Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Chapter Twenty-Four:
Richard "Dick" Simmons and Junior were led from the detention area of the transport to a hallway that seemed to stretch on forever thanks to a sea of nondescript, sterile-looking doors. At the sight, Simmons couldn't help but wonder just how large the Charon transport was. Not only were there doors for what seemed like miles, but there were also armed guards at practically every other step.
Because the cyborg was a stressed out mess, his mind also couldn't help but contemplate just what Hargrove was planning on doing with them. It wasn't exactly like Malcolm Hargrove was a businessman of strong ethical integrity. He had been friends with Simmons' father, after all. That alone spoke volumes for the older man's moral compass.
With that thought forcing his anxiety to go full throttle, the redhead's flesh hand tightened its grip on Junior's smaller one. Unfortunately, Simmons didn't have to wait too long as Hargrove paused at a door to the left of the hallway.
The door wasn't anything special and seemed the same as any of the others that they had walked past before, but it obviously opened to something of importance or they wouldn't be there. Simmons tried to guess at the contents of the room beyond, but his imagination was so horrid that he had to stop lest he give himself a panic attack.
Hargrove was efficient and didn't waste time, so he stood by the door while casting a dismissive look over his shoulder at Junior in particular, "Take him."
"Wha-?" Simmons' couldn't even finish his question as his grip on the increasingly frightened child tightened yet again at the approaching sight of two guards, "W—why?"
Hargrove turned fully around to face Simmons, an uncaring and cold look in his eyes, "The boy is unique even as far as genetically engineered standards go." He said, motioning to the glowing teal lines on Junior's dark skin, "It will be best to observe him before deciding our next course of action."
Junior let out a sharp outtake of breath, eyes large and fearful. Simmons, hand still gripping Junior's, had them both take a step back from the encroaching guards. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about the ones still behind them.
One of those guards clasped their hands painfully tight onto Simmons' shoulders, giving his two comrades in front plenty of time to pry Junior away from the protective cyborg.
"But…!" Simmons began helplessly, watching as the two guards escorted Junior into the room and away from his vision.
"We'll take excellent care of him in the meanwhile." Hargrove stated dispassionately, "At least until we figure out what to do with him."
…If the words were meant to be somehow reassuring, they rang hollow. Simmons couldn't even form a reply, his eyes just lingered on the now closed door. Would Junior be okay? Would any of them be okay? And, what the hell would he tell Tucker when he saw him again? "Sorry, Tucker, I let them take your kid." …He sure as fuck didn't want to have that conversation.
Simmons had always been a failure to himself, but now he failed everybody else too. That realization punched him so hard he was finding it difficult to breathe.
"Think of it another way, Richard." Hargrove informed him as if he was describing the weather, his voice dragging Simmons out of his shame spiral like nails on a chalkboard, "At least the boy won't be put up for sale at Rat's Nest like your other comrades."
Hargrove's words might have broken through the haze that the maroon-armored soldier had found himself in, but the tense feeling in Simmons' gut didn't dissipate any with them. His shoulders slumped in utter defeat.
"…Why are you doing all of this?" Simmons finally asked tiredly, surrendering to the situation at hand.
"To make a profit, of course." Hargrove gave him a look as though the answer should have been obvious. When Simmons said nothing in response, Hargrove smirked, "Tell me, Richard, how much do you think your friends will go for?"
Simmons swallowed nervously, repulsed by the very notion. Back during the war, the selling of individuals wasn't uncommon. In fact, it was the whole purpose behind the rise of genetically engineered people.
However, after the fighting, it had fallen somewhat out of practice. At least, it had in peaceful regions like Chorus. Simmons was becoming painfully aware that the rest of the world may have not followed Chorus' example.
Hargrove continued on as if Simmons' growing distress wasn't plainly visible on his face, "Even someone like your friend Grif could sell for a flattering price, depending on there being people interested in his condition."
Simmons closed his eyes then, trying not to make it too obvious how terrified this conversation was making him. He couldn't stop from mumbling "Don't…!" under his breath though as the guard holding him by the shoulders tightened his grip threateningly.
"You, though, Richard?" Hargrove continued, squaring in on the younger man in question with calculating coldness, "You, I have other plans for." Hargrove strode up so that he was standing directly in front of Simmons, casting a detached-yet-fierce glance at the cyborg's face, "Your father signed a contract all those years ago, and now it's time for it to be paid in full."
He grabbed Simmons' chin in a surprisingly strong grip and jerked Simmons' head to the side so that his cybernetic face plating was visible, "Cybernetics are a powerful seller in the current economy. You'll play a key role in helping strengthen Charon sales of it."
"Of course," and here Hargrove dropped his hand from Simmons's face as if the very touch had burned him, "I know your loyalty lies with Chorus and your friends. However, I like being in complete control of my property. So, I'm proposing that you undergo some voluntary modifications to ensure your loyalty. Before we reach Rat's Nest."
The way the older man had said that made Simmons' skin crawl and his stomach do flips, "You can't…!"
"You can refuse, mind you." Hargrove cut him off, "But we might just keep Grif away from the sales then. Your friend already looked as though he were reaching his limit. How long do you think he would last without release? From my experience with other genetically engineered people of the same ilk, it isn't too long."
Simmons froze, recalling how sickly Grif had looked the last time he had seen him. If Hargrove was right, then…
Hargrove obviously saw the resignation in Simmons without the redhead having to voice it. He motioned to the guard grasping the cyborg, and Simmons registered the released grip without really acknowledging it. There wasn't anywhere he could go.
"The choice is yours, Richard." Hargrove told him before the Chairman and the guards stepped away, leaving Simmons alone in the corridor to think, "You're a smart boy though, so I know you'll see things my way."
…All alone in a corridor of doors, none of which held an exit with a better solution. Damn it. Grif was going to be so pissed at him.
Leonard Church and the others gathered around the fixed transport, eager to get shit underway. After all, they had people to rescue and asses to kick.
"It's been awhile since I've had so many passengers." Four Seven Niner noted, glancing at the assembled group with mild amusement dancing in her brown eyes.
Carolina raised an eyebrow, "You didn't think we'd leave our friends behind, did you?"
"I suppose not." Four Seven Niner looked thoughtful as she replied, "It will be fun to fly with a full house again."
"That's enough chit chat. We need to get a move on." Tex remarked quickly, stepping inside the ship with the others following after her, "Now."
Church couldn't help but bring up a question that had been bugging him since they had started planning this suicidal rescue mission, "How the fuck are we even going to find where the others have been taken?"
It wasn't like the Charon assholes who had kidnapped their friends had left behind any gigantic clues as to what their next step could be. Which sucked. It would be nice if they were on equal playing fields and fighting idiots too, instead of just being them.
Tex stood at the cobalt-wearing man's side and motioned to a corner of the transport where an all-too familiar machine sat. It was a chair with a whole lot of interface equipment connected to it, as well as headgear. Church instantly felt his pulse quicken. It was a fucking nightmare brought back to haunt him.
"Recognize that?" She asked him, even though the answer to her question was pretty obvious in Church's reaction to seeing the interfacing devise.
"Fuck no." Church took a step back from the all too familiar machine. After all, he had been practically glued to it during his time at Project Freelancer, and the memories alone were enough to torment him, "Why can't you do it instead?" He asked with all the venom he could muster, and it was a lot.
After all, Tex was a genetically engineered cyborg like himself. That was one of the reasons that they had bonded together. Common ground and all that shit. It would have been romantic had it not be traumatizing.
"You know that I was never as good with cybernetic linking as you and the other Fragments were." Tex informed him, shrugging her shoulders, "Besides, I need to get ready for the fight."
Church looked at the machine again. The dark-haired man felt as though he would be sick. His unease must have shown on his face, because both Carolina and Tex placed their hands on his shoulders. Church couldn't decide if the women were going to try to give him a pep talk or kick his ass into submission. …In his defense, one could never be sure with those two.
"It will be all right, Church." Carolina tried reassuring him, and Church breathed a sigh of relief that they were going with a pep talk even if it was awkward as fuck.
"Yeah, we'll be right here." Tex said as she glanced over at the other redhead. Carolina nodded her head in surprisingly earnest agreement, and for a split second Church wondered if he was hallucinating.
"Dude, I'll definitely owe you fucking big for this!" Tucker remarked from the transport's entrance.
"He's right." Sarge noted nearby the teal-armored soldier, "If this linking do-hickey can help us find the others, then I believe it is worth whatever torment it gives a dirty Blue."
Leave it to Sarge to ruin the moment with his ridiculous Red vs. Blue talk. Church would have laughed at the continued status quo if he wasn't so terrified.
"Well, you almost gave a successful pep talk there, Sarge." Tucker sighed, waving off the red-wearing man's comment as the two soldiers entered the transport proper.
Church let out a tired sigh, "Fine. I'll fucking do it." He clutched Freckles tightly to his body as Carolina and Tex both patted him on the back, "Because you're all whining about it."
Santa materialized over his shoulder just then, "Do not worry. I will assist as well."
Church rolled his eyes, "Yeah, no offense, but that will just make me even more fucking paranoid."
If it were possible for an Artificial Intelligence to shake his shoulders in utter indifference, Santa just did. With that particular issue more or less settled, Tucker and Sarge both went to help Four Seven Niner with the transport's controls.
"Junior, Washington, and the others had better be okay." Church heard the teal-wearing man mutter to himself.
Tucker's assessment was one he couldn't help but agree with as well. After all, if he had to fucking plug in to that machine again, the least those fucking assholes could do was be okay. Church didn't go out of his way for just anybody, after all.
Meanwhile, Frank "Doc" DuFresne was busy looking over Doyle and Andersmith's injuries right at the entrance to the transport. …With Doctor Grey's supervision, of course.
Doc was pretty sure he should feel at least somewhat insulted that they didn't trust him on his own, but one suggestion of aloe vera from the purple-armored medic seemed to be enough to convince both Kimball and Cass to politely ask for another medical opinion.
At the moment, Doc couldn't help but frown at both men, "Are you absolutely certain that you want to come along?" He didn't like the idea of patients running off on rescue missions before they were entirely healed.
From where she stood close by with her arms crossed, Kimball scoffed, "I've already asked both of them that. They're as stubborn as they come."
Doyle nodded his head in her direction, eyes warm, "Quite right. I learned from the best in that regard."
Kimball couldn't help but smile slightly in response to that. Doc felt like he was intruding on something, but he had no idea what. He had the sudden idea that Donut would be jumping up and down in joy and talking about "atmosphere"…a thought that instantly made him miss the pink-armored soldier immensely.
"We both want to get our friends back." Doyle continued, "A rebuilt Chorus just wouldn't be the same without them."
"Here, here!" Cass couldn't help but add in, her hand clasped gently on Andersmith's shoulder.
Andersmith nodded his head in agreement, smiling slightly up at the brunette bartender as he did so. Doc could hear Donut's voice mutter cheerily "Aww, somebody's love-struck!" at the sight, and he tried his hardest to ignore the bittersweet feeling building up as he looked away.
"Bones and I will hold down the fort while you're gone." Cass assured them, before squeezing Andersmith's shoulder and waving to all of them before stepping out of the transport.
"I can relate to your enthusiasm, I suppose." Doc muttered under his breath as his mind went to the others, and especially towards Donut, then, "Although, medically, I don't know if it is a good idea."
"That's why we're all going too!" Doctor Grey said gleefully. She seemed to read his mind as she patted the pacifist's shoulder encouragingly, "We'll patch them up good-as-new when they inevitably reopen their wounds!"
"I'd start buckling up if I were you." Four Seven Niner's clear voice came through the entire transport as the engines whirred to life and the entrance door closed, "Things are bound to get crash-y sooner rather than later."
For someone known for being lazy and who was also currently not feeling well, Dexter Grif anxiously paced the length of his cell. The orange-armored soldier was worriedly waiting for news on what happened to Simmons and Junior, and it seemed that moving about was the only way he was managing to stay sane. Grif hated moving, so focusing on something he hated kept him from thinking about all the possible ways they were royally screwed.
"Getting too worked up won't help them, Grif." Washington advised from where he was sitting on the ground next to Palomo and Bitters.
Grif turned around to say something sarcastic in reply, but the haunted look in Washington's gray eyes stopped him short. No doubt the blond was concerned too, especially for Junior.
"They're going to be fine." The former Freelancer stated in a way that broached no room for argument.
Grif wouldn't be so sure about that, especially given that no one really knew what was in store for all of them. But, one look at his sister and Volleyball huddled together with hands grasped, made him refrain from saying that out loud too.
The others started conversing amongst themselves in the cells while Grif sat down and tried to tune out yet another riveting game of "I Spy" between Donut, Caboose, and Palomo. Sheila was the only one polite enough to join in with them. Given the silence from the other robot in her cell, it seemed as if Lopez was simply ignoring everyone at the moment.
In an attempt to get past his nerves, Grif was just about to close his eyes and get a nap in. Of course, that idea was shot when he heard the telltale swoosh of a door opening from outside their holding cells.
"Captain Simmons!" Jensen exclaimed in surprise from her cell while standing next to her brother, Matthews. The boy was still shell-shocked over what had happened earlier, but his eyes lighted up at his sister's exclamation.
"Are you okay?" Donut hurriedly asked a second later, all three of them approaching their cell door to get a better look at their maroon-armored friend.
Simmons smiled, but Grif could tell there was something off about the expression as the cyborg awkwardly waved, "H—hey, everyone."
"Don't "hey" everyone, kiss-ass!" Grif exclaimed, standing at the very front of his own group's cell, "What's going on?"
"I just…" Simmons faltered, his expression wavering, "I just wanted to see you guys again. To see you again, Grif."
Something about his wording sent alarm bells through Grif's mind, "What…what the fuck are you talking about?"
"The right thing." Simmons looked both stricken and determined all at once, "I'm doing something in order to keep everyone as safe as possible."
Uh-oh. The heavyset man knew that doing the right thing tended to royally suck, and something about Simmons' demeanor didn't leave much room for argument. Panic was definitely setting in with Grif now, "That isn't really a fucking answer to my question, Simmons! What the hell are you—?"
The tan-skinned man was shocked into silence when Simmons actually reached through the energy shielding meant to keep people inside the cell to touch him. A tingle shot through Grif's arms at the sudden contact, and he glanced up at Simmons only to be struck by the sad resignation on the cyborg's face. It was as if the physical contact had proven something to Simmons, but Grif had no idea what.
"Wha—?"
Grif's question was cut off by the sudden appearance of Price, who cleared his throat just then behind the maroon-armored soldier before speaking to him: "It's time."
Simmons nodded and removed his hands. Grif was too slow due to shock to react, although once he had recovered he tried to pull Simmons close instead. However, the energy door of the cell was now between them once again, preventing the physical contact he found himself craving.
"S—stay safe and lay off the snack cakes, okay?" Simmons said to Grif as he reluctantly pulled away after nodding goodbye to everyone.
The orange-armored soldier couldn't help but find Simmons' attempt at brevity rather awful, although for some reason his voice couldn't find words. The cyborg quietly followed Price out of the holding cell area just as a stunned Grif finally got to his senses.
"Simmons!" Grif shouted, and no amount of prying from both Washington and Bitters could get him to stop pounding on the door.
Author's Notes: I apologize if this chapter seems rushed. I was having a bit of a problem with figuring out this part and how to advance the story to the next point. Thankfully, I am there now and have a clearer idea on how I am writing the story from here on out, ha-ha!
Poor Simmons is definitely going to be going through a trial in the next chapter, and things are not looking good for everyone who was captured…even if the rescue mission is properly getting underway. Hopefully, this chapter helped at least get you pumped for what will happen next! :)
Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this fic! :)