Revenant
Salt Lake City, Utah – United States of America
7/12/2017 – 10:11 A.M.
It had definitely been too good to be true.
Volk had been sure there was going to be a catch somewhere, and lo and behold, he'd thought it prudent to take a day or two to get their bearings and figure out what to possibly do next. They had soon found that there was a Collective military force bearing down on them, and the entire city was mobilizing.
So there they were, two people, who'd just escaped an XCOM cell, with no actual identification, no resources, and no idea where to go, right in the middle of ADVENT territory. Elena had probably saved his life more than one time as she'd guided him through detours, down abandoned streets, and through empty roads to avoid potential sightings by ADVENT forces.
The first thing they'd done was find a map, which Elena had looked over. It wasn't exactly the best kind of map, a generic civilian one. Military ones were the best, since those were extremely detailed, and had routes and places that weren't necessarily useful to civilians, but for now it served well enough for her to find her way around.
They were not in the best of positions. They only had a place to stay in one of the communal shelters which took anyone during the fighting, and to keep suspicions low, Volk had (unfortunately) contributed some to the defenses to give the impression he was reliable. No fighting, he wasn't going to do that, but it was going to look odd if he didn't do something. It wasn't as though he was an old man. He was clearly fit enough to pitch in.
This, he considered sourly, seemed like the kind of irony that Gabriel would find enjoyment out of. He'd escaped XCOM, and was being forced to contribute to ADVENT's defense of the city, because if it fell, he'd probably not be one of the survivors unless he was very lucky.
He was watched by ADVENT soldiers the entire time he was working as well, which prevented the opportunity to sabotage – not like he could sabotage walls and food deliveries anyway. Thankfully they weren't zealous about checking IDs, and were focused instead on the enemy force outside their trenches.
Volk had heard that there was an Ethereal on the other side. One of the Guardians.
It was difficult to articulate just how much he hated being here. Not only was he in the heart of ADVENT territory, in the middle of an attack, and being forced to help them, he felt…trapped. He and Elena would bail at any other period. This was closer to a tomb than a defense, but escape was highly problematic.
Everywhere the Collective wasn't attacking, ADVENT had locked down. There were hundreds of Peacekeepers and soldiers along the streets, snipers on the roofs, and probably other tools and units waiting to see who tried to get in – or out. He had occasionally been told to stand still, and submit to scanning. The first time it had happened, he'd been thinking it was the end, but they had just said they were checking to make sure he was Human.
The Custodians had really spooked ADVENT enough to perform random tests on people. Or not random. Knowing ADVENT, they might have an algorithm that would order the systemic evaluation of anyone in the vicinity. Or maybe that was too elaborate.
In short, they were in quite the predicament.
Ironically, the people here were pleasant and kind. Volk admittedly hadn't thought much of the Mormons, but they'd treated him – and many of the others here – very well. There were sermons and such that they'd received invitations to, and a fair number of people took them up on the offer, though Volk and Elena weren't among them.
He had more important things to do than that.
There were a number of restaurants open still, with extremely discounted food given the war. Life actually was slightly normal in the city, despite the conflict on its perimeter, and even at a discount, businesses still worked. Volk's work had resulted in payment, either in cash or a bank account. Volk had taken the cash, as he wasn't about to admit that he didn't have an account.
In any case, he was going to use some of it now to get Elena a nicer meal for once. The food given by the Mormons was edible, but it was the same thing every day, and fairly basic. Not that he was going to complain since it was free, but it was objectively monotonous. The good news was that they shouldn't have had an outstanding criminal record, so no one would be looking for them – or shouldn't.
He'd debated shaving his beard, but that might make him more conspicuous. He'd just had to stick to keeping his 'homeless vagrant' disguise, which would probably only last so long. Fortunately, ADVENT remained focused on other things – and probably XCOM as well. He wondered what they thought of his escape.
Someone had probably gotten chewed out pretty hard for it. Not that it probably mattered, they'd gotten what they'd wanted out of his head, so they might still consider it a win. Oh well, it was…
He trailed off. Elena froze beside him as she also saw it.
Leaning against the wall in the restaurant entrance, not part of the line, and eating an apple, was Gabriel. Not in his XCOM uniform, but in simple civilian attire. A baseball cap, sunglasses, and a short-sleeve shirt would be a good enough disguise for most people, but Volk had some skill at identifying people.
Gabriel noticed their stares and smiled jovially, waving a hand. "Volikov! Over here!"
The fuck was he doing? Volk forced a smile, and quickly hustled over with Elena. A few people turned their heads, then shrugged and went back to whatever they were doing. "Gabriel," Volk said through gritted teeth, still trying to maintain the veneer of innocence. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Ah, well, life has been busy for all of us," Gabriel smiled easily, before gesturing to the line. "But I don't want to distract you! Both of you are hungry, I can tell."
"Oh no," Volk said. "Food can wait. There is a lot we have to talk about."
"Volikov, I insist," Gabriel clasped his hands together, tilting his head forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I assure you, there is no rush, and I am not going anywhere." The dangerous note in his voice lifted as he straightened. "And I must say, you have good taste. These Italian restaurants make delicious soups."
"Your compliment is noted," Volk said dryly, suppressing an internal sigh. Gabriel wasn't going to do anything until they had food for some reason. No point in dragging it out. They waited in line, as Gabriel went and took a seat along one of the benches of the far wall – not exactly a place for private conversation.
Volk deliberately did not order soup.
Their food ordered, they reluctantly went to where Gabriel was sitting, who perked up as they approached, his clasped hands resting on the table. "Sit down, make yourselves comfortable."
Volk didn't look around, though flicked his eyes to indicate the surroundings. "Are you sure this is a smart place to talk?"
"Where else, Volikov?" Gabriel snorted. "The heat outside, with the symphony of gunfire and artillery shells in the background? Hardly an ideal backdrop to such stimulating discussions. Do not worry," he waved a hand. "The all-seeing eyes and ears of ADVENT will not learn a thing. I have no intention of being discovered by a machine or by accident."
"Right," Volikov took a bite of his pasta. "Well, let's start – where the fuck have you been?"
"Conducting some business of my own," Gabriel smiled and took a bite of his apple. "Business which does not concern you."
"We've been here for weeks now – in the middle of ADVENT! In the middle of the siege!"
"Yes, and you are still alive and undiscovered, are you not?" Gabriel said dispassionately. "I had good reason to believe you would adapt, and you proved me correct. For that, congratulations." His eyes glinted in amusement. "What, did you simply expect orchestrating your escape to be easy? Please, even I can only operate with the scenarios and situations I am given, and sadly, this was your most viable."
Volk briefly closed his eyes. "Whatever. It's done, and we got out. For that…thank you. From both of us."
Gabriel inclined his head deeply. "No, no, the pleasure was all mine."
They ate for a few minutes in silence. Volk decided it was time. "You got us out. We agreed to a deal. What do you want?"
Gabriel unexpectedly waited a few minutes before answering. He slowly finished his apple, a delighted gleam in his eye. After chucking the apple core into a nearby trash can, he fixated on the couple, and began speaking. "There are two kinds of people I encounter – those who I happen to come across, those who need the aid only I can provide, and for whom I freely offer my services – and those who seek me out."
He leaned back slightly. "Now make no mistake – I have little issue providing my services to such people, so long as they are willing to pay the necessary prices. Prices which are higher than, say, what I would require from you. Only the desperate, or particularly devious seek me out – and yet there are a few special souls who believe that they can cheat me."
Volk raised an eyebrow. "Cheat you?"
"Oh, it's far more common than you think," Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. "It's amusing, they believe the more complex they weave their demands, the more traps they supposedly set, the easier they can escape the consequences of repayment. What they fail to realize is that I know all of their tricks and have seen the ends long before I agreed to their wishes."
Gabriel looked into Volk's eyes. "Now let me tell you a story about one of these individuals. A man who had undergone a change of heart, who had decided to turn against those who had once saved his kind. Tyrants, who ruled his people through puppets. Those who repressed, who controlled, and who weakened his people, turning them into slaves and docile servants."
"But he was only one man. One man against beings and armies far more powerful than he alone could hope to face. Hopeless, and by fate or accident, my attention was attracted. The man, intelligent and cunning, explained to me his plight, framing it in the noblest of terms. Freedom fighters against a dictatorship, oppression, and slavery."
Gabriel trailed off briefly. "They are all like that, especially the smart ones. So confident in their charisma and persuasion that they fail to see such does not matter. A pact was struck, and I granted him the means to wage his conflict. His nature soon shone through, in a most potent way. The veneer of nobility fell, and what had been granted allowed him to pursue his true goals, driven not by nobility, but hatred."
He smiled. "A man who has killed thousands of innocents without remorse, who has put cities and communities to flame and disease, and who has plotted the genocide of millions of his own people. I assure you, he is a man who deserves death ten times over. Terrorist or monster, the term is up to you."
"And…what?" Volk asked. "Do you want him dead?"
"Dead? No, much as he deserves it," Gabriel emphatically shook his head. "No, I can abide a monster, but I cannot abide a cheat. I want what he owes me. What he promised me."
"And…why can't you take it?"
"Rules," Gabriel said with just a hint of frustration. "Rules too complex to explain, if you would comprehend them at all. Beyond that – principle. I am, ultimately, a man of my word, and there is a pact to fulfill. This man was clever, and established some final conditions should the pact be finalized – specific things that would need to be fulfilled."
Gabriel laced his fingers together. "For that, I need an intermediary to act in my stead. You, in this case."
"And…what would I have to do?"
"What he wants," Gabriel said. "I expect something rather spectacular or impossible – the ones clever enough to ascribe conditions to such pacts usually do so. The problem with such an approach is that it rarely is impossible, simply difficult. Perhaps impossible for a single person…but do not fear, you will have my personal support on your quests."
"So you want me to be a glorified errand boy," Volk said flatly. "For a self-described monster."
"If you want to use that kind of language…yes," Gabriel smiled. "Do not fret, I do not expect it to be overly taxing for a man of your talents – and you would have my personal protection. No fear of XCOM, ADVENT, the Ethereals, what have you – and if it assuages your conscience, I highly doubt that he will order something truly abhorrent – or at least what you would be incapable of carrying out. He is a man of practicality as well as hatred."
A finger raised. "And I do not intend to leave you unrewarded for such efforts, oh no. It is only fair that you also be given the opportunity to…carry out your own vision," the eyes of the man gleamed. "An opportunity to carry out justice in your unjust world. Perhaps a chance to right some wrongs. You have targets, individuals marked for death. Bigger than meaningless medics and soldiers. Those with power. Fulfill the requests of this man, and I will allow you to act as you see fit."
"At what cost?"
"I do so appreciate a savvy partner," Gabriel chuckled. "My talents, unfortunately, are not limitless, and should I devote them to you, I expect them to bear fruit. If you are skeptical, your first target to be provided will be offered, without cost. Subsequent ones?" His smile turned darker. "We will discuss. There are others like the man you will meet – and if we want to extend this partnership beyond our current pact…well, we can have that discussion when the time comes."
"Well," Volk paused for a moment. "I suppose this is what I have to do. Best to get it done with. Though how will we even get there? I'm assuming this man isn't on Earth."
"No, he is not, but have no fear," Gabriel assured him. "I will make sure you are able to get there without issue."
"Can I at least get the name of this man?" Volk asked. "Is it someone I would know?"
"Unlikely, but I shall answer all the same," Gabriel said with a smile. "His name is Miridian."
Mars Observation Station – Mars Orbit
7/17/2017 – 2:18 P.M.
Eyes were closed as Nemo stood alone in the room it had been given, once more thankfully shorn of form and body. It felt…wrong to remain in a singular form for too long. It had decided to remain in the female form for some time, curious to see how it would affect its mind and operation.
It appeared that was unnecessary; as the constraints and irregularities of the body became more troublesome; imprisoning. Nemo disliked the permanence of form, perhaps because it had never been imprisoned in one from the beginning. It wondered if there was an innate psychological acceptance aliens possessed that had not been included in its creation.
Almost a shame. The freedom to shift between forms, bodies, and faces was one of the few pleasures it could uncritically possess. It had only lasted several days more before Nemo had taken a knife to the dead face, ripping it off in a mix of pain and the ecstasy of freedom, as it had later cut off the pieces of excess flesh from the body.
And Nemo was Nothing again.
It was curious. It learned something new about itself. A weakness perhaps, or a preference? No matter what it was, it was interesting, and it was far better to know about one's limitations than learn them under duress. It was considering other little challenges, ones to push it out of its comfort zone just a little bit.
Though such would probably wait until after the next mission – whatever that was.
Nemo had observed the ongoing campaign with a mixture of interest and dry amusement. Both sides, fighting for torn lands and sacrificing men and resources to color a piece of map differently. Of course, the ideological component was what drove the conflict, and it was curious to observe how intangibles could drive a conflict.
It was a very Human thing it had learned from research.
Humans were highly emotional creatures. It was rational for beings to fight for tangible things. Their lives, their families, their belongings, even more abstract concepts like 'nation', for at least that had a tangible component to it. Yet Humans had an obsession over ideology and belief.
They fought for concepts like 'freedom' and 'hope', they fought for government configurations like 'democracy', or sometimes literal economic systems, 'socialism' or 'communism'. It had initially been confusing – for there were many different interpretations and understandings of such abstract wishes, but then Nemo had realized that was the point.
Everyone had a different idea of what their dream was – what mattered was who was able to convince the majority that their vision, their belief, was the same shared one. Nemo wondered if this was why ADVENT was successful. It was able to successfully appeal to people of so many disparate definitions and mental states and convince them that they were the same – or at least aligned.
Of course, the simple answer was that a common enemy made for an easier time of unification, but ADVENT was doing much more than a simple military alliance. They were building – or had built by this point – the new world. One which would endure for a thousand years should they survive.
Would it? Would ADVENT be able to retain its pragmatism and incredible power even within a decade when there was no longer a common enemy? Human empires had a mixed track record, and from Nemo's research, there wasn't anything even remotely comparable to ADVENT.
But there was one thing Nemo understood – the people who made ADVENT knew what they were doing. They were ruthless in a way that it respected. Dissent to the vision of Saudia and the Commander of XCOM, a vision that had expanded to many others in ADVENT, was not merely ignored. It was erased; crushed; eradicated. Its enemies executed or condemned to the darkness of irrelevancy.
ADVENT was in a unique position. They had control of the world – outside of the lands the Collective controlled. There was no outside power. It was almost a shame that the chances of its survival were low. Nemo was extremely curious to see what would happen in a post-war ADVENT.
However, it did seem they would survive a little while longer.
A Hiveship destroyed. An Ethereal captured. The Second Guardian.
Nemo could not say it cared overmuch. Perhaps the Battlemaster would attempt to negotiate, perhaps he would not. If an Ethereal died, then it was a shame, but it was unlikely to affect the outcome of the war. The Ravaged One had died. Isomnum had died. The war had continued.
The Second Guardian was hardly an Ethereal powerhouse. Dangerous, but replaceable with a Meat Puppet or two. The Hive Commander was similarly a pointless loss. It would return, just as they always did.
The thought pushed a breath of air from Nemo's lips.
Hive Commanders were a fascinating disappointment. The opportunity to live out so many different lives, and they squandered it by simply being the same person each time. Such in his eyes would be more akin to a curse, yet one that the Hive Commanders lived willingly. It was enough to make Nemo shake his head.
The air brushed against its exposed skin. Or perhaps lack of skin.
It stood before the mirror, a patchwork of colors and textures over its body. It was undecided what form it wanted to sculpt for itself this time. Humans in general were a limited species cosmetically, they only shared one race, and restricted their appearance to the gender binary and skin color. There was only so much it could do with those restrictions.
Yet there was something Nemo enjoyed about finding a Human form it approved of. Perhaps it was the limitations themselves, while they lacked the unique races of the Vitakara, he could do more with a Human than a Vitakarian. It was the eyes, Nemo believed, there was something about Human eyes that was enrapturing.
Even if this quality was something it could not inject into the form.
What to do…
Nemo flexed its fingers, holding them up to the light. A pleasant tan, ever so slightly on the whiter side, the hand resembling a more feminine structure. Hmm, no, a woman had been a form used long enough. A male seemed appealing at this moment. Nemo nodded. Well, that was one question solved.
A bigger male this time. Push beyond the heights it was used to.
Of course, it was likely that this form would need to be discarded for the next mission, but that was fine. Nemo did not want to be a walking nothing anymore, a new form called, and it was time to form around it. A trance settled over Nemo, as the vision in its mind took root, and the hands moved as they began cutting.
The Prism
7/16/2017 – 10:22 P.M.
The deliberations of the Throne World had apparently not been long.
The so-called Sage-King was not going to emerge from his world – but he was going to send another in his place. A General, or some such equivalent. Good, a military-minded ambassador was an appropriate choice, though no description had been provided as to who this individual would be.
It was presumably someone with enough authority to negotiate.
The Battlemaster waited in his armor, as did Yang. It would take them away from the battlefields for a period, but there were several hours that were available, and this was the only location he was certain he could secure. The battle was still raging over the Hiveship, and it appeared that ADVENT was putting a significant amount of resources into it.
In his estimation, they were threatening to take it.
He would have to assess the consequences of that following this meeting. One which would be consequential – one way or another. Yang fiddled with her bracer, seated, and enjoying a brief reprieve from the fighting. "Are you sure they will come?"
"Yes. They did not strike me as a people who would retract agreements like this."
She grunted. "We can hope. I don't know if we can trust them, though."
"Not trust. Not yet."
A few minutes passed, then before them manifested a blue portal. A wave of chilling cold; cold he remembered from New York hit him and Yang in a wave. He stiffened and his hand tightened around his weapon. Yang's were similarly in her hand. Yet no snow or frost blew in from the portal.
Instead, a figure stepped through – a towering man in silver armor who carried a staff with an orb atop it. A figure that the Battlemaster recalled from New York, as the unique halo of the helmet along with the staff was difficult to forget – especially with how he had poured over the memories.
"Battlemaster," the man said, his voice accented, but easily understandable. "As requested, I have been sent on behalf of the Sage-King of the Aen Elle to negotiate, per your outreach."
The Battlemaster nodded once, and ever-so-slightly relaxed. "And your name."
"If we exchange names, Battlemaster, yours will have to be offered as well," the helmet tilted forward. "I am a General of the Riders, in service to my Lord of the Throne World. You may address me as such."
"A fair proposition," the Battlemaster said. "From where in the galaxy do you hail? I have never encountered your kind, nor read of others who have."
There was a pause. "We are not of your galaxy, Battlemaster. Our interest in your galaxy is purely self-preservation. We are sheltered, isolated from the few who threaten us."
"Then enlighten me," the Battlemaster said. "Why did you interfere in our conflict? We were unaware of you, and had not considered anything which could be construed as a threat."
"We were not in New York because of you or your conflict," the General said flatly. "We are…pursuing dissidents. Traitors. Ones who have aligned with the powerful entities. The Sovereign One T'Leth and XCOM."
Were they now. Well, if that wasn't interesting. "It appears we share some common enemies."
"To a certain degree," the General nodded. "Rarely did they extend beyond the reach of their Sovereign protector. We observed an opportunity to enter and finish this issue, but there were complications. Ones which alerted your people to our existence. The species of your galaxy were more dangerous than anticipated. You should not have been able to match the Warmaster, yet you did so. For that, you are to be commended."
Curiously enough, the General seemed to mean it, despite what the words could have implied. A compliment it seemed was rare for these people, and considering the caliber of who he had fought, it did seem likely that few were able to match him. "Your warrior fought well. Better than most who face me."
"Indeed," a sharp nod. "We are not your enemy, nor have a desire to become such. We would not be speaking now were it not for your encounter with the Entity."
"Yes. Explain what it is."
"What it is matters very little," the General said. "We remain ignorant as to what its physical nature is – only that it does not belong on our three-dimensional plane. Our scientists believe that it is from a plane inaccessible to us, but it has not been confirmed. That is our best assumption. Others are…worse."
He shook his head. "The Entity is a deceiver. It does nothing except what it finds curious and fascinating. Its goals center around itself, there are no grand plots, no complex schemes – only small, focused narratives that end in tragedy or death. It lures individuals in with promises, it knows things on an intimate level, things it should not know. Most importantly, it knows what you want. This sounds familiar, does it not?"
"Yes."
"You're smarter than most," the General said. "The paradox of the Entity is not that it will not fulfill its word – but it will fulfill it in a way that punishes you. No matter how many words you use, no matter how many tricks and traps you lay in a pact, it will be subverted. You cannot deal with the Entity, not unless you wish to sacrifice what you care for."
A hand visibly gripped the staff tightly. "The odds are against those who are unfortunate enough to encounter it. It will appear convincing – it knows what it takes to convince you, it knows what buttons to push, and what words to say. And it is patient. We were fortunate enough to capture it. Once. We held it for centuries to use your time spans. It was undeterred, and through hundreds of years, subverted one of its guards, and departed. It will come in your moment of weakness to give you what you want. Few are capable of refusing, even if they know in their hearts it is wrong."
"What you say reflects my experience," the Battlemaster said slowly. "But why am I supposed to believe you? You are not one to paint this entity in a positive light."
"Because you also suspect this," the General said. "You are skeptical; you know nothing is offered without a price. Because you agreed to listen to me, you are in a position where you seek assistance; where you need assurance. The Entity could provide you such, but you also know that there is a catch. A price. One you do not know if you can pay. You want an alternative; an out." The crystal in the staff seemed to glow brighter, or perhaps it was the light. "That is what we are for you, Battlemaster. An out. It is a victory to remove one from the grasp of the Entity, and to drive it away from this sphere."
The man wasn't wrong. The Battlemaster didn't look at Yang, but he could sense her feelings through the bond. She was leaning towards listening to him. Their suspicion of the entity was shared and strong – even if he had come through. "Then what is to be done – simply refuse further offers?"
"Unfortunately not," the General looked to one of his hands. "You bear the mark. The agreement you made with the Entity was not fulfilled."
"It was not? It said there was no price to it."
"Ah, that is why this Entity is dangerous," the General nodded. "Fortunately for you, it is not a high price. I expect it was some clever wordplay, likely implying that you both would speak again. Until that happens, then the mark will remain. The Entity will only remove a mark when the agreement has been fulfilled. It cannot be otherwise removed."
"And what then?" The Battlemaster asked. "Kill it?"
"Not unless you wish to die or suffer a worse fate," the General said emphatically. "That is not how it can be beaten. Your weapons are useless. Your best option is to divest yourself from the Entity fully. No deals, no promises. The Entity will leave, it does not bother with those who are familiar with its machinations."
"But you do not want it gone, you want it captured."
"Banished," the General corrected. "Even captivity seems to do little."
"What if his game could be turned?" Yang spoke up. "Simply ask for your demand to be to…well, banish himself. Or kill himself."
"Such has been attempted, and usually abandoned," the General said. "The Entity has said it would comply – until the price has been explained. Would you condemn your species to extinction? A galaxy? A universe? To ensure that it would not trouble anyone ever again?"
Yang's mouth closed.
"It is a noble effort," the General acknowledged. "One might be willing to sacrifice their lives. Monsters? Perhaps trillions of lives. But such individuals are the ones who would be the first to accept the promise of power; of surety without considering the consequences. Yet you are on the correct path, Human. There is a way to challenge the Entity without tricks or traps. Yet it is dangerous. Only one man has successfully done so that we have learned."
"Who?"
"The Lord to whom I serve," the General said. "He engaged in a contest of mind and guile – and emerged victorious. There is only one weakness of the Entity – arrogance. Arrogance born of truth, but when the advantages it has are stripped, then it is capable of being outwitted. It is how the Entity was captured. He believed all that had to be done was secure the Entity, and it would pose a threat no more. Otherwise, he would have banished it."
The Battlemaster nodded slowly. "If that is the case, then why does he not do so again?"
The Battlemaster could hear a smile behind the helmet. "The Entity would not risk engaging with one who was capable of outwitting it. It will never again approach my Lord, out of shame or embarrassment."
The implication was clear. "You want me to engage the Entity in a similar manner."
A nod. "We may not have this chance again. You bear the mark, and are the only one we are aware of. Only one who bears the mark can invoke the right to Challenge. However…the personal risks are high. The decision will be up to you – we will not force you to undergo it, displacing yourself from the hold of the Entity is, as I said, a victory."
There was a short pause. The Battlemaster finally spoke. "But your aid is conditioned on my decision."
"To a degree," the General said. "We want the Entity banished forever. Doing so would cement our commitment to your cause. However, one day we would find another, and forcing it to flee elsewhere is worth some level of gratitude. We treat our allies fairly. But we cannot allow one to willingly place themselves under the Entity's influence."
"Nor do I want to," the Battlemaster said. "But I am hardly of the intellectual caliber to…engage with such a creature, and emerge victorious. I can wage a war, but this is a field beyond my experience."
"Is it?" The General wondered. "I am not convinced. You see yourself as a simple soldier, yet you are wise enough to avoid the temptations of the Entity outright, you seek out answers and knowledge – and you are wily enough to prepare a revolution to preserve that which you love. A simple soldier you are not, nor should you think of yourself as such."
A pause. "Do not think that the Entity will be unaware of this. It will know that we support you, we will prepare you, the stakes are high, and we will not permit you to fend for yourself. Succeed, and you will ensure that this Entity will be unable to threaten and ruin again. It is larger than your Collective, even your galaxy, but it is the stakes we find ourselves facing."
Stakes which were clear, the Battlemaster could see, and there was a way he was leaning. "If the Entity is as knowing as you say, then it will not come back to me. If only to avoid the Challenge."
"It will, actually," the General corrected. "The Entity is just as bound to the agreement as you are – it merely has flexibility as to how that is interpreted. It will come to you again, as it has to. More importantly – it cannot resist a challenge. It will underestimate you. Fear is not something it experiences, especially if there is an opportunity to bring others down. That is a fear you can dismiss. It will come to you again, and you must decide what you will do."
And the choice was stark and clear. The Battlemaster did not want to engage any longer with the Entity – but there was the choice of how to approach the wishes of these aliens. He did not sense deception from them. The choice between saving himself, or potentially saving many more.
The fact was that even if he refused the Entity, there was little to say that it wouldn't seek out a more malleable target elsewhere. The Imperator would be one to think he could outwit this Entity. His treatment of the Bringer proved this. It would be a hollow victory if he refused, only to be directly brought down by the ambitions of others.
When that angle was considered, there was only one rational choice.
Yang concurred.
He finally nodded. "Very well. Tell me what I must do."
Unknown Time
Unknown Location
The dreams were composed of nothingness at first.
Blackness; relief; rest. The blissful realm of unconsciousness.
Bliss that faded as the flickers of life returned, coloring the memories Angela had. Minds that buzzed on the edges of her consciousness; gnats that she could sense, that flickered and went out, which appeared and then faded out. People moving to and around her. Her mind was too fractured to focus on any of them, but she could feel their presence.
And as time passed, more of her came back. Ever so slightly she woke up more and more.
It was a long road; one that was harder now. It was much easier to just remain in the blissful fugue, yet something wouldn't let her. Her memories were too scattered at the moment to focus on the details, but she felt that she didn't want to wake up. Or perhaps she wanted to. A nightmare she was fleeing from.
Maybe it was time to wake up.
Coming to was an experience of delayed terror. She was aware of her surroundings before her body caught up. She could feel the cold blowing air on her arms; a hospital, probably. She could feel the fabric of the blanket over her. Her arms had been arranged to rest on her stomach, one hand placed over the other.
A faint buzzing reached her ears, which she soon realized was a machine beeping. There was the sound of air running, a ventilator it sounded like. There was something odd about her face and mouth, and a second later she realized that it was because there was an oxygen mask over her face.
And something in her throat.
With effort, she finally forced her eyes open, and fully returned to consciousness. The light was dimmed so as not to be too bad, which was good because she couldn't move. She was awake, but couldn't move anything. She could feel her heart rate spike as that thought entered. Was she paralyzed?
That would be the end to this miserable adventure.
Awake, she could face reality.
It had happened. All of it.
All of them were dead. Each one of them. Joel. Young. Oscar. Cecilia. Glen…it was almost hard to really accept this had happened. The lone survivor. That's something she'd inherently dreaded, but that didn't happen to her. It couldn't. Or shouldn't. What were the chances that could happen?
She could deal with death. She'd prepared for it. All soldiers did. If she'd died side by side with her soldiers, that was a good death. Or in place of one of her squadmates. But to survive, while everyone died around her? That…she hadn't really prepared for. To live while everyone around her died.
Bradley was alive, but brain-dead. It was effectively the same thing.
Everyone, gone.
Even if she couldn't move, some part of her still worked, as the corners of her eyes turned wet. She could hear voices nearby, ones coming closer. One of them spoke a few times before the words really registered.
"Psion Blackburn?"
She couldn't turn her head. She couldn't move at all. It was a female voice, and soon a woman in a doctor's coat walked to the end of her bed. It was a middle-aged woman, pulled back black hair, Arabic features, and brown skin. So she was probably still in the Middle East, maybe still in Syria.
She made tentative light telepathic contact with her, incapable of speaking anyway else. Even this effort was difficult. Yes…I'm awake.
The woman breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, I'm glad to hear it. There were several periods where we were afraid we lost you." There was a pause, as she finished. "I'm Dr. Coria el-Saab, and contrary to what you may be thinking, we're not in the Middle East. We're in Ohio."
Ohio? The States?
Why can't I move? What…happened?
Coria's lips pursed. "In a word – psionics. Whatever the Hive Commander did – Which you prevented from affecting everyone else – has effectively shut down your body. Right now, your lungs, heart, nerves…it's all failed. You're being kept alive by machines – only a few places have the teams and technology to keep you alive – and after what you did, we were not going to let you die."
She almost wished they had. It at least made sense for why there was a tube in her throat, and she didn't want to think about how she looked or how many tubes were coming into her.
If it's psionics…shouldn't I have recovered?
"Normally, you should," she said slowly. "But consultation with PRIESTs seems to point to the attack being based in lower brain telepathy. Are you familiar with the term?"
That was…bad. Yes, I am.
"Good, good," she nodded. "That is what you've been subjected to. An attack which has successfully breached your mind. Your body is still trying to shut down, and we're preventing that. Your deterioration is likely to continue, and we're likely to incorporate some experimental procedures to keep you almost completely functional."
She paused. "We're looking into long-term methods to remove the telepathic command, but the PRIESTs have said that such would be difficult…and dangerous for you."
That it would be, if what she remembered about lower brain telepathy was right. She was mildly surprised she was still alive, and she must have received immediate medical attention afterwards. Will I be able to move again?
"If all goes well? Yes, absolutely," she said. "I can't guarantee full functionality, but you'll be able to move. When you fall back asleep, and wake up, I would expect it as our procedures kick in. You're scheduled for surgery in a few days, where we're going to put in several augments so we can take out the tube in your throat, for example."
What's the bad news?
"Depends," she said slowly. "But as you are a soldier…you won't be able to fight again, not until there is technology to fully automate certain procedures. I'm sorry, but…the attack is too debilitating. You can probably feel the effects already."
She could. Even though she couldn't move, she could feel how…degraded her body was. Weak. Even…what, hours after the attack? She could only imagine how bad it would be if there wasn't ADVENT technology keeping her together. It almost felt like a worthless investment. She was just one psion. And one who'd failed to keep her comrades safe or alive.
"That's precisely why we are doing this," Coria said gently, and with a start, Angela realized that she'd shared the mixture of emotions and pity she'd been thinking. "You're a hero, even if it's difficult now. Your selflessness saved dozens, or hundreds, from what you're experiencing now. And from what I heard, you didn't hesitate. You protected everyone you could. You did exactly what ADVENT expects of you, and we're not going to treat you any less than the way you deserve."
Praise she felt wasn't deserved but…there wasn't a point fighting it. Now though…
What now? What happens to me?
"First, surgeries," she said. "Restore your bodily functionality. I can't say you'll be able to walk right away, or run, but that should be the priority, first and foremost. Then…we'll figure something out. There are some ADVENT officials who are going to come talk to you. I suppose it depends – what do you want to do?"
Angela was silent for a moment. I don't have anything left. I'll do whatever I can to help. Somehow.
"I'll pass that along," she said softly with a nod, her eyes focusing on one of the monitors Angela couldn't see. "I'm going to put you under, if that's alright. Just need some parts of your body to stabilize."
Ok.
The doctor made some adjustments, and a feeling of cold flowed through her body, which soon turned to numbness, and then once more she fell into the realm of unconsciousness.
Nulorian Outpost – Borelian Wastes
7/3/2017 – 12:22 P.M.
The Commander saw no reason to drag this out. "No."
Miridian didn't seem outwardly surprised. "No?"
"No," the Commander repeated again. "For one – attacking an Ethereal with your forces is suicidal. More importantly – Mortis'Ligna is currently a non-factor in the conflict, and we would prefer he not become one. We have more valid wartime targets than a disillusioned Ethereal, not to mention his sister would react poorly to an attack – successful or otherwise."
"Are you entertaining the idea that this Ethereal will not eventually be your enemy?" Miridian unexpectedly smiled. "That is a poor assessment."
"Perhaps eventually," the Commander was undeterred. "Not now, and I don't make more enemies when they don't need to be made."
"Unfortunate," Miridian walked around the holotable. "There might not be a better chance at this."
"Probably not. This operation will not go forward – officially or unofficially." He met Miridian's shining eyes. "I'm very familiar with how these organizations work," he warned. "No operations, or 'independent breakaways'. Or there will be consequences."
"You can save your threats, Commander," Miridian lifted a hand, and he could feel the resignation. The terrorist mastermind had no intention of pushing this forward. "There will be no attack on Mortis. It was an opportunistic operation, at least – the main goal remains the Aui'Vitakar. Of which I presume you also wish to discuss."
"Yes, bring it up," Miridian brought up a holographic mockup of the Aui'Vitakar building. In the city of Vitiary, which was one of the most urban areas of the planet. It was going to be one of the most protected for that measure. In short, the Commander knew that it wasn't going to be an easy operation.
"An attack on the Aui'Vitakar has been a contingency at one point or another," Miridian stated. "This schematic has been custom-made from information gathered by in-city agents, captured Zararch, and what little technical readouts we've acquired. I'm confident the parts that are important are accurate – and thanks to psions the hardest parts can be bypassed."
The Commander nodded. "One of the Agents will assist in getting the operatives inside. How many do you think you'll take?"
"Two dozen, maybe a few more, plus however many you want to send of your own," Miridian counted off his fingers. "I doubt that more will be needed. Once the building is locked down, we have the advantage. The automated systems will also be used to our advantage. The most important part is connecting Siaru to the Aui'Vitakar system – once that is done, we have control."
"Or JULIAN could assist," the Commander offered.
Miridian shook his head. "Your AI may be useful, but Siaru is a known quantity to me. I'm not going to risk it for this kind of crucial operation. The offer is, of course, appreciated."
Appreciated and ignored. The Commander wasn't overly surprised, but he felt he needed to make an attempt. There was something he did not like about the machine intelligence Miridian had found. He wasn't the only one either, those kinds of intelligence didn't just appear out of nowhere…or shouldn't, anyway.
He felt there was more going on than he knew, but that would be pushing Miridian too far to dig deeper. As of now, Siaru had been useful. Hopefully, it would continue to be. "You have a list of targets finalized."
"Yes, with the Sar'Manda boycotting the gathering, that issue is neatly solved," he said. "Roughly half of them will be interrogated, along with any you want to have your people go over, the rest will be terminated. Unless they surrender, in which case we will hold them…" he waved a hand vaguely. "Indefinitely."
The Commander furrowed his brow. "I hope the Sar'Manda decision won't raise suspicions."
"It won't, the Sar'Manda do this all the time, and who is going to do anything about it even if they do have suspicions?" Miridian asked. "Invade the Manda? No, the Sar'Manda are insolent and antagonistic. Everyone knows this, and it is unlikely they would suspect much."
"Our psions can conduct the interrogations," the Commander said. "If left to your people, I imagine they will be messy and likely unproductive."
"I doubt that," Miridian said dryly. "We are quite skilled at extracting what we need from Zararch. A bunch of soft politicians will be ludicrously simple. We're not barbarians using hammers and knives."
The Commander raised an eyebrow. "I've seen some of the corpses."
"When we have what we need, there's no reason to keep them alive," Miridian said dispassionately. "They are dead anyway, little reason to make their deaths peaceful. No less than they deserve, if there are any who deserve painful deaths, it is the Zararch – and collaborators who champion alien rule."
The Commander disliked that rationale. He understood it, but disliked it. Torture for the sake of it had always struck him as unproductive and barbaric. Even during the War on Terror he'd used it as a tool, though had witnessed firsthand how the Caliphate and opposing partisan organizations were more interested in inflicting pain than using such for information.
Still, he did understand it. The temptation was strong, and easy to internally justify, especially against an oppressor. He couldn't find it in his heart to feel for a Zararch agent, and as for collaborators, it…varied. Some deserved no pity, but a majority were either making do with the best they could, or believed that what they were doing was right. No malicious goals or ambitions.
He felt most of the Aui'Vitakar fell into the latter. It wasn't as though they were Zararch or Runianarch. The Vitakara were not malicious collaborators, they were merely ignorant, and easily taken advantage of by the Collective.
"It is not going to help your cause if you kill half of them, and torture the rest to death," he finally said. "That will not win you the support you need."
"When the people realize what has been done, it will be justified," Miridian stood his ground. "This is not merely revenge, Commander. This is the fate of those who have allowed our species to be indoctrinated as Ethereal slaves. The Aui'Vitakar has no power, and that is because they gave it away. They could have acted to curtail the Zararch, establish an independent military, or do anything to give even the illusion of independence. And they have not. The status quo was all they wished. The Ethereals were safe, stable. Easier to sell your life away for comfort, than make a hard choice to act against power."
He paused. "I wonder if that is a universal truth with all species. The easy, safe path is the most appealing, even if it isn't the right one. That cannot be changed with conciliation and understanding. The mindset must be shocked and horrified. The Aui'Vitakar are criminal collaborators, and they will be dealt with as such. There will be no half-measures."
"And what is it you want?" The Commander crossed his arms. "I know – but you seem to be perpetually locked in the mindset of an insurgent. You offer nothing but violence and a destruction of the system. Fine for now, but it does not translate to a legitimate government; a replacement. Governments don't go around killing every single criminal they find who are not of sufficient ideological purity, dictatorships do that – and I don't think you want to see yourself as a despot."
"There is no alternative government, and there cannot be one until the existing one is destroyed," Miridian snapped. "When we have some territory and can operate in a place somewhere beyond this wasteland, then ask that question again."
"You can't go both ways," the Commander maintained. "You can either act to pave the way for an alternative, or you become that alternative. You want to do the latter, but aren't taking any of the steps to do this correctly. Terrorism is useful to break apart the state, but it does little for cultivating loyalty from the people. If you want to be seen as a legitimate state? Then this is an opportunity to act like one."
Miridian sighed. "You have your idea. Say it."
"Invade the Aui'Vitakar, capture them, interrogate them – without unnecessary measures," the Commander said. "Then put them on trial. Broadcast it to the world. You'll no doubt find them guilty of collaboration, and they can be sentenced. Some to death, others to imprisonment on Earth. The point is the Nulorian will need to move beyond being seen as terrorists if you want any legitimacy – from the people, the Collective, or ADVENT."
Miridian pursed his lips, and was silent for a few moments. "It sounds like doing what we were already planning, but with less blood, and extra unnecessary steps. At the same time, it is not an…unreasonable idea. One I will need to speak to my officers about. XCOM will be informed before the operation takes place. I make no promises."
He would make no promises, but the Commander knew he'd won this argument. Not necessarily because Miridian agreed with him, but the implicit threat that ADVENT would not view a Nulorian government as legitimate was concerning to him, especially since he knew of the defectors on Earth who were effectively establishing a rival government.
And he did not like rivals.
He would convince his people, and there would be a much more professional outcome to this – provided it was just as clean in the field, of which there was still some doubt. Still, it was better than the alternative. "Understood," the Commander finally said, as Miridian shut the hologram down. "We will be in touch."
Office of the Chancellor, Geneva – Switzerland
7/19/2017 – 10:22 A.M.
Today was, indisputably, a good day.
A day good enough that Saudia felt like indulging slightly. Though that would be for tonight; today was an important day and she had quite a few meetings to attend. Regardless of the conflicts still raging, there was one thing certain – they had scored several major victories that the Collective could not hide.
The Second Guardian was being held within a secure cell, one guarded by some of ADVENT and XCOM's most powerful psions, in addition to a couple Agents of T'Leth, as well as several subtly-placed orbs. The Ethereal was physically encased in a restraining box strong enough that even the Battlemaster couldn't escape, and being continuously pumped full of sedatives normally reserved for elephants, but were rather effective on resistant Ethereals.
Her weapons, armor, and equipment had been confiscated by a joint ADVENT-XCOM team, and there would probably be some dispute over who got what. Something that would be decided soon. "Drink?" She asked the Commander, seated opposite her. "I'd say the occasion warrants it?"
"It does, but I'll pass for now," the Commander waved off. "Not until some decisions have been reached."
"Very well," Saudia leaned forward. "I doubt there is significant conflict here. The Second Guardian doubtlessly knows things, which we should extract from her. Then, we put her before a tribunal, sentence, and execute her. Agree?"
"I'm not inherently opposed," the Commander said slowly. "I have no issue with executing her, though she could be more valuable alive."
"If the Collective attempts to negotiate?" Saudia asked. "Thus far there's been nothing. I'm expecting that trend to continue. I'm also skeptical of what they could possibly offer in return."
"A cease-fire would be useful," the Commander said.
She pondered that for a moment. "It would. Which is why they won't offer it."
"I'm unsure," the Commander mused. "There are few Ethereals left. Every one of them is valuable in their own way, and Aegis is convinced they will eventually reach out. They do not want her to die."
"Neither does Aegis, I assume," she noted.
"No, he does not," the Commander said curtly. "He's against execution."
"Unfortunately, it's not up to him," Saudia commented dryly. "He can complain all he wants, she is going to be tried, sentenced, and executed, and we will send a message to the Collective that their masters are just as mortal as they are. It wouldn't even be a significant escalation. It isn't like she's especially important in the wider war effort."
"She's not as prominent as the Battlemaster, but the Collective will treat it as an escalation," the Commander disputed. "If they ever capture one of our people, they'll use her as a reason to execute them."
"I agree, but we don't have a choice," Saudia said. "We cannot keep an Ethereal locked up indefinitely. Too much of a risk, and a strong likelihood of a break-in. If we could break in and rescue Caelior, the Collective will absolutely be able to do the same to her. Even if T'Leth provides protection, that can be subverted if the Collective devotes enough resources to it."
"Unfortunately, you're right," the Commander sighed. "Nonetheless, Aegis is going to push for it, and the alien defectors will also not support her execution."
"I'm sure," Saudia said. "But in this case, the opinions of aliens are irrelevant. This is about security for ADVENT, and the Second Guardian is a significant security risk. Last time you got Caelior, this time we will decide her fate." She raised an eyebrow. "Unless Aegis thinks he can turn her as well?"
The Commander chuckled. "No, even he will not argue that."
"And what is his argument?"
"Escalation, that she can be safely kept alive, that killing her would not be done because she deserves it, but for political reasons," the Commander rattled off the gauntlet of reasons. "Some arguments are better than others. But we all know the reason is because there are so few Ethereals left that killing one is…something he cannot advocate for."
"He is aware that the Second Guardian was trying to kill him, right?" Saudia asked rhetorically. "And if she was not, there are a few thousand ADVENT soldiers who have died to her. Their lives are certainly worth that of an Ethereal – one taking part in an unjustified war."
"If a tribunal goes forward, Aegis is going to want to represent her," the Commander said. "I believe that will be legal."
"And I would prefer he didn't do that," Saudia said. "Not because he would win – but because that would make him deeply unpopular, and more likely to be ignored in the future. You should tell Aegis to send his complaints to the Collective for fighting this war at all – the fault lies solely with them."
"I'll pass that along, though I do not think he will listen," the Commander said. "Now, what else was there?"
Saudia briefly checked her computer. "Operations are proceeding in Ukraine and Turkey. The loss of the Hiveship has shattered any semblance of command in Turkey, and Commander Christiaens has estimated that the nation will fall within a week. Ukraine is less certain, as it is still being supplied and supported by the Battlemaster. More resources may have to be deployed to properly combat it."
The Commander nodded, rubbing his chin. "Scipio?"
"Stalled, for now," Saudia said, grimacing. "It was inevitable, but we're not keeping the gains we're pushing for. Given the state of deep-SAS defenses, we're unlikely to break through. We're pushing with later phases to focus on agricultural and infrastructural sabotage. Admiral Grady is going to also continue harassment from the coast."
"That may be risky," the Commander frowned. "That is in Nigeria. They may consider that more threatening."
"He's done well so far," Saudia noted. "Laura and I are inclined to trust his judgement. He took Malabo with limited cost."
"And pushing it will attract attention," the Commander finished. "I'd prefer that he not be assassinated by Macula."
"There remains a PRIEST unit on his ship," Saudia reminded him. "And Macula appears occupied on the front lines. But I'm sure he appreciates your concern."
"I'm sure," the Commander said dryly. "I'm not on the ground there, if he thinks he can succeed, I wish him the best of luck. What of Seoul?"
Saudia smiled. "Holding strong. Daedalus has proven to be a success, and Patricia's massive force is now bogged down – and we expect her to be there for a long, long time. I don't believe she anticipated the sophistication of the defenses." Saudia briefly checked the notes. "There's been reports of some sabotage and behind-the-lines assassination, which are attributed to Quisilia's Avatars."
"And how did you determine that?"
"It wasn't hard," Saudia snorted. "They posted it on social media."
"Of course they did," the Commander said dryly. "I suppose that was to be expected."
"The Shrouds are also being dealt with," Saudia continued, reaching over and pulling out a file. "Something that I originally believed was a ludicrous idea, but for reasons that are beyond me, the science appears to back it. Take a look."
The Commander did, and spent a few minutes looking through the collection of schematics, projections, and data that described the Thunderwell Project. He frowned, as she expected. "This seems like a significant amount of effort for a very specialized problem."
"The Shrouds are an issue with no simple answer," Saudia said. "Firing missiles would get them shot down. Railguns take too long to build, and are prone to sabotage. Thunderwells can be built in a relatively short period of time, and are projected to completely destroy the Shroud. Thanks to the Collective being very selective in their targets, this prevents them from being used in those locations again unless they want another blast."
"I feel like there is something I am missing," the Commander pointed a finger on the schematic. "This is effectively digging a hole in the ground, putting a projectile atop it, while using a nuclear bomb as propellant, which will send it flying fast enough to penetrate the atmosphere, destroy the Shroud, and be impossible for the point-defense systems to stop. Am I understanding that correctly?"
"Yes," Saudia smiled in amusement. "Simple. Almost ridiculously so. But it is supposed to work. All of our models project such. Our alternatives are much riskier, costlier, and are unfortunately not as good."
"In which case, I suppose there is little more I can say," the Commander put the file back on the table. "We'll be willing to provide what we can."
"I don't suppose Caelior could destroy them?" Saudia asked half-seriously.
"Get him close enough, and he'd try," the Commander said. "But unfortunately it is out of his capabilities from Earth."
"A shame," Saudia laced her fingers together. "There is one more thing I'll keep you apprised of. ADVENT is preparing to break into an old Soviet-era bunker. President Savvin believes there may be something useful in it. If you want to send one of your teams or scientists, you'd be welcome too."
"Really?" The Commander seemed intrigued. "No indication on what could be in it?"
"No, and there are no records that have been found that say what the installation was used for. It could end up being nothing, or it could help in some way," Saudia said. "Regardless, we expect to enter it in the next week."
"I will have someone prepared to go along," the Commander nodded. "I appreciate the offer."
"We both have an interest in making sure this war ends with our victory," Saudia said. "That includes keeping everyone informed. We'll give the Collective a few days to reach out for negotiations, and if they're nothing, we'll proceed with the tribunal. I'd suggest you prepare Aegis for that, especially if he insists on representing her."
"I'll do that," the Commander stood. "Until next time, Chancellor. Tell Ethan I said hello."
"I'll do that, Commander. Don't forget to celebrate as well."
"Don't worry," the Commander had a gleam in his eye. "I'll give myself a little time for that."
Malabo Harbor
7/22/2017 11:00 AM
The time had come. The seven days Grady had provided for the SAS to evacuate the city of Douala had passed relatively uneventfully. Missiles attacks had continued, of course, but few had managed to get through and thankfully the civilian population was not targeted. It seemed Betos still had some minor influence in such decisions. Grady similarly found the death of civilians to be unfortunate, but he also knew that it was, to some extent, inevitable and unavoidable in war.
He'd learned that the hard way during the War on Terror. His position at the time kept him far away from the action, and he'd mainly coordinated air support missions and missile strikes from his carrier group. He'd been somewhat removed from the violence on the ground, but he could still see the UAV footage and satellite images. The Caliphate had seemed to take an almost perverse joy in forcing coalition forces to choose between eliminating them or protecting the civilians they used as shields.
He'd spoken to a few of the army officers who had been there on the ground. It had been madness, bloodthirst wedded to maniacal zeal. Some of the worst qualities of Humanity came out during the war, and it wasn't just the Caliphate or the Commander who had gotten their hands dirty. Perhaps that was why the world had so quickly tried to move on, to forget. The extreme suppression of Islam in the West being an attempt to solve the matter of Islamic extremism for good. It had mostly succeeded, though some argued it was more the immense loss of life and damage to Islamic organizations worldwide during the war that brought the matter to a close.
They had all thought the world would be at peace after that. After the end of WW2 and later the Cold War, terrorism was the only real threat to global stability left. Many had dared to believe the Long Peace might at last be fully assured.
Then the Collective came.
Things had nearly been back to normal when the abductions began. At first individuals, a marked rise in missing persons, then whole households started disappearing. Finally, the first town had gone dark and the truth became impossible to ignore. It had been a near miracle the world did not devolve into panic when word got out that the abductions were the result of aliens.
Exactly how many civilians had been abducted was still impossible to determine. There were just so many cases and once the invasion began in earnest many records became inaccessible and what resources existed to keep track of such information had been stretched well beyond their capacity. What was certain was that the number was easily in the millions by now. So many people vanished without a trace. The "missing millions," as dubbed by the media. No one wanted to think about what happened to those who were shipped off world. It was, however, seen as a fate worse than death. The Collective may have finally cleaned up their act, if the Battlemaster was to be believed, but no one wanted to test it. Even if the Battlemaster was telling the truth, he was not the one in charge. Too many events had occurred without his sanction (supposedly). To Grady, he was either a liar or effectively powerless.
Betos was about the only person among the enemy who seemed to have a good track record on the matter so far. Something that made her decision to side with such monsters all the more hypocritical. Still, he would return the courtesy, provided they took him seriously. The fact it served ADVENT's goals nicely to create more refugees was a nice bonus.
As he adjusted his place in his seat on the bridge he looked at the satellite image of Douala. The missile batteries were kept near the heart of town, mostly on the east side. That might ordinarily pose a minor problem, but he doubted they could be defended, even if they survived his opening move.
He was glad ADVENT had approved his plan, they had even helped select the optimal target. If all went well, the vast majority of the damage would be confined to the city, leaving most of the surrounding ecosystem intact. They had, however, told him that they would not approve additional strikes of such a kind unless there was a clear and present need, and no viable alternative.
Fair enough.
"Do you remember what to do, officer?" he asked Francetti.
His XO nodded. "Yes sir, though I'm not sure why it's necessary."
"Nonetheless, repeat it back to me."
She sighed before reciting her instructions. "When you look at your watch I am to order a burst of three active sonar pings. I don't suppose you'd be willing to fill us all in on what exactly this plan of yours is?"
"What? And spoil the surprise? Besides, if all goes well it won't be necessary. Has Anye arrived yet?"
"I am here, Admiral." Anye said, having just entered the bridge.
"Good, let's hope they are willing to see reason. It's their only chance at survival."
"You said the same thing to me, I recall." Anye replied dryly.
"This time it's even more true," he emphasized. "Take my word for it. If they surrender, and hand over or destroy all their weapons and supplies, they won't be harmed. I don't care if the city is destroyed or not at this point; I just need them to stop pestering us."
Franchetti frowned. "Sir, shouldn't we be a bit closer to our target? I thought we were going to launch an amphibious assault. You've had the men training on the beaches nearby for the last week after all."
"I'll go to them when I'm good and ready. Now, open a channel."
"Acknowledged." With crisp precision, she motioned to the nearby staff. "You heard him - get on it comms."
After a few moments he received a notification on his tablet that a connection had been established. The image of an irritated and slightly damp looking Vitakarian military officer appeared on screen. A male, from the looks of it, though it was hard to tell sometimes. The humidity probably wasn't pleasant for those not already accustomed to it.
"This is Station Officer Runi'loran'vitiary," the alien said, his voice betraying none of the discomfort he likely was in. "State your purpose for contacting this line, Human."
"I would prefer to discuss that with the local ranking officer. Please get them on the line."
The eyes of the alien narrowed. "Please identify yourself."
Grady raised an eyebrow at this. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or offended that they didn't recognize him. "This is Rear Admiral James Grady of the African Fleet, ADVENT Navy. I would have thought you'd be told to expect me, guess that's above your paygrade though."
That name did seem to trigger something, as the Vitakarian seemed to twitch ever so slightly. There was a brief pause. "Please hold." The video briefly went to black, and what seemed like stock music started playing. This had to have been repurposed Human systems - he just couldn't believe that aliens would also use repetitive holding music.
Grady turned to Francetti. "I only just called and they already put me on hold?"
She seemed to stifle a laugh at that. "At least it's not an answering machine, sir."
"Oh god, don't give them any ideas," He laughed. "The last thing I want to do is deal with numberpad menu options with the CODEX."
There was a minute of waiting, and then the face of another Vitakarian appeared, this one a woman...probably. She seemed much more comfortable than the previous officer, and her blue eyes glowed brightly as she addressed him. "This is Regional Commander Runi'chloha'viaras, of the Ethereal Collective Operation to support the Sovereign African States. I didn't expect you to contact me, Admiral. Please explain yourself."
"You're not who I wished to contact," Grady replied. "Can you please put me through to the SAS commander?"
The answer was immediate. "I am authorized to handle communications between the SAS and exterior factions. I repeat - please explain why you are contacting us."
Grady frowned at that. "Could have sworn this was SAS territory." He turned to Anye. "It seems they've opted to drop the charade entirely."
He let out a sigh before resuming his conversation with the Vitakarian officer. "Anyway, that's all well and good. Now, would you be so kind as to handle communications and transfer me to the SAS commander in charge there?"
The Vitakarian's eyes narrowed. "I have been placed in explicit command of all communications. At the very least, please explain why you are contacting us. I will not do more until that is provided. Is that understood?"
"Ah, I see you need to know what department to transfer me to," Grady nodded. "My apologies. I should have specified. I'm here to negotiate the surrender of all forces in the city of Douala. Is there a button I have to press, or is that also within your power?"
Grady had not seen an alien blanch before, but this seemed like the closest thing there was to it. Her voice was similarly colored in confusion. "You want to...negotiate...the surrender of Douala. Am I understanding your intentions correctly? Please clarify."
"Yes, that's correct. Is this perhaps a bad time? I gave you a week to evacuate, and I know you've finished relocating the civilian population."
She didn't even bother to address that, and briefly seemed unsure what to do. Finally, she spoke once more, in a deliberately neutral voice. "Please hold for a moment, Admiral."
The screen went dark again, and this time there was sadly no music.
"They put me on hold again?" Grady sniffed indignantly. "Well, at least there's no more of that damn music. I swear it's always scratched up and off key, no matter what."
Francetti seemed to be having visible difficulty keeping a straight face.
"Is something the matter, officer?"
"No sir," she said, choking back her laughter. "Just clearing my throat."
Suddenly someone could be heard clearing their throat from elsewhere on the bridge. "Admiral, as amusing as this may be, I was led to believe I might be needed to help convince the garrison to stand down." Anye interjected.
"Ah, I'm sorry Anye, it seems the Collective opted to strip even the illusion of independence from the SAS. It's unlikely I will be able to reach them directly, and I doubt whoever the Collective connects me to this time will be any more inclined to reduce the coming bloodshed. I'm afraid there may not be another option this time." Grady responded apologetically. "If you want, you can leave. I won't make you watch what happens next if negotiations break down."
Anye shook his head. "Appreciated, Admiral, but I will see this through. It's the least I can do." He paused briefly. "What exactly do you have planned? You have barely said a word to anyone about it apparently."
"Sorry about that, I take operational security very seriously. The less people who know the big picture, the harder it is for the Collective to catch wind of it. I can say this, for the vast majority of them, it will be quick. They won't even know what hit them." Grady stated somberly.
"That is...something, at least. I know some of the men there. Not well, but still. I was hoping I might be able to convince them to stand down." Anye seemed resigned at this point.
He was very likely about to watch thousands of his fellow countrymen die, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was still a slim possibility the next person he spoke to would see reason...but at this point, he was just waiting for his offer to be refused so he could move ahead.
Situation Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location
7/19/2017 – 7:22 P.M.
The divide was clear in the Internal Council.
"She is a combatant, one who was captured," Aegis said, his voice with an edge in it the Commander had never really heard before. "Imprisonment, sentencing, such actions can be supported. They are expected during warfare. But I cannot support execution for the simple crime of existing. She is no monster."
"Monster or not, she is an Ethereal," Zhang was unmoved. "And hostile Ethereals are liabilities. Better to terminate each one we can, when we can. Otherwise we will regret it."
"And how is that?" Aegis demanded. "She is currently being properly secured."
"Temporarily," Creed interjected. "For now, it is sufficient. But we do not have the resources to maintain a constant vigil over her for an extended period of time. The Agents of T'Leth are not going to be glorified bodyguards, and the same applies to ADVENT and our best psions."
Ariel coughed, slightly awkwardly. "With respect, Creed…T'Leth is likely more than sufficient."
"As it stands? I don't agree," the Commander shook his head, arms crossed. "This only works under the assumption that the Collective won't make an effort to take her back. If she is kept alive, they will. They have their own Sovereign ally – one they are drawing more and more upon. T'Leth's power will be pointless when the Battlemaster storms the holding cell – and they will learn where it is."
"Maybe, but in principle I also agree with Aegis," Ariel continued. "Like it or not – the Second Guardian is a combatant. She's not been involved in atrocities like Isomnum was, nor has done more than ordered."
"Correct," Aegis said with a sharp nod. "She bears no blame for this war. It was not her decision. If merely participating is cause for execution, then why take prisoners at all? What purpose is there for the Collective to surrender or negotiate when all that is possible is death?"
"I agree – were it not for the fact that she is an Ethereal," the Commander pointed out, frowning. "They cannot be judged in the same light as other aliens, no matter how much you wish to avoid this fact. If she is kept alive, and freed, how many soldiers will she kill? She will pose an enduring threat, one which can shape the direction of the war. This is as much about strategy as principle. And the fact is that keeping the Second Guardian alive is dangerous."
"If I may, Commander, perhaps we could use this to our advantage," Vahlen spoke up. The Commander motioned for her to continue. "I confess that killing the Second Guardian would be questionable, because of the points that Aegis has raised regarding combatants, and because I do believe we can guarantee she would not be a problem, even if she was freed."
"Elaborate," the Commander said.
"Simply put, we sabotage her," Vahlen said. "Manchurian Restraints, implanted bombs, nanite cocktails that run on deadman switches that require daily resets, and kill switches if necessary. It is very likely the Collective would be able to neutralize one such failsafe – but every one of them? That can be made impossible."
"The idea is sound," Kong said, rubbing his chin. "It would not be difficult to devise the implants and nanites necessary to do this…though to my knowledge, this kind of utilization has not been done before. There is a possibility it could fail, though in this case, failure would mean the death of the Second Guardian, not the technology itself."
That was an idea, but to the Commander that seemed like a lot of resources for ensuring the inevitable. Even if it were publicized, the Commander suspected an attempt would be made. At the same time, it was a compromise he could accept the argument for. He looked to the Ethereal. "Aegis?"
"I dislike the idea of risking her life further on untested technology," Aegis said slowly. "However, the options that are broadly acceptable are limited, and I am willing to compromise, so long as she is kept alive. She does not deserve to die, Commander. She is merely on the wrong side. In time, I believe I can make her see reason."
The Commander raised an eyebrow. "A change of tune? I thought you said that was impossible."
"It is unlikely," Aegis said bluntly. "But the Second Guardian is not an ideologue like the Imperator. She is bound to a greater mission, and perhaps if it is approached from the fact the Imperator has threatened our species for his pointless plan with the Sovereigns, she will be more receptive. She may merely require an alternate path."
"I significantly doubt she'll help us," Jackson grunted.
"No, she will never help you," Aegis agreed. "However, she can be made a non-entity. One not loyal to the Imperator. I shall have to think on how best to approach this."
That was…questionable. The Commander felt there was another reason Aegis was now bringing this up, and it wasn't for the reasons that he was giving. If he was framing it as turning her from the Imperator, the next plausible option would be…himself. Aegis had effective authority over Caelior, and had only defected because of issues taken with the Imperator.
If Aegis was planning to establish a legitimate alternative for Ethereals…that was a plausible plan, though one the Commander was unsure how much he wished to invest in. Aegis had his own vision for the Collective after the war – this might very well be a piece of it. "I wouldn't make premature decisions," Zhang said. "ADVENT may insist on her execution. The media seems to be priming the people for this outcome."
"It won't be decided by the media, thankfully," the Commander said. "But ADVENT will have a trial. Saudia is open to you acting in a defense capacity, Aegis."
"That is good, but if this is an acceptable approach, then I would request XCOM provide formal support," Aegis said. "It will be easy to ignore an Ethereal, allied or no. It will be more difficult if XCOM can provide their own support."
The Commander considered that. "Only after Vahlen and Mercado can confirm the procedure would be effective. If that is done…then XCOM will publicly support your defense of the Second Guardian."
"Thank you, Commander." Aegis paused. "This is…important. Even as your enemy, there are few of my kind left. She is not one who deserves to perish in this war, and I cannot accept doing nothing in the face of this, even should it draw the ire of your people."
"That I understand," the Commander said, with a wave of his hand. "Perhaps the Collective will attempt to negotiate, and this will be unnecessary."
"Perhaps, but that will depend on the Imperator," Aegis said. "I suspect an attempt will be made, though I am skeptical that significant effort will be put into it. He knows there is little that can be offered that can be accepted. But we shall see, Commander, we shall see."
Seoul Outskirts – South Korea
7/24/2017 – 11:22 A.M.
The familiar sounds of shells, artillery fire, screams, and fighters roaring overhead filled Patricia's ears as she oversaw another day of conflict. Unlike the previous assaults she had led, however, this one was going to take a dedicated effort to take down. She could begrudgingly admit that ADVENT had outdone themselves.
It was almost like this had been specifically tuned to be able to defend against someone like her. She didn't have the opportunity to more directly use her power, lest large swathes of her army be destroyed with the near-constant artillery fire. Shield generators were being built with the intention of mitigating the strain on her, but those were taking time, and it turned the offensive into a defensive – which was what ADVENT wanted.
They didn't need to win, they just needed to turn this into a siege. ADVENT could easily withstand a siege.
It wasn't just the copious number of artillery batteries within Seoul and the former DMZ. Scouts and scans showed that the entrenched defenses were even more extensive than Busan. Four trench layers deep, Flak Towers tightly interspersed, and the closest skyscrapers and buildings fortified and the windows torn out with gauss cannons and missile launchers installed.
She was fairly certain at one point she had been the one to suggest that.
While it was much less obvious, there were definitely Orbs of T'Leth strewn around, or if there wasn't, ADVENT had some way of blocking her telepathy. It wasn't everywhere, but it would prevent a mass telepathic attack. Everywhere else there were PRIESTs of various disciplines.
The Mori Twins had made themselves useful as the fighting had proceeded, infiltrating behind enemy lines, stealing uniforms, and reporting what else ADVENT had prepared. It was risky, and they didn't help themselves with their need to document everything – a bad habit they'd picked up from Quisilia.
Though Patricia didn't mind much as long as they accomplished their mission. Thanks to them, they had a good read on how ADVENT had established the DMZ artillery – a place much less secure than Seoul proper, and were able to confirm that ADVENT had rigged Seoul with enough traps, defensive fortifications, and supplies to be able to wage a guerilla conflict for weeks to months afterwards.
Well, so long as there weren't psions in the mix. Then it would just be weeks.
Still, in the event that they managed to take Seoul, it was going to be a nightmare to properly secure. ADVENT was going to try and make this as painful and drawn-out as possible. Not that she blamed them, she would do the same, and it was why it was going to be more satisfying to beat them properly.
Busan had been a victory, but a fairly hollow one. There was something in beating your enemy on even ground. She could understand the Battlemaster's mindset somewhat better, though unlike him, she wasn't above using the resources she had at her disposal. And right now, ADVENT had set themselves up for a little bit of disruption.
It would be a shame if some of those traps were triggered prematurely.
The laser from the sky was something that had continued ravaging their forces. She could obviously block it with psionics, but the issue was that it was fast. Fast as light, in fact, and they'd been able to get some scans and video, and after Fectorian had looked at them, had proposed that it was a directed energy weapon of some sort.
Scans had confirmed that there was no orbital weapon, and soon enough they'd figured out how ADVENT was doing it. Drones. The final piece came when they captured an image of the split-second before the weapon fired. A laser shooting from the ground, bouncing off the drone, and into the target – which this time had been a Sectopod.
A laser then. A very high-powered laser.
One which likely took up a significant amount of energy, else ADVENT would be firing it continuously. She was currently trying to determine the length it likely took between blasts. She was deliberately keeping a portion of her army undefended to bait out the laser, and luckily it seemed ADVENT was willing to use the laser on some expendable Mutons.
Between four to six hours seemed to be the cooldown. Reasonable. Unless the drones were made out of a special material, each one likely also had to be expended. The good news was that if it could be sabotaged, ADVENT probably wouldn't be able to find a replacement easily.
She'd sent a request to the Zar'Chon. He said he'd prepare a team, one which would have to work with the Mori Twins who would be the infiltrators. Apparently, he had someone in mind. Patricia wasn't certain the infiltration would succeed, but it was absolutely necessary that the laser be destroyed.
The longer she stood atop a hill, maintaining a massive psionic barrier that stretched far over the hills and mountains, the more she was able to think of what to do next. There was something almost tranquil about watching the battle take place before her, the streaks of green and orange; the sounds of jets and missiles roaring.
Perhaps it was the link, as the Imperator's power and confidence flowed through her. Something which allowed her to think clearly, to push aside the weariness and exhaustion that would have crippled anyone else. She was certain that Seoul could be beaten – it would merely require the right approach and plan.
It was easier to pick out what would not work first. A frontal assault was almost certainly doomed. Overwhelming numbers could achieve victory, but it would be too costly, and personally she didn't believe it would happen unless ADVENT did nothing to mitigate the assault, like bringing in XCOM or Aegis.
Overwhelming firepower would likely achieve success, but that would take time to achieve the required saturation before visible progress was made. Neither side would run out of supplies thanks to Gateways, so that was a non-factor (one she suspected gave military strategists headaches given how important supply lines had always been in war).
Psionics were of limited effectiveness. Telepathy was mitigated, and every other discipline required some level of closeness to the city, which would be difficult to achieve, and would do nothing but draw directed fire. Possible in theory…but that also made the generous assumption that ADVENT wouldn't counter that either with their psions, or elites like XCOM.
So, what was left? Sabotage was a valid tactic, and one she intended to employ, but ADVENT would adapt after only a few instances, so the few chances she had must be important. Even if she didn't have to worry about this, it would definitely not be enough to bring the city down.
An answer that had emerged had only happened as she reflected on all previous battles, and she had almost chuckled when the realization came to her.
Bioweapons.
Guns, psionics, and numbers wouldn't be enough to bring Seoul down, but a disease certainly could. It didn't even need to be a fatal one – just one contagious and debilitating enough to cripple the men and women in the trenches. It had worked in China, to a fairly large degree of success.
And so long as they could get into the city, they could begin to spread it. ADVENT would likely adapt, but it would be some days before they knew what was happening, and then they would be forced to alter their entire defense plan to prevent the spread, which would hinder their defense.
With taking advantage of the right moments, and more liberal spreading of a bioweapon, they could turn the conflict into one that was more costly for ADVENT to maintain. They could send replacement soldiers, they could deploy medics, they could employ quarantine measures, but this would do nothing but degrade their ability to defend.
ADVENT had done their job too well. If she couldn't take the city conventionally, she would have to look to alternative methods. That was how the Commander would have solved this problem, and she thought that he would understand, even if not exactly agree with her in this instance.
This was a plan that would require patience. ADVENT believed they had the momentum now that the Second Guardian had been captured. For now they did.
She would ensure that this momentum was halted in its tracks.
The Neutral Zone - Cambodia
7/21/2017 – 7:22 P.M.
The newly constructed camp lacked the sophistication and infrastructure of most military or even civilian bases, but it was sufficient to do what was intended for it. It had rained earlier, and there were puddles of mud and the grass glittered with the dew that rested on the blades. Most of the water pooled in the ruts left by the boots of soldiers and tires of cars.
There was a mixture of alien and Human guards, or those who passed for such anyway. They lacked any of the markings of ADVENT or the Collective, though the equipment they used was clearly Collective in origin, likely procured, as who was going to refuse an Ethereal. These guards stood on the outskirts of the self-declared "Neutral Zone", and fighting could be heard in the distance, as both sides fought to claim or defend territory.
They shrank back as the Battlemaster approached. He did not speak, but his hands were empty. He did not come here to fight, and while they were uncomfortable, they clearly also seemed to understand this, even if they had their eyes trained on him every step of the way. He had not visited Sana's little outpost before, but it was roughly what he expected.
Modular buildings, able to be quickly fabricated, with small generators to serve as makeshift medical centers. Or more accurately, recovery rooms, since Sana likely did not need much actual medical equipment. Small groups of Sana's medics were also roaming around, and quickly moved out of his way as he moved past. He noticed there were some Humans among them now, and there hadn't been before.
It did not take him long to find Sana, who was in the largest central module, in discussion with several medics, when she saw him, and motioned for them to leave. "Battlemaster," she said, in a deliberately neutral tone. "Welcome."
"You've established yourself," he noted, looking around pointedly. "I see you have no shortage of patients."
"I do not," Sana said. "I have come to…agreements, with local ADVENT and Collective commanders. They are permitted to bring their wounded here without fear of attack, and they will be returned when they are healed. Refugees are also brought here. Everyone is under my protection."
"And the guards."
"Those who want to see the war end," she said. "There are more of them than either you or ADVENT realize."
"We all wish to see the war end," the Battlemaster said. "But most prefer to see it won."
"I cannot disagree," she turned to a nearby table and took off her gloves. "Why are you here, Battlemaster? I will not return and sanction your war."
"I am not here for that," the Battlemaster said, stepping forward. "You have likely heard the news. The Second Guardian has been captured by ADVENT."
"I have heard," she nodded. "You are opening negotiations? I know they will kill her if they are afforded the opportunity."
"Yes, and I will not permit that," he assured her. "I have reached out to tentatively establish negotiations with ADVENT. They are open to them, though they appear to be skeptical of what can be offered. They likely believe I am stalling to mount a rescue operation."
"Are you?"
"Not yet," he said. "ADVENT will hold to their word – so I will not intentionally break it unless negotiations fail. I believe that Aegis similarly does not want the Second Guardian to be executed – and neither do you."
"No," Sana shook her head. "A participant she may be, but she is one of us. If she is captured, execution is not justice."
"I agree, though my goal is to bring her back," the Battlemaster said. "I want you to mediate the negotiations."
She seemed slightly taken aback at that. "ADVENT does not trust me, and neither do you."
"I can understand your stance, even if I disagree," the Battlemaster said carefully. "You are not on any side here, but you have an interest in this being resolved with some degree of nuance. You are known to ADVENT and XCOM, and they know you would not involve yourself unless everyone was serious about negotiations. You will legitimize my interest, and ADVENT may be less inclined to consider it stalling."
"I do not know if they will view this the same way," Sana said slowly. "But…we are aligned on this. If ADVENT is willing, I will mediate your negotiations. My people here will manage should I leave temporarily."
"Good," the Battlemaster nodded. "I will propose that to ADVENT. Their acceptance or refusal will also determine if they are serious about an offer as well. I believe they are willing – but they do not believe there is a point to it."
"Perhaps this will be a first step in reconciliation," Sana said, half to herself. "Was this…requested by the Imperator?"
"No."
"No?"
"The Imperator is…occupied," the Battlemaster waved a hand, unable to keep his voice devoid of low anger. "He believes negotiations are pointless, and the Second Guardian will be recovered through an operation. This is a foolish stance, as it assumes that ADVENT and XCOM will take no precautions. Though I believe it is simpler, he considers the Second Guardian expendable, and Patricia is drawing his focus in Seoul."
"Disgraceful," Sana said bitterly. "With so few of us left, we cannot afford to treat each other as…disposable. Replaceable. I do not understand what he is thinking? She is one of the last of us!"
"I do not know either," the Battlemaster said. "But I will do what I can to free her. It is my hope you will have a role in this." He paused. "I do not expect it to be long before ADVENT responds. I will convey it to you as well."
"I will be waiting," she said. "And thank you for coming to me. I feared that you and others would view me as a traitor."
"You are one," he said bluntly. "But you follow your own path, and it is…easier to lose faith in these times. And you are one of us, even if you have walked your path. Even Aegis is still one of us, even if he opposes me. We do not kill our own. Each of us can understand this."
"It is not us that will need to be convinced," Sana said. "It will be the Humans."
"Yes, and it will not be easy," the Battlemaster considered it briefly. "But I believe their leaders can be convinced."
"What will you offer them?" Sana asked. "They will extract a high price?"
"That depends," the Battlemaster said. "On how much they wish to demand."
Cleveland Clinic, Ohio – United States of America
7/27/2017 – 2:22 P.M.
There was…progress.
Small, incremental, progress. Progress she forced herself through each day. Each day fighting for survival was something that wasn't just metaphorical, it was deeply and physically her reality. The good news was that the surgeries had been completed successfully…relatively speaking.
She could move her body now. She could speak. She was no longer a prisoner in her own body, and for that she was relieved. Though Angela wasn't blind to the fact that it just made her acutely aware of just how ravaged she had been by the Hive Commander's attack.
It was difficult to look at herself in a mirror now. She was practically a husk of what she had been. It'd been almost difficult to believe that her body could cannibalize itself so completely and so quickly, yet it was impossible to ignore. She looked like an anorexic, her body unhealthily thin. Her limbs which had been in excellent shape were closer to twigs.
It wasn't as though she had been a bodybuilder like some of the soldiers, but she could very easily hold her own, and without a doubt in better shape than most of the population, but now she struggled to lift even basic weights for daily exercises, which the therapists insisted she try every day.
Her face was gaunt, and eyes sunken in. Her eyesight was thankfully still working for the most part, though it blurred every so often. Her hair was also starting to come out in larger clumps, and she was faced with the uncomfortable realization that it was likely all going to fall out eventually. With the machines only on her vital organs working to keep her alive, things like hair simply weren't prioritized.
Even though she could move, it was difficult to get out of the bed and even just walk around. She'd learned when to listen to, and ignore her body, and it was only minutes of walking before it was screaming at her to take a rest. She was so…frail now. Far from a soldier fighting to defend Humanity. The aftershock of a grenade would probably be enough to kill her now, and her reflexes were too slow, and her joints too weak to protect herself.
It hurt to speak too. Her voice was like sand, it hurt to talk for long periods of time, and she'd reverted to communicating in a mixture of telepathy and verbal speaking. She hated having to do that, but otherwise it was too painful, and the doctors kept saying not to hurt herself when she didn't have too.
Quite literally, she had to treat her body carefully, or one time it might push it too far and the machines couldn't save her. She knew she had a number of implants in her now, ones which were keeping her heart beating, her lungs pumping air, and her nerves from shriveling. Specialized nanite ports had also been installed, which were injected every four hours to stave off the worst of her body's cannibalization, while IV lines pumped her full of fluids and substances to keep her from starving to death, in addition to what she was already eating.
She was much less hungry than she'd thought she would be. On her own there was no way to willingly consume the amount of nutrients her body needed, so the doctors had directly pumped them into her. Even with the implants, if she wasn't getting the fluids, nanites, and nutrients from the machine, she'd die within days.
This more or less put an end to any hopes of things going back to normal. How could she be useful to anyone in this state?
Nothing seemed to crystalize this when she saw the expressions of her parents who'd flown in to visit her. She hadn't even known they'd come, and had only been informed a few hours ago that they were waiting to see her. Apparently they'd been waiting a few days, and hadn't been able to see her since she'd been in and out of surgery (and consciousness).
Now though she was conscious and stable enough for some visitors.
She gave them a wan smile, to try and assuage and ignore the expressions on their faces. Both of her parents held hands as they beheld their daughter. Stephen and Claudia Blackburn, both beginning to develop some grey hairs as they gracefully aged, though to her they both seemed older than she remembered. There was a look in the eyes of her father that hadn't been there before she'd gone off to serve ADVENT.
She felt there was a reflection of her own eyes in them. She'd always taken after her dad more than mother, though she did have her mother's hair as opposed to the blond that colored her father's. It shouldn't be a surprise, she supposed. The war was stressing everyone, and with her being on the front lines, and now hearing that she was the sole survivor of her squad…
Well, they were arguably taking it well.
"Hey Ang," her mom said, forcing a smile of her own. She knew how she looked to them. Like a shriveled husk opposed to how they remembered her. Her mother was probably stronger than she was right now, and she was only a few inches above five and a half feet. "I'm so glad to see you alive."
"Thanks," she said. "I...can't talk for a long time."
"Hey, it's ok," her dad walked over, and sat down on her bed, and pulled her into a hug. She felt so weak when he did that, it reminded her when she was younger and he'd picked her up like she was nothing more than a "sack of potatoes". She struggled to bring her arms around him, but she did it.
"Careful, careful!" Her mom admonished. "You don't want to hurt her!"
It's ok. Angela projected. I've gotten through worse than this.
Her mom briefly flinched, but it was more surprise than anything else. "Oh! I keep forgetting you can do that."
"I prefer not to when I don't have to," Angela said, weakly motioning to her face. But I can't talk for too long. Otherwise it...hurts.
"How are you doing?" Her dad asked.
She weakly shrugged. I'm alive. Don't worry, I know I look bad.
"But you'll get better," he said. "You always do."
She wished she could be so sure. Maybe in the future, but for now this was her future, and she'd keep fighting through it. She didn't say that to them. "I'm definitely not going to die in a hospital bed dad, I can promise you that. If a fucking Hive Commander couldn't put me down, a few drugs definitely aren't."
Both parents smiled at that, reassured their girl was still herself and her mind was strong if her body wasn't. "That's what I'm talking about," her dad said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me you at least killed that alien who did this?"
Can't take all the credit, but yeah, he's in little pieces now. She cocked her head. They didn't give you the details, I assume.
"Not explicit ones," her mom shook her head. "Just that you'd been wounded by a dangerous alien and saved a lot of people in the process." she weakly smiled. "Sounds like you're a hero."
Hero.
That definitely wasn't how she felt right now. Saving people wasn't something heroes did. That was literally part of the job. People had this idea that saving others made one a hero, and maybe to some it did, but there were...so many other people who deserved the label of hero more than she did. She saved people, sure, but in that battle alone, there'd been dozens of other soldiers who'd put themselves in harms way before letting others be hurt. They'd saved people, and were just as much a hero as she was.
For all the people she'd saved, there were others she'd lost who cut just as deep.
This might all just be her own pessimism and disillusionment with herself coming into effect. She appreciated what they were saying though. "Don't know about 'hero,' mom, but thanks."
"Hero or not," her dad squeezed her hand. "We're just glad you're ok."
Angela smiled. So am I. And that you came to visit.
They continued talking for a while yet, and the conversation turned to less intense topics, like how they'd been doing, what her hospital experience had been like, and largely avoiding talk about the war and invasion itself. No reason to get into those topics, though dad did ask a bit about how strong her body was now, and in true fatherly fashion, offered some exercise advice that she smiled and nodded at.
Eventually though, they had to leave, as there was another meeting on her schedule. Giving last hugs and promises to talk later, her parents departed, and almost at the same time, her next visitor walked through. As the doors hissed open, someone she'd never seen before entered the room.
He wasn't one of the doctors, and in fact seemed like a scientist from his attire. He was a middle-aged man, with large-rimmed glasses, a bald head, pale skin, and an unblemished complexion. "Miss Angela Blackburn?"
"Yes," she said, her voice cracking. "Sorry, talking is…difficult."
"No worries," he assured her. "I've been informed of your condition, and if you would prefer to telepathically communicate, I welcome it. I'm used to it, and don't find it uncomfortable like some people."
She raised her eyebrow. Who are you?
"Dr. Cornelius Allen," he inclined his head. "PRIEST Division, Research Branch. Savoraim rank, if you want to use the overly flowery and confusing titles they decided to impose upon us. More importantly, I am the scientific lead for what has been internally designated as the Revenant Project – something that I believe you will be interested in."
"Ok," she said in a raspy voice. "What is it?"
"It's been…several things," he said, a finger to his chin as he seemed to consider how best to explain it. "Originally it was an extreme cybernetic project, inspired by the XCOM MECs. ADVENT wanted to know if we could miniaturize it to infantry sizes. We of course ran into the issue that we could, but it wouldn't retain the same capabilities unless there was a full conversion – which we've learned is difficult and dangerous to perform."
Is it?
"Very much so," he nodded. "The more you put in, the more you have to take out. Organs, limbs, bones, upset the careful balance of the Human body, and the results will usually be less than ideal. Simply put, the project was deemed infeasible – until we married it with another issue proposed – what to do with psions who were alive, wanting to contribute, but were incapable of participating on the front lines."
Angela cocked her head. Like who? Me?
"Eventually, yes," he confirmed. "Initially it was geared more towards temporarily wounded psions, or ones who were pregnant or had another medical condition that would prevent them from engaging on the front lines. However, over time this became geared more towards permanently incapacitated psions, ones like you, who retain your skill and drive, but simply can't go out into the front lines."
"And do…what?"
"ADVENT has a fair number of soldiers who are effectively brain-dead," Allen said. "Some of them donate their bodies to ADVENT for research purposes. Most of the time they are euthanized and used to advance our scientific understanding. For us…we turn some of them into cutting-edge cyborgs. Beyond what even the Lancers are capable of fielding. Better than many of the Collective forces themselves."
"In essence, the capability of an XCOM MEC in a far smaller package. With soldiers brain-dead, we do not need a majority of their organs and organic material, and can significantly augment them beyond what we could do to a regular volunteer," he briefly paused. "Of course, a brain-dead cyborg is useless on its own – which is why it needs a pilot. Hence, where psions like you come in."
She thought she understood, but it seemed…well, she'd not heard anything like it before. You mean I'd…control it? Psions would control them?
"Exactly!" he smiled. "Pilots we call them, while the cyborgs are the Revenants proper. It would be similar in principle to mind controlling an alien – except that you'll control them to help us. I know it isn't exactly the same kind of employment you are used to – I believe you are a Solii – but I believe that you would learn fast."
"I'm not sure…" she said after a moment. "I don't…it doesn't feel right, controlling a person like that."
He pursed his lips, before continuing soberly. "I can understand that, Miss Blackburn. It's a good sign, and an admirable trait. But the Revenants are those who are dead in all but body. There is nothing of them left. They will never wake up. We don't touch their minds more than necessary, but the telepaths that prepare them say without exception that each one is…empty. Only flashes of memories remain. These are people who donated their bodies for the betterment of our species. We have done our best to ensure this is as ethical as possible."
He was telling the truth. Or at least he believed in what he was saying. A thought suddenly struck her. One that sent a jolt through her. "Bradley…" she began. "Did Bradley volunteer for this project?"
"I…that name is not familiar," Allen scratched his head. "You don't 'volunteer' for the Revenant Project – or most projects in ADVENT, due to their classified nature. If your friend donated his body to ADVENT, it is possible that he would be selected, but there are many such projects happening. I can ask my people, if you want an answer."
"No…it's fine," she sank back down. She wasn't sure she wanted an answer, and logically, it seemed unlikely that he would be chosen along with her. There were unfortunately many more brain-dead soldiers than incapacitated psions. "I'm just…it's a lot to take in."
"I know," he nodded. "And you've gone above and beyond already. But I'm here today because you said you want to do what you can. I know that you aren't in shape for the front lines – but here is an alternative. I don't need an answer now, but if you wish to participate, we can begin moving and training you as soon as possible."
Are there others like me?
"A couple more," he said. "Those in your situation are much rarer, and there have been some who have declined. There are others who have accepted, and are being moved now. This is a very new program, and if you accept, you'll likely be the first ones to properly field test them."
A few seconds more passed. "I would consider it. The choice is ultimately up to you."
She nodded in return. "I'll…let you know shortly. Give me some time."
With that, he said goodbye and left her to her thoughts, as seemed to be the norm in the days since she'd first woken up. She didn't know what was the best thing to do right now. Every day she was fighting to keep herself alive, and working as part of some secret ADVENT experiment might be dangerous for herself.
Plus there was the fact that, based on what had been explained, she'd be controlling people. Brain-dead or not, that inherently struck her as questionable, and made her personally uncomfortable. Maybe it was nothing, but that seemed like crossing one of the lines she's established in her mind.
At the same time…
She didn't want to spend the rest of her life in a room surrounded by machines and pity. If she stayed, she knew that her life would be without purpose; that she'd have to be left alone with her thoughts all the time, and that…that she was not ready for. Not yet. And she knew that Joel, that her squad, they wouldn't want her to hide away.
They'd say to do it. To help how she could. And if this was the best way she could do that – and frankly right now it seemed to be the only way open to her…then the answer was simple.
She knew what to do.
SAS Command, Abuja - Nigeria
7/22/2017 11:28 AM
Betos was unsure that she'd heard correctly. "What?"
"I've been informed that Admiral Grady himself is demanding to speak to the 'superior officer' of Douala," Keeper said in a tone torn between curiosity and amusement. "Considering what happened the last time the good admiral decided to speak to someone, I put orders that all communications were to go directly to me."
That wasn't good. "That means he's planning an attack."
"I would presume so, but the odd thing is, his fleet hasn't moved out of port." Keeper's voice had a slight tinge of uncertainty. "Perhaps a distraction, or something else."
Betos laced her fingers together, thinking. "What does he want?"
"Supposedly to 'negotiate the surrender of Douala,'" Keeper said dryly, as he appraised her. "You are welcome to join the call, though I doubt that he will offer much of interest beyond amusement. I believed you should be appraised regardless, as he is one of the highest-ranking ADVENT officials to formally engage us."
"Yes, I'll listen in," she stood and followed Keeper to his own office, standing off to the side as Keeper turned on the screen. She wondered what this was leading to, finally the situation in the SAS was starting to turn for the better. ADVENT was being stopped, even though they were destroying everything they came in contact with like petulant children.
Still, things were holding now that Macula and his new Avatar were taking the field – and ADVENT was running into the cities that had been prepared for just this scenario. Their blitzkrieg across Africa could only last so long, and be so effective. Destroying dilapidated cities and defenseless civilians was easy, fighting an entrenched fortress was far harder.
A few moments, and the video appeared of the now-familiar Admiral Grady, clearly on a ship – his carrier probably. The man looked far too confident for his own good. Keeper spoke. "This is Keeper, advisor to Grand Marshal Betos of the Sovereign African States. I have been told that you wish to negotiate your surrender. I am willing to discuss terms."
Betos snorted at that. Cute.
"Ah yes, Betos' Keeper." Grady began. "I've heard of you. Tell me - what does it take to talk to a Human around here? You're definitely not getting a good review from me after this call."
Apparently the Admiral had more of a sense of (bad) humor than she was aware of. "I'm devastated." Keeper said tonelessly, his expression blank. "If you want to negotiate your surrender, begin, otherwise this conversation will be over. Is that understood, Admiral?"
Grady seemed to take a moment to check the video feed, apparently looking for something. "I'm curious, is Betos around? I'd settle for talking to her."
"Betos is occupied managing the ongoing affairs of the Sovereign African States," Keeper lied with clear ease. "If that is not to your satisfaction, I will take a message for her. I have no doubt she will be pleased in your decision to surrender."
At this point, Betos was mildly impressed that the Admiral was deliberately ignoring the "surrender" bait, though that was likely going to come to an end. Keeper was unlikely to keep the idle chatter up, regardless of whether it was an Admiral or otherwise on the line. He did have things to do today as well, as did she.
"Yes, I imagine she's quite busy. It's hard work losing a war." Grady cleared his throat, and grew visibly serious. "Well, if that's the case, you'll have to do. As you know, I provided you with a week of advance notice to clear out the civilian population. That was also intended to imply that you should perhaps leave the city entirely, or at least be so kind as to stop pestering me. But apparently that wasn't explicit enough for you. So let me be very clear here, so that you can understand - Douala is going to fall, today. I am offering you a chance to save those men's lives. Even if you don't care about the Human soldiers, there are Collective personnel there as well. Allow them to surrender and I promise they will be treated fairly. No one will be harmed. You have my word."
Betos frowned, not out of fear, but because it seemed slightly...ludicrous that he would actually think this would happen. Keeper seemed similarly unimpressed. "Noted. You are welcome to attempt to invade Douala, and while I appreciate you informing us beforehand, it was unnecessary. I would consider carefully whatever steps you are about to take. Your fleet has been a pest, but nothing more. Consider if you are willing to have our resources more directly turned on you." There was a pause. "Since we are also making empty threats, I will also give you one week to evacuate Malabo before we take it back, though I am of course willing to accept your pre-emptive surrender."
Grady chuckled at that. "You tried to get rid of me before. You sicced the Andromedons on me, fully confident that you would succeed. You probably thought it would be over in a flash. Well, I suppose it was. They lost, and you appear to have surrendered the sea to me already, seeing as you haven't dispatched more. I'd think a city would hardly be noticeable after that."
He briefly paused, unblinking eyes meeting Keeper's. "As for Malabo - you don't seem to understand. It was never yours to begin with. Equatorial Guinea is in the process of joining ADVENT after their government requested our assistance removing invading SAS forces. Something I succeeded in thus far. As such, I demand you vacate the rest of the country, as it is now under ADVENT jurisdiction. But we've gotten off-topic. I will once again reiterate my request - Please allow those men the opportunity to surrender. Our quarrel is with the leadership, Betos and yourself included. It is unnecessary for them to die for unworthy leaders. In fact, if Betos' and the other deserters surrender themselves to ADVENT custody, I suspect ADVENT would depart from the SAS. We wouldn't be here otherwise."
Keeper seemed to consider that for a moment. "One moment, Admiral. I need to consult with the Marshal." Without waiting for a response, he put the video to mute and turned the screen black. Immediately he turned to face her.
Betos' arms were crossed. "Do you think he's bluffing?"
"No, I doubt he will be able to take the city as quickly as he claims, but he would not be talking if he had nothing," Keeper said, his lips set in a thin line. "What that is, I am unsure. XCOM supported the Malabo operation. They may be standing by again, and the city is unprepared for that kind of support."
"The city should be put on high alert regardless," Betos said, reaching for her secured phone. "We can surge psions to reinforce. Put the city into lockdown in case a fight does break out." She frowned to herself as she put in the number. "Odd that he let us know ahead of time, unless…" she briefly paused. "Are we sure Douala is even the target?"
"I was wondering that," Keeper rubbed his chin. "This is too obvious. Put all bases on high alert, and surge air support. If he doesn't strike Douala, we need to be prepared along the coast."
"Agreed," she nodded, putting in the requisite codes as Keeper once more returned to speaking with Grady.
"I've spoken with the Grand Marshal," he said. "Per your generous warning, we are moving civilians to designated safe zones, and putting our bases and forces on alert. We do not intend to surrender Douala or any other SAS territory." He paused. "If I may inquire as to some...personal curiosity, Admiral - why did you inform us beforehand? If you were to attack, you would have had an advantage, yet you are willingly giving it up. I'm curious as to why."
Grady took a moment to glance at his watch, looking at it intently, before turning his attention back to Keeper. "I suppose there's plenty of time. Simply put, unlike your Collective, we make an effort to avoid murdering women and children."
The gall he had to say that as ADVENT was gassing cities in Africa. Betos bit her lip to avoid saying something she would regret. Fortunately, Keeper interjected for her, and seemed to have the same line of thought she did.
"Operation Scipio appears to clash with your assessment, Admiral." Keeper interrupted neutrally. "You are no more morally superior than we are. Please do not pretend otherwise. We are not ignorant of the disease you unleashed upon the Sectoids, or the ongoing support your people are providing to the Nulorian - who also quite enjoy killing civilians and children. Save your grandiose moralism, it serves no one."
"That's all above my station, I'm afraid...though if I understand Sectoids correctly, I doubt they care." Grady shrugged. "The only ones with any individuality or sense of self are the Hive Commanders, and they seem to be fine. The Nulorian I am unfamiliar with, but every regime will always demonize their opposition."
"Of which ADVENT is no different," Keeper noted.
"To be fair - you don't make that a difficult task," Grady replied. "Also, despite how it may look, our ground forces are not intentionally targeting and killing civilians. If anything, they go out of their way to leave them an escape path. Evacuation routes are left open and civilian convoys are not attacked. At the end of every battle they are sent towards the nearest SAS settlement."
Grady paused, narrowing his eyes at Keeper. "Meanwhile, your Collective is carrying out the biggest Human trafficking operation in history. Millions taken from their homes, their families, only to suffer a fate worse than death under some mad Ethereal's knife. I've seen the footage, and not just from the Hive or 'Paradise', but also of Beijing, of Seoul, of Vietnam. I thought we were violent as a species, but you would be hard pressed to find people in Human history more depraved than your masters. Then there's the Sectoids, who were literally throwing live babies into meat grinders. I almost feel bad for putting you in the position of having to defend them. So be careful with your accusations, Keeper, lest you look like an even greater fool."
Betos had to admit, none of what he said was wrong, and Keeper didn't seem inclined to disagree. "That is not what I am here for," Keeper said. "We can debate who has committed worse crimes, but I suspect it would be pointless - and we have gotten off track. If you could answer my original question, I promise to not interrupt this time."
"Ah yes, we have strayed from the original topic somewhat. Perhaps we can pick up this debate later, as you'll certainly be seeing more of me." Grady briefly glanced away. "Anyway, I wanted to make sure you had ample time to evacuate the city, I couldn't make you do it, of course, but had you done nothing, then their blood would have been on your hands, not mine."
He rubbed his chin. "As for the soldiers...throughout our history, men have fought for many things. So many young men killed, simply for having the misfortune of being on the wrong side. Not every soldier is an ideologue. They join for a variety of reasons, at least before you arrived. Some do it for country, some for god, some just because there's nothing else for them. It's traditional for us to offer each other terms of surrender and keep lines of communication open between the officers on the ground."
His hand dropped down again, as Grady's voice became resigned. "Ultimately, they're the ones whose blood will be spilled. Of course, few true soldiers would do so proudly or lightly, but the attempt is made nonetheless. It is mutually beneficial, as it reduces loss of life on both sides, particularly when the outcome is a foregone conclusion. Evidently your kind are different. Of course, it's also possible you're just very inexperienced when it comes to war. There's certainly been ample evidence of that."
"Appreciated, Admiral," Keeper peered at him. "You have an interesting mindset. However-"
He suddenly stopped, as a slight ringing reached his ears. It was the same for the phone Betos was holding as well.
Grady smiled. "I'll let you take that. Until next time, Keeper. I advise you evacuate the rest of the coastline as well if you haven't already. I can spare a few days until the weather improves, I think."
He hung up, and Betos immediately picked up the phone and the CODEX shared it in the robotic voice. Douala was under heavy attack, and had suffered catastrophic damage. Maddeningly, there were no details. "What just happened?" She demanded from Keeper who had a finger to his earpiece.
"I...am not sure," his eyes, for once rarely filled with something other than blankness, held a degree of uncertainty. He waited a few more tense minutes, his face unmovable, though somehow growing more and more grim. This was clearly not good.
His hand finally dropped as he focused on her. "They're saying that Douala's port exploded."
"From what?"
An uncertain pause. "They don't know for sure, but they believe it was a nuclear weapon."
Malabo Harbor
7/22/2017 12:04 PM
Grady had just hung up on Keeper, and was now watching the camera feed from a UAV as it looked down on the desolation below.
It was a good thing he had ordered it to fly at the maximum possible altitude, as preliminary reports suggested the mushroom cloud was around 12 kilometers high. Even if the drone itself was hardened against EMP, it would still be fried if it tried to fly through that much radiation. As it stood, he could only see the damage near the southern edge of the blast zone due to the mushroom cloud, though he was sure a Satellite could get him the rest if he was in a hurry.
The torpedo had done its job. When he had approached Command with the idea, they had initially thought he'd gone mad, but as they had the experts run the numbers they found it would indeed work. All of the nuclear testing from the Cold War was finally coming in handy, as it made calculating the effects of the resulting explosion much easier. There had just been one minor issue. It was to be a ground level (well, below sea level) detonation.
That meant the fireball at the heart of the explosion would touch the ground, and a lot of water. The result would be large amounts of fallout. Nuclear weapons were typically detonated just above the ground partly to minimize fallout but here that had not been an option. To make matters worse, the city was essentially surrounded by wildlife refuges and parks and ADVENT was trying to avoid damaging such areas during this operation. The blast itself would be almost entirely confined to the city so that wouldn't be an issue. The plume of fallout, however, would have to go somewhere, and if it fell on land then the area would be poisoned for years.
Thankfully, the target area had relatively stable weather patterns. The wind had been blowing south there virtually all month, and throughout much of the year as well. This would carry the bulk of the fallout out to sea, though nowhere near Malabo or his fleet. He'd even lucked out as the wind had shifted ever so slightly to the west, which meant virtually no fallout would end up on land. The ocean would be affected, of course, but that was a problem for the SAS, and the radiation would eventually disperse to some extent.
"Sir..how...when?" Francetti asked. She and the rest of the bridge were in shock at what just happened.
"I realized it would be difficult to get a missile there without it being intercepted, and that was assuming I had access to nuclear missiles, which I don't." Grady explained. "I did, however, have some of those Nuclear torpedoes leftover, and I was willing to bet the Collective wasn't watching the water very closely. The signal I gave you, and which you then relayed, was to order a submarine hiding near the harbor to launch the torpedo, wire guided. From there it was a simple matter for them to bring it into the harbor, right in the middle of town next to the mouth of the river, and detonate it. I originally considered using the Poseidon Spear to trigger a tidal wave, but that would have caused destruction over a much wider area, and it wasn't clear whether we had the yield necessary to pull it off."
"But...the amphibious landing drills…"
Grady smiled. "Aside from giving them a chance to stretch their legs and practice, that was mainly a deception. I gave the enemy the impression I would be landing troops in an attempt to assault the city. As a result of this, the SAS and Collective continued to reinforce and fortify the city, especially those parts near the water. Because of this, their casualties were much higher than they otherwise might have been." He'd been particularly proud of that part of the plan. Similar deceptions had been used by the British in WW2 and even by Alexander the Great.
"Clever," Anye said quietly. "Very clever. It seems you weren't bluffing."
"I wasn't," Grady grimaced. "I was hoping I could avoid having to do this, but unfortunately, they wouldn't let me speak to them." He shook his head. "Bastards. This is the kind of thing dictators and totalitarian regimes do, not legitimate countries. If they can't ensure obedience through loyalty, then they do so by force." He turned to face his executive officer. "Francetti, as soon as you have a clear view of what's left of the city, I want you to start coordinating missile bombardment of anything that is still standing. Best to put those still alive out of their misery rather than let them die from burns or radiation."
"Yes sir…" She trailed off, still staring at the monitor. It would be a few minutes yet before the mushroom cloud dispersed enough to provide a clear view at the city as a whole.
"Will you do this for the other cities in your path, Admiral?" Anye asked.
Grady thought carefully for a moment. ADVENT had told him that, barring an emergency, this would be the last time he was given permission to use a nuclear weapon. They had only agreed to it in this case because of how difficult the city would have been to deal with otherwise, and that the damage would be relatively limited to the city itself.
Of course, it wouldn't do for the SAS or the Collective to learn that little detail. Better that they think he was willing to irradiate the entire coastline. It would make future attempts at negotiation easier, hopefully.
"I will do what I have to." He said cryptically. It wasn't that he didn't trust his present company, it was just that he had no idea when the Collective was listening, or what information would eventually find its way back to them. "All the more reason for you to find a way to reach the men on the ground."
"I will do what I can, but it won't be easy. Although...perhaps there is a way…" Anye trailed off.
"Well, I'll leave you to it," Grady said as he got up to leave. "I'll be in my quarters. Francetti, you have the bridge."
"Yes sir." She replied, saluting crisply.
He'd won today, and hopefully managed to throw the Collective off balance during their conversation. He was a strong believer in the importance of the mind in warfare, specifically the enemy commanders. While he had enjoyed the verbal sparring match, of course, it was also aimed at frustrating the enemy. An enraged foe did not always make the best decisions, and with every victory Grady claimed, he would appear more and more unstoppable in their minds. Until at last, if all went well, they would think the battle lost before it even began if it was against him. Or at least that is what he told himself.
In truth, it was possible there had been another reason. He may have empathized with the rank and file of the SAS, and even - to a much lesser extent - the Collective, but for their leadership, he had nothing but disdain. This entire operation should never have been necessary, and he placed the blame thoroughly at the feet of Betos and her Collective masters. When the war had begun in earnest and ADVENT began to lead the fight, Grady had thought that maybe, at long last, fighting between Humans would be ended. Between human nations, at least. It was a growing sentiment among those in ADVENT, civilian and military alike, that if they were victorious, large scale intraspecies warfare would be a thing of the past.
It was part of the reason recruitment figures had remained so high. It was much easier psychologically to kill an alien than a Human, especially when the alien was so easily vilified. The Collective had practically handed ADVENT the greatest gift imaginable, a common enemy. There was a sense of optimism among many that in the near future Humans would overcome national, racial and religious divides and embrace a shared species identity. As the war had continued and more and more nations joined ADVENT it seemed for a moment as if that goal was finally in reach.
Then Betos announced her partnership with the Collective.
All of a sudden, large scale war with other humans was not only possible, but inevitable. The opening of another front was not something ADVENT had been looking forward to, as the SAS was simply too vast and too distant to hold. But leaving them to their own devices was out of the question, and so Scipio was devised, in all its cold brutality. If ADVENT could not conquer the SAS, then they would just have to destroy it.
Despite what he had told Keeper, Grady knew all too well that a great many civilians were dead because of Scipio. ADVENT may not have killed all of them directly, but it mattered little whether they were executed, killed as collateral, or simply died in the desert trying to reach the nearest settlement before ADVENT did. The end result was the same. ADVENT had been well aware that there would be refugees and had weaponized them, turning the SAS' own population against them as they strained supply lines, packed cities and triggered outbreaks.
He hadn't seen such ruthlessness since the War on Terror, and only at the hands of the infamous Commander. In truth, he hoped he'd never see it again. At least he was not as directly involved in the civilian deaths as the ground forces. He did not envy them their task. He suspected a great many soldiers would be forever changed by what they saw and did on the Dark Continent. They would all do what they had to. But this would be a part of the war those involved would wish to forget once all was said and done. One day, Betos would pay for what she'd done. She may evade justice for months - perhaps even a few years, depending on how long the war would go on - but eventually she would be held to account.
One way, or another.
Until then, he would content himself with humiliating her and her masters as he made his way down the coast to his next objective.
Situation Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location
7/23/2017 – 12:22 P.M.
Kunio was not quite sure what this mission was going to be like, but anything that involved the Chronicler meant that it was going to be important – or otherwise odd. It'd definitely been a busy time for XCOM, from capturing the Second Guardian, to seizing a Hiveship, to fighting back advances all over the Earth.
For the most part, it hadn't been as dangerous as some of the operations he'd been on, but there'd been many nights that were sleepless or close to it. XCOM was fortunate in a way, where they could move from front to front as needed, without having to stay in one place. He remembered all too well what that was like.
Broke up the monotony and feeling of weariness that built up over time. Where you heard how the war was going everywhere else, and you really just wanted to be there instead of another day in the trenches. For better or worse, he was one of the few that was living the history of this war. Which meant that he got to see everything as it played out.
And also meant that he had a much larger chance of winding up dead when all was said and done.
The squad assembled was a mixture of veterans and some newer people. Geist, Rosario De Leon, and Bryanna Carter he'd worked with to some degree, but the others – Wuhan Pan, Kura Ouchi, and Rhonda Kirk were ones he hadn't. They seemed solid enough though, and Rhonda had a Shoggoth which was currently trilling happily as she fed it purple sticks which he was pretty sure were Ethereal fingers – but he didn't look too closely.
Those Shoggoth Handlers were something else. The sweetest of likely sociopaths.
Then there was Dawn, who was going to be coming along this mission. That told him this likely wasn't intended to be a high-intensity one. Then again, she'd already gone on one mission, and somewhat participated in helping Caelior bring down the Hiveship. Maybe the Commander had decided she was ready for more involved operations.
He felt confident that she could hold her own now. She was a hard worker, bright, and willing to follow orders. He felt comfortable with her watching his back – something he wouldn't have guessed even a few months ago. That Geist was here was also a good thing, if anyone knew what she could do, it was him.
The Commander waited until they were assembled. "This operation is going to be a specialized one, Arthur Squad," he began. "Short version – you're going to be penetrating the Bastion, and for those who don't know, that is the old EXALT headquarters in Antarctica. It was abandoned by EXALT shortly before the war began, as it was isolated and vulnerable to Collective attack."
Geist wasted no time with questions. His brow furrowed. "Is it housing a high-value target?"
"Not to our knowledge," the Commander shook his head. "Chronicler?"
"EXALT had control of more artifacts than they realized," the elder man said, stepping forward. "There is a significant portion of history even they were unaware of, the relics of which I made a point to preserve. The Bastion held valuable art, sculptures, pieces of history that EXALT wanted preserved – but at the end of the day, they were of little practical use. What they did not know was that not all of the supposed pieces were simply for show."
"Meaning…?" Bryanna prodded.
"Swords made out of a more refined alien metal than the Collective alloys," the Chronicler began. "But the main relic we are going to recover is a nanite producer that is capable of significantly augmenting ordinary Humans. It has significant healing properties, and is alien in origin."
"In origin?" Kunio noted. "Like…before the Collective?"
A sharp nod. "That is correct, Kunio. You are familiar with the so-called Outsider Incident, but even that was not the first time alien influence has reached our planet. Their relics have existed throughout history in various forms. What are referred to as legends are more real than we believe. As far as this artifact goes – it is better known as the Holy Grail."
That prompted quite a reaction, as the squad looked amongst themselves, not quite sure if it was a joke, or if the Chronicler was serious. His expression, and that of the Commander, seemed to indicate the latter. Dawn looked absolutely shocked, which would have been funny if he didn't feel the same way. "Sorry," Rhonda coughed, as she patted her Shoggoth. "You mean the Holy Grail?"
"Unless there was another one, yes," the Chronicler said dryly. "No, it does not have magical properties. No, it is not divine. Yes, it did exist, and yes, it was capable of performing miraculous feats at the time. The same can be said for certain other religious artifacts – but that is a topic for another day."
"Oh no," Rosario said. "You can't just say that and change the subject."
"Enough," Geist said sharply. "You will have time to ask your questions upon the conclusion of the operation. We have been given our objective, focus on that. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Overseer!"
Kunio had to admit that Geist kept his squad in line. No idle chatter and derailment here. "A relevant question then," Kunio said. "Are we sure it's still there? If the Collective is in the Bastion, they would have taken it, yes?"
"Unknown," the Chronicler said. "There was no indication they would have found it, and they have little interest in our culture, art, or artifacts. Even EXALT knew nothing. While it is possible the Collective found it, I find it unlikely, else they would have employed it before now. However, we are conducting this operation as much to deny it to the Collective as to use it for us. I do not want to consider what the Collective could do with it if they applied it to the Mutons."
Geist seemed to consider that for a moment. "I am surprised it was left behind if it was so valuable."
The Chronicler's face soured. "An oversight on my part. I was occupied with the annexation of Australia at the time."
That seemed a fair enough answer to Kunio, and Geist appeared to drop it. "While we do not know if the Collective has maintained a garrison at the Bastion, we are making that assumption," the Commander said. "I'd prefer not to draw attention, but if there are aliens there, terminate them. The Chronicler will ensure that you don't set off any of the traps left unsprung. This is also in Antarctica – I would prepare yourself for the cold."
"We are intending to carry this out soon," the Chronicler said. "Tonight, in fact. You will have several hours to prepare. We do not expect this mission to take long, but we do not know what to expect."
"Good luck," the Commander said. "Dismissed."
Abigail's Quarters – The Hall of Steel
7/20/2017 – 9:22 A.M.
They'd really done it. Something about closely observing the assault of the Hiveship by ADVENT and XCOM had made her feel almost…nostalgic. Every little detail she had carefully picked up on, committed to memory, and tested against anything she could possibly recall. Still, there was nothing tangible.
It was only a feeling.
Liam had been there to help as best he could, and he'd told her about the early days of XCOM, where they assaulted crashed UFOs, crashed a dreadnought, and went on other missions against the Collective. Maybe that was where this feeling was coming from, the Hiveship was a bit bigger than the UFOs Liam had said they went up against, but it was…something.
Now they watched the aftermath, media crews were on the scene, talking with military officers, ADVENT officials, and even workers. They intentionally kept images of dead ADVENT soldiers out of the frame, but didn't bother to hide the many, many alien corpses and wrecks.
"I wonder what that would have been like," Liam mused as he sat beside her, watching the screen. "It's difficult to think of how big those battles were. I…well, was captured before the war really got to this stage."
"Chaotic, probably," she said, leaning against him instinctively. "But I…would have wanted to be part of it. It reminds me, somewhat, of what I lived before. Even if just feelings. No memories, never memories."
"Unfortunate," Liam briefly closed his eyes. "We'd hoped the upgrade would have helped, but I suppose it didn't."
"No, but it's helped in…other ways," she said. Fectorian hadn't lied when he'd said that the neural upgrade would allow her to "process information faster". When she'd first woken up after the procedure, it'd been near information overload. She'd never considered what it was like to simultaneously notice every single thing before her, yet she did, and with equal clarity.
It was a disconcerting time dilation effect, where she was acutely aware that seconds were passing, but they seemed longer because she was simultaneously observing, noting, and recording everything she saw. Closing her eyes hadn't necessarily helped either, as she could still hear.
Every inflection, every note, every subtle cue and sound that was in her hearing range was as clear and potent as crystal. Fectorian had initially been concerned that she'd gone into shock at the beginning, but she'd finally broken through, and forced herself to…narrow her perception to something more comfortable. That hadn't been as difficult as she'd feared, almost like flipping a switch.
Either way, she was relieved.
The days since had been her experimenting more with her increased neural capacity. As she'd found out, when applied in specific circumstances, it was extremely useful. She'd sat for hours in various places in the Hall of Steel, just listening, and associating certain sounds to people and machines, from what was normal to abnormal. She could tell if one of Fectorian's soldiers was in need of replacement parts from the sound of their prosthetics, or the tinniness of their voices.
She'd gotten significantly better at understanding the subtleties of individuals as well. Doing so in front of aliens was illuminating, and even though it wasn't like reading a Human, when she could notice everything about them, she could fairly easily discern their true feelings and intentions towards her. Be they curious, suspicious, resentful, or happy.
She hadn't done so with Liam or Fectorian yet, the latter mostly because she wasn't sure he'd take kindly to being read in such a way, and she wasn't sure she wanted to risk that yet. And she hadn't done so with Liam because it seemed…wrong. He was her friend, in her old life, and now, and friends didn't do that to each other, right?
Well, either way, she wasn't going to do that.
It didn't just apply to passive observation. She'd somehow managed to improve her marksmanship more. Fectorian had her run some tests, this time with modifiers like wind, simulated rain, snow, and dust to affect the projectile. It had been daunting, until she could determine everything about it, and had made the perfect shots.
Even she'd been surprised how much better she was now. Liam's eyes had remained in a state of amazement when she'd fired a gauss rifle and hit a target in the center through a hailstorm without so much as a chipped round. More interestingly, she could tell the health of a weapon from testing and hearing it. Fectorian had given her weapons in various stages of health, from brand new to ones that were running on damaged parts.
Not that she really knew how useful that was going to be, but it was an interesting thing she could do.
Nowhere was her perception more potent than in simulated combat itself. She and Liam had taken to doing workouts and sparring together, and while it was already deeply unfair since she was effectively an indestructible soldier, Liam had been able to hold his own to some degree (even as she'd taken care to not hurt him).
Now it was…well, extremely easy.
It was not really like time stood still, but it might as well have been. She could see every move he was going to make or potentially make, and could either ignore it or counterattack instantly. She knew the capabilities of her own body perfectly, and she'd drawn out sparring matches for over an hour, or ended them in a few seconds depending.
Fectorian had started her against his more augmented soldiers, multiple at a time, and while that was more interesting, it wasn't nearly good enough to serve as a handicap. At least whenever she was in a battle next, she'd be able to…well, it would be very difficult to kill her. Or at least that was the idea.
This sanitized and controlled sparring was definitely not like real war. Even if she didn't remember, she knew that much deep down.
She was coming more and more to terms with the idea that she just wasn't going to remember exactly who she was – and maybe that was alright. She wouldn't be the same Abigail Gertrude people once knew, but she could be her own person. Liam had helped convince her of that, and even Fectorian in a way had. A bit colder from the Ethereal, but he had not once implied that she wasn't something who wasn't Abigail Gertrude.
"Do you miss it?" She asked.
"Which part?" He wondered. "The fighting? The mission? XCOM?"
"All of the above, I guess."
He waited a moment, his eyes shifting off. "I do. Fectorian is…better than I had feared, but he is an Ethereal. They're not the most conversational or understanding. Same with the aliens, I can get along with them, but there is that barrier, even with the Human conversions. And they're devoted to Fectorian. It was lonely. At least until you came along."
She smiled. "I guess that was one positive when I died."
"A silver lining," he agreed, shifting slightly. "But both of us will be going back to XCOM soon. In one sense or another. Although…" he trailed off. "Ironically, I think the only one who's still alive that I knew was Patricia. I don't have the lists, but I know XCOM has suffered casualties since I was brought here."
"I wish I could remember, but I don't know," Abigail said. "Well…there will be new people. And the leadership is there. The Commander, Vahlen…" she almost said "Shen" before remembering that he was dead.
"Creed is there too," Liam said, an amused tone in his voice. "I didn't think he'd get promoted that high. It will be good to see Zhang again, I doubt he's changed much."
She had a feeling that he was right. "All we're waiting for is Fectorian to make his decision."
"It has to be sooner than later," Liam said. "Otherwise I don't know what he could delay for. With the Second Guardian captured…there may not be a better time. The fronts are only going to intensify."
Abigail wasn't sure what would come next, but she did know that Fectorian was waiting for something specific. What that was…she still hadn't figured out. She felt she had the capability too, but for a while longer she'd give Fectorian some time. But it was reaching a point where answers were needed.
She and Liam had been waiting long enough.
Sooner or later, it was going to be time to go home.
Office of the Chancellor, Geneva – Switzerland
7/22/2017 – 10:22 A.M.
Saudia frowned as her Chief Diplomat spoke. Once he finished, she leaned forward. "So I am clear on what you said – the Collective is formally reaching out to negotiate for the return of the Second Guardian?"
Firdas Hassan nodded. "Correct, Chancellor."
"Well then." She hadn't expected that at the end of the day. Certain it had been a possibility, but one that she was surprised they were doing at all. "Not just that," Hassan continued. "They proposed that it be mediated by Sana'Ligna."
That was even more of a surprise. "Who is spearheading this?" She demanded.
"The Battlemaster," Powell answered, briefly consulting a document he held. "I doubt that any other negotiator would think to propose Sana as a mediator. Or necessarily reach out at all."
Saudia leaned back, her chin propped on a fist as she considered this…interesting turn of events. "What are the preconditions?"
"Only a suspension of 'Any current legal proceedings against the Second Guardian' – it appears he's made the assumption that we are going to extract any useful information from the Second Guardian."
"Pragmatic, as usual," Laura muttered. "Feasible as far as preconditions go."
"Feasibility is not the question here," Saudia said, fixating on Hassan. "What are they offering in exchange for the Second Guardian?"
"A number of proposals have been floated," Hassan said. "From returning several thousand off-world Humans, freeing captured soldiers, to specific withdrawals or relief on certain fronts."
"Which can be immediately reversed," Laura pointed out.
"No doubt, but I'm relaying what was said to me," Hassan said, clearing his throat before continuing. "As with all negotiations, Chancellor, the Collective is going to open low and see what our limit is. The Battlemaster absolutely knows these terms are insufficient, and will be willing to concede more than indicated."
"I suppose the first question isn't what they're offering, it's if we should entertain this at all," Laura said, her brow furrowed. "Chancellor, tempting as any offer will be, returning the Second Guardian under any circumstances will result in nothing more than another Ethereal on the field, which equals death for thousands of soldiers, not to mention she is an apt commander in her own right. I strongly recommend this be ignored. They wouldn't do this to our people, we shouldn't do that to them. The Second Guardian lost. She needs to face the consequences of that."
Powell shot her a disapproving look. "I disagree. There are few things which can be used to reliably extract concessions from these aliens. Ethereals are one of them. I agree that any concessions should not be symbolic – or easily reversible. The Battlemaster is a senior leader, but I suspect he will be overruled if the Imperator deems it, no matter how much he protests. Any deal made should ensure that it cannot be reversed by the Imperator, Patricia, or another senior Collective leader."
"Agreed," Hasan said. "Chancellor, are you in favor of attempting talks? If so, we can continue with potential counteroffers prior to a meeting."
Saudia considered it. "The Second Guardian is secure. XCOM and the PRIEST Division have given multiple assurances. While it is possible this could be stalling, I trust that they could handle it, and the Battlemaster is not subtle enough to attempt such an action. I give my tentative approval to begin negotiations – but only if they are serious about negotiating."
"Should we not consult with XCOM first?" Laura demanded.
"The Collective reached out to us, not XCOM," Saudia said. "We don't need their approval for every single action we take."
This was only partially true – at least for her. She didn't want to antagonize XCOM, but this seemed like a proposal that the Commander would agree with taking. She would absolutely have to bring him into the negotiating fold though. "Hassan, what do you propose are our counter-offers?"
"This is a preliminary list, but this is what we are working with," Hassan said. "First, the immediate release of all civilian and military captives on and off-world to ADVENT. Second, the immediate cessation of hostilities in Europe. Third, a moratorium on the deployment of all Bringer units, which includes Senorium. We can amend these to full ceasefires, or withdrawals on certain fronts, but that is the framework." He paused. "We have to also understand there are limits to what can be reasonably requested. The Battlemaster is influential – but as Director Powell said, he can be overruled."
"I highly doubt the Collective will prevent Bringer units from deploying," Laura said with a frown.
"That isn't the point," Hassan said. "They won't, but where they start low, we start high. When the deal is reached – should it be reached – it will be somewhere in the middle. Though we will ensure that it objectively benefits us. We will only be fighting for the best possible deal – but I should stress a real one. If we don't intend to make a legitimate offer, then we should not bother."
"Agreed," Saudia nodded. "I am not thrilled with the idea of returning her, but if we can get something greater out of this, which is strategically critical, then it should be done." She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "If it happens, this is not going to go over well with the public."
"Or elements of the military," Laura grunted. "I'll work with this if necessary, but I do not think this is the right decision, Chancellor."
"Do not worry, Commander," Hassan said. "We'll only be proposing offers that are signed off by multiple departments, as well as XCOM. It will take us several days to put together a finalized proposal – but in the meantime, I'll reach out to the Collective and confirm we are willing, as well as our high-stakes counteroffer. I expect the first summit will be shortly after that, where we will have a far more refined proposal."
"Good," Saudia said. "Powell, Laura, provide direction and guidance as needed. I'll inform the Commander of this development. Hassan, work with Kyong to find a way to sell this to the public. I want absolutely nothing about this leaking before we are ready."
"I assure you, Chancellor," Powell smiled sharply. "We've ensured that leaks are a thing of the past. The public will know about this only when we are ready."
"Good," she laced her fingers together. "With that resolved, is there anything else to cover?"
"Just one," Powell said. "It concerns the psion in South America we discussed some time ago, we have successfully made contact with her."
"Continue," Saudia said, leaning back. "I'm very interested in what was said."
The Bastion - Antarctica
7/23/2017 – 10:52 P.M.
If Kunio hadn't already been part of the Battle of New York, facing the surprise blizzard that had appeared, this would have easily been the coldest place he had ever been in his life. The sun shone down upon endless fields of snow - an odd sight considering the time, but in the summer the sun perpetually shone down. Flakes whirled around as the wind blew and seemingly cut through their insulated armor.
He resisted a shiver, though a quick glance showed that not everyone was as controlled as he was. Dawn was definitely shivering, and Rosario, Rhonda, and Kura were clearly cold as well. The Shoggoth seemed none too pleased either, as it trilled with clear tones of irritation. The rest of them readied their weapons as they beheld the former EXALT stronghold.
It was definitely imposing. It was also definitely not subtle. Fitting that EXALT had completed their Illuminati act with a stereotypically sinister fortress in the middle of nowhere. It was definitely impressive, even now. It towered above them, designed with angles arranged in such a manner that snow fell right off it, giving the impression that it was pristine and clear.
He noted several defensive decisions. There were no obvious windows he could see (though they could be hidden), there were similarly no easily accessible entrances, and of course there were the copious amounts of turrets stationed all along the roof and walls. None of them appeared to have been fired, and for all intents and purposes, it seemed to be untouched.
It seemed like an old tomb. Intact, but empty.
"You guys really went all out," Wuhan said through chattered teeth. "I'm surprised no satellite ever picked this up."
The Chronicler's helmet turned to face the soldier. "And who do you think was the one making the satellites?"
"Fair point," he looked closer at the fortress. "So how are we going to enter? You couldn't have teleported us inside?"
"I could have, but it was entirely possible we would have instantly exploded," the Chronicler said, with some condescension as he stepped forward, snow crunching under his boots. "The fact that we are not before ruins is a good sign. It means the penetration was minimal."
"Or they managed to disarm the traps," Geist suggested.
"Perhaps," the Chronicler conceded. "I do not sense anyone alive. If there is anything here, it will be mechanical. This is good, less of a chance of reinforcements."
"As you were saying," Kunio said. "How are we going to enter?"
"Follow me."
They did so, their weapons at the ready, even though it didn't seem that there was anything waiting outside. They followed as he led them away from the Bastion, surprisingly enough, and towards a random snow dune. He waved a hand, it temporarily blurred, and the snow was shuffled to the side, revealing a hidden hatch.
With another wave, he initiated some kind of telekinetic lock, judging from the clicks and groans, and with a flick of his wrist, it opened. "Good. They didn't find it."
"You had a secret entrance?" Dawn asked almost incredulously. "Built away from the base?"
"I prefer being prepared," the Chronicler said as they entered. "While unlikely, I knew there needed to be a way only I could enter – or leave, if it became necessary. As it turns out, it has finally become useful. There will be some walking, but we will end up exactly where we want to be."
The first room they entered was close to the hatch – clearly a bunker of some kind if the Chronicler ever had to lay low. There was a bed, clothes, canned food, and other things Kunio would expect from someone paranoid enough to make his own escape hatch. Though a bit oddly paranoid, considering…well, he could teleport away whenever he wanted.
"How old is this place?" Rhonda asked as they walked the bare hallways which were unlit.
"This facility proper?" The Chronicler considered that. "Young, by modern standards. Slightly more than a half century. Previous headquarters rotated between other isolated and controlled places. The Alps, central Africa, the Amazon at one point, usually very elaborate and difficult to detect."
"Sometime, you have to explain the Amazon," Rosario said. "So there's old EXALT bases all around the world?"
"In various states of decommissioning, but yes…" the Chronicler's voice had an odd note in it. "Along with…other, less savory places."
There was a clear question Kunio wanted to follow up on, but this probably wasn't the time for that, and so instead they focused on the hallway that seemed to be coming to an end. "Take positions," Geist ordered, as he and Rosario took the main point on the door, while the rest of them aimed their weapons at the entrance.
Dawn leaned over to Kunio. "Not picking up any bad guys." She said. "It feels quiet...almost too quiet."
Kunio looked back at her through his helmet. "It'll be alright."
The Chronicler inputted a code into the keypad. "Is that even still going to work?" Kura asked. "The power is out."
"Local power source, and EMP hardened," the Chronicler said as he worked. "Looks dead, but it is an illusion. We never wanted to be in a position where we were trapped and locked in by our own devices. You have to shoot the consoles to actually disable them."
"Clever," Geist nodded. "Though this is just the lock."
"Yes," the Chronicler stepped back as the keypad flashed green. "The mechanics are disabled. Though little issue." He waved his hand, and the door slid open with a slick motion. "Listen close, and watch your step."
They stepped into what seemed to be a hangar of some kind, and unlike the hallway and exterior of the Bastion – this had clearly seen some damage. Rubble was strewn around it, pillars and chunks of the wall were blown apart. No bodies, but those had likely been moved, and Kunio could barely make out a few dried stains of yellow.
"Looks like they tripped the explosives," the Chronicler said, looking around. "Almost all of them. Clumsy."
"You only had explosives?" Rhonda asked as they carefully walked forward as a group, weapons pointed in all directions.
A snort. "No. The explosives were first. Carbon monoxide followed, and I assume that killed off a fair portion. There were three different toxic dispensers that were established, all poison. Least observable first, ramping up to pure nerve gas. All the more irritating when each room was individually rigged."
He seemed to smile. "I do wonder how many died before they left."
"Carter, is there any mechanical unit detection?" Geist asked.
Bryanna briefly checked. "Nothing so far."
"Good," he nodded sharply. "Then forward."
They continued out of the hangar, and followed a few hallways that Kunio saw were unremarkable. There were several elevators that would presumably take them up, but they avoided them, and instead took some stairs down. The Bastion was dark, though dry. There was no sound but that of their walking and occasional conversation.
Below, they came across a locked bulkhead. There were clear signs of a forced entry, namely the scorched and dented armor, and most obviously, chunks of it which had clearly been telekinetically manipulated to bend upwards. An almost imperceptible sigh escaped the Chronicler's lips, as he didn't even bother with the lock, and flicked his hand, and it moved up.
Inside was another hallway, with similarly locked doors lining it a short ways. The vaults, Kunio assumed. This wasn't good, and probably meant that the Collective had already broken into it. Still, he kept silent as the Chronicler led them to one of the doors, and once more just flicked it open, and they stepped inside.
It was surprisingly intact, though Kunio could see why. At first glance there didn't seem to be much here. Ornate rugs, jewels, luxuries, old fashioned paintings, and ancient swords – most of it seemed largely useless, though the Chronicler had implied that had been the point. "We got lucky," relief was clear in the Chronicler's voice. "They appear to have overlooked everything. Grab the swords."
There was a good dozen or so, and upon closer inspection, Kunio saw that they were…not quite as ordinary as he had assumed. Not that they had things on them that stood out, but that they shone…well, not like any metal he was familiar with. It was also surprisingly light, and oddly warm to the touch.
He did an awkward swing, and quite liked how it felt, amateur swordsman he was. Fiona would probably like this kind of weapon. "And here it is…" the Chronicler said, and in his hand was a goblet. It was definitely larger than most equivalent cups, but there didn't seem to be a lot that was intrinsically out of the ordinary.
It was made of a mixture of grey metals, and had some symmetry to it, but it was much plainer than he would have guessed. "I would have thought it would be flashier," Rosario said, looking at it closely. "So that's really it."
"The so-called Holy Grail, yes," the Chronicler said, putting it in the bag he'd brought along. "It used to be flashier. There was a different gem embedded into each corner, with a pure silver overlay. I stripped all of it out when I took possession of it. Better to be plain and functional than flashy."
Dawn was also holding one of the blades, and seemed to be liking fake-swinging it around. There was another weapon that Kunio also saw in the corner, and it definitely wasn't something that was ordinary. It looked like a sword, but if it had been made by…well, something not Human.
It was larger than the other swords, the hilt and blade had odd incisions, additions, and technology of some kind on it, or at least it seemed that way. There were also several wires or plugs that hung out from the bottom of the weapon. He reached over to pick it up, and the moment his hand closed around it, he was assaulted with…something.
It wasn't a telepathic attack, at least not a traditional one. It bypassed all of his defenses, and only showed a flash of white, and within the white he could see their forms outlined. All the outlined figures seemed to stare at him for long seconds, and then just as quickly, it all vanished and he was back in the darkness of the Bastion.
The weapon clattered to the ground.
He briefly stumbled back. "What was…" he quickly breathed.
"Are you ok?" Wuhan quickly rushed over to him.
"I…think so," he said, nodding. It had been more of a surprise than anything else. "Don't pick up that sword."
The Chronicler had come over, and the weapon flew towards him, hovering in front of him, though he did not touch it. "It is clear they did not look closely. I am surprised this was overlooked." There was that odd note in his voice again.
"What is that?" Kunio asked.
"I mentioned there were other alien artifacts hidden to history," the Chronicler said. "This is one of them. You would likely recognize it as 'Excalibur'."
"Like King Arthur?" Dawn asked.
"Yes, the very same," the Chronicler said. "Or…not. The legend was far different I believe than what happened. All I truly know is that a King called Arthur did exist – and was likely a psion who found this sword. It is psi-tech, you see, but alien. The research team will doubtless wish to look at this."
"Yeah, I'd think so," Kunio grunted, shaking his head to clear it of that weird vision. "Is that everything, then?"
"I believe so," the Chronicler looked around. "It appears the Collective has abandoned this place entirely. Which means that if XCOM was so inclined, more expeditions could be done to remove everything of worth. If this is all the Collective took, then there are likely other artifacts and historical objects that can be released to ADVENT."
"I don't suppose you have the Ark of the Covenant lying around?" Bryanna asked jokingly.
"Not here. "The Chronicler said in a half-serious tone. "I believe I left it in the Vatican."
The way he left the sentence made them wonder how serious he was when he said that, Kunio was inclined to believe he was joking, but…well, who knew at this point. He was just glad that their fears here were all for nothing, and this had been a straightforward operation. No drama or battle today.
Well, the Shoggoth was probably disappointed, but judging from its trilling, even it seemed ready to get out of here.
"Who is Ansaldo?"
Kunio turned around and saw Rosario standing next to one of the paintings. They seemed to be showing various events that were likely during EXALT's history, however the painting Rosario was pointed at was...different from the other ones. It seemed to display a massive stone temple, upon a desolate desert with roiling storm clouds above. It did not, in Kunio's opinion, seem to be from Earth. Yet according to the inscribed date, it had been made centuries ago.
"Ah," the Chronicler said, looking at the painting with that odd tone in his voice. "Let us say an...acquaintance." There was a pause, and he seemed to come to a decision. "Take it with us as well."
Kunio looked around. "Any of the others, while we're at it?"
"If you can carry them," the Chronicler said. "But let us be quick about it."
The Prism
7/24/2017 – 2:16 P.M.
Negotiations were set, and within a couple days they would be meeting with ADVENT to secure the return of the Second Guardian. The Battlemaster was not optimistic, at the end of the day, that these negotiations would be successful, but it was a worthwhile investment if it prevented the indefinite capture or execution of another Ethereal.
ADVENT was going to demand something extraordinary, no doubt, at least according to their initial proposals. He did appreciate that they didn't go out of their way to demand for things he would not be able to provide, such as withdrawing from the SAS. But pulling out of certain fronts, releasing captives, and providing resources were all within his power to do.
Of course, he was not so blind as to think that they weren't thinking ahead. They doubtless were concerned about any agreement being overturned, and were very carefully making demands and conditions that could not be overturned or undone easily, if at all. Which he could respect, though he had little desire to cheat ADVENT.
Though…he wondered if he was handicapping himself. He was not a standard negotiator, and according to what Yang was saying – Humans apparently had entire jobs devoted to this art. "They only do negotiations?" He asked, as she ate a bowl of cereal.
"Yes, and get paid very well doing so," she said in between bites. "For the most part it was between countries. There's people that only go to schools just to learn how best to talk someone out of what they want, while making them feel like they got the better end of the deal. Needless to say, this made deals extremely overcomplicated and competitive."
The Battlemaster shook his head. "It seems redundant and an intentional hardship. It is not difficult to come to an agreement, so long as all sides are clear on what they want."
"Oh, that's never the point," Yang said. "The point isn't to just get what you want, but to get everything you want, and if you're lucky, screw over the other person. We had these people in the legal system too. They're called lawyers."
"And their job was to negotiate for what?"
"Well, punishments," she shrugged. "Though some countries had more lawyers than others."
There were elements of Human society that continued to baffle him. "Why would they leave the punishment for lawbreaking up to which side can make a better argument? That is not justice. One could end up with a greater or lesser sentence than deserved."
She smiled grimly, pointing a spoon triumphantly. "Bingo. ADVENT did one good thing, and that's make lawyers obsolete. Now it's 'take a person before a judge, assess the evidence, and sentence them.' No idiotic things like lawyers and juries."
"I suspect ADVENT is going to be a difficult negotiator," he released a sigh. "Nor is Sana properly prepared."
"I don't know," Yang said. "The most important thing is to not back down if you know they're ripping you off. And they will try, they know how important this is, and will do whatever they can to get as much out of it, within reason, as possible. As long as we know that…we should be fine. Maybe we should bring the Zar'Chon along, though."
"Perhaps…"
"Well, this is certainly a fascinating conversation on the intricacies of Human argument," a smiling and familiar voice said, causing both Yang and the Battlemaster to spin towards it, with the Battlemaster's hand going to his weapon, and Yang spilling some of her milk on her shirt.
The Entity stood before them, still in the form of a Human. Hands clasped together, he appraised both of them, though focused on the Battlemaster. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed as though there was something more…sinister about him. Perhaps because of what he knew.
The Entity tapped a finger to his lips. "Well now, there is something a little different about you…" he began pacing, his glinting eyes never taking themselves off the Battlemaster. "I wonder what it could be?" He briefly stopped. "What, no greeting? Rather rude."
"I wondered if you would be coming back," the Battlemaster said. "It's been some time."
"Indeed, but you are hardly my only focus," it said with an easy smile. "Nonetheless, I am here now, and it is time we continued speaking. Now – I will say that I already know that you met with those rather persistent trackers from the Throne World." The Entity shook its head. "Honestly, I would have thought they would have more important things to do than chase after me across the Spheres."
"Given what was said of you, I am not surprised they would do so."
"Oh, and what could they have said?" The Entity asked dramatically, giving a mocking downcast look. "That I prey on the gullible and easily manipulated? That I eat children for breakfast? That I alone have the power to bring their little empire to the ground?" It shrugged. "Ah well, there is only so much I can do to contain the rumors, and there's nothing more reactionary than someone you've outsmarted. Iudexas, you must know that these people care very little for bringing me to 'justice', as it were. They only see the Spheres and those in them in terms of threat."
The Entity spread its hands. "They fear that one day, I will come back and crash their empire and break their power. Please, the machinations of empires and gods is rather trite and unimportant. Empires rise and fall, for me it is the people that make life interesting. Characters brought to life, whose actions shape history in many fascinating directions." A hand was waved. "Those of the Throne World see what I am, and they fear because they simply refuse to consider that not everything is about them."
"Yet you took an interest in them."
"And a thousand others," an eyebrow raised. "They were not special. The only difference was that one of them was able to…well, surprise me. And those little surprises are what make life interesting, wouldn't you agree?" It snorted. "I bear no ill-will to the Aen Elle for their misguided and doomed attempt to imprison me, they merely did what all reactionaries do to things they fear and misunderstand. I doubt it will make a difference, but should you see it again, please convey it."
"Why not tell them yourself?"
"Because I genuinely do not care about the Aen Elle any longer," the Entity said dryly. "I am not some pining maiden sick over a past love. There are far more interesting things to focus my attention on than the boring and trite society they embody."
Was it that, or because he had lost in that challenge? Defeat seemed like a foreign concept for this entity, and the Battlemaster disliked what he was saying. He was saying everything right, he was second-guessing himself now. Maybe the Throne World, this General was overreacting.
Or the Entity was telling him what he wanted to hear.
He knew what it would take to convince him. Being aware of this was less help than he would have liked. The Entity gave a gentle smile. "They asked you to do something, didn't they? Spy on me? Trick me? Even now, they still have not learned."
"What you are saying is proving their assessments."
"Oh? Do enlighten me."
"That you are a manipulator for your own ends. You are doing that even now."
"If making a logical case for why these persistent individuals continue following me when I have no interest in them is manipulation, then I'm afraid there is little I can say otherwise," the Entity said. "You know enough to think for yourself. To come to a decision based on what you know, not what others have told you."
"And what do you want now?"
"Why, to help of course!" The Entity smiled widely. "Exactly as I said from the beginning. Your road ahead is arduous, and I would prefer you emerge in a reasonable position. I would only require things fairly small in return – and there is something I can do now. I can ensure that the Second Guardian is safely returned. ADVENT will come to a reasonable deal, one more equal than they would like."
Help.
No one helped out of the goodness of their hearts. And certainly not this Entity. The more he spoke, the uneasier the Battlemaster became. Not because he was saying the wrong things – but because too much of what was said was almost tailored to convince him. No one could be this perfect, and now that he was aware of it, it was too much to ignore.
And if someone could judge him that well, they would be able to use him for their own ends, ones he doubted would be beneficial to him in the end. It would be easy to agree, and use this Entity's unusual influence to navigate this path. But…he would not put his destiny in the hands of someone other than himself and Yang.
"I have a counter-offer," he said.
"Oh?"
"I will invoke the Rite of Challenge."
There was a long, tense silence. For the first time, the Entity seemed to have been surprised. It was almost gawking at him, as if it was trying to comprehend the audacity of what had just been suggested. A minute passed. Then two.
Then the Entity burst out laughing.
"Oh, you cannot be serious? Did they explain it to you like that? Like it was some spell that would immediately bind me to the proposal? Utterly hilarious, thank you, Battlemaster, for the humor today," he wiped his eyes, his smile unnaturally wide, as his voice lowered. "I rarely do this, but I will make a small exception. I will pretend you did not say that, because if you did say that, well…I would highly not recommend it. You would not like where it leads."
"Nonetheless," the Battlemaster stated. "I mean it."
"You have no idea what you are doing," the Entity said, shaking his head. "None at all. Is this what you wish to be? A pawn of the Aen Elle? They are not your allies."
"Perhaps not, but you are not either."
"How hurtful," the Entity pouted sadly. "Yet as I said – surprises are the spice of life. You bear the mark, and if you wish to throw your life and soul to me, then who am I to stand in your way?"
"You assume much. You have been beaten before."
"Then may the best player win," the Entity said. "Well, I will accept your challenge, Iudexas. Go and consult with your new allies if you wish. It hardly will matter in the end."
"We will see," the Battlemaster said. "And you will return when?"
"When I feel like indulging in this little game," the Entity said nonchalantly. "Settling this will...force me to be occupied for some time, and thus I have several things to attend to. But I assure you, it will take little time. I would enjoy your last days, Battlemaster. Let them burn bright." With that, the Entity vanished before them, as if the space folded to remove him.
Yang took a deep breath. "I hope we're doing the right thing."
"We are," the Battlemaster said grimly. "Now we must ensure we succeed."
"Maybe he won't come back?" Yang suggested. "He might not want to lose again."
"Perhaps, but that is unlikely," the Battlemaster paused. "It cannot resist a challenge, and when it returns to face me, we will be ready."
To be continued in Chapter 70
For Our Own