With Emma's confirmation and his own recollection of Smith and Number Six's identities, Alex finally had a full picture.
Lorien survivors.
On the run for decades.
Desperate, outnumbered, but still fighting.
They weren't threats—they were potential allies.
And Alex always kept his promises.
He would honor the cooperation he had offered, and in return, get what he needed most: intel.
---
After gathering the last of Emma's mental scan notes, Alex made his way to the eastern wing of the base.
A secured but comfortably furnished lounge had been prepared to host Smith and Number Six—a small gesture to show they were guests, not prisoners.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss.
Inside, Smith was seated across from Raven, engaged in quiet conversation. His posture was polite, his tone even—always the diplomat.
Meanwhile, Number Six…
...was hunched over a plate, wolfing down a double cheeseburger like she hadn't seen food in a week.
Her mouth was stuffed. Her fingers glistened with sauce. Her eyes were locked in predator-mode on the next bite.
She didn't even notice him enter—until the door clicked shut behind him.
Then she froze.
Mid-chew.
Eyes wide like a child caught sneaking food before dinner.
Slowly—awkwardly—she tried to shove the burger behind her back, as if that would somehow erase the evidence.
Too late.
Crumbs dotted her lips. Ketchup clung to the corner of her mouth.
Alex blinked.
Then laughed.
"What, am I a monster?"
His grin widened as Number Six flushed red, her cheeks puffed full like a chipmunk in panic mode.
"Sorry," Smith cut in quickly, offering a sheepish smile. "We haven't eaten in two days. Transporting ourselves without triggering Mog detection isn't easy."
Realizing the jig was up, Number Six sighed and retrieved her burger again—this time, chewing with forced dignity, as if that somehow reclaimed her image.
---
"Relax. While I can't promise luxury, food won't be an issue here."
Alex moved further into the room, hands in his pockets, gaze briefly sweeping over the security monitors on the wall.
Then he glanced at Number Six again.
"So? Earth cuisine treating you well?"
She swallowed her bite and wiped her mouth.
"Even if it wasn't, twenty years is enough to get used to it."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing curiously.
"Actually… you're not from Earth, are you?"
Her gaze was searching, intense.
"We've been here for decades, and we've never seen a human as strong as you."
Alex smirked.
"Damn. You got me."
Her eyes lit up.
"I knew it!"
She sat up straighter, burger forgotten.
"Okay, spill—what planet? Do you guys have gravity manipulation? Genetic layering? What's the deal?"
Alex leaned forward slightly, voice deadpan.
"Planet Badass. Species: Absolute Unit."
There was a beat.
Number Six blinked.
"Planet… Badass?"
She furrowed her brow, trying to remember if that was somewhere on the other side of the Andromeda corridor.
Even Smith looked thoughtful, as if he might've missed something in their planetary intel logs.
Then—
"Pfft—!"
Raven—who had remained quiet until now—exploded in laughter, slapping her palm against the table.
She glared at Alex with mock frustration.
"Seriously? You're bullying aliens now?"
"They started it," Alex said, completely unbothered.
---
But then the playfulness faded.
He raised a hand, voice lowering.
"Enough distractions. We're here to talk cooperation—and what we stand to gain from it."
His expression turned serious as he took a seat across from them.
Smith, ever composed, mirrored his energy instantly.
"Agreed."
---
"Then let's begin. Tell me everything you know about the Mogadorians. I want it all—command structures, numbers, weapons, hidden bases—everything."
Emma's telepathy had its limits. She could skim surface thoughts, pull recent images—but Smith had lived this war.
And Alex needed that depth.
Smith took a breath.
Then he began.
---
1. The Stalemate.
For twenty years, the Loric and Mogadorians had played an unending game of hunter and hunted across Earth.
The Mogs had overwhelming numbers. Superior technology. Ruthless leadership.
But the Loric?
They had will. Strategy. And desperation.
They'd sabotaged the Mogadorians' fleet upon landing—effectively grounding them.
No more orbit-to-surface deployment. No more planetary bombardments.
That was why, in most cases, Mogs had to rely on human transport.
"That's why they use SUVs in the movies," Alex muttered. "Makes sense now."
---
2. Mog Forces on Earth.
Smith estimated around 300 soldiers, divided among cells hidden across multiple continents.
More concerning were the Piken—giant, winged monstrosities, sometimes called "Bloodthirsty Devourers." There were about a dozen of them active globally.
And then the Grebek—smaller, land-bound cousins of the Piken. Roughly two dozen, still dangerous.
"Who names these things?" Alex mumbled, half amused.
"They name themselves," Number Six said darkly. "And they earn those names."
---
3. Weaponry.
Most advanced Mog tech was lost when their flagship was crippled.
Only standard-issue energy rifles, sidearms, and low-tier kinetic grenades had survived in significant numbers.
No starships. No orbital cannons.
"Damn shame," Alex muttered. "Would've loved to reverse-engineer one of those for Hank."
---
"If that's all they've got, this won't take long."
Alex's voice was calm. Casual.
Too casual.
Number Six stiffened.
To her, it sounded dismissive—like he was trivializing twenty years of pain, death, and running.
She opened her mouth to object—but then remembered.
He soloed a Mogadorian squad.
He killed a Piken with his bare hands.
She shut her mouth.
"...Okay. Maybe you've earned that attitude."
---
"As for the others like you," Alex added, leaning back in his chair, "just give it a few days. I'll find them."
Smith believed him.
Alex had resources. Reach. Power.
Even if he didn't yet know about Cerebro, he had other means.
And they were probably faster.
---
Then Alex leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Now… let's talk about the other half of the Sacred Stone."
His tone turned sharper.
"Where is it?"
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