(A/N) Hey guys, NicKenny here, bringing to you the epic conclusion of Phase One: Genesis, and boy does it get intense. It feel strange, sitting here typing my author's note after almost nine months of working on this fic, pouring my heart and soul into it, and seeing the others do the same. I'd just like to thank everyone that made this happen, from Ayane458, LanaLlama and Lili-Hunter, my three admins, to the various writers that helped shape this story, to each and every one of you who took some time to read it.

It's been a wild ride.

And here we are, at the culmination of nine months of work, about to leave you feeling raw, and ready for whatever the sequel as to throw at you. We have some more promo art, but I'm going to give that to you at the end of this chapter, just to give you something too…reflect on, as the wait for Phase Two begins.

It won't be a long one, a bit over a week, as Phase Two will begin on Saturday the 26th of October, and boy is it going to start off with a bang! For the last time in this fic, I'll finish as I always have, with one simple word.

Enjoy.


Chapter One Hundred and Four - Finale

Agents Arkansas, Michigan, Massachusetts & The Director

Written by NicKenny, TunelessLyric and Ayane458


Agent Arkansas


"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution." - J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone


Ark lay down in his cot, his face unreadable, turned away from his worried roommate, who was pacing back and forth at the far end of the room, hands fidgeting worriedly by his side. Finally, he stopped moving around the room, spinning in Ark's direction and gesturing at Ark furiously.

"You need to tell me what's going on!" Georgia exclaimed in frustration, throwing his hands up into the air, then sighing as no response was elicited from his roommate. "Ark, something's been bothering you. You don't sleep, you've barely eaten, you've spent all your time avoiding everyone ever since we came back from the mission!"

He stared at the Ark's back for a moment, before sighing sadly to himself and turning away, shaking his head in disappointment as he made for the door and went to exit the room, pausing, just for a moment, to say a few more words. "You know, Ark, you're my friend, and nothing's going to change that. I just…I just wish that you could trust me. Just…know that you're not alone. I'm here for you."

With that, he left the room, and the door swiftly whooshed shut behind him, leaving Ark alone with his thoughts. He slowly sat up on his cot, and reached underneath his mattress, pulling out the portable flash drive that General Allen had pushed into his hand as he died, promising, with his last breath, that it would tell Ark the truth about the destruction of his village and the deaths of everyone that he had held dear.

He hadn't yet worked up the courage to download the drive yet, fully aware that the General might have been lying to him, worried that the Director might pick up on the download, bringing Ark's loyalty into question and forcing him to answer some difficult questions. There was also the very possible chance that the drive was virused, and activating it would cripple the ship's systems and leave them vulnerable to attack, or just simply deactivate their life-support systems.

After all, that's exactly what Ark would have done.

Twitching for a moment, he finally shook himself and stood up, making his way over to the other side of the room where the computer interface sat. After activating his own set of firewalls, and satisfying himself that the Director wouldn't be able to track his online movements, he plugged the drive into the system, sitting back as it began to download file after file onto his own personal system.

After a few minutes, the computer pinged, indicating that all files had been downloaded. Sighing to himself, Ark quickly glanced around for a moment, although, of course, the room was already empty, before he finally began to delve into the information on the drive. A few minutes passed with Ark remaining essentially motionless, his hand occasionally flicking across the pad in order to access a new file or to scroll down on a page, his concentration fully focused on the information on the holographic screen in front of him.

Finally, he discovered what he had been looking for. What the general had promised him. The truth about the destruction of his home, the murder of his family and the slaughter of his childhood. And it was worse than anything he could have imagined.

"Son of a bitch" he murmured, his eyes narrowing in anger, and his fists clenching as he scanned through the text and images in front of him. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, fury and outrage were ignited, and took control. Someone was going to burn for this.

Maybe even everyone.


The Director


"None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Elective Affinities


I stared at the assembled forms of Agents Pennsylvania, Alaska, Michigan and Virginia, a stern look on my face. "Agents, I've assembled you here today for a reason. Yes, we have shattered the Insurrectionist menace, at least in this part of the universe, but my concern lingers over the fragments and shards that are left in its wake."

I noticed the Counselor move silently behind me, from the corner of my eye, and tensed slightly, remembering the argument we had only minutes before, where he had urged me to give the Freelancers a chance to rest and recuperate after the last few weeks of constant fighting, but he had finally given in when I showed no signs of changing my mind on the matter.

Agent California's recent transgression had brought about the worried idiot in him once more, and my subsequent actions, ordering California to be confined to his quarters with restricted access to the outside world until Lieutenant Harper was no longer present on board, hadn't seemed to put him anymore at ease. Harper was proving more of a liability than an asset, and though Alaska seemed certain that he was growing closer and closer to breaking him, I harboured my own doubts on this topic.

As for Harper, I had doubled the guard on his cell, and only myself, the Counselor and Agent Alaska knew the access codes for his part of the cell block area. Hopefully, we wouldn't meet with any more surprises in the foreseeable future. After all, one can but hope.

"Each of you have been chosen to lead elite teams of ODSTs during this mop up, to eradicate all forms of opposition that you have come across. You have all excelled in the field of late, and I'm taking that opportunity to reward your dedication, zeal and ability by allowing you to lead this eradication. Succeed, and prove to me that you can handle such a task, and you will all have my respect."

I couldn't help but notice Alaska's slight snigger at these words, but I ignored him, concentrating instead on Agent Pennsylvania, who seemed even less enthused than the others about this announcement, which was strange, given that I had assumed that he would be chomping at the bit to be allowed back into the field to fight Insurrectionists.

The Counselor began to pull up troop information behind me, detailing the members of the teams the four Freelancers would be leading, but before he could begin his presentation sounds of a fight broke out at the far side of the room, and seconds later Arkansas strode in, in full armour, panting slightly.

"Agent Arkansas," I began, frowning. "This is a private mission briefing. If you have something you'd like to bring up with me, it can wait until after. Also, I would prefer if agents refrained from damaging our personnel. It's so…tiring to replace them."

My words appeared to have little effect on Arkansas, who continued staring at me, his chest still heaving up and down. "Did you know?" he asked suddenly, his voice forcefully restrained and monotonous, belying the anger beneath, and for a second I was thrown, my brow furrowing in confusion.

"Did I know what?" I asked, baffled by his words, until a horrible understanding dawned, and suddenly I knew exactly what he was talking about. Cursing mentally, I lambasted myself for ignoring the Counselor's concerns on Arkansas's mental stability after the most recent assault. Even he had seen that something had been troubling the agent, and I had just put it down to post-battle fatigue. Now something much worse had occurred. Arkansas had somehow stumbled across the truth.

If only I had listened.

"Did you know?" Ark repeated, but this time the restraint was less pronounced, his fists clenching and his body trembling slightly.

I blinked slowly, keeping my breathing even, trying to think of what to say, of how to diffuse the situation. "I'm sor-"

"DID YOU KNOW?!" he yelled, all attempts at restraint gone, and the agents at the far wall stirred restlessly, wondering whether or not they should interfere. Arkansas had never displayed such emotion before, his self-control had been maintained at all times, even while in combat, egging California on, or when wounded. This was something that none of them had ever seen before. "Did you know about my parents, you son of a bitch?"

I smiled slightly, beginning to shake my head when Ark's hands dropped to his side and came back up again, now holding a magnum in each hand, and I paled slightly as he pointed them at me. "Did you know that they were murdered, and my village burned to the ground, on the orders of the UNSC?"

The anger had now drained out of his voice, and he appeared to have regained his pristine self-control once more. One of the magnums suddenly swung around, pointing in the direction of the other agents, causing Alaska to freeze in his tracks as he reached for his DMR. "Don't try it, Al," Ark warned without looking over to his fellow freelancers, his visor still locked on me, daring me to try anything. "If anyone so much as twitches I'm going to put a round through both that person and the Director."

Silence fell once more and I could feel everyone within the room staring at me, waiting for me to make the next move. Wearily, I nodded, raising a hand to my brow. "Yes, Ark, I knew. It's in your file. A retaliation for Insurrectionist attacks in that area. The local UNSC command force believed that your village were hiding Insurrectionists."

"And were they?" Ark asked, his voice hard, his arm unwavering, and I felt it hard to ignore the gun in his hand, but strove to maintain eye-contact.

"The reports were inconclusive," I admitted slowly. "It didn't matter to the field commander whether they were or not. A message had to be sent."

Ark nodded slowly, unmoving except for the deep breaths which he continued to take. "I spent all my life fighting for the people who had taken everything I had away from me. Who murdered innocents, lied to me, trained murderers to slaughter women and children, and all in the name of "the greater good". I've had enough, Director. I'm done with this, with you, with Project Freelancer. I quit."

I smiled at that, my eyes twinkling darkly behind my glasses. "And how are you going to get off this ship, Ark? You know that I can't allow you to leave. You've just held me up at gunpoint, and if you shoot me that's only going to increase your troubles. There's no way that you can get out of this alive. The second you pull that trigger your fellow agents will be on top of you."

He continued staring at me, and the room went silent, no one moving, barely even breathing as we waited for him to make his decision, then he nodded once more.

"You're right," he agreed, and squeezed the trigger, sending me flying backwards into the wall behind me, my hand immediately clutching my left shoulder, which the bullet had just passed through, blood gushing from the open wound.

Ark was already moving towards the door by the time the other agents reacted, bullets slamming into the wall behind him just as he passed out through the doorway, the door whoosing shut behind him.

Penn and Alaska were the first two to the door, while Virginia and Michigan immediately checked to see the extent of my injury. "F.I.L.S.S., open the door," I spat out, wincing as fire laced through my shoulder wound.

When the A.I. finally responded, she seemed confused and unsure of herself. "I'm sorry, Director, but I do not appear to be functioning at full capacity at this moment. I'm attempting to rectify this error, but I believe that I might have been exposed to a virus. If you will just give me a moment to reassert control…"

Arkansas!

She trailed off, and I grimaced as Michigan forced my hand away from my shoulder, studying the wound. "You should be okay, sir," she murmured, "but this needs immediate attention. We should send for Massa or a medic immediately."

"No," I quickly replied. "All agents are to begin searching the Mother of Invention for Agent Arkansas immediately. Send for a medic, if you must, but once that door opens, I expect you all to begin the search."

F.I.L.S.S. suddenly spoke up once more, just as the door began to open. "I have rectified the problem, and am now in full control once more. The door is open."

"Thank you, F.I.L.S.S.," the Counselor replied, as the four agents filed out of the room. "Could you please send for the nearest available medic, the Director has been injured, and issue a ship-wide lock-down. Agent Arkansas is to be arrested and detained by any personnel that come across him, and is to be considered armed and dangerous."


Agent Arkansas


"There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right." - Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches


Ark strode towards the pair of guards standing at attention outside the entrance to the cell block area, his hand drifting to his hip and de-magnetising the magnum, his finger pressed tight against the trigger as he raised the gun, firing it twice, the harsh sounds of gunfire ringing out through the corridors of the MoI. The two men dropped instantly, a small, still smoking, hole in their armour at heart-level.

Ark didn't even stop to glance at the fallen soldier's corpses as he came up to the access panel, and swiftly accessed the override controls that he had obtained from the Director's personal computer months earlier, when he had been feeling particularly bored and yet wanting something more challenging than devising new ways to make things blow up with Georgia, allowing him into the cell blocks.

Two more guards stood inside, their guns at the ready, obviously having heard the gunfire from outside. Their weapons lowered slightly when they saw Ark walking in, and the nearest one sighed in relief. "Thank god it's you, Freelancer! Thought we had a situation down here."

Ark laughed for a second, the harsh sound ringing out throughout the room, shaking his head slowly. "You do," he replied in a voice devoid of emotion, pulling the trigger of his magnum twice more, sending both men sprawling onto the ground.

Stepping over them, his eyes flashed over the various cell numbers, trying to locate the cell that he was searching for, fully aware that with each passing second his pursuers got closer and closer. F.I.L.S.S. surely would have regained control by this point in time.

132…138….141…142…

'There!' 148.

His fingers darted over the control panel of that particular cell, located to the right of the cell door, and punched in a sequence of digits that he had pulled earlier while exposing F.I.L.S.S. to a virus of his own design, after he had looked through the Insurrectionist general's flash drive, unlocking the cell door.

The door whooshed upwards, and Ark wrinkled his nose beneath his helmet, as the smell of blood, urine and faeces filled his nose, the filters on his helmet not able to fully remove the stench from the air. The cell itself was filthy and poorly lit, and Ark's boots stuck slightly to the floor, but he refused to look down, fully aware that, in this case, it was better to remain ignorant.

The cell's lone occupant barely stirred at Ark's sudden appearance, only groaning softly and raising his hands to protect his eyes from the sudden burst of light from the corridor outside the cell. Ark raised his pistol and walked over to him, noting how the man's former good looks had been eroded by his time on-board the Mother of Invention, his golden hair shaved off, his green eyes dull and unfocused, no doubt a result of the drugs Alaska and the other interrogators had used to force him to reveal everything he knew.

His body was covered in bruises and lacerations, some recent, others now only visible due to the scar tissue they had left in their wake, and his form was much frailer than Ark remembered it being, no doubt a result of the near starvation conditions that the prisoner had been subjected to. Note to self: Never allow Project Freelancer to take you alive, he thought grimly, shaking his head in disgust.

Taking a step forward, Ark raised his pistol, holding it firmly in his hand, wary despite the man's current condition, and nudged him with his left boot, causing the prisoner to groan in protest.

"Lieutenant Ian Harper?" Ark asked slowly, not quite able to believe the transformation that the man had gone through in such a short space of time. Alaska must have been working overtime.

The man shuddered at the mention of the name, and his cracked and torn lips curved into what could only be a smile, revealing several missing or chipped teeth set against bleeding gums.

"Yes, that's me, Freelancer," he rasped slowly, his frame shuddering with every word. "Come here…to gloat?"

Ark stared at him for a moment, his features unreadable beneath his helmet, his body tensed, and he raised the pistol. Harper chuckled at the sight of the Freelancer pointing the magnum in his direction, his left hand raised and gesturing for Ark to go ahead.

"Go on then, get it over with," he murmured, some light beginning to spark in his eyes once more, then widened as Ark flipped the pistol around, leaning forward and offering it to the former Insurrectionist Lieutenant, who slowly moved forward and took it, not quite sure what was going on, confused by this unexpected turn of events, just as alarms began blazing all over the ship. F.I.L.S.S. had evidently overcome his virus, and someone, somewhere, had realised that something had gone very wrong.

Ark then offered Harper his hand, and spoke up, eyes cold, his voice even and serious.

"Come with me, if you want to live."


Agent Michigan


(I couldn't settle on just one.)

"They don't even have a soul left to be saved." – 30 Seconds to Mars, Northern Lights

"I pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms." – Snow Patrol, Set Fire to the Third Bar

"They wrote in the old days that it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country. But in modern war, there is nothing sweet nor fitting about your dying. You will die like a dog for no good reason." – Ernest Hemmingway


"Agent Arkansas has attacked the Director and released Lieutenant Harper, killing several security guards in the process, and the Mother of Invention is to be considered on red-alert. You are hereby ordered to find and detain both men, using deadly force if required. They are to be considered armed and dangerous, and no chances should be taken when capturing them," the Counselor's voice commanded over her helmet's radio, and Mich picked up her pace, her hand pressing against the control panel of the door in front of her.

The door closed, kissing the air quietly as it did so. Mich shivered, alone in the cold corridor of the ship. Worry wormed through her belly. This whole situation made her tense and she could feel goosebumps rippling on her arms. She kicked into a run, trying to tread as lightly as possible while covering more ground.

She scanned the hallway, one eye to her HUD and motion tracker. It was oddly empty. It wasn't as though sixteen Freelancers – fifteen, she corrected herself grimly – were combing the entire Invention for Ark and the escaped prisoner. Mich curled her lip in a snarl. How hard had everyone worked in order to see Harper put so firmly behind bars? The monster deserved to be locked away from the sunlight for the rest of his miserable existence. She was torn between the desire to kill him herself when she found him and wanting to save him for Cal to finish off.

And what exactly was Ark thinking, letting Harper out of his cell? He spent his entire life sworn to eradicate every last Insurrectionist, down to their tiniest child. How did one minute act manage to turn him completely around? Well, Mich knew the flattening of a town by the organization trusted by every human in the galaxy was hardly a minute act. But it was justified.

She shook her head, she wasn't paid to think. She felt the ghost of a smile touch her face, she was paid to be pretty, according to the Marine Corps. Not that she was paid anymore. Just given top-of-the-line quality armour, weapons and equipment. Speaking of weaponry, Mich swung by the armoury and grabbed an assault rifle and two spare magazines, deciding that, in this case, it was better to be fully tooled up rather than roaming the halls with nothing but a pistol and her own abilities to protect her.

As she continued to comb for the AWOL prisoner and treacherous Freelancer, she found her mind wandering from topic to topic. It strayed to the Director and his words. He was disappointed because she hadn't done anything too impressive since joining the program. She'd hugged the bottom of the board while her peers left her behind. Well, most of them anyway. Alaska didn't count since his massive blowout and Sota was still giving a cushion between Mich and dead last. She wasn't good enough for the Director Leonard Church, was she? How terrible that made her feel.

Not.

Mich hadn't asked to be here. She hadn't even wanted to be here. As far as she was concerned, she would have been perfectly happy with her ODST squad, wherever they might be right now.

She remembered her gruff but kind Gunnery Sergeant. He always looked out for his entire team, not just the best ones. Mind, Mich was always a good soldier. Her CO was never too proud to ask her opinion in a tight spot, what she thought the best strategy was. He trusted her to carry a loaded weapon and hold her own hand, something that could not be said for the Director, apparently. Too bad the old sergeant had pressed for her to join the Project.

"Time for a little work," he had said.

Here she was, stalking one trusted member of Project Free-fucking-lancer. She fought down the urge to sigh and turned yet another cold metal corner. She stopped for a minute and considered where Ark and Harper could have gotten to. If she was an escaped Innie on-board a frigate full to bursting with the deadliest people in the UNSC, where would she go?

On Mich searched, walking down each empty corridor into the next empty corridor, already growing weary of the search. She turned down the long corridor still being referred to as the Sniper Hall, its nickname obtained during the Covenant assault proving to stand the test of time. The walls still bore scars from human projectile-based weapons and scorch marks from the Covvies' plasma weapons. She resisted the urge to leave this hallway uncleared. The memory of nearly being crushed by the falling barricade, of bones breaking and vibrant green plasma strafing her chest broke in her mind. She shook her head to clear it. There were no more Elites stalking the ship. She had to check in this hall.

Her heart tugged longingly at the switch that would tune Mich into the Freelancer frequency. She itched to activate it and broadcast to the entire team her current position and the areas where she had already looked. If they could coordinate this, the entire crisis could be over in a matter of minutes. But Ark had his armour on and was no doubt listening in just in case there was a momentary lapse of judgment and an agent called out to another. She swallowed hard. It felt like the walls were pressing in on her.

She shook herself. There was no way Mich was going to give in to another attack. The ache in her chest did not ease despite the entire hallway stretching out before her. She couldn't even touch the walls, why was this happening again after so long? It had been years since she had nearly dug her own grave.

If Mich closed her eyes right now, she would see the inside of her SOEIV, the drop pod with Hannah Steele engraved on the side of it. She would imagine the ground lurching under her feet as the primary chute deployed, ripped away and the pod tumbled into a free-fall. Several heartstopping moments later, the secondary chute would jostle her as it opened. The temperature in the metal coffin would rise as the ceramic plating burned away. Just when she thought she really was going to die screaming as the pod buried itself and her along with it, there was the familiar jolt of slamming into something truly solid. She had closed her eyes, leaned her forehead against the hot metal wall and cried because Private Hannah Steele of the ODST branch had survived when she shouldn't have.

Drawing a breath in, Mich banished the dragging fingers of the memory and prowled on.

Okay, maybe the program wasn't all bad. After all, she had been welcomed, despite her detached presence, by most of the agents. It was a fresh feeling after the horrors that plagued her since she was a little girl. She knew what it was like to have a hard start at life, like so many others on this ship. Ever since the Covenant glassed her home and her family was evacuated because of her father's elevated position in ONI, she hit the ground running. And that was because she had to.

Mich remembered how it felt when you pressed your face to the window of a retreating civilian ship only to see bulky Covvie vessels raining molten glass down from afar. Why did they do that? Because on the ground, they were too weak to wipe humanity away. Because on the ground, humans showed how strong and fierce they truly could be. Mich had seen it first-hand. She had beaten waves of fugly Covvie bastards back enough times to tell that for sure.

Whenever she thought about it, that was why she had decided to enter the military. She wanted to save other little boys and girls from going through what she went through. She thought she could make a difference. And now what? Was she making a difference here and now?

She could not answer that.

Mich strode into the break room. It was empty, coffeemaker whirring softly as though whoever had begun the pot had only stepped out and would be back by the time it finished its brew cycle. For all she knew, it was possible. Fifteen Freelancers and hundreds, if not thousands, of personnel, searching the kilometre and a half of frigate for two pieces of prey. Someone would find them, surely. She turned and set off again, assault rifle raised just in case she surprised Harper.

Although, life with Project Freelancer wasn't all bad. Sota was nice for someone who said so little. York, Wyoming, Florida and Georgia never failed to coax a laugh out of Mich. Maine, Penn and Alaska were able to provide some action in life. Massa and North were always kind and able to take the edges off South, Virginia and Carolina. And then there was Cal.

Mich was surprised that they had grown so close. It was so different now. She recalled very easily the first day at lunch, him making bad jokes and poking fun at her. She had stood up and screamed at him to shut up. Before the big mission, they had kissed. If there was anyone she wished was beside her right now, it would be him. Even if it was just to break the fragile silence smothering Mich right now. She longed for his reassuring presence and light mood. He would tell her everything would turn out okay. He would swear to kill Harper as soon as they found him and that would be all right with her. He would be protective, but understand that Mich was capable of taking care of herself.

Mich's ears perked up. She halted and listened carefully, straining to find that tiny whisper of a sound she thought she heard a second ago. Voices! They were very close, too. Placing her feet down carefully, Mich crept closer to the sound. She glanced at the wall to orient herself. They were trying to leave the Mother of Invention, the hushed conversation was drifting from the escape pod bay.

She entered the bay, assault rifle raised and ready. Harper was hunched on the floor, he looked old from the fight with Cal and running through the ship. His time on the MoI had clearly taken its toll on him. He stared at her as she stormed in, not even bothering to try to alert his rescuer. Mich then noticed Ark, crouched at the control panel of the pods, the protective plate concealing the wiring was at his feet. Ark's fingers were buried in the wires, clearly trying to reconfigure them, muttering under his breath to himself.

The sight of someone she had trusted for so long to have her back helping a sworn enemy escape brought stinging bile to her throat. She took her helmet off in an attempt to ease the claustrophobia, dropping it onto the ground next to her.

"Freeze, or I'll shoot," Mich barked. She tried to shake off the familiar feeling of helplessness in the glorified closet of a room. Her fingers tightened around both her rifle, her breath slowed as the adrenaline kicked in, and she finally felt in control once more.

Ark stopped moving.

"Turn around slowly with your hands up," she ordered.

Once again, Ark followed her instructions. He swivelled around to face her, hands held up in surrender. She didn't stop to think about the ease of this capture. She didn't question how easily stubborn Arkansas gave up his botched escapade.

"Stand up and come closer," she barked again, motioning with a slight twitch of her AR for him to do as she said.

Ark did as ordered, stopping three long strides from Mich, silent as the grave, his features hidden behind his helmet. He tilted his head, and Michigan suddenly realised that something had gone very wrong indeed.

A sharp, metallic click sent a shiver down her spine. Out of the corner of her eye, Mich saw Harper pointing a Magnum at her. She bit her lip and choked back a string of swears as she swung around and aimed her assault rifle at the Insurrection Lieutenant. There was a second sound of a weapon being cocked as Ark drew his own pistol, and the sense of helplessness descended onto her once more.

"Put the rifle down, Mich," said Ark. His voice was cold and flat. He jerked the barrel of his weapon at the floor to punctuate his demand. "Do it."

Mich lowered her assault rifle reluctantly. Her mind raced, trying to formulate a plan that would incapacitate Harper and allow her to take out Arkansas without having to get into close quarters with him. He was taller and stronger than her and could effortlessly overpower her. Even if she called for help, the nearest Freelancer had to be at least five minutes away. Too late for any help in an altercation. The waves of nausea weren't helping her any.

She growled when she came up empty. Mich stared into Ark's face. His eyes sparked with barely-controlled fury, and that terrified her, remembering the aura of quiet contemplation that had always surrounded him in the past. How could this man be the same one who had tried to make friends on their first day by small-talking about weapons with her? She couldn't recognize him.

"I said, put it down," he hissed venomously.

Mich dropped her rifle. It hit the floor with a loud clang. She breathed in deeply.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, sounding braver than she felt at that moment. He was ranked third, she only fourteenth. He had her at gunpoint with backup, even as weak as Harper appeared.

"Leaving, just like I told the Director. I'm done with this, Mich. Project Freelancer. The UNSC. All of it." he snarled, humouring her, but she could see the anger slowly draining out of him, and the composure taking hold once more. There were very few reasons for him to do that now. She knew what was coming.

"You don't have to do it like this," she told him. She squared her shoulders. There was no way she was going to plead with him. But it didn't stop the sting of sharp betrayal. She wished Cal had killed Ark in training or a hundred times since the first time they had laid eyes on one another. Mich was glad Cal wouldn't be here to watch.

"Mich," Ark said, his voice now soft and apologetic, steeling himself or his next action. "I'm sorry it was you."

She sighed. Whatever happened now, it was enough to bring every agent running. It would trip an alarm, as live fire outside the shooting range was expressly forbidden and F.I.L.S.S. had to have safeguards of some kind.

"It wasn't meant to be you. It was never meant to be anyone. Why couldn't you have just taken five more minutes to turn up?" he whispered regretfully, but his gun didn't waver.

Mich spread her arms. "Why?" she asked, a note of anger in her voice. "What are you going to do, Ark, shoot m-?"

She watched his finger tighten around the trigger. She heard the fantastic crack in the small room. It bounced off the walls endlessly. She let out a tiny breath of air, shaping a name.

Agent Michigan was dead before she hit the floor.


Agent Arkansas


"You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." – Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight.


Ark swallowed the bulge that had developed in his throat as Mich hit the ground, and he looked away, turning back to the terminal, his fingers once more flying across its surface, attempting to deactivate the protocols that F.I.L.S.S. had placed against unauthorized use of the Mother of Invention's escape pods, knowing full well that the gunshot would have attracted attention.

"I don't want to hurry you, but hurry," Harper snarled next to him, his Magnum trained on the nearest corridor, where the sounds of rapidly approaching soldiers began to echo down from.

"I'm working as fast as I can," Ark replied, not even bothering to glance at the worried Insurrectionist as he continued in his attempts to gain control of the escape pods, sweat breaking out across his brow. "Almost…almost…THERE!"

The words ACCESS GRANTED flashed across the screen, and the door to the nearest escape pod opened slowly, but as Ark and Harper's attention fell on the opening door both Pennsylvania and Alaska charged into the room, weapons in hand, shouting "Freeze!" simultaneously.

Ark turned slightly, his eyes catching Harper's, whose face had suddenly fallen into a look of dismay, the fear breaking through the Insurrectionist's insanity, and his mind no doubt filling once more with thoughts of repeated torture as Alaska injected him with a liquid that would cause his very blood to burn, and much worse besides.

Ark had seen the shipping manifesto.

The two stared at each other for a moment, until Ark shook his head slightly, and when Penn and Alaska demanded that they place their weapons on the ground, they did so, grudgingly, but without argument.

"We've got you, you traitor," Alaska hissed ecstatically, no doubt rejoicing at the thought of another individual to add to the cells, another soul to torture. "It's over for you now."

Ark couldn't help notice that neither of them had more than glanced in Mich's direction, or stopped to check if the fallen agent was still alive. Funny, that the only person in the room that was worried about Mich's current state was the one who had shot her. If only there had been another way…

He looked over at Penn, who remained quiet and impassive by Alaska's shoulder, his assault rifle trained at Ark's chest, his visor locked on Ark's. "Do you remember the last time we talked, Penn?" Ark murmured, feeling Harper shift restlessly next to him. "Do you remember what I said about fear?"

"What's he talking about?" Alaska hissed to his partner, his helmet moving slightly to the side as he glanced at Penn, his voice filled with confusion, but Penn remained silent.

"All my life, I've been fighting on the wrong side Penn. Maybe you have too. But I've found my cause, and I'm prepared to die for it. The question is, are you prepared to kill me for yours?" Ark continued, keeping his voice even, trying to ignore the guns trained on him as Alaska got increasingly more confused and irritated.

"It's time to pick a side, Penn."

Then more footsteps began to echo from the corridors, and another figure burst into the room, and Ark's heart plummeted once more.


Agent Massachusetts


"It's hard to tell who has your back from who has it long enough just to stab you in it." - Nicole Richie


The minute she rounded the corner, her eyes focused on red. Very, very dangerous amounts of red.

"Mich," she breathed as she recognised the younger agent. The presence of Al, Penn and Ark barely registered as she passed them, kneeling beside the badly injured woman. Blood made her pants cling to her knees. Massa looked her over and cursed, slightly, her helmet's sensors not picking up any signs of life in the downed agent.

"Call the infirmary," she ordered tersely, trying to figure out what she could do. It looked like she would have to attempt resuscitation, but without the necessary equipment there was little she could do. At this moment she really regretted that Georgia wasn't around, a wish that she didn't usually share. His armour ability would be useful right about now. She glanced up when none of the three men moved, and it was then that she realised how serious the situation was.

Penn and Al were armed. They were aiming their respective weapons at Ark, who was slowly raising his hands above his head. The three of them ignored her, except for Ark, who occasionally peeked in her direction, his helmet obscuring his features. Most of his attention was, understandably, focused on the guns.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, looking between the three men. As they glanced at her, she turned back to Mich and leaned protectively over her body. "You know what, I don't care. Just someone call medical and–"

"Massa," Al begins, and Massa thinks he's about to say 'run' but Penn stops any words from leaving his mouth with a swift shot to the abdomen and a hard punch to the solar plexus. Penn grips Al's helmet tight, denting it horribly out of shape, and tosses him to the side. Alaska flies across the hallway, hitting the wall beside Mich and Massa before crumpling to the ground.

Penn's gun is no longer pointed at Ark. Ark is just staring, hands hanging limply by his sides.

It's not the first time Massa's been on the end of a barrel of a gun. But looking up, into the cold glare of Penn's visor, Massa's overcome with the certainty it'll be her last.

"Penn," Massa begins, calmly, as though she is not kneeling in a dying woman's blood and Al is not a bloodied heap somewhere behind her. "Can I at least know why you're pointing a gun at me?"

She very specifically does not say 'why are you going to kill me' because that'll just solidify in Penn's mind the thought that he will.

A small cough to the side, and Massa's eyes are drawn to another man that she had previously not noticed in her haste to reach Mich's side, standing next to Ark, his features locked into a smirk.

Massa keeps her gaze steely, her voice not trembling at all as the full sense of betrayal hits her. "Mr Harper, I presume?" she greets politely as she meets his eyes, and sees the demons staring back at her, just like Ark had told them after their last mission. His face is horribly, terribly smug. Ark is frozen beside him, unmoving, impassive, cold.

He grins wider, and nods. Massa opens her mouth to respond, distract them, keep them here where they can be caught, negotiate with them, but she is interrupted.

Penn pulls the trigger.

For a moment, she doesn't feel a thing.

Before pain starts deep in her stomach, Massa locks eyes with Penn (or she thinks she does, even through the visor).

He lowers the gun steadily and turns away. "Come on," he growls as he passes Ark and Harper. Harper shakes his head, as if disappointed by the waste, but follows. Ark turns with him on autopilot.

Pain spreads from her stomach and through her body. Massa grits her teeth. This isn't the first time she's been shot: she can handle the pain. "That's it?" she yells after them. Moving her body, even slightly, causes the pain to intensify. There's no exit wound, so she's probably shaking the bullet around her damn stomach…

She continues, anyway. "Is it really so easy to forget all the times he tried to kill us?" Her goal is to attract someone with her yelling, or at least cause the three men to pause for a little while. Without her armour, she can't call for help any other way. Not a good day to have left it in her room. She should have gone back for it, after hearing the disturbance and seeing the personnel milling about in various states of panic. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Traitors!" she screams, and she doesn't think she can raise her voice all that much anymore. The men keep walking.

"Penn… Ark… I thought you were the good guys," she says softly, letting her voice tremble.

Ark stiffens and glances back. She can imagine what he sees: her, cradling her stomach, her hand and the cloth of her shirt covered in her own blood, eyes glassy and hurt. He stared at her for a moment, his body language not betraying any emotion, before shaking his head and turning away. They turn away down the hall, entering the nearest escape pod, its door sealing behind them, slowly descending into the floor below as it exits the MoI. Massa, exhausted, slumps to the ground.

"Great," she mutters. Now that she knows she's probably going to die here, Massa isn't afraid. She's just bitter.

That is, until her father crosses her mind.

Her mother had been KIA when she was eight. Her brother went MIA before she'd left university. Her father was all she had left, and she was all he had left. So if she died, what would happen to him? How would he possibly deal with his entire family being taken away from him, one by one?

Massa swallowed past the lump in her throat. She could feel her blood sluggishly making its way out of her body. Would he even be told she was dead?

She'd never really trusted the Director. How could she know he'd ensure something as… as… basic as sending word of her death? The only ones she could know for sure would know of her death (maybe some would even mourn) didn't even know her name.

She let herself cry, then, sobs choked out and tears blurring her vision. She cried for herself, and her father, and Mich, who had faded away without anyone even noticing. It was sometime during this when Alaska stirred.

His first word upon waking was "Damn."

"Nice to see you up, Al," Massa said dryly, trying to will away any remnants of tears. It was probably obvious through her red eyes and streaked face that she had been crying, but she didn't want to continue around Al. Best to ignore it.

"Massa," Al said slowly. He tried to push himself up. His knees buckled and he slumped back against the wall, but he set his jaw and crawled the short distance over to her. "You're going to be okay. Just hold on for–"

"If you contact someone now, you may be able to stop them before they leave," Massa interrupts. She doesn't even mention calling for medics. She can feel her abdomen filling with blood, the blood that isn't being pumped out through a hole in her stomach. She steadied her breathing and focused on Al to try to keep away the pain.

Al tried to contact someone, before removing his heavily dented helmet (with some difficulty) and throwing it across the hall.

"Radio's gone," he said simply. Penn must've destroyed it. "Massa, they'll come anyway. It'll be fine, just–"

"Kim."

Alaska stopped abruptly, staring down at her. His eyes were unusually bright. "What?"

"Kim. Kimberly, technically, but that's way too long," Massa shrugged, a painful movement that left her momentarily breathless. "It's my name."

Alaska grinned. Massa thought it looked strange. "That's breaking regs there, Massa. You're not supposed to reveal personal information to other agents, remember?"

"I'm sure my secret's safe with you." Massa's voice was getting weaker, which she hated, but couldn't do much about. Her vision was getting blurry. She could no longer feel her legs, and she was losing feeling in her arms. She noted all this dispassionately. She was a medic; she'd been trained for emotional detachment.

The sound of yelling brought her out of her thoughts.

"Hey," Al spoke hoarsely and gripped her hand tight, forcing her to refocus on him. "You'll be fine. Somebody would've heard that."

"Al, thanks," she told him. If there was a time to be sentimental, this was probably it. Massa wondered what he'd do with her name –would he keep it to himself, or spread it around? She hoped he would at least tell Virginia.

"What for?" he demanded, hand gripping tight to hers as if he could hold her to the world by will alone. Massa let herself smile at his involuntary display of compassion. "What for, Kim?"

"…For wishing me luck."

The last thing Massa did was consciously close her eyes. Eyes were expressive. She'd always hated to see the light leave them.


Well, I think that was as rough as I promised it would be. Hope it delivered on all fronts and lived up to our expectations. Now, I'm going off into a corner for a moment to feel more than a little depressed, and bid those two characters a fond farewell.

A little titbit to build up the anticipation – the sequel's title will be Phase Two: Betrayal.

Finally, the promised promo art –

http:''thefreelancercollaboration,wikia,com'wiki'F ile:The_Eternity_Cube,jpg

And

http:''i,imgur,com'bQFklA3,jpg

(Just switch the ' for / and the , for . and remove the spaces!)