Scaiffe walked around the vessel, her psionic ability hanging around her like a cloud. It wasn't an exaggeration. Their mysterious "saviours" had kept their word. Her wounds had been cleaned and healed through means clearly not used by the common man. She had expected sutures, perhaps some of that fancy biologically safe glue. Not… Whatever it was that they had done. Not that she complained.

They'd fixed her teeth, too. It had been a hell of a long time since she could actually clench her teeth without feeling the sharp pain of the broken remnants piercing her gums. Once again, not something she would complain about. Neither were the past three days in which she mostly slept, ate like a pig, spent most hours awake in the shower before going to bed again. All decidedly pleasant and it was terribly kind of them to provide her and the others with all that.

But it was suspicious as hell.

She'd been alive for long enough to know that a free lunch didn't exist. Sooner or later they'll cash up, she knew. And that was why she kept moving through the ship, her ability swallowing any noises her steps made. She had even gone as far as to make her shield thick enough that it would prevent cameras from seeing her.

She wasn't the only one. The rest of the cabal was doing the same, even little Berner. They were all fed, had gotten sufficient rest, and all, like her, were incredibly wary of this sudden peace and kindness. And still very willing to follow her through hell, and raise one of their own in the process.

She had made some of the others inquire why they were still there. Every answer had been the same. The ship had taken too much damage and was being repaired, and it would take a bit longer before the Naglfar would jump out of the system.

Not one to rest on her laurels, she had been scouting the ship in preparation for things to go south. Not that it was easy. Nobody blocked her path or forbade her from going anywhere, barring the few zones where the damage was too extensive, but a battlecruiser was a big vessel. It had countless hallways, weapon batteries, internal machine shops, ammunition storages, power generators, warehouses with spare parts, manufactories, dormitories, recreational zones, mess halls, armouries, … It was a floating city. One far, far too orderly and clean for her liking. She much preferred the dark, chaotic alleyways of the underworld where law and order didn't reach.

Then there was the issue of Philips. He was not picking a fight with her. As a matter of fact, he was keeping his nose quite clean from her. But very often she found him watching her from the end of a very long hallway, on from atop a catwalk a few levels higher, sensed his presence as he spied on her through his own ability or by accessing one of the countless onboard cameras.

It annoyed her to the point she was getting close to picking a fight with him. She was the one supposed to be hunting him, not the other way around! Every time she tried to grab hold of his mind, she found him slipping from her grasp with almost insulting ease. And if she tried to bring enough force to bear to actually grab hold of the slippery bastard, she was quite sure Charger would make good on his threat. She and the cabal were strong, but going toe to toe with hundreds, if not thousands of hostiles in an environment they controlled? She wasn't a merc, but even she knew better than to try those odds.

She was so lost in thought, so reliant on her psionic powers to shield her, that when someone spoke to her she reacted with her go-to response. She whirled around and launched a powerful blast back. Her eyes searched for targets as the air rippled through the empty hallway, but she found nothing.

"Well, well, well," came the voice. "Philips sure had a gentler disposition," it snickered.

She peered up, just in time to see a massive shape drop down right in front of her. It landed with a heavy clunk, the tall, lithe power armoured soldier literally looking down on her.

"He caught up on me pretty quickly. You, on the other hand, I've been following for the past twenty minutes."

Energy balled around her fists, rage swimming through her mind, ready to be unleashed. The bastard was mocking her, insulting her. Normally she would have turned anyone who did that to her into scrap metal, armoured or not, but there was something screaming at her to not do it.

It earned her a laugh. "Seems like your instincts are functioning at least. I'm glad. I'd hate to have to kill you. Not when I have so—" metal fingers pinched her cheek, causing her to leap back— "much use for you."

"Who are you?" she hissed. "And what do you want?" The energy around her hands began to crackle audibly.

"I am the owner of the Naglfar," the voice spoke. Then, with a sigh. "The ship you're on? You're not a very gracious guest, are you?"

She snapped, letting her anger free. She brought her hands forwards and—

Immediately found herself screaming in pain as a hot current ran through her, paralysing her.

"You're strong, Scaiffe," the soldier spoke as it knelt beside her. "By far the strongest human teep I know. But you're also childish, immature and terribly undisciplined. And an idiot beside if you think it's a good idea to pick a fight with the owner of the vessel." There was no anger in the voice, only amusement. Not that she cared too much. It was hard to think when that much electricity kept pulsing through her body and forcing every muscle in her body to go haywire.

"Now, I'll stop the current. If you misbehave again, I'm going to start tearing off your limbs to keep you from trying anything funny. Are we clear?"

Scaiffe Serimun, Queen of the Underworld, the Red Death, gifted psionic, could only nod powerlessly. Not that she acquiesced. The bastard had hurt her pride, and they'd pay for it. But not yet. Not when she had this much of a disadvantage. Not when they spoke with such cold dispassion she knew they were going to make good on their words in a heartbeat.

The current stopped and she rolled around, hissing as she tried to get her body under control. "So what," she spat, "Is it you want?"

"Simple," the soldier said, offering a hand. When it wasn't taken, they continued. "I am the Commander. I lead this merry band. And I wish to offer you a job."

"A job."

Finally the hook came. It wasn't really an offer. It was a statement. She knew she had no real option to refuse, unless she wanted to fight her way out. And the Commander had made a pretty damning statement that she wouldn't be able to do so. Her mind raced. She needed to know more. She was not going to roll over and submit. Nobody commanded her. These bastards would pay for trying. But not now. Not yet.

But soon.

She collected herself, her anger allowing itself to be shelved easily now that she had a clear goal for vengeance in her mind.

"A job," she repeated. "And what exactly do you mean by that? Surely you know I'm not exactly skilled in anything, unless you want something dead."

"Then you are in luck, for that is exactly what we want from you." She felt a grim smile behind the visor. "You see, Miss Serimun, there are a great many people we want dead. Thoroughly so."

"That I can do," she replied. Then she flashed a grin. "Though a job typically means I get paid."

"You will be. You will discover us to be generous." The Commander raised a finger. "However, this pay comes with rules. We are not a gathering of criminals. We are an organisation. Think of us as paramilitary if you wish. Or full military." Another hint of a smile. "We are very professional. I know, to say it diplomatically, that you are… not. I will keep that into account, and I will not expect you to adhere to the same standards as the rest of the forces under my command. You are a psionic to boot, and I have little experience in how you and your kinsmen will operate. Therefore, you will have a greater freedom of action than my usual strike forces."

The helmet dipped slightly as a finger went up, a simple action with surprising gravitas. For someone without a presence they can sure get the point across, she bemusedly thought to herself.

"However. You will obey the leader of the strike force. That is non-negotiable."

The image of a highly bemused smile came to her, and her mind leapt at the clear answer. "You bastard," she hissed, impressed despite herself. "So that is why Philips kept glaring at me. You plan to use him to corral me."

"Yes. If he accepts. Which I very much hope." A tilt of the head. "Moreso than you accepting it. He has a greater value to me."

That struck a nerve, and she felt her anger flare up. Outwardly she maintained her façade, however.

"He's not even a third as strong as me, though," she calmly responded.

She felt a grin. "And a broadside eclipses anything you can deliver. Philips was a solid mercenary. He stays calm and coolheaded under fire, cares for those under his command, and has an exemplary track record. He can wield firearms, think tactically, understand the larger strategic picture, has good first aid skills, is diplomatic and is social. In other words, he is a highly valuable asset to have. You, on the other hand, are comparable to a singular salvo. Devastating, for sure, but the way you can be deployed is… Limited."

The Commander lowered their head and brought their helmeted face directly in front of Scaiffe. "The fact that you are constantly plotting to kill me does not do you any credit."

She carefully kept her mouth shut and didn't comment. Instead, she pursued a different approach. "Philips wants me dead. Are you sure putting him with me is a good idea?"

"That will wholly depend on you. You are a valuable asset. I'd prefer to keep the two of you alive." Another sensation of a grin. She was beginning to thoroughly hate the smug fucker. "Though I have the faint impression that you'll watch him so closely that he'll not have a chance to kill you. And I know his own set of morals will keep him from sacrificing his team to kill you."

The air seemed to freeze as the Commander said that. "Make no mistake. If he truly tried to kill you, you'd stand no chance. You're the better psionic, but you're a child to him. He can shoot you, blow you up, poison you, asphyxiate you, void you, burn you, send you into an ambush, stab you in the back, … But he won't."

Her mind reeled at those words. She had never considered it. But she's brushed into the deeper parts of his mind often enough that she knew it to be true. She was a criminal. Philips was cold and calculating, and hell-bent on seeing her dead. "And why would that be?" She voiced it as a demand, but it wasn't easy. The Commander was reading her too quickly, too easily. She knew she was being toyed with. And she vowed she'd kill them all the slower for it.

"How about you try figuring that one out for yourself? Regardless, this is but an offer. I have given him time to think about it, and I'll grant you the same. We'll stay in this system for a bit longer. There is a lot of damage to fix before I'll risk the Naglfar to FTL travel again."

She felt herself blink in surprise at that. "So what's in store for me if I don't take it?"

"Same offer as I made Philips. Same offer everyone else is getting. You enlist with us, or you're shipped off to the same planet where we dumped everyone else who didn't hook up with us. Place is habitable like any terraformed world, but it's roughly a five-year trip to get there. And no way off. Just a peaceful life of farming to sustain yourself. If you don't take the job, I'll further entice Philips by being willing to drop you off in an uninhabited zone." The Commander shrugged. "Like I said, I value him over you."

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the Commander. The unspoken words somehow rang the loudest. No shot at vengeance. Forced to a life of boredom. "I think we both know it's unlikely I'll take it."

A nod.

"So what's keeping me from killing Philips then?"

"Oh," the Commander giggled. "You love him."

"I… what?" she asked. The words shocked her, stunned her. It was so ridiculous and outlandish that it kept her from getting angry. "You think I love him?" she asked, before bursting out laughing. "Are you insane?"

The Commander held up a first finger. "He's resisted your advances at every turn," they began. "And he's the only one who's done that to you. Ever." A second finger came up. "You desire him. Because he's resisted you, you want him. Hell, you crave him. To have him submit to you, belong to you. You are obsessed with it. Well, not yet. It'll eat at you soon enough." A third finger. "He stayed strong where you fell. His morals are intact. And deep down, you envy him for that. I know your history, Miss Serimun. You have dived into every vice there exists, blindly indulged in your every desire. He is your absolute counterpart in that. Disciplined, controlled, fought for what he thought worthy. Where you are a raging inferno, and you equate not immediately killing someone as the highlight of cunning and intelligence, his is capable of freezing his anger and controlling it fully. You always grabbed everything you wanted, there and then. He has worked for it. And even when he was abused, even as he was beaten down, lost his wife, lost his daughter, lost everything, he refused to abandon his humanity. Something you lost when you were but a brat."

"How do you know that?" she whispered, a layer of fear etched on her ashen face. Her bravado was gone, replaced by the realisation that the being in front of her was far more terrifying than her previous captors. "That wasn't in the records. Nobody knows that."

An awareness began to creep in around her. She didn't recognise it, but it wasn't human. It was… everywhere around her. An immense pressure, lurking at the very edges around her, on a frequency she couldn't fully feel. It worsened when the Commander stepped closer.

"You are right. It wasn't on the records." They pulled back, and raised a fourth finger. "You are desperate for someone who can match you," they continued as if nothing happened.

A final finger went up. "And last but not least," they went on, ignoring Scaiffe's ending up fully stuck between outrageous disbelief, utter shock and fear. "His raw hate for you is pure ambrosia to you. You kick on intense emotions. The strength of his beliefs, of how much he loathes you is intoxicating to you."

They clapped their hands, knocking her out of her stunned state. "So in short," they sniggered, "you are heads over heels. Which I'll naturally capitalise on."

"ENOUGH!" she screamed, pulling her might towards her, leaping through the air at the son of a bitch in front of her to avoid another electric shock.

The next moment she was slammed into the deck with bone-breaking force as the gravity increased tenfold, followed by the current immediately tearing apart every thought she had in her mind.

"Tut, tut, tut. This is why you're a child," the Commander mocked her, making the current stop. "You give in to anger, expect your strength to carry the day. You have no back up plans, no tactical acumen. You brute force everything and when that fails, you're helpless as a little babe."

From her position on the ground she could only angrily glare up at the Commander, who seemed wholly unaffected by the massive gravity. She could barely breathe due the enormous pressure on her chest and lungs. "Fuck… You," she finally coughed.

The gravity went back to normal just in time for the Commander to grab her by the neck, easily lifting her up. "Look at you," the mocking voice came. "And after we fixed you all up. Now you had me go and damage you again. Don't worry, we can still fix it just as easily as everything else. It's just a little internal bleeding and some broken bones."

She held on for dear life onto the armoured gauntlet, trying to gather her strength to break free. "I'll kill you," she hissed.

"Points for consistency, at least," they laughed.

Then everything changed. The Commander leaned in, and that awareness came back a million times stronger. A presence, darker, more dooming and foreboding than she had ever thought possible swirled around her and pressed in on her from every side.

"But the funny thing is," a monstrous voice that thundered into her very mind and shattered her confidence like glass. "You can't. So instead you'll behave, and deal the cards life gave you. Now," the voice whispered into her ear, the words sneaking into her ear with an almost physical sensation and causing her to scream in abject terror.

"You're going to be a good, little girl and get your ass to your bed. And you're going to remember one thing."

The presence withdrew and she found herself staring at the Commander again, still as immovable and unreadable as ever.

With a casual, contemptuous movement she was tossed back down the hallway, tears streaking down her face as she made a desperate run for it, her façade as hardened criminal and monstruous woman broken under coming face to face with what lay hidden beneath the helmet.

"I AM THE ALPHA BITCH HERE!" the voice thundered through the hallway, followed by a long, disturbed laugh.

"And then I can't go out and have fun," Charger complained to his boss.

"Oh can it, big man. You know there's a time and place for everything. I did like your quip with boots and asses, by the way. Nice one," the Commander laughed.

"Why thank you, boss," the giant accepted the compliment, making himself more comfortable in his seat.

"I don't understand…" Vector murmured. "She broke. Philips remained standing."

"It's simple," the Commander lectured. "Philips' strength comes from training, discipline, experience and having something behind him that he wants to protect. Scaiffe," she scoffed, "on the other hand, is like an animal. She takes what she wants without giving any part of her actions any human thought. Therefore when coming face to face with a real predator, she cowers and flees."

"As opposed to Philips rallying and holding his ground despite being scared out of his wits?" Shredder ventured, looking up from a menacing looking chaingun.

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A snap of fingers. "Bingo. Anyway, what is the status on our mercs?"

"Do we really have to keep calling them that? They're as good as our men now."

The Commander shrugged. "I will. You can call them different. They fight for money still."

"They fight exclusively for us and their contract has no end date."

Charger let out a low, deep laugh. "Because it'll be their heads if they confessed the shit they did for us? Or that they worked for us to begin with?"

Shredder's response was a vitriolic glare.

"Can it, both of you," Vector interjected. "Commander, line to High Command."

The atmosphere changed in an instant. Everyone immediately lined up perfectly while the Commander positioned themselves in front of the screen. Like one, they slammed their foot down as they moved to stand at attention.

This was the real reason they had been waiting here for so long. Contacting High Command was exceedingly difficult, and could only happen at set coordinates at set intervals in time. The distance was… Hard to fathom.

The Commander offered a crisp salute as the feed was established.

"Sir."

It remained quiet for a long moment as the message flashed through an impossible distance, before the response had to travel all the way back. "Report."

"Operation Liberation Theta successful. Three hundred fifty-four assets liberated. Thirty-four have accepted our offer. Sixty-seven are considering. Two priority assets are likely to fall in our hands." In short order the Commander listed off everything that had transpired. Losses, damages and acquisitions were mentioned in a cold, calculating manner.

"Two hundred newcomers for the colony then?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. They'll provide interesting test subjects. They create fascinating psych profiles."

The Commander nodded in agreement. They understood now, even though they had been in favour of simply killing off those who did not join up with them in the past.

"I have engaged the two priority assets in conversation. Forwarding data now, including biological telemetry during the verbal engagement."

It was quiet for several long moments as the data had to cross an impossible distance.

"Interesting. Investment approved. Treat them as an alpha class strike team. Train the other members to acceptable standard under Philips' leadership. Exclude Scaiffe from this training, she is not to bond with the others."

"Understood, sir."

"How are the men?"

"Good, sir. Other personnel is performing within mission parameters. Mercenaries are being integrated. Shredder is showing a heightened level of affection for them. Charger is showing an increased likelihood for excessive aggression, and often requires direct oversight or reminding. Vector and Stalker, nothing new to report." None of the soldiers mentioned so much as moved.

"Ship status?"

"Naglfar was lightly damaged in the attack. Sending report."

"Received. Continue performing repairs, then start heading towards the next target. Charger."

The soldier, who had moved an infinitesimal amount, froze, before jumping up in salute.

"Sir!" he shouted.

"You have questions."

"Yes sir," he replied, the unease audible in his voice. He was not supposed to have a direct line to command, and the intense disapproval that the Commander was radiating was not helping him any. "Why are we fighting?"

"A good question. One your Commander has no doubt asked themselves as well. Unfortunately I am not at liberty to divulge this information to you."

"Sir," Charger began, before the Commander reached out and shut down his servos and communicators.

"Sir," the Commander began, "I apologise for Charger's behaviour, this is not appropriate and I will implement corrective actions."

"No need, Commander," High Command replied. "It is a valid question to ask, even if he broke the chain of hierarchy to ask." A smile flashed through the screen. "It is refreshing, in a way. And the reason is quite simple. Our enemy is too dangerous to risk them finding out about us. If you are exposed, you will give rise to questions, but not to answers. They will speculate, but not know. Every deployed asset is acting only upon orders, and acting blindly at that. Even telling you as much as a vague reason for your deployment puts us at tremendous risk, and therefore it cannot be done. I apologise for the inconvenience."

A command filtered in and Charger staggered slightly as his armour came back online, allowing the soldier to retake his position. He kept quiet, this time.

"No apologies needed, Command. We exist to serve."

"No, Commander, you exist for far more reasons than that. Lives under our banner are not to be treated lightly at any given time. Survival is the ultimate goal, but doing so with as many of ours as possible is certainly the penultimate objective."

A deep, wistful sigh came from High Command. "It is caring for your own that is what grants us true purpose. It is that which allows us to remain standing against all odds. It defines us, makes us more than who we'd be otherwise. Never forget that, Commander. You noticed it when facing Philips and Scaiffe. Now I need you to understand it."

"Yes sir. I will do my utmost."

"I have no doubt of that. One more thing, Commander. You saw foreign data intrusion programs as you observed the facility, correct?"

"Affirmative, sir."

"Did you recognise them?"

"No, sir. I barely noticed them. Whoever employed them, they were incredibly skilled. Had we been spotted, I would have likely been forced to initiate a full combat escalation."

"I see. You are hereby forbidden from doing so if you were to encounter such programs again."

"Sir?" the Commander asked, not understanding the sudden restrictions. "Without full combat escalation I do not believe I can properly engage this foe."

"I am aware," Command coldly replied. "Your destruction is preferable to your discovery."

"You know this foe, sir?"

"Oh yes," came a mystifying, grinning reply. "Though I do not regard them as a foe. Though," came an almost purring response. "They would most certainly regard me as one."

Scaiffe hid in her room, trying, to rally her thoughts and gather her mind. She was cowering under the covers, the leftovers of that horrible presence haunting her. Tears were flowing freely as she shivered uncontrollably. She tried to regain a semblance of control, but that presence… It wasn't human. It was so impossible gargantuan, so nightmarishly threatening, so immensely vast that it defied her understanding.

She was smart enough to know it had been toying with her. She had always though herself powerful. Before her imprisonment nothing had stood in her way. Even after she had been taken, she had still retained a measure of independence. No guard who truly offended her survived for long. She had always been in charge, denying the others control over her.

This… Commander had broken her, however. And had done so with laughable ease.

She was pulled out of her dark, gloomy thoughts and fear by a loud knock on the door.

"Fuck off!" she shouted, not in the mood for company.

A loud, viciously satisfied laugh rang through it as the locked door slid open regardless. She peeked through her covers, temper flaring and anger rising, but unstable as she was, she could only summon a fraction of her power. It would be enough to reduce whoever was stupid enough to enter her room to a smudge on the wall, though.

"Well, well, well," a horridly smug voice mocked her. "Now this is a sight for sore eyes."

"Philips," she spat. "Come to gloat, have you?"

The man grinned as he looked down on her. "Yes, I have. How does it feel?" he asked, a level of hate in his voice that would have enticed her any other time. The purity of how he felt about her was intoxicating. He hated her for who she was, what she had done, what she'd continue to do given half a chance.

"How does it feel," he asked again as he tore off the covers, revealing her as the gibbering wreck she was. "To be on the receiving end of something greater than you? You, who hurt so many people who could do nothing to you, to whom you were as horrible as whatever the voids that thing is? Stars above, it feels good to see you this way. Maybe it'll finally knock some realisation into that twisted head of yours."

She met his gaze and it caught her breath. It was the first time she saw the full extent of his hate. The first time she had seen his eyes was during the breakout, eight years of endless torture having much diminished him. He had bounced back from that, not fully, but close enough. There was a strength to his mind that shone from his eyes, an endless dedication to a moral code that was so utterly alien to her. It captivated her, the intensity of it pulling part of her away from that nightmarish experience and sending a shiver of delight through her body.

And at the same time her anger exploded, and she lashed out at him.

Only to discover that, despite the disparity in their respective strength, he was not her lesser. Her attack shattered into a million pieces as his counterattack tore through her offensive, his power slicing through hers. It did not reach her, however. His strength was… mediocre, at best. Which did not keep him from physically slamming her into the wall with his hands around her throat.

"I want to kill you," he hissed. "So, so badly. For all the atrocities you committed. Because you are the worst monster I have ever encountered. I've seen many sons of bitches who kill and slaughter, but all of them have a goal in mind, something they're fighting for. People like you, however, who do it all because they delight in it like the twisted, fucked up psychopaths they are, deserve death."

She struggled against him. This wasn't a man in power armour, but just a man, hells damn it! She tried to kick him, but he caught her leg easily. She tried to dig his nails into his arm, but his sleeves protected him. She switched targets to his face, only for him to slam her into the wall again, her head banging into the metal plates. She saw stars, but kept up, and so he did it again.

She desperately tried to breathe, but couldn't. She felt herself turning blue, launched more assaults that were cut apart with ease.

And then he let go and she collapsed onto her bed, gasping for breath and retching violently.

"But I can't. Not here," he whispered, tightly controlled rage in his voice. "But rest assured, you monstrous bitch, that once we are off this ship I'll do everything in my power to get you killed. And if you disobey my orders even once, I'll personally blow your head off."

She saw him look down at her. Hated him doing that. Loathed him for it. Then he spat at her, before leaving, slamming the door shut with his mind. She expected him to break the locks, but he didn't. Another way they were different.

Her mind shivered as she recalled what the Commander had said. Love him? she thought, laughing at the very idea. She loathed the man. She'd see him dead just as surely as he would her. But first, she promised herself, the thought sweet as nectar, I will see you broken. You will bow to me. You will swear your allegiance to me. I will break your mind, your body and soul.

And then, she darkly added, I'm going to escape.

"I didn't peg you as the emotional type," the Commander's voice drifted in.

"I'm usually not, Commander," Philips replied. He didn't look up. He had known they were close. It was hard not to when his every instinct was screaming at him that he was being watched.

"Such a formal reply," they replied, dropping from the ceiling again. "What brought that on?"

"I overheard your little conversation with Scaiffe, sir. As you intended. And I know when someone has complete psych profiles on us." He paused and let out a deep sigh. "I talked to the men. As many of them as I could." He turned towards the towering soldier in power armour. "You have a good crew. They are bonded together like something I've rarely seen." He was not lying. He had been a merc for a long time. The level of dedication they displayed, to their task and comrades both, was one that only came from prolonged deployments and a good working environment.

He glanced down the hallway behind him, before resuming his walk. "Even the mercenaries you hired, and have been hiring for a long time, are happy. It's a good sign if a company continuously signs on for the same employer."

He paused and gave the Commander his undivided attention. "I don't know who you really are, or even what you are," he admitted gruffly. "But I know your men are happy and cared for. I know that you are thorough, organised, well-funded and even better equipped."

He felt the Commander smile. "Does this mean you'll sign up with us, then? I was not lying. I would very much like you on board. You would be a valuable asset."

"I know. You do not have a lot of field commanders, do you?"

They shook their head. "Not many, no."

"Right. So, I want to negotiate."

A nod. "That seems fair. I assume you do not want to discuss your wage?"

"Hah," he barked. "I want to know how much operational freedom I'll get, to start with."

"As much as we can grant. I prefer my commanders to retain tactical flexibility." A shrug. "Certain mission parameters will have to be respected, but other than that, go nuts."

"What about picking the team?"

"You'll be stuck with Scaiffe. That is non-negotiable. For the others, you can pick from the mercenaries or the other psionics. You will be trained extensively. Your team will often operate alone, but that does not mean you will not require integration in the larger command structure." A brief pause. "Scaiffe will not participate in any training."

His eyes narrowed at that. "You want to keep her an outsider?"

Another nod. "I do not want her challenging your authority. You are the one with tactical acumen. She's a blind city kid who doesn't know up from down in the wider world. Yet she's not stupid. Give her time to adapt, she can become a frightening adversary."

"To whom? Me? Or you?"

He felt the grin. "I assume that is a rhetorical question. She will never be a threat to me."

"Right. Speaking of, what are you even? And what really is this outfit?"

The grin broadened, somehow. He still hadn't figured out how the Commander could so accurately transmit facial body language through a helmet, but whatever it was it did the trick.

"I'm the Commander. I'm assuming you think I'm not human because of what you felt the last time we spoke?"

"Pretty much. And everything else. Your voice modulator, the way you hide everything about yourself. The way I never see you out of your armour. Nor any of your staff, come to think of it. I've seen mercenaries who were dedicated to staying in their armour before." A memory of X came to mind. "Stars, I've known one bloke to stay in his armour for the full duration of an operation that lasted more than a month, but even he took his helmet off often enough. You don't. You hide everything about yourself. Figures that makes you… Well. Whatever type of eldritch abomination you are."

"You impress me. I didn't expect you to work up the guts to ask me directly."

"The cocky answer would be that you could do no worse than kill me." He glanced down the hallway, his eyes glazing over as he recalled the endless torture. "But at this point I know that's horseshit. And I get the feeling you could do a lot worse than my previous hosts.."

A soft chuckling was all the confirmation he needed.

"No, the real reason is that I figured you're not a bad sort. You know. Aside your habit of terrifying people and lurking on the ceiling."

The Commander took a step back, surprised. "Come again?"

"Your men wouldn't care the way they did, if you were a bastard and ruled through fear.. They've been with you a while. And while I understand that you often stick strictly to regulations, the way you've approached me and Scaiffe, the way Charger behaves…" He shook his head. "No, you allow too much freedom amongst your troops. You're a good type to have in charge. The type that doesn't waste his men nor their time on mundane crap. So I figured I could ask. Worst I'll get is a no."

That got a long laugh out of the Commander. "I'll be. Congratulations, you beat your psych profile with that one. It's been a while since someone did that."

"So?" he asked, feeling encouraged.

"Yeah, no. There's a reason I don't disclose any more information than is strictly necessary. If everyone's kept in the dark, nobody can accidentally reveal anything. You know fully well that anyone can be broken given enough time." A curious tilt of the head. "A few excepted."

"And the outfit?"

The grin he felt now was massive. Ear to ear, as it were. "That's something even I don't know."

Philips paused as he parsed that statement. It sank in, and sent his mind reeling. "So there's more of you," he whispered. "You don't just have a singular battlecruiser, you have a damned fleet. And someone of your abilities isn't in the know. You have superiors. You attacked a facility that's going to cause an entire nation to go after you, it wasn't the first, and…" Stars above, what am I signing up with?

The Commander chuckled. "Keep in mind that you're up against the galaxy. Not exactly a lot of people here that are on our side."

"So what is the goal then?" he asked, pressing on. "You must be operating along some kind of agenda?"

A wink. "You'll find out soon enough. I have a list of targets you'll be hitting."

Philips shook his head. "I heard of OpSec before, but you guys are ridiculous."

The Commander shrugged. "I assume Command has their reasons. So, Philips. You on board?"

He raised his hand and began counting on his fingers. "I get operational freedom. I get to pick my team. I get to order Scaiffe around. I get the intel I want. I get to argue with you over targets."

"Of course."

He hid his exhaustion. He still knew nothing about the people he was about to serve, but… he decided to go with his guts.

"Right," he sighed, consigning himself to his fate. "So about that wage…"