Operation Flying Moon

by FactorialCubes

Summary:

All roads lead to Rome, but all traintracks lead to The Facility - at least, that is what the Order's contact says.

(Writeup of the ADVENT Blacksite Mission, qsmpified)

Notes:

I will get better with writing combat with practice. There are many options for practice in this project. It still feels like plucking hens' teeth to even try. This is probably the most on-plot for xcom2 this fic will ever be lmao. Tagging suggestions appreciated I'm not really sure on this one.

tumblr note: QSMP x XCOM AU, finally some plot! (Though you'll have to wait for the plot in this one to get explained...) (Kinda suprised I got this done. Entirely uneditted as I'm leaving in 10 minutes)

This is still pretty early. Post Pac&Mike, pre-Cellbit. Infact, you may see Cellbit referenced a little... Jaiden, Bad, Foolish, Fit, and Philza explore a Federation Facility they were lead to by mysterious coordinates found tucked into a hidden supply cache...

TW: major character injury, background character death, corpses, violence

(Chapter 1/2, idk when 2 will be done but all the mission is contained here)

Chapter 1

Following coordinates left by a spy of unknown origin is a fool’s errand, but then Foolish has been assigned to the mission. Said gunslinger has taken it upon himself to distract Bad at every opportunity possible, and so Jaiden has stolen his command for now.

She presses on ahead, scouting the paths and signalling for people to follow. The low, forested hills they arrived on give way to a road, and that is where she pauses.

3 fingers - an order to wait.

Fit crouches behind a fence, careful to make sure his grenade launcher is hidden, and squints for what she saw.

“Two guards and a sectoid,” she murmurs, Foolish hops down and into earshot. “Chances are as soon as we hit them, there will be alarms.”

“Can we sneak around?” Fit asks.

He is not against triggering the alarms and making some horrific noise, but they are here to investigate primarily. Tripping the security immediately… It’s a good way for any clues to get blown up.

Fit would know; blowing shit up is usually his job.

“We could try?” Jaiden chews on her lip. “But they seem to be going up and down the road. Can’t see the building yet, if there even is one.”

“We should be fine,” Bad shakes his arms down a little, adjusting his grip. “Take them out fast, don’t let them call for help? A little surprise for them?”

“Up I go, then! Later!” Foolish is already crossing the road to a nearby petrol station, scrambling up to the roof.

They give him a moment to get into place, all analysing the terrain. Standard practice would be to have most of the group line up their shots, then Jaiden to distract the enemies by running straight in. As soon as they duck out of cover to deal with her…

Well Fit’s weapons are messy, but the others are all damned good shots.

Jaiden waits for everyone to confirm they are ready, then leaps out of her hiding spot. The Feds and their pet all turn their attention to her, stepping out of their cover to greet her.

It is their mistake.

One guard is down before it hears the gunfire, the other just as it turns to look. The sectoid tries to bolt, causing Philza’s bullet to only graze its shoulder, only for Jaiden to slice through its throat as it does. 

A shot from Foolish’s rifle puts an end to the other.

Fit checks for more danger, and sees none. Beyond the trees he can see what looks like factory smoke - likely their target. To the left, right, and behind is clear, leaving only onward. He cannot see anything onward, either, but there surely will be soon enough.

“All clear,” he tells them, and starts moving on.

Only to turn and realise everyone has frozen.

“Guys?” he asks.

Bad breaks out of it first, shaking his head, “ah, muffins.”

Fit tilts his head in a question.

“The Assassin,” Bad taps at his head. “Didn’t you hear her?”

Fit shakes his head, “not a thing.”

The others shake off the effect too, frowning at one another.

“Well,” it’s Jaiden who speaks first, stretching her arms and shifting her spine. “If she doesn’t want us here specifically, that means we’re on track, right?”

“Right,” Philza nods. “And she’s still a bit off, yet; Niki mentioned good scrubland for landing around the back, just too close to be subtle on entry, so it’s probably where she arrived too.”

“Did you train in the Wastelands to not get this bullshit or something?” Foolish asks. “Because, damn, not hearing her would be good.”

Fit looks at Philza.

Philza looks back.

“Something like that,” Fit says, carefully thinking around the real answer, just in case something is listening into his brain. “Takes too long to teach anyone, though.”

“Guys, let’s just get on with this,” Jaiden stretches. “She’s here now; we deal with her if she gets close. Just like always, right?”

“Yup!” Bad has Ghostie shift modes, his robot now joining Philza’s Crow in keeping watch. “Let’s not give them time to sort their muffins into line.”

The rest agree, falling into formation, and Fit still is not entirely sure what they heard, but… 

Well, if the specifics were important, Philza would have said. The bitch was probably just taunting them or something. You'd think someone called The Assassin would know how to be quiet, but apparently not the case.

---

Beyond the treeline is a railway track, and at the end of the track is a building made of concrete and steel. The emblem of the Federation sits proudly on the front, clearly marking out their target. Unlike city facilities it has no main front door, only two small side ones.

And outside of it are crates upon crates, scattered and stacked up. Every crate has a metal frame, but some sort of clear plastic reveals the green glow inside. On the sidings of the railway tracks is a flatbed cargo carriage, also stacked up with them, but those ones have a tarp pulled over to hide the worst of the glow.

And inside each and every crate, there is a perfectly intact human form.

“The fudge,” Fit breathes out.

He is not the only one, the group quiet and faces grim.

Hesitantly, Philza approaches the closest of the exposed crates. He kneels besides them, his Crow sat atop and looking down. He frowns as he looks first at his bird, and then at the screen giving him readouts from it.

And then he is still, very still, just quietly breathing and eyes skimming text as his Crow hops between the stacks of crates, taking readings both for records and Philza’s consumption.

Breathe in, breathe out; Philza is rarely so quiet.

It is… concerning.

Fit kneels beside him, listening to the others shuffle and looking at his old friend.

“Phil?” he asks.

“Dead,” Philza doesn’t even look up from the screen on his glove. “All of them are dead.”

Fit stands again, looking over the crates. If this many are stacked outside… No, don't think about numbers, there's shit all they can do anyway.

“And the goo?” he asks, instead.

Philza shakes his head, and Foolish shrugs. Now he looks properly, Fit can see that they both also look a little shaken.

“We’re too late,” Jaiden replies. “All these people…”

“We’d need to run samples, but I think… I think we found the missing civilians.”

“Fudge, Max!” Bad turns sharply to Foolish.

“Max…?” Foolish replies. “Oh, fuuuuuck. Fuck, okay, we’ll just… You break it gently to him, alright?”

“Do you think we could…?” Jaiden starts, before shaking her head. “There’s too many of them.. I…”

“Take a moment,” Fit advises, knowing that, of the five of them, only he and Philza have much experience with the sort of tortures that the Federation call ‘science’. “We can’t help these people, but we can stop the fuckers taking anyone else. Breathe through it, and get fucking angry.”

Jaiden curls in on herself, while what little of Bad’s face can be seen is grim. Foolish is the one who takes the advice to heart, kicking at one of the low walls. Fit and Philza keep watch; everyone has known civilians dying before, hell the sanctuaries have been attacked often enough. But that is in fire and blood and anger, while these…

These crates, the putting of every corpse into it’s own storage container of goo, nearly piled outside a facility presumably for some sort of processing…

Well, it takes a few minutes, the first time. Emotions should be processed later, but you gotta get them into the boxes somehow.

But they do not have minutes, only seconds, because more trouble will arrive soon enough

Philza is the one to break the quiet, taking a deep breath and looking inwards to the group once again. “We need to-”

Whatever he was about to say, he cuts himself off as he drops to his knees. Above him, right where his neck had been, a long sword swipes through the air. As it does, an arm - a torso, a head - flicker into vision.

Purple skinned, hair pulled back, armour in red and black, two swords - Assassin.

“Good reflexes,” she twitches her head as she speaks, lips pulled in a mockery of - or maybe attempt at - a smile. "I had hoped your kind would never stumble across this facility, you know? Some things are best left unknown. But, now you have seen it… I cannot permit you to leave. Prepare yourselves."

As if.

Philza glances over, and Fit catches his eye. It’s a little dark but, while the Assassin talks about how wonderful it will be to kill them all, he nods.

Fit adjusts his gun.

Philza pulls a knife from his toolbelt.

It isn’t a combat knife, not really, but it still cuts flesh well as Philza sinks it into the Assassin’s ankle. He darts back, and Fit knows how this goes.

He opens fire.

The Assassin cuts off her words at the storm of bullets, a nasty hit to the shoulder as she jumps over the fence and into cover. Jaiden follows, cursing out her opponent with knife in hand.

Mud is kicked up and into Jaiden’s eyes, blinding her - and the following Foolish - just long enough for the Assassin to pull out her cloaking device.

Fit cannot fire, not with his allies so close, but Bad can. A shot from the rifle lands squarely in the Assassin’s back right as she fades from view.

“FUCK!” Jaiden yells. “Shit! Where is she?!”

The answering laughter echoes around.

“Is she gone?” Foolish asks. “Wait, no, she’s not gone. Stay close.”

Even though he knows that he will never see her coming, Fit still keeps glancing from side to side. His skin crawls with eyes on his back, the very familiar sensation of being hunted down his spine. Philza looks just as edgy, eyes a little wild as he presses against Fit’s good side.

The five form a circle, all looking out, guns ready for trouble when it comes.

And they wait.

And they wait.

And they wait, until Bad sighs and shifts his gun a little.

“She isn’t coming,” he says. “She’s waiting for us to be distracted.”

“Do we wait for her to get bored? Or press on?” Jaiden is equally as shifty, eyes narrowed as she looks around.

“She doesn’t get bored,” Philza’s voice is a little distant. “If we wait, they’ll just bring more of the fuckers in.”

And that’s damned the problem, isn’t it?

All five pairs of eyes turn to the door, and then at everybody else. They need to enter, they know they need to, but with the Assassin in play… It’s a fucking death trap.

But so is waiting.

Fit looks at his companions again.

He is about to offer, when Jaiden nods, and squares her shoulders.

“I’ll go,” she says, already pulling out her sword. “I'm the scout here, aren't I? Foolish?”

Foolish cocks a pistol, giving her a sharp-toothed grin, “always.”

The two of them enter, side by side. Fit positions himself behind them, ready for them to slip to either side of the door and allow him to fire on whatever is within. Foolish does, firing a few rounds from his pistol. Jaiden… sort of does, jumping over some scattered technology and charging an enemy out of sight.

Fit, however, cannot see whatever problem they have seen; he makes sure that Philza is keeping an eye out for threats from the outside, and also presses on in.

First assessment - threats. Three MECs, standing in some sort of algae-coloured water. Four Federation Guards to the right, one senior two with stun batons. Two sectoids and another guard to the left, Jaiden already there with sword in one hand, rifle in the other, and sparring all three at once.

Second assessment - location. Copper and brass looking technology, glowing in sickly green. There are walkways around the edge of a pool of tainted water, and the back wall consists of hundreds upon hundreds of giant tubes. Each is filled with glowing green. Between them they can see another room, perhaps some sort of lab, seemingly accessed from the hidden ends of the walkways.

Each contains a human corpse, this time in various states of... not decay, but partially dissolved.

Third assessment - next action. Even if Jaiden somehow cannot manage two sectoids and a guard, an automatic fire submachine gun is not going to help her there. The other guards are A Problem, but MECs? MECs are his specialty.

The best cover he is getting is the sheet metal serving as a banister for the walkway - MECs don’t care, not with small-scale rocket launchers, and those Guards are busy coming closer anyway. He hefts the gun onto the railing - he can support it himself, especially with the prosthetic, but he likes having knees - and lets loose.

Somewhere behind him, the door closes. Bad’s Ghostie drifts over, stunning the MEC not caught in the hail of bullets, while Fit hears the very familiar sound of a grenade exploding somewhere near the group of four guards. He does not have the luxury of protecting his own back, but they will all have to do.

“Do not touch the liquid!” Bad calls the group as Ghostie swoops back to him. “It eats flesh!”

Jaiden seems to take that warning as inspiration, because right after she yells “got it!”, one of the sectoids is flipped over the railing, and sent screaming into it.

It’s not an acid, any acid working that fast would surely damage at least the paintwork on the MECs, but it’s fucking grim. Something enzyme based? Fit’s seen some people try that sort of shit in the Wasteland, but never get it to work.

Might be, might not be; that’s not really Fit’s job.

He knows that some of the Order - Maxo, mostly, though Missa has been convinced to carry them too - do fancy shit with bluescreen bullets and EMP grenades. Fit, though? Fit likes to do this the old fashioned way. Just filling the fuckers full of lead.

Highly specialised, sharpened lead, designed to tear through metal with even more ease than flesh, but lead nonetheless.

He takes one down, dives under cover to avoid the small rockets another fires at him, and takes a smattering of shrapnel to the arm. He wears proper armour unlike some people he could mention, and it’s far enough away that it does not cut all the way through, but it certainly leaves scorch marks across the fabric.

It is nothing that accounts for how, as he stands, Philza screams, “Fit! Look out!”

Fit turns, and sees nothing; both MECs are reloading, the sectoids are dead and the guards are engaged. Maybe a late call about the rockets, but-

A cold chill runs down his spine.

“Your training fails you,” a voice whispers in his ear. He turns, catching the eyes of the Assassin as her cloaking device flickers off. He grabs at her, twisting himself away.

Cold, hard steel punctures through his armour.

He does not look. Fit does not look, but he can feel how her sword enters his back just below his ribs, curving up and escaping just after the next one.

One, two, three.

Waiting for the pain to kick in, Fit takes careful breaths around the blade. He’s survived worse. He’s survived worse. They’ve fought her off before. There are potions and medics right there. Don’t panic, do not panic, panic and you die.

And then the rips out the blade.

The agony hits, and Fit drops to his knees, pressing his hands to the wounds and gasping for air.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

“Take comfort,” she whispers to him, wiping his blood from her blade as she prepares to stab again, “for there is dignity in death to a superior opponent.”

Fit closes his eyes.

A clash of steel.

From the floor he struggles them open again. 

Foolish is between him and the Assassin, her blades caught on his pistols. Jaiden, sprinting over, slashes down her back and the fight moves away.

“Phil!” Foolish yells. “And you, bitch, get away from him!”

With his assailant distracted and a bleeding tear through his chest, Fit pushes himself backwards, behind a counter. Worse place to fire from, but better cover. He runs on instinct, blood pooling inside him and leaving a trail across the floor. Hide, heal, get safe - he’s had worse, he’s had fucking worse, just fucking breathe.

(Or don’t because, shit, he has no idea how to tell if she caught his lung).

Moments later, Crow stumbles a landing beside him. He can see the splash potion already prepared, the pink liquid in the throat of the robotic bird.

He lifts a hand, letting it apply it to the front, before shifting just enough to apply it to the back. Almost immediately the numbing component takes effect; now the burning is gone, he collapses once again. He can hear Foolish swearing as he fights, Bad answering just as instinctively, the clang of sword-on-sword, and the steady fire of either Bad or Philza’s rifle as the other enemies are kept at bay.

It’s Bad’s; as the weapon is still firing, Philza slides around the counter, medical bag already open and hanging off his shoulder.

“Fit?” he asks.

Fit gives him a somewhat listless thumbs up, “right here, Phil. Potion got the bleeding, just waiting for the painkillers, you know?”

“Right,” some of the tension in Philza’s shoulders drops as he examines the wound. He grimaces, but grabs some dressings and starts peeling off the backs. “Don’t have time to stitch this, with all this crap going on. Think you can manage until we get the fuck out of here?”

“You know me, Phil,” Fit hears the sounds of the fighting slowing down, the MECs no longer firing. “I’ve survived worse with less.”

He probably deserves the way Philza jabs his thumbs into old, tender scars as he tugs the skin together, and applies the dressings. The potion will deal with the blood, at least until the nanites run out of power. Then it’s just… Just keeping the wound sealed enough to breathe.

“Keep weight off it when you can,” Philza tells him, adding tape despite the dressings having adhesive. “As soon as we get to evac, you’re lying down and letting me look at this shit.”

There isn’t really time to agree. Fit is certain Philza was about to tell him to let someone else carry his heavier kit, only to be interrupted by Bad screeching in pain.

Philza is cursing and running before Fit has a chance to process the ungodly sound.

Still, needs must. Despite his wound, despite the painkillers not yet quite being fully working, despite the nanites still spreading into the bloodstream and stabalising the wound, allowing him to breathe, Fit pulls himself to his feet. Feeling a little weak he hoists his gun onto the counter.

It’s awkward to work like this, but he can; he directs his attention to the last of the sectoids, and lets loose a hail of bullets.

It falls, and Fit takes a moment to process.

Jaiden is adjusting one of her vambraces, while Foolish reloads his pistols. Bad looks a little dizzy, but waves off Philza’s hands and drinks one of his own potions rather than apply it to whatever wound he has. Crow rests on some of the rails separating the walkways from the liquid, and Ghostie floats in its place.

The MEC wrecks in the liquid stand untouched, but the Fed whose corpse fell into it is slowly dissolving away.

“We good?” Foolish asks the group. “We forced a respawn, so she shouldn’t be back anytime soon.”

“I’m good to go on,” Fit replies, stretching the shoulder of his uninjured side. The others confirm, some more hesitant than the rest.

Whatever they are looking for, well… The missing civilians were some of it, and fuck this - fuck all of this - but the rest… Whatever their contact sent them to get? It’s in the back, isn’t it?

“Fit, you got explosives?” Bad asks.

“Do I have explosives,” Fit deadpans back. “What do you take me for, Bad, a reasonably human being? Of course I have fucging explosives.”

The slip gets him a look, but Bad must be feeling shitty as he allows it to pass, “we wanna meet up with Niki, right? Can you make a door in the back wall while we check that room out?”

A door?

“You won’t be able to close it,” he warns.

“Oh that’s fine,” Bad smiles a bit. “We don’t need to leave this place intact.”

“Just tell me where you want it, then.”

“Hm… Back wall, to the right? I saw an internal door there you can duck around once it’s set!”

“Perfect,” Fit ignores Philza’s glare, and hoists his gun back over his shoulder. “You four headed to that lab looking room?”

“Yup,” Foolish pops the p as he speaks. “See you in five!”

Fit waves his acknowledgement, waiting for the four of them to start heading over. Once they’re close enough to the back for any aliens in the last room to jump them and not him, Fit starts the other way around the walkway.

Alone, now, he can see how the liquid is not just dissolving the corpse, but is glowing as it does so. Bubbles he sort of expected, but glowing is fucking weird; even if they have to take samples of this shit, he isn’t touching it. Tubbo with glowing flesh dissolvant? Could probably make it work, but half of the field agents can’t be trusted to handle grenades, let alone that stuff.

Examining the wall Bad asked for a hole making in, Fit finds a couple of weak points. The area around the window is surprisingly well reinforced, especially given that the section next to it is cracked. Outside, a short, muddy cliff where the facility was cut into a slope, leading up to some shrubland beyond.

The facility is not exactly hidden, but why do the Feds need to hide the damn thing, when they already rule the world?

Despite the cracked section and the reinforcement, Fit still elects to lay the explosives around the window; upon examining the cracks, damaging that bit of wall further would just bring the roof down on them. If his maths is right - and Fit’s explosives maths is always right - he should be able to blow out the window and the section of wall below it, while keeping the top of the frame in place. It would be easier to just blow it out from the window but, again, the structural integrity of a shitty concrete job.

Given everything going on in this facility he’s a bit surprised the walls are this bad, but perhaps the Federation enjoys cutting corners more than they enjoy their horrific science experiments going to plan.

Just through the wall beside him, Fit can hear the intense debate of the others. The wall muffles it a little too much to hear specifics, but it means they’ll be done soon.

It’s for the best; Fit really, really does not want to be stuck on the helicopter still when the painkillers wear out.

Careful of his wound, he sets the charges. He checks and double checks, before heading over to the room with the others. Enters, latches the door behind him, and moves away from it.

“Charges set,” he informs the group, already taking in the room.

It is a lab, yes, though of copper and brass looking faintly sickly in the glowing green light. Large vials of softly glowing liquid line the walls, feeding into some sort of device. The device runs through the walls and the floor, and up into a plinth in the centre.

On that plinth, being fed into by the processor, is a glass cylinder, barely larger than a syringe, filled with something viscous.

“Just a minute,” Foolish replies to Fit. “They’re arguing about if we grab whatever they’re extracting from the stuff outside or not.”

“The people,” Jaiden elaborates. “What they’re taking from the people.”

“We have to,” Bad is the one looking closest at it. “I don’t have anything to analyse it here, and it has to be important, right?“

“It looks like nitroglycerine,” Philza is frowning. “I’m not sure it’s safe to touch that.”

Safety’s a bit laughable with the amount of blood covering everyone, but Fit understands the point.

Still, they gotta do what they gotta do.

Foolish seems in agreement with that sentiment; he ignores the continuing debate to simply walk over and grab the vial.

An entirely new set of alarms goes off, causing mildly irritated groans to pass around the group; it’s just loud.

Anything the others say with it going on, Fit doesn’t hear; years of working with explosives will do that, even if you have the sort of protection Fit has only recently learnt exists.

“Alright,” Fit waves for attention from the din. “Away from the door. I don’t think it’ll blow through, but this place is crap. I’ve seen lean-tos more stable than this.”

In the Wasteland, sure, but that still means they were put up in ten minutes and not meant to last longer than a night.

There is not a lot of cover in this room, but they make do; Foolish and Philza, the least injured of the five, tuck themselves into the corners, using the wall itself as a shield. Fit, Jaiden, and Bad? They just about manage to be entirely covered by the machinery feeding into the glass. It’s not much better than the wall, but it’s made of metal and not shit concrete.

Fit gives a count of three for them to cover their ears, and hits the detonator.

The door does not blow in, and the walls do hold, but even with all his calculations the ceiling does crack. It doesn’t fall, though, so he considers it a win. They let the dust settle, then scramble back up.

“You three get out first, we’ll cover you,” comes Philza’s order.

With even more alarms and reinforcements surely on the way, there is no point in arguing or quibbling over who is incharge; Foolish passes Bad the vial, and the trio run.

Well, no, Fit cannot run - while the painkillers are working, the numbing effect has worn off. It hurts again, now, and he can feel where movement tugs at the dressings. Bad sees him stumble and offers an arm, helping him on while Jaiden runs ahead to lay the flares and call Niki back down.

They do not talk, busy with the necessity of movement. Behind them, Fit hears Philza swearing. Bad calls back a ‘language’, and Fit only hopes that Philza has the time to flip him off in return.

It takes forever and no time at all for Niki to appear and drop the ladder. Jaiden does not immediately scramble up, instead waiting for the two of them, picking off any aliens which escape Philza and Foolish’s aims.

Fit lets go of Bad, letting him climb up first. It takes a minute and some deep breathing to prepare himself, but Fit can find it in himself to follow.

He can almost feel the wound tear as he does.

At the top, Bad grabs his arm, hoisting him into the helicopter proper. Fit does not even bother getting to a chair, merely rolling out of the way of the hatch and cussing up a storm.

Bad does not scold him, and that’s a grim thought.

“Sorry,” he still says, when the man approaches. “Stings like a, um, muffin.”

“We’ll handle that later,” Bad sounds chipper, but he frowns as he checks on the dressings and sees blood. Two black hands, nails too long for gloves, press down on it.

Fit grunts, and leans back, watching as Jaiden swings herself in. She strips off her armour, grabbing one of the helicopter’s medical kits to bandage herself up. She looks exhausted; Fit feels it too.

It’s not long after that that Philza and Foolish appear. Fit offers them a wave, as Foolish pulls up the ladder and Philza comes over.

“How is it?” Philza asks.

“The dressings are bloody,” Fit replies. “Still had worse.”

“Well, fuck,” Philza takes over from Bad, who excuses himself to go sit with Foolish. “Pain levels?”

“I’ll live.”

“Fit.”

“What do you want me to day?” Fit asks. “It’s better than that time I got stabbed through the gut? Worse than having my arm blown up, but that just means I've got nerves. Better than having the remains amputated - what sort of comparison do you want?”

It is not exactly reassuring words for either of them. They make eye contact, and Philza is the one to turn away first.

“Alright, fuck, I think we have soluble stitches in one of these. Should hold until we get back and someone can fix you up proper,” Philza roots around in his bag, pulling out a couple of packets. “Wouldn’t recommend being conscious, though.”

Being unconscious while injured and on the transport? No fucking way. Philza knows his opinions on that sort of crap, too.

“Phil."

“I know, I know, I just have to fucking say it,” he opens one of the packets, rips off the top layer of dressing, and presses something gooey into the wound. “Try not to bleed out.”

“Trying my fucking best.”

Phil gives him a thin smile. That’s the last of the helicopter ride that Fit actually remembers, except for the fact he did make it back to the Avenger conscious, if delirious.

Notes:

this feels rushed but is also far too many words. Part 2 will happen when part 2 happens, the tldr its Fit after the fact getting a quick summary of what exactly they found. And also yk being stitched up and stuff.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Tubbo is not a character I have written before, I hope I did him okay. Pierre is also purely doing formal talk for a report, so it's not his normal speaking voice.

A few days later, and Fit is still in pain, and still in the infirmary. He is, however, conscious. Bad and Jaiden had been released once the Doctor was reasonably sure that there would be no infection, though still had to check in from time to time. For the most part Philza had been coming by to keep him entertained and up to date on ship gossip, what with Pac, Mike, and Tubbo all roped in to assist Aypierre on researching their takings. Philza had mentioned a few little bits - human DNA was definitely there - but neither of them have much of a head for science.

But, Philza is out again, with Foolish and the new French liason and a couple of the other demos guys. Vegetta, probably, maybe Max. Something about stealing supplies from the Feds. Which, Fit is all for stealing from the Feds, but with his other friends tied up in research and meetings, there isn't a whole lot to do.

Bagi did stop by with cupcakes and a soduku book earlier. The cupcakes were wonderful, but the fact he has done any of the puzzles in it is desperation more than anything. He'll probably pass it on to Max later.

He is getting extremely frustrated with one of them, when Tubbo meanders into the infirmary. Fit gives him a wave, and the engineer bounds over.

"Yo Fit!" he calls. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, pretty good," the reply is on instinct, and maybe not too believable. "How're you holding up?"

Tubbo looks suspicious of the reply, but hops up onto the foot of the bed, sitting criss-cross and settling in to chat, "yeah, no, I'm good! Pierre kicked us out the lab when he found out Mike hadn't slept in four days."

Looking at Tubbo, it seems Mike wasn't the only one. Still, Fit knows what it's like when he gets entangled in a project. "You eaten anything?"

"Just come from the kitchen. Pac and Mike say hi, but Felps stole them," Tubbo shifts as he talks, and Fit follows him. "Good news, bad news, or gossip first?"

"Gossip," Fit doesn't even need to think. "Please, Tubbo, Phil's so bad at gossip; what's going on?"

Tubbo grins, "you know Tina?"

Fit has to think for a moment; the name is familiar, but he works with a lot of people these days, "the assassin with the sniper rifle? Did some work down in Mexico with her a few months back."

"Yeah, her!" Tubbo grins. "She and Bagi have a thing going on."

"A thing?"

"You know, a thing," he gestures, clearly looking for a word. "Tina mentioned she likes cupcakes, now there's no eggs because Bagi is trying to make a perfect on to give her. And you know when they were sent off to get some info from Bagi's folks? One of the other Reapers caught them making out."

"No shit did someone catch them making out."

"Yes shit, look!" Tubbo grabs his tablet, the one absolutely only supposed to be used for work purposes, and hits a few things. He then turns it, showing the screen to Fit.

Sure enough, it's a photo of the two women making out. Seems the gossip was good this time.

"Bagi will kill you if she finds out you have that," is what Fit says.

"She's not going to find out," Tubbo grins.

Bagi is absolutely going to find out, she is just like that. Still, maybe she will just want a copy for herself.

"Unfortunately, that's the end of Tubbo's gossip roundup!" Tubbo gets something else up on the tablet. "Good news, then! We finished analysing the goo. Bad news, everything in the goo."

Given where and how they found it, Fit is not entirely surprised; of course the goo is bad news, having been taken from a hidden Federation research facility full of human corpses.

Fit does not want to know, but he has to. "Go on," he asks of Tubbo.

"Right. So," Tubbo glances down. When he looks back up he speaks quickly; Fit can see distress in his eyes as he tries to explain it as fast as possible. "You can see Pierre's report in a bit, but... It's kinda fucked up. Basically... Super condensed human soup. Comparing it with Phil's photos? Seems they were kinda... stewing people. In acid. Then you know that thing where you boil a sauce until it becomes sticky? Imagine that but on a massive scale and on human soup. It's kinda... human stockpots. Mostly DNA, but a lot of the chemical components are still there, just rendered inert."

In the horror of the words, Fit can barely process the information. Human stew? Human stockpots? What the fuck do the Feds want with human stock cubes. Do they eat people or some shit? Probably some of them, but that does not seem clinical enough for the Feds.

He resorts, as one does, to a distraction. The one bit about this he can pick up on, "you know about reducing sauces?"

"Reducing! That was the word!" Tubbo takes the moment to breathe, or at least let the conversation be easier. "You remember when Maxo found that ruined library? In the audiobooks section they had some cooking stuff he brought back for me, I think as half a joke. But we don't get a lot of working audiobooks, I've been listening to the technical sections on night shifts. It's kinda interesting? Mostly I just try not to fall asleep."

"Nice," Fit grins at him. "You going to be cooking something for us soon, then?"

"It's a secret," Tubbo gives a bit of a smile. "That is not gossip for you, no sir, you'll have to wait and see. And right, yeah, sorry, I'm supposed to give you a copy of the actual report. If you want help with the technical whatsits, I'll be right here."

Tubbo scrambles in his bag for a printout. Fit frowns, and takes it, and know he is supposed to read the damned thing.

"Do I have to?" he still asks.

Tubbo shrugs, "I only have to give it to you, dude. But you missed debrief, so Bad might put lizards in your bed if you don't."

"I don't even have my own bed; that idiot uses it before me."

Despite the grouching, Fit does take it, and does begin to read.

Codename: Chrysopoeia

This report contains the analysis on the vial taken from the Federation Blacksite, which we were first made aware of via encoded message. This message was hidden within one of our supply drops, and is believed to have been added by a sympathetic party within the Federation. I believe that the Commander may have suspicions as to the identity of the informant, though he has refrained from sharing this information.

Whilst research concerning the brain chips and Code monsters has at times been fascinating, I cannot describe this matter as anything but sickening; upon analysis of the substance contained within the vial, it is apparent that the facility was designed solely for the refinement and production of concentrated human matter. Largely this is genetic material, though other components of a human body were also contained within. A reduction of humanity into a gelatinous substance.

Some alien DNA was detected within the sample, though this was a very small amount. Upon reviewing footage from the cameras carried by DEMON and ANGEL, I believe this to be contamination from BLUEBIRD using the dissolving fluid to dispose of a sectoid. There was less matter than there was of each individual person, so I suspect processing had still been ongoing at the time the vial was retrieved.

With permission from the CHIEF ENGINEER, and assistance from TAZER and CRAFT, we were able to reroute the central computer systems such as to assist in the information processing without comprising ship performance.

Upon completing this analysis, we could identify 3,419 separate individuals within this specific sample, plus some damaged DNA strands that were impossible to place. Upon comparison to the General Resistance Missing Persons Database, around 5% match a known missing person. As we only have DNA samples for members of specific resistance groups, and a majority of missing persons are civilians from Federation Controlled Cities, it is fair to assume that a majority of the sample comprises of those who have gone missing after visits to gene-therapy clinics. There may be common factors within the civilian DNA, but this would require a more complex analysis than our computer systems can handle.

Consultation on how to dispose of the gelatinous human remains is ongoing between the Leaders of affected Resistance Groups, as the remains of specific persons cannot be extracted from the whole. There is no way to tell if the persons were killed immediately, or tortured first, or if the method of death was painful. I suspect it will have depended on how the Federation obtained the person involved.

~A.PR, HEAD OF RESEARCH

"Well. Fuck."

Fit does not bother to read more than the summary, simply flicking through the remaining pages. Most of it comprises of a long list of names, their DNA sequence below, follows by a printout of those sequences remaining unidentified. It is... A lot. Too much. Far too much. There are also details of the processing and the analysis, the methodology of the researchers. Fit knows he will not understand a word of that, but he accepts that perhaps he was not supposed to.

He hands the printout back to Tubbo, who tucks it away in his bag.

"Yeah. Fuck," Tubbo's voice is grim, and so is his face, running a hand through his hair as he scowls. "And they've probably got multiple processing plants, so we haven't even put a stop to this!"

"We've slowed it down," Fit tries to think in positives, and reaches for the straws, his mind still struggling to place all of this. Even with the evidence before him, even knowing the evils of the Federation... What the fuck does this even mean. What are the assholes doing. What possible use is there for human jelly? "And... We know what we're looking for now. We find more of these places, we blow them the fuck up. Gene clinics, too. Recruitment centres, but we were already working on that. You and the other clever fucks work out what they're doing, and I'll keep blowing things up."

"Doc doesn't want you carrying your gun for at least another month."

"I can fit the X4 and a detonator in my coat. Better if it's in a civilian area, too."

Tubbo's smile is back, but a bit weak, "I can probably make you something better than the X4. It's easy to make, but a bit shit."

Fit laughs, "oh it's real shit, you should see the stuff I used to work with."

"You got a recipe?"

"Do I have a recipe? Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo, of course I have a recipe. The real question is do we have the ingredients, and how soon can we convince the good doctor to let me show you."

As he said. Leave working this stuff out to the likes of their brains, and leave Fit to the necessity of violence.

Notes:

Ew endings.

Tubbo is trying to secretly learn to cook to make day we met anniversary dinner.

Aypierre's report is adapted from what you get on completing the research in xcom2. the original form I've pasted below for your interest. The numbers in mine seem far too big for sense, but please. The original. When I say this is sci-fi text...

Codename: Chrysopoeia

My initial curiosity and excitement regarding our earlier discoveries involving the recovered alien data have been all but extinguished by the disturbing results of my latest tests. Having analyzed the composition of the green-hued substance retrieved from the ADVENT Blacksite, I can only draw one conclusion - that the facility was designed solely for the refinement and production of concentrated genetic material - human genetic material.

With the entirety of our ship's systems dedicated to my analysis, I found that the single vial we recovered contains the unique human genomes of over one million subjects. One million people, convinced to join the ADVENT cities out of desperation, then subjected to appalling experiments that eventually cost them their lives. To what end, I can only imagine. R. Tygan.

Notes:

thank you for reading! feel free to say hi in the notes I adore talking about these fics with people

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 12 of Factorial's QSMP X XCOM AU