Chapter 1: The Viper of XCOM
"With the Elders dead, many demand someone stand trial in their place. But who? Aliens like me for partaking in the 2015 invasion of Earth? The hybrids for carrying out atrocities in their name? The human collaborators for accepting the Elder's gifts? History will decide who's guilty and who's to blame. But what is for certain, human, alien, hybrid, one way or another. We were all victims of the Elders."-Qolros, first witness at the 2038 Truth and Reconciliation Commission.
0125 Hours CST, October 20, 2040
City 54, (Formally Known as Havana)
Caribbean Federation
This is their world. Always was. Always will be.
XCOM Senior Agent Francesca, or Fran for short, didn't know why she suddenly remembered those words uttered by an ADVENT deserter before he was executed. Maybe it was the many posters staring across from the alleyway, illuminated by the moon's glow and her cigarette. They depicted harmonious humans and aliens, looking forth to build a bright and prosperous future for Earth. Sharing laughs, holding hands, hugs, and promises. Most were advertisements for various products from the newly emerged free market: the finest foods, fashion, TV shows and movies. The most recent advertised the upcoming Liberation Day parade in the Global Capital, complete with a flyover of the Avenger; the stolen Alien ship turned XCOM's mobile HQ for the War of Liberation. The posters sloughed like dead skin with the Caribbean rain, destined to swirl in vomit and piss-soaked puddles. Or burnt as kindling to warm the refugees that crowded in the slums around the city centres.
One of those refugees was before Fran, a hybrid muttering to himself as he lay in a bedding of cardboard, the only layer keeping his melted face and missing arm from the slick asphalt.
Fran raised a cigarette to her scaly lips. The glow shimmered off her charcoal grey scales. She'd never understood the human vice of smoking until she tried it herself. The relaxing sensation, and something for her fingers to do as she waited. Judging by the many spent butts on the ground, she was one of many aliens to take it up. ADVENT banned smoking in the city centres, alongside public drinking, wearing pre-regime clothes, piercings, tattoos…And chewing gum. Out of all the illegal enterprises that had emerged under ADVENT, gum manufacturing confounded Fran.
But it was never about the gum.
It was about the chewing.
A human vice that had slipped through the choking grasp of the Elders. Those humans chewed until the day the Elders died, and two years later, ADVENT came crashing down. At least, ADVENT as a regime ended. Its stain continued as Remnants and terrorist cells fought on.
Fran checked her watch. Then with a pocket mirror, did another once-over of herself. Her long, scaly viper body once simmered like a river of black ink. After decades, it was beaten and scratched to rockslide grey broken up by a rust-red underbelly on a body no longer the toned and fit warrior it once was. Under her jacket, her V-neck dress teasingly flaunted her curves. Her bejeweled necklace around her hooded neck drew attention to her cleavage. She checked her fangs for tobacco stains, made sure wax covered her scars, and practised a few alluring stares, and teasing smiles. An outfit to steal gazes, and a flirtatious smile to steal hearts.
A sudden spike of pain seared through her mind, causing her to grit her teeth and curse: "Merde."
The pain disappeared just as quickly. She reached into her jacket and cracked open a can of Elerium Burst. She downed the entire energy drink in one gulp, washing down some painkillers.
Her watch vibrated. She flicked on the earpiece that blended into her scales, clicked her watch and raised it to her lips.
"Ready Arrow?" Whispered Fran, her English laced with a French accent.
"We're in position Noir," answered the American voice of the XCOM Agent codenamed: Arrow. "How bad do you think it is?"
"He's missed four dead drops in a row," said Fran. "It's not like him to be this quiet. Something's not right."
"Couldn't we get him at a better time?" Asked Arrow. "Lots of potential for collateral on a night like this."
"This is the only time we get a clear line of communication without arousing suspicion. Hopefully, it's just a welfare check" Fran opened her purse, peeling back the false lining to reveal a compact mag pistol. She flicked off the safety. "But I don't think so."
"And now we're risking our asses to save an ADVENT rat," Arrow scoffed. "Once a traitor, always a traitor. Even if he's our traitor. Part of me wouldn't mind if ADVENT had their way with him."
Veren winced. By that logic, she was a traitor. Part of her wanted to reprimand him, demand to know where she sat in Arrow's mind. She bit back the venom in her throat. "Just be ready if things get messy."
"Roger that Noir," said Arrow. "Vigilo confido."
"Vigilo confido," Fran repeated. She switched channels. "They're ready."
"Skyranger is in position," responded the vocoded hybrid voice of Agent Hasu. "We are ready to breach on your orders."
"Good," Fran finished her cigarette and stubbed it beneath her tail. She looked back down to the homeless hybrid, and carefully slid a few credits under his torn blanket, earning no reaction. She slithered out into the street.
She studied those she slinked passed; swaying and staggering like flags in the warm wind—alcohol and flavoured vapour on their breaths and glassy eyes beneath sweat-slicked brows. Many were humans hunting for a good and cheap night out, keeping their distance from the hulking mutons, pale hybrids, sinewy sectoids and vipers like herself. She passed boarded up windows, barred shops and broken surveillance towers. Bars filled with partying patrons. Clubs danced to the tune of musical remixes, a mixture of old and new world tunes. Movie theatres played old-world classics and new films from a revived movie industry. Barely buried brothels offered services behind whispers, neon, and holograms. The muggy air was thick with the sting of alcohol and tobacco, amongst even less pleasant smells. Cars bore the brunt of waterlogged potholes, once battlefield craters.
Scars of war, yet to be healed—smothered behind a curtain of lasciviousness and lechery.
Turning a corner, Fran came to a stop as she set her golden eyes on one such club. The Salvation. Pillars imitated neo-classical plantation architecture, draped in plastic laurel leaves and vines above awaiting guests. Fran slithered past the line of customers, earning a few catcalls and plenty of stares. Her heartbeat rose. Her breath fettered. The hand of a muton stopped her.
"Name on list?" the hulking alien growled in broken English.
"Blanchet Tril," Fran fluently lied, lacing a playful hiss into her French whisper.
The muton looked at his clipboard, trailing down the names with a sausage-like finger before he reached one. He waved her in without a word.
Passing The Salvation's doors, Fran let her smile fade to take control of her breathing. In the privacy of the shadows, she lit another cigarette. Past curtains, she was assaulted by a dizzying concoction of sounds, smells and sights. The heat soared to a tropical haze of sweat-stained pits swirling with the sting of alcohol and other drugs into a thick fog in a jungle of lights. A DJ conducted the crowd in a spell of thumping electro-swing, mixing old brass and jazz with dubstep and syncopated rhythm. Couples smothered themselves in the shadows, buried in pillows and fleshy embrace. Fran tasted the air and sneered at the scent of body odour and cheap spirits. She did her best to ignore it as she slithered across the sticky floor, washed in sweat, yesterday's cocktails and other substances she didn't dare guess.
"We see you," Arrow's singsong voice spoke into her ear.
Fran looked across the dance floor to two humans at the bar. Agent Arrow, the bulky bearded American, and Agent Cuchillo, the raven-haired Mexican woman at his side. Undercover as a couple on a night on the town. They exchanged a subtle wave with Fran.
Past the dining and dance floor, Fran did her best to ignore the stares of patrons as she reached a set of stairs leading up to the VIP lounge, once more stopped by a muton in an ill-fitting suit and a hybrid. Even through the baggy clothes, Fran noted the slight bulges at their hips, hard to spot to most in the dark, but not to her golden eyes.
"Name on the list?" asked the hybrid.
"For a better world," whispered Fran in ADVENT Order-speak.
The muton and hybrid looked at each other, then stepped aside.
The Salvation's VIP lounge overlooked the dance floor, soundproof glass silenced the music, as a more subtle tune wafted the air. The temperature cooled. Mostly human and viper staff in skimpy sheer strips waltzed among low lounges, dispensing cocktails and powders¬—assaulted by perverse stares. Fran was far from the trim figures of the wait staff, but she noticed the eyes following her too. Some were in curiosity, others didn't bother to hide their desires, their eyes undressing her without shame. She bit back the venom in her throat, returning their ogles with winks and smiles.
In the corner booth, she found her target. A bold-suited human nestled in an overly cushioned chair with festooned fingers quivering like a flame as he held his cocktail.
"Mr Lim," said Fran.
"Blanchet!" Jason Lim responded, standing to greet her. Early forties of Chinese-American descent, old enough to remember a world before the Elders, young enough to spend most of his life under them. He reached forward and gave Fran's scaly hand a whiskey-scented kiss and spoke in ADVENT Order-speak: "Nice to see you, you look lovely."
Fran pretended to be flattered as she wiped her hand on her dress. She responded in Order-speak. "You too."
"Lovely, lovely," whispered Lim.
Through the pleasantries, Fran tasted something rotten in the air beyond the human before her, cortisol, she realised.
"Would you like to…um?" Lim trailed off as his spectacled eyes peered past Fran's shoulder, his eyes widened. His cracked fingernails played with his jacket.
In the reflection of Lim's glasses, Fran guessed he was looking at the muton bouncer that just came up the stairs and was now standing by the door. Fran held her breath as she flicked out her forked tongue, stroking Lim's cheek. She bit back her revulsion, taking Jason Lim's shoulders and leaning over him as she whispered into his ear: "Would you like to go somewhere more…private?"
Lim's eyes met hers, and his smile returned. Fran hoped the blush and sweat of fear could be hidden behind a curtain of arousal.
"Y-yes please," Lim's smile returned. "In my office."
Fran grabbed his slippery hand and dragged him, half-lidding her eyes out the lounge, through a staff-only door and into Lim's office. Piles of manifests, tax records and POS data piled high on a wooden table, the only wood Fran had seen in the whole building. Perched in an open cupboard was a four-armed statuette in the glory of the Elders, standing like a crucifix on an altar of unlit candles.
Fran let her sultriness fall to a scowl as she ripped her hand away from Lim's. She returned to English. "You've missed¬—"
Lim gestured for her to be quiet. He locked the door, threw his phone into a drawer, and picked out a speaker, setting it to play loud classical music. He went to speak, only for his eyes to drift to the Elder statuette. He took off his jacket and covered its stone gaze.
"I know I've missed my drop-offs," whispered Lim. "But I've lost contact with three other moles, and I think they suspect me."
Fran cocked her head. "How certain are you?"
"ADVENT has swapped out my bodyguards…I need you to see something." Lim shifted some of the boxes until he found a canvas bag. He placed it on the table, unfurling a weapon that caused Fran's brows to arch. Its chunky frame, composite parts and sharp edges took her back to scrambled memories. It was different to the later ergonomic designs but matched several others seen in the past year.
"Early invasion," Fran muttered to herself. She picked up the light plasma rifle, reminiscing the days when many of her kind were transformed into thin men. It looked straight out of the factory. "Where did you get it?"
"It was delivered. I don't know where from or where it's going." Lim paused to chew his fingernails. "I-it's not all."
Fran cocked her head, tasting a rising adrenalin in the air. "What is it then?"
"I…I can't say…not yet."
"What is it?" hissed Fran, coiling herself to loom over the human.
"I'm…." Lim gasped as the grey viper leaned over him, her golden eyes piercing through him like daggers. He begged: "You need to get me out of here. I-I'm in danger."
Fran grabbed Lim's shoulder, digging her clawed fingers into his skin. "What's not all?"
Lim's chest heaved. He swallowed again. He patted himself and uttered: "You…you promised that if I was in danger, you would extract me and pardon me of everything. I-I know more than you can imagine. But I need to get out of here. I-It's me. I'm the proof. I'm the proof."
"Proof of what?"
"Everything! Proof of Operation Cleansing Fire." Lim grabbed Fran's arms. "They know I'm a rat. Please, I beg—."
"Get off me," hissed Fran, shoving the human away. She looked at the door, her eyes sharpened. "This is what's going to happen. We are going to walk out arm in arm, you're going to say you're getting some fresh air. Down the road, a Skyranger will pick us up. If something goes wrong, there is backup on the dance floor and I am armed. If bullets start flying, you hide. I need you to remain calm. Do you understand?"
Lim paused, then nodded.
"Good," Fran raised her watch and whispered: "Extraction, be ready."
"Affirmative," responded Agent Arrow.
Fran stared at Lim. "I need a drink."
Lim reached for the liquor cabinet.
"The good stuff."
Lim stopped and went to his desk. He placed a glass on the counter, before raising a bottle of Appleton Estate 12-Year-Old Rum. It was snatched from him.
Fran wasted no time in popping the cork at taking several swigs. It burned well, a quality rum from the old-world nation of Jamaica. She offered it back. "Take a sip. Calm down."
The rum shivered with Lim's grip as he forced it down his throat.
Fran held out her arm. Lim took his jacket off the Elder statuette and turned its gaze. His eyes never moved from the statuette as he left arm in arm with the black viper.
Few stares went their way as they weaved between the booths and lounges. Even with the sweat and alcohol in the air, Fran could smell the adrenalin bleeding from Lim as he clung to her like a scared child.
"Calm down," whispered Fran. Her face remained calm and smiling, hiding the fact her breaths were becoming rapid as they approached the exit. Where were the guards from earlier?
"Mr Lim," a monotone voice called out to them. A suited sectoid stepped in front of the entrance, lowering a phone from the smooth skin where a human's ear would be. "Boss is calling, says it's urgent. You can take the call in your office."
"I…" Lim stuttered, giving a glance to Fran who returned with an innocent stare. He continued to walk. "I will call them back."
"It's urgent sir," the sectoid reiterated, backed up by a muton. The sectoid pointed at Fran, "And she needs to leave."
Lim's arm tightened around Fran's. Fran narrowed her gaze. Why have they stopped him now? she wondered, if they were onto him why wait? Why kill him now? She scanned the lounge; a sectoid and muton in front of her and a hybrid behind the bar who had paused to stare at the conversation. Fran ripped her arm from Lim's grip, and the human froze.
"Oh, that's unfortunate dear," Fran sighed, reaching into her purse. She noted the muton's right hand move to his waist. The hybrid's grip tightened on the bar. The sectoid's bald brow furrowed. Fran could feel an itch at her mind. The sectoid's psionic reach, she guessed. She daintily placed a cigarette between her lips. Her tail subtly coiled beneath her, yet kept her shoulders slumped. As she reached into her purse again, she pried away her purse's false lining. "This night was just getting started.
Shoving Lim aside, Fran unhinged her jaw and hissed a spray of venom from her fangs into the eyes of the sectoid—the alien clutched his large eyes in agony. Noir launched herself like a spring as the hybrid and muton drew their guns and let loose rapid bursts of magfire. Swooping behind the cover of a table, Fran drew her mag pistol and aimed for the blinded sectoid. In a controlled burst, the alien dropped in a pool of orange blood. With the primary threat down, she fired on the muton—hitting him once in the shoulder before he dived into cover.
The VIP lounge erupted into screams as patrons cowered and glass shattered. Fran exchanged fire with the muton, ducking as a chunk of the wall disappeared above her, raining drywall onto her hood. In the darkness amongst the screams, Fran spotted the hybrid moving to flank her. The hybrid racked her shotgun— fired again, forcing Fran further into cover. The muton rained down suppressing fire.
Fran waited for another crack from the shotgun before exposing herself. Her whiplike tongue lashed out, roping around the hybrid's neck and throwing her off balance. Fran peaked and fired a burst; the hybrid dropped dead.
The muton leapt cover and charged while shooting. Fran returned fire, hitting both shots before her mag pistol clicked dry. She launched herself over cover, taking the muton by surprise. Her thick tail wrapped the muton's head and shoulder—locking his gun arm in place and squeezing the air from his lungs. Despite the bindings of muscle and scales, the muton remained calm—growling as he struggled to shift his gun towards Fran's head as his free arm tried to reach for her torso. Fran ejected the empty magazine, deftly swapped it for a fresh one from her purse and pressed her barrel to the muton's head. With a lone mag-round, the muton stood for a second, then collapsed.
With the last threat dealt with, Fran announced: "XCOM! EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL!"
It did little to simmer fears as patrons cowered under tables and chairs. Fran quickly found Lim under a chair and dragged him to his feet.
"Noir!" Agent Arrow spoke into her earpiece. "Dance floor is clear."
"Copy that," said Fran.
The dancefloor continued to rave. The VIP's sound and bulletproof glass silenced the patrons to the gunfire. Fran moved quickly, dragging Lim by the arm as she took point. Down the stairs, her fellow agents waited for her, standing over the stunned form of a prone muton security guard.
Arrow stood guard with a submachine gun. He looked up at Fran and spoke through his earpiece. "We'll take the back exit, Hasu and Con Ho have already cleared the way."
Fran nodded and dragged Mr Lim through a door marked 'Staff Only'. Arrow covered the rear as Agent Cuchillo took point with a mag pistol. A corridor took the trio to a back alley, sentried by an Agent codenamed Hasu, cloaked in dark segmented armour. An unconscious hybrid lay by his feet. He led the three agents and Lim around a corner, revealing a squad of uniformed, armoured and armed XCOM Agents armed as a Rapid Response Team. With a nod from Fran, the Rapid Response Team stormed The Salvation.
Fran looked up towards the clouded sky and twirled her finger. The Skyranger hovered like a phantom, its alien-inspired VTOL engine barely made a hum. Its boarding ramp opened and a rope dropped with a harness attached. Fran had no patience shoving Lim into it, ignoring his hisses and gasps. With another gesture from Fran, Lim was ripped off his feet skyward. A series of ropes dropped, allowing the other agents to repel upwards.
When the boarding ramp shut, Fran let out a long sigh of relief. It hitched as a hand landed on her shoulder.
"You alright?" asked Agent Arrow. His eyes soft as he looked up at Fran.
Fran huffed and nodded, feeling her heartbeat lower and breathing return to normal.
"Good," said Arrow. "What happened in there?"
"We tried to leave, but they stopped us," Fran's lips pursed. "They knew he was one of ours. They were going to kill him right as we were about to extract him."
"Lucky we got to him first," Arrow smiled, squeezing Fran's shoulder. They shared a smile before Arrow turned to Lim. "So, this is the rat himself? Looks about as pathetic as expected."
They both watched as Lim was shoved into a seat by Cuchillo and Hasu before being clicked into a safety harness.
"Where am I going?" gasped Lim. He went to unbuckle his harness before Agent Cuchillo gripped his shoulder.
"You are staying right there Mr Lim," Cuchillo ordered, she sat beside Lim, trying to get comfortable in the Skyranger's tight chair.
"I do not deserve this rough treatment!" Lim snapped. "I've risked my life over and over for XCOM! I—!"
"You're going to be safe," said Agent Hasu. He removed his helmet, revealing his bald head and large alien eyes. "You're on your way to a secure location, far from ADVENT's reach. We'll be there in the hour."
The four agents made themselves as comfy as they could in the straps of the Skyranger's cabin. It offered little comfort other than heating, and silence except for the hum of the engines.
Noir silently strapped herself in. Questions simmered in her mind as she watched Lim. His eyes were soft, cheeks red. Informant, fugitive, ADVENT collaborator, if she held the decision he would be spending the rest of his life in a jail cell. He had risked his life to help XCOM against the ADVENT Remnant threat. But she knew it wasn't altruistic; it was to slip by justice and into the arms of amnesty. He didn't deserve it.
But that was rich coming from her of all people.
How did they know about him being an informant for XCOM? Fran wondered. Why were they going to execute him then?
Arrow noticed the thought on Fran's face. "Something wrong Noir?"
"Yes," Agent Cuchillo cut in, gesturing to Lim with a smirk. "Sitting with this piece of chrysalid shit."
There was a pregnant pause before Noir repeated her thoughts: "They knew he was working with us…They knew we were coming to rescue him."
"We'll worry about that later," said Arrow, placing a hand on Lim's shoulder, causing him to flinch. He buckled himself in right next to Lim and whispered: "We'll get many answers soon."
The XCOM agents shared triumphant smiles, all except Fran.
"Uh, Agent Noir." The internal intercom buzzed with the voice of the Skyranger's hybrid copilot. "We're having interference in our comms. We can't get through to XGHQ."
Fran perked up; sinews tightened as she responded: "What do you mean?"
"It's like someone's jamming our comms! We—!"
"BRACE—!" The pilot's voice was cut off by a deafening roar.
The bulkhead split open as an engine exploded. The Skyranger banked like a clipped bird—plummeting to Earth in a fiery trail of smoke. Warning lights flashed. Sirens squealed. Fran gripped her harness tight. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for impact. The Skyranger hit the asphalt. Its alien alloy hull ripped up the road and crushed cars beneath. It only came to a stop as it slammed into a shopfront.
Fran forced open her eyes to the faint glow of emergency lights. Her head felt as if it had been kicked around like a football—now floating in a pool of cranial juices. The chemical burn of leaking coolants and elirium assaulted her snout. She released her harness, trying to uphold herself before falling onto her hands. Acid bit the back of her throat, boiling over until she released a torrent of vomit. Taking a moment, she took several deep breaths, letting the blinding flashes of pain clear from her vision. She coiled upright to the destruction before her.
"Everyone sound off!" demanded Fran.
Arrow was the first to answer, heaving a weary growl. Cuchillo did the same, a large gash down her left arm. Hasu was silent. His form crumpled on the bulkhead; neck bent at an acute angle. His large glassy eyes limply open as Arrow futility checked him for life.
"No pulse!"
Cuchillo went into the cockpit, yelling before reemerging with a frown. "Pilots didn't make it."
Noir hissed in anguish. Only to pause at the sight of Jason Lim. The human had already unbuckled himself and showed no signs of pain or concussion. This was despite the jagged cut across his forehead. He huddled in a corner and shouted: "WE NEED TO GET OUT OF—!"
Fran dashed forward, silencing Lim with a hand over his mouth. The Skyranger's cabin had held for the most part save for a large tear. She rose on her tail and peaked out. The streets were cleaner, the buildings pristine and vehicles electric and new. Panicked crowds fled through corridors created by traffic. A cacophony of screams mixed with sirens. They were in centre of City 54.
Fran went for her comms, every channel was greeted by static.
"Someone's jamming our frequencies," Fran drew her pistol and looked to Arrow. "Hold Lim. We need to clear the area."
Fran scanned the streets, through the rain they appeared mostly clear. She could feel something tugging on her. She liked to call it Viper instinct, something that had saved her many times. She led the way out of the Skyranger, moving behind an advertising board while Cuchillo covered her with her submachine gun. Arrow and Lim were close behind—Arrow practically throwing Lim out of the Skyranger before coming out himself. As soon as they were exposed, a fist-sized object sailed through the air—landing on the asphalt with a metallic clatter.
Fran's warning came too late. "GRENADE!"
In a blinding flash, an orchestra of gunfire erupted from the alleyways as figures charged forward. Fran hissed—ducking to cover blind as bullets whistled by her hood.
Arrow quickly recovered, only partially blind as he fired back. Unable to know who it was before a sharp pain shot up his shoulder. Noticing the flanking phantom, he went to return fire before another round slammed into his chest. He collapsed. Lim slipped from his grip to scurry under a car.
Fran recovered, rose and immediately saw the downed Arrow. As she readied her tongue to retrieve him—a mag-round from behind cut through her hood, cracking through her scales and knocking her forward. She fell limp.
Even as darkness tried to take her, Noir fought back. Desperately staying conscious through an encompassing numbness. Yet unable to move.
Cuchillo continued firing with one hand. Eyes wide and teeth bared. By the time she noticed the long shadow over her, it was too late. She raised her gun skyward. A slab of scaly muscles slammed into her. Cuchillo struggled. Even as bones crunched and joints ruptured from sockets. Her cry of pain squeezed to a whimper. Her last vision was one of a pair of red reptilian eyes and a gleaming silver smile. Her life ended with a snap of her spine.
Lim lay perfectly still. His eyes affixed to the looming shadow over Cuchillo, now slithering towards him in silence. The viper was completely covered from tail to hood in a black, armoured body glove. She ripped him out from under the car by the foot, flicking her tongue and tasting his scent, like a predator toying with its food.
"Mr Lim?…Mr Lim?" The metallic, distorted voice of a hybrid called out.
A squad of figures approached from the shadows, a mix of hybrids and aliens wearing civilian clothes while carrying ADVENT weapons and equipment. A hybrid took the lead. His ADVENT officer helmet revealed his jaw, a hideous scar carved his lips into a permanent half-cock smile.
"Commander Drask?" Lim's face went pale at the sight of the ADVENT officer. The black-clad viper threw him to the floor like a rag. His lips curled into a shivering smile through the pain as he scrambled onto his hands and knees. His voice quivered an answer in ADVENT Order-speak. "O-Oh thanks to the E-Elders! Thank you for rescuing me!"
"Rescue? Why would we rescue you Mr Lim?" Commander Drask's lips twisted further into a grin. He looked to the black-clad viper circling Lim and asked: "Tell me VX, was this a rescue mission, or execution?"
The viper responded with a sadistic hungry smile, revealing her fangs to be made entirely of metal. Her forked tongue-lashed Lim's cheek. "Lim's been a very naughty boy sir. He's been talking to XCOM."
Commander Drask continued to beam, kneeling to give Lim several harsh pats on the shoulder. "Do the honours VX."
"WAIT—!" Lim was silenced by a tail for a noose—wrung like a mouse in the grips of a python. His face flashed red. His eyes bulged—red bulbs that threatened to burst from his skull. VX unhinged her jaw and clamped her mouth around his neck. Lim had no chance to shriek with the little breath he had—drowned out as he gurgled on his blood.
Commander Drask ignored the sadism to look down at Arrow. The hybrid sighed: "It's no fun when they barely get a chance to fight back…Check for survivors, and get to the Skyranger's cockpit. Make sure you destroy the black box and its backup. Leave no trace of Lim."
The numbness was leaving Fran. Pain overtook it. Her hood stung. Yellow blood dripped onto the road. Her pistol was within reach. Barely seen through the wilting blur that wrapped itself around her vision. She remained silent.
After checking Cuchillo, VX moved on to Fran. Fran held her breath as she was heaved onto her back, keeping completely still aside from twitching her tail. VX tilted her head. She leaned over Fran, tasting the thick stench of alien blood in the air, diluted with rain. VX chuckled.
"Oh sister," VX whispered, laying her palm on Fran's jaw. "Shame we had to reunite like this…You always were a shit fighter."
A hacking cough caught her attention. Slivering over Fran, XV joined her squad as they gathered by Arrow.
The XCOM agent grit his teeth, struggling to breathe through punctured lungs. He reached for his pistol; an ADVENT boot stomped his hand. He looked up, facing their stares with a spit. "Y-You w-won't get away with this."
Drask gave VX a nod. The black-clad viper raised her mag pistol, and with a crack, Arrow was dead.
Police sirens cut the air. Drask barked in Order-speak: "Grab Lim!"
With the order, the ADVENT squad spaced out and slipped into the shadows.
Fran heaved herself off the ground, trying to hold back the flow of blood from her hood. She struggled to stay upright, her body a wet noodle underneath her. The bodies of Arrow and Cuchillo before her—the suffocating stench of plasma and burnt flesh. She hissed, raising her pistol after the attackers, only for it to slip from her grasp. Her vision filtered, then faded.
Then consciousness slipped away.
AN:
Thank you for reading, this is the first piece I've published in a while so thanks for taking a look.
Always looking for feedback, so feel free to leave a review.
Thanks again, see you next time.