Chapter Text
“This is Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. LZ is cleared and ready to go. I repeat, LZ is cleared and ready to go, over.” The static-filled voice echoed in your headset.
“Roger that, Whiskey. I’ve got the data. ETA twenty minutes. Prep the LZ for extraction,” you responded. You idly nudged one of the prone bodies of several guards littered the ground around you. You weren’t sure whether they were dead or merely unconscious, but either way, they weren’t getting up anytime soon.
And by then you’d be long gone.
“Nice job V. This’ll get us enough cash to last us a good, long while,” Whiskey said cheerfully.
“All in a day’s work,” you replied, holstering your rifle and jogging towards the landing zone, away from the emptied base that you had just ransacked.
“I dunno why our employers need this crap, but they’re paying a helluva lot for it,” the pilot continued.
“Don’t care, don’t ask,” you said. “I don’t want a cut to our paycheck because someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut.”
“That was one time!” Whiskey said defensively. You could only imagine the flustered, embarrassed flush spreading across his face at the memory. “How could I have known that the guy wanted the surveillance footage to peek on girls!”
You snickered. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.”
“Yeah. See ya.”
The comm clicked off, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of your calm, regular breathing and the steady beat of your footsteps.
“Uh... V? I think we have a problem.” The shimmering, blue holographic form of your AI materialized above your shoulder.
“What is it, Zeta?” you asked. You were less than ten minutes away from Whiskey’s Pelican. The last thing that you needed was a problem.
“I’ve got six heat sigs behind you,” Zeta said. “You might want to turn around.”
“How far?”
“Half a klick and closing in fast,” Zeta reported.
Swearing, you pivoted, swinging your rifle off your back and holding it steady.
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, clear the LZ. I’ve got hostiles on my tail and am about to engage. I’ll radio back when everything is clear, over.”
“Roger that V. Taking off.” There was a brief pause. “Stay safe.”
You snorted. “Safe? Hardly know the meaning of the word.”
There was a soft huff of laughter that came in through your comm before it cut off.
“V, hostiles approaching. 750 feet,” Zeta reported.
The easy grin you had been wearing slipped off. “Alright Zeta. I need you to scan them. Equipment, bios, anything you can get.” You glanced around. Nothing but the cliffside to your right, the lake to your left, and the uphill slope leading to the LZ behind you. “Also, some cover would be nice.”
“I'm an AI, not a magician,” Zeta muttered. “Fine. There's an outcrop of rock on the cliff about a hundred feet back. Ten feet wide, thirteen feet high. Not much more I can do about cover, though. We're sitting ducks out here.”
“I'll work with it,” you said. “And the enemies?”
“From what I can tell... Four of them have pretty standard UNSC equipment. Burst-fire assault rifles, decent armor. Basic carbon-fiber and plating, looks like. Ooooh... One of them has some sort of heavy weaponry, though.”
“And the other two?”
A low whistle. “Not so much. They've got some pretty heavy armor, looks like. It- it almost looks like...”
“Like what?” you prompted.
“...Like the stuff from Freelancer.”
You stiffened. “You sure, Zeta?”
“There are some differences, but yeah, pretty sure. I can see they've got some enhancements, but I can't tell what kind yet. Also, three hundred feet and closing.”
“Damn it!”
You dashed back towards the cliff, ducking behind the rock. You hastily took stock of your supplies- three mags of forty rounds each, two flashbangs, and two grenades. More than enough for six normal mercs, but...
“V, whatever you’re going to do, do it fast. 150 feet.”
“On it.”
Zeta flickered out of sight, but the familiar hum of his presence still echoed in the back of your mind.
You took and deep breath, and peeked out from behind cover, and tossed the flashbang, and crouched back down.
‘One Mississippi.”
“Target’s around here somewhere!”
‘Two Mississippi.”
“There’s no where they can hide, find them!”
‘Bang.’
“What the hell? Is that-”
The sound of a stun grenade rang out and you whirled around cover. Two mercs were stumbling around, holding their heads as they suffered from the brunt of the flashbang. You took aim fired two shots, and they dropped.
'Ten o’clock,' Zeta warned.
You spun around and ducked around the heavy swing from the third merc and shoved him back with the butt of your rifle. He fell back, and you gunned him down with extreme prejudice.
“Bitch!” someone snarled.
You glanced over and swore. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
You dove to the ground as a RPG sailed above your head. The crazed laughter of the mercenary filled the air. He was standing on the one of the ledges that lined the cliffside, a solid forty feet up.
“How the hell did he manage to get up there?!” you demanded.
You sprinted across the ground. Without cover, you wouldn’t stand much of a chance against rockets. You blind-fired as you ran, emptying your first clip and reloading. The sharp ping of bullets across plating told you that you hadn’t managed to hit your target properly.
A rocket exploded by your feet and launched you into the air. You hit the ground in a roll, just in time for another rocket to fling you thirty feet.
Groaning, you clambered to your feet. The merc was reloading his RPG, granting you a brief moment of respite.
'V, it’s now or never.'
“I know! Zeta, divert as much power as you can to my greaves. I need to make a jump.”
'Affirmative.'
“On my mark. Three... two...” The whir of your armor enhancements rang in your ears. “NOW!”
You sprang up, the ground beneath you crumbling with the force. The merc flinched and lifted his RPG to take aim, just a moment too late.
There was the sickening crunch of your boot meeting his skull and he crumpled, falling off the cliff to the ground below. You landed with significantly less grace than you preferred, nearly stumbling off the ledge.
You leapt down, staggering as you dropped. Groaning, you struggled to catch your breath. “Let’s not do that again,” you managed to gasp. Zeta hummed in agreement. “Now, where are the other two?” you asked.
“You called?”
You whirled around and fired. A mercenary with black and orange armor danced out of the way of your shots. Suddenly, he dashed forward, the glint of a knife flashing in his hands.
You jerked back, but he lodged the blade deep into the bolt of your rifle. You tried to fire again, but the gun was jammed.
“Whoopsie. Wouldn’t want to hurt anyone now, would we?” he asked. Even with the helmet obscuring his face, you could easily imagine the shit-eating smirk on his face. “Now, you’ve got some data that’s particularly valuable to my employers. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”
You tossed the rifle aside with a growl.
‘Zeta.’
‘I got you,’ the AI murmured in your mind, the familiar energy of your armor’s strength modifiers humming throughout your body.
You threw the first punch.
The merc managed to block, but the force of the blow sent him skidding back. He grunted with surprise.
“Well, little lady,” he wheezed, “you’ve got one hell of an arm.”
You darted forward, sending a jab to his stomach, where there was only the thick weave of his suit to protect him. He ducked down and guarded with crossed arms. You followed with a sharp kick to his groin.
The knifeman managed to tuck his leg in, so instead of the direct blow to his crotch you were aiming for, you only landed a boot to his inner thigh and a glancing hit to his codpiece. However, with your enhanced strength, it was more than enough to send him stumbling.
The mercenary straightened and cocked an arm back. You held up your arms, ready to block a punch, but the glitter of metal in the sun was the only warning you got before a lancing pain shot through your shoulder.
You snarled, dropping your guard for a moment to yank the knife out of your shoulder. Zeta signaled your suit to flood the wounded area with medigel, and with moments, the pain had been numbed down to a dull tingle.
You weighed the knife in your hands contemplatively, eyeing the merc as he stood his ground.
Without warning, you launched yourself at him, knife firmly in hand. You aimed for the same spot he had hit you in- a gap in the armor between the chest plate and the pauldrons. He shifted out of the way, and you pivoted, bring the blade down in a diagonal slash.
He had pulled out two more knives, and he blocked your cut with one as he brought the other around in an attempt to stab you. You brought your knee up sharply, catching his wrist between your knee and your elbow. A satisfying crack filled your ears and the merc swore, reeling back and clutching his wrist, dropping both of his weapons as he did.
You pulled your arm back, ready to drive the knife into the unarmored, exposed part of the mercenary’s neck.
Suddenly, the sounds of an explosion rang out. You whirled around, eyes wide. A Pelican was rapidly descending, smoking pouring from a massive hole that had been blown into its side.
A resounding crash echoed as it hit the ground.
You froze. “No,” you whispered. “NO!”
Everything went black.
Locus materialized into existence, standing over the unconscious body of the hired gun that had caused them so much trouble.
“Took you long enough,” Felix groused, gingerly cradling his injured hand.
“You underestimated her,” his partner said flatly. “Any injuries you sustained were your own fault.”
“Shut the hell up. Just grab the data and kill her already,” Felix grumbled, trudging off irritably.
Locus crouched down and attempted to access the data crystal chip embedded in her armor, where the info that they needed was most likely stored. He connected his data port with the immobile soldier’s, intending to just transfer all of their files and to sort through the intel later.
There was a sudden, piercing ringing in his helmet and Locus grimaced, disconnecting his suit hastily.
“Hey, Locus, hurry the fuck up!” Felix called, glancing down at the corpses of the mercs. “Let’s get out of this shithole and get our pay.”
After a moment’s consideration, Locus lifted the body up, throwing her over his shoulder.
Felix stared. “What the hell are you doing.”
“Her suit is well protected,” Locus stated. “If we want to extract the data, we’ll either need to take her suit, or she’ll have to give it to us willingly.”
“How much time will it take to do it ourselves?’”
“Undetermined. If her suit is as heavily guarded as I think it is, it may take up to two weeks.”
Felix swore violently. “We don’t have that kind of time,” he snarled. “Our deadline is a week and a half!”
“Then we’ll convince her to hand it over.”
“And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”
Locus turned to the flaming wreckage of the Pelican.
“I have an idea.”
You woke up, dazed and confused. You were lying on a thin cot in what appeared to be a medical bay, surrounded by white walls. The scent of antiseptic and sterilizers made you feel sick to your stomach.
Your armor had been stripped off and was nowhere in sight- the only thing you were wearing was a flimsy hospital gown.
“Zeta?” you murmured groggily,
‘I’m here,” the AI confirmed, less of a voice and more of a low buzz in the back of your mind..
“What the hell happened?”
There was a brief hesitation. ‘You were knocked out by the sixth mercenary,’ Zeta began. One of them tried to extract the files from your suit, but I managed to block him out. The two of them brought you onto their ship.’
“And what about Whiskey?”
‘The mercenaries shot down his Pelican, but it looks like he’s still alive. They carried his body back here. I think their gonna try to use him as a hostage or something, try to negotiate him for the files.’
“They can have the damn files. I want my partner back.”
You heard the whoosh of the med bay door opening, and you automatically closed your eyes and feigned sleep.
“Don’t bother pretending,” someone said, voice deep and low. “Your vitals spiked just now. I know you’re awake.”
You scowled and reopened your eyes, raising up a little and resting back on your elbows. A tall man, fully suited up in hunter green armor, stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed.
“Who the hell are you?” you snarled, clutching at the sheet of the cot with trembling fists.
“I am Locus,” the man said.
You opened your mouth to demand where Whiskey and your armor were, but he interrupted you.
“Your suit is fully intact. Felix is keeping it in his room. Your companion is being held nearby.”
“Take me to him,” you demanded.
You could feel the intensity of Locus’ gaze even through the barrier of his visor. Without your armor, you felt vulnerable, and you resisted the urge to pull the sheets over your body.
Suddenly, Locus turned away. “Come,” he ordered.
You stared at his back for a split second, eyes wide, before scrambling off the cot and to your feet. You swayed uncertainly as you struggled to gain your bearings, your half-healed knife wound throbbing in your shoulder. You vaguely noticed Locus stop at the door and turn, waiting for you with an uncomfortable, judgmental silence.
You didn’t so much walk towards him as stumble, your head still swimming from your bout of unconsciousness. You grimaced as you leaned heavily on the door frame, gently massaging your injured shoulder.
Locus walked away stiffly without so much as a glance, and you did your best to follow his long strides in your weakened state. He didn’t look back, but you noticed that he slowed his pace slightly so you could keep up.
You attempted to follow the twists of the hallways, but everything was so impossibly uniform that you lost your bearings by the time you had taken a dozen turns. Your bare feet padded softly along the cold metal floor.
Eventually, Locus led you to a door that looked exactly like every other godforsaken door in the place. A guard was stationed by it, and he saluted as Locus entered. To your surprise, Locus returned the gesture with a nod of acknowledgement, and the guard stood up a little straighter.
As soon as the door opened, you all but ran inside.
Whiskey, bloody and bruised, was leaning against the wall. There was a dangerous looking cut that stretched from his temple to his jaw and blood plastered his hair to his head. An angry burn covered the opposite side of his face from ear to cheek. His armor was gone and his suit was in tatters, various gashes and burns littering his body.
He looked up slowly, pain tightening his features. “‘Sup, V,” he said weakly, a small, crooked grin spreading across his mouth. “You come here often?”
You crouched down in front of him, hands ghosting over his wounds and a deep furrow forming between your brows.
“You’re hurt really bad,” you murmured. “God, I’m- damn it- I’m so sorry, Whiskey.”
“Dun’ worry about it,” Whiskey mumbled. “‘Sides, we’ve had worse.”
You laughed humorlessly. “Oh really?”
“Yeah, remember? That one run on Mariposa? Those Covenant sons of bitches blew us outta the sky.” Whiskey snickered, but his voice fell away to a pained groan.
You were suddenly very aware of Locus standing behind you.
“He needs medical attention,” you said, keeping your eyes locked on Whiskey’s.
The mercenary studied you from behind. “We have a qualified medical team on board-” he began.
“No. He needs a hospital, and I don’t trust you.” You stood and turned to face him. “If you take him to the hospital, I’ll give you the files you want.”
Locus nodded. “Deal.”
“And,” you added, “I want to see that Whiskey makes it all the way there.” You drew yourself to your full height. “ I’m going with him.”
Locus stilled, as if contemplating your demand. The tension built up in your muscles until you were as rigid as stone.
“Fine,” Locus said, and you breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. “But you will be escorted. Felix will be accompanying you.”
You blinked. “Who’s Felix?”
“Me.”
The mercenary in black and orange armor was leaning against the door. His gauntlets were off, revealing a splint over the wrist that you had broken. He held his helmet loosely by his side, his hair tousled and unkempt.
Felix grinned viciously, his teeth bared in a mockery of a smile.
“Hey there, sweetheart. I’ve got a score to settle with you.”
Oh.
“You can’t send me with him,” you hissed to Locus.
“And why is that?” he asked. You could imagine a single, unimpressed raised eyebrow under his helmet.
“I broke his wrist,” you said flatly. “And I’m pretty sure he’ll try to kill me.”
“Then break his other arm,” Locus replied drily. “Any injuries he has are due to his own incompetence.”
You blinked. That hadn’t been the response you were expecting.
“Besides,” Locus continued, as if he hadn’t suggested that you maim his partner, “we need you to unlock your suit for the information. I would expect that Felix’s love for money would override any immediate urge to incapacitate you.”
“I’m right here, assholes,” Felix growled, pushing himself off the door and striding to an uncomfortably close distance.
You slid yourself directly between Whiskey and Felix, eyeing the hot tempered merc warily. He was the last person you wanted alone with Whiskey.
“You have your orders, Felix,” Locus said. He turned to the guard. “Inform the pilot of our new destination and prepare a shuttle for landing,” he instructed. The guard saluted and jogged off.
Felix stood ramrod straight, stiff and tense.
“Felix,” Locus said warningly.
“Fine!” he spat, lips curling into a sneer. “But don’t expect me to play nice.”
“I would never.”
There was a long, strained silence. No one moved, and you barely dared to breath.
“Well then,” Whiskey began. The noise was so unexpected that you flinched. Felix seemed to jerk to attention and Locus twitched minisculely. “With that out of the way, do you think I could get a nicer room?” He shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe one with a bed?”