Deep Rising

Full-page painting: the faces of a fanged reptilian alien, a grey Sectoid with huge black eyes and a roaring, many-toothed creature rise above a jungle and waterfall. Small grey aliens crouch among rocks in the lower left; an X-COM soldier in dark glasses runs forward, pistol in hand, in the lower right. A small "Deep Rising – a tribute to X-COM" logo sits in the corner.

Green monospaced terminal-style text on a dark, sepia-toned background showing a shadowy alien figure.

FOREWORD

If you're somehow curious about what brought about the making of this comic, read on. Otherwise, you can safely just flip through and enjoy.

One fine day, early April of 2009 - a couple of clearly deranged lunatics (as we now fondly address our younger selves) came to an agreement that something must be done. The situation was untenable.

Over a decade had by then gone by since the last title in the X-Com series of games that fully adhered to its core origins of strategic gameplay coupled with squad-based tactical ground engagements had been released.

Whoever owned the brand (correctly suspected and later confirmed to be Take-Two Interactive) seemed unaware of its paramount significance and world-wide importance.

We just didn't have another decade to spare. Death, devastation, alien mayhem would surely ensue. We were going to reactivate X-Com ourselves and set off a global movement, a chain reaction, that would reawaken all the dormant cells of our fellow agents, apparently in stasis but steadfastly loyal to the cause, finally up in arms to demand justice - a new X-Com must arise!

A plan of unparalleled ambition was secretly devised and put into motion. We would see it to completion.

Never mind the fact that the thing we were plotting to do had never been attempted, much less achieved, to the stratospheric scale being aimed at given where we were starting from (absolute scratch and zero experience in the specific project type we were embarking on).

Nonetheless we were confident. Adamant.

Luckily, our endurance matched our early onset of craziness and six years or so on we have deployment.

Lower your psi defences, remove your hazmat suits and let your senses be overtaken by this, our fully realized weapon - a dangerous work of fan fiction, ultimately made very real in the form of this lovingly crafted comic.

Between ideation and implementation much took place, so much in fact that we can't possibly suitably convey it all within the confines of this space.

What we can say is that it took the pair of us and a group of very talented, passionate professionals, spread across several countries, quite literally hundreds of hours (and something like thousands of e-mails) to make it all come to fruition with the kind of quality you'll hopefully be able to ascertain for yourself here.

We count ourselves extremely fortunate indeed to have been deserving of their time, dedication, unwavering patience and overflowing inspiration that resulted in this truly unique work. To them all, our heartfelt thank you!

The Project Leads

Olav 'Slaughter' Lognvik - Oslo, Norway

Pedro 'Thorondor' Bento - Lisbon, Portugal

Open blue sea under a bright sky; a lone Avenger transport is a speck on the horizon.

Hal (radio): This is Avenger two-three. Sweep of sector eight complete. …Moving on to sector nine to commence final patrol pass.

Inside the cockpit: the veteran pilot, Hal, in a flight jacket and mirrored sunglasses, flies past a glowing holographic display.

Morgan (radio): Roger that. See anything?

Hal: Yeah. The Caribbean. Pretty.

Morgan (radio): And your guests?

The white, scuffed Avenger streaks just above the waves, kicking up spray.

Hal (radio): I'm sure they're enjoying the view as well. They can probably see their offshore banks from here.

Morgan (radio): Um…Hal, you…um…

Hal (radio): Relax. They're off comm, sittin' on their well-fed asses in the back. They can't hear us.

Close-up of the base's circular intercept radar, showing the Avenger's blip over a coastline.

Morgan: Dog and pony shows for diplomatic dignitaries. Gotta love 'em. At least they sent you someplace nice.

Hal (radio): Yeah. Awesome. Even they probably know we're not going to see any action out here.

Morgan: That's the plan. Don't want the fat-cats getting shot down before they sign this month's funding check. Hang in there. Another half hour and it'll be over. Until next month.

The control room: Morgan slouches at the console with a drink beside him as Romanova, in a red headband and X-COM jumpsuit, walks in behind him.

Romanova: Anything to report?

Morgan: Yeah…we just wasted about two percent of our Elerium supply flying a bunch of rich government assholes on an alien sweep in a sector that saw maybe two UFO interceptions during the entire war.

Romanova leans over Morgan's shoulder at the radar console.

Romanova: There has not been much action anywhere lately, Morgan. If the occasional VIP tour is the price we must pay to continue our funding, then so be it.

Morgan: Anna…the war's been over for 3 years. There hasn't been a UFO sighted in over 18 months. Do you really think they're gonna keep funding us?

A red blip flashes on the radar; Morgan, headset on, turns to the screen while Romanova looks on.

Romanova: I suppose we will…

Hal (radio): What the…I'm actually picking up something!

Close on Romanova and Morgan, suddenly alert, lit by the glow of the console.

Morgan: What is it? Air-to-air shows nothing in range.

Hal (radio): Not in the air…it's on a small atoll about 20 clicks ahead. Or under it. I've got no visual, but power readings are off the scale.

Romanova: I have your telemetry. That could only be a fully-operational Elerium reactor!

The Avenger banks toward a green, mountainous tropical island.

Hal (radio): I'm going in closer to check it out…

Romanova (radio): Negative, Hal…not with a boatload of civilians on board. You are not even armed!

In the cockpit, Hal studies his instruments.

Hal: It's okay…must be a glitch in the detectors. All I'm seeing down there is jungle. No indication of…

From the jungle floor, a vine-covered alien plasma cannon crackles with energy as the Avenger passes overhead.

Hal (radio): …holy…

A blast of plasma lightning rips into the Avenger, which bursts into flames over the sea.

Sound: BOOOOM!!

Hal screams in the fire-lit cockpit, his sunglasses reflecting the flames.

Hal: I'M HIT!!!

In the smoke-filled passenger cabin, a businessman in a suit cries out as fire streams past the seats.

Hal: Port engine is out!

In the control room, Morgan shouts into his headset while Romanova leans in over his shoulder.

Morgan: HAL! GET OUT OF THERE!

Hal (radio): Negative! Main power failing! I've got to set her down. Repeat I'm going…

Morgan grimaces at the dead channel as Romanova sprints out of the room behind him.

Morgan: We've lost his signal.

Romanova: I'm heading to Hangar Module 1. Get on the comm and have everyone meet me there. Five minutes. Do it!

A cavernous, grimy hangar: a handful of small figures gather beside a hulking transport craft and a robotic loading arm.

Romanova: …so this is it. The real deal. Suit up.

McConnel: Um…Captain? Ma'am? Aren't we gonna wait for back-up? The rest of the team…

Romanova: We are it, McConnel. The emergency recall signal was sent, but transports are at a minimum. It will be hours before all of the crew can return. If there are survivors, they won't last that long. Now, move!

In the hangar, Hart (a tall blond trooper) and Gordon (a dark-haired woman) talk with McConnel in the foreground.

McConnel: Only five of us.

Hart: Vat do you expect? Vith all off the bases on minimal complement and two thirds of the personnel always on off-base standby.

Gordon: Cheap-ass bastards. I mean, it ain't hoppin' like it was during the war these days, but you gotta be ready. And we ain't ready.

Gianelli: Tell me about it. Look at this shit!

Gianelli, a hulking bald veteran in a white vest, holds up the limp, unpowered arm of a Power Suit.

Gianelli: Not a single working Power Suit in the joint. Never mind the Flying stuff…

Gordon: Quit messin' with that and grab some crap armor like everybody else. That is if you can find a suit that'll fit your fat ass.

The squad pulls on battered armour; Gianelli lifts a chest plate while McConnel crouches by the rack.

Gianelli: Nice.

McConnel: Crap armor? What's wrong with it?

Hart: Obviously, you have never taken a plasma shot in this armor. It is not pleasant.

Gordon: She sure hasn't. Katy here's a noob. This is her first time out.

Gianelli scowls; McConnel looks down, nervous.

Gianelli: You gotta be shittin' me!

McConnel: I'm fully trained—6 weeks of boot and a double course at the psi academy. Tested highest psi rating in my class…

Gianelli leers at McConnel until Gordon steps in and jabs a finger into his chest.

Gianelli: Yeah? You wanna tell me what I'm thinkin' right now, miss psi newbie?

Gordon: Oh, cut the crap Gianelli. Ain't nobody wants to see what's inside that empty head of yours. Give the girl a break. She can't start out old and gnarly like you.

Gianelli: Well I didn't get to be old and gnarly by babysittin' Rookies…

Gianelli, now armoured, stands beside the hulk of a disassembled tracked tank in the dim hangar.

Gianelli: …or by shipping out in a Lightning that's older'n my mother. Four rusty vets and a noob on a combat run, and no room to even carry a Heavy Weapons Platform.

Close on Gianelli's armoured boot kicking a broken tank component, scattering debris.

Gianelli: Not that we got any working HWPs around here anyway. If the aliens ain't already scragged those funding bastards, I might have a go at 'em myself.

Romanova: Come on people. Weapons are on-board. Let's move!

The four troopers stride toward us in their armour: McConnel, Hart, Gianelli and Gordon.

Gianelli: You heard the lady…let's go hunt us some crawlies.

Wide shot: the Lightning blasts up and away from the X-COM base, its domes half-buried in snow among icy mountains.

Gianelli: God help us all.

A golden sunset over a tropical beach. The Lightning sits at the jungle's edge; Hart carries a heavy cannon and Romanova, in a red headband, checks a hand-held motion scanner.

Gordon: You sure this is the island? I don't see a damned thing.

Hart: Of course not…we came in from the opposite direction. Anyway, I checked readings myself. There was a strong Elerium signature.

McConnel: But it seems so peaceful…

Gianelli: Enjoy it while it lasts, Rookie. Just be glad there ain't an Ethereal hidin' in the brush pullin' some psi shit. Makin' old Hart there blast us with that cannon of his…

Hart: I assure you…my psi rating is sufficient for me to carry a heavy weapon…

Close on Romanova, rifle slung, raising a fist for silence while staring at her scanner.

Romanova: Shhh…quiet!

Romanova: I have got movement. Right at the edge of the…

A grey-haired businessman in a ragged suit runs out of the jungle as green plasma bolts slam into the sand around him.

Romanova: …JUNGLE!

Businessman: I'm not going back! Just kill me and get it over with you gray bast…

Close on the businessman, screaming as a plasma blast hits him in the back.

Businessman: AAAAAARRRGGGHHHH!!

A small grey Sectoid, plasma pistol in hand, walks out of the misty jungle past the businessman's body.

Extreme close-up of the Sectoid's face; the X-COM troopers are reflected in its huge black eyes.

Laser beams strike the Sectoid as it raises its pistol, and it jerks backwards.

Romanova, smoke curling from her red-and-black laser rifle, with Gianelli just behind her shoulder.

Gianelli: Yeah…I'd say we got the right place.

Romanova: Let us move out.

The squad gathers by the body under shafts of fading light, then heads into the jungle.

Romanova: It is going to be dark soon, and according to the last transmission, the Avenger went down about three clicks from here.

Gianelli: Come on, Gordon. Move your ass or we'll leave it behind.

High above the night jungle, the Avenger's wreck burns at the end of a long furrow ploughed through the trees; tiny figures approach it.

Gordon: Look at that thing. I can't believe anybody survived that.

McConnel: We didn't see anybody in the jungle at all. Maybe…

Romanova: If the man back on the beach made it, others may have survived as well.

Gianelli: You might be right…the ship looks empty.

Hart: Here.

Hart and Romanova look out at a flat alien hull overgrown with vines, a twin-barrelled cannon rising from it; Hart wears a scanner on his arm.

Romanova: No movement. What do you think? Supply ship?

Hart: Nein. The top deck is too big. I think a Harvester, perhaps. It looks as if much of the ship was buried when it crashed.

High angle over the UFO's half-buried deck and cannon, with the squad spread out on the slope beyond.

Gordon: That thing didn't crash. Look at the trees. They would have been blasted flat by a crash. No way they could have grown back so fast.

Gianelli: But it's dug in two decks deep! It could never fly again, not without a fleet of bulldozers to dig it out. Why bury it?

The squad gathers around Romanova in the gloom beside the UFO.

Romanova: Enough. We must get inside. We can speculate about the motivations of aliens after we have cleared the area and found the remaining survivors.

Inside the Harvester's top deck: Gordon, McConnel and Hart, weapons ready, peer into the gloom.

Gordon: Yeah, this is a Harvester all right. Top deck, just outside the control room. Didn't know there was a hatch up here, though.

Gianelli: Some of the earlier ones we cataloged had 'em, but most didn't. This has probably been here a while. Wonder why nobody ever reported it?

Hart: This area did not see much activity during the war. It would have been easy to overlook.

Romanova frowns at her scanner while Gianelli looks over her shoulder.

Romanova: Damn!

Romanova: There is something jamming the Motion Scanner.

Gianelli: That ain't possible.

Romanova: Nevertheless, it is true. We shall have to do things the old fashioned way. Follow me.

Romanova leads the squad through a doorway, rifle raised; behind her Gianelli lifts his hand to signal.

Romanova: Fan out. Clear the control room. Do not damage the equipment.

Gianelli: Gordon. Electro-flares, on my mark…NOW!

Overhead view of the dim control room, its glowing consoles lit by flares as the squad spreads out.

Gianelli: Look sharp!

Green plasma bolts rake the floor as Gianelli and another trooper dive for cover.

Gianelli: I got the gray…somebody get the snake-head!

Gianelli, kneeling, fires his laser rifle at a Sectoid that scuttles between sparking consoles.

Gianelli: Stand still, ya little bastard!

Gordon: You're out of practice, Gianelli.

From behind the Sectoid: Gordon's plasma shot hits it squarely.

Gordon: You should spend more time at the range and less in the canteen.

Romanova: Hart! You have eyes on the Snakeman?

Hart, auto-cannon ready, and Romanova, rifle raised, sweep the room.

Hart: Lost him in the shadows.

Romanova: Stay alert, everyone…

McConnel, frightened, grips a pistol and a glowing psi-amp, not seeing the Snakeman rising behind the console over her.

Gordon: I don't see it anywh—KAT! Look out!

McConnel spins and fires her pistol at the Snakeman, the rounds sparking off its hide.

McConnel: AGGGH!

Hart: McConnel! Get clear!

McConnel dives aside as Hart's auto-cannon shreds the Snakeman and the console behind it.

Close on an angry Romanova and an unrepentant Hart.

Romanova: What part of "do not damage the equipment" do you DURAKS not understand?

Hart: I believe that some of the equipment is still functional.

Gordon helps McConnel up near the smoking remains of the Snakeman while Hart and Gianelli stand by.

Romanova: I hope so. I will stay here and try to get some light in here…and perhaps tap into the mission files to see why the ship is here.

Romanova: The rest of you split up. Gordon and Hart take the starboard elevator down. Gianelli—you and McConnel take the port.

Gianelli: Great…

Close-up of Romanova, grim.

Romanova: They probably know we're here, now…so find the survivors quickly. Go.

On the descending lift, in red light, Gianelli sights down his rifle while McConnel whispers behind him.

McConnel: Should I toss in a flare or should we conserve…

Gianelli: Shhhh!

Inset: the muzzle of Gianelli's rifle flashes with a single shot.

Gianelli and McConnel stand over a dead alien in the smoky red gloom; he holds up its heavy weapon.

Gianelli: Sweet! Heavy Plasma gun! Haven't seen one of those in years!

McConnel: How did you know that alien was down here?

Gianelli: When you've been in as many crawlie ships as I have, you learn stuff…

In red light, Gianelli holds the captured Heavy Plasma and passes his laser rifle to McConnel; the dead alien lies at their feet.

Gianelli: …like there's always an alien in the corner when you come down the elevator. Let's move. And try to find a way to make yourself useful.

Outside the elevator, an alien foetus floats in a glass reproduction cylinder as Hart and Gordon arrive.

Hart: We heard a shot. Something in there?

Gianelli: It's taken care of. How 'bout down there?

Gordon: Some repro chambers, food storage…the usual. Textbook layout.

Hart: But no aliens.

The four troopers walk together down a dim green corridor.

Gordon: This place should be crawling…but it's like a tomb.

McConnel: That's good, isn't it? I mean, we don't want to be outnumbered, right?

Gianelli: Don't get too comfortable. We ain't even been through half the ship yet.

Gianelli gestures toward a door; Gordon smirks beside him.

Gianelli: Shall we?

Gordon: Age before beauty. Lead on!

Total darkness, with the four troopers silhouetted small in the lit doorway.

Gianelli: Shit! I can't see a damned thing! Somebody toss in a…

Full-page splash: a cavernous alien operating theatre. In the foreground a bloodied, cut-open man lies strapped to a table under a mechanical surgical arm; more mutilated bodies hang along the walls; the four troopers stand frozen in the doorway.

Gianelli: …flare. Jesus.

Romanova (radio): I have just re-routed some power. You should have lights now. Do you copy? Anyone?

Gordon: Yeah, we…we copy.

Romanova (radio): What's the matter? What's down there?

Hart: I think we have found some of our banker friends. What is left of them.

Close on Romanova in the control room, speaking into her headset.

Romanova: What do you mean?

Hart (radio): In the alien surgery chamber on the mid-deck. Three human bodies. No survivors. Not really.

Romanova: Only three? There were seven, total—plus the pilot. This means that there's still a chance that there are survivors.

In the corridor, Gianelli talks into his radio while McConnel doubles over, sick, and Hart stares into the surgery.

Gianelli: Yeah…if we don't find 'em in the other surgery room downstairs. I don't like this, Anna. Something feels wrong about this.

Romanova stands at a glowing alien console.

Gianelli (radio): They don't usually cut 'n' run, so to speak. I ain't never seen any aliens abandon fresh test subjects. And there ain't a damned crawlie to be found!

Romanova: You have to finish your sweep. Stick together. Get downstairs and see if you can find anybody.

The squad regroups; McConnel wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Romanova (radio): Instruments show that the main cargo lift is locked down. You'll have to use the port personnel lift and find a way through to surgery area.

Gianelli: Will do. You heard her, folks. Let's rock and roll.

Gordon and McConnel head off down the curved corridor while Gianelli turns to Hart.

Gianelli: Hart. Burn that shit.

Gianelli walks toward us, grim, as Hart fires his auto-cannon into the surgery behind him in a burst of orange fire.

The engineering room: a single glowing Y-shaped alien power source; ragged holes have been cut through the walls on either side.

Gianelli: We're in engineering…and I know why you had trouble gettin' the lights on. One of the power sources is missing.

Romanova (radio): Missing?

Gordon: Yeah, and there's a big-ass hole cut in both of the walls. Not exactly factory spec…

Gianelli, in the foreground, looks through the holes toward McConnel, Gordon and Hart.

Hart: The surgery bay is completely stripped. No sign of activity. And it looks as if the outer abduction hatch has been sealed.

McConnel: Probably because they can't use it. We're thirty feet underground!

Gianelli: That ain't it at all. It's because wherever they were going…

Looking down a rough square shaft cut through the floor beneath the cargo lift, light filtering down into it.

Gianelli: …they needed an elevator.

Gianelli: We ain't done clearin' this place, people. Not by a long shot.

At the bottom of the shaft, in an amber-lit rock cave, Gianelli raises the Heavy Plasma while the others drop down behind him.

Romanova (radio): TTSH…copy? Gianelli…TTSH…there?

Gianelli: Anna, you're breaking up. We're in a cave way below the ship, and there's a tunnel ahead. We're gonna check it out. Just hang tight.

Gianelli: Let's go. Follow me but spread out. We don't wanna be grenade bait.

A long tunnel whose walls are carved with strange symbols; McConnel runs a hand over them as the others move ahead.

Gordon: This place goes on forever. We must be below sea level by now. And it looks like somebody made this.

McConnel: I minored in alien languages at the academy…but I don't recognize these symbols at all. They're not…

Gianelli: Shhhh! Settle down. The tunnel widens out just up there…

A vast carved chamber with rows of stone slabs glowing yellow; a lone figure sits among them.

Gordon: Gianelli, look! Is that…

Gianelli: Jesus…

Gianelli: HAL!

Close on Hal, battered and dirty, his eyes glowing an eerie blue, as Gianelli approaches behind him.

Gianelli: Hal! It's me, Gianelli!

Close on Hal, eyes glowing blue, gripping a plasma pistol; Gianelli approaches behind him.

Gianelli: Come on, man! We're here to get you…

Hal fires; a green plasma bolt hits Gordon in the chest.

Gianelli: …out…

Gordon: AAAAGGGGGHHH!!!

Hal stands firing, eyes aglow, as the squad scrambles for cover behind the stone slabs.

McConnel: MAYA!!!!!

Gianelli: Shit! Everybody take cover!!!!! He's under alien control!

Hulking green Mutons with purple faces charge through the cavern, firing plasma weapons.

Gianelli: And he ain't alone!

McConnel fires her laser rifle from cover, and Gianelli and Hart return fire beside her.

Gianelli: Damn it, Rookie! That's our man out there! Be careful!

McConnel: I'm trying! They're too close! It's hard to shoot around him!

Hart dives across the floor toward Gordon's body and the Small Launcher lying beside her.

Gianelli: We need to get him out of the way somehow!

Hart: Gianelli…cover me.

Hart, kneeling beside Gianelli, fires the launcher toward Hal and the Mutons.

Hart: NOW!

In a blaze of orange fire, McConnel shoots from behind a stone slab while Gianelli punches the air; the stun blast knocks Hal down and a Muton is hit.

Gianelli: Damn right!

Gianelli turns to Hart; in the foreground, Hart's eyes glow blue as he reloads the launcher.

Gianelli: Nice goin', Hart! Now let's.

Gianelli: Oh shit…

Gianelli dives clear of an explosion as Hart fires at him; a robed Ethereal stands in the background.

Gianelli: "High enough psi rating to carry the heavy weapon" my ASS!

Close on Gianelli in cover, readying the Heavy Plasma.

Gianelli: McConnel, get into cover! I'll try to take out the Ethereal!

Gianelli, aiming, looks up in surprise.

Gianelli: What the…?!?

Across the cavern littered with dead Mutons, the Ethereal flees in its flowing robe with Hart running after it, while McConnel points after them.

McConnel: Panic attack. Won't last long, but it should buy us a couple of minutes.

Gianelli: I'll be damned.

McConnel: Just making myself useful, Gianelli. Come on…we need to find Hart before the aliens decide he isn't useful.

A vast, dark natural cavern. At the water's edge a hooded Ethereal sits at a control station, and a crouching Sectopod walker glows red nearby.

McConnel: My God, look at this place!

Gianelli: Yeah…I think we might have just found alien central station.

From behind McConnel and Gianelli: across the lake, the missing Y-shaped power source glows on an island of alien machinery as the Ethereal leads Hart toward it.

McConnel: Look at all the hardware on that island! What are they doing down here?

Gianelli: I don't…oh, hell.

Binocular view: a glowing orange alien tank filled with liquid and human remains.

Gianelli: I think we just found the rest of our bankers.

Gianelli and McConnel crouch behind the rocks, planning their attack.

Gianelli: Alright…we're gonna take this place down. You scrag Hart's Ethereal buddy, and I'll take out that control station.

McConnel: What about those mech things?

Gianelli: Without the Ethereals, those Sectopods don't know up from down. Now, come on…on three. One…two…

Gianelli pops up and hurls a grenade.

Gianelli: THREE!!!!

The control station erupts in flame, flinging an Ethereal aside, as a Sectopod fires green bolts and Hart kneels nearby.

Gianelli: HA! Gotcha, you bastards!

McConnel crouches behind rocks as Gianelli sprints across the burning cavern toward Hart, who lies dazed in front of a Sectopod firing green bolts.

Hart: UHHHHHHHHHHH.

Gianelli: Stay here! I'll grab Hart, and then we can get the hell out of here!

Close on McConnel raising the binoculars.

Binocular view: silhouetted figures walk through the flames around the wrecked power source on the island.

McConnel: What the…?

Close-up of one of them: a fanged, Sectoid-like alien with glowing red eyes, lit by fire.

McConnel fires her laser rifle at the Sectopod as it shoots Gianelli in the leg.

Gianelli: Auuugh! DAMN IT!

The Sectopod blows apart in a fireball.

Hart, alert again, kneels beside Gianelli, who clutches his burned leg; McConnel stands apart and points back across the cavern.

Hart: You okay? McConnel…bring the Medi-Kit!

Gianelli: Yeah…friggin' cheap-ass Personal Armor. Screw the Medi-Kit, I'll manage. I think we're clear. The other Sectopod walked out into the water and shorted out.

McConnel: No! There's still something! Some kind of mutant Sectoids. Out there…

The island burns on the black water; ripples spread where something has slipped beneath the surface.

McConnel: …on the island.

Gianelli: I don't see nothin'.

Hart: Perhaps they were thrown into the water by the explosions.

Gianelli kneels and unslings his big backpack while Hart and McConnel stand over him.

McConnel: We should get out there and grab whatever we can for the science guys. Whatever those things were, they weren't normal.

Gianelli: No. The hell with that. You and Hart, get out of here. Now. That's an order. And don't forget to grab Hal on your way out! We didn't go through all this for nothin'!

Hart: What about you?

Gianelli: Don't worry…I'll be right behind ya.

Silhouetted against the fire, McConnel and Hart turn to go while Gianelli crouches over his opened pack.

Gianelli: And grab Gordon's body on the way out, too. We ain't leaving her down here.

Moonlit jungle outside the UFO hatch: Romanova, rifle raised, as Hart carries Gordon's body and McConnel supports the dazed pilot.

McConnel: Don't shoot! It's us!

Romanova: Sukyn cyn! I was about to give up…I thought you were dead!

Hart: We did not escape unscathed.

Romanova: Damn! Go. Get her back to the ship. We will follow you.

Close on Romanova and McConnel, who is holding up the stooped Hal.

McConnel: Hold it! Gianelli…

Romanova: Where is he?

Back in the burning cavern, Gianelli stands by the wrecked control station.

Gianelli: Three straight years of fightin' us and you crawlies never learned not to mess with X-COM…

Close-up: a clawed, yellowish alien hand presses a glowing control.

A massive stone door slides down across an archway.

Outside the hatch, Romanova and McConnel, still supporting Hal, turn as Gianelli comes out shouldering a bulky launcher.

McConnel: Where were you? Were about to come in and drag your ass out of there!

Gianelli: Just preparing a little parting gift. Make sure nobody ever uses this place again.

Gianelli sets the launcher's final waypoint; Romanova stares.

Romanova: A Blaster Launcher? But our ammo stores ran out months ago!

Gianelli: Let's just say I was saving a little something for a rainy day. Now, you ladies might want to get moving…

Gianelli fires the Blaster Launcher, the bomb streaking toward the hatch.

Gianelli: 'Cause it's about to rain.

A sequence of small panels follows the bomb's smoky, winding trail: through the control room, down the lift shaft, along the amber tunnel and through the cavern, straight at a sealed stone door carved with a snarling alien face. Between them, the squad sprints away through the moonlit jungle.

The buried UFO explodes, flames bursting up through the jungle around its toppled cannon.

Night: the Lightning climbs away as a mushroom of fire rises from the island's jungle.

Gianelli: I don't think the crawlies'll be using that little facility again anytime soon.

Hart: The Blaster Launcher is a very effective weapon.

Inside the Lightning's green-lit cabin, Gianelli, Hart and McConnel raise shot glasses while Hal sleeps slumped in a seat.

Gianelli: To Gordon. She died the same way she lived…fightin' the whole damn time.

Gianelli: And to the Rookie here. You earned your stripes today, McConnel. And saved my ass doin' it. Cheers!

Hart: PROST.

McConnel: I just keep wondering…what was going on down there? What were they doing in that cave?

Close on Gianelli knocking back his drink.

Gianelli: Screw it. It's all over now.

Deep underground, thick smoke hides the archway.

Gianelli: No more crawlies…

The smoke thins to reveal the carved stone door, its alien face glowing red, perfectly intact.

Gianelli: …no more cave.

A single wide image split at the waterline: above, the Lightning flies off under a starry sky; below, a dark shape moves under the surface, bubbles rise, and a spiny lobster crawls past a half-buried treasure chest on the seabed.

Gianelli: …no more problems.

THE END

Green terminal text in the style of the original X-COM debriefing screen, over a sepia image of an X-COM craft in a hangar.

Deep Rising - a work of fan fiction by:

Olav 'Slaughter' Lognvik: Project lead

Pedro 'Thorondor' Bento: Project lead

David Ellis: Story

Jon McCoy: Art

John Broomhall: Music & audio

Lim Ri Kai: Special concepts

Carlos Cabrera: Cover art

Daryl Mandryk: Alternate cover

Aliens killed: 19 (score 328)

XCOM operatives killed: 1 (score -30)

Civilians killed by aliens: 7 (score -210)

XCOM craft crew saved: 1 (score 30)

XCOM craft lost: 1 (score -400)

Total: -282

Rating: _

Full-page painting signed "Mandryk 2010": a dark-haired woman in X-COM armour fires a glowing pistol through a jungle hung with green, egg-like pods, beside a twisted, glowing tree; dead grey Sectoids lie in the undergrowth and another lurks behind.