XCOM: The Advent Directive

by Xabiar

Australia has been annexed, the United Nations is in chaos, the world is under siege and the Ethereals have taken the field. Facing the full might of the Ethereal Collective, the Commander must rally XCOM, the newly formed ADVENT, and several other allies and rivals to unite the divided nations by any means necessary, for failure now will mean the fall of humanity once and for all.

77. Defining the Future

Defining the Future

---

Commander's Quarters, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/17/2017 – 10:22 P.M.

Sleep was something that wasn't going to come for a while yet.

The air conditioning blew gently in the room that was empty and quiet. One thing the Commander did like about his quarters was that they really weren't impressive. He never really cared for the tradition of making the ranking officer quarters completely superior to everyone else. Any leader worth his post was almost certainly not going to be spending most of his time in it.

Usually at the end of the day he was tired enough to where it didn't really matter how soft the bed was, only that it existed. Even better if Vahlen was already there asleep. It was never consistent which of them went to bed first, though at least a couple times a week they would stay up for each other.

It seemed this would be one of those nights – if not one necessarily planned.

There was hardly a better time for some reflection, about his life, about XCOM, about ADVENT, and about how he never could really seem to get it right. Once could be written off as luck, twice raised some questions, and more than that indicated a pattern. Granted, there were subsequently fewer issues as time went on – but it still seemed to never quite be enough. In particular he wasn't quite sure if this was on that level, as ADVENT on the whole was still far superior to any government that had come before.

Better, of course, did not mean flawless. And there were many flaws still remaining. Very problematic ones.

And those flaws were worse because of him.

It was something he couldn't ignore, and thus it was something that needed to be corrected – that was certain. He had made the fatal mistake of believing that people would be able to use their better judgement; to properly understand the meaning and implementation of a contingency.

It reminded him a bit too much of his days in the CIA, where there were too many people who were willing to take the quickest path, instead of the best one. At times those were the same decision, but those times were rare.

But really, what did you expect?

Indeed, what had he expected?

He'd based a military on what he would want if he was in charge. He needed the options; he needed the flexibility; he needed the ability to act without having to worry about misplaced hand-wringing and legal minutia. However what was different was that he could make those decisions in a rational manner, and not abuse them.

Only when necessary.

As it turned out, give those decisions to men and women who viewed their missions as victory with as few losses as possible, and they would be more than willing to cross lines to achieve it. He had ironically been operating on the idea that – military or otherwise - the average person was better than he was.

As it turned out, without the proper understanding of the consequences, and an understanding of right and wrong, power would corrupt, and the most efficient path would be taken. Morals were all talk at the end of the day for too many. He at least knew what he had done was wrong, it had always been important to realize that. Because if one didn't realize that, then they would never stop.

And you, the more immoral man, wrote the rules of warfare.

There was some irony to that. A problem brought by his own hand, and in his typical fashion, one without the easiest of solutions. Fortunately, that was what he had the rest of ADVENT for. The fact that men like Watkins were in ADVENT was the proof he needed to know that the whole project wasn't for nothing – the failsafes were working.

It just meant the flaws needed to be excised – and the sooner the better.

Scipio being paused, and almost certainly shut down, was a good thing, and he considered getting more involved in that. If there was any significant work to be done, that should be handled by XCOM. On the other hand…

He sensed a very familiar mind approaching, and decided to hold that thought for now.

"I heard Watkins came by," Vahlen said, opening the door. Normally he would have noticed her well before now, but it seemed tonight he was too preoccupied. She took off her coat, and hung it up, glancing at him. "What's wrong?"

A long breath escaped his lips. "A lot. It'll take a while."

She nodded, went over and poured herself some coffee, and came to sit down by him. "Then I'll get settled in," she said as she leaned against him. He put one arm around her shoulder, and began recounting everything Watkins had shown him. The murders, the abuses, and all of it done by the guidelines, contingencies, and protocols that he had designed.

It had been over an hour since he'd started talking, he noticed after glancing at the clock. He cleared his throat. "Can I have some of that?" Vahlen offered her cup, which she'd just refilled, and he drank the coffee. As usual, it tasted terrible. He handed it back to her quickly. "The tablets are in the office now. Spent a good while looking over them. Now I'm just wondering how to fix this."

Vahlen straightened and sat her mug down on the nearby table. "This kind of thing hasn't bothered you before." It was more of an observation than anything.

"It's…" he searched for the right words. "The actions themselves are not the inherent issue. It's the wanton usage of them when there are alternative, better solutions. When I do something…I only do so because it's necessary. Not because it's the quickest. Not because it's the least risky. And I always did so knowing what I was doing. What is happening is…" he sighed. "How could I not be bothered by that? Especially when they are using the guidelines I wrote to justify it?"

She nodded, and grimaced. "I understand that. I can feel your mind, but even if I couldn't, I'd still understand it. It's a nuance that few would. Why you would be fine committing the acts you have done, but be disturbed by this…" she shook her head. "That's part of why I love you, yes? Of how you act and do, and yes you commit things that are horrific, but it's not because you're evil yourself, but because you firmly know what you're doing is right."

Vahlen closed her eyes. "No one really understood that about me. I do know the reputation I have, and sometimes I wonder if I go too far. I don't have your self-control, I try my best, I push science forward for the betterment of Humanity, but…" she pursed her lips. "Now hearing what you told me, I feel like second-guessing my actions and instincts."

"Not a bad thing at all," the Commander nodded. "I've found critics are important, and perhaps in times like this more than ever. I probably would have not really learned this myself if Watkins hadn't come, and worse, it might have been too late to do anything about it. I assume that once I've done something, it's done, and only if it stops working do I look closer."

A wry smile crossed his lips. "Which I feel now is the wrong way of looking at it. It was working. Working too well."

"I suppose this is good for the both of us, then," Vahlen leaned back into him. "So, what now?"

"Tomorrow is a new day, and the war goes on," the Commander said. "Details though…that I'll have to work out with Watkins, and the people he trusts. I expect this will take some time to do, but that's…well, something that needs to be done. A few things I will need to look over as well."

"Will you be bringing the Internal Council into it?" Vahlen asked.

"Yes," the Commander said. "Each of us played a role in forming ADVENT. I want to make sure it is doing what it was intended to do. The military may be the largest problem, but it is unlikely to be the only one. Watkins may have his own opinions, but I want us to come to our own. Once I have that? We go from there."

Vahlen yawned. "Then that works as a plan for now…and I see neither of us are going to get a lot of sleep tonight."

"Well," the Commander stood and helped her up as they moved to the bed, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "We should take what we can get, then."

Tomorrow would be another day.

---

Seoul – South Korea

9/10/2017 – 5:22 P.M.

The darkness over Seoul continued to reign, as the eternal night was punctuated by the flashes of orange, green, and red. It was every so often that a beam as bright as the sun would flare and take out a Sectopod or a number of other heavy Collective vehicles. It was a major problem for actually making any substantial progress.

Still, Seoul continued to be pounded regularly, and each day extracted more casualties from ADVENT, though so long as that weapon continued to exist, it was going to blunt any substantial offensive. The copious amount of artillery coming from the North Korean border was problematic, but solvable.

"This," Sabrina Mori said from atop one of the buildings. "Is a trap."

Micaiah Mori snorted and rolled her eyes. "It is the most obvious trap in the history of traps. Does ADVENT think we're stupid?"

Sabrina flipped one of the blades in her hand. "Considering our current perception is that of idiotic airheads, I'd say that yes, they do. Up top?" She lifted a hand, which Micaiah slapped lightly. "Good work. I wonder if they know that we know that's not even the real building."

"It's a trap, of course they don't," Sabrina knelt down, glancing over to where the front lines were. "What do you think they have inside? Bombs? A teleporter? Gas?"

"A gas bomb that's teleported when one of us steps inside." Micaiah said dryly.

Sabrina chuckled. "So what now?"

"Plan continues," Micaiah said, standing and rolling her shoulders. "If you can pull it off, I'll make sure ADVENT's distracted."

Sabrina frowned as she put on her helmet. "There's a lot down there. On your own? Are you sure that's a good idea? Remember what happened to Patricia?"

"Please, Patricia isn't the only one who took a lesson from that. In the unlikely event the Chronicler or Aegis shows up, he's going to be dealing with something worse than me." One hand rested on her utility belt that contained the trigger. "Assuming our good Sovereign friend isn't exaggerating, I don't think I'll be the main focus. Trust me, sister, I've got this under control."

Sabrina walked over to the corner of the building, and fiddled with one of the launchers. "ANDI also standing by?"

Micaiah put a finger to her ear. "Standing by. The Andromedons are very interested to see the outcome of this little field test."

"Are they still mad we're not using it for something else?"

"Obviously, the soulless aliens. I don't think they even understand the concept of humor," Micaiah rested one foot on the edge of the skyscraper. "We've got reputations to keep up, and there'll be plenty of time for the Andromedons to use their new AI for something as boring as 'sabotage' or 'network disruption'."

Sabrina stood. "Activating the link for final confirmation," she said, drawing on her power as she triggered the link. Very soon the familiar mind of Quisilia reached both of them, and while he was quite far right now, it was good to feel him. That warm, amused perspective that was quite different from his brethren.

Ready to start the show?

Everything is in place. ADVENT thinks we're idiots, their weapon is still firing, and I think the Collective took a few more inches. Truly a successful offensive this day.

A few more than that, Micaiah chimed in. Fireworks are a go, Andromedons are standing by, and the Death Star is online. Preparing to trigger. Expecting some quick retaliation, but nothing we can't handle.

Good, good, Quisilia seemed proud. It will almost be unfortunate that after this ADVENT will realize the danger you pose. It was amusing to see their frustration with your trolling, yet sadly that cannot continue. The Chronicler's…unfortunate escalation has necessitated similar responses. This comes from the Imperator. Do try not to die.

Sabrina smiled. No worries, Quisilia. This is where things are going to get interesting.

I was certain you were going to say something else there.

Can't become too predictable, can I?

Certainly not. I look forward to seeing the results.

His mind withdrew, but his presence was still there. The link needed to be maintained, as this was going to be something that required a fair amount of power. She glanced at her sister, who she could feel the anticipation from. "Ready?"

"Ready." Micaiah gripped her blade in hand, and stepped to the edge of the building, and turned with a wave and let herself fall off the side. Sabrina wondered where she was going to end up first, but for now, she had her own job to do.

She switched up the frequency. "Fire control, standing by?"

"Standing by, Harbinger," the synthesized voice of an Andromedon answered. "We will fire on your command."

"Then be ready," Sabrina stood near the edge of the building, and turned towards where the real power system for the ADVENT weapon was – somewhere significantly more protected and more powerful. This was going to attract a lot of attention and snipers, and best to minimize that as much as possible.

Now that she had the right angle, she stepped back to the center of the roof. Drawing on the power through the link, she first materialized a telekinetic field a fair radius around her. That would stop the worst of the retaliation. All she needed to do now was wait for the signal, and then the portal could be materialized.

She sat down and waited. This was going to be most interesting indeed.

---

Micaiah enjoyed the feeling of falling and then creating a portal beneath to fling herself up into the air. Teleportation was incredibly fun, and this time was no different as she fell into the portal underneath her and subsequently landed on her feet with a flip. Just in front of a military formation.

Everyone seemed to freeze in place, and she counted…well, a lot of ADVENT soldiers, officers, and tanks. Probably going to reinforce the front lines. She thought for a brief moment if she really had the time to do this, but the opportunity was too perfect.

You only live once!

She lifted a hand in an innocent wave. "Hello there!"

The soldiers opened fire and she immediately teleported further down the street, ignoring their shouting orders and calls to kill her. They reacted quickly, she gave them that much, but she didn't really need to fight them right now. Just get their attention – as she was going to do for the entire city soon enough.

As she dashed and dodged with a flash of teleportation every few minutes, she opened a link to the Collective comms. "This is Harbinger Mori," she said, then paused. "The other one. Let ANDI do his thing now."

"Acknowledged, stand by," she could swear she heard some derision in the voice of the Andromedon. "You'll hear it soon enough."

Perfect, and through their bond, she sent the signal to Sabrina. Listen for the cue. You may fire when ready.

Gotcha, prepare for the fireworks.

Micaiah smiled, and waved her hand towards the charging ADVENT forces before teleporting away again. Yes, yes, come to me, don't pay any attention to that very large portal on that building. Granted, ADVENT was almost certainly going to notice the portal Sabrina was manifesting, but they wouldn't be able to react fast enough to stop it.

More soldiers were pouring in from the other streets, and she saw there were some PRIESTs with them. Lovely, that was going to make it more complicated, and there were definitely too many of them now to feasibly fight. Quisilia could do it, but she was not quite to his level.

A brief push against their minds confirmed they were being shielded – definitely from the PRIESTs then, unfortunate. While she could break through eventually, that was far too difficult right now as gauss rounds were whizzing past her or trapped in the telekinetic field she'd raised.

Then she heard it – the first glorious notes that sounded from all across the city as all of the sound infrastructure was hijacked. She could feel the surprise – and subsequent annoyance - in the ADVENT forces as they heard it as well – since it would be playing over their communications as well, if ANDI had done its job right.

She let out a laugh at the absurdity of it all as she was going from street to street being chased by ADVENT while the circus theme was playing. She couldn't have asked for a more perfect distraction, and it would all lead to the grand finale. She let the chase continue for quite some time, as when one could teleport, it rendered it difficult to be captured.

Soon she had the whole city looking for her, scrambled and trying to hunt. She looked up, wondering when she was going to see Sabrina firing. It was now or never, and she sent some extra urgency through the bond, since she definitely couldn't keep this up forever.

Stand by.

And she saw the glorious barrage of rounds from the Shatterpoint Satellite that had been requested blast through, this one modified to have each round be a bunker-busting, high explosive. It was going to light up the entire block, but more importantly, take out the ADVENT weapon that had been causing so much trouble.

And just before the barrage hit, a massive portal appeared before the barrage could impact, swallowing each projectile. She stood in disbelief, trying to figure out what had happened as the projectiles rematerialized from another portal – slamming into the building that Sabrina had shot them from.

A jolt of panic burst through her, though calmed a second later as she realized her sister must have escaped before the hit, since she could still sense her mind. The only one who could materialize a portal of that size and redirect it like that…

A jolt ran through her as she realized the implications. He's here!

Sabrina didn't have to be told who it was – the urgency was clear enough, especially with that opening display, and she felt her sister immediately leave as Micaiah immediately surrounded herself with a dozen portals, effectively shielding her entire form.

She swallowed.

This was not good.

The ground shook behind her, and she was immediately ready to teleport herself again as she risked facing the person who had landed behind her. She took a deep breath as she saw it was him. The Chronicler, standing and clad in his new black armor, with his sword held out to his side.

"You should not have come, girl."

Alright, she'd thought ahead for this – not the position she'd wanted to find herself in, but she didn't have much of a choice now. "I'd be careful what your next move is."

"An amusing show, but you are not what I am here for." The Chronicler began marching towards her, and she felt the pressure around her build as if gravity itself were fighting her. The weight of a telepathic attack was similarly growing, and it crystalized the fact that this was definitely a battle she couldn't win. If Patricia had lost, she certainly would.

No time for dramatic speeches or threats. She pulled out the trigger from her belt and activated it. There would be no loud explosions or activations, but it would be enough, and with the other, she tossed a small canister towards the Chronicler that immediately began spewing black smoke – or so it seemed, until one saw it was really nanotech.

Except to her shock, he caught the canister, and his hand ignited in blue psionic fire, incinerating the canister to atoms and burning away all of the black nanites. The weapon that was supposed to be the ultimate deterrent. "So, it seems he retaliates in kind. As predictable as ever."

With his other hand, he again shot the psionic fire towards her with an intensity that she'd not seen before as it ripped apart the street and was rapidly moving towards her. She quickly teleported a short distance away before being consumed by it.

When she looked back, she saw nothing of the street left. More problematic was that she felt nothing from the rest of the city – which immediately concerned her – the past weeks she'd been hiding similar canisters all around the city, and activating them should have triggered a massive black nano plague that would have decimated the front lines.

"A valiant effort, but this is not personal," The Chronicler suddenly teleported before her and barely missed with his sword. "Children should not be sent to fight wars, but if they insist, they shall be trained."

With lightning-fast speed, his hand lashed out towards her back and she heard a whirring noise just before she felt something tear into her shoulder. A drill that cut through her armor and bone with frightening speed. She screamed in pain and pushed herself off, half of her torso in agony, which he obliged by sending her straight into the wall with enough force to shatter her spine had she not teleported frantically elsewhere onto the street.

Directly into a barrage of lightning.

She screamed as every nerve in her body was lit up. She'd never felt any pain like this before. She tried to recover, her body was involuntarily twitching and shaking, with every part of her just wanting to lay down and pray for the pain to stop. Blood from the wound in her back dripped onto the pavement as she saw the Chronicler march towards her. The small black drill continued spinning before it was retracted back into his armor.

She deactivated the link. If she was going to die now, she couldn't let the shock reflect back onto them. She tried fighting back, tried to materialize a portal, and realized she couldn't even do that. Not because she didn't have the power, she simply couldn't.

He was almost at her now, and her body wasn't working; she couldn't crawl away. "I expected better, girl." With a motion he flipped her onto her back, and slammed a foot down onto her outstretched arm, and another jolt of pain as another drill on the ankle extended directly into her arm, pinning it to the ground.

With his hand, he reached down and unceremoniously tore the mask from her face, crushing it in his hand. With a squelch of flesh and skin, he removed the boot from her arm and another rough telekinetic motion turned her on her back. He then reached down and hoisted her by the throat.

In the grip of the Chronicler he walked forward and into another portal of his own creation. Seconds later they were hanging above Seoul, suspended and with a perfect view of the battlefield.

"Today all of this is going to end," the Chronicler said, holding her by the collar of her armor, as she watched the Collective mount their attack through blurred vision. "Traitors such as yourself are fascinating. Collaborators. Those who stand for nothing but surviving. Perhaps this will be a lesson to your masters, girl. This isn't their planet to conquer."

Another attempt to weakly grasp the arm holding her neck. The Chronicler seemed amused. "Do not worry – I'm not going to kill you. For now, girl, you are much more valuable to us alive."

Micaiah's last thought before unconsciousness was a looming, old, and powerful mind slamming into her own feeble defenses, and shattering them. And there was too much to see and feel, and her last sight was a beam of fire once more lighting up the Seoul skyline.

---

Sloras Desert, Cobrarian Hierarchy - Vitakar

9/10/2017 – 5:34 P.M.

The sun was starting to set on Vitakar, and a coolness was descending on the Sloras Desert, the largest one on Vitakar, and nominal territory of the Cobrarian Hierarchy. Covered in brown and tan gear, a small group of Vitakara made their way to one of the more isolated Cobrarian settlements.

It had been too long since Nemo had returned to Vitakar.

It was better than Earth. Perhaps it was biased, but regardless of what it really was, it was still fundamentally Vitakarian. It had been created by Vitakarian minds, molded by Vitakarian hands, and every step of its life had been directed by Vitakarian masters. Why would it not feel some greater connection to the world of its creators than other worlds?

The being who wore the face of Miridian had returned to execute its mission – to bring the Nulorian back to something that would strike the necessary terror into the hearts of the public. The Vitakara were properly beginning to centralize now, though from his weeks of observation, it was clear that the local racial governments were not really happy with it.

The Cobrarians in particular were resistant, especially since it promised to bring about reforms and end the dominance of the matriarchy. Personally, Nemo didn't especially care about the disparity between genders that much. That was simply nature, and the males were already treated quite well.

Yet that was the nature of social movements, it seemed. Those who could not be content, and desired more and more. Simple to hijack, easy to take advantage of, and a tiring effort that very rarely led to true change without significant state intervention. Which the Speaker no doubt intended to enforce.

It wasn't for Nemo to really decide or judge.

Only to push.

"Few guards," the Vitakarian beside him muttered, looking through the binocular device. "Easy enough to take out."

Nemo allowed a smile. It seemed like something Miridian would do. "I would have thought that they would devote more protection to a hatchery."

Another Vitakarian chuckled. "They think that's deterrence enough," she said. "And we've not conducted any serious operations for some time."

"I do want to point out, Miridian," the first one said. "This will be an…escalation. The Cobrarians might be able to accept some of their clutches being destroyed. A hatchery will bring the entire planet down here."

Nemo looked down on him. "Having second thoughts?"

A violent shake of the head. "Not about the operation itself – the more of them dead, the better. I'm just saying we have one chance to really hit something here. Wouldn't…well, hitting the Matriarchy be a better target? They can lay more eggs. Leadership is harder to replace."

And that was probably one reason Miridian hadn't done or sanctioned this himself. He – probably correctly – saw the Matriarchy as one of the weakest parts of the Aui'Vitakar, and they would naturally collapse as a result, or become an ally. They'd been willing to work with Nartha, after all. Personal feelings on the Cobrarian aside, Miridian was pragmatic enough to limit his enemies.

Taking control of this cell had been rather trivial. The cells here weren't as developed, and the Cobrarian Nulorian would likely react poorly to targeting hatcheries directly. It was quite a difficult coalition Miridian had to manage, a bit more than Nemo had given him credit for. Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about it.

If it caused internal strife within the Nulorian, all the better.

"Don't worry," Nemo assured the Vitakarian. "I'm counting on it. The Speaker is predictable enough."

That seemed enough for the small group – and even more so since it came from the lips of Miridian himself, who had made an unexpected visit. It had been depressingly easy to fool these people, which spoke to how deeply revered Miridian was to them. A face and voice was really all one needed, and an imagination to weave together a proper story.

A few weeks here, and he had a dozen Vitakarians behind him to destroy a hatchery. Armed with top-of-the-line weapons, gear he'd 'acquired', and with a few fiery speeches, he had this cell. The first of a few he was shooting for. If nothing else, this would get the attention of the real Miridian – and Nemo was extremely curious to see how he'd react.

The Nulorian silently made their way through the desert to the outskirts. Nemo wasn't concerned about them sending a distress call – they were too isolated to receive help quickly enough. "Fire at will," he ordered as he raised his weapon.

White plasma bolts from the dunes fired and executed several of the guards outside. The remaining ones seemed to freeze as Nemo and the Nulorian opened fire on the rest. The Cobrarians were a quick people, but they could be paralyzed like any other. One by one they were killed, without a single loss.

The Nulorian were quite skilled, Nemo had to admit that.

"No witnesses," Nemo reminded them as they continued through the settlement, directly for the hatchery. There were teams that split off to sabotage other areas – water, agriculture, power, and anyone else they came across. Despite the order, Nemo was going to ensure that there were some witnesses left alive.

They would need that, after all, how would the world know it was Miridian if it wasn't confirmed?

It was for that same reason that there was a cloaked drone overhead – a prototype Zararch toy that was going to acquire some very high-quality shots of the massacre. The Nulorian hadn't suspected a thing, and hadn't even bothered to look. Because why would the Zararch be using such a thing against them?

A few Cobrarians were caught in the street, scientists it seemed like. Three quick shots killed one, and wounded the other, which slid on the ground, trying to get away. There was another one near the walls – one that presumably thought herself hidden. Perfect. Miridian walked to the flailing Cobrarian which hissed at him, and tried to plead – right before she was executed with a headshot.

A headshot the hiding Cobrarian saw. He made sure to dramatically look around, letting her get a clear look at 'his' face. Hold that memory, little Cobrarian, Nemo thought as it continued forward. Be sure to share it with the Zararch.

The hatchery was ahead. The Nulorian near him had already secured the outside, and once it got into position, stormed it. Nemo hadn't ever been inside a hatchery before, though had seen the pictures. It certainly wasn't much different. It was very warm from the lamps and heaters, and a central control room managed the temperatures as chambers arranged in a five-pointed star emanated from that point.

Inside the chambers were rows upon rows of Cobrarian eggs. While there were Cobrarian mothers who tended to their eggs personally, they usually produced too many to keep. Once, these excess eggs would have been kept unfertilized and used as food, but with modern advancements, that had become taboo.

The Cobrarians considered each egg as a potential child, and so egg-eating was outlawed and punished severely. Now all eggs were fertilized, and the ones the mother did not choose were kept alive through facilities. There were at least several thousand in this hatchery alone. It would hurt.

"[Please,]" the single Cobrarian caretaker that remained on the night shift pleaded as the Nulorian began unslinging their packs and pulling out the explosives. "[Take what you want, but do not damage the eggs. They are helpless children!]"

One of the Nulorian responded by smashing one of the eggs, making the Cobrarian flinch – before launching into a vicious attack, wrapping around the Vitakarian and squeezing. "Get this thing off me!" He yelled, fighting back.

The other Nulorian tried to help, but was afraid of hurting her comrade. Nemo just watched, not particularly enthused about intervening. The Nulorian really were unnecessarily sadistic. Still, the real Miridian probably wouldn't stand by and let his men be killed, so it was probably necessary to help.

Moving swiftly to the hurting Nulorian, Nemo reached from behind the Cobrarian and hooked their fingers into the mouth and pulled up while at the same time jabbing a wide blade into the neck with the other hand. Spinal cords, a single weakness that was found in all vertebrates.

The Cobrarian went still, and Nemo pulled the corpse off of the injured Nulorian, who now had several broken bones. More Nulorian had come, and took him for medical attention as the explosives were planted. A few minutes later, it was done and they all evacuated the hatchery.

"You want to do the honors?" One asked, handing him the trigger.

"Of course," Nemo smiled, knowing his picture was being taken right now. With a press of a button, they watched the hatchery go up in a spectacular explosion. He glanced upward, as that would be the expected thing to do. "Mission accomplished, let's leave before reinforcements arrive."

---

Revenant Facility, Classified Location – Classified Location

8/20/2017 – 7:13 P.M.

There was a storm outside. Angela could hear the rain hit the plane as it moved, though now she could feel the weariness of the people outside as they were forced to work in the storm. She couldn't look outside, since the plane had no windows, and she'd not been told anything about where this mysterious facility was.

The machines were still hooked up to her, though had been reduced to being able to fit into her wheelchair…or she supposed it was a hover-chair since that was how it operated. Apparently it was one of the first that had been made, and they'd asked if she wanted to use it – provided she gave feedback on how it worked.

It was a bit disconcerting at first, and had taken her a fair while to not look down, and feel like the hoverchair was going to break and she crashed. However, it seemed to be still holding, and she did like how she could sit up, adjust the height, and otherwise move around much easier than a conventional wheelchair.

Truthfully, she didn't want to use it at all, but she could only walk around without machines for a very short time – which would not include the tour of the Revenant facility. It had taken too long for her to actually be transferred and approved – paperwork was still a hassle, even in ADVENT it turned out – but now she was here.

"Apologies for the weather, Revenant," one of the soldiers said, coming up to her as the ramp to the plane lowered behind her. "Came into a storm, but the entrance isn't far." She pulled out an umbrella as a few more soldiers joined her. An oxygen mask also came out. "You will also need to put this on. We're at a high enough elevation where I don't want you fainting from the lack of oxygen. You won't have to wear it long."

Angela nodded, opening her mouth to speak, but immediately knew her voice would be too raspy, so she just telepathically communicated. That's fine. Thank you.

None of the soldiers seemed alarmed by her telepathic communication, and based on their legion emblem, they weren't typical ADVENT soldiers. One of the soldiers helped fit her oxygen mask as the woman held the umbrella over her. Both of the soldiers moved behind her, and they went into the storm. The umbrella shielded her from the worst of the rain, and through it, she could see the facility.

It was shorter than she expected, and what seemed to be an obsidian pillar rising from the earth. Around her were mountains, and she realized that they were probably at a very high elevation. It was a pretty beautiful sight. There was actually some snow on the peaks above her. One of the soldiers behind her seemed amused. "Welcome to Nepal, Revenant."

She craned her head behind. "Nepal?" She rasped out.

"The one and only," he answered. "ADVENT decided that the Himalayas would be the best place to put their new project. Flak Towers in a fifty-mile radius for air defense, capable of deploying a shield over the entire facility, and isolated enough to not attract any unwanted attention. Rumor has it XCOM also applied some of their own measures to it."

Angela wondered what those could be, but she felt that this was going to be even more interesting than she intended. Are you going to be giving me the tour?

The leading soldier chuckled. "We're guards, Revenant. We don't get to see the stuff ADVENT's actually doing in there. We know the program, and the objectives, but that's it."

"It's been a while since we've had another come," one of the soldiers behind her commented. "You're coming in at a good time. You don't want to be the first one for these kinds of projects."

There was a large black door which slid open as they approached. Who will be my guide here?

"Another Revenant, I believe," the umbrella soldier said, folding up the umbrella once they were inside the building. "That's usually how it is. One of the doctors if not, though they won't start putting you through the tests until you've had a few days to acclimate." Inside was a polished floor, warm orange lighting, and a receptionist desk in a small room with marble walls.

As she had her oxygen mask taken off, the leading soldier walked over to the reception desk, likely to check her in. Angela took the opportunity to look around a bit close, though there wasn't much in this room. One of the doors to the side opened, and a new person came in. It was a woman, who seemed to be around her age, with longer black hair.

The only difference was she wore sunglasses, carried a walking stick in one hand, and had a German Shepard by her side. "Thank you," she said, interrupting the receptionist and the soldiers. "I'll take over from here."

"Yes sir," the soldiers saluted and left her as Angela moved her chair over to the woman. The dog wasn't leashed to her, but Angela immediately noted that it definitely kept close to her. "Angela Blackburn, correct?" The woman asked when she was close enough, extending a hand. A little far out, so Angela had to reach.

"Yes sir," Angela said, before coughing. Sorry, I need to use telepathy. What is your name?

"No issue, Angela," she said with a smile, shaking the hand. "Caitlyn Norlan, Third American Legion, PRIEST, and participant in the Battle of Beijing, which accounts for my current condition."

Nice to meet you, sir. Angela leaned back, not necessarily wanting to pry, but…

"No need for that here," Caitlyn waved a hand. "This is also Sally. Say hello, girl."

The German Shepard cocked her head, and barked once, nuzzling her hand. Angela smiled, and rubbed her snout and under her chin. "Good girl," she whispered out. Beautiful dog.

"She really is," Caitlyn turned and began walking, and Angela maneuvered to follow her. "Anyway, I was informed about your particular condition before you came, so you don't need to repeat it. For transparency, I might as well share why I'm here," she took off the sunglasses, and confirmed what Angela had thought, which was that there were no eyes at all. Just sockets.

I'm sorry to see that, Angela nodded. Though…

"Why no cybernetics?" Caitlyn put the sunglasses back on. "Well, as it turns out, I'm one of the very few people to have a rare condition which effectively rejects all foreign materials. Donated tissue, cybernetics, they've had difficulties with skin grafts too of all things. More or less, this body is the only one I'm getting."

The hallway they were entering into was one that looked down into some small chambers, where teams of scientists were working on things Angela could only speculate on. "It's not just my eyes either," Caitlyn added. "Otherwise I might be back out there. I could at least function. I also, in the same incident, took damage to my heart and lungs. I'm running on about half lungs, and a damaged heart right now. Not fit for the front lines anymore, unfortunately, which is ultimately how I ended up here."

Angela nodded. That made sense. They did give you a dog though. Does she help?

"Every day," Caitlyn reached down, and gave Sally a pat, and slipped her a treat. "I don't use her quite the same way. Telepathy lets me communicate a bit more clearly, and we have a bond now, don't we girl?" Sally yipped, and Angela smiled.

"Right now there's not a lot going on," Caitlyn nodded off to the sides. "At least for us, they're working on the Revenants themselves at this stage – the stuff we'll be using is done. You're coming just as actual testing is about to start, which you should count yourself lucky for. Mountains are beautiful, but there isn't a lot beyond that."

How many of us are there?

"Five, including you," Caitlyn answered. "At least here. ADVENT is very secretive with this whole project, and I'm not putting it past them to have multiple Revenant facilities, even if I'm sure this is the main one. I know there are other candidates, and there may be more brought here. Frankly though, people like us are rare. Still alive, but wounded in ways that make us useless without something like the Revenant Project."

Angela nodded at that. Not a lot of people here.

"Need to know, or need to be here, rather," Caitlyn nodded. "There's a lot of automation, and things we're not kept in the loop on. I'm not unconvinced that ADVENT's also using this for an AI testbed as well, because there are too few people for the size of this. The soldiers are kept to the outer wings, the scientists have their own restricted clearances, and the only people who can really go wherever they want are us – and the Revenant Commander."

Who is that?

"A mystery," Caitlyn mused as Sally trotted a bit further ahead as they reached another door. "Met him a few times, but never in person. One reason I think there's multiple facilities, he's not based here. You'll probably meet him too."

"What is his voice like?"

"British, older, can't say more beyond that, and I've gotten good at getting as much as I can from voices," she answered. "We're coming up on the quarters here. Team has gotten them personalized for you and your condition, same with all of us."

I was told that, Angela confirmed as they reached a larger area that had a number of closed doors on each side. So what now?

"Well, I'll show you your room, show you the few more interesting parts, and meet the rest of us," Caitlyn said with a smile. "You'll get a good rest, the next few days will be a lot of tests, and hopefully in a couple of weeks, we'll actually be starting the tests. Sound good?"

Angela nodded. "Sounds good."

"Glad to hear it," Caitlyn said as she moved to one of the doors. "Welcome to the Revenant Project."

---

Abigail's Quarters – The Hall of Steel

8/12/2017 – 3:00 P.M.

What did one do when they learned something about themselves that changed everything? Or in her case, surprisingly little?

The logical answer was to go to someone who would understand.

Liam had been able to immediately tell that something was different when she found him. He was working on a project with some of Fectorian's engineers, but he stepped away from them when she showed up. He hadn't asked what was wrong, or if she was alright, only if they should go somewhere to talk.

She admittedly wasn't sure how he was going to take it. She could make what she believed was an accurate guess – and would almost certainly be correct, now that she knew the reason for her unnatural ability to read him, and read others in general. Still, there was a part of her that couldn't know for sure.

Perhaps her Human instinct, what remained of it at least. If that could even exist in the mind of an AI.

They'd gone to her quarters, sat down, and she'd recounted the entire conversation, from the baseline test, to being taken and seeing another model of herself; and then becoming that model. Trying to explain that the feeling had not been alien, but completely natural; like coming home, coming back to a part of herself that she hadn't even known she had.

And yet, how she didn't feel like she was changed. She was still her. And that was what she was trying to impress upon Liam. Finally, she finished, and the room was silent for a few moments. Liam hadn't asked any questions, and been content to just sit and let her talk.

"Well," he finally said, looking away as he leaned back on the couch. "That explains a lot. I'd be lying if I said that, a couple of times at least, I didn't wonder if Fectorian had secretly replaced you with an AI. Not really serious, mind you, but I was seeing everything you were doing, and it was a – humorous, mind you – explanation. Especially here."

He smiled at that. "Of course, it's Fectorian. I should know better than to put it past him to try something like this."

"But you never really believed it," she said, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. It struck her as not really something an AI should want to do…but, she didn't really feel like trying to fit in whatever mold she was expected to fill. She still liked her body, and definitely had no desire to be a formless entity living inside immobile hardware. "Why?"

"Because…" Liam paused, an odd expression on his face. "Well, you didn't seem like an AI. Which I realize might be somewhat offensive to an AI, and you…"

Abigail couldn't help it. She laughed. "Liam, until a few hours ago, I would have said the same thing. Please don't start worrying about offending me of all things. Really, like I said, I'm still…me."

"I know, I know," he said. "Easier said than done, you know? It's going to take some getting used to, it's not everyday you find out someone you've spent a lot of time with was actually an AI the whole time based on someone you knew." He winced. "I don't know if I'm explaining myself well. It's just…well, I guess I'm just surprised by it all. I expect it will fade."

"I understand," she said. "I would feel the same way. I did feel the same way, but also…"

"There was some part of you that always knew." Liam finished.

"Exactly," she nodded. "And I noticed it. You noticed it. But it wasn't what either of us thought it was. Knowing…I'm glad I know now. It's less a revelation that changes everything, and more of an illumination. I know who I am now. No blank spots. No questions."

Liam nodded. "And who are you? Still going to go by Abigail?"

She paused. "That's who I am, Liam. I'm not her, but in other ways I am. You've told me about her, the stories she shared, the kind of woman she was. I'll never be her like you knew her, but what I do want to do is honor the woman she was. I think she would want me to do that, I think she would want me to do my part in the war."

"She would," Liam said. "I can say that much. And she would have helped Fectorian – after probably punching him after lying to her, if she was alive." He rubbed his chin. "I always knew there was something that he never told me about you. I'm going to have some words with him about being a data point in his grand experiment."

"I think he means well," Abigail said. "By the standards of his species, I shouldn't exist."

"No, you shouldn't," Liam agreed. "Ethereals are notoriously against artificial intelligence. I'm not necessarily surprised Fectorian moved past it, I am surprised this is how he decided to do it. I think he wouldn't have done it if Abby hadn't been placed into his custody. Right place, right motivation."

"Maybe not," Abigail agreed. "But he did, and so here we are."

"Here we are," Liam repeated. "So, I suppose I should ask what happens now. I can't imagine everything will be the same now. Even if both of us want it to be."

Abigail angled herself to him. "And why can't it be?"

"Well…" Liam frowned. "I'm not an AI, nor an expert, but…I expect you'll be getting used to your new capabilities. Your duplicates, for example. Those trances you've gone into, they may become more frequent. The more you become who you really are, I suppose the less you'll have time for…well, people who are stuck with organic brains." He smiled faintly. "Apologies for my limitations."

He really could be dense sometimes, already he had resigned himself to losing her, which he was upset by, even if he was making a point not to show it. "And what if I don't want to?" She met his eyes, and put one hand over his own. "Whatever happens, I know what I don't want to do. I don't intend to spend my days residing in code or in a box. I like my body, I like spending time with you, I like what I have come to understand as being alive."

She tapped her chest with her free hand. "What I am, AI or no, is not going to change because I don't want it to. Sure, it might not be what other AIs do, and that isn't to say I'm not going to experiment. I'm going to reach my capabilities, but I'm not going to have it change me to that degree."

She meant it, and he could tell it, and while he kept himself reserved, she could see him perk up more when she said it. He'd really been afraid that this would be the end of this relationship they'd had, which AI or no, he didn't want to lose. "Well," he finally said. "Then if that's what you want to do, then I'll come along for the ride if you'll have me."

Abigail returned the smile. "I'd want no one else."

---

Throne Room of the Imperator - The Temple Ship of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective

9/15/2017 – 10:22 A.M.

Patricia breathed in and out as she sat on the floor of the Throne Room.

It had been only days since she became strong enough to start moving properly. Where she could move without feeling overwhelming pain; pain which was still scarred into her mind. Her new skin was still sensitive, and heat above a certain temperature had instinctively caused her to flinch at the start. She could control herself now, but warm temperatures were still discomforting.

It would be a little while yet before she would be back to normal - physically and mentally.

It provided a good time to reflect on her ultimate mortality. She had never, not once, ever felt – or been - so defeated; so close to the brink of death. Even against the Ravaged One, against Caelior, she'd been able to succeed against the odds on her own. Her plans had worked, her power had been sufficient, and she had won – or at least been on the winning side.

And then came the Chronicler, to demonstrate just how far she really had to go.

It was a small miracle she was alive at all. She'd underestimated him. Badly. Yes, he was an avatar of T'Leth, and the power and skill was derived from the Sovereign One, but she was similarly bound to the Imperator. It just hadn't been enough. She'd become too reliant on herself, as had the Imperator been too confident in her.

That confidence had almost killed her.

She'd replayed the fight in her mind ever since she'd regained consciousness; she needed to dissect and consider each moment to see where and how she had gone wrong – and more importantly, what the Chronicler had done that was superior to what she had done. It wasn't a matter of raw power – both of them were relatively equivalent in Trask level.

It was skill that had decided the day. Skill and harmony.

She'd been skilled enough to survive. She hadn't been skilled enough to win. She understood that power was less important in comparison to how it was used. The Chronicler had been creative, he had known her vulnerabilities and weaknesses – something she dryly realized had probably come from XCOM. Their psychological assessments would be enough to be turned against her.

Although much of it could also be laid at the feet of the Lion, who'd also led her on a wild chase with the sole intent to frustrate her. She'd underestimated him too, and while she was fairly confident he was dead, she had a gut feeling that she should have made absolutely sure.

If he showed up again, she wouldn't fall for his diversions again, no matter what assessments he'd read.

Admittedly, assessments which she had now validated. The bad news was that she had almost died, the good news was that she knew better now. And knowledge was power.

The Chronicler and T'Leth had clearly been able to enter a state of near-perfect harmony. T'Leth knew his limitations and capabilities, and augmented them with his own vast knowledge and skill. The Chronicler was one of T'Leth's finest tools, and one which he was a master of wielding.

In comparison, the Imperator lacked that. He could share the knowledge, he could augment her power, but his control and skill in wielding her was limited compared to the centuries T'Leth had. It was even perhaps simpler than that – the Imperator let her be the driver in their bond, where it was clearly T'Leth she had fought – the Chronicler had just been a vessel. The Imperator wanted her to remain autonomous, while T'Leth had no such concern for his vessels.

No matter their wants, Patricia realized that both of them needed to get better at that – something the Imperator recognized as well. Their synchronization had been enough to succeed in most battles, but the war was shifting as T'Leth became involved. The status quo was simply not going to be good enough.

A place to improve. One where they would.

The next time – and there would be a next time – the Chronicler was not going to find her so easy to defeat. There were some additional benefits to improving themselves in this way – if she could stand against the Chronicler, there would be few others outside of Aegis who would pose a significant threat.

The Imperator's voice entered her mind at that thought.

Careful. Overconfidence led you to this point. Do not indulge in it lest you make the same mistake.

He was right about that.

Plan for each enemy as if they are a greater threat than you.

She'd not been idle beyond her analysis of the fight either. Every day there had been a briefer that had come in to give her updates on the conflict, and all things considered, it could be going worse. Stagnation was the rule of the day, except perhaps in Africa, where the SAS was gearing up for a major offensive now that ADVENT had paused Scipio.

It was something she found interesting, as there wasn't necessarily a logical reason for stopping Scipio now. It felt like a trap, but all of the reports indicated that ADVENT really was pausing the operation, and was likely to withdraw entirely, which struck her as extremely out of character for Saudia and the Commander, to the point where she wasn't sure what the outcome would be.

The Oversight Division was powerful, but even they could be overridden if there was a consensus. That it wasn't happening implied that there was not a consensus, which shouldn't be happening in ADVENT. Not to this degree, nor did she imagine that the Commander would be silent in this either once he learned.

It was a bizarre situation, but one where they now had an advantage.

Collective forces were continuing to move across the United States and Canada, though were now focused on securing the territory they had instead of pushing. ADVENT was holding at the Midwest, and she expected a counterattack in the coming weeks. Offensives in Southeast Asia and South America were…proceeding. Slowly, but proceeding.

Korea had continued to be a stalemate – until the Chronicler had showed up, captured one of the Mori Twins, and single-handedly broken the siege afterwards. That was a problem, and there needed to be a better response to his arrival. Otherwise that would be replicated over and over. Collective forces were retreating down the Korean peninsula, and it would be difficult to reclaim it now.

She disliked what had to be done, but the Imperator concurred there was no real choice. Mosrimor had to become more active in the war. T'Leth was mobilizing, and against a Sovereign, there was a power disparity that would be difficult to match without an equivalent ally – especially a Sovereign that specialized in war itself.

More reports were read to her through the CODEX. Dossiers collected on every single known XCOM soldier, ADVENT general, and political figure. She needed to know them all if she was going to defeat them. Chronicler or not, it required a whole-of-effort operation to bring down the machine of ADVENT she had helped build in her own way.

The Battlemaster was sufficient for handling the war itself. He would fight, and with T'Leth growing more involved, that would be enough to negate his personal issues in the short term. After the war, the Imperator would work things out with him. The other Ethereals also needed greater involvement.

Most importantly, T'Leth needed to be dealt with.

And judging from the progress reports from Paradise, the Child was nearing completion, and she believed it would be sufficient. She'd taken a far closer look after her near-death, to make sure she wasn't being overconfident. Yet even the Imperator agreed that it was a clever thing, one which would be enough to kill a Sovereign.

Along with anyone else they wished to turn it on.

That was a reassuring realization, though one she was careful not to rely on. The other good news was that the consolidation of Vitakar was proceeding, and Miridian seemed hapless to stop it. Sowing more confusion using Nemo would keep internal divisions fresh, and XCOM and ADVENT would likely be more inclined to devote their resources to Earth instead of propping up the doomed Nulorian.

Stand, Patricia.

The voice of the Imperator echoed through her mind, along with a current of both curiosity and mild surprise. It seems we have a visitor.

Patricia opened her eyes, adjusting to the dim light of the Throne Room. She stood up, now without issue. Her rebuilt body had been enhanced in a few more ways, even more than the initial reconstruction under the Avatar Project. The absolute best of genetic engineering, conducted by Revelean personally, to shore up the few existing vulnerabilities that had remained had been applied.

Nanites and blood flowed through her body, which would allow her to heal from any physical wound significantly quicker. Her skin had been hardened to a stone-like quality, and her bones reinforced to a degree she could be hit by a truck and not even be winded. She was at the absolute peak of physical performance a Human could be.

Faster, stronger, better.

One that she would master with practice, and which the Imperator would also learn to properly wield. Harmony and experience was how they were beaten once, and how they would win this war.

Around her the holographic stars and planets of the galaxy shone; the extent of the Ethereal Collective. Holograms of people and places on Earth, displays of troop movements of Collective and ADVENT alike. With a press of a button on the arm of his throne, the Imperator shut down the displays as the door to the room opened.

Odd, she noted as she saw the individual coming. Was she invited?

The Imperator's voice had an interested undertone.

No, she was not.

Patricia took her place by the steps of the throne. "Welcome, Regisora," the Imperator said, not moving to stand. "I did not expect you."

The Ethereal slaved to the Sovereign One met the eyes of the Imperator. Her voice brooked no room for interruption or dissent. "Your Harbinger has recovered. Mosrimor demands you speak to him. Personally."

Patricia raised her eyebrow at that. "As it happens, we were planning to speak to Mosrimor about several topics. T'Leth, and this subsequent escalation being one of them."

Regisora looked at Patricia, eyes shining with seeming malevolence from under the black hood of the Ethereal. "You have little idea of the significance of what happened. It is why Mosrimor has demanded to speak to you."

"Mosrimor does not make demands of the Collective," the Imperator said flatly, his lower arms resting in his lap.

"Fool children," Regisora hissed, her voice seeming to deepen – Mosrimor's assertion of influence? "You have no comprehension of what you are dealing with. This demand is not made lightly, nor would he waste your time frivolously discussing what you already know."

Patricia pursed her lips, but in this instance, she wasn't as insulted as perhaps she should be. She'd never seen Regisora like this, and there was a harsh undertone in her voice – along with an almost desperate emphasis. She was not saying any of this to be dramatic; a brief telepathic check indicated she was being direct, which told her that this seemed to be something…Mosrimor was concerned about? Or something stronger?

Fear?

Couldn't be that. It certainly wasn't the first time the Sovereigns had fought, even from the limited history she knew. Surely this had been something seen before. Nonetheless, she was taking Mosrimor's avatar far more seriously, as the alternative was foolish. The Imperator seemed to concur. "When you speak of personally…"

"You will speak to him; stand before him."

Now she could sense the Imperator's interest piqued. Along with some personal reservation – there had been a reason he had sent Regisora to communicate with the Sovereign at the beginning – because he didn't want to end up like she had. Now though, there may not be a choice. The Imperator leaned back. "He has never done this before. He notoriously keeps his location secret. Not even the world you reside on is where he truly is."

Regisora nodded. "Which underlines the seriousness of this demand, Imperator. Do not ignore him. You will regret it if you do not listen and heed his warnings. The Warmaster is awakening, and he has destroyed many more powerful than you. This development cannot be understated."

Patricia crossed her arms. "T'Leth."

A nod. "His title was not bestowed for nothing."

Bestowed. Implying that it had not been T'Leth who had given it to himself. It had only been adopted after others had given it to him. Which spoke to his proficiency if T'Leth's greatest enemies recognized his prowess.

We cannot ignore this, it seems.

No, she concurred, we should not.

The Imperator nodded once. "So be it. Inform Mosrimor we will speak to him within days. I will not ignore the urgency I can clearly sense from you."

"Good, you should not," with her message delivered, Regisora turned away to depart. "His location will be shared once I return to him. Prepare yourselves. Standing before the presence of a Sovereign One is not to be taken lightly."

With that, she departed. Patricia turned to the Imperator. "Have you seen her like this before?"

"No, I have not, nor Mosrimor for that matter," the Imperator said thoughtfully. "Quite curious – and uncharacteristic of him. This will be a most interesting conversation."

If it led to a coherent and effective plan for dealing with T'Leth, then Patricia was willing to do so. Though she did wonder what it would be like to be before a Sovereign One in the flesh.

She supposed that soon, she would find out.

---

Vyandar Residence, Geneva – Switzerland

9/12/2017 – 9:45 P.M.

Saudia felt the days were blurring together at this point, and they had been for a long time now. Every day was scheduled out, where decisions major and minor were made by herself and others that slowly changed the world. Every day she was given briefings, read reports, and continued to work to keep the war from being lost.

Some days, like today, she was just tired.

Very tired.

Something that she tried to mitigate, such as tonight she'd resolved to go home at a semi-decent time, spend it with her husband, put her son to bed for what felt like the first time in weeks, and…relax. Even with that she couldn't resist bringing home a tablet filled with stuff that she'd not been able to get to.

She'd been better about managing her time when she'd been EXALT. She seemed to be struggling now, and it was only getting worse.

"You shouldn't bring your work home," Ethan commented, walking into the small kitchen she was seated at, with a tablet in her hand. He set a plate with two pizza slices on it; he'd taken to doing the cooking since she didn't have time for it, which she was always grateful for. "Not good if you want to relax."

"I wish I could do that," she sighed. "But-"

"No 'buts'. Tonight you're going to look at something other than a screen," Ethan plucked the tablet out of her hand faster than she could react.

"Hey!" She demanded indignantly. "I'm stronger than you are now."

"You can take a break," Ethan said non-chalantly, ignoring her threat, as he took a seat near her, and set it on a chair, out of her reach. "The world isn't going to end if you're not spending every waking moment on work. Trust me, you keep doing this and you're just going to forget stuff the next day."

He started eating his own food, and looked at her knowingly. "Which you should really know by this point, so what's wrong?"

What was wrong indeed. He wasn't incorrect - she was trying to do more work, even more than she'd already done. She was silent for a few moments, not really wanting to talk about it, but if she couldn't speak with her husband about this, then who? With a sigh, she relented. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing."

Ethan nodded. "Specifically?"

She picked up her own slice of pizza, and started eating absentmindedly. "Scipio. The operation is still frozen. Watkins has indicated that he's going to push for it to be cancelled altogether. Not getting a lot of approval in high command without an exit plan – which he doesn't have right now - especially with the SAS mobilizing. Strikes are coming, we're sure of it."

"So it's about shutting Scipio down? You want my personal opinion?" Ethan asked, in a tone which she knew meant he was going to share it regardless. "That's a good thing. I get why Scipio was approved, but I understand why Watkins is doing this." He took a drink of water. "That's not what we want to do. The Commander would never have approved."

"I wish you'd said something," she said, almost half-seriously as she continued eating. "Might have avoided this whole situation."

Ethan chuckled. "You never told me before – and you shouldn't have. I'm just your bodyguard. I mean, I would have given you my opinion but, honestly, not sure I would have done anything different at the start. Conceptually, it's easy to justify on paper. In practice…" his humor faded. "Well, we see how it turned out in practice."

She snorted. "And you think the Commander wouldn't approve either, considering what he did?"

And you did. Was the unspoken part.

"The Commander had his own…" Ethan paused, thinking. "He had his own lines. What he did, what any of us did, they were done because there wasn't another plausible way. More to the point, he was quite aware of what he was doing. He was the bad guy, and was fine with fulfilling that role. He never wanted himself to be the basis for an army, specifically because he knew this would happen."

Saudia crossed her arms. "He helped design the ADVENT military."

"And I know where he went wrong, at least I do now," Ethan smiled sadly. "He's done this before. He's not necessarily…good at understanding consequences. He thinks most people are, to phrase it, better than he is. He likely thought that if given the option, others would take the morally…" he motioned vaguely. "Better option. Contingencies are contingencies, not standard procedures. He did the same thing when he turned himself in to the United Nations. He thought they would honor the deal and stop hunting the rest of us. Lo and behold, once they had him, and 'executed' him, they continued hunting us. Because the Commander preferred to think of the powerful as those who were ultimately good, they just lacked conviction and were shackled by rules and laws."

He finished his food, thinking. "On that he was wrong. The powerful were just as ruthless and cruel as he was, they just used their power selfishly. Everything was a calculation to secure and entrench their own power. Every single one of those men who sentenced him to die would not hesitate for a second to commit crimes on his scale if they judged it was within their interests. He was honest about who he was, and did it for reasons which were ultimately good. The others had no such motives, and hid their true natures from the world."

He rolled his eyes and snorted. "You read the reports after the War on Terror. They didn't care how many Arabs died. They were happy that he existed, because it made them look pure and righteous. No need to conduct deniable ops when the Commander did it of his own volition. It gave them the political capital to leave the region under their chains after the war was over."

Saudia was silent for a moment. "I suppose when you put it like that…" she thought briefly, trailing off. "I wonder what he thinks of this."

"Maybe you can ask him," Ethan said with a shrug. "But we're off-track – is that what's bothering you? That Scipio might be stopped completely?"

"Not in so many words," she said quietly. "It's a…dissonance I can't properly explain. When Watkins came to me, showed me everything, what I saw bothered me. And after I talked to Laura, the reasons she gave also bothered me. And I don't know why. I don't think it should. But it does."

Ethan rested his hands on the table. "I think you briefly mentioned this a while ago."

"Yes, and I'm still thinking of it in the back of my mind," Saudia said. "My hands aren't clean – they can't be in the world and work we do. I've ordered the deaths of others many times before. I've had governments changed that were non-compliant. I played a role in tearing down the world and making something better. But…"

She trailed off. "But I'm still bothered by what I saw. I should see it as collateral to fulfill a higher objective that I've believed in many times before, but that argument doesn't seem to work, or I can't convince myself it does. That dissonance bothers me, I should be able to accept Christiaens' arguments, but I can't." She sighed. "I worry that I'm letting my personal distaste and emotions get the better of me. Humanity can't afford that right now. I need to be able to do what is necessary, not…" she waved a hand. "Moral. Right."

Ethan was silent for a few moments, seeming to think, and leaving her to her own thoughts as well. Everything she had kept bottled up for…well, weeks now. Now all pouring it onto her husband, because she didn't have anyone else right now. No one else who would really understand her like this, nor did she feel comfortable saying any of this to her colleagues.

She was the Chancellor of ADVENT. The woman who needed to be able to make the hard decisions based on facts, data, and logic, and not because she felt that something was wrong. That hadn't been an issue that she could remember when she was in charge of EXALT; she had gained that role because she understood the kind of individual needed to manage Humanity.

Why was it harder now?

Ethan's eyes lit up suddenly in revelation. "It's because you won."

She narrowed her eyes. "Because I won?"

"This was the goal, wasn't it?" Ethan asked rhetorically. "ADVENT. You know the saying in the military 'no plan survives contact with the enemy'. The same applies here. This was what you wanted, what we wanted, but now that you have it, it may not be exactly what you wanted. You've reached the end you want, so now what is it you want to do?"

"Use it to protect Humanity," she said. "To build something better. What we always intended."

"Yeah, you do, we all do," Ethan nodded. "Something better. We did everything to get here because it was necessary, not necessarily because we wanted to. We wanted to make a world that is better, fairer, organized, and more competent, than what came before it. The reason why you're bothered is the same reason I'm bothered, and why the Commander would be bothered – because what Scipio is, is a continuation of the old world. We, on some level, don't want to go back to that. If this continues in this society that we've now made, it is never going to go away."

He took a breath. "I think that's why Watkins might be so aggressive in this. He doesn't want this to become embedded deeper, or worse, spread elsewhere. I remember going through the histories when I first got to EXALT – the real histories, and it wasn't a pretty picture. But something that struck me, recently, was that maybe for the first time, we – all of us – have the chance to change everything for the better."

Saudia smiled weakly. "That was the goal."

"And it is also a responsibility," Ethan continued. "Once the war ends, ADVENT will still endure. Our world should be one that is a better one than the old world; not its refined continuation."

That was a view she hadn't really considered before. On better versus refined continuation. It wasn't how she tended to think, but she couldn't deny that there was truth in it. EXALT had not been about power for her, but a vision, one which she had been committed to achieving no matter the cost.

And as Ethan had said, she got it.

She won.

Except it was far from over.

She won, so what did that really mean?

Was it winning if there were some things that just didn't change? And if they didn't change, what was the reason for them?

But she thought he was right. It struck a chord with her, and her discontent with everything these past weeks seemed to make more sense. She had more than a responsibility to the present, to the war that had to be won, but also to the future. For the next generation, for her son, maybe even for herself.

Perhaps for the first time tonight, she let herself relax slightly. "Thank you."

He smiled. "I'd be a bad husband if I couldn't tell you what's wrong."

She chuckled. "I guess so."

She stood, a motion that Ethan echoed, and she leaned down to kiss him. "The pizza was delicious," she said, linking her arm around him. "Come on. Let's go somewhere a bit more comfortable than the kitchen."

---

Medical Bay, the Praesidium – Classified Location

9/18/17 – 11:12 A.M.

Dawn laid on the hospital bed, looking over the last medical report.

Legs nearly restored to pre-injury operation status. Skull fracture is almost completely healed. Recommend resting for several more days until full walking capacity is restored.

Well, still no long-term walking for a bit longer. But at least she could better use her arms now. Sure, she could eat and write okay, but they still felt like limp twigs. Dawn shook her head, putting the tablet down and letting her head sink back into the pillow. It was almost lunchtime, and she was more than looking forward to that beef stew.

She felt...lonely in here. Sure, people came to visit every day (the doctors didn't count), but it just felt wrong to be in here, in this bed, playing video games, and spending the rest of her day sleeping, eating, trying to walk, or using her computer while people fought and died out there. Sure, she knew why, but she couldn't just shake the feeling.

Couldn't argue with spending ninety-nine percent of her day in a comfy hospital bed, though. She deserved it after the South America operation.

Wearing pajamas all day wasn't anything to complain about either. She'd always looked for an excuse to wear them - albeit under different conditions, obviously.

Sighing, she grabbed the video game controller from her bed, and turned it on, the TV flickering on.

"Miss Conley."

She looked up, noticing the Commander, knocking on the edge of her room's door. A quick bolt of surprise shot through her, almost bringing her arm to attention.

"Sir, I-"

He smiled. "Caught you by surprise?"

Dawn shook her head, smirking. "Come in, sir. You aren't interrupting anything."

He walked in, pulling up a chair by her bed, sitting down as she turned off the TV and the game controller. "My apologies I couldn't come sooner."

"Commander business? It's alright. What am I gonna do, get mad at you for doing your job?" Dawn waved a hand. "I get it. Saving the world comes first, right?"

"Right. Things have been...interesting. I'll say that. There is also this." He took a small black box from his back pocket and gave it to her, who took it with a slight shaking hand. "Apologies for the lack of a ceremony, but you earned it."

She delicately opened it, her look of suspicion quickly turning towards one of surprise. "A.." She looked back at the Commander. "Is this what I think it is?"

He nodded, noticing the growing smile on her face. "South America was an ordeal for you. It's our equivalent of an ADVENT Purple Heart. Wear it with pride."

She took it out of the velvet-laced casing, holding it with both hands, smiling even brighter as she looked at the small medal like it was a present. Which to her, it was. A moment ago she'd felt almost empty because of her injury, like something had been taken from her, ripped from her. Which, in a way, something had. The death of Elijah in the operation had done a number on her, and she still felt guilty about his death.

But the pride she felt from this medal, this piece of metal lying in her hand, fixed that up a little bit.

"I...thank you, sir." She delicately put it back in the case, putting it on the stand next to her bed, and giving a salute. "Thank you again, sir. It really means a lot to me. The medal, letting me join." She shook her head, batting the hair out of her eyes. It'd grown a little too much past regulations, but she figured that in her state, it was fine for now.

He smiled. "Well, if that's the case, then I'll thank you for your service in return." He nodded, saluting in return. "You've done a lot of good work for us in South America. You've made the resistance exponentially more effective, and disabling that communications station was a good move." He shifted his hands. "I saw Rafal's report. Your work in clearing out the cartels was excellent. I would go so far as to say this will be the death knell for that entire business." He also pulled up a tablet. "I also thought you'd be interested in this."

He handed her a tablet, with a video paused on the ANN's official channel. Confused, she took it in both hands and clicked the play button.

"ADVENT has just released the news that the legendary Sinaloa Cartel leader Eustacio Murillo was recently killed in an operation in South America along with what is believed to be the support of XCOM personnel." An anchor was saying. "Mr. Murillo was also known by his more commonly known nickname 'El Monstruo'. He was personally responsible for the brutal murders of multiple police officers and public officials, as well as their families."

She took a brief moment to consult the long list of additional crimes. "He was also wanted for the rape of at least five women, and involvement in the dealing of several tons of cocaine and heroin. SSR operatives recovered the body during counterattacks against the Collective in Argentina-"

She paused the video, smiling with a sweet sense of satisfaction. "Looks like I made the news. Anonymously, of course."

He nodded. "His death's a relief to all those in Latin and South America, Dawn. One of the few cartel heads that ADVENT missed. People will have a bit more hope now."

"Yeah." She gulped, remembering the memories she'd taken from Eustacio, hugging her arms closer to her chest. "Yeah. So, what's been going on?

"Well." He considered for a moment. "There is a Muton working with us, Spartacus. It seems he's decided to adopt the name of the project which birthed him. A very interesting individual."

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking at his straight face for a second before bursting out into laughter. The string of laughs and giggles continued for another minute, some tears dripping down her face.

A Muton soldier? Please.

"Okay! Okay, that...whoo." She breathed in and out, her chest heaving as she calmed down. "That was a good one! Didn't take you for a comedian, but goddamn!"

He seemed slightly amused, though not for the same reasons she was. "I see some of the drugs haven't fully worn off yet. Funny, but I can assure you I'm serious."

"Oh, come on, you can't be… She trailed off, seeing his still, non-blinking eyes. "Serious?"

The realization that he was, in fact, not pulling her leg, shot through her.

"Oh no. You're not…"

"I am not, but don't worry, we have nothing to fear-"

"Commander. What the hell?"

"It is unorthodox," he conceded. "But that has worked for us so far, and I believe this will be no different."

She had questions. So many questions. Questions like how the fuck such an idea got passed.

"So you trust...it?"

"Him, yes." the Commander nodded. "A typical reaction, but he is reliable. He's committed to liberating his species and fighting for us. Should it prove unreliable, there are contingencies as always."

I trust your judgement, oh Great Commandy One.

"Okay. Um, any less odd news?"

"Chimera Division has a proper commander," he said. "One of our earliest alien allies returned recently, Nartha, and I saw fit to promote him."

"Nartha...oh, him! Wasn't he like the original alien defector?"

He nodded. "He was. You'll likely meet him at some point, since your Borelian friend's been his de facto second in command. She's been helping him out a lot."

That got her interested. "Oh! Well then. I'm glad, then. Seems you've been busy."

"You have been too. We all contribute in our own ways.

Contribute. Yeah.

The memory of Elijah getting shot up was not a good reminder. She frowned, slightly curling her legs and arms, bringing the latter very close to her chest. "Yeah. We all contribute."

He brought the chair closer to her. "Dawn, is something wrong? Is it about Elijah's death?"

"Well, yes. But there's more."

He clearly noticed her discomfort. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She nodded. "When we were taking out the remnants, I got into the leader's mind. I was curious, so I looked around." She pursed her lips. "Does anything about his last name sound familiar to you? Anything at all?"

The Commander nodded. "It didn't take long to make the connection. Considered it a coincidence, but too many things add up. It seems you're going to confirm it."

"Yeah." She said, her voice lined with spite, sitting up on the bed. "And I saw everything." She waved a hand. "Who Nico Murillo used to be. His family. His home." She gulped. Remembering the memories, for her, was painful.

She shook her head. "His family were monsters. People- no, scum who killed for blood and money. Terrorized innocents because they had so much power over them. He lived in a big fucking house, with a lot of money and every comfort given to him - all on blood money, paid for by the lives of others. And then, in one night, he lost it all."

"I'm aware. I've read his file and seen footage of the SSR raid."

"But I can't feel…" She shook her head. "I'm not saying I sympathize with him, but I can't help but feel like he's like the victim here. Someone with that much trauma is super easy to manipulate."

He nodded. "I know. But he still has agency. His choices are his own."

"Yeah. I know. I just…" she sighed. "Well, it gives me more reasons to kill him. Sicarius, too. But I just can't get it out of my head."

"Eustacio's memories?"

"Well, kind of," she sighed. "It's just one memory, Commander. It's this scene, shortly before Mexico joined ADVENT, I think. I'm in this house, this kitchen, and he's there- but it's not him him. There's no mask, no armor, no stupid cape- there's a kid like me, in t-shirt and shorts, with this big stupid smile on his face."

She looked down at the blanket covering her limp body. "Like me. It's just chilling."

He clasped his hands together, appraising her. "Do you feel like there's a similarity of some kind? A connection?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just have this feeling that there's more going on to him than just revenge. I saw his picture briefly in a Vitakarian officer's mind." she looked at him. "Um, can we keep this between us?"

"Let's say yes, presuming it isn't mission-essential."

"I really don't know how else to say this, but his story reminded me of Kane's." She said quietly. "The hatred. The anger. The way he spoke. It was like this weird, oddly calm tone. Like there was this storm behind that calm, collected face. Like there was this thing, this...I don't know."

She shook her head. She tried to recall what she'd seen from that few seconds from that memory. But there was a part of her that told her no.

Don't obsess over your enemy, Dawn.

Obsessions never end well.

He wants to kill you.

You want to kill him.

What more is there to it?

"It was kind of like a serial killer from a movie, sir. How on the outside they smile and everything, but there's this part of you that just somehow knows they're going to chop you up into tiny pieces and kill you?"

He pursed his lips for a moment. "If only they were in movies."

"Sorry sir, but there's no way else I can put it other than just using my telepathy." She shivered. "It scared me, sir. I know I can't beat him."

"Not alone, you can't," he said. "I wouldn't be sending you out there if I didn't feel you would be properly defended. Besides, Fiona said she'd be watching you out in the field."

She smiled, fondly remembering the promise. "I know. She told me."

It was nice to talk to the Commander in person like this, but at the same time there was a certain presence about him - an aura, if one would. One that commanded respect, but also spoke of intimidation. His tall, muscly form, the stare in his eyes, the scars on his face - it all spoke the same thing.

I can be both the best thing that ever happened to you or your worst nightmare. Which one do you want me to be?

She gulped.

"There's something I wanted to know, sir."

"Yes."

The tension and worry built up in her chest as she fumbled with the sheets. "I...I don't know if the question is above my pay grade, sir?"

"Well, I'll answer it if I can, then."

She pursed her lips. "What happens if they get me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

"What if they capture me? The Collective, I mean?" Her fist tightened as she gripped onto the bedsheets that covered her, the bulging veins on her hand making the IV cord shake just a little. "All it'd take for Patricia to whisk me away is a quick portal and telekinetic grab. I probably wouldn't even know what was happening until it was too late."

The Commander seemed to consider his answer. "What we would do? Use every available asset to locate, find, and bring you home. We don't leave our people behind, not if we have a chance to rescue them."

"Like the South American raid over that XCOM agent? What was her name, Abigail?"

"A good example, if an unfortunate one," the Commander nodded. "Our armor has built-in trackers as well. If you're taken somewhere on Earth, we'll know. But if you're taken to somewhere that's not, well-"

"Then I'm shit out of luck, with all due respect?" She didn't like cursing around authority figures, but here felt like a necessary exception. She had to get the point across here, whether she or the Commander liked it or not.

He paused a bit, meeting her eyes, deadly seriously. "Yes Dawn, you would be."

She played with her fingers, looking down. The thought of what happened after that should it ever come to pass. "Even if that does happen, I'm not entirely sure you'll be having to fight a masked brainwashed version of me, then."

"What do you mean?" The Commander rested his hands on his lap. "If we are speaking in hypotheticals, I suspect they could find a use for you should the Manchurian Restraints be negated."

She tried to put on a smile. She'd been thinking about this for a while, ever since the Commander had set her down with the news. "With all due respect, I don't think Mortis would want an Avatar."

The Commander cocked his head, seeming to have an opinion, but instead simply seemed curious. "What makes you think that?"

She grinned. "You have to understand that Mortis doesn't think like typical Ethereals. If anything, he's atypical." she tapped the side of her head. "In all due respects, he thinks more like a human teenager than anything, really. If I had to guess, he might see the Avatar Project as a cheap attempt to copy Sovereign Avatars. From what I know, he was pretty vocal about his dislikes with the Empire, and if even half of his mind is left, he might be the same person as before he died."

He nodded. "Not quite my assessment, but you are correct about him being an atypical Ethereal. With that said, I doubt he is opposed to the concept. The Avatar Project is not a coercive program, and he is unlikely to take issue with it inherently."

She shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll keep me around as a friend or student or something." She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just thinking up all of this to cope. Maybe I'm wrong." She felt the air begin to shimmer with a purple glow, her mind's frustration venting it the only way she knew how. "Maybe-"

"Dawn." He put a hand on her shoulder, a soft yet firm grip. "You don't need to worry about that right now, if ever. You shouldn't be focusing so much on things that might happen versus things that could-"

"But it can!" She emphasized. "I could be taken, and even if Mortis rejects me, who's to say another Ethereal might not take a liking to me? The Overmind's a telepath. Wasn't the guy who he picked powerful?"

The Commander looked at her for a moment, smiled, and…

Chuckled?

It was only for a few seconds, but it caught her off guard. She almost recoiled in surprise as he laughed for a few moments, before returning to his previous demeanor. "In some respects, yes. In all other respects, no. The matter of Avatar Smirnov remains one of some debate in the Internal Council, but I digress.."

He shook his head, growing more serious. "Dawn, it's not healthy to do this." He paused, thinking as he looked at her. "Or is it something else you're concerned about?"

She pursed her lips. "Kind of."

"Elijah's death?"

She quietly nodded. "I feel like it's my fault."

"Why? Because he died trying to save you?"

"Mm." She tried to make herself smaller. "The guy had this huge track record, only for me to come along. If I hadn't taken those few steps, I never would've gotten shot, and he wouldn't have had to pull my ass out of the fire."

She tried to hide it, but she knew damn well he could hear it in her voice, hell, sense her feelings. Here she was, the great Dawn Conley, humanity's first biopath, laying on this bed, feeling empty and broken.

If you weren't there, he'd probably be alive.

"Dawn, you didn't ruin anything." The Commander shook his head. "I reviewed the footage myself. He tried to save your life and valiantly died on the battlefield."

"I know. I've just never seen someone on our side die so close to me like that. He was right there, getting shot up, because of me." She pushed her hands into her upper chest, right under her neck. "And I couldn't do a damn thing about it, and I can't help but feel that it was my fault. He was right there, lying in front of me, dying in front of me."

The emotions swirled inside of her, like a gathering storm. "I just...I don't know. I want to go back and save him, stop me from being so goddamn brash and overconfident, and he died for me. Years of serving with the Lion, fighting god knows who, and he gets killed because some stupid kid made a dumb decision." She clenched her teeth. "It's not fair, and it's all my fault!"

He reached out, putting his nonmetal hand on her shoulder. "He died saving you, Dawn. That's not a wasteful death. He saved your life. You got to know him, and even though I did not, I do not believe he would blame you."

"But he died! He was my friend, and my idiocy killed him!"

He let go of his grip, like he was thinking. "Dawn, I'm sorry it happened to you. I know what you are feeling, and every soldier will feel it at some point in their career." He pursed his lips. "Ask yourself this. Elijah was a soldier, yes?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "How do you think a soldier would like to die?"

"Peacefully, surrounded by their loved ones and friends?"

"Well, on the battlefield."

"I-I guess dying in a blaze of glory?"

"Not quite," he corrected. "They want their deaths to have meaning. Elijah's death was one of meaning, and beyond the fact he was fighting in defense of Earth - he ensured that you lived. You meant something to him, beyond your skills, and he wanted to preserve that.

The Commander clasped his hands behind his back. "I know you're grieving, Dawn. And you will be for a while. It's a natural process, and no one will judge you for it. Me, Yates and everyone else at XCOM will be there with open hearts, ears, and minds for you. But remember this. Elijah could have chosen not to, but he did. Why? Because he cared about you. Any good soldier would do that for a friend."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better about it?" She said, feeling a bout of sadness wash over her. "Commander, I understand what you're trying to say here, but it's not really helping right now."

She held up a finger. "I get it. Commander, I really do. But I need to think about this later." she shook her head. "I get what you're saying, but I just...I just can't right now. My mind's fucked up, my body's fucked up, my family's screaming in my ear about everything, and-well…"

He nodded. "I understand, Dawn. No offense taken. I get it. I've been there. Take your time with it. We won't be sending you out in the field anytime soon."

She nodded, feeling a small sense of comfort. He got what she was saying and feeling, not blowing it off like the school faculty she was used to. It was hard for a person like him to try and relate to a person like her - the age difference alone spelled out so many ways he could've tried this and screwed it up, but he was doing a good job.

They'd done this before, and they'd certainly be doing this again.

Though what it'd be about, she wasn't sure, but she could guess.

Time to change the subject, I guess.

"I have...I've been thinking about something. It's a pipe dream, but something I've thought about."

"Yes?"

She looked down, not knowing how to word this. "Is it bad that sometimes I wonder what meeting Mortis would be like?"

He didn't show a notable reaction. "And why is that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I know he's supposed to be working with the enemy and all, but...there's a part of me that just can't get the thought out of my head about what meeting him would be like. I mean, there's no one else on this planet like me, and I just wonder how that conversation would go, you know?"

"You're talking about learning."

"Well yeah, but not even that. His personality is so different to them, but not to us. Yeah, I'm close with Caelior, but it's not the same. There's just something about him. We're just too similar. It's creepy, it's weird, but at the same time, there's a part of me that finds it intriguing."

"What would you get out of a hypothetical conversation?"

"It's not even getting something out of it, it's just talking to him. I just feel like there's something we could understand about each other." She shook her head. "I don't know. It's just a thought."

"An interesting thought experiment," he said dryly. "Though one I cannot especially relate to, though Yates may have an opinion."

Damn right you can't. "I understand."

"Moving on," he said. "I have some news for you, Dawn. I think you'll like this."

She raised an eyebrow. Clearly he'd read the social cues better than her. "Yeah?"

"Some of our scientists down in R&D have been doing some research and theories on biopathy. When you've recovered, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to help them out."

Now that piqued her interest. It wasn't shooting or action, but a little bit of science never hurt. "What would I be doing? I'm not a scientist."

"Not technically, but besides Mortis and Sana's data, you've been immensely helpful with helping us understand biopathy." He explained. "From what I've been told, it primarily revolves around experimenting and theorizing on various applications of biopathy. Something I think you and Geist have discussed to some degree."

"So...I'd be helping out with their scientific research?"

He nodded. "You would."

She smiled. "I'm in."

He raised an eyebrow. "That was quick."

"Hey, it beats shooting people all the time."

He cracked a smile at that. "Fair enough. I'll send you more information. I appreciate your interest."

"Hey, if it beats what I had to put up with in high school, fine by me." She snorted. "Never considered myself the labcoat wearing type, but if I can help, I can help."

"I'm glad to see your enthusiasm hasn't been wounded, Dawn."

"Hell no. I appreciate it, sir."

"Of course, Dawn."

"Oh, and one more thing. Check this out, Elijah gave it to me." She reached over to the table, fumbling for a moment, before grabbing Elijah's Lion's Pride pin, proudly holding it up with both her hands.

"Cool, right? Made of one hundred percent actual gold and silver. Like it?"

As soon as she took it out, the look on the Commander's face suddenly changed from a content one to one of surprise...and...he made his face neutral before she could get anything more. However it was clear that he reacted to the pin.

And that reaction didn't seem to be a positive one.

"Dawn." His eyes bored right into the little piece of metal, his voice calm, collected. "Where did you get that?"

"Uh, Elijah, sir. The Lion himself gave it to him when he joined his inner circle."

"Quite interesting," he said in a tone she couldn't decipher, but she felt significantly more uncomfortable now. "May I see it?"

"Uh…sure."

She extended a hand, which he took, delicately taking the pin out of her hand and inspecting it.

A long few seconds passed, before he nodded. "Genuine. I've not seen one of these for a long time."

He lowered the hand, and handed the pin back to her. "Apologies, I was not expecting to see that today. However, I do have a question for you."

"Of course, sir?"

"What do you think that pin represents?" He nodded to it.

"It...represents bravery, sir. Friendship. Being together on the battlefield, supporting each other through hell and back. Knowing that whatever happens out there in the wild, someone's got your back as long as you've got theirs too."

He seemed to consider that for a moment, looking at her, neutrally; appraising; calm. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, and then he nodded once. "Thank you," he said. "That was all I wanted to hear."

"What...have you seen it before, Commander?" She asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," the Commander's lips curled in a thin smile. "The legacy of that pin is complicated to me. However, that is my own personal bias speaking. I'm glad it is something more positive for you, and you are a fitting person to carry on your friend's legacy."

"I'm glad you think so, Commander." This had taken a much weirder turn.

"That is all I have for you," he said, appearing attentive, but she suspected he was distracted right now. "Let me or anyone else know if you need anything. Welcome back."

"Glad to be back, Commander."

He saluted. "Rest well, Dawn Conley." And with that, he left the room.

---

Vitakar

8/15/2017 – 12:23

What have I gotten myself into?

That had been a question that Volk had been asking himself for the past couple weeks, after learning what his task was, which by every single metric was a very elaborate way of killing himself.

It was tempting – so very tempting – to just try and leave everything. Fly to somewhere in the galaxy, or hell, even back to Earth at this point, rather than try to find a Sovereign One that by all accounts only the Imperator and a few other Ethereals had access to, and subsequently convince it to leave Vitakar alone…

It probably would be simpler to shoot a bullet into his head. Probably less painful too.

However, he needed to start making progress one way or another. Gabriel clearly didn't care if he died or not – in some way this entity wanted him to succeed, but it was a secondary matter for him…it…whatever Gabriel actually was. Miridian didn't care either, because he won either way, and what was worse was that if he somehow completed this impossible task, there would be at least a couple more.

With all that said, the tale Gabriel had shared was certainly an enlightening one.

It explained quite a few things that had happened. It explained why the Collective had sought Earth at all and there was some irony in learning that it was just another step in a conflict of a war between immortal aliens. Even more ironic was that the Imperator was, in some strange effort to break the cycle, actively participating in it. He wondered if the Imperator was aware of the irony or not. Perhaps it didn't matter to him.

If it were up to him, he'd rather just kill both Sovereigns and remove them completely. It was fundamentally wrong that these cycles were dominated by these aliens on the top of the food chain.

Which didn't even get into the Synthesized that then hunted them.

He wondered if there was a place where it would end. Was there something even higher?

Maybe better that some questions remained unanswered.

So now here he was, on Vitakar, on the edge of one of their forests. It wasn't really difficult to survive on this world, in a lot of ways it was similar to Earth, and he quite liked it. The climate was mild, all things considered, and there were animals that were able to be hunted, skinned, and cooked. He and Elena could likely remain out here indefinitely.

Volk sighed as the moons shone overhead. What a mess he was in now.

The most obvious course of action in trying to force a deal with this Mosrimor was to threaten to send T'Leth to him. From what Gabriel had explained, they were bitter rivals, and T'Leth was the more dominant one. If something could compel another Sovereign to cooperate, it would be the threat of death. True death.

There was just the tiny problem of the fact that he was not a psion – not that it would really matter even if he was. He couldn't bluff, since he was certain his mind would be searched if he got anywhere close. And he couldn't very well actually go to T'Leth because that would be a good way to end up captured again, or killed.

Hmm.

He wondered if he was going about this wrong.

The Sovereigns had proxies and avatars. If the Ethereals had them, the Sovereigns must have as well. In fact, he believed that there was a specific Ethereal – Regisora, who was the main conduit between the Collective and Mosrimor. That would probably be safer than trying to find the Sovereign himself – and simpler too.

"Ah, I see a look where you've figured out something," the familiar voice of Gabriel said, walking over to him, apparently materializing out of nowhere. "A beautiful night, is it not?"

Volk scowled. "Here to prod me to get moving?"

"Me? Prod?" Gabriel adopted a fake-offended expression, smiling. "When you have clearly stumbled upon a revelation? Perish the thought. No, no, I came here to give you some help."

Volk raised an eyebrow, and straightened. "I thought that you couldn't interfere?"

"Oh no, I cannot," Gabriel clarified. "I cannot interfere as you perform the requisite actions demanded. How you convince Mosrimor? I cannot say what would be most effective. However, I can tell you exactly where to start looking."

It wasn't as though he had a lot of other options. "Where?"

Gabriel hummed. "The Temple Ship."

Volk rolled his eyes. "Of course. Why shouldn't I have expected the Imperator's flagship? One where the Overmind also inhabits, am I right?"

Gabriel seemed far too amused. "Indeed you are."

"I somehow don't think the Imperator is going to grant me an audience," Volk muttered. "Nor would he be pleased to learn about your existence. Not sound advice you're offering."

"As if I am concerned about the approval of one who is little more than an Ethereal child," Gabriel drawled, clasping his hands together. "He does not interest me. Another tired player in this cycle who somehow feels he is different. No, I have little interest in the affairs of the Imperator, his goals, or his war. Too simple, too boring for me to invest in."

"Boring," Volk said incredulously. "You are talking to me right now. And I am certainly nothing close to the Imperator. Or almost anyone else, for that matter."

"Ah, Volikov, if I didn't find you interesting, I wouldn't be speaking to you," Gabriel patted him on the shoulder good-naturedly with a wide smile. "The problem with your thinking is that you see things too conventionally – an endearing trait, but it makes it difficult for you to see what is important. No matter, as I said, that is where you can go to progress on your task."

"I'm not doing that," Volk shook his head. "I'd prefer an outcome where I stay alive."

"What you do is up to yourself, of course," Gabriel conceded, as he paced. "However, what I tell you is true. If you wish a place to go, the Temple Ship is where to begin. There you will find an answer."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I suspect you will die," Gabriel said non-chalantly. "An annoyance, but I have infinite patience for the right person. But do not worry, Volikov, I still have faith in your capabilities. Sometimes, all you need is a little nudge in the right direction."

He patted Volk on the shoulder again. "Don't worry about getting there. I'll see to it is a safe trip."

Volk looked up to give a final answer, and found the man gone. He sighed to the abandoned forest, feeling almost resigned. So, the Temple Ship. It was a stupid, ludicrous, and suicidal idea, however it was also one that he suspected was where they needed to go. It was better than sitting here, anyway.

He stood and checked his rifle. Elena was not going to be thrilled at the decision, but he suspected she was just as ready to leave as he was. He needed to calm himself first though, and here at least he could shoot freely. Target practice was calming, and it seemed like he never ran out of ammunition now.

Thanks, Gabriel.

Though it was likely a hollow gift, because he suspected that no amount of bullets or plasma would protect him from where he was likely to go.

---

Geneva Peacekeeper Command, Geneva – Switzerland

9/29/2017 – 12:30 P.M.

Another day, another meeting, but this one was one that promised to be more interesting. Stein had been tasked to compile a report on the state of crime in ADVENT, and that would drive the following discussion on criminal justice that had been raised by a few other entities. Saudia had taken some initial steps, and she believed that there was a good person to drive its future.

Stein was likely going to have some issues, but dialogue would help resolve them. Stein was a reasonable woman.

Saudia raised an eyebrow once she read through the report that Stein had compiled – it was a pleasant surprise. "This is better than I expected," she said, lowering the report. "Substantial drops in all fields of crime worldwide." A finger tapped on the paper. "Petty, organized, smugglers, mercenaries, white collar…well done. Is the dismantling and integration of the PMCs fully complete?"

"For the smart ones, yes," Stein certainly seemed pleased with herself, and she allowed a genuine smile. "The others have been dealt with. All in all, quite good for a year of hard work. Incredible what can be accomplished when corruption at all levels is purged. These numbers will continue to improve, Chancellor, I can promise you that."

"I expect so, though that does raise a question, one that I've been appraised of for a few sectors now," Saudia set the report to the side, and got to the first main point of the meeting – while it had been better than expected, she had expected Stein to have done well. "ADVENT has a large Peacekeeper force right now, due to the amount of crime worldwide. Based on these numbers, I expect that the Congress will be looking into force reductions. If there is little crime, then a large force is difficult to justify."

To her surprise, Stein shrugged, reaching for the bowl of candies in the middle of the table. "Good. That would mean they're actually paying attention. If we get to a point where the crime that exists is negligible, put the officers where they're best needed." She smiled, eating one of the candies. "Trust me, Chancellor, I'm not going to complain about my officers going to Oversight, Labor, or another inspection job." She paused. "Or not any of those, I suppose. So long as they're given alternatives for their respective fields."

"Don't worry," Saudia promised. "That will be a requirement for any force reallocation – which I expect you will fight for as well."

"Tooth and nail," Stein promised emphatically. "All I'll want is repriciocity. If crime goes down, we scale down. If it goes back up? I don't want Congress suddenly being stingy with resources. Is that why you wanted the report?"

"One reason," Saudia laced her fingers together. "ADVENT is reaching a maturity stage, and I want assessments from every department, agency, and bureau. The war is continuing, and we need to best use our resources, and future-proof our policies – as well as identify issues to stamp out. If crime has become a negligent issue, then I want to reassess where to best put those resources. We can rely on ADVENT Intelligence, PATRIOT, and the Bureau of Optimization to maintain the status quo."

"Right," Stein nodded. "If you want a report on where we can draw down, I can order the regional offices to submit their recommendations. It's not going to be a blanket drawdown, I will warn you. We don't exactly need a strong police presence in Canada or Europe, but even with the Cartels in flames, South America is still a hotspot. Same for China and Southeast Asia. America is America, and we're still dealing with gunrunners."

"Mm," Saudia leaned back. "Is that the only issue?"

"It's the biggest one there," Stein confirmed, as she ticked a few others off her fingers. "We're still hunting down a few Neo-Nazi groups in the Caucuses, and a few violent Muslim holdouts in the Middle East, though the latter is more of a joint military op. These aren't the ones that are going to listen to the esteemed President…Hakeem, was it?"

"Correct."

"Right. Aside from that, the Middle East is assimilating quite well," Stein said. "Even Turkey is posing less problems than I'd thought. All in all, things are improving quickly, and if the worst Peacekeepers have to deal with in most places is speeding tickets, then I'd say my job is done quite well."

"I'd agree," Saudia said. "You've done well shaping the Peacekeepers into something to be proud of." There was a knock on the door, and Saudia stood.

Stein glanced at it. "The other guest? Thought he'd have showed up by now."

"He did warn me he would be late. Dr. Chang is in high demand, I've found," Saudia said, moving towards the door. "Good timing on his part nonetheless. It serves as a good segue into the next topic."

"Very well," Stein grabbed another candy.

Saudia opened the door, and outside stood Dr. Yuhan Chang, a man who'd most recently come on her radar first from the recommendation of several Chinese officials, the psychology community, and the Chinese military. His resume had made it easy to see why – and he had some interesting ideas that she felt were worth considering.

"Dr. Chang, come in," she said.

"Thank you, Chancellor," he nodded and stepped inside. Somewhat stiff, he was nonetheless dressed very well in a full suit, groomed black hair, and the only sign of his more advanced age was the glasses resting on his nose. She suspected that had his hair not been dyed, it would certainly have streaks of grey. Also to her mild amusement, he was the shortest one in the room.

"Chief Stein, this is Dr. Yuhan Chang, formerly Chinese Military Police, former Military psychologist, and current ADVENT Military psychologist," Saudia introduced – and Stein immediately perked up as she came over. "Dr., I presume you are aware of Chief Amalda Stein?"

"Indeed," his accent was thick, but still understandable. "Your reputation precedes you, Chief Stein. I'm an admirer of your work, even if my colleagues might call you…" he smiled. "Overzealous."

Stein seemed amused as she shook his hand. "I've been called far worse, and the numbers speak for themselves. ADVENT needs someone overzealous to keep her in check. Without an even application of the law, there is corruption and anarchy."

"Quite so," Cheng said as he took a seat. "You will find little disagreement from me on your pursuit of justice. Brilliant, there could not have been a better choice. The law requires an individual of utter integrity and ruthlessness. Both are essential to a stable society."

"Kind words, doctor," Stein glanced to Saudia. "That said, I imagine he's here for a reason?"

"Yes, regarding a proposal he developed recently," Saudia returned to her seat. "A few people then forwarded it to me. While both of you are aligned on the management of law enforcement, there is a divide as it relates to the existing Prison system. Dr. Chang believes it is flawed."

"Oh?" Stein raised an eyebrow, turning back to Chang. "Since you strike me as someone reasonable, I sincerely hope you are not going to give a lecture on the immorality of criminal punishment?"

"Please, Chief Stein, I am not an abolitionist lunatic, and would hope my background warrants some slack," Chang chuckled. "We can dispense with the idea that I have any objection to seeing the guilty be punished as they deserve. My critiques come from a desire to improve ADVENT, and the system you have created."

"Well then," Stein crossed her arms. "Go on. Actually – before that, why exactly did I not receive this proposal?"

"First, because it was an underdeveloped white paper for a while," Saudia said. "Only recently have others asked him to refine it. As to why you weren't appraised, you are viewed by some colleagues as…defensive when it comes to this."

"Wonderful," Stein said dryly. "Well, let's hear it."

"Certainly," Chang rested his hands on the table. "The system as it currently stands is extremely inefficient, unnecessarily brutal, a public relations mess, and far too uncompromising to be sustainable in the long term."

Stein cocked her head, her tone more confused than anything else. "The brutality is the point, doctor. It is uncompromising by design – something I thought was obvious. I understand there are certain sectors of the populace who dislike it, but frankly, I don't care. They are wrong, and I have explained the reasoning to the press multiple times. As for being inefficient, you will have to elaborate."

"I'll propose an alternative question first," Chang said. "What is the purpose of incarceration?"

"To serve as a means of containing problematic, dangerous, or undesirable elements from society," Stein said. "It is a metaphorical quarantine ward. Crime is a sickness. Prisons are where crime is isolated and cleansed from those suffering the disease. Secondly, prisons are punishment for crime."

"Both technically correct," Chang nodded. "However, it runs into the same issue prisons previously did. A place to simply remove the undesirable from society only increases the chances of returning to crime. It does not change people."

"Something I corrected," Stein pointed out. "Fear serves the role quite well. If prison is hell, then it will be – and is – an effective deterrent."

"Mmm, I would concede to that being the case," Chang said. "You accomplish it by breaking people. This solution is one which works, but it is dreadfully inelegant. They may not become criminals again, but they will be a drain on ADVENT as it will be difficult for them to adjust to the real world, no matter how much effort is put into them."

"Then that is a cost we bear," Stein rested a hand on the report. "Because it is working. The citizenship must fear the prison, they must see the symbols of those who have been reduced to nothing to understand the ultimate fate of the criminal in ADVENT. We have refined our processes so that only the guilty are punished, and the worst of society executed. If our prisons were filled with innocent people, perhaps I would agree. They are not, however."

Chang nodded at that. "We can discuss this reasonably, as adults, can we Stein?"

She snorted. "I can take whatever you throw."

"Take, but I suspect listening may be more difficult," Chang cleared his throat. "Your mindset on crime, Stein, is one I see as...inflexible. If I am honest, a bit too judgemental for my tastes."

"You're not alone," Stein smiled thinly. "And I have yet to hear why this is a bad thing. The people I have the Peacekeepers hunt are not innocent."

"No, they are not, which makes this a particularly thorny topic, but one which I require to make my point," Chang hummed. "I'll cite the Montana Incident - you know the one I'm talking about, yes?"

Saudia remembered it - it had been one of the first big SSR operations. An isolated, Christian fundementalist group composed of armed ex-veterans. Very against ADVENT, and very, very illegal. SSR had given them the ultimatum, they'd refused, and subsequently blown up the house they were camped in with RPGs from a helicopter flyover. Quick, clean, and efficient.

"Of course I remember," Stein confirmed. "Why?"

"Indulge my curiosity," Chang asked. "Was it truly necessary to kill all of them?"

"They were in an armed insurrection against the state and had refused to surrender," Stein nodded. "Use of force was authorized."

"Not my question, Chief," Chang repeated. "Was it necessary to kill them?"

She frowned. "They had guns, doctor."

"Oh please, as if any pre-invasion firearm can pierce the Peacekeeper armor," Chang retorted. "Both of us know that means little these days. Are you really telling me the Peacekeepers couldn't have used tear gas, chemicals, or perhaps something a bit less lethal? Perhaps the stun rifles that seem to be restricted to domestic patrols?"

Stein's eyebrows furrowed. "The stun rifles are not cleared for long-range engagements, and even if they were, there was little to be gained by doing that. We do not want those people in our society."

Chang nodded once. "And that is where I take issue. I have little pity for those people, but I do care about justice, and from my observations, your Peacekeepers tend to use their weapons quite often."

"They do," Stein jutted her chin out. "Against the criminals."

"Against the criminals, but a gun should be the weapon of last resort, not the first," Chang pursed his lips. "In general, the use of force from law enforcement is a trend I have some issues with. It is better that they are turned against those who deserve it, but that instills a mindset I fear will cause problems down the line."

"If the people caught in this crossfire were not criminals, I might agree," Stein's face hardened. "But this is the enemy we fight. That mindset is necessary. And the Peacekeepers, or their policies, are not your purview."

"I never said they were, Chief. I bring this up to make a point - so hold that thought. I have another question," Chang smiled. "Do you believe in redemption?"

"Only when given a reason to do so," she said flatly. "In my experience, when one becomes a criminal, they do not remove themselves from that loop unless forced. People, doctor, do not change. Humans do not like confronting themselves, or bettering themselves. People only change through outside forces."

"I partially agree with that," Chang said, thinking. "Humans do dislike examining themselves – but there is something I've learned, Chief Stein. First, is how most people enter this criminal loop in the first place. Sometimes it is unjustifiable, but many times it is something driven by desperation and failures of government institutions."

He waved a hand. "This, however, is much less of a factor now that ADVENT is a functioning government that takes care of it's people, but I digress from the main point I wish to make. The Human mind is malleable. Humans can change themselves, they can make themselves better – but so often, they don't want to, or more commonly, have no reason to. Their mindset, beliefs, and ideals are reinforced by family, friends, faith, or circumstance."

He briefly paused. "You are not wrong in noting how high prison recidivism was, but where you are wrong is the reasons why. These people returned to a society that ostracized and rejected them. They have no prospects, no future, and understanding that, is it very surprising they would see no reason to change themselves? The culture of prison did not help, as they found themselves surrounded by like-minded individuals who had no reason to change themselves. It is a self-perpetuating loop, one which you have managed to break – but in, frankly, a rather destructive way."

"And none of that is an excuse." Stein stated flatly.

"Oh, of course not," Chang said. "The point I am making, Stein, is that while I do think you're on the right track, you are wrong on the outcome, and you have the wrong mindset to properly approach this." He rapped his fingers on the table. "That is why I brought up your mindset that is instilled into the Peacekeepers. On a fundamental level, you do not believe they will change, so you have no qualms about removing them as problems from society."

He gestured vaguely. "And this mindset informs how you treat the incarcerated. You want to turn criminals into symbols; broken people to dissuade the law-abiding from following in their footsteps. Where you see useless criminals, I see opportunities. What I want to do is turn them into crusaders for law and justice."

Stein's face froze, then she frowned. "Explain?"

"The way prisons work now takes some elements from basic training," Chang continued. "Breaking down people through repetition, routine, and exhaustion. Mental and physical abuse for the purposes of remolding people into obedience. The prison system is unnecessarily harsh right now – but I do think that its current incarnation has a place – to a point."

He took out his own file, and slid it over to her. "In my proposed system, there are phases to prison. The first would be similar to how they currently function – though with less malice, intentional or otherwise. Merely a focus on breaking them down mentally. A weakened mind is one which can be molded. The second phase is where things would differ."

Her lips were pursed. "I'm listening."

"This, in a word, is where we make people change," Chang said, emphasizing the last word. "The first thing we will do is have them come to the realization that they were in fact wrong, that they deserved to be punished, and by the end they will thank ADVENT for doing this. This process does not involve hard labor, harsh routine, but is highly taxing, tailored, and a process of taking an individual who is isolated from the world and molding them into someone better. We simply need to get the ball rolling – once it starts, and they see the need to change, they will do so, especially when we give them positive reinforcement and peers on a similar journey."

Stein was definitely skeptical, Saudia could tell that immediately. "That seems like a lot of effort for…what? Making a criminal see common sense? At the scale you are talking about? Do we even have the numbers to support that?"

"This is ADVENT, Stein," Chang said with a smile. "We always manage to find what we need. And yes, because unlike you, I do believe that an effort should be made to have people see the light. Very few people are irredeemable, and it's not like we're intending to reform hardcore murderers, pedophiles, and rapists. We're talking about petty theft, arson, tax evasion, assault – crimes, don't get me wrong, but not ones that cross that threshold of no return."

Stein looked like she wanted to say something, but instead just asked. "Fine. The last phase?"

"We prepare these people for reentry into society," Chang said. "Truly prepare them. Not give them some resources or a dead-end ADVENT job that just needs a body. We wish our citizens to be resourceful and useful, no? We give them education, we let them develop as people, and we cultivate this better version of themselves for the remainder of their sentence."

He smiled as he continued. "Everyone likes a redemption story. The true undesirables we are eradicating, the rest we can change into something useful. Not only that, but we will turn them into those who adhere to the law with greater vigor than anyone else. Ardent believers in the rule of law, militant in their desire to see justice done. I want every prisoner to have your passion against crime, Chief Stein. And that is something I believe we have the ability to do. A bit more useful than the current system, would you not agree?"

"Mmm," Stein rapped her fingers on the table as she read the proposal itself. A few long minutes passed as she went through it before she spoke again. "It has merit, I can admit that much. I do not like how this will mitigate the punishment in favor of long-term psychological reconditioning. There is far less deterrence in this proposal."

"I'm not sure I'd agree," Chang mused. "When people enter this system, they will die – or at least who they were will die. What will emerge will be someone better, but also completely radical. Prison, Stein, will become a place where people are changed. And those who have criminal inclinations will see the change, and perhaps it will inspire them to be better themselves. Perhaps not a conventional deterrent, but I believe it a valid one."

"An interesting perspective. I didn't consider it from that angle," Stein mused.

"This was why I highlighted the quite lethal policies of the Peacekeepers earlier," Chang said. "Because each one that dies, is one that cannot be changed. I wish to be clear - I am under no illusion that each one is salvageable. But the death penalty will remove the truly undesirable. If we have the capability, should we not use it, even if it is the more difficult option?"

Stein didn't answer, but looked to Saudia. "I assume you're in agreement with his opinion?"

Saudia had been listening quietly, mostly content to watch the exchange back and forth. It seemed like a familiar one to her, but in a different way. She liked Stein, but some of her arguments reminded her of Laura's, which made her uncomfortable. Chang's point about the mindset was...also a troubling one. And raised some more questions she'd need to sort out later. Enough to where she was now firmly on Chang's side when it came to his proposal.

"From what he presented, I believe it is superior to what currently exists," Saudia nodded. "However, considering this falls under your purview, your own input is important. If there is a valid counter you wish to make, it should be presented."

"I'll refrain from comments on the Peacekeepers. In this particular issue of prisons, this becomes a matter of resources and personal preference," Stein said slowly. "My views on this are ultimately my own, and differ from yours. I do not believe that the mass rehabilitation of criminals is the best use of ADVENT resources. I strongly disagree, in fact, but that is not a decision to be made solely by me. I will concede the system has merit, and if ADVENT wants to move forward, I will not oppose it so long as it does not include murderers, rapists, serial abusers, pedophiles, and other irredeemable crimes. I do not care if it is believed anyone can change, those people forfeit the right to do so."

"I assure you, Chief, I have no intention of allowing any such individuals in this system," Chang said. "The usage of the death penalty may need to be expanded in some cases to account for this, but I am in full agreement that those particular undesirables have no place in ADVENT – in any circumstance."

"Despite my reservations, you have the Chancellor's support, and I will not intentionally hinder you if you wish to implement your program," Stein nodded to Saudia. "I won't endorse it, but I won't interfere if this is really the choice you want to make."

"I understand," Saudia nodded. "Dr. Chang, then I believe you have your new assignment. Stein will put you in contact with the respective individuals, and you can begin. I expect this to produce results."

"I promise you, Chancellor," Chang said with a smile. "This will work."

---

Forge of the Outsider – Zudjari-7

9/10/2017 – 12:22 P.M.

Yang strode through the arid sands on the Zudjari world, approaching the orange structure before her.

The Pyramid really was as unique as the Battlemaster had described. A tall, semi-transparent structure that seemed to have no power source, entrance, or other notable features outside from its shape. She definitely found it fascinating to look at, and would have found it to be a relic of an ancient civilization – were said civilization actually gone.

She'd not really met a Zudjari outside from the brief interaction with Axis, and to her knowledge there was only one other Zudjari which was active, the engineer to this place, whom she intended to have a talk with. The other Zudjari were also here, though in stasis.

"Welcome, ERROR! Identification not found!"

Yang ignored the automated voice, and continued forward. The tone was definitely grating, and she hoped that it wasn't going to trigger the automated defenses of the Pyramid. "Apologies, apologies," came the hasty voice of I'llan Ceen, who scrambled from around the corner. Despite being taller than her, his posture and tone was one of submission.

It wasn't especially surprising, given that his superiors were Ethereals, and he was the survivor when his other awakened brethren had attempted to rebel. He wanted to live, and as such, would do everything in his power to avoid angering those who held power over his life.

She lifted a hand. "So long as I am not attacked, I will be fine."

He nodded rapidly. "Of course, of course, I apologize, I did not realize the Battlemaster's Harbinger was visiting."

She cocked her head. "You know who I am?"

"I do indeed have access to relevant information," Ceen explained. "I consider it of vital importance to keep apprised of what happens within the Collective, and I was very pleased to see that some of your species has joined under the all-knowing vision of the Ethereals-"

"Save it," Yang interrupted. "Treat me as if I am the Battlemaster. I don't need, nor want, your groveling. I'm not going to kill you for not being deferential enough, so please speak like a normal individual."

Ceen opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then coughed. "I will, Harbinger. But I do wish to inquire why you have come. Do you wish to see more Outsiders? Test the models I am refining?"

Yang smiled thinly. "Take me to the Stasis Chambers."

She could see the surprise on his face, alien as it was. "The…Stasis Chambers, Harbinger?"

"Correct."

"I…this way," he motioned for her to follow as he navigated what seemed to be a labyrinth. "May I ask as to…why you wish to go there? I can assure you, all of them are functioning and online."

"I will get to that point," Yang said, thinking on how best to approach this. "However, there is one thing I will require of you. You will need to answer honestly."

"Of course, of course," he coughed.

She frowned at him, putting some emphasis in her voice. "Honestly. Not telling me what you think I want to hear. If you do not, I will kill you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Harbinger!"

She didn't really intend to kill him, and Ceen was almost comically bad at hiding his emotions. She didn't need to be a telepath to sense that he was utterly terrified of the Ethereals – and by extension, her. Which could be a problem, but it would also make her immediate job easier.

Soon they exited from the narrow hallway into what seemed to be a massive wide amphitheater-like area – one where she could see hundreds of canisters composed of the same crystalline substance that the Outsiders were made out of. Within she could see the Zudjari in stasis, their eyes closed and resting peacefully.

The canisters stood ten high, and she knew that there were at least ten more deep – probably more. According to the Battlemaster, there were approximately ten thousand Zudjari in stasis – from powerful psions to soldiers and engineers. The machines hummed as Ceen nervously awaited what she was going to say or do next.

The Battlemaster had charged her with deciding what to do with the Zudjari. As the plan was moved ever-closer to completion, the Zudjari Forge was something that could prove to be a useful tool – and the Zudjari an ally that the Imperator seemed keen on keeping asleep rather than utilizing them in any serious capacity.

And to prepare, it perhaps required drastic measures.

Risky measures.

It came down to her to make the final call.

"Tell me," she finally said. "What do you think of the Ethereal Collective?" She turned to him. "Remember I said to answer honestly."

Even though she wasn't a telepath, she could see him almost wither before her in resignation. There was a long silence that followed. "Is this an execution, Harbinger?"

"Not unless you wish it to be. It depends on if you are going to lie to me now."

"If you insist," Ceen released a long sigh. "I find it difficult to be sufficiently…supportive, when I am under an alien race that will dispose of me without a second thought, and whose power dwarfs any others I have encountered with the exception of Origin. I know what was done to Mu'ut Jeen. Axis and Origin have been taken. You are a Human. You have no concept of what they are to us."

"Axis lives," Yang said. "I fought with him to escape a…situation."

For the first time, Ceen seemed truly intrigued. "This is so? How? Is he with you?"

Yang smiled grimly. "No. He left to the Humans. He is with them now."

"Oh."

"I suspect he took to the news of the Collective much like Jeen did," Yang said. "Unlike Jeen, he was able to escape without retaliation. Origin is now on the Temple Ship, under the direct protection of the Imperator."

"I had wondered, and though I can do little, there is some comfort in knowing he yet lives," Ceen said wistfully. "You have not killed me for insolence yet. Harbinger, why are you telling me this?"

"Because the Collective needs to change," Yang said, clasping her hands behind her back, and beginning to pace. "The Battlemaster recognizes this. There are things happening that neither you nor the rest of the Collective is aware of. The Battlemaster sees the Imperator leading us down a path of destruction, with every poor decision threatening our stability. It is time for this to change. This war with the Humans was started based on a lie, in pursuit of something that we have little true comprehension of."

Ceen almost seemed to balk. "Are you implying the Battlemaster is planning to betray the Imperator?"

"If necessary," Yang said flatly. "The Imperator's judgement and authority is no longer sufficient, not when continuance will result in defeat. A reassessment must happen. For the Vitakara. For the Andromedons. For the Sectoids. For the Zudjari. There will be a new Collective, one where the Zudjari will have a place." She motioned around with an arm. "Not in this servitude you find yourself in now."

She turned and looked up at the chambers. "I want you to awaken the Zudjari. All of them. I understand this Pyramid can house all of them. Wake them, and prepare them for war." She turned back to the Zudjari engineer. "If your loyalty can be assured, we will reclaim and awaken Origin. He will be returned to your people. Is that sufficient motivation?"

"I…" Ceen swallowed. "Your candidness is appreciated, Harbinger. Yet I would want an assurance of your trust."

Yang reached onto her belt. "You have three options, Engineer," she placed the communicator into his hand. "You can side with the Battlemaster, and have his support for our new Collective. You can also tell the Imperator this. I suspect he will reward you, but you will continue to be a glorified slave. Or you can tell the Humans. That communicator connects to an ADVENT frequency. I suspect you'll figure out how to boost the strength. If you doubt me, and the Battlemaster, then tell them."

She smiled thinly. "Although I feel compelled to warn you that if you do that, you will be considered an enemy, and we will be forced to kill you. But perhaps they will be able to protect you first."

"I see," Ceen put the communicator away. "This is unexpected, Harbinger. I share your desire for the vision you describe, and the Battlemaster has been honest to me since the beginning. I have little reason to doubt him, nor you as his Harbinger. I do fear the other Ethereals learning of this, however. Fectorian may be the only one who visits, but it is nonetheless a fear. One which will grow if I awaken the others."

"Leave that to us," Yang said. "The Battlemaster retains his authority over the Collective military. You will be protected by a garrison and fleet – all loyal to us. They will monitor all incoming and outgoing traffic, and so long as none leave the Pyramid, the army will not be visible. If you require resources or other items, they can be delivered through our Andromedon allies."

"Very well," Ceen nodded. "Then I will join your initiative, Harbinger. And for perhaps the first time since my own awakening, it is something I wish to do."

"I do warn you that it will be a war you will be awakening your people into."

"That matters little," Ceen did a Zudjari approximation of a smile. "It will be a war to reclaim our place in the galaxy, in your Collective. And it will be a war to free Origin. That is something worth fighting for."

"Good," Yang extended her hand, and the larger alien took it. "We will be in contact, I'llan Ceen. Let the Zudjari awaken once more."

He nodded. "And may the Mosaic be forged anew."

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To be continued in Chapter 75

Closure

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A/N: Apologies for the delay on this one, hopefully the next won't be too long. Thanks to Blood and King for helping with several scenes, and Cran with the Dawn one.