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-Five:
"Just for the fucking record," Leonard Church muttered as he felt a sensation akin to floating surround his entire form, "I hate all of this goddamned interfacing shit."
Based off of previous experience, as the frown on the cyborg's features deepened and his blue eyes shut even tighter, Church knew that when he opened his pupils again all that that they'd see would be the vast emptiness of a digital landscape. Zeroes and ones aligning in a pattern of endless infinite glowing lines amongst a black background. …Boring as shit, if you asked him.
Interfacing was a quick way to connect two cybernetically modified brains together using specially designed machinery. It had often been used, to varying degrees of success, amongst the genetically engineered "Fragments" of Project Freelancer to ensure more secure channels of communication and combat support.
To be fair, Church had hated it back then too. During those days, his main duty as Epsilon had essentially been to have his brain serve as a literal info dump for the various statistics and records of those Fragments who had been deployed out on the field.
He supposed that this time was a bit of an improvement since he was actively scouring for another linked mind in this mess of data voluntarily. Really, it was a veritable needle in a haystack scenario, but fuck it. What other choice did they have?
Instead of just being bombarded by a whole slew of intel and events all happening in real time, he was simply casting his own net out for one person, but the memories were still there. That kind of repeated and incessant trauma was hard to move away from. And Church would fucking know. He had been trying to run from it for who-knew-how-many-years now.
"I assure you, I am now well aware of that fact." Santa noted from his position essentially right next to Church, his voice carrying in the digital space.
It was almost disconcerting, the ease in which the Artificial Intelligence had "hitched" a ride with the cobalt-wearing cyborg by simply entering into the components of the interfacing machine back on Four Seven Niner's transport. Oh, sure. Church knew the whole process was actually way more complicated beneath the surface, but dwelling on all the miniscule details right now would succinctly put his brain into overload. It was easier to just think of Santa as a hacking hitchhiker.
Besides, Church was putting up with all of this shit for a reason, right? He needed to fucking concentrate on the end goal, and not raise a binary eyebrow at how wryly an ancient alien Artificial Intelligence had responded to his initial complaint.
"Church?"
It didn't take long for Church to find what, or more accurately who, he was looking for.
The dark-haired man blinked in shocked surprise at the flickering image of Richard "Dick" Simmons standing before him. If his body language was anything to go by, the maroon-wearing cyborg appeared rather upset and stressed out, which was par the course for Simmons. When wasn't the redhead an anxiety prone ball of nerves?
"Simmons!" Church exclaimed, "Holy shit! That was faster than expected."
This was too easy. Not that he wasn't thankful for small favors, but it normally used to take Church hours upon hours to get proper link-ups with the other Fragments when they had been out on the field and not within range of any interfacing stations. Usually to counter that occurrence, the asshole Director would have Church strapped into a machine well before any of the Freelancer missions had started.
Church glanced over at the silent form of Santa, wondering if the Artificial Intelligence's presence had somehow jumpstarted the whole process. He hoped so, because if that wasn't actually the case then that most likely meant…
"You're hooked up to some kind of tech now, aren't you?" Church asked Simmons, fairly certain that if he had been aware of the state of his physical body just then his throat would be dry.
Simmons flickered briefly as he nodded in response, anxiety practically radiating off of him in waves, "I…don't really know how much time I have left." He admitted shakily.
…Fuck it. Charon having Simmons attached to any type of cybernetic modification machinery could not mean anything remotely good.
"A shitload of us are on a transport right now, looking for you guys." Church told the redhead emphatically, figuring that now was a good time to relay as much information to the others as possible, "What the fuck's going on?"
Simmons seemed to pick up on the urgency in Church's voice, because the lankier man responded quickly, "Everyone's okay. As much as we can be, at any rate." He tilted his head to the side as if in quick contemplation of the facts, "We're on a ship of some kind. They separated Junior from the others too."
Well, fuck. Tucker was not going to like that bit of news at all, but maybe Church could soften the blow a bit by confirming that everyone was doing all right for now.
"Right." Church nodded his head abruptly to get his brain to focus back on the conversation at hand, "Any idea where to?"
There was a brief pause, and for a moment Church was afraid that Simmons had been cut off from the connection entirely. "Rat's Nest." Simmons finally said at length, "They…they keep talking about business there."
"Rat's Nest." Church repeated, "Got it. Thanks, Simmons."
"Ch—Church…!" Simmons' digital form faded in and out of visibility erratically as his tone became rather pained on top of panicked, "Tell Grif, I—!"
"Just hang on and fucking tell him yourself, Simmons." Church reached out futilely for his friend, "Like hell am I going to be stuck playing Cupid for you two idiots!"
Whatever Simmons might have said in response to Church's absolutely stellar encouragement was lost to the ether completely as the connection forcibly cut off. Church was left standing alone with Santa in the digital landscape, a horrible feeling of foreboding forming in the digital equivalent of his gut.
"It would be best not to tarry here any longer." Santa advised him carefully not a second later, as if concerned that they'd be lost as well to a connection failure.
Church rolled his digital eyes at the suggestion, "Like you had to even fucking tell me that."
With those words, he was no longer floating through cold, sterile emptiness. Rather, the cobalt-wearing man felt the comfortable feel of the soft fabric of the chair at his back. When Church opened his physical body's eyes again, he was welcomed by the rather surprising sight of both Tex and his sister hovering expectantly over him, just as they had done before he had attempted the interface.
"Well?" Tex demanded the second that a cursory glance over Church's form assured her that he was as well as he was going to be following such an experience.
The black-armored woman and Carolina went to quick work unstrapping Church from the interface device. As they did so, he saw Santa emerge from it not a second later. The Artificial Intelligence floated over to where Church had carefully propped Freckles close by against the wall, as if giving him his space. There was sudden movement from farther away on the transport, and suddenly every passengers' eyes were on him as they expectantly waited for a response to the former Freelancer's inquiry.
"They're headed to fucking Rat's Nest." Church muttered through an all-too dry throat, "We should hurry."
Tex nodded and patted him roughly on the shoulder in what was no doubt meant to be a reassuring gesture before she and Carolina helped him shakily to his feet. The redhead in cyan turned to look over her shoulder at the silver-armored woman piloting the transport, "Did you catch that?"
Four Seven Niner didn't even look back at Carolina as she scoffed, hands flying with an expert's practiced ease over the flight controls, "Who exactly do you think you're talking to?" She joked, "Coordinates are already set." Removing her hands and letting autopilot take over for a moment, the tan-skinned woman turned her wheelchair around so that she was facing Carolina directly, raising an eyebrow, "What about you? Ready for the upcoming rescue mission?"
Carolina scoffed herself at the teasing note in the pilot's voice, smirking somewhat, "Please. And just who exactly is it that you think you're talking to?"
The pilot smiled in response, brown eyes twinkling with obvious playful mirth, "Point taken."
Watching the exchange from where he currently leaned against Tex, Church sighed and shook his head in bewilderment. …No matter how many times he saw it, his big sister actively flirting always managed to catch him off-guard.
"Grif, you need to calm down." Washington's tone was measured and calm. Given the group's current circumstance, the genetically engineered soldier's voice sounded rather forced.
"Washington is right! Losing head is definitely not the best approach!" Donut exclaimed, although his voice coming from the cell across from them was quite worried sounding even with his usual optimistic words.
"Ese dicho ni siquiera es preciso ni útil en este momento. En absoluto." {"That saying isn't even accurate or helpful right now. At all."}
There was the sound of rather heavy movement from the holding cell containing only Sheila and Lopez now, as if the two Virtual Intelligences were moving closer to the door.
Truthfully, Dexter Grif didn't really pay them any heed. He was too busy still banging his hands against the energy field of the cell that served as its door to pay close attention to the others.
His hands had long since gone from stingingly aching to rather numb, but the sensation barely registered in his mind. Nor did the shortness of breath, blurry vision, and intermittent surges of extreme heat or cold. Grif supposed that was one benefit to total and blind panic, even if he wasn't in the right mindset to fully register it.
All the orange-armored man could keep picturing in his mind was fucking Simmons. The redhead's last words continued to echo over and over in Grif's head, as did the forlorn and terrified expression that had clouded over the cyborg's facial features as he, as he…
"God fucking damn it!" Grif shouted again, slamming his hands into the humming wall once more.
Jensen and Matthews were both watching him with wide, fearful eyes next to Donut. The two adopted siblings held each other's hands tightly as all three continued to look on in sheer helplessness. From their different cell, there wasn't anything they could really do to ease the situation other than watch how things played out.
Speaking of Grif's cell, Caboose had actually escorted a thoroughly resistant Bitters, Volleyball, and Palomo to the farthest portion as if sensing that Grif's freak-out was only going to intensify. The blond looked as though he might burst into tears at any second himself, his tall form trembling uncharacteristically.
Awkward-as-fuck Washington had actually moved to put a hand on Grif's shoulder, but was stopped in midmotion from doing so by Kai. The tan-skinned young woman stepped right beside her big brother, essentially blocking the former Freelancer's path.
"Dex, you need to calm the fuck down!" Kaikaina Grif shouted with all the authority that she could muster, "Right now!"
Grif turned sharply at the young woman's voice. Kai had her determined, stubborn-as-all-fuck expression on her face. However, there was a slight tremble to her lips and a watery sheen in her brown eyes, as if she might start crying at any second. Seeing her older brother, who had endured so much in the past to help support and look after her, freaking out was no doubt absolutely terrifying to her.
That alone was enough to give Grif a slight pause. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, anything…
"She's right. Panicking gets you nowhere." An all-too familiar voice spoke up from just outside the cell.
Everyone stiffened at the newcomer's presence, and Grif turned back around to see Terrence…no, fucking Sharkface standing in the hallway impassively. Sharkface had his helmet on, so there was no way to see his facial expression as he regarded the prisoners with body language that spoke wholly of indifference.
"Your friend did what he did to try and protect your…" Sharkface paused there, casting a glance at all of the cells and their occupants before regarding Grif once more with a key note of disgust in his voice, "Family. All you're doing is belittling his sacrifice."
Grif's only response was a vicious snarl that erupted from somewhere deep within his throat. He suddenly reached out with his arms, his only thought to throttle Sharkface. The other man didn't even flinch in the slightest since the shielding kept Grif at bay. Kai did, though, and Washington touched her shoulder in support before she shrugged him off with "I don't need a cop's help." to which the former Freelancer maturely replied with "I'm not a fucking cop!" and a sigh of frustration.
"What the fuck do you know about Simmons, asshole?" Grif spat out venomously, "Where the fuck is he? What's going on?"
Sharkface continued to just stare at his childhood friend through his helmet's visor, resulting in Grif seriously wanting to wrap his hands around his fucking neck.
"Where is Junior?" Washington asked in a shaking sort-of voice that informed everyone he was only barely keeping it together himself.
Instead of answering any of their questions, Sharkface tore his gaze away from the infuriated Grif as he once more swept his eyes over the detention center. He let out a frustrated sigh, "None of this is what I had in mind for revenge." He remarked, though whether that was more to himself than any of the people there, no one could say. Sharkface turned to Grif, who was still glaring daggers his way, "I'll probably see you later." He said dully before taking his leave.
"Wait! Don't fucking go without saying where they are, jackass!" Grif shouted after him, thoroughly done with all of this shit.
Naturally, the only sound the chubby man heard in way of a response to his pained cry was the distant thrum of a door opening and closing. The fight suddenly drained from Grif's body as he heavily sagged onto his knees on the metallic ground.
Kai pulled away from Washington then, Volleyball a comforting presence suddenly at her side as she knelt down by her brother. "Dex…" Kai trailed off as her hand rested on his shoulder, her touch shaky but comforting all the same, "It's…it's going to be okay."
Grif said nothing in response, a faraway look in his dark eyes. All he could think about just then was what it was Hargrove could possibly be doing to Simmons, and just why it was that the dumbass nerd had to be so stupidly stubborn at the absolute worst of times.
Leonard Church leaned against the back wall of the transport, hugging Freckles tightly to his lap. He normally wouldn't have acted so sentimental, but he could only imagine the sad look on Caboose's face if his two "best friends" weren't together to greet him. It wouldn't have been worth the hassle. So, there he was, huddled with a sentient gun on a transport as his eyes took in the many scenes going on around him.
He first settled on his sister. Carolina had joined Four Seven Niner in the cockpit, evidently quite adept at co-piloting. Seriously, what the fuck couldn't his sister do? He felt oddly proud, even if he was a genetically engineered clone who by no rights should feel anything in that capacity. The two women had their heads bent close together, the smiles on their faces open for all the world to fucking see even if their whispered words of conversation were private.
Church felt his own lips curve upwards at the sight before he pulled his gaze away, not really wanting to intrude on his sister's love life.
His eyes drifted over to Doctor Grey and Doc. They were both discussing something with Andersmith and Doyle, no doubt it was about their recent injuries. Sarge hovered close to the dark-skinned woman's elbow in particular, every so often apparently putting his own medical spin into the conversation. Church was sure it was about robotic parts, because it was Sarge they were talking about here.
…The red-armored man was probably at least as helpful medically as Doc in that regard, if nothing else. Not that it would take much to be so. Robot parts or orange juice. Take your pick.
Church glanced further away to spot Tucker conversing with Kimball. The teal-armored man nodded his head emphatically as he spoke as Santa hovered just above Kimball's shoulder, the two listening intently to whatever it was that Tucker was saying.
At least his friend's sullen demeanor after he had told him about what Simmons had said in regards to Junior had suddenly channeled a more determined persona. Church could only imagine that the news, combined with them now having a clear destination in mind for this mission, had served to further fuel Tucker's drive to rescue his son, Washington (yeah, those two had long since stopped fucking fooling anybody), and the others from captivity.
"Hey."
Church's thoughts and observations were interrupted by the black-armored form of Texas standing in his field of vision. He nodded his head in response, "Hey."
Tex took that as an invitation to sit down next to him against the wall, her own dark eyes also flickering over their mismatched group of friends, "How are you feeling now?" She asked carefully, not even bothering to look in his direction when she spoke, "After the link-up?"
Church grimaced slightly at the reminder of the unpleasant interface, "It could have been a whole lot worse, I guess," he admitted to the other cyborg, "But I still feel like shit."
She nodded her head in understanding, but didn't say a word. She didn't have to. Tex understood. He knew that she had interfaced during their days back in Project Freelancer too, though how many times she had been forced to do so and for what purposes she kept close to her chest. He didn't bother asking her about it, just as she didn't pry too much into his own experiences—it was enough to know that they had similar circumstances and leave it at that.
After a few more moments of the two of them awkwardly sitting there in relative silence, Church decided fuck it and tilted his head slightly so that he was resting on her shoulder. Tex remained perfectly still. But, since she didn't threaten to put him through a wall or make it so that he couldn't ever have kids the old-fashioned way, he took that as an encouraging sign that she didn't mind.
Church let out a tired sigh as he closed his eyes, just trying to be there in the moment for however long it fucking lasted this time, "I'm a little surprised at how much I fucking missed all of this."
Her demeanor did not change in the slightest to even indicate that she had heard him. For a moment, Church was convinced that the redhead would not say anything in response to his comment.
But then, as always, Tex managed to catch him completely off-guard as she shifted her position slightly so that his head was at a more comfortable angle, "I am too."
They both fell silent, eyes taking in the scenes playing out around them. With his head now resting much more comfortably on Tex's armored shoulder, Church's grip on Freckles tightened marginally. Tex looked down at the gun in his hands, knowing exactly what its presence meant but choosing to say nothing about it. He loved that about her.
"This won't be like back at Freelancer." He stated quietly yet emphatically, "We're going to get all of those assholes back safe and sound."
Next to Church, Tex hummed wholeheartedly in agreement.
When Richard "Dick" Simmons finally, finally managed to crack his eyes open after what felt like a monumental effort from his resisting body fighting the urge to do so, he instantly regretted it. Far too bright light caused him to wince and tears began to well up in his still organic eye as his cybernetic one rapidly tried to adjust.
When he was actually able to well and truly see once more, he was greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar bedroom. A rather clinical-looking one at that, given the overuse of white on the walls and in the bed sheets. The unfamiliar place caused him to shiver slightly, though the redhead wasn't entirely sure why.
"Wh—where…?" Simmons began shakily when he realized that he was not the only person in the room.
Aiden Price stood at the foot of the bed. The man smiled down at Simmons in his usual manner, the expression never quite reaching his eyes. Simmons would be lying if he said that the guy didn't freak him the fuck out more often than not.
"Do not worry, Richard." Price stated with practiced calm, as if he was trying to keep someone from walking off the edge, "Everything went smoothly. Momentary disorientation is simply a side effect of the procedure."
"What procedure are we talking about here again?" Simmons asked in what was probably too light of a tone, trying to shake the cobwebs from his still all-too fuzzy and muddled brain.
He couldn't help wincing a second later. Shit. His head fucking hurt.
"The upgrades to your cybernetics, of course." Price informed him matter-of-factly as if the obvious discomfort that Simmons experienced just then was of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, "They were a complete success."
"Indeed." A familiar voice uttered as the door swished open behind them, both Price and Simmons turning their attention to the source. Simmons' posture went as rigid as was possible while sitting upright in the bed at the sight of the newcomer.
Malcolm Hargrove's wrinkled face twisted slightly as the faint trace of a humorless smile found its way there, "I am personally just relieved to have my son back."
Author's Notes: …Evil cliffhanger! XD Sorry about that, but the reveal about what ended up happening to Simmons was simply too good of a stopping point to pass up. Poor guy just cannot catch a break in this story, and there were so many feels all around in this chapter with everyone else too. We're getting closer to the ending of this fic, but there are quite a few things that need to happen still before then. So, things will be getting quite intense in future chapters!
As always, thank you for taking the time to read this story! :D