#malcolm silva

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Found this XCOM Chimera Squad meme featuring an old commission of my XCOM2 OCs, Natasatch and Malcolm SIlva. 

so naturally I need to post it here to assert dominance.

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Art from the talented @goattrain.

Resistance, Dinner

For the second time in a row, the setting sun only gave Natasatch worry.

It had been months since Natasatch watched a human settlement commence its nightly rituals, and certainly in a better context this time. The marketplace folded itself neatly into the trailers it sprung forth from, and the permanent hanging holiday lights gave the compact streets a completely different atmosphere. There were a few humans milling about, most of them militia guards, but a few were those who missed out on satisfying their curiosity of the local alien earlier in the day. None gave her anything resembling trouble, however, and she took the time to peruse the amenities until she grew bored. Inevitably, her mind turned to her friend Malcolm, who had passed through the marketplace fourteen times on his aimless walking. She counted.

Natasatch knew he needed help. How to achieve that was one of her greatest challenges yet.

Ultimately, she decided to copy her friend’s strategy, applied to the very same friend. Experience showed Malcolm was happiest when sharing “human culture.” The formerly-upbeat human had a list of memorabilia or events he insisted she must experience eventually, one that she had trouble remembering at the moment. Near the end of the day, the sight of one such promised experience on the edge of the marketplace jogged Natasatch’s memory, and fortunately, Aida’s blanket discount applied.

The reserve that Safari Outpost eventually became already possessed a restaurant, and little had changed in the fifteen years since it officially closed, or so she was told. Busts of dead animals and pictures of humans with firearms lined the walls, all cast in a soft yellow from the few hanging lights that still worked. The wooden-floored center of the rectangular building was empty. It was late, and Natasatch surmised the restaurant must’ve already served its regular patrons. Only a waiter and a bartender remained, but both seemed to be quietly working once their orders were placed. The two looked nearly as antique as their restaurant, and they weren’t going to let any alien interrupt their routine. Malcolm sat opposite her in the corner table for two. Natasatch still found human chairs difficult, and opted to rest upright on her own coils where her seat would be. In the background, a wooden jukebox delivered music consisting of simple guitar strings, but their focus was elsewhere. An electric imitation of a candle added an orange glow to their faces: one hopeful, one sullen.

Malcolm cut off a slice from the “steak,” which was an ADVENT burger patty in a different shape with some minced plants and sauce on top. He took a bite and said, “You know what? You’re doing your best, and I’m proud of you, actually.” Natasatch, who was debating between awkwardly imitating the human food custom or simply snatching the identical meal in one bite, looked up at her companion. “What do you mean? “Trying to cheer me up. The food, the small talk, and the sort. Getting my mind off our shitty vacation.” He had a bit of his confidence back, but a sense of resignation offset whatever gain she witnessed. “Is it working?” Natasatch asked. “Not really.”

Natasatch deflated instantly. She let out a tsssk, but managed to prevent it from becoming a full hiss. Her frustration lingered. “I’m... trying. What more do I need to do to make it work?” He shrugged. “I don’t think you can, to be honest. I’m a tough case.” She rose to the challenge. “I learned ‘cheering up’ from you. What makes you special, that it wouldn’t work?” He chose not to answer directly. After a few moments, he sighed and said, “I did this talk for Ackers too.” “Hmm?” “That’s why this one bites hardest. Ackers is- was, I suppose now- he was a unique friend to me. We’re assigned to the same cramped bunk; he gets it night hours, me the day hours. He started out real quiet, since he had been through a lot, like the rest of us. Family suffocated by viper poison, he admitted after I got him a few drinks at the bar, in a spot just like this one.” Nat commented, “This situation... is similar, yes.” “But Ackers, he also didn’t say he just wanted to kill aliens. He said he wanted to make the world safer for his sister.” She tried her best to put aside every instinct telling her to make Ackers suffer for his betrayal, and tried to view him through a sympathetic light. Just like Malcolm would. “In a way, I suppose I could understand. He still viewed me as a threat, and one that everyone in XCOM seemed to be blind to.” “That’s horseshit.” Her first thought was that Malcolm had never said anything so gruff before. Her second thought was to wonder what a horse was. Malcolm cut off a slice of his food, chewing away in the silence. When it was obvious Natasatch wasn’t going to speak first, he continued, “You look surprised to hear that. Probably thinking I would say ‘He’s really a good guy this,’ ‘his parents were killed by Vipers’ like that’d make everything okay. Ackers was ready to throw away everything he stood for, to try to murder us ‘cause of a grudge meant for someone else.” “Yes.” She gave an awkward laugh, which died the moment it left her mouth. “I feel like we decided to switch the sides of the argument between us.”

“And you’re probably right. In fact, I know I should be at his side. Hell, before today, I’d be first in line for the Ackers Defense Squad. ‘Till this. Cuts right through my lie.”

A pause, and the Viper blinked. “Lie?”

Malcolm sighed, then focused on her. “This lie,” he said in a resigned tone. Then he smiled.

It was Malcolm’s regular, easy-going, worry-assuring look, once again on her human friend’s face. His lips pulled back across his white teeth, the muscles pausing in the right spots to create youthful dimples, and the way one corner of his mouth rested further back than the other... and the warm look in his eyes, bright and brown, impervious to the damage that their owner suffered yesterday. Natasatch almost reflexively grinned back, caught herself, but then let it show. Why would she need to conceal it, after all?

Then there was only one smile at the table. Hers. Her human friend looked back at her, sullen and shaken once more. His eyes drifted down to her mouth, still pulled into a happy look, and she sensed his skin grow cold as his muscles clenched. As if he realized a terrible mistake. Natasatch put her smile on hold. “I’m... afraid I don’t follow.”

“Me,” Malcolm gestured toward himself in its entirety. “I’m the lie.”

Her mind raced, a hundred horrifying possibilities dueling for control of her mind. Was he confessing his guilt as an ADVENT spy? Some advanced Faceless? Mind control puppet? Something worse? Natasatch looked around, seeing how the chef and waiter reacted, only to find them gone and herself alone. She was still on edge, ready to fight or flee, as he continued. “I mean, it’s an act. A sham. Not the real me. It pays off being raised by thespians.”

Thespians... actors? What? She finally externalized one of her countless questions. “Then who are you actually, Malcolm Silva?”

“I’m pretty damn depressed, actually,” Malcolm responded without missing a beat.

When it became clear Natasatch wasn’t prepared to respond, Malcolm calmly continued, “I think my parents raised me right. Community-minded, moral, always seeing the best in people, and an aficionado of the cultural arts. That got them killed by us, other humans, volunteering for ADVENT outreach in our slums when ADVENT was still deciding if the carrot or the stick worked better. Everyone else I knew died when the aliens brought the stick down on the entire favela. My parent’s dream of a better world was doomed from the start because us humans were gonna let fear and paranoia ruin it and the aliens were gonna prove their fear and paranoia right. Maybe, one day, we can fight off ADVENT, but our real enemy is gonna be ourselves.”

Malcolm looked her in the eyes, resting his chin on his hands. With a sorrowful calmness, he said, “Even in the group most likely to change the world for the better, human nature is going to win out.”

“Would you say the same, even if you were not swimming in pain-killers?” Natasatch asked.

“Well, I admit I get philosophical when I’m loopy, but all this was there before.” He appeared slightly annoyed as he responded.

“So, where did this ‘lie’ come from?

“Acting is just another kind of lying, Nat. You pretend you’re someone you aren’t, saying a script that isn’t true, convincing others that you’re genuine.” He shrugged. “Like I said, it pays to have thespian parents.”

“That is not quite what I asked, Malcolm. Why did you even ‘lie’ about being happy at all? There are no shortage of traumatized soldiers on the Avenger. You would have fit right in.”

“I...” he trailed off. “Well, you’re right about that,” Malcolm conceded. “That’s all I saw when I first stepped on board. Nothing but misery everywhere. I guess I must like being a rebel, because I just... put on that mask as a spur of the moment, and then never really took the smile off.”

The Viper focused in on Malcolm, upset without anger, interrogatory without malice. “Then explain why you tried to rescue me when your comrades would rather me dead? Why try to teach me about human culture and ethics and history? Why would you even bother to show me Star Trek? Was every single one of those a calculated ploy?”

“Well, I had Star Trek on hand anyway,” Malcolm mumbled. She raised an eye ridge. Of the expressions she’d copied from her humans, she enjoyed that one the most, since humans somehow always knew the thought behind the gesture. This time was no different.

He sighed, and shrugged, not looking her in the eyes. “...I think I started believing in that lie for a bit too. ‘Specially after everyone started lightening up around you, it started getting easier to tell myself tomorrow was going to be better when I woke up. ... Least ‘till Ackers pulled the curtain back on what I’d ignored.”

“You know what I think?” Natasatch offered, not giving him time to brood. “I think that whatever you claimed to think before, you actually still believe in that pointless optimism, because now you have proof you were right.”

“What?”

The alien lowered her head, meeting him at eye level. The electric candle’s glow against her scales shimmered, and her hood’s slight flex solidified her human’s attention. Natasatch placed her hand, the one that Malcolm bandaged, over his own injured forearm, and gave him the most determined look she could. Yet, in the alien’s genetically-engineered eyes, he saw nothing but sympathy and kindness in the deep red, and in turn Natasatch saw a spark of understanding in his.

This.

Moistness came at the edges of Malcolm’s eyes. “I’ve already killed more aliens than I’ll ever befriend, Natasatch,” he almost whispered. She finally recognized the guilt for what it was.

“That is not true,” came the gentle counter. Yet, Natasatch found the answer she sought. You do care.

It was another few moments before Malcolm finally broke eye contact. The Viper took a deep breath, and started again. “Look, Malcolm, you may have killed many ADVENT, and you’ll probably have to kill many more.”

“That... really doesn’t help, Nat.”

“Yet, if those you ended were offered the same choice you gave me, not all of them would have been your enemies.”

He actually seemed to recoil from that. “I could have... Nat, you’re doing the opposite of consoling m-”

“Listen, Malcolm. We did what we needed to survive, so do not begrudge yourself for that. But the other aliens like me will never get that choice as long as the Elders control them, but you may have been the first to convince your kind to make the offer. Do not ever forget or downplay what you’ve accomplished.”

The human gave a humorless chuckle. “Watch me. In fact, yesterday you just watched me almost get die trying it again! I’ve started this dance before, Nat, and it’s ended in misery each time. Even if I keep trying, even when it works, it’s a drop in the bucket for the better Earth we need. If that future happens —which it can’t— I’m never going to reach it.”

“Not without me at your side,” Natasatch affirmed. She slid her hand back and clasped his fingers in her palm, giving it a small squeeze. Humans preferred to confirm deals with a handshake, after all, though her adjusted version was far from standard. A curious heat bloomed on Malcolm’s face, around the cheeks, and she couldn’t explain why seeing such gave her a feeling of contentment. “After all, you wouldn’t survive for a minute without my help.”

Finally, a genuine smirk, one that Malcolm was actively struggling to suppress. “I’m gonna drag you down with me, Nat. I can’t do that to you.”

“Perhaps you will. Perhaps not. Everything in XCOM seems to a roll of the dice. Until we get unlucky, I promise to do my utmost to make sure we both see it. Together.”

Then she tilted her head to the side, ponderous and mischievous both. “...But only if you promise me something in return.”

“What’s that?”

“Stop being depressed.”

He gave her a look he reserved for displays of severe naivety, the one weapon in his arsenal that could legitimately still discourage her. “That’s not how depression works, Nat. It’s... chemical, and psychological. The right medication helps along with therapy, but ADVENT’s got a monopoly on antidepressants and our only psychiatrist shot himself.” He paused as he realized what let slip so matter-of-factly. “Damn, that apparently just happened when I went onboard, a month before the Commander was rescued. Explains why everyone seemed extra miserable.”

Her hood dropped, dissatisfied. She didn’t like his response, but there still didn’t seem like an easy fix to his ‘depression.’ “Alright, then you will promise two easier somethings for me.”

“Fine. The first?”

“You can promise me to smile right now.”

“One fake smile, coming up.”

The smile seemed convincing, but Natasatch wasn’t yet able to know for sure. His expression looked touched by mirth and misery both, the former only overcoming the latter when the soft guitar tune in the background switch to a track with a higher, variable tempo. Natasatch heard it before, trying to recall its name. Flamenco? Yes, Malcolm enjoyed this style. She did as well, noticing her tail-tip start to sway in time to the drum beat.

“What’s the second promise, Nat?”

A tongue shot out to her plate, bringing the entirety of the ADVENT steak into her mouth, followed by another shot stealing away the remaining half of Malcolm’s meal. Her human had reflexively pulled his hand away from the surprise, but the incredulous, amused, yet not annoyed face he made sparked a familiar feeling of contentment in her.

Without addressing the theft, she asked, “You fulfilled the second. Now, will you be more honest with your feelings from now on?”

“You know what?” Malcolm pushed his chair back, using his uninjured arm to help him rise. He caught sight of the Viper’s tail waggling to the beat, and his own hand began to tap on the table in unison. He stretched slightly, closing his eyes and focusing on the tune. It was just the two of them and their music. “Honestly, I feel...”

The smile Natasatch saw couldn’t possibly be faked.

“...I feel like dancing! Let’s go!” Malcolm announced, clasping his hands over hers and tugging.

Natasatch had no response for this direction of her human’s spontaneity. "Wait, Maaaaaal-!"

But he was already in motion, and was pulling her along to the open space in front of the jukebox. Well, he tried to, anyway. Malcolm’s stretching stood no chance against half an hour of sitting, and his leading step was onto his injured leg to boot, so he would have quickly danced his face into the floor if his Viper hadn't been there to pull him back upright. He continued, undeterred, moving and swaying while Natasatch awkwardly fell into complimentary motions.

Obviously the painkillers haven’t worn off. She nearly shrieked, “This is a terrible idea! You need rest!”

“Terrible ideas will save the world. You said so yourself!” He replied, thankfully using his uninjured foot to stamp along to the rhythm.

“I said no such thing!”

“Pretty sure you did. Now, move! You have two feet, use them!”

The Viper was too busy floundering to counter his joke. Her face ran hot, but she thankfully remembered nobody was there to see her struggle. Yet, dancing was an action she possessed zero experience in. She gripped Malcolm’s hands tighter as she swerved, somehow bumping into two tables simultaneously. “How?!”

“Fake it until you make it. Works every time!”

Natasatch gave up trying to copy the human’s motions, instead just going with the physical curve of her body. Oddly enough, the less she focused on imitation, the more natural the motions felt. Her random tail lifts and sways eventually evened out, progressing along with the beat of the song. The unconscious movement of her tail played itself over the whole of her body. When she got a glimpse of Malcolm, bruised and bandaged and trying to ignore the fact, she saw his face content but eyes closed, the moistness at their edges returned.

At that, a peacefulness came over Natasatch. She could close her eyes, and not worry that Malcolm would crush her tail underfoot, that or a series of bullets would burst through the shuttered windows. Here she was, enjoying a song she was never meant to listen to, swaying to a dance she was never intended to, holding onto a human she should have never spoken to. The unique combination of closeness and color and music and warmth gave her a sensation that she never felt before, nor knew how to describe.

Everything else felt secondary, after that. The music continued but felt mostly ignored, the furniture melted away, and even the inevitable stumble on the tail was corrected with a low scoop and dip. The two might have danced their way outside, but she couldn’t quite tell. She only noticed the warmth of their contact contrasted by the sudden coolness of the air.

When there was no more music left between the two, the Viper slowly opened her eyes. All she could see was Malcolm, hands still grasping hers, standing bathed in moonlight against a black background. Genuinely happy, and certainly exhausted. Natasatch couldn’t help but smile when he awakened to her gaze, his deep copper meeting her deep red.

He spoke something, but she couldn’t hear it, because she finally noticed her ears were filled already. A low droning she had practically ignored gradually increased in volume until she could recognize it as a lift engine, and it kept booming as she finally noticed movement above and to her left. She looked up, seeing a blinding light in one half of her vision and the rear portion of Firebrand’s dropship in the other. Looking around, she saw the darkened buildings of Safari that the searchlight blinded her to, and the few denizens stuck between gawking at the two dancers and the squad of XCOM soldiers rappelling down from the aircraft.

They were equipped in their glittering plated armor as if an ADVENT fortress was next on their hit list, but fortunately their boxy magnetic weapons were pointed everywhere but the two. Their comrades were obviously past taking any chances. Natasatch and Malcolm quickly and awkwardly broke their security cling, as Central himself lowered his retrofitted combat rifle and stepped forward, sizing up their numerous injuries.

“Well, Sergeant...s,” Central started, hastily making the rank plural, ”Hmm, no funny quip, Silva?”

Malcolm composed himself. “Honestly Bradford, I’m just glad you’re here.”

“We’re XCOM. We don’t turn our back on our own.”

Natasatch smiled. Finally, their longest day came to an end.

This one scene was the real reason why it took me so long to continue this story. I had to get it just right, and I’m still not sure if I did, but I’m still pretty happy with what it became.

Thank you to @tehangryxeno for proofreading

Link to the Chapter Index

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Shorter chapter, but still important. I’m not gonna wait another year for this story to continue, and more’s on it’s way.

Loose Ends

Natasatch remained on edge the entire night, and even though the personnel she met spoke in a calm, reassuring tone, nobody would address the situation of their attempted murderer’s presence on the ship. Immediately after their pickup it was straight to medical, then back to the Viper’s hidey hole, with soldiers she didn’t know posted at the entrance. It was only after Natasatch feel the Avenger’s mass shift, sway, and finally rise did Bradford enter for a quick, curt debrief. Usually plenty talkative for the both of them, Malcolm proved equally laconic. The combination of painkillers and exhaustion meant he nodded off only a few minutes afterward, head propped on her coils as she kept constant vigil, at least until fatigue caught up with her as well.

It was the Commander themselves that woke her up, with Central Officer Bradford at their side. The lack of the slight sways of turbulence let her know their ship had touched down somewhere, while the digital clock near her bedding displayed 5:01. The Viper had a hundred questions prepared, but she never got to voice them before the Commander explained how Ackers would be dealt with:

Ackers was to be given one last chance.

At the very least he was being exiled from the ship indefinitely, and she could watch. Malcolm didn’t want either of them to be present to see him off, but Bradford insisted for closure’s sake, and Natasatch agreed. A few minutes later she was crossing through the bulkhead door to an evacuated Engineering bay, right behind Bradford, while pushing Malcolm forward on a wheelchair.

The cargo ramp was lowered, and new day just started to shift the horizon beyond from deep navy to a rising crimson. At the bottom of the ramp stood Ackers, the traitor, the man who called himself Malcolm’s friend plotting his death. He stood handcuffed at the base of the ramp, while the absence of the regular loading lights just barely allowed her to discern his face, which turned from calm to sour the moment he caught sight of her. Natsatch intentionally adjusted her hoodie, making sure the sergeant stripes at the shoulders looked crisp and level. The Viper could sense his skin heating, seething, hateful, yet powerless, and she felt no guilt in the pleasure gleaned from that sight –why should she?– until she noticed another, identical reaction.

She couldn’t see Malcolm’s face, but his skin not covered in cast or bandage was practically boiling as he looked down at Ackers. It was righteous, it was justified, yet the prospect of her mellow companion filled with such rage upset her in a way she couldn’t fully articulate. When Bradford motioned them both to stop, Natasatch took the moment to place a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, and she felt an immediate drop in her friend’s distress.

Bradford picked up the arrangement of Ackers’ personal effects from the crate it sat upon. Clothes, trinkets, a small survival kit, and a unloaded sidearm with three magazines plus a maintenance kit. The Commander insisted on the pistol’s inclusion, as Ackers would never have the chance without it. Unlike the other two humans present, the senior officer kept himself composed, stoic, but the Viper could sense the rising heat that betrayed the anger Bradford expertly kept under wraps. He strode forward to the soon-to-be exile,  Ackers didn’t take her eyes off her even as Bradford addressed him, his low, gravelly tone making it hard to make out.  

“You know why this is happening, Ackers, and you’re lucky you’re not dead already. You betrayed XCOM.”

“XCOM already betrayed me.” Ackers’ voice was deep, intent, predatory. Natasatch was certain he raised his voice loud enough to make sure Malcolm and her could hear.

A crack appeared in Bradford’s veneer of calm. “Call it what you want. You tried to murder your fellow soldiers.”

“I call it the truth. No alien deserves a breath of Earth air, much less pretending to be one of us. I thought you of all people, Bradford, would understand. The aliens took everything from you, too.”

Natasatch only realized how tightly she was gripping Malcolm’s shoulder until she felt his hand atop hers. She released the tension and their gazes met for a brief moment. He wasn’t worth it, his expression told her.

If Ackers’ remarks had struck home, Bradford gave no indication. He simply balanced the scant supplies on one arm and reaching the electronic key up to Ackers’ restraints. With a quick tap, the handcuffs flashed and released. “Leave, do some soul searching, and find us again. The Commander is giving you one more chance. I suggest you take it.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Ackers’ hands shot up and swiped the pistol from the top of the pile, loading a magazine and putting his vengeful aim squarely between the Viper’s eyes. He pulled the trigger.

Natasatch flinched, then remembered she didn’t need to. The toothless clang of the hammer striking the slide echoed throughout the cargo bay. Ackers looked confused, shocked, not aware of the fact that the firing pin was in the maintenance kit instead of in his gun. If he had done just about anything besides a suicidal attempt to kill another alien, Bradford would have let him know. Instead, Bradford’s hands were already on the handle of the combat knife at his shoulder.

A few hours ago, she would have been elated seeing the knife slip between Ackers’ ribs and pierce his heart, and have revelled in watching his face contort in frustration and despair. Instead, Natasatch felt no satisfaction, only pang of sadness. A casualty to his own stubborn hatred. He should have taken the chance. I would have preferred him to take the chance. She watched passively as Bradford lowered Ackers to the dirt, and the man died without any further fanfare. When he breathed his last, Bradford released a sigh, retrieved the bundle, and began his silent walk up the ramp.

The senior officer’s expression echoed her own, stoic but twinged with disappointment, yet the resigned look in his eyes hinted this wasn’t the first –nor the last– time he’d seen this exact scene occur, in this exact manner. He spared only a glance at the Viper’s hand on Malcolm’s shoulder before he placed his own on the other one.

“I’m sorry it happened this way, Malcolm. I know he was your friend.”

“Was,” Malcolm clarified, voice quavering. “Whatever I thought of him before, it doesn’t matter after what he did.”

“Mmmm,” Bradford agreed. “Do you wish it turned out better, Mal?”

“...More than anything, sir.”

Bradford took his eyes off the handicapped soldier, and looked up to the Viper. He nearly hid it, but she noticed the slight clench of of his jaw as he looked her over, and how his tired eyes lingered on the XCOM logo patterned onto her hoodie.

She spoke first. “Thank you for not abandoning me.”

“You’re XCOM, Sergeant. We never throw our own to the wolves, no matter where those wolves are hiding.”

Her chest swelled at his affirmation, and Malcolm gave her hand a small squeeze. An unfamiliar moistness clouded the edges of her vision. Bradford turned and approached a wall console, and  soon the cargo ramp gave a metallic screech as it slowly lifted up.

“Sir, may I ask?” Nasatach blurted.

The old officer shot her a curious glance, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. He already had his hip flask in hand, still unscrewing it as Natasatch struggled to phrase her question.

“What are we expected to say to everyone else?”  A lie, she cynically surmised. Like ADVENT?

Bradford sighed, resting a closed fist on the gunmetal wall. “The truth, even if it’s an ugly one.”

Natasatch made no attempt to hide her grin.

Find the rest of the stories here.

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Resistance, Part 3

Finally.

The Viper expected to be restrained, which the humans accomplished with duct tape binding around her wrists and covering her mouth, but she was surprised to see the rebels that attacked them joined the two XCOM soldiers as prisoners. Under the watchful barrels of four shotguns trained on her, the Outpost Safari militia led Natasatch and Malcolm back to the village proper.  

Scanning the town as they arrived, Natasatch surmised it had to be a successful settlement, as far as shantytowns go, and she counted over three dozen humans peering at her from alleyways or from second story windows. Even thoroughly defeated, every human she looked towards averted their gaze or took a step back. It seemed that the trigger-happy citizens had already played their hands, to use the human expression.

They stuck her in a square room, with gray walls, a bare mattress, and a tiny gated window that even a neophyte had no hope of fitting through. All she could do was wait, watch the dim sunlight finally fade, and wonder what came next. Her thoughts immediately went to Malcolm. Her friend was led down a different direction when she reached the jail, and naturally worst case scenarios filled the void he left. Maybe he collapsed and died from blood loss the moment he stepped out view. Or they took him to a ditch and shot him in the back, and she was just waiting to be sold to a black market merchant. Or… Or…

Or maybe they took him to the infirmary, her logical side told her. Natasatch shook her head, as if the motion could toss the thoughts from her mind. These humans weren’t like the ones that attacked her, the fact they hadn’t shot her immediately was proof of that. At least for the moment, Natasatch felt herself calming, and while the thoughts of worry never stopped, they at least dropped to whispers. But while she could try to relieve some of her stress, there was nothing she could do about the boredom.

She had counted the bricks in the room twice, the number of cracks on the floor thrice, and had watched the sky shift from a dark blue to a slightly darker blue. She’d long curled into a defensive ball, torso in the center and her head underneath the top loop, ready to fight or doze off at a moment’s notice. A decent effort at trying to hold the worries back, but between the optimism that she’d been borrowing from Malcolm, something had to give.

Just as the voices of doubt started to end, new voices took their place, but these ones weren’t products of her imagination. A creak of metal turned her red eyes front, and Natasatch jolted upright. Her sudden motion must’ve startled the new arrivals. There was an unarmed human female halfway through the cell door and an armed human male right behind her, and both were mid-recoil at the Viper’s sudden burst of movement. If the humans came to execute her, they were vastly under-equipped.

She held eye contact with the woman for a second, and with no more movement from the Viper, the woman saw fit to finish stepping inside. She managed to compose herself before she addressed her prisoner.

“Sergeant.”

A day’s worth of tension left her with a single sigh of relief. “Yes,” Natasatch offered back.

The human female relaxed as she witnessed the alien do the same. It also gave Natasatch time to examine her a bit more closely. As tall as Natasatch could stand, the woman was short, shorter than average for her species. A short bush of gray hair sat atop her head, contrasting with the wrinkled deep brown of her skin. From her ears hung a set of shiny rocks, the fanciest thing about her rather plain wardrobe. Still, she moved like a woman decades younger, stepping forward and offering a hand with surprising dexterity.

“I’m Denmother Aida,” she said, in an unfamiliar accent. “It’s good to meet you.”

Natasatch slipped her thin hands around Aida’s and shook firmly, completing the human ritual. The Viper’s dour look remained, however. Aida continued, “I’ll cut to the bone, Sergeant. We, the good people of Outpost Safari, are terribly, terribly sorry what happened to you today. No XCOM personnel should ever be attacked by anyone calling themselves Resistance, no matter what they look like.”

Natasatch’s features softened at the apology, but a few echoes of anger and worry resurfaced.  Her subsequent question sounded more like a demand, “Where is Malcolm?”

Aida looked a little surprised at the choice for a first question, but she had an answer. “Your friend is fine, I promise you that. He’s being treated for his leg and arm injuries, and an antibiotic treatment for dragging his wound around in the mud. It would do no good to have an XCOM soldier survive all that just to die by an infection, yeah?”

“It took you a while to realize we were XCOM,” she said, slightly accusatory.

Den Mother Aida allowed her shoulders to sag. “Yes… The blame is on those who attacked you, Sergeant,” she began to explain. “Our former communications officer was one of the men who attacked you. XCOM thought ahead to inform us one of their soldiers was an alien, but that info never reached past him. And he obviously didn’t report in your emergency, but instead alerted a few other troublemakers.”

“You know of this how?” Natasatch asked.

“One of the attackers confessed everything. I assure you, they will be punished accordingly. Even Miss Ackers, despite her age.”

Aida must have been referring to the human child the Viper subdued, and her blood boiled at the memory of the attacker that came closest to killing her friend. However, she would have more time to stew outside, and out of confinement. The Viper nodded, and asked, “Now, am I free to go, Denmother?”

“Yes, but first-”

“I would like to leave and see my friend,” Natasatch interrupted. Between the harrowing day and the agonizing wait, her patience was dangerously low. “And you just said I was allowed to leave.”

“You are, not as such.”

The Viper narrowed her eyes, sizing up the room. The elderly woman hardly seemed to be a threat, between her frailty and already standing next to an alien shocktrooper, but her shotgun-toting guard just outside the room still worried her. If these human continued to change their minds, a hostage would do well to-

Aida stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Very well. We’ll take you to the infirmary, Sergeant.”

Natasatch blinked twice, and her hood dropped in confusion. “Wait, are you allowing me to leave or not?”

Aida tilted her head. “As I said, you can leave, not as such.”

Admittedly, Natasatch had only been studying the English language for less than a year, but even she knew that grammar was off. “What did you just call me?”

“Your name, Sergeant?”

“Natasatch,” Natasatch informed her.

“Not as such,” Aida insisted.

“Natasatch,” the Viper corrected.

At this moment, the guard stepped in, chuckling to himself. His weapon was slung over his shoulder, to her relief, and he spoke in a voice with intonation common to other pale-skinned humans on the Avenger. “Miss alien, if you’re going to make our Denmother feel bad about her accent, try not speaking in thick Brazilian.”

“I’m not Brazilian, and I don’t have an accent.” Natasatch felt she was on the receiving end of a joke, both humans starting a belly laugh together. She could only roll her eyes and settle on asking Malcolm about it later. He was from Brazil, after all.

After the laughter ran its course, the guard led both the Viper and the Denmother out of the cell and to the lobby door. However, the door grunted in response to being pushed open, and all three crossed the threshold into the room to find a very familiar looking human on the floor, pointing a handgun in their general direction.

Natasatch raised an eye ridge as the weapon lowered. “Malcolm, what are you doing?”

“Uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was hoping to rescue you.”

“You’re supposed to be recovering, Mister Silva,” Aida said, looking bemused. “And staying off that leg, not sneaking around.”

“Well, I think I did pretty well, despite everything” Malcolm responded, as he looked at his bandaged leg and winced.  “Got all the way here and nobody noticed.”

Their escort spoke up as well. “Well, you didn’t have a guard posted outside the clinic, and nobody was looking for you, on account of you not being under arrest anymore.”

Malcom was pouting quite heavily at this point, so Natasatch intervened. “Malcolm…” she said, softly. The human looked to her, his mood instantly brightening. “…That was rather foolish of you.”

Malcolm pouted even heavier than before.

“But thank you, my friend.” She added, as she helped him to his feet. His head was angled downward, and a rush of heat came over his face as he suddenly kept unbroken eye contact with her. “Why haven’t they given you a new shirt yet?”

The rest of the night was uneventful, which was exactly how Natasatch wanted. The two XCOM soldiers elected to stay the night in the cell, which was already pretty defensible, and Aida allocated a few extra sentries. Natasatch insisted the cell door remain open, however.

The worst had passed, it seemed. As soon as they awoke, Natasatch and Malcolm made their way to the communications center to get in contact with XCOM. The Viper relayed their encounter as truthfully and factually as possible to the bewildered comm officer on the other end, and Malcolm chimed in with his first-rate medical treatment. Current orders were to sit tight until the Avenger returned as soon as possible, which still left at least a day of downtime for them.

Natasatch would have felt alone and defensive a few hours earlier, even with Malcolm hobbling alongside her, but the atmosphere of the town was almost unrecognizably welcoming. Citizens still gawked at her from her peripheral vision and whispered amongst themselves as she browsed the marketplace, but when Natasatch made eye contact they instead gave weak smiles and tiny waves. When she passed vendors offering food and salvage and assorted oddities, the humans were quite insistent on offering free samples of flavorful snacks and trinkets, enough so she had to ask for a bag to tote her gifts around. Unexpected treatment, certainly, but she much prefered unsure hospitality over outright hostility.

Natasatch heard a sharp whistle, and turned her head to find a familiar small human hobbling their way. Denmother Aida approached the two, with a bright smile and hands wide and at her side, and the Viper was treated to the bemusing sight of two lanes of foot traffic clearing to make way for a single elderly human.

“Hello, my dear friends,” Aida started once she was an arm’s length away. She pointed a digit at the tote bag in Natasatch’s hand. “I can see already that your day is off to a great start!”

“That’s for sure, Miss Aida,” Malcolm responded, his signature smile back on his face. “Far, far better than yesterday.”

“It was hardly a high standard to clear,” Natasatch added dryly.

Both of the humans chuckled at her quip, but Aida’s laughter was accompanied with a slight wince. Natasatch tilted her head a bit, noting the Denmother’s forwardness and closeness. The VIper could tell it was a forced comfort, not the familiarity that someone like Malcolm had. It was subtle, but she noticed how Aida’s weight was on her heels, and the way her eyes would flick to Natasatch’s tongue whenever she tasted the air. She thought better of mentioning it, though, content to continue the conversation.

Aida resumed again, “I’m glad you get to see the real Safari today, Sergeants. We pride ourself on our friendliness and tolerance to all friends of humanity, even if a few of us sometimes forget, and need to be reminded.”

Natasatch picked up on her phrasing. “I don’t believe you explained how exactly your…” She paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way to describe their attackers.

“Hooligans?” Malcolm offered, with a twinge of irony.

“Yes, Hooligans. I like that!” Aida added.

“As you wish. Well, how are these hooligans to be punished, exactly?”

The woman rolled her shoulders as she responded, again vaguely, “Publicly and seriously. I could explain, but it’d be easier to show you. Trust me, my alien friend, we don’t want a repeat of the Gulag.”

A moment of confusion let the Denmother realize that Natasatch had no idea what she was referring to, just as Malcolm rescued his friend from her ignorance. “The Gulag incident was a few years back, in an abandoned Old Russian prison-turned-settlement. They were doing pretty well for themselves; isolated, had agriculture, well-armed and well-fortified, and contributed plenty to the Resistance despite half the population being the original inmates. Probably was kept together thanks to their leader, an ex-Russian Mafia kingpin.”

“You trusted them, despite their criminal backgrounds?”

“You’d be surprised, Natasatch. Nearly everyone in XCOM has a story, and not always one they’re proud of,” Malcolm interjected. He softened immediately, adding, “After all, aren’t we all criminals in the eyes of the only government left?”

Natasatch rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“I do, and you did have a point, actually, but in a roundabout way. From what I hear, that kingpin I mentioned was untouchable despite being Russia’s Most Wanted before the war, at least until a Spetsnaz team, Russia’s special forces, nabbed him when he was out of the country. Coincidentally enough, the leader of that same team, Captain Yuri, was one of the first to join the new XCOM. Bradford himself said that almost half of our guerilla playbook came from that man’s training regimen. And after a decade and half of keeping the Resistance in Asia kicking, by sheer dumb luck, Captain Yuri led a routine mission to pick up supplies from the Gulag, which was being run by the man whose criminal empire he toppled.”

“I take it the Gulag’s leader murdered the Captain as soon as he recognized him.”

Malcolm nodded gravely. “And only him. He justified it as ‘settling an old score,’ then let the rest go with the supplies and half over again ‘to compensate for the inconvenience.’”

“Despicable,” Aida added, genuinely disgusted. Natasatch inwardly agreed. Casually trading lives for resources was something she expected from ADVENT, and at least they were smart enough to cover it up.

“So, what happened next?”

“Bradford XCOM-municated him.”

The Viper had picked up enough knowledge about the English language and human humor to groan audibly at her friend’s wordplay.

Aida picked up where Malcolm paused for her reaction. “That is an accurate statement, jokes aside. Bradford made the Gulag an ultimatum; exile their leader or else, and when they didn’t, he immediately announced that XCOM revoked their promise to protect that settlement. That’s all he did, but word spread in the Resistance. The Smuggler’s Underground blacklisted them, meaning no trading at all, a huge chunk of the settlers packed up and left, and ADVENT moles scrambled to turn in the Gulag’s location without fear of being discovered. Within a week, death squads turned Koslov’s fortress into rubble, and he himself was executed live on the ADVENT network. A grim lesson on what it means for XCOM to turn your back you.”

Aida took a full step forward, surprising Natasatch.  Whatever cracks in her composure that emerged over the course of her explanation, the Denmother forced them away. “Which is why the good people of Safari would never do anything to provoke XCOM.

Natasatch released a short, reflexive hiss as she felt a sharp poke at the tip of her tail. She turned in one fluid motion, spotting another juvenile human scampering away, dropping a stick that walloped her as he ran. Further ahead were two other juveniles goading their friend on, who were also sprinting away when they saw the Viper glaring. Her predatory eyes narrowed as the pranksters dived around the corner, attempting to dodge the tongue lasso that never came, and undoubtedly off to boast about having touched the scary alien and lived. Ultimately harmless, but irritating nonetheless.

The Viper turned back around, and viewed a look of horror on Denmother Aida’s face. In fact, much of the nearby foot traffic had stopped the moment her hiss escaped. All of them couldn’t possibly have missed what provoked it, yet all eyes were on her as they braced for her reaction.

They were waiting a while. Eventually, Natasatch rolled her shoulders in the human way and posed the undeniably human question, “What?”

Aida began, “Sergeant, I’m so sorry –”

“It is fine, Denmother,” Natasatch interrupted.

“Nothing to worry about, really!” Malcolm jumped in. Perhaps his eternal optimism would defuse the situation. This was her human friend in his element, after all.

“Yes, but I cannot –”

“It’s fine. Really.” The Viper stated again. “It was merely a harmless prank. I believe you are overreacting.”

As she finished her sentence, a thought struck her. Wouldn’t this be the proper reaction for these humans? Had that juvenile tried this stunt on a typical Viper officer, he would have been cut down by a green plasma beam before he made it four steps away. Perhaps these humans have seen exactly that, she imagined.

One human asked the one question on every other human’s mind. “Is she gonna be fine?”

Malcolm chose this moment to interdict directly. Her human friend wrapped his bandaged left arm around the she in question, pointing at her with his right. “Look, if Natasatch here says she’s fine, she fine! You never needed to worry at all. She’s perfectly friendly when you get to know her.

The alien smiled a human smile, genuinely from the praise. She clasped her hands together, trying to look as innocent as twelve feet of genetically engineered combat machine possibly could. From what she could observe, it was working.

“See? Harmless!”

Tension released and life returned to the market street. Aida excused herself with an apology, promising to give those children a stern lecture, and pointed the two in the direction of the market’s center, a mere two aisles over. Another vague promise, “You don’t want to miss this!”

Natasatch was starting to despise Vagueness.

“Yeah, I hate it too.”

The Viper turned to Malcolm with a ponderous look. “Did I say that out loud?”

Malcolm smiled. “Nope. You just flex your hood a little when you think about something you hate. Like vague assurances.”

Natasatch’s hand idly rubbed the scales on her hood, feeling lean muscles rippling with no conscious input at all. She never noticed that. “Interesting. Well, vagueness awaits us, Malcolm.”

Neither Natsatch nor Malcolm had to wait for long to see the surprise. At the center of the marketplace was a raised platform, with five odd devices erected on top. Each of the devices held a human in an uncomfortable forward lean, which kept their heads and hands visible and restrained. All of the humans bore a sheet of cardboard with writing, hanging as a necklace would. She looked left to right, not recognizing three faces in a row, until she reached the one with an eyepatch. Then Natasatch understood.

“A stockade! Ha!” Malcolm commented, chuckling on each word. “Or was it a pillory? Ah whatever! Did we time travel back to a hundred and fifty years ago or something?”

All of the captive faces turned upwards at the sound, eyeing the new arrivals. Two of them looked away once they identified them. The sole eye of Eyepatch met Natasatch’s scrutinizing gaze, but the vengeful look of the yellow-haired child drew her attention more. Unlike the others, a crude gag covered her mouth, and the need for the device shown as she began to struggle and yell muffled vitriol in her direction.

“Yep.” Eyepatch responded, in a tone of defeat the Viper knew well. “Laugh it up, Sergeants. You earned it.”

The Viper gave a pleased prrum at this appetizer for justice, but her amusement was matched by her curiosity. Smirking the whole time, she asked, “I expected you all to be punished, but not as… whatever this is? What is the purpose?”

“Bublic humiliation,” one of the other rebels added, not bothering to raise his head. From the slurring and the bandage over the bridge of his nose, this was likely the attacker who Malcolm personally disabled.

“I think I get it, Nat,” Malcolm said, turning to her. “Life out here in the free zones is tough. You’re always low on everything, scavving constantly, wondering if tomorrow’s going to bring an ADVENT kill squad…”

“If I recall correctly, this was your life before XCOM, Mal,” Natasatch observed. Malcolm nodded.

“Still is, kinda. You learn to rely on other people, like sharing your already scarce supplies and stuff. But the only thing you never run out of is human dignity. We’re all in this together, and everyone feels proud of that.

Natasatch turned back to the stockade, finally reading the signs hanging from the rebel’s necks. ‘I tried to murder XCOM soldiers,’ they all read. How embarrassing. Taking away whatever pride they had in being a part of this community, exposing their crime for their fellows to turn up their snouts at. The Viper witnessed ADVENT public executions of lawbreakers, and though this punishment was expressly non-lethal, she could see the parallels. Still…

“An amazingly light sentence for attempted murder,” Natasatch quietly commented to Malcolm.

He whispered back. “Outpost this size, losing even a single person is bad. Guessing if they learn their lesson, they’ll be allowed to stay.”

“Serves us right, I figure,” Eyepatch announced, regaining both of their attention. The blonde girl paused her thrashing long enough to shift her glare to him, and then went back to her tantrum.

The Viper tssked. “I do wonder where your remorse was last evening?” Natasatch dryly commented, moving herself closer to the platform.

He winced at the remark, then added, “You just missed it, snake lady. You know, they were still gonna take our side after they caught you both. Choosing between their own people and an alien? Hardly a question, until I came clean.”

“You sold us out, Rick!” The broken-nose rebel accused.

“And you lied to me, Kriss!” Eyepatch – or ‘Rick,’ she supposed – shot back. “You knew they were XCOM, even the snake. They radioed it to you. And Ro, how did she know exactly where they’d be? I should’ve know something was up before they… you-”

Rick stopped shooting accusatory looks between his fellow rebels, and looked at Natasatch directly. Her eye ridge raised as he said, calmly, slowly, “You still didn’t kill anyone, Viper. Even when you honestly should have. I mean, most of you are still evil aliens, but you? You’re alright.” Rich moved his hand forward, locking his fingers and raising his thumb. An offer of a handshake, but still shackled to the stockade. “I’m sorry. Really.”

The Viper leaned back, folding her arms over her chest. “I am still new to human culture, I admit. I can believe that you’re truly sorry. But I also know you can’t expect to be forgiven for attempting to murder Malcolm or myself with a just an apology.”

The eyepatched man winced, as if she had just sunk her fangs into his flesh. Humorous, since the exact opposite happened, with the rough bandages around her palm evidence to that. His head drooped further, and he admitted, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

“Besides,” Natasatch offered, “It is Malcolm you should be thanking. If he hadn’t – Malcolm?”

Her friend was right next to her, yet he was also a thousand yards away - metaphorically -, staring at the thrashing young female. Natasatch could tell Malcolm hadn’t registered a word either of them had said. She was just about to lightly tap his uninjured shoulder when he jerked back to reality.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam!”

“Hmm?” asked one perplexed Viper. She tried, and failed, to parse the outburst. A few heads in the marketplace turned, joining those who were already observing the scene.

A moment passed, and with a modicum more restraint, Malcolm started directly at the yellow-haired female. “You’re… Rochelle Ackers.” She stopped struggling. “Sister to Corporal Samuel Ackers. I know you. I’ve seen you before. He has a picture of you taped to his bunk’s walls.” Once again, the girl was paralyzed, wide-eyed and staring just as she did when Natasatch terrified her. “Goddamnit, that’s how.”

The Viper quickly racked her through her memory, recalling… Yes, she knew the name of Ackers, another XCOM soldier. Her only memorable interaction the man leaving game night in a huff on account of her presence. He still avoided her since, and she felt no impulse to reach out to him, but what he was being accused of went beyond a mere frosty reception.

But, it would make sense, she supposed. Malcolm would would be the type to never give up trying to reach out, and would have certainly invited Ackers to their waterside fun. That meant he would know she would have been outside the Avenger, and had time to pass the information off to others. They couldn’t possibly have known she and Malcolm would end up staying behind, but their misfortune was a boon for their ambushers.

Or not, looking at the rebels in the stockade. Silent. Worried. But her mirth at their punishment was secondary right now.

More firmly this time, Natasatch placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. He accepted the touch for a moment, and then shrugged it off. Her human was flush, hot with emotion but at an impasse for action. She quickly slid around him, so a very concerned alien filled his field of view.

Natasatch began, “My friend, it’s okay…” Her sentence stopped there, which surprised even her. What to say? Between the two of them, Malcolm handled the talking and reassurances. Not her. A dozen phrases started and stumbled in her throat, with nothing but silence emerging. She was at a loss.

And so was he. Malcolm gave her a sympathetic look before he returned to his fuming. “Nat, it’s really not. I… I gotta talk a walk, you know?”

I don’t know. “Yes,” she lied. “It’s a human thing, correct.”

Malcolm nodded. She added. “I should come. You… look like you need support.”

“I can handle myself,” her bandaged, painkiller-laden, bruise-covered human friend told her, as he slowly hobbled away.  

She sighed. Her worlds failed her, but at least Natasatch could assume no human at Safari would dare move against her or her friend, and she would have no trouble tailing him. “How long will your walk last?”

He didn’t answer.

It’s been literally two years since my last update. I’m sorry for being so quiet on the issue, but the wait was unfortunate yet necessary. To paraphrase a quote from Writing Excuses, the thousand wrong words you have delete later are a thousand words you needed to write on your way to craft the proper thousand words. Tens of thousands of words and other projects’ worth of experience later, I finally have something I’m happy to continue the story with. You’ve all waited long enough.

Shoutout to @tehangryxeno​ for helping with editing and pep talks, and to everyone that checked in to make sure I knew you hadn’t given up on the story. Image credit to @jamdrawers​. Check them out.

Chapter Index

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Waking Up, Then Sleeping.

All around her, Natastach could hear talking, but could understand a word of it. She recognised it as English though and that alone made her mind snap awake, though she kept her eyes closed, for the moment. After a few seconds, she attempted to throw herself up and at the nearby insurgents, but the moment she exerted any force she was stopped, not even falling backwards, because she hadn’t even moved. She could taste fear in the air and, despite the language barrier, understood that orders were being given. Her mind began to race as she finally started to open her eyes. As soon as she did, the room was silent. No more orders, no more idle chat. She saw someone gesture with authority at the edge of her vision.

[Where…am I?] Was the question that crossed her tongue first.

[Safe, you’re safe.] Came a familiar voice, also in ADVENT Standard. Incredulous due to the bindings, the Viper looked around for the speaker. “Malcom!” [What’s going on?!]

[We’re with XCOM, Natastach. The Commander convinced them to bring you on board after you saved my life. Remember, you were patrolling an old residential district with Advent and ran into me, armed and armoured. Then a Stun Lancer attacked me, not only did you take the hit, but you slammed the Lancer against a wall, then you looked like you were having trouble breathing and then passed out. The Doctor thinks it was the IFF that made you drop. Natastach? Are you okay?]

Natastach was not okay. She realised that she hadn’t heard a word after “XCOM”, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Then she stopped panicking about that and started panicking about something else. Something was missing. As soon as she heard XCOM, she should have got a kill or be killed order. Then she felt it and it was like someone had taken an Earth powertool to her skull. Her head was pounding violently for attention and while panic had let her ignore it, now that she was aware of the pain, it was deafening. Malcom stood up when he saw her features twist in pain, but his voice was distant. Suddenly, there was no pain, no touch at all. She flopped her head towards the small human, the edges of her vision misty.

“Malcom…” [Why…does my…head hurt? Where…are my…orders?]

[They took it out, Nat. The biochip. You’re…] “Free.” She didn’t know what the last word meant, but she remembered talking about it with him. She liked the sound of it. Her mind was emptying and she let the sound of that last word accompany her.

“Free.”

aaaaaaaaaaaaa THANK YOU!

ahem.

This was in my submission box today, and this is absolutely wonderful. Many thanks to   @sora112 for creating it!

I can’t exaggerate how much I love reading this. It nails my style down, gives a satisfying excerpt of the story while raising enough questions to want to see more, and above all, it really feels like it’s just a new chapter of the work it was created for (gee, where’s that new chapter, Pop?). But it’s more than a vignette to me.

I write for myself, yes, but I also write for you. I want my readers to be as enamored with my stories just as much as I am. Nothing makes me happier than seeing my words give an audience member a genuine emotional reaction, or give them a question they demand answered, or inspiring them to make something new (as seen here). All of the above spurred me into writing in the first place, and it’s a legacy I hope I can continue. And it’s moments like these that remind me it’s worth it.

Thanks again, Sora. And thank you all for sticking with me. Next chapter will be coming… sooner.

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Several humans were harmed in the making of this chapter.

RESISTANCE, PART 2

She ought to be furious that their rescuers were attempting to murder them, or worried how her injured friend would fare in the firefight, or wondering how to contact the Avenger when their only communication line was these angry rebels. Those concerns took a backseat for the moment, as a familiar cold fury took the helm. This was far simpler than human social intricacies. It what Natasatch was bred and trained to do.

Eliminate the opposition, fulfil the mission. Kill the rebels and protect Malcolm. The two goals were in sync. The attackers could hardly kill her human if they were dead.

From a daring peek over the rock, she got a better fix on the targets. Closest was a human male with a shotgun, followed by a small human female with an assault rifle that looked far too large for her. Mid -range were two more human males suppressing them, one missing an eye with a gray shirt and another hiding his face behind a blue bandana. And of course, the sniper, the lens glare position showing no movement from his original firing position.

Natasatch reflexively switched her rifle off of safe mode, but of course simply thumbed the empty air. She groaned, but felt a slight sense of relief as she saw Malcolm pulling out a pistol holster from his pack. He shot her a smile as he checked the revolver’s chamber, as glad as her to see the odds against them slightly reduced.

The Viper spoke louder to counter the gunfire. “How much ammunition do you have, Malcolm?”

“Not enough to fight our way out of here!” He responded. “But I got another plan!”

She nodded, and to her complete surprise, Malcolm threw his only weapon into the dirt.

He already stood up before she realized what her apparently-insane friend was attempting, with his hands empty and raised up in the air. Perhaps his unexpected surrender honestly gave the attackers pause, or maybe he caught them mid reload, but Malcolm stood straight up and wasn’t dead the next moment. Breathing heavily for another second, he finally addressed the gunmen.

“Stop shooting? Good, good, thank you! This is all just a misunderstanding, and we don’t need to hurt each other.” Malcolm said. The water from his swim had evaporated by now, but fresh drops of sweat once again glinted off his face as his mouth worked.

Natasatch half-hissed, half-whispered an objection, but a wave of his hand quieted her after the first word. “I’m going to reason with them,” the human whispered from the side of his mouth.

No response came from the attacker’s side of the valley, and Malcolm continued, “I’m Sergeant Silva, XCOM, and so is Natasatch. The Viper, I mean. You’re with Safari, right?”

A gruff, deep human voice answered him. “Obviously.”

The Viper watched Malcolm’s brow raise, and he spoke more freely, “Yeah, we called your guys, explained that we need a medic. And of course we mentioned the Viper. If you’re not who they sent, you can call in and they’ll tell you-”

“Oh, we got your message alright,” the same voice answered. Peering out from the side of the rock, the Viper saw it belonged to the closest human with a shotgun, tall and lean and with a radio headset and shades. Yet, there was something familiar about the way he talked.

Malcolm realized it just as Natasatch did. “Hey wait, you’re the one who answered when the LT called in, aren’t you?”

The radioman looked back and forth, the accusation landing spot on, but a shrill yelling caught their attention. The human female raised her rifle and screamed, “Just fuckin’ shoot the traitor already!”

The girl started unloading her rifle afterwards, but she’d given Malcolm plenty of time to duck back into. The air once again filled with bullets, and Malcolm’s palm met his forehead as he groaned.

“Well, you tried,” Natasatch offered when he looked to her. Malcolm grabbed the revolver and she turned around, and flinched when she felt Malcolm’s hand tugging on her shoulder.

He looked impossibly lucid when he said his next request. “Nat, listen! We’re not trying to kill them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now is not the time for humor, Mal!”

“I’m serious!” He was, to her surprise. “Don’t! Kill! Anyone!”

The Viper hissed in frustration. “You already tried being nice!”

“I know! But we need to keep trying, Natasatch!”

“Mikey, move up!” One of the attacker’s voices called, and more shots whittled the top of their cover. Whatever safety they had right now wouldn’t exist in a few seconds. Natasatch needed to make a decision.

She looked at Malcolm’s eyes again, and she noticed how… calm he looked. Genuine, sincere. As if his plan wasn’t utter foolishness. His peace infected her as his brown irises reflected the setting sun. “Please,” he spoke, almost inaudible.

He won. But that didn’t mean she needed to be gentle.

Their attackers stood in the open, confident their prey was unarmed, a mistake quickly exposed as Malcolm fired his revolver in their general direction and sent them diving to cover. Furthest from anywhere to hide, the shotgun-wielding radioman turned back to bark something to his comrades as a pink tongue wrapped around his waist and flung him forward. Impacting the waist-high stone, the rebel tumbled over into the damp earth with a thud, and Malcolm was on him as soon as Natasatch unwrapped her tongue. He struck the radioman’s face with the butt of the revolver, and the Viper felt a fresh rush of adrenaline as she heard the cartilage of his nose crack. The human howled in pain, but stopped as Malcolm pressed the barrel of the revolver just behind his ear and pushed his face further into the dirt.

Her human spoke with an ice she’d rarely heard before, a cold tone of authority. “Stay down, buddy.”

The radioman struggled half a second more, then went limp and placed his hands over his head in surrender. He wouldn’t be a problem for the immediate future.

A girlish roar of anguish caught her ears, the young human furious at losing an ally. She yelled and charged towards the two defenders, and then yelled louder and charged backwards even faster when Natasatch spat poison in her vicinity. The Viper’s cloud didn’t impact the girl, and she’d meant it more as a smokescreen, but the young girl panicked anyway and toppled behind another boulder.

“Nice pull!” Malcolm commented. “Thanks you, but that’s only the first one,” Natasatch responded, and the flurry of grunts and footsteps from the attackers seemed to agree with her. “They’re moving up, Nat! Could you-” She’d already sprung up and spotted the next threat. The girl, nearly running forward, stopped and flinched at the sight of the Viper up close. Natasatch clenched her chest and felt the venom force it’s way up her throat, and she spat the cloud of green miasma to cut off the advance. Controlling her poison cloud was second nature, and it went exactly where she aimed it to where it wouldn’t instantly catch the rebels in the spray. Yet, the young female screamed as if she’d been hurt and scampered away. Natasatch would have chuckled at the rebel’s cowardice, if she had the time.

The hazy poison cloud shrouded the two from the rest of the attackers, but that hardly meant they were safe. Bullets cut wildly through the miasma, hoping to score a lucky hit. Still, her poison gave them an opportunity. Malcolm gestured at a dirt incline further down the horseshoe, and dashed for the new cover, his feet kicking muddy water as he ran. Natasatch had no trouble following him, sliding over the drop only moments later. The weapons fire stopped, replaced by a volley of insults being thrown their way. Not that Natasatch minded, it simply gave her a info on the rebels’ positions. But the one threat she couldn’t hear concerned her the most. “We need to take out that sniper,” she stated. Malcolm gave her a quick nod. He glanced at the cliff closest to them, then pointed further down the way, at a clump of plants climbing the walls like… well, like a snake. “See those vines?” “Yes.” “Think you can climb them?” Natasatch frowned. The Viper understood his line of thought, but she just didn’t like it. “I’m not leaving you alone and injured, Malcolm.”  She put a fingertip on his leg wrap, making him flinch a bit. The human gave her a small smile, but he hardly seemed enthusiastic either. He only offered, “I know, but we’re not going anywhere with that scopes hanging over us. And if you’re quick enough, they won’t notice a thing.” Some chance felt better than none. But still… “And don’t worry about me. I’ll make enough of a fuss that they’ll stay back.” He gave a pump of his newly-acquired shotgun as he finished, then scrambled for the unspent shell he almost wasted. Brushing the dirt off, he caught a smirk breaking through the Viper’s concern. Natasatch turned around, plotting the best course to reach the vine ladder undetected. She glanced back before she dove into the water. “Malcolm, if you get killed… I’ll be very upset with you.” “I’ll be very upset with me!” He agreed. The water felt as good as ever as she dove down, and but she didn’t let the sensation distract from her goal. The poison smokescreen would be gone any moment, and Malcolm had the only radio between the two, so she wouldn’t know his status until she was done. Keeping low, sliding along her belly, she emerged behind a partially submerged rock and darted to the mat of vines Malcolm pointed out. She heard a shot ring out, and then more, and when she reached the cliff top she surveyed the battlefield below. Malcolm once again fired wildly to keep the aggressors at bay, and his distraction seemed to be working. Not a single bullet whizzed her way, which, conversely, meant more pressure on Natasatch to relieve her friend, fast. There was a silver lining to this gunfire sandwich, as the human expression went, as the continued gunfire meant the rebels’ target was still alive. Natasatch slid behind the short foliage, keeping low as she advanced. It was a short ways away to where she estimated the sharpshooter to be, and sure enough, she spotted a human female prone on the rocks, almost glued to her scope. All too easy to eliminate the target. Getting it done silently would be- Wait. She promised Malcolm she wouldn’t kill them. Natasatch paused her silent advance. The Viper winced, considering the new complication. Fortunately, it seemed an easy addition; bind and release just before the captive died, instead of just after. Keeping the sniper from calling for help was another matter. She could use her hand to cover the sniper’s mouth, at risk of being bitten, or perhaps shove in a gag if she had one. Natasatch remembered she did have a rag, the thin fabric circling her chest. It was the humans that cared about its presence, not her. Perfect. The sniper finally noticed the dirt and twigs rustling far too late, and the moment she started to yelp Natasatch coiled around her, shoving her rolled-up clothing in the woman’s mouth to gag her. Her plan worked flawlessly, and the sniper passed out after half a minute of inaudible struggling. Well, almost flawlessly. One of her human friends would be certain to complain about her improvised muffle later. Releasing the unconscious body, she pressed herself flat and peered over the edge of the cliff. The attackers were still firing on her friend, not looking in her direction at all. The sniper’s radio sounded as one of the attackers asked if she could spot the alien, giving Natasatch a measure of amusement, and more importantly, an idea. The Viper tilted her head, one red eye gazing through the scope of the commandeered sniper rifle. Only a few moments of observation gave her an incredibly detailed look of the battlefield. Malcolm had repositioned further back, and recently too, judging by the fewer bullet marks nearby. Blue Bandana continued to hang back, firing in a wide arc to keep up the suppression. Closest to her friend was the child, and she could see clearly both her long golden hair, and the amateurish way she fired her rifle from the hip. Mid-range was the gray shirted soldier with the eyepatch, and her crosshairs lingered on the man longer than the others..

In only a moment, Natasatch reviewed the timeline of the fight, and recounted their opposition’s every misstep. They had advanced straight in the open, shot wildly and with little discipline, kept their entire focus on the one visible target, and the Viper finally noticed their reload speeds took longer than the most untrained XCOM rookie. All except one of them. Eyepatch moved with purpose, focus, from cover to cover and sent his bullets where he intended. She guessed that he was the only enemy who actually had combat training, and therefore was the biggest threat they faced. She expected Malcolm would probably be able to dispatch the girl and Blue Bandanna, but not with Eyepatch bearing down on him.

Natasatch trained the crosshair right behind Eyepatch’s ear, squeezed the trigger, and hoped her friend would forgive her.

…And the only thing she’d have to apologize for was her poor marksmanship. As she fired, Natasatch remembered this was the first human weapon she’d fired, ever. There was no predictable warmup of the plasma coil mechanism or continuous beam of energy. Instead, the violent jolt of the large caliber round firing forced her to flinch, and the scope bumped painfully into her eye ridge from the recoil. It took a moment for her to process the whole event, and when she looked back down the scope, Eyepatch’s head was remarkably intact, and he was raising his radio to his ear. Fortunately, his gaze was still forward.

“Watch it, Slip.” His voice came over the comms, still smooth and deep, and only his heavy intonation hinted at annoyance. “Keep your sights on the traitor.”

“Ah, sorry!” Natasatch said into the sniper’s radio, doing her best to imitate the rebel’s voice. It’d been hard to notice if the gagged woman had an accent or specific tone, but nothing in the remaining rebels’ behavior showed any suspicion. Natasatch took a breath, lined up a second shot, and tightened her grip on the rifle. This time when she pulled the trigger, nothing happened, besides a tiny ‘click.’ She looked down at the gun, slightly confused. Perhaps the powercell was empty? The viper felt the underside of the gun, finding nothing to indicate a powercell or ammo source. There was a lever on one side, and she was certain she’d seen their squad sniper Schwarzschild do something after each shot…

Natasatch huffed, realizing she was wasting time. Every second mattered. She was plenty dangerous on her own. Red eyes peeked over the cliffside, confirming that no other eyes were upon her as she charted out the quickest path to the closest target, and then the alien slithered back into the grotto.

Even with his fire support’s last shot almost killing his ally, Blue Bandana didn’t sense anything amiss. He’d lifted almost his entire body over the low cover to suppress Malcolm’s position, firing with abandon. Avoiding tunnel vision like that was among Natasatch’s earliest lessons, and a failing she was happy to exploit. The partisan’s rifle clicked empty, forcing a pause. He at least remembered to duck back down to reload, and the turning motion finally let him see the furious viper darting towards him. He only had time for a short gasp before Natasatch overtook him.

She laid prone against the low rocks, and she peered over the top to make sure Malcolm was still okay. Her friend held his own against the yellow-haired girl, who’d advanced so far that Malcolm was able to grapple with her over the shotgun. Natasatch gave a wicked grin as she noticed Eyepatch gritting his teeth, unwilling to fire and risk hurting his comrade. When Malcolm bested their ringleader, she’d be ready.

She didn’t have to wait long. Malcolm eventually hooked his leg behind the young girl’s, and his superior size and muscle guaranteed the outcome. Driving an elbow to her temple, he shoved the stunned girl back, where she promptly tripped and fell on her backside. Scampering back a step, Malcolm turned the shotgun around, pointed it at the girl, and looked to the last fighter eyes to eye.

The tension was palpable. Even with the older man’s steely gaze and scars, Malcolm matched the intensity with his own. One of them desperately wanted to take the shot, the other one desperately wanted not to.

The girl screeched from her prone position, “What are you waiting for?! Shoot the bastard!”

“You don’t want to do that,” warned Malcolm, calm but forceful. “It’s over. Now we talk this out.”

“You’re right. You take the gun off Ro, and I won’t shoot you like the traitor to humanity you are. No more violence,” Eyepatch returned.

Silva looked indignant. “Traitor? You’re the one shooting at two XCOM sergeants.”

“Oh, what? You expect me to buy the snake is with XCOM?” Eyepatch let the anger seep back in. “XCOM kills aliens, they don’t keep them as pets. You’re some spy meeting your handler.”

Malcolm took his left hand off the foregrip, raising his fingers as he spoke. ”One,” he began, “… you’d know we’re XCOM if your buddies-” he pointed a finger at the child “- weren’t lying to you. Two, a real traitor wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep you alive, especially when you’re trying to murder us. Oh, and speaking of aliens, three.”

At the cue, Eyepatch flinched as a whip-like tongue tore his rifle from his grasp. His remaining eye widened, and with incredible speed, he reached for his sidearm and fired off a shot or two before as Natasatch tackled him into the dirt, quickly wrapping her coils around the man. The Viper hissed lowly, pleased at the distraction’s success, even if she distantly registered that pistol’s bullets struck her. The man struggled and spat, enough that Natasatch had to use her arms to fully restrain him, but it was no use. The two of them won.

‘Ro’ started yelling angrily again, with a little injection of despair in the volume. The small girl looked back at her ally and forced herself up on one knee. A pump of the shotgun got her attention. “Don’t. Move.” Silva ordered. “You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

Her lip wavered, and Natasatch felt the girl’s body heat up, overwhelmed and distraught. She even noticed a wetness gleaming off her eyes. Suddenly, her body dropped, and the Viper knew Ro would attempt something very stupid.

Screeching again and pulling a knife from her boot, she charged towards Malcolm. A foolish move, since Silva already had his shotgun leveled at her. Youth or not, Silva would take the shot. She waited for the loud boom of the firearm to cut the girl down.

The sound didn’t come, and the screaming girl got closer and closer to her friend. What was he doing?

More frustrated than angered, she yelled, “Malcolm! Shoot!”

When Ro could finally strike, Silva finally moved… and threw the shotgun back. He raised his left arm to shield himself just as her knife fell. Natasatch hissed as she saw the blade cutting across his flesh, leaving dripping red lines as she swung and swung. She hissed louder when she felt a crushing and piercing pain on her hand, as Eyepatch wiggled enough to bring her palm into bite range. She couldn’t drop him, not now, even if her friend was in danger, or else she’d just exchange one problem for another.

Malcolm held firm, but distressingly, refused to alter his approach. The young man avoided what he could and gritted his teeth through what he couldn’t, but the crazed strikes made predicting her moves a losing fight. Eventually, Ro slipped up, reaching too far to slice down his breast, and Malcolm wrapped his arm around hers and immobilized her.

Perhaps he could handle himself from there, but Natasatch couldn’t bear inaction anymore. She pulsed her coils hard once, hopefully to finally incapacitate the eyepatch soldier, and released him. At the same time, Malcolm sent his free hand into the girl’s stomach hard, enough that Natasatch saw the heat and blood drain from her face. Ro doubled over, dropping the knife, and when she looked up, she saw a furious alien serpent hissing right in her face. Ro screamed, liquid terror turning her face cold, and she threw herself prone, covering her face and crying.  

The Viper wanted to slash, spit, anything to further neutralize the girl, but a hand on her shoulder interrupted the fury. She spun around, and her human friend gave it another tug. “Nat… it’s over,” Malcolm said, between his panting breaths. She locked eyes with him, and her breathing started to slow as well. “We won,” Malcolm added, hushed, audible only as the chaos died down.

Natasatch tilted her head, eyeing the side of her human friend opposite her. What she saw made her wince. Crimson dripped from a number of horizontal slashes on his left arm, most clustered on his wrist and forearm. She couldn’t judge how deep or how serious Malcolm’s wounds were, but the way every other breath was a sharp inhale told her plenty. “You’re hurt, Mal.”

Malcolm only gave her an apologetic smile. “How bad?” Natasatch asked.

“I’ll live,” He said. “And, uh… ”

Malcolm broke eye contact, shot his eyes downward, and then looked to her again. She saw a flush of heat overtake his cheeks. She definitely called it.

“…where’d your top go?” He asked in a very tiny voice.

She was about to explain how sacrificing her bikini was a tactical necessity, but Natasatch saw movement in the corner of her vision, and whipped her head around. Eyepatch was on his feet again, eyeing the assault rifle Natasatch had torn from his grasp. She immediately dropped back into her combat stance, ready to intercept him, but Malcolm acted first. He waved his blood-soaked hand at the rebel, and said casually, “How about we give peace another shot, pal?”

The final rebel looked at him, then back at the rifle, and then back at Malcolm, and then finally to Natasatch. The Viper, meanwhile, never took her red eyes off him, and she hoped her gaze promised a terrible, terrible future should he make the wrong choice. Fortunately, he released the tension in his legs, lowered his hands, and stepped back. “Fine. You won this round, snake. And maybe, just maybe, it looks like you might not be bullshitting me after all.”

“You are very impolite for an disarmed and outnumbered man.” Natasatch commented, with the same sass exhibited by Malcolm. Eyepatch refused to respond, which suited her just fine. The Viper shot a look down, confirming that Ro hadn’t moved from her spot, when she noticed at least a dozen camera flashes at the top of her visual range. Of course, they weren’t cameras.

Natasatch and Malcolm sighed in tandem, and raised their hands above their heads as the rest of Safari outpost finally arrived.

Well, that was delivered far later than expected, obviously. Can you believe I think I could have a career in writing, with my time management skills? Sure, I got a new job and picked up a new hobby, but really, there’s just one scene that’s stopped me from being able to finish. Eventually, I just decided to… procrastinate on writing it properly some more, and post the battle in its entirety. You’ll know the part I’m talking about when the next chapter is posted. 

Thanks for sticking around, readers both old and new. Every like and comment means a lot to me, and I’m still a little giddy when I see someone like the first chapter, then the second, and then all of them. I’ll try to make myself worth sticking around.

art technically by @goattrain

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

an old commission I finally got done by a friend. And since I’m behind on my writing quota for today…
“So, what did you think?”
Natasatch shrugged, but her mouth had pulled back into a bemused grin, or the closest approximation for the Viper. Despite all the antics her human friend Malcolm had pulled, he always invented some way to befuddle her once more. This time around, it came in the form of some pre-ADVENT humor pulled from an ancient hard-drive.
Printed in small sheets and cut to size, various photos of Earth snakes with nonsensical and often grammatically incorrect captions were passed onto the Viper. Malcolm probably found her superficial serpentine resemblance humorous, but it was beginning to feel patronizing.
Even if she also found it humorous. Humans had an odd relationship with their subordinate species.
Natasatch looked back down at a cartoonish representation of a python, and said, “I imagine that I was your first thought when you encountered these photos, Mal.”
“Yep. Want to know my favorite ones?”
“Okay.”
“The Boop.”
“Boop?”
“Boop the Snoot.”
“What do you mean-?”
The Viper looked up, and she saw Malcolm leveling a finger right between her eyes. He gave an impish smile.
“Malcolm.”
“Natasatch.” It wasn’t a possibility. It was a certainty.
“Please.”
“Boop.”
“No Boop,” she begged.
“Yes boop,” he denied.
“Do Not.”
But it was too late. He reached his arm forward, and booped her right on the snoot. The deed was done. And what is booped, cannot be unbooped.
Overall, the result was rather anticlimactic. The Viper’s snout was only slightly scrunched from the light tap, and her red eyes crossed trying to look at the offending finger. Malcolm grinned like the world’s biggest idiot.
But it was a matter of principle, not physical.
“Gosh HECKING Darnit, Mal!”

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Random screenshots from my current campaign. 

I’m really liking Mal’s new design. Stress and combat experience does wonders for the body.

Nat, I almost didn’t recognize you. That’s you, right?