Chapter Four
Beep… beep… beep… BANG!
Keeping one eye trained on the heart-rate monitor’s readout on her HUD, Louisiana squeezed the trigger of her DMR in the space after one blip just before it rushed into the next, and watched with grim satisfaction as the Kig-Yar was thrown to the ground in a cloud of purple mist, half his face blown off.
“Yeah!” She exclaimed, holding a fist out without taking her eyes off her next target. “Headshot!”
Her grin broadened when she felt York’s knuckles bump against her own. Her eyes darted to the left and she saw him leaning against the chest-level wall she used as cover, firing his assault rifle at the few infantry-Covies remaining on the ground (read: alive) after the last dropship had left.
It took a commendable amount of self-restraint for Louisiana not to flinch when he fired and, consequently, her bullet pinged harmlessly off the Jackal’s energy shield.
The Freelancer took two more shots in quick succession, desperately trying to make up for the lapse, but those were deflected as well. On her fourth attempt, Louisiana’s rifled clicked and refused to cooperate.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I’m out!”
York cast a glance over to the young soldier and nodded his head vaguely behind them, where there was another one-room building, similar to the one that housed the entrance below-ground, some forty-five feet away and fifteen feet down. “You should fill up at the weapons cache; there are only a few stragglers left, and we can handle those without you. After that, it should be a few minutes before the next Phantom comes on down.”
Louisiana wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with that and raised her eyes upwards, searching. “What about our friend?” It took a moment, but she found the Banshee soaring high above them, taking a break before it made another go at the Freelancers.
The man in tan armor pointed to the mouth of the canyon, where Oregon stood in the shadows, tracking the purple do with his sniper rifle. The radio crackled and she heard the Hispanic agent’s voice low in her ear. “Don’t worry, chiquita, I’ve got it covered.”
Louisiana wasn’t so sure.
Now that she knew the Covenant was here to look for something—that they weren’t just patrolling—the silver Freelancer recognized that this venture was… well, less of a good idea than she’d thought. Still fun, of course; she should have grabbed a rocket launcher, though, for sure. Then, at least, she could get rid of that fucking Banshee circling them like a damned vulture.
When Louisiana didn’t immediately reply and merely worried the flesh of her bottom lip between her teeth, she heard the rush of static over the radio that signified Oregon’s sigh. A moment later, three shots rang out across the canyon and the Banshee exploded high above them.
“Showoff,” the silver Freelancer huffed good-naturedly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest, casually watching the remaining Grunts on the ground scramble for cover from York’s onslaught. She knew that Carolina and Missi were outside the canyon, making sure none of the Covies left it alive if she and York couldn’t keep them in check.
It had been a pleasant surprise for Louisiana, when she and Oregon emerged from belowground, to find that Carolina-and-Co. had taken control of the main structure in the center of the canyon. With the main platform fifteen or twenty feet above the ground, and the narrow ramps lengthwise on either side of the monolith that only allowed for single-file approach, tapering off into a nice little choke-point, it was easily the most defensible position.
The platform was wrapped around a thick, skyward-pointing double-prong of Forerunner metal that extended hundreds of feet into the air. (Oregon had called it a transmitter, but it looked suspiciously like some kind of firing mechanism to Louisiana, resembling how she thought a stripped-down MAC-gun might look.)
Arranged in a 40x100 ft. rectangle, with the 20x60xhowever-many-hundreds ft. transmitter at its center, the platform offered a 360-degree view from their little piece of (evidently) prime real estate.
“Top of the line, armor-piercing rounds,” Oregon responded over the radio, his voice appropriately smug. It paid, Louisiana supposed, to be in an experimental military program, as it granted you access to all the exciting new toys before the rest of the class. Pfft, like cop-killers…
“How long, exactly, have you been able to get rid of that flying, purple menace?” Louisiana said sharply to her burnt-orange teammate.
She could hear Oregon eject the spent clip from his sniper-rifle and replace it with a full magazine over the radio, before he deigned to answer. “I wanted to get some footage of Banshee flight patterns and capabilities. I heard Missouri bitching about not having anything reliable for analysis—I think the Mother of Invention should brace itself for another one of his ‘experiments’ after I hand it over.”
Louisiana harrumphed quietly—she wasn’t exactly at a point where she hated Missouri, he was quite entertaining and delightfully insubordinate, but things were rather strained between herself and the green agent—and tersely informed her companions that she was going to resupply at the ammo-boxes.
The silver Freelancer made an aborted move to step off the platform where the man-cannon dropped off its passengers (planning to use a short burst from her jet-pack to keep from splatting), but instead jogged to the other end when she saw red dots heading their way on the motion-tracker.
She holstered the currently-useless DMR and pulled out her pistol, strolling casually down the ramp and few feet, and then peering around the corner to the right. Quickly noting the positions of the two brave little soldiers (read: really stupid Unggoy) cautiously making their way up the rest of the ramp, Louisiana pulled back and checked her clip. Satisfied, she strode out and popped them in the center of their foreheads.
Keeping one eye on her HUD’s motion-sensor, the soldier made her way down the side of the building and across the short distance to the ammo-boxes with her M6G still out and no intention of stowing it away.
Louisiana set about pulling ammunition for her weapons from two of the gun-metal green boxes—one marked for DMRs and another marked for M6Gs. There were several of them in the room (one for assault rifles, one for sniper rifles, one for shotguns, etc.), as well a few example weapons on most of the boxes. Much to everyone’s suspicion, they had already been present when the Freelancers took control of the canyon. Though, perhaps the Covies were finally converted to projectile-weapons and brought the UNSC-gear themselves. Weirder things…
She had spent no more than a minute or two in the room alone before South came barreling in, swearing fit to make a sailor on leave blush.
“Where ya been, Wonder Twin? Haven’t seen you in a few,” the silver-clad agent observed distractedly, slamming a full clip into her DMR. Her purple teammate pushed past Louisiana to the ammo-box for shotguns, grabbed one of the weapons, and began to hurriedly load shells into the barrel.
“Elites,” the female half of the Dakota twins spat as she finished loading her new friend, slung an ammo-belt around her waist, and peeked out of their little bit of shelter with the shotgun at the ready. “They came in a drop-pod just outside the canyon.
Louisiana let out a startled “What?”, even as she pulled out her pistol, tossed it on the M6G crate, and picked up a shotgun for herself. “You see what rank they were? How many?”
The older woman shook her head.
“They have Active Camo; short-term, I think. This motion-tracker prototype only barely picked them up, but a couple popped up clear as day after a couple minutes—only a small team, I’d guess.”
The younger soldier pumped her shotgun and asked Wonder Twin #2 if she had radio-ed the info in to any of the others, standing guard outside the little structure as her companion double-checked all her weapons and extra ammo.
South shook her head again. “I think they’re carrying some kind of short-range jammer—I tried to call it in to Carolina and Missi, but all I got was static; couldn’t get a hold of York when I was passing his position to get here, either.”
Louisiana stopped dead and spun to face to entrance of the canyon when a thought occurred to her. Did Oregon know? Didn’t the lesser Wonder Twin pass him on her way down to the weapons, or was he square in the middle of some pissed-off Sangheilis’ path with no idea what he was in for? The thought that South might not have warned him made the silver Freelancer positively furious, which was a step up from the aggravation that was usually inspired simply by breathing.
The light-purple agent looked over at the movement, noting her younger teammate’s rapid breathing as she failed to spot even a flicker of burnt-orange.
“I let Oregon know when I passed him. He packed up and hoofed it over to York’s position to set up shop,” South assured the silver-clad soldier, less derision in her voice than one might expect, though she still rolled her eyes.
Louisiana may have been annoying as all Hell whenever she could get away with it (and a lot of the time when she couldn’t), but in battle she watched everyone’s six; even when doing her own thing, and that was all that was important. Snarky, moody, insubordinate, and annoying, sure—but you could trust her on point as well as at your back.
And she was obviously worried about Oregon.
Louisiana’s gaze snapped to the blonde soldier and she nodded, appropriately reassured. Combat wasn’t the time to be petty, and both women knew that. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s go cover the entrance, then,” she responded, as casually as one might suggest taking a walk in the park.
Nodding in single-minded agreement, the female Dakota started toward the other side of the canyon, double-barrel at the ready. Louisiana silently followed a few feet behind, allowing her companion to take point. She kept her own shotgun on her back-holster and her DMR in her hands, figuring it was probably best to have a weapon with a range of more than fifteen feet.
As the two women passed under the edge of the central structure’s platform, the silver Freelancer noticed a green blip on her radar almost directly on top of them. She tilted her head up and slightly to the left, and caught sight of a tan helmet peering down at herself and South.
Unable to resist, Louisiana turned to walk backwards as they passed York’s position and made a quick series of gestures—her right thumb jerked behind her; her right fist slammed into her left palm; her right index finger point directly at him; her hand held up to where he ear was in the universal “call me” sign.
Call us when we’re done was the clear message. Although, it was more like You can call us when we’re done.
Regardless of personal interpretation, York’s helmet bobbed in a nod and he gave Louisiana a taste of her own medicine via her usual two-fingered salute. She grinned in response, but knew he couldn’t see, so she jauntily wiggled her fingers at her, as if saying, “Toodaloo!”
She’d turned back by the time she reached the end of the building, and had to jog a few feet to catch back up to her original position behind South.
The two soldiers were just past the building that led underground—they hadn’t even reached the incline up to the canyon’s entrance—when they saw several almost-formless shimmers emerge from the rock.
Both South and Louisiana broke into a sprint, painfully registering the sound of jet-packs and inferring that at least three of the group of Elites had broken off from the others—most likely heading for York and Oregon’s position. Well, just fuck.
When they reached the top of the incline, Wonder Twin #2 opened fire with her shotgun at the nearest shimmer. The Elite’s shields went down with the second round, taking its Active Camo with it and revealing silver armor and a dark, full-faced visor.
Shit, Louisiana winced internally. Rangers.
Mean, not-so-little assassins; not as telling as a group of Zealots might have been, but the suckers were vicious, nonetheless. A third round, at point-blank, sent the Sangheili soldier into oblivion.
Louisiana took a step toward South when her gun was knocked out of her hands by another fully-visible Ranger, but was rushed by her own new friend--not san-Active Camo, unfortunately.
The diminutive Freelancer took aim at center-mass and pulled the trigger over and over, as fast as her finger would physically allow. It took seven bullets to the chest for his shields and camouflage unit to fail, but by then he was close enough to block her attempt to slam the butt of her rifle into his face.
Fortunately, Louisiana had predicted as much, since her last two close-encounters with Sangheili were at the front of her mind. When the Elite took hold of her gun, she let go immediately and ducked into his personal space, grabbing the shotgun from her back as she did and jamming the barrel into the bottom of his chin.
The silver Freelancer pulled the trigger without hesitation and felt no small amount of satisfaction at the brain matter and purple splatter that exited the back of his skull as his head essentially exploded.
Louisiana whirled around with her weapon at the ready and ran towards South, who was struggling to rise from the ground. She reached out a hand and tried to tug her teammate up by the arm, but the older woman pushed her away.
“He’s heading for the guys,” the blonde growled, jerking her head in the direction of York and Oregon’s position at the large building. She was holding her left arm close to her body, and seemed unwilling to move it.
The younger agent looked where Wonder Twin had indicated and saw a silver Sangheili quickly making his way toward the central structure. And there was already a lot more gunfire coming from that direction than was comfortable.
Dropping her shotgun, Louisiana jumped for her discarded DMR; feeling it in her hands, she rolled and came to a stop on one knee, proposal-style.
She immediately sighted her quarry through the scope and rapidly pulled the trigger. Three rounds to the helmet and the Elite’s shield failed, causing him to spin around in their direction and roar and challenge across the canyon. Louisiana responded with two successive squeezes of her trigger and two high-powered bullets in his visor.
“Headshot,” she said, grinning half-heartedly, and glanced over at South. “But I think, overall, this could have gone better.”
The light-purple Freelancer ignored her and attempted to stand on her own; Louisiana let her teammate teeter for a moment before taking mercy on her. She held out a hand again, and grabbed South to haul her forcefully up when the other woman again refused.
Not feeling bad about it in the least (honestly, she took some perverse pleasure in it), the silver-clad agent braced one hand on the center of her colleague’s back and the other on her shoulder when South turned to pick up her shotgun. Before she could spin around or slap the touch away, Louisiana pulled with all her might with her left hand and pushed with her right.
South let out a strangled shout of pain, and immediately spun around to sucker-punch the younger woman, before making her way back down the incline, rolling her shoulder discreetly and measuring the range of motion. Louisiana gave a cursory look at the corpses at the mouth of the canyon before following.
They made short work of the distance and Louisiana stopped when they were near, giving South a light punch to the moments-ago-dislocated shoulder to get her attention. She successfully dodged the purple soldier’s next shot.
“You flank up the side to the right?” Louisiana suggested, inclining her head toward the structure.
Wonder Twin growled but gave a curt nod. “And you?”
The diminutive Freelancer looked up at the edge of the platform. “I’m taking a more direct route,” she answered with a smirk, thinking to herself what a lovely invention jet-packs were. So helpful!...
Keeping one eye trained on the heart-rate monitor’s readout on her HUD, Louisiana squeezed the trigger of her DMR in the space after one blip just before it rushed into the next, and watched with grim satisfaction as the Kig-Yar was thrown to the ground in a cloud of purple mist, half his face blown off.
“Yeah!” She exclaimed, holding a fist out without taking her eyes off her next target. “Headshot!”
Her grin broadened when she felt York’s knuckles bump against her own. Her eyes darted to the left and she saw him leaning against the chest-level wall she used as cover, firing his assault rifle at the few infantry-Covies remaining on the ground (read: alive) after the last dropship had left.
It took a commendable amount of self-restraint for Louisiana not to flinch when he fired and, consequently, her bullet pinged harmlessly off the Jackal’s energy shield.
The Freelancer took two more shots in quick succession, desperately trying to make up for the lapse, but those were deflected as well. On her fourth attempt, Louisiana’s rifled clicked and refused to cooperate.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I’m out!”
York cast a glance over to the young soldier and nodded his head vaguely behind them, where there was another one-room building, similar to the one that housed the entrance below-ground, some forty-five feet away and fifteen feet down. “You should fill up at the weapons cache; there are only a few stragglers left, and we can handle those without you. After that, it should be a few minutes before the next Phantom comes on down.”
Louisiana wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with that and raised her eyes upwards, searching. “What about our friend?” It took a moment, but she found the Banshee soaring high above them, taking a break before it made another go at the Freelancers.
The man in tan armor pointed to the mouth of the canyon, where Oregon stood in the shadows, tracking the purple do with his sniper rifle. The radio crackled and she heard the Hispanic agent’s voice low in her ear. “Don’t worry, chiquita, I’ve got it covered.”
Louisiana wasn’t so sure.
Now that she knew the Covenant was here to look for something—that they weren’t just patrolling—the silver Freelancer recognized that this venture was… well, less of a good idea than she’d thought. Still fun, of course; she should have grabbed a rocket launcher, though, for sure. Then, at least, she could get rid of that fucking Banshee circling them like a damned vulture.
When Louisiana didn’t immediately reply and merely worried the flesh of her bottom lip between her teeth, she heard the rush of static over the radio that signified Oregon’s sigh. A moment later, three shots rang out across the canyon and the Banshee exploded high above them.
“Showoff,” the silver Freelancer huffed good-naturedly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest, casually watching the remaining Grunts on the ground scramble for cover from York’s onslaught. She knew that Carolina and Missi were outside the canyon, making sure none of the Covies left it alive if she and York couldn’t keep them in check.
It had been a pleasant surprise for Louisiana, when she and Oregon emerged from belowground, to find that Carolina-and-Co. had taken control of the main structure in the center of the canyon. With the main platform fifteen or twenty feet above the ground, and the narrow ramps lengthwise on either side of the monolith that only allowed for single-file approach, tapering off into a nice little choke-point, it was easily the most defensible position.
The platform was wrapped around a thick, skyward-pointing double-prong of Forerunner metal that extended hundreds of feet into the air. (Oregon had called it a transmitter, but it looked suspiciously like some kind of firing mechanism to Louisiana, resembling how she thought a stripped-down MAC-gun might look.)
Arranged in a 40x100 ft. rectangle, with the 20x60xhowever-many-hundreds ft. transmitter at its center, the platform offered a 360-degree view from their little piece of (evidently) prime real estate.
“Top of the line, armor-piercing rounds,” Oregon responded over the radio, his voice appropriately smug. It paid, Louisiana supposed, to be in an experimental military program, as it granted you access to all the exciting new toys before the rest of the class. Pfft, like cop-killers…
“How long, exactly, have you been able to get rid of that flying, purple menace?” Louisiana said sharply to her burnt-orange teammate.
She could hear Oregon eject the spent clip from his sniper-rifle and replace it with a full magazine over the radio, before he deigned to answer. “I wanted to get some footage of Banshee flight patterns and capabilities. I heard Missouri bitching about not having anything reliable for analysis—I think the Mother of Invention should brace itself for another one of his ‘experiments’ after I hand it over.”
Louisiana harrumphed quietly—she wasn’t exactly at a point where she hated Missouri, he was quite entertaining and delightfully insubordinate, but things were rather strained between herself and the green agent—and tersely informed her companions that she was going to resupply at the ammo-boxes.
The silver Freelancer made an aborted move to step off the platform where the man-cannon dropped off its passengers (planning to use a short burst from her jet-pack to keep from splatting), but instead jogged to the other end when she saw red dots heading their way on the motion-tracker.
She holstered the currently-useless DMR and pulled out her pistol, strolling casually down the ramp and few feet, and then peering around the corner to the right. Quickly noting the positions of the two brave little soldiers (read: really stupid Unggoy) cautiously making their way up the rest of the ramp, Louisiana pulled back and checked her clip. Satisfied, she strode out and popped them in the center of their foreheads.
Keeping one eye on her HUD’s motion-sensor, the soldier made her way down the side of the building and across the short distance to the ammo-boxes with her M6G still out and no intention of stowing it away.
Louisiana set about pulling ammunition for her weapons from two of the gun-metal green boxes—one marked for DMRs and another marked for M6Gs. There were several of them in the room (one for assault rifles, one for sniper rifles, one for shotguns, etc.), as well a few example weapons on most of the boxes. Much to everyone’s suspicion, they had already been present when the Freelancers took control of the canyon. Though, perhaps the Covies were finally converted to projectile-weapons and brought the UNSC-gear themselves. Weirder things…
She had spent no more than a minute or two in the room alone before South came barreling in, swearing fit to make a sailor on leave blush.
“Where ya been, Wonder Twin? Haven’t seen you in a few,” the silver-clad agent observed distractedly, slamming a full clip into her DMR. Her purple teammate pushed past Louisiana to the ammo-box for shotguns, grabbed one of the weapons, and began to hurriedly load shells into the barrel.
“Elites,” the female half of the Dakota twins spat as she finished loading her new friend, slung an ammo-belt around her waist, and peeked out of their little bit of shelter with the shotgun at the ready. “They came in a drop-pod just outside the canyon.
Louisiana let out a startled “What?”, even as she pulled out her pistol, tossed it on the M6G crate, and picked up a shotgun for herself. “You see what rank they were? How many?”
The older woman shook her head.
“They have Active Camo; short-term, I think. This motion-tracker prototype only barely picked them up, but a couple popped up clear as day after a couple minutes—only a small team, I’d guess.”
The younger soldier pumped her shotgun and asked Wonder Twin #2 if she had radio-ed the info in to any of the others, standing guard outside the little structure as her companion double-checked all her weapons and extra ammo.
South shook her head again. “I think they’re carrying some kind of short-range jammer—I tried to call it in to Carolina and Missi, but all I got was static; couldn’t get a hold of York when I was passing his position to get here, either.”
Louisiana stopped dead and spun to face to entrance of the canyon when a thought occurred to her. Did Oregon know? Didn’t the lesser Wonder Twin pass him on her way down to the weapons, or was he square in the middle of some pissed-off Sangheilis’ path with no idea what he was in for? The thought that South might not have warned him made the silver Freelancer positively furious, which was a step up from the aggravation that was usually inspired simply by breathing.
The light-purple agent looked over at the movement, noting her younger teammate’s rapid breathing as she failed to spot even a flicker of burnt-orange.
“I let Oregon know when I passed him. He packed up and hoofed it over to York’s position to set up shop,” South assured the silver-clad soldier, less derision in her voice than one might expect, though she still rolled her eyes.
Louisiana may have been annoying as all Hell whenever she could get away with it (and a lot of the time when she couldn’t), but in battle she watched everyone’s six; even when doing her own thing, and that was all that was important. Snarky, moody, insubordinate, and annoying, sure—but you could trust her on point as well as at your back.
And she was obviously worried about Oregon.
Louisiana’s gaze snapped to the blonde soldier and she nodded, appropriately reassured. Combat wasn’t the time to be petty, and both women knew that. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s go cover the entrance, then,” she responded, as casually as one might suggest taking a walk in the park.
Nodding in single-minded agreement, the female Dakota started toward the other side of the canyon, double-barrel at the ready. Louisiana silently followed a few feet behind, allowing her companion to take point. She kept her own shotgun on her back-holster and her DMR in her hands, figuring it was probably best to have a weapon with a range of more than fifteen feet.
As the two women passed under the edge of the central structure’s platform, the silver Freelancer noticed a green blip on her radar almost directly on top of them. She tilted her head up and slightly to the left, and caught sight of a tan helmet peering down at herself and South.
Unable to resist, Louisiana turned to walk backwards as they passed York’s position and made a quick series of gestures—her right thumb jerked behind her; her right fist slammed into her left palm; her right index finger point directly at him; her hand held up to where he ear was in the universal “call me” sign.
Call us when we’re done was the clear message. Although, it was more like You can call us when we’re done.
Regardless of personal interpretation, York’s helmet bobbed in a nod and he gave Louisiana a taste of her own medicine via her usual two-fingered salute. She grinned in response, but knew he couldn’t see, so she jauntily wiggled her fingers at her, as if saying, “Toodaloo!”
She’d turned back by the time she reached the end of the building, and had to jog a few feet to catch back up to her original position behind South.
The two soldiers were just past the building that led underground—they hadn’t even reached the incline up to the canyon’s entrance—when they saw several almost-formless shimmers emerge from the rock.
Both South and Louisiana broke into a sprint, painfully registering the sound of jet-packs and inferring that at least three of the group of Elites had broken off from the others—most likely heading for York and Oregon’s position. Well, just fuck.
When they reached the top of the incline, Wonder Twin #2 opened fire with her shotgun at the nearest shimmer. The Elite’s shields went down with the second round, taking its Active Camo with it and revealing silver armor and a dark, full-faced visor.
Shit, Louisiana winced internally. Rangers.
Mean, not-so-little assassins; not as telling as a group of Zealots might have been, but the suckers were vicious, nonetheless. A third round, at point-blank, sent the Sangheili soldier into oblivion.
Louisiana took a step toward South when her gun was knocked out of her hands by another fully-visible Ranger, but was rushed by her own new friend--not san-Active Camo, unfortunately.
The diminutive Freelancer took aim at center-mass and pulled the trigger over and over, as fast as her finger would physically allow. It took seven bullets to the chest for his shields and camouflage unit to fail, but by then he was close enough to block her attempt to slam the butt of her rifle into his face.
Fortunately, Louisiana had predicted as much, since her last two close-encounters with Sangheili were at the front of her mind. When the Elite took hold of her gun, she let go immediately and ducked into his personal space, grabbing the shotgun from her back as she did and jamming the barrel into the bottom of his chin.
The silver Freelancer pulled the trigger without hesitation and felt no small amount of satisfaction at the brain matter and purple splatter that exited the back of his skull as his head essentially exploded.
Louisiana whirled around with her weapon at the ready and ran towards South, who was struggling to rise from the ground. She reached out a hand and tried to tug her teammate up by the arm, but the older woman pushed her away.
“He’s heading for the guys,” the blonde growled, jerking her head in the direction of York and Oregon’s position at the large building. She was holding her left arm close to her body, and seemed unwilling to move it.
The younger agent looked where Wonder Twin had indicated and saw a silver Sangheili quickly making his way toward the central structure. And there was already a lot more gunfire coming from that direction than was comfortable.
Dropping her shotgun, Louisiana jumped for her discarded DMR; feeling it in her hands, she rolled and came to a stop on one knee, proposal-style.
She immediately sighted her quarry through the scope and rapidly pulled the trigger. Three rounds to the helmet and the Elite’s shield failed, causing him to spin around in their direction and roar and challenge across the canyon. Louisiana responded with two successive squeezes of her trigger and two high-powered bullets in his visor.
“Headshot,” she said, grinning half-heartedly, and glanced over at South. “But I think, overall, this could have gone better.”
The light-purple Freelancer ignored her and attempted to stand on her own; Louisiana let her teammate teeter for a moment before taking mercy on her. She held out a hand again, and grabbed South to haul her forcefully up when the other woman again refused.
Not feeling bad about it in the least (honestly, she took some perverse pleasure in it), the silver-clad agent braced one hand on the center of her colleague’s back and the other on her shoulder when South turned to pick up her shotgun. Before she could spin around or slap the touch away, Louisiana pulled with all her might with her left hand and pushed with her right.
South let out a strangled shout of pain, and immediately spun around to sucker-punch the younger woman, before making her way back down the incline, rolling her shoulder discreetly and measuring the range of motion. Louisiana gave a cursory look at the corpses at the mouth of the canyon before following.
They made short work of the distance and Louisiana stopped when they were near, giving South a light punch to the moments-ago-dislocated shoulder to get her attention. She successfully dodged the purple soldier’s next shot.
“You flank up the side to the right?” Louisiana suggested, inclining her head toward the structure.
Wonder Twin growled but gave a curt nod. “And you?”
The diminutive Freelancer looked up at the edge of the platform. “I’m taking a more direct route,” she answered with a smirk, thinking to herself what a lovely invention jet-packs were. So helpful!...