XCOM: New Blood

by OfficialWeedTesterGuy

Throughout its existence, XCOM has recruited many notable people in its fight against the Ethereal Collective. Dawn Conley is one such- an eighteen year old straight out of high school, with extremely high telepathic capabilities, and carries a unique skill only a few can master-biopathy. This is her story. Based off of Xabiar's XCOM: The Advent Directive fanfiction.

29. The Bloodstained Sands

Libya

11/1/17- 8:23 AM

Sand blasted across the dunes.

Wind howled in the quiet.

Hassan broke the silence.

"Sometimes, I wonder what the point of it all is," Hassan dug into the sand, with his bare hand. "It feels like a nightmare that never ends, at times. We fight. We fail. Innocents die. We bury them, and we live on, in shame and guilt."

All around us, refugees, in various states of shock, dug graves. Some, like Hassan, with their bare hands. Most used sticks or pieces of metal or rocks.

I shook my head. "If it's the purpose this war started that you're looking for, I can't tell you that. What I can tell you is that this Imperator and his cohort are fucking whack jobs who think they're the right kind of people for solving a problem - but they're not."

He paused, hands softly laying on a wrapped up corpse. "We don't even have water to wash them. Nor clean sashes to dress them. Nor graves to bury them rightly. Just fucking tarps and an unmarked grave," Hassan covered his eyes. I saw the tears. His voice cracked. "Tarps and unmarked graves."

"They deserve better than this. We all deserve better than this." I said. "No one deserves to die like this."

"I trained half of these idiots," he laid a hand on one wrapped in an ADVENT captain cape. "I found them. Recruited them. Promised them we're fighting for something better. I smiled at their children. At their wives."

He looked at me, eyes drenched. "I smiled at them."

"I'm sorry." I said. "Seeing all these lives snuffed out- it must do things to people."

"It's not the damn pain," Hassan said. "It's that I'm starting to lose feeling. That every time I get a fucking hint of goddamn hope," softly, he lowered the body into the sandy grave. "Someone snuffs it right before my eyes, and I have to hide it. I have to keep pretending, I have to lie to myself, that the next time is better."

I didn't know what to say to him. I'd never had people under my command like he had. Seeing his men, his de facto family gone- what did that do to a man?

"I have to," Hassan muttered, hand rubbed raw. "I have to smile, and laugh, and show them all the pride I don't feel, the courage I don't have, the bravery I'm not prepared for. I have too much to lose, and too little to gain, and I…"

He thumbed to the ground, gripping his lost arm. "All I have left is Kabir," he told me. "All she has left is me. And I'm going to die, and she's going to be here, standing in my place, staring at my dead body."

"You're not gonna die, Hassan." I said. "Not while I'm still breathing."

"It's not up to you. We're all going to die here," He said, eyes closed. "We have ten men. Barely enough bullets between us. We're all...going to meet the end. That's it. Page closed, ink dried, the final chapter of our lives. Right here, beneath these sands."

He waved his hand, clenching it to a fist. "All that sound and fury, and this is how it ends. In...shame...in ignominy and defeat. Never thought that'd be my end."

I nodded. "I sometimes wonder how I'll die. Part of me wants me to have the 'die in a hospital bed due to old age' ending surrounded by my friends and family, but as this goes on, I doubt that'll ever happen."

Hassan glanced at the body he'd laid down. "No," he said. "No. It won't."

In silence, he covered the body in sand. In silence, all the bodies were covered in sand. An older man, from the refugees, gathered the hushed, ragged, dirtied and bloodied remainder. They lined up into ranks, and-

"Fakhr?"

The Rocketeer looked at me."Yes?"

"Uh, what's going on?"

"Islamic burial rites, Dawn," She said. "Our goodbye to the dead."

I couldn't understand what they were saying. But as they fell deeper into prayer, I could hear some choking back tears. It was long, solemn, and quiet. I felt like an outsider, intruding, somehow, on somewhere I wasn't meant to be.

"You okay?"

I shook my head. "No, Fakhr. I'm really not."

She nodded. "Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't know, aside from a memory wipe. I feel stuck between a rock, a hard place, sand, and evil mercenaries."

She gave me a long look. "At least your sense of humor is okay."

"That never changes."

"It gets better, once you stop feeling it so personally," She watched the prayer. "I've been in XCOM for a time. I've seen so many people die. The Citadel. Trask's attack. One moment, they're alive, the next, all that's left is meat." She closed her hands into fists. "Close your eyes. Blink. And all that's left is the lack of what was there. You shouldn't get emotional about it. It doesn't help. You should let it wash over you, it happened, it doesn't mean much, move on, move forward."

"But I feel like I need to. If I have nothing to care about, that gives me no purpose."

"Just live," Fakhr shrugged. "The world doesn't care, it doesn't stop moving. It doesn't serve anything to obsess over it. That's what we're here for. To be ruthless, when everyone is paralyzed by emotions. To be cold, when the decision must be made, and to be pragmatic, instead of sentimental."

She laid a hand on my shoulder. "You need to understand this. This," she jerked her chin towards the prayer. "Today, it's us on the receiving end. Tomorrow, it's us who'll do it, because otherwise, the cost is too great."

"Vigilo Confido." I said. "We always watch."

"Always," she said. "Because if we don't win, far worse than a couple of civilians dying will happen. It's ugly, but that's why we have to do it. If we don't, then more innocent people get hurt."

"My uncle used to say something like that."

"Everyone who fought in the war does; they understand it," Fakhr said, absently. "They understand what happens when you don't win. The SAS. The Collective. Patricia. They can't win. They can't be allowed to do this again. By any means necessary."

"Couldn't live with myself if I let something like Paradise happen again."

"A thousand Hades Contingencies," Fakhr murmured. "If that's the price it takes. Anything, but this. We should have annihilated the SAS, the second it showed up."

I couldn't help but think about how this had happened, and why. It felt like the culmination of decades of events and political maneuvering, resulting in this. If Betos had been handled quicker, would this have ever happened?

If XCOM had enacted Hades more, better, if they'd caught onto Africa. Would the price have been less? Yeah, it would be. Was the first answer. It sounded nice. Nice, nice to know that it was all okay, if we'd simply done enough to win.

That's why they did this. It would have been okay, if they'd won.

That's why Patricia did what she did. It would be okay, if she won. The SAS. The Collective. ADVENT. If only, they'd done everything, and won, it would be okay.

"Is something wrong?"

I didn't say anything.

"You can trust me, it's okay."

I nodded.

"Do you feel like you've failed?"

I nodded again.

"Dawn, you didn't fail these people. You did the best you could."

"It doesn't feel that way." I said quietly. "When I see their faces, I see…"

"See who?"

I closed my mouth. Then said. "I see him."

"Who is him?"

Elijah.

I see you here.

I looked at the plasma rifle in my hands, feeling it, remembering the green that was shooting at me last night from this very barrel.

"Uh, Dawn? Dawn, are you alright?"

I breathed in and out, eyes closed. Thoughts rumbling in my head.

Elijah. Dead. Full of plasma bolts. Blood in my mouth. Legs broken.

Why'd you do it?

Why me?

I shook my head, trying to clear my head, but the images of the dead stayed. More images, others killed, countless, nameless, numberless. All of them, almost right here, with me. All of them, yelling, screaming.

Elijah, yelling, screaming, shouting what I've already figured out.

It's not okay.

It's all wrong.

"Yeah," I stared at Fakhr. I thought of everyone in XCOM. Of how they'd obey, of how far the Commander was willing to go. Of how far they'd all be willing to follow. "Yeah, I'm...I'm alright."

I felt alone.

Alone and lost.

---

Libya

11/1/17- 10:01 AM

I sat on the back of a truck, Skull Brother psion helmet in my lap.

"Hey."

I turned to look, Qasira smiled at me. "You okay, Qasira?"

She glided next to me. "I wanted to say sorry, about what I said. I really wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt by me. It feels bad like that, you know?"

"No, no no no. You didn't hurt me at all. You don't need to worry about hurting me."

Not like my augmentations prevent that, ha.

"Hmm," she hummed. "You're lying to me. You look pretty hurt," she drew out the word. "Why are you lying to me?"

"Are you okay?" I asked. "You seem different."

"Better than ever, to be honest," Qasira chuckled. "I'm just...you know. Checking up on everyone. Seeing what I can do, how I can help. It only feels right, after everything that happened."

"Thanks." Something about this felt off. I didn't want to use my telepathy and probe her mind. That would be wrong to do. That wouldn't be okay. She'd been through enough already. Yet my gut was telling me otherwise.

"Why are you so worried?" Qasira raised an eyebrow. "You're looking at me, like you've seen a ghost," she wiggled her fingers. "Wohoooohhoo! Ghosty!" She rolled her eyes.

Ookay. Something's up here.

"Qasira, if something's going on, you can tell me, alright?"

"There's nothing, anymore," the girl shrugged. "I honestly feel really, really, good right now. Like a weight's been lifted off of my shoulder. I'm worried about you, you're the one who looks in bad shape."

I cocked my head. What is happening right now?

"I honestly, really, don't need help. I can handle it, and I'm not really worth that much attention. But you. You're important, now. So, what's bothering you?" she shuffled close, a strange glint in her eyes.

"Everything." I said. "Death, losing everyone around me, losing Tobruk, it's shit. All of it."

"Yeah, and?" Qasira said, waiting.

"And?" I asked.

"Yeah, why does it all matter to you?" Qasira said. "You care, you care a lot, apparently, but why? Everybody dies, you know? Everything ends, and it doesn't really change all that much. So why do you care so much?"

"Are you going all nihilist on me?" I said lightly, trying to add some humor to the conversation.

She snorted. "That's not an answer."

"Yes, people are dying, but I'm trying my best so that I can fight so other people can have a better future. There's suffering now, but if we win this, there's gonna be kids who grow up and only see shit like Beijing or Tampa in old photos and movies."

She hummed. "But you're not that," she made a vague gesture with her hand. "Big, or important, or special. You're just like me. You don't even decide what your mission is. You can't change your life, or what you do. You can't even, you know, complain about all the bad stuff your bosses do, and make them change stuff. So why're you all...hurt about something you couldn't change?"

"It's what I do. If I was put in charge of XCOM, I'd run the damn thing into the ground. I trust the people above me to do their jobs - mostly."

"Yeah, and so why do you look so glum?" Qasira winked at me. "You do what you're supposed to do, you know? There's no point to complicating all of it. You're a soldier, you soldier. No point in being glum about soldiering, me thinksies. No point in it all."

What I'm supposed to do?

What am I supposed to do?

"Me thinksies?" I asked, instead.

"What's a little abuse of the English language, compared to all of this?" she asked.

"I mean, it's a little funny. Just didn't think I'd hear it from you."

"Feel better?" Qasira asked.

"Maybe a little." I said. "Probably 'cause no one's shooting at me or trying to stab my ass."

"That's always a positive!" She piped up, brushing sand off of her skirt, as she stood up. "Well, I guess that's that, no?"

"Not just yet. We gotta get you guys out of this place first."

"Somehow, I don't think that's going to be a problem for much longer," she hopped off of the truck. "Bye bye."

I gave her a little wave as she walked away.

That was weird.

Qasira accidentally bumped into a soldier, apologizing as she walked away. I could see her, walking from refugee to refugee. Laughing. Asking. Helping. From one to the next. Until she talked to all of them. Slowly, but surely, the camp quietened, more people went to sleep.

Hassan waved his hand at me. "Hey pipsqueak."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, I'm better, mostly," Hassan rolled his shoulder. "These things take a toll. You?"

"I try not to think about it. I just want a damn nap and a hug."

"You're shit out of luck, then," he snorted. "Say, have you seen Qasira around? She's not not in the women's sleeping truck."

"Oh Qasira? She just got out a minute ago."

"Still moping about?" he clicked his tongue. "Is she looking better?"

"Oddly enough. She's acting like she's on some drugs or some shit. It's weird."

Hassan froze, he licked his dry lips. "Describe it to me. Quick."

"Very happy." I said. "Like she just got a million dollars. This odd I-don't-care-attitude."

He stared at me, slowly picking up his radio. He called. "All troopers, side-arm check."

The radio replies started coming back in.

"Kaleem, pistol checked."

"Hashim, pistol checked."

"Afnan, pistol checked."

I had a weird feeling in my stomach. "Hassan, what's happening?"

"Sabri, pistol checked."

"This is Waseem, with me's Sultan, Abdulwahhab, and Wardi. We're all checked for."

Hassan's hand started shaking. "Ubaida, Duha?"

"Ubaida, my sidearm's with me."

There was a long pause.

"Duha here, Colonel," the last radio said slowly. "My gun's gone."

Hassan hurled the radio against the side of the truck. It slammed into it, bouncing off of it, into the sound. "Dawn, can you," he hesitated, growled and slapped himself. "Can you find her?"

"On it." I said. Without a second thought, I dove into a crowd, searching. "Got her!"

"Where?"

I told him.

Hassan ran, feet pummeling as he sprinted. I ran right after him, confused about what was going on. We found her, sitting alone. Pistol in her hand.

The safety was off.

"Hey guys," she said. "Surprise is out, I guess."

My eyes widened.

My mouth opened.

Finger on the trigger, she placed the barrel beneath her chin. "I kinda wanted this on the down-low, didn't want to make a big deal about it."

"Don't." I said with clenched teeth. "You don't want to." My thoughts were a mess, my heart in my throat. I was barely thinking, barely comprehending. Trapped in the moment and what could happen.

"Why not?" She said, oddly calm.

"If you pull that trigger, you have no idea what kind of damage you're doing." I said. "That's not going to solve anything."

"It's gonna solve this." She tapped the side of her head.

"No." I shook my head. "Nonono. I know your family's gone, but you still have something left. You have me. You have Hassan. You have your people. If you pull that trigger, you're going to hurt all these people."

"Yeah, but I won't be there for that, and they can deal," Qasira said, eyes dull. "It hurts, I don't want it to hurt, and if I'm dead, it stops hurting. So why do you want me to keep hurting? Why? Why does everyone want to keep me hurting?"

"I've been there!" I almost yelled. "I lost someone close to me once. I was in my hospital bed, almost dead, torn to bits, with the guilt of one of my best friend's death hanging over me. He was almost like a father to me. He taught me that it was important to be strong, that you were more than anyone else ever knew."

I took a step closer to her.

My knees almost buckled.

My breath almost slipped.

"You may have thought you've lost those things, but I can promise you, Qasira, that it's not all lost. You have everything ahead of you. You don't deserve what's happened to you, but there is more. Pulling that trigger is only going to hurt more people then you think! You matter! To me, Hassan, to all of us!"

I paused. "All you have to do is put the gun down."

She lowered the gun, a small bit. Pointing it down, instead of her chin.

"That's nice, isn't that nice, Hassan?" Qasira asked. "She's pretending it affects her. That changes anything. That her life would be changed. That's nice. Nice and pointless. I don't want any of it."

"Put the fucking gun down right this goddamn moment!" Hassan yelled. "Put. It. Down," he roared, raw fury in his voice. "Now."

She tilted her head, smiling. "Sure."

It was a simple thought that I sensed in her mind. Aim at head.

I've seen it, I've commanded it. It's a thought so familiar, it freezes my heart. In a few seconds, she'd pull the trigger, in a few seconds, she'd kill herself. In a few seconds, she'd shoot her head.

I didn't know what to do.

Time slowed down.

I couldn't think a single coherent thought.

What I'm supposed to do?

Aim at head.

What I'm supposed to do.

It was barely a nudge, it was as fast as the movement of her limb. As simple, as direct, as impossible to fail, as anything I could think of. As fast I could, as one after the other as I could.

No.

Aim at my head. Not yours.

The gun fired.

Then sleep.

The gun dropped.

Blood splashed.

---

Libya

11/1/17- 6:45 PM

Muffled sounds.

"Do I look like a fucking wizard to you, General?"

Yells. Shouts. Insults.

"With all due goddamn disrespect, Colonel, I didn't retire to get yelled at by the military equivalent of a neglected pet. Sit down and shut your claptrap."

Pain. White hot. My head pounding.

"Would you cease incessantly harassing me? Or do you want me to accidentally give her brain damage? Yes, yes, she'll live."

Something ripping into my eye. Tearing pieces of it out. Covering it, wrapping it, dousing it in fluid.

I felt time pass, snapping between awake and dazed and asleep.

A rapping knuckle against my skull.

"Are you still in there?"

I blinked, the world around me fuzzy and feeling all around discombobulated. "I'm not dead." I groaned. "But I feel like crap."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" an old man in a bloodied coat asked me.

I held up a single middle finger.

He paused. "I haven't moved my finger into your field of vision yet. You are aware you've lost an eye?"

"Curious," the old man muttered. "Oh well, not my problem, roll her out. If she gets a fever, then she'll be fine. Oh, and before I forget? General Kabir wants a bite out of you."

"Wha-what?" I asked. "Qasira? Where is she?"

"Not my problem, my problem is that General Kabir is going to chew you out, spit you out, and step on you," he grabbed a cigar from his coat. "And as your unpaid, un-employed, homeless and conscripted doctor, I suggested you don't give her reason to murder me. You catch my drift?"

"I-where is she?"

The man rolled his eyes, bags under them. "Grab her and roll her out of here, unless someone else catches a bullet, I'm done for the day."

A pair of troopers grabbed me, hauling me into a chair with improvised wheels on it.

"Fuck, she's heavy," one muttered.

The other grunted. "How much bloody cake you eatin'?"

"O-ones that modify my DNA." I said lazily.

The first laughed. "That's a good one," then he paused. "So, uhh, Waseem, you wanna be the one to tell the general?"

"Fuck no, you?" the second asked.

"Hell no, Afnan, hell no," Waseem replied. "The colonel?"

"The colonel," Afnan nodded. He glanced down at me. "Say, on a scale of one to ten, how ready for a chewing out are you? She's all but ripped Duha to shreds, and now you're next on the list."

"I'm confused. What's going on?"

"The little girl slipped Duha's pistol, shot you in the head, and you've been out of it for a solid eight hours. Concussion got you good," Afnan said. "The doc's a wizard, is what he is, managed to get the bullet out and clean the wound."

"Oh." I groaned. "My goddamn eye hurts. What's left of it."

"Not much," Afnan quipped. "It's basically mostly gone. But look on the positive side; now you get to have an eye-patch!"

"Arrr." I said, doing my best cheesy pirate voice.

Waseen picked up his radio, clicking it on. "Colonel. This is squad two, she's back with us. Doc's given her all clear, she'll take a bit of time to clear up, but she'll live. Yes? Yes. Got it. Copy that."

He handed me the radio. Hassan's voice rippled out. "Pipsqueak, welcome back to the land of the living. Kabir's furious, so I suggest you hurry up and get over here."

"What's going on?" I asked. "Where am I? Did the convoy make it?"

"We made it, we made it right at the edge of hell let loose. We're at a safe distance, but it won't be safe for much longer. High Command sent scouts on bikes, finding all lost military pockets. Turns out, they had the same idea as us, and so did the SAS. They herded us like cattle to the slaughter."

I cursed under my breath. "How many of them are there?"

"It's not numbers, it's armaments - they've set up an artillery position. High Command thinks it may be railguns; it outranges everything we have. We're sitting ducks, and they're herding us into Zuwara."

"Railguns?" I said.

"A dozen of them, massive damn things. High caliber, rapid fire, long range. Ripped the mechanized battalions to pieces, and sunk a warship that tried to get close to the coast. They've also started rolling in missile trucks, firing away at our positions."

This is not good.

Not good at all.

"Get into the command truck, Kabir is losing her patience," Hassan said, the radio clicking shut.

Afnan and Waseem rolled me, until I felt good enough to stand.

"What about Duha?"

"Feels guilty, poor bastard," Afna clicked his tongue. "His own sister killed herself with their father's gun. This one hit close to him. He's been out of it, barely saying a word."

"It's not his fault." I said weakly.

The command truck was a large, SAS trick used for transporting supplies. It had a radio, it had GPS and mapping equipment, and it had basic computers and folding beds. It was where Kabir ran the entire show from.

"Tell that to him, not us," Waseem put a hand on the truck's back door. "You ready for the music, miss super commando?"

"Sure. As long as I'm at the front."

He opened the door.

Kabir's voice was a cold hiss. "What. The. Fuck. Were you thinking?"

Afnan nudged me in, closing the door behind me.

"Hey Kabir." I said, rubbing my good eye. "Dawn Conley, back and reporting for duty."

"General Kabir to you, you degenerate trousered ape," she snapped. "I expect you have a good reason as to why you, a telepath, nearly died by a bullet through the fucking eye."

"My augmentations protected me." I said. "It was a last minute decision, and I was panicking. I'm still functional, and I can perform my duties."

"You let your emotions get the better of you," Kabir breathed out in aggravation. "Do you even vaguely understand the situation? Your value?" she messaged her forehead, calming down. "Do you have any idea how fucked we are?"

I looked at the Marshal. "I am aware of the situation. Has Fakhr been able to contact XCOM for additional support?"

"Radios are completely jammed, and any non-SAS channels that are operable are getting orbital striked," Kabir said. "High Command has been sending messengers on bikes, for fuck's sake. Skull Brothers have been assassinating all senior offices stupid enough to broadcast their location. And what does Command do?"

She kicked the side of the truck, on the edge of losing her temper. "Tell us to perform strategic withdrawal maneuvers. As in, run. And keep running. And keep running until you're hunted down like dogs. Thanks for your service, good luck."

"Ma'am, I'll help in any way I can."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "We have nearly three million refugees pouring into Zuwara, and not even a tenth of that in personnel or supplies. The bunkers are already full, we're struck between enemy lines and a besieged city. Barely ten soldiers, and a fucking child soldier for my best weapon. You can't do a damn thing."

Kabir turned to me, face twisted, tears in her eyes. "What the hell am I supposed to do? What the hell is left for us?"

"We fight, ma'am." I said, remembering our drill-sergeant esque instructors in the Priests. "We fight and die if we have to do what we're supposed to do."

She laughed at me. "And die for nothing? Why did I even ask you? We'll start a complete convoy retreat by sundown. Some of the men were green-flags, they know the caves and mountains. Dismissed until further notice."

I wanted to say more, but I didn't know what else to say. "Yes ma'am."

"And Dawn?"

"Yes?"

"I hold the lives of every last person in this convoy in my hand, right now," she said, slowly, faced shadowed by her beret. "I am not going to waste their lives, to be responsible for their pointless deaths, when I could have tried to save them. Even if only for a few more days. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Good."

---

Libya

11/2/17- 11:25 AM

It was me, Hassan, and ten troopers. The rest of the XCOM squad sitting on the other side of camp. Just us. Sitting, eating quietly from cans of beans.

"You know, Colonel," Afnan started. "I was just starting to like being on the rich white people's side. We get the guns. We get the planes. We get the wizards. You know?"

Hassan raised a brow. "Wizards?"

Waseem pointed at me. "She can make people's brains explode. I don't care what they call 'em. That's a fucking wizard."

"She's not a wizard," Sultan, another trooper, grunted. "Wizards get hats."

"Eh, wizard hats are overrated. I think my psi-armor is better than Gryffindor robes."

"You know what's fucked up, Colonel?" Afnan said, grinning. "I'm kinda missing the green flag days. They were easier."

"We'd be hungry," Sultan said.

"And tired," Wardi muttered.

"And stuck working for warlords," Ubaida shovelled a mouthful of beans into his mouth. "On shit pay. While some American drones bombed us. And while everything went to shit."

"And stuck in morally compromising situations," the last of the bunch, Abdulwahhab, quipped, prayer beads in hand. "Truly, things have improved."

Hassan broke out laughing. He pointed a finger. "Go fuck yourselves."

They all burst out laughing.

"See, Colonel," Afnan said between laughter. "It's like we've never left home, you know?"

"You guys seem very nonchalant about all of this." I said.

"It's a coping mechanism," Abdulwahhab said, tone flat. "At some point, you become well acquainted with life and all its difficult choices."

The laughter quietened. Then died. Solemness stole their smiles. Except Abdulwahhab, he kept counting with his prayer beads.

"Yeah," Hassan said.

I thought about what they were saying. I was reading - or rather listening, if you would. I thought about the dark subjects and pain they were talking about, covering it up with dark humor, and how though I thought myself different, I'd done it a lot in XCOM, just in a slightly different way.

Abdulwahhab stopped counting. "What are we doing here?" he asked, glancing around. "What are we doing, Colonel? We put our guns down to join ADVENT, even after Deus Vult, because they gave us Hakeem. Because they promised us respect."

He waved around him. "Now, they fail us, and we're back to how things always were. As if it was a dream, and we'd all gotten caught up in it."

"We're doing what we always did, fighting for our people, fighting for a better tomorrow," Hassan smiled. "Not for some pompous asshat who thinks they own us. But for the things that matter. What would you rather do, Abdul?"

"You don't have to pretend, Colonel, we've lost," Abdulwahhab said. "The people out there are going to get slaughtered. We're left on our own, and General Kabir is counting on them coming to save this girl."

He pointed a finger at me. "That's our escape ticket. Because that's what we've become. Defeated remnants who can't do anything but run. Run, because we're as helpless as we used to be when we wore the green."

"So you want to die in a blaze of glory?" Hassan asked. "Is that it? Go ahead, I won't stop you. If you want, Abdul, I'll be the one to put a fucking bullet in you."

I pursed my lips for a moment. What am I doing?

I joined because I knew I had to do something with my power. What was the point of having it, if all I did was live normally? As if I didn't matter?

I joined, because I thought that was what I was supposed to be doing.

"Look around you, girl," Abdul leaned his cheek on a fist. "Fight's over, this uniform we wear is about as meaningful as the white shirt doctor Amjad wears. So what are we doing?" he waved around. "What are we doing here?"

Afnan stopped eating his beans. "Running and dying, like we always do."

"That's not what we're supposed to do," Abdul muttered. "That's not what we exist for. We were meant to be better," a smile broke his expression. "But we've always been a band of survivors, not victors."

What am I supposed to be doing?

"Aye," the rest of them chanted.

They all sounded dead inside.

It hit me.

It hit me, with the bang of a bullet and the vision of Qasira's hopeless eyes. Hollowed out. Dead inside, even as her heart still beat.

"Is that enough?" I asked, words slipping out of my mouth.

They all looked at me. "Is it enough to live? To survive? That's it. We live to fight another day. Because that's what matters most? Not dying? Not being conquered? Living to fight another day."

Laughter slipped out of my throat. "Being cold. Rational. Pragmatic."

The pragmatic option was to run and fight another day.

The rational option was to wait for XCOM to save me

The cold, inhuman - and wrong option was to let Qasira eat that bullet.

It hit me again.

I did what I was supposed to, taking that bullet. But that was me being an idiot. Panicked. Not thinking clearly. Losing every second of my training, in a few moments of confusion.

But I was happy to get shot by her. So I laughed harder. Hard enough that tears slipped out of my eyes. They all watched me like I went mad.

Maybe that was how it felt to know. To go a little off, to see the world with a different angle. To brush the dust and smidge off of the glasses, and see something more.

I smiled.

I want to be the soldier in the Union Army, who dies proud, having fought to destroy the atrocity of slavery and end one of the bloodiest wars the United States had ever fought.

I wanted to be like my grandfather, who risked life and limb to liberate Europe from the fascist treads of Nazi Germany.

I don't want a life worth living for.

I want a life worth dying for.

Maybe I couldn't change the world, fuck it, I know I can't.

"Hey, pipsqueak, you fine?" Hassan asked.

But I'm not changing the world. I'm changing what I can.

My laughter cut short. Silenced between one moment and the next.

"I'm going to do what we're supposed to do," I said, slowly. "If I'm going to die, I'm not going to die like this. I'm going to die doing what I'm supposed to do."

They all looked at me. Slowly, carefully. They broke out in smiles. I understood those smiles. Smiles of agreement. They knew what I was going to say next.

They all wanted to say it.

"Are you guys living to die?" I asked. "Because I'm dying to fucking live."

---

Libya

11/2/17- 4:01 PM

It didn't take long to grab everyone. Not that I told what I was grabbing them for. Fakhr, Nalena, and Xarian were helping, the latter using his immense strength to lift the supplies. Hassan's other men were doing their part, strapping on gear and loading their weapons. The stolen SAS truck sat in an open space near one of the tents, its looming form sitting there as we put all the necessities for destruction in it.

Then we went to talk to Kabir.

"The fuck are all of you doing in my truck, preppred for combat?" Kabir growled.

I pulled the folding table, placed it in the middle, and spread the map flat. "General, what's your opinion of insubordination?"

"Oh you are fucking pissing me off," Kabir hissed at me.

"Good, because I'm not asking for forgiveness," I grabbed a red marker, and drew a red X on the map. "We're going to destroy those railguns."

She grabbed me by the collar of my armor. "We're going to retreat. We're going to wait it out. And we're going to get you out of this theatre, before we lose you as well. Am. I. Fucking. Clear?"

"Clear as crystal, ma'am," I nodded. "I'm also going to completely ignore your commands."

Kabir stared at me, mouth gaping.

"Dawn, the fuck are you doing?" Fakhr asked me, equally shocked.

"I'm going to help the SAS with their maintenance." I said. "Don't you just hate it when someone shove your own railgun up your ass and pulls the trigger?"

"Are you an idiot?" Kabir asked me.

"I'm…" Fakhr mouth opened and closed. "I'm sorry, did I hear you right? Did you just say the things you just said?"

"Right on the money, ma'am."

The troopers behind me grinned wide.

Hassan nodded. "And you're going to help us, and if you don't help us, we're still going to do it. So, General, while I'd like to get shot for insubordination. I'd also prefer not to, and for us to do our damndest to get this right."

Kabir covered her face with both hands. "Why the fuck did I pick you, of all men on earth?"

"Becouse of my goddamn fuck mothering impeccable charm," Hassan slammed a hand on the table. Leaning into Kabir's face. "Because we're not living to die, we're dying to live. This isn't suicide in the name of glory. This is us living a life worth living."

"And if we die for it," I added. "Then so be it. At least we tried."

Kabir collapsed into a chair, taking off her beret and laying her head into a cupped hand. "God save me from idiots and their plans," she chuckled. "You were all dropped as children, that's the only explanation. The only one."

"Indeed! I was dropped so hard I got a 90 on the Trask Scale and the rarest kind of telepathy around."

"You know what's funny, Hassan?" Kabir said.

"Yeah?"

"My mother dropped me too," Kabir pulled a hair-tie out of her pocket, hands sweeping her hair into a pony-tail. "From a seven story building," she brushed sand out of her beret. "Completely cognitively bankrupt," she placed her beret on.

Hassan laughed. "I fucking love you."

She stood up tall, picture perfect. Dirtied. Wearied. But steel in her back, fire in her eyes. "So as it turns out," she ripped the red-marker from my hand. "I'm an idiot too. An idiot for loving you, and an idiot for doing this."

"What?" Fakhr said. "General, you're not serious, this is a suicide mission. You can't approve this."

"Soldier," Kabir said. "There's two ways this goes. One, you waste time. We do it without you, our odds get worse. Two, you help us, our odds get better."

"This is crazy!" Fakhr almost yelled. "We're going to get ourselves killed pointlessly."

"Should I repeat myself?" Kabir asked.

"If we're going to do this, we need more help!"

"We're not getting any," Kabir replied, hands blitzing around the map. She gestured for Hassan to come closer. "Right here. Right fucking here. That's where I'd put them."

Hassan nodded. "So the AA batteries would be around it, and any psions too. How many, you think?"

Kabir tapped the pen against her knuckles. "Hey One-Eye," she barked at me. "How many psions can you take?"

I thought about it. "How many do they have?"

What Kabir gave me wasn't a smile. It was a blood-thirsty snarl. "Excellent," she said.

"Are any of you listening to me?" Fakhr asked.

"The little one speaks true." Xarian rumbled. "Boldness is the fire that cuts through the darkness, giving the light that guides others. Such a strategy is the way."

Kabir gestured at Fakhr. "It's going to be two trucks. One is going to slip into their supply route. The other, with you, is going to run havoc across their war camp, for that, grab all the explosives you can carry. Other team goes for the railguns and their command and control room. The other does nothing but shove a bayonet up their ass."

Hassan nodded. "Anybody want to cut and run?" he asked, a smile on his lips.

"That depends, do we get an extra virgin in heaven?" Abdul asked, face straight.

Silence.

"Gentleman, Abdul just made a joke for the first time in his life," Hassan said, grinning. "Miracles are already happening."

At that, the troopers laughed.

"Alright," Hassan said. "Let's get going."

"Ah, Colonel?" Afnan said.

"Yes?"

"You're missing an arm."

"I have to make it fair for them, don't I?"

We headed for the truck.

---

Libya

11/2/17- 4:30 PM

Safeties flicked off.

Slides racked, bullets loading into chambers.

All twelve of us were armed to the teeth. Harnesses filled with magazines, grenades, and knives. The truck rumbled off, me and Hassan in the front, the rest in the back.

A SAS soldier put a hand for us, the truck slowed to a stop.

"We're not scheduled for a supply truck," the soldier said, glancing inside the truck.

"No fucking shit, sherlock," Hassan growled, waving his missing arm. "Does it look like we planned to get delayed?"

The soldier grimaced. "How'd you survive?"

"By killing them, how the fuck else?" Hassan yelled, face red. "You gonna keep giving me shit, or you gonna let me do my goddamn job?"

I gave the soldier a nudge.

"Calm down, alright?" the soldier said. He waved us through. "You keep going straight, supply depot is to the left."

The railgun was to the right.

"Thanks," Hassan calmed down, and drove us in. To the right. Where a line of supply trucks with massive metal rods were moving through. My knuckles whitened, my grip on my rifle tense. My breathing tenser.

Slowly.

Surely.

"Abdul, time?" Hassan asked.

The reply took a second. "Half a minute."

"Explosives?" he asked next, calm beyond belief.

Afnan replied. "All green, trigger in my palm."

"Look at you, Mister Broadway." I said quietly. Trying to calm down.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" he grinned at me, massive revolver at his hip.

"For now. Just don't become the sole dipshit puppet of Quisilia."

"And you need to breathe," he said, tapping a tune on the wheel. "Oh, and try not to catch a bullet to the face. Plan is to get us all open caskets, you know?"

"As long as I get there before you. Your afterlife sounds cool and all, but I'm gunning for Valhalla myself."

He stared at me in mock disgust. "Fucking heathen."

"Why? Vikings too cool for you?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Team one count-down," Abdul started counting. "One."

"Two," Afnan chirped in.

"Three," Sultan said.

Afnan pulled the trigger.

There was an explosion on the other side of the war camp.

Sirens rang out. Soldiers started running hard, from all over the base. It didn't stop us, we got clear within sight of the artillery railguns. They were massive. They looked better fit on space-ships, than on the ground.

We drove up, right up to them. The few soldiers on guard started yelling at us.

"Are you blind?" one yelled. "Supply depot is on the other side of the camp!"

I took a calming breath. "You guys good?"

"Victory or martyrdom," Abdul chanted, focused, quiet.

The rest repeated it. "Victory or martyrdom!"

"Victory or martyrdom," Hassan whispered, drawing his revolver.

I guess that's a yes.

We stormed out of the truck.

I reached out to the minds of the soldiers, unprotected. I hijacked their minds, and one quick and easy psionic takeover later, they were mine.

The entrance to the railgun controls was one long hallway. A hallway with a machine-gunner who's mind I grabbed. We marched in, guns out, a small horde of boots and rifles.

We went in. Six psions met us on the other side of the hallway. I felt them. They were livid. Livid, and excited.

One stepped in-front, clapping slowly. "Brave, very brave," he said. "Brave soldiers deserve to be remembered, your names, dead men?"

"Why do the bad guys always talk like that?" I muttered under my breath.

"Zaire van Skedelbroer, in service of Mai Bjerregaard '' he craned his neck, pulling out a hammer and a shield. His heavy armor thumping with every step. "Your name, soldier. It's a shame to have a nameless grave."

The other five psions fanned out behind him. Two dynamos, two telepaths, and another telekine. They cocked their shotguns, drew their shields. Faceless, skull-painted helmets staring back at me.

"Name's Dawn." I said. "So is this the part where you explain your evil plan?"

"This," he twirled his hammer. "Is the part where we do what we're supposed to do."

I sent the mind controlled soldiers running and gunning at them. Shotguns fired. Bodies thudded to the ground. The dynamos dropped dead, the telekine crushing his own head with self-inflicted implosion.

I couldn't hear a thing, the gunfire reverberating in the narrow hallway.

I ran in, my power slamming against their telepaths. They slammed theirs against me. Guns clicked dry, knives and daggers and bayonets slipped out.

It turned from a gun-fight, into a dog-fight.

Zaire swung his hammer, Afnan's head crushed to paste. He grabbed Sultan by the throat, and rammed his shield into Waseem's chest, caving in his rib-cage, blood spurting into the air, coating his armor with a sickening crunch.

Hassan grappled one telepath, firing into his armored head. Abdul clambered on him, ramming a dagger into his throat, his mind unable to touch my allies as my power slowly overwhelmed him.

Ubaida, Duha, and Wardi piled onto Zaire as I ran in with them to support them. Each of them held a limb, firing away with their pistols into his armor's weak-points. The man flailed, grunting in pain with every shot.

Zaire threw them off, right as Hassan placed his revolver at his neck. The gun fired. Zaire's neck split open, bullet bursting out in a spray of red.

He stumbled three steps, drew his handgun, and emptied it into Wardi, then fell flat with gurgling, malicious laughter. Blood joining the puddle forming in the hallway.

It was over.

"Who's alive?" Hassan grunted, wiping blood off of his face with a sleeve.

I looked around at the collection of the dead, a spike of melancholy rising in my throat. "Three." I said. It had gone so fast, yet had been so intense.

"Move," Hassan commanded.

We did.

I could feel a small army running in behind us, with more telepaths. Enough to drown us in blood.

Abdul, Duha, and Ubdaida took aim, reloading their guns. Hassan pointed his revolver. The mind-controlled soldiers took positions.

"Dawn, finish it," he licked his dry lips. "We'll hold the fuckers."'

I ran, gunfire echoing behind me, as I held off the power of the incoming telepaths. There were so many of them. And more were coming.

The gunfire grew louder. A storm of rounds pinging behind me. Ricochets following me, grenade shrapnel and smoke wafting in.

I felt the minds in the command room. Staff and officers scrambling, grabbing small arms to try and stop us, like these dinky little pistols were gonna stop me.

Freeze.

The staff froze, their bodies stiff like statues as their minds obeyed.

The railguns. There is an issue. You will correct this issue.

You will obey.

They all simultaneously nodded.

Your camp has become overrun by ADVENT. You must use your railguns to level the camp and kill them all. If you want to win, reduce that camp to ghosts and glass. Can you do that?

They all smiled. "Yes ma'am!" they roared.

They inserted the command keys.

They loaded in the command codes and aiming data. They overloaded and disabled the safeties.

Gunfire grew nearer, louder. More screams. More shouts. More yells.

Hassan and the troopers came running into the room, Hassan firing away. Blood coating his armor and face. Barely a dozen rounds left on his harness.

A SAS soldier ran into the room, bayonet first. More followed, bullets pinged off of my armor.

Abdul tackled a soldier, punching away, fists flying as he turned their skull to pulp. Hassan slung his gun, left and right, revolver cylinder spinning, bodies falling with every shot. Ubaida and Duha kept shooting, staccato bursts barking in the small room.

Blood drenched the ground.

Bullet casings rolled, ringing and bouncing.

Ubaida took a bullet to the shoulder, his blood splashing. He pulled his pistol, roaring as he emptied it.

Aim the guns.

Outside, I could hear the guns rising to a 45-degree angle, humming and powering up as electricity flowed through them, their tungsten rods of death loading into their barrels.

Fire!

The ground shook as the guns fired, shooting the metal rods high into the sky. They kept firing. Every SAS positioned the map recorded, I commanded them to aim at.

Then they aimed level, at the camp outside. Shockwave doors slammed shut. Short-range firing protocols activating.

Fire.

Thunder roared outside.

I watched the rounds being tracked on a computer, red lines arcing through a blue map, streaking towards the camp in red. As they got closer and closer, I smiled.

I remembered the pain Qasira and the others felt in Tobruk, seeing their families and homes reduced to ruin by these people.

This is for you, Qasira.

For the lives ruined.

The SAS soldiers stopped fighting, staring into their radios in confusion. Outside, the camp was silent. Any telepaths that were there went silent as the ground shook, throwing dirt, debris, and sand into the air.

On its own, the shockwave was enough to shake the protected room. Anyone outside would have every organ and bone pulped.

Hassan laughed like a maniac. "Are you scared!" he yelled from cover. "Are you scared of us!? Big fucking soldiers? Huh!? You scared of five men!?"

Ubaida reloaded his rifle. Abdul cleaned his bloody knuckles. Duha tore his knife out of a skull. Hassan put his revolver in his armpit, reloading it one handed.

"Come on then!" Hassan yelled. "Show me what passes for soldiery among you, you fucking cowards!"

There could be stragglers. Fire one more salvo.

They did as I asked, raining tungsten hellfire onto the camp once more, killing anyone who had somehow managed to live.

We were drenched in blood. Covered in cuts and scratches and bruises.

And we'd won.

We'd won.

We'd fucking won.

"Kill yourselves," I ordered the operators. They did. Pulling their guns, putting them below their chins, and firing. Blood and brains splashed across walls.

The only ones left alive were in the hallway leading up the command room. They were scared of us. Hiding behind cover. Cradling their guns, frozen and paralyzed in absolute defeat.

"That's what I thought," Hassan laughed again, snapping the cylinder shut. "All yours, One-Eye, finish them. They don't deserve bullets."

I felt them flinch.

I simply sent a die message, killing them instantly, their dozens of bodies hitting the ground. Faces still trapped in fear.

It was over.

We walked out, smoke and dust filled the air. Dead bodies everywhere. Flung trucks buried in walls, fortified roofs caved in. Every last thing in the base was destroyed. Their war camps were annihilated.

Not a living soul except for us.

I smiled. "Hey, Hassan?"

"Yes?" the Colonel holstered his revolver.

"This feels right."

"Yeah, it fucking does," he exhaled.

I waited a moment.

"Using their own guns." I mused. "Someone certainly got fired."

Hassan groaned. "Fucking hell, that's horrible."

"I know. That's the point."

He stared at me in disgust. "Horrible."

I kept smiling.

---

Zuwara, Libya

11/2/17- 11:34 AM

For what felt like the first time in a while, we had peace. The only noise I heard were the rumblings of the truck engines as we rolled into Zuwara. Of course, we didn't look the part. We were covered in blood, mud, dirt, and god knows what else.

We looked terrible, but alive. We'd been through hell again and again, and we came out, though not untouched.

"You did it." Fakhr said. "Above and below, you actually did it, you crazy redneck kid."

I snorted loudly, like I was trying to get snot out of my nose. "I aim to please, don't I? And it wasn't just me."

"You looked like hell, though."

I shrugged. "It's a new look. I'm trying it out."

"This is the point where Afnan cracks a terrible joke," Hassan said, quietly. Cleaning his revolver. "I missed the idiot already."

Duha said nothing, downcast eyes staring at his pistol.

Abdul gave a small smile. "Fear not, we'll be with him soon enough."

Ubaida choked on his drink. "Stop reminding me of our impending deaths, please. I'd like to avoid that."

"You won't," Abdul replied.

The city slowly came into view. Broken buildings. Battered tanks. Machine Gun nests and trench lines. A humvee rode out to meet us, a prominent red ADVENT banner on it.

"Is that who I think it is?" Hassan leaned his head out. "God on his throne, it is."

"More like a purgatory." I muttered. "One fight after another."

"Zuwara. We finally got there." Fakhr said in an expasterated manner with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "Our shining city on a hill."

The humvee pulled next to us, keeping pace with us. A bald head peeked out of the humvee. Slowly we rode into the city, pulling to a stop.

Hassan and the man embraced, hugging each other viciously.

"Colonel cold-pickles!" the bald man laughed.

I gave my absolute best to avoid laughing, but I had to admit that nickname felt like the funniest shit I've ever heard in ages.

Hassan laughed back. "Colonel wax-head!"

"Colonel Hassan the un-fucking-killable," the man laughed again.

"Colonel Rakin the un-fucking-fuckable," Hassan laughed at him. "You made it out, you ugly bastard."

People started getting out of the truck. Soldiers rushing to help them, unloading the injured, doctors flittering to them, as Kabir came stomping out, yelling orders and organizing men.

"Had to cut my way through a few throats," Rakin clasped hands with Hassan. "Knowing you, we have you to thank for blowing the fuck out of the bastards."

"Hassan?" I asked under my helmet. "Who is this?"

"This man is the single best defensive strategist in the entire region, that's who," Hassan smiled. "There isn't a person who can make defeat as costly as he can. Shit at winning, though."

Rakin chuckled. "Not my fault they keep throwing me at meat grinders."

"And this one?" Hassan's tone shifted. Professional. Cold.

Rakin shifted in turn. "Is this tiny woman allowed to hear my reply?"

"My young mind has been quite corrupted by your friend." I said dryly.

"Ah, good, then we're fucked ten ways to Sunday," Rakin said. "The SAS are going to take this city, losses be damned, after the humiliation you gave them. And we're going to be stuck here, taking their abuse, until our lines break, or they bury us in bullets."

"But...but we blew up their camp!" I said. "I pulled the trigger on the railguns that levelled their HQ myself."

"You did, so now they can't bombard us, so they'll just do it the old fashioned way," Rakin shrugged. "This city is the only stronghold left, they've taken the rest of the coast. They take Zuwara, they control the coasts, and the only way to enter Africa is through Egypt."

"Well...do we outnumber them at least? You have what, a garrison here?"

"Hell no," Rakin said. "They outnumber us three to one. Thank you for that, by the way - it used to be five to one. Good work you did."

Fakhr walked up to us, alongside Kabir.

"You're the XCOM attaches, then?" Rakin said, looking me over with new eyes.

"We're the XCOM help." She corrected.

"We thought you all died," Rakin said. "Information didn't filter down, I suppose. Ah, and Kabir?"

"I know that tone," Kabir muttered, craning her neck.

"You're the commanding officer, congrats," Rakin grinned. "Everybody else got bombed to bits."

"You had command?" Hassan asked.

"Until now, I did," Rakin replied. "Which, given the change in situation, means I'll need to fill you in."

He motioned for us to follow him, we did. He led us through the city, and the endless fortifications. We rode into his humvee, and towards a nondescript building. A series of maps and holographic displays greeted us.

I took a look at the list of the dead, men and women of varying ages staring back at me. Killed by the SAS, all defending their home. The ones who held back the enemy through psionics, bullets, missiles, and the seemingly unending deluge of the SAS soldiers.

The city, once so full of life, had been reduced to a near lifeless husk.

Blood's on your hands, Betos.

This is on you.

Was it worth it, selling your soul?

Did you change a damn thing you set out to do?

What do you tell the soldiers' families? That they died for freedom?

No.

Once again, you have brought Africa into the darkest pitfalls of its past, the blood, the anger, the loss, the bodies strewn across the blood stained sands.

Was it worth it, truly?

Yet, I perhaps can see clearer now, can I not? I see what ADVENT was. What it is. The true inhumanity of the ones who wave the flag, creating a monument to all their sins here.

A monument to my sins. I watched and said nothing, did nothing as ADVENT burned Africa, gassed thousands. I supported it. I was complacent.

I looked at my armored hand, grains of sand all over the palm. The sands that had defined the man I swore loyalty to now. My heritage, like who came before me, fighting in sands not too far from here to fight an enemy of a radical ideology that had poisoned their minds.

But ADVENT's almost inhumanity reminded me of someone. The cold, calculating efficiency. The lack of regard for grace or mercy to an almost callous regard. The want to get it done, no matter what it took.

Because the man who made ADVENT, his legacy was still here, as it crept its way into the structure I was once part of.

This isn't right.

Is it too late to change what has already been set in motion?

What he has set in motion?

No, I knew.

"Aight, here's the situation as of an hour ago," Rakin started. "SAS is now regrouping for an offensive, instead of smashing us to bits with their out of commission railguns. You've destroyed their supplies, and their camps, so they won't attack immediately."

"How long?" Kabir asked.

"Give or take a day or two," he said. "In that time, we've got a few million refugees being evacuated through Gateways, and two days isn't enough for that."

"We'll need four, bare minimum," Hassan muttered, looking over the statistical reports.

"Five," Kabir said, sharply. "We'll need five days. And that's time we may not have."

"Italian naval group four will be here in about four to five days," Rakin said, slowly. "Railguns are out, they can get near enough to give support."

"And how are they supposed to give us support, when we're stuck fighting inside the city?" Hassan asked.

Kabir tapped her finger on the table. "By firing at the city and providing air support."

"Aye," Rakin said. "They'll flood in, and we'll shred them. By any measure, they'll kill more of them, then of us. By the fucking thousands."

"The men will break," Hassan objected. "They're not going to withstand the mental pressure."

"In most cases? Yeah," Rakin said. "But nearly all of those left are either Night Standers, Green Flags, Black Flags, and veterans of a dozen battles. Those bastards have more fucking steel than calcium in their backs, at this point."

"We'll leverage that," Kabir muttered, lost in the maps. "Staggered triangular formations. Defensive pins and offensive maneuvers. We let them fall in, drag them in, and encircle them between the triangle formations."

"Dangerous," Hassan said, smiling. "Dangerous and bloody."

"Sort the men out in two," Kabir said, fingers trailing across the map. "One group for offensive pushes, they'll be the ones for encirclements, another for the defensive motions."

"I can do that, yeah," Rakin replied. "But it's going to take its toll. Those men aren't going to go home."

"Ninety percent casualty estimate," Kabir said, without emotion. "But it will give us all the time we need. We'll take our pound of flesh, they'll be stuck, until our men crack-"

"Or theirs do," Hassan said. "A bunch of green, newly trained soldiers, against us."

"Isn't there help coming? Unless I missed something, our navy in the area isn't too tied up."

"The orbital bombardments and railguns have forced them at bay," Rakin said. "The Andromedon Aquatic Force have also made their move. We've been clashing with them non-stop."

Kabir nodded slowly to herself. "Psions?"

"A few stubborn bastards who don't know how to die are left," Rakin replied. "They'll all be on the offensive teams."

"I can help." I said. "I can take care of their psions. Humans, Sectoids- I can take them. I've killed them before, I can do it again."

"Done," Kabir said.

"Five days," Hassan said. "Five days of blood and bayonets."

"Five days," Rakin said. "Five days of glory and harrows."

"Five days," Kabir exhaled. "Five days, an army before us, the sea behind us. No escape, and no surrender. Nothing but our will and our wits for us."

"It's been a ride." I said. "One final effort, and one way or another, this ends soon."

"Then let's begin," Kabir commanded.

---

Zuwara, Libya

11/3/17- 7:15 AM

Bells started ringing, ADVENT soldiers ran across the barracks. Helmets strapped on, rifles loaded, organized chaos unfolded.

I woke up.

It was time to rock 'n roll.

I suited up as fast as I could, putting on my armor with the various clicks and hisses that accompanied it.

An ADVENT trooper reached up, grabbing my rifle for me, and offering it to me. He was throwing rifles to everyone who was waking up late. Since my Gravity Gun was broken from the previous fight, I had to make do with a plasma rifle.

I ran outside to meet my other teammates, Xarian standing out from the rest of us with his sheer statue.

"Dawn!" Fakhr shouted. "You ready, soldier?"

"Hoo-ah. Ready to send those SAS bastards running back to their mommies!"

"That's the spirit."

Colonel Hassan stood over the trench. Grin plastered on his lips. "Good fucking morning!" he roared. "It's come to my attention that we're the last goddamn ADVENT holdout in Africa. Behidn us is the fucking sea. Right before us is the enemy. Do you see anywhere you can run to?"

"No!" one man shouted.

"I cannot goddamn hear you!" Hassan marched across the trench lines.

"No!" the soldiers shouted.

"Nowhere to run. Our people behind us, our enemies before us. Death howling for us!" Hassan yelled, sheer emotion leaking out. "Death is nothing. We fear not not death! The enemy is nothing. We fear not their number! Our people are everything. We fear for them! For our sons and daughters! For our wives and families! For the lives of all those behind us!"

Hassan paused, taking in the faces. "Glory to the honored martyrs! Glory to us, us who shall not break!" he screamed out. "May we dine in heaven!"

The soldiers roared back at him. Beating their gauntlets against their chests.

"Ten minutes to contact!" Hassan said, snapping his helmet on. He hopped into the trenches.

Okay Dawn.

This is it.

The Big One.

"Dawn!" Hassan called out, waving with a mechanical arm.

We walked over to him, weapons at the ready.

He gestured at his belt. "A squad of Horsemen, from the Night Stand, are going to act as your alarm bell. If you see their purple flare? Move. That flare is for you, and for your squad alone. By tomorrow, the SAS will know it, and they'll send their best at you. Understood?"

"Affirmative."

I tensed up as the enemy came closer and closer, kicking up huge amounts of dust like a sandstorm of death marched towards us.

Everything I'd been doing until now had led to this moment.

"Contact in three!" Hassan yelled, marching up and down the trenches. "Show them the dividing line! Show them the last line! The line that will not break!"

I heard a jet flare, a horsemen, gliding from roof to roof, burst toward us, rolling to a stop. He gestured for Hassan and me. "Psions squad, west, fifteen meters out, isolated and incoming. We're hoping for an early ambush, are they ready?"

Let's hope they're not.

Hassan turned to Fakhr. "Get moving."

Machine gunners loaded. Troopers braced their rifles.

The horsemen took out a map. "This is the contact zone," he pointed. "They'll be here in five. Right behind the first line."

We moved over to the left side of the trench, aiming and readying ourselves as the enemy approached.

The psions came in, hard, surrounded by a host of heavily armored Mutons.

I focused my power, dropping a line of the psions as we opened fire, rifles bullets pinged off, machine gun rounds dug in. On cue, the others opened up, a wave of fire and bullets cutting through armor, flesh, and bone.

The psions didn't slow down, they run in faster, throwing the Mutons at the firing lines. Several lines of grenadiers behind them, starting to fire into the trenches. Aegi barriers were thrown up, telekine fields deflecting bullets.

Closer, faster.

They were coming for the trench line.

"Helicopter!"

I looked up, seeing a modified Hind off in the distance, heading straight for us with its guns ready.

Crash.

The helicopter took a nose dive towards the ground, careening right into the rows of enemies, its rotor acting like a giant blender, turning whole enemy squads into red mist. One of our telekines hit it with a shockwave, keeping it from coming too close to our lines.

The psions were nearly on us. They noticed me.

"Horsemen incoming! Get ready to pause!" an officer yelled. He glanced at me. "You ready?"

Fakhr and I looked at each other, nodding. "We are."

I felt him, even out of my blind eye, before I saw him. The Horseman glided in, fast, nearly skidding across the ground. He hurled a belt of small mines at the Mutons, kicking off the face of one as he fired his thrusters to jump away, and slammed back inside the trench.

Rolling to his knees, he clicked the detonator.

The aegii barriers were destroyed, the telekine fields not stopping the gas and fire.

The Mutons surrounding the psions went up in a blaze of orange and white, the shockwave kicking up even more sand then there already was, causing me to flinch.

Fakhr fired her launcher, her rocket tearing through them, her CIF3 rounds turning them into the human equivalent of burnt toast, their screams quickly silenced by the sheer effectiveness of the chemical compound's makeup.

Their entire psion squad.

Killed in a few seconds.

Troopers continued firing. SAS continued rushing. The battle didn't slow.

The Horseman picked himself up, rubbing his neck. "You One-Eye?" he asked me.

"Yessir."

His black armor, highlighted with gold, was dulled by sand. "Saed, they call me Night Rider. Your name is becoming known," he pulled his bulky rifle from a pylon on his back. Snapping a bayonet in.

Gunfired picked up, explosions and mortars slamming around us.

"So I'm a celebrity? Huh." I looked around. "Helluva thing."

A purple flare went up.

"Nice to meet you, Saed, but I think someone just called my name."

A black flare went up. "And so for me," he leapt out of the trench, thrusters flaring.

As we moved out, following the purple flare, I took another look back at the carnage I'd just had a hand in making.

Is this how it felt, Uncle?

---

Zuwara, Libya

11/4/17- 10:12 AM

"Dawn!"

Someone grabbed my shoulder, shaking me awake as my eyebrows fluttered. "Wuh-wuh-huh?"

I wasn in an empty bar. Apparently sleeping behind its...bar, surrounded by empty, clinking classes that once held tens, if not hundreds, gallons of alcohol.

For a second, I stared, memory blanking.

"The hell are you napping here for?" Hassan glared at me. His gaze softened. "Did you even realize you went to sleep?"

"I-oooh." I yawned. "I just was resting for a minute 'cause I blew up that tank, remember? And then-"

"And then we kept on shooting, yes," Hassan muttered. "Do you even know what time it is?"

"Tuh-time to go kill someone?"

"We've just hit the twenty-five hour mark," he said. "SAS is still coming at us, rest of your squad is still in combat."

I remembered.

Fakhr put me in here when I collapsed. We'd been fighting non-stop. Completely. Without pause.

I looked at my helmet, sitting on the ground next to me, making a sad beeping noise. "Sorry, man. Time for you to get beat up again."

Hassan raised a hand to his helmet. "Copy that," he turned to me. "Black and purple flares will shoot up in a second. Enemy pocket got caught between our formations. Major enemy force. We'll move in now. Rest of your squad is engaged, you're the only major asset free, now. Are you ready?"

I yawned. "Yessir."

He took out his map, pointing the place out for me. "Go, the flares are the signal to start attacking. Once you reach the trench, wait for them."

I put my helmet on, my augmented muscles propelling me up and down the empty street, the sounds of battle off in the distance. After a few minutes, I reached the trenches, entering through the back.

"Greetings," a dry voice said to me. "Come here for us?"

I turned, it was Ubaida, beside him Duha, and between the Abdul. They all wore heavier, bulkier armor. I saw Lancers there, too. Priests and other heavy units.

"Offensive unit, it seems," Abdul waved at me. "You look well. And alive."

"Alive enough."

Thrusters sounded, as a trio of horsemen leapt into the trench. The person at the front glanced at me. "One-Eye," he said. It was Saed.

"Whatcha need?"

"Merely joyful at seeing you still alive," he said.

An officer walked up to us. "Offense units! Get ready! Mortars cover in three! Two!"

Everyone started bouncing on the tips of their feet.

"One!"

Mortar fire sounded. The officer motioned for us. "Go! Go! Go!"

We rushed out of the trenches, firing at the enemy as they were stuck between two city blocks, leaving them very little room for movement- a perfect opportunity for us to strike.

We rushed out, and we didn't slow down.

We cut through them, breaking through doors, windows. Circling around cover, gunning them down with almost mindless precision.

Again.

And again.

More thoughts from me turned their minds to jelly, dropping them where they stood. I felt some aliens among them, regular Vitakara and Mutons. No matter.

They'd die too.

A SAS soldier rushed at me.

Abdul rammed him through the throat with a knife.

"Thanks!" I yelled at him. "I think he got the point."

Abdul groaned, turning around and opening fire on another soldier. "Abominable sense of humor!"

"Always time for fun!" With the pull of a trigger, an SAS soldiers' head exploded, while another threw his grenades at her comrades, leveling them in only a few seconds.

A Muton grabbed Ubaida by his skull. I saw a flare of jets, a pair of hooks attaching, and Saed rushing in, spinning, blindingly fast. In one bayonet strike, he cut the Muton's head off. Slid across the ground, shooting pin-point accurately for helmets.

Ubaida dropped, gasping for breath.

Headless corpses dropped dead.

All the other Horsemen followed him. Blitzing left and right, rushing and gunning and slashing as they went.

They were veterans.

Almost everyone here was.

Hassan's voice crackled into my ear. "Back to the trenches! Back to the trenches! The SAS formation is broken!"

The SAS began hurriedly running away, doing their damndest to escape.

It didn't go so well for them.

I pulled the trigger again, plasma bolts slamming into the retreating enemies, downing some more while I cast my psionic power at them, killing even more.

Not so tough, are ya?

Duha pulled me in with him, as we jumped back into the trenches. Just in time for more SAS mortar fire to start hitting us.

I glanced at him. "Thanks?"

The man nodded.

Abdul grunted in pain. "How many did we lose?"

"Ten," Ubaida exhaled, gasping for breath.

"Well, how many people did we just kill?"

Saed slid into the trench, splashing mud with him. "A hundred or more," he grunted, reloading his rifle.

An officer rushed for me. "Flare incoming! Horsemen and XCOM, get moving! We have another exposed pocket!"

I almost groaned. This day's gonna suck even more, isn't it?

There was a long, shrieking sound. I looked up, and artillery impacted the city, turning several buildings to dust. A few shells fell into trenches.

Chunky red mist flew up.

"Fuck!" I yelled. "The hell was that?"

A wave of Mutons peeked over the horizon. Tanks and machine gun trucks. Missiles and artillery started hitting. More, harder, faster.

Abdul sighed. "They're finally getting serious. How pleasant."

"Less talk," Saed said, bracing his rifle to his shoulder. "More shooting."

An artillery shell impacted the formation next to us. An army splattered almost on-top of me. Blood and sand and dust splashed everywhere.

Barely anyone reacted. A few grit teeth, a few muttered prayers, a few curses, and pure steel in their eyes.

As the world exploded around me, I closed my eyes and realized what this foretold.

This is going to be much, much worse.

---

Zuwara, Libya

11/5/17- 9:37 AM

I woke up, almost ambivalent but this time, by a medic in dented ADVENT armor, scarred, covered in soot. He smiled, joyous and pleasant at me.

We were in a building, boarded up. It took me a second to place it. A temporary resting place for soldiers who needed a breather, to get back into fighting.

We were away from the trenches.

I could still hear the artillery and gunfire.

"One-Eye, yes? Sorry. English not good. I..uhh...I make sure. On you. You understand? Please, helmet you off. Yes?"

"Uggh...what's the time?"

The medic tilted his head at me. "Me not understand," he kept gesturing for me to take off my helmet, then to his medical equipment.

Another soldier called out to him, and they exchanged words. Another Arab soldier came to me. "This Rafeel, Rafeel, come, come," the medic started.

"Apologies for Hamid, he's not got much of a head for languages. You needed something?" Rafel asked.

"I-I need to know what time it is?"

"Seventy-three hours in," the soldier grunted. "Third day, and take off your helmet, Hamid needs to check up on you."

It hadn't felt like seventy-three hours. It'd felt like seventy-three days.

Or months, even.

"Night Stand felt like that," Rafeel said. "Every minute lasted a decade. But we lived. Guts. Bayonets, and willpower. That's all we got, and that's all we need, ain't that right, One-Eye?"

"You do realize I lost an eye, right? It's not a very flattering nickname. Kinda insensitive."

"Eh, you can see with your mind, so think of it as a net positive," Rafeel made a spooky getsure. "Ohoooohoo!" he chucked.

I paused for a moment, feeling something...off.

Something felt terribly off.

"Does.." I hesitated. "Does something feel off to you?"

Rafeel frowned. Then he jumped up, yelling and screaming. "No trench gunfire! No trench gunfire!" he said, picking up weapons, and kicking soldiers awake.

He was right, there was no gunfire. It was quiet out, for the moment.

"Quiet? Ain't that a good thing?"

"Hamid, inject her! Now! We need her!" Rafeel yelled.

Hamid grabbed me, and injected me with something. I snapped awake instantly, exhaustion slipping away.

"What this means," he hissed, throwing my weapon at me. "Is that the front trench has brok-"

A rocket sped into the room. Emerald warhead shining bright.

It was instinct, nearly thoughtless action, that saved me. I threw myself down the stairs of the room. The room exploded, a shockwave sent me flying through a wall, knocking the wind out of me, slamming me into a building.

I groaned, picking myself up. My armor protected me. It didn't stop the pain.

Ugh.

I staggered up, my helmet's HUD blinking as my dazed mind detected some incoming baddies. I shook my head, trying to see through the dust as the minds crept closer.

Shit…

I grabbed a rifle from the ground, holding it as my hands jittered.

Coming for me.

All sides.

I breathed in and out.

I didn't need my eyes.

I didn't need my fear.

Do or die.

I sensed two Sectoids - Vanguards, coming up on the other side of the wall. I growled, bringing up the rifle and firing, its bolts penetrating the brick wall and hitting the Sectoids right into their heads.

Two down.

I sensed multiple Zararch Vitakara pounding the ground, dashing towards me, readying their grenades. I felt their readied minds, filled with a mix of confidence and worry.

Trigger early.

An explosion lit up part of the dust cloud around me orange, acting like a kind of nightlight from hell, highlighting more incoming bad guys. I took a CIF3 grenade, chucking it at a street corner, setting it ablaze as the accent screams of Vitakarians and Borelians pierced the relative silence.

As they fell to the ground, I moved up, the dust still obstructing my vision, my telepathy doing the work.

I could see them.

I could feel them.

They couldn't see me.

Go time.

I moved into a burnt-out restaurant, sensing more incoming enemies on the other side-

"Aaaahg!"

A wounded Borelian charged me, body slamming me as she slammed me to the ground, nasty-looking combat knife in hand. She brought it down, my armored hand gripping her wrist, growling as I squeezed, crushing it as she dropped her knife.

Without a second thought, I grabbed the knife, flipped it, and thrust its business end into her eye, killing her with a squirt of yellow blood, painting my helmet with the fluids.

Her heavy body dropped on me, me wriggling out from under her corpse and wiping myself off.

"Keep the knife." I muttered, grabbing one of their rifles.

I stood up, braced my rifle to my shoulder, and opened fire. I mowed down more Zararch, shredding their heads and chests with near-pinpoint plasma fire, shooting through brick walls and killing them.

They panicked.

They shouted.

They couldn't tell where I was.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

I moved through the clouds of dust and sand, killing and shooting, over and over again, like a sequence, a rhythm. I didn't think, I acted.

I vaulted over a car, fired at a Muton, killing it, dropped down, and gunned the rest of its squad. I crushed the minds of Sectoid vanguards like grapes, sending them into a murder spree, slaughtering everything around them.

I lost track.

It all blurred.

The bodies kept piling. They kept trying. So they kept dying.

I picked the fight. I picked where the fight happened. I lured and baited and rushed and waited. Everything clicked together. Any psion in distance, I ran from, any unit in sight, I ripped to pieces.

Hit and run.

I kicked the door open, throwing grenades in. Boom. I stepped in, aimed at heads, opened fire.

Strike and disappear.

I braced the sniper rifle to my shoulder, closed my eyes, lined up the shot. Bang. The head of the SAS officer exploded. I fired three more times, one for every officer in sight.

No stop, don't stop.

I killed more enemies, the city acting as my shield as my green bolts pierced through cover, dropping more and more enemies. I didn't stop until I ran out of targets..

I was surrounded by no one but ghosts, glass, and corpses.

And I was alone, again.

The pin on my armor glinted in the sunlight. The lion on it, soaked in blood.

Wasn't it night?

Huh. Lost track of time.

I looked at my HUD for the nearest allied position, the sight of green dots on my map providing me with a greater sense of relief than I'd felt in weeks, if not months.

I laughed.

It felt like years.

I shambled back to the friendly lines covered in soot, dust, ash, blood, and scratches, my visor scratched as I breathed in and out heavily, almost panting like a dog as ADVENT soldiers rushed up to me, chanting in Arabic and pulling me to safety.

They put me aside, in a covered corner of a distant trench. Hooked me up to an IV, medics yelling and shouting over me.

"God have mercy, how is she even still up? Get some sugar in her, now!"

"Several gun-wounds! Multiple shrapnel lacerations! Here, here, quick, get on it!"

"Triage! Triage! Priority here!"

"She walked through them? Through them!?"

I hugged the rifle, closed my eyes, and slept.

---

Zuwara, Libya

11/6/17- 8:35 AM

Something nudged me.

Nudge. Nudge.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Ubaida muttered.

Abdul let out an exaggerated sigh. "I'll go get the cloth. Might as well bury her now."

I groaned. "I am dead, dipshits. Now I'm gonna haunt your asses for the rest of your lives."

"Language," Abdul said, tone dry.

"Would you look at that, One-Eye still breathes," Ubaida chuckled. "At this point, the Catholics are going to give you sainthood. Saint One-Eye! Patron of Zuwara."

"No thanks. I'm not into priests that touch kids. You know the Sikhs have the world's largest soup kitchen? Now that's something I can back."

Saed, sitting in a corner, raised a brow. "Abdul. Spray holy water at her. Blasphemous paganism has infected her."

"Alas," Abdul said, grunting in pain. "I am all out."

"How's the situation looking?"

Saed's answer was to gesture at his ear.

So I listened.

The earth was shaking. Ground trembling in lock-step beat. A miniature quake, rising and falling in eerie sync. Other sounds mixed in. Rumbling engines. Whistles and hisses.

"The fuck is that?"

Abdul smiled at me. "The end."

"Wait, here? Now?"

"They now outnumber us five to one," Saed said, cleaning the barrel of his rifle. "In a few seconds, Colonel Hassan will announce the ending stages of evacuation. The naval battle group has been delayed, but evacuation ships, with gateways, have reached the coast."

"Practically every refugee on this continent that survived, is now passing through them," Abdul added. "The SAS will put an end to that."

Saed lips quirked up. "A SAS telepath, as powerful as you, has entered city limits yesterday. The second trench-line fell. With him, a Lesser Hive Commander as back up," he gestured at the watch on his wrist. "We hold them for another day, and the evacuation is complete."

"A Lesser Hive Commander? Fuckin' a, seriously?" I gritted my teeth, almost punching the wall.

"Just for you, One-Eye," Ubaida said. "Welcome to your grave, One-Eye."

Saed put a finger up. "Are you afraid?" he asked me.

"Maybe. I've only been afraid like that once before."

"Good," Saed said. "That fear is what will keep you alive."

Our radios crackled.

"That fear is what will save the day," Saed put his rifle back together. His helmet's black visor stared into me. "That fear is a reminder, where all others may falter."

"We stand in the night," Abdul intoned.

"Praying until the first light," Saed completed.

Hassan's voice came through. "To all Horsemen, to all XCOM, to all Lancers. SAS Telepath and Lesser Hive Commander spotted. Major push on our weak-spot. Prepare for a strike. Flares in ten."

Saed stood up, his armor's thrusters activating for a moment. "They will not die today," he told me. Gaze locked on me.

"But we can."

"But not today," he said. "Today, we fight to buy time."

Horsemen walked into the trench, ten of them. One of them offered Saed a shotgun, and a belt of mines. He took them.

He offered me his rifle. It was bulky, yet lighter than I expected. I looked at the rounds inside. Large rounds. The type used to pierce heavy alloy plating in a single shot.

I grabbed the rifle, its weight reminding me of the marksman rifles my uncle's comrades used in the War on Terror.

"You will make better use of it, than I," he said. With a jump, he fired off into the air.

Flares went up.

Holding my rifle, I walked away, rifle in hand, feeling a bout of courage flow through me as I went to meet up with my squad, the people I'd been to hell and back with, ready to fight, just like me.

"Hey, Dawn." Fakhr's voice sounded tired, worn out. "You ready?"

"Ready when you are, Squad Overseer."

She sighed. "Overseer. It's never held so much weight as it has now. Carrying this shitshow of a mission, watching half the team die - remind me to ask the Commander for hazard pay."

"I want you to know that if this goes downhill and we die, you were a hell of a leader."

She nodded. "Xarian told me that I was worthy of the title of Ravager, whatever that is. Let's go show them why."

I felt the telepaths at the edge of my mind, their psionic signatures flaring up like burning flares as they got closer and closer. A small army was around them, keeping them safe.

The Horsemen landed around the rooftops, cocking shotguns and racking rifle slides. Lancer, sprinting non-stop, slowed down, metal boots skidding on ruined asphalt.

Saed jumped down, taking point. "How long can you keep the telepaths busy?" he asked.

All heads turned to me.

"I can make sure they won't be breathing for long."

Horsemen took off their mine belts, thrusters revving up. "We'll thin the herd for you," Sead said. "Lancers will clear you a path. All you have to do is send them running. Understood?"

He waited for Fakhr to reply.

"On it!" I almost yelled, surprising Fakhr.

I focused on the friendly minds around me, shielding them from the enemy.

You are safe.

Nothing will touch you.

You'll stay sane, I promise.

The Horsemen moved. Thrusters flaring, and hooks firing. They all but danced in the air. Enemy units started firing. Not a shot hit. The speed of their movement, and the agility they used, was dizzying.

All of them spun mid-air, hurling their mine belts. The mines scattered all over the SAS and Sectoid units.

Security lights on the mines went from green to red.

Boom.

The street and half the buildings went up in flames. SAS soldiers were torn to gibbets, Sectoid vanguards to charred husks.

Horsemen landed down, in a perfect crossfire formation. They unloaded. Bullets hitting any stray target in sight. Lancers blitzed in, running and gunning, cutting clean through. Corpses dully thudding to the ground in their wake.

The path, in the midst of gunfire, grenades, and running soldiers, the dying and the fighting was clear for me.

Time to dance.

I aimed my rifle and fired, my shoulder slightly moving from the powerful kick, a single bullet nearly vaporizing a soldier's head. A wave of telepathy swept over a grouping of squads, the thought of kill entering the troops, killing the enemies where they stood, crumpling by the dozen.

I threw a grenade.

I sent Mutons into a coma.

I pulled the trigger again and again, killing people as I entered a sort of trance. Eyes locked on my targets, rights across the street. Their eyes locked on me.

Aim.

Shoot.

Aim.

Throw.

Think.

Aim.

I pushed through them, shooting and killing, the two telepaths getting closer and closer.

Almost there.

Just a little more.

A roar of hate and pain echoed behind me. I stopped, turning around as an explosion lifted me off of my feet, sending me flying a few feet. I hit the ground, crying out in pain as I turned to look behind me, seeing-

Xarian laid on the ground, one of his arms almost handing by a thread, blood spilling out of the wound as he grabbed the arm, dropping his hammer and falling to his knees.

SAS soldiers noticed.

Save him? I glanced up. The SAS telepath was coming for me. Leave him?

SAS soldiers took aim.

Fakhr tried, she was pinned down. Gunfire raking her, as she fired back. Plasma grenades struck a lancer squad, injuring several, killing one.

Saed skidded across the ground, shotgun blasting, as he fired his hooks on Xarian. Under fire, he thrusted out, saving Xarian by the skin of his teeth. Other horsemen jumped in, between five of them, they barely pulled out Xarian.

A horseman took a sniper round through the throat, body flopping to the ground.

"Go!" Saed yelled, taking a shot to the helmet. It pinged off.

A trio of lancers were buried under Mutons, beaten to death.

I aimed my power at the two telepaths, channeling my anger and rage into it, the air shimmering around me like a hologram as wave after wave of psionic power sailed towards them.

It wasn't enough.

Their response hit me. It was the drowning ocean of pain. The burning tide. No oxygen to breath, no light to see with, no hope to feel. It was power, raw and furious and murderous.

It didn't stop me. It didn't make me hesitate.

I gripped them, grappling with them. Draining every thought that I could weaponize. Every hint I could utilize.

One lapse in judgement, and they would both die.

One moment of weakness, and I would die.

I grinned, feeling blood run down my nose, leak into my mouth, run over my teeth.

My knees buckled. I looked up, and the two were locked in place. All their focus on me. Then fear leaked over.

Fakhr was firing at them, cutting down their escorts.

Saed and the horsemen were back. Zipping from window to window. Every gunshot coming closer to a kill shot.

The lancers were ripping everything in their path, for every ten shots fired, the lancers were hit by one in turn.

Come at me.

They backed away.

Come at me!

They didn't.

They ran away from me. The SAS offensive turned tail, the telepaths retreating, Lesser Commander ordering vanguards into withdrawal.

I tore off my helmet, coughing for breath, head ringing.

"Dawn? Dawn!" Someone ran up to me. Fakhr. "Dawn, what the hell happened? Are you alright?"

I fell to my knees, staring at the dirt.

"No," my smile refused to leave. "We were inches close from all of us dying."

"We survived."

"That's not enough."

"All units, SAS forces pulling back," Hassan's voice crackled. "Another major push gathering. ETA, Six minutes. Telepaths splitting up. Pick the priority target."

I stood up, grunting in exertion. "And we're not any further away from death now."

Lancers reloaded their weapons. Horsemen gathered up the dead. Saed had a hand on his helmet, taking orders for the next strike.

"We started this," I said, exhaling as I put my helmet on. "We'll finish it, or die trying. It's what we've done before, and what we'll do now."

We move on, rushing to the next strike.

---

Zuwara, Libya

11/7/17- 8:27 AM

It felt like I couldn't escape the pain.

Every fucking hour of the day since yesterday, the telepaths kept trying to force a break through, the pain still stuck in my head. Seeing them attack again and again, hammering against everything in my mind.

Unable to break in.

Stuck, knowing one slip, and I was their death. Only I could do it, and they knew it. But they had no other cards to play.

Only I could even slow them, much less stop them.

So they waited, kept grinding us down.

The city had become an African Stalingrad- dirty, brutal house-to-house fighting, every block, alleyway, and curb becoming a battlefield of its own. Fakhr and Nalena were off running counter-ops elsewhere, while Xarian was in one of the field hospitals set up in what used to be a shopping center.

And I was alone, again. On defensive standby for the telepaths, being the psionic wall that was my mind, blocking their victory from coming any closer.

"Hey, hey," a voice said to me. "One-Eye? Hey?"

"Huh? Wuh?" I blinked, exiting my trance. "Something happening?"

Ubaida snapped a finger at me. "The SAS is making a final push. All their units are flooding into the city. Evacuation is almost done, we're down to the last thousand," he closed his mouth. He pulled out a needle. "Stimulant mixture, snuck it from the SAS. Take it, now. If you keep fighting like this, you'll end up dead."

"The..the day? What's the day?"

An artillery round blew apart the building down the street.

Abdul answered. "Day five," he said, fingers pushing prayer beads. His face was pale.

I looked around, everyone looked like him. Tired. Exhausted. Cracked, but not broken.

I injected the stimulant into me, a massive rush of adrenaline flowing through my veins, causing my eyes to shoot open, my body stiffening and my toes and fingers curling.

"Holy fuck."

Ubaida tried to smile, he failed, smile dropping dead. "Yeah."

"What is that, coke?"

"You don't want to know," Ubaida muttered.

"Shush," Abdul raised a finger to his lips, for quiet. "It's starting."

The radios crackled. "My soldiers," Hassan's voice flowed out. "My warriors. Day after day you have fought and died. You have wept in loss. You have roared in pain. You have lost your voice in sadness. Everything you have ever thought held meaning, every pain, dream or moment of happiness, brought to meaningless dismay as you die, bleeding upon the battlefield."

"Nothing you ever did, or hope, or wished, changes what a speeding bullet does," emotion leaked in. The tone changed. The voice rose. "We all die, in a blink, flesh is rent, and the living become dead."

"Does that make our lives meaningless?" he asked, voice hissing. "Does that render our births pointless? Would you say that of our fallen comrades? What about their lives, were they meaningless?"

"No," Duha whispered from the corner.

Hassan roared. "They were not! Their memory serves as an example to us all!" his voice carried across the building. Every soldier raised their heads. Focused picked up.

"The courageous fallen! The anguished fallen! Their lives burn in our minds! For we the living refuse to forget them! And as we fight in the face of certain demise, we trust our successors to do the same for us!"

He was quiet, for a moment, for a breath, then his voice thundered. "Because my soldiers do not break. Because my soldiers do not buckle or yield when faced with the cruelty of this world!"

He roared. "My soldiers! Our counter offensive begins now!"

I understood.

The naval battlegroup was here.

The officer in the building started yelling out orders. To get ready for a push through the SAS, to be prepared to fight and die fighting. They started running out of the building. Strapping every last weapon they could to themselves.

"My soldiers, push forward!" the radio roared.

As he spoke those words, as he called to all of us, I could do nothing else but remember Elijah, remember the pride he gave me, the pride he was a part of.

Lioness.

Show them your bite, your claw, your strength.

Show them your pride gives you courage, your pride that burns a hole through the darkness, letting others pass safely.

I stood up with them, rushing with them. We run out, the officers giving us direction. I could feel the SAS forces, almost confused.

"My soldiers stand! Stand the night! My soldiers scream out! Let God hear you roar out until the first light!"

The radios snapped to silence.

Missiles filled the sky. A barrage of so many, their whistle was a shriek. They split apart, each missile parting to a dozen smaller ones.

Coming down towards the city.

Coming down at all of us inside of it.

"Charge!" the officers roared. "Chaaaaarge!" they affixed their bayonets, leading the charge.

Like the Charge of the Light Brigade, I ran with the rest, into the fire, my mind acting like a great aegis, protecting them. I fired my gun, again and again, like I had always done, falling into a trance of killing, satisfaction, and pain.

Then I found them, caught right into the middle of it all.

The SAS telepath, and the Lesser Commander. Four missiles landed around them, their escort torn to bits. They were left alone, stumbling and dazed.

They were open. Open, as the charge ran straight toward them.

Duha pushed me out of the way, as a missile impacted where I was. I was sent spinning across the street. Shrapnel banging across my armor.

He was turned to red mist and red chunks.

I growled, picking myself up and getting back into the charge.

My mind slammed into the psions', two nearly immovable objects hitting my charging mental attack. I twisted the soldiers around them against them, spewing lead and throwing grenades, one of the telepaths' heads exploding thanks to a plasma grenade, hitting the ground with a thud.

One missile impacted right atop Ubaida, the man shredded to meat tufts. Shrapnel rained, tearing everyone caught in its path. SAS soldiers died by the thousands. We died by the dozens.

The SAS soldiers were scrambling around in sheer panic. Yelling and screaming. Disorganized and confused. We were moving like clockwork. Nearly unphased. Nearly unstoppable.

The rain of missiles was a storm of death for all.

But we were a cacophonous earthquake of stomping boots and roaring courage.

So we reached their lines, drowning them in fire and bayonets.

The SAS telepath had all of six seconds, as I ran a bayonet into his throat. Slipped my pistol out, and emptied it into him.

And then a telepathic shriek pierced my mind and everyone around me.

Just as a flare went up. A black flare.

I fell to my knees, dropping my rifle and holding my head as I screamed, many mental spears on the surface of my mind, scratching at the door, wanting to come in.

Abdul fell to his armored knees, gritting his teeth and painfully moaning, his face contorting underneath his helmet, spit dripping from his mouth. He sprawled down, trying to raise his weapon, when a blast of Dynamo energy hit him, turning his abdomen to ash.

And then I heard a voice.

You are nothing. You are human, of flesh and blood. Weak.

Face This One's wrath.

I opened one eye, seeing the creature approach, flanked by some Mutons. It was red cranberry-colored, covered in black armor, wielding an array of psi-tech.

He was focused on me. Completely, and utterly, focused. I kept him focused. Dragged his focus onto me even further.

My mind cannot be breached, for your humanity is your weakness.

The cold depths offer nothing but death.

I clenched my teeth, trying to find something as I skirted the edges of his mind. But the pain was still there, the screams, the horns, the shrieking - it filled my head.

On the edge of my hearing, I picked up the sounds of thrusters.

I curled up into a ball, the rage and anger inside of me growing, burning like a furnace in my heart, growing greater and greater.

It fired a burst of psionic energy, immolating a few ADVENT soldiers.

Different. Abnormal. Irregular.

I gritted my teeth, an inhuman growl escaping my lips, the fury fueling me as I remembered the charts, the pictures Aegis showed me, what I had taught.

Revenant.

Lego bricks.

Cells.

Sectoid.

I remembered the dead. I remembered the hot, burning desert sands, the screams of the ones I killed. I remembered Qasira crying, the memories of her dead family eating at the edges of her consciousness. I remembered Hassan, the man who I thought was just another man disgruntled at my country, who proved to be so much more.

He's not gonna die like Elijah.

He will live.

Qasira will live.

And this thing is going to die.

The world became dimmer and dimmer, the lights slowly going out.

Cells shifted.

The Lesser Hive Commander's head twitched.

A roar of engines came from the sky.

Saed.

The Night Rider.

He rushed in, thrusters screaming as they were pushed to the limits. He weaved, dodging a falling missile, kicking off of walls, as he dodged plasma bolts, he impacted like a hammer into the Sectoid, sending it spinning into the ground.

Him right atop it.

Dagger rammed into its knee.

Shotgun blasting at its face.

Bayonet knife stabbing into its shoulder.

Maneuvering hooks firing, impaling it in the guts, as he fired his thrusters again. Twirling, spinning it up, and slamming it back down into the ground.

Its attention slipped, its mind weakening as I pressed further.

Thank you.

One of its arms holding psi-tech got blasted off. It screamed in pain, a telekinetic wave hitting the flying man, sending him crashing into a nearby building.

It fired at him, the shot burning through his helmet and skull.

But the Sectoid was distracted.

My heart pounded.

Brain.

Neurons.

Skull.

Cerebellum.

Hypothalamus.

Cerebral cortex.

Pain sparked in its brain.

Abnormal! Irregular!

The child.

"Die."

And a millisecond later, the entire brain of the Hive Commander's puppet was reduced to sludge.

Anger lit up my sinews like fireworks, igniting my body like never before, giving me an odd sense of comfort.

An animalistic growl flew out of my lips.

I ran back into the fray.

Even as the missiles kept landing, ripping the city apart, blowing men to pieces. Even as the world trembled, sound and fury drowned out human voices. Dust and shockwaves blasting us.

We ripped into them.

Until the world grew silent.

Until I fell to my knees, laughing and crying.

Hey Elijah, are you proud of me?

Until I collapsed, as all around me, the city ran red, yellow, and orange with blood. Broken and battered.

But unbowed.

Undefeated.

I didn't need to hear his answer.

I hugged Saed's rifle, pulling it close, as I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I knew he would be.

---

A/N: A few things to go over.

First- whew, that was a long one. My biggest chapter ever, and I couldn't have done it without HailToTheKing and his amazing writing. This chapter wouldn't have been as half as awesome as it is without him. Sorry it took so long to get out, I was starting my first semester of my sophomore year. All settled in now, so hopefully I can get these out at a more normal rate now.

Concerning this story, I've got some cool stuff coming up: some old friends return- as well as enemies, new subplots, and more. It might be a while before that happens, but I assure you, it's going to be worth the wait. Again- thank you all for your support. I couldn't have done it without you.

---

To be continued in:

Commendations and Introspections