(A/N) Hey all, back again with another update, this time written by the wonderful Lili-Hunter, and you know what that means! It's a South chapter! This is one of my favourite chapters to date, and that's saying a lot, so I hope you'll all take the same level of enjoyment out of it, because Lili really did a stellar job here!
This may sound repetitive, but for consistencies sake, enjoy!
Chapter Sixty-Seven – Something Wicked
Agent South Dakota
Written by Lili-Hunter
"By the pricking of my thumbs, / Something wicked this way comes!"
– William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Even before the research facility came fully into view, South could smell the scent of fierce battle in the air. It was unmistakable: the copper bite of spilled blood; the choking, bitter smoke of grenades. She could hear gunfire ahead – the constant rattle of submachine guns interspersed with the occasional crack of a high-powered rifle. With any luck, that was Wyoming's team doing their goddamn job – so that Carolina, North, Nevada, Virginia and herself could sneak around the back and make it inside without drawing too much attention. But they didn't have a reason to worry – everything was going perfectly, the plan being followed to the letter.
Until, suddenly, it wasn't. The universe's favour was a fickle bitch, and – somehow – the freelancers had just lost it.
It began with a single bullet, a warning shot straight over their heads. South swore, a startled mix between a snarl and a yelp bursting from her lips as she dove for cover behind a bullet-riddled barricade. North hit the ground behind her, and a muffled thud indicated another, third presence.
South lifted herself onto her elbows, and struggled to demagnetize her battle rifle from her back. It fell into her hands with easy familiarity, but a second of hesitation had her glancing at the rest of the team. Why weren't they already firing?
Carolina was poised on one knee, two fingers pressed to the side of her helmet as she was, presumably, connected to the UNSC soldiers guarding the facility. "Cease fire!" she commanded, every word snapped with unquestionable authority. "We're allies! Agents from Project Freelancer, here to take Dr Grace to a secure facility. Stand down!"
There was a moment of horrified radio silence, and then the reply crackled over the line after a brief burst of static. "Yes, ma'am!"
Wait – the UNSC had shot at them? "Dumbasses," South snarled, making no attempt to cover her insult from the soldiers. Her brief flash of fear had swirled into an angry mess, irritation sparking resentfully inside her chest. It plucked at her nerves, stringing them too tight, and the added stress made her lose focus. She needed to hit someone, needed to unleash some of the jittery tension crawling beneath her skin before it got her killed.
Luckily – or unluckily, really – the UNSC had already provided her with that opportunity. At the single gunshot, some of the Crimson Sun had turned, perhaps hoping to see some backup to bolster their ranks – but instead, they'd seen the colourful freelancers dive and take cover. The UNSC had ruined the one clear advantage that the freelancers had had over the Crimson Sun.
Now, as South stood, it was to the sight of several Insurrectionists running towards their position – weapons raised and ready to fire. She yelled a warning into the comms, and raised her rifle.
Crack! One soldier staggered, hand clutching at his shoulder. Blood dribbled through his fingertips. But he was close, too close - she couldn't shoot fast enough, couldn't end his life in time to save hers-
Another shot, but not from her gun, collapsed him. South whipped her head to the side, an 'I don't need your goddamn help!' snarl ready on her lips. But her brother wasn't looking at her, hadn't even glanced from the corner of his eye. As though the instinct to keep her safe was just so ingrained, so obvious that it wasn't worth mentioning. She turned away, the indignant cry dying resentfully on her tongue.
South couldn't exactly yell at him for saving her life, but hell, she wanted to.
Instead, she forced herself to rise a little higher, searching with the barrel of her rifle until it lined up with an Insurrectionist's skull. Her fingers squeezed, and he dropped like a sack of stones. South tried to ignore the flash of vicious satisfaction at the sight - perhaps imagining, for the briefest of seconds, that it was someone else. But the thought was brief and she didn't linger on it, didn't let it sink its hooks into the permanence of her mind. The second face was there and gone before she had truly registered its presence, barely given the time to know whom it had been.
The Crimson Sun soldiers were too close, bearing down on the Freelancers like raging bulls. With a shout, Carolina swung herself up and over the small barricade, her heavy boots finding purchase on one's chest, and slamming the Insurrectionist to the ground. The doomed soldier was finished with a blast from their leader's pistol, a thin spray of blood coating the front of Carolina's shin as she moved away, another target already locked in sight.
The other freelancers were quick to follow, exploding from their shelters with expected, precise fury. Bullets found homes in heads, stomachs, or shoulders - anywhere and everywhere that would either kill them instantly, or slow them down long enough to take a second shot, one that would get the job done.
Because, South reasoned, that was all that it was about. Efficiency, or the closest thing to it. She wasn't just a mindless, needless killer - not like Harper, the Insurrection, the Crimson Sun, and even Ark and Penn - she was a professional. It just so happened that killing was what she did best.
Another soldier ducked under her guard, aiming to ram a knife under her ribs. South snarled, dropping a hand from her rifle to catch him around the wrist. The other hand effortlessly slipped her rifle onto her back: she'd need both hands for this. An attempt to surprise her - the soldier held the blade in an inexperienced ice-pick grip, and despite her grasp, he was free to twist his wrist and manipulate the knife - had the blade slicing across her armoured forearm. A stupid mistake, really; he should have known better.
His punishment was ruthless. South yanked his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back as she used her leverage to force him to his knees. The position forced him to face away from her, and his free hand flapped uselessly at his side before she pinned it to his other one.
Disgusting. The soldier was a young man, too young to have been properly trained for combat - especially with a freelancer. What, were the Innies really resorting to recruiting school kids now, or something? Perhaps he'd lied about his age. But that didn't change anything. They were so unworthy of her attention that it would have been funny, if it weren't so degrading. The only thing intimidating about the kid was his weapon.
Well, that - and his loyalty. And for that last one, he had to die.
So it was without compunction that, with a sudden reverse in grip and a hard yank, South sank the man's own blade into his unguarded throat.
He didn't die quietly - a gurgled scream and an attempted cough despite his severed oesophagus - but she didn't care. South left the weapon buried in his own skin as she leapt over his fallen body, kicking him to the side like a discarded doll. Which, actually, in a way he kind of was. Weren't all of the Insurrectionists?
The soldiers were eager, caught up in a battle frenzy that South found all too easy to understand. One lifted a pistol, his aim zeroing in on her heart. There was no time to think, only to react – South dove forward, ducking beneath the bullet that whistled over her helmet. Her body rolled automatically into a smooth curl, one that landed her right at two Insurrectionist's feet, the first of which who was still holding the pistol.
The first man was quick to react, adjusting his aim to the freelancer below him. She didn't waste effort climbing to her feet. The soldier let out a startled yelp as her boot connected with his fist. The magnum was shot blindly, before his now-numb fingers weakened its grip and the weapon was sent flying through the air.
Now she leapt to her feet, using the momentum to drive a hard fist under the catch of his helmet. The soldier's head snapped back with an ugly crack, and she knew she'd probably dislocated his jaw.
But she couldn't finish him off, because his friend snarled and attempted to knock her back to the ground with a well-aimed kick to the back of her knee. South faltered as her left leg collapsed beneath her. But a sudden flare of something – not fear, never fear – at the manoeuvre gave her strength enough to take advantage of the unexpected momentum, twisting at the waist so that she could drive a hard elbow into his groin. The weak spot yielded instant results and the man doubled over with a pained wheeze, hands going automatically to protect himself lest she decide to strike there again.
South had other, far more vicious plans. Her hands flew over her right shoulder, latching around the back of his neck. A sudden shift, a twist from her centre of gravity, and he was flipping over her shoulder, his back being driven into the hard ground. The Crimson Sun soldier's legs flailed, accidentally knocking back his ally – who'd foolhardily decided that a dislocated jaw wasn't enough.
It was simple enough for South to change her grip on his neck, to grasp at the sides of his helmet with unforgiving palms. Her biceps flexed, her arms yanking savagely, and then there was the sickeningly sharp crack of a neck being snapped. The body was instantly limp in her arms.
The other soldier was bearing down on her, screaming rage and vengeance that was awkwardly garbled around his injured jaw. She dragged his dead friend up by the scruff of his neck, throwing him bodily towards the oncoming opponent. He cursed and ducked, but it was enough for South to gather herself before the next fight.
She returned with a snap kick to his chest, one that drove him back a pace or two. The soldier grunted, but a punishing fist to the side of her helmet proved that it hadn't slowed him down at all.
South snarled, settling into a readily defensive stance before him. It was clear that this guy would require more finesse than usual – but that didn't mean that she couldn't inflict as much pain on him as possible. He deserves it, a part of her mind whispered. And those three words were all the encouragement that she needed.
When his fist came at her face for a second time, South caught it in her right hand at the last second. She used it to twist inside his guard, becoming back-to-chest with the soldier before she slammed a heel into the curve of his ankle, grinning savagely at the scream it induced. Her head cracked backwards, helmet smashing against helmet, and the soldier reeled away. But South wasn't letting him get away that easily.
Her elbow drove hard into his stomach, driving all the air from his lungs and forcing a choked cough. She took advantage of this momentary stun, twisting neatly until she was behind his back – his arm, which she had never let go of, bent in entirely the wrong direction. He screamed, all thoughts of escape blitzed by the agony, as the bone snapped simultaneously with the shoulder joint popping out of its socket.
There was a savage elegance in using a man's own weapon in his murder, especially when that same weapon was first intended as a tool for one's own death – and besides, South didn't have time to draw her own weapon. Instead she slid the soldier's own pistol from its sheath with her other hand and aimed it at the back of his head, execution-style.
The soldier barely had time to whisper a choked, "No-!" before the bang silenced him for good.
"Let's go, go, go!" Carolina yelled, suddenly. South was abruptly lurched from her bloody reverie, and looked up in time to spot the aquamarine freelancer shove another fallen opponent to the side. All around her, the freelancers were finishing the Innies off - here, Nevada's pistol dropped another soldier; there, Virginia's sniper shot in such short range nearly decapitated another. North was reloading, his eyes searching the area around them for more threats. Obviously, he'd missed her opponents' brutal deaths, and she didn't know whether or not to be thankful for it. Her heart and mind were swimming in myriads of contradictions, swirling as they tried to pull her thoughts in each and every way.
But if there was one more thing that South was good at, it was brushing off the angels and devils on her shoulders. The purple freelancer turned away, just in time to see Carolina push off towards the research facility. The UNSC awaited them, and even though they weren't the brightest – as evidenced by their actions before – it would be reassuring to have another force guarding their backs.
Besides, this entire assault wasn't really her problem. She didn't actually have to fight anyone. South had clear orders – get in, get Dr Grace, and get out.
Now, there were fewer Crimson Sun soldiers blocking their way – whether they truly didn't see them coming, or just had the good sense not to fight a freelancer, South didn't know. Didn't particularly care. They all met the same end, anyway: a bullet between the eyes, or through their backs, cut through the ranks pretty easily. Rare was the chance that she had to fight in close-quarters, but only a small part of her was grateful for it – South wanted to feel the sweet burn as she broke bones, ached to have her body flood with power as she held utter control over someone else's life.
The thought should have frightened her – it was an attitude close, too close, to that of the animal's they were hunting down. But, as it was, she felt only a rush of savage pleasure. Besides, she was a soldier – a sanctioned killer. It made all the difference, or at least in the ways that mattered.
Well, that was what she told herself.
In seemingly no time at all, they managed to reach safety. The UNSC guarding that particular stretch of the facility were few, but they certainly had guts – they yanked the freelancers behind them as soon as they could reach, shoving them against the steel grey walls and neatly out of the way while they grappled with the wave of Crimson Sun that had followed their bloody journey through the facility-grounds-turned-battlefield.
But Carolina wasn't one to be shoved around so easily. She grabbed at one soldier's shoulder, forcing the woman to face her. She tried to shove at the freelancer's hand, but Carolina's grip only tightened. "Where's your commander?" she barked, wasting no time with pleasantries. Not that it was in Carolina's nature to be pleasant, anyway.
The woman shot her a frustrated glare, but gestured towards a thick clump of soldiers, some surveying the battle and others huddled warily over holographic maps and blueprints. Carolina nodded, thanked her quickly, and then led the squad towards them. Resentment at being treated like a mindless sheep churned thick and hot in her stomach, but she forced it out of mind. South had a job to do, and her rank on the Leaderboard depended on it being done right.
There were bigger things at stake than her momentary pride, and the most prominent of those was the anger inducing "5"currently sitting smugly besides her name. A number below her brother's.
At their loud arrival, one of the UNSC soldiers turned and addressed them. "Freelancers! It's good to see you, finally."
"Yeah, we'd have gotten here earlier if you hadn't fucking shot at us," South snarled immediately. She could already feel the many bruises swelling under her skin from the resultant fights, and hell if she was going to let the UNSC get away with practically causing them. North, though, didn't seem to share her opinion, and shifted awkwardly at her side with the beginnings of a murmured admonishment. Nevada, though, snickered and South felt slightly validated.
At least the guy had the good sense to look contrite. "My apologies," he offered, "but you understand our concern that you were allied with the Crimson Sun."
The subtle insinuation and hidden insult didn't go unnoticed. Carolina and South bristled, and the flaring anger coming off the others in waves were enough to know that they were of the same mind. Just because Ark and Penn had been Freelancers; had been comrades, hell, even friends – did not mean that the others were ready to turn their back on the Project and throw their lot in with the Crimson Sun. They weren't traitors.
The soldier was lucky that Carolina didn't feel the need to explain themselves to him – or even just to smash his head against a wall for his insolence – and chose only to fix him with a cold stare. "Open the doors," she demanded, a second later. "My team and I have to take Dr Grace to a secure facility."
Only then did the commander falter. "Actually, there's a bit of a problem. The base has shut down – we have security protocols, you see, and the system won't open the doors until the opposing force has been defeated. We'd have to open it manually-"
Loud, sudden gunshots cut him off. South ducked instinctively, but a moment later saw that it wasn't her that the snipers had been aiming at. As she turned around, searching for danger, her eyes widened as the five UNSC soldiers that had been guarding them dropped to the floor.
"Shit! We got snipers trained on our position – Wyoming, take them out!" Carolina yelled, shrinking behind cover.
The reply was short, and grunted as though the British man was out of breath. "Bit busy, Carolina!"
"Wyoming!" Their leader's voice cracked like a whip, but at least it cowed him into obedience – albeit with an annoyed huff and a mutter under his breath.
It was a long moment before he answered, but South guessed that he was extricating himself from the fighting and seeking high ground. "I see them," he replied grudgingly. They waited, impatient – and then, over the radio came the sound of two sniper shots, painfully loud as they echoed first over the radio, and then second through the air. Wyoming sniffed, seemingly smug. "Done and done," he told them.
"Thanks," Carolina said quickly, rising onto one knee again. Behind their leader, the UNSC commanders popped up, too. She pivoted to face them. "How do we open them manually?" she demanded, never one to waste time.
"We'd have to hack into the compound's security system and deactivate the protocols," he replied, the words almost tripping over themselves as they spilled from his mouth. "But our technician's dead!"
"That's not a problem," the freelancer told him confidently. "Because ours isn't."
But their moment of triumph was interrupted by a warning cry. "Carolina, we've got bigger problems!" North yelled, swinging his rifle into position. He managed to fire off a shot as the rest of his team turned, but South wasn't paying attention to him.
What she was paying attention to, was the bloodthirsty swarm of Crimson Sun headed their way.
"Nevada, open those doors! North, protect her at all costs – we have to get inside!" Carolina spouted off orders quickly, her hands flying as she reloaded in preparation for the firefight. "Virginia, South; you're with me. Soldiers, we'll need your help, so get in line!"
They obeyed with a clatter of armour and weaponry, spreading into a somewhat-line behind the barricades with North and Nevada at their backs. No one had even thought to question Carolina's authority. South spared her brother a glance over her shoulder; he caught her gaze, hands steady on his rifle, and nodded slowly. Behind him, Nevada's fingers flew between the holographic displays at the door, trying desperately to unlock it manually. She was competent enough, South knew, but she still found herself wishing that it were York in her place. He'd have opened it in half the time…
But those thoughts were too distracting – especially at a time when distraction could be punished with her death – and so South cast them into the back of her mind. She forced herself to focus on the here and now; which was, in her case, a swarming pack of Crimson Sun fully intent on her brutal murder. South watched them bearing down on the freelancers, and her heartbeat quickened in anticipation.
She didn't have to wait long. Carolina opened fire a second later, and bullets shredded across the first line of oncoming soldiers. Some stumbled, and others fell – but still more surged onwards, some of them peering down their sights to fire back in turn. The rounds smacked into the ground before them, or zipped by to smack into the facility walls – but then the freelancers were firing back, forcing them to go for cover before their aim could improve.
South squeezed the trigger, aiming for a particularly brutish-looking soldier. He went down with two bullets in the thigh and one in the chest; and hopefully, all of them had managed to puncture an artery. Her aim swung to the left and she fired again.
They were firing continuously, only stopping to reload or shift to a better position. But it couldn't last – even with North firing over their heads as well, there were just too many soldiers.
South wasn't the only one to realize it. "There's too many!" Virginia cried, though she continued to fire without pause. "We can't hold this position!"
Unfortunately, they didn't have a choice. The choice was, almost literally, to either stand their ground or die. "Nevada!" Carolina yelled. "How much longer?"
"I'm trying," the dark green freelancer snarled between gritted teeth. "I just need a little more time!"
The Crimson Sun soldiers were getting too close. Ahead of South, Carolina seemed to realize it, as well; with a final yell of, "We need to hold them off!", she ran, guns blazing, into the fray. For a moment, they thought that their leader had been lost – but then the familiar aquamarine armour appeared as several of the soldiers fell around her.
South Dakota growled – too angry to bother with words – and followed. Virginia was of the same mind, and for a few seconds, they ran side-by-side. And if the thudding behind them was any indication, the UNSC soldiers had followed. But it lasted only a moment before the freelancers converged on the mass of soldiers, and they were swept up in the bloodbath.
South ducked, letting a fist fly over her head as she tried to punch at her opponent's stomach. The hit landed, but didn't seem to faze the soldier at all – they kicked out at her, forcing the purple freelancer back a few steps.
She didn't waste time waiting for them to lash out again. Her fingers curled into a fist, and she swung at their face. But a forearm flew up to block her way, jarring South's fingers as they were deflected. A curse flew from her mouth before she could stop it, but her opponent was quick to press their advantage. Instead of shoving her away, like she expected, they yanked hard on her arm and sent South stumbling towards them.
She didn't recover her balance in time to evade the helmet that slammed into hers. Stars burst behind her eyes as she faltered, her legs collapsing momentarily beneath her. Shit, she thought, slightly dazed, guy's got one hell of a thick skull.
The fist that caught her beneath her chin was a painful surprise, but at least it managed to snap her back into focus. The soldier was pulling his fist back, hoping to catch her unawares for a fourth time – but South wouldn't, couldn't, let it happen again. Instead, she threw herself to the side, managing to hook her foot around the back of their knee as she did so. They both stumbled, but South managed to land on top, pinning him to the ground with her knees. The soldier bucked, preparing to throw her off.
But South was too quick, sliding her magnum from its place on her hip and aiming it with steady hands. She squeezed down on the trigger, and the pistol fired its load in the back of her opponent's hard skull.
Nevada was taking too long, and as South stood, she could feel the first ache of weariness settling into her bones. That was bad; exhaustion caused mistakes, and mistakes could get her killed. Or worse, she could drop a rank, maybe even two.
As she got back onto her feet, South took advantage of the momentary lull in fighting to glance around. Of the first group of Crimson Sun that had attacked them, most were dead – but then, most of the UNSC soldiers had all lost their lives, too. It hadn't taken long. Whatever rank the enemy soldiers had been, they'd been good – nothing like the group that had attacked them after the UNSC's warning shot.
Even so, the battle was getting desperate – and not just on their end, either. They caught brief snatches of information as the other freelancers occasionally checked in with them over the comms, and they could tell that the UNSC were losing ground fast. Wyoming's team, who were probably doing the most hand-to-hand fighting, sounded exhausted.
A sudden flash caught her eye. To South's left, one of the few remaining UNSC soldiers was fighting an Insurrectionist almost twice her size. But that wasn't what had caught her attention – another Crimson Sun soldier lifted their pistol, preparing to shoot the soldier in the back as the sun glinted off the dark metal. South's magnum rose as she leapt forward, already yelling a warning, but it was too late. The gun went off, and blood splattered the ground as the soldier fell.
Her gun was already in position, and fury was roaring in her veins. South snarled and the gun recoiled in her hand as she pressed down on the trigger. The soldier's hand jerked, pistol flying from her grip as the bullet landed in her outstretched wrist.
A howl of wordless, mindless rage was South's only warning before the soldier was pounding towards her; head bent down like a raging bull. South's heart leapt, and she managed to fire off another shot before the soldier was upon her. Her shoulder jerked, and South knew she'd hit her mark.
But there was no time to shoot her for a final time. She was too close. The soldier caught South under her ribs, sending the purple freelancer flying. South slammed to the ground, skidding slightly along the dust, and felt like all the air had been punched from her lungs. But there was no time – she couldn't afford to stay down – and so South rolled onto her side, hands scrabbling for purchase in the dirt.
South managed to get up only just in time to duck beneath the fist that swung for her jaw. Her heart was pounding almost painfully fast in her chest, sending liquid fire racing through her veins.
Her boot connected with the soldier's knee, but it was a weak blow with little momentum. The Innie only stumbled, and South followed through with a snap kick straight to the chest. It forced her back a small distance. The pair circled for a second, but South was first to break the spell. She swung her fist in a right hook, already feeling the crack against her knuckles.
But the blow never connected. The Crimson Sun soldier moved too quickly, her forearm crashing into South's elbow. Her momentum forced the freelancer around, and the Insurrectionist hooked her arm around South's throat before she could fight back, holding her firm against her chest.
She was cut off mid-breath, and the shock was a sudden bolt of pain through her head. South was choking, desperate for air. Her fingers clawed weakly at the soldier's forearm, an immoveable bar across her neck, trying to pry it away from her throat. It was useless, her fingertips sliding through something slick as they scrabbled for purchase.
It took a few seconds for her to recognize the sticky liquid. It was blood, trickling steadily from the bullet wound in her enemy's wrist. South had missed the ulnar artery by mere centimetres. Even so, it was a weakness, and one she was quick to take advantage of.
It took a second to find the actual wound, and another for South to dig her fingers inside, pressing hard until she found something unrelenting – the bullet or bone, she didn't know. The soldier screamed; a high-pitched sound filled with agony. Her grip loosened.
Air rushed back into her lungs, but South didn't pull away. The soldier's guard was down, and it was easy for her to lift a boot and slam her heel into the arch of her enemy's ankle. There was an ugly crack! and her scream echoed with fresh pain.
South still wasn't done with her. The freelancer straightened abruptly, slamming the top of her helmet into the bottom of the Innie's jaw. It snapped back with a sharp click of teeth, cutting her off mid-cry. She spun as the soldier stumbled back, slamming the point of her elbow into her gut.
The Crimson Sun fighter staggered backwards, but her foot couldn't support her and she fell heavily to the ground. South was quick to take advantage, slamming a heavy boot down on her chest to keep the soldier down.
South's magnum had fallen to the ground a mere metre away, when the soldier had first slammed into her, and she snatched it quickly. When she turned back, her enemy was watching her.
Blood trickled from between her lips, bubbling at the corners. South's stomach flipped, but her hands were still steady as she lifted them to point the pistol's barrel down at her fallen opponent. She was about to squeeze the trigger when the Insurrectionist spat at her.
Something bloody flew from her mouth, and she snarled garbled curses at the Freelancer about to end her life. South glanced at it for a moment. Shock nearly made her drop the gun, and it was only her training that kept it in her hands. When South had slammed her head into the soldier's jaw, she must have bitten off part of her tongue. It lay in the dirt now, a discarded and bloody muscle.
When South lifted her head, the soldier's eyes were nearly black with fury. She tried to scream something again, but could no longer shape the words right. South didn't want to know what she had to say; instead, she wrapped her hands around the magnum, and squeezed.
The garbled accusations stopped, and for a moment there was blessed silence.
There was a sudden burst of static in her ear, and South jerked in surprise. A split second passed, and then Wyoming's voice was booming into her ears. "Carolina-"
It cut out with another crackle of static, and the aquamarine freelancer in question pressed a finger to her helmet. "What?"
The feed returned a few seconds later, dropping in and out but still understandable. "We can't hold them back," the British Freelancer panted. Even as he spoke, gunshots rang in the background. "He's coming—you need—get inside-"
"Who?" Carolina roared. "Wyoming, who's coming?"
There was a long stretch of indecipherable radio static, and then, unexpectedly, it calmed. "Pennsylvania!" the white freelancer snapped hurriedly. "He and his team – they're headed straight for your doors!"
There was horrified moment of silence as the team of five absorbed the information. Penn – super-strong, terrifying, monster-like Penn – was, at this very moment, headed straight for them.
"Nevada, how much longer?" Virginia asked, firing towards the remaining Insurrectionists. Her tone was strained, too tight. Like all of them, she was tense and just starting to get anxious.
"I've almost got it," she replied, her words pitched a little higher than usual. Their combined stress must have been getting to her, but South didn't care – they needed to get inside the facility, and they needed to get in now.
On unspoken command, the remaining freelancers shrank back towards the walls. South bumped against her brother as they all formed a loose semi-circle around the dark-green freelancer. Nevada cast them a hurried glance, but doubled her speed as she attempted to disable the protocols.
Her pistol lifted, unwavering, and South fired. Of the original group that had swamped them, killing all of the UNSC soldiers, only five remained. Her bullet caught one in the thigh, and someone else – Virginia – finished them off with a blast to the head.
But they were quick to close the distance. A fist swung towards her cheek – South blocked it with a forearm. She took a half step forward, swinging her pistol up. A moment later and the soldier fell back, a bullet buried in his chest.
Another quickly took his place. South adjusted her aim, and squeezed. Nothing happened. The gun had jammed. She swore, but there was no time to try and unjam it. The soldier was still coming towards her, gleefully realizing her predicament.
As soon as he was within range, South spun the weapon in her grip and brought it down, hard, on his temple. The weapon connected with a satisfying crack, and he crumpled, eyes rolling back into his head. Before she even needed to ask for help, a bullet slammed into the collapsed soldier's chest.
North was breathing heavily beside her, his own opponent fallen in an unnatural tangle of limbs. "Close call," he breathed in relief, and the words were anything but accusatory.
Even so, she bristled. But before she could reply, South looked up.
Penn and his team were bearing down on them like out-of-control freight trains. He was only a mere hundred, maybe hundred and ten, metres away. The ex-freelancer roared, an inhuman cry of rage, and South felt fear spike through her chest. He would be unstoppable.
"Nevada!" South yelled. "Open the doors!"
"One more second!" Nevada yelled back. South spared a glance over her shoulder – the display was almost a blur as the other freelancer hacked into it, taking control.
"Any second now would be much appreciated!" her brother said, a tad anxiously. South glared at him beneath her eyelashes as she quickly unloaded and reloaded her pistol in an effort to unjam it. No one else would have noticed her brother's slight sarcasm, his capacity for which usually went unnoticed. But in stressful situations, such as this one, that particular family resemblance tended to rear its unappreciated head.
"Nearly there!" Nevada yelled. South whipped her head back around, and a giant hand squeezed around her thrumming heart as she met the sight. Penn and his team were sixty metres away.
South raised her pistol, and fired. The soldier next to Penn took the bullet in the foot, stumbling with a howl of pain. She adjusted her aim, but the next shot merely whistled over the ex-freelancer's head. The distance was too far for any reliable accuracy, especially with the way her hands were shaking. Her heart was lodged in her throat, beating so painfully hard that she thought it might burst.
"Goddamn it," she roared, whirling on Nevada. "Faster!"
"Almost, I – got it!" The freelancer crowed with excitement, and leapt to the doors. She threw her weight against them, and they rocked unsteadily. South took two steps and slammed into them as well, but the doors still didn't budge. It was only a second later, after three more heavy thuds as the rest of their team joined them that the doors opened enough to admit them.
The freelancers tumbled through the gap. Carolina leapt to her feet, and was back at the door in an instant. "Help me shut the doors! Nevada," she barked again. "Seal them as soon as you can!"
They leapt back into action with barely a moment of respite. Adrenaline tore through South's veins like wildfire, setting her aflame as she struggled with the heavy doors. Carolina, North, and she strained against it with all their considerable might. Virginia didn't join them – instead, she stood in the gap, firing at the oncoming soldiers and dodging what little bullets they returned.
Her muscles were burning, but the fear rearing in her chest was more than overpowering. Air hissed through South's clenched teeth, and North grunted as they forced the door in the opposite direction.
"Forty metres!" Virginia warned them.
The doors slid haltingly, suddenly reluctant to move. Nevada was waiting at the console, her hands poised over the controls. "Hurry!" she yelled. Having their words thrown back in their faces only pissed South off more.
Carolina was panting under her breath, the lines of her body tense as she shoved against the door. It gave, moving another three inches. But it wasn't enough. Suddenly, she stopped. "Step back!" she commanded them quickly. And then, "On three! Sync?"
"Sync!" the twins yelled back.
"Twenty metres!" Virginia called.
Carolina counted down, until the final number. "Three!" she roared. In unison, the freelancers threw themselves against the doors. South's shoulder slammed painfully into its corner.
It flew across the ground, skimming over the metal floor to slam against the wall with a bang that made the facility shake. "Nevada!" Carolina's voice was bordering on a scream.
The dark green freelancer's hands slammed down on the console. Immediately, there was heavy thudding on the other side of the wall. There was a furious yell, so enraged that it sent shivers down South's spine. It was, unmistakably, Penn.
South let out a shaky breath, one that she hadn't known she'd been holding. Her entire body was trembling – from exertion, or fear? Maybe both. She curled her fingers into fists to hide it.
"It's done," Nevada said, stating the obvious. South sucked a breath between her teeth, and wondered if the subtext she'd heard was imagined. We're safe.
"Good." Carolina drew herself to her full height, and pulled her weapons into her grasp. South eyed her, feeling her heart still beating erratically in her chest. The number one freelancer wasn't shaking at all. "Let's go find Dr Grace," she said.
It took nearly twenty minutes to locate the doctor; twenty minutes that they spent creeping through the freezing, unwelcoming halls of the research facility. In looks, it was fairly close to the MoI – metal stretched everywhere; under their feet, above their heads, on either side. But it was different, still. Where the Mother of Invention was constantly thrumming, vibrating with the engines and filled with life, the facility was cold, seemingly dead; beyond themselves, nothing seemed to stir within its metal walls.
At least, that was the way that it seemed until they turned a corner and found them.
"Put your hands up!" a soldier yelled. South blinked, but didn't comply. There were half a dozen soldiers in all, grouped behind a makeshift barricade of tables and chairs that had been tossed onto their sides. A rifle had been mounted on top, and was currently pointed in their direction. Its barrel waved threateningly. "I said, put your hands in the air!"
"Relax," Carolina told them, re-magnetizing her weapons at her sides. The soldiers didn't move, and she seemed to sigh. "We're agents from Project Freelancer," she said, the authority in her statement more than convincing. "We're here to rescue Dr Isla Grace and escort her to a more secure facility."
There was a beat of silence, and then the soldier replied. "How do we know that we can trust you? You could be lying."
"Oh, relax." This time, it wasn't Carolina who had uttered the words. Behind the row of soldiers, a woman stepped forward. Her sleek blonde hair was pulled back in an unforgiving bun, and her eyes glittered with intelligence as they appraised the group of freelancers. "I was told to expect your arrival," she said snippily. "What took you so long?"
"If you hadn't noticed, there's a war on your doorstep," Virginia replied stiffly. South cast her a glance – it seemed she wasn't the only one whose nerves were strung tight.
Dr Isla Grace's eyebrow quirked upwards ever so slightly, and her answer was dry. "Actually, I had."
"Good." Carolina took a step forward, hands re-settling on her weapons. "Then you know that we have to move quickly-"
"Wait, Dr Grace!"
A soldier burst suddenly into the room. His weapon was at the ready, but as he saw the woman, he stopped shortly and let the rifle drop. He was breathing hard, as though he'd been sprinting. South's gaze narrowed.
Isla Grace paused, spinning neatly on her heel. "Yes?"
"The facility's been breached," he panted.
"Yes," she replied haughtily, and South decided that she didn't like the Doctor at all. "We're quite aware," she added, and waved a hand to indicate the assorted freelancers.
The soldier cast them a glance from the corner of his eye, but shook his head. Perhaps he, unlike the others, had recognized them as allies. "No, no," he disagreed. "It's been breached again."
The words fell like stones in a pond, spreading ripples that slammed against the group like physical blows. South swallowed, her throat suddenly, fearfully, dry. She turned her head slightly, meeting the gaze of her brother. North's hands had tightened on his weapon.
"It's Penn," Carolina breathed, the words made hard by an emotion that South couldn't name.
"He's coming."