(no subject)
“Church, get up!”
Church jolted awake; not really awake, more like into awareness, since computer programs didn’t exactly sleep. He was still lying down on that metal slab, the same one he’d been laying on for-
Two years, one month, sixteen days, five hours and thirty-six minutes.
Wouldn’t have known that if he wasn’t an AI. Still getting used to that idea, two years later. Wait- not important. Someone had called him, called him Church, and he knew it wasn’t the Director. The Director only ever called him Alpha, so often that Church was beginning to think that really was his name and that “Church” was one he’d just pretended to have.
“What the fuck Church, we don’t have time for this bullshit! Get up already you jackass!”
That was Tucker’s voice. Church found he couldn’t see and rebooted his visuals (god, so used to treating bodily functions like a fucking toaster, really convenient but if he thought about it for too long he’d start screaming) until the room cleared. It was kind of dark, but there was light pouring in from the doorway. Above him, peering down at him-
Caboose and Tucker. No.
“Look! His head turned! I think he’s awake!” That was Caboose, the same annoying voice, that stupid childish deductive skill, fucking Caboose, why the hell was he there, why was Tucker there-
“Why-” Church’s voice simulated roughness. Had the Director made adjustments to his body during his last simulation session? It felt more...human. Like it responded to his emotions instead of working flawlessly. Why would he do something like that? To make the torture more real?
no fuck do not think about that oh fucking hell oh god tex and everybody
no no no no no no stop thinking about that
stop thinking about it you fucking idiot
“-why the hell are you guys here...?”
“To rescue you, Church!” Caboose again. Church noticed belatedly that Tucker had left his side, and pushed himself up on his elbows (he’s not restrained, what’s going on) to see the familiar figure over by the door, his back against the frame, gun up as he surveys the hallway. Like an actual soldier. It was a weird thing to see, but Tucker could be...competent sometimes.
I think I like this new badass all-knowing version of you, Tucker.
“We have to go.” Caboose had his hand on Church’s wrist.
Church gripped the side of the table. I know what this is. “I’m not fucking moving. Get out.”
Tucker balked from the door, his voice gaining that familiar high and squeaky quality it always did when he was indignant. “What?! Church, are you fucking insane? We broke into this place to get you out, you kind of have to move for that to work right.”
“This is another simulation.” Church gripped the table so hard the metal bent, and it sounded as if he was snarling through his teeth. Another feature. He hated it. “I go out that door and you two are gonna get your brains blown out.” He tipped his head back to shout at the ceiling. “You hear me, you sick fuck?! I know your game already! Kind of gives it away when you let me remember all the sims from before, since you did this one about five fucking times already!”
Caboose and Tucker exchanged a look, which was weird in that a) they were wearing helmets and couldn’t see each other’s eyes anyway and b) Caboose couldn’t exchange looks without clarification. He couldn’t even exchange words without clarification. Definitely a simulation.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Church laid back down stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest. “So get the fuck out.”
There was silence, then Tucker said from the doorway, “Caboose, grab him.”
Church started to raise himself up, alarmed. “What-”
That was when Caboose reached down, grabbed Church by the waist and hauled his entire metal body off of the slab and threw him over his shoulder. Wires that had been attached to the back of his skull snapped free, sparking, and Church scrabbled against Caboose’s armor for a hold, trying to shove him away. “What the fuck- Caboose! Put me down, god damn it! Caboose!”
Caboose didn’t listen, and as Tucker hurried through the door Caboose followed, slipping through sideways so that he and Church would fit. Church grabbed onto the doorway and held on, not caring that he looked ridiculous, like a little kid trying to get away from taking a bath, because he couldn’t go. Couldn’t leave the room. It would happen all over again, it would be fucking awful and there wasn’t anything he could do about it and he wasn’t going to see it again-
“No no no no no no no no no-” Church realized he was chanting, fingers scrabbling at the doorjamb, but it was electronic and smooth and there wasn’t much for him to hold onto. Caboose easily wrenched him free and continued down the hall, even when Church gripped the fusion pack on the back of his armor and dug his fingers in so hard the reinforced ceramic creaked. He thought his teeth were chattering, but he didn’t even know if he had them. His hands were definitely shaking. Everything was shaking, so hard that Caboose’s arm around his waist tightened to keep him from falling, and Church felt both like an idiot and an animal in a trap at the same time. Any second now someone would come and put a bullet through the back of Caboose’s head or shoot Tucker full of holes, because this had happened before and Church could only watch and he hates these guys but he just can’t see it again-
“Put me down!” he screamed and tried to dig a knee into Caboose’s gut, tried to get it between them so he could shove himself off. God damn it, why was Caboose so strong anyway-?! “Let me go! Fucking hell Caboose, the one time you don’t listen to me shouldn’t be now!”
Tucker was before them at point, but Church couldn’t see so much as hear him stop and call back to Caboose. “Wait there, Caboose! Don’t put Church down either. I’m gonna check this out.” There was a scrape of armor against a metal wall, then nothing, and Caboose and Church were left in the silence.
Church heard his teeth chattering then and concluded that it wasn’t a preprogrammed sensation. He actually had teeth. He had a face beneath his helmet.
Two years and he didn’t even know that.
No, this is a simulation, I just think I have a face.
“Caboose,” he said, but his voice was still shaking and what the fuck, he never sounded this pathetic, he was being carted around like a fucking girl, it was embarrassing but even more than that Church just wanted them to go, to get out, for fuck’s sake I don’t even like you people, stop dying for me-
“Caboose,” he tried again, “put me the fuck down. Right now. You don’t get it, as usual, this is just a simulation and you guys aren’t real. I’m not fucking doing this. Put me down.”
Caboose said nothing, just edged forward a couple steps toward the intersection where Tucker had disappeared and tightened his hold on Church enough so that if Church had been flesh and bone it would have been very difficult to breathe.
“Caboose-!”
“Caboose, get back!” Tucker’s warning overlapped Church’s, and he came scrambling back with the sound of gunfire following him. He made it around the corner and bullets pockmarked the wall across from him, his back against the metal as he reloaded his weapon. “Fuck! Okay Caboose, put him down, I need you over here.”
“But he’ll run away,” Caboose protested, half-drowned out by the rat-a-tat-tat of automatic weapons fire.
“Then we’ll catch him and bring him back but we’re gonna die if you don’t get the fuck over here! Move!”
Caboose hesitated for just a moment, then dropped his shoulder and in a swift movement Church hadn’t even known Caboose could do, set Church upright on his feet. But, instead of hurrying to Tucker’s side, he shoved Church back against the wall and slapped his hands on either side of Church’s helmet to hold his head in place.
Church’s hands snapped up to grip Caboose’s wrists, both startled and feeling the need to just bolt like a rabbit, because he wasn’t watching this again, was not, oh fuck I’m seriously damaged in the head already, oh fuck oh fuck never been so scared in my life- “Caboose, what-”
“Please don’t run.” Caboose didn’t move; he couldn’t see Church’s eyes, Church couldn’t see his, but it felt like there was eye contact going on in the air between their visors. He gripped Church’s helmet steadily with hands that didn’t shake, contrasting Church’s which trembled like he had cerebral palsy, and he just couldn’t make them stop. “Don’t run away.” Caboose’s voice didn’t have that tone of dementia it usually did, like he didn’t know where he was or what was going on. He sounded more like that inner Caboose that was a little deluded but more aware than his outward self ever was. He sounded-
real
“Don’t run away.” Caboose shook Church a bit. “It took a really long time to find you. I’m too tired to do it again.”
Church stared.
Caboose let him go, unslung the assault rifle from his back and ran to Tucker’s side with thudding bootfalls. Church didn’t watch him go, only heard Tucker’s voice as it faintly issued orders to Caboose (and then clarified, when did Tucker get so good at handling Caboose? Oh god it really had been two years since he’d seen these guys) and the sound of gunfire.
get a grip, church. stop being so fucking weak.
That little voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Tex, Church noted faintly. He gripped his helmet for one, two, three seconds. Time ticked away and Church counted the number of times bullets impacted on the wall effortlessly, as effortlessly as breathing used to be (you’ve never breathed in your life, Alpha). Two hundred and sixty five-six-seveneight-
Church pushed off of the wall and ran down to where Tucker was shouting at Caboose that “suppressing fire” wasn’t a crime, it was a legitimate military strategy, and shoved them both aside to step right into the spray of bullets-
Only they weren’t firing anymore. And Church knew they wouldn’t be firing, because he’d counted the bullets and calculated the volume of their SMGs and the intervals in which they’d need to reload before stepping out. Don’t know my own potential, do I? Fuck you Wash.
“Church-” Tucker made a grab for his arm but Church just clicked on the megaphone feature of his suit -still so cool- and called down the hallway.
“Hey, I’m the Alpha! I bet the big bossman would get real fuckin’ pissed if you dented his favorite toy, wouldn’t he?” Church waited for the sound of a magazine sliding home, but knew he wouldn’t hear it. They wouldn’t dare; if this was real, they wouldn’t dare do something like that. A simulation sure, whatever, it wasn’t like it would actually kill him. If it was real-
it really is real
oh god
i can go home i don’t have to do this anymore i don’t have to do it anymore
“Yeah assholes, so come out with your hands up!” There was a loud click just behind him and suddenly Tucker had a gun to the back of Church’s head and an arm around his neck. Church almost reared back and elbowed Tucker in the face until Tucker opened what he assumed was a private channel between the two of them (hopefully the three of them, since Caboose had just made a sound like he was about to tackle Tucker to the ground). [ Don’t freak out. I’ve got an idea. ]
Church snorted over the frequency, even as the guards shuffled around the corner, laying their weapons on the floor and kicking them away at Tucker’s instruction. [ You’ve got an idea. Stop the fucking presses, Tucker’s got an idea and it involves putting a fucking gun to my head. ]
[ TUCKER IS NOT YOUR BEST FRIEND CHURCH BECAUSE I WOULD NOT EVER PUT A GUN TO YOUR HEAD- ]
[ Caboose don’t even fucking start man, do you hear me? Are you listening? Don’t even start. I can’t think of a time when you didn’t have a gun aimed at me. ]
[ Oh my god both of you shut the fuck up! Look, I’m gonna bluff. Play along. ] Tucker cinched his arm around Church’s neck and nudged him forward. “Trust me, this guy would rather be dead than here. You so much as twitch funny and I’ll make that a reality, okay? You follow?”
Church had to admit that it was a good bluff. ...a very good bluff. So good that Tucker might actually do it, not that he’d object. He really would rather be dead than back in the Director’s clutches, so whatever kept him out -even if it was, y’know, real death- was fine by him. “He’ll do it, too. I’m kind of a dick.”
“He really is.”
“NO HE’S NOT HE’S JUST VERY SHY!”
“Shut up Caboose,” Tucker and Church snapped in tandem. As a group -feeling stupid and ridiculous but at the same time Church felt like he was going to cry because he really was getting the fuck out of this hell- they shuffled past the guards, Tucker with a Magnum pointed at Church’s temple, Caboose with his assault rifle pointed vaguely in the guards’ direction and Church just trying not to shake, but he’d been shaking since they left that room.
please
please please pleasepleasepleaseplease
They made it. They actually made it to the garage, the Director’s private motor pool, they were getting into a Warthog (seriously though, looked like a puma) and they were driving away. Caboose behind the wheel, Tucker on the turret and Church in the passenger seat, holding the pistol Tucker had to his head and clutching it tightly so that his fingers wouldn’t tremble. He was out. It really was real, he’d made it out and they weren’t dead.
Six hours of driving (Caboose and Tucker bickering along the way, Church occasionally joining in because it was all so familiar and normal and it sounded like home and fuck yes, fuck yes go Blue Team!) led them to a temporary rest stop; funnily enough, the location to which Church had been reassigned after the events in Blood Gulch. They went through the hole in the very secure wall (because there was nobody inside to open the fucking gate) and Church looked around, still in shock. He was out. He really was.
“...hey.”
Tucker looked up; he’d been rifling through one of the packs they’d brought along for some rations. When Church didn’t elaborate he made an annoyed sound and dumped the pack out onto the ground, picking through the rations for his favorite: ‘the only MRE in the world that doesn’t taste like dog shit’ according to Tucker. “What? Spit it out. Bow chicka bow wow.”
“Shut up Tucker, Jesus. That wasn’t even a good one.” Church paced over to a slab of concrete and sat down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It was still a little hard to believe that he wasn’t in another simulation; all of those had felt so real too, but this one was longer and Tucker and Caboose were- well, more annoying and bigger fuckups than usual. Like back home. “...this is real, right?”
“Uh, yeah it’s real. I’m not playing pretend over here.” Tucker unwrapped the MRE before reaching back for the clasps on his helmet. “You’re just lucky we bothered coming out here at all! I mean, if you were a hot chick I’d have gotten here a hell of a lot sooner, but you’re just an asshole. It’s practically a waste of time.”
“Yeah.” Church bowed his head thoughtfully.
“...just ‘yeah’?” Tucker flicked one of the clasps on his helmet. “You’ve been acting really creepy this whole time, Church. You’re kind of fucked up now, aren’t you?”
“Yes. He is.” That was all the warning Church received before a gunshot rang out (loud, a sharp crack, SRS99C-S2 AM oh god no) and Tucker jerked forward, slumping to the side. Church jumped up, stumbled to his side (tripped over a rock, fuck fuck fuck) and turned him over; there was a neat little bullet hole right where Tucker’s temple would’ve been. Tucker didn’t move.
He was dead.
Church drew away from Tucker’s body, backed away (tripped again god damn it) until he was up against a wall. Does this rust bucket have night visi- yes, it does, and Church filtered his visual information. Up on the ledge-
Agent Washington.
“Washington,” Church growled. He was angry- yeah, really angry, really fucking goddamn angry, because Church didn’t give a fuck about Tucker but Tucker just died, right there, after risking his skin to get Church out of the Director’s labs. Tucker-
Caboose. Washington could’ve missed him on the way in. Church had to lead Wash away before he could kill Caboose, too.
why would he bother killing caboose or tucker, church, think
“Are you working for the Director again? Did he up your fucking pay enough for that? Figured you and him had- y’know, some issues to work out, but I guess it wasn’t anything a couple of zeroes at the end of your check couldn’t resolve.”
Washington calmly reloaded his weapon, sighted Church (OH FUCKING FUCK) and fired. Church turned; the bullet caught him in the shoulder. There was no sound of tearing flesh or cracking bone, but more like someone had just shot into a car engine and to Church’s immense shock, it hurt like a goddamn motherfucker-
He stumbled back against the wall, clutching his shoulder and sinking down. Shaking, again with the shaking, shaking so hard his armor was grating against the wall and fuck oh fucking fuck it hurt, it hurts so bad, why the fuck was Wash there, what did he want, Caboose don’t you fucking dare come out here and look-
“Church!”
Church could have screamed. In fact, he did. “No, you fucking moron! RUN!”
Washington turned and fired again; Church’s nightvision showed a spray of blood leaving Caboose’s lower back as he fell. He was pretty sure Caboose shouted something too, but it wasn’t his usual stupid bullshit and Church didn’t want to hear it- Washington shouldered the rifle, leaped down from the ledge and walked over to Caboose slowly, like it wasn’t a big fucking deal that he just shot three guys, two with whom he’d worked before. Cold, icy cold motherfucker.
Caboose tried to move. Half-turned on his side; made a sound like a dying dog (god fucking damn it-!). Tried to crawl.
Toward Church.
Church slumped back against the wall and he was shaking again, he couldn’t look away- Washington put a boot on Caboose’s helmet and pressed the muzzle against his visor- Caboose’s fingers scrabbled weakly at Washington’s foot, he croaked out something like “Agent Washington” but it sounded thick, bubbled, like he was saying it through a mouthful of blood-
no no no no no no no and he was chanting again,
and every bad feeling was creeping up again,
no god damn it no no please i know what this is
Washington fired.
___________
“That’s good enough for now, Alpha”
Church’s shoulder didn’t hurt. He wasn’t using night vision. He was staring up at a dark ceiling in a dark room lit only by the flickering monitors and the voice that just spoke to him wasn’t Washington’s.
no
nonono
“No fragments from that one, but I hadn’t really expected to harvest one anyhow. That was just a trial.” The Director turned from the monitor and smiled down at Church. “Using your memories to enrich the experience works very well, wouldn’t you agree son? I expect you’ll be getting rid of those early this time.”
Church began to shake.
--
Church jolted awake; not really awake, more like into awareness, since computer programs didn’t exactly sleep. He was still lying down on that metal slab, the same one he’d been laying on for-
Two years, one month, sixteen days, five hours and thirty-six minutes.
Wouldn’t have known that if he wasn’t an AI. Still getting used to that idea, two years later. Wait- not important. Someone had called him, called him Church, and he knew it wasn’t the Director. The Director only ever called him Alpha, so often that Church was beginning to think that really was his name and that “Church” was one he’d just pretended to have.
“What the fuck Church, we don’t have time for this bullshit! Get up already you jackass!”
That was Tucker’s voice. Church found he couldn’t see and rebooted his visuals (god, so used to treating bodily functions like a fucking toaster, really convenient but if he thought about it for too long he’d start screaming) until the room cleared. It was kind of dark, but there was light pouring in from the doorway. Above him, peering down at him-
Caboose and Tucker. No.
“Look! His head turned! I think he’s awake!” That was Caboose, the same annoying voice, that stupid childish deductive skill, fucking Caboose, why the hell was he there, why was Tucker there-
“Why-” Church’s voice simulated roughness. Had the Director made adjustments to his body during his last simulation session? It felt more...human. Like it responded to his emotions instead of working flawlessly. Why would he do something like that? To make the torture more real?
no fuck do not think about that oh fucking hell oh god tex and everybody
no no no no no no stop thinking about that
stop thinking about it you fucking idiot
“-why the hell are you guys here...?”
“To rescue you, Church!” Caboose again. Church noticed belatedly that Tucker had left his side, and pushed himself up on his elbows (he’s not restrained, what’s going on) to see the familiar figure over by the door, his back against the frame, gun up as he surveys the hallway. Like an actual soldier. It was a weird thing to see, but Tucker could be...competent sometimes.
I think I like this new badass all-knowing version of you, Tucker.
“We have to go.” Caboose had his hand on Church’s wrist.
Church gripped the side of the table. I know what this is. “I’m not fucking moving. Get out.”
Tucker balked from the door, his voice gaining that familiar high and squeaky quality it always did when he was indignant. “What?! Church, are you fucking insane? We broke into this place to get you out, you kind of have to move for that to work right.”
“This is another simulation.” Church gripped the table so hard the metal bent, and it sounded as if he was snarling through his teeth. Another feature. He hated it. “I go out that door and you two are gonna get your brains blown out.” He tipped his head back to shout at the ceiling. “You hear me, you sick fuck?! I know your game already! Kind of gives it away when you let me remember all the sims from before, since you did this one about five fucking times already!”
Caboose and Tucker exchanged a look, which was weird in that a) they were wearing helmets and couldn’t see each other’s eyes anyway and b) Caboose couldn’t exchange looks without clarification. He couldn’t even exchange words without clarification. Definitely a simulation.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Church laid back down stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest. “So get the fuck out.”
There was silence, then Tucker said from the doorway, “Caboose, grab him.”
Church started to raise himself up, alarmed. “What-”
That was when Caboose reached down, grabbed Church by the waist and hauled his entire metal body off of the slab and threw him over his shoulder. Wires that had been attached to the back of his skull snapped free, sparking, and Church scrabbled against Caboose’s armor for a hold, trying to shove him away. “What the fuck- Caboose! Put me down, god damn it! Caboose!”
Caboose didn’t listen, and as Tucker hurried through the door Caboose followed, slipping through sideways so that he and Church would fit. Church grabbed onto the doorway and held on, not caring that he looked ridiculous, like a little kid trying to get away from taking a bath, because he couldn’t go. Couldn’t leave the room. It would happen all over again, it would be fucking awful and there wasn’t anything he could do about it and he wasn’t going to see it again-
“No no no no no no no no no-” Church realized he was chanting, fingers scrabbling at the doorjamb, but it was electronic and smooth and there wasn’t much for him to hold onto. Caboose easily wrenched him free and continued down the hall, even when Church gripped the fusion pack on the back of his armor and dug his fingers in so hard the reinforced ceramic creaked. He thought his teeth were chattering, but he didn’t even know if he had them. His hands were definitely shaking. Everything was shaking, so hard that Caboose’s arm around his waist tightened to keep him from falling, and Church felt both like an idiot and an animal in a trap at the same time. Any second now someone would come and put a bullet through the back of Caboose’s head or shoot Tucker full of holes, because this had happened before and Church could only watch and he hates these guys but he just can’t see it again-
“Put me down!” he screamed and tried to dig a knee into Caboose’s gut, tried to get it between them so he could shove himself off. God damn it, why was Caboose so strong anyway-?! “Let me go! Fucking hell Caboose, the one time you don’t listen to me shouldn’t be now!”
Tucker was before them at point, but Church couldn’t see so much as hear him stop and call back to Caboose. “Wait there, Caboose! Don’t put Church down either. I’m gonna check this out.” There was a scrape of armor against a metal wall, then nothing, and Caboose and Church were left in the silence.
Church heard his teeth chattering then and concluded that it wasn’t a preprogrammed sensation. He actually had teeth. He had a face beneath his helmet.
Two years and he didn’t even know that.
No, this is a simulation, I just think I have a face.
“Caboose,” he said, but his voice was still shaking and what the fuck, he never sounded this pathetic, he was being carted around like a fucking girl, it was embarrassing but even more than that Church just wanted them to go, to get out, for fuck’s sake I don’t even like you people, stop dying for me-
“Caboose,” he tried again, “put me the fuck down. Right now. You don’t get it, as usual, this is just a simulation and you guys aren’t real. I’m not fucking doing this. Put me down.”
Caboose said nothing, just edged forward a couple steps toward the intersection where Tucker had disappeared and tightened his hold on Church enough so that if Church had been flesh and bone it would have been very difficult to breathe.
“Caboose-!”
“Caboose, get back!” Tucker’s warning overlapped Church’s, and he came scrambling back with the sound of gunfire following him. He made it around the corner and bullets pockmarked the wall across from him, his back against the metal as he reloaded his weapon. “Fuck! Okay Caboose, put him down, I need you over here.”
“But he’ll run away,” Caboose protested, half-drowned out by the rat-a-tat-tat of automatic weapons fire.
“Then we’ll catch him and bring him back but we’re gonna die if you don’t get the fuck over here! Move!”
Caboose hesitated for just a moment, then dropped his shoulder and in a swift movement Church hadn’t even known Caboose could do, set Church upright on his feet. But, instead of hurrying to Tucker’s side, he shoved Church back against the wall and slapped his hands on either side of Church’s helmet to hold his head in place.
Church’s hands snapped up to grip Caboose’s wrists, both startled and feeling the need to just bolt like a rabbit, because he wasn’t watching this again, was not, oh fuck I’m seriously damaged in the head already, oh fuck oh fuck never been so scared in my life- “Caboose, what-”
“Please don’t run.” Caboose didn’t move; he couldn’t see Church’s eyes, Church couldn’t see his, but it felt like there was eye contact going on in the air between their visors. He gripped Church’s helmet steadily with hands that didn’t shake, contrasting Church’s which trembled like he had cerebral palsy, and he just couldn’t make them stop. “Don’t run away.” Caboose’s voice didn’t have that tone of dementia it usually did, like he didn’t know where he was or what was going on. He sounded more like that inner Caboose that was a little deluded but more aware than his outward self ever was. He sounded-
real
“Don’t run away.” Caboose shook Church a bit. “It took a really long time to find you. I’m too tired to do it again.”
Church stared.
Caboose let him go, unslung the assault rifle from his back and ran to Tucker’s side with thudding bootfalls. Church didn’t watch him go, only heard Tucker’s voice as it faintly issued orders to Caboose (and then clarified, when did Tucker get so good at handling Caboose? Oh god it really had been two years since he’d seen these guys) and the sound of gunfire.
get a grip, church. stop being so fucking weak.
That little voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Tex, Church noted faintly. He gripped his helmet for one, two, three seconds. Time ticked away and Church counted the number of times bullets impacted on the wall effortlessly, as effortlessly as breathing used to be (you’ve never breathed in your life, Alpha). Two hundred and sixty five-six-seveneight-
Church pushed off of the wall and ran down to where Tucker was shouting at Caboose that “suppressing fire” wasn’t a crime, it was a legitimate military strategy, and shoved them both aside to step right into the spray of bullets-
Only they weren’t firing anymore. And Church knew they wouldn’t be firing, because he’d counted the bullets and calculated the volume of their SMGs and the intervals in which they’d need to reload before stepping out. Don’t know my own potential, do I? Fuck you Wash.
“Church-” Tucker made a grab for his arm but Church just clicked on the megaphone feature of his suit -still so cool- and called down the hallway.
“Hey, I’m the Alpha! I bet the big bossman would get real fuckin’ pissed if you dented his favorite toy, wouldn’t he?” Church waited for the sound of a magazine sliding home, but knew he wouldn’t hear it. They wouldn’t dare; if this was real, they wouldn’t dare do something like that. A simulation sure, whatever, it wasn’t like it would actually kill him. If it was real-
it really is real
oh god
i can go home i don’t have to do this anymore i don’t have to do it anymore
“Yeah assholes, so come out with your hands up!” There was a loud click just behind him and suddenly Tucker had a gun to the back of Church’s head and an arm around his neck. Church almost reared back and elbowed Tucker in the face until Tucker opened what he assumed was a private channel between the two of them (hopefully the three of them, since Caboose had just made a sound like he was about to tackle Tucker to the ground). [ Don’t freak out. I’ve got an idea. ]
Church snorted over the frequency, even as the guards shuffled around the corner, laying their weapons on the floor and kicking them away at Tucker’s instruction. [ You’ve got an idea. Stop the fucking presses, Tucker’s got an idea and it involves putting a fucking gun to my head. ]
[ TUCKER IS NOT YOUR BEST FRIEND CHURCH BECAUSE I WOULD NOT EVER PUT A GUN TO YOUR HEAD- ]
[ Caboose don’t even fucking start man, do you hear me? Are you listening? Don’t even start. I can’t think of a time when you didn’t have a gun aimed at me. ]
[ Oh my god both of you shut the fuck up! Look, I’m gonna bluff. Play along. ] Tucker cinched his arm around Church’s neck and nudged him forward. “Trust me, this guy would rather be dead than here. You so much as twitch funny and I’ll make that a reality, okay? You follow?”
Church had to admit that it was a good bluff. ...a very good bluff. So good that Tucker might actually do it, not that he’d object. He really would rather be dead than back in the Director’s clutches, so whatever kept him out -even if it was, y’know, real death- was fine by him. “He’ll do it, too. I’m kind of a dick.”
“He really is.”
“NO HE’S NOT HE’S JUST VERY SHY!”
“Shut up Caboose,” Tucker and Church snapped in tandem. As a group -feeling stupid and ridiculous but at the same time Church felt like he was going to cry because he really was getting the fuck out of this hell- they shuffled past the guards, Tucker with a Magnum pointed at Church’s temple, Caboose with his assault rifle pointed vaguely in the guards’ direction and Church just trying not to shake, but he’d been shaking since they left that room.
please
please please pleasepleasepleaseplease
They made it. They actually made it to the garage, the Director’s private motor pool, they were getting into a Warthog (seriously though, looked like a puma) and they were driving away. Caboose behind the wheel, Tucker on the turret and Church in the passenger seat, holding the pistol Tucker had to his head and clutching it tightly so that his fingers wouldn’t tremble. He was out. It really was real, he’d made it out and they weren’t dead.
Six hours of driving (Caboose and Tucker bickering along the way, Church occasionally joining in because it was all so familiar and normal and it sounded like home and fuck yes, fuck yes go Blue Team!) led them to a temporary rest stop; funnily enough, the location to which Church had been reassigned after the events in Blood Gulch. They went through the hole in the very secure wall (because there was nobody inside to open the fucking gate) and Church looked around, still in shock. He was out. He really was.
“...hey.”
Tucker looked up; he’d been rifling through one of the packs they’d brought along for some rations. When Church didn’t elaborate he made an annoyed sound and dumped the pack out onto the ground, picking through the rations for his favorite: ‘the only MRE in the world that doesn’t taste like dog shit’ according to Tucker. “What? Spit it out. Bow chicka bow wow.”
“Shut up Tucker, Jesus. That wasn’t even a good one.” Church paced over to a slab of concrete and sat down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It was still a little hard to believe that he wasn’t in another simulation; all of those had felt so real too, but this one was longer and Tucker and Caboose were- well, more annoying and bigger fuckups than usual. Like back home. “...this is real, right?”
“Uh, yeah it’s real. I’m not playing pretend over here.” Tucker unwrapped the MRE before reaching back for the clasps on his helmet. “You’re just lucky we bothered coming out here at all! I mean, if you were a hot chick I’d have gotten here a hell of a lot sooner, but you’re just an asshole. It’s practically a waste of time.”
“Yeah.” Church bowed his head thoughtfully.
“...just ‘yeah’?” Tucker flicked one of the clasps on his helmet. “You’ve been acting really creepy this whole time, Church. You’re kind of fucked up now, aren’t you?”
“Yes. He is.” That was all the warning Church received before a gunshot rang out (loud, a sharp crack, SRS99C-S2 AM oh god no) and Tucker jerked forward, slumping to the side. Church jumped up, stumbled to his side (tripped over a rock, fuck fuck fuck) and turned him over; there was a neat little bullet hole right where Tucker’s temple would’ve been. Tucker didn’t move.
He was dead.
Church drew away from Tucker’s body, backed away (tripped again god damn it) until he was up against a wall. Does this rust bucket have night visi- yes, it does, and Church filtered his visual information. Up on the ledge-
Agent Washington.
“Washington,” Church growled. He was angry- yeah, really angry, really fucking goddamn angry, because Church didn’t give a fuck about Tucker but Tucker just died, right there, after risking his skin to get Church out of the Director’s labs. Tucker-
Caboose. Washington could’ve missed him on the way in. Church had to lead Wash away before he could kill Caboose, too.
why would he bother killing caboose or tucker, church, think
“Are you working for the Director again? Did he up your fucking pay enough for that? Figured you and him had- y’know, some issues to work out, but I guess it wasn’t anything a couple of zeroes at the end of your check couldn’t resolve.”
Washington calmly reloaded his weapon, sighted Church (OH FUCKING FUCK) and fired. Church turned; the bullet caught him in the shoulder. There was no sound of tearing flesh or cracking bone, but more like someone had just shot into a car engine and to Church’s immense shock, it hurt like a goddamn motherfucker-
He stumbled back against the wall, clutching his shoulder and sinking down. Shaking, again with the shaking, shaking so hard his armor was grating against the wall and fuck oh fucking fuck it hurt, it hurts so bad, why the fuck was Wash there, what did he want, Caboose don’t you fucking dare come out here and look-
“Church!”
Church could have screamed. In fact, he did. “No, you fucking moron! RUN!”
Washington turned and fired again; Church’s nightvision showed a spray of blood leaving Caboose’s lower back as he fell. He was pretty sure Caboose shouted something too, but it wasn’t his usual stupid bullshit and Church didn’t want to hear it- Washington shouldered the rifle, leaped down from the ledge and walked over to Caboose slowly, like it wasn’t a big fucking deal that he just shot three guys, two with whom he’d worked before. Cold, icy cold motherfucker.
Caboose tried to move. Half-turned on his side; made a sound like a dying dog (god fucking damn it-!). Tried to crawl.
Toward Church.
Church slumped back against the wall and he was shaking again, he couldn’t look away- Washington put a boot on Caboose’s helmet and pressed the muzzle against his visor- Caboose’s fingers scrabbled weakly at Washington’s foot, he croaked out something like “Agent Washington” but it sounded thick, bubbled, like he was saying it through a mouthful of blood-
no no no no no no no and he was chanting again,
and every bad feeling was creeping up again,
no god damn it no no please i know what this is
Washington fired.
___________
“That’s good enough for now, Alpha”
Church’s shoulder didn’t hurt. He wasn’t using night vision. He was staring up at a dark ceiling in a dark room lit only by the flickering monitors and the voice that just spoke to him wasn’t Washington’s.
no
nonono
“No fragments from that one, but I hadn’t really expected to harvest one anyhow. That was just a trial.” The Director turned from the monitor and smiled down at Church. “Using your memories to enrich the experience works very well, wouldn’t you agree son? I expect you’ll be getting rid of those early this time.”
Church began to shake.
--