(A/N)Hey guys, time for another update in Phase Two: Betrayal, featuring Agent South Dakota and written, as always, by the incredible Lili-Hunter! As before, just letting you all know that we're still looking for applicants for Agent Texas, and for writers for our X-Ray and Vav fic, so if you're interested in either, get in touch with us! You know the deal at this stage!

Enjoy!

Chapter Forty-One – Bloodhounds

Agent South Dakota

Written by Lili-Hunter

"There is no hunting like the hunting of man." – Ernest Hemingway

Metal-wrapped hallways stretched beyond and behind the small group of Freelancers, faintly reminiscent of the MoI's dark grey corridors. The military outpost was located somewhere outside of New Delphi, but South Dakota wouldn't have known it from a glance. There was nothing to differentiate it from the hundreds of other, equally dull military bases. She glanced to either side, disinterestedly wondering what lay beyond the steel doors embedded tightly in the walls. Each one was barred to them, though it would have been plain stupid to assume that they'd be anything but. After all, it wasn't like they were strictly part of the UNSC anymore.

No. Now, they were stronger, faster, more powerful – hell, just better than anyone they'd left behind.

South liked that.

She was wrong though, in one aspect: not all the doors were barred to them, technically. The soldier showing them through the military outpost halted smartly on the side of the hall, gesturing towards the final opening. "Colonel Davis is waiting for you inside," he said, not quite meeting any of their eyes. South smirked, swallowing the snigger that rose in her throat.

North thanked him, and then led the Freelancers into the room. The Colonel instantly straightened, forgetting the map spread before him, and glanced over the four of them before dipping his chin in a respectful nod. "Agents," he began, somewhat tentatively. "I've been waiting for you, uh…?"

"Agent North Dakota, sir," her brother quickly supplied him. "This is Agent South Dakota, Agent Georgia, and Agent Connecticut. We're investigating the possible Insurrectionist activity on Haven."

There was a short, slightly awkward pause. "Well," Davis began, appraising them with a hard eye. His tone was flat, and more than a little unimpressed as he added, "You're a bit late."

North shifted, and she just knew that he was raising his eyebrows as he stared down at the colonel. "Sir?" he questioned, not bothering to hide his confusion at the blatant dismissal. South stood a little straighter, crossing her arms over her chest, and felt the rest of the team shift subtly behind her. None of them liked his subtle insinuation.

"I've already sent a squad of marines down there," Colonel Davis elaborated, spreading his palms. "About a month ago."

"And you haven't heard from them since?" South asked snidely, leaning slightly forward. The shorter colonel was forced to lift his chin to look her in the eyes – or really, as closely as he could manage with her visor polarized. "God, how thick is your skull? They'll be dead by now-"

"I am aware, Agent South, of that possibility," Davis cut in firmly. He frowned at her slightly, before turning back to aim his answer towards North – the clear leader of their not-so-merry little band. South's eyes narrowed at the reminder that it was her brother, and not she, taking point on this particular mission. Just because he was higher on the leaderboard–

South cut herself off before the train of thought could continue. It wasn't like she cared, anyway. She knew that she was one of the best.

The only trouble was proving it.

But Davis' words brought her back to herself. "We, obviously, feared the worst. That is why, two weeks ago, we sent in an ODST team to investigate. Then they went dark, too. Of course, it is possible that they've only been captured, as opposed to killed outright, and I hope to God, for their sakes, that it is the former that is true."

The words made South wanted to step forward and break the asshole's nose just on principle. Sure, she understood wanting to stay positive or whatever, but they'd be gone for a whole, damn month. There was a line between optimism and stupidity, and he'd crossed it. Even the ODSTs sent in were probably dead at this stage, in all reality.

Hell, even if they had been captured at first… well, it would be better– for their sakes, a small voice in the back of her mind added snarkily – that they were long dead. Who knew what Arkansas or Harper – or even Penn – would have done to them in that time, hoping to get some dirt on the UNSC; even though they wouldn't have known anything worth knowing. They'd only been marines and ODSTs – dumb brutes, albeit skilled ones.

Then again, it would have been their own damn fault for having been caught in the first place.

"Too much time has passed," the colonel continued, lifting his shoulders in a half-shrug. "The trail is almost certainly cold, soldiers. Your 'Crimson Sun' could be anywhere – on any planet – by now. There's almost nothing to be gained from your expedition."

"Actually, sir, quite the contrary." Georgia began in polite disagreement, and their collective attention shifted to the green and pink Freelancer. "When they… I mean, the Crimson Sun first landed, they would have been moving as fast as they could to get ahead of us. It's likely that, in their haste, they left clues as to where they were going. We can find them, and follow them."

"The trail may be cold, but it's not lost," North added, his voice somehow sounding firm in its sincerity.

Colonel Davis looked them over again, and nodded slowly. "Of course," he said, though there was still an unhappy twist to his lips. "We will assist you. I've already prepared another ODST squad to accompany you-"

North raised a hand, shaking his head as he respectfully refused him. "That won't be necessary." Davis raised an eyebrow, and her brother elaborated with, "Too many people, and we'll draw too much attention – especially if there's Insurrectionists still guarding the shelter. It's best if we go alone."

The colonel seemed about to argue with her brother, but then shrugged. "If you think it's best," he agreed, though to South the underlying meaning was much clearer. It's your funeral.

South gritted her teeth, clenching her fists by her side to keep them from landing in his face. He was pissing her off, ruining her excitement about her first return to the field – and God, but she was sick of him treating them like children – she almost wished for the colonel who'd been in charge before him. What had his name been, again? Oh, right – Colonel Grant.

Well, too bad, she reminded herself, because he's dead. He'd been the first to fall at the hands of the Crimson Sun – and certainly not the last, unless they could stop them.

Unbidden, several memories suddenly reared in her mind's eye. Of Mich and Massa. Their eyes wide and unseeing; their bodies lying broken and bloody… Murdered by the three men that they were now hunting down. South reminded herself that, no, Colonel Grant was just the latest in an already too-long line.

South returned to herself just in time to hear the co-ordinates, and watch as her brother accepted the colonel's outstretched hand. Davis seemed to sigh resignedly, before lifting his gaze to meet them all. "Good luck, soldiers," he said flatly.

The thick, oppressive heat of the jungle sat heavily on her shoulders, like tangible weights. It didn't matter that she couldn't actually feel the humid warmth – her suit was regulating the temperature, keeping her skin pleasantly cool – because it was bad enough just to have to wade through it. Maybe she was imagining things, but it felt like her every movement was slowed, almost as though she was stomping through some kind of airborne quick sand.

And God, don't even get her started on the noise! Dumbass birds that twittered from their perches; the ever-present buzz of insects in the background; and the occasional crack or snap as a branch was broken beneath someone's – or something's – feet. It was enough to put them all on edge, and to make South wish that she could fiddle with the settings in her HUD until the background noise would go away. But she couldn't, because how shameful would it be if they were ambushed by Innies whose approach they hadn't even heard?

More importantly, how far down the leaderboard would she fall?

South raised a hand, brushing aside some kind of low-hanging vine that dangled limply in her path. It slid reluctantly along the plates of her armour, a heavy and languid coil, and her upper lip curled in disgust before she let it fall once more. She turned forward once more, her attention returning to her surroundings – though the concern about her rankings never really did leave her mind. It buzzed quietly in the back of her thoughts, like one of the mosquitoes currently crawling across her armour in search of skin.

They weren't too far from the co-ordinates that Colonel Davis had given them. 343-R had dropped them about a mile out from their actual destination, watching them traipse off with a muttered, "I won't wait up", and a snicker – more at his own, non-existent wit than anything else. South had rolled her eyes, but was quickly distracted by their trek.

It was a quiet, unsettling fact that they were all slightly nervous for the upcoming fight – despite this being their first return to the field, they'd all heard about the first wave of Freelancers' fights. And the battle on Haven had, apparently, been one hell of a hard one. Though the words were unspoken, it was clear from the tense lines of their shoulders that he was hoping that their mission would run a little easier.

Up ahead, North slowed, and held up a clenched fist to indicate for them to do the same. Then, there was a brief crackle of static before his voice was in her ear. "We're almost there," her brother informed them. "Spread out. If you see something, report it – because there'll definitely be some Innies guarding the place. Sync?"

"Sync," was their collective, whispered reply.

Georgia disappeared into the bushes at her left, until she could only just see his outline among the trees. She followed, until North was equally as hidden to her, and assumed that on his other side, Connie was doing the same.

Their progression was slow, and now utterly silent, as they crept cautiously towards the base – or whatever else was awaiting them. The Director had been convinced that they'd run into some Insurrectionists, but so far the jungle had seemed empty. Then again, she knew better than to trust appearances. Her grip tightened as South carefully stepped over a tree root, her boots shuffling quietly to find the best purchase on the jungle floor.

Long, tense minutes passed as they drew closer to the structure. Unease rode uncomfortably on her shoulders – something about this whole operation just felt off - sending goosebumps skittering along her skin. South shivered, and was just about to break the radio silence when someone else did it for her. "I've found something," Connecticut muttered, and the rest of the Freelancers slowed. "It's a… drop pod?"

What the hell? Her unease momentarily forgotten, South struggled to make a connection. Her brow creased in confusion. Since when did the Innies use drop pods? But the thought brought a flash of understanding – because Insurrectionists didn't use drop pods, but the Crimson Sun might – and South barked into her comms. "How recent?"And equally as importantly, how the hell had they not noticed it landing?

"Not very. The grass has grown up around the base – it's got to be two months old, at the least," the Freelancer replied, and South felt some of the tension bleed out of her body. She knew from experience that no matter what came out of those drop pods, it was never good.

Unless, of course, it was on your side.

"Relax. That's no drop pod." Suddenly, her brother chuckled into his microphone, his relief ringing clearly across their comms. "It's an escape pod, and that would have been theirs," he explained. None of them needed any more clarification – and actually, South felt a little foolish for not having realized the answer straight away. After all, who were the only three people to have escaped the Mother of Invention via an unauthorized escape pod?

She huffed under her breath, and let her attention return to the jungle around them. South wrapped her hands more tightly around her battle rifle, and wished they'd just show their damn faces already. Games of cat and mouse were only fun when you were the cat.

Without warning, the fallout shelter loomed before her. South held her breath, suddenly and intensely aware of her surroundings. She pivoted slowly on the balls of her feet, peering through the crosshairs of her battle rifle. But there was no flash of armour in the trees; no rustle of bushes without wind. South drew a small breath between her teeth, struggling to be silent throughout her frustration. Where were the Insurrectionists? Where was the gunfire; the grenades; the adrenaline-inducing firefight that she'd been promised?

Surely, they wouldn't make it this easy.

"Where are they?"South hissed. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled – she whirled, her rifle coming up to fire. But there was nothing there. Endless, green rows of trees stretched before her, but none of them were hiding soldiers in their leaves.

"It's possible that they're inside," North replied. She gave the trees one last, cursory glance and then straightened. South huffed, annoyed, under her breath. "But let's not lose focus."

The four Freelancers closed in on the shelter, and found the entrance only a few minutes later. There were no guards to bar their way – and somehow, that just put them even more on edge. Connecticut hurried forward to disable the locks, eager to prove herself – but it was pointless, because the door simply swung open at the press of her gentle fingertips. North and South glanced towards each other. "They might have left in a hurry," Connie said, though her words wavered with uncertainty.

Georgia made a small noise in the back of his throat. "Or they're still inside, and it's a trap."

For a moment, the four Freelancers were frozen. They'd expected a firefight, a furious struggle to get inside the building. They'd been prepared to break down the door, guns blazing. They'd been prepared for everything.

Everything, that was, except for it to be easy.

North stepped into the darkness beyond the door, though the little lights on his armour tried valiantly to illuminate what shadows they could. Odd echoes bounced off of the thick walls as his boots scuffed along the floor. South followed him without hesitation, her shoulder brushing against Connecticut's as she strode past the smaller Freelancer. Georgia took the rear, leaving the door wide open behind them. At least if anyone tried to lock them in, they'd hear it happening.

Obviously, it went without saying that they were all expecting a trap.

There were eight, steep, uneven steps beneath her feet. South lifted one hand from her weapons, stretching it out to the side until her glove-encased fingertips brushed against the wall. The metal was surprisingly solid, given the dilapidated exterior. Then again, South supposed that that was just part of the disguise.

The wall stretched on for a while, and she could only guess at the number of layers beneath the surface, each one built to protect its occupants against any nuclear radiation from a possible attack. This had, after all, only been converted to an Innie base. First, it had been built in the days when nuclear weapons were mankind's greatest fear – which explained why the UNSC had lost track of it. In the war against Insurrectionists and fucking aliens, what use was it to them?

South snorted bitterly, sudden images of the Covenant that they'd faced once before flashing through her mind. Had there really been a time when humans were so stupid? Really so goddamn self-absorbed to think that their worst enemies were themselves? To assume that they were actually alone in the universe; that nothing darker lurked around the corner?

God, give her a fucking break.

South lifted her gaze, studying the corridor that stretched under their feet. Broken glass littered the floor, shells and bullet casings twinkling like stars amongst their violent sky. Metal lockers lined the walls, obviously having once been intended to store weapons. Now, though they were barely recognizable; some with their doors torn and bent – hell, some ripped off their hinges entirely. South took a step closer, and ran the pads of her fingers over a large, head-sized dent in the wall. How the hell had they managed that?

She imagined Penn embedding someone's face into the wall with his fist. He could probably manage it with a single punch – but then, Maine probably could, too. South swallowed dryly, and pulled away.

They turned the corner, and South blinked. Broken windows lined the walls of the halls, revealing trashed rooms. Paper littered some of the floor, and South guessed that they might have been the command rooms. But that wasn't what had drawn her attention. Dim light was spilling around the next bend – flickering unsteadily, as though the bulbs were beginning to fail, but light nonetheless. After a short, tense moment, North took another step. They all followed, but this time slowly, taking pains to step around the glass. No matter what awaited them at the bend, they wanted to take it – or them, as the case may be – by surprise.

But when they leapt around the corner, rifles held high and ready to fire, nothing happened.

"There's no one here!"South snapped, throwing the barrel of her battle rifle down in frustration. All that time, they'd wasted. The Director had been wrong – there were no clues, there was no trail, and most importantly, there were no Insurrectionists! This 'mission' had been nothing but a waste of her time. "Damn it,"she growled, beneath her breath.

The anticipation for a fight had been building inside of her for hours. South had waited weeks for this, for her first return to the field – and so what if she'd been looking forward to kicking some Insurrectionist ass? South hadn't been in a physical fight against anyone other than her teammates in months, and if she didn't know better, she'd think that she was in withdrawal.

But no, the fallout shelter was empty. The anticipation had fizzled and died with nothing to keep it fuelled, and now the disappointment crackled irritably beneath her skin. South resisted the urge to stamp her foot and scream, like a fucking child.

But her brother's words came haltingly, quelling the ball of frustration behind her sternum. "No," North corrected her quietly. "The ODSTs. They're still here."

Silence fell over the small group like a blanket fog, their restless irritation trickling slowly into dread. Before any one of them could find their voices in time to speak, North stepped forward.

Only now did South actually look around the room, other than her first, cursory glance. A small flight of crumbling steps led down from their small balcony, leading to the main area of the bunker. A thin strip of crimson lead diagonally downwards – the path, perhaps, of someone's bleeding body being dragged. More metal lockers lined the wall on the opposite end, though these were not as damaged as the ones before – but she could still pick out the dark circles of what could only be bullet holes. Shells littered the floor, like some kind of twisted trail of bread crumbs. South inhaled unsteadily, pushing away the unease that tugged behind her ribcage, and let her gaze follow the path.

It was immediately obvious why she hadn't seen them earlier. Even disregarding the fact that they lay slumped in a darkened corner, a pile of broken dolls… well. She swallowed against the revulsion that surged immediately up her throat.

They just didn't look human.

Limbs twisted and dislocated, some completely shattered. Flopped awkwardly on the cold floor, bent in unnatural and inhumane angles. Necks were twisted, snapped. South could almost see Penn's bloody handprints… and a small part of her didn't think that they were imagined. Arkansas was evident, too – in the cold, dispassionately efficient bullet wounds. Bloody holes yawned from foreheads, necks, shoulders, chests, and thighs. If the sheer amount of blood was enough to go by, then Ark had hit an artery on at least every other shot.

One ODST's stomach was completely shredded, like some great beast had clawed him. But South knew the truth – had seen the exact kind of crazy in Lieutenant Harper's eyes. She pictured him dancing around the rapidly weakening soldier, blood-covered blades glistening in the light from the naked bulbs. Rare was the blade that could cut straight through an ODST's armour plates – and instinctively, South knew that Harper treasured it.

Without even realizing it, South had walked down the stairs. She came to herself slowly, scuffing the toe of one boot against a long, red stripe on the floor. It smelled like copper and rust – she didn't need to guess at what it was. The Crimson Sun had obviously dispatched the ODSTs quickly, and then dragged them out of the way.

Out of sight, out of mind. South lifted her head with narrowed eyes, and wondered, briefly, if it were really so easy.

So easy to forget the fact that they had killed two of their own teammates; that they were actively opposing the men and women they had once called friends. So easy for Ark to turn his back on Georgia, for Penn to slam Alaska's head against a wall and leave him behind.

So goddamned easy for them to leave the ones they had cared for behind.

An unexpected touch between her shoulder blades pulled her free from the angry thoughts. "Hey, you okay?" North asked, and she knew the exact way that he would look if she were able to see him – head tilted, eyebrows slightly drawn, grey eyes focused on her and just beginning to brim with concern. She didn't know what he thought – maybe that this undisputable sign of Ark and Penn's defection was slightly upsetting, or something stupid like that.

South stepped forward, her left forearm shoving into his chest-plate and pushing her brother away. "It's a good thing we came alone," she scoffed, ignoring his question. She pointed at the pile of bodies, and took another step away from him, nudging the toe of her boot against a limp, bloodied arm. "It sure doesn't look like they put up much of a fight." She hesitated for a moment, and then snorted dismissively. South turned away, bullet casings crunching under her feet.

North seemed to sigh, not that she was paying attention. "Alright," he began. "South, Georgia – I want you to search the bunker. If there are any clues to the Crimson Sun's whereabouts, they'll be here somewhere. It doesn't look like the marines had been ambushed here, but keep an eye out. Connie, see if you can access some of the ODST logs. Search for something around the times of their deaths – they might have found or overheard something useful."

They spread out as soon as her brother paused for breath. Connie hesitated, before squaring her shoulders and crouching down besides the fallen soldiers. Her armoured kneecaps scraped against the concrete, and she reached for one of the helmets. South turned away, throwing open a metal locker. Empty. She proceeded to the next one, letting the doors bang against each other carelessly.

She was just moving to help Georgia when a muted crackle and snap sounded throughout the room. Both Freelancers whirled, automatically shifting to offensive stances. "It's okay," he reassured them. "It's the audio logs."

South sniffed, doing her best to make her disdain clear - and ignore the fact that, in her chest, her heart had skipped a beat. But curiosity soon overcame her annoyance, and she found herself padding across the bunker to her brother's side. Georgia followed at her heels, and Connie spared them both a glance.

She must have found the chip in their helmets and inserted it into her own armour, or something, because the audio logs were playing clearly through Connecticut's external speakers. Though 'clearly' was a relative term, given the crappy quality of the original recording.

There was the standard conversation as the ODST team was quietly directed by their commander – whichever broken body belonged to him now – and a few, familiar jokes designed to lessen the pressure of the mission. South found herself quickly growing bored, as the only piece of useful information that had been diverged was that the ODSTs had come across the bodies of the marines somewhere in the forest, but it wasn't to last. There was the unmistakable crash as an ODST broke down the door – and then the fight began in earnest.

Gunfire cracked past the microphone, and there was the unmistakably musical sound of shattering glass. Yells and incoherent cries echoed from the brown Freelancer's armour. South's heart was thumping a little too fast in her chest at the sound of the fight. Unconsciously, she leaned forward, eager to hear the sounds of the battle that she had missed.

More screams, and few cusses, and the odd prayer or two filled the empty room – though "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" may not have counted. ODSTs weren't exactly known for their clean conversations, and the log's evidence didn't disagree.

They could tell as the fight progressed, moving towards the room where they stood, simply by the sounds echoing more in the recording. An incoherent scream of rage exploded from Connie's speakers, and Harper laughed distantly.

North, South, and Georgia all took an unconscious step closer to Connecticut at the sound, as if their prey were right there in the room, tantalizingly within reach. The sounds of the fight had quieted with one, final gunshot – replaced by a sickening, slick sound. No one said anything, though. The sound of a corpse being dragged across concrete was almost disturbingly recognizable.

The silence continued, broken only by the occasional thump. With each noise, the quality of the recording lessened – clearly, Connie had stolen the audio logs from one of the men at the bottom of the body pile. They could only listen in muted horror. But it was not the end.

A low conversation began, the words unable to be heard clearly. If South strained her ears, she might have been able to make some of the words out. But the thought flew from her mind as footsteps echoed, closer, to the recording device.

There was a sudden sliding and scraping noise, as though someone's unsupported appendage had fallen to the floor. South swallowed, ignoring it determinedly. But that didn't matter – because with that one, incredibly lucky movement, the body covering the ODST's microphone had moved. And now, they could hear, with unbelievable quality as the conversation continued. Harper sounded frustrated, and they caught the tail end of whatever he'd been saying.

"Aurora."