AN: Hey everyone, hope you're doing well and thanks for reading this far.
Just a note for those who read the previous chapter, Liberation Day has been moved to the 21st of November. I fucked up on the timeline front.
Apart from that, read on.
"I remember this captured muton we were sent to collect. We heard nothing but trouble; rude, aggressive, arrogant. So, I walk into his cell, he stands at attention and salutes the best he can with binds on. He told us everything he knew, did whatever I told him, barely needed an escort. When he's in the Skyranger I ask him why he's acting like this compared to the resistance guys who captured him. He tells me like it's obvious: 'because you're XCOM.'"-Lieutenant Jaad Danang, XCOM, 2036.
1548 Hours GMT, 15, 2040 (6 days until Liberation Day)
40,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean
Unmanned XCOM Transport
The flight to the Capital was one locked in a constant conversation between William and Bradford. Bradford tried his best to fill in the gaps in William's years gone: the City 01 Trials, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the World Council election; the rise of the ADVENT Remnants, and the subsequent creation of the Vindicators of Earth, on top of other militant groups.
Will moved onto a printed website article titled: 'History of the post Elder ADVENT, the ADVENT holdouts and rise of Neo-ADVENT.' Will skipped the parts he witnessed, moving straight to the ADVENT Remnants. He couldn't help but feel his heart rate quicken.
"Why the hell is ADVENT still a thing?" asked William. "How many need to be reminded of the AVATAR Project? The Elders tried to turn us into glue."
"I know," groaned Bradford. "But you got to remember, for many young people who lived in the city centres, ADVENT was all they knew. For the aliens, the Elders were everything. The aliens only had the elders to unite them, no culture, no families, nothing. Rebuilding has been slow, and many aren't happy we cut off the hand that fed them, and they think our hand isn't good enough. Doesn't help we had to effectively teach many of them what democracy is."
"So why is ADVENT still a threat?" asked Will.
"We extracted Lim in a newly built MK4 Skyranger, never been shot down before with a MANPAD. But they did with a weapon we've never seen…Over the last year we've seen a shift in ADVENT's behavior. They've gone from rabble groups into a much more coordinated force led by a sectoid called Amodee Zeil, aka the Prophet. Some of their space fleet also escaped off world, we're still looking for it."
"And now they're in XCOM?"
"Perhaps. With our expansion of operations, we've had a lot of new hires. We vet them as much as we can, but many have histories we can't fully verify. Some are bound to slip through our fingers. We make sure to test for any pro-ADVENT sympathies but it's not bullet proof." Bradford took a folder and flicked out a picture of Jason Lim. "And this guy was important to ADVENT's operations in the western hemisphere, and one of our inside men."
"So, who was Lim working as?" asked Will.
"He was an ADVENT civil servant involved with the AVATAR Project's logistics. After the Elders died, he faked his death and went underground. We found him and turned him double, offering him amnesty in exchange for intel. He and his crew were arms smugglers working out of Cuba with ADVENT leanings. But perhaps he was doing something more we don't know." Bradford added: "Shen's trying to recover what was on his hard drives as we speak but it's not looking good. A bomb went off in his office after his extraction."
Will kept reading. Weapons sold and weapons bought. Models, makes, codes and transportations. Then he got a list of various associates, each one marked with dates, times and linked documents. "And who are these guys?"
"Gangsters, cartels, pirates and the like. There's a huge market for illegal weapons right now. Jason had connections with all of them. Sold to the right people for the right price."
"Or the wrong people? What if whoever wanted him dead felt like he had overstepped some boundaries? Or someone wanted revenge? We sure it's ADVENT?"
"Only ADVENT's bold enough for this. The smaller groups won't mess with XCOM. They know if they hit one of our guys, we will come down on them like a tonne of bricks. ADVENT doesn't care."
"What about this Cleansing Fire? What's that?"
"We don't know," Bradford shrugged. "Never been heard of before, can't be anything good. Lim mentioned it to Noir; said it was important, and must be if ADVENT risked so much to keep him quiet. Whatever Lim knew, the thought of him squealing made ADVENT panic. You're going to find out why."
"With the viper?" William furrowed his brow.
"Yes, with the viper," Bradford nodded.
Will returned to silent reading. Moving on from the various factions and politics, he moved onto social structures of a post-ADVENT world. This got him to the new alien population of Earth. The end result of internment camps and integration programs, reformed into working members of a peaceful, democratic, and free society. At the same time, different security and military organisation were created: the Solar Defence Force, Reclamation Agency, Global Police. All integrated aliens and hybrids into their ranks.
Who could be trusted?
The sudden stench of burning stung Will's nose. He thought back to the Avenger flying from one situation to another, desperately trying to keep the peace as XCOM was fighting both ADVENT holdouts, and new tyrannical regimes. Mass rioting, lingering famine, supply chains destroyed, pogroms, looting, and looming genocides. Rules of engagement stretched. Restrictions gone. Chain of command was myth. Law and order rested on a knife's edge, and at the end of a plasma rifle.
2036 and 2037 were wild years after the Liberation War. Commonly known as the Anarchy.
Which eventually led Will to the new XCOM, an impartial gendarme force for global security and peace. Working alongside a newly formed security, military and policing community.
"John, why am I working with an X-ray?" asked Will.
"Senior Agent Noir was the only survivor of the attack. We know she's loyal."
"Who was she before?"
"Will it matter what I say?" Bradford asked, rhetorically. "If you have a problem take it up with the Commander. But I think they have more important things to do than listen to your whining."
XXX
1923 Hours EST, November 15, 2040 (6 days until Liberation Day)
Global Capital Territory
To William all the ADVENT City Centres looked identical. Same straight roads, monochromatic brutalist architecture, building placements, signage and fashion. It was a conscious decision; ADVENT used a doctrine of voluntary cultural destruction. For a person to be accepted into the luxury of a City Centre they had to erase their identity. National flags burned and stomped on. Holy books set alight. Muslims drinking alcohol and Hindus eating beef. Lengthy psychological tests and oaths. Families ripped apart, and left behind. For many who needed the coveted miracles of the gene therapy clinics, it wasn't a hard decision.
Once accepted as an ADVENT citizen, they would be shipped far away from their place of origin, often to a City Centre a continent away. The final result was a blank slate of a human, baptised anew by the Elder's generosity and severed from their past life.
But that was no longer.
Even at night, Will saw the neon signs advertising more than just ADVENT luxuries. Billboards projected onto skyscrapers, holograms projected junk food and sports game results. People no longer held those empty smiles, no orderly lines of pedestrians, no perfectly pristine panels and litter-free streets. There were bullet holes yet to be patched and craters yet to be filled in.
With few eyes on them, William and Bradford quickly moved out of the landing platform and into a car under the cover of night. On the way to the safehouse, they shared a quick drive-through dinner. Burger Palace, it didn't take long for Will to realise they were rebranded ADVENT Burger. Even when Bradford debunked the myths of where the synth meat came from, Will still opted for loaded fries and an ice-cream. Will was more surprised by the hybrid at the drive thru window wearing a polyester apron and synthetic smile.
They stopped along a street of terrace houses. With his bags in hand, William followed Bradford as the Central Officer flicked on the lights to the safehouse
"Bloody hell John," Will gasped in mock joy as he admired the complete lack furniture and flaking drywall. "Do I get a free buffet breakfast and some complimentary cologne with this five-star resort?"
"Sorry it isn't the red carpet you're indebted to." Bradford sarcastically fired back. "But we need to keep this on the down-low, and you far from attention."
"Yeah, no one's going to want to break into this shite-hole." William threw his bags on the floor, and stuffed his yellow pudding in the fridge. "Couldn't even get me the penthouse suite? You come to me about an attack on Liberation Day and you want me to stay in the second best? Does it come with an ensuite butler too?"
"Yeah, butler, jacuzzi, automatic wall-mounted hands to scratch your ass and pick your nose before you even itch. In fact, I'll give you a free massage if you want. Comes with complementary knuckle sandwiches," Bradford smirked. "There's some presents for you in the bathroom."
"This place has a bathroom?" gasped William sarcastically. "What luxury! Thought I'd be shitting in a hole out back."
"Been away from civilisation so long you forgot what a toilet is? Go have a shower. I'm going to have to explain why the car smells like sheep shit." Bradford chucked Will the house keys and reached into his pocket, handing him a smartphone. "Also, a present from Shen. The Commander's going to call you at some point in the next hour. Try to look less like homeless before that. Bed's upstairs, get some rest for tomorrow."
Will looked down at the device. This brand he was unfamiliar with. "How will I know it's you at the door."
"You'll know, see you tomorrow."
As soon as Bradford left, Will was quick to look around the house. Same cookie-cutter ADVENT architecture mostly untouched by the war—being a terrace house it would've been reserved for those who were more important to live in the high-rise block, but not enough to receive a mansion.
Will found his presents in the bathroom: a prepaid debit card, additional prescription glasses, an electric razor and toiletries. He shaved his bushy beard to a neatened length, then tried to take a shower, only to be confronted with a puzzling touchscreen. After fiddling for longer than he would admit, he finally let ice-cold water assault his bare skin, turned to warmth. He barely recognised the thing in the mirror who stepped out of the shower: a six-foot four leather-skinned orangutang creature, nearly as hairy and with a thistle tattooed to its left bicep.
Will answered the phone when it rang. The talk with the Commander was succinct. It still unnerved him that the Commander practically hadn't changed since 2015, having barely aged at all in their twenty-year stasis. Mission details discussed, questions asked, and eventually the call ended.
He opened his rusty shortbread tin, admiring several photos alongside some mementoes: challenge coins, a book of Robert Burns poems, and good luck charms from all over the world. He tucked it under the bed and lay down. He lay awake for a while. His stomach shifted…but that could've just been the loaded fries.
His hand rested on the rusty hamsa around his neck.
Eventually, sleep came to him.
The Commander's voice echoed in his mind.
"Callsign: 'Wallace' unofficially reinstated, welcome back Colonel."
XXX
0713 Hours EST, November 16, 2040 (5 days until Liberation Day)
Global Capital Territory
605/31 Meier Street
Francesca was told by the doctors that if the mag-round hit just two inch left, she would be dead. They said it was a miracle it only passed through her hood. What followed was a thunderstorm of migraines and a barrage of questions. By the end of it, one thought lingered on her mind.
She wondered what miracle they were talking about.
She was discharged from the hospital days later. Enzymes and nano-robotic science having done its work to accelerate her alien physiology's natural healing to the point where she could operate normally. At least, that was what she told the doctors.
Despite the heavy dosage of painkillers, that she taunted with spirits and Elerium Burst, sleep didn't come easily. The days passed in a fog of alcohol, take away, cigarettes, pain killers, and energy drinks while locked away in her apartment. Her mind lurched between simmers and lulls. If she got sleep, she couldn't feel it, nor remember it. Only opening her eyes hours apart in the rays of her sunbed, grease on her lips, a boiling stomach, and a bad taste on her tongue.
One morning she awoke to the wail of her phone. She was surprised when Central was on the other end, requesting her back into service. The details were slim, she knew it was a follow-up on the murder of Jason Lim, but she would be working with someone new, someone unheard of. She was ordered to be ready by the 16th of November.
She couldn't wait.
The day arrived fast. After a quick breakfast, shower and preen of her charcoal scales, she stood in the street, enduring the chill with coffee on her breath, travel case in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Questions came and went. She knew she was being kept in the dark. She had expected to be offered a couple weeks of paid leave, some free counselling sessions, perhaps a citation for bravery. So why was she being called out so soon?
Other thoughts rested on her mind: Agent Arrow, real name: Logan Conway. Agent Cucillo, real name: Carla Sastre. Agent Hasu, human name: Rai Benkei.
Francesca firmed her lips, her tail unconsciously tightened and hood flared. Logan, Carla, and Rai had survived ADVENT, the Chosen, and the Anarchy. Three years earlier they would've been shooting at each other. Her heart ached. She wondered if her fellow agents had families who would miss them. Someone that would be handed a folded XCOM flag, and watch as their coffin was lowered to into the Earth they died to defend.
No one would be waiting for her.
Fran thought back to Commander Drask, but her questions quickly turned on the metal-fanged viper at his side. She couldn't remember too much, just the minions in a shadow war. Two cowards too scared to face justice waiting for them in a new world that had left them behind. The rotting corpse of ADVENT would pay for it all. Pay for enslaving her kind, and all of Earth.
Pay for killing her agents.
Pay for not finishing the job.
The thought twisted a grin to her lips.
Fran went to take another drag of her cigarette, only to realise she'd broken it between her fingers. She sighed, dropped it to the floor and stubbed it under her tail. She noticed a slight jitter, she outstretched her hand, letting it shake like a leaf in the wind. Suddenly, her vision went blurry as burning rods of pain seared her mind.
"Merde!" she hissed; eyes tightly shut. She popped a pain killer, the pain slowly faded as her hands steadied. She reached into her coat took a drink from a bottle of Elerium Burst. She finished the bottle as she caught the movement of a car. Bradford was in the driver's seat. Fran cocked her head, the right-hand of the Commander arrived personally to pick her up, but didn't question it as she threw in her bag and entered the back seat, coiling herself in the seat well.
"Sorry for having to call you in this early, but you're one of the few agents we can trust at this time." Said Bradford, barely giving Fran a look.
"I'm honoured sir," smiled Fran. Her gaze soon drifted out the window to the passing streets. The aliens that once wore armour and wielded plasma rifles, now wore jeans and high-vis, wielding backpacks and briefcases as they marched off to work. For that morning, she wore her favourite peacoat, a woollen relic from the old world. Underneath it was several insulating layers, including a skirt for her tail.
"How's the head?" asked Bradford.
Fran touched the bullet hole in her hood, another scar hidden with polish. "it's fine, sir."
"Good," said Bradford. "Have you had breakfast?"
"Oui, sir," said Fran, if a strong coffee with plenty of sugar and cream, Elerium Burst, Chinese leftovers, and two cigarettes counted as breakfast.
"Good," repeated Bradford.
Through the tobacco on her breath, Fran tasted the air of the car, and could sense the cortisol and adrenalin pouring from Bradford. His knuckles white on the steering wheel. He avoided eye contact with her. The stench rose as she stared at him, but he kept his breathing steady.
"Just so you know," said Bradford. "Your new partner, he's an XCOM veteran. An original XCOM veteran like me, fought for XCOM since 2015 and left in 2037."
"One of the old guard, sir?" Fran's gaze perked up.
"Affirmative. He's also been away from civilisation for a while. We're only bringing him back because he's one of the few agents we can trust…Just be patient with him. He's not used to working with aliens."
"I understand, sir."
They parked by the safe house, Bradford opened the boot and lifted out a case. Fran let Bradford lead the way to the front door. He knocked twice, and waited.
"Slide to the left!" a Scottish accent called out. "Slide to the right!"
"Criss-cross! Criss-cross!" Bradford responded without hesitation and a smile, earning a cocked head from Fran.
A few clicks later and the door opened to reveal William. "Cha-cha real—." His voice disappeared at the sight of the charcoal viper over Bradford's shoulder.
Bradford gestured to Fran, "William this is Francesca, aka Senior Agent Noir." He then gestured to William. "Francesca, this is William Mackenzie, former Colonel for XCOM and current callsign: Agent A."
Even if her mind was swimming in morning dew and drugged delirium, Fran couldn't help but smile and hold out her hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."
William remained silent. The sight of the alien straightened him to his full height, shoulders tensed and hand tight on the door knob. He questioned why the viper sounded French.
"Morning," William mirthlessly responded and took her smooth, cold hand, giving it a hard squeeze. He let them in, watching as Fran's tail slithered inches from his boots.
Fran coiled herself in the living room. She noted Will's grip on the door only tightened as she looked at him.
Their staring competition ended by another knock at the door. Will checked the peep-hole before opening it to Lily Shen and Dr Richard Tygan.
"Lily," Will cheered giving the young woman a tight hug.
"Uncle Billy!" Lily reciprocating the hug before looking over William with raised eyebrows. "You look—!"
"Old? Terrible?" Will chuckled.
"No!" cried Lily letting go. "It's…It's just been a while."
"I know lass, lovely to see you." Will ruffled her raven hair, letting her pass and outstretched his hand to: "Doctor."
"Good to see you in good health, Colonel," Tygan accepted the hand.
To Will, Tygan hadn't changed much, except for gaining extra pounds; no doubt a result of an unlimited access to rebranded ADVENT burgers. Lily was just the same as he left her.
The four humans and viper convened in the living room. Tygan and Shen set up their respective cases with Bradford while Will and Fran stood apart. Fran continued to steal glances at the middle-aged human, who in turn shot glances back at her. He looked much like the other XCOM old guard, men and women worn down, holding a gaze burdened by fatigue of war. She lowered herself, slacked her hood, softened her gaze, anything to make herself look less threatening. A fog of adrenaline continued to pour from him. She turned back to Bradford.
Bradford faced Will and Fran. "I've caught William up on the situation with Jason Lim, we have a lead. Lily, take the floor."
"We unscrambled more of the CCTV footage which has revealed the attackers in question." Lily Shen opened her laptop, revealing blurred footage of a muton and two humanoids in work-wear running through an alley, each holding duffle bags. "Through this footage, recovery of the missiles remains and the use of AI to analyse flight speed and trajectory, we have reconstructed the missile with at least 90% accuracy. According to my estimates it was custom-made MANPAD firing a heat-seeking missile."
"In addition," Dr Tygan cut in. "We recovered an intact serial number for the missile's targeting system, which originates from a decommissioned ADVENT munitions factory in City 26, currently called New Hamburg. The city housed the ADVENT-owned corporation called Defence Dynamics."
Fran cocked her head, "any suspects?"
"Yes," Bradford picked up a datapad and unlocked it. "Reclamation Agency recovered Defence Dynamics' old employee list, ran it with other forbidden tech found in the area and we got a lead on a woman called Vasilka Yankova"
Bradford presented the datapad. Will and Fran stepped forth to grab it at the same time, a brief stand-off ensued. Fran backed away, allowing Will to take the datapad.
"Bosnian aerospace engineer," added Bradford. "She currently works at Gezen Industries, an aerospace corporation. She contributed a great deal to ADVENT's atmospheric warfare capabilities."
"If she's so talented, why didn't we recruit her?" asked Fran.
"Vasilka's husband and son died in the battle of New Hamburg, accidently killed by resistance forces. She was hesitant to renounce ADVENT sympathies." Bradford picked up another datapad. "Her bank history shows some unusual activity, periodic deposits for doing private consultant work for companies which we have determined, do not exist beyond record. Last one was just over a month ago."
"So, we're going to shake her down for answers?" asked Will.
"Exactly," said Bradford. "Which brings us to your equipment."
Lily stepped forward with a briefcase, opening it to reveal two compact mag pistols, holsters and magazines. "Alien alloy frame, twelve rounds magazines, semi-automatic and burst-fire mode. Powerful, and accurate at up to 20 yards."
"Not plasma?" asked Will.
"We need people alive," said Bradford.
William picked up the sleek pistol, feeling the weight in his hand, he checked the slide. It was a much more compact than the jury-rigged contraptions of XCOM's early designs, but familiar enough to him. He looked over to Francesca who in a matter of seconds picked up her weapon, racked the slide a few times, then removed the slide to inspect the internals and barrel.
Fran looked over at Will, her voice gentle as she could make it as she asked: "You need any assistance, sir?"
"I know how to use a mag pistol," said William, unsure if he heard condescendence in her voice. He adjusted his pants, fitting the holstered weapon in his waistband.
Fran silently reassembled the weapon, removed her jacket to strap the holster to her shoulder, and concealed the pistol under her peacoat.
"The latest in nano-scale vest technology," Shen presented a pair of armoured vests, slim enough to hide under clothes. "It will stop most low-calibre gun and low-power mag-weapons. It'll even provide some protection against blades and explosives."
Once Shen finished, Tygan stepped forward, opening a briefcase and gesturing to a pair of earpieces. "Aside from your phone you'll each be given an earpiece, which doubles as a VHF radio."
Will took his time inspecting the device. "Some James Bond type gadgets now, aye?"
"Your phone also links up to a small magnetised tracking device." Tygan placed a pair of button-shaped devices on the coffee table along with a key and fob. "I left a car in the street, a modified Vision Domane. Noir, you're familiar with the model, correct?"
Fran nodded, failing to hide her growing excitement as she pocketed the car key. "Is my usual selection in the trunk?"
"It is," responded Tygan.
"Super," Fran grinned.
Tygan nodded in turn. "The car has the coordinates to a Skyhawk, just outside the city limits. It will take you to wherever you need."
"A Skyhawk?" asked William.
"A new vehicle, similar to a Skyranger," said Shen. "AI autopilot, stealth technology and hypersonic flight capabilities. It will be able to take you around the world with ease."
"There's an address in the datapad I've handed you," said Bradford.
"Anything new on Cleansing Fire, sir?" asked Fran.
"I'm afraid not," said Bradford. He walked to the centre of the room, looking around as he raised his voice. "Just want to reiterate to everyone, if ADVENT are in our ranks, no one can be trusted. No one outside this room except the Commander knows the full scope of this operation. No one needs to know. If you need anything, you contact me or the Commander directly. Do we all understand?"
All in the room agreed.
"Good," Bradford turned to Will and Fran. "Good luck out there you two."
Bradford, Shen and Tygan packed up and went to leave. William kept a wide berth from Fran as he met his old comrades at the door, giving Shen a hug, shaking Tygan's hand, and patting Bradford on the back.
"She's one of good ones, you'll be fine," whispered Bradford.
Will looked past Bradford to the viper. He whispered back: "I don't feel fine John."
"You're telling me you can take down an entire ADVENT patrol but you can't share a car with an overgrown snake?" whispered Bradford, giving Will one last quick hug before leaving. "This'll all be over soon Bill, now good luck."
The door shut behind them. Will could hear his own breathing, see his hand shaking. He balled his hand into a fist, and held it close to his legs as he turned to face Fran.
Fran cocked her head at Will, noting the tension. "You alright Colonel?"
"Aye, nothing wrong," Will lied, he cleared his throat and gestured towards the stairs. "I'm going to go get some things. I'll be ready in a bit."
He dashed off before he could hear Fran's reply.
Will packed a spare change of clothes into his rucksack and a few other bits. Before he left, he gave himself another once over in the mirror. He looked down at his balled fist, and forced himself to let the fingers slacken, then cradled the rusted hamsa around his neck.
Oh, Dalila dear, he thought, what have I gotten into?
As he held the charm, he looked back into the mirror. Bradford's right, he told himself, I've survived going toe-to-toe with aliens, I've worked with the Skirmishers, surely, I can work with a viper? Surely? William clutched the hamsa tighter. He firmed his lips, and stuffed the hamsa under his shirt.
"Surely."
Downstairs, Fran took a moment to taste the scent of the house. The musky stench of stale air swirled with Bradford's coffee-breath, Shen's oily clothes, Tygan's cologne, and a masculine scent she was getting familiar with. She perked up as William came back down the stairs and walked right past her.
"Ready, sir?" asked Fran.
"Aye," said William as he exited the house.
The Vision Domane was a white EV sedan, matching the uniformity of ADVENT-era vehicles. It was older, or at least, looked well used with a few minor scratches and dents. Fran demonstrated one such feature as she flicked a button on the centre console, causing the driver's seat to open up a hole for her tail and several buttons and levers to emerge from the console, much like a car for paraplegics.
Fran threaded her tail through the hole, resting it on the backseats. She noted William frozen in surprise. "You getting in, sir?"
William perked up, mumbled an affirmative and sat in the passenger seat. His eyes continued to scan the car, its novelty fell away as he focused on Fran, and how she had to layer herself to fit. And how they were almost touching.
With the press of a button, the car's electric engine hummed to life. Fran set it into reverse, and twisted herself 180 degrees to look out the rearview window. There was barely a noise to be had between them. She occasionally looked over at the human averting his gaze out the window. She eventually asked: "You're unnerved by my presence, sir?"
"No, I…" blustered Will, only to pause and add: "I've seen what your kind can do."
Fran nodded and smiled. "And I've heard a little about what you've done, sir."
"Then you know what I'm capable of," said Will sharply. "Also, you don't have to call me sir, just Will or William will do."
"Will do…Fran's smile disappeared. "I can assure you; I hate ADVENT and the Elders…We can agree on that? Right?"
Will paused, then nodded. "Aye, we can agree on that."
The silence relapsed. Fran followed the coordinates leading to the Skyhawk just outside the Capital.
As they drove along, Fran eventually turned to Will and said: "Thank you."
Will turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"Liberating Earth, my kind, and all aliens from the oppression of the Elders."
William's eyes met Francesa's. It was only then he did notice a certain softness about them, not those sharp daggers of a viper on the attack, not the glowering gaze behind a charged plasma rifle. It was not something he was used. Two orbs of gold, which returned to the road.
Will released a sigh: "Yep."
XXX
November 16, 2040
Mid Solar System
Generosity of the Elders
A statue of an Elder shadowed the war room, coveted with candles and tributes at its feet. Its masked metal glare gazed over the holographic displays and monitors surrounding the table that chaired the ADVENT Remnant's War Council. Aliens, hybrids, and humans scrolled datapads displaying positions, news feeds, and signals as they whispered jargon.
Many seats were empty.
General Follev looked up from his terminal, a hybrid with the temple of his bald head shining like melted plastic from burn scars. His modulated voice announced in Order-speak: "We have confirmation that Captain Gurnek has been detained by XCOM along with all of his cell arrested or killed. XCOM likely had a double in their ranks."
From the opposite end of the table, a viper hissed. Inspector Laugre's crimson scales simmered as she coiled to her full heigh and responded: "Only one more cell, even if Gurnek breaks, he won't compromise much."
"It's been the sixth cell lost this month." The tepid human-like skin on General Follev's forehead tightened. "Did you expect this or is it someone else to blame again?"
"It's short-term setback, a boon even," snapped Inspector Laugre. "With Jason Lim's death and execution of other confirmed moles, many of XCOM's remaining moles have panicked. Means we have less moles to worry about overall. Except we don't know what Jason Lim said before he died…I take it we all learnt that Commander Drask failed to remove all witnesses?"
"One XCOM agent survived? So what?" A muton's voice boomed. Fleet Master Belrax leaned forward; his humungous alien body peppered in badly healed scars. "It means nothing Inspector, have faith in the Prophet's plan."
"Faith can only get us so far!" spat Laugre. "Even with Jason Lim dead, we don't know what XCOM's recovered. And with this surviving agent, Lim might have already compromised everything."
"You have both lost focus on the issue at hand!" Gereal Follev slammed his palm on the table. "Liberation Day is only five days away, we still don't know what the plan is, and now XCOM may be onto it! The Prophet keeps avoiding the question, 'what is the plan?' We can't counter an enemy counter to our plan, if we don't even know our own plan!"
"Your involvement in the plan is YOUR concern alone!" A voice cut the air. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the door. A female sectoid decorated in an ornate robe strode past tensed shoulders and lowered heads to her seat before the Elder statue. The sclera of her pitch-black eyes simmered with a purple glow, shimmering on her pink skin.
"My Prophet," said Inspector Laugre. The viper's voice barely above a whisper. "The XCOM operative thatsurvived—."
"I've already heard," the Prophet's eyes glowed brighter as her voice sharpened. "Contact Commander Drask!"
Inspector Laugre flicked several buttons. Beneath the room, priests, sectoids and a gatekeeper pooled their psionic power, opening up a psionic transmission to Earth.
"Channel is stabilising," Inspector Laugre looked up from the readings. "We will have only three minutes of communication before XCOM intercepts the transmission, my Prophet."
"That is enough time, Inspector," said the Prophet.
The war room's crystalline projector flickered to life as the psionic link was established, illuminating the visage of a hybrid. Commander Drask's scarred jaw twisted into a smile as he thumped his hand on his heart and bowed his head in salute. "My Prophet, you wished to speak to me?"
"Commander, you confirmed you executed all witnesses in the assassination of Jason Lim?" Asked General Follev, returning the salute.
Commander Drask nodded. "We were very thorough, sir—."
"You weren't thorough enough! One XCOM operative survived!" Fleet Master Belrax slammed his meaty fist on the table. "On top of this, you used one of the new SAMS to take down an XCOM craft, compromising that too!"
"We were delayed by bad weather, sir," Commander Drask's smile flickered to a scowl. "Lim was already in the air; we had no choice. Would you have preferred we let XCOM take him in?"
"You were ordered not to use the SAMS until specified!" Belrax retorted.
"Two minutes remain!" cut in Inspector Laugre.
"You all said with great confidence that if Lim was a mole, his bodyguards would kill him!" Drask looked around the table, glaring at all members of the War Council. He avoided the gaze of the Prophet herself. "I did what was needed to silence Lim. It's easy for you all to judge my actions when my brothers and sisters are risking their lives on Earth while you all hide off world."
"SILENCE!" The Prophet roared; her black eyes crackled with purple incandescence as her bald head glowed. The War Council gasped as psychic shockwaves struck their minds. The Prophet waited for the groans to stop before speaking. "We are bickering, when we should focus on the upcoming…" the Prophet hesitated to spit: "Liberation Day celebrations."
"And Drask here has possibly compromised our efforts," snapped Inspector Laugre, flaring her hood wider. "What if XCOM investigate where the missiles came from? Or who Jason Lim was in contact with?"
"There will be no more connections to Jason Lim," the Prophet took a datapad and scrolled, finding the dossier for Vasilka Yankova. "Commander, I am sending you an order to silence a particular individual."
"Assassination or kidnapping?" asked Drask.
"Assassination," said the Prophet.
"I'll put my top assassin on it right away," Drask's smile returned. "Anything else, my Prophet?"
"No, commander," said the Prophet. "You're dismissed."
"Very well," Drask clicked his heals, pounded his chest and barked: "Long live the Elders!"
"LONG LIVE THE ELDERS!" the War Council repeated. The crystalline projector switched off as the psionic connection was lost, leaving the council to whisper to one another.
"My Prophet, what about the Liberation Day celebrations?" asked General Follev. "With this much activity, XCOM can't not know we're planning something?"
The Prophet's eyes simmered back to their original inky black. She stood up and roused her voice. "The plan is still going ahead; you all have your parts to play. Only I can know the full breadth of the plan in case XCOM gained sway over you. We have sacrificed much in the war against XCOM and the apostates, but it's all in the service of the Elders and their vision. A vision of human and alien, united in harmony, prosperity, security, and peace. A world free from violence, poverty, crime, and conflict. Let it me elucidate, that on that day, when the apostates of Earth celebrate their supposed freedom, we will turn it into a day of regret! Regret that they threw off the protective yoke of their masters! Regret their abuse of their saviour's gifts! Regret they returned their world to pre-ADVENT barbarity! LONG LIVE THE ELDERS!"
"LONG LIVE THE ELDERS!" The council roared in response, thumping their fists against their chests in unison. "LONG LIVE ADVENT!"
A smile snaked onto the Prophet's thin lips, only to disappear as a choir of rumbling voices wormed their way into her conscious: We need to speak! The prophet turned, meeting the gaze of the Elders' statue.
"The Elders speak. Leave us!" The Prophet ordered. The War Council did as instructed, sharing knowing looks as they exited. Once the doors closed, the Prophet bowed her head toward the statue. "My lords?"
Jason Lim is dead, but his words may live on! said the voices with a disappointed, what are you going to do about it?
"We are tying up loose ends as we speak," the Prophet whispered, her head held low. "An error we are—."
AN ERROR YOU HAVE MADE! The voices roared, searing through her mind like burning tendrils. An error that may cost us dearly! An error we cannot afford! You made an error! DID WE MAKE AN ERROR IN CHOOSING YOU TO CARRY OUT OUR WILL AS OUR PROPHET!
"No, my lords!" whimpered the Prophet, throwing herself before the feet of the statue as she cried: "Please forgive me my lords! We will undo this error! Forgive me!"
The pain ended. The voices murmured: We cannot afford more errors. Liberation Day plans must go ahead smoothly. The people of Earth need to pay for their sins, and realise their hunger for freedom will be their doom. XCOM cannot protect them. They must pay for denying our gifts.
"They will my lords," the Prophet grit her teeth, wiping the tears from her bony cheeks. "They will pay!"
Very good, the voices reassured, sending a soothing warmth through the Prophet, as if embracing her in a hug. There is much work to be done.
"Yes, my lords, there is much work." The Prophet crawled forward and placed her hand on the robe. An invisible hand shared the gesture, as if she could feel the rubbery hand of an Elder holding it, while another placed a hand on her back. She rose to her feet, closed her eyes and kissed the statue as best as she could as a sectoid. She rested her bulbous forehead against the statue's mask. "So much work to be done."
AN: Hey, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed.
If you have any comments or critique, feel free to chuck it my way. Can't wait to read it.
Apart from that, have a nice day.