Thus the Blood Gulchers Kicked Ass Here
NOTE: So, as I'm sure you all know ,the site is having problems for weeks now, and no one is getting email notification. I was hoping to wait until that was fixed to update, but it's the end of the month and no word. So I'm just going to post now, and hope everything gets straightened out soon.
Tribune Silvarus had a long time to think about everything that had happened. If he was right, he was probably the highest-ranking person in the legion to survive the Battle of the Iron Gods, among those captured at least. The Legatus was certainly dead, and he hadn't seen any other Tribunes among the survivors.
For the first day, it was a horridly anxious nothingness. They were kept to a corner of the canyon and given very little. Did the Iron Gods even eat? Did they not realize humans needed to? And worse yet, the sun never set on this terrible world. It had only been realizing the stillness of the sun that Silvarus had realized the strange fact. He could only assume and guess how much time passed.
Every now and again, the Berserking Lord would kill one of them, seemingly for fun or to dissuade any attempts to do anything.
Then there was the Orb of Wisdom. Some strange entity that had learned to speak their language, so that these terrible gods might make their words known to them.
The Orb's words carried many insults and mockery from the Iron Gods.
More Iron Gods arrived from the heavens eventually. Underlings? Or perhaps another pantheon? It was hard to tell. Some soldiers murmured of them being here to ferry them off to the Underworld.
It seemed that hadn't been too far off.
They had been forced into...something. It was like a boat, but a massive metal one that flew. They took them, group by group, and the rest had to watch with dread as it flew high into the sky until it vanished. Only to return sometime later for more.
It was until Silvarus's group was taken up that he understood what was going on.
The gods of his world typically had prisons beneath the ground, in the Underworld. But not these Iron Gods.
They had been taken up so far, that they pierced the azure either that made up the heavens, taken them out in the black void beyond creation, stars shining brighter than he had ever seen yet still felt little more than fragile candles against the darkness.
It was up here, above the heavens themselves, where the Iron Gods had created a prison to house their captives. Dark cells, lit with flameless torches. They were given meager food, regardless of rank or station. It was edible, and it would allow them to survive, but it was not pleasant to swallow. The cleanness of the water, however, was a pleasant mercy few expected.
Silvarus wondered how long they would be here. Years? Decades? Centuries? If this was in any way like the Underworld, might it be impossible for them to even leave now that they had entered it?
Why? Why had their gods forsaken them to these Gods of Slaughter and Butchery? He was sure that their world would be invaded one day, and these Gods lay waste to the Empire. Was there any hope?
Perhaps the Gate would close before that happened. Even if they were forsaken in this foreign hell, at least the Empire would be spared, if not the rest of the world.
Meanwhile
"So, how long are we just going to stay on this side of the magic portal?" Tucker asked curiously.
"You eager to go through?" Church asked skeptically.
"Of course dude! I'm not that into fantasy shit, but think about the hot babes that probably exist over there! Elves, witches, catgirls!" Tucker pointed out.
"Never took you for a weeb," Church remarked idly.
"Dude, I'm into all kinds of hot babes. And seriously, have you seen some anime? I swore people were plagiarizing my wet dreams sometimes!" Tucker said with a broad grin.
"You know what, that's fair. You're not into any of that tentacle stuff, right?" Church asked warily.
"Not the kind you're thinking of," Tucker answered honestly.
"There's more than one kind of tentacle stuff?" Church asked, almost disturbed.
"There's the kind in hentai that you're talking about, then there's the kind that are just convenient excuses to get chicks tied up," Tucker explained.
"I...yeah, I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear this part of the conversation," Church said, shaking his head. "Yeah, so, your hot magic babes? You do know they probably all smell, right? No modern plumbing."
"That's fine, I can't smell anything," Tucker answered.
"What? Since when? I know I've seen you smell things before," Church accused.
"Right, just like you knew my first name," Tucker said blankly.
"Oh, don't start with that shit again!" Church shot back. "Seriously, I know you complained about my rotting corpse, when did you go nose-blind?"
"Don't know? After the battle, I think. So, it's either because of Junior or I just can't get the smell of rotting corpses out of my nose," Tucker explained.
"Both things are fucked up for very different reasons," Church mused. "Speaking of which, where is Junior?"
"I put him down for a nap. Can you tell Omega to stop trying to mess with him?" Tucker requested in exasperation.
"What the fuck, do I look like his mother?" Church asked in surprise, caught between annoyance and laughter.
"Dude, I'm serious. He keeps trying to tell him stories about destroying the universe, slaying his enemies, and turning their eyes into soup," Tucker explained.
"Fine, I'll tell him to play nice with Junior," Church remarked dryly. "Hey, have you seen Tex anywhere?"
"Not too recently. Why, did you guys not make up yet?" Tucker asked in legitimate surprise.
"I...no, I guess we haven't," Church said with a sigh.
"I guess normally it's the other way around, Tex being mad at you?" Tucker said.
"Not really? Usually, we're both mad at each other, shout a few times, and eventually, we get over it," Church admitted.
"What's different this time?" Tucker asked curiously. "I mean, I get it's bigger with this whole fake war thing, but..."
"Man, I don't even know anymore," Church said with frustration. "Something about this all bothered her. And, well, when we were fighting..."
Tucker tilted his head, not used to Church being this careful with his words.
"She didn't...yell back at me. Not really," Church explained distracted. "She yelled, but it really wasn't at me this time. She just...let me lay into her a bit."
"That...doesn't sound like Tex," Tucker admitted slowly. "The fuck is going on, Church?"
"Don't know. I don't think the Freelancers know either," Church mused.
"Really? How come?" Tucker asked skeptically. "Some of them have to know something, right?"
"Something Tex said. The Director, the boss of the Freelancers? She said he kept most of the agents in the dark about things unless he knew they wouldn't do anything about it," Church explained.
"Sounds like a manipulative ass," Tucker summarized. "So, let me guess, something very fucked up was involved and Tex feels responsible?"
"Yeah. I've been trying to talk to her. About anything, but I think she's avoiding me," Church explained.
"And you never noticed anything before? I mean, you did say you talked to her while she was in the program, right?" Tucker asked incredulously.
"I don't know anymore. I thought it was just Omega and the AI stuff messing with her head at the time, but maybe it wasn't," Church answered uncertainly.
Tucker sighed. "I'm starting to miss the normal bullshit in the canyon. Being badass and slaughtering an army was fun, but everything feels a bit more serious these days. Hell, you died and that turned out to not be a problem."
"Gee, thanks, I'm glad it's not inconvenient that I'm a fucking spirit in a fucking tin can now," Church said sarcastically.
"Could be worse. You could be stuck bunking in Caboose's head," Tucker pointed out.
"Not if he was the last person in the universe," Church said flatly.
"What if it was him or Donut?" Tucker tried cheekily.
"Caboose," Church said instantly. "At least I get super strength to go with the super stupidity."
Tucker snorted. "Hey, you never did answer my original question?"
"Hm?" Church looked up in confusion. "That was like five topics ago."
Tucker groaned. "Magic portal to another world, when are we going through?"
"Hell if I know! Emersyn keeps me updated, but she's been busy being the middlewoman between here and everything the military is wanting to do about the Gate, Freelancers, everything," Church explained.
"Have you even tried asking her?" Tucker asked with a deadpan.
"...Okay, fine," Church said with a sigh as he turned on his coms. "Bits, this is Bop, you there Bits?"
"Church? The hell, do you people even sleep down there?" Emeryson asked with a groan.
"Only standing up," Church joked. "And, you know, the sun never sets. Bad time?"
"No, just had to get my armor power-washed after one of those damn corpses exploded," Emeryson answered.
Church glanced at Tucker out of the corner of his helm, suddenly glad this line was private. He could hear a "so you're all wet" joke from that. "Right, so, some of us down here are getting curious and antsy. You know when or if we're going through the Gate?"
"...I'm sorry, what do you mean, go through the gate?" Emeryson asked in disbelief.
"Uh, explore the magic portal thing that started this whole mess?" Church asked slowly.
"No, I mean...no one has?" Emeryson asked.
"...?" Church decided his silence would convey his confusion.
"Fuck. One moment, Bop," Emeryson said with a groan as she signed off.
"Someone fucked up, and it wasn't us," Church mused, turning fully to the silent Tucker. "What?"
"What the fuck are with those nicknames? Bits? Bop?" Tucker asked in surprise.
"She's the Bitch in the Ship, I'm the Bastard on Planet," Church explained simply. "Just codename bullshit we came up with while insulting each other."
"I'm starting to think Tex might be upset about more than one thing," Tucker murmured to himself.
"What was that?" Church asked, half accusing, half bewildered.
"Nothing," Tucker answered with feigned innocence.
He was saved from further scrutiny by Church's radio. "Church? You still there?"
"So far. Who fucked up?" Church asked expectantly.
"Some clerical asshole decided that our report was "obviously" an attempt at fraud or something, and was incorrectly approved. We got a shipment of building supplies, but the assignment of engineers and special scouts was canceled. God only knows how long it'll take to unfuck this," Emeryson explained tiredly.
"...But you have the supplies for building the base, right?" Church specified.
"Yes, it was dropped off with the prison ship," Emeryson confirmed. "Why?"
"Just send the material down, I think we can handle it," Church answered.
"How?" Emeryson asked doubtfully.
Later
"Hey, Big Red! You want to build a base!?" Church yelled from outside Red Base.
"Why did we walk over here instead of using the coms?" Tucker asked curiously
"Donut is pretending to be their answering machine," Church answered casually. "Yo, Reds, you home?!"
"The hell are you yelling about?" Grif answered, walking out with a yawn.
"Hey Grif, where's everyone?" Church asked curiously.
"No idea what Simmons is doing, but Sarge and Lopez are trying to put a new saddle on that one dragon that survived," Grif answered.
"What?! Sweet, they can do that?!" Church asked in excitement.
"Tch, no. Don't get me wrong, Smoggy knows not to bite, but he's not going to put up with us putting the most uncomfortable riding gear possible on his back," Grif explained.
"You named the dragon Smoggy?" Tucker asked with a snicker.
"Hey, it was either Simmons's pick or Donut's," Grif defended.
"I suddenly decided that Smoggy is a great name," Tucker changed course quickly.
"Do I want to know what Donut is doing?" Church asked with a sigh.
"You know that Jazz-exercise thing that scammed suburban moms? Yeah, it's something like that," Grif explained. "And if it means getting away from that, I'll take any excuse to be out of the base right now. Sarge is around back."
They followed the orange trooper, pointedly ignoring the faint sound of music coming from the base. Behind the structure, they saw that, yes, there was one of the drakes sitting with an almost docile posture to it.
However, its facial expressions were anything but docile, glaring down at some metal contraption on the ground
"Dammit, Smoggy, you scaly grill-lizard! Do you know how long it took me to make that saddle?!" Sarge asked the dragon, who hissed back at him. "Don't you take that tone with me, Soldier! I am going to saddle you up and you're going to like it!"
Smoggy turned and almost hit Simmons and Sarge with his tail, leaping up to glide over to a corner of the canyon.
"He can fly again?" Church asked curiously.
"More like glide, Sir. His wing is still healing," Simmons explained.
"What in sam hell do you want, dirtbags?" Sarge asked as he faced the Blues.
"Well, I realized that you guys seem to have all the talent for building shit. Vehicles, robots, structures," Church rambled. "And we have the material to build a new base."
"A new base?" Sarge repeated, suddenly interested.
"Yeah, long story short, someone called BS on us having a magic gateway. So now we have all the shit to build a base on the other side, but no one to do the job," Church explained.
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. And you want us to build you a new base?" Grif asked skeptically.
"Not really for me. More like all of us and any other assholes stationed in Fantasyland," Church answered.
"I see," Sarge said in a slow, calm manner. "I need to have a talk with my troopers real quick. Grif, Simmons."
Grif sighed as they were led off several feet away to have a more private meeting.
"The fuck is that about?" Tucker asked curiously.
"You don't remember? Sarge is flip-flopping on the stages of grief over the war being fake," Church explained.
"Oh, right! So he's trying to tell them this is some kind of trap?" Tucker guessed.
"Yeah, pretty much," Church mused. "Honestly, I think Anger, Denial, and Bargaining are one big blended phase for him. Haven't seen depression even once."
"Man, can't we just skip to acceptance?" Tucker complained.
Meanwhile, the Reds were having a very expected conversation.
"This is obviously a trap!" Sarge said, sounding almost more excited than aggressive. "The Blues are starting to show their true colors at last."
"I thought blue was their true color," Grif said jokingly.
"Can it, numbnuts. This is serious," Sarge said forcefully.
"But Sir, we've established that the Gate is real. So, don't we need a base on the other side of it?" Simmons suggested.
"Why?" Grif asked curiously. "Seriously, so far, nothing we've seen can do jack shit against us. Why do we need another base?"
"Oh, I don't know? Research this new world? Store all the findings and samples?" Simmons listed off sarcastically. "Or, you know, so we don't have to drain the canyon of literal blood pools again?"
"You could have led with that last one and I would have agreed," Grif pointed out simply.
"While Grif has a very stupid but good point, Simmons is right. It'd be nice to have a foothold on that side of things," Sarge said. "So, the Blues are squeezing us for free labor!"
"The monsters!" Grif said, sounding genuinely offended.
"And they'll probably kill us once we're done, just like the Mongolians after they made all those Chinese build a great wall," Sarge said stated dramatically.
"Umm, you kind of have that backward, Sir," Simmons corrected carefully.
"What are you on about, Son?" Sarge asked in annoyance.
"Yes, the Chinese built it for themselves, to keep the Mongolians out," Simmons explained.
"But why would the Mongolians kill the workers after it was built then? And how!?" Sarge asked in bewilderment. "Must not have been such a great wall after all."
"No, the Chinese did kill off their own workers," Simmons explained.
"Why in blue blazes would they kill off good workers after they build them a damn great wall!?"
"You're both wrong," Grif said suddenly. "They didn't kill them, there's just an old urban legend about them burying the bodies of dead workers inside the wall."
Both of them looked to Grif for a long, long moment. "Grif, how do YOU of all people know anything about Ancient China?"
"Eh, I choose it for a history project back in school. I figured it'd be an easy report. They built a big wall to keep horse people out. It didn't work. Also, you can kind of see the wall from space. The end," Grif explained away.
"Yeah, that sounds right," Sarge said. "Phew! For a moment there, I thought they had replaced Grif with one of those shape-changing reptiles."
"Riiiight," Simmons said awkwardly. He was not used to Grif having smart moments that didn't involve driving or being lazy. "So, what's the plan, Sarge?"
"Hmm? Oh, right," Sarge cleared his throat as the topic was resumed. "So, we are going to build the base."
"Joy," Grif said sarcastically.
"But we're also going to put in some Anti-Blue failsafes. Make sure that either we can turn the base against them or, if we get killed, they'll have to take apart the base and try to rebuild it! Oh, I got to remember to install a bomb, just in case."
"That does sound like a good plan, Sir," Simmons said carefully, already figuring out how to sabotage Sarge's efforts.
"You're darn right it is!" Sarge exclaimed. "Now come on, and just pretend like we had to convince Grif or something."
"I doubt they'll care what we're talking about, Sir. Everyone in this canyon talks about random bullshit all the time," Grif pointed out uncaringly.
"Just act natural, dirtbag," Sarge said with a groan as he led them back to the blues.
"Group therapy over with?" Tucker coined.
"It took some convincing on Grif's part, but we're more than happy to help set up a base!" Sarge agreed, a bit too cheerfully to be believable.
"Great to hear that," Church drawled, wondering just what fresh hell this would lead to.
"But we might need to borrow Caboose," Sarge said honestly. "I don't trust the boy to handle much but we could use the extra muscle."
"Fine, but he's your problem for the time being," Church stipulated.
"Wait, they're babysitting Caboose? Sweet!" Tucker said in amazement.
Grif sighed. "I feel tired already."
"Grif, you just napped!" Simmons pointed out.
Meanwhile
Emeryson held her helmeted head in her hands, sitting in her captain's office. What the hell had she gotten into this time? How deep did the disgusting fucked up shit go this time?
A bing repeatedly went off on the computer that was literally a part of her desk. She took a deep breath and pulled herself together as she saw the Id of the transmission, pressing the button "This is Captain Emeryson Dave of the Yellow Death."
"Good evening, Captain Dave. I am Malcolm Hargrove, the joint Chairman of the two committees formed to oversee this investigation, both in Project Freelancer and into this mysterious gateway," Hargrove introduced. "I am calling to update you on the situation. And given the many interesting reports, to inquire if there is any news to report."
"Thank you, Sir. If it is alright, would you mind going first?" Emeryson requested.
"Very well, Captain. All matters related to the Gate are treated skeptically by most beyond our groups. With how unbelievable it sounds, I imagine it will be some time before we can have the matter treated with the seriousness it deserves," Hargrove explained, almost apologetically. "Freelancer, however, is another matter entirely."
"Given everything on that file, I'm not surprised," Emeryson acknowledged.
"Yes, the evidence was most troubling and damning in the extreme," Hargrove agreed tightly. "The purposeful and/or gross mistreatment of a "Smart AI" is a serious offense. But this is...beyond anything we have encountered. The mental torture of an AI, cultivating lesser entities from its coded psyche? It is disturbing, more so that it was successful. Thanks to your efforts, Captain, Project Freelancer has been shut down and blacklisted. All members of it are to be taken in for deep interrogations. The Director, and much of his staff, will be arrested in short order."
"With respect Sir, I had little to do with this. It was all thanks to Agent Texas," Emeryson said seriously.
"Yes, Agent Texas," Hargrove said, deliberately slowly. "The Beta AI, also dubbed The Shadow in the files. That one is peculiar."
"I'm more concerned with...the Alpha," Emeryson said carefully.
"Trust me, so are we all," Hargrove agreed in dark amusement. "Tell me, what is the state of the Alpha?"
"The Alpha AI is-" Emeryson started.
"In your own words and opinion, Captain."
Emeryson paused at that. "Captain Church is a very angry person, but only verbally. He likes to swear creatively, and his cynicism would be depressing if he didn't word it so amusingly."
"But no signs of derangement, madness, or other tells that is likely to tip over the metaphorical edge?" Hargrove questioned.
"No, sir," Emeryson assured. "If anything, he comes across as someone that went over the edge, found it wanting, and just climbed back out."
"That is an interesting description," Hargrove mused.
"Sir, I'll be frank? I have been in contact with Captain Church often every day since I arrived here. And at no point did I, or anyone else, suspect he was an AI until we heard the story about him being a ghost," Emeryson explained. "Even now, I sometimes forget he's supposed to be an AI. And I've worked with Smart AIs before. They usually have tells. Like a phrase, a saying they repeat too often, too perfectly. A personality that feels a bit forced. Something. But Captain Church..."
"I understand, Captain Emeryson. I do," Hargrove assured. "Which would imply that the Alpha AI has or is achieving metastability despite...everything that was done to him."
"What I don't understand is how he's functioning, let alone passing for human? The files say the Omega AI was his anger, and another was his Trust. This Delta we also have is his Logic. But, well, he clearly has anger still," Emeryson explained.
"That was explained in the files, if one knows what they are looking at," Hargrove informed grimly. "The files make mention of an Engineer that helped with cultivating the AI fragments. The capitalization was not a mistype, Captain."
"Wait, what? They got their hands on a Huragok, and got it to help them? How did they manage that?" Emeryson asked in disbelief.
"Yes, how indeed," Hargrove muttered darkly. "In any case, the relationship between the Alpha and his fragments is not as simple as broken pieces of a puzzle."
"Then what should I do, Sir?" Emeryson questioned. "He doesn't even know he's an AI yet."
"Yes, not much can be done without telling him, short of termination via short-range EMP," Hargrove acknowledged.
"I'd like to avoid that as a last option, Sir," Emeryson said pointedly.
"Trust me, Captain, we do as well," Hargrove said thoughtfully. "We have a protocol put together for this, one you must follow to the letter. If the Alpha AI does go rogue, we can't afford any chance of escape."
End of Chapter
First off? Yes, I know its taking a little bit to get through the Gate. That is because in Canon Gate, the story immediately had a timeskip that jumped One Month ahead to them embarking into the Special Zone. It's not going to take that long, as seen by the Reds and BLues already making plans for a base, but the Freelancer stuff is happening during the gap between the intial battle and them fully embarking through the Gate.
No one has forgotten about the Gate, in-universe or not. Its just that the Freelancer stuff is getting a more immediate reaction.
Beyond that, i hope you enjoyed this bit. You know n a setting like RvB, someone in money department is going to look at this report and think its a scam.
Also, yes, I don't plan on Hargrove being evil in this fic. This version of Hargrove is based on my intial interpreatation of him from Recreation, before the reveal of as the villain in the Chorus Arc.
Early viewing of chapters 15-16 avaliable on my pat-reon:
p a treon . com (slash) akumakami64