Alaska cleared her throat of the last dry crumbs as she treaded through the Mother's path to the training room. Del had said Kansas stayed behind when he said goodbye to wake Alaska.
She peered in through the glass lining the giant circular grounds to find them empty. Locker rooms, perhaps. Sure enough, sounds of laughter drifted out of the door to the approaching Alaska's ears. She knocked and, without waiting for a response, swung the door open.
A short, thin man with tan skin was pulling his wavy hair into a ponytail and chuckling. His freckles almost danced with how his face moved.
"Keep looking for it," he crooned, "you'll find it eventually."
Alaska jumped as a living mountain emerged before her from the other side of the lockers; a massive man clad in white armor with orange accents. She could feel his glare boring Kansas into ribbons all the way through his bald head. She shrank until he passed, then went to her locker. She hastily pulled her armor on.
"Kan," she squeaked. "You've been called. Director."
Kansas sighed theatrically. "Alright, jeez." He ducked under the massive arm of Maine, who was now wearing his helmet. His body swerved to avoid another bat from the giant, and he dove around Alaska before Maine could do anything about it. Alaska slammed the door shut.
"He's gonna kill you one of these days, you know."
"He's gonna kill all of us one of these days."
"You'll be the first." Alaska gripped the back of Kansas' chestplate only for him to squirm out immediately.
He puffed himself up with his arms outstretched and dangling. He lowered his voice to a gravelly snarl. "Grr, I'm big and scary and don't talk." He stamped through the hall.
"Ah, I didn't know you were suicidal. Can you save it for when we're through whatever the Director assigned us? I'd prefer to have a full six instead of just five in the party."
He scoffed. "Since when does he send out agents that don't reach his precious board out on anything important, anyway? It's probably just patrol."
"We love you too," snapped West from the door to the briefing room. His dark teal and silver armor couldn't hide his slouched, tired posture. Nor could his helmet hide his scowl.
Hawaii tutted from behind his dark blue helmet. The orange accents shone with his shaking head. "You poor thing. Do you need a Midol?"
"I have some," Tennessee offered sweetly.
West huffed, but was interrupted before he could retort by the briefing room's door opening. Del , in full suit apart from his helmet, beckoned for them to enter. His face was blank as he saw them all inside. It flawlessly mirrored that of the Director and the Counsellor. One of the first things you learned in the Freelancer Program was that you were to shut your mouth and listen, and bitch - or make the wrong faces - later if you had to. An unspoken but universal rule that could land you ditched on a shit-end job if broken.
The Director's crystalline green eyes glowed even in the bright blue lights behind him. They were simultaneously angry and empty. His expression paired with his gray-flecked hair and beard made him look not unlike a stern father.
He greeted them with a cold, "Agents."
The Counsellor began.
"There has been suspicious activity, possibly insurrectionist, in a small canyon city on Reverb."
Alaska shot Del a small face. Concern would be the best word to describe her current emotion. It's not like it was undeserved; there were rumors about of a small team who hadn't been seen in quite some time being captured.
The Counsellor had an uncanny knack of pulling information out of your own head.
"You may have heard that some of our agents have been taken into custody."
The Director grimaced - more than he usually was, anyway. "We are disappointed to say that this is true."
This time, Alaska caught Del giving her a subtle look. Eyebrows raised, mouth tight. Not much, but enough to get the message through, and little enough to be distracted from by the hologram that appeared on the large desk before them.
The hologram outlined the craggy walls of a canyon. Buildings littered the bottom; like a little town, but not quite. Two dots - one green and one orange - blinked along one of the crevices.
"Where Agents Alabama and Colorado were last seen." The Director gestured toward them. "We have been unable to retrieve many audio logs; the ones we have indicate their capture. Their equipment has very likely been heavily tampered with by now."
Hawaii leaned in. "Nothing special about that cave mouth?"
Alaska squinted to where he was pointing. There was, indeed, an entrance to a cave just behind the dots.
"That is where our agents were camping. And where we infer their last understandable audio logs occured."
Hawaii nodded and tapped the side of his helmet. Just taking a picture; a nifty little piece of his equipment, well-suited for his scouting job.
"Your job is to perform reconnaissance and, at the very least, locate Alabama or Colorado, though we would prefer that you retrieve both." The Counsellor's voice was plain and unaffected. "Acquire long-distance viewing equipment and weapons. Ensure your armor is in working order. Then head to the hangar. Your pilot will be 3-3-9."
The Director scowled at the agents lined before him. Finally, he drawled, "Dismissed."
The group shuffled out amongst their own little whispers that snuck around the clunk of their heavy armored boots.