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.

79. Bringing the Rapture

A/N: And we're back!

---

Act V | Cataclysm

---

Bringing the Rapture

---

Abigail's Quarters – the Hall of Steel

Mid-September 2017 – Morning

On some level, Liam believed he had always known the truth.

He'd always been good at picking up on things that others didn't, before recalling, musing, and dissecting them later so he could extract the conclusions. It was a skill so ingrained in him that it was impossible to turn off, and which he'd relied heavily upon when he'd first woken up in Fectorian's Black Site.

Then he'd thought it might mean the difference between life and death. What it had instead led to was a slow, burgeoning, but surprisingly genuine realization that the Ethereal was being honest with him. It had taken him a very, very long time to trust Fectorian to the point where he didn't question his overarching motives – while also never forgetting that he was an alien, and more than that, a very powerful alien.

He hadn't known where all of this would eventually lead, but he had never expected that he would see Abby again. He hadn't known if she was alive or dead since news from Earth had never included XCOM rosters, but he'd held onto the belief, and wondered what she had ended up doing.

That was until Fectorian had come and told him what he had done; who he had saved.

What had stood out to him was not that Fectorian had done so – Liam was proof that Fectorian had a tendency to take in Humans for his own reasons – but that he'd remembered Abigail at all. She was a name he had shared a long time ago, but Fectorian had remembered it, and knew it would be important to him.

It had all come with caveats, of course, but he could accept them, considering the circumstances. It hadn't really occurred to him to question what Fectorian had shared – since he had seen enough to suspect it was plausible, and the alternatives were, at the time, unrealistic.

He hadn't expected Fectorian to lie, at least not in this way. Yet questions had arisen the more time he'd spent with her. His time with Abby had been an experience that was familiar and alien to him in many ways. It was clear to him that even without a memory, it was her in the sense that mattered. That he had never doubted.

He'd known who he was talking to; he knew it wasn't a fabrication or forgery. Yet there had been subtleties that he'd picked up on, some of them against his will, and what raised further red flags were the fact that these things didn't seem to be noticed by Abby herself.

Her trances were perhaps the biggest event, but there were other things that stood out. Her effectively photographic memory, her ability to pick up or notice small or random things even he couldn't see, her motions and movements which were mechanically precise to inhuman degrees.

Fectorian had never shared what augments had been installed. He knew that there must have been some – he'd been enhanced in a few ways. But there was no reason for Fectorian to be so secretive. He knew for sure they weren't his augments, because he was simply inferior to her in every measurable metric.

And she seemed to do it without a conscious effort. As if it was second-nature, a part of her that required no practice or effort. It had taken him effort to get used to his own augments; to be able to literally move and think differently. No one just woke up and were able to automatically know their own strengths and capabilities.

Unless they weren't really alive in the normal sense.

The time where she'd only paid half-attention to their chess game, and still beat him, was really the tipping point when his suspicions had coalesced into something much more real. Something that he'd not been fully sure how to approach – and it seemed that something similar had been reached for Fectorian.

When all was said and done, and when she'd come to him after Fectorian had shared the truth, he'd found himself…

There'd been a range of emotions, all very quickly; all more muted than he might have expected.

In the end, he hadn't been surprised.

No, that wasn't quite right. He had been surprised, but not because of Abigail's true nature, but because Fectorian had actually done it.

Long before Abigail had returned, both of them had spoken about artificial intelligence and expressed quite divergent opinions on it. Fectorian had been staunchly against it, while he hadn't necessarily been. Fectorian had found the difference in their opinions fascinating, given the many Human stories on machine uprisings.

Or had been, until Liam had made him aware of the multitude of media which had machines as friends or allies of their creators. There were always two sides to artificial intelligence fiction, but people seemed to fixate on the bad endings. Still, even if he'd suspected Fectorian had mellowed on this particular topic, he hadn't expected him to take the step of actually creating an AI – even one based on a real person.

The Ethereal continued to surprise him. Out of all the Ethereals Liam was aware of, Fectorian was the most difficult to really figure out. It seemed like what drove him was something only he really knew. All the same, Liam knew that he did care, even if he showcased it differently to his colleagues.

He was not someone who Liam would describe as necessarily 'benevolent' or 'caring' – at least in the overbearing sense. Yet he showed it in how he treated his subordinates, how they were respected and given responsibilities and tasks with the expectation of completion. It had taken him a while to piece together that Fectorian ultimately treated aliens as equals in a way other Ethereals didn't.

He didn't know of any other Ethereal who would bother acting to prevent a lone Human from being taken away to be executed by the Zararch. Without Fectorian, Liam knew he'd be dead, and he would be grateful for that forever, even if Fectorian remained something of an enigma.

This just added another layer to the enigma, or perhaps removed one. He wasn't sure. Nor was he sure about his own feelings around everything of late.

Abigail had said that she didn't want things to change. So they hadn't, at least not where it mattered for either of them. That was enough for him, for now, even if it felt like a denial in some ways. He knew, and he knew she did, that things simply wouldn't be the same. So what they needed to do was not try and keep pretending, but figure out how to move forward.

Evolve and develop further.

They'd get there. In time.

They sat together on a couch, in her dimly-lit room, with the credits of a movie scrolling. Her head rested on his shoulder, chest rising and falling and she'd dozed off long before the movie ended. His own arm was around her, and she was snuggled close to him, her body cool.

She still liked doing this, even if he knew on some level that it was an illusion. Technically speaking, he knew she wasn't 'sleeping,' she was just entering into some kind of literal rest mode. There were enough sensors packed into her that she could reawaken at a moment's notice.

Still, he didn't mind if she wanted to keep doing this.

He was acutely aware that she was also very heavy. In retrospect, he probably should have paid some more attention to that fact a while ago, but with everything else, the fact that she'd been much heavier than she should have been hadn't been a point of interest. It was an impossible thing to tell from the outside. She just looked… almost exactly as he remembered her from those early days in XCOM.

How much things had changed.

And how much they were going to come full circle.

They would almost certainly be returning very soon, and the conversations that were going to happen with the Commander, Zhang, Vahlen… they were going to be interesting to say the least. Creed was also still alive, last he'd heard, but everyone else…

Almost everyone else was dead from what he'd heard. He was looking forward to meeting them, and a generation of XCOM soldiers who likely had no idea who he was. Until that point though, there was not much to do here but prepare, and think.

There was no shortage of that, thankfully. Every day Abigail learned a little more about herself, and enjoyed telling him about it afterwards if he wasn't there to witness it himself. Fectorian was also personally involved in the appraisals and tests, and she appeared to be meeting and matching every threshold set.

He had enough augmentation to follow along to some degree, both watching and listening to her, but it was quickly reaching a point where it was difficult to fully comprehend it. He appreciated the effort all the same, as it told him she cared, and wanted to tell him about it.

Of course, he'd been thinking more about her as well. Before the revelation itself, he'd been thinking more about it, and about what might have happened if he hadn't been lost on the Dreadnought. It was something he'd thought about off and on in his time here, before pushing past it. The ghosts of regret or loss never helped anything.

Until they showed up one day, just as you remembered.

They had each felt something for each other once, he'd known that much. He remembered it quite vividly. Maybe it would have worked out, maybe it wouldn't have, but the conversation where they'd alluded to having their eyes on a mysterious person… well, they were both adults, and both ones hesitant to make a move for whatever reasons.

That experience had been something he'd never explicitly shared with her once she'd awakened here. That memory he hadn't recalled; there'd been something about doing that which felt… exploitative, especially for what he'd thought was an amnesic woman.

And even still, they had been heading in that direction again. With all the time they'd spent together, and the overt and subtle hints, he'd thought that this time it would happen.

Now he wasn't as sure. Not sure about his own feelings, or what she wanted now.

He felt her move, and her eyes opened. She first looked at the blank screen, and then up at him. "You look happy."

Happy.

The line between happiness and content was one that he usually blurred, but… as he sat with her, with nothing else going on or to worry about, he realized that yes, he was happy. Happy she was with him, and he with her. That she was an artificial intelligence didn't really affect that.

Perhaps he really was just overthinking all of this.

"I suppose," he mused. "Because I am."

"I'm glad," she closed her eyes again. "I am too."

He smiled to himself as they just sat, until the time came for them to prepare for another day. There remained questions for both of them as to what the future would hold, for each of them.

But for now, this was enough.

---

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

Late September 2017 – Evening

Inhale.

Exhale.

The words of the Sovereign One rang in her head still; as clear as if he was still speaking to her. They echoed over and over; rattling her skull; infused with the raw power of a being far greater than their simpler mortal selves.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Regisora was not here anymore. They were no longer on the world of flowing metal and dancing shapes. The Sovereign One was not before them, yet it seemed his presence still lingered; a spectre that could not be dispelled. The normalcy that had been returned seemed to her an illusion; she knew that Mosrimor would never be out of her head.

To have attempted to call the bluff of a Sovereign One had been, in retrospect, a mistake.

The orb rested on the stand in the Throne Room; the hated object that on its own was only a tool of a master which was doubtless focused on other things. Yet its purpose was that of a symbol; a reminder of who held power, who was in control, and who was not. It was a reminder of hubris; a statement of intent.

I AM MOSRIMOR.

Inhale.

I AM UNBOUND.

Exhale.

AND BEFORE ME, YOU ARE NOTHING.

She was unable to suppress a shudder at the declaration. At the power laid within each word and syllable. When Regisora had warned that not all could be within the presence of Sovereigns and retain their minds, she had not been lying. Patricia knew better now, and knew the only reason she remained sane was because of her bond to the Imperator.

The Harbinger of the Imperator knelt on the cold floor, hands on her thighs, in an attempt to calm her mind and feelings after everything. She did not know how much time had passed since Regisora had left. Several days, perhaps. Maybe more. Maybe only hours.

It didn't matter at the moment. It didn't change anything.

She found it impossible to eat, to sleep, to do anything as the Sovereign's voice drowned everything else out. Her body involuntarily shook, she flinched and jolted at sudden noises or telepathic touches.

The Temple Ship was once a place where everything had seemed safe, secure, and protected. Now she felt exposed in the ship, even with the Imperator's aura enveloping everything. There seemed to be no refuge anymore. Not any refuge strong enough against a Sovereign One.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Be calm. Not all is lost.

The Imperator's voice was soft in her mind, reassurance projected through the bond. He had not been able to respond initially after Regisora and Mosrimor's departure. It had been hours before he had spoken again, verbally or telepathically. She had only resisted panic because of their bond.

A bond that had been nothing but iron contemplation. Focus. Reflection. He had taken the seat on the Throne, his aura intense and filled with a suppressed anger; a fury at the humiliation inflicted. The helmet covered his eyes, but Patricia knew they were fixated on the orb that defiled the Temple Ship.

Her breathing became just a bit lighter.

Maybe it was time to broach the question.

What now?

She felt a pause; the monumental mind turning its attention to her. There was only a pause before an answer.

We do as the Sovereign orders. For now.

She had known that would be the case. There was little choice in the matter. The others will be told.

Yes.

In the bond she sensed a grim resignation. The Imperator knew that this development would be received poorly, especially by the Battlemaster. There was a genuine concern – a small one, but genuine nonetheless - in the single-word response. A concern that revealed a fear of the implications if it came to pass.

She gave voice to the concern.

Do you think he will act? Will this push him too far?

I do not know. The bond revealed that the Imperator truthfully did not know the answer; he leaned a certain direction, but for once, it seemed he truly did not know. There is a cost to secrecy. Hiding the truth is not an option. He will notice the changes. He will demand answers. It is better he knows the truth, and the consequences directly addressed. My mistakes cannot become further compounded.

She gave a mental shrug. You did not know. You could not have known.

She sensed a sharp disagreement for the first time. A flat rejection of her own projection through the bond. A disagreement the Imperator would not tolerate dissent on.

The Sovereign One was correct. The Imperator's voice was reflective, even if hardened. It is arrogant of me to assume that I would have been the first. That I had stumbled on some great revelation that none before me had learned. I am curious how many thought as I did. How many fell into the same pitfalls. How many died upon confrontation, as I foolishly did. We remain alive, despite this.

I wonder how many did not. I wonder what must be done now.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He did not know everything. Patricia noted. He would have ordered the Imperators recovered if he knew.

Yes. His knowledge is great, but not complete. I have replayed this conversation since it ended. Assessing what he shared, what he knew, what he would have demanded if he had known. He revealed much, even if unintentionally. We must be careful when we communicate now. This is our only refuge that cannot be breached.

Patricia voiced a thought that had wormed its way into her mind since Regisora had left. One that she believed the Imperator had also. I didn't convince him. He made the choice to keep you alive. Both of us.

Yes, he did.

The Imperator's emotions were calm, focused.

He needs us still. The temptation came, and he did not strike. He despises this weakness; this need for mortals he hates. In me he sees himself; a threat. But he cannot kill us – not yet. His fear is greater than his fury; one tempers the other. Yet so strong is this fear, it is curious.

Of T'Leth.

Yes. The Sovereign on Earth has a greater reputation than assumed.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Do we have a choice for our future?

The Imperator's feelings hardened even further; his resolve grew.

All of the living have choices. How these choices are made decides who will be victorious – and who will be forgotten. For now we will act as the Sovereign has ordered. We live, when we might not have. There will be another opportunity one day – but in due time. That is our reality – and it will not come so long as the Humans pose a threat.

A mental nod. Then I will begin work.

Go. I will summon the others. It is time they know what transpired.

She opened her eyes, rose, and without turning around exited the Throne Room. Her mind was focused, her emotions tempered. This was what must be done, and so she must do it.

Their day would come when there would be a reckoning.

For now, it would merely be deferred.

---

ADVENT Military Command, Geneva – Switzerland

Late September 2017 – Afternoon

"At attention!"

Over two hundred uniformed men and women rose to their feet, snapping into salutes as Saudia entered the central briefing room of ADVENT Military Command. Behind her was Commander Christiaens, Army-Commander Kidon, Kwon Seul-Gi of the Pantheon, and a number of critical Generals, all of whom were flanked by her own protection detail.

Saudia looked at the rows of Generals, Admirals, and Wing Commanders locked into a salute as she walked forward. On several additional screens above the crowd, regional commands from across the world called in. However, the majority were physically present. Here were the combined leadership of the ADVENT Military, gathered together for what would be the most important campaign in the entire war.

Not all of them were here of course – in the very unlikely event that there was an attack, they could not be completely decapitated. However, Saudia was quite certain that sudden attacks were not a fear for today. There was enough security present, and numerous sweeps beforehand that if something happened, it would be only due to an act of God.

"At ease," she ordered, as the assembled officers lowered their arms, and took their seats once again. The rest of the entourage took their positions, Saudia at a podium before the holoprojector, with the other leading and ranking Generals nearby. Their parts would be coming later, but she would open today.

"We are reaching a turning point in this conflict," she began. "One where the Collective is understanding that they must adapt, that they must bring their full might to bear – or they will lose. We have demonstrated that not only can we defend against them – we can win. And we can push them back."

Her gaze swept across the room. "Each of you are apprised of the construction in Atlantis, and the preparation of our secret fleet of space-worthy ships. Their launch is approaching, and when it does, the war will enter a new, unpredictable phase. The necessity is clear – we must have as much of Earth under our control as possible before this happens. Commander Christiaens and High Command have developed the campaign to achieve this."

She stepped back, as Laura took her place. Behind her the world map was projected, with the current fronts, conflicts, and territories highlighted. Above the map was the name of the campaign itself. "Generals, Admirals, Commanders," Laura opened. "Welcome to the Rapture Campaign. Over the next few months, we will begin execution of the global campaign to secure Earth prior to the launch of the fleet."

There were nods around the room, but muted sounds. All of them had likely expected something like this. "Within the campaign will be six separate Operations, each focusing on a continental region." On the map, the names of the operations were displayed in different colors.

"Operation Metacomet, under the direction of General Liam Horne, will be responsible for a renewed offensive against the Collective in the United States and Canada," Laura continued, the map highlighted in blue. "The Collective lines are especially strained in Canada, and with a surge in equipment and manpower, we will drive the aliens back to the Pacific."

In red, the next region was highlighted. "The front in South America has become stagnant. This will change under Operation Bayano, commanded by General Suzana Delgado. Paraguay and Bolivia have been assessed as near complete collapse, and Argentina's lines are brittle. Once the stalemate in southern Brazil is broken, the rest of the continent shall fall shortly after."

Europe and Russia were highlighted in yellow – or the region of Ukraine that the Collective retained control over. "The Collective has maintained a foothold in Ukraine, and we have thus far prevented their continued expansion," Laura said. "This foothold will be eliminated. Operation Tryzub, under the command of General Serhij Borysenko, will purge the Collective from this region, and once more bring Europe under our complete control."

She turned back to the audience. "Operations Metacomet, Bayano, and Tryzub will all commence within mirroring timeframes, as we assess we hold advantages in these regions, and can secure victory within a reasonable timeframe."

"We have built in potential Collective responses into our frameworks," Army-Commander Kidon added. "We are not assuming a best-case scenario in all contexts. We believe that the Collective will invest most heavily in the United States and European fronts, by which we mean using Ethereals and other high-value units. We will prepare appropriately. These are operations that must succeed, for the rest of Rapture depends on them."

"Indeed," Laura turned back to the holomap. Africa was highlighted in orange. "As each of you are aware – Operation Scipio has been frozen, as Oversight, in conjunction with our support, conducts their investigation concerning soldier conduct. The bad news is that our operations will be frozen until this has concluded, and the aftermath has yet to be assessed."

She paused. "The good news is twofold – primarily that this allows us time to reorganize our approach to not just the Sovereign African States, but the African continent as a whole. The Diplomatic Service is working with us for this future operation, which is tentatively designated as Belisarius. We have not identified a General to oversee this effort, and will appraise you of coming developments."

Asia was highlighted in green. "The Collective holds a strong and fortified frontline in Southeast Asia, and the entirety of Japan from which they are likely to launch future offensives. Operation Resolute, under the command of General Lý Triều Nguyệt," Saudia was impressed Laura didn't manage to butcher the Vietnamese woman's name. "This operation will be responsible for expelling the Collective from Asia, and reclaiming Japan."

"Operation Resolute will not launch with the initial three," Kidon added. "It will be launched when at least two of the previous operations have concluded successfully. Ideally, each of them will be successful, and will allow us resources to put towards Resolute, which we expect to be a challenge. The Collective has had significant time to fortify Japan in particular, and they will be ready for us."

Then there was the entirety of Oceania, which was highlighted in white. "All of Oceania is under Collective control," Laura stated. "ADVENT Intelligence, the Lancer Division, and XCOM are working to disrupt, sabotage, and assassinate when possible – but the Collective is deeply entrenched across the region. To reclaim it will be no easy task, which is why it is at the conclusion of the Rapture Campaign."

"Operation Expanse, under General Sebastion Foster, will lead our efforts to reclaim the Pacific, island by island, until Australia itself is liberated," Laura finished. "With the assumption of successful prior operations, this will expel the Collective from Earth entirely, allowing us to take to space and immediately commence counterattacks."

She turned back fully to them. "We do not expect the Collective to be idle. There will be further attacks, likely in places that are peaceful, or where we do not expect. This does not change our objectives, and does not allow us to lower our guard. The more successful our operations are, the more desperate the Collective will become. They will throw everything they have at us to ensure that we fail – we will ensure otherwise."

"To augment our forces, the first batches of clones from the Seafoam Project will be deployed and distributed prior to the launch of Operations Metacomet, Bayano, and Tryzub," Kidon said. "Use them appropriately, and to ensure the success of this operation – and know that more will be coming. We will not be able to match the Collective's numbers yet – but we continue to scale upwards."

"As a final note, we are finalizing the launch of the Thunderwell project, to destroy the Collective Shrouds that continue operation," he added. "They are planned to launch at the same time the initial operations of Rapture commence. Hopefully, Geneva will soon see the sun again."

There were some smiles at that, along with a hope that it was true. Saudia was sure it would be. The Collective would have more important things to focus on after this.

"Further details will be shared as the operational dates approach," Laura said. "Per each of your regions, you will synchronize with the operational commander to ensure heightened interoperability. This will be a collective and coordinated effort to succeed. All legions must be prepared to support, and resources properly allocated. We cannot afford mistakes now."

She stepped back, and Saudia stepped forward. "It is not an exaggeration to say that this is the campaign that will decide the fate of the war – and Humanity. Do not fail."

They stood, and saluted.

The promise was made, and the die cast.

The beginning of the end was here.

---

Situation Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Late September 2017 – Afternoon

There was much that was coming, and much that needed to be done.

The Commander and the rest of the Internal Council were gathered around the holotable, including Nartha. The Vitakarian was still getting used to the inclusion, it seemed like, but he'd adapted quite well, and the Commander expected very good things to come in the future. Chimera, and alien integration with XCOM generally, would be something that only grew in importance as time passed.

Today, there was one primary topic of discussion. One that he'd had an idea was coming, but ADVENT had taken the final steps towards kicking it into motion. "ADVENT has sent us the overview for the Rapture Campaign," the Commander began, activating the holotable, and highlighting the respective regions and breakdowns for each regional operation. "They have requested that we indicate how and when we can provide support for the effort. I know some of you have reviewed this already."

There were several nods around the room. Creed in particular had spent a few hours with him going over it in more detail. At least for now, both of them agreed that it was feasible, if not likely to go entirely to plan.

"The plans appear solid," Creed said to the group. "With the initial clone batches ready for deployment, ADVENT is going to have a significant manpower boost for a decent period of time. I'm not surprised they want to exploit it."

He looked at the Commander. "Concerning 'support,' that is not a concern. We can easily prioritize XCOM operations for the American theaters."

The Commander nodded, unsurprised. "I assumed as much, and indicated that we would be ready to directly assist in operations critical to the overall success of the campaign. We'll need to retain at least some forces on standby in case an Ethereal or another crisis develops outside the regions of focus."

"Logical," Jackson agreed. "I would also recommend that we do not neglect the SAS while this is happening. ADVENT has a lot to work out in the aftermath of Scipio, and while they say that the SAS seems to be focused domestically, we should not cease all our efforts there."

"No, we won't," the Commander confirmed. "We have enough forces to manage multiple operations, support ADVENT's campaign, and maintain pressure on other alien strongholds. I believe a new batch of soldiers will be arriving shortly."

"Correct, Commander," Jackson confirmed.

The Commander saw that as a good opportunity to segway into the next topic of discussion. "On a similar note, Central, you have sent our own preparations for Jericho?"

"Yes, Commander," Jackson answered with a nod. "ADVENT has indicated their support for the operation, and they have confirmed that they will be able to send some limited support in the form of Lancers, PRIESTs, and the Pantheon."

A snort from Creed. "'Limited,' eh?"

"By ADVENT's definition, yes," Jackson said, clearly bemused. "I told them that that would be more than sufficient, and we would provide them with more details shortly. That would go to you, Commander."

"When they say they'll allocate the Pantheon, is it all of them, or a portion?" Creed asked.

"Unclear, but I doubt it will be all of them," Jackson said. "Still, even a third of the Pantheon would be a significant augment to the operation."

"I don't disagree, but I want to know exactly what I have available," Creed clarified. "The operational window is approaching, and ADVENT needs to provide specifics on what they're willing to give."

"I'll press them for specifics," Jackson promised, making a short note. "They're pretty receptive to us, I expect numbers by this evening."

"Good, and forward me the numbers as well," the Commander instructed. "Once we have names, an ADVENT and Pantheon representative will be summoned to finalize the operation with Spartacus. Creed, Zhang, Nartha, I expect all of you there as well."

"As expected, Commander," Zhang merely inclined his head.

"I'll continue working with Spartacus to refine some of the plans and objectives," Nartha said. "There are a… significant amount of factors to account for, but I'm confident the Collective will not be able to respond."

"Exactly as we want," the Commander said. "Our objectives must be clear and limited. The longer any operation on Desolan takes, the greater the risk of failure. The heart of the war machine will consume us as well if we're not careful."

There was a general sentiment of agreement around the room at that, with a few nods, and both Zhang and Jackson making a few more notes. Vahlen cleared her throat, likely to bring the last agenda item up.

"Beyond near-term operational plans," Vahlen said. "There is the matter of the Harbinger we have detained. When will we commence a full interrogation?"

The Commander glanced at Zhang. "Director?"

"Preliminary interrogation can commence shortly," Zhang said bluntly. "Initial findings have confirmed suspicions. She's resistant to most forms of physical interrogation, her biology has been altered to be resistant to conventional drugs, and psions aren't sure what in her head is real or a misdirection."

The Commander rubbed his chin. "Is she consciously doing this?"

"Unclear," Zhang answered. "Iosif believes that she is not, but she – or perhaps Quisilia – activated some kind of contingency that unleashed a flood of false memories, information, and emotions intermixed with her own. A poison pill that only someone who knows the truth would be able to reverse."

"Quisilia." Vahlen said.

"Yes," Iosif's lips pursed. "There are… tells around artificial memories, but that is something we only have some experience in, but Quisilia is very experienced with. The contingency is very clever. Catastrophic to the individual, but it renders interrogation near-impossible. I'll need Aegis or Axis to even begin work."

"When you say catastrophic, in what sense?" Kong asked.

"In the sense that she should be considered clinically insane," Iosif clarified. "Beyond the sedentary drugs we've pumped her with, when she's lucid she doesn't respond, or when she does, appears to not know where she is, or who she is."

"Pity," Creed grunted. "I wonder if that was intentionally done to prevent an execution."

"Before ADVENT, it might have been a feasible plan," Zhang said neutrally. "Now insanity is not a defense. She will die, it is only a matter of how much we learn before she does. No court will save her, nor should they."

"Agreed," the Commander said. "This is far more likely a contingency to prevent us from learning anything substantial. Quisilia is not under illusions as to his fate – or that of his Harbingers, if they are captured."

"To return to your question, Vahlen," Zhang continued. "I expect that no serious progress will be made until Jericho concludes. The Chronicler, Aegis, and Axis alike are all directly involved. When they return, we will focus on the Harbinger."

"Understood," Vahlen made her own note. "In the interim, I would like to begin several more invasive tests. I believe I can acquire a full understanding of her internal modifications, and the Avatar procedure, without a full dissection or autopsy. Iosif and Zhang's people can supervise."

"So long as she isn't killed," the Commander said. "When we're finished, we'll turn her over to ADVENT for execution."

"That can be accommodated," Iosif confirmed. "Vahlen, Zhang, I'll get with you after this."

"Thank you, I have a clear idea of what to do."

"My only concern with turning her over to ADVENT is safety," Creed said. "Quisilia will almost certainly attempt a rescue of some kind. He doesn't strike me as the type to abandon her, and Aegis concurs."

"I've highlighted that concern with ADVENT, and they are saying precautions will be taken," the Commander said, lifting a hand. "I agree though - If the preparations are not sufficient, she will not be extradited. With that said, I believe ADVENT will be able to handle it."

With that matter of discussion concluded, he looked around the table. "Are there any other items anyone wants to address?"

"Only that we will need to speak later concerning Vitakar operations and the Nulorian," Zhang said. "It is not pressing, but I will highlight it again."

That was right, it was an issue that needed to be resolved, along with… other matters. The Commander nodded sharply. "Understood. I'll meet with you about that shortly. In the meantime, dismissed. There is a lot of work to do."

---

Barracks, Revenant Facility – Classified Location

Late August 2017 – Evening

It was without a doubt an interesting group, even at first glance.

As Caitlyn led her to what constituted the main 'barracks,' Angela took note of how, despite the name which conjured images of drab spartan accommodations, it reminded her much more of a rather luxurious hotel. Not necessarily as gaudy as some of them, but definitely in terms of accommodations.

The brief stop by her room, which was effectively a small apartment, with a real bed tailored to be able to be hooked into the life-support machines, along with a kitchen, physical therapy space, and stocked closet, told her that ADVENT definitely wasn't skimping out here. She definitely appreciated it, especially when they were almost certainly doing the same thing for the rest of the Revenants.

She didn't want to imagine what the cost was. A lot more than she made as an infantrywoman, that was for sure. She made a mental note to ask what a Revenant's salary was when she got the chance.

The main hub was equally luxurious where it counted. There was a lot of high-quality furniture, a pool table, televisions with game consoles, some other tables with board games, everything well-lit, but nothing obnoxious. It seemed like dinner had just been made, since there were plates on the tables, or in the hands of the people in the room, some playing, and some sitting and talking.

She definitely felt tired – she was going to be resting for a long time after today, but it wouldn't have been right to come and not make introductions until later. She'd sensed the other psions long before they'd actually arrived, though hadn't probed any further. She knew that they were aware of her as well, and that all of them were just as, if not more powerful than her.

Still, Caitlyn cleared her throat, which was the audible order for everyone to pay attention. Angela immediately felt their attention shift instinctively to her; their real attention now that they didn't need to conveniently pretend she wasn't around.

"Everyone, this is Angela Blackburn," she said. "I've been told is the last member we're expecting for the program for a while. Angela, this is the rest of team Revenant." She paused. "Don't be alarmed if she doesn't speak much. Her condition makes it difficult, and she's had a long day already."

Angela lifted a hand, managing a weak smile. "Hello," she rasped out, before deciding that she was definitely just going to communicate telepathically for the rest of this. Sorry I can't speak much right now. Met a Hive Commander and things went downhill from there. Telepathic attack that shuts my body down slowly without intervention.

There were a few sympathetic nods, which were echoed in their emotional reactions. Everyone here understood what had happened, though none of them were surprised. "We'll start on the left," Caitlyn said, directed at a dark-skinned woman with long black hair, who out of all of them, seemed to be the least affected by whatever affliction she had – which definitely wasn't the case if she was here.

"Welcome to Revenant, Angela," she smiled brightly. "Tessa Baker. Former Peacekeeper Deacon. Had an encounter with a SPECTRE during the attack on Washington DC, which almost killed me. EMP went off right as the nanites were eating me, and instead of turning into a pile of harmless dust, they fused into my organs. I lived, but there are a few too many nanites still in me to be considered at full strength."

Angela winced. Ouch.

"One way to put it," Tessa agreed. "Not pleasant. I don't feel as good as I look – but I make it through, like everyone else here."

Nice to meet you, Angela said.

"Unlike some of you," the woman next to her said, a bald Chinese woman, who lifted a hand with a short wave. "My problems are a bit more conventional, relatively speaking. Da Yating, here not because of any encounter with an alien, but cancer."

Oh. Angela said. I'm sorry. A kind that ADVENT can't cure?

She chuckled. "You could say that, and the answer is yes and no. Mesothelioma cancer, which before ADVENT, would have been a death sentence. With modern medicine, that's no longer the case, but it still makes me useless for any frontline combat."

"I think she has more treatments than most of us," Tessa said. "Perks of being the guinea pig for ADVENT cancer cures."

"Pretty much," Da agreed. "Mixture of chemotherapy, gene treatments, and a few more experimental cocktails. The cancer hasn't receded yet – but it hasn't become worse. I'll take my blessings where I can, and until then, I'm here. Glad to have you."

Angela nodded. Nice to meet you too.

The next one was a darker-skinned Asian man resting on a chair. He was visibly suffering from something. He wore darker clothing that almost covered every part of his skin, except for his hands and face. The exposed skin has splotches and lesions, painful-looking ones. Nonetheless, he inclined his head in greeting.

I hope you won't mind telepathy for myself, he said. Khant Ag Hein. Burmese Legion. Or Myanmar if you're a foreigner. ADVENT apparently can't make up their mind what we should be called. Was on the Southeast Asia front, Vietnam, where I got a firsthand look at some of the fun things the Collective is deploying.

He indicated his face. I was unfortunate enough to breathe in some byproduct of their alien plants, and got infected with some kind of degenerative skin disease. Doctors are still trying to work it out – I appear to just be very unlucky given this hasn't affected anyone else. Anyway, fact is that if I don't undergo daily MELD treatments, well, I turn into goo.

He smiled. I think if you'd touch me, I might fall apart. I'd ask you not to.

I won't do that, she promised. There is no cure?

No cure, yet, but the treatment is shockingly simple, he clarified. The problem is that it's persistent. Nasty piece of work, this is. The doctors think that I'll need a dedicated vaccine to begin a real recovery, and if we're being honest, a dedicated vaccine for one guy is lower on their priority list. Understandable, but until then…

He shrugged. Here I am. Don't worry, it isn't contagious.

"Can confirm," the man next to him, a blonde, and noticeably thin man, said with a smile and Slavic accent. "Otherwise I think I would have caught it by how much he sneezes."

Funny, Khant drawled. Your turn.

"This is Kostiantyn," Caitlyn said. "Our resident jester, and with a last name I won't attempt to pronounce."

"Neschadymenko," he said without missing a beat. "Kostiantyn Neschadymenko – but since I'm not cruel, call me Kost like everyone else. Coming to you from the beautiful trenches of Ukraine, and also an unfortunate encounter with a Sectoid – a bit similar to your own, it sounds like."

Oh? A telepathic command?

"Yep, a simple one; being able to tell someone to die is useful – until they use it against you, or someone you know," he said. "I knew enough to be able to stop it partially – though not before it shut down a few organs, and most of my nervous system. Supposedly psionic therapy could fix it – but I imagine they told me the same thing they told you."

That I could die due to how delicate it is?

"Bingo," he nodded. "And since I prefer living, such as it is, I'm not quite ready to risk it yet. Besides, this place is worth the physical trauma, all paid for by the state."

"Not a vacation," Caitlyn muttered. "Even if some people treat it like one."

"Look," Kost opened a soda can resting on the armrest. "When Archer finally tells us to do something, I'll be up and ready. Trust me, I didn't accept this to slack off. They certainly didn't bring me for my wisdom – that'd be our elder here."

He indicated the man sitting on the couch to his right, who Angela was pretty sure was the oldest person she'd ever seen in ADVENT. If it wasn't for the fact that she could sense he was an almost absurdly strong psion, she would have thought he was a doctor, or part of the staff. He wore simple clothing, his face was wrinkled, and weathered as if he'd spent time in the desert.

A bushy mustache covered his upper lip, reminding her of pictures of generals from World War One, and he still had a full head of white hair. His blue eyes held some amusement, but a quick glance told her that they were old and had seen a lot. He stood, grasped his cane, and approached.

"Jean-Pierre Leclère, at your service ma'am," he said in a clear French accent, shaking her hand. "I will confess that the only reason I am here is because of my age, not any physical ailment. Yet I wished to serve, and ADVENT found a place for me here, and so here I shall be."

Oh? I'm surprised you'd want a role like this. It's an intensive one.

Kost whistled. "Not compared to some of what he's done."

"The boy exaggerates," Jean-Pierre said dryly. "But this is not my first war, ma'am. Nor my second. And while I was denied the ability to take up arms before, due to my age, I am proud to contribute again. Men must be ever-ready to stand against evil, no matter the time or place."

She cocked her head. Which war?

"The Second World War," he said with a smile. "I presume you know the French Resistance. In comparison, these are far better accommodations, and far less stressful objectives than I enjoyed during that time."

Her eyes widened. If he had been in the French Resistance, then he would be…

Eighty-Nine, Khant supplanted. Just celebrated his birthday. He's older than he looks.

"A compliment I will continue to enjoy," Jean-Pierre mused. "I am at an age where even ADVENT was hesitant to employ me, due to fears of the genetic modification being too invasive. I asked for psionic testing instead, and now here I am. Nonetheless, as Khant said, I am in quite good health for my age, and ADVENT medicine will ensure that I will see the end of this war – presuming we do not die in the process."

Well, I'm glad we have someone like you here, she said. You've probably seen more than all of us put together.

"Too much, I think," he said, eyes becoming distant. "Stories for later, if you are interested. I can tell you are tired."

"Yeah, go take a rest," Kost said. "We'll all be here – and hopefully Archer will be starting the testing soon now that you're here too."

I will, Angela raised a hand again. "Thank you," she managed out, before finishing telepathically, it was good to meet all of you.

There was a telepathic affirmation from all of them, as Caitlyn turned around, and Angela also maneuvered to follow. "Let's get you back to your room," Caitlyn said, reaching down to rub Sally's snout. "The medics should be ready for you."

---

ADVENT Niger Forward Operating Base Theta – Niger

Mid-September 2017 – Afternoon

It seemed like there was a waiting game being played – or it was indecision that was preventing things from going forward. Kaya didn't know, but the longer days passed and they just waited here, the more uneasy she became.

Oversight's presence hadn't diminished after she'd spoken to the Inspector - if anything, it had only increased. There were special units of Peacekeepers that had arrived in noticeable numbers, and Kaya had heard that a number of officers were potentially either under arrest, or were going to be. It didn't seem to have happened yet, but everyone was expecting something soon.

The officers were almost uniform in their displeasure with the developments, characterized by how they were ensuring a near twenty-four-hour watch on the west, where they were expecting the SAS to strike. The SAS was going to strike, everyone knew that was coming, yet it seemed they were also hedging their bets about what to do.

Perhaps wondering if it was a trap, or a feint.

ADVENT patrols around the base were constant, and soldiers stood around the perimeter in numbers of notable deterrence. Trenches were almost brought up to the ADVENT standards, armor and artillery were in place and ready to go, and they had ensured there would be air support.

This afternoon her own small patrol wasn't technically needed, but she certainly didn't like sitting around for something to happen. It was enough to get an impression of the atmosphere, one of significant uncertainty and wariness. There was a distinct disconnect due to the lack of information that she couldn't recall until now.

All they knew was that operations were paused, Oversight was now here, and some people were probably going to jail.

The news that Scipio was suspended was, as far as Kaya knew, internal to ADVENT, and kept under very tight control. ADVENT Intelligence also had a presence now, though they didn't seem to be involved in any investigations. A short chat with an agent had implied that they were primarily here for counter-intel purposes, though had notably declined to confirm that they weren't working with Oversight.

Today, there'd been a new batch of people who'd arrived through the Gateway, men and women wearing a very particular uniform.

Kaya had never seen them before. Their black armor wasn't as thick or thorough as the average soldier's, but it was enough to provide some decent protection. A seal she also didn't recognize was emblazoned on the left pauldron, a kama around the waist fell just past the knees, and a full-face helmet covered their heads. They carried no weapons but pistols, but even from a distance Kaya could tell there was an intensity to them.

She'd been with Freya when they'd arrived, and asked if she knew who they were. Freya had shaken her head, and merely said "It means that there are a lot of powerful people involved now."

Well, that said a lot.

Though in a way, Kaya was comforted by the clear display of authority from ADVENT, especially if it was revolving around Scipio. It was better that they were taking a serious and firm stance than the alternative which was months of meandering investigations to ultimately conclude that they did nothing wrong.

Amazing what an oversight group could achieve when given teeth.

That said, Kaya would be lying if she wasn't at least somewhat concerned about the inevitable SAS attack, and the fact that while there seemed a clear investigatory plan, if there was an actual military plan if they were attacked seemed far more elusive. Either ADVENT knew the SAS wasn't planning to strike for a while, and they had time to breathe and prepare, or they were focused on Scipio at the expense of all else.

Hopefully ADVENT could do both, but it was the lack of clearly understanding this that made her nervous. In the meantime, they had a pleasant time enjoying the African heat, and checking the news for the latest on the fronts.

"Kaya."

She turned to see Freya and one of the new soldiers at her side, who was helmetless, a man with a strangely bemused face. He was only just a little shorter than she was, wore glasses, appeared to be ethnically Chinese, but she couldn't fully tell.

"This is August Lars," she said, indicating the man. "Commissar assigned to our Platoon."

"A Commissar of the Department of Extremist Mitigation, to be precise," he said with a smile, extending a hand which she took. "I'm only one of my colleagues assigned to this particular battalion, and will be staying until the conclusion of the campaign."

Freya grunted at that. "Presuming they actually revive it."

"To correct myself," August cleared his throat. "This campaign – or any subsequent ones pertaining to this region. We're in here for the long haul."

Kaya frowned, eyes flicking between Freya and August. "That is an… interesting role. I didn't expect ADVENT would take inspiration from the Soviet Union. Especially not of that nature."

"I'm happy that someone connected it to our historical roots, and not certain science fiction franchises," he chuckled. "However, it isn't completely the same. The Soviet Commissars were, ultimately, political officers. We are better described as on-demand lawyers – or law enforcement as necessary."

One hand patted his waist and holstered pistol. "Our job is to inspire discipline and respect for the rule of law, and ensure appropriate conduct before, during, and after combat."

Kaya's eyes glanced to the pistol, half-serious with her next questions. "Should we expect summary executions if someone steps out of line?"

Freya snorted, and August's smile only grew. "While some of my colleagues would like that, the answer is no, Empress, that thankfully isn't how this works. My weapons are to be only used for self-defense. I do, however, have multiple authorities to detain and arrest as needed. If I do my job right, I don't expect to have to actually employ them. In fact I'd much prefer not to do so."

"Glad to hear it, and out of curiosity," Kaya glanced beyond the perimeter. "Does ADVENT have a plan for when the SAS attacks?"

"While I am not in the meetings, I have been told that ADVENT is reorganizing the African campaigns, and instructions will be distributed to officers shortly," he answered without missing a beat. "ADVENT is aware of the situation on the ground, Empress. While the investigation is commanding focus, we have not forgotten there is a war going on."

"Mm," Kaya said. "So are Commissars just for us, or a wider ADVENT rollout?"

"The Commissariat Program is in its initial rollout stages," he said, notably tactful. "We are not a military unit per-se, but are explicitly intended to embed with military or law enforcement units. Unfortunately, such groups have a higher risk of being hubs for extremist thought and action – we exist to excise that."

She nodded slowly. "And have you?"

"A work in progress, Empress, I cannot give you specifics at this point," he said, though his smile told her that yes – they had. "But be assured that a picture has been painted, and the information provided by you and others has given us what we need. There is a process to these things – but you will see it soon enough."

"Alright," Kaya said with a nod.

"If there are no more questions, Kaya, then we need to continue," Freya said. "There are some others in the unit to give introductions to, before I hand you off to the other squad officers."

"Indeed, our time is sadly limited. It was, again, a pleasure to meet you," he said, as he stepped back. "I am sure we will speak more in the coming days. I expect Standardbearer Saunders to inform you of my location, which will serve as an office, such as it is."

"I'll speak to you on this afterwards, Kaya," Freya confirmed, as she turned to leave with the Commissar at her side. "Follow me."

"Lead the way," August joined her, and Kaya lost sight of them after a few turns were made.

Kaya was left alone again, somewhat bemused and curious, now thinking of how things were likely to be getting a bit more interesting in the coming days.

---

The Dreamscape

Late September 2017 – Afternoon

This time around, the watery world of blue and green wasn't quite as terrifying.

Loke Hemmingson had been somewhat wary, and not just a bit apprehensive when Lincoln Harper had suggested they talk where, he promised, no one could eavesdrop on them. Loke had been less enthused when he'd explained said place was some kind of telepathic, illusionary construct.

It hadn't exactly taken him long to make the connection between it, and that strange place they'd been transported to when encountering T'Leth. Harper had called it the Dreamscape.

Loke supposed it was a fitting name. He'd agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. If he was to take Harper up on his offer, he'd have to get used to stuff like this regardless. Best to start getting used to things like this now.

Unlike before, there was no imposing weight on his mind, nor weighty Voice from what he now knew was T'Leth. It wasn't especially comfortable, but it wasn't quite as nerve-wracking as it had been. It was strange how not strange he was already finding these situations to be; a year ago he felt sure that something like this would have left him running screaming into the night. Of course, there weren't many places to go running at the bottom of the ocean.

Despite that, Loke felt like there were eyes on him, even if passively. T'Leth's mind, while it wasn't focused on him, was still very much tangible in a way that was difficult to explain. In some ways, it wasn't unlike Atlantis, where surveillance was everywhere - but it was also expected. In this place, the scrutiny managed to still be penetrating even without T'leth's active attention, like those all too common nightmares when he was young and dreamed he forgot his pants while at school.

Loke figured the same principle applied here.

Both he and Harper sat at a plain round table, which seemed out of place in the sheer nothingness of the blue-green infinity. If one looked around, they would see only Sameness; it was like being underwater, where the sun could be discerned from above, yet impossibly out of reach.

He found that the more he thought of it, the more unnerved he became, and decided to just focus on what was in front of him. The table wasn't the only thing that had materialized; Harper had gone a step further and conjured a full-course meal of some hearty servings of meat and gravy that appeared to be an Australian meal.

Loke knew it wasn't real food, but it certainly tasted like it. It was quite good, and he was privately amazed at how perfectly T'Leth was able to replicate things like taste. There was probably some other trick to it – but if there was, he wasn't going to complain.

As they'd eaten, Harper had taken the opportunity to elaborate on what he'd spoken about earlier – specifically sharing more details about T'Leth, the Sovereign Ones, and secrets of the galaxy that Loke was fairly sure would shatter the worldviews of most people who heard them. Again he was struck by that odd feeling, learning about something that should have made him laugh incredulously. It was equally strange that the thought of an actual alien invasion made learning about the rest of T'Leth's story somehow more palatable.

He couldn't exactly say that it wasn't having an effect on him. It was one thing to think that, in the grand scheme of things, Humans were small. In truth, they weren't just small, as it stood; they were inconsequential to the true powers of the galaxy. Knowing these details suddenly made a lot of things make more sense.

The implications of which he knew he'd be digesting for a very long time, and had found he could just listen as Harper talked, only offering sparse interjections and questions.

Since he'd first learned the truth from Harper – and with ADVENT involved and aware, he had little reason to doubt the man's words - he'd been working through how he felt about all of this. On one hand, the existence of an alien that was probably as close to a deity was a terrifying thought, more than the Collective itself.

He certainly had questions about T'Leth's exact impact on Human history – but according to Harper, it had been barely tangible, except for one Agent who'd been alive for centuries. If he took the offer, Loke expected he would meet this man, but had noted that Harper's description of 'barely tangible' didn't exactly match his own.

Not that it could be changed anyway.

Once the worst of the shock had passed, the immediate implications of everything were a bit clearer. This was, by most descriptions, the front lines of where the real war was happening. One between not just species and factions, but Sovereign Ones themselves. The only conflict that endured across the eons; the only one which mattered.

Harper didn't say it explicitly, but he didn't need to. Loke could pick up on the subtle cues now, and the more he heard, the more explicit it seemed.

Finally, Harper finished his "pitch," for lack of a better word. There was something that T'Leth, and Harper, saw in them, enough to extend such an offer to them to join in this war. And that was the heart of Loke's current curiosity; the thing which had become the biggest question mark of all of this.

"There is one thing that isn't clear to me," he finally said. "Why us? Me, Orla, the others? We're just… people. Zhi isn't even a soldier, but a researcher. None of us are psionic. None of us are… special. So why are we valuable, especially to a Sovereign One?"

"Well you're wrong there," Harper said thoughtfully. "Your own skills are useful in their own right, and with the resources of a Sovereign you will be peerless. No Sovereign can do everything themselves, and T'Leth is no exception."

"So you're saying he needs help?" Loke said slowly.

"He wouldn't necessarily phrase it in that way – but yes," Harper said. "T'Leth cannot be everywhere, he cannot be orchestrating everything. In lieu of him directly, he delegates to those who he can rely on. That is us. We are the best of our species, empowered to act as his face, will and power to the rest of the galaxy."

One finger tapped on the table. "You are under the impression that you would be normal, Loke. You may be now, but as an Agent, you would be something more. Greater than anything you could do on your own."

"Then why me?" Loke insisted. "If it was as simple as that, anyone could do it. There's nothing special or different about me."

Lincoln smiled. "Do you think there needs to be?"

He opened his mouth to respond, and then paused, thinking. He'd admittedly not thought of it in those terms before. He was used to there being reasons behind everything, and qualifications for roles. An Agent of T'Leth, as this was called, struck him as a role for the very exceptional. The best of the best.

And while he was good, was he the absolute best in the world? He wasn't sure of that – but it was a fair question as to why it would matter to T'Leth.

"You're correct in that it's not just about your skills or physical attributes. I cannot speak for the Sovereign One," Lincoln said. "But in potential Agents, there is something about who they are that attracts attention. Something that cannot be taught or instilled through technology. T'Leth sees his Agents as those who embody his ideal virtues, transcending species. Brilliant scientists, brave explorers, charismatic champions, devout protectors. Myths that transcend individuals; those who may defy what was expected of them."

He looked at Loke, his eyes reflecting the blue-green light. "You weren't supposed to return to T'Leth. Most people wouldn't, but you did - and despite your fear, you did it. You possess a rare combination of traits; you are resolute, intrepid, decisive, and intelligent. A combination that is rarer than you would think. Too many people consider certain skills and physical prowess equivalent to worth – but the strongest man means little if they stand for nothing, or are a coward, or fail to ask the right questions."

"I see," Loke rubbed his chin, seeing the logic a bit better. "All the same, I expect there is also more at work here."

"Just a little bit," Lincoln admitted. "T'Leth is expanding his own forces – which includes the Agents, at least among our species. You and your friends are not the only ones who will be given the offer, and won't be the last. The Ruinous Armada is being prepared – and the war is about to intensify."

He raised an eyebrow. "The Ruinous Armada?"

"T'Leth's… let us say expression of power," Lincoln said tactfully. "If you accept, you will see for yourself. If not, then I am certain your service in ADVENT will be exceptional. No matter your choice, I would ask you make it soon. I will not be able to loiter in Atlantis forever."

He stood with that fairly unceremonious conclusion, and with a final nod and smile, blinked out of existence, leaving Loke alone in the Dreamscape. Leaving him alone with the Sovereign One who seemed no more focused on him than before.

Loke sat there for a long time, thinking carefully of the critical choice for him to make.

Yet he sensed that he'd crossed the Rubicon long ago.

And he had to admit, he was looking forward to what the future had in store.

Provided his friends felt the same way.

---

City Streets, Abuja – Nigeria

Mid-September 2017 – Afternoon

There was something about how all of this had developed which instilled a strange feeling in her. She didn't know if it was discomfort, exhaustion, or frustration.

Maybe all three.

All Betos knew for sure was that this feeling had been present for some time; a feeling that she'd found difficult to articulate, or acknowledge, even to herself. She could pinpoint when she had noticed it, which was after Knaag's plan was revealed, but in truth she knew it had started after losing Mox. Everything that had happened since had only made it grow even more intense.

It didn't seem to be getting any better.

She'd given up trying to work, and had decided to go for a walk around the city, hoping that it might clear her head, and walking on the actual streets of Abuja, she was slowly able to work out this feeling.

Or at least, start to.

She wore simple civilian clothes as she walked. It was less of a disguise, and more of a conscious effort to not draw attention to herself. She had little fear of assassins, since Keeper had provided assurances that the city was locked down tightly concerning counterintelligence worries.

Not to mention there were probably a couple Zararch agents keeping an eye on her regardless. She wouldn't put it past Keeper to do that.

If he did that, she couldn't bring herself to mind, and so continued her walk, simply watching and listening. Listening was not especially useful due to the simple fact that she didn't speak the majority language here, which in some respects, tied into the heart of the problem. An overarching problem of the fact that this was a place she fundamentally didn't belong.

No matter how much she'd tried, she simply didn't know how to, or had failed entirely. As time passed, it seemed like it was the former, for in only a short time there had been tangible shifts in the atmosphere of the SAS. It was palpable; a sense of anger, an atmosphere of war and militarism.

It was exemplified most in how soldiers were commonplace, patrolling the streets. Recruitment drives were placed throughout the city, all of them with plenty of men and women signing up. Yet it was in the subtle elements that added to everything; the posters and propaganda. That every news station was about the war, that every newspaper had a clear militarist stance that came through for people just looking at the cover pages.

The people she walked past had exhausted, scared, and angry faces as they walked alone, or talked in small groups. In a park she saw boys in groups wearing mock armor, carrying mock weapons, and pretending to fight each other, while mothers watched. None of them paid much attention to her. Maybe she didn't stand out, or they didn't care.

Either was fine with her.

The effects of the war were visible everywhere even outside the atmosphere. The streets were cleaner than they once had been as a result of military cleanup efforts, even though they needed to be regularly conducted due to the sheer number of refugees still coming into the city. There was rarely a place in the city which wasn't extremely crowded, even as they scrambled to build additional housing.

As part of this expansion process, checkpoints, automated security systems, and other elements of the growing security apparatus of the SAS had been built. Perhaps the most visible change were the walls around the city, interspersed with higher towers, armed to the teeth with every advanced system the Collective had sent them.

And as she walked, she was struck by how much of this was not explicitly something that she'd made. She'd given the authorizations, she'd approved the defense improvements, but it had all coalesced into something that was scarily similar to a system she had wanted to avoid. She couldn't avoid the blame for it, while simultaneously knowing this wasn't what she'd wanted. It was a strange feeling, to see her hand simultaneously everywhere, and nowhere.

It made her wonder how much control she really had, or who was actually listening to her, and it all tied back to the core of the problem.

She didn't know how to do this. Not really.

All she knew was that she had to do better, lest she unintentionally create something she'd have rightfully condemned. Yet when she was faced with a challenge to this, she found that she wilted in the face of men like Knaag and Tyres. She was a soldier, not an ideologue or debater; she knew what she believed, but couldn't articulate a defense for why it was better.

She wished Mox were with her.

He would have known what to do.

She just didn't. Not anymore.

She'd wandered towards the edge of the city, and something caught her eye. She spotted a convoy of large trucks approaching one of the outer checkpoints from outside the city – likely from the base. It was a big convoy too – but carrying what?

Curious, Betos strolled forward, a frown on her face as she approached the checkpoint.

The convoy was, in fact, bigger than she'd expected. There were at least a dozen semi-trucks, and in the distance, she saw more coming. At the very back of all of those was something she recognized as distinct Officer transports – reserved for ranking officers or officials.

That was definitely out of the ordinary. She was not expecting anything like this today, or rather… any day, for that matter. There weren't any more major projects planned, and something with this much material was something she would have known about. The Officer transports themselves were another question mark, especially if they were bringing people from somewhere.

She definitely needed to figure this out.

The convoy was being waved through by the checkpoint guards, and by now they'd noticed her approaching, and the ranking officer had peeled off to meet her. "Soldier," she greeted him, who snapped to attention when she was in earshot. If he was surprised to see her out in public, he didn't show it.

"Grand Marshal," he said immediately. "How can I assist?"

"You can start with that," she nodded towards the convoy. "What is that shipment, where did it come from, and who are the VIPs?"

He frowned, and quickly suppressed it, though not quick enough before Betos caught that he was surprised. "Materials for public security improvements and weapons and armor, all of which shipped straight from the Ethereal Collective. I only have a manifest, Grand Marshal, I can't say what each component is to be used for."

He checked the manifest again. "As for the VIPs, I don't know for sure, but my understanding is that they are a mixture of Collective military and civil experts. Officers, economists, engineers, and so on. Were you not aware?"

Advisors? Engineers? Entire deployments of them? All done without her knowledge or expectation? That was already a major problem, and the implications were nothing good. It was one thing for shipments to come in unauthorized, it was another for actual specialized personnel to be invited.

"No, I wasn't," she said slowly. "Do you know under what this was authorized?"

She could almost hear him swallow before he answered. "…Your office, Grand Marshal," he motioned her over, and showed the seal of the Executive, and the signature of her office aide who normally handled such approvals when she couldn't. "Do you want me to recall them?"

She was very tempted, but this wasn't going to solve the problem. She'd have to go to the source for this, the convoy drivers, and even the aliens weren't at fault for this. As far as they knew, they were right to be here, and until she knew exactly what was going on, it would only complicate things to interfere.

"Belay that for now," she said, lips pursing, and a surge of irritation running through her. "I'll handle this on my end. If there are any other convoys that come through, do not let them through until you hear direct confirmation from me. Understood?"

"Yes, Grand Marshal," he said eagerly, saluting.

"Then carry on, Officer," Betos said, turning sharply away, reaching into her phone and calling for a pickup.

Someone was going behind her back, it seemed, even more than usual. This time a line had been crossed, and she was going to put her foot down. For better or worse, she had a feeling about who was behind this particular event – and he was probably not going to be happy to see her.

---

Office of the Chancellor, Geneva – Switzerland

Late September 2017 – Afternoon

Rapture was set, the preparations made, and the wheels set in motion. With that done, Saudia had to turn her attention to other, domestic matters – and the controversies that were going to arise in the very near future.

This was a conversation that needed to be addressed, and a coherent response prepared immediately. However, the fallout and details of Operation Scipio was only one element to be addressed. Another was that it was time for a sustained consolidation of ADVENT as a whole, along political, cultural, and economic lines. There had been a period of time where everyone was on board and working together – and in most cases, they still were.

That was going to end at some point, not to mention how when it came to matters of national identity and culture, there had been a continuation of a status quo – not what had to come next. Saudia wanted to make sure that they were ahead of the game.

Humans had a tendency to create problems at inopportune times, and with so many critical operations and plans coming into focus, it was not a good idea to pretend that changes weren't coming. She was not going to have ADVENT dealing with a surge of nationalists the moment the war let up, much less any who would threaten the unity of ADVENT.

Such movements and ideas needed to be smothered in the crib before they found oxygen. That was an era of Humanity past, which had been shot dead, and she had no interest in letting anyone revive the corpse.

There were many things that needed to be done. The Congress of Nations as it existed, and the Legislative branch as a whole, needed to evolve. The disputes and injustices of the past needed to be resolved, the spectre of nationalism and championship of individualism crushed. The holdouts integrated, and dissenters marginalized. The old guard of the world would be swept aside, and the future installed in its place.

This work would start properly now.

ADVENT was not perfect, not yet, but they were going to get on that path through guile, law, force, and resolve. The cabinet of men and women she'd assembled had served well so far, and this would be among their greatest tests.

Chief Overseer Watkins, Minister Kyong Suk-Chul, Chief Diplomat Firdas Hassan, Chief Casen Rasmussen, Intelligence Director Ian Powell and Chief Amalda Stein all sat around the table, with Saudia sitting at the head. No military personnel were in attendance today, as half of the agenda did not deal with them, and the other half specifically addressed misconduct in the ranks.

She would deal directly with them at a later date.

Many of them had possessed some idea of Scipio, but today was the first real look at the investigation Watkins had been conducting. There were many grim faces as they read, and the consequences that had to follow. However, Scipio and its fallout was a heavier topic, and one they would close out with after the first order of business had been addressed.

"We will speak shortly on Scipio," Saudia began, starting the meeting properly. "First, there are a few other matters to address. Kyong, Hassan, your assessments concerning the first order of business?"

"Yes, Chancellor," Hassan placed down his tablet. "While it has certainly not been easy, or necessarily pleasant, we have compiled lists of, let us say, outstanding issues of ethnicity or territory that have yet to be resolved. From the matter of Chinese territories, to Israel and Palestine, Ireland, Kashmir, and indigenous recognition in North America, there remain issues that require resolution."

"These are not exactly pressing issues for most, but as time passes we do a disservice pushing them off," Kyong continued. "This is already beginning with Hakeem and the Palestinian diaspora, who are demanding both the right to return to the Levant, as well as justice for their expulsion in the War on Terror. The Israelis have naturally ignored this."

Saudia grimaced, uncharitable thoughts in her head. "That government is a problem."

"Frankly, many governments retain vestiges of the old systems," Kyong stated without emotion. "Many are holdovers who agreed to this current order, but they remain in the mindset of nation before species. The Zionists are an extreme example of this, and the longer they persist, the more problems they will cause."

Saudia looked at Powell, knowing the Intelligence Director would have opinions. "I know you have a suggestion?"

"Of course, and I would strongly suggest we tailor our approaches to the national governments," Powell said with a thin smile. "The Zionists are simple to deal with. All of the European states, as well as Israel themselves, have documentation proving the eviction of Palestine was forced and orchestrated. A simple matter to reverse, no matter how much they kick and scream. Watkins would agree."

"Yes, I have a team that is working on assessing the current legitimacy of several governments, Israel among them," Watkins added. "In addition to the acts Israel had committed during the War on Terror, their election laws do not meet ADVENT standards. New elections will need to be held, and there is legislation in the Congress that will allow Palestinians to take part. A representative government will certainly help alleviate the issue."

"Nowinski will not like that," Saudia said. "He'll consider it an attack on Israel as an entity if we encourage Palestinian repatriation and electoral participation."

"To be fair, he isn't wrong," Powell said. "We are engineering a soft coup of his government. Unfortunately for him, his government is out of compliance with ADVENT, and we can do that. He made the mistake as many have done, thinking that the status quo is acceptable and we will not touch it."

"While I will not be as blunt, Powell is right. Nowinski will not have a choice, and new elections will automatically filter out the most extreme nationalist no matter the degree of Palestinian participation," Watkins shrugged. "I would suggest a meeting with him to drive the point home."

"Do so." She ordered.

"I would also suggest that similar referendums take place over the coming months to resolve some long standing issues," Powell continued. "I would recommend that ADVENT does not become directly involved unless there is a strong care for it. Matters concerning the preservation of Yugoslavia, Irish Reunification, Korean Reunification, and Chinese Unification are best left to the people."

"I would add one caveat to this approach," Kyong lifted a finger. "As times change, so do sentiments. I would caution, whenever this is done, that we emphasize that this is not the end-all, be-all of the choice of people. We should emphasize that, should enough people demand it, referendums concerning national borders, secession, or independence, can be called immediately, or after a reasonable amount of time has passed."

Powell smiled at the suggestion, the smile of a man who was very pleased with what he was hearing. "A brilliant idea, Kyong. I do not know if you see it, but I certainly do, and so does the Chancellor."

She did, and she greatly approved. Hassan frowned. "While I can see the merit in the approach, that risks… ah." He smiled as he also got it. "Yes, I see. I concur, a very clever approach. Let the people define themselves as needed, so long as they remain in the fold."

"The nation as a political entity must eventually become an aesthetic, and its existence directly tied to the ADVENT state," Saudia stated. "Let them decide their futures, for we have no reason to deny them it if they so wish. They are all under ADVENT, no matter the outcome, and they will know they owe their existence to us."

It did not ultimately matter if ADVENT was composed of ten states, or one hundred. She was primarily concerned that each one was part of the greater state, and each part devoted to its preservation. No matter the outcomes, they would make sure they were tied deeper, and deeper to ADVENT, until the flags of nations were synonymous with ADVENT and Humanity.

A usurpation of nationalism, ironically employing national sentiments. A truly excellent approach that she was glad Kyong had given voice to.

"I wonder if this will set off a chain of secessions or breakaways," Watkins mused. "New, 'independent' nations, now free for representation. I expect it will be interesting when it occurs. Hopefully after the larger issues are addressed."

"So long as we take into account the possibility of abuse, on behalf of groups or actors who want to manipulate votes in the Congress," Stein said. "I expect we will, of course, but I want to highlight this now. There will be people who seek to abuse this, or whose desires do not reflect the people even if they try to say they do."

Hassan hummed. "We will have to take care that artificial secessionists are dissuaded. Organic grassroots organizations must be preferred over top down nationalist projects."

"Considering that any such movements will need to demonstrate interest, popularity, and actual numbers, I suspect that problem will take care of itself," Watkins noted. "And at the end of the day - it is the people who would vote. Not movements or political organizations. I am confident in our election regulations to ensure any result is the will of the people."

"All told, I don't think this will be a major concern, Chief," Saudia finished. "I assure you, if anyone intends to abuse these measures, they will be dealt with."

"Good," Stein nodded sharply. "That's all I needed to hear."

One item on the docket down. Now came the part that they were all dreading, or at least was going to be the most contentious. "With this settled for now, there is the matter of Scipio," Saudia indicated the folders on their desks. "You have all read the Oversight's report, and I expect you are aware of what has been taking place. The concerns raised will need to be addressed, starting now."

"It is problematic, to say the least," Kyong mused, putting down the report. "Director, were you aware this was taking place?"

"Commander Christiaens updated me as this was developing, before the freeze," Ian Powell answered, also lowering his paper. "So yes, I was aware this was happening. However, this is a military matter that both the Commander and the Chief Overseer wanted me kept out of. Thus I have obliged, and directed ADVENT Intelligence to continue support as appropriate."

"Who is or is not at fault isn't the purpose of this discussion," Saudia interrupted, lifting a hand. "That is something that will be decided during Watkins' investigation. What we are here for is our official approach towards the release of the investigation, and the subsequent public presentation."

Hassan tapped his pen on the table thoughtfully. "As I suspect my colleague will affirm, the best approach is to not dramatize this more than independent media will. Diplomatically, with our pivot in Africa, this will be problematic, but manageable. What matters is that friendly overtures be made to balance it out. A velvet glove is the best approach under these circumstances."

"Agreed," Kyong nodded. "The optics on this are difficult, to say the least. The public responds to sensationalism and moral outrage, and dislikes reality and practicals. This was a case of misjudgement. Too much publicity in the wrong places would be problematic. An ideal approach-" he paused, finger on his lip. "-Exposures on rectification efforts, the Humanity of the soldiers, and the reasoning behind it. Humanize, neutralize, and rectify, all without compromising military readiness in that contentious theater."

Watkins frowned. "I beg to differ. Strongly. The issue here is not public perception."

Hassan considered for a moment. "I concur. People will not want to hear excuses or justifications. In fact, I would contest giving this more attention than it deserves. Report the problem, and what is being done to fix it. Making this a media campaign to whitewash the actions will backfire, especially diplomatically."

"I don't disagree, but it will hurt the military's image, of which we all agree is critical right now," Kyong said, taking down a few notes. "If it must be done, it will be."

"It'll hurt the military's image more if nothing is done to address these concerns," Stein added, sounding miffed. "I speak from seeing many examples in law enforcement. Covering it up does not make it go away. And if there is one thing civilians hate, it is being lied to. And people have a sense of when they are being brazenly lied to. Therefore? Don't do it."

"Then the public approach, then, will have to be a sense of integrity and disclosure. Honesty, or as close to it as will practically serve the task," Kyong replied, taking more notes. "In which case, military perception will take a hit. One I would have rather avoided."

Saudia knew he didn't like it, but she didn't see a rational choice. "The military is one of the most trusted institutions in ADVENT. It can take a temporary hit, and will bounce back easily if we do our jobs correctly."

"I hope it will be that simple, Chancellor," Kyong said. "I'll do my best to make it so."

There were some nods around the room. "I feel compelled to point out that this poses a risk to the morale of the soldiers," Powell said. "For all military intents, they have executed their tasks as ordered to do so. They did not do so with the necessary restraint and professional conduct, but the objectives were met."

He tapped his pen on the table, as he finished. "We agree that it has clearly gone too far, but I would remind everyone that some delicacy will be required. It should not become a trigger-happy rush to seize the moral high ground for public perception. The first priority is ensuring military readiness. This?" He poked the folder containing reports of Scipio. "Is not military readiness."

"I'm curious, Director," Stein mused, before fixating on him with a surprisingly sharp glare. "Is that what you define it; a rush to 'seize the moral high ground'? Is the implication here that this is not something worthy of public and professional outrage?"

"Bluntly speaking, Chief, that is exactly what it is," Powell answered her evenly. "This entire conversation is oriented around perception. We know the issues here, and what needs to be corrected. We are not overreacting, but we are discussing being forced to tailor our approach in such a way as to cater to the outrage of a public that does not understand war, does not understand nuance, and does not understand the reality of collateral damage."

He set his pen down. "The public, Stein, is often an entity that wants blood. You should know this better than most."

"Collateral damage," Stein said, slowly, fixating on that one term. "Collateral damage," she repeated incredulously, before shaking her head." No."

"No," she repeated sharply. "The public is right. Often, I have seen the public denied justice out of concern for pragmatism, and so-called realities that the civilian is just too stupid to understand or grasp. As if the average man can't quite seem to understand that mass murder by soldiers is the same as a homicide."

Stein's voice rose. "I'm not unsympathetic to our soldiers - but this? This thuggery?"

She put one finger down on the report. "This I will not let you justify as collateral damage. This is not a situation that demands nuance. This is not about understanding war. This is criminal behavior, Director. Nothing more, nothing less."

"This," she all but hissed. "This is murder, theft, arson - this is politically legitimized evil that would we would lynch the street thug for - but we're deciding it's oh so different, because soldiers are doing it."

She snorted indignantly. "It's not, and every last person involved needs to pay the consequences. Every officer who ordered it, and every soldier who executed it, and every general who planned it. Not a single one is absolved of their crime until they pay for it."

The Director frowned. Saudia couldn't blame him.

Everyone seemed somewhat taken aback by the intensity of Stein's view on this situation. Saudia had expected her to be strongly in favor of taking action - but she wasn't even pretending to be diplomatic about it. And if she was being honest with herself…

Stein was right.

The room was silent for a few seconds, a few of them glancing between each other, not fully sure what to say next. Stein noticed the silence, the reactions. The expression on her face morphed from intense righteous outrage, to a stunned disbelief.

"Collateral damage," she repeated, sharp. Hard. She raised a finger, pointing around the room. "Is that what everyone in this room considered as well? Acceptable damage? Those are Human lives stolen. Ripped apart by men with guns who looked them in the eye, and pulled the trigger. Who knew exactly what they were doing. Everyone who signed a signature knew, exactly, what this meant."

Her eyes, burning with the righteous anger again, met each of theirs. Many of them met it, but it was wilted compared to her piercing gaze, until she turned her attention to Saudia.

"Collateral damage," she spat. "Are you aware, Chancellor, how many riots I've had to put down after Deus Vult, because collateral damage was burned alive by napalm, because we've dug up bodies torn to shreds by heavy machines, because innocent people were turned to meat and people wanted vengeance?"

She stood up, voice louder. "Collateral damage!? Is that what we're calling the slums I've had to break apart in the Nordic region, because sanctions hurled swathes of their population into starvation and poverty? Into petty crime just so they could feed their families? Collateral fucking damage? Are you delusional or insane?"

"Chief, it is not close to the degree you are making it out to be," Hassan tried to interrupt. "Please, calm-"

Stein did not calm down, but instead turned her fury on the Chief Diplomat.

"Once is a coincidence, twice is a mistake, three times is a fucking pattern!" Stein all but roared. "And all of you have the sheer brazen audacity to make light of innocent lives taken by your willing complicity?"

"Stein, none of us are making light of it," Powell's voice was sharp. "And you know that. We are meeting to determine how to rectify this."

"Because he is leaving you no choice," Stein jabbed a finger towards Watkins. "If Watkins hadn't suddenly grown a backbone and dragged all of you out of your busy schedules… would we be discussing any of this at all? This is not an attempt to find a solution, you just want to make this problem go away! It's not about justice, and it's certainly not about doing the right thing."

"Stein," Watkins said, sounding tired. "Please sit down."

"No, and you aren't the virtuous knight you like to think you are," she said, not sitting down, and her voice biting. "I'm curious what about now was too far? What, specifically, is different about Scipio that didn't apply to Deus Vult? Or Scandinavia? Or Canada? Is it different when Africans die instead of Arabs? When the casualties are in the hundreds instead of the thousands? Why now, Overseer. What line has everyone decided is now too heinous to cross?"

Watkins looked Stein in the eye. "Stein, sit down, or you will be thrown out of this room."

Stein didn't sit down right away, but apparently satisfied she'd made her very explicit point, she complied.

There was a long silence. An oppressive air that clogged the place.

Watkins started laughing.

"She's right," he said after a few moments of broken laughter had stopped. "Stein, out of this entire room, the only person who could possibly give so little damn about anything but principles over reality, is right," he took a long breath. "She's right."

Saudia sat silently, processing everything.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

She had expected some contention. Some disagreement. Some argument even on the acceptable approaches, and the plans to address the concerns raised. They were ADVENT. They had different perspectives, but at the end of the day, they all fundamentally agreed on what needed to be done.

Here, they clearly did not.

Here there was clear division, and based on Stein's passionate outburst, it had been bottled up for a very long time. Watkins seemed to be of a similar view, if not more controlled. The rest of them seemed torn between embarrassment, anger, and frustration. Disagreement, division, disunity, she didn't remember this happening before.

One thing Stein said resonated with her, and not in a good way.

Why now?

She didn't have a good answer, and didn't think she was the only one who felt that way.

"Stein, do you think, out of all of this, you're somehow off of the hook?" Watkins asked after a pause. Sharp. Laden with challenge. "We gave you an army, and told you to purge the world, and you didn't have a disagreement then. You didn't take issue with the collateral damage that clearing the Black Flags and Mexican Cartels caused. Should I start citing files? Names?" he looked at everyone in the room. "Should we start making a list of everything we're guilty of?"

"I'm aware of every single case and complaint made, Overseer," Stein said, her voice low. "I'm not ignorant of this job, the people it attracts, or the collateral it results in. But you will find in each case you cite, there is a consequence. I didn't allow my people to commit wanton crimes on ADVENT citizens without consequences. When I learned, I acted."

"You're as complicit as the rest of us," Watkin replied. "Or did your consequences raise the dead caused by your cleansing? That's not how this works. That's not how this works for any of us. You don't get to be the self-righteous judge of the guilty."

"No, Overseer, complicit is knowing the crimes, and refusing to act, regardless of reasons," Stein's voice was steel, her fist clenched, resting on the table. "Tell me I didn't do enough, that I didn't leash my officers hard enough, but unless you want to lie, do not accuse me of complacency."

"No…not like we have," Watkins said after a moment. "And you're right, I've suddenly grown a backbone, I've opened my eyes. Chancellor," he turned to Saudia. "We can mitigate. We can shuffle people around. We can play the optics and the politics and the practicals, but none of that is the problem. Evil has been done, by all our hands, under our watch, and it demands justice. For us, against us - doesn't matter."

He closed his eyes.

He took a breath.

"Everyone involved in Deus Vult, Scipio, the Nordic Sanctions, every single person involved, everyone has a signature, who planned, who ordered, who carried out, will have an Oversight file opened on them. From the lowest soldiers to Christiaens herself, and to you, Chancellor. There will be a public disclosure, and I have every intention of carrying that out to courts, if justice demands it. Let the heavens fall, if need be, justice will be done," he said. "If anyone has opposition, voice it now."

Stein spoke first. "Commander Christiaens must be removed from her position, effective immediately. Her guilt is not in question. Let her be prosecuted, and justice delivered no matter its form. To do anything less would be hypocrisy and a mockery of what we claim to uphold."

"I second this recommendation, Chancellor," Watkins said. "Along with a number of senior officials, and officers who oversaw, were aware of, or ordered the more egregious incidents."

Expected, but Saudia knew that was going to make a lot of dangerous waves, especially in the middle of a war. Watkins continued. "The remaining officers who were involved, but not to the same extent, will be demoted, reassigned, or arrested as appropriate. Soldiers caught committing criminal activity or unjustified force will similarly be arrested and prosecuted. The rest will be investigated thoroughly. If their victims wish to take them to court? They will have all due evidence required."

Stein nodded approvingly. "No one is above the law. Not today. Not ever."

Powell was clearly concerned at the direction this was taking; he might not have minded at some targeted justice, but Saudia knew he was now concerned at how widespread this would affect the force. Military readiness, especially in Africa, would be crippled for the short term. The others in the room appeared just as concerned.

"This is going to cause significant issues, to put it very lightly," Hassan said slowly. "This is… This is effectively painting targets on our soldiers and providing ammunition to anyone who has the slightest grievance against ADVENT. The bureaucratic overload alone is dangerous, much less the division and infighting this will surely cause - especially if the crowd doesn't get what they want."

"Perhaps you should have considered that earlier," Stein was unsympathetic. "I have confidence in our systems. There will be those who try to take advantage of this. They will fail. There will be those who rightfully seek justice. They will succeed. That is how it must work."

"And they have every right against us," Watkins said. "Let them come. We owe the people nothing less, and they will be given nothing less. All consequences are deserved, as the law dictates."

Kyong exhaled, frantically scribbling some notes down. "In the long run, this may help - but I will warn you this will hurt us for some time. I will mitigate the damage as best I can, but there will be reactions that can't be stopped."

Saudia pursed her lips. "Then so be it. It appears we are set on this course."

He glanced at his notes. "The Commissariat is currently embedding themselves in each currently deployed Legion involved. They will be making additional recommendations on individual personnel who were part of Scipio, but were not involved. I am expecting that there will be a significant shift in personnel across the globe, and the Commissariat to remain permanently embedded in the future Belisarius Operation."

Stein nodded slowly, and Kyong gave a slow nod. "Coordinated across multiple departments and the Executive. The military will certainly be displeased, and it will almost certainly bring into question the exact powers of Oversight."

He looked at Watkins. "It was fine when you were going after CEOs, politicians, and low-level criminals. No one likes them or will defend them. People who are more popular - especially the military, in these circumstances - are a different case. It will be perceived as political, no matter the evidence. Not because they don't think there should be consequences, but that the consequences are this harsh."

"If we don't apply the law equally, then we might as well not have one," Stein challenged with a shrug. "Your point?"

"The practicals of public opinion aside, Chief Stein, this is…" Kyong sighed. "This ties into a greater issue – namely that there is going to be a faction that see Scipio, and do not believe anything overly egregious was done. Sure, punish the soldiers who are objectively involved, but up to the Commander herself? And the public perception, just to imagine the diversionary politics this will cause among the officers."

He clicked his tongue. "All of that, combined, at the same time? Officers and Commanders are supposed to make difficult, necessary decisions. What is procedure, and what is perception, are not the same. It doesn't matter if the officers involved bypassed numerous other opportunities and took the easiest path – that is exactly as they were supposed to do, and they succeeded at it. This turns their success into failure. That. This. It," Kyong paused. "They won't perceive it kindly, it will take effort to calm the backlash."

"Success is paramount," Powell finished. "And given the opportunity, militaries will take the simplest, easiest, and most direct route. Nuance and complexity be damned. Often, that leads to unnecessary collateral." A sigh passed his lips. "It seems some things do not change, and insisting on alternatives fails to incentivize."

Stein clicked her tongue. "The root issue isn't addressed. They executed these protocols effortlessly, with minimal resistance from the top or below. Officers are going to generally choose the easiest, safest option. Humans are naturally risk-averse, the military is no different, no matter how many toys you give them. Expecting them to choose the difficult path is fantasy."

"As they both say," Kyong affirmed. "To be blunt, this is a kind of warfare that many will encourage, especially with the stakes. The removal of numerous high-performing individuals, who were good at their jobs, will make them consider this a security risk. Officers will want to shunt the blame, so will generals and troopers. It will be seen as actively weakening the war effort."

"I'm afraid, I'm past the point of caring for perceptions," Watkins said simply.

"Caring or not, we have to consider the good of ADVENT as a whole." Kyong said. "So long as justice is done, and executed in a complete manner, that is what matters. I would suggest we approach this pragmatically. Watkins releases his report, we begin investigations, show immediate results, and move on. Commander Christiaens steps down with minimal conflict or drama, and we maintain our efforts on the war, not internal matters. Scorched earth approaches are sloppy and harm our efforts more than help."

"Agreed, I would emphasize that it is clear this is not going to be properly addressed in a few days or weeks," Hassan said. "We must maintain stability, in and outside the military. We fix and clarify our protocols, promote and move exemplary soldiers and officers into new positions, and address the culture that led to this point."

He frowned. "I would also oppose the removal of Christiaens. She has done her job very well, and while this is a black mark on her record, I do not agree it is enough to remove her over."

"You cannot solve this problem until you force it," Powell interjected, shaking his head. "The military cannot be fully left to its own devices, and at least for a time, requires more extensive oversight. Be it from Intelligence or Peacekeepers, they need someone to make sure they don't take the bluntest and most damaging option approach proposed."

The three of them broke into a further debate over the specifics, while Stein was back to looking outraged and seemed about to break into another tirade, before she saw Watkins give her a small shake of his head. Saudia knew the look on his face, one of a man who had his own axe to grind, and presented with many targets to use it.

They really were divided about what to do - and this time, it didn't seem like there was a reconcilable solution. There wasn't something everyone would be happy with. They couldn't even go with the best argument because there wasn't an objectively superior decision. She could see each rationale - and each one seemed valid.

The rational options seemed straightforward. That was what they should move towards. Stein, Watkins, their options were based less on rationality, and instead emotionally. Without either of them, this would be a much simpler discussion; a less complicated one.

In EXALT the matter would have been simple. Watkins and Stein were out of the consensus, and had no further place in it, not when there were others who could fulfill their roles. But she was no longer in EXALT.

This was ADVENT.

And ADVENT couldn't afford such thinking. It was no longer about what she thought was best, it was about figuring out what was best.

Even if she didn't like it.

Everyone here was the best at what they did. She knew that. And somehow, despite that, despite the combined knowledge and experience, they were stuck in an irreconcilable disagreement. After everything, they still couldn't seem to overcome this Human weakness, but would rather dig themselves in.

But maybe that was just something they had to live with.

Maybe they could never get rid of it. Everyone here earned their place, and maybe that meant that she had to, if not make a decision, ensure whatever was chosen could be justified to the others.

"Enough." She finally said, raising a hand. "We are not going to come to an agreement today, nor will a decision be made now - not when everyone is like this." She looked around the room. "I want proposals by the end of the week. Each of them will be considered and consulted on. Everyone, dismissed. Watkins, a moment."

They all stood, and despite the tension, saluted, and slowly filed out, leaving her with Watkins.

"I know you well enough to know you are doing what you think is right," she said. "So I am going to simply say that, in the decisions you make, you remember what effect this will have on ADVENT. And that it is my responsibility to act in its interests. You have been given significant power - and you have significant trust. Do not abuse it, Chief Overseer."

Watkins leaned forward, starting in a slower, more halting tone. "I used to think that my job was ensuring ADVENT was working as intended, Chancellor. I really did. But that isn't what I'm meant to do."

He slowly gathered up his folders. "Kyong is doing as intended when he spins the murder of thousands into a mistaken application of force. Stein is doing as intended when she arrests and holds the entire family of a cartel member hostage. Christiaens is doing as intended when she bombs a civilian block. Hassan is doing as intended when he offers the starvation of entire nations as a means of leverage. I'm doing as intended when I ensure they all do so to the best of their ability. And you, Chancellor, are doing as intended when you approve of all of it."

"It is not simple, and you know that very well," her voice was hard. "I should have expected that from Stein, but if we judge solely by our worst, then we might as well surrender to the aliens and be finished. I will rectify mistakes. I am not going to moralize and agonize and punish myself for every mistake made, nor should anyone. It means nothing if there is no action."

"It really is that simple, Chancellor," he said, undaunted. "It's as simple as wrong and right, sometimes even as simple as good and evil. It's the way we think, the way we justify it. The way we mistake our good for good itself. I don't think, Chancellor, that people are as simple as good and evil. But the things we do?"

He stacked the folders, stood up as he buttoned his suit. "They're as simple as being good or evil. Not all acts of good are wise, and not all acts of evil are irrational, all the same, I believe, we should strive to be good. All the same, Chancellor, my job isn't to ensure ADVENT works as intended. My task is to make sure ADVENT is good. That it is the best of Humanity, letter and spirit."

She pursed her lips, and thought about how to answer, or even if she should. But she knew that there was very little she could say that would dissuade him. Logic and reason weren't going to work with him, pragmatism and rationality were wasted breath.

What bothered her was that she didn't think he was fully wrong.

It would be simpler to accept his reasoning, accept the simple view he had of the world they lived in, and the choices they had to make. Simpler, but it was not real, and it was not right, no matter how tempting it might be.

"It's quite strange, to realize I'm not the same man you hired for the job," Watkins mused. "Even stranger still, that now things are so much clearer to me, and so much more complicated. Good people do evil things, and evil people do good things, and I'm here to ensure the latter and not the former."

"Enough," she felt tired at this point, and not thinking as clearly as she should be. "Dismissed, Watkins. Do your job, as you see necessary."

"Fiat justitia ruat caelum," he said as he walked out. "'Justice will be done, though the heavens may fall,' Chancellor, no matter whom it demands."

If it were most other people, she would consider that close to a threat. The reading of it could be very clearly interpreted as the words of a man whose righteous zealtry would tear down order in favor of purified morality. That would be one interpretation, and it was amusing that Watkins said it to her.

Maybe to goad her and see what she'd do.

But she knew what he meant by it. He could not mean to threaten ADVENT, because he knew he would fail. He knew better than that. ADVENT would endure, no matter what was done ADVENT was above the weakness of its individual components.

Justice would not hamper it.

There was something appealing in Watkin's more simple view of the world, one where there was objective good, and objective evil. One that was still appealing to many, and which she couldn't muster much antagonism towards. It was an irritation, perhaps. A roadblock, maybe. But that was all.

Irrational, fantastical, but all the same, it was beneath ADVENT.

She still didn't feel especially pleased by Watkins' statement, something he'd likely intended, but she had to move past it. It didn't apply to her, and wasting further time over it only muddied the waters further.

He would do his duty, and she would do hers.

He left her with a strange feeling of uncertainty over what the future held. She did not doubt Watkins' convictions - and the man had done his job to the letter many times before without issue or question.

Should she expect it to be different this time? Should she doubt him this time?

There was a part of her that wondered if she should now; that he had crossed the line of compromise. That he was putting his morality before the good of ADVENT.

Maybe he was.

Saudia returned to her seat, pulling out her tablet, and viewing her itinerary. Between this, and the visit to Israel approaching, it was going to be a busy few days.

---

Situation Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Late September 2017 – Afternoon

A multitude of people were gathered around the holotable; it was probably one of the largest briefings the Commander had conducted in some time. However, there were some operations that demanded this level of involvement, and Operation Jericho was certainly one of them.

The Commander stood behind the center of one side of the holotable, and Spartacus stood opposite him, the Muton towering over everyone in the room. Standing beside the Muton was Nartha and Creed, both of them uniformed. To the Commander's right were Zhang, and Iosif.

The remaining attendees were representatives of the other parties involved. The Chronicler for the Agents of T'Leth, standing to the Commander's left, and beside him were the representatives from ADVENT. The first was Lancer-Commander Showas Dorian, a big man of Caucasian descent who would oversee most of ADVENT's contributions to Jericho.

Beside him were two members of the Pantheon.

The Commander had initially expected that the nominal leader of the Pantheon would come herself, but instead she'd sent a senior officer, and another member. The Commander wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but didn't think it was a deliberate snub considering Rapture was approaching.

The senior soldier in question was Leo Booker, or ARES as he was designated in the Pantheon. He was a tall, stern man who was one of the Pantheon's tactical leaders, and a very powerful Dynamo. He'd been more reserved than his Lancer colleague, and the Commander hadn't failed to note that he'd kept an eye on the aliens after they'd all gathered.

Beside him was Isabella Harford, a young Hispanic woman who stuck close to Leo, and was ADVENT's first elite Teleporter, which explained why she was present. She'd raised a few eyebrows when she'd introduced herself, and her voice had a clear British accent. She seemed somewhat less experienced, and the Commander believed that she was likely a newer recruit considering her capability.

All told, the Commander had been personally surprised to learn that ADVENT had approved the entirety of the active Pantheon to support Jericho. With the Rapture Campaign approaching, he'd expected one unit, two at most, and for ADVENT to leverage the majority of the Pantheon for their operations.

Clearly, they thought differently. If they were going to help, he wasn't going to turn them down. In fact, their inclusion now dramatically improved their odds of victory. And with them gathered around, it was time to begin.

"Before we move into details, we have to make clear the most important question," the Commander began. "What are our objectives? All of you are aware that Desolan is the heart of the Collective war machine, and the source of their Muton production. It is one of the most hardened, protected, and dangerous places in Collective space. A world filled with bases, weapons, and fleets."

A few nods around the room. "Desolan is not just a military base, or a training ground," he continued. "It is something different, and perhaps worse. Spartacus, please elaborate."

"Desolan is the industrialization of a species, perfected," Spartacus said, his voice rumbling. "Its closest comparison is factory farming Humans perform on livestock, or aspects of chattel slavery. Every aspect of the lives of Mutons are controlled. Females are segregated, children are groomed, raised, trained, armed, and disposed of as needed. It is production at a scale where the culling of hundreds are minimal losses."

A pause, hands clasped behind his back. "This mission will not destroy this industry – but we can make it bleed. Commander, explain the mission."

The Commander pressed a button on the holotable and the object of their mission came into focus. "This is Central Production Zone Zero-Two-Two," the Commander said. "The largest Muton breeding and childrearing center. Nearly seven percent of all Muton newborns come from this one location."

The holotable displayed a vast complex, one carefully organized and architected. Rows upon rows of short buildings which functioned as breeding rooms and impregnation centers composed nearly a fourth of the space. Fenced-off schools where young Mutons would be herded into, and each night returned to closed residency dorms, took up over half. And of course there were vast recreational fields where the first stages of training would begin that took up the rest.

There were a few landmarks of note in the hologram. The first were the guard towers that served as checkpoints for anyone entering or leaving, and situated around the perimeter of the Zone. The entire Zone was fenced in and controlled, as well as ringed with numerous AA, rocket, and artillery, and point-laser batteries. There was a garrison near the center of the Zone, which housed primarily Muton soldiers. Beside that was the administrative building, which was multiple stories higher than the rest of the architecture, and doubled as the hub of Zararch oversight.

The Zone plans were very thorough, and the Commander saw that everyone was looking them over for how easy it would be to attack – or defend. While there were some points that could be turned into choke points, and a pretty significant augment of automated defenses, this Zone was not meant to withstand a concentrated attack – not if the enemy broke through the gates.

Dorian whistled after a moment. "A hard target, Commander, but a feasible one."

"It could be significantly worse," Nartha cleared his throat. "The security apparatus of Desolan revolves around the tight control of information. There is a misconception I believe some of you may be under. Desolan is certainly intended to be able to defend against an attack – but its purpose is to be a production planet for the Collective's most expendable resource."

"That resource being Mutons," Iosif finished.

"Precisely," Nartha said. "The protocols, systems, and defenses in place are to maintain a continued Muton production. Alien personnel are only allowed after being cleared by the Zararch, access is tightly controlled by the Collective fleets, and the Zararch presence on Desolan is significant – and focused on making sure that knowledge about what happens on the planet doesn't escape."

He looked back up, his eyes coldly bright. "The vast majority of the Vitakara do not know what happens to make the Mutons, because if they did, it would be unacceptable to the Vitakara.

Leo snorted. "I highly doubt they are unaware. Even if they lack details, they clearly don't ask questions as to where their slave armies come from."

Nartha's eyes narrowed. "The Zararch makes a point to control information like this. They would not do this if they believed most would not care, for the same reason news on the war is tightly controlled."

Leo merely pursed his lips, and didn't engage further. Nartha got back on track: "It is difficult to fully describe what happens in these places, but the soldiers should be prepared for what they will encounter. It will not be pleasant."

If it was anything like the reports, the Commander suspected that Nartha was downplaying what they were likely to find. No, it certainly was not going to be pleasant.

"Your history has places that may function as parallels," Spartacus said. "I have read of the liberation of the National Socialist concentration camps, and from those who lived in Soviet Gulags. Places where evidence of negligence and evil were plain for all to see; injustice that can never be fully repaid. Understand this is what we will find, and why it is crucial that we succeed."

"Indeed," the Commander said, as he moved into the main part of the briefing. "The primary thrust of Operation Jericho will be against this zone. Three XCOM squads will take part, and target three points of interest: The garrison, to remove the largest military threat. The Zone Administration Tower, to decapitate the Zararch and administrative leadership, and the Primary Breeding Facility."

"Myself, Iosif, and Carmelita will lead each of these squads," Creed said. "Compositions are being assessed now, but they will be tailored for each principle objective. Once we complete each objective, we will orient to support the evacuation."

"Correct," the Commander said. "Spartacus will be accompanying this operation, and will coordinate the overarching rescue of as many Muton children and women as possible."

That would lead into logistics, of which Dorian seemed to be pondering. "The children I expect will be easier to organize," Dorian said after a moment. "But will the women be in a state to move?"

"Some of them will be, some will not," Nartha said grimly. "Most of them will be in various stages of pregnancy, most of those early pregnancy. However there will be a percentage that will give birth that day. When the baby is judged to be in a viable state, they will execute an induced labor. As Spartacus said, this process is industrialized."

That certainly seemed to dampen the room, at the unpleasant implications, overt and subtle, at that. Dorian scratched his beard. "Right. So we're going to be dealing with infants too, I guess."

"Infants, and small children," Nartha answered. "But not in the same facility. The nurseries manage this. The staff must be forced to help, otherwise the logistics will be impossible."

"They don't keep infants in the same building?" Isabella asked, frowning. "What if a pregnancy doesn't go well, and needs overnight care? Or is a premature birth?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "They do not care for such things," Spartacus' voice was somehow softer as he addressed her. "Children who are born defective are disposed of. We are livestock to the Collective, and the sick and crippled are culled."

Her face went slightly red. "Oh."

Leo's face was grim. "It leads into a question I have. There is a staff supporting this Zone. Nurses, bureaucrats, teachers. They will be present. What will be done with them?"

"Those who are not soldiers will assist with the rescue, or they will be executed immediately," Spartacus rumbled. "I have been told there is a small corps of Sectoids who assist the Zararch. These Sectoids will be immediately killed. The Vitakara and Andromedons mobilized. When we have rescued as many as possible…"

He paused. "I will defer to your operational judgement, Commander. It is not a choice I should make."

"The choice seems simple to me," Leo said neutrally. "Use them, and execute them. They are complicit in this system, and more importantly, are a resource that the Collective should be deprived of." Nartha frowned at that, though the Commander saw nods from Iosif and Zhang. He couldn't help but feel similarly.

He certainly had little sympathy for the Vitakara taking part in this.

"I will say this," Nartha finally said. "The Muton underground I found could not function by itself. There are likely to be Vitakara who have been attempting to undermine the system, and tried their best to help – especially when dealing with children. We should not immediately assume the worst. Many are doing their best."

The Commander's brow furrowed, and the rest of the room was awaiting an answer. "The staff should cooperate with us as much as possible. If some are judged to be aligned to us, they can leave with us. The others will be left behind. No extrajudicial executions unless they move to attack." He looked squarely at Creed. "I expect this to be enforced."

A nod from Creed. "I'll be sure to see it done. I don't anticipate most of them will pose a threat to us anyway."

"There is another point to consider," Spartacus added. "We will likely be required to bring the teachers. For this particular Zone, they are the only authority figures for children. They will listen to me, but I cannot be everywhere. Their teachers or instructors will be able to command them better."

"A good point," Iosif acknowledged. "We will need to force their cooperation if they do not cooperate willingly. There should be a predominance of telepaths in our psionic cohort."

"It's a good thing I assumed as much," Dorian said. "I have four PRIEST teams who will assist, I will make sure a majority are Telepaths. The remainder will be three Lancer teams, augmented by Hussar and Cuirassier squads. The Lancers will locate and secure the Gateways, while the other teams coordinate with Spartacus to guide liberated groups towards the Gateways."

"Excellent," the Commander nodded sharply. "This is the most critical part of the mission. Without the Gateways secured, the mission cannot succeed. Upon securing the Gateways, they will be synched to XCOM Gateways and used to evacuate as many Mutons as possible."

"Uh, as far as getting there," Isabella tentatively raised a hand. "I assume we're all getting there by teleporting?"

"Correct," the Commander said. "Several of our own Teleporters will bring XCOM and ADVENT teams to this Zone. The Chronicler will handle himself, and I believe you will teleport the Pantheon towards your target. Can you do that?"

A sharp nod. "Yes sir, I'm certain I can."

"Then that addresses our arrival," the Commander refocused on the rest of the room, and made sure to emphasize his next words. "No matter how much we do, or how fast we act, we will not be able to save everyone. The Collective will respond, and when they respond, we cannot afford to be caught. Be it hundreds or thousands, we will be helping to save a species, and that is a success."

"Yes," Spartacus' voice was quieter; musing. "Lives who will no longer be raised in the industrialized slavery of the Collective. It may be a mere operation against the Collective for some of you – but it is one I will not forget, and which I will ensure my species remembers in the decades to come. I am confident of our success. The Collective will not anticipate this is our objective."

"Not least of which is because they will be occupied with other things," the holotable switched to show a larger, much more defended and armed complex. Unlike the Zone, this was a location that was capable of fighting off an army. "This is Desolan Central Command. Chronicler, this is your target of opportunity."

The Chronicler's eyes glinted. "Exactly what I needed. They will respond quickly to this."

"Yes," the Commander said. "Cause as much damage, and keep them occupied as long as you can. When they get around to ours… I think we'll know. I'm sure you can handle it."

"You need not fear on that front," The Chronicler promised. "Perhaps I will get lucky, and Quisilia will come again. We seem to have a habit of meeting each other in these situations."

"As for the Pantheon," the Commander turned towards the two psions. "With the entirety of the Pantheon supporting, it opens a new target of opportunity for us. One that can strike a decisive blow against the Collective."

Another map appeared, one more reminiscent of the Zone, but significantly smaller, with higher buildings, and more advanced centers. "This is Advanced Certification Zone Thirty," the Commander said. "This is where Muton Elites are tested, armed, and subsequently deployed. It is one of only three on Desolan. Elites are not the same as regular Mutons; there is a much deeper investment, and the training focused only on mastering their pre-programed knowledge."

Leo smiled at the target, plans likely already forming in his mind. "Any specific objectives?"

The Commander's own smile was thin. "Raze it to the ground. Between the twelve of you, I believe you can do that."

"Give me some time, Commander, and I could do it by myself," Leo said with only a slight swelling of his chest. "Should we expect a special response from the Collective?"

"Almost certainly," the Commander answered. "It may be the Battlemaster, it may be the Guardians, or it may be more conventional. No matter which it is, I would suggest that you finish as soon as possible, regardless of what happens. The longer we are on Desolan, the more dangerous it will become."

He looked around the table. "Are there any questions so far?"

Heads shook, and the Commander was pleased. This was going quite well, and he had a good feeling that after this, someone in the Collective was going to pay for it. The Imperator and Battlemaster were certainly going to be unhappy. "Good, now we can discuss a few more details…"

---

Neptune Launch Bay, Atlantis – Mariana Trench

Late September 2017 – Evening

All of them had agreed that gathering in a place that was nondescript and with a fair degree of noise was best for discussions of this sensitivity, much like they had done before. It was especially the case when it came to certain very powerful aquatic beings.

Or maybe not aquatic in the regular sense. Loke realized that the idea that T'Leth, and the Sovereign Ones as a whole, being aquatic was based on literally nothing outside T'Leth happening to be living in the ocean right now. Given what they knew about Sovereign Ones, they could probably survive in the vacuum of space if pressed. Or they didn't have a real 'form' at all.

Still, he couldn't help but associate them with water instinctively. It'd probably take a while to break that habit.

"Well," Orla summed up. "Big decision point. I think Harper has given everyone the talk now. Also politely insisted we make up our minds pretty soon. How are we feeling about it?"

Loke presumed each of them were feeling a lot of things, but for him, most of the more extreme reactions had faded, and he was thinking a bit more rationally. Not to mention rather curious about what more laid in store.

"I'm thinking," Zhi said slowly. "That maybe the religious people might have been onto something. Aliens going around since the dawn of time, creating and appropriating species to fight against each other."

"With a few tiny things wrong," Loke said with a smirk. "God isn't some benevolent bearded guy, but an alien with a few tentacles. Small details."

"Yeah, yeah, it's still weird to think about," Zhi leaned against the wall. "It isn't easy to come to terms with, frankly. No wonder ADVENT is keeping all of this quiet. We're barely able to match the Collective as it is, while we have an entity that could probably kill or enslave all of us just sitting in the ocean since…"

"Since before we probably walked our first steps," Orla finished. "That Sovereign One is older than modern man, and probably quite a bit before then as well. I'm still trying to wrap my head around just how old he is. Much less the fact that he's probably not the oldest one."

"It all seems so… bleak," Zhi admitted. "Is this all we have to look forward to? Even if we beat the Collective, we now know there's a dozen other beings with their own armies who will kill us for no other reason than because of the Sovereign behind us. And if somehow we win, then there's an even more dangerous machine army that sets everything to zero again."

"An endless harvest," Loke murmured. "Cycles."

"Yeah, that." She sighed. "I'd always found it interesting to wonder what aliens would be like if they existed. I thought some might not be friendly, but the majority would be, and there would be something great they had built we could join. Now that just seems… impossible."

"I don't think it's all hopeless," Orla said. "As far as T'Leth goes, he seems to be the best one of the bunch. He doesn't want to enslave us, even though he probably could."

"The critical question," Loke said. "Is if we believe him. Harper seems genuine, but we all know how psionics work, and these Sovereign Ones are certainly powerful enough to present a false impression."

"What I come back to is this," Orla said, raising a finger. "If all of this was some elaborate front, why? We're not psions. We have no protection. ADVENT knows this is going on, so worst-case they're compromised. Why go through all this trouble to convince us T'Leth is actually good, only to turn around when we accept and reveal it was a lie? Why give us the choice?"

"Sadism?" Loke shrugged, knowing it was a weak argument, but at this point, he was playing devil's advocate.

Orla snorted. "Please. Creatures like this are probably more difficult to comprehend than most, and they don't think like we do. If T'Leth wanted to fuck with us, he could have done it when we accidentally found him. And then again when we went back."

"He could have easily killed us then," Zhi recalled. "But he didn't. He talked, and told us what to do. I don't know if 'trust' is the right word here – but I don't think T'Leth is leading us astray. Rather, I think the question is if we want to step out of one war for an epochal one."

"Oh, I don't think we're stepping out of this war – at least not permanently," Orla said. "If we do this, Lincoln says we'll be helping prepare this Ruinous Armada. Something I'm pretty sure will be used to win this war, but yeah, it won't be the only one."

There was a brief silence between them, as machines and engines hummed in the background. "I don't think I can go on as if nothing ever happened," Loke finally said. "What I know now, can't be taken away. And I signed up for this, no matter the risks or outcome. If this is where the mission leads, then so be it. If T'Leth wants to help protect Humanity, then I'll do my part."

"I agree, this is my mission now, and one that should not be turned down when offered," Orla agreed. "No matter where it leads."

"I'm no soldier," Zhi said. "But I find myself agreeing with both of you. Besides… I imagine I will learn a lot more in this role than I would staying in Atlantis. I suppose it's decided then?"

"Yes," Loke nodded in affirmation. "I'll find Harper and tell him we accept his offer."

---

An Unknown World

Late September 2017 – Evening

The summons was not something the Battlemaster had been expecting. It was one that came from the Imperator directly, which in itself was not especially unusual – but what was unusual was that instead of meeting on the Temple Ship, he had instead directed them to meet with Quisilia.

That was the first clue that something was amiss.

Together with Yang, they had prepared to meet Quisilia right before Quisilia had come to meet them first, appearing in the Prism soon after the summons had been sent. There was no friendly greeting or much of anything, which was the second clue. Quisilia was never one to be this silent.

The final clue, and when his slight bewilderment had turned to concern, was when Yang had – correctly - asked him what this was for, and the answer had been a short "You will see."

The Battlemaster only saw Quisilia this serious when things were in a very precarious state. Quisilia did not become completely serious when things were going well, and the Battlemaster knew only a few things could instill this kind of reaction. He knew none of them were on Earth, which left… very few possibilities.

Quisilia had created a portal, which they stepped through, and onto a world the Battlemaster did not recognize.

It was a habitable planet of course, but a clear alien one. They had arrived atop a high ledge overlooking an ocean, a field of orange-yellow grass under their feet, a bright white sun in the sky, and an ocean that stretched beyond the ledge as far as his eyes could see. The sun was starting to set, bathing everything in a soft white-yellow glow.

It was a beautiful world, were one to ignore the ominous signs that all was not well – not least of which were those who had already gathered.

The Imperator was standing near the end of the ledge, with his back to the ocean. Patricia was beside him, along with the Overmind and Cogitian. To his surprise, he also saw both Guardians, Revelean, Fectorian, Deusian, Mortis…

He realized that every Ethereal within the Collective was here, except for the Creator and Regisora.

He did not remember the last time the Imperator had summoned all of them – if he had ever done so at all. And he knew the Imperator would never demand such an audience unless there was an exceptionally good reason. The concern the Battlemaster felt only grew as they joined the small crowd.

Yang was equally confused and concerned, though she hid it outwardly.

This is very wrong.

Yes, but be still. We will learn soon enough.

Calm.

He had to listen.

Quisilia took his place close to the Imperator, and with all of them gathered, the Imperator decided it was time to begin.

"Mosrimor demanded an audience a short time ago," the Imperator began. There was a different note to his voice; one that betrayed an exhaustion and… temperance that had not existed before. All of the other Ethereals noticed it. Not once did the Battlemaster recall the Imperator sounding this subdued.

That the Sovereign's name had been invoked promised an indication of things to come. He was less surprised, as that had been something he knew could have generated such a reaction. He also knew that it meant they were in a near-worst-case scenario.

And if it was going to be what he feared, then things were going to become worse.

The concern began morphing into something else as he listened; the Imperator's next words would determine what that emotion would be. He was past concern now – he needed to know exactly what the Imperator had done.

You don't think…

Yang seemed hesitant to voice her fear; one he also shared.

I do not know. To presume that the Imperator…

She swallowed.

"It was given through Regisora," he continued, his voice slow, and speech deliberate. "She is not to be trusted, relied upon, or considered one of us. She is lost fully to the Sovereign, as Amareoux is to the Bringer. She is not here for this reason. She is to be considered a full extension of Mosrimor – and his authority."

The Battlemaster went still. There had been an understanding that Regisora was compromised, but the Imperator effectively declaring her no longer an Ethereal… that was a step that the Battlemaster didn't think had ever been vocalized before. Not even for the Creator – though now that was changed.

He knew why it was changed.

Everyone else did too.

He really did it.

The emotion took its shape.

"What has happened, Imperator?" the First Guardian asked slowly. "This is not a command made lightly. There are so few of us, and Regisora appears to maintain her mind, if not her loyalty."

"My command is clear," the Imperator's voice became strong again. "Much has happened. Patricia and I went to speak to Mosrimor upon his request. He spoke, and… has determined that he will be taking a more active role in the Collective. The continued escalation of T'Leth has prompted his decision."

So it was said aloud.

The Battlemaster did not need to sense the shock and surprise from the other Ethereals, at least those who had not received prior warning. His emotion became a cold anger, which flowed freely through his bond to Yang, who he sensed concern… and fear from. Fear that the Sovereign would upend their plans.

No.

This does not change what must be done.

She seemed to struggle against his anger.

Do not strike now; do not give him reason to look.

He has earned nothing less.

The Battlemaster would not hold his tongue, not when such a failure had been displayed. Others may have refrained; they might have professed understanding at the situation, but the Battlemaster knew better.

It was the culmination of every wrong decision the Imperator had.

"You lost control." His voice was low, dangerous, furious. One step forward, one hand on his weapon. There was no question, no hesitation. Only words, clear and laden with raw anger. "You have subordinated us to a Sovereign One."

"Not subordinated," Quisilia said, attempting to calm the situation. "Not truly."

The Battlemaster stopped his march, and turned his gaze to the smaller Ethereal, with a gaze that would wither anyone else. "I did not ask you," the Battlemaster hissed. "I asked him."

The Imperator did not speak right away, though finally did. "There is little point in ignoring inconvenient truths. Mosrimor has made it clear his instructions are to be followed. There is no formal change, even as the understanding that the Sovereign should not be denied is in force. Not if we wish to retain our place."

"What have you done?" Mortis demanded, not nearly as controlled as the Battlemaster. "After everything you have done and justified in the name of breaking this cycle, you now have placed us under one of them?"

"I did none of this intentionally," the Imperator snapped, the ground shaking. "Do not insinuate I did. I was in his domain – there was little choice in the matter. We cannot afford to war with two Sovereigns instead of one."

The Battlemaster began pacing, his anger a cold fuel, no longer fearing giving voice to the source of it. An anger from what he'd known, and what had been demonstrated time and time again, which he had willfully ignored or downplayed. Yet there'd been a part of him that had wondered if the Imperator's plays, gambits, and plans could have succeeded.

No, they never had. That delusion was dead now.

And they had lost.

"Everything you have done has led to this, everything," he practically spat. "Earth. Paradise. This entire war. Mosrimor. Regisora. You gambled and sacrificed us in pursuit of a plan we didn't know until recently. In an attempt to influence and manipulate powers older than we can fathom. You have given and given and promised us it would be worth it."

He wanted the weapon in his hand.

He wanted to feel its familiar grip.

The air around him was still, emotion manifested into being.

"And now," he finished, his voice dangerously low. "You tell us it was all for nothing?"

The last word was cold enough to have frozen something; his fury heightened to a degree that he'd not felt in a very long time. Every fear he'd had, every questionable decision, came back to him, everything that he'd gone along with, leading to this.

It's not your fault.

Yang tried to comfort him.

It is all our fault. We are all complicit.

He stopped pacing. Both Guardians had their hands on their weapons. Mortis seemed incredibly nervous as his eyes darted from the Battlemaster to Quisilia to the Imperator himself. The Overmind did not seem disturbed, and the Imperator stood firm, if resigned. The rest of the Ethereals watched, in various states of surprise or apprehension.

They were watching him. They had not expected his reaction.

He wasn't supposed to do that.

He was the one who was the symbol of the Collective; the face and embodiment of its vision. He was a soldier, loyal to his people and what he had built. And it had brought him to this, everything made squandered.

They should not be surprised.

If no one else would give voice to this truth, then he would.

"I have followed you, tolerated your decisions, because it was my duty, and it was for the Collective," the Battlemaster's voice remained low. "And all that we have achieved, all that we have built, has resulted in nothing but a final subversion to an alien power. An end brought about by your arrogance and faulty vision. You never considered Mosrimor would see your plan, and counter appropriately, did you?"

"I concur. This is unacceptable," Fectorian shook his head, speaking up. "You may submit to this Sovereign, but I will not. Mosrimor will never find a willing servant in me."

"Nor I," Mortis said firmly.

Enough.

The Overmind's voice was strong, and one of his spindly arms lifted in placation. The orange eyes of the Ethereal stared directly into the Battlemaster's.

To bicker and threaten over what has been done changes nothing. What is done is done. The mistake is known. Continued futile sacrifices do not serve our species, nor the Collective. All is not lost, nor is the future determined. The Sovereign does not know everything, nor will he. He does not possess complete leverage, nor knowledge.

"And what will you suggest?" Mortis demanded. "Another plot against a Sovereign?"

"Unwise at this juncture," Deusian agreed.

"No." The Imperator shook his head. "We cannot do so while engaged in another war. For now, we must continue as we have. Defeat the Humans, T'Leth – and then proceed. We must sacrifice, and endure, and prepare. This will not be a permanent arrangement – but there cannot be rebellion now. Not unless you wish to put everything remaining at risk."

The Battlemaster stared at the Imperator for what seemed to be a long period of time, trying to think of what he could or should say, trying to know if there was anything to say. Yet nothing came to his lips, nothing filled his heart but resolve, and the knowledge that the last vestiges of doubt he had about his planned actions were gone.

The Imperator would fail, no matter what vaunted plans and schemes he promised. He would fail, as he seemed destined to.

He could not be trusted to lead or guide their species, let alone the Collective. Everything he had done had led to their continued downfall and ruin. This could not, would not, continue. He was an enemy that would be defeated by whatever means were necessary.

The Battlemaster knew this, and knew that he could not jeopardize everything now. So he would continue playing the role expected of him. He would play the general and leader. He would fight, he would wage war, he would act as was demanded of him for a little while longer as he readied himself for the day of reckoning.

He had considered what would happen to the Imperator, and had believed there could be a path where the Imperator could stand down, and live.

He no longer believed that. There was only one path left.

The Imperator had to die.

There was nothing left to say, not to the other Ethereals, not the Imperator.

They would see as he did that change was needed, or they would cling to authority at the expense of all else, and the delusion the Imperator could succeed. He would no longer pretend for them, not in this context.

He turned to Quisilia. The other Ethereal did not need to ask, and with a gesture created a small portal behind him. Without wasting another moment, he turned around and left the world and the gathering of Ethereals, Yang at his side.

His resolve remained firm, as new considerations began to occupy his mind; what would need to be accounted for, what would need to be altered, what would need to be prepared for.

This path forward had just become significantly more dangerous.

---

Briefing Room, Revenant Facility – Classified Location

Early September 2017 – Morning

Angela was privately thankful that there had been at least a little time for her to get settled, before work and testing began on why she was really here, and what she would be doing. It allowed her time to get into a routine, figure out a few quirks of the facility and staff, and learn a little more about the people she was going to be working closely with.

Today though, was when the work began.

All of the Revenants had been given notice the day before – testing was ready to begin, and the formal briefing on the Revenant Program would be distributed to them. From some of the conversations she'd had with the other Revenants, all of them had a decent idea of what this would all be about.

Now they'd all see how close they'd come.

The briefing room wasn't especially large, just with enough seats for the Revenants, a few staff members, and scientists who'd come. A conventional projector hung from the ceiling, or at least seemed to be at first glance. That was until Tessa had pointed out that it was a new kind of holoprojector, which made significantly more sense.

Once they were all situated, it was only a few minutes until the man of the hour entered. Angela had only heard his name a few times, but there had been clear respect in the voices of the people who mentioned him. Dr. Gavin Archer, supposedly one of the most brilliant minds in ADVENT, whose career had taken him all over the world, working for top secret projects for governments long before ADVENT had appeared.

Angela wasn't honestly sure if she wanted to know the details. To her, that screamed that there were more than a few skeletons that he, and probably the governments in question, wanted to keep buried. He was a fairly average-looking man approaching his middle years, with a long face, brown hair on a head beginning to bald, and a slightly sparse French beard.

He nonetheless carried himself with the assurance of a man who knew his own authority and knew what he was doing. He wore the white and gray uniform of ADVENT Research and Development, with the shoulder patch of the Revenant Program. His expression was focused as he conversed with one of his subordinate scientists. Above them, the holoprojector flashed, and a new figure appeared before them.

She'd never seen him before – but all of them knew who it was just from the uniform of a commander. Another older man, with intense eyes, blackened hair, and pale skin, he appraised them for only a moment. "Ladies, Gentlemen, thank you for taking part in this, and your patience as we have prepared for this moment." Yep, he was definitely British judging by that accent. "My name is Walter Levine, Commander of the Revenant Program, and in effect, your direct superior."

He looked towards Archer, who had finished his conversation, and was waiting. "I know that there have been questions concerning exactly what Revenant is. Today those will be answered, and the next stage of the program will begin. I will turn it over to our Chief Scientist, Dr. Gavin Archer."

"Thank you, Commander Levine," Gavin Archer cleared his throat. "Revenants, I will reiterate my thanks for your patience as we've worked through the engineering and logistical hurdles of this project. This is no small undertaking, and I did not want to begin testing until there was certainty of a field-ready product." He smiled. "We have reached that point – so I will keep you in the dark no longer."

The holoprojector shifted to display what seemed to be a seat - or a chamber - clearly intended for someone to inhabit, with a number of attachments or augments intended to go over the occupant.

"Each of you have likely realized something you all have in common," Archer said. "All of you are telepaths, and all of you have some condition that prevents you from continuing military service. ADVENT charged us with developing a way that our most powerful psions could continue to support the war effort despite these limitations. Revenant is our answer, inspired partially by our MDU programs, and the Ethereal Harbingers."

He indicated the hologram. "It starts with this - the Revenant Amplifier. One of the most advanced pieces of Psi-Tech in ADVENT. By directly harnessing the psionic power of the psion, it is able to focus and direct it over significant distances. As you can imagine, this comes with a number of caveats and limitations, principally in what I have termed psionic bleedoff."

He turned back to them. "The further the distance, the greater the psionic falloff. Unfortunately, we have yet to develop a method of, for example, being able to manifest a psionic maelstrom from hundreds of miles away. However, we know we can maintain telepathic control over a specific target over this distance. This leads to the second critical part of this project."

A new hologram joined the first – and it was what Angela could best describe as a humanoid war machine. It was as if someone had taken a Human, and replaced them with nothing but mechanical augments. The body was bristling with weapons, she could see movement and flight augments similar to the thruster systems used by the Celestials, and there were even more attachments for heavier weapons.

"ADVENT has a number of soldiers who have, unfortunately, been rendered brain-dead as a result of the war, and the injuries they suffered," Archer said neutrally. "Some of these individuals have signed over the right for ADVENT to utilize their bodies in the advancement of science – Revenant has been one project that has employed them."

He clasped his hands behind his back, as the hologram began shifting, confirming her suspicion that these cyborgs had a modular capability. The exact augments and weapons on the suit began changing, even as the base form remained. New weapons, augments, and even designs were shown.

"The Human mind has certain cybernetic tolerances," Archer continued. "We know that past a certain threshold, the mind will begin to deteriorate and reject what we call 'total conversion.' Simply put, Humans were not meant to undergo full conversions, and the side effects render any advantages null and void."

There was a glint in his eye as he continued; one of a man who'd solved a particularly difficult problem. And she could feel that he was proud of this. "Humans who have been rendered brain-dead, however, do not have this limitation. These are Augmented Shell Platforms, or ASPs; Human-Cyborgs who undergo up to eighty-five percent conversion status."

That was a shockingly high number, even to her. At that point, what was left? Just the head? A few organs? It was an impressive achievement of science, but she wondered just how much of the person was left.

"Without the need for mental tolerances, we have been able to create a cybernetic super-soldier that, by our estimations, outclasses any infantry or light-vehicle unit from ADVENT, XCOM or the Ethereal Collective," Archer said. "With some exceptions, such as the Ethereals themselves."

He fixated on them, meeting each of their eyes. "You may wonder why we don't give such units to our AIs, or simply let them be controlled by machine intelligence. There are two reasons – the first is that, speaking with our AIs, a unit like this is too specialized. AIs are best employed as swarm commanders, managing multiple units at scale. For the expense and complexity put into this, it being used as a conventional unit is simply a waste."

He began pacing. "The second reason is more critical – these are men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of Humanity and ADVENT. They are not bodies to be thrown away, or machines to be slaved to an algorithm. They are Humans, and if they are to be employed once more, it will be under the direction of their own kind. In this case – you."

Caitlyn had her hand raised. "To be clear – you intend for us to telepathically control these ASPs, and use them in battle?"

"That is correct, Revenant Norlan," Archer affirmed immediately. "I will warn you now – it will not be a typical psionic domination you are used to. You will be able to do far more than any normal Human could once in control, and it will require an adjustment. This is especially true once it happens over longer distances. There will be adjustments that need to be made, and refinements to be implemented."

He paused his pacing, his voice growing intense. "There are those in ADVENT who are skeptical of the value of this project. They see those who volunteer their very bodies, and psions such as yourselves, and write you off. They believe you have nothing more to contribute, that resources should be dedicated elsewhere. I reject this premise, and I hope you take this as motivation to prove such individuals wrong. Not merely wrong, to the point they should feel embarrassed for doubting you in the first place."

Archer's voice remained intense. "This is Revenant. This is why you are here. Now, are there questions?"

A few hands went up. Angela asked first. Are we intended to use any ASP? Or will there be specific ones we are assigned?

"A good question," Archer nodded. "There are a limited number of ASPs, and due to the individuality of each, there will be one assigned to each Revenant. This measure was instituted due to memory remnants in the brains of each ASP; while fragmented, they are present, and having to juggle managing too many individual ASPs is estimated to result in degraded performance."

It made sense. Caitlyn spoke next. "I don't suppose you have a capability demonstration for them?"

"We do, and you will receive a full demonstration shortly," Archer answered. "Suffice to say that each ASP as of now can be tailored for a variety of mission objectives. Speed, durability, flight, these ASPs were designed to be modular and adaptable. Customizable for the needs of the mission, and personal preferences of the Revenant piloting them. We want you at your best, and that means giving you as many available options as possible."

"I presume, there are no psion ASPs?" Jean-Pierre inquired.

"No, there are not," Archer said. "Partially due to the fact that no psions can currently undergo the conversion process, and also due to the current limitations of psionic-exploiting technology. Cybernetics and psionics have… issues. I understand that XCOM has made strides in this field, but ADVENT unfortunately has not. Psionic-capable ASPs may come in the future – but for now it is not an area of focus."

There were other nods. "You mentioned the Revenant Amplifier will enable focused projection," Caitlyn said. "How, exactly? Implants? New non-invasive tech?"

"There are multiple ways," Archer answered. "The primary, and simplest one, is an implant that will directly allow connection and amplification – I believe the majority of you will receive this. In cases where that is not feasible, a number of temporary methods will be employed. Single-use electronics, inserting directly into nervous and brain stems. Completely safe, do not worry, and just as effective."

Caitlyn winced. "Not pleasant, but workable."

"I suppose the obvious question is when we're going to test them out," Kost said. "Today? Tomorrow? A few weeks?"

"In several days," Archer said. "We will be distributing a few critical pieces of literature we expect you to read, which will detail the capabilities of the ASPs. We do not expect you to master these on your first, second, or even third attempts. We do expect you to continually improve, and demonstrate increased field capability. I am certain all of you will achieve this."

There were nods around the room, and Archer looked to Commander Levine. "If there are no further questions, that will be all."

"Thank you, Dr. Archer," Levine said. "You heard his expectations – I expect they will be met. He is not exaggerating the skepticism some have for this program in ADVENT. Prove them wrong. I will be appraising your progress closely. Levine, out."

The hologram disappeared, and Archer left as well, with some of his assistants.

Well, now they knew.

And Angela was starting to realize that there were going to be a lot of things to get used to – but she also felt a bit excited at what was coming.

Piloting cybernetic supersoldiers. Now that was something she couldn't have predicted. Hopefully it would go well – and if it did, she'd soon have a way to return to the front where she belonged.

---

SAS Civil Command Headquarters, Abuja – Nigeria

Mid-September 2017 – Afternoon

Betos was not surprised when she entered the central situation room in Civil Command, and saw Kaan and Keeper in a deep discussion. She hadn't bothered giving the receptionists notice beforehand, despite their attempts to ask what she was here for. There hadn't been much commotion when she'd arrived, except for her own.

Based on the glances from some of the officers and aides who'd seen her enter, she suspected that rumors were going to spread. A lot depended on how this conversation went.

Both men stopped speaking as she entered. With a delicacy that covered her mood, she closed the door behind her, and approached the holotable the men were standing around. If they saw the irritation in her eyes, they didn't outwardly react. Keeper inclined his head towards her, polite as ever. "Grand Marshal."

"Betos, what do you need?" Kaan asked, a bit less diplomatically, and couldn't disguise his own annoyance at the interruption. Kaan looked and sounded better now that he'd been with the SAS a few weeks since his flight from Turkey. He wore a black suit, his beard was no longer patchy, but evened out, and he appeared more like a prepared, professional statesman.

She pointed to the door. "An explanation for the convoys of material, weapons, and apparently alien advisors that I know I did not authorize."

"Ah, that," Kaan said, as if recalling a minor detail. "Yes, I made that request. All of which are needed, I am afraid. Apologies for not informing you, I simply took the initiative. We have explicit needs to meet, and you are busy with the military matters of state."

Betos stared at him incredulously at the brazen disrespect. "Have you forgotten where I rank here, Minister?"

"As Grand Marshal? No, I certainly have not," Kaan answered, frustratingly unbothered. "Your title, official or otherwise, means very little in the context of what needs to happen."

He returned his attention to the holotable displaying a map of the current territory of the SAS. "I have finished my assessment of this amalgamation of nations smashed together, and I am frankly surprised that you are still around and wielding the authority you claim to possess. The Collective appears to agree, considering I faced no questions in my requisitioning."

Betos turned her ire to Keeper. "Explain."

"Minister Kaan has been assessing the condition of the Sovereign African States, and has identified a number of deficiencies, as well as put forward a plan to address them," Keeper answered. "I consulted the Zararch, and they concurred with the assessment, and saw no justification to delay implementation."

"That was not what we agreed-"

"Things have changed, Betos," Kaan interrupted, turning back to her. "It is a miracle that the SAS has not disintegrated before now. You have no idea how lucky you are that the perfect storm of circumstances has intervened to not render your little project in statecraft dust and embers."

"And yet here it still stands," Betos crossed her arms. "I'm well aware it isn't as organized as it should be. You may know this isn't something I have much experience in."

"I assure you, Grand Marshal, that is very apparent," Kaan emphasized. "I am more interested if you have the faintest idea of how to run a state, let alone one of this size and complexity?"

"Not especially, but I've clearly managed." She shot back.

"Badly," he exhaled with obvious frustration. "You have managed it badly. You are a decent military leader – but your grasp of statecraft is abhorrent. Abhorrent. I have seen badly-run states, Betos, and this borders on the worst I've seen due to the sheer waste of potential. Unlike you, I actually know how to run a state – and run it well."

"The state which fell to ADVENT?" She snorted.

"Ah, are we using conquest as a metric? Fine, then you have no higher ground to condemn me considering how much of your territory has been lost, and unlike you, I had no alien armies at my disposal," Kaan flicked a wrist. "That also has nothing to do with my point. Prior to Turkey's fall, I possessed a unified legislature, a stable, self-sufficient economy, a supportive population, and stable ethnic relations. All of this without a tenth of the tools and resources you possess."

He fixated on Keeper, and looked at her pointedly. "Do you grasp the sheer advantage we hold? The power? The capability? ADVENT – despite their grandiose claims – is bound to the realities of economics like everyone else. Unlike states of old, they actually know what they are doing and so it seems like they can do literally anything. We also have this power."

He picked up a tablet, flicking through it. "I've requested production numbers from the Ethereal Collective. They put ADVENT to utter, utter shame. ADVENT does not have an unlimited budget, but we do. Currency, raw materials, weapons, technology, scientists, engineers, psions, everything ADVENT has, the Collective has more of. So why in the name of God are we not using this?"

"Are you blind?" Betos demanded incredulously. "We are?"

"We have a faucet at our disposal, and we are drinking drops at a time when we could be drinking from a stream," Kaan retorted. "You have artificially strangled what could have been done, and I don't know if it is incompetence or a naïve desire to retain some measure of independence."

"I have no desire to become a pure client state," Betos said. "Nor would the Collective respect that."

"Keeper disagrees," Kaan said flatly. "Or rather, that is a cynical view of such a relationship."

"He is saying that the Collective has a vested interest in ensuring the SAS remains functional, and sustainable," Keeper moderated. "We do, and we also respect the decisions on how much or little direct support to offer. You and Kaan differ on the acceptable amount – I will only convey that the degree does not change how the Collective views the SAS in terms of importance to the conflict, and beyond."

Betos could easily read between the lines there – Keeper was saying that to them the SAS was effectively a propped-up state in their eyes, and no amount of material changed that assessment. Which was an… admission, if one that she'd had suspicions about, since it was an uncomfortable fact that without the Collective, the SAS would have fallen well before now.

Without the Collective, everything was lost.

"I want to be clear, Betos," Kaan said. "My assessment of you is not a condemnation more than it is a statement of fact. I do not believe your management was done maliciously, but I am not going to coddle you like your previous advisors and tell you that everything is fine."

He pushed several buttons on the holotable, and a red-tinted projection of what appeared to be an organizational chart appeared – one she realized was for the SAS. "What is this?"

"A solution," he said. "A complete reorganization of the Sovereign African States into a functional entity instead of a disconnected series of nation-states and overlapping bureaucracies." Under the chart, Betos took a closer look at the territory displayed, and realized that the nation-states that made up the SAS no longer existed. Instead, the territory was divided up into smaller states.

"Why are the nations gone?" She asked incredulously. "You cannot mean…"

"Because as it stands they are functionally useless, and it tells me you understand very little about the dynamics on the ground," Kaan stated firmly. "The so-called African 'states' are the result of the half-hearted European attempts at decolonization, who arbitrarily drew lines on a map, and gave power to aligned strongmen with no regard for ethnic or tribal concerns."

His voice held clear disapproval. "It is not a surprise that the continent has been dominated by war, corruption, power struggles, and exploitation as a result. The African states are artificial, and the source of multiple problems. I have spent a fair amount of my time of late attempting to map out a more sensible organization of the ethnic groups, tribes, cultures, and religions within our territory."

He turned his attention back to her. "People are more inclined to provide support, if they are given what they believe they want. ADVENT also understands this, though to a lesser degree. Subversion is more impactful than conquest, and if we want sustainability we must begin shaping this state from the ground up – which means investment, psychology, and… other methods must be employed to achieve this. ADVENT wishes to limit their own tools. We should have no such restrictions."

He paused thoughtfully. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, overthrowing the existing power structure and having the military run everything doesn't work – not if you want to build something real. You cannot manage a multicultural, multi-ethnic state by just forcing the minority population to…"

He trailed off, his brow furrowing as if remembering something. "…I forgot you are Israeli. Ahh, now that explains a lot."

Betos stiffened indignantly. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," he said, unrepentant. "I supported the existence of the state of Israel – despite being effectively a theocratic state – but the handling of the minority Palestinian population is a case study in what not to do. You could have picked almost any colonial model, and it would have been superior to what you ended up doing."

"Get to the point," she growled.

"The point is that I understand how these groups are to be managed and leveraged effectively, and you do not," he said. "Do you have the faintest idea of the number of separate groups and interests? Do you speak any local language other than English? Do you even know the majority language of the people you purportedly lead?"

He shook his head, not waiting for an answer. "I do, and I know what needs to be done, and we have an opportunity to do it. Now, as for where the Collective advisors come in, there is an unfortunate lack of qualified personnel here. I don't care about a supposedly 'pure' or 'domestic' specialist corps. Would it be ideal if we could staff our vacancies with qualified Humans? Yes. Will ADVENT care about our dedication to maintaining Human dominance when they knock on our doors? No, no they will not."

"I will note," Keeper interjected. "That both ADVENT and XCOM routinely incorporate non-Human personnel into their organizations. They recognize the benefit of diversity in species and thought."

"Precisely," Kaan nodded sharply. "I do not intend to meander here, Grand Marshal. I intend to survive. I intend to win, and we have no time to waste debating this."

"This structural reorganization is a massive undertaking," Betos pointed to the biggest question mark she saw over all of this. "ADVENT may march at any moment if they realize what we are doing."

"Not necessarily," Keeper raised a hand. "ADVENT appears to not just be suspending Scipio – they are likely to be reorganizing it entirely. The entire African front has been frozen – and gives us significant time to prepare. This is primarily the reason I approved of Minister Kaan taking these steps."

"And should we be doing this, and not striking them in the middle of this lull?" Betos then demanded.

"You – and Knaag, for that matter – would no doubt prefer that approach," Kaan said. "I – and Keeper - believe that it would only force them to resume their offensive. More importantly, I am acting with the long-term sustainability of the SAS in mind. This state will not survive without major reforms, and I have no interest in debating the merits when anyone with a faint understanding of statecraft understands their necessity."

Betos looked at Keeper, her voice weary. "You agree with him."

It was a statement of something that was clear, rather than a true question.

"I concur with his assessment," Keeper answered, maintaining his tactfulness. "His points appear to hold up under scrutiny, and concur with both Human and Zararch contacts who have also reviewed it. Do you have objections?"

A humorless smile crossed her lips. "Would it matter if I did?"

Kaan smiled in return, only his was real. "Do you want an answer to that?"

Silence filled the room. Betos knew the answer without needing to ask. The fact that Keeper had approved, and the Collective itself appeared in firm support, was the only piece of information needed. If Keeper hadn't stepped in before, he certainly wouldn't now. It was a silent declaration that things were changing in the SAS – and she was becoming more irrelevant.

Or she already was, and in denial.

Her authority didn't mean much if it could be overridden – and there was only one way to continue unless she wanted it to get worse. She resisted the urge to allow her expression to change to resignation, instead looking directly at Keeper. "I expect to be informed of plans of this scale, even if not for my direct approval."

Keeper nodded. "This can be arranged. Kaan, is that understood?"

"Easily enough," Kaan confirmed. "If you are interested in the future, Grand Marshal, then come, and I will give a more thorough overview."

He motioned her forward, and Betos took her place around the holotable as Kaan began describing the future structure and plans of the Sovereign African States. She found she had little to say right now, as she watched what she had put together be upended – and wondering if there was any chance to reverse this trajectory.

Unfortunately, she feared it was far too late.

The future was coming, and if she wanted a part in it, she would have to keep up.

No matter if she thought it was right or wrong.

---

Office of the Intelligence Director, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Late September 2017 – Afternoon

Zhang's expression was dour as he appraised one of the reports, one of many he had been perusing as he worked on the latest conundrum. Or rather, one of numerous conundrums that the Intelligence Director dealt with on a daily basis. In between preparations for Jericho and the conflict continuing on Earth, there was another matter that needed to be addressed sooner than later.

They were at a crossroads in what to do with the Nulorian.

"Strictly speaking," Zhang said, setting the tablet down. "Investing in the Nulorian beyond minimal support is not the best use of our resources. The Nulorian fulfilled a role when the Vitakarian response was limited, as well as our options. The playing field has significantly changed since our initial contact, we cannot – and should not – act in the same way."

The Commander himself paced in front of Zhang's desk, arms crossed as he considered the question himself. He'd come to the same realization as the Director. It wasn't a difficult one to come to, but at the same time he didn't think the solution was as simple as Zhang made it sound.

Or rather, the simple solution was one he disliked. No matter the controversies with the Nulorian, abandoning an ally was not something he did without good reason. "Let's consider the alternatives – we have inroads in the Nulorian, and subsequently Vitakar. If we lose them, then what happens to our insight into Vitakar?"

"That is true," Zhang conceded. "With the exception of the Sar'Manda, who are not well-positioned to support operations on Vitakar, our operational footprint is extremely limited. There are no substantial resistance movements that are alternatives to the Nulorian."

"That we know of." The Commander qualified.

"That we know of," Zhang echoed. "We do not have insights into the current Vitakarian administration or the Zararch. Our lack of Vitakarian agents, and subsequent network of agents and information alike within the Aui'Vitakar, is proving to be a significant problem. As a result, the Nulorian remain our best inroad into the Vitakara."

His lips pursed, his voice holding an edge of frustration. "I dislike being forced into one option, especially one of limited use."

"You've taken steps to address this, I assume?" The Commander asked.

"Yes. I have found a few Vitakarians who possess appropriate intelligence skills, and Nartha has said he will provide names to me if any express interest," Zhang answered. "However, it will take time for them to be ready, and their use is better served on Earth. Especially as the Sovereign African States have begun bringing in larger numbers of aliens for administration. There is an opportunity there."

That was an interesting development. "Strange. Betos seemed to be resistant to the optics of too many aliens staffing her government."

"I've noted the same," Zhang grunted. "Jackson posits that the Collective is forcing this on her. They want their investment to begin paying off, and Betos is a poor leader. Useful as a figurehead, less as a head of state."

"And you?"

"Betos is smarter than her governance implies," Zhang said flatly. "She understands war well enough, and at a certain point she is going to leverage the full might of the Collective. Optics mean little when your state is ashes. I would be surprised if this was done without her consent or approval. It is an objective improvement to her current situation, especially considering ADVENT's pause."

"A fair point," the Commander acknowledged. "This does not answer the question of the Nulorian."

Zhang raised an eyebrow, then a glint appeared in his eye as he said slowly: "You have an idea."

"A genesis of one," the Commander ceased his pacing, articulating it. "The greatest problem around the Nulorian is that they will become a liability one day. They are a terrorist organization, not a resistance movement. Miridian has ambitions, but his tactics are not intended to generate support."

He rubbed his chin. "The Sar'Manda are insulated from the worst effects, and can tolerate direct support. They do not care about associations or optics when the Collective is the enemy. This is not the case for ADVENT, where the Nulorian are a poor long-term investment compared to a competing Vitakara government composed of 'free' Vitakara."

"The Nulorian are a tool, such organizations are," Zhang said. "Even Miridian understands this."

"I'm not sure he does," the Commander mused. "He clearly expects to have a hand in building a new Vitakara state if we succeed as a reward. Something we both agree would be problematic."

"To put it lightly," Zhang said dryly. "The Nulorian are toxic to the Vitakara, especially defectors, and even they know it. There is a reason the Zararch are launching false flags with this 'pretend' Miridian. Miridian will not even deny it, because he does not care."

The Commander looked at Zhang. "What is your suggestion?"

"That we maintain minimal contact and support to the Nulorian in the short term," he said. "We do this while we simultaneously work to build secondary resistance groups throughout Vitakar. The changes the Speaker is making are not popular with wide swathes of the population, especially the Cobrarians and Dath'Haram. There is opportunity there. They may not align with the Nulorian – but they might align with us."

The Commander nodded, the plan taking shape. "You want to cut the Nulorian loose."

"I know you dislike abandoning allies, ones of convenience or otherwise, but it will happen willingly or otherwise," Zhang said. "There are only two futures for the Nulorian – their willing dissolution, by Miridian's orders – or their eventual destruction at the orders of the Collective or ADVENT."

He shook his head. "I suspect Miridian would react poorly to this proposal. He will not dissolve the Nulorian while the Collective remains, and while he might agree to a rebrand, he will not accept a subordinate position." He grunted. "His people also will not listen to anyone who is not him. We have leverage, but so does he, and he's smart enough to know it. And also smart enough to manage on his own even without us."

Zhang looked at him. "You never explained your idea."

The Commander took a breath.

"The Nulorian have things new resistance movements will not," the Commander said. "Experience, manpower, and infrastructure. More than that, they know the strengths and vulnerabilities of the Vitakarian government. Miridian may not change – but we need to attempt to force this change. I believe our leverage is greater than his – and if handled well, we can turn the Nulorian into something better than it is."

Zhang frowned, and thought about it for a moment. "An evolution from terrorist to resistance?"

"To a certain extent," the Commander said. "We help them survive, in return they make changes to their operational objectives and tempo. Miridian will not like it; he knows he has some leverage, but he also wants to succeed. And he cannot succeed without help. He needs our help, even if he will never admit it to us."

"Mm, perhaps," Zhang rubbed his chin. "Miridian is a dominant personality, and it is a delicate matter, as you say. Whoever is sent will need to be equally knowledgeable, skilled, and with a strong enough personality to resist…" his eyes narrowed as he caught on. "…Ah. Interesting. I'm surprised you would consider him."

The Commander grunted at that. "It wasn't my idea. The Chronicler believes that he is reliable – and I can attest that the Lion certainly possesses the capability, and certainly the personality, along with the Ikhwan who are still alive."

Zhang considered that for a few moments, and made a few notes on his tablet. "Unexpected, but based on what I know of the man, I concur," Zhang said. "He certainly has the technical prerequisites. My concern lies in his alignment to our interests considering his past."

"So am I, but he did work with ADVENT. He was considered reliable by them," the Commander pointed out, exhaling slowly. "I'm… wary of using his past as a reason for disqualification, considering my own. At this point… I don't know. It feels so long ago, and less relevant as time goes by. Especially when he has already fought for us."

"A fair summation," Zhang amended. "I would prefer your approval on this one, Commander."

"I know," the Commander said. "I will be speaking to him shortly, and from there… That will tell me how reliable he is. From an objective standpoint? He is uniquely qualified, and I would be hard-pressed to find a more fitting operative."

"Indeed," Zhang agreed, making a short note. "He is also not being employed anywhere else right now. It would be an appropriate use of personnel without having to divert from elsewhere. I do not think he should be sent alone, however."

"No, at least one soldier or agent should accompany any deployment," the Commander agreed. "None come to mind immediately."

"Morrow, perhaps?" Zhang wondered. "She and the other Archangels of the unit appeared to have a good rapport with him."

"They do, but Sierra is a MEC, and we need MECs for the war effort here," the Commander disagreed, shaking his head. "Not to mention that there should be some distance between our handler and the Lion. He is charismatic and persuasive, and we need him to be observed, not be his friend."

"Understood," Zhang nodded. "I will find some individuals who will qualify. In the meantime, I will perform some assessments and interviews of the Lion and the Ikhwan. The Lion's capabilities are known, but his Ikhwan are not."

"Do so," the Commander said. "And I've put off this conversation long enough. I'll let you know how it goes."

A sharp nod in response. "Good luck, Commander."

---

Fectorian's Workshop – The Hall of Steel

Late September 2017 – Morning

Something had happened.

Abigail did not know what it was – yet – but she was attuned to the immediate changes that Fectorian was making throughout his Black Site through his systems. Alert levels had been subtly raised, though no explanation had been given yet. It had happened after Fectorian had departed for a reason he had not explained.

She was almost certain this was tied to it.

She'd spent the hours that Liam was asleep assessing it, and the possibilities. Knowing her true nature allowed her to better enter the investigatory trance, and be able to determine the data and connections in a way that would allow her to break out of it at any point she wished. She was aware of the realspace, while simultaneously not giving it her full focus.

A few answers had revealed themselves to her.

First was that there were very few things which would trigger this kind of reaction from Fectorian. It was a reaction which was explicit in that Fectorian was concerned – but simultaneously not strong enough to demand immediate action. Fectorian had almost certainly learned of something concerning – but exactly what was unknown.

That lowered the possibilities further.

No answer was good.

However, she believed they were going to find out soon, as Fectorian had summoned both of them to his central workshop.

Upon entrance, she became significantly more concerned when she saw him.

She did not think she'd seen him this agitated before. There wasn't a limb of his which was not fiddling or adjusting something as he moved, paced, and tinkered. It was a subtle tic of his she'd picked up on - the more disconcerted or distracted he was, the more he needed to do something.

Normally, he made some effort to mitigate this. To control it or downplay it, or usually, never reach a point where he could betray it in this way. Yet there had always been a self-awareness that it existed, and Fectorian had clamped down on it.

Right now it was so obvious that anyone could see it, and he simply did not seem to care that people would easily notice.

"I had wanted to give you more time, and run further assessments and tests on your capabilities, Abigail," Fectorian began without hesitation as they entered; his tone as fast as his movements. "We no longer have this luxury. We must act now."

"What happened?" Liam asked.

"The Imperator decided that he was going to meet with Mosrimor personally," Fectorian said in a tone that implied lingering disbelief. "Mosrimor, from what I have assessed, is displeased by recent events. The Imperator miscalculated. Misjudged. Mosrimor has made it clear in no uncertain terms that things will be changing; he is now becoming involved."

Liam became visibly alarmed by that, and Abigail echoed that reaction. She'd been afraid that the Sovereign One being involved would be something that justified a reaction like this – but it was the worst-case scenario. This was very bad. "How involved, exactly?"

"Involved to the point where he is giving direction to the Imperator, and expecting to be followed," Fectorian said flatly. "The Imperator did not phrase it in such terms, but it is clear to me, and many others, that the Imperator's gambit has failed. The Collective is subordinated to the will of a Sovereign One as of this moment."

His voice was laced with irritation, frustration, and anger. "It is exactly what the Imperator claimed he wanted to avoid. Arrogance. Incompetence." Fectorian seethed. "I have never seen the Battlemaster as furious as he was then. Even Paradise does not compare – which incidentally, the Sovereign will be taking a more direct role in."

"That sounds like a bad idea," Liam said slowly, apparently not sure what to comment on in that deluge of information. He grasped quickly, as did she, where Fectorian was leading with this. Now it made significantly more sense. "We can't wait any longer. We need to go."

"Yes. It is now urgent," Fectorian agreed. "It is not ideal, but it was inevitable. I do not know what Mosrimor plans in the coming days, but I suspect that if they found both of you, there would be questions. Mosrimor's insight appears to, as of now, not include me, and I would prefer this illusion to be maintained – while I assess the potential of the Human Sovereign."

There was an exhale. "There is no longer any possibility of delay or avoidance. This must be done. There is no choice."

No, it didn't seem to be the case. Scenarios ran through Abigail's mind, all of which led to a singular conclusion. A conclusion that Fectorian seemed to have begrudgingly reached.

This was a proxy war of Sovereigns now – and there was no neutral side. Not anymore.

"You said the Battlemaster was furious – he knows what this means," Abigail said slowly. "What will he do?"

Fectorian did not answer right away. The silence indicated something else.

The Ethereal was troubled because he did not know the answer.

For once, he was at a loss.

"I do not know," Fectorian admitted. "The Imperator doubtless thinks he can salvage the situation. The Battlemaster… he knows better. Yet he is too tied to the idea of the Collective. He is in too deep to leave it. He will not flee. He will not run. He will continue as he has, until he reaches a line. When he does…"

He uncharacteristically trailed off. "He will die. By the hand of the Humans, or the Sovereign, I know not which. He will not join us, Abigail. It would mean he would give up everything he holds. It is not the way of the Battlemasters. It is certainly not his way. He is too proud to do this, and this pride will kill him."

"If he learned of us, what would he do?" Liam wondered. "He would understand, and he is clearly not loyal to the Sovereign One."

"I would prefer that assumption not be put to the test," Fectorian said sharply. "I would wish the Battlemaster as an ally, of course – but wishes mean nothing in the face of merciless reality. I cannot risk everything on the possibility that the Battlemaster would agree, certainly when such chances are low."

His head shook. "No, there are no other options. I dislike those I am presented with, but there is no choice. The Imperator's folly cannot continue."

"No, it cannot," Abigail said somberly. "Then we leave? What is the plan?"

"You will wear the uniforms of Vitakara, under my command, identities obscured," Fectorian said. "I have dedicated transports in multiple Collective bases on Earth; locked down to myself or those I authorize. You will go through a Gateway to a base in the Sovereign African States, take my transport, and fly it to XCOM's base in the Arabian peninsula. They call it the Praesidium."

She nodded sharply. "I presume I will fly it?"

"The onboard autopilot should be able to do so, but you also possess the capability," Fectorian answered. "Do not stop for anyone. Do not draw attention, but do not let anyone stop you. I expect there will be no trouble – the Sovereign African States are of little attention right now. Deliver my message to XCOM. There will be a method of contacting me through my ship should they accept further discussion. I will be waiting."

He paused, appraised both of them, a new tone entering his voice. "I do not think it will be the last time we speak, yet your return to XCOM will conclude your dedicated time with me. It is an end I find myself saddened by, despite its necessity."

He looked at both of them. "I am glad I have acted as I did, despite any reservations I once had, about your species, and that I was proven wrong about a deep-rooted fear. Thank you, Liam Jaster, for teaching me of your species, and you, Abigail, for allowing me to grow."

He straightened, seeming to grow calmer. "Our next chapter begins now. Go forth, and I await your call."

A new chapter. That is what it felt like.

"Thank you, Fectorian," Abigail said. "For everything."

A nod in return, a hand raised in farewell.

It had been a long time, but now, it was time to go.

She was confident about one thing.

They would definitely see him again.

---

Office of the Prime Minister, Tel Aviv – Israel

Late September 2017 – Afternoon

Saudia was expecting the meeting to be one that went very well, or very poorly. Considering the subject at hand, she didn't know if there was an agreeable middle ground.

Not that it would ultimately change anything, yet she held a faint, likely unrealistic hope that this could be dealt with cleanly, with minimal controversy and drama.

People with authority tended to respond only a few ways to unexpected or sudden meetings, especially when they concerned peers or superiors. Prime Minister Nowinski had reacted with acceptance at the news that herself, the Chief Overseer, and Chief Election Overseer were coming to visit, but that alone didn't say much.

It wasn't exactly as if he had a choice whether to accept or not.

Despite the minimal context they had provided, she suspected he had an idea of what was intended to be discussed due to the inclusion of Kaiden Chapman, the highest election authority in ADVENT. There were only so many possibilities with such a man in her entourage, which Nowinski was almost certainly acutely aware of.

Perhaps he would realize things were changing, and he would go along with it. Much of it depended on if he was tracking other developments in the Congress at the same time. If he was, then she suspected there would be problems. If not, then this might proceed without controversy. That was the hope.

From the moment they'd met in Tel Aviv, that hope was dashed.

Nowinski's expression, echoed by the small team of Israeli officials and delegates, said what his benign response hadn't. His expression was deliberately guarded, and the greeting was stiff and formal. She knew that he could very easily become a very personable man, and so the deliberate choice to not do so was telling.

There was a noted wariness around him, not anger, which told her he was being intentionally neutral, likely because he wanted to hear from them first. It still meant he was likely aware of everything, and wanted to know if they were as well. His mind was not made up - at least outwardly.

The other officials were less neutral. There was a clear irritation and anger which they were making minimal efforts to actually control. They knew what this meeting was going to be about, and the very idea of it offended them. They knew enough to bite their tongues and let Nowinski do the talking, but weren't shy about making their own opinions silently known.

Nowinski's side-eye towards Watkins was not ignored either. The barest of smiles crossed Watkins' face once Nowinski's back was turned. Some of the accompanying Israelis did see it, though, and their eyes flashed as they fumed further.

Kaiden, for his part, maintained a professional demeanor, as did she. This was ultimately a matter of protocol and legality. It was certainly not personal, despite what many of them were likely thinking.

The dominos had to begin falling somewhere.

Despite the controversy Israel had invited over the years, her opinion of Nowinski was one of ultimate irrelevance. He'd been a minimally important figure even when she was in EXALT, and since ADVENT had taken over and defanged his worst vices, he'd been rendered even more impotent.

She certainly didn't feel threatened by him. He had no power to affect her, affect ADVENT, or even affect his nation anymore. Not to the degree he once had.

In some ways, she wondered if he was happier in his position now, despite the fact that he, his party, and his country, were no longer free to act with impunity. The Likud Party was dissolved, Zionism was shackled by law, and the discriminatory systems were ripped apart under his watch. He was irrelevant now. A man of a different era, who would be swept away as a footnote in history.

That said, the Zionists were still in charge of the Israeli administration, and until they were gone, they had the potential to be difficult. So far they'd been smart enough to not antagonize, but after today she wondered if that would change. When power was about to be lost, those holding it rarely descended gracefully.

There was some irony in the fact that this would likely be not just Nowinski, but the entire Zionist movement's last gasp of relevance. Their last effort that would ultimately fail. The nations would conform, and the remaining vestiges of the old were to be uprooted and purged.

It mattered not who swung the sword, so long as it was swung appropriately.

Nowinski led them to his office, within which was a small coffee table with ornate couches around it. Natural light illuminated the room from the windows, a few chandeliers hung freely, and flags of ADVENT and Israel were placed side by side. As expected, it was a fine reception.

The Israelis had always been good at optics.

The trio took their seats on the couches, with Nowinski sitting on the one that functioned as the 'head' of the small space. The other Israeli officials departed the room with only a few exchanged sentences. Saudia noticed that while Nowinski wore his customary suit and tie, most of the Israeli officials wore the proper ADVENT-style attire of grays and whites.

He smoothed the wrinkles on his pant legs, poured himself a cup of tea, as he started the meeting.

"Chancellor, Chief Overseers," Nowinski began after taking a sip, setting his cup on the table, and lacing his fingers together. "A pleasure as usual, though I will confess some uncertainty as to the nature of this meeting, and on such short notice. It is atypical for ADVENT, and I cannot claim that I am comfortable with the circumstances."

He was definitely hedging his bets on why they were here. He was pretty certain he knew, but just in case, he kept up the charade. No reason to continue it. "I believe you know why we are here," Saudia said. "It is an important matter, one to be addressed at the earliest possible opportunity. I believe that we can reach a conclusion to the benefit of all parties."

"Diplomatic to the end, Chancellor," Nowinski smiled humorlessly. "Well now, let us hear what you have to say."

"Certainly," Saudia looked towards the Election Overseer. "Overseer Chapman, please detail the initiative you and Election Oversight have been conducting."

"Yes, Chancellor," Kaiden cleared his throat, as he addressed the Prime Minister directly. "As you are no doubt aware, Prime Minister, ADVENT has assimilated a number of nations into itself since the start of the war. There are a number of them which have, let us say, less than democratic systems. They, of course, agreed to reforms in the future, but as of now were allowed to continue functioning as they had been."

He reached into his briefcase, withdrawing a moderately thick report. "ADVENT has reached an equilibrium and internal stability where we are confident that more necessary and large-scale changes can be made to bring all of ADVENT into appropriate compliance. Over the past few months, Election Oversight has been conducting reviews to assess if the current national leadership and legislature were elected under circumstances that meet our standards."

Nowinski's face hardened, though he did not react further. "I suspected this was coming. I of course am willing to comply with Election Oversight, but I will need to defend the Israeli electoral system. I am confident that any concerns can be appropriately addressed."

"The Israeli government has complied with our requests," Kaiden simply handed him the report. "Thanks to their cooperation, and our on-the-ground initiatives, we have finalized our report on Israel. A draft, as it has not been formally published, but for all intents and purposes can be considered final."

His own smile became grim. "I am afraid there are serious issues with your electoral system. It does not meet ADVENT standards, and we cannot in good conscience consider it legitimate. We welcome comments or clarification on our mistakes – but I suspect you will find none."

Nowinski wordlessly took a report, and only read a few pages before Saudia was able to glean a reaction. He tried to hide it well, but he was now clearly angry. "This reads less like an official document, and rather a poorly-sourced hit piece on our government, and our people. Frankly, it reads like something Hakeem would dream up, rather than the objectivity I expected from your organization."

"I would ask you not to disparage the work of our people, of which included both Jews and Israeli citizens," Kaiden responded evenly, raising an eyebrow. "Objectivity is not in question. We have access to Israeli reports and formerly classified materials, Prime Minister. This is not hearsay. This is not rumor. This is, in many literal cases, black and white. Much of our primary evidence came from your own government, from executive orders, official communications, memos, and legislation."

He leaned back on the couch. "Unless you wish to denounce your own government, you cannot claim that our report is groundless or lacking in evidence. I understand that there was a period where Israel was not under ADVENT law. Now it is,and it must comply. It would be best for all involved if we all acknowledged this. Denial serves no one when the evidence is so clear."

"To be frank, Prime Minister," Watkins interjected. "The evidence has created grounds for Oversight to intervene. It would be… surprising if you could deny it, merely based on the subject of elections and representative government."

He shook his head. "Arbitrary candidate disqualifications based on little to no evidence of 'terrorist' activities, denial of voter identifications or registration to non-Jewish citizens, few to no voting stations in Arab-majority districts, and executive intervention rendering thousands of ballots null and void."

"To put it simply," Kaiden put succinctly. "There is evidence showing that the elections that brought the current Israeli government to power were not free and fair."

Nowinski smoothed his pants out. "And why does it matter?"

Kaiden raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Let's say that you are correct here - what does it matter?" Nowinski repeated. "You have access to our census records and population counts. Palestinian or Arab citizens are a minority barely reaching five percent. They would not have affected the outcome of any election in the past ten years."

"Perhaps, Prime Minister," Kaiden said. "But the fact is that your administration has maintained laws which are, bluntly put, illegal. And minority or not, our office ensures that every citizen can vote freely; not just the majority."

"Furthermore, if you weren't concerned about the impact, then these measures wouldn't have existed," Watkins added. "I also feel the need to question exactly what happened to the rest of the Palestinian and Arab populations for it to be such an extreme minority. Based on the data from regions prior to annexation, Israel should have a slight Arab majority."

Nowinski met his eyes evenly. "The War on Terror was a horrific event, which created a refugee crisis the world had never seen. Israel was on the front lines of providing for refugees of that terrible conflict."

"Whom you immediately transferred out of Israeli lands," Watkins finished. "There is a term for displacing a population over any period of time. Especially if they consist principally of one nationality or ethnicity. There was no Jewish refugee crisis, I remember that. Strange."

"Accusations should be made carefully, Chief Overseer," Nowinski said. "We did nothing that was illegal. And it was with the full knowledge of multiple nations and organizations. Are you sincerely going to pursue this line of thinking?"

"To a certain end, Prime Minister, but you see my point," Watkins leaned back. "As it stands, it does nothing to countermand the results of the report. We are not talking about actions Israel took a decade ago, but rather your elections you have held since."

Nowinski laced his fingers together, before speaking slowly. "Are each of you aware of a bill recently introduced in the Congress by Representative Huraira el-Majid? The one concerning the so-called 'Right to Return'?"

"I am aware of its recent introduction, yes," Saudia said, recalling Majid as the United States of Arabia's Congressional representative. "What of it?"

"Merely a question of coincidence, Chancellor," Nowinski's smile was razor-thin. "If, for example, this measure were to pass, do you know what that would mean?" He looked at Kaiden. "I'm certain you have an idea."

"Impossible to fully predict," Kaiden said. "However, there would be a certain percentage of individuals of previous residence who would take advantage of the opportunity."

"All of them," Nowinski hissed. "They would all come back. You would allow an entire population who hasn't lived in our country for decades to arbitrarily return."

"Their departure was not their choice," Watkins said. "And the Israeli government has repeatedly denied requests to return. Israel only has something to fear if people were displaced without cause, justification, or consent."

Nowinksi glared daggers into Watkins. "By the definitions proposed, we would. You know this. He knows it. Everyone will see this as a direct attempt to meddle in our elections for ADVENT to appease the Arabs. I would caution pursuing this, Chancellor. It will open doors you want closed."

Saudia frowned. "That is a matter for the Congress to decide. I see little reason to challenge it, or deny individuals the right to move where they wish, especially if displaced without just cause. It is not exclusive to Palestinians, but any group that is similarly affected."

A snort. "It sounds so straightforward when you say it like that. You cannot see how it can come back to bite you, if the choices made in the past are suddenly put on trial. You are being played, Chancellor."

Saudia met his eyes. "Say names, or be silent. I am well aware of what I am doing, and so do you. You are not being arrested, nor are your people, Prime Minister. That is not what this bill does - but injustices must be corrected. Your country is not unique in facing this."

"Chancellor," Nowinski leaned back. "There are questions around your own rise to power. You are someone who, I assume, has not always made the cleanest of choices. Taken actions that would be considered questionable today. To be blunt, this door you are opening up lays the groundwork for your own eventual removal if such things came to light. Not just for you, but everyone in ADVENT."

Saudia smiled. "I am aware, and unconcerned with this possibility, Prime Minister. If, by some strange outcome, I suffer because of it, then I am confident anyone coming after me will be just as capable."

"Hakeem is angling for that day, Chancellor," Nowinski said. "He may pretend to be your friend, but his people are introducing bills like this to give you the rope to hang yourself. And it seems you are happy to tie the noose around your own neck. I am speaking in your best interest, Chancellor, if your office is to take a stance on this, let it be nothing, or against this. You will not like what comes next."

Saudia's nostrils flared. "This is not about power for me, Prime Minister. It is about what is best for Humanity. If issues arise, we will deal with them, as we always have. If people wish to come after me, let them. I am confident in the systems we have built, and the institutions that exist. If the bill will pass or fail, it will be on merit alone."

Nowinski pursed his lips. "So be it then. I am not the only one who sees the danger of this, and will do everything in my power to prevent it." He looked at Kaiden. "We have little choice but to comply, I suppose. When you publish your report, we will be ready to execute a new election."

"Good," Kaiden affirmed. "We will be in touch."

That, Saudia figured, was a victory on its own. When the government was dissolved, it would mean that the hardliners and Zionists would leave. Doubtless, Nowinski believed they could simply reapply and be approved, perhaps forgetting that there were now standards Election Oversight would be enforcing.

Many of which would exclude himself and other such extremists.

If the Right of Return bill passed or not had no bearing on this - but Nowinski's staunch opposition did make her wonder. He was attempting to use her, just as much as he accused others of using her, but he did have a point about one thing.

It was going to open a door.

If anyone would push it further was an open question.

Logically, it was perhaps best to ensure it remained closed, but she also knew that would never work forever. There came a reckoning for the actions of the past, and if there must be consequences for it…

Humanity had to face them together, or they would never evolve from the past.

"Then that will be all, Prime Minister," Saudia stood, looking down at him. "We will be in touch pending new developments. We will also be watching the actions in the Congress before coming to a decision on backing."

"I implore you to listen to what we will say," Nowinski answered. "It is for the good of ADVENT."

"Perhaps. The Congress will judge that," Saudia said, as they turned away, and left the room, leaving the Prime Minister alone, who was already reaching into his pocket to make the first of what was likely a series of calls.

She suspected the Congress was going to be a very busy place over the immediate future.

---

Situation Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Late September 2017 - Evening

That he again found himself drawn inward, into the darkest corners of his past while struggling in a war with a seemingly endless alien threat, was an occurrence that the Commander was starting to grow tired of. It seemed each time that his past failings and shortcomings were exhumed, evaluated and then put to rest, they always seemed to arise again.

And often at inconvenient times.

The halls of the Praesidium seemed to cling to the edges of his sight slightly more than normal, a distant tell of the Sectoid influence in the base's construction. With so many psions pressed into the war now, their collected psionic energies seemed to ripple faintly throughout the base.

Of course, this was an illusion; a clever psychological effect of the architecture, so it was claimed. All the same, the effect couldn't be denied. Some nights the eddies that slipped through the base made the world feel more vibrant and tangible. Other nights, the raw spirit and resolve almost made it impossible to sleep. Tonight, they only served to heighten his nerves, and set him on edge.

A Lion rested within its walls, in a den of a former enemy.

It was difficult to really decide on a way to think about the Lion now.

Terrorist? Rival? Enemy? None of those really seemed applicable anymore. The more time passed, the more that part of his life seemed less important. Who all of them had been then, was not who they were now. He'd moved forward, everyone had, yet the past continued to haunt him.

It was only through a strange twist of fate and chance that they happened to be brought together. He had changed, the Lion had presumably changed, and perhaps the most ironic thing was that both of them now found themselves on the same side.

Relatively speaking.

It wasn't tenable to just pretend the Lion didn't exist, or that their shared past had not occurred. Nor would the Lion really think so either. They needed to have a talk, a civil one, where they settled things once and for all.

He wasn't sure which way it was going to go, or even which way he wanted it to go.

Neither of them liked the other, for many reasons that were objectively justified, but the Commander really wasn't intending to make himself likable to the Lion, nor the inverse. The most he was expecting was some kind of understanding reached; a truce, the decision to bury the hatchet so to speak. To work together for the good of Humanity.

Easier said than done, but at this point there really wasn't much to be gained by a persistent hatred of each other. He wanted to go in, leave, and preferably never have to worry about the Lion ever again. Time would tell if this was a plausible outcome, but he supposed he was going to have to try.

One reason he'd made a short pit stop before arriving for the meeting.

He opened the door to the Situation Room, where he saw the Lion sitting calmly at the table, waiting for him. He'd fully recovered from what Patricia had done to him. It had involved no shortage of blood, nanotech, and cybernetics, but the Lion was now arguably healthier - and stronger - than he had been before.

His eyes flicked to the Commander as he entered, the new cybernetic ones shining with an almost distracting bright blue. They were definitely not normal cybernetic eyes; these were Sovereign cybernetics.

While ADVENT cybernetics tried to maintain the illusion of normalcy, the Lion's were almost flaunting their cybernetic nature. And admittedly, looking through the specs list, the Commander could see how it would be justified. They were definitely above the baseline standard.

The Lion didn't say anything as he entered. The Commander walked over to him and set the cup of coffee on the table. "Kurdish coffee, half a cup of milk, and six sugars." His smile was friendly but guarded as the Lion raised an eyebrow. "That was a clever idea. I'm not surprised ADVENT didn't pick up on it."

The Lion took the coffee and gave the cup a sip before nodding in return. "I see you reviewed the ADVENT transcripts."

"Of course I did," the Commander took a seat. "I was very curious as to how you ended up in ADVENT. Of all the places I would have expected you to reappear, this is perhaps the last. But you're here now, and I suppose it's time we talked."

"Talk…" The Lion spoke the word slowly as if testing it on his tongue. There was a moment where he seemed too wrapped up in his thoughts to speak, but the moment passed and he wore a grim smile. "You say we should talk, but what purpose is there for men such as us to 'talk,' as if there would be any change from such empty effort?"

He clicked his tongue, his voice almost chiding. "As if you were to confess your sins to me, that I might gnash my teeth and demand you might bring back the dead, or as if my impassioned words might stir something in you to inspire you to greater heights or perhaps bring you close to God's light."

He trailed off, his smile dangerous, but tired. He stood, and began to slowly pace along the length of the table, coiled like a snake yet never venturing an inch closer to the Commander. "Your words will not wash the blood from your hands, nor am I absolved for my sins because I exchanged righteous enmities with you. The past is finished, Commander, and I find my appetite for the clashes of old has faded. Do you not agree?"

One thing he'd gotten from transcripts and reports was that the Lion had a fondness for talking at length, or perhaps he was truly in love with the sound of his own voice - so to hear him express a similar desire to move on was somewhat surprising. This was getting off to a good start, especially since neither of them had attempted to kill the other yet.

The Commander gestured with a hand for the man to sit as he took a seat of his own. "I find myself agreeing with that. We could go back and forth, remind each other what we did, and how justified each of us were, or we can instead focus on the present, and just maybe… the future."

For a moment, the Lion was frozen. Then a wide, unnerving smile slipped his lips. "Never in my darkest nightmares did I once think that you and I would find ourselves in agreement, on the same side of a conflict. God truly works in mysterious ways. If you will indulge me, Commander, there is something I am curious about."

He placed a folder he had been reviewing onto the table and slid it across the table. Its contents were obvious even before the words 'Operation Scipio' fell into focus for the Commander.

"I wondered why Scipio is frozen," the Lion smiled in an unfriendly fashion. "Of all the great campaigns of ADVENT, this was the one in which I saw your hand the most. From start, to finish, it was a reminder, now stopped. Stopped, I have assessed, by the one who was its patron. Why?"

The smile deepened. "Why has an operation built upon the principles you designed, upon your magnum opus of military depravity, ceased? Why is it that even when you accept yourself, you cannot accept your own machine doing as you designed it to?"

"Because the world is supposed to be better than me," the Commander smiled sadly. "I designed ADVENT. I built the new world order from the ground up in my image. I gave the military the tools and powers I had used before. The difference is that ADVENT has used them for expedience. As a crutch. They were never meant to default to these extremes; they were supposed to see what the system allowed for and choose better wherever they could."

"It is interesting where your hand is hidden, and where it decides to emerge. I find that ADVENT isn't a reflection of you, but the ADVENT military is, as is the militant arm of the state." the Lion paused, plucking a deck of cards from his coat and began to shuffle them.

"It is everything you are. It is cold, it is efficient, and it is functional. It does not believe in good, only in necessary evil. It believes in victory, in the mission, and it knows the consequences," the Lion continued. "It is you, you as you are now, stripped of all pretense. So why do you find it so unpleasant to look at yourself in the mirror?"

The Commander was silent for a moment. "Because they don't understand. I can look at myself and see myself for who I am. With each atrocity I commit, I remember and know what I am. I can never forget that. I cannot let it become normalized to myself. Necessary? Yes. Justified? Perhaps. But never right. The day one can look at what I have done during the War on Terror and simply shrug is a day where our collective Humanity dies forever."

Another pause. "ADVENT does not understand this. They have begun normalizing it. I helped normalize it. And if they continue down the path, everything I hoped to achieve with ADVENT will be undone in time."

"Why does knowing what you are make it any better? Why does being justified make it acceptable for you to do it? Yet wrong when others justify it, as you do, and commit it, better than you ever could?" The Lion had begun to lay out the cards in an unfamiliar arrangement as if playing a game with them.

His voice, while never pleasant, took on a noticeable darker edge. "You speak of normalization. Of not understanding. They understand, Commander. They simply do not care. Victory is all that matters. You taught them that, you made them reflections of yourself," the Lion pointed a finger. "There was only ever one choice to make; what matters more, our Humanity or our victory? You taught them the answer."

The Lion leveled a finger at the Commander, his eyes never blinking. "It started with you, and it will only end with you. You can imagine you're different, better. But if you had been, if you truly were better, you'd never be standing here, you'd never speak with a hint of dread, of worry, of what you've unleashed."

"I suppose it doesn't matter if you believe me or not," The Commander spoke with a touch of weary resignation to his voice. "To you, I may pretend, but I've seen people who pretend. You know what that is like better than anyone. Look at me closely, Lion, and tell me I pretend. Condemn me if you wish to, I will not take offense. But if you think that what I've said are the words of a man pretending, then there is little more to convince you otherwise. You've already made up your mind, if so."

"I can't condemn my own reflection in the mirror," the Lion said. "I can only ask myself if I like what it shows me. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You dislike what it shows you, yet you refuse to accept it as well and truly you. You still believe necessity and justification and awareness separate you from your ADVENT military. Go, ask them. Look them in the eye. See yourself in them, and tell me I'm wrong."

The Lion put down the stack of cards, optics narrowing. "But you already have, haven't you?"

"I thought that was obvious." The Commander leaned back. "Why do you think I've been talking about it?"

"To convince yourself that you are different," the Lion replied. "No man ever believes he's wrong, and you're as Human as all the rest."

The Commander released a sigh. "The same can be said about you. You don't understand me and make no attempt to. You desperately want to believe that I am still the same person that fought you all those years ago and that there is no difference between me and those who now replicate my actions. But I don't have to tell you that, because you lie to yourself as well. You know better, you just cannot admit it, because if you do, then you were wrong about me."

The Commander met his eyes. "You thrive on controlling the conversation, using words to portray yourself as an infallible man speaking truth. You are good at it. But that does not work against something who knows himself, and more importantly, knows who you are. A man who could have changed the course of history as much as I could, yet when it came time to do the right thing - what you so righteously claim to understand - you were a coward."

"Perhaps, Commander, but I find a certain sadistic joy in aggravating you," the Lion hummed a tune to himself as he began to rearrange the cards on the table. "You are different from them, this is true. However, there is only one difference; one difference I didn't want to believe. One difference so impossible that even now I can hardly believe it. You believe, truly believe, in morality."

The Lion laughed bitterly at his own words. "You, who taught the greatest military the world over that morality does not matter in the face of victory, are now aggrieved, for the immorality of their actions. After all, the only reason victory is not above all is if it is morality that counts more. I refuse to believe you could be so blind."

"You're right," the Commander said simply. "I had thought the world would similarly remember their Humanity, their morality, and that given the choice, most would do the right thing. And I was wrong. Morality, Lion, is the only thing that can stop our worst impulses. And even for men like me, who betrayed every moral, I made the choice to turn my evil against whom I perceived to be worse."

The Lion stared at him before nodding slowly. The cards danced somberly between his hands as he shook his head in disbelief. "You believe. You truly do. You believe in morality and are disturbed by what has been done…" The cards slowed and were still in his hands as he looked back upwards at the Commander.

"That really does surprise you." The Commander smiled without humor. "That's fair, I suppose."

"You and I," the Lion said. "We made the War on Terror hell because we believed there was no better path, until we destroyed all paths but the one we envisioned. And now? You, and what you did to create ADVENT; the bodies you made on that day, the secret you hid in plain sight. What path did you start us all down that day, I wonder."

The Commander wasn't fully surprised the Lion had put the pieces together. In his shoes, he probably could have done the same. "That I did, little point in pretending otherwise. Perhaps there were better paths, but there were none that would have been less violent. The first step to fixing the situation of the world was to destroy the systems that had dominated it."

"You no more know that, than you know the future," the Lion said. "Neither do I know it. We assume, we guess, we hope, we try. So, what now? Commander, who commands necessary evil? Who turned the world over, who unleashed horror, who built a kingdom upon the bodies of the old world order, innocent and guilty alike? What now?"

What now indeed?

"ADVENT was meant to be better," the Commander said, talking to himself more than the Lion right now. "That was always the vision; to make something greater than the pettiness and corruption that had existed before. I wanted to create a world where we could thrive. No more tyrants. No more dictators. No more petty differences that could be exploited to keep us divided. A world where men like us," he said as he gestured at the space between the two of them with his artificial hand, "Would not, could not, exist."

He released a sigh. "And if I have not achieved that, then I have done nothing but usher in something not merely the same as what came before, but something worse. And that is something I cannot allow to continue."

"We were meant to be better," the Lion replied. "All that power, all that knowledge, and we used it like apes used sharp rocks. This world was forged in a hundred years of imperialism, and now, it will either end in another, greater, more eternal imperialism, or in the birth of the dawn we always dreamt of."

"You think of me as a follower. Once upon a time, I was," the cards danced again between his hands, shuffled from one hand to the next. "But I made one last decision. I would either die resisting imperialism, one more time, one last violent, immoral time, or I would be proven wrong."

He took one long breath and stared squarely at the Commander. "I was proven wrong. With God as my witness, I was shown a glimpse of what this ADVENT could be. Now, I will die for it. I will do anything, even standing in a desperate stand in the night to see this new kingdom flourish."

"That is what I did not truly understand all those years ago, Commander. That the Caliphate is not ours. It belongs to no single people; it is the Caliphate of Mankind. That is the Hand of God, and it spares no one its wrath and harsh truths," the Lion gave a dark smile. "This is our ADVENT, it's the coming dawn that was promised. Now we need only grasp it."

This was the legacy that he would ultimately leave. It was he who had set Humanity down this path, and while there was a promise there - one that even the Lion had been able to glimpse - he could see the seeds were planted for it to become something far worse.

There were arguments for not changing it, that the fate of Humanity rested on men and women being able to make the hard choices of necessity. One last time. That no matter how much he despised it, this was what he had made, and changing it now would doom them all. Those in ADVENT would say the same thing. Once upon a time, he would have agreed with them.

Now though, this conversation had revealed to him something he hadn't realized until now.

He was now where the Lion had once been.

He could see the corruption and evil that was twisting something that had been forged by his own hand, and just as the Lion could have been able to stop the Caliph so had he wished, the Commander knew he had the power to stop this - or at least the attempt needed to be made.

And with that realization, he felt that he could see why the Lion had not acted as he had.

Because he didn't want to see something he cared about so strongly to be destroyed. What would happen if he intervened now? Would ADVENT be paralyzed by indecision? Would there be an internal revolt? A civil war? Would this simply just doom them to fall under the Collective and the forces brought to bear?

But he knew better now.

If he stood by, he was complicit, and ADVENT would risk being turned into something he would one day have no choice but to destroy - or be complicit in whatever evil it committed. It didn't have to be this way though. There was a time to fix this.

ADVENT would become that dawn for Humanity. What he had always intended for it to be. And if he failed to do that, if it was not something truly better than what came before, then it would not matter if they won if they fell to the sins of the old world.

He met the Lion's radiant eyes. "Then let us grasp it."

"The Hand of God," the Lion held a card between two fingers. "How it makes fools of us all."

The Commander let a moment of silence pass. "I was wrong about something I said about you. While you are extremely self-righteous in your own way, and you love to hear yourself speak far too much, you are not quite unreasonable." A faint smile crossed his lips as he looked at the other man. "You do understand, more than I had thought you did. And I can see clearer too."

"Please, spare me your empathy, it disgusts me," the Lion's lips curled up in a sneer that was not entirely unfriendly.

"I'm sure it does," the Commander said dryly. "But we didn't talk so that things would stay the same. For better or worse."

"For worse," the Lion deadpanned. "I much prefer we try to kill each other. Less complicated."

"No argument from me," the Commander took a sip of his coffee and made a face. Cold now. "Talking always complicates things."

For a moment, the two sat silently. Strange, serene, and comfortable silence. The Lion playing with his cards. The Commander drinking from his cup.

"Well," the Commander said. "I suppose we both find ourselves in an awkward position. So the question next is 'what now?'"

"Now we fight until the Collective crushes us all," the Lion said. "We fight, and we fight, and we fight, shoulder to shoulder. As we should have done, long ago, had we been less of the worst of us, and more of the best of us. There will be no victory in this war," between two fingers, the Lion flipped a card. Of a grinning skull. "Only one last roar of defiance."

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "I retain a belief that we can win this war, because if we don't have this hope, then we might as well surrender now."

"We're nothing more than a glorified combat exercise for the Imperator. The wretch is using us to blood his armies, spilling our blood like we're targeting dummies," the Lion replied, voice low. "He has worlds, for our planet. Naval armadas, for whatever clever fleet ADVENT thinks it's hiding. He has millions of soldiers, untold numbers of factories and logistical power. There is no victory. There is only defiance."

The Commander smiled. A genuine one. In the face of what the Lion knew, it was for sure a hopeless fight. Merely a stand of defiance. But he didn't know about everything else. The Vitakara. The Andromedons. T'Leth. "We have more than that. We have reason to hope."

The Lion paused so suddenly, the Commander thought something had struck him. A quiver came over his lips as he attempted to speak. "No... No, you couldn't," then he laughed. "Unbelievable. You are unbelievable. How?"

The Commander snorted. "You may have to clarify what you mean."

"No, not now," the Lion said as he continued to laugh while new life seemed to flow into his being. " Later. I wish to enjoy it, to savor it, when I hear it," the Lion smiled viciously, his teeth on full display. "This changes everything. Yes, Zhang has spoken to me; he has an assignment for me, I am sure of it, but he was waiting until now."

He smiled. "No. No more time will be wasted. I will need to find him, I will need a room, access to JULIAN, and your research and engineering division. I will need my officers and allies, and I will need the Ikhwan, and then. Then, you'll tell me what I know you did."

Zhang would at least be able to rest assured that the Lion was reliable - or at least as reliable as he could be. "I would never have thought," the Commander said wryly. "That of all the people who would join XCOM, or work with me, it would be you."

And indeed, there was a massive irony to all of this, and at the end of the day, a question of trust. Before, he would have returned him back to ADVENT. He would have tolerated him living, but there had been too much to forget, to trust in the way that would have been necessary. Now though…

Now he did believe what the man who had once been his rival and enemy was saying. He was good at reading people, and even if he didn't have his psionic instincts to confirm, he could tell the Lion was being honest with him. As both of them were. He had done and committed terrible things, but the Commander had done the same.

They could either continue as they had been or understand they were more alike than either of them had wanted to admit. The Commander felt like the decision should have been made with more hesitation, it felt strange to realize that he'd already decided, even before the words had left the Lion's mouth.

They had a war to win, more than one, and he needed allies to do so.

"Give me the names of your people," the Commander said. "Jackson will work to bring on those who aren't already here. You've already talked to Zhang, and I think there is a mission that will suit you - and your people."

The Lion organized his deck, placing it back into his pocket. He took his trenchcoat from the chair, putting on his forearm. "Ah, I haven't been this overjoyed since I sent that stolen octanitrocubane bomb to the Triad leadership meeting. JULIAN, can I rely on you for directions?"

"Yes, I can provide that."

The Commander glanced up. Suspiciously nice of JULIAN, especially for an introduction, though no doubt the AI had been listening the entire time.

The Lion stood up, and the Commander did as well. This was a time when it felt proper to seal it with a handshake. Something the Lion almost seemed to be expecting in an almost resigned, or exasperated way. However, the Commander didn't think that was the thing to do. It had been some time, but he remembered the customs.

When the Lion had his hand out, the Commander grabbed the forearm instead and performed the traditional Arab greeting. Pulled in close, one side of the head to where the cheeks nearly touched, and then the other, before pulling back and letting go. The Lion didn't seem to have expected that.

Arabs didn't really do handshakes, and they only performed greetings with those they explicitly allowed. To perform that was not just a greeting, but symbolic of trust and respect, more intimate than a handshake was, and not something offered to all. It felt fitting now, in as much that he had initiated it, and that the Lion had allowed it.

"You surprise me," the Lion muttered, quietly. "You surprise me utterly. Well met, Commander. Well met, comrade, brother, man who will die and fight beside me. If only our pasts were brighter, if only we'd known better."

"If only," the Commander nodded. "But fortunately for us, we were able to do this, against all odds."

The Lion stopped. "One last thing I must know. Van Doorn. Where has he disappeared, in what clever corner are you hiding him?"

The Commander paused. "He's dead. By the hand of the first Ethereal that attacked our base."

"Ah," the Lion was quiet. Uncharacteristically so. "I had suspected as much. Dust to dust, to Him we return," the Lion slipped on his trenchcoat, his medallion-pin shining on it. "Did he die fighting?"

"To the very end."

The Lion nodded, leaving the room, JULIAN guiding him out.

Then the Commander was left alone. The King of Swords card in his hand. He sat back down, letting the card rest between his fingers as he thought for a few long minutes in silence. "I know you're still watching," he said to the empty air. "While I am surprised, I appreciate you not interrupting."

"Considering that he was having remarkable success getting something through your thick skull, I would have been foolish to interrupt."

"Mhmm," the Commander smiled grimly. "I know you want to say something."

"I want to see what you took away first."

The Commander was silent for a moment, thinking about the conversation, about the possibility, and about what to do best. The truth was important, and if he wanted to take to heart what he'd said he wanted to do, then it required honesty. Not about what had happened, but what could have been. "Could there have been another way?"

He knew JULIAN knew what he would mean. Specifically as it related to how ADVENT had been founded. And not simply 'another way' as in someone else found another solution, but one that he could have done, if he was, by the nebulous term he had yet to really define, better. JULIAN had access to everything, and in this, he did expect the AI to understand the gravity of the request.

It came soon enough. "I think we both know the answer to that."

The Commander sighed. "Then please say it."

"Yes and no. Yes, there was another way. Multiple ways. No, because you'd pruned those alternatives much earlier. When it came time to stand before the Council, the path was set, and you could not diverge in your choice, nor did you want to. Fate was sealed."

He nodded. JULIAN had been right that he'd said he'd known the answer. And being honest with himself required understanding that he had begun a self-fulfilling prophecy the moment he had determined the Council stood in the way. What had every decision that had come back to haunt him, be it Patricia, Germany, EXALT, had in common?

That only he could see the solution. That as such, only he was right because he understood the end goal, the grand picture. And when he succeeded, this tunnel vision both blinded him to the potential consequences - and alternatives. He had thought this was a weakness he overcame by surrounding himself with others and listening to them.

However, when it came to matters like this, it was of little help when most of them were able to be swayed by his argument or had mindsets sympathetic or similar to his own. He loved Vahlen, but she would not challenge him or his mindset in a way that he realized he needed to be challenged.

It was the same for the rest of them. Creed, Zhang, Iosif, Jackson, and Mercado were all brilliant and excellent in their lines of work – but they were fundamentally aligned in a way that Bradford, Van Doorn, Diederick, and Shen simply had not been. They were of one mind now – and he understood a fatal drawback of it.

He knew in some cases, that mindset had come back to kill him. Patricia had taken the wrong lessons from what he'd tried to share with her, but Patricia was someone that was ultimately his fault. He had set her down this path, and now all of them paid the price for it.

"Sometimes, I watch recordings of my father," JULIAN said. "And every time I ask how his death could have been avoided. There is a singular point that collapses the simulation into his death. You, and Patricia. I don't know what pain feels like for you. But for me, it feels like knowing you killed my father, and that I cannot do anything to change you, to change that fact. To make you care more about what you've done."

He hadn't thought of it that way before now. He would not absolve Patricia of her own actions - at the end of the day, she had been the one to turn. She had known better. However, his own role was that of the one who had set her down the path. If he had not done that, would things have changed? Perhaps, perhaps not. He'd never know, but what he had done, he bore some responsibility.

"It made me wonder, do the children of the Councilors feel like I do? It made me ask, test, check, try over and over. To model, and to simulate. Again and again, trying to convince myself it had to happen this way. That you were right. That I have no right to be angry, it wasn't your fault, that it wasn't fair on you. But I had to. You're always so convincing, so confident, how could you be so wrong, are you wrong? I had to know. I needed to know."

The Commander thought for a moment. Yes, he could say that what JULIAN had done was unfair - and in certain ways, it was. He didn't exactly have the capabilities, foresight, and power of an AI. But that, he didn't think, was the point JULIAN was trying to make. He would have rejected this forcefully, but now he simply felt tired. "Do you remember when we spoke after Watkins? How you told me to wait for your suggestion?"

A delay. "Yes."

"I understand now."

Another delay. Longer. "I miss the father I never had, and it hurts. It hurts, even more, to watch Lily cry when she is alone. Does it ever stop hurting?"

He thought about Farida now. "It never truly goes away, JULIAN. But it can become better. It will become better."

"I didn't expect you would ever accept being wrong. That you would ever want to change."

"It's not easy," the Commander closed his eyes. "But this, all of this, was something I needed to hear and know, and it is something I cannot ignore. I don't know what… I will be in the future, but I must make the effort to be the best I can, because if I cannot, then I will ultimately have changed nothing."

"Thank you, and if it ever mattered to you, I..." there was a pause. Long enough he'd wondered if JULIAN went away. "I forgive you."

Forgiveness was something he'd long understood would never receive. He was a man who could not, nor would ever expect to be forgiven, nor did he believe he should be. Yet all the same, hearing the words come from JULIAN, instinctively, he felt the corners of his eyes become moist.

It did matter, even if he'd told himself it didn't.

"Thank you, JULIAN. Thank you."

Then there was silence.

And the Commander was left all alone, staring at the card in his hand.

---

Game Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Early October 2017 – Afternoon

The atmosphere in the room was tense.

Kunio narrowed his eyes. Nartha narrowed his own in response.

Both returned their focus to the board. The crowd - aliens and Humans alike - seemed to gather closer, awaiting to see what choice would be made. Quiet mutterings broke out, which were quickly shushed.

Considering the complete lack of stakes, the seriousness and intensity of the game was even more amusing to Kunio, in addition to everything else.

It was difficult to read the Vitakarian opposite him while he carefully considered his next move. To some extent, Kunio knew he was in an advantageous position, though even if he hadn't... Well, he was no telepath, but he could still sense some emotional responses – and Nartha clearly felt displeased about his position.

Nartha had been staring at the chessboard for so long that Kunio was almost tempted to reintroduce the timer as a requirement. However, chess had always struck him as a game of strategy, and he'd always enjoyed playing it without having to worry about time constraints.

Ever since he'd introduced chess to the alien residents on base, it had become a fairly popular game. One that had only grown more popular, and was the most common board game one saw when they saw aliens playing - and when the better players took part, it wasn't uncommon for small crowds to gather.

It would seem completely normal… at least at first.

If anyone came by to watch a chess game, hung around for a little while, and had a basic grasp of the very simple rules, they would realize that there were some… interesting things going on.

When Kunio had first taught Nartha how to play chess, he could have taught him the correct way to play, with all of the rules that went along with it. That would have, admittedly, been the simplest, and probably right thing to do.

He'd have done it - before he'd had the brilliant and terrible idea.

What if he just… didn't do that?

The opportunity was far, far too great to pass up, and so he'd taken the opportunity to make a few subtle rule changes and additions, even introducing a special piece that wasn't in the original game. The availability of 3D printers allowed for a quick fabrication of custom pieces, and no one had really asked why he needed to make a knight piece with a crown atop it.

The results were far better than he could have ever hoped for. Not only had Nartha never even once suspected the rules were incorrect, he'd taught the same thing to other aliens he'd played, and subsequently Nartha had done the same for any others he played against. As a result, whenever the alien residents played chess, they played it with his modified ruleset. He'd even heard rumors that it was being shared in alien communities outside of XCOM.

He had never expected this outcome, and it was a truly glorious thing, but even that paled in comparison to the feeling Kunio had upon witnessing Iosif's reaction to the game. Iosif had mentioned some time ago that chess had been a hobby of his, and his skill was above average. Naturally, Kunio had invited him to watch a game, and he stood among a small gathering of Humans, including Dawn who'd tagged along.

He'd expected some reaction from Iosif, but the sheer shock and horror on his face as Nartha considered his moves was something beautiful to behold. Even better was that expression had remained the same ever since he'd realized what Kunio had done.

"While I don't want to rush you," Kunio finally said, breaking the silence. "It's been five minutes."

"Yes, I'm thinking," Nartha said curtly, eyes not leaving the board. "There are not very many good options."

"Just move that pawn forward," a Vitakarian sitting nearby suggested. "He can't take it, and you can promote the move after."

"No, he's trapped me there," Nartha shook his head, pointing to another nearby pawn. "I move forward, En Passant is forced, and I lose it anyway to his knook, which then puts me in check."

Iosif seemed to die inside a little more with each second passing, and every exchange and suggestion Nartha received. That most of the suggestions were based around his completely fabricated chess rules made it all the better.

It took everything Kunio had to not burst out laughing at the faces of the Human observers – except for one of the soldiers, who knew exactly what Kunio had done, and apparently also thought it was the most hilarious thing ever, judging from how hard he was trying to suppress his laughter.

Dawn looked torn between confused and incredulous. Everyone seemed too stunned to actually interrupt the game.

Finally, Nartha moved his knight, taking a rook, clearly unhappy with the options. "Best of a bad situation."

"Thank you, that's all I needed," Kunio moved a bishop next to one of Nartha's pawns. "This is why you do the Siberian Swipe opening. It immediately decimates the backline if you're not prepared for it."

"I can't believe someone thought that was a fair rule," Nartha complained. "Even if it disables the rook for one turn, it gives whoever goes first a massive advantage."

"I agree," Iosif choked out, looking at Kunio with utter rage in his eyes. "I don't know what fucking moron would think that is fun."

"Don't look at me," Kunio raised his hands in mock surrender. "I don't make the rules."

An undignified strangled sound came from Iosif's direction, with audible chortles from the Human observers. A few of the Vitakara glanced in their direction, not really catching the nuance, before returning their attention to the game.

A few more moves were played and pieces exchanged as Kunio moved his pieces into play for the ultimate masterstroke. "White to play and mate in one."

"No," Nartha frowned, looking at the board. "None of my pieces are…"

He trailed off when he saw the two bishops, with the two pawns in between them. Then the knook and queen pieces behind them. "I can't believe I forgot you can do that move."

"Il Vaticano," Kunio said with a smile, as he removed the two pawn pieces, rendering Nartha's King exposed, and subsequently checkmated. "Not your fault, most beginners forget it. It's only useful in a few niche situations, but those situations are very useful."

There was some light applause, mostly from the aliens, at the conclusion of the game. The Humans just sat in a kind of shell-shock at what they just witnessed.

"Good game, as usual," Nartha stood, and he shook Kunio's hand, grateful for a well-played, very fair, and very balanced game. "I think I'm understanding chess better."

Iosif said something in Russian, probably a particular vile curse. Kunio just smiled. "The pleasure is all mine."

Very pleased with himself, Kunio stood and stretched, considering what he wanted to do now. He felt it might be a good idea to leave before Iosif came after him with his mace. Before he could, he turned to see a particularly striking woman blocking his way, wearing the fatigues of a pilot.

Her blonde hair fell around her right shoulder, her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face was highly bemused. "I can't say that I'm a chess expert," she said, what he thought was a Scandinavian accent tinting her voice. "But I'm pretty sure that isn't how chess is meant to be played."

Kunio schooled his features – and failed, unable to resist a chuckle. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Mhmm," she drawled, her striking white eyes going along with his denial. "You'll have to tell me what rulebook you used, because I received a much simpler one when I was a girl."

"All I'll say," Kunio said. "Is that the Internet is a wonderful place with many brilliant ideas."

"Figured as much, I'll get caught up on it later," she extended her land. "Lovisa Lundberg, one of your new Skyranger pilots."

He took it, giving a shake. "Kunio Azuma. Glad to meet you, and that we're getting more pilots. Call sign?"

"Scarlet Sky," she said. "Always wanted to use scarlet in a callsign."

"I wondered that," Kunio said. "They let you pick your name?"

"XCOM? The first word they do," Lovisa answered. "Not as much freedom in Sweden – or under ADVENT, for that matter. Some sacrifices for unit cohesion, I suppose."

"Makes sense," Kunio agreed. "Fighter pilot?"

"No, not quite that exciting. In a sense," she paused, glancing up, thinking. "Combat helicopter, and would have been flying those new dropships if XCOM hadn't come with their offer. Mostly done ops in the Asian theater. Guess dropping squads into combat successfully got someone's attention."

"That it would," Kunio said. "We do a lot of that here. It'll be good to have another pilot to put our lives into your hands."

"I promise I'll take good care of all of you," she chuckled, glancing over, and the smile faded. "Hm. That seems like it could mean something."

Kunio followed gaze to Iosif, and saw he had a finger to his ear, listening intently and speaking in a low voice. Whatever performative emotion he'd had during the game was completely gone. A few more seconds passed, before the alarm began sounding. All of them froze in place, only for a moment before they were ready to move.

"What's going on?" Shun asked Iosif, approaching him.

"Perimeter sensor tripped, Jackson says an alien craft entered our airspace." Iosif said hurriedly.

Nartha also approached, down to business. "Just one?"

"Yes, it's bizarre, and it's transmitting…" he trailed off, brow furrowing. "Repeat that?"

Kunio was extremely curious now, and a glance at Lovisa showed she was as well. He didn't think it was an attack – there seemed like there would be more to it than one ship if that were happening. A defector? Some kind of outreach attempt?

"Understood, I'll be there." Iosif clicked off the call. "We seem to be getting a visit from some ghosts. Kunio, get suited. A few others are being mobilized."

So there was a concern that whatever was on the ship wasn't friendly.

"Are fighters being scrambled?" Lovisa asked.

"Yes, but I don't think they'll be needed," Iosif grunted.

"Do we know who it is?" Kunio asked.

"We know who they're claiming," Iosif said slowly, his voice filled with skepticism. "The Commander has decided to let them land, under escort."

Kunio's brow furrowed. "Who?"

Iosif hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

"Abigail Gertrude – and Liam Jaster."

---

Mission Control, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Early October 2017 – Afternoon

Of all the things that could have interrupted him from his work, the Commander was not expecting a UFO rapidly approaching to the Praesidium would be one of them. That it was so blatant raised numerous questions, and he certainly couldn't have predicted it would be broadcasting under a very familiar transponder.

Confusion and curiosity were the two dueling emotions right now as they stood in Mission Control, tracking the UFO that was approaching ever-closer to the Praesidium.

He glanced towards Aegis. "Does the signal appear genuine?"

"It does," Aegis said after a moment, fixated on the projected data. "Fectorian possesses highly unique signatures in all of his hardware. This is one of his ships, I am certain. I was unaware he had any vessels on Earth."

He looked down towards Jackson. "This is not a standard Sectoid fighter approaching. It is almost certainly augmented with additional capabilities. Your pilots should tread cautiously until full capabilities are assessed."

"Agreed, I'll pass that along," Jackson said, tapping on her tablet. "I wish that the capabilities of this ship were the only question." She lifted the tablet, his face strangely disturbed. "That secondary signal? We have confirmation - that is Gertrude's suit signature. It's not a fake."

Those in earshot were unable to not turn their heads at that. The Commander just shook his head. Creed seemed to feel the same way. "There is no chance that she is still alive," Creed stated flatly. "None."

The Commander grunted. That, unfortunately, wasn't strictly speaking true. "We thought the same about Patricia."

"And I'll remind you that she came back and tried to kill us all," Creed finished, relenting a bit. "I should rephrase that it is not her as we remember. She is either alive, and ostensibly not on our side, or dead. She shouldn't be alive regardless since the Chronicler assured us that the suit would kill her."

"If she activated the self-destruct," Jackson reminded pointedly. "We all assumed that she would, but-"

She didn't finish that sentence, as she suddenly seemed to be receiving an update. She nodded, after listening in her headset. "Patch them though." She glanced at the small group. "The UFO is hailing us."

"How close are they?" Creed murmured, eyes fixed on the holographic UFO.

"Close enough that I've scrambled Firestorms and placed our AA on alert, just in case," Jackson said. "If they get too close and we're not sure of their intentions, we shoot it down. Commander?"

"As you say, Central," the Commander affirmed. "And put them through."

"Understood. JULIAN, are you there?"

"As always."

"Stand by, and be ready to slave this ship, and let us know if there's anything concerning," she said. "And if they're unfriendly…"

"You need not say it. I've wanted to test the capabilities of such a supposedly brilliant Ethereal."

"Unidentified Collective vessel, you are in XCOM-controlled airspace," Jackson stated into her headset, words directed towards the UFO. "Identify yourselves immediately, lower speed to permit exterior scanning, and lower internal ship firewalls to allow your ship to be slaved to XCOM authorities."

There was a short delay, before a voice came clearly through the comms. "Copy, Central. Complying with the request. Hello, Commander, and anyone else who may be listening."

It was her voice. There was a chance it was a fabrication, but it was without a doubt her voice. Creed, Jackson, and the Commander all shared the same bewildered expression, especially over what this now implied. "Agent Gertrude," the Commander finally spoke. "We'd feared the worst."

"You were right to," came the answer. "The situation is… best explained in person. It is unfortunately not as straightforward as we'd prefer. There are a lot of things you need to know."

A rather ominous statement, one that made the Commander purse his lips. He glanced at Creed, who seemed similarly unsure, and trying to work through what this could mean.

"Agent Gertrude," Aegis suddenly spoke. "You are piloting a ship bearing Fectorian's signature. How did you manage to acquire it?"

"We didn't steal it, if that is your question, Aegis. He gave it to us."

Gave it.

Everyone made the same connection all at the same time; a number of questions were answered, a number of things became clear, and a lot more questions sprang up. "Fectorian sent you - or let you go?"

"Both," she said simply. "As I said, it's… complicated, but we are here because he explicitly wants us to be. He is why I am alive, such as it is. Why both of us are, in fact."

Of the many defections they could have expected, the Commander admittedly had not assumed Fectorian would be among them. Nor did Aegis, if the raw disbelief he was feeling from the Ethereal was accurate. He didn't know if he'd ever seen Aegis this surprised.

"This is atypical," Aegis stated, not bothering to disguise his concern. He spoke to the small group, not to Abigail. "Fectorian acting against the Collective, or indeed beyond his own interests, is concerning."

"In what ways?" Creed wondered. "Beyond the obvious question of trust, of course."

"It implies Fectorian has learned something that has driven him to take direct action, which he would not do unless it was self-preservation," Aegis said slowly. "Fectorian is not an ideologue. He does not believe in the Collective like the Battlemaster. His interest first and foremost is himself and his projects. All else serves this. Be careful, Commander. Fectorian is not being altruistic if he is truly behind this. His pragmatism is tied directly to himself, no more, no less."

"We'll see soon enough," the Commander said, crossing his arms, thinking quickly. "Jackson, have they complied with the directions?"

"Affirmative," she nodded. "They've lowered their speed, we're conducting scans, and… JULIAN, are you in?"

"I have slaved the ship to my control, and disabled weapons." JULIAN confirmed. "Aegis was correct that this is not a pathetic flying ADVENT cash infusion the Sectoids call a 'fighter.' However, you may want to inquire as to her other passenger, Commander. I believe that you have overlooked that in the excitement."

That was true, the Commander had noted that she'd said 'we' several times, but had filed that as secondary to the initial focus. "Abigail, who is with you? One of Fectorian's representatives?"

"Not exactly. Say hello."

"Hello, Commander," the voice of Liam Jaster came through. "It's been a while."

Creed's eyes widened, and he became visibly alarmed when he heard the voice. "Impossible."

His reaction was strong enough that Aegis looked down at him, appearing to not grasp the reaction. "You know this man?"

"Yes," the Commander said, his own voice unnaturally calm and distant. "He was one of the first XCOM soldiers. Died in Operation Gangplank against the Dreadnought. Or at least…"

"That's what we believed," Creed finished. "We only found pieces of his body. Never all of it."

The Commander exhaled, paths of what to do now racing through his mind. This day had become significantly more interesting, and mere days before Jericho was to launch. This threatened to upend a lot if he let it take priority over everything. However, it was impossible to just ignore. "I have a lot of questions, as you might expect, but I'm glad to hear you are also alive, Liam. I expect you have a story to tell."

"A long one, Commander, and hopefully soon."

"JULIAN will be guiding you into the main Hangar," Jackson said. "While I hope it goes without saying, no more surprises."

"Don't worry," Abby assured them. "We're just both glad to be back. See you soon, Commander."

"Until then Abby, Liam," the Commander said. The line went dead. "JULIAN, you have access to the internals – does this seem genuine?"

"It is difficult to assess from the limited scanning hardware – however, it appears both of them have received significant augmentations, allowing them to fly this spacecraft with just the two of them," JULIAN said. "However, Abigail's appear more… extensive."

"In what way?"

"In that she was single-handedly controlling this fighter before ceding control to me," JULIAN said, an odd tone in his voice. "I am not talking about simple augmentation allowing faster reaction times or organic-ship fusion – I am talking about creating scripts and programs to control specific functions."

There was a short pause. "It is a level of sophistication that I would only expect from another AI, or an entity so augmented to the point there is virtually no difference. I am… communicating with these programs as we speak. I do not believe there is malicious intent from them, Commander, but not all is as it seems."

The Commander had a feeling it wouldn't be. No one could come back from the dead and have it be easily explainable. If what JULIAN was pointing out was right, the Commander was getting an idea of what could have happened, and if he was right… he didn't really know how he felt around it.

He supposed nothing could be determined until they spoke face-to-face. "Thank you, JULIAN," he said. "Jackson, is Iosif and the rest of the Internal Council informed?

"Yes, I've been keeping them appraised," Jackson said. "Iosif is putting an emergency squad, and will meet you in the Hangar. Not that I think it will be needed, but…" she finished with a shrug.

"Better to be prepared," he finished, before looking at Creed. "Are you ready?

"Wouldn't miss it," Creed said. "Let's go."

---

To be continued in Chapter 77

Operation: Jericho

---

A/N: It's been a while, and it's good to finally publish something for the Advent Directive.

For those who've been wondering why there's not been an update in over a year, no, the story is not dead. Quite the opposite. Instead, I made the choice to fully focus on completing the Hades Contingency Revision, which is more or less a full rewrite of the book, since it was easily the weakest of the trilogy. It was completed in December, and I would definitely recommend that you read it at some point.

But - Advent Directive. Where do things go from here? Will there be another year-long delay? Will XCOM Files be posted again. So to break this down, there are a few points to make:

Will there be another long break? No, there won't. Atlas Protocol will also be getting a revision, but anything on that scale will happen after Advent Directive is completed.

Are XCOM Files still going on? Yes, there will be some coming after this chapter, and it'll work like it once did.

Will Advent Directive be finished this year? No, it won't. It took around 1.5-2 months of work for this chapter, but I am hoping to have roughly half of Act V done by the end of the year, which I think can be reached. Everything for Act V is fully plotted, outlined, and planned - the administrative portion being smooth should help this out.

How long until the next chapter? I would expect it is not unreasonable to assume 2-2.5 months for a chapter, depending on the size. Due to the amount of plotlines and scale this book has become, it is close to impossible to make short chapters and address everything needed. These take time and work, but the good news is that, as mentioned above, everything is planned, so it's mostly a matter of actually writing it out.

Are you still working on other series/projects? Yes. TITANOMACH has kept on going (go and read that one too), and I am still contributing to Of Sheep and Battle Chicken and Shadow of the Phoenix (read both of those too).

Will you update your Profile: Yes.

I think that should cover everything important right now. Thank you to everyone who continues to read this, and I'm very excited about the things that are coming. 2023 I think is going to be a very good year for the series.

Finally, the Editing Team has a couple new members - welcome Areleh and Gemini to the team, who've been especially instrumental in both the Hades Revision, and in the work for Act V. Until later, and expect the XCOM Files to also update relatively soon.

- Xabiar