goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

Step one: Get Delta access to that terminal. Step two: Get a map.

Step three: Make a distraction. Step four: get to that meta suit and steal the FUCK out of it.

Step five: collect wash. Step Six: Blow this place to kingdom come.

Liklihood of managing? Slim to none.

SLim's better than none.

The terminal was not that difficult to get into, not for Delta, and once he was in, the system opened up like a slower in the sun. The Trophy Room was, of course in the most heavily guarded part of the compound, locked down heavily and with the best security. It would take a lot of getting into. It might even be worse after his attempted escape with Wash, but when was he going to get another chance at it?

Wash slept heavily, not even stirring when York moved. The brainwashing was exhausting. No wonder he was so tired.

Options. He has a few. None of them leave him all that happy but- It's now or never and he can't sit here and watch them keep doing this to Wash and Carolina. He can't. It'd be like putting them in the chair himself and-

He can't.

The undersuits work with the camo unit- sometimes. Rigging it up and borrowing Wash's helmet so his head wouldn't be bobbling along without a body took a little.

It's not perfect but it'll hold up.

Time to head to the trophy room.

Carolina had left the door unlocked like she'd promised, and perhaps that was as much of a cry for help as anything, because surely she wouldn't have expected York to stay quietly with Wash and then lock himself back into his room later. When had he ever been that obedient? There were no guards outside at least, but beyond the bunks, the hallways filled with mercenaries and a few Charon soldiers.

There were more guards outside the Trophy Room, fully armed and armoured and intent on their duty. Holographic lock to protect what was inside. It wouldn't be easy to get in.

D, that distraction?

There's a blip- somewhere in the system. An alarm triggered on the far end of the complex, some weirdness with the wiring that makes it look like he's taken out some cameras and sensors with a knife before attempting to run for it. Not so much as to get everyone locking everything down, but enough to distract them till he can take a gun, put the guards in front down hard-

took some creative shooting, god bless Delta and the helmet and the general confusion- then it's just him, a holographic lock, and a timer winding down far too quick for his peace of mind.

Count it off.

The lock spreads out before him like an opening magnolia, all glowing lines and curls of light that make up the lock. The countdown runs inexorably downwards, faster than anyone would like. And then there's footsteps heading towards him, the sound of a gun being cocked and...

A shot, but not at him. A guard falls, and Carolina's camo fades away.

"I can't help you," she says, something strained in her voice. "But I'll buy you time."

"...Thirty seconds." Less, but- easier to give her a benchmark. It's just a holographic lock. It's just everything they all need to make this work. To save them. to save everyone- A moment to breathe and count down from five. Seconds he doesn't have but it helps him focus. Makes the whirls and swirls something he can pierce together. Something he an unravel.

It gives. It gives and he doesn't look back, doesn't thank her- he can't make her look complicit in this. Into the room and there's no armor case. Not yet. Delta gets on scanning and sorting and calculations, one thumb on the pulse of the base still.

"Where in the hell-"

She gives a sharp nod and slips back into the shadows, watching his back as he works through the lock. She wants to do more, wants to kick the door down, break it open for him, leads the guards away herself. But there's that hum in the back of her mind, more noticable now that it's been made so obviously wrong by his presence, that won't let her. She should be grateful, she should be loyal, she should complete her mission.

And when the lock is done, open, she dashes off, hoping that she can hold out long enough to buy him time.

The trophy room is dimly lit, raised plinths and alcoves with spotlights providing the only real illumination. And many of the things in them, put on display, York would recognise. Tex's helmet, the visor fractured. Maine brute shot hung up like something in a hunting lodge. Armour, the purple of it scuffed and scratched. A morbid, obsessive collection of things that had once been his life.

He doesn't have time. He does NOT have time to feel sickened and grieved, doesn't have time to stare at the scraps of his family. Of his friends. Of the tomb made into a fucking trophy room for a man's twisted dreams.

Delta finds that one bit of code that brings up the armor and-

It is and isn't Maine. It is and isn't the thing that tore them apart and ripped Maine's mind to shreds. Wearing it would be-

He doesn't think about it. Pops the camo unit out, tucks it into Wash's Helmet, and suits up. Plugs Delta in and he's only one fragment. He'll have to take it easy. But they should be able to do this. They should.

THe Bruteshot is as good a weapon as any- he pulls it off the wall and loads it up with ammo stowed in the same case the armor came from. Grab Wash. Get him out. Get CAROLINA out. Blow the fuck out of that chair room. Okay.

Nothing seems amiss with the suit at first. It fits easily, as though it were made for him. Far better made than the armour that he'd been wearing since his own from Freelancer was destroyed. The Bruteshot fitted his hand perfectly, the suit compensating for the weight and balance of the alien weapon.

The engineering to make it work, to fit it with the enhancements was quite incredible. No wonder the Chairman had wanted to use only a trained Freelancer as the subject. A trained and obedient Freelancer. What had Carolina said? A berserker. A weapon that could be aimed and let loose.

And in the back of it, humming in the programming, something whispered.

It wouldn't fit Wash- Wash would be too short. Carolina not quite broad enough. This was meant for him, wasn't it? Maybe his being found hadn't been such a coincidence. Maybe he should fall in line- every mistake they'd ever made pinned up on the wall. That's what happens when they don't have someone on point. Someone to guide- It'd be easier-

No.

Not with the chair. Not with the way it twisted up David and Clair.

Originally he meant to sneak back out. Collect Wash. Find Carolina. Get them out.

Now?

He kicks down the door and starts firing. The fewer hands on deck Charon has? The safer they'll be. Tired of killing as he is- in the long run? It's for the better.

Whatever Charon's soldiers had been anticipating, it hadn't been this. The armour wasn't supposed to be operational. It certainly wasn't supposed to be used against them. This was their weapon being used against them.

And a weapon didn't care whose blood it spilled.

They fall like puppets with cut strings and the armour almost felt pleased, seemed to enjoy it. It was ridiculous. It was armour, inanimate. But it was built for war and York was giving it its first real taste of that.

It was just. They were going to destroy Chorus- kill Kimball and Doyle and everyone. They helped make Carolina and Wash what they were- helped put them in that chair. For that? They deserve to be mown down. Even Delta's a little more vicious than probably is wise- who knows what else he found in their systems.

It doesn't matter.

The suit's pleased- York's pleased. It's better than anything he'd ever had. THe ride was smoother, the strikes faster, the force greater. If this is what Maine felt when collecting the AI he's surprised anyone was able to stop him.

Just as no one is able to stop York on his way to Wash's room. He hauls the door open and peers inside, Brute shot slung across his back.

"Wash."

Delta is wrapped deeply in the suit's programming by now, fuelling it, being fuelled by it. And it links into Charon's systems too, so many files, so many secret buried things, the details of what they'd done to find Carolina and bring her on board, of what they'd done to get Wash out of Freelancer and ensure his loyalty. It's all there, it's all there and why shouldn't he be vicious when they were torn apart and broken down and locked up?!

The alarm had woken Wash when it went off. An attack. He was still fuzzy-headed, feeling sick, his mind still processing the programming that had been forced into him. But he pulled on his armour and... his helmet was gone. York was gone and...

The call from the door has him raising his sidearm and staring, wide-eyed. "Maine..." No, Maine was dead. He'd been killed, and he hadn't been him for a lot longer than that. This is...

"York." He keeps his gun aimed.

The helmet he's missing gets tossed on the bed. "Suit up. We're leaving."

This is better than having to carry him out. Gives him another set of eyes, another set of hands for the work he does. A spotter while he sets a bomb. Finding Carolina will take a little time but- He'll get them out of here.

They're all that's left. Like hell Charon gets to use them like this. No one does. "C'mon."

Wash glances towards his helmet, the camo unit still inside it, and then looks back at York. Hasn't dropped his aim any. Can't. York is breaking out. York is- York is breaking everything and he- he can't-

He thinks that this is what short-circuiting must feel like. It has echoes in it, Alpha fracturing himself to stay sane.

"I can't," he says quietly. A strangled noise. He wants to, he wants to go, but he needs to stop York, a compulsion, even as his hands clench at his sides. It's buzzing in his head and he fights for control, fights to stop. Can't shoot. He won't do it, he won't. Slowly, painfully slowly, lowers the gun and turns away.

"It'll be safer if I'm not with you. You can get out."

"The mission has changed." Why isn't Wash falling in? This is more than just a suite for a berserker. It's a suit for a commander. First into the fray. There's a Frey they should be getting to and Wash is dragging his heels. They don't have time for it.

Delta could make sense of it. Delta could explain in code and shades of green just how to work with this, to break it-

But he doesn't need or want Wash broken. Working around it will have to do. He steps into the room, stalks over and grabs him- gently, so gently- by the back of the neck. A firm hand to scruff him- to steady him. "We're collecting Carolina and moving out. This base has been compromised."

They're the ones that compromised it but- details. "We're falling back to a more secure location."

He tilts his head, glances back at York in the suit, and something prickles against the back of his mind in lines of command codes that hadn't been activated before. "I'm supposed to... to stop you... to be obedient..." It's hard to speak, hard to get the words out when he feels so off-balance, need and desire warring in his skull.

York has him before he can even move, a firm hand grasping the back of his neck, cool metal pressing hard enough to work as a warning, even if not enough to hurt. He goes still and tense at the touch, York's palm covering the AI port. Orders. He can work with orders. And from this suit. There's something in it that slides into place so easily. He doesn't know if York is working for Charon. Had they got hold of him? But right now it doesn't matter.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Helmet." He looses the grip he's got on Wash's neck and nods to the bed. Suit up. Move out. Much as he'd like to check in, to make sure Wash is still wash- they need to move. They don't have all that much time- even now there's the sound of boots in the hall coming round, trying to hunt them.

York braces himself in the door and unslings the BruteShot from his back Waits for them to come around before firing. It's not Carolina- he isnt' worried about that.

She'd never let them hear her coming. "We're heading to the armory. Get ready to move out."

He gives a sharp nod as soon as he's released, and reaches for his helmet. He slides it on and it feels right. It links straight to York's suit without him even trying, and shuts out any other signals except York's. There's a touch of green to it, Delta linking them together.

He arms himself quickly, although he's not got much more than a sidearm and his set of knives, and steps up to York's back.

"Yes sir. I'm ready."

Hall cleared He motions for Wash to follow, taking the quickest route to the armory. To load up and take what they could back to Armonia. Trying to get a ping through to Carolina on his end isn't quite going through just yet- "Wash. Contact Carolina. Tell her where to meet us."

In the meantime he keeps mowing down the Guards and Charon forces as they come into view. Like a glacier he is slow but inevitable in his march to the armory.

Somehow this is soothing. It's easy to slip away, fall back into the right mentality. All he has to do is follow his orders and everything will be alright. He sends the message to Carolina as soon as he acknowledges it, and receives a ping back quickly.

She'll meet us there sir.

Should be weird calling York that. He'd always been York. But it feels right.

The time with the rookies makes hearing 'sir' normal. The fact that he's currently got the best equipment, the best plan, the best AI (delta has a warm little pulse of pride at that), makes SENSE that he's sir. That he's in charge. They need guidance.

Look how lost they'd gotten without him?

"Load up. When Carolina gets here, have her do the same. Find transport with the most storage space and fill up. Wait for me." He'll be busy rigging a bomb somewhere. "Then we move out."

The orders don't leave any room for questions, no space for failure. It's easy. It's straightforward, and with the conditioning still settling in his head, it's exactly what he needs. A firm hand. A leader. He needs guidance.

"Yes sir he begins, and then, what if... What if he doesn't come? But looking at him, the armour, how could he not return? The thought is impossible.

Finding the explosives they'd need didn't take long. Delta points him in the direction he needs to go, and he goes. Oddly enough- the best place? The same room with that goddamn chair. Maybe it's not the BEST place but it's got some kind of vicious beauty to it- so that's where he heads next. Leaves a bloody path along the way. Rigs the explosives, rigs the timer- and works his way back. It'll be cutting it a bit short but- they'll have a ship fast enough. Tech and files enough to give them an edge against future Charon fuckery.

Playing the hero, getting the girl. And the boy.

Even if he's coating his brand new armor in blood to do it.

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance) META YORK