Walkin' in Winter Wonderland

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

Date: Unknown

The clang came back in force and it actually startled him a little. Clearly whatever was behind the noise had some power behind it. However, he couldn't tell if it was a handheld tool or a machine that was causing it.

Suddenly, he felt himself lurch to the side. He instinctively tried to reach out to something to steady himself but found he had nothing to grab onto. In fact, he couldn't move at all. That was something he never noticed before. Not only was there something obstructing him from the outside world, it was preventing him from moving altogether. He just couldn't feel it.

Then again, he never thought to try moving in the first place. He probably should've thought of that in the first place. Then it would've actually helped him figure out what to do from there.

He tried craning his neck to see what was around him and found he couldn't do that either. He seemed almost frozen, not uncomfortably so though, given how his body doesn't seem to ache.

He tried tensing his muscles, preparing to burst out of the invisible force that was holding him. He felt strength, actual muscles in his arms and legs. He could tell he wasn't fat or skinny. Somehow the sheer power he felt behind his muscles told him as much. He didn't know how he knew, just that it was an innate feeling.

He tried twisting, tried to get room to build his momentum but found, once again, he couldn't even do that. As it stood, he could do naught but strain against the invisible force that enveloped his whole body.

He took a deep breath and mustered his strength once more, trying to break free a second time. Once again, the force surrounding him refused to abate. Now he couldn't help but feel a little frustrated at his predicament. Now knowing there was some something, or someone, waiting for him beyond this bodily prison, he wanted to get out, even if only because they might know something about him that he didn't.

Suddenly, a sudden clang shook throughout his entire body. He waited to see what would come next.

And nothing did. For what seemed like hours, there was nothing that he could sense beyond the barrier.

He sighed in resignation. It seemed there was no help after all. Once again, he was stuck in his prison. So, just like all the time earlier, he closed his eyes and rested in wait.


Location: Praetor Northlands

Time: 1900 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

As the sun continued to creep further and further beyond the horizon, day slowly turned into night. The bright white and silver of the mountain ranges slowly gave way to duller grey and black as the light continued to fade away. The trees that dotted the sides darkened with it, turning from a soft green evergreen to dark forest. To those more knowledgeable, the land bore a striking resemblance to the American tundra or the northern Siberian wilderness of old Earth.

Somewhere off in the distance, a pair of figures stood around a downed pelican, its lights dimmed, a faint smell of ozone still lingering from the recent burns across its chassis and inner instrument panels.

"Damn it," Four-Seven-Niner sighed in defeat, letting the depleted fire extinguisher clatter against the ice-encrusted ground. She took a seat on a nearby crate next to the exposed troop compartment, shoulders sagging as she attempted to release the tension in her body. For the last two hours she'd been trying to salvage whatever equipment she could, but the fire had been harder to put out than she had anticipated. Every time she thought the damage had subsided, a spark would light anew, threatening to ignite the flame once more. So she had to manually remove the power cords from each individual panel, each with extreme and tedious care. With the damage the transport had taken on the way down, she couldn't afford to handle the machines with the same level of swiftness as a normal maintenance check.

"I'm sorry, lady." Next to her, the only other individual in the immediate vicinity sat next to her, the one known as Grif if she remembered properly. "Did the best I could."

She looked over at him. Just like her, his shoulders seemed to sag as well, leaning forward in his seat. Though she couldn't see his face, she could tell there was a sort of defeated look that matched her own.

She cocked her head to the side curiously. What did he have to be sorry about anyway? For the last two hours he had done as she instructed, taking out what she couldn't get and doing what he could to salvage the onboard computer. He had followed her orders to the letter, even going so far as to take initiative. It wasn't even his ship, yet he acted like it was.

She'd also read that that behavior went completely against his behavior when he'd been a simulation trooper. She read that he'd always been a minimalist, lazy, and near insubordinate a number of times throughout his career. He was also rather cowardly. Or just a survivalist, if she was giving her honest opinion. He'd rather live to see another day than follow suicidal orders.

She could respect all of that. She'd read somewhere that laziness was a sign of intelligence, of finding creative means to shorten work. Hell, though her methods were different, she preferred finding a more creative alternate to completing a mission and avoiding certain death. That was another form of laziness in its own right.

And his work on machines and his piloting was commendable, to say the least. Unlike most grunts she'd had to work with, he only needed some small guidance, a handful of tips here and there. Other than that, he seemed perfectly capable on his own.

"Eh, you did what you could," she commented. He continued to look down at the ground. "Hey, what's eating at you? I just said you did fine. Most men tend to perk up and act like they just lifted a two ton truck by themselves at a comment like that."

The orange soldier lifted his head a little. "Well, I'm not most men, lady."

That was another thing that struck her as odd because, as he just stated, Grif was right. He wasn't like most men. He was the lazy vehicle mechanic and designated driver of Red team. He was smart, but not cocky; snide, but not obnoxious, not like her at least.

Four furrowed her eyebrows in annoyance. "Alright, don't call me 'lady' anymore, bud, or we're gonna have a problem."

"Well, it's not like I can call you anything else," he grumbled. "It's either that or Four-Seven-Niner, and that's too much of mouthful for me."

"Alright, you got me there," she conceded. She had to admit, her callsign was a bit long. If they were going to work together, he might as well call her by her actual name then. She took a deep breath, like this was such a big deal to her. Perhaps it was.

"Fraser," she said. "Ashley Fraser." She paused. The name seemed almost foreign to her. For the longest time, she'd only gone by one name, one alias: Four-Seven-Niner. The folks at Project Freelancer never really went beyond that. No one ever bothered. Even the crew members and lower personnel called her by it. It's not like anyone used their real names there anyway. Sort of part of the Spec Ops nature of the Project, an attempt at being cool and secretive. "I prefer Ash or Fraser," she added at the end.

"Grif," the orange trooper replied, "Dexter Grif. Most people call me Dex or Grif."

Dexter, she thought, what an interesting name. She'd never known anyone who went by that name before, not personally. She'd vaguely heard that name in a TV show once, but that was a long time ago.

The pilot stood up and moved over to a nearby control panel. She heard Grif get up and follow behind her.

"So, how'd you get here, stuck with us, Grif?" she asked as she began tinkering with some wires. "You don't exactly look like soldier material."

She couldn't see it, but she imagined he had an annoyed look on his face, like she'd just insulted him. Instead, he said, "I'm not, really." There was a calm, almost nonchalant tone in his voice, like he didn't mind or didn't care. "Needed something to do after I found that college wasn't really working for me."

Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Which college did you attend?"

"University of Honolulu."

"You from around there?"

"Yep, born and raise on Oahu." So he was Hawaiian. Those people were extremely rare, even more so in the military. "Same as my little sister."

Now that got her attention. She didn't know he had a sister. "What's her name?"

"Kaikaini," he answered, moving to a different console and began work of his own.

"And where is she?"

At that, he sighed in melancholy. "Honestly, I don't even know anymore. Haven't heard from her ever since we got separated back at Blood Gulch."

Blood Gulch. That name was familiar. Wasn't that the name of one of Project Freelancer's simulation outposts? It would make sense considering he had been one at one point. But the only people who were allowed to be there were other Freelancer personnel. So that meant…

"Did your sister follow you into the military?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

Grif snorted. "Yeah. Didn't want her to, though. In fact, I specifically told her not to before I got shipped off to Basic."

Beneath her helmet, Fraser cringed. After seeing the things she'd seen, she'd never have wanted any of her family to follow her into the military. She would've been worried to death for their well-beings. She could only imagine what Grif must've felt when he found out his sister had taken the same path as him.

"That's rough," she said quietly.

Grif gave her a curious look. That comment seemed so unlike her compared to her usual dry humor and confident, borderline arrogant, demeanor, at least that he'd seen so far. He let the silence hang for several second before he continued. "Do you have any family?"

The pilot peered over her shoulder at him. "Yeah. A couple siblings and two parents. Don't know if any of them are still alive though, especially after what happen with the war." She didn't need to go into further detail to know which war she was talking about.

"That sucks," Grif commented. He moved to unclasp the seal of his helmet, removing the head protection and letting his unkempt hair hang free. It wasn't long, but it was shaggy. There were a few beads of sweat on his brow, but nothing concerning. He grabbed a water canteen and asked, "How many siblings did you have?" He began taking a small drink.

"Seventeen, one brother and sixteen sisters," she stated, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Grif made a strangled sound in his throat before spitting the water back out. She was lucky he had enough control to miss hitting her back or any of the exposed cabling. Still, she scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Seventeen?" he practically shouted, coughing violently. "Where the fuck are you from where that's normal?"

The Freelancer pilot let out a small chuckle. "Luna. And it's not exactly 'normal' but families there are pretty large compared to other colonies. Don't ask me why," she shrugged.

She worked in silence for the next minute or two while Grif stared at her dumbfounded. As the sunlight finally faded to night, she found she had to stop and pull out a heat lamp. Another few minutes passed in silence before she decided to stop again, this time from exertion. She could feel the sweat starting to drip down her face. It was distracting her too much at this point.

Moving away from the console, she dragged one of the smaller crates into the ship and plopped herself down, her hands going up to remove her helmet. She pinched the seals around her jaw and they came away with a hiss, the atmosphere in her helmet depressurizing. Fraser lifted her pilot helm away, letting her black hair fall away to the top of her neck, her hair falling just slightly longer than that of pixie length, her bangs partially covering her light blue eyes. Her paler skin turned slightly red as cool air touched her face, a scowl forming in response.

Grif raised an eyebrow as she reached for another water container. She noticed. "What? It's getting a bit hot under the helmet." The woman lifted the canteen to her lips and began to take a sip.

The former simulation trooper blinked. "Sorry. You're just not what I expected underneath that helmet."

Four took a moment to swallow her water before answering, "And what did you expect?"

"I don't know," he shrugged once more. "That you were black, or maybe ginger, I don't know. Just not… this." He motioned to her in general.

At that, Four shot a glare at him. She actually seemed to take offense at the presumption. "Oh, so it's because I'm louder and bossy that I just have to be black or a ginger? That I have to stay within the confines of the norm for take-charge women?!"

She didn't seem to notice that she was instinctively raising her voice. But he did, and he actually started to shrink back a bit. "No, no, no!" he quickly stammered out, raising his hands in surrender. Or maybe it was to try and calm her down. "I just didn't expect it, that's all! There's nothing wrong with breaking the mold of stereotypes, I swear!"

Fraser gave him a hard look, nostrils still flaring in subdued rage, but let it subside instead of acting on it. "You'd better be." She shoved herself off her seat and began rifling through their supplies.

"Listen," Grif said as she continued her task, "I'm sorry about that, alright? Those are just the only two types of people I know to have that sort of attitude. That you're different is actually kind of a surprise." A frown was still on her lips as she silently continued her task. "That you're able to boss around Freelancers while being able to fly them around is still pretty cool though."

The frown disappeared and she blinked in surprise. Fraser looked back at him. She didn't think he knew that's what she did back then. She certainly didn't tell him about her previous job. "How do you know that?"

"Well," he shrugged, "Carolina and Tex seem to know you pretty well. And you said you were doing this for a while, so it's not hard to connect the dots."

That genuinely surprised her. She didn't think any of the Reds or Blues could've pieced her past job together like that, especially him. He really was cleverer than he let on. "You think I'm cool?"

"To be able to boss around Freelancers because you're their only means of transportation, fuck yeah it is." He actually sounded in awe, like he was really being serious.

A small smile formed on her own lips. "Thanks." At that, she continued her previous task. Another minute or two passed before she was able to find what she needed: a thermal coat, a sleeping sack, and two resting mats. She pulled them out and tossed out one of the mats to Grif. He barely caught it, the foam roll balanced in his grasp. He gave her a curious look. "It's not much, but it'll help you sleep."

The Red nodded and resealed his helmet. Simultaneously, Fraser tapped a few buttons on the only functioning instrument panel. With but a single confirmation chime, a motion sensor came to life on a nearby screen. "There," she said. "Now we can both actually get some sleep without any of those BS security measures we'd normally have to pull in the field."

The pilot slipped her helmet over her head and unrolled her mat and sleeping sack. The armor wouldn't be that comfortable, but it would at least keep the biting cold away. Unlike Grif's armor, hers didn't have an internal heater, so she'd have to rely on what she found. The pilot suit would keep away the cold while the bag gave her some heat. She was used to sleeping in her armor at this point anyway.

Soon enough, the pair drifted off to sleep, the sound of cool mountain airflow turning into a low hum. The next few days would be long and arduous, but necessary if they were going to be able to help the Reds and Blues at all.


Location: Praetor Northlands

Time: 1910 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

"Alright, guys," Tex called out, "we're stopping here for the night." The team stopped short behind her, the sounds of panting emanating from their helmets. No doubt they were tired, probably running on fumes. She couldn't exactly blame them. They did just cross what was roughly five miles of mountainous terrain. It didn't sound like much, but she knew the sheer amount of verticality could be deceiving. By all rights, they had probably used more energy there than they would on a distance twice as long over flatter plains.

The group had stopped near a large indent in the side of the mountain, deep enough in to afford them some protection against the biting wind outside, but not really deep enough to be considered a cave. Its walls were smooth, bowl-like, no doubt formed from millennia of weathering and erosion. There was a nice lack of ice or water, leaving the rock dry.

Sarge and Lopez moved in first, weapons sweeping for hostiles and potential booby traps or listening devices. A few seconds went by as they did a thorough search of the area. Couldn't be too careful.

"Claro," droned the robot.

"Yep, it's clear, Lopez," affirmed the Red leader. The mechanical Red let out a sigh, which Sarge completely ignored.

The team moved in, each taking a separate section of the pseudo-cave. Sarge took his place in the back, next to Lopez, leaning against the wall as his android took a firm stance against the wall, locking his legs before lowering his head. He was probably powering down for the night.

Simmons plopped down next, closer to the entrance but still in the back, keeping a close, but respectable distance away from Sarge. Despite the relative safety of the indent, he still looked tense, like he was ready to jump to the elder Red's aid. Still a kiss-ass as ever, Tex smirked to herself.

Donut sat opposite to Simmons, spreading his legs out wide into splits before crossing them together. Just being as weirdly flamboyant as ever. He took his weapons and placed them down next to him, easily within reach should he need them in the future. With that, he leaned back, resting his head against the stone wall.

Caboose and Tex came in last, taking their places closest to the entrance. Tex looked around, finding a small boulder that could act as a chair. She lowered herself onto the rock slowly and leaned back against the wall. The Freelancer still cradled her rifle in her legs, hands loosely holding the weapon. She propped a foot up and took the sight in outside.

There was a haze of light still on the horizon, the twilight of dusk as it began giving way into night. It shrouded the mountains in an ethereal glow, outlining them in a border like two contrasting colors on a canvas. It was beautiful.

Tex smiled, taking in the surreal landscape. Contrary to popular belief, she could appreciate beauty, rather than scowl and belittle it at every turn. She knew when something, or someone, looked beautiful, whether it was a well-executed plan, a perfect kill, an exquisite painting, or a handsome man. With a thought, she brought up the photographic mode in her visor. The natural combat display gave way to a circle and rectangular frame, giving her an idea of what the picture would look like. She blinked once and heard a click as the machine in her helmet snapped the picture. Her eyes tracked the rendering bar as her suit processed the scene. Upon completion, it showed it to her and asked if she would like to save it. Without thinking it through, she did. Now the scene would be in her suit's memory banks should she ever need it. Or want it.

As the light of day slowly faded into night, the image in her HUD began glowing a dim green, the machine's natural transition to night vision as to allow its user to continue seeing even despite poor visibility. She caught sight of Caboose on the edge of her vision. He'd taken a seat next to her with his arms wrapped around his legs, weapon laying on the ground next to him, chamber facing up. At least he learned something, she thought. She remembered at Blood Gulch when he'd lay his weapon down at times when they weren't actively doing anything with them and he always placed it chamber-down, risking mud and dirt getting into the barrel or firing mechanism. They always had to scold him when he did that. Even Church and Tucker had known better than that.

The group fell into slumber as the minutes dragged on, their breathing becoming steadier and calmer. Though no one had said it, they all knew they would rotate shifts throughout the night, roughly every two hours, all except Lopez and Caboose, the former because he needed a full charge to continue functioning without damaged internal systems, the latter because they still didn't know if he was capable of paying attention if he was put on watch.

"Hey Tex?"

The black Freelancer jolted at Caboose's voice, having fallen used to the silence of the night. She craned her head at him. He stared back at her curiously, arms still wrapped around his legs. His Mark V helmet visor shone under the moonlight that was now just coming out from behind the clouds.

"Does Church make you happy?" he asked, his voice all curious and innocent like it usually was.

Tex blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of his question. "I.." Tex swallowed thickly. "Caboose, where did this come from?"

"Well, it's just…" he hesitated, "when we were all at Blood Gulch, I remember that you would both swear at each other and call each other mean names. It's like you didn't want to be near each other but you both kept on coming back. I don't understand it. I always thought that if you loved someone, you'd treat them like they were your best friend. You'd hug and kiss them, be nice to them, and even share snacks and stuff with them. But neither of you did that, so I was very confused. You were not acting like my parents, and they loved each other and did that stuff a lot."

The Freelancer sat in stunned silence, processing his admittedly deep words. For all their talk of his dim-wittedness, Caboose could be surprisingly insightful from time to time. He could be handy with technology when no one else was; he could be very observant and notice things that no one else saw; hell, he could even come up with surprisingly clever plans when it counted. Still, it never ceased to amaze her just how deep his words could sometimes be.

"…yes," is all she says, because, honestly, what else could she say? Tex always felt happiest when she was around him, even if they were just bickering and making fun of each other. It felt more natural than when he wasn't there. Even when he infuriated her to no end, when he chose to be smug, or just a general dick, she somehow felt more comfortable when he was the one who was doing it as opposed to anyone else. Even after they had both become human, she still never felt quite as comfortable away from him. And this time there was no subconscious bullshit pushing her back to him. It really was just her being natural around him.

"Oh good," the Blue replies in relief. He rolls his head back as he tries to lull himself to sleep. "Because I like it when you two are happy."

Now that had her heart skip a beat. That was so sweet of Caboose, that he just wants his best friend and her to be happy. Normally she wasn't one to just accept when someone was being a sap to her; she was usually snide like that. But this seemed different somehow. Somehow he knew that things were different between the two of them, that they were and weren't the Tex and Church he'd met in Blood Gulch, that they had changed in the years they'd been apart.

Tex said nothing in return and continued to stare out into the nighttime sky, thinking on what he said. What was normal about her and Church's relationship, anyway? Absolutely nothing. They had been born from the mind of a deluded old man who wanted nothing but to see his deceased wife again. For them, there was no point in which they started their relationship. They just were. From the moment they came into being, their fates had been intertwined, their destined paths set before them. They were designed to be together.

And yet, once they had broken free of the cycle, when they had become human, when they had escaped the Director's overwhelming influence, they had still chosen to stick together. They both knew damn well that they could've taken completely different paths when the UNSC reassigned them, yet they didn't. And they both knew of the Director's past with Allison, what that would entail should they follow it. Yet they did it anyway, they chose to get back together again, even if neither had acknowledged it.

But this time would be different. They both made a silent vow the day she declared her love to Church, that there would be no bullshit to muddy the water between them, as little toxicity between them as possible, as little of the trolling and anger between them as they could get away with, all so they could avoid the pitfall that was the relationship between the Director and Allison and avoid a tragic repeat of history. She would do this for both of their sakes and the sakes of all their friends.


Location: Praetor Northlands

Time: 1910 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

In another completely different mountain, another pair of figures were trudging across the rocks and ice. Tucker and Carolina were doing their best to gain as much ground as possible before they lost the daylight completely. They continued to pass over imposing boulders, around jagged ice formations, all in complete silence. They had been going at it for well over two hours and Tucker felt like he was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

"Can we stop soon?" he asked between breaths as he struggled to keep up with the lithe Freelancer. While he knew he was in really good shape, a side-effect of having to live among a martial warrior society, her endurance was still putting him to shame. What'd he expect from someone who could singlehandedly match Tex though? Even Wash had needed the help of the Meta to beat her, yet when the fight had broken out in the hangar Carolina was able to match her blow for blow.

"Just a little bit further," the cyan Freelancer answered, keeping the same speed as they'd had for the last two hours. He groaned, but had no choice but to follow her. To slow down was almost certainly to get left behind, and he didn't want that, not in this uncharted territory.

They trekked for what felt like another hour or so, even though the chronometer on Tucker's HUD said it was only about four minutes. His legs were just aching at this point. Sure, being stuck among a warrior society meant he'd had to stay in shape with them, but even she was pushing it. He was pretty sure only Spartans could go this long at this speed without needing even a break.

By 1915 they had made a dead stop, finding a small nook in the side of the mountain where they could take shelter and rest. Good thing too since the rays of sunlight were practically gone at this point, his helmet's night vision automatically activating in response.

Tucker stepped into the nook first, rifle raised. Luckily, it looked like there was nothing there save for a handful of rocks and a bit of snow for them to sleep on. The less than ideal thing for them, however, would be getting an adequate amount of sleep. Because it was just the two of them, they would only be getting half of the sleep they normally do in a given night.

"So, who's going to take watch first?" Tucker voiced his concern, taking one of the rock beds inside.

"I guess I will," volunteered the Freelancer, taking the wall opposite him and a bit closer to the entrance. She took the hammer she still had off her back, placing it off to the side.

Seeing that Carolina was only armed with her plasma rifles, Tucker grabbed his marksman rifle and held it out to her. "Here," he said.

Carolina cocked her head to the side. "Why are you giving me that?" she questioned in confusion.

"Figured you'd need the extra range," he shrugged.

"I'm fine with these," she patted her sides, fingers drumming the blue weapons.

"Those plasma rifles may be good up close," he commented, "but they've got pretty shit accuracy at anything beyond three dozen or so yards." He'd been around enough Covenant weapons to become painstakingly familiar with their function at this point, so he figured he'd give his input.

"I said I'm fine," she emphasized again, this time facing away from him, looking out at the night sky. "Keep your weapon."

Her stubbornness was really getting on his nerves. Why wouldn't she just listen to common sense and take the gun? "Listen, bitch, I'm willingly giving you my weapon, a better weapon, so you can do your job better. There is literally no reason for you to not take it, not a single goddamn reason, so you'd better fucking take it or I'm gonna beat the absolute shit out of you with it just so you can fucking have it."

A silence filled the air as the Freelancer seemed to process the threat. It had been a really, really long time since someone had threatened her like that. That this sim trooper had the balls to that was almost admirable.

Finally, after too long of a stretch, Carolina scoffed. "Yeah, like you could actually beat me. You don't have the strength or stamina." Still, without looking, she grabbed the gun and held it at low port carry against her legs.

"Yeah right, bitch," he continued, his voice getting cockier by the second. "I bet you'd think differently if we were in the bedroom right now. Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

Before he could so much as blink, Carolina had already twisted around and aimed the rifle at him, barrel aimed smack dab in the middle of his forehead. "Go ahead," she gritted between her teeth, "say it. Say that again."

Tucker gulped as he stared down the barrel, his life flashing before his eyes. Sure, he still had energy shields, but she was still a fucking Freelancer. She could still beat the shit out of him into next Tuesday before he would even get a ghost of a chance, even with the energy shield. There were so many things he could say had he not been frozen in terror. So instead he remained silent.

"That's what I thought," she grunted. Carolina lowered the rifle and went back to her original pose, eyes still scanning the horizon.

"Jesus," he muttered, "you're just like Tex."

This time she didn't raise her weapon at him, but she still shot him a glare from under her helmet. "Don't you dare compare me to her," she hissed, her nerves nearly reaching their limit yet again.

Now that had him curious. "Why do you hate her so much, anyway?" he asked.

"Because she took everything from me," she simply replied. She didn't bother to look at him as she spoke.

Tucker gave her another curious look. "What do you mean by that?" he continued, puzzlement in his voice.

"Before Agent Texas," Carolina answered, "I had a team, a team with the best training, the best equipment, the best skills, all of it. And yet, the day Tex showed up, everything changed. Everything went from the betterment of the team and the Project to the betterment of Texas." There was real mirth in her voice as she continued. He noticed she was gripping the gun tighter as well. Still, he didn't interrupt her. "I lost my place on the leaderboard, and the Director stopped caring for me and the other Freelancers. All of his attention went to her and the whole thing fell apart. I lost good friends because of her, friends I could rely on, friends that I cared about. So you tell me," she looked into Tucker's eyes, the visor boring into his skull, "why the hell should I not hate her after everything she did to me, for ruining my life?"

"Because that's not who she is," he spoke back, his back straightening into a defensive posture. "Listen, I don't know what Tex you're referring to, but the Tex I know wouldn't do any of that." It was the honest truth. In all the years he'd known the Freelancer, that pure destructive behavior she had, choosing to absolutely ruin friendships and families didn't sound anything like her. She was hateful, she was brutal in combat, she was kind of a bitch too, but she wasn't cold-blooded and merciless. She wasn't the sort of person to completely destroy the life of someone she didn't really know. She'd kill people but she wouldn't try to destroy their image or their livelihood. Tex was often straightforward and to the point. To be subtle was just not part of her character.

"I know Tex pretty well at this point," he continued. "I know she's cold, a bitch, and strong. I also know that she's straightforward in how she deals with things. She's not the type of person to be subtle. If she has a problem with someone, she says it to their face. If there's a physical problem she has with something, she brute forces her way through it. She's not the type to destroy someone's life. She just kills them instead."

Carolina drummed her fingers against the body of the rifle, listening as he made his case. When he finished speaking, she said, "Do you know what she is?"

"Yeah," he replied, as if the answer was a no-brainer. "She's a former AI created as a byproduct of the memories of Church. She's supposed to be Church's girlfriend."

"And do you know who Church is based off of?"

Tucker shrugged. "No clue."

"The Director himself."

The Blue balked at the revelation. "Wait, wait, wait," he stammered, still trying to wrap his head around the information. "So the Director's name is Church as well?"

Carolina snorted, almost bemused by his bafflement. "Yes."

"As in Leonard Church?"

"Yep."

"The guy who is both the guy working with us and the one we're trying to take down?"

"They're two slightly different version of him, but yes."

Tucker raised an eyebrow in question. "What do you mean by that?"

"Think of it this way," explained the cyan Freelancer, "the Church that you know now is the same guy that we're hunting down, but he's younger and doesn't have the same experiences as his human creator."

Tucker stared at her as he processed the information. "So he's a cocky jackass too."

She merely nodded.

"And if Tex is Church's girlfriend, the she's based on the memory of the Director's girlfriend, right?"

Carolina shook her head. "Try 'wife' instead of girlfriend. And make that 'deceased wife' on top of that."

"Well, at least that makes sense," he surmised. "Church always had a strange obsession with Tex." Tucker raised his eyebrows as an epiphany hit him. "So, wait, all that shit that went down at Project Freelancer was because the Director missed his wife?"

Carolina nodded once. "Pretty much."

"So, doesn't that mean it's the Director's fault for all this bad shit happening to you and your friends?" he questioned, believing he found a loophole in Carolina's logic.

She gave him a dead stare, impassively looking him in the eyes. Tucker shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting but the same time not wanting to look away from her. He had no idea why she was looking at him the way she did, but he kept his eyes locked on her. There was a subtle, imperceptive tension in the air, but he couldn't quite place why.

"No," she finally said after what felt like too long a stretch of time. "It's still Tex's fault as well."

Tucker gave her a flabbergasted look. "What?" he blurted. "But you just acknowledged that all of this happened because the Director missed his wife."

"He may have been the one to put all the pieces in place, but she's the one that actually knocked them over," she clarified.

Tucker gave her a confused look. "What do you mean by that?"

"Ask her," she answered coldly, not bothering to expand further. The Freelancer turned back to watch the outside.

"Fine then," he muttered, shifting his body as he tried to get comfortable enough to let sleep overtake him. "Just remember to wake me up when it's my turn."

If she heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. So instead, Tucker let out a frustrated sigh. For a while it looked like he was going to get her to open up, to prove that she was at least sensible and not another bitchy-crazy Freelancer like rest he'd come across. Guess he was wrong. Still, their conversation did shed some light on her relationship with Tex, why she had animosity toward the black Freelancer. But it also raised more questions. What did Tex actually do that started the fall of the Project? Why was she just as responsible as the Director? What else were Carolina and Tex not telling him? He figured that whatever Tex did back then somehow went further than just competition and rivalry. There was something personal about this whole endeavor.

Tucker closed his eyes as he attempted to will himself to sleep. He hoped the others didn't have to deal with this kind of bullshit right now.


Location: Praetor Northlands

Time: 1930 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

The sun had already set by the time Church was able to see the source of the glint clearly and even then he needed to ping it on his HUD so he could remember where he was heading. His visor had begun glowing a faded green, the sign that his night vision was on. The land around him was bathed in faded highlights, giving it a sort of ghostly, ethereal glow.

Five minutes or so after the sun had fully set, he could make out a structure distinctly manmade, a juxtaposition of the land around it. The structure was a small metallic block, rustic, and with a silvery grey coat of paint over it. The paint itself looked worn and chipped, like it hadn't been used in a while. If he was honest, it looked almost like a shipping container. Either way, it would do as a makeshift shelter for the night.

He snuck up to the side of it, hands gripping his sniper rifle, his eyes shifting over the crate, looking for the entrance. He didn't see any enemies popping up on his motion tracker, but it never hurt to be even a little cautious. This was uncharted territory, hostile territory, as far as he was concerned. And he was alone, so he wouldn't be able to rely on anyone for help if he wound up in trouble.

He found the door on one of the wider ends, a rectangular hatch with a wheel and jutting handle that reminded him almost of those old doors seen on sea-worthy navy ships during humanity's pre-space faring era. There was a lock on the side, keeping the door latched shut.

Without hesitation, Church raised the butt of his rifle and smashed down on it. The metal gave way with a loud crunch and he brought one of his hands up to it, quickly removing the now destroyed security device and tossing it into the snow. He gave the wheel a tug and it turned with a squeal before he reached for the handle and pulled the hatch open before quickly raising his rifle to the interior.

Inside the box he could see several unmarked crates, a radio station, and what looked like an unused generator. There was also a large piece of paper pinned to the back wall, a map if he had to guess. It was hard to tell in the dark.

He looked over his should to make sure no one was coming to check on the noise before moving in. There was nothing.

Church moved into the container and approached one of the nearby crates first, moving one of his hands over it and seeing if there was a lid he could grab. He felt a seam and pulled the top off. Inside was a number of rustic heat lamps, not particularly fancy, but sturdy and reliable, perfect for long-term storage in a cold environment like this.

Must be some sort of patrol waystation, he thought. Or a station where hunting teams could rest and restock while in the middle of lengthy patrols.

He decided to take one out and twisted the nozzle on it. The room instantly lit up in a dim yellow-white light and his night vision switched off in response. He panned the light around, getting a clearer view of what was inside. He could clearly see the paper on the wall now, and it was definitely a map. His eyes scanned the device and he activated his internal camera, taking a photo of topographical layout. He could see multiple individual points, roads, what looked like outlines for a handful of minor settlements, a handful of Xs, and a star. He couldn't make out the detail at the moment, but he assumed the one dot with the circle and arrows around it was his current location, up in the northeastern corner of the map. Around him, mainly to the south and west, there were other dots. He could see a symbol that looked like a radio tower a few dozen miles southwest of his location.

He looked back outside and checked the internal clock on his HUD. It was 1945, the very beginning of the night. Church knew he wasn't going anywhere at the moment, not until there was enough sunlight. He let out a heavy sigh and plopped himself down against the back way, laying down his sniper rifle next to him. Perhaps it would be better to rest up, try to get some sleep and hope no one else came by in the night. He wouldn't consider himself a heavy sleeper, but he certainly didn't wake up at the drop of a hat. Still, maybe the danger of his situation would change that, just this once.

Church leaned his head against the metal wall, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep. His mind wandered, thinking about Tex, Caboose, Tucker, the Reds, even Wash, wondering how they were all holding up. He hoped they were pulling through without him. As much of a pessimist as he usually was, now, in this most desperate situation, with the fate of the others still unknown, he hoped they were alright. He hoped he'd be able to see them again.


Location: Praetor Low Orbit

Time: 1930 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

Thousands of miles above the surface of the planet, the UNSC All or Nothing floated in geosynchronous orbit, its belly facing towards the planet, its sensor array active and scanning for targets and signals. The system's star had dipped just beyond the horizon, giving the planet a halo-like look against the darkness of space.

Agent Washington stood on the bridge's control platform, arms crossed as he stared at the tactical display before him. He'd been staring at the screen for several hours at that point, body unmoving as his eyes thoroughly scanned the information constantly provided. It hadn't changed. At all.

"Staring at the monitor is not going to help anything, Agent Washington."

Wash looked behind him. Junior and Doc stood in the bridge portal, still in full armor, with the Elite's sword and Doc's medical scanner still magnetized to their thigh respectively. The alien had a dour look on his face while the medic's remained unreadable behind his helmet. His posture, however, told him exactly what he was feeling: lost. Not like he could blame either of them. They'd all seen the Reds and Blues go down to the orbital defense platform. They'd all been there monitoring the communications traffic as their boarding assaults progressed. They'd all been there when Grif told them they'd activated a Havok nuke. They'd all seen the station explode. And now they couldn't contact any of the Reds or Blues, Tex, Four-Seven-Niner, or Carolina.

"I know, Junior," he replied evenly. Even now, he was struggling to keep his composure, to not let his anxiety that had building for hours break to the surface. No one knew where they had all landed, if they had even landed. No one knew if they were still alive.

He felt Junior step up beside him, but didn't face him. His eyes continued to wander over the same data Sheila had been compiling, just as he did the last several dozen times. It was almost therapeutic, like a balm covering his fearful mind.

"I hate to be pessimistic here," said Doc, stepping up to his other side, "but there's nothing we can do for tonight." Wash merely grunted. "If what Sheila said is true, that radio jammer is going to block any attempt we have in reaching them anyway." He didn't mention that there was also a distinct possibility none of the teams had survived. He was probably trying to keep those thoughts out of his head as much as possible.

Finally, after several long seconds, Wash sighed. "I know. I just want to make extra sure they're still alive down there."

"We already know there's no way we're going to figure that out at the moment."

"If what your engineers said was true," stated Junior, "then they're still alive down there. And they're trying to find a way to contact us as we speak." They'd all been briefed on the features of their newly-integrated energy shields, what it could do, what new possibilities it opened up for them. They all knew the shields drastically increased their chances of survival. Still, only the Freelancers had any sort of physical augmentations. The rest were practically still just humans. Except for Simmons, he was a cyborg, but still.

The Freelancer smiled. He didn't expect such positivity from the alien, but then again, he didn't know what to expect. He'd never really had a chance to interact with any aliens that didn't result in violence and bloodshed before. "I guess you're right."

"Then let's get some sleep," Doc spoke once more. "You're not going to be any good to them, or us, on a half functioning brain. You know what they say: 'Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.' So go to sleep and wake up the next day refreshed, reborn."

"Gandhi?" he asked.

"Yeah," the medic replied cheerily.

Wash smiled wider. Leave it to Doc to find oddly inspirational quotes. "Sheila?"

"Yes, Agent Washington?" the Freelancer computer program asked with the same enthusiasm as always.

"Contact me as soon as something pops up."

"Affirmative. Have a good night, Agent Washington." With that, the room fell silent. Doc and Junior were the first to go, leaving the Freelancer behind. Washington followed a second later.

As he got to the bridge portal, he looked over his shoulder one last time, briefly glimpsing the planet display one last time, like he was considering staying behind after all. He walked away.


A/N: And that concludes yet another chapter of the Praetor arc. Honestly, this one felt like it took a lot longer to complete than most. Maybe it's just the quarantine getting to me. Who knows. Or maybe it's just because its the second longest chapter I've posted so far. Maybe it's just because its the most dialogue-heavy chapter I've done here. Either way, I'm glad I was able to get this out by the end of the month. Hope you all enjoyed.