Agent Washington (completelysane) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-03-21 04:57:00 |
|
|||
The Mantis Class Assault Droid had sustained heavy fire and was severely damaged. Wash had no idea how the droid, affectionately known as Freckles, continued to stand in front of him with how much it was sparking and smoking. He started to think that maybe there was more to Caboose’s “pet” than being a simple machine. It had seemed to sense that they had been in danger, and even though it hadn’t even come close to finishing charging up its shields had stepped in front of enemy fire to protect the rest of them. Both Wash and the droid were in dire straits. Both were severely injured and barely standing. There was no way either one of them were going to leave the canyon. All around them the soldiers of the New Republic were dying. Off in the distance, Wash had heard Felix shouting for the explosives they needed to seal up the caves and keep the Federal Army of Chorus from following them back to the Rebel base.
There was no time for that and Wash had a better, quicker idea.
“Freckles! Shake!”
Having once more accepted Wash as leader of the ragtag group of survivors, Freckles wasted no time in following the command Caboose had taught him. It brought its heavily armored foot down hard on the ground, causing it to shake. Wash heard the screams and shouts of surprise from the Fed soldiers, but what he had hoped for was the cave in that sealed off the only escape route from the canyon, and ensuring the survival of Tucker, Caboose, Grif and Simmons. His squad. His team would live to fight another day.
Wash breathed a sigh of relief. The next thing the Freelancer was aware of was something striking him right where his spine connected with his head hard enough to put him down.
“Sarge?” Wash’s voice sounded weak and feeble to his own ears. Hell it felt weak in this throat. He tried to push himself up off the ground, but his body, battered and bruised, refused to obey him. Hell, he could barely lift his throbbing head up to look towards where soldiers clad in white armor had gathered around the fallen form of the ornery and argumentative Red Team leader a few yards away. He couldn’t get his eyes to focus well enough to see what condition Sarge was in. Wash heard one of the white armored soldiers calling for a medic and that he had really done a number on them this time. Wash tried to get the sloshing mass in his head to focus enough to figure out what the hell they were talking about.
A green armored boot suddenly dominated his vision. “He’s not dead,” a voice, as cold and as deep as a bottomless ocean told him without emotion, “not yet.” Suddenly it all came back to Wash. Locus. Wash had failed. He was supposed to protect his team. It was his responsibility to protect them and he had failed so miserably.
“No,” Wash groaned and tried to shake his head and push himself up to defend his remaining men. The attempt caused him to blackout. The next thing he was aware of he was on his back. The HUD of his helmet that he was so used to seeing was gone, replaced by a clear blue sky and the rocky outcroppings that surrounded the canyon. Slowly Locus’s faceless helmet came into view.
“I gave you a choice, Agent Washington,” he said, emphasizing his words as if he hadn’t expected Wash to act the way he had when presented with said choice. “And you chose to fight. I admire that.”
Wash wanted to rage at the man standing over him. To tell him to leave his men the fuck alone. “Fuck. You. Monster.” Was all he could manage to rasp out.
This seemed to amuse Locus. He lowered his gun and Wash could practically hear the tsk in his voice when he answered. “I’m not a monster. I’m a soldier. Just like you.”
As the canyon faded all Wash could think was: ...A soldier. Just like me.
“Well, hello, Agent Washington.”
Somehow, someway, he found himself on board the crashed Mother of Invention. All around him was debris and barely functioning equipment. Wash didn’t understand how he had gotten here.
“Project...Freelancer?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth then the area around him changed. He was standing in a dark room - Command. The confusingly creepy and soothing voice of the counselor drew his attention towards a monitor and Wash found he was looking at himself clad in his old grey and yellow armor.
“Would you say you have overwhelming feelings of revenge?” The counselor asked in a way that Wash now found mocking.
“More than you know.” Wash heard himself answering.
Wash didn’t understand what the hell was going on. Before he had a moment to even attempt to figure it out the scene in front of him changed again. Now he found himself outside, in the middle of Valhalla. Wash felt a wave of dread and panic seep up from his bowels.
The sound of a gunshot grabbed his attention. He saw himself again, standing several feet away, firearm drawn and aimed straight at the two sim troopers who had once trusted him. Wash knew what was coming, but he couldn’t move fast enough to stop it.
“Wait! Wait!” He shouted. His voice was drowned out by the sound of a gunshot echoing over the terrain, much louder than Wash remembered it being. It reverberated through him; through his chest and along his spine like an electric jolt. It stopped him cold in his tracks.
“You shot him!” A voice Wash didn’t recognize echoed from over head.
“What…?”
“You shot him!” Simmons had appeared right in front of him causing Wash to jump back, gun at the ready. “You shot Donut!” Simmons exclaimed in shocked horror. “What’s wrong with you?!”
“No,” Wash backed away in a panic. Why was he being made to live through it again?! He stared at Simmons with horror the other couldn’t see behind the gold visor of his helmet. “I was just-”
Something was behind Wash. He sensed it before he heard that voice. “I was just following orders.”
“I was just following orders,” Wash repeated in a daze, for the first time actually hearing his own voice as he spoke.
It hadn’t been orders. It had been revenge and since then, Wash had tried to do everything in his power to rectify it.
I was just following orders…
That voice was still looming behind him. “Aren’t we all, Agent Washington.”
Wash whirled around and fired. However, instead of Locus’s body hitting the ground, Wash saw himself, clad in his blue and yellow armor, laying dead on the ground at his feet. All he could do was stare.
In the distance he could swear someone was calling for him.