I do not own any characters from Microsoft or Bungie's "Halo" title or any characters created by Roosterteeth in Red vs. Blue.
York's body was stiff and ached as he suited up. Movement was difficult, but he grunted through the pain and the last piece clicked into place. The suit hissed as the pressure boundary was established and systems came online. He was dimly aware of Delta's calculations in the back of his mind as he ran a systems diagnostics. Everything checked out.
It was almost nine; time to go. He reached under and pulled out a small bag of provisions from under the bed, spoils from last night's supply raid. Inside were MRE's, a canteen, medkit, pistol and ammunition. I wasn't much, just enough to get out.
York holstered the pistol and eased himself out of the window. Boots landed on hard, compacted dirt, and he moved out, trying to ignore the pain. He needed to be closer to the outer wall before Tex made her move. Otherwise, he would not have a chance.
York clung to the wall, darting from cover to cover. Stealth was key, but it seemed impossible to keep silent. The crunch of gravel under his boots, his breathing, even his pounding heartbeat seemed to fill the area with noise.
He heard another set of footsteps and ducked. He fingered his pistol and eased out to see who was coming. Just an engineer. York leaned back and sighed. He was too nervous. He took a few deep breaths and regained his composure before he continued. More focused, he continued on like a ghost, until he came to the final stretch of open area.
"Halt. Identify yourself," a voice behind him commanded.
He turned and saw two security rovers, Biggs and Marker. A quick look at their uniforms and York saw they were both a couple of privates flexing their positional authority. If he worked this right, he could bluff his way out of this.
"Agent… Montana. I've got orders to-"
"Wrong," they said and raised their weapons towards him. "Agent Montana is currently stationed in Section 14. Who are you?"
"Foxtrot 12. Codename: York," he answered. It was just too hard to come up with a good lie.
"York? The one who fought with Tex? What are you doing out of medical?" the one called Marker asked.
"I… uh…" He struggled to come up with something.
"Doesn't matter," Biggs spoke up and cut him off. "Sir, you're going to have to come with us."
"Code Red. Code Red. Target: Agent Texas/Omega. Shoot on sight. Code Red. Code Red," the announcing system blared.
"Check it out. I've got him," the Biggs said and jerked a thumb at York. Marker quickly left and Biggs turned back to York. "Alright, let's go - oof!"
York had locked his hands together and swung. He caught Biggs under the chin and sent him staggering back. The blow was effective but still too weak to knock him out; York ran.
Biggs regained his balance and called over the radio, "Agent York is making a run for it. I need backup!"
A response crackled back. "Son, we ain't got anyone available! You're on your own."
Shit," he said and opened fire.
The light rounds bounced harmlessly off of York's armor, and he nimbly leapt onto a stack of crates and over the wall of the compound. He figured he had twenty minutes before his pain medication completely wore off. He had to put as much distance between him and the base as possible, so he lit out at top speed. He never looked back.