Lambda came to us in what was left of the valley to help devise a plan for what's next.
The citadel of Geneva - the horrid entity that were were shredded in combat for months so we can safely 'demolish' it - came back through the sky like a barren devil from the depths of Hell. My eyes almost teared as I looked up and saw the last thing I wanted to see. I did not care for my life. I did not care for Lambda. The only thoughts my mind mustered at that point were about all the people that fell in Geneva. The massacres; the dead bodies of my fallen friends that I had to crawl through. All of these people lost; for nothing. This was the first time I ever felt it. A feeling of dread. Emptiness. Something that until this point I have never felt before.
Failure.
We dug up in the valley and held out long enough until Lambda finally showed up. And what I feared would happen has happened; Their appearance was as equal as their disappearance. Unlike Geneva, we were not huddled with warfighting equipment. No plans. No schemes. No scientific miracles. Nothing. Lambda left us to fend for ourselves. All we knew is that an Advisor was present in the region. It had a plan to open a portal in the sky to pull something through, and we had to stop it. We had not one, not two, but three tanks. We had a multitude of armored carriers. An attack car that was armed to the teeth, and a few dozen seasoned fighters to help stop the mad menace.
We threw everything we had into this. And we failed.
We hurdled into our APCs so we can quickly evacuate the valley. Boris was the driver of the APC I was in. Then a bright, sudden flash of light blinded me for a few seconds - and my vision returned to normal shortly after, to find myself alone. In a desolated landscape, with a weather-changing monstrosity right outside. I looked around, and all the people I fought with - Warren, Kim, Kelly, Boris, Deacon - they were all gone. Vanished. I did not know what happened, or why I wasn't affected. All that I knew is I was in a torn apart APC, all alone in what used to be a valley. I got up to the driver's seat of the carrier - miraculously - the engine was still running. I mustered up what strength I've had left and drove. I had no idea where I was driving myself. I mindlessly drove the bulky vehicle for what felt like a few hours.
I looked in my PDA by chance - and I found out that two full days have passed. I was horrified to realize that I have been driving for two days with my mind devoid of thoughts. Then I realized - my inner self was consumed by that feeling again. The feeling of dread that I despised and promised myself to never have it go through me again.
Once again... I failed.
There was not much left of my equipment. My shotgun was rusty and covered in blood, its inner mechanism finally fell victim to wear. My radios were not picking up any signals. My armor was but a carapace. What was left of my equipment that still worked was my katana, and the antique Winchester of Bucharest's fallen despot: Marshal Mladic. Approximately eight bullets was what was left in that weapon.
Once the carrier ran out of fuel, I broke out of my dream state into a snowy landscape. It didn't take me much to realize where I was. I found myself close to the Ural Mountains of what used to be Russia. I have expected to find myself embroiled in a Combine stronghold. But, surprisingly, their patrols in that region were far more scarce than I thought, understandably so due to the Xenian-infested wildlife. What I hoped would be a short venture into the wilderness has turned into my temporary housing for a full two months. Thanks to Cecilia's hut making skills that I've learned from Odessa's metros, I have made myself a hut in the middle of the woods, living off of Antlion and headcrab meat that Genjo taught me how to cook. For two full months, I lived in complete isolation, tortured by the thoughts of dying alone - far away - instead of a battle or a cause that's worth it.
At one point, I have lost all hope of returning to a civilized society. My mind was shattered with the thoughts that this snowy hell would be my grave. I looked at the Marshal's antique weapon - which only had one bullet left after I used all of the other seven carefully in my hunting ventures. The one bullet that was in that rifle would've been more than enough to painlessly end my misery; a method that looked increasingly attracting as I reflected on my past, and my failures. I would've had myself killed by the Marshal's own weapon... talk about dramatic irony. As this thought clattered in my head, my PDA caught a signal. It was a notification from a frequency that I found familiar. The numbers were gnawing at the back of my head as I stared emptily at this frequency that my eyes happened to have found recognizable. My eyes went wide as I finally recognized the mysterious coded pattern of the message, then the name of the saved contact appeared after I refreshed the message a few times.
It was Frankfurt.
I sobbed in joy as I realized that one of my friends was still alive. Two months of dreadful isolation finally broken by a few numbers on a message machine. They were not just numbers. They were coordinates that were not very far from where I was. I quickly dressed in my makeshift fur coat, grabbed the antique rifle and my blood-coated katana, and headed off to these coordinates, where I found a full set of new gear, a radio, and finally, a Crown Victoria that was fully functional and had a generous supply of fuel. A car I have not seen since our days in the urban Bucharest... a landmark of better days.
I went into the driver's seat and I found a map, with a route drawn towards the further Far East, my to-be arriving destination, marked by an X, was only classified as the 'Red Coast'. I drove as fast as I can - a checkpoint after checkpoint, controlled by the local resistance forces. As I passed these checkpoints, each of the fighters manning the checkpoints looked at my face longingly with immense respect and adoration. Never have I expected praise or recognition from anyone for my fighting, but the feeling of being appreciated after months of lonesome dread was refreshing to my broken spirit.
After two weeks of stopping and moving, I have finally arrived at my destination. The car barely had any fuel left, so I parked it at one of Frank's sites and left it, and walked the few remaining kilometers. Once I arrived at the 'X', I found myself at Outpost Berkhoff. My arm automatically reached for my helmet and I put it down as I recognized the name... another fatal mistake of my own that I reflected on at that moment. An old friend that I failed to protect.
As I entered the outpost, I was greeted by two of my former subordinates: Valentin and John. They both looked at me as if they have seen a ghostly apparition. On the outside, I looked broken, shattered, defeated - on the inside, I was filled with joy as I have seen my old friends once more, very alive and living well. As I looked around the outpost, I found more old faces that I have thought have extinguished: Deacon, Kelly, Harland, Warren, Heather - and more were all here. All of the old faces that I have thought to have perished in the last battle, did not in fact perish. They were still giving the fight to the oppressors.
Making me more delighted was finally the accomplishment of what was originally Cecilia's goal and the long-term objective of my cell. Our humble resistance was finally united. No talks about pity power struggles, no talk about the inability to work together, no talk about logistical failures; everyone had finally realized that we all have a common goal that will only be achieved by working as one. My broken state was reinvigorated as I saw everyone drop their conflicts and stand together, going further to even help in their liberation of a city.
I could not help but smile at Warren and Fyodor as they held everyone together. Two men with entirely different personalities, from two different former cells, doing what me and Harland could not do. As we moved further into Zelenogradsk, I have seen them lead and coordinate together and all it does to me is give me the one thing that I have ran low on for the past few months. Hope. It was finally here. It returned to me after I have lived in constant, unbearable dread. I look around myself, and I think that after almost a year of constant fighting and bickering, it was finally time for me to take a step back; for me to take a deserved break away from all of this.
I was contacted a few days ago by a name I have not seen nor heard from in a long while; Masum Khan, our former handler in Geneva. He requested my presence back in the liberated city as reports of an overload of refugees, as well as a short-on-manpower ruling council was almost stretching the city's supply lines thin. He personally advocated me for a job within the council to assist with running the daily affairs of the former house of nations. A new job that is a far cry away from the constant warfare I've been involved in ever since I made my presence known... something that I needed so I can peacefully think about what comes next, to refresh myself and properly re-integrate into a civilized world.
Cecilia's vision has been fulfilled.
Our resistance has learnt to work under one flag. They are finally united.
... I'm done here.