Keep What You Steal

The Spartan officer stood still, his orange visor disguising any expression he may have had on his face, his head turned in the direction of the soldiers lined up in front of him, their guns pointed directly at him. He sighed heavily, and then folded his arms, an air of irritation all around him. The commander of the opposing soldiers shifted uncomfortably on his feet, trying not to make visual contact with the Freelancer in front of him. His team sensed his discomfort, and glanced at the floor, mimicking his actions.

"So," the Spartan said, making the lead soldier jump in surprise at his sharp voice. "Tell me, what is this all about? I come back from one hell of a dangerous mission, and I find my quarters filled with armed guards, telling me I have to stay where I am. I don't like bullshit, boys. Please, don't make me contact one of Command's superiors to get this sorted out."

"I'm...I'm sorry, Sir," the leading soldier said, finally glancing up at the Spartan looming over him. The cold appearance that the armour gave the Freelancers made him feel...weak.

Powerless.

He gulped. "I, along with the majority of our soldiers, was given orders from the Director to detain all Freelancers until further notice. Once I receive the signal, my men and I are to escort you to the A.I. implantation facility."

"Any reason as to why?"

"Yes, Sir, but I was told it was classified."

"I outrank you, son. Now, I order you to tell me what the hell this is about."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't-"

"Sergeant!" the Spartan barked, banging his red, metal fist down on the table, leaving a huge dent in it where contact had been made. "I order you to tell me what is going on, and as your superior officer, I can and will have you put forward into disciplinary if you refuse to follow a direct command from me again!"

All around the complex, similar scenes were unfolding.

The female Spartan with silver armour stared at the men pointing guns at her face, extremely unhappy with the current situation.

They had the nerve to shove a weapon in her face?

Clearly, Command had not briefed the assholes as to whom they were dealing with. She strode forward, watching with sadistic delight as the soldiers backed away, trembling slightly. Perhaps they did know a bit about her after all.

"Listen, you little fucker," she snarled, giving him her best intimidating look. "Either you tell me right now why I'm locked down in my own room, or else I'll-"

"-kick your ass right back to where you came from," growled a green clad Spartan, pacing about the room like a caged tiger. "What could Command possibly want that they're keeping me holed up like this? I did exactly as they asked; I went after him, kept him contained, and after a brief struggle, we managed to get it from him. Sure, the building came down, but that was the bomb squad's fault, not ours!"

The soldiers that were detaining him said nothing, merely keeping their faces blank and emotionless as they held a ready finger on their triggers. The Spartan sighed.

"Please, will you just-"

"-say something?" the soldiers begged. The grey Spartan kept his silence, sat on his chair, legs crossed, arms folded, staring at the guards and doing nothing else, despite their attempts to raise a conversation out of him. They scratched their heads uncertainly, wondering how long it would be until he got bored of creeping them out.

"Look," one of the soldiers said finally, "if we tell you what we're here for, will you stop staring at us. For five minutes. Please?"

"Alright, alright!" the guard cried out, the red Freelancer's violent actions making him realise he might get through this alive if he did as he was asked. "Look, I don't really know that much...only what I was told."

"I don't care," the Spartan said. "Just tell me what information you have. Otherwise, we will have a problem. A problem that may involve-"

"-a round of bullets ending up in your skull," the silver Spartan hissed, putting her face right up to the soldier's. He shivered with fear, and she laughed maliciously. "Now, spill the beans, bitch."

"W-well, you s-see...um...Command told us to take you over to the A.I. implantation facility, a-and th-th-that when we got you there...when we got you there..."

"God damn it, hurry up! I'm not getting any younger, you know!"

The soldier quickly blurted out what he had to say, before shying away from her. There was a long and dangerous silence, and he realised he probably wasn't going to get out of the room alive.

"Well," she said. "Fuck me. You really are a bunch of-"

"-cockbites, you know that?" the green Spartan said irritably. "Even after I insulted your mother and threatened your life, you still won't talk! Is it so difficult to open your mouth and say a few words? Really? Or are you all mutes or something and can't say fuck all?"

The guards looked wounded by the Spartan's harsh words, and then rooted around in their trouser pockets, before pulling out their security I.D. cards, holding them up so that they could be seen clearly. The green Freelancer groaned, putting a hand to his head.

Every single one had the word MUTE stamped across it in large, red letters.

"I don't fucking-"

"-believe this," the soldier cried out, stamping his foot. "We've told you everything! Why can't you stop staring at us? Why?"

The grey Spartan shrugged his shoulders, tapping his armour plating on his arm with his fingers.

"Oh, God!" one of the other soldiers shrieked suddenly. "I can't take this anymore! I'm going insane!"

He began to run for the door, ignoring the shouts of his commanding officer, before being shot down.

"That's what I do to traitors!" the lead soldier cried, waving his gun about wildly. His men turned to him.

"But you just killed one of us without the proper authority. That makes you the traitor!"

"Get him!" another yelled, and instantly the squad turned on itself, firing at each other. The grey Spartan watched with amusement as the situation became a blood bath, without him even having to lift a finger.

Silence.

Worked every time.

"I think I've made myself perfectly clear," the red Freelancer finished calmly. The Sergeant sighed.

"Fine, but as long as you keep this to yourself."

The Freelancer nodded slowly, and the Sergeant continued.

"Basically, the incident with Agent Washington was the last straw. As you know, he was detained by Command...by you. At the same time as that, however, Agent Nevada, also known as 'Tex', escaped the base. They were going to take away her A.I., only she resisted in the most violent manner, and then fled, killing many guards in the process. The Director has decided that the project is too dangerous to continue, and so all Freelancers are being rounded up and then escorted to the A.I. facility to have their A.I. removed...and then deleted."

The red Spartan stared at the Sergeant for a while, and then reached for something off his belt.

"Now, see here, son," the Freelancer said, almost cheerfully. "I'm not prepared to lose my A.I. and let it be deleted. Give Command my regards."

He tossed a small, khaki green ball onto the floor, watching as it released dark, green gas into the air. The soldiers choked on it, before slipping unconscious, and the Freelancer stepped over them, the sleeping gas unable to get through his suit's filter system. He stooped down and picked up one of the guard's guns, before standing up and quickly accessing his door panel, watching as it opened up so he could put in the password. He typed out the code, his blue A.I. hovering over his shoulder and watching with interest.

"Have a nice day, Agent Arkansas!" the computer chimed merrily. Arkansas snorted, checked the guns were reloaded, and then left the room.

The silver Spartan emptied the last of her shotgun ammunition into the stomach of the remaining soldier, and then swapped guns with him. She didn't know who would be waiting out on the corridor for her, so she had to be prepared. She turned and opened a case she had securely locked, and carefully took out all the explosives that were hidden in it. The Freelancer wired them up to the door, stood back as far as she could, and then detonated them. The door, as well as a majority of the wall, exploded outwards, filling the narrow corridor with dust and rubble. As the Freelancer crept out into the open, her purple A.I. appeared at her shoulder.

"You know, Agent Massachusetts, I really do not see how blasting away the door was a sound option of leaving this base without our progress being hindered. There was a perfectly good password operated control panel within your reach."

"Hey, Sigma, or whatever your codename is," Massachusetts said, rolling her eyes at the program's formality. "Just because we're both new to each other, doesn't mean you need to call me 'Agent Massachusetts'. Call me Emma or Massachusetts or Massa. Or whatever. And secondly, you have to admit, that explosion was fucking sweet."

There was a slight pause as the A.I. considered it. Then she smiled slightly.

"Yes, it was quite a...unique method, shall we say?"

"Unique? I bet you couldn't have thought of anything more awesome in a million years! Computers just don't have the creativity that we humans do."

"I beg to differ...and why are you creeping about? You blew up your bedroom wall. I would think that Command is very much aware that you are on the run by now."

"Good point," Massachusetts said, setting off into a quick jog down the corridor.

The green Spartan sighed, watching as the soldiers beckoned him to follow. He still didn't know what was going on, and he could have easily busted out of here by now...it was just...

Well, they were mutes, for Christ's sake. Attacking them would be like pushing a disabled person off their wheelchair.

Or something like that, anyway.

Shaking his head, he moved out onto the corridor, hoping whatever he was going to was a good thing. As he passed through the door, the computer chirped a preppy message to him.

"Have a nice day, Agent Alabama!"

"Shut the fuck up," he muttered to himself, irritated that a preset greeting was practically mocking him.

The grey Spartan stretched his legs, yawning as he stood up, checking the ammo capacity of his sniper rifle. So, Command were going to take his A.I. from him, were they?

"Let them try," the red A.I. laughed, hovering over his shoulder. The Freelancer grinned.

"I can always trust you for a morale boost, Tau," he said, typing his password into the computer.

"Have a nice day, Agent Iowa!"

As Iowa strode through the complex, the ground suddenly shook, a loud explosion in the distance making him jump.

"What the hell?" he said, stopping in his tracks and looking around. A patrol guarding a green Freelancer rounded the corner, and Iowa raised his gun immediately. They backed off, eyeing him warily.

"You realise where they are taking you, right?" Iowa asked the Spartan, who he recognised as Agent Alabama. Alabama shook his head.

"My guards are mutes. They couldn't tell me anything."

Iowa sighed and pointed his gun at the guards.

"You have three seconds to run," he said. "One...two..."

The soldiers quickly scarpered, deciding the task was not worth the risk.

"What would have happened to me?" Alabama asked, nodding in appreciation.

"They would have removed your A.I. and deleted it."

A hologram appeared above Alabama's shoulder, looking stunned. Iowa stared at it.

"...You have...a...lightish-red A.I.?" Iowa said finally. The A.I. glared at him.

"Just say 'pink'; it's a whole lot faster," Eta sighed. "And my name is A.I. Eta."

"Aytah?" Iowa asked. "How do you spell that?"

"...E-T-A," Eta replied, staring at him.

"Oh. Sorry, just the pronunciation was a lot different than what I thought it would be."

"Everyone says that..." Alabama mumbled. "By the way, do you have a spare gun?"

"Don't you have any in your room?"

"Hmm...Never thought of that. Be right back."

Arkansas stalked the corridors, his gun raised cautiously, several Freelancers following him as he went. It turned out a lot of the Agents felt the same way as him; they wanted to keep their A.I. at all costs. He glanced over at a fellow Freelancer, who seemed as if he was walking in a trance, his legs jerking awkwardly, his arms practically pinned by his sides.

"Maine?" he called out, concerned. "Are you OK?"

"...Yes. I am fine," Maine replied, his voice strained. It sounded almost like there were two people speaking, not one, a husky, feminine tone overlapping his deep voice. Arkansas shook his head. Now was not the time to hearing things. They had to get out of this alive.

Suddenly, Arkansas, who hadn't been concentrating on where he was going, ran straight into another Freelancer. They both fell to the ground, winded, and the group waited patiently while they stood up. The Freelancers had a better chance if there were more in their number, and whilst it would be easier to leave the slower ones behind, it was not logical. Also, Arkansas was the most battle hardened out of them all. It was obvious he would be taking command in the fight to escape, whether the others liked it or not. He glanced up at the green Spartan.

"Sorry about that...?" he said, waiting for the Freelancer to give his name.

"Alabama," he replied. "And I wouldn't advise going that way, there's a squadron of guards heading over as we speak."

Iowa sprinted around the corner, a wave of bullets hitting the wall opposite him. Footsteps could be heard approaching.

"You might want to get ready," he said, holding up the assault rifle and pointing it to the corner. Then a gold-yellow Freelancer stepped forward.

"I have an idea." She pulled out a large, khaki green gun, holding down the trigger so a red light began to glow at one end. Then she looked through the scope, before jumping into the corridor and releasing the weapon's firepower. A huge, red laser erupted from it, blasting the length of the corridor, incinerating all who stood in the way, all the while blasting a huge hole in the wall. Everyone stared at her for a moment, silent, and then shrugged, setting off to their new exit.

Arkansas sprinted across the open grounds, a hail of bullets following him, spraying up clouds of dust along the ground, gaining on him with every step he took. Then a red blast from Illinois' Spartan laser hit the enemy hornet, sending it crashing down onto a group of soldiers. The whole scene was utter chaos, with bodies scattered everywhere. Some of them were his friends, Freelancers he had often teamed up with during training, and he felt bitter about the other Agents still sat placidly in the complex, willing to have their A.I. removed. Sure, it was their choice, but to not even lend a hand in the firefight?

Arkansas sighed; he shouldn't expect such things from other people. Why should they take part in a battle that wasn't theirs?

Massachusetts, who had made it quite happily outside on her own, watched the bullets fly below with amusement. She had a rocket launcher in her hand, and was currently debating as to whether or not she should waste its ammo to help the other Freelancers.

Nah.

Laughing to herself, she moved silently away into the night, everyone too preoccupied to notice her presence.

Iowa skulked on the cliff tops, sniper in hand, peering through the scope to find the leaders of the enemy. He spotted one, and lowered the target on his gun until it hovered on the victim's head. His finger pressed against the trigger, and a loud crack sounded across the complex, the back of the officer's head erupting with blood and brain as the bullet passed through, before collapsing to the floor. Iowa grinned to himself, pleased with his headshot. He loaded up the rifle, aiming for the next target, wondering if he could beat his record of fifteen in minute, giving time to reload as well.

Massachusetts strolled down the cliff, listening to the fighting behind her. Something felt wrong. She looked down at her rocket launcher and sighed. She knew she couldn't pass up the chance to be awesome. Turning and running back up to her previous spot, she placed the launcher on her shoulder, aiming for the masses of soldiers swarming out from the main door. The rocket shot out from the weapon, hitting the centre of the enemies and exploding violently. Massachusetts watched with a warm, fuzzy feeling as countless limbs flew up into the air, before raining down on the Command soldiers, making them panic.

Arkansas glanced up on the figure on the cliffs, the one with the rocket launcher.

Good move, he thought to himself. Iota appeared beside him.

"They are beginning to become demoralised, Agent Arkansas. I suggest you rally the rest of the Freelancers through the radio, and then attack head on. Perhaps you should contact the rocket holder. They may be able to blast certain areas to stop more troops arriv-"

Iota was cut off as another rocket flew overhead, smashing into the main entrance and bringing it down. Several more followed, obliterating all the entrances and exits into piles of rubble, crushing hordes of soldiers in the process.

"Well," Arkansas said, shrugging, "looks we just have to patch into the radio, now."

Arkansas sent out the message, and all the Freelancers reloaded their weapons, before charging at the remainder of the enemy.

"Now that we're out, where are we going to go?" Iowa asked Arkansas, glancing behind at the ruined base as the Warthog sped away, many more vehicles containing Freelancers following him. Arkansas sighed.

"I don't know, if I'm honest. We need some kind of fortified base – at least until we get back on our feet, anyway. Any ideas?"

Iowa thought for a moment. Then he looked up.

"How about that old training ground? The one with the fan?"