Chapter Four

-Allies and Enemies-

I feel like an idiot, Michigan thought as she quickly wolfed down her second MRE. I put on my armor for nothing.

Showing an hour up before her training session, she wandered the Mother of Invention and found the mess hall. It looked like any cafeteria with rows of large tables, enough to seat a large group of people. Near the entrance was a small kitchenette with cheaply made counters, complete with a coffee maker, a microwave and a electric stove. Suddenly, her stomach growled and her throat became dry.

She realized that she hadn't eaten anything since arriving on the Halcyon-class cruiser.

The mess hall was empty, save for a few people. A pair of tech officers in the far corner talked, one of them laughing while telling a very dirty joke while the other covered his face and groaned. A Freelancer in white, standard-issue armor sat closer in the middle, drinking what looked like tea and reading something on a data-pad. He looked to be in his forties, maybe early fifties, and black hair parted to the right. She thought the person had the most ridiculous mustache she had ever seen on his face. It was big, neatly trimmed just like his hair with curls on both ends. Almost cartoonish, Michigan thought.

She shook it off and sipped her cup of coffee, her face contorting in disgust. The last cup was so terrible that she took one sip and immediately spat it out. It was better this time around, though it took a shit-ton of crappy coffee creamer and Sweet n' Low. The anger from yesterday had turned to bitterness after having her dream from last night. Michigan couldn't imagine how it could get worse.

"Well, now. Who do we have here?"

Oh, it just got worse.

She looked up to find a man standing over her and he didn't look too friendly. He had very short, jet black hair with a cold hard stare from his blue eyes and clad in dark-green armor. The man appeared to be around Michigan's age, stood menacingly, just less than six feet tall and had a sneer plastered on his face.

"I don't think I've seen you around. The name's Arkansas, though you can call me Ark if you want." The man said, nudging a bit too close for her tastes.

"I'd prefer not to."

"Come now, rookie. In this project, you need allies, not enemies. I can help you there."

Michigan irritatedly sighed, "Not interested. I can figure out who my allies are for myself, thanks."

He noticed the knife snug inside the leather sheath strapped to her shoulder. "You've got a nice blade there. You know, girls like you shouldn't be handling something so dangerous. So, why don't you give it to someone more capable?"

Michigan rolled her eyes as she stood up from her seat and walked around the man with her coffee in hand. "By all means, tell me when you find someone capable of handling a blade. I would love to meet him."

She didn't take three steps when the man tripped her with his foot and the hand on her back shoved her into the table. Michigan let out a grunt when she hit the table and fell to the cold floor. Her cup shattered to pieces and hot coffee on spilled everywhere. She looked up at the man with a mix of anger and alarm, her face practically screamed, "What the fuck?"

"That's no way to talk your superiors, cunt." The man spat at her, "Don't know why the Director let a little rat like you in the Project, but when I ask for something, you better give me it to me."

Michigan then causally stood on her feet, using the table as support, and brushed herself off. Then she pulled out her knife from its leather sheath and held it out handle first, "Alright. you're the boss."

Just when the other Freelancer made a grab for it, he felt the edge of the blade press against his throat. It wasn't enough break the skin, but enough to make his eyes go wide and his lower lip quiver in fear. Her face quickly turned to stone and her eyes grew cold. With each step she took forward, the now-scared Freelancer took one step back.

She said as menacingly as she could, "Why so scared? You wanted my knife, didn't you? Thing is, you didn't tell me where you wanted me to put it. Not very smart, are you? Well, let me tell you something. You should be afraid of someone like me. Very afraid. Last time I stuck someone with this knife, I loved listening to the guy squeal like a pig."

She pressed the knife a little and said in a low whisper, "You gonna squeal when I stab you?"

The man quickly turned away to run, but instead he smacked himself into the wall and crashed into the empty trashcan next to him. He scrambled to his feet and gave Michigan a very angry glare. "You little bitch."

She wasn't too sure what he was going to do, but before he could do anything, an angry voice boomed right behind Michigan. "What the hell are you two doing?!"

No sooner did Michigan turn around, a foot shot up and kicked the knife out her hand. All she saw was a streak of aquamarine before something grabbed her and slammed her to the ground. "OW!"

"...that is how you disarm your opponent, Arkansas."

Suddenly, Michigan felt a lot of pressure on her back while someone twisted her arm behind her back. The woman's voice sounded familiar, though.

"But, Carolina," the other Freelancer whined, "you said I had to—"

"I said to toughen up." The woman named Carolina finished the sentence for him with Michigan still pinned to the ground, "I didn't say to make a total ass of yourself! On top of that, you let yourself get shit-scared of a rookie! A rookie who's smaller than you!"

"She had a knife! She threatened to-"

Immediately, the pressure on her back lifted and Carolina now turned her attention to Arkansas. Then Michigan immediately recognized the armor color as she stood on her feet. It was the redheaded woman from earlier and, by the sound of her voice, she sounded livid.

What was more surprising how quickly Arkansas went from a intimidating bully to a sniveling coward. She didn't know whether or not he was bluffing, but she never had seen anyone change so quickly.

Then again she was bluffing herself, but the other Freelancer didn't need to know that.

"So what? You think your opponent is gonna stop because you freeze like a statue at the sight of a blade? Or were you too scared of the bullshit Michigan fed you to do anything? Next time, kick the blade out of the hand, then you attack. Now get out of my sight."

Arkansas opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it. He just growled and stormed out of the mess hall, giving Michigan a scared look before he was out of view. She couldn't shake off the feeling that she made a mistake.

"God damn it," The orange Freelancer muttered.

Then she looked up to Carolina glaring at her. Her instincts told her to leave, but she stood rooted to the spot when the redhead walked up to her, an angry expression still on her face. Michigan felt like she was back in Basic when Carolina stared her down. So, she just stood there and braced herself for whatever hurtful things the soldier had to say.

Carolina spoke first, showing Michigan's own knife, "What were you trying to prove with this?"

"He acted like an asshole," Michigan spat out, "He pushed me—"

"—onto the floor and knocked the coffee out your hands. I saw the whole thing. So what if he did?"

Another angry glare.

Michigan scoffed, "I wasn't gonna kill him if that's what you're pissed off about. Just wanted to scare him and call him on his bullshit."

"You think he knew that, Michigan? You think every Freelancer who comes through here is a seasoned soldier like you?"

Michigan gave her an icy stare, "Can I go now? I have a training session in five minutes." She stepped forward to leave, but Carolina grabbed her arm in a tight grip.

"You're not leaving until I say so."

Michigan stared sourly at the floor until a hand grasped her by the chin and turned her head around, "…and look at me when I'm talking to you."

The rookie Freelancer did look. She could see livid green eyes stared back at her through her red bangs. A slight chill enter her stomach when she realized Carolina wasn't messing around. "You think you have it hard, barely surviving New Alexandria only to be sold to the highest bidder?"

When Michigan's face changed to surprise, Carolina let go of her chin. "It's my job to know these things, Michigan. Some of these guys are in the same boat you are. Others are volunteers. A few of them like Arkansas are barely in their twenties and don't even know which end of a knife is the pointy end."

"Does it look like I care?" Michigan quipped bitterly, "I never wanted to be here in the first place. Fuckin' hate it here already."

"That's life, Michigan. This is how it is and how it's going to be. Whether you like it or not, you're going to be stuck here, same as the rest of us."

No thanks to mom, Michigan thought.

"It's either a long or short life, depending on what you do here. You think scaring the crap out of anyone is going to do you any good. You keep going down that road and one of these days, someone will slit your throat while you're sleeping. I've seen it happen."

"Tell me then. How am I supposed to—" Michigan started before Carolina got in her face.

"Quit being a bully, Mitch. People like Arkansas have no experience on the battlefield and still squirm at the sight of blood. He's had a few fistfights, sure, but that doesn't count for shit when your opponent can shoot from a hundred miles away."

Michigan never thought about that. When she joined the project, she assumed that Freelancers had some military experience. She never considered that some had volunteered because they had nowhere to go or they lost their loved ones during the Covenant War. Upon realizing this, she felt the constrictive feeling of shame and guilt in her chest. She slumped into a seat and held her head in her hands as she tasted something sour in her mouth.

The aquamarina solder place the knife on the table next to Michigan, "Now get to the training arena. You don't want to be late again."

With a heavy sigh, Michigan put her knife back into its leather sheath, picked up her helmet and exited the mess hall, still feeling guilt inside her chest.

Now she knew she made a mistake.