NOTE: Good news, everyone! Not only am I writing forthis fic again, but I will be updating it monthly from now on. You can now expect this insanity to return every thirty days or so.
"Well, this blows," York said with a sigh as they stood in the middle of the canyon.
"Joint or BJ?" Sister asked curiously. "I'm down for both!"
"I...no, not even dignifying that," York said with another sigh.
"Yes, we might truly and well be buggered," Wyoming agreed with a hum.
"Hey, hey! Not without lube! I'm not getting that surgery again!" Sister said forcefully.
"Why are you even here?" York asked in bewilderment.
"Oh! Well, I was really lonely after Big Bro left, so I tried to sign up to join the army!" Sister answered enthusiastically.
"That is highly illogical," Delta said as he appeared on York's shoulder.
"Oh, cool! You got a tiny guy! Is he your friend? Kid? Pet?" Sister asked curiously.
"Hello. I am Delta, an AI programmed to assist Freelancers in their operations," Delta explained helpfully.
"Wait, you mean like those image-generators people use to make loooooooots of porn pics online?" Sister asked in confusion.
"What? No, that's-" York said, almost growing frustrated with how confusing this was.
"While not my intended purpose, yes, I can function as such," Delta answered honestly.
Wyoming turned his head sharply, barely holding in a laugh. "I'm sorry, what did he just say?"
"Little guy! You just got really hot!" Sister said in excitement.
"As a hologram, I do not have a temperature," Delta informed helpfully.
"Wait, seriously? That's something you can do...?" York asked in disbelief.
"York, it is a fairly simple process for me to use and imitate the algorithms of such services for our own purposes. However, I calculate very little uses beyond recreational uses," Delta explained.
"Yes. Recreational. Let's use that word," Wyoming said in a teasing tone.
"Okay? Mr. England? Your accent is soooo HOT!" Sister complimented.
"I'd be flattered, my dear, if I believed there was much on your list of thing you don't find "Hot,"" Wyoming said without missing a beat.
"Sorry, I've just never banged a guy from England before!" Sister said with a giggle.
"Well, far be it for me to break that trend," Wyoming said, leaning over to York and Delta. "I think this one needs more than one kind of medical scan."
"Hey! No Slut-Shaming!" Sister protested with what sounded like a pout.
"How did we get to this topic again?" York asked with a sigh.
"Private...I apologize, I do not have your designation?" Delta asked curiously.
"Oh? My name? Just call me Sister," Sister offered.
"Very well. Private Sister informed us her motives for joining the army were due to her being, and I quote, really lonely after the departure of her older sibling," Delta reminded.
"What, no other family back home?" Wyoming asked, mostly uninterested but having nothing better to do.
"Not since our mom ran off to join the circus," Sister answered dejectedly.
"I...don't know what to say to that," York admitted freely.
"Well, if you missed your brother so much, why don't you go see him?" Wyoming suggested.
"Sure! Call me up if you want to party!" she said as she left.
"Now that she's gone, where were we actually at?" the white Freelancer asked idly.
"Well and truly buggered, I think?" York suggested.
"Right, yes. We both know that the Freelancer Program, at best, skirts the lines of even wartime legality," Wyoming pointed out. "And given how little we actually contributed to the war's end, I get the feeling they'll be less inclined to just sweep this under the rug and send us home."
"Yeah, I always thought we were committing a few war crimes with the Fake Civil War thing," York mused absently. "Still, I got nothing to trade if this goes belly up. I know we did some fucked shit, but even I'm not clear on what we were doing all the time."
"I believe that was intentional on the Director's part," Delta informed.
"Reggy, be straight with me? Are you still with the program?" York asked with a frown.
"Mmm, complicated question, Lad. I certainly didn't go rogue or anything like you and Alison did, but that haven't had me on much activity ever since..." Wyoming trailed off for a moment.
"Since Gamma forcefully removed himself from your armor," Delta finished
"Yes, Knock Knock and all that," Wyoming agreed dismissively.
"Look, I'm still not clear on what was going on, but I find it a bit hard to believe that Tex and Omega went after Gamma," York commented.
"Omega? What do you-" Wyoming said. "Oh, right."
York tilted his head. "It wasn't her, was it."
It wasn't a question.
"It was Agent Maine," Delta deduced. "Correct?"
"I think it was more Sigma than anything," Wyoming countered. "I really shouldn't be telling you that, but regardless of what happens to us, I don't expect the program to survive in much of any form."
York nodded absently. "...Did you, by chance, ever hear anything about Carolina?"
Wyoming sighed. "Mate, I am a right bastard, I'll admit. But I won't lie to you on this. I haven't heard a word on her. For all I know, she is under some snow and ice on Sidewinder."
York clenched his fist. "Did he even look for her?"
The white Freelancer nodded absently. "Last time I was fully involved in anything, finding her was one of the top priorities."
"Let me guess, right behind finding Tex?" York guessed.
Silence was his answer.
"What the hell is the Director's thing with Tex?" York grumbled in annoyance before suddenly chuckling. "Knock Knock."
"Oh? You're doing this?" Wyoming asked in amusement. "Whose there?"
"Imagine," York lead in.
Wyoming tilted his head. "Imagine, who?"
"Church meeting the Director," York answered. "Or telling him about how obsessed another guy was with his girlfriend."
"I can imagine the shouting already," Wyoming agreed.
"Seriously, do you know anything about this Private Church?" York asked curiously.
"In light of recent events? I'd rather take my chances with Tex than him," Wyoming reasoned morbidly. "So...the question is, when the interrogations start, do we play the loyal agents until we see some kind of military order to spill, or do we open those cans right away?"
"Second question is, are you going to shoot me if you don't like the answer I give?" York countered knowingly.
"Probably not, no," Wyoming answered.
"Variables aside, there is a twenty percent chance that Agent Wyoming will attempt to terminate us at any given time," Delta remarked.
"Jolly good then! See mate, only one in five! I'd bet on those odds," Wyoming said with a cheerfully polite tone.
Meanwhile
"Remember, Simmons, whatever happens, act natural," Sarge instructed.
"Sir, I don't even know what you're planning," Simmons said in concern.
"Of course you don't! Even I don't know that yet! First we need to find out what the Blues are planning while we pretend to go along with this "fake civil war" story," Sarge explained. "It'll be like being undercover for the CIA! Except we're not likely to be burned as a loose end once we've finished helping with whatever operation we needed to do to secure our prosperity and freedom!"
"What prosperity?" Simmons asked in confusion.
"Exactly! If we don't do this, those damn Blues will take everything from us! Our homes, our land, our very culture!" Sarge decried.
"I'm pretty sure any culture Red Team had died between Griff's pirated music and Donut's horrible musicals," Simmons pointed out. "Oh, but your country guitar songs are great, Sir!"
"You're damn right they are!" Sarge said, turning as someone approached. "Now zip it and be your usual brainiac self."
"Sergeant. Simmons," Zimmerman greeted. "You got the news that the planet's on lockdown while we sort out this Freelancer stuff, right?"
"Oh, we got the news alright," Sarge assured, laying it on rather thick with amusement.
Zimmerman cocked his head, glancing to Simmons, who cleared his throat "Yes, we received the news loud and clear. How can we help you, Officer Zimmerman?" he asked stiltedly.
Zimmerman found himself very confused but decided not to question it. "Right. So, we're doing a final head count. According to our databases, Red Base is supposed to have four members...despite one of you being siblings with a Blue Team member."
"To be fair, she's new," Simmons pointed out more naturally.
"And there's this Frank DuFresne working for both sides, somehow?" Zimmerman continued.
"Who?" Sarge asked in bewilderment. "Dufen-what now?"
"DuFresne? Medic, purple armor?" Zimmerman reminded.
"Oh, right, him. We just call him Doc," Simmons explained helpfully.
"Is he that good?" Zimmerman asked in interest.
"Hehe, that nickname's a bit rhetorical, Son," Sarge answered with chuckle.
Zimmerman just shook his head. "Of course it is. Anyway, between all of the insanity I've heard from both of you, I also heard you had another member named Lopez? Why isn't he on the registry?"
"He's a robot, Sir," Simmons explained simply.
"What? How many AIs do you have running around here?" Zimmerman asked in surprise.
"Oh no, he's not like the Freelancer AIs," Simmons said before pausing. "We think."
"Ahh, come on, Simmons! What, do you think these Freelancer folks tried to hide an AI-thing by sneaking it inside a piece of technology we ordered?" Sarge asked playfully.
An uneasy silence came over them. "Maaaaybe?" Simmons answered in growing concern.
"Okay, where is this Lopez exactly?" Zimmerman asked curiously.
"We have him guarding the prisoners," Simmons explained.
"Yeah, old Caboose was getting a little too trigger happy if you know what I mean," Sarge said in amusement.
"Probably a good idea. I'm amazed they even let him have a weapon," Zimmerman remarked.
"Actually, his "personal" rifle shoots crayons," Simmons informed helpfully.
"...How has he survived this long?" Zimmerman asked in disbelief.
"Caboose is- I mean, might have been a blue, but he's a good rascal," Sarge said fondly. "He's the last one I wanted to kill."
"Well, that's...kind of nice, I guess," Zimmerman said with a nod.
"Yes, last on the kill list. Right behind Grif," Sarge continued calmly.
"Oh. Wait, isn't Grif on your side?" Zimmerman asked in bewilderment.
"Regrettably," Sarge answered with a sigh.
"...Right, so, I'm going to just go talk to the robot now," Zimmerman said in finality, wanting to preserve whatever sanity he had left.
"Good luck! If you have any issues, Andy is with him!" Simmons called out.
"Who the hell is Andy?" Zimmerman asked under his breath as he left.
Making his way behind Red Base, Zimmerman saw all of the invaders were grouped around the wall. Many had rid themselves of their armor to escape the discomfort and heat; others were just trying to pass the time without causing any problems. Some were obviously still looking for a chance to do something, be it attack or escape. But most of all...
"Okay, between the dead bodies and their shit, this place doesn't just stink, it's becoming a medical hazard," Zimmerman said to himself as he approached the lone brown troop, holding a machine gun in hand. "You're a Unit called Lopez, right?" he addressed.
"Sí, soy López," Lopez answered. (Yes, I am Lopez.)
Zimmerman cocked his head at that. "Can you change your language settings to English?"
"Negativo, el idiota rojo que me creó dañó la unidad de voz durante la instalación, así que ahora estoy atascado hablando un idioma que nadie más que una bomba consolador puede entender," Lopez answered in annoyance. (Negative, the Red idiot that created me damaged the speech unit during installation, so now I am stuck speaking a language no one but a dildo bomb can understand.)
"Wow. You're a sassy one. But warranted, given all that," Zimmerman said in sympathy.
Lopez paused before turning to Zimmerman fully. "¿Puedes entenderme?" (Can you understand me?)
"En la seva majoria, sí," Zimmerman assured with a chuckle. (For the most part, yes)
"Tu español no es tan bueno," Lopez said idly, relieved there was someone sane that he could talk to. (Your Spanish is not that good.)
"Yes, but my Catalan is pretty good," Zimmerman pointed out. "But most people just assume it's the same language, so I can translate Spanish pretty well by this point."
"Haha! Wow, Lopez, talk about insensitive! Did you forget there were other languages like yours?" A voice mocked, startling Zimmerman.
"The fuck? Who's there? Is someone pulling some cloaking shit on me?" Zimmerman looked around in alarm.
"Nah, down here you numb-nut," Andy called from besides Lopez's foot.
"What the-? Who and what are you?" Zimmerman asked in bewilderment, bordering on exasperation.
"Name's Andy, newb. Nice to meet your ass," Andy greeted.
"You're Andy? You're another AI. How many- you know what, never mind," Zimmerman said with a sigh. "Again, what are you?"
"I have the distinguished honor of being the translator, to help you tell these Roman-wannabe jackoffs where to shove it and how far," Andy explained.
"Okay, did not need that imagery," Zimmerman said in surprise.
"No, I'm serious. That was one of the first things Church wanted me to translate once I deciphered their language," Andy clarified.
"I can believe that," Zimmerman said with a sigh. "How far are you along, dare I ask?"
"What? With the language thing? Get your ass up to speed man, that was fucking down a long while ago," Andy explained.
"...You deciphered an unknown language, that fast?" Zimmerman asked dubiously.
"Oh please, compared to figuring out how to translate for the aliens, whatever Latin-cousin these fucks are yapping with was easy to figure out," Andy explained.
"..." Zimmerman stared for a moment. "Okay, so, you're Andy the Translating Ball then?"
"No, knucklehead! I'm Andy the Bomb! Tex just happen to use some protocol units when she made me," Andy explained.
"What? That doesn't make any sense! I mean, that explains why you can talk at all, but what part of the translating components would even be good for putting into a bomb?!" Zimmerman said before blinking. "Oh God, you're a bomb. I'm talking with a bomb."
"Yeah, you are. Get over it you bipedal cubical," Andy mocked. "You don't see me making a big deal about it, talking to a naked ape in an overhyped tin-suit."
"I...can't argue with that, much as I would love to," Zimmerman said in resignation. "Look, I'm just here getting a tally of all the Sim Troopers. Mind helping me out with that for a moment?"
Lopez glanced down to Andy for a moment before addressing the soldier. "Realmente no tenemos nada mejor que hacer."(We really don't have anything better to do.)
"Barely understood that, but thanks," Zimmerman said in appreciation. "So, Red Team has the Sergeant, Simmons, Grif, and Donut. His name is really Donut?"
"Yep. Tells you exactly where he wants you to put it, doesn't it? "Andy asked with a devious cackle.
"Not touching that," Zimmerman deflected. "And Blue side has Church, Tucker, Caboose, and also Grif."
"¿Disculpe?" Lopez asked in surprise. (Excuse me?)
"Kaikaina Grif, the yellow one," Zimmerman explained.
"You mean the one that gets tests, and the doctor gives her a list of what she doesn't have to save on paper?" Andy remarked.
"I'm worried about how accurate that seems," Zimmerman muttered. "There was also a dead Captain for Blue Team, a Captain Flowers."
"Never met him," Andy answered, somehow verbalizing a shrug.
"There's the three Freelancers, their two AIs, and then you two. And the tank, whose AI might be more advanced than she should be," Zimmerman clarified. "Is there anyone else we should know about?"
"Puede haber algunos en los cuerpos de los robots en los que están el Azul y su senorita," Lopez explained. (There might be ones in the robot bodies the Blue One and his woman are in.)
Zimmerman paused at that before looking down at Andy. "I think I misheard him. What did he say?"
"Tex and Church. They got robot bodies. Kind of need them, being ghosts and all," Andy explained.
"...Ghost?" Zimmerman asked slowly. "They're ghosts."
"Yeah, my processor doesn't know what to make of that, but they got spirit forms and possess people. Hell, they've both taken over Lopez at different times," Andy explained.
"No quiero hablar de esto," Lopez said in annoyance. (I do not wish to speak of this.)
"Thanks, I...I need to go give a report," Zimmerman said as he suddenly turned to leave.
"What's up with him?" Andy wondered out loud, getting no answer from the Spanish robot. "What, am I too good to talk to all of a sudden? Oi, one of these days I'm going to get fed up with you all and just blow."
"Captain, we might have a problem," Zimmerman said over the coms.
"Please tell me we don't have a plague breaking down there," Emersyn said in exasperation.
"Captain, there is a lot of weird shit down here, so I might just be thinking too hard about this," Zimmerman continued. "These Sim Troopers all do have military files, right?"
"Yeah. Probably not up to date, what with everything else the Freelancer programs have been doing with them," Emersyn answered curiously. "Why?"
"I need you to check into the file of Captain Church," Zimmerman answered.
Emersyn was silent for a moment. "You thing that ass is a traitor or something?"
"No, Captain, that would be...simpler," Zimmerman admitted with a headshake. "Could you give it a look?"
"Fine, one moment, I have a datapad. Just need to find this planet. They are horrible at organizing their locations," Emersyn mused. "Here we go, and- huh..."
"Let me guess, Blue Team only has three troopers?" Zimmerman guessed.
"No, there are four," Emersyn corrected. "But either there is a glitch or someone is lying about their name."
"What? There's another name on the list? Who?" Zimmerman asked in confusion.
Meanwhile
"God I'm glad I don't have a nose," Church said as he stood on Sheila's treads, starring into the cockpit. "Yeah, it's a real fucking mess in here."
"I would appreciate some new upholstery. I was not designed to be a birthing unit," Sheila said pointedly.
"Neither was Tucker," Church said with a snort. "Look, I'll strong arm some clean parts for you when I can, but things are a bit crazy right now."
"And you cannot clean my treads?" Sheila asked in annoyance.
"Hey, that I would do. Or let Caboose do it, he's probably love to. But it wouldn't help much since, you know?" Church looked out, gesturing to the rest Blood Gulch. "You can't exactly move without getting more blood and guts in them again."
"This is true, unfortunately," Sheila admitted, her cannon bobbing in consideration. "Church, I do not believe I have taken the chance to wish you congratulations."
"For what? The promotion?" Church asked with a head tilt.
"That as well, yes! But also for leading such a successful mission to victory," Sheila remarked.
"Oh," Church said awkwardly. "Well, it wasn't that impressive. We were basically nuking fish in a barrel."
"While true, this incident still could have been a disaster for you all if the enemy had gotten their hands on your weapons or vehicles. Despite everything, the Reds and Blues managed to cooperative effectively and deal with the threat thoroughly and even took prisoners for questioning. Your leadership played no small part in that," Sheila praised.
"Reds and Blues, right," Church said with a sigh. "Sheila, be real with me? Did you know at all about this whole civil war thing being fake?"
"No, I did not. I am rather confused by that myself, as I was designated as a tank for the Blue Army," Shelia answered.
"You know, I probably shouldn't just take that at face value, but I believe you," Church said with a small smile under his helm.
"It did, however, explain several anomalies I noted," Shelia remarked.
"Really? Like what?" Church asked curiously.
"You all left some time ago, and then return," Shelia mused. "You believed you time traveled. This appears to be false. While my clocks seem to have been artificially set to say a great deal of time has passed, the new arrivals seem to be from the same era. Unless another war against the aliens began."
"That wouldn't surprise me, but I think you're right," Church admitted. "Still, I know I time traveled. I had to wait out most of the time in the past. Maybe we only went forward a few years?"
"You are positive you were in the past?" Shelia asked curiously.
"I'm positive I listened to knock-knock jokes for over a thousand years," Church drawled.
"Still, I am confused. If time travel is possible, it would seem likely that going forward is easier than backwards. Why would you be sent back thousands of years while the rest only went a few years forward?" Shelia questioned.
"Hm. Well, being a ghost in a robot body probably had something to do with it. Or maybe because it was just one person instead of a half dozen plus," Church reasoned as he jumped down to the ground. "Why are you so interested anyway?"
"I suppose I am just concerned about the future of everyone in this canyon," Shelia answered somberly. "If the war was not what it seemed, what else might not be?"
"Good fucking question," Church admitted under his breath, his mind straying to Tex and the conversation they never finished. "Hey, wait. Sheila? What does your database have on the Freelancers?"
"I have a list of all active Freelancers, and disabled protocols to have their orders supersede those of Blue and Red Troops," Sheila answered before pausing, her cannon aimed upwards slightly in thought. "That is most peculiar."
"Okay, that's worrying," Church mused before he picked up on a word. "Wait, disabled by who? Was it something I did when I disabled the Friendly Fire Protocol?"
"What? When did you do that?" Sheila asked in bewilderment, her cannon pointed at Church in a start.
"Great, you don't remember. Probably because it was the first time you were activated," Church grumbled. "Look, don't go yapping about this, okay? When I went back in time, I kept coming back here. And I kept trying to fix things, over and over, but I just kept making shit worse. No, strike that shit! I was the reason everything was shit to begin with. One of the first things I did, was try to make sure you couldn't do friendly fire, but I ended up being the one to cause it."
There was a long pause at the end of that rant. "I have no memories of this, Church."
Church sighed. "Probably got lost during one of our clusterfucks. Look, I'm sure if you look in your logs, you'll find some memory of your name changing from Phillis to Sheila."
"I have no records of any name change," Sheila admitted. "It is possible that data was corrupted after I was repaired by Agent Texas the first time, as she disabled my protocols in regards to obeying the orders of Freelancers."
It took a moment for Church to grasp what she was saying. "Wait, Tex turned that off? Guess she was worried about other Freelancers showing up."
"Highly probably," Sheila admitted. "But I believe your earlier assessment is accurate. It is truly a "Real Fucking Mess" in this canyon. And I am not referring to all the bodies we used to paint it red."
"Yeah, well, at least the name is accurate now," Church mused, rubbing his head. "Good talk, Sheila. I'm going to go make sure Caboose hasn't choked on the toaster again."
"Have a good day, Church!" Sheila called after.
Church barely heard her as he walked. He was trying to get it out of his head, all his many failures to try and fix the past, only to end up having to just say fuck it and move on…every plan, every effort a failure.
He thought he was done with that, that he didn't care anymore. But now, something was picking at the edge of his mind.
Almost like a lost memory.
End of Chapter
Well, loto f interesting talks go on. Wyomning and York know shit will be hitting the fan soon. The newbies are still dealing with te insanity of Blood Gulch but are startingto suspect something about Tex and Church, and Church talks to Shiela.
And interesting experiment/challenge I face in this fic is dealing with some plotholes and inconsistancy caused by things being more serious after Seasons 1-5, and maknig Church the Alpha. Some things don't make perfect sense, but they're not impossible to explain.
Anyway, until next time! Hope you got plenty of laughs out of this!
Early viewing of chapters 13-14 avaliable on my pat-reon:
p a treon . com (slash) akumakami64
