IMPORTANT A/N: [A Freelancer-based AU in which the Director never lost the woman he loved but instead desires to create something extraordinary with his project, no matter what the cost... and Church is a Freelancer himself, much to the dismay of literally everyone else around him.]
[Spoilers up to seasons 10-13]
"Mr. Commissioner, let me begin by explaining – zzzt – mos – pr – th – this drastic measure is only being taken to ensure the survival of Pro – Free – Reela – You need not worry about the soldier… he's nameless – w – fit right in with the rest of the program… F – zzzt – work with Alpha personally. Some mem – loss in order, altercations should be made to minimize risks – need wor – zzt – …Signing off, Dr. – ard – Urch – zztt…"
The rest of the recording is damaged and only emits static.
Resurgent
.
.
.
"Let me just start by saying, it's not my fault."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
No sooner than the words leave her mouth, the building rocks with a deafening bang. The explosion occurs from what she approximates to be nearly a hundred stories above them, which is the floor that they had spent the last half hour working their way towards. Wash pitches back into the wall but Carolina catches her balance with precision. Almost as soon as the blast emits, shards of glass and debris hail down passed the hallway window to her left, and the alarm system shrieks to life. It floods the passage with alternating reds and blues that immediately give Carolina a throbbing headache.
Because obviously, her team hadn't managed to accomplish that already.
"What the hell was that, Wash?" Carolina seethes.
Washington hesitates to answer right away, merely steadying himself on his feet as the vibrating in the floor settles down. "Uh… So remember how I said that the place might be rigged if they were expecting our arrival? And that this whole mission could actually be a trap?"
"Yes, so?"
"Well…I tried to tell Texas that too."
Carolina's blood boils. She grits her teeth, attempts to recollect herself. "She went ahead and triggered it, didn't she?"
"First of all, it wasn't her. She actually acknowledged my warning and said she was going to find a way to disable the explosives." Another blast rocks the building again, with much less intensity than the first. Washington recovers once more before continuing. "However, our back-up didn't seem to have any capability of caring for my orders, and he stormed off with the distinct shout of 'Fuck that, they're bluffing'."
Carolina hesitates a split moment before glaring upwards at the ceiling. A plume of dust filters down in response to another, significantly smaller blast. "Who the shit is our back-up?"
"That new guy, Agent Oregon. He dropped down like fifteen minutes ago."
"Great, he's a fucking idiot. Like we don't have enough of those already."
"Hey, I warned him."
"And you didn't stop him because…?"
"…He was adamant."
"Ugh. We'd better get to him before we lose the package and he blows this whole operation to the seventh level of hell!"
Washington watches her swiftly dart off down the hall and into the stairwell, leaving him to sigh despondently and shake his head. "Looks like he's already done just that…" The building pitches once more and the structure groans in defiance. Metal screams from somewhere above him, resonating with twisting framework and cracking concrete. It's about to be the second time this month they've managed to decimate an entire city block by collapsing a three-hundred story building.
"The Director is not going to be pleased."
At the same time, ninety floors higher, a Freelance soldier in light blue- and white accented-armor teeters on the edge of a drop-off that used to be a wall with windows, had he not triggered the emergency destruction devices lined in the floor. Behind him is a collapsed platform that used to be the office. Several stories below that is where the remainders lie. If he chooses to strain his eyesight, he can see the mangled corpse of their target, the company's CEO, with his head detached from his shoulders and sitting, quit gruesomely, several yards across from the rest of him.
Agent Oregon doesn't want to peer down, however, because the only things keeping him barely balanced on this unstable edge are the sniper rifle in one hand, and the metallic briefcase in the other. He exhales carefully. If I die, at least I won't have to apologize to Washington for being right. If I don't die…well, fuck him. He should have tried harder to stop me!
Another explosive goes off somewhere, nearly throwing him from his perch.
But I am definitely apologizing to the Director. He's going to be pissed.
Footsteps echo from down the corridor. Only a split second later Carolina appears in the hole in the wall that used to be a door before he broke them down with a dead guard's shot gun. She glances below her at the wreckage, and then glares back up at him (he can't see her face through that helmet, but he's had enough women upset with him to know when they're really, really close to blowing a gasket). "Agent Oregon! What in the Hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Well, since you ask so nicely…" He stares around absently. "I'm actually wondering why this place is rigged with so many goddamn explosives. Did that guy seriously find all this bullshit necessary?"
"…"
"…Also, would you mind helping me down?"
Carolina groans. "Freaking idiot…"
.
.
.
24 hours prior…
"So I'm just going out on limb when I say this, but that new recruit doesn't seem like he's going to last a day in the field."
"Give him a chance. Besides, we haven't met him yet. We don't know what he's actually like." North Dakota passes his sister a sideways glance when she leans forward on the railing and huffs. He amends his statement with, "I'm not saying he looks good enough to pass you on the leaderboard, though."
"That's literally not what I'm worried about."
"That's all you're ever worried about."
South gestures through the window to the battlefield simulator. Agent Oregon is on the floor with York's knee in his back and his arm twisted at a wince-inducing angle, tapping furiously and flailing his legs uselessly. "Owowow! Let me go you fucker! You're gonna rip it off and I need that arm for shooting!"
"Shooting what?" York remarks snidely, "I've seen your scores. You couldn't hit a boulder at point blank range with a scatter shot."
"He's dead meat," South concludes, pushing herself upright.
Washington shrugs passively. "Maybe he's just a lab experiment to level us up to the regular troopers. Like comparing notes on progress. The Director is probably going to have him shipped out by the end of the week, or something. Regardless, I wouldn't bother worrying about him."
Silence permeates through the room.
"I think any addition is a fine addition," agent Florida admits quietly.
The door to the room slides open. Maine enters first with Carolina in tow, and immediately behind them is their mysterious Director. The soldiers all line up reflexively to salute him, but he shoots his hand up to halt them in their places. "No need to be so formal today, soldiers. I am just here to see how the new recruit is doing."
Carolina scoffs when she gazes down at the spectacle below. "If York is merciful, maybe he'll last another five seconds."
"Has Agent Oregon neglected to put up a challenge?"
"Clearly."
South chortles under her breath before facing their director. "We should send in Texas. She'll get a good work-out and have a toothpick to scrape out the remains from her teeth."
CT, who had been standing across the room observing silently, finally speaks up. "Uhm, sir? Although I'm not against your decision to recruit another Freelancer onto this program, I am questioning why…him. He doesn't appear to possess any skill qualifications equal to ours"—"At all," South adds.—"so why are we wasting our time? It feels more like target practice, but I'm starting to sympathize with the target."
"Essentially," Wyoming remarks from behind the group, "he is quite…pathetic."
"I was trying to say useless, but I guess that works too."
The Director approaches the panel before the observatory windows. "He just needs the right kind of stimulus. I have yet to find what that is…but perhaps you are right, South."
"Of course I am."
"FILSS," the Director remarks to the panel, and the icon on the center screen spins to life, "tell York his time is up. Send in Texas instead."
FILSS recites the order to York as the main door glides open to allow Texas access to the room. He gives them a thumbs up in response, leaving Oregon writhing in pain, clutching at his throbbing arm and shouting vulgar insults to cope for his damaged dignity.
"And now he dies," Wyoming says matter-of-factly. "Nice knowing you, old chap."
"Who has a camera?" South asks next.
The Director blatantly ignores them, focusing his attention on the two soldiers now occupying the training arena.
Oregon rises to his feet steadily as Texas moves into the ring. He continues to massage the ache in his right shoulder, silently cursing that York guy for having such an unforgiving grip. "So you're my next opponent," he states with feigned confidence, though his voice cracks a bit and he has to clear his throat. "Is it cause the other guy got scared of me? Rightfully so! I'm great. At everything. He didn't stand a chance."
"Yeah, you were winning alright. Must have strained your arm going for that gold."
"…Don't patronize me, bitch."
She launches forward with blinding speed. Like a viper her movements are nearly invisible to his untrained eyes, inducing fear and adrenaline like lightning in his veins. Before he can comprehend exactly what's happened, she's wrapped her arms around his neck, twisted violently with all the torque centered in her torso, and snapped his spine like a pencil.
The sickening crack reverberates through the intercom.
"That was quick," Carolina utters in the too silent room. "But that settles things. He was a really bad choice for this job, sir."
The Director doesn't move, doesn't blink. He just watches.
Texas backs away from the limp body and scoffs. "Well, that was a big waste of fucking time."
Just as suddenly as she starts to leave, something rams into her back with the force of a truck, sending her sailing into the far wall face-first. She recovers abruptly, pushes back and jumps away instinctively just as Oregon rams his fist into the plated concrete. Sweeping enough distance between them, she repositions herself, raising her fists to her face in her standard combat style.
Oregon gradually turns to her. He cocks his head to one side, neck bones popping back into their line. They arrange as if they were never displaced, as if she hadn't just killed him mere seconds ago. Killed him. I snapped his fucking neck and he's…
"So you're that Texas chick I've heard so much about," Oregon jeers, giving his head a roll to settle the final pieces back into place. "Nice to finally meet you. Name's Agent Oregon, and in case you don't get it by now, I'm not very fond of being tenderly murdered on the first date."
"Didn't know this was a date," Tex snaps back, "but if you don't mind taking lead, I'll be glad to dance."
From the observatory, Washington exchanges an uneasy glance with CT, the only other agent who seems to express notions about the mystery being the project's veil. Their director has a lot of explaining to do about this one, but they've never gotten anything out of him before involving other concerns like the AI program, so Washington doubts he'll be able to receive any of the answers he's looking for at this time. It worries him, deeply.
It worries him to know that something isn't right about agent Oregon.
"GAH – SHIT!"
The shout is strangled by the distinct sound of metal on metal. Texas hefts Oregon over her head like he's a sack of potatoes and chucks him at the observatory with little more than a grunt. He slams into the window with enough force to crack the panel, which earns less than a flinch from the battle's onlookers.
"Ow, fuck"—he descends the length of the Plexiglas, drops off to the floor with a thud.
The Director turns on his heel to face the exit. "Better, but still not what he needs."
"Director?" Carolina addresses, but he's already ventured out the door, leaving the Freelancers standing in collective silence.
Currently…
"I'm not doing that!"
"And why the Hell not?"
"Oh, I dunno, maybe because there's a several thousand foot drop between me and the pavement, and if I fall from this high up in the goddamn sky, I could die! And knowing you and your ragtag group of psychopathic super soldiers, you'd leave me there." He peers down, snaps his gaze back over to her. "…Wouldn't even have the decency to build me a statue in my honor."
Carolina rolls her eyes. "Jesus Oregon, just jump to me! Eventually this building will have to fall down and either way, you're getting to the ground."
"Shit, good point."
"Besides, why are you afraid of death? Didn't Texas snap your neck just yesterday?"
"There's only so much I can do to amend my body! If it's mangled beyond repair, then you can politely go and shove my neck bones right up your ass!"
Carolina emits a strangled sigh of frustration. "Either jump right now or I'm going to shoot you! And then I'll simply pry the briefcase from your cold, dead, mangled fingers, you stupid son of a bitch!"
Washington and Texas appear at Carolina's side, each diverging from either direction. "This place's gone to shit!" Wash announces, but his shout ebbs off into an incoherent sound of confusion. "We – uh, we have to go. Like ASAP. What are you two doing?"
"He won't move and he has our package," Carolina hisses, gesturing with her weapon.
"Stop being immature," Texas calls out in turn. "At least throw the package to us so we can leave without you."
"In that case I'll just keep it!"
Carolina raises the assault rifle to line up with his forehead. "Goddammit, Oregon! I do not have time for this!"
"None of us have time for this," Wash utters. From somewhere below them, another explosion fractures the foundation and he can feel the floor giving out beneath its own weight.
Texas suddenly vaults forward, barreling her full force into the teetering Oregon and sending them both careening over the edge. Oregon's scream of surprise is cut off abruptly by the howling wind. "No!" Carolina snaps, breaking into a sprint down the corridor. "I will not let her take another lead! Come on Wash!"
Washington exhales an exasperated sigh. "Yes ma'am…"
20 Hours Prior…
"Okay, I'll bite the peach. What are you looking at?"
Texas doesn't realize she had been staring at all until agent Florida's saccharine tone drags her out of her own mind. She nearly crawls out of her own skin to acknowledge the fact that someone is actually addressing her with something other than malice, so it takes several seconds for her to respond to the inconspicuous display of genuine kindness. Then again, she's never expected any less out of someone as persistently jovial as Florida.
"It's nothing," she replies listlessly.
"But you've had your eyes on that kid the whole time I've been here."
She doesn't appreciate where his implications are steering and rolls with a different subject, hoping – praying – that they can take agent Oregon off the topic for the moment. At the very least, she would prefer to avoid drowning herself in anxiety over the several hundred questions she has involving the man across the ward. (Such as why he looks so familiar, what kind of person can surpass death, why he looks so goddamn familiar). "Why are you here?"
Florida approaches the window overlooking the infirmary. He poises by her side with a delicate presence, offering neither comfort nor harm, just a neutral soul with a gentle charisma. In a way, it almost unnerves her. "Just came to see how the new recruit was holding up."
So much for changing the subject. "He's fine, just got some bruises from our fight."
"And according to that chart beside him, he's got himself a newly broken jaw."
Texas sighs. "It was broken. Mysteriously, it healed up while the medic was still finishing the examination."
"That's both incredibly fascinating and particularly odd. Now how did a nice guy like him come across such a uniquely perplex ability?"
Texas gazes into the room again. Oregon is sitting upright on his assigned bed, browsing articles on a tablet device while sipping his soda through a bendy straw. He's much more different in person than he is inside that suit; Tex observes every movement, every hesitation and every crescendo of his breath. Watches how his muscles contract when he shifts, gets distracted by simple whistles or how he scruffs his dark hair when a topic on an article frustrates him. He almost appears uncomfortable to reside outside his encasing armor.
At some point he makes eye contact with her. His stare pierces through the protective curve of her visor, delving into the abysmal waters of memories she represses. As if he knows her from somewhere. As if she's known him for a long, long time.
It makes her skin itch.
Then he returns to abruptly lounging around, and the tension alleviates.
"It definitely has something to do with the Director," she says finally, backing away from the window. "Oregon may not be much of a fighter, but that kind of power is dangerous in the wrong hands."
Florida casts her a forlorn look. "Do you think it has something to do with an AI?"
"…I'm not sure. I doubt the Director would leave this guy with such fragile equipment, but even stranger yet..." Texas lowers her voice, as if there might be an extra person hiding in the shadows on the walls. "I had CT look him up in the roster database. You know who doesn't have their name listed there?"
"The Director."
"Right. But also, him. To make this worse, he was also noted for having been equipped with an AI prior to his official enlistment in the project, just like I was." Florida is eerily quiet, just watches her carefully. She breathes before droning on, "So the answer is that I'm not sure if his ability has anything to do with this nameless AI, but I'm also not comfortable with the fact that if it does, why hasn't the Director spoken up about it? And why doesn't he communicate with it?"
"Perhaps it isn't much of an extrovert."
"Perhaps he doesn't know about it."
"But he has to."
"Does he?"
Florida presses his lips into a thin line. "Maybe I should keep a low-key eye on him then," he suggests, heading for the infirmary door. "Better introduce myself, while I'm at it. It makes me right as rain to befriend new people! Oh, and, take care now Tex. Try not to let this whole Oregon conspiracy thing freak you out; stress is bad for the body."
As the door slides shut Texas briskly exits the ward, but she can feel a familiar pair of eyes burrowing into her back as she goes.
Currently…
"If I die I'm haunting your ass!"
The weight of the armor is making his descent that much faster. The pavement is barely visible from up here, but it's rapidly ascending to meet him and his mind is rifling through a hundred thoughts at once in attempt to find the answer to his escape from imminent death. His initial idea is to use Texas as a landing pad for shoving him in the first place, but she's the one now grasping the briefcase after snatching it from his hands, and knowing the Director's fancy for both of them, would prefer to at least keep one of the two things intact. Getting Texas out alive might even alleviate the reprimanding he'll no doubt receive in exchange for fucking up the whole goddamn mission. His secondary plan is to use himself as a landing pad so that he won't have to live through that lecture.
Texas glances Oregon once over. "You say that like you're certain I'm going to survive."
"Are you telling me you pushed us both off a ledge without a back-up plan?!"
"Oh no, I have one." She flips around the double-barreled shotgun strapped to her back and fires at the air. The blast angles her towards the building so she can properly divert her course at an upcoming window pane, which shatters upon her impact.
Oregon sails by. "…Well, fuck you then."
As if on cue, a figure launches from one of the collapsed walls of the building. They activate their jet pack, rocketing downwards on a wide spiral to catch up quickly to Oregon, who's nearly locked at terminal velocity. "Don't worry Oregon!" the soldier exclaims, catching the other man by the back plating of his armor. "I've gotcha!"
"Florida?!"
"Figured you could've used my help," the agent in blue burbles, executing a broad arc back up into the sky, "and don't be so formal! Why don't you call me something friendly, like Flowers, or just Butch?"—he pivots into the air currents, bringing them back towards the smoking building. "By the by, the rescue ship is here, let's go home."
Oregon clutches his sniper rifle close. "Forget that shit! Launch me through a window!"
"You want to go back in there? It's collapsing! The place was apparently heavily rigged with explosives – the CEO really didn't want us getting that package."
"…Uh, yeah. Total news to me. But I need to retrieve that briefcase back from Texas if I plan on getting some kind of score under my belt!"
Florida chuckles heartily. "Well, I can't say no to such an eager request. Your persistence is downright adorable! Alright son, here we go!" He nosedives towards the lower levels of the structure and turns into an acute arc. At the flat of the turn he releases Oregon, sling-shooting him through a cracked window pane leading into what could pass as a meeting room. Oregon rolls twice into the toss to control his landing, despite stumbling when rising back to his feet; he utilizes the inertia, rams through the sealed glass doors to the exit.
The corridor to his right explodes with a funnel of fire from a placed bomb. And then, he recognizes the distinct sonance of a firing shotgun and rapid-fire bullets piercing walls and metal.
Hooking his rifle to his back and drawing out his hand gun, he takes off to the left, following the noises to their source one floor above him. The stairwell has been clogged with debris now; he instead uses the portion of collapsed ceiling to scale to the next level, grappling wires as support. Texas is in the next hallway over squared off against two guards. She takes the first down swiftly by checking him across the face with the briefcase, and follows through with a hook-kick that snaps the other guard's neck like a toothpick.
What's with this chick and breaking necks?
Texas spots him as he rushes up to meet her. "Oh, you're alive."
"First of all, fuck you for leaving me to drop to my death. Secondly, if we don't get out of here, neither of us will be alive much longer."
"…You came back for me?" she asks as more of a fact than a question.
He hesitates at her remark. She doesn't say it like she's angry, or even concerned; the gentle timbre in her usually stoic voice leads him to believe that she's genuinely confused by his choice. Oregon has to shake his head just to recollect himself from his intrinsic thoughts, because really, he wanted the package for himself – but if it had been Washington, or York, or even the Dakota twins, would he have come back in for them too? The logical conclusion is that yes, he would have, but only to attempt to steal back the briefcase. Yet for her…he can't rid his mind of the speculation that he is more concerned for Texas than for whatever is inside the case.
"I only came for the package!" He snaps back after faltering too long.
She drops her emptied shot gun to the floor to lighten her load and hands him the briefcase. "Then take this, we're getting out of here before the building can't support itself anymore."
"And how do you expect to do that?"
"Get as far down as we can," she informs him as she loads her side arm with a fresh clip, "call in the rescue."
"You do realize that it's thirty levels down, right? We'll never make it!"
"And do you have a better plan?"
Oregon opens his mouth to respond, pauses. "Actually, I might. If I'm remembering the schematics from before correctly, we're about three levels above a floor that leads to one of five emergency garage levels, which are all connected to lead down to the street. If it hasn't been destroyed yet, we could find something to use."
"You actually paid attention to that briefing?" Texas asks incredulously.
"Sort of. Now, how do military-issued armored vehicles sound?"
"Like an absolute turn-on."
"…Really?"
"Don't get any ideas."
He scoffs, but when she raises her gun to his forehead, he steps back cautiously. "Okay, okay! Let's just go."
8 Hours Prior…
Oregon hasn't been to the locker room since yesterday, despite the facility tour he had received later on from agent Florida. He figures it's bound to be empty this early (space doesn't have a relative day period, but they tend to operate based on the Director's 24 hour schedule regardless, so Oregon has adapted to following that instead), when the others are no doubt still passed out in bed from the long day of intense training prior. Unfortunately for him, Oregon had been excluded after Texas broke his jaw with a lethal hook punch (not that surprising to say the least, given her vastly superior capabilities in comparison to his) so he never got to witness North Dakota utilizing his new AI, Theta, in action.
From what he can tell so far, the AIs have been assigned to several of the top Freelance agents. He has yet to make contact with the AI installed in his own suit himself, although he assumes that they're handy in the battlefield. Which also leads him to wondering whether Texas has her own.
He's only slept a few hours but feels rejuvenated, so he considers changing into his uniform to partake in training exercises before the others stirred. Dressed down in his pants and t-shirt, he crosses through the rectangular room and shoves the remainder of his breakfast muffin into his mouth. There hadn't been any Freelancers down in the mess hall either, only several personal and the chef, who was just in the process of laying out food. Oregon supposes he could get accustomed to avoiding them, especially after losing so easily to York in a simple fist fight.
"Whoa – Jesus!"
He nearly slaps himself trying to cover his eyes as he walks in on Texas. She's sitting on the bench in a tank top with the lower half of her gear already situated to her body, lengthy blonde hair tied up in a bun and half a breakfast bar hanging out of her mouth. She's far from naked, but he hasn't seen any of his comrades out of their respective armors yet, so to him she's giving off the same impression as being utterly nude.
"Sorry," he apologizes quickly, lowering his hands from his eyes, "didn't know you were in here."
"It's okay. I always come early so I can avoid everyone else. They've reached the conclusion that I don't even use my locker for anything but to flaunt my status." Texas watches him visibly relax before he makes his way over to his locker, which is sitting on the end beside Washington's. Her curious gaze rakes him over once. She gets the distinct feeling that she knows him, that she's seen him from somewhere before or that perhaps he just resembles someone she might know. "What are you doing up so early?"
"Couldn't sleep. You?"
She finishes her bar, throws it away in the wastebin across the room. "I just told you."
"No, I mean, what are you planning on doing?"
Texas smiles at him and scoops her bangs behind one ear, fastening them in place with a black clip. From this angle he can see the chip latched into the back of her neck. "I'm contemplating on some training exercises. You might want to sit those out, considering how I broke half your bones in one session alone."
"Fuck off."
This time she laughs. And something about it is beautiful to him, like faded memories of falling snow and river rapids and horizons. It reminds him of a memory that lingers just out of his reach, yet he could have sworn they happened so recently the details would be descriptively clear to him.
"But I wouldn't mind the company, if you don't mind a broken rib."
He shrugs casually. "Guess I can't pass up a hands-on learning opportunity from the top of the leaderboard. But, just one question."
"Yes?"
"I've heard from the others that you don't like training with them…why are you so lenient with me?"
Texas gazes off in another direction, yet her smile doesn't leave her face. "Maybe because you've treated me better than they have. And a little kindness goes a long way with me…it goes a long, long way…"
Currently…
The building collapses just as Texas slams her foot on the gas pedal and they break out of the lower garage. Despite the debris storm in their rearview mirror Tex manages to evade the blast and races along an ascending loop onto the highway overpass, clearing the battlefield at nearly a hundred and twenty miles an hour. She weaves through the other vehicles with precision. Oregon grasps the briefcase in one hand while anchoring himself to the seat with the other, tossing with the motion of the jeep.
"Did everyone make it out?!" Carolina shouts into the intercom.
"Copy that," Florida chirps. "I have faith in the capabilities of our team. We'll all be fine, and when I see you again I'll even give you the biggest bear hug of your life to reassure all your positivity."
"I'll pass."
"Texas and I are on the freeway heading east," Oregon responds next.
"And who has the package?"
"We do."
"Copy that, rendezvous with the carrier in ten miles. Washington and I are right behind you."
"Roger."
As they approach the half mile marker, shadows dart high overhead. Propeller blades slice through the sky as military helicopters diverge onto the freeway from several different directions, and with them come federal police vehicles that roar onto the highway from every passing exit. "Please don't tell me those are the cops," Oregon groans, adjusting his mirror to give himself a better angle of the commotion behind them. A sniper bullet screams through the air and rams through his hand, shattering the mirror on impact. Oregon cries out, reflexively brings the wound to his chest.
The mission is jeopardized, just like that.
"Shit!" Texas exclaims as she veers the jeep in front of a transport truck to use as a temporary shield from the follow-up shots. "Oregon, you alright?"
"Dandy," he hisses bitterly. The bullet expels from his hand when the flesh rejects the foreign object before it promptly begins to reform its damaged tissue. "Bastard's got fantastic aim to miss my plating!"
"THIS IS THE PCPD! PULL OVER NOW OR WE'LL BE FORCED TO TAKE LETHAL MEASURES!"
"Stall them! I'll get us out of here!"
Oregon waits until he can operate his hand again before he retrieves his sniper rifle from behind his seat. He leans into the leather padding as support, lining the scope up with the closest chopper in his sight. Then he fires, but his mark goes unexpectedly wide. Another several shots miss before they enter an express tunnel, so he readjusts the scope to focus on the vehicles closing in behind them. "Hey, learn to drive! I can't get a steady shot!"
"I've seen your shooting scores, you just suck!"
"Fine, then why don't you shoot and I'll drive?!"
"Use the Gatling!"
"I'm fine!"
"Just do something!"
He mimics her childishly before climbing carefully into the trunk to grab hold of the Gatling gun. A series of bullets skim the plating of his armor, deflecting off the other cars around him or going too wide and impacting nothing of particular importance. He fires back, and once again, hits nothing that he aims for. Instead he positions the nose towards the pavement and pumps it with lead until he blows out the first vehicle's tires, sending them careening onto their side and into a barrel roll. Another police car smashes into their underbelly.
Two of the pursuit vehicles steer around the collision. The left car's passenger fires at Oregon who ducks and blindly sets off another line of bullets that, luckily, punch through the windshield and mow down the officer driving. The vehicle crashes into a semi in the oncoming traffic lane.
"Nice shot!" Texas remarks.
As they rocket out of the tunnel and back up into the sunlight, another jeep launches off the overpass crossing above. It slams into the shoulder lane with such fervor Washington is nearly thrown from the passenger seat on the rebounding jolt. "Jesus Lord above, Carolina! Take it easy!"
"Shut up and shoot!"
Washington swings around the grenade launcher he had found in the trunk when they previously stole the vehicle from the building's lot. He aims at the closest police car from over the seat, pulls back the trigger; the officer swerves easily out of the way and the explosive detonates when it impacts the road, flipping over a pedestrian van. The helicopters tagging them from above counter with a hail of bullets that rip apart the asphalt like eating through paper, catching on one of their back wheels, then on the hood of the engine.
"We're bailing!" Carolina orders, rising in her seat. She uses her hook shot to latch onto the underside of one of the choppers and reels into the air, leaving Washington to find his own way out.
He immediately jumps from the jeep, landing on the front end of Texas's ride. The warthog spins out of control and rams into the dividers on the side of the highway. With his grasp on the window guards he leans with Texas's motions as she glides through the traffic in attempt to gain more ground. The bullets firing from the trio of PCPD choppers strike the pavement on either of her sides, nearly taking out the vehicles struggling to divert course out of their path.
"I really, really hate high-speed chases!" Wash whines into his intercom.
Oregon utilizes his Gatling gun to pierce the thick hide of the nearest helicopter, ripping through their main engine – it immediately explodes when the inner punctured gas line is hit with several bullets, sparking a fire that consumes the hawk in an intense blaze. Pieces of debris erupt outwards, engulfing the highway below in an inferno and sending shards of metal scattering in every direction. The blast rocks the jeep but Texas manages to steer them behind a wider pick-up truck as cover from the heat.
Carolina, at the same time, clings to the lower leg of the helicopter she's hitched to so the shockwaves don't knock her from her perch. The pilot rapidly ascends into the sky to avoid the fury of debris. Carolina seizes their distraction as her opportunity and hefts herself up into the main body, grabbing the sniper by the rear straps of his vest. She throws him backwards into the air, down to the freeway.
His body is rammed through by an oncoming transport truck.
"Nice one!" Oregon calls through the intercom, giving her a thumbs-up despite being barely visible from the angle.
Carolina passively ignores him, hoisting herself back into the hawk. She whips out her combat knife from the holster on her hip and drives it deep into the pilot's back; from Oregon's position he witnesses the helicopter pitch into a downwards spiral, colliding head-first with the other chopper.
"Carolina!"
"I'm fine!" She snaps back as she leaps from the erupting helicopter and latches onto Texas's jeep with her hook shot. It reels her forward with enough speed to get her a solid distance away from the initial blast, but she's too far to land in the flat with Oregon. Instead she uses the inertia to activate her sonic drive – when her boots touch the pavement she jettisons forward, streamlining along the center of the path marked by yellow bands. She catches up to pace alongside the rear bed in mere seconds.
Oregon offers out his hand, which she gladly accepts, and he hauls her up onto the jeep. "Told you I'm fine," she says, knocking knuckles with him when he makes the gesture. Despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins she maintains her level-headed tone, which Oregon seems to admire because he simply nods his head.
"We're almost there!" Wash announces, setting himself into the passenger seat. "Just another half mile and we'll-"
Another federal vehicle courses up behind them easily and clips the edge of the jeep in a PIT maneuver that's just enough to send them tipping right over. Texas tries to stabilize the car by steering it into a drift, but the tires catch on the road. It careens into a roll that ejects all four riders from their places in synch; they're sent sailing over the edge of the overpass at its curve. Carolina grabs for the briefcase that tumbles in her wake, but to her immediate dismay, it catches on the railing.
NO!
And they fall.
The carrier rises up from below them as if by some saving grace, catching the soldiers on its roof; then rockets into the sky, oblivious to the police officers now converging on the area with more helicopters and vehicles that had just been on their way to join in on the chase – completely unaware of the briefcase that is lodged on the side of the highway.
Agent Florida pops open the exit hatch like a whack-a-mole. "Hello! How are my favorite comrades?"
"Fucking pissed!" Carolina shoots back, slamming her fist into the iron-plated canopy. "Damn it, damn it all! The briefcase was in my reach and I couldn't fucking get it!"
"Oh, that's unfortunate. But on the bright side, you're all alive!"
"Not when the Director finds out we failed," Wash replies, crawling towards him. "Ugh, ow. My body hurts…let's get inside."
Florida helps them into the hull before he seals the hatch door and commands the pilot to steer them back to the base. Inside the main pit, Carolina tosses her helmet across the cabin and screams, nearly elbowing Washington in the face when he attempts to calm her down. "I'm fucking fine! Just, forget it!"—she collapses into a seat, buries her face in her hands—"Just forget it…please let it go…"
Her anger is comprehensible. She hasn't fucked up on a mission this badly in almost four years, and with a polished record like that, it was sure to lower her score on the board. Oregon figures it might be his fault for setting off the tripwire. Despite decapitating the CEO of what is now the ruins of IreonCorps, and leaving its leading position as manufacturer of naval technologies up for grabs, he doubts that'll make up for how fucked to hell the mission is because he chose to blatantly ignore Washington's warning.
"Shit."
Oregon gazes at Texas, whose breath hitches a little when the plane shifts. "Hey, are you okay? You're looking a little unstable."
"Just the adrenaline," she says hesitantly, "although…would you mind looking at this and telling me if it's bad?" She gyrates to show him her back, where an impressive piece of metal from a helicopter blade is pierced into the flesh above her left hip. "Cause I think I've lost feeling and I don't-"
She loses consciousness.
"Shit, Tex!" Oregon catches her against him, guiding her limp form to the floor. He sweeps off her helmet, pats her cheek to keep her awake. "Hey, Tex – TEX! TEXAS!"
Her mind is going black.
"Allison!"
.
.
.