Alright," he paused briefly. "I'll talk it over…thank you for the offer."

"Of course, Officer," she stood. "Stay strong, and keep fighting."

Duri stood, and exited the room along with her. As he walked back, he pondered on what this would actually mean. Upon further second reflection, he realized that he wasn't quite as uncertain about this proposal as he'd first thought. His mind was no longer dwelling solely on what he had experienced, a little more energy had returned to his life and he felt ever-so-slightly more invigorated.

Perhaps this was what he needed. A purpose beyond the killing.

And there were few better causes than making sure that no one else would have to face a monster like Senorium unprepared.

---

Zar'Chon's Chambers – Mars Observation Station

6/19/2017 – 6:22 A.M.

Ravarian appraised Nemo opposite him. It stood attentively, in the body of a female Human, one which it was still tweaking, adjusting the hair length, skin tone, and muscle density. It had removed the Saudia impersonation, apparently satisfied with a field test, though Ravarian expected that it would return at some point.

In the very unlikely event that they would ever need such a face, he supposed that he would thank Nemo for thinking ahead. Although, knowing Nemo, it had only created the face because it found it interesting. Ravarian was still not certain what the likes and dislikes of the unit were, and, unless it directly affected the mission, it was pointless to speculate.

Nemo was not normal.

In fact, it was more alien than anything he normally worked with – Ethereals included. Ethereals, he could understand and contextualize. The same with Andromedons and Humans. Sectoids he could rationalize well enough, as their hyper-clinical mindset was capable of being grasped once one knew the pattern. Mutons were too intellectually handicapped to really put himself in their minds, though that was hardly an issue.

Nemo though…

He did not know how an entity like Nemo truly thought. It spoke, walked, and acted like a sapient being, but there were little, miniscule cues and hints that betrayed its nature. The dead voice, the hyper-accuracy in gaits and movements, utter perfection of the mimicry that became wholly distracting when one knew its nature.

Even Ethereals and psions were uncomfortable around it, so disconcerting was its thought process; so alien were its thoughts and motivations, if such even existed. The only drive Ravarian felt he could consistently ascribe to Nemo was curiosity. He rarely knew if other emotions it had expressed were genuine, or an act from the polymorphic entity.

The perfect spy.

Fortunate that it was loyal – or it claimed such, anyway. Ravarian was truthfully comfortable with such close interaction with Nemo because Nemo had no interest in going anywhere else. Nemo couldn't be bribed, argued with, or forced to act against him. Nemo wasn't doing any of this for ideology or a cause.

Only because he asked it to. For Nemo, the journey was the reward; the art of disguise and impersonation.

And killing.

"What is it, Zar'Chon?" It asked in the dead voice. "I am awaiting my next assignment."

"Yes, you've performed well thus far," Ravarian nodded. "We've found someone of potential interest. An abduction target – not an assassination."

Nemo cocked its head, the lips pursing and the eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. Likely facial practice. Nothing he said would elicit a reaction of actual surprise. "Elaborate."

Ravarian activated the captured image. It displayed a man walking on the street, who at first glance appeared bulky, but, upon closer inspection, revealed that there was padding under the hoodie he wore. He was very tall by Human standards, and his face, while rugged, was more comparable to a soldier than a regular civilian. Most notable on the poorly-rendered image were the scars on his face.

"This is your target."

"His name?"

"Unknown."

"Explain."

"That is the reason I want him alive," Ravarian clasped his hands behind his back. "He has been operating in New York, and presumably has been there for some time. Zararch operatives noted him acting suspiciously – we initially assumed him to be an ADVENT agent, possibly Intelligence."

"And he is not?"

"He does not appear to be so." A map of a portion of New York sprang up, with several colored lines. "He's operating on a routine, following seemingly random paths which patrol the whole city in the span of a few days. All of said routines are altered if there is heavy ADVENT activity, and he's not once gone into an ADVENT establishment. Furthermore, he exercises measures and techniques designed to lower his profile. Avoiding security cameras, hoods, nighttime patrols. The evidence points to this man not being ADVENT."

Nemo considered this. "XCOM?"

"Unlikely. XCOM has no reason for something like this."

"And what is 'this'?"

"Also unknown," Ravarian admitted. "We located his place of residence, but have not found a suitable time to enter it. It's also possible that ADVENT has also taken an interest in him, since several Peacekeepers entered the apartment complex a few days ago. We do not know what they were there for. No – what is most concerning is that we moved a Vanguard to passively gather some additional data – and he reacted to the probe."

Nemo simply nodded, unblinking. "A psion, then."

"Potentially. Probing was ceased to avoid detection. Simply put, this person should not exist if he is not with ADVENT, and if he is with ADVENT, I want to know what he's doing." Ravarian paused. "Use whatever methods you feel are necessary. I would not underestimate this individual. Bring him in alive and his mind undamaged."

"Understood," Nemo put a finger to its chin, a pose that looked wholly odd. "Do we have any additional information?"

"We have his routine. We can predict with some certainty his movements at any given time. There are several restaurants and bars he stops at on a regular basis."

"An opening, then," Nemo nodded. "I will see to it that it is done. Allow me several days."

"Done. Dismissed, Nemo."

It nodded, and turned to leave, before pausing. "One last thing, Zar'Chon. I notice that Volikov is gone. Was his mission a failure?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Ravarian grunted. "XCOM, of all people, showed up and captured him."

That had been an outcome he'd not anticipated. They still had no idea how XCOM had learned an attack was happening, let alone moved fast enough to stop it. The Battlemaster leaking it had been a possibility, but for once it didn't seem he was undermining them. Neither had Quisilia done it.

Ravarian realized how ironic it was that the two culprits he immediately considered when something went wrong were two of the leaders of the Ethereal Collective.

No wonder the Humans are holding their own. Some of us can't stop undermining each other for…whatever reasons.

"Unfortunate," Nemo said, voice as bland and dead as it had before. "Volikov had promise. He executed his extraction mission with competence." Another pause. "It occurs to me that XCOM now knows that I exist, as they doubtless would have extracted his memories."

"To some extent," Ravarian agreed. "But Volikov did not know enough about your nature to provide them with anything more than your existence. It will not be an issue."

"Of course, Zar'Chon."

The walking Nothing left, leaving Ravarian alone, contemplating the next move in this war that was going to grow extremely complex, extremely fast.

---

Living Area – The Prism

6/18/2017 – 8:11 P.M.

It was like a scar, or perhaps a burn, and, at the same time, it wasn't. When she put two fingers over it, all she felt was smooth skin underneath, even though the mark appeared to have a rougher texture. It was a slightly darker purple than his skin, also reminiscent of a scar. The mark itself appeared to be some kind of glyph; maybe a symbol of some kind. She'd not seen anything like it before.

But she had felt through the bond the moment it had happened; the burn on her wrist and the confusion when she'd looked down and seen nothing. There had already been something off about the Battlemaster for the last few minutes, a controlled concern which she wasn't immediately alarmed by, since this was the day he was meeting the Andromedons.

This, though, had been unexpected.

Now that he was telling her about it, it had gone from unexpected to disturbing. "Have you seen this mark before?" She finally asked as they sat around a table, the gauntlet of his branded hand resting atop.

The Battlemaster hesitated before answering. "No. Not this one. The glyph is reminiscent of the ones the Sovereigns use, but…they are not the only ones to use pictograms and glyphs in their language."

Yang nodded. Mandarin and other Asian languages had similar pictograms. "This…entity did not sound like a Sovereign One."

"Or, if it is, it is not one we have met before," the Battlemaster said. "I do not believe he was one. It is…difficult to express what he was like. It was a thing which looked like something it was not. It came as a Human, but I do not believe it was."

"Do shapeshifters even exist?"

"True shapeshifters? Very rare and limited, if so," the Battlemaster shook his head. "Yet I do not know the truth. Perhaps they could exist. I do not know if the answer is as simple as that. It does not explain how he knew what I was doing, nor does it imply power equivalent to a Sovereign."

A slightly humorous thought came to her mind. "Did you happen to find an odd-looking lamp recently?"

He cocked his head. "What?"

"A lamp," she mimicked. "No, not the one you're thinking of. It's kind of long, probably gold-plated…usually found with some treasure…"

"I feel you are referencing something I am unfamiliar with."

"Probably," she shrugged. "You may have met a genie."

"Ah. One of the mythical wish-granters."

She blinked. "You know about them."

"The concept I have heard before," he said. "I highly suspect that this was nowhere near as benevolent."

"Yeah," Yang rubbed her forehead. "But it's odd. I guess not quite like a genie, since he seems more about deals, if his offer was anything to go by."

"Yes. It remains to be seen how truthful he is."

"I don't like how he has an interest in you," Yang said. "That does not seem like a good thing. Especially with what he knows."

"I am more concerned with how he knew at all," the Battlemaster muttered. "That should not have been possible, nor why he would not exploit it more openly."

"Unless he is telling the truth? That he wants to help?"

"Extremely unlikely," the Battlemaster shook his head, tone grim. "I do not know what I have encountered, but I do not think it will ultimately be for our benefit. We will need to be careful. He may come to you as well, as we are tied together."

Yang hoped that did not happen. "And what if he gives you what you want?"

"If he does?" The Battlemaster paused. "Then he confirms two things. That he is extremely dangerous, and that he is also connected to these entities. He should not know of them, and it is suspicious that he appeared so soon after they attacked. I do not believe that is a coincidence. He may be an agent, or an enemy – that can be determined later."

Yang could tell that there was something else. "What else is bothering you?"

"He knew my name," the Battlemaster had an odd note in his voice. "I have not used it or spoken it in centuries, nor have any others. The few who know my name would not give it up without speaking to me. I do not know how he knows it. It is more troubling to me than him knowing our plan, and I know it should not be."

She didn't know what to say to that. "We just need to be careful. This mystery can be solved at some other time. We just need to not do anything stupid…and definitely not trust this entity."

"Indeed," the Battlemaster said. "This brand I will attempt to investigate. Perhaps there are instances of it being utilized elsewhere. Cogitian might know. The physical properties are also necessary, though it will be difficult to find answers without arousing suspicion."

"You're going to show it to him?" She asked, alarmed.

"Not directly, no. But I will scan the symbol. He does not need to know where it comes from, only if it means anything."

Yang nodded as a thought occurred to her. "I could ask Hallian to examine it."

"The Dath'Haram?"

"Yes. You trusted him to take care of me," she paused. "I've talked with him more, recently. I think that he is reliable."

"He would ask questions. He would know. He is a Vitakara, and embedded deep in the Runianarch, which works side-by-side with the Zararch, commanded by Patricia and Quisilia. His mind has no protection, even if he will not intentionally share what he knows."

Yang almost wished she was a telepath. This would be the perfect scenario where erasing memories would be useful. Unfortunately, neither of them had the ability. "I suppose we are overcomplicating the issue. A medical scanner could give some insight, limited as it would be."

"That is the safest option right now," he agreed. "If necessary, a live doctor will become involved, but not until other options have been exhausted."

She nodded, the slightest bit disappointed that they would not involve her friend, but it was likely the safest option for them – and him. "I suppose that is the plan then. I should ask – did the Andromedons provide sufficient updates?"

"Yes." The Battlemaster put his gauntlet back on. "It is proceeding. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet," she shook her head.

"Perhaps you should get something, and I will tell you while you eat," he said. "There are certain aspects to go over, and it is important we both understand them."

---

Detention Cells, the Praesidium – Unknown Location

Unknown Time

They'd brought her to him some hours after Gabriel had left.

He hadn't initially believed his eyes when the guards had brought her to him. She'd not been handcuffed or restrained; he assumed that they didn't need to use those kinds of measures for moving a much smaller woman. But just from how she was walking he could tell that she wasn't doing well.

They'd deactivated the barrier and given him a verbal warning to stay back. They'd moved her in, and added another pillow and blanket, for what little good that would do. The cell was not built for more than one person, but Volk knew they'd manage it. At least, no matter what happened, they were back together.

They had just sat together, holding each other for hours. Not even stopping when the food was brought. Elena didn't speak, she didn't cry, she didn't do anything. She just held him tighter than he could remember. Even tighter than after Beijing. It was alright, there were worse places and positions to be in.

As he held her, he thought.

The feeling he had about Gabriel hadn't faded, but it turned out that Gabriel had…not lied. No matter how he'd done it…he'd done it. They were back together, no matter what would happen next, and he seriously needed to consider the implications of that. There was going to be a cost to any more help from Gabriel, he knew that for certain.

But what was the alternative? Willingly or unwillingly being turned into another tool of XCOM and ADVENT? It was only his face and body which they had a use for. They knew all he did, the only thing they could not replicate was him. There was little that really scared him, but the nightmare of being trapped in your mind while your body was driven by commands not your own was…horrific.

He would prefer death to that, but XCOM would not let him die. That seemed clear at this point.

Was there any feasible solution but to accept Gabriel's offer?

But what did he want?

That was the question. A question which he feared was ultimately irrelevant in lieu of the far more frightening question – did it matter?

He'd have to say what he wanted in return. Gabriel seemed to like making promises, and even if he'd gotten Elena and him together, that could feasibly be possible without much effort. Regardless, whoever he was, he was not who he portrayed to XCOM. An outsider? A spy for someone else? Or disconnected entirely?

Everyone had an agenda and mission. Volk needed to know what Gabriel's was.

"Why was I moved?"

He almost started at the sound of her voice. Good, good, she was ready to talk now. "I'm not exactly sure," he said honestly. "I think one of the XCOM agents made it happen."

"Yes. Why?"

"Because he wants something from me."

She mechanically decoupled from him, and briefly rubbed her arms, her face set in a familiar expression. She was thinking. "Who."

"The name he gave me is Gabriel. Caucasian, bald, probably mid-thirties. Around as tall as I am."

"I've seen him," she said, and shivered. "Malicious. Confident. Too confident. Probably sadist; enjoyed watching me. He stayed and watched me. He didn't say anything. One hour and two minutes. He left. Haven't seen him since."

A resurgence of anger manifested in him, because he could easily picture the man simply standing and watching, with that eerie smile on his face like a predator. Hearing that made him wonder if it actually was worth the risk to trust Gabriel, even if the alternative was equally horrific. This was simply not a person that could be trusted.

So? No one can be trusted now.

I'm not afraid of him because I don't trust him, I'm afraid because I don't know what he is capable of.

"He wants me to do something," he finally said. "I don't think he's actually XCOM. Or even Human. He said he would…give me what I want. In return for doing something for him. He said he'd move you to show he was serious."

She nodded. "What do you think?"

He didn't answer right away. "I don't know. He says he can get us out of here, but I don't know if he actually can. At the same time…there is something extremely off about him. I don't know what he can do. I don't know if he can be trusted. I don't know, but I do know that if we don't escape, then XCOM will put me under mental conditioning and force me to act as an agent. They may do the same to you, or kill you."

She didn't react. He wasn't surprised, she was likely spent and probably had considered that already. "They did not speak much to me. I knew I was a hostage to elicit your cooperation."

"I'm sorry."

"You could do nothing," she said quietly. "I did not keep you safe. I am sorry."

It was still sweet how she considered herself his bodyguard, even now. "We both could have done better. What will we do now? I don't know."

"If you stay, you will be turned into something you are not," she said. "I cannot see that. We must leave no matter what."

It hadn't taken her long to come to that conclusion, but then again, she didn't agonize over decisions like he did. At the same time, he knew that, ultimately, she wasn't wrong. If he didn't leave, then he was a dead man walking. But, that was the thing – leaving. That didn't necessarily have to involve Gabriel.

At the same time…was there any alternative?

There was no means of escape from the cell. There were rotations and no shortage of cameras. He had no idea where he was, which could be the middle of nowhere, for that matter, or underwater, even. Not to mention, there was an AI somewhere here that was doubtless monitoring for disturbances.

He sincerely did not know how Gabriel could get them out.

But he knew he couldn't stay.

"Then we'll have to accept his offer," Volk said quietly. "Whatever it may be. Are you sure this is right?"

"No," she shook her head. "But there is no alternative."

---

Situation Room, ADVENT High Command – Switzerland

6/24/2017 – 11:45 A.M.

"We've easily swept through the exterior borders of SAS territory," Laura updated as the holotable depicted the shifting ADVENT lines, marked in red, and the fractured and receding lines of the SAS, marked in purple. "We are making acceptable progress, but there are signs that resistance will be far more significant as we approach the larger cities."

Saudia nodded in acknowledgment. "And the methodology remains consistent?"

"Yes, Chancellor," Laura briefly consulted a nearby screen. "Civilians are being directed towards the closest cities. There aren't significant numbers now, but they will continue to grow as we push forward."

"Has there been any trouble?"

"Some. Their homes are destroyed and they're in a desert," Laura pursed her lips. "Nothing a PRIEST can't handle. We've kept what resources we can, and destroyed the rest. Several known mines have been collapsed, and natural resources have been stripped and destroyed. There will not be anything to go back to."

A harsh operation, but it would either cripple the SAS in the long term, or force the Collective to invest significantly. "How is morale?"

"Steady," Laura said. "The beginning was always going to be the hardest part. We're almost lucky that some of them have fought back. The soldiers sometimes need that push. There are isolated cases of reluctance, and there is widespread discomfort over the operation, but not crippling. We're not making them shoot civilians, which, I think, would be the red line here."

"Likely," Saudia agreed. "Good that they are keeping themselves focused on the mission."

"Yes, although, ironically, it's been the more…chauvinistic soldiers who are causing the most disruption," Laura scowled. "Unprofessional brutes."

"Oh?"

"Looting, taking souvenirs, valuables, isolated cases of POW brutality," Laura lifted her tablet. "I have six dozen pending cases for at least one of these. An example needs to be made of them. I've talked with Stein and Watkins, and the cases are going to be expedited and made very public. We are methodical, we are not animals and pirates."

"Good, I can make an additional statement if you want."

"I'll take you up on that offer," Laura said with a sigh. "A few of the Generals didn't want to go public, or to start the trials so quickly. Feared it would be a distraction. It might be, but if this isn't stopped now, it'll perpetuate. Soldiers sometimes have a habit of assuming what they can or cannot do unless given explicit commands not to."

"Speaking from personal experience?"

"You have no idea," she said, shaking her head. "Worked with Van Doorn during the War on Terror. There was a lot of soldier misconduct that never got reported, because it was an accepted thing for the occupying soldier, and no one was going to bat for the Caliphate civilians. We can be better than that."

It was somewhat ironic to be having this discussion during a brief on Scipio, an operation which was, decidedly, quite brutal. Well, it was the little details that were important. "The SAS must be planning a counterattack."

"ADVENT Intelligence suggests they are going with a turtling strategy." Laura highlighted several cities on the holotable. "Focus on the cities, repel, and then retake. I think they realize what we're doing, and believe that is giving them time to prepare. It is not going to be easy to take, though hopefully the waves of refugees will amply strain their logistics."

"Keep me apprised as that develops," Saudia said. "When do you anticipate a major conflict?"

"Soon. Within the week."

"Before, or after Unification Day?"

"Ah, that is coming up." Laura blinked several times before rubbing her eyes. "Hard to believe a year has already passed."

"It really is," Saudia agreed. "In retrospect, it's amazing what we've been able to accomplish so quickly."

"Rebuilding the world is not for the faint of heart." Laura gave a wan smile. "But you do have a point. A year ago, I could hardly imagine that I would be here."

"And you have done well, considering the circumstances."

"We're still here, so I must be doing something right."

"You, and everyone else."

Both women shared a brief laugh before Laura cleared her throat. "I cannot say what day it will happen. It could be the day of, the day before, or the day after. We will likely know at least a day ahead of time what the probable date of engagement is."

"Good. I need to know to work that into my address."

"Another one written already?"

"Of course, with parts to be amended and tweaked until the date."

"I look forward to it." Laura ran a hand through her hair. "One more thing – some of the Russian Legion found something interesting. A very old bunker that isn't on any maps. Very isolated, out where nothing should really be built."

Saudia cocked her head. "Odd. An old Cold War facility?"

"It appears to be," Laura confirmed. "I spoke with President Savvin, and they looked through some of the older Soviet records they have. Nothing concrete, but he also believes it is a Soviet facility. Doing what, he couldn't say. We're working on opening it up now."

An interesting development, in light of everything else going on. "I wonder what is inside."

"Probably nothing but bones and notes." Laura shrugged. "The interest is more historical than practical, since the number of Soviet documents is vastly incomplete. There is much we don't know about what they were doing. The Archeology Division is on-site and managing the opening – there's some chance of collapse if they open it too quickly."

"Keep me apprised," Saudia said. "Anything else?"

"Is that a trick question, Chancellor?"

A thin smile crossed her face. If only the answer to that sometimes was 'no'. "I have a few minutes before my meeting with Stein. Give me a short update on the Middle Eastern Legion posture. We may need to put them on standby soon."

"I'll try and summarize in..." Laura glanced at the clock. "Ten minutes. No promises."

"I'll take what I can get," Saudia said, settling in for a rapid deluge of information. "Go ahead."

---

Training Area, the Praesidium – Classified Location

6/23/2017 – 10:22 A.M.

Kunio thought it was a bit early for Fiona to take up the sword again, but she'd been steadily improving over the days, and she'd said it was more to help her regain balance and movement than actually fighting. So, both of them stood, himself in armor, while Fiona was in regular fatigues, her sword in her hand.

She lacked the steadiness and grace he had once seen her with. Beads of sweat rolled down her face and it shone with the sheen of perspiration. Her ashen hair clung to the skin; so much effort that was being put into just standing and trying not to fall over. Kunio held one of the Templar shields, moving it around to give her a target to hit.

Her strikes were fast, like a viper, it was clear she was aiming more for precision than strength. Stabs and slashes were primarily in her repertoire instead of blows and swings. It was a fighting style which he knew was more elegant than impactful. It had been beautiful to watch when she'd been healthy.

She fought almost like a dancer. An odd notation, but one he thought was accurate.

Fiona slashed forward, miscalculated, and missed entirely, before stumbling. Kunio's free hand lashed out and steadied her as she swayed on her feet. Instead of letting her go, he held her in place. "I think that's enough for now. You don't need to injure yourself more."

She initially seemed hesitant, but sighed reluctantly. "I suppose you're right."

"Can you walk to the bench?"

"Yes. You might want to take the sword though."

He did, and both of them walked to the nearby bench, the sounds of training following them as Templars, soldiers, and psions worked out and dueled in the background. Kunio stayed close to her in case she fell over, but, though she seemed unbalanced at the start, she moved into a steady gait – before almost collapsing onto a bench and drinking greedily from her water bottle.

Kunio took off his helmet and sat beside her. "Do you think that helped?"

"It didn't hurt," she said, before taking another drink. "I'd forgotten how it felt to be this exhausted."

"It's been a few weeks," he reminded her. "You'll get back into a routine."

"Nonetheless…" she trailed off. "Reminds me of training when I was a girl."

He cocked his head. "Training?"

"It's…" she paused suddenly, before shrugging. "Ah, you know."

It felt like she had slipped up, though what that implied, he didn't know. "Here's a question for you," he said, taking a drink from his own bottle. "What's the farthest you've accidentally traveled?"

"Traveled as in…?"

"Teleported," he said. "I've already told you of my accidental trip to London."

"Oh!" She laughed. "Gosh…uh…there's been more accidental trips than I care to really remember. When I was being trained I…well, I went to another planet once. Not fun, let me tell you."

"Another planet?" He blinked. "How did you survive?"

"Suit," she tapped his armor. "Life support in the most literal sense. It was a good thing I was able to get back. Now that I think about it, I do a lot of guessing where I will end up."

That made Kunio raise his eyebrow. Teleportation involved some degree of guesswork, but there was a pretty solid theory behind it, one which involved knowing where you were or where you needed to go in the Psionosphere. Blind teleporting could have you end up anywhere, and, usually, even if you didn't know the exact place, you had a general idea.

Or at least that was how she explained it – somewhat vaguely, but he'd caught on. Odd that she'd go against conventional wisdom enough to warrant an explicit mention. "That sounds dangerous."

"It is," she flicked her wrist. "I don't recommend it, which is what I hope you've picked up on in our training."

"Definitely," he nodded. "Feels like it's been a long time since we started."

"Indeed it does," she sighed. "A lot has changed. Or it hasn't, and time just lasts longer now. Or seems too, anyway."

"At least we're still alive."

"For now."

"I'm being optimistic."

She chuckled. "So am I."

He checked the time. "How are you feeling now?"

"Not like I'm about to fall over, which is a plus."

"I think that's enough training for today," he said, standing. "I think the doctors will be mad you did this at all."

"Normally, I'd argue with you, but, right now, I kind of just want to lie down and take a nap," she stretched, and stood up with a slight hop as she balanced. "Or maybe watch a movie and fall asleep. Either seems fine."

"Well, I'll walk you back and you can decide," he cracked his neck. "I have my own training to do."

"No doubt," she said as they started walking back. "You're more likely to be called up than I am, and XCOM needs a skilled teleporter right now."

"Let's hope not yet," he said. "I'm getting better, but nowhere near your level yet."

"Not yet," she said slowly. "But you'll get there. I have a good feeling."

---

Zar'Chon's Chambers, Mars Observation Station – Mars Orbit

6/23/2017 – 7:27 A.M.

"Our forces are pushing further," Patricia updated the Zar'Chon as they stood around a holotable, the Harbinger taking a brief interlude from the front lines in favor of a direct update with the Zar'Chon, Quisilia, the Battlemaster, and Macula. "Three weeks before we begin the breach of Seoul."

"The forces you have are not sufficient," the Battlemaster noted. "Not against Seoul."

"I am aware, they will be supplemented when the time comes," Patricia acknowledged. "The approach is methodical. If we do not have redundancy, they will be able to push us back if they emerge victorious from the initial engagement."

"And are you expecting that?" Macula asked.

"It would be unsurprising," Patricia said with a sharp nod. "ADVENT has been fortifying the city since the start of the war. They will be prepared, and it is unlikely an optimal strategy will emerge without several prolonged conflicts. Do not be surprised if initial attacks are unsuccessful."

"Utilization of more valuable resources should not be employed if you are uncertain of the correct strategy," the Battlemaster said.

"I agree," Patricia glanced at the holotable. "Our baseline units will be more than sufficient to test and experiment with. If we succeed – and we certainly can – we will not have to resort to our stronger units."

"What is the likelihood of involving Bringer soldiers?" Ravarian asked, rubbing his chin. "It could have a negative psychological impact on the defenders."

"I would not advise that," the Battlemaster said flatly.

Patricia wasn't as averse to the idea, but she wasn't in love with it either. "Only if they become necessary. The Bringer, and his soldiers, are a trigger for a guaranteed response from ADVENT. If we want to take Seoul, using them is not advised. Right now we will likely be facing, at minimum, several XCOM squads. If we involve the Bringer, T'Leth himself may become involved. It will only make our operation harder."

"Senorium seems to be having success," Macula noted. "Despite being a direct agent."

"ADVENT has only learned of it recently," Quisilia amended. "Senorium will have a far more difficult time in the future. The Pantheon themselves appear to be getting involved."

"Zararch reports indicate this as well," Ravarian supported. "ADVENT has amplified their Southeast Asian response as a result. Senorium has similarly been informed of this development, for what it is worth. The Pantheon almost killed an Ethereal, and they wrecked the Sectoid Shipyards. We should not underestimate them."

"No, we shouldn't," Patricia agreed. "Macula, is the SAS going to take action or let ADVENT continue to march into it unopposed?"

The Ethereal avoided the barbed words. "ADVENT has largely occupied deserts, isolated towns, and empty space. Nothing of consequence has been lost yet. While the attacks caught us by surprise, we are in a position to defend and push them back."

"ADVENT will be prepared," the Battlemaster pointed out. "Their composition is primarily tanks and armored vehicles, with intermittent air support. SAS and Collective forces are composed primarily of infantry."

"Heralds and Sectopods are being deployed to the major cities," Macula informed him. "We are similarly equipping our soldiers with appropriate gear to adequately handle these forces. We are ready for them, and they are being lulled into an overconfident state. They will find that the SAS will not fall so easily, even as we expand to nations now willing to ally with us. ADVENT is focusing on the core states, not our work outside them."

"Good," Ravarian shifted the holotable. "Operations in South and North America continue, and are set to converge in major clashes on schedule. The Turkey operation is set, and will begin on ADVENT's Unification Day."

Patricia smiled grimly. "Poetic."

"Indeed. Poetic," Ravarian said. "The Hiveship will be personally moved into the system by the Imperator, and is en-route to the respective coordinates as we speak. It is loaded, armed, and prepared. We do not anticipate significant resistance, either from Turkey or ADVENT. In addition to that, I believe we can deploy something that Patricia herself suggested."

A hologram of what appeared to be a large sheet, with Sectoid craft at each corner, appeared. "Patricia inquired as to the viability of the creation of an artificial eclipse, blocking sunlight to some or all of the Earth," he continued. "Fectorian…said the idea was sound, and a prototype was produced."

Fectorian had technically agreed that it was feasible, but Patricia found it a very diplomatic way to say that Fectorian had definitely not been in favor of the idea. He believed that it was a waste of resources for very little benefit. While Patricia could definitely admit that it was certainly not foolproof, it was cheap, practical, and would achieve the desired result.

"An eclipse?" Quisilia flipped a knife in his hand. "Curious."

"Yes," Patricia said. "Humans do not especially like the dark for long periods of time. Eclipses in particular are something that, historically, are steeped in negative superstition. The fact remains that, while eclipses are seen with some interest today, a long-term, unexpected one will be psychologically affecting."

"I feel ADVENT will not be cowed so easily," the Battlemaster said skeptically.

"Of course they won't," Patricia agreed. "But it will do two things – force them to deal with the problem and spread their resources thinner, and negatively affect the civilian population, which is not as mentally strong as ADVENT."

"I am imagining an absurdly large shroud wrapped around the Earth," Quisilia said dryly. "I presume the real shroud will be more limited in scope?"

"Yes, very much so." Patricia remembered some of the simulations. "Large-scale deployments are…infeasible. But focusing on specific cities and areas…those are feasible and targeted, not to mention more easily maneuvered."

"I presume you've considered something to stop ADVENT from building a gun and shooting a hole in it?" Quisilia inquired.

"Yes and no." Patricia waved a hand. "ADVENT is more than welcome to shoot a hole in it. But it will have to be a big shot, and powerful enough to tear it completely apart. The shroud itself has self-repairing nanites to protect from the space dust and other smaller debris that might be encountered. We expect them to do something like this. But in the end, the resource comparisons are negligible. I guarantee that ADVENT will expend more resources trying to shoot these down than we will putting them up."

"Indeed," Ravarian supported. "The shroud itself will be upheld by four Sectoid Scout craft. It will be fairly close to the Earth, but outside of the range of conventional ADVENT weaponry. We are readying multiple shrouds to deploy upon the launch of the Turkey operation."

"Where will they be deployed?" Macula asked.

"Ankara, Istanbul, Geneva, Seoul, Salt Lake City, and Calgary," Patricia answered. "They will be shifted as we take more cities. More can be produced if necessary. I suspect that the Chancellor will not be able to give a defiant speech when the sun itself disappears before her eyes."

"As you said," Ravarian nodded. "Poetic."

"And the attacks begin," Quisilia said with gravitas. "Quite a dramatic moment, if I do say so myself. Expertly timed. It will be a glorious reaction for sure, and it will be quite interesting to observe ADVENT's response."

"Then all that is left to do is prepare," Patricia said. "And this will be the beginning of the end for ADVENT."

---

Situation Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location

6/26/2017 – 12:19 P.M.

All of the Internal Council were gathered, in addition to the Chronicler and Axis. It was back to work for all of them, and the Commander had decided it was time to prepare for an action which would shake the course of the war – beyond what ADVENT had planned. The idea had occurred to him some time ago, but had become more refined as it had become more feasible.

Several months ago, suggesting an operation of this scale would be laughable. Now…now they just might have a chance. It would be difficult, it would be dangerous, but he sincerely believed that, not only was it possible, it was something which needed to happen. If not now – then it would eventually be too late.

"Axis," the Commander began. "Zudjari-5. What do you know about it?"

"It is the origin of the units you call Outsiders," he said. "A factory which was intended to be used to protect and rebuild. Many of our people are held in stasis; soldiers; scientists; engineers; pieces of the Mosaic. Origin was removed, but the Collective is unlikely to have tampered with the stasis fields."

"And do you know where it is?" Jackson asked.

"Yes," Axis answered. "I have provided the location to Aegis, who confirmed with his own data."

"I was fortunate enough to have access to this information," Aegis said. "The Collective did not advertise it, but the Ethereals knew what was important. It is an isolated world; one which is sparsely guarded in comparison. The primary defense fleets are at points which lead to Zudjari-5, as the Battlemaster was concerned that a concentration of ships would lead to potential investigation."

"Thank you," the Commander nodded. "The reason this is being brought up, is because it is time we began preparing an operation of our own. The Collective has invaded our world; it is past time we invade one of theirs. The first one which will be invaded is Zudjari-5, for the purposes of liberating the Zudjari."

He looked to Axis. "You know your people better than we do. You believe they can be persuaded to join us?"

"They hold Origin," Axis nodded. "Mu'ut Jeen was murdered by Sicarius. They will join without hesitation – provided an effort is made to find and free Origin."

"That, we can at least promise to pursue," the Chronicler said, rubbing his beard slowly. "Although Origin must be handled cautiously, if he is what I suspect."

"If you want the Zudjari to support you, this is non-negotiable," Axis warned.

"Understood. We can handle Origin when we recover him," the Commander lifted his mechanical hand. "What is important is that the Zudjari will be willing to support us. If they are, then this invasion is worth the investment."

"What are the defenses of the Zudjari Pyramid?" Creed asked.

"Minimal," Aegis said. "At least unless there have been significant changes. The Pyramid is intentionally designed to elicit a lower profile. It has extensive sensor suites and capabilities, but few external defenses. You will have more difficulty penetrating it than reaching it. It is managed by a Zudjari machine intelligence."

"It will not be as difficult as you imagine," Axis interrupted. "I am aware of the alternate entrances to the Pyramid. It was expected that aliens would attempt to breach it. There is a Zudjari who is awakened and is supporting it, correct?"

"One. I was not told his name."

"Unsurprising, but there would be one, else the Forge would not work," Axis nodded, crossing his arms. "Coercion likely; no Zudjari would willingly work with the Collective after Jeen's death and the removal of my stasis chamber, much less Origin's."

"And if he is a willing ally?" the Commander asked.

"Then he will be left behind," Axis said flatly. "He is no Zudjari."

"I'm more focused on the practical requirements of this operation," Kong interjected with a frown. "Even if we know where it is, I cannot imagine that this operation can be done with a single XCOM squad, or even two. The Collective, understaffed as they may be here, will not simply let it go without a significant fight – not to mention there are likely thousands of Outsider units in the Pyramid."

"Correct," the Commander nodded. "Which is why I specified this as an invasion. We will need everyone to participate. Aegis, Caelior, the Agents of T'Leth, and ADVENT. As far as transport, Chronicler, what are our options?"

"Fiona strikes me as capable," Creed noted.

"Theoretically, but she has only teleported small groups at most," the Chronicler grunted. "An army is…dubious. And would attract attention from the Throne World. Attention we do not need, even if she could theoretically perform it easier than myself or another. Fortunately, I believe T'Leth would be more than willing to facilitate the transport."

"I would caution exploration, outside of brief trips," Aegis cautioned. "As I stated, the detection capabilities of the Pyramid are extensive. It would be foolish to tip our hand."

"We will manage," the Chronicler assured him. "It will only be a brief trip of confirmation. We would not want T'Leth to send an army to the wrong planet."

"On the topic of size, numbers would be appreciated," Creed was marking something in his tablet. "At minimum this requires a full Legion."

"A full Legion for a single Pyramid?" Zhang raised an eyebrow. "Likely unnecessary. Perhaps a Battalion, if that. The landmass is small, and the interiors limited."

"I'm not talking about just the Pyramid," Creed clarified. "I'm also talking about the Collective response. We are unlikely to finish before the retaliation begins. Aegis and Caelior can prevent the immediate orbital response, but this will likely result in intervention by the Overmind or Imperator. We cannot rely on them for protection."

"Unfortunately, he is correct," Aegis confirmed. "This attack will not be taken lightly. The Imperator will not allow an attack like this without a response. Given the failure to abduct the Zar'Chon, it is worth taking this into account."

"Indeed," the Commander nodded. "I will be bringing Commander Christiaens onto operational planning. Creed, you, Axis, Aegis, and her should be able to determine a feasible invasion path."

"Of course," Axis inclined his head. "I appreciate what you have put into motion, Commander. I did not expect this day to come for a long time; I am pleasantly surprised by your initiative. We will not forget what XCOM, and your species, did for us. If nothing else, I will ensure that the Zudjari fight to the conclusion of this war."

"I gave my word, and I will fulfill it." The Commander directed a sharp nod to him. "The stakes are high, but if we succeed, we eliminate an entire production line from the Collective's arsenal, and gain the Zudjari as an allied species. The risks, as I see them, are worth it. I also believe that it will be…unexpected."

"For certain," Zhang snorted. "They know we can move beyond Earth, but they lack a certain…imagination…when it comes to our capabilities."

"If we are speaking of operations to undertake, I have a proposal," the Chronicler unexpectedly interjected, resting his hands on the shut-down holotable. "An unexpected one, but since it was brought to my attention, it must be raised."

"Do tell," Iosif said slowly. "Is this directly from T'Leth?"

"Not explicitly," the Chronicler said slowly. "You are aware of my past with EXALT. Part of my responsibilities was the curation of their many relics and historical artifacts. A handsome collection, I will say."

The Commander waited, frowning. "I hope you aren't going to suggest a mission to reclaim some historical objects."

"No," the Chronicler shook his head. "Valuable as the collection was, I would not waste your time with that suggestion. I had been under the belief that they had been removed when the Bastion was evacuated. I was mistaken, and, as of now the collection – to my knowledge – remains under Collective control, now that they have taken the Bastion."

The Commander remembered EXALT's old base of operations. "And that is important?"

"In short, Commander, not all of the artifacts were functionally useless," he continued. "A very few were pieces of technology as advanced as any you would see today."

Vahlen's eyebrows shot up as she spoke for the first time. "Alien technology?"

"Yes."

The Commander appraised the Chronicler with a very firm glare. "You may want to elaborate on that. You are saying that aliens have come to Earth before the Outsider Incident."

"T'Leth has been here longer than the entirety of recorded Human history," the Chronicler said evenly. "And it is clear now that there were alien ruins on Mars, observing your world and species for just as long. But to answer your question, to my knowledge there was only one."

"One you met."

"One I killed, yes." The Chronicler paused. "Though, unfortunately, I do not know its exact origin, only that there is more to it than what I encountered. The alien artifacts I bring up are not intrinsically connected to it, but another. They are, however, part of history."

The Commander frowned. "Why are you only bringing this up now? Surely you could have teleported in and extracted them yourself?"

"In theory, yes," the Chronicler answered, narrowing his eyes. "However, at the time I was busy preparing for Australia, and assumed EXALT would have taken care of it. The possibility did not enter my mind, and I have been distracted since then. What triggered this was the fact that recently several sensors in the Vault were tripped, which I had established as an additional measure. It may not mean much, but if they are performing a thorough search of the Vault, then our time is very limited."

The Commander considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. Elaborate on these artifacts."

The Chronicler continued in a calm and neutral voice. "One of them is the Holy Grail."

The general response to that was a mixture of narrowed eyes, exchanged glances, and frowns. Interestingly, the Commander did not notice any overt emotions of disbelief. Admittedly, compared to all they knew and had seen, this was not the strangest thing to hear. Nonetheless, he had questions. "I hate to repeat myself, but I'm assuming this is not something truly holy in nature."

"Of course not," the Chronicler disputed. "I can only assume that it is a healing device of some kind; it produced a substance which could heal nearly any injury. Pure nanotech, of a proficiency that rivals Mosrimor. It was used in the rituals of the Venatores."

"Who were they?" Vahlen inquired.

"Part of the Catholic Church's Inquisition," the Chronicler said. "Very secret, and now extinct, and the Vatican would not willingly release their existence. The point being that this is an extremely advanced piece of nanotechnology that would be disastrous if it fell into the Collective's hands."

"Is that the only artifact?" Kong asked.

"The most important one, but no," the Chronicler said. "There is a psionic weapon of some kind. A sophisticated one, though no more so than the psi-tech we have now. There are also weapons made out of an alien alloy our Templars could utilize."

"And what is your proposal?" the Commander asked. "An operation to raid the Bastion for these artifacts?"

"Correct, Commander," the Chronicler said. "It is not, I acknowledge, a priority, nor something T'Leth has requested. However, I want to keep these artifacts out of alien hands, and, if we wait, they may realize what they have."

"And how do we know they haven't?"

"I assure you, Commander," the Chronicler said grimly. "If they had learned it, we would know."

"Second question." The Commander crossed his arms. "What do you envision you'll need?"

"A squad, minimum," he said. "The Collective controls the Bastion, but I do not believe they are expecting an attack, as there is nothing there but the infrastructure. Newer soldiers would suffice; perhaps an opportunity for some of them to gain field experience. It would not be a long operation, but one which is important."

The Commander glanced over. "Creed?"

"If it's only a single squad…" he shrugged. "That could be accommodated. He wouldn't waste our time, so it is worth considering."

"I will admit to some curiosity as to the artifacts themselves," Iosif mused. "To see the so-called Holy Grail would be…interesting."

"Very well," the Commander nodded. "Put together two squads and an operational plan, and you can carry it out, unless there are objections."

None came from the room. "Then, I believe that is all," the Commander said. "Dismissed."

---

Detention Cells, the Praesidium – Unknown Location

Unknown Time

"Have you come to a decision?"

Volk met the gleaming eyes of Gabriel without blinking. "Yes. If you help us escape and get to safety, then I'll help you."

"So precisely worded." Gabriel smacked his lips, the tips of his fingers pressed together as he appraised them. "I can hardly object to that, can I?"

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what I'll be doing?"

"In good time, Volikov," Gabriel chided. "We wouldn't want to get ahead of ourselves, now would we? You are, after all, still in a detention cell."

"One which you are presumably going to get us out of."

"Patience, patience." He lifted a finger. "Now, before we begin, I must deeply stress that you do everything I say, right down to the last details. No questions asked."

Volk narrowed his eyes. "Or?"

"Or XCOM will catch you, and I will have spent a not-insignificant portion of my time for nothing," Gabriel inclined his head, ever so slightly, his tone taking on a melancholy quality. "A million nudges in a certain direction, all to culminate in a specific sequence of events, and all of it could be spoiled by a single misplaced step. Volikov, I am no mere miracle worker, I require some cooperation from those who partake of my services."

He spread his hands. "I can only give you the path and the tools. I cannot force you to follow – but understand that you walk astray at your own peril. I cannot help you if you deviate."

The point Gabriel was making was clear enough. On one hand, Volk did not want to put more trust into this individual than necessary, but he also suspected that he was telling the truth. Gabriel had no reason to lie, and frankly, they were in a situation where they didn't have a choice. Volk was certainly not comfortable with trying to escape on his own, in a base with an unknown layout.

"Fine." He and Elena exchanged a look, and she nodded with him "We'll do as you say."

"Wonderful!" He clasped his hands back together. "Then we must not delay," he glanced down to his wrist. "Be prepared to move quickly. There will be a certain failure in our benevolent overseeing AI right about…now."

Nothing tangible happened. Gabriel walked over to the panel by the cell,idly pressed some buttons, and the barrier dissipated. Both of them wasted no time in stepping out. Even though they were far from free, it was liberating, no longer being trapped in that cell. "There we go," Gabriel said, reinitializing the barrier, before turning to them with a smile. "I dislike deals that are purely verbal. Let us shake on this momentous occasion, and the start of this adventure."

Volk resisted rolling his eyes, and wanting to get on with it, but took the extended hand. Gabriel's grip tightened, and Volk felt a sudden hot burn on the side of his face; almost like a brand in a certain pattern. He stiffened, but Gabriel said nothing before letting the hand go. "The pact is made. Now, both of you put these on." He knelt down and withdrew a couple uniforms Volk had seen XCOM personnel wear.

Both of them quickly put them on. "What happened to the cameras?" He asked as he quickly pulled a sleeve down. "You shut them off?"

"Oh, nothing so crude," Gabriel shook his head. "No need for such measures when the one who watches can be lured away with the temptation of a tryst," he smiled. "And a single misplaced flick of a switch can cut power to some essential functions. Our good AI watcher is now finding out."

"Alright, done," the uniform fit very well, or at least as well as could be expected. "What now? Won't someone recognize us? That AI isn't shut off everywhere."

"Oh, most certainly not," Gabriel gestured and they followed him out of the Detention Cells pausing briefly to unhook several headsets and headpieces from a clearly pre-determined spot on the wall. "Put these on, and do keep your heads down. Follow the path, and there will be no issues. None outside of a few have even seen your faces."

They put on the headgear without complaint, and followed, their faces down. His heart beat heavily in his chest as they walked past the first duo of XCOM maintenance – and lessened slightly as they walked past without incident. Around corners and into hallways they went; he was easily lost since he had no point of origin, but Elena likely had a working map in her head now.

They kept walking, passing groups of XCOM staff, and even soldiers, before arriving in…

The Mess Hall?

"What are we doing here?" he hissed as he reluctantly stepped foot into the bustling area. It was definitely lunchtime, as the place was packed. This was the exact opposite of what he expected, and he could not fathom what they were doing.

"Getting lunch, obviously," Gabriel said matter-of-fact. "I have little interest in conducting a prison break on an empty stomach, and the chef makes an utterly delicious stew. I recommend you try it."

"We're eating?" he almost sputtered.

"Why else would we stop?"

Volk kept his voice low as they moved into line. "They'll discover the cells are fucking empty!"

"Volikov," Gabriel glanced back, a finger raised and a smile on his lips. "Trust the plan. You may even enjoy your lunch."

His heart rate back to pounding, he reluctantly grabbed a plate. The food actually smelled quite nice, and far more appetizing than what he'd been eating for…however long he'd been here. He wasn't hungry, though, so he just grabbed some of the garlic bread and a slice of pizza. Elena, unsurprisingly, went for the macaroni and cheese. Gabriel got the stew he wanted from the chef.

He took a big spoonful, and smiled at the chef, motioning at him with the utensil. "Wonderful as always, Marcus."

"Appreciated, Gabe," the chef smiled. "Was worried you were going to miss lunch today. No guaranteed compliment! My day would have been ruined."

"The day I miss that will be the day hell freezes over," Gabriel laughed. "Or the Collective strikes and my skills are required. One of the two."

They walked away, and Volk had resigned himself to finding a place to sit, since Gabriel was seemingly going to actually go through with this. He idly munched on his garlic bread, waiting for the alarm bells to go off. Gabriel was also enjoying his stew.

"Gabriel!"

He turned to see another woman quickly walking up to him, probably an XCOM Intelligence officer from the uniform. With a face expressing concern, he turned to face her. "Sarah, how are you today?"

"Been better," she said, barely glancing at both of them. "I hate to do this to you, but I need your help."

"Oh?" Gabriel lowered the spoon into the stew. "What's the issue?"

"Have a small batch of psi-tech to move to ADVENT," she said. "And the person who was supposed to do it is now puking up his guts. Food poisoning, of all things."

Elena suddenly stopped eating. "Food poisoning?" Gabriel inquired. "In XCOM? That is surprising."

"Probably some kind of reaction, honestly," she scowled. "Either way, I'm down a courier. I'm not asking you to be the errand boy, but you can get someone assigned quicker than I can."

All at once Volk saw what was happening. "You need a courier? I can work it. Well, both of us."

She looked at him quizzically. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met."

"Agent Konley," he said, extending a hand. "Fairly new, all things considered. This is Martha." He gestured to Elena.

Gabriel almost seemed to nod approvingly. "Well, the problem might have just solved itself. I've worked with these two, and can personally vouch for them. When do you need this to be done?"

"Truthfully?" She winced. "Ten minutes ago."

"So, as soon as possible?"

"I'm afraid so. I don't want to interrupt lunch, but…"

"Duty calls," Volk stepped forward. "We can eat on the way."

"Thank you, you're all lifesavers," she motioned for both of them to follow. "Gateway chamber is not far, and the packages are waiting. Normally this is a one-man job, but if both of you are willing, we can make several trips at once."

"I'll see you later," Gabriel said, lifting a hand, a knowing glint in his eye. "Good luck."

We'll need it.

He figured it was only a matter of time before the alarms started, so he quickly kept up with Sarah. "Why do you need to schedule multiple trips?" He asked, to make some small talk. "Can't you just move back and forth?"

"Ha! If only," she shook her head. "Logistics are hell sometimes. Gateways can only connect to another one at a time, they're constantly in use, and their usage is heavily regulated. Most of them are reserved for intra-ADVENT transport. Outside requests – XCOM in this case – are far more restricted."

He nodded, as they finally reached the Gateway chamber, one of many, he assumed. As expected, there was a Gateway resting within, with several teams managing it.

"Here are the cases," Sarah said, motioning to several silver briefcases resting on the ground. "Just set them in the designated drop-off location and sign in. You'll have to kill a few hours before you get sent back. Enjoy Salt Lake in the meantime, and I can't thank you enough."

"You got someone, Sarah?" One of the Gateway operators asked. "Lucky. Thought we were going to have to cancel this shipment."

"No, managed to get some volunteers," she said.

"Gateway initializing," the operator said, and the machine hummed to life, and the swirling purple vortex materialized.

A loud, blaring alarm suddenly sounded.

Sarah looked up at the ceiling. "You're kidding me."

He risked a question, even though he knew what that meant. "What is that?"

"Security breach," she said. "Technically, everything is locked down. Look, just get in there. You won't get in trouble, I promise. We need to get this sent over."

"Are you sure,"

"Yes, go," she gave a pat on the back. "I'll handle any paperwork. Thank you again."

Hardly able to believe they were being sent out with the blessing of XCOM, he grasped the case, and he and Elena walked through, appearing in an ADVENT Gateway chamber a second later, this one far busier and bustling. An Officer was waiting. "XCOM?" She grunted.

"Yes sir."

He pointed to a marked drop-off point. "You're late, but you made it. Set it there, and sign in. Gateway is going to be occupied longer than anticipated. You'll have about six hours before we can send you back unless it's an emergency. Understood?"

"Understood."

Keeping his hands still and his features calm, he carefully placed the case on the drop-off point, with Elena echoing him. A surreal feeling overtook him as he walked to the sign-out area, wondering if now they were going to be screwed if there was electronic sign in. To his surprise, the screen which would likely have handled that was black.

"Sorry," the receptionist said apologetically. "Technical difficulties today. Just sign in here with your ID." She handed a clipboard, and he briefly had a small heart attack before Elena stepped forward, withdrawing an ID from one of the pockets on her uniform, and signing her name. He quickly did the same, and pulled out his ID.

His face was on it, along with a fake name. Gabriel had really gone all-out with this escape. He copied Elena, and, after a few long, tense minutes of waiting, the receptionist returned and gave back their IDs. "Enjoy the next few hours. Sorry for the delay."

"We'll survive." He gave a forced smile. "Thank you."

And both of them walked out. Walked past the dozens of ADVENT guards, security cameras, and bustling crowds. They walked outside, and, just like that, they were free.

"Where do we go now?" Elena asked.

"I don't know if it matters," he said, looking down one of the streets. "I have a feeling that he's going to find us next."

---

New York – United States of America

6/26/2017 – 5:25 P.M.

"Another,"

The Hunter waited for the bartender to fix him up another drink. Human liquor was something he actually preferred to the ornate and overproduced wines of the Throne World, and certainly better than the swill on the Continent which always had promise, but was hindered by a lack of standards and technical acumen.

I walked right into the right time. At least this Sphere has one thing going for it.

Now he just had to wait.

Given how badly she had been injured, he was not surprised she had not attempted to find him again. He knew that she would come soon, for questions if nothing else. It remained to be seen how much she would have told XCOM, but he had prepared for all eventualities. His story was convinced and based to reinforce and appeal to what she knew.

Even how he was here at all.

No, he was not worried about her taking the bait. She was well-primed for it.

It was her handler who would be the most likely to see through him. A traitor he may be, but a deviously smart and tenacious traitor. One who would exploit each and every mistake he made. He had been able to survive for so long because of that intelligence; and if she told him…it would make his job more difficult.

Difficult. Not impossible.

"You know, I've only met a few people who could down as many as you and still be mostly sober," the bartender said, coming back with his drink which the Hunter took with a smile. "You a professional? Or just lucky?"

Did Earth have professional alcohol drinkers? Ah, not that it mattered. "It's a gift, one I am particularly grateful for."

"That you should be," he said, filling up a pitcher. "Well, I'll be here."

The Hunter lifted his glass. "Good man."

As he nursed his drink, he turned his attention to the screen above. He idly remembered reading about how these bars were once places where people gathered to watch sports and events. Some of the screens showed the odd game here or there, but otherwise they were showing the ADVENT News Network.

Troop movements. Press conferences. Interviews. Global and local developments. A constant stream of updates and information about the war. He had to admit that, as an outsider with no connection to any of what was going on, it was quite helpful understanding the current...situation.

ADVENT was certainly far from the most incompetent government he'd had the experience of operating in. Almost too competent in some instances. He was always keeping an eye out for ADVENT Intelligence, or even the Collective to take notice of him. He suspected that he was on a list somewhere, but if they were planning to do something, they hadn't yet.

Nonetheless, he didn't hold it against them. It was the kind of challenge that made such work a reward.

If he had to pick a side…

He mused on that question, idly nursing his drink. It was a complicated one. The fact that a Sovereign One was effectively backing Humanity was a knock against them, but, on the flip side, there was also a Sovereign behind the Collective, so theoretically both of those canceled each other out.

And, between both sides, he vastly preferred the Humans to the Collective. He was biased, but better the foe you knew than the one you didn't. Humans had their flaws, but he at least understood them. They could be used, tracked, and killed with minimal effort. The other aliens certainly could as well – eventually.

Eventually. And, right now, time was very important.

He idly noticed a woman come up and sit beside him, order a drink. He was immediately suspicious, as he was with anyone who got close to him, but he relaxed when he saw she was almost certainly a civilian. New York accent, lithe figure, brown skin, smaller than he was, gait relaxed and movements smooth.

Almost hypnotically smooth. He wondered if she was a dancer or had some other acrobatic role. She was certainly built for it.

His eyes moved away, and returned to absorbing the news while occasionally glancing around the room at the patrons. "Do you mind if I ask a question?" The voice came from his right, female. He looked to the woman who was now looking at him curiously, a drink of her own in hand.

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd attracted some attention in places like this. "Of course."

"Are you a reporter?"

Well that was new. He let out a genuine chuckle. "No, I am afraid I am not. I've never been asked that before, so congratulations on being the first."

She winced. "My mistake; I could swear I've seen you before. Plus, you seem interested in watching the TV," she nodded towards the screen. "Only news on right now, and everyone else is occupied but you."

Huh, an observant woman. "I prefer to keep informed on the general state of things," he said. "Being uninformed these days is a good path to getting yourself caught in the wrong city, at the wrong time."

"You travel?"

"Fairly regularly," he took a drink, seamlessly moving into his cover story. "Contractor; electrician for the most part, with some plumbing on the side. I go where the repairs are needed – mostly. I avoid the warzones." He smiled. "Not my speed, and I dislike the possibility of death." He leaned a bit closer. "Your turn now."

They transitioned to more small talk; something that the setting lent itself to quite well. It was an interesting exercise in conversational steering. Good practice on strangers. The woman he was talking to now was Nora, a cook in one of ADVENT's restaurants, a survivor of the terrible attack on New York, still slowly getting over it.

The more they talked, the Hunter realized there was something of a rapport between them, at least between his staged personality and hers. She was one of the more enjoyable to talk to, even if there was something a bit…off; something that he couldn't put his finger on. She appeared genuine, but almost too genuine sometimes.

Most of the time people reacted within the parameters of the psychological profile he built for them, but never exactly how he imagined them. She? Nora was acting exactly how he expected her to act, which had threatened to throw him off a few times and made him reassess. The trauma, the war, the effect it had on her, all of it manifested and represented.

It was weird, but perhaps he was reading too much into it.

She wasn't an intelligence agent, he was fairly certain of that at this point. Intelligence agents didn't consume hard drinks when they were handling a target, and she hadn't slipped away to consume an alcohol-negating agent, and she hadn't really pried deeply into his personal life or whereabouts – nor had he volunteered them.

If she was a spy, he mused, she was not a very good one.

Spies had tells, none of which she was displaying.

Which either meant she was really good, or that she wasn't a spy. And at this point, it was impossible to not make some slip up, even a small one. Something which she had not done yet, which put her in the camp of 'not a spy'.

"Well, I suppose that I should get out of here before I'm too drunk to drive," he smiled, pushing the glass away. "I wouldn't want to keep you up too late."

She chuckled, swaying slightly on her feet. "Oh, don't worry, I don't go in until tomorrow afternoon. In fact, I wonder…" she moved a hand over his own, a suggestive glint in her eye. There had been some light flirting going on during the exchange, but he was hesitant to read into it.

"Incidentally," he leaned back. "My place is not far from here…"

"Maybe a detour," she suggested coyly.

"I would be willing to show you around," he stood and stretched. It'd been a while since he'd picked up a woman in one of these places. Certainly, she was one of the more interesting ones. He'd have to be careful though, since she struck him as the person who might want to continue it after.

That would be a problem to handle another day. Worst case, he would just kill her if she posed a problem. Or leave entirely. Whichever attracted the least attention.

Hand in hand, they left, himself in a much better mood than when he'd arrived.

He idly noticed she had a strong grip. Yet another interesting quirk of this interesting woman.

---

Collective Moon Base – Earth Orbit

6/28/2017 – 11:42 A.M.

Her mask hooked to her side and hands clasped behind her back, Patricia looked over Earth. It was still a remarkable sight. A very deceptive image; it looked so peaceful and pristine. No reflection of the conflicts which raged upon its surface. No sign of the threat that lurked in its deep oceans.

There was an irony there.

It is no wonder the Sovereigns can hide so easily. In a galaxy with a trillion Earths, who can find and catalogue each one?

The link with the Imperator was strong now. It would need to be, as it was time to begin the attack on Turkey and the launch of the Shrouds. He was seeing through her eyes, and sensing her feelings. She had wondered if this strong of a link was normal, but Revelean had said it was a natural progression, especially if both were focused.

This Sovereign will not escape us. The noose begins to tighten.

And so it did.

It had started, and it would only strengthen as the days passed. ADVENT would continue to fight to the bitter end no doubt, but they would be defeated in time. When T'Leth was dead, when XCOM was dismantled; the power that protected ADVENT would be gone, and the war would end.

Peace. Preparation for the true war.

And the galaxy will be caught unprepared by our arrival.

When the legions of Imperators were awakened and marched to hunt the Sovereigns, the galaxy would know the Ethereals had returned.

She wondered how they would react. She wondered how the Commander, or Aegis, would react to learning that the Ethereals were far from dead. The Commander, she imagined, would react…poorly. Or, at least as poorly as could be expected. No doubt, he would plan, he would prepare.

But he knew when he was outmatched.

Still, she wondered what he would do.

"Harbinger," the Sargon lumbered over to her. "They are in position."

"Excellent," she gave him a nod. "Initialize."

The signals were sent, and the images displayed onscreen as the Sectoid fighters flew into position, unfurling the Shroud which would begin its work. One by one, they moved into position; easily synchronized with the position of the Earth relative to the cities that were being targeted.

One by one they stiffened, and darkness fell upon the world.

Patricia felt a slight amusement at the fact that today was Unification Day, and Saudia was about to give her speech. A speech which would, no doubt, be filled with defiance, hope and perseverance. One which would be quite stirring. But Patricia believed the words would fall flat when the sun itself was snuffed out.

Welcome to a world without light, Chancellor.

It was time to begin the next phase.

There was a Hiveship to summon.

---

ADVENT HQ - Switzerland

6/28/2017 – 11:51 A.M.

Saudia adjusted her sash one final time, checked herself in the mirror, and gave herself a small nod. Everything was impeccable, as much as it could be before the speech. She idly wondered how it would be received. A year was not necessarily a long time, but given the momentous, breakneck speed of the past year, it seemed an eternity.

In retrospect, it was amazing that ADVENT had done so much in such a relatively short amount of time. Moving from a dozen or so founding nations to controlling most of the world was no small feat, and the old world had degenerated to the point where those on the sidelines could only capitulate to one side or another.

Invasions, battles, traitors, and heroes. A new day, a new event.

They lived in interesting times.

She wouldn't have it any other way. This was what she had prepared for her whole life. The pinnacle of what they could achieve was being reached, and she would be there to lead Humanity to that future and beyond it.

"How do I look?" She turned to Ethan who was standing behind her, in his armor, sans the helmet.

"Perfect, as usual."

"I don't know why I ask you," she smirked. "You'll just flatter me."

"Never without reason," he said with an air of light sincerity. "You'll do well."

"I certainly hope so."

"People need a future to believe in. You'll give them that."

"Mmm, that is the ideal. We shall see. Initial feedback I received seemed positive."

"Timed with Scipio, the Collective won't miss the implication."

"That is the idea."

She finished up the rest of her minimal preparations, and Ethan put on his helmet as they walked out. He took his position, along with the rest of her personal guard, as they escorted her to the pavilion where she'd give her Unification Day address. As they walked, she noticed something odd happening.

"Is it supposed to rain?" She glanced out the window. "It's getting dark."

As she looked closer, she saw that it wasn't the darkness of an overcast sky. It was something much deeper than that; as if night itself was falling…in the middle of the day. Which was extremely odd, especially since the weather indicated that there were no anticipated storms today.

Ethan was radioing for an explanation, and they were holding before taking her out. Saudia did not have a good feeling about what was going on. "Can we move out?"

"Everything seems clear…" Ethan said hesitantly. "However…there's something happening."

"Clearly. What is it?"

"It seems like there is an eclipse happening," he said slowly. "Except it isn't going away – and it's not anywhere else either."

Her eyebrows furrowed. This immediately seemed suspicious, and there was only one likely culprit. "The Collective."

A brief pause. "We don't know right now, but it's likely they are behind this."

Saudia nodded. "Fine. If they think this is going to stop me, then I'll have to disappoint them."

"You want to continue with the address."

"We'll delay in time for security to adapt to the conditions," she said. "But, yes. This is not coincidental timing. Convey that to the staff and press."

"Yes, Saudia."

As Ethan conveyed her new instructions, she looked outside at the now-dark world, induced by alien technology. Unfortunately, it seemed as though she was going to have to make some slight modifications to what she'd planned to say.

Some, not all.

The people had purpose, and now – in darkness or not - she would give them hope.

---

To be continued in Chapter 66:

Under the Black Sun