Epilogue

Ottawa, Canada

11th of November, 2016

Third Quarterly Earth Independence Day

The November air was crisp. Frost had arrived during the night, painting the grass along the sidewalks white. The Southern suburbs were quiet in the morning's first light. The revving of a motorcycle broke the silence and a red sports bike cruised through the empty streets. The driver wore a short black leather jacket while the passenger was clad in a beige parka. The bike passed the red lights at some speed before braking and stopping in front of the cemetery, tailpipe spewing exhaust fumes into the cool air.

The passenger jumped to the sidewalk. The helmet came off to reveal Drake's grimacing face, left eye covered by an eyepatch.

"Holy shit that's cold!" Kilroy shouted over the rumbling of the engine. She hung her helmet on the handle and rubbed her gloved hands together. "Can't believe I used to live up here."

"Tell me about it," Drake agreed, hopping up and down to get the blood flowing again. "What did you say? 'It's never too cold to ride'?"

The engine died and Drake turned to face Kilroy. The brunette dug a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, dismissing Drake with a shrug before sticking a smoke between her lips. Drake wrinkled her nose in disapproval as Kilroy lit up.

"Aah, that gets the blood flowing!" Kilroy said, exhaling a great white cloud.

"More like the exact opposite," Drake remarked dryly.

"Doctor Smartass. Paging Doctor Smartass." Kilroy gave Drake the finger, making her grin. The brunette climbed off the bike and the two started towards the cemetery gates. "Winter is coming," Kilroy said in-between puffs.

Drake rolled her eyes. "If I knew you were gonna be like this, I would've never shown you Game of Thrones." Kilroy laughed, and Drake joined her. The brunette inhaled once more before snuffing the cigarette at the gates.

The cemetery had been built for those fallen in the Great Conflict. Long rows of tombstones honored the memories of Canadian soldiers. It was early morning, but a few candles had already been lit in honor of the Third Quarterly Earth Independence Day. An elderly woman looked up from her grandson's grave. Drake gave her a solemn nod as they passed her by.

Four wide paths met in the middle of the grand cemetery where a tall statue had been erected. As the shotgun sisters drew closer, they could make out more and more of the details. Drake leaned to Kilroy. "What do you think?" she asked.

Kilroy mulled her tongue around. "Hmm, I'll give it an eight. Definitely better than that monstrosity in London, but falls short of Berlin."

Drake sized up the statue. "Sounds about right. Seven and a half."

A fresh copper sculpture depicting a squad of soldiers loomed twenty feet high upon a granite pedestal. At the base, nine operatives were down on their knees; one for each of the corps, and base security to boot. The gauss long rifle, advanced laser rifles, and snub-nosed gauss stutterguns were all expertly sculpted to represent their real-life counterparts. In the center, a MEC trooper in full combat exoskeleton towered above the cemetery. Two more soldiers stood by its side: one dressed in a pilot's G-suit and helmet, and the other carrying the biohazard sign assigned to the genetically modified troops.

One more soldier finished off the memorial. Clad in the distinctive Vortex armor, he rose from the midst of the squad. The legs had been sculpted to form into a swirling mist, giving off the illusion he was carried on the shoulders of them all, rising even higher than the MEC trooper. An outstretched hand held a sphere of polished gold. The brilliant detail stood out of the mundane copper strikingly.

Kilroy whistled approvingly as she drew closer and saw the fine detail. "Damn. Okay, I'll give that a nine. No ten though. They fucked up the face on this one too."

Drake giggled. "That's right. Poor Hypergeek."

The psi operative's face was sculpted with great detail. Neatly combed hair curved back from his brow. The nose, cheeks, eyes, and chin were all Hypergeek with pitch-perfect accuracy. His features were sculpted into a humble look. It was an expression that spoke of deep respect and sacrifice.

"I guess the cocky I-know-I'm-the-best-and-fuck-anyone-for-saying-otherwise look didn't go down too well with the funders," Kilroy said, drawing another laugh out of Drake.

By the statue's foot, a solitary candle honored the memories of the fallen. The sisters' bioelectric skins prickled, confirming the presence of someone else.

"Yo, over here," Kilroy called out. Four familiar figures rounded the base of the sculpture. Awo, Merlin, and Medve were all clad in uniform while Orgun wore blue jeans and a bulging winter coat.

"Damn it's good to see you! Come 'ere!" Merlin exclaimed and spread her arms. Old friends embraced each other, sharing pleasantries.

Kilroy pulled away from Orgun and gave his belly a friendly pat. "Goddamn it Orgun. You fat piece of shit!"

The Irishman smiled sheepishly. "Ya know me. Livin' the life!"

With the greetings exchanged, Kilroy glanced around. Her face betrayed a mixture of anticipation and dread.

Orgun cleared his throat. "Scuba's goin' straight to the venue."

A sigh of relief left Kilroy's lips, and Merlin exchanged a look with Awo. "That bad, huh?" she asked.

Kilroy sighed again. Talking about Scuba was a surefire way to make her mood drop. "Yeah, I've been crashing at Drake's for a month."

"You guys gonna break up?"

Kilroy shook her head. "I really don't know anymore. It's like… I still love him. I just can't fucking live with him, you know? It's fucking Scuba. El Zorro!" The last words were full of mockery and spite, making the others chuckle uncomfortably. "Let's not talk about it."

Kilroy turned to Awo. The officer's face was old beyond his late thirties, and a streak of gray ran along his temple. In his right hand he held a mahogany cane, with a handle of solid silver and XCOM's familiar insignia carved onto it. The words Vigilo Confido circled the base. I am watchful. I am relied upon.

"How's the leg, old man?" Kilroy asked. She leaned over and gave his right thigh a knock. Her knuckles struck something hard.

The gangrene had appeared after the war; there had been no other choice but to amputate. Despite the fierce demands of Doctor Vahlen and the medical team, Awo had refused the use of their limited supply of MELD on himself. The prosthetic didn't bend and respond like the cybernetic augments did, but it got him places.

"Never better," Awo said, "But you should really ask Merlin."

"Oh shit, that's right!" Drake exclaimed, "The new augments! Can you show us?"

"Sure," Merlin said. She pulled off her glove and rolled back her sleeve. Kilroy and Drake leaned closer to inspect. The rough metal augments had been replaced by prosthetics that mimicked human appearance and skin color. The hands were especially finely crafted, all the way down to the lines in the palm. Visible seams at the joints still betrayed their artificial nature.

"Damn, that's cool," Kilroy said. Without asking, she slid her hand down the forearm. Merlin smiled ruefully.

"Is there sensation?" Drake asked.

"Nah, just in the hand. But it sure looks a hell of a lot nicer!" Merlin pulled her sleeve back down.

"Wait, when did you get them? Daishi was still wearing the old ones a fortnight ago," Drake said.

Merlin barked up a cynical laugh. Awo gave her a sideways look before answering the question, "Six weeks ago. They were distributed to all willing MEC troopers, active or discharged. And Daishi didn't want the new augments. Says the old ones remind her of what she's been through. I can respect that."

Merlin snorted in contempt. "Marketing's all she's interested in."

The shotgun sisters' eyebrows rose in unison. "Holy shit that's cynical. Doesn't sound like Daishi," Kilroy said.

The smile didn't reach up to Merlin's eyes. "You know me. Can't teach an old bitch new tricks."

"You're full of shit, Merlin." Medve had been standing silently behind her the whole time, massive arms crossed over his chest.

"Ho-ho! It talks!" Merlin exclaimed, followed by cackling laughter. The Captain's eyes stayed cool under his standard issue beanie.

Drake switched the topic. "How're things in the good ol' xeno slaying machine?"

Awo sighed. "Work. A shitload of work. You'd think killing aliens was the hard part."

Merlin's brow furrowed in concern. She looked like she was about to say something, but chose to remain quiet. Kilroy, however, pounced on the issue, "We can see the gray, Awo. Just take some goddamn time off and let the Doorne handle things for a while."

"Negative. Absolutely not. Like I said, there's a lot of work. The Commander can't just leave."

Merlin lip-synced Awo's entire response, complete with hand gestures and a roll of her eyes. It was clearly an issue they had discussed to death.

"Anything new on Renzol?" The gathering fell quiet at Drake's inquiry.

XCOM had stepped down to condition two just three weeks after the destruction of the Alien Temple Ship. The release of personnel had begun, first on rotational leave followed by eventual discharge. Renzol had been the first one to disappear without a word. All that had been left of her was the shattered remains of a mirror in her quarters.

Awo and Medve shook their heads, but Merlin's fidgeting betrayed the truth. Her internal struggle was painted clear over her face. She couldn't take it any longer, and finally cried out in frustration, "Goddammit! Tell them, Awo!"

Awo's mouth was a thin line. Kilroy and Drake exchanged confused looks with Orgun. "You know something, Awo?" Drake asked.

"It's… Classified. Far above your revoked—"

Merlin blew up. "Classified? It's Kilroy and Drake and Orgun for fuck's sake! Tell them or I will!"

Awo gave Merlin a brief stare of death. "Fine," he conceded in a strained voice, "but you absolutely can't spread this forward. Got it? I'm looking at you, Kilroy."

The former assault made a zipping motion over her lips.

Awo drew a deep breath. "We keep track of all the discharged MEC troopers. For health reasons. That's as far as it goes. Renzol wanted to leave, and I have no right to snoop into her personal life. However, there was an issue early this week. It required the intervention of the Council on the US judicial system." Awo paused for a moment, leaving the cemetery silent. "There was a police shooting involving an augmented woman."

The three civilians gasped in shock. Awo continued his explanation, "The investigation is frozen for now, pending Renzol's recovery. Last I heard, her condition was critical."

"Well… Well, fuck," Kilroy said sullenly. It wasn't the kinds of news she'd been hoping for.

"We have to go see her! What hospital's she in?" Drake demanded.

Awo shook his head. "She's still under arrest."

Kilroy snorted in contempt as anger flared inside her. "Fucking US coppers. Saw their incompetence firsthand with the Bureau."

Merlin and Awo exchanged a look, and the Commander cleared his throat. "One more thing," he said. This time, the silence lasted longer as he struggled to deliver the news: "I got the Council to send me copies of the case files. It looks like a classic case of attempted suicide-by-cop."

"No way! No fucking way!" Kilroy shouted. Drake covered her mouth in shock, and Orgun dropped his head. Kilroy continued to protest, "There's just no way that's true! You're fucking with us! Not like this, not Renzol!"

"She's right. There's no way," Drake agreed meekly. But while she knew Renzol as an indestructible human tank, she also remembered the vulnerable girl who had come back from Frag's last operation. Despite her words, Drake couldn't help but wonder. In a time of peace, what is there left for those molded by war?

"Fuck this. I'm going to my old contacts in the Bureau," Kilroy said.

"Kilroy." The brunette fell silent at Awo's sharp call. "You'll do nothing. All of you, just keep your goddamn mouths shut. If the news spreads, the media will have a fucking field day. I'm pulling all the strings I can. You sit tight on your asses, understood?"

Kilroy grit her teeth, but conceded the point with a nod and a "Roger".

"Don't think I've forgotten about you," Awo said without looking at Merlin. Her apologetic smile-and-shrug was closer to mischievous than bashful. Awo addressed Drake and Kilroy, "We should get going. You coming with us? We're parked on the North side."

"Yeah, just give us a minute to pay respects," Kilroy answered.

Awo nodded solemnly. "Alright. We'll wait."

Kilroy and Drake were left at the memorial. Kilroy shook her head. "I can't believe it. What the fuck."

Drake took her sister's hand. "Yeah."

A memorial plaque was bolted into the base of the sculpture. Kilroy and Drake stepped closer. Hypergeek's name decorated the top. Neither could deny he deserved the top spot; after all, he had saved all of mankind with his sacrifice. The number of names on the list below was far too high; the base defense had taken so many unnecessary lives. The two of them eyed through the list. They spotted Cell, Wolfer and Frag, and Kilroy squeezed Drake's hand tighter. Hunterhr, Hawkeye, Ballystix… one by one the ground operatives' names leapt at them from the memorial until finally, they spotted the one that hurt the most.

Still holding hands, the sisters reached out and touched the name engraved into the memorial. Sergeant Lisette "Lockdown" Foogleman. Drake laid her head against Kilroy's shoulder. "I still miss her," she whispered.

"Me too."

The two of them stayed quiet for a while longer, honoring the memories of those who had given their lives so they could live. Kilroy eventually removed her hand from Drake's and produced a grave candle from her jacket. They both kneeled down, and Kilroy held the lid open as Drake lit the candle. She screwed the top back on and placed the candle next to Awo's. The entire statue would be covered in memorial candles before nightfall but for now, only two flames flickered in the morning light.

"Vigilo Confido," Kilroy said in a shaking voice.

"Vigilo Confido," Drake concluded. She turned to Kilroy and the two of them embraced, holding on tight. The war may have been over, but the wounds left behind would never fully heal.

Kilroy finally broke the embrace, her eyes glimmering with tears. Her own sorrow was reflected on Drake's tear-streaked face. Kilroy sniffled. "Come on, let's go. Can't keep the brass waiting."

Kilroy slung her arm around Drake's shoulders, and Drake slipped hers around Kilroy's waist. They still had a long day ahead of them.

The restaurant was bustling with activity. Operatives were clad in dress uniform while those discharged or on leave wore their Sunday best. Dinner was being cleared and people mingled casually at the tables. Orgun had joined the bartender behind the counter as usual. His jacket was open, and the vest barely contained his hanging gut.

He leaned over the counter where Morgan and DSM were sitting. "What's yer scoops, ladies?" he asked jovially.

"You better remember or I'm gonna kick your fat ass!" Morgan joked. The top buttons of her uniform were undone, and her head was buzzing with alcohol.

"Long Island Iced Tea, comin' right up fer 'tis gorgeous feek!" Orgun said with a smarmy smile, making Morgan glow. He turned to DSM, "And fer 'tis lovely lass?"

"Beer," DSM said. She was wearing a stylish trouser suit and her short-cropped black hair was tussled with gel. Piercings decorated her nose and upper lip.

"Oooh, I like it. One beer and a Long Island Iced Tea, comin' right up hi!"

Orgun left to prepare the drinks, and Morgan turned to DSM. "So, when are you coming back?"

The psion frowned at the question. "In two weeks. Bye-bye piercings."

Morgan lifted an eyebrow at the snarky response. "Then why come back?"

DSM's laughter rang hollow, real humor replaced by cold cynicism. "'Cause they won't let me go."

"Why not?" Morgan asked, genuinely perplexed.

DSM's frown deepened at the assault's lack of understanding. She raised a finger and tapped herself in the forehead. The power to manipulate other people's minds was hardly something that XCOM and the Council could let run free. Morgan finally understood and scratched the back of her ear in embarrassment. They continued to wait for their drinks in silence.

Colonel Van Doorn was doing shots with Lieutenant Soylent Green and Captain Medve at a table.

"To xeno fucking!" Van Doorn quoted the XCOM officer's oath.

"To xeno fucking," Soylent and Medve agreed, lifting their glasses and downing the cheap bourbon in one go.

Van Doorn leaned back in his chair and sighed, content. "Aah, that brings me back. You remember, Medve? When we came up with the words?"

The Captain nodded. "Yeah. Just you, me, and Awo."

"And four bottles of this rank piss!" Van Doorn threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh. His cheeks were flushed and a perpetual smile kept the edges of his eyes and nose wrinkled.

"I recall a few beers as well. And however many packs of these." Medve pulled a cigar from his officer's jacket and rolled it between his fingers.

"Aye, a night to remember. And the op name that night!"

"Vengeful Vengeance," the two officers said in unison before bursting to booming laughter.

It had been before Soylent's time, but her lips were upturned in a smile nonetheless. She had heard the story at least a dozen times, but the genuine good will and charisma of the old man always managed to make her smile.

"It's funny," Van Doorn said in a serious tone, his smile momentarily gone, "I can't remember who served on that op. Always thought I'd remember because of the stupid goddamn name. But I have no idea. I think Cell. Maybe Iku. But it could've been anyone."

Medve stared at the table for a moment before picking up the bottle. He filled their glasses to the brim before speaking, "I know who it was. It was a squad of the best men and women this planet has ever seen."

"I'll drink to that."

The officers downed their liquor in memory of Operation Vengeful Vengeance, and the soldiers who had kept Earth a little safer that night.

Van Doorn slammed his shot glass down. "We're getting slow! Come on Flash, your turn! Not fair if I have all the fun!"

A wistful smile graced Soylent's lips. The day's celebrations had made her reminisce about the past, and no doubt the alcohol played its part in bringing to life old emotions. But drunk or sober, memorial day or not, she could still hear his voice every now and again, whispering in her ear.

"To Hypergeek," she said and picked up the bottle.

"Aah, the old favorite!" Van Doorn boomed and slammed a hand to his thigh.

"Miss that smug son of a bitch," Medve said. "Whiskey and Cigars was never the same after."

"He was the one who invited me, back when I was still new to the outfit."

Soylent was done pouring the drinks, and the officers toasted.

"To Hypergeek."

"We shall never see his like again."

Instinct and Volatile had both stayed to serve in XCOM. They shared drinks with Kilroy at a table. The former hot shot secret agent was dressed in a saucy short black piece, complimented by striking red lipstick and dark eyeliner.

"What about Kamikaze and Squint?" Instinct asked.

Volatile glanced his way. "Squint's due this week."

The muscled assault leaned back in his chair. "Right, right. Thought it was a month still."

Kilroy finished her glass of red wine and laughed. "No way man. You know exactly the night they put that bun in the oven! Bet my ass it's just the first of many shitslingers to pop worldwide."

Instinct smiled. "Hope they bring that little rascal to the anniversary."

Kilroy crossed her legs. "Don't really like kids. But anything outta Squint has to be cute enough to eat. What about Pete?"

Volatile put down her pint with a clack. "She moved shop to Amsterdam. Said the rush is too much right now. She'll make it to the next one."

"Why'd she leave? I thought Veere was her hometown," Instinct asked.

Volatile smiled as she recalled the phone call with her former roommate. "Apparently her shop drew too much attention. Every politician and celebrity from the Netherlands to France wants to have their cars fixed by a war hero. One with drills and tools for arms no less. So she moved to keep Veere small and quiet."

Kilroy had closed out the conversation. She was leaning back in her chair and silently observing the sight over her shoulder. Scuba was into his usual act of El Zorroism; the table full of new XCOM recruits was laughing along with one of his exaggerated war stories. The sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled back and the top buttons were open to reveal a muscular chest; the ridge of a scar ran across where a chryssalid had cut him open. A loose tie completed the casual look that was way too stylish to have been accidental. Kilroy noted indignantly that the table consisted mostly of female operatives. She brought the wine glass to her lips only to find it empty.

The glass slammed on the table, stem almost snapping. Kilroy rose to her feet. "Sorry guys, but I need something stiffer. See ya!"

Instinct and Volatile bid her farewell and Kilroy rounded the table. She kept her back straight and stiletto-heeled walk sharp as she crossed to the bar. Her eyes were fixed firmly on her destination, but she could hear a slight pause in Scuba's voice from across the room. A smug smile spread on her lips. She spotted the back of a daring scarlet dress and slid onto the next stool.

Stoli's luscious lips turned to a smile questionable in sincerity. "Kilroy! How wonderful to see you!"

"Hey, slut," Kilroy greeted and gestured at the bartender.

Stoli laughed whole-heartedly. "Brash as always. What do you want, Kilroy?"

Kilroy downed the shot that appeared in front of her in one go. She gave herself a shake that started from her ass and finished at the tip of her nose before addressing Stoli, "You know, we're not so different. You and I."

Stoli raised an eyebrow. "Please," she said in a voice filled with poorly masked contempt.

"Yeah, okay, whatever. But I've saved your big ass countless times, and you did the same for me. I like to think there's at least some mutual respect here."

Stoli's eyebrow stayed up, but her smirk turned curious. "True enough. So… what you want?"

Kilroy was ready to respond in jest, but something made her stop. Maybe she had searched out Stoli on purpose, unbeknownst to herself. She sighed and rubbed her forehead in exasperation. "What I want… I doubt you can help with."

"Shoot. I might surprise you."

"It's Scuba."

A smug smile spread on Stoli's lips, and she stifled a laugh.

"You knew?"

"Oh please, Kilroy. Everyone knows."

"Fuck off." Kilroy started to leave, but Stoli grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean it like that." Stoli gestured at the bartender. Orgun began making his way towards them, but she shooed him away angrily. "Come on. Drink with me."

Kilroy gave the blonde a wary look before settling back down.

Stoli gave their order to the bartender before turning back to Kilroy. "Let me tell you something," she said, "I've had a lot of men."

"What a surprise."

"You gonna cooperate or not?"

Kilroy rolled her eyes, but stayed quiet.

"Lots of men… all colors and sizes and personalities. Men like him," Stoli nodded towards Scuba, "are rare. One in ten thousand. The odds of catching one? One in a million. Yet you managed it anyway. God knows how."

"Hey!" Kilroy's jaw dropped at the sudden jab.

Stoli threw her head back and laughed. Two shots appeared before them, and she pushed one of them to Kilroy. The former assault's expression was still somewhat wary as she toasted with Stoli.

Stoli placed her glass down with a grimace. "Damn that's good. Now where was I?" She turned around, sizing Scuba up. Her voice was soft when she continued, "If you think that show he's giving those green girls means anything, then you really are an idiot. I've seen the way he looks at you." Stoli turned to Kilroy, and blue eyes locked on brown. "Catching a man like him is one thing. Making him fall in love with you… you'd be crazy to let that go."

Kilroy looked away and gave her shot glass an absent-minded spin. "Fuck," she finally muttered and slid off her stool. In sharp strides, she made her way over to Scuba. The Latino's story was cut short as Kilroy grabbed him by the tie.

"With me."

She gave him a firm yank, leading El Zorro away on a tight leash.

"Sorry pendejos y pendejas, I'll finish it another time!" Scuba shouted in-between excited laughter. "Spoiler: El Zorro won!"

Merlin's story fell on deaf ears as Drake watched Kilroy drag Scuba out the door. She turned to the bar and Stoli lifted her wine glass. Drake grinned and touched two fingers to her temple.

"What? What is it?" Merlin asked, annoyed at the obvious lack of focus.

"Remind me to get Stoli a box of chocolate for Christmas."

"What?" Merlin asked, utterly perplexed.

Drake laughed and scratched under her eyepatch. "Expensive one too!" Her laughter cut short as she realized the time. "Crap! They're gonna miss the show!"

Merlin pounced on the changed topic, "Oh, the pretentious farce is about to begin?"

Drake scowled at her friend. "Shut up. I've seen your Spotify history."

Merlin rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. She couldn't deny the truth. It didn't take long until the lights were dimmed and the big screen on the wall lit up.

"Quiet! It's starting!" Van Doorn boomed over the drunken crowd. Everyone settled down, and not a peep broke the anticipating silence.

The TV showed a dark stage. The audience was a welling ocean of sporadic whistles, cheers, and flashes. A piano pierced the veil, its clear tones going around in a minor loop. The audience roared, and a single spotlight fell on stage.

An emerald green dress sparkled in the light. A wide belt separated the strapless bodice and the free-flowing hemline. Grey metal hands grasped the microphone. Daishi opened her eyes.

The augmented singer had become a worldwide hit with her first single Become. The song was about her augmentation, and the lyrics spoke of pain and sacrifice. Daishi had poured all of her heart into her music; it was the only way she could survive.

The world had united behind Daishi. People had needed a hero to follow after the horrors of the war, and they had found her. Adoring fans flocked to her concerts all around the world. Her first album, Salvation, had been released in the summer; it had smashed records, selling ten million copies worldwide within a week. She had even performed in full MEC armor at Madison Square Garden during her debut album's tour. The audience had wept as they had witnessed the entirety of the truth behind their idol's sacrifice.

The pace of the song picked up as guitars and drums joined the piano. Daishi's voice reached high into the heavens, welling with emotion. DSM turned back to the counter and took a sip of her beer. Iku noticed.

"Have you seen her recently?" the sniper whispered. DSM shook her head. Iku's face betrayed his surprise. "Why not? I thought you were best friends."

"We were never really that close," DSM whispered. A rueful smile had settled on her lips, and she followed the rest of the performance in silence, the psionic music inside her resonating to Daishi's voice.

"Stabbing pain for the feelings

These wounds of mine are never healing

I'm turning numb, oh it's begun…

What have I become…"

The music died, and only the piano remained. Daishi's voice began slowly building up, repeating the last words, over and over. The audience listened intently. Daishi's metal arms flashed under the lights, and her eyes closed as the emotions took over. The phantom pain disappeared and her voice soared ever higher, flying free past the clouds and reaching far beyond the stars.

Daishi would reach the apex soon, and the song would approach its inevitable end. But for the moment, XCOM and the world listened. The war was over, but their sacrifices were worth remembering.

Author's note: With the Epilogue, Alive and Impossible is finally finished. However, simultaneously with the Epilogue, I released the first chapter of a new story titled Broken. If you're interested to find out what happened to Renzol after the war, head on over to my profile and check it out. The story will be relatively short, bringing closure to a character who many (myself included) view as the protagonist of A&I.

I would like to thank all of you for sticking with me throughout this project. What started out as a random Youtube comment turned out to be a story of pretty epic proportions with over 260k words! I would like to thank Beagle for his reviews of the early chapters and the shout outs during Live and Impossible (which is where 99.99999999% of my readers came from; I think it's safe to say I might have given up if I'd had three readers instead of thousands). I was just starting out, and the writing was not deserving of all the praise he (and many others) gave me. However, that praise was exactly what I needed to get my confidence up: criticism (even constructive) could've been devastating to me as a writer back then. What I needed was encouragement, and that I got in spades. The improvements came with time.

With that said, the biggest thank you has to go to my beta, Dan. Both my writing, the structure of the storytelling, military slang/authenticity (as expected from a former infantryman) and pretty much everything in A&I improved massively after he offered to come on board. Thanks man!

A word on canon: The world of A&I is my own version, my vision of how XCOM:EU ended. I have finished XCOM2 and intentionally left out spoilers when it comes to that timeline's canon. The aliens who looked to conquer Earth and destroy mankind were defeated, Hypergeek sacrificed himself (no, the Volunteer doesn't teleport out at the last moment in my world. WTF Solomon, that's just dumb) and as far as I'm concerned, Earth is saved. And if Beagle ever finishes Live and Impossible, well… just consider this an alternate ending to that story.

Once again, thank you to everyone for following, favoriting, reviewing, or just reading!

-Vesmo