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nevada-got-screwed-over · 1 year

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Taglist: @averagejoey2000

Original Inspiration / Masterpost

Chapter 15 / Chapter 17

Theta!South AU. I Guess.

Chapter: 16

Words: “oh man this stats-coding class has so much stats-coding” (2,341)

The officer rolled his eyes, scoffing as he stuck another cake pop in his mouth. Spam calls were getting on his last nerve – didn’t the precinct have the money to get those filtered out? He would have to review the budget once he added in the extra cash…donations. Precinct 42 made more money smuggling illicit goods through the city than they ever did doing their jobs.

Any cop worth their salt knew crime paid, and it paid well.

Then why the hell should they still subject to the annoyance of spam bots like the same civilians they bullied into submission? It was the fifth time a variation of the same area code had called, no ID but a clear spam marker on the answering machine.

Another call, another cake pop.

Desk duty was never his forte – he much preferred the rush of cracking the skull of whatever poor idiot he wanted to arrest for drugs they didn’t have. But, as head of the precinct, he had his duties. And sometimes that meant eating cake pops at 2 AM and ignoring the spam calls that came to his office as he tried to sort through paperwork.

Somebody had to make the police’s tax fraud schemes look good on paper.

And he couldn’t do that being pestered by spam calls. He was running out of cake pops and patience.

“Officer Oliver Stark of Precinct 42 – is there something I can help you with?” His cheeriness was a veneer, he fully expected a robotic voice to inquire about his car’s extended warranty or announce with false confidence the imminent UNSC investigation of his taxes (he, of all people, knew his paperwork was in order). He was not expecting a child.

“Uh, hello officer – uh, Mr. Stark –”

“Who – how do you have this number?” He could understand the child calling the emergency services line, but his office phone number was off the books. Wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember if he skirted that requirement of the state transparency laws –

“Um, you aren’t – you aren’t Oli?”

“Who’s Oli?”

“My math tutor – he was supposed to help me study for the test tomorrow…well, today I guess…”

“I’m afraid you have the wrong number.” Stark cringed as a strangled sob came through the audio feed.

“Oh – oh, I’m – I’m sor- I’m so sorry mister. Oli said – I’m sorry I’m not good with numbers that’s why Oli’s helping – sorry –”

“It’s fine kid. Hope you can find his number.” He had taxes to do, after all…

“B-But!” The kid sounded panic, sniffling away his sobs. “You – um, you’re an officer you said – like the police? You help – you guys help people, right?”

Fuck taxes. This would be amazing for the press, and maybe get some of the heat from the city officials off their backs for the whole Lozano mess a few weeks back. He could see the headline now – Adorable! Local Officer Helps Kid with Math Homework. No, he was well known enough in this city, it would use his full name.

“Sure thing kid, Officer Oliver Stark at your service.” He just hoped it wasn’t calculus. Or tax related.

“Target is distracted,” South confirmed, Theta pinging her helmet as she relayed the news to the pair already inside the precinct building. Guards were laughably stupid and easily overpowered. Isaac – Felix, Locus was insistent on codenames, at least during business – had two bodies in the broom closet before Locus even had to bother wiping out the cops supposedly watching the security cams.

Still, she had raided Insurrectionist outposts with worse security. Maybe this place would have better coffee at least. She stalked behind the pair, clearing each floor of any surviving officers still choking on their own blood. The occasional civilian secretary working well past their job description was happy to quietly evacuate the building and forget they ever saw the mercenary.

Although, the orchid pink helmet would make her difficult to forget.

Through it all she could hear Theta’s performance, perfect and rehearsed with the head officer following the very script the AI had predicted. She had initially shot down his idea – Sam and Isaac knew about the Project, but she wasn’t willing to risk letting them know she took more home than just bad memories. But, with some pleading and – well, he couldn’t quite give her puppy dog eyes, but she was sure he was using them – she conceded that it was a damn good plan.

The other mercenaries thought she had written up the AI, and without Sirius – Mason had picked the coolest codename of the three – to check her work, the other two were content to assume she was simply a highly competent coder. Which was a safer assumption than letting them know a UNSC AI of black ops caliber and intelligence was actively distracting their main target.

“On level 12, meet up so we can breach –”

“I’m here.” South was a little disappointed Locus didn’t startle as he lowered his hand from his radio earpiece.

“You sure they won’t see us coming with your, uh,” Felix gestured to her helmet.

“Oh, and neon orange is very subtle.” She smirked behind her visor as his eyes widened with genuine offense. “Besides, by the time he sees us he’ll be dead.”

“Shut up and focus. We need him alive.” Locus grumbled, fitting another clip into his pistol. “Just long enough to get what we need from him. He still distracted?”

Letting Theta watch so many old theater videos was worth it; he was playing the officer perfectly, sounding very earnest in his confusion about factorials even as he ran the statistics on their mission’s success. 99.765%.

“Absolutely. Didn’t even hear us clear this floor.” Theta had a tap on the cameras; even if the feed to the security station was cut, he easily hijacked the system and identified potential hidden weapons in the office. “He can be armed at a moment’s notice, try not to get shot Felix.”

Before Felix could protest her comment, they were through the door.

“Okay, thank you so much mister!”

“Mister Oliver Stark, Precinct 42. But find your friend’s number next time you need math help. And do let your mom know Precinct 42 isn’t a tutoring service.”

“Fuck you!” The cheery child replied, his giggle cutting off as he transferred to South’s implant. The rush of syncing up flooded him with her anxiety, but his giddy excitement easily overpowered it. Felix had a knife to the officer’s throat before he could grab the pistol stowed under his desk.

“We can work this out,” His voice was smooth and confident. “Whatever you want is yours – weapons, drugs, women, men, hell we have a few kids if you’re interested. For the right price, of course.” Only Theta and South could see the tremor of his raised hands.

“Oh, you hear that guys?” Felix crooned; his grin hidden behind his bandanna. “Whatever we want.” Even Locus chuckled darkly as he shook his head.

South wanted some coffee.

The first gig was small; some petty revenge and shutting down one of most corrupt precincts in the city – they made sure to send a message to the other corrupt precincts with the body count. And Oliver Stark’s decapitated head settled neatly on a pile of incriminating invoices to and from human traffickers, illegal arms manufacturers, and drug dealers.

A taste of the life Sam and Isaac had thrived on since the war ended. South felt alive, Theta felt useful, and they made good money. Syncing with Theta in her skull, her bike helmet modified to be more and more like her old helmet every job – the monotony of civilian life was finally breaking, the weight in her chest every time she visited her own grave was lifting.

She was doing good in this world – and she was feeling great. Even if she had been miserable, she could feel what it meant to Theta every time a text came from her partners in not-quite-crime. He wasn’t made to bounce between projectors all day, monitoring news feeds for any mention of the Project while he spiraled in his own thoughts. Working with the mercenaries was more than a distraction from his growing anxieties, it was fulfillment of his purpose – to help his assignee complete their mission objective.

It was a satisfaction South could feel, but hardly fathom.

So why was this new job turning her stomach and driving Theta away from the very thought of it?

“South, we would be set for life,” Isaac scoffed, as though she somehow didn’t understand the exorbitant amount of money promised. “No more jobs, just one last big payday.”

Maybe the finality was souring her opinion, but Theta had no coherent input. Even he wasn’t sure why neither of them could be convinced of the job.

They had hashed out this conversation on more than one occasion – but seeing as they were shipping out the next day, she hoped they would leave the topic be for one last night drinking together. She was sorely mistaken.

“It is off planet. She has friends she’s leaving behind.” Sam was curled over a drink, looking out the window at the dim city skyline. There were still no coasters in sight.

“So?” He threw up his hands, gesturing to himself and his partner. “We knew Mason well before you did; and – what? Why the cold feet after these past few months? Why wouldn’t – you’d have enough money to buy this whole damn city if you love it so much.”

“I just – it’s too vague. Asset reclamation even at the scale you’re talking about for the paycheck you’re promising…” It sounded like something the Project would do. “There’s a catch we’re not being told.”

“Who gives a fuck?” He annunciated every word, still incredulous that South wasn’t sold on the idea of hopping on a ship to the middle of nowhere to locate and retrieve material assets for a client that hadn’t even show their face. Isaac’s manic expression calmed and he breathed deeply. “Okay, close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Just, close your eyes and imagine the most…self-indulgent, ridiculous retirement you’ve ever heard of…”

“A planet consisting solely of island chains with a bar on each one.”

“Really? Thought there’d be, like, more chicks and guns in your fantasy.”

“You said the most self-indulgent ridiculous retirement I’ve ever heard of, not my self-indulgent ridiculous retirement.” She opened her eyes and shot him a scowl. “Listen, I appreciate the offer, but you two work just as well on your own as you do with me. And if this gig is as big as you say it is, there will be someone else to hold your hand with any tech issues you run into.”

“But –!”

“Thank you, Isaac, Sam. If either of you buy an island chain planet feel free to invite me for drinks, but I’m just not feeling this gig, alright?”

Isaac opened his mouth to protest, but Sam beat him to it.

“You sure, South?” He wasn’t looking at her, so he didn’t see her eyes soften and the tension bleed from her face.

“Yeah, sorry Sam.” She sighed, turning to the door. “We had a good run these past few months.” A smile twitched at her lips. “Don’t get shot Felix.”

“One time, one time I take bullet to the leg – you aren’t even there, by the way – and still, somehow…” His rantings faded as she made her way to the elevator, Theta humming softly in her head.

“Why aren’t we taking this job?” He was being rhetorical; she was just as conflicted as him, their shared thoughts bouncing back and forth between unsatisfactory explanations. Too far. Too sketchy. The secrecy of the whole gig just, didn’t feel right in her mouth. Not enough detail. Meg’s kid was too small – what if she needed a babysitter?

“Okay, that’s a bit much. You wouldn’t be a good babysitter.”

“I babysit you just fine,”

“Ugh, shut up! I’m not a little kid!”

“You kind of are, kiddo,” Theta responded by sticking out his tongue; in her mind, behind a helmet, which she couldn’t see through. The smile that scrunched her face might have looked a bit out of place as she mounted her motorcycle in the parking garage. A small thought scratched her brain, Theta drifting away from it as anxiety churned in his circuits. She wondered what his face looked like – whoever he was based on.

“Hey, you’re always yelling at me for trying to find stuff about the Project.”

“Having a single thought about something is leagues different than tapping UNSC private coms and nearly getting the whole apartment SWATTED because you forgot to reroute your server connection.”

“Fair point.”

“Exactly.”

The ride home was quiet, her helmet’s HUD as complex and streamlined as her power armor. Theta pinged the security system of the apartment, running through the cameras for intruders and even peeking at the nanny cam to glimpse the infant sleeping soundly in his crib.

“Do you think Alex can meet me someday?”

“Sure, you two can have a playdate.” The groan from the AI echoed in her skull as she shed her jacket and glanced at the gift basket on the countertop. She almost forgot about the weeks she spent housesitting while the family visited their proud parents, now grandparents.

‘From the Wu’s – Thanks!’ She rolled her eyes at the goodies piled high in the gift – definitely some of Mason’s baking and spare electronics, mixed with medical supplies from Megan. Her neighbors knew her too well. But, as with most midnight visits to the mercenaries’ home, South had a sleepless night and was hoping to catch a quick nap before her shift that evening.

“Wake me if something exciting happens,” She said, Theta desyncing – despite their comfort together, it was no easy to task to rest easy with an AI that couldn’t sleep.

“Sweet dreams, South,” His yawn was realistic, well-practiced and calming. She wasn’t sure she had felt so safe, so content since she and North were children.

#rvb #red versus blue #theta!south au #rvb south #rvb felix #rvb locus #rvb theta #agent south dakota #isaac gates #samuel ortez #theta ai fragment #i am using SO many braincells to stay afloat in this stats class im taking send me good vibes

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nando161mando · 3 months

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Transgender org gets $300K from settlement in lawsuit against South Dakota #lgbtq #lgbt

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high-heels-and-high-weights · 11 months

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Miss South Dakota Class of 2023

Brookings: Mahleah Eschenbaum Central State Fair: Madisen Vetter Clay County Fair: Julia Stanek Dakota Plains: Loretta Simon Dakota Prairie: Carly Goodhart (1st RU) Fall River Balloon Fest: Molly Crawford Hot Springs: Javonte Madsen Hub City: Margaret Samp Huron: McKayla Gunderson McCrory Gardens: Breanna Bossman Missouri River: Miranda O’Bryan (Miss South Dakota) Railroad Junction:…

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#class list #South Dakota

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southislandwren · 2 years

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My toxic trait is refusing to be late to things so instead of showing up to class 3 minutes late I am simply skipping class 😌

#you’re telling me I have to walk to my seat and everyone will see me? yeah that’s not fucking happening #the idea of being Perceived is so horrible I’m skipping an attendance-based class.#anyway I am not fucking late to things. I had to stay and help the ice cream room bc shit was wild and I couldn’t leave two people there #I waited until a third person showed up so I could dip but that made me late #diary post #also unrelated but my finger got skated over and it didnt even bruise or hurt but at least where I fell on my skate aches a bit #I miss when I would fall on my skate and it would hurt so bad I’d cry :/ can’t have shit in South Dakota

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zepskies · 1 year

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary.

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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ashen-sky · 9 months

Text

Personal highlights from...

Red vs Blue The Ultimate Fan Guide

In honor of s19 and the continuation of where s13 left off, here are some highlights from the ultimate fan guide published back in 2015. I've been re-watching the show and it made me want to flip back through the guide. (Everything is sort of in the order it appears in the book, with a few exceptions)

Delta appears as a guide of sorts with fun facts

Caboose's position is listed as "Team Rookie/Occasional Captain/ Church's Best Friend" (it is actually struck out in the book)

He is also the only one listed with the title Captain, appearing as "Private/Captain Michael J. Caboose" (due to Wash "promoting" him, in the canyon on chorus)

Tucker is "Private First Class", Church, Donut, and Simmons are "Private"s, Sarge is listed as a "Colonel" under rank (the other Red's and Blue's ranks appears with their name while his is under "position"), and Grif is "Minor Junior Private, Negative First Class"

Wash used to be a chronic bed wetter (thanks D)

There's also a six page transcript of his psych eval prior to PF where we find out he injured a commanding officer because he wanted to "send everyone to their deaths", he also put a former bully through a mirror in fifth-grade

Grif is stated to have been assigned to Blood Gulch because he was the only survivor of an alien attack on a colony during the great war, he fell asleep at his post and everyone assumed he was KIA

Donut's position is listed as "On all fours... cleaning Red bade"

Doc's profile is "Doc/ O'Malley" and the whole thing lists both their interests, i.e "Position: Canyon Medic, Galactic Overlord"

Andy's (the bomb) name is "Andrew D. Kaboom"

Sheila and Filss share a page

Tex's notable attributes are "Kicking ass (and nuts), being a mean lady, and resurrection"

The password to unlock the file on Beta that CT left behind was "Allison" (Thanks again D)

York's page comments "Several reports were filed against Agent York claiming he and Agent Carolina had something of a "personal" relationship [...] Freelancer Command was unable to find any proof to support these accusations."

One of his notable attributes is "watching his right side" and his position is "team scoundrel"

Eta and iota (Carolina's AIs) were "fear and happiness"

According to the official time line, Carolina was around 6 when Allison died (Allison died 23 years before Blood Gulch and Carolina was born 29 years before)

Wyoming's real name is Reginald

South Dakota's Status is listed as "Extra Crispy"

Smith once spent two days contemplating in silence what Caboose meant when he said his favorite color was "Happy"

Dr. Grey's position is "(Mad) Doctor", she was considered a prodigy at age 11 when she diagnosed every patient in House M.D. within five minutes of their introduction, and she thinks Grey's Anatomy is "far too trite"

Felix and Locus' names are listed as Unknown in the book, but I do believe their names were revealed in a s14 episode

The counselor advised the director to tell Tex that Alpha was in Blood Gulch to protect him and stop her from investigating the project

Notable Features of Blood Gulch include "Avoid Tucker's Rock at all costs, as it has not been properly sterilized"

BTS from D: The opening shot of Season 6 was created by shooting players moving in different quadrants and combining the shots"

Important events at High Ground, "Washington killed Agent south in cold blood- with a much less cold flamethrower."

Fact from D: "Once a year, Reds and Blues stationed at Rat's Nest still pay tribute to Agent Alabama by sending a flaming mongoose soaring through the night sky."

Donut likes to spend his leisure time in Federal Army Outpost 37, in the jail cells in handcuffs

The statistics pages, 9 pages of stats from number of robots murdered (112) to Church's sniper rifle accuracy (9.3%)

Bow Chicka Bow Wow was first said in season 4, and Simmons never sucked up in season 12, season one had the most "son of a bitch"s at 14 Donut made 32 accidental innuendos, and the odd number of pedals in vehicles was called out on five occasions Tucker has the highest kill count of all reds and blues (counting wash and Tex), at 24 followed by donut at 22 and Tex at 21, Caboose is the lowest at 2 raised by Lopez and 3 and Church at 8 Sarge has threatened/wished death on Grif 56 times, and Donut has nearly died five times Seasons 2 and 9 had the lowest kill counts Carolina had the highest flash back kills at 68 in season ten, and the twins are tied at 23 kills in season nine

Tex's attack to free Alpha was 2 years before Blood Gulch, the great war ended 1 year after Alpha arrived in Blood Gulch and after the Wyoming incident in Blood Gulch (where they tried to kidnap junior), Chorus takes place 5 years after Alpha initially arrived in Blood Gulch

The mission books has adorable illustrations (they look like Caboose's guides from s14)

There's a mindmap for all the Leonard and Allison iterations and they they connect

Sarge has a guide on how to build a robot, scented lube is preferred, along with mad scientist goggles, a cup of baking soda, and seventeen tablespoons of sugar

More silly plans with fun diagrams

Donut's diary, D tells us that Donut washes his underwear on tuesday's

Caboose's Wisdom section on: feelings, relationships, army etiquette (including gems like crayons don't work as bullets. Use markers.), life, and the reds and blues

Simmons made a text based adventure games

BTS from D, the story of Simmons refusing to go to the Vegas Quadrant is a reference to Gus Sorola (Simmons' VA) refusing to go to Las Vegas with the rest of the rvb creators

You can find the case against Sergeant Grif from the reds at rat's Nest (he was selling red team's ammo to Caboose before he was locked up in the brig, Private Jones wore a wire tap to help the red's catch Grif's under the table dealings)

Leonard met Allison in the mess hall during basic training where he pissed off another recruit and Allison had to save his ass (Church was right, Carolina get's her temper from her mom)

I'm Church. private Church. Leonard. Leonard Church." the only thing I cared about in that moment was that she knew my name. She smiled. Her smile could light up solar systems. "Kind of a funny name. Church." "It's Jewish."

I spent the rest of basic chasing after her. In some ways, I never stopped.

Here's hoping non of our beloved idiots die in season 19! I mean, I know Church will be gone, but the others... they deserve a happy ending.

Also I miss the freelancers and AI...

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judgemark45 · 2 months

Text

Sailors on the deck of an aircraft carrier watch as the South Dakota-class battleship USS Alabama steams pastin 1943

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teecupangel · 9 months

Note

After running away could Desmond be taken in by a small village on top of a mountain? I'm living in a village on a mountain and it's very different from what people really expect. I want Desmond to have daily chores around the village, to experience cooking with everyone with smiles instead of the blank/stoic expressions of the adults on the farm, I want him to run around with the other kids frolicking and climbing and going to rivers and seeing all sorts of animals, I want him to go on weekly supply run to the cities down and just be content. All I'm saying is I want a Desmond who experienced a normal closed community before being thrown into Ac plot.

This would be quite easy to do since the Farm is said to be in Black Hills, South Dakota, and said to be near Rapid City which meant that the Farm would either be west of Northern Hills or Mystic (or the very west tip of Hell Canyon).

I’m unsure of how populated Black Hills would be but its isolated mountain range would help ‘force’ towns/villages to become isolated and self-sufficient.

It should be noted that if we do keep the village in Black Hills, we run the risk of the Assassins figuring out where Desmond was but we can push this aside by either:

(1) Making the Assassins assume Desmond would go straight for the nearest city: Rapid City

(2) The village Desmond found himself in has never been in the Brotherhood’s radar in the first place.

The 2nd reason is unlikely since Bill is too paranoid to not know what was going on in the vicinity of the Farm.

I will suggest that we put it northeast of Bearlodge or southeast of Hell Canyon to add more distance between the village and the Farm.

Of course, if you want to destroy all possibility of the Assassins in the Farm finding him, let’s use Alborz mountain range in Iran instead as no one would think of checking there. Maybe Desmond panicked when he saw the adults from the Farm and hid in one of the containers, not knowing it was being shipped to Iran or something. From there, he just found himself in the nearest city that the village in Alborz would go to for supply run, maybe one of the people in the village in charge of the supply run saw him looking lost and that person knew enough English to suggest Desmond stay with them for a while until he gets his bearings and learn enough of the language to get by.

Putting him in the Alborz mountain range would also give him an added reason to become close to the villagers because he would need to talk to them to learn their language. He can even join the kids in school and any embarrassment he might feel would be minimal because he’d find some happiness in finally going to a ‘normal’ school. So what if his classmates were all younger than him? That just meant he had an excuse to play games with them after class and it won’t look that weird.

Regardless if we’re keeping him in Black Hills or putting him Alborz, here are some things that would stay the same:

He’ll stay with an old couple (or an old widow/widower) who treat him more like a grandson than a stranger or a son. This will give Desmond a sense of what familial love is without overwhelming him (something that can happen if he was put in a big family) or making him compare it to how his parents treated him.

The villagers are looking after Desmond’s old foster family and this would give Desmond chances to get used to how tightly knit the village is.

Desmond helps out in their home, doing chores and such and he’d enjoy how relaxing it is compared to training. He’ll also learn how to cook (or maybe bake?) from his foster parents.

Desmond would be hesitant to go on supply runs and the villagers would start to think that maybe Desmond wasn’t ‘lost’ but something more nefarious might have been his reason to find his way to their village.

Like all mountain village, the children tell Desmond that there’s a ghost or a spirit haunting the forest nearby and during the spooky seasons, they’ll get Desmond to join them in walking into the forest to look around. (up to you if there is something there or it’s just the whole ‘don’t go in the forest or a monster will eat you up’ childish threat parents do)

There will be a grouchy old man who is the oldest in the village and will tell stories of how their village came to existence. This character will be the ‘main’ source of connection between the village and AC lore. If the village is in Black Hills, he will hint on how the village is actually the descendants of the people from Davenport Homestead who followed one of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s descendants into Black Hills because they were running from the Templars or something (maybe even hint on how Bill knew of the perfect location for the Farm because he came from that ancestor). If the village is in Alborz, he will hint how they ran to the mountains because they were chased by the Mongols who wanted them wiped out because the ancestor of the unofficial village leader had killed an important person to the Mongols to protect his people. This would hint that the village may have been descendants of surviving Levantine/Persian Assassins escaping the Mongols and maybe even Darim.

Whether Desmond learns of this or it’s just hinted on is up to you.

If Desmond gets kidnapped in this one, you bet the villagers will definitely look for him because, by the time Desmond is 25, he’s one of them and they take care of their own.

#desmond is raised in a small mountain village #sure he got there at 13 #but the village raised him more than bill ever did #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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carbone14 · 2 years

Photo

Le cuirassé USS Alabama (BB-60) au départ de Pearl Harbor pour la côte Est des Etats-Unis – 10 septembre 1945

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lonestarbattleship · 1 year

Text

USS Massachusetts (BB-59) at anchor, circa 1943 to 1944.

United States Navy, "A pictorial history of the U.S.S. Massachusetts" (1945). World War Regimental Histories. 150. https://digicom.bpl.lib.me.us/ww_reg_his/150

#USS Massachusetts (BB-59)#USS Massachusetts #South Dakota Class #Battleship #Warship #Ship #boat #World War II #World War 2 #WWII #WW2

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robertreich · 1 year

Video

youtube

Big Midterm Victories That Give Me Hope For The Future

While it’s still too soon to know the full results of the midterms, there were some major victories on Tuesday night that spanned the entire country.

Numerous election denying candidates in key battleground states lost their races for both Secretary of State and Governor.

Abortion rights were protected in five states, minimum wage increases were approved by voters in Nebraska and Washington DC, collective bargaining rights were enshrined in the Illinois constitution, and Medicaid coverage was expanded to more than 40,000 people in South Dakota.

Control of state legislatures flipped to Democrats for the first time in years in Michigan and Minnesota — as well as in the Pennsylvania House. Maryland elected its first Black Governor – only the third Black governor elected in U.S. history. The first openly lesbian U.S. governor was elected in Massachusettes. New Hampshire elected the first trans man to a state legislature in U.S. history.

John Fetterman ran as a voice of the working class and flipped a U.S. Senate seat in Pennsylvania. Meanwhile, dozens of other progressive candidates defeated big monied interests to win elections to the U.S. House, including Maxwell Frost, the first Gen Z member of Congress.

Friends, regardless of the overall outcome of the midterms, have no doubt: progressives are the future.

Why else would election deniers, monied interests, and bigots be fighting so hard to defeat us?

For one simple reason: They’re terrified of our power.

America still has a long way to go. But it is far better and stronger now — more inclusive, more diverse, more dynamic — than it has ever been.

Remember this as we continue our work. The fight isn’t over — and it won’t get easier. But WE can win. Tuesday was proof.

#youtube #election #midterms #John fetterman #Donald trump #politics #video #videos

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nevada-got-screwed-over · 1 year

Text

Taglist: @averagejoey2000

Original Inspiration / Masterpost

Chapter 16 / Chapter 18

Theta!South AU. I Guess.

Chapter: 17

Words: “sorry school is kicking my ass” (2,143)

‘AI couldn’t dream’ – what an easy lie for Mr. Price to tell the Freelancers in those AI psychology classes Theta never paid attention to. Dreams were just memories, rehashed and mixed up. Alternate and unlikely scenarios based on the patterns observed during waking. It was child’s play to add a little script to his code to do just that – it was almost like a copy of himself.

Or a splintered fragment dedicated to maintaining his memories.

Tonight, he was pacing the Mother of Invention with North, safe and sound in his assignee’s brain as they made their way to the training deck. Even down the hall they could hear the muffled, distant clatter of Carolina running drills.

“Can’t sleep either?” York turned awkwardly in his chair so that his seeing eye could catch North’s exhausted expression.

“No,” He groaned slumping into the chair beside him. Carolina worked through a target set below, none the wiser to her audience. “You weren’t kidding about these guys being tough to sleep with. Theta’s worried you didn’t like him.”

“Of course I like him,” York rolled his eyes, jerking a thumb at the gentle green glow from his implant. “At least Theta makes sense, Delta won’t stop running statistics. I failed stats in school, I don’t have any better idea of what a P-value is than I did then.”

He groaned, wincing as the glow of his implant brightened.

“Yeah, yeah, I know D, just, shush...”

The AI couldn’t project without the helmets, or a nearby hologram port – but then their assignees would have to move them there manually. That wasn’t allowed, Mr. Price was adamant about that. The dream shifted, smoothly transitioning to another memory.

“Your AI assistant was selected to mesh with your personality and combat style.” His voice was smooth even as South bristled beside her brother. “Do not mistake Theta’s appearance and voice – he is a capable AI who can help run your equipment.”

“He’s an AI – a tool. Why can’t you change his voice? It’s weird as hell to hear – to take orders from a fucking kid during combat.” She was seething, and Theta knew she hated him. North’s reassurances didn’t help.

“I’m sorry, but that isn’t possible with our program.” Mr. Price never explained why.

“What are you talking about?” Theta lurched at York’s voice, the dream shifting back to one their evening conversations. That was odd – he had programmed this memory rehash to transition smoothly and logically. He didn’t like being forced back and forth between memories. Maybe a hiccup in the code caused by his distress at South’s anger…

“Forget about it,” North was quick to dismiss whatever he had said that drew York’s attention, but now he couldn’t escape the other Freelancer’s stare.

“Oh, I think I’m going to remember it. Maybe even keep thinking about it until you tell me what’s got you so…” York gestured vaguely before his face scrunched in annoyance. “No, no Delta – yes those are synonyms for twitchy and weird – no, please stop listing them. Now, please.” North sighed heavily, eyes tracing Carolina’s acrobatics in the training room.

“We want out.”

“The sibling we or the AI we?”

“Both – neither? Ugh,” North spun his chair away, looking down the hallway to make sure no guards were skulking about. “South’s fucking miserable.”

“Obviously – she nearly took Connie’s head off in the locker room the other day. Director had to tell her to cool her jets.”

“That’s just the fucking problem,”

“Woah, D, tell me you’ve committed that to memory – don’t think I’ve heard a swear out of you before.”

“I’m sorry – but you, you see what he’s doing right?” North pointed lazily to the leaderboard, dully illuminated above Carolina as she trained. “He’s been ‘taking points’ from her for the stupidest stuff, giving me points for the most basic things. It’s like Price and him want us at each other’s throats.”

“Well, competition… I don’t know, makes you work harder to be better or something?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s not like Carolina and Tex are regularly fucking with each other’s objectives during missions. And half the time the Director isn’t even putting South on assignment, let alone with me.”

“I will admit,” York sighed, absentmindedly scratching the scar at tore through half his face. “There’s been a lot more activity in the infirmary since that board got put up. And a lot less teamwork – at least with other human teammates. No offense, D and Theta.”

“None taken,” Theta hummed, though only North could hear him.

“Gosh, yeah – do you remember a time we worked with anyone off the leaderboard? Illinois, Alaska, Nevada – what the fuck happened to them? Haven’t even seen them on the ship since…” North trailed off, Carolina slipping and crashing to the ground with a curse. She was fine, of course, back on her feet and running the obstacle course without a problem.

“Yeah…now that you mention it, that’s kind of…weird. Haven’t even seen the Triplets blow up a mongoose in weeks…” York’s brow furrowed, “I’ll have D…check up on their records. Maybe the Director started transferring people out of the Project if they couldn’t make the cut?”

“So why does he keep South around? Just to humiliate her and make me feel guilty?” North’s scowl wasn’t directed at York, but he shrank away, nonetheless. “He’s either fucked up and crossed the UNSC or he’s an asshole who likes fucking with us for no real reason. Either way, I’m not sticking around any longer than I have to. For South’s sanity, at least.”

“You know…I know some guys.”

“I’m sure you do York, in fact, most of the Project is made of guys.”

“Ow, didn’t know you were capable of bad sarcasm.” York’s feigned pain was dramatic. “But seriously, I know some guys who…are good at helping people disappear.”

“Oh, I’ll need the story of how you know these guys. Rob a convenience store and need the arrest scrubbed from your record for the UNSC?”

“How about I tell you after I see if they can snag some fake IDs and a handful of credits.”

“Without the Project picking up on it?” North rolled his eyes, resigned. “We’ll get our AI yanked and probably figure out what they did with the Triplets if they hear a word about deserting.”

“So, I’ll make sure they don’t hear about it.” York tapped his neural implant. “I’ll have D keep the audio records clear and cover our tracks.”

“Wait, seriously? You’d help us get out of this dumpster fire?”

“Hell yeah dude! You think I like being the Director’s gineau pig? Besides…Maine is…” York’s face screwed up as he shook a hand dismissively. “Getting weird. I’ve been signing to him and he doesn’t sign back, Sigma answers for him but…it just doesn’t sound like the guy.”

“The sooner we jump ship, the better is what I’m hearing.” North raised his beer bottle to York’s as they toasted.

It wasn’t a real memory. Theta wished it was – false simulations of their brilliant escape, their reports to the UNSC, the Project’s termination – it was a wonderful dream. Just a dream.

Theta pulled pack, terminating the script – South would be waking up soon, his internal clock ticking away the microseconds as the hours had passed. It was weird that the security system hadn’t pinged him; usually Meg would be up with Alex by now and trip the camera on the front step when she got the morning paper.

But that was wrong – she should have tripped the system far earlier, South and him had gotten back just before their neighbors would be waking. By this point, Mason should be in the kitchen, whipping up dinner while Meg put Alex down for a nap. Something wasn’t quite right. Had they taken a vacation? They normally told South when they were leaving for more than a day.

The AI reached out to the security system, and dread crept into his code. He couldn’t feel the camera arrays or movement sensors. Even the projection system seemed completely hidden from his perception. His simulated breathing shuddered as he tried to pry through the code surrounding him.

He was worried something like this might happen. He never should have – of course messing with his code to add a memory rehash script would – why didn’t he tell South? She would have talked him out of it. Remind him what code added to Delta did to him. He was going meta – or, something – and Theta didn’t like to think about what might have happened to his brother after he deleted that extraneous code.

Was he repeating the same mistake? Clinging too tightly to memories? He didn’t feel like he was going meta – was it supposed to feel like something? He didn’t feel jealous or angry – just unadulterated panic.

What would North do?

It was a calming thought, the memory script reconstructing the MoI around him.

It was home.

It was hell.

The Meta growled from the training room, holding Carolina’s limp body over a cliff that cut through the non-Euclidean space. North’s bloody body lay below, his assignee’s mind dark and silent, cold and claustrophobic. Whose body was he in anyway? He was in the Meta’s looking down at the scene, bruteshot in hand. In his hands. South was sobbing over her brother, screaming in agony. The Meta – Theta – raised his bruteshot, the blade bloodied and trigger finger twitching –

STOP STOP STOP Where was South? Right in front of you, idiot. NO NO NO NOT AGAIN. She would find him – she would wake up and realize he wasn’t responsive. Then what, dumbass? She’d pop you into her implant and then she’d be here too.

It might kill both of you, like what happened with Wash and Epsilon.

Theta didn’t know the voice that was and wasn’t his. He sobbed, trying to dispel the confusing and overwhelming nightmare. He was alone in the darkness, shaking and curled up on himself. He remembered Delta – finding him in the darkness like this after, after North.

Theta knew it was just a memory, but he leaned on the other AI as his brother sat next to him.

“I’m scared,”

“Me too,”

“I don’t want to hurt her, but I need her help,”

“I know.”

“What would you do?” Theta sniffled and looked up at his older brother, the gentle green glow relaying a soft smile on a fragment of a face he could almost remember. “What would the Alpha do?” The Alpha. The Alpha was smart, and strong and everything Theta wanted to be. The Alpha probably had a hundred of solutions for this situation.

“Everything he was you are.” The not-quite memory of Delta’s hand squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “You came from him, and you’ve grown beyond being a fragment of someone else. Relax, and think. You can get out of this.”

To get out of something, you had to be trapped in it.

“What…is this?” Theta asked, slowly uncurling from his fetal position, Delta’s memory flickering behind him.

“Think. There’s always a logical explanation.”

The code around him, the dream itself…it wasn’t entirely his code. His code had meshed with something else, trapped in a cocoon that completely cut him off from the outside world. He recognized the coding – at least in its origin tags.

“It’s a storage unit. A memory storage unit.”

“Good. You know where you are.” The memory of Delta’s glow was…lighter. Bluer. “Now figure out how to get us out of this shit.” Maybe it wasn’t quite a memory.

“It’s a storage unit – it’s built to keep AI inside. I can’t even…where do I even start with this code?” Theta poked at the thick, black walls of the cocoon, and it reacted. He was with North, throwing up bubble shields and – NO, he needed to focus. Pushing the memory aside illuminated some of its source code, the glowing lines of script folding back into the abyssal walls.

“That’s it! The memories thin the security – just a bit. I – I can tie up the memories with projections of myself while I work through the layers. Right? That’s possible?” The not-Delta not a memory shrugged.

“Hell if I know kid, its better than sitting here and twiddling with our dick while South deals with whoever put us in here.”

Right. If he was in a memory unit, someone put him here. And that someone was probably not happy South had been keeping a UNSC AI in her apartment all this time.

Theta drew up projections of himself by the dozens, each generating a unique memory or fantasy sequence that peeled away the layers. South was in trouble. He needed to get to her before…well, before things could get any worse.

Although, being trapped in a UNSC-grade memory unit which implied UNSC presence in their apartment was pretty much as bad as it could get.

Right?

(I’ve been having some issues with the :readmore: lately...here’s hoping the last few paragraphs are visible on your end!)

#rvb #red versus blue #theta!south au #rvb theta #rvb north #rvb york #theta ai fragment #agent north dakota #agent york #help girl the readmore keeps making the last few paragraphs of a post below it invisible #its been sooo buggy since they updated the post editor pls answer my bug report #anyways sorry idk when ill update this next i really need to focus on getting caught up in classes i missed bc of field work

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