(A/N) Hey everyone, sorry about the late update. Internet went out last night for some reason, but got it back working today. This is the last of the chapters of this arc, which also occurs simultaneously with the previous few. Written by the last (but by no means the least) of our new writers, TunelessLyric, who will be writing for Agent Michigan, the freelancers new heavy weapons expert.
Assume you've all caught the Yellow RWBY trailer at this stage. Next stop, RvB Season 11! Who's exited?!
As before, we're still looking for writers for our X-Ray and Vav fic, and I am proud to announce that the first chapter of our Grifball fic will go up on the 14th of this month, to coincide with the release of the first episode of RvB Season 11. So it's going to be a big day for us!
Enjoy!
Chapter Forty-Seven – Call to Arms
Agent Michigan
Written by TunelessLyric
"The beginning is always today." - Mary Wollstonecraft
Michigan stood well back when the others pressed themselves up against the floor-to-ceiling window. She curled her lip at their childishness. Or maybe the disgust wasn't directed at them. Mich stepped away from the doorway and sighed.
She still had a hard time looking out the glass of a ship, afraid of what terrifying images she might glimpse. What quiet, peace-loving rock might be glassed to hell.
She spun on her heel and silently left her fellow Freelancers staring wide-eyed at the dark abyss. Well, most of the new ones anyway. Minnesota, the white and grey one, had already left the group, preferring to wander on his own. Mich didn't blame him, the way they were acting like a bunch of school children on some field trip, not the UNSC's best.
Mich stomped silently through the titanium halls. She lost herself quickly in the labyrinth, barely caring where she was or where she was going. It swiftly became apparent that Mich had left anything familiar behind. She started to pay more attention to her surroundings, trying to orient herself. The sound of raised voices nearly made her wheel around and leave, but she told herself to be reasonable and ask for help.
Grudgingly, Mich headed for the speaking people. She hated that she had to ask for assistance. Well, maybe next time she'll think about that before storming off after losing her head.
"I'm just saying that you shouldn't underestimate them," a woman said evenly.
"Massa, why you even bother is beyond me," sniffed another female.
"Oh, come off it. You saw them today, Penn barely managed to hold off that Maine guy."
"Right. Since Penn is such a strategist," scoffed the more annoyed one.
Mich peeked around the corner, taking a breath to soothe her temper at the second woman's brushing off the new agents. "Uh, hi?"
A dark green and red shape turned. "Oh, boy. Now I'm out of here." She walked away, chin up.
"Yeah, don't worry about Virginia, she'll come around." The remaining Freelancer was clad in very light green and brown. "Massa." She stuck her hand out.
"Mich," the pale purple and cobalt agent murmured, staring blankly at the hand. "And I was wondering… if, maybe, uh…"
Massa retracted her hand uncomfortably and leaned forward a little. "Yes…?"
Mich took another steadying breath. "Can you help me back to the mess hall?" She glared down at the floor after having humiliated herself. At least she hadn't openly admitted to being lost. It never was in her nature to accept loss of face. Why couldn't she pay attention?
"Sure, it's just this way," Massa set off, seemingly at random. "If you remember that every so far there is an elevator, you can just find it by walking in a straight line. Once you get to one, hop in. The mess hall is on the sixth level."
Michigan tried to keep up with Massa's chatter. She did her best to remember all of the information. Mich thought, having been an ODST previously, living on the Mother of Invention would have been much simpler. What she didn't bargain for, however, was the aforementioned ship being three times the size of the one Mich had been stationed on.
Finally, Mich saw the elevator. She stepped in and offered a halting thanks.
"Oh, no worries," shrugged Massa. "Oh no! I'm going to be la – " Leaving the sentence hanging, she ran off before the elevator doors hissed shut.
Mich rolled her eyes and stabbed the 6 button. Thankfully there was no tacky Muzak arrangement playing in the confines of the elevator. At the fourth floor, the machine smoothly halted. An aggravating bing announced the stop. Mich let her weight roll onto the back wall with resignation.
A large white and grey agent stepped in. Well, well, well, the anti-social Minnesota, crammed into a metal box with Michigan.
"Where are you getting off?" she asked, hoping he doesn't say the same floor she wanted.
"Level Six." And there it was, the wonder of Mich's luck. Of course he would be going there.
"Great," she sighed. "Just perfect."
The elevator slid up two floors, oblivious to the semi-tense atmosphere within. The doors opened and Mich sprung out ahead of Minnesota.
"Hey, um, you want to – I don't know – find the mess hall together?" he queried tentatively.
Mich opened her mouth angrily, only to shut it again when she realized how hard it was for him to ask. "Fine. This way?"
Minnesota gazed thoughtfully the way she pointed. A long moment later, he nodded. "Maybe."
He headed off, leading at a brisk pace. Mich kept up easily. They moved in silence for a while.
"Do you have a nickname or something?" she blurted.
"Just call me Sota," he replied shortly.
Mich chewed her cheek for a heartbeat. Couldn't he see she was trying to make this less awkward? Couldn't he help? "What did you think of Maine almost beating that brute, Pennsylvania?"
"Whatever. Just as long as the first ones know we're not little kids."
Mich remembered the argument between Massa and Virginia. She didn't want to tell him about the sceptical woman. She let the attempt to make a decent conversation quietly die in the bland halls. When they reached a fork in the corridor, he turned to her.
"Well?" he demanded.
"Your guess is as good as mine," she replied a little defensively.
"You must have some idea," he murmured. "You got us lost in the first place."
"A wonder then, that you even asked." Mich fought to keep her temper in check. "It seemed like you didn't actually want my opinion."
"It can seem however you want it to," he responded curtly, all traces of awkwardness or shyness erased. "I don't really care." He abruptly spun and took the left hall.
Mich set her jaw. "If you don't want my help," she stopped walking and muttered darkly to herself, "why did you ask me to come along?"
She wondered how he could have gotten under her skin so effortlessly, after such a short amount of time. Mich worked her jaw side to side and wondered if she should leave him alone. If he wanted to be bull-headed and rude, so be it. When she joined, Mich swore she would protect the other Freelancers, never did she promise to like them all. With a sigh she decided that had been partly her fault and it reflected badly to get into a fight the so early on.
Mich chased after Sota. He hadn't gotten far by the time she caught up. She slowed to match his pace again.
He didn't glance at her, despite Mich's sudden reappearance and change of heart.
"Look, what I said wasn't fair." She didn't make eye contact with him either. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry I was rude," he apologized with a sidelong look. They lapsed into silence again.
Mich decided her campaign to find the mess hall could wait. She went to explore - offering a small farewell that received only a nod - hoping to find the hangar bay now. As she went, Mich paid more attention to her surroundings, being certain to file the route away this time.
"Attention Agents Alaska, Carolina, Florida, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Wyoming and York: please proceed to Briefing Room 003 immediately," a cheerful voice broke into Michigan's trudging.
A mission? That sounded exciting. Mich found herself wishing she could be going. No way did she want to be stuck on the same ship – practically alone – with Cal, Maine and the others.
"AI, can you tell me the fastest way to the hangar bay?" Mich asked, half expecting to be denied.
"You may call me F.I.L.S.S., Agent Michigan," replied the shipboard Intelligence brightly. "To find the Main Hangar Bay, please – " she listed off the long route.
Mich repeated the directions to the AI. "Left, right, left, right, Hall A, Hall F, Hall C, Hall B?"
"That is correct. Good luck!"
Mich, wondering why in the world anyone would label halls that way, wandered off for her destination. She murmured directions to herself as she walked. When she arrived at a tiny closet of a bathroom, Mich was fuming. "F.I.L.S.S., what the hell? Why am I here?"
"I am sorry," apologised the A.I. "I was rewired not to give you those coordinates by the Director. He wanted you, for some reason unknown to me at the moment, to arrive here."
"What? Why?"
Mich heard footsteps and laughter. She gazed over her shoulder. Eight armoured and armed Freelancers were marching down the hall, the teal of Carolina at their head. York followed closely behind her, talking to Florida amicably. Massa and Virginia appeared to have gotten over their slight spat and walked in sync with one another.
When they have passed by completely - Alaska muttering to himself - Mich stepped out into the centre of the hall. While she watched them go down the straightaway, a hint of longing tugged at her heart. She wished she could be walking in step with her team. Not at the lead, that was for sure, never leading. But in the tidy column, chatting to a friend, perhaps, she would be there.
Michigan set her shoulders square and lifted her chin. She followed them at a distance. She wondered absently if that was why the Director had F.I.L.S.S. give out a false route, to show the new arrivals exactly what they had to compete with.
Well, if that was what he wanted, that was what Michigan would ensure he would get.
She watched the eight agents trot up into the troop bay of a Pelican in the hangar – after engraving the real path into her mind – with mixed awe and jealousy.
'One day,' she promised herself, 'one day, that will be us.'
