XCOM: The Philosopher's Alloy (C3)
Chapter 3: Brutal Justice
Kafkaesquire: Hey. You around?
Kafkaesquire: Oh, thank God. Hey, Probe.
Kafkaesquire: I hope you don’t mind, I just reeeeally need a break from my family right now.
DiscountProbing: that’s why im here man
Kafkaesquire: Good... good...
Kafkaesquire: >Hugs
DiscountProbing: >returned
DiscountProbing: wanna boot up tfi or something?
Kafkaesquire: Nah, not really in the mood right now. I’d rather just talk, honestly.
DiscountProbing: k. start talking.
Kafkaesquire: Well... my uncle came over today.
Kafkaesquire: I told you about my cousin Rudy, right?
DiscountProbing: the child support bloke?
Kafkaesquire: Yeah, him.
Kafkaesquire: Well, this guy, he’s Rudy’s father. He’s got Rudy wrapped around his little finger, and he’s even dumber than Rudy.
DiscountProbing: ouch :(
Kafkaesquire: Yeah.
Kafkaesquire: He came over today to see if he could borrow some money from my dad.
Kafkaesquire: Y’know, because we have so much.
Kafkaesquire: But he’s got the money now and he’s been here all morniiiing D:
Kafkaesquire: He’s just sitting in the living room eating our food, and he and Rudy won’t suht up about their stupid conspiracy theories.
DiscountProbing: oh that’s where rudy got it?
Kafkaesquire: Yeah.
Kafkaesquire: And... well, you know how dumb they can get when it’s just Rudy, right?
DiscountProbing: nazi ufos ooooooo look out 2spoopy
Kafkaesquire: Yeah, like that.
Kafkaesquire: Well, somehow, when they have two brains to rub together, they get even dumber.
DiscountProbing: like what?
Kafkaesquire: Well, apparently America was invaded by aliens back in the 1960s.
Kafkaesquire: But only America. Nowhere else.
Kafkaesquire: And these aliesn could turn invisible and shapeshift and take the appearance of anyone they wanted.
Kafkaesquire: And they spread some kind of waterborne pathogen, started aggressively terraforming, killed J. Edgar Hoover, parked their mothership right over the planet and started shelling the world from orbit.
Kafkaesquire: And the only reason you haven’t heard about any of this is that a top-secret military organization fought off the invasion and destroyed all the records of it.
Kafkaesquire: And then they waited a few years and used the aliens’ stolen technology to... I dunno, kick off project MK Ultra or something.
Kafkaesquire: It doesn’t make sense, even by THEIR lofty standards. This is the crap I have to put up with.
DiscountProbing: your family sux m8
Kafkaesquire: Yeah...
Kafkaesquire: >Sighs
Kafkaesquire: I need to take my mind off this. What’ve you been up to lately?
DiscountProbing: not much
DiscountProbing: just waiting for something exciting to happen lol
Kafkaesquire: I see.
Kafkaesquire: How’s your job?
Kafkaesquire: ...Hello?
DiscountProbing: yeah still here
DiscountProbing: there was this big project we had to do last week with some french transportation company
DiscountProbing: and it went tits-up reaaaaal fast
Kafkaesquire: Oh, boy.
Kafkaesquire: People got fired?
DiscountProbing: hell yes people got fired
DiscountProbing: i mean usually i try to give my boss the benefit of the doubt
DiscountProbing: hes doing the best he can with the resources he has and all that
DiscountProbing: but dude this operation was a DISASTER
DiscountProbing: basically my entire team got fired
DiscountProbing: and i almost went with em
Kafkaesquire: Oh, damn, I’m sorry to hear that...
DiscountProbing: you dont need to be sorry
DiscountProbing: i didnt lose my job lol
Kafkaesquire: Yeah, good point.
DiscountProbing: i dont really wanna talk about it tho
Kafkaesquire: Well, you don’t have to.
Kafkaesquire: ...Speaking of your job, though, there was something I’ve been meaning to ask you...
DiscountProbing: crap my boss wants me to do sumthing i g2g
Kafkaesquire: Huh?
Kafkaesquire: Isn’t it like... midnight where you live? DiscountProbing: a little after but yeah
Kafkaesquire: ...
Kafkaesquire: Your job sucks, mate.
DiscountProbing: oh but dont i have fun?
Ask anyone who’s spent even a minute in the XCOM Genetics Lab to describe it in one word, and they will invariably settle on “yellow.” Important scientific equipment is scattered all around the room, including a custom MRI machine ringed with inexplicable yellow lights, a few open canisters of golden, crystalline Meld, and huge, ten-foot canisters of fluid which were designed to fit human beings, all of it somewhere between bright, golden yellow and sickly greenish-yellow. It’s very yellow. There aren’t an abundance of places to hide in the lab, but there were a few pipes to hide behind, and there were always the large, comfortable-looking armchairs that had been hastily set up in front of the containment tanks. They didn’t exactly look like they belonged in the Genetics Lab, especially due to their clashing eggshell-blue color, but then, they weren’t usually there.
The door to the Lab slid open with a hiss, and a cloud of footsteps began to make their way down the metal corridor. They were led by the Commander, who, true to his word, had put on some pants. He’d also put on an XCOM-green military jacket with a sash of medals pinned across his chest, with a tie and everything. Coupled with the tablet tucked under his arm and the headpiece over his ear, it was all a very professional look. Let it not be said that the Commander didn’t dress as though he commanded the respect of his men. Assuming he wasn’t wandering around drunk and half-naked. “No no no, it makes perfect sense,” he was saying, trying and failing to suppress his laughter. “I mean, you’re already an egomaniacal, nigh-immortal gravel magnate, you want to secure your father’s legacy, and instead of doing so by legal action, you’ve already decided to build an army of robots to take what is rightfully yours by force. So... why wouldn’t you power said robots by having them burn giant piles of money in internal furnaces? I mean, that’s just the logical progression.”
“See, zhat’s vhat I’ve been trying to tell zhem!” chortled the Medic, waving his gloved hand through the air to punctuate his remark. “You know, I’m glad ve see eye to eye on zhis, Commander. I can see vhy you vere put in charge of zhis little Project of yours -- you obviously have a keen eye for strategy.”
“Ahhhh... thank you, Doctor,” the Commander chuckled. “Anyway, welcome to the Genetics Lab. Have a seat. We’ve set up some chairs over there for you.”
“Ah, zhat vas kind of you.” One by one, the men walked down the metal hallway towards the chairs. The Scout was the first to reach them. He hopped over the one in the middle and landed in the one behind it, immediately settling into it. The Engineer reached them next, and settled into the back-left. Pyro sat beside him, but the Commander wasn’t too surprised by that -- the Pyro hadn’t strayed far from Engineer’s side throughout most of the walk down here. They all filed in pretty quickly after that. Medic sat in the front row, between Soldier and Heavy, and Demoman and Sniper settled down to either side of Scout. Spy moved towards the pack-right seat... but after a few moments, it became evident that he wasn’t going to sit down.
“...Well, then.” The Commander clasped his hand over the top of his tablet. “Um... as I said, welcome to the XCOM Genetics Lab. You wanted to see it, here it is. In all its... yellow... glory. Oh, and by the way--” He jabbed a thumb to his right, indicating another large, circular metal door. “--we’ve got a Cybernetics Lab right next door, in case any of you were interested. So basically, this whole floor is just a string of rooms where we spit in the face of God. Or something like that, anyway. I’m not too religious myself.”
The Medic chuckled, adjusting himself in his seat. “I zhink ve’re going to get along just fine, Commander,” he chuckled.
“Thank you again, Doctor,” the Commander responded, smiling sheepishly, “but really, I just signed off on these facilities. Dr. Vahlen was the one who conceived of this facility, and the lab next door was thought up by our Head of Engineering, Dr. Shen. They’ll be dropping by a little later, and I’m sure you’ll have an excellent opportunity to get to know them. But until then, I’d be happy to explain how this facility works. ...Once you’re all comfortable, I mean. Spy, aren’t you going to sit down?”
The Spy shook his head and adjusted his baklava. Up to that point, the Commander hadn’t even realized he was wearing one -- it fit him so tautly that it had seemed to be a natural part of his skin. “I’d rather stand, Commander, if it’s all the same to you.” He then reached into his suit pocket and plucked out a white metal case. “Do you mind if I smoke? I seem to have left my cigarette in New Mexico.”
“Ah-ha... Actually, I do mind. This is highly sensitive equipment and we use it a lot,” the Commander replied. As he spoke, he held his tablet out in front of him and began to tap a few times on the screen. “And also, I’d... really prefer if you sat down. I’d feel more comfortable talking to you people if you had the higher ground. Please... sit. I insist.”
Spy hesitated, then slowly placed his case back into his pocket and lowered his hands. “...Hm. Is there any particular reason that you insist, Commander?”
“Aside from what I literally just said?” The Commander placed one arm behind his back, glanced down at his tablet and let out a nervous chuckle. “No, not really. I just like my honored guests to be comfortable, is all.”
“Honored guests?” the Spy repeated. “We appeared as if from nowhere and attacked you. How does that make us your honored guests?”
The Commander glanced down at the assembled mercenaries for a moment, pursed his lips and then sighed. “Fair point, Spy. When you put it that way, I guess this whole thing is kind of silly.” Without another word, he reached down and tapped the screen of his tablet. Before anyone had any time to react, silver rings of metal shot up out of the arms of all the chairs except the empty one, locking around the arms of the seated mercenaries. The Commander’s eyes popped open, his spine curled over and his lungs released a long, wheezing laugh without even bothering to check with his brain first. “...Oh my God. I can’t believe that worked.”
“Oh, COME ON!” shouted the Scout, lashing violently against his bonds. “Handcuff armchairs? Are you freakin’ Australiumfinger?”
“If he is,” Spy replied, “he certainly picked the wrong man to not properly secure.” Without another word, he reached down towards an invisible holster on his belt and pulled out a decidedly not-invisible gun. A handcannon, specifically -- gleaming silver with an engraving of a beautiful woman on the barrel and a bright red ebony handle... a very beautiful gun, all things considered. The Commander had no time to appreciate the exquisite craftsmanship that went into the gun, considering that the Spy had pulled it quite literally from nowhere and was currently pointing it right between his eyes.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The Commander scrambled backwards, somehow refusing to let go of his tablet. He threw his free hand into the air, pinched his earpiece and screamed into it. “Target’s armed! Move in!”
It all proceeded very quickly from that point on. The door between the Cybernetics and Genetics Labs swung open, and four people charged in. Three men in eggshell blue body armor, with assault rifles clenched a little too tightly in their hands, charged in behind a woman in bright red, carrying a shotgun. The Spy, in a single, fluid motion, whirled around and pointed his revolver at the woman in red. He fired a shot at her muscular, exposed arm, and she quickly stumbled back. She punctuated the attack with a wild cry of “Take ‘im out!” and all four agents trained their weapons on the Spy. They all squeezed the triggers as one, and a hail of bullets went flying towards the Spy. Before he even had time to scream, his head snapped backwards, and his spine followed shortly after. His legs were ripped off the ground by the sheer force of the bullets, and his corpse went tumbling backwards, head-over-heels, before slamming into the ground with a dull, unceremonious thump.
Needless to say, the eight surviving mercenaries burst out in raucous, gut-wrenching laughter. “Ohhhhh! Good death!” the Heavy roared, rocking his chair with his laughter. “Spy does not disappoint!”
The Commander turned and pointedly arched his eyebrow at the mercenaries. “I’m... glad you found that funny, gentlemen,” he said simply. “Everybody okay?”
“We’re fine, Commander,” responded one of the soldiers in blue, lowering his weapon. “Nobody got hit. He... He was aiming at Emma. I-I mean... Sergeant Gallagher, sir.”
“No... no no no, that’s alright,” the Commander said softly, lifting his hand. “You can... I’m lifting the name regulations as of now. They were... not my best idea. If she wants you to call her Emma, you can call her Emma.”
Emma crossed her arms in a way that simultaneously showed off her taut, toned biceps and caused the the silver implants embedded in her arms to glint softly in the dim yellow light of the lab. “Actually... since yer liftin’ the regulations, Commander,” she said through a thick, smarmy Irish accent, “how about ya start callin’ me the Lady in Red?”
The Commander glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, then smiled and tipped an imaginary hat at Gallagher. “Sounds good to me. I’ll make a note of it. And as for the rest of you, you heard the Lady.”
The Lady in Red smirked, slung her shoulder over her back and ran a hand along the base of her angular, painstakingly coiffed hair. “Thank ya, Mr. Compton.”
The Commander’s smile faded quickly. “Emma... I realize I just lifted the name regulations, but all the same, I... I’d really prefer... p-please don’t call me that.”
“Aye-aye, Commander,” Gallagher responded, still smirking at him.
Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted by the pneumatic hiss of a large metal blast door sliding open. The Commander sighed and rolled his eyes again. “Y-Yes, Doctors, the room is clear,” he scoffed, turning swiftly around. “Thank you for a... asking.” In the time it took the words to leave his lips, the door had slid shut again, and it had become abundantly clear that no one new had entered the room. The Commander hesitated a moment, then pinched his earpiece. “Dr. Vahlen. Dr. Shen. Did one of you try to come in just now? ...No, I didn’t think you would. It’s just that the door opened. ...On its own. No one was next to it. Unless someone was on the other side, which is why I asked. ...Okay. I’ll have a maintenance crew look at it when we’re done here. But in the meantime, the Lab is free of hostiles. You two are free to enter. ...Good. See you soon.” The Commander then clapped his hands loudly, wiped what little smile there was off his face. “OKAY, CAN THE LAUGHTER!”
The laughter was not canned. The Soldier, in particular, doubled over in strained, wheezing laughter. “Hah! You call that Commanding? I’ve met GHOSTS that gave better orders than that!”
The Commander jabbed an indignant finger in the Soldier’s direction. “Well, too bad, Soldier, because those ghosts are not here right now. I am the Commander of the XCOM Project, and as long as you are in this base, I expect you all to obey me.”
“Now take off yer pants,” Gallagher interjected, her remark punctuated by a faint group of chuckles from the men behind her.
“Thank you, Sergeant Gallagher. That’s enough,” the Commander snapped. “Rein it in, mercenaries. We need to have a little talk.”
“Yeah yeah, sure, fine. Not like we’re goin’ anywhere, right?” the Engineer chuckled. “What was it ya wanted t’ talk about, Commander?”
“Oh, so many things...” The Commander clasped his hand onto the top of his tablet and stared down at the assembled mercenaries. “There were quite a few interesting things in that little story you told me on our way down here, gentlemen. However, there were a few things you said that didn’t quite... stand up to scrutiny.”
“Oh, uh... really?” The Engineer’s (admittedly nervous) smile faded. “Like what?”
“Well... I had my Tactical team scour the planet on the way down here. We searched everything -- historical records, census data, outside satellite imaging, not to mention our own fully comprehensive military-grade tactical spy satellite array, and--”
“Fully comprehensive?” Gallagher interjected.
“Okay, mostly comprehensive. The point is,” the Commander continued, “there is no Greater Badlands region in New Mexico.”
The room descended into saturated silence once more. Eventually, the Engineer managed to get out a low, shaky “...what?”
“You heard me,” the Commander sneered, bobbing his head up and down with the rhythm of his speech. “There is no region in New Mexico called the Greater Badlands Region.”
“...Wh... Wha?” The Engineer slumped back in his seat. “...But... That’s not possible. We... We live there. We work there. How could it not exist? D-Did you... ah, don’t suppose ya could double-check?”
“Oh, we did.” The Commander scoffed lightly. “Believe me, we wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt here. We turned New Mexico upside-down looking for Teufort, or Dustbowl, or Gravelpit, or The Thunder Mountains, or any of those places you mentioned, but they’re just not there. As far as we can tell, they don’t exist.”
“Wrrl, yrrw crrnt hrrff brrn lrrkrrng frrr mrrr thrrn trrn mrrnrrtsh!” the Pyro interjected.
“Hey, Pyro’s right!” Sniper agreed. “We were only walkin’ fer that long! If they really don’t exist, ya’d never a’ heard the names before, roight? So ya can’t a’ been lookin’ for ‘em much longer n’ that!”
“Alright, alright. Fair point,” the Commander said, placing an indignant hand on his hip. “However, we also searched international census information. The results of that investigation were quite interesting, too. Let me give you a list of names of people who do not exist. Barnabus Hale. Bilious Hale. Saxton Hale. Radigan Conagher. Zepheniah Mann, Redmond Mann, Blutarch Mann, Gray Mann, Silas Mann, Olivia Mann, do I need to go on?”
“Okay, I’m no longer convinced zhat ve’re going to get along,” the Medic observed, leaning back slightly.
“Radigan Conagher was my grandfather...” the Engineer whimpered.
“Baby man is lying! You cannot check the census of several countries in only ten minutes!” the Heavy protested.
“Ah, perhaps that’s true,” the Commander replied. “But let’s talk about something else I’ve never heard of: these corporations you mentioned. Those huge, bloated conglomerates you spoke of, Reliable Excavation and Demolition and Builders’ League United... they don’t seem to exist either. And more to the point, how about Mann Co.? Mann Co., according to you, is a multinational -- no, omninational munitions and hat manufacturer, which seemed... oddly specific, but whatever. You can keep repeating ‘You didn’t have time to check’ all you want, and maybe it’s even true, but I know for a fact that Mann Co. does not exist. XCOM represents the very pinnacle of human scientific achievement, and if there was a munitions corporation anywhere on Earth that sold cloaking devices and short-range teleporters, XCOM would know about it!”
“Holy crap!” the Scout blurted out, his voice cracking in a way he would later vehemently deny. “It’s gotta be Merasmus! Dat freakin’ wizard shoved us inna’ da Twilight Zone!”
“Oh, the Twilight Zone! How appropriate!” the Commander laughed, shaking his head. “That reminds me, there are a few things that were wrong that I didn’t even need to check! One! Magic does not actually exist! Two! Australia is not the technological capital of the world! And three! It is not 1972, as you all repeatedly claimed it to be, but rather 2015!”
As one, all of the mercenaries reared back in their seats and gasped, looks of horror on their faces. “2015?!”
“2015!” the Commander repeated. Suddenly, he knelt down, dropped his tablet a couple of inches, and quickly kicked it away. “So!” he continued, emphatically clapping his hands. “Based on the fact that you have gotten so! Much! Wrong --” He slammed the back of hand into his waiting palm to emphasize each word. “-- about the culture, geopolitical balance, geography and technological level of the planet Earth, not to mention the fact that you broke into XCOM Headquarters by literally teleporting inside... and the thing with the skeletons, whatever that was... I am forced to conclude that you are not, in fact, who you say you are! And who are you, then? Simple...” The Commander suddenly swung his arm out and pointed an accusatory finger at the assembled prisoners. “You’re alien spies!”
“Whoa... what?” the Engineer asked, blinking behind his goggles. “That was a... darn big leap there, Commander Compton.”
“The Commander will do nicely,” the Commander snarled. “And no, it isn’t. Who else could’ve pulled off that fancy entrance, and who else could’ve gotten that much wrong about this planet?”
“Maybe,” the Heavy grunted. “How did you think of that?”
The Commander scoffed. “What’d you think XCOM stood for, Xylophone Constructing Oversight Marines? No! We’re Extraterrestrial Combat! We are humanity’s first, last, best and only line of defense against the ongoing alien invasion, and the nine of you have just blundered right past it!”
The Lady in Red let out a soft chuckle and slung her shotgun over her shoulder. “Eight, Commander.”
“Ah... yes, Sergeant Gallagher. Fair point. Eight of you.”
“Oh, boy,” the Scout groaned. “Where’s a crazy British guy wit’ bottomless pockets when ya need one...”
“Are we prisoners of war?” the Soldier asked.
The Commander lowered his head and grinned, his glasses flashing climactically in the dim light. “Absolutely.”
“You expect us t’ talk, Oz-finger?” the Sniper asked.
“Of course not,” the Commander shot back. “All we need is blood samples. You don’t have a problem with that, do you? A little blood? You’re either filthy aliens or bloodthirsty mercenaries, so I’m sure you’re used to spilling it.”
“Blood? Thass all?” the Demoman asked, rolling his good eye. “Well, ye dinnae hafta tie us up if thass all ye wanted, Commander.”
“It’s not that simple. It never is. Don’t you know there’s a war on?” The Commander crossed his arms behind his back and began to slowly pace back and forth in front of the mercenaries. “You see, gentlemen, once we have your blood, we’re going to have a team of our best scientific minds analyzing it. Thoroughly. And if we find a single fraction of your genome to indicate that you’re not fully, one hundred percent, pure-blooded human, one little A, C, G or T out of place, well... just a moment...”
The Commander stood stock still, lifted his hand and placed it gently behind his ear, staring up at the ceiling. He hesitated for just a few moments, allowing a mechanical and saturated silence to wash over the room. And then, suddenly, a loud tone came on over the base’s loudspeakers, and a female, heavily synthesized voice began to speak. “Alien Containment Facility online.”
“And not a second too soon! God, I love it when a plan comes together,” the Commander observed, chuckling. “Now then, I’m sure the good doctors will appreciate an excuse to boot the Facility up. They explained how it works in the proposal, you know. It’s... messy. There are probes involved. And I’m not entirely sure the team knows how to use them yet. They could all use a little dry run before they get to the real POWs.”
“Holy crap, he is Australiumfinger!” the Scout blurted out.
“Ya mean Goldfinger, right, kiddo?” Sergeant Gallagher retorted. “Wha’ the piss is Australium?”
“You do not scare me, maggot!” the Soldier bellowed. “Work on it!”
“I don’t scare you?” The Commander suddenly threw his head back and laughed. “Well, Soldier... if that’s your real name... if I don’t scare you, just wait until you meet Dr. Vahlen.”