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[video]
[ The woman on the video may look somewhat familiar; it's the shape of her face, the ice blue of her eyes, the blonde of her hair, her height. South and her brother aren't identical, of course, but the family resemblance is clearer than she'd like it to be.
(More than ever, these days; who wants to look in your own reflection and see your dead brother's features looking back at you?)
She's shoved the sleeves of her coveralls as far up her arms as she can get them, revealing a variety of tattoos up one of her muscled arms. There's hints of old purple dye in the front of her hair. Around her neck there's a puck, dangling from a chain, holding a chip of some kind.
She looks... pissed. ]
So this ████ing sucks donkey— [She blinks, then squints.] Oh for ████'s sake, I can't even ████ing swear? ████. ████. ████ing ████-████ ████████████.
[ There's a pause of a few seconds before South visibly decides to test this thing's limits. ]
████trumpet. Bull████. ████biscuit. Dip████. ████face. Jack███. Fuck██████— ha, ████ed that one up.
Ugh, whatever. My name's South. Yes, that's a ████ing codename, no, I'm not telling you my real name. Guess I'm stuck here with the rest of... whoever the hell you guys are. Which ████ing sucks.
[ Not that things didn't suck where she came from, but at least she was something resembling free and kind of in control of how much stuff sucked. Call her old fashioned, but she'd much rather ruin her own life than have someone else do it for her. ]
(More than ever, these days; who wants to look in your own reflection and see your dead brother's features looking back at you?)
She's shoved the sleeves of her coveralls as far up her arms as she can get them, revealing a variety of tattoos up one of her muscled arms. There's hints of old purple dye in the front of her hair. Around her neck there's a puck, dangling from a chain, holding a chip of some kind.
She looks... pissed. ]
So this ████ing sucks donkey— [She blinks, then squints.] Oh for ████'s sake, I can't even ████ing swear? ████. ████. ████ing ████-████ ████████████.
[ There's a pause of a few seconds before South visibly decides to test this thing's limits. ]
████trumpet. Bull████. ████biscuit. Dip████. ████face. Jack███. Fuck██████— ha, ████ed that one up.
Ugh, whatever. My name's South. Yes, that's a ████ing codename, no, I'm not telling you my real name. Guess I'm stuck here with the rest of... whoever the hell you guys are. Which ████ing sucks.
[ Not that things didn't suck where she came from, but at least she was something resembling free and kind of in control of how much stuff sucked. Call her old fashioned, but she'd much rather ruin her own life than have someone else do it for her. ]
video
[Still, he's moving as fast as he can, in a purposeful trot. Practically machinelike. Driven by a cold fury she can see etched into every line of his face. The lack of helmet certainly means he's...expressive right now. And he looks a little older than when she saw him last.]
[Instead of looking at the hall as he moves, for a moment he directs a sharp gaze directly at the camera, icy blue eyes carrying a threat of at least violence, if not murder. His words come out with a menacing calm, a cold disdain the Freelancers never heard in his voice before the project fell apart.]
How unfortunate for you. Being stuck in here with us.
[Yes, it is a threat. Whether she's from the moment before he killed her, or from some time before, it doesn't matter. He has a score to settle.]
[And he recognizes where she is from the background behind her.]
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[ To say South looks like she's seen a ghost would be the understatement of the century.
It's not possible. She *shot* him. Left him bleeding out on the ground. He should be dead, either from the blood loss or from the Meta cleaning up after itself.
But he isn't. He's right there, and oh, she does not like the look on his face or the tone of his voice. Or the fact he's moving.]
████.
[ She cuts her feed. ]
--> action
[He catches up to South in one of the common rooms. Ironically it's the one near the still out-of-order elevator shaft where he'd survived multiple grenades and having the elevator dropped on his head.]
[Whatever had protected him then probably won't protect him here. It seemed like the power was triggered by extremes. But he figures he won't need it. She got him once because he dared trust someone, but when it comes down to a fight, she'd fallen off the leaderboard. And he has muscle memory that makes him much better than he used to be, even if he can't remember that his training partner is usually Carolina.]
[He comes in through the doorway and immediately raises his fists, but waits to see what she does before attacking. He's become...patient.]
You seem surprised to see me. This world sometimes pulls people from different places in time. What's the last thing you remember? You putting a bullet in my back?
[Hate. His voice is filled to the brim with hate. It's ice cold but it's still hate.]
Or me putting a bullet between your eyes?
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The tone of his voice sends an unnatural shot of cold down her spine and her stance tightens. She'd like to call bullshit on the idea of people being pulled from different times, but she's not stupid. She won't deny the evidence of her eyes, or the things she's heard and seen since they dragged her into this place.
Still, the idea of him having shot her? That makes her snort. ]
Don't give me that shit. Like you could do it.
[ The Washington she remembers couldn't. At least, she doesn't think he could. Even under direct orders he let her live and, well, that had been his mistake to make, hadn't it?
Of course, nothing much about this feels like the Washington she remembers, either. ]
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There's a lot I can do now that I couldn't in the past.
[His fists tighten.]
I also learn from my mistakes.
[Trusting her was one. Trusting anybody was one.]
Delta isn't too fond of you. He pointed out that you'd probably just try to shoot me in the back again. And he told me that you left North for dead. Set him up.
I always liked him.
[He tilts his head slightly.]
I still like him now. Present tense. He's here, too. Alive. That's how I know there's time travel involved.
[He's not fighting her yet because he wants to hurt her. He wants her to know there's a familiar face that nearly mirrors her own, that she'll have to look at.]
I told him what you did.
[Even though he seriously wants to make sure she goes down and never comes up again, he'd rather see her face that.]
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North's... he can't be. No, she saw what the Meta did to him, she saw her brother die there on the concrete in front of her. She watched and she did nothing because to act would be to risk dying at its hands, too, and she wasn't willing to give up her life for his.
Not then. Not anymore. ]
Don't you dare lie about that.
[ The words come out as a venomous hiss. It's a protest she doesn't even believe, isn't sure if she even wants to believe. Her brother, here, alive?
Relief and shame war in her chest. ]
That green little... [ Her hand automatically goes to the puck laying against her chest, knuckles turning white as she grasps it. ] I didn't set him up. What the hell did you tell him?!
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[Wash believes it. Of course he does.]
You were right there when Delta said it. You didn't deny it.
[Guilty.]
You can come up with any story you want. North was still dead when I found him.
You weren't. And he at least remembers when he started to go down. That's the point this place pulled him from.
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[ Wouldn’t she? Can she say that? Even if she didn’t, even if that isn’t what she remembers, can she honestly say she never would?
She doesn’t know the answer to that question, but it’s clear that Washington would only believe one of the two. ]
He’s my brother.
[ The words mean nothing on their own and she knows it.
He’s her brother and he’s alive. He’s her brother and Washington has told him that she set him up to die. He’s her brother and she let the Meta kill him because her own skin mattered more, because she was tired of living in his shadow.
The maelstrom of emotions twist into rage and South all but growls. ]
You little... [ The words on the tip of her tongue aren’t wise, but like everything else her sense is caught in the twister. ] I should’ve aimed for the fucking head when I shot you.
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Too bad for you that I did.
[And then Wash attacks, running up and throwing the first punch. Even after all his injuries, even when he's still partly on the mend, he's fast.]
[Faster than he ever was on the team during Freelancer. Stronger than he ever was on the team during Freelancer.]
[He has extra years of experience all his dead former teammates didn't get to have by virtue of being...well. Dead. He's been drilled by Carolina. Practices with regularly with Carolina. Fights side by side with her, coordinated and competent.]
[And even though he can't remember parts of his memory, there are more parts to memory than chronological memory. The muscle memory is etched in there and still completely accessible.]
[Carolina had been number two on the board, right under Tex. Tex, who was something impossible and not human. Now? He's only a half step behind Carolina - a half step and no farther.]
[And he fights like it.]
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Shit.
[ When the hell did he get so damn fast?
The punch lands, catches her unprepared and out of stance. The force of the blow and the surprise are enough to knock her off balance, but there's nothing like the impact of a fist to spur you into action, either.
She barely ducks before he can strike again and tries to jam a kick into his chest, using the attempt to put what space she can between them. Jumps up onto the nearest piece of furniture, but only takes her eye off him long enough to spin on her heel to get momentum behind another kick aimed at his head.
Her style has always been about momentum. In a space like this, it's harder to use that to her full advantage; she has to take what she can get.
It's not going to be enough. She's lost her edge, she hasn't got those years of experience that she can see in every move Wash makes. Doesn't mean she's going to back down and just let him whale on her, not by any means, but she's quick to orient herself for defense, rather than offense. ]
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[It isn't just his speed, his fighting style has changed too. Hand to hand was never his strength in the past and he'd favored sharp economical movements. Some of that's still there, but now there's constantly movement. Whenever there are ducked kicks and punches, his momentum carries through and he uses it to parry and aim another punch or kick.]
[He's also gotten tougher.]
[It's not that she won't land any hits, but even though he sometimes grimaces - especially with any hits to places on his torso where he was previously injured - he doesn't stop coming.]
You should've stayed dead.
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[ All South can do is keep moving, keep blocking, make strikes where she dares. The way he just doesn't stop wears her down, forces her to block hit after hit before being able to make a single retaliatory move of her own that does nothing to slow him down.
South's a good fighter, hand to hand has always been her thing. The hits she lands aren't love-taps, they're backed by the same strength she's always used—but she's disoriented. Not just unprepared to fight a Washington whose abilities have so fundamentally changed since last they went toe-to-toe, but with everything he's said to her still at the forefront of her mind. ]
Funny, I was about to say the same thing.
[ It's all bark no bite. The accompanying kick is as futile as those before it in gaining her any real ground in this fight.
She'd actually be impressed, if she were a spectator, instead of feeling like a glorified punching bag for the guy she used to think of as the damn rookie. ]
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That's enough.
[ He knows that's likely to get him sarcastically called 'dad' again, have either (or both) of them hissing at him that he doesn't need to interfere, but he does, he really does. This needs to stop. ]
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[Part of Wash's anger is rooted in what she did to himself, but the rest of it...yeah, he's pissed over what Delta told him about North. And that means he's not going to risk hurting North himself.]
Even if I stop, she won't. [It's a warning.] If she thinks it'll save her own skin, she'll shoot both of us in the back in a heartbeat.
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[ South stops dead as if paralyzed.
A part of her still didn’t believe it, believe that North could be here, be alive, but she knows that voice. It’s unmistakable even before she forces herself to look at him dead on, to be sure.
The sight of his face is more of a punch to the gut than any physical strike could ever be. Her hand starts shaking in his grip as nausea wraps its way around her insides.
She deals with the rush of conflicting emotions the only way she knows how: turning it into rage. ]
Oh fuck you!
[ She tears her wrist loose from North’s hold, but doesn’t try to take a swing at either of them, even as she glares at Washington. ]
You fucking hunt me down and start a fucking fight and you have the fucking nerve to— to— ugh!
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[ He lets go of Wash's wrist and turns toward South. ]
We need to talk.
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[Wash doesn't know if North is going to lay down the law or not, so before he leaves, he opts to do it himself.]
[With one sentence, he makes it very clear he's no longer the Wash they knew.]
If you try to stab me or your brother in the back again, when I kill you I'll make sure it sticks this time.
[That was sure a threat of murder, yep.]
[With that, Wash storms out, not wanting to deal with North reacting to said death threat.]
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[ South blinks, then snarls and yells after him. ]
Oh you think you're so fucking tough now, huh, you stupid little—
[ The yelling devolves quickly into angry, indistinct muttering and she pivots on the spot, folding her arms and refusing to look at North.
She tells herself the threat is nothing but posturing, but after that fight, after everything Wash said... she isn't sure she believes herself. ]
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[ He shakes his head a little, just briefly, and then gestures toward the door. ]
Here, let's head to my room.
[ Better that than broadcasting their business in a public area, he figures. ]
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[ South turns back to him, mouth open as if to protest, but all that comes out is an aborted noise. Her teeth grit, her jaw flexes, and she looks past him rather than at him. ]
Yeah, whatever...
[ She storms out ahead of him and only slows down to let him actually lead the way when she realises she has no idea where she’s going. ]
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[ She had started down the hall in the right direction, at least.
While they're walking, in the meantime, they can at least engage in small talk, he figures. ]
Just arrived?
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What do you think? Yeah, I just fuckin’ got here.
[ She flinches involuntarily at her own tone, head angled away from North. Every time she looks at him head-on her stomach turns.
(North, collapsed on the concrete with the Meta hovering over him like a predator over a fresh kill. That damn AI screaming. Then—)
She huffs, scuffing her feet as they walk. ]
Take it you’ve been here a while. Long enough to be all buddy buddy with Washington again, anyway.
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[ He shrugs. No way to break the ice when the situation is this contentious. ]
As far as Wash goes—in case you've forgotten, we were friends back in the Project.
[ 'We' meaning the three of them, though she may exclude herself from that in retrospect. ]
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Yeah, I know, but things have changed a lot since the fucking Project, North. The guy just hunted me down through this whole place, if you didn’t fucking notice.
[ She rolls her shoulders. She can already feel the aches where she’s going to find bruises, and from the exertion of trying to keep up in a fight she was wholly unprepared for. ]
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All I noticed was that you two were fighting. He hunted you down?
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