hexaflexagons | [psl] Time Travel Twins PSL

Just a month ago, Wash had been wishing that he wasn't stranded on a dangerous, unknown planet, running out of rations and ticking off options for rescue. Now Wash wants nothing more than to go back, and he can't.

It's not that he wants that gnawing desperation, feeling it like an underground fire in a coal mine. He doesn't miss the concussion, or the disconnect that came from waking up with the world changed and his team gone, trapped with the enemy. He doesn't miss wondering if they were okay, and he doesn't miss the damned constant needling from that mercenary.

No. He misses Blue Team, and the quiet certainty that wherever they were, that was the place to be.

He was picking away at plan #397 to strike out and look for them when an attack from the Rebels landed dangerously close, and his group was shuffled into a cracked-open temple until they could head out and do--anything, really. Help. Advise. (Run.)

Then the temple turned on, and everything was glowing, and his damned recollection starts getting patchy and disjointed, and--

--Wash still doesn't know exactly what happened, but he knows he's not in that time anymore. It sounds absurd, but--he's in the past. He's Recovery One again. Blue Team is still in its earliest stages, Wash hasn't even met them, and Wash is back in one of the darkest times of his life, where all he had was a never-ending list of once-friends to hunt, and a grudge that filled him from his toes to the crown of his head.

He wants to get back. He's trying, but he was never a scientist, or a xenotechnologist, or anything that could have been useful here. He's a soldier, with nothing but his training, a few odd tricks picked up on his missions, and whatever disjointed memories he might have rattling around his skull like loose change. It's more than most non-Freelancers will ever have, he's not so humble that he can't recognize it's not nothing--but timetravel?

It might be enough--but not soon, and with the way this current place and time knock him over the visor as soon as he arrives, he can't afford anything that's not soon. Important dates are flying towards him like a swarm of heat-seeking missiles, dates when people meet, dates when beacons activate, dates when people die. And all of this assumes that he can stay where he is long enough to meet them, and that no one's noticed the drastic shift that comes with an extra lifetime of memories (was it only a few years?) get crammed into someone's skull. Which is a big, big assumption.

Wash needs to do something. He'd say he has to make a choice of whether or not to change the past or not, but the truth is that there was never really an alternative there.

The real decision is how to do it without getting caught. Or, if that's not possible, how to do it without being killed before he can finish his ever-growing lists.

---

Finding them is hard; he's a soldier, and maybe part of him was once a scientist. His time in Recovery One taught him a little about tracking people down, but a lot of his time was spent racing after beacons, or following up on clues fed to him by Command.

What he does have is a date and place: He found South there, and if he'd been eight hours faster, he might've been in time to find North alive with her, too--and (most importantly), Theta.

Where would they have been before that? What's the nearest city, what's the nearest starport? How long had they been there? Why hadn't Wash ever thought to read through those aftermath records when he'd had the chance, why hadn't he thought to plan for--

--It didn't matter. Eventually Wash finds a list of low-likelihood leads, and he finds a scant few days of downtime between beacons. He's supposed to be on standby, but it's not like he's never driven out on a lead of his own before. It doesn't even take that much bullshit to do it on Recovery's dime. (Was it suspiciously easy? Maybe. It's been years, and he's not sure.)

The latest lead takes him to the edges of one of the planet's nearest cities, where a few suspicious street-cam sightings tripped his searches. There's a few different places he's going to check, and with nowhere else to be... Well, that cheap-sounding hotel is close to that run-down bar, maybe he'll end with that last one. How long has it been since his last drink?

A long, long time.

Edited 2021-03-16 19:16 (UTC)

Life on the run was never easy. Especially on this desolate moon, tidally-locked and therefore with few viable population centers. They move around the surface of the planet a lot, and sometimes are even recognized as the same drifters who've been in this city taking odd jobs before—if one wanted to call them 'odd jobs' when they're engaging in piracy and assassination and the like.

Theta had been the one to notice that morning that it was the two-year anniversary of their leaving the downed Mother of Invention. And somehow, commemorating that particular occasion made everything worse. North wishes Theta had thought not to mention it in front of South, who North had had to shoot in order to get her to surrender and stop pursuing Tex. Reminding South that it had been that long only reminded her that North had done that, and she had been very sour toward them ever since.

In another world, in another life where Wash hadn't come back in time, this would be the day before North's death. In this world, however, North is sitting on an outcropping of concrete, watching South practice shooting, talking to Theta and trying to calm him from realizing he'd made South upset.

"You just have to consider what things like that mean to us," he explains quietly. Hopefully low enough that South doesn't hear. Theta is a sad-looking hologram, curled up on North's thigh. It kind of distresses North that Theta would choose to project that way, obviously so upset.

She's so fucking done with this shit.

Two fucking years. Two fucking years of following North and his stupid little lightbulb around. How many times has she thought about just turning them in and being done with it? How many times has she thought about leaving whilst she was on watch but not followed through? Two fucking years and she's still here, and she can't even pretend she doesn't know why.

Her knee aches, and she knows it's probably all in her head. It still has its bad days, but it wasn't hurting at all until the stupid AI pointed out the date.

And of course, now North's up there talking to that thing again. She can't hear what he's saying over the sharp pop pop pop of rifle fire as she shoots, but she can give it a damn good fucking guess. He's comforting the damn bundle of code instead of his own fucking sister, leaving her to burn out on her own rage like she's the one in the wrong here.

Like she's the one who opened her mouth and made today even shittier than usual. Like it's her fault they're fugitives from the Project in the first place. Like she's the one who got them into this mess and won't do the one thing that would give them a chance to actually cut and run.

Everything would be better if he'd just give the damn thing up. But he won't, she knows that. Not if he has any choice in the matter, anyway.

Wash doesn't dare to hope when he hears the distant gunfire. It sounds like target practice, but it could be anyone up ahead, especially in a place like this. It's a scar in the earth, carved into the concrete where construction crews had once tried their damn best to build something that wouldn't sink. Now there's pools of water and scum all around, and it's clear this isn't the first target practice this place has seen.

Wash moves slowly, staying out of sight as he follows the gunfire. As he finally rounds a pile of sand, he sees--

--Purple.

Wash freezes, and she doesn't turn his way, doesn't do anything but keep shooting that pillar with the same viciousness that he'd recognizes as easily as her armor.

He's still safe. Bit by bit, Wash relaxes again, helmet shifting as he looks around. If South is here, then is North far?

There's a glint of light further up, and Wash is distracted by the sight of Theta like it's a blow to the head. He's still small, and still alive, and currently sitting next to--next to North, Wash realizes. He'd kick himself if this wasn't such an obvious exception to the usual. Finding Theta alive is like a wound being healed, except a wound like this just means that now it's bleeding instead of going rancid.

Snap out of it. He has to act. How's he going to approach this? Wash shakes his helmet slightly, but it's hard to focus. Who's the greater threat, here? ... South. North is dangerous, but on a scale of 'defects while Wash is in sickbay' to 'shoots Wash in the back', Wash knows which one to watch out for first.

(Wait, South hasn't shot him in the back, yet. Hasn't done anything to lead to North's death and Theta's collection, she's still only been working with Recovery to--wait, unless she hadn't, yet? Unless--)

Wash wants to pinch the bridge of his nose until it hurts, but he settles for squeezing his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

Focus, Wash.

Sending one last glance up to make sure he hasn't been spotted, Wash falls back to a path that looked like it led through a lower floor. If he isn't spotted, if he can find an exit that works, he'll come out level with South. And if the plan is still going smoothly, he'll have his own gun out, trained and ready.

If he's still going then (if, if, if), he'll step out of the shadows, keeping both twins roughly in his view.

"Hello, South."

Edited 2021-08-09 05:32 (UTC)

North hears the familiar voice before he sees the grey-and-yellow armor—and Wash is standing right near his sister. He scrambles to his feet. He'd been complacent and had not really been paying attention, and his guard had been down.

He isn't entirely sure that Wash would be a threat. The man's weapon isn't out. But they know he's been working with Command. Which means they need to be ready for something to happen, regardless.

He comes down the side of the outcropping, which means he's out of earshot for a moment. But he needs to be involved in whatever's about to happen, and that's a better option than jumping down.

It’s the movement in her periphery that catches her attention first and she’s spinning on her heel, finger already compressing the trigger, by the time the voice registers, too. The bullets carve through the air above his shoulder, to the side of his head, hitting nothing but a distant concrete wall.

And then she straightens her aim and trains her rifle on him, her stance tightening.

“Oh look, if it isn’t Command’s little hunting dog,” she practically growls, all rage and bitterness on the surface, whilst beneath it she’s thinking what the fuck?

Command didn’t tell her he was even in the area, let alone on their tail. What is he doing here? Has Command figured out she’s been half-bullshitting them this whole time, has known exactly where North is the whole time? Has Command decided she’s just not of any use anymore, so they’ve sent Wash to clean up?

Or has he just caught North’s trail, the one she’s supposed to be tracking, and found her too by virtue of her being stuck to his side no matter how hard she tries?

Whatever it is, this isn’t good. He doesn’t know she’s Recovery, too. But if he reports back to Command what he’s found, both sides of her lie will get blown wide open. Shit.

She doesn’t dare take her eyes off him, so she doesn’t know where North is, but she shouts anyway, “North! A little fucking help here?”

Wash can't hear the scramble of armor from that far away, and he considers actually turning his head to look to see North (Theta's) response. He doesn't, of course; it's the kind of thing a Sim Soldier would do, and by the looks of South's iron-gripped attention, she would probably agree.

... If North is on the move, they have a few seconds before he actually arrives.

"If I'm their hunting dog, then what should I call you?" He takes a step closer, maneuvering his back away from any opening North might take.

"Someone who likes glass houses and stones?"

Ha. He needs to be careful, both so he doesn't say too much, and so he's ready when her reaction--whatever it is--hits. Or maybe it won't hit, and he'll have to make sure to play it smooth. Either way, throwing her off guard will give him answers. He needs them, just like he needs to set a stage where no one gets to plan three steps ahead except him.

Edited 2021-08-10 03:57 (UTC)

Fuck.

South grinds her teeth together, the tense line of her jaw flexing with the motion. A poker face has never been one of South’s strengths and it makes her grateful for her helmet, hiding her traitorous expressions. She tightens her grip on her rifle and keeps her finger primed on the trigger, adjusting the angle slightly so if she needs to take the shot, it’ll do the job right.

He knows. How else is she supposed to take that? Glass houses and stones—he knows she’s not just another runaway agent and if he knows, then it means nothing good for her. Either he somehow worked it out himself or Command told him and if Command told him, then it’s not for some moronic team-up. It’s so he can get rid of her.

She probably shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like they haven’t got her prepped with plans for the eventuality that they need him eliminated, after all.

“How the hell do you—” she starts before she can stop herself, before she manages to bite her tongue. She doesn’t know where North is. If he heard... “I don’t know what the fuck you think you know, but I’d watch that fucking mouth of yours if you don’t want a bullet in it.”

Killing him would solve most of her problems, but cause a dozen more. That’s most of why she doesn’t shoot first, talk later. The rest is knowing damn well Wash is a good shot, he’d pull the trigger before he went down and then she’d have about a hundred more problems, mostly to do with the bullets she’d have in her.

Bingo.

"Easy," Wash drawls, stance shifting subtly. With that bitten-off burst and the fact that she hasn't shot him, he has enough to take a guess over what he's looking at.

"No need for bullets, here." Does he dare lower his gun? Not entirely, so he compromises, lowering it very, very slowly towards her kneecaps.

"I'm just here to talk."

North scrambles down the hillside, Theta's troubles forgotten for now. Theta seems grateful himself now for a threat to be concerned with, anyway.

North doesn't burst out of the scrub when he reaches the clearing, however; he hangs back, listening, trying to perceive how he should emerge. Washington was their friend, once, but he has his weapon now trained on South, and South is returning the gesture. North has a choice, here—he can crouch down and set up his sniper here, or he can bring his rifle to bear and come out of the brush, becoming a more obvious threat.

He doesn't know which he should do, yet. He continues to listen.

“Oh, well isn’t that a relief, he’s just here to talk,” South bites back with as much sarcasm as she’s capable of. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

She doesn’t lower her rifle even an inch. Like hell she’s leaving herself vulnerable to what’s probably a trap to get her guard down. Jokes on him, she’s not a goddamned idiot. So her aim stays steady, centred squarely on his head.

Where the fuck is North? She doesn’t even dare look at her periphery to see if she can see movement.

“We have nothing to talk about, Recovery One. Fuck off and leave us alone.”

'Easy', Wash had said. Well, she's on edge, but he can (pretend to) be at ease. He can pretend being in her rifle's sights isn't pressing in on him like a bullet into his back, or an armor-lock all around. If he pretends well enough, then maybe he'll only look ready to shoot her in one gap where her armor plates meet, rather than four or five.

... He needs to keep his cool. He doesn't want to be here either, but he can't leave yet.

"Oh," he says aloud, helmet moving a hair to the side as he glances around for North.

"So I guess you'd rather I leave you both at the mercy of whoever else is already tracking you?"

His position puts him at Wash's nine o'clock, though he's still a distance away that would make bodily attacking Wash difficult before he himself could shoot North's sister. The sniper isn't a good weapon at this distance, though—he's too close to Wash. For this reason, he pulls out his pistol.

North decides at this point to edge his way out of the brush, gun raised and brought to bear in Wash's direction. He's not talking yet, and he's not firing yet, just making his presence known.

South draws in a breath between her gritted teeth, because the thing is, she knows about the Meta.

Command keeps her updated. Tells her when there’s been another attack and where it happened. Usually, it’s miles away—the last update they gave her, the damn thing was miles away, too far to be actively tracking North and his stupid lightbulb. Now Washington’s saying they’re being tracked by someone else and there’s no one else he could be talking about, but how does he know before she does?

Fuck. It’s too soon. She’s not ready for it to come for them, she doesn’t have enough info on how to beat the damn thing.

“Stop being cryptic and start talk—”

She catches North’s movement in her periphery, then, and she huffs a breath out her nose. “About fucking time, North!”

South spots him first, and Wash's helmet jerks a little, finally locating him--and the raised gun.

It's no less than Wash expected, what with him holding South at gunpoint, but it means the situation is changing again, and Wash runs with it. His own gun rises to switch towards her gut instead of her kneecaps (where the armor is softer, more flexible), and Wash takes a step to the side, trying to put them both in his view.

"Nice of you to join us, North."

Theta's not in view, but that doesn't mean he's not there.

North takes a step forward to equalize the triangle, keeping his gun trained on Wash.

"Just think how much nicer it would have been," he replies dryly, "if you hadn't pointed your gun at my sister."

Funny how a single sentence can stir so many mixed feelings.

She wants to snap at him that she can take care of herself. She wants to snap at him for only caring now she’s in physical danger. She wants to snark about how oh, if someone else is pointing a gun at her, it’s a problem, but if he blows out her knee with a sniper round, she’s meant to just forgive him and move on?

But she also can’t help her satisfied smirk at him backing her up like this. She can’t help how good it still feels to know that even if she’ll never come above that stupid little lightbulb, she’ll come above almost anyone else, even if it takes a gun in her face.

“Two against one, Washington. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Wash--hesitates, helmet shifting as he eyes the guns.

Whatever chances he's weighing, he must not like them, because he cuts to the chase: "You're being followed."

He looks from South to North, focusing on him. "I've had four recovery beacons go off in as many weeks, and each time I've found the same thing: a dead freelancer, and an empty AI storage."

North doesn't move, but he notices Wash's shift in focus, and he knows why it's happened. He pauses, then abruptly places his pistol on its mag clip. He doesn't want to risk Theta, and he realizes very quickly that Wash is here to help them. He remembers what happened to Wyoming just before the Project dissolved, and although he's never become aware of exactly what happened to Maine, he knows it must have the same source as this.

He steps closer.

"It wasn't Tex," he says. "Right?"

Ugh, for fuck's...

South does not lower her gun. Nope. Not a fucking chance. Not when he knows about her being Recovery, not when he could blurt that out at any moment and fuck her.

She knows already it isn't Tex. And she can't say a word, because she's not meant to fucking know, so if she contributes to this line of the conversation? She'll just fuck herself, instead.

She also knows that Washington just uttered the magic fucking words to make North listen to him. Any risk to that AI in his head and there we go, she's back down to the bottom of the priority list. God fucking dammit.

Whatever chance she had of her plan to get him separated from that thing working is gone.

She doesn't say a word.

"No," Wash replies shortly. "... Tex is gone."

He makes no sudden movements as he lowers his own gun, returning it to its clip. If his helmet tilts towards South in the process, well. It's her move, now.

"The thing coming after you is completely different. It's strong, and it has at least four AIs and their freelancer's armor enhancements. I know none of you have any reason to trust me," He lifts a quelling hand. "But the last thing I want is for that thing to get any stronger."

"Same here," he says, and looks at South, then gestures for her to put her gun down. "We've always known that the Project isn't the worst threat we have after us, but we don't know enough about how to deal with it, or even what it is."

She really doesn't want to lower her gun.

But now North is waving her down and if she keeps it up, she's just going to get shit for it, so with a violent huff she lowers it, but doesn't put it back onto her back. If she can't have it trained on him, she's at least keeping it in her hands. Fuck you both.

"What he said," she grumbles, knowing full well Wash probably knows it's a bald-faced lie.

Wash's helmet shifts, and the look he's sending her is lost behind the cover of his visor. (Yeah. He's sure she's real lost.)

"Well," he says, shrugging it away deliberately. "I might know a thing or two. But how much I share and why is going to depend on what exactly you both plan to do after."

He's looking at North while he talks, but now his helmet tilts towards South.

"What we should plan to do is get the hell out of here," South says, and for the first time she risks taking her eyes off Washington to give her brother a very pointed look. "If this thing's really taken that many AI, the hell else are we supposed to do? So long as you insist on keeping Theta on us, it'll keep coming. No amount of information is gonna change that."

It's cheap, coming from her, even if the others don't know it—her own plan very much involved fighting the damn thing. But call it a last ditch effort to drill sense into her stupid brother's brain. He won't give up Theta, fine, but they can't just keep running in place hoping it won't catch up to them. They need off this stupid planet, somehow.

He won't agree. She knows he won't agree. But it's what she thinks they should do, anyway.

Edited (bit of wording) 2021-08-13 23:57 (UTC)

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