(A/N) Hey guys, this is NicKenny of the Freelancer Collaboration here, with a brand new fic for you all, to coincide with the release of Red vs Blue Season 11! This fic is, obviously, a fic about Grifball. More specifically, this occurs after the league's admission of female players into its professional divisions. We will follow the players of Team Rampancy, as they struggle with the changes that this announcement results in, and their quest for the league title. Stay tuned!

For those interested, we have also published an X-Ray and Vav fic, and are looking for writers, so feel free to message this account for more information. We'll also have a very important update on our main fic "Phase One: Genesis" tomorrow, so look out for that!

Enjoy!

Prologue

Coach Anderson

Written by NicKenny

"Equality is not a concept. It's not something we should be striving for. It's a necessity. Equality is like gravity. We need it to stand on this earth as men and women, and the misogyny that is in every culture is not a true part of the human condition. It is life out of balance, and that imbalance is sucking something out of the soul of every man and woman who's confronted with it. We need equality. Kinda now."– Joss Whedon

On any other day, these seats would have been filled up solely with reporters and cameramen. Now, with the Commissioner's sudden announcement that he would be scheduling a press conference that would change the very face of Grifball, something that he hadn't done since announcing the participation of Team Heretic in the league a few years back.

While the Elites had originally been a source of embarrassment and shame for the league, since someone had finally found a translator to explain the rules of the game to them, they had shaped up to be a pretty formidable team. Not a championship contender, as their natural instincts always seemed to lead to them committing at least a few betrayals per game, but they won almost as many games as they lost, and the embarrassing early days had long been out past them.

Today, while there where a good number of the media present, much of the spectators where coaches and officials within the league, all of them anxious to hear the Commissioners latest announcement, and speculating on the changes that it would bring to the game, ad to their daily lives.

After all, in these days of relative peace, Grifball was a big-money industry. Any changes to the system meant that everyone in the room today's pockets might suddenly become a good deal lighter. Or a great deal heavier.

In the midst of all this idle chatter and speculation sat the coach of Team Rampancy, Ryan Anderson. He sat there alone, not talking to anyone, his eyes locked on the podium that the Commissioner would very shortly be standing behind.

At first glance, he didn't look like much. A heavy-set man in his mid-fifties, grey cropped hair and dark green eyes hidden behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses set on nose that had clearly been broken several times, a testament to his career as a defender for Team Maverick, Whiplash, and finally Rampancy itself, the team that he would win two championships with before eventually managing it.

However, looks, as the saying goes, can be deceiving. Twenty-five years ago, Ryan Anderson was one of the top names in Grifball, winning multiple MVP awards, along with several championship medals. By the end of his career, he had set the record for the most kills in a single match, a season, and of all time, and while his single match and season records had been surpassed in recent years, he still held the record for all time kills.

After his retirement, he had taken up coaching, meeting with some small success in the amateur leagues, coaching teams like Havoc and Nice Dynamite, before being hired by Dynamo, one of the smaller teams within the professional league. After two seasons, Dynamo reached their highest finish at the end of a season ever, and Anderson had caught the eye of the bigger teams, going on to win a championship title with Maverick and Overcharge, before finally returning to Rampancy to save them from relegation.

Three years on, Rampancy had sorted out the financial struggles that had caused them to almost get relegated, and were gradually moving up the table, finishing in a respectable sixth place last season. However, they had lost three of their players during the off season, one through an injury sustained in a friendly that effectively ruled him out of playing Grifball ever again, another was serving twelve years for voluntary manslaughter after a bar fight got out of hand, and another had received a lifetime ban due to substance abuse.

All in all, it was going to be a tough next season for Rampancy, and many would have considered them candidates for relegation, had anyone other than Ryan Anderson been in charge.

The doors at the back of the room swung open, and the Commissioner strode out, casually waving to the cameramen that took this moment to stand up and get to work in earnest. The Commissioner beamed, walked up to the podium, and waited for the noise to die down before speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, coaches and officials of the league, and members of the press," he began, in his usual dapper fashion, "I'm sure many of you are wondering why you have been called here today. I've heard rumours ranging from that we're allowing the use of jetpacks, grenades and low-yield nuclear devices enter the game, to that we're going to introduce some of the most deadliest animals that we can find in the galaxy in the arena during a game, just to spice things up a little."

He took a moment to roll his eyes, and the crowd laughed good naturedly, sharing in his disdain of these rumours, created, no doubt, by the same morons who insisted that corruption was rife at every level in Grifball, that Grifball was originally created by a group of delinquent soldiers, and that some branches of the UNSC had begun replacing soldiers with gay robots.

"Anyway," he continued, "While we did consider the latter option, and still have some plans concerning introducing it in the lower leagues as a testing ground, but that is not why I've called you here tonight."

He paused for a moment, looking over the crowd before him, and shuffled the sheets of paper in front of him. "No, what we are here to discuss is something much different. Something…revolutionary. Here, in the Intergalactic Grifball League, we pride ourselves in encouraging equality amongst our players. A few years back, we extended this philosophy not only to the human race, but to that of the…Sanghoo…Sangheal…Sangreely – however you say it. The Elites."

Around Ryan Anderson the crowd began to stir, as they felt the electricity behind the Commissioner's words, and sensed that he was about to make his announcement. Anderson himself, however, remained immobile, his eyes still locked on the Commissioner at his podium, his mind humming but his mouth remaining firmly closed.

"However, it has been brought to my attention that, while we have extended the hand of friendship to the…Elites, and have allowed Team Heretic to take their place alongside us, we continue to discriminate against a large section of our own race. That is to say, fifth per cent of it. The professional leagues have always remained closed to female players, as it was long – falsely – thought, that women couldn't play Grifball. Well, next year we'll get a chance to prove these old fashioned thinkers wrong. I am proud to announce that, as of next season, women will be allowed to play in all leagues with the IGL, in a continuation of the sport's fine tradition of equality, friendship and fraternity."

He finished his speech and, the moment he dropped that last full stop, the room exploded into a flurry of activity. The fast majority of the room surged to their feet, their hands clapping together in a thunderous, if somewhat shocked, applause. Anderson slowly got to his feet to join them, his large hands clapping together as enthusiastically as any of the others, but he couldn't help but notice the not insignificant number of others who either remained seating, a stunned and unhappy look on their faces, or those who clapped loudly with sour expressions, or, indeed, those few who simply got up and left the room, cursing under their breath.

It looks like not everyone were happy with the Commissioner's latest announcement. There'd be trouble, later on, of that Coach Anderson had little doubt. His gut was telling him that something was going on here, out of sight, that mightn't be quite a pure and clean as the league wanted this decision to appear.

His gut had never let him down yet.

Later on, behind the scenes, in an area that the media had not been granted access to, but the coaches had been in order to meet up with the Commissioner and ask him some personal questions on what exactly this announcement would mean for their team, while being surrounded by some of the finest food and drink on this part of the planet. Some of the coaches who had been less than pleased with the announcement had settled for getting roaring drunk, and Dan Smith of Overcharge had currently passed out, face first, into the punch bowl. Anderson glanced at him with a look of disdain written across his face, his hand reaching for the glass of Coke next to him. He tried to stay away from alcohol at occasions like these. He needed a clear head.

Not that he was anything but delighted with the announcement. He had long, if not publicly, campaigned for the inclusion of women into the game, pulling some strings here and there in order to make it a public demand. Indeed, every year, the Inclusion of Women in Grifball, or the IWG for short, received a significant anonymous donation from him, in order to help their cause.

However, he could sense the tension among the other coaches, and he knew there were a large number of them who had been less than pleased with the Commissioner's announcement, and he knew that there would be a significant number of fans up in arms over this. If last year's riots after the Majestic/Castle match had taken the league unawares and resulted in more injuries than Anderson was happy to remember, the ones that the next season faced would be much worse.

But progress was progress, and it was the right thing to do. He would just have to make sure that Rampancy's own stadium made sure to increase its crowd policing, and had more officials on site per game to deal with any potential problems. The last few years they had avoided the brunt of the riots that burst out with worrying frequency during, after, and sometimes even before a Grifball match, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the waitress next to him, gently tapping his shoulder.

"Sorry?" he asked, surprised, his brow furrowed, having missed what she had said.

"The Commissioner has requested that you join him. He wishes to talk to you about the announcement, and how it will affect your team."

Anderson thanked her and got up from his seat, downed his drink, then slowly made his way over to the Commissioner's table, stopping on his way to exchange a few words with several of the other coaches as he passed them. It didn't pay to rush for someone like the Commissioner. You were better off showing him that he was not the most important thing in your life, otherwise he'd take all the advantages that he could.

Anderson did not like the Commissioner, to put it mildly. It was hard to like someone that represented everything wrong with the game.

"Commissioner," he murmured, nodding to him as he reached the table.

The Commissioner glanced up and smiled at him, before holding up a hand as he apologised to his companions: the coach of Heretic, an Elite who had taken over from the Commissioner a few years back after the Commissioner's enthusiasm over that project had dwindled, a blonde model who Anderson vaguely recognised as being the wife of one of the players of Whiplash (he briefly wondered what she was doing here, then felt that it was better not to ask), and Stu Stuman, everyone's least favourite Grifball newscaster.

"So, Anderson, right?" the Commissioner asked, beaming brightly, but seemed to notice that this approach would not go down particularly well in the face of Anderson's stone-cold expression.

"I was told you have some info for me, in regards to my team?" Anderson asked tiredly, just wanting the night to be over and done with.

"Of course, Rampancy, Rampancy, a great team. Big shame about your boys, but I know you'll find a way to bounce back!"

Anderson sighed, looking away. "Yeah, it's a shame all right. We're looking into a few places for replacements, and it's taking up a lot of my time, but we'll be ok, at least if I have anything to say about it."

The Commissioner chuckled slightly, but there was an underlying tone of nervousness to it. "Well, then I have some good news for you! You won't have to search for players any longer, because I have three in mind that would fit right in, and wouldn't cost you much in the terms of transfer fees."

The coach turned back to him, frowning. "Really? What's the catch?"

"Come now, why on earth would there be a catch?!"

Anderson just stared at him for a moment, and the Commissioner quickly deflated.

"Ok, there might be a little catch. They're all currently in the amateur leagues."

Anderson shrugged. "That doesn't bother me, if there stats are good enough, then I'll be prepared to take them on."

"Oh, I can assure you, their stats are good enough. They're all top players within their division, and have sparkling records."

"Really?" Anderson asked, his interests piqued. "Who are they?"

"We have two tanks and a defender, and I know those are the positions you're looking for!"

The coach sighed in irritation, shaking his head. "Very well, but what are their names?"

After pausing for a second the Commissioner shrugged, "Their names are Kiara Thomas, Ellen Thompson and Arika Myles."

"So…they're all women?"

"Yeeessss…" the Commissioner began, "But you, of all people, can hardly have a problem with that. I know you've been supporting the IGL over the last few years. Of all the people here, I thought you'd be the happiest with this announcement!"

Holding up his hands in protest, Anderson broke in, "I have no problem with taking on female players, especially if they're as good as you say they are. Anyway, if I have any problems with 'em, I can just trade them off."

Looking slightly uncomfortable, the Commissioner shook his head emphatically. "Um…no, you won't."

Alarm bells ringing in his head, Anderson frowned. "What do you mean, I won't?"

"You won't be able to trade them. You see, we need a certain number of female players in the league, otherwise we'll lose the interest of the various companied that we're currently negotiating advertisement deals with. As a result, we can't allow you to trade them off to a lower league team, or, indeed, to another team within the league, as otherwise that will affect our sales of female orientated Rampancy merchandise."

Anderson stared at him for a moment, fully aware of the power that the Commissioner had over the league, and how he could, quite easily, reduce Rampancy to nothing but ash with a single word. "What about the other teams? Are they being subjected to this…treatment, too?"

"More or less. Some, in this case you, more than others."

Anderson just continued staring, until the Commissioner continued, "I mean, you had three vacancies, we needed to bring in players, it seemed like the perfect opportunity! And, after all, we did need someone to…test this out on."

"I thought Slipspace were your usual guinea pigs?"

The other man sighed, "Ah, yes…Slipspace…unfortunately, you see, they've got themselves a good team of lawyers recently, so we're having to look a bit further afield this year. That's where your team comes in."

Anderson shook his head slowly and stood up, shaking slightly with barely repressed anger and scorn. "Very well then," he spat out, his eyes narrowed. "I'll take them on."

He turned to leave, but before he left he couldn't help but leave the Commissioner with a final sentence.

"Fraternity means brotherhood, you dumb bastard."