[Part One: The Freelancers]

Chapter One:

-Welcome to Project Freelancer-

In a locker room on the cruiser "Mother of Invention," a man clad in steel gray armor with yellow trim slumped down in front of his locker, stretching his sore arms and hurting in places he didn't know he had. Agent Washington just got out of a long, drawn out training session with Agents York, Maine, and South Dakota. Needless to say, he never volunteering for a four-way fight ever again, even under orders by the Director.

Definitely not worth another rank on the board.

He stretched his arms, ready to take off his steel-colored armor, slip into his matching color fatigues and get a few hours of much-needed sleep when he heard a few Marines running down the hallway just outside the locker room.

Then a few more ran down the hallway.

A third group came by, heading towards the loading bay.

What the hell's going on?

While just a little curious, he followed the Marines down the hallway and stopped at the entrance of Loading Bay 01, where the Pelican had just landed from a trip down to Earth. The soldiers went further still out to the other side, into the training area where the sessions took place.

Amidst the huge crowd of grunts, Wash managed to find Agent North Dakota, South's twin brother. He had his clothes on, having ditched his violet and green armor for a pair of sweatpants and a Project Freelancer shirt. He had followed the soldiers from his room and caught Washington's attention.

"What's going on? Why is everyone in such a hurry?" Washington asked, curious about the Marines.

"Remember how pissed off South was after that training session?"

Wash definitely remembered. He could've sworn that she gave off an aura of rage when he tried to comfort her. That ended in failure after she gave what he assumed an angry glare that scared Washington into tripping over a bench.

"Well, she picked a fight with a new recruit."

"Aw crap."

"I could hear them arguing before they broke into a fistfight. South chased the newbie into the training arena and I'm guessing they're still fighting."

"And you didn't stop her, North?"

"Um, as much as I love my sister, I like to live as long as possible."

Washington sprinted down the loading bay and into the observation deck, where three other Freelancers were watching the ongoing fight.

"Why haven't you guys stopped it yet?!" Wash demanded, staring the fight between South and the new recruit.

"It looks like she can take care of herself, Wash," He heard York speak, clad in his tan armor. He didn't even look up at Washington.

"I'm talking about the new recruit!"

"So was I, Wash." York finally looked up at his comrade, "Just come over here and watch."

Washington stepped up to the window and saw South Dakota fighting with someone in burnt orange Mark VI armor and a different variant of the Mark VI helmet. The visor itself was shaped like a 'T' with cheek guards on both sides and a black metal stripe running vertically on the top of the helmet. The shoulder guards were different as well, though they didn't cover the shoulders.

Compared to the other Freelancers, she was smaller in height and had less muscle. The armor configuration seemed to work, preferring mobility over protection. The new agent met with South's punches and kicks with quick timing.

Then, he noticed the recruit's right arm, how it was much thinner than the left.

"What's with the arm?" Wash heard Connecticut say after a few minutes of watching the fight. "It looks weird."

"Looks like a prosthetic." York responded, "Must've gone through some serious therapy to make it move like that."

Washington glanced at the others before going back to the fight with a hint of worry behind his visor. He just hoped that South didn't kill the new recruit.

Thirty seconds into entering Project Freelancer and Agent Michigan was already on someone's bad side. She thought that had to be some kind of record, but that wasn't a priority at the moment.

"Look, I apologized already! Could we just—WHOA! HEY! Don't do that!" she found herself dodging a swinging fist that scraped by her helmet.

"Shut up and fight already!" The other woman commanded.

"What, no." The new agent blurted out, "Look, I said I was sorry! Can't we talk this over?"

"Your loss!" The other quipped before she swung her fist again, only to hit by Michigan's knee to her small visor.

Despite many attempts to reconcile with her, the new agent knew that the bitch wasn't looking for an apology. She was looking for a punching bag, a way to vent her frustrations out on. It was all because Michigan called her a bitch aloud when she angrily refused to help her directions to the Medical Wing.

That's how Michigan ended up in a training room with an enraged psychobitch rather resting up for her training session she had the next day.

Then again, she thought that she could use some venting of her own, with everything that happened over the past few years.

Most of the time, she had to either block or dodge her attacker's punches while trying to land blows of her own. A few times, Michigan wasn't fast enough and the other's attacks got through. The other had landed her fist in her face twice. Even with the helmet on, the side of her face stung quite a bit and she had the slight taste of blood in her mouth. Still, she fought on.

However, she eventually could feel herself wearing down, her assailant's blows becoming much faster as a result. Even when she tried, she couldn't even land a single blow on the agent and started on the defensive. Trying to move in full body armor was harder than it looked, apparently.

Just when she saw an opening, Michigan swung a punch at her opponent, but missed and almost fell forward. She quickly regained her balance just as the other Freelancer kicked her in the stomach. Michigan felt her knees give way and she almost fell to the hard floor. The blow left her winded and she could barely breathe inside her helmet. Worse still, the rookie felt the sudden urge to throw up, but then shot it down. She did not want to do that with her helmet on.

Suddenly, a fist struck Michigan in her head and she had fallen face first into the ground. The other agent slammed her knee into the newbie, pinning her to the training room floor and holding her prosthetic behind her back. Then she made a grab for her left wrist and started twisting it, her normal arm protesting in pain.

"What the hell's your problem?!" Michigan yelled out while the other girl twisted her arm even more.

"You need to be put in your place, you fuckin' greenhorn." The girl spat out, "However, if you say you're sorry to me, I might not break your arm in two."

"Oh really? Well then," The pinned agent said, before quickly adding, "in that case, I'm sorry that you're such a petty little bitch."

Michigan immediately regretted saying that when a hand grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her head into the hard gray floor. Even with the helmet on, Michigan could feel the impact on the side of her face. Her vision started to get fuzzy and dark when her human arm began to twist and bend backwards in pain, waking her back up.

Aw, shit! This isn't good.

A loud, angry voice boomed from the intercom.

"Agent Michigan, South Dakota, stand down! Both of you!"

Michigan felt the pressure lift off her back as South Dakota let her go. Both agents stood at attention, their arms to their sides and their heads staring straight ahead. An old man with thick glasses and dark, graying hair walked in between them and stared angrily at both of them. Then he whirled on Michigan, who took a step back before she stood her ground and braced herself.

"Agent Michigan, I was expecting you for your equipment test five minutes ago. Instead, I find you here, picking fights with the other agents."

"Sir, I got…" She tried to find the right word.

Goaded into a fight? Interrupted?

"..distracted." She managed to say before she groaned in disappointment. Even as she said it, Michigan mentally kicked herself several times. Real fuckin' smooth, Ramona.

"I don't care if you got distracted, Michigan." The Director took a step forward, looming over her. "You had orders and you disregarded them. If you are going to stay in this program, I expect you to follow orders and follow them to the latter. You may have gotten off easy, leaving the war to join my project, but let me make myself clear, my dear, you are out of the frying pan and into the fire. Do you understand?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it. It was her fault that she picked a fight in the first place. She could've said nothing and gone to someone else for directions. Not to mention, she also completely forgot about her orders to report to the Medical Wing for her equipment tests. Other than, the woman was a total bitch and couldn't tell me where it was when I asked nicely, she couldn't come up with a decent excuse, so she begrudgingly replied, "Yes, sir."

She heard the other agent laugh, but barely. The newbie clenched her teeth in anger underneath her helmet, but she quickly shot that feeling down. Calm down, Ramona. She's not worth it. Not now, anyway.

"I'm glad to hear it. Agent South, we will discuss your actions in my office. Michigan, report to the Medical Wing, now." The Director stressed the last sentence before exiting the training room with the other Freelancer in tow.

Both agents glared at each other for a few seconds before South Dakota purposely shoved Michigan to the side with her shoulder. Michigan's anger flared again as she shook her head and exited the training room. Obviously, venting didn't work at all. The fight just made Michigan much angrier and now she felt frustrated that she let the woman get under her skin.

Agent Michigan knew she had to pick her battles wisely, but the feeling of saying, "Fuck you, bitch," while wanting to beat the agent's head into a messy, crimson stain on the wall still lingered in her mind.