Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Chapter Five:
The plan, as he understood it, was a fairly simple one.
According to Carolina, one of the surveillance computers meant to monitor the situation in the tunnels and keep an eye on Resistance activity had broken down and all other soldiers capable of maintenance for it were busy elsewhere.
It was in a location fairly remote and not at all extremely vital as far as strategy went, but she figured it was better to err on the side of caution anyways. Since it was well-known that the Resistance had makeshift bases in the tunnels instead of in the actual Slums and that they would routinely change bases in order to avoid getting pinned down in one spot, it was better to have as many computers as possible spying in the corridors and shafts.
So, really, all their group was expected to do was go into the tunnels, find out what happened to the computer, repair it if possible, and then check on the status of other nearby surveillance computers as well while they were there and do any routine maintenance they might also need. After that, they were told to simply leave and return to the surface so they could fill out a mission report.
No real fuss over this particular mission, despite technically having to enter a battle zone to do it. It was no wonder Agent Carolina didn't seem to mind handing the assignment over to them.
Still, Simmons couldn't help the nervous feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach even with this knowledge.
He supposed that it came as a mixed blessing of sorts that the pain from his surgery had dissipated by the time they had headed out. At least for the most part.
"Are you two done yet?"
Church's tone had a lazy drawl to it as he peered disinterestedly down at his two teammates bent over a computer terminal. It was odd in a way how his blue eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the darkened space.
They were standing in the entryway to the tunnel closest to where the surveillance computer that went offline had been located with only one more sealed bulkhead between them and it.
The entrances to The Slums and the mines surrounding it from Above Ground were sealed with high-level military-grade tech and architecture. After the initial exodus of people to the surface, it seemed there had been a huge demand to keep everyone else stuck behind out. The tunnels usually had a ten-chamber security system with separate encryption codes for each space, the reinforcement for each sealed door getting progressively thicker and harder to break through. He wasn't sure a rocket launcher could get through the thinnest door: a heavy-duty missile probably wouldn't even dent the final one. The codes to open each gate got increasingly more complex the closer to the surface one was as well.
Truthfully, if Simmons was ever in the mood to pat himself on the back these days, he'd probably be more likely to acknowledge just how incredible a feat it was for him to have hacked into that level of security and make it into The Slums all those years ago. But, it was a far thought from his mind at the moment and he really didn't remember much about that whole ordeal now beyond the sheer giddy feeling he'd had in the pit of his stomach when Grif had praised him for it later on, which then made him feel bad on account of not knowing what had happened to his friend. He had to concentrate now.
Besides, security protocols were heightened in the present day on account of the Insurrection somehow managing to bypass all of them to attack Above Ground directly and the active fighting in the tunnels now.
He glared up at his teammate in annoyance, "Give us a few more minutes."
"That's what you said ten minutes ago!"
He was about to snap in exasperation at him that it might take even more time (it was fucking delicate work, after all!) when Sheila beat him to it.
"Patience is an important part of the equation when trying to get through proper security channels, Church."
Church scoffed, mumbling something about how much he hated "computer shit" in general before leaving them to finish their work.
It was just the three of them this time since Doc was still in medic training full-time.
Simmons was trying not to feel too nervous, reminding himself over and over that the reason they were even doing this mission at all was because Agent Carolina didn't consider it a risky one.
Having Church breathing down their necks because he was aggravated they had to do this kind of work at all certainly wasn't helping matters, though.
"Thank you." He mumbled quietly to Sheila when he was fairly certain that their comrade wasn't in earshot.
She gave a brief nod, "He can be difficult at times, I know."
That was putting it fucking mildly, but Simmons supposed he was glad that at least one of his teammates on this mission was polite.
"Hey, you guys, you better not be fucking talking about me!"
If nothing else, it definitely helped to balance Church out.
The last gate opened with a whirring sound less than twenty minutes later, darkness beckoning the three from the corridor beyond.
Church, already testy with impatience at having to wait so long, scoffed at this.
"So the lighting in this shitty place we're heading into is out too." His blue eyes flashed with annoyance, "Fucking great."
Simmons knew the lack of light wouldn't be much of a problem for Sheila since robotic night vision was excellent.
One of the few upsides he'd found after his surgery was that his augmented eye also had a very useful night vision mode as well. Already it was adjusting to the gloom before them and he could make out shapes although nothing noteworthy or exciting, really: rocks, metal reinforcements, the computer paneling for lighting and other features of the tunnel beyond that was no longer functional in at least this area apparently, and so on. He doubted he'd even need the portable lighting that Church was now fishing out from the repair kit for the computer they had brought with them.
"Power in the tunnels can be iffy sometimes, but we should come across some lights that are still active soon." He tried supplying helpfully in the off-chance that he could help improve Church's current mood somewhat.
"Yeah, though it won't do jack-shit if I trip and break my neck on a goddamned rock before then." He could almost make out the scowl that no doubt was plastered on Church's face in his voice.
There was an odd tenseness in Church's tone and his body language was rigid and stiff.
Simmons exchanged a concerned look with Sheila upon noticing it, "Are you okay, Church?"
In any other situation, Church would have probably gotten angry in response to Simmons' question. His reaction to it now was perhaps even more disconcerting.
He waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture, moving past his teammates with a grimace clouding over his face, "I'm fine. I just…can't stand the dark. Or cramped places." He let out a sharp sounding laugh, "Which means this mission is fucking perfect, huh?"
Before either could respond though, his pace quickened, "So, let's just get this damned thing over with. Which way do we go from here?"
"And you figured bringing this mech back with you was a smart idea?"
Kimball glanced up at Freckles warily, a reaction that was pretty understandable given how menacing its size and heavy artillery made it.
They were in the large corridor that served as the meeting room for the Resistance. It had been a bit of a challenge to get the assault droid through some of the smaller tunnels to reach the base proper, but for as large as the robot was he was surprisingly flexible: no doubt the reason why Caboose had decided to teach him dance moves.
"Caboose wouldn't let us leave him." Tucker shrugged, "And you know how he gets when he's attached to something."
"Besides," York glanced over his shoulder at Freckles, his voice becoming a whisper as if afraid that the droid might overhear what he had to say from across the meeting room, "Did you really want us to leave something like that in the tunnels?"
"You have a point there."
Caboose, who had been happily running around Freckles and showing off to Donut all of the parts on his new "dog" that it liked to have scratched while Grif tried really hard to not get freaked out by how many of those parts were gun turrets, bounded over to them.
"Can Freckles stay?" he whined, eyes shining, "Please?"
Kimball seemed to debate it for a moment and the group gave a collective start when it seemed as though Freckles turned his head in their direction as if he was waiting on her answer as well.
Finally, she sighed, "He can stay, Caboose, provided you take good care of him." She frowned, following that quickly with, "And he doesn't shoot anyone."
"Yay!" he grinned, "You hear that, Freckles?"
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
"Now we just need to find you that tiny hat!"
"I swear this shit gets weirder every day." Grif muttered under his breath.
Sarge nodded in an almost sage gesture, "Tell me about it. You're now officially the worst soldier in the Resistance, Grif."
The orange armored man shot him an incredulous look, "What? How?"
"Well, technically, it used to be you and then Caboose. But he just got a giant death machine as a pet, so I say he just squeaks by you now on the competence scale."
Grif stared at him blankly, unable to formulate words to retort just yet.
"Truth hurts, don't it?" Sarge's gruff voice asked.
"That is the stupidest—"
"Well, you'll always be good as a human shield so don't feel too down!" Sarge chuckled maniacally, "There's bound to be a mission where we'll need a heroic sacrifice one of these days and you'll just have to do."
Grif was, again, at a loss for words.
"Though it wouldn't be heroic. More like a lazy sacrifice, in your case." The older man corrected.
"I can't believe you're my superior officer." He grumbled exasperatedly.
"Neither can I, Grif, neither can I." he sighed sadly, "Though you're so inferior to begin with that everyone is infinitely superior to you in comparison if you think about it."
"Can I get transferred now, please?" he turned to beg Kimball, deciding it best to ignore the crazy old man in red again for the time being.
Unfortunately for him, she was busy conversing with Tex and York.
"Did you find anything else down in 32-A?" she asked them, her tone and expression serious.
York shook his head, "Beyond Caboose's dog? No. We didn't find anything that wasn't dismantled or thoroughly destroyed."
She frowned, lost in thought, "Some freelancers have been snooping around in the tunnels for any military tech they can find." She caught their suddenly very grim expressions, "Not your type of freelancers: mercenaries, I mean."
"You think they might be a problem?"
From the way Tex worded the question it was pretty apparent that if the mercenaries were something of an issue, she would be all for dispatching them. Most likely in the most swift and brutal way possible.
Grif shuddered, having to fight the instinctive urge to shield his crotch at her tone.
An unsure look pierced Kimball's brown eyes, something none of them were too familiar with seeing there. She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"I don't think that will be necessary for one of them, at least." She finally said.
Sarge scoffed and Grif was relieved to see a disdainful look on his rough and weathered features that wasn't directed at him for just existing for a change, "You're talking about that mercenary fella that's been sniffing around here, aren't ya?"
She nodded, "Felix." She said in way of elaboration.
"I don't trust him. No one who chooses to wear orange is up to any good!"
He sent a pointed glare in the tan man's direction and Grif sighed wearily.
That was fun for the two whole minutes it had lasted.
"Besides, he's even worse than Grif!" Sarge continued with his rant, "At least this dirt bag volunteered to be here even though he refuses to do anything meaningful and is a drain on resources that could be used to train a more worthwhile soldier: like a kitten with a bazooka, for starters."
"You know—"
"Oh, that would be so cute!" Caboose interrupted Grif's retort with one of his own, "It would have to be a small bazooka though because otherwise how would the kitten lift it with his tiny paws?"
Everyone chose to ignore him. They did that often when Caboose would interject his thoughts into conversations.
"That merc fella has the audacity to ask for money to fight the good fight! That's mighty un-soldier-like, if you ask me."
"Wait a minute, that's an option?" Tex's eyes seemed to light up somewhat at the possibility.
York smiled regrettably, "Yeah, it probably would have been one if we'd put it on the table when we first came here. I think we're stuck doing this for free now though."
"Damn it. That figures."
"Felix does know what he's doing though and he's not actually asking for money. Only a share in any tech or weaponry we scavenge, even if they happen to be damaged." Kimball chose to ignore the side commentary and focus on the discussion with Sarge. She did that a lot when all of them were together like this, though Grif couldn't really blame her for it: they did seem to get side-tracked an awful lot in their conversations.
"Still…" Sarge was obviously not too keen on the idea. Grif was rather curious about who this 'Felix' mercenary was to get so under Sarge's skin.
"You know as well as I do that we're not in a position to be picky." The leader of the Resistance reminded him, "Besides I haven't decided anything yet. I'll make sure he's true to his word if nothing else well before then, I promise you."
Sarge "harrumphed" and muttered under his breath something unintelligible in response, but he made no more discernible protests.
She turned back to Tex, "It's the other mercenary that's more of the issue. He calls himself Locus."
"You mean he named himself after his armor?" York whistled, "That's a bit messed up."
"Says one of the guys named for a defunct province on a planet none of us have ever lived on?" Tucker asked him incredulously.
"It's called a codename, Tucker, and I didn't pick it for myself."
"You're still using it, though." The dark-skinned man pointed out.
"I've heard of him." Tex cut into their dialogue with an off-handed remark to Kimball, "Nothing too pleasant."
A nod, "Which is why having him around isn't a prospect I'm particularly thrilled about."
"I'll keep a lookout for him then." The red-haired woman cracked her knuckles for added emphasis on the real meaning behind her words. It wasn't lost on anyone.
Kimball nodded again, "Thank you."
"And now that that's all taken care of and Caboose is back, I should probably go collect Junior from North." Tucker said, looking expectantly at Kimball to give the okay.
She gave a curt nod, which he took as his cue to leave.
"Aw, Tucker, why don't you play with Freckles some first?" Caboose asked before he could get away fully.
Tucker glanced upwards nervously at the robot, who then turned to look down at him.
He shook his head, "Yeah, I don't think so, Caboose. I have a feeling his definition of play would be shooting me, which I'm really not cool with right now."
"Grif, why don't you play with Caboose and his new robot?" Sarge jumped on that train of thought pretty quickly with an all-too eager look in his eyes.
Grif groaned, feeling like today was going to feel even longer than it had been already.
"You sent them into the tunnels."
Carolina scowled at the blunt statement and Washington had to fight the urge to instinctively shrink back in response to the very obvious don't fuck with me vibe his commanding officer was giving him. The rookie Freelancer would never have addressed her that way before. He would never have questioned her orders.
Old habits were hard to break, it seemed, even when everything else about his existence had proved far too fragile.
How many times had he been broken and put back together again? He wasn't really whole anymore now, he knew that much: just a collection of a thousand shards of 'self' in a worthless container. Some of those shards weren't even him. He had to remember who he was all over again whenever he woke up.
It was almost infuriatingly annoying to be so brought back to 'David' with just a look even though he knew how meaningless that sense of camaraderie he'd had with the Freelancers was. The respect, the sense of it still permeated things: warping his perceptions further.
He wondered how much Carolina knew.
She was smarter than him. She was at the top of the food chain. She'd been around when Maine was taken over (barely survived that, from what he'd gathered). She'd been there when York, North, and Tex had defected (he tried not to view that as a betrayal like how the others did, but that was only because he knew the whole damn project was a betrayal now: though a small part of him couldn't help but still feel resentment over how neither York or North had bothered telling him anything or came to help him).
He assumed she suspected, at least. Though perhaps she just didn't care.
He wasn't about to ask, to expose that he knew things now that he wasn't supposed to.
Something trying to kill itself in your brain had nasty repercussions. Had to play them up to get people to overlook sudden knowledge of all things classified. He didn't even have to fake it.
It worked this time too because despite her obvious anger at a subordinate questioning her call, Carolina didn't lash out as she was want to do. Maybe she did know or perhaps she didn't, maybe she felt sorry for him or perhaps not. She kept most things beyond her drive and her anger close to her chest and guarded, a skill he was so desperately trying to emulate now.
Instead, she nodded, "Do you have a problem with that, Agent Washington?"
A challenge. Tread carefully or not at all.
He swallowed nervously: "This wasn't a mission from the Director."
She didn't ask how he knew that ('David' wouldn't have known before: he'd been far too stupidly clueless and trusting and look where it had gotten him) and said instead, "No, it came directly from the Chairman of The Council."
Another thing he'd already known. There was something more to it than just routine maintenance. He just didn't know what. All he'd been told was that he was on standby for the time being (he didn't think Malcolm Hargrove was any better than the Director, but he was his ticket out of this mess so he'd have to play along).
Carolina was frowning, "I'm not sure what his game is, but I'm not wasting Freelancers for a routine repair mission."
Washington said nothing, suspecting it wasn't really all that routine. He hated thinking that way though, as he was not sure what it meant for Simmons and the others involved.
Maybe he felt guilty, who knows? There should be more than enough of that flying around everywhere here.
"But if the mission somehow inexplicably goes south, there is an extraction plan." Carolina seemed to interpret (or "misinterpret," who can say? He barely knew what he felt himself anymore), "Don't worry, Wash."
She almost seemed comforting then, like she used to be when he'd first joined and she had encouraged him through his dismal first missions and training drills or when he saw her smiling slightly at one of York's awful jokes. That was before. Before she became obsessed with perfection.
It took him slightly aback, especially when it flashed with a memory of a little girl laughing he hadn't ever seen before.
…Probably had though, all of its memories had been a blur in his head at that time. They would replay now without warning whenever something triggered them, with no real rhyme or reason he could discern.
Her face hardened just as quickly, however, green eyes like daggers when she moved into his personal space before he could even begin to register her movement.
"And don't question my orders ever again." She growled out in a low voice, "That won't be tolerated from anyone anymore. Is that understood, Agent Washington?"
He briefly wondered if she thought of York when she said that, but knew better than to ask.
Washington nodded mutely in response and Carolina left without so much as casting another glance in his direction.
He didn't think she knew the full story then.
If she did, he was fairly certain the Director would already be dead.
He was disappointed in a way that she didn't.
And he was disappointed with himself for having to once again wait to see how things turned out.
He hated waiting, even if it was one of the only things keeping him alive right now.
Waiting only seemed to make him dwell on things he'd rather not.
They found the nonfunctioning surveillance computer easily enough several hours after beginning their trek through the tunnels.
It would have been practically impossible had they not had the exact locations of all of the computers in the area stored in a digital map that they could draw on through the computers in their armor when necessary. The whole location was made even more accessible than simply relying on that thanks to the Global Positioning System that Sheila still contained as a throwback to her days inside of a tank. Not only did they have the intel stored inside their computers, but Sheila had access to all sorts of navigational and directional programming to make things even easier on them.
She had off-handedly mentioned to Simmons once that his enhancements made it plausible for him to have access to similar programming mentally as well, but Simmons wasn't quite sure he wanted to test that yet. It was one thing for him to be able to do it, quite another to be ready to do so all at the same time.
Although certain cybernetic enhancements he had been more than willing to try and experiment with already, improved aim and motion control being the primary ones: glad to see an improvement in his overall accuracy, extremely disappointed to realize it still was only marginal improvement at best.
The surveillance device itself looked to be a small computer terminal deftly hidden in the wall-paneling of a mining corridor. It would be impossible to know it was even there if just walking by since the paneling concealed it from plain view. It was tricky even to find it if that portion of the wall was removed given how small and hidden it was amongst a nest of wires and circuitry unless someone knew what they were looking for or, more accurately in the case of miners or maintenance workers just doing their jobs, what wasn't supposed to be there in the first place.
The tech the surveillance computers used to spy on things in the tunnels was very advanced in order to pick up on what was happening through somewhat thick metal sheeting. Simmons imagined it was so nit-picky in terms of the overall flow of data it picked up that being the people whose job it was to monitor the footage on a constant basis must be bored out of their minds, especially considering how most of the surveillance machines probably didn't pick up anything vital to begin with.
According to the map, they were in corridor 5-C though there seemed no logical rhyme or reason to the naming scheme in the mines that he could discern since the tunnel before that was 8-B and the following one was 58-H. Maybe it had at one point made sense when the colony had been newly established and there weren't as many mines, but it sure as fuck didn't make any now. The corridor itself was a larger one that opened out into a pretty big expanse of space, almost like an auditorium-sized room. Simmons supposed he could understand why a surveillance computer had been set up here after seeing it: this area could make for a decent-sized storage area or temporary base in a pinch or it could just be a good-sized corridor to move a lot of equipment or people through in a hurry.
Still, it had certainly seen better days in terms of its overall condition as some of the paneling and terminals had been jarred loose in it. There were large piles of debris throughout the place that they'd had to carefully navigate through: discarded, derelict mining equipment and large chunks of rock left behind for whatever reason.
Simmons was somewhat glad that it was mandatory army regulation to keep your helmets on when out in the field after seeing the state of 5-C: at least, feasibly, they could stay alive in case of a collapse for a little while. The oxygen wasn't so much an issue for him anymore as it would be for Church, but a large enough piece of debris hitting him or Sheila in the head could still prove fatal all the same.
Sheila motioned to one of the side-paneling sections that still seemed relatively intact.
"That is where the surveillance computer was located when it went offline." She said, a whirring sound coming from the inside of her helmet that indicated that she was using a digital locator to find that information.
"And since it's one of the only spots here that doesn't look like shit, it's probably still there." Church surmised. He still seemed oddly on edge about being underground, but he was covering it up a lot better now. Probably because there actually were some active lighting sources in the tunnels they'd been in recently and this one was larger to boot, or because finding the computer meant they were closer to being done with the mission. He even sounded somewhat eager when he spoke next, "Let's get this done with."
They worked to remove the panel in silence, the soft buzz of the hand tools used to free the metal sheeting from the wall the only sound for two minutes or so. Simmons and Church both glanced over their shoulders to make sure that no one had heard the noise and came to investigate.
When the paneling was gone from the equation and hastily put to the side, they were able to stare at the surveillance computer proper. Its dead screen and non-functioning lights a sharp contrast to the small blips of color around it that indicated power was still on in this tunnel at least partially.
"That is…" Sheila paused, as if trying to choose her words carefully, "Odd."
"Yeah?" Church peered at the contraption dismissively, "It's not working, which is why we're down here to fix it, right? Seems like that's exactly what is going on."
"It is not functioning, Church, that is correct." Sheila was reaching out to tap the tiny screen with a slim robotic finger, "But it is not working anymore not on account of having been removed or because it needs any sort of repairs."
"What the fuck are you saying, then?" he sounded very much confused, "Why isn't it active anymore?"
"Private Simmons, you're starting to figure out what I am deducing, yes?"
He frowned, piecing it together but having a hard time understanding the 'why' behind what it meant anymore than Church did.
"I—if it wasn't damaged or removed somehow," he finally said, knowing that Church was looking at him demanding an explanation and Sheila wanted to see how much he'd deduced on his own as well, "Then that means that it was manually shutdown."
"Okay, so what the fuck does that mean exactly?"
"It means, Church, that someone on our side shut it down." Sheila flicked a tiny button on the side of the computer and suddenly the blackened screen booted up with an inner light and flecks of blue and red blinked across its various buttons, "They probably didn't even leave Above Ground to do it given how powerful the data transfers from these devices are."
The frown was evident in his voice, "But what would be the point?"
Church was right, there: the action made no sense. If the person was a sympathizer to the Resistance and had gained access to the termination codes for surveillance computers then shutting all of them off or ones in more vital areas would have made the most strategic sense. This one computer was in a very remote location.
"I'm not sure." She shrugged, "Perhaps it was a prank? Human behavior is odd sometimes."
"A prank." Church sighed, taking a step backwards from the problematic machine with a defeated posture slumping his shoulders, "Fucking great. Carolina is going to be pissed when she finds out."
Grif was surprised to see North later on after the meeting, chatting amicably with Donut while suiting up into his armor.
"So you got to babysit this time, huh?" Donut was saying, a wistful look on his face, "I'm jealous!"
"I'm sure there will be other occasions where you can do it instead, Donut." The former Freelancer said gently, "I imagine it's a bit hard for Tucker to find a lot of people who want to look after Junior."
"True, I think the only other person who does it on a regular basis is Grif's sister, Kaikaina." The pink-armored soldier turned in his direction, "Right, Grif?"
He nodded, "Yeah, when she's not out having way too good of a time for it to be legal."
North shot him a sympathetic look, "Your sister's a bit of a handful, I take it?"
He wasn't being nosy, Grif knew. That wasn't North Dakota's personality. He was asking out of a genuine curiosity and not as a way to twist it into some judgmental comment about Grif or Kai. North wouldn't even probably get upset if the man refused to respond to his question.
It was almost strange in a way to think that the very same military program that had given rise to Agent Texas had also housed someone as incredibly understanding and kind as North.
"That's probably an understatement." He joked in response.
"Aw, but she's a good kid." Donut chimed in happily, "I wish you'd let her come by the base more, Grif."
"Yeah, not going to happen." He shuddered at the memory of what that had been like.
North smiled slightly at the exchange, "Sisters can be like that sometimes. She's lucky to have you in her corner, though."
"Do you have siblings, North?" Donut asked, probably curious due to the almost nostalgic tone that had entered North's voice.
Something odd flashed in North's pale eyes and he looked at the ground quickly, "One. A sister. We…don't talk anymore."
An uncomfortable silence filled the space as both Grif and Donut exchanged glances.
With how approachable North was, sometimes it was easy to forget the reason he was here. Of course he probably wouldn't have any contact with his family now that he had defected.
Not one to let silences linger unpleasantly, Donut spoke up, "Still, it's a shame about Junior. I mean, yeah, he's an alien and that's a bit weird but he's such a sweet little guy." He frowned, seemingly remembering something else, "I bet he feels lonely since no kids want to play with him."
"Theta would have loved to have met him, I'm sure."
The two glanced over at North, who suddenly looked embarrassed. Apparently he'd been so lost in thought he hadn't realized he'd spoken that out loud until now.
"Oh! He's a little kid I used to babysit." He said in way of a rush explanation, "Strange name, I know, but he was incredibly nice. Very shy but observant too, so I imagine he'd probably understand Junior's feelings quite a bit."
There was that nostalgic look on the blonde's face again, only the guilt and sadness in his eyes took on a pained, lingering quality to it this time. Neither Grif nor Donut seemed to feel comfortable asking for more information.
"Wow, North, you really are good with kids!" Donut chose to exclaim instead, smiling brightly in an attempt to overcome the suddenly heavy atmosphere.
"Thanks." He smiled warmly again, "Speaking of that, though, you two haven't seen Caboose around, have you?"
"Not since the meeting earlier." Grif frowned, "Why?"
"Tex asked me to tag along with both of them on an errand. Something about how Caboose said he wanted to walk his 'dog.'" He paused, looking at them both quizzically, "I'm missing something in the translation of that though, aren't I?"
Grif nodded, "Better bring the heavy artillery. Just in case."
"Got it." North picked up his favorite sniper rifle and gave them both a friendly wave before disappearing to find his comrade and Caboose.
"Hey, Grif, since we're not on duty for a couple of hours want to play a few rounds of Heads or Tails?"
He paused, knowing it wouldn't be that easy.
"Though on second thought, maybe not. I usually always go for Head, even though Tail can be pretty fun too just to mix things up!"
And there it was.
He took a deep breath in and out to let it slide.
Donut, oblivious to the fact that his innuendo habit had just struck again, smiled even brighter, "Oh! Or better yet, how about I show you this really delicious banana nut bread recipe I found online instead? I hope you like nuts though!"
Despite the fact that their reason for being there was completely not what they had expected, they still technically had a mission to do and that was to check on the status of a few other surveillance computers in the area as well.
Once the paneling was put back into place with Church grumbling under his breath about how this was just a "goddamned waste of time" all the while, they began to make their way back to where Tunnel 5-C intersected with several other corridors. Sheila was in front as she was able to access the locations of the computers and process the information quicker than her two male counterparts could.
"The closest one to us is in 42-B, which we can access through this corridor here." She tilted her head in the direction of a side-corridor a little ways from where they were standing.
"These ones aren't broken and shouldn't be fucking turned off, so hopefully it won't take too long." It was evident Church was grimacing due to his tone, "If we don't get lost or something looking for them."
"We shouldn't, not with my navigational schematics and the maps." Sheila shrugged, "At least not for more than a few hours."
"Comforting as always, Sheila."
And just as the man in cobalt armor began dragging his reluctant feet towards the tunnel that the robot had indicated the ground quaked and he slipped, landing on his knee. Hard.
"Ow, what the fuck was that?" he spat out through gritted teeth.
Simmons' face paled and he glanced around them nervously, "Is…is the tunnel collapsing?"
Not good, not good, not good: thinking about it abstractly through regulation protocol was one thing. He didn't really want to think of the incredibly low odds of them getting rescued from being buried alive before their oxygen ran out. In his panic, he forgot that he didn't have lungs or required oxygen anymore but there was no way to just tell his brain that at the moment. Regardless, the thought of being buried alive wasn't exactly a pleasant one.
And then, just as suddenly, the tremors stopped.
"Hello!" an unfamiliar voice boomed at them, "It is a good day to go walking, isn't it?"
Simmons managed to force his eyes open and made a mental note that he'd berate himself later for his total lack of soldier-like discipline once the adrenaline rush subsided. He was surprised to see a young man in blue battle armor grinning at them from the side-corridor they had just been about to enter.
"Um…" he wasn't quite sure what to say.
In front of him, however, Church had already drawn out his gun.
"Simmons, what the hell are you waiting for?" he hissed in a whisper over to his teammate, "Look at what he's wearing!"
He was right, really, even though Simmons didn't want to admit it, especially not with the blonde's far too innocent-looking eyes practically twinkling at them.
But the only people in the Slums who wore pilfered Above Ground equipment were Resistance fighters, he knew that much.
Shakily, he reached for the holster of his weapon but was reluctant to fully draw it. The young man seemed far too childish to be any sort of actual threat at the moment.
Church didn't seem to have that same hesitation when it came to pulling a weapon on him, but then again perhaps he did in a way and was just using it as a threat.
After all, Leonard Church was a horrible shot: even worse than Simmons on his worst days. He'd most likely miss the kid even if he was shooting at him from two feet away.
The blond-haired young man tilted his head to the side and regarded them quizzically, "Are you new?" he asked, smiling brightly once more, "I love meeting new people!"
Simmons exchanged a glance with Church. Clearly, this Resistance member was neither one of the best or the brightest amidst their ranks.
Too bad they aren't all like him or the war would already be over.
"Yeah, we're—uh, we're new." Church laughed nervously, his acting quite thick, "We must have gotten lost."
"Oh, I do that all the time. Sometimes I mark on the walls with crayon to remember where I am going."
"That's…good information to know." Simmons had never felt comfortable out right lying to someone, but he supposed it was better than the alternative in this case.
The young man's voice went into a conspiratorial stage whisper, "Though since I can only bring so many crayons with me I get confused again when I pass two blue puppies in a row!"
"We'll try to vary then. Maybe draw some flowers." Church's tone was slightly exasperated, but his willingness to play along to this bizarre conversation at least showcased that he didn't want to harm the Resistance fighter either.
"Flowers are nice. I like flowers." He was practically beaming now, "Oh, today is such a great day! First I met Freckles and now I met you." He grinned at Church in particular, "You can be my new best friend since you are also wearing blue!"
"Sure." Church shot Simmons and Sheila an obvious What is wrong with this kid? look that was made all the more impressive since he had a helmet on, "But shouldn't we go our separate ways now and meet up later? With the shaking earlier, this place probably isn't stable and we really should find our way back on our own." He paused, trying to come up with a reason why that would be plausible, "For, uh, testing purposes. You know how it is."
"Oh, that wasn't shaking!" The young man seemed rather amused at the suggestion, "That was Freckles."
"Freckles?" Simmons repeated, more confused now than he'd ever been in his whole life.
"Yeah, we were walking and he got excited and ran ahead. He does that a lot." The blonde called out over them, "Freckles, say hello to our new friends!"
"THREAT LEVEL DIMINISHING."
And it was then that the three could have probably kicked themselves for not having noticed the giant assault droid behind them who had been apparently silently observing the whole exchange with a lot of nasty-looking guns pointed at them.
Simmons gulped, really unsure of how to explain that one at all.
"Yeah, he likes to play hide-and-seek with people. Then he likes to play hide-and-seek-and-sometimes-shooting-people." He supplied helpfully, "He really likes to play a lot."
"What should we do, Church?" Simmons whispered, suddenly extremely aware of just how badly the tables had changed once again.
"Quiet! I'm thinking."
"If I had my original body, this may have been less one-sided." Sheila lamented.
Church glanced over at the blond-haired Resistance fighter, "We might be able to take him." He finally muttered.
"Before or after the killer robot over there kills some of us?" Simmons' voice rose to an incredulous pitch.
"Hey, as long as it is either of you two and not me I'm good."
Simmons wasn't sure whether he was joking or not, but he was seriously debating trying to throttle his teammate before Freckles shot all of them.
"You really do find the strangest shit, Caboose."
A new voice spoke up from behind the blond, a woman in black armor suddenly melting into view from the shadows.
Simmons stared at her, surprised at how oddly familiar she looked.
Nearby, Church tensed visibly.
"Oh fuck." He heard him mutter, "Not her. Anyone but her."
She turned her head to regard Church and there was a slight amused note to her tone, "Buenos dias, cockbite." She said in way of greeting.
She glanced past them and the giant mech, "Everything okay, North?"
Another armored figure appeared from the tunnel exit they had just used, the group lined up in the sights of the sniper rifle he held in front of him, "All clear, Tex. They're the only ones." He called out.
And Simmons knew who he was right away, the voice and the violet armor all too familiar even though he'd only really seen him around the Mother of Invention before and hadn't directly interacted with him.
Agent North Dakota, formerly of Project Freelancer.
Which no doubt meant that 'Tex' probably stood for Agent Texas then. A soldier he hadn't encountered personally himself, but had first heard about because she'd somehow thrown a goddamned tank across a field during a training drill.
We're fucked.
She turned to them again, as if waiting patiently for something. The fighter she called Caboose smiled, apparently oblivious to what was actually going on in this tense situation.
Finally, Church let out a ragged sigh and dropped his gun to the floor with a heavy thud, "We surrender."
"What? Why?"
Not that Simmons didn't understand the logic. Truthfully, he'd been more than a little peeved at Church's earlier tactical suggestion in regards to when they were just dealing with the assault droid, but he was curious to know what had changed in Church's mentality with the appearance of these two newcomers even if they were Freelancers considering how the giant mech hadn't apparently had that much of an impact on him earlier.
Church turned to him wearily, "Because I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance of Freckles over there taking the two of you out first. Knowing her, she'd gun right for me first just out of spite."
The woman gave a mock bow, "Aw, you know me so well. That's sweet, Church."
"Shut up, bitch."
Simmons watched the exchange in confusion, surprised to note that Tex seemed more amused by Church's comment than angry despite its harshness, "You two…you two know each other then?"
His teammate groaned, "Worse than that. She's my ex-girlfriend."
Surprisingly, for the first time since Grif had joined the Resistance, there were actual prisoners to be had at base.
"First time any Above Grounders have ever surrendered." Sarge said to his team which he had dubbed the Red Team because of his unhealthy obsession with that color and its various shades except orange. His color obsession was almost on par with his unnatural love for his shotgun and violence in general, "Never thought I'd see the day."
He almost sounded disappointed. Maybe Sarge was in a way, on account of how he generally preferred simply shooting things.
"Can you blame them?" Grif asked, not really caring a ton but always in the mood to rile Sarge (fair is fair and all that shit), "They were facing Caboose's killer dog and two Freelancers. That's a pretty no-win situation."
"Of course you'd say that, Grif." He said disparagingly, "You're a lazy coward who will never understand how glorious a death it is to die fighting your enemies to the bitter end even when you know you're done for."
"I will if you keep ordering me to attack people with no bullets in my gun."
Sarge sighed, "One can only hope, dirt bag. One can only hope."
"Estoy tan contenta de que me construí para este ejército. En serio." {"I am so glad I was built for this army. Seriously."}
He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Grif was fairly certain Lopez had just insulted all of them.
"Lopez is right, what is going to happen to them now?" Donut asked.
"Yo no he dicho eso. Realmente me podría importar menos." {"I didn't say that at all. I really could care less."}
Sarge harrumphed, arms folded against his chest, "Kimball's debating on that right now, talking with Tex and the other two Freelancers." He let out a sigh, an almost worried expression in his eyes, "She's a hell of a leader when it comes to motivating people, but I worry she might be too soft-hearted for her own good in other ways."
"And yet she made you second-in-command, so I'd say she's more desperate than anything else."
Let alone that she'd recruited people like himself to help fight too, but Grif chose not to say that.
Sarge ignored Grif's mumbled comment, back straightening, "So, starting today Red Team will be on guard duty until we decide what's going to happen to them." He grinned, "And that way, if they're up to no good, they get to meet my shotgun up close and personal!" he laughed at that part maniacally.
Donut's brown eyes lit up, "Oh, does that mean we'll be on shower duty too?" he asked, "Dibs on the soap on a rope!"
Sarge stared at him for a moment, sighing, "Son, what have I told you about your talking points?" he asked.
"Um," Donut paused and thought about that for a moment, face scrunched in thought, "That I should always stop talking a sentence before I usually do?"
"Yes, or try not talking at all." He told him, "Silence is golden sometimes and all that."
Grif wasn't even going to comment on that exchange because it sort of freaked him out.
The "prison cells" were really just some storage rooms off to the side of the base. They were located far enough away from everything that any vital intel if it was floating around wouldn't be overheard (which, on any given day, was largely debatable), but close enough that if there was any sort of commotion they were easily accessible by pretty much everyone in the Resistance. The doors had been replaced with bars ("Oh, old-school!" Donut had exclaimed far too jubilantly for the situation when he saw them) that were pulled into a locked position thanks to a nearby computer terminal.
It had been a spot where Grif had snuck a few naps on occasion, so he was sort of bummed that it was occupied now though he assumed guard duty would probably be boring enough that he could get a nap or several in for as long as they were stuck doing it.
At least, he supposed, it got him away from fighting in the tunnels for awhile. Even if he was stuck doing it for the most part with a perky Donut and a sullen Lopez. Thankfully, Sarge would only be around every once in awhile given his other duties at base.
The three prisoners had been thoroughly checked over for concealed weapons and their helmets had been removed. Well, save for the female's helmet: apparently she was some kind of robot and as a result didn't have any face under her helmet which had sort of freaked a lot of people out. They had been separated into three different "cells" for the remainder of their time here.
All of them had glanced up when the replacement guards came, though the man with the cobalt armor and the goatee was the only one to speak. Grif really wasn't paying much attention, promptly sitting down on the nearest crate and trying to figure out the best approach to zoning out he could muster in this situation.
"Wow, we really must be a big deal if you three are our guards."
So the guy was sarcastic and blunt and they were going to be stuck with him for who knows how long. Fucking great.
"Not exactly our idea of a fun time either, asshole." He muttered, taking a cue from his sister's approach to people when they annoyed her for a change.
"Grif, that is rude!" Donut admonished him, hands on hips.
There was a startled, jerky movement in the cell next to Cobalt's at that. Grif cracked an eye open, but the figure inside had retreated to the back of the space, their maroon armor barely visible from where he was seated.
He frowned, finding something about that color oddly familiar.
"He started it." He tore his attention from the visible armor piece to defend himself lamely to Donut, who had started annoyingly tapping his foot on the ground when Grif hadn't responded to him quickly enough.
"Doesn't mean you bite back, Grif."
Cobalt whistled, apparently getting a kick out of the exchange between the two teammates, "That was a great comeback there."
"You know—" Grif stood up then and started making his way over to the guy's cell before Donut could stop him. Lopez seemed even better at zoning things out than he did, if that were possible. He could already tell dealing with this jerk was seriously going to get on his nerves if it continued like this.
Grif wasn't expecting the hand that suddenly shot out and grabbed at his arm from the neighboring cell, the grip both oddly strong and shaking all at once.
He started, about to yell at the Above Grounder to shove off when he saw a familiar, hesitant green eye regarding him with a mixture of disbelief and trepidation.
And suddenly his throat was way too tight and dry, even though his first cognizant thought was yell and call him a dumbass for leaving like he did without saying anything.
Instead of that, though, at practically the exact same moment both he and Simmons had gotten their voices back to functioning enough to shout the exact same thing at one another:
"What the fuck are you doing here?!"
Author's Notes: A bit of an evil cliff-hanger of sorts, but I figured I would stop it there at the exact "reunion" moment so that I can spend the next chapter really going into what happens afterwards. Sorry about that though! XD
Also, this is the first chapter where I wrote from the perspective of a character other than Grif and Simmons (Washington, in this case). That will probably be occurring with more frequency in future chapters since there are so many points to the story and it will be impossible to really go into them without having other character POVs. I am going to be limiting it to a small number of characters, though, to keep things from getting out of hand. I am thinking probably Washington, Tucker, C.T., Church, and York will get POVs at times given their connections to various plot-lines and maybe Felix once I decide on his story more too, but that will be about it. Though everyone else will still be quite important to the story, of course! :) And, naturally, since they're the two main characters and everything, the main focus will still be on Grif and Simmons throughout. :D
But that's why I had a Washington POV sneak its way into this chapter when I hadn't been writing from him before, in case anyone was wondering about it. I hope I didn't write him too badly, he's going to go through a lot of development cycles throughout the timeline of this fic. XD
So, yep, actual Grimmons interactions in the next chapter and other things will happen too! Thank you very much for reading this fic and I hope that this chapter was enjoyable for you. :D