notyourrookie | Brainwashed Mercs

Brainwashed Mercs

"Washington."

Wash blinked, shook himself and looked up at Locus. "What?"

Locus scrutinised him for a moment. At least Wash assumed he was. Hard to tell behind his helmet. "You got distracted again."

Shit. Wash wanted to scrub a hand over his face, but that's fucking tough with a helmet on. He straightened up anyway, stretched. "Sorry."

Those periods have been happening with some frequency lately. it's a bit worrying. Ever since there'd been that accident. His memory of what had happened is fuzzy, but Locus had told him that there'd been a grenade during a skirmish with the fucking Freelancer and her colour coded morons. There's a few new scars to thank her for when they finally take her out.

"You're dismissed for the day. Rest. We need you in top condition."

"I know. I will be."

Locus nods. "Remember to take the medication."

Right. The fucking pills the doctor had given him. Creepy fucking guy, but the meds had helped him to sleep, and made the moments of lost time less frequent and shorter. "I will. Tomorrow."

He heads out of the office room and hesitates before drifting towards what passes for a mess in this dump. It's just a temporary base; they'll be moving in a few days so it's sparse and basic, and then fully empty at this time of night. The planning session with Locus had run late and even if he's not really hungry, he knows he'll regret not eating.

There's one solitary figure sitting at a rough table when Wash enters.

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Felix was starting to creep Tucker out. He seemed so interested in everything Tucker said, in everything he did; the questions that came were quick, curious, a little probing like an unlubed finger. Something about it rubbed Tucker the wrong way, something he didn’t understand, something that tickled at the back of his mind like a dream he wanted so desperately to remember but couldn’t. He waited, instead, for the déjà vu that would kick it into place.

Want to know how often I masturbate, too? Or, like, I dunno, how many times I piss during the day? I’m okay, Felix. I’m fucking fine, you can stop worrying. That accident didn’t do permanent damage; I’m just tired, all right?

Felix told him it was because he was some True Warrior or some shit, but hey, it let him carry the sword at least. They just couldn’t let anything happen to their little ace in the hole. It made sense, he guessed.

After being reminded for the tenth time to take his meds (something that was met with an eye roll and a huff), he shoved the bottle into his pocket with a rattle. Finally released, he walked to the mess, made a face at the food (Dude, someone needed to teach these guys how to cook), before grabbing what looked edible and sitting down at a round table in the center of the room. Fingers tapped against the table as he hummed some song that felt familiar, but he couldn’t remember the name. Fuck. He hated it when that happened.

Then…he appeared.

He looked up at the sound of footprints, bring brown eyes blinking once. “Um, hey…”

Wash stopped halfway across the room when he realised who was sitting there. He'd been there in the accident too, but Wash hasn't seen much of him since then. He's been dragged along with Felix while Locus has been taking care of Wash while he gets back to full strength.

Something in his head twinges and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Fucking headaches. They keep coming. It's annoying as hell. After a moment, Wash reaches up to remove his helmet, holding it beneath his arm.

"Hey. Are you... okay?"

Yeah. The accident. Kinda ominous and those in charge didn't talk too much in detail, but this guy was with him when it happened. Tucker had barely seen him since it all went down, too wrapped up in recovery and questions and training since then; Felix had barely let him breathe alone. He had less clinging girlfriends.

But now he was sitting here in this empty room, watching this guy take off his helmet, and something hurt. His head. His chest, like it was hard to breathe, like his lungs forgot how to work.

Maybe he wouldn't wait until tomorrow to take those meds.

"I mean, probably as good as you are." Considering they both were in the same thing, the same incident. Tucker sat back a little, his head jerking back at the end of the mess. "There's some sandwiches back there, crappy ones. The tuna fish smells like it's been laid out in the sun for six months."

Familiar. He felt familiar. Was it because of...here? It had to be, right? They had to know one another because... they were in the same accident. Right.

"They got you on meds, too?"

"So, not great then," Wash says, managing a faint smile. He's exhausted a lot of the time, and even if he's sleeping, he doesn't think he's sleeping well. Not to mention the blackouts and lost time and the headaches.

He grimaces at the mention of the food but sets his helmet down on the table and goes to poke around. Maybe he can salvage something edible. "Great. Meeting ran over." Locus asking him all sorts of questions, like they hadn't gone over this half a dozen times before.

"Yeah," he calls back. "Keep getting reminded to take them. you'd think I'd die if I missed a dose, the way Locus goes on about it."

There’s something about how good the colors of their helmets looked together on the table, close enough that Tucker let his eyes flit from one to the other. It felt like that other guy’s armor had been another color at one point, something kinda like his own, all of it tangible and real. A frown tugged at his lips as he tried to think of where these random ideas came from.

“These meetings suck. I swear, they talk and talk and talk and ask so many fucking questions.” Some Tucker could answer, some he couldn’t. There were moments when he zoned out, when he stopped thinking, stopped existing, and he just assumed it was because he was drifting from boredom. Seemed reasonable.

Tucker took another bite of the ham sandwich he had half-stolen, half made from the scraps in the fridges he raided, humming a little as he swallowed. “No shit, right?! I swear, if I hear about the meds one more fucking time, I’m going to space them when we get back to the Tartarus.” He smiled a little, shoulders shrugging. “Makes me not want to take them just to see what happens.”

Wash returns, a plate of food that doesn't look too much like it'll give him food poisoning in his hand. At least they're not down to MREs yet. He's gonna make the best of it while he can. He sets it down on the table and slides onto the seat nearby.

"So many questions," he agrees, with a tired, wry note to his voice. He's sick of them. "Kind of wish the amnesia was total then they couldn't keep asking me shit." Then maybe he wouldn't have fucking flashes of weird memories that he's not sure fit anywhere.

"Same. But we'd never hear the fucking end of it. And that Counsellor guy is a fucking creep."

The Counsellor was a creep, Wash wasn’t wrong about that. The strange cadence in his voice, the way every word seemed like it contained just enough rope to hang yourself, a manipulation held twelve ways over in each sentence. It made him doubt everything he was, every answer he gave, every emotion he held. Tucker hated him, hated him with a fiery passion and he didn’t know why. Every warning bell went off simultaneously, like a symphony of fear and rage.

“It’s like they’re writing a book on us or something.” Tucker waited until the other guy sat down, then reached over and plucked something off his plate to eat; what, they were on the same time, so food could totally be shared, right? “I have dreams where—“

they’re trying to kill us

“—they’re still asking stupid questions.”

Weird dreams. So many weird dreams. Dreams that he was hanging out with the enemy—

“Dude, you don’t tell them about it; you just do it.” Tucker’s eyebrow – just his right one – rose. “You never broke a rule before, boyscout? You do that whole ‘no sex before marriage’ and ‘don’t rip off the mattress tag’ thing, too? What’s the worst that can happen?”

You know, other than death and losing his mind.

The Counsellor made Wash feel... fear, it was fear, some deep dread that welled up in the pit of his stomach whenever he had a session with the man. He didn't know why. He was pretty sure that if he wanted to, he could kill him without much effort. And yet meetings with him fill him with dread.

"That would be the most boring book ever. Of all time," Wash says derisively. They came, they killed, they won. That's all there is too it. They got him out of prison and if he's gonna get paid for this, then he won't argue.

"Sounds like them. I'll probably be hearing their questions in my dreams anyway." All of them, over and over again like they're... testing him.

He gives Tucker a sour look. "What, you think I ended up in prison for walking on the grass or something? Parking violations? And we should keep taking them. Why risk it?"

"What did you get put in for?"

Because everyone had a different story, a different reason, a different thought. Tucker assumed he had most of these guys pegged, but they sometimes proved him wrong: people he swore were murderers were arsonists instead, something easy like that. Tucker, he had been in for stealing government secrets and trying to sell them to the higher bidder.

Or that's what they told him. Since the accident, it was hazy. And shit, what was he doing guessing other people's convictions when his own just didn't feel...right. Like a shirt that didn't fit.

"We don't even know if they're helping!" he snapped back, huffing a little over his sandwich. "I just don't like them; they make me feel-" compliant "-fuzzy."

"I..." He pauses, frowning as he thinks, tries to remember... What is he trying to remember? "I blew up a government facility," he says finally. "A top secret project. I destroyed it all. Killed a few people to get there. Really pissed off the UNSC." So they'd locked him up and thrown away the key. He shakes his head. "Was supposed to have evidence that would get me out but... but the people I'd given it to betrayed me."

And that hurt is a deep ache in his belly, the bite of one more betrayal. But something... it feels wrong. "What about you?"

Because he's curious and he feels like... like he has to know.

He tenses up, back stiffening. "That doesn't matter. We're here to follow orders." Like good soldiers.

Blew it up. So… “Wait, you’re like a terrorist?” He blinked once, looking him up and down as if reading him, judging him, and maybe he was. Something about it felt..wrong. Not completely wrong, but pretty wrong, like a shadow that looks like a monster but is really just a bunch of clothes on a coatrack.

“Those people sound like dicks,” he said, haphazardly waving his sandwich around and dropping a piece of cheese onto his tray. Fingers snatched it up and popped it into his mouth a second later. “You know why they betrayed you? Like, what’s in it for them?” Because there had to be a reason, right? People just didn’t go around betraying one another without a reason.

But then the talk turned back to him and he rolled his shoulders. “Stole some secrets and wanted to sell them to the highest bidder, but I got caught.” He shrugged a little. “I always thought it’d be with a hooker or something, but eh, I guess this works, too.”

Tucker rolled his eyed before dropping the sandwich and resting his chin in his palm. “You were teacher’s pet in school, weren’t you?”

He hadn't thought about it that way. "I... I guess I am." He'd blown up a military installation because... because of his own grudge. "They were breaking about a dozen laws. And they deserved it." It was a burning fire in his chest when he thought about it, rage which threatened to overtake everything.

He shrugs when he asks. "I don't know. I guess I'll have to ask them before I fucking kill them next time we're on a mission." He knows they're working with the Chorus forces. Of course they are. Because the universe fucking hates him.

He smiles a little, curious despite himself. "What sort of secrets? Must've been something big to land you here." They hadn't exactly been on a prison ship because of a few stolen passwords and petty theft.

He lets out a derisive snort. "Hell no. Nothing like that. I just... don't want to die of a fucking brain haemorrhage."

Shit, well, someone was proud of what they did. Tucker laughed under his breath, lashes low as he took another bite. The guy had enemies, had people he hated, people who hated him. Baaaggage, Tucker thought, but who here didn’t have it? Who here hadn’t made a shit ton of enemies?

Still, he never had spoken with a terrorist before. Huh.

“Whoa, down there, puppy.” He sat back with a slow roll of his shoulders. “I mean, what do they look like? I can try to help you take them out if you want.”

Oh, the secrets part. It was fuzzy a little, but—“Alien weaponry. It’s why I have the sword.” His chin dipped a little as the words left his lips. He felt like he was reciting a script, words someone else made him repeat over and over again. “Lots of plans, layouts, locations, what they do…but this sword I plucked from the UNSC itself. It’s pretty fucking badass.” There was a pause. “I mean, for disgusting fucking aliens, they make some awesome weapons. Asf ar as I’m concerned, kill them all and let us have the treats.”

It felt…weird saying it. Wrong, enough that he hesitated, but—No. No, this was what he thought. Those fucking reptiles had wiped out whole planets; it made sense. It—

“Oh, fuck, you’re melodramatic. You won’t die.” God, new guy… “Or at least, you won’t know if you do.”

"They're the ones in the brightly coloured armour," Wash says, and then scowls at him. "And don't call me puppy. The fuck, seriously?" What kind of thing is that to say to someone you've just met?

He listens with interest to Tucker's tale, a slight frown on his face as he listens. Feels like something is wrong but he doesn't know what. It's just an uncomfortable niggle at the back of his mind. "Yeah, fuck them. That's what I signed up for anyway. Stop them glassing more planets." He'd had such noble ambitions. What had happened?

He lets out a huff of breath. "That's such a comfort," he says, rolling his eyes.

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