yorkies | open post (agent oklahoma)

It was not supposed to be like this. Ohio could count the ways.

First, there shouldn't have been another team here after the artifact.

Second, violent contact with this other team should not have alerted the Covenant.

Third, it was fucking raining.

Ohio was ducked low in the mud along one wall of the ruined temple, much closer than he would've liked to be, and desperately trying to get ahold of Saunders or Lane. He'd picked off several watchers and they'd gone inside according to plan. Ohio hadn't been able to see them when the party started, and the odds were solid at least one of them was dead if that explosion on the south end had been anywhere close.

"We're scrubbed!" he snarled. "Both of you get the fuck out of there."

Nothing.

Ohio pressed lower as the massive, lumbering shape of a hunter prowled nearby, carrying a fuel rod gun bigger than he was.

"If you're not dead I'm going to kill both of you myself," he hissed into the radio.

A hunter isn't his only problem. There's a wet squelch somewhere behind and to the right of Ohio- the sound of knees sliding through thick mud. It's a quiet affair, though it has to be considering the incredibly large alien with a cannon lurking just ahead. The click of a gun is also much less impressive than any nearby hunter-noises, but it's no less deadly.

"Sur-" The voice. Something about the voice is off. It suddenly sounds unsure, hesitant as it trails off, "-prise..." He should've pulled the trigger by now, but for whatever reason, he hasn't. If Ohio cares to sneak a peek, he'll find a possibly-familiar set of khaki and teal armor knelt low behind him, aiming a magnum directly at what had been, at the time, the back of his head.

Now that OK is close enough to see more than just mud and filth, something has tripped him up. That amor. It's hauntingly familiar. It's not like he'd been best friends with Ohio, but he'd seen him around. Gotten along with him well enough. And seeing that armor now, it takes him back to a time when things made more sense- or so he'd thought. It can't be another Freelancer, though. No way. What are the chances?

It's probably a stolen suit, or an eerie coincidence.

It's a deadly mistake, stalling out like this. But it's not every day a person is faced with ghosts.

Click.

Shit.

Ohio spins, bringing up the pistol in his own hand. On the bright side, the other agent seems to have stopped. A fatal mistake. It's only a flash of memory that keeps Ohio from pulling the trigger. He knows that armor. He can't shoot this guy yet.

...That and the area is swarming with aliens who'd be all over a gun shot.

Double shit, really.

Don't think about that. Figure out what the fuck this is first.

"OK?"

He considers his own appearance, streaked with dark mud but still grey and red. Still running the same suit from the old days, even if the triplicate emblem is long gone. If this is Oklahoma, of course he could be recognized.

What is Oklahoma doing here? You know, besides the obvious fucking up of Ohio's best laid plans.

Ohio is never going to escape from Project Freelancer's long, ugly shadow, it seems.

...Nope, not stolen armor or a coincidence. The namedrop alone is enough to confirm that for him; he hasn't gone by his state-name in a while. There's no reason for a rando to know him by it.

Unless it's someone who obsessively tracked down and poured over old scraps of Freelancer records, or something, but that's somehow an even less likely situation than the one currently at hand.

OK's gun lowers just a fraction- it should be something comforting, but now instead of aiming at Ohio's faceplate, it's pointing at his throat. That's hardly any better, but hey! Progress!

"The fuck are you doing here?"

It's kind of obvious, really, but he can't help asking anyway. Maybe it's more of a rhetorical question.

Ohio doesn't shift, but he was caught by surprise so his own raised weapon is still only level with OK's chest. He considers that to be fair enough.

This is, all told, not the weirdest field conversation he's ever had.

"I'm trying not to die. I could ask you the same question," he hisses. Ohio would like to yell. Everything's gone so far sideways it's coming out upside-down and he's pissed. But he doesn't really have that luxury right now.

Lightning strikes somewhere up the valley, and thunder rolls.

What is he doing here? He's trying to work, thanks.

He remembers his actual objective around the time that brilliant flash of lightning throws the area in to an ominous sort of glow, jerking his head and gun away with a frustrated sound. He should've shot Ohio right then and there, aliens be damned, and he knows it. Ohio hasn't even given him a reason to regret it yet, but he does all the same.

Stupid.

"God, just- Just keep the big guy busy, won't you? He's too close to the door," he snaps, carefully edging away from Ohio as though he's getting ready to make some sort of move.

Yeah, keep the aliens busy. So OK's team can nab the package before yours.

Ohio laughs, though it's a somewhat strangled noise. He turns back to face the bigger threat, dismissing the standoff. Maybe that's stupid, but if it is they're both stupid. There's every chance that's going to get him killed today, but the moment is gone.

"Sure. Tell you what, I'll do that after I go make sure-"

There's another muffled explosion from inside, and god only knows what's happening in there.

"Testing one two three OHIO WHERE ARE YOU?!" Lane's not just blowing up uncertain targets, but also Ohio's ears.

"Northeast corner, it's crawling out here why didn't you-"

"Jammer, east wall!"

Oh. Excellent. Be-a-utiful. At least he knows where they are now. Time for babysitter Ohio to go pull this team's sorry asses out of yet another fire.

"Alright it's been fun OK old buddy, but I gotta bounce."

He scoots along the wall, eyes on the hunter, and almost straight into a sangheili warrior as the big alien rounds the corner.

"Oh fuck me."

This would've worked out for him beautifully. That alien's in a prime spot to take Ohio out for him- he wouldn't have to get his hands dirty with this one at all.

But old habits die hard.

Some instinctual part of him evidently still sees Ohio as an ally, because as soon as the sangheili steps around the corner, he sucks in a sharp breath and launches a stolen sticky grenade right at the alien's chestpiece.

It's automatic, and it's not until he's scrambling in the opposite direction a couple seconds later that he thinks to curse at himself. "God damnit..."

Way to ruin an opportunity, OK.

Ohio's response is just as immediate, but much less confusing as he puts a magazine into the elite's shields and then into the elite. Going loud is going to draw every Covenant eyeball from here to... whatever the hell kind of landmarks this place has, but it's the only answer Ohio has to stalling the big, multi-jawed death sentence that's much closer to hand and already lighting up his shields with plasma.

He's already falling back the way he came to get out of melee range because jesus christ, and the flash of the sticky grenade gives him all the more incentive. Pi isn't here and the accelerator is gone, Ohio can't work through this situation from all the angles as he books it back along the wall, but the part of him that still runs steely under the adrenaline makes a note of the resource spent in his favor. Interesting. Use it now, think about it more if he makes it out of this alive.

The more important problem is that fucking hunter rounding on them with the confidence of... well, of a creature five times their size with an anti-tank weapon on one arm. The sniper rifle he's unslinging is an answer to this thing maybe if he can-

"There are alarms going off in here, Ohio!" Lane reminds, because he'd really hoped for some obvious sign of assistance by now.

"Kinda busy, Lane!"

Edited (i can finish a thought ok) 2016-06-20 16:41 (UTC)

It's not interesting at all. 0% interesting. It was completely, entirely an accident that just so happened to very much also accidentally keep Ohio alive for a little longer, and it's an accident that OK evidently already regrets if the way he barks out "Don't come back here towards me!" is any indication.

Where else would he go, though?

Preferably somewhere not-close to OK so they can go back to shooting at each other sometimes between rounds of shooting at aliens. He can especially go away if he's going to keep inviting new friends to their clusterfuck. An elite was bad enough, but now a hunter?

There aren't enough stickies in the world for this.

OK lets out a strained sigh, one that becomes even more pained when he catches sight of Ohio wrangling his sniper like that's going to take out a ten thousand pound armored hellbeast. And then there's Lane. OK doesn't know who or what a Lane is, but it can have several seats as well. "Yeah, fuck off, Lane," he snaps. He's aware that 'Lane' likely won't even hear him, but those are his feelings on the matter, regardless.

"Can you kill that thing or what?" He shifts his weight anxiously, every nerve in his body screaming hurry up hurry up move move move because it's fucking coming and it has a cannon. He's on pins and needles, ready to dart out and swing wide around the hunter at a moment's notice for a clear shot at the exposed meaty bits of its side or back. But he's not going to bother losing his cover, pissing it off, and having it focus on him if Ohio isn't going to at least shoot the absolute shit out of it.

Ohio is wrangling that rifle like he's going to take down a ten thousand pound armored hellbeast with it because that is exactly what he intends to do here.

The theory is good. The numbers are on his side.

"I just need one shot."

He's more confident about this than the entire rest of this exchange so far. You can drop a mgalekgolo with one round. You can do that in the rain and the murk with a thousand pounds of hurt closing in on all sides. But you have to be good, and Ohio is at least certain he is that good.

He starts to move wide, around the Hunter's left. If OK helps, he'll benefit. If not.... things will be dicey but he still thinks he can do this. Either way, he's not getting Lane and Saunders and the package out of here without dealing with this thing.

...And its buddy.

Wherever that is.

It's already a really ugly day though, so somehow it doesn't seem any worse for that.

One shot.

Someone's cocky.

OK doesn't believe that shit for a second, but what else have they got? He scowls behind his helmet, voice hard and unforgiving as he all but snarls, "Don't fuck this up." Because if he fucks this up, OK knows he's going to be the one paying the price. And that'd be what he gets for sticking his neck out for someone.

He bolts away a split-second after Ohio, heading in the opposite direction while pinging shots off the hunter's armor. A couple manage to clip briefly exposed, fleshy areas, which is just what he needs to keep it distracted while Ohio does... whatever it is he's supposed to be doing. Come to think of it, OK's not sure how close he needs to be, or if he needs a shot at the thing's side or a full-on shot to the back, and it's too late to ask. All he can do is make a break for new cover (like there is any), keep the hunter pissed off, and avoid getting blasted or stomped in the process.

Totally easy.

"I won't."

Ohio is, for a moment, rock steady. It's down to him and the gun. It's not about leading a stupid team he doesn't care about, it's not about being tangled up in impossible shadow politics, it's not about anything but a scope and a trigger and a bullet and those are the things in his life he can control.

The hunter rounds on Oklahoma and barrels forward, and for a moment it's cruising in a straight line. That's all Ohio needs to line up a shot into an exposed patch of worms at its flank. The sniper rifle is not the best weapon for tearing into things, the round's designed to go straight through and it wastes most of its momentum, but it's just moving so fast that the ballistic shock of it is still enough to topple the hunter.

"Ha!" he snarls.

Somewhere on the other side of the base, something roars.

They'd better move before the other one finds them.

OK almost doesn't understand what happens- the hunter is bearing down on him, too close for comfort, then all of a sudden there's a loud sound and the thing is tumbling down to the ground, nearly smashing right on top of him. He has to quickly scramble out of the way, but holy shit, he thinks he hunter might be dead.

Maybe.

He's not planning on sticking around to find out. OK speedwalks around the massive maybe-corpse, giving it a wide berth, and reaches a hand out shove Ohio along as he passes back by him. "Get out, get out, get out." Because that ugly son of a bitch might pop back up, or something. He's seen too many bad alien movies to trust this.

"I'm going!" Ohio snaps a bit at being shoved. Despite the sheer satisfaction of seeing the hunter fall, he's not especially keen on testing just how dead it is either. And just like that, they're running the same way almost as if they weren't debating on shooting each other two minutes ago.

Murderous aliens really do bring people together.

Ohio hits the door and guns for Saunders and Lane's position. They're easy to find, all he has to do is follow the sound of bullets and plasma desperately trying to stop each other from happening. They've got themselves pinned down pretty good, the plasma scoring around the purple metal containers they've ducked behind is testament to that.

The grunts don't see Ohio coming and he takes the opportunity to bash one with the butt of the rifle.

OK forgets where he is, for a minute. It's easy to slip back in to the old ways, to trot after Ohio without a thought and keep their asses covered as they venture in to the building together. It's just like old times, and it's not until Ohio starts his one-man grunt-smashing party that OK glances up, catches a glimpse of two unfamiliar bodies huddled down behind Covenant canisters, and remembers hey, this actually isn't "old times."

He freezes up. He's not ready to meet Ohio's kids. Not when he's going to have to (probably) murder them within the next ten minutes.

That in mind, OK whirls around and begins speed-walking back in the direction they'd come from, all of a sudden wondering where his own team is. Considering he hasn't heard a peep out of any of them for a while now, he's assuming they're either dead or have fucked off and bailed in the only transport out of here that he has.

The former wouldn't be so bad. If they're dead, he doesn't have all that many fucks to give- they're no better than strangers, to him. If it's the latter, however, he's going to be real, real salty, because now he's gonna have to kill Ohio's kids, kill Ohio, and then steal their ride.

Ohio ignores him because he's busy flanking the Covenant that had Saunders and Lane pinned. It's like they've been suddenly set upon by an angry whirlwind of competence, and the confusion is enough to send Grunts running and let him get a knife up the gullet of an Elite.

OK didn't shoot him yet, that's all that really matters in Ohio's world.

"Jesus Christ, cutting it kind of close aren't we?" That's Saunders. He's leaning against one wall, armor bloody and with something distinctly mysterious and Forerunnery strapped to his back. Lane at least looks to be in slightly better shape.

"Cutting it kind of nothing. Can you move?" Ohio's focused on Saunders.

"...Mostly?"

"Not good enough." They won't make it back to the Pelican on mostly. He whirls on Lane. "Please tell me you've found something?"

Lane tilts his head, considering something on his HUD. "According to their comms, they've got a Spirit parked up top. Might've been the one we saw on the way in. That might be our way out."

Ohio sighs. "I can fly a Spirit. Shit. We're moving topside, then."

It's only then he notices Oklahoma moved. Not that he was particularly invested in OK's survival, but he had a team with him and they were technically still enemies. He kicks himself for leaving this end to hang loose, but moves on anyway.

OK hasn't shot him yet. But he wants to, once he finds the group again.

Or they find him, rather.

Retreating in the direction they'd just come from hadn't been a good idea, in hindsight. He knows what's back there and it's nothing good. He doubts he'd be able to see much from the entry point, and he knows he won't be able to make it far out enough to scout the place, so his only option is to stop, turn back around, and head for higher ground. He's about halfway up a long, sloping hallway when he hears movement behind him and spins around, raising his gun, ready to blow the face off of whatever peeks around the corner-

"Motherfucker." OK sighs harshly. Well, there they are, the three fucking musketeers. He considers blasting them all right then and there, but one of them has something that catches his eye. "Hey. Hey!" He takes aim at the one that's got the fancy alien-backpack. OK doesn't know who that one is (Saunders, apparently), and thank god for that. He's sick of seeing familiar helmets. "You're gonna have to take that off."

There's the clatter of two rifles and a magnum pointing at Oklahoma.

"He's not," says Ohio. "Why the fuck are you still here?"

He assumed OK had run, which was what he would've done. ...Probably.

Ohio's still not especially keen on having to be the one that kills him, and that accounts for part of the frustration in his voice. He'd set himself up to avoid this uncomfortable eventuality, and here it is right back in his face again.

See if he ever does anything nice for anyone ever again.

"Who the hell is this?" Saunders wants to know. Ohio ignores him.

Despite having three guns pointed at him, he's feeling pretty good about his odds here. Two of the guys look like some level of shit. There's blood coming from somewhere on one of them- the one who's got his package, so at least that one seems like he'd be easy pickings. OK thinks he could mow the two new ones down pretty quickly, but Ohio is another story.

He's not too comfortable with his prospects in that case, but he did just see Ohio take down a hunter with a sniper, so. You know. What could possibly be more of an optimism killer there.

The attitude isn't helping his comfort levels much. OK is irritated, enough to want to gesture angrily at Ohio while he answers, but he doesn't feel like he can spare a hand long enough to do so. "Okay, first off, yes, he is, and secondly, I'm getting out of here. Don't fucking rush me. And you-"

His attention turns back to Saunders, ignoring the question. "Take your weird little backpack machine off. It's a bomb." ...It's not, but if it gets him to actually do it...

"You're not getting out of here if you keep fucking with my team," Ohio snarls. "I didn't want to kill you, but if you don't fuck off right now-"

"Nobody told me it was a bomb!" Oh my god why is this happening in Saunders's life? He's bleeding and pissed and now there's a bomb. At least he's pretty sure. Saunders is, all things considered, not an important person here and it makes sense to him that Command wouldn't give him a vital detail like this.

"It's not a bomb!"

"How do you know?!"

Ohio is definitely the only point of competence in this team. He kind of wondered at outset if this was a deliberate attempt to kill him, but it's only now in this moment right here that he's starting to feel seriously about that.

"We got contacts!" Lane warns. His motion tracker has a somewhat better range than the other two. Ohio could just about strangle everyone in this hallway, himself included, and be done with it.

OK leans forward, ready to snap out the fact that he'd been in the process of fucking off when Ohio and his lambs came creeping up behind him, but their tiff is interrupted by Saunders taking the bait. Yes. Forget Ohio. What he needs to do is sink his hooks in to the weak one and get him to drop the package, then they can all go about their day. "Look at it! It's obviously a bomb! I work with them all the time, why do you think I'm here?"

Well, nobody knows. That's the problem, and OK is using it to his advantage. He may be a lying liar, but he sounds pretty damn sure of himself.

What he's not sure of, however, is if the stupid thing is worth this much trouble. OK scowls in Lane's direction, because that's exactly what they need, more bullshit hot on their trail. Since he's the one who noticed it first it's somehow his fault.

"Forget it." OK lowers his gun enough to make himself nonthreatening, waving the group away with a swing of one arm as he retreats further up the ramp, walking backwards. "Just get the fuck out of here."

Except they all need to go in the same direction.

Fuck you, this is OK's hallway.

"We are getting the fuck out of here. So move." And Ohio is leading the... it's not a charge so much as it is a deliberate advance. They're getting up to that Spirit. Ideally, the whole team is. So help him.

"Wait, bomb?" says Lane, finally noticing something besides the ominous red tracker dots.

"I'm carrying a bomb!" Saunders snaps. "Fucking listen, Lane!"

"It's not a bomb, it's a core!" There may be aliens hot on their heels right now but Lane has to get the facts straight. It's important.

"An exploding core!"

"No, an AI core!"

"Bullshit!"

"Both of you shut up and get up here. We can deal with all the particulars of the thing that isn't a bomb when we're fucking gone!"

Ohio will drag them if he has to, but to his great relief that seems to be enough to get them moving again.

Edited (I lost a punctuation) 2016-07-26 17:12 (UTC)

OK scurries back when Ohio stomps his way up, but he quickly slows his backwards escape and stops altogether as the team argues amongst themselves. OK is caught up in pure trainwreck syndrome. They're too close, the logical part of his brain warns him. He could be in the air by now if he'd just gone, it scolds. But the more morbidly curious side wins out over logic, and he just stares as this mess unfolds.

Holy shit.

He laughs nervously, the sound one of complete disbelief as he turns towards Ohio. He can't help asking. He really can't help it. "Is this your team? Really?"

There are a lot of old switches in Ohio's neural interface that don't have a purpose, these days. Controls for the accelerating equipment that was removed years ago. Macros Pi set up for calculations he no longer needs to run. Bits and broken pieces of things were left in her wake, and they would take more work to fix than anyone has thought worth putting into him.

But one of these useless things is fast access to Freelancer team comms, and all it takes is a thought to throw open the old channel. Because fuck you, Oklahoma, he's a shitty leader but he's not so shitty a leader that he'll say this to them. He snaps at him one to one.

"I sure as fuck didn't pick them."

OK nearly laughs again when he notices the direct channel open up. Ohio sounds like he hates everything about his two shadows, but evidently not enough to trash talk them over an open line. How sweet. He really does care. OK is tempted to tease him about being softhearted- something in what he's said rings as odd, though, and he skips that for now. "You were assigned them? Who'd you piss off?"

He's still moving, a little more quickly now since there are enemies headed right for them and all. They may be able to outrun them after all if they all hustle the fuck up and get around the corner, but he's still hesitant to turn his back on any of them. "Are you supposed to be training them or something?"

That can't be right either. This is not a baby-level mission.

It's not soft alright if he upsets them too much it will negatively impact their performance, okay. And it's already bad enough without his help.

"I think my bosses are just trying to kill me off at this point."

Ohio is pretty casual in saying that. Surprisingly so given the circumstances, the resignation in his tone, and the fact he's serious about it.

Needler shards bounce off shields and dig into the floor at their heels when a pair of jackals round the corner behind them. Ohio chucks a frag grenade back there them to keep the jackals busy and yells on the open channel again. "Lane, nav!"

"Spirit's gonna be in the center, it's guarded!"

Because of course it is. They hit the top level and keep on trucking.

"Is this guy with us now or something?!" Saunders wants to know, because there's still been no introduction and holy shit has he been shot at a lot today. He's also fucking tired and fucking bleeding, and it hasn't done wonders for his patience.

Ohio doesn't have it in him to negotiate the whole "I kind of almost used to know this person a little bit" deal right now, and settles for, "As long as we're shooting the same direction!"

Edited (i know how to words) 2016-08-03 03:03 (UTC)

open post (agent oklahoma)

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