Recovery One-Point-Five
Chapter 1: A Man Named Oregon
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Letter of Redeployment
Directed to: Agent Oregon, Project Freelancer
Agent Oregon, I have been informed by multiple medical personnel you are of sufficient mental and physical readiness for redeployment. As such, I am hereby redeploying you to operate alongside your fellow Freelancer, Agent Washington, as part of the Recovery One team.
I know this change is rather sudden, but as you well know, desperate times call for desperate measures, and it is with no small measure of confidence I have ordered this redeployment, as you are one of our best agents alive today.
Good luck.
Signed, Director Church; Project Leader
Dispatched by: The Director
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"So, where's my gear?" I asked, looking at the pair of scientists who had just brought me out of my 'recovery chamber', also known as 'cell'.
"Right this way, sir." One of them said, leading me down the hallway and to an elevator.
We waited several moments for the lift to arrive, and then mounted it, the scientist pressing the button to take us to Deck Six, alternatively titled 'F Deck', after the fact it's most frequent visitors were Freelancer Agents. I stepped out of the lift, pausing for a moment to inhale deeply, smelling the familiar scent of weapon oil and lapping powder. The scientist looked at me inquisitively.
"Are you alright, Agent Oregon?" He asked.
"Better than ever, Doc." I said, inhaling deeply before smiling. "Just brings me back..."
Memories flashed through my head; my first arrival alongside Colorado and California, our first training op, California's first time using her cloaking equipment, the time Colorado and I discovered the unused observation deck and spent the night stargazing… I sighed contentedly, before remembering the scientist was still waiting for me.
"Sorry about that Doc." I said, gesturing for him to lead the way, even though I already knew where the armoury was.
I smiled when I saw my blue and green Oceanic gear awaiting me, the full face visor with its steel crossbars looking directly at me. The shoulderpads were still sharp at the tips of the slopes they formed and the chestpiece seemed more angled and shark-like then ever. I smiled again.
I stepped up to the arming rack, and two technicians helped me into the gear. With every added piece, I felt more and more ready, like I was having a limb reattached or something. I felt more whole with my gear on. I looked into the helmets eye lenses, smiling.
"This is it." I whispered, slipping the helmet on. My HUD came online immediately, revealing IFF tags for all the techies, my armour status and my special equipments readiness.
"Hope it still fits, sir." One of the techies said. I remembered the man. "I took care of 'er, just like you said."
"It feels great, McCormick. Great job!" I said, clapping the man on the shoulder, before looking at the scientist. "Any chance I can get a training round in before I ship out?"
"You still have an hour before you are required to go anywhere, sir. I would recommend practice." He replied.
"P.H.I.L.L.S?" I said, addressing the ships AI.
"Welcome back, Agent Oregon!" The feminine AI replied, somehow sounding pleased to see me, despite her being an AI.
"Thanks, P.H.I.L.L.S. It's good to be back." I said, smiling. "Any chance you could arrange a training round for me in the arena?"
"There is currently an Agent utilizing the training arena." P.H.I.L.L.S replied. "Shall I inform them of your request?"
"Who is the Agent?" I asked.
"Agent Florida is currently utilizing the training arena." P.H.I.L.L.S replied, to my astonishment and excitement. Florida was still around?
"Don't bother informing him. I want to surprise him." I said, setting off towards the training course.
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"Hey, Florida!" I yelled, jogging into the training room. The blue armoured Freelancer turned and looked at me, eyes widening in recognition after a second of confusion.
"Oregon?" He asked, evidently not quite believing what he saw. "Is that you?"
"No, it's his evil clone, Nogero." I said, smiling underneath my helmet, before pulling it off. "Of course it's me!"
"I thought you were out from depression!" Florida said, removing his own helmet and revealing a face fairly older than my own, forty-five at least.
"Eh, I got over it." I said, shrugging. "Accepted that wallowing in self pity wasn't going to help at all, though my hallucinations of Colorado and California telling me to get over myself probably helped."
"Jeez, Oregon…" Florida seemed rather stunned at my reappearance. "That aside, what're you doing?"
"Looking for a training round before my redeployment alongside one Agent Washington as part of some team called 'Recovery One'." I answered. "You up for it?"
"Boy am I ever!" He said, smiling, before addressing P.H.I.L.L.S. "P.H.I.L.L.S, could you be a dear and activate the melee combat arena training exercise?"
"Of course, Agent Florida." The room began to change, concrete pillars rising from the floor at seemingly random intervals as Florida and I walked to opposite ends of the floor.
"Match begins in three… two… one… BEGIN!"
I knew Florida was never the best in CQC, but I was out of practice, so I would have to try my best to win here. I elected to err on the side of caution and move slowly and carefully through the arena, hands held at ready and eyes scanning the entire-there! I had seen blue, in between a pair of pillars. I elected to not let Florida know he had been spotted, and sure enough, after a few moments, the man was rushing me from behind a pillar.
I pivoted on my right heel and brought the sole of my foot hammering into his gut, his own momentum throwing himself onto the extruding limb with an almighty 'WHOOF' of exhale as I brought my fist around in a punch. Unfortunately, the elder Freelancer recovered faster than I had presumed, ducking my punch and rolling forwards, past me. He brought his right fist up into my chin, knocking my head upwards, but I retaliated with a spinning backhand to the back of the head.
Florida and I backed up, examining each other for a moment, before the blue-armoured Freelancer came at me with his right fist coming down in a crushing arc. I sidestepped and went to sweep his legs out from under him. He leapt into the air, flipping backwards and over my foot, but landed on my rising knee back-first.
He cried out in pain, rolling away and rising with a speed I had thought only Carolina possessed, his foot slamming painfully into my jaw with a wicked 'CRACK' and driving me to the floor. I stood on my hands and knees, dazed, until a blue hand filled my vision. I grabbed it and Florida helped me up, keeping me steady as the world spun around me. I shook my head, groaning at the ache it caused but welcoming the clarity of vision it brought with it, and steadied myself.
"You're still better than me, Florida." I said, grinning.
"Meh. I have no doubts you'd have beaten me if it hadn't been for the fact you've been in a cell for the past six months." The ever-cheerful older man replied, shaking my hand. "You and Colorado were always better at CQC than me anyways."
I only shook my head, a smile plastered across my face. "You were always faster than me."
"Well maybe if you spent some of your precious reading time running, you might speed up a bit!" Florida said in mock-critical tone, before smiling. "You're still just as humble as always, as well."
"Well, if I had changed too much, who knows who would recognize me?" I said. "Thanks for the bout, Florida, but I need to get my weapons and get to the hangar before my pilot has a fit."
Florida shuddered in mock terror. "Oh no, not that!" He said, before clapping a hand on my back. "You keep yourself alive out there."
"Don't worry, I will." I replied, feeling slightly saddened. Florida had always been like a father figure to me, being over twenty years older. "I'll see you later."
I hoped that, at least, was true.
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"So, what's the story with you?" The pilot asked, trying to make conversation. I was happy to oblige. "I've never seen you around before."
"I'm second generation." I said, looking at the pilot. "We were built to be cheaper and easier to produce than gen-one, but most of us died in just a few months, so the project was scrapped."
"So you're some sort of 'last man standing'?" The pilot asked.
"Sort of." I said. "I'm more of an obsolete relic of a forgotten age."
"Tough." The pilot replied, turning the joystick. "We're gonna be landing in a minute, so you'll wanna be grabbing your stuff."
I stepped back into the main cargo-bay of the Pelican, grabbing my equipment. I grabbed my SMG, and then I grabbed my primary weapon. A fifty caliber machine gun turret, modified slightly to be easier to carry. I slung the machine gun over my shoulder, magnetically locking it to my back, and holstered the SMG onto my hip.
I stepped out onto the landing pad, seeing security personnel running to and fro, one of them stepping up to the ramp to meet me.
"Agent Oregon?" He asked, and I nodded in return. He saluted. "Private Ross, sir. I'll be taking you to Agent Washington."
"Lead on, buddy." I said, gesturing for him to carry on. I followed closely behind him as he walked.
"I've gotta say, Agent Washington doesn't seem to be very pleased with having a partner." Ross said, tapping a four-digit code into the main door. "He was complaining when we gave him the news a while ago."
"Wonder why that is…" I muttered, thinking.
"He even called the Director himself, got into an argument. I overheard a lot of stuff about betrayal and backstabbing." The trooper continued.
"Great, so I'm stuck with a paranoid man who thinks I'll try to shoot him in the back first chance I get." I continued to mutter, until we came to another door.
"He'll be right through here, sir. The code is three-seven-six-nine." The trooper made no moves to open the door, and I opened it myself.
"Thank you, Ross." I said, smiling at the clearly nervous trooper, before turning and entering the room, hearing the metal door clank shut behind me.
A grey and yellow armoured man turned around to face me, and we stared each other down for a moment. He seemed surprised to see me, and staggered backwards for a moment.
"Are you Agent California?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Ummm… no, the name's Oregon." I said, looking at Washington. "Agent Oregon, Project Freelancer, Generation Two."
"I was told to expect Agent California." Washington replied, sounding suspicious.
"Well, unless you want to go to New Jerusalem and dig her up from that grave Colorado and I had to put her in, you're stuck with me." I said.
God, fate was a bitch.
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"So, you're my backup." Washington said, my new partner sounding fairly resigned to the idea.
"Yep!" I replied, my own tone a blend of eagerness and excitement. "You're stuck with me until the Director says otherwise!"
"Wonderful…" Washington muttered under his breath, leaving me feel somewhat hurt. I wasn't that bad, was I?
"Oh come on, it's not that bad." I reasoned. "I'm good in a fight, apparently a decent person to be around and I'm generally good with people, a skill you appear to lack."
"I will have you know, I am perfectly good with people!" The grey armoured Freelancer replied, somehow sounding accusing and undignified simultaneously.
"Washington, if I remember correctly, you were one of the most cold people in the Project, and that was even before you went nuts." I argued. "You're terrible with people."
"Well… I don't see you being any better!" The man replied, sounding like a small child.
"Just wait 'till we have to talk to someone, and let me handle it." I said. "I'll show you how diplomacy works."
Little did I know, by saying that, I was signing the death warrant of someone else.
Oh well.