Familiar Faces
It wasn't long before Alabama was back on his feet. Despite his injuries the grubby recovery room, the Hawks' medical staff was extremely competent, working in the bad conditions as well as any other doctor.
Alabama sat and ate breakfast in the canteen with Mississippi, who simply watched their friend eat while they sat silent with their helmet on. Not long ago, this would have made him feel extremely uncomfortable, but after the Freelancer and the A.I. had saved his life, he'd become more relaxed around them.
"Not eating?" he asked, regardless. Zeta shook her head.
"Missi ate in our room. She prefers to eat in private."
Alabama studied the A.I. carefully. She was glowing less brightly than usual, and she appeared older and more haggard...like she was tired and weary.
"Zeta, are you alright?" Alabama set down his spoon. "You look...ill."
Could A.I.s even get ill?
"I'm fine, Al," she replied, although her expression told Alabama she was lying. "I just had an argument with-"
Mississippi banged their fist down on the table, cutting Zeta off and silencing the whole canteen. Zeta looked down nervously at her hands, clearly upset. Mississippi stood up abruptly, knocking back their chair in temper and storming out of the facility. Alabama watched them go, shocked.
Once in the privacy of their room, Mississippi let rip.
"My private life is not up for fucking discussion, Zay!" the Freelancer bellowed, their face red with fury. "What the hell were you playing at, announcing it at the breakfast table in front of him?"
"He's my friend!" Zeta snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "And you know, sometimes I need a friend, because my own host won't speak for-!"
"You know why I won-" Mississippi began, trying to cut across her.
"Because you're scared of what people will say? Because people will tease you? Grow up, you pathetic excuse for a soldier. Yes, there would be ridiculing, but does it really matter? I trust Alabama. He wouldn't treat you like that!"
"You don't understand, Zay. You're not..."
Mississippi's voice trailed off, realising what they were about to say.
"Go on," Zeta spat. "Finish it. I can already hear the words in your head anyway. Let's see if you've got the guts to vocalise it."
"You're not human," Mississippi growled. The wounded look on Zeta's face made the Freelancer regret it instantly. Anger left Mississippi, and the solider sank down slowly onto the reinforced chair.
"I...I'm sorry, Zay. I just need my fix, is all."
"Sure. I know how it all works. You always just 'need your fix." Zeta's tone was heavy with bitterness. Mississippi opened their mouth to argue, but then closed it and sighed instead.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this, Zay. It's getting to the point where the highs aren't...aren't worth the lows."
"Then give it all up. Give me up and show the world you're just another sad drug addict."
"Maybe that's all I am, Zay" Mississippi said, sighing. "Maybe that's all I've ever been."
Zeta gave her host a look of utter disgust, and then disappeared back into her chip.
"So fucking predictable."
Sigma sat on the desk, watching Massachusetts with interest.
"What's predictable, Massa?" she asked, swinging her purple legs.
"I sold off the Freelancer guns...and those idiots, the Hawks, snapped them up immediately." Massachusetts yawned and stood up, knocking back the chair she had been sat on. "I probably would have sold them off to a smaller gang, because competition is good...but they hired that assassin. That's not playing fair, is it?"
"No, it's not," Sigma replied, grinning a little. She had grown extremely fond of her host since her implantation, finding Massachusetts' willingness to compromise worked well with her creative flow. Perhaps her methods were a little too blunt and direct for Sigma's tastes, but the A.I. found she was having more influence over the Freelancer lately. Perhaps she'd be able to convince Massachusetts to lay off the trigger a little bit and—
"Fuck's sake!" Massachusetts cried, stamping her foot. "That clock keeps jamming no matter how many times I fix it!"
She drew out her pistol and shot at it, shattering it to pieces and leaving bullet holes in the wall.
"That'll teach you. Stupid fucking clock."
Sigma sighed. Somehow she suspected her Freelancer would always be a gun wielding maniac.
El burst into the room, gun drawn.
"What happened?" she cried, searching for an enemy or a dead body, but finding none. "Who fired the shots?"
"I did," Massachusetts replied, blowing away the smoke from the barrel of her gun and holstering it. Damn, she felt like such a badass.
"Well, who's dead?" El asked, becoming confused.
"The clock," Sigma said dully, not bothering to tell her Freelancer off for unnecessary destruction of property.
"Stupid thing jammed again," Massachusetts growled, picking up the pieces and tossing them into the bin. El stared, and then slowly lowered her weapon.
"You shot...the clock?" she said, blinking several times. "We do have repair men here, Emma."
"Really?" Massachusetts tilted her head and then picked up the bin containing the ruined clock, thrusting it into El's arms. "Give them that and tell them to make it snappy."
The gun recoiled in El's hands as she fired into the target, her small frame being pushed back slightly from the force of the weapon. She had thrown herself into training since she had killed the assassin, hoping that wading through violence might trigger the killer instinct she seemed to have. So far she had been unsuccessful, which in itself was driving her crazy. How the hell had she managed to stay still and calm while having a knife pushed in her leg? Why could she butcher a man one minute but then sob about it the next?
As El's temper rose, she fired three successive shots with perfect aim into the target, and then froze. She had never made a hit like that before, let alone three of them. As her curiosity overtook her frustration, she tried again. All the shots missed.
"What the...?" she said, looking at the gun with shock. She had been frustrated; angry.
Anger. Anger was the key.
"El," a voice called from across the room. El turned to see Massachusetts waving to her. "Wanna go get a drink?"
"Sure," she shouted back, casting her eyes to her gun momentarily. She let her arms fall to her side and smiled at her friend instead. "Where were you thinking of going?"
Massachusetts shrugged. "I was just going to wander the city until I saw a bar I liked."
El grinned and skipped over to the Freelancer, who wasn't wearing her usual armour. Instead she had on a pair of jeans, flats, and a black vest top that revealed her naval. El was surprised to see that the Freelancer had also had it pierced, just like her.
"Didn't know you were one for dressing up, Emma," El said, and then nodded at the bar in Massachusetts' stomach. "Or body piercing, for that matter."
"Well, I'm hardly going to go for a drink in full battle regalia. Might as well blend in while I can. Besides, I'm not leaving everything behind..."
The Freelancer indicated to the pistol in a holster at her waist. She took out the gun to show her friend a strange compartment on it.
"Customised weapon. Had an A.I. slot added to it so Sig can come, too!"
El folded her arms and pulled a face. "Em, they won't let you take a gun into a bar."
Massachusetts grinned and put her dark purple jacket on. El had to admit that it concealed the weapon extremely well.
"Get changed and stop your bitching. Tonight we're gonna get shitfaced, and I won't take no for an answer."
"Hey, uh, Missi," Alabama said, approaching the Freelancer nervously. They were in the Recreation Room, where most played poker or pool, ignoring the book case in the corner. Mississippi was the only one holding an old, yellowed, novel, sat in a reinforced chair in full armour, engrossed in it. The Freelancer looked up at Alabama, an air of weariness in the way they moved. There was an awkward silence as they both waited for Zeta to appear. She did not and Mississippi sighed deeply, before waving a hand to indicate Alabama could continue.
"Uh, well, you see...I was...well, I was wondering," he started, tripping over his words. Mississippi tilted their head and folded their arms, watching Alabama closely. "Well, because, um, you, uh, saved my life and all, and because, uh, well we have a, uh, a lot of free time on our hands..."
Mississippi began tapping their fingers against their metal plated arms irritably. Alabama took it as a 'hurry the fuck up' and quickly blurted out what he wanted to say.
"Would you like to go out for a drink some time?"
Mississippi stared.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit, Alabama thought frantically. He had to correct this situation right now.
"Well just a drink, you see. Not a date...well, OK, maybe a date, but only if you want it to be. It could be a friendly drink and not a date at all, although it will seem like a date, but it isn't-"
Mississippi stood up and Alabama fell silent. The Freelancer shook their head briskly, not saying a word, and then walked out of the room, leaving Alabama alone.
"Smooth, Al," he muttered to himself. A gang member suddenly appeared beside him.
"Sir, Copper wishes to see you."
"Reports from my men on the street say that the Wolves' Freelancer is out in the open." Copper sat at his desk with a glass of whiskey, looking extremely pleased with himself. He swirled the drink absent-mindedly as he spoke. "Gone for a night out, apparently. Without her armour...unarmed."
"Her?" Alabama leaned back in his seat, confused. "I thought you said Massachusetts was a man?"
"I thought she was, but it turns out I was wrong. Female: dark hair, average height, pale skin, slender, green eyes."
Alabama cast his mind back the fight against Command when Project Freelancer collapsed on itself. He vaguely remembered a woman of such a description. She had hijacked a Command aircraft using a gravity lift and her A.I., bringing fresh supplies to their side. Had it not been for her, he would not be here now. Alabama felt a slight pang of guilt at the thought of killing her, but knew he couldn't abandon Copper and the Hawks. They were his family: his only true family.
Copper gave a quick description of the clothes Massachusetts was wearing, and then handed him a chip to put in his armour, which contained a photograph of the Freelancer and her companion for the night. He also handed Alabama smoke grenades: a standard piece of equipment for the Hawks.
"Kill them both, Shard," Copper said. His tone disturbed Alabama somewhat. Since when had Copper become so bloodthirsty? Back in the day, he had always been the quiet one, helping from the sidelines and never becoming directly involved in the fighting. He'd changed since the Freelancer had last spoken to him. But then maybe the role of leader had taken its toll on him.
"And watch out for the girl with your main target," the gang leader continued, finally sipping from his drink. "She took out one of the best assassins in the city with his own fucking knife. She might look like a pushover, but she's hiding something. Silencer cost us a lot of money."
Alabama nodded, carefully keeping his expression blank. Copper hired an assassin? Something was wrong here. However, he'd made a promise to his childhood friend, a promise he intended to keep. He could ask questions later.
The Freelancer stood up and smiled.
"I'll go find Mississippi and then change into my armour. We'll get your target."
The music pounded around Massachusetts as she danced with El, watching with amusement as Sigma flitted through the strobe lighting. The A.I. was barely noticed by the other people, and when they did spot her, only caught a glimpse before she melted away into the beams of coloured light. The alcohol playing tricks on their eyes, obviously.
The night had been a good one so far, although the drinks were beginning to go to her head. Everything felt warped. The dancing was not helping.
"I'm gonna sit at the bar," she shouted to El over the noise. El nodded and grinned, turning her attention to a young man next to her.
Massachusetts staggered over to the bar and sat down heavily on a stool, her world spinning slightly as she swayed in her seat.
"You're flushed. Looks like you need a drink."
The Freelancer turned blearily to her right, to see a man sat next to her, smiling. Squinting at him for a moment, two thoughts crossed her mind. The first was the realisation that he was insanely good looking. He had rich brown hair, pale skin, and slightly a gaunt face, which only enhanced his strong jaw line. His nose straight, not too big, and he had wide, thin lips. Dark brown eyes stared longingly at her.
Her second thought was 'I would.'
"Hi," Massachusetts replied brightly, intrigued by the handsome stranger. "I'm Emma. What's your name?"
"Derrick," Derrick replied silkily, leaning towards her slightly. She could smell his cologne, musky, but with a mischievously spicy undertone to it. The scent made her feel intoxicated, and she twisted her hair between her fingers playfully.
"So you were offering me a drink?" she asked.
"Maybe," he replied, clearly eager to follow her game. "But what could you give in return?"
"Oh, plenty. Don't you worry about that."
"Emma?"
Both Derrick and Massachusetts turned to see El watching them with suspicion.
"I've seen you before," El said sharply, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Derrick.
"Somehow, I doubt it," he replied tartly, and slid off his stool, stalking away.
"El!" Massachusetts exploded. "That was just getting good! I nearly had myself a free drink!"
"I didn't like the look of him, Em," El said darkly, slipping her hand inside her jacket to check her gun was still there.
"But the free drink!"
"Oh, shut up. I'll get you one."
"Good, but don't expect anything in return. I reserve bedroom adventures as payment for sex gods only."
Alabama and Mississippi watched the club front carefully. At the present moment, they had two choices: storm the club and use the cover and confusion of civilians to pick Massachusetts off before escaping into the night, or wait until she left the club and take her out then. Both options had disadvantages. Crashing the party would result in a higher risk of innocents dying through the crossfire. They'd also have to take out the bouncers first, unless clubs had suddenly taken to letting heavily armed men wearing cybernetic armour in for shits and giggles. The other plan was more hazardous for them. Massachusetts had a high battle rating, so drunk or not, she would be extremely dangerous. Not to mention her companion, who Copper had explicitly warned them about.
"Weighing it up," Alabama said while Mississippi checked their gun, "I'd rather take the first option. I value my life more than a few people who get in the way."
He knew it was simply his upbringing speaking, but at the end of the day, it was kill or be killed. Mississippi nodded, as Zeta was still refusing to show herself, agreeing. Civilians had never bothered Mississippi anyway. Zeta was all the Freelancer had ever wanted or needed.
Alabama stood up, Mississippi following him as they walked briskly to the club entrance. The two bouncers put their hands to their pistols as they approached.
"No weapons allowed," the taller bouncer said. The Freelancers stopped, not moving.
"No weapons!" the other bouncer shouted suddenly. "Are you deaf?"
Mississippi raised their pistol and shot the bouncer straight through the head. The taller bouncer cried out in shock and tried to draw his own weapon, but the Freelancer was too quick for him. He fell to the floor, writhing in agony, a bullet in each of his kneecaps.
"She's mute, actually," Alabama said cheerily as he kicked their guns away and out of reach, before stepping over them and walking into the club.
Both El and Massachusetts heard the gunshots outside. The Freelancer sighed. She'd only just gotten her drink. El quickly vaulted over the bar and beckoned for Massachusetts to do the same.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Massachusetts grumbled, climbing over and ducking down behind the bar. Then she paused, before standing up slightly.
"What are you doing?" El hissed. "Get down."
Massachusetts crouched down again with a glass in her hand. She had just taken it from the bar tops.
"I want," she growled, "my fucking free drink."
The Freelancer knocked it back in one go, and then wiped her mouth.
"Watch and learn, short stuff."
Massachusetts stood up and hurled the empty glass across the room. It soared with a slight spin, twirling beautifully, the coloured lights reflecting off its smooth exterior. Then it smashed straight into Mississippi's visor.
"Now!" Massachusetts yelled, drawing her pistol and opening fire. El fumbled for her own weapon and then stood up, shooting blindly and missing.
Alabama quickly grabbed Mississippi, dragging his ally to cover. The visor where the glass had hit was completely shattered, meaning vision would be impaired. Mississippi desperately tried to clear the broken glass, but instead only succeeded in knocking it into the helmet.
Zeta, forget the argument, the Freelancer thought desperately, I can't see!
"Fuck, this is bad," Alabama muttered. He eyed up the Goth girl who was panicking and firing at air while the club patrons ran about screaming in terror. Copper must have gotten it wrong. The girl blatantly didn't know the first thing about fighting. Her shots were either ending up hitting nothing or taking down the fleeing civilians. She was out in the open, too, concentrating more on firing than moving herself out of harm's way.
Easy target.
Rolling out of cover, he aimed and pulled the trigger on his own gun. The girl moved at the last second so that the bullet intended for her head instead hit her in the shoulder, sending her flying backwards. Alabama cursed and ducked back down, before noticing that his ally had moved out of sight. He glanced around to find Mississippi crawling behind the booths.
"Missi, what are you doing?" he bellowed. Mississippi waved a hand and shuffled along the floor, squinting as they struggled to peer through the cracked glass of their visor. The ridges left thick black lines in the Freelancers vision, the area just around the cracks so blurred it made Mississippi feel disorientated. However, if the bar could just be reached without being detected, Massachusetts and the girl could be taken down from two fronts.
If the bar could just be reached...
El yelled in surprise as the sheer force of the bullet knocked her over. She slammed into the shelves and slid down as bottles of alcohol rained down around her, exploding like fireworks as they made contact with the ground. Glass slivers sliced her skin, the spirit within burning as it caressed her cuts. El moaned as agony flooded her body, leaving her gasping on the ground.
"El!" Massachusetts dove over to her friend and knelt down, quickly pulling off El's jacket to reach the wound. Blood ran freely, staining her arm and shoulder red. Massachusetts put pressure against the hole to try and stop the bleeding, when El suddenly pushed her away.
"I'm fine," El said, ignoring the scarlet spurting from her shoulder. She felt perfectly calm again, like she had the night she'd killed Silencer. A shoulder injury was nothing.
El stood up again, suddenly focused on what she had to do. The roar of gunfire disappeared, becoming dull thunder to her ears – background noise. The pain in her body numbed to nothing. She had the gun in the hand. It was all she needed.
The one who shot her, the green soldier, was hidden in cover. She could pick him off later. However, Emma had put the other enemy at huge disadvantage by destroying the visor. Although they'd be able to see, it would be difficult.
Mississippi made a sprint towards the bar, not noticing that El was on her feet again.
El saw her target.
Raising her pistol, she fired three times.
Had Zeta been guarding her host like was supposed to, the shots could have been avoided easily. The A.I. would have served as a guide where Mississippi's vision had failed. But Zeta, still angry with the way she had been treated, was not guarding her host.
The first bullet hit Mississippi in the leg, knocking the Freelancer to their knees. Before the Freelancer could cry out, the second made contact with the pelvis. The third stuck the chest. Mississippi, in typical fashion, collapsed silently to the floor.
"Holy shit!" Massachusetts exclaimed. "El, that was brilliant! I knew you had it in you!"
El crouched down and looked at her gun, the pain in her shoulder beginning to return in waves.
"We need to go!" she shouted back, sirens sounding in the distance. "Come on!"
"Try telling that to the nice man with the motherfucking gun!"
The bar shook as bullets ricocheted off its metal exterior and El saw Massachusetts' point. If they wanted to go anywhere, their opponent would have to be taken care of first.
"Missi!" Alabama yelled frantically. He tried to move to reach his ally, but was driven back by gunfire from his targets. Judging from the way Mississippi had fallen down, the injuries must have been grave. Alabama quickly poked his head around the booth and caught a glimpse of Mississippi before a bullet whizzed past his head. He needed to get to his comrade somehow, but with the room being so well lit, there was no way he could make it past them without being shot at. Copper had been right, though. The girl was extremely dangerous; he hadn't seen Freelancers with such precise pistol work before, never mind an underweight bitch. If Mississippi could have seen properly...
That was it! Obscure their vision!
Reaching for a smoke grenade off his belt, he pulled the pin and hurled it towards the bar. Grey gas erupted from it, engulfing all in its choking mass. Massachusetts and El began to hack and cough immediately, while Alabama, whose suit filtered out the smoke, took his chance, making his way over to Mississippi.
"Al, over here!" Zeta shouted through the smoggy cover. He could see a strong glow not far from him, and followed it, occasionally tripping over stools and scattered chairs. Finally he reached the fallen Freelancer.
"Hang on, Missi. I'll get you out of here." Alabama took his companion under the arms and began to pull them away. "Zeta, go back to your chip. You're just a beacon for Agent Massachusetts."
Zeta nodded, her face laced with concern, and then disappeared. Mississippi was too heavy for a standard fireman's lift due to the armour, so the best Alabama could do was drag.
"Copper," he said through his headset as the exit came into sight, "send back the jeep that dropped us off. We've hit a snag."
"Get on!" One of Copper's men leaned out of the jeep window as it screeched to a halt outside the club. It was an armoured van and looked sturdy enough.
Alabama hauled Mississippi's body onto the vehicle, hoping it would hold both of their weight. It sank slightly as Mississippi was loaded on, and then even further as Alabama clambered on as well. Once the doors were shut and the jeep began to move, Zeta appeared immediately.
"Oh, this is all my fault!" Her voice was hysterical, her face scrunched up in distress. "Help him, Al. Help him, please!"
"I'm not qualified, Zay. We'll have to wait until..." Alabama's voice trailed off, and he stared at the A.I. "Did you just say...him?"
"Does it matter?" she shrieked. "Do something!"
"I can't!" Alabama yelled back furiously. "If I touch her, I could just make it worse! I could accidently kill her! Is that what you want?"
Zeta flitted over her host, leaning against the shattered visor.
"I'm so sorry, Missi," she whispered, looking at the Freelancer directly. "I'm so sorry. Hold on. I can't...I can't lose you..."
"We'll be there soon," Alabama said reassuringly, regretting shouting at the distressed A.I.
"Al," Zeta said quietly, not looking at him.
"Yes, Zeta?"
"Take his helmet off. You deserve to know."
There was that 'his' again. Alabama was flummoxed, but he did as he was told. Leaning forward, he gently removed the helmet, making sure not to disturb the injured Freelancer too much. He looked at the face of Mississippi for the first time, and dropped the helmet in shock with a loud clunk.
Mississippi was a man.