Shiny Things

The classified files room was a dumping ground for any and all information gathered that may or may not have any kind of past, present, or future importance to Chorus. The collected data was all carefully, painstakingly compiled and sorted through before any decisions were made about what to use it for. Since it was so oftentimes classified data, one needed so much clearance to gain access to the area. The sheer amount of encryption levels for everything that the room stored made it pretty much a garbled, scrambled mess of code. Simply looking at it was like trying to decipher what amounted to a shit-ton of gibberish unless someone either knew how to gain access or figured out a way to break through the coding.

Leonard Church had actually tried to do that once, simply for something fun to do while he and the rest of the Freelancer remnants started trying to adjust to life on Chorus. It was back when both Carolina and Tex were trying to ignore their emotional issues, the result of all the deaths and betrayals, by throwing themselves into constant training or security exercises. Back when Washington did the same on top of trying to nurse both himself and his picked up along the way tagalong Simmons back from being nearly torn in pieces in a metaphorical sense. Back when a pissed-off, thoroughly distraught Church also needed something to keep himself from doing something incredibly dumb like trying to rip out the nanites residing in the glowing cobalt lines along his skin thanks to his asshole of a father.

Back then? Hacking a highly classified security system designed to help keep a struggling backwater planet afloat as the rest of the galaxy seemed to want to see it fail seemed like just the thing to do.

Besides, Church wasn’t a trusting idiot after everything that went down thanks to the project. It had taken veritable months following the escape from the Mother of Invention for Freelancer’s remnants to find any place willing to give them safe harbor thanks to Charon’s growing influence in galactic politics and what exactly it had turned out the Director had been doing with Freelancer serving as his front. Chorus probably wouldn’t have even given them refuge if they hadn’t been in such dire straits themselves. It just so happened that the mechs were a great boon in the wake of the surprise attack that had cost Chorus the leader known as Donald Doyle. It had been a case of mutual benefit for both sides.

Church and the few he now considered family? They had been burned before, and they had been burned fucking badly. The Veroni didn’t want to ever be caught up in a position where that happened again. So when he learned about the data storage room, after Kimball had told them that their specific information had also been temporarily stored there, Church decided to go ahead and do a little digging.

Kimball let Church try and make his way through all of the stored, fractured data for about an hour before sneaking up behind him and informing him of the surveillance measures one Doctor Emily Grey had helped to create, and then she surprised him further by actually giving an outsider like himself complete access.

After he had pondered over what exactly Chorus could gain from such a gesture, which wasn’t a whole fucking lot and they stood to lose a lot more if he proved to be a defector or some shit later, Church begrudgingly started to think that maybe they could find a more trustworthy, stable sort-of life on Chorus after all.

He wasn’t exactly too keen on the thought that a bunch of “humans first” jerks were now threatening that.

Kimball, from where she stood next to him in the dark, seemed to sense Church’s thoughts as he tensed up nervously. The long-eared woman rested a steadying hand on his shoulder for only a second, and the dark-haired man barely had a chance to glance over at her as the faint sound of the power lock on the classified file room’s door began to activate.

The lighting panels overhead flared to life as the two Charon operatives, that towering mercenary dick calling himself Locus and the younger spy space pirate Zachary Miller, stepped inside. They still seemed rather refreshed following that murder spree they had merrily engaged in on their way here after Miller had given Locus access to the more secure areas of Armonia. The two mercenaries paused briefly at the sight of Church and Kimball lying in wait for them, weapons drawn.

Church couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed over his goateed, cobalt-lined face then, “Surprised, assholes?” He asked, feeling like a badass. Which he was, damn it!

Locus tilted his helmeted head slightly, “Even with Miller’s infiltration proving successful, it was only a matter of time before we had to take the next step.” He muttered matter-of-factly.

“Is that step always to leave a bunch of corpses lying around?” Church demanded angrily, “Because it’s no wonder you jackasses have such a shitty reputation.”

“Ha!” Miller sneered, “As if your Freelancer pals are any better.”

Church grimaced, his finger pressing down further on his gun’s trigger. They had all thought they had been doing the right thing before, but…!

“Quiet.” Locus’ voice came out in an electronic snarl in Miller’s direction, causing him to flinch, “It is an unfortunate necessity.”

“Yeah, well,” Church scoffed, “I guess to you it is. Not like we’d give you the intel, even if you asked fucking nicely.”

“You understand then.” Locus said as if he was just going through the motions.

He couldn’t see Locus’ eyes at all through the man’s darkened helmet and that pissed Church off to no end, “Fuck off.” Church told the mercenary bluntly, realizing once more why trying to converse with murderous, anti-alien extremists was a goddamned stupid idea.

“Drop your weapons.” Kimball ordered, her own gun held quite steady in front of her and her voice emphatically calm despite the anger radiating off of her person, “Now.”

“Yeah, I don’t really think so.” Miller stated in such a smugly pretentious way that Church ground his teeth to keep from biting back an ill-conceived retort when the jackass pirate shifted what the Veroni had incorrectly assumed earlier to be spare armor hanging across his back that the jerk had been keeping.

Upon closer inspection, it was definitely not just a suit of armor as the totally out of it form of Matthews slumped to the ground at Miller’s feet. The Elvari kid’s eyes were wide open, but he was obviously not registering anything going on around him. If he hadn’t caught just the slightest sign of breathing, Church would have suspected the worst.

As it stood, it still wasn’t actually the greatest situation to be in. He didn’t even have to look Kimball’s way to know that her grip had become slightly unsteady at this new development, the same as his. To emphasize the sudden shift in the atmosphere, Miller put his own gun directly against Matthews’ face underneath the suppressor keeping their Elvari hostage incapacitated.

“If you would prefer avoiding another casualty, I would advise you to give us access to the data we require.” Locus informed them once he had properly assessed their hesitation.

“Son of a bitch!” Church muttered, at a loss for words as Kimball finished his cursing under her own breath. They both glanced at the other then, definitely not having expected the notion of Charon ever even entertaining the idea of taking hostages. This was totally unprecedented. Usually they just killed aliens they came across. Locus was unpredictable, and that made him scary as fuck.

“You have thirty seconds to decide.” The mercenary in steel and green informed them flatly.

“Fucking fuck!” Church didn’t hold back with his swearing, not at all sure of what to do next.

No wonder none of their added security had gotten in contact with them before these two showed up. They had most likely backed down at the involvement of a hostage and had been ordered to remain silent. These Charon bastards were using their enemies’ innate not-actual-asshole nature against them.

They needed to reassess the plan now. The door had once again closed behind the Charon jerks and Matthews, so there was no fucking way for Church to peer further into the hallway to see if any of their soldiers were trying to slink their way close for clear back shots without being noticed. The locking mechanism on the door would certainly alert them all if someone were to try opening it now.

But Church had definitely not been expecting the all-too sudden and deafening explosion that threw the metal door in question inwards rather violently, causing everyone capable in the classified files room to leap out of the way.

“Yoo-hoo!” Doctor Grey’s cheery voice sang out over the din of the fire following, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought some reinforcements!”

Of course Grey would pick up on the situation despite Kimball and Church trying to keep it under wraps, and naturally she’d take it upon herself to figure out a plausible countermeasure to their dilemma. Church had never before been more grateful of the crazy doctor lady’s penchant for staying on top of any upgrades she had helped design.

“She means us, you backstabber!” Palomo declared as he stepped through the wreckage, landing a hit on Miller’s shoulder to get him to drop his gun just as Locus dove out of the way of the bullets that Kimball and Church launched in his direction.

Miller barely had a chance to cry out before Andersmith flew past Palomo through the flames and smoke, shoving the Charon spy away from their yellow-trimmed friend and onto the ground in a violent clatter of armor-covered bodies. Jensen and Bitters both raced over to Matthews, as Grey entered along with Kai and Volleyball, who both joined Palomo with pointed weapons at the two enemy combatants.

“Thanks for the assist.” Kimball stated to the doctor and assembled lieutenants with a nod of her head, her demeanor once again turning threateningly cold as she focused her attention back onto Locus in particular, “Drop your weapons. I won’t ask again.”

Locus didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to comply despite how much the odds had changed. Instead, he almost casually drew himself up once more to his full, staggering height, “It seems as though Control has underestimated Chorus.” He stated, “Though the same could also be said of you.”

The frown beneath Kimball’s brown and ice-colored helmet was plainly evident in her voice, “What do you…?” She trailed off however, at the sight of Church, Grey, and Palomo all stiffening uncomfortably. Church grimaced, the energy humming all around them had changed suddenly, sending tingles across his skin.

“File transfers complete.” An automated voice informed the room’s occupants a moment later as a computer screen off to the side beeped.

“Shit!” Church swore into the uneasy stillness crushing in on them, “They must have a Veroni working for them!”

Which really didn’t make a whole lot of sense given Charon’s opposition to non-humans. Sure, they were willing to enlist some half-aliens to their cause, but their enlistment policies were usually enough of a deterrent in and of themselves unless someone really hated that part of their heritage for whatever reason. So who…?

“All our mission required was for us to gain entry.” Locus stated, turning Church’s bewildered attention back to him just then as he told Miller, “We’re done here.”

“R—right.” Miller grunted through his pain as he somehow managed to kick the much larger Andersmith off of him. He stood up, gripping his wounded shoulder as blood trickled down his arm, “I’ll get you assholes back later!”

Just like that, the two Charon operative suddenly vanished with the help of some rather impressive cloaking tech.

“Hey! Watch it!” Kai shouted as someone roughly shoved her into Volleyball and Palomo. The three lieutenants shot out into the hallway along with Kimball, but there was no point in wasting too many shots on hostiles they couldn’t even see. They lowered their weapons disappointedly.

Behind them, Grey clucked her tongue, “That’s a shame. I was so hoping that I could demonstrate the power of my new bone-saw today.” She stated with a heavy sigh, “But I suppose there’s always next time!”

The doctor promptly turned her attention towards Matthews, who Bitters was cradling protectively in his arms as Jensen hovered over them worriedly, “Is…is he going to be okay?” The Strassian girl asked, biting her lip nervously while everyone crowded around, “He’s just lying there.”

“Come on, Matthews,” Bitters muttered under his breath, giving the auburn-haired young man a slight shake, “Wake the fuck up!”

Palomo joined Jensen’s side, his usually carefree demeanor as he looked down at Matthews’ limp form replaced with obvious concern. Jensen reached over and gripped his shoulder consolingly as Church distantly recalled that the half-Veroni and Matthews had grown up together here on Chorus.

“Huh. You know, when my big bro hits the snooze button one too many times, a good smack usually does the trick.” Kai said as she frowned thoughtfully, “But I kind of think that wouldn’t work here.”

“Quite right.” Doctor Grey was quick to inform the younger Grif as she knelt down on the ground in front of Matthews and Bitters to get a better assessment, “I’d very much advise doing anything to jostle the suppressor on Lieutenant Matthews’ head.” She looked at the offending device with a distasteful gaze, “There are very few ways to remove them that don’t cause permanent damage.”

“Then how do we…?” Volleyball began to question, trailing off rather helplessly.

Without so much as a word, the purple-lined Veroni turned her gaze over to Kimball standing on the outskirts of the huddled group, removing her helmet and seemingly unsure of how close she could be without intruding on the others’ concern or Doctor Grey’s task. Grey gave Kimball a curt nod before moving out of the way.

The dark-skinned woman frowned slightly but seemed to understand what Grey meant as she quickly nodded back and stepped forward, bending down over her fellow Elvari. Silently, Kimball tentatively removed one of her gauntlets and then brushed her fingertips over the glowing circlet on Matthews’ head. The complex circuitry completely shut down at the contact, the device splitting in useless halves and crashing to the floor.

Matthews’ whole body seemed to relax and everyone let out a collective sigh of relief as his eyelids closed.

“Impressive.” Andersmith spoke up, “But how did General Kimball know what to do?”

Grey watched Kimball slowly rise to her feet once more before speaking as if to make sure she had no objections, “Elvari who lack the innate telepathy normally associated with their species can safely override suppressors, it’s that tech’s biggest flaw.”

Kimball’s expression remained impassive despite the reminder of her apparent “defect,” and Church was rather impressed. No doubt she was just grateful that it happened to prove beneficial in this case.

“He’s…he’s still not waking up though!” Bitters’ voice had a slight edge of panic as he stared down at Matthews with wide brown eyes, his grip tightening slightly.

Grey smiled reassuringly, “It is going to take time for his system to recover from being so overwhelmed, but he is much better off with that horrible device not on his skull now!”

Bitters’ frown deepened and his eyes still remained glued to his friend, but he remained silent.

“Will you all be dears and help me get Lieutenant Matthews to the clinic so that I can run some tests and properly monitor him?” Grey asked cheerily, “Inhaling all this smoke isn’t exactly doing his health any favors either, you know!”

As the group quickly worked to do as she said and help out their friend, both Grey and Palomo turned their gaze to Church for a moment, their worry evident. Church let out a tired sigh, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be sure to tell Kimball the damage while you help out Matthews.” He assured both Veroni.

As the group exited and other soldiers came in to deal with the explosion damage, Kimball turned her regard to Church rather expectantly, “What was it exactly that Charon managed to get their hands on with this stunt?” She questioned.

Church frowned, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Honestly?” He asked, dreading having to be the one to tell her, “Fucking everything.”

“So what exactly is this place then?” David Washington asked, his voice seemingly echoing along the tunnel’s walls just above the soft hum of the glowing rock.

“Fucking really?” Tucker shot the older man an incredulous look, “That’s the first thing you ask when meeting a talking, ancient alien hologram?”

The Strassian blinked, taken aback by the remark, “I’m at a loss. Just what should I be asking instead?” Washington asked Tucker, clearly curious.

“Um, for starters, how about if the glowing rocks are poisonous or radioactive because you know for a fact some asshole at some point in time is going to try licking them.” The teal-wearing man stated matter-of-factly.

There was a brief pause as the blond-haired Freelancer tried processing what he just heard, “You seriously think someone would come across clearly ancient, advanced tech like this and want to lick it.” Washington stated flatly.

“Yeah? How else are you going to fucking claim it, dude?”

Grif snorted at Tucker and Washington’s conversation, hoisting his newly-acquired weapon up even higher, “Clearly someone has never heard of calling dibs.” He said to Tucker as if this concept was totally not idiotic.

Sarge nodded his head in reluctant agreement, “Interstellar Dibs Protocol has clearly been recognized by most planets now.” He said, “It’s why these Charon fellas are up to no good because they obviously do not respect it!”

“Well, that and the whole “enslaving everybody else because humans rule” thing.” Grif was quick to point out.

The red-armored Arenian huffed, “Obviously.” He replied, as if horrified to be agreeing with Grif.

Washington was staring between all three of these dumbasses in a flabbergasted fashion, “I have no words right now.” He finally muttered under his breath.

“Yes, I am also confused.” Caboose raised up his hand to gain everyone’s attention, and then he lowered his voice to a stage whisper, “Are you licking the rocks or not?”

Washington slapped a hand across his helmet, “No one is licking anything!” He shouted in exasperation.

“Bet you that’s the first time you’ve ever told someone that, huh, Wash?” Tucker snickered, raising his hand for a quick high-five that no one was in the mood to give him just then, “Bow-chicka-bow-wow!”

Washington groaned from behind splayed fingertips, “Please stop talking.”

“So then, do you want Caboose’s new friend to answer your question or not?” Grif asked Washington, an oddly impatient note to his voice, “Because I’m all for just taking this shit and going without any exposition if it gets us out of here sooner.”

Washington frowned, knowing that the sooner they left the quicker they could rescue Simmons and retrieve Maroon, as well as hopefully halt whatever Charon was up to on Trocadero. But they definitely needed answers too.

“Answer, please.” Washington requested of the A.I. hologram still floating by Caboose.

“Certainly.” Santa flickered slightly, “I would advise against licking anything as—”

“No.” Washington groaned again, “About what this place is and what’s been going on here.”

“Ah.” Santa nodded his head as if showcasing how he felt this was a much more crucial thing to answer (which it definitely was!), “These caverns are in fact a complex network of ruins that have been designed to house some of the Keys: weapons meant to be wielded by the chosen pilots of the Machinae.”

Washington’s brow furrowed, “Machinae?” He repeated, “Machines?”

“Dude, I think he might be talking about the mechs.” Tucker stage whispered to the older Strassian.

Santa tilted his red, reptilian-like head in the dark-skinned man’s direction, “Yes, that is what the Machinae are commonly referred to in modern times.”

“Hold up.” Tucker spoke up again, “Aren’t they supposed to have been created by some long-lost civilization? One that sort of looks like you or something?”

Grif frowned, “Yeah, so what gives with the dead Earth language term?”

The A.I. flickered again, “I don’t know.” Santa stated as though the very idea that he didn’t was honestly disconcerting to him, “There is no record that exists as to why that term was chosen in my memory banks.”

“That guy with the weird hair who used to be on TV was right!” Caboose intoned seriously beside him, “They visited the Earth to kill the dinosaurs and then have pizza!”

“The Romans didn’t invent pizza.” Grif informed the Arenian with a sad sigh, “Though it would be awesome to go back in time to Italy when they did.”

“Huh.” Sarge tapped the side of his shotgun thoughtfully with his trigger finger, “This conversation’s taken a very weird and oddly specific turn.”

“You just now noticed that?” Washington’s voice rose incredulously.

Santa, to his credit, decided to move things along as though none of the asides had even happened, “Long ago, the Machinae were hailed as the defenders of the known galaxy. But some of their pilots developed differing concepts on how to best keep the galaxy truly safe.”

“Let me guess,” Grif began sarcastically, “That in turn ended up fucking everybody over instead.”

The tiny hologram nodded, “A war the likes of which had never been seen before erupted, ultimately resulting in the annihilation of my creators, the race that had created the Machinae and Keys.” Santa paused briefly as if recalling something he would rather not just then, “Those Machinae that survived the ensuing chaos were scattered across the galaxy to await the time when they would need to choose pilots once more.”

“Did they just get lonely then?” Caboose asked quietly, as if not able to bear the thought of that being the case for Freckles.

“Perhaps, though they are also able to become aware of turmoil spreading far and wide.”

“Ancient alien bullshit, in other words.” Grif muttered.

Tucker whistled, “Which I guess is why they started activating recently, because of Charon and all the other bullshit starting up?” The half-Strassian questioned.

“It seems highly possible.” Santa admitted before looking to the ground pensively, “Though I hope the outcome of these conflicts will not be the same as before.”

Grif snorted, “You and me both, pal.”

“We’ll just have to annihilate them first before it comes down to that!” Sarge declared rather emphatically, “Everyone knows that the only surefire way to avoid destruction is through destruction itself!”

“That seems extremely counterproductive, actually.” Washington noted.

The older Arenian harrumphed at that argument, “Never thought of you as a no-good quitter like Grif here.” Sarge commented.

“Hey!” Both Grif and Washington mumbled at the same time.

Tucker, in the meanwhile, had walked over to stare at some of the glowing symbols on the rock wall beside the place where Grif had retrieved his weapon from. He seemed to be scanning them rather intently, “This says pretty much the same thing in a really boring way,” he noted suddenly before turning to look over at Santa inquisitively, “But it also mentions some kind of security system here too?” The others simply stared at Tucker in open shock and disbelief, causing the half-human to bristle slightly in defense, “What?” He demanded uneasily when the silence continued, “You guys can’t read it?”

“It is too circle-y.” Caboose stated, “Looking at it makes me dizzy.”

“Uh, yeah, like Caboose said. I’m pretty sure no one here can read it, Tucker.” Grif was quick to inform him.

“H—how did you…?” Washington gaped incredulously.

“I sure as heck can’t, but I’ve snapped a few photos for Doctor Grey.” There was an almost wistful edge to Sarge’s voice then upon mentioning the dark-skinned scientist back on Chorus, “She’s quite the marvel when it comes to ancient alien stuff. I bet this will just tickle her pink!”

“Come on, it’s totally plain as fucking day!” Tucker tried again, waving his hand over towards the wall.

“Tucker,” Washington began gently, “None of us can understand that.”

“It is most intriguing that you can.” Santa noted, “Have you studied ancient and lost languages extensively?”

Tucker scoffed derisively, “Do I look like a fucking nerd?” He asked.

His choice of words caused a frown to form on Grif’s face and he gripped his weapon, so eerily similar to Maine’s Brute Shot now that Washington got a better look at it, rather tightly. Washington decided it would not be a good time to bring up how interested Simmons had been in that very subject when he had last spoken to Doctor Grey.

“There was a holographic security system put in place to help secure the two Keys here.” Santa noted once it was clear that Tucker’s baffling knowledge of the writing wasn’t going to be explained just then, “But someone with some Elvari blood amongst those you refer to as Charon has figured out a way to warp its mental scans and alter them.”

Washington’s mouth pressed into a firm line, “Price.” He gritted out.

The hovering, altogether alien form nodded once more, “I have been unable to bypass the changes he has made and can only project myself now.” Santa explained.

“Well, these assholes have definitely been doing a great job using it to mindfuck all of us.” Tucker’s expression softened slightly at the obvious grimace on Grif’s face then, “But screw that! We’re going to get our nerd friend back and kick all of their asses.”

With that, his head turned in the direction of the other Key still hanging on the wall, a small metal grip that didn’t seem nearly as intimidating at first glance as Grif’s bladed grenade launcher did.

“Tucker…!” Washington’s warning trailed off the second Tucker’s hand gripped the ancient weaponry.

“We might as well take this with us too since we’re mech pilots and all that, right?” Tucker asked the former Freelancer over his shoulder before yanking the device free.

A strange, blindingly bright sword made of energy suddenly erupted from what Washington now surmised was the weapon’s hilt, causing Tucker to whistle down at it appreciatively.

“Oh, this cave just has all sorts of flashlights!” Caboose breathed out happily, “We should play light tag!”

Washington’s shoulders slumped even more, “Maybe next time, Caboose.” He assured the younger man in blue.

Sarge started making his way towards the direction that Tucker and the others had come through earlier, “Now we just need to find the others and skedaddle.” The older man stated.

“Don’t even bother.”

Everyone started at Tex’s voice filling the air, and they spun around in the direction that Grif and Sarge had come through earlier to find the blond-haired Veroni standing there. Her face was smudged with dirt to the point that her glowing black lines were barely visible underneath it, and she absentmindedly flicked a bit of rubble from her shoulder.

When she looked over at their stunned faces again, Tex smirked, “You assholes have no idea all the shit we’ve gone through to find you.”

The room that Richard “Dick” Simmons had been escorted to earlier to rest was a small one originally used for storage. It had been modified to serve as a temporary bedroom of sorts with a cot pushed against the far wall. He had honestly been rather grateful for it following the earlier encounter with Felix, as that had been a rather painful reminder of how precarious his entire situation here was.

Price, Charon, had saved him. But he now knew that had only been because he was still useful to them thanks to the odd bond he had with that maroon-colored mech. They definitely wouldn’t have assisted a full-blooded Strassian for any other reason. Not only had Felix made that abundantly clear, but Simmons had become much more aware of the hostile regard the operatives gave him when they thought he wasn’t aware of it.

Given that, the redhead was rather relieved to not be sharing his sleeping quarters with anyone.

However, being by himself in a dimly lit room with the door currently closed brought forth its own set of troubling issues too. As a result he remained sitting uncomfortably upright on the cot with his back pressed against the wall, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to try and sleep. He couldn’t lay down at the moment in this space because whenever he attempted to do just that, the memories of before would start flooding back.

Those long months? It had felt like a fucking lifetime of imprisonment, honestly.

Every time he tried to lie down to sleep now, Simmons recalled the sensation of being lain down prone and limp on other bedding, of being utterly unable to kick back the cocoon of blankets that had so often been wrapped around him in some twisted view of domesticity.

He remembered the man, a fellow Strassian and a fucking doctor that his father had given him to like so much produce. Simmons had never learned his name (hadn’t had the decency to give it to one of his “patients”), or the name of the doctor’s Arenian assistant who so cheerfully talked incessantly in an annoying, suck-up fashion in regards to all of the results they were getting over the course of the treatment. Honestly, Simmons wasn’t sure which of the two he had hated more.

The doctor had been adamant at playing up the part to a tee once they had gotten Simmons isolated away. Anything done that was cold and clinical had to be balanced by some kind of “gentleness” towards Simmons in his helpless state. It was all to help him better adjust to his new role, to help quicken the desired results they were waiting to see.

Simmons had been spoon-fed Tevkask pulp every day to keep him immobilized. With no way to know what was going on outside of his room and no one attempting any meaningful conversation with him, concepts like time, like his life before, had lost all meaning.

His chest and stomach in particular had started to ache, to feel tight, and he had started losing the will to try and mentally fight back against what that ultimately meant, his frantic instincts to do so only resulting in him becoming all the more weaker.

His feverish state and whimpering only ever seemed to please the doctor and his assistant, who seemed to see it as some sign of progress in regards to their treatment efforts. They nursed him through those episodes, the doctor in particular always cooing something or other about him.

The doctor would constantly chide him for still resisting, for dirtying himself. He’d remind him that he was really doing Simmons a favor: the redhead wouldn’t have been in this position at all if he hadn’t been so useless to his father, that this was his last chance to prove he could provide something viable to both his family and the galaxy and he was so very fortunate that Simmons had a medical professional like him there to make sure it would happen.

The doctor would always end his visits by patting Simmons’ stomach while the redhead mentally recoiled in lieu of his body being unable to physically do so, the doctor assuring Simmons that it was almost time, that they were only selecting the best candidates for when they were able to finally proceed to the next step.

Those flashes of memory had horrified Simmons senseless when they had occurred, and they sure as fuck continued to do so now. And so he couldn’t lie down with them so painfully fresh and vivid in his mind, as if he was only ever just wishfully dreaming that he had indeed escaped. Even the darkness creeping into the room was bothering the Strassian. The doctor had always kept him in the dark too, whenever they had left him by himself.

Simmons glanced over at the closed door and frowned.

…It certainly didn’t help matters any that, despite having full range of movement again, he had the growing sense that he had merely been placed in yet another kind of prison regardless of Price’s reassurances to the contrary.

He couldn’t ever seem to fully shake this looming fogginess from out of his brain, and despite feeling some relief at his change of circumstance, he felt like something was noticeably missing too. The flashes of memories, images of people he felt an odd sense of warmth and longing towards, as if he should know them more than he did.

An assortment of colorful, varied people he felt like he wanted to know better but at the same time didn’t deserve to unless he proved himself constantly.

A Strassian in steel and yellow, offering him advice despite his own lingering trauma and insecurity. A tan-skinned girl who also bore the blue-tinged freckles of their people, who had sought assistance from him even though he felt there was no way he could ever properly give it. A chubby human in orange who both made him anxious as all fuck and who was startingly easy to talk to. Who thinking about ached, but who he wanted to think about even still at the same time…

Every time Simmons tried picturing these people more as he tried to discern just how they fit into his life (certainly not before his captivity, definitely not during), the fogginess returned thicker and his head would hurt. He’d get a flash of the doctor, as if trying to scare him away from going down that path any further for fear of what else he might uncover.

Of course it fucking worked. He was far too pathetic, avoidant, and useless for it not to. And none of that fucking changed his current situation any, did it? Shakily, he drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly.

The door opened just a moment later, the intimidating form of Sharkface filling the space. Simmons was oddly glad that it was him and not one of the others though. At least Sharkface seemed okay with talking to him from time to time.

“Doing all right in here?” Sharkface asked gruffly, as if the answer wasn’t completely obvious given how Simmons was acting.

The Strassian let out a sharp intake of breath, deciding to just get out the question that had been circling through his mind with fearful intensity, “I’m not,” he paused, swallowed down a lump in his throat, “I’m not getting out of here, am I?”

There was a long, suffocating moment of silence following the question as the burnt half-Arenian regarded the maroon-wearing man in a rather scrutinizing way.

Simmons nearly panicked, thinking he had overstepped whatever good will Sharkface had been willing to show him thus far, that he was about to either get killed or once more be tossed into a literal cage because the façade of anything else was over.

At length, the other man spoke up, “It’s probably best if you just keep doing whatever it is that Price tells you to do.”

The redhead gave a slight nod as Sharkface quickly walked out once more.

He closed his eyes shut tightly and simply tried to focus on his breathing, caught off-guard when that orange-wearing human suddenly came to his mind amidst his failing efforts to try and relax, his body relaxing somehow even as something ached in response to the mental image.

It was still better than he had felt in a long while, so Simmons did his best to cling to it.

The plan was, as far as Dexter Grif’s understanding of it went, a rather simple one. After they had all reunited in the underground ruins and reached their only recently unearthed mechs, Santa had helped them reach a path that led back up to Trocadero’s surface, complete with a very useful vantage point to the “colony” below, now not even attempting to cover up the fact that it was a Charon research facility.

From the look of things with the hustle and bustle down below, it seemed as if the extremist group was planning their departure, meaning that their work here was probably close to being done. Which meant that they would probably be trying to take Simmons with them, along with Maroon, unless they decided it wasn’t worth the extra trouble anymore and simply killed the pilot.

That idea caused Grif’s stomach to clench, and he tried ignoring that troubling train of thought. Like fuck was he going to let anything else happen to Simmons, especially not after Charon screwing with his own mind first had landed the poor nerd in this spot to begin with.

Charon didn’t yet know that the group from Chorus had managed to make their way back to the surface, that they were currently spying on them and strategizing as they went about their preparations.

Which meant it was the perfect opportunity to strike back, if not their only opportunity.

They were going to divide into two teams: a mech assault would be used to distract Price and his goons while the secondary team would sneak into the grounds to rescue Simmons and hopefully retrieve Maroon too.

There had been no debate as to which team Grif would be a part of, and he was grateful that no one had even tried to argue about it.

“I’ll go too.” Washington stated not a split-second after Grif’s declaration, “I want to help Simmons, and I would like to have a few words with Price before we leave.”

“Really? You don’t want to just kick his ass like he totally fucking deserves at this point?” Tucker asked, raising an eyebrow.

An extremely dark look flickered briefly across Washington’s eyes then that had several people take a few steps back from him, “That’s another way to put it actually, Tucker.” He finally uttered.

Sarge guffawed and amicably clapped Washington on the back, causing the younger man to stumble slightly before regaining his footing, “I’m always up for a good ol’ fashioned butt whooping! Count me in.” He yelped jovially.

Tucker stared at the three who had so readily volunteered and let out a sigh as he gripped his newly acquired sword’s hilt tightly, “No time like the present to test these Key things out, huh?”

“Si alguna vez llamas espada a tu espada, nos van a demandar.” {“If you ever happen to call your sword a Key Blade, we are going to get sued.”}

Following whatever sarcastic remark Lopez had made, the mech assault team was decided upon in record time. Well, record time for a group of idiots who usually took hours deciding on pretty much anything. Once back on Chrous, Grif had finally just walked off to get his own food instead of starving to death when Donut had tried getting them all to go on a “group dinner” for some team-building exercise. And he wasn’t even going to attempt to recall all the times that Donut had spent getting Doc or one of the others to try and help him decide on appropriate yet fashionable footwear for missions for everybody.

Carolina was well and truly pissed at this point, so much so that Tex was the only one with the balls to stand within several meters of her. Not surprisingly, she wanted to lead the charge, “You and I will get things started with Black.” She informed Tex curtly, “That all right with you?”

Tex inclined her head, “We’ll give ‘em hell.” She said almost as jovially as Sarge would have.

The two females shared a smirk that instinctively had Grif want to duck and run for cover. If Charon weren’t such assholes and currently putting Simmons, along with everyone else here, at risk, he would almost feel sorry for the poor bastards. Almost.

“I’ll ride along with Donut to keep an eye on his wound.” Doc declared.

Donut smiled gratefully over at him, “Gee, thanks, Doc! It’s good to know that I can always count on you to fill up my holes whenever they need plugging!”

The brown-haired, bespectacled Elvari blushed and mumbled something incoherent under his breath as Grif staunchly resolved to never recall that particular phrasing again.

“Sheila and Lopez will help provide ground support in Tank.” Carolina stated as the two teammates in question nodded their agreement.

“Can I help?” Caboose inquired, “Freckles always loves playing tag with bullets.”

Tex patted his arm, “Sure, Caboose. Just remember that you’re both only supposed to tag the other guys and not us this time.” She reminded him.

“Todavía tengo una bala alojada en algún lugar que preferiría no decir de la última vez.” {“I still have a bullet lodged somewhere I'd rather not say from last time.”}

Sheila smiled over at Lopez consolingly, and he briefly rested his helmeted head on her shoulder before getting up to check on the status of the mechs before they started the mission.

“I would like to offer my assistance as well.” Santa stated curtly as he materialized over Caboose’s shoulder again, “I can provide visual guidance and support, if nothing else.” He looked over at the Charon forces down below, “I am not incredibly fond of their interference with my systems.”

“We’d welcome it.” Carolina told him, “If you wouldn’t mind staying with Caboose and Freckles?”

“Not at all. I find his way of thinking highly enlightening.”

“Yay! This will be the best game of tag ever!” Caboose exclaimed, “I cannot wait to tell Freckles! Church and Sis are gonna be so upset they missed out on it. We will have to do a do-over for them later!”

“Sure, kiddo.” Tex grinned, “I bet they’d like that. Church in particular. He’s always up for dodging bullets.”

Personally, Grif was just glad that they had managed to get all of this as quickly sorted out as they had. He didn’t really give a fuck how they did it, so long as they got Simmons back and he knew the ass-kissing, blue-freckled nerd would be okay.

It was pretty much a gigantic, anxious blur for Grif up until Carolina finally gave the order for them to move out, and it was only a few scant minutes following that before all hell broke loose.