The Commander's quarters were quiet despite so many people standing within. An urgent meeting had been called, but nobody had been told why. Central, Leonidas, Ghost, and the Commander himself took their places in the room and stared intently at Razor, who had initiated this assembly.

"Well," XCOM's revered leader said curtly, "You have the floor, Razor."

The cyberwarfare specialist nodded. "Some extremely sensitive information has fallen into my hands. I've had preliminary reports in the past, but only recently was I able to get solid confirmation."

Leonidas folded his arms. "And why do I need to be present for this?"

"Because it concerns your mother."

You could hear a pin drop in the following silence as the room froze. These five words carried an immense amount of weight; not only had Moira Vahlen been missing for twenty years (and presumed dead until now), but her status as the Spartan King's biological mother was a secret closely guarded by the Commander. Those present during the raid on her old research site and subsequent battle against Subject Gamma had been sworn to secrecy, seeing as Leonidas had let it slip at the very end. The fact that Razor had admitted his knowledge of this so off-handedly was not only an indication of his incredible access to classified information, but also that his reason for calling this meeting was even more sensitive.

Instantly, the Spartan's posture changed. All of this occurred to him in the blink of an eye; he was simultaneously suspicious of how the hacker knew so much, and eager to hear what he had to say. "Well, let's hear it!"

Razor nodded, apparently satisfied that he had his audience's undivided attention. "As our esteemed sniper already knows, vipers have their own monarchical sub-society. Despite your assassination attempt all those years ago, Ghost, the Viper Queen is still very much alive and causing problems. I've been waging a shadow war against her for a good few years now."

Central stepped forward. "Get to the point, kid. What does this have to do with―"

"Doctor Vahlen is being held captive by the Queen," the young mastermind cut him off while answering the unfinished question, "Looks like she has been for quite some time, but her location was never consistent; she was constantly being moved between black sites―not related to the ones we've taken down―and my informants were never able to access the necessary information to track her. But now I have it on good authority that the good doctor is being held at the Queen's headquarters: her personal fortress. And I happen to know exactly where that is."

Leonidas was practically shaking with excitement. "So we stage a rescue operation and get her out!"

"Not so fast, Leo," the Commander raised a hand to stop his son, "We're talking about a hardened location that's bound to be teeming with guards and other security amounting to a small army. We aren't equipped to deal with that."

Turning to look at his father, the Kingslayer was shocked and appalled that the man was unwilling to rescue his own lover. "But…" He immediately trailed off, unsure of how to communicate his point; the Spartan was used to concealing the fact that he was related to his commanding officer, but on the other hand, everyone in the room already knew, right? Even Razor was most likely aware, given his apparent access to such secrets. "She's my mother!"

"I'm well aware," the Commander responded coldly, "But we have no means of securing victory, and far bigger fish to fry regardless. This is not up for discussion."

Leonidas looked back at Razor, silently pleading for assistance. But the cyberwarfare specialist looked just as dismayed, and remained silent. Clearly, he had been hoping for a very different reaction, and lacked the administrative firepower to override the Commander's ruling. But there was a glint of something else behind his eyes: something defiant and unshaken. Perhaps not all hope was lost; the hacker was already formulating another plan. "Fine…" he muttered, "That's all I've got. Meeting adjourned."

Central and Ghost followed the younger man out of the room, and Leo swore he saw an echo of a smile on Razor's face. When he turned back to his father, he saw why: it was almost imperceptible, but the Commander's expression hinted that he was annoyed that his subordinates hadn't waited for him to dismiss them. Just as the Spartan moved to follow suit, the man's attention snapped back to reality. "You and I need to talk."

Stopping in his tracks, Leonidas set his emotional turmoil aside for later; his dad sounded serious. He quickly re-entered a professional mindset for speaking to a superior officer. "About what?"

The revered leader of XCOM leaned forward, his expression dark―almost angry―and hands balled into loose fists. "About the snake in the grass."

Alia.

It took a great deal of willpower for the Spartan leader to not immediately get defensive. Whatever the Commander had to say, it clearly wasn't going to be good. And considering what had just transpired mere minutes prior, Leo wasn't in a particularly cooperative mood. Still, he kept his expression neutral and voice even. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't refer to my squadmate in such a fashion." Sure, he was technically talking back, but only to deter genuine disrespect.

"But she's more than your squadmate, isn't she?" the Commander hissed, "Did you really think I wouldn't find out about your little 'lake excursion' last week? I should have Tygan test you for diseases!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Dad!" The Kingslayer's professionalism immediately dropped, and his face contorted into a scowl as his father's surface thoughts bled through their psionic connection. "We weren't out there to fuck each other! Alia had a traditional ceremony about shedding, and she asked me for help! We got there, did that, and then―" he cut himself off. Revealing that the viper had kissed him would not help the situation. Let alone the fact that he had passionately returned it. "And then we came back," he finished, forcing calmness back into his voice, "In and out. No trouble."

Without warning, the Commander struck his son with an open palm across the face. Through sheer will, the Spartan suppressed his instinct to retaliate, though nothing could stop the fire rising in his chest. "Do you think I'm an idiot, boy?!" His father howled, "I can see how you two have been looking at each other. Especially the way she looks at you. Hungry. Predatory. You remember Ghost's story! What happens when vipers are in heat! Do you want to end up the same way?!"

Leonidas cocked his head slightly out of confusion; he already knew quite well that Alia had no malicious intent, thanks to their emotional link. His dad must have taken this motion as a challenge, though, as his scolding only intensified. "You shouldn't even be messing around with a viper in the first place! She's literally inhuman! It's unnatural, Leo. A crime against nature. And in your case, a massive risk for both security and your own health."

"Security?" The Spartan King repeated bewilderedly, "What, do you think she's a spy or something?"

"Her psi-chip is clearly still connected. It malfunctioned once; who's to say it won't fully re-activate at some time in the future?"

"Razor already dealt with that; her chip is completely disconnected!" This was a partial lie; Alia's chip was cut off from enemy networks, but still had one very prominent connection. It seemed that the Commander was unaware of this, however, and the Spartan was in no hurry to reveal it.

The older man drew back slightly, almost pouting as he frowned. "I don't trust that boy. He's already trying to undermine my authority―it's no great stretch of logic to say that he might be compromised."

Trying to calm himself, Leonidas took a deep breath and tried to process everything. Was his father right? Was it so wrong to have feelings for Alia? Should he cut things off?

No. The Commander's statements were riddled with fallacies and falsehoods: the viper was no sexual predator, her chip was safely disconnected from any threats, and she was no less trustworthy than the Skirmishers! Mox was allowed to run with the Rhinos, and nobody was batting an eye. By the old officer's logic, the hybrid should be just as untrustworthy as the scaled Spartan. And Razor wasn't trying to "undermine" anyone; he was openly challenging the Commander's authority, and for good reason! Perhaps this was just his father's way of being protective over seeing his only child enter a relationship; Leo had read and heard about such things being common among parents. Of course, he had no intention of pointing out any more of these logical holes; it was clear that the only response would be more anger.

Beyond this point, Leonidas largely stopped paying attention. He simply doled out hollow agreements and affirmations until he was allowed to leave. It left him with a peculiar feeling as if he was lost in an unfamiliar place. All his life, the Spartan leader had put absolute faith in his authority figures. Ever since the Commander returned, he had trusted the man implicitly. That trust had gotten him and his team through thick and thin, like an old friend. And now, suddenly, the Kingslayer was disregarding his father's commands and even consciously defying them. It was such a strange sensation; lost, yet… liberating.

While he did not agree with the Commander's words, they gave him food for thought. As the super-soldier made his way through the cramped corridors of the Avenger, he pondered the nature of his relationship with Alia. The difference in species didn't really feel like any cause for concern, but the difference in their personalities certainly did. Leo was a killer. A living machine of war, born and raised. Violence was all he had ever known. He was built to destroy; it was quite literally in his DNA. With just one hand, he could easily shatter the viper's bones, and that realization made him worry that he might accidentally do just that. Like a freight train, unable to stop in time to avoid disaster.

Alia, on the other hand, was a gentle creature. She could fight, sure as hell, but she wasn't made for it. She was tender and innocent, like an autumn leaf from a maple tree; beautiful and delicate, but easily crushed by a careless hand. Her nature drove her to nurture and provide for others. To protect, not destroy. The serpent saw the world through completely different eyes, witnessing every little curiosity and quirk with childlike fascination, marveling at all the colors and wonders that her life had to offer. And she clearly intended for that life to last. Leonidas, on the other hand, readily threw himself into harm's way for the smallest of reasons―or none at all. He was much more likely to die sooner, rather than later. And if he didn't, instead living to see the end of the war, what then?

Elsewhere, in the ship's shooting range, the viper of the hour could feel her leader's emotional turmoil as she practiced her aim with her new pistol. His spirits were all over the place; he was uncertain, then grave, then happy, then sad. She decided to seek him out and attempt to assist him in… whatever it was that was causing this storm of emotions. Firing the last round in the magazine, the scaled Spartan cleared and holstered the weapon, making sure to conceal it properly before turning around. When she did turn, she instantly regretted it.

"Hello there." Titus loomed over the serpent, smiling wickedly. She had no time to react before he had already invaded her personal space. His purple eyes held a predatory hunger, and… yes, they were definitely glowing. "What's a pretty girl like you doing down here all alone?"

He was inching closer. "I-I…" Alia stammered. Trying―and failing―to hide her fear, she forced herself to maintain some semblance of confidence. The Venari, which was meant to be her means of protection, was empty, and she was not confident that she could reload or scream loud enough to summon help before the Centurion would no doubt silence her. "I… I am alone because I wish to be." The viper quickly moved her tail to avoid touching the man as he continued to close the already-tiny gap between them. "P-please leave."

Titus only smiled wider. "Do I detect a waver in your voice?" Without warning, he grabbed the sides of the lane booth, trapping her inside, and lunged closer. So close that she could smell his breath; it was actually quite a pleasant scent, though it did nothing to diminish her panic. "Come on, just be honest." His mesmerizing eyes seemed to glow with greater intensity, and the Spartan felt something in the back of her mind compelling her to answer.

"I…" she said slowly, against her will, more terrified than she had ever been in her life, "I…"

"Say it!" The Centurion said forcefully.

Despite her best efforts, she could not stop her body from speaking. "I am in love with Leonidas."

Alia uttered those words quietly, meekly. It had nothing to do with her current situation, but for some reason she had the overwhelming urge to say it. However, this seemed to frustrate Titus greatly. "So it's true…" he snarled.

Before the psionic predator could continue, he was interrupted by the violent hiss-clack of something metal being extended. He had barely started to turn his head when the baton struck him in the temple, sending him reeling and giving Alia the chance to slip away from him. She immediately recognized her savior, though it was not who she had expected.

"Weaver?"

The gunsmith was holding a firm yet unfamiliar combat stance, gripping a long extendable police baton. He had shown it to her before: it was simple steel―pre-invasion hardware―but the bearded man held it with absolute confidence. In the scaled Spartan's eyes, he just about looked like a knight, brandishing his sword. "You've got new friends now, Alia," he growled, gaze never leaving Titus, "I take care of my friends."

"Where is Hawk?"

"Busy." Weaver barely managed to duck out of the way of the much larger man's fist as the Centurion roared, returning with a decisive strike to the gut, causing his opponent to double over for a moment. "On a mission. Why aren't you running yet?" He spoke far too calmly for someone fighting against a man twice his size. William was no shorter than Titus, but had nowhere near as much muscle.

Titus lashed out, grappling with the Snake Eater, who tried to dodge but was too slow. The Centurion lifted him into the air with apparent ease and threw him bodily into the firing booths. The impact of the merc's body collapsed one of the stalls, and he lay in the wreckage, unmoving. He was right: Alia should have ran. But now she was far too angry.

As the hulking psion turned back to his desired prey, he actually balked―just for a brief instant―at the sight of the viper baring her fangs. She hadn't known William for that long, but they had spent a lot of time together, and he had become one of her very few friends. And a close one at that. He had saved her life once, and may have just done so again. And now he was the one in danger. How could she not protect him?

"I will break you," Titus snarled, "And then I'll finally kill that stupid boy! You want to fight? Let me educate you."

Just as the viper was ready to pounce, she was interrupted. "Don't, Alia." Weaver grunted, picking himself up and brandishing his weapon once more. "You bite him, and there's no way you can claim innocence. You know the kind of influence―"

"Shut up, you little retard!" the Centurion erupted, whirling around to face the mercenary, "You just don't know when to quit, do you?!"

Nobody expected the response. The gunsmith actually smiled, just a little bit, and said smoothly: "Thanks for noticing." As his opponent advanced, he swung his baton with surprising speed for someone who had just been thrown through a small wall. He struck the larger man's knee, eliciting a small, wet crack that heralded a bone fracture. Titus stumbled but did not stop. He grabbed the lanky merc's head and rammed it into the counter of another booth. Twice. This time, Weaver slumped to the floor and did not get back up.

Alia knew she had yet another chance to flee, but she had even less desire to do so now. And yet again, her new friend was correct: if she bit Titus, there would be no arguing that she did not attack him. And, considering the fact that he had easily gotten away with his last offense, it seemed likely that he would be able to weasel his way out of this as well. Luckily, she had one more trick up her sleeve. Or rather, up her skirt.

Silently thankful for having the foresight to practice, the viper drew the Venari and quickly swapped magazines. She had not been in any particular hurry before, so she had only been using two of the three mags provided while shooting; that way, she was able to practice aiming, reloading, and filling the magazines themselves in a nice, tight cycle. And it ensured that she wouldn't be caught without ammunition―though that had seemed to fail until now.

By the time Titus was done with his fellow human and returned his attention to the serpent, she had the pistol trained on his head. He froze. "Shoot me? You wouldn't dare."

"On the contrary," Alia hissed venomously, "It would bring me great pleasure." She was dead serious, but a part of her was worried that he would think it was a bluff; she wanted to shoot him for his crimes, but dreaded the potential consequences.

Titus smiled, as though he was speaking to a dear friend. "Fine. This isn't over."

"Oh, it very much is," assured the viper, "Hawk will not be gone forever. And he will not be pleased."

"I'm not scared of a washed-up amputee." With that, the Centurion briskly left the room, leaving his would-be prey and battered victim alone. Once she was certain that the man was gone, Alia stowed her gun and rushed to Weaver's side.

"William!" she cried, trying desperately to revive him despite not knowing how, "Please be alright…"

The mercenary's eyes opened, and he coughed painfully for a moment before answering with a broken smile: "It's a bit late for me to be alright, hon. I'm gonna be black and blue until next June." He tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into pained groaning.

"This is no time for joking!" Alia scolded, only becoming more confused and worried as her friend seemed to relax, and smiled wider at her. "What? What is it?!"

"I don't remember much about my time before…," Weaver sighed, struggling to speak almost as much as he was struggling to stand, "But you remind me of… Not necessarily mine, but…" He waved a hand, dismissing the thought. "Ah, whatever. Nice job finding a loophole back there."

"What do you mean? What loophole?"

"When Titus told you to be honest," the gunsmith explained, "I heard that bit. And I could feel him using some kind of psionic persuasion. You told him something truthful, avoiding what he wanted to hear." He grinned. "Though that fucker wouldn't have heard what he wanted either way, right? Creeps like him never do."

The viper helped him to his feet, then thought better of it. "Save your strength, William. Perhaps you should… uh, ride on me?" She gestured to her tail.

"Hang on, who's riding you?" Leonidas said half-jokingly as he entered. He immediately dropped the humor as he saw what had happened.

"Oh, hey," Weaver greeted, "We were just―"

The Spartan King raised a hand to silence him. "You can tell me all about it in the infirmary."

…

The VTOL hovered above the ruined city, giving the passengers a good view of the scene below. The streets were drowned under knee-deep water, which was violently whipping around in the high winds. Lightning flashed a few clicks away, followed closely by a resounding thunderclap that was almost drowned out by the sound of the wind, much like the streets were barely visible beneath the waves.

"Hold it steady, dammit!" Hawk barked into his commlink as he stood near the open hatch, "Are you trying to make us fall out?!"

"Sorry," Firebrand responded earnestly, "It's not easy to hover in these conditions!"

The grizzled mercenary took a deep breath. The air was so humid you could almost swim in it, while the torrential winds would make it difficult to breathe properly for the untrained, and mildly annoying for the experienced ones like himself. Though it was unlikely that these muppets knew anything about operating in harsh conditions, let alone advanced breathing techniques. It made sense; this was an extreme situation for them. XCOM rarely had to deal with such weather, so it was reasonable that their troops hadn't been educated very thoroughly on the matter. But they were tough. They had to be; operating in the middle of a monsoon would kill anyone who wasn't.

"Didn't mean to snap at ya," the merc said, matching the pilot's earnestness, "I've got an LZ about sixty meters to starboard and forty to the rear." Over the last several years, he had grown much more accustomed to his brother's driving, unbothered by even the most hostile conditions. But this was an aircraft, not a car, and these were different people. As Firebrand began to move into position as per his instructions, the veteran ranger turned to look at the squad. "Your people ready for this, Moose? Are you ready?"

The Rhino leader nodded, gripping his autocannon. "Locked and loaded." The towering man grinned, adding: "You can stay on the bird if you're scared."

Hawk didn't grace this taunt with a response. Instead, he let his hand drift down to the grip of his revolver, only breaking eye contact once the motion was complete. "Once we're down there, we need to move quickly. Wind speeds can easily hit triple-digits here, and the water ain't gonna help. We're gonna stick to the buildings as much as we can―get in, secure the package, get out. Every minute we spend here is another chance for the storm to make you dead. I've got the most experience with hostile environments, so I'll be scouting ahead of the group to find good paths."

One of the squad members raised her hand. "How will we know what path to follow?"

For a moment, the merc was annoyed; he was used to people not asking questions. But this inquiry was not only valid, but quite important―if someone got lost, it was likely they would never be found again. And if one person didn't know, there was no guarantee that anyone did. "I shouldn't get too far ahead," he answered plainly, "You should be able to watch where I go. I'll also be radioing instructions the whole way. Failing that…" he reached into a pouch and produced several chemlights, "I'll leave these at key points. Trust me when I say that I'm good at making these things stay where I want 'em."

Slipping the military-grade glowsticks back into their pouch and closing it, Hawk signaled to Firebrand that they were over the insertion point, and the lines quickly dropped. He grabbed one and slid down, fighting against the wind the whole way. Working with the Rhinos―and their notoriously narcissistic leader in particular―was not something that he was looking forward to, but until his mercenary outfit's services were no longer needed on the Avenger, cooperating with their dirtbag Commander was the only way to get any action and ensure the semi-civil treatment of Weaver.

The Rhinos landed on the rooftop with him, and the moment the last one hit the ground, Firebrand retracted the lines and sped away, eager to get out of the storm and discontinue the risk of losing XCOM's only transport vessel. "Good luck down there!" the pilot said before losing comms.

Immediately, the soldiers began to mildly panic as they realized there would be little to no contact from the Commander. Hawk, on the other hand, had anticipated such an event, and was unfazed; he was used to working without overhead supervision, and was happy to not be battling the Commander's authority alongside any actual threats, given how his mission with the Jackals went.

"You can change your diapers later!" he barked over the howling of the storm, "The faster we move, the sooner you can get back to your cribs and pacifiers! Let's haul ass!"

As if things weren't going to be difficult enough, as the squad made their way through the ravaged city, they discovered that it was also infested with Lost. The walking corpses weren't so much a threat as they were a pain in the ass; any that had been on the streets had either been swept away or moved inside, leading to a higher concentration gathered indoors―exactly where the operatives were trying to move through. Still, they weren't that difficult to handle; the Rhinos were the heavy weapons team, after all. Between the Lost and the floodwaters, staying off the street was the better choice; the zombies, at least, could be killed.

It was admittedly somewhat rare for the Rhinos to fight anything but a few stragglers at a time during their trek; Hawk had tangled with the shambling husks so many times, and in so many places, that cutting through them came practically as naturally as breathing. He didn't even bother using a gun; his cutlass was more than enough to get the job done. For once, the flood helped; the mindless things struggled to move in the water, making them especially easy targets. Hacking through the Lost like a Hollywood actor through a jungle, he forged ahead, periodically checking over his shoulder to verify that the others were still following him.

From the outside, the mercenary's task might have seemed monotonous, or even boring. But to those present, the stress was readily apparent and felt by all. They couldn't afford to stop anywhere at any time, and that meant constant vigilance. Between the shamblers, floodwaters, and crumbling infrastructure, one wrong step or poorly-aimed shot could lead to maiming or death. The pungent aroma of waterlogged Lost and rotting materials wasn't helping, either. However, it didn't take long for them to reach their first major obstacle: crossing the street.

"Listen up!" Hawk barked into the squad radio, "The water here isn't going to flow like you might think; it's going to move in erratic pulses like Bradford trying to jimmy that stick out of his ass. Likewise, it's gonna keep pulling you in one direction, so watch your damn footing! If you slip, you'll get sucked away!" Aiming his grappling hook through a doorway at a lightpost across the street, he skillfully latched the line to the pylon, tugging to test the strength. The merc then firmly planted his boot against the doorframe, turning himself into an anchor. "That post ain't gonna be as sturdy as you'd like, so only use the line for balance; if you put too much weight on it, there's a real chance of breaking that rusty fucker."

"Suggestion:" Sparky said in his trademark synthesized voice, "This unit's mass is substantial enough to avoid loss of traction and serve as an anchor."

The merc paused. He wasn't accustomed to working with automatons, so this possibility hadn't occurred to him. Assuming the SPARK unit's calculations were sound, it was a good idea. The Snake Eater made an affirmative gesture, prompting the machine to march dutifully across the flooded road. Under normal circumstances, it could have moved much faster, but caution was preferred here; each step was heavy and deliberate to maintain maximum stability. Once Sparky reached the light post, he unhooked the line and wrapped it firmly around his gorilla-like steel arm before giving the go-ahead.

One by one, the Rhinos cautiously stepped out into the street, away from the protective walls, gripping the line like their lives depended on it. As far as they were concerned, that was exactly the case. Moose paused at the threshold. "We should switch spots," he said, barely hiding his nervousness behind obviously-false bravado, "I'm heavier and stronger."

"What did I say about changing your diaper?" Hawk spat, "Grab the rope and try not to get us all killed, titsucker."

The heavy gunner hesitated, then did as instructed, following the others across the flooded road. They moved slowly, each step taken carefully and deliberately so as not to lose their footing. As he firmly held the cable in place, the mercenary continued to plot a course in his head. There had been an agreed-upon location where their target would be waiting―but that had been established before the storm had rolled in. They had been forced to deploy farther away, and limited visibility meant that a mental map was paramount.

As the Rhinos reached the halfway point, the sound of a plasma weapon discharge cut through the oppressing cacophony of the monsoon, and one of the squad members fell as the superheated shot struck them squarely in the head. Their body slumped, and was quickly swept away before anyone could grab it. Then came the expected shout: "Sniper!"

It was quite fortunate that plasma weapons left obvious trails when fired; this made tracing the origin point effortless. Hawk quickly singled out the third-story window that the shot had come from, and cursed loudly at the intrusion. With his right arm occupied with the grappling hook, and the Rhinos still exposed in the street, his only option was to return fire with one of his pistols. Not wanting to waste valuable .500 Magnum ammo, he drew one of his twin semi-automatics and squeezed off two quick shots, forcing the assailant to withdraw, if only for the moment.

Hawk hardly blinked as he waited for the remaining soldiers to finish crossing, eyes darting from window to window. He would not be caught off-guard again. They were heading right into the same group of buildings; a fight was unavoidable, and likely a messy one at that. Though he would never say it aloud, the Snake Eater had a hunch as to the identity of their foe. Not many marksmen skilled enough to land a killshot in a storm like this would be considered expendable enough to send into one, and even fewer would do so willingly…

Pratal Mox, thinking quickly, used his own grappling hook to reach the other side much faster―the wind throwing him against the wall as he landed―and moved into the open building to at least secure one room for the rest of the squad. Hawk silently appreciated this attitude, but reserved some concern; if their mystery killer was who he suspected, the Skirmisher could be in for a very painful and likely lethal encounter. Finally, after what felt like forever, the Rhinos crossed the street. Glancing at his chronometer, the merc verified that the entire process had only taken about fifty seconds. Each one had been excruciating.

The XCOM operatives watched in awe as their companion moved through the water with unnatural ease, and at more than twice their speed. He wasted no time ushering them inside, ordering them to stay put while he attempted to hunt down the enemy sniper. But a fast and thorough search of the upper floors revealed that she was already gone. "This is not the time to play games," he muttered. It was then that sounds of gunfire erupting below heralded even more trouble.

Racing back down, Hawk arrived in time to witness one of the Rhinos going berserk, firing his weapon wildly into the air as the others held him down. It was the squad medic, and his eyes were ablaze with that telltale purple glow―an unmistakable sign that he was being controlled telepathically. "Dammit, woman!" Hawk whispered to himself, now quite certain that he knew who was doing this. He also knew that there would be no freeing this man from her control. As a safety precaution, the mercenary quickly brought his shotgun to bear and blasted the medic's GREMLIN out of the air, ensuring that it wouldn't follow the orders of a compromised soldier. He then walked forward and did the same to the puppetted operative's face.

"Jesus, Hawk!" Moose cried in shock, "We could've―" he was cut off by a barely-audible but unmistakable metallic clink. Everyone watched in horror as the live grenade fell from the decapitated soldier's hand.

"Everyone out!" Hawk bellowed. The Rhinos were already running for the door, not wasting any time in making their escape. By the time the device detonated, the room was empty. It would only be a matter of time before the sound of gunfire and explosions would draw the Lost down on their heads, though, so there was no time to rest just yet. As the remaining team made their way through another block, they neared the drop point, and everyone prayed to whoever would listen that the nightmare would end soon.

For once, the Lost presence was welcome; it gave the merc an opportunity to channel his growing anger. He could feel the terrified gazes of the survivors on him as he brutally slaughtered everything that got in his way. One was stabbed in the heart―straight through the bones of its ribcage―while another had its head cleaved in two by a downward strike. While the short cutlass was not particularly heavy, the mechanical power of its wielder's cybernetic arm made it chop through flesh and bone like a twenty-kilo battle axe.

One more street lay between the shell-shocked soldiers and their goal. This time, Hawk crossed alone for the sake of speed. Entering the appropriate building and heading to the second floor, he was disheartened and infuriated to find that there was nothing. No dead drop, no package, not even a marking to indicate that a new location had been chosen. His metal fist went through the nearest wall as he howled in rage―this mission had been cursed from the start, yet they had endured, and for what? Two people had died for nothing.

After several minutes of destroying everything in the room, fate finally decided to have mercy. "Ca-... -yone rea-...? This-... -Central!" Hawk's commlink crackled to life, and the signal rapidly strengthened. "What's the situation down there?"

"Commander!" the merc barked, "I know you can hear me, you bastard! This entire mission is FUBAR; we're down two men, and your stupid package isn't even here! Get us the fuck out, or I'll crawl my way out of this city and kill you myself!"

There was a long pause, then: "Copy that. Prepare for extraction."

Forcing several deep breaths to calm himself, the Snake Eater trudged back down the rotting staircase and moved to meet up with the Rhinos once again. The storm was letting up, but was far from gone. No sooner than his boots hit the floor did Moose's voice call out to him. "There you are!" the Rhino cried, "Stop standing around and help me!"

The muscular man was on his knees, one black hand pressing down on his shoulder and another holding a knife to his neck. Raising his gaze, the ranger met the familiar, glowing eyes of a tall, obsidian-black viper. She was almost entirely covered in black scales, save for a few white lines running along the edge of her hood and underside. Nightingale: a skilled gunslinger, powerful psion, and his long-standing rival.

"Let him go, Reaper," the merc said gruffly, gripping his cutlass, "This is between you and me."

"Are you kidding?" she sneered, "Have you seen what's in this guy's head?" With a quick, deliberate motion, she slashed the man's throat, letting him crumple to the flooded ground. "If I didn't, you would've done it at some point anyway."

Hawk hardly reacted to the execution. "He was an asshole. That doesn't mean he deserved to die. But those other two?" He stepped forward, brandishing his small sword, "They were fine folks, 'far as I'm concerned."

Smiling wickedly, the obsidian ophidian reached down and drew her own blade: a lightly-ordained rapier. This was a game they had played time and time again―an unspoken agreement to fight with their swords instead of their guns. An ongoing contest to prove who was the better duelist. Hawk had yet to lose any of these duels, and had no intention of changing that now.

The scaled assassin's tongue flicked in and out hungrily, and the cyborg mercenary visibly licked his teeth. There was a moment of tense silence, then both killers leapt into action―quite literally, in Hawk's case. He launched forward at impossible speed, bringing his blade down with a crushing swing. The viper parried the blow expertly, grinning like a maniac. "What's got you so riled up, big boy?"

This was a common feature of their battles: holding a conversation in the midst of mortal combat.

"Why the hell are you even here?" growled the Snake Eater.

"Well, I can't let your job be too easy, can I?"

"You killed three people!" Hawk swung hard at her midsection, and while Nightingale successfully blocked, she was visibly surprised by the level of ferocity.

"Since when do you care?" A strong thrust at his chin, dodged by a lightning-fast sidestep. "We both kill people all the time!"

"Not for sport, you twisted bitch!" An upward slash, which she forced sideways with a firm parry, "I don't care! But I have to explain to Captain Crunch how three of his guys got wasted!"

"I understand. But I can't return empty-handed, y'know? I have to kill someone."

"That crazy cunt can be disappointed once in a fuckin' while, y'know."

"Oh, because that went so well last time!" The viper made a wide, sweeping attack, likely in an effort to drive her opponent back. Instead, the merc ducked under the swing, and when he came back up, delivered a devastating uppercut with his right hand. The sound of metal meeting bone was satisfying and sickening in equal measure. Nightingale stumbled backward, stunned by the sudden strike and rubbing her jaw in shock.

"How did you even know that I would be here?" Hawk demanded, staring down the serpent despite her being much bigger than him.

She paused, as if considering how to answer, then turned to meet his gaze. "The same way anyone in this business knows anything."

"Fuck!" the mercenary spat, clenching his fists and looking up at the ceiling, "I knew letting him stay wasn't safe…"

The large viper stowed her sword casually, as if she wasn't talking to the most qualified viper-hunter on the planet. "How is he, Hector?"

Hawk closed his eyes, sheathing his own weapon as he tried not to worry about the future. "Getting worse every day. Still haven't met a doctor who believed anything we say."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Outside, the roar of the VTOL's engines drowned out the noise of the dying storm. It really had been an incredible stroke of luck that the weather was letting up. "Don't be," the Snake Eater said as he moved to the door, "You're one of the few who isn't killing him." He paused in the doorway. "And you still haven't killed me."

Nightingale flashed a nefarious grin. "I'd rather take my time with that. Who else am I supposed to get a challenge out of?"

And there it was: the basic nature of their rivalry. A case of predator and prey, but no telling who was which. The thrill of hunting the one that got away. The only one who could get away. With a silent chuckle, Hawk stepped out into the street, quickly donning a serious expression once more. He trudged through the water and into the transport, banging his fist on the hull to signal Firebrand to take off.

"Where is Moose?" Mox asked loudly.

"In a warm place down below," the merc answered irreverently, "Pisser had it coming, frankly. Hard to see death approaching when you can't even see beyond the walls of your own ass."

The rest of the flight was silent. In less than an hour, the Rhinos had been thrown into Hell, cut in half, and deprived of their leader, all to secure an objective that never even existed. It wasn't likely that they understood the real weight of these deaths, though; Moose was the only one other than Hawk who had actually gotten a proper look at Nightingale, and he wasn't about to start talking about it. A single viper had killed half of their squad with ease―and they would never know it. That kind of knowledge was liable to break the survivors and throw XCOM into chaos. Better to let them think that it had been stray ADVENT units and Lost that had done the deed.

So, in silence, the mercenary ranger spun a story detailing just that, ready to spoon-feed to the man who thought himself to be in charge. How he hated him…

"And by the way, Hawk," Central said quietly over comms, "I'd recommend watching how you talk to the Commander. Otherwise you might end up like Weaver."

Hector's heart stopped. "What happened?"

"Your brother showed up in the infirmary a few minutes ago," Bradford explained in a hushed tone, as if trying not to be overheard, "Word is, the Centurions had something to do with it."

The next several minutes were a panicked blur as the ranger feared for his younger brother's safety. Panic soon gave way to raging hatred as his thoughts focused on Titus and his band of glorified bullies. When the hatch dropped, Hawk stormed out onto the deck, revolver in hand, thirsty for blood. By some stroke of luck, the Centurions were right there, ready to receive the surviving Rhinos. Instead, their leader received a .500 Magnum armor-piercing slug, delivered straight into his chest cavity, wiping that shit-eating grin off his face in record time.

The mercenary's arrest was unavoidable now. But in his bloodlust, he could not have cared any less. Despite facing an elite veteran squad and numerous armed crewmembers, Hawk was bent on violence and completely out of control. The guards in the hangar rushed forward with the remaining Centurions in an attempt to stop him, but were quickly dispatched by a series of follow-up shots as the enraged Snake Eater emptied his revolver, transitioning to twin pistols with practiced speed and unloading upon anyone and everyone in sight.

When the guards opened fire, he didn't ignore their gunfire so much as their bullets seemed to ignore him. Haze was the first to act, engaging in ferocious melee combat against a much better-armed opponent. The fight was short-lived; upon throwing her first kick, the Centurion marksman found the floor rushing up to meet her. Hawk blocked the attack with his prosthetic arm, wrapped it around her leg and flexed the mechanical appendage, shattering the woman's bones.

5.56mm full-metal-jackets snapped past, missing by mere centimeters as if actively avoiding their target. One managed to draw blood by grazing his cheek, but the merc didn't even flinch. Instead, he snapped his gaze to the soldier responsible and shot them twice in the chest, puncturing both lungs. As Haze's body crumpled to the floor, the rogue ranger began firing indiscriminately at his attackers, fully succumbing to blind fury. Turris charged the smaller man―a move that did not go unnoticed. Hawk emptied what remained in both pistols into the towering brute, but Turris didn't so much as break his stride. He was the only Centurion who wore his armor at all times, and the hollow-points might as well have been paintballs against the heavy-duty plating.

Despite all his rage, Hawk was no match for the monstrous heavy gunner. Turris wrenched the mercenary's guns out of his hands and pistol-whipped him in the temple. The cybernetic ranger held onto consciousness as he staggered from the blow, barely able to stay on his feet. Reflexively, his hands went searching for another weapon, and found his trusty shotgun. Anger gave way to raw survival instinct as shell after shell was pumped into the advancing beast. But the buckshot was no more effective against the heavy Centurion, who lunged forward and delivered a crushing punch, finally incapacitating the berzerk merc.

It took thirty seconds, a dozen guards, and more than seventy shots fired to put an end to his rampage. It was only thanks to the overwhelming resilience and strength of Turris that Hawk was eventually restrained and contained. But while the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief that the chaos had been brought to an end, the nightmare was far from over.

It had only just begun.