(A/N) Hey guys, you didn't really think we'd leave you with that sort of cliff-hanger, did you? Come on, when we end something, we do it right! So here, here is the ending of Phase One: Genesis. We began with a prologue, so it's fitting that we end it with an epilogue, compiled by all of the great writers currently working on the fic, except, of course, for Ayane458 and TunelessLyric, for obvious reasons. We'll have the prologue of Phase Two: Betrayal going up on Saturday, so keep an eye out for that, and possibly a little more in between. So here, here is the end.
Enjoy, for the last time (in this fic).
Epilogue
Full Cast
Written by The Freelancer Collaboration
"Ends are not bad things, they just mean that something else is about to begin. And there are many things that don't really end, anyway, they just begin again in a new way. Ends are not bad and many ends aren't really an ending; some things are never-ending." ― C. JoyBell C.
Agent Florida
Written by OhSoDeadly
It was all coming apart.
Florida swept down the corridor, gun up. By all appearances he was just another soldier, on the lookout for bad guys, but inside the blue shell he was a mess. He felt the sweat course down the back of his neck, and the pain drilling into his forehead. He felt an almighty urge to sit down and take a breath, but he knew he couldn't do it. Not after what had happened.
Ark…what have you done? He'd shot at the director. The man in charge, their boss! All over some little misunderstanding. Surely Ark had to see that! It couldn't have been true, all the stuff he'd been yellin' and hollerin'. Surely not, The UNSC were the good guys! They wouldn't have destroyed a whole village without good reason…
Triestina.
One word, and all of his bluster and argument came tumblin' down. He had to stop, brace an arm against a pillar, shut his eyes for a moment. But that didn't help. All he saw was the city vanishing in a flash of light, over and over over…
Murderer.
"No I'm not!" He snapped, and looked around. He was in some corridor of the ship. No doubt there was some designation on a wall, but right now he didn't care. "I didn't murder those people."
You stood by and did nothing. A good man? A good man who let evil happen. That makes you evil.
He slumped to the floor, head dropping toward his chest. He needed to get out. He needed to make himself small, so very small-
"Florida."
Another voice. But this time, one he recognised. Coming over the radio. He breathed shakily, fumbled for his com-unit. "Florida here. Wh-what's the situation?"
York's voice, sounding…dead. Bereft of life. "Get to the medical bay. All of the agents are meeting there." A brief pause, then: "Ark escaped. Penn too."
"Penn?" Florida gaped. "But why-"
"Massachusetts, Michigan and Alaska are all down. York out."
Massa and Mich both…
Florida let his back hit the wall. He reached up for his helmet seal, pulled the heavy blue thing off his head. Turned it around, stared at the visor. Rubbed his fingers over the hard metal, the metal meant to resist bullets and even plasma.
What good was protection if the people you loved still got hurt?
Ignoring all further queries over the radio, falling back into the pit of despair he'd climbed out of, Butch Flowers wept as he slowly made his way towards the direction of the med bay.
Agent Wyoming
Written by NicKenny
Wyoming sat alone in his room, his face ashen, his eyes appearing curiously stagnant, if anyone had been interested enough to observe them. Instead, they were locked on the three forms in the medical bay, surrounded by a swarm of medics, rapidly treating their patients, as the Freelancers looked on.
Several moved aside as two medics pushed through the chaos, defibrillators in hand. Cal had let out an audible sob as the smallest body jerked when the medics sent the electric current through her body for the first time.
He heard Florida begin praying under his breath at the second. The small Freelancer in the blue armour was muttering words with rapidly increasing pace and an intense religious fever by Wyoming's side, but Wyoming couldn't even bring himself to offer a word or two of reassurance, his entire being was focused on the three bodies before him.
The third attempt caused Cal to rise to his feet. The medics looked at each other with somber expressions as they slowly shook their heads and started packing the defibrillators away. When a medic called her time of death, Cal let out a wordless scream of pure pain, hammering at the plastic window in front of him in unhinged fury. Carolina was forced to bodily remove him, at which Cal struggled for a moment in her arms before descending into an uncontrollable fit of sobs.
The second Freelancer flat-lined soon after and Wyoming's heart dropped after each failed attempt at resuscitation before another medic called her time of death. Florida at this point kneeling on the ground, tears streaming down his face as he prayed. Virginia turned and left, her face as pale and rigid as Wyoming's, and even South didn't have the strength to mutter anything as she walked out.
Two down, he thought, a solitary tear trickling down his left cheek, before blinking rapidly as Florida got to his feet next to him and began screaming at the scene before him.
"Don't give up Al, you selfish bastard! You're going to pull through this, y'here me!"
York and North stepped in, taking the man aside, and a small sigh of relief was issued when a medic finally came out, and informed them that, despite the head trauma he had suffered, Alaska's condition was stable. However, knowing the fates of their other two teammates, this was all the celebration they could give. They had lost two of their friends, at the hand of two others.
Wyoming sat there, alone and looked over, as those who could offer some comfort sought to the needs of those who were most in need of it. No one was aware of the ache in his heart, and the raging tempest of emotions that sought for dominion over him.
Years ago, he had lost everyone whom he had ever been close to, everyone who had ever mattered to him. After that, he had been determined to never become attached to anyone else, ever again. Yet somehow…somehow he had become attached to this group of Freelancers, and when he saw Massa's lifeless body lying there…anger took over.
He would never allow himself to be compromised like this again. He would never allow himself to care about another human being, not if this was the result.
But one thing, one last thing that he could promise his former self…was that he would avenge their deaths. He owed it to them.
Agent Maine
Written by Jerem6401
Maine's helmet sat on the floor at his feet. His cot somehow felt more uncomfortable than usual. Maine looked up, seeing the emptiness before him. All of the freelancers had been ordered to return to their quarters until further instruction. Maine's roommate still had not returned. The Director must have been briefing him on the situation at hand. The Freelancers all knew something was wrong, but still didn't have any details. Finally, after hours, the door to Maine's room slid upwards and a man stood in its frame.
"Penn," Maine started as he stood up. "What's going on out…" Maine stopped in his tracks, seeing the man in the doorway was not Penn. It was Florida. "Florida? What are you doing here? Has something gone wrong?"
Florida nodded and rubbed the back of his head. "Listen… the Director thought I was a good choice to deliver the current situation to the troops," he spoke, quietly.
Maine titled his head. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
"It's Agents Massachusetts and Michigan, Maine," he whispered. Maine looked over Florida's shoulder, almost expecting to see them standing behind him. Florida's eyes seemed like they were glazed over as he shook his head.
"Massa?" Maine asked quietly. "Mich?"
Florida continued to shake his head and took a deep breath. "They're gone, Maine."
Maine stepped back into his room, placing a hand on his forehead. Two of the best soldiers in the universe… gone. He shook his head in denial and then looked at the bed next to him.
"Penn," Maine began. "What happened to Penn?" Florida's grip on the door-frame seemed to tighten and he growled slightly.
"Agent Arkansas," he said a low hiss. "He killed Agent Michigan." Maine stepped forward again.
"WHAT?!" Florida slowly turned his back to Maine as he nodded. "Traitor! We'll find him! He'll pay for…" Maine stopped mid-sentence once again. "Wait…" Maine dropped his shoulders and looked off into the distance, not at anything in particular. "Florida…"
Florida didn't look back. He let his hand slide off the frame and began to walk away. "Florida… why did you tell me that and not where Penn is?" Florida continued to walk away. "Florida… what happened to Massa?"
Florida was gone. Nothing but a dark hallway out of Maine's open door, which quickly slid shut when the blue freelancer was completely out of view. Maine stepped backwards and dropped back onto his cot. He looked at his hands, shaking his head while he did.
"No…" He looked at the bed across from him once more and clenched his hands into fists. "You."
Maine closed his eyes as he growled quietly to himself. "You and Ark are going to pay."
Maine thought about Massa and Mich. The two who had his back during missions. The two that looked to him for protection. That's when Maine felt it. Ark and Penn had to die. Not just because they betrayed project freelancer. Not just because they killed Massachusetts and Michigan. But because… no one makes Maine feel pain.
Agent Virginia
Written by anna1795
To my dearest sister…Yeah, it's been a long time since we've talked to each other. Wow, it must be super exciting to be able to work out in space! I'm super jealous of you right now.
Virginia was bone tired as she trudged through the hallways of the MoI. The normal grey steel had been coated with messy splattering of red, and bodies were lined up all along the wall for collection. The ODSTs were busy cleaning up, but the way that they looked at her as she passed and shrunk away, it was like they were afraid that she could snap at any moment and go on a rampage, just like Arkansas had.
I hope that you're having some fun going on all sorts of missions and seeing lots of new places. I wish that I was having all those adventures with you.
The hallways were permanently ingrained in Virginia's head as she navigated her way to where the Director and the other Freelancers were at; the medical bay where Massa had spent the last few moments of her life, or, in the case of Mich, where all attempts to resuscitate her had failed. Already from two doors away, she could tell that few had moved since she had left. There were medics everywhere, tending to wounded or gathering a list of the dead. Her teammates were all there in their armour, gathered in a loose group at the far end.
Everyone at home misses you, and wish you the best of luck. We just want to remind you to try to make friends and not enemies.
There came a strangled scream from near inside the medical bay. Virginia jumped, then wearily removed her helmet and saw California on his knees, holding the pale, still form of Michigan to his chest and crying his eyes out, through the glass barrier that separated her from them. The young man looked so defeated and broken, and she felt a pang of guilt and regret run through her. Despite her initial misgivings about Cal, she'd try her best to help him. South, Sota, North, and Georgia all stood across from her, staring at Cal and Mich's limp body. They each had their own expressions of grief, ranging from impassive faces with the occasional mouth twitch downwards to bravely wiping tears away with their hands.
For those friends that you do make, keep them close and don't push them away. I know you're not one to trust easy, but loosen up a little bit. It'll help you deal with the war.
Virginia met North's and Georgia's eyes, and they gave her such sorrowful looks then turned their heads to where the first wave of Freelancers stood around another form…someone in sea-foam green armour. She walked a little quicker and collapsed to her knees beside her roommate. Alaska was also there, his helmet cast aside and injuries ignored, ignoring the medics that flocked around him, protesting. He was holding Massa's hand and met Virginia's gaze, regret in every detail of his face.
And don't be afraid to let out some emotion every once in a while… it's not going to kill you.
Virginia took Massa's other hand and held it close. Even through her glove, it felt cold and limp. Carolina stared down at her, but Virginia knew better to think that the lack of emotion was due to her not caring. With someone as sweet as Massa, it was impossible not to feel grief (Well, except for the Counselor and Director, who just stood in their own corner and talked). Carolina…just had her own way of dealing. Just as Florida and York's tears and Wyoming's moustache twitch indicated. Alaska put his free hand on Virginia's arm, and she looked to him.
"I'm sorry."
Virginia couldn't hold it in anymore. Holding Massa's hand in a death grip, she let her tears flow freely down her face as she cried.
I hope to see you soon, sis. Keep in touch.
Love from your sister.
Agent California
Written by BrambleStar14
Cal sat in his chair in the Emergency Room, tears still pouring down his face as he stared at Mich's body. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. He had thought that Harper had taken everything from him already, but apparently there were still things he could lose. Until now. Now, nothing mattered.
His throat was still raw after the scream of agony he'd initially let out after being informed of her death. He didn't even noticed as he continued to cry, sat motionless in shock, clutching her cold, dead hand and knowing that she would never squeeze back. Who cared about finding Penn, Harper or Ark now? He felt like he had a hole directly in his heart, like everything he was, was just draining out of him.
"Why you, huh Mich?" his voice was shaky and interrupted several times by sobs. He was glad no one else was here to watch; they had all left to give him some privacy.
"Why did you have to leave me here? I thought that wasn't how it works? I was gonna stay with you. Forever. All the stuff I didn't say. How do I-" he cut himself off before he could get any worse. He took a deep breath, before continuing.
"How do I go on now? Without you? I- I loved you, goddamnit. And now you'll never even know. I wasn't there. I am so sorry, Mich. Or, whatever your name really is. I never knew. You were always Mich to me. Now I'll never know. There's just... so much I wish I could have known."
He broke off as a fresh wave of sobs wracked his body and he leaned forwards, pressing her hand to his cheek. Then, a voice spoke out behind him, and he spun around, surprised.
"I believe I can help with that." The Director stood there, eyes slightly glassier than usual as he took in the sight of the ruined man. His left arm was in a sling, a slightly blood-stained bandage covering his shoulder. In his right hand was a file.
"With all due respect, Sir," Cal managed. "Next time you want to help, consider telling your agents the truth."
The Director sighed deeply. "I made a mistake with Arkansas. It will not happen again. I simply came to bring you this."
He held out the file.
With numb hands, Cal took it slowly and opened it to see a picture of a smiling Mich, followed by a complete dossier.
Hannah Steele.
Her name. Her actual name. A set of dog tags slid out of the file and without thinking, Cal took them and pocketed them. Glancing through the file, Cal saw everything about her. This was beyond a normal tact for the Director, it was almost like a different person had given him the file.
"Why?" It was all he could say.
"Because I too lost someone very close to me," the Director replied, accent thicker than usual as he turned away. "And you deserve the chance to do what I could not."
Cal hesitated as understanding dawned in his eyes. "That's what this is all about, isn't it Sir? The Project." Another thought came to him. "Chance to do what?"
The Director paused and Cal saw a sad smile cross his face after the first sentence. After Cal had completely finished, the man spoke, eyes definitely shinier than they had been.
"You deserve the chance to say goodbye to her. I am sorry, Jason."
And he turned and left, leaving Cal alone with Mich and his grief.
Agent New York
Written by WargishBoromirFan
When it was over, Al dragged back to the medical bay and Mich and Massa - Hannah and Kim - taken to the morgue, all York could do was sit down, slumped against a wall. He needed to be there for the other agents, help calm California down, make sure Maine didn't injure anyone, especially himself, and try to just be there for Virginia, offering an ear for when she was ready to talk. He needed to check on the crew - Randy, Tim, and Vickers weren't any less dead or mourned because they'd been "regular" soldiers instead of Freelancers. He needed to do that. York wanted to do that. But first, he just needed a moment. He needed to just ask what everyone else had to be asking:
Why?
He needed to knock on a door with only one occupant, once again. He needed to jigger the lock open when said occupant suggested he perform an anatomically impossible act. And just for tonight, he had to make sure Carolina took a break from training.
Agent Minnesota
Written by XxXshadowkitsuXxX
Sota didn't know what to do. There were too many emotions flowing through him, so he did what he always did and bottled them up, saving them for when he needed them. There was one emotion that stood out from the rest, which seemed to fuel action he had made since Mich and Massa's deaths. Hate, it was all that guided him. He hated Ark. He hated Penn. He hated the Director, the Counselor, all of them. He'd never hated anyone before, maybe disliked a few people or found some of them annoying but he had never hated any of them.
He didn't know what to do, feeling weak and useless. All that Sota did know was that he would do whatever he had to do find those traitors and kill them. Kill them and anyone that stands against Project Freelancer. Fuck the leaderboard and the Director, all that mattered to Sota now was finding those assholes and putting a bullet in their skulls. Something he'd be more than happy to do.
He couldn't help Cal, he couldn't help his friend deal with Mich's death, because Sota knew the pain of loss all too well. Nothing could fill the hole inside him, not even the deaths of Ark, Penn and Harper.
But maybe, just maybe, it might lessen his pain just that little bit.
Agent North Dakota
Written by StormBlue
It...had been so sudden. So unexpected. North was left confused when they had all been ordered to hunt down Arkansas. It hadn't been all too much of a surprise that Harper had been wandering the hallways of the Mother of Invention, but Ark? He was mysterious, sure, but North had trusted him. What possibly could have caused him to…
When word of the deaths of Massa and Mich had reached him, he was dazed. They were space soldiers, constantly in battle with the Insurrection and the Covenant. The death of teammates was something that North had known might happen, and was prepared to do his best to prevent. But from one of their own? How was one supposed to prevent something like that? How could any of them have seen it coming?
But now they were both gone...and Ark and Penn, two of the people he had once entrusted his life to had betrayed them and taken a dangerous man with them. He could almost see Mich's small frame disappearing around the corner on her way to the training room, and Massa's face as she dissolved the paint off his armor, along with her scolding words. It made him...sad, but even more it heightened his desire to protect what was left of his team. To help them recover from this. He knew that some of them had been close with those that were gone now, and he wanted to do what little he could to help. They needed him, so he couldn't have the luxury of grief right now.
He was a soldier. People had died around him before. Teammates; people he had grown to care about.
But even with that experience, it still didn't ease the ache.
Agent South Dakota
Written by Lili-Hunter
Professional killers - which South undoubtedly was - never make it very long without eventually experiencing loss of some kind. South expected it, anticipated it – hell, she dealt out death herself, on a near-daily basis. But this time… none of it felt real to her.
Massa – the big sister to them all. South wasn't used to anyone, other than North, treating her like more than just a lit fuse. But Massa had never been anything but compassionate. And Michigan wasn't exactly the snobby bitch that South had first pinned her for, though she doubted they'd ever have become anything more than teammates.
But none of that really mattered, anymore – did it? Because they were both dead.
It was Arkansas' fault. Even if he hadn't been the one to pull the trigger, their deaths were still on his head. He'd been the catalyst to it all. Sometimes South felt like emptying her magnum's magazine into his skull; other days she wondered what exactly it had been that had made him run.
It didn't matter, though. Ark was a traitor, and they were all clamouring for his blood. But, more than that… he had scared her more than she was willing to admit.
Up until this point, South had been safe. She'd been invincible. With her armour a firm barrier between her skin and the world, and especially her brother by her side, she'd been unstoppable. The Director might have been the one calling the shots, but it was the Freelancers pulling the triggers – putting their lives on the line day after day, and coming away nearly always unscathed. They'd faced impossible odds almost daily, and always come out on top.
Arkansas had put a stop to that.
Now, the truth hit her harder than one of Maine's fists to the face. Because she wasn't invincible; wasn't unstoppable, or even safe. South – or just as chillingly, North – could have very easily taken the bullets that had killed Mich and Massa.
South stood so fast that the chair she'd been sitting on was abruptly unbalanced, and toppled to the floor. She paused for a single moment, struggling to keep a grip on the chaos swirling inside of her, before storming out of the room. No one, not even North, looked up as she passed, heading directly to the training room.
She hated living like this. She'd thought that she was done with the fear – with the insecurity and the shameful terror – when she'd joined the military. For years, she'd felt finally safe; in her skill and in the gun strapped to her side. But now, Arkansas had ruined that for her.
And she hated him for it.
Agent Carolina
Written by NicKenny
Carolina stood in the training room, breathing heavily through her nose, panting as sweat poured down her back in rivulets, her concentration solely fixed on the green circles that encircled her, her hands and feet darting out and turning each a bright red with incredible speed.
She barely noticed York enter the room, so intent was she on the task at hand, and it wasn't until F.I.L.S.S. ended the session that she turned to him.
"What do you want?" she asked tiredly, in irritation. Why couldn't he just let her be?
"I'm worried about you," he replied calmly, his features set in a look of sadness, emphasising his words. "You need to take a break, Carolina. You need to talk with someone about this."
Carolina let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh really? I guess that someone is you, right? My 'knight in shining armour,' huh?" she gave him a look of such derision that she saw York physically flinch before her, and turned away, shaking her head slowly.
"You can't help me, York. The only way that I can stop something like this from ever happening again is by being the best soldier that I can be. You're getting in the way of that, holding me back. You're a distraction, nothing more."
"Carolina?" he murmured, hurt, and something stirred in her heart momentarily, but she quashed it, her features maintaining their stony expression, her words cold.
"Go away York. Go try and help someone who needs it. You're just wasting both of our time at the moment."
He nodded slowly and turned away, and Carolina felt the same fleeting feeling run through her, but she continued to suppress it. She couldn't let her emotions hold her back.
She had work to do.
Agent Georgia
Written by WargishBoromirFan
Goddamnit, leaders lied. History was the collected and accepted lies of a people, as a cynical professor of his had been fond of repeating, and leaders made history. Ark was better than to believe such bullshit because a couple of leaders had said it was so. There had to be more evidence than was on one data stick; everything was wireless these days.
And if it were true, what difference did it make?
Georgia knew that compared to a lot of other Freelancers, he was lucky. He was from a stable home. His father had died when he was little, but his maternal Grandpa Jacobs and two elder brothers had filled in a paternal role, so he'd never really missed the absence. His mother was still healthy, and while he'd lost contact with most of his friends from college and former units when he'd joined the Project, he was used to dropping off the radar and not hearing from them for months or years on end. He made friends easily. He wasn't one to dwell on losses. He was - for lack of a better term - well-adjusted.
So watching his best friend throw away everything because of fear and anger and history he couldn't change and surely couldn't imagine he could hope to fix this way was a completely foreign concept. And it pissed Georgia the hell off.
If Ark had talked to him when he was toying with that data stick and trying to figure out what to do with it instead of confronting the Director with a gun, Georgia could have gotten him out of the ship without any bloodshed. They could've combined forces and gotten out of there without anyone the wiser. Instead, Ark had killed two of their own women, created a mess with the MoI's systems, and left with fucking Harper and goddamn Pennsylvania.
Georgia made his final repairs to the airlock where Michigan and Massachusetts had met their ends and tossed a penny at the outer door. "We could've done it together, man," he muttered as he walked back in. "But now you went and broke it." From the inner sanctum of the Mother of Invention, Georgia cycled the airlock and watched the bright piece of copper float aimlessly into space.
Arkansas
Written by NicKenny
Ark sat in the driving seat of the escape pod, waiting for the MoI to pass out of the range of its detection system before heating up the thrusters, the pod drifting aimlessly in space just like another piece of space debris.
He could feel Harper stirring restlessly behind him, while Penn sat in the far corner of the pod, worryingly silent, and, for what must have been the hundredth time since he pulled the trigger on Mich, he wondered exactly what pit of snakes it was that he had just thrown himself into.
Shaking those thoughts aside, and remembering exactly why he had turned against the project, his expression soured further, and his lips tightened into a grim line. Igniting the thrusters, he began to pull the pod out of the heap of scrap metal that it had used as cover until the MoI passed by, when something slowly spun towards him,a bright copper circle floating closer and closer until it bounced with a slight ping off the glass in front of him.
He stared at it for a moment in utter disbelief, recognising his roommates lucky penny the second it had entered his field of vision, and he immediately seized the controls, using one of the pods mechanical arms (originally intended for pushing scrap metal out of the way, back when these pods had been used for maintenance work as well as retreating), to snatch the penny and pass it into the cockpit.
He picked it up slowly, his face falling into a look of grief and sadness, wondering whether or not Georgia would see him as a traitor, as no doubt all the others would. Staring at it for a moment, he eventually pulled himself away and pocketed it, determined to maintain that one last connection with his life at Project Freelancer.
Turning back to the matter at hand, he set the autopilot on the pod's systems for the nearest "Insurrectionist friendly" planet, and when the thrusters were operating at full capacity, and the auto-pilot showed no signs of malfunctioning, he got up from his seat and turned back to Penn and Harper, now steeled for what was to come.
"Did you have a plan when you decided to spring me, or is this all just a bit of a 'spur of the moment' sort of thing?" Harper asked wryly, an evil gleam in his eyes.
Ark looked at him coolly, frowning. "Can you contact any remnants of the URF?" he asked tersely, ignoring Harper's question, his voice cold and collected.
Harper's brow furrowed, and he stared back at Ark in confusion. "Why?" he replied, shrugging slowly. "Any group that's left will have split and spread across the galaxy. They lost. Losers don't tend to stick around."
Ark shook his head slowly in exasperation, and took a step forward to the Lieutenant. "Because we've just pissed off one of the most elite projects in the galaxy. We're going to be hunted. If we don't have support, we're going to die. So, just to reiterate: Can. You. Contact. Them?"
Something in his tone must have registered with Harper, because he turned slightly away slightly, looking thoughtful, before nodding in reply.
"If you can boost this thing's radio, I should be able to contact one of my squadmates, if he's still alive. We set aside a frequency for a situation just like this."
Ark nodded slowly. "And yet you only remember this now?" he noted wryly, before turning back to the cockpit. "Let's get to work."
Killian Jay - Private First Class, Medic
Written by Casaric
Killian Jay sat back against the chair in his room, his face tired, bags under his eyes, and began to speak, the voice recorder in his data-pad having been activated
"As a medic I was taught not to get attached to your patients.
As Killian Jay, I have found, as odd as it may sound, that getting to know the person whose life you're saving, actually has benefits. Weird, huh?
For example: just last week I got a crate of high-grade explosives, courtesy of Florida. Not quite sure what I'm going to do with them yet, but it's a nice gesture.
...However, in light of recent events, I'm beginning to rethink my practice.
It's hard enough seeing the corpse of a stranger, and at least then you can block it out.
But these were Freelancers. The best of the best, made better.
And, for a while, I became convinced that they'd just keep living.
But I guess that illusion had to break sooner or later. Now Mich and Massa are dead. Just two more corpses sitting in the morgue.
And, to top all of it off, two Freelancers went rogue and Ian Harper was freed.
...You know what? I...I'm not drunk enough to be recording this shit...I'll be back when I'm thoroughly wasted... "
Lt Ian Harper
Written by BrambleStar14
Harper stood up from the chair, groaning slightly as his aching limbs cried out in protest. Ignoring them, he stretched slightly, letting the hunched posture he had assumed on the Mother of Invention fall away. He wasn't quite as frail as they thought he was.
Standing up straight, he assessed the damage to his body, coughing a few times to remove the husky quality from his voice. He could feel the cuts around his body, but passed them over. Easily fixed. He ran his tongue over his chipped teeth and almost chuckled. Again, easily replaced. Moving his tongue to his bloody lips, he ran it around, removing the blood and laughing slightly as the metallic tang entered his mouth, earning a look from Arkansas.
He put a hand through his short hair and scowled slightly, but it wasn't a big deal. He could grow it back. Overall, Alaska had done literally no lasting damage. And they called him an interrogations expert. Snorting slightly, he turned around and walked over to Ark, leaning on the side of his chair.
"Alright, I've contacted Falcon, we're in. We've got pretty much everything sorted to allow us to carry on the Insurrection. Goody." His voice is filled with childlike glee.
Ark looks slightly concerned. "No we don't. We'll have to start again. You broke. I've seen Alaska's reports. You gave him everything."
Harper physically laughed out loud, shaking his head. "Nope. You can torture me, you can make me scream. But you can never make me beg and you can never make me talk. After all I've been through, I refuse to break at the hands of an egotistical Freelancer with a fetish for knives. Whatever I told them was either incorrect or things that they already knew. When I'm through with you, he's yours, by the way."
He directed this at Penn, who had been sat down silently for almost the entire trip. The former Freelancer's head barely turned at these words, but Harper could detect the slight snort of disdain. A flash of anger shot through him, barely suppressed, but he let it go, and turned away.
Ark tilted his head slightly, considering this new information, but nodded slowly, accepting Harper's words. "Alright then. What now?"
Harper slowly walked away, glancing at the immobile Penn. "We wait. Falcon's making his way to Haven to meet us. There's this last resort bunker that we can use as a temporary base. Some survivors might have even made their way there. We can pick up command of operations and then we're free to continue what we left off."
He wondered if they had picked up on the subtle 'we'.
"Allen's dead. You know that, right?" Ark's voice broke through his concentration for a second.
"He is? Right, you're in charge. I refuse to take over the whole thing. You know how goddamned boring that would be? Second in command is much more fun."
He heard Penn snort again behind him the moment he mentioned refusing to take over. "I don't think you realise, Harper, that it isn't your choice to make. We rescued you. You were never taking command."
Turning away from the former Freelancers and ignoring Penn's words, he walked to the window at the back off the ship and stared off at the distant stars, where somewhere, Project Freelancer was reeling from today's events. He glanced behind him at his two latest allies, before allowing himself a wide, manic grin.
"Oh Freelancer," he chuckled. "This is going to be so much fun."
Agent Alaska
Written by Minaethiel
Agent Massachusetts. Dead.
Agent Michigan. Dead.
Alaska hated to admit it, but he couldn't help but feel guilty. He should've turned on Penn as soon as Ark had spoken. He should've seen the signs of Penn and Ark getting ready to crack. He was good at getting under people's skins. He was good at getting them to say or do what he wanted. He was good at reading people, period. Yet he had allowed his trust in his teammates cloud his focus.
Crazy, wasn't it? Trusting his teammates had caused two of their deaths.
"...For wishing me luck." Massa's- no, Kim's- last words to him. Alaska wished they hadn't of been her last. At first her kindness had been alien for the military. Her compassion was annoying at times. Over time he'd grown to truly appreciate her for who she was, valuing her as a member of the team. He remembered when she'd visited with Florida when he was locked up.
Alaska had hated how they had teamed up to get him to submit to treatment, but now he was sorry he had never said thanks for her concern. He wouldn't get that chance now. He wouldn't get the chance to say a lot of things to her. The thought of actually missing her, let alone anyway, made him feel weak, just like he had when Moi had died.
Michigan hadn't deserved to die either. The other Freelancer had only been with the project a short time. Alaska himself hadn't talked to her often, but she had done her job well whenever he had worked with her, and he could only imagine the repercussions her death would have on California. He was already unstable, but losing Michigan would probably make it that much worse. He hadn't been blind to how close they had been getting.
Penn. His ally. Out of all the other Freelancers he understood Penn the most, and he was sure Penn understood him too. However all they had been through, all of the missions they had done together had counted for absolutely nothing in the end. Penn was now a traitor. The next time they met, Alaska would make sure that Penn paid the price for betraying the trust he and Massa- hell, everyone- had had in him. Ark had the same thing coming to him.
Mark my words, Penn, Ark, he thought to himself, this is far from over.
Getting up out of his bed, wincing in pain as he recently treated injuries protested at this exertion, he staggered over to his dressing table, opening up the top drawer in search for the painkillers that he had been prescribed, when something caught his eye within.
A simple silver locket, with a delicately carved M set in the centre, lay at the bottom of the drawer. Alaska wondered how he could have missed it up to this point. He had seen this locket before, many times, but he couldn't understand how it had gotten there. It wasn't supposed to have been real.
While he had been locked away on the MoI, until the Director had decided that he was battle-ready once more, he had pictured its owner hundreds, if not thousands, of times, calling out her name in his sleep each night, until he finally accepted that she had never existed.
Moi.
Pennsylvania
Written by Jerem6401
Penn sat there, silent and unmoving, noticing neither Arkansas or Harper while his final act as a Freelancer rang through his head, over and over, in the letter that he had sent from his computer before wiping it clean with the virus that Ark had given him only a few hours before.
If you're reading this… I've already left the MOI with Agent Arkansas.
It's over. My loyalty to Project Freelancer is no more. I've officially accepted my place in the rankings of the Insurrection. It was Ark. I'm sure by now people will be screaming the word traitor at the sheer mention of his name. I can't say that isn't true for my name as well. He was never someone I respected, or even thought capable of a scheme like this. But his words. That's what got to me. What was I fighting for? Short answer… the Director.
The others are too blind, too thick-headed, and too weak to try and dig behind his training sessions and experimental equipment to find out what was really going on in that warped brain of his. That man doesn't give a shit about humanity! He doesn't care about the war, and I was the only one willing to see and accept it. He's hiding something. Planning something. These soldiers… the Freelancers… they're nothing to him. Just pawns willing to follow his every order and get him whatever he wants. They're slaves. All of them! Even his precious Carolina. They don't realize he brought on the universe's greatest soldiers and told them he wanted to win a war, and when the fear set in that they might start trying to figure out his real goals, he did what anyone with his power would do… he started pulling the strings. He threw these masters of war against one another, and put up a glowing, ranked reminder of their failure that they had to stare in the face every day. A fucking atrocity. A constant slap in the face of what you couldn't do.
Ark was right. I wasn't fighting for what I believed in. Now I'm standing alongside Harper and the rest of the Insurrection. Rebels. That's what they call themselves. Soldiers who can reshape the universe under their own governing laws. Everyone in this group looks at themselves like a martyr. A sort of godsend here to free the universe from some kind of invisible stranglehold. It's all nonsense. But that's the thing. I don't give a rat's ass about sides anymore. There is no war. Just two armies throwing armoured sacks of meat at one another while the rest of the universe watches and shakes their heads. Every step forward in this war is another step back for humanity. So I've decided I'm going to end this. I want to end this war once and for all. And the only way that's going to happen, is when one side is finally and completely wiped out.
I'm leaving this on my personal log. Any way of retrieving the access code to my files left the ship along with me… except for one. I left a single copy of the code in the memory unit of a soldier on board the MOI. And if my predictions are correct… that soldier is currently reading this. That soldier is you. So Alaska… I bet you're wondering why I chose to destroy Project Freelancer… and side with the Insurrection if I don't care about this war. The answer is simple. I found something worth fighting for. Something I want more than anything else in this world. Something I swear on my life I will accomplish. I'm going to destroy the Mother of Invention. I'm going to snap the Director's spine in half.
And I'm going to kill you.
The Director
Written by NicKenny
I stood in the command room, my left arm in a sling, still throbbing from the present that Arkansas had gifted me before his desertion, my face grim as I stared out into the depths of space, wondering where he was as of this moment. I had never enjoyed being in the dark, and this moment was no exception. Whichever god-forsaken hole Arkansas had fled to, Project Freelancer would pursue him to, and drag him out into the light.
"You know there will be an inquiry?" the Counselor murmured behind me, and I exchanged a knowing glance with the Alpha, whose holographic form was standing on the table next to me, before looking back at the Counselor.
"Of course, Counselor. We have not yet obtained the required trust of the UNSC for something like this no to be investigated. I imagine they'll probably shut us down, for a while at least," I replied, smiling slightly to myself, which appeared to puzzle him.
"Only for a while, Director?" he asked, his tone betraying his confusion, and I gave a slight chuckle and turned back to the window.
"Indeed, Counselor. Alpha and I have been discussing the most likely outcomes. The UNSC will almost certainly shut us down, as least for the duration of the inquiry, but Arkansas and Pennsylvania are not the kind to quietly hide away until this all blows over."
I paused for a moment, and Alpha took this moment to cut in, ignoring my look of disapproval.
"I've calculated that there's about an eighty-nine and a half per cent chance that Arkansas is going to target those he feels responsible, and with Pennsylvania and that Insurrectionist dude to help him, there's nothing stopping him!"
I frowned, irritated by the A.I.'s apparent amusement at the situation, even though it much reflected my own. "Lieutenant Harper, Alpha," I admonished. "Please refrain from using such uncouth terms."
The A.I. merely shrugged in response, vanishing from sight, his disembodied voice floating out of thin air. "Whatever, I think I'm gonna go and make sure this thing's got enough power to store me for however long we'll be out of action for. Later."
After a few seconds past, and it became apparent that the A.I. had no intent on making a reappearance, I glanced back at the Counselor, shaking my head slightly in disapproval.
"He's not what I thought he would be," I admitted, raising my hand and adjusting my glasses. "He's more arrogant than I had expected, more prone to anger, disdain, irritation…It's almost like he's –"
"Human?" the Counselor supplied, with a fleeting smile. "That was the idea, was it not?"
I nodded slowly, conceding the point to him, but then sigh quietly, the pain in my shoulder spiking as the painkillers began to wear off. "Indeed."
I remained silent for a moment, not focusing on anything in particular, just wondering, as I would with each of my individual failures, if there had been anything that I could have done to prevent it. Obviously, in this case, there had been, but nothing that I had noticed at the time. Once again, I didn't act until after it was too late.
"They are going to shut us down, Counselor," I murmured eventually, dragging myself away from my train of thought. "But pretty soon after, they're going to realise that they'll need to hunt Arkansas and Pennsylvania down, and that we're the best equipped to do so. Project Freelancer will rise once more, you can take my word on it."
He nodded slowly, looking reassured, no doubt worrying about how his own negligence would be called into question. After all, it was his job to monitor the mental stability of our agents, and to ensure that something of this kind did not occur.
I shrugged these thoughts aside, not thinking about the Counselor any more, not even about Ark and Penn, or Massachusetts and Michigan, but instead about the loss that still haunted me, even after all this time.
Somehow, watching California weep over Agent Michigan's lifeless body, I was reminded of when I had been in a very similar situation, and for a brief moment I pitied that agent. In time, he'll learn to deal with the loss, to put it aside, or else it will consume him, put no matter what, it'll always be there.
The pain from my shoulder wound couldn't compare to the pain I suffer through every morning when I wake up and remember that she was dead. I had given my life over to completing the mission that she had given her life for – defeating the Covenant – and regardless of the aims or intents of Arkansas and Pennsylvania, I promised to make them pay for delaying my mission.
For their crimes, they would die.
Present Day
I suppose that was when things began to go wrong, although it's only in hindsight that I can see it. Agent Connecticut's betrayal was perhaps the main focal point of my fall, but the actions that resulted in it coming to pass occurred the day Arkansas and Pennsylvania betrayed the project, leaving two of their teammates dead.
At the time, I thought the worst was past, and that we would soon hunt Ark, Penn and Lieutenant Harper down. I was wrong, of course. Arkansas proved to be every bit as capable as I had thought him when I signed him onto the project, and Pennsylvania just as deadly.
What I thought would be a short campaign turned into a war, and the losses that we would suffer far exceeded the successes that we gained. There was worse to come, before Connecticut's betrayal, which was just the pinnacle of my fall. So much that I didn't see, so many seeds of doubt sown, so much hatred wrought that I allowed to fester.
The gun raised slightly higher, my finger tightening on the trigger, and the remainder of my life began to flash before me, starting where I left off – a few months later, to be truthful – with the death of a colonel.
Credits
Founder
NicKenny
Moderators
Ayane458, LanaLlama and Lili-Hunter
Cast
The Director - NicKenny
The Alpha - Martienne
Agent Carolina – Parabola of Mystery, NicKenny and StormBlue
Agent New York – Maple Alycia Hood and WargishBoromirFan
Agent Wyoming – Ausphin and NicKenny
Agent Florida – OhSoDeadly
Agent Pennsylvania – Jerem6401
Agent Alaska – Avalanche Wolf and Minathiel
Agent Virginia – anna1795
Agent Massachusetts – Ayane458
Agent South Dakota – Lili-Hunter
Agent North Dakota – StormBlue
Agent Georgia – WargishBoromirFan
Agent Maine – Jerem6401
Agent Arkansas – NicKenny
Agent Minnesota – XxXshadowkitsuXxX
Agent California – BrambleStar14
Agent Michigan – TunelessLyric
Killian Jay - Prvate First Class, Medic – Casaric
Pilot 479er – LanaLlama
Lt Ian Harper - BrambleStar14
Special thanks to all of our readers and especially those who took the time to review. Honorary mention also goes to Gumby1011, SpoonyAzul, Xehanorto, Agent Triangle, FlygonN, WednesdayA 3567, Baldore and CinderPelt for their help and support.
