XCOM: Enemy Below

Authors Note. I played Enemy Unknown first. Then UFO Defense. Then Terror From the Deep. They were all excellent games, but if there was one I would mod the shit out of, it would be TFTD.

I've made a few changes to the story.

The first and most important is that the aliens don't have psychic attacks and don't have the Molecular Control Network because that name sounds stupid. Instead they have "Mechanical Control," that allows them to manipulate the machinery of their subs and their weapons.

Yes, I made the new aliens into technopaths.

Another is that the aquanauts can "fly" in the water without Magnetic Ion Armor. It's an advanced technique called swimming. They have flippers for their uniforms and everything.

I loved the sonic pistol and blasta rifle over the cannon, and used both for much of the game. I loved using the techies to craft more ammo.

I loved the shit out of the golden ion armor. Nothing like taking a blast from a sonic canon to the front, only to take ZERO damage!

I was lucky that an alien base was spawned next to my own base in the Atlantic. The damn thing supply cruiser for it was fully of shitty gillmen. By the end of my playthrough I was making over 30 million. =D

Enough about me. Let's do this shit.

Part One—Learning

"It's a get wise world, big fella. Get wise or die."

—The Stand

He reached out and grabbed the edge of the ship, much as Anderson had that first day. He was aware-too aware-that an expression of naked eagerness had spread over Bobbi's face. It was the face of someone who is waiting for a firecracker to go off.

-The Tommyknockers

ONE

When the cruise ship just off the coast of Barbados was split in half by an explosion, people thought at first that it was human terrorism. That one Islamic terrorist group or another would claim responsibility for the attack. That an eco-terrorist group would. That videos would surface on the internet about how some lonely kid had blown up the ship to get back at all women for not having sex with him.

That was the hope anyway. The hope of every government in the world. That it would be a awful reason, but a human reason.

Then the Navy of New Mexico went in and the horrible truth was revealed. In all there were less than 30 survivors. Mostly children, thank God for small favors and all that. They all reported the same thing. Some "monster " had come out from the ocean. It had fired something that had been bright green and glowing. After the attack, the monster had risen out of the ocean, and flew in the direction of Barbados. People feared the worst: a bombing run or a terrorist raid. But the ship had just flown over it, and flew to the Pacific.

The Second Alien War had begun.

Forty years ago, XCOM forces assaulted the Ethereal base on the red planet Mars. On the surface, they lost two people. The first was Captain Sumie. A damned good soldier but no match for the psychic attacks of Sectoid Commanders on the surface. She fell in battle, as did two others weak in psi strength. It couldn't be helped. The survivors went down into the base and shit if they didn't get lucky. From the command center with the alien brain, two elevator shafts went down to a long hallway. It traveled west. Down the end of that hallway was a juncture. To the left, was the southern end of the alien HQ. To the right was another hallway. Take the first left in this hallway and you have the elevator shaft room where the troops ended up.

I'm not kidding. The alien brain was literally right next to them. Killing it was easier than expected. It tried bargaining but nobody was willing to listen—least of all Otto Zander, the legend.

Not after the countless abductions with captives being cut into while still alive. Not after all the commercial airlines shot down. Not after we realized Alien Food had human parts in it.

Not after the Terror Sites, the product of human resistance to the kidnappings.

Not after the Kiryu-Kai disaster…

We would learn later that the alien HQ on Mars had sent a signal. Deep into the ocean.

Eight-thousand people. That's how many had been on the Oasis of the Seas prior to it being split in half. Around 60 percent of them were either women or children. Some of them very young. Babies really.

The alarm started blaring.

Captain Joe Vargas was snapped out of his thoughts. He quite young for the most senior rank in the XCOM forces. Then again, there was no XCOM. Not even semi-official, which had been the case 40 years ago. He had a thin beard but a thick mustache and a black beret rather than a white naval cap.

In front of him, a network of widescreens. One contained info on the funding of the nations. On another, USO activity in the main oceans was displayed by a line graph. The third was the Geoscape, a massive 3D map of planet Earth, the third rock from the Sun. The fourth were incoming resources: soldiers, scientists and technicians as well as any supplies. Any transfers to different bases (right now there was just this one) would also show up, with the "From" base, the "To" base and the time of arrival.

Right now only the third monitor was of any importance. A red blip showed up on the radar, about 500 km from the base.

"Captain this is Sacred."

That was the base's head sonar officer.

"Go ahead Sacred."

"We picked up a contact. Right here in the Atlantic Ocean with us."

"I see it. What's the size?"

"Small captain, but remember the medium and large scouts—"

"Yes I know. Is this one like that?"

"Looks like a very small one sir. We've had several of these pop open in our waters already."

"Has Angler One already been dispatched?"

"The pilot's going through systems check in the pen as we speak."

The submersible pilot's name was Jordan Year. He had a thin build, green eyes, and short blonde hair that was said to look like Agent Washington's. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

His friends, being he hilarious assholes that they were, had already named him "New Year" before his first practice run with the Angler. That was fine. His friend Daphne Six had been nicknamed "Rainbow" shortly after arriving here. It pissed her off to no end, and honestly tickled the ever-loving fuck out of New Year.

The two of them were in the living quarters, and trying to catch some shut eye. They'd been drilling maneuvers all damned day in the simulation room. He was ragged, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He had curled up in his bed when the alarm went off. New Year groaned.

The alarm watch was beeping. The voice of a calm, collected women could be heard. "Year report to the sub pen. I repeat. Year report to…"

"Son of a donkey's dildo." New Year muttered.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."

"Knock yourself out." New Year muttered. He expected a crack at his expense. When that didn't happen, he started putting his uniform on.

A flying submarine was hardly different from a plane when the former was in the air and the new Angler ships—heavily modified versions of the British Barracuda—were the fastest that the planet had to offer. There were plenty of Barracudas still, just not with XCOM. The Euro-Syndicate, where Year had been born had plenty of the things swimming around, in part to keep the Egyptian Cartel from fucking over its truce.

None of that mattered anymore. It was January 12, 2040. It was a new era. A new and terrible battle.

What mattered was the alarm. New Year ran out of the living quarters. The sub pens were north of the air lock. The northwest pen had the Triton that had just come in, a combo of American and Japanese tech. The central pen had Rainbow's Angler and the one in the eastern pen belonged to New Year.

As he walked over to it, he could make out the technicians examining the Ajax Torpedo Launchers that had just been installed. One of the techies saw Year and waved to him.

"We made it just in time bud! Once these damned things arrived we started installing them to the sub's hardpoints. Had we waited even one hour, you'd be sitting this one out."

"But I'm not, so good on you Yamata"

Carl Yamata gave him a thumbs-up, and cleared his subordinates from the area as Year climbed the rather steep ramp to his ship.

New Year went through systems check in the cockpit. Fuel. Sonar. Controls. Comms.

"All green Sacred."

To the left of the pen, all the way in the corner, was a small office where a petite French lady was sitting in front of a bulky computer with an equally bulky microphone in front of her. Below New Year's Angler, a door to open water was opening.

"Roger that, New Year. You have the green light." Sacred said. "I repeat you have the sea."

"Copy that Sacred." New Year said. "My sea."

The sub descended into the hole of the pen. It gave way to the open waters of the Atlantic.

He turned the sub to the west and headed out.

It took him around twenty-five minutes to finally reach the bandit. It was morning over the Atlantic, and the depth they were at was fairly shallow. Light poked through the surface and New Year thought that the ocean had never looked so pretty.

"Sacred, I've got the enemy in my sights." New Year said. A lens at the front of the Angler opened. Miles away, a separate video window would appear on Sacred's computer. He zoomed in on the sub. It was quite tiny, with what appeared to be two small windows on the backside. They were round and black and made the thing look like it was staring at him.

"You are clear to engage Angler Two."

Alright let's do this.

New Year went for a standard attack. He didn't want the bandit to get away but didn't fancy having his remains splattered across an Angler that just got ripped in half. He had suitable armaments. The Ajax torpedoes had equivalent range to the Stingrays from the first alien war. The alien scouts from that war had shitty range, and hoped these small subs would follow a similar trend. He had his craft gas cannon as a backup, although it also had shitty range.

A square cursor hovered over the alien sub. It froze over it and turned red.

"Target locked."

New Year pulled the trigger. There was an immense rushing sound as the project raced through the dark waters of the Atlantic.

The Ajax torpedoes were about as accurate as the Stingrays from 40 years ago, which meant they could miss just as easily as they could hit, even if the target was large.

"Come on baby." New Year whispered. "Do it for daddy."

There was a flash of light: an explosion.

Yes! A HIT!

He waited to see if the alien sub was still operational. His heart froze when he saw that it was.

New Year didn't waste any more time. He sent in another one. This one missed. As did the third one. The alien sub broke left. Hard. It went out of the Angler's view.

"Goddamn it!"

New Year hit the brakes, and turned the Angler to the left. The alien sub had gone well out of engagement range. The bastard was fast. Too fast. It took him another six minutes to get in range again.

What's the damn thing even looking for?

He tried not to think of what would happen if it was looking for a ship to sink. If it was a scout, it might not have the weapons for it, but New Year didn't want to risk it.

Suddenly, he found himself accelerating the Angler, maxing out the thrusters.

His parents had been on a cruise in the Caribbeans for their anniversary. They'd gone to San Juan and then to San Martin where their ship, the Jewel of the Seas was currently. They were currently waiting for the heads of Royal Carribean to get back of them, either with news that the cruise would proceed (they were already behind schedule) or news that it would be canceled. .

It could've just as easily been them.

The Angler was in gas cannon range now. He was certain the alien craft was a small scout. The techies would think up a fancy name for it, but it was a small scout. His granddad said that there was never too much trouble shooting the things down. The difficult part was getting in range.

He sent out two more torpedoes and then opened up with the gun. The cannon wasn't strong, but it had three-hundred rounds on the Angler, an upgrade from the Barracuda. As New Year watched, the ammo counter started going down.

The first Ajax hit. There was an explosion: this one was much larger. The shockwave rattled the Angler, but it was fine. He kept the Angler going forward, waiting for the alien sub to dart out of the explosion.

It did not. He waited. And it wasn't showing up on the craft's sonar any more. He'd done it. He had won.

New Year realized he'd been holding his breath. Suddenly the ocean was so quiet. He couldn't even hear the sound of the engine.

He realized he hadn't been blinking. He blinked and immediately his eyes started to burn as if pokers had been shoved into them. It was an annoying habit that he'd never gotten rid of. Lucky it only happened in situations like this. Eye-damaged pilots were not pilots at all, and he'd been born to do this shit.

"Sacred, this is Angler Two."

"Go ahead New Year."

"The bandit is down. I repeat hostile eliminated. The sub is not intact. I repeat, the sub is completely destroyed. No surviving aliens."

He engaged the Angler's auto-pilot. His job was done. He was heading back. The techies wouldn't be able to salvage anything from the ship. That was fine. It went without saying that there would be more.

A lot more.