Permission for cover picture given by the creator, katskataclysms. Check out their tumblr or their youtube (katalyis)!

Also, a slight disclaimer. The first three chapters of this story are (almost) entirely written in first-person perspective. This wasn't a stylistic choice, I simply didn't have experience in any other style at the time. I've since moved to third-person perspective, which I now generally favor. Just thought you should know, in case you're the sort to be turned off by first-person perspective. I do still occasionally use it, when the moment calls for it.

"So, how did it go today, Selly?"

"Don't call me that, Morgan" I sigh and shift around in my chair to look at my sister. Morgan makes a show of sipping her soda through her straw and looking away-an act to maintain her innocence.

"It went really well, actually," I say, blowing an errant lock of white hair out of my face. "I scored two eighty seven."

"Wow, really?" She puts her drink down on the small plastic table between us. Morgan then picks up the cheap plastic chair she was sitting on and scoots it closer to me, further under the shade of the umbrella stand. "What did you use?"

"G36," I boast.

"Wow! That's really good!" Morgan leans over and high-fives me. "I still can't get the hang of rifles. The recoil ruins me."

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually. It didn't take you long to learn how to use a pistol." I take my own soda off the table and take a drink. It's still cold, thankfully-a great relief against the dry heat of Egypt.

...I still can't think of this place as home.

I've lived here longer than any other 'home' I've had, but it just doesn't feel right. I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I still can't come up with a good answer. It's not run down-the buildings in and around the sinkhole are actually pretty nice. Some of them even have air conditioning. It isn't dangerous-a secret facility built into an excavated sinkhole surrounded by tall sandstone cliffs, a hundred miles away from the nearest settlement-is about as safe as you can get nowadays.

And it isn't the atmosphere, either. XCOM has been seeing more and more good news lately. Lily proved that restoring the Avenger is more than just a pipe dream when she activated its power core. Last month saw the first successful operations against ADVENT in months, thanks to Mr. Bradford. And off the wake of that, we even got a pretty large batch of new refugees, some of which are already enrolled in combat training.

For once, things are looking up. People here are...hopeful. Some of them are even happy. So why does it all feel so...incomplete?

"Sis?" Morgan's fingers literally snap me out of my mind's wanderings. "You there?"

"Y-yeah, sorry. Got lost in thought. What were you saying?"

Morgan frowns. "I was asking if you had already talked to Mr. Bradford about...well, you-know-what," she says, staring at her soda can.

"Yeah, I did. About an hour after sharpshooting practice."

Morgan frowns and says nothing. I can't blame her for being quiet-we've already this conversation and know exactly how we each feel about it.

"I'm sure, Morgan," I assure her. "I want to do this. I have to."

"I know," she says quietly. "But it still makes me sad."

"C'mon," I tease her. "Being sad doesn't suit you. You're everyone's favorite little red-head Optimiser Bunny! I won't let you ruin your image."

She pouts. "I can't believe you complain about 'Selly' when you call me that. Where is that dumb name even from?"

I blink. "I don't know, actually. Some mascot thing from before the war, I think."

I remember seeing some ancient, worn poster on the wall of a grocery store in the slums of Moscow, where we lived before Mr. Mohammed showed up and took us all here. It was advertising some, weird, pink bunny-thing that supposedly could 'keep going forever'. I thought it related to my sister pretty well, since Mr. Bradford called her an 'infinite bundle of energy and optimism'.

"I don't call you that in front of anyone, anyways," I defend myself.

"Neither do I..."

Silence takes over for a minute as neither of us can think of anything to say. Morgan sips her soda quietly while I gulp down the last of mine.

"Have you talked to Lily recently?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Morgan immediately perks up at the mention of her friend and role model. "No, why? Did she show you something cool?"

"Uh, no..."

"Aww..." Morgan pouts again.

"But she did say she discovered something incredible and wants to show it to us later," I smirk.

Her face immediately lights up, resuming the cheerful energy that she normally wears. She whoops and pumps her fist into the air. "Aww, yeah! I bet it's that robot I found last week! Do you think she'll let me name it?"

I shrug. "Maybe. I'm surprised she didn't get it working sooner."

Morgan shakes her head. "She has too much to do on the ship. I think she's working too hard." Morgan frowns, downcast again. "I want to help her, but..."

"But you don't have a lot of time yourself," I finish. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Sis. I really don't think you should try to pick up robotics on top of strategy and your...other training." It probably sounds utterly ridiculous that a fifteen-year old girl like Morgan is training to be an intelligence officer. For anyone else, sure, but we've always known that Morgan is...a little different.

For one, Morgan has always had the ability to stay calm in the face of pressure, even when she has to make tough decisions. And she's proven herself to be a prodigy when it comes to problem solving. Mr. Bradford says she gets it from our Dad. Those two things certainly are very unusual for a girl her age, but not completely unheard of.

The real weirdness comes from her inexplicable ability to understand and affect people's moods. Morgan has always been ridiculously good at understanding what people are feeling-even when she really has no right to. This ability saved Mr. Bradford's life when she was able to 'sense' that one of his 'friends in the resistance' was actually planning on shooting him in the back.

On top of that, Morgan spreads her mood to people around her-literally. Last year, the doctors at camp proved that her emotions are quite literally contagious to people near her. Combine that with the fact that she's a nearly inexhaustible little ball of positivity, and I fully believe the doctors were right when they said that she is one of the most important assets XCOM has. It's still unclear if her powers are in the same vein as the alien's 'psionic abilities', though. Whatever that means.

"Yeah...but, I think we should at least do something nice for her," Morgan says. "It gets so stuffy down there."

"How about we bring her a cold soda?" I shake my can at her. "I just finished mine, and it's starting to get pretty hot out here." Even with light, comfortable clothing, sunglasses, and sunscreen, sitting around outside in the middle of the day is not something you want to do around here.

"Alright." We sit up and gather our empty drinks, heading towards the mess hall built overlooking the northern side of the sinkhole. Conveniently, it lies at the top of the ramp of spiraling earth down to the base of the sinkhole, where the incomplete Avenger lies. Even now, I can see some tired workers relaxing inside the building. Other, fresh workers wearing exoskeleton suits carry impossibly heavy crates with ease down the ramp. More sacrifices of metal and wire for the eternally ravenous ship.

I shake my head and groan internally. 'Eternally ravenous'? Those English lessons are wearing off on me, after all.

"Selena?" Morgan's voice interrupts my noisy mind again.

"What's up?"

"When do you think the Avenger will be done?"

I'm almost tempted to snort, but I don't want to darken Morgan's mood again. "I am so not the person to ask that. But, Lily said it's going to take, like, five years, the way things are going now."

"I hope we can find her the help she keeps asking for. I really want to see it fly one day..."

"Me too."

Well, that's the end of that conversation.

We arrive at the building and sigh when we enter, relishing the feeling of air conditioning. The mess hall is quiet and mostly empty at the moment-we got here a few minutes before most people change shifts for their noon jobs. I take Morgan's trash and head over to the bins, while she goes to the serving counter. I toss the cans away into the recycler, which closes with a satisfying cla-chunk. As I walk back, a familiar face waves to me.

"Hey, kid! Over here a second!" A tough-looking woman with short brown hair beckons me over.

"What's up, Sergeant Surge?" Surge is a combat operative. She's tough, and smart, and really cool. Surge isn't her real name though. It's the nickname her squad-Hammer squad-gave her. She says she got the name because of her 'electrifying personality', but I know that the marks on her left arm are, in fact, electrical burns...

She grins. "When did I give you permission to call me that?" she asks jokingly. "Anyway, I saw your performance at the shooting range this morning. That was something else!" She nods to herself. "I'm impressed, kid."

I can't help but flush with pride at being complimented by my role model. "Thanks! You better watch out, though. I'm gonna break your record pretty soon!"

She laughs. "I don't know if I would be embarrassed or proud if I got outscored by a sixteen year old," she muses. "Don't think I'm gonna just give up, though!"

"Wouldn't be any fun if you let me!"

She laughs again and signals me to take a seat at her table, which I do. Surge takes a drink of the beer she was enjoying before looking at me with striking blue eyes.

"I heard what you did after it, too," Surge says, growing serious.

I nod tentatively, unsure of what to say.

"You know what you're getting into, right?"

I hesitate, but nod again with as much confidence as I can manage.

Surge bites her lip and leans back in her chair, rocking on two legs. "Alright. I'm not gonna lecture you. God knows you probably have more motivation to fight than anyone else here. Maybe even the whole world." She leans forward again, putting her chin on her fist and looking off into the distance.

"I've known how to shoot a gun since I was nine," I say quietly. "I can carry fifty pounds for ten miles. I've passed the VR training a dozen times! I know I can handle it." I list off all the things I've worked so hard to accomplish, for the sake of my own confidence as much as for appearing capable to Surge.

"I know, kid," she says, her voice unusually somber. "It just doesn't feel right, having to recruit teenagers to fight a war." She sighs and lifts her head up. Then she rubs her hands together and slaps her hands against the dinner table, drumming the mood out of her.

"Well, looks like your sister's got what she wanted." Surge gestures over to the counter, where Morgan is waving to us, holding a new drink in her free hand. I stand up and scoot my chair in.

"See ya, Surge!" I wave goodbye to her and start to turn towards the exit.

"Hold up. One more thing," Surge says, making me turn back around. I tilt my head questioningly.

She stands up and puts her hands on her hips, smirking at me. "I'll put in a good word for you with Central. I think you've got what it takes, kid, and you can start by smashing my record tomorrow."

I beam at her and salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

I can feel nothing here.

There is nothing to hear. Nothing to see, nothing to smell. I am denied even the feeling of gravity, forced to float weightless in...wherever I am.

No, there is nothing to feel here. All I can do is think.

Think, plot, plan, devise, scheme, strategize... I did all of these things, once.

I used to be able to resist. I felt their intrusions into my consciousness, and sometimes I could even stop them.

There was no greater satisfaction to me than being able to feel their frustration at their lack of progress. They could feel that, of course, which made it all the sweeter.I don't know how long ago that was-time is irrelevant here-but they are the only good experiences I can remember.

Eventually, they grew impatient and became more aggressive. They did something to me-I don't know what it was, but ever since then, I've no longer had free will.

They didn't even have the decency to control me directly. Now, I've got a fucking machine in my head. It does not allow me any agency over what I think. I can think only of whatever it demands of me-and it demanded information. Lots of it.

I can't remember how many times I've had to relive the invasion. I stopped counting after a hundred.

Why did we even bother fighting them? I've seen it from their perspective, now. I know how much strength they had. Our resistance never qualified as a war. It was just a test to them. Our greatest achievements were mild inconveniences to them. I don't know what the point of all this is.

I can't imagine they have anything left to learn from me. Maybe this is all just a form of torture. It very well might be, since I know they won't let me die.

Apparently, they value me enough to not let me die from mental exhaustion. Every so often, they stop the tests and the mental probing. It's the only reason I can even think of any of this now. These are my only chances to think freely. I can't waste them resting...I need to plan my escape. My revenge.

But...

I can't even summon the strength to be angry anymore, let alone to resist them. I'm too tired. If anything, these fleeting moments of consciousness are only making things worse. All I can do is float here-feelings of helplessness and regret passing through me-and wait.

Wait until they take my consciousness again.

Wait for light. Wait for rescue. Wait for death.

Wait for anything at all.