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    • Red vs Blue Season 16 Theory Thread: 'CAUSE BERNIE'S BACK AND HE'S FEELING LIKE A WRITER AGAIN(?)

      in Forums > Red vs Blue Season 16 Theory Thread: 'CAUSE BERNIE'S BACK AND HE'S FEELING LIKE A WRITER AGAIN(?) | Follow this topic

      Agent_DC-1 Master of Crackpots

      Season 15 has ended, and it's time to put it in the past, and look to the future. Some rules:


      1- Don't do anything stupid. Just don't.

      2- Watch your language. I realize we're all adults here, but still, either keep it civil or censor it.

      3- No spoilers. If you come across spoiler sensitive material and wish to share it with us, please, be courteous and mark it as spoilers, or use the very handy spoiler tag button. It looks like an eye with a line through it.

      4- No politics. You know why.

      5- No hurt feelings. We're all here to have fun, don't ruin it.

      6- Have fun!

      Follow the rules, don't take candy from strangers, and get to theorizing, kiddies!

      28 replies

    • Chapter 5: Rude Awakening

      3 months ago

      Agent_DC-1 Master of Crackpots

           Soon, I was aware of my body how I’d left it, laying there in the cryopod. My finger twitched, my knee ached with a familiar stiffness. My helmet switched on with a loud zrap!, like an antique TV turning on. Yeah, I hated waking up from cryosleep. The pod opened with a large shhhhhhh! of released air. The canopy opened, and I groaned as I climbed out. 


           Around me, my team was waking up as well. Guam sat up, rubbing his head, “What year is it?” he asked.


           “Your helmet should’ve updated,” Samoa responded, climbing out of her pod, “Ask it.”


           “Ha ha,” he grumbled, putting his helmet on.


           “Good Morning, Agents,” a voice said over the loudspeaker. Counselor Pryce, the Project’s resident psychologist, also the resident psychopath. Some of us thought he was crazier than the people he tried to cure, just because he followed the Director. A small light blipped on near the cryochamber door. Several more in the hallway behind it, as well. “Follow these lights to your next objective,” Pryce continued, “and you'll find what I believe is a pleasant surprise.”


           It was a short hallway to a teleporter. As we stepped through, we found ourselves on a wide catwalk, overlooking a dry dock. In the dry dock, there was a finished ship, Hesperus Class, if I had to guess.  Dozens of UNSC personnel flocked into it, preparing it for take-off. “Hello, Agent Washington DC,” a familiar southern drawl said behind us.


           “Director Church,” I responded, my tone making it very clear that was as much respect as he was getting.


           “Aren’t you wondering who's ship that is?” he asked.


           “I suppose so, sir.”


           “It's yours.”


           “Pardon?”


           “The ship,” he said, “the Arrow of Artemis. It's yours to command and sail.”


           That, I didn't buy. The Director wouldn't do this unless he had a way to keep us all in check.

      VI realized that, too. “What's your game, sir?”


           “My game, Agent Virgin Islands?” The Director asked innocently.


           “Yes sir, your game. You're giving us free reign of a ship, that we could use to destroy you and yours, especially considering the way you treat us. You have a bargaining chip. What is it?” VI pressed.


           “Not ‘what’, Agent,” the Director said, pushing a button on his infamous remote, “‘who’.” A holographic video screen appeared in front of us, showing someone I thought I'd never see again: a teenage boy with blonde, spiky hair in a cryotube marked DAVID-N6_2.


           I almost backed into Guam. “What do you want us to do?”


           “DC,” Guam asked, “do you know that kid?”


           “DC, what's going on?” Samoa asked, “Who is he?”


           “Someone I thought died on Reach,” I said.


           The Director only smiled, “Good, you will all follow my every order, as I'd hate for something to happen to poor little David, here.”


           He let the last comment hang in the air like a loaded gun, something everyone knew was dangerous, but no one wanted to admit was there. I clenched my fists so hard I thought my gloves would tear. The Director had crossed a line, and there was no turning back. “Your mission is quite simple, really,” the Director said, “You are going to capture a Covenant Engineer, and put him in containment. Drop it at a predetermined location, and we will do the rest after everything has calmed down.”


           “What’s the location?” I asked.


           “Right into the hands of Charon Industries,” he said, “Then, my other freelancers will recover it when needed. You will be given two AI fragments to assist your endeavors. Counselor, bring out Omicron and Zeta.”


           Soon, Pryce walked in holding two small AI chips, meant to slip into the back of the helmet to assist Spartans on the battlefield. The last one I had seen had been on Reach, near the very end, and she had been blue. Omicron and Zeta, though, were white and orange, respectively. Two holographic soldiers, one holding a sniper rifle and the other a plasma pistol, appeared over the chips. Omicron and I locked eyes.


           “I want that one,” we said together, pointing at each other.


           The Director merely chuckled in his condescending way, a way that almost made me think he was human. “Very well,” he said, handing Omicron’s chip to me, “Omicron shall be yours. Zeta, then, will serve as your onboard AI in the Arrow of Artemis. The ship’s caretaker, so to speak.”


           As I slipped Omicron into my helmet, Zeta buzzed excitedly. “I get to fly the Artemis?” he asked, “SO COOL!”


           Omicron’s white light rimmed my visor, and his voice spoke into my head. This place is pretty roomy, pretty old, too, though. Updating some things to put into me optimal effect… there! That’ll do.


           “Omicron, please stop insulting my armor.”


           Hm? Oh, sorry. It is old.


           “Gee, thanks.”


           You’re welcome.


           “Stop that!” Rhode Island snapped me out of my conversation.


           “Sorry,” Omicron and I mumbled at the same time.


           “Well, agents, I believe I have given you your mission. Now go, go to your ship and get the job done!” The Director said forcefully, and we all filed out of the room.

    • Chapter 3: The Dark Side

      3 months ago

      Agent_DC-1 Master of Crackpots

      It's me again. Must I continue the formalities? Here's the story. Enjoy:   


               “What about those camps? They’ll destroy us!” Samoa said, putting her sniper rifle back on her back.


          “Puerto Rico! Rhode Island! Can I entrust the distractions to you two?” I asked, turning to them.


          “O-o-o-oh, sure,” Rhode Island said, taking a grenade from the holder on his chestplate, and probably smiling creepily, “You can trust us.”


          “Good,” I said, “We’ll move at the first sign of discord. We’ll have a lot of ground to cover in a short time, so go quickly. We can’t miss this window.”


          Puerto Rico and Rhode Island slipped away while the rest of us hid in the African tallgrass. Soon, I heard an explosion, and a lot of cursing in several Covenant languages. “That’s our ticket, team!” I yelled, “MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!!” and we all raced across the grass. I caught glimpses of Rhode Island and Puerto Rico’s antics up on the ridge, but they wouldn’t last long if they had to fight the entire encampments. “Samoa!” I shouted, “Take out some of those Brutes! Rhode Island and Puerto Rico won’t last long without some help!”


          “Copy!” Samoa responded, taking out her rifle and firing as we ran.


          “So much for staying quiet,” Guam said, firing his assault rifle up the ridge, “isn’t everyone going to know we’re here? We might as well leave the words:PROJECT FREELANCER burned into the grass.”


          “Dammit, you’re right,” I said, firing my DMR to take out a Grunt.


          “I am?” Guam asked.


          “Yes, don’t let it go to you’re head, it won’t happen often,” I shot back, already coming up with a countermeasure. “Alaska! Remember the T.O.Y. laser they gave you?”


          “Yessir!” Alaska said.


          “Use it on their com tower, don’t let them say it was Spartans!”


          “What good is a toy laser going to do?” Guam asked.


          "Message received!” Alaska said, putting his gun on his back, “Activating Tankbuster Ocular-guided Yttrium laser!” and a section of his shoulder harness came out, flipping up from his chestplate, revealing a rail gun-type weapon, that had yellow light radiating along the barrel. On it, were the letters T.O.Y. put on in spray paint.


          “Oh,” Guam said in awe, almost dropping his gun, “You meant, the T.O.Y. That thing is almost legendary!”


          Alaska took the canister from the middle of his GRENADIER chestplate, loading it into the gun. The canister’s top opened, revealing a complex system of lasers and hatches. A small, concentrated shaft extended, and the yellow radiation zapped the canister, and the canister focused it into the shaft, and fired it. The light was blinding, the sound brilliant, like a million exploding suns in ten seconds, and each explosion somehow breaking the sound barrier as well. The bolt of yellow light that was released destroyed the com tower like it was made out of cardboard. Puerto Rico, who had planted his own explosives, lept from the ridge and landed next to us. “What… the hell… was that?” he panted.


          Guam grinned, “Just a T.O.Y. laser. Why?”


          “Screw… you,” he gasped.


          “Where’s Rhode Island?” Samoa asked.


          Puerto Rico’s helmet lights seemed to dim. He stopped panting. “The Brutes surrounded him, the bombs went off before I could help, there was nothing I could do,” He said grimly.


          Even Guam stopped grinning. Rhode Island had been the youngest of us, the one most likely to survive beyond the Director’s sick chess game. Now the damn Covenant had taken him away. “We can’t stop to mourn,” I said, “We have to keep moving. We have to finish the mission. It’s what he would’ve wanted.”


          “Yeah,” Guam said, as if in a daze, “Yeah, alright.” We ran all the way to New Mombasa, furious and devastated at the same time, murdering anything and everything we came across. After what seemed like hours, we reached Halsey’s lab. The door were easy enough to break through, but the more experimental stuff would be in the sub-levels, belowground. After a quick ATC scan, I found a hatch we could use.


          “Alaska,VI,” I said, “stay up here and cover us. We should only be a few minutes.”


          “Copy,” Alaska said, his voice rough with grief.


          “Come on,” I said, and I jumped down the hatch, into the sub-basement. Samoa, Guam, and Puerto Rico followed me, landing on the metal floor. I pulled up a map on my ATC, “Alright, this way,” I said, pointing into the darkness. We reached the lab without opposition, which we appreciated after fighting our way through a sea of enemies to even get there. 


          I activated my sword and cut a hole through the door. “If New Mombasa’s going to Hell, they won’t mind a bit of damage,” I said, stepping through. Inside, there was a machine the size of the New Colossus of Rhodes. Fitting, I suppose, since we’d just lost Rhode Island.


          “Whoa,” Guam said, looking at the towering computer, “how do we extract that?”


          “We don’t,” Samoa said, “We just have to get the blueprints so the Director can replicate it.”


          “Better idea,” I said, pointing my ATC at the computer, “I’ll scan it, get a little more than the blueprints, and then we get back to the extraction point. Should only take a few more seconds--there! Come on, let’s get back to Alaska!” We ran back down the corridor and heard fire coming from upstairs. That couldn’t be good. Nonetheless, Alaska seemed to be shouting with elation rather than nervous fear, or anger. 


           We clambered back up through the hole, and saw a second Spartan III, one in blue and orange armor… “RHODE ISLAND!?!?!?” Puerto Rico yelled, almost tripping over Guam, whom he had kicked to the ground in his surprise, “How did you- I mean, when did you-”


           Rhode Island only laughed, then swung the gravity hammer he was holding at an oncoming Brute. “Oh, it was awesome!” he shouted over the noise, “I found these two hammers, and then everything blew up, and for some reason, the Brutes seemed to flock around me, but it was like they were scared of me, too! So I just killed them all!


           VI was cutting down a Jackal when he saw us, “About damn time!” he yelled, “We getting out of here or what?”


           "We need to get rid of these Covies,” I shouted back, “You up for a little speed?”


           VI perked up, “Oh, don't mind if I do!” And something whirred in his armor. With a small click! VI took off, becoming little more than a white and black blur. Everywhere the blur went, Covenant soldiers were knocked back, decapitated, or-- well, you probably don't want to know what el se. Soon, the only living things within a twenty yard radius were my team and I.


           “DC-1 to 479-er,” I said into my com, “we are ready for extraction, over.”


           Soon, her voice crackled over the com, “Copy that, DC-1, where do you want pick up?”


           “Near the lab,” I responded, “Maybe on the roof?”


           "Copy,” she said, “be there in ten minutes, the LZ’s gonna be hot.”


           “Copy,” I said, “Over and out. Alright, Puerto Rico, find us an elevator to get to the roof. Rhode Island, lose the hammers, they’re too bulky for the pelican.”


           “What? But I like them!” he whined.


           “Sorry, they’re just too long,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender.Upon hearing that, Rhode Island looked at his hammers. Then, he broke them in half over his knee. 


           “There,” he said, “This short enough?"


           “That works,” I said, bewildered.

      Then, Puerto Rico came back, as he had found the elevator, and we all met 479-er up top and went back to base. Rhode Island was splicing wires and welding metal all the way home, making his hammers usable again. 


           When we got home, the Director was waiting for us. “Well done, Spartans,” he said in his southern drawl, “You have acquired valuable information for the project.”


           “Might I ask, sir,” VI said, “What is the goal of the project?”


            “None of your business, Agent Virgin Islands,” he responded harshly, “you will all be returned to cryostasis, until your, talents, are needed again.”


           “Oh yeah?” Guam said, stepping forward, “And what if we don’t want to go back to sleep?”


           The Director pulled out a small remote, and pressed a button, and immediately Guam fell to floor, being electrocuted by his own armor. “AAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!”


           “Agent Guam,” the Director said, his voice still calm as ever, “you have no choice in the matter.”


           “Sir, stop, please,” Rhode Island pleaded. Guam kept on screaming.


           “I think I'm gonna be sick,” Samoa said, turning away.


           Finally, the Director lifted his finger from the button. Guam stopped screaming, but he just laid there, unmoving. Finally Rhode Island asked the question that all of us were too scared to: “Is he dead?”


            “No, Agent Rhode Island, he is not,” the Director said this as if he was disappointed by this, “He is just unconscious. And you will all join him in the cryostasis chamber, NOW.”


           “Yes sir.” I managed through gritted teeth. Together, Alaska and I carried Guam to his pod. I read the name on mine: Daniel-N6. N6. Clever. The taste of bittersweet irony when in my mouth, I climbed into my pod and waited for the cryosleep to come. For Guam’s sake, I hoped the Director forgot about us, and that we would sleep forever

    • Chapter 4: Prophet

      3 months ago

      Agent_DC-1 Master of Crackpots

      The next thing I knew, I was in the dreamscape. The dreamscape is simply what I’d come to call the place, as I only saw it while I was in a deep sleep. So basically, any time I was put back in the cryopod. As usual, it was a planet I didn’t recognize from any pictures or maps, a strange blend between nature and technology. Under different circumstances, I might’ve found this planet beautiful, but every time I saw it, it was in flames. That voice kept ringing in my ears, trying to say something, but it was too far away to hear. All I heard was comedian, death, and ships, so unless I was destined to die in a traveling comedy troupe, that didn’t help all too much. As always, I thought I saw vague figures in the flames, but I couldn't be sure. Then, something new happened. I definitely saw a shape in the flames, a feminine humanoid, and a voice like thousands of cackling hags spoke into my mind: So… The Hero arrives… How very interesting… 

      “Who’s there?” I shouted into the smoke and flames, and the voice cackled again.

      Who am I?  the voice asked, Question of the day, is it not? The better question, Hero, is who are you??

      “Who am I?” I asked, “I’m Agent Washington DC of Project Freelancer, even though I don’t want to be.”

      If you say… it responded,  But I suppose it was not the right question to ask, not quite yet.  I suppose the first question to ask is:   What do you wish to know?

      I stood there, dumbfounded, as the flames circled me. I thought, an thought. What did I wish to know? Finally, it hit me: “What will happen to me and my team?”

      It made a sound like millions of railroad spikes being ground on chalkboards. Only after it went on a little longer that I realized it must’ve been laughter. You wish to know your fate? It responded, Very well…   The flames swirled higher and higher around me, until they formed a gargantuan, twisting, column, like the firenadoes I’d heard of on the news. The small snip-its of words I’d heard before became more prominent now, more definable, until they spoke their terrible truth:

      A battle of Ships, a battle of minds.
      Traitorous lips, cursed soul shall find.
      A secret has kept on the demon’s breath,
      And all shall mourn the comedian’s death.

      The poor little hero, left all alone, 
      Another family gone,  no light to be shown.

      “What?” I asked, falling to my knees. Traitors? Death? Another lost family? Why? Why did the universe play this sick game? Hadn’t I gone through enough? Suddenly, the flames went out, the voice disappeared. All that was left was the inky blackness

    • Chapter 2: ODSTs in Africa

      5 months ago

      Agent_DC-1 Master of Crackpots

      This is Agent Washington DC, signing on. Where did I leave off with this? Ah, that's right. So, my new team and I were shipped off to Earth, to find the good doctor, steal her tech, and get the hell out before the UNSC caught on. So, I guess this is where the story really begins.


                   -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



      I stood near the pelican’s back door. We were being dropped off near some abandoned African town, up on a ridge where no one would see the plane. I picked up my DMR and hung it on my back, checking my pistol for signs of a jam. For a stealth run like this one, we would need to travel as light as possible.


      “So,” the pilot said, “This is where the Director wants you guys? Most of the other freelancers aren’t even out of BT yet.”


      I smiled a dry, humorless smile, “I guess you could call us ‘special’.”


      “Huh,” she said, “Well, I can’t stick around. They’ll pick the pelican up on radar. Radio me when you need extraction.”


      “Copy that,” I said, putting on my helmet, “What do we call you over coms? The UNSC might read our frequency.”


      She thought about that for a minute, “How about my old callsign from flight school? 479-er.”


      “10-4, 479-er,” Guam said, standing up, “we’ll be sure to call.”


      “Just come back alive, smartass,” she said, and we all filed out as she pulled back up into the clouds.


      “Alright, everyone,” I said, “We have 12 hours to infiltrate New Mombasa, find Halsey’s lab, and get the copy of the data specs before anyone sees us.”


      “Um,” Rhode Island said, “That might be a problem.”


      “Why?” Alaska asked.


      Rhode Island pointed to the sky, where a battle was going on. As we watched, twenty or so things that looked like giant soup cans plummeted toward Earth, crashing into New Mombasa. “ODSTs,” I said, “shit. We’ll have to avoid them, now, too. Come on, we’ve wasted enough time here already.”


      We moved down the mountain, quietly as possible, and came up to the New Mombasa city limits. I pulled up a map from my ATC(Arm-mounted Tactical Computer) and pointed to a tower in the center of the center of the city, “There is Halsey’s lab,” I said, “And we, are here.” I pointed to the outskirts of the city. “To get to the lab, we’ll have to avoid police, military, and ODSTs, so we should take the rooftop route, where no one will see us.”


      “Guards never look up,” Guam said, “I love this plan!”


      “I’ll love it even more if we survive,” Samoa said, raising a sniper rifle, “‘cause we’re going to have to fight our way through that.”


      She was referring to a Covenant blockade that had been set up around the perimeter of the city, with drop pods being converted to work as barriers, and gunnery turrets being raised.


      “Oh, well, then,” VI said, “This’ll be fun.”


      “Wait, I think I see a weak point,” Puerto Rico said, pointing to a small pass that was right between two drop pods, but just deep enough that they wouldn’t be shooting fish in a barrel. “If we can get through there,” he said, “We can go through to the city.”


      “Good idea,” I said, “but someone’s going to have to distract those Covies.”


      Guam looked at me funny, “‘Covies’?” he asked.


      “It’s what we called them on Reach,” I responded.


      “You were on Reach? How did you escape the Elites?” Rhode Island asked.


      Subconsciously, my hand went to my sword, “I didn’t.” I started to remember, a destroyed city, an empty gun… I pulled myself out of my past and looked to New Mombasa. Funny, how much Africa looked like Reach. “Come on,” I said, “We have ideas to steal.”

    • Chapter 1: The Beginning of a Beautiful Comedy, and a Terrible Tragedy.

      5 months ago

      Agent_DC-1 Master of Crackpots

      I guess I should start at the beginning.  My name is--was, Daniel. I fought in the Covenant/Human war, when I was a Spartan III. Then I died in the Fall of Reach. Or, at least, that's what the records say, anyway. In reality, I was run through by an Elite energy sword. Rather than die, I decided to take my jackknife and shove it down the Elite's throat. It was satisfying. I took the sword as my own, then collapsed from exhaustion. That's when the Director found me. See, I bet after hearing the story of Project Freelancer, you think you know everything there is to know about Dr. Leonard Church, but I'm living proof that you don't. 


      I was put on ice for a couple years, then, when he thawed me out, the Director had put together an elite task force for hunting down the various things he needed to get his hands on, but couldn't under legal means. The agents assigned to this task force were: 

      1. Agent Rhode Island, the demolitions expert who knew the solar systems like the back of his hand. 

      2. Agent Alaska, the heavy hitter who could find a way to beat you to death with your own skull, even though that doesn't seem physically possible.

      3. Agent Virgin Islands, or VI, as we called him. The intelligent swordsman, who had the nerve to carry, and I kid you not, a katana and a pistol into battle, and nothing else.

      4. Agent Samoa, the determined assassin who wouldn't stop until she got the job done.

      5. Agent Puerto Rico, the tomahawk carrying getaway driver that could run circles around a mongoose if you gave him roller blades, a ball of string, and ten minutes.

      6. Agent Guam, the quick-witted guns expert that was never without a a clip of bullets and a one-liner to spout while using them.

      And then there was me, Agent Washington DC, leader by default, the shell-shocked soldier with a troubling past that hides under a charismatic exterior. Go me.


      Our first mission: Track down experimental AI producing technology that was currently in the possession of one Dr. Catherine Halsey. Ten guesses to why the Director needed that particular bit of tech. But, I'm nearing the end of this recorder's limit, so I guess I'll leave it off here. Don't worry, I'll start recording a new one soon. For now, though, this is Agent Washington DC, signing off.

    • A Quick PSA... Like Anouncement

      5 months ago

      Agent_DC-1 Master of Crackpots

      Hi, y'all, I'm not DC, I'm the disembodied voice of the author. It just occurred to me that none of you know what any of the characters look like, besides maybe the Director. So, here is a quick rundown: 

      1. All of these characters are in Spartan III armor, not Spartan II Mark V, so don't let the use of knives or armor abilities throw you off.

      2. DC wears primarily gold, with steel highlights. He has an OPERATOR helmet

      3. Rhode Island wears primarily ice blue, with orange highlights. He has an ODST helmet.

      4. Alaska wears primarily white, with steel highlights. He has an EOD helmet.

      5. VI wears primarily silver, with black highlights. he has a SCOUT helmet.

      6. Samoa wears primarily purple, with green highlights. She wears a CQC helmet

      7. Puerto Rico wears primarily white, with red highlights. He has a PILOT helmet

      8. Guam wears primarily steel, with white highlights. He has a MILITARY POLICE helmet.



      next chapter up soon, thanks for reading!

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