(A/N) Hey guys! We're back for a new update! And finally we get to see some ACTION! This chapter is brought to you by one of our admins, the fabulous Ayane458. From the point of view of Agent Massachusetts and I hope you'll love this as much as I did. Enjoy!
Chapter Seven – Watch You Back
Agent Massachusetts
Written by Ayane458
"The first round of Freelancers shows great promise. Superior to the average soldier indeed, but a long way from our goal of a team capable of saving humanity." – Director Leonard Church, extract from personal journal, recorded late on the second day.
Everything seemed to happen fast in Freelancer, Massa reflected.
It might have been simply because it was the second day and the first full one –so many things had to be sorted out. The 'recruits' (seriously, it felt so strange to be called a recruit again, especially after all she had done to ditch the title) had to be given an idea of how things would work here. Didn't change the fact that they'd had no time to really settle nor a lot of time to sleep before being hustled into this challenge.
Right now, a man who'd been assigned the name 'Wyoming' was starting the training off.
Eight white-armoured men were scoping out the training floor, complete with blocks that provided cover and hiding places, in pairs. Wyoming had situated himself a bit to the right of all of them, preventing himself from getting caught in the centre and presumably using the motion trackers their armour came with to avoid being seen.
Time mattered here. That was made clear in the rules. That guy had better hurry up or else he'd be getting… whatever the slower ones got as a punishment.
Massa shifted slightly, all of a sudden feeling a little uncomfortable. She was leaning against the window of the observation booth to get a better look at the fight. A blue-armoured man, Florida, stood to her right, and her new roommate, Virginia, to her left.
Virginia seemed intent on the match, so focused that Massa would've felt guilty distracting her. Florida was… not quite as attentive and occasionally bobbed his head as if he had some upbeat music playing in there.
It felt like there should be joking, maybe some betting on how the guy with the weird accent would go, at least some talk about how someone or other could do this ten times better or a million times faster. They'd broken a little ice last night, right?
She decided that people were still testing the waters, unsure of each other. No one ever wanted to break the silence. The ice would melt soon enough and then there'd be as much chatter as in her old company.
A strangled cry from the training room drew her attention, and she saw one of the other guys – what was his name? Alaska, that's it –move a little closer to the window to get a better view.
Wyoming had made his move.
One pair of the troopers had been left pinned to each other through the paint on their helmets, unable to move as the goo activated their armour lock. The shots had been fired from the guy's sniper rifle almost simultaneously. While she may not have been paying as much attention as she could have been, Massa was still impressed that she didn't know which soldier he'd aimed at first.
The other six rushed to their fallen comrades. Bad move. Wyoming was already moving around far behind them, dashing between the blocks quickly and making sure he only moved when they weren't looking.
Now the six were lined up in a neat little row. They seemed to realise their positioning was not wise, and tried to move…
…but three shots were fired before any of them could take more than a step.
Three shots, and three more went down in near-sync.
"Wow, he is good," Florida said cheerfully from next to her. His voice made most of the people in the room jump. He looked around at the visors now staring at him and you could tell he was grinning from ear to ear under that helmet. "What d'you say? Special forces?"
"We aren't supposed to know," a woman named Carolina replied firmly. Massa had decided Carolina was going to at least try to be the leader here. It just seemed to be ingrained in her personality.
"Just a guess," Florida shrugged, his cheeriness never abating.
"Looks like a pretty good guess," Massa decided as she watched the final three go down.
One had tried desperately to run to the nearest cover, tripping over a fallen soldier on the way and was shot in the head before he could hit the ground.
The last two Wyoming toyed with. Purposely allowing himself to be seen in one area, only to sneak halfway across the room to be seen again, before playing the same trick. He was showing off his speed and stealth. The two soldiers were yelling and firing wildly until he finally put them out of their misery and ended the match with two quick shots.
Eight soldiers, eight shots fired, eight hits to the head. The match had lasted six minutes but Massa got the impression he could've halved that time had he felt the need.
"Round over," FILSS declared. Massa found FILSS fascinating, if only because she was the first AI she had ever seen. Or heard. Didn't AIs usually have holographic avatars? Maybe that was only on the bridge…
"Agent Wyoming's score recorded. Agent Florida, report for round two," FILSS continued.
"Wish me luck," Florida chirped, exiting the observation booth with a jaunty skip in his step.
"Good luck," Massa and York called after him. One or two others murmured something to that effect.
"He was certainly… cheerful," York noted. Massa decided she would probably be able to get along with him in the long term.
"Let's see if he's any good," Carolina said, taking Florida's place beside Massa to get a better view of the training floor. They were still lifting out the eight guys who Wyoming had faced –seemed to be having problems with the two stuck together.
"How do you think he'll do?" Massa asked, directing the question at Pennsylvania. He had been silent so far and she wasn't sure if it was from shyness or reserve (likely the latter, considering the circumstances) but it couldn't hurt to try and draw him out of his shell a little.
"I think he'll do alright. He may act a little… strange for a soldier, but he must be skilled to be here," Pennsylvania replied with a tone of finality, ending the conversation.
Wyoming entered the room looking distinctly pleased with himself.
"What do you think, chaps?" he asked them all.
Before any of them could answer, FILSS declared the start of the round. His question was forgotten in favour of watching how Florida would complete the task.
His style was largely like Wyoming's in the sense that he preferred stealth and taking them out one by one instead of going for larger targets. Unlike Wyoming, he wasn't very showy and used an assault rifle with an under slung grenade launcher. Massa was not aware that they had paint grenades, but presumed they did because otherwise the attachment seemed pointless.
Once again, the eight soldiers spread out in pairs and Florida elected to track them one team at a time. He was patient, and positioned himself so that none of the other soldiers would have a clear shot when he popped out of cover and attacked the team closest to him.
Which he did, spraying the two with paint and freezing them in place. He paused for a second by the bodies, half-hidden by one of the blocks, before one pair began to cautiously make their way towards the other two. He quickly slipped away, dodging behind the other team that came to inspect their two downed comrades.
As the two approached, a grenade burst and splattered them both in paint.
Florida had primed and placed a grenade right next to one of those guys. It had been a trap.
The big guy that stood towards the back, Pennsylvania, now seemed to be paying much closer attention.
"Guess he's not as out of it as he acts," York commented.
Four down, four to go.
He took out two in the same stealthy way he had done it to the first couple, easily avoiding the scattered fire that headed his way upon revealing his location.
The last team he simply walked up behind and took them down with a burst of fire.
It seemed the man had simple tastes, preferring the practical to the flashy. The trick with the grenade was the most exceptional moment throughout the session.
"Round over," FILSS announced.
It had taken five minutes.
"He didn't take as long as you," York said to Wyoming.
"He also didn't show off as much," Massa added jokingly. "Not sure if the latter is a good thing or a bad thing, though."
"He did say he was looking for flair," Wyoming agreed. He seemed agitated –maybe the guy couldn't take much ribbing.
"Agent Florida's score recorded," FILSS chirped. "Agent Alaska, please report for round three."
The red-armoured man headed out the door with no comments to the others, passing a cheery Florida as he went.
"That wasn't too hard," Florida said to them all, and then addressed Alaska, "Good luck!"
Alaska nodded once and then walked past him, down the hall.
Florida seemed undeterred as he joined the rest of the Freelancers in the booth.
"Gosh, it's not a very forgiving test though, is it?" he said to them all. "One hit and you're out."
"Won't be a problem if you don't get hit," Carolina replied.
The floor was set up again and more troops were herded in. Alaska strode in with the same no-nonsense air he had on everywhere else. He picked up his primary and secondary weapons – a DMR and a pistol. A pretty precise weapon for mid-long distance and a pistol. And here Massa had pegged him as a more up-close-and-personal guy.
"How long do you think he'll take?" York asked no one in particular. Massa would've answered him, but Carolina spoke before she could.
"Getting impatient?" she asked in what might have been her way of joking. "It'll be your turn soon enough."
"Just trying to start a betting pool, ma'am," York replied sweetly in a way that meant he had interpreted her comment as a joke. "Ten bucks on under five minutes."
"Why's that?" Wyoming snapped, turning away from the beginning of the fight to York. His time had been six minutes. Perhaps York should have thought his comment through.
"I don't know, I just guessed he was the kind of guy to go for the quick and simple route," York shrugged off Wyoming's annoyance easily.
"That's quite cliché," Massa cut in, looking at the three over her shoulder.
"Pay attention to the match, why don't you?" Carolina… well, Carolina ordered. The three others obeyed, but Virginia finally piped up.
"Not a whole lot is happening in the match," she murmured without looking up, perhaps specifically to undermine Carolina –that's the way Carolina seemed to see it anyway, and sent a sharp look at the other woman's back.
Still bitter about the cafeteria incident yesterday? Massa wondered. Her roommate hadn't exhibited the ability to hold a grudge before, but it was still the first day. She was just learning new things about the people around her all the time, wasn't she?
In any case, the match was a little boring, though not for those involved in it.
Alaska seemed to be a skilled puppet-master. He would make a noise, show himself just enough to attract the guards… and then appear on the other side of the room, surprisingly speedy in getting away from his pursuers and making more noise in the exact opposite direction.
He was making it seem as if he had surrounded them. The eight troops were terrified.
"Almost makes you feel sorry for them, doesn't it?" Virginia half-whispered.
"Not even close," Carolina replied.
A knock on a block had one jumpy soldier said a burst of bullets in Alaska's direction, Alaska hunkering down behind the block until it ended. The others seemed to sense an opportunity in having him pinned down for once, so quickly moved to encircle him.
Massa wasn't particularly skilled at reading people, but even she could see the precise second when Alaska must've thought 'screw this'.
He took the legs off of the first few soldiers who exposed themselves, leaving five left to deal with. Three of the remaining soldiers tried to rush him while two had the idea of going for more stealthy tactics again, backing off. Alaska shot the three twice each before they could reach him, going over each once, then twice, as if making sure they stayed down.
The two who had backed off before seemed to decide to just get it over with and spun around the block, trying to get a shot in before Alaska could…
…but Alaska shot them both, one with the pistol and one with the DMR.
"You can't shoot a DMR one-handed!" York yelped.
"You can, kind of," Massa replied, thinking back to her old company and the rather stupid things they would attempt on the firing range –all in complete safety, of course.
"I suppose he's practised somewhere," Wyoming shrugged.
"Round over," FILSS announced. Alaska had taken seven minutes, but most of that was just him messing around.
"Agent Alaska's score recorded," she continued. "Agent Massachusetts, please report for round four."
Massa took a slow, deep breath before pushing herself away from the window and heading for the door.
"Good luck," York and Florida yelled after her.
"Hopefully I won't need it!" she called back jokingly, hoping her gratitude for the well-wishing was detected.
She headed down the stairs towards the hall that led to the training room, passing Alaska along the way.
"Good luck, Massachusetts," he said as he passed her, not breaking his step.
"Thanks, Alaska." She looked over her shoulder briefly to see if he would respond. He was already halfway up the stairs.
Massa tried to shake off her nerves, thankful that no one was there to see her. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd measure up to the first three. She was a combat medic, not a medical soldier. While she'd been trained to fight with the others in her unit and could undoubtedly hold her own, her true talents lay in other areas.
But hell, if the first three didn't get shot, she sure wouldn't.
When she entered the training room the paint from the previous fight had mostly been scraped up and the eight soldiers were milling around the other end of the room. They weren't paying attention to her and they were apparently not allowed to see which weapons she chose.
Massa kept things simple. An assault rifle, a pistol and two modified frag grenades. She could work with these.
She took a position behind a block close to her, waiting for the sound of FILSS's voice.
"Round, start," she announced.
Massa considered her options.
She was not as stealthy as the others and she sure couldn't manipulate the soldiers to her bidding like Alaska. Her weapons were not long range, so she couldn't take them out from a distance like Wyoming. As for Florida's strategy, well… it just wasn't her style.
Massa checked her motion trackers. One pair was heading straight for her, but another looked like they would end up able to shoot her if she tried to shoot the two once they cleared the block next to her. She slowly looked around the corner to see which way they were facing, and then hopped over two blocks so they would cross the last line of blocks right next to her.
She didn't give them the chance.
As soon as they were close enough, she spun around the corner and sprayed them both with paint from the modified AR. They both froze.
She couldn't resist tipping one over.
Shouts alerted her to the attention she had drawn. Massa ran for more cover, trying to put as much distance between her and the ones she had taken down as possible. Another shout alerted her that she'd been spotted and she screeched to a halt as a shower of paint appeared in front of her. She hunkered down behind a block, now with both sides cut off as pink flew past her and splattered onto nearby blocks.
Massa rolled her eyes, switched to her pistol for the moment, and waited.
The idiots, possibly in the excitement of finally having an enemy pinned, seemed to have forgotten that guns had to be reloaded.
The pair on her right ran out first and before the two behind them could continue the assault, Massa leaped out from behind the block to that side.
She let out three shots. Wildly aimed on the run, admittedly, but two soldiers went down for her efforts.
Only four more, she promised herself.
She continued to move around the four, coming to rest a fair bit away and peering around the block to get a look. The remaining soldiers were now looking around and wisely putting a bit of distance between each other. She could only see two, but guessed from what showed on the trackers that they all faced out in different directions, preventing any slow, stealthy approach.
Massa was confident that she could work around that.
While the remaining four were a decent distance away from each other, they were still in a pretty small area. One pair was fairly close to her. She couldn't hope to take them both out before someone got a shot off, but there was something she could do.
Flicking the pin out of a grenade, she threw it back towards them. One scrambled back in time to avoid the blast, the other was blasted with pink.
Now that that the grenade had gotten them within a reasonable range of each other, Massa made her move.
She jumped out from cover, using her assault rifle in the classic 'spray and pray' fashion. Apparently some deity was feeling generous that day, because two collapsed under the onslaught. It was now one vs. one, and her opponent was hiding.
Her motion trackers didn't tell her where he was because he wasn't in motion. So she ducked behind some cover, watched, and waited.
She strained her ears as well, desperately trying to hear anything that could indicate his location. A blip on her tracker moved slowly and quickly faded out, quite a bit behind her and to her left. It appeared again, moving a little closer. And again. And again.
It was indeed to her understanding that the motion trackers could be tricked if you moved slowly enough, which this man was not doing. Was this really the average level of soldier in the UNSC?
In any case, she decided to end it with a bang and the first thing she had done that could really be considered 'flashy'.
Massa paid careful attention to where the man was, took into account the angles and her position, before priming a grenade and throwing it at a block. It ricocheted off sharply with a thunk and landed near the soldier.
A high-pitched yelp preceded a bang and a splat has paint went everywhere.
Massa cheerfully got up and looked around the room. She sure had caused more of a mess than her stealthy predecessors. Hopefully points wouldn't be redacted for that.
She left the training room, handing in her weapons, feeling very satisfied.
"Round over," FILSS declared. The clean-up crew entered the room behind her and began the task of dragging out the soldiers and scraping away the paint.
York and Florida greeted her with 'congratulations' while Virginia piped in with a 'pretty good'. Massa translated that as high praise from the rather timid agent.
Carolina, however, was unimpressed.
"Very noisy," she said frankly.
Massa shrugged off her comment. "They aren't all going to be stealth missions."
Carolina sighed and walked around to Massa back, picking at the armour there.
"Hey, what are you –!"
In response, Carolina held up the fleck of paint which Massa had been hit with.
"Watch your back," she ordered. "They're not all going to be paint guns."
