Would ya lookie here? I actually updated on time! Who'd a thunk? And, lucky yous, it's a longer chapter than usual. I'm just spoiling you now! Just kidding. So, enjoy!
I do not own Red vs Blue. RvB belongs to Rooster Teeth.
I do not own Maximum Ride. MR belongs to James Patterson.
The Councilor looked thoughtfully and carefully at his clipboard. The stack of paper held down by the metal clasp became exponentially larger after the recovery of the missing experiments. Really Number One was the only one the Director truly cared about retrieving. The others were just added bonuses in his mind. However, with the rest of the administration breathing down their necks, the Councilor was grateful the others had been recovered as well.
He flipped the pages back so he could study the first page again –the Director's schedule. The Director was a strange character. Sometimes he seemed to know what needed to be done faster than the Councilor had time to type it up and present it to him in a printed schedule format. Other times he seemed to lose track of time completely and reminded constantly of the next duty he was to supposed to perform.
Even after all these years, the Councilor still hadn't figured out his strange superior. He also hadn't figured out his own true job description. Although he had the obvious title, his advice was always ignored. He supposed he was more like the Director's personal assistant. He was a glorified intern was what he was. He was never truly allowed responsibility over anything like a normal employee -his boss being the control freak that he was. He couldn't complain about the pay though.
His gaze rose when he heard the telltale noise of the air-compressed doors opening to let someone in. It could only be one person.
"Good afternoon, Director."
"Whatever, Councilor." The man blew passed him to head immediately for the coffee machine that was just done brewing.
"You have only one avian hybrid to address yet, sir."
"Well, spit it out." The impatient Southern drawl echoed from the end of the room where the Director was pouring the coffee into a trademarked mug.
The Councilor's eyes scanned down the list until he rested on the only subject that did not have a checkmark next to it.
"Reginald. From the sting operation in Wyoming that ended…chaotically."
"I know the one. Where is he?"
"He's being held in interrogation room one as you requested. They're ready for you at any time."
"Thank you, Councilor."
"And, sir, the surgery team wishes to know if you need them to prep for the Institute hybrid with the strange electrical ability. They are rather eager to dissect his brain, sir. What is it you plan to do with him?"
"You can tell them to keep their suggestions to themselves. I make the decisions. That mutant will be studied thoroughly just like all the others before any of those butchers get their grubby scalpels on him. If they're so eager to help, they can ready the EEG. I want to figure out exactly how he can do what he does."
"Might I advise that you just ask the Institute for his records?"
"I would rather chew off my own arm than ask those self-righteous data-forgers for anything. Tell testing room one to be prepared to receive the hybrid straightaway but don't let them start even the preliminary tests without me if they value their positions. I want to see it with my own eyes. But for the immediate future, I'll be teaching our former ally a lesson in what happens when someone betrays Project Freelancer's mercy."
Reginald, or as he was codenamed Wyoming, knew exactly what he was getting into the moment he decided to double-cross the infamous, the untouchable Project Freelancer. An organization that worked in such secrecy that the military that funded them only knew just the tip of the iceberg of what their money was really going toward. He knew what he was going up against, but that didn't mean he wasn't scared. No one in his right mind wouldn't be. Especially if they were strapped to a chair and guarded by three, large wolf mutants.
"Do you want to hear a joke?"
The Erasers didn't respond. The only semblance of a response was one that scrunched its nose up in confusion.
"Knock knock?"
The Erasers growled in annoyance. Erasers never talked much while they were in their more canine form. He never asked anyone but he figured that it would have something to do with their ability to transform. That's the reason Erasers never lasted longer than ten years. Shifting their appearances, putting their bodies through such strain and stress, it literally took the life out of them.
Still, Reginald was an old man compared to these mutants. He couldn't shake the knowledge that if they weren't prematurely aged, their bodies would be those of kindergarteners. Something still registered them in Reginald's mind as children.
"Come on, lads. We're been here in silence for hours. No prisoner ever escaped while telling a joke."
The Erasers looked at each other as if to seriously consider asking for a joke when the doors slid open abruptly and a deep southern drawl smothered the voice of their curious, inner child as it had since the moment they were "born." (Was being taken out of an aging tube once reaching six feet tall in a little under a half a year really qualified as "being born?")
"No prisoner ever escaped while telling a joke, but I can tell you of one prisoner we let escape but it turned out he was a joke."
"I take it you don't want to hear my joke then?"
The man glared down at him.
Wyoming knew he was pushing his luck. He already knew he was in for a world of pain, but he figured, what the heck? Maybe they'd kill him faster?
"I remember when we created you, Reginald. Twenty-five years ago, was it?"
"Somewhere closer to thirty, I believe, sir."
"Yes. You were one of the first avian-human hybrids that survived past infancy. If I'm correct, you are, in fact, the oldest experiment Project Freelancer has produced."
"With age comes wisdom."
"Well, I've come to assist you in…retiring."
Wyoming's blood ran cold. He didn't know why he was shocked. He knew this would happen. It just…the thought of dying still scared him.
"C-come now, chap. I'm not greying just yet."
"Then prove us wrong. Prove that you aren't past your prime."
The Director pushed his thick-rimmed glasses farther up on his nose before returning his hands to their previous position –clasped firmly behind his back. He walked close to Wyoming and leaned in to look him straight in the eyes.
"Tell me where Flowers is."
Wyoming suddenly grew rigid. Finally, he started acting like a prisoner of war. He knew the part. Here was where he could release all the anger and guilt he'd been harboring for years. It was how he could finally get back at Project Freelancer.
"I have no idea."
The Director frowned. He snapped once and a small assistant brought over metal sheers that were the kind used to trim off decent-sized branches of trees.
"Let's try this again."
Maine growled again and moved a clawed hand toward the grey-winged hybrid but Wash shook his head sorrowfully.
"Sorry, man. I know you just want to help, but if you take these restraints off me, I'm pretty sure they'll…well, it won't be good. Thanks anyway."
CT pretended to be asleep, but she was well tuned to the conversation the other members of her flock were having. Somehow Wash seemed to know what Maine was saying. Maybe he had another power and was able to interpret the guttural sounds the half-Eraser made that way? After all, Maine never did act like Wash ever translated incorrectly.
She mentally shrugged her shoulders and flipped over to her other side, hoping to find it more comfortable. She brought a brown wing over her shoulder and curled up tighter to try to get a little warmer on the strangely-padded floor.
It had been relieving when Maine was tossed into the dungeon with them. They were that much closer to being a full group –which somehow suddenly became important. North was still sulking near the entrance, still a little depressed when Maine was tossed in and not his sister. He was going to worry himself sick, he was. York was doing good and keeping him company though North hardly seemed to notice. Carolina was nearby sleeping or, more likely, just feigning sleep like CT was. They had learned to sleep in any lighting. The florescent lights above them would never relent unless they broke out of the facility. So they caught sleep whenever they could –that is, if they could find it in themselves to close their eyes long enough.
"So did they tell you what Lab 5 was, Maine?"
Okay, that time when Maine replied she knew just by the Eraser's tone that he said "no."
"That's too bad. It's been bugging me because I'm not sure if tying my hands up like this is just for that or if they're planning something different for me."
Curious, CT opened her eyes a slit.
Maine rumbled a couple times before pulling his knees up and wrapping his huge, hairy arms around them as he sat against the wall. From this angle she was reminded of how young Maine must have been. She knew there was something funky about how Erasers were aged. Most Erasers in their human forms looked middle to late twenties, but, Maine seemed younger than that -even younger than how old the avian-hybrids looked. It probably had something to do with how he was sort of half-shifted all the time. He didn't look small by any means. He had hulking shoulders and massive arms, but, just his demeanor -it seemed like he was just a fourteen-year-old that hit his growth spurt before his disposition could catch up.
In many ways, he reminded her of Wash. They both had a strange piece of naivety that was unusual considering their pasts. Maybe that's why they had become such fast friends. Or, then again, it could be because Wash seemed to be the only one that understood Maine's speech…or lack thereof.
Before CT could think any more on the subject, the door at the entrance hissed as it slid open and three Erasers stepped in, smiling and snarling. Everyone was brought to attention, but the Erasers seemed to pay that no mind. They had one target and ignored everyone else completely.
"Get up!" The Erasers barked as two wolf mutants grabbed Wash's arms and threw him toward the door where the third waited with a dog crate near his feet.
He stumbled to a stand, trying to gain his balance, only to have the crate shoved toward him. He knew well enough what to do so he obediently crawled in. Especially with his hands tied, there was nothing he could do to fight them.
Within a flash he was whisked away as if he were never there to begin with. The worrying began afresh.
Wash lay uncomfortably in the crate. He didn't bother finding a more restful position though because he knew he would soon reach the destination they had in mind for him. He would have bigger problems to worry about.
The layout of this lab was unfamiliar to him. He knew the halls of the Institute by heart just as he was sure CT, York, and Maine did. He knew exactly what tortures the scientists had in store for him the second they turned a particular corner. He was not, however, nearly as intimate with this lab, the Mother of Invention. This was the lab that Carolina, Flowers, and Wyoming had been held at.
He had met CT at the Institute and may vaguely recall seeing York once or twice but he wasn't sure if his memory wasn't just playing tricks on him. He hadn't seen Maine before meeting him in the woods even though they were tortured in the same place. It would make sense though because Maine would have been with the Erasers and Wash would have been with the other avian hybrids. The only reason the two would interact would be if an Eraser were escorting him like he was being escorted now.
He just couldn't see Maine transporting experiments like this. He just didn't have the same cruelty or sadistic tone that these full Erasers did. What did they make him do when he was at the Institute? Did he have a job like a normal Eraser or did they make him do something else because of his malformations? Why were the Erasers chasing him when they first met? He'd have to ask him when he got back –if he was conscious enough to do so.
The Eraser finally stopped in front of a door that was a good distance from the holding room. The Mother of Invention was certainly much larger than the Institute he was use to. He kept getting the feeling that this lab was far more advanced and even possibly superior to the old lab where he was held previously. He wasn't sure if that was good or not.
They opened the crate, and he crawled out. Like he was nothing more than a ragdoll, the wolf men picked him up and strapped him down to what looked like an operating table. They strapped his legs down and, surprisingly, they loosed his binds. They broke the ties and took off his gloves, which was a glorious feeling not to last. His arms were then strapped down to the table as well. Wash's heart hardly had time to pick up speed before this was done. The Erasers, dismissed by a flick of the wrist, left the two scientists in the room cloaked in white lab coats, to attend to him now.
They began sticking these wire things all over his head. He felt like he was wearing a sort of wig. He shifted uncomfortably on the table not only because the anticipation was starting to get to him but also because his wings were unpleasantly crushed against his back. He tried to move them to get some sort of relief, but the restrains held true and firm. He couldn't move.
After plugging the wires into a machine, one scientist took a seat and fiddled with his jacket sleeve while the other paced, paced, paced anxiously around the room. Minutes passed.
"Do you think he's done with whatever the heck he's doing yet? I want to get started. I can't stand the suspense!"
The one pacing spoke exactly Wash's own concerns. The once sitting bounced one of his legs and sighed, fiddling with a longer piece of his hair, annoyed with his impatiently pacing coworker or whomever they were waiting for –probably both.
The one pacing suddenly deviated from his route and stopped by Wash's head. He tugged roughly on one of Wash's delicate and pointed ears, pulling it this way and that to get a better look.
"Who thought that putting cat ears on this thing was a good idea? That's a stupid waste of resources and time. Can you believe this?"
The one on the chair shrugged his shoulders, fiddling with his collar, as he sank back in his seat. The pacer snapped his fingers loudly near Wash's ear causing him to flinch and his ear to twitch.
"Well, they work, I'll give him that. Can you imagine going to the Director with a proposal to do this to one of our experiments? 'Hey, boss? Can we put cat ears on one of the avian experiments? Oh, you want to know why? Just for the heck of it, sir, of course! I just like ruining perfectly good experiments!'"
He finished the story with a sharp yank on one of the cat ears muffling over Wash's whimper with his own course laughter. The one on the bench didn't even acknowledge him, preferring to fiddle with the ties on his shoes or to fiddle with his jacket sleeve instead.
Abruptly, the first scientist's laughing stopped as the door hissed open. He must have been the one the two scientists were waiting for because they immediately jumped to attention. Pacer stopped pacing and Fiddler stopped fiddling. When the new arrival finally came in Wash's view, he realized it was the man that inspected Wash when he first arrived except, now, he had flecks of what was unmistakably blood dotting his otherwise pristine jacket.
He leaned over Wash to inspect the wiring on his head or something and Wash tried to keep his heart from bursting through his rib cage while his mind hemorrhaged to reason that the blood on the jacket didn't belong to someone he knew or that his own blood would not contribute to the mess. His heart couldn't take much more of this.
The man turned his attention to Wash's wrist.
"Does this one have a designation?"
"Like, a name? I'm not sure, Director," Pacer replied.
"The observation department says he answers to…'Wash'," Fiddler offered, this being the first time Wash had heard him talk.
"Really?" Pacer snickered and Wash's ears involuntarily flicked toward the sound. "Well, what are you to expect from these scraps of DNA, eh? He's lucky he has the brain capacity to respond to anything."
"You would do well to shut your mouth and do your job, intern." The Director pointed to the tray of equipment and a huge box that was set up next to the table. "Power up the machine and get the electricity rod. We have work to do."
So I have a semi-timeline for this now. (Meaning I know what in general the characters will be going through individually while they are held here in the Mother of Invention.) So that's probably why this was out faster than my last chapter.
The two OCs weren't intended. They sort of sprung personalities. It's okay because we'll be seeing them with Wash often so I figured I might as well give them names. They're not going to have much depth and you're going to hate them but they had to be in there. Unless...
IMPORTANT: Would you like it if the Blood Gultchers were to appear in this as dumb scientists who are working for the Director? I feel bad about making OCs because I don't particularly like OCs at all when they are in fanfiction. It's always more interesting if even background characters are ones we know. If you'd prefer me adding in OCs like Pacer and Fiddler then that's fine too. I just don't want you to say no because the Blood Gultchers because would be "bad" guys. I would have them be their stupid yet lovable and not really realizing that they were bad guys, but they'd be less dull and more comical than OCs would be. It's completely up to you. :)
Review and fav if you so desire!
Looking forward to it!