Chapter One
-- June 16; 0700 hrs; Messhall --
"Oh, God, please shoot me," Agent Washington groaned as he read the memo in his hands for the third time.
Actually, that was misleading, because it was more of a condescending notification informing him that he had been chosen. Feel free to insert ominous music here.
Yes, Washington was one of the chosen few to go on the least desirable mission ever. Of all time. They had all been informed, of course, by the Director that this mission was coming up but everyone had been hoping and praying that they wouldn't be selected. Evidently, nobody had been listening to Wash's prayers.
"Oh, Wash. You got one, too?" The tan-armored speaker who came up behind him was none other than Agent York. "I got mine a few minutes ago. I can't believe they're making us do this. Hell, I'm all for demonstrating the badassery that is the Project but do we really have to do it like... this?" York was complaining but, due to his easy-going nature, it was half-hearted.
Washington sighed again before replying, "I know, it's completely ridiculous. We're special agents, for Christ's sake! That should carry some weight. But are we treated with respect? No!" He knew it was ridiculous to bitch about it, but he was quickly working himself into a full-blown rant.
"And what's this about it being required for us to wear a tux and bring a date?! I know it's supposed to be incognito but isn't that a little much?!" Washington would have continued but deflated when he heard the half-teasing half-bored voice of the newest recruit behind him.
Of course, she'd actually been a part of the program for a good chunk of time but she'd only recently gotten through her probationary period, and just been cleared to go on missions. So, of course, the rest of the agents insisted on pretending as if the last six months hadn't happened and took to calling her 'Rookie' again.
"Oh, quit your bitching, Washington. Randomly selected agents of Project Freelancer are being required to show up at a UNSC fuction, protect the mark from the would-be assassins, and do so without drawing attention to themselves. Get over it." He refused to turn around and face what he knew was oddly-colored hair, a mocking smirk, and a lot of sarcasm.
In fact, it was a widely held theory that the Director only enlisted her so she could weed out those who lacked the determination to be in Project Freelancer. And he wasn't sure he had that anymore. He could punch through a 9 inch wall of steel and endure days of torture without giving up any information.
But, Wash couldn't handle more than ten consecutive minutes of Agent Louisiana's sarcasm, dry humor, and explosive temper.
When she had gotten here she had been pretty laid back -not anywhere near York's caliber- but seemingly relaxed. A little snarky and a little moody, sure, but she was redeemed of that in the eyes of most by being a fantastic fighter. No doubt about that. Of course, no one knew just how fantastic until about three weeks previously. It may take a while for her to gain any traction but, once you seriously pissed her off, Louisiana was a surprisingly strong and agile, 5'4" Whirlwind of Doom.
And Wyoming had the scars to prove it. Let's just say that everyone had warned him not to touch her ass and leave it at that. In fact, everyone was more than a little wary around her nowadays as opposed to when she'd first arrived.
Washington was pulled out of his reverie by her voice, normally walking perfectly the line between mirth and boredom, which was now trying not to laugh as she read over his shoulder. "Oh, God! I'll shoot you if you want me to," she offered, grinning. An unusual development in and of itself.
"No thanks. I'll take my chances with finding a 'date'. That's sure to be dangerous enough around here." He turned to look at Louisiana as he spoke. Hmmm, she'd changed her hair again. She seemed to have abandoned the pink polka-dotted, forest-green style that she'd been sporting for the last month and it was now straight, shoulder-blade-length and candy-apple red with blonde tips. Interesting. Another wide-spread theory about her ever-changing hair was that she only did it to, successfully, piss off the Director.
"Yeah, good luck with that buddy!" York slapped his friend on the shoulder before beating an inexplicably hasty retreat to the training area.
"Hmmm," she said, speculating. "What about South? She's a bitchy blond with no standards, totally your type!" She turned the idea over in her head for a few seconds before discarding it and answering her own question. "Nah! She's too violent to make it all the way through the night without causing some kind of scene…" Louisiana let her voice trail off in thought before continuing to think out loud, a slight frown on her face.
"You could ask the paranoid blue chick with daddy issues, Carolina? But that's about as safe as hugging a nest of irate hornets… Or the cute Brit in green armor, she seems nice." She trailed off again before her face cleared up and she smiled brightly. "But, hey, why the hell do I care? I don't have to go! Have fun, Washington!" Then she waved jauntily and walked away to get ready for a long day of hanging out with the Standard Issue soldiers onboard, doing her best to avoid actual work while simultaneously annoying the Director, and teasing the rookies.
Wyoming, who had heard everything, called over to her as she left, "My dear Louisiana, do give Karma my best won't you?"
Her only response was to flip him off before she rounded the corner.
The others in the room, Freelancers and SI soldiers alike, remained silent; it seemed that they all knew what the actual recipients of the horrifying communique didn't. And none of them were particularly keen on sharing.
It was just a lot more fun to see what would happen.
"Oh, God, please shoot me," Agent Washington groaned as he read the memo in his hands for the third time.
Actually, that was misleading, because it was more of a condescending notification informing him that he had been chosen. Feel free to insert ominous music here.
Yes, Washington was one of the chosen few to go on the least desirable mission ever. Of all time. They had all been informed, of course, by the Director that this mission was coming up but everyone had been hoping and praying that they wouldn't be selected. Evidently, nobody had been listening to Wash's prayers.
"Oh, Wash. You got one, too?" The tan-armored speaker who came up behind him was none other than Agent York. "I got mine a few minutes ago. I can't believe they're making us do this. Hell, I'm all for demonstrating the badassery that is the Project but do we really have to do it like... this?" York was complaining but, due to his easy-going nature, it was half-hearted.
Washington sighed again before replying, "I know, it's completely ridiculous. We're special agents, for Christ's sake! That should carry some weight. But are we treated with respect? No!" He knew it was ridiculous to bitch about it, but he was quickly working himself into a full-blown rant.
"And what's this about it being required for us to wear a tux and bring a date?! I know it's supposed to be incognito but isn't that a little much?!" Washington would have continued but deflated when he heard the half-teasing half-bored voice of the newest recruit behind him.
Of course, she'd actually been a part of the program for a good chunk of time but she'd only recently gotten through her probationary period, and just been cleared to go on missions. So, of course, the rest of the agents insisted on pretending as if the last six months hadn't happened and took to calling her 'Rookie' again.
"Oh, quit your bitching, Washington. Randomly selected agents of Project Freelancer are being required to show up at a UNSC fuction, protect the mark from the would-be assassins, and do so without drawing attention to themselves. Get over it." He refused to turn around and face what he knew was oddly-colored hair, a mocking smirk, and a lot of sarcasm.
In fact, it was a widely held theory that the Director only enlisted her so she could weed out those who lacked the determination to be in Project Freelancer. And he wasn't sure he had that anymore. He could punch through a 9 inch wall of steel and endure days of torture without giving up any information.
But, Wash couldn't handle more than ten consecutive minutes of Agent Louisiana's sarcasm, dry humor, and explosive temper.
When she had gotten here she had been pretty laid back -not anywhere near York's caliber- but seemingly relaxed. A little snarky and a little moody, sure, but she was redeemed of that in the eyes of most by being a fantastic fighter. No doubt about that. Of course, no one knew just how fantastic until about three weeks previously. It may take a while for her to gain any traction but, once you seriously pissed her off, Louisiana was a surprisingly strong and agile, 5'4" Whirlwind of Doom.
And Wyoming had the scars to prove it. Let's just say that everyone had warned him not to touch her ass and leave it at that. In fact, everyone was more than a little wary around her nowadays as opposed to when she'd first arrived.
Washington was pulled out of his reverie by her voice, normally walking perfectly the line between mirth and boredom, which was now trying not to laugh as she read over his shoulder. "Oh, God! I'll shoot you if you want me to," she offered, grinning. An unusual development in and of itself.
"No thanks. I'll take my chances with finding a 'date'. That's sure to be dangerous enough around here." He turned to look at Louisiana as he spoke. Hmmm, she'd changed her hair again. She seemed to have abandoned the pink polka-dotted, forest-green style that she'd been sporting for the last month and it was now straight, shoulder-blade-length and candy-apple red with blonde tips. Interesting. Another wide-spread theory about her ever-changing hair was that she only did it to, successfully, piss off the Director.
"Yeah, good luck with that buddy!" York slapped his friend on the shoulder before beating an inexplicably hasty retreat to the training area.
"Hmmm," she said, speculating. "What about South? She's a bitchy blond with no standards, totally your type!" She turned the idea over in her head for a few seconds before discarding it and answering her own question. "Nah! She's too violent to make it all the way through the night without causing some kind of scene…" Louisiana let her voice trail off in thought before continuing to think out loud, a slight frown on her face.
"You could ask the paranoid blue chick with daddy issues, Carolina? But that's about as safe as hugging a nest of irate hornets… Or the cute Brit in green armor, she seems nice." She trailed off again before her face cleared up and she smiled brightly. "But, hey, why the hell do I care? I don't have to go! Have fun, Washington!" Then she waved jauntily and walked away to get ready for a long day of hanging out with the Standard Issue soldiers onboard, doing her best to avoid actual work while simultaneously annoying the Director, and teasing the rookies.
Wyoming, who had heard everything, called over to her as she left, "My dear Louisiana, do give Karma my best won't you?"
Her only response was to flip him off before she rounded the corner.
The others in the room, Freelancers and SI soldiers alike, remained silent; it seemed that they all knew what the actual recipients of the horrifying communique didn't. And none of them were particularly keen on sharing.
It was just a lot more fun to see what would happen.