***INSTALLMENT 1***
Dick sat at home, his legs propped lazily against the tattered arm of his discoloured couch. The television was on, but static fell across the screen unnoticed. The muted speakers provided no distraction to the familiar emptiness of the day. Dick sighed.
'Maybe Dexter's available to go out for pizza or something,' Dick thought to himself. After a few more minutes of staring at the flickering grey screen, Dick resolved to roll over and grab his cordless phone off of the wobbly wooden table at the side of his couch. He punched in the digits from his prone position on the couch.
"Hello?" came the voice of Dick's oldest friend from the other line.
Dick half-cleared his throat and replied, "Dexter, it's me."
The voice on the other end sighed. "What do you want?" he replied, sounding annoyed.
"Sorry, Grif," Dick said. He knew that his friend hated his first name.
"It's okay, man," Dexter responded, a lighter tone to his voice. "What's going on?"
"Well," Dick began, "I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for pizza or something. I'm kind of hungry and not really doing anything..."
"I'd love to, man," said Dexter, no regret in his voice. "But I've got Danielle over. We were just about to go out to eat ourselves, actually. See," Dexter lowered his voice, "it's our one month anniversary, and I haven't told her yet, but I'm taking her to the place where we first met..." Dexter trailed off and paused for a moment. "But I don't suppose you care."
Dick sat up. "Of course I care. I'd pretty much be interested to hear anything today, to tell you the truth. I'm having such a dull time," he explained.
"Well, sorry, man," Dexter started. "I'd invite you to come along and all, but that would be kind of odd."
Dick nodded though he knew his friend couldn't see the gesture. "Completely understandable," Dick said, then added, "give me a call one of these days if you ever feel like doing anything."
Dexter hesitated for a split second before saying, "Sure, man."
They both hung up and sighed.
It wasn't but a few minutes later that Dick's phone rang. He quickly snatched up the receiver and switched it on. "This is Dick," he said as he usually did when answering his phone.
"Simmons," a gruff voice from the other line said. Dick frowned.
"Sam," Dick replied.
Nicole's hand rested on her lover's bare arm as he slept, a warm smile upon his face. She smiled back at him, though he obviously couldn't see it.
The past month was on her mind. Things had been great ever since she'd met Michael and quit her job. The city was full of nice people for the most part, and the two of them had obtained discreet and decent-paying jobs within two weeks. She couldn't remember a time she'd been happier.
She returned to the present and gazed at Michael's sleeping face. How peaceful he looked. It made her docile through the natural emotional link the two shared. What could ruin this moment?
The telephone rang and Michael awoke with a start.
Samuel reclined uncomfortably in his hospital bed. He'd been well enough to leave for two days, now, but why should he? He'd made a few friends around the facilities in the past month, and he had nothing to go home to. The staff had begun to get irritated with his persistence, though. Soon, they would insist that he leave.
He sighed, his eyes frowning beneath a furrowed brow. He reached over and grabbed the old phone off the desk, proceeding to punch in the digits of an old friend.
"This is Dick," the voice came from the other line.
"Simmons," Sam said. There was a hesitation.
"Sam," Dick responded. "Please. I'd think by now we could be on a first name basis, eh?"
"Right," Sam said. "Sorry, private." His voice was devoid of apology. Dick sighed.
"So," began Dick. "What's up, then?"
'I'm taking up space here at the hospital,' he wanted to say, but he was no fool. Dick had barely tried to contact him after the war--Red versus Blue--had come to an end. He couldn't just ask for free housing from a person who wasn't interested in having anything to do with him.
"Why don't you come on down?" he requested after a pause. "I haven't seen you in a while. We can have a chat; I can see how you've been and such."
"Well, I've been fine," Dick stated, planning on avoiding his former sergeant's offer. He didn't really have anything else to do, though.
Sam didn't respond.
"Alright, Sam," he said, changing his mind. "I'll be down in an hour."
A smile spread across Sam's face. "That's good to hear, son," he said. "Would you mind stopping by my "safety box" here and bringing me my medal belt? I've got some good memories on that belt. From back when I was a real sergeant..." he trailed off, becoming uneasy at the indirect mention of Red versus Blue.
"Sure," Dick said. "Bye." A quick click indicated the line's disconnection. Sam sighed and lie back.
***INSTALLMENT 2***
Ryan paced back and fourth. Blue and black targets made of lead and rubbery foam were scattered about his apartment, each one filled with scores of holes. He had to keep his accuracy fresh.
Something felt wrong about today. All he'd been able to think about for the last month was Red versus Blue. How could he have fallen into a trap like that, and might he fall into another?
The doorbell rang and he jumped. He quickly slinked over to the door and braced his shoulder firmly against the door, knocking the guard away from the view hole. Through it he saw the warped and refracted figures of three men in black suits.
Ryan's hand moved for the knob.
Dick pushed open the double glass doors at the front of the hospital and stepped inside, his feet clicking lazily against the shiny marble. He made his way up a flight of stairs, around a corner, and through a hallway. He could see the door to Sam's room from here. As he was passing the door he gave Sam a nod. Sam smiled and nodded back.
Reaching into his pocket, Dick grabbed the key to Sam's "safety box." 'What a stupid name,' Dick thought as he withdrew the key and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open as someone brushed past him from behind. Dick turned to see three black-suited men entering Sam's room.
For unknown reasons, this made Dick uncomfortable. As he grabbed Sam's medal belt, something else toppled and fell to the middle of the locker, its metal clanging against that of the surface onto which it fell. It was Sam's hand gun.
Dick glanced around cautiously for cameras, then carefully slipped the weapon into his coat. He kept his hand on the weapon as he hurried to Sam's room.
They were wrong. He didn't crack.
Keith Jacobson had been tracking the six fugitives from the day they'd entered the city. Closely, he'd studied their patterns and habits. He was ready to make his final move, but it would have to be hard and fast.
He smiled at the notion. "The final move. Again," he mused under his breath.
Keith held down a red button on the side of his hand radio, causing a red light to flick on. "Go," he ordered.
The cold knob turned between Ryan's fingers. He felt his forehead begin to sweat. Quickly he swung the door open and put his right hand behind his back, resting it on the butt of his Beretta.
"Ryan Tucker?" one of them inquired, his voice not containing much question. The three men reached into their coats as Ryan hesitated indicatively. The flash he saw was not that of a badge but of gun metal. He quickly drew his Beretta and fired off two silenced shots into the closest man's stomach. As he dodged over the counter into his kitchen, the other two unloaded a few bullets into the room, striking the wall and some furniture.
Without a word, one of the suits dove around the edge of the counter, pointing at where Ryan would have to be, lying with his back against the wall to remain hidden.
Ryan, however, was already sliding back to the other side of the kitchen, and had his gun trained on the second man's head when he'd made his move. A sickening crack was heard as Ryan lodged a bullet in the second man's skull. Ryan heard the staticy click of a radio communicator, and the third man began talking. "It's happening," he said, ducking beneath the counter on the side opposite from Ryan. "He's fighting--" He never had a chance to finish his sentence as Ryan slid deftly over the countertop before hanging down over the ledge and efficiently placing a bullet between his final foe's eyes.
Ryan swung upside-down from the countertop with three dead men in his immediate vicinity. Rolling safely onto the floor, he picked up a phone. He punched in the digits for his closest friend, Michael.
***INSTALLMENT 3***
"Hello?" said Michael groggily as he answered the ringing phone. He sat there for a moment before groaning and hanging up. His bare legs hung off the side of the bed now as he rubbed his forehead with two fingers.
Nicole stretched her muscles with a relieved sigh. "Who was it?" she asked, her eyes closed.
"Just some solicitor," Michael responded. He rolled back into bed and gave her a kiss. She smiled. "It's seven in the morning," he said. "I'm strangely awake. I think I'll go to work early this morning and get everything done for the day so we can have a quiet evening to ourselves."
"That sounds nice," Nicole said, her eyes still closed. "Luckily it's Saturday or I'd probably be headed off to work as soon as you got back."
"I know," he replied, his voice further away than Nicole expected it to be. She opened her eyes to find an empty bedroom and an open door. A faint sound of glass clicking against ceramic came from the kitchen. He was already making coffee.
After he finished his cup of coffee, he got dressed and headed to the office for another day's work.
"Samuel Berry?" one of the suits inquired the bedridden man as Dick passed through the doorway and into the room.
"Yes, I am..." Sam trailed off as he caught sight of the weapons the three men were already withdrawing from inside their jackets.
"Sam!" Dick yelled. The three men turned to look at the new disturbance.
"Dick Simmons?" one of them asked in disbelief. "Shit."
"Finish Berry!" another shouted as he went for his radio. The first one quickly lined up a shot with Sam's chest. Dick's left hand shot out and he held it facing the three men. He mentally activated a powerful and highly-concentrated magnetic field that had been installed by Sam long ago. The disruption must have been enough to affect whatever magnetic metal composed the firearm because the weapon twitched. A stray bullet smacked into the wooden frame next to Sam's head.
With his other hand, Dick withdrew the pistol from his coat and snapped off three shots. With enhanced reaction speed, muscle control, and depth perception thanks to his cybernetic enhancements, three shots were all it took to drop his enemies to the ground. Their lifeless bodies swam in shallow pools of their own blood.
Alarms began to sound. Dick punched the window out and motioned for Sam to follow. They were on the second story, but a tree's branches extended close enough to the window to grab onto. Sam grasped the branches in his hands and was lowered quickly to the ground. He lost his balance upon impact and fell to his knees. After landing beside Sam with a violent thud, Dick helped his old friend up and the two of them dashed away.
Michael yawned. He must have been more tired than he'd thought. He sauntered off to the break room for a coffee.
A woman came in behind him and locked the door. He smiled nervously. It was Laura, a coworker of his. It was obvious that she had a crush on him, but he'd never done anything about it because of Nicole.
She walked towards him, her stride brisk and unwavering. "Today is the day, Michael," she said. She leaned towards him, causing him to have to bend backwards a bit over the edge of the coffee table.
Laura was a nice girl. He'd had several pleasant conversations with her, and they really seemed to connect and understand each other. This is why her crush on him had been making him increasingly nervous every time he saw her. He loved Nicole. In fact, he was addicted to her love. Now he had to face the worst part of any addiction.
The need for more.
He'd never thought of it like that before. Could he possibly have more love and acceptance? The idea appealed to him. He had to find out.
He closed his eyes and she closed hers. Their lips met in a forbidden kiss. Michael's forehead began to sweat. What would come of this?
Ryan squatted with his back to the couch, a cordless phone held against his ear by his right shoulder. Two Berettas lie on the ground in front of him, two more--one silenced--in his hands. The guns were all he'd been able to collect from the bodies of the men who'd tried to kill him. They carried nothing else; no wallets, money, driver's licenses, anything.
The phone stopped ringing with a click. Ryan could hear the ominous sound of dead air from the other line. He hesitated. "Mike?"
"Who is this?" the voice from the other line inquired. It wasn't Michael. Ryan quickly hung up and punched in another number: Michael's cell phone.
He heard sirens approaching in the distance. "Shit," he said aloud.
***INSTALLMENT 4***
He kept kissing her. It felt good. There had to be some kind of connection between them. It wasn't like he was betraying Nicole. He would tell her about it when he returned home to make sure. He knew she'd have to understand. If she felt the same love for him as he did for her, she'd understand.
But what love was that? Was it any good? His cell phone began vibrating in his right pocket; he had it on silent. He ignored it.
For another few minutes the two kissed. As Michael's elation rose, so did his fear of what this was doing to Nicole and him. Maybe he shouldn't tell her. What would it hurt her not to know? But why shouldn't he? He'd never had to lie to her before.
It wouldn't exactly be lying.
He didn't even notice Laura unbutton the top button on his shirt. What would he say to Nicole if he did tell her? He realized that he couldn't say anything. It would sound horrible. It was horrible. It had to be, even though it didn't feel like it.
He noticed her unbutton his second button. "What are you doing?" he asked, pushing her away. She didn't answer. Instead, she returned to kissing him and undid the third button. He needed a way out of this.
Perfect. His cell phone was vibrating again. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. Laura backed off with a frown as Michael answered the phone.
"Hello?" said Michael with a stutter. He felt dizzy.
"Mike, Ryan. Listen, you can't go back to your house. Don't go back. They've found us," Ryan spat out in a rush. There were sirens growing louder in the background. A gunshot rang out and the conversation disconnected with a click.
Michael looked dismayed.
"What's wrong?" inquired Laura. "Who was that?"
Without answering, Michael left the room and hurried to his car.
Dexter and Danielle sat across from each other, an empty, wooden table between them. He smiled at her. She was smiling back.
"This is nice," said Dexter.
"Yes. This place has sentimental value, but you'd better take me to a fancier place for our half-year," she said, winking.
Dexter shook his head and laughed under his breath. "What makes you think you deserve fancier?" he shot back jokingly. She stuck her tongue out at him.
He sighed inwardly, looking into her eyes for the silent moment. 'What could ruin this moment?' he wondered. It had become second nature to try to expect the unexpected, after all.
His phone began ringing. He smiled and held up a finger to Danielle. "One second," he said, pulling his cell phone out and turning it on.
Ryan was rushing about the house, now. He quickly donned a pair of cargo pants and a similar jacket, stuffing the pockets with ammunition and firearms as quickly as he possibly could. He did all this with the phone squeezed between his ear and his shoulder.
"Hello?" said the nervous voice of Michael as he answered the phone.
"Mike, Ryan. Listen, you can't go back to your house. Don't go back. They've found us," he said, stopping suddenly. The sirens were closing on him fast. He had to think of a quick and effective way to convince Michael that this was serious.
Without saying another word, he withdrew one of the fallen men's Berettas and fired off a loud shot into the wall before promptly hanging up.
Grabbing his cell phone and dropping his cordless, he fled his residence, exiting through the front door for what would undoubtedly be the final time.
'Timing.' Robert's whispered word reverberated in Keith Jacobson's mind. He'd never understood what Robert had been talking about until now. Timing meant everything.
"That's it," said Keith, holding down the button on his radio. "Alex, you and the other seven report back to the base of operations and find them. We can't afford to hold back anymore. It's now or never." Letting off the button, he leaned back and sighed violently.
"Half of the idiots weren't even at home when my guys hit!" Keith yelled, knowing that Agent KJ01A would be sitting in the back of the room within seconds. He shifted his glance to the familiar corner, not surprised to find his pale-skinned "friend" sitting in the same chair he'd always sat in.
"What are the odds?" Keith continued. The agent stood up and walked to the middle of the room where Keith was standing. Upon being approached, Keith returned to his chair behind his desk.
"Mister Jacobson," Agent KJ01A began. "You should have expected this. You've been trying for over a month to kill them."
"Yes," Keith responded. "And it's always to no avail, isn't it? Jesus. This whole thing has been absolutely ridiculous. It's almost as if I'm just another one of my pawns and this is all just another game..." Keith trailed off and looked up at the black-suited man.
The idea hit him repeatedly like a ton of bricks on a pendulum. At first, his mind instantly dismissed the idea as the sarcastic statement that he'd intended it to be. Then, another part of his logic brought it up again. Soon, his mind began rejecting the idea as unlikely. Finally, it began rejecting the idea as something he simply didn't want to be true, and he realized that.
Keith gulped and slowly opened the top drawer on his desk, closing his fingers around his handgun. For the first time since they'd met, Keith noticed that Agent KJ01A looked worried.
Keith's mind was racing now. The idea just kept hitting him and hitting him. Even after he'd accepted it, it kept hitting him over and over. He rapidly remembered so many instances in the past where such a reality would have made perfect sense. He had to have been an idiot to not notice it.
"Mister Jacobson," Agent KJ01A responded. "Disappointments and misfortune are common in life. You shouldn't--" and with that, the agent drew his sidearm. Keith quickly raised and aimed his handgun. The two stared coldly at each other for a full second before Keith fired off two shots. Agent KJ01A sensed the attack in Keith's eyes, but did not have time to dodge entirely out of the way. One of the shots hit him in the right elbow. He dropped his gun and grunted. While Agent KJ01A stooped to retrieve his weapon, Keith Jacobson decided to make his escape.
***INSTALLMENT 5***
The car door slammed behind Dexter as he turned the key in the ignition. Danielle stood outside his window looking confused, scared, and a bit disappointed. Dexter spared a second to reach out of the window brush Danielle's cheek with his fingers. "You know I'd never want to leave you, but I don't yet understand this situation, and it could escalate into something very dangerous. I don't want to put you in harm's way," Dexter explained.
Danielle stared back at him, providing him with no response. Dexter sighed. "If you need me, call my cell phone," he said in an attempt to be reassuring. She closed her eyes and turned away.
"Why can't you just tell me what's going on?" she inquired.
"Even that information might be too dangerous for you to know," he said, hesitating. "I don't even really understand it myself. I never did."
"I want to go with you," she insisted.
"I'm sorry," he said. It was all that he could think of. Before she could say anything else, he stepped on the gas and his car sped off down the road.
He punched the steering wheel, his teeth clenched tightly together. Those bastards. This was the final straw. One way or another, Dexter knew it would end here.
He choked back angry tears and picked up his ringing cell phone.
"Hello?" said Dexter as he answered the phone.
"Grif, it's me," Dick said.
Dexter didn't notice the rushed and worried tone of his friend's voice. "What do you want?" he asked, annoyed. "I'm in the middle of my date--"
"I know," Dick interrupted. "This is important. Sam was attacked today at the hospital by three armed men. I was able to kill them, but they seemed to know me as well. Chances are they know you and the rest. They might be coming for you as we speak."
Dexter hesitated. "Dick?" he finally said.
"Listen, Grif. This has to be connected with Red vs. Blue," said Dick, cringing at his own mention of the phrase. He'd hoped to never hear it again. "I've got Sam with me and I'll call Caboose and Tucker to warn them. You need to get moving, though. Now."
Dick hung up the phone before his friend could object. He knew that Dexter would assume the worst and do the sensible thing. Red vs. Blue had taught them all to think that way.
He punched in the digits that would connect him to Michael Caboose, a man Dick hadn't talked to in a month. "Hi, you've reached Michael and Nicole. We're not in right now. Leave a message," came a female voice following a few rings.
Dick heard a beep and hung up the phone. "Shit," he said aloud. How would Caboose know about the attack now?
In his fluster he almost forgot to turn. "Left here, Simmons," Sam almost yelled when he saw that Dick was going to miss the turn.
Snapping back to reality, he braked and veered left, getting the vehicle back on track in a rather sudden and shaky manner. Sam said nothing.
Dick sighed through his teeth. Glancing back and forth between the road and his cell phone, he dialed Ryan Tucker's number.
Ryan glanced at the caller ID on his ringing phone as he sped down the road in his vehicle. Seeing who it was, he immediately answered it. "Simmons," he said.
"Tucker, listen," Dick began.
"Is it about the attacks?" Ryan inquired.
Dick paused. "Yes," he said.
"I know. I killed three men. I've already warned Michael. I'm in my car right now," Ryan replied.
"Great! I couldn't get ahold of him!" Dick exclaimed. "I've told Grif and I've got Sam with me here in the car. We're on our way as well."
"Good," Ryan said. "Now go." He hung up and made a right turn. The five of them hadn't discussed it, but somehow they all knew where to go. They'd meet at the last place they'd all been united.
Keith Jacobson dashed through the hallways, his footsteps echoing in either direction. He began to pant with exhaustion. He managed to reach the hangar safely.
A single pilot was present, waxing her dropship. Keith Jacobson wasted no time. He put his gun to the pilot's head and pointed to the cockpit. "Get in. Now," he demanded.
The girl recognized him. "Is this a drill, sir?" she inquired uneasily. Keith did not respond.
Quickly, she hopped into the cockpit. Keith followed. With a cold gun barrel against her neck, the pilot activated the ship. The alarms at the base began sounding and red lights flashed all around. She almost said something, but a quick jab from Keith's weapon silenced her. Without another word, the two glided out of the hangar and into the open air.
The door to Michael's apartment was open. A police officer stood at the doorway. When he saw that Michael intended to enter the room he put out his hand. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to--" the officer was cut off.
"Move," said Michael as he pushed past the officer. A few more men were snooping about inside, and blood was spattered lightly from the bed to the door. A lamp was broken and its shards lie on the floor. Nicole was nowhere to be seen. Michael felt a lump develop in his throat. His forehead broke out into a cold sweat.
He made his way to the kitchen where he found a black-suited man dead on the floor, a kitchen knife grasped in his hand. Michael searched him but he had no weapon. A pool of blood covered much of the floor and originated from a gash in the dead man's throat.
"Sir! I'm going to need you to leave now!" an officer insisted. Michael rose slowly. He stared at the officer with desperate eyes. The officer watched Michael's eyes grow cold.
Michael now felt no pain. Numbing his emotion was a skill he had hoped to never have to use again. Today had far surpassed his threshold, though.
He pushed past the officer and into his and Nicole's bedroom. A detective was opening a drawer in the nightstand near his bed. Michael swiftly strode to the detective's side as the man withdrew a gun from the drawer. "We've got a firearm over here," said the detective.
Michael deftly snatched the gun from the detective without a word. The two police officers drew their pistols. One shouted, "Freeze!" Michael did not comply. He walked calmly out the door and into the hallway, his weapon pointed at the floor. The officers made no move to restrain him as he walked down the stairs. They didn't want another bloodbath.
***INSTALLMENT 6***
James breathed sharply through clenched teeth. He grasped his bleeding right elbow with his left hand. That bastard, Keith Jacobson, had shot him. He'd get his revenge.
Withdrawing a hand radio from his pocket, he pressed down upon a special button. "Amanda, you're to take up pursuit of the Blood Gulch 'escapees.' I will chase Keith Jacobson myself," he stated.
"I can hear pain in your voice, James," came a female voice from the other end of the radio.
"Right," said James, understanding her implied reprimand. "Just do it."
The radio clicked off indicating acknowledgement. James inserted the radio into his pocket and dashed to a private hangar at the opposite end of the base.
Laura had tried to follow Michael home but had got lost as he weaved through traffic and disobeyed laws. Luckily she knew where he lived.
She arrived in the parking lot of his apartment complex and exited her vehicle. A police car and another car were parked askew in the lot. Laura knew it was somehow connected with Michael's sudden leave. She cautiously made her way inside the building.
Inside Michael's apartment were a few police officers and detectives. "Ma'am, we must insist that you remain outside of this vicinity. It is a crime scene," an officer explained. However, Laura didn't have much choice when a powerful hand grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed her into the room, shoving her onto the floor. Laura glanced back to see a pale-skinned, black-suited woman with black hair. With her were two tall, burly men. The trio withdrew a few firearms from various respective holsters and pockets and proceeded to eliminate all of the officers and detectives in the area. Fear shown in Laura's eyes.
"Where is Michael J. Caboose?" the woman inquired. Her demeanor was calm; eerily so. Laura did not reply and so the pale woman pulled a cellular phone from her pocket. "Call him," she ordered, forcing the phone upon Laura. Laura hesitantly retrieved it from the black-haired woman's grasp. There were a few seconds of stillness.
The woman pointed her firearm at Laura threateningly and repeated her demand. "Call him. I need to know where he is in order to acquire my target," she explained as if she were reciting a briefing to a recruit. Laura reluctantly complied.
"Agent J1," one of the men spoke up. "We've got him."
"Excellent," replied the woman. She snatched the phone back from Laura and grabbed the scared woman by the wrist. "Let's go," Agent J1 said, dragging Laura along.
One of the men escorted Laura to a press van that had arrived at the scene. He tossed her into the passenger seat and then climbed in and started the ignition. The press realized that their vehicle was being stolen and began to yell and protest, but the man knew they couldn't do anything.
Agent J1 and the other man entered the Agent's private flying vehicle. The two vehicles set off towards their goal.
Dick, Dexter, Sam, Michael, and Ryan all arrived in their respective vehicles at an abandoned shack on the outskirts of town. They had stopped to take refuge in the shack a month ago when they thought they'd thought they'd heard the sounds of another imminent attack upon them. However, their suspicions were revealed to be false. Though they weren't attacked in that shack, it was the last feasible location at which they all remember being together as a team.
The five men now stood in the open outside the door to the shack, staring at each other, not speaking. Many faces that they'd hoped to never see again were present. At least they were friendly faces.
The ringing of a cell phone broke the silence. It was Dexter's.
Dexter excused himself for a moment and answered the call. It was Danielle. She was crying.
"Dexter," she said between quiet sobs.
"What's wrong, Dani?" Dexter asked worriedly.
"I'm sorry," she said before hanging up.
"Who was it?" Ryan instantly shot at Dexter.
"My girlfriend. She was crying. She said she was sorry," Dexter explained.
"Sorry for what?" Ryan inquired.
"I don't know," said Dexter.
"We can't waste any time on that. We've got an entire unknown force to go up against and only ten hands to do it," Ryan said, motivation in his voice. "We need a plan. Right now we have no clue what the hell we're doing."
"That's right," Dick butted in. "We're all just as clueless as you. Right now, we can sit and wait for either a solution or another attack to hit us."
After a brief pause, Ryan spoke up. "Let's go inside," he suggested. The five men filed in through the shack door without another word. They stood in a loose circle for several minutes contemplating. Finally, the silence was again broken by a cell phone ringing.
Michael withdrew his phone from his pocket. It had already stopped ringing.
"Who was it?" Ryan asked.
Michael stared coldly at his old friend. "Nobody," he replied bluntly. The phone began to ring again. Without looking this time, he hurled the phone at the ground and smashed it with his foot.
Danielle could barely keep herself composed. She breathed heavily, trying her best not to break out into uncontrollable sobbing. "I'm sorry," she said to her lover who was on the other line of the phone she was holding. The door to Dexter's apartment was wide open. Danielle sat on a couch within. James knelt beside her, a gun trained on her forehead.
"That's enough," James ordered, glancing down at a tracking device in his hand. Danielle hung up the phone and began crying. She wailed and tears flowed down her cheeks. James stood up and shook himself as if to toss off an annoying spider web. He leveled his gun with Danielle's stomach and fired.
Danielle was surprised. She staggered backwards to the other end of the couch, looking horrifiedly up at James and touching her abdomen with her right hand. It was numb. She couldn't feel a thing.
When she brought her hand up to her face it was covered in blood. Slowly the life began to drain from her eyes. It wasn't actual life, though. Not yet. It was hope.
James was mad. He didn't know why, and he didn't care. He'd lost all control over himself, and he would make anyone who he came into contact with suffer for it. Growling softly, he placed another bullet between Danielle's eyes, ending her life. He withdrew a tiny camera and snapped a photo of the body.
***INSTALLMENT 7***
The five men were gathered around, deep in thought. Ryan stood by the door, leaning against the wall with one hand on his gun. Dexter stared out the only window in the small shack, leaning against the windowsill and propping himself up with his arms. Sam and Dick sat in the corner whispering quietly to each other. Michael stood in the middle of the room, the shattered pieces of his cell phone still crushed beneath his foot.
Finally, Ryan spoke up. "Look, we're not getting anywhere like this. I am pretty sure that you all want to or are at least willing to fight back now, but we don't even know how to begin going about that. And Michael," he said, glancing at the plastic shards near Michael's shoe. "I can see that you're upset, but it is important that we remain calm and level-headed in this situation." Michael gave no response.
The time for imagining was over, though. With a crack, the door swung open and slammed against the wall.
Pat sat behind the wheel of a black van, driving down a deserted road. The sun beat down on the vehicle, causing the interior to heat up. The eight men within were in much discomfort. Fortunately, they had almost arrived at their destination.
Bringing the van to a slow stop, Pat powered down the engine. "We're transmitting the location to you now, sir," Pat informed his boss, pushing a button on his wristwatch. He and two men exited from the front seat of the van. Five more men opened the rear double-doors and piled out onto the ground. The group quietly snuck up on an abandoned shack. With one last look at this tracking radar, Pat confirmed that the shack was their destination. They kicked open the door, guns drawn.
The five men residing within drew their weapons and trained them on their supposed attackers. "Out of the building," Pat demanded. "Now."
With firearms pointing every which way, the large group cautiously exited the shack. For a moment there was a silent standoff. Nobody made a move. Finally, a dull roar was heard in the distance. The sound grew louder, and soon a dropship could be seen approaching from the sky. It landed and the pilot's hatch opened. Out dropped a woman and a stocky man. The duo walked slowly towards the gun-wielding group.
Keith Jacobson marked a location on the radar. "Go there," he ordered the pilot, slightly twisting the gun barrel into her neck. She set a course to the location he had indicated.
They flew for a few minutes without a word; not many topics of conversation came to mind. Finally, the pilot landed near a large group of hostilely engaged men. "Get out," said Keith.
The pilot opened the cockpit canopy, and she and Keith carefully crawled over the edge and slid down the side of the ship, dropping safely to the ground. They approached the standoff.
"Mister Jacobson, sir," Pat spoke up, greeting his commanding officer.
"Lower your weapons, gentlemen," Keith demanded. "You won't need them."
The men looked rather confused, but they reluctantly tucked away their weapons. Keith Jacobson strode up to the crowd and stood next to the Blood Gulch escapees. He sighed.
"Well, Pat," he said. "You kept them here as I asked. Good work." Pat smiled. With that said, Keith Jacobson drew his handgun and leveled it with Pat's head. Quickly, he pulled the trigger.
Before Pat's body could hit the ground, several more shots rang out across the barren landscape. Eight black-suited men lie dead, their blood leaking across the dry rock. The six men stood, their guns outstretched and smoking in their hands.
Of course, the five escapees looked quite confused. Keith decided to introduce himself. "I am Keith Jacobson," he said. "I was assigned to kill you." No one stirred at this revelation. When someone makes a claim that blatantly ironic, it is obvious that important information is about to be unveiled.
"You were part of one of our many projects," he continued. "For the longest time I'd gone along with it. I'd been happy to be one of the top guys in this secret organization. I never expected that I was just another project. Like you.
"Now it has become obvious to me that I know nothing. The truth has been obscured from me, and I don't know who to trust. Except you." Keith said, sweeping his hand across the air, indicating the five men before him.
"Why us?" Ryan inquired.
"Because you know what it's like to be part of some huge experiment, not knowing what to believe," Keith explained. "And I expect you would like to get revenge on the people who put you in this position."
Ryan nodded. He understood completely, of course. Going off to a military base had been bad enough, but Red vs. Blue had ruined his life.
"Yeah!" Dexter chimed in. "Those bastards have to pay. I can't live like this anymore. None of us can."
"Right," said Ryan. "And if we can't live decent lives, then we'd rather die trying to fix them."
"Of course," said Keith. "And I can help you." He pointed behind him at the on which he'd flown in. "She can take us to those who are responsible," Keith said, grabbing the shoulder of his pilot captive.
"Unfortunately, that's not going to happen!" a voice shouted from a slight distance, interrupting the seemingly positive progression that was taking place.
***INSTALLMENT 8***
James strolled up to the group of men. Dick, Sam and Ryan pointed their weapons at the newcomer, but he did not falter. He was wearing a black suit with a white, blood-spattered undershirt. He stopped about ten feet away from the throng of armed people.
"Mister Jacobson," he began. "My name is James, though I trust you recall that this is not the first time we've met." Keith's eyes narrowed. A press van and a flying vehicle arrived. A man exited the van, and another man and a suited woman stepped out of the flying vehicle.
"Ah, Amanda," James said cheerily. "Just in time to join the party. Here is my target, and there are your targets," he said, waving his gun in the general direction of the five fit men.
"Incorrect," Amanda stated. "I have come to terminate a malfunctioning agent."
"What?" James questioned bewilderedly. "What do you mean?"
"James, lately you have been decreasingly in control of yourself. It has been observed that your recent lack of reason is a hazard," Amanda explained emotionlessly.
"But," James fumbled with his words. "I ordered you to kill them..."
"I have received my primary objective from Mister F. himself," she declared. "I am here to kill you."
"If that is true," James mused aloud, "then I am not meant to die here." At that, James fired off a shot, striking his target. As Keith Jacobson's lifeless corpse hit the dust, a scattered moment of chaos and confusion arose.
Dexter quickly grabbed the pilot around the neck and put his gun to her forehead. "To the dropship. Now," he ordered. She complied, and Dexter and his four friends followed.
"I'll sit in the cockpit with her," Dexter suggested. "The rest of you can ride in back."
--
"Get him," Amanda commanded, and she and the two large men set off in pursuit of James as he fled. Several shots were fired, but none hit James before he entered his bullet-proof flier and sped off into the distance.
--
With nobody left to watch her, Laura quickly popped open the door of the press van and made her escape. She recognized Michael getting into the back of a dropship with a group of a few other men. Desperately, she hurried over to them.
--
Amanda spun on her heel and faced her two thugs. "You," she said, pointing to one. "Wait here." She then walked away, the other man following her close behind. The two got into Amanda's vehicle and quickly flew away.
--
"Take me with you, Michael!" Laura pleaded, though the man gave her no response. He did not even look her in the eye.
She climbed aboard. Ryan reached into his coat and withdrew a Beretta. "My last extra," he said, extending it to her. "We could use all the firepower we can get." Laura nodded and accepted the weapon. She had no idea what was going on.
"Is there time for an explanation?" she inquired. Ryan shook his head when the rest of them didn't respond.
"We're tired," he said.
After flying for a bit, James figured he had gone far enough. He brought his vehicle around in a circle and began flying in the opposite direction. When he arrived back at the abandoned shack, he found it just as such: Abandoned.
He casually walked up to it and began to scout its perimeter. Upon reaching the last corner, he quickly dodged around it and placed a bullet into the skull of the large man. "Waiting for me, were you?" he questioned aloud, clicking his tongue. "Amanda, how stupid do you think I am?"
The dead brute was hardly a trophy or of any use, but he snapped a photo of his body regardless. He made his way to Keith Jacobson's corpse and proudly captured a photo of it, as well.
As James was about to leave the vicinity, he heard a metallic thud from the black van. He quickly made his way to the back of the van and carefully parted the twin doors. A slight look of surprise formed on his face. "Well, well," he said. "What do we have here?"
***INSTALLMENT 9***
Laura sat alone, deep in thought. She was involved in this, now--whatever it was. She had no idea what was happening, and she had been given a gun. Why would she need a gun? So many horrifying thoughts came to mind. She began to cry.
She glanced at Michael, gazing at him through watery eyes. He had not acknowledged her nor anyone else since she'd arrived. None of the others paid any heed to her weeping, so she sniffed and choked back any further tears. She sighed, the rush of oxygen cleansing her mind.
Ryan glared at the distant ground passing slowly below him. He was on his way to finally finish the job he'd started. He was ready for anything.
The dropship entered a hangar and set down. Laura and the four men filed out of the bay and quickly rounded the ship to stand in front of the cockpit. The hatch opened with a hiss and Dexter slid over the edge and down the side, landing on the metal floor with a grunt.
"Let's go," said Dexter.
"What about the pilot?" Dick inquired.
There was a pause. "Taken care of," Dexter reported after a bit of hesitation. No one made any further comments on the subject. The six unsheathed their weapons and armed them.
"Before we move out," Sam said, "we should consider our tactics." Everyone nodded and turned to face Sam, expecting a suggestion. Sam smiled because he had a perfect one.
After listening to Sam, the group got into their positions and stepped into the main compound. They didn't know what they were looking for, but they would look until they couldn't look any longer.
They picked off several guard with ease. Sam grinned with each kill. It meant his strategy was working. This was what he'd trained for all his life, and he wasn't going to let anyone have it go to waste.
After a while they finally reached a dark corridor. When they arrived at its center, a few lights illuminated some key points of the hall. Hanging upon the walls were three framed photographs of corpses. One was of the stocky man, Keith Jacobson, who had helped the group get to where they were. One was an anonymous, burly man, face down in the gravel. The third was recognized by Dexter. His eyes immediately welled up with tears. "Danielle," he whispered.
"Welcome, gentlemen!" came a voice from the other end of the hall. The group turned towards the direction from which the voice had come. Another light snapped on to reveal James, standing and grinning wildly. "Welcome," he repeated, "to the Chamber of Fate!"
In his right hand, James grasped a pistol. In his left, he had a tight grip on the arm of a bruised and bloodied Nicole.
***INSTALLMENT 10***
The small crowd of invaders raised their weapons to James. "Fools," he said, raising his hand and lowering it again quickly. Their guns were wrenched from their grip and clattered noisily to the floor.
"So," said James, "how do you like it? 'The Chamber of Fate.' Catchy, isn't it?"
"Whatever you're going to do," Ryan interjected, "get on with it."
"I would appreciate if you wouldn't interrupt my introduction," James said, anger entering his voice. He tightened his grip on Nicole's arm and she whimpered.
"Now, where was I? Ah yes, the Chamber of Fate," he said, catching up with himself. "The name couldn't be more fitting, really. Mister F's office is right there, after all," James said, indicating a door to his left. "Mister F, yes. He's responsible for everything. All of it.
"And look at all the death and the people who could do nothing to stop it from coming to them. That's what life is for us. We're studied and then killed. I can't deny it; I'm part of it." James was beginning to sound more deranged with every word.
"Yes, I'm part of it," he repeated himself, trailing off into a brief moment of thought. "And I'm tired of it," he said, hurling Nicole to the floor in front of him. He turned to face the room to his left, aiming his gun into it. "How's this for fate, Mister F?"
A gunshot rang out and the back of James' neck exploded, his spinal column severed. He crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The small group of now unarmed individuals turned to see Amanda lowering her arm to her side. In her hand was a pistol. After a brief moment of silence, Amanda spoke. "You can't beat Fate," she said.
Nicole crawled across the floor to Michael's feet. She looked up and him and he looked back down at her. His eyes were empty and it scared her.
Grasping his clothes, she pulled herself upright and draped her arms around his neck. His arms moved beneath hers and wrapped around her back to help her stand. She stared desperately into her eyes, trying to find something to connect with.
The man she once knew was dead. As Michael looked back down at his battered lover, he felt nothing. No guilt, no elation, no connection, no regret. This was how life had to be for him. He couldn't deal with the torments of emotion. Nicole began to cry.
Laura watched the two embrace and took a step back. It was all too much too fast. She realized that it would destroy her. She would end that day.
"Amanda," an eerie voice boomed from within the dark room. "Proceed."
"Of course, Mister F," she acknowledged. Dexter was on his knees, crying in front of the picture of his dead lover. Dick stood behind him, his hand on his old friend's shoulder. Amanda armed her handgun.
"We are all experiments," she reiterated. "We must learn to live with it." With that she fired off a shot through Dexter's right lung and into his heart.
"You," Dick said, trailing off. No more words would come from his mouth as he glared furiously at Amanda. He stooped and retrieved his weapon from the floor. After a moment of thought, one more word came to mind. "Why?" he inquired as he raised his weapon to Amanda's head. She gave no reaction except to stare coldly down the barrel of the gun, her arms at her sides.
"Dick, don't!" Sam insisted. "If you kill her, they win. You'll be doing exactly what you want them to do." Dick thought about this for a moment. Finally, he let his finger fall from the trigger, releasing the weapon from his grasp. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands. It was all so hopeless.
"But, Sarge," said Ryan. "It's not about them." He calmly raised his firearm and sent a bullet through Amanda's throat. "It's about us," he stated as her corpse fell to the floor, blood spilling out onto the cold metal.
"And you," Ryan continued, walking to the door way and looking through it. "Mister F, is it?" Shrouded in shadows was the vague silhouette of a man. He stood and walked slowly towards Ryan, never ceasing to be obscured by darkness.
"Ryan," Mister F. replied. His voice was mysterious and inhuman. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Likewise, I'm sure," Ryan replied before firing off as many shots as he could into the man's chest.
***INSTALLMENT 11***
Darkness.
It took Ryan a moment to realize that his sight was not the only sense that had left him. He could not hear. He could not feel. He couldn't smell death or taste revenge. He wasn't even sure he existed.
Despite the complete lack of physical awareness, Ryan was spoken to. "Welcome," the entity told him. "Please, come with me."
After that, Ryan could not begin to describe what he saw. The colours were brilliant, though he realized that what he saw was actually quite dull. Everything around him was so unknown yet familiar. He had not known what he had been missing as a human, and now he was not a man. He had no body and no restrictions. All form of logic was cast aside as he took in his surroundings. It was almost overwhelming, and he thought about how he might describe the events that unfolded to a simple-minded human being...
"Welcome, Ryan," a man said to him. "My name is Fate. This is a place we like to call 'The Lab.' If you'll just follow me through this doorway..." The man stepped into another room and beckoned for Ryan to follow. Ryan complied.
In the room was a small glass table with a few men seated around it. They cheered and applauded as Fate and Ryan entered. "That was brilliant, Fate!" one of them said. "I've never seen a project ended that way in all existence!"
"Yes, it was excellent," another chimed in.
"Encore!" another shouted, and the group had a good laugh. Ryan smiled. He couldn't help it. It was the first time he'd smiled in ages.
"Thank you, everyone," Fate said, graciously accepting the kind words. "I'd like to introduce Ryan. He's the newest addition I've been telling you all about."
"Ryan! Greetings!" one of the men said, extending a hand.
Ryan stepped forward and took the man's hand, shaking firmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Ryan said. He still wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he didn't care.
"Ha-ha! I like him, Fate," the man said.
"Oh, he's perfect," Fate responded. "He's completely logical. He never lost control and did what needed to be done to accomplish what he felt needed to be accomplished."
"Brilliant!" the other man replied. "He'll fit right in."
Fate nodded, then turned to Ryan. "Well, Ryan. I suppose I should explain this place to you. We are the equivalent of what you humans might have called "deities," though I'd hardly give us such a name. We're more like scientists. We create projects--like the humans--and give them a place to grow and develop. We get ourselves involved when we feel it's necessary and, when it's time, the project is concluded. You just experienced the completion of the human project, and I must say that it was most intriguing. One of our best so far," Fate explained. "And every once in a while we feel it's time to make another addition to our team. This is where you come in. You were a prime specimen of humankind and we would like you to help us in our further projects."
Ryan continued to smile. "For how long would you want me to assist you?" Ryan asked.
"For as long as you want. There are no limits of time in this world. And, when you are ready, you may pass through that door over there," said Fate, sweeping his hand in the general direction of a door on the far side of the room.
"What is through that door?" Ryan inquired.
"Well, nothing," Fate replied bluntly. "We like to call it the 'Final Doorway.' Once you feel that your work is complete, you step through the door and cease to exist."
Ryan sighed. It all sounded so wonderful. It made so much sense...
So this was destiny, eh? This was fate.
Click here for the original.
~~
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