Thanks to KingMar for the feedback! As for your question, I update Divided biweekly on Tuesdays and Saturdays!

Red vs Blue and related characters © Rooster Teeth
story © RenaRoo

Divided
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Destination

After spending over a decade in space with no contact to people you knew before it, the idea of a homecoming becomes surreal. The feeling of actually arriving home utterly alien.

Simmons couldn't remember the last time he felt home, but looking over Carolina's shoulder in the cockpit and feeling the rush of air in his lungs after seeing the outline of Armonia against the horizon was the closest he had been for quite a while.

Home. Grif. Donut. Sarge. Lopez. The Blues. Chorus' soldiers - in just a few simple days Simmons felt like he had completely forgotten every face, every voice. He had never longed to see people so much before in his life.

When Carolina turned just enough to peer over her shoulder, Simmons stiffened a little in attention, watched the bob of her head.

"Simmons," she said, a tinge of humor in her voice, "are you sobbing?"

He definitely was.

"I'm not!" he cried out immediately, ignoring the snorting from the aqua armored Freelancer. "Seriously, I'm... I'm not the best flier! I'm just. I think I'm going to go check on the injured passengers. I'm sure some of them feel like crying now that they're home-"

"Oh, stop," Carolina drawled, waving him forward. "It's fine. You're a little emotional. You've been through a lot. It's called for. For once."

Simmons swallowed. "Yeah, well... you've been through a lot, too, Carolina."

She grew quiet at that, her clutch on the steering wheel visibly tightening. After a moment, she released a heralding breath. "Yes, well... I'm not done yet, either."

The maroon sim trooper hesitated. He knew what she was planning on doing, and he knew what a broken feeling it was like to have Church in his own head even for the short amount of time that he did.

He grew a little queasy just at the idea of what Carolina was proposing.

"Listen, Carolina..." he said, stepping toward the pilot chair. "About Church... when he was in my head, he wasn't... really well put together."

"You don't say," she replied dryly, not even bothering to look away from the view screen.

"He wasn't," Simmons persisted. "And he told me that the reason he couldn't be in your implants was because he couldn't hide things from you for some reason." Feeling more awkward by the minute, Simmons rubbed at his neck and sighed. "Look, I don't care what that reason is. Really, it doesn't effect me at fuck-all. And I know that people can be real tight with their AI when it's the right match," he continued, pushing back memories of the daunting duo Doc and O'Malley made back in Blood Gulch, "but there was something he needed to hide from you. And even though he didn't think he would have to worry about me figuring it out..."

The Freelancer hesitated before leaning back in her sea. She never looked at him.

"Epsilon couldn't keep you from seeing some memories?" she asked thinly.

"Yes. Wait, no. Maybe?" Simmons rubbed at his helmet. "Ugh. I don't know. It wasn't really coherent, and to be honest I didn't understand all of what was going on but... I saw some things. Like. Pretty shocking things."

He waited, uncertain, for Carolina's reaction. She didn't seem willing to give one.

"What's this about, Simmons?" she asked.

"I don't think you and Epsilon have a normal link," he responded. "I-I think you're different to each other."

Carolina tensed, her teeth almost audibly gritting. "Say it, Simmons. Whatever the fuck you think it is, say it."

"Okay!" he yelped. "I-I think you two are in love!"

The cockpit grew deathly quiet, even as they began to cross the gated borders of Armonia. Carolina's tension immediately evaporated, but she still didn't turn toward Simmons whatsoever. Just looking forward.

"Captain Simmons," she said tonelessly.

"Yes?"

"That's completely disgusting," she said firmly. "Get the fuck out of my cockpit."

"Uh, yessir."

...

Landing in Armonia took getting some clearance, but they were approved almost immediately after Grey heard Carolina's voice over the radio. The almost being in part due to the near five seconds of a solid shrill the doctor released upon hearing her friends were safe.

As they landed, Simmons stood in the back among the injured Chorus soldiers, slowly releasing he catch once the landing gears were down so the back door of the vessel would easily let them all through.

There was a collective sigh of relief as medical officers from Armonia's hospital began to unload soldiers as quickly as possible. Simmons felt good knowing these soldiers were in good hands at last.

Specifically good hands that weren't his and thus enabling he several neuroses flared up by his unexpected adventure.

He had barely stepped out of the Pelican before his eyes fell on some familiar faces.

"Grif! Sarge!" he called out to his fellow Reds before nodding to the lone Freelancer beside them. "Oh, uh. You too, Agent Washington!"

Simmons rushed to the Reds and was immediately pulled into their arms. Or, into Grif's arms just before Sarge's bulking biceps wrapped around the both of their necks and began closing off windpipes.

"Kkfft- Sarge! Please!" Simmons sputtered to no avail. It was only after he began to reach back and start hitting his leader's shoulders in tandem with Grif that the old Red let go.

The two gasped, clutching at their heaving necks.

Taking in as much air as he could, Simmons finally was able to concentrate on his dearest friend right across from him. Grif, as per usual, was having a much harder time gathering oxygen.

Chin wobbling and vision already watery, Simmons flung himself over to Grif, wrapping his arms around his fellow Captain and releasing a long breath, swallowing as much of his own blubbering down as he could.

Grif at first began to go stock still, but he nearly melted back into it, hugging Simmons tightly back, digging his fingers into the kevlar over the small of Simmons' lower back even as the other hand patronizingly patted his shoulder. "Yeah, it's okay, buddy. Let it all out," Grif snarked with absolutely none of his usual heat.

"You're such an ass," Simmons breathed into his helmet, beginning to feel a little shaky. He missed Red Team so damn much.

"Man, you got skinny, which for you is saying something, dude, when's the last time you ate?" Grif demanded.

Sarge grumbled from the side, roughly grabbing the two's shoulders and turning them apart to pace him. "Cuddle later, soldiers," he grouched.

Simmons felt his face heat up and he tried his best to fit his head back into a nonexistent shell. "Uh, yessir."

"Sarge, you're going to break my fucking leg," Grif complained, bringing Simmons' attention to the crutch for the first time. He wasn't even sure how he had missed the fact that Grif had a reason besides "heat" to be outside of his orange armor.

"Oh my god... my leg!" Simmons gasped. "Grif, what the fuck did you do to my leg-"

"Hey, excuse you, my leg," Grif responded with a finger in Simmons' face.

"Oh, that's not what you were saying in the Command building, Grif," Sarge crowed. "It was all oh not Simmons' knee. oh boo hoo. I'm Grif and I'm crying over busted kneecaps like a little sissy!"

Grif's eyes narrowed. "This is a distinct exaggeration," he said firmly, looking toward Simmons. "Except the kneecap. That is blasted."

"Goddammit, Grif," Simmons groaned. "I leave you alone for two days and you break my kneecap! No wonder I was getting phantom pains."

"You did not, you big weenie," Grif said with a wave of his hand. "You didn't get them any of the times I punched myself in your organs so I know that's not true."

"You what?"

"Besides," Grif continued, apparently hoping Simmons wasn't going to fixate on that new bit of information and document it safely for later arguments (already done), "at least I didn't GODDAMN DIE on anyone and leave them in mortal distress over mourning me!"

Simmons blinked. "I didn't do that."

"No, you didn't," Grif growled, glaring at Sarge.

When Simmons followed Grif's glare, he was met with a fairly indifferent Sarge. The man shrugged with a harrumph.

"Sarge... you... died?" Simmons gasped.

"No," Sarge responded quickly. "I was assumed dead. I was never actually dead. And you know what they say about assumptions, Simmons! I make an ass out of you and them! You can't make assumptions about me. I'll strangle them, step on their neck, and shoot them in the head. Just as I would any other enemy that tried to defame myself or the glorious Red Army."

Scratching at his neck Simmons just nodded. "Oh, well. I'm glad you didn't really die then, sir. That would've been awful."

It took a few full seconds before the prickling sensation on his side had Simmons glance over to Grif and catch the raging fury radiating from the stout soldier.

Flinching back, Simmons looked incredulously at Grif. "What!?"

"That's it!?" Grif howled. "It would've been awful!? It would've been awful to watch Sarge die and then spend two days none the wiser? It would've been awful to think he was fucking dead? You think so, Simmons? You think it would be- IT WAS A GODDAMN NIGHTMARE!"

"Okay, fuck it, it was a goddamn nightmare, Grif! I didn't know about it and now it's not true, so who gives a damn-"

"I do!"

"Okay, enough's enough," Sarge huffed. "Grif, get Simmons some proper care and a shower - good lord, son, you smell like a jungle."

Simmons stared flatly at his leader. "I walked for three days, sir."

"And you couldn't wash off in the rain? Meh, take care of yourself better, Simmons. I expect more from you."

Grif was still staring at Sarge. "You're actually doing this."

"Doing what?" Simmons demanded.

"He's going with Wash and Carolina to save Donut," Grif responded lowly.

"What? What happened to Donut-" Simmons stopped, threw up his hands and shook his head. "Fuck it, I don't know and I don't care anymore. I'm just glad you two are alright. Good luck getting Donut, Sarge."

"Won't need it," Sarge gruffed as he headed toward the Pelican. "I don't need luck to kick ass."


The gunfire barely missed his head, partially in thanks to the fact that Lopez grabbed the top of his helmet and shoved him down in time. They looked to each other, Donut sighing with his appreciation, before they tucked back under one of the exam tables.

Locus was looking pretty pissed, but even as fast as they were moving and as much as the threat of death was in the forefront, even Donut could see that they were slowly trading sides of the room.

On his hands and knees, Donut watched beneath the steel cabinets as Locus' feet slowly continued their clockwise cross to the other side of the laboratory - toward the monitors and control panels being used by the former Freelancer AI.

He then looked in the opposite direction. There were no soldiers coming to join the fray for whatever reason. It was a way out. But only for him and Lopez.

In other words, as far as Donut was concerned, it wasn't an option.

"You should have stayed in your cell, Sim Trooper," Locus' voice growled like a low rumble. "Your assistance would have given you the opportunity to have a far less painful demise. Now you will be under the mercy of Control. And I believe they have long since lost their patience with you."

"'Sim Trooper,' 'Control,' 'Locus,'" Donut called off as Lopez not so subtly nudged him to keep moving so that they maintained cover. "You've really got a problem with using people's names! It's so... dehumanizing. Weird that you always manage to call Wash by name. I wonder why that is-"

He and Lopez ducked as the bullet grazed he counter surface just above them. Donut snapped his mouth closed with an audible pop.

"You will be put in your place soon enough," Locus snarled. "But first-"

Donut's mind was racing, trying as hard as it could to figure out not just what Locus was planning on doing with the AI but how to stop it, when Lopez tapped harshly on Donut's helmet, drawing the soldier's attention to him. The robot then tapped over where a soldier's com piece would be.

At first, Donut just turned his head to the side, mouthing WHAT before Lopez reached over and smacked him on the back of his helmet then pointedly tapped on his earpiece again. "Oh," Donut allowed out before turning on his com.

Private Donut! This is the Freelancer Integrated-

"Oh, hi, F.I.L.S.S.!" Donut responded, barely acknowledging as Lopez half drug him to maintain their distance.

The Director - as you know him, Church - has placed the responsibility on me to inform you of his plan!

"Great!" Donut called emphatically as he finally noticed that Lopez and he were just in front of the exit. "As you probably know, we're not the best with plan making."

My observations would agree with that assessment, F.I.L.S.S. responded in kind. Church has assured me that for our interface to continue, it will not require the use of a physical hard drive. Therefore the only use for this unit is to allow access to physical beings such as yourself and the mercenary.

"That's not good," Donut said, frowning.

Indeed! It is very bad. Therefore we would like for you to shoot this console to prevent him gaining access as he is no doubt attempting, then exit through the door.

"That's not a bad plan, but what if we need to stall him some more?" Donut asked while looking to Lopez.

For his part, Lopez was point very purposefully at the grav hitches on the steel lab tables. Donut might not have taken a college chemistry course on a space station like some lucky kids, but he had seen Freelancer equipment in action enough to know what those were good for. He grinned wickedly and gave the robot a thumbs up.

They checked around the table to see Locus turning to the computer console, as expected, then the Reds nodded to each other.

"Hey, Locus!" Donut shouted as he stood up and shot the console to hell.

"What!?" the mercenary snarled before turning on his heels just as Lopez unlocked the grav hitches and sent the tables careening toward Locus.

Just as the mercenary was preparing to fire, the tables smacked into him.

Very good, boys! F.I.L.S.S. cheered. Now run! I will do my best to guide you to point B of this plan.

"B?" Donut squeaked as he and Lopez barely made it out of the room before it broke out into gunshots. "You never mentioned a Point B!"

I believe the expression Church wishes for me to use is 'making this up as we go.'

"Remember what I said about plans and us?"

Lopez was half shoving Donut from behind as they ran through the halls, all until a rattling shake sent both of them into the nearest wall. They hardly kept their balance enough, Donut feeling the ache and pull of his bruises and sprains in whole new ways, when the ship echoed with a low rumble like thunder.

The Reds looked at each other, astonished.

"¿Qué fue eso?" Lopez demanded, though all Donut could give him was a shrug.

Oh, my, F.I.L.S.S. near whispered. That was most certainly unforeseen... It appears that lowering my safety protocols has allowed ship Control access to the main assault cannon.

Donut felt his mouth grow very dry. "The what?"


She had considered objecting to their team at first, but it wasn't a real consideration. Not with what was at stake at least.

There was a rational part of her brain that knew the confusion of the people of Chorus wasn't unwarranted. As common place as system AI were, especially between colonies, the concept of valuing them over human life and needs was laughable at best.

But Epsilon wasn't just an AI, and she had at least eight other soldiers who would readily back her up on that assertion.

So instead of questioning why, she gladly accepted Sarge and Wash at her side, taking the helm of the Pelican and driving it straight toward the cruiser that was towering so foreboding over the tiny planet they'd claimed as home for the past three years.

Washington stood behind her to the right, hand firm on the headrest as he leaned in. He was fairly worn and rest deprived, though Carolina hardly had the full story on why. She made it a point to ask him about it later.

"Easy, Boss," he said to her, leaning in more. If we're too quick they're likely to just shoot us out of the sky for good measure."

Giving him a warning look, Carolina watched as they all jolted with the ship, locked into the gravity pull of its docking bay. "I'm not new to stealth missions, Wash."

"I know you're not!" Wash said, hands raised. "Did I say that? I didn't say that. I was just... providing a sounding board.

"Uh-huh," Carolina replied, turning just in case her smirk was obvious even through her helmet.

"We sure my Reds are on this here ship?" Sarge asked sourly from further back.

"It's the only place they could hold them with the way their ranks were scattered," Carolina assured Sarge just as the ship came to a stop. They were still several yards from being within the docking bay, but it seemed as though the gravity catch was completely off. She reached to the radio and clicked it, waiting for possible instructions.

Nothing.

"What the hell," she hissed.

As she began pulling on the steering wheel, Wash backed up from the dividing window, staring warily at the ship. He was on high enough alert that even Sarge was mobilizing from his near constant grump.

"Do you think they're onto us?" Wash asked lowly.

"No, Wash, I think they'd kill us if they were onto us," Carolina responded blankly before glaring back at the ship.

Suddenly, the ship's front tilted town, the external lights systematically turning off during the maneuver as the ship came to a grandiose stop.

"What in Sam Hill?" Sarge muttered from behind them just as a creeping feeling climbed its way up Carolina's neck.

"Something's not right," she said lowly just before a collection beam began to gather just below the pointed crevice of the ship's front. Carolina stood from her seat, heart racing as she felt the memories pooling back into her mind. "Oh my god."

"What?" Wash demanded, shifting back and forth, reaching for his guns but thinking better of it. "What's happening-"

A white beam of light at least a mile wide tore down from the ship down onto Chorus, through its atmosphere and directed at something unseen from their field of view.

Washington grew very quiet, his shoulders dropping. Carolina knew his memory was even longer than hers. He seemed transfixed on the beam.

Sarge's head whipped back and forth between the two of them before he let out a snarl. "You Freelancers best explain what the hell is going on-"

Before a response could be mustered, the beam closed in, a yellow stream of energy striking through the center of the beam with enough energy to blow back even their Pelican.

Wash hit the opposing wall, Sarge falling in as well, while Carolina managed to direct herself enough to smack the panel. From there she pushed her momentum back into the pilot's chair, taking back control from their off course vessel as much as possible.

"Everyone hang on!" she warned. "I'm no Four-Seven-Niner so shit's about to get bumpy."

"Oh, great!" Wash moaned back.

The wheel fought her every step of the way, the entire ship shaking and rattling from the blast even in the ensuing moments once the beam had all but disappeared. Carolina wasn't even sure how their old pilot managed half the stuff they had her doing in Project Freelancer.

With great difficulty, Carolina kept their Pelican close to the docking bay, waiting in silence as the external lights of the vessel came back on bit by bit.

"What now?" Sarge managed through his huffing as he got up from the ground.

Carolina and Washington looked at each other just as there was a jarring of their transport and then the slow drag of them moving toward the ship again. One look at Wash was all Carolina needed to know he was on her page.

"We're still manning a rescue," Carolina said simply. "We're also taking out that MAC."

"About time," Sarge grumbled. "The OS is way out of date!"

Carolina and Wash walked past Sarge, simultaneously loading their weapons. She still managed to spare Wash a small look. "What the fuck is he talking about?"

"Don't worry about it," Wash sighed. "I'm sure it's outdated and nonsensical."

The hatch opened as a black suited soldier was rattling off, "Sorry about that, fuck all if anyone knows what's going on on this ship anymo-"

Carolina and Wash both shot and moved on.

"I'll head toward the command center," Wash said, changing out his guns. "Take out the gun before the ship can reposition itself to aim at a new target."

"Didn't think I wanted to do that?" Carolina asked with a turn of her head.

"You two are here for a rescue," Wash surmised with a nod toward Sarge as well. "Go on, get our boys."

"With pleasure!" Sarge asserted, pumping his shotgun.

Carolina crossed her arms, staring into Wash, waiting for the truth.

He flinched under the gaze as usual. "Also, good luck with Sarge - bye!"

"I knew it," she sighed, shaking her head as Wash took off toward the front of the ship. She turned toward Sarge. "Now, the real question is how we narrow down our own search. This ship is massive, even for a UNSC cruiser-"

No sooner had the words left her mouth than there was a ring of distant gunfire and clanking of metal. Followed by a very adventurous scream.

"Bingo," Sarge said.


Epsilon tensed, watching the security feed, switching from camera control to camera control to follow as Donut and Lopez barreled through the hallway, Locus in hot pursuit. He felt his processes breaking under the splitting strain, it was incredibly difficult to concentrate with half of his full consciousness on the transmission and half on the ship's security system.

F.I.L.S.S., as comforting as a familiar voice proved to be at first, was fairly useless in calming the situation.

"Quick, tell me a way we could help them!" Epsilon begged.

Donut and Lopez slid into forking path to avoid further fire.

There are no procedures addressing the current situation.

"Goddammit!" he snarled just before he felt a spark of igniting pain spread across his core. "Son of a bitch! What is that!?"

My scanners are showing that you have infractions on your base code, F.I.L.S.S. explained simply. It is not feasible for you to continue operating in two different systems. Shall I take over either the transmission or the security features?

Epsilon shook from head to toe. He didn't like the sound of whatever it was F.I.L.S.S. said had happened. His sprite reached for his chest, feeling the groves of missing pieces. It was more than just the glitching he had come to expect from himself, and that thought chilled Epsilon's nonexistent spine.

"If you took the transmission, it'd just be an unnecessary step of me sending the files to you first then you taking just as long to send the files to the UNSC," Epsilon said firmly. "But the other idea... F.I.L.S.S., how creative can you be about helping out our guys if I tell you to pull all the stops?"

The computer hesitated, processing the question, before responding simply, Such forms of creative application are beyond the perimeters of an Artificial Intelligence unit at my level. A full AI would have more ability to perform tasks involving resourceful-

"Ugh, that's such bull!" Epsilon snapped. "Lopez and Sheila are on 'your level' and they've done shit above and beyond orders all the time!"

Hm, perhaps considerable access to a full AI such as the Alpha would have made a difference in their development, F.I.L.S.S. responded almost thoughtfully. This is an angle which will acquire more analysis.

"Forget it," Epsilon ground out before watching in real time as Locus came toward the storage hull that Lopez and Donut were finding cover in. "I'll take care of everything. As usual."

That does not seem like a wise course of action.

"Well, what can I say," Epsilon sighed, watching as his hand unformed once more into binary code, "self-destructive habits run in my neuronal pathways."

He studied the room, speeding up his timeframe as much as he could in the crunch of his circuits as he concocted the plan - an itching at the back of his mind missing when he had others to double check his work.

"Alright," he muttered. "F.I.L.S.S., I need you to surrender control of everything in that room, I've got a plan. Also get a hold of Lopez and Donut, tell them what I need from them."

Can you manage all of this and still send the file, Director? F.I.L.S.S. asked, soundly strangely concerned.

Epsilon checked - transmission was at 78% - and took a 'breath.'

"I guess it's not really a matter of can, F.I.L.S.S. I just have to."


His targets were simple ones. This operation should have been smooth.

But like everything else with Chorus since the remnants of Project Freelancer found their way to them, Locus found himself very unpleasantly surprised by the circumstances.

Keeping his temper in check throughout the chase was proving more and more difficult as it went on and as the incessant chicken-like caws from the pink one kept reminding him just who was getting the advantage on him. And that was a more difficult pill to swallow than any wound to his partner's ego that Felix was still feeling.

The task was only made harder by the fact that he very well knew he was still under order to not kill the current prisoner - there was no telling what further Freelancer knowledge that Hargrove hoped to take from him.

Locus could of course make nonlethal shots and make them count even while giving chase to his target in a narrow hall, but the robot was causing more difficulties. Nuts and bolts provided slightly higher than human reflex time. Perhaps not all that much considering the cumbersome weight associated with being cybernetic, but enough that consistently the pink sim trooper was pulled back and forth out of Locus' aim.

Fortunately, there was no award for ingenuity going toward Freelancer's lackluster recruits as the two soon enough ducked into a dead end, a disposable storage room.

Losing no speed, Locus slid into the room as well, taking only a moment to truly appreciate the fact that the enemy was cowering behind literal garbage.

His grip on his rifle remained true as he surveyed the room, ready to shoot at the first given opportunity.

"Where are you," Locus rumbled, too low to truly be heard by the others.

His glance around the perimeter came to a halt as he overheard to overly cheery voice of the sim trooper.

"Activate my what? Well. I guess I could do that. Never really used them before- Ah! Lopez! That almost felt like Sarge hitting me. Ow. Okay that punch was pure Lopez. I am reminded of the difference."

Locus directed his attention to where the voices most certainly were coming from, rifle high, approach slow. He was going in for the kill. The sim trooper could stay alive with some extra holes in him, but there was no obligation to keep the pesky robot in service.

"Enough," Locus barked at them. "My patience has worn thin."

"Well, sorry to hear that, I guess, you never struck me as the patient type to begin with," the soldier mouthed off.

Having had enough, Locus quickly closed the area between him and trash that the two had hidden behind.

His large hands fit near perfectly around the smaller soldier's throat, dragging the soldier from the floor to the nearest wall. Locus threw his weight into pinning the soldier against the wall, tightening his grip even as his other elbow swung out, connecting with the robot's head with enough force to rotate it back and send the brown hunk of bolts spinning backward.

Still somehow not shutting up, the pink sim trooper kicked back, his feet going flat against the ship wall as his arms pulled uselessly at Locus' wrists and forearms. He was sputtering and gasping.

"You are far more trouble than you could have ever been worth," Locus growled. "I assure you, you will no longer be able to impede on my objectives here. Least of all today as we finalize our takedown of this miserable planet."

The Freelancer soldier hacked and coughed, the noises forming something similar to but not quite words. They were close enough to hold Locus' attention.

The mercenary only slightly slackened his grip. "What is it?"

"I-I think you should s-stop under-underestimating us," he coughed around Locus' enclosing grip. Even through the visor, Locus could see the soldier's wide grin. "Y-you see... we're kind of badasses."

Locus carefully raised his brow at the clearly false statement just before realizing that, somehow, the pink one had yet to slip through this grip even after never putting his feet to the ground for more leverage. He looked to the boots only to see that they were firmly adhered to the wall - a magnetic blue-white glow beneath them.

Before the mercenary could whip around to also check on the status of the robot, there was a screeching alarm without warning and the robotic crank of the walls bearing open from the external surface of the cruiser.

Someone - or some thing - had activated the hatch of the store room, opening it to the vast reaches of space.

"No!" Locus growled just before beginning to activate his own grav lock a moment too late. In the motion, his grasp on the soldier was lost, leaving him nothing to grasp onto as the garbage of the ship flung with him through the opened vacuum.

For a moment, it seemed the worst that could have been thrown at him had been done - his reaching and grasping of every surface, of every object found itself to be incapable of holding true and soon enough, Locus was locked outside in the utter silence of the ship, watching as the hatch doors closed behind his free falling form.

His body twisted, nothing to gain momentum with, nothing to still panic with for the normal man.

But Locus, of course, was not the normal man.

As soon as a large pile of debris was in range, Locus reached for it, assessed its weight to be slightly less than his own, and climbed in front. With the grav lock of his boots still on, Locus pointed his feet toward the ship and pushed with all of his expendable strength on the debris, sending it back and Locus toward the ship itself.

The moment his boots connected to the metal, they locked down. The concern was mostly over, and in its stead Locus allowed a cool anger to build.

That had been a fair play, he decided, giving the enemy at least that much before beginning a long walk across the external bow.


There was a part of him that felt slightly bad to have abandoned Carolina with a - for Sarge - mellow and unpredictable partner, but he also figured that was just the nature of these things. Whether or not he was avoiding learning the truth of Donut's fate was also rather debatable but for another time.

Until then, Washington's concentration had to be on the task he took up - taking out that cannon.

Like the other Freelancers, Wash didn't have experience with the thing. It was the Director's toy, not theirs, but he was more than familiar with its power and the ability to completely level a building beneath their very feet.

It was magnetic. It was big. It was lethal - and for whatever reason the Chairman of the UNSC Oversight Committee felt it was opportune to begin using it on the diminished denizens of Chorus.

The thought of old Freelancer tech being used to ruin more lives made the agent grind his teeth, but he was almost used to it at that point. The ghosts of the program never seemed to be truly done with any of them.

From what Wash remembered and knew for himself, he was fairly certain that he needed a centralized control room in order to find the man controlling the cannon. He also knew that, considering the similarities to the Director's style, the man in question probably had designed for himself a private quarter that could serve these purposes just as well.

Unfortunately for Malcolm Hargrove, if there was one person who would have remembered where the Director would have placed his own quarters, it was Wash.

He ran smoothly into the halls, dashing around corners and never coming to a stop until it was obvious that one office was in double lockdown. Not something exactly ordinary for a private office.

"Bingo," Wash muttered, skidding to a halt by the keypad, giving it a look over, and then shooting it to hell.

When the door opened, Wash tilted his head. "Well, I had a fifty-fifty chance of that working, I guess."

"It wouldn't have worked, Agent Washington," a steadily familiar voice drawled from the office. "I opened the door for you."

Washington stared at the open invitation, eyes narrowed.

"Ah," he replied thinly.

"I believed, given our history, you would almost be reasonable enough to carry a conversation rather than shoot me in the head, unlike your associate."

"And what in our previous history would give you that impression, Chairman?" Wash asked darkly.

The man smiled visibly even among the darkened shadows of his room. "You haven't shot me yet."

Genuinely, Wash considered the option for a moment before walking through the door. He supposed that the same could be said for Hargrove - the man had something to say or else why would Wash still be alive. So instead the soldier took the time to assess the bureaucrat, then the room the man chose to encase himself in.

There was a sick, prickling sensation at the familiarity of the items.

"It is not too late for you and your fellow lost souls to leave this planet," Hargrove reasoned as Wash's eyes focused on a helmet with a splintered visor. "There is no reason for us to be uncivil."

"I think there's about twenty-thousand reasons for us to be fairly uncivil at the moment, Sir," Wash said darkly before focusing his full attention on Hargrove. "Twenty-thousand plus the ten you helped strand here and gave a reason to fight. Personally."

Hargrove hummed from the desk some, eyes laser focused on Washington.

"I would have never pegged you as the overly protective tight," he said simply. "You were so driven. So personally motivated. Vengeful."

Washington did his best to not flinch at the memories of their last personal chat, at its outcome. "I was weak," he admitted. "I found a few reasons to move on. Get stronger. Now I plan on keeping them."

"You're not even going to question why a man like myself would go to such lengths? What my aims are?"

The Freelancer let out a small laugh. "Chairman, believe me. I have spent my share of time inside the minds of men like you - men who practice little restraint and no appreciation for what they already have. You could say I'm morbidly acquainted with the idea of exactly what you are."

"Ah, I see," Hargrove responded, beginning to walk away from his desk. "Then I'm afraid I've wasted both of our time." He turned just as there was a shake of the ship, sending Wash to look around as he heard the familiar sounds of a power cycle. "Or, rather, I wasted just enough of our time. Tell me, Agent Washington... would you have happened to have left any of those reasons at the capital?"

Cold fear struck Wash's chest as the lights began to turn off around them - the ship was preparing to pulse the magnetic energy just like they had seen before. And at the capital - at Tucker and the others.

"You son of a bitch," Wash growled before diving forward, apparently an unexpected maneuver or Hargrove was truly that physically incapable as he went down like a ton of bricks when Wash branded him with the butt of his rifle.

Not able to 'waste' much more time on the man responsible, Wash rushed to the desk controls and looked frantically around the remaining viewscreens.

"Abort abort abort abort abort," he whispered in mantra as he reached around to every screen, his heart nearly stopping at the horror of not being able to find anything concrete beyond the coordinates and launch codes.

Then Wash saw it.

Voice Command Override.

He slammed his fist onto it and waited in anxious horror, feeling the shake of the ship beneath him just as the old voice of F.I.L.S.S. came across the comm.

Yes, Director?

"Director?" Wash asked critically.

A large red [X] appeared on all the screens, locking down the computers with an error buzzer. I apologize, F.I.L.S.S. spoke up, voice always too calm and slow. Voice Command Override is for the Director of Project Freelancer only. Either the one dead, the one dead, or the one who is whiny. Please any of the Directors in my current memory provide a vocal command or I shall lockdown all systems with their current processes filled to completion.

Deep in the back of Washington's mind, there was a rookie from Freelancer who was all too excited to bring back locker room shittalking.

"Right," he muttered before coughing into his fist. "Here goes nothing." He leaned forward on the console, hands broad, and in the most ridiculous, Southern accent he could muster, "F.I.L.S.S. Turn that canon off!"

Oh, very well, Director. Beginning deactivation.

With a large sigh of relief, Wash backed away from the console, head shaking. That was too much - it had been far too intense.

"Hargrove," he muttered almost despite himself, checking around the room. The weasel of a man had somehow gotten out under Wash's radar. "F.I.L.S.S.?" he asked, regular voice a bit strained. "I'm going to need you to put all of Project Freelancer's equipment on lockdown."

Again?

"Yeah, again," Wash sounded off. "Don't let anyone use it."

As the ship power cycled back on, Wash grabbed his rifle securely and took off. He could go after Hargrove, or he could let the man hide in his ship until the UNSC got him. Either option would work out fine for the very tired Freelancer. So instead, he rushed down the hall to meet back with his people.


"How could you possibly know which way to go?"

"Red Team always goes left!"

Carolina considered for a moment knocking out the colonel from behind and stringing back by to pick him up once their objectives were met. There was no possible way the current option was easier because Sarge was utterly unreasonable.

And yet there was still a major part of Carolina's heart that almost went out to him. Even in what Carolina could only consider his incidental madness, the Red leader was completely dedicated to his subordinates. In a sense. When he wasn't attempting to murder them or to inadvertently cause their deaths, she supposed.

She needed to concentrate on Epsilon, but the entire time she was struggling with the question of whether or not it was cruel of her to not at least try to prepare Sarge for the very real possibility that they were going to come across his soldiers and they wouldn't be on time.

But instead of any of that, she found herself concentrating on the very real aggression she was feeling toward the fact that the man was leading them nowhere fast.

"This is a waste of time!" she growled. "We can't even hear the fight anymore, and all I need to find is a stable port to contact Epsilon before-"

Rounding the corner simultaneously, Carolina and Sarge aimed their weapons and came to a dead halt the moment they realized someone was on the other side of the hall. Sarge's speed without Carolina even having to alert him to the fact they were coming across someone else might've been commendable under other circumstances.

As it stood, Carolina was simply speechless as she saw who was on the other end of their weapons.

Lopez was simple enough to discern, still a (slightly more sparking) android in brown armor with an assault rifle pointed right back at them. But his companion took a second more, wearing the Charon security armor a little too large for him, Donut had his hands reflexively up, making the exaggerated favoring of his right side even more visible.

"Oh my god, it worked," Carolina said aghast.

"Donut?" Sarge asked.

Donut and Lopez stood their grounds, Donut going so far to have a literal jaw drop, but didn't move. Their complete focus was on Sarge. A pin could have dropped in between them and have set off every alarm that wasn't already silently alerting the ship about them.

Carolina simply looked back and forth.

Shoulders slumping, Donut managed to finally shut his mouth, his head tilting back until the large helmet was comically bobbing. His eyes were full of tears.

"S-Sarge?" he mumbled out, taking a step forward. "But... but they said you were dead."

Lopez seemed to be locked in position, completely unreactive.

"Well, let's just say that the reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated," Sarge chuckled. "And by exaggerated I mean falsified. And by falsified I mean, dammit Grif, what about your rules about bodies? And also, they weren't true." He tilted his head. "What about you, son?"

At that, Donut let out a high pitched whine and doze forward, wrapping his arms around Sarge in such an exaggerated fashion that Carolina felt the need to back up and give the two even more room. The younger soldier pressed his face so hard into Sarge's chest plate that Carolina couldn't help but think it was completely uncomfortable.

Sarge stood his ground, but he slowly reached around the smaller framed Donut almost robotically - like he had no clue what to do with his hands - and steadily lifted one hand up and knocked the helmet off Donut's head before securely holding the hand in Donut's hair. His other hand patting Donut's back.

"Get it together, Donut," Sarge said, slightly watery himself. "Once more, Red Team has proven its superiority by returning from battle with our numbers unscaved. We're victorious. We're... Goshdarnit, Donut - why can't you be stoically happy about my return? Like Lopez-"

No sooner had the words left Sarge's mouth than the robot closed the space between him and his teammates, and immediately scooped both of them into the air.

"Padre," the robot muttered almost too low for Carolina to hear.

She watched the reunion for a few moments more before putting a hand to her head and sighing. "Jesus. I will never understand this Blue and Red stuff." She then turned her gaze more seriously to Donut. "Donut. We're looking for Epsilon, he transferred himself to this ship from Chorus and I need a viable computer system I could communicate to him through-"

Donut turned to look over his shoulder - a true struggle in the conjoint grasps of Lopez and Sarge, even if the robot was finally setting them down - and snorted into his armor padding. "Epsilon? You wouldn't happen to mean... heh... Leonard?"

Carolina froze at hearing that old, not-so-forgotten name, but before she could even begin to question it there was a nasally, prolonged groan.

"I told you to not call me that!"

She watched as a navy blue spark flickered across Donut's shoulder, somewhat formless and very meek, but Carolina could still make someone out there. Someone she was intimately familiar with no matter how much he superficially changed.

"Epsilon," she breathed.

The moment halted very quickly as the spark flickered out just before Sarge's punch met its mark on Donut's shoulder, sending the other Red recoiling from the hit.

"Ow! Sarge!" Donut squeaked. "That was me!"

"Huh, sorry," Sarge said, turning his head slightly. "I thought I saw Blue on you. Couldn't have that."

"It's not just Blue, Sarge! It's Church! Except now he's a baby star sparkle," Donut replied flippantly. "And he's not just on my shoulder. He's hitching a ride in my brain. He's not feeling too great."

"What!? That armor's Blue! And here, all these years, I have been led to believe that black was a very very very dark Red! Those lying, cheating, no good Blues - they managed to go back in time and infiltrate even grade school education!"

"What school taught you that black was red? I have to have some words with them..."

Having had more than enough, Carolina stepped forward. "Okay, stop it," she snapped at the Reds, shutting them up almost immediately for once. Oh, the powers of being a Big Bad Freelancer among Sim Troopers. She turned directly toward Donut, staring at his left shoulder. "Epsilon. It's me."

"Oh," the AI muttered, the spark slightly returning. "Hey. So. You don't have to kill me. I didn't die before you made it."

She frowned, choking down any cries of frustration she may have felt toward him, and stepped forward instead. "No, I guess you didn't. It'd be rude of me to kill you for dying if you didn't go through with it." She took a deep breath through her nose and put her hands on her hips. "How do you feel?"

"Uh. What's the technical term for crappy? That."

"Is the signal sent?"

"Sent. Received. If we get out of here soon, we'll be able to wait on Chorus for the UNSC to contact us," he explained with a forced sound of enjoyment. "We saved the day. Again."

"But if we leave, Hargrove could just take off on this ship," Carolina argued.

"Not without a navigation AI," Epsilon returned almost smugly.

"What?" Carolina returned before seeing another flicker of light - a whitish blue - near Lopez.

¡Saludos, Carolina del Agente!

Carolina's eyes widened. "F.I.L.S.S.?"

Sarge began sputtering. "Lopez! I expect incidental treasonous behavior from Donut! He's gullible to a cunning enemy's manipulative ways!"

"True," Donut nodded.

"But you? I always thought you were a more respectable Red than this!" Sarge howled. "What do you have to say for yourself, Señor Roboto?"

The robot released a truly impressive sigh. "¿Por qué me pregunta eso? Usted no habla español."

"Aright, that was my bad, I got us back off track," Carolina grunted. "Bring it back in. Epsilon," she looked again to the spark. "How bad is your damage? Can you not... Are you..."

"I'm not stable," the AI answered quickly. And if that didn't deliver like a punch to Carolina's gut she wasn't sure what would. She hung her head. "But... F.I.L.S.S. thinks, if we're back on Chorus, with the right equipment... I might be... better. For a while anyway. If we can make it back to Chorus reasonably soon."

Carolina looked up, happily determined with a new goal in sight. "Which, of course, we will."

"Of course," he responded. "And... I know I just said I'm not stable, and I know that a transfer probably isn't smart but... would it be okay if I... rode along with you?"

Not able to resist smiling, Carolina just nodded. "Of course."

The spark disappeared, Donut visibly flinching at the jarring feeling of being evacuated by an AI. The Red reached to the back of his neck and felt along the grooves of his implant tracks.

For a moment, Carolina's heart stopped - there was too long of a pause between Epsilon's visible departure and her feeling anything in response - but then she felt that familiar crawl of sensation, the spread of information across her nerves and down her neck. She breathed in happily.

Epsilon seemed to feel comfortably at home as well, finally coming to a full form over her shoulder.

"Wow," she snarked, looking him over.

If he could, Epsilon would have hidden in a shell at the attention.

"Ha! The computer-ghost got even smaller," Sarge barked. "It just goes to show, Red Team is also bigger than Blue Team."

"Oh, come on, Sarge," Donut said, throwing an elbow at his commanding officer. "You know it's not size that matters."

"Don't I know it," Epsilon muttered with a flicker through his visage.

Carolina blinked. "Wait. What."

"Forget I said anything," Epsilon replied, turning his face more toward Carolina. He seemed so bashful. "Is... is this okay? I can put armor on. Maybe age up a bit. Not make it awkward-"

"This is fine," Carolina assured him softly. "I kind of like it."

"Yeah, I think I do, too," Epsilon replied, puffing up a little more. "Anyway. Let's get out of here before I crash. Or before something worse happens."

"We've got to meet Wash," Carolina agreed, looking to the Reds. "Make sure that light flickering earlier was the only thing that happened."

"Right!" Donut nodded. "By the way what did that mean?"

"I'll explain on the way, come on!" Carolina shouted, leading the charge back down the hall.

...

As difficult as it was to place in words, running through the halls Carolina could feel how much lighter Epsilon felt on her mind.

He was also silent where, before, he hummed with thought and energy almost incessantly. It only added to the gnawing of guilt and concern building in the back of her mind as they pressed forward but, at the same time, that magnificent bastard had actually done it.

The race back to the docking bay was faster than their seemingly directionless search for their companions, and yet the only partial fullness in her mind where once Epsilon expanded into every corner was filling her with a certain dread.

There should have been more to her AI brother.

At least, it felt that way until she became distracted from her thoughts by the sound of another approach.

"Stay close!" she warned, pulling out her pistols just as -

Wash stopped just outside of the dock door, a little winded himself. He lowered his weapons first and Carolina followed suit.

"We've got to stop greeting people like this," Wash jested. "You never know when someone will find it rude."

"The cannon?" Carolina cut to the chase.

"He was able to turn it on, so there might have been some weird power outages down below, but I aborted it before it had a chance to fire," he explained efficiently. "I could tell you how, but you'd have to buy me a drink first."

"I can accept that," Carolina replied wryly. "We have Epsilon and company-"

"Wash!" Donut finally cried out, apparently no longer able to keep his excitement contained. He flung himself from behind Carolina onto Wash. "I can't believe it! Oh my god! You died, I saw you- this is just like Sarge. Nobody died. Oh my god! Best battle. Ever."

"We still lost good soldiers," Wash reminded Donut, not at all resisting the hug. He even went so far as to pat the soldier's back. "But yes. Of genocide-ending wars, this one has been shaping up better than expected. I'm glad you're okay, Donut."

"Yeah, you know," Donut stood back, eyes twinkling. "I really am okay. Gosh. I'm so glad to see you guys. You have no idea what it's like to find out someone you loved isn't dead."

Wash glanced over to Carolina and let out a small laugh. "I think we're more acquainted with the feeling than you realize. Now. Let's get the hell out of here."

At first Carolina thought the continuing dread was just more of her concern and emptiness with Epsilon, but as the doors to the dock opened and they saw together the figure of Locus waiting beside the Pelican, she realized it was more than that. She turned and glared at Washington with everything in her.

Wash sighed. "Of course."

"What! No way!" Donut growled, waving his hands emphatically toward Locus. "We killed you! No takebacks! I take it back, maybe wars where no one dies aren't that great!"

Epsilon finally appeared, however meekly, over Carolina's shoulder. "Yeah, no. Dude. I blasted you into space! Who the fuck do you think you are!?"

The mercenary said nothing, only breathing hard enough to move his whole body with the breaths.

Carolina and Wash shot each other careful looks before pulling out their weapons of choice. Sarge, Lopez, and a groaning Donut followed suit.

Locus, for his part, seemed to pay the odds no mind. He stepped forward. "Has the UNSC been reached? Were they told of the actions on Chorus?"

They all grew collectively silent, uncertain of how the conversation could go. Epsilon hummed with anxiety - it was possible that letting Locus know he had nothing to lose was a bad idea.

But, if nothing else, he was owed an explanation.

"Yes," Carolina said simply. "They know everything. And have evidence. It won't be long before they initiate a response."

There was a low growl. "Then I have failed," he said, holstering his weapons. "I won't stop you."

"I find that hard to believe," Wash commented.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Epsilon grumped. "Can we go? Please?"

Carolina and Wash shared a long look, both scrambling to think of the best response, but both caved, nodding in silence before moving forward.

Locus kept his word, not moving a muscle as they crossed carefully in front of him and moved to the Pelican. Even when Donut, hackles fully raised, skipped a few steps and literally jumped to the loading platform to get around his former kidnapper.

Satisfied that they were all aboard and Locus was walking toward the exit, Carolina turned sharply to the Reds. "Check every inch of this Pelican for a bomb. I'll run diagnostics before we take off. But other than that... I think we're heading home."

"I don't like this," Sarge huffed, looking back toward Locus as the doors closed behind the mercenary. "Just what is he going to do?"

"Who knows for sure," Wash responded, eyes also following the doors that Locus left through. "But... if I had to guess, I'd say that in order to really move on, Locus needs to feel like he's completely finished with Chorus - finished with his current employer. And I think there's more than one way to do that."


The personnel on the ship was already severely low - he'd given too many to the doomed operation Felix and Locus had planned. And yet again he found himself cursing the uselessness of his hired mercenaries.

Years and years of planning and action and countless millions of dollars lost to Chorus.

In the command room proper, Hargrove beat on the console, but it did not respond.

"F.I.L.S.S.!" he roared, only to hear nothing in response.

He looked back only as the door opened, then turned again upon seeing it was only Locus. At least his orders had gone through.

"A transmission was sent to the UNSC from our ship," Locus reported dryly. "What course of action are you planning on taking."

"Getting myself and my research out of this bloody system," Hargrove responded, turning back on Locus. "Do you have any concept of what has been lost here? What you and your useless partner have cost me?"

Locus didn't respond, his blank helmet just boring into Hargrove until the Chairman turned away.

"What is it that you want from me?" Locus asked.

"If you are still under my employ," he began, looking angrily at Locus, "which you should if you take any of your nonsensical jargon seriously, then you will see this to the end and ensure that the UNSC does not get its hands on me until we've figured this out."

The mercenary stared at him, only becoming more unnerving by the minute, before reaching to his side. "Very well."

Hargrove was not an athletic man, not a fast man by any means, but he knew enough to flinch at the flash of a gun, gasp at the snap of its trigger, and not be too surprised as blackness engulfed his vision.