Blades, Loneliness, And Rho's Guesstimate
Massachusetts slammed her foot down hard on the pedal, the engine of the Warthog revving up, before shooting forward, jolty an edgy Missouri from his sleep. He had kept himself awake as long as he could in the previous night, but eventually exhaustion won, and he had fallen into an uneasy slumber, filled with playback scenes of Illinois and Ohio.
Rho appeared on his visor, her appearance surprising him. Her frame was still twisted and crippled, but now the softness of her face had also left her, replaced by a harsh, mean look, as if she was in a constant bad temper. When she spoke, however, her voice was the complete opposite of her features.
"Good morning, Zoura," she said pleasantly, hunched by her painfully bent spine. "I received a call from Arkansas and Iowa; it seems the Meta is close to an old, abandoned base of theirs, where they ran A.I. and Freelancer operations. There appears to have been recent activity, though, with two unidentified A.I. present, a detonation countdown, and some simulation troops breaking things in general."
"It's an early start!" Massachusetts whooped, weaving in and out of rocks with one hand, the headlights picking out the obstacles in the dark, causing Missouri to clutch the dashboard and groan.
She seems a lot better than yesterday, he said inwardly to Rho. The A.I. nodded, bringing up some statistics in his visor.
"She is still vulnerable at this stage, and could have strange moments at any time, but her brain activity has calmed down considerably since the drug was administered," Rho said, pointing to various bars on a chart. Missouri blinked.
"I thought you gave her medicine?" he asked sharply.
"All medicines are a form of drug. I apologise for the technical term."
"You don't need to keep saying sorry all the time, you know."
"Sorr-I mean, OK."
Missouri laughed, but then remembered he was meant to be hating the little hologram. He didn't want her...it.
It struck him that the A.I. could probably hear his every word, and he glanced over to see if he had hurt her feelings. It looked as though she hadn't even registered it, however, and he sighed in relief. Then he groaned.
A.I. don't have emotions! It's a computer program, for Christ's sake!
"You know," Rho said suddenly, "whilst I don't mind you despising me in every way possible, I can technically register emotion...artificially, of course, through my emotion core."
"Well, disable it, then," Missouri growled, turning to look out of the window, before remembering that it was in his visor. "Get out of my sight!"
Massachusetts jumped and looked over to her friend.
"What?" she said, troubled. She stared at Zoura. He looked ill with his helmet off; his skin was pale, and he had dark shadows under his eyes. He was even getting grey hairs, although she wondered why the hell she was paying that much attention to his hair colour.
"I feel like shit," he sighed, scratching his head. "And I couldn't sleep last night."
"Well, first you need to rest, and then you need to pull yourself together."
Missouri glanced up at her, blinking.
"Of course," he replied sarcastically, "why did I not think of it before? I'll just sleep and get over it, like normal people do! I'll just-"
Massachusetts reached into the medical bag Ohio had give them and pulled out a small spray bottle, before lifting it up and squirting it in his face. Missouri's eyes widened, and then he fell forward onto the dashboard, unconscious. Massachusetts smiled, glad that Rho had tipped her off about the spray, and then tossed it back in the bag.
"I fucking called it," she said happily, before speeding up the jeep once more.
"Is he still dead to the world?"
"It would appear so, yes."
"Man, you should have warned me about the strength of that shit."
Massachusetts poked Missouri's head a few more times with the barrel of the gun, watching his face slide along the dashboard, before sighing and moving away, climbing out of the Warthog. She put the gun back in her holster and stretched her arms out in front of her. Then she turned to Rho, who was hovering slightly above Missouri.
"When he wakes up I want you to give him my coordinates," Massachusetts said, moving to the Warthog and replacing her pistol with an assault rifle. "I'm going to scout this area...the Meta has been here at some point. I need to know where he may be headed next. Perhaps he left clues."
"Possibly," the A.I. agreed, nodding her golden head. "I will do as you ask...if he wakes up. Be careful, Massachusetts."
The Freelancer laughed, pulling out a handheld device from the back of the jeep. She moved her arm outwards and an energy blade erupted from the handle.
"With this motherfucker, I'll be fine."
With that, she retracted the blade and placed it on her hip, before walking down the beach, the waves lapping around her silver-grey armour, her feet leaving deep prints in the yellow-brown sand. The structure before her was magnificent; a huge, industrialised fortress, surrounded by crumbling, sandstone ruins, and a brilliant beach slowly eating away at the rock.
Massachusetts walked around a corner, and then turned and stared at the eternal stretch of water for what seemed like an age. She hadn't seen the ocean in years, not since she was a little girl, back home before she left for the army. She missed those times of innocence; a moment in her life when she didn't have murder on her hands, where she didn't lead a lonely, empty existence, craving for a computer program because that was the only company she had. She didn't have to pretend to be cold and emotionless just to live with herself every day. That was the problem, though: in putting on the mask of a killer, she had become that mask, and the real Massachusetts had been lost in the act. At one time, she truly didn't care if she took away a person's right to life. It was entertainment to her, nothing more.
However, Missouri had changed all of that. He had shown her compassion, friendship, and a reason to give the same to others. She even considered him her friend. Yet he had changed her way of life, made her feel guilt for the crimes she had committed, the sins she had made. He was slowly but surely making her see the errors of her ways, and for that, she hated him.
Massachusetts shook her head. He hadn't changed her completely yet. There was still a dark side to her; the cold-hearted, bloodthirsty killer lurked underneath it all, and it was livid that sentiment and sorrow was getting in the way.
The Freelancer sighed. Everything was so confusing at the moment. Rho had explained what had happened with her memories, and while she was pissed that her thoughts had been fucked up, along with her perception on least whatever had caused Rho and Missouri to administer the drug in the first place was gone...for now. She stared out at the steel-grey water for a few minutes, wishing more than anything she could just go home. That was impossible, though. Her parents were extreme pacifists, and always tried to bring up her and her brother, Frank, in a neutral, unimposing environment. Massachusetts had always thought it stupid, and even more so when her older brother was mercilessly bullied throughout school. She always defended him, often with violence, which meant Frank was teased about having a girl look after him. He never once rose up to it, though, their parents' brainwashing meaning he always tried to solve things with peaceful words. It wasn't long before he ended up in hospital, battered within an inch of his life by drunken idiots on the street.
Inside the hospital, though, she remembered Frank being impressed with the doctors and staff. When he left, he had vowed to become one of them. He made it to medical school, but then failed his exams, making him a dropout. Massachusetts hated her parents for pushing him so much. He wanted to help people...but he had never been any good at it. In the end, he drafted into the army as a medic. She, on the other hand, went over to the medical school and set fire to a large section of it.
After being hauled in by the police and having her parents call her a disgrace, she had a choice: a severe fine and prison sentence, no fine, but a seriously long prison stretch, or joining the army.
Massachusetts couldn't believe her luck.
She had dreamed of joining the army, if only to defy her parents, and there she was being forced into it?
She chose the army option immediately, but they said that a girl couldn't join. They'd rather pay the fine and see her in prison, simply because they didn't like fighting. After much begging and persuading on Massachusetts' part, however, they had agreed to let her go, as long as she didn't fight. So, Massachusetts signed up as a medic and technician alongside her brother. However, they were separated when she was sent to the Freelancer project. There she met Tex, who made her realise that guns were awesome. When she switched her career options, her parents cut all contact with her. When she fled base, she lost Frank, too, and hadn't heard from him since.
She glanced one last time at the beautiful sky, the rising sun turning the dark into an artist's masterpiece of gold, purple, orange, blue, pink, and yellow, before striding up towards the abandoned base. She passed through the huge stone archway, and stared up in amazement at the gigantic, vertical fan, its razor-sharp, metal blades scraping menacingly along its frame. Behind it was a tall building, with turrets and stairs place in open spaces.
Someone needs to rethink their defences, Massachusetts thought to herself, shaking her head at the stupidity of the design. She strode around the oversized fan, admiring the strength of the metalwork, and then walked up the steel stairs, reaching the second floor of the complex and going inside.
Missouri groaned and sat up, his head spinning.
"Where am I?"
"You are currently outside an old Freelancer base, which became known as 'Last Resort' when the Freelancers broke from Command," Rho said, appearing by his shoulder.
"Why Last Resort?" he asked, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles in an attempt to ease the pain from when he had collapsed on the dashboard with his face.
"Because this was their final fallback plan; the only place they could go. There was a huge battle here, and the Freelancers won. Command retreated, and they all got away; the ones who were alive, anyway."
"Do you think Massa fought here?"
"Possibly, although I doubt she remembers, due to the drug. Which reminds me, she went ahead to explore. I suggest you follow."
Missouri nodded and reached over the back seat, picking up the bag of medical supplies, before climbing out of the Warthog.
"Louis?" Rho said suddenly, causing him to wince at the sound of his own name. The last person to call him that had been Annie.
"Yes?" he replied, standing still, leaning against the jeep.
"Well...I was looking through some of your memories...and a lot of things don't add up. Why is it that you told Massachusetts you were sent to detain Washington, yet Arkansas said he had been, and you knew nothing about his experience?"
Missouri sighed. He hated the fact that she helped herself to his thoughts.
"Firstly," he snapped, "don't read through my mind like it's a book again, OK? Ask my damn permission next time."
Rho nodded timidly, and Missouri carried on.
"As for Wash, I was sent to detain him before he fled Command. When I got there, he was crazy, and managed to escape. He left shortly after the first Freelancer did, and Command gave orders to capture the rebels. I was sent to go after Wash a second time, but when I heard that the first Freelancer had been Tex, I knew that once Wash had been dealt with, I'd be sent after her. That would have been suicide. Also, I wanted to protect Illinois, who was desperate to keep her A.I. with her, so, I left. I dealt with Wash once and failed, and I decided not to do it again. Happy now?"
"Yes, I am, Louis," Rho said quietly. Missouri scowled.
"Don't call me that."
"I'm sorry; I forgot that you only allow the people you care about the most to call you that. Annie and Lydia?"
"Will you just shut up, or I'll rip your A.I. slot from my head right now!" he snarled. "Let's go find Massa!"
It was as Massachusetts approached the badly placed turret and took hold of it, a searing pain cut across her head, sending her to the ground. Images of war flashed wildly around her, and she gasped, remembering the day when the Freelancers had made their final stand. She had been there, right in the centre of it, fighting for her life as wave after wave of Command's forces attacked, killing her comrades, injuring her in several places and scarring her memories and dreams for months on end. At the end of the two month siege, when Command had finally retreated, Massachusetts had stayed in the fortress, recovering. She had been one of the first to leave the safety of its walls, though, knowing that staying in the same place for too long was dangerous. Eventually, one by one or in small groups, the Freelancers left, until only a few remained. Command attacked again, and they were either shot or captured.
How could she have forgotten such an important and traumatising event of her life?
Massachusetts pulled herself to her feet as Missouri came up the stairs and saw her. He ran over, worried, and began checking she was alright.
"I'm fine," she mumbled, attempting to wave him away. "It's just that drug...I remembered...something...."
"The Meta's not here, Massa," Missouri said, looking down and checking his Recovery equipment. "He's further north, near a Recovery beacon...the Dakotas, it seems."
"Right, well, we'd better get the hell back to our jeep, right?" Massachusetts said, turning and jogging unsteadily back down the stairs and outside. As she moved across the open space, though, Missouri by her side, an unfamiliar sound made her whip sharply around, the sword in her hand pointed at the source of the noise.
"Blarg."
The two Freelancers stared at the strange creature, speechless. It was stood upright, or at least as far as its legs would allow, as the knees bent backwards to that of a human, making it a digitigrade. It was about eight feet in height, and had a quadruple-hinged jaw, with an upper jaw and four mandibles lined with sharp, pointed teeth. Its hands had only two middle fingers and two opposing thumbs.
"What the fuck is that?" Massachusetts said loudly, not liking the way the creature was eyeing her sword.
"I think it's an alien," Missouri said, staring as two more joined it. The original alien wore purple armour, one wore dark green, and the last, a deep red.
"Blarg. HONK," said the green alien. Massachusetts decided to name each one after their colour.
"What? I don't understand a word you're saying!"
"Blarg! Blarg blarg HONK blarg!" Red cried, seemingly getting irritable, although Massachusetts wasn't how she could tell this from a creature that had a face like a squid.
"HONK, blarg blarg, HONK!" Purple continued, waving his arms about. Massachusetts sighed.
"Hey, wait, I forgot!" Missouri said suddenly.
"Blarg!"
"The Recovery equipment comes with a translator!" the Freelancer said, pulling out what looked like a small, black microphone and holding it to Green's face.
"...Blarg?"
There was a small beep, and Missouri moved the translator away, fiddling with the settings until the translation came through.
"What does it say?" Massachusetts said, taking the device off Missouri, whose face was one of disbelief. She stared at the translation, blinking.
Translation: ...Blarg.
"Blarg?" she shouted. "That's the translation? Blarg! What the hell does Command spend all its money on?"
Rho appeared calmly next to Missouri's shoulder.
"I can make a clean translation, although it will not be word for word," she offered. Massachusetts nodded quickly, and Rho turned to the alien, before motioning for it to speak.
"Blarg HONK blarg blarg blarg! Blarg! HONK HONK HONK! Blarg!"
"Hmm," Rho said after a moment of thought. "At a guesstimate-"
"A guesstimate?" Missouri interrupted, staring at the golden A.I. in his visor.
"Yes, a guesstimate."
Missouri shrugged, letting Rho carry on.
"It seems they sent one of their comrades down here to pick up a sword. According to them, he was so stupid that he thought he was a messiah or something. What they really wanted him to do was collect the remnants of an alien sword shipment that was accidently dropped on Earth. They got all but two. One was found here, and another was stolen and taken into private keeping. The one down here, however, was picked up by some 'Aquamarine Shisno' and now they can't get it back."
"And the other?" Massachusetts asked, suddenly realising where this was going.
"...The other is in your hand."
"Great."
A file popped up on Missouri's visor, and he accessed it, scanning it over. It was Massachusetts' statistics, and her brain activity was going haywire.
"They say you must give it them immediately," Rho said, "or else you will have your spleen pulled out through your mouth."
"Oh, really?" Massachusetts replied, her tone dangerous.
"Blarg."
The Freelancer grinned behind her visor, and then raised the sword.
Shit, thought Missouri.
"Go fuck yourselves, squid faces!" she yelled, before swinging the sword out, cleaving through Green so that purple blood sprayed out everywhere. The alien let out a shriek of agony, and his comrades ran forward, ready to attack the dirty Shisno, but Massachusetts was ready for them. Within seconds, she had cut them down, too.
"Time to go, I think," she said placidly, and strolled away. Missouri stared at the aliens that were in agony, and then shuddered, before running after his friend.
"I hate to bring bad news," Rho said suddenly, "but it appears the aliens sent an automatic distress signal out when they were attacked. A ship is headed this way, and it appears to be following a beacon given out by the sword. The ship automatically targets whoever held it last. Looks like we'll have to put our Meta hunt on hold."
Massachusetts stopped abruptly.
"I can't do that," she said, shaking her head. "I need Sigma back."
Missouri turned to face the dead aliens behind them, and sighed. What could they do? It was an impossible situation. Maybe if they-
A sudden click of a gun being loaded made Missouri slowly turn around, to see Massachusetts pointing a pistol at him. He had forgotten she always carried a spare.
"Drop your weapons. Throw them behind me," she ordered, and Missouri quickly obeyed.
"Massa," he said as calmly as he could, "look, you're behaving erratically, I know. It's because of the drug, but this is not the answer."
Massachusetts lowered the pistols slightly, and looked at him. Missouri sighed.
"I knew you wouldn't, Massa. You're not like that."
A sudden spark of rage flashed before her eyes, and the lurking killer in her soul dragged itself back from the depths of herself. Massachusetts raised the pistol again and shot Missouri in both of his kneecaps. He fell over in agony, clutching at the ruined mess that used to be his legs, and screamed out.
"How...could you do that?" he blurted out, between yells. "We're meant to be a team; we're meant to be avenging my wife's death! Get the Meta together, you said!"
Massachusetts said nothing for a moment, and then sighed, shaking her head.
"That...never happened," she admitted, the statistics in Missouri's visor jumping wildly about the place, indicating that the drug was at its worst moment.
"What do you mean 'it never happened'?" Missouri spat, clenched his teeth in an attempt to contain the pain. "My wife was shot in the head! I know it happened, and there was no one else there...but..."
Missouri's voice trailed off as realisation hit him. He looked up at Massachusetts, the agony suddenly numbing away.
"You...killed...Lydia?" he whispered, stunned.
"She blackmailed me into letting her stay in my home. Then the Meta cornered us. I...shot her...in hopes that the Meta would go for her body and allow Sigma and I to escape."
Missouri didn't even seem to hear her.
"All she wanted was a safe place to stay. A safe place to stay? Was that so much to ask for?" Missouri hissed, his voice rising in volume with each word.
"You...murdered my beautiful wife, because she asked to be safe! You fucking bitch! I'll fucking kill you!"
Missouri suddenly threw himself forward, ignoring the blistering pain in his legs, making a swing for Massachusetts. She quickly jumped back, hitting him around the head with her gun.
The world went black.
Massachusetts picked him up and threw him down into a pit in front of the deadly fan, before tossing the sword in after him. It would buy her some time, at least, just in case the aliens decided to go after her anyway. She saw he was beginning to come around, squinting up at her. Massachusetts turned away, starting to walk back down the beach, Missouri's Recovery unit and radio in hand, when the Freelancer's voice echoed from his pit.
"Epsilon and memories, Massachusetts! Epsilon and memories!"
Almost instantly, a crippling pain shot through her body, and the flood of images she had blocked crashed back into her head. She staggered to the Warthog, leaning on it, waiting for it to stop, realising this was exactly what Missouri wanted, for her to suffer. Thoughts of hate, guilt, and grief whirled around her mind, and she clutched the Warthog door in an effort to support herself. Suddenly, a blurring white image flashed across her vision, and she cried out, falling to the floor heavily, lying there and twitching violently, unable to get up. When it eventually subsided, she dragged herself shakily to her feet, and clambered unsteadily to the jeep, shaking. It was gone, for now, but she knew it would be back. She started up the engine and quickly drove away, leaving Missouri for the aliens to find and kill.
Missouri blearily opened his eyes, the back of his head throbbing. He rose and hand to it, feeling the wet, sticky patch where it was bleeding, and looked up to see the bitch, Massachusetts, ambling away.
He wasn't going to let her go so easily.
"Epsilon and memories, Massachusetts! Epsilon and memories!" he bellowed, his throat hurting as he shrieked out his final vengeance. He heard her shout in surprise, followed by a thud, and he knew she had remembered. Missouri smiled sadistically, and glanced at the sword in his hand, before tossing it away. It had been worth it, bringing those terrible nightmares back to Massachusetts, but it wasn't enough. He would kill her, slowly and painfully, but first he had to get out of here, a task that seemed impossible now that his legs were crippled. Ignoring the splintering pain that was in his knees, he leant forward and pulled himself onto his stomach, before dragging himself along the length of the pit, looking for a low dip in the stonework to pull himself out. There was none, and he lay down on the floor, despairing. He had to get himself to higher ground, but how?
Missouri turned over onto his side, wincing as he jolted his knees, and pulled the medical bag off his waist. He rooted through it frantically, trying to see if he could locate something to help the pain. Rho appeared on his shoulder, looking down into the bag with mild interest.
"Is there any Aloe Vera in there?" she asked.
Author's notes: Well, I got Blood Gulch Chronicles and Reconstruction DVDs off my boyfriend for Christmas, as well as the 'It's not pink, it's lightish Red' t-shirt.
8D
Also, for those who didn't notice straight away...take the first letter of each word of this title and put them together.
XD
Leilah.
P.S. I now have a blog. If you want to read my thoughts on real life stuff, writing, or general rambling crap, check out my homepage on my profile.
P.P.S I am very much aware of the cliché halfway through the story, but whatever, it's intentional and I like it.
P.P.P.S. I was originally going to have Massa's sword be the one Tucker found, but then i realised we'd already passed that moment.