OPEN POST

[goddamngrenades]

Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything.
PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, ETC,
Full starter or pic prompt, drop it like it's hot
Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with
Tag and go!

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[notyourrookie]

He fills his plate anyway and grins at the hologram. "Wow, delusions of grandeur there."

[goddamngrenades]

"Hey, wait till we get in the training sim." He is so damn awesome, Wash doesn't even know.

[notyourrookie]

"Yeah just... just don't distract me, okay?" He'd seen the issues some of the others had had with their integrations.

[goddamngrenades]

"I'm here to help improve performance, not the opposite." Who sounds a little pouty? This guy. This guy sounds pouty.

[notyourrookie]

"Yeah, but some of the others have talked about having AIs." And how it could be confusing at first.

[goddamngrenades]

"Well other AI's ain't me. We're gonna be just fine Wash. Trust me. I got your back on this." They're gonna kick all kinds of ass and the Director will have to bump Wash up some.

[notyourrookie]

"Alright," Wash agrees with a little nod. "We'll see how it goes."

[goddamngrenades]

When breakfast is done (The eggs do tasty funny) and their gym time is over (15% improvement across the board) the call does come for them to head down to the training floor and run through a few tests.

"You ready?"

[notyourrookie]

"Yeah. I think so," Wash says, although he feels sick with nerves. The Director unnerves him a lot. He always seems to be calculating, and the Counsellor just gives him the creeps.

[goddamngrenades]

"Here we go." He can't do much aside from ride along above Wash's shoulder as they head to the training floor, calculations running in the back of his head as to what kind of sim they'll be up against.

[notyourrookie]

He can't help the nerves. It's a big deal. Not like he's got anywhere else to go, and if he fails...

They step out into the training room, and Wash glances up at the viewing area. The Director is there, watching, but so are the others. They're all there, watching. He hates to think the worst of them, but the competition can get so fierce sometimes.

[goddamngrenades]

"We got this." York blinks from visible hologram to a bright, sunny hum in the neural lace. "Trust me, we're gonna kick all kinds of ass. You do your thing, I'll back you up."

[beforeblue]

He shivers at the change, the sudden all pervasive buzz in his mind. It's sort of itchy but not quite and he doesn't have a better way of explaining it. He checks his weapons, no sense being sloppy now and then heads into the centre of the floor. He barely hears when FILSS speaks, too wired and ready for anything.

[goddamngrenades]

""Targets, stationary and moving. Mid range- this is where you kick ass. Come on Wash, get your war face on." T minus ten before the sim starts and York is buzzing through the lace, lighting up everything he can to an acute awareness. Honing Wash's focus to a point.

[notyourrookie]

He feels a pulse of adrenaline surge through him as he finishes his final checks, and changes his stance unthinkingly, York's prompting making him a little looser, a little lighter feeling. And then the first target appears. Everything narrows down and sharpens and he's let off a shot before he even realises he's aimed.

[goddamngrenades]

"On your six-" Wired in like this they communicate at the speed of thought- the rest of the world slowing to a crawl for York as he calculates reaction times, target trajectory, recoil adjustment, and feeds the relevant data to Wash's HUD. Where to shoot, what's coming next, prioritizing targets. Giving him information and letting the kid's instinct take care of the rest.

[notyourrookie]

The warning comes and he's spinning almost at the same moment, fires, and he's already planning for the next shot, rolling away from a shot towards him and taking out the target without a second of hesitation.

[goddamngrenades]

"On your nine, 36 degrees up-" and so on. Shot for shot, target for target. York feeds Wash data and Wash? Kicks ASS. "Find cover, you're gonna need to reload in t-three shots- or engage in hand to hand."

Both options workable, it's up to Wash to decide.

[notyourrookie]

He takes the shot, focus narrowing to a point he hadn't even believed was possible. It's like his body just knows what to do, without even a split-second of hesitation.

He fires one more shot and then throws himself behind one of the pillars. He fumbles for ammo to reload with, adrenaline coursing through him.

"Where next?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Moving target coming in low on your right in t-minus three." Skimming the ground kinda low but that? Apparently is something they have to worry about now.

[notyourrookie]

He doesn't answer, but rolls out of the way and fires at the incoming target, taking it out and he's already moving again before he really registers it. This is incredible! He's never felt more in touch with everything.

[goddamngrenades]

"Two targets to your six- mark." Lights painted on the HUD, waiting for Wash to take them out.

[notyourrookie]

He spins as soon as the information from York hits, falling into a crouch and raising the rifle to fire. The information comes up on the HUD more clearly than it ever has. He feels like he can do anything.

[goddamngrenades]

"Two more, live rounds, electric motors. Keep your cover and use your EMP on my mark-" Numbers running in the back of York's head, a low buzz that keeps them both moving forward from point to point- he paints out the exact moment in glittering gold lights on Wash's hud from one point of cover to the next. "Now!"

[notyourrookie]

The EMP is mostly untested, but the opportunity to use it is one he's not going to pass up. He's grateful for York's countdown, and when the time comes, he slams the button. The EMP explodes outwards, sending him back a few feet from the force of it. But the rounds fall, sparking faintly.