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.

83. Daggers to the Hearts - Part III

Act V | Cataclysm

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Daggers to the Hearts - Part III

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Office of the Chancellor, Geneva – Switzerland

Mid-October 2017 – Morning

Commander Laura Christiaens entered her office, with an expression which revealed a good deal of where her mindset was. It was a mask, her features impeccably schooled. Not the face of a woman in focus or at peace, but one who was making a concerted effort to keep her emotions and expressions in check.

She would probably be more open once she determined Saudia's current reaction. That she was this guarded indicated that Laura was uncertain what to expect, or she did know what to expect, and was making sure she put on a neutral façade. No matter the reason, Saudia knew this conversation would be difficult.

"Laura, take a seat," she said, facing her directly. Laura sat down opposite her, resting both arms on the armrests.

"Chancellor," Laura began cordially; cautiously. "You wanted to meet."

"For the reason you likely are expecting," metal fingers pushed a copy of the report across the desk. "I trust that you've had a chance to read it."

A short nod; a darkening of the face. "I have, Chancellor."

"Your assessment?"

"That this is going to cause future problems," she said, the mask slipping and revealing genuine frustration. "I disapprove of the Oversight Division's plans to go public. The report should be released to us to address the issues highlighted. I understand the desire to show that no one is above the law – but frankly several of these prosecutions are little more than vindictive witch hunts."

Saudia raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

"In that the alleged crime committed is merely knowing about certain activities taking place, and not taking what Oversight deems 'appropriate action,'" she shook her head. "I'll concede that they should have acted. It warrants a suspension, or a demotion – but prosecution? Too far, Chancellor. Especially if they didn't give orders."

Saudia frowned, disliking the argument. "It is the responsibility of leadership to set examples of operational conduct. I reviewed the evidence for several of the charges, and in most instances, we would agree that tolerating lawbreaking and wanton violence is…problematic."

"In most instances, Chancellor. War is not most instances," Laura's voice was artificially calm. "In the case of several of these individuals, the rationale is justifiable. If given the choice between restricting soldiers, and letting them be overzealous in their protection – the latter is preferable every time. Especially when operating in enemy territory where civilians can be armed."

"That wasn't what the cases refer to," Saudia pointed out.

"That is what the effect of this will be," Laura insisted. "Soldiers are going to die, because they are not sure if they'll be prosecuted or not. Offensives will stall, because officers do not want to be accused of abetting murder and the unfortunate deaths of civilians. This will institute a chilling effect across the military – which is not the war footing we want during a critical counteroffensive."

"In some respects, we are having two very different takeaways," Saudia said after a moment. "The fears you have do not appear backed by the cases you cite. If the chilling effect you describe prevents said actions, then that is a good thing. Matters of self-defense remain acceptable, and no one is setting a standard of civilian lives above all others."

"Respectfully, Chancellor, you're not understanding my point," Laura sighed in frustration. "That doesn't matter. The nuances are something you see and point to. It's different for people in the field, who cannot or will not make those distinctions."

Saudia leaned back, frown deepening. "So you're saying our soldiers are incapable of understanding the difference between self-defense and shooting a fleeing woman who poses no threat?"

"With respect to our soldiers, in the heat of battle, no, they won't be thinking of the nuances," Laura said. "They're going to be making a judgement on if this will result in them being punished or not."

"Then it is your job to educate them, is it not?" Saudia flicked a wrist.

"With everything going on, Chancellor, this is not at the height of our priority list," Laura's voice was clipped. "The effects of this report going public are going to cause a mess, one that will throw a wrench into the entire war effort. That is not even considering the fact that we are harming public trust in the military when we need them to support and trust us."

"And?"

Laura cocked her head. "And what?"

"Tell me why I care about them?"

"The public?"

"Yes."

She opened her mouth, paused, and thought a moment before answering. "Public support is critical to any war effort, Chancellor. High support improves recruitment, heightens morale, and extends our ability to fight sometimes hopeless battles. It's one thing if anti-military activists, alien sympathizers, and even journalists are mad at us – it's another if we legitimize them."

She leaned forward. "Chancellor, we gain nothing from this outside transparency, and scrutiny from a public that has little idea what it is like to fight a war, or be a soldier. It is far, far preferable to handle this internally, and take the necessary measures without a public spectacle."

Saudia pursed her lips. There were no good options here, only ones that were less bad. Laura did have some points, but it wasn't enough to override her own. "So what is your recommendation?"

"That the charges against most of the ranking officers be dropped," she said. "We institute other punishments – ones that he saved in the recommendations sections. Harsh, perhaps more than necessary, but I'm willing to concede that in return for not decimating a sizable portion of our officer corps."

"And then?"

"Watkins wants policy changes, we can take those under advisement – I promise that no one in High Command wants this to happen again," she said. "I'm not going to promise immediate changes, but they'll come. We'll rotate in a new batch of officers to determine a path forward for the Africa campaigns, and Watkins can prosecute the soldiers who actually participated in misconduct. Almost everyone is satisfied."

She shook her head. "I know Watkins won't be happy with it, but the fact of the matter is that we are at war right now, and the disruption this will cause is far too great to allow. He won't listen to me, but he will for you. The Oversight Division has the authority to make their reports internal if there is a risk to ADVENT security. This qualifies. If not? We can make a case in the Courts."

Saudia considered for a moment, not about her decision, but how to phrase it.

Because Laura was doing what she'd been afraid of, and validating every concern Watkins – and herself – had. Taking it purely from a pragmatic, military standpoint, Laura's argument was sound. Justifiable.

But this was something more important than just the military.

"The reason I asked about the public is because it is irrelevant to operations; it is irrelevant to this decision," she finally said. "What I care about is accountability. I care about progression. I care about improvement. ADVENT requires and demands leaders who are willing to act decisively, excise the rot from their institutions, and refine towards perfection."

She rested a finger on the report. "I have been made aware of the ugliness that our soldiers are capable of. I want to make sure it never happens again, and I require a Commander who is equally willing to take action. You are not willing."

"No, Chancellor, not to the degree you want," Laura shook her head. "I am not saying we don't take action-"

"You propose leniency for those who allowed it to happen, those who knew and did not act," Saudia interrupted sharply. "A number which includes yourself. I need leaders who will rectify their mistakes. Do you remember what Stein did when the NYPD refused to conform to the new Peacekeeper standards?"

"Something violent, knowing her."

"She dissolved the respective Peacekeeper divisions, deployed several more, issued arrest warrants, rounded up the non-compliant officers, put the traitors in prison, and the ringleaders in the Experimentation Labs," Saudia's lips curled into a small, grim smile. "She does not simply dislike misconduct – she abhors it. Enough to take all measures to stop it, and send a clear message of what is and is not acceptable."

Laura snorted. "This is not remotely the same situation."

"No, I see this as worse," Saudia retorted. "Because were it up to you, those who allowed this to be carried out will walk free or receive minimal punishment. You promise no change, only action taken against the direct perpetrators. That is not how you stop this from happening; it is not how you change it."

"What point are you driving at?"

"If you are unwilling to take action, I will find someone who can – that is not you," Saudia's features softened. "I do not think you intended any of this to happen, but you are not what ADVENT needs right now. I want your resignation."

Laura went very still. It was as though everything had stopped working, and a dull expression of shock covered her face. She'd clearly not expected this outcome. "That…is a grave mistake, Chancellor."

"You leave me no choice."

"If you must do this, then wait until the first operations of Rapture are complete," she insisted, voice still colored with shock. "Removing me now would be detrimental at a critical stage of the war. This is not the time. There needs to be transition periods, there need to be preparation-"

"Two weeks," Saudia interrupted flatly. "ADVENT is larger than any single individual, and that includes the military. That is enough time for the handoff to be made, and affairs put in order."

Laura's eyes flashed, anger in her voice. "Watkins told you to do this, didn't he."

"He wanted it, and I would have refused him if you were willing to address this problem properly," Saudia said, with a pause. "You are not."

"This will go over very poorly," Laura warned. "High Command will see it as unjustified. It is politics, plain and simple. We are supposed to be above that."

"It is accountability," Saudia answered. "Accountability for your failures – and accountability for your refusal to correct them. I didn't want to do this, Laura."

"Because again, Chancellor, you are making a mistake," Laura exhaled angrily. "You respect people who don't automatically agree with you – I'm not going to lie and say that I think everything Watkins did is justified, or I agree with his outlandish sentences. I'm not unreasonable, I know there need to be changes."

"No, you don't," Saudia shook her head. "Not ones that will result in meaningful change. I'm sorry, this is my final decision."

Laura was quiet for a moment. "And what if I refuse."

Saudia met her eyes. "You won't."

"Do you know that?"

"Yes," Saudia met her eyes, her own hard and unrelenting. "You care about this war. You care about image. You will not force the Chancellor to fire the Commander of the ADVENT military, for the scandal of a rebellious military will do more damage than any single report. You lack the resolve to follow through, Commander. I do not – and if you force me to fire you, I will ensure that Scipio is your legacy."

Laura sat in a quiet, stunned silence.

Saudia continued. "You will be honored for what you have accomplished, and the victories earned. You will return to High Command as a General, understanding that the time has come to pass the torch onto another. You are and will remain a hero of ADVENT, who took accountability for her failures, and continued to serve honorably."

Saudia paused momentarily. "I don't intend to end your career – but you cannot lead the military any longer. Do not make this worse for yourself, because I am confident in ADVENT's ability to survive any scandal. That confidence does not extend to those who test my own resolve."

A long silence fell between the two women.

"Well," Laura finally said in a quiet voice. "I suppose I have little choice here, do I?"

"You always have a choice. I am telling you what I intend to do. It is you who will decide what outcome you want," Saudia answered. "Make it by the end of the day."

Laura stood, gave a terse salute, and left without a word.

Saudia knew she would resign.

And if she did not, then appropriate action would be taken, and ADVENT would be stronger for it.

She sighed, and was tempted to pull out a drink even though it was early in the day. She thought this was the right decision, Watkins did as well, the Chronicler likely would too, but she couldn't quite shake the doubt that she was making a mistake.

Maybe she was, but it would not be one she regretted.

Accountability was more important, as was ADVENT.

If there was fallout, she would handle it. The world would see action, not words, and if they didn't see that as sufficient…

Well, she would ignore them. Unlike Laura, she knew the will of the public was no more a factor. She was not doing this for their own benefit, but because it was best for ADVENT.

No more, no less.

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The World of Krill, Ethereal Collective

Mid-October 2017 - Morning

The world they were visiting was one of the more temperate in the Collective - a world that the Battlemaster had wanted to visit personally before they finalized it as a world that would become a new Muton training ground.

There had been a small Collective outpost established on the world when it was first discovered, and deemed habitable. However, that was all that had been done. Nothing substantial had been initiated, leaving vast untapped potential - a situation that served their purposes.

Yang liked it.

It was a beautiful world that reminded her of Earth in a lot of ways. Fields of golden grass went as far as the eye could see, spotted with multicolored flowers, and the forests were made up of pink and purple-leafed trees. She'd not given much thought to what she would do after the war, assuming she survived it, but going on this short tour with the Battlemaster to various planets across the Collective had helped her realize that she wanted to, as trite as it sounded, travel.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when she'd been with friends or family on a trip somewhere in Asia. Traveling to new places and seeing the natural sights…nothing quite like it, and they were some of her clearest memories that seemed like they belonged to a different person. Maybe that person could return when the war was over.

Maybe even settle on one of these planets one day. She wouldn't mind waking up to something like this every day.

Her thoughts were more unfocused than the Battlemaster, though he didn't do anything to distract her. Perhaps because his own focus blocked out everything else; she felt it through their bond, and saw it in his motions.

The Battlemaster stood within the plains, looking to the horizon as he appraised, calculated, and plotted. One arm was bent horizontally, the palm upwards, while his sword telekinetically danced around him at lethal speeds and perfect control. It was a ritual that he only did when he was safe - and intently focused on something.

She was again struck by how large his weapon was. It was practically as tall as her, and even if it was lighter than it looked, she wondered if she could even swing it. It looked heavy, but her own augmentations might make up for it, even if she couldn't actually use it with any effectiveness.

In fact…

Well, why not?

"Hey," she broke the silence. "Could I try that?"

The movements of the sword stopped. She hadn't sent anything through the bond, so she was almost surprised the Battlemaster reduced his focus, as he turned to look at her. He appeared more puzzled than anything else. "Why?"

She shrugged, realizing that she didn't have a particularly practical reason. "I've never held it before. I'm curious if it's as heavy as it looks."

The Battlemaster hesitated for a moment, then with a motion of his hand maneuvered the sword in front of her. She wrapped her hands around the hilt, which her much smaller hands almost couldn't do. It was comically large in her hands, and the moment the Battlemaster released his telekinetic hold, she was unable to keep the weapon level, and the tip fell into the dirt.

She had to strain to even keep steady, and it was immediately clear that she wasn't going to be able to so much as swing it. She could use telekinesis to assist her, but that was cheating. It was clear her own body wasn't capable of even lifting this, much less swinging it around.

"It's heavier than it looks," the Battlemaster said in the driest possible voice he could have managed.

"Yeah," she exhaled, indicating through the bond that he could take it back. There was just the faintest registering of amusement as the Battlemaster lifted the hand, the sword returned to his side, and he resumed the focusing ritual.

Yang shook her head, her arms slightly burning after the exertion, something that she should have only felt after several hours of physical combat. And he could just swing it around like it was nothing. With how heavy and dense the weapon was, she wondered how hard he could throw it if he was trying.

It was eternally sharp, it wouldn't break, and even if it fell slowly on someone it would probably kill them. Accelerated to terminal speeds…well, no wonder he had never used a firearm. No armor-penetrating projectile could match the sheer force of that sword thrown at full speed.

Then everything stopped.

It was an alien, disconcerting sensation, which she felt through the bond before she realized anything was actually wrong. Time seemed to dilate, as sudden alarm surged through the Battlemaster, then through her, as moments after she became aware of a new, but very familiar and threatening presence. In a single motion the Battlemaster's sword sang through the air, ready to be pierce through-

Before abruptly stopping.

Air blasted as the shockwave from the shriek of the sword tore the flowers from their roots leaving a swath of the golden plains unearthed. The blade came to a halting stop only millimeters from its intended target, acceleration halted by sheer strength.

The Battlemaster's voice was low, tense, threatening. "You should know better than to approach me unexpectedly."

With one finger, Regisora nudged the tip of the blade away. "Battlemaster."

If Regisora was threatened by the threat of decapitation, she did not show it. Yang's heartrate increased, trying to run through the possible reasons why she was here. Had she found out something? Was she keeping tabs on them? Intimidation? She didn't reach for her weapons, but kept her mouth shut.

The Battlemaster's reactions and assessments were similar to her own, and she felt that he was ready to react quickly if something gave him reason.

Fortunately for her, it seemed that Regisora was here for the Battlemaster. She hadn't even looked at Yang yet. "We must speak. Isolation is rare, and serves us both today."

"Why are you here?" He demanded.

"Because the Imperator does not give you your dues, and I fear he might wrong you," Regisora answered. "There is a growing gulf between Ethereals. We are becoming divided, falling to squabbling."

The hand joined the other, fingers lacing together as the Voice continued. "Fectorian hides in his machine labs, Aegis has fled to the Humans, the Ravaged One is dead, Caelior is turncoat, Viatorian is too arrogant to see any other way than his, Quisilia schemes, and the Overmind remains apathetic. You, I, and the Imperator are the only ones with wit worth mentioning of this-" she paused. "-ever dwindling gathering."

She could feel the Battlemaster's alarm and suspicion temper to wariness and then to a restrained uncertainty. He was not sure what to make of this, and she echoed his feelings. It appeared a strange, frank assessment. The Battlemaster finally spoke. "I am not grasping your point."

"If left to his devices, Viatorian will alienate you. I see this happening already," Regisora said. "I did not enslave myself to the will of Mosrimor, and give my life and body to his service, as sacrifice for our people, only to witness divisions between us widen. They existed before. They have worsened now."

They were in a very, very dangerous situation. That Regisora - and Mosrimor - had noticed the gulf with the Battlemaster and the Imperator was already concerning. It was fortunate they hadn't made the actual connection yet, even if they saw the risk. And even seeing the risk placed things in jeopardy.

The Battlemaster had to be very, very careful what he said next. The wrong words would implicate him, the placating words would raise suspicion, and the right ones would only buy time.

"If the Imperator has concerns about my service," the Battlemaster said, each word deliberate. "He knows to speak to me. Why launder his accusations through you, if not to insult my service?"

"I am not here on behalf of the Imperator. He already trusts you blindly," Regisora answered. "He trusts you to obey, without concern for what you think. I do not share his view; I am concerned for what you think, and how you may perceive this set of circumstances we find ourselves in."

That was a surprise. If the Imperator genuinely did not believe that the Battlemaster would never take action, that was a major revelation. The Battlemaster paused in place - if Regisora was telling the truth, and it did seem like she was, then…

This is dangerous.

The Battlemaster echoed the sentiment. It could be a lie, a lure, something to lead him into revealing something important.

"You are not here on the Imperator's behalf," the Battlemaster said slowly. "But his."

Regisora sat on the ground in a single smooth motion, her robes curling around her. Her hands interlocked together. "Sit with me, Battlemaster."

The Battlemaster seemed to weigh his options. After a moment, he joined Regisora, kneeling on the ground. The disparity in size was impossible to ignore, as the massive Ethereal towering over the smaller one who nonetheless held unspeakable power. Yang remained behind him, hanging back, not willing to move in place for fear of doing…something, anything that would disrupt this delicate balance.

It was so calm, yet the air seemed so thick with emotion and tension she could cut it.

"You must comprehend this. Mosrimor cares so little for our very existence, that to destroy this whole world to kill both of us is a plan that I can sense within his mind," Regisora said, an odd note of resignation in her voice. "We are inconsequential, barely better than beasts. He does not care for you, for me, for any of us. We are… objects. So long as objects fulfill their role, what cares their owner for how they feel or think?"

"I comprehend this perception," the Battlemaster said. "It is a path Viatorian led us down in his arrogance. It brings me no relief or comfort to hear it confirmed by you."

Regisora's lower hands plucked a flower, one she rolled over between her thin fingers. "He does not care, but I do," she said. "Do you find that so shocking an idea, that I care for you, for our people? That I would come here for you, because I care?"

Yang was shocked at what Regisora was doing right now. There were no shields, no barriers, nothing that prevented anyone with the ability to sense her feelings and emotions. An unprompted, open display of vulnerability that was so intense Yang almost found herself paralyzed.

The weariness, the terror, the love, all of it mixed into an emotional cocktail so intense that she found it difficult to speak even if she'd wanted to. The Battlemaster felt it as well.

Why is she doing this?

"Tell me," the Battlemaster said after a moment, his own voice slightly softer. "Was it you who gave yourself to Mosrimor, or were you ordered to become his Voice?"

There was a long period of silence.

"Would it change the conclusion?" Regisora finally said. "Or would it assuage guilt at something you could have prevented? Or would it remove the guilt you might have from forming?"

"It would be another inaction in a list that continues to grow," the Battlemaster said. "As time passes, I despise what path the Imperator has led us down more and more; I cannot forgive what he has condemned our species to. I cannot deny his actions, but I cannot deny my own complicity in bringing it to fruition."

The Battlemaster was echoing her openness; letting his own conflict, pain, and regret filter beyond the shields he'd erected. It was unfathomably risky, dangerous, to do this to Regisora - but the Battlemaster wanted to do this - and also knew that if he did it correctly, it would exonerate him of any suspicion.

But to do that, he had to be honest.

And risk that Regisora was being genuine.

"His choices are his, and so are mine," the Battlemaster continued. "I know there are times I could have acted or intervened. I could have defied, instead of deferred. Perhaps it would have changed nothing, perhaps it would have. But I am as guilty as he is in the outcome. In this role, I failed my duty to our people, even if it was to protect them from ourselves."

"He is our leader, and we must follow. He was made to lead us, he was constructed perfectly to do so. Just as you were made as the perfect implement of war," Regiosra said. "He needed knowledge, and we gained that. We needed an ally, and we gained that. Why do you care if my life is the price? Our people matter more than any single individual."

"You speak of knowledge, of an ally gained… Your life was the price, and for what?" The Battlemaster demanded, his anger cracking like a whip. "Our people, in service to a being that sees us as tools to use and discard? To be a valued piece in a war against others of his kind? That is no ally."

"The price of survival," Regisora said softly. "How many Humans have you crushed, Battlemaster? Ones no different than insects. Do you remember their names? Were they anything more than a brief flash? Can you think of them as anything more than an impediment in your path?"

She felt an old weariness rise in the Battlemaster. "Enemies are different from those who are your subordinates and allies. It is not the same. It never has been."

"If you were a Human, Battlemaster, would you begrudge them kneeling to another Ethereal that they may not be crushed by one such as yourself, like fragile, insignificant, flickering lives that meant so little, they don't even deserve to be remembered?" Regisora wondered. "Or does your pride blind you to reality so thoroughly?"

The Battlemaster was silent for a moment. "We faced the Synthesized on our own without resorting to such alliances. Perhaps we were always doomed, perhaps we might have found a way. But even if there was no other way…"

He trailed off briefly. "I have no solution to what this galaxy is, Regisora. It is why I cannot fully condemn the Imperator for acting as he did. Because I understand why, I just do not know if an assured future, but forever subordinated in an endless conflict is preferable to an unknown future where our annihilation may happen."

"The Imperator is responsible for me, and you, and all of us, Battlemaster," Regisora said. "He cannot afford hope. You can, because you are a soldier. You must have hope. You must believe that your blade can carry you through the whirlwind of battle to victory. He cannot. He cannot afford to."

Slowly, hesitantly, Regisora offered the flower to Yang who hesitantly took it. It was the first acknowledgement of her presence.

"A soldier can afford hope, a leader cannot. To the Sovereign Ones, we are insects. To the Synthesized, we were an after-thought. The Imperator does not think like you do; his very brain is built in manners alien to yours. He thinks in realities and in practicalities. You speak of the future, yet you have not made peace with the past," Regisora's voice remained soft. "We did not lose a war. We were simply… obstacles in the way. This is the reality, it cannot be solved anymore than death can be solved."

Yang carefully felt their bond - and there was a dull acknowledgement that Regisora was, in a critical way, right. It was how the Battlemaster was walking this tightrope - everything he was saying, he believed. He did understand the Imperator, he did understand the nature of this galaxy.

But he had not yet conceded the critical question.

If the Imperator was still right in the end.

"Let us consider," the Battlemaster said. "What is our future? This war ends, T'Leth is killed. What becomes of us next under Mosrimor?"

Regisora's emotions distilled to a deep, resigned sorrow. Her mouth opened and closed several times. Finally, she answered. "Would you like a story, Battlemaster? One I haven't yet told the Imperator. One I've kept to myself until now."

A short nod was the answer. "We have time. Speak, Regisora."

"Once upon a time, a Sovereign One won his war. Sovereigns have a peculiar habit - they will not simply kill one another. They will break the shell, tear off the limbs, and rip out the skull. They then devour the brain. Slowly. Surely," Regisora's voice seemed to echo the words she was invoking; slicing, cutting the air as she began. "They will take every ounce of knowledge and information within that brain. In death, through killing, the victor rises ever greater, empowered by the knowledge and wisdom of the fallen."

She plucked another flower.

"Once upon a time, a Sovereign won his war, and then another, and then another. He kept winning, until he made a machine legion," the Battlemaster's apprehension appeared; a quiet dread slowly beginning to build.

"Until his machine legion existed in every galaxy, until his infinite horde had become unstoppable, and now even his former species now hides in the shadows of his endless domain," Regisora said almost in a whisper. "Prey cowering from a predator. For every so often, the predator culls the herd. Every so often, the Reaper comes to claim his due."

Regisora seemed small right then. Weak, at that moment. "And ever since that Sovereign won his war, he has won every war, and in every war, he simply steps on the insects in his way to win once again. There is no future, Battlemaster. There is only the Harbinger, who leads his reapers to harvest. Do you understand?"

He understood.

Yang didn't fully grasp what was being said, but if she was right, dread was too small a word to express it.

The Battlemaster though, he understood.

"Can you fight the ocean, Battlemaster?" Regisora mused. "Will you sever the droplets of the rainstorm?"

"Then is the future to hide from the storm?" The Battlemaster wondered on his own. "Or stand until it exhausts itself?"

"There is no hiding from the storm," Regisora whispered. "The flood will take all, sooner or later. Before it had even begun, it was over. The Harbinger is inevitable. The choice is not how to survive, Battlemaster, but how to die in the reaping."

There was a very long pause, dread permeating the air; a profound sense of loss so strong her eyes watered. "The Imperator imagines he will never die," Regisora said. "But you and I know better. Everything will die. All of us have been sentenced to death."

Yang felt the weight atop each of them; the sheer hopelessness pervading each word from Regisora; the poison of inevitability and certainty. She knew she was only understanding half of the context, but it was clear Regisora was saying that they were all going to die, and nothing they did would change that.

Nothing they did mattered.

"Why tell me this?" The Battlemaster wondered in a voice she'd never heard before. Genuine uncertainty of what to do. "That…everything is already condemned to extinction? That nothing matters when the flood arrives?"

"That is reality. What we wish for does not change this," Regisora said. "No matter how hard the Humans you butchered fought - and it was butchery, for they were animals and your blade was the cleaver - did it change the reality? You already know the answer, don't you?"

"You did not answer my question." The Battlemaster repeated.

"Would you rather spend the future in an eternity of fighting the inevitable, or would you rather spend it with those you care about?" Regisora asked. "Would you rather pretend flailing will change reality, or live with reality and -" she hesitated. "- and find in those you care for a home worthy of sacrificing yourself for?"

He didn't speak, but his barriers were open for both of them to feel. A risk, a vulnerability, but one that could not be fabricated.

"We will fail, of that, there is no doubt," Regisora repeated. "The Imperator will fail, sooner or later. But the inevitable does not matter. It matters that we are here for one another, for when the flood comes…and it will come, then we can either die alone in the freezing chill adrift on leviathan wakes, or die in the dim, dying warmth of those we cared for."

A slow nod followed. "In that…we agree. I wish we did not."

"Battlemaster," Regisora said after a moment. "Would you like to sit with me, alone, for a while? I have time before Mosrimor needs to use his tool once more."

During the conversation, Yang had realized something else throughout the conversation. Regisora was not lying, nor Mosrimor speaking through her - that had been established quickly. She meant every word, the resignation, the hopeless nihilism…

But she'd known all of this. And she'd known for…how long? Since the beginning? A revelation that Mosrimor did not even deign to dispel for her, because even if he thought differently, he did not expect a tool to survive the flood.

How long had she been subjected to Mosrimor's uncaring orders, knowing she was viewed as a servitor and tool for the Sovereign's will - and yet serving as efficiently and faithfully.

The answer seemed clear.

Because if she did not, Mosrimor would demand more.

It was a sacrifice she had accepted to protect her kind, for what little that was worth, knowing that there was nothing that could stop what was coming. Yang knew that this was the truth, with how open Regisora was - and the Battlemaster knew it too.

And later, when he let himself process what he'd felt, she knew his fury would be tangible.

Right now he only felt sorrow; hopeless.

He bore witness to the death of hope, the death of optimism, the death of everything.

Told through a fable of the Harbinger.

The end of everything.

The Battlemaster buried his sword behind him, remaining in place as he sat silent beside Regisora, leaning against the blade as he towered over the smaller Ethereal.

They were silent. Open, vulnerable, and mournful.

They simply sat besides one another.

The Battlemaster did not communicate anything through their bond, but Yang knew this was not for her. She felt like she had entered into a funeral, and in a way, she had, as the Battlemaster seemed to mourn the woman beside him, lost to the Sovereign's will, while she mourned the inevitable fate of all things.

Yang stood quietly, and left them alone, aimlessly wandering the golden fields that seemed so much less vibrant.

Because inevitably, the reaping would commence, leaving nothing in its wake.

---

Press Room, Geneva – Switzerland

Mid-October 2017 – Morning

The assorted collection of anchors, reporters and journalists became as agitated as a swarm of bees as Saudia entered the Press Room with Laura, Watkins, and Stein behind her. Her Guard kept them at a respectful distance, but it didn't stop the bright flashes, the cameras from rolling, and a few of the more vocal journalists trying to call out a few questions.

They ignored the calls. Saudia would allow for questions later.

The reason for this press conference hadn't been made public yet, only that it was going to be an announcement from the Oversight Division. Public Relations had made sure the assorted media interests were aware that the Chancellor would be present, which was almost certainly the reason why the Press Room was packed today.

Not that it was unusual, but during most announcements there were a few seats empty. However, the Chancellor's presence betrayed the fact there was clearly a story coming, and all of them were going to be the first to report on it.

Normally no matter the subject, if she was present, she spoke first. Today would be different, and they took their places on stage while Watkins first walked to the podium, setting his sheet of notes on it.

He briefly adjusted the page, cleared his throat, and began. "Thank you for attending on short notice. I understand that this is an unusual event, but this is an unusual situation that we are in. In the interest of the public, and adhering to the spirit of the principles outlined in the Advent Directive, we believe it important to act decisively and with transparency."

That was the cue for a small unit of aides to begin distributing copies of the final report. The journalists clearly hadn't expected to be suddenly receiving formal Oversight reports, but they adjusted quickly and a good number of them began reading as Watkins continued.

"Over the past few months, the Oversight Division has been conducting an investigation into the conduct of Legions participating in Operation Scipio, after numerous reports of criminal activity and personnel misconduct." Watkins said. "This investigation has concluded, and the final report is now available for public viewing."

He consulted his sheet as he began reading out more details of the investigation, including the alleged crimes, the numbers of personnel who were being directly prosecuted, and a summary of recommendations proposed.

Saudia paid closer attention to the reactions themselves, which seemed a mixture of surprise, and grimness once Scipio had been mentioned. Doubtless more than a few outlets were aware of Scipio or had journalists embedded in Scipio units, and could quickly determine where this announcement was going.

"In addition to direct prosecutions, we have provided additional recommendations for other personnel whose behaviors were deemed problematic," Watkins finished. "While it is unfortunate to have to make this announcement, we must be willing to acknowledge what was done, and take appropriate actions to prevent it in the future."

He nodded towards her and Laura. "Both the Chancellor and the ADVENT Military have been fully supportive of our actions during this process. The Oversight Division recognizes your cooperation, and appreciates it."

She didn't look at Laura, but could imagine her keeping herself deliberately restrained. Ever professional, Watkins stepped away from the podium, as it was her turn to speak. Every eye in the room was focused on her now.

"I am of the view that words and apologies are often wasted effort. It is easy to condemn or to apologize. Perhaps at one point, this would be enough. It is no longer, for the citizens of ADVENT, and for myself," she began. "ADVENT deserves to have a military which it can be proud of, and one which they can be assured is comprised of professional soldiers with appropriate conduct. In that respect, today we failed to meet these standards."

They all badly wanted to ask questions, she could tell, but didn't let it distract her from what she had to say. While it was journalists in the room, these words were going to be in every household this evening, and they needed to be crystal clear.

"Action will follow discovery. My Office will not oppose the prosecutions conducted by the Oversight Division, and we will be conducting multi-department reviews of policy changes and implement recommendations," she promised. "There will be full accountability, and we will take all necessary steps to ensure that something like this doesn't happen again. The consequences will not end today."

She made sure to emphasize the point. "There will be as many consequences as necessary, until everyone knows that this conduct is not acceptable - and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. The actions that were revealed were not those of a military, but a mercenary force unbecoming of either Mankind or ADVENT."

Her voice hardened. "We are not barbarians or savages. Our military is, and must be comprised of soldiers. Those who do not meet this standard will be excised one by one, of which we begin today. Chief Stein, you may provide your own update."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Amalda Stein took her place at the podium as Saudia stepped to the side. "As of this morning arrest warrants have been executed for all individuals identified by the Oversight Division for prosecution. The majority have complied. Several have gone missing, and they are being pursued with the assistance of ADVENT Intelligence. They will each face justice for the acts they have committed, and the Peacekeeper Division stands by to assist upon further Oversight or Military request."

Stein's report was short, and left little room for questions or ambiguity. It was Laura's turn to speak, and there was another slight heightening of tension as everyone waited to see her own response.

Laura's features were inscrutable, and her voice deliberately controlled as she took the podium. "Thank you, Chief, and Chancellor Vyandar," she began. "Disappointment is the most benign word that can describe my feelings. Disappointment in our officers, in our soldiers, and in myself. The conduct revealed was not acceptable, and should have been stopped long before soldiers felt the need to report them to the Oversight Division."

She paused. "Unfortunately, they were not, and Chief Watkins rightly took action in bringing these to light, of which I and High Command are grateful for." It was impossible to gauge her sincerity, but Saudia suspected she was being only technically truthful.

"The Chancellor mentioned accountability earlier, and I agree with her," Laura continued. "There will be accountability for what has been allowed to occur, and what was carried out. Ignorance is incompetence, tolerance is inexcusable. While I may not have taken part in these heinous actions, my ignorance of them is simply not acceptable, as well as the fact that I failed to act appropriately."

She took a breath. "It is for this reason that there must be accountability for myself as well as the direct perpetrators. I have decided to resign from the position of Commander of the ADVENT Military, and assume my position within ADVENT High Command. This has been accepted by the Chancellor, and transition plans will go into effect upon the conclusion of this briefing."

That generated as much noise as the initial reveal of the report. Eyes darted to each other, and a chorus of quiet mutterings broke out at the news. Laura stepped back, as Saudia resumed her position, remaining turned to her. "General Christiaens' work as Commander has been instrumental in the war against the Collective, and she will be remembered as an architect of some of Humanity's greatest victories."

Her hands gripped the sides of the podium as she turned back to the small crowd. "I applaud her willingness to take accountability, and accept the subsequent consequences. Army-Commander Kidon will take over as Interim Commander until a new Commander is chosen and formally approved by the Congress of Nations. I am fully confident in the capability of our military to continue operations successfully."

Now for the part all of them were waiting for. "I will take several questions."

Nearly every hand went up that wasn't holding a pen, phone, notepad, or tablet. She pointed towards a well-dressed man near the middle of the room. "Chancellor, were you aware of the alleged activities associated with Scipio, and if so what actions did you take?"

"I first became aware of them when Chief Watkins informed me of his preliminary investigation into misconduct," she answered. "Upon becoming aware of the extent of alleged misconduct, I ordered Operation Scipio be halted, to allow the Oversight Division to conduct work unimpeded."

The reason for Scipio's freeze hadn't been public knowledge. There had been plenty of speculation in the media, for those who paid attention, but there had not been anything official. Especially not that she'd been involved.

More hands went up. She pointed at a woman in a red dress towards the left. "Chancellor, is there a concern that the number of prosecuted or demoted officers will be detrimental to the war effort and could threaten the ongoing counteroffensive?"

An expected and reasonable question, Saudia wondered how well it was going to go over with the wider population.

"The majority of officers are not involved in any operations associated with the Rapture Campaign, and we can expect little to no disruption," Saudia explained. "Concerning General Christiaens' resignation, I am confident – and have been assured – that operations will continue as planned."

"I have been working with Army-Commander Kidon since the beginning of the counteroffensive," Laura added. "He is as knowledgeable and capable of seeing it through to completion as I am. And if he requires my insight or consultation, I will be available to provide it to him."

"Indeed," Saudia nodded. "Even with a period of adjustment, we are not concerned with his ability. ADVENT prides ourselves on the fact that no one is irreplaceable. I am certain officers and soldiers will step up to the task across our armed forces."

She pointed out a younger woman in the back for the next question. "Chancellor, if the Oversight Division is investigating into misconduct during Scipio, are there plans to investigate misconduct conducted in previous ADVENT campaigns, particularly Deus Vult?"

Another reasonable question, if one that was going to be much more difficult to answer. She did have an answer prepared all the same.

"I cannot speak to any ongoing investigations the Oversight Division conducts into earlier operations," Saudia demurred. "However, if evidence of misconduct is submitted and verified, we would have no reason to not support further investigation."

Another journalist, a young man with an accent sitting in the front, asked the next question. "Chancellor, with the African campaign being frozen, and a significant number of officers removed, what are the plans for dealing with the SAS and the respective continent?"

"We will be assessing the current readiness of ADVENT forces in Africa, and work to reorganize and reconstitute them appropriately," Saudia answered. "The campaign against the SAS will resume, but only when we are ready."

She fielded a few more questions, almost all of them ones in the vein of what she'd expected. She kept it going for another half hour before calling it, and telling them to direct further inquiries to Public Relations.

Kyong was going to be dealing with this for the short term, but he'd been well-prepared, and she had no reason to doubt his ability. For now, at least, her work was done. It seemed to have gone as well as could be expected. She believed that they wouldn't know the full extent of reactions until later in the day.

Now it was done though, and she had to find a new Commander of the ADVENT Military, and deal with the internal and external fallout this was going to cause. Laura wasn't wrong about the military being very unhappy with this turn of events, even if in her view, Watkins could have done worse.

The music would need to be faced sooner or later, but she didn't regret it.

She'd done what was necessary.

Maybe even what was right.

---

Office of the Commander, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Mid-October 2017 – Morning

Purportedly, the Commander already had his assignment in mind for him. Liam had personally been expecting that he would return to field operations – but from what had been implied, there was something more specialized awaiting him.

He had a few ideas what it could be, but was mostly just glad to be back to work.

Whatever the Commander intended, he was going to find out very soon. The Commander had requested him to visit and receive his orders. No more details had been provided beyond that, so Liam hadn't spent much time pondering on the way to his Office.

Upon approaching the Office of the Commander, he saw that he wasn't the only one who'd also been called. There was another person waiting outside, who he initially thought was some wandering kid, because she definitely didn't look like most of the adults – but her uniform didn't lie.

He had heard that XCOM was employing a young woman who employed some rare psionic discipline, but he'd not heard of a second one. The young woman leaned casually on the wall, raising an eyebrow once he approached.

"Hello," Liam said, not immediately sure what to say. "Are you also waiting for the Commander?"

"Just got here too, so yeah I guess," she said, pushing herself up, then rolled her eyes, muttering something in Spanish. "I should just wear a hood. It'd get me less stares. It's like none of you have ever seen anyone under thirty before, do I really stand out that much?"

"Afraid so," Liam said dryly. "As for the hood, that depends. We had someone who did that once. I'm not sure you could pull it off."

"Oh? And why is that?" She questioned.

"You lack a certain…" he searched for the word. "Gravitas. If you don't give off the attitude of someone who could kill me at a whim, I don't think it's going to work."

The eyebrow seemed to raise higher. "Wanna bet on that? How're you so sure I can't do that right now?"

"Consider it a lucky guess," Liam said. "And my skepticism that a child – even a psion – could pose a substantial threat in that way. No offense."

"Offense absolutely meant," she rolled her eyes. "I'd've thought Dawn would have made you all used to it."

"I've not been here for a while," he admitted

"Funny that, neither have I," she said, finally cracking a smile, and extending a hand. "Guess we're the rookies here. Violet."

He resisted a smirk in return. The girl definitely didn't know who he was, and he was fine to go along with it for now. "Liam. So how did you end up in XCOM of all places?"

She snapped her fingers, and a brief psionic flame licked the air above the digits. "Got awakened in Argentina fighting the aliens. XCOM sent some of their people to help us, one thing led to another, and figured here was the best place for me. That's the short version."

His head cocked to the side. "Usually new psions go to ADVENT. Not you?"

"Not really trusting of ADVENT, honestly," she shrugged. "Fought with XCOM, and while I'm not completely comfortable with everything here, I'd rather be with you guys than ADVENT. Not a big fan of governments of any kind, world-spanning or otherwise."

Liam raised an eyebrow. The girl was clearly working through a lot, though if she was a wild psion effectively, she did have some field experience. At the same time, he did somewhat question if they should be involved in XCOM. At least she was being regulated here, and he trusted the Commander to use her correctly.

"So," she continued. "What's your story? What brought you here?"

"It's a long one," he demurred, genuinely not sure where to start. "Since I expect we'll be working together, I'll tell you about it later."

She shrugged, deciding not to press further. "Suit yourself, 'Liam.' Are you actually Russian?"

"Immigrant."

Her expression was nakedly incredulous. "Who the hell emigrates to Russia?"

"[More people than emigrate to Argentina,]" he answered dryly in Russian. "[You're not allowed to make fun of names, Violet.]"

"Hey," she protested. "I heard my name there. How did you insult me?"

"I assure you, Zoe Villalba, that he could have easily said far worse," JULIAN interjected over the overhead speaker. "You should retain some respect for your elders."

Liam sighed. "I'm not that old, JULIAN."

"Exactly! He's fair game," Zoe, as she apparently was called, nodded vigorously, shooting an irritated look towards the ceiling. "This betrayal hurts, JULIAN. You're the last person to speak on professionalism and respect."

"While this has been an amusing sequence, the Commander is waiting for you both," JULIAN said, as the door opened. "There are important matters to attend to. Please step inside."

Thankful to actually get down to business, Liam and Zoe entered the Office of the Commander, and immediately noticed that there was someone else in addition to the Commander waiting for them.

It was a man dressed in tan-white desert attire, primarily worn by the inhabitants of Arabia. The man wearing them had very dark skin, a fairly short greying beard, and sparkling, but calculating eyes. The man was well-built, even if he was older, and Liam was certain he was, or at least had been a soldier.

The Commander was also waiting for them, and there was a glint in his eye telling Liam that he'd heard – or at least been aware – of the exchange outside his office. "Zoe. Liam. I see that introductions have been made. I hope it was on the right foot, since both of you will be working together."

"Well enough, Commander," Liam said, approaching the duo.

"Good, before we begin, a final introduction," the Commander indicated the man beside him. "Diiriye Hanad, Ikhwan."

Zoe didn't seem to react, but Liam couldn't suppress the surprised blink at the Commander casually dropping the word Ikhwan. A second, closer look at the man, and his attire made much more sense. If the man was a Muslim, he was likely Somalian, though technically could have originated from deeper in the African continent.

Liam looked to the Commander. "I think I've missed something, Commander. Ikhwan in your retinue now?"

"More than a few," the Commander smiled faintly. "To my understanding, Diiriye is one of the longest serving of the original force."

"Correct, Commander," the man answered, his accent almost non-existent to Liam's surprise. "It is only by the grace of God that I escaped both the Caliph's hunters, and the Egyptian and Italian soldiers. Of course, my stay in the Turkish dungeons was less fortuitous, but it did save me from the retribution that befell many of our brethren."

Zoe looked between Diiriye and him. "Help?"

"He's a jihadist," Liam summarized. "Specifically, one of the Caliphate's psychological operations agents. Very educated, very smart, very dangerous."

"I see our reputation extended far," Diiriye inclined his head. "'Psychological operations,' now that is a very Russian classification. I suppose the nuances were unimportant."

"Rabble-rouser is a bit too crude for my tastes," Liam said dryly.

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "Will this be a problem, Jaster?"

"No, Commander," Liam took a seat. "If there are Ikhwan here, I assume they're on the same side as us. I merely understand where they came from and what they are capable of. As are you, I am sure. If they have elected to use it for the good of Mankind, all the better."

"As good fortune would have it, their particular talents are going to be critical for this operation," the Commander said. "Which you have both been selected for, due to certain previous experiences."

He pressed a button, and a small holoprojector showed a world that was definitely not Earth, but one he'd become rather familiar with through osmosis in his time within the Collective. "Liam, this was not explicitly covered during your debrief, but what is your familiarity with Vitakar?" the Commander asked. "Specifically the dissident and resistance efforts on it?"

Well then, Vitakar, which almost certainly meant he was going to be supporting operations there. A clandestine, undercover, guerilla role that he'd not been involved in for a long time. But now that he knew, he felt almost excited at the prospect.

He was going to enjoy putting some of his old skills to work. First though, the Commander's question.

"Only basics, I'm afraid," Liam said. "Resistance, such as it is on Vitakar, is largely contained to the Nulorian, a terror organization that has been rather active since the war began. Fectorian didn't devote much focus to it, and I believe any knowledge I have is very likely out of date." He smiled slightly. "Would I be wrong in assuming XCOM has a presence on Vitakar?"

"A minor presence," the Commander confirmed. "We've been working with the Nulorian, and its nominal leader, Miridian. Attempts have been made to create a more united effort across the Vitakara, which has been hindered by the Nulorian's reputation, and…unwillingness to moderate themselves. They are useful in some cases, but the Vitakara are not going to willingly join a Nulorian-dominated state. You have a question, Violet."

The woman almost started at the sudden attention. "Uh…"

"You can ask questions," the Commander told her. "I wanted you here for a reason."

"Well," she shifted in her seat. "You call the Nulorian a terror organization. Actual terror organization, or the, uh, American definition of terror organization? Big difference."

Ah, she was one of those people. This was going to be an interesting time. "The former," the Commander said neutrally. "Of course, one's definition may vary, but typically organizations with manifestos that explicitly declare their intent to cause terror, attack civilian institutions, assassinate citizens, and employ explosives and firearms liberally across the territory of their enemy qualifies."

"Ah." That seemed to shut her up. "Gotcha. We're allied with them?"

"Yes, by virtue of there being no real resistance on Vitakar besides them," the Commander said. "Miridian is on the back foot, since the Vitakara have been undergoing a species-wide reorganization under their new Speaker. We're going to take this opportunity to push the Nulorian towards what we need them to be – not what they want."

"A hostile takeover," Liam nodded. "A shift in power dynamics."

"Miridian's approach has helped us in some respects, but it's also inadvertently paved the way to make the Collective's hold on the world and people stronger," the Commander said. "Terror has its place, but not when the intent is to inspire resistance or broaden an anti-Collective appeal."

"And we're going to be helping," Liam surmised. "Who is leading the effort?"

"An individual who has some extensive experience in bringing disparate groups together, particularly guerilla ones, maintaining resistance organizations, and is perhaps stubborn enough to match Miridian," the Commander's lips quirked. "He calls himself the Lion, and you'll meet him soon. He leads the Ikhwan, and Diiriye is one of his people."

"And what is the objective?" Liam asked. "Maintain and shape the Nulorian, or build up additional cells and groups to minimize their influence?"

"Both," Diiriye said. "This operation is…as much psychological, as it is material. The Nulorian, and the wider resistance pockets, they are pieces of a puzzle, which if solved, will topple the Collective's puppet state."

Zoe frowned. "I don't follow."

"He means," Liam said, looking at the man with interest. "That the intent isn't just to lead and coordinate the resistance, but facilitate an ideological and political shift through the entire species."

"Precisely," the Commander nodded, a strange grimness in his voice. "We have a framework to achieve this, which you'll receive more details of. Suffice to say, the Ikhwan have experience in these kinds of operations, which is why they're involved. For the two of you, your talents are more conventional."

He nodded to them. "You'll be involved in making contacts, taking part in operations, and assisting in building a true, unified, and militant resistance across Vitakar."

The Commander shut off the hologram. "Liam, you have extensive counterintelligence experience, know how to work group dynamics, and what will be effective. Violet, you are a psion, but more importantly are resourceful and know how to fight in a resistance movement facing bleak odds. For these reasons this is your new assignment."

"I'm sure you know, Commander, but, uh," Violet paused. "I wasn't exactly a leader or strategist in all of this. I knew some stuff, but-"

"I am aware of that," the Commander said. "And that nonetheless is sufficient qualification for your involvement. Very few in XCOM have any involvement in such units, let alone in a successful role. You are more prepared than you think, and you will have support."

He fixated on her. "If you do not think yourself capable, then tell me now, and I'll find a different place for you. Is that what you want?"

"I-" she clamped her mouth shut. "No, Commander. I'll do my part for this as best I can."

"Very good," the Commander nodded. "That's all I ask."

It was a trial by fire, but Liam suspected the girl would do fine. It wasn't as though she was actually in charge of anything, whereas his responsibility was going to likely be more…delicate. "Anyone else we should be aware of, Commander?"

"XCOM Intelligence will be sending several field units to support, and Vahlen and Mercado some science and engineering support, respectively," the Commander said. "More support may follow that, but that will be determined by the Lion once he takes stock of the situation."

"Miridian sounds like a problematic individual," Liam noted. "And from what I understand, he's smart and ruthless. I can't see him going along with what is effectively a marginalization of his influence."

"The Lion will handle him," the Commander answered. "Miridian is not unreasonable, but he likes being in control – and he is very set in his ideology. I doubt the Lion will deliberately antagonize him. Nonetheless, Miridian understands that he needs us much more than we need him. He can't afford to antagonize us."

That was going to be interesting to observe. That would be shockingly pragmatic of a terrorist leader, all of whom were always some manner of unhinged. Collective reports were biased, but XCOM ones apparently acknowledged these traits as well.

"I'd like your documentation on Miridian, the Nulorian, and the groups and individuals of note." Liam said, and looked at Diiriye. "I don't suppose the Ikhwan have been discussing approaches and strategies?"

"Not in the manner of interpersonal relations – yet," Diiriye smiled, a thin, sharp one. "However, we will need to be aligned. I would be happy to review and plan accordingly prior to deployment."

"Give me a few days to review, and I will," Liam said, already thinking of how to approach this.

"All of that will be provided to you – and you as well, Violet," the Commander said, turning to her. "You are going to be paired with Liam through this operation. You will follow his instructions, support his operations, and attend his briefings. Liam, I expect you to utilize her as a subordinate as you see fit."

He couldn't be too surprised by that, which was a possibility in the back of his mind since he'd come. It had been a long time…actually, no, he'd never really had a student…subordinate…protégé? He wasn't sure what Zoe qualified as, but it wasn't something he'd really done before.

Well, there was a first time for everything. And the Commander was certainly using this as some kind of test of his own. "Understood, Commander," Liam nodded. "In which case, Diiriye, please make sure miss…" he looked at her. "What is your surname again?"

"Villalba," she said, almost sheepishly. "Though I'd prefer Violet. Sir."

"…Very well, Violet." He said. If she wanted to stick to the nickname, he'd indulge, at least for now.

"Liam, if you weren't aware, was part of the Russian Counter-Terrorism unit," the Commander said. "And has a healthy number of years in intelligence work. I think you'll learn a lot from him."

"Looking forward to it, Commander," Violet said. "It's going to be interesting. In a good way, I'm sure."

"Then that's all," the Commander stood. "Your formal orders will come shortly, and your deployment soon after. Take this time to prepare, because once you leave for Vitakar, you won't be back for some time."

"Understood, Commander," Liam stood with him. "We won't be idle."

"I'm certain you'll use it well," the Commander saluted. "Dismissed."

---

Office of the Grand Marshal, Abuja – Nigeria

Mid-October 2017 – Morning

A strange sensation had come over Betos.

It could be mistaken for numbness; a shock and acceptance of something unexpected. But it wasn't anything that simple. She felt emotion; strong emotion for that matter. It just felt like nothing before, as if reaching a high and low so fast it left her in a lurch where she seemed to feel nothing.

Just a sinking feeling, as if reaching a damning revelation.

Almost as if she was sick.

She didn't know if it was because she really didn't feel anything, or because she had felt so much that it had cancelled out everything else. Her office had changed; no longer the spacious one she'd come to like, but one that was more spartan and streamlined. Perhaps more suited to her new position as Grand Marshal, but she wasn't used to it yet.

The details of the office appeared to be faded; out of focus and colorless. A flat silence fell over the room, where the droning of the radio seemed to be a dulled buzzing. The only clarity in her vision was the tablet on her lap, the contents of which she'd been silently reading and watching.

She didn't know how long she'd been staring at the screen. Minutes? Hours? It had morphed into a continuous blob, one that lasted as long as she scrolled through page after page. One question repeated through her mind as she kept going.

Why.

A question of disbelief and incredulity. One word summarizing everything wrong with what she was seeing.

They weren't supposed to do this.

She'd woken up to news which had caused a seismic event throughout ADVENT, which would have ripple effects across the entire war – including against the SAS. The news was directly impactful to their own plans, though she could grasp that they were nothing compared to how ADVENT's entire war effort was being disrupted.

Commander Laura Christiaens had stepped down from her position, following an investigation into Operation Scipio. Not gone from ADVENT completely – she was retaining the rank of General in ADVENT High Command, but it was clear that the Chancellor was looking for someone else to lead the ADVENT military.

That news alone would have been enough to surprise her. That was only the tip of the deluge.

ADVENT hadn't stopped there.

Much less important than Christiaens' removal was why she'd been dismissed.

Most of the ADVENT media was focusing on the dismissal, and the implications for the war, but what was getting much less attention was the why. It turned out that Christiaens was not the only individual who had been dismissed from service. Betos had read numbly the list of names who weren't just being removed or demoted, but being actively arrested.

It wasn't just low-ranking officers – people who'd been in charge of entire offensives were seeing the hammer come down on them. Operation Scipio had been formally ended, and the entire African operation was being transferred to some new yet-to-be-announced General, who was going to be reorganizing the effort.

Practically speaking, this was exceptionally good news for them. Knaag and Kaan were ecstatic over the opportunities this gave them, with counteroffensives already being planned which she'd already begun drafting. There had been much derision over ADVENT's decisions here, which from a strategic standpoint, were at best questionable.

She didn't disagree with that. A lot of people in ADVENT seemed to agree with them. That this was perhaps a mistake, that it was too harsh, and would backfire in the long run. Maybe it would.

After all, they weren't supposed to do that.

ADVENT wasn't supposed to do this.

ADVENT was supposed to be the enemy that was making the pragmatic, ruthless choices above all else. That was what ADVENT was. An amoral machine that continued its unrelenting march, no matter the casualties or consequences. A state that placed efficiency and success above all possible impediments.

That was what they were.

So why this?

They weren't supposed to do this.

People weren't supposed to be punished for their conduct.

The powerful weren't supposed to face consequences for their actions.

They weren't supposed to be trying to do the right thing.

Confusion. Anger. Indignity. All swirled through her, settling into the strange feeling that seemed to paralyze her all while her eyes were glued to the screen. It seemed like particularly ironic mockery; a cruel joke the universe was playing on her. They dared do this. How dare they suddenly develop a conscience. How dare they try and become better than her.

So why?

They weren't supposed to do that.

But they did.

Even if it would certainly hurt them. Even if they didn't have to.

Why?

It had to be something more than because it was right, or because ADVENT wanted to carry out some kind of justice. There had to be another angle, one that would make sense within their framework. Obviously, the way Scipio had been executed had been one that ADVENT had likely determined would backfire and have negative ramifications.

A simple course-correction, that was what it was.

Or it would have been.

She grasped for some different rationalization; a different justification to put their actions in the context they should be acting in. Anything but this was preferable; anything else she could compartmentalize away. Move on from.

But if this was just a course-correction, then they would have simply shifted strategy. There was no need for a report hundreds of pages long detailing extensive misconduct to be released to the public. There was no reason to be honest.

There was no reason to arrest and charge officers and superiors who'd carried this out or ordered soldiers to do it. There was certainly no reason to remove the Commander of the entire ADVENT Military.

She was at a loss as to what it meant.

No, not loss.

Denial.

Because they weren't supposed to do that.

Be better.

Better than her.

As everything kept slipping away from her, she'd been able to cling to the knowledge that no matter what, she knew that the enemy she faced was one whose own vision for Humanity was worse than her own, or even anything Kaan could envision.

But what if that was no longer true?

The clearer Kaan's vision became, the more she watched it be implemented, the more she comprehended the chilling bloodlust in Knaag's eyes, the more a dangerous, nagging, and unthinkable sensation came over her. Each day she woke up, knowing that she was seeing something take form that would horrify her if looking at it from any angle other than where she stood.

She couldn't though.

It couldn't have been for nothing.

She kept scrolling.

The sensation usually faded once she started working.

She kept reading.

Recently it hadn't gone away.

She kept watching.

And today it was growing stronger.

A dangerous, insidious, revelation that wormed its way deeper into her mind the more time passed.

That she was doing the wrong things.

No, it was worse.

That she was on the wrong side.

She forced herself to turn the tablet off, and simply sat at her desk for a very long time, staring sightlessly forward.

Wondering what she was supposed to do.

---

Office of the Chancellor, Geneva – Switzerland

Mid-October 2017 – Afternoon

The proposal Saudia held in her hands was brief, less than a dozen pages, but was merely a summarization of a much larger framework. One that, if adopted, would be the mechanism from which the future of state and nation was carved from. It was the future of ADVENT, one able to mold itself to the future forged by Mankind.

She felt melancholic reading it, thinking of how only a few years ago something like this would have been a dream decades away. She felt melancholic at how far they had come, how much had been sacrificed in the process, and how much work there was still to do to truly unite the world.

Now they had the ability. Now they had the power.

Soon they would have the tools.

And, fate willing, the death knell of the nation state would be laid. One thing was certain – very soon the world would begin to change.

The entire issue concerning Israel and Palestine was a microcosm of another issue which was going to come to the forefront sooner and later. While the current efforts of Hakeem were going to address the matter of historical repatriation, there was also the matter of actively being able to alter the character, makeup, and territory of nations themselves.

The world had been, with the exception of the Middle East, a static place concerning many nations following decolonization and the Cold War. Borders changing had become a taboo subject, which held some benefits as it was a strong deterrent to anyone seeking to upend the existing international order.

It also came with a potential negative in that even voluntary unification or devolution was also out of the question. Not that such efforts usually succeeded, the closest ones had been Quebec in Canada, and Scotland in the United Kingdom – and those worked off the generous assumption that either nation would let that happen.

Saudia didn't personally believe that such decisions should be made just one particularly aggravated group wanted to secede or had other motivations – but if there was strong support among the affected population, it was in the interest of Humanity that they at least be given the opportunity to express their views in a fair and legal way.

A way that would soon exist.

After all, the nation was no longer the most powerful authority in the world. ADVENT was.

"The framework appears solid," she finally said to Hassan, giving an approving nod. "Minimal levels of regional support, mutual consent in the cases of unification, and generational cooldowns following success or failure. Simple, but necessary."

"The rules are the simplest part, the messy part is putting it into practice," Hassan said with a slight smile. "I did my best to get input from state officials, as well as representatives of various…non-state interests. Some more willing to be helpful than others."

"And the overall sentiment?"

"Begrudging, if I had to summarize," he said. "Very few people, even those who are open-minded, are ready to accept that the nation-state is either no longer the final authority on territorial matters, nor as static as they are used to. Unsurprisingly, more than a few groups are ready to give their support to this framework, once it goes to the legislature."

As Hassan said – unsurprising. She nodded. "Who will we want to introduce it?"

"I would support a joint introduction," Hassan said. "Preferably by the Koreas, as this is explicitly enabling them to settle the matter of unification, or lack thereof, once and for all. Both countries agree with the framework and want a proper mechanism to achieve it. In theory they could resolve this through the Congress, but it is better these be formalized."

"That is a good approach," she agreed. "It is a proper and necessary step, if one that will cause disruptions. Have you estimated how extensive those might be once this goes into effect?"

"Less than you might think, and not the outcomes you'd expect," Hassan answered. "I know devolutions are the first things that come to mind…but there are strong possibilities that smaller nations with shared histories, cultures, and relations may unify."

Saudia raised an eyebrow. "Do tell?"

"Most of the Caribbean nations have fallen to the Collective, but there has been discussion among the exiles about unifying into a federation upon reclamation," Hassan said. "Then there are other matters where unification is near-certain. Ireland, Guyana, to name a couple."

He paused, seeming to recall some things. "These talks are happening on the national level as we speak. Everyone appears to understand that this is only a matter of time, and dissolution or devolution is a choice and moves are being made for both pragmatic and political influence." He seemed to hesitate before continuing. "Russia is gauging the possibility of reunifying – to some degree - with several former Soviet territories."

Saudia snorted, while also finding that very amusing. "I doubt that's going to go over well."

"Not to the extent they'd wish," Hassan smiled faintly. "However, they are close with Belarus, and have strong ties with much of Central Asia. It would not be out of the question that they might accept the offer, as now there are…additional safeguards. Russia is under the ADVENT system – not Soviet."

He glanced at his tablet. "At the same time, I would expect Russia to undergo some territorial changes once this goes into effect. Chechnya at a minimum, but regions or the entirety of Siberia may follow. We will see, but this is what we can begin to expect."

"Mm," Saudia rubbed her chin. "I imagine it's similar on the other side of the Atlantic. Natives in the United States and Canada will likely take advantage. Scotland and Quebec as well."

"Quebec might well succeed if they try," Hassan said. "Scotland is less certain. Loud as their independence advocates are, there is less overall support. Perhaps this will change, we will see. As for the North American natives…"

He trailed off briefly. "I agree they will try, but I would not expect universal success. In states that have lower populations, there is a strong possibility of success. More dense regions, especially ones with non-indigenous citizens, less so. A minority will simply never dictate the future of a region, no matter how strong they advocate."

"They must convince all who live there," Saudia finished. "As it should be."

"Indeed," Hassan nodded. "Such is the framework we have. I think it is an excellent beginning."

"That it is," Saudia mused. "The world could look quite different even a few months from now."

"An exciting time I should say," Hassan agreed. "It is important that we have mechanisms that are flexible and fair to resolve these disputes over land, territory, and ethnic histories. I don't believe a static world is ideal. Humanity changes, and the world should reflect that – after all, they can always change it eventually."

"Agreed, and very good work," Saudia said. "Run it by Watkins to make sure there isn't anything outstanding, but I want this introduced to the Congress as soon as possible. And if you need my help to move things forward…"

"I know who to call," he assured her, standing. "Until later, Chancellor."

---

SAS Military Command Center, Abuja – Nigeria

Mid-October 2017 – Morning

While ADVENT was not in a state of chaos, the media and administration was nonetheless making an effort to downplay the ramifications of the war following Christiaens' removal and the other actions following the Scipio investigation.

However, Betos, Kaan, and Knaag all knew that there was going to be some level of disruption to their operations. It was unavoidable and inevitable.

And with disruption came opportunities.

Around a holotable displaying the African continent, the current plans for the counteroffensive were displayed. The SAS military was in, if not an exemplary state, a satisfactory one. Their soldiers were well-equipped, officers had been returning from Collective worlds with some level of crash-course professionalism.

Additionally, they were receiving battlefield advisors in the form of Runianarch and Zararch Officers embedded into the SAS military proper. The Collective's production advantage had ensured that most of their material losses from previous battles had been replaced, and were now augmented with modern machines and drones.

Plasma guns, anti-material alloy rifles, Vitakarian fighters, so little of their equipment now was of actual Human origin, but that wasn't going to be a battle that Betos was going to fight right now. They'd design and produce their own weapons when they didn't face the threat of defeat at ADVENT's hands, it was one of Kaan's priorities.

Today though, they had no real choice. The mission came before everything else.

No one was under the impression that it was going to be easy – but ADVENT had lost the initiative and allowed the SAS to properly reconstitute itself to strike back. Betos had spent long days and nights, and was confident that it would be enough to make significant gains from ADVENT. Combined with a renewed diplomatic push across the continent, it would further strengthen their position.

Knaag paced as he appraised the plans. Betos waited for his comment, as his expression was inscrutable. Finally, he stopped his pacing and nodded. "Sufficient."

Betos raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. "Approval from you? Surprising."

A snort followed. "Little Marshal, I'm not a general nor do I command armies. That isn't what I do. I break people, I ruin nations, I slay beasts. The battlefield is a theater I know my place in – so there is little I can offer to critique that you should take seriously."

Given how he was prone to treat her, she was surprised to hear that kind of self-awareness from him. She could grasp the logic easily enough, and if it meant that he wasn't going to challenge her on something for once, she was going to take it. "ADVENT will be announcing their replacement for the African theatre soon. Once that is announced and the transition underway, we will launch the counteroffensive several days into their tenure."

"Allowing them to become appraised of the situation, and then forcing it to change," Kaan nodded approvingly, rubbing his chin. "Clever. Morale will already be lowered because of the circumstances – this will initiate the downward spiral."

"Correct," Betos said. "As our forces advance and reclaim territory, we will need a second wave of engineers, labor, and scientists to repair and restore what was destroyed. ADVENT left little in their wake but carnage." She looked at Kaan. "I'm sure you can gather the required personnel."

"Yes, that's been factored into our plans," Kaan confirmed. "I've spoken with Keeper, and he has assured me that the required specialists will be on standby to begin their work. Have no fear, I have as much interest in restoring this continent to a viable state as you do."

"Good," Betos exhaled, glad that something good would come from what would be a bloody campaign. At least one thing she'd be able to do is repair the damage ADVENT had inflicted. No matter the steps they were taking now, it would remain a black mark on them forever, and she intended to never forget it.

"This is all well and interesting, but it will not win the war," Knaag said, his familiar derision returning. "It will take more than armies to make ADVENT falter."

Kaan sighed. "Yes, yes, it's not supposed to though. The counteroffensive is to regain what was lost, or if it goes exceptionally well, push forward. The war is to be won by the Collective, not us."

"Of course, the aliens can expend themselves in waves for Mankind's glory," Knaag said dismissively. "I'm not disputing their contributions – I merely say that we have options beyond straightforward campaigns ADVENT can adapt to."

"This is leading to something, I assume?" Betos asked tiredly.

Knaag's voice was sardonic; almost mocking. "You pick up quick, Little Marshal," he began tapping into the holotable's control panel. "My…project in Cuba has been bearing fruit."

The holotable shifted to a global view, with several projections of major regions, and a locust-like insect. "Fascinating creatures, the Sectoids. Brainless, yet geniuses. Living computers, not unlike the insects they create," Knaag mused almost fondly. "ADVENT has yet to experience any real hardship brought by conflict. Their institutions and systems have borne the weight of war. To win, these must be crushed and overwhelmed. We don't need armies for that."

The insect became magnified. "We have the locusts, and they will see use soon. But they are only one vector of attack. ADVENT's…perception of invincibility must be shattered. We have the means to inflict terror on ADVENT, and they cannot protect everyone."

Betos suddenly frowned as Knaag continued. "Hundreds and thousands of people go about their daily lives," he continued. "To the grocery stores, on the metros and buses, and even on the highways. Each individual, a resource keeping the machine going, and feeding into the perception of invincibility."

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, a shiver running through her. "The cogs must be broken."

"What are you suggesting?" Betos demanded. "That we attack civilians openly?"

He smiled, his eyes resolved and cold. "Not you, Little Marshal, you don't have the stomach for it. I will handle this part of the war." Dots across the holotable lit up. "There are no shortage of crippling targets. Electrical grids, water supplies, hospitals, warehouses. With each one that falls, with each person murdered, that much more weight is added to the pressure."

Blue markings appeared on the holomap, which shifted back to Africa, and SAS territory. "I'm opening labs within the SAS – Cuba proved the merit of my ideas, and the usefulness of the Sectoids. Something like the Smallpox plague in China is an inspired idea, but too localized. We will see how ADVENT handles a dozen plagues across the world."

The scope of what Knaag planned to do dawned on Betos, and concern was replaced with a growing horror at the cost that would be reaped. Even if ADVENT was somehow able to mitigate it, and not collapse, thousands upon thousands would die from these attacks. "And what happens if ADVENT decides to retaliate in kind?"

"Let them, we will be ready," Knaag said without worry. "This is war, and war does not respect those who hold back. We saw what ADVENT is willing to unleash. War is not for the noble, it is for the brutal and savage. The war of chivalry and gentlemen died forever in the fields of Passchendaele and the urban tombs of Stalingrad."

"War does not determine who is right – only who is left," Kaan quoted. "Perhaps distasteful, but I concur with the necessity of an expansion of tactics. People die in war, soldiers and civilian alike. The mechanisms matter little so long as victory is achieved. The damage will be repaired. This is an existential matter – and every advantage we can gain is important."

He nodded to Knaag. "Proceed as you see fit. I'm sure the Collective will appreciate having an ally willing to dirty our hands – so long as we handle the 'rogue' elements in our number eventually."

Knaag's smile was dark and ugly as he turned back to her. "It is curious that aliens squirm as men do when it comes to this. Well, Keeper will have his beasts. Covertly, of course. Now, Grand Marshal, do I have your approval?"

She didn't answer. It was a rhetorical question, for she knew that no matter what she said, he would do it. He was just testing her now, to see if she would give him a reason to remove her for good. But she didn't need to say yes, so she said nothing at all, staring at him with undisguised disgust.

Knaag didn't seem to mind from the brightness in his eyes. "I'll interpret that as you having no objections. Manage the fronts and offensives. I promise you'll see my handiwork soon enough."

---

The World of Orial

Mid-October 2017 – Evening

The Battlemaster could feel Yang's tempered apprehension at what was about to take place. It was expected, understandable even.

He felt some slight trepidation of his own, though curiously, not to the extent he probably should have. A decision such as this should have come after great deliberation, consideration, and care, but if he was honest with himself, the decision had seemed so…clear.

Perhaps because it had to be.

The choices were narrowing around him; pressures were building that demanded action. Knowledge learned that could not be unlearned. With each escalating step, the right choices became clearer, until they would eventually not become choices at all.

He had been quiet for a long time after leaving Regisora, and considering everything she had said. She had not been lying to him, or there had at least not been any intentional deceit. The resignation, the despair that was so sourly acute was something that could not be faked. She had shared it, in the hopes of deterring him from a path she knew he could take.

One she fortunately hadn't ascertained he already had.

But what he did know was that she had been broken. Not merely broken by association with the Sovereign One, broken intentionally.

Away from the crushing despair he had felt, and in a place where he could consider what had been said rationally, he was certain of one thing – Mosrimor did not believe this. The Battlemaster was deeply skeptical that the Sovereign One was convinced of his own, inevitable demise at the hands of the Harbinger – and it had troubled him that such a certainty would not be shared.

He allowed Regisora to be broken. He had not known why this would be ideal, and he had not assessed an answer until he'd considered it for some time.

Because the ideal state of an Ethereal was to be broken.

For an individual devoid of hope and possibility was one which would ultimately serve his interests without fear of subterfuge. For one of the most powerful species that existed, to believe they were powerless, was how dominion could be asserted over them. If the greatest could be beaten, humbled, and convinced they were doomed, they would submit.

Mosrimor did not need his Voice to believe in the cause, only execute his will. He had allowed Regisora to come to this conclusion on her own, and in doing so, ensured she served forever without complaint. For Regisora was, as all of Mosrimor's pawns were, just that. Pawns. Tools. Creatures that served specific purposes, to use and dispose of as necessary.

A tool did not need to believe in the cause. A tool did not need to feel hope. Indeed, if a tool might act out of order, it was essential this be corrected.

This callous, cruel, humiliating fate that Mosrimor had imposed invoked fury in the Battlemaster's heart. For in it, he indeed saw what Mosrimor would do to all of them. He had begun doing it already, through the Imperator. If he was allowed to continue, all of them would become like Regisora.

Broken, empty shells whose only purpose was to serve the Sovereign One.

Perhaps Regisora was right.

Perhaps they were all doomed. The Ethereals, the Sovereign Ones, everyone in between. Maybe none of it mattered, and anything attempted was for naught. Maybe the best choice was to live as long as possible, as comfortably as possible, before the inevitable end, while recognizing that in the grand scheme of the universe, their destiny was to be drowned in the flood, or be culled by the Reaping.

But he was not Regisora.

He stared into the yawning abyss, and turned away from it.

Death had not been something he believed was to be feared. Death came for everyone, eventually. Death was as certain as gravity. But death alone was not something that defined an individual, or the legacy they left behind. Some feared death, and went to great lengths to avoid it, betraying themselves in their people to cling to their addiction of life.

To merely live though, was not something he found worthwhile.

It was better to die than live an empty, meaningless, purposeless life. Especially one where you betrayed all you purportedly believed in.

Regisora promised an empty life.

One which could be ended at the mere whim of the Sovereign master.

That was no life.

It was borrowed time, in servitude, as slaves. No, so long as he lived, he would do everything in his power to ensure that his people were not slaves to the Sovereign Ones, and if they fell to the Reaping or the Sovereigns, then so be it. They would be far from the first to vanish from the face of the galaxy.

Let them be remembered as those who defied inevitability.

They were approaching the dwelling of the Second Guardian.

They had landed on a remote, minimally-developed planet in the Collective. The Guardians had not developed their own Blacksites like many of the Ethereals, as their time was often spent on the Temple Ship with the Imperator. Yet they did build homes and outposts occasionally, across the Collective's myriad worlds.

Orial was a harsh world, a cold and frozen one. Snowstorms were frequent, and temperatures well-below freezing. It was for this reason that both the Battlemaster and Yang were in full armor, as they needed all the insulation necessary for the climb to the Second Guardian's home – such as it was.

The Second Guardian hadn't built this place to live so much as a place to further train herself and any who expressed interest. Across the snowy plains, the frozen peaks, and vast glaciers, it was a world that, if properly outfitted, would test any Ethereal, even him. The dwelling itself was modest; little more than a grey box from the outside built into the mountain.

By now she had almost certainly sensed them.

He had not told her he was coming, but she would know who it was.

On the final path towards her dwelling, he saw her silhouette atop the end of the patch, obscured by the snow. The Battlemaster lifted a hand, and the air between them became still. The air flowed around them, the snow whipped up or away from his telekinetic barrier.

The Second Guardian inclined her head, visible in the fading sunlight. "Battlemaster, Harbinger Shuren," her voice was…not guarded, but surprised, which she didn't hide. "Welcome."

"Guardian," he returned. "We must speak."

She likely wanted to answer with something, but also knew that it was better to speak when they weren't in a snowstorm. Without another word, she turned away, beckoning them to follow. Boots crunched in piling snow as they made their way into the dwelling, and once stepping inside, the Battlemaster found himself glad to be out of the worst of the cold.

The Second Guardian began to remove pieces of her armor atop shelves and cabinets intended for her equipment. It was a humble, simple place to live; smaller than the Battlemaster had expected, though she was often alone when she came.

"I did not expect you here, Iudexas," the Second Guardian said, removing her helmet, and placing it on a shelf, turning back to him. "What has happened?"

She knew that he was not here, uninvited no less, for a simple visit. She knew he would only come if there was something serious to discuss – and something that could not be said in a place where others might observe.

The Battlemaster considered where to begin, and how to approach this. Treason, for that was what this was, was not something that could be broached without some chosen strategy. "A realization and a confession. Certain realizations that have crystallized in recent months that I cannot ignore."

"Ah." She placed her weapon away, seeming to anticipate one part of it. "The…meddling of the Sovereign One troubles you as well."

"It has only worsened," the Battlemaster said. "I did not approve of such alliances at all, but since he has become more involved, my fears have become more tangible."

She looked at him, her voice hesitant. "And what is it you fear?"

"It is not what I fear," the Battlemaster said after a moment. "It is that I know now, the future Mosrimor sees for us." He paused briefly. "I spoke to Regisora."

The Second Guardian didn't speak immediately; emotions of pity, sorrow, and wariness were mixed together. "And what did she share with you?"

He thought about how best to summarize it. In the end, there was only one reason why she had decided it was necessary for him to know.

"Why we must serve."

The Second Guardian finished removing the last of her major armor pieces, weapons, and directed them to sit – and so they did.

He recounted to her the important pieces of the conversation, allowing her to sense him without shields or barriers as he had with Regisora, though this time he could be truly honest. She felt his fury at what had been done to Regisora, comprehended the weight of what had been revealed, and the abyss that awaited them, no matter what future they followed.

When he finally finished, she was silent for a short time.

"So this is our future?" She murmured. "To live, to serve, until we inevitably fall to the reaping. Hardly a rallying cry for our people," she trailed off briefly, a forlorn note in her voice. "…does he know, Battlemaster?"

Does he know.

The Battlemaster hesitated, then shook his head. "I do not know. I do not know if it matters anymore."

"This is not salvation, or even survival," she continued in that same voice. "It is…servitude. Objects and pawns for a being, in an eternal war that Regisora claims is inevitably doomed. Why would he choose this for us?"

"I do not know if he originally intended to," the Battlemaster said. "In fact, I am certain of it. But he made a decision, and since then has reinforced that decision, because he sees no other way. Even if he knows what Regisora believes, he does not believe it himself. He cannot, because he would have to acknowledge that he has led us to ruin."

She was silent for a moment, pieces coming together. It was not difficult to ascertain what this might mean. She knew him. She knew what he was capable of. "You intend to do something."

"Yes."

To his surprise, it didn't seem to evoke a strong reaction. Merely…something approaching a tired weariness; a cautious interest, something that told him that this was not the first time she had thought about this. And him, specifically.

"I…wondered. Maybe even hoped," she revealed in a low voice. "The war has seemed pointless, and our survival almost a mockery considering what has been revealed. And the Imperator…he does not seem to know, or even possess a desire to correct the errors."

Her eyes met his. "To act against him is treason, but to do nothing is to condemn us all. An impossible choice."

"Difficult," the Battlemaster shook his head. "It is not impossible. I will not lie and say the choice was a difficult one. My purpose is to protect our species. If that demands I must act against the Imperator to do so…then so be it."

He briefly paused. "I have seen what Mosrimor intends for us. To break us. To cow us. To make us like Regisora; hopeless vessels whose only purpose is to serve until our use is expired. I have made this choice, and I must act before we cross an approaching point of no return."

"And you tell me this because why?" She wondered. "I am among the weakest of our people now. One who has failed in every position she has held her entire life."

She looked away, her voice distant. "I served on the Imperial Sanctum until it fell. I served on the battlefield until it was ceded. I served the Imperator. And each time, it seemed I am cursed to fail each of my charges."

"We have all failed in one way or another," the Battlemaster said. "What matters next is, as you said, if we correct the wrongs. I trust you. I wish you to help, and save our species from this fate the Imperator has condemned us to."

"And I must do so, before we cross the point of no return, and it is approaching. I trust you; I want your help in this effort."

There was a brief silence that seemed to stretch. "So be it," her voice was low, but firm. "I swore the same oaths you did, Battlemaster, and no matter my failings, I will not willingly betray them."

Her orange eyes returned to his, instilled with a grim resolve. "I will help you, Battlemaster. Tell me what you plan."

---

Research Labs, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Mid-October 2017 – Afternoon

Xenotechnological Engineer Samantha couldn't help but take a moment to admire the object before her.

It had taken weeks of work, but piece by piece, they had effectively restored the strange alien suit of armor that had been delivered to them some time ago. The results weren't perfect of course, but working closely on it had given her an appreciation for how…artistic it all was. Many of her colleagues saw only a suit of alien armor.

She saw an expression of the artist who had created it, or the warrior who had worn it. She was only an amateur artist who dabbled here and there, but she knew enough basics to tell that the suit was certainly not mass-produced. It was something carefully tailored for the user, and marks of individuality were all over it.

From the various shades of red that had colored it, to the alien symbols that had been engraved into the alien metal, to the dozens of smaller details that indicated that this suit had been built, refined, and modified by someone who knew it inside and out. And now from the outside, it looked almost as good as new.

If only they could have managed to pry it open.

She wasn't surprised that ADVENT hadn't been able to figure out what it was – because frankly they really didn't have the answers either.

It was unquestionably alien, there was a universal consensus on that. At the same time there were design elements that didn't make sense to her or the xenobiologists or cultural anthropologists who'd taken a look at it. That opinion had been echoed by the Vitakarian and Andromedon experts who'd taken a look. Aegis and Caelior similarly had no idea what it was.

Granted, they didn't really have any cultural experts from the Vitakara, and the Andromedons didn't have much of an interest in that to begin with – but they did know engineering. And they found the entire suit extremely odd and, from what she had gleamed, troubling.

A suit of clear alien design and materials, yet one which seemed perfectly oriented to fit a Human of moderate build. There was a small betting pool on if there was a male or female inside. Most thought male, but she personally saw it as a coin flip. Armor of this kind completely obfuscated gender, and it could just as easily be a woman in the suit.

Admittedly, it was probably a male just because of the likely time period, and what legends and stories they had to go off of implied the 'possessed' individual was male. Still, there was a part of her that did hope otherwise. If only because she had some alloys riding on it.

It wasn't exactly the fact that the suit was humanoid that gave all the engineers and scientists pause – it was the fact that it fit too well. It was as if it had been designed for a Human, instead of appropriated by them and subsequently modified.

It raised two critical questions - who and how?

Their theories had boiled down to a few options, all of which had their own problems, but all others were too outlandish. They did have records from the Vatican that seemed to reference the suit, to old legends that went back to before Britain was even a real country, and a few other obscure texts and myths that might refer to something like this.

None of them really liked relying on such bad sources to piece together a plausible narrative. They were scientists who dealt in logic and process – not stories and myths. Yet that was the best they had to go on in constructing theories, at least until they could get it open or reboot it.

The first plausible theory was the simplest – this alien species was simply of humanoid proportions and happened to have the same number of limbs, joints, and fingers as Humans. Not out of the question given the existence of the Vitakara – but a hell of a coincidence.

The second theory was that the suit had some kind of bio-adaption and self-modification capability where it could adapt to the physiology of whoever wore it. Given the implied level of technology – and its difficulty in interfacing with any kind of computer, she definitely leaned more towards this option.

Yet it raised questions – primarily how it could actually function without some kind of cybernetic interface built into the user. And given the age of this suit, it was at minimum hundreds of years old, possibly even a thousand. This particular Human clearly had some exposure to advanced technology – but she doubted they had received a cybernetic suite that was modern.

If it did not require a cybernetic suite, then that made this go from an advanced piece of power armor to something approaching Sovereign Technology in sheer complexity and capability. If that were the case, this might be one of the most important discoveries in Human history.

But she didn't want to get too excited yet. Not until they actually had an idea of what this was, and in the end, the only way they were going to get answers was when they were finally able to open it up.

And today they were just about ready to do it.

The suit had been in a poor state when it had been brought in, but now every exposed wire, missing piece, and absent materials had been repaired to the best of their abilities. The suit did fortunately have what they determined were electrical ports, and they'd spent a good chunk of time basically decrypting and rebuilding an alien electrical system.

The efforts had been worth it, since now the red-plated suit was hooked up to several isolated generators. It was clearly without power, which they'd confirmed after trying to interface with its systems. Powering it up again would allow them to establish a connection, or even or have JULIAN see what was actually going on.

If everything went well, today was the big day.

Nearly all of the ranking XCOM Research and Development members were present, and even Dr. Mercado was standing near Vahlen, who'd been invited for the event. Not surprising, because it would be a big day if it worked.

After a final check of the cables, the generators, and the monitors, she approached Vahlen and the other ranking scientists. "Doctor, we are ready to begin power-up procedures."

Vahlen's eyes scanned the suit. "The countermeasures are prepared?"

"They are, doctor," she confirmed, rattling them off quickly. "Generators are isolated, JULIAN has several subroutines running in case there are any active cyberdefenses. We can also sever the connection instantly if necessary."

"Excellent," Vahlen answered with a nod. "Let's see what this holds. Dr. Mercado, any questions?"

"No," Mercado affirmed. "Please begin."

Samantha took her place with her colleagues and began turning on the generators one by one. The elerium-powered machines began humming. So far so good. The cables were connected, and power transfer was ready.

After a few confirmations, they flipped the switch, and let power flow into the suit. She glanced several times at the suit to see if it was reacting. Nothing. A few brief checks before she continued: "Increasing power level."

Their attentive stares, as well as those of everyone else in attendance, on the suit intensified as the power was gradually ramped to the highest safe level. Yet there was still no reaction; nothing from the electronics of the suit even so much as blinked.

"What is the power level at?" Vahlen's voice carried over the sound of the generators, an audible frown on it.

"Maximum."

Vahlen said nothing else, only continuing to watch as the suit remained tauntingly still and motionless. The connection was firm, and by all their diagnostics, it was a successful one. It didn't make sense. The suit should be getting power, and the only reason it wouldn't be is if the wiring internally was broken somewhere – but if that was the case, there should still be something.

Samantha tried to find some indicator of where things were going wrong, but found nothing. No one else knew either. It didn't seem to be a broken circuit, because that would return a notification. It wasn't an unsuccessful connection, because that would also return a notice. Everything said that it was working.

Clearly, it wasn't.

Vahlen finally shook her head, and motioned to her team. "Cut it. Something isn't working."

Samantha withheld a disappointed sigh, one seemingly echoed by everyone else in the room. It seemed today would not be the breakthrough all of them had been hoping for. Reluctantly, they turned the generators off, while she idly wondered what had gone wrong.

Vahlen huddled with the other scientists and Mercado. Samantha couldn't hear the conversation, but she heard some words here and there about the possible reasons for the failure – and what the next steps were. Samantha knelt near the suit, beginning to take out the wires and cables, pondering the problem.

If it was an internal wiring problem, that was going to be an issue, because nothing they had was able to cut through the material. The only thing that seemed to even cause mild damage was psionics, and none of them wanted to use it in that way. Yet they might be forced to reopen it again.

So focused on the problem she was that when something twitched out of the corner of her eye, it only made her flick her eyes towards the hand of the suit. Her mind playing tricks, and worse, taunting her. Standing there, the head looking down at her.

Looking down at her.

That had not been where the head had been looking.

Wha-

She barely had a moment to open her mouth before the hand lashed out; mechanical fingers wrapped around her neck as she was lifted up in an impossibly strong grip. She heard a few startled shrieks and cries around her, but she barely could concentrate on anything but the hand around her throat, suffocating her.

The suit looked up at her, as its other hand picked up and threw a screwdriver in a single motion towards the nearest light, plunging the room into a flickering darkness. Another projectile was quickly picked up and thrown towards several canisters which began spewing a white fog that she thought was hydrogen.

But by now her vision was fading, the sounds becoming dull, and the last thing she heard were the klaxons blaring, and the now-awakened suit moving as it began its rampage.

---

Office of the Commander, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Mid-October 2017 – Afternoon

The work of the Commander of XCOM never ceased. There were some days where the Commander was sorely tempted to requisition the creation of an AI whose purpose would be to automate the majority of paperwork needed so all of them could focus on what really mattered.

However, that would be unfair to the AI in question. That was a punishment the Commander could not bring himself to inflict even on a machine, and truthfully, there were some tasks that still needed a Human eye.

Not these ones, he mused sourly. Only inventory reviews, requisitions, and media requests for him to respond to or sign off on. At least the media requests were a moment of levity, so he spaced those out as much as he could.

There were far more than there really should be at this point.

Every single media outlet in every language had been trying since XCOM's creation to have a sit-down interview with the secretive Commander of XCOM. One would have thought that the literal years of being declined would send the message, but not a week went by without more than a few attempting nonetheless.

Well, they would keep trying, and he would keep politely declining.

There might come a time to address the public as himself – but not now, and probably not until after the war. He knew that any interview he took, no matter how long or insubstantial, would be enough for some people to make enough connections where rumors would be substantial enough to potentially cause problems.

ADVENT wouldn't care, and neither would XCOM - but it would be a distraction no one needed right now.

The Commander was interrupted from his idle musings with a sudden telepathic assault that he almost didn't realize it was Vahlen. It was a spike of purified emotion driven into his mind; a mixture of alarm, fear, and panic. There were several brief flashes; a lab filled with fog, flashes of people around him, and something moving through the fog.

Just as quickly it vanished without a trace leaving him almost breathless.

Alarms blared.

The Commander remained frozen in place for a split-second, the sheer aftermath of the telepathic communication, followed by the alarms enough that it took him a few moments to comprehend what was going on. An attack? Here? Without any warning?

Was Vahlen alright?

The sirens only activated when the Praesidium had been directly breached and there was an attack taking place. If what he'd gleamed from Vahlen's frantic message was right, then whatever had happened was in the lab. No time for panic, he needed to act; Vahlen needed him to think clearly.

He cleared his screen with a few clicks and bringing up the security page for the Praesidium while opening a line to Jackson. "Central, what is going on?"

"Ascertaining," she answered curtly, voice tight. "No external sensors tripped, nothing on scanners…"

"Check the lab," he told her. "Vahlen tried to communicate. Was unclear, but I saw a lab."

"Fuck. Is she…"

"I don't know. Get a status on the lab now."

"Working on it."

"No one could have teleported in, right?" He wondered.

"Unless T'Leth missed a spot, which I doubt, no. And…got it. Yeah, everything seems to have originated there."

A new cold wave went over him, as he concentrated on what needed to happen next. "Any idea what happened? Something broke out? A lab leak?"

"Unclear. Not like her to ignore precautions, but-"

Hypotheticals weren't important now, and they'd figure out what actually happened when all of them were safe. "Lock down the Research Labs, and assemble response teams," the Commander ordered, already standing up and marching to his desk where he withdrew a pistol. "I'm on my way down. Keep this channel open. JULIAN, are you listening?"

"Always, Commander. I think I know what happened."

"Tell me on the way," the Commander said as he began striding into the hallway. "Get Creed and Iosif on the line too, Jackson."

"On it, and they're already moving down," Jackson confirmed. "Gentlemen copy?"

"Copy Central, Commander," Iosif said. "Will meet you at the labs."

"Hard copy as well, Commander," Creed added. "Coordinating the response teams. Anything to know?"

"JULIAN is going to fill us in," the Commander said as he entered the elevator. "Go ahead, and the short version if possible."

"Stand by, Commander. I will condense per your directive."

---

Research Labs, the Praesidium – Classified Location

Mid-October 2017 – Afternoon

JULIAN gave them the short version as he joined up with a full squad of XCOM soldiers as well as the Praesidium security forces which were coalescing around the entrance of the currently locked-down Research Labs.

Iosif was waiting for him in full armor, mace in hand with the squad, and ready for whatever they might find in there.

According to JULIAN, today had apparently been the day when they had planned to attempt to power up the unknown alien suit. There had been some precautions taken, but none of them appeared to have accounted for the possibility of the suit's intelligence being hostile. According to the footage JULIAN had captured, the suit had come alive, and began attacking the staff.

Vahlen's own whereabouts were unknown, and he'd sensed nothing from her since her brief burst of contact. He didn't think she was dead – but she was probably unconscious and unable to let him know where they were, or what was happening. Security was processing the fleeing staff through the main doors, as they prepared to breach.

"You want the good news or bad?" Iosif asked as he approached, having gotten a report on the situation on the ground while he'd approached.

"Bad first."

"Bad is that the wing where it activated…no one has come out of there."

"Cameras?"

"Destroyed."

"The suit appeared to be using improvised projectiles to destroy the cameras." JULIAN added.

The Commander processed that, not great all around. "How accurately? How fast?"

"It's at a speed only possible from artificial intelligence."

The Commander pursed his lips. He'd been afraid of that. There'd been hypotheticals on if there was a more advanced intelligence in the suit, and unfortunately that had turned out accurate. "So we're dealing with an AI then."

"Or a highly advanced machine intelligence. It is difficult to determine which," JULIAN said. "I suspect an AI only because it deliberately faked its incapacitation after a successful powerup. It almost certainly does not know what is happening."

"Suggestions?" The Commander wondered, as what appeared to be the last group of scientists were escorted out.

"I would attempt to engage in dialogue," JULIAN answered. "If it fails, I suspect you can hold it in place for Iosif to perform an Aegii severance. With that said, it may anticipate psionics if it has encountered them before. We are dealing with an unknown entity."

"Works for me if it comes to it," Iosif muttered, flexing his hand, and a small Aegii diamond materialized in the palm. "You can't remotely hack it, I assume?"

The Commander could almost sense the AI turning its metaphorical glare on Iosif.

"Yes, Iosif, I just wanted to see how you meatbags handle this very simple problem that I could have solved in several seconds the entire time." JULIAN's tone bit with unrestrained exasperation. "No, I cannot do that. If I could, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"

Iosif looked at the Commander, almost hoping for a lifeline from the hole he'd leapt into. Despite the situation, the corners of the Commander's lips curled upwards. "You kind of deserve that for that question."

Iosif rolled his eyes, putting his helmet on. "Let's go, we have people to save." He motioned for the soldiers to follow. "Weapons up, and move out! Do not fire unless ordered!"

The Commander didn't take his place directly at the front, as he was only wearing his base uniform with an armored vest over it – a far cry from the Titan armor the XCOM soldiers wore. One hand with the alloy balls levitating in them was raised, ready to project them should an enemy present itself, while the other held his pistol.

"An issue has presented itself." JULIAN suddenly interrupted. "It has found a port into the local network and is actively trying to take control."

So it did have cyber capabilities. Very bad from an AI, especially a hostile one. "How dangerous is it?"

"It is sophisticated. Alien. Unlike any Human or Collective intelligence I have yet encountered. It's attempting to execute commands in a syntax I have not seen before. Its native code is similarly in a language I have not encountered before. I am attempting communication now."

"Do you know where it is?" Iosif asked.

"Yes. I have identified the port. Cybernetic Testing Lab, one over from where it was originally stored. It hasn't gone far – ah, it has disconnected after my communication attempt."

"No response at all?"

"No."

"That's not good, is it," Iosif muttered. "Means it's not interested in talking."

"Or it was not expecting communication, and reacted instinctively," JULIAN countered. "It did not attack or persist once it realized I was protecting it. It may reassess its options."

The Commander saw the lab in question, one of many that was separated by clouded glass – in this case literally, since it seemed the locked area was filled with fog. For better or worse it didn't seem to have left – yet.

"Full coverage, take positions," Iosif ordered as the soldiers and security took positions near the entrance. Weapons raised, the Commander and Iosif were debating on the next approach when the decision was made for them.

The entrance doors slid open, fog pouring from it as the suit emerged – one of the staff in hand; a woman who was held limply.

"Alive, but unconscious," Iosif muttered quietly. "Probably a hostage."

The suit seemed to appraise them; studying, scanning, making determinations as the weapons remained trained on it. It was clearly suspicious, but it seemed like it wasn't an unthinking machine.

"Can you contain it?" The Commander muttered.

"Yes, but not sure if we want to provoke it," Iosif answered in an equally quiet voice. "Talk?"

"Talk," the Commander nodded, clearing his throat and taking a step forward. "Do you understand us?"

The voice was something that came from more than one place on the suit; a heavily synthesized one with a baritone note that was alien in its sound. Like the voice of some alien, ripped and digitized. One that remained both cold and intense, as if on the verge of a declaration.

"Your language has been assimilated," it said. "It has been altered since this unit's arrival on this world. You speak it. Who are you?"

"I am the Commander of XCOM," he said. "We do not mean you harm. We were unaware there was an intelligence within the suit."

There was a long pause before the suit spoke again. "Do you know the body that inhabited this suit or what we achieved?"

The Commander shook his head. "There are legends and myths. But no, we do not know the truth. We hoped to learn it."

"What is the year?"

"Two thousand seventeen." He paused, then quickly added an addendum. "Anno domini."

The suit went quiet for a long time. Appearing to process something.

"Is everyone in the lab alive?" Iosif asked after some time.

"They are incapacitated. They posed no threat."

"If they had?"

The voice held a staccato burst of static. "They would have been terminated."

The Commander exhaled. Vahlen and her staff were alive. Disaster and worse avoided.

"Who rules this world?" the suit suddenly inquired. "Human or alien?"

An odd question. "Human. Why would it be otherwise?"

The suit nodded. "Then the objective was successfully achieved. An evil slain."

The Commander didn't know what the suit was referencing, but there seemed to be a shift in the suit's tone and demeanor. He indicated the woman. "Please put her down. We are not your enemy."

The suit looked at the woman, then unceremoniously dropped her onto the ground with a thud. "Very well. We will converse, Commander of XCOM."

He nodded in return. "We will. What do we call you?"

The suit did not answer right away, but when it did there was the sound of an old pride, a grandiose sound calling on an equally old history. "This unit may be addressed as Hungers the Zealot, Amalgam Knight of the Sephyr. Let us speak, Commander. There are many questions that must be answered."

---

To be continued in Chapter 79

Visions of Ruin, Armies of Zeal

---

A/N: Some thousands of words later, and the chapter has come to an end. Based on the reception so far, I'm glad that everyone has enjoyed it, and I think splitting up the chapters in this way has worked out well, and will be utilized when appropriate in the future. This took a bit of time and planning to put together, but I'm happy with it, and there's going to be interesting things happening in future ones.

Special thanks to both King and Thuzan who helped write several scenes, and as usual the Editing and Finalization Teams. There will be some XCOM Files for this batch of chapters that I look to get released February, along with outlining for the next chapter to get that rolling. Chapters these days take a while, so don't be surprised if it's another month or so, especially since I have other projects I work on.

Thank you to everyone reading, and I hope to be posting the next part sooner than later!

- Xabiar