I'd like to welcome all you readers, new and old, to the next part of 'Rado's saga! It's been a little while, huh? I apologize the wait has been so long. I've had a lot of changes happen since QB ended, including getting a job, so finding time to write has been an adventure. I can't guarantee a steady update schedule, but I'll update when I finish a chapter! Without further ado, I present to you the next installment: Shattered.

Chapter One: Our Own Worst Enemy

From recovered pages of Agent Colorado's diary: Another day, another dead Freelancer. I'm convinced there are two different kinds of Hell now: the kind we make for ourselves, and the kind we earn. I'm still deciding which one Freelancer is.

Silence was always said to be a soldier's best weapon. However the people who say as much always look at silence from a tactical standpoint. There's no mention of the psychological aspects. Silence always gave me too much time to think. However for the target I was hunting, silence was absolutely necessary.

Hunting down former Freelancers for their equipment back proved to be a good distraction. The Recovery Program within Freelancer was pretty secret, however. Often I wondered exactly who was involved in it besides myself. I'd been offered a chance to team up with another Freelancer, but had refused. I didn't have the heart anymore to let anyone else in. The Mother of Invention's crash had completely ravaged my ability to care anymore, to the point where I often hoped one of my marks would take me down.

Yet something still kept me fighting to the best of my ability. And always I blamed Psi for that small piece of defiance.

Thinking about him was still a fresh wound. I'd failed him wholly after all. The only reason the Meta had him was because I hadn't listened. Maybe if I had heeded his unease, I would have been more prepared. Maybe if I had trained harder I could have beat Sigma. Maybe if I had had back up…

My hand clenched my rifle even tighter. Back up. I'd been so sure that the hangar had had support. But no, it had been just me catching a glimpse of an escaping Pelican. And only later did I piece together that that bird had held my former lover and his sister. The realization of North's departure had really been what shattered my heart. I could have gotten over the loss of most everyone else. But to have North so blatantly choose South over me? Not even Maine's weapon cut me as deeply.

Funny. After three years I thought the hurt would scar over at least.

But I had to stay focused. Agent Missouri had been a technical specialist. I had already dodged one early warning system he'd set up, but knowing him, there'd be more. Missouri had been meticulous when he had been WITH the project. Now that he was rogue – and that most of his fellow escapees had been taken care of – I had no doubts he'd taken paranoia to new heights. Hell, his security measures were making ME paranoid. I'd shut down any nonessential systems possible that I thought he could use to see me coming.

Missouri had been the first Freelancer in a long time that I'd been ordered to take down. However the Director believed he had sensitive information, and thus when we'd found him I'd been dispatched as soon as possible. I'd been given a short time to plan, and first order of business, as usual, had been repainting my armor to fit the occasion. Among the frozen approach to Missouri's supposed location, I felt like a ghost. Armor pure white, and visor an icy silver. It was cliché in my opinion, but Missouri had opted to hunker down in an isolated winter cabin. Unfortunately, dodging all of his security measures wasn't possible. I'd managed to evade the sweep of one camera, but had to disable a second to keep my position hidden. No doubt that would set off a red flag.

Unsurprisingly, nothing immediately obvious sprang up to halt my advance. Missouri was a Freelancer. He had had the same training I had. Likely he was waiting inside in ambush. Of course, he couldn't watch all the entrances at once. And I already had a plan as I pulled a smoke grenade off of my belt. Of course, my mind tried to shove forward a shred of hesitation. Turning weapons on people that used to be comrades. My orders for Missouri especially had been harsh: eliminate with extreme prejudice. Allow additional project personnel to sweep the scene when it was secured and Missouri neutralized.

The only reflection I managed on that hesitation was to remind myself that I was not the woman who would hesitate anymore.

The grenade crashed through the window, but there was no gunfire in response. Missouri was smart: he'd wait to see me before he fired off a shot. I was banking on his attention being on the window, and I wasn't disappointed when I kicked open the front door. Immediately I honed in on him through my visor. His outline flared up, and I brought my finger back on the trigger of my assault rifle, shredding the smoke and slamming into his body. He didn't even get the chance to fire back as he fell to the floor.

Walking forward with the calm of a predator, I checked to make sure he was actually gone before standing and bringing my comms back on.

"This is Recovery Four. Target eliminated."

Not for the first time, I wondered how I'd gotten to the point of feeling nothing as I stared down at the body of another former Freelancer.

Back at Freelancer's headquarters, I shed each piece of my armor heavily before making my way to my room. Sighing, I then grabbed my journal out of its place. Perhaps it was an archaic way to keep track of everything, but I didn't want to take the chance of anybody, say, hacking into my datapad and reading everything I wrote. Flipping through the many entries I'd made over the past few years, I almost felt age creep up on me. I was only thirty-three, but I felt ancient. It was times like that where I missed the easy companionship I'd had with most of the team. Carolina's blunt but honest support. York's endless optimism. Wyoming's infuriating, but sometimes entertaining, jokes. Wash's naivety. The way North and South would play off of each other…

Opening to a new page, I gritted my teeth as I wrote. I'd rapidly discovered that keeping things bottled up was only eating away whatever future hope I had left. At least putting it down on paper gave me an outlet. Each of my past entries had been after returning from a recovery mission. Twenty Freelancers had gone rogue, including North, South, Maine, York, and Tex. Of the remaining fifteen, twelve had been hunted down and apprehended or killed. Of the four agents assigned to me – Missouri, Idaho, DC, and Vermont – three had been given the option to come quietly. None of the three had accepted. DC and Vermont's deaths had hit me hardest, cementing, in my mind, that I had hit rock bottom. I could still remember when Vermont had sung a beautiful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner on the Fourth of July. Or when she had performed afterwards, the week during Christmas. Vermont had been the first, and I'd cried after killing her. But I hadn't been able to shed a tear for DC, though he had been nothing but kind to me during our time in the project. Still, my stomach had sunk when he'd raised up the rifle he had had at the time. That had been the extent of sorrow I'd given. By the time Idaho had been found, I couldn't find it in me to care for anything anymore. I'd taken too much away from people and had too much taken from me. At this point, it's just best to get through each day until there isn't another day.

Despite my desire to also hunt down Maine and Sigma, the Director had adamantly refused if I was planning on going solo. After all, Maine had four AIs at his disposal: Sigma, Psi, Eta, and Iota. However it was obvious to me that Sigma was more of a puppet master than anything. Maine had just fallen for… whatever it was that Sigma had said. But then, I amended bitterly, Maine had allowed himself to go along with Sigma.

Maybe that was worse than what Sigma had done.

Still, there were so few agents to track down now. Only the Meta, Tex, North, South, York, and Delaware at this point. Delaware was a trivial issue compared to the other five. Tex and the Meta were damn near untouchable at the moment. I figured we didn't have a location on York or the twins either, or else I was positive the Director would have sent me after them as opposed to Missouri. Nevertheless, a creeping despair began to beat through my heart. If I somehow managed to survive until the recovery phase was over… what was I supposed to do?

The pen I had stopped on the page, the ink spreading into a larger stain each second I didn't remove it.

There was no answer I could think of. Civilian life seemed like too much to achieve after everything. There was no going back to the UNSC. The last thing I'd ever want was to be selected as a spook. ONI was far too cloak and dagger. Too untrustworthy. So what, you have standards now, 'Rado? Sure kill your rogue teammates, but heaven forbid you work for ONI. Feeling a new wave of self-loathing take over, I removed the pen from the page and closed the book, stuffing it back in the drawer. There wasn't going to be anything good to come of finishing a journal entry. Now beating up a punching bag? That sounded infinitely more productive.

The locker room still had remnants of the peak Project Freelancer had been in. Names of people I'd fought beside. Names of those who had been killed. Their lockers had never been removed – monuments to struggles fought and lost. Despite it all, I felt my heart tighten in my chest as I ran my hand over the names. My locker was next to Carolina's originally, and while it had been a source of constant ire at the beginning of the project, it became more of a familiar comfort to gear up next to the invincible team leader.

Invincible.

Funny how a sudden dose of mortality could change the definition of the word. Everybody was only as invincible as the people around them believed him or her to be. And no small amount of luck kept them that way. Of course everyone's luck had to run out eventually. Too bad it had to be in such a spectacularly shitty fashion. I idly wondered what Carolina would do if she was still around. Would she still be obsessed? Would that focus switch from Tex to the Meta? Somehow, I doubted it. She probably hated Tex so much as a teammate that the thought of her going rogue would push her off the deep end.

Wrapping up my hands and tying my hair back into a ponytail, I rapidly slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra. Jesus. If it weren't for the circumstances I was in – hell, if things were just like old times – I would have joked about the situation being too damned civilian. It had been a while since I had it in me to joke about trivial things. Sometimes I really missed it. Then again, there was nobody around me to joke along with. The headquarters for Freelancer was now groundside, but walking out of that locker room, it still felt sometimes like I was on my way to another sparring match with Carolina. Or maybe North and I were planning to work out together. Maybe Wash would stumble in through the door again thanks to a prank from York. The thought of that particular incident brought a wisp of a smile to my face. It disappeared when I walked into the gym.

There were other personnel members utilizing various pieces of equipment. The 'regular' men and women had mixed opinions about the remaining Freelancers now judging from what little was offered. Some of them thought we were like cornered beasts, and others almost seemed to feel sorry for us. Some of the bolder members of the ranks had tentatively reached out to me to offer words akin to sympathy. I definitely didn't feel deserving of it. I didn't know exactly how much they knew about what we Recovery agents did, but it made me feel worse that people felt enough for me to say something when I was out eliminating former allies.

Conversation didn't entirely halt, but it got a bit quieter. It only picked back up when I picked a bag that was as isolated as possible from everybody else. Today was a day to ignore the Freelancer in the room, apparently. I was fine with that. It made focusing on my strikes and technique that much easier. This was a time to find some form of solace. Even as I beat the bag with my frustrations I could feel sweat forming on my forehead, creating a sheen of exertion. This is going to call for both a shower, and the biggest meal the mess can offer. One thing that hadn't changed: an appetite to rival most of the men on the base. The smell too, if I didn't follow through with that shower. With all of my attention on the bag in front of me, I barely heard the door slide open, and didn't pay attention to how the room fell quiet until somebody cleared their throat behind me.

I don't know why I was surprised to see the Director and the Counselor.

"Agent Colorado," my CO began, his southern drawl grave. "We need you to come with us. A most urgent situation has arisen that we need solved as soon as possible."

And just like that, whatever free time I imagined myself having disappeared before my eyes. Swallowing the snarl that wanted to make itself known, I wordlessly nodded and followed. I still didn't trust the Director as far as I could throw him, but we had the same goal in mind: find the Meta and put a stop to him. It was just a shame that I did more hunting of less pressing targets than the actual grand prize. As we paraded to the briefing room on base, I tried not to let a morbid excitement sing through my veins. Maybe I was actually going to get sent to bring own the Meta. And always, there was that small part of me that hoped, and maybe dreaded, the order to find North and South.

The thought of the twins managed to shrink any sense of optimism. There was no way I'd be able to go after them alone. South would no doubt defend herself with every fiber of her being. That didn't scare me. What scared me was North. He was, for once, a wildcard. Would he lift a weapon against me in favor of his sister? Maybe I already knew the answer to that and didn't want to face it.

"If you're thoroughly finished with being distracted…"

I snapped to attention at the Director's chastising as our small party arrived at our destination. The door to the room slid open in a manner far too calm for the situation, and closed in the same manner. Almost immediately, he ordered me to sit down as the room was secured.

"We've received confirmation that Agent Wyoming has gone rogue."

The statement was so flat, so blunt, that I almost didn't believe it. There had to be more build-up, right? It couldn't just be that simple. It couldn't be that Wyoming would just up and go. Not after the crash of the Invention. Not after surviving all that we had.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" I requested stiffly.

He glanced briefly to the Counselor before looking back at me.

"Permission granted, Agent."

"Why now? What made him pick now to go rogue? We're as on our feet as we can be at the moment, and we have an active Recovery program going with agents specifically chosen for the ability to hunt down their own. His prime time to escape would have been after the crash of the Invention. Yet he chose now. Why?"

Still maddeningly calm, the Director frowned.

"We don't know, Colorado, but our priority is clear: Agent Wyoming's AI and equipment need to be recovered. We're putting you on his trail. Our other Recovery agents aren't as qualified to deal with him."

Qualified? I wasn't sure what made me the most qualified to deal with Wyoming. We were never all that close, especially after the crash of the ship. We also had such different skill specialties that we didn't really understand the way one another thought in the heat of the moment. But what I did believe was that if Wyoming was on the run, he'd draw anybody following him into fights on his own terms. Probably in the sights of a sniper if I had to guess. It would be tricky to get him onto an even playing field, let alone into a confrontation where I'd have the advantage if he was unreasonable.

I don't know why I thought there was a chance he'd be reasonable. No one thus far had been reasonable enough to just give up.

"Understood, Sir. Anything else to add?"

"There is one other matter I want to discuss with you. I would like you to investigate the whereabouts of Agents North and South Dakota. Our sources have pinpointed them as entering a forest on the planet of Gaius IV. At this time, we don't have a reason as to why they would be there. Our best guess is they are meeting another agent."

This line of thinking I followed immediately.

"You think Wyoming arranged to meet with them somehow."

The Director nodded.

"The planet is fairly isolated, but it does have several major population centers. It's also one of the biggest hubs for travel if you want to get to the Outer Colonies. With the war its economy has fallen onto hard times, but the population still remains. It is easy to disappear there if you know how."

The galaxy was huge. If Wyoming, North, and South, managed to all escape the planet again, we might never find them. Hell, it was hard enough tracking down agents as it was without some of the best and brightest getting away.

"And if I find any of them?"

The Director didn't hesitate, didn't purse his lips, or show the least bit of regret.

"North and South need to be eliminated. Agent Wyoming will get one last chance."

Even after all these years, I still felt my mouth go dry and my heart fall straight into my stomach.

Even after all these years… it still took everything I had to nod resolutely and give a firm, "Yes, Sir."

There was no time off for me.

This mission was far too important to sit back and have a day of rest, and I needed time away from Freelancer's HQ to think. I was furious with North. I thought I hated him only a few days ago. But if you truly hated somebody, couldn't you kill them without a thought? Hesitation had been beaten out of me after each Recovery mission, but North was different. So different that I found my reluctance come back in waves.

North… was North.

He was sweet, and strong, and kind, and patient… a complete saint, even with his bitch of a sister. I had already done some pretty unforgiveable things, but if I took North down with me, there would be no coming back from it. However not dealing with him would be directly disobeying the Director, and there went my chance of hunting down the Meta and reclaiming Psi. It all came down to how far I was willing to go for Psi; what costs I was willing to pay.

If I was being honest, I wasn't sure if I could bring myself to pay the costs at all.

The armory was silent despite the storm my emotions were going through. I wasn't going to be nearing any population centers if I could help it. If I was on the run with my AI, I'd have him check radio traffic and other sources for any hint that someone was coming after me. I had no doubt that Theta would be working diligently to keep North safe. Gamma was probably doing the same thing for Wyoming. If I wasn't careful, all three of them could escape. But… what to do if I found them? My hand lingered over the latest sniper rifle model. While I wasn't near as skilled as North or Wyoming, I hadn't forgotten what they had taught me. In fact, I'd even practiced just in case the weapon was my best option. That time might have come.

Grabbing it, I also swiped eight spare mags in case the situation got really bad. As for my backup weapon… my hand closed around a battle rifle, and four extra magazines rapidly followed. A pistol was placed on my thigh with the same amount of extra ammo, and at last, I felt ready to go. My ride – a Pelican – was waiting just outside. We'd be in Gaius IV in mere hours. Hopefully I'd action have a plan of attack by then.

Nevertheless, I quickly made my way onboard and took a seat next to the pilot. In a bitter feel of déjà vu, I recalled that Carolina would have sat in the same place. I almost felt like an intruder. The pilot, Four-Seven-Niner, had been with the project since I had joined. She'd gotten quieter since the crash of the Invention. Ferry around enough Freelancers and I guess you started to get close to some of them. She still cracked jokes, but it took a hell of a lot to bring one about. As it was, she gave me a nod of greeting before the bird took off. I didn't mind the lack of conversation. It felt wrong to just have a casual conversation given what I was being ferried off to do.

The ride itself was only about three hours, but it felt like days. I still didn't know what I was going to do when I arrived on Gaius, but it would probably be best to do some recon around where the twins had been spotted. It was almost a shame we couldn't get outside help to get more eyes on people we needed to track down. Between the Meta, the rogue agents, and just general project routine, it felt like our resources were stretched dangerously thin. Of course, on the other hand, being without support also gave me more time to figure out what I was going to do. My thoughts on the flight didn't do much to untangle what I was going to do.

Bidding Four-Seven-Niner a solemn goodbye, I stepped off the bird in a clearing about a klick away from the coordinates the Director had given me. Hopefully North and South wouldn't be too hard to track. Starting off towards my objective point, I swing my battle rifle in my hands just in case an ambush was waiting for me. It was never out of the question to expect one, especially if Wyoming was indeed working with them. With this new feeling of caution, the journey became much slower.

Under any other circumstances I would have thought the forest was pretty. A breeze was blowing the leaves and branches to and fro, creating a harmonious rustling. Light filtered through the trees in little pockets that dappled the ground. The air coming through my filters smelled like spring, and I wondered what manner of flora could create the orchid-like scent. I had to stop for a second to try and refocus myself. It wouldn't do good to get lost in thought, even if the woods were incredibly beautiful. They had a sense of whimsy that just seemed to be intoxicating. Luckily, the remaining light of the evening caught something. My eyes looked down to catch sight of three sets of armored boot prints in a patch of soft earth. It had to have rained recently, I mused, stooping down to get a better look, the forest, for now, forgotten, or else these tracks would be crustier. And they had to have come through after the rain, or else they wouldn't look so clear. Still, anybody smart enough to avoid being tailed would cover tracks as obvious as these. This has to be a setup. Either that, or North and South have gotten sloppy over the years. Doubtful.

And with Wyoming possibly alongside them, I was even more alert for a fight. The Director usually kept sensitive information close to his chest, but perhaps Wyoming managed to get his hands on something. Then again, if that were the case the Director probably would have ordered me to eliminate him too. I sighed. Too much thinking, not enough working. Getting that distracted was going to get me killed. And there was no greater return to reality than the one that occurred when the forest noises just seemed to stop. No birds, the wind died down for just a moment, and the hairs on the back of my neck instantly stood up. Instinct had me take cover behind the biggest tree that I could find out of a primal spike of fear, and I was glad that I did. The brief silence was shattered as a burst from a battle rifle flew past where I had been a split second before.

Times like this – when combat was inevitable – made me miss having Psi around even more. He was my eyes and ears for things I couldn't normally see or hear. And even though I'd been forced to become sufficient again without him, it didn't stop me from longing for that extra edge. But I did the best I could with what I had: my own experience. My motion tracker was silent, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. North, South, and Wyoming were smart enough to be able to evade detection if they wanted to. Then again, I reflected as I thought it over, South and Wyoming wouldn't have missed me if they really wanted to kill me. Maybe North is out there. I wasn't fond of the hope that blossomed in my chest.

Still keeping an eye on my tracker, I daintily grabbed a tree branch above me to start to climb. Maybe I'd be able to see my assailant if I got a bird's eye view. Normally it would have been nothing to scale the tree, but I wanted to make sure my movements were as stealthy as possible. It was a slow trip, but when I made it halfway up the tree, I came to rest on the first branch I could. Though the position was uncomfortable, it did allow me to scan the undergrowth. Nothing popped out to me, and I frowned. All three Freelancers I was tracking should have stuck out like sore thumbs among all the green.

Camouflage, probably. None of them had Carolina's enhancement, but they could have used whatever was available to hide themselves.

A bush rustled off to the right and I snapped my aim to it, my finger instantly on the trigger. Like Missouri, I wouldn't shoot until a target presented itself.

A red blip suddenly appeared on my tracker, and I felt surprise well in me at the location right as I felt an explosion rattle the tree. The branch I'd been on almost disintegrated from the force and shrapnel, and I couldn't help but cry out in shock as I fell. The fall down was more jarring than it should have been, thanks to my close proximity to the blast and the subsequent disorientation. Thank god the armor had protected me from the worst of it, but my situation only deteriorated as I hit the ground. My ears were ringing violently, and I had barely flipped over to clumsily push myself back to my feet before somebody pushed me onto my back, hard.

Even still dazed I could recognize the armor, and a choking noise escaped me.

"Delaware?"