goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

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.

The pelican is loaded up with as much tech as they can fit into it by the time York arrives in the hangar. Weapons and ammo and some of the alien tech that works. There's more piled up close by as much as Wash and Carolina could drag into a small enough space, and in his hand, there's a glowing cube. He tosses it from hand to hand, waiting.

Wash just stares for a moment when York comes through the doors. The armour is no longer white, but splattered liberally with blood. He looks like a demon, Wash thinks. It's perfect.

"Carolina's up front," he says when York arrives, jerking his head towards the cockpit. "Dunno if you want to take over." He might, might not trust them. Wash isn't sure that he trusts himself right now.

He leans out of the back and hurls the cube towards the stack of extra weapons and armour and ammo, the stuff that wouldn't fit on the ship. There's a flash and it vanishes.

"Good work." It's not enough in the long run, what they'll be taking- but it'll have to be. The pile would help a hell of a lot but apparently? They're taking that too.

Weird ass cubes do weird ass shit. Huh. Delta runs the numbers as he hooks the Bruteshot onto his back, clasping the nape of Wash's neck in his hand as soon as he's close. "Seriously. Good Job, soldier." Positive reinforcement is vital, here. If he's gonna build anything out of what's been done to them.

Inside and he heads up front, not to take over, but to check. "We good?"

Knowing York had broken into the room and seeing him in the armor are two different things. There's an instinctual stillness that drops over Carolina- more damning than a flinch. Then York's hand comes down on the nape of her neck and she's wired tight, ready for pain and-

"Thank you. We gotta move out, not much time before the base blows. Take us out, Carolina." Instructions? The hand squeezes, gentle, a reminder- not a rebuke- and...she snaps back into focus to getting them out.

He's wearing a helmet so he can't grin, but the tilt of his helmet is enough to help him get the message across. "Alien tech," he says. "Can retrieve it later on."

His breath hitches when York clasps the back of his neck and then he relaxes, shoulders loosening with the praise. It feels good. "Thanks." And it's gratitude for a lot more than just that.

He's got the cargo bay door closed by the time they start moving, shut down tight, and he's strapping himself into the back of the pelican. Not a whole lot he can do now until they're out of here.

York radios ahead- because of course he has to. Otherwise they'll get shot out of the sky and all of this will have been for nothing. It's about mid call with Kimball- she's got her reservations and he really doesn't blame her, that the base goes up. Crackling fire and thunderous noise. Answering her question about what he did and what they're bringing is...fun. She's still pissed.

Doyle's still pissed.

But he has to keep them from hurting his people. He can't let anyone else use them like that.

By the time they're drifting down close to Armonia he peels off the helmet to scrub at his good eye. Peer across at Wash. "You hold'n up alright?"

The base goes up in flakes and part of him wants to cry. There's no coming back from this. How could he even hope to? Every rule. Every instruction. It's all gone.

He drags his helmet off when York talks, runs his hands through his hair, digs nails into the back of his neck. "We blew it up. We destroyed it. The boss is gonna... he'll be so disappointed." Not angry. He was never angry. Disappointment. It was always like that. He would regretfully have to lock him up again, until he remembered his place, remembered what was good for him.

"I dunno. I think we gave him a pretty good view of what we can do. Just not in the way he might've liked. In that we're successful. Besides." He reaches across, gently laying his hand over Wash's. Squeezes, tries to pry the nails out of his skin. No more of that. No more pain when they haven't done anything to earn it. "I'm the boss. And I say you did a damn good job. Both of you. It wasn't easy- it wasn't pleasant and you both pulled through for me."

A nudge from Delta has him adding one last little bit. "I'm proud."

He slumps at the touch, reluctantly lets York pulls his hand away from his neck. They're going back to the rebel camp except he's a lot less whole than he had been last time. He doubts he could muster even a fraction of the control that he would need to be the merc again. Not now.

He tilts his head, gives York a slightly confused look when he says that, a frown between his eyebrows. Feels a little off. Something has shifted and he's not sure what it is, but it leaves him unsteady. Maybe it's... everything. Being proud though, that gets a small smile from Wash. "Finally did the right thing. Shouldn't have taken this long."

"Didn't have much opportunity to do the right thing till now." He gives Wash's hand a squeeze, leaning in to butt their foreheads together for a moment. Safe. Well. Safer. He got them out. He got it DONE.

This armor's better than he'd feared it might be. And without side effects! That's a bonus.

A brief moment of affection is all he lets himself have before he pulls away and unstraps himself to check in with Carolina. Give her much the same talk- she had it worse. SHe never got a chance to slip out and be herself- or shades of herself, with anyone else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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