Good day, readers. How is everyone's week going? Alright? Well, mine has been going relatively well, with college having started up two or so weeks ago, my fifth semester to be exact. Woo.
So, basic things out of the way first. This story hasn't received an update in a long time because of my obscenely long writer's block. Combine this with school, DeviantArt, and spending long periods of time playing games like Halo and Total War: Warhammer as well as watching RWBY and Red vs Blue (up to Season 15), and reading other fics, and you can see why I just got back to this. However, I have been making efforts to move past that a lot more as of late, starting now.
As of now, this story is going through extensive editing and rewrites to better accommodate the Chorus Trilogy, some stuff from Season 14 and maybe 15, and to give better flow and detail to the story as it unfolds, especially considering that, in my opinion, my writing was mostly amateurish for most of these chapters. I aim to rectify that problem.
Do note that, since this is an AU, many of the events and relationships portrayed will not match canon events and relationships, so do be aware of that as the story continues. I will attempt to capture most of the main cast's personalities, but also attempt to delve deeper into their thought processes and the finer details of the personalities, most likely to widely varying degrees of success and failure, so be aware of those too.
As a disclaimer, I do not own Halo, Red vs Blue, or any other properties mentioned here, only the story idea. Any character or property indirectly mentioned is owned by their respective creators and should be treated as such. Any real-life events somehow connected to this story happen purely by coincidence.
Also, on one final note, I will delete all older chapters, so it will look, in the beginning, like this has only one or so chapters.
Hope you all enjoy as I do my best to try and Finish It!
Chapter 1 - Breakout
Location: UNSC High Anchor, Theron Asteroid Belt Prison
Daily Time: 1200 Hours
Date: June 5, 2557
It's dark outside. It's always dark outside. From the first day in prison to the distant next it has been dark. It never got any brighter or any duller. Ever. However, being on a floating space station in the middle of nowhere didn't help either. 4 years, maximum security, limited means of communication both ways, he was in the perfect middle of nowhere.
A stern, firm-looking man stared out of his cell into the blackness of space, watching the chunks of floating rock pass by, seeing the stars glow, the tiny specs of light in the endless void. He had closely-cropped black hair, a thin but well-built body, and wore the standard orange prison uniform.
Director Leonard Church was a man of many things: a genius, a motivator, a Big Brother. At least he considered himself so. He had the traits of such as well, being bother determined and persevering. One thing he could not consider himself, however, was a man of patience or tolerance. He had no room for those who disrespected him and he had far too much of a temper to level with said traits. Both such faults were then, if he was being honest, multiplied by the sheer function of a solitary confinement floating prison in which he was stationed, permanently too by the UNSC's estimates.
An alarm sounded and he turned around to the cell door. He stood firm as he was presented to the guards before him. His face was worn, slightly cringed, and he was forming a small beard around his chin, not to mention the grey hairs that were sprouting out across his head. He also wore a pair of glasses over his emerald-green eyes. "What is it now, Gunney?" he asked, his voice reverberating a distinct and heavy Southern accent.
The guard outside the cell showed his face, staring into the dull, grey room. "You know what time it is, Church. Routine checkup." The Director winced at the use of his last name. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to him that way and, even then, only she had done it.
An alarm chimed once and, with a click, the door unlocked itself and swung open.
Of course. How could he forget that it was that time of the month. Ever since his initial reinstatement in military prison SRS-152, he'd been getting monthly checkups on his mental state. All those things he did to the Freelancers, to the AI, even his own family, that was rather unhealthy. In fact, according to some, it was borderline psychotic. The UNSC had every right to be concerned about his mental state.
The Director stepped out into the cell block, looking down the lane at the other rooms.
"Let's go." The MP shoved him forwards rather forcefully, even though he was already on his way.
They moved down the line, passing door after door after door, until they eventually came up to huge gate at the end of the hallway. The guard brought up a small chrome card, a security pass, and slid it through a scanner. The scanner beeped once and the door slid open, reveling more identical-looking hallways. They eventually came into a large security room filled with dozens of guards, no doubt used as their private lounge. They were all passing by, acting with a casual posture, off-duty, if he had to guess.
Eventually the Director entered a small private room with nothing but a small table and two chairs on either side. One side of the room was actually tinted glass instead of steel plate, however, a standard setup for a standard interrogation room. The Director walked over to the chair facing the glass wall and sat down. Evidently, a bald man, clean shaven and in grey uniform, entered and sat down on the other chair.
Then they began their daily review. "Director Leonard Church," the young man said, speaking plainly but with a hint of emphasis in each syllable, "I see you've been doing well, as usual. How have you been?"
"I've been fine, Doctor," he replied.
"That's good. Now then, how are you feeling?"
The Director paused half a second, then smiled. "I'm feeling great, Doc, no problems in the slightest."
The warden stopped, puzzled by the answer. "Oh and why is that, Leonard?"
"It's because today I'm leaving."
The warden stared at him, a slightly puzzled look on his face. He shook his head. "No Leonard," the man corrected, "you won't be leaving for a very long time, if ev-"
The Director interrupted. "No sir, I believe I will be going today. And this time I won't be stopped."
Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the station and alarms sounded. The explosion rocked the floor beneath them as it went off. The warden bolted up from his chair, going for his radio. "O'Brien to control. What is going on? Repeat, what the hell is going on? Does anyone copy, over?" Static was all that responded from the radio.
"Shit. Director, you stay right there. Security! Secur…" He stopped as he heard muffled shouts coming from outside the door. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire flared up from outside.
The psychiatrist moved to the door, trying to get a better look, trying to find out what the hell was going on. As he was about to touch the door, something unexpected happened.
The door blew open, sending the man flying right back. He hit the other side of the room, cracking the steel-plate wall and sending blood flying across it. He fell onto the ground, his body a shattered, bloodied ruin.
The Director stood up and looked at the hole where the door used to be. "Took you long enough," he called out.
A man walked through the hole, the smoke from the explosion haloing his body. The man was wear red ODST armor, his face covered behind his black visor. He carried a standard MA5D assault rifle in his right hand, gripping it tightly. "Sorry about that, Director. Had to clear a few roadblocks."
"Clearly," he stated bluntly, sparing a glance at the havoc created outside.
The ODST nodded. "Come on, evac's waiting for our arrival and I don't want to be here when the cavalry shows up." He motioned him toward the exit at the far end of the hallway.
Church stepped outside and saw a wrecked hellhole. There were bullet holes all over the place and the dead bodies of prison guards scattered about, a sizeable protection detail judging from amount. He saw chipped walls and fragmented doors, all collateral damage from the initial breach. He also saw a path the Insurrectionists cut just to get to him. Five other haphazardly-dressed soldiers were moving around, their weapons trained on the door at the end of the hallway. They wore black clothing and a grey set of armor. Each of them was also carrying an assault rifle just like the ODST.
The ODST called to the men around him. "We won't have long before reinforcements arrive. Let's not waste any more time and get to extraction."
The squad moved up, flanking the ODST and Director. They jogged down the corridor back the way the squad came. They passed several halls, a few armories, and an innumerable amount of cell doors.
They kept moving, stopping for nothing, continuing on for a few minutes before they reached the hangar bay.
The entire floor was as ruined as the rest of the station. There were blown-out craters along the floor, pieces of rubble across the deck, and several parked grey UNSC Pelicans were all lined up, all of them completely engulfed in flames. People were shouting, some of them screaming, as they desperately tried to put out the fire that was consuming the hangar bay.
They saw one Pelican that wasn't on fire, however, hovering in the middle of the bay room, its nose gun blasting out at the disorganized security forces not already in cover.
"That's our ride. Let's go," the ODST shouted over the chaos that was ensuing around them. The squad hustled over to the carrier, trying to avoid as much contact with the distressed guards as possible.
They were almost there, only a few feet away from the dropship, when a warning shout echoed from behind them. The Director briefly glanced around.
Behind the group, a large group of soldiers were approaching, wearing the uniforms of station security, full on combat gear in place. They were holding a variety of weapons, mostly shotguns and pistols, but a few of them were holding DMRs. It was those men that were of concern.
For the most part, the defender's shots were going wild, but a few of them managed to hit their targets. The transport took a few shots; most of the hits bounced off the hull plate.
The Director saw one of the rebel soldiers take several shots to the chest and fall over onto the mangled floor. He was dead before he had even hit the ground.
"Nothing we can do for him now," the ODST said. He turned back to the Pelican. "Pilot, open up the rear hatch. We have our target."
Upon his request the airship swerved its rear door around and opened, revealing a vacant room with 10 seats, five on each side. It lowered itself down onto the deck just enough for everyone to step on.
The Insurrectionists moved in and strapped themselves in, the doors closing behind them with a pressurized hiss. The Director and ODST Insurrection sat on the left side while the remaining four sat on the right. He felt the transport lift into the air without a hitch and removed itself from the hangar. There was still gunfire in the background as they flew, but nothing could be done without heavier equipment.
A silence filled the transport as it sped away from the asteroid prison. The Director noticed as they flew that the turrets were inoperable, as anticipated. No fightercraft moved to intercept them either, meaning the station's comms were down too.
After a few minutes of flying past innumerable floating rocks the ODST decided to break the silence. "We have the supplies you requested, Director."
He nodded. "Any trouble acquiring them?"
"Nothing we couldn't handle."
"Good," he smiled. "I plan on getting started right away."
Location: Unknown
Daily Time: 1600 Hours
Date: June 5, 2557
Somewhere deep within the confines of UNSC Command and Control, a serious discussion was taking place. Two men were arguing, raising their voices and trying to yell louder than their opponent.
"…but we have to do something about the Director, General."
"I don't know what you want me to do, Chairman. We have no leads or whereabouts. And I'm not lending you any troops for this. The threat he possess is but a minor one if any at all."
"General, there is nothing minor about him. If we…"
"Gentlemen," a calm voice interrupted.
The men turned towards the voice, obviously infuriated by the other's stubbornness. The man who spoke was of strange endeavor. He was a tall, black man, wearing a grey officer's uniform. He had a calm expression on his face.
"What is it, Counselor?" the General hissed, obviously annoyed by the discretion of the previous conversation.
"Please calm down, gentlemen. I may have your solution for you"
The men relaxed, obviously interested in what the Counselor had to say. They had removed him from prison specifically for his input on the former Director of Project Freelancer. He was not only the lead psychiatrist for him but the entire project as well, which was useful considering it was entirely possible others from the Project wanted to join him.
"I have a proposition for you, gentlemen. I can give you the things suited for the both of you. It will reduce all losses to you, require very little resources, and, more importantly, it will eliminate the threat the Director poses."
"What threat, Counselor?" the General asked. "The Director is nothing. He has no help, no ties, no resources. He is nonessential."
"On the contrary, General, the Director is anything but a 'nonessential'. Not only is he the one who built Project Freelancer, which spawned a number of problems for the UNSC, many of which still haven't been tallied, but he still has the capability to make the world's most feared supersoldiers if given proper equipment. He is also working with the UNSC's top opposition, the Insurrectionists, who have risen in greater number than you had predicted after the war."
"It's true," the Chairman concurred. "You see, a few months ago several UNSC supply frigates were captured by said forces. These frigates, however, didn't hold just weapons and armor, although there still was a lot of it. They also held biological samples, materials, and devices, many of which are deemed experimental or classified."
"So," the General said, "your saying that not only does the Director have resources and allies, but enough materials to make a whole new generation of supersoldiers? Ones loyal to the Insurrection?"
"That is correct, General," the Counselor nodded. "So, you see, this is no minor threat we are dealing with, but a substantially large problem."
"So," the Chairman motioned, "what do you suggest we do, Counselor?"
The Counselor turned to the duo. "My proposal is this: we need soldiers with experience with Project Freelancer, soldiers who have had experience with the Director, soldier's who helped bring him down. Agent Washington?"
The men turned to find another man step out of the shadows. But this man was different. He was standing in a vigilant posture and wore grey and gold colored MJOLNIR Mark VI SPARTAN armor. He had a well-built frame and looked as if he was a statue coming to life.
"Yes, sir," he replied in a young, determined voice.
"You have had experience with the troopers I am referring to, correct?"
"Correct, sir."
"If I told you we needed them right now, would that be a correct assumption?"
"Possibly, sir. However…"
The Counselor raised an eyebrow at his gleaming gold visor. "Yes, Agent Washington?"
"The simulation troops you are referring to…"
"Wait, wait, wait," the General interrupted, raising a hand, "simulation troopers?"
"Yes, General, simulation troopers, although 'former simulation troopers' would be a much better way to describe them at this time." He nodded to the Agent. "Continue, David."
Wash continued, not missing a beat, "The simulation troopers you are referring were disbanded four years ago along with the remnants of Project Freelancer, including all recovered assets. The soldiers are now scattered and separated all across the war front. It will be difficult to get them all back together again since all have different superiors."
"That's where you come in, Agent Washington," the Counselor said. "I am putting you in charge of the operation."
The Freelancer looked almost shocked. "But sir, I'm not a leader by almost definition. I have next to no experience and I've never run an op this big."
"No," the man shook his head," you are not. But I do see something in you, David, something the other Freelancers never truly had: adaptability. Your ability to overcome any obstacle no matter your previous experience with it. I've seen you as a hunter, a marksman, a lock-picker, a spy, a mechanic, and a supporter. But, in what may be our most desperate time, even more so than the war, we need someone to hold everything together, someone like you." The Counsellor sighed. "I'm not asking you to be a commander or even a leader. I'm asking you to help keep everything together. I'm asking you to be our conduit so that we can better help you and better end this conflict before it gets too far out of hand for all of us. So," he looked into Washington's eyes," are you up for the job?"
The Freelancer grinned under his helmet, a flash of confidence in his eyes. "Yes sir."
"Good. It is time to put an end to this, Washington. It is time to reassemble."