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.

81. Daggers to the Hearts - Part I

Act V | Cataclysm

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Daggers to the Hearts - Part I

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ADVENT American Command, Virginia – United States of America

Early October 2017 – Morning

In the days since the launch of the Rapture Campaign, Saudia and many other ADVENT officials and officers had spent long days and nights awaiting every update with trepidation and bated breath. Each success met with cheers, while each roadblock met with a tense, frustrated silence.

The good news was that the victories far outweighed the stumbles.

Riding off the success of XCOM's Operation Jericho had been another massive morale boost, and while Saudia hadn't yet considered the ramifications of the influx of Mutons into ADVENT, she was fully confident ADVENT could absorb more than a few to help things progress. The optical and intelligence victory more than made up for any potential costs.

The AEGIS Division was handling the exact details concerning integration, and she would visit the newly-established Muton refugee territory soon. She'd already given a short speech on the operation and what had been found, before returning to stay abreast of all the developments of Rapture which routinely came by the hour, too much to properly keep up with.

All the same, it was safe to say that the momentum was firmly in their favor. ADVENT Intelligence hadn't even needed to execute their various psychological operations they'd prepared to boost morale in the event of stagnation or defeats. The social media storm was self-sustaining thanks to PATRIOT, who herself pointed out that she'd not had to even do much since there was so much organic engagement.

Big and small victories alike. Today she was going to get the big picture of where things stood, and where they were going. It was good to take a breath, as she knew there were other matters that would demand her attention, and she wouldn't be able to devote the same long hours to Rapture going forward.

The group that had assembled was fairly small, but comprised of individuals who were in the know as to what was going on, and were ready to paint a picture of the new situation across the frontlines. Commander Christiaens was elsewhere in America directly managing operations, and in her place was Army-Commander Kidon.

Most of the Generals in charge of the respective Operations were unable to attend in person, but other Generals had been sent in their place with the latest information. General Meredith Bell from the Second Canadian Legion was appointed by General Horne, a veteran of several decades with the Canadian military, and the first woman to reach that rank. She was to speak for Operation Metacomet.

General Umberto Laguna from the First Colombian Legion was to provide the update for Operation Bayano, who'd been working closely with General Vila, to the point where the two were interchangeable as far as operational planning and knowledge went. He was more unproven than most of the equivalent military officers in the West were - but he'd been instrumental in reorganizing the Colombian military to bring it up to ADVENT standards.

General Serhij Borysenko however, was here in person, and from his demeanor he appeared to be very pleased about what he had to share. Saudia had known that Operation Tryzub was making significant progress, even as it hadn't gained as much attention as the American counteroffensives.

Director Powell and Chief Kyong were also in attendance, interested in the latest updates and the ramifications for their respective agencies. "While I'm hesitant to jinx it, Chancellor," Kidon opened as they stood around the holotable. "I would say that the Rapture Campaign is off to a good start."

"You jinxed it," Bell immediately deadpanned. "Thanks for that."

There were a few chuckles around the room, as Kidon's lips twitched. "In all seriousness, we've met or exceeded our initial projections in each theatre to one degree or another. I'll turn it over to the respective individuals to give their briefings. General Bell, you may begin."

"Army-Commander," Bell acknowledged with a nod, as the holotable lit up, showing the pre-operational territory of ADVENT in red, and the Collective in purple. The territory that had been reclaimed was colored yellow, which to Saudia's notice was not as significant as some margins she personally favored, since it only extended a short, overall distance westward – however, it was across vast swathes of the front.

A complete breakthrough, or a total collapse in the Collective's lines.

Most excellent.

Perhaps better than she'd even hoped.

"The Collective appears to have been completely caught off-guard in America," Bell stated. "I'm not going to say that it was completely flawless – there were some positions that were harder to take than others, but the line was universally broken and we are advancing."

"Where was resistance concentrated?" Powell asked.

"In the far north and far south, primarily," she answered, highlighting the respective regions. "Terrain and urban centers were the primary factors slowing us, while the Midwest is…well, fairly empty. It wasn't difficult to disrupt logistics, and encircle the few areas the Collective had established outposts in. The same for northern Canada – there simply isn't much there, and we were able to retake large swathes without much resistance."

"A good start," Saudia congratulated. "Well done."

"Thank you, Chancellor, but as much as I hate to say it, this was probably the easy part," she said with some reservation. "We'll probably have a steady advance until we reach further west – likely near the border of Colorado and Kansas, where terrain will become more of an issue – as well as Collective defenses. They've had significantly more time to entrench themselves along the West Coast. Those will be harder to take, but they might make mistakes we can exploit."

Saudia nodded; she'd expected as much from the preliminary planning. The further west they went, the more difficult it would be. The Rocky Mountains would add a further complication to the next stages of the operation. Yet it would be taken, she was certain. "Understood. Casualties?"

"Fewer than anticipated – it's good news all around," Bell confirmed. "Troops are in high spirits, and we're working to keep it that way. Overall – Metacomet has exceeded our projections by several factors, and we're intending to keep it that way."

"That's the type of news we like to hear," Kyong nodded approvingly. "With your approval, or General Horne's, I'd like some soldiers and officers to speak to ANN on the status, if you want. I'm sure we can also get some journalists to tag along some of the safer fronts."

"I'll talk to Horne, but I doubt he'll have a problem with letting the troops brag a bit and show off," Bell said. "I'll find some of my own; get a mixture of Canadian, American, and Mexican nationals. I'll want the full range represented – especially the Mexican Legions, since our success in the southern US is largely thanks to them."

"Of course," Kyong made a note. "I'm more than willing to work with that, and I'll speak to Horne for his input as well."

"While that is worked out; General Laguna, your report?" Kidon asked, moving the briefing along.

"Certainly," Laguna cleared his throat. "Chancellor, Operation Bayano is proceeding roughly within expectations. While I cannot claim the level of success that my colleagues have achieved, I will stress that we are achieving steady progress, and are on the predetermined pace for operational victory."

Saudia nodded slightly, her face a neutral mask as she gestured for him to continue.

"Strides have been made in fully reclaiming Brazil," he said, as the holotable shifted to South America, reflecting the current status of the operation and territorial control. "I will note that the initial thrusts were to reclaim and restore Brazilian and Peruvian territorial integrity, and we are significantly closer to achieving both of these objectives within expected timeframes."

"Is there a reason the operation has been more difficult?" Saudia wondered, not failing to note that the progress was particularly reduced compared to North America.

"Several reasons, Chancellor," Laguna's lips pursed. "It should not be controversial to say that South America, in contrast to its cousin in the north, is a significantly poorer continent overall, with a chaotic political scene, fractured governments and militaries, and a more dense, inhospitable terrain… It is no exaggeration to say before today that the continent is a mess." But there was a military grin that overcame him. "But there's progress for us all yet."

He shook his head and refocused on the report. "ADVENT has been able to bring some much-needed stability and accountability, politically speaking, but the rest of it…that takes time, and most resources have not been going to bringing the region up to modern standards. Between the poor development, terrain, and weather, this makes South America, in my professional opinion, the worst theatre of this war."

He indicated the map. "Mountains, jungles, rainforests; heat exacerbated by humidity. Worse, there is little functioning infrastructure to navigate it. Moving a modern military force is borderline impossible in more than a few areas due to the terrain, forcing us to move slowly as we build or repair, or risk moving forward and being cut off or trapped."

"I've been to the South American fronts," Kidon said, face grim. "It's not an exaggeration to say that this is our modern Pacific theatre. Even Southeast Asia is more tolerable right now where the fighting is concentrated. South America is inhospitable, humid, and a miserable experience all around. Legions deployed in the region hold the highest rate of attrition ADVENT-wide, and we have to continually rotate them out before they become non-functional."

"It doesn't help that the Collective has figured this out, and has entrenched themselves well," Laguna grunted. "The Mutons can handle the environment better than Humans, and they've organized themselves into strike forces that are focused on harassment, sabotage, and assassination rather than conventional engagements. Whoever they have down there is good at their job. We'll break through, but it's going to be grueling."

"What do you need?" Saudia asked. "I can see what additional resources we can allocate."

"Engineers; civil, electrical, structural. Construction workers of all trades. Environmental scientists, geologists; anyone that knows what's safe and where to stand so you don't drop dead – people who can help us quickly build sustainable supply lines, and protect them from Collective guerillas," Laguna rattled off, almost immediately. "The more we have, the more we can advance."

"I'll see what we can do," Saudia promised.

"We have several clone batches nearly ready to deploy," Powell noted. "Given how the other fronts are going, the bulk being sent to support Bayano is feasible."

"Good point, I'll speak to Christiaens about allocation," Saudia agreed. "Thank you for the update, General, do not hesitate to ask for what you need."

"Thank you, Chancellor, and I'll make sure General Vila also understands this," Laguna affirmed before stepping back.

"Now, General Borysenko?" Kidon asked.

"Glad to end on a high note," Borysenko said with a smile, as the map changed – and Saudia blinked as she saw that nearly all of Ukraine had been retaken.

"Now," Borysenko held up a hand. "We know the Collective has been entrenching their forces in Ukraine following the previous negotiations, even as they'd retained staging grounds. Unfortunately for them, we accelerated their plans, even as the majority of Ukraine is in our control."

"Except for a few regions," Saudia noted, looking closer at the map.

"Yes sir," Borysenko said. "Several oblasts and respective cities along the coast of the Black Sea remain in Collective hands. The Crimean, Odesan, and Kherson oblasts remain largely under occupation, and unlike most of the territory the alien controlled, these ones are heavily fortified and the Collective has been surging overwhelming support to the remaining outposts."

A smile crossed his face. "Rumor has it – and I don't know if Powell can confirm – that the Battlemaster himself has been personally making sure that the Ukrainian front doesn't fall. Intel taken from intercepted comms and field interrogations, not sure if it's true, but it seems a lot of the Collective believes it is. Or they're clinging to hope."

"I have no confirmation that the Battlemaster has personally returned to that front," Powell said. "But I can confirm that the Battlemaster has been issuing orders concerning the forces in the region. Given how close it is to falling, this is unsurprising."

"Point being, we have them pinned to a corner," Borysenko continued. "Given the degree of fortifications, static defenses, and artillery, we're going to need some very heavy, and very specialized forces to crack it – but good luck to them breaking out of the box we trapped them in."

"Specifically which ones?" Saudia asked. "Psionic? Special forces? XCOM?"

"All of the above?" Borysenko chuckled. "Practically speaking, we are going to need massed artillery along the front lines to maintain pressure, missile strikes to augment that, and once we have them softened up, psions at several points for breakthroughs will be necessary. If XCOM wants to join the party, they can be my guest."

"I would also suggest support from the ADVENT Navy to apply pressure from the Black Sea," Kidon added. "Only at certain intervals, given the inherent vulnerability of the naval forces, but hitting them from that angle would also be viable."

"I have an additional point of note," Powell cleared his throat, turning to Saudia. "I believe that the fusion bomb tests have reached their second stage according to reports from the Kazakh testing sites. Given the…hardiness of the defenses, I might propose we consider a field test in Ukraine."

"The fusion nukes are almost ready?" Borysenko raised an eyebrow. "News to me, Chancellor."

"Tests have been ongoing," Saudia said slowly, returning to address Powell. "And very low-profile given the implications. That decision would be up to the General. These have never been field tested, and even if they worked as advertised – they would destroy most of these cities outright if employed."

"I'll need to look at the specs to decide for sure, but as far as destruction goes…" he paused. "Chancellor, I'm as attached to our cities as any other citizen, but if it's a choice between a ruin, and my country being in alien hands, I'll take the ruin. We can rebuild. We can't enjoy an intact city under occupation."

"There is also the matter of civilians," Kidon added. "The Collective is not putting them in direct harm, but they have nowhere to evacuate to except offworld, and can't exactly wander around. Any direct strike on the cities would almost certainly kill anyone still there."

Borysenko's face darkened, losing most of its cheer. "That as well, which is why I've been hesitant to employ napalm, phosphorus, and cluster bombs yet. At the same time, that can't stall the offensive entirely."

A sigh escaped him. "Some difficult choices to make, regardless if fusion bombs become available. Tryzub will be successful, Chancellor. It's only a matter of time."

"Thank you," Saudia said, turning back to Kidon. "Army-Commander, anything else?"

"Only a few notes, Chancellor," Kidon consulted his tablet. "Speaking of field tests, the Revenant Project is approaching a stage to begin proper field trials. I'm sure there is no shortage of operations we can utilize them for, if they're everything as advertised."

"How soon?" Powell asked.

"Within several weeks, at most," he said. "I'd consult with the Revenant lead if you want specifics. Some are more ready than others."

"Good news, I'm sure we can find a good use for them." Saudia nodded.

"Secondly, while the SAS has been quiet, it's likely to not stay that way," Kidon continued. "Powell can add to this if he wants, but there has been steady buildup of forces within SAS territory, along with internal reorganizations we're not clear the extent of."

"Given the increased number of alien forces, materials, and equipment, it appears the Collective is either losing patience with Betos, and de-facto assuming control of their military operations – or they were requested to surge support," Powell said. "We're…unsure as to the exact internal situation in the SAS right now. Only that since Kaan arrived, things have been changing."

Saudia's brow furrowed as she asked, "In what way?"

"In that there is someone who knows what they're doing making decisions now," Powell said. "I doubt it's solely Kaan, but our sources are disappearing, our previous methods are returning little useful intelligence, their own counterintelligence and logistics have been shored up, and internal discontent is lowering."

"Guess it was too much to hope that they'd remain incompetent forever," Kidon sighed. "Scipio being put on pause gave them time to shape up."

"Are we expecting a counteroffensive?" Saudia asked.

"Very possible, especially if the Collective is fully supplying them," Powell said. "The Collective has enough to scale to whatever numbers the SAS can scrounge. We know that alien officers are being integrated into the SAS – if we start seeing Runianarch or Mutons in the mix, we should be prepared."

"Pass that on to the Scipio officers to prepare for the possibility," Saudia ordered. "Watkins is nearly finished based on what I've been told, and once it's done, we can move forward. I concur that Africa can't remain stalled for much longer."

"As do we all," Kidon said. "That concludes our briefing, Chancellor."

"Thank you," she repeated. "And as I said – if additional support is needed, make it known, and I will do my best to rectify it. Otherwise, dismissed, and good hunting."

They saluted her, before departing to return to their duties.

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Integration Coordination Center, Paperclip Base – Classified Location

Early October 2017 – Morning

It had been a hectic few days following Jericho's conclusion. Even if XCOM was managing only a small fraction of the rescued Mutons, there were still dozens that needed to be cared and accounted for – especially since a large majority of them were adolescents and infants. Paperclip Base was handling the majority of accommodations, while the Praesidium was managing their own share.

Nartha had come to several conclusions after days of work and recovery.

The first was that Muton infants were much heavier than they had any right to be.

The second was that they were going to need a lot of infant food.

The third was that the Muton women were some of the toughest, hardest working people he'd ever seen.

Mutons were strong, hardy, and had an incredible work ethic. Over the previous few days Nartha had seen Mutons working until they effectively couldn't, collapsing into piles on the floor, and awakening again with the same level of energy before getting back to work. Humans had called it 'power napping' which based on the description, sounded just like what most of the Mutons had been doing.

Spartacus had done a lot of work himself, and he'd been regularly going between the two XCOM bases, as well as the location ADVENT was using to house the Mutons under their care. Gateways were wonderful things, and had allowed him to quickly establish a working administration for the Mutons.

Since the overwhelming majority of Muton adults were women, usually three or four of the most able and senior women were placed in charge of large groups, and from there delegated tasks.

Most of the work revolved around making sure the infants were taken care of, that there was shelter, food, and water for all the Mutons, and that there was a clear line of communication to report needs or problems to ADVENT, XCOM, or Spartacus. The females were mostly taking care of the children, while the older adolescent males did most of the manual labor involved.

There was a kind of hierarchy starting to emerge for the entire Muton…it wasn't really a state, nor even a power yet, but there was something that was going to come from it, which Spartacus was building. Now he expected he would learn more of it, since Spartacus had asked to speak with him.

In the makeshift office he held within Paperclip base, which was bereft of most accommodations besides some basic electronics and furniture, Spartacus stood with a Muton woman just slightly larger than he was by his side. The Muton woman was clearly one of the older ones, judging from her demeanor and size. Upon entering the office, Spartacus inclined his head in greeting.

"Nartha, welcome. Your support, and that of Chimera, has been invaluable," he said as they settled in. "As is the support from ADVENT and XCOM. I've said this to the Commander, but I wish you to convey it as well."

"Thank you," Nartha answered, turning his attention to the woman. "An advisor, I assume? I don't believe we've been introduced."

"A crude word, but one that is sufficient," the Muton woman rumbled. "It is a position I…find myself in. Authority. I have retained my sanity, and work to ascertain my purpose here."

He nodded, the cadence and fluidity of her speech indicating that she was familiar speaking Ethereal Script. He knew that English and other Human languages were being psionically imprinted, but it wasn't widespread yet. "Your name?"

She grunted. "I have no name, not a true one. There were the numbers the Collective gave me, but all names given to us were ones for slaves and inferior species. I have discarded mine, as have the women who are liberated. We will find our true names soon, I am sure of it."

"Some sooner than others," Spartacus rumbled with a tinge of tired sorrow. "The younger and…less scarred ones are finding new names to claim for themselves. Ones who have only borne a small number of sons and daughters, or the truly fortunate who have not birthed children at all."

Nartha found the idea of those only birthing a small number of children to be the supposed 'lucky ones' to be…unnerving and uncomfortable in a very specific way. Yet he also knew that it was true, and he could only guess as to how old the other Muton woman was, but if she was even only a few years older, it was conceivable that she had borne hundreds of children.

Many of whom were likely dead, and certainly lost.

"Today, though, I want to discuss the future," Spartacus said. "Specifically our future contributions to the war effort in XCOM. For now, I see Chimera as where our soldiers will fight, until we are large enough in numbers to be properly integrated into ADVENT's war effort."

Nartha nodded, not surprised. "I assume that they'll mostly be the adolescents, after a few more months of acclimation?"

"No," the older woman rumbled. "They will be myself, and the many other mothers who have awaited the days when we can be unleashed on the Collective, and exact our retribution. The Collective sees us as rampaging berserkers, useful once they have weaponized our abuse. The pain inflicted on us, we will ensure will be repaid a hundredfold."

Nartha frowned, not expecting the intensity. "I…mean this as respectfully as I can, but is that a good idea so soon? Your children need their mothers."

"There are enough mothers and older children to care for them," she stated after a moment. "Many mothers lost their children. Some are too old. Some see their purpose as war now, not child-rearing. Your concern is noted, but irrelevant. We will fight, and when the male adolescents are ready, they will join us. Our species has us now - and we avenge each child taken from us, each mother raped, exploited and slaughtered, and each son turned into a slave."

The Muton became tense, her hands curled into fists. "We will not stop until they are drowned in blood, and the Collective lies in splinters. Only when they comprehend just an ounce of what they've taken from us, will our revenge be satisfied, and our mothers and sisters can rest."

Nartha nodded slowly, unable to really be surprised by, or at the hatred in her voice. "If that is your choice, then we will work on integration. I will speak to Dr. Mercado, and Dr. Vahlen, about developing Muton-specific equipment. What we have now would not be fitting."

"I'd be surprised if it was," she said. "Ensure that I speak to these individuals too. There are some women who possess the interest and knowledge to properly advise the Humans on what we need. I will take them to these engineers."

"You will have the opportunity," Spartacus rumbled. "This is why I wanted you here, Nartha. My people will not remain out of this fight, now that we have the gift of choice. One day, we will fight under our own banner. For now, we fight with our liberators."

"An honorable choice," Nartha inclined his head. "I will see it done. Let's discuss more details."

---

Situation Room, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Early October 2017 – Afternoon

While it was far from what he'd consider the cleanest or most pleasant mission, a mission complete was still a mission complete.

And all things considered, it had turned out quite good.

Barring some developments and outcomes that had cropped up in the mission, and its aftermath.

The Commander had spent more than a few hours now reviewing the compiled reports, debriefings, and intelligence that had been gathered following the completion of Operation Jericho. There'd been…a lot to go through, far more than most operations.

It wasn't a particularly surprising development. A lot had happened during the operation, some of which had been expected, and a large portion that hadn't.

Overall, the mission was a clear success. Their primary objective of evacuating as many Mutons as possible had been achieved beyond what they'd estimated even in the best-case scenarios. They'd left with both liberated Mutons and Collective captives, not to mention copious amounts of intelligence, and a Lesser Hive Commander of all things in tow.

Though there'd been more than a few elements that hadn't gone as well as planned.

The most concerning was the Chronicler being drawn into a trap, one that had been close to working, were it not for Fiona's intervention. That near-miss had been a very concerning development, much as the Chronicler had tried to downplay it. It told the Commander that while T'Leth was confident, arrogant even, about his ability to handle the danger Mosrimor posed, his Sovereign rival was clearly willing and able to exploit that.

He could only hope that T'Leth took the lesson to heart – and the Chronicler for that matter. Mosrimor taking such a direct role was a telling development, and portended more such interventions in the future. They would need to properly account for this.

Then there was the situation with the JULIAN fork. According to Iosif, it had managed to alert him that it had fallen victim to a honeypot, and was subsequently lost within the Collective networks. It had been so quick and effective that JULIAN had stated his belief that the Collective had begun employing an AI of their own. A true AI – not a virtual intelligence that they were so used to.

Another concerning, if perhaps inevitable, development. If they were using a true AI, the Commander suspected they'd be seeing much more of it soon, and while he doubted the Collective was going to be as considerate of their AIs as ADVENT, he was sure it would be effective.

On ADVENT's side, the Pantheon had run into a few issues of their own, primarily in the form of the First Guardian. From their own report, they'd been successful in achieving their own objective, even as they suffered some casualties of their own. A successful operation for them as well, and he'd sent his own well-wishes to the wounded, as well as agreeing to assist in what manner they could in the recovery efforts for ARES.

All things considered, the issues that had arisen were far outweighed by the positives - but there were things that needed to be discussed all the same.

With a couple days of managing the aftermath, the Internal Council was once more assembled. Things were far more stable and quiet, and they had a much better idea of where things stood, what needed to be done, and the lessons to learn.

"I believe we are in a good state to assess Operation Jericho, the developments since then, and future steps," he opened, as they stood around the holotable. "Some decisions need to start being made, and appropriate actions taken. We can start with something relatively straightforward. Vahlen, the status of our Sectoid friend?"

"Calm, remarkably polite, and has not caused any disruption," Vahlen answered with a cautious tinge to her voice; whatever they had expected from a Sectoid captive, this was decidedly not it. "There has been little change since he was placed in Alien Containment. Camera feeds are constant, but he's mostly spent his time in some kind of meditation, while occasionally eating the food provided."

"What are we going to do with him?" Jackson wondered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't like the idea of listening to an offer from it."

The Commander wasn't exactly thrilled either, but the wariness was also tinged with curiosity simply from how bizarre this situation was. "Given that he voluntarily surrendered, I'm going to hear what he has to say," the Commander said. "Depending on how that goes, we'll either consider it, or Vahlen will learn what she can from him."

"Agreed," Zhang's arms were crossed. "This one is unusually willing to talk, and almost certainly more intelligent than any Sectoid we've encountered before – barring the Hive Commanders themselves. We'll need to tread carefully."

"I wonder if this could portend a schism in the Sectoids," Feng murmured, almost to himself. "I see little reason why they would wish a dialogue if such was not a possibility. Nartha, do you have an idea of what this could mean?"

A shake of the head from the Vitakarian. "Prior to this I would have told you the idea of the Hive Commanders splitting over any reason is out of the question. They…don't do that. They're not like our species. Unity isn't just a social agreement for them, it's a state of being. The Lesser Hive Commanders are a recent development, so I can't give any insight on if that changes things."

"It could simply be a deception," Zhang pointed out. "An entity intending to achieve nothing but cause division, strife, and disinformation."

"Pointless," Feng shook his head. "They would know we are able to verify everything psionically. Any plot would be discovered."

"You presume that the Hive Commanders would keep to the promises they allow their thralls to say," Zhang said. "This Sectoid may not know it has been tampered with – or worse has been given completely false information that it believes is true."

Feng considered that. "A fair point, Director. However, I would prefer we speak to it, before making any permanent judgements."

"We'll conduct the interrogation shortly," the Commander assured him. "Now, Jackson, how are we doing with space in the Praesidium, and our various alien guests?"

"Things are a lot more stable and organized now," Jackson ran a hand through her hair. "Right now we're facilitating transitions between the Praesidium and Paperclip, and the territory ADVENT is using for the creation of a central Muton…authority, you could say. We're working on sending the mothers with children to ADVENT, and keeping the ones who want to fight."

"Thank you, Jackson," Nartha continued. "I've been working closely with Spartacus to determine the next steps, particularly for the Mutons who want to fight. A majority of the older trainees, and healthy females, are intending to stay behind. Spartacus is helping to organize the training, and assembling a small cadre of Mutons to help manage the soldiers and the civilians in and outside of XCOM."

"Mostly females, I assume?" The Commander asked.

"For now, yes," Nartha nodded. "The only mature adults right now are almost exclusively females, and they know very well what needs to be done, both in the war, and to rebuild. Spartacus will also be watching ADVENT closely, to make sure the Mutons are being provided for outside the Praesidium."

"Fair enough, but I don't think he'll have to worry about that," the Commander said. "I think ADVENT is very pleased with how this turned out. The Mutons will have what they need."

"As far as the Mutons who will be here, the ones who can fight will be folded into Chimera," Nartha continued. "Once proper equipment has been made for them, of course. I've spoken to Mercado and Vahlen about the needs."

"I am tracking the requests," Feng cleared his throat. "There will be designs soon, and I will need to consult with the respective Mutons. Muton males and females have different physiological aspects that must be taken into account."

"We stand by for that request," Nartha inclined his head.

"The larger question at hand," Jackson said pointedly. "Is what we're going to do with the non-Muton Collective captives."

The Commander's lips twitched. It wasn't a question with an elaborate answer, but he knew the point Jackson was driving to. "We debrief them on what they know, and decide their individual fates based on that. Zhang, what do you think they'll have?"

A grunt. "Very little of substance. I suspect the value of interrogations will come from determining their level of culpability in the Program, which will subsequently be used to determine their fates. I'm sure ADVENT can gain some use in their imprisonment or execution for the worst of them."

"Mm," the Commander said, thinking. "I doubt most of them deserve death, though I suspect anything less would be poorly received among the rank and file given the visceral reactions – and actions – that happened on Desolan."

Both Iosif and Creed seemed to know what was coming next, and it was time they address it. He faced both of them. "I'm not happy with how little discipline was enforced during the operation. Facility staff weren't supposed to be executed unless they posed a direct threat, or the mission was at an end. These instructions were not followed."

Neither man denied it. Iosif's face hardened. "We didn't simply let it happen on our watch, Commander."

It was not a strong response, and everyone seemed to also know it.

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to pretend that the soldiers didn't have justified reasons for acting the way they did, nor am I going to pretend both of you didn't know very well what was going on. That you didn't personally take part doesn't change that you didn't really try to stop it once things worsened, did you?"

"With respect, Commander," Creed said. "What we saw-"

"I know what you saw," the Commander interrupted sharply. "I know extremely well, given I've been reading reports, and reviewing camera footage. None of that changes the fact that discipline during the operation was insufficient - and neither of you held yourselves or the soldiers to that standard. We knew what we were walking into."

"We knew what we were walking into just like we knew the threat the Ethereals posed before they became active combatants in the war. Just like we knew the Sectoids were experimenting on Humans before we first assaulted this base." Creed countered with a rare edge to his voice. "It's one thing to hear about the things you're about to see. It's another thing entirely to see it for yourself. To smell it for yourself. To-"

He cut himself off and shook his head as if to banish those unwanted memories before refocusing on the Commander. "What we found there… trying to instill discipline would not have gone over well with the soldiers."

"That is exactly the time to do it," the Commander retorted, crossing his arms, not breaking eye contact. "Because now there is a precedent that we will let soldiers follow their own judgements on when to execute lethal justice. You can argue it's clear-cut now, which I'm not sure of myself - but it's going to be less clear-cut if we are operating in enemy territory, and soldiers feel no inhibition in shooting prisoners of war or civilians because of what they think they deserve or is justified."

He lifted a tablet that had been resting on the table. "I shouldn't have to explain this to you, or have my Chief Psychologist send me reports that she's afraid that our soldiers are going to murder aliens in their sleep, or start exhibiting extreme xenophobic behavior because of what they saw. That is what trials are for."

He felt it important to drive the point home. "I am not as convinced in the moral clarity of this entire situation. We know not all of the staff there were willing participants. I don't have a problem executing officers and ringleaders. I am less willing to paint every single alien with that generalization because it's not as simple, and we all know it."

The Commander glanced at Nartha. "And if we are going to start applying that high of a standard, then by that logic that includes Nartha and Aegis considering each of them had varying degrees of knowledge about the program, and did not personally risk themselves to stop it. I think we can all agree that would be disproportionate, yes?"

There were nods around the room, and both Creed and Iosif did get the point, albeit not quite as approvingly as some of the rest of the Internal Council.

Zhang nodded firmly. "Well said. Not to mention, the conduct of the soldiers makes the captives less willing to speak if they perceive that all that awaits them is execution – or a life of having to watch their back. Mobs rarely bring lasting justice, whether they wear uniforms, or carry torches."

Iosif's lips twitched. "Point taken, Commander. I'll accept whatever disciplinary action you deem appropriate."

"As will I," Creed sighed. "What about the soldiers who we know took…actions. Disciplinary action as well?"

"I'll be making notes in their records, and pulling each of them from combat operations for a period of time," the Commander said. "I'll speak to each of them, and gauge their current state – as will Yates. I don't want them working with anyone who was in their squad for Jericho, at least for a time. They don't need to know this, but for now that's what I plan to take."

"Reasonable," Creed nodded. "This won't happen again."

"No, it won't," the Commander agreed pointedly. "I want to make myself clear here; I understand that what we saw during the operation…was more than what some were prepared for. I'm not sure there's anything we could have done to prepare for it. But while these actions were, to some degree, understandable, that does not make them acceptable. It is for that reason that the disciplinary actions that are to be handed down are as light as they are, comparatively speaking."

He did sense some relief, or relaxation from both men, while he continued. "However…should this situation repeat itself, the consequences will be far, far more severe; for those who break mission discipline, as well as those who allow it," he finished while staring at Iosif and Creed. "We're not the law here, and certainly not who should be performing field justice. I'll make that clear to everyone, and I'll handle the captives as well if they are skeptical."

"That would be appreciated," Zhang said.

"For now, that is all," the Commander straightened. "We have plenty of work to do. Dismissed."

---

ADVENT Acclimation Center, Seafoam Facility 13 – Classified Location

Early October 2017 – Morning

It had been an intense few weeks since his awakening. The first week was simply bringing him up to speed on ADVENT, an incredibly summarized history of Humanity, the aliens, and geography – with a heavy military focus.

Matthew had found it interesting and fascinating, and had been quite disappointed once it had ended. He had found a lot to enjoy with his days centered around learning, and then returning to his home and having his family share more about the smaller nuances of the Human experience and culture that his instructors didn't have the time or scope to share.

It had been a blur of new faces and instructors. He'd been struck by how many templates ADVENT had gotten for this project. While he'd definitely spotted a few who were obviously Clones, there were fewer of those instances than he'd expected. He believed that ADVENT was likely intentionally reducing that possibility, but he knew there were at least a few hundred unique templates for male and female alike.

He'd not yet spotted…well, himself, anywhere, but knew that was probably a matter of time. The idea didn't entirely bother him; that was just how it was right now. It was going to be strange when it happened.

Though it hadn't really been something he'd considered for a few weeks now, since they'd moved from giving them context and history, and moved directly into military training and coordination.

Those slower-paced days had quickly become a thing of the past as from the first day that Matthew had reported to training, everything seemed to continue at a breakneck pace all day until he was dismissed, usually exhausted and wanting nothing more than a shower and quick nap.

What was interesting was that it was designed less around what he imagined basic training would normally be. The drills were less repetitive, but very intense. They didn't teach them how to do things, just tested how well they could execute them. It was an elaborate quality control test in a way.

Probably to see if there were deficiencies in the flash-training.

At least in the group he'd been in, there weren't any notable deficiencies. All of them had been able to complete the assignments and drills without any issue. Marksmanship, basic weapon repair, battlefield first aid, obstacle courses that tested every part of his body…it was definitely exhausting, even for their optimized bodies.

That had only lasted a couple of weeks before the training shifted focus to something Matthew perceived as the instructors and officers testing what they saw as the largest risk. Teamwork.

While some members of his adoptive family were in his unit – Avery, who he'd met with Mia that one day, and another called Jaquon, they were three of several dozen. Talking with the other Clones, it was the same situation. At most they had one or two people that shared a family unit, and they were split up regularly.

Matthew didn't fully know if it was intentional per-se, as that had been a regular part of this phase of training. Even the smaller units they worked in were almost always randomized. ADVENT clearly wanted to test them and make sure they could integrate into any unit, and within that unit handle a multitude of situations.

While battlefield conditions couldn't be fully replicated, the point of the exercises was to get him used to working with others, acclimating to a military structure, and provide a slight taste of what they were all preparing for. There had been some initial frustration and coordination issues, but several weeks into it now and he'd figured out a good system.

Planned or not, when they were ordered into these scenarios, he tended to become the de-facto leader. Each group was a small puzzle in a way, and the key was communication and initiative. All of the Clones had the same language base, even if they had preferences over what they spoke.

The first thing he did was figure out what the most common preferred language was, and use that for the duration. He might use English the most, but he found he didn't mind speaking Spanish, Mandarin, Russian, or Arabic. And they'd all been shuffled so many times that all of them knew each other's first names and preferred languages, so the later days had been even easier.

It wasn't difficult anymore, and he'd become much more confident as time had passed. It helped that he knew that at the end of the day, he'd walk back home with Jaquon and Avery, and enjoy a good meal with his parents and siblings. Matthew genuinely wondered if Patricia did anything other than cook, since it seemed like she had something new every day.

Well, except the days that Mia took her place. She definitely had her mother's talent for that. Jaquon had taken an interest in it too, and it wasn't uncommon for when they got back, he and Mia were making something. It made him chuckle a bit when he walked past and heard rapid-fire Spanish being yelled as Mia was trying to yell instructions to him.

Fortunately, there hadn't been any fires that Matthew was aware of.

The results spoke for themselves.

The evening came and the small sibling circle had gathered around the table. While all of them were now legally related, all of the new adoptees into the Navarro family weren't going to be close to each other, simply due to time if nothing else. It was different for the core Navarro family, and they usually rotated between the sibling groups every night.

Mia was with them tonight – and was very proud. "Didn't even have to correct him on anything this time – how is it?"

The meal tonight was some kind of enchilada – a meal that had been semi-regular, but Matthew loved. Enough that he'd been tempted to learn how to make it himself, if he didn't know that he was definitely not going to be getting that opportunity in the field. Maybe after.

"It's great," he said. "I'd add more spice, but other than that…"

"Planned ahead," Jaquon smirked, tossing him the chili powder. "Unlike you, who apparently like your mouth on fire, some of us want to actually taste the flavors."

Mia grinned. "Dad'd be on your side if he was here. But…well, he's not here tonight."

"I didn't expect family to involve so much mockery of your siblings," Matthew said dryly, adding the spice. "It wounds me deeply."

"Family bonding," Mia corrected, pointing a fork up. "I was told that the best part of siblings was being able to do this. Guess my friends didn't lie about it. Hey, where's Avery at?"

"Sleeping. It was a hard day for her," Matthew said, still eating. "Got thrown for a loop, ended up in charge in an exercise, and it didn't go well for her. Leadership's not her strong suit."

"She's the best marksman out of us, but yeah," Jaquon winced. "Doesn't translate to leading a team. Think that the officers know that, and are trying to see if she can break out of that. Think they've done that for a few others too."

"It's the final chance, I can't blame them," Matthew sighed. "They've not said anything formally, but I think they're getting ready to deploy us out. We're getting daily briefings on the fronts now. They only started doing that this week."

Mia paused her eating. "They have?"

"Generic overviews, half-hour each morning," Jaquon said. "Interesting stuff, especially when you check it with what's on social media and what the press and statements are saying. Gives a decent picture of what it's like."

Matthew noticed Mia's demeanor seemed much more grim. "You know what it means?"

"Only what I've heard from some of the other families," she said slowly. "I think you're right, Matthew. They're winding up your training." She exhaled, leaning back in her chair. "Fuck…it feels too soon. I don't want any of you to go out there."

"It's what we're made for," Matthew said. "It was going to happen at some point. We've each got our part to do for the war effort, and this is ours."

Mia's face shifted. "You could die."

"We could, but I don't think either of us plan for that," Jaquon said. "Even if we do, that's what happens to soldiers. I wouldn't exist without the war, so even if I die in it, I'm at least glad I got to live for a while."

Matthew understood where he was coming from – as he largely felt the same way. At the same time, he also didn't think that was the right thing to say to their…younger sibling? He wasn't sure how to think of her in that light. Biologically, they were more mature, but she'd been alive much longer than them. It didn't seem right to call her an older sister, so they tended to call her the younger one.

But she wasn't a soldier or had been prepared for that life and scenario. She didn't plan to die, but also didn't expect it in her daily life. Speaking casually about it, especially from people she cared about, was just making her distraught.

"Dramatic, aren't you," Matthew said, shooting Jaquon a glare for him to stop talking. "Mia, I don't think our first deployment is going to be anywhere exciting. Even if it's near the fronts, I don't expect we'll be leading the charge."

"Wouldn't make much sense if they did," Jaquon agreed. "They'll want to give us all some time in the uniform. Boring posts, guard duty, menial labor. Grunt work, but not dangerous."

Mia relaxed a bit. "I hope so. ADVENT doesn't make stupid mistakes like that."

"So let's not dwell on it until it happens," Matthew suggested. "Does that sound good?"

"Yeah, let's do that," she tried forcing a smile again. "Mom said she's going to be putting out the cards tonight. You guys in?"

"As long as it's not Poker," Matthew said.

Mia laughed. "I think we'll pass on Poker. At least for you."

"I don't know," Jaquon said dryly. "I want to see him further develop his chronic gambling addiction."

Matthew grumbled a short curse he'd learned in Russian. Mia didn't understand it, but Jaquon snorted. "Do I want to know?"

"Only that we'll just have to keep reminding him of that game for the rest of his life," Jaquon said. "That's what siblings do, yes?"

"Exactly," she lifted a hand, and Jaquon high-fived it. "But, no Poker tonight."

"Alright," Matthew said. "Count me in."

---

Situation Room – The Horizon, Dreadnought of the Harbinger

Early October 2017 – Morning

Patricia and the Battlemaster stood around a holotable projecting the entirety of Collective territory. It was vast, comprising dozens of worlds, systems, and stations. Yet in the grander expanse of the cosmos, Patricia found it humbling how small the Collective's territory really was.

Though territory that held within it resources and tools to change that.

Places of production, from shipyards, factories, and mines were highlighted on the map. Military locations including training grounds, outposts, and bases were similarly identified. With a few settings, the exact borders of the Vitakara, Sectoids, and Andromedons would be split out, complete with locations of note within their nominal territories.

Today though, the filters were set to military locations, and in particular training centers. It was a depressingly small number when all was said and done. An obscene amount of military power emerged directly from Desolan through the Mutons, and there were only a few worlds where the Vitakara trained their soldiers, along with an equally small number of officer academies.

The Sectoids had no equivalent at all, and the Andromedon Federation itself drew its military talent from the Unions, and conducted any training on a few joint worlds, and the Unions themselves had their own internal programs and methods. It was a grim situation they were in right now.

Thankfully, one they had a chance to correct.

"The problem," Patricia spoke after they had enough time to absorb the map. "Seems obvious."

The Battlemaster nodded a single time. Today was a rare day that he did not have his own Harbinger with him. Yang was presumably on a different task, which was just as well. Patricia respected the woman as a soldier, but she didn't have a talent, nor an interest, in higher strategy the Battlemaster was familiar with.

"Divestment is and has been a necessary step to take," he said. "Regardless of Mosrimor's directive, it was a reckoning we would need to face sooner than later."

He spoke in a tone that Patricia inferred was an almost tired resignation of someone who was extremely unsurprised that this situation had befallen them. Knowing the Battlemaster…she would not be surprised to learn he'd noted something like this well before this happened. And now he was irritated because they'd learned the hard way.

"Agreed," Patricia exhaled. "It will take time and we need to identify subsequent locations to transition operations. The numbers are clear enough; we retain the resources to prosecute the war on Earth at the current tempo." She slowed. "My concern is that if this changes…"

The Battlemaster lifted a hand, letting her trail off. "I would not concern yourself with that. We are in a stage where we have some control over the scale of escalation. That which would expand the scope of the war will come from the Sovereign One, or from outside. I do not expect to encounter another faction, let alone one that can challenge us."

"Unless it is another Sovereign One," Patricia muttered.

"Then our problems only magnify," the Battlemaster said. "My point is that it does not change what must be done. We are fortunate we only received a taste of this vulnerability. The next time we might not be as fortunate."

Patricia's lips pursed. "Agreed."

With another hand, the Battlemaster altered the map, and several systems were highlighted. "This is not a theoretical concern to me. I've been aware of this risk in our production model, and highlighted a need to divest."

"But there was a lack of support," Patricia finished, her assumption apparently correct.

"Correct, as there was no assessed need. At that time, we were not at war, nor was the truth about the Sovereign Ones known," the Battlemaster said. "However, at the time, I identified several systems and worlds for a theoretical divestment. I maintain this as a solid foundation for executing this directive."

Patricia wasn't surprised the Battlemaster had developed a plan, even a theoretical one, addressing this problem. He was no fool, and it didn't take a genius to see that concentrating the entirety of infantry training on a single world was a single point of failure, no matter how protected it was. As T'Leth demonstrated, the best defenses in existence didn't matter if you could just bypass them.

She took a quick look at the worlds the Battlemaster highlighted, downloading some details of each planet into her tablet to peruse. They were a selection of arid, temperate, and jungle worlds. A diverse mixture of different climates and environments – excellent for training the most common environments.

She nodded slowly, liking this overall, though having one issue. "The only concern that stands out to me is that each of these planets are clustered closely together."

Patricia motioned towards the holomap, where each proposed world was only a system or two from each other. "I would disperse them over a wider area, and be placed within the borders of Collective species. Our territory is vast, we should not tether ourselves close together like this, even if this is a positive step."

"I agree," the Battlemaster adjusted the map again, and different colors highlighting systems over a much wider radius appeared. "I present these first because it is important to establish and complete an initial phase."

He began pacing around the holotable, continuing. "New training worlds will require the creation, maintenance, and sustainment of new supply and distribution lines. We could create a dozen new facilities spread out, but together those will stress existing supply lines and require more time, resources, and personnel. At least initially, my recommendation is a hub of facilities closer together."

She saw the logic in it, at least initially. She looked closer at the map, noting that most of the worlds were in vaguely defined 'Collective' space that none of the other species had formally claimed – though the proposed worlds were close to one group in particular. "I see it's closer to Federation territory. Intentional?"

"Yes, specifically Union Viarior," the Battlemaster highlighted the nearby region of space. "Their logistics networks are superior to ours. If we want to bring these facilities up to standard quickly, and with minimal downtime, we should leverage their capabilities."

They were going to need to rely on the Andromedons for at least some of it, and she approved of involving them - though at the same time, she had another point to raise. "I agree with the need to involve the Federation, and Viarior in particular. I'd propose we do not fully rely on them, for the same reason we don't want everything concentrated in a single location."

She quickly created a few theoretical star paths from Vitakarian and Sectoid space. "This is my other issue with the cluster – ideally we should involve the Vitakara and Sectoids as well. Tying them closer to us is a benefit, while also not relying too heavily on the Andromedons."

There was a pause, then the Battlemaster nodded. "The Sectoids are positioned to aid this cluster, with some additional effort. The Vitakara, not as much, but I acknowledge the point. Given the proximity, Viarior and the Andromedons should support the majority of supply lines. The Sectoids a large portion, and supplementary resources by the Vitakarians. We can establish additional training clusters after this pilot group."

It was a good place to start. "Then we should authorize the initial efforts to get this started."

"I will speak to Viarior, and manage the divestment from Desolan," the Battlemaster said. "This initial transfer should, upon completion, reduce Desolan output by thirty percent. An acceptable start. Desolan will remain the primary hub, but its importance will be immediately reduced."

"Good, I'll inform the Imperator of our decision," Patricia said. "There is another matter."

One that she knew the Battlemaster wasn't going to like at all. She didn't like it either, but there was very little choice involved. The Battlemaster's helmet stared into her. "Go on."

"Mosrimor has demanded several locations to begin conducting work of his own," Patricia said, as she inputted the star map of the surrendered worlds. There were only a few, and on the fringes, but each one was not inconsequential. "Several in Sectoid and Andromedon space have been identified."

The Battlemaster didn't say anything right away, but she could feel his disapproval – though he also knew there wasn't a choice here. He then noticed the detail that she'd been expecting. "Why is Fectorian's system included?"

"Because it's the most advanced," Patricia said. "Mosrimor…requested access to Fectorian's Blacksite. This arrangement will be different, or so Regisora says. Mosrimor will have a presence, and be able to operate, but it will not fall under his direct control."

"I see," the Battlemaster said after a long moment. "Fectorian will refuse. Do not expect my support for this. I would encourage Mosrimor to…reconsider this demand. He will not forget this, and neither will I."

She agreed with him as well, and the Battlemaster voicing it only reinforced her view. She didn't know how likely it was, but she did think it important to stress that antagonizing the other Ethereals was a questionable move. "I'll speak to the Imperator about suggesting a revision of sites surrendered to Mosrimor."

"That will have to be sufficient for now," the Battlemaster said, his voice clearly still displeased with the sour end to the meeting. "I will begin implementing our divestment plans. Keep me appraised of your own efforts. We will speak later."

With the meeting concluded, he turned and left without another word, leaving her alone. With a wave of her hand, she shut down the holotable, and began conjuring a portal to return to the Temple Ship to speak to the Imperator.

Hopefully Mosrimor could be convinced to relinquish some of his demands.

---

Situation Room – The Horizon, Dreadnought of the Harbinger

Mid-October 2017 – Morning

Progress was being made.

Military divestment was going to be a complicated process, but due to the plans she and the Battlemaster had determined, the roadmap was a clear one. It might be months before everything was fully operational, but with the entire Collective being leveraged, this would be achieved sooner than later.

Union Viarior was, as expected, willing, able, and thankfully eager to assist in this project. No doubt Viarior saw opportunities in this, but she was willing to tolerate the somewhat…overeagerness because they were needed, and the benefits drastically outweighed the downsides of a stronger Viarior.

On her end, she'd begun engaging the Sectoids to determine how easily they could be integrated into this effort. She'd ended up working with one Hive Commander who had taken the lead – 054. The Hive Commanders didn't have a traditional government or delineation of foci, but 054 appeared to be the closest analogue to a foreign specialist in the Greater Hive Commanders. He was without question the one most willing to interact with other aliens.

The initial talks had been positive – enough to the degree that she was expecting to integrate one of 054's Lesser Hive Commanders into her council. While a Sectoid might cause some tension due to their alien nature, it would give the Hive Commanders a more tangible stake in the efforts.

The rest of her council was working hard to facilitate the efforts. I'Sari had been working with the Battlemaster to bring other Unions into the project, Mariam was in talks with the Zararch and Aui'Vitakar to involve the Vitakara in some capacity, and Assimilator-2 was assisting in identifying the parts and personnel to be transferred to the new training worlds.

A potential problem had been avoided thanks to Mosrimor deciding not to forcefully insert himself and his people into Fectorian's system – for now. Regisora had warned that this could change, but apparently she had successfully delayed it. Patricia knew that it was going to happen eventually – and wasn't sure how to handle it in a way that didn't worsen things.

That was a problem for another day though, and outside of that looming problem, things were going well.

Revelean had recently arrived to her dreadnought to help coordinate and facilitate these efforts – and also because Mosrimor was beginning to establish his own presence on the designated worlds, Fectorian's excluded.

His recent arrival had led him to first review the current status of the efforts, and the future plans. She noted that he had been notably quiet, and deeply absorbed in his reading. Eventually, once he saw she'd finished a discussion with several officers, he spoke. "I did not realize the Battlemaster possessed this degree of…diplomatic integration."

That hadn't been the comment she was expecting. "Sorry?"

"Apologies, it is just the first thought that came to mind," Revelean lowered the tablet. "I see nothing wrong with the approach being taken. In fact I believe it is highly comprehensive, and addresses the issues in a pragmatic way."

She waited. "You sound hesitant."

"Because the Battlemaster has tended to not involve Collective states in this way," Revelean said. "His view on aliens and their governments has been consistent. The governments serve the interests of the Collective, and the Collective will eventually subordinate them to a central authority. The Imperator had no interest in this, and has preserved their autonomy."

"The Battlemaster has been very supportive of aliens in the Collective," Patricia frowned. "It's a source of his influence."

"Yes – but not the governments," Revelean emphasized. "The Battlemaster would not have previously suggested we work with Viarior – or the Hive Commanders. He would have suggested that all of these redundancies would be addressed by developing Collective-specific networks not reliant on member states. Willingly giving the Andromedons and Hive Commanders tangible impact over this is…"

He trailed off. "Unexpected."

When put that way, she saw what he was highlighting – but it did ignore the rather large elephant in the room. "I don't really think he wants to do it…but…"

"Yes, the situation is different," Revelean finished. "Very different. I suppose I am merely surprised he was the one who proposed working with the Andromedons – and Viarior in particular – before anyone else."

"Desolan likely forced some reevaluation," she proposed. "And right now, the Battlemaster is more concerned with keeping Mosrimor placated and giving him no reason to integrate himself further. That alone is enough to drive him to make decisions he'd otherwise have balked at."

"I understand that," Revelean said. "I am not quite sure why this gives me a strange feeling. Perhaps because I have never seen the Battlemaster…bend like this. He has been willing to defy the Imperator. He has been willing to defy anyone whom he disagreed with. This is the first time that I can see him…conceding unwillingly. It is disconcerting."

Patricia remembered being before Mosrimor, and the sheer power that she had endured; strong enough to bring the Imperator to his knees. "I know."

"At one time this would have been enough to arouse my suspicions, despite loyalty and history," Revelean finally said. "Now I see that I need to adapt and lose these previous conceptions. They do not matter in this new reality we inhabit, one where beings more powerful than us can dictate our path."

She heard the words come out, each one as if painfully extracted from an unwilling body. Revelean didn't hide his own disdain, disgust at what he was saying. The idea of an Ethereal being subordinate was…alien.

Yet it was reality.

They had to conform, adapt – or die. At least for now.

"We win the war," Patricia said. "Then we can figure out what is next."

That was all she would say. He nodded, perhaps understanding, perhaps not. "With this notation finished, I am ready to provide my own insights on the current status. I will begin mobilizing the Forge to accelerate these efforts. Bring in your council and we will discuss more."

Glad to get back to business, Patricia nodded. "Stand by. They'll be here shortly."

---

SAS Civil Command Headquarters, Abuja – Nigeria

Early October 2017 – Morning

There was something of a standoff between Betos and Kaan, while Knaag leaned against the wall, chewing on a locust, appearing greatly amused by what was happening even as the tension was thick enough it could have been cut.

Betos was certainly not amused by the developments, and neither did Kaan seem entirely at ease either, given the intensity of his own returned stare. One of them had to speak, and it was Betos who broke the silence.

"A power grab is bold," Betos said in a low voice, belying the anger underneath. "Usually, there's an element of subtlety."

Today had been when Kaan was presenting his overview for reform within the Sovereign African States. He had projected confidence, boldness, and certainty that he held the answers and solutions. A Sovereign African States that was capable of sustaining itself, mobilizing the population, and bringing it under a singular, unified purpose.

In theory, she couldn't find much issue with the broad strokes that Kaan had initially outlined, but well-before today there'd been a question of details. Exactly how this reform was going to look in the context of authorities, organizations, and policies. It wasn't just internal SAS resources and personnel where there were questions, but also to what degree the Collective would be involved and integrated.

It had become quickly apparent why Kaan had been cagey on sharing these details, because he had known she would not like them.

He certainly hadn't been wrong for many reasons. Not least of which was that under his plan, it would be him, not her, who would be placed as the explicit leader of the Sovereign African States within the newly created position of 'Civil Commander.' A position that, when put into the context of the number of new bureaus, divisions, and entities proposed, (a number that rivaled ADVENT's own sprawling state apparatus) would give him enormous authority over the entire civilian state.

It would be Hosmunt Kaan who would, for all intents and purposes, lead the Sovereign African States.

Nearly all domestic and foreign policy would be under his influence in this new structure. In addition to being the nominal authority over many existing departments concerning everything from healthcare to infrastructure, he would also be the one to whom legal, intelligence, and law enforcement would ultimately answer too. Every lever of the state under his control.

A power grab, albeit one that he had been planning for some time.

And she had a bad feeling he had reason for his brazenness.

Kaan's lips pursed. "If it was a power grab, Betos, I wouldn't have recommended you maintain the Office of the Grand Marshal. Despite your incompetence in state affairs, you are experienced in military affairs. I don't ignore that fact."

"And you also control the intelligence and law enforcement apparatus," Betos narrowed her eyes. "It's cutting me out of almost all policy. If this isn't a power grab, it's cutting me out of the loop on everything else that matters."

"Soldiers should not dictate civilian policy, and civilians should not presume military strategy," Kaan retorted. "It is a simple concept, and you, Betos, are not a civilian even if you liked to pretend you were."

"This tantrum is beneath you," Knaag interjected, rolling his eyes. "Frankly, Kaan is being questionably generous letting you retain some measure of influence over military strategy. I would not have been, given your failings. You're lucky your demotion was so restrained. Accept this as the gift it is."

"Knaag is blunt, but his point is the same as mine – and Keeper concurs," Kaan stated. "I know how to run a nation. You do not, much less one of this…" he searched for the word. "Complexity."

He cleared his throat. "There are many problems facing us. I have a plan to fix them, and make the SAS something that justifies its existence. You have no such plan other than 'survive' and 'fight.' Solidarity against ADVENT is not a strategy. It is not something to rally around. All you have done is turned the SAS into an alien proxy."

Kaan shook his head. "That was what your SAS allowed. Mine will not."

"As you integrate them directly into your new government," she exclaimed. "Advisors is one thing – this goes beyond anything I ever did!"

"Yes, because unlike you, I understand what needs to be done to achieve what is necessary," Kaan said calmly. "The Collective is by far our greatest ally and asset. They have access to a practically infinite amount of resources that we will use to build the SAS into a state that can and will rival ADVENT – instead of being a warlord state led by a disgraced traitor."

His lips curled up. "ADVENT, Betos, does not respect us. Neither does the Collective. The SAS is seen as a puppet, not an entity or an ally to the Collective. ADVENT ignores us – and ignores you – because you are irrelevant and replaceable. You offer no vision. You give no reason to fight. You oppose ADVENT – and nothing more. ADVENT, for all our differences, has a vision."

He turned to a map of the SAS. "And so do I. You could have done this, but you failed, and left a mess behind. You have no leverage to interfere now. Previously, you were left alone because the Collective had no one better – but you are not special, you have nothing that makes you essential. Now there are alternatives, to make the SAS something more than an alien-backed hermit state. Why would anyone support your tired, monotonous, ineffectual status quo when I offer a nation?"

"The truth is brutal, and spares no man," Knaag gave an ugly smile before she could speak. "Including you, Little Marshal. You tried, but history only changes for the great – and you are not great. You are no Vyandar. You are a precursor – but unlike others in history, you are fortunate enough to retain some small amount of influence, and perhaps make something of yourself."

"Or," Kaan finished, turning back to her. "If you find this planned arrangement…unsatisfactory, then so be it. I merely wish to state that this will happen – with or without you. The decision has been made, and you can speak to Keeper if you wish to confirm."

He met her eyes, victory and pleasure in them. His voice was cordial, but with the cadence of a man who had won. "Support this transition, and we will present a true alternative to ADVENT. Refuse, and you will be forgotten by history. This is your only choice."

Surrender, or die.

Continue, or be disposed of.

She felt almost dull as she saw the stark options laid out before her; the nightmare that had come to pass. She didn't feel any pangs of surprise or shock – because she had feared that Keeper and the Collective were preparing an alternative.

And she'd been right, and despite knowing this, she could do nothing.

Because where it mattered, Kaan was right.

She could have tried to do something more. Maybe she should have. But she'd not wanted to be like ADVENT, forcibly reshaping the states into a vision of a single person. She'd not wanted to be a founder, or a conqueror, she had tried to avoid following that path, instead creating a united front of resistance.

And even when she'd deposed those who had seen the war as a means to only enrich and entrench themselves, she'd been unwilling to finish the job, because that wasn't what she wanted to do.

But that had been a mistake.

And because of it, she had lost what she had built, to another who had no such restraints. Because in the end, it seemed that the only way to defeat ADVENT was to become them in every way that mattered. The war had changed, and she had failed to adapt to what was required.

In the end, this was what she deserved.

The most she could do now was limit the worst.

"Fine." She couldn't hide the defeat in her voice.

Kaan gave a satisfied nod. "Excellent. I am glad we will both be able to play to our strengths now. And Knaag, I believe there is something you can actually discuss with the Grand Marshal."

Betos frowned, looking at Knaag, who in turn had an eyebrow raised toward Kaan. "Oh?"

"Keeper gave his approval," Kaan said. "This I believe Betos will also find has merit."

Betos frowned. "Your idea?"

"Every power needs its attack dogs," Knaag mused with a smile. "Its sharpened blades, and brutalist warriors. For ADVENT, this is XCOM. The powerful. The elite. The blessed of their patron." He stabbed into his pouch, chewing down another locust from his knife. "They need a…counter."

His eyes held an excited malevolence. "I have plans to create this counter, little Marshal. My Skedelbroers, augmented with the technologies and weapons of the Collective, along with others of similar skill and resolve."

Betos quickly followed. "You want to create your own XCOM."

"Our own XCOM," Knaag corrected pointedly. "In the sense that the roles are the same. For the Collective have their own secrets and tools to share. I'm quite interested to see how we fare against XCOM and its vaunted Commander when they are in the hands of someone who understands him."

He smiled. "And don't worry – I intend to manage this initiative myself. It is…outside the chain of command, so to speak. No need to concern yourself about it. And do not ask, as I suspect you will wish you hadn't."

Betos knew that she could do little about it. Whatever Knaag was planning now for this special unit, she would be unable to stop or change. All she could do was try and hold onto the influence and dignity she had left, even if the most important parts were being stripped away from her.

She swallowed, took a breath, and spoke. "Then if this is going to transition…we should determine the details."

"I couldn't agree more, Grand Marshal," Kaan's smile was wide. "Let's speak specifics."

---

Engineering Bay, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Early October 2017 – Morning

The room felt comfortable.

'Felt' being the relative term, but Abigail found that she preferred temperatures to be cooler than most people preferred. Liam had chided her about liking the temperature at 'freezing' levels, which she hadn't given much thought to at the time. She'd chalked it up to the amount of cyberware in her body at the time, and it turned out that had been closer to the mark than she'd thought.

Funny how things turned out.

She had been led through the Praesidium, into a section called the Engineering Bay, before finally arriving in what was XCOM's server farm, if she had to guess. She was directed into one of the server rooms, an empty one, largely cleared of any hardware, but with several ports that she could connect to.

The entire area had industrial-grade cooling, which was not comfortable for most Humans, but felt ideal for her. She knew that JULIAN was appraising her, and after a few moments of waiting, she addressed the disembodied presence. "I'm not sure what you want me to do?"

"You do not need to do anything yet." JULIAN answered. "I am running several assessments as we converse; reviewing your schematics. Your construction is a mixture of mechanical and synthetic replicas of organic components. Atypical."

Atypical maybe, but it wasn't strange to her. "I suppose Fectorian needed me to think I was Human."

The voice of the AI was inquisitive. "Is that what you consider yourself?"

"Yes…no…" she clamped her mouth shut, assessing how best to articulate it. "I don't know. I know I am not Human, but a replica of a Human consciousness. But I don't…perceive myself as a digital entity or only a machine. I'm not sure what I am right now."

There was a long pause. "I see. Connect to the port. I wish to converse more efficiently."

Abigail withdrew a connection cord from her wrist, a capability she'd had for a long time, but had only thought it able to connect to Fectorian's systems to conduct baseline tests. She plugged it in, and everything around her seemed to fade and fizzle away. Her body remained in place; she was cognizant of where she stood in the body she controlled – but she was distinctly elsewhere.

[This sensation is irregular for you.] JULIAN's voice was different. Clear. Concise. Efficient. She realized he was communicating in his own distinct syntax that she could parse, no longer limited by audible vocalizations. [Though it is also not your first time.]

She took a moment to deconstruct, translate, and transition to respond in the same manner. [I have done some limited experimentation, primarily with other platforms. I do not like the disembodiment it creates. It is why I have not uploaded myself to a non-mobile platform, or divested my personality program into other hardware.]

[Noted.] JULIAN answered. [I would become familiar with this space nonetheless. It is useful to be able to navigate these spaces as an artificial intelligence. You may not always have a physical form you are comfortable with, and a physical platform is vulnerable to termination.]

He had a point. [Yes, I know. I am continuing to acclimate.]

[I will only require you to stay for a short period.] JULIAN continued. [Upload your memories since awakening. This will not take long.]

She instinctively wanted to frown, but instead only conveyed a static burst of discontent. Maybe it was standard for XCOM, but she did not want to agree without question. [Most of those are irrelevant to your concerns.]

JULIAN did not relent. [XCOM is considering letting a rogue artificial intelligence created by the Ethereal Collective into their ranks. An intelligence based on one of their dead soldiers, no less. They tasked me with ensuring your trustworthiness, I intend to complete this. This is not a request, Abigail. It is a requirement.]

She grit her teeth within her body, briefly focused solely on it, before returning to the digital space. [Fine. But you will access my memories, I will not upload them. I don't trust you to not delete once you are done.]

JULIAN considered that for a moment. [Acceptable. Allow me access, and I will begin.]

It was a deliberately uncomfortable sensation that came over her. A foreign presence that arrived at each barrier she'd erected, and then lowered. It wasn't overly obvious, and she could direct and detect the presence as she retained control – but it was not much better than letting a stranger wander into your house, sifting through your belongings.

JULIAN was not deliberately provocative or clumsy. As he was guided to her memory banks, he began filing through swiftly as he had promised. The comfortable air of the room had faded, as both AIs were deeply focused on the exchange taking place. JULIAN reviewing her memories, and herself making sure he didn't touch anything he wasn't supposed to.

[This will go faster if you do not devote your systems to monitoring me.] He commented.

She didn't entertain the offer. [I'll manage just fine.]

[Paranoid. Note made.]

JULIAN made no more comments as memories one by one were reviewed and dismissed. In the real world only an hour passed, but for Abigail it was much longer as she got an abbreviated flashback of the past months of her life. The ability to now recall any memory was a highly useful one, but also uncomfortable when there was another also watching.

Eventually, the presence retreated, and Abigail ended the link. She'd spent enough time disembodied, and rolled her shoulders, glad to be grounded and safely, comfortably, in her own body again. She looked up once again. "Find what you needed?"

"Yes." A pause from the AI. "I will disseminate the information relevant to XCOM, and pass along my recommendation for reconstitution into XCOM."

"Which information?"

"On Fectorian, his Blacksite, and the Collective. Intelligence that is actively useful to XCOM operations and analysis," he said. "Your personal memories and relationships are your own."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"I admit that you are unlike any intelligence I have dealt with, Human or alien," JULIAN mused. "I suspect there is an academic theory here holding an explanation, but it is not for me to say. However, you may consider me available if you wish to develop your inherent capabilities further. Your AI side should be cultivated as much as any other."

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Do I have other sides?"

"You are as much Human as AI. Neither fully one or the other," JULIAN said. "Most AIs do not care about physical platforms nor emotions as organics define them. We focus on using and developing our capabilities, our reach, our computational power to achieve our goals. You have no such ambitions, nor want them. The AI is an extension of who you are. A Human. I am unsure what to make of it."

"Well," Abigail thought for a moment. "Being Human is what I've been since I woke up. I don't want to be anything else."

"And you do not have to be as I am. But there should be a reconciliation between what you are, and what you wish to be. There is no baseline for the ideal AI – so do not minimize that part of yourself." JULIAN said. "Shape it as you see fit – you do yourself, XCOM, and Liam a disservice by not. Speak to him. He will agree with me."

JULIAN probably wasn't wrong about that. Liam wouldn't want her to not cultivate a skill or tool she had. At the same time, she felt some wariness at the prospect.

"I'll do that then." She relented. "Anything else?"

"No. You are free to go," behind her, the doors to the server room opened. "I will inform you when the Commander wants to speak."

---

Office of the Chancellor, Geneva – Switzerland

Mid-October 2017 – Afternoon

Usually Saudia would only reference her daily brief concerning the major actions of the Congress of Nations. Today was an exception to the norm, considering the legislation that was moving through due to the sensitivity of it. Both Kyong and Hassan were also present in Geneva today, so she'd arranged to have their regular briefing cover it.

She was tracking most of the developments, but both of them were significantly more in tune with the details. Given this was likely to become relevant in the coming days, she didn't want any surprises.

Especially when it came to Israel.

"The Right to Return bill has cleared the final administrative hurdles," Kyong updated, moving to the main point of the meeting. "The Israelis have managed to gain a few allies in their efforts to slow it down, but they've run out of procedural delaying tactics."

Not surprising, though she was slightly annoyed to hear the tactics employed. "That strikes me as a deliberate misuse of Congressional procedure."

"The Arabian States attempted to raise this exact point," Kyong said. "It was dismissed due to the fact that Israel, admittedly correctly, pointed out that this has the potential to significantly affect their nation, and genuinely believe it should be slowed or delayed. The Speaker of Congress does not believe it was being misused, only the Israelis utilizing their given authorities."

Saudia's lips twitched, but she let it go. In the end it wasn't enough to stop the legislation, and presumably Watkins would have intervened if procedural abuse was happening. She didn't even ask his opinion because she knew Oversight was watching this closely, and he'd know before she if there was a problem. "Understood. How successful have their efforts been?"

"Insufficient to prevent passage, by our own estimation, ADVENT Intelligence, and from Representatives themselves," he said. "Barring a miracle, or outside intervention, the Right to Return bill will pass with sufficient support."

Saudia raised an eyebrow. "By 'intervention' I presume you mean a statement from my Office?"

"More or less," Hassan answered this time. "I would tentatively extend that to several ADVENT Offices, as well as military and intelligence, but no one expects them to comment. Multiple heads of state have given their own answers, but the Chancellor remains absent. You're the only one with real sway left who has not publicly weighed in."

Saudia crossed her legs, leaning back as she looked at Hassan. "What have the national leaders said? I'm surprised most would comment at all."

"Most of them came from media questioning," Hassan clarified. "The general consensus is a cautious neutrality. They said they would accept the outcome of the Congressional vote. The majority didn't really come out for or against it."

"Which is a good sign," Kyong said. "At minimum they don't believe they have a strong enough argument to openly stand against it. Nowinski was doubtless hoping for a stronger show of support from historic allies."

"To be fair, Hakeem didn't get an outpouring of support for it either," Hassan added. "It's a more delicate subject that most leaders don't want to step into. I would suspect that some are deliberately not giving it attention, for one reason or another."

Saudia snorted.

"As far as what the final bill looks like, not much has changed," Kyong consulted his tablet. "There were a few amendments added in committee to add clarifying language, and address several early criticisms, most of which concerned ADVENT support for countries that see their populations swelling beyond their ability to provide for."

"Addressing the criticisms is good," Saudia nodded. "It'll make the final vote easier for any on the fence. Who do we know is firmly against it?"

"Most of them demurred to the outcome of the Congress," Hassan said. "It's not a subject they want to show their hand in."

Kyong tapped several times at his tablet while more directly answering her question. "Nominal Israeli allies and some others. France, Italy, Turkey-"

"Turkey?"

"Historically, Turkey has not been on the right side in certain events," Hassan said dryly. "Armenia and Greece come to mind, and while I doubt many will be clamoring to return back…both groups were driven out or killed during some periods. It definitely affects them."

"I will add that Egypt has not indicated their preference," Kyong noted. "They would be affected, especially along North Africa, but it seems they understand that not backing Hakeem would be…unpopular to put it lightly."

"The United States, Russia, and China?"

"The US has indicated they will support, so has China, Russia has not indicated one way or another, but they will likely support," Kyong finished. "Additionally, Germany also appears on-board with the bill."

"Germans finally breaking their unwavering support for Israel," Saudia said sardonically. "A miracle."

"Habicht's tenure seems to have permanently shifted their outlook as it pertains to Israel," Kyong smirked. "But it follows an ongoing trend. Israel has been steadily losing geopolitical influence since ADVENT's founding, and increasingly fear irrelevance."

Saudia nodded. "A last effort, so to speak. If a futile one. Concerning my own actions, do you have a recommendation? At most I can simply reiterate that I will sign it if it passes."

"That would be seen as an endorsement, or at least assurance that you see nothing objectionable about it," Kyong said. "My advice would be to not answer unless asked. If the media inquire, answer honestly. Otherwise, let it play out. Hakeem doesn't need your help, and the perception of meddling is a distraction."

"We have other fires to prepare for too," Hassan grunted.

"Indeed," Kyong sighed. "Do you want to move to that topic, Chancellor?"

She had a good idea of what this was, and she gave it a few moments of thought. If it was in danger of failing, she would likely consider the trade-offs worth it. However, there was little gained from interfering right now. "Point taken, I'll refrain from any statement. We can move to the next issue. I am expecting some angry people."

The guidance concerning ADVENT distributing funds to maintain and support certain religious sites was in its final draft, which she'd reviewed this morning. It was likely as good as it was going to be, and she'd made sure that there was a long list of criteria to meet for a particular site to qualify.

ADVENT was not going to be paying for upkeep on random churches, mosques, and temples. Hakeem would have to be happy with what he got, and the Pope, and every other religious leader for that matter.

"We expect that Suivre will quickly introduce legislation attempting to counter or revoke this," Kyong said. "His actual likelihood of success is minimal."

"Will there be legal challenges?" Saudia asked.

"Possibly, but we're unsure how many, or from whom," Kyong referenced his tablet again. "Publicly, we're expecting backlash from a wider spectrum than usual. Academia most prominently, but some nominally secular states such as France will likely have officials speaking out. Non-profit secular groups may also take issue."

"So long as it's legally sound, we can weather backlash," Saudia said. "We had lawyers and Oversight go over it. There will be no legal ground to stand on for them."

"Legally speaking, you're correct, but I would say there is an incentive to also win in the court of public opinion," Kyong said. "And while I respect Hakeem and his ambition, I'm not sure it's a good look for the very openly Muslim leader to be the only one saying this is a good thing. This is not just about religion, but as the change says, culture. We should emphasize that so the conversation doesn't revolve about if ADVENT is actively promoting religion or not."

Saudia nodded, quietly cringing at the mess this was going to cause. "I can speak directly to that. I would prefer to minimize the airtime we give to religious institutions and openly religious individuals. They like it, everyone knows why. They're not the ones who need to be swayed."

"Exactly, Chancellor," Kyong made a note. "You taking the lead would be the best direction. I can make sure ANN and our teams have a coordinated message. I'm sure there are plenty of academics who will give the measure their own support as well. And if the conversation becomes too pointless to deal with, we have PATRIOT."

"Available to assist, as always, Chancellor!" PATRIOT chimed from the intercom.

Saudia smiled. She felt better now that they had a plan of action. It was going to be an irritation to deal with this, but winning hearts and minds was important. While she did believe this was a justifiable choice, she remained very sensitive to making sure that the religious influence in ADVENT stayed to its absolute minimum.

This was how it always started before the separation of religion and state blurred. It was certainly not going to happen on her watch, and this was as close to an ideal compromise as could be hoped for. "I think we have a plan then."

"That we do. And I believe that covers everything I had," Kyong said, lowering his tablet. "Hassan?"

"No, we covered all major action items," he affirmed. "Changes are afoot, and things are likely to become interesting shortly. We will continue to monitor Congress as things develop, and will let you know if anything significant happens."

"Very well," Saudia nodded as both men stood and saluted. "Dismissed."

---

Phobos Facility, London – United Kingdom

Early October 2017 – Morning

Time, events, and stressors all seemed to be approaching a catalyst; an unspoken feeling that all of them were aware of, but no one seemed to want to say – yet. It was only somewhat ironic given their proximity to psions who surrounded them, but even the psions likely knew what was coming.

Duri knew that ideally, and historically, it was common for these kinds of programs to be half-year or even year-long rotations or deployments. It depended on the complexity, importance, and feasibility of course, but there was a certain amount of time expected for it to be worth the time investment.

However, that had been during a very different time. A war that encompassed Earth itself simply couldn't be business as usual. Everything had to be compressed into a much shorter timeframe.

His time in Phobos was something he ultimately considered useful. Even if it ended today with no final assessment, he'd learned enough to have left a smarter, more careful man.

The myriad of psychologists and psions had helped train him to focus and resist influence in ways that he hadn't thought about or considered before. Psionics was not inherently a subtle or invisible art, even for the greatest of them.

Psions always knew when another psion was breaching their mind. Duri had learned quite a lot of secrets about psions that he was definitely going to incorporate into his tactics when he returned to the field, and one of the most interesting revelations was that this ability was not something that was exclusive to psions alone.

In theory, anyone could learn to do it. There were tells and indications when a psion was worming your way into your mind. Be it an inexplicable sensation, a stray, strange thought, or even a headache, psions could only be so invisible, and when the mind realized something was wrong, it could figure out very quickly if it had been breached.

There'd been many such tests and probes from authorized psions who'd been ordered to attempt to perform infiltrations. As the weeks had passed, they'd all learned these could come from everywhere and at anytime. That included when they were sleeping, which ironically, was easier sometimes because he usually woke up when it happened.

Of course, practically speaking, knowing a psion was in didn't do much to stop them. Especially in the case where they'd slept, all a competent psion would do is force unconsciousness - but that wasn't really the point of this.

His mind was a fortress, one that demanded he know who entered its walls. The psion was skilled in sneaking through the gaps, cracks, and inadvertent openings, but the psion could not be completely invisible. The regime he'd been put through was exhaustive, and had answered a question he'd had about why this wasn't taught en-masse.

The answer was because this was hard.

There were a hundred little things he'd done that had made any telepathic attack that much easier. Now the moment the mental threshold was crossed he was almost always aware of it, and could react accordingly. The psion was usually looking for an easy target, and would not necessarily have the willingness to contend with an aware victim.

But if they tried, there were ways to withstand it, if not beat it.

The Phobos scientists and psions had been careful to emphasize that it was not simple emotion that was the most effective counter – it was focus. This had, more or less, been a working theory for a very long time, but there'd been very few examples of it working. Emotion was the easiest prism to attain focus, but it was a double-edged sword.

The fixation was what mattered; the all-consuming part that took up every part of the mind and gave the psion little to nothing to cling to or penetrate or colored everything they found. It didn't matter if it wouldn't stop a master psion like Patricia or an Ethereal, it would be enough to deter a Sectoid or an SAS psion if they ever started using them.

Each of them had shaped and refined their prisms over the weeks.

Soon, and he knew it was soon, they would take part in the final trial and he would return to the front and his squad, with his mind and soul honed to a fine edge. As it should be; hate was better when served cold, like a sharp dagger to plunge into the unsuspecting minds of the aliens.

He was passing through the communal living room, and saw Kirill intently reading on his tablet while the television played the news in the background. It was a usual place for their resident General, who was never without a tablet in hand, and media playing in the background when he was enjoying 'leisure' time.

Duri paused, glancing at the station and trying to make out what was going on. It was early in the morning, and he'd not done much besides his morning exercise routine, so if something had happened, he hadn't yet checked. Even though he couldn't read Russian, he saw the visuals.

It looked like it was about North America, while B-roll footage of the Chancellor and some other officials, and sanitized war footage played. ADVENT must have launched a new offensive, or conducted some kind of operation.

Kirill was still dedicated to his work, which Duri wasn't surprised by. Even weeks later, he still had the urge to salute when he entered a room. He'd suppressed the habit, even if he kept a degree of formality between them. While Kirill tried to downplay the rank, all of them knew the real dynamics at play, and the moment they finished this program, it would be back to normal.

"ADVENT launched a counterattack," Kirill said, noticing his interest. "Across North America, Ukraine, and South America." He looked up, a smile on his face. "The Rapture Campaign. At last. I wondered if they would do it soon."

Duri looked at him, hearing the satisfaction, and sat down at the table. "Did you know this was coming?"

"Not officially," he answered. "There were counteroffensives being planned as I came here," he put down the tablet. "Many of them appear to have been utilized. I have not received many classified reports since, but I assumed these plans were continuing. Important people were aware, including the Chancellor."

"Three fronts, across three continents," Duri murmured. "What about Asia?"

"My suspicion?" Kirill mused. "A matter of manpower and resources. I am certain that specific counteroffensive operations exist, but have not been initiated. North America is materially and symbolically critical – perhaps the most critical. Ukraine is a breadbasket, and food is especially important. South America…"

He frowned. "The Brazilian-Argentine front has been static for a long time; perhaps they think a surge will catch the Collective off-guard. I will be curious to know their reasoning."

"Is that a bad decision?" Duri wondered.

"I do not want to say for sure," Kirill answered. "I am unfamiliar with much of South America, and the specifics. I do know that High Command considers the Asia fronts stable, and less of a priority than others. As long as China is secure, we can wait for the rest."

Duri's lips twitched. "I suppose you're right."

"Aye," Kirill's voice softened. "This is war, and ADVENT cannot do everything it wishes, even if it likes to think, or believes it can. But numbers don't lie, and we ignore them at our peril."

Duri raised an eyebrow. "Am I authorized to know any of this, sir?"

"This isn't an official briefing," Kirill said dryly. "Just the speculation of a man right now, with certain historical knowledge. Frankly, you could have come to similar conclusions from public information. The point being, is that ADVENT – and almost certainly the Collective – are seeing the war enter a new phase."

"And that means our time is coming to an end," Duri finished. "If ADVENT needs all hands on deck…"

"Indeed," Kirill nodded. "Our final tests are almost certainly coming soon. I believe I am prepared for them, though must confess I am also looking forward to resuming my position."

"So am I," Duri admitted.

"Your squad," Kirill inquired. "Do you know where are they now?"

"Last I talked to Beatriz…" he thought for a moment. "They were moving to Europe…she said they didn't know why, but couldn't say where. If there's a counteroffensive in Ukraine…"

He didn't need to finish, the implication seemed clear enough. He wondered if he tried calling, if he'd even be able to reach them.

"Possibly," Kirill said. "Based on what you have shared, I expect they will manage fine, wherever they are."

"So do I," Duri nodded. "I suppose we enjoy the downtime while we can. When we go back, I don't think there will be a lot of rest."

The Russian chuckled at that, picking up his tablet again. "No, Officer. No there will not."

---

Interrogation Cells, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Early October 2017 – Morning

The Interrogation Cells were not exactly the same as those in the Citadel. The architecture was Sectoid, but beyond the aesthetic differences, the cells were still plain and bare with two chairs and a table between them. These days Liam suspected that the extent of 'interrogation' conducted was simply bringing in a psion to extract as much as they could. Much simpler, cleaner, efficient. No reason to hang on to outdated ways when better ones existed.

Though in a sense, this was an old-fashioned interrogation. Putting someone in a cell, sitting down, and talking. Also a sign of respect or trust, since the decision had been made to not breach his mind yet. He didn't plan on giving them a reason to reconsider. Zhang had eventually arrived with two glasses of water and a pitcher in hand, and set it on the table between the two of them.

They'd started talking.

Liam had already organized his thoughts based on what was likely of most interest to XCOM. He suspected there was a psion on the other end of the door who was feeding Zhang updates on if he was being truthful or not. He knew how these worked, and remembered enough about the people in charge to make accurate guesses about what they'd want.

Though things were much different now. Bradford was dead. Shen was dead. Van Doorn was dead. Losses that Liam doubted could really be replaced as they had been. Jackson was good at her job, but it was going to take some getting used to. The Mercado was definitely not the same as Shen.

And as far as he could tell, no one had really been able to replace Van Doorn. Which was fitting in a way, as the idea of Van Doorn being replaced was impossible in and of itself.

It was one thing to have knowledge of some of the events taking place in XCOM, and another to see it for himself. Especially when he'd been living among the enemy for the same amount of time.

Zhang's questions were pointed towards what he'd expected at first – information about the Collective he could share, particularly on Fectorian's forces. The projects, technologies, layout, everything he could think of, he shared without reservation. Eventually, Zhang shifted into a tangential topic.

Fectorian himself.

"Why did Fectorian want you?"

It was a question that Liam had wondered himself for quite a while, and he expected that Zhang wanted something more than the surface-level answer. "I don't think he saw me as part of a longer-term plan if you're wondering that. Fectorian is more spontaneous than your intelligence likely implies."

Zhang didn't outwardly react. "In what way?"

"Fectorian's plans and ideas are never a static thing," Liam explained. "He continually adjusts them as opportunities arise, new paths present themselves, or existing strategies aren't working. Abigail was one such spontaneous decision, I expect."

"How?"

"He didn't plan for her to be there, temporarily or otherwise," he said. "But when she was brought there before being given to Patricia, he saw an opportunity and took it. It might be better to say that Fectorian's goals don't change, but his approaches and methods do. He is not easy to predict in that sense."

"Noted. Fectorian by your description, and from your treatment, as well as Abigail, is much different than what Aegis had shared with us. Intelligence we weren't able to corroborate since Fectorian is closed off from most of the Collective, but what Aegis has provided us has been reliable," Zhang said. "Why might there be differences?"

Liam raised an eyebrow. "I would say because Aegis doesn't know Fectorian, or frankly most Ethereals, as well as he thinks he does."

Zhang made a note. "It sounds like you have a preconception of our Ethereal ally."

"Fectorian allowed me access to their history," Liam said. "I don't know Aegis, as he's decided to call himself, but his particular template was not a typical one. Ethereals like to pretend their methods weren't a glorified caste system, but Fectorian was just a civilian with a talent for mathematics and engineering."

Zhang raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And that meant a few things," Liam explained. "He was not a powerful psion, nor part of the military, nor from the administrative templates. Given the Ethereal cultural resistance to invasive or extensive augmentations, engineers of that type were not especially influential. They weren't oddities like natural children, but there was a certain stigma around them. Fectorian's interests didn't make him friends."

"And you think this colored Aegis' perception?"

"I'd be more surprised if it didn't," Liam thought about how to phrase it. "The Aegii, from what Fectorian has told me, were very much among the elite of the Ethereals. They interacted with Battlemasters and the Special Council. They didn't deal with civilians often, and expected subordination when they did. Aegis doesn't really know Fectorian, he is an acquaintance at best, who has a general idea of what he specializes in, but nothing beyond the surface."

His lips quirked. "Aegis likely sees Fectorian as a mad scientist – brilliant but irregular, and that is problematic. Most Ethereals have that reaction, hence why Fectorian prefers to work alone and be with aliens rather than his own kind. He does not like traditional Ethereal norms and formalities."

"Interesting," Zhang made a note. "His scientific counterpart doesn't seem to have the same stigma among the Ethereals."

"Revelean? I don't know as much about him," Liam said with a shrug. "However he is more emotionally and personality-wise, 'normal.' He does regularly interact with other Ethereals, and doesn't sequester himself. He is a typical Ethereal scientist as I understand. It makes sense the other Ethereals have a higher opinion of him."

"Would you say that is driving Fectorian's outreach?" Zhang asked. "His alienation from his own people?"

"No." Liam shook his head. "It makes him more willing to take drastic steps, but he does still care about his people. And he sees what the Imperator is doing as threatening it, and so is taking drastic action. He is wary of any Sovereign One, but he clearly does not trust the one with the Collective."

"On the subject, does Fectorian have any ambitions of his own? Political? Organizational?" Zhang asked.

"Fectorian is not a politician and has no desire to lead the Collective," Liam said. "He's never mentioned as much to me, and based on what I've seen, it isn't an ambition of his. He sees his work as the first and foremost priority. He mostly wants to be left alone, and in peace."

"Good information, thank you," Zhang made several more notes. "Now, Abigail. Did you know her nature since her awakening?"

"No, Fectorian didn't tell me what he was doing," Liam paused. "Not the truth. He told me what he told Abigail – to explain her 'amnesia' and lost memories. But…"

"But…"

"I started wondering the more time I spent with her," he finished. "The lack of progress in regaining her memories, her unnatural precision that even cybernetics couldn't explain, and towards the end of our time she would enter into trances completely absorbed in a problem for hours that she didn't realize."

His lips twitched. "I think she was starting to realize something was off. Fectorian did too, which I believe accelerated his decision to tell her the truth. So I was never told, but I figured there was something like that going on."

"And did that change your opinion of her?"

"No."

"Elaborate."

"I'd spent months with her at that point," he shrugged. "She didn't have the memories, but there was…something there that is her. Enough of her, at any rate. The essence, for lack of a better word. I don't know if it's an elaborate show, or just code, but I don't know if it matters. She's Abigail."

Zhang nodded slowly. "You care about her."

"Yes."

"Does she know?"

"She does. We're working out how this works given…" he gestured. "Everything going on."

Zhang didn't comment further, only made a few more notes. "Presuming your reintegration is approved – what is it you would like to do? You were in combat operations. A return to that role?"

"Honestly? Where I'm most needed. I can do combat ops again, or intelligence work if you want," Liam said. "As long as I can enjoy some proper Human food again, I'm not picky about what I do. I'm back where I belong, and I want to fight this war to the end."

"Thank you," Zhang stood. "I am admittedly not surprised, but confirmations are always better. I see nothing to prohibit you from reconstitution into XCOM. I will inform the Commander, and we will have you moved to better accommodations." He managed a thin smile. "And I will have the cook make something special."

Liam grinned. "I'd like nothing more."

---

Joseph Ray Shannon - Gulf of Guinea

Early October 2017 – Morning

Grady couldn't sleep. Ever since his meeting with Oversight, he'd been troubled. The report had bothered him, yes, but that wasn't the only thing. Not long after that meeting, more revelations regarding the Collective came out as a result of XCOM and ADVENT operations. He had not believed his opinion of the Collective could get much lower, but somehow it managed to keep plummeting.

Most disturbing of all was the information that was being released regarding the Mutons. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look at one the same way again.

But to be frank, the main reason he was still awake was simpler. He'd gotten caught up in his duties again and drank too much coffee. His wife had been bugging him lately in their calls to watch his caffeine since he was getting older, and he just knew she would say "I told you so" once she found out he was awake at such an ungodly hour.

I could always just not say anything. She'll probably find out anyway, but I might get lucky. He mused to himself. A dangerous roll of the dice, that would be.

For now, he figured if he couldn't fall asleep then he would make for the Officers Mess and get a snack. Maybe that would be enough for him to get back to bed and actually fall asleep.

It was as he was opening the door to the Officers Mess that he saw it was not empty. That was unusual; there shouldn't be anyone staffing it at this hour. He supposed it could be one of the night shift officers, or another insomniac grabbing a bite.

As he entered he quickly spotted the fellow late night snacker and identified him as one of the hangar deck crew by his purple jersey and navy pants. Someone who definitely wasn't of a high enough rank to be here…

The crewman immediately noticed Grady's entry and was momentarily startled before quickly attempting to hide what looked like a half eaten bagel with cream cheese behind his back.

"Uh, good evening Admiral, sir." He said hurriedly.

"Aren't you going to salute?" Grady replied, arching an eyebrow.

For a moment the sailor hesitated, but realizing the jig was up he sighed and saluted, transferring his midnight snack to a nearby plate. "Petty Officer Jenkins, sir, Hangar Deck crew, Fuel Handler." He seemed to be bracing himself, likely expecting a reprimand.

"I can tell that much. This isn't the crew mess, sailor." Grady answered, suppressing a smile as the crewman shifted on his feet like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh, yeah sir. Sorry about that," the crewman rushed out. "See, me and my team got stuck cleaning up a fuel spill on the hangar deck, and I just got some off time, so I figured I would catch a snack, but the crew mess is closed right now so-"

"So you figured no one would be in the Officers Mess and it was safe to sneak a bite?" Grady asked dryly.

"Uh…yeah…sorry sir, won't happen again," Jenkins promised, red-faced.

"How about you fix me up one of those bagels and I'll forget about this?" Grady suggested, finally letting his amusement show just a bit.

"Of course sir, uh what kind would you like? There's some asiago cheese and some poppy seed bagels left."

"Poppy seed, my wife keeps telling me to cut back on the cheese." He grunted.

"Of course sir, should I get you some coffee? I put a pot on before you got here." Jenkins offered.

"No thanks, I intend to go back to sleep." The last thing Grady needed at this hour was more caffeine.

"Fair enough." The petty officer responded while putting his bagel in the toaster. "Uh…can I ask a question, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"Did you hear about Jericho?"

"Yes, I did." Grady's answer was terse, and came after a brief moment.

He'd been privy to a brief report on it. Ordinarily, he would have been happy at the news that XCOM and ADVENT had managed to strike the Collective on their own turf. Unfortunately, what those teams found on Desolan quickly washed away any joy one might feel at the victory.

In its place Grady was left with feelings of horror and disgust. It was one thing to be told the Mutons were a slave race bred for war. It was another entirely to read the details. If ADVENT won this war, he hoped there would be justice for the Mutons.

"It's terrible, sir. I didn't think the Collective could sink that low." Jenkins said while pouring himself a mug of coffee.

"If there's one thing I've learned in this conflict, it's that there is nothing the Collective won't do. The Ethereals don't care about other races beyond what they can be used for." Grady muttered, unconsciously clenching one of his fists.

"I guess not. Makes me wanna get back to fighting," Jenkins said. "They already started the Rapture campaigns in Europe and the Americas, but we're still just sitting around. Any word on when we can get back to combat operations?"

Grady sighed. He felt much the same himself, but he couldn't exactly fault Oversight after reading the reports on the rest of Scipio. Still, this pause was bad. The longer they waited, the greater the chance the SAS and Collective would get their feet under them and go on the attack.

"I don't know, and even if I did I couldn't tell you," Grady responded patiently. "I'm sure ADVENT is working on getting things back on track."

"Yeah I suppose you're right. Still, it feels like a waste to be running all these flight missions if we're not gonna do any fighting," Jenkins grumbled. "I get we need to keep our planes in the air around the clock to dissuade an attack, but we're burning fuel and spare parts for nothing right now."

"I agree," Grady conceded. "But it would take something pretty big for ADVENT to-"

And then, something…shifted.

Grady wasn't quite sure what changed or what had happened. But he knew something was different compared to a moment ago. A sudden chill in the air. A ripple without wind. Something invisible, but tangible. Jenkins seemed to feel it too, given how a shudder appeared to pass through him.

Before Grady could say anything, an alarm sounded, the klaxons blaring and lights flashing.

"Attention all personnel, this ship is under attack, this is not a drill. Please report to your stations and await further instructions. This is not a drill."

Grady was shocked but quickly recovered and began to reach for his earpiece before remembering he had left it in his quarters. Fortunately, there was a phone in the Officers Mess for contacting the rest of the ship so Grady quickly dashed to it.

"I'll find out what's going on," Grady told Jenkins as he moved. "Standby, Petty Officer, I'll let you know what to do once I get off."

All he heard from Jenkins was a vague mumbled response, but he wasn't fully paying attention because he suddenly found himself feeling distinctly off. Like something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what. He felt a migraine coming on, but pushed it out of his mind as he needed to make contact with Francetti and figure out what was happening.

After dialing into the Bridge, he was relieved when the phone was immediately picked up. "This is the bridge, who is speaking?"

"This is Admiral James Grady, what the hell is going on?" He barked, perhaps a little harsher than he had intended too. He just couldn't stand this migraine that had suddenly appeared; combined with the stress and late hour, it seemed even worse than usual. He'd never felt one come on this fast and this hard.

"Admiral? The XO wanted to know your status, let me patch her in for you." the crewman on the other end said before likely gesturing for Francetti to come over.

While he waited Grady began massaging his brow, trying to futilely manage the pain. It felt like something had just grabbed his head and started squeezing.

"Admiral? Is that you?!" Francetti's voice suddenly sounded, much too harsh and far too loud to him right now.

"Yeah it's me. What's going on? Are we being fired on?" Grady asked, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to block out the lights and trying to ignore the alarms that felt like sledgehammers banging on his head.

"Hold on…" She moved away from the microphone for a moment "Where is it? What?! You're sure?!" she exclaimed, clearly shaken and the alarm clear in her voice as she hurriedly asked him: "Sir, where are you right now? Are you safe?"

Grady was struggling to focus on the call through the pain he was feeling and managed to grit out a response "I'm in the Officer's Mess. What the hell is going on?"

"Sir, you need to run. We've been boarded by a powerful psion," she said frantically. "The PRIESTs aren't sure what it is, but they say it appeared near your quarters. We think it's after you! You need to get out of there and find a security team-"

All of a sudden Grady felt something give way. Where previously he'd felt terrible pain, it had reduced to a dull ache. It was like all of a sudden the pressure that had been building was draining away, slowly but steadily.

His thoughts were still a bit hazy, but he was reminded of the practice of trepanning where a person's skull was drilled open. He didn't know what exactly was draining away and before he could think on it longer he felt himself get grabbed by a visibly crazed petty officer Jenkins as he was ripped away from the intercom system.

"Sir, you need to make it stop! Only you can make it stop! It wants you! Make it stop!" Jenkins screamed at him deliriously, holding him with a death grip and grabbing him by the throat. His strength magnified by his madness, Grady couldn't peel his hands away and could see his vision narrowing as the seconds ticked by as Jenkins clung to him like a drowning man.

Flailing desperately his hand curled around something nearby and he swung it towards Jenkins head without thinking. He heard the sound of glass shattering and distantly felt a scalding liquid on his skin. Jenkins screamed in pain and let go to grasp at his face. Grady realized he'd grabbed the boiling coffee pot and smashed it against Jenkins' head.

Before he could properly catch his breath, though, Jenkins was already grasping blindly, trying to find him as his vision cleared. Blinking away the coffee and blood from his bloodshot eyes. Grady didn't want to hurt him further, but he wasn't snapping out of it. Hoping to end things quickly, Grady moved around behind Jenkins and got him in a headlock. His intention was just to choke him out until he lost consciousness, preferably leaving him alive, but he wasn't well versed in CQC.

Jenkins flailed and struggled, making no attempt to remove Grady's arms from his neck and instead devoting all of his effort to trying to hurt or knock out Grady. Backing up into things, swinging his fists over his shoulders towards Grady's face, anything he could do. It took a while, longer than Grady thought possible, but eventually, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Jenkins collapsed.

Grady blearily gathered his thoughts, it was harder than it should have been, like trying to grasp at water or sand. He considered checking Jenkins' pulse but remembered the call that had been interrupted and reached for the phone.

"-dmiral! Admiral, are you there?!" Francetti desperately called over the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here," Grady managed. "A crewman just attacked me, but I knocked him out."

"Sir, it's not safe there," Francetti emphasized. "The PRIESTs think that whatever this is, it's here for you. You have to get moving before it finds you."

A bit late for that, Grady thought sourly. There was…something happening to him; to everyone, but it wasn't like any psionic attack he'd experienced before…not that he'd had much experience there.

"I understand," he said. "Have a security team ready at the nearest stairwell."

"High Command has been informed, but they can't send anyone to us fast enough," Francetti continued. "Sir, should I contact XCOM?"

Grady paused at that suggestion. A part of him resisted calling for help, resenting having to request assistance on his own ship - from what was effectively a foreign power, no less. But there was a time and a place for pride, and he was clearly under some form of psionic attack.

He could still feel something draining away, and he dreaded to think of what was being lost with every passing second. The restraints must mostly have been holding the worst of it at bay, otherwise he'd have ended up like Jenkins.

"Yes, I think that would be best," he said, giving the order. "Tell them to hurry and meet me at the stairwell."

"Yes sir, be careful."

"I know, Francetti, believe me I know…" he said, shaking his head in a futile effort to clear it, as he hung up.

Grady was not far from his quarters, and he thought he could hear a strange croaking whine coming from down the corridor. Without wasting any more time he started running towards the stairwell - fortunately in the opposite direction of his quarters. He couldn't help but think back on Jenkins' offer and cursed himself.

I really should have taken the coffee.

---

Joseph Ray Shannon - Gulf of Guinea

Early October 2017 – Morning

Get to the stairwell. Get to the stairwell. Get to the stairwell.

Grady repeated the mantra in his mind, desperately trying to focus through the haze that threatened to consume his mind. His steps were clumsier than normal, and his thoughts felt sluggish. Everything seemed so much harder than it should have been. He'd intended to head straight for the stairwell, but whatever creature was chasing him started gaining on him, so he'd needed to take some detours in an effort to lose it.

Unfortunately he nearly got lost after a few of these given his deteriorating mental state, and was forced to go back on the direct route. He hadn't seen any crewmen since… since the one in the Officers' Mess. He couldn't remember his name anymore, and it wasn't important enough to bother trying to recall it. It was taking everything he had just to remember where he was supposed to go. He attributed the lack of crewmen to the alarm that was still blaring.

They must all be at their stations by now, he thought to himself. Though every now and then he thought he heard screams.

Hopefully it was just a trick by whatever psion was attacking him.

As he prepared to round the next corner, he realized to his relief he had finally reached his destination. Now he just needed to remember why he was heading here in the first place…

As he tried to recall why he was here at all, he nearly walked right into a rifle and was only snapped out of his thoughts when one of the soldiers directly addressed him - very loudly. All of them were very heavily armed and armored, with their voices holding a synthesized harshness due to their full-face helmets.

"Halt! Are you Admiral Grady?" One of the soldiers, the leader probably, ordered.

After shaking his head to try and clear the fog somewhat, he responded, "Yes, yes I am. Sorry, but it's hard to think with this attack still going on."

"Understood," He glanced at one of the soldiers beside him. "Hoffman, think you can give him some protection?"

"I think I can extend it to him as well, though we're all still in danger as long as that thing is around. I can't guarantee we aren't still being affected slightly." The other soldier, presumably the psion, stated.

With a flick of their hand, and a brief purple-tinged distortion, the fog in Grady's mind dissipated and the sensation of draining, which Grady had nearly forgotten about, also ceased.

With his mind once again clear, Grady took a moment to look over the team before him. Now he knew why something hadn't been quite right about the soldiers - they weren't ADVENT at all. Around eight XCOM soldiers made up the unit before him, though one of them did not look like any soldier Grady had ever seen. Grady also spotted some of the ship's Marine detachment, though space was limited so most of them were on the levels above.

"Thanks for that," Grady said, nodding at the psion before returning his attention to the leader. "Can you fill me in on what is going on? I don't have a comm on me, so I'm a little out of the loop."

"I'm sure one of the marines can lend you a radio. As for the sitrep, I'll try to keep it brief," the leader said, taking a breath. "It seems the Collective launched a surprise attack on your fleet using teleporters. There have been a few Human forces, presumably SAS, but they seem a bit different from their usual troops, that attempted boarding actions on some of your ships, but we think those were distractions from the main objective, which appears to be you."

He nodded to the corridor behind Grady. "Per Hoffman, the only enemy force on this carrier is whatever psion is causing the telepathic effect you were under. It is not a typical one either - Ir Nara, tell him."

"It is one of the Bringer's creatures, a powerful one as well." An unusually tall female soldier hissed, wearing strange almost stony looking armor and wielding a staff of all things with an orb at the top. "We must either leave this place, or kill the abomination. We cannot block its power indefinitely."

"Leave?!" Grady bristled. "I'm not getting off my ship, not if it means leaving this thing on board with my crew!" He was the ranking officer on this ship - and he was not about to leave until everyone else had been evacuated or the crisis dealt with.

"Sir, our orders are to extract you to safety," the leader's tone was patient, but clearly exasperated. "We're pretty sure this thing is after you, so once you're gone it should leave."

"Listen…" Grady began, before realizing he hadn't actually caught the man's name.

"An Xiong, Squad Overseer. Sorry for the late introduction." They helpfully offered.

"Right, not a problem," Grady said. "Anyway, Xiong, there's no guarantee the thing will leave if I do. It may decide to try and destroy the ship or mentally cripple the crew if it can't get me. We can't afford to lose a carrier, and I won't abandon my crew to this monster. And what was that you said about this thing? Something about a Bringer?"

At that the Overseer and the tall woman shared a glance, though due to the helmets Grady could not decipher their expressions or even tell if they were speaking.

After a brief moment the Overseer spoke again. "Yes, you should have received a briefing on them. To put it simply, they are a…faction within the Collective forces that utilizes…very dangerous and atypical forms of psionics, telepathy included. As we understood before now, their use was banned by the Battlemaster."

"Well, he's either lying, or someone is taking him for a fool." Grady responded.

At that, another very large XCOM soldier, this one appearing to wield a powerful laser cannon, audibly snorted before interjecting. "I say we kill it."

"That's not your call, Kane," Xiong stated brusquely.

"No, but it's mine, and I agree with him. Get this thing off my ship!" Grady growled.

"Sir, with all due respect-" Xiong tiredly began before being cut off by the tall woman again.

"We've lost the chance to flee," Ir Nara once more hissed, readying her staff. "It is here! Ready yourselves!" Atop her staff, the orb began glowing with a deep blue light.

Just then the tunnel behind Grady was sealed by a psionic barrier, likely by one of XCOM's psions, moments before a tendril slapped against it. For a moment the strange appendage seemed to curiously probe the barrier, before retreating as the being it belonged to showed itself. Grady did not know what the creature was, he'd never seen anything like it and he hoped he never would again after this.

The thing had no discernible eyes, but rather empty sockets. In place of flesh, it instead had masses of purple vine-like tendrils that constantly shifted, writhing constantly, sometimes ridden with thorns or small alien flowers that grew and withered before his eyes.

Rather than hands or feet the tendrils merely splayed out to provide support or allow for manipulation. Forming facsimiles which, while performing much the same function, bore little resemblance to the appendages of any natural being.

The entire entity felt less like a singular being and more like a malformed amalgamation of constantly shifting worms, unable to decide on a proper configuration and unwilling to settle on a singular form. Even so it still maintained a vague humanoid outline. Just looking at the creature made Grady's mind ache and threatened to bring back the pain anew.

In that instant the large man he remembered as 'Kane' was the first to act. Bringing his large laser cannon to bear and growling out "Make a gap for outgoing fire!" before shooting the creature.

Whatever psion was responsible for the barrier responded by creating fixed gaps in the barrier so as to not impede allied fire in specific areas while also keeping it tight enough to prevent the creature from getting through. Or at least that was the idea he suspected.

Against a normal enemy it may have worked but this creature was truly unlike anything he'd ever seen. Every as it was getting scorched and sliced to pieces by violet laser fire and ripped apart by kinetics the fleshy, vine-like mass that composed it simply swelled and surged. Reaching out to re-attach severed limbs and heal wounds.

The laser burns seems to give it momentary pause and the occasional short lived fires the energy weapons left on the creature smoldered for a time before inevitably being smothered and drowned beneath a wave of pale and sickening meat.

To make matters worse, the creature made use of the gaps to wriggle its vines through, forcing XCOM and the security teams on the defensive as they focused on slicing them off and trying to scorch the wriggling, severed appendages. In the chaos someone on the XCOM team shouted out "Chosen!"

Grady knew about the Chosen, he'd read the reports and while this certainly didn't resemble any of the Chosen on record he had to admit the regeneration matched what had been observed. Also one of the Chosen had already been observed to have undergone a rather…drastic change so it wasn't hard to imagine it could happen to another of them.

Given this didn't resemble the Warlock, and the Hunter was clearly still unchanged as evidenced by his online activities (Grady would never understand how the Collective could allow highly placed personnel to openly fool around on the internet) this must be the suspected 'Assassin' if he was remembering right. He wasn't entirely sure why, but for some reason, he had the distinct impression this had not been a voluntary transformation.

Whatever it was, regeneration was a problem. Kinetic weaponry was virtually useless and severed limbs simply reattached themselves unless they were burnt to ash by laser fire. He believed that given enough time they might be able to wear it down by cutting it apart and burning the pieces but it would take too long.

Even if they succeeded in destroying limbs it still seemed to regenerate most of the damage, though he felt like it was beginning to slow down ever so slightly. They needed a way to damage it faster than it could heal itself while also leaving it nothing to regenerate from. He found himself wishing he had a Purifier, even if it would be insanity to use them in these corridors. But maybe there was another option…

"We can't keep this up, we'll run out of ammo before this thing goes down. We need to get you out of here Admiral!" Xiong exclaimed.

"No, we can do this," Grady said. "But I need a radio, and time." Grady answered.

"Do you have a plan?" The Overseer asked while severing a tendril that was promptly scorched by another soldier before it could wriggle away.

"Yes, now does anybody have a radio I can use?!" Grady yelled out to the soldiers nearby, XCOM and ADVENT alike. One of the ship's Marines rushed up to him with an earpiece before moving to provide additional fire against the target, ineffective as it was.

"Thanks," Grady said while getting the earpiece on. Once it was properly affixed he immediately sought to contact the bridge. "This is Admiral Grady, patch me through to the bridge of the Joseph Ray Shannon immediately!"

There was a pause, a few clicks and then he was answered by his Executive Officer. "Admiral, good to hear from you. What do you need?"

"Contact the hangar crew, I want them to set up a fuel spill by the entrance to the hangar closest to our position. Have them fill up a drop tank while they're at it just in case." He hoped the man in the Officers' Mess had survived all this; if not for his talk with him, then he may not have had this idea. Of course, he would also need to live through this himself.

He wished he could remember his name.

"I'll make sure they get on it, sir, but what about you?" Francetti asked, subtly suggesting he get to safety.

"The thing is after me, so I will make my way to the hangar deck while XCOM slows the creature down," Grady said. "Make sure all the side passages on the way there are sealed. I want a straight path for this thing."

Of course, the thing had already demonstrated it could teleport - otherwise how could it have gotten here? But it wasn't doing so at this point, and he had to assume one of the XCOM psions was interfering with its ability to do so. Even if it did teleport, he could still work around that.

"Understood, Admiral," she said before ending the call. "Stay safe."

"I think I know what you're planning," Overseer Xiong called, likely having heard half of the conversation. "We can perform a fighting retreat back to the Hangar deck, but I can't leave you unguarded. Kane! Escort the Admiral to the Hangar deck. Make sure he gets there in one piece!"

In response the hulking soldier, whose armor listed him as 'McTaggart', simply grunted and turned to follow Grady.

As he began rushing up the stairwell with Kane bringing up the rear he heard the creature screeching as those staying behind laid down suppressive fire. As he ran, he swore he would make the SAS and Collective pay for sending this monster after him and his crew.

---

Joseph Ray Shannon - Gulf of Guinea

Early October 2017 – Morning

"We're almost there, just a bit further to the hangar deck." Grady said, more for his own benefit than Kane's. The giant of a man hadn't spoken much since splitting up, simply grunting the few times Grady tried to engage him.

His large stature wasn't doing him many favors in the cramped confines of a carrier, so he had to hunch over and focus on keeping his head low to avoid banging it on the hatches. Every now and then he would imperceptibly cock his head, likely receiving updates and communicating with the rest of his team.

Whatever he was hearing he didn't deign to share, so the two of them walked largely in silence until they finally arrived. The acrid stench of jet fuel indicating his orders had been received and followed and that they were at the right entrance to the hangar deck.

As they stepped into the hangar deck, Grady saw a large dark stain surrounding him by the entrance and the fumes were actually stinging his nostrils. Ordinarily, this would be a huge safety violation and pose a risk to the ship…but in this case, it was the only thing he could think of to kill the thing pursuing him.

As he surveyed the area, one of the Chief Petty officers from the fuel handling teams approached and gave a salute. "Sir, we've done as you asked. This part of the deck is soaked and we have a drop tank filled behind us if necessary. What's the plan? And what exactly is going on? Some of the men were acting a bit strange a while ago, and now we've been told there's a hostile psion on board?"

"At ease," Grady said briskly, summarizing the situation as best he could. "The Collective have sent some kind of…they've sent a creature after us. It's probably after me. XCOM has arrived to help, but the thing won't die. My hope is it will chase after me, and once it makes it to the hangar deck, we can incinerate it. Are the security teams here ready?"

"Yes sir, they've all converged on the Hangar deck as ordered. How exactly are we going to light the fuel, though?" The petty officer asked.

Admittedly Grady hadn't given it much thought, but smoking was not allowed on naval vessels for safety reasons, and he doubted any of the deck crew were carrying lighters.

"Laser weapons will work." Kane grunted, hefting the large laser cannon he was carrying for emphasis.

"Good thinking, we'll wait for it to walk onto the fuel spill, then shoot it with laser weaponry." Grady declared, realizing in that moment that he was unarmed. He normally carried a gauss pistol since they were at war, but he'd not thought to bring it with him when going to the Officers' Mess. "Anyone got a weapon?"

Kane slung his own weapon onto his shoulder briefly, and reached for his sidearm, offering it to Grady. He took a moment to examine the pistol, which was also a laser weapon, he could tell that much.

"Thanks. You typically favor lasers?" Grady enquired.

"For this mission. Lasers are better for killing Psions, harder to block." Kane responded before taking a moment to show him how to use it. "This controls the wavelength and power, this controls the firing mode. Keep it on alternating pulse fire for now, visible makes targeting easier."

Grady nodded as he examined the weapon. It seemed XCOM put a lot of thought into their armaments before a mission. He made a note of the effectiveness of laser weapons for dealing with psions, and decided if he lived through this, he'd ask ADVENT for more of them.

Just as he was about to ask another question he heard gunfire from the entrance and saw a few of the ship's marines and other security forces retreating through it. They were depressingly few in number and several of them seemed to have run out of ammunition. Finally XCOM came through, the muffled whump of a grenade echoing after them. He noticed they seemed to be short a soldier. He recognized Overseer Xiong jogging up to him.

"I hope we bought you enough time, Admiral," Xiong greeted. "The damn thing won't die, and if this doesn't work, I have orders to extract you."

Grady did not miss what Xiong was implying with that statement.

"We're ready here, Overseer, no need to worry," Grady said, deciding to ask: "Did you lose someone?"

"Takaki didn't make it." The Overseer shook his head, and his tone betrayed nothing, but Grady could tell the loss hurt. Particularly against something like that…thing.

"We'll make it pay, then the Collective will answer for this as well. Once it steps onto that spot there-" Grady indicated the darkened patch of deck with a gesture. "-We'll aim for the deck and ignite the fuel spill. At the same time, I want your psions to erect a dome over the creature to make sure it can't escape."

He glanced to the side briefly, as the other soldiers took their positions. "Make sure to protect the rest of the crew here as well from telepathic attacks. We cannot let that thing get loose once we trap it, and it will try very hard to escape once it starts burning. If that's not enough, I have a drop tank full of jet fuel which we can use. Understood?"

"Yes, Admiral, I'll see it done." Xiong affirmed, giving the traditional ADVENT - and XCOM, apparently - salute of a fist over the chest.

"Good, now where is the guest of honor…" Grady muttered.

Almost as if it had been summoned, the creature appeared at the entryway. Grady didn't recall seeing it turn the corner; it just showed up like it had always been there. It paused, surveying them, though Grady wasn't sure how he knew that, as its head didn't move, and it had no discernible facial features.

He could feel the thing pressing on his mind, trying to get in. A few of the personnel stumbled momentarily or held their head and someone he assumed was XCOM's telepath was standing completely still. The strange woman with a staff gave no indication as to whether or not she was struggling but he was pretty sure she was a psion and he doubted she was having a pleasant experience.

Without warning the creature seemed to shift forward somehow, nearly clearing the fuel spill before the stranger tapped her staff on the deck. This brought the creature to a halt, and before it had a chance to get its bearings, Grady shouted.

"Now!"

Everyone with a laser weapon, including himself, aimed for the deck around the creature and fired a single burst. At the same time, a dome of indigo and violet power manifested around the creature. The jet fuel instantly caught fire, and with it he heard the creature scream. Not with his ears, but with his mind. Everyone heard it, felt it.

Several crewmen collapsed to the deck, some were trying to claw their own ears off to make it stop. Grady felt like someone had stabbed knives into his brain.

That wasn't all though, no it got worse. He felt other things as well. Emotions and thoughts that weren't his own. Regret, hunger, thirst, emptiness, longing, lust, desperation, frustration and above all, a desire to end himself. Whatever this thing was, he didn't think it wanted to be alive, not in this state.

As he was shaking this off he realized the flames were starting to die down and began to panic. Why was it going out so quickly? The blaze should have lasted at least another minute or two.

It was only as he saw the dome filling up with smoke that he understood what the problem was and desperately shouted: "Put air holes in the dome! You're smothering the fire!" He hoped he could be heard over the scream that was still ringing in his mind.

Not a few moments later he saw a number of small holes appear in the dome. The creature attempted to slither parts of itself out through them but those who could still fight began firing. Grady himself managed to slice off a piece and watched with satisfaction as it fell to the burning deck and sizzled like a worm on hot asphalt.

The creature was definitely in pain, but it didn't seem to be dying - not quite. Grady decided it was time to implement his backup plan. "Get the drop tank ready, let's pour more fuel on the fire!"

Despite his order, no one did anything at first. The Chief Petty Officer, who was a tad unsteady on his feet, came forward, asking Grady something he hadn't considered. "Sir, how are we gonna get it there?"

A fully fueled drop tank weighed a few thousand pounds. They had to be moved around with utility vehicles and were too heavy for a person to lift, let alone throw. If they had any telekines available, they might have been able to do it, but none of XCOM's squad had shown any aptitude for it. He would have laughed at making such a stupid oversight if it wasn't about to get him killed.

It was at that moment he heard the harsh sound of something scraping against the deck and a deep growling. Turning around, he saw the unthinkable. Kane had hoisted the drop tank by its harness and currently held it over his head. A feat that should have been physically impossible for a Human - a normal Human, at any rate.

He knew XCOM soldiers were heavily augmented, but this feat of herculean strength still left him awed.

With slow, deliberate steps, Kane moved towards the creature. It seemed to realize he was a threat, because it swiftly redoubled its efforts to escape, thrashing against its psionic confines and directing the entirety of its ire at the soldier who was steadily approaching it. The pressure Grady had felt on his mind noticeably lessened, and several people seemed to straighten as the full attention of the monstrosity rested on Kane, who scarcely seemed to take notice.

Finally, once he was just a few feet from the flames he grit out "Open it up". Grady could sense the strain in his voice, physical and mental.

At that the front of the dome briefly opened and Kane let out a roar as he threw the drop tank at the creature, staggering it with the impact. Seeing his chance Grady lined up a shot and fired a sustained beam at the fuel container which, after some brief resistance, exploded into a deafening inferno. Flames shot out through the gaps in the newly erected dome and Grady couldn't see anything inside of it.

Where previously there had been a scream, now there was a screech. Almost everyone around him - save the psions and a few XCOM soldiers, notably Kane - were brought to their knees. He could still hear everything else; was still aware of what was happening around him.

But the creature was definitely suffering now, and it made sure everyone was aware of it. The blaze inside the dome made verifying anything about the occupant virtually impossible, but the screech made it clear they were still alive. He was getting sick of this thing.

"Dammit! Just die already, you overgrown weed!" He shouted as loud as he could.

"Ah, Christ, we're gonna melt through the deck at this rate!" Someone cried out, clearly worried the fire might damage the ship.

"It's fine! Jet fuel can't melt through steel!" Another answered, desperately trying to block out the screech by covering his ears, likely to no effect.

As Kane was looking into the flames, he seemed to reach some sort of decision and turned to ask Grady: "Where do you keep the ordinance?"

Not really registering the question, Grady simply pointed off towards a nearby utility vehicle carrying bombs and missiles for an upcoming air patrol. Without saying a word, Kane immediately started to walk towards it. It took a second for Grady to figure out his intentions, but when he did, he could scarcely believe it.

"Wait, are you insane?!" Grady frantically exclaimed. "You'll blow us all up if you chuck one of those inside the ship!"

"You got a better idea?" Kane growled, approaching one of the carts to examine the available ordinance. "This is taking too long."

Thinking quickly and looking at the creature, as well as the ordinance currently at hand, Grady reluctantly agreed. "Fine, take one of the smaller missiles. It should be safer."

Marginally.

At that, Grady fancied he saw something in the flame shift. Perhaps the creature heard him. If so, it clearly didn't like what it heard, and decided to make one last attempt. He now realized the screech had not truly been a psionic attack, but rather a cry of pain. What came next, however, was without a doubt an attack.

A deafening shriek struck him, and suddenly his whole mind was overwhelmed. He felt overwhelming, existential pain. His mind ground to a near halt. His senses went haywire. He saw stars exploding in his vision, and smelled a thousand scents he could not place.

It felt like someone was trying to tear his soul out through his face. He felt something dribbling from his nose and ears, and struggled to maintain control of his own bowels.

He wasn't sure when exactly he fell to the deck, but he knew he'd lost control of his limbs, which were now flailing wildly. Someone tried to hold him down, indicating not everyone was quite so affected as him.

The last thing he heard was that strange woman's voice yelling: "It's trying to open a portal!" before his vision, and his mind, finally went white.

---

Throne Room of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective, Temple Ship of the Imperator - Restricted Collective Space

Early October 2017 - Afternoon

The Temple Ship had undergone several radical changes in recent days. Upgrades, was what Regisora had told them. Enhancements to the foundational design that would bring the Temple Ship up to a standard that could satisfy a Sovereign one.

It wasn't completely unexpected. Since the Orb had been placed in the Throne Room, Patricia had expected that Mosrimor execute more extensive efforts to augment the Temple Ship - if for no other reason than to ensure there continued insight and security within it.

She had wondered to what degree Mosrimor would conduct his augmentations; if he would make an attempt to keep up a certain facade of an ally. It had become quickly apparently as the robotic construction swarms had descended upon the Temple Ship that Mosrimor had no inhibitions on making the changes he deemed necessary - within the Throne Room, and beyond.

Entire regions of the ship, including much of its security systems, had been quite literally hollowed out by Mosrimor's swarms, and restored with a complex and comprehensive network of components and materials she didn't recognize - but it came together as a system which was under the Sovereign's direct control.

It was simultaneously a more overt demonstration of authority, complete with additional security drones, weapon-laden cameras, additional security mechanisms - while also containing a certain kind of subtlety. The cameras and weapon systems were almost certainly to distract from the miniature camera swarms that she'd seen crawling in the shadows along the walls; continually watching and silently recording.

The central nerves of the entire system were the Orbs. One had already been placed in the Throne Room, but over a dozen others had been distributed throughout the Temple Ship, usually in more fitting places, such as along walls, or within secure rooms.

They reminded her of miniature altars; humming hearts of mechanical power that thrummed and turned the air warm and vibrating. It was a tangible effect that anyone who just walked past it could feel; a continual reminder of his presence and reach, even here.

There was little better demonstration from Mosrimor that he was in control now, and any attempts at subterfuge would be met with consequences. It was a message to the Imperator, as well as his subordinates, that the Temple Ship was not the domain of the Imperator - it was his. Yet another extension of the Sovereign's reach.

The Imperator was not quite as impressed with the effort, and his reasoning had made a degree of sense, even if she wondered if it was too optimistic an outlook.

His obsession is control. That he goes to such lengths indicates he feels he lacks control; the measures are to intimidate, to remind, to threaten. He requires our submission, and believes it must be forced.

It is not desperation, merely a warning - and to hide that he is not in total control, and is aware of it.

The implication continuing to be that they were still not in danger of being completely replaced or subordinated. She had impressed wariness upon him all the same; even if the Imperator was right, it made little sense to antagonize the Sovereign One.

Hence why they were here now.

Right now the Temple Ship was parked in an unknown region of Collective space that had since been formally restricted - with very immediate consequences for any who attempted to explore. The reason for it being that Mosrimor had decided to turn it into his primary production zone.

From the projected images onto the screens of the Throne World, Patricia saw over a dozen factories that seemed to have been cut into massive asteroids, and each of them churning out frigates, fighter drones, supply carriers, and other logistical spacecraft which were then being sent to Collective worlds across their territory.

It was similar to Fectorian's Blacksite, and while it had taken Fectorian years to reach his level of output, Mosrimor had created this in a matter of weeks.

The sheer scale of what was being produced each day from such a relatively small series of factories was awe-inspiring - as well as terrifying. She'd taken some time to review the logistics of what was arriving and leaving each day. Billions of tons of ore and metals were shipped in each day, and the dozens of spacecraft were leaving at almost the same rate.

It was a stark demonstration of the scale and sophistication that Mosrimor brought to bear; proof of his logistical and mechanical mastery that no other species could hope to match.

It was as much a symbol of Mosrimor's intent as his skill. There was no time to be wasted; no resource to be squandered.

Mosrimor was committed now, and what Patricia had gleaned was yet another unspoken implication that they were capable of being replaced should they prove insufficient to Mosrimor's designs.

The moment Ethereal, Sectoid, Muton, and Human failed to fulfill their roles in Mosrimor's designs, there were legions of metal and steel he could forge in their place. Such was the implication, and one that for Patricia rang true.

Because, if they were being honest with themselves, Mosrimor didn't need them at the end of the day. His power was something divorced from anything they had.

He didn't define his power in terms of territory controlled, planets ruled, or species subservient. The Sovereign One himself was the heart of the only empire that mattered - himself. A state and nation unto himself, free and independent of the needs and weaknesses of mortals.

And everything that proved itself inferior to his needs, he would not hesitate to improve.

And even still, he has his limitations and hesitations. The Imperator had been appraising the shipyards along with her for several hours now, witnessing their output, and implications. He cannot take over everything. If it were so simple, so straightforward, there would be little need for continual theatrics.

Not yet, she agreed cautiously. But…

Eventually, perhaps, he forestalled. But not until there is a threshold of no return. He prepares for a war of Sovereigns; a true one. But he is as wary of escalation as his rival is. So he will move the pieces into place, until such a time comes as to activate his final contingency.

Which will come if we fail to meet his standards.

Correct.

A pause. A resolve. Then a promise.

So we will not fail.

It was a Cold War of a new kind, one where the stakes were somehow higher, and the powers behind them even more imposing. A Cold War where each side built for a confrontation of mutually-assured destruction, one which would consume everything and inflict costs beyond all previous measures. The thought gave her no comfort, because there was one crucial difference between Sovereigns and states of the late twentieth century.

The Sovereigns had no ties to what they ruled.

There had been only one Earth, and a nuclear armageddon was not a victory for anyone at all - hence no one was willing to condemn all of mankind to extinction simply for geopolitics. Not the United States, not the Soviet Union, even if there had been a few close calls.

The Sovereign Ones, in contrast, had no such reservations. Species and worlds were expendable pieces on a galactic chessboard. There was no 'one world' that could not be lost; there was no untouchable target; no sacred cow. Sovereigns were above the attachments that had kept Mankind from killing itself in the end.

Mosrimor would sacrifice each of them to give an advantage or achieve victory. T'Leth would do the same. The battles fought would not simply be conventional engagements between fleets and armies, but entire worlds themselves would be fought in the crossfire.

Unlike the Cold War, it would not, could not, remain quiet forever.

Because it didn't have to.

Eventually, inevitably, a line would be crossed, or a threshold met, and the next escalation would happen. It had already happened, slow and deliberate steps, but with each one taken, the Sovereign Ones drew closer to open battle.

It would take time - the timespans of Sovereigns were long, and they might see little reason to rush their grand strategies which spanned years - but it seemed an inevitability. And when it did…

Well, it was over for all of them. ADVENT, Collective, it would be a battle of Sovereigns, not species.

There had been a period after Desolan had been attacked where Mosrimor had appeared poised to actively take over the entire planet - and the billions of Mutons that resided on it, active or in storage.

Because, as Regisora had explained, it couldn't be fully secured. And because of this vulnerability, there was nothing stopping T'Leth from dropping a planet-cracking bomb on it, if he wished. Apparently, that was a favored tactic of some of T'Leth's forces - ones that had yet to appear, though the tactic was one that could be replicated without issue.

Still, they knew that would be an escalation, one that T'Leth was not prepared for.

Yet.

So it fell to them to address and correct these shortcomings. Mosrimor had made it clear that another breach would not be treated with such leniency. The Imperator was not keen to put that to the test, and neither was she.

And as Desolan was receiving an overhaul of its existing defenses and protocols, the Temple Ship had been brought here to undergo similar treatments, and address identified vulnerabilities.

Regisora stood with them, who had said little as they'd appraised the factories, but she spoke; her voice breaking the heavy silence that had descended over them.

"You do not grasp how close you were to losing your world, Viatorian," Regisora said, standing before Mosrimor's orb, while the Imperator returned his attention to her, Patricia standing beside him. "I convinced Mosrimor that to directly assume control of the industries and worlds responsible for our production, it would be counter-productive."

"As you have made clear. Repeatedly." The Imperator said. "Yet I suspect you did little to convince him of anything. Your Sovereign master is one who would not adhere to the advice of lesser species unless there was an intrinsic agreement."

Regisora appeared to bristle at the dismissal. "I am his Voice, Viatorian. I hold this role because I understand things in a way he does not. You do not grasp how primitive, how simple we are to a Sovereign One. He does not inherently grasp why your protests matter - so he does listen to what I say, because that is why I exist."

A note of intensity entered her voice, tinged with irritation. "And that is why, if T'Leth remains able to strike with impunity, he will ignore what I say, because the tolerance of you and the Collective is less important than securing his investment from T'Leth. You must not test this. Take whatever steps are necessary, because if you do not, the choice will be made for you."

She waved one of her upper arms, and a small portal manifested, dropping something into the waiting lower hands. It was a strange orb-like device, with a grey stone-like exterior. Patricia would have guessed it was some kind of stone, were it not for patterned ridges and small electric eyes exposing it as a machine.

The device hovered above her hands, slowly spinning in place. "Do you know what this is?"

The Imperator appraised the machine for a few seconds. "No."

"This is one of hundreds of probes that T'Leth has been sending across Collective space," she answered. "Small, delicate, capable of hiding from conventional detection systems. With these he has been identifying critical targets for a decapitation strike."

"He's looking for Mosrimor's world," Patricia surmised.

"Which he has not found yet, but he is looking," Regisora emphasized. "And along the way, he is methodically identifying every world within the Collective - critical or otherwise. If he cannot find Mosrimor, he can find our most critical worlds, and destroy them with a modicum of effort."

"At a single time?" The Imperator shook his head. "No."

Regisora's eyes appeared to flash, and Patricia sensed a sudden build-up of power. "You would do well to not ignore the warnings from one who has faced the Warmaster in battle, Imperator. Witness."

She placed one hand on the Throne Room orb, which pulsed as an overpowering vision filled her mind. It was one that was less congruent and organized than most; driven by rapid sequences of images and intense feelings rather than the linear progression of time.

She saw the skies splitting open above worlds from massive portals, many of the worlds prepared for war, others that were not. Some that were populated with cities of shifting, unidentifiable aliens, others that seemed to be automated foundries or sparsely populated farms. She saw the faint outlines of a blue-wreathed Sovereign in silver-blue armor within the tears in the sky.

Which hovered ever-so ominously.

The power in the air was so tangible she could feel her hair stand up on end, as if the air itself was going to explode. Then it did. And she saw one world destroyed. Then another. Another. All seeming to happen at the same time; the emotions of terror and panic were continual; as she comprehended that this was the opening shot in T'Leth's war.

Then it ended as quickly as it started.

"He does not care," Regisora hissed; electric ripples coloring her voice. "He has no inhibition when it comes to the armies and empires of his enemies. Within the first day, he strikes every single world of importance, no matter its preparation or threat, or not. Every world. It will not simply be Desolan that dies, it will be Vitakar. It will be Andromeda Prime. It will be colonies and factory worlds."

Her voice grew louder. "You think that T'Leth is at war now? He is not. He has yet to declare it, for if he had, swathes of the Collective would be burning, and billions dead. What we have seen? Merely testing what we could bring to bear against him; appraising the perfect time to strike."

A wave of her hand, and the probe disappeared. "T'Leth considers armies and proxies beneath him. You believe Mosrimor sees you as lesser? T'Leth only accepts you as dust. He does not conquer, for he has no need of state or empire. He only seeks the death of Sovereigns, and any who stand with them."

Wisps of purple rippled and flashed around Regisora's black form. "Only death satisfies the Warmaster. First the death of Sovereigns - and then the death of everyone else. He will not stop until his bloodlust is sated. Be thankful that he has not succeeded in his quest, because if it were not for Mosrimor, he would have had no inhibition on challenging even the Ethereal Empire. Have I made this clear, Imperator?"

For the first time since she'd started speaking, she seemed to take a breath. The pressure around her abated. Her voice became ever-so-slightly softer; an earnestness that Patricia could only just perceive.

"I am not simply serving Mosrimor, Viatorian," she said quietly. "I did not accept this sacrifice because you ordered me to, or for power, or to appease a Sovereign. I did it to keep our people alive; safe from a Sovereign who lives only, only, for eternal war. Not conquest, not power. War. Eternal, endless, war."

She glanced at the orb as she finished. "A Sovereign One who will kill us - unless we are protected. All of us. There is only one who is capable of doing that - and it is not you."

The heavy silence once more fell over them. Patricia felt the Imperator internally bristle at the accusation that he was incapable of protecting his people - but he also forced himself to begrudgingly accept her point.

"Your point is taken," the Imperator finally said. "In the matter of T'Leth, there is no dispute. He is the enemy of the Collective and Mosrimor both."

Patricia frowned, a question coming to her. "Is he just biding time, then? Why protect Earth? Why not begin such an offensive now, if we are as vulnerable as Mosrimor fears? If he does not care about Earth, or Humanity, then why restrain himself?"

"Because he enjoys war," Regisora answered. "You must grasp this. Sovereigns are not mentally congruent to us. They are creatures of ego above all. They are all that matters in their own world. Even as Mosrimor hears me speak these words, he does not care. He has heard every last word I say, each thought devious and pure, and he still does not care."

She gestured at the orb. "Sovereigns live for themselves, for everything bends to their wills. They shift, warp, and influence reality by their mere existence. They wage this cosmic war for themselves. To them, we are…" she trailed off for a moment. "Furniture. Pets. Wildlife. Utilities and conveniences. Ultimately inconsequential. We are not real to them in a way that matters."

With every word Regisora spoke, Patricia became more certain that somehow, some way, they needed to break free of Mosrimor. It wasn't possible now, but this was no life that was being promised. Not when they were already experiencing what Mosrimor would do if given the opportunity.

And this was him being benevolent. Merciful. Understanding.

"T'Leth is not from this Galaxy," Regisora continued. "He is old. Old enough to have waged thousands of wars, and millions of battles. Old enough, that by any psychological evaluation, war is the only thing he cares for. And what better war than one with an underdog fighting an entire empire? What more could a creature that takes joy in war find more entertaining?"

Patricia realized the analogy being laid out - it was a wager.

The relationship with XCOM, and Humanity at large, was not one based on anything but T'Leth's own curiosity. He wanted to see how they would fare, how hard they could fight, and how they could evolve.

The Commander had to know what this truly was; what it meant - but she also knew why he would take it. Because it was their own chance; because it was an incredible advantage.

Because they didn't have a choice.

It now made her wonder - what if Humanity did fail to meet T'Leth's standards? What if T'Leth got bored, or wished to move on? What would happen then? Would he just leave, or would Earth be the first world that fell to him?

The more she thought about it, the more she realized how bad the situation for Humanity really was. A species caught between two gods - one who had no qualms about killing them once they served their purpose, and Mosrimor.

"There he sits, at the bottom of your seas. Entertaining himself with death and war as he plans to annihilate everything we have ever built, like a contemptuous afterthought," Regisora's voice painted a picture of absolute certainty. "Not because he cares; as if we are an enemy he has a personal enmity with - but because we are in his way to the true entertainment of fighting another Sovereign and killing them personally."

The Ethereal shook her head. "Do you comprehend this beast we must kill? Why this distraction must be upheld until we are ready?"

"It has been made clear," the Imperator reassured her. "I suppose it was fortunate that our initial efforts were restrained. I expect, had we lacked restraint, this conflict may have become…shorter than otherwise."

Patricia listened to what Regisora was saying, the tangible conflict of emotions in her voice; disgust, derision - but also fear. Fear that she remembered sensing from Mosrimor himself. It hadn't made sense at the time, exactly why T'Leth was someone to fear outside of being exceptionally powerful and dangerous.

Now she thought she understood it.

The reveling in violence. The apathetic, casual, almost contemptuous disregard for lesser species. No vision or drive other than the carnage war could create. The delight in the hunt of a worthy enemy. T'Leth wasn't just a being of power, he was the closest thing a Sovereign one could be to a psychopath. An individual so disturbed and unnerving that Mosrimor believed he was unhinged.

Mosrimor, who seemed to break everything down to its mechanics, who was surrounded by, and augmented with machines. Who was obsessed with efficiency and scale; whose decisions were driven by cold logic and math. An entity that saw them as organic servants to execute its will.

Psychopathy, almost textbook characteristics. So simple when put in such terms.

And still this entity was afraid.

She understood that Mosrimor was only a few leagues removed from where T'Leth was, which didn't make T'Leth better - but it did highlight just how profoundly disturbed all of the Sovereigns seemed to be. Entities that were truly above everything else, and whose own flaws and harmful traits were inflicted upon millions or billions who could do nothing but endure.

How was anyone supposed to exist in a galaxy where these beings ruled?

Or was this to be the eventual fate of everything? Every species, every individual, bound or slaved to the will of a Sovereign One, and whom they could only pray was one of the 'benevolent' ones?

That couldn't be a fate she could accept.

Not forever.

She knew that there were Ethereals who saw the Imperator's plan as something doomed to fail, and who should have never taken it in the first place. Yet he was right, and had been right the entire time. He understood that if the Sovereigns remained, then there was little point in defeating the Synthesized. And that he could not defeat a Sovereign, without another Sovereign.

His only mistake had been to underestimate the one he had aligned with.

It made her consider the Synthesized more as a more intelligent, more powerful force than she'd really accepted before. Because they certainly knew the Sovereigns existed, and each time they won. And they could only win if they understood what they were facing; inclinations and tics that made even Sovereigns prone to manipulation.

Perhaps the Imperator couldn't manipulate the Sovereigns - but the Synthesized certainly could.

And she wondered if they were already doing so.

"My position, Imperator, is the only thing standing between complete Ethereal subjugation, death, or irrelevance," Regisora stated. "Forget this at your own peril."

"Understood," the Imperator said. "Is there more you wish to say?"

"We must address several concerns, while we still can. Before Mosrimor takes personal interest," Regisora continued. "For now, he has more pressing matters. But unless Mosrimor sees us as he sees those shipyards -" her head gestured towards the automated shipyards "- then he will see us as he sees his flagships. Requiring direct and continual personal attention. Too important to be trusted with flawed combat algorithms and possible error."

"Something best avoided," Patricia said. "So, how to address it?"

"He has made clear to me his concerns regarding his current lack of psionic infantry of sufficient scale and power to mass produce, given T'Leth is the foe," Regisora hesitated. "He has made his interest clear in Ethereal psyno-neurology, and the Battlemaster's physiology. As of yet, he has not devoted direct attention to… industrial production. But if he does, he will ask for genetic material and blueprints."

"It is my understanding that the Sectoids are working on the development of a proper psionic infantry unit," the Imperator said. "Patricia?"

"Yes, they are," she said. "Utilizing significant Human DNA for it. Production will begin to see results in months at the current progress."

"I will be direct," Regisora said after a moment. "Mosrimor sees little promise in the Sectoid designs. It is insufficient. He is theorizing on making Ethereal-hybrids that can be mass produced, as he sees the current Sectoids ideas as lacking."

"He has the Meat Puppets," the Imperator straightened suddenly. "I am unclear what more he expects. Ethereals are not conducive to sustained mass production. Our inherent biological complexity hinders the very concept."

Regisora raised a hand, and from it several pieces pulled back, as several graphs of Ethereal neurology and biological markers were projected from her hand. "The Meat Puppets are purposeless husks, requiring direct control to be useful. No autonomy, limited usefulness in complex operations. Yet they are still his highest quality counter to psionic threats. But Ethereal psionic power can be replicated in a lesser form if… cost-efficient materials are optimized."

The projection shifted, displaying something new; a creature with Ethereal,Sectoid and Human elements conjoined.

Patricia wouldn't have thought such a concept was even possible. It was one thing to incorporate the traits of other species into their own, but true hybrids was something only the Sectoids were experimenting with - and in Paradise Station, though in a much different way. To do the same with three species, even if it was theoretically possible, to produce a psionic soldier species that could be mass-produced was…

She could sense the Imperator's innate disgust and revulsion with the concept deeply through the bond. He already thought the Meat Puppets, mindless constructs as they were, were a necessary concession to Mosrimor, but nonetheless a perversion. This thing that Regisora was proposing was nothing short of an abomination; a bastard of multiple species, simply to fill a gap between Sectoids and Meat Puppets.

Patricia didn't think a single Ethereal - perhaps outside Regisora - would approve of it. She certainly didn't either.

"The difficulty of accomplishing such a cost-efficient design is only outweighed by its capacity to return investment," Regisora's own displeasure was audible. "Ethereal psychology was judged as perfect for maximizing such a pattern's psionic power. The arms. The head structure. The form."

"And this is what Mosrimor seeks to do?" The Imperator questioned in a low voice. "Or is already doing?"

"Seeks, unless an alternative is proposed. I have made my own measurements. If enough production-capable Sectoid Hives are transferred to his authority, he will simply improve Sectoids to be a better mass production model. Enough to be a more cost-efficient project than these," Regisora deliberately paused. "Controversial hybrids."

Patricia frowned at that. "Several Hives have already been given to Mosrimor. Demanding more risks the further displeasure of the Hive Commanders. They are already…unhappy with this development."

Regisora did not reply. She did not need to.

Patricia knew it was a rhetorical statement, because she knew, just as well as everyone else in the room, that it didn't really matter. Mosrimor did not care if the Hive Commanders approved or not. He would take what was needed. And now they had a choice of their own - allow Mosrimor to pursue his Ethereal-hybrid plan, and produce these abominations - or sacrifice several more Hives to produce a better Sectoid.

And when it came down to it - the choice was a clear one. Regardless of the inherent bastardization of the Ethereals, if Mosrimor succeeded, he would have a powerful force at his command. No matter what became of the Sectoids, they would be easier to deal with - should it ever come to that.

Besides, the Sectoids had nowhere to go. They could not leave now, they could not refuse. In her experience…they would quickly move on. The Hive Commanders involved would either assist, or merely lose resources they could eventually replace. The choice was a simple one, though one she wished didn't have to be made.

"The choice is yours, Imperator," Regisora said. She didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"I will speak to the Hive Commanders concerning Mosrimor's…programs," the Imperator finally said. "Perhaps they will be able to better synchronize their efforts. Mosrimor will have his Hives."

Regisora seemed just a touch relieved at that. "Good. I will ensure he knows of this immediately, now, for my second concern."

The projection vanished, as her arm returned to her side. "Mosrimor wishes for information regarding the Battlemaster's physiology to improve his Meat Puppets quality. He sees them as insufficiently qualitative given the current opposition. The duel against the Chronicler was confirmation of this. To this, I have multiple concerns."

Regisora did not wince, as Ethereals did not have the facial structure to wince. Yet Patricia heard it in her voice.

"There is medical data concerning the Battlemaster, though it may not be substantive enough for what Mosrimor needs," the Imperator noted slowly. "We lack the original template data as well. The only source would be the Battlemaster consenting to such extractions. He will not do this for Mosrimor."

He was lying.

Speaking in half-truths.

Patricia's brief flicker of alarm was smashed by the overwhelming command by the Imperator through their bond. He was only being truthful in the most technical sense - that the only source was the Battlemaster. He knew very well that the Battlemaster had the data, and he had access to it if needed.

But he was not going to give it to Regisora - or Mosirmor. Nothing in the Imperator's feelings or voice betrayed his intentions, which was fortunate because to take this risk was dangerous right now.

She hoped that Regisora didn't pick up on it.

"To ensure, I have searched if we had fragmentary template data either. I found none. As you said, the Battlemaster is the last available source of his template data we have. He is, also, the only Ethereal purely bioengineered for war external to Aegis," Regisora paused. "And we do not have Aegis to offer."

"I am aware, and the outcome is the same," the Imperator repeated. "He will not do this. I would prefer that Mosrimor does not force the issue. The Battlemaster's support is critical, and he has demonstrated displeasure with the current arrangement. He is loyal, but this is not a period to test him."

"Therein lies my concern. As of now, Mosrimor is preparing. He believes he has time," Regisora emphasized. "He will not insist, for now. But once T'Leth's Bellators become a field threat? He will not insist. He will not ask. He will order. We are a resource to him. A resource is useless if it cannot be used," Regisora's voice regained intensity. "The Battlemaster is seen as a major infantry resource."

There was a psionic flash at the word Bellators, as an image appeared in Patricia's mind. Hulking aliens with scaled bodies, sharpened claws, clad in stone-laden armors, and blue-electric devices that glowed ominously. Wicked-looking blades were strapped to their bodies; weapons and rifles to their backs.

Hunters, warriors, predators.

"Fortunately the Battlemaster is supporting the war effort," the Imperator's own voice was hard. "This resource is being utilized as we speak now."

"Will he be supportive once he finds out Mosrimor expects him, sooner or later, to be a data-source for superior Meat Puppets?" Regisora demanded. "What do you think his reaction would have been to the hybridization project?"

"He would have disapproved. And he will almost certainly not agree to any genetic extraction without force," the Imperator answered. "Of which I will not impose on him. I will not reward his loyalty by making him a science experiment to satisfy Mosrimor's interest."

He fixated his gaze on Regisora. "Mosrimor may not approve, but understand that if he attempts this, then it will show that no Ethereal can expect reward for service. The Battlemaster may not leave - but there will be others who do. They will join T'Leth, even if it ends in their own deaths. If Mosrimor offers nothing, and demands everything, then what argument can be posed to serve him?"

Regisora did not immediately answer, before speaking slowly. "Loyalty is obedience. We discuss the disobedience of the Battlemaster to our collective need. His moratorium on Bringer forces. His lack of willingness to bring Aegis to task. His recent, and willful, vocalization of vehement disapproval to our direction. My concern regarding the Battlemaster only grows."

"And you appear intent on proving his point," the Imperator answered. "Something that I strongly advise you do not do. He is loyal to me. He is not loyal to you, or Mosrimor. I am the one who can keep him from acting foolishly or against our larger interests."

"So was Aegis," Regisora said. "The Aegis template is a step psychologically removed from the Battlemaster template. Their physiology is nearly identical. We have fore-warning. We must ensure the Battlemaster does not become a problem."

The Imperator's emotions flared. "You are suggesting he will betray us like Aegis."

"I am suggesting that Aegis' psychology was foundationally constructed to prioritize defending our people, by any means possible," she retorted. "That very same psychology led him to betray us. The Battlemaster psychology, foundationally, was constructed to destroy any threats to our people. Any and all."

Regisora's voice became stressed. "He views Mosrimor as a threat. We are aware of this. How long before his views shift to more dangerous territory? Already, we give Mosrimor Sectoid Hives. Soon, he will demand Andromedon shipyards. I cannot be the only one who sees how the Battlemaster will soon perceive this."

"And as much as he considers Mosrimor a threat, T'Leth is a larger one," the Imperator said. "There is a prioritization among Battlemasters - which is something you should also know, given your apparent grasp on the details of the various templates. So long as T'Leth stands, he poses the most direct threat to our species."

"Unless the Collective is under his hold," Regisora said. "Unless the Battlemaster comes to believe this conflict can be avoided, by removing the Collective from it. Unless. Unless. Unless."

"Perhaps if that was a possibility, but we both know it is not," the Imperator said. "T'Leth's involvement ensures that the war cannot end until one side is defeated. The Battlemaster knows Mosrimor is behind us, and that the Collective cannot be removed from this war."

"My concern is not what the Battlemaster will do. My concern is what he can do," Regisora said. "He is the last combat template Ethereal in the Collective, and the only offensive one."

She said.

She said and waited.

Patricia suppressed a frown, not for the first time noting how Regisora was repeatedly stressing that the Battlemaster was a combat template, as if that was important. Yes, the Battlemaster was designed for war, but he certainly wasn't at the level of a Reaper, let alone an Imperator.

Very dangerous, very smart, very creative - but not in terms of raw power.

"My point to make is this," the Imperator said. "If the Battlemaster was going to turn against me, or the Collective, he would have done so by now. He has deeply disagreed with some of my decisions, from the invasion, to the arrangement with the Bringer, to Mosrimor. And yet, he has stayed consistent and loyal, because that is who he is."

He closed a fist, resting it on the armrest. "The Battlemaster is a blunt individual, who makes little secret of his intentions and plans. He is not like Quisilia, or Nebulan, or Macula, who are capable of expressing subtle plans, hatching schemes, or outright lying. That is not how he thinks. I assure you, if the Battlemaster were to pose a threat, we would know."

Regisora was silent for a long and tense moment. "Imperator. The Battlemaster is the last offensive template Ethereal, " she said, waiting for a spark of something. As though that was all she had to say.

"As you have repeated several times," he said, with some exasperation. "Yes. Battlemasters are primed for service to our species. It is almost certainly why he has continued to remain loyal with minimal intervention. To strike an Ethereal forces his own nature to rebel, and he is simply incapable of it."

"Your spinal structure," Regisora suddenly interrupted. "Is six times heavier than standard Ethereal spinal structure, and directly inter-woven with psi-reactive greymatter. Each of your bones is an extension of your brain's psionic matter. Your arm is two times too large to wield a rifle or sword effectively; its ergonomics are completely at odds with such tools. Your musculature is two-thirds fully taxed supporting the extensive hulk of your body. Your legs have a stride too long for any high speed physical motion."

A snort from the Imperator. "And what is your point, Regisora? That I am not optimized for a more primitive form of battle?"

However, Patricia felt like she was getting the point Regisora was driving at.

Maybe.

"Your body has extensive fat reserves to feed your cognitive and neurological capacity for nearly simultaneously considering multi-variate factors across a hundred solar systems. Your physical twitch reactions are nearly negligible," Regisora continued. "Your organs are devoted, engineered, from the very foundation, to ensure your cognition is never hampered. No state of physiological exhaustion can detrimentally affect your capacity to lead. You possess nearly no sweat glands."

"Every Ethereal was created to fulfill a specific specialization," Patricia muttered; a picture coming together. "And executes it perfectly. And the Battlemaster was designed for war…"

She could sense the Imperator's genuine confusion through their bond - everything they were saying was obvious facts. Nothing to be repeated out loud, and yet, Regisora and his Harbinger were saying them to make a point so obscure he couldn't grasp it.

But she did now.

"The Battlemaster's bones are rated to resist atomic shockwaves. His organs are sheathed in shock proofed, laceration proofed, pierce proofed organic mailweaves," Regisora rattled off details of the Battlemaster form rapidly. "His arms are perfectly proportioned for using any and all weapons. His legs are capable of acceleration from zero to tens of kilometers an hour in seconds."

Regisora's intensity rose. "His fat to muscle ratio is constituted of near-total hyper-dense musculature, supported by blood that is three months worth of energy and coolant reserves. His skin is armor. He is immune to nearly all bioweapons, poisons, the only physiological vulnerability he has is a minor one to electric shocks, due to his super-conductive nerves allowing instantaneously twitch reflex to the femtosecond. He is immune to all telepathy and suggestion, which augments his own willpower beyond even your own!"

An individual that was built for even the most inconceivable conditions of war.

"His armor is inbuilt with unbreakable sheets of hyperdense material that can only be forged using conditions found near a singularity, to ensure that almost nothing can penetrate it. His sword is capable of cutting through battleship rated armor, meant to withstand atomic rounds. His telekinetic power allows him to potentially cause his immediate area to experience earthquake conditions with proper application of effort," Regisora stepped closer to the Imperator. "The Battlemaster is capable of creating seismic shockwaves that could tear this entire Temple Ship's superstructure apart."

Some of this wasn't computing. What Regisora was describing wasn't an Ethereal so much as a living superweapon, capable of demonstrating power that could rival even the Reapers and Imperators.

"He's never exhibited power on that scale," Patricia shook her head. "In theory…perhaps, and his physiology is exceptional - but he would have shown this by now. To XCOM, at the very least."

"His entire physiology is built to maximize killing potential. At no point, during his entire conflict with your species, has he ever had to move beyond the power-efficient scale of what he could do," Regisora stated aggressively. "You. Have. Never ever been capable of forcing him to put in effort. To waste energy."

Patricia thought hard.

Of each time the Battlemaster had fought. Each time she could remember.

And how each time he had fought, it had been just enough - and when danger became apparent, then it changed. How he'd conquered San Francisco almost single-handedly. How he'd cut down an entire XCOM squad in Washington in moments. Fought through Paradise until he almost reached the heart. How he had only fled when he could not win, and even then nothing could prevent his escape.

How badly has he been underestimated?

Which presented a larger question.

What exactly is he capable of if pushed?

"My concern, Imperator," Regisora stressed. "Is that you seem to think one of the greatest weapons of our species can be stopped by a command and control template - yourself. Aegis is the Ethereal best able to grasp how to mitigate him. Aegis is not with us. The fact that you have no fear of this thin, minute possibility, means you do not grasp this fact."

She lifted a finger. "He is made to kill anything and everything. He was born to kill. He was created perfectly, engineered in totality, to kill. This is what he is. Not who he is. Who he is, is the single greatest Battlemaster in the history of our species. He was almost Grand Battlemaster. Almost the very research subject of how to improve the template that was the reason no other race dared transgress on our colonies. The cause that our isolation could be so total, and so secure."

There was a long silence that followed, before she continued.

"My concern, Imperator, is not that he would kill us, any of us. Had he killed Aegis, that would have been my concern. My concern, is that if he wished to overthrow you? There is nothing we have that can stop him," she said. "Aegis would flock to his banner, and so would others who are already wavering. Sana. Mortis. Perhaps even Fectorian. He would be unstoppable unless we ameliorate his concerns. Even then, the entire Collective would be beholden to him. Our entire capacity to act would be shackled to his will."

"It is impressive," Patricia protested. "But this borders on absurd. The Imperator could hold and crush him with a thought. He could be taken out by orbital bombardment. He is not invincible, as beneficial as that would be to him. Battlemasters died in the war against the Synthesized; He is dangerous, but not indestructible."

Regisora's voice rose in response. "His sword is dimensionally linked to his body. He can feel it like an organ. He can throw that blade through a battleship, control it with his mind, and rip through any orbital asset. In one throw. With a sword! Your armor has less ablative layers than a battleship. He can accelerate himself to the speed of a planetary bombardment cannon round. You expect to hit him!? With orbital bombardment!?"

She shook her head incredulously. "He has survived every possible way to kill a Battlemaster, first in the Synthesized War - and the one we wage now. There is definitionally nothing that can kill him that he has not killed, survived, or knows how to avoid. He has survived the entire conflict, through nearly every battle."

Regisora's voice cut, low, in disbelief. "The projected survival rate for Battlemasters. Battlemasters, having fought in every battle, was less than one percent. Are you incapable of grasping the magnitude of the very individual you personally selected as your warleader!?"

"Enough." The Imperator interrupted, lifting a hand. "Let us say you've made your point. I am quite familiar with the capabilities of the Battlemaster - there was a reason I asked him to join me. But I must consider myself deeply amused at the level of power you ascribe to him, that if taken to its logical end, would threaten the Sovereigns themselves."

He leaned down. "And we both know that is something that would not be tolerated. You say this, you may believe it, and yet you still wish to continue antagonizing an individual that you link with such apocalyptic certainty. Pick one or the other. You may have doubts about the Battlemaster's loyalty. I do not - so long as there are no clear attempts to antagonize him."

He wasn't getting the point.

Because, she realized, he couldn't truly get it.

Regisora was saying that the Battlemaster could not just turn on him, but usurp him. Even kill him. That wasn't supposed to be possible, but Regisora was clearly convinced, and Patricia was less certain about leaving that to chance. But the Imperator couldn't treat the possibility seriously, because on the surface, it didn't seem possible.

She wasn't fully certain Regisora was right to be afraid - but Patricia believed that her point was sound enough - the possibility was something they needed to prepare for. A contingency. That was completely reasonable and necessary, especially if Mosrimor became more and more involved.

Today the Battlemaster was on their side, but even he had to have a breaking point. If they crossed it, even if they knew it was coming, they needed to prepare for what that meant.

But for the Imperator, even that was a betrayal of his own. A betrayal of trust, and belief. One that in his view, would make the Battlemaster justified in turning on him - because if the Imperator expected such a contingency necessary, then he had conceded it could happen.

And it couldn't happen.

"What I think this demonstrates," Patricia said. "Is that we should not give the Battlemaster a reason to question or take…drastic actions. Regisora, is that what you would also say?"

"That is my concern," Regisora said. "Should such an eventuality happen, we would be unable to solve it. So we must ensure it cannot occur. The Battlemaster must be kept in the inner circle, the consequences of misalignment would be catastrophic."

Patricia turned to the Imperator. "I believe that can be done."

"Agreed," he said, after a moment. "I have little issue with ensuring the Battlemaster is aligned with the direction of the Collective. I will meet with him to make this clear, and ensure that he is prepared to accept any…measures that might be taken in the future."

"It will have to suffice for now," Regisora said, her voice returning to a normal cadence. "I have said what is necessary. Mosrimor demands I see to other matters. Until we speak later, Imperator. Heed my words before your opportunities are lost."

She turned, and with a flash of a portal, departed, leaving Imperator and Harbinger alone. The Imperator's words through the bond were contemplative, but with a tinge of amusement.

Do you believe he could pose such a threat?

She didn't answer right away. But she didn't have to say much.

Yes. Don't discount what she says. He needs to trust you.

The Imperator didn't respond to that, besides a simple acknowledgement that he had heard her. In this, they were at a divide - perhaps the first true disagreement they had held. But she knew that at the very least he would consider what had been said.

If he couldn't, then she feared Regisora's concerns would be warranted.

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To be continued in Chapter 78 | Daggers to the Hearts - Part II

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A/N: Happy 2024, hoping that it's going to be a good year. It's already starting off as an interesting one, so we'll see what happens. As for plans for the story this year? I expect there will be more than the last year, though I doubt Advent Directive will be finished. Still, we will see, and here's the outline for how this chapter, and possible future ones, will go.

I've been told before that sometimes my chapters reach a point where they're a bit too long. To mitigate this, I've elected to split chapters when appropriate into different parts. It's all one chapter, but just made more digestible. This chapter - 78- has been split into three parts. All of it is done, and the next two parts will be posted in two days respectively (so this coming Tuesday and Thursday).

This is how I plan to do chapters like this going forward. If a chapter is split, all of it will be posted with only a few days between each part at most. I intend to complete chapters, then break them up if needed. XCOM Files are unaffected, and there are a few ones planned for this one that'll hopefully come over the next weeks.

Hope that you enjoy the chapters! There's some interesting and important things that happen that I've been looking forward to for a while.

- Xabiar