(A/N) Hey guys, it's update time! This chapter follows hot on the heels of the previous one, and features West Virginia, written, as always, by the wonderful anna1795. Speaking of Anna, you may be interested to hear that we have set up a Facebook page for the collaboration – under the name of The Freelancer Collaboration – which she is running, and you can see her taking on the Ice Bucket Challenge for ALS right there! A link can be found on our profile!
Enjoy!
Chapter Seventy-Four – Hold Strong
Agent West Virginia
Written by anna1795
"Wit is educated insolence." – Aristotle
West had been drugged and/or knocked out plenty of times before and during her military career. Some people were sore losers, some had long-overreaching grudges, some were thrill seekers, or some were just crazy sadistic nutjobs. Waking up with a resounding headache this time reminded her of the times that she had been clubbed over the head with a gorilla-sized fist. Not fun, but definitely more preferable to the ditzy confusion of chloroform.
The blindness that came with it was new, however. Her hearing was starting to return, so she didn't think that she had been hit so hard has to cause temporary loss of sight. Further surveillance of her body revealed that her wrists were bound and her helmet gone, so she had most likely been blindfolded while they flew through the air in the pelican. Remembering her experiences and education in hostage training, the two shifting bodies on either side of her were most likely not other Freelancers.
"Looks like the blonde is up," murmured a gruff Russian accent close to her ear. She didn't say anything, but listened carefully to other voices starting to murmur around her. None of them seemed familiar, so the other Freelancers were either holding their tongues or still unconscious. She decided to keep with the silent treatment.
"Doesn't matter," said a deeper voice from across her, and though she didn't recognize it, the description that she'd heard about it was enough to make her stiffen slightly. A mental image of Carolina screaming as she was being bent backwards over an armoured knee forcefully accompanied her reaction. "She can't see anything anyway, so let her alone. Ark's orders."
"I know, sir," the Russian to her right said, and she felt a sensation on her upper leg. "She's still very pretty, though, for a Freelancer bitch. Wouldn't mind…you know…raising the red flag on her." The hand on her leg started creeping towards her inner thigh, and she pulled her legs together with a snap.
"Let her be," the voice of Pennsylvania snapped. "We're not trying to psychologically scar them." The hand was removed with a grumble.
"Penn, any trouble on your end?" a suave voice asked through the pelican's radio, which echoed through the ship.
"No, Ark," Penn's voice called back, after a brief pause as he opened up his radio connection. "Just someone getting a little too touchy-feely. We're all good back here."
"Fine," the charismatic voice replied and got quiet again as West felt the pelican drop slightly. "We're coming in for a landing. Make sure that there are at least two soldiers accompanying them, and three for the big guy."
"Copy that," Penn replied. West felt two hands on her shoulder, and made sure to start calculating the height of the Russian next to her. They touched down with a shudder, and West was pulled to her feet. With the downward slope, she figured she was one of the first ones off the ship and was being marched towards a source of voices, feet, and rumbling engines. Now was the time to make her move.
West intentionally ripped her shoulder out of the Russian's grip and backed into her other escort, then aimed her still-armoured boot precisely between his barely-armoured legs. A satisfying crunchy squish and a squeal of pain met her ears. "I hope you rot in the deepest level of hell, you son-of-a-bitch swine!" she screamed at her assailant, even as slightly quieter calls had a flurry of footsteps running at her. A fist made contact with her stomach, and she doubled over while several sets of arms grabbed her arms, legs, and middle, carrying her on her front.
Totally worth it, she thought to herself as she was frog-marched through a set of hissing doors and into cooler hallways. Down three flights of stairs, three right turns, and through two sets of armed doors, West was unceremoniously tossed onto some sort of cushion before the door slammed behind her.
"Let the cunt rot in there!" she heard someone shout just outside the door.
"I do take offense to that, shit face!" she called back loud enough for them to here.
"Shut up!"
She stuck her tongue out in the general direction of the door, then wiggled up to a seated position. Her legs dangled off of the edge, so she assumed that she was on a bed of some kind, with a rather comfortable blanket over the top. Warmth on her neck probably meant a window of some kind, letting in sunlight.
"Alright," West said to herself. "Let's let the blind see." She started wiggling and moving her arms and hands underneath her and towards her front. "Yoga, don't fail me now." She bent over her legs and painstakingly manoeuvred her hands over her feet. She moved her hands to her face and tore the blindfold off of her eyes. West adjusted her vision for a moment, and saw a plain white room in front of her with a steel door barricading her inside. The window behind her sat high in the wall and with bars over the outside. She sat on a metal hospital bed with a wool blanket and industrial pillow, and a toilet sat behind a partial wall in the corner. "Quaint, just like a mental institution."
The handcuffs on her hands were simple enough to break using the end of the bed as a fulcrum, and West rubbed her wrists. Only her helmet was gone, but so was any chance of radioing a rescue team from the Mother of Invention. She sighed and hopped up on the bed to look out the window. Sunlight showed her the outside of what seemed to be a long, low building, and she was partially underground. All of the action was happening above her, so she couldn't see anything useful except the sun's position. By her estimate, it was about three o'clock.
There came three bangs on the door, and another moment before it hissed open. Two soldiers marched in with shotguns in their grips. "Take the armour off, bitch, or we pump you full of lead," one of them growled in a high male voice. West stood up from the bed, hopped down, and began pulling off the bright green metal. "Hurry up, hurry up," the speaker pressured her, and she threw a boot at his head before kicking everything towards them.
"There you go," she chirped, dressed only in the black rubber suit. They gathered up the pieces and shuffled out the door without a word. "You're welcome!" she called after them before collapsing on the bed. It was rather comfortable, and she was quite tired.
She flopped back on the bed and stared up at the smooth ceiling, beginning to think. They were being kept in hospitable conditions, but it was obvious that they were prisoners. They weren't being interrogated, but weren't allowed to interact with each other, either. They got nice, comfortable rooms with working plumbing, but at the expense of (most likely) everyone's armour. By the sounds of it, everything that was happening to them was on the orders of former Agent Arkansas. Essentially, the opposing player in a game of chess between Freelancer and the Crimson Sun, which meant that since the Director lost a few pawns, he would be sending in the bishops, rooks, and knights very soon. That begged the question, then: who was the queen?
When West next opened her eyes after an unusually long blink, the light filtering in the room was darker and more orange, meaning that it was sunset. She turned onto her other side from where she had been facing the wall, and sat up in fright. Someone in GACS was sitting in a chair not far from her bed. The slightly tousled hair and all-too still eyes, plus the ever present maniacal grin could only mean one person. West sat up on her knees and stared evenly at Lieutenant Ian Harper, trying to calm her beating heart.
"Don't act so startled," the psychopath said with a toothy grin that would look better in the mouth of a crocodile. "I've been here for far too long to be planning something for you."
"You are not coming across as comforting, Mr Harper," West tried to keep her voice still, with a good amount of success.
"Ah, so you know who I am. You've undoubtedly seen pictures and videos, I presume?"
"One doesn't need pictures always to be able to profile their captor," West responded, and her heart started to settle. At least they were maintaining rather civil discussion. Keep him on that track, and he couldn't think of ways to kill her. Or worse.
"So you are a profiler, Ms Rogers?" Crap, she should've figured that he'd look into her backstory. "That was not in your file."
"It wouldn't be," West explained, sitting back on her heels. "It's not official. It's just using logic and being observant of your surroundings."
Harper leaned forward in his chair. "Well, I have been profiled before, but I'd like to hear a non-professional dissertation. Go on," he said encouragingly, like someone talking to a puppy learning to play fetch. It only added to West's discomfort.
"Well, you're obviously relaxed because no one can deal you any damage on or off the battlefield, so you don't see me or anyone around you as a threat," she began. "You're sitting farther away from the door, but not too close to my bed. You say that you've been sitting there for a while, and there's a little dust accumulation on the floor by your chair, which confirms your statement. You also have your legs relaxed, not spread open on purpose. You don't carry a weapon."
"Rather detailed, I must say," Harper conceded. "What does that tell you about me?"
West took a deep breath. Maybe this would surprise him? "I can tell that you know how to make your captives comfortable, relaxed, make them talk to you easier. You can gain any sense of misguided trust that they may have by being sympathetic. If they didn't know you, they'd think you were the sanest of the bunch. A dangerous assumption."
"Not necessarily ground-breaking material, but interesting," Harper conceded, nodding at her. "So, are you willing to talk?" He flexed his hands, and West looked down to see the barest traces of blood. She felt cold all of a sudden.
"What happened to Colorado?" West asked quietly. Not that she necessarily liked her fellow agent, but she didn't want to see any of her teammates killed.
"Oh, she's still alive. I wouldn't say 'fine', but hey, alive is progress, isn't it?" Harper was all-too-cheerful about this. Then again, she didn't expect anything less from a madman. It frightened her dearly. "Don't be so nervous," Harper said softly, taking West's chin in his hand. "I just have a few questions for you. And if you know so much about me, you know not to disappoint me. So, little smarty, what's it going to be?"
West didn't have to think about much. If he had roughed up 'Rado so much, then it wouldn't do her or anyone else any good to resist a madman like Harper. Or not resist him in the conventional way. Slightly twisting questions and answers could be very affective…if you knew how to do it correctly. She nodded in Harper's hand, and he released her before sitting back down again. Some of the blood around his fingers rubbed off onto her chin as he released her, but she quelled the urge to rub it away. One wrong move, and she suffered the same fate.
"Now, let's start off simply, shall we? Could you please tell me about Agent California?"
Well, that was a bit of a shock. He could've asked about what her role was in Freelancer, or about her sister, or the Director, or anything else. Instead, he wanted to ask about, debatably, one of the most unstable Freelancers in the Program. This was going to be interesting to work with.
"What would you like to know?" West asked cautiously, measuring every word carefully.
"Specifically, how has he been since you've met him? I can't say that killing Agent Michigan must've done much to that oh-so-fragile mind of his." Harper leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I want to know about his attitude, his interactions, how he is now after I've taken away everything that he held dear. And please don't hold anything back. I relish the details," he added, with the hint of a giggle at the end.
Well, this wasn't hard. "Cal's been pretty good, actually."
Harper blinked once, then twice. "What?" he snapped. West just cocked her head.
"Yeah. He doesn't really hang out with anyone, but from what I understand about before, he didn't really then, either."
Harper started chuckling. "Oh, I see. He's planning his revenge and keeping his outbursts in private. Clever little boy." Geez, he needed to stop talking liking like a romantically-interested pervert! It was really disturbing.
"No, he has been bumping into Freelancers and other people," West corrected him. Harper's face started to flush. "Scuttlebutt is saying that he's never really without people around, he just sits there and occasionally talks about what he's going to do to the Crimson Sun."
"I'd like to see what he has up his sleeve for me," Harper cackled, and West caught him again. She'd played this game numerous times before in training, where she'd twist a few words here and there, put in her own thoughts a bit, and that'd trip up her interrogator into saying something that would give her leverage.
"From when I've talked with him, he never mentions you. He talks about the Crimson Sun in general, but never any names," she shrugged.
"But-but-but…" Harper started to stutter angrily. "What about Arkansas, for taking away his lover?! WHAT ABOUT ME, FOR KILLING HIS ENTIRE SQUAD AND HIS BROTHER?!" he finished with a shout, and West covered her ears instinctually.
"Nope. None of that. From what I know of people that do that," she continued as Harper became more and more red, "it's that they don't think enough of their attackers to want to pursue them single-mindedly. He most likely doesn't think you're worth the effort to go on an all-out crazy train of vengeance-"
Harper shouted, grabbed his chair, and flung it against the wall, where it splintered into numerous pieces. "I'LL SHOW HIM THAT I'M NOT WORTH IT, THE WORTHLESS BASTARD-"
"Harper," a calm voice called out in warning from the door, and a soldier in sage and coral armour walked in the open door serenely, like he had no care in the world (even though there was a crazed psychopath about to go on a rampage). "It's your turn up on the command deck."
"I MADE HIM WHO HE IS, AND THIS IS HOW THE LITTLE SHIT CHOOSES TO REPAY ME?!" Harper screamed at Arkansas, who didn't even flinch.
"I don't really care. Now, out," Arkansas snapped at Harper, who grumbled and stomped out of the room without a backwards glance at West.
"IF I DON'T SEE A BALL OF YARN AND A PAIR OF NEEDLES IN MY HAND IN THE NEXT THIRTY SECONDS-" Arkansas closed the door with a snap.
"My apologies for my…comrade's outburst," Arkansas said smoothly to West, who moved into a cross-legged position on the bed. "He must be in a good mood. Or you must have told him something about California."
"The latter is the trigger," West admitted, raising her hands in mock-surrender. "He apparently doesn't like to be ignored."
"Why did you lie? You could've been killed when Harper went into his little episode. You certainly wouldn't be the first."
Well, it didn't take long for him to catch on. "I didn't necessarily lie. More…stretched the truth. And put in scuttlebutt. You can never tell what's true and false when the other soldiers are involved," West responded, staring at Ark. "Plus, what use would I be, otherwise? If I tripped him up enough, he's easier to take down in a fight."
"A risky move." Ark sat down on the end of the bed, and West moved closer towards the head. "I didn't take you as someone who took risks, Agent West Virginia."
"You obviously don't know me at all, former Agent Arkansas," West responded with a smirk. Arkansas smiled back.
"More than you think, Jennifer Rogers."
West gave him a more sincere smile. Here was a…not entirely sane man, but more of someone on her level. "Ooh, you hacked into the UNSC and grabbed my file. Clever." She folded her hands neatly into her lap and stared at him intently. "What's so special about little old me?"
Arkansas opened a file that West had noticed was clutched in his hand and began reading from it. "Jennifer Rogers, age twenty-two. Originally from the Visigoth system, Franco-7 colony. Younger sister to Jessica Rogers, age twenty-five. Entered the UNSC Marines at age 18, receiving numerous promotions in your career. You lost your father, General Marcus Rogers, to a missile attack when you were seven. You lost a brother, Lance Corporal Edward Rogers, to a Covenant attack when you were 19."
"This is old news, Arkansas," West interrupted after a brief pause. "I know my own life. I don't need to have my biography read back to me."
Ark looked up. "Did you know that you were one of the highest test-scorers of both the UNSC's and Project Freelancer's aptitude and academic tests when they were administered?"
"…yeah, I did." West didn't like divulging the fact that she knew. A misplaced list in one of her former units that she had stumbled upon had confirmed a short-lived suspicion.
"Ms Rogers, I'm going to be quite frank with you: you're brilliant." Ark moved to face her. "Your academics, logic, strategy, mechanical, medical, and computer knowledge is considered something of legend in the UNSC. Word on the street is that multiple branches of the UNSC, and even ONI, have their eyes on you. Everyone wants you, including me."
NOW they were getting to the good stuff. "Mr Arkansas, you're trying to seduce me," West giggled, folding her arms. Arkansas stared at her for a moment, his emotions hidden behind dead eyes, and tilted his head slightly.
"What seems to be the problem? I'm entirely serious."
"So am I," West countered. "You're being like a businessman, trying to sugarcoat your stance so that I may consider your position more lightly."
"I don't consider it sugarcoating, Ms. Rogers. I'm being entirely honest; just as I say that the UNSC are monsters, so do I consider you a brilliant young woman."
"And yet, I can't help but get the impression that you'd like nothing more than seeing me dead on the floor when, not if, I disagree and counter everything that you bring up to try and convince me to your side."
Arkansas sighed. "I am not a transparent person-"
"No, but your language is," West interrupted.
"West Virginia, I am quickly losing my patience with you," Arkansas pressed forward. "I'm trying to be reasonable and logical because that is the language that you best understand. So, will you actually listen to my proposal?"
West almost smiled wider at Arkansas, and she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Arkansas, you can sit there and talk until you're blue in the face, spouting off whatever ridiculous drivel that you would like; the fact is, I knew what you were going for from the moment I saw this room. You aren't treating us like enemies; you see us as potential allies. And I am being completely straightforward with you when I say that I will never join any Insurrectionist organization, yours least of all."
Arkansas chuckled after West sat up straight again. "Your allegiance to the UNSC has blinded you to the facts of what they've done. I have hundreds of atrocities that they've committed on file, and there are thousands more that I can list by name that I will eventually get the details on. It would be almost sad, if it wasn't such a tragic waste of your abilities."
"I'm not blind to that, Arkansas. I know of the UNSC's….shortcomings. More than what you keep lecturing on about in your oh-so-educational video propaganda." It was something that West wasn't proud of, but she knew a lot about a lot of the UNSC and their various activities, both the good and the bad. A lot of times, when they had given her promotions, it was just to keep her quiet when they found out that she saw something she shouldn't have.
"So you can sympathize when I call them out on their atrocities, when I bring their crimes to the fore, when I expose them for the monsters that they are," Arkansas concluded.
"That's where you're wrong, Arkansas." West leaned back against the wall. "The UNSC aren't monsters."
She saw Arkansas' eyebrows raise slightly. "We're all monsters, Ms Rogers, in one way or another. The only difference is the degree of monstrosity. But I suppose I must ask – why do you believe that?"
"It's what the file didn't tell you." West gave a sigh. "Franco-7 is not a happy place, and it's a very secretive one as well. Pretty much since the UNSC set up a colony, there was an Innie movement. Called themselves the 'Colony Liberation Organization.' They and my family have been at each other's' throats since before I was born. The CLO was ruthless, and desperate times called for desperate measures. My sister became something akin to a child soldier, while I stayed in school."
"I still don't see any conclusive reason why you won't consider my offer," Arkansas said, but West wasn't finished.
"On my thirteenth birthday, we had taken a break from fighting. My sister had been out in the field for two weeks, and we were having a good ole' family reunion, just waiting on a pair of cousins. This messenger runs up with a gift-wrapped box addressed to me, said he didn't know what was inside. Being the naïve little girl I was, I opened it up."
"And…?"
"It was my cousin's severed head with a note saying 'Happy Birthday, from the CLO' across his forehead in permanent marker, and a bomb wired into his brain."
Arkansas looked nonplussed. "You…sound like you weren't frightened by it."
"Are you kidding?!" West laughed. "I was THIRTEEN! I screamed bloody murder until I passed out, and they diffused the bomb and buried my cousin."
Arkansas didn't say anything for a while, before giving a big sigh. "I wasn't the one that killed your family, West. I didn't cut off your cousin's head and jury-rig a bomb to it. I'm trying to right so many wrongs committed by one of the worst offenders to ever exist in the galaxy, and I need your help in stopping these sort of atrocities from happening. Join with me, and we can bring about true order, take out those groups like the CLO for abusing the power that they have. I'm asking you to help me make the world a better place. What goal could be more noble than that?" Arkansas offered his hand. How cheezy, West thought to herself.
"You and I both know that my personal experience is only part of the reason why I will never join you, Arkansas." West sat up, and her blood began to boil. "For years, I've been concerned about my big sister's happiness and stability in the UNSC. She was bullied before becoming a soldier. Joining Project Freelancer was the best thing that happened to her because it gave her something that she hadn't had before: a friend. My final reason for not joining you is probably the biggest…"
She paused for a second to look at him, taking a breath before delivering her final words on the matter.
"You guys ripped out Virginia's heart when Massachusetts died. I'm looking forward to the day that Virginia gets to return the favour to Penn."
Arkansas was silent for a long time. "I see," he finally said. "Well then, I must compliment you on your integrity, you truly are Virginia's sister. I wouldn't have expected any less of you, and...I suppose there's nothing else to be said here."
"You'd be correct," West replied simply. She really didn't want to talk anymore, especially since she had gotten the point across.
Arkansas snapped West's folder shut. "I apologize for wasting your time." He stood up and headed for the door.
"On the contrary," West called after him, "this was most entertaining. Thank you for sharing your information with me, Arkansas."
He looked back at her and shook his head. "You're a strange woman, West Virginia."
"I'd be boring if I wasn't," West chuckled before waving to Arkansas as he left the room. When he was gone, she collapsed against her bed with a groan and looked up at the ceiling, a myriad of thoughts running through her head again. With a flat-out refusal like that, it was unlikely that Arkansas would return and try again, which meant that she was useless to them now except for information that she certainly wouldn't be giving them. They'd either torture her or kill her, and she liked life a little too much to want to give it up right now. She looked down at the remains of the chair that Harper had broken, and slid off the bed to examine the pieces. Sifting through the wooden shards, she grabbed a few sizeable ones and quickly slid them under her covers. The Crimson Sun would most likely come in here and clean it up soon.
Better to scavenge the goods now and not need them than regret it later, West thought to herself as she took one out and held it in her hand like a dagger. She inspected the bedframe, but there weren't any sharp edges on it, so she tried the bars on the window. She almost cackled as she felt the square welding on her prison, and started running the wood shard across the bar firmly, peeling away parts of the soft wood as she went.
I know you won't leave me behind, Jessie, West thought with every push of the wood under her fingers. But I need to know how to help myself if you can't get down here in time. Please, hurry!