Disclaimer: … Disclaimed.
A/N: Episode 47 is proving... difficult; however, I have decided that this story has sat long enough so, here's how the Civil War began on the Phantom's side of it.
Episode 46: How we Got Here
It took a couple days, some fast talking, a blue suit, a wig, copious amounts of hair gel, two fake mustaches, lots of hand signals, and a dirigible's worth of hot air, but the Phantoms were free to go. "I never knew you practiced law Flowdie," Marley remarked.
"OBJECTION! I play law," the man said, leveling the Dramatic Finger at her as he had done so many times in the last six hours. Marley shook her head at her comrade, trying to ignore the chuckling of his mustachioed co-conspirators.
"Ah, Phoenix Wright, Ace Attorney. Who knew the skills we learned there would save our team?" Ed asked. Marley blinked and looked over at the locksmith.
"Wait... you mean... that ridiculous retro game you used to play all the time on the MoI... that's where all that came from?" Wash asked.
"So... wait. Video games just saved us from prison?" Marley added, shocked. Jack cackled.
"Yep," he said.
"OBJECTION! That was not proper grammar!" Flowdie yelled. Marley was just glad they were far enough away from people that no-one knew what was going on.
"I'm surrounded by crazy," she muttered. "Still... saved by a video game."
"Well, not all of us," Ed said sadly. Marley's face contorted in distaste as she contemplated what she had to do, the deal she had made.
"And I was so hoping to have a Memory A.I.," she snarled, angry at the courts for their demands. She didn't want to give up Epsilon! But... it was him... or all the A.I. Including Alpha Church. She couldn't do that to Caboose. Or Tucker. No, it had to be Epsilon. If they didn't... well. She didn't want to go back to prison. Still... "What a fool I was, thinking I could change Fate." The men shared looks over their unofficial leader's head. None of them liked seeing her that way.
"But... you did," Flowdie told her softly. She shook her head.
"No, Flowdie, I don't think I did," she muttered. Wash shook his head and came around in front of her.
"Stop, ok? Look, I won't even pretend to know what you're talking about with fate and changing things and what not, but I do know that without you, I wouldn't be who I am today. I would never have gone on a pranking spree at Command, I wouldn't have sassed the Director to the degree I did, I would have argued with the Sims. Heck, the Reds might have actually tried to attack us if it hadn't been for you! York would be dead if you hadn't stepped it. So would North. So just... stop. Stop telling yourself it wasn't enough. It was. It totally was, because if you hadn't done what you had... things would be darker than they already are, got it?" he said, giving her a serious look through his visor. She gave him a weary smile.
"Yeah. I got it," she said before continuing to trudge toward the pick-up point. The men shared a look and sighed.
"This is going to be unpleasant," Ed bemoaned. That was when their ship dropped down in front of them and opened the bay door.
"All aboard the Phantom Express!" a familiar voice called.
"479er!" Marley crowed, bouncing through to the co-pilot seat. The men decided to let the women just have their privacy and congregated in the back to swap stories and relax. It was a long flight back to Valhalla after all.
/*/
"This is close enough, 9er," Marley said, eying Red Base.
"Alright ladies, it's been fun," the pilot said, opening the bay doors.
"Thanks for the assist," Marley told her before blanking her visor and jumping out, swiftly followed by the others. "Cloak!" she called, vanishing under the unique tech she'd had developed for Project Red, even if she'd decided to wear the suit modeled after the one Dr. Church had given her. The other four swiftly followed her lead and soon, five phantoms landed in Valhalla, right beside the Red Team's Warthog.
"A~nd yoink!" York said, pulling the starter coil out of the jeep.
"Hey! What are you... " Lopez began, only for Wash to put a spray of bullets into his torso, causing him to fall and momentarily off-line.
"Quick, that won't buy us much time," Washington told the rest of the group. They nodded and spread out, searching the base for the Epsilon unit. Florida came across Rick first, or rather, Rick's paint rounds found his knees.
"Verwechselt alles!" the man hissed, falling backward to allow him to reach the Freelancer Lock-Down paint.
"Flowdie?" he heard Rick mutter softly before a blur of maroon and gray dashed out of the room. Florida swore again when he realized his cloak had fallen when the tech hit him with the Lock-Down paint.
"We've got a runner," he informed Oregon. "Rick got me in the knees with Lock-Down paint, I'm gonna be out for a while."
"On it, Florida," she replied.
/*/
Oregon knew just how tricky Rick could be if given time, and considering that this was his home turf, she was wary of what the man could throw her way. "Dancing burning fudge volcano!" she heard his voice hiss not too far from her.
"Now who would waste such a culinary delight as fudge on all that?" she asked in an ice cold voice, catching sight of the man tearing down the hallway. A faint keen and the sound of titanium grinding against concrete sounded as Rick literally threw himself off his collision course and into a nearby corridor. "Well that was a mite bit excessive," Oregon muttered drily to herself before the sound of scrabbling followed by pounding footfalls drew her back to the matter at hand. "Man but he's gotten fast," she muttered to herself, tearing after the fleeing tech, relying on sound and motion trackers to keep up with the terrified man. A few moments later, she heard the most piteous keening wail she'd ever heard in her life followed by an enraged cry of 'FREELANCERS!' and the slamming of a Warthog's hood. She winced but commed the rest of the Phantoms. "He's by the Warthog."
"No~! You don't say?" came North's sarcastic drawl.
"Not the time, North," Wash bit out.
"Yeesh, someone got bit by the grumpy bug," York remarked. Oregon met up with Wash just before they turned in front of Rick and Eagle.
"Shut up, stay close, and be ready to run like the snakes of hell are on your heels," Rick said. Wash and Oregon decloaked, seeing the others do the same in flanking positions, cutting the two Reds off. "W~ell~ crap," Rick remarked, summarizing their situation quite nicely, raising his hands and dropping his guns.
"And things were looking so good too," Burgundy remarked drily, holding Lopez's head in one hand and presenting the other in 'surrender.' Oregon bit back the 'that's when you should be expecting the rug to be snatched out from under you the most' that was dancing on the tip of her tongue.
"Where is he?" Washington asked.
"'He?'" Rick drawled, leaning back on his left leg. Oregon tensed slightly, knowing the right leg was Rick's strongest and most accurate. "You're going to need to be a bit more specific, Agent Washington, there are a plethora of 'he's in this canyon." Oregon bit the inside of her cheek. Her boys always were sarcastic ones.
"Epsilon," she forced herself to snap, wincing when she noticed Eagle hold back a flinch. She didn't like this, but she knew they wouldn't understand why she was doing this. 'I'm sorry, but I have to do this.'
"Ah. Him," Maroon drawled, relaxing ever so slightly. Oregon quirked an eyebrow at her student. Really? Quips? Now?" He's not really the talkative type. Rather cagey, if you ask me," Maroon forged on.
"Where. Is. He," Washington ground out, finger twitching on his trigger.
"Quite the temper you got there," Burgundy remarked. "And here I thought we were friends. You think ya know a guy," he added, shaking his head for added effect. He received no warning, none at all, before a bullet tore through him, shattering the windshield of the Warthog behind him. Maroon gasped in shock as Burgundy looked down at the slowly growing red spot on his black undersuit, Oregon clenching her teeth in anger. 'This wasn't part of the plan,' she seethed, shooting a glare toward Washington. "Hey, Maroon?" Burgundy began, raising his head to look at his comrade, "I think he shot me."
"Burgundy!" Maroon yelped as the sniper fell first to his knees, then his side, and finally... tipped over onto his back, blood slowly pooling under him. The furious glare Rick turned on the Phantoms was so potent, they could feel it through his visor. "If you thought that would make me co-operate... then you have severely misjudged me," the tech growled before diving for his guns... or, more specifically, the knives attached to them. It was only Oregon yanking him backward that saved Washington from getting slashed with religiously serviced knives.
"Fall back! Fall back!" Oregon barked, still dragging Washington.
"What the heck is this?!" York asked, voice climbing higher than the time Jersey had flirted with him. With her guns. Fun times, fun tim- knife!
"He's gone berserk!" Oregon replied, just the barest hint of fear in her voice as she dodged away from the monster she had awoken.
"What?!" yelped North, redoubling his efforts to get away.
"Luckily, he won't go too far from what caused him to go berserk. In this case, Burgundy," Florida said, circling around to avoid the whirling blades of death... and then falling flat on his face to avoid the hail of bullets that soon replaced the rather limited knives. "Unluckily, he's almost as good a shot as Burgundy and unless I miss my guess, he's got more than the standard amount of ammunition on him," he added blandly.
"NOT HELPING!" his comrades yelled at him, running from the maroon maelstrom. Luckily, they managed to escape with only a few cuts and bruises. Still, they had a healthy respect/fear of the usually mild-mannered I.T. Agent.
/*/
Florida could tell that Oregon was not pleased. "What was that?!" she raged once they were safely in the local cave system, turning to Washington. "Why did you shoot Burgundy?!" Washington was slightly taken aback by Oregon's vehemence. But only slightly.
"I... I thought they needed some... incentive?" he said. Oregon growled, fingers twitching toward a rather innocuous looking pouch. An innocuous looking pouch that Florida knew held her 'battle scalpels,' Oregon's answer to combat knives. The blue armored man shivered, echoes of trauma sending pangs of phantom terror and adrenalin through his system
"Well, congratulations, you just drastically lower our chances of getting Epsilon," Oregon growled, glaring at the junior Agent. "Rick is going to call Dex, who is going to invoke Frigid Fury, tipping the Blues off and causing them to follow him. And then... well. We're already in Valhalla, so at least there's that," she finished darkly. The men swallowed heavily. That was when Oregon shivered.
"What?" Florida asked her, though he had a feeling he knew. There was a rather special shiver for when someone vows to kill you after all.
"I may have made a grave mistake lighting a fire under Private Grif," she confessed. Washington, New York, and North Dakota were a little shocked as Florida fell to the ground with a keening wail. Oh, how he hated being right sometimes!
"I think we missed something," Washington remarked dryly.
"Oh wait," York and North chorused. "Private Grif is Dex," York said.
"And Dex is Agent Orange," North said, mounting horror in his voice. Washington blinked, then dropped his head into his hands.
"And I just shot one of his men," he realized.
"Agent Orange has sworn vengeance," Oregon said with a nod, looking out at Red Base.
"How badly?" Florida asked.
"I'm pretty sure he was pissed enough to actually curse. And if he's that pissed, chances are he's vowed to bury me himself," Oregon said. The other Freelance Phantoms winced. It was at this moment they knew... they done goofed up.
/*/
After composing herself, Oregon decided to attempt to negotiate. She struck out alone for the looming bastion of anger that sat on the hill, as imposing as a crouching dragon, that was colloquially known as Red Base. "Halt!" Agent Maroon yelled out to her. "Agent Oregon, to what do I owe this displeasure?" he asked. Oregon swallowed the hurt Rick's venomous words caused her.
"I have come to negotiate," she said. Maroon scoffed, a knife making its way into his off hand. She had to admit, he'd taken to her style rather well.
"R~ight. Let me just grab my Dunce hat and party poppers," he remarked. Oregon blinked, confused. Why would he need those?
"Can we just get on with this? It's kind of important," she called up. The man scoffed again but turned his head slightly to the left.
"Hey Dex, Oregon's out front," he called. She thought she heard a muffled voice reply. "Roger that Orange," Maroon said with a nod before retreating, Orange taking his place. She winced, gritting her teeth. This wasn't going to be easy. Orange was a Big Brother, through and through. And he viewed the actions of one as the actions of the squad, meaning, he wouldn't care that it was Wash who pulled the trigger, she'd still shot his little brother. Before she could say more than why she was there, she got hit by a Warthog, Kai asking how her bumper tasted. 'Huh, so this is how Wash felt,' Oregon thought, hauling herself up onto the nose of the speeding vehicle, attempting to shoot Kai, aiming for the shoulder. Screaming, Kai stomped on the petals, sending Oregon flying into a pile of energy cores. 'Oh skits,' she thought before getting blown away by Red and his well-aimed shotgun. Groaning, she dragged herself away from Red Base. 'This is so not my month.'
"I take it negotiations didn't go well?" Florida asked drily.
"Negotiations didn't get past 'what do you want?' and 'Epsilon,'" Oregon said. "The Blues, along with Red, came to the 'rescue.' Just like I said they would."
"Hey, don't look at me!" Washington said, stepping back and holding up his hands when Oregon glared at him.
"Well, if you hadn't gone all trigger happy this wouldn't have happened, now would it?!" the woman growled through clenched teeth. The younger Agent looked down, scuffing at the dirt as though he were a fresh recruit rather than a scarred and hardened Top Agent.
"I thought I said I was sorry," he muttered. Oregon blew out a frustrated breath.
"You did, and I'm taking out my frustrations on you. It isn't fair... even if it is your fault this happened," she said, supremely not happy.
"Gamma has just connected Dex with the one known as Doc," Delta reported. "It seems they are calling on an impartial third party to handle negotiations between us."
"Well. That's something at least... right?" North said, probably hoping to bring the mood back up. Oregon sighed.
"Yeah. It's something. I just hope Doc will be able to get the Sims to actually accept negotiation as a viable option," she said.
"So... who's going to be our representative?" York asked.
"Me and Marley," Florida said firmly. Oregon was firmly over ruled when the other three men nodded.
"Negotiation was never my strong suit," Oregon said, hoping one of the men would step up.
"Yeah, but these guys know you and Florida best right? I mean, you personally trained half of them!" Washington pointed out. Oregon sighed, head drooping in defeat.
"Sometimes I hate how well you lot work together," she muttered darkly. "Fine! I'll do it, but don't blame me when this whole thing blows up in our faces." She could have sworn the men were grinning at her. "Idgits."
/*/
*Outside Doc's ship, Civil War having been unofficially officially declared*
"I told you this would blow up in our faces!" Oregon yelled, returning fire on Tucker, who had certainly improved since she'd last seen him.
"No, you told us not to blame you if it did!" York countered.
"In this case, Agent York, I believe Agent Oregon is correct. She did tell us this would happen should she be the one negotiating," Delta responded.
"Oh, like I would have been any better!" Washington shouted, ducking for cover. "I think the maroon one has it out for me!"
"Well, you did shoot his partner," Oregon pointed out.
"Would you shut up about that?! Trying not to die here!" Wash yelled back. Oregon growled, left leg bleeding. She did a quick check of her team. It wasn't reassuring.
"Fall back!" she yelled. The men quickly followed her order and once it was clear they really were retreating, the BGC stopped firing on them.
"Huh. Mildly polite enemies. There's a new one," North remarked calmly. Oregon scoffed.
"They won't be staying that way. The longer this conflict lasts, the less friendly they'll get, you mark my words," she said. "Alright, York, sit down and let me take care of that leg, the rest of you go get cleaned up." Years of training kicked in and the Freelancers fell too. Oregon sighed as she let herself sink into the old, familiar routine. 'For all my skill, for all my passion, this is the part I always hated about my job. Patching up my friends,' she thought, cold metal and thin thread stitching together flushed flesh, warm blood coating her cool hands. The metallic, coppery smell assaulted her nose and invaded her throat. A dash of alcohol, antiseptic compounds, and the medley of smells became more cloying. 'No wonder everyone thought my sense of smell was shot... or why the other three haven't returned yet. Wimps.' And really, they kind of were. Cool headed and methodical on the battlefield they may be, but when it came to the clean up they were chocking down their own bile. 'Oh hey, York's passed out,' Oregon noted as she tied off the last thread. She sighed, taking in all the damage he'd accumulated during the brief but brutal battle. He was going to have a fair number of new scars to add to his collection.
/?/
A/N: So, hope that cleared up any lingering questions about why the whole things started. Next, a whole lot of craziness and 'well that's convenient' lands the BGC in an odd combination of safety and 'don't kill me!'