Capture, Corruption, and Alarm clocks.
Massachusetts awoke to the alarm clock blaring down her ear. Groaning, as she was still tired from the previous night's expeditions, she rolled over and picked up her pistol. With a scowl, she aimed it at the accursed source of the noise, before pulling the trigger.
Ahhh, she thought happily.
Silence.
"...Was that really necessary?" a voice asked with a sigh, echoing all about the room. Massachusetts grumbled, putting the gun back on her bedside table and then flopping down onto her bed again.
"Yes," she replied in muffled tones, her face in the pillow.
"But not only have you wasted ammunition-"
"We've got plenty."
"-On something as mediocre as an alarm clock-"
"It was annoying me."
"-You've also put a bullet hole in the wall-"
"It can be repaired."
"-As well! It costs money, Massa!"
"So?"
"...And now we're in need of a new alarm clock."
Massachusetts sat up sharply, glaring at the little hologram that had appeared on the interface beside her.
"We are not buying another one, Sig!" she growled heatedly. Sigma folded her arms.
"Well, it's either that, or I give you a wake up call myself. Which do you prefer?" the hologram retorted.
Massachusetts suddenly remembered the last time she had 'accidently-on-purpose' broken her alarm clock. The scorch mark on the wall hadn't been painted over yet. Sig hadn't been happy, and so, for a week, in the early hours of the morning, she had triggered the evacuation signal and fortress defence system, which consisted of many flashing lights, a deafening, wailing siren, and a sprinkler that shot out freezing water and sticky foam every where. The foam and water was effective with dealing with all types of fire, but it had been hell to clean up. Massachusetts had gone to bed every night with an umbrella and raincoat, in hope that Sigma would get bored and stop. By the end of the week though, she had found herself buying a new alarm clock.
"...We're in need of a new alarm clock," Massachusetts repeated dully, knowing she couldn't win. Sigma smiled triumphantly.
The shiny new alarm clock sat on the bedside table, looking extremely pleased with itself. Massachusetts glared. She had gone out pretty early to get it, as it was an hour's drive to the nearest city. Sigma came too in a special wristband that had an A.I. slot fixed into it. There was a tiny socket in each of her wrists that had been surgically wired up to her brain, meaning she could just clip the wristband to herself and talk to Sigma simply by thinking; allowing conversations to be held between them without a word being uttered from her lips. The wristband couldn't be worn permanently though, as it became extremely uncomfortable after a while, and long periods of time risked overheating the slots in her wrists, which in turn would raise her blood temperature to dangerous levels. Whenever Massachusetts went out and about she wore regular clothes, and left her armour at home. She also went by a fake name: Sara Harrison. Inconspicuous, yet not blatant like 'Jane Smith' or something. Drawing attention to herself was the last thing she needed; nobody knew what she looked like from behind her armour. Sigma had seen to it that all photographic records had been wiped from the Command data base before they had fled, making her harder to track. She could walk freely amongst the people without fear of being recognised. It was a pity Command had made the written files on her impossible to delete. Sigma had tried, but eventually had to give up, as they were engraved into the command system itself. To erase those files one would have to corrupt and destroy the whole database; a task that would take even the great Cortana years.
There was a snort of disgust in her head, and Massachusetts remembered she still had the wristwatch clipped in. She unstrapped it, and held it to the interface, watching as her A.I. jumped from one platform to the next. Irritably she flicked her hair from her scowling face, and put her cloven hands on her slender hips.
"Cortana is only considered 'great' because she is semi-naked, and all the loveless officers want to ogle at her!" Sigma cried, looking indignant.
"She can't help the way she looks," Massachusetts said, shrugging, used to her A.I.s jealousy.
"You damn well know she can! Every A.I. chooses their appearance, and can alter it at will! Delta favoured a Mark V Spartan armour look, Cortana favoured the lap dancer look, and Omega-"
Sigma stopped, and then shuddered.
"You've never seen Omega, have you?" the A.I. asked uncertainly. Massachusetts shook her head.
"Be thankful you haven't," Sigma continued quickly, "he keeps his appearance hidden, and with good reason."
"But you can choose, right? So why does he-"
"Don't think it's not his choice," Sigma interrupted, "because it is. But if he suddenly appeared in the dark behind you... you'd have nightmares for a month. And that's what he wants; to intimidate his victims when he chooses to."
There was a long silence, only broken by a faint beeping noise. Sigma waved her arm, and a hologram of a letter appeared in the air.
"It's a request. Care for me to play the voice message?"
Massachusetts nodded, and then threw herself onto the sofa, closing her eyes and listening.
"Agent Massachusetts, this is Vernon Larson speaking."
Ahh, the Freelancer thought to herself, my internationally drug dealing employer.
"I am in need of your assistance yet again, and I am willing to pay handsomely for it. A small boat carrying a...'cargo' worth quite a substantial amount is on its way to a bay fifteen miles from my home, and should arrive within the week. Some of my rivals have heard about it, and plan to intercept the boat when it reaches the bay. I have men posted all about, but I fear it may not be enough. I know you will only help for a price, so name it, and I will see what I can do.
I hope to hear from you soon."
"Bin it," Massachusetts said, not even bothering to open her eyes. Sigma gawped at her.
"What?!" she cried, unable to believe it.
"I'm tired, and I'm sick of Larson's repetitive work. Get rid of it."
"You do realise we are nearly out of money, don't you?"
Massachusetts looked up.
"I'm sorry? What about last night? That should last us a while yet!"
"After your little mishap with the plasma grenade, the grenade launcher, and the military tank, that money barely covers the cost of the repairs that will have to be made to my invisibility equipment!"
"Well, it certainly wasn't my idea to fire a plasma grenade from a grenade launcher to see what happened!" Massachusetts cried, jumping to her feet.
"I forgot they stuck to whatever they touched!"
"You're a computer program, you don't 'forget'."
"I'm used to working with conventional grenades! And anyway, the results were pretty entertaining to watch!"
Massachusetts stopped for a moment. Sigma had a point. The military had a new prototype tank, and an anonymous employer had wanted it destroyed. They had crept down to the military base where the tank was held, and using the newly purchased invisibility upgrade, had gotten inside easily. However, Sigma was what one would call creative... and a bit too daring for her own good. Massachusetts' too, as it turned out. The A.I. persuaded the Freelancer that loading a highly dangerous Covenant explosive, which Massachusetts had gotten off the black market, and neither of them knew much about, into a grenade launcher would be less risky than planting it up close. The events that followed were quite spectacular, once Massachusetts had gotten over the fact she could have been killed.
When the Freelancer had pulled the trigger for the launcher, the grenade got to the edge of the barrel, before sticking fast. Massachusetts could only stare in horror at the hissing blue ball of light. Luckily, Sigma was faster at reacting.
"Throw it!" she yelled frantically, and Massachusetts obeyed, lobbing it blindly into the night. The launcher sailed through the sky, the plasma lighting it up like a comet. It landed on top of the tank, and then rolled off onto a pile of highly explosive ammunition, nestling between their bulky forms. The soldiers were a bit bemused, and simply stared at it. They had only been there to move the ammunition into the new tank, and now shiny things were falling from the sky? At that moment the grenade went off, and the whole east side of the complex exploded in a blue inferno. Massachusetts dived behind a cliff edge as the completely ruined tank flew over their heads, before smashing into the side of the mountain and tumbling gaily down it. Sparks and flames had come off the tank as it went by, and Massachusetts found herself rather inconveniently on fire. She quickly activated the fire fighting mechanism in her suit, but the damage was done. Parts of her equipment were ruined.
Massachusetts agreed. It had been fucking hilarious to watch.
But that was beside the point.
"Because of you I had to beat an unsuspecting Private to death with what was left of the tank barrel, before stealing his Warthog so we could make a quick getaway!"
Sigma shrugged and then grinned sheepishly.
"Fun times?" she said. Massachusetts sighed, and put her hand to her head.
"Fine! Give Larson a written reply. Tell him I'll need a map, I'll need times, and I'll need a list of all those assisting me, so that I don't shoot them on sight," the Freelancer dictated, watching the words appear on the hologram.
"What about price?" Sigma asked, looking up expectantly.
"Forty percent of everything that cargo is worth. No less."
"Forty?" Sigma looked surprised for a moment, and then grinned cheekily. "Bold... I like it."
"Do your research, scan his home network. Make sure he doesn't try to swindle us. And make it clear we know exactly what his shipment is worth, and what'll happen if he tries to pull one over."
"Got it," Sigma said, before disappearing. The Freelancers base had a special satellite signal, allowing Sigma to access any place she wanted that had a computer. Massachusetts could have made a bomb in the hacking business; selling information and what not. But mercenary work was so much more fun.
A week later the Warthog bounced wildly along the rough terrain, the heavily armoured Spartan at the wheel barely noticing. The battered black metal of her suit gleamed in the daylight, the slivery steel shoulder protectors a stark contrast the main body. The Freelancer's eyes were shaded from the glaring sun by her bright orange visor, and she whistled a little tune to herself as she drove, not seeming to be fazed every time she nearly capsized the vehicle. Sigma, whose image was being projected from the suit of armour, sat happily on the dashboard swinging her legs.
The most peculiar thing about the A.I.s appearance was her hands. For some reason she had fashioned them into two extremely long, claw-like fingers, and a normal sized, but still claw-like thumb. Apart from that, she looked almost human. She had a glowing lilac 'skin', dark purple hair that reached her shoulders, dark purple eyes, and she wore a plain, skin-tight jumpsuit that was a lilac-blue colour, and covered every inch of her below her neckline, even her clawed hands. Teamed with that were shin high purple boots, and a thick purple belt. Her face was gaunt, and looked quite stern, what with her thin, highly arched eyebrows and pursed lips.
"...Are we there yet?" she asked, inspecting her claws, a bored expression on her face.
"You know damn well we're not," Massachusetts replied, "You're the one running the sat-nav."
"True," Sigma said, not bothering to look up, "but I thought I could turn this into a conventional car ride."
"Conventional?" the Freelancer asked, confused.
"Are we there yet?" the A.I. replied, grinning slightly now. Massachusetts winced, and then gritted her teeth. She mustn't react; she mustn't let Sigma know she was getting pissed off-
"Are we there yet?"
Calm. Think calm thoug-
"Are we there yet?"
This time, Massachusetts couldn't help herself.
"No," she growled.
"Are we there yet?"
"You just asked me that! I said no!"
"Are we there yet?"
"For fuck's sake, no means NO!"
"Are we there yet?"
"Sigma, if I have to stop this Warthog, then so help me God...!" Massachusetts yelled as loud as she could. The A.I. said nothing, and there was a long silence.
"...Thank you."
"...Are we there yet?"
Massachusetts put her foot down so sharply on the Warthog brakes that it spun off in a wild circle, throwing dust everywhere, and for one second it balanced on only two wheels, before crashing back onto all fours again with a loud bang.
"...Love you?"
"I don't like the look of this, Massa," Sigma said inside her host's head. "The place is deserted. I'd at least expect to be greeted by either a sniper shot to the foot by the enemy, or a shout of 'get your ass over here' from our allies."
"Well, we'll just have to wait and see-" Massachusetts replied, before turning a corner and stopping dead. Facing her were hundreds of armed soldiers, a tank, and hell of a lot of guns. Sigma scanned their electronic ID's quickly.
"International Police!" she hissed, awed. "We must be wanted real bad!"
A tall, well groomed looking man stepped forward.
"Agent Massachusetts, I presume?" he said with an upper-class English accent. Massachusetts said nothing and the smile on his widened slightly.
"I'll take that as a yes. Now, you will come with us-"
"What makes you think I'll go with you?" Massachusetts interrupted rudely.
"Why, we have a tank of course."
"So?"
"So, if you refuse to cooperate, then this tank will blast you into nothing."
Throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade-
"Shut up, Sig!" she hissed quietly.
Throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade-
"Shut up!"
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing."
The man stared at her, and then shook his head, before signalling two of his soldiers to arrest her.
You thinking what I'm thinking?
"If you say plasma grenade one more time-"
The tank, dumb shit!
"Oh."
Massachusetts looked up at the tank, and then grinned.
"Ohhhh. Go for it."
With pleasure.
Sigma jumped from the Freelancer into the tank's mainframe, just as the soldiers grabbed her. In a split second she had pulled out her shotgun, and filled his stomach with pellets. At the same time the barrel of the tank swung round, and shot a blast on the horde of men, sending them flying into the air. It was a beautiful sight to behold in Massachusetts' eyes; a tank turning against its own, charred bodies raining down in the sky, and the general chaos of a gunfight. She dove behind a set of boulders, taking pot shots with her battle rifle, and occasionally throwing grenades, whilst in the background Sigma was happily crunching people beneath her treads as she moved, and causing lots of soldiers to suddenly catch fire and become airborne.
It was a pity Massachusetts hadn't realised her basic tracking device was broken, due to plasma incident of the previous night, otherwise she might of noticed the curt man creeping up behind her. The tracker was standard issue; non-A.I. assisted, and had helped her out a lot of the time when Sigma had been doing what she was right now.
Massachusetts felt the gun press against the back of her helmet, and she froze.
"Drop the weapon," he ordered. "Drop it!"
She did as she was told.
"Good. Now, remove your helmet."
Again she obeyed. Next thing she knew, she was being dragged out onto the battle field. Sigma stopped shooting the soldiers immediately, and turned to face the one who had her partner instead. The fighting ceased, and everyone waited.
"Go on," he called out to her, "shoot me, and risk killing her instead. However, if you don't get back into her armour now, I'll blow her brains out. Your choice."
There was a long silence, and then suddenly the tank shut down.
I'm sorry.
Massachusetts shook her head mutedly, and the man smiled.
"You do realise that that wasn't Vernon Larson who sent you that message about a boat, don't you?"
Massachusetts was sat in a simple white room, wearing dull, baggy grey clothes that hung loosely off her muscular frame. The curt man, who turned out to be called Richard Downing, had been questioning her for hours on end about her mercenary work, and the 'tank incident'.
"I don't know what message you speak of," she said dully, not bothering to play his games. He looked almost disappointed.
"I am Chief of the International Police! Do not waste my time!" he yelled, banging his fist on the table.
"And I am a seriously pissed off Freelancer, who you do not want to fuck with, so stop wasting mine!" Massachusetts bellowed back, standing up abruptly and slamming the palm of her hand down exactly the way he did. Downing looked taken aback for a moment, and then a strange smile spread over his face.
"Please, sit down," he said, motioning to the chair. Massachusetts did what he asked, wondering why his mood had suddenly changed. He lowered himself onto the chair opposite, and then pulled a remote from his pocket, turning the security cameras off with the click of a button.
"Now, listen to me," he said with a low and calm voice, "I'm going to say this once, and only once. If you ever get out of this place alive, you will be wanted, but not by us. Should you ever get out, you will be paid double what you're earning now to double cross. Think about it."
With that he stood up, turned the cameras back on, and left the room.
Was he suggesting something to her? Paid double to double cross? Was he...?
"You have got to be shitting me," she whispered to herself, suddenly realising what he meant.
He was offering her a job.
Working for the Chief of the International Police to assassinate her boss?
Massachusetts activated the seemingly innocent wristband on her arm, sending out a signal for Sigma, who had been separated from her, to find.
Sounds like fun, she thought, smirking to herself.