Snikers

So...no time skip then? Should we go ahead and write some new stuff?

As in, a time skip? I don't know...those always feel rather artificial to me. We could switch focus of the fanfic to technological and character developments for a bit (remember way back when, before Jan 1 1999 fic-time, when we wrote about our characters' interactions instead of blowing up aliens? Nah, me neither) and speed up time, while relegating missions to something that happens mostly off camera. If the aliens lighten up a bit and we're just sent on UFO recovery missions, it's not impossible that we'd be coming home from a few missions without a boatload of deaths. After all, we know what we're going into now, so it's only natural a team of bright, adaptable, highly trained (most of us, anyway) best of the best soldiers would start making mincemeat of the smaller ships. That is, until we get a terror mission reporting horrible snake creatures... Or, in the short form: we don't need to skip time, we can just relegate the missions to background.

No, I mean the characters are in DC to discuss the whole mess with the diplomats, UFO, and shooting, correct?

So we're here to discuss the whole diplomat/aliens/DC Ufo catastrophe, right?

Well wait, it's been too long...who's John again? And is Paul there with him, or was that a typo? And this Mac and Val - they're new characters, right? Beuracrat types? I shouldn't be ashamed I don't know who they are?

Well, it looks to me like the mission's over. A definitive victory for X-COM! The scientists should be marvelling at the new aliens when we get back to base. Jennings needs to go back to Med Bay, and Ghost, Ki-Tat and Warlord should be staying there too for observation if nothing else. The scientists will have to be perfecting the laser design (or maybe this'll be something they just can't fix. Might keep us with an eclectic mix of weapons until we get a steady supply of plasma).

Wowee, that sounds interesting! You know what would be almost as interesting? Some more fiction writing! Vet, when I say this to you, the world is surely near its end.

Must be a hell of a party...

Thanks. I had an idea where Night Stalker could be a recurring joke in the fanfic - he doesn't exist, but he keeps appearing in hallucinations/daydreams/et cetera of different characters. Is there a reason to why he would be in everyone's head? No, but it might be funny. I'm surprised Vet hasn't say anything yet...

Did someone say MONSTROUSLY HUGE AND ATMOSPHERICALLY INAPROPRRIATE STORY POSTS? Becuase I think someone did.

Jennings carefully picked up his flamethrower and crept out into the road. His nerous eyes peered up and down, but saw nothing. Slowly, he took a few more steps forward. He heard a growl. Spinning, he was shocked by the sight of the lumbering behemoth earlier - still alive. It was smoking, charred and burnt, but as he watched it grinned a horrible grin and leapt at him. There was no time to dodge. Jennings screamed and fell backward, expecting its titanic black teeth to rip into his throat. But the pain never came, and when Jennings opened his eyes he saw the alien's face inches from his. It contained a feature he didn't remember, however; that of a shining steel blade portruding from its forhead. The blade slid upward, splitting the alien's skull in two. It slumped forward onto Jennings's legs, pinning him to the ground. Jennings bent back his head and saw the bearer of the sword; an incredibly attractive Japanese man, dressed in black attire. A rifle was slung over his shoulder and a modified Desert Eagle hung from his hip, as well as a plethora of other battlefield equipment. Suddenly, there was a bizarre alien battle cry, and the edges of Jennings's vision was alive with movement. More of the armed, floatiing aliens - "Floaters" would be good enough a name, he supposed, leave the creativity to the scientists - appeared from outside the soldier's field of vision and soared about the sky. They were all armed with rifles but for one with the huge off-white plasma weapon, and Jennings lifted his flamethrower. It was immediately clamped back down by the foot of the mysterious newcomer. "Don't worry," said the Japanese man in a melodious voice. "These are mine." The one with the off-white cannon - something Jennings had heard could punch through a car, through he wasn't sure that was true - levelled its weapon first, and a rush of fear hit Jennings' system before he saw the Japanese man leap. It was like nothing Jennings had ever seen - from a standstill, the man soared metres into the air as if supported by wires. His body was carried majestically to the floater where he delivered what looked like a simple open-palm strike to the side of the Floater's neck. The blow sent the floater soaring sideways, though it kept its grip on the white cannon. The man continued his glide until he came into contact with another floater - "collision" would not be an appropriate word, for there was nothing but grace in his movement. One foot landed on the floater's base sphere, and suddenly the sword was in the man's hand - it had been drawn too quickly for Jennings to see. The man backflipped off the floater, but as he did, there was a flash of light as it reflected off the sword and a spray of blood into the air. The floater looked normal for a second, before it fell to the earth - in two biscected pieces. As the man spun through the air, the rifle - Jennings could see now that it was an AK-47 - was retrieved from his back. Even before he hit the ground it was firing, and lines of blood were being drawn up the bodies of two floaters. Both ended with shots punching through their skulls, leaving a trail of blood behind as a sort of makeshift tracer. The gun did not fire actual tracer rounds, however - Jennings could see that the man didn't need them. By the time he had hit the ground, another floater had been felled to the rifle, which seemed to barely show recoil at all. As soon as his feet touched earth, the man threw the rifle into the air. He drew the modified Desert Eagle and started to fire. Even a single shot was able to blow the aliens' organs out of their backs, and one to the head was sufficient to reduce said extremity to a mist. The floater with the cannon still existed, Jennings assumed, only because he had not yet returned as a threat; only now was it regaining control of its movement. It was only at this point that the aliens, so reduced by their inferior training, had time to fire. One that had avoided being shot or slashed started spraying snap shots at the man. Jennings was about to warn him, but saw that he had the situation under control when the Japanese man calmly avoided the bolts of green plasma with barely a small step at a time. Shots missed him by inches, but he seemed unconcerned, until at one point when he turned and fired his handgun at the alien. The bullet passed through a bolt of green plasma in midflight and came out the other side as an ultrahot slug of liquid metal. It punched into the alien's chest cavity, which immediately burst into green flames. The man calmly bent to the side, avoiding by hairs the final plasma round, as the floater was roasted alive. More floaters soared into view, but Jennings knew they were but moths yearning to crumple and die in a candleflame. With a shake of his head, the Japanese man holstered his pistol. "So much limitation in guns," he said quietly, his melodious singer's voice clearly audible. "True strength can only come from one's own spirit..." With a flash, the sword was in his hands again, and Jennings only saw a blur when he moved. There was a whirlwind of wavy-patterned steel as floaters were reduced to pieces of their former selves. Jennings saw the head fly off of one alien directly above him, its face forever frozen in a state of surprise as it bobbed into the air. When only three floaters remained about him, the man sheathed his sword and had only his empty hands - thus resorting to his true ultimate power. A heel of the hand to one floater's chin instantly snapped its neck. An elbow to the chest of the second collapsed its ribcage, causing bloody vomit to spray out of its mouth before it fell stone dead to the street. The last tried to level its rifle, but the man grabbed its arm and twisted. There was a horrific popping sound as every joint was torn to shreds. The floater looked about to scream when the severed head of its compatriot fell back downward and passed in front of its face; the man drove a fist through the skull of the severed head, and continued on to punch right through the skull of the living without the slightest hint of effort. And as the dead floaters fell away and the man dropped to the ground, Jennings saw that the floater with the cannon was still alive. It levelled its weapon at the man's back and seemed about to pull the trigger, when it suddenly made a choking sound and grabbed at its throat. The Japanese man turned a condescending look over his shoulder at the floater. "That hit I made ruptured every blood vessel in your throat. You're drowning in your own blood." The floater wrapped both hands about its throat, but to no avail. It gave an oddly human-like scream before fountains of blood gushed out of its throat, and it fell spasming to the road. From the sky fell the AK-47, which the man caught with a dextrous movement before resting over his shoulder, barrel pointing behind him. He adopted a casual stance and looked down at Jennings. "Oh my god, that was amazing! How much ammo do you even have left?" cried Jennings, overcome with admiration for the Japanese warrior before noticing a floater corpse behind him shifting. "I have more than enough," said the man as a wounded, but alive floater rose from the ground and pointed a rifle, before the AK-47 barked - without moving from its position of pointing behind its owner from over his shoulder - and the floater was felled with a shot to the head. "And now I have none." "What..." Jennings's words caught in his throat. "What's your name?" The man looked down at Jennings through his deep, handsome eyes before speaking. "Oroku Gawa - or my enemies whisper, Night Stalker." He looked up at the sky. "I must now take my leave." "Wait" shouted Jennings as Night Stalker leapt out of his vision, and he struggled to free himself from beneath the gigantic corpse. "X-COM needs you! Come back! Come back" * * * * * * * * "Come back...come back..." "What's he talking about?" asked Ibsen, looking down at the heavily wounded Jennings. "He's not talking about anything," said Tammy. "I had to give him some drugs for the pain, and to make sure he doesn't do anything in his concussed state. I'm amazed he's able to dream at all." Ibsen's face went grim as he looked down at the heavily wounded body of his teammate, and he nodded. * * * * * * * * Greg Conner, otherwise known as "Ghost", was living up to his name. He had been with Ki-Tat before the latter had heard of Warlord's distress, and taken off like a bat out of hell. Ghost was fast, but even he had to admit that Ki-Tat was going at a rate he couldn't even expect from a human being. He'd have to, anyway, to get to Warlord - Ghost didn't know what he expected to do to help a man all the way across the bay... The point was, Ghost was now alone, and if there was one thing he had learned from his Delta Force stealth missions, it was that the lonely get hidden or they get dead. And hiding was one thing Ghost was good at. So good, in fact, that an alien had soared right over top of him while he was between shops and hadn't even spotted him. So good, that Ghost had been tailing the alien, keeping out of sight, for a good minute now and it had been none the wiser. Ghost figured he could have killed it at any time with almost no risk of reprisal, but it was that "almost" that worried him. Alone, even the smallest chance that the alien could get off a shot could very well mean his death. So while he figured the odds were overwhelmingly in his favour, Ghost preferred to stay out of sight until he was absolutely sure he would have the drop on the alien. He got his chance a few seconds later. The alien had gone inside one larger shop, the garbage bags of rotting food stuffs outside suggesting a restuarant, and had left an easy trail for Ghost to follow. I can't believe it! How is it possible? seethed Ghost. To understand the concept of doors enough to know to open them, to even use the knob - but not have the manners and decency to close it behind them?! It's outreageous! It's outrageous and terrificially rude. I should complain about their terrible manners. I should - As he followed, he heard the sound of a radio very close by. He couldn't understand it, except for the final portion as a plasma rifle fired and the radio ceased. Ghost was able to translate that well enough. Ghost leapt to the final door, saw it led into the main eatery, and saw the alien. Its side was to him, but it was distracted by the exploding radio. It was barely four feet away. He pointed the pistol and fired - Except the trigger was of a different weight than he was used to, and it went off at the wrong time. Which was, in fact, a very good thing, as the shot flew past the alien and the serving counter to hit a table a few metres away. And as the antiphotons hit the wood, they reacted - creating a burst of searing heat that flew over the alien and continued to Ghost. He got rather little of it, being behind the cover of the alien, which was lucky because even as it was his exposed skin instantly recieved the equivalent of a sunburn. Ghost shouted in surprsie and fell back away from the door, blocking himself from the alien for maybe half a second. Cocking hell! What the hell kind of dentists do these people go to! he thought to himself. But he knew what had happened. Leave it up to scientists to design a science experiment when they should be making a weapon. The gun didn't throw off a bad amount of radiation to the user so long as it had the range to dissipate - normal weapon ranges, or at least, outside. Inside, however, at extremely close distances, there was still enough radiation to hurt the user. And Ghost knew just enough science to know that much radiation was Bad News. He expected the alien to come after him with its much more indoors-friendly plasma gun, but he was saved. From the other side of the restauant he heard a door burst open, and heavy human boots clomp on the floor. It was a human...but that meant... "DON'T USE THE LASER GUN!!! Ghost rolled to his feet as Tim's finger pulled away from a nerly depressed trigger. Other soldiers may have disregarded the advice, but X-COM was the best of the best and Tim trusted his teammate, whose voice he recognized as Conner's. Trust didn't mean the situation was resolved, however, and the alien was swiveling, plasma rifle coming to bear on him. Apparently useless/dangerous/something laser pistol in his hand, he dived behind a table and pulled it down to provide cover. Pulling a grenade off his belt, be peered around the cover to see the alien was much too close to use the grenade on - in fact, so close its gun was pointing right at his head... ...when an arm wrapped around its neck and pulled backwards, throwing off its aim, and second arm plunged a combat knife into its throat. "You have terrible manners, by the way," hissed Ghost's face, appearing over its shoulder; apparently, Ghost was more than deserving of his nickname and had noiselessly moved from his hiding place to the alien's back. However, it was unfortunate that as quiet and skilled with a knife as Ghost was, he was used to fighting human opponents. It was more unfortunate that though human necks are a vulnerable portion of the anatomy, all the vitals of this alien's neck were protected by layers of muscle and bone. And so, while a knife to the neck was certainly disturbing to the alien, it was by no means lethal. And that allowed it to pull away, bringing its rifle to bear. If they were outside, this would be the end of the X-COM soldiers. However, the complications of the environment finally began to work in the humans' favour; this particular alien was quite fond of its ability to fly. So much, that as a whole they fight and move with the presumption that they would have room to make the use of three dimensions. However, the ceiling was low, and the alien had to glide unsteadily to the side. And while it could do this quickly, quicker than most people could react, X-COM agents were not most people. And Ghost, extensively trained in Close-Quaters Combat, reached out and grabbed the end of the alien's rifle. Immediately he could feel the barrel, still hot from the plasma that it had fired into the radio, burning his flesh. With one fluid movement he pulled the gun towards himself and pivoted, delivering a strike with his other hand to the creature's elbow. Again, alien anatomy got in the way and its grip stayed strong. Whatever. Ghost yanked the alien towards himself a delivered a crushing elbow to its face before twisting its arm, trying to force it to drop the gun. This only seemed to tighten its grip, and as its gigantic hand closed around the grip green plasma bolts ripped into the floor. Blasted burning embers flew across Tim's face, whose training didn't allow to do much more than watch and maybe cheer. Ghost gave up on his disarming maneuvers and just yanked on the gun proper. It popped out of its hand easily, but Ghost dropped it to the floor. Too unwieldly at this range. And anyway, without duct tape, it would take both hands on the grip to fire, something he certainly couldn't do with some purple thug all up in his face like - The alien delivered an outstretched arm and a closed fist to Ghost's jaw. The soldier's head snapped back and his jaw closed with a metallic snack sound. His vision reeled and all he could think was: God, he's a strong sunuvabitch, ain'he? It was a good thing he was so trained he didn't have to think. The alien swung at him again and he grabbed its arm, twisting under it and smashing it across the face. He spun, rolling across its body, and delivered a punch to where its temple would be, were it human. It wasn't human, however, and an individual lump of bone stuck out from its skull and succeeded in breaking Ghost's ring finger. Grabbing its other arm and locking it in a hold proved slightly more useful as he brought a knee up into its midsection, right where metal met flesh. A gnarled purple arm swung about and was blocked by Ghost's own, but he wasn't expecting the alien's anti-gravity machinery to lurch backward and pull him off balance. Another blow smashed into his head and threw him backwards, falling onto a wooden table that shifted under his weight. The alien started to pull away, heading back towards its weapon, when Ghost jumped furiously off the table and jammed his heel into its back. He followed this up by grabbing the bizarre cape it wore and yanking, pulling it towards him. He then just let loose; delivering a flurry of punches, knees, elbows and slasms to anywhere he could. He no longer cared about hitting when it hurt, as it seemed this monster was deliberately constructed just to frustrate him; he just wanted to keep it busy. "Tim, goddammit, do something! I don't know how to kill this bastard" "Then move and let me shoot, Conner, you're blocking me" Ghost paused to look over his shoulder and saw Tim, crouching, both hands wrapped around the grip of the rifle, the end of it placed on a table. The ex-Delta Force operative locked an arm around the alien's neck and held it still, almost like some twisted version of friends with arms across each other's shoulders. "Say cheese" shouted Ghost as a bolt of green fire, like the tongue of a dragon, shot from the rifle and buried itself in the alien's midsection. There was a frankly horrific smell, though not so bad as those of the bug-eyed grays, as its torso opened up and burned organs and circuitry spilled from the wound. Its anti-gravity abruptly died and it crumpled to the floor. Ghost, who suddenly became aware of pain lancing about from most of his body, fell back against a table, panting heavily. Tim stood up. "So, now that we've almost died, why can't I use the laser?" "Goes off like a firecracker at close range. No one figured we'd be firing pistols that way. Goddamn lasers." Ghost's face twisted into a grimace and he started furiously kicking the corpse in between words. "It's things - like this - that make - me wish - I had - my CAR-15 - if someone - didn't give - me crap - about the number - of items - on the goddamn - plane" Tim rolled his eyes and looked away, then back. "Wait a minute. Conner?" "Yeah?" "Didn't you get killed by that big alien?" Ghost tilted his head and took on a confused expression. "Didn't I what?" "When we got out of the plane. Didn't you get hit by that alien?" "What? No, that was Dodge." "Oh." Tim was silent for a moment. "Damn. Dodge...damn." "Yeah." Ghost nodded and looked away, before muttering to himself. "They do so count." "Hmm?" asked Tim. "Huh?" answered Ghost, feigning obliviousness.

I'll do my best, Dumb Commander, but since none of them are on the mission they'd better be pretty good shots if they're going to kill any aliens.

Don't worry, Vet, I was just joking. Well...exhibiting fact in a joking manner, anyway. I really just want to see some writing, as I figured people wouldn't be impressed if I started taking over half the 'fic...seems like everyone's muse is a little slow lately, though. Expect some stuff tomorrow, or the day after. **snaps on bloodproof rubber gloves**

Please, people. We had just built up some real momentum and now we've stagnated. If someone doesn't post, I will have to write again. You all know what happens when I write. I am savage. Deet took a full magazine of ammunition, Brute had his throat cut, and Phil was shot in the back of the head. Moreover, the dead are the lucky ones. Jennings was XCOM's first casualty, and has now been mangled severely. Fitz lost an ear, and suffered a lot of injuries in the form of being beaten with fists, cut by glass, blasted with alien grenades and bruised by a two-storey drop into a Skyranger ramp. When I post, characters suffer. Please, think of the characters.

And now I don't know who's dead. An earlier post here says it's Ghost, but the fic says Dodge. Presuming Ghost is alive (which I hope because he's fun to write and technically still Fatigue's character) where is he and who is he with? It seems to me that the only person he could be with was Ki-Tat...

That'll teach me to post without reading the discussion first. Now Jennings has destroyed the flamethrower and took only one Reaper with it, and it was already wounded! You know what they say about squaddies and their kit... Tammy can report now, though, that Reapers don't like fire, as well as redundant brain systems. Oh, and while Ghost technically belongs to Fatigue, I adopted him. So I guess he sorta belongs to me.

"Uh..." Jennings's voice stuck in his throat. He had known Howitz, talked with him on the training grounds a few times. "Maybe he got away." Tammy motioned towards the tablet in her hand, but Jennings persisted. "Well, it could be a, a malfunction maybe. I mean, it was a blast, right? Didn't Fitz have something like that? He...I don't know. I mean, there's no body..." Tammy looked into the window again, biting her lip, and turned back to Jennings. Her mouth was open, about to say something, but words died when she looked at Jennings. Some people may have asked what was wrong, but Jennings was a soldier just as Tammy was, and everyone in X-Com was, and was already turning, weapon coming to bear. But his finger fell off the trigger when he realized he was about to shoot a tongue of flame at something so close. Jenning was just inside the mouth of the narrow alleyway, and suddenly, the reports that civilians were reporting demons became much more believable. It was one of the huge monstrosities that had thrown a car at him, but horribly altered. Jennings knew it had to be injuries from the blast, but his mind screamed that this couldn't be real; nothing so nightmarish could be real. Its furry flesh was torn and shredded on its broad back. Its mammoth legs were twisted, mangled, its long clawed toes twisted at unnatural angles. Its head was worst of all, blackened and the flesh almost torn off the skull; sharp bone made up half of its face, exhibiting a permanent grin where the lips had been torn away. Its lower jaw fit poorly to its top where it had been broken, some teeth missing, others simply stabbing its own gums. Jennings threw himself backward, into the alleyway, fuel tanks clanking against the ground. Tammy was already backing up, fast - she knew the way these things could move, and she wanted as much distance as possible - but Jennings realized something. "It's too big" he shouted as he pushed himself backward, getting to his feet, grin forming on his face. "The alleyway's to narrow for it to get in! The - " And Jennings was proven both right and wrong when the giant roared and smashed one shoulder through the wall of the exploded warehouse and brought a jaw down on Jennings's upper arm. The only reason the soldier's limb was not instantly amputated was that its teeth was now crooked, broken, and inncapable of created a tight enough seal. As it was, all it did was tear effortlessly through flesh and lift Jennings into the air like a doll. The creature thrashed its head, planning to smash the soldier to the ground at a force that would crush his bones like eggshells, but the its broken jaw failed it again. Jennings went soaring out of the creatures grip, sailed across the street, and landed on the far sidewalk. His momentum carried him until his head and fuel tanks slammed into a wall. Colourful lights exploded in his vision and his body suddenly felt numb. The creature roared and swung its head, bringing it into a remaining portion of the warehouse's wall. The weakened structure of the wall snapped under the blow, bits of material bouncing off its blackened skull and into the alleyway as it focused its attentions on Tammy. The medic drew her pistol and fired. Inside her mind, the probabilities of Jennings's survival and, if so, his likely condition and required treatment were calculated. Bullets thudded into its muscular back and traveled down towards its head, and Tammy was rewarded with a flash of what had to be brain as a lucky shot smashed into one side of its skull. Except somehow, it looked like the creature wasn't quite so fond of its brain as the rest of us. And while it kicked and screamed as its cerebral matter splashed against the wall, Tammy could see as its eyes rolled back to look at her, and it gnashed its teeth, and it didn't die, and it prepared to leap. And then rolling orange flame swept along its back, and it was suddenly engulfed in flame; bursting fire rushed over its body like it was soaked in gasoline. Jennings was hurt. He was pretty sure he'd broken ribs and, judging by the way his vision swam and rolled, he had a serious concussion. But he was still able to roll over onto his back, steady the nozzle of his flamethrower on his elbow and fire a jet of flame at his attacker. Seeing it erupt in flames brought nothing to him - he vision was too blurry to tell - but he was able to hold down the transmit button on his radio and speak. "This is Jennings! Tammy and I have a--" Tammy could not understand why the creature could act after losing a brain but, after catching on fire, began to look like this - screaming a high animal wail and spasming wildly, one foot punching right through a yet undamaged wall, and staggering into the street. Insane, wild, the creature furiously attacking the first thing it saw - Jennings. Tammy could see as the soldier - not reacting in time, obviously injured - only look up at the walking inferno before giant jaws clamped down on him. The teeth cut through the harness for the flamethrower and slashed Jennings's skin, though they were too broken to continue into his chest. Jennings's radio was thrown out of his hand and he was shaken from side to side, effortlessly lifted from the ground. His panicked scream continued as the creature ran, attempting to escape the fire that covered its body, down the street as Tammy rounded the corner, reloading her sidearm, in pursuit. It made four blocks in a blink of the eye before the thrashing finally tore the harness apart and Jennings was thrown free, slamming into the ground. He blinked blood out of his eyes and saw the alien still swinging the flamethrower apparatus about, the straps caught in its teeth. Jennings watched, feeling a million miles away, before he noticed that as it bounced about the alien's back the tanks had caught ablaze. Fuel burning. Fuel burning bad! Jennings tried to jump to his feet but instead could do little more than roll. He hit the curb and fought to gain a crawling position. His swirling fuzzy gaze scanned and he saw an alleyway to the side of a small store, and crawled. He dragged himself around the corner just as the fuel tanks exploded. It was finally enough to end the alien's existence as pressurized fuel, bouncing about its head, blasted its skull to pieces. The body thrashed, nerves dying, on the street as flaming jelly coated everything for several metres and very nearly hit Tammy, who had caught up with the beast just in time to see its dramatic end. She had also seen Jennings's retreat. Hopping between pools of flame, she came upon the alleyway and ducked into the shadow, pulling the Medikit out of her pack. Jennings's dark eyes focused a point somewhere in front of her forehead. "Is it dead?" he mumbled. "Yes," said Tammy, noting the blood flowing freely from nearly every point on the soldier's body. "It's dead." "Mrnm." Jennings gave a clumsy smile. His gaze shifted to somewhere to the left of Tammy's chin. "Good." "Jennings? I need you to listen to me. Did you hit your head? How do you feel?" Jennings's arm darted forward, his hand clamping around Tammy's wrist. "Is it dead?" he asked again, furious intensity in his voice. Tammy was just about to mumble to herself about how her question had been answered when she felt a sudden rush of heat to the side of her head. A bolt of green blasted into the wall just over Jennings's shoulder, to the complete lack of response on the latter's part. Tammy herself drew her sidearm and swiveled, spotting a rifle-toting alien hovering ten metres in the air. She fired off three quick shots, then grabbed Jennings and pulled him against her wall.

Well, I'm no scientist, but let's see what I can do... Lasers would be invisible. That's the entire point of a laser; all the light energy is extremely tightly focused. If you could see the laser mid-flight, that would mean the light is being dispersed. Just think of a laser pointer, which itself uses (surprise!) a laser. Of course, we're not using real lasers, we're using antiphotons. As previously mentioned, photons are their own antiparticle (or so is theorized) so this is actually impossible; therefore, it can look like whatever the hell we want it to look like. Of course, if enough antiphotons are straying off in midflight to be seen, we run back into the whole "radioactive suicide gun" fiasco all over again...but we'll just ignore that. As for sound, lasers are silent. The machinery might make a high whine like a camera flash; it might not. Of course, I don't know what noise an antiphoton generator makes. Plasma? The game really doesn't go into how the plasma weapons work. I always imagined it as a bullet filled with plasma compressed into a solid state. Once the bullet enters the body, it breaks and the plasma expands, causing extreme damage. That's just me though. In any case, plasma is extremely hot, and would glow white-hot in flight. You'd see streaks of white whizzing by. Of course, in the game they're green. Since E-115 is evidently an integral part of the machinery, and E-115 is unpredictable based on the fact that it doesn't exist, I have no idea what a plasma weapon would sound like.

Well, let's see. What sort of tone do we want for the mission? Floaters are rarely more than a joke for me - do we want an easy mission? Or do we want a bit of tension? Lots of casualties? Few casulaties? Skyscrapers and office buildings give floaters more room to use their flying abilities, but also means a flying alien will be spotted and perhaps sniped from further away. Such areas are often more open on the ground as well, and means reapers can be caught out in the open. Shrink it down a bit, and you may not notice a reaper until its right on to of you. This starts to put the squeeze on the floaters as well. Cramp it up too much, though, and you get the opposite effect - reapers are big, and if the area is an extremely urbanized ghetto it may have restricted mobility. Floaters have to get down on the ground to attack such cramped conditions as well. Of course, unless you're the home team, ultraurban combat isn't fun for anyone - Alpha team is going to be freaking out. Not to mention, you just can't throw around a flamethrower in such conditions. You could start a fire, and then the whole suburb is up in flames. The type of area you're in could also affect the civilian count. Et cetera. Don't mind me.

As long as we're reassigniung ourselves, can Keller go on the Snakeman mission too? She really hasn't been in any sticky situations yet.

Wait wait wait - flamethrowers and urban combat? Look, I know we're trying to stay as close to the game as possible, but I don't think we can actually level a city block here, guys!

Dumb_Commander, your character is still telepathic. That's just not possible at this point in the story.

Keller ran her fingers down the length of her rifle. Though she had heard of the new laser weapons that had come out - though she knew the word laser just had to be a misnomer, probably from some hyperactive fellow like Ghost who was embracing the prospect of aliens just a bit too tightly - but wasn't all to interested in picking them up. She was used to this rifle. Whatever the new weapons would turn out to be, they would definitely take a whole new design and, probably, technique. She happened to be quite fond of the rifle in her hands right now and, to discard modesty, figured the rifles were quite fond of her - to judge by her shooting prowress. She wasn't built for close-quarters combat, but she was a hell of a shot with a longarm. If they threw some new design at her, though... Whatever. No use worrying about it now. Keller nudged Green, sitting next to her. He looked over. "Hey," asked Keller, "you know what time it is outside? I'm all messed up nowadays, I don't know if I've seen so much as a window since my last mission. Day or night?" "Oh, day, definitely," said Green, then checked his watch. "Just fourteen minutes past noon, in fact." "And we're landing in desert, right?" "Depends on where in Australia we're going, I guess," replied Green, rubbing his hands toughtfully. "They said we'd be close to the base, right?" asked Dujardin, sitting on the other side of Keller. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, possibly in expectation of warm weather. "Yes, they did, now that I think of it. Desert then, definitely. It's going to be hot." Green rubbed at his stubble and his face returned to its original expression. Keller chewed on her lower lip sourly. "Oooh-kaay..." she sighed, and donned her black goggles. * * * "HEY" The shout was directed at a video camera, situated near the ceiling in a corner of the secure room. The room, guarded by two soldiers right outside the locked door, contained this camera, one bed, bathroom facilities, and a pacing, red-faced Bernard. "Are you even listening to me?! I want out of this damned cell, you knuckle-dragging grunts! I am a diplomat! An ambassador! I have rights! My government will be looking for me, and by god, when they find out what you've done..." Bernard hit the edge of his humble quarters and turned to make, unbeknownst to him, his one hundredth trip exactly from one wall to another. He tore his eyes away from the camera, fuming, before returning his gaze and cotinuing his rant. "My country will not hesitate to extract me! They'll smash through your front doors with guns blazing! Do you understand?! You are going to be in big, big trouble if you do not get me out of here RIGHT NOW." He stared furiously at the camera, while it gazed back with its expressionless single glass eye. "Get - me - the - HELL - OUT - OF - HERE" Bernard stood stock still, quivering with rage, and then furiously tore off his suit jacket. Storming toward the camera, he threw it up and covered the surveillance device. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork. At least the bastards aren't watching me now. He has just finished that thought when the door opened and a large framed man stepped inside. Bernard swiveled and spotted him. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. "Finally! What the hell took you so lon--" he started as he took towards the man, but the soldier's hand immediately dropped to a pistol on his belt. Bernard's eyes widened and he froze, then slowly took several steps backward. The soldier stepped forward a pace and kept his eyes locked on Bernard, as a second soldier stepped inside and carefully removed the jacket from the camera. Taking the jacket with them, the soldiers exited the room and the door closed. Bernard's spectacled gaze went from the closed door, to the camera, and back to the door before he started to shout. "PUS-SUCKING NEANDERTHAL MOTHER-F--" * * * "Ukk..." gargled Terrick, head rolling in the stretcher, eyelids fluttering. "Ucch-ker..." "Can't you shut him up?" asked the pilot of the helicopter, kneading his hands. "Give him a shot of something to knock him out?" "I won't do that," said one of the other men, the medical kit sitting on his lap. "He knows things. I want him conscious as soon as possible, and anyway - he's too badly hurt for me to give him a shot. It could kill him in this state." "Wouldn't that be a shame," muttered the pilot darkly, peering out the cockpit window. The camoflague tarp covered the glass, but the bright light outside allowed shadows to be seen through the fabric. At that moment, there was a roar of engines, and in a matter of seconds it had passed over their heads. The shadow of something airborne and close to the ground appeared through the fabric and sped off in front of them. As the pilot watched, the object slowed.

Oh, bugger it, I give up. I have wracked my brain and I stil can't think of what to write about. What do you people want? Give me an idea - Bernard, Martin, aliens out of nowhere - I don't care, just give me something to write about. I can't guarantee it'll actually go up, but I'll put it on the burner.

The thing about seperate bases is, it allows not only more plotlines (and a good writer never cuts himself off from possibilities) but also allows us more nameless extras, which allow us to go out and have the same shocking casualties XCom is known for (or at least, for me). And if we're going to go any further along this tack, we should probably move it to the Fanfiction Discussion.