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 Seven:
To say that their leader did not look pleased was an understatement.
The regular soldiers and other military employees who had been selected (whether luckily or unluckily, take your pick) to go with them on this mission were understandably giving her a wide berth.
Hell, most of the Freelancers were doing the same, not wanting Carolina to redirect any of the obvious tension visible in her stiff body language towards them.
Even fully armored, her posture was rigid with hands clenched into fists at her sides, only mere seconds from drawing her weapons if a situation called for it. Not that it really made much of a difference as either with her guns or without anyone going up against Carolina was not going to be getting back up anytime soon. They'd be lucky if they ever managed to get up again at all, truthfully.
Washington was spreading his attention in all directions. First he looked to the soldiers opening up the tunnel blocks before them. Opening the gate locks took a pretty high skill level in computer programming that even most Freelancers did not possess. York had been the only one on their immediate team he knew to be able to do so, though it often took him awhile and that was mainly due to his knowledge of locks and security coding in general. He supposed Florida might have known how as well considering his infiltration background, but he never bragged about it if that was in fact the case. Then he looked to the other Freelancers milling about at the ready (and all pointedly ignoring one another, he noted), and then his attention fell to the mercenary in the steel and sage green armor who was being forced on them for this mission.
The mercenary was employed by someone high up in The Council, apparently, and Washington suspected he knew what that vague description really meant—though he couldn't really guess at Hargrove's game at the moment.
Spy and report on all fronts, those had been his only instructions. He didn't even know for what, though the implication of a war on two fronts, both within the military itself and with The Slums in general, seemed a likely reason for so much observation and preparation on the Chairman's end.
Fucking great.
He ignored the uneasiness that grew in him at the thought and he tried telling himself he'd moved past that the second he had made his decision, probably even before then, really—when all of the dirty little secrets of Project Freelancer had forced themselves into Washington's brain along with an A.I. just trying to shed them in there in his own desperate attempt to get out.
It didn't make a damn bit of difference anyway, so long as he was finally able to get away from all of this in the end.
Given the "stay in your own personal space bubble" motif that seemed to be the general consensus of everyone right now, Washington was somewhat surprised to note the woman in the silver pilot's uniform who approached Carolina rather fearlessly after a few moments had passed with him lost in his own thoughts.
He recognized her as Four Seven Niner, the pilot who had been responsible for taking them to and from their surface missions back before the whole project had been grounded, more or less, given everything that had happened.
It seemed odd, unnatural even to see her underneath the city when she'd always jokingly said during flights how much more she enjoyed flying over Above Ground than even living in it.
"This seems pretty extreme for an extraction plan for three low-level soldiers." She said, surveying the activity around them. Her tone was oddly light and conversational considering who she was talking to.
Washington was halfway expecting Carolina to jump down the pilot's throat given how harsh she'd become whenever one of them seemed to remotely question a mission nowadays.
Perhaps it was because Four Seven Niner wasn't directly under command or how they used to get along well enough before everything had pretty much imploded or maybe it was just that Four Seven Niner's comment was more an observation than the challenge or argument that usually underlined similar comments she tended to receive, but Carolina didn't seem to take offense to it at all.
He remembered the two of them sometimes quipping to the other during pretty intense flights—something about Carolina's new friends always seeming so nice and whether or not "bumpy" or "crashy" were the best terms for turbulence that could sometimes be peppered with bullets during training routines
"Not really my call. A team of two could probably get the mission done even more efficiently." She let out a tired sigh, "But these orders came from the top."
"The big guy?" the tan woman seemed surprised.
Carolina gave a curt nod, "Not just the Director though. The Council too."
"Huh. That's weird."
The woman in cyan and silver armor shook her head, saying nothing. Washington imagined she'd been going over the whole perplexing situation in her head constantly since it had begun.
The Director and the Council's interest in this mission didn't really make a ton of sense, not when looking at the soldiers involved.
Yes, he knew that Simmons came from a long line of military men and that his father was actually still a pretty prominent figure within the military and the Council. But that wouldn't be worth the risk of a rescue mission, and from what Washington knew about the man, he doubted he would even waste the effort on one, especially for a son with as embarrassingly low military accomplishments as Simmons still had even with the money put on him from the cybernetic enhancements experiment. Given the overall low performance rates of the soldiers who had volunteered for the experiment in general the project had recently been considered a failure and an unfortunate expenditure compared to other military programs, so there was no reason to try to salvage another fighter from it as far as the budget was concerned.
Granted, the robot soldier Sheila might be worth a rescue attempt simply from a hardware spec stance alone: Virtual Intelligences took a lot of time and energy to develop, so losing one always hurt from a resources stance. But even looking at it from that perspective, it would have been a justifiable sacrifice if they left it there.
Leonard Church was even less remarkable looking at the records: distant genealogy on file to the Director and a service record that had no remarkable notes to it. One wouldn't even give him a second thought.
Then again, Washington knew a little better. His, its, memories were a jumbled mess in his head, but he could discern enough from them.
He didn't think it was a coincidence the soldier happened to share the same name as the Director. He was even starting to suspect the "distant relation" gimmick to explain that was a ploy too.
Plus, the Chairman setting this whole thing up? Washington was pretty sure he damn well knew for certain as well. Malcolm Hargrove was probably just trying to test the waters, so to speak: see if he could prove the theory true.
The Director, having perhaps realized Hargrove's game himself, was probably just trying to cover his own tracks at this point.
There was also the issue of the Resistance and the three defectors from Project Freelancer to consider too.
No wonder the roster for this mission was so overkill.
Several birds that could be taken out with one stone, as it were—all under the guise of a "rescue mission" that had been intentionally set-up.
He smiled grimly under his helmet. Nothing really ever changed, it seemed. Now they were just being screwed over by two people's power struggles instead of just one person's.
Washington didn't think the person he'd chosen to work for in this junction was any fucking different after all, but he was just tired and desperate enough to ignore the little bit of his conscience that still remained.
Well, more like he was just fed up with listening to it right now, considering what it had gotten him into in the first place. Thinking he'd been making a difference and finding out how far from the actual truth that really was had just near killed him—quite literally given what had happened with Epsilon.
"So any particular reason I have to be the one to drive this glorified metal box on steroids through cramped places that will probably make the whole experience one I'll want to scrape from memory?" Four Seven Niner asked Carolina a different question instead of continuing on the earlier train of thought.
She seemed adept at reading when it was safe and when it wasn't to navigate certain topics. Perhaps that was a sign of the intuitiveness that made Four Seven Niner a good pilot at work in other areas of her life.
She was indicating the transport close to the exit to Above Ground. It did appear pretty large and bulky given the heavy armor surrounding the vehicle. It was almost hard to believe it would be capable of navigating some of the tunnels at all despite assurances that it had been tested out in the field earlier just fine.
"I thought you might have wanted a break from being stuck in an office all the time now."
Four Seven Niner scoffed, "Being underground in that thing will probably be the same as being stuck doing mindless paperwork. Only dirtier."
There was an almost wry note to Carolina's tone when she spoke next, "Don't forget 'bumpy.'"
"'Suffocatey' works too."
It was rare to witness Carolina even remotely joke anymore. Washington was surprised at the tightening in his throat when he witnessed the exchange.
Maybe it was because it hit so close to home, dredging up memories of when he hadn't known so much. When things had been tough, but oddly fun—when even hard-edged Carolina had softened just a little and joked with them from time to time.
York. York had always been there then, and North too.
They'd be there, at the Resistance base probably. As would Texas.
He glanced at the tenseness in Carolina, knowing that she knew that too.
How would she react if she saw York again?
How would South react, seeing her brother?
He didn't bother thinking about Tex. He imagined both of the Freelancers would react the same to her. South blamed Agent Texas' defection for too many things and neither of them had gotten along too well with one another in the brief time that Tex had been active on the roster.
And Carolina—well, there had always been a tension between her and the Director's "pet."
He imagined the defection, especially given York's decision to participate in it, would no doubt have only increased that tenfold.
How would Washington react if he ran into them? How should he react?
He wasn't really sure he wanted to dwell on it.
On the one hand, he could understand the reasoning behind the defection all too well now. Project Freelancer in general had been screwing each and every one of them over, after all. It wasn't like Above Ground in particular hadn't been doing the same to the Slums. Probably worse even, but he didn't want to dwell on that either.
But they'd known even earlier than he had, had suspected earlier that things weren't right if nothing else—and they'd left him, abandoned him when he hadn't even been sure of who he was anymore. Still didn't sometimes—events, memories, and emotions all a blur to the point where he was never fully certain what was something that had truly belonged to "David" and what had belonged to someone else entirely, still woke up screaming some nights about losing her and he didn't even know who she was in that panicked state: Allison, he would realize later when things had calmed slightly and he could breathe close to normal again. Allison always existed as the cornerstone of Epsilon's tortured memories.
Washington understood, yes, but he still felt betrayed and angry. Given his assignment it was probably for the best that he tap into that viewpoint more in order to achieve what he had to do for his own goals now.
Still, he hated that hesitancy that wormed its way into his mind whenever he thought upon it.
"That's the last bulkhead that needs to be unsealed, right?" he heard Four Seven Niner ask.
Carolina's gaze flickered back to where the tech specialists assigned to the mission were huddled together by a computer panel, the coding flashing along the screen moving at an incredibly fast pace.
"Yes." Her hands clenched at her sides again.
"Wouldn't using the green guy make that easier?"
Washington's attention focused solely on them once more at the pilot's question.
He'd heard her call someone that before. Only—that couldn't be right, could it?
The A.I. Fragments that had been confiscated from the defectors had been put back into containment at the storage facility on the Mother of Invention for the time being. Omega had always been a risky gamble, volatile as he was. No one would probably ever use him again. At least he hoped not. Theta and Delta could potentially be implanted again once the restrictions were lifted, but there was the matter of them possibly not being loyal to the project due to their involvement with North and York that had to be considered carefully too. He doubted little Theta in particular would bond nearly as well with someone else as he did with patient, understanding North Dakota.
But with the way Four Seven Niner had worded the question, it almost seemed as if…
Carolina visibly stiffened even more at the question (he hadn't thought it possible) and turned to look at him for the first time. The direct, sudden eye contact terminated his trail of thought and he suddenly felt ridiculously like a little kid again having just been caught eavesdropping on an adult conversation he wasn't supposed to have overheard.
"Agent Washington," she called over to him, "Shouldn't you be preparing for the mission right now instead of wasting time standing there?"
He'd already prepared countless times before they'd even gone into the tunnels. He was fairly certain she knew that too, but Carolina's question was meant to be a dismissal: a warning for him to not listen anymore to something she apparently considered very much none of his business.
It was probably best not to ignore the message.
He nodded quickly, "I'll get on it right away."
"Good."
Washington didn't need to be told twice. He had learned well enough by now when to pretend he hadn't found out something he wasn't meant to know.
He passed C.T. on his way to the transport to check over the extra equipment they were bringing for the twentieth time or so. Odds were good everything would be where he'd last made a mental note of them being, but it gave him something to do and he enjoyed having something menial to focus his thoughts on for a change. She was tapping her right forearm nervously.
Another thing he was pretending not to notice for the moment.
He frowned, knowing he'd have to address it later. He just didn't know how yet.
Washington really couldn't wait until all of this was finally behind him. If it ever could be.
They had barely had enough time to warn Kimball before things escalated to "very bad, very quickly" by York's estimation.
The walls of the small space that could arguably be described as a glorified broom closet, really, as Kimball had long since decided that being the leader of the Resistance didn't mean she was entitled to a lavish workspace when larger areas could be better served to house more men and equipment, that served Vanessa Kimball as her "office" at base started to shake very noticeably. Computer terminals flickered along with the lighting, threatening to plunge the whole enclosed space into utter darkness.
"Shit, was she sending you those updates while they were on the fucking move?" York called out to Tex as the rumbling continued.
The darkened visor of her helmet turned in his direction, "More than likely."
That alone was disturbing from several fronts: the primary two being that now they more than likely were totally going to be screwed since there was now no time to prepare for an attack that was in the midst of happening already in the corridors directly around the base itself if the shaking was any indication, and that the odds of C.T. getting caught sending them intel was probably a hell of a lot higher now.
Kimball said nothing, though from the slight incline of her head to the side it appeared as if she was perhaps listening or reading something on a private communication frequency built into her armor. Reports about what was going were most likely coming in to her from all over.
"It looks like they're attacking from the tunnels closest to Entryway 4B from Above Ground." He could almost hear the frown in her voice as she turned to regard them both, her helmet blocking her face from view: "An attack from only one entryway. Even taking into account the mazes and different branches the tunnels turn into, that's a bold move. Superior firepower or no, having one exit would be a poor strategy."
Case in point, the Resistance base was always set up to be impermanent and easily moveable if necessary and always took advantage of the labyrinth-like quality of the mines. People could slip in and out of the base at numerous locations, should it be deemed necessary.
He wondered if Kimball would consider this one of those times or not.
She continued after a moment, "But I'm suspecting that's not really the case here."
Tex nodded, "They're sending in regular military through Entryway 4B to serve as a distraction. While the Resistance is busy dealing with them, more elite soldiers and specialists will probably have already snuck in."
She was already moving to the door to check on the situation outside. No actual combat in the hallway yet, it look like—though there were lots of people running in every direction and distant sounds of gunfire, "C.T.'s orders are to sneak in to cut power to this section of the tunnels while that's going on."
So not only would they be dealing with heavy fighting, they'd also be dealing with it in near total blindness and with most of the computer and door mechanics off-line.
That would be perfect. Not.
"Should I try to get her to buy us some time?" Tex didn't exactly seem like she relished the prospect. Any action their informant took that went against orders would no doubt raise suspicion, after all, but she probably figured it was best from a tactical stance to lay out all their options on the table.
Perhaps thankfully though, Kimball shook her head, "No, the chances of her even getting a communiqué are slim at this point and her acting suspiciously would end badly for all of us given the stakes. We'll deal with the blackout if and when it occurs: our soldiers are actually a bit more used to power outages than I'm guessing some of the regular Above Ground troops are at any rate."
York couldn't help but grin, "And so their own tactic might bite them in the ass inadvertently, huh?"
A slight nod, "From a training, numbers, and technology stance we don't stand much of a chance against them directly. We have to take advantage of our knowledge of the terrain any way we can."
"It won't mean shit with the Freelancers though."
Kimball sighed and said in agreement to Tex's warning comment: "No, I figured as much already."
She turned to York suddenly, "Sarge is making his way to the prison area to get his team. Could you head there with him?"
"Sure." He glanced questioningly between her and Tex, wondering what they were going to do since neither of them seemed to be making a move to leave.
Kimball seemed to read his mind, "There's a strategy issue Tex had brought up before that we need to discuss still."
That was all the explanation he was going to have time for as another explosion caused the base to quake violently and that was motivation enough for York to hurry on his way to find Sarge.
He figured if he strained his ears to listen for the exuberant shouting, maniacal laughter, and shotgun blasts he could just make out in the din of the combat further away he would be bound to run into him eventually.
Waking up in general from a really good nap was a drawn out, tedious affair whenever it occurred naturally.
Doing so on account of violent shaking, explosions, and gunfire?
Pretty fucking brutal, especially when his brain was still in that sluggish, only partially awake point where it wasn't quite sharp enough to put two and two together yet.
"Uh, what…?" he opened his eyes groggily after a particularly large explosion rattled the makeshift prison area and hurt his ears, causing a couple of rock chunks to fall from the ceiling way too close to his head for comfort.
"Grif! Wake the fuck up already, you idiot!"
Evidently Simmons' brain was a lot sharper than the orange-armored fighter's was when it came to bouncing back to a more alert state. Or, more likely, Grif surmised, since Simmons seemed to exist on an always highly anxious plane of thought, he never really ever relaxed to the point of being lulled to complacency. Sort of sad in most situations, but probably more helpful in ones like this.
Simmons had already sprung back up to his feet, an odd little grimace momentarily flickering over his face when he did so even as Grif was still in the process of blearily wiping the sleep from his eyes. Grif wondered if maybe it had to do with that cybernetic enhancement stuff Simmons had been going on about before. It seemed like it possibly hurt him sometimes, though Simmons had tried glossing over it in conversation.
Simmons punctuated the urgency in his tone with a kick to Grif's shoulder through the bars to help speed him awake.
Of course, this actually hurt more than he'd probably intended it to given his enhancements as well. Grif felt the kick even through his armor, the force of it almost knocking him to the ground.
Suffice it to say though, it certainly did the trick in getting him awake.
"Ow!" Grif jumped up and rounded on the redhead staring determinedly at him from behind the bars of his cell, glaring at the Above Grounder in annoyance for the extremely rude awakening, "What the hell, Simmons?"
Simmons gestured to outside of the storage area they were in, the sounds of fighting coming from there only seeming to escalate and were getting louder as the moments ticked by.
"There's fighting going on out there!" he yelled in frustration, "Now is definitely not the time to be napping."
He sounded understandably on edge given the context. After all, he and his teammates were prisoners here—unarmed and without their helmets too, locked in small cells. Even if this was some kind of rescue mission for them, they were sitting ducks and could easily become collateral damage in a firefight situation.
Tucker was moving towards Grif, already putting his helmet on.
"He's right, fat-ass." He said in that tone of voice Tucker only ever used in situations he considered pretty fucking dire, "Where's your helmet?"
"Uh…" Grif blinked at the question, looking around frantically.
Where had he seen that damn thing last? He'd been fairly certain he had brought it in here. Maybe.
Tucker was sighing and shaking his head. Simmons was staring at him in open-mouthed incredulity.
Church whistled from the next cell over, "Again, great guard choices, guys. We're thrilled you thought so much of us."
"Oh, shut up."
Simmons finally managed to vocalize properly again after that little exchange between Grif and his teammate in the cobalt blue armor, "Seriously, Grif?"
He shrugged, feeling decidedly sheepish now, "Well, there was a lot going on and I didn't think I'd necessarily need it so soon…"
"You work in a rebel army base! Having your helmet with you at all times should be standard procedure!"
Wow, even when Simmons was reaming someone out for something admittedly pretty dumb he sounded like a nerd. Grif wasn't sure if he should laugh at that thought or feel oddly impressed by Simmons' consistency.
"It's around here somewhere. I think."
Simmons sighed exasperatedly and looked like he was about to say something else to him in annoyance over the missing helmet situation when another explosion caused the area to quake violently.
Instead of saying whatever he'd been about to say, Simmons grabbed onto the bars tightly with both hands. Grif tried to ignore the fact that he actually seemed to twist the metal slightly in the process of doing so. The maroon soldier looked decidedly squeamish.
Even Church had lost the smirk he'd had on his goateed face, frowning and glancing up at the ceiling overhead nervously.
"Shit, that one sounded fucking close." He mumbled. Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced around the space again.
"I know I was relieved earlier for the chance for some fucking peace and quiet finally, but where'd that Caboose kid go?"
There almost, almost sounded like something akin to slight worry in his voice despite how hard he tried to make his tone sound nonchalant and disinterested. He refused to meet anyone's eyes directly after asking it as well, as if embarrassed.
Tucker's back straightened sharply at the mention of his teammate, "Fuck!" he said in realization, "That moron said he was going to check on his dog!"
"Freckles?" Church seemed to relax slightly, "Well, if he's with the giant killer robot he's probably safer than we are standing around here like chumps."
Tucker said nothing, exchanging a look with Grif. Neither of them wanted to mention that because of the unease the assault droid caused at base, he was only allowed in the outskirt tunnels.
Which probably meant that Freckles had been near one of the first combat engagements and that it was quite likely that Caboose had been there too when it happened.
"Should I go look for him?" Donut asked from behind, nervousness apparent in both his voice and body language.
Tucker shook his head, "No, he's my teammate. Once we have a clearer view of what is going on, I'll go look for him."
"Sólo tienes que seguir los disparos y explosiones. Es probable que encuentres tanto de esa manera." {"Just follow the shooting and explosions. You'll probably find both of them that way."}
Grif turned to Simmons, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchange. His face still looked oddly ashen and his grip on the bars hadn't lessened any.
Hell, Grif was nervous as all fuck too and seeing that certainly didn't help matters.
Before he could even think about what he was doing or why, he reached out with his right hand and clasped it around one of Simmons' in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. He had sometimes done the same for Kai when they were little and she'd had a nightmare.
"It's going to be okay, Simmons." He murmured, hoping that at the very least Simmons would loosen his death-grip on the bars.
Simmons said nothing for a few very prolonged moments, eyes focused on the gloved hand covering his own.
When he finally did look up at Grif again his face was tinted red, probably in embarrassment for that whole episode having been done in public, but there was an oddly determined look in both his green eye and his red tinted one.
"You better find your damn helmet, fat-ass." He managed to somehow say without stammering in the slightest, "If you die on account of being a lazy fuck I will never forgive you."
Sometimes, Felix really questioned his fucking luck.
Granted, he had made some pretty poor decisions in the past. All for potentially lucrative assignments, but that was sort of par the course for someone in his line of work.
Everyone always had a motive behind their actions, after all. He'd learned that the hard way a hell of a long time ago. The lesson ingrained into his brain, his very skin, to the point where he would never fucking forget it.
Not that he dwelled constantly on the past or anything. No time for that when you were trying to get a decent paycheck. That giant computer terminal won't pay for itself, after all, nor would the freaking big ass mansion he planned to buy to house said giant terminal after he retired.
Besides, it wasn't like he wasn't constantly reminded of that fact whenever he so much as looked around at daily human interactions. His observational skills were second to none, both inside and outside of combat.
That's why he preferred his line of work to the proper military chain. Soldiers in general were motivated by personal wants just as much as the next person, but at least freelancers (mercenaries, he corrected mentally: it amused him to note that an actual military program used the term for its operatives too) were a lot more upfront and honest about it in general.
Plus, he enjoyed the freedoms and perks that come with his line of work. He could pick who he worked for and decide just how much he was willing to stake and for what price too.
Maybe, in a way, that was why he had chosen to approach the Resistance in the first place. In a way, he could respect what they were fighting for: freedom and equal treatment for all, and all of that other feel good crap that looks really great and totally doable on paper but seems pretty much impossible to ever achieve in reality. So he felt slightly at ease with accepting the job as a result. It didn't mean he wasn't going to make sure they paid him every credit his services were worth, of course.
However "noble" a cause, a charity worker he was not.
Their leader, Vanessa Kimball, was also pretty upfront and open about what she wanted out of the partnership too. She didn't hold anything back and was brutally honest about what she expected of him if he hoped to get paid his full amount. She didn't hide the fact that if they hadn't been desperate for more experienced soldiers in general she would never have even contemplated his offer and would have probably rejected it outright. As much as she didn't seem to like his outlook and as much as she showed distaste for it, she admitted that she pretty much was just as motivated by it for different reasons as well.
That it was reality, harsh as it was.
He could respect that about her and he knew that the contract was a fair one when all things were considered.
He was also not getting paid in credits, but in tech—which translated to probably even more credits through market connections than most soldiers-for-hire would ever see in a salary-based contract.
Working for a group that was stationed on a veritable gold mine of tech was a pretty lucrative prospect. Civilian-based, military-grade, alien: take your pick. Even just as scrap some pieces had value he could scarcely believe in the right channels. It paid knowing the right people and he knew lots of "right people."
So, all in all, one could say he knew how to pick his jobs well. He would fight for the Resistance for awhile, then pull out once things got too heated. The contract had been pretty clear on that, he'd made sure of it himself.
It was a case of everybody winning, at least for a little while.
But, no, the shit luck portion of his life had to butt in on quite literally the worst possible moment yet again. First day of starting his contract and apparently he walked right into a fucking ambush on the Resistance base.
A rock clanked underfoot and the two soldiers he'd been tracking (Above Grounders, standard military by the more nondescript battle armor they were wearing), turned around.
A combat knife was soon embedded in one of their throats and he was already moving in a steel and orange blur to disable the other one as his comrade choked out his last dying gurgles. A kick to the knee to make them lose their balance and a bullet through their visor as they scrambled to get him in their own weapon's sights to ensure they didn't regain it.
Felix was just that fucking good.
Hell, the sounds of heated fighting all around him in the tunnels didn't even phase him.
He was a professional and he damn well knew that if the Resistance fell he could kiss all of that wonderful tech goodbye. Above Ground sure as hell had a huge "finders keepers" policy when it came to that sort of thing and they usually always considered themselves the "finders" no matter what.
Best to just randomly pick off enemy combatants as he came across them then if the fight was winnable, while trying to find Kimball in the chaos and get clearer orders. He had a survivor's mentality: it was never a good or wise move to walk into a fight when the outcome was likely you being a bloody corpse afterwards.
If he was lucky, he could use this whole situation to his advantage and arrange for a renegotiation of his fee to boot. That would definitely be sweet.
Just as the opportunist in him was mentally patting himself on the back for the thought, turning the corner made him pause and self-congratulatory thoughts went out the window as "Oh, shit~!" filled his mind instead.
The sounds of constant chaos all around him had apparently shielded the very recent massacre that took place in the nearby corridor from his ears.
The bodies of several Resistance soldiers, made easily identifiable by the mismatched and well-worn equipment they had on and the random assortment of weaponry they carried, were laid on the ground in a non-distinct, bloody pile. He counted ten of them, maybe? It was hard to say, given the not-so-pleasant conditions of the deceased.
He ducked backwards the way he had just came, apparently avoiding the group of Above Ground soldiers who had finished "cleaning up" the tunnel.
More importantly in his book, he also avoided the steel and green-armored fighter who was apparently leading them.
The numbers were already stacked against him, but that pretty much cemented Felix would have been dead on the spot if he'd been seen.
"Let's move on then. We still have a lot of work to do." The gravelly voice Felix wished he didn't know as well as he did spoke up and footsteps indicated the group was departing the opposite way at the statement.
Felix waited a few moments, back pressed uncomfortably against the tunnel wall, before taking in a deep breath and peering around the corner once more—adrenaline pumping through his system at the very real possibility of a bullet heading into his brain at the act. He'd always been a sneaky bastard, loved to catch his opponents off-guard when he could.
Only the mercenary remained there, standing nonchalantly amidst the carnage. He was looking around and he almost wondered if maybe he'd heard Felix earlier or had seen a flicker of movement and was trying to pinpoint where it had come from exactly, but he doubted it: if the asshole had even suspected Felix was there, he'd be dead already.
No, it looked like he was listening to someone over a comm-link. Either someone down here or someone on a very heavy-duty frequency on the surface.
"Understood. Will file an observation report as I go."
With that, the other mercenary faded from view completely and Felix really didn't want to think about the ways in which a psycho like Locus probably got his hands on camouflage tech.
Well, it was probably very similar to how he had gotten his very nifty energy shield a few weeks ago, only no doubt much more disturbingly graphic.
So now Locus could turn pretty much invisible at will, be practically anywhere, and kill people even more stealthily than he had been able to do so before and he hadn't been a slouch in the stealth department in the past. Plus, he was working for Above Ground to boot.
That was fucking perfect.
Felix took a few more seconds to calm himself and then began to backtrack through the corridors he had gone through earlier. He wouldn't have risked trailing Locus when he was visible given what the fucker was capable of. Walking through tunnels with an invisible Locus was just asking to get shot or worse.
He'd find another way into the base somehow and then he was definitely renegotiating his contract with Kimball.
Having to deal with that dick in any capacity sort of made that a priority.
As far as actual mission assignments went, this plan from a strategic stance was fairly simple.
The infantry troops provided an initial distraction, mowing down any Resistance fighters they came across in the tunnels.
The Freelancers, in turn, used the distractions caused by the chaos to break further into the base and help ensure that there was less of an enemy group to deal with. If they found the missing team, great, if not—well, that wasn't their top concern.
Only real difference on that end was that C.T. had orders to infiltrate where the power supply lines were for a large portion of the tunnels and levels that made up the Resistance base and disable them so that the base was only running on emergency power and then she was potentially to look for the missing team afterwards and secure them.
Washington didn't really mind that, truthfully. He had certain suspicions regarding C.T. at the moment, but he doubted she would put Simmons and the others in jeopardy, which was more than he could say for a few of his other "teammates" at the moment. They were probably in the best hands with her being in charge of their rescue.
The other Freelancers, aside from being assigned different "areas" were pretty much given free rein to move.
To degrees, of course, and at least on the surface. Washington knew most of them no doubt had their own personal motivations, possibly even their own personal orders. He wasn't nearly naïve enough anymore to assume that others in the group weren't given different agendas: he was proof positive of that himself, after all.
Either way, though, the end result of all of it was pretty much a slaughter.
He was actually limiting himself on that end. He understood well enough why someone would perhaps want to fight against Above Ground. He wasn't going to go out of his way to kill them if it wasn't for a strategic stance.
He knew many of the others wouldn't. South and Wyoming weren't exactly ones to hold back if in a mood and neither was Carolina much these days, though she generally still only took out those she considered potential threats—it was just, unfortunately, most people she came across probably could be construed as potential threats in her eyes. That mercenary named Locus—well, the things one heard about him were enough to make anyone's skin crawl. Definitely not liking that apparently he was on the Council payroll at all.
"Almost there." C.T.'s voice said over the team comm-link.
"Good." Carolina's voice responded back, "Let us know when you're ready to cut the power. Everyone else, maintain radio silence unless there is an emergency."
Someone in a mixed-matched outfit raised a gun towards him out of the corner of his eye while he was listening in on the communication. Washington didn't even slow down in his quick pace through the passageway as he pulled the trigger on his own weapon and the rebel fell down in an unmoving heap on the floor.
That was probably the fifteenth one or so, if he'd had bothered counting, but that was more than just a little disheartening to do in a situation like this.
Screw observation reports, once an enemy combatant was dead they weren't really an issue anymore.
No, Hargrove was more interested in equipment and gear, what tech the Resistance had at their disposal, and the general layout of their operations. The people behind those things and why they were here at all meant less than dirt by comparison.
That mentality was so similar to Project Freelancer's it could almost make Washington laugh bitterly. Best not to dwell on it. Probably best not to dwell on the people he was fighting here either for similar reasoning.
Of course, encountering a heavily-armed assault droid wasn't something he'd been eager to do in the tunnels either.
"ENEMY DETECTED."
He barely had time to duck forward as the wall behind him became peppered with a spray of bullets so numerous and forceful that it practically turned several meters of the thick rock that comprised it into a fine powder floating in the air.
That would have been decidedly bad if he'd been hit by it.
Best to stay on the move then, if he could get around the mech somehow…
His attention had been so focused on the large, looming threat in front of him that he had only marginally noticed the blue armored soldier who had suddenly materialized right in front of him.
"Wow, you are quick at dodging. All of the other people who played tag with Freckles are still sleeping!"
Not sure at first what the hell the younger man was talking about, Washington glanced down momentarily—noticing for the first time the assorted bodies of Above Ground soldiers littering the space between him, the newcomer, and the mech. All of them had various bullet holes tearing through their armor and bodies.
Fuck, how did he not notice what he'd been walking into? His brain was still nowhere near as sharp as he needed it to be, it seemed. Even with the chaos going on with all of the fighting, that was a major tactical error he could not afford to make ever again.
Briefly, it crossed his mind as he was mentally kicking himself over that huge mistake that the robot was no longer shooting. He made a note of that, as well as that it seemed as if the stop was timed with the appearance of this Resistance soldier in front of him.
Maybe it was programmed to avoid friendly fire? As long as the soldier wasn't a threat keeping him between Washington himself and the sights of the mech might be a good idea. It didn't seem very likely the soldier was one at the moment given the friendly, way-too-open way he was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for Washington to respond.
"Er…playing. Yes." He wasn't sure whether or not the young Resistance fighter was just acting simple-minded as some kind of ruse to get him to lower his guard or what. It was a bad one, if that was the case: he was leaving himself completely vulnerable to attacks from every direction—Washington could kill him in several different ways in mere seconds if he needed to. Still, it seemed prudent to play along at the moment.
"There were lots of explosions and gunshots going on. It's almost like it's a birthday!" the Resistance soldier tilted his head to the side, "Only, I don't think this is a good time to be playing. Or napping."
Hm, so despite how he was acting he at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. Only heavily removed from reality then, not completely separated from it.
"It really isn't." Washington found it oddly easy to fall back into the reassuring tone that he had used with his cats when he was younger in this exchange, possibly due to the childish tone the fighter was taking that seemed more and more genuine as he regarded his body posture and the moments ticked by, "You might want to get further inside the base with—ah, Freckles was it?" he glanced at the assault droid, recalling what the blue-armored soldier had referred to it as earlier, "This isn't so much playing as it is fighting."
He hoped that worked.
Please don't make me kill you. I'd rather not. I'd also prefer getting that trigger-happy mech as far away from me as possible.
"Shouldn't you come too then?"
He blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the innocent query. What was with this kid? Anyone else in his situation would have realized right away that he was probably an enemy.
"We should warn Tucker and the nice lady!" his tone was urgent, "And go help Church too."
"Church?"
That was the name of one of the soldiers from Simmons' team. The one who also shared that name with the Director for reasons that Washington was beginning to have very strong suspicions about.
Shit, this kid knew where they were?
"You know him?" he seemed extremely pleased at the idea, "He is my new best friend! Which makes us friends too!"
That was some pretty dicey logic there, but Washington really didn't want to argue it given the opportunity this presented and the fact that Freckles could still probably take him out if he wasn't careful.
Getting further into the base and possibly freeing Simmons and the others would help his mission a lot and it would help guarantee that they could get out of there okay in case C.T. wouldn't be able to get to them due to something unforeseen happening.
"I was…looking for him actually." Not exactly a lie, more of a half-truth (while technically on a rescue mission, the rescue part had never been his central focus on paper), "Didn't know where he was."
"We should go see him then. I bet he'll be so happy!"
"Sure." He was still reeling from this very bizarre turn of events, "Lead the way, umm…?"
Right, killer robot's name was apparently Freckles. He still hadn't gotten the Resistance fighter's name.
"Come on, Freckles!" he seemed overeager to go though, ignoring Washington's prompt.
"ACKNOWLEDGED." The robot's booming voice reverberated as he started heading deeper into the catacombs.
Washington wasn't exactly thrilled that apparently the mech would be with them the whole time, but he could hopefully figure out some way to deal with it by the time they reached the missing team. He noticed several of Freckles' guns were still trained on him, which would probably make things a little more difficult.
More and more equipment, furniture, and general signs of living began showing up as they continued their trek. They were heading further into the base proper, it seemed.
None of the fighters moving past them in a hurry paid any heed though. Distracted as they were by the conflict, they probably just assumed Washington was a Resistance fighter they hadn't met yet.
Which suited him just fine, since that meant his biggest concern by and large was still going to be Freckles for the time being.
Finally, it seemed to dawn on the young man that he hadn't told Washington his name.
"Silly me, I didn't say who I was, did I? I forget to do that all the time because I know myself!" he could almost imagine the Resistance soldier grinning widely at that, "I'm Caboose!"
Of course he was.
Washington noticed that his visor stared at him as if waiting for the other man to supply something as well. He sighed.
"Washington."
"Washingtub?" another head-tilt, "That's a funny name."
"That's because that wasn't what I said. At all."
Caboose stared at him with what was no doubt probably a blank look on his face to rival his visor and Washington sighed. Strange how he was trying to explain his name to a Resistance fighter of all things now.
But that was before the bullet whizzed by his head, missing the top of his helmet by a hair's breadth.
Intentional miss. I'd been in his sights way too long.
He cursed himself for letting the bizarre turn of events with the Caboose kid and Freckles distract him.
"It's Washington, Caboose." A familiar voice coming from an equally familiar violet armor said, "After a province on Old Earth."
Washington was moving to the side behind a small transport that looked to be inoperable, gun trained on his former teammate the whole time. Freckles didn't fire, probably because his attention wasn't on Caboose and he hadn't fired yet.
Caboose just stood there, unsure of what was going on.
"Hey, Wash." North Dakota's eyes never left the scope of his sniper rifle, but he didn't pull the trigger again either. There was a hesitant note to his tone as if he was dreading this situation just as much as his former teammate was, "Fancy meeting you here."
"Things are getting mighty brutal out there!"
Sarge's voice boomed through the storage area before his red-armored figure even dove through the doorway, shotgun brandished before him as if expecting a fight even in there.
"No shit. We've been hearing it for the better part of twenty minutes." Church's sarcastic tone filtered in from behind Grif. There was an oddly approving look in his blue eyes all the same, "Sort of impressed you guys have held out this long though."
The older man scoffed, his visor turning in the prisoner's direction, "Damn straight we have. We might not have as fancy weapons or the numbers you Above Grounders do, but we do have strategy and the ability to kick ass all the same!"
"Okay, that sounded like an afterschool special that went horribly wrong somewhere along the way."
Tucker and the rest of Red Team were somewhat relieved to see York stepping in after Sarge. Any of the former Freelancers were definitely good to have on your side if there was a fight about to happen.
"Really? If that had played as one in a video reel, I'd probably have been a lot more likely to have paid attention." Tucker joked, though he bounced back to a serious disposition afterwards fairly quickly given the gunfire they could hear echoing outside, "So, what the fuck is going on then?"
"We're under attack, that's what!" Sarge was starting to pace impatiently around the area, body language tense and agitated. Not being directly involved in a fight usually did that to him, "Probably on account of these three here. Or at least they're the excuse for it." He cast looks at all of the prisoners in their holding cells before sighing, "Knew I didn't like that whole 'Surrender' option for a reason."
Church rolled his eyes, "Yeah and we were fucking thrilled with it too. Not to mention the whole 'getting killed' alternative was just fucking awesome also."
The ex-Freelancer in their midst coughed uncomfortably, shooting Church an apologetic look, "Actually, that might still end up happening regardless. Sorry."
"What?" Church gave him a blank look, the Above Grounder not sure what York was referring to.
Grif could practically feel Simmons tense behind him. He glanced over at him, seeing the pale redhead trying to school his expression into a more controlled-looking one and not doing the greatest job with it.
Surprisingly, it was Tucker who spoke up before anyone else on the subject, "Why would that happen?" he asked, genuinely sounding curious, "Did Kimball or someone else give out an execution order?"
Sarge harrumphed, "Don't be ridiculous. Executing them now wouldn't make a lick of difference. This whole thing's escalated into something else entirely."
"The 'rescue mission' is more than likely just a pretext. An excuse to finally take action in the stalemate situation we'd all been stuck in more or less." York looked pointedly at everyone in the room when he spoke, his gaze lingering especially on the three prisoners, "That's just how Above Ground operates."
"It is their usual pattern when it comes to tactical decisions regarding the Slums." Sheila's voice stated softly in agreement.
"Parece que los dos nos vendría bien un empleo diferente." {"Sounds like we both could use different employment."}
She inclined her head slightly, as if in agreement to Lopez's statement. It was odd to see the brown-armored robot almost fidget in a decidedly nervous-looking way in response.
"Well, yeah, we all pretty much know the Council views anyone who isn't them as chopped liver." Church shrugged indifferently at the sentiment, "Still doesn't explain how we could end up dead as a result of this."
"While we are holding our own pretty admirably all things considered, the situation is getting worse by the second." York's tone was surprisingly patient given what was going on, "In a lot of areas around the base already we're kind of getting our asses kicked and it's starting to spill over inside of the base now too."
"Above Grounders aren't exactly well viewed here, besides." Sarge cut in, his voice gruff and serious, "Pretty much everyone knows you three were here before this whole thing went down."
"S—so they'll blame us for it." Simmons' voice was strangely quiet when he spoke, barely a whisper.
Sarge sighed, almost sounding regretful, "'Fraid so, son."
"Regardless of orders otherwise, we might get killed just because some of your fighters want to vent their frustrations on Above Grounders." Church's eyes narrowed as he spoke, realizing the direction of the conversation.
"There's a lot of hatred for Above Ground here. Especially its soldiers." The old man was muttering now, "If it were up to me, now that you're here I'd give you the option to join the fight if you wanted, but that probably won't fly with most people here. They're liable to shoot you so much as look at you."
"Fucking great."
Grif frowned, "So what are we going to do then? Stand here and wait for someone to come in and shoot them?" he couldn't even look at Simmons or the others at this point, an odd surge of panic rising in his chest at the thought, "We can't just let that happen!"
Sarge almost seemed surprised at the passionate outburst from his laziest recruit, though he quickly turned it around to the usual frustration he had for pretty much everything his orange-armored subordinate said, "Of course not, numb nuts! Everyone has their orders in this situation and right now ours are still guard duty. If someone comes in here with murder on their mind, even one of our own, they're going to get a shotgun to the face."
Grif turned around to cast a reassuring look at his friend, but Simmons' eyes were fixed pointedly on the floor. The whole ordeal was no doubt incredibly nerve-wracking for him and Church in particular. Not that Sheila was probably thrilled with it either, it was just hard to completely wrap one's head around what emotions robots felt if you weren't one. There wasn't really anything Grif could do to make Simmons feel better—which sucked, majorly.
"Wow, I feel so much safer now."
Though apparently Church's way of dealing with the stress was to be a sarcastic asshole, like always.
"Oh can it, blue, you're almost as bad as Grif."
Grif ignored the questioning look the man in cobalt armor shot his way and sighed. Even with actual fighting going on, apparently Sarge would never give him a break from the insults.
He supposed he should just be grateful that he hadn't given him an order to run through the corridors screaming to distract Above Ground attention from the more "valuable" Resistance fighters yet. …Though he suspected it was only a matter of time before that order happened.
"But even if it's a fake one, it's still a rescue mission probably, right?" Donut finally chimed in, his voice rather shaky and not nearly as energetic as it normally was, "So, if these guys are returned then-"
York shook his head regretfully, cutting the younger fighter off, "There's no way to tell what would happen now."
"But—it might be worth trying still, right?"
Grif turned slightly, surprised to hear Simmons finally saying something about what was going on.
The maroon soldier seemed nervous at the attention as everyone turned to him, but he plowed on through, "If us getting back to the Above Ground troops means the possibility that the fighting might stop than less Resistance fighters could be hurt or worse!"
"Yeah, or the three of you could be killed trying to even fucking get to them!" Grif interjected so quickly that his brain barely had time to wonder at the vehemence his words held at the suggestion.
Simmons looked as if he wanted to argue back and Grif was already trying to come up with a counterpoint. Not having the time for dwelling on the "why" behind it didn't change that he really didn't want to see Simmons get killed here—or even the other two Above Grounders, probably.
York cut in again before either person could speak: "Wouldn't be worth the risk unless we had some security measure up, I'm afraid."
"So we fucking get one." Church was adamant, "Sounds like one of the only 'better' options we have at the moment."
"There's got to be something." Tucker grabbed onto one of the bars of Church's cell for balance as another explosion rocked the area just as he finished talking.
"You mean something along the lines of a potentially more secure route?"
It was Kimball's voice that had spoken just then and all heads had swiveled in the direction of the entryway to find her standing there along with Tex.
"Hey, cock bites, don't go deciding things without us." The black-armored figure said.
Church looked ready to spit something back at her for that when the entire base was suddenly swallowed in pitch blackness.
"Shit, looks like they found that power supply." York mumbled.
"¿Lo crees?" {"You think?"}
Four things happened pretty simultaneously following that.
The first was a distinct whirring noise filling the air just as the auxiliary power flickered dimly on. Not only had they been suddenly in total darkness for a few seconds, but apparently Donut had somehow managed in that brief amount of time to trip on an unseen object and hit the switches that controlled the cell locking mechanics.
So, secondly, the cells were open now.
Third, Grif suddenly felt himself being pulled back into something very hard and solid from behind. An armored arm snaked around his body from his neck and shoulder to his ribcage, effectively pinning his right arm to the side of his body in the process.
Fourth, and probably the most prevalent in his mind as he really wished he had fucking found his damn helmet earlier, the gun he'd been holding before was now pressed firmly into his forehead's left temple.
Richard "Dick" Simmons was shaking slightly, but there was a determined note to his voice as he somehow managed to steady himself enough to get out, "We're leaving. Now."
There was a tense silence for a few seconds, only broken by a rather surprised Church simply going, "Fuck."
A sentiment Grif really wanted to vocalize as well but couldn't because the arm pressing down on his chest and throat was really pressing down hard and it was a struggle just to keep breathing—let alone try to say anything. Given how tense Simmons was, he probably didn't even remember how strong his cybernetic limbs could be at this moment in time.
Tucker and Donut both backed away slightly, though the teal-armored fighter's hand was gripping his sword tightly. Donut seemed to be fidgeting nervously, an apologetic note to his overall body language as he looked at his teammate given his accidental involvement in what had happened.
Sarge scoffed, shotgun pointed at the cyborg and his hostage, then swinging over to Church and Sheila as well once they started moving to join them.
"Son, ya really couldn't have picked a worse hostage."
Grif had to avoid the urge to give the old man the finger with his left hand, not sure what would happen if he moved around much.
On one hand, a part of him was really hoping that Simmons wouldn't shoot him. Hell, given how his friend had been acting earlier, a part of him really hoped he had maybe hit his head earlier and was just having a messed up dream.
This was Simmons he was talking about, after all! Even though a lot of years had passed, he hadn't seemed to change much when they'd been able to talk earlier.
But he also knew that they were in the middle of a war too and things had been getting pretty desperate. Having a gun to his head, even if held by someone he considered a friend, wasn't something he shouldn't have expected either given what was going on.
Simmons flinched slightly and Grif could feel the other man shaking even through their armor. The arm pulled even tighter and Grif had to adjust his footing slightly to keep his feet on the ground. Simmons was almost draped over him now—it was somehow odd being aware of that. He had to take in a few shallow breaths to get air back into his lungs.
"I—I didn't want to take any hostage." He said, "Or hurt anyone. But we need to get out of here for everyone's sake!"
"So you figured a hostage would make it less likely any Resistance members would try killing you on your way out." Sarge's actual military training seemed to show up in very odd instances, "Makes sense, I suppose."
Grif rolled his eyes. Figures Sarge would find some way to be slightly impressed in a situation where Grif had a gun to his head.
"That's your security measure then?" York seemed to understand what that meant too.
"But there's still the chance that some asshole wouldn't care about a hostage!" Tucker argued back, his tone angry.
He was right, of course. Most Resistance members would probably give pause if one of their own was held hostage, but that wasn't a guarantee for all of them. If someone hated Above Grounders enough, the sacrifice of a fellow fighter could be well worth it to them in the end if they were able to get rid of three of them.
Tex turned to look at Kimball, who gave a slight nod in response. The leader of the Resistance stepped forward into the space then, clearing her throat to get everyone's attention.
"Before things get too heated here, may I say something?"
Church stared at her, recognition on his face, "You're the one we met when we were first brought here."
"Vanessa Kimball. I serve as the leader of the Resistance, more or less."
His eyes narrowed, "That's just fucking super for you. I'm sure you're very proud."
Sarge muttered angrily, but Kimball held out her hand and he refrained from saying or doing anything else in response.
"You had mentioned something about an escape route before the power to the base had been cut off, I believe?" Sheila asked, not allowing Church to say anything else either. Apparently she seemed to think it best to move the conversation along quickly given what had happened.
The woman exchanged a look once more with Tex before nodding slightly, "Yes. We may have a route to where some of the Above Grounder troops are located that doesn't have as much Resistance presence in it."
"And you were going to just let us out and waltz on through it?" Church scoffed in disbelief, "Why?"
She fixed him with a steady gaze, "Because we will be in a very desperate way if this fighting continues for much longer and I will not give your Council an excuse to take this out on the Slums once we're out of the picture."
When he said nothing in response as her tone hadn't really left much room for discussion then, she continued, "Whether it was a ploy or not, this whole debacle started as a rescue mission for your team. It's only a remote possibility that the fighting in this instance will stop if you get back to Above Ground safely, but it is the only chance we have at the moment for any sort of temporary ceasefire."
"Only way out of the cluster-fuck, as it were." Church finished for her.
"You're learning military." Tex sounded almost impressed.
He shrugged, "I was bound to pick up a few things, eventually."
"I bet your aim is still awful though."
He let out a tired, embarrassed sigh, "Shut up, bitch."
Sheila turned to her two teammates during the exchange between the former couple, "It does seem like a more logical plan than we would have otherwise."
"It's pretty much the only one we have at this point, Sheila." Church muttered, "Since they're trying to save their own asses too I don't think they'd lie."
"Of course not." Sarge harrumphed at the notion, "Why go through all that trouble when we could have just shoot you here and saved ourselves some time?"
With his two teammates staring at him and leaving the decision up to him (fuck it, he sort of hated having been made the leader sometimes), Church sighed, "Well it's not like we have much of a fucking choice, huh? Lead the way, lady."
"Thank you." Kimball motioned towards Simmons, who was still holding onto Grif in what could probably be best described as a death grip, "Now, if you'd just let him go we'll—"
"No."
Surprisingly, it was both Church and Tex who said that. The two stared at each other for a long moment, Tex ignoring the surprised looks from the other Resistance members around her.
"What? Why the fuck not when you guys have some secure route for them?" Tucker shouted in frustration.
"Why the Sam Hill wouldn't we want that?" even Sarge apparently was surprised by her outburst, "Grif could be infinitely more useful being a meat-shield for us during that time frame!"
Okay, Grif did give him the finger at that point, but the gesture was lost on everyone since they weren't paying much attention to him right then.
"Even if we do use this supposedly secure route, we'll need a reason why we're no longer in jail and we'll still need an added security measure to avoid any of your people getting trigger-happy on us." Church explained instead of the former Freelancer. He decidedly did not look at Grif when he spoke, his voice sounding more devoid of emotion than it ever had while he was here.
Tex nodded in agreement, "He's right. Having a Resistance member hostage would make the situation of their 'escape' more believable to Above Ground in general and it would make other Resistance fighters they came across more hesitant to try anything in retaliation."
"That's bullshit!" Tucker protested.
"No. It's war and a sucky situation besides." Tex replied flatly.
"So Tubby will have to come with us." Church said with a large degree of finality.
Shit. This whole thing was going downhill way too fucking fast.
Grif was almost glad to find that a weird sense of calmness was overtaking his nerves at this point, similar in a way to how he had felt when his mother had left.
If he wanted to see Kai again and if he didn't want to find out if Simmons would in fact blow his brains out over this, he needed to focus on that calmness, probably.
Kimball would agree to it and he knew she would: one potential soldier loss against potential countless more. It sucked but he understood it, just as he understood why things had happened the way they had. …Didn't mean he wasn't upset with Simmons still or anything (he was kind of pissed), but he understood it all the same.
She looked him in the eyes and just as she had when they'd had the conversation that eventually caused him to sign up for the Resistance in the first place, it seemed as if she could read what was going through his mind just then.
"Agreed." She finally said to Church, "But he is to be released unharmed when you get through the route, understood?"
He nodded.
Behind him, Grif could hear Simmons sigh shakily in relief. It was odd how no breath came through his mouth or nose at the sigh though. The tan man wasn't sure if he wanted to yell in frustration or feel relieved himself that his friend wasn't eager to see him get killed either despite everything.
…Both, probably.
"We'll try to." Church said, quickly adding to it, "Right, Simmons?"
"R—right." His hold tightened a fraction more and Grif winced. Clearly Simmons really wasn't aware of how strong his new body parts were.
"Besides," Church glanced over at Tex once more, an expression that was hard to place flickering across his face as he did so, "I have a feeling someone will come around to collect his ass soon enough afterwards."
"Of course. No one should leave teammates behind. No matter what." There was some other meaning veiled in her words, but damned if Grif could understand what it was.
"Damn straight! How else will I berate Grif for being stupid enough to get taken unawares in the first place?" Sarge yelled out as well.
Wow, fucking feel the love.
"Fuck it." Tucker didn't seem to like the idea at all, but he seemed to realize that he had no real choice but to go along with it anyways—grudgingly moving out of the way of the small Above Ground group in the process.
Lopez surprised everyone, however, but stepping over to them and holding out his gun to Sheila.
"Es posible que tenga esto." {"You might need this."}
She accepted it gratefully, "Thank you very much, Lopez. I hope we meet again."
"Sólo espero que mis sistemas de refrigeración están funcionando normalmente para entonces. Estoy empezando a sentir sudorosos una vez más." {"I just hope my cooling systems are functioning normally by then. I'm starting to feel sweaty once more."}
Church turned to Donut, suddenly getting an idea, "Hey, kid, give me your gun too."
The younger man glanced nervously at Grif and then over to Sarge who gave him a quick nod, "Better do it just to make sure the damn idiots don't get killed and make all of this a waste of time."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, old man."
"Don't mention it, dirt bag."
Church took the proffered gun, giving a slight nod of thanks for it before turning to face Kimball again.
"All right then, so where is this escape route exactly?"
"It's done." She said over the comm-link, not really expecting acknowledgment for the remark and not receiving any. It would have been different if there had been complications, but her informing them of a routine mission run didn't really warrant any real response unless Carolina had decided to give out new orders.
As soon as the power supply was shut C.T. moved away from the terminal and counted the seconds until the dim recess lighting that served as the emergency power for this area of tunnels kicked in. They were programmed to come on whenever a major blackout occurred, but all of the main lighting sources and most other functions that used the primary power would be completely out of commission.
She was literally in the underbelly of the beast: the area that ran power for that portion of the mines was located under the Resistance base and off to the side farther away from everything. It was the power supply for not only the tunnels the Resistance was actively using at the moment, but for several miles of other corridors too.
Hopefully no one from the Slums had decided to wander through those areas today. They were going to be in for a rather rude surprise if they had.
Even from this far away, though, she could perceive slight tremors. The walls shook somewhat and a few loose rocks and debris moved about on the ground near her feet.
Above Ground had definitely brought the heavy artillery for this fight.
She was rather relieved to be somewhat removed from the slaughter, having only had to dispatch the odd guard here and there in order to reach this section of the mines.
Though being down here in general always made her feel strange in a way, especially when by herself. Try as hard as she could to avoid it, she would always start remembering his talk on the place from having grown up here, from when he'd actually shown her some of these very same passageways years ago.
No time to dwell on that now, though—not when she had another part to play in this assignment.
Right, because shutting the power off was only phase one for her. Carolina had given her the task of using the fighting as a distraction to hopefully find Simmons and the others.
Not that she knew that C.T. was already well-aware of exactly where they were thanks to her communications with Tex or that the defector had arranged with the Resistance leader for Connecticut to have a clear route to them so that the mission could be finished as quickly as possible.
She was just about to head in that very direction when a message came in from Tex again. She frowned as she brought it up to read inside her helmet.
Slight change of plans, then.
With the situation at the base being extremely volatile, directly getting to the "prisoners" would have been problematic. Kimball and Tex had been forced to come up with an alternative rather quickly.
Turning to the terminal that displayed a power grid map layout of the area, she traced a line on one portion of it. While the rest of the screen remained a shiny black, a glowing white line the width of a narrow pencil point remained on that section of the map when she removed her gloved hand.
"The lift in the shaft you specified is operational again."
Her message to Tex was brief, but succinct. She supposed she was just lucky that she hadn't been on her way back when she'd gotten the alert. Any later and she probably would have had to backtrack to get back here or come up with another plan entirely.
"I'll be at the transport then."
As she headed that way, the Freelancer tried coming up with a believable enough reason as to why she couldn't continue on with the assignment that Carolina had given her, hoping that there weren't any more issues involving the situation coming from either side.
She was pretty much certain there would be before this whole battle was over with though, unfortunately.
Author's Notes: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I was planning on having it posted last week, but the chapter actually kept getting larger as I wrote it and since so many things happen with this "battle" I kind of just wanted to keep going until I had finished. XD It has now spilled over into more than one chapter, haha!
This is actually only the first portion of the "story arc". I have it completely written up, so after the next chapter is looked over by my awesome beta reader it will be posted here. So expect only a one or two day waiting period, really. Hopefully the multiple chapter postings and what will happen next will make up for the longer wait!
Next up, *more* things go down—with plenty of Grimmons and other character interactions too (including the beginning stages of the Tuckington subplot for this fic, woot~!).
Thank you for reading and, as always, I hope this chapter and the ones that will follow shortly after are both enjoyable reads for you! :D