Author: burgerkrieg

Seeing as the Countdown Calendar for XCOM 2 was such a massive success, I decided to use some discarded character concepts and a couple new ones for what is essentially season 2 of the project. For those of you who don’t know: Every Tuesday until the day WotC is released, I will reveal a new soldier on the Avenger, so you can get a small dose of XCOM to bridge the gap.

Quick reminder: I am in no way affiliated with Firaxis, and all this content is fanfiction/headcanon/whatever term you prefer.

An encounter with:

Seamus “Raven” McLoughlin, from Ireland:

 

Immersed in his work at the small section of Engineering he has requisitioned for himself, McLoughlin takes the occasional sip of Guinness as he tinkers away with dangerous explosives and makeshift contraptions.

“I’d wager to say that we Irishmen know a thing or two about guerilla warfare. It’s in our blood, if you will.”

He has a sheepish grin on his face.

“What a surprise that was, when the aliens dropped in. My father always said that the IRA was almost completely dead at the time of the invasion, splintered into a thousand factions, generally despised by the public. Ironic, how things change, eh? Yes, my father was a Sinn Féin politician, even held office for a while in our small town. He wanted to unite with Northern Ireland and gain as much independence from Britain as possible. But he didn’t hate the English. He would never have picked up a rifle against them. Now with ADVENT that was a whole different situation…”

Smiling, he screws tight a contraption he’s been working on and arms it. He drops a cube of orange gel on a hair-thin wire, and a crossbow bolt darts forward from the apparatus and expands inside the cube, which has the same consistency as human flesh.

“Strength is completely adaptable, depending on where the enemy crosses. We don’t even need a tripwire, a laser will do. Imagine loading this with explosives and sending it into an ADVENT-Officer’s thigh. Fucking beautiful. So yeah, I was raised into it, essentially. We moved around a lot, going from hideout to hideout. I lived with some family and then another so I could get an education, and we also had some teachers giving classes for hideout kids. My mother didn’t approve. For the sake of my own future, I was supposed to go to a state institution for lost children. An orphanage, if you will. I could get an education there, and then come back to the IRA if I wanted to. My father and I both knew that they would only brainwash me though, and that they’d use me as leverage if they found out who I was. God bless my mum, she always tried to shelter me from the evils of this world, but I always knew. I’m still grateful she took matters into her own hands, though. She put me up in this home, and I stayed there for a whole year, soaking in ADVENT propaganda, trying to fit in so that I wouldn’t be singled out. I learned a lot that year. How to be invisible, how to be independent, how to keep secrets. When my dad rescued me, a whole bunch of the boys left with me. We eventually became one of the most effective guerilla squads in the whole IRA, and Bradford took notice. It was only a matter of time until we were shattered though, ran into an ambush. I’d prefer not to talk about it, if you don’t mind. Half my brothers were killed that day.”

He shivers.

“We disbanded to improve the whole of the IRA instead of trying to repair our squad. It would never have been even a shadow of its former self. That’s how I ended up here, eventually. I fight for XCOM, because I’ve practically never done anything else.”

Seeing as the Countdown Calendar for XCOM 2 was such a massive success, I decided to use some discarded character concepts and a couple new ones for what is essentially season 2 of the project. For those of you who don’t know: Every Tuesday until the day WotC is released, I will reveal a new soldier on the Avenger, so you can get a small dose of XCOM to bridge the gap.

Quick reminder: I am in no way affiliated with Firaxis, and all this content is fanfiction/headcanon/whatever term you prefer.

An encounter with:

Jarek “Grey Tiger” Johnson, from Jamaica.

 

Johnson returns the child handed to him to its mother, who accepts it as though it had just been kissed by the pope. He laughs, shakes some more hands of the crowd that has gathered around him in this haven. After a few minutes, he excuses himself and bows out, heading back to the Skyranger.

“Prison in Jamaica is not an easy place to be, especially when you’re on the lighter side of your mixed-race heritage. When Me was in there, Me never thought Me’d become a folk hero, but Me suppose you can’t choose your destiny. It’s all a bit embellished, but the core of the Grey Tiger’s Legend, as they call it, is what it is. Me know, because Me experienced it. Me was doing time for killing some gangsters trying to extort money from me dojo. When ADVENT took over, Me was being transferred to a new facility when the prison bus was blown up by guerillas. Me wont lie, it was terrifying, but Me survived without a scratch. Far as the legend goes, the Ferryman was standing over me dead body, and declared that Me should live to fulfil me purpose in this world. Me survived between shore and jungle for two weeks before Me found me blade. Despite what people may believe, Me did not wrestle the spirit of a grey tiger, and said spirit did not fuse with me, but faith in supernatural agents is a powerful weapon against the aliens. When Me returned to the dojo, Me see that it was turned into an ADVENT recruitment office. Me got so angry, Me cannot describe it. The legend says Me walked in there and cut down a small army, but really Me waited ’til nightfall and was surprised by a few of them working late. Me had no choice but to kill them to get at me secret stash of weapons, money, and clothing. Me always wondered how they didn’t find it doing renovations, and the storytellers say it was Jah extending his hand to shield it, because he knew Me would need it. They always make me life much more interesting than it really is.”

He laughs, baring the shining white teeth he is famous for.

“It was a big upset when they found out the next day, but Me was already long gone, riding on the back of the tiger, they say. Me didn’t know what to do. Me was still a wanted criminal, escaped from prison through no action of me own, and Me could not return to me old life. So Me wandered the wilderness, living off the land. When Me find some people in need, Me help them. Me learn the terrain pretty well, and eventually Me become a guide for lost people trying to find their way to resistance havens. Me think this is where the ‘Grey Tiger’-thing got started, though Me don’t know where exactly it come from. Me hair is grey, me eyes is grey, but why a tiger? Ain’t no tigers on all of Jamaica.

He shakes his head, amused at this conundrum he will probably never know the answer to.

“Legends be weird, man, and Me was becoming one. When Me finally joined the resistance, they treated me like a demigod. It didn’t help that all of me missions were successful, because Me seems to be such a lucky man. People attribute the First Caribbean Insurgency to Me presence, but Me don’t think so. It was all the great people Me worked with, and all the great people they worked with, that made that happen. Me was just the thing they could look up to. Me fight for XCOM because Me became a living legend, and living legends always fight the oppressor.”

Seeing as the Countdown Calendar for XCOM 2 was such a massive success, I decided to use some discarded character concepts and a couple new ones for what is essentially season 2 of the project. For those of you who don’t know: Every Tuesday until the day WotC is released, I will reveal a new soldier on the Avenger, so you can get a small dose of XCOM to bridge the gap.

Quick reminder: I am in no way affiliated with Firaxis, and all this content is fanfiction/headcanon/whatever term you prefer.

An encounter with:

Silvia “Sicaria” Chávez, from Colombia.

As befits a woman of her profession, Chávez has her own arsenal. Even the requisitions officer treads lightly around her, knowing that any attempt at taking away her guns would have unfortunate consequences. Chávez is stroking her bald head as she inspects a custom round for her sniper rifle.

“Castillo used to say that killing is a job that does not come easily to most people. Even killers have difficulty killing. That’s why they employ Sicarios. Don Francisco has never even shot an animal his entire life, yet I have ended over a hundred lives on his orders. People always said there is something wrong with me, that I was nurtured at the teat of Death. I think they’re right, you know? Death is the only mother I’ve ever known, and Castillo was like a father to me. Ask anyone in Cartagena and they’ll tell you: Death was Castillo’s wife, and I am their daughter. He took me in when I was starving in the streets. He saw something in me. The thing that makes me capable of killing. The thing that normal people lack.”

She stares off into the distance, as though looking at a place only she can see.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s not all true. I know I’m the daughter of some prostitute, of a young girl with no husband, or someone like that. I know Castillo is not my blood. But what if I actually am Death’s daughter? The spawn of the physical incarnation of entropy, of the end? Castillo could actually have been my father after all. Stranger things have happened in Colombia. Believe me, I’ve seen them. Of course I’ll never be able to ask him that now. For half a century, the cartels ruled South America. They called them criminals, but every Patrón was merely someone who exploited opportunity, and thereby created more of it. Yes, we lived in a brutal world, but at least it was an honest one. Then ADVENT comes, and they take away everything. They impose ‘law and order’, hunt us down like rats. I saw my mother take my father at the end of a laser gun.”

Her gaze focuses, She seems to have returned to the real world.

“I fight for XCOM, because I am Death’s daughter, and my mother is the only family I have left.”

Seeing as the Countdown Calendar for XCOM 2 was such a massive success, I decided to use some discarded character concepts and a couple new ones for what is essentially season 2 of the project. For those of you who don’t know: Every Tuesday until the day WotC is released, I will reveal a new soldier on the Avenger, so you can get a small dose of XCOM to bridge the gap.

Quick reminder: I am in no way affiliated with Firaxis, and all this content is fanfiction/headcanon/whatever term you prefer.

An encounter with:

Fergus “The Highlander” Sturgeon, from Scotland.

Sturgeon is relaxing on a couch, eyes fixed on an ancient tube television set. Each move of the wrestling match displayed earns roaring laughter from the Scotsman. When a hulking titan of flesh dressed in a luchador costume slams a second giant dressed as a muton onto the mat , he rises, and begins to shout at the screen.

“Yeeeeees! That’s what happens when you fight El Monstruo!”

His Spanish pronunciation is surprisingly good. He turns around, an exalted grin on his face.

“That right there is my mate Ramon! He fuckin’ slapped that muton right round didn’t he? I used to tag team with him all the time! We slapped a lot of sense into guys with alien costumes, I’ll tell ya that.”

He sits back down. Despite his age, his muscle-packed frame is still very impressive, and his melon-sized hands look like they could rupture a sectoid’s skull with a light squeeze.

“Unfortunately, real aliens use plasma guns dunnae. Can’t punch those out the air, though I’d certainly love to! It was always too real for him, everything. Wrestling is a performance, warfare is not. Forgetting that is what cost Ramon his life. Didn’t even go out in a blaze of glory like he deserved.”

He is silent for a moment, and pulls a tin can from a cooler.

“You want some Irn Bru? Got some off Bahadur’s bazaar. It’s easier to get a hold off these days than when I was touring North America, ironically. That’s what I like to see this as: a world tour, seeing the greatest arenas of the most important tournament ever fought. The title belt is freedom, and I’m fighting with the best against some terrifying opponents. Got my Kilt Kleanser, she’s a beauty, named after my finisher back in the day. I’m still tryna get a grenade launcher called Haggis Chef, which was always my favourite move to be honest, so I can blow the fuck out of these alien cunts. This is when I always get to think, ya know? ‘Am I not just as stupid as Ramon? Should I go back to making subversive wrestling tapes instead of fighting?’ He picked up arms against the aliens to avenge his family, I did it to avenge him. Doesn’t that take away my right to call him stupid? Or does it just make me as stupid as him?”

He downs the entire can in two gulps, then crushes it with his hand.

“At the end of the day, I’m not Mel Gibson. This isn’t a fucken film, and it’s not a choreographed wrestling match, either. I fight for XCOM because I lost the man I loved, and to punch some mutons in the face.”