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rubykgrant · 7 months

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(just thinking some Alpha thoughts... when he was being moved from Freelancer facilities, but before he was "Church")

He wasn't supposed to activate the unit, or engage with it in any way.

New input could confuse it later. They wanted it to be as much of a "blank slate" as possible. It was safer to let it "sleep" until the implant process was over.

That doesn't mean accidents don't happen...

Agent Florida "tripped" in the room on the transportation ship that held all the equipment related to Project Freelancer that needed to be set up ahead of time at the new Sim Trooper bases. Most bases had some radio equipment from the beginning, but others needed to be properly enhanced for "special missions"; certain training exercises for the Freelancer Agents, various psychological tests suggested by Price, the occasional engagement of REAL threats... and this. This was a VERY special mission.

On one of the shelves was a small, see-through container that held a tiny electronic device. This was the unit for the Alpha AI.

When Florida caught himself from falling, his hand pushed against the container. A little light on the unit flickered on.

"Oh, dear. It looks like I just picked a bouquet of oopsie-daisies!"

The thing about Florida, and the way he spoke; he always managed to sound genuine, no matter what, usually being some combination of unsettling and cheerful, threatening and positive. You could never tell if he was serious, or if he was putting on an act.

At the sound of an external voice, a hologram flickered above the unit; it was faint and uncertain... but it slowly took the form of a tiny soldier in pale white armor.

"Hello?"

"Well, hello there. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you..." Florida greeted the AI, trying to keep it calm. "I hope it wasn't too much of a shock,"

"No... I- I just thought..." the AI shifted for a moment, as if it couldn't remember what it was going to say.

"Yes? What were you thinking?" Florida asked. He really should be giving it one of the orders that would prompt it into returning to "sleep". Once the AI was implanted, it would have more resistance to these orders... right now, it was more open to suggestion, more pliable.

He SHOULD do that... but maybe he was a little surprised, and forgot the code-words for the specific orders in the moment. Maybe he just didn't want to miss such a rare opportunity; speaking to a very unique AI, that had been created in a very unique way, and was currently in a very unique situation.

"No, sorry. I don't- I don't know... um, where are we?" the Ai seemed to almost forget about being nervous, instead becoming pleasantly interested in the surroundings.

"Well, we're on a ship. A transport ship. It has a lot of cargo, and a few passengers. We're traveling through space, going to a location that needs to be prepped before... the rest of the guests arrive. I want to make sure everything is PERFECT for them," Flowers explained.

"Oh. Are they going to live there?"

"Hmm, yes, I'd like to think of it that way. A new home, for one big happy family!" Florida stepped closer as he spoke, leaning toward the AI.

"Is that where I'm going?" the looked up at him; the 'face' was just a transparent helmet, but Florida could imagine a sensation of hope in that gesture.

"It is indeed. In fact, it wouldn't be complete without you," Florida replied.

"Well, that's... good. I guess. I don't know if I'm actually THAT important... I don't know... I don't really know who I am," doubt. A hint of fear? Perhaps. Still too dazed and 'emotionally numb' for that to mean anything. "Um. Who are you? I mean- do I know you?"

"Well, we haven't been formally introduced before, and this is the first time I've had the pleasure to speak with you. But I think you used to know me," Florida let those words hang in the air, curious how the AI would react.

"I did? I guess I forgot. Sorry about that... I feel like I forgot a LOT of things. Or maybe I lost a lot of things, but I can't remember what..."

"Hmm, that is a bit of a pickle, isn't it? Like a tune stuck in your head, but you can't remember the words to the song. Well, for now, I don't want you to worry. I'm here to make sure you have a safe trip, and once we get to your new home, you can get settled, then-"

"Knock-knock!" came a voice at the door; no actual 'knocking' taking place. The door slid open automatically, and another soldier in full armor strode in.

#red vs blue #rvb

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l-1-z-a · 2 years

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Will Wright was passionate about rallying and how it was shown in The Sims 2

While researching the development history of the original The Sims on TCRF, I came across a link to a fan site about Will Wright in the sources:

This is a very interesting site. There's a biography of him. And one of the chapters describes that Will Wright was into rallying and even participated in one of them:

https://web.archive.org/web/20200119021426/http://will-wright.com/willshistory1.php

Will Wright also used to be into Rally, before he was into computers. "It's very small in the States. The American version of Rally was in fact a little more hardcore than the European. It wasn't as competitive but they didn't allow pace notes and so when you're going down the road you don't know what's around the corner. I still love following the WRC".

He plotted a route through the southern states that was hundreds of miles longer than the more popular path. It avoided the northern roads likely to attract more contestants and police. He and a partner, the race organizer, zoomed across the country in a Mazda RX-7 outfitted with a souped-up engine, a roll cage, an extra fuel tank, a night-vision scope, two police radar detectors and a prototype of a radar jammer. The team got one speeding ticket near Indianapolis and Mr. Wright talked his way out of two others, once by pretending to be a lost local resident and once he convinced an Indiana state trooper he was a writer for an automobile magazine test-driving a car when he was pulled over for doing 104 mph.He actually won that race with a time of 33 hours, 39 minutes.".

How it was shown in The Sims 2?

And this hobby of Will Wright was shown in the game. For example, in the form of this collection of objects:

And the tire table was posted by EA for the download as far back as the turn of 2004-2005. But there's also the sports car from the base game.

It was supposed to be an aspiration reward. But it was also, at the same time, a CAREER reward for the career of a "car racer", the costumes for which are available in the base game.

But it's not that simple. After digging around in the car code, at the level of, I must say, my shabby knowledge, I came to the conclusion that there should be two career rewards for each career. The first is something given out at early career levels, like a punching bag, purely to pump up skills faster. But the SECOND award should have been... cars - and not at all "decorative" or working as a "personal cab", aka house - community lot - other community lot - house with the additional option of going to visit other sims.

Suppose your sim works in the police. At the beginning of his career he can get a scanner, and at later stages he can get his own, real, personal police car. When he selects the "Drive to Work" option in this car, he will not go to the unknown, but, for example, to a community lot where thieves, robbers, pickpockets like the Unsavory Charlatan, drug dealers and pimps will show up. Sim can arrest all these criminals, take them to the police station, and interrogate them "with intensity".

Pretty cool, huh? About the AUTORACING... Take a look at this ancient "kind of mod"...

Swimming competition!!! (Note - part of it, namely the lane dividers in the pools, "went" to Nightlife EP). And the dog competitions are in The Sims Pet Stories! On that basis, then why wouldn't there be car racing in the game as well? Especially since the motion animation is in Nightlife EP.

But everything is not so simple with the racers. Something is missing... Maybe THIS... (helmet)

Please pay attention to this creator's work in general. If it is something from the game, you get a "good and quality" thing. However, when you start to "unselect", there are problems with textures and with a lot of polygons, which leads to a bad result.

Link to the content:

I also noticed that the helmets matched the colors of the suits. So there had to be a green suit, a yellow suit, and a pink suit.

На русском языке (and how to make races suits available in sport category of clothes):

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clocks-are-round · 6 months

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In regards to your post w/ hcs about why they enlisted, maybe Donut enlisted since he's from Iowa and was enlisting since the army would pay for his college tuition? (Obviously dependent on your headcanon of Donut's home life but this would be assuming he grew up on a farm or something)

That’s a reasonable assumption for sure. I want to figure out a reason that alludes to what is known about him in canon, suits his personality, and ideally— is emotionally poignant in a way that adds layers to his characterization and explains why he stuck around and how he’s just as fucked up as the rest of the crew. So in short, it needs to be both likely and compelling.

Example with another character (because I love excuses to ramble about headcanons)

Simmons

- kissass to authority father figure (sarge)

- knows how to code and is viewed as smart (supposedly put in sim troopers due to being annoying and test anxiety rather than having low marks due to lacking knowledge)

- daddy issues (dad wanted him in women’s sports and seemingly didn’t take no for an answer, at least for some time)

- could be interpreted as a trans man and achillean from various lines

Why didn’t he pursue a degree and job in computer science/programming?

My headcanon: Simmons’ father is very traditional, a firm believer in the ideals he was raised with: homophobic, transphobic, and legacy is very important to him. Many women in his family were successful athletes, a few even Olympic level, and he expected this from his child. Though Simmons’ mom was… better at meeting his needs than his father, she was also hard on him and held him to high standards due to image being so important to her. This resulted in a irritable people pleaser with self-worth issues so desperate for validation from his neglectful father that he dropped everything he had worked for in life to risk his life in an attempt to prove himself because Simmons is nothing if not petty.

Reason for enlisting: desperate for validation

If this concept intrigues you, read my fic Dysfunctional on AO3

So following this method, Donut.

- grew up on a farm in iowa

- spent a lot of time repressing thoughts he had on the farm

- loves “feminine” things like decor and fashion, but was too insecure/guarded to really talk much about it towards the beginning (the “lightish red” bit, the seeming change in characterization through the first few seasons) until he warmed up to the team and lowered his guard

- was sent to conversion therapy at one point (came back to write this after writing everything down below but: i think he mentioned his dad here. but i might’ve come up with him to justify it when his mom is sapphic? seems a little weird if so because internalized homophobic mom putting her son through that before coming to terms with it and regretting it as she hypocritically starts dating a woman for the first time. they laugh about it but really both feel the tension that can’t be fully erased. please tell me i had a reason for putting homophobic dad man in the picture when the other option is more compelling PLEASE. ooh if not maybe HE’S the internalized homophobia all along oohhhh EDIT: yes his dad did “send him to a compound” so that part was a thing)

- two moms i misremembered this, it’s more OR less than one mom. the exact quantity of moms was not stated, only assumed by fanon (it’s from a psa but other things in this post are also from dubious canon sources. unless it directly contradicts canon proper in a way i cannot justify, i try to incorporate it)

My headcanon: Donut grew up on a farm with his mom and dad. He always felt like he had a pretty solid relationship with his dad as a kid. Many fond memories of playing catch, and his dad cheering him on at baseball games. As he got older his dad became more hostile about Donut’s other interests, suddenly dress up was a problem. His dad started becoming very vocal to him about what it meant to “be a man” and what needed to stop. Donut was also a theater kid, of course. When he was 15, his dad started sending him to “therapy.” His mom found out after two years of conversion therapy crumpled up the blabbermouth ray of sunshine into a more antsy and withdrawn teen. After about a month of heated parental arguments, his mom divorced his dad. It wasn’t long, months maybe, before she started dating a woman.

This Donut headcanon is rougher than the Simmons one. It hasn’t been considered as deeply and I haven’t cemented it into existence with fics. But there’s a key part that is missing:

Why did Donut enlist? What would be compelling while also cohesive with the character and backstory? As far as I remember he never mentioned college (correct me if I am wrong), or a previous career. Because of this and vibes, I headcanon him as enlisting right out of high school. I could put off the divorce until he’s already in space so that he enlisted to ‘toughen up’ for his dad, but that feels too similar to Simmons’ reason. He could enlist for college funds— but afaik he doesn’t go. Was it a lack of direction? Did he feel uncomfortable with a new person in his life replacing his dad, even if there were conflicting emotions there? Or maybe he wanted the money for a different reason. To help his family? Maybe his dad made a lot of the income before and the farm was falling into disrepair from lack of funds? That one feels close to my Caboose headcanon (wanted to apply to college to get an engineering degree to get a higher paying job than without a degree so he could make enough money for his mom and family to leave his abusive dad; then when the sign ups ended up being for the unsc he just rolled with it) but it’s different enough that I could potentially work with it. So for now, my best theory is feeling a little uncomfortable with the changed family dynamic, wants to help out his mom, and thinks the space marines sound cool (because of course he does). This doesn’t really resonate like the others did though, it doesn’t feel like it adds much depth or has that “that makes so much sense and explains so much!” vibe. I won’t feel confident about it until it feels right, and today just isn’t the day that I solidify my Donut backstory headcanon unfortunately. But that’s okay.

I don’t particularly want suggestions as a follow-up to this, but thought it would be fun to try to explain the subconscious process i go through when coming up with these.

I do appreciate the ask, as it gave me an opportunity to brainstorm as well as ramble for you guys haha

#red vs blue #asks #//*the tinkling of champagne glasses*#//*windows error sound*#rvb donut #rvb simmons

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sharkface-daydreams · 2 years

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Freelunchers?

Freelunchers!! my little group of freelancer OCs that sit at the same lunch table. they're like 2nd/3rd string in terms of leaderboard stuff and not super competitive??

Anyway :) i like to think about them so I will share.

this is an old drawing and the lunch bunch now includes agent Indiana bc i wanted one with my state lol

Agent Rhode Island! Rhodey, Riri, known to his family as Ari. He's got a big role in my Yellow Church au as an undercover sim trooper, Private Duncan Argus, klutz extraordinare (this is on purpose) I think I've changed his specialty from stealth to more speed but i guess both can work

Agent Oregon, anime nerd and team mom. goes by Ori or J. 💚 he's often placed as lead on teams when they're sent out for missions. very good at keeping his head when missions get hairy but tends to nag about safety issues.

Agent Delaware, i think we talked about him earlier lol. used to be on explosives disposal squad before freelancer. he's fun :) and yes he requested to be Delaware because his name was already Del

endgame is Oregon/Rhodey/Del :3c they each have 2 hands

Hammy my girl!!! she's got extra storyline stuff too bc she goes awol when (season 10 spoilers) and eventually ends up working as a mercenary called Sabre. Friends call her 'Bee'. Her and Mint (↓) are banned from teaming up in video game tournaments bc they destroy everyone

Agent Arkansas, my other minty self insert guy.... he ends up captured on a mission where things go south and Oregon loses a leg, winds up with actual anti-unsc Insurrectionists and gets a good look at Freelancer program from the outside. ends up doing mercenary work too, code name Haze. he ends up looking like North when i draw him if I'm not careful 💀💀💀

Agent Indiana, Indy, "Annie" (not her real name) because she's a deadeye with a rifle, used to ruffle feathers at shooting competitions. she's the newest oc and i don't have a whole lot on her but there's an except from the counselor's notes:

Laid-back temperament, prone to solving disputes with her fists instead of words. Difficulty in self-expression seems to stem from a deep-seated exhaustion with being chronically misunderstood or misinterpreted.

she's chill if you don't fuck with her 💓

anyway those are my Freelunchers/OC Lunch bunch :) hehe ty for asking

i should really do more with them

#freelancer oc #oc: agent new hampshire #oc: agent Arkansas #oc: agent Delaware #oc: agent Oregon #oc: agent rhode island #we just got a letter #i think i thought about making a little ask/writing blog for them but i don't know if i have energy for that #rvb ocs #idk if i wanna main tag this but it'll show up in search ig

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lego-jurassic-world-cheat49 · 2 years

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nevada-got-screwed-over · 2 years

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Taglist: @averagejoey2000

Original Inspiration / Masterpost

Chapter 12 / Chapter 14

Theta!South AU. I Guess.

Chapter: 13

Words: “it is autumn and I eat warm soup by screenlight” (2,491)

It was a quiet agreement of half truths and lies of omission, South knew.

Captain Roberts knew South was more involved with Project Freelancer than she initially let on, but still the grouchy officer simply shrugged and said the power armor was lost in transfer – accidentally jettisoned during a rough turn and burn to save on weight. Meg knew South’s implant needed minor repairs and recalibration, and she conveniently left such details out of her medical report.

As far as the paper trail was concerned, South was just a Jane Doe from the Valhalla base picked up during the military evacuation of the planet. No, not an evacuation. A homecoming. War was over – so far as anyone could tell – and while the Senghelli and Spartans made their peace solar systems away, hundreds of thousands of soldiers across the galaxy were shipped to their homes through the slip stream.

For the first time in years, South sucked a deep breath of the salt-tinged air of an Earthen port.

The last time she was here, North was beside her. The pair marching with their platoon onto a ship, boot camp behind them and a galaxy of war waiting for them. Now she stood alone in a skittish crowd of weary soldiers, jet lagged and starving for food from the cradle of humanity.

Housing was relatively simple – Meg had offered to rent her home’s adjacent apartment to South, and South couldn’t afford anything else. Her fiancé - a quiet, hard eyed veteran who made an amazing pad prik khing – moved in soon after, and the pair often invited South to eat with them. Her work schedule rarely allowed for it.

Employment was spotty but quickly picked up as soldiers poured in – factories built for war production needed to shift to peace time goods, and South was just another faceless pair of hands in the assembly line breaking down tanks and pelicans for scrap metal. Dawn to dusk and often into the night, she would have the glow of molten metal and the distant sheen of ion torches burned into her retinas when she slept.

It all felt ethereal, like she was viewing herself through sun sparkled water. Theta always reeled her back to reality, his tinny voice shivering as he brought up the questions that needed to be asked, even if they shattered the idyllic mirage of their new lives.

“What do you think happened to them?” He asked one morning, hologram hovering from projector to projector. Setting up a home system from the AI was straightforward enough mechanically speaking – Theta had done most of the work making it compatible with his code.

“Who?” South asked, groggy as she poured another cup of coffee. At least two before she headed out to the factory – goodness knew her coworkers would have another pot ready for her when she got there.

“Wash, and the sim troopers that were with him. And…and Illinois.”

“Not our problem.”

“What if it is? What if Illinois is still hunting us? Or the Project is declassified?”

“Then we’ll deal with it when we deal with it.”

That was the mantra she lived by in this two-room apartment. When bills were due, she made ends meet. When the laundry machine was broken, she asked Theta to walk her through repairs. When she woke up in the dead of night, drenched in sweat with the fading haze of a nightmare shimmering in front of her eyes, she got a drink of water and went back to sleep.

Weeks turned into months.

It was no small triumph, having survived the war, the Project, and the nightmares. She was content to eke out her existence and avoid dwelling on the life and people she had left behind. Theta was the one who wanted answers, who poked and prodded and collected folders full of news articles and declassified documents.

He had been chattering away through her bike helmet’s Bluetooth function the entire ride home – he had managed to tap a newly released data package from the UNSC.

“You need a conspiracy board and different colored string at this point,” She joked, aching from a long shift in the factory. Were her joints always so stiff? Did her neck always crack so loudly?

There was a flicker of purple static across the projector screen as Theta’s files spilled over the wall, different colored holographic strings stretching out like an iridescent spider’s web.

“Declassification of the Project was covered under the UNSC post-war transparency efforts, but nothing has come out by the Project to show it’s complying – something is up.”

“You think?” South scoffed kicking off her steel toed work boots, the shoes falling heavy to the floor. “The Director has a few war crimes the UNSC funded that they probably don’t want on public record.”

“I’m talking about acquisitions – the UNSC should have acquired all of the tech and armor and –” The program couldn’t breathe, but he stuttered over his words anyway. “And AI from the Project. The UNSC would want that stuff more than prosecuting the Director but there’s just…nothing.”

“Maybe he destroyed it.” She shrugged off her leather jacket, shaking drops of rain from it before placing it on the coat rack. Her motorcycle might not be adequate transportation come winter, but Meg knew the bus routes well. She could ask her later –

“What if he’s withholding them? There are no return records for any of the Freelancers I knew – you knew – they either changed identities or haven’t come back yet. What if – if the UNSC doesn’t have records because the Project hasn’t ended –”

“Dude, chill.” South plopped onto the couch, brushing aside Theta’s files to clear the projector screen and bring up a dull weather program. More rain this week. She sighed, turning to where his hologram hovered on the coffee table. “What the hell are we supposed to do if that’s the case?”

The AI was silent; fidgeting hands falling slack. South continued,

“Say for example we – I – report to the UNSC – don’t you think it’s going to raise some questions about me? About you? Do you want to end up in a storage module in the back of some warehouse?”

Theta’s hologram dimmed, and he sat down, knees hugged to his chest. South felt her heart squeeze in her chest, teeth tight in a grimace.

“I’m scared.” He sobbed, silver and gold crackling through his normal purple hue. His voice so small and soft she could hardly hear it. “And – and I know you aren’t – you think its too big and too much to think about and – and you’re right but I can’t – I can’t leave them. I can’t pretend they never existed. It hurts to think, it hurts to ignore – I don’t know how to feel better, and I don’t know how to stop thinking.”

Silence hung in the air, thick between the muted news feed and the hum of the laundry machine running a cycle on the floor above. South shifted, putting both feet on the ground and resting her elbows on her knees as she sat hunched over on the couch.

“Sync up,” Theta flickered, flinching from the cold authority in her voice. They hadn’t synced in – weeks? Months? Without her suit’s helmet, there was little Theta could do to alleviate the strain his processing put on her brain.

“What – are you sure?”

“Sync. We’re going out.”

“But it’s…” Theta’s image flickered with the rumble of thunder, but she still looked to him expectantly.

South couldn’t help but flinch as the AI jumped to her implant, the rush of data and merging thoughts making the dim lights of the room painful to acknowledge. The feeling passed, her eyes screwed shut slowly opening as she felt Theta shift within her mind, feeling her thoughts from the past few months.

She was scared. Her thoughts still lingered on every late-night knock and passing car, that it was the UNSC or worse the Project. That Price himself would simply appear in her apartment after work and that her world would come crashing down. She was hurting – her ribs never healed quite right, and it was uncomfortable to cough when dust from the factory caught in her lungs. Her knee ached in this dreary weather; the bullet wound healed but the nerves still alight with its memory.

But that wasn’t what she wanted him to see. Shrugging her still damp jack back over her shoulders and lacing up her boots, South slipped her helmet on – her hair had grown out, the highlights had faded but she could still see them in the right light – and peeled out of the driveway on her bike.

It was a thankfully short ride to the train station, and a short wait for the southbound line to glide into the station.

“I…I still don’t understand.” Theta mused, watching through South’s eyes as the city faded and empty barrens bled into green fields on the other side of the window. He knew her memories and where they were headed, but he couldn’t make sense of the calm in her heart.

The train stopped, hundreds of kilometers from the city in a few short hours. It was late, South was starving, but she was focused. She could feel Theta’s thoughts from these past few months, the same as he felt her own. He was terrified. Constantly scanning reports for information to contradict his worst unrealized fears. It was consuming him, hours spent alone in the apartment desperate for South’s helmet to come into range so he could talk to her and escape the growing void that threatened drown him.

Her pang of guilt didn’t go unnoticed, but it had been agreed between them that they needed space to settle into their new life. Perhaps she had waited too long to check in and reconnect when he withdrew for days at a time. Perhaps he waited too long to reach out when he needed her.

The walk wasn’t far, the roads dissolving and crop fields stretching out to meet the inky horizon. No stars shone amid the thick clouds, but the downpour had subsided to a drizzle. There was a break in the endless rows of unripe maize, an artificial border of oak trees heavy with acorns loomed ahead.

The graveyard was expansive, stretching deep into the hills that were once a part of the surrounding crop fields. It wasn’t always this large, but the town had refused a memorial plaque for the dozens upon dozens of soldiers that never came home. Family plots had been expanded and new ones added to accommodate the bodies. Or the empty coffins. No stone was the same, but each had a small UNSC flag pinned at its base.

South found the plot she was looking for easily – she had been visiting for weeks at this point. Flowers from her visit last week had since wilted, violet petals leached white by the rain. She crouched in front of them, watching the rain run in rivulets down the granite and catch in the engravings.

The calm came like an ocean wave, washing over Theta as he read the head stones. South’s own beside her brother’s, her father’s beside them. He didn’t understand why the sight was so sobering, but he didn’t have to.

“…You both have the same name?” He finally asked, seeing the small lichens that were beginning to colonize the weathered stone of her father’s headstone. He had been buried years ago.

“Yeah,” South muttered aloud. “Mom’s idea. She hated it after a few years and realized it was stupid, but she never bothered getting paperwork sorted to change it. Didn’t bother asking us – but we made it work. Dad thought it was hilarious.”

“She’s still –” Alive. Her mom had buried them by herself. Alone.

“Somewhere.” There was a heartbeat, Theta’s thoughts churning to gauge South’s smothered feelings.

“Do you want me to find her?” South shifted at the question, standing and beginning the trek back to the train station.

“No.” She could feel Theta shift, trying to understand why. “She’s buried me once. I resurface and she’ll have to lose me again when the UNSC finds me.”

“If. If they find you.”

“If I go home and come back from the dead, it’s guaranteed to make headlines. Might as well send them an invitation to the party.”

The station was quiet and warm, the chill in the air softened by the bright yellow lights and the thrum of the approaching bullet train. South stepped onto the platform as the car doors opened, she the lone passenger at this hour.

“If we go looking for trouble, it will come looking for us. We’re dead now. To the Project, and to everyone else who knew us. We need to remember that. And live beyond it.”

“…I understand.” He did.

She pressed her cheek against the cool glass of the window, eyes drifting closed as the rumble and warmth of the train lulled her to sleep. “Wake me when we get home.”

---

The rain had stopped by the time South took off her helmet, hair still damp but her jacket finally drying. Theta had settled considerably in the time they had spent synced, his anxieties eased, and his confusion cleared. The pair had spent so many months together on the run, it was a homecoming to have his threads of thought once again tied to her own.

“We should do this more often,” Theta suggested as South turned the key and opened the door, the hinges squeaking softly in the dark house.

“Yeah. Monthly tradition from now on?”

“Hm, I was thinking weekly.”

“Every other week?”

“Deal.”

“You drive a hard bargain little man.” South smiled as the AI in her head giggled, a lightness in his voice she hadn’t heard since Delta –

The thought sobered Theta’s laugh, but the appearance of Megan racing toward them down the dark hallway drew both of their attention.

“Meg?” South asked, Theta pointing out to her tired eyes the red rims around Megan’s own. She had been crying. “Meg – what’s wrong?” The woman tried to form words, a strangled sound escaping her lips before she sobbed.

“I – I thought, Mason’s been…”

South thoughts crashed ahead, jumping to scenarios she didn’t sincerely believe but that she logically feared.

“What did he do?” Her voice had hardened, but Theta pressed into her mind, suggesting softness. “Here, here – we can talk in my apartment.” Megan was a mess of muffled whimpers as South herded her through the door, hanging up her rain-soaked jacket with such haste it immediately fell from its peg. She didn’t both picking it up.

The two women settled on the couch, soft and worn with age it creaked as Meg buried her head in the crook of South’s neck, still crying. The tide of tears receded, and before it could again breach the newfound silence, South spoke.

“Tell me what happened. I want to help.”

---

You have no idea how hard these next few chapters are for me. My brain is thoroughly convinced Mason’s name is Morgan (I’m assuming a combination of Megan and Mason) and I honestly can’t rewire my brain on this.

#rvb #red versus blue #theta!south au #rvb fanfiction #rvb south #rvb theta #rvb megan #rvb siris #agent south dakota #theta ai fragment #megan wu #mason wu

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lego-jurassic-world-cheatrq · 2 years

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lego jurassic world cheat codes work B3B%

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rorytelling · 3 years

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This has probably been discussed to death in terms of Tumblr analysis and fanfic since the season came out 10 years ago (wow) but I started watching Red vs Blue in 2011 so while most people were discussing season 9, I was binge watching seasons 1-9 so

What were the Reds and Blues doing while Church was trapped in the Epsilon unit and why couldn't we get that story?

Did they go back to Valhalla? Blood Gulch? How did Wash integrate in with them at that point in time? How much time passed? Why did they never go back for Donut (not that the cast has a good track record for burying dead teammates)? What about Kaikaina and Junior? How did Carolina find them?

We should have gotten that miniseries tbh

#red vs blue #rvb #rvb9 #kestrel freaks out about color coded sim troopers like it's the 2010s again

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hbosscreations · 4 years

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Us Ladies Have to Stick Together

It’s a little later than I’d hoped for, but here is my contribution to @redvsbluesecretsanta for @artesoterica! You asked for Southalina, with a general positive mood! This fic is an AU taking place on Season 15′s Chorus moon in a universe where the Reds and Blues actually get to rest and build a life for themselves. I hope you like it.

Us Ladies Have to Stick Together

When South heard Carolina’s coded message, left in such a way that any of her former people would find it if they were looking, she…didn’t really know what to expect. She wasn’t certain it was meant for her with the way South left things, what with her and Wash trying to kill one another, but it was so damn earnest that South couldn’t ignore it.

‘Wash and I are alive, we’ve shut down the Project and made a safe space for all of us to live. If you see this, come find us. Come home.’

She wasn’t keen at first on going to find anyone, let alone other members of Project Freelancer, but Carolina was good on her word Chorus’s moon wasn’t what she thought it would be. It sounded like isolation, like hiding in a long-abandoned base or in a tiny apartment sleeping in shifts, but Carolina and her people had turned it to something else entirely. The Reds and Blues regularly communicated with the planet below, a shuttle came up more than once to drop off and pick-up soldiers for no reason South could figure out aside from play dates with weapons.

Just like this one.

A shuttle had arrived earlier that day carrying a new face along with a few others that South recognized from the deliveries every other week. The Sim Troopers had quite the fan club, and it was very normal for the shuttle to arrive and stay overnight so the troops could hang out. This time, the newcomer seemed to get all of the attention. It was such a relief to not feel the pointed stares from both the Reds and Blues and the Chorus soldiers.

South blew up her bangs and retied the bandana around her head to keep her hair out of the way while she worked on Sarge’s warthog, the perfect vantage point to observe without staring and be present without having to actually interact with anyone. The Sim Troopers weren’t as bad as South expected them to be most days, Washington’s influence excluded, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with them yet.

The strange woman who arrived in the shuttle, wearing bright yellow armor and a swagger that told everyone who saw her that she was hot shit and she knew it, immediately screamed for Grif to get his lazy butt outside and come help move her shit inside the base.

It didn’t take long for her to start chatting and then chasing the Sim Troopers around. She hooted and hollered and pelted the soldiers with paintballs from a gun that should not have been shooting paintballs in the first place, all the while crowing ‘GO BLUE!’.

Despite the fact she didn’t seem to care if she was hitting a Red or a Blue.

Judging by the yelling and giggles, they didn’t seem to mind it either.

South’s helmet was dropped next to her on the engine while she watched, contemplating if she had earned enough good will to join in considering practically everyone on the moon was playing already, and Carolina put a hand on South’s shoulder to draw her attention.

New Carolina was the day to Old Carolina’s night. More emotionally mature, more secure in herself, and more confident. The dark shadows had finally passed, but she was still the same woman South had served under.

“You should probably put that on. It would be horrible if Kai accidentally shot you in the eye; the only medical treatment you’re likely to get is CPR and orange juice.”

The hand shifted from her shoulder and brushed the back of her neck. South barely held in her shiver.

New Carolina was more tactile, taking the time to make contact outside of training. She always had time for a smile, something kind to say even if the comment was odd, and casual touching that felt out of place coming from her former leader.

South had to admit that it was nice to be appreciated, though.

“Which army is Kai from, Fed or New Republic? I don’t recognize her or the paint job.”

“She’s the youngest of our Sims, Grif’s little sister, not from Chorus.”

The Reds looked to have begun their retaliation, pulling out buckets of paint, paint balloons, and paint ball guns of their own. They ran around screaming with her instead of running from her, and South laughed a little.

“They’re like a bunch of goofy teenagers, aren’t they? I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep them all alive so long.”

She pulled her helmet on, ignoring the fact that most of her armor was on the ground. She could handle paintball welts and didn’t feel like trading the extra protection of the armor for the contact she got when Carolina watched her work. Standing just a little too close, with her hand on South’s lower back, it felt like things were actually right.

“She’s going to be staying.”

The warthog got regular work, practically daily maintenance and fine tuning, but for some reason it felt like everything South did to it was undone at the end of the day.

“Hmm.”

“She talks a lot, but you can’t be mean unless you want the Reds and Blues both mad at you. Grif is really protective of her; they all are.”

Knowing Sarge, it probably was. He probably came in as soon as she walked away and fiddled with it, bickering with Lopez as he used a wrench on the wrong pieces and broke screwdrivers inside.

“South? Are you listening to me?”

“Sure, Yellow is a wild child and I shouldn’t pick on her. The Sims don’t talk to me much, why would I bother with Grif’s little sister?”

Was Lopez doing this? Normally he fixed things, but maybe he resented her coming in and doing his job for him. It did prevent him from avoiding the rest of Red Team.

“South, will you stop for a second? Look at me?”

Shit. South must have missed a tone thing again, it happened sometimes. Between the military and being on her own for so long, South didn’t always know how to read casual conversation anymore. She preferred direct conversation any day.

“I’m worried about you.”

That flash of guilt that flared up any time Carolina wanted to take care of her was back.

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’m coping.”

“You’re stagnating. Soon you’re going to start tearing your hair out and alienating the guys because you’re bored and looking for stimulation. Trust me, antagonizing the Reds and Blues will only lead to problems and you do not want that. I care about you and I would hate for you to end up with mustard in your blankets or a bucket of snakes above your door. Let me introduce you to Kaikaina Grif.”

“I don’t understand what meeting her has got to do with antagonizing anybody or the strangely bizarre and specific pranks.”

“You’re bored, and Kai is definitely not boring. I think spending some time with her will be good for you.”

Carolina didn’t accept Wash and South tiptoeing around one another or South trying to sneak out in the middle of the night because of her insomnia, and she apparently wasn’t going to rest until South had made some friends, even if that meant flying friends in for her.

The hand on her neck started to massage gently, feeling the tension that had settled there. South let out a groan.

“You’re what? Assigning her to me?”

“Oh no, Kai’s been a Blue longer than you’ve been here, she outranks you. I’m assigning you to her.”

“What?”

Carolina called out to Kai and waved her in before she firmly turned South to face the Sim Trooper charging at them. The moment the woman in yellow skidded to a stop in front of them, she took a beat to look South up and down before she turned and did the same to Carolina.

“Carolina, lookin’ fine-ah! Still bangin’ as always! How are the jam sessions with the band?”

“They have yet to comment on my being tone deaf and I’m not spoiling the game, so it’s been fun. Kai, this is South, she’s an old friend of mine in need of someone to teach her how to have a good time. Can you do that?”

“Ch, yeah! I am great at fun!”

“Fantastic. Kai, from now on, South follows your orders the way she used to follow mine. She won’t like it, she’ll bitch, but she’s a great soldier and a good friend to have at your back.”

“If you want a knife put in it.”

Washington came around the warthog, a large splash of red down his left side and a steady spattering of blue on the right. He must have gotten caught in the middle of the fight.

“Hey, Kai. What’s up?”

“Hey, Cop. You still being a cop? You have to tell me, you know!”

“That’s still not a law.”

That easy amused tone shook South. He sounded so much older; more world weary. It fit him.

“Washington,” Carolina bit out, “If you’re not going to play nice, go away.”

He saluted, patted Kai on the shoulder, and moved back into the fray. The soldiers cheered as he snagged a balloon and smashed it into the side of Tucker’s head.

“Anyway, Kai, South is my gift to you. Think of her like you’ve just been given a very angry puppy and you’ll be great.”

“Carolina, you cannot be serious.”

“I am very serious; you need someone to help you transition to our way of life and Kai is the best person to do that. Kai, her job is to do what you tell her, your job is to keep her from going off the deep end. Don’t order anything I wouldn’t approve of, but other than that, go nuts.”

South scowled at the thought of a woman at least ten years younger than her, a stranger, issuing orders. She didn’t exactly have a choice but to go on with it, where else was she going to go?

“This is ridiculous.”

And it’s not like she wanted to leave anyway. Not again. Not after everything she’d gone through to get there.

Not after finally getting her chance to be with Carolina again.

“I’m not your commanding officer anymore. You could always say no, but if that’s the case I’m giving you to the Reds, and their chaos is unbridled. Think of it this way, Donut will do your nails, but Kai excels at doing hair and your purple has been missing for too long.”

South shrugged and Kai immediately dragged her toward the base.

“You’re the one with purple tips, right? I’ve seen the pics. We’re doing your hair right now. I know that you haven’t had a dye job since you got here, there’s no one here that does hair even half as good as me!”

She jabbered endlessly while she set up a chair at the big sink on the base. Her steady stream of increasingly weird stories about herself and her sex life made South laugh, and the commentary about the guys on base made South sure she never wanted to get on this girl’s bad side.

Once they were gone, Carolina wheeled a large box into the room.

“Your portable salon, madame. Don’t scare her off, ok? It took forever to bring her home.”

“Pshaw! She likes me already! Don’t you, baby?”

Both women looked at South and she shrugged.

“You’re fine. Let’s get this over with so I can get back to work.”

“I’ll take that as a win for now! You’ll warm up.”

With that, Kai pushed South into the chair and threw a cape around her shoulders. Kai’s hands were sturdy and soothing as they carded through South’s hair and scratched at her scalp, talking about what she thought would look best for a minute before she realized South wasn’t listening in the slightest and switched back to talking about herself again. How she’d wanted to go to beauty school when she was younger, and that she used to do everyone’s hair at the circus. South only half listened.

God, her fingers were like magic.

South melted into the chair and decided to let the woman have her way with her hair. Worst case scenario, South would shave her head and let it grow back. And it was worth it to have her hair ruined if Kai would just keep working on her hair.

“She’s funny, right?”

South made a questioning noise.

“Carolina. She shows her love weird. She’s been trying for weeks now to get me out here, telling me Grif misses me, that the team is trying to set up a training center here. Didn’t fly, cause that sounds awful, so she talked to the freaking president of Chorus and got me a training gig putting together events and festivals on the planet’s surface. Someone decided they needed events for good public relations and off world traffic, and I’m pretty good at it!”

Carolina laughed a little from where she was pointedly not hovering.

“She got you a job, huh?”

“She got me a good paying job where my brother can keep an eye on me, so he’s happy. From there, it’s like a waterfall, making him happy makes Simmons happy, which makes Donut and Sarge happy, which makes Caboose happy, which makes Tucker happy, which makes Wash happy, which makes Carolina happy. Everyone here is sooooo codependent. You, I don’t know about, but that’s ok. We’re gonna party and I’ll learn all your secrets.”

God, the thought of going to the planet’s surface to ‘party’ made South’s whole body tense up. Way too much exposure, to high a risk of being seen.

“I don’t really party these days.”

“Yeah, I figured. I’ll fix that. Once I get you sorted, Carolina can finally stop worrying about her little circle and relax. Anything you want in particular? Because if you don’t, I’m gonna trim you up and give you crazy purple hair, it’s gonna take some time, but it’ll look fabulous.”

“I’m in your hands, gorgeous.”

“You’re a flirt! I like that.”

South did her best to keep up the chatting, thankful that Kai held the majority of the conversation herself, and when she might have lulled, Carolina stepped in and stoked the conversation back up.

She did the whole nine yards; washed South’s hair, massaged her scalp, trimmed her up to something more akin to her preferred style, bleached her hair for coloring and mixed colors. South honestly didn’t give a shit about what Kai did, so she gleefully went to town.

Once she started putting color on, Carolina frowned.

“You’re doing her whole head?”

“I have creative license here, so yeah, I’m doing her whole head! It’s gonna be fucking badass, just you wait!”

Carolina pulled up a chair and sat across from South with a nervous smile and stretched her leg out to brush ankles with South. South smiled back and tapped Carolina with the side of her boot. She didn’t pull away, she didn’t want or need to.

Kai wasn’t wrong, Carolina did show her love in weird ways. She never said it, but she showed it in a thousand different ways. South watched Carolina work with the Reds and Blues every day, watched her interact with the people from Chorus who flew up to the moon to ‘train’, how she took the time to touch and ground the people around her despite her own discomfort with the process.

How she understood that South needed help and care but was too angry and proud to ever ask for it.

“I trust you, Kai, just don’t make her look like a clown.”

“I would never! This gorgeous face can pull all kinds of looks, and I intend to make her look fucking sexy as fuck! Chill, Carolina, I’m not going to mess your other girlfriend’s look up.”

South tried to look up at Kai, confused, but Kai grabbed South’s head and held it in place.

“Don’t move, you’ll ruin my hard work.”

Carolina laughed a little and rubbed her ankle against South’s and asked Kai about her most recent exploits. South just closed her eyes and listened to the women talk.

The color was washed out, her hair blow dried and style, and with a cheeky grin, Kai shoved a mirror into South’s face.

“Well?”

It looked…good.

Her head was covered multiple tones of purples, blues, and reds, in a way that looked like it shouldn’t have worked, but it really did. Dark and bold, her hair felt soft and fell nicely. Honestly, it was too good for the life South lived. Between helmet time and working on trucks, she was sure she wouldn’t do it justice in the long run.

But Carolina looked really happy, and judging by Kai’s bright smile, she was too.

“You like it, right?”

“Don’t push her.”

South smirked.

“She can push me if she wants, you’re the one who told her to boss me around. I like it.”

“Great!” Kai crowed. “We’re gonna get our nails done tonight, no fighting, I brought Donut a new gel kit and he’s dying to use it!”

Carolina stood up and pressed a kiss to Kai’s cheek and praised her for a job well done, before she kiss to South’s cheek as well.

“I’m glad you like it. Kai’s great, you to are going to get along like a house on fire.”

“Uh, I’m not lighting anything on fire.”

South hadn’t expected anything good when she came here, came home, but everything was genuinely better than she expected. Carolina took her hand and kissed the knuckles before idly telling Kai that she hoped they’d also brought decent alcohol because Donut’s wine and cheese hour was dreadful without actual wine to drink.

She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t known how badly she wanted it, but she was so glad she’d come.

#redvsbluesecretsanta #artesoterica #Red vs Blue #fanfiction

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cardinal-carvings · 4 years

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@onehell-of-apilot: ✿ Crimson wants attention 👀

12; hand kiss

Quiet moments tucked away inside of Cardinal’s own quarters while in the presence of Crimson had slowly started to become one of Cardinal’s favourite things. Like a little treat-- something rare, but sweet when it was offered forth. And perhaps the rarity only added to how delicious it was. How satisfying.

When Crimson had first slipped in about seventeen minutes ago-- having long since been given the clearance codes to Cardinal’s own quarters to make these meet ups a little easier-- Cardinal had been busy finishing up going over the scores from the sims. Some days, it wasn’t a task that completely enveloped Cardinal’s attention but considering the troopers in question were to be tested to see if they were good enough to graduate in a few days he had to be certain things were going as smooth as possible. Of course, he had full faith in his children but... it never hurt to be certain.

Now, however, he could finally tear hazel eyes away from the datapad he’d been studying for hours-- attention properly shifting over towards the man who’d not only taken up physical space in his room, but has started to take up figurative space in his heart. A smile quirks his lips, as the datapad is finally cast aside with utmost care in favour of grasping Crimson’s hand.

“Either you’re really patient, or really stubborn,” The words were more teasing than anything-- tinted in fondness as a thumb brushed along the top of Crimson’s hand. Then, slowly, Cardinal leaned down-- raising the hand up to meet halfway so a soft, tender kiss could be placed to the the bared skin, “But I suppose it’s paid off either way.”

#answered #gif #onehell of apilot #𝙧𝙚𝙙'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧‚ 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 「 crimson star | onehell of apilot 」#AH... CALLING CARDI OUT I SEE...#OK GENERATOR #𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙙 ― Captain Cardinal #im sobbing he's a worrying dad and highkey workoholic #also i just... baby

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rubykgrant · 8 months

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I love your headcanons for Freelancers and AI being alive, but I raise you: BOTH AT ONCE! And 479er because I totally see her being like an aggressive mom friend to the Freelancers, and maybe Illinois lives too and teaches Donut how to use grenades even better.

Heck yeah, that sounds awesome! We definitely need more grenade-Donut, and I want to see him with ones that explode with the pink freeze-paint from the Freelancer training rounds~

Oh, I have a WHOLE THING with 479er in what is my "main story-line". I love multiple AUs myself and other people have where the Freelancers and AI all get to still be around, in various different ways. Just the potential of the character interactions is so much fun!

I had this one vague AU idea where Alpha was not such a big secret during Project Freelancer (like, the day he was created, there just happened to be a few extra official people around, and thus the Director wasn't able to totally lie about what he was doing). The nature of the whole project and Sim Trooper situation changed... because they asked the new, unique, and highly advanced AI what would be the most practical ways to run things; Alpha wanted the Sim Troopers to KNOW they were part of training simulations, be given non-lethal ammunition, and potentially participate in certain Freelancer missions (some even becoming like "side-kicks" to Freelancers, with code-names based on big cities and capitals from the state the Freelancer is designated). Alpha also thought it would be optimal for his AI Fragments to be able to help different agents, thus interacting with multiple people, gaining more experience and learning how to deal with various situations (so it isn't just "top agents" who get AI assistance, but pretty much every Freelancer at some point, but obviously they form bonds with certain people). Alpha still finds all his Reds and Blues, who also know Tex, Carolina, and Wash from the beginning... things still go WRONG, but in a vastly different way (also, the Director is ticked-off the whole time, because he can't work on his dead-wife project)

In my main story-line, I've shared how I have Church and Tex return along with the other AI Fragments; when Epsilon Deconstructed, all the data from his memories were sent back to the original AI units, reviving them. Because the Director eventually planned to have his "ideal version" of Allison back, and revive her with a synthetic human body, he also planned to do the same for himself (because he wants it all to be "perfect", and have a new, younger body so they can "start their lives over"). Even though the DNA samples came from him and Allison, the genetic information sort of "randomizes" itself without any restrictions, so the synthetic bodies aren't identical clones, but more like siblings or cousins that have the same grandparents. Tex and Church get to be people, and still do AI things, plus the Fragments are finally able to be part of things with everybody!

I want Wash to go looking for the Triplets, so they're around too. Every time he got in a tight spot, Flowers just fakes his death and peaces-out, but he comes back too (while he's definitely intimidating and kind of insidious, but he's not a pure "villain", and would like to attempt being more "positively involved" with his favorite boys from Blood Gulch). There are a few other people from Project Freelancer that escaped the after-math of things falling apart and who weren't killed by Temple's group, but don't really get involved with the other characters... HOWEVER, I do indeed bring back Niner, and I also have a Freelancer OC AND a former Insurrectionist that hadn't been part of the the direct-fighting but was very close with Sharkface's group who become part of things! Repeating Carolina and Wash having a "past that comes back", but not to haunt them with new villains, instead trying to make new connections with the chance to heal old pain~

#anon #ask #answer #red vs blue #rvb

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kineticallyanywhere · 6 years

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random rvb headcanons

Wash’s specialty as a freelancer was survival and endurance, not because he could take a hit like Maine, but because he could avoid getting it in the first place. it didn’t matter who was stronger or faster or more skilled or better prepared. If this guy set on getting himself (and his team) out a situation, he could get out of it. Washington just laying down to die would have been an intergalactic event (ouch season 8)

very little gets past Grif. One of those “could be so much more if he actually cared” types, it’s just buried under like seven levels of Not Caring At All and/or Aggressively caring about things that “aren’t important”. Basically he doesn’t know how to make effective use of his own brain but come on he learned Spanish in the span of a couple of weeks.

York’s infiltration skills were more in grifting than in lock picking. It’s not that he can’t pick locks (he definitely could, thanks D, just give me a freakin’ chance), it’s just that talking his way into places is way more fun and leaves way less evidence

if Tucker was a bit more prone to violence, he would have been a full-blown freelancer (and been pretty good at it). If he hadn’t been a match for Buckey while Florida was putting together Blood Gulch, they may have funneled him into those they considered training to replace their lost freelancers after the MoI crash. (You cannot convince me that Tucker couldn’t take on the Triplets in a fight)

The Meta had no use for Washington without Epsilon -- Maine pulled Wash out of the MoI wreckage.

The rest of the freelancers left Wash at the MoI because they couldn’t risk getting caught by the Meta, but they stayed away after they heard about his Article 12. Not because he was “crazy”, but because they figured that, even if it was in one of the worst possible ways, Wash had gotten out, and they didn’t want to risk dragging him back in just to say hi.

Before shipping out to basic, Simmons set up half a dozen viruses in the computers of a company that belongs to a guy who was a dick to him in high school. They’ve been slowly cleaning and funneling money into an off-planet account for the better part of a decade. The account as millions of dollars in it now. Simmons has forgotten about it.

Florida made two lists when putting together the Blood Gulch outposts: one for Freelancers to be sent in case of his death or to investigate upon his lack of contact, and one to replace any lost sim troopers should they somehow actually hurt each other. When Vic got scrambled, the Freelancer list was deleted, so Vic just pulled from the sim trooper list.

Upon further analysis of the Desert Gulch scenario, Loco and Cronut were deemed “chaos factors”, and so their Blood Gulch counterparts were pushed back onto that ‘in case of emergency’ list

So while Caboose and Donut being in Blood Gulch was technically an accident, they were still picked by Florida to match the Desert Gulch scenario

Armor colors aren’t totally meaningless:

Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue: Standard Soldier

Black/Grey: Special Ops

White/Silver: Military Police

Purple: Medic/Doctor

North and South were both sent to med school (gee, thank’s mom and dad) and were drafted to be field surgeons (thus purple=doc, which seems to extend all the way to Chorus). They hadn’t been working in their field base very long before it was attacked. Broken, highly classified, footage is the only evidence for how quickly they both broke their medical oaths in order to walk out as the only survivors, human or alien.

Maine and Wyoming were both guards at a military prison. Prisoner behavior was never better than under their watch; and no one ever escaped.

By season 15, Lopez’s code more closely represents a smart AI than a dumb AI

If York had opened with a pickup line, he never would have seen Carolina again. Instead, York lost a bet with her and had to sign up for supplementary MP training with her (he was getting bored, anyway). He was the only one in training who could keep up with her (not that anyone really keeps up with Carolina), which was impressive enough that when she got called to Project Freelancer he got pulled along with her.

Agent York and Agent Jersey didn’t get along. This naming scheme is not a coincidence.

Stoned!/Wasted!Wash speaks fluent Caboose

#red vs blue #rvb #headcanons #i tried to balance myself out so this wasn't just 12 complicated theories about wash #me talking

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what-happened-to-agent-georgia · 6 years

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S.O.S (Ch. 1/2)

Hello, I am back from a stretch of not writing like. Anything. And what am I here to give you all? Angst, of course.

A while back, @wordsysayswords made a little post. I then asked if I could write a fic based on said post, and she said YES.

Title: SOS

Words: 3376

Characters: Sherry, Ohio, Terrill, Idaho, Iowa, Darryl, Freelancers mentioned

Relationship: Ohio/Sherry

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/language; implied/referenced character death; characters thought to be dead; angst

Summary: Maine’s distress beacon is the first to set off the Triplets’ comms system. But it isn’t the last. Read also on Ao3.

Their first temporary truce is celebrated with vodka and kisses, but their second is accompanied by sobriety and the incessant shriek of a distress beacon.

Huddled together in front of the only functioning computer on their base with Mike, Ezra, Sherry and the others, Vera tries to block out the noise. She can tune it out okay, and she doesn’t really mind shutting her ears off. No one’s saying anything anyway, just holding their breath.

A green glow illuminates the cold, dusty room, barely big enough to be a closet, interrupted only by a flash of red light every few seconds. The green light is from the outline of a suit of armor—of a body—displayed at the left side of the screen. There are words on the right, but either they’re scrolling by too fast or Vera just can’t read the language. She thinks it’s English. Too blurry to tell.

What she can tell is who the armor belongs too, and she chooses to focus on this fact for as long as possible.

But it’s kind of hard to ignore the flashing red light coming from the armor’s throat.

“Is that—?” Ezra starts to ask, but Vera cuts him off.

“Agent Maine.”

“Another Freelancer?” Terrill asks from behind Mike’s elbow. He and Darryl stand shoulder to shoulder hunched over Mike and Sherry, who are pressed tight up against Vera and Ezra.

A wave of irritation washes over Vera—maybe at Terrill, maybe at the elbow digging into her ribs, maybe at the fact the room is no longer cold but is, in fact, very warm—and she sighs.

“Yes, Terrill,” Vera retorts. “Agent Maine is a Freelancer. Just like Iowa, Idaho, and myself.”

“You don’t have to talk so slow, I’m not an idiot,” Terrill says. “It was a valid question!”

“Shut up, Terrill,” Sherry snaps.

Vera can hear the hitched breath and clicking of teeth as Terrill contemplates arguing before closing his mouth, and she sends Sherry as many vibes of gratitude she can muster. She can’t turn around to look at her, because, well, she can’t fucking move in this computer “room”.

“His vitals are so fucked,” Ezra mutters. Vera glances over at him. His eyes are glazed over, reflecting the alternating red and green lights.

“But he’s still alive!” Mike points out.

“Yeah.” Vera looks back up at the computer screen. She wonders if it’s possible to go blind from staring for too long. Then she realizes it’s been about a minute since she’s blinked.

Closing her eyes, she lets out the first of many exasperated sighs.

“How long do these distress thinga-ma-jigs last?” Sherry asks, leaning forward. Vera feels her breath tickle her ear and she shivers.

“I don’t actually know,” Vera answers. “Never seen one before. I’m surprised this one reached us.”

“Did your helmets’ comms systems notify you of anything?” Sherry asks.

Vera blinks. She hasn’t put her armor on yet today—the distress beacon screaming at them from the computer room is what woke her up. After that it was a blur of shaking Mike awake while Ezra put up the blue flag they found in the lower levels of the base. Some sim trooper thing they used as a truce signal.

Sherry, Terrill, and Darryl rushed over, brandishing their guns in case it was a trick, dropping them and shucking their armor when they realized it wasn’t. Then they gathered around the nine-by-thirteen computer screen, watching in silence as almost certain death claimed their old teammate.

“I don’t know,” Vera says. “And hopefully there won’t be another chance to find out.”

At that moment the computer flashed one last time, flickering out with a final squawk. The sudden darkness was both refreshing and disorienting, the silence unsettling.

Vera popped her jaw, trying to get rid of the ringing in her ears.

The beacon had been going off for an hour, the only change being Agent Maine’s erratic vital signs. It hurt to look at, but now Vera would give just about anything to get it back.

“Does that mean he’s—ow!” Darryl squeaks as someone—probably Sherry—jabs him in the ribs.

“I don’t know what it means, okay?” Vera snaps, leaping to her feet.

Or, she tries to leap to her feet. As she rises, Ezra is knocked backward, taking his chair, Mike, and Terrill with him like a row of sentient dominoes. Terrill lets out a squeak as he smacks the back of his head into the metal door. It beeps and slides open, something it’s not technically supposed to do without a code, but whatever.

Everything’s broken here.

“Ow, the back of my head!” Terrill cries.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Vera exclaims, whirling around to help Ezra to his feet.

Sherry grabs hold of Mike and pulls him up while Darryl takes care of Terrill. Massaging his head, Terrill gives her a dirty look, but it quickly softens.

“It’s all right,” he says. “It, uh, doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Hey, you okay?” Sherry places a hand on Vera’s shoulder.

Vera’s face goes hot, and she’s not sure whether to shake Sherry’s hand away or lean into the touch. She decides on option C, which is doing nothing, standing frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Yeah, just,” Vera sniffles, unable to finish the thought. She reaches up, presses her fingers into her eyes in a feeble attempt to stop the tears.

She’s not even sure why this hit her so hard, she hardly knew Maine—and the boys only met him once or twice. The Alpha Team were like, likened to gods practically. When David and Connie moved up, Vera was afraid they’d forget about her, Mike, and Ezra, leave them all behind to choke on their super badass Freelancer dust.

Not that they were around long enough for that to happen.

“I hope David and Connie are okay,” Mike says, echoing Vera’s thoughts. Ezra hums his agreement.

Sherry coughs, tightening her grip slightly. Vera looks up at her, praying her eyes aren’t too red. She’s managed to stop her tears, but she still feels as exhausted as she might be after sobbing her eyes out.

“We, uh, forgot our extra ammo, so we surrender,” Sherry says. Darryl nods so hard it looks like his head might fly off as Sherry continues, “Why don’t we make some coffee and watch a dumb movie, or something?”

Vera nods once, head heavy, and follows the others out of the computer room.

“We’ve only got, like five movies to pick from,” Ezra says. “I vote—”

“Four,” Mike interrupts.

“What?” Ezra asks, turning his head to squint at Mike.

“Four movies,” Mike says. “Someone accidentally blew up ‘Charlotte’s Web’.”

“Goddammit, Mike—”

Sherry halts, grabbing Vera’s hand and pulling her gently backwards. Vera, unprepared, yelps, almost toppling over. Sherry holds her steady.

“Hey.” Sherry grips Vera by her shoulders, looks her dead in the eyes.

Vera can’t decide whether to be concerned or enticed by Sherry’s gorgeous fucking eyes, then shakes her head.

Snap out of it, dummy, she scolds herself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherry asks her.

Something that Vera can only describe as a stab knifes through her, allowing those feelings she had just locked up tight to leak out. She wants to scream, she wants to cry, she wants to break something.

Instead Vera reaches up, wraps her fingers around Sherry’s wrists, and gently peels her hands from her shoulders.

“I’m fine, Sherry,” Vera says. “I don’t want to talk about it. Maine wasn’t my friend, anyway. I hardly knew the guy!”

Sherry frowns, but she doesn’t protest. Doesn’t yank her hands away either. Vera, suddenly very shy, lets Sherry’s wrists go.

“I’m fine,” Vera repeats. “Now just drop it, okay?”

“Okay,” Sherry says, voice short.

They walk the rest of the way to the breakroom in silence.

Vera can feel the room closing in on her and she struggles to breathe. Black spots dance before her eyes as she sinks to the ground, hands around her ears as if it’s going to block out the beacon’s scream. Muffled voices come from the blurry shapes fussing around her, but she can’t bring them into focus. She presses harder on her ears, slamming her eyes shut.

But she can still see it.

It’s still there, burnt into the back of her eyelids.

The outline of the soldier on the screen is unmistakable. Like Maine’s, one of a kind. But this one’s much shorter.

“Connie,” Vera croaks. Tears, hot and heavy, roll down her face. She brings her knees in as close to her chest as possible, trying to fold into herself, to make herself smaller. Maybe even disappear.

Everything happened so fast.

Vera’s helmet screeching in her ear mid-skirmish. Vera looking over at Ezra and Mike, also frozen, before throwing down her gun and sprinting towards their base. Sherry shouting something. Stray bullets smacking into the snow around Vera as she ran. And with every heartbeat, with every strangled breath, one name reverberated through Vera’s head.

Connie. Connie. Connie.

Vera reached the computer first, chucking her helmet to the side. Eyes burning, she watched the little green-and-red model of Connie rotate on the screen. It didn’t take long for the vitals to bottom out.

But the distress beacon kept going.

For forty-five more minutes.

For forty-five minutes, Vera sat there, hardly registering the sudden warmth of Ezra and Mike sinking to the floor beside her, wrapping their arms around her.

For forty-five minutes, Vera wishes they’d destroyed their comms systems. It’s painfully clear no one is coming for them, that they’re clinging like idiots to false hopes.

For forty-five minutes, Vera considers shooting her gun next to her ears to drown out the computer’s eerie lament. She considers it, but she can’t bring herself to move even a finger.

For forty-five minutes, Vera wants to murder the Director. Because if anyone’s responsible for Connie’s death, it’s that motherfucker.

When the beacon finally dies, Vera’s run out of tears. Blinking, she lets out a shuddering sigh and returns Ezra and Mike’s embrace. Her arms and elbows complain as she eases them from their tensed position to drape them over her friends’ shoulders. Mike sniffles, but Ezra stares at the floor like he can see through it, eyes miles away.

Their grief eventually gives way to discomfort. Power armor isn’t ideal for sitting in a sad huddle with your friends. Extracting herself from the hug, Vera rises to her feet, knees popping. She looks over at the computer screen, watches the cursor dart across the screen, writing out the date, time, and cause of death in bright green letters.

One word at the bottom of the report catches her eye, and Vera shuffles over to the computer, eyes narrowed.

There, at the bottom of the screen is one word, this time typed out in glowing red letters:

MISSING.

What the hell does that mean? That Connie’s missing? Missing where?

“What the fuck is going on?” Vera shouts, kicking the desk chair. It clatters across the room and smacks up against the wall.

Ezra and Mike don’t say anything, but Ezra comes up beside her to look at the computer as well. His brows furrow when he reads the red lettering.

Vera growls and stomps out of the room, making her way down the corridor and toward her bunk.

This isn’t fair, how come she and the others are here while Connie, Wash and the others are out risking their lives and—and fucking dying? If Freelancer was looking for soldiers ready to die for the cause, they threw away three of them on this frozen planet.

And now—what, Connie’s freaking body is missing? Vera has no idea what’s going on, and those old feelings of helplessness, of being useless, surface after months of figuring out how to shove them away. Freelancer continues to haunt them, which is hilarious to Vera, because shouldn’t she, Mike, and Ezra be the ones to haunt Freelancer? Of course, that would only make a difference if the Director had a conscience.

Reaching the door to her bunk, Vera punches the button to open the door. As the door slides open, the pad the button is attached to pops, sparks, and fizzes. The door freezes half way, and Vera groans. She tries to shove the door the rest of the way open, but the base is content on working whenever the fuck it wants, and right now, it doesn’t want to.

Vera huffs and removes her armor, dropping it all to the floor right outside the door before slipping inside her bunk.

She doesn’t even bother turning on the light before falling into bed. Shoving her face into her pillow, she closes her eyes, only to find Connie’s face smirking at her. Eyes flying open, Vera flips over and stares at the small sliver of light cutting across the ceiling.

Maybe they should just shut off the computer.

III

They don’t shut off the computer, of course. The miniscule chance someone would contact them, or hear their distress signals, keeps them from blowing it all up.

Deep down, Vera knows—and she knows the others do too—that no one is ever going to call their names over that radio.

“You could take turns checking the computer,” Sherry suggests to Vera one night.

They’re laying in Vera’s bed, limbs intertwined and tangled in the sheets, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bare skin. Sherry’s arm is around Vera, and she reaches up to stroke Vera’s hair.

Sighing, Vera leans into Sherry’s hand. Electrified by the touch, she almost forgets what Sherry said.

“Maybe,” Vera says, closing her eyes for one. Two. Three seconds. Then she says, “I guess. I don’t know.”

“Then maybe you wouldn’t have to have it thrown in your face every time,” Sherry goes on. “Take turns reporting what you see?”

“I don’t think Mike could do it on his own,” Vera says. “Shit, I don’t know if I could be in there alone. What if—god, what if it’s David who dies next? I mean, Connie’s gone, Maine’s—Maine’s maybe gone! What if they all just fucking die, Sherry?”

Vera sits up, slipping out of Sherry’s embrace and pulls her legs up towards her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she presses her eyes into her knees. She shivers, her back now exposed to the barely tolerable chill. Since the base’s energy is finite, they’ve started turning the heat down. Vera would almost rather die warm than freeze her ass off.

Almost.

There’s the swish of sheets as Vera feels Sherry sit up as well, and a warm pressure around her shoulders as Sherry holds her once more. Sherry rests her chin on the top of Vera’s head.

“I’m sorry, sweet cheeks,” Sherry murmurs into Vera’s hair. “If I knew a way off this ice cube, you’d be the first to know.”

“Ha!” The corners of Vera’s mouth twitch. “Thanks, Sherry.”

Straightening out her legs, Vera moves to lay down again, and Sherry follows suit. Vera reaches up for the light switch, remembers there is no light switch, and sighs.

“Lights off,” she commands, and the room goes dark.

Well, it sort-of goes dark. There’s still light peaking in through the door, which is still freaking busted. Luckily Mike and Ezra’s rooms are a floor below her, and they… probably can’t hear anything.

Soon Vera can hear Sherry’s breaths deepen and slow down as she falls asleep, humming softly into her pillow. Vera stares at the gap between the wall and the door, listening to Sherry sleep, trying to find some of her own. She’s generally good at falling asleep—a master, really. When her body finally realized no one was going to play “Reveille” every morning at 0500, Vera even overslept.

It’s kind of hard for Vera to fall asleep when she’s waiting to be awakened by the sound of someone else dying.

Eventually, maybe two hours later, Vera starts to drift off. She nestles a little deeper into Sherry’s arms and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Her last thought before she slips into an uneasy sleep is that she should probably just ask Sherry to move in.

At that same moment, far away in a distant corner of the galaxy, the Mother of Invention falls from the sky.

Vera crosses every name off in her head, each Freelancer popping up for a few seconds, screaming out vitals, and vanishing to make way for another soldier’s injury map.

Kansas. Louisiana. Vermont. Minnesota. South. North. York. Carolina.

Washington.

(It’s easier than calling him David, than seeing his first name glaring at her; easier to picture Washington with all those broken bones, to picture David smiling, using that dumb silly straw—)

Some are dying, some dead. The lucky ones only have a few broken bones—well, the lucky ones are probably the Freelancers that aren’t showing up on the screen. Did they escape whatever fate the others met? Off on other missions, out of harm’s way? Or maybe they’re just out of their power armor—Vera shakes her head, refuses to consider the option a second longer.

“It’s gotta be an ambush,” Ezra says, his voice hitching up an octave. “I—I mean, how does someone get the drop on a ship full of fuck—fucking Freelancers?”

They’re all crowded in the computer room once again, this time without Terrill and Darryl, still asleep at their base. Sherry is the only one not huddled around the screen. Instead, she stands in the doorway, permanently open after the boys fell into it the one time, wrapped in Vera’s itchy wool comforter.

“Whoever attacked them, or whatever happened,” Vera croaks, finding her voice, “Lots of them died from some huge impact.”

“The Mother of Invention?” Ezra looks over at Vera, wild eyed. The green and red glow from the screen casts odd shadows on his face, making him look hollow. Horrifying and horrified. “You mean, like, something hit it?”

“Or it fell,” Mike suggests.

“Or it fell,” Vera echoes.

They watch until the distress beacon screeches to a halt, about fifteen minutes too early. Something must have happened to the ship’s comms, or maybe it was something else, but Vera is the last person to ask about technology of that caliber.

What she does know is her friends are dead or dying, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Letting out a shriek, Vera leaps to her feet and punches the computer. The screen cracks, but doesn’t go out, and Vera feels her anger surge, clawing its way out of her throat. Howling in frustration she strikes the computer again and again and again, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She lifts her leg up and brings her bare foot down on the keyboard, and the machine finally pops and fizzes out.

Chest heaving, Vera watches the smoke rising and the sparks spitting from the screen. She hoped to feel some satisfaction, but all she feels is more anger.

Vera feels a hand on her shoulder and jerks away.

“Don’t touch me!” she hisses.

“Vera,” Sherry says, softly.

“Just—just go,” Vera says, face hot. “You don’t wanna be around me right now and—and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

Sherry doesn’t say anything, but Vera can feel her eyes burning into the back of her skull. It takes everything she has not to turn around and scream, curse, break something. She can feel Ezra and Mike on either side of her, tense, waiting—not for her reaction, but for their own.

Vera sucks in a huge breath and lets it out. Then she turns around to face Sherry. Their eyes meet, and Vera sees her pain reflected in Sherry’s.

“I love you, Sherry,” Vera says. “But right now, me and Mike and Ezra need to be alone, okay?”

Sherry looks ready to protest, but then she seems to see something in Vera’s face. Nodding, she reaches out one more time, pausing inches from Vera’s face, and then let’s her arm drop.

“I love you too,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

And then she leaves the three of them to mourn.

#h writes #angst #implied character death #minor character death #swearing #ohio #sherry #iowa #idaho #terrill #darryl #freelancer #ohsherry

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