The Tier system is an unofficial metric used by surviving XCOM members to distinguish the experience level and combat efficiency of Long War Veterans after they reached the maximum formal rank of Master Sergeant (4,200 XP).

It has no relation to real-world “Tier” designations such as Delta Force or SEAL Team 6. Instead, it reflects the extraordinary endurance, accumulated combat knowledge, and post-human capability of operatives who survived through multiple years of the alien conflict.
• Tier 5 begins at 4,200 XP: the threshold of a Master Sergeant.
• From 4,400 up to 4,800 XP remains within Tier 4, while Tier 3 covers experience up to roughly 6,000 XP.
• Tier 2 spans the range up to about 9,999 XP, already far beyond any standard combat veteran.
• At 10,000 XP, the operative is considered Tier 1, marking entry into the highest echelon of combat proficiency.
• Within Tier 1 there are still differences: operators like Solid, Genda, Kumiko, Hawkins, and Twitch have approximately 13–15,000 XP, while others such as Ouellet, Goncharova, and Nakano remain closer to the base threshold.
• A few rare individuals exceeded 20,000 XP, forming the Tier 1+ category; legends like Zhang, Commando, and Zero. Deadbolt came close, with about 17,000 XP.

The critical difference between these operatives and any conventional human unit lies in Gene Modification. Enhancements such as Hypereactive Pupils, Adrenal Neurosympathy, Muscle Fiber Density, Adaptive Bone Marrow, and Iron Skin pushed their physiology far beyond human limits.
They possessed superhuman reflexes, precision, endurance, and regenerative capability, enabling them to survive dozens of critical missions and return to the field again and again.
Normal elite soldiers, no matter how skilled, would eventually succumb to accumulated wounds or fatigue. XCOM Veterans, due to Gene Mods and years of continuous combat, became something else entirely; soldiers existing at the threshold between human and post-human capability.

In short:
• Tier 5 represents the entry point to true XCOM Veteran status.
• Tier 1 and especially Tier 1+ represent a level of combat effectiveness, instinct, and resilience no unmodified human could ever reach.
This system exists not as formal rank, but as a means among the survivors to acknowledge what they endured; and what they became.

Note: XCOM’s Gene Mod technology, a masterpiece of scientific brilliance conceived by Dr. Moira Vahlen, remains one of humanity’s greatest lost achievements. Even after nearly two decades, no laboratory, human or ADVENT, has been able to replicate her work, not even with access to Meld, the alien bioresource that made such augmentation possible. Vahlen’s synthesis of human DNA with controlled alien templates was an art as much as it was science, a fusion of intuition, experimentation few can repeat. The result was a generation of operatives whose reflexes, perception, and endurance bordered on the supernatural. With the knowledge gone and the process irreproducible, the Old War Veterans stand as living relics of a vanished era; soldiers who still hold the edge, not because of technology, but because no one since has ever been built like them.

Unlike combat Tier, which can be measured in experience and missions, Psi Level has always been more elusive ; a reflection of how deeply an operative’s mind has tapped into psionic potential. It cannot be trained in any conventional sense. It manifests through willpower, emotional resilience, and exposure to the alien psionic field over extended campaigns.

Most operatives who awaken psionic capability can perform basic, battlefield-effective abilities such as Kinetic Push, Insanity, and Fuse. These are considered the standard operational level, allowing a psi soldier to influence matter or minds within limited range and duration.
Above this level are the Masters, veterans capable of complex mental invasion; Mind Control and Mind Probe, allowing them to override another being’s consciousness, even if only temporarily. Not every psi operative ever reaches this stage, but among the survivors of the Long War, there were enough to make such power a recognized and feared reality.

At the apex stands the near-mythic Legend rank; a term used sparingly, even among XCOM’s most seasoned operatives. It is not an official designation, but a hard-earned mark of transcendence. In the actual entire Long War Impossible campaign playthrough, only three individuals ever achieved it by performing what was thought impossible: the Mind Control of an Ethereal, the most powerful known psionic entity. Those three were Zhang, Commando, and Annette Durand.

For narrative and historical purposes, this distinction was carried forward into the novel’s continuity. Among the three, Durand is portrayed as slightly more formidable in pure psionic strength; her dominance of the mind exceeding even that of the combat-hardened Zhang and Commando. While her physical Tier remains at Tier 2, her mental capability compensates fully, placing her at the apex of psionic evolution.

The Legend Level grants capabilities beyond simple control; a true Mind Dominate, in which a target’s identity is rewritten permanently, and the individual is effectively “brain washed”. Other manifestations of this level remain undocumented or revealed through narrative.
The act of Mind Controlling an Ethereal will not be mentioned within the novel itself, as it does not align with the established narrative tone or events; it is referenced here only as the in-game mechanic through which the Legend rank was achieved. In the novel’s continuity, the precise means by which this level of psionic mastery was attained will remain deliberately vague and undisclosed.

In summary:
• Operational Psi – capable of battlefield psionics (Push, Insanity, Fuse etc).
• Master Psi – capable of deep mental manipulation (Control, Probe).
• Legend Psi – achieved only by three; capable of Mind Dominating individuals and performing acts bordering on the metaphysical.

Keith Hunter walked the neon-lit streets of the ADVENT-controlled megacity, blending into the throng of citizens going about their business under the watchful eye of patrols. Once known as "Zero," he had been a legendary sniper for XCOM, a survivor of the Old War, and now, just a shadow of his former self, living as an ordinary truck driver. The rain dampened his blonde hair as he kept his head down, scanning the streets, always aware, his enhanced senses still sharp after all these years.

Years ago, during one of his covert missions, Keith had received devastating news: the XCOM base had been attacked and destroyed by alien forces. Everything he had known and fought for was lost. Fearing he would be exposed if he sought answers too eagerly, Keith used his spycraft skills and the fake ID credentials he had perfected over years of clandestine work to vanish. He had subtly searched for clues of his comrades’ whereabouts in the aftermath of XCOM’s fall but ultimately stopped when the ADVENT regime tightened its grip on the population.

Despite the constant surveillance, Keith moved with the ease of a man who had spent years evading detection. His genetically enhanced muscles and bones allowed him to traverse the urban landscape with fluid grace, his steps light and sure, his movements almost cat-like in their precision.

As he approached his apartment building, Keith's heart quickened with a mix of anticipation and dread. He knew that every encounter with the ADVENT patrols carried the risk of exposure, the threat of his past catching up with him. But he had grown adept at slipping through their fingers, a ghost in a world of shadows and secrets.

With a wary glance over his shoulder, Keith ducked into the dimly lit stairwell of his building, his movements swift and silent. He ascended the stairs with practiced ease, his footsteps echoing softly against the concrete walls. The sounds of his neighbors' lives filtered through the walls around him, snippets of laughter and conversation that felt like distant echoes from another world.

Now, he lived a quiet life; one of survival, concealment, and routine. By day, he drove trucks through the city, transporting goods to various locations, keeping up the charade of being just another normal citizen. The mundane work kept him grounded, and while it wasn’t the thrill of covert ops or battlefield sniping, it kept him off ADVENT's radar. Maya, the woman he had met a few years ago, was the one light in his life, the one thing that made the dullness of his existence tolerable.

At last, Keith reached his floor and paused outside his apartment door, his hand hovering over the keypad lock. He listened intently for any sounds of movement within, his senses on high alert for any sign of danger. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he punched in the code and slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft thud.

Inside, the apartment was bathed in a warm, golden light, the soft glow of the holoscreen casting flickering shadows across the walls. Keith's girlfriend, looked up from where she sat on the couch, a smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of him.

"Hey, you're home early," she said, rising to greet him with a kiss.

Keith returned her embrace, the tension of the outside world melting away in her arms.

As Keith settled into the comfort of his home, the soft glow of the holoscreen cast a warm light across the room. He sank into the couch beside Maya, the weight of the day's events lifting from his shoulders as he allowed himself to relax for the first time in hours.

But as he idly flipped through the channels, his attention was drawn to a breaking news report flashing across the screen. His eyes narrowed as he watched footage of a devastating explosion, the wreckage of an ADVENT monument smoldering in the aftermath.

"Authorities are describing the incident as a terrorist attack," the news anchor's voice droned on, the words sending a chill down Keith's spine. He glanced at Maya, noting the concern etched on her face as she watched the screen.

"Who could have done something like this?" Maya asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Keith's mind raced with possibilities, his curiosity piqued by the mention of the mysterious assailants. He knew all too well the dangers of opposing the ADVENT regime, but something about this attack felt different, more personal.

As the news report concluded, Keith rose from the couch with a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. He kissed Maya gently on the forehead, assuring her that everything would be alright, even as doubts gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Alone in the darkness of their bedroom, Keith lay awake long into the night, his thoughts consumed by the events unfolding in the city. The neon lights of the metropolis cast an ethereal glow through the window, painting the room in shades of blue and crimson.

Outside, the city slept, oblivious to the storm brewing on the horizon.

As Keith rose from his bed and approached the window, the neon-lit cityscape greeted him with its mesmerizing glow, the rain-slicked streets reflecting the vibrant hues of the myriad signs and advertisements that adorned the towering buildings. Through the veil of raindrops cascading down the windowpane, he saw the bustling metropolis stretched out before him, a sprawling labyrinth of concrete and steel that seemed to pulse with life even in the dead of night.

Down below, the streets teemed with activity, the neon lights casting long shadows on the faces of the city's inhabitants as they went about their nightly routines. Despite the hour, the city never slept, its pulse a steady thrum that reverberated through the very core of Keith's being.

As he stared out the window, he wondered if he could ever go back to being "Zero," the sniper who could take out targets from kilometers away with a steady hand and a calm mind. The weapons, the missions, the battles; they had defined him for so long. But how could he fight alone? He no longer had access to the resources of XCOM. His old team was scattered, possibly dead, and without allies or proper firepower, any action against ADVENT would be suicide.

As the city continued its pulse beneath him, Keith found himself wondering if he still had a place in that fight. He had tried to search for clues of his comrades' survival after XCOM's fall, but the danger had been too great. Now, though, it seemed that resistance was flaring up again. The explosion was just the beginning. The fight against ADVENT wasn’t over, and the past he had run from might soon come looking for him.

Keith stood by the window, staring out at the rainy, neon-lit megacity, but his mind raced. He was a wolf; a fighter-pretending to be a sheep every day, enduring the monotony of his mundane job, blending in to survive. He tolerated bad work behavior, kept his head down, all to avoid raising suspicion. But for how long? The tension inside him built daily, as each decision to live in the shadows brought him further from the man he once was, from the fight he now knew was still out there.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, adding to the weight of the restless night. It was one of those nights again; when the city’s noise couldn’t drown out the storm inside him. His thoughts spiraled, caught between the quiet life he’d built and the fighter he had been.

Keith looked back at the bed where Maya slept, her features bathed in the soft glow of the rain-soaked city outside. She was 24 now, just 22 when they first met; naive, beautiful, and full of optimism for a world she didn’t truly understand.
She had grown up in ADVENT’s world, believing the alien overlords had come to benefit humanity. She had no memory of the terror, of UFO bombings, or the panic when the aliens launched their full-scale assault. XCOM had fought for nearly five years, holding back the tide in a war that was kept secret from the public.

Any whispers of the truth had been written off as conspiracies, buried under false narratives. They had even invented a fake terrorist organization, Der Juar, to take the blame for the attacks; Westerners were told it was backed by Asia, and vice versa.

Maya knew none of this.
Her generation had been fed ADVENT’s lies, and the world before them was nothing but a faded memory, wrapped in propaganda. She thought he was 31; because that’s what he looked like, a man still in the prime of his life.

But Keith was almost 55, born in 1980, his Adaptive Bone Marrow gene mod slowing the aging process, keeping him youthful while the years passed by. She could never imagine the weight he carried, the secrets he kept locked away, or the truth of the world that had been stolen from her.

And in this moment, as she lay asleep, unaware of the storm building around them, Keith felt the tug of that old world pulling him back, even as he clung to the fragile peace she offered.

Keith turned away from the window, torn between his desire and the quiet life he had built. For now, he’d keep moving, keep driving, keep Maya safe. But that nagging feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away; one day, he knew, he’d have to choose.

Reluctantly, Keith slipped back into bed beside Maya, his eyes still drawn to the rain as it pattered against the window. The rain was the only thing that still felt familiar in this futuristic, alien-controlled world; a world that had moved on, while he remained a relic of the past. As sleep tugged at him, he couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, a ghost from a time long gone, lingering in a life that no longer felt like his own.

-----

As they sat down for breakfast, the soft glow of the holoscreen flickered to life, casting an artificial light across the room as a propaganda ad for the "new Gene Clinics" began to play. Maya's gaze drifted towards the screen, a look of interest crossing her features as the soothing voiceover extolled the virtues of the latest advancements in medical technology.

Ad: "Introducing the NEW Gene Clinics, brought to you by the New Regime!!" the voiceover proclaimed, accompanied by images of smiling families receiving treatments and futuristic medical equipment in sleek, sterile environments. "With our state-of-the-art gene therapy techniques, you can unlock the full potential of your genetic makeup, ensuring a healthier, happier future for you and your loved ones."

"We should really consider visiting one of these Gene Clinics, Keith," Maya said, turning to him with a hopeful expression. "Think of the benefits it could bring us. Improved health, longevity, maybe even the chance to start a family someday."

But Keith's brow furrowed in suspicion as he listened to the ad, his instincts screaming at him to beware of the promises being made. "I don't trust it, Maya," he said, his voice tinged with concern. "Why all of a sudden do the aliens want to help humanity? After everything they've done to us, the attacks, the devastation... it just doesn't add up."

Maya shook her head, frustration evident in her tone. "You're being paranoid, Keith. The New Regime has brought nothing but progress and prosperity to our world. These Gene Clinics are just another example of the advancements they've made for the betterment of society."

But Keith couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him from within. "I've seen what the aliens are capable of, Maya," he insisted, his voice firm. "I won't be a pawn in their game, no matter how tempting their promises may be."

Their argument escalated, voices rising as they each fought to make their point heard. Finally, Maya frustrated excused herself by going to the bathroom so they stop talking.

Later that evening, Keith was driving for a delivery.

The rain pelted relentlessly against the windshield as Keith maneuvered his truck through the deserted streets, the neon lights of the city fading into the distance behind him. He had a delivery to make at a far outpost outside of the city, a journey that would take him through winding roads and desolate landscapes far from the watchful eye of the New Regime.

As he rounded a bend in the road, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of a roadblock up ahead. A group of ADVENT soldiers, their armored forms illuminated by the flashing lights of their vehicles, stood in formation, their weapons at the ready. Keith's stomach churned with apprehension as he approached the checkpoint, his mind racing with the possibilities of what they could be searching for.

The soldiers motioned for him to stop as he rolled to a halt, their eyes scanning the interior of his truck with suspicion. Keith forced himself to remain calm as he handed over his identification papers, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for their response. After what felt like an eternity, the lead soldier nodded curtly and waved him through, a sense of relief washing over Keith as he resumed his journey.

As he drove on, the landscape outside his window transformed into a desolate wasteland, the rain-soaked earth stretching out before him like a canvas of despair. With each passing mile, Keith's exhaustion grew, his muscles aching from the strain of the long journey.

Finally, he spotted a secluded spot by the side of the road and pulled over, the engine of his truck rumbling to a halt as he climbed out into the cool night air. He took a deep breath, the scent of rain and earth filling his lungs as he stretched his weary limbs.

But as he turned to retrieve a bottle of water from the cab of his truck, his senses pricked with awareness at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
The man stepped forward, his voice low but resolute. "We mean you no harm, friend," he said, his words tinged with urgency. "But we need your help. We're rebels, hunted by the ADVENT forces, and we need to get out of this area before they find us."

Keith hesitated, his mind racing with the implications of their request. He knew the risks of aiding rebels, knew that he could be branded a traitor by the New Regime if caught. But something in the desperation of the rebels' plea tugged at his conscience, stirring a sense of duty within him.

After a moment's deliberation, Keith nodded, his decision made. "Get in," he said quietly, gesturing towards the open door of his truck. "I'll take you as far as I can."

As the rebels climbed into the cab of the truck, Keith's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his heart pounding with anticipation. He drove in silence for a few miles, the tension in the air thick with uncertainty.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Keith cleared his throat. "What's your plan?" he asked, his voice rough with apprehension.

The woman exchanged a glance with her companion before speaking. "We're heading to a safehouse outside the city," she explained. "From there, we'll regroup with the rest of our cell and plan our next move. But first, we need to put some distance between us and the ADVENT patrols."

Keith nodded, his mind racing with the implications of their words. He knew that aiding the rebels meant risking everything he had worked so hard to build, but he also knew that he couldn't turn his back on those in need.

Suddenly, as they rounded a bend in the road, Keith's blood ran cold at the sight of an armored vehicle blocking their path.

As the truck came to a sudden stop, the tension in the air became palpable, a thick fog of fear and uncertainty enveloping the group. Keith's heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the surroundings, his senses on high alert for any sign of danger.

"Find cover," Keith muttered to the rebels, his voice low but urgent. Without hesitation, they obeyed, hiding in the back of the cabin, their eyes wide with fear.

With a deep breath, Keith closed his eyes and reached deep within himself, tapping into the latent psionic powers that had been unlocked within him during his time with XCOM. The world around him seemed to slow as he focused his mind, the familiar sensation of power coursing through his veins like a raging river.

As he opened his eyes, Keith's gaze locked onto one of the ADVENT troopers, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. With a silent command, he reached out with his psychic abilities, seizing control of the soldier's thoughts and bending them to his will.

The trooper turned abruptly, his weapon trained on his comrades as confusion flashed across their faces. Before they could react, he opened fire, the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the night air as bullets tore through the air with deadly precision.

Seizing the opportunity, Keith sprang into action, his genetically enhanced muscles propelling him forward with lightning speed. With a powerful leap, he closed the distance between himself and the nearest soldier, his fist connecting with a resounding thud as he delivered a punishing blow to the trooper's jaw.

The soldier staggered backwards, his helmet flying off as he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Keith wasted no time, his movements fluid and precise as he disarmed the fallen trooper and turned his attention to the others, his mind a whirlwind of adrenaline and determination.

As the chaos unfolded around him, Keith knew that the stakes had never been higher. With every move he made, he risked exposure and retaliation from the ADVENT forces, but he also knew that he couldn't stand idly by while lives hung in the balance.

As the mind-controlled ADVENT trooper opened fire on his comrades with chilling precision, chaos erupted in the clearing. Bullets whizzed through the air, tearing through flesh and bone as screams of agony pierced the night.

The rebels, crouched behind their makeshift cover, watched in horror as the patrol fell one by one, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a tangled heap of blood and broken dreams. Fear and confusion etched deep lines of concern on their faces as they struggled to make sense of the carnage unfolding before them.

"What's happening?" one of the rebels whispered, her voice trembling with fear as she glanced at Keith, who lay unconscious at their feet. "Who is that soldier? Why is he attacking his own comrades?"

Another rebel shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock. "I don't know," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we need to move, now. We can't stay here."

As they scrambled to their feet, the mind-controlled trooper turned his rifle on his head, his finger poised on the trigger. But before he could pull it, a sudden wave of clarity washed over him, a fleeting moment of lucidity in the midst of the chaos. But Keith's mental command was too strong to resist.

The rebels watched in stunned silence as the trooper's body slumped to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring blankly into the abyss. They turned to Keith, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief as they struggled to comprehend the true extent of his power.

"What... what happened?" one of them asked, his voice trembling with emotion. "How did you... how did you do that?"

But Keith remained silent, his gaze distant as he struggled to come to terms with the consequences of his actions. He knew that he had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

As the rebels urged Keith to hurry, a sense of urgency filled the air, driving them forward with a determination born of necessity. Keith nodded in agreement, his mind still reeling from the events that had unfolded, but knowing that he couldn't afford to linger in the aftermath of the ambush.

With a sense of purpose, they hurriedly gathered their belongings and climbed back into the cab of the truck, their movements swift and efficient. Keith took one last glance at the fallen ADVENT troopers, a silent vow of remembrance passing between them before he turned away, his focus now on the road ahead.

The engine roared to life as Keith took the driver's seat once more, his hands steady on the wheel as he guided the truck down the desolate road. The rebels huddled together in the back, their eyes darting nervously to the surrounding darkness as they kept a vigilant watch for any signs of pursuit.

As they drove on, the tension in the air began to ease, replaced by a sense of cautious optimism. The rebels exchanged grateful glances with Keith, their words of thanks mingling with the sound of the rain against the windows as they offered their heartfelt appreciation for his bravery and selflessness.

"We owe you our lives, friend," one of the rebels said, his voice filled with emotion. "You're a true hero."

Keith nodded modestly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as he focused on the task at hand. There would be time for reflection later, he knew, but for now, they needed to keep moving, to put as much distance between themselves and the scene of the ambush as possible.

As they reached a safe distance, the rebels directed Keith to pull over, their plan to part ways now set in motion. With a final word of thanks and a firm handshake, they bid him farewell, disappearing into the darkness as quickly as they had come.

Alone once more, Keith watched as the rebels disappeared into the night, a sense of satisfaction warming his heart as he realized that he had made a difference. With a sense of purpose, he turned the truck around and headed back towards his original destination, the road stretching out before him like a ribbon of promise as he drove on into the unknown.

XCOM Gene Mod Project Report

Dr. Moira Vahlen, Chief Scientist, XCOM
Subject: Gene Mod Enhancements in Operatives
Classified Document
________________________________________
Summary:
This report outlines the experimental findings and physiological responses in XCOM operatives following the application of various gene modifications during the Gene Mod Project. Each modification has produced remarkable enhancements in physical and psionic capabilities, though certain side effects and unexpected physiological changes have been observed.
________________________________________
1. Muscle Fiber Density (MFD)
Operative: Subject No. 34
Pre-operation weight: 80 kg
Post-operation weight: 120 kg
Muscle Fiber Density enhancements result in a marked increase in muscle mass and density, granting operatives exceptional strength and agility. In the case of Subject 34, the subject gained an additional 30 kilograms of lean muscle mass within a week following the procedure. Unexpectedly, the subject also experienced a growth spurt, increasing in height by 15 cm, from 1.75 m to 1.90 m. Additionally, as already observed the subjects are able to leap high obstacles up to 10 meters standing and in full armor and long jumps up to 20 meters. If this explosive muscle movement is utilized in unarmed combat, test have shown that operatives strike with thrice their body weight in force, i.e. a subject weighing 120kg can strike as a being of 300kg. A couple of Tier 1+ Assault operatives can strike with force up to five times their body weight. Lastly it should be noted that this muscle mass growth is permanent, due to the Meld substance, and no enhanced protein diet is required to maintain it.
Observation:
It appears that MFD, when combined with Adaptive Bone Marrow modification, triggered a latent release of growth hormones. Bone regeneration processes accelerated dramatically, accounting for the increased height. While MFD enhances physical combat capabilities, its combination with other mods may yield further unpredictable but advantageous outcomes.
________________________________________
2. Adaptive Bone Marrow (ABM)
Operative: Subject No. 22
Pre-operation healing rate: Standard human recovery
Post-operation healing rate: 4x faster than baseline
Adaptive Bone Marrow implants promote rapid healing and regeneration of tissue. Subject No. 22 displayed significantly accelerated recovery from wounds, healing in a fraction of the time. For example, a laceration that would typically take 10 days to heal now closed in less than 72 hours. Additionally, this mod seems to provide mild age-slowing effects, although long-term monitoring is required.
Note:
The same subject also reported a noticeable decrease in fatigue and increased stamina. Preliminary analysis suggests that the augmented bone marrow is also facilitating better oxygenation of tissues and a more efficient immune response, possibly contributing to enhanced overall endurance.
________________________________________
3. Iron Skin (IS)
Operative: Subject No. 56
Pre-operation resistance to blunt trauma: 20% injury from simulated gunfire
Post-operation resistance: 80% reduction in injury from same conditions
The Iron Skin gene mod provides a subdermal enhancement that strengthens the tissue’s resistance to impacts and injury. Subject No. 56 underwent significant testing using controlled blunt-force trauma simulations. Post-operation results demonstrated an 80% reduction in damage from simulated gunfire and melee attacks, far exceeding our expectations. The subject’s skin density increased by 35%, enhancing its protective quality without reducing mobility.
Observation:
Further analysis indicates that the process may enhance not only the skin but the underlying muscle and bone tissues, creating an additional layer of natural armor.
________________________________________
4. Hyperreactive Pupils (HP)
Operative: Subject No. 45
Pre-operation reaction time: 250 milliseconds
Post-operation reaction time: 120 milliseconds
Hyperreactive Pupils provide the subject with significantly enhanced visual processing speed. Subject No. 45 demonstrated a 52% improvement in reaction time when exposed to fast-moving stimuli. During combat simulations, the operative was able to acquire and fire upon multiple targets 25% faster than non-modified operatives.
Observation:
The pupils react instantly to changes in light and movement, enhancing both reaction speed and accuracy. Notably, this modification has also improved situational awareness, allowing operatives to track targets and assess threats with remarkable precision, even in low-light conditions.
________________________________________
5. Secondary Heart (SH)
Operative: Subject No. 18
Pre-operation: Baseline survivability in near-fatal situations: 10%
Post-operation: Survivability in near-fatal situations: 65%
The Secondary Heart mod implants an auxiliary circulatory system, greatly increasing survivability in life-threatening situations. Subject No. 18 was able to recover from simulated mortal wounds that would otherwise have resulted in fatality. In one instance, the subject survived a simulated heart failure, the auxiliary system taking over vital functions within seconds.
Observation:
The presence of this redundant system prevents shock and significantly extends the window for medical intervention. Moreover, this enhancement seems to improve overall cardiovascular performance during combat, allowing operatives to sustain peak physical output longer.
________________________________________
6. Neural Damping (ND)
Operative: Subject No. 61
Pre-operation psi resistance: Baseline
Post-operation psi resistance: 80% improved
Neural Damping provides protection against psionic attacks by reinforcing the subject’s neural pathways. Subject No. 61 displayed an 80% increase in resistance to known psionic stimuli, withstanding mental assaults that would typically incapacitate non-modified soldiers.
Observation:
This mod reduces the likelihood of panic and mental breakdowns in the field, maintaining the subject’s composure in the face of psionic threats. It may also offer limited protection against disorientation and mind control, although more extensive testing is required.
________________________________________
Conclusion:
The Gene Mod Project has produced extraordinary enhancements in XCOM operatives, significantly improving their combat effectiveness and survivability. However, further research is needed to fully understand the long-term impacts of these modifications and the potential risks of combining certain enhancements. I recommend continued monitoring of all subjects and controlled trials before full implementation across the force.
Dr. Moira Vahlen
Chief Scientist, XCOM
End of Report

The city was alive with the vibrant pulse of nightlife, the streets filled with laughter and neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. Keith Hunter and Maya walked side by side, the warmth of their evening together still lingering. They had just left a cozy little bar, the buzz of cocktails and shared laughter lighting their faces as they ambled down the bustling street.

Maya was giggling, brushing her shoulder against Keith’s. “I can’t believe you thought that twist in the movie was actually a dream sequence,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

Keith shrugged, a rare grin breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. “Hey, it was either that or alien mind control. You never know these days.”

They shared a laugh, the moment so normal, so human; something Keith had almost forgotten could exist. But as they rounded the corner, their mirth was cut short by a scene that shattered the illusion of the carefree evening.

A woman with tear-streaked cheeks and desperation in her eyes stood in their path, clutching a handful of pamphlets. The harsh fluorescent streetlights made her look even more worn. “Please,” she begged, thrusting one of the flyers toward Keith and Maya. “Have you seen him? My brother’s been missing for days. If you know anything, please contact me.”

Keith’s smile faded, a shadow crossing his eyes. Maya reached for one of the flyers, her brow furrowing as she looked at the picture of a young man printed on it. “We’ll keep an eye out,” she said softly, offering the woman a kind smile.

But before they could say anything more, a tall, slick man in a perfectly tailored grey suit stepped forward, his red shirt almost glowing under the streetlights, a thin black tie like a noose around his neck. His hair was slicked back, and he carried himself with an air of authority. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with coldness. “Stop harassing people on the street.”

The woman shrank back, her hope visibly crumbling, but she held her ground. “I’m just looking for my brother,” she pleaded.

The man’s eyes narrowed, a hint of something cruel in his smile. “We’ve already informed the authorities. You’ll want to take this through the proper channels.” He snapped his fingers, and from the shadows, two ADVENT patrol officers approached; hulking figures, their movements stiff and inhuman. They wore the standard black and red armor, but their voices were harsh and guttural, with an unnatural cadence as they spoke in clipped English.

“You, IDs now,” one of the officers barked, his yellow eyes glinting beneath the visor as he focused on Keith and Maya.

Keith’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stared at the hybrids. His instincts screamed at him to fight, but he forced himself to relax, a faint smile plastered on his face.

He couldn’t afford to make a scene; not here, not now, especially not with Maya beside him. She had no idea who or what these officers really were.
“Sure thing, officer,” Keith said, his voice tight. He reached into his pocket slowly, pulling out his ID.

Maya did the same, her movements stiff with confusion.

The officer snatched their IDs, scanning them with a device that beeped as it checked their records. “Clear,” he grunted, handing them back. The hybrids turned their focus back to the woman, who was desperately trying to avoid their gaze.

Maya glanced at Keith, her brows knitted in concern. “That was... weird,” she whispered as they stepped away. “Why are they so aggressive?”

Keith forced a laugh, but there was no mirth in it. “Yeah, just ADVENT being thorough, I guess,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets to hide his clenched fists. His mind was racing, the pleasant buzz from earlier now replaced with cold fury.

As they walked away, Maya tried to reignite their earlier conversation, but the mood was shattered. Keith’s eyes kept darting to the shadows, searching for more patrols, his thoughts darkening with every step. He knew that the man in the grey suit wasn’t just a bureaucrat; he was part of ADVENT’s propaganda machine, keeping people in line, silencing those who dared to speak up.
Maya linked her arm with his, trying to pull him back into the moment. “You okay, Keith?” she asked, concern in her voice.

Keith forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah... yeah, I’m fine.” But inside, his resolve hardened. The world was rotting under ADVENT’s grip, and tonight was just another reminder that he couldn’t sit idly by.

As they turned down a quieter street, away from the lights and noise, Keith made up his mind. His quiet life with Maya had been a brief respite, but it couldn’t last. The fight wasn’t over, and it was time for him to rejoin it.

“Let’s get you home,” Keith said softly, squeezing Maya’s hand. But as he looked back over his shoulder, the slick man and the ADVENT officers were still there, watching, waiting. The time for complacency was over.

The city was quieter now as Keith walked alone through the dimly lit streets. He wanted to think so he made an excuse to Maya that he had forgot his pad at the bar. The hum of nightlife had died down to a distant murmur, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain that had passed earlier. Neon lights cast a hazy glow on the damp pavement, reflecting the shifting colors in Keith’s eyes as he replayed the evening’s events in his mind.
Maya’s laughter, her warmth beside him, the feel of her hand slipping into his; it had all seemed so perfect, so normal. But that illusion shattered the moment the ADVENT patrol stepped in, their guttural commands and alien eyes reminding him that this city, for all its comforts, was nothing more than a gilded cage.

Keith walked slowly, hands buried deep in his pockets, his face half-hidden beneath the shadows of his hood. The night was cool, and his breath came out in faint puffs of mist. What the hell was he doing here? Every part of him was torn between two worlds; one that offered safety, warmth, and Maya’s company, and another that called him back into the shadows, to the fight he had once sworn never to abandon.

He turned down a narrow street, one that cut through the less pristine parts of the city. The flickering neon signs gave way to broken street lamps, and the clean, polished sidewalks faded into cracked concrete. This was the edge of the slums, where the bright veneer of ADVENT control began to fray.

As he walked, he noticed the peeling walls covered with faded posters; missing persons, faces worn by time and weather. The corners of the pages were curling, half-torn by wind or ripped away by those too tired to care. Keith’s eyes lingered on them, their ghostly faces staring back at him. He had seen similar posters scattered around these parts before, but tonight, they seemed to carry a new weight.

“All those people... where did they go?” he murmured to himself. It was strange; ADVENT claimed their cities were the safest places on Earth, yet so many simply disappeared, swallowed by the shadows. Had they gone underground? Joined some burgeoning resistance like the rebels he’d pulled out of that hellhole last month? Or were they just... gone?

Keith leaned against a damp wall, his fingers tracing the edge of a crumpled flyer. The face staring back at him was young, too young, and it made his stomach twist.

“Maybe they left like I should,” he thought, the idea gnawing at him. If he slipped off the grid, if he disappeared like these people, he could find the remnants of XCOM or maybe even rally with the rebels he had rescued. The mission with them had been a spark, a taste of his old life. But to do that, he’d have to leave everything behind; Maya, her gentle smile, the way she made him feel like there was something worth staying for.

He could hear her voice in his head, light and carefree: “You’re okay, Keith?” But how could he ever explain to her the things he’d seen, the truth he knew? Maya was too good, too innocent to be dragged into the world he came from. And if ADVENT ever got wind of who he truly was... No, leaving was safer for her, safer for them both.

But could he actually do it? Could he just... walk away?

Keith let out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He was tired; tired of pretending, tired of trying to fit into a life that felt like a costume. He had tried to make it work, but tonight had shown him just how fragile that facade was. The ADVENT patrols, the missing posters, the woman’s desperate eyes; it was all unraveling around him.
He straightened up, turning his gaze toward the distant city lights, where the tall, sterile ADVENT towers loomed. “Maybe it’s time,” he muttered under his breath. “Maybe it’s time to go back.”

But the thought of leaving Maya behind gnawed at him. He could still see her smile, the way she had looked at him tonight, like they could actually have a future here. For a moment, he had believed it too.

Keith’s jaw tightened. There was no simple answer. The world was on fire, and he was here trying to live a lie. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running out of time. The resistance was out there, the fight was still raging, and if he didn’t make a choice soon, the war would come to him whether he was ready or not.

The decision loomed over him, a shadow he couldn’t outrun. Turning away from the slums, Keith began walking back home. For tonight, he would go home to Maya. But as he walked, the posters seemed to watch him, their silent pleas a reminder that he could only stay in hiding for so long.

He would have to decide soon. The time for pretending was over.

Keith approached the truck depot, the cold morning air biting at his face as his breath hung in the air like wisps of smoke. The eerie quietness of the early hours did little to settle the unease building in his gut. His eyes scanned the area, locking on the note taped to the window of his truck; its message plain and unsettling. The words, "We need to talk, Zero," etched in bold, sharp letters, sent a shiver down his spine, some coordinates in the back. Memories, long buried and suffocated by the mundane routine of his truck-driving life, surged back to the surface.

As he pocketed the note, Keith’s mind raced. Zero; a name he hadn't been called in years. He knew immediately that whoever left that message was digging up a past he had worked so hard to bury. Still, his hands moved almost automatically, starting the truck and pulling onto the fog; shrouded road toward the coordinates left behind. The familiar rumble of the engine should’ve calmed him, but today, it felt different; like something was dragging him back into a life he wasn’t sure he could escape. The city’s streets gave way to empty expanses and towering trees, the mist cloaking everything in a sense of isolation.

Hours later, when the trees finally parted to reveal the designated meeting point, Keith’s heart was pounding. He stepped out of the truck, his eyes locking onto the figure waiting in the clearing. For a moment, he didn’t believe it. The figure moved into the dim light, revealing the unmistakable form of Ian "Solid" Hughes- the man who had once commanded in the field Keith and the rest of the XCOM forces, the number 2 in the organization hierarchy. His tall, broad-shouldered silhouette, with the unmistakable calm strength that earned him his nickname, brought a flood of memories Keith wasn’t ready to face.

"Solid," Keith said, voice low and filled with a mix of disbelief and recognition as he stepped forward. They shook hands, the silent understanding between them doing more than words ever could.

"Keith," Solid said, his tone steady. "We’ve got unfinished business."

As they sat down, Solid began recounting the fall of the XCOM base, his voice clipped and tinged with a quiet bitterness. Keith listened, feeling a deep pit of loss growing inside him. The battle for the base had been chaos; what they once thought was invincible had crumbled under a brutal alien assault. "It was supposed to be a formal Council visit," Solid explained, the words coming out sharp. "Instead, a storm hit us."
His eyes were distant, replaying the horrors of that day. "We fought our way out, but not many made it. Most of our Tier 2s, 1s and Tier 1+ elites survived, but we lost good people. I had the greatest MEC pilots as my bodyguards," he explained. "We cut a path of escape to the surface through the maintenance tunnels."

Solid spoke of Legendary Assault Shaojie Zhang, the top CQB operative, who had taken over the Triad and also spoke of his plans to found the Old War XCOM group, Keith's attention shifted to the larger questions looming on the horizon. Why was there a new XCOM? Who was behind it all?

Keith gritted his teeth, suppressing the growing anger. He could picture it all too well; fellow soldiers, their faces a blur of determination and fear, fighting tooth and nail through the collapsing corridors. "And who is leading this new XCOM?" Keith asked.

Solid's answer came as a surprise to Keith, his disbelief evident in the furrow of his brow. Bradford, the former Central Officer, now leading the charge as the head of the new XCOM. It seemed almost too surreal to believe, the once sweater-wearing pencil pusher now at the helm of humanity's last line of defense against the alien threat.

"Bradford?" Keith repeated, his voice laced with incredulity. "But... how? He was never one for field work, let alone leading an organization like XCOM."


Solid's chuckle was humorless. "Yeah, him. He’s stepped up; gathered a new generation, training them to fight, to resist." Keith tried to imagine Bradford, the once-sweatered strategist, now leading an underground war against ADVENT, and it felt surreal. "Things have changed, Keith," Solid added. "He’s built something out of the ashes, but it’s not the XCOM we knew. And if we’re going to survive, we need more than that. World need us, Old Xcom Veterans. I am putting us in play as a faction and I want you on my side again, Keith. Like the old times."

They discussed old caches; old-world military outposts that might still house the firepower they’d need. "There’s no way we can fight ADVENT head-on," Solid said. "We can’t smuggle in what we need. We’ll need to check old depots; places ADVENT hasn’t scoured yet." Keith’s mind raced with possibilities. The world was shattered, but he knew that weapons of the old fight, remnants of the old world, still existed..

"I know where to look," Keith promised, his tone solidifying his decision. He was no longer Keith the truck driver, he was Keith ‘Zero’ Hunter again.
As their conversation shifted, Solid laid out the new factions at play. "There’s more than just ADVENT now, there are numerous factions scattered across the globe, each with their own agendas and methods," Solid began, his voice tinged with caution. "From militarized research organizations armed with heavy weaponry to small ragtag groups of militia or bandits, the world is a dangerous place."" he explained. "The Reapers, the Skirmishers, the Templars are opposing the Advent for years now; but they’ve all got their own agendas." Keith nodded "These factions could be valuable allies" but Solid quickly shook his head. "No alliances yet. We’re insignificant to them, and they’ll chew us up. We focus on getting stronger first." Keith understood the caution. They had to rebuild Old XCOM’s strength before stepping into that arena.

The Reapers- silent, deadly, operating in the shadows. The Skirmishers- former ADVENT soldiers who had turned against their masters. And the Templars- psionically gifted warriors, fighting in the name of justice. These factions could be valuable allies, but Keith understood the caution. They had to rebuild Old XCOM’s strength before stepping into that arena.

"First, we find the weapons," Keith said, eyes locked with Solid’s. "Then, we take the fight back to ADVENT."

Keith said "For now I must get back to routine but I'll have my eyes open for intel and assets".

Solid nodded in agreement with Keith's suggestion. "You're right, Keith," he said, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Returning to our normal routines will help us avoid arousing suspicion while we lay low and gather our strength."

They discussed various methods of covert communication, settling on passwords and keywords for messages that would allow them to communicate without drawing attention. Keith offered Solid a place to stay for the night, knowing that his former leader would need a safe haven away from prying eyes.

"i have a question Solid" Keith said "how did you find me?"

Solid first heard whispers of the mysterious man in Britain through the underground network of resistance fighters scattered across the globe. Rumors traveled swiftly among those who dared to defy the ADVENT regime, passed along in hushed tones and clandestine meetings in the shadows of the world's cities.

It began with a fleeting mention in a smuggled message intercepted by a resistance cell in France, a cryptic reference to a lone figure who had defied the odds and emerged victorious against a squad of ADVENT soldiers, armed only with his bare hands and an uncanny display of power. The details were sparse, shrouded in secrecy and speculation, but the story spread like wildfire among the resistance fighters, igniting hope and curiosity in equal measure.

As the whispers grew louder, Solid caught wind of the rumors during a clandestine meeting with a contact in the heart of New York City. The informant, a seasoned resistance operative with connections spanning continents, spoke of a man in Britain who had become something of a legend among the underground network, a shadowy figure rumored to possess abilities beyond human comprehension, abilities that had allowed him to defeat not one, but four ADVENT soldiers in unarmed combat.

Intrigued by the tales of this mysterious figure, Solid delved deeper into the rumors, piecing together fragmented accounts from disparate sources across the globe. Each whisper added another layer to the enigma surrounding the man in Britain, painting a picture of a formidable warrior with powers that defied explanation.

But despite his best efforts, Solid could only glean so much from the whispers and rumors that circulated among the resistance fighters. The truth remained elusive, tantalizingly out of reach, a mystery waiting to be unraveled by those brave enough to seek it out.

And so, fueled by curiosity and a sense of duty to his fellow soldiers, Solid resolved to uncover the truth behind the legend of the man in Britain. Took some effort, but here he is now. They parted and Keith went back to his place.

As Keith arrived at work the next morning, he could sense tension in the air the moment he stepped through the doors of the truck depot. His supervisor, Sam, stood at the center of the room, his arms crossed and his expression dark with anger.

"Keith, where the hell were you yesterday?" Sam demanded, his voice sharp with frustration. "The cargo didn't get delivered to its clients, and you were nowhere to be found."

Keith met Sam's glare with a cool, composed demeanor, his gaze unwavering despite the mounting pressure. "I had a sudden bout of food poisoning," he replied calmly, his voice steady and confident. "Had to make an emergency stop, couldn't even make it to the phone."

Sam's brow furrowed with skepticism, his lips thinning into a tight line as he struggled to maintain his authority. "Food poisoning, huh?" he muttered, his tone dripping with doubt. "Well, you better make damn sure it doesn't happen again, or there will be consequences."

But Keith had had enough of Sam's bullying tactics. For the first time, he allowed the cold, steely gaze of a warrior to shine through, locking eyes with Sam in a silent challenge. For a brief moment he was "Zero" again, not some obedient worker.

"I'll make sure of it," Keith replied, his voice low and dangerous. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Sam faltered under Keith's intense stare, his bravado wavering as he took a step back, a flicker of fear crossing his features. Without another word, he turned on his heel and retreated, leaving Keith alone in the room with a sense of satisfaction.

Under the cover of his mundane job as a truck driver, Keith embarked on his covert mission to gather vital intelligence on the activities of the ADVENT regime both within and beyond the confines of the city. Armed with a valid ID bearing his fake covert name from his days with XCOM, Keith moved with purpose and precision, his every action calculated to avoid detection.

On the surface, he appeared to be just another worker going about his daily routine, but beneath his unassuming facade lay the heart of a warrior, determined to uncover the secrets that lurked in the shadows.

As he navigated the bustling streets of the city, Keith kept a watchful eye on his surroundings, noting any signs of ADVENT activity or potential points of interest. His keen instincts and sharp wit served him well as he discreetly gathered information from fellow truck drivers, street vendors, and passersby, piecing together fragments of intelligence to form a clearer picture of the enemy's movements.

But Keith's mission extended beyond the city limits, taking him on journeys to the outskirts and beyond in search of valuable leads. From abandoned warehouses to remote outposts, he ventured into the unknown, his determination driving him ever forward in pursuit of items, places of interest.

Kostas "Commando" Vlachos roared down the rugged dirt road of the Balkan region, his old Harley-Davidson bike rumbling beneath him like a beast hungry for adventure. The wind whipped through his hair as he navigated the twists and turns of the countryside, the scent of pine trees and earth filling his nostrils.

The landscape stretched out before him in a patchwork of rolling hills and dense forests, the sun casting long shadows across the rugged terrain. In the distance, jagged mountains rose majestically against the horizon, their peaks shrouded in mist.

As Kostas rode, he kept a watchful eye on his surroundings, his senses attuned to the slightest hint of danger. In the lawless lands of the Balkans, one could never be too careful. Bandits lurked in the shadows, their eyes glinting with malice as they lay in wait for unsuspecting travelers. And in some regions, the threat of the Lost loomed large, their eerie moans echoing through the desolate landscape as they moved in swarms, seeking out their next victim.

But Kostas was no stranger to danger. With his trusty pistol holstered at his hip and an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, he was more than prepared to handle whatever the road threw at him. His years of experience as a soldier in XCOM had taught him to expect the unexpected, to always be ready for anything.

As he rode, Kostas couldn't help but feel a sense of freedom coursing through his veins, a thrill of excitement at the prospect of exploring new territories and facing new challenges. For him, the lawless lands of the Balkans were a canvas upon which he could paint his own destiny, a world where the only rules were the ones he made for himself.

And so, with the roar of his bike and the open road stretching out before him, Kostas continued on his journey, his heart filled with the promise of adventure and the determination to carve out his own path in a world where only the strongest survived.


As Kostas "Commando" Vlachos fought his way through the chaos of the XCOM base assault, his Heavy Gauss rifle clutched tightly in his hands, he found himself positioned at the rear guard, covering the retreat of his fellow soldiers as they made their desperate escape. Bullets whizzed past him, the acrid scent of smoke and burning metal filling the air as he unleashed a barrage of precise shots, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy.

"Keep moving, we've got your back!" Kostas shouted to his comrades, his voice barely audible over the din of battle. He ducked behind a makeshift barricade, the Titan armor he wore providing him with much-needed protection against the hail of enemy fire.

As he laid down covering fire, Kostas caught sight of the wounded pilot struggling to reach safety amidst the chaos. Without hesitation, he charged forward, his rifle blazing as he mowed down enemy forces with ruthless efficiency. "Hang in there, we're almost there!" he called out to the pilot, his words a beacon of hope in the midst of despair.

Finally, they reached the hangar where the Firestorm spacecraft awaited them, its engines humming with anticipation as they prepared for takeoff. Kostas scanned the area, his sharp eyes picking out the wounded pilot lying prone on the ground.

"Get to the ship, I'll cover you!" Kostas shouted to the pilot, his voice tinged with urgency. With a nod of understanding, the pilot scrambled to his feet, limping towards the waiting spacecraft as Kostas laid down suppressing fire, keeping the enemy forces at bay.

As the pilot reached safety and climbed aboard the ship, Kostas felt a surge of relief wash over him. With one final glance around the hangar, he sprinted towards the Firestorm, his heart pounding in his chest as he leaped aboard just as the engines roared to life.

Keith's truck rumbled along the desolate road, his sharp eyes catching sight of a run-down warehouse crouched against the jagged landscape. It looked like nothing, unremarkable, forgotten. Just what he needed.

He pulled over and killed the engine, stepping into the wind-swept silence. The building's weathered metal walls creaked faintly as he approached. Years ago, before ADVENT's grip had solidified, Keith had relocated crates of arms and ammunition here. He remembered each trip, quiet hauls through backroads, buried under tarp, driven with purpose.

Inside, the air was stale with dust and oil. He moved through the dark interior with ease, boots echoing across concrete. In a recessed corner of the outer warehouse, beneath a tarp weighted with rusted chains, were the crates. Right where he’d left them.

He crouched and opened one. Rifles, magazines, grenades clean, dry, sealed. A time capsule of firepower. It had waited here for years.

Keith nodded to himself. Place was secure. He would send the coordinates to Solid. Time for war.

Keith "Zero" Hunter sat in a corner of the cafe, his back to the wall and his seat angled for the perfect view. A cup of lukewarm coffee sat untouched in front of him, its steam long dissipated. The streets outside bustled with life under the glow of the ADVENT-controlled megacity. People moved about their day as if nothing was amiss, but Keith saw everything with a sniper’s cold precision. His eyes were locked on the ADVENT depot across the street, framed perfectly in his view from the cafe's large glass window.

Outside, another ADVENT patrol passed, the troopers' gleaming armor catching the midday light. They moved in perfect synchronicity, utterly detached from the world around them. Keith’s enhanced eyes followed their path as they walked right past the hidden surveillance points he had identified earlier. He had a perfect view through his binocular-style camera hidden within his jacket.

Every now and then, he would take a slow sip of coffee, maintaining his facade as just another tired worker taking a break from the megacity's grind. But his mind was elsewhere - recording, analyzing, waiting. Then he left, he had a parcel to leave at the drop point.

In a dimly lit room filled with the faint hum of machinery, Ian "Solid" Hughes stood at the head of a long table, his gaze solemn as he addressed the group of Old War XCOM veterans gathered before him. The faces of his comrades were etched with determination, their eyes reflecting the steely resolve that burned within them.

"Listen up, everyone," Solid began, his voice low and commanding. "Our first operation is fast approaching, and we need to be prepared for whatever comes our way. We've armed ourselves with the weapons and equipment we've gathered, but we'll need to rely on our training and experience if we're going to succeed."

In the quiet solitude of his apartment, Keith sat hunched over his workbench, his focus fixed on the sleek form of the Remington Model 700 sniper rifle before him. With practiced hands, he meticulously adjusted the scope and fine-tuned the trigger mechanism, ensuring that every component was in perfect alignment.
His mind replayed his conversation with Solid.

Solid: "The target is a supply depot. We take everything - equipment, hardware, munitions. Anything of operational value is ours."

Zero: "Acknowledged. What's the priority?"

Solid: "Beyond weapons and supplies, we need at least two dropships. We can’t afford to remain dependent on unreliable transport. We need our own assets, fully fueled and ready for rapid deployment."

Zero: "Understood. That will limit our options- we need a depot with aircraft access and minimal external fortifications."
Solid: "How much time do we have before they can mount a response?"
Zero: "That depends on the location. I’ll find a target far from immediate support. If we hit the right site, their reinforcements will take time to mobilize, giving us a window to extract everything we need."
Solid: "Do it. We move as soon as you have coordinates."

As he worked, the soft glow of lamplight bathed the room in a warm embrace, casting shadows that danced across the walls like silent specters. The rhythmic click-clack of tools echoed in the stillness, a comforting reminder of the familiar routine that had become second nature to him. He almost couldnt sleep from the anticipation of the thrill of combat.

As the Old War XCOM veterans launched their assault on the supply depot, they moved with thunderous precision. Teams advanced in concert, one group pushing forward while the other provided cover, their motions so fluid they barely needed to speak. Every movement was instinct honed over years of brutal warfare, sharpened by loss and memory.

From the South and East, they breached the depot perimeter simultaneously, timing their entry down to the second. Gene-enhanced reflexes and battlefield instincts guided them. Enemy sentries were dropped before they even raised alarms; clean shots, brutal takedowns, no wasted movement. Their approach was swift, not reckless; surgical, ghostlike.

Solid led the southern advance, issuing crisp, steady commands over the comms, coordinating the momentum of the assault. His voice carried calm authority, every word a signal in the chaos. On the eastern flank, veterans formed tight entry teams, sweeping corridors with calm lethality, clearing the outer defenses before the enemy could regroup. Their movements weren't flashy. Just efficient. Precise. Deadly. The air filled with bursts of fire and the hiss of grenades rolling into dark corners.

Gunfire cracked. Flashbangs flared. And then came the psi. Waves of disorientation and fear rippled through the enemy ranks as the veterans unleashed their minds. ADVENT troops faltered, some frozen mid-step, others turning into blind fire and confusion. The line broke. Screams echoed across the depot as psionic fear gripped hardened enemies.

Above, Keith zeroed in from his rooftop perch one click away. Calm, calculating. His rifle whispered death as targets fell one by one; armor joints, visor gaps, control ports on MECs. No wasted shots. Just consequences. He adjusted for wind, trajectory, pulse rate. The rifle was an extension of his will.

"Keep pressure," Solid said over comms. "Shift to interior clearance."

They adapted instantly. Moving deeper, they struck hard and vanished faster. One veteran darted across a clearing, drawing fire while another flanked. No fancy terms. Just war. The way they remembered it. The way they survived it.

"Armor’s thick," Solid warned. "Focus fire on MEC joints and cores."

"Copy," Hawkins replied. He dropped a trooper with clean bursts, then ducked behind crates as a MEC locked on. He spotted its rocket launcher exposed. His eyes lit purple, a surge of psionic force detonated the payload on its back. The explosion sent smoke and shrapnel into the rafters. As the MEC reeled, Keith's rifle cracked again, dropping it with clinical precision.

"Subteam B, breach north wing," Solid ordered.

Hawkins nodded, leading the charge to the first floor. He switched to his shotgun. His skin tingled with the hum of bioelectric detection. Figures behind the door. Waiting. Heartbeats. Shifting weight. He could feel them.

With a breath, he kicked hard. The door flew inward, flashbang and frag thrown by his comrade sailing into the gloom. He followed a beat later, shotgun raised, cutting down stunned figures behind storage crates before they regained footing. The air smelled of propellant and singed metal. Then he was on to the next.

The depot echoed with the rhythm of war, boots, blasts, shouted calls. The veterans pressed forward, clearing the compound in under three minutes. They knew the value of time, every second bought with fire and fury.

The moment the gunfire ceased, the rhythm changed. No cheers. No pause. They moved to the cargo lifts, hauling crates toward ADVENT dropships on the pads. Technicians among them expertly hacked the ships’ systems, disabling the tracking protocols. They knew they couldn't immediately use the equipment due to biometric locks, but acquiring trustworthy scientists to bypass those restrictions would be the next step.

From his distant vantage point, Keith, codename "Zero", watched the extraction unfold. His job done, he disassembled his sniper rifle with practiced efficiency, each motion smooth and precise. He packed his gear, his exit as silent as his shots had been.

For these veterans, the battle wasn’t just another mission executed with ruthless efficiency, leaving nothing but echoes and bloodstains in their wake.

It was a declaration of war, the Old Xcom was back.

The Apex Veil Coalition’s facility was stationed in Sukhumi, Georgia, a city left untouched by ADVENT’s direct influence. While larger, more modern cities across Eurasia bore the sleek, oppressive hand of alien rule, Sukhumi remained bleak and forgotten, a city suspended in time.
Heavy fog drifted through the streets, swallowing the crumbling facades of old brutalist architecture, relics of the Soviet era that still loomed like forgotten sentinels over the city’s weary population.

The citizens of Sukhumi lived in massive apartment complexes, once symbols of collectivist ambition, now repurposed into self-contained hubs where residents had little reason to leave. Within these vast structures, everything necessary for daily life, supermarkets, clinics, playgrounds, and workspaces, was crammed into a labyrinthine, decaying framework.

Few people ventured into the open. Those who did moved swiftly, heads down, disappearing into shadowed alleys or ducking into dimly lit storefronts. The air carried the scent of damp concrete and rusting metal, a city breathing in slow, heavy sighs. Sukhumi was a ghost of another time, controlled not by ADVENT, but by the Apex Veil Coalition, who had carved out their own dominion here.

The AVC intelligence facility itself was a repurposed government complex, a hulking monolith of reinforced concrete and steel. Towering security walls ringed its perimeter, crowned with gun emplacements and automated defense turrets scanning the cold, fog-choked streets below. The only visible entrance was a single, heavily fortified checkpoint manned by AVC paramilitary personnel, grim, silent figures in matte black uniforms, their helmets obscuring all but the faint glow of their visor readouts.
Inside, the facility was a stark contrast to the decayed city outside. Harsh fluorescent lights bathed the corridors in sterile white, their cold glow reflecting off metallic walls lined with servers, surveillance equipment, and stacks of classified dossiers. The briefing room, where the officers now gathered, was equally austere, a steel chamber with no windows, a single long table, and a monitor embedded into the far wall. The air carried the faint scent of machine oil and burnt circuitry, a constant reminder of the intelligence war AVC waged against its enemies.
It was here, in this isolated fortress of intelligence and ambition, that the discussion of Old XCOM’s remnants had begun.

The briefing room in the Apex Veil Coalition’s intelligence division was dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke as the assembled officers reviewed their latest intelligence findings. At the head of the table sat Dr. Nikoloz Gvazava, a man whose presence alone commanded silence. A Georgian scientist born in 1967, Gvazava had been raised in the golden era of Soviet academia, a prodigy of the Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology. When the Soviet Union collapsed, he refused to fade into obscurity, instead joining elite Russian research teams, adapting, surviving, enduring. He had seen empires fall, ideologies crumble, and yet he remained, stronger, more ruthless than ever. The war had shaped him. The loss of his homeland had hardened him. And now, as a high-ranking official within the AVC, he saw an opportunity, one that could redefine the future of human warfare. The senior AVC official, his uniform pristine but his eyes hardened by experience, tapped the dossier in front of him.


"We've received reports of a lone biker traversing the area of Rustavi," he stated, his voice deliberate, each word weighted. "No known affiliations, no verifiable background. Yet, somehow, he single-handedly dismantled an entire bandit group, a dozen men, all armed, all experienced, and all dead before they knew what hit them." "No known affiliations, no verifiable background. What we do know is that he took down a dozen well-armed bandits alone." He let the words hang for emphasis. "Our informants report extraordinary physical and mental prowess. This isn’t just some mercenary."

The officers exchanged glances. One of them, a younger intelligence analyst, frowned. "Sir, if this individual possesses even half the skill described, we are not dealing with a common mercenary. This is someone trained, honed, lethal. Could be special forces. Could be black ops. But something about this feels... different."

The senior officer inhaled slowly, then reached for a remote. "No," the officer said, exhaling slowly. "This isn’t just training. This isn’t just experience. I believe we’re looking at something else entirely, a remnant of an older war. Something from before the occupation." He clicked a button, and the large monitor on the far wall flickered to life.

A grainy archived video file from 2017 played.

The timestamp confirmed it, midway through the Long War. The scene was a reinforced combat chamber inside an underground facility, monitored by a group of scientists in observation booths above. A muscular, unarmed Asian operative stood in the chamber, facing off against an unarmed Muton. The operative’s stoic expression and calm stance made it clear; he was waiting for the inevitable charge.

Dr. Moira Vahlen’s voice narrated the experiment.

“Subject: Shaojie Zhang, XCOM field operative. Subject’s augmentations include Iron Skin and Muscle Fiber Density gene modifications, allowing for enhanced resistance to blunt force trauma and vastly increased body strength.”

The Muton roared and lunged. Zhang sidestepped just in time, deflecting the massive alien’s first blow with a sharp pivot of his forearm. The Muton swung again, this time connecting- a thunderous hit to Zhang’s ribs. But the soldier barely staggered.

“Iron Skin gene modifications reinforce the body’s tissue structure, reducing the kinetic impact of strikes. Subject remains undeterred.”

Zhang suddenly lashed out. A precise kinetic push sent the Muton stumbling back, as if struck by an invisible force. Before the alien could recover, Zhang closed the gap, planting a brutal kick into its chest, sending it sprawling. He followed up instantly- a flurry of punches, each strike landing with calculated force, driving the creature further into the ground.

The observing scientists murmured in awe, some leaning forward in their seats. One whispered, "That’s… impossible."

Then the real shock came.

Zhang straightened, extended his hand toward the Muton, and focused. The Muton, snarling and feral moments before, froze in place. Its breathing slowed. Its gaze locked onto Zhang, no longer with rage, but with eerie stillness.

One of the scientists gasped. "He’s… controlling it."

“Unexpected development,” Vahlen’s voice continued. “Psi potential is significantly stronger than recorded in prior sessions. Subject appears to be… pacifying the Muton. Subject appears unharmed. Experiment concluded.”
The video ended abruptly.

The room sat in stunned silence for a moment before the senior AVC officer leaned forward, his hands clasped. "I was there that day," he said quietly. "I took this footage myself. The Council of Nations wanted proof of where their funding was going. XCOM gave them this." He gestured to the now-dark screen. "And now we have a lone warrior cutting through the country with ease. If he is XCOM, Old XCOM, then we need to track him down."

One of the analysts hesitated, his voice quieter, uncertain. "Sir… is the intent here elimination?"

The official’s lips curled into a slow, calculating smile. "Elimination? No. That would be a waste. If we can take him alive…" His fingers drummed a steady rhythm against the polished table. "Imagine what we could extract. Imagine what we could become." "Imagine the potential for our troops. We need him for research and experimentation. Make no mistake- we find him, and we bring him in."

Commando’s journey from the Balkans to Ex-Soviet era Central East Asia regions was a long, fragmented trek across landscapes both familiar and foreign, yet scarred by years of conflict and change. In the desolate reaches of the Balkans, the weather turned colder, sweeping through abandoned towns where the remnants of war still lingered; burnt-out vehicles, crumbling buildings, and overgrown battlefields.
As he pushed eastward, the ruins faded into vast expanses of steppe and mountain passes. Along the way, he passed through what remained of once-thriving cities now reduced to ghost towns, the skies always gray, with a biting wind that seemed to carry the memory of lost battles.

In a foggy desolate part of Georgia he stood gazing at a huge mural of a Soviet era soldier holding a bayonet with grim determination. Crossing into the territories that once were Turkmenistan, he encountered a massive stone statue, the colossal head of a forgotten leader, half-buried in the dirt, a relic from another era, now a silent witness to the destruction that had overtaken the land. The road took him through harsh terrain, freezing at night and hot under the pale daylight, before eventually turning into snowy mountain passes, where the cold bit through his gear.

Each stop brought new sights, a lone checkpoint in the middle of nowhere, an abandoned village barely visible through a snowstorm, the haunting silence broken only by the wind and the occasional distant thunder. It was a journey through the bones of the Old World, where the past and present were indistinguishable, and survival meant blending into the desolation.

The journey through the post-occupation landscape was marked by encounters with Soviet brutalism relics, monuments to a forgotten era, now left to decay in the wastelands of former nations. Massive, hulking structures of concrete, like abandoned factories and long-deserted apartment blocks, rose from the ground like the skeletons of a bygone world. Along forgotten highways, he passed crumbling Soviet memorials, once symbols of power and unity, now covered in graffiti or reclaimed by nature.

A giant figure of a Soviet worker holding a hammer, half-buried in sand and dirt, loomed ominously in the distance as he approached the borders of what used to be Tajikistan. The skies hung low and gray, while bitter winds cut through valleys dotted with rusted military installations, remnants of old wars that seemed insignificant compared to the devastation ADVENT had wrought.


Commando sought these places for a reason; his belief that survivors like him, those who had evaded ADVENT’s gaze, would hide in such desolate places.

These forgotten corners of the world, where no one cared to look, provided the perfect refuge for the last remnants of humanity’s resistance. He scanned each relic, each ruin, hoping for signs, graffiti, a symbol scratched into the stone, or the subtle tracks of movement. He knew that if there were others like him, others who once fought for freedom, they would have vanished into these ghostly remains of the Old World, places where ADVENT’s reach barely stretched.

His mission was more than survival; it was about finding those who, like him, had refused to be broken, who had retreated into the darkness to regroup, to fight another day. The crumbling brutalist facades felt like home in a strange way; cold, unfeeling, but eternal, just like his drive to keep going.

Since the fall of XCOM, Commando had drifted across the world, a shadow of his former self. At first, he sought shelter in the most unexpected places; the houses of lonely women, seduced by his charm, his ruggedness, and the allure of a man with no ties. He never stayed long, only until he could feel the weight of his presence becoming too noticeable, or the urge to move on began to gnaw at him. The temporary comfort of their company was always brief, the fleeting illusion of normalcy always shattered by the truth of who he was; a soldier with no home, no family, and a past he could never fully escape. Every house, every face, was just another stop on his long journey to nowhere, his real companion the vast, desolate world outside the safety of the walls.

As civilization moved further from his reach, he disappeared into the lawless regions, where the grip of ADVENT and their collaborators loosened, and the old world’s rules no longer applied. Here, in the chaotic wilds, he was free from their watchful eyes, but also free from any sense of belonging. He stayed off the grid, living off the land, avoiding roads, towns, or anything that resembled a functioning society. His life became one of constant movement, drifting through forests, across crumbling highways, and over desolate plains where only the wind and remnants of Soviet bunkers remained.
The further he pushed, the less human he felt, shedding any semblance of the man he used to be. Commando had become a ghost, a specter moving through the ruins of a world that no longer cared about the men who once fought to save it.

And maybe that’s what he had always intended, becoming a part of the forgotten landscape, existing only as long as he kept running.

The man wakes up to the soft sound of birds chirping outside his window, sunlight pouring into his cozy kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. He reaches for his thermos on the counter, a familiar warmth spreading through his hands as he takes a sip, smiling at the memory of his wife preparing breakfast earlier. The packed lunch she made for him sits in a neat box, right where she always leaves it.

"Goodbye, kids!" he calls out with a gentle chuckle, knowing they’re probably too absorbed in their games in the living room to respond. He hears their giggles echo through the house, the sound of toys clattering in the background. The love in their laughter makes his heart swell, even though he doesn’t glance their way.

He steps into his car, the world outside as serene as his heart feels. The roads are clear, not a single car in sight. It's a perfect, peaceful ride, his favorite tunes humming through the speakers. He takes in the lush, green landscape and the blue sky stretching wide above, the kind of morning that makes everything feel right in the world.

Arriving at work, the parking lot is calm. No hustle, no stress. As he walks into the office building, his secretary’s voice calls out a friendly greeting from behind the desk, welcoming him just like she does every morning. He nods, comforted by the routine, even though he doesn’t look her way.

He opens the door to his personal office and sinks into his plush chair, feeling the support of its familiar embrace. His desk is clean and organized, the perfect environment for what he loves most: his work. He begins evaluating tactical scenarios, immersed in combat simulations that demand his attention. Each scenario presents a problem, and he’s there to find the solution, just like always.

Yet, outside this idyllic creation, the reality is far from serene. His real body lies entombed in a stasis suit, deep in ADVENT’s clutches. His mind, unable to cope with the truth, has woven this perfect life; a dream world that protects him from the harshness of his captivity. The simulations he evaluates are real, but everything else, the family, the home, the drive, all exist only in his imagination, a wonderful lie crafted to keep his sanity intact while ADVENT exploits his strategic brilliance for their own ends.

In Kyrgyzstan, the rugged terrain and sparse vegetation set the backdrop for Commando and Nikolai's quest. As they approach the old Soviet Radar Facility, the air is crisp and the mountains loom in the distance, creating a sense of isolation. The facility, a relic of Cold War paranoia, stands partially buried under a layer of snow and grime, its once imposing radar dishes now rusted and in disrepair.

Commando, clad in his retro bike gear, keeps a vigilant watch as Nikolai, a young man and former bandit he spared weeks ago, drives the old car, navigating the rough terrain. The car bumps and jostles over uneven ground, but they finally reach the facility's perimeter. The structure is marked by a tall, barbed-wire fence that has seen better days, with gaps wide enough to suggest years of neglect. The radar dishes, now covered in a thick layer of dust, point towards the sky like skeletal fingers.

The entrance to the facility is a heavy steel door, partially ajar and rusted. Inside, the facility is dimly lit by occasional shafts of sunlight filtering through broken windows. The hallways are cluttered with abandoned equipment and old Soviet-era technology, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Commando and Nikolai approach the door cautiously, their breath forming clouds in the cold air. Nikolai mentions that the facility's blueprint suggested a series of underground bunkers connected to the radar station. They need to determine if these bunkers are still operational or if they have been claimed by other factions.

As they enter the facility, Commando's bioelectric skin picks up faint signals of movement, and his heightened reflexes ensure he remains alert to any potential threats. They navigate through the dark, echoing corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust. The sounds of distant, mechanical whirring suggest that some parts of the facility might still be operational.

Commando and Nikolai find the entrance to the underground bunkers, a heavy steel door with a combination lock. Nikolai attempts to crack the lock while Commando stands guard, his keen senses on high alert. The process takes time, but eventually, the door creaks open, revealing a dark staircase leading down into the depths of the facility.

The Soviet Radar Facility stood like a silent sentinel against the Kyrgyzstani landscape, its rusty metal structure defiant amidst the surrounding wilderness. Inside, Commando and Nikolai were working with hurried urgency, their focus on powering up the systems. The air was tense, filled with the clanking of machinery and muffled conversation.

Suddenly, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the quiet. From the open ground outside the facility, eight heavily armored figures emerged, their blue plasma weapons sparking with deadly precision. The AVC operatives, masked and clad in high-tech gear, had come to confront the duo.

Commando reacted swiftly, grabbing Nikolai and moving to a defensive position. The interior of the facility was an intricate maze of corridors and control rooms, providing some cover. The AVC operatives, in a coordinated assault, exchanged fire with the two inside the facility. The distance between them was about 50 meters, making accuracy and cover crucial.

Commando, with his bioelectric skin and heightened reflexes, ducked behind a control panel, his eyes scanning for any signs of vulnerability in the AVC's formations. He could hear their radio chatter crackling through the static.

AVC Radio Comms:

Operator 1: “Priority Target 1 engaging. Proceed with caution. The target has demonstrated exceptional combat capabilities.”

Operator 2: “Affirmative. The Escort is in position. We need to neutralize that psi capability immediately. Any sign of resistance?”

Operator 3: “We’ve encountered substantial resistance. They're utilizing advanced tactics. PSI capabilities are confirmed; the target is more dangerous than expected.”

Operator 1: “Understood. Maintain formation. The target is highly valued and is linked to other reports. We need to secure the area and disable any tech they might be using.”

Operator 4: “Comms are being transmitted through the radar. Possible breach. Signal strength is unstable. Can’t confirm all channels.”

Back at the Old XCOM outpost, Solid monitored the incoming chatter, piecing together fragments from multiple sources. The word psi caught his attention immediately.

Solid: “Did you hear that? Psi abilities. Could be one of ours; or something new. Find out who this ‘Priority Target One’ is, and why they’re hunting him.”

The channel faded, leaving only static as Solid’s analysts scrambled to decrypt the transmission.

The open ground around the Soviet Radar Facility was littered with rubble and debris, a stark contrast to the sleek, high-tech gear of the AVC operatives. The AVC team, heavily armored and equipped with blue plasma tech, positioned themselves in a semi-circle around the entrance of the compound. Their dropship hovered a hundred meters away, idle but watching.

Inside the compound, Commando and Nikolai are pushed to their limits. Commando, with his bioelectric skin tingling faintly in the anticipation of movement, surveys the battlefield through the cracked windows and doorways, his reflexes and heightened senses on full alert. He exchanges bursts of gunfire with the AVC operatives, who advance with disciplined precision. Nikolai, taking cover behind a damaged control panel, returns fire with a mix of desperation and determination, his old Soviet rifle barking out shots against the advanced weaponry of the AVC.

The AVC operatives, utilizing blue plasma rifles, fired in coordinated bursts, their advanced technology ripping through the air with a chilling hum. The plasma beams scorch the ground and walls, creating dangerous hotspots that force Commando and Nikolai to constantly adjust their positions. Despite the high-tech gear of their enemies, Commando’s tactical prowess and superhuman abilities began to turn the tide in his favor.

Commando, using his enhanced reflexes and psionic abilities, manipulated the battlefield with deadly efficiency. He utilized his psi power of Insanity to create a wave of panic among the AVC operatives, causing one to stumble and fire erratically. Commando followed with a short AK burst, three controlled rounds striking center mass. The operative’s armor absorbed most of it, but the impact fractured ribs beneath the plating. The man dropped to one knee, disoriented.

Nikolai, taking advantage of the distraction, makes a bold move. He grabs an old C4 charge from their supplies and hurls it towards the AVC team, the explosion creating a cloud of smoke and debris. This momentary cover gives him a chance to reposition and provide suppressive fire, but the AVC team quickly regroups and intensifies their assault.

The AVC radio chatter crackles with urgency, their communication revealing their focus and priorities:

AVC Radio Comm: "Priority Target 1 and Escort in sight. Engage with extreme prejudice. Target has exhibited unconfirmed psi capabilities."
AVC Radio Comm: "Deploy counter-psi measures. The enemy is highly dangerous. Maintain formation and push them out."
AVC Radio Comm: “Grenades deployed. Keep moving and suppress. We must neutralize Priority Target 1. No retreat under any circumstances.”
AVC Radio Comm: “Watch for psi activity. It’s likely they’re using their abilities to counter our tactics. Maintain vigilance!”

Despite their precision, Commando was already dictating the rhythm of the fight. His bioelectric senses warned him of every flank attempt before it began, his psionics disrupting enemy cohesion. Each movement was measured, surgical; his control over the battlefield absolute.

In the night sky, the dropship Old XCOM took from the supply depot and retrofitted for their usage is moving fast to the unknown firefight. Solid sent some of his best on this. If combat was to escalate on their arrival, the top dogs would handle business. Hawkins, one of the best Assaults, was standing near the open ramp watching the rugged landscape pass down below. With his slicked-back hair tousled by the wind rushing through the ramp, the scar on his cheek catching the light, and his horseshoe mustache unmoving, Hawkins stood like a statue of war; silent, steady, and unmistakably formidable.

The story of Matthew Hawkins is one of both despair and resilience; a tale that began in darkness but eventually found its way to hope. Abducted by aliens alongside Said Tariq and his younger sister Fatima, his prospects for survival were bleak. The cold, metallic prison of the alien vessel was designed to crush the spirit of its captives. Yet, fate had other plans. XCOM, acting on crucial intelligence about the UFO’s location, mobilized a team of hardened operatives for a high-stakes rescue mission. With ruthless precision, they stormed the ship, battling through hostile corridors to reach the captives. In a race against time, they managed to extract Hawkins, Tariq, and Fatima just as the ship’s life support systems began to fail.
Grateful for their rescue and driven by a newfound resolve, Hawkins and his fellow survivors chose to join XCOM’s ranks. For Hawkins, it was more than just an enlistment, it was a mission to ensure no one else would endure the horrors he had faced. With a sharp mind, relentless determination, and a knack for strategy, he quickly proved his mettle. Within a few short months, he became one of XCOM’s elite operatives, mastering the art of psychic warfare to reach the esteemed Master Psi level.
Today, Hawkins stands among the organization's finest, holding the #4 spot in the Top Assault rankings, rivaling legends like Kumiko Kobayashi. His rise was nothing short of meteoric, yet it was during the infamous base raid that he truly solidified his reputation. Positioned near the main entrance with a handful of security personnel, Hawkins found himself at the forefront when the alien assault began. Despite being heavily outnumbered, he held the line, buying precious minutes for the rest of the operatives to arm themselves and mount a counterattack.
The defense came at a great cost. Hawkins sustained severe injuries in the chaos but refused to retreat until his allies were ready. His life was ultimately saved by a courageous MEC pilot who evacuated him from the battlefield under heavy fire, extracting him to safety. After the ordeal, Hawkins was sent to a recovery facility in Canada, accompanied by his close friend and fellow operative, Claire Jaquet. There, he spent several months healing from his injuries, using the time not only to recover physically but also to reflect on his journey.
Now back in action, he remains an indomitable force, driven by the memories of those who couldn’t be saved. For Matthew Hawkins, the fight is far from over; it’s only just begun.

On the ground, Commando was down to his last magazine. Though he had landed several hits on the approaching AVC, its advanced plating had absorbed most of the damage. As his rifle neared empty, his mind raced through alternatives. He hadn't yet resorted to Mind Controlling enemies or using Fuse to detonate their own explosives. He could still fire off precise shots from his pistol, aiming for the visors of their helmets while they were distracted by infighting.
This wasn’t the worst predicament he’d faced, not by a long shot. Eight enemies? He’d handled far more dangerous odds in his years of combat. If he were alone, he might have let them close in, using the proximity to fully exploit his abilities. But this time, he had someone to protect: Nikolai, the kind-hearted kid he had saved just weeks ago from a gang of ruthless bandits. Commando had recognized a young soul forced into a life of crime and spared him, dismantling the gang with ruthless efficiency. Now, it was up to him to keep Nikolai safe, no matter the cost.

The XCOM dropship descends from the clouds, its engines roaring and propellers churning the air as it approaches the battlefield. The advanced aircraft, equipped with high-tech sensors and communications systems, hovers above the Soviet radar facility, its powerful floodlights piercing through the smoke and debris. From the speakers the voice of Hawkins echoes "Combatants, cease and desist any fighting, stand down and await inspection or we will engage!"

AVC relay to their HQ that backup has arrived. Order came to withdraw, no point in losing a whole squad over an uncontrollable situation. The losses outmatched any potential gains.

Commando's breath misted in the cold air as he surveyed the battleground. The AVC operatives had retreated, their armored forms vanishing into the distance, leaving a sense of uneasy silence. The once vibrant echo of gunfire and plasma blasts had given way to a haunting stillness. Commando's mind was still racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins, but he was focused on Nikolai, who lay slumped against the wall of the Soviet Radar Facility’s entrance.

Nikolai's face was pallid, the blood loss evident. He tried to muster a smile, but the pain and exhaustion were etched deeply into his features. Commando approached quickly, his heart heavy as he knelt beside his fallen comrade.

"Nikolai," Commando’s voice was rough, his emotions barely restrained. He placed a hand gently on Nikolai’s shoulder.

Nikolai's eyes fluttered open, a weak, but determined gaze meeting Commando’s. "Commando... I don’t think I can continue our journey… sorry," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

Commando tried to speak, but his throat felt dry, the words choked by the gravity of the moment. Instead, he pulled Nikolai’s hand into his own, the gesture filled with unspoken camaraderie.

"Hold on, Nikolai. Help is coming," Commando said, his voice cracking with the weight of unspoken grief.

Nikolai shook his head slightly, a faint smile forming on his lips despite the pain. "It’s too late for me, my friend. You’ve done enough." He reached up, clutching Commando’s hand with a surprising strength. "Just... thank you for the chance you gave me. And fight on. For all of us."

Commando’s grip tightened, his eyes misting as he nodded solemnly. He watched as Nikolai’s breathing slowed, his hand growing limp in Commando’s own. With a final, almost imperceptible sigh, Nikolai’s eyes closed for the last time.

As Commando sat there, cradling his fallen comrade, the distant thrum of the dropship's engines grew louder. The XCOM dropship had finally arrived, its sleek form cutting through the darkened sky and touching down with a muted thud on the battlefield. Commando slowly rose to his feet, his eyes now a steely mask of resolve and sorrow. He watched as the hatch of the dropship lowered, and familiar faces began to emerge.

Dieter Krause, his imposing figure marked by scars and a no-nonsense demeanor, stepped out first, followed by Matthew Hawkins, whose sharp eyes and calm presence were unmistakable. Other old veterans joined them, their expressions a mix of awe and sadness as they took in the scene.

"Commando," Dieter’s voice carried a tone of both recognition and concern as he approached. "It’s good to see you again brother, but... I see we’ve lost someone."

Commando nodded, his gaze fixed on his fallen comrade. "Yes. Nikolai was a brave companion. The AVC almost got us. We were lucky to hold them off."

Matthew Hawkins, with a solemn nod, placed a hand on Commando’s shoulder. "We may not have known him, but we share in your grief. His sacrifice will not be forgotten."

As the XCOM team began to set up a perimeter and prepare for the extraction, Solid's voice crackled over the comms from HQ. "Commando, is that really you?"

Commando’s voice was steady, though his emotions were raw. "Yes, Solid. It’s me. We’ve had a tough time, but we managed. Nikolai... he didn’t make it."

There was a pause on the other end before Solid replied, his tone filled with respect and a touch of sadness. "Understood. We’ll get you out of there. And once we’re all safe, we’ll honor his memory."

The dropship’s engines roared to life as it prepared for departure, lifting off and carrying its precious cargo away from the battlefield. Commando stood silent, his eyes still on the spot where Nikolai lay. As the dropship soared into the sky, the silhouettes of old friends and comrades filled the cabin, a fleeting sense of reunion mingling with the heavy weight of loss.

In the quiet aftermath, as the Radar Facility was left behind, the mission to honor fallen heroes and fight on against the encroaching darkness continued, driven by the unwavering spirit of those who refused to give up.

In the dim glow of his office, Solid allowed himself a rare, fleeting smile. Another of his finest had returned to the fold: Commando, the #2 Top Assault, a Tier 1+ operative, and a Legend Psi Level soldier. It had taken him years of relentless effort to track down the scattered survivors of the old war, but now, at last, his vision of an XCOM resurgence was beginning to take shape. The pieces were falling into place.

The dimly lit war room was filled with the tension of old soldiers reunited under the shadow of a new war. A long table stood in the center, surrounded by familiar faces, veterans who had survived the brutal alien conflict years ago. Solid stood at the head, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scanned the faces around him. Commando, Dieter Krause, Matthew Hawkins, and others sat quietly, the recent battle at the radar facility fresh in their minds.

Solid broke the silence first, his voice low but steady. "That firefight with the AVC at the radar facility proved something we’ve been avoiding," he began, locking eyes with each of them. "We are outgunned. Commando, you and Nikolai did everything you could with what you had, but we can’t afford to be in that position again. We're not fighting aliens anymore, but the enemy is just as dangerous; sometimes more so."

Commando, leaning back in his chair, nodded, his face hard. "I was lucky. The old AK held up, but the AVC’s armor was better than anything we’ve seen since the war. Plasma, alloy shielding, advanced tech. We won’t survive the next fight with scraps from the past."

Hawkins, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward. "I’ve got some stashed equipment in the mountains of Canada. Gauss rifles, old Titan armor. They’re still there, protected, but it’s risky. The area’s remote, but we’d need resources to retrieve it."

Solid crossed his arms, thinking. "That’s not enough. Some of us still have stashes in abandoned places, but the issue is getting them. I don’t care how dangerous it is; we need to figure this out." Then he added, “Now that engineering has retrofitted the two dropships for long-range deployment, we finally have the autonomy to reach those remote caches. It’s time we start using them.”

Dieter Krause chimed in, his gruff voice filling the room. "What about the Lost? Some of our equipment’s been buried under cities crawling with them. We’ve got no chance of walking in there without getting swarmed. The old gear I hid? Lost infested town. Damn near suicide."

A murmur of agreement swept through the room. The Lost, zombie-like creatures, had made retrieval efforts nearly impossible in many places. The sprawling megacities where their most advanced weaponry had been hidden were death traps.

Commando folded his arms, considering. "If we can clear smaller Lost areas, we might be able to salvage enough to outfit ourselves. We can’t fight the Lost like we fight soldiers. They're a horde. But we could hit areas at the edge of the infection, maybe clear some ground."

Hawkins nodded. "That's possible. But even then, we’re talking scraps compared to what the enemy’s using. Gauss weapons, Titan armor... it’s good, but we won’t have enough if we’re dealing with groups armed with plasma and advanced alloys."

Solid turned to Komarov. "Any ideas? You’re quiet over there."

Immanuil grunted. "Well, one idea is we look for caches that ADVENT never found. There were military outposts, black sites the aliens never bothered to secure. Those are long shots, though, and they'd be heavily guarded or in dangerous territories."

A pause hung in the air as the group considered the options.

One of the veterans, an older soldier named Handoko, spoke up. "What about allying with some factions? The Reapers, for example. They’ve been scavenging high-tech weaponry from ADVENT. They’re stealthy, and we’ve got enough old contacts. They might not like the idea of sharing, but we could strike a deal."

Commando raised an eyebrow. "The Reapers don’t trust anyone outside their own. We’d need something to offer them. We’re not in a position to bargain."

Solid’s eyes darkened with thought, his mind clearly racing through possibilities. "We need to gather intel first. Find out which factions control what. ADVENT might have abandoned some of their own depots. It’s risky, but it might be worth investigating. We know there were resistance cells hiding weapon caches. If we can find a few, we might be able to rearm."

Another voice chimed in from the back, this one belonging to Kruger, who had been silent until now. "I still have connections with some of the resistance in Hamburg. They were small-time back in the day, but they’re better equipped now. I can reach out, see if they’ve got anything worth trading for or collaborating on."

Solid nodded. "Good. We need all the options we can get. No one’s saying this will be easy, but it’s clear we’re not going to last long in direct firefights without better tech."

Commando leaned forward, his voice steady. "So, we start with what we can retrieve; my gear, Hawkins' stashes, anything we’ve hidden over the years. Then we find these old military depots and faction connections. We get what we can, and we make sure next time we meet AVC or ADVENT remnants, we’re the ones with the upper hand."

Solid stood, his eyes scanning the room. "That’s the plan, then. We start gathering, hunting, and securing. I’ll coordinate the intel teams, and we’ll hit the ground running. No more fighting with ancient relics; we’re Old War XCOM, but we’re about to show the world we’re not going anywhere."

Stone leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw as if considering something. "What about reaching out to Bradford? He’s been trying to resurrect XCOM, from what I’ve heard. He’s still out there, working with the resistance."

The room fell quiet for a moment. Commando's gaze shifted toward Solid, whose expression tightened slightly. Hawkins crossed his arms, not looking particularly enthused about the suggestion.

Solid finally spoke. "Bradford’s efforts are worth noting, yeah. He’s trying to pull something together. He’s got a small team, mostly green recruits, but he hasn’t made any real moves yet."

Dieter Krause scoffed, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "Bradford? The guy who couldn’t tell the front of a rifle from the stock back then? No offense, but we’re not exactly in a position to be waiting around for him to do something big."

Commando remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he considered the suggestion. After a few moments, he spoke. "Bradford’s heart is in the right place, but if we go to him now, we’ll be pulling in too much attention. He’s on ADVENT’s radar. Hell, if AVC is already tracking us, the last thing we need is more heat."

Mary Ryan nodded from across the room. "We’re too small. Bradford’s trying to build something new. We’re trying to survive long enough to strike back. If we connect with him, we risk getting pulled into whatever mess he’s in."

Stone looked around the table, sensing the resistance. "I get it. But we can’t deny that we’ll need numbers eventually. Bradford’s got the right idea; rebuild, organize, fight smart. It’s just…"
"It’s just not the time," Hawkins cut in. "Bradford’s still too exposed. We can’t be waiting for him to rally an army that might not come in time. Right now, we need to arm ourselves first. Then we think about allies."

Bradley nodded slowly. "I see your point. But at some stage, we’ll have to align ourselves with something bigger, right? Bradford’s still XCOM."

Solid leaned in, his voice firm. "Bradford is XCOM, sure, but so are we. And right now, we do this our way. No ties, no risks. When the time’s right, maybe. But not yet."

De Groot, a no-nonsense soldier with a steady hand, leaned forward, breaking the moment.

"What about Shaojie Zhang?" she said, her sharp Dutch accent cutting through the quiet. "He’s in Shanghai, running his own network. Kumiko and Genda are with him, along with some other veterans. If anyone’s got a reliable operation going, it’s him. Hell, he might even have safehouses we could use."

Commando looked up at the mention of Zhang’s name. The legendary Chinese assault operative had been a symbol of close-quarters combat excellence during the Old War. If anyone could hold their own in ADVENT-controlled cities, it was Zhang.

Solid rubbed his chin, clearly considering it. "Zhang’s network… It’s a thought. He’s been keeping a low profile, but his operations have been steady. If we relocated there, we’d have some breathing room. Maybe."

Bradley Stone, the sniper, glanced over from where he sat. "He’s got safehouses in Shanghai? How secure could they be, though? ADVENT’s reach there is just as tight as anywhere else."

De Groot shrugged. "If anyone can stay off ADVENT’s radar, it’s Zhang. He’s good at this, real good. And he’s been there long enough to build something solid. We can’t deny that having allies like him could put us in a better position."

Ouellet, a hardened Infantry operative with a reputation for getting into the thick of it, shook his head. "Relocating halfway across the world isn’t exactly easy. We’d be leaving behind what little we’ve secured here. And besides, what’s to stop ADVENT from tracking us there?"

Komarov, seated in the corner, folded his arms. "Zhang’s not a bad idea. But moving the whole operation is risky. We don’t know how stable things are in his region. And if his network’s compromised…"

Lambropoulos chimed in next. "We don’t have to move everything at once. We could reach out, gauge the situation. See what he has to offer. It’s better than flying blind here with what little we’ve got."

Solid nodded, weighing the input from the others. "Zhang’s reliable. But we’re not going to uproot everything unless we know for sure it’s safer there than it is here. And right now, that’s a big unknown. We’ll need solid intel from Shanghai before we even consider making a move."

De Groot leaned back. "So, what’s the plan? Reach out to him first, see if he’s got space and security for us? We need to act sooner rather than later, especially if AVC keeps getting closer."

Solid met her gaze. "Exactly. We’ll make contact, but carefully. No sudden moves until we know what we’re dealing with. If Zhang’s network has what we need, we’ll take it from there."

Solid leaned forward, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on the table. "Lambropoulos is right. We’ve got Zero still operating in Europe, staying low, keeping an eye on ADVENT movements. We need to think carefully about what role he plays next. After that depot hit, everyone’s been scrambling to figure out who did it. None of the factions are claiming responsibility."

Commando nodded, crossing his arms. "The blow we struck left ADVENT on edge, and it’s better if they stay guessing. Zero’s cover is solid for now, but if they start connecting the dots to XCOM, it could be over for him. We either pull him out or commit him fully to the fight, but we can’t leave him in limbo."

Bradley Stone glanced around the table. "The depot assault was a big win. But it also painted a target on his back. ADVENT’s not going to let that go unanswered, and if we keep using him in operations like that, it’s only a matter of time before they figure it out. Question is: do we want to risk losing that cover?"

De Groot cut in. "If Zero’s cover is blown, we’re down one of our best. He’s been invaluable as a civilian asset, gathering intel where none of us can go. But keeping him sidelined doesn’t help us much longer either. We’ve got to decide; do we let him stay quiet or bring him into the fold?"

Lambropoulos leaned in. "I think we can still use him in Europe for now, keeping him under ADVENT’s radar. But we need a backup plan if things go south. He’s been crucial to our success, but we need to keep him moving under the radar; maybe keep him as our sleeper agent in Europe, striking only when we’re ready for a full-blown assault."

Solid, rubbing his temple, looked at the map pinned to the wall. Europe was a dangerous chessboard of factions and ADVENT patrols. "If we pull Zero out, we lose eyes in a critical region. But if we keep using him, we risk burning him as an asset. What we could do is limit his direct involvement in assaults, using him more for reconnaissance. Keep his actions subtle. He can still be our man on the inside, feeding us intel."

Twitch, usually quiet, spoke up. "Reconnaissance is smart. Zero's skills as a sniper and covert operative are unmatched, but the more noise he makes, the hotter things get. ADVENT's not stupid; they’re probably still wondering who hit that depot. Keeping him in the shadows is our safest bet for now. But the moment he gets too involved, he's a target. If we pull him, we lose our best source of intel in Europe."

Komarov, who had been listening carefully, added, "If we bring him in full-time, he’ll need a new cover. ADVENT’s already suspicious. We either double down on keeping him as a ghost, or we get him out. I’m with the idea of keeping him in place, but we need to make sure we’re not overrelying on him."

Solid straightened. "Alright, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll keep Zero in place, for now. He’ll continue gathering intel in Europe, focusing on surveillance and recon, not direct assaults. But we make sure to have an extraction plan ready in case ADVENT gets too close. We can’t afford to lose him, but we can’t afford to waste his talents either. Understood?"

Solid stood at the front of the room, staring at the map of Europe with a grim expression. “If we’re going to keep Zero in place, we need a team on standby. A small, elite unit, close enough to get him out fast if things go sideways. No matter what we do, we can’t leave him stranded if ADVENT comes knocking.”

Commando nodded in agreement, arms crossed. “We relocate to China, and we leave him exposed. He needs backup nearby, people who can get in and out quickly if things get hot.”

Solid turned to the group. “I’m assigning a leader and a six-man squad for this. You’ll be our extraction team, ready to move at a moment’s notice. We’ve got an old helicopter we can use for quick exfil.”

He looked around the room before listing the names. “Commando you take charge in this. Pyotr Zubov and Svetlana Grishina, you’ll handle Assault. Louise Boyer and Sofia Fuentes for sniper support. Albert Ouellet, you’ll handle Infantry, and Said Tariq will be our drone specialist, handling recon and med support.”

XCOM Gene Mod Project Addendum

Dr. Moira Vahlen, Chief Scientist, XCOM
Subject: Shaojie Zhang - Tier 1+ Assault Operative (Subject No. 4)
Classified Document
________________________________________
Summary of Operative Performance:
Subject No. 4, Shaojie Zhang, a top-tier Assault operative, has undergone multiple gene modifications, including Muscle Fiber Density (MFD), Adaptive Bone Marrow (ABM), and Iron Skin (IS). These enhancements have yielded remarkable results in combat, placing Zhang among the most formidable operatives in the XCOM ranks.
________________________________________
Combat Encounter with Alien Berserker:
During a recent engagement, Subject No. 4 demonstrated unprecedented physical capabilities while confronting an alien Berserker, a creature known for its immense size, strength, and ferocity.
Key Observations:
1. Withstanding Berserker Strike:
The subject received a direct blow from the Berserker, a hit that would normally incapacitate or severely injure a standard soldier. However, the combination of Iron Skin and Adaptive Bone Marrow allowed Zhang to withstand the force of the attack with minimal damage. Post-mission analysis showed only superficial injuries, a testament to the increased resistance provided by both modifications. His reinforced tissue and rapid healing processes prevented internal damage or trauma that would typically accompany such an impact.
2. Counterattack - Superhuman Strength:
Zhang’s response to the Berserker’s assault was equally astonishing. Leveraging the enhancements from Muscle Fiber Density, Zhang launched a front kick with such force that the Berserker, despite its immense weight and size, was visibly staggered and pushed back. Tactical footage suggests that the operative’s leg muscles generated power far beyond normal human capacity, aided by the bone reinforcement from ABM. This display of superhuman strength likely exceeded 1,000 pounds of force, enough to destabilize the Berserker momentarily.
3. Berserker Kill:
Capitalizing on the creature’s brief vulnerability, Zhang proceeded to execute a precision maneuver, driving his combat knife directly through the Berserker’s notoriously dense exoskeleton plating. The Muscle Fiber Density enhancement in his arms enabled him to generate enough force to pierce the thick, chitinous armor, which typically deflects standard weaponry. Zhang delivered the killing blow by targeting the creature’s exposed muscle tissue underneath the armor, demonstrating not only raw strength but precise tactical skill under pressure.
________________________________________
Analysis:
Subject No. 4’s performance in this encounter exemplifies the potential of combining multiple gene modifications in a combat scenario. The integration of Muscle Fiber Density, Adaptive Bone Marrow, and Iron Skin allowed Zhang to:
• Absorb and recover from extreme physical trauma.
• Deliver strikes that would be impossible for an unmodified human.
• Execute precise, high-impact attacks that bypassed alien defenses.
Physiological Changes:
Post-mission analysis indicated that Zhang’s muscle mass and skeletal structure have adapted to handle significantly increased forces. His bone density, as enhanced by Adaptive Bone Marrow, may account for his ability to withstand the Berserker's strike without fracturing, while his Iron Skin ensured that soft tissues suffered minimal injury. Furthermore, the accelerated healing properties of ABM had already begun repairing the minor tissue damage within minutes of the encounter.
________________________________________
Conclusion:
Shaojie Zhang's enhancements have transformed him into a superhuman force on the battlefield, capable of enduring attacks that would incapacitate or kill most soldiers while delivering devastating counterattacks. This case provides strong evidence for the effectiveness of combining gene modifications to create operatives capable of facing even the most dangerous alien threats. I recommend further study into whether additional combinations of gene mods could further amplify these results without risk to the subject’s long-term health.

Dr. Moira Vahlen
Chief Scientist, XCOM

End of Addendum

The smog-heavy air of Shanghai clung to the streets as Solid, De Groot, Bradley Stone, and Komarov made their way through the sprawling city. They were unarmed, unarmored; traveling lightly to avoid attention. This wasn’t the same Shanghai from before the invasion; it was now a megacity under tight ADVENT control, where shadows ran deeper than just the dark alleys. Information here was the most valuable currency, and they needed to trade carefully.

Their goal was clear: find Shaojie Zhang. The rumors swirling around the former XCOM legend had grown into a web of stories that made it difficult to discern fact from fiction. The most prominent rumor? Zhang had taken control of the entire Triad network, using his superior skill set; combat experience, gene mods, and psionic abilities- to not just survive but thrive in Shanghai's underworld.

Solid, standing at the front of the group, exchanged glances with De Groot and the others. "If Zhang is running the Triads now, we’ll need to get to someone high enough in their ranks to talk. But who the hell are the right people?"

De Groot adjusted her jacket, keeping her gaze fixed on the bustling streets. “If Zhang’s controlling the Triads, they won’t just talk to anyone. But he’s been known to trust those who fought in the Old War. It’s about reputation. We need to find someone who has enough respect to pass us up the chain.”

Bradley Stone, always the cautious observer, added, “Problem is, in a city this big, everyone’s trying to hustle you. We can’t just go asking about Zhang. If the wrong person hears we’re looking for him, ADVENT or the AVC could get wind of it. We need to be smart about this.”

Komarov grunted. “The streets talk. We find someone on the lower end of the network; someone who’s seen enough action to recognize who we are but doesn’t hold the kind of power that’d make them dangerous. Someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain from helping us.”

Solid nodded slowly, the gears in his mind turning. “The Triads deal in all sorts of business. Gangs, smuggling, black-market tech. We can start by hitting the lower-level spots. Back-alley gambling dens, underground clubs… the kind of places where people trade favors.”

De Groot smirked. “And hope they don’t kill us before we ask any questions.”

Bradley glanced around, eyes scanning the streets for any signs of ADVENT patrols. “What if we offer something in return? Zhang always had a sense of loyalty. If we find someone who still remembers XCOM, they might be willing to pass a message up the chain. Zhang might not trust many people, but if we can remind him of the old days... it’s our best bet.”

Solid crossed his arms, thinking. “Alright, we start low. Ask the right kind of questions, but don’t be too direct. We’re looking for the middlemen, the brokers. We keep it quiet, no sudden moves. And we do it in a way that gets word back to Zhang without stirring up too much attention.”

Komarov added, “If we get too close to the wrong people, it’ll attract ADVENT’s eye. We need someone who still has respect for what we did back then. Someone who values loyalty.”

De Groot smiled slightly, the sharpness in her eyes revealing her readiness for the task. “Then let’s go find some old ghosts.”

They made their way deeper into the city, navigating through narrow alleys, neon signs flickering in the dim light. Their target? A known back-alley club run by low-level Triad members. The kind of place where money changed hands in the dark, and where people owed debts that could never be repaid.

As they entered the smoky, dimly lit club, Solid exchanged a glance with De Groot. "Let’s hope we find the right kind of ghost here."
Bradley, eyes sharp as always, murmured, “We get in, ask the right questions, and get out. But make no mistake; they’ll smell us as trouble before we even say a word.”

Komarov, gruff as ever, gave a faint grunt. “These thugs don’t care about old wars. We’re walking into their den with no weapons and no leverage.”

Solid nodded. “Exactly. We’re not going to force anything here. Let’s move.”

The club they approached was more rundown than expected. A neon sign flickered above the door, and two burly bouncers stood at the entrance, watching everything and nothing at the same time. As they walked up, one of the bouncers blocked their path with a meaty arm.

“No weapons, no problems,” the man growled, his eyes glinting with suspicion. “State your business.”

De Groot, keeping her expression neutral, stepped forward. “Just here to talk. We’re looking for someone who might be able to help us.”

The bouncer narrowed his eyes. “Talk? In a place like this? I don’t think you’re here for drinks, lady. Who the hell are you?”

Solid, not missing a beat, stepped in. “We’re looking for information. About the Triads. We need to find someone with connections.”

The bouncer’s eyes flicked over the group. “You don’t look like you belong here. What’s your angle?”

“We're friends of someone from back in the day," Solid said carefully. "We’re looking to reconnect.”

The second bouncer snorted, clearly amused. “You’re in the wrong place for reunions.”

Bradley, standing just behind them, scanned the street behind them. “Look, we’re not here to cause trouble. But if you want trouble, we can bring it. All we need is to talk to the right people.”

The first bouncer seemed to consider this, but his eyes hardened. “You don’t get to talk to anyone unless we say so. And you ain’t exactly inspiring confidence.”

The tension rose as the bouncers squared up to Solid and De Groot, but just then, a slick-dressed man emerged from inside the club, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto the newcomers. His suit, though scuffed, marked him as someone important. He motioned for the bouncers to step aside.

“Let them in,” he said, his voice cool and authoritative. “I want to hear what they have to say.”

The bouncers exchanged a glance but stepped aside, allowing Solid and his team to enter the club. The interior was dimly lit, filled with the smell of stale alcohol and desperation. The man in the suit led them to a back table, where a group of shady figures sat playing cards. They barely looked up as the group approached, but their body language spoke volumes. This was a den of criminals, not the kind who would entertain small talk.

The man in the suit gestured for them to sit, his eyes assessing each of them with clinical precision. “You don’t look like you belong here,” he said, his voice dripping with suspicion. “So I’ll ask again, what do you want?”

De Groot spoke first, her tone firm. “We’re looking for Zhang. The man they say runs things around here.”

At the mention of Zhang’s name, the mood shifted. A few of the men playing cards stopped, their eyes now fixed on the group. The man in the suit leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Zhang? That’s a dangerous name to throw around in this city. People who say his name usually don’t leave here with their teeth intact.”

Komarov crossed his arms, his imposing figure casting a shadow across the table. “He’ll want to see us.”

The man in the suit raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got no standing here, no leverage. You think just dropping that name gets you anywhere?”

Solid leaned in slightly. “We’re not here to cause trouble. We need Zhang’s help, and if he’s the man running things, it’d be smart to listen.”

The man in the suit laughed, a short, sharp sound. “You think just because you knew him before, you can walk in here and expect a warm welcome? You’re dealing with the Triads now. You’re in our territory. You don’t get to make demands.”

Bradley, watching the group closely, could feel the growing tension. “We’re not making demands. We just need to pass a message.”

The man leaned forward, voice low. “Here’s how this works: you don’t find Zhang."

Solid met his gaze, unflinching. “What do you want?”

"I want to see if you’re worth the trouble. You’re in our world now. Let’s see if you can survive it"

The atmosphere in the backroom shifted as the Triad leader smiled slyly. “You want to prove yourselves? Fine. One of you fights one of ours; unarmed. Show us you can survive in our world, then we’ll consider your message.”

Solid remained calm, glancing at his team. He could step in and handle it himself, but as Field Commander, it wasn’t exactly his job to fight under these circumstances. His gaze shifted to De Groot, who simply raised an eyebrow, signaling she could take care of it, but she wanted to leave the honor to the men. Bradley, the sniper, looked unfazed but uninterested, his talents lying more with distance and precision.

That left Komarov. His eyes gleamed, eager for a fight, and he cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward. “I’ll take this one,” he growled in his thick Russian accent.

The Triad leader waved his hand, and a massive, towering figure stepped from the shadows. The man was nearly two meters tall, bald, and built like a brick wall. The Mongolian thug had muscles rippling under his skin, his fists already clenched in anticipation. The room murmured with excitement as bets were placed.

Komarov, without hesitation, pulled his shirt off, revealing his finely toned muscles covered in battle scars; each one a testament to his years in XCOM. The Triads, seeing his physical condition, hesitated for a moment, realizing they weren’t dealing with just any outsider. But the Mongolian thug didn’t seem to care, cracking his neck and stepping forward, fists raised.

The room cleared a space, and the fight began.

The Mongolian launched the first attack, swinging a powerful fist aimed straight at Komarov’s jaw. But Komarov didn’t flinch. He stood there, allowing the blow to land squarely on his cheek. The Triads watched, expecting Komarov to stagger, but instead, the punch barely fazed him. His **Iron Skin** gene mod made him as hard as steel, and the thug’s fist felt like hitting solid rock.

Komarov smiled slightly, and the Mongolian, undeterred, threw another punch; this time to the gut. Again, Komarov stood firm, letting the hits land without so much as a grimace. The thug was getting frustrated, throwing punch after punch, each one less effective than the last.

Solid, De Groot, and Bradley watched calmly, knowing the fight was already over before it began. The Triads, however, were growing uneasy, seeing their strongest man struggling to hurt this silent Russian.

Then, without warning, Komarov moved. In a blur of motion, he swept the Mongolian’s legs out from under him with a single powerful kick, sending the massive man crashing to the floor. Before the Mongolian could even react, Komarov followed up with a controlled but precise punch to the solar plexus. It wasn’t a full-force hit; just enough to knock the wind out of the thug and leave him gasping on the floor.

The room fell silent. The fight was over.

Komarov stood over the fallen man, his expression unreadable. He stepped back, pulled his shirt back on, and turned to the Triad man. "Did I survive your world nicely?"

Solid stood up, glanced at the Triad leader. “Tell Zhang we’re in town. He knows where to find us.”

With that, the veterans turned and calmly walked out of the club, leaving behind stunned silence and a clear message: XCOM was back, and they weren’t to be trifled with.

Immanuil Komarov; The Iron Wolf

Early Life
Immanuil Komarov was born in 1982 in Volgograd, Russia, the son of a decorated military officer. His father, Colonel Ivan Komarov, was a strict but fair man who instilled in Immanuil a deep respect for discipline, loyalty, and honor from an early age. Raised in the shadow of his father’s military career, Immanuil grew up surrounded by stories of valor and the sacrifices required to protect one’s homeland. These lessons were reinforced by his mother, a teacher, who ensured he balanced his physical training with a sharp mind and strategic thinking.
By the time he was 17, it was no surprise when Immanuil enlisted in the Russian Army. Tall, strong, and fiercely determined, he stood out among his peers; not only for his physical abilities but also for his sharp instincts and coolheaded demeanor under pressure.
________________________________________
The Chechen Wars: From Soldier to Specialist
Komarov’s military career began in the crucible of the Second Chechen War, a brutal and chaotic conflict that tested the limits of even the most seasoned soldiers. Starting as part of a tactical infantry unit in 2000, Komarov quickly distinguished himself in the field. His ability to lead under fire and his unyielding determination to complete missions earned him early commendations.
By 2003, Komarov was selected for Spetsnaz training, joining Russia’s elite special forces. Over the next several years, Komarov became known for his precision and adaptability in counterterrorism operations, deep reconnaissance, and high-risk extractions. He was a natural leader, respected for his calm under fire and his willingness to put himself in harm’s way for his team. His peers nicknamed him “Iron Wolf” a nod to his unbreakable resolve and his wolf-like tactical cunning in combat.
During the height of the war in 2005, Komarov led a daring nighttime raid on an insurgent stronghold deep in the mountains of Chechnya. The mission, deemed nearly suicidal by his commanders, ended in the successful rescue of a captured Russian officer. The operation became a textbook example of Spetsnaz efficiency and further cemented Komarov’s reputation as one of the finest operatives in the unit.
For a decade, Komarov fought in the conflict, earning multiple honors, including the Order of Courage and the Medal of Military Merit. But the toll of war weighed heavily on him. By 2010, with the conflict winding down, Komarov accepted an assignment that would offer him a change of pace: embassy security in Washington, D.C.
________________________________________
From Embassy Guard to XCOM Operative
Assigned to the Russian embassy in Washington, Komarov’s reputation followed him. While the assignment was relatively peaceful, his sharp instincts and unmatched professionalism didn’t go unnoticed by those around him. His ability to assess threats before they escalated, coupled with his intimidating physical presence; a chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes, and outfit that was always impeccably styled; made him an invaluable asset to the embassy’s staff.
During this time, Komarov began to feel the weight of his past. The horrors of Chechnya lingered in his mind, but he remained focused, using the quieter days in Washington to hone his skills, both physical and mental. He began training in advanced martial arts and combat techniques, keeping himself in peak condition.
It was in 2013, during one particularly high-profile diplomatic summit, that Komarov caught the attention of XCOM recruiters. A potential threat had been flagged during the event, and Komarov’s swift, decisive actions in diffusing a potential security breach; without a single shot fired, earned him a quiet but serious recommendation for recruitment.
When the XCOM Project officially approached him, Komarov hesitated. He knew little about the alien threat at the time, but the secrecy and importance of the mission intrigued him. Ultimately, he accepted, driven by the chance to once again protect humanity on a larger scale.
________________________________________
The XCOM Years: A New Frontier
Komarov’s transition to XCOM was seamless. His years of combat experience and leadership made him an asset from the outset. He quickly rose through the ranks, proving himself in countless missions. Whether leading tactical assaults, defending civilian zones, or eliminating alien targets deep behind enemy lines, Komarov’s name became synonymous with precision and unyielding resolve.
His combat proficiency earned him the rank of Tier 2 Assault, placing him among the elite soldiers of XCOM. But it was his unexpected aptitude for Psi abilities that truly set him apart. Under intense training, Komarov unlocked the potential of his mind, achieving Master Psi Level status; an achievement that placed him in a rarefied class of soldiers. His ability to manipulate the battlefield with both physical prowess and psionic powers made him a force to be reckoned with.
________________________________________
The Iron Wolf Today

Today, Immanuil Komarov is ranked unofficially as #6 in the Top Assault list, a position he earned through sheer grit and unwavering commitment. His towering figure, strong jawline, and striking features make him an imposing presence both on and off the battlefield. His neck-length hair, always perfectly in place, has become something of a signature look, a small vanity that contrasts with his otherwise no-nonsense demeanor.
Despite his reputation as a fearsome warrior, Komarov, now nicknamed just “Spetsnaz”, is known among his comrades for his quiet sense of humor and unshakable loyalty. He rarely speaks of his time in Chechnya, but his experiences there fuel his drive to protect humanity against the alien threat. To Komarov, every mission is personal, a chance to ensure that no one else has to endure the horrors he witnessed in his youth.

As part of Solid’s resurgent XCOM, Komarov stands as a cornerstone of the new resistance. His ability to seamlessly blend tactical brilliance, psionic mastery, and raw combat skill makes him an invaluable asset in the fight to reclaim Earth. Yet behind his stoic exterior, Komarov remains deeply human; a man shaped by war, driven by honor, and unyielding in his pursuit of victory.

The following evening, Solid, De Groot, Bradley, and Komarov made their way to the location sent by the Triads; a high-rise hotel in the heart of Shanghai. The city lights flickered outside as they stepped into the elevator, riding up to the penthouse. There was tension, but also a silent understanding that this meeting would set the course for their future in Shanghai.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a sprawling, opulent penthouse. The air inside was thick with power and wealth, the kind that few ever witnessed firsthand. The living room was massive, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Luxurious furniture and decor adorned the space, but the most striking feature was the sheer number of men present.

At least fifty hard-faced thugs stood silently in the room; Chinese, Russians, Filipinos, and others, all glaring with expressions that ranged from curious to menacing. Their stances were rigid, disciplined. These men weren’t just criminals; they were soldiers in Zhang’s underworld army.

In the center of the room, standing tall and commanding attention, was Shaojie Zhang. He wore a finely tailored crimson suit that set him apart from the rough crowd around him. His face was calm, his expression unreadable, but his presence filled the space with undeniable authority. In his hands, he held a ceremonial sheathed blade, an ornate weapon that gleamed in the low light.

As Solid and his team stepped into the room, the thugs parted, creating a pathway directly to Zhang. The room was dead silent. Not a single word was spoken as Zhang slowly approached them.

Zhang came to a stop in front of Solid, his eyes meeting the Field Commander’s with unwavering respect. Without a word, he extended the sheathed blade, holding it out in both hands before him. Then, in a deep and formal bow, he offered the blade to Solid.

“I’m yours to command,” Zhang said, his voice steady and full of honor.

Solid hesitated for a moment, the weight of the gesture not lost on him. He accepted the blade, his hand gripping the ornate hilt with a firm understanding of what it symbolized. Zhang had just pledged himself, not just as an ally, but as a subordinate; despite the empire of men he had built around him.

Zhang then straightened and turned, his eyes sweeping across the room at the silent crowd of men gathered before them. His voice rose with commanding authority. “From now on, you answer to me. But I answer to him!” He pointed back to Solid, his words sharp and absolute. “You are his troops now!”

The room remained silent, but there was an undercurrent of tension and power in the air. The thugs exchanged glances but dared not speak. Zhang had spoken, and his word was law in their world.

Komarov, De Groot, and Bradley watched with keen interest. Even for veterans of XCOM, seeing Zhang, a man of such pride and power, willingly defer to Solid was a rare sight.

Solid, ever the composed leader, nodded, holding the blade in both hands. “Thank you, Zhang. But understand, I don’t take this lightly.” He looked around the room. “We don’t need subordinates. We need allies. Soldiers who are ready to fight alongside us when the time comes.”

Zhang’s expression softened just slightly, an almost imperceptible smile. “Then that is what you shall have. My men will follow you as they follow me. This war isn’t just about ADVENT or the occupation anymore. It’s about survival. And I trust you to lead us, as you always have.”

The thugs in the room stood silently, their loyalty clear. They were hardened criminals, but Zhang’s iron will kept them united. And now, by his word, they were soldiers in XCOM’s shadow war.

Zhang bowed his head again slightly in respect. “What’s our next move, Field Commander?”

Solid glanced at his team, then back at Zhang. “First, we fortify our position. Then we plan how to strike at ADVENT. They’re tightening their grip on this city, and we’re going to loosen it.”

Zhang straightened, the room still tense with anticipation. “Then we are at your service. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

As the veterans looked around the room, it was clear they now had something they hadn’t in a long time; a force ready to fight, and one of the most dangerous men in Shanghai at their side.

The tension in the room eased and the atmosphere shifted from formal declarations to a more relaxed environment, the veterans and Zhang’s men began to mingle. Small talk buzzed through the room, and Komarov, still standing by with his usual stoic demeanor, found himself approached by the massive Mongolian thug he had bested the night before.

The Mongolian extended his hand, his rough voice surprisingly respectful. “You could have broken me in two last night. I felt it in your punch. Why’d you hold back?”

Komarov looked the man up and down before clasping his hand in a firm handshake. “You’re strong. No need to put a good fighter out of commission when there’s a bigger war coming. We’ll need you in the fights ahead.”

The Mongolian gave a small, respectful nod, clearly recognizing Komarov’s strength and decision. “I’ll remember that. You ever need backup, I’m in.”

Komarov’s face remained impassive, but there was the faintest hint of respect in his tone. “We’ll see what you’re made of when the real battle begins.”

Across the room, Solid stood with Zhang, discussing more pressing matters. The formalities were over, and now it was time to gather intel.

“So, what’s the status of Kumiko and Genda?” Solid asked, his voice low and curious. He hadn’t seen them in a long time and wanted to know where his other old teammates had ended up.

Zhang’s eyes flickered with a rare softness as he spoke about his comrades. “They’re in Japan, working under the radar. Espionage, gathering intel on ADVENT operations in the Pacific region. Genda is running a covert operation, keeping tabs on collaborators in Tokyo. Kumiko’s with her, making sure no one gets close. Both of them are keeping a low profile, but they’ve been successful in feeding critical information back to the resistance.”

Solid nodded, pleased to hear that they were still out there, fighting the good fight in their own way. “Sounds like they’re still the best at what they do.”

Zhang smiled faintly. “They are. And they’ll join us when the time is right. For now, they’ve got eyes on a few high-ranking ADVENT sympathizers, tracking movements in key research facilities. If they find anything actionable, we’ll know.”

De Groot, standing nearby, chimed in. “Kumiko and Genda always were the best at slipping through the cracks. Japan must be crawling with ADVENT sympathizers.”

Zhang nodded. “It is. But that’s where they excel. No one even suspects them.”

Solid crossed his arms, thoughtful. “Good. We’ll need them when we make our move. Keep that channel open. Anything they find could be useful, especially if ADVENT starts shifting resources.”

Zhang inclined his head. “Consider it done. When the time comes, Kumiko and Genda will be ready.”

The conversation drifted back into the broader room, where Solid’s eyes scanned the various thugs and criminals now under Zhang’s command. He could see that, despite their rough exteriors, they were disciplined, hardened by the world ADVENT had created. They would be useful in the fights to come.

Solid clapped Zhang on the shoulder. “You’ve built quite the network here, Zhang. We’ll need all of it.”

Zhang’s gaze was steady. “You have it. These men will fight for you because they trust me. And I trust you. We fight together now, just like the Old War.”

As the room buzzed with quiet conversations and newfound alliances, the veterans and their new allies knew that the real battle was just beginning.

In the bustling streets of Neo Tokyo, nestled within School District 4, Class 56 was abuzz with the chatter of students as the day came to a close. The classroom, adorned with colorful posters and student artwork, provided a warm and inviting atmosphere as the students eagerly awaited their teacher's final words.

Enter Kazumi Genda, known to her students as Ms. Genda, a petite Japanese woman with an unassuming appearance. With her glasses perched delicately on her nose, a bow tie adding a touch of whimsy to her attire, and a shaved fauxhawk haircut that hinted at a hint of rebelliousness, she hardly seemed like the formidable soldier she was known to be. However, beneath her friendly facade lay the heart of a warrior, as deadly with guns as she was with bladed weapons.

As the students settled into their seats, Ms. Genda addressed the class with a warm smile, her voice gentle yet firm. "Alright, class, that's all for today," she said, her tone filled with warmth and encouragement. "But before you go, I have a few announcements to make."

The students listened attentively as Ms. Genda spoke, their eyes bright with curiosity. Little did they know, she was not only imparting information but also subtly gathering intelligence about their parents' occupations. In a world where human collaborators of ADVENT were required to send their children to school like everyone else, Ms. Genda knew the importance of gathering information discreetly.

"Remember, tomorrow is the field trip to the science museum," Ms. Genda continued, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of interest or excitement. "And don't forget to bring your permission slips if you haven't already."

As she spoke, Ms. Genda made mental notes of the students whose parents worked in the field of technology and science, knowing that they could potentially be valuable sources of information in the fight against the ADVENT regime. It was a delicate balance, gathering intelligence without arousing suspicion, but Ms. Genda was a master at her craft.

With her announcements concluded, Ms. Genda bid her students farewell with a warm smile, their innocent laughter filling the air as they filed out of the classroom. Little did they know, their seemingly harmless teacher was a force to be reckoned with, a relentless warrior fighting for freedom in a world dominated by oppression and fear.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of another school day, Kazumi Genda, known to her students as Ms. Genda, tidied up her classroom with practiced efficiency. Her thoughts drifted to the covert information she had gleaned from her students earlier that day, a subtle yet vital task in the ongoing fight against the ADVENT regime.

Before she could dwell too long on her thoughts, the door swung open, revealing the tall, slim figure of Kumiko "Tenacious" Kobayashi, her old XCOM teammate. Kazumi's face lit up with a smile at the sight of her friend, the bond forged in battle still strong despite the passage of time.

"Got any info today?" Kumiko asked, her voice tinged with anticipation as she leaned against the doorframe, her biker attire a stark contrast to Kazumi's more conservative appearance.

Kazumi nodded, a knowing glint in her eye as she shared the details of her discoveries. "A few leads," she replied cryptically, her voice low to avoid any eavesdroppers. "But nothing concrete yet. We'll need to dig deeper."

With a shared understanding, the two women made their way out of the school, the roar of Kumiko's high-powered street bike waiting for them outside. As they climbed aboard, Kazumi couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of working alongside her old comrade once again.

The engine roared to life beneath them as Kumiko revved the bike, the thrill of the open road calling to them both. With a nod of determination, they set off into the bustling streets of Tokyo, their mission clear: to gather the information they needed to strike a blow against the ADVENT regime and secure a better future for humanity.

As they rode, their conversation flowed effortlessly, a mixture of reminiscing about their time in XCOM and strategizing for the challenges that lay ahead. Despite the scars of their past, both physical and emotional, Kazumi and Kumiko remained steadfast in their resolve, united in their fight against the forces of oppression.

The night sky over Shanghai’s harbor was dark, with the glow of city lights muted by the industrial skyline. At the docks, activity buzzed as the former Triads turned soldiers moved under the cover of darkness, transforming the warehouses and shipping containers into a makeshift training ground. The harbor was alive with the quiet hum of preparation; men moving purposefully through the shadows, training for the battles ahead.

Komarov stood near a maze of stacked shipping containers, his gruff voice echoing through the night as he barked instructions at a group of Triads. These weren’t street thugs anymore; under his guidance, they were slowly becoming soldiers. The container maze had been carefully designed by Komarov to simulate close-quarters combat (CQB) scenarios, with narrow corridors and tight corners.

"Move! Keep your weapon close, watch your angles!" Komarov’s voice was harsh, but purposeful. His sharp eyes followed each movement, catching every mistake. "You! You’re too slow on the turn. You’ll be dead before you even see the enemy! Again!"

A younger Triad, drenched in sweat, nodded and moved back into position. The former criminals were learning discipline, but they were still rough around the edges.

As one of the recruits hesitated at a corner, Komarov stormed forward, his presence looming. "What are you waiting for? You hesitate, you die! Sweep the corner!"

The trainee complied, clearing the corner in a smoother, more decisive motion. Komarov nodded approvingly. "Better. Keep practicing, and remember: close-quarters means fast, brutal, and no mistakes."

Across the harbor, Bradley Stone observed a different group of men, his sniper’s eye analyzing each of them with precision. He had already selected a handful of promising shooters from Zhang’s network, men who showed natural ability with firearms. Now, he was working to refine their skills into something deadlier; snipers.

"Control your breathing," Bradley said, his voice calm and low, in contrast to Komarov’s booming instructions. "Inhale, aim, exhale, fire. Keep steady, don't rush the shot."

A thin Filipino recruit lined up his shot, his hands trembling slightly as he aimed down the scope of an old rifle. Bradley stepped forward, adjusting the man’s posture.

"Relax. The second you tense up, you’ve already missed the shot. Let your body follow through naturally." Bradley watched as the trainee took a deep breath, then squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, hitting the distant target with a dull thud.

"Better," Bradley said with a slight nod. "But ‘better’ won’t win a fight. You’re going to hit that target ten more times before we’re done."

At a nearby warehouse, De Groot had set up a mock battlefield with crates and barriers, organizing the Triads into squads. She moved like a commander on a battlefield, observing how the men worked as a unit; or, in some cases, didn’t.

"Stop!" De Groot shouted, causing the squad to freeze. "You, over there; why are you running ahead of your squad? You’re leaving them exposed!"

The man hesitated. "I thought-"

"Don’t think. Follow the plan! If you break formation, you’re as good as dead, and you take your squad with you. Again!" De Groot’s sharp eyes swept over the group, analyzing every movement. She had been through countless drills like this, and she knew how to turn raw fighters into a cohesive infantry force. "Stay tight, communicate, and move as one!"

Meanwhile, Solid and Zhang stood over a table in one of the quieter corners of the warehouse, discussing logistics. The table was strewn with maps of the city, weapons manifests, and supply lists.

"How are we looking on supplies?" Solid asked, his eyes scanning the papers.

Zhang, ever meticulous, glanced at a manifest. "We’re stocked for now, but if we expand these operations, we’ll need more than what we’ve got here. Ammunition is running low, and medical supplies are nearly depleted."

Solid nodded, leaning on the table. "We’ll have to get creative. We can’t rely on small shipments anymore. ADVENT’s patrols are tightening, and smuggling is getting riskier. Have you spoken to Kumiko and Genda about potential contacts?"

Zhang’s expression remained serious. "Yes. They’ve identified a few supply chains in Japan that haven’t been fully co-opted by ADVENT. It’ll take time, but we can divert some of those resources here."

Solid exhaled, considering. "Time is something we don’t have much of. We’ll need to start hitting ADVENT targets soon, and when we do, we’ll need to be fully stocked."

Zhang’s eyes flicked toward the harbor where the Triads were training. "We’ll be ready, Solid. These men are rough, but they’re learning fast. They’ll fight when the time comes."

Solid crossed his arms, watching the training unfold. "They’ll need to be more than ready. ADVENT doesn’t fight like this. We’re up against soldiers, drones, and psionic threats. We need to think two steps ahead."

Zhang smiled faintly. "That’s why you’re in command, Field Commander."

As the night wore on, the harbor buzzed with focused energy-men training, tactics being refined, and the once-disparate criminals of Shanghai slowly transforming into a fighting force.

Internal Memo - From Force Commander Solid

With the recent incorporation of ex-Triad elements into the operational support of Old XCOM veterans, it is imperative we establish a Forward Operating Base (FOB) outside of Shanghai and beyond the reach of any ADVENT-controlled territories.

Due to the risk of compromise through interrogation or surveillance, Triad operatives must not have knowledge of the location of our primary base. Security protocols require immediate decoupling of critical operations from potential exposure points.

I am assigning Lt Col. Van Doorn to oversee location scouting for the new FOB. Viable sites should include old-world military installations in regions such as Pakistan or Turkmenistan; remote, derelict, but structurally sound and defendable.

Priority: High.

Months after the depot hit, Keith "Zero" Hunter remained deep undercover in Europe, his life split between the mundane routine of a truck driver and the hidden world of XCOM operations. The quiet hum of the engine was all that accompanied him on the long drives, allowing his mind to wander; though lately, it often drifted back to the depot assault. The success of that operation had left ADVENT scrambling, but the consequences were still unfolding.

Zero pulled his truck off the main road, parking at a rest stop outside a nondescript town. He killed the engine, his eyes scanning the dark horizon. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of the past on his shoulders, the tension of being one of the few remaining Old War XCOM operatives. For now, he was still just Keith Hunter, a man living an ordinary life in the ADVENT-controlled world, but the clock was always ticking.

As he leaned back in his seat, Zero couldn’t help but feel the familiar pull of the battlefield. The depot hit had reminded him of the soldier he used to be; the sniper, the specialist, the man who had taken hundreds of lives to protect humanity. There had been moments during that mission when his instincts had taken over, when his mind had shifted back into combat mode. It felt natural, but it also felt dangerous. The more he dipped into that old self, the harder it was to maintain the façade.

He glanced at the rearview mirror, catching his own reflection. The face staring back at him looked tired. Not physically; his enhanced genes kept him in peak condition, but there was an exhaustion in his eyes. The weight of being a ghost, living in the shadows, always watching, always waiting.

Zero’s mind shifted to Maya, the woman who had no idea who he really was. She knew him as Keith, the quiet man with a mysterious past, but she didn’t know about the battles, the scars, or the kills. He wondered how long he could keep it up. Could he continue living this double life, with one foot in the civilian world and the other in the shadows? Would the day come when his past caught up with him?

And what if ADVENT did connect the dots? The depot hit had been a surgical strike, but ADVENT wasn’t stupid. They were combing through Europe, hunting for any sign of the culprits. He’d remained careful, never drawing attention to himself, but Zero knew better than to get too comfortable.

Still, there was a part of him that yearned for the fight. The depot hit had been a rush; a reminder of the purpose he once had. The enemy was still out there, controlling the world, manipulating the masses. Every day that passed, the more he itched to do something about it. But if he moved too soon, if he stepped out of the shadows before they were ready, it wouldn’t just be him who paid the price. It would be the entire resistance.

Zero sighed and stepped out of the truck, the cold night air biting at his skin. He zipped up his jacket and glanced around the empty lot, ever vigilant, ever cautious. The loneliness of the fight gnawed at him. He was a sniper, trained to operate alone, but the isolation of his current existence felt different. It wasn’t just physical; it was a mental solitude, the kind that came with hiding who you really were.

He had to keep going. Solid’s plan was still unfolding, and his loyalty to him gave him hope that XCOM’s resurgence was coming. But until then, he had to remain a ghost, watching the world from the outside, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

Zero climbed back into the truck, his mind already shifting gears. The fight wasn’t over. It never was. And when the time came, when the call to arms was made, he would be ready.

But for now, Keith Hunter had to drive.

Keith "Zero" Hunter sat at the small kitchen table in his apartment, sipping his morning coffee, the usual hum of the city outside. The news was playing on the small television in the corner, a constant background of ADVENT propaganda. He wasn’t paying much attention; until he heard Maya’s voice, excited and full of enthusiasm.

“Keith, you’ve got to see this,” she said, walking over to where he sat. She pointed at the TV, where a bright, polished segment was running, showcasing a new initiative. “It’s the MOCX program. They’re saying it’s a way for citizens to get involved, to help fight terrorism and make the city safer.”

Keith’s eyes flicked to the screen, and immediately, a chill ran through him. The news anchor was smiling as they spoke about the **Militia of Ordinary Citizens X** program, or MOCX. According to ADVENT, it was a citizen volunteer initiative designed to ‘train and prepare civilians’ to assist in maintaining order and reporting suspected resistance activity. Volunteers would receive basic combat training, surveillance techniques, and access to weapons; under ADVENT supervision, of course.

It was pitched as a way for the average person to ‘help fight terrorism,’ but Keith saw through it instantly. MOCX wasn’t about security. It was about creating a network of informants and indoctrinated fighters, loyal to ADVENT, who could be mobilized against the resistance. Worse, they were openly using the legacy of XCOM; his legacy; twisting it into something sinister.

Maya’s excitement was palpable. “They’re saying anyone can join! People are already signing up all over the city. Isn’t it amazing? A way for regular people to really make a difference.”

Keith kept his face neutral, but inside, the alarm bells were blaring. “Amazing, huh?” he said, keeping his tone light. “What do they actually do in the program?”

Maya turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “They teach people how to spot potential terrorist activity, give them self-defense training, even let them work with ADVENT security forces. They say it’s about protecting our communities from the people who want to bring chaos. I’ve been thinking maybe we should-”

“No,” Keith interrupted, perhaps a little too sharply. He saw Maya’s confused expression and quickly softened his tone. “I mean, we don’t need to get involved in something like that. It’s... not as simple as they make it sound.”

Maya frowned, clearly puzzled. “What do you mean? This is about making things better, right? Safer. ADVENT has done a lot for us since... well, since everything changed. They’ve rebuilt the cities, helped with healthcare. This program is just another step forward.”

Keith felt his stomach twist. He’d seen what ADVENT really was, had fought against their thinly veiled dictatorship. And now they were recruiting civilians, creating a pseudo-military under their control, under the guise of ‘helping.’ But Maya -like most people- couldn’t see it. To her, ADVENT was the new normal, the protector of humanity.

He struggled to find the right words. “I just... don’t think we should jump into something like that without knowing all the details. You never know what their real agenda is.”

Maya’s expression softened, though a hint of concern lingered. “You’ve always been so cautious about these things, Keith. It’s like you don’t trust anything anymore.”

Keith forced a smile, hiding the real fear gnawing at him. “I’ve seen things. Sometimes what’s on the surface isn’t what’s underneath.”

Maya tilted her head, studying him. “You never really talk about your past. I don’t know what you went through before we met, but... I just want us to be part of something good, something that matters.”

Keith nodded slowly, his mind already spinning, trying to figure out how to keep Maya safe without revealing too much. The MOCX program was a threat; not just to the resistance, but to anyone who valued their freedom. And now, it was at his doorstep, seeping into the very fabric of his life.

“I get it,” he said quietly. “I just... need time to think.”

Maya smiled and squeezed his hand. “That’s all I ask.”

As she turned back to the television, Keith stared into his coffee, his mind racing. He had to find out more about MOCX; and fast.

The apartment was quiet, the hum of the city outside a distant background noise. It was later in the evening, and the soft glow of a single lamp lit the living room. Maya sat on the couch, her legs tucked under her, sipping tea as she watched the muted television. The earlier conversation about the MOCX program still lingered in her mind. She glanced over at Keith, who sat next to her, seemingly lost in thought.

Maya placed her tea down, her voice soft but curious. “Keith... can I ask you something?”

Keith turned his head slightly, sensing the shift in tone. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to approach it. “It’s just... you’ve always been so cautious. About everything. The MOCX program, ADVENT, the gene clinics. You never seem to trust anything like that.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. “I’ve seen what happens when people put too much faith in authority. Things aren’t always as they seem.”

Maya bit her lip, a little apprehensive but determined. “You’ve never really told me much about your past. I’ve noticed... the scars, the way you’re always so prepared. You never talk about where all that comes from. I just... I guess I want to know you better. What happened to make you so... wary?”

Keith exhaled slowly, knowing this moment would come eventually. He couldn’t tell her the truth, but he needed her to believe the story he was about to spin.

He leaned back into the couch, his voice quieter now. “You deserve to know, Maya. It’s not something I talk about easily, but... before all of this, before ADVENT, I was in the military. Not in any special role; just a low-ranking truck driver. We were moving supplies, equipment, nothing glamorous.”

Maya’s brow furrowed slightly, listening intently.

“I didn’t have much say in where I went or what I did,” Keith continued, his voice steady. “One day, some stuff went missing from the convoys; expensive gear, weapons. Turns out, a couple of guys in my unit were running a smuggling ring on the side, selling off military supplies for a quick profit.”

He paused, his jaw tightening as he recalled the fabricated events. “But when things went south, they needed someone to pin it on. And I was the easiest target. Low-ranking, no connections, just doing my job. They accused me of being part of the operation.”

Maya’s eyes softened with concern. “What? But you didn’t...?”

Keith shook his head. “No. But that didn’t matter. Once they decided I was guilty, the trial was quick, and I was thrown into a military prison. Years of my life gone, all because some corrupt officers needed a scapegoat.”

Maya shifted closer to him, her hand resting on his arm. “Keith... I had no idea.”

He sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of the story. “The place I was sent to wasn’t like anything you’d imagine. It was hard, brutal. They didn’t care whether you were guilty or not. Every day was a fight just to survive. That’s where most of these scars came from. Fights, beatings, the kind of thing that changes you.”

Maya looked at him, her expression one of deep empathy and sadness. “How did you get out?”

Keith leaned forward, staring at the floor. “After a few years, there was an investigation. Some new officers came in, started looking into the corruption in my old unit. They found out I was innocent, but by then... the damage was done. I was cleared, but I walked out of that place with a different view of the world.”

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with the weight of the story he’d crafted. “That’s why I don’t trust things like this MOCX program. I’ve seen what happens when you give power to the wrong people. They tell you it’s for your protection, for your own good, but it’s never that simple. They manipulate, twist things, and innocent people get hurt.”

Maya blinked, taking it all in, her hand still gently resting on his. “Keith, I... I had no idea. That explains so much. I’m sorry you went through that.”

Keith gave a small, tight smile. “It’s in the past now. But it left me with a distrust of authority that I can’t shake. That’s why I’m careful. It’s why I question things like ADVENT’s programs.”

Maya nodded slowly, understanding now where his wariness came from. “Thank you for telling me. I get it now. I understand why you feel the way you do.”

Keith leaned back, relieved that she believed the story. “I just want to make sure we’re safe. I’ve seen what happens when people don’t ask questions.”

Maya gave him a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll be careful, Keith. I trust you.”

Keith nodded, appreciative of Maya’s understanding. But as the evening wore on, the weight of the lie he had spun settled heavily on his shoulders. He was confident Maya wouldn't notice the gaps in his story; discrepancies in timelines, ages, and the collapse of human governance. Those events had unfolded during her carefree years, long before she cared about politics or history. She wasn’t a journalist, after all. But he knew he needed to dial back his rhetoric against authority. As much as he longed to peel back the veil and show her the harsh reality, every attempt had only led to arguments and made her more curious about his past. He made a mental note to ease up, to stop pressing her on these subjects.

When she eventually dozed off on the couch, he gently draped a blanket over her, made himself a cup of tea, and retreated to his hidden stash of intel. He scanned through files on potential targets and locations. It had been a while since he'd heard from Solid, but that made sense. After the depot hit, the heat was on; patrols were ramped up, civilians were being checked more frequently, and the slum district was being combed for any hint of insurgent activity. Everything had tightened, a noose slowly drawing closed.

Keith's mind drifted back to his training in insurgency tactics, learned in those long-ago spycraft courses. Properly executed, guerrilla operations could stay in the shadows indefinitely, so long as they didn’t provoke the authorities into cracking down on the general population. But he knew ADVENT wouldn’t risk alienating the public. No, they preferred to keep the populace content with low taxes, free healthcare, and endless distractions; jobs included, even if most of them, like Keith’s truck-driving gig, could be done by drones. But mass unemployment was a powder keg; better to pay people to keep them docile.

As he sipped his tea, he recalled their earlier conversation. The MOCX program had thrown a wrench into his plans. All it would take was a neighbor overhearing his skepticism of ADVENT and reporting it, and he’d be on their radar. Maybe he'd get called in for questioning. If that happened, it would shatter his quiet life with Maya. He’d have to disappear, possibly drag her along; convince her to abandon the comfort of brunches, shopping sprees, and entertainment for a life on the run with grizzled old soldiers hiding in remote safehouses. The thought made him smirk; he could already imagine how that conversation would go.

But deep down, Keith knew it was inevitable. One day, he would have to leave; whether she came with him or not. The fight was out there, simmering just beneath the surface, ready to erupt. Solid would come calling eventually, and when that day came, he’d either have to convince her to join him or leave her behind. Maybe there was a place for Maya in that world, if she could adapt. Train her as a nurse, an intel analyst; something useful. After all, they had all adapted once.

A faint sound from the hall caught his attention. Keith glanced at the door just in time to see a slip of paper being pushed underneath. Whoever delivered it was quick and careful, someone skilled enough to use old-school methods in a digital age where everything could be traced. He unfolded the note: "Tomorrow 18:00, Arzy Kiosk, signal 4." He knew the protocol; he’d need to leave four items or the number 4 outside his doorstep at least 40 minutes before the meeting to confirm receipt.

Finally, he thought, something to break the monotony.

---

The safehouse was dimly lit, the only sounds coming from the faint hum of a generator in the corner and the occasional rustle of old papers strewn across the table. Commando, Zubov, and Grishina were making their final preparations for the trip to see Keith "Zero" Hunter. They all knew that this wasn’t just a simple meeting; it was a delicate operation in enemy territory.

Commando stood by the table, checking the map once more, his expression calm but focused. "We keep it low-profile. No weapons, no armor. We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves or to Zero."

Zubov, tall and imposing, with a perpetual scowl on his face, nodded. "We’ll blend in. But let’s make sure we’re ready for anything. Even a busy city isn’t safe if ADVENT gets a whiff of what’s happening."

Grishina, silent and focused as always, was leaning against the wall, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "We leave the safehouse now, we’ll make it to the diner before the evening rush. I will confirm he is briefed, then head straight to the meeting point."

Commando folded the map, slipping it into his jacket. "Let’s move."

---



The trio left the safehouse on foot, keeping their pace casual as they walked through the outskirts of the megacity. The streets were bustling with people; workers, vendors, and civilians going about their day. ADVENT propaganda blared from screens and speakers mounted on the sides of buildings, reminding everyone of the so-called "peace" brought by the alien regime.

Zubov glanced up at one of the towering screens, watching as an ADVENT officer gave a speech about security and unity. He snorted quietly. "Same old lies, packaged in shiny new tech."

Commando kept his eyes forward, though his jaw clenched slightly. "They sell it well. Half these people don’t even realize they’re living in a cage."

Grishina’s eyes swept the crowd, always alert. "Cages are easier to sell when they’re comfortable."

The city grew denser as they moved closer to the center. The neon lights flickered in the evening haze, casting a strange, artificial glow over the streets. The city felt alive; electric, buzzing with energy- but there was an undercurrent of tension that none of them could ignore.

They reached a small side street, just outside of the main commercial district. Commando turned to Grishina. "Check at Zero’s place. We’ll meet you by the diner."

Grishina nodded and disappeared into the alley, moving like a ghost through the shadows. Zubov and Commando made their way toward the busy take-out diner, navigating through the crowds.

---



As they walked deeper into the megacity, the streets became even more chaotic. Neon signs blinked and buzzed overhead, advertising everything from gene clinics to high-tech consumer goods. The smell of street food and exhaust hung in the air, while vendors called out to passersby in a dozen different languages.

Zubov tilted his head, eyeing a group of ADVENT troopers casually patrolling the street ahead. "We’re walking into the lion’s den. But this place is so busy, they probably won’t even look twice at us."

Commando nodded, scanning the area with a trained eye. "Exactly. We blend in, keep our heads down. ADVENT's got bigger problems than a couple of strangers grabbing food."

As they reached the diner, they found a spot near the entrance and waited. The diner was a bustling, chaotic place; much like the ones they’d seen in the old "Bladerunner" movies. Rows of people stood in line for hot food, while others sat on stools or at tiny metal tables, eating in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. The scent of fried noodles and grilled meat filled the air.

---



Commando and Zubov took a spot near the back of the diner, careful not to draw attention. The diner was a perfect meeting spot; crowded, noisy, and anonymous. People came and went without ever noticing one another, and that’s exactly what they needed.

Zubov looked around, his hands resting casually on the table. "It’s a good spot. No one’s looking at us twice."

Commando glanced at the door. "It’s crowded enough. If ADVENT’s got surveillance here, they’ll be watching the wrong people."

Just as he finished speaking, Grishina slipped in, moving unnoticed through the crowd. She sat down next to them, her expression unreadable as always. "Fours been left. He’ll get here soon."

Commando leaned back slightly, nodding. "Good. Now we wait."

They didn’t have to wait long. About twenty minutes later, the door to the diner swung open, and Keith "Zero" Hunter stepped inside. He looked just like any other civilian; faded jacket, casual clothes, no visible sign of the soldier he had once been. But his sharp eyes scanned the room with the precision of a sniper, and when they locked onto Commando, they gave the slightest hint of recognition.

Keith walked over, blending in with the crowd as he approached the table. When he reached them, there were no formal greetings, no grand gestures. Just a quiet, casual nod as he sat down.

"You made it," Keith said, his voice low, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Good to see you."

Commando leaned forward, keeping his voice quiet but steady. "We don’t have much time. You good here?"

Keith nodded. "For now. But things are heating up. ADVENT’s been restless since the depot hit."

Zubov chuckled quietly. "Restless is good. Means we’re making them nervous."

Grishina, ever the pragmatist, cut in. "Nervous is good, but if they catch on to you, it’s game over. We’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen."

Keith glanced at the three of them, his expression serious. "What’s the plan?"

Commando leaned forward, speaking just above a whisper. "We’re keeping you in place for now. But we’re ready to pull you out if things get too hot. We’ve got a team stationed nearby, safehouse is 15 minutes by chopper. You get in trouble, we’re there."

Keith nodded, his eyes flicking to the door, always scanning. "Good to know. I’ve got some intel on a few ADVENT supply routes. Could be useful." Handing the parcel of intel.

Commando raised an eyebrow. "Then it’s time to put that intel to work."

Keith leaned forward over the small table, his voice barely audible over the noise of the diner. “There’s something new. ADVENT’s rolling out this program called MOCX. It’s supposed to be a volunteer militia program, civilians trained to fight against 'terrorists.' It’s been gaining traction fast.”

Commando narrowed his eyes, the implications sinking in immediately. “Civilian militia? ADVENT wouldn’t trust regular people with that kind of power. They barely let their own troopers off a leash.”

Grishina crossed her arms, frowning. “That doesn’t sound like ADVENT. They’re too controlling. They don’t leave things to chance.”

Zubov leaned in, his voice low. “You’re right. This smells wrong. Square-thinking ADVENT types wouldn’t come up with something like this.”

Keith’s expression tightened. “I thought the same thing. And Maya’s excited about it- she’s bought into their propaganda completely. But this isn’t just about recruiting civilians. There’s something deeper going on.”

Commando’s eyes darkened, his thoughts racing. “This reeks of EXALT. It’s their style; using people against their own, building cells and networks from within. Subversive, hidden in plain sight.”

Keith blinked at that, nodding slowly as the pieces clicked into place. “EXALT… We thought they were eradicated after the war. But if they’re behind MOCX…”

Zubov muttered, “They’re not dead. Not completely. There were rumors, back when things were falling apart. Some of them were too embedded in the global infrastructure to disappear entirely. Aliens and traitorous goverments might have crushed XCOM, but if EXALT survived, they could have easily partnered up with them.”

Commando’s expression was hard as steel now. “If EXALT is involved, this changes everything. They always played dirty; espionage, manipulation, brainwashing. And if they’ve got their claws in ADVENT now, we’ve got a bigger problem than just troopers and Sectoids.”

Grishina nodded. “It makes sense. EXALT would see ADVENT as a tool, something they could use to reshape the world in their image. They were always obsessed with power and control.”

Keith felt a chill run down his spine. “I need to find out who’s really behind this. If it’s EXALT… we can’t let them get away with it.”

Commando placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You’re the best man for the job. You’re already in deep, and they don’t suspect you. But be careful. If EXALT is behind this, they’ll be watching closely.”

Zubov spoke up, his voice grim. “Once we confirm it’s them, we’ll have to figure out how deep the rabbit hole goes. If they’ve infiltrated ADVENT, they might be more powerful than we thought.”

Commando stood up slightly, his tone firm. “I’ll inform the chain of command. Field Commander Solid needs to know we’re dealing with a possible EXALT resurgence. But Zero… you investigate this MOCX program from the inside. Find out who’s pulling the strings.”

Keith nodded, determination settling in his eyes. “I’ll dig. And if it’s them, we’ll expose them.”

Commando gave him a nod of approval. “Be careful, Zero. We’re up against something big here.”

Keith glanced toward the door, then back at his comrades. “I’ll keep you updated. For now, I’ll stay under the radar and watch for any signs of EXALT.”

With that, they investigated the crowd making sure no one was overhearing. Bioelectric skin showed no distress in the people nearby. The next phase of their fight was beginning, and this time, the enemy wasn’t just ADVENT; it was their old foe, EXALT, lurking in the shadows once more.
Commando’s eyes narrowed as he considered Keith’s information. "If this MOCX program really is about arming civilians, ADVENT wouldn’t be doing it out of trust. They control everything with an iron grip. This feels off."

Zubov, who had been listening intently, nodded. “This doesn’t line up with ADVENT’s usual tactics. They don’t empower civilians, they pacify them. Could be a front. But for what?”

Grishina leaned forward, her voice low and measured. “This smells like something deeper. If ADVENTs involved, they’re not doing this alone. Square-thinking bureaucrats don’t suddenly decide to militarize the populace.”

Keith frowned, glancing between them. “You think there’s more behind this?”

Commando crossed his arms, his expression grim. “No, as I said this reeks of EXALT. I have reasons to suspect they are back. Furthermore, it’s the kind of subtle manipulation they were always good at; using civilians to do the dirty work, all while staying in the shadows. But I'm guessing they throw swings in the fog, in order to hit something solid. Like a sleeper agent or bigger. That depot hit you guys did left Advent clueless, maybe they are trying to prove their value.” he said looking at Keith.

Keith’s mind raced. EXALT. The remnants of the group XCOM had fought so hard to destroy. They had been ruthless, always working behind the scenes, manipulating governments and people to further their goals. It made sense that they could be behind something like this. “I thought EXALT was finished after the strike at their base back then.”

Zubov grunted. “We destroyed their central command yes but high-ranking EXALT members slipped through the cracks, too well-connected to disappear entirely. If they’ve aligned with ADVENT, they could be rebuilding their old networks. MOCX could be their way in.”

Commando’s jaw clenched. “We were out of the picture for years, those traitors could have grown bigger than before, embedded themselves to every non-military aspect of Advent rule, including counter-intelligence. It would explain the sudden push to get civilians involved. EXALT would have the means and the desire to create a program like this. They’d use ADVENT as a cover, push their agenda, and stay hidden behind the scenes. They were always great schemers, never good combatants.”

Grishina’s eyes flickered with understanding. “All those human collaborators working for the New Regime, if some of them are part of this sinister syndicate that coordinates their decisions, then we got a big problem.”

Keith felt a knot tighten in his stomach. “If that’s true, EXALT working from the shadows could destabilize everything. They have a more fanatical approach than the average human collaborator who is working with Advent out of necessity or neural implant persuasion. All the scientists and officials are chipped in such a way. I've heard them talk about it in bars. But EXALT don't need persuasion, they are zealots.”

Commando placed a firm hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Zero, we need you to dig into this. Find out who’s really behind MOCX. If it’s EXALT, we need proof. But be careful. They’re not like ADVENT; they don’t operate out in the open.”

Keith nodded, determination steeling his expression. “I’ll find out. If it’s EXALT, they won’t stay hidden for long.”

Commando turned to the rest of the group. “I’ll inform the chain of command. Field Commander Solid needs to know we’re not just dealing with ADVENT, but the possibility of EXALT’s return.”

Zubov muttered, “If they’re in bed with ADVENT, this is going to get messy.”

Grishina glanced at Keith. “Your cover’s solid, but once you start digging, you’ll need to watch your back. EXALT’s always been good at making problems disappear.”

Keith smirked faintly. “They’ll have to do better than that.”

Commando stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “We’ll keep you updated. Stay safe, and keep us in the loop.”

Keith gave a final nod before blending back into the crowd. The fight against ADVENT was one thing, but if EXALT was involved, this mission had just become far more dangerous. And Zero would have to navigate it all from the shadows.

Keith "Zero" Hunter sat at the corner of a crowded bar, nursing a half-empty drink, his eyes scanning the room beneath the brim of his worn cap. He had been here several times before, learning the regulars, watching the ebb and flow of the conversations. The MOCX initiates liked this place; some had even started coming in wearing their new uniforms, proud of the so-called opportunity ADVENT had given them.

He spotted two of them tonight, laughing and talking at the far end of the bar, their drinks already starting to loosen their tongues. Keith made his move, sliding down the bar and casually ordering another round.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, flashing a friendly, disarming smile.

The initiates looked him over. One of them, a stocky guy with a buzz cut, raised his glass. “Sure, man. Grab a seat. You new around here?”

Keith sat down, keeping the conversation casual. “Just passing through. What about you guys? I see those uniforms; MOCX, right? What’s that about?”

The stocky one grinned proudly. “Yeah, man! It’s this new thing. ADVENT’s giving us regular folks a chance to help out, make a difference, y’know? We’re learning self-defense, tactics, how to keep our neighborhoods safe from terrorists.”

Keith played along, nodding with interest. “Sounds pretty cool. You guys get real training?”

The second initiate, younger and more eager, leaned in. “Oh yeah, we’re learning from ADVENT themselves! We’ve got training facilities, drills, the whole deal. They say we’ll be able to spot and report terrorists before they can even move.”

Keith kept the drinks flowing, coaxing more information from them. “So, where do you guys train? They got a specific spot for this stuff?”

The younger one chuckled. “Oh, yeah, but it’s not public. We’ve got special places for the real training. There’s a facility downtown- big warehouse, tons of ADVENT guys in and out. They’re strict about it, though. We only go when we’re called.”

Keith filed that away. A location.

After another round of drinks, the conversation turned to idle chatter, and Keith smoothly extracted himself from the conversation, giving the impression of a friendly stranger. He now had a lead.



A few nights later, Keith stood on the rooftop of a building overlooking the warehouse the MOCX initiates had mentioned. He held a pair of high-tech binoculars- borrowed from his backup team allowing him to zoom in on the activity below without being noticed.

He scanned the area, noting the ADVENT troopers patrolling outside, as well as the initiates going in and out of the facility. It was more heavily guarded than he had expected. The MOCX recruits were being treated with an unusual level of scrutiny, as if there was more to this program than simple training.

Keith snapped a few pictures with the zoom-capable camera, documenting the faces of the recruits and ADVENT personnel. One figure stood out; a man who seemed to be overseeing the training sessions. He wasn’t dressed like ADVENT military, but he had an air of authority. Keith zoomed in, trying to catch a clearer look at his face. Something about him seemed familiar, though he couldn’t place it yet.

Once he had gathered enough, Keith quietly retreated from his vantage point, slipping back into the shadows of the city.



A few days later, Keith returned to the warehouse, this time under the cover of night. He had obtained a listening device from his backup team, a small, discreet bug that would allow him to listen in on conversations inside the facility.

Using his enhanced reflexes and instincts, Keith slipped past the patrols and made his way to a nearby access point. There was a service hatch near one of the windows where the trainees often gathered for briefings. It was the perfect spot to plant the device.

Carefully, he attached the bug under the ledge, making sure it was well-hidden but positioned to pick up clear audio. As he finished, he heard voices approaching; ADVENT troopers discussing the next round of training. Keith quickly backed away, moving silently through the darkness until he was safely out of sight.



Later, Keith sat in his apartment, reviewing the surveillance data he had gathered. The pictures, the audio, the conversations with the MOCX initiates; it was all starting to paint a troubling picture. He had marked several key individuals, including the man in charge of the warehouse.

Keith activated the encrypted communication link with Said Tariq. The drone operator’s face appeared on the small screen, his sharp eyes focused.

“Tariq, I’ve marked some persons and places of interest. The warehouse is the main hub, but there are a few key players involved in this MOCX program. I’ll need you to keep tabs on them from the air.”

Tariq nodded, his fingers already tapping away at his console. “I’ll deploy the drones. If they move, we’ll know. This program stinks of something bigger. You think EXALT’s behind it?”

Keith leaned back, his mind racing. “I’m not sure yet, but this isn’t just ADVENT. They’re too careful, too guarded. We’ll find out soon enough.”

As Tariq’s drones went into motion, Keith sat in the dim light of his apartment, the weight of his mission growing heavier. He was getting closer to the truth, but every step put him deeper into the shadows.

The late afternoon sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the city streets as Keith "Zero" Hunter stood by a small kiosk, pretending to scroll through a tablet as he monitored the entrance to an ADVENT gene clinic. The city bustled around him, neon lights flickering to life as the day’s shift workers streamed through the streets. Across the road, the clinic’s sleek facade gleamed, its sterile, glowing signs promising "enhanced health for a brighter future."

He wasn’t here for the flashy promises, though. He had been following a low-level MOCX candidate for days now, noting their routines, their habits. The candidate; young, fit, and eager to please ADVENT- had visited the clinic that morning, entering with the casual air of someone accustomed to these procedures. Keith expected him to be in and out, just like the other civilians who had entered after him.

But hours had passed.

The sun had set, and the clinic was nearing its closing time. Other patients had come and gone, emerging with the faintly distant looks that came from ADVENT’s subtle manipulation. But the MOCX candidate never left. Keith’s unease grew as he stood at his observation point, watching the clinic's doors. The flow of people dwindled, but the candidate never reappeared.

Keith’s gaze narrowed as the clinic’s exterior lights flicked off, signaling the end of business hours. He checked his watch. The place was closing, but his target hadn’t exited.

He crossed the street, weaving through the thinning crowd, and stood just outside the clinic’s large glass windows. Inside, the lobby was empty. The receptionist had already packed up and left. The usual buzz of activity had died down, and all that remained was the dim glow of emergency lighting, casting an eerie, sterile glow over the space.

Keith moved to the door, peering inside. Nothing. Not a trace of the candidate.

He walked the perimeter of the clinic, checking for any sign of a secondary exit, a back door, anything. But it was as if the man had simply vanished inside.


The next morning, Keith took a more discreet route to gather information. Posing as a concerned friend, he first checked in with the candidate's workplace. A small office tucked away in the city’s industrial district. The receptionist, a tired-looking woman with a strained smile, barely looked up from her terminal when Keith asked about the candidate.

“I’m trying to get in touch with him. He hasn’t returned my messages,” Keith said, keeping his tone casual. “Was he at work yesterday?”

The receptionist frowned, tapping a few keys. “He didn’t show up yesterday... or today, actually. That’s odd. He was always punctual.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Has anyone heard from him?”

She shook her head. “No. He didn’t call in, didn’t leave a message. It’s not like him at all.”

Keith nodded, thanked her, and left the building. His next stop was the candidate’s apartment. The place was a nondescript building in one of the city’s many residential districts, blending in with the endless rows of identical structures.

He approached a neighbor, an older woman sitting outside her door, a concerned look crossing her face when Keith mentioned the man’s name.

“He hasn’t been home in two days,” she said, lowering her voice. “His family called me, asking if I’d seen him. They’re worried. Said he went to one of those ADVENT gene clinics for a check-up and never came back.”

A chill ran down Keith’s spine. The pieces were starting to fall into place. The candidate wasn’t just missing. He had disappeared.

“Did they report him missing?” Keith asked, his voice quiet.

“They did,” the neighbor said, glancing around nervously. “But the authorities haven’t done much. You know how it is these days. People go missing... and no one asks questions.”

Keith thanked her and walked away, the weight of the mystery pressing down on him. Something wasn’t right with those clinics. The MOCX candidate wasn’t the only one vanishing; there had to be more, hidden behind ADVENT’s carefully crafted facade of health and progress.

He would have to dig deeper.

Back in his apartment, Keith sat at his desk, the city’s neon lights flickering through the window behind him. The sounds of the megacity seemed distant, as if muffled by the growing unease in his mind. His hands absentmindedly tapped on the table as he pieced together what he had learned.

ADVENT’s gene clinics, once a symbol of their benevolent control, were hiding something darker. People were going in for treatment and not coming out. The clinic didn’t have the appearance of a prison, but it certainly felt like one now. And with the MOCX program intertwined, there were more sinister forces at play.

Keith sat at the breakfast table, his eyes on the coffee cup in his hand, preparing for the conversation he knew had to happen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as Maya moved around, humming quietly to herself. She sat down across from him, her eyes bright as always, but Keith felt the weight of the lie already pressing on him.

“I have to leave town for a few days,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “A long-haul job came up, one I couldn’t pass on. I’ll be gone for about a week.”

Maya raised an eyebrow, surprised. “A whole week? You didn’t mention this before.”

Keith shrugged, playing it off. “It came up last minute. You know how these things go, someone else canceled, and I got called in.”

She frowned slightly, but then her expression softened. “Well, I’ll miss you, but I guess you’ve got to go where the work is. Just be careful out there, okay?”

Keith gave her a reassuring smile, though the tension inside him lingered. “Always am.”

Maya sipped her coffee, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. She had no idea he’d be staying in the city, following leads, and unraveling the dark secrets ADVENT had buried deep within the gene clinics.


Over the course of the week, Keith rented a nondescript car under a carefully crafted alias. His own vehicle was too risky for this kind of work, too many eyes; too many potential connections that could lead back to him. The alias was something he had perfected over years of covert operations, just another layer of protection as he dove deeper into the mystery surrounding the gene clinics.

From his various observation points; a rooftop here, a quiet corner at a café kiosk there- he continued to document the flow of people in and out of the clinic. Nine out of twelve. That was the number that stuck with him. 12 people entered, but only 9 exited. The rest? Gone.

But the disappearances weren’t random. They happened quietly, and the clinic staff didn’t seem to acknowledge it. It was as if those nine people had never been there. The clinic was efficient -too efficient- and the sterile glow that once promised health now carried an ominous undertone.

The pattern was clear: some people went in for routine checkups or genetic enhancements and never came back out. Yet, ADVENT did nothing to report it. The public wasn’t asking questions, and the clinic operated as though nothing unusual had happened.



One evening, just after clinic hours, Keith’s instincts kicked in. A truck pulled up to the back of the building, just as it had before. He was prepared this time-ready to tail the vehicle. The same men, dressed in dark ADVENT uniforms, moved efficiently, loading the same containers he had seen before. Keith watched carefully, his camera quietly documenting the process.

Once the truck pulled away, Keith followed, keeping a safe distance in his rented car. The truck moved through the city streets, eventually reaching the ADVENT-controlled industrial zone, much like before. But this time, instead of staying at the train depot, Keith kept going. He watched as the containers were loaded onto train cars destined for parts unknown. The question gnawed at him; what was in those containers? And where were they being sent?



That night, Keith sat in car seat, going through the footage. The pattern was undeniable now. He had enough to warrant suspicion, but the exact purpose of the abductions, or what was happening to those people, remained a mystery.

He opened his encrypted comms, reaching out to Commando. His voice was calm but tinged with urgency.

“Commando, it’s Zero. I’ve been watching the gene clinics. Over the past week, 3 out of 12 people who entered didn’t come out. A truck picks up containers at the end of the day, and I tailed it to an ADVENT train depot where they load the cargo. Whatever’s going on, it’s bad. I suggest avoiding these clinics. Estimated dangerous of abduction.”

There was a pause on the other end before Commando’s voice came through, gravely serious. “Copy that, Zero. This confirms our suspicions. We’ll steer clear, and I’ll inform the others. Keep digging, but be careful. If this is EXALT or something deeper, we’re not ready to expose ourselves yet.”

Keith nodded, though Commando couldn’t see it. “Understood. I’ll keep a low profile. But this isn’t just routine. There’s something bigger at play.”

The interrogation room was cold and sterile, its bright lights casting harsh shadows on the bruised face of the captured rebel. He sat slumped in the chair, wrists chained to the table, his breathing labored after hours of relentless questioning. Across from him sat the human interrogator, sharp and composed, an EXALT specialist. The rebel had broken down earlier, not under brute force, but the suffocating psychological pressure of the interrogation.

The interrogator tapped a finger rhythmically on the table. "You mentioned a man, this truck driver. Tall, muscular, blonde, bearded. You said he helped you escape ADVENT during your last run." His voice was calm, almost bored, as if he was discussing the weather rather than peeling away the layers of the rebel's secrets. "Tell me more about him."

The rebel’s eyes flickered with fear. "I... I don’t know much," he croaked, his throat dry. "He wasn’t part of us. He didn’t even know who we were. Just a guy, helped us when we were on the run. Didn’t ask questions."

The interrogator leaned back, studying the man. "And yet, this ‘just a guy’ exhibited some strange powers, didn’t he? Something you hadn’t seen before."

The rebel hesitated, not knowing what was safe to say. "Yeah... yeah, he did. But he didn’t stick around. We never saw him again."

The interrogator paused, then leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You may not have seen him again, but we believe this man is important. Very important. He may not be one of your rebels, but..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. "If he knows who carried out the depot attack, we need to find him."

The rebel’s face twisted with confusion. "The depot hit? That wasn’t us. No one knows who did it. It’s all over the underground, people are talking, but we have no idea."

The interrogator’s expression remained impassive, but inside, the pieces were falling into place. He tapped the table lightly. "So you think this truck driver is connected to that attack?"

"I don’t know," the rebel stammered. "But... maybe. He had... skills. The kind I’ve only heard about in rumors."

The interrogator stood, straightening his suit. "That's all I needed to know."

In a conference room elsewhere in the ADVENT facility, the EXALT team was already hard at work. The interrogator entered the room, nodding to his operatives as they reviewed personnel files, employment records, and transportation logs. A wall-sized screen flickered with lists of trucking companies, their drivers, and various freelance operators, each being cross-checked against the vague description they had been given.

One of the EXALT operatives spoke up as the interrogator took his seat. "We’ve compiled a list of over two dozen trucking companies, but the real challenge is with the freelancers. Twice as many names, harder to track. The man we’re looking for could be hiding in plain sight."

The interrogator scanned the data, his finger gliding over the rows of names. "Start cross-referencing with anyone who fits the description: blonde, muscular, likely working as a driver in or near the depot at the time of the attack."

Another operative chimed in. "What’s strange is that no one seems to know who did the depot hit. The rebels, even the resistance groups, they’re all in the dark. But if this driver was around... he might know something."

The interrogator nodded slowly. "He’s important. Maybe not directly responsible, but he knows too much. He was able to evade ADVENT once, which means he’s more skilled than your average citizen. We need to focus on companies with ties to transportation routes connected to ADVENT operations."

One of the newer EXALT recruits looked skeptical. "Why so much effort for one man? We’ve taken down plenty of resistance fighters. Why is this guy different?"

The interrogator’s eyes flickered with a glint of something darker, knowledge the others didn’t have. "There are... certain individuals we encountered years ago. People with abilities far beyond ordinary soldiers. This man might be one of them. If that’s the case, we’re dealing with someone extremely dangerous."

The room went quiet for a moment as the significance of the statement sank in. Only the highest-ranking EXALT officers knew of the elite XCOM operatives from the Old War, those who had decimated EXALT forces in the past. The stories of their superhuman capabilities were whispered legends among the newer EXALT recruits; rumors, nothing more.

But the interrogator knew better. He had seen them in action, and he had barely survived.

"We focus on the transportation hubs first," the interrogator said, his voice tight. "We know this driver isn’t just a freelancer. He’s moving through the city with purpose. And we will find him."

The operatives nodded, getting back to work. The clock was ticking.

The bustling street was lined with bright neon signs, advertising ADVENT’s latest health campaigns and propaganda about unity and security. Maya wandered down the sidewalk, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Keith and his sudden trip. She had always admired how calm and collected he was, but his deep distrust of authority had puzzled her ever since they had met.

Her steps slowed as she approached a street leaflet panel set up by the MOCX program. Two young, clean-cut individuals in MOCX uniforms handed out pamphlets, talking to passersby about safety, security, and the need for ordinary citizens to get involved.

Maya hesitated for a moment, then walked up to the stand. One of the MOCX representatives greeted her with a friendly smile.

“Good afternoon, ma'am. Interested in learning how you can help keep our city safe?” he asked, handing her a brightly colored pamphlet.

Maya smiled warmly and took the leaflet. "Actually, I’ve been following what you guys do. I think it’s great; teaching people how to protect themselves and keep the streets safe. I really support what you’re doing."

The MOCX rep’s eyes brightened at the support. "We appreciate that! It’s important that citizens like you get involved. You know, we have regular educational briefings, and it’s always good to have more people on board. Are you by chance single, or would you like to bring your spouse along? We encourage couples to attend together."

Maya blushed slightly, shaking her head. "No, I’m not single. My partner, Keith, he’s... well, let’s just say he’s not as enthusiastic about these things as I am. He’s been pretty distrustful of anything related to ADVENT or government programs."

The MOCX rep tilted his head, curious. "Oh? Any reason why?"

Maya sighed, unaware of the weight her words might carry. "He used to be in the army, a driver. He was wrongly accused of something; smuggling, I think, and spent a long time in prison before they cleared his name. Ever since then, he doesn’t trust anything like this."

The rep’s expression barely shifted, but his eyes sharpened with interest. "That’s unfortunate," he said smoothly. "But we all have our reasons for being cautious, I suppose. Maybe one day he’ll come around. Why don’t you bring him to a briefing anyway? It might help him see what we’re really about."

Maya smiled politely but shook her head again. "I doubt he’d be interested. He keeps his distance from things like this."

The rep nodded understandingly, but his mind was already at work, making a mental note of the details. A military driver who didn’t trust the authorities and had a history of being wrongly accused? It wasn’t the kind of story that would immediately raise alarms, but it was definitely worth noting.
The MOCX representative maintained his polite smile, but beneath the surface, his mind was already racing. While he didn’t have the clearance to know about any specific ADVENT investigation into a mysterious truck driver, her story about Keith stuck with him. A man who didn’t trust the system, who had been in the military and now worked as a truck driver? It was unusual enough to pique his curiosity.

After Maya left, the recruiter quietly made a note in his personal file, a small reminder to follow up with her the next time they crossed paths.

One of the other MOCX representatives, who had been handing out leaflets nearby, approached him. “What’s the story with that one?”

“She’s sympathetic to the cause, but her man... not so much. Distrustful of the government, claims he was wronged in the past. I think we should talk to him,” the first rep explained, his voice low and calculating.

The other rep raised an eyebrow. “Why? He’s probably just another skeptic.”

The first one shook his head. “Maybe, but there’s more to it. He’s a truck driver, and his history with authority is... interesting. If we can convince him to come to one of our meetings, or at least talk to him, we might learn something valuable. Even if we don’t, it’ll look good on our record. Someone higher up might take notice. Could be a chance for a promotion.”

The second rep smirked. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Next time we see Maya, we’ll reassure her. Tell her we can help him let go of the past, convince him that ADVENT is different, that we’re here for the greater good. We’ll get him to talk, and if anything useful comes from it, I’ll file a report. It might take a while for someone with real intel clearance to read it, but if Keith is connected to anything, we’ll have the credit for bringing him in.”

The second rep nodded, impressed by the ambition. “Alright. Just don’t push too hard. We don’t want to scare them off.”

The first rep chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll play it cool. Just a concerned citizen looking to clear up some old misunderstandings.”

The following morning, Maya sat at her favorite table in the local café, enjoying her usual cup of coffee. The hum of the city outside provided a comforting backdrop as she scrolled through her phone, unaware that her casual morning routine was about to take a twist.

As she looked up from her screen, the familiar face of the MOCX recruiter appeared by the counter. He spotted her, his expression lighting up with recognition. It was the perfect chance.

"Well, fancy seeing you here!" he said, walking over with a friendly smile. "Didn’t expect to bump into you so soon."

Maya smiled back, surprised but welcoming. "Oh, hi! Yeah, this is my usual spot. I didn’t realize you came around here."

"Just grabbing a quick coffee," he replied casually, holding up his cup. "Mind if I sit for a minute?"

"Of course, go ahead," Maya said, gesturing to the chair across from her.

The recruiter sat down, keeping his tone light and conversational. They exchanged small talk, touching on her plans for the day and how she had enjoyed their conversation the day before. Maya seemed relaxed, happy to have a friendly face in her routine.

After a few minutes, the recruiter leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to sound more personal. "You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said about Keith. I can understand how he might feel... wrongfully accused and all. But it’s a shame he feels like that. Maybe we could help him see things differently."

Maya looked at him, curious but a little hesitant. "What do you mean?"

The recruiter gave a reassuring smile. "Well, like I mentioned before, we’re not just about safety. We’re also about helping people move forward, especially those who’ve been wronged in the past. The human authorities back then, they were corrupt, yeah. But ADVENT’s leadership is different. They don’t have room for bribes or exploitation."

Maya nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, Keith’s been through a lot. But I don’t think he’d be open to talking about it, at least not right away."

The recruiter leaned in slightly more, his tone softer but persistent. "What if we sat down with him? Just a simple conversation. We could reassure him that the past is in the past, that ADVENT’s here to help now, not to punish. We’d approach it delicately, of course. No pressure."

Maya hesitated, her loyalty to Keith holding her back for a moment. But the recruiter’s kind tone and the idea of possibly helping Keith ease his burdens convinced her.

"I guess... that might not be a bad idea," she said slowly. "He’s supposed to be back tomorrow morning from his trip. If you want, you could stop by in the afternoon. I’ll be home, and he usually runs errands then."

The recruiter tried to hide his satisfaction behind a neutral nod. "That sounds perfect. I’ll make sure we keep it casual, just a conversation. Thank you for giving us this chance."

Maya smiled, not realizing the deeper implications of her agreement. "No problem. I just want what’s best for him."

The recruiter stood, ready to leave. "We’ll see you tomorrow then."

As he walked away, a small glint of ambition flickered in his eyes. The pieces were falling into place, and if this worked, it could mean more than just helping a troubled man, it could be his step up in the MOCX hierarchy.
Keith stepped into his apartment, the quiet shuffle of his boots muffled by the carpet. The usual routine, groceries in hand, keys back in his pocket, but something was off. The low murmur of unfamiliar voices reached him before he even saw them.

As he rounded the corner, groceries still hanging in one hand, he saw them; three men, all dressed in sharp, clean-cut civilian clothing, sitting in his living room. Maya was there, too, sitting on the edge of the couch with a cautious but hopeful expression.

"Keith!" Maya smiled, a bit nervously. "These gentlemen are from MOCX. They want to help."

Keith’s eyes flickered over the three men, his instincts immediately sharpening. They were too polished, too deliberate. They sat upright, their eyes cool but scanning the room, scanning him.

Without a word, Keith walked to the kitchen counter and calmly set down the grocery bags. His movements were practiced, smooth, betraying nothing of the unease tightening in his chest. As he started unpacking the items, he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small, discreet emergency beacon. He kept his back to them, feeling the activation button with a soft touch, hidden behind the rustle of groceries.

Maya’s voice cut through the silence. "They just want to talk, Keith. I think it might be good for you."

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable, then crossed the room to the coffee machine, making a deliberate show of pouring himself a cup.

"Go ahead," he said evenly, taking a seat across from them at the table. The coffee cup rested between his hands, his gaze fixed on the men.

The recruiter sitting closest to Maya smiled, leaning forward slightly as if this were a friendly chat. "Keith, we’ve heard about your past; your concerns about the old government. We understand how things were, but we want to assure you... things are different now."

Keith’s eyes flicked to him, then back to the coffee cup. He listened, his face blank.

"We’re here to help. The MOCX program isn’t just about protection; it’s about moving forward. Building trust. The alien leadership has brought peace, real order. They’re beyond the corruption we used to see in human governments. No more bribes, no more backroom deals. Everything is transparent now, safe." The man’s voice was soft, soothing, but Keith could see the carefully controlled intent behind it.

The second man chimed in, his tone rehearsed, polite. "We know you've had bad experiences with authority before, and that's understandable. But we’re not here to push you. Just to offer a path to something better. For you, for your family."

Keith’s grip on the coffee cup tightened ever so slightly, but his face remained calm, giving nothing away. He was listening, watching. He had seen this kind of manipulation before, during the Old War. This wasn’t a friendly conversation. This was a soft interrogation.

The third man, silent until now, leaned forward, his eyes locking with Keith’s. "You drive trucks, right? A good, honest job. But there’s more you could be doing. We believe someone with your experience could offer a lot to the program."

Keith gave a slight nod, not breaking eye contact, waiting for them to reveal their real intentions.

The lead recruiter smiled, leaning forward slightly. "Keith, we understand that the past, especially when it involves corruption and betrayal, can be hard to let go of. But you’ve seen what ADVENT has done. The order, the peace, the progress we’ve made. Surely you’ve noticed the changes?"

Keith nodded slowly, appearing thoughtful. "Yeah... things have definitely changed. For the better, I guess."

Maya, sitting beside him, brightened a little, her hope for Keith showing in her expression.

The second recruiter chimed in, his tone confident but gentle. "Exactly. No more of the petty corruption from before. The old governments, human governments, failed us. ADVENT brought stability. They’ve fixed what we couldn’t."

Keith took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the words sink in, then glanced at Maya, offering her a reassuring smile. "I guess you’re right. I mean, the world is safer now, isn’t it? Fewer problems than before."

The recruiters exchanged glances, pleased with his response. The third one leaned forward, sensing the shift. "Exactly, Keith. And we’re not here to push you into anything. We’re offering you and Maya a chance to see for yourselves, to be part of something bigger. You’ve been through a lot, but this could be an opportunity to move on from that."

Keith’s eyes flicked between the recruiters, then back to his coffee. He let the silence linger for a moment, then nodded slowly, setting the cup down. "Maybe you’re right. I’ve been holding onto things for too long. It’d be good to see what you’re talking about."

Maya looked at him, surprised but relieved, her face lighting up with hope. "Really, Keith?"

He gave her a small smile, turning back to the recruiters. "Yeah. A tour might not be such a bad idea. I’m open to it."

The lead recruiter smiled broadly, visibly relaxing. "That’s great to hear. We can arrange a visit at our facilities for you and Maya. It’ll be a chance to see things from the inside, to understand how far we’ve come."

Keith leaned back in his chair, giving a slow, deliberate nod. "Sure. Let me know when and where."

The recruiters exchanged pleased glances, clearly convinced that they had managed to ease his doubts.

"Absolutely. We’ll send you the details, and we’ll make sure it’s a smooth experience for both of you," the lead recruiter said as they stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. "It was great talking to you, Keith."

Keith’s face remained calm as the MOCX recruiters stood to leave, each of them offering friendly nods and handshakes. “We’ll set up a tour for you and Maya, show you around the facilities,” one of them said, their tone friendly but laced with the slightest edge of calculation. “It’ll be good for you both to see what we’re really about.”

Keith nodded, smiling politely. “Sounds good. We’ll be there.”

Maya’s face lit up, relief clear in her eyes. She seemed pleased that Keith had agreed to the visit, as if she had somehow bridged the gap between him and the world she believed was better, safer.

The recruiters departed with warm goodbyes, shaking Keith’s hand firmly before leaving the apartment. The door clicked shut behind them, and Keith waited, his muscles tense beneath the veneer of calm. He glanced at the clock on the wall, listening for footsteps to fade. Two minutes passed. Three.

Then, without warning, his expression hardened.

He turned sharply to Maya, who had just sat back down on the couch, still smiling from the encounter. “What have you done, Maya?”

Maya blinked, the smile fading as his words sank in. “What? Keith, what are you talking about?”

Keith paced across the room, his calm demeanor from earlier evaporating. His voice was low, controlled, but laced with urgency. “You brought them into our home, you let them in, and now... everything is compromised.”

Maya stood up, confusion and frustration mounting. “Keith, what are you talking about? They just wanted to help. You even agreed to the tour!”

He shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You don’t understand. MOCX, ADVENT, all of them; they’re lying. This isn’t about keeping people safe. You think they’re decent folks, but they’re not. They’re dangerous, and you’ve just put us in their crosshairs.”

Maya’s face twisted with disbelief. “Crosshairs? Keith, stop. You’re overreacting.”

Keith stopped pacing, turning to face her, his eyes burning with the weight of the truth he had kept hidden for so long. “You don’t know what I know. You don’t know who they are, who I am.” He took a breath, his voice dropping. “I fought them. In the Old War. XCOM. We fought these things when they first arrived, before they took over. Before ADVENT.”

Maya’s eyes widened, confusion giving way to disbelief. “What... what are you talking about? What war?”

“The war against the aliens,” Keith said, his voice filled with the gravity of memories long buried. “XCOM was humanity’s last line of defense, and we fought until the governments betrayed us. We saw things; atrocities you can’t even imagine. Stuttgart, New York, Cape Town, and dozens of other cities, where they unleashed their terror on civilians. And now, their gene clinics, where people went in and never came out. The disappearances; they’re not accidents, Maya. They’re taking people.”

Maya’s hand went to her mouth, shaking her head slowly. “No... Keith, this is insane. You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

Keith moved closer, his voice growing more desperate. “They’re lying to us. They’ve been lying from the start. These clinics; they don’t help people, they change them, control them. It’s not about safety, it’s about power.”

Maya stepped back, her face now pale. “No. No, this can’t be true. I-I’m not going to believe this. You’re scaring me, Keith. This is crazy.”

Keith’s heart sank as he realized he had pushed her too far, too fast. “Maya, please, you have to trust me. We need to leave. Pack your things, now. They’ll be back soon, and we can’t be here when they return.”

Maya’s expression hardened, her hands balling into fists. “Leave? To where, Keith? The wilderness, wearing tinfoil hats, running from shadows?” She scoffed, stepping away from him. “This is... this is insane. You’re talking like a lunatic! What’s happened to you?”

She stormed towards the door, grabbing her coat. “I’m going for a walk. And I’m glad those decent folks didn’t hear you sound like a crazy person, Keith. Maybe you need a break.”

Keith stood frozen as the door slammed behind her, his mind reeling. He stared at the closed door, frustration and fear swirling within him. How could he have been so foolish, thinking he could explain it all to her like that?

Suddenly, it hit him. His eyes darted toward the living room, where the MOCX recruiters had been seated. His pulse quickened as he crossed the room in two strides, dropping to one knee by the coffee table. His fingers traced underneath the smooth surface, then stopped as they brushed against something small, cold, and metallic.

A listening device.

His breath caught in his throat. They had bugged the room.

With trembling fingers, Keith ripped the device from its hiding place, staring at it with a mix of disbelief and fury. His mind raced. They had been listening. They knew everything.

He clenched his jaw and reached into his pocket, pulling out the emergency beacon. His fingers pressed hard on the activation button.

The red light flashed urgently in the bunker, and Commando was the first to react. Kostas "Commando" Vlachos had been pacing by the door, lost in thought, while Pyotr Zubov and Albert Ouellet played cards at the table. Svetlana Grishina was sitting on her cot, sharpening a combat knife with careful precision.

Commando's sharp eyes immediately focused on the blinking signal. “Keith,” he muttered. “It’s time.”

Without another word, he moved to the weapons locker, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Gear up, we’re going in,” he said, his voice calm but commanding.

Pyotr tossed his cards aside, already on his feet, and Albert followed suit. Svetlana sheathed her knife, standing and moving quickly to her gear. The tone in the room shifted instantly; this wasn’t practice anymore, this was the real deal.

Said Tariq was already at his console, his hands flying over the controls as he activated the drones. “I’ll get eyes in the sky,” Tariq called out, his voice steady. “Drones are online. I’ll give you full surveillance coverage.”

Commando was already halfway into his tactical vest, loading magazines into place, while Pyotr checked his assault rifle, making sure it was locked and ready. “We hit hard, extract fast,” Commando said, slamming a fresh mag into his weapon. “No mistakes.”

Louise Boyer and Sofia Fuentes quickly checked their sniper rifles, giving a nod of readiness to Commando as they geared up. Svetlana strapped on her body armor, her eyes cold and focused.

Tariq tapped into the drone feed, his screen lighting up with live surveillance data. “I’ve got visuals. Keith’s signal is coming from the residential sector. No immediate ADVENT presence, but it’s quiet; too quiet.”

Commando’s face tightened. “We’ll be there in 15. Move fast. We don’t have much time.”

Keith barely caught the door as it swung shut behind him, rushing into the dim corridor. His heart pounded as he saw Maya standing a few meters away, her eyes wide and filled with tears. In front of her, the three MOCX recruiters stood like statues, their postures tense, two of them wearing smug, knowing expressions. The third one, however, stared blankly, an unnerving stillness in his eyes.

Maya, her voice trembling, spoke to the lead recruiter. “Please, can I just leave? I need some air.”

The lead recruiter smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. You’re both under arrest; on suspicion of terrorism.”

Keith’s mind raced. He saw it now, how this had been a setup from the start. They had known more than they let on, waiting for the right moment to spring the trap. Two of the recruiters pulled back their jackets, revealing concealed pistols holstered at their waists.

The quiet one, the third recruiter, stepped forward, grabbing Maya’s arm before Keith could reach her, dragging her back several steps. Keith’s blood ran cold, every fiber of his body tense.

“Let her go,” Keith said, his voice calm, but his hands were already curling into fists.

The lead recruiter’s smile never faltered. “It doesn’t have to be difficult, Keith. Just come quietly.”

Without warning, the recruiters reached for their weapons. In an instant, Keith’s instincts took over. His body moved with lightning speed, honed by years of training and enhanced by his genetic modifications.

Keith focused, his mind reaching out with the psionic abilities he had long kept hidden. He unleashed a kinetic push on one of the armed recruiters, sending him flying backward down the corridor, slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. The second recruiter barely had time to react before Keith grabbed his arm, twisting it with a judo throw that sent the man sprawling onto the floor behind him.

Before Keith could close the distance to Maya, a gruesome transformation began. The quiet recruiter, who had been holding Maya, let out a low growl as his body convulsed. Flesh rippled, stretched, and bulged. His form twisted and contorted, growing taller, until he towered over them at a monstrous 2.5 meters. The familiar, terrifying shape of a Faceless; a grotesque ADVENT infiltrator, emerged.

The Faceless roared, swinging its elongated, deadly limbs with frightening speed. One of its massive arms lashed out, catching Keith across the chest and sending him stumbling back. He could feel the sting of the blow, minor cuts forming on his skin, but the enhanced durability of his iron skin mod protected him from more serious injury.

Keith regained his footing and dodged another swipe. His eyes darted toward the gun on the fallen recruiter. With a swift roll, he grabbed the pistol, ducking beneath another swing of the Faceless’s arm. He aimed and fired, unloading the clip into the creature’s chest.

The Faceless howled in pain, its body convulsing as it staggered backward, finally collapsing in a grotesque heap on the floor.

Keith turned, heart racing, and saw Maya on the ground, clutching her side. One of the Faceless’s wild swings had caught her. Blood stained her shirt, but she was conscious, her eyes wide with shock and fear.

“Maya!” Keith dropped to her side, checking the wound. It was serious. He pressed down on the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

Around them, the sounds of neighbors shouting and alarms ringing filled the corridor. Someone had already called the authorities. Time was running out.
Keith knelt beside Maya, pressing down hard on her wound with one hand, his eyes scanning her face for signs of fading consciousness. Her breath was shallow, her eyes wide with shock, and her body trembled from the pain and fear.

"Stay with me, Maya," Keith murmured, his voice low but urgent. "You’re going to be alright."

Her gaze locked onto him, terrified and confused. “Keith, w- what was that thing? How… how did you…?” Her words came out in broken gasps, struggling to make sense of the monstrous Faceless that had attacked them.

Keith's face remained stern, though there was a flicker of regret behind his hardened eyes. "It was ADVENT. Part of the truth I’ve been trying to protect you from." His grip on her tightened as he held the pressure on the wound. "You know now. Everything I said… all of it. The war, the aliens, the gene clinics. It’s all real, Maya."

Maya shuddered, trying to make sense of it all. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "You were right… all of it…"

Keith gave her a grim nod. "You’ve seen what they are. And they’re coming for us." His eyes darted toward the door. The sirens were louder now, but from the speed of their approach, Keith knew they had more time than ADVENT would have allowed if they knew who he was.

The helicopter flew low over the city’s skyline, the wind whipping past the open doors as Commando scanned the streets below. Ouellet flew with laser focus, navigating the towering buildings, while the rest of the team prepped their gear in silence.

Commando leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he keyed into the comms. "Tariq, sitrep."

In the front seat, Tariq’s fingers flew over the console, controlling the drone feed. "I’m tracking two standard patrol units heading toward Keith’s location. ETA on the ground units is five minutes. They think it’s a minor disturbancenothing more. No ADVENT reinforcements detected. Yet."

Commando nodded, his jaw clenched. "Good. Let’s keep it that way. Ouellet, what’s our ETA?"

Ouellet’s eyes remained on the horizon, the building where Keith’s apartment was just coming into view. "Two minutes. We’ll be on the roof in one."

Commando grunted in response, already standing by the open door, gripping the edge as the building came into sight. "Albert, Sofia, once we’re down, we move fast. No mistakes."

The helicopter hovered just over the rooftop of Keith’s building. Without wasting a second, Ouellet maneuvered the craft into position, and the team jumped out as soon as it touched down.

Commando hit the ground running, leading the charge. "Down the stairs, now!"

Commando led the charge, his boots pounding against the stairwell as Zubov and Grishina flanked him. The three of them moved with precision, their movements calculated and swift, honed by years of combat. Behind them, Louise Boyer followed, her rifle ready, covering the rear. Ouellet and Fuentes remained with the chopper, engines still running, ready for a fast getaway.

“Grishina,” Commando barked, barely breaking stride, “disable the elevator. Now.”

Grishina nodded and veered off, charging toward the elevator door. She didn’t bother with subtlety; her enhanced strength from the gene mods did the work. With a powerful strike, she crushed the control panel, sparks flying as the elevator ground to a halt.

“Zubov, handle the fallen. Check the perimeter,” Commando ordered. Zubov peeled off, moving quickly through the debris and unconscious bodies of the MOCX operatives Keith had taken down, making sure there were no lingering threats, fired two shots to the one that slammed on the wall earlier. The lead one, consious now, saw his fate about to be sealed and raised his hand to stop Zubov. "Don't... I'm not cut up for this... I.. I was a salesman..."
Zubov: "And now you are a dead man." said as he calmly eased the man down with a boot on his chest and leveled the rifle on his forehead, between his scared eyes. A single shot rang out, cold and final.
Boyer stayed focused as she rushed down to the apartment level, eyes scanning the corridor. She reached Keith, who was still kneeling beside Maya, applying pressure to the wound, his hands trembling. Boyer approached with caution, her heart sinking as she saw Maya’s pale face.

“Keith…” Boyer began, her voice steady but filled with sympathy. She crouched beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She’s gone.”

Keith didn’t respond at first, staring blankly at Maya’s lifeless form, his hands still pressing on the wound. His mind couldn’t process it, not yet. Boyer, her voice calm but firm, leaned closer. “Keith… she’s gone. There’s nothing you can do.”

Boyer pointed to the wound, the artery severed. “She bled out. I’m sorry.”

Something broke inside Keith at that moment. His face twisted with a fury he hadn’t felt since the darkest days of the Old War. Maya… was gone. His grip on reality slipped as the grief consumed him, replaced by a raw, blinding rage.

Without a word, Keith stood, his eyes burning with cold hatred. He ripped Boyer’s backup assault rifle from its holster, slinging it across his chest. Boyer watched, startled but not surprised, as Keith’s hands tightened around the grip.

“Keith, wait- ” she started, but it was too late.


Downstairs, Commando had just reached the next floor when ADVENT forces appeared, moving swiftly up the stairwell. Their black armor gleamed under the dim lights, magnetic energy rifles raised as they charged.

Commando met them head-on, his enhanced reflexes kicking in. He moved like lightning, cutting through their formation with ruthless efficiency. His fist connected with the first trooper’s helmet, shattering it, while his rifle barked out controlled bursts of fire, dropping another with pinpoint accuracy.

“Zubov, perimeter secure. Boyer, extraction status?” Commando called into his comms as he reloaded, ducking behind cover to avoid a volley of mag fire. But before he could get an answer, he felt a presence behind him.

Keith barreled past him, assault rifle blazing. His face was a mask of pure rage, and he moved without hesitation, his every motion driven by a thirst for vengeance. He tore through the ADVENT ranks, firing round after round, his shots unnervingly accurate, his rage amplifying his already enhanced skills.

“Keith, fall back!” Commando shouted, but the words fell on deaf ears.

Keith was gone; lost in the fury that came with Maya’s death. His focus was singular: destroy every last ADVENT trooper in his path.

Magnetic bolts flew around him, but Keith didn’t stop. His enhanced reflexes allowed him to dodge and weave between the shots. He gunned down two more ADVENT soldiers with ruthless precision, then moved forward, firing at the next wave.

Commando watched for a moment, his jaw tightening. He knew that look; he had seen it in soldiers who had lost everything. But Keith wasn’t just any soldier. He was one of their best; and in this state, he was unstoppable.

Keith’s mind was a blur of rage, the cold, calculated sniper he once was now buried beneath a tidal wave of anger. His vision narrowed, focusing only on the ADVENT troopers ahead of him. Their black armor gleamed as they moved up the stairwell, magnetic rifles trained forward. But Keith wasn’t afraid; he was beyond fear.

With a snarl, he squeezed the trigger of Boyer’s assault rifle, the weapon roaring to life as he unleashed a hail of bullets into the advancing troops. The first few shots tore through an ADVENT soldier’s chestplate, sending him crashing backward down the stairs. Keith moved swiftly, his reflexes heightened by his genetic modifications, dodging between incoming magnetic rounds with unnatural speed.

Commando, following close behind, watched the brutal efficiency of Keith’s assault. He saw the fury in Keith’s eyes, the unrelenting drive to destroy everything in his path. There was no reasoning with him; not now. Keith was lost in the violence, the loss of Maya fueling every shot.

Commando stepped up beside him, pulling a fresh magazine from his belt. “Ammo!” he barked, tossing it to Keith.

Keith caught the magazine without missing a beat, slamming it into the rifle and continuing his onslaught. The stairs became a warzone as ADVENT troopers fired back, magnetic rounds slamming into walls and ricocheting down the corridor. But Keith pressed on, his focus singular, his shots unnervingly accurate. Another trooper fell, his armor punctured by Keith’s precise bursts of fire.

Commando fired alongside him, covering his flank and providing support. But even as he fought, his eyes flicked to the others. “Boyer, Zubov, get Maya to the chopper. Now! We’ll hold them off!”

Boyer hesitated for only a moment, her eyes filled with sorrow as she knelt beside Maya’s lifeless body. She placed a hand on Maya’s shoulder, then nodded to Zubov. Together, they carefully lifted Maya, moving quickly up the stairs toward the rooftop.

Grishina followed them, her own rifle at the ready, clearing the way as they ascended. The tension in the air was thick, the sound of gunfire echoing down the stairwell, but the focus remained on extracting Maya’s body safely.

Meanwhile, Keith tore through the ADVENT forces with relentless brutality. The troopers weren’t just being gunned down; they were being obliterated. One by one, they fell, their magnetic weapons clattering to the floor as Keith stormed forward.

Commando reloaded, tossing another magazine to Keith, knowing full well that the rage wouldn’t subside until every enemy in front of him was destroyed. He called into his comms, “Fuentes, Ouellet, prepare for extraction. Keith and I will be right behind you.”

Keith moved ahead, his blood pumping with a vicious energy. The last of the ADVENT troopers were positioned at the base of the stairwell, firing desperately to stop him, but their shots went wide as Keith dodged with uncanny speed. He raised the rifle and fired, emptying the clip into the remaining soldiers, their bodies crumpling against the walls.

The corridor fell silent, save for Keith’s ragged breathing.

Commando stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s done, Keith.”

But Keith’s gaze remained distant, his chest heaving. His hands were still wrapped tightly around the assault rifle, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

Commando watched him carefully, knowing the rage hadn’t fully subsided. “We need to go,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We’ve done enough here. Maya needs us.”

Keith’s eyes flicked toward Commando, a brief moment of clarity cutting through the fog of anger. He nodded, albeit slowly, and with a heavy breath, he lowered the rifle.

The stairwell echoed with their hurried footsteps as Commando and Keith rushed toward the rooftop. Keith’s breath was ragged, not from exhaustion but from the overwhelming emotional storm raging inside him. He barely felt the weight of the assault rifle in his hands anymore; the fury that had driven him moments ago was now fading, leaving behind an aching void.

As they burst onto the rooftop, the chopper was already idling, its rotors whipping the air into a frenzied storm. Zubov and Boyer had secured Maya’s body in the back, her still form lying beneath a hastily-draped blanket. Grishina and Tariq were already inside, watching silently as Keith approached, his face distant, his eyes empty.

Commando glanced at him as they boarded. “Keith, we’ve got to move. Now.”

Keith didn’t respond. He climbed into the chopper, sitting down heavily across from Maya. His gaze remained locked on the blanket, his mind elsewhere.

Flashback: Their Final Moments

The memory hit him like a freight train. Maya, standing in the kitchen, her smile warm and bright as she prepared dinner. The smell of spices filled the air, and Keith had leaned against the counter, watching her with quiet contentment.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Maya had asked, her voice soft, almost casual.

Keith had hesitated, unsure how to answer. The future? He had spent so long living in the shadows, hiding from his past, that the idea of a future seemed... foreign.

“I guess,” he had replied, his tone cautious. “But it’s hard to picture sometimes.”

Maya had turned to him, her eyes filled with that unshakable belief she always had in him. “I picture it all the time. You and me, somewhere far away, maybe a little house by the coast... quiet, peaceful..”

Keith had smiled at that, though it was a bittersweet smile. “Sounds nice.”

Maya had walked over to him then, placing a hand on his chest. “We could have that, you know. It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

He had wanted to believe her. But even then, part of him knew the truth; that peace, that quiet life, wasn’t meant for someone like him. Not with the blood on his hands, not with the war still raging inside him.

Flashback: The Final Words

His mind snapped back to the last moments in the corridor. Maya’s face, pale and terrified, her eyes locked on his as the Faceless had torn through the air.

She had whispered his name, her voice faint. “Keith…”

He had rushed to her, pressing his hands against the wound, trying to stop the blood that was flowing too fast.

“I’m here, Maya. Stay with me,” he had pleaded, his voice trembling. But deep down, he knew. She wasn’t going to make it.

Her hand had reached up, weakly brushing against his cheek. “I... I’m sorry, Keith…”

“Don’t talk like that. We’re getting out of here,” he had insisted, desperation creeping into his voice.

But Maya had only smiled softly, her eyes beginning to glaze over. “I love you…”
And then she was gone.

Present: The Chopper

Keith blinked, his vision blurring as the memories crashed over him. He stared at Maya’s still form beneath the blanket, the weight of her last words pressing down on him like a crushing force.

“I love you…”

Commando watched him from the other side of the chopper, his expression grim but understanding. Keith was distant, lost in the final moments that now haunted him. As the chopper lifted off the rooftop, heading away from the city, Keith sat silently, the roar of the engines drowned out by the echo of Maya’s voice in his mind.
-------
Keith stood alone by the freshly turned earth, the cool wind brushing against his face. He hadn’t told anyone where he had buried Maya. This place, hidden somewhere near the bunker, was his secret; a quiet, serene spot away from the chaos of the world. It was beautiful, just as he had promised. A place for her to rest.

His heart felt heavy, an ache that no battlefield had ever inflicted upon him. But he knew this was something he had to carry alone. As the others hurried to pack and prepare for their escape, Keith remained by her side a little longer, saying a silent goodbye.

The team moved quickly, knowing that the aftermath of the massacre would bring unwanted attention. ADVENT forces would soon scour the area, and remaining undetected was their priority. They gathered everything, loading into cars that were strategically stashed along their predetermined route.

Commando, Zubov, and the rest took charge, ensuring that every detail was accounted for. The old abandoned airfield served its purpose once again, and they boarded the hidden airplane bound for Shanghai, slipping away just as the region started to heat up.

Keith, however, when they arrived was left to his grief. The man who had buried Maya was not yet ready to return to the fight.

It had been weeks since Keith had last seen Commando and Solid. He hadn’t spoken much since the escape, keeping to himself in the quiet shadows of his loss. But now, as he stood outside the tattoo parlor, there was a different resolve in his eyes.

Commando and Solid arrived, both of them sharing a glance as they approached the door. They knew something had shifted in Keith, though neither of them spoke of it aloud.

Inside, the tattoo artist was finishing up as Keith sat still, his left arm extended. Maya’s face, beautiful and serene, took form in ink; a tribute that captured her essence forever on his skin. The sleeve extended down his arm, detailed and personal, a permanent reminder of what he had lost.

Keith stood, rolling down his sleeve as the artist cleaned up. He looked at Commando and Solid, his face calmer, though the pain still lingered beneath the surface.

“This is my way to honor her,” Keith said quietly, his voice steady. “Maya deserves this. And now, I’m done grieving.”

He looked at them both, his posture straightening, the familiar cold determination returning to his eyes. “I’m back from being Keith, a truck driver nobody… to being Keith ‘Zero’ Hunter, XCOM Legendary Sniper.”

Commando nodded, his respect clear. Solid placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder, the weight of old bonds shared without words.

Zero was back, and he was ready.

The air was thick with dust and decay as Keith “Zero” Hunter and Commando picked their way through the ruins of the once-bustling city. Broken windows, crumbling buildings, and scattered debris painted the scene of a world long abandoned. The Lost, wandering aimlessly through the streets, groaned in the distance. They were a constant, looming threat, but for now, Keith and Commando moved undetected.

“This way,” Commando whispered, leading Keith toward an unassuming building. “I stashed my gear here just before I disappeared. No way ADVENT found it. But with all these Lost… it might be tricky.”

Keith nodded, his eyes scanning the area with sniper-trained precision. “We move quick. Get what we need and get out before they notice us.”

They reached the door, the lock rusted and broken. Commando raised his hand, motioning for Keith to cover him as he kicked it open. The door groaned loudly as it swung inward, revealing a small, dusty room.

Commando crossed the room swiftly, kneeling beside an old storage unit. With a grunt, he pried it open, revealing his Heavy Gauss Rifle and a set of Titan Armor, still gleaming despite the years that had passed.

“There it is,” Commando muttered with a smirk. “Still intact.”

Keith kept his eyes on the doorway, his rifle trained on the street. “Let’s get moving before we draw attention.”

They carefully packed the gear, moving silently back toward their escape route, the distant groans of Lost growing louder as they slipped away.


Back at their mobile command center, Solid and De Groot worked late into the night. The map of Europe was spread out across the table, pins marking old XCOM safehouses, supply caches, and potential points of interest. De Groot stood at the edge of the table, her arms crossed, deep in thought.

“We’ve got reports from Zero and Commando,” Solid said, looking up from his comms. “They recovered the Heavy Gauss Rifle and Titan Armor from their safehouse. No contact with ADVENT yet, but the Lost are closing in.”

De Groot gave a curt nod. “Good. We’ll need that firepower when things heat up. Zulu’s safehouse in Siberia is next on the list. She stashed her Reflex Rifle there, and we’ll need snipers in place when we start hitting larger ADVENT targets.”

Solid looked at the map, his expression hardening. “Agreed. Once we have the gear, we’ll need intel. What’s the latest on our scientists?”

De Groot tapped the edge of the table, considering her words. “A few potential leads. Most of them are deep in hiding, but there’s chatter about Dr. Crane. If we can get her, she might be able to rebuild some of our old tech. Could give us the edge we need.”

Solid leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “We need to find her. Get a team on it. The longer we go without advanced tech, the more we rely on conventional weapons. It’s not enough.”

De Groot nodded. “I’ll pull in Hawkins and Zubov. They can handle the extraction.”

The biting wind howled across the frozen landscape, whipping snow through the air as the Old XCOM team moved quietly through the Siberian wilderness. The sky was an endless gray, the cold seeping through even the most advanced tactical gear. Deadbolt trudged alongside Zubov, their breath misting in the air as they approached an old safehouse hidden deep in the forest.

“This place hasn’t been touched in years,” Zubov muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “Ivka’s Reflex Rifle should still be inside. Let’s hope ADVENT didn’t find it first.”

They reached the small, camouflaged entrance, half-buried in snow. Zubov knelt and cleared the frozen surface with gloved hands, revealing the hidden lock. With a swift, practiced motion, he keyed in the code, and the door hissed open, revealing a narrow staircase leading into darkness.

Bradley led the way down, his rifle raised, eyes scanning the shadows. The safehouse, though dusty and cold, remained intact. Zubov flicked on a light, illuminating the small cache. And there, on a shelf, lay Zulu’s Reflex Rifle, gleaming faintly under the dim light.

Zubov exhaled with relief. “Still here. Grab it, we don’t have much time before the storm worsens.”

Stone carefully lifted the rifle, securing it to his pack. As they turned to leave, Zubov cast one last glance around the room. “Ivka’s going to be glad to have this back.”

They hurried out, retracing their steps through the blizzard, disappearing into the frozen wilderness before any patrols could pick up their trail.

Back at the command center, Solid and De Groot were buried in stacks of files and reports. Finding scientists who had once been loyal to XCOM wasn’t just about location-it was about trust. ADVENT had spent years rooting out former allies, turning some, and killing others.

De Groot tapped her finger against the table as she reviewed the latest intel. “Dr. Crane… she’s still out there, we’re sure of it. There’s been chatter about someone matching her description in South America. She’s brilliant, worked on our early plasma tech. If anyone can get our advanced weaponry back up and running, it’s her.”

Solid leaned over, reviewing the file. “South America’s crawling with ADVENT. If she’s there, we’ll need to tread carefully. What about the others?”

De Groot flipped to another file. “Dr. Maxon. He was one of our top engineers, handled a lot of the MEC program. There’s a rumor he’s hiding in Eastern Europe, possibly working with resistance cells. If we find him, he could help with our mechanical assets.”

Solid nodded, considering their options. “And Dr. Thorne? She worked on psionics, right?”

De Groot’s expression darkened slightly. “Thorne… we haven’t heard much about her since the fall. Last we know, she was in Australia, but the intel is years old. If she’s still alive, she could be an asset with the psi abilities she was developing.”

Solid leaned back, arms crossed. “Got no hope of restarting a psi project soon but let's look into her. We’ll need to prioritize these leads carefully. Start with Crane and Maxon. We can’t afford to lose any more time without tech. Keep the intel on Thorne on standby until we have more confirmation.”

De Groot nodded. “I’ll send out feelers. We have to be patient. If ADVENT gets wind of this, it’s over.”

Inside Old XCOM’s bunker, Solid and De Groot sat across from each other, pouring over mission reports when the comms crackled to life. Tariq’s voice came through, filled with an urgency that wasn’t often heard.

“Sir, I have something here you need to see. It’s... it’s about the Commander. Central Bradford... he rescued him.”

De Groot straightened, eyes narrowing in surprise. “The Commander? Rescued?”

Solid leaned in closer, his voice a mix of disbelief and anticipation. “Are you sure, Tariq?”

“Positive. It came through from our resistance contacts. Bradford pulled off the impossible; he got him out of ADVENT’s control. The Commander’s back.”

De Groot ran a hand through her hair, processing the gravity of the situation. “This changes everything.”

Solid nodded slowly, already thinking ahead. “We need to move carefully. If Bradford and the Commander are active, then the tides could turn. We’ll have to decide how we factor into this.”

De Groot looked at him sharply. “The question is... do we contact them? Or continue building from the shadows?”

Solid considered for a moment, then replied, “We’ll need to assess how we’re going to leverage this. One thing’s for sure; we can’t afford to stay passive any longer.”

The dim light of the bunker cast shadows across the faces of Old XCOM veterans gathered around the war table. Solid stood at the head, his arms crossed, deep in thought. De Groot, Bradley Stone, Komarov, Zulu, and Commando sat around the table, their expressions hard but focused. The recent report of Central Bradford rescuing the Commander had shaken them to the core. Now, they had to make a decision that could change the course of the war.

Solid leaned forward, placing both hands on the table. "We all know what’s at stake now. Bradford pulled off the impossible; the Commander is back. But the question remains: do we contact them?"

De Groot adjusted her posture, her sharp eyes scanning the faces around the table. “Merging with new XCOM has its advantages. We’d be stronger together, and we’d have the Commander’s leadership. But... it also paints a bigger target on our backs. ADVENT will throw everything they have at us if they catch wind that Old XCOM is back and linked to the Commander.”

Komarov grunted in agreement, his large frame tense. “Separate operations keep us agile, unpredictable. ADVENT can’t focus their forces on one single target if we continue to operate in the shadows.”

Bradley Stone, always pragmatic, chimed in. “But let’s not forget the intel advantage. With the Commander in charge, they’ll have access to ADVENT’s tactics, their structure... Hell, we’ll know what they’re planning before they do.”

Zulu, ever calm, leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers against her thigh. “Our missions have been effective because we’ve stayed under the radar. If we merge with Bradford and new XCOM, we lose that stealth advantage. But... we can’t ignore the fact that the Commander’s survival means something. He’s the symbol we fought under. It’s our duty to protect him, no matter what.”

Commando, silent until now, spoke up. “We protect the Commander. That’s not negotiable. But it doesn’t mean we have to merge right away. We can continue our separate operations while feeding intel to new XCOM. Bradford knows how we operate. He’ll know we’re still out there, supporting the fight.”

Solid nodded, contemplating their words. “Exactly. We support the Commander, but from the shadows. Let new XCOM grow, let them become the face of the resistance. ADVENT won’t know where the real strikes are coming from.”

De Groot raised an eyebrow. “So, we act as a second front? Hit them where they least expect it, while keeping the Commander and new XCOM alive and fighting?”

Solid looked up from the report, his voice calm but weighted. "ADVENT’s bringing in combat-experienced Legions. These aren’t the policing squads we’ve been dealing with; they’re hardened, battle-tested soldiers. This changes the game.”

De Groot exhaled slowly, her fingers drumming against the table. "Bradford’s team isn’t ready for this. The recruits they’ve been training are green. Eager, but inexperienced. If ADVENT deploys these Legions in the cities, it’ll be a massacre."

Komarov, seated beside her, leaned forward. "And it’s not just about fighting strength. Bradford’s got the Avenger; a ship that could change everything if he gets it running. That kind of mobility could turn the tide."

Solid’s expression darkened. "But it’s not flyable yet. And until it is, they’re sitting ducks. ADVENT will hit them hard, and they won’t be able to retreat quickly enough."

Zubov, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "We’ve seen what happens when we’re not equipped properly." Her gaze flicked over to Commando, a reminder of their close call in Kyrgyzstan. "We barely held our ground against the AVC, and they’re not even ADVENT. We need better weapons, armor; everything. What we’ve found in Siberia won’t cut it."

Commando nodded, his face hardening as he remembered the firefight. "Those weapons were a start, but we’ll be outgunned soon. We can’t afford another fight like that, especially not against these Legions."

Solid glanced at De Groot, then to the rest of the team. "We need more. More armor, better weapons. If we go into battle like this, we’ll start losing people."

Bradley Stone tapped the table, thinking. "What’s our next move, then? Keep operating in the shadows, separate from Bradford? Or do we step in and help them get the Avenger operational? Once that ship is up, XCOM will be mobile, and we can hit ADVENT anywhere, any time."

De Groot interjected, "We can’t merge forces just yet. ADVENT can’t concentrate their power on a single target. But we need to coordinate somehow. Feed Bradford the resources he needs to finish the Avenger while keeping ourselves strong and mobile."

Komarov grunted, "Agreed. But if we don’t arm up soon, even the best strategy won’t save us."

Solid crossed his arms, staring at the map of ADVENT-controlled regions. "We’ll start by finding more caches. There have to be more depots like the one in Siberia. Old military bases, abandoned resistance bunkers. Whatever it takes. Let's talk with those Reaper fellas, I hear they know their way in abandoned cities. We’ll also need to keep tabs on Bradford’s progress with the Avenger. When that ship’s ready, we can rethink our position."

In the decaying ruins of the abandoned city, the wind howled through broken windows and across crumbling concrete. Zero perched on a rooftop a few blocks back, scanning the area through his sniper scope. The old city had been overrun by Lost long ago, and now only faint groans and the eerie emptiness of forgotten streets remained. Below, the rest of the team - Commando, Twitch, and Komarov- moved toward the meeting point where the Reapers were waiting.

A bonfire flickered in the middle of the clearing, casting long shadows against the graffiti-covered walls. Elena Dragunova, the infamous Reaper second in command, stood beside the flames. Her face was hidden beneath a hood, and her sharp, calculating eyes gleamed in the firelight. In the center of the bonfire’s flames, a large, grotesque chryssalid head slowly roasted.

As the Old XCOM veterans approached, Dragunova smirked, gesturing toward the macabre display. “Hungry?” she asked, her voice a mix of challenge and amusement. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Twitch, always quick with a laugh, chuckled openly. “Are you SURE you eat chryssalid heads?” he asked with a grin, looking around at his teammates for support. “I mean, I’ve eaten some tough meat in my time, but that...”

Commando, standing tall beside him, folded his arms, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, yes, I’m hungry. But first, you take a serving. After all, you cooked it. Hey, Spetsnaz you want a bite?”

Komarov, shaking his head, couldn’t help but laugh. “Comrade Vlachos,спасибо but I had Berserker ribs before we get here. Seriously though, Dragunova, this is what you do for first impressions? We didn’t come all the way here for a barbecue.”

Dragunova’s smirk faltered for a moment, her eyes narrowing. She had expected a show of awe or intimidation, but instead, she was met with mocking humor. The veterans had faced far worse than a roasted chryssalid head in their years of combat, and it showed in their defiant, casual demeanor.

“Careful, Reaper,” Commando said, taking a step closer to the fire. “We didn’t come here to be impressed. We came to talk.”

Dragunova’s frustration simmered beneath her cool exterior, but she held it together, her voice dropping to a measured tone. “You are in our territory. Respect is earned here.”

Twitch gave a shrug, still grinning. “Respect goes both ways.”

Zero, watching through his scope from afar, stayed silent, ready to provide backup at a moment’s notice. He could see the tension building below, but he trusted his team’s instincts. They weren’t here to be cowed by theatrics.

Commando stood firm, his eyes locked on Dragunova as her frustration grew. With a calm but authoritative tone, he glanced toward the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

“You can tell your two friends to come out now,” he said, his voice steady. “We sensed them the moment we arrived.”

Dragunova’s eyes flicked toward the shadows for a brief moment, betraying a slight hint of surprise. She hadn’t expected anyone to notice her fellow Reapers, hidden in the dark. Commando smirked inwardly but didn’t reveal how his bioelectric skin had given him the edge.

“We’re not your average soldiers,” he continued, his tone cold but respectful. “And I’m guessing you know that by now.”

A long silence stretched between them, the tension thickening in the cold, desolate air. Slowly, two figures emerged from the shadows, both clad in the dark, tactical gear of the Reapers, their faces hidden beneath hoods. They moved silently, flanking Dragunova, their eyes scanning the Old XCOM veterans with suspicion.

Commando took a step forward, his demeanor shifting slightly as he continued. “We didn’t come here to play games. You want an alliance? We’re open to it. But this needs to start as intel sharing; both ways.”

Twitch, standing beside him, nodded in agreement, crossing his arms. “If it works out, we can take things to the next level. But don’t expect us to blindly follow. That’s not how we operate.”

Komarov, always direct, added with a smirk, “We’ve been in this fight a long time. You’re not the only ones who know how to survive.”

Dragunova remained silent for a moment, her piercing eyes studying each of them. She had intended to control this encounter, to assert dominance, but it was clear now that these weren’t just soldiers; they were seasoned warriors, hardened by the years of battle they’d endured.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke. “Very well. We’ll begin with intel sharing. But make no mistake; trust must be earned.”

Commando nodded. “That’s all we’re asking for.”

1 month later

Aboard Skyranger – Minutes from Base Touchdown

Huang Lei sat buckled in beside his squadmates, the cabin dim, the turbulence light. The man that once confronted the Force Commander and his entourage in that Shanghai nightclub, who favored slick suits and smooth talking, now sported a charred body armor, bruised knuckles and a week’s stubble. The past felt like a different life.

"First thing, hot shower," he said, shifting his weight. "Then I’m devouring whatever they’re serving at the mess."

"Don’t forget sleep," someone across the aisle replied with a dry chuckle. "I might just collapse in the corridor if I don’t hit a bunk soon."

Lei longed for sleep; not the kind snatched in fits beneath a rattling Skyranger, nor the dreamless exhaustion that followed gunfire but real, deep sleep. The kind he used to waste in his youth, trading it for neon lights and thumping bass in rooftop clubs, thinking he was immortal. Now, every hour of rest felt like gold behind enemy lines.
And in quiet moments, when the noise faded, his thoughts drifted to gentler times: curling beneath worn blankets in his childhood room, his stuffed bear tucked close, the world outside no threat at all.
He missed that boy. He missed that sleep.

Their squad leader, Albert Ouellet, sat quietly across from them, reviewing mission notes on his datapad. He hadn’t said a word since wheels-up, lost in his usual ritual of post-mission analysis.

The banter was tired but not without warmth. There was shared relief in their glances; they'd made it back. Again. Some even smiled faintly at the thought of real food and a mattress to sleep on.

The Skyranger's descent thrummed through the frame. As the landing clamps engaged and the rear ramp hissed open, the squad slowly rose from their seats.

A logistics officer handed a fresh datapad to Ouellet as they disembarked. He read the contents with a slow, steady scowl.

"Team, hold," he barked.

Everyone froze mid-step.

He looked up. "Resupply. Ammo, medkits, food and water; pack for a few days. We redeploy in forty-five. I’ll brief with Solid in the meantime. You, pack me coffee, black, no sugar – a gallon."

A groan rippled through the squad, some louder than others. Huang just exhaled, adjusting the strap on his gear.

"So much for the R & R," he muttered with a half-smile.

He walked off with the others, toward the lockers and resupply stations.

Such was the rhythm of the Long War. Not endless despair, but no illusions either. Just the grind, the mission, and the moments between when you remembered what survival still felt like.

Two-Month Operational Report
For Field Commander Ian "Solid" Hughes

1. Supply Scavenging and Advanced Technology Search:

In the last two months, Old XCOM has conducted 34 scavenging operations in various abandoned cities, military outposts, and former resistance hideouts. The results have yielded mixed success in terms of both equipment and intelligence.

Old Cities Scavenged: Operations have been conducted in locations such as Old Berlin, Old Rome, and various Eastern European sites, including derelict Soviet bunkers. These bunkers have been repurposed for temporary storage and staging areas for future scavenging operations. The bunkers are sturdy and well hidden but require further reinforcement.

Weapon and Armor Recovery: Titan armor and Gauss rifles have been recovered, though in limited supply. Old XCOM’s scientific personnel, under Dr. Elizabeth Crane and Dr. Maxon, have reverse-engineered some Gauss tech into lower-tier versions. Warder armor, a lighter version of Titan, is now being produced in limited quantities. Additionally, our teams are actively hunting for magnetic rifle blueprints to modify stolen ADVENT rifles into reliable XCOM-grade weaponry.

Magnetic Rifle Research: Given the difficulty of replicating Gauss technology, our engineering teams have shifted focus toward magnetic rifle technology, as it is more achievable with the resources currently at hand. Some progress has been made in modifying ADVENT magnetic rifles for XCOM use. With further resources, production could ramp up significantly.

2. Quick Surgical Strikes Against ADVENT:

Old XCOM continues to perform precision raids on ADVENT facilities and supply convoys, keeping ADVENT forces off balance and drawing attention away from the larger XCOM resurgence.

Missions Executed: There have been 34 scavenging missions and several surgical strikes in cities like Old Berlin and the outskirts of major urban centers. These operations have targeted ADVENT supply depots, infrastructure, and logistical networks, causing widespread disruptions. ADVENT’s Legion deployments are expected to retaliate soon.

Missions success rate: a)The recruited personnel - former Triads, LEO & civs - cannot yet operate without Old Xcom Veterans support and guidance.
b) Squads that deploy 3 or more Veterans have a success rate of 70-80% and 20% casualty rate per month.
c) Squads led by Tier 1 or Tier 1+ Veterans have a success rate of 90+% and 10% casualty/month.

3. Search for Skyranger Blueprints:

The search for remains and blueprints of the original Skyranger transport craft has become a priority. The need for rapid, reliable air transport for Old XCOM forces is critical.

Blueprints Discovered: Teams in Old Rome and Soviet-era military bases have uncovered partial blueprints and documentation on the Skyranger and additional aviation designs, which engineers are piecing together. If successful, Old XCOM may be able to construct at least one functioning Skyranger for rapid deployment.

4. Recruitment of XCOM Pilots:

Efforts have been successful in tracking down and recruiting surviving XCOM pilots, most notably Weaver, a veteran pilot who flew numerous missions in the original war. Weaver is expected to assist with pilot training and, once the Skyranger is operational, to fly key missions for Old XCOM.

Other Pilots Searched: Additional pilots are being sought in resistance circles across Eastern Europe, Asia, and North America. Recruitment efforts continue in these regions, focusing on veteran personnel who can provide air superiority.

5. Scientific and Engineering Reports:
The engineering and scientific teams have made steady progress with the equipment recovered during operations:

Warder Armor Production: A modified version of Titan armor, Warder armor is lighter and easier to produce. Each recovered Titan suit has been successfully broken down into components to produce two Warder suits. This will ensure more operatives can be equipped with serviceable protection.

Gauss Weapon Replication & Magnetic Rifle Work: Attempts to replicate Gauss weaponry continue, but the research teams have made more headway in adapting magnetic rifles using recovered ADVENT technology. This provides an easier path to creating functional weapons for the wider Old XCOM force.

6. Major Challenges:

While progress has been made, Old XCOM faces ongoing issues that require immediate attention:

Equipment Shortages: Despite scavenging efforts, Old XCOM remains under-equipped to handle large-scale engagements. Advanced armor and weaponry are in short supply. Efforts to acquire magnetic rifle technology are ongoing, but the forces remain dependent on recovered ADVENT weapons for the foreseeable future.

Legion Deployments: Intel indicates that ADVENT’s experienced Legions are being mobilized to key urban areas. These troops are battle-hardened, far superior to the policing forces previously encountered. Old XCOM will need to tread carefully when operating in these regions.

Summary and Recommendations:
Old XCOM’s mission success rate remains high, though the need for advanced technology and equipment is becoming urgent. Continued scavenging missions and surgical strikes are essential to maintaining momentum. The discovery of Skyranger blueprints and the recruitment of veteran pilots, including Weaver, offer hope for future mobility and air support. Collaborating with the Reapers and keeping lines open with new XCOM will be key to staying ahead of ADVENT’s Legions. Further development of Warder armor and modified magnetic rifles is critical to ensure operational readiness.


Subject: Reconstruction of Firestorm Aircraft with Plasma Cannons
The engineering and scientific teams have begun assessments on the feasibility of reconstructing a Firestorm aircraft outfitted with plasma cannons. Below is a detailed summary of the challenges and requirements for the project:

1. Complexity of Reconstruction:

Rebuilding a Firestorm craft with full combat capabilities is far more difficult than anticipated. The Firestorm, while technologically superior to other XCOM assets, was heavily reliant on alien technology that is both difficult to acquire and near-impossible to replicate with our current resources. The plasma cannons, specifically, pose a significant engineering challenge.

Key Challenges:

Alien Alloys: The Firestorm’s hull requires alien alloys in vast quantities to maintain the high maneuverability and durability that made it so effective in dogfights.
Energy Systems: The Firestorm requires a specialized energy system capable of powering both the plasma weapons and the advanced propulsion system. Current conventional power systems are insufficient for this purpose.

2. Required Components:

For the Firestorm to be outfitted with plasma cannons, the following alien technology components are required:

8 UFO Computers: These are necessary to manage the advanced targeting, propulsion, and weapons systems simultaneously. Each UFO computer is unique and extremely difficult to recover intact from ADVENT crash sites.
4 Elerium Cores: The plasma cannons require Elerium as a power source. These cores are essential to maintain a steady flow of energy to the plasma weapons without overloading the Firestorm’s systems. Elerium remains one of the rarest and most highly sought-after resources.

Currently, Old XCOM has only recovered 2 UFO computers and 1 Elerium core from various crash sites and supply raids.

Summary: Reconstructing a Firestorm outfitted with plasma cannons will require significant time, resources, and alien technology. The materials currently available are insufficient, and we recommend prioritizing scavenging operations targeting UFOs and Elerium cores. Without these critical components, the project will remain in stasis.
Project Status: Currently Impossible

Location: Engineering Bay, Old XCOM Bunker, Classified Location

Solid stepped into the dimly lit engineering bay, boots echoing against the steel grating. The air reeked of solder and worn-out circuitry. Dr. Elisabeth Crane didn’t look up from the terminal she was hunched over, fingers flying across the keys.

"Dr. Crane," Solid began, clearing his throat. "I’ve been reviewing this project report. I came because I wanted to understand why you’ve marked it as impossible. Let's talk through it. The Firestorm reconstruction how far are we, really?"

Crane exhaled sharply, finally turning from the screen. She looked exhausted, her lab coat was creased, a streak of carbon across her sleeve. "How far? Ian, we’re nowhere. We don’t even have the baseline infrastructure to start."

Solid crossed his arms. "You’re saying it’s off the table entirely?"

"I'm saying it was barely on the table to begin with," Crane replied. "The Firestorm isn’t a modular drone you can slap together with scavenged parts. It’s a flying miracle held together by alien alloys, stabilized Elerium, and computational power that took seventy-five scientists working full-time just to interface with. That was with satellite uplinks, fabrication labs, and a steady supply of intact UFO components."

She gestured to the cluttered floor behind her. "Now? We don’t even have the basic engineering machines needed to draft the interface code. Do you know how much raw data a UFO computer handles? More than fifty petabytes per device. That’s per core. We need eight just to keep the Firestorm airborne. We have two, one of which is barely functioning."

She took a breath and continued, her voice hardening. "And even if we had the tech, the people aren’t there. It’s me, Maxon, and a rotating pool of junior aides trying to do the work of an entire department. We're being stretched so thin it’s a wonder we haven’t snapped yet. Between retrofitting ADVENT weapons and armor for XCOM use, rebuilding the medical wing with no reliable diagnostics, and producing standard and advanced ammunition and grenades with salvaged parts, there’s no bandwidth left."

Solid remained quiet, absorbing the scope.

"We work eighteen-hour shifts. Every day. We sleep in the labs. We haven’t even started schematics for Firestorm-level flight surfaces, let alone code integration. That kind of project demands dedicated labs, a supply line, and at least twenty more personnel trained in alien systems just to begin."

Solid stepped closer, his voice low. "I didn’t realize it was this bad."
Crane looked at him with tired eyes. "You wouldn’t. You see what it did, not what it took."

He nodded. "Then it’s settled. We shelve it. No more Firestorm project. I’ll get you what you need."
Crane let out a breath, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "We’re not grounded yet. But we’re flying on fumes."

Later that evening, in the operations chamber, Solid stood before a dimly lit table. The blue glow cast sharp shadows across his features as he addressed Dieter Krause and a small group of trusted operatives.

"We need to find a solution, and fast. Dr. Crane gave me a list of machines and components we need just to keep the war effort running, to prevent her and her team from collapsing under sixteen-hour shifts, just to keep basic production online. We also need engineers, people we can trust, untouched by ADVENT influence."

He looked first to Krause. "You’ll vet them. If there’s even a shadow of doubt, use Mind Probe. We can’t afford uncertainty."

Then to Cyril Hansen and Abioye Onifade. "You two are combat engineers. You’ll know what’s usable and what’s junk. Work with Crane and compile a list of salvageable tech. Anything that fits Crane’s needs, tag it. Prioritize."

Audrey Faire gave a small nod, already reviewing the list on her datapad. Twitch, silent and focused, stood with arms crossed.

"Stay off the radar," Solid continued. "No flags. No noise. You’ll have sniper support, Ana Sofia Fuentes and Natsuki Nakano will cover you from distance. You’ll move in teams, rotate leads, always with an eye on exfil. This stays dark."

He turned away from the table and faced the team. "This isn’t just another mission. If we don’t find these people, and get the equipment, Crane’s lab goes offline. And if that happens, so do we."

The team exchanged glances, tension mixing with quiet resolve.
"Move out within the hour," Solid said. "You have your leads. Make them count."

Operational Logistics Report by Lt. Colonel Van Doorn

For Field Commander Ian "Solid" Hughes

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Subject: Encounters with Non-ADVENT Factions in the AO

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In recent months, our squads have been facing increasing risks from encounters with factions not directly allied with ADVENT but equally hostile to our operations. These factions, including the Obscura Directive Institute and Apex Veil Coalition, are unpredictable, often treating our squads as enemies. Unlike the Reapers, Skirmishers, and Templars, who share some common goals with XCOM, these groups see us as obstacles or threats to their objectives, leading to frequent and dangerous engagements.

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Recent Incident: AVC Engagement in Old Brussels

One of the most notable recent encounters occurred in Old Brussels, during a mission where Commando’s team was engaged with both ADVENT and Lost forces in the old plaza. Louise "Surgical" Boyer**, our Tier 3 Sniper, was positioned on an elevated vantage point to provide overwatch for the team. While the squad was heavily engaged, a AVC 8-man team completely unprovoked, converged on Boyer’s location and attempted to apprehend her.

- Boyer's Resistance and Capture: Despite her attempts to evade capture, Boyer was incapacitated by the AVC operatives after a brief struggle. She was stabilized by the AVC team, which suggests a clear intent to capture and interrogate her.

- Commando’s Intervention: Upon realizing the situation, Commando disengaged from the primary combat zone and took immediate action to rescue Boyer. His solo engagement with the AVC team resulted in him neutralizing 7 out of 8 operatives, leaving one wounded with a clear message: “Attack us again, and we’ll wipe you off the map.”

While Commando’s actions demonstrated his combat prowess and successfully rescued Boyer, his decision to leave the active battlefield led to unintended consequences. With Commando diverted, ADVENT forces gained the upper hand, resulting in the deaths of 4 soldiers and the severe injury of 5 others, rendering that squad combat-ineffective for the foreseeable future.

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Key Concerns Raised by the Incident:

1. Engaging Hostile Factions: This incident highlights the growing risk posed by factions such as the AVC. They often open fire on our teams, or in this case, attempt to capture and interrogate key operatives. While Commando’s response was effective in dealing with the immediate threat, it also underscores the fact that we cannot afford to engage in multiple fronts with these groups while continuing the fight against ADVENT.

2. Operational Impact: The squad’s combat effectiveness was severely compromised after the engagement. The loss of 4 soldiers and the incapacitation of 5 others has left a significant gap in our ability to carry out missions in that region. While heroism on the battlefield is commendable, this also highlights the strategic cost of diverting resources to deal with non-ADVENT threats.

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Medical Wing Upgrades Required:

The incident in Old Brussels also points to another urgent issue; our medical wings are severely outdated. With 5 seriously injured soldiers, it became clear that we lack the modern equipment necessary to treat and recover our operatives effectively. Advanced medkits, trauma treatment technology, and alien-based recovery tools have been difficult to come by, but they are now essential if we are to maintain operational capacity.

- Current Medical Wing Status: We are still using equipment from the original XCOM days, which is no longer suitable for the type of high-intensity engagements we face. Without upgrades, our recovery times will increase, leading to further personnel shortages.

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Recommendations:

1. Upgraded Medical Facilities: Immediate investment in our medical wings is crucial. New XCOM's access to advanced technology could be leveraged here. We need modern trauma centers, surgical equipment, and more advanced medkit technology to handle injuries sustained in battle with both ADVENT and hostile factions like the AVC.

2. Operational Caution: We must avoid entanglements with non-ADVENT factions whenever possible. Diplomatic overtures or mutual agreements to avoid confrontation in the AO should be explored. Engaging multiple fronts will only drain our already stretched resources.

3. Increased Reconnaissance: Better intelligence on these factions is necessary to avoid being caught off guard. Enhanced drone surveillance and intel sharing with other factions (like the Reapers) can prevent situations like the one in Old Brussels from happening again.

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Conclusion:
The Brussels incident has brought to light the dangers posed by factions like the AVC and Institute, which may require diplomatic or direct actions to avoid future conflict. Our primary focus must remain on ADVENT, and we cannot afford distractions. However, we must also prepare for the reality that these groups may continue to target XCOM veterans for capture or elimination. In light of this, immediate upgrades to our medical and reconnaissance capabilities are imperative.

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End of Report
Lt. Colonel Van Doorn
Head of Operational Logistics, Old XCOM

Radio Comms Transcript: Old Brussels Incident

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Time Stamp: 15:32 Local Time
Location: Old Brussels, Plaza
Objective: ADVENT Sabotage and Intelligence Retrieval

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Commando's Team (Callsign: Bravo-1) – Engaged with ADVENT and Lost (Automatic gunfire erupts in the background as Commando gives orders.)

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"Plaza's crawling with Lost. Squad's holding them off. Need sniper support, Surgical, what's your sitrep?"

Bravo-2 (Surgical/Boyer):
"Position secured on the northwest building, sightlines are clear. Engaging ADVENT targets. Send coordinates for next batch."

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"Copy that, marking ADVENT positions on your HUD."

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15:38 – AVC Interference Detected

AVC Team (Radio Chatter on Secure Frequency):
"Priority Target 1 spotted. Engage and capture. Do not terminate unless resistance is severe."

AVC Operator 1:
"Eyes on the sniper. She’s up in the building, 200 meters out. Moving to intercept." (The sound of footsteps and orders being barked as the AVC team moves into position.)

--

Bravo-2 (Surgical/Boyer):
"Taking heavy fire from the west. Moving positions."

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"Surgical, you’ve got more company. Can’t ID them, but they’re not ADVENT. Hold tight, pulling recon."

Bravo-2 (Surgical/Boyer):
"Negative, these guys aren’t here for the fight. They’re coming straight for me- oh f-"
(Line goes static)

AVC Team Leader:
"Get her down, secure the sniper! Do not kill, repeat-"
(A scuffle ensues, with the sound of Boyer’s rifle dropping and a quick, muffled struggle.)


Bravo-1 (Base Command):
"Commando, we lost Surgical’s feed. Sensors show multiple unidentifieds converging on her position."

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"Copy that, unknown interference. I'm moving to her position, taking out the threat."_

Bravo-3 (Operative):
"Sir, we’ve got ADVENT incoming. We can’t hold this position alone!"

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"Hold the line. Tactical withdrawal if needed. I’ve got this."

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15:45 – Commando Engages AVC Forces

Commando’s Comms (Private Channel to Base):
"AVC attempted to capture Boyer. Moving in; engaging hostile forces."

AVC Team Leader:
"What the- who’s that? Target approaching! Fire at will!"
(Automatic gunfire is heard, followed by a sudden wave of confusion.)

Commando:
(Opens fire with Heavy Gauss Rifle, downs one AVC - goes to cover. Psi engaged – Insanity)
"You’ll want to rethink this fight."

AVC Team Leader (Comms):
"Priority Target 1 is- Oh god --what’s happening, what’s happening to me?!"
(Screaming, panic among AVC comms)

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"They’re breaking, keep pushing."
(Kinetic push engaged)_
"Next one’s going out the window."

AVC Operator 2:
"Pull back! Pull back! We’re losing control!"

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"Last warning, AVC. Interfere with XCOM again, and we’ll end you."
(Mind control initiated on AVC trooper)
"Now, fire on your own squad."
(More gunfire as one of the AVC operatives is mind-controlled and opens fire on his comrades.)

AVC Operator 3:
"Priority Target 1 has, wait what are you... he’s..."
(Gunfire as AVC troopers open fire on comrade)
(Fuse ability on a AVC holstered grenade. Radio static)

-

15:52 – Aftermath

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):*
"Bravo, target neutralized. Surgical’s down but stable. Returning to the main team."

Bravo-1 (Base Command):
"Understood. Status of ADVENT forces?"

Bravo-3 (Operative):
"We’re in deep. Four down, five wounded. ADVENT’s still pressing. They overwhelmed us when Commando pulled out."

Bravo-1 Leader (Commando):
"On my way. Prepare for extraction."

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AVC Operator (Last Remaining):
"Command... all down... my leg is broken and bleeding... Priority 1 left carrying their sniper... He said we’ll be wiped off the map. How copy?"

AVC Central:
"Abort. Mission compromised. Evac immediately."

---

Conclusion

Commando successfully neutralized the AVC team that attempted to capture Boyer, but at the cost of diverting from the main mission. Four XCOM soldiers died, and five others were seriously wounded due to the withdrawal of Commando's support from the main engagement. Despite the success against the AVC, this highlights the dangers of facing multiple hostile factions in the same area of operations.

End of Transcript

Lt. Colonel Lambropoulos' Report: Obscura Directive Institute -SCN- and Apex Veil Coalition (AVC)
Subject: Overview of Institute and AVC: Evolution, Capabilities, and Current Engagements

1. Pre-Occupation Origins:

Before the alien occupation, the Obscura Directive Institute -SCN- ( henceforth Institute ) and the Apex Veil Coalition (AVC) were relatively obscure research organizations primarily focused on studying anomalies, phenomena that fell outside conventional science. The general public, as well as most governments, were unaware of the existence of aliens or many of the threats that are now commonplace. Both organizations had limited resources, relying heavily on the secrecy of their missions, which dealt more with terrestrial anomalies than extraterrestrial threats.

Institute: Originally a clandestine research organization, the Institute specialized in securing, containing, and studying anomalous entities and objects. Their objective was to protect humanity from the unknown, operating under extreme secrecy.

AVC: The AVC, on the other hand, operated more like a para-military organization, focusing on neutralizing threats perceived as anomalies. They were often in conflict with the Institute's methods of containment, believing eradication was the most effective way to protect humanity.

2. Post-Occupation Expansion:

After the alien occupation and the collapse of global governance, both the Institute and the AVC evolved into multinational research organizations with far more resources and capabilities than they had before. Their transition from small research facilities to global players in the post-occupation era has been rapid and profound. It must be noted they control the minor regions and cities around the globe that are outside of Advent's influence and near their major facilities.

Increased Resources: These organizations now operate numerous facilities worldwide, with access to advanced alien technology. This technology is largely attributed to the alien items that XCOM shared with governments before the collapse. Countries were granted alien artifacts, weaponry, and tech for research purposes, but when global governance collapsed, much of that tech fell into the hands of these independent organizations. The Institute and AVC quickly harnessed this technology for their own research, enhancing their scientific capabilities and bolstering their military presence.

Private Armies: Both the Institute and AVC have built up significant military capabilities over the years, transforming into well-equipped private armies. Their operatives are trained in both anomaly containment and advanced warfare, using weaponry derived from alien tech alongside their own unique advancements.

3. Advanced Technology and Research Capabilities:

Due to their access to alien technology and years of research, both organizations have made substantial scientific strides, allowing them to develop cutting-edge weapons, armor, and anomaly-containment technology.

AVC’s Plasma Technology: The AVC, in particular, has been seen wielding advanced blue plasma-based weaponry, a clear indication of their ability to adapt alien tech into practical military applications. This makes them formidable opponents, not only to resistance groups but also to ADVENT forces.

Institute’s Containment Technology: The Institute, while less focused on combat, has developed advanced containment systems that allow them to safely store and study both anomalies and alien technologies. Their scientific research is unparalleled, and their laboratories are some of the most secure in the world.

4. Relations with ADVENT:

ADVENT’s primary focus is maintaining control over Earth, but they have generally left the Institute and AVC to their own designs, as long as these organizations do not interfere with their broader objectives. Both organizations operate under a delicate balance with ADVENT, avoiding large-scale conflicts.

Small Conflicts: There have been documented instances of minor skirmishes between these organizations and ADVENT forces, but they remain isolated incidents. ADVENT, it seems, tolerates the existence of these factions because they do not openly challenge their regime, instead focusing on their own research and agendas.

5. Recent Engagements with Old XCOM:
While ADVENT may tolerate their activities, both the Institute and AVC have increasingly seen Old XCOM as a threat. Unprovoked engagements have occurred, such as the Old Brussels incident where a AVC team attempted to capture Louise "Surgical" Boyer while she was providing sniper support for Commando’s team. The AVC sought to apprehend Boyer, likely for interrogation or containment of a known XCOM veteran.

Commando’s Intervention: Commando had to leave an active combat zone, facing ADVENT and Lost forces, to neutralize the AVC team. While successful in rescuing Boyer, the diversion led to significant casualties among Old XCOM forces, demonstrating the risks posed by these factions.

6. Conclusion and Strategic Considerations:
The Institute and AVC, with their advanced technology, private armies, and global reach, represent significant potential adversaries in the AO. Their willingness to engage Old XCOM forces, particularly in an attempt to capture our veterans, presents a new layer of complexity. While we cannot afford to fight on multiple fronts, we must be prepared to engage these factions when necessary, especially given their formidable capabilities.

Future Operations: We must carefully consider how to approach areas where these organizations operate. Direct engagement should be avoided if possible, but if hostilities arise, we must respond decisively. Strengthening reconnaissance and improving diplomatic channels with these factions could help mitigate unnecessary conflict.

Strategic Upgrades: Finally, we need to continue upgrading our medical and combat systems to counter the threat posed by these factions. Their use of advanced plasma weaponry and containment technology suggests that our current systems will be insufficient in future engagements.

Xcom Weaknesses: The various facilities of Old XCOM, primarily located in ex-Soviet bunkers, present a significant vulnerability. These remote, isolated locations, while secure from casual discovery, lack the defensive infrastructure to withstand a concerted attack by advanced forces such as the AVC or Institute. Both factions, with their private armies and superior technology, could easily overwhelm these bunkers if they ever turned their focus on Old XCOM operations. The Shanghai facility, however, remains the only relatively "safe place" due to its location in a heavily ADVENT-controlled city, which ironically shields it from these hostile factions. Yet, operating in Shanghai also restricts Old XCOM’s ability to conduct large-scale operations, limiting them to clandestine activities and strict secrecy to avoid detection by ADVENT authorities.

End of Report
Lt. Colonel Lambropoulos
Old XCOM, Head of Intel Operations

The room was dimly lit, casting shadows across the walls lined with maps and intel boards. Field Commander Ian "Solid" Hughes, seated behind his desk, sifted through reports. A knock at the door interrupted his focus.

"Enter," he called, his voice steady.

Bradley "Deadbolt" Stone, Keith "Zero" Hunter, and Annete Durand stepped in, the door shutting behind them. Each of them carried an air of determination, their eyes fixed on Solid. Annete, as usual, exuded a calm intensity, her psi powers quietly emanating in the room, almost palpable to those familiar with such energy.

Solid leaned back in his chair, his brow raising. "What's this about?"

Deadbolt spoke first, his arms crossed over his chest. "We’ve got an idea to keep the AVC and Institute busy for a while, sir."

Zero stepped closer, his usually stoic face showing just a hint of confidence as he glanced at Annete. "The plan involves a bit of... misdirection."

Solid motioned for them to continue.

Annete leaned forward, her voice smooth and measured. "We spread a rumor... a very specific one. The AVC and Institute both know what I'm capable of. If they believe I've been captured by ADVENT, they'll move. They'll have no choice."

Solid's expression sharpened, understanding dawning. "You want to bait them into attacking ADVENT?"

Annete nodded, her eyes focused, almost glowing with the weight of her power. "I’ll Mind Dominate a high-ranking EXALT operative. We’ll plant the belief that I'm being held in an ADVENT prison facility, awaiting processing. This marked operative will leak it to known whistleblowers, ones we know feed intel to the AVC and Institute."

Zero chimed in, "At the worst, nothing happens, but even that would give us some time to breathe."

Solid looked at Annete. "And you're confident your psi powers will hold?"

Annete smiled slightly, her tone unwavering. "I've done it before. This will be no different."

Bradley, who had been silent so far, added, "Once they get wind of her 'capture,' they'll go in hard, sir. They won’t be able to resist the chance to interrogate or capture a psi-operative of her caliber. It’ll trigger a chain of events; ADVENT will retaliate, causing chaos."

Solid narrowed his eyes, clearly intrigued but cautious. "And if the AVC or Institutedon’t take the bait?"

Annete shrugged lightly. "Then we move on to Plan B. But the likelihood of them ignoring it? Slim."

Zero leaned against the desk, his arms folded. "We'd need full covert infiltration into the city. Low profile. Quick extraction. If they sniff us out too soon, the whole thing falls apart."

Solid glanced at the three, his mind working through the logistics. "And the risk to you, Durand?"

Her expression didn’t waver. "Minimal. Once the information is planted, I’m out. They'll never know I was even there."

Solid nodded slowly, mulling over the idea, but left the question unspoken as he stared at Annete, reading the confidence in her psi-enhanced gaze.

Zero added, "We just need the green light from you, sir."

olid leaned forward, clasping his hands together as his eyes moved from Annete to Zero. His voice lowered, carrying a measured weight.

“After the rumor is spread, the EXALT operative must be eliminated; quietly, preferably by accident. We can’t risk them piecing together that they were under Mind Control. Any hint of that, and the AVC and Institute might trace it back to us.”

Annete gave a brief nod, understanding the necessity of the covert clean-up. "I can arrange for that. Once the information is passed on, they’ll meet an unfortunate end. No one will know they were ever manipulated."

Zero added, "A cover story; something believable. A car crash, maybe a heart attack. It has to look clean."

Solid's gaze moved between them, as he tapped a finger on his desk. “Then let’s move forward with the planning. I want to know every step, no loose ends. We make sure this rumor hits where it needs to and that the AVC and Institute take the bait.”

He leaned back, signaling the discussion was far from over but was heading in the right direction. "Let's get to work."

Phase 1: Infiltration and Setup
Primary Objective: Infiltrate the city, undetected by ADVENT, to plant false information about Annete Durand's capture in ADVENT custody.

Team Composition:

Annete Durand: Psi-operative with Mind Domination as the key element to control the EXALT operative.
Zero (Keith Hunter): Tactical sniper support and covert observation. He will stay concealed, ready to provide backup if needed.
Bradley “Deadbolt” Stone: Covert support for Annete, tasked with ensuring the EXALT operative is neutralized quietly.
Backup Team (On Standby):

Matthew Hawkins and Said Tariq will be positioned nearby to intervene if the mission is compromised. Tariq’s drones will maintain constant surveillance, feeding real-time intel to the strike team.
Immanuil Komarov and Albert Ouellet will remain in the extraction vehicle, ready to assist with a quick exfiltration.
Infiltration Method:

Civilian Disguise: Annete and Zero will travel disguised as workers or civilians to remain inconspicuous in the city.
Reconnaissance: Tariq’s drones will provide real-time intel to avoid any heavy ADVENT patrols or surveillance.
Phase 2: Mind Domination of EXALT Operative
Target: A high-ranking EXALT manager known to have ties with whistleblowers who feed intel to the AVC and Institute.

Execution:

Annete will engage the EXALT operative in a public setting where her use of psi powers can be subtle and undetected.
Once under Mind Domination, the EXALT operative will believe that Annete is held by ADVENT, awaiting processing. This false belief will drive them to accidentally leak the information to contacts within the AVC and Institute.

Phase 3: EXALT Operative Elimination
Elimination Method:
Stage an accident: After Target spreads the rumor, Bradley will ensure the EXALT operative meets a quiet end, preferably through a staged car accident or poisoning that looks like a natural cause. Zero will serve as the final failsafe in case the operative must be taken out more directly.
Backup Intervention: Should complications arise, the backup team (Zubov and Grishina) will be ready to intervene quietly, ensuring that no trace of Mind Control can be discovered.

Phase 4: Intel Leak and Expected Outcomes
Leak Channels: The EXALT operative will spread the rumor through whistleblower channels, particularly those connected to AVC and Institute operatives.

Expected Reactions:

AVC: Known for their aggressive stance against psi-operatives, they will likely launch an attack on the supposed ADVENT facility holding Annete.
Institute: More secretive, but equally interested in psi-operatives, they may attempt to retrieve her covertly, possibly even clashing with AVC forces.

Potential Complications: Should neither faction bite, the backup team will use Tariq’s drones to gather additional intel to adjust the plan if needed.

Phase 5: Extraction and Aftermath

Coordinated Exfil:
Zero and Bradley will retreat using pre-established routes through the city’s sewers or subway system. If things escalate, Fuentes and Ouellet will execute a rapid extraction via Skyranger.

Post-Operation Debrief: The team will monitor AVC and Institute responses closely, ensuring they don’t link the operation back to XCOM. Should tensions between these factions and ADVENT rise, it will buy Old XCOM valuable time.

The low hum of ADVENT patrol drones echoed through the narrow alleyways. It was a cold, drizzly evening in the heart of an alien-occupied city. Dim streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the wet pavement. Annete Durand, Keith "Zero" Hunter, and Bradley "Deadbolt" Stone blended into the crowd of factory workers leaving their shifts, their clothes plain and unremarkable. They moved with the practiced ease of veterans, but their eyes were sharp, scanning the environment for any signs of trouble.

A nearby ADVENT officer barked orders to a patrol squad, but the trio kept their heads down, blending in with the crowd. The mission had begun.

Zero (whispering into his comms):
"I'm in position. No unusual activity on the street ahead, just workers and a couple of ADVENT patrols. Keeping to the shadows."
(He scanned the rooftops through his enhanced vision, the hyperreactive pupils of his gene-modified eyes picking up every slight movement.)

Annete (calm and focused):
"Good. Keep a low profile, we can't afford any unwanted attention. I'm heading toward the rendezvous point."
(She glanced over her shoulder as a group of civilians passed by. Their expressions were empty, disinterested, and perfectly oblivious to the fact that they were walking among some of the deadliest veterans in existence.)

Bradley (smirking slightly, arms casually at his sides):
"It's almost too quiet. Feels like the old days, doesn't it?"
(He moved with a casual swagger, but his sharp gaze never missed a detail.)

Zero:
"Stay focused. We’re not on a joyride. Annete, how’s the target?"

Annete’s eyes flickered with the faint glow of psi energy as she checked her internal focus on the EXALT manager she had marked for Mind Domination. She could feel his mind, distant but connected to hers.

Annete (focused):
"The EXALT operative is at the designated meeting spot. It won’t take long to implant the belief. I just need a moment with him."

Hawkins (quietly over comms):
"All clear on my end. Nothing unusual. Bioelectric Skin’s not picking up anything; no Faceless nearby."

Zero (from his elevated sniper position):
"Good. Keep it that way. I’ve got you both covered. Patrols are light on this street, but we’re not invisible. Stay sharp."

Annete (calm but focused):
"Heading toward the target. No contact with ADVENT yet. Bradley, stay close but out of sight. We can’t risk spooking anyone."

Bradley (smirking, voice low):
"I’m always close, just not where they’re looking."

Annete slid into a seat next to the EXALT manager, her voice low and controlled. As she spoke, she reached into his mind with her powerful psi abilities.

Annete (whispering):
"You’ll remember this. ADVENT has me... Annete Durand, the Legendary Psychic. They’re holding me. You need to let them know. Tell the right people."

The EXALT operative’s eyes glazed over as the Mind Domination took hold. His resistance, minimal at best, crumbled under the sheer force of her power. The belief was now deeply implanted; he truly believed Annete was being held by ADVENT and would spread the information to his contacts.

Zero (from his overwatch):
"Good work, Annete. Target’s looking calm. No sign of panic. Pull back quietly."

Bradley (watching from a safe distance):
"Smooth as ever. Let’s wrap this up and get out of here."

Hawkins (over comms):
"Everything’s still quiet on my end. I’ll keep monitoring for anything odd. We don’t move until the information spreads."

With the belief successfully planted in the EXALT operative’s mind, Annete stood and casually blended back into the crowd, her expression unreadable. Phase 1 was complete. Begin of Phase 2.

Tariq (through comms):
"I’m in his network. The EXALT operative’s just left the café. Looks like he’s heading for his usual whistleblower contacts."

Zero (watching from the window):
"Let’s hope he’s not second-guessing what he knows. How’s the area looking?"

Hawkins:
"Clear so far. Bioelectric’s not picking up anything unusual."
(His fingers tapped lightly against the wall, his nerves calm but his instincts sharp.)
"But we’re not in the clear yet. I don’t like how quiet it’s been. We stick to the plan."

The team waited as Tariq’s drones tracked the movements of the EXALT operative. Within half an hour, confirmation came in; he had met with a known whistleblower in a nearby market, relaying the planted rumor about Annete’s capture to ADVENT.

Tariq (calmly over comms):
"The info's out. The whistleblower he spoke to is one of the Institute’s trusted intermediaries. It’ll spread from here, no doubt."

Zero:
"Good. Now we just wait and watch. Phase 3 execute"

Annete (leaning against the wall, her voice even):
"Once they catch wind of this, AVC or Institute will move. ADVENT’s going to feel the heat soon enough."

Bradley (smirking):
"Nothing like a little chaos to keep things interesting. I'm moving on target."

Zero (from his overwatch position):
"Operative’s moving toward the main street. Should be in position soon. What’s the plan?"

Bradley (quietly, already tracking the target):
"Nothing fancy. He’s heading toward his usual commute; it's time for an 'unfortunate accident.'"
(Bradley’s voice was calm, methodical.)

Hawkins (scanning the area):
"No ADVENT patrols nearby. Bioelectric Skin’s clear; no Faceless. We’re good to go. Just make sure it’s quiet."

Bradley spotted a small, isolated side street where the operative was heading. It was the perfect spot; dark, narrow, and away from the prying eyes of civilians. Timing was key. As the operative stepped into the street, Bradley quickened his pace.
His posture shifted ever so slightly, relaxed yet coiled with intent. As he closed the distance, Bradley's hand moved subtly to his side. No weapon drawn, no overt aggression; just a man walking slightly faster.
He caught up just as the operative turned to check his six.
A slip of foot. A bump of shoulders. Bradley’s hand shot out, catching the man under the arm like helping a stumble.
But in that motion, his other hand snapped up behind the operative's neck, twisting hard and fast. The crack was muffled, masked by the sound of a passing tram.
The man slumped instantly, body going limp in Bradley’s arms. With fluid motion, Bradley eased him down onto the wet pavement, arranging him to look like he had slipped in the alley's grime. One quick glance confirmed no witnesses.
A silent kill. Professional. Clean.
Bradley vanished back into the crowd without a sound.

Zero:
"Target’s down. No one noticed a thing. Nice work."

Hawkins (scanning the perimeter):
"No disturbances on my end. Area’s still clear."

Bradley (checking his watch, walking away from the scene without a second glance):
"Another clean job. Let’s get out of here before anyone catches on."

Solid (over comms):
"Mission accomplished. No fallout, no loose ends. Good work, all of you. How’s the target?"

Zero (checking his rifle):
"Taken care of. Quiet, just like we planned. Nobody knows a thing."

Annete (smirking slightly):
"It’s only a matter of time before they bite. With the AVC and Institute scrambling over this, ADVENT’s going to have their hands full. It’s exactly what we needed."

Bradley (nodding in agreement):
"And with ADVENT retaliating, they’ll be forced to divert resources. It'll give us room to breathe. For once."

The team wasted no time lingering in the city. The streets may have been calm now, but any prolonged stay increased the risk of exposure, especially with ADVENT patrols combing the area. Hawkins, Zero, Annete, and Bradley moved swiftly and quietly, their extraction route already secured by Tariq’s drones and his monitoring of ADVENT comms. The backup extraction vehicle was parked in a secluded alley near an industrial district.

Zero (checking the area):
"Street’s clear. We move fast, no looking back."

Bradley (nodding):
"Let’s not give ADVENT a reason to look twice at us."

They slipped through the city’s outskirts unnoticed, using the shadows and old access tunnels to avoid detection. Within an hour, the team had reached the extraction vehicle, with Komarov waiting behind the wheel.

Komarov (smirking):
"Always on time, aren't you lot? Get in."

The vehicle sped off, leaving the city behind and blending into civilian traffic. Within minutes, they were out of the city, moving towards a safe drop-off point for their covert Skyranger extraction.

LEAKED AVC FIELD REPORT
Operation Codename: [REDACTED]
Location: ADVENT Detention Complex, [REDACTED]
Status: Failed Raid

Summary:On the night of [REDACTED], an AVC task force launched a covert operation against an ADVENT prison facility believed to house high-value captives, including suspected psi-operatives. Rumors indicated that Annete Durand, former XCOM psi-legend, was among the detainees. The mission aimed to extract her and disrupt local ADVENT operations.

Initial Contact: The task force, led by a N81 commanding officer, breached the facility perimeter undetected. Initial sweep showed no sign of Durand, a discrepancy that forced the team to prolong their search in hopes of locating her. This delay significantly impacted the operation's timing and contributed to the onset of ADVENT reinforcements. Utilizing stealth and plasma armament, the team neutralized initial security and gained control of multiple interior checkpoints. Several low-priority detainees were released in the initial phase.

Complication:Approximately 15 minutes into the incursion, ADVENT rapid-response forces descended via multiple dropships, deploying Elite Troopers, MECs, and Mutons. The scale of reinforcement overwhelmed AVC operatives, pinning squads across the compound. The commanding officer attempted a fallback maneuver, but reinforcements quickly overran their positions.

Outcome:

~75% AVC casualties (KIA/MIA/Captured)

No confirmed extraction of Annete Durand or other high-value assets

Surviving operatives extracted under fire; only a handful survived

Intelligence confirmed false or outdated

Aftermath:The failed raid forced AVC withdrawal from the sector. ADVENT has since bolstered security at all prison facilities in the region. The ferocity of their counter-response implies heightened sensitivity to psi-related incursions. AVC operations have gone dark in this region.

Strategic Implication:The incident offers Old XCOM valuable insight into ADVENT’s response speed and regional force allocation. While AVC recovers, XCOM has space to maneuver. Emphasis on vetting intelligence is critical to future success.

End of Report.

Following the intel report on the AVC's failed raid on the ADVENT prison facility, Field Commander Solid immediately calls for an analysis group. The purpose is to study the AVC’s missteps and ADVENT’s response, identifying both weaknesses and potential exploitation points for Old XCOM. This group will also assess the challenges of rescuing high-value captives, such as veteran operatives, should ADVENT capture any of them in future operations.
Following the intel report on the AVC's failed raid on the ADVENT prison facility, Field Commander Solid immediately calls for an analysis group. The purpose is to study the AVC’s missteps and ADVENT’s response, identifying both weaknesses and potential exploitation points for Old XCOM. This group will also assess the challenges of rescuing high-value captives, such as veteran operatives, should ADVENT capture any of them in future operations.

Old XCOM Internal Briefing - Failed AVC Op Analysis Group

Participants:

Inge De Groot: Combat strategist and analyst

Bradley Stone: Sniper and covert operations expert

Keith "Zero" Hunter: Intelligence and counter-espionage

Tariq: Drone and recon systems specialist

Analysis of ADVENT’s Response to the Failed AVC Prison Raid

The team convenes in a dimly lit operations chamber of Old XCOM's underground bunker. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete walls. The air smells faintly of dust, oil, and old circuitry. Displays flicker with satellite feeds, intercepted comms, and surveillance footage recovered from the failed operation. A ceiling fan turns lazily above, doing little to stir the stillness in the room. The footage of the AVC raid plays in silence. When it ends, De Groot begins:

De Groot:
"ADVENT’s guard presence was deliberately minimal. It’s a lure; an illusion of vulnerability. They want smaller forces to take the bait. The AVC took the outer wall easily. That was the point. Then came the hammer."

She gestures to timestamps on the display, highlighting intervals between alarm triggers and deployment markers.

Tariq:
"First signs of alarm to dropship touchdown? Roughly twelve minutes. They brought in Elite Troopers, MECs, and Muton units fast; too fast for the AVC to pivot. That’s their baseline response time for key sectors. In backwaters, it stretches; maybe double."

The footage shifts to aerial thermal. The silhouettes of heavy ADVENT units appear; hulking shadows descending in formation.

Bradley:
"They overcommitted. That wasn’t suppression; it was annihilation. They wanted to send a message. If we ever try to pull one of our own from a place like that, expect the same; if not worse."

Zero:
"And yet, they’re predictable. The response is always frontal, always brute force. They pour into choke points, follow rigid assault paths. If we fragment their formation, isolate key units; especially their MECs, we turn their strength into a weakness."

Solid, silent until now, folds his arms and steps closer to the display.

Solid:
"Then that’s our angle. Learn from their pattern. Beat them at timing. We hit, extract, and vanish before they field their heavy assets. What else?"

De Groot:
"Their guard profile gives us ten minutes, fifteen if we disable airspace. That’s our window. If we breach and secure the target before then, we’re out clean."

Bradley:
"EMP charges, anti-air ambushes; take out their eyes in the sky, and their response time crumbles."

Tariq:
"We also split their focus. Multi-squad entry; one real, one feint. Let them commit to ghosts while we walk out with the target."

Zero:
"And if they drop their Superheavy MECs? We lead them off; rooftops, sewers, kill zones. Never head-on. Trap them somewhere they can’t bring that weight to bear."

Solid:
"Good. The AVC’s failure was brutal, but instructive. We now know how they move. Next time it’s one of ours behind those walls; we’ll get them out. Fast, silent, surgical."

XCOM Intelligence Division - Field Report
Subject: Analysis of ADVENT Neural Implant Technology
Date: [REDACTED]
Prepared by: [REDACTED]

I. Overview
The ADVENT neural implant, colloquially known as the "ADVENT Chip," represents a crucial element in the alien regime's control over its military personnel. Initial field examinations, as well as intelligence from captured ADVENT units, indicate that this technology is central to maintaining discipline, enhancing performance, and exerting control over human and hybrid soldiers within the ADVENT hierarchy.

II. Structure and Functionality
The ADVENT Chip is a compact neural implant embedded at the base of the skull. It integrates with the host's nervous system and cerebral cortex, allowing direct influence over cognitive and physical functions. The chip is divided into several key modules:

Behavioral Control Module:

Utilized primarily in lower-ranking ADVENT soldiers and city patrol units.
Imposes rigid obedience protocols to prevent desertion and ensure compliance with orders, even in life-threatening situations.
Acts as a deterrent against rebellious thoughts by triggering intense pain responses or outright neural shutdown if a soldier attempts to disobey direct commands.
Cognitive Augmentation Module:

Commonly found in higher-ranking officers, Sectoid-human hybrids, and specialized units.
Enhances reaction times, tactical decision-making, and situational awareness by linking soldiers to ADVENT's central data networks.
Provides real-time battlefield information and directives, effectively turning soldiers into extensions of a larger hive-mind system, particularly during combat engagements.

Bio-Neurological Optimization Module:

Enhances physical performance by regulating the release of neurochemicals, allowing soldiers to push beyond typical human limits.
Includes pain suppression capabilities and selective stimulation of adrenal responses, enabling ADVENT soldiers to maintain peak performance even under extreme duress or injury.

III. Tactical Implications
Command and Control:

The ADVENT chip is integral to the command structure, with Officers acting as nodes within a distributed network. The removal or disabling of an Officer's chip has been observed to disrupt the cohesion and effectiveness of surrounding units.
Disabling or neutralizing these Officers can induce confusion and delays among lower-ranking soldiers, who rely on the Officer’s networked commands.
Remote Overwatch and Surveillance:

The chip grants ADVENT centralized control over individual units, enabling direct remote supervision. This is particularly effective in urban areas where ADVENT patrols operate under constant monitoring.
Suspected integration with ADVENT surveillance drones and towers, allowing command to remotely adjust patrol routes or redirect forces in response to resistance activities.

Potential for Sabotage:

While the chip is highly effective for ADVENT's control, it presents a vulnerability if hacked or compromised. Field tests on captured chips indicate that localized interference can disrupt communication between the implanted unit and its command node.
Further research into EMP devices or psionic disruption may reveal methods to disable or corrupt these chips, potentially turning ADVENT units against their controllers.

IV. Ethical and Psychological Impact on Human Soldiers

Mind Control and Indoctrination:

ADVENT uses the chip as a form of psychological control, erasing free will in its soldiers. Reports from defectors indicate that soldiers are often unaware of the chip’s full control capabilities, believing their actions are voluntary.
The chip appears to suppress memories and emotions that could conflict with loyalty to ADVENT, effectively brainwashing soldiers into unwavering compliance.
Despite the Advent chip’s sophisticated design as a form of mind control and behavioral manipulation, it has been demonstrated that actual psionic mind control remains effective against individuals implanted with it. The chip’s primary function appears to reinforce obedience to Advent directives, regulate emotional responses, and suppress rebellious impulses through a combination of neural stimulation and chemical interference. However, psionic abilities operate on a fundamentally different wavelength; directly interacting with the subject’s consciousness and overriding the chip's control mechanisms. Psionic domination bypasses the chip's safeguards entirely by altering the subject’s core willpower, effectively silencing the device’s feedback loop.
Further experiments and field operations have shown that Mind Domination, when employed subtly, can avoid triggering the chip’s alarm systems. By embedding suggestions or commands as a “sleeper agent” directive rather than overt control, the psi-user can plant behavioral instructions that do not conflict with the chip’s programming until activated. This allows operatives to use mind-controlled subjects for reconnaissance, sabotage, or disinformation without immediately alerting Advent surveillance networks. Such findings make Mind Domination a valuable tool in circumventing Advent’s most tightly controlled personnel, though its success depends on precise execution and the skill of the psi operative.


The Mind Control ability due to its temporary time limit ( mostly 5-10 minutes) does not allow for such sleeper agent use and is usually done in combat situations.
As long as the Dominated target is convinced that what he/she is doing is for a "good" cause, the compliance protocols stay dormant.

V. Countermeasures and Recommendations

Field Tactics:

Prioritize the elimination of ADVENT Officers during engagements to disrupt the chain of command.
Utilize EMP grenades or psionic attacks to temporarily disable chip functionality, creating opportunities for strikes or retreats.
Encourage resistance fighters to target surveillance towers and drones that may provide command signals to ADVENT units in the field.

Research and Development:

Continue reverse-engineering captured ADVENT chips to understand potential vulnerabilities. Develop jamming devices capable of severing the link between soldiers and the central command.
Collaborate with psionically-gifted operatives to explore the possibility of psionic interference, potentially turning ADVENT troops against their handlers.

Long-Term Strategy:

Gather more intelligence on ADVENT's manufacturing facilities for these chips. Sabotaging production lines could cripple ADVENT's ability to field controlled troops.
Establish secure extraction protocols for capturing high-value targets with neural implants to maximize intel acquisition without risking chip-triggered shutdowns.

VI. Conclusion
The ADVENT neural implant technology is a formidable tool that enables the alien regime to maintain tight control over its military forces. While this system provides ADVENT with significant strategic advantages, it also presents exploitable weaknesses. By understanding the mechanisms behind the chip’s control functions, resistance forces can develop countermeasures to disrupt ADVENT’s grip on its forces, potentially turning the tide in the ongoing conflict.

End of Report

Appendix A: Technical schematics of a recovered ADVENT neural chip (attached)
Appendix B: Case studies of former ADVENT soldiers liberated from chip control known as the Skirmisher Faction(attached)

There's a lot more to read, and I will upload it periodically. If you like the story, have questions, or noticed discrepancies, give me feedback in the comments.