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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 5356782" data-attributes="member: 143">Aftermath (November 25, 2008)Note: the following are the aftermath posts created by the players.  I made only a few small edits for grammar/formatting.JANEAs everyone left for their victory dinner, their exciting new careers, and then to lead the way in rebuilding a brave new world... Jane received a phone call.  She did not see the blow to the back of the head as she took the call in the other area.  Nor did she know where she was being taken to. What she could only surmise might be hours later, she groggily gathered her surroundings.  She smelled oil and heard engine sounds and felt the slight motion of water, like she was on a freighter at sea or something. “Ah, you’re awake, Agent Swift,” came a voice with a Chinese accent. That answered the next question.  “I suppose you’re wondering why we went to this much trouble?”Jane laughed at him, “You’ll get nothing from me.”The man looked at her seriously, “You set off a nuclear device in our country killing five thousand, two hundred and thirty six people.  We’re going to kill you that many times and bring you back to life.  I’m told the experience will probably drive you insane.”  He turned to some men bringing equipment into the room, and said, “Let’s get started.” (Note: Jane’s player was leaving our campaign group at this point, and decided to post a dark ending for her character)JAMESPresident Obama's voice came clearly over the communicator. "Jim, I'd like to offer you the position of Surgeon General, pending Senate confirmation after Miriam's resignation takes effect.  I know firsthand your expertise in the area of the new alien medical advances will come in very handy as we figure out how to help Americans without tipping Medicare and Medicaid completely over the edge." "Mr. President, I'm honored to be asked to serve in this capacity.  Will I be involved in the formulation of the overall health care policy program?" There was a bit of static as the President replied, "Not only will you be involved, Jim, but I expect you will be a key architect.  As you know, Hillary is very interested in this area as well, but given her responsibilities over at State, well, I don't think she'll have much time to focus on this very important area." "Thanks again for the confidence, Mr. President.  I do need to think about it; all I've done for the past several months is remain holed up at the X-Com base.  How should I be in touch?" "Jim, I'm going to put Rahm on the phone, and he'll work out logistics with you and respond to any more questions.  We will need to get some information for the confirmation process.  I'm hoping I can count on you - we have a lot of work to do to improve America's health care, and I'm confident you are the one to lead the effort."VASILYThere was a party.  Nothing in the history of human civilization deserved a party more, maybe. It came after the eight team members on board Avenger-1 had the chance to get a much-needed shower, a few breaths of fresh air, and after a short but loud press conference and and a very welcome, non-pea-based dinner reception.  Considering the security laid down by SWAT and the dark-suited agents entrusted with the safety of the various representatives of national governments, it was odd to reflect that Alpha Team were some of the few people attending who weren't carrying any weapons.  It made a refreshing change. At some time during his shower, the Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti had finally dropped him a line, the first since his arrival in America.  He'd caught up with some of the news reports around the globe, and had scoffed amusedly at RTVi's enthusiastic but fact-light furor over the 'Russian-led' special forces team that had secured Earth's future.  Even so, the FSB's line didn't entirely surprise him.  Good to hear on successful assignment, hero of the Federation... glorious retirement offered, with a teaching post at a military college or training center of his choice.  The grim memory of storming a base in the Urals and gunning down his fellow countrymen hadn't faded yet; not for him, and, apparently, not for the officers among the spetznaz.  OSNAZ had no place for heroes, especially those who broke ranks. He'd sent back the politest 'screw you' he could manage, just before dessert.  He'd protect the motherland in his own way from now on. The satisfaction he got from that still hadn't left him by the time the party rolled around... or maybe that was just the kind of natural high you had from watching people enjoy themselves.  It had been a long time.  He didn't catch a glimpse of Hadrian or Jane - perhaps they were talking to their respective superiors, or he simply couldn't see them in the press of the crowd - but he could see Mary hanging near the President's table, James at the bar telling a story to some admiring folks, Catalina cutting up the dance floor... it made a great picture, and he felt good about it.  Maybe it wasn't quite his scene, but it was good, even if he felt most comfortable standing and watching. For a moment, one melancholy moment, those faces he knew he wouldn't see here hung at the edge of his thoughts.  The nameless workers, soldiers and others he'd not really paid attention to, sure, but mainly the dead; those he'd known, and those he hadn't.  There'd been no time to introspect at the height of the conflict, but now... now, they all deserved a thought, at least one thought.  He hoped that even if X-COM's actions couldn't give the Alien War meaning, they could at least give it closure, and that it would satisfy.  He knocked his drink back in a silent toast, and stared at the far wall across the heads of the crowd. "So.  Director, eh?" queried a voice at his elbow, breaking his reverie.  He gave an affirmative grunt as Agent Drake - Inise, even - took up position at his side. She looked a little out of place, wearing the same dark suit as the other Presidential agents in the room, but then she had an excuse; she was working, not partying, and in that capacity it was hard not to think of her as anyone else but Agent Drake.  Still, she had a drink in her hand - a fruit juice, most like - as a small concession to the party atmosphere. They stood there, for a few moments.  She wasn't looking at him; no, she watched the crowd, standing at the edge, her eyes picking out faces, much as he had done - much as he was doing, in fact.  He bobbed his head in time with the music, a little self-consciously.  She drummed her fingers on the side of her glass, apparently lost in her own thoughts. "How was—" "You think—" The two lines of conversation smacked into each other like a countermarch gone wrong, and the confusion that followed them stifled any others that came to mind.  After a few anticlimactic moments, she gave a quiet, barely-audible sigh, drained her own glass and gave him a simple nod.  "I'll see you later," she shrugged, making to fade back into the background. "Hey!" he called out, on impulse.  She half-turned, watching him almost warily. Ah, what the hell.  The consequences couldn't possibly be any worse than an alien invasion, and he'd already lived through that. "I know we all really busy, but you think you can get any free time next week?" That earned him a raised eyebrow, and another few moments of her attention as she mulled his words over. "I'll call you," she promised at last, giving him the ghost of a smile before disappearing into the throng. Well, that was something. He gave his empty glass a smirk, nodding to himself, drifting from what had been done to what he had yet to do.  Given the political situation, the humanitarian situation, the intergalactic situation, the scarcity of Elerium on Earth, the heavy load of work and responsibility that was likely waiting for him in Garret's former office and the nagging, paranoid feeling that in some way, this wasn't the end... he had a feeling there wasn't a soul that didn't understand that a guy, even a soldier or an official or a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, had to make his own good times where he could.HADRIANHadrian hated formal receptions.  They were usually filled with people he didn't know, or want to know, trying to chat him up about things they were totally clueless about and wouldn't understand, even if he did answer them directly.  Of course, given the hosts, he couldn't blow it off, so he dutifully showed up in his dress blues and smiled politely as he parried the shower of inane comments and questions from the hordes before dinner.  He caught occasional glimpses of the other team members through the crowd, and they seemed, likewise, fully engaged by well wishers and glad handlers.  He sat through the speeches during dinner, lost in his own thoughts and plans about his coming assignment.  As soon as the last speaker sat down and the dancing and mingling took over, Hadrian slipped away and walked briskly back to X-COM central. Though the brass was partying that night, it was business as usual and the night shift staff of techs and non-com's were hard at it.  Some of them took double-takes and joked on seeing him decked out in his blues and ribbons.  Ignoring the banter, he made his way back to the barracks, changed back into his fatigues, and carefully stashed his blues into a garment bag hanging in his locker.  Next, he strolled over to the mess hall, grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and a pizza, and parked himself at a corner table to enjoy his own private banquet. Over his dinner, he flipped open his xPhone and dictated three emails.  The first went to Director of X-COM, a smile flickered that was Vas now, formally giving notice of his return to duty with the Corps and outlining some ideas for cross-training and seconding of Corps personnel to X-COM. The second one he cc'ed to his fellow Alpha Team members thanking them for their work, wishing them well in their next assignment and leaving them a personal contact number, should they need to get a hold of him for any reason.  The last went to General Graves containing a list of men he wanted for his program, a brief schedule of training seminars and exercises, and notice he was taking thirty days of his accumulated leave, starting at midnight, before formally taking up his new post. The meal and messages finished, Hadrian ambled back to the barracks.  He cleaned out his locker and foot locker, easily fitting his few personal things and uniforms into his duffle bag.  Turning his attention to his X-COM gear, he carefully stripped, cleaned and reassembled each of his issued weapons and armor.  Leaving his bag on his bunk, he hauled his X-COM equipment back to the quartermaster and checked everything back in.  Next, he stopped at the OOD and requested private air transport in an hour to Denver.  There was some grumbling, but given his status, it was promptly arranged. Collecting his bags, Hadrian settled into a stuffed chair in the lounge to await his flight.  He slowly flipped open his xPhone and dialed in a number from memory.  After a couple of rings a gruff voice answered. “Jones residence.”Hadrian paused slightly before responding. “Good evening sir, this is Hadrian.  I'll be flying into Denver in a couple of hours.”After a brief delay the other voice responded. “Very well, we'll be expecting you.”There was a click. Hadrian closed the call window and clicked open his Clauswitz's On War and settled down to wait. CATALINA“Special Forces Officer Saves The Planet.”  Catalina read out loud the front page headline from the Daily Mail to the smiling receptionist behind the desk in the waiting area.  “A little more interesting than ‘Threat Of Invasion Thwarted’ from the Times, don‘t you think?  I rather like this one though.”  She picked up the copy of the Sun with the front page declaring “Cat Scratches Aliens,” accompanied by the same pictures from the press conference and of her in full uniform taken at the graduation from Sandhurst presented by the other newspapers, but they had also obtained a second one of her rather scantily dressed in a cat costume.  “So, boys, you've got a lot to do to impress this alien-busting beauty if you want her to check out your emerging threat,” she said, quoting herself from the article, and looked up as the receptionist’s intercom buzzed. “The country needs a hero right now,” the Prime Minister’s secretary had told her, in response to a quiet question concerning public profile during a hastily snatched briefing, then proceeded to outline the cover story of her involvement as a Special Forces Systems Expert, playing on her former education.  So she had revelled in the limelight at the press conference, then basked in the attention late, danced the night away at the party, and at one point or another dragged just about every male X-COM member onto the floor, including a reluctant Vasily and a much less hesitant James.  The following morning saw her packing her things and hastening to fulfill the final part of her orders: report to GCHQ in Cheltenham, the temporary home of SIS, for a full debriefing and new orders. Making her general goodbyes as swiftly as possible to the team in general, with several repetitions of a “No peace for the wicked” answer to questions over the hasty departure, Catalina sought out the members of Alpha team.  Fairly emotional exchanges of contact details and farewells took place with James and Mary, and she left instructions to pass on best wishes to Jane with Mary.  A more restrained, but no less intense, exchange took place with Vasily during which formal contact information was established.  She finally left the base at midday, on the first stage of her journey home to England.  A bare forty-eight hours from landing in California saw Catalina in front of the Director of SIS with her report on his desk. Catalina sat quietly as he leafed through the pages and then looked up at her impassively.  “Quite a challenging mission, it seems, and satisfying result all round.” “Yes, sir,” came her respectful reply.  The Prime Minister had been one thing, but this was C. “Mister Milliband wants a foot in the camp.  We’ve given some thought to the rank that should be assigned to this and reached the conclusion that it should be above your current level.”  Catalina’s twitched imperceptibly at the words but she answered evenly, “That’s probably correct, sir.” The Director’s expression didn’t change.  “Hence I think promotion to Senior Operational Officer is probably called for, given the circumstances, Agent De Farrago.” Stamping down on any open expression of elation, Catalina answered in similarly even tones.  “Thank you, sir.” “I’m told some form of public ceremony and honours award from His Majesty is pending.  The most will need to be made from this in the interest of morale, but we still have some tidying up to do.  The Commission is keen that we keep this as ‘in house’ as possible.  Your current exposure is a complication, but nothing we haven’t overcome previously.”  The Director closed the report and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him.  “France awaits you, Agent, dismissed.”</blockquote>

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