legionmissions | Hand in Hand Combat [CLOSED]

He'd almost laughed when they told him, thinking it was a joke. He'd waited patiently for his actual assignment once they were done having their fun. And then asked again.

Upon hearing their answer, he'd almost pitched a fit. Expecting him to work with that bleeding-heart alien? He'd rather sooner eat his drokking boot. But no, they were deadly serious.

They'd taken away all the ammo for his lawgiver and replaced it entirely with stun shots. He'd argued them down enough to let him keep the rubber ricochets, at least. Invaluable in hostage situations. Familiar with their use. Shoots around corners. Non-lethal.

Of course, the last one was a little bit of a lie. Used in the right way, it still inflicted quite the bit of damage. But he would take what he could get. He had a feeling that it would come in handy on this mission, considering who his partner was. Ugh. His partner. That lanky little spugwit who'd gotten the better of him. His jaw still ached thinking about it, and he didn't like to think about it very often.

So now he waits with no choice, arms folded tightly and radiating an aura of displeasure.

Edited 2017-08-17 14:22 (UTC)

At least they can both agree this is a bad idea. That's something.

Garrus hadn't had to resist the urge to laugh - he's dealt with enough borderline insane orders from higher-ups that he doesn't really question whether or not they're joking anymore. But he had told them exactly what he thought.

He told them he didn't trust Rico. He didn't trust Rico to do this thing right, he didn't trust Rico not to take things too far, and he didn't trust Rico not to try to get even if the opportunity presented itself.

It was noted, but the situation was urgent enough that they couldn't wait for anyone else. This was do or die, so Garrus was going to have to deal with it for the time being.

Rico won't have to wait long. Garrus might think putting the two of them together on this is a terrible idea, but if there are lives on the line, he wasn't going to drag his feet. He's just delayed long enough to grab a stun pistol from the armory. He's not expecting it to do more good than his newfound powers, but having some insurance never hurt - especially when you're not sure which way the threat's coming from.

"You ready?" Garrus asks, arriving with his sidearm on his hip.

Rico looks unimpressed by the question. "Do you really have to ask me that?" he sneers.

Grud. He hates that Garrus won't even give him the dignity of being rude at him. He'd especially like to respond in kind. Not that he ever really needs an excuse, but he should at least pretend to be professional about this. He unfolds his arms and stands up straighter, legs apart and chin up, bringing a finger up to poke him in the chest.

"Lets get one thing straight, Archangel. You and I both know we don't like each other. I think you're a sanctimonious bleeding heart who should keep his nose out of other people's business. I'm sure you think the same. But the sooner we get this mission over with, the sooner I never have to see your face again, and we can all move on with our lives. That sound good to you?"

The fact that Dredd of all people has the nerve to call anyone else out for being high and mighty ... that's a special kind of delusional.

"And as long as you stay in line," Garrus replies coolly, pushing Rico's finger off of his chest, "As long as you do this by-the-book, we won't have any problems."

Maybe Rico will surprise him and play this the Legion's way, but Garrus isn't holding his breath. He's not giving Rico his back either.

"By-the-book," Rico echoes thoughtfully, rolling the phrase around in his mouth. He stands there, stock still, and there's an uncomfortably long silence before his mouth curves into a sterile smile, no trace of mockery or wickedness in it. "I see."

His smile stretches into a grin barely any more natural, and steps back. After a second, he turns his back on Garrus and strides off through the Hangar in the direction of their ship, fists jauntily swinging by his side.

"Come on, Archangel," he calls out over his shoulder like he's beckoning a dog. "And so long as you stay in line too."

Edited 2017-08-20 19:12 (UTC)

Maybe there's no malice in Rico's plastic smile, but Garrus certainly feels it. He's regretting his choice of words, certain that - at best - Rico's going to be looking for some way to make sure anything that little thing that happens on this mission that isn't perfect to the letter is going to get pinned on him.

As Rico calls out to him - that condescending, honeyed pleasantry dripping from his voice - there's a small part of Garrus that wants to take a big step back in his personal development and put a stun round into Rico's back. He'd have hell to pay when he got back, but Garrus would feel a hell of a lot better about this whole thing if he was going it alone rather than with him.

Not to mention it'd be pretty damn satisfying.

But no. He's playing nice for the sake of the Legion, for the sake of being the bigger man, and out of principle. He's not going to dignify Rico's last jab with a response, but he follows.

Edited 2017-08-23 05:46 (UTC)

Grud.

The air felt cold on his skin. His head pounding, tongue numb in his mouth. It was hard to even tell if he was upright or prone. But sensation came to him slowly, and he realised he'd been propped up against something.

Dredd. Rico. Street judge. Serial number six eight-

Wait. Lets not get ahead of himself. Why the hell did he feel cold on his skin?

Rico snaps his eyes open, behind his familiar tinted visor, and he's in a new place he doesn't recognise. A small room stripped of anything important, pipework in the metal walls. A low, humming sound that permeates the entire place, feeling the vibrations in the soles of his feet. Looks like the helmet was all that they'd left him for whatever reason- stripped of the rest of his uniform and weapons.

He shifts his aching body, and freezes when he hears the clink of metal. And then, with a slow realization of dread, he looks over his shoulder to see what he's been handcuffed to. Or rather, who.

It was definitely not a particularly bumpy wall, that's for sure.

Edited 2017-08-27 08:06 (UTC)

The last thing he remembers is the approach to the space-liner. He was giving his equipment one final check - final preparations for insertion.

Then his head hurts. He's got cottonmouth, and he's waking up.

He sits bolt up-right, and he's half way to his feet before the shackle around his wrist jerks him back down. He lands hard, and looks over to see what he's been handcuffed to. Or rather, who.

No weapons, no armor, and he's handcuffed to the biggest asshole in the Legion.

"You've gotta be kidding me," He breathes.

Rico lets out a slight grunt of surprise as his arm is dragged up and sideways, the cold metal cuff cutting into his wrist. With a scowl, he yanks back hard, not minding how much it hurts him too.

"Kidding yourself," he rasps back harshly in a manner that basically sounds like an invective. It's the most he can muster - his throat feels scratchy. "What the drokk happened?"

He gives the handcuff a furious shake. It jangles cheerfully back.

"Explain this," he hisses.

He's just going to set aside deciphering that bizarre attempt at a comeback for later.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Garrus mutters, bringing up his free hand to rub at his temple.

"Judging by the headache, though, I've got my money on gas." Probably a trap at the door and they'd walked right into it like amateurs.

Now that Garrus mentions it, it's slowly coming back to him. But all he remembers is the feel of gripping his respirator under his gloves; pulling it securely over his mouth. Either he must've not gotten to it in time, or it didn't matter if he'd inhaled it or not. Rico peels himself away away from Garrus as far as possible by standing up slowly, visibly repulsed, and brings his other hand to his hip, looking up.

"Great," he says, sourly. "So not only am I mostly naked and without my weapons after falling for the oldest trick in the book, I also have a deadweight tumor on the end of my wrist dragging me down."

He gives another shake of the cuff for emphasis, just in case it wasn't clear enough.

Believe it or not, it was hard to miss.

"Look. You don't like me, and I sure as hell like you. We can sit here trading insults," Garrus starts, as he's resisting the urge to remind Rico who nearly broke whose jaw back in the mess hall, "Or we can try to get out of this."

He's already at work. Part of his training in C-Sec and the military was how to slip a cuff, but this is put together differently than anything he's ever encountered before. Magnetic and physical seals he can work with, but those are only two of at least five different things holding the manacles closed.

Edited 2017-08-29 21:19 (UTC)

"Hmph."

Seeing Garrus get to work earlier than him gets him started on figuring it out too. There's no way he'll let this alien do better work than him. He examines the cuff, considering his options. He should be out of any restraints in a matter of seconds, but this is another story. It's advanced, to be sure. He presses down on his thumb joint and knuckles experimentally, one by one.

"I could break three of my metacarpals," he says, almost to himself. He doesn't really like the idea, though. Not because of the pain. Pain mattered very little, all things considered. But rather because it'll leave him disadvantaged. Also he's not totally certain that it'll work. He stares at it, balancing out his disgust for the proximity of the one next to him, versus willingly displaying weakness. "Or yours."

Garrus looks at him flatly and holds up a hand. Three fingers, all of them a lot thicker than a human's. Even if the bones in his hand could compress the way a human's could, his is broad enough that he's not slipping out that way.

"Can't just go intangible, huh?" He asks - a touch bitter because of course Dredd can't. That'd actually make their lives easy for a change.

"There's gotta be something I can use as a shim," He mutters under his breath, scanning the room, but no ... empty and bare.

That thought actually gives Rico pause. Which he quickly shutters over without letting slip, because there's no way in hell it shouldn't have occurred to him. He's tried replicating his little stunt before, but it doesn't always come when he calls. He curls his hand into a fist, and opens his mouth to say -

He's interrupted by a banging on the outside of the steel door.

"Shut up in there!" a voice shouts from the outside. The sound is distorted, but it's distinctly human. "Sit down and don't make any trouble!"

Garrus's eyes dart to the door, and linger there a moment before flicking back to Rico.

"What do you think the odds are," Garrus quietly asks, "That he has the key?"

"Better than none," Rico mutters back. He'll be honest - the thought is immensely cheering. Before they know it, he'll be out of here and out of these cuffs in a flash.

"So," he says, sotto voice. "We just need to get him in here. I do wonder how."

And with that - considering that forewarning enough - Rico raises his voice in an answering bellow.

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, GEEK!"

Garrus had just been planning on whipping an energy construct cannonball into the door, but that works too. Despite 'geek' being the tamest insult he's ever heard from someone as bent as Rico.

Still, that cannonball will be ready the moment that door swings open.

"Okay, that's it loudmouth-"

The door slides open with a whisper, and the owner of the voice charges into the room, holding an advanced-looking rifle in his hands and looking very ready to club some nassheads into submission. He comes to a sudden stop at seeing what was awaiting him though, his dawning realization evident.

Rico laughs delightedly.

"Oh sprock..."

Whack

The bolt of energy rams into the thug's gut and lifts him off his feet. He slams into the wall and slumps limply down to the floor. Garrus, for his part, grins and gets to his feet - using his long arms to give himself the space to do so without an awkward dance with Rico to avoid pulling each other down.

Oh Grud, now that's funny. Like something out of a cartoon, the stupid idiot.

"I can't believe he fell for that!"

Once Rico's vindictive laughter subsides to a chuckle, he follows Garrus's example quickly, so it doesn't look like he's being led on a leash. It's difficult to follow the exact swing of his arm, and the cuffs tighten as he scrambles. But when he's on his feet, he marches towards the downed man to regain the initiative, pulling Garrus along if he doesn't follow his lead quick enough for his tastes, and nudges him over with a foot.

"If that's the kind of opposition we're facing, I'm feeling good."

As irritating as Rico's gloating is, Garrus actually agrees with him for once. It would get harder when the rest of the hijackers caught on, but if this one was witless enough to march right into the room they can't be all that well trained.

Which honestly makes the fact that he and Rico got captured at all a little more depressing, but he's trying to focus on the positives.

At least he is until he searches the man.

"No key."

Considering his luck, he's not sure why he expected anything different.

Rico makes a sound in the back of his throat, any amusement lost. It damn well figures. He kneels down as well and scoops up the rifle quickly, as if he's worried that Garrus will take it first. "I'm taking this," he says in a manner that brooks no argument. "And we need to get going. Wherever they've stashed our equipment, and then the mission objective."

Rico feels uncharacteristically vulnerable outside of his Judge's jumpsuit, and he's determined to make up for it. Any Judge worth their salt is covered in marks, but he's acutely aware of the rarely visible winding scar on his arm that ends abruptly down to his elbow, and the prominent jagged ridge of scar tissue under his ribcage. A mistake he never got over.

And with that, he looks at Garrus properly for the first time, as if before this, looking too hard would mean acknowledging their predicament. His lip curls, giving him a once-over. "Not so big out of your armor, are you?"

"Just keep it on stun," Garrus replies. For a second, he considers stopping Rico, but he decides against it. Rico would make an issue out of it, and things would only get worse for them down the line. Letting him have it was a risk ... but Garrus wasn't going to let Rico get the drop on him, and as long as Garrus had enough warning to raise a barrier, that rifle wasn't going to do Rico any good if he decided to get even.

"Is there a point to this?" Garrus asks flatly, giving Rico the same once over - clocking the scars along his arm and across the bottom of his ribs. Then, his eyes flick back up to meet Rico's.

Rico stares unrepentantly back, proud and uncowed. The uniform was a shield as much as it was his chain, covering up his flaws and evidence of his mistakes as it turned him into something inhuman and powerful. He's too well trained to give any physical signs of the discomfort prickling in his spine at being so exposed, but there's something undefinable in Garrus's strange beady eyes, something he doesn't like as he's scanned. Like he's being judged.

But he didn't quite finish his sentence.

"Not so big now that I've seen everything." Rico finishes, low and quiet. This time, there's no hanging up on the omnicom. Garrus has to listen, whether he likes it or not. "Not so big now that I know what you are."

"We've got enough people trying to kill us, Rico." Garrus replies, his voice dropping to match as he takes a step forward. "Is now really the time you want to start picking at grudges?"

Because he knew this was coming. He knew the next time he saw Rico's smug, venomous smile, that he was going to gloat. Garrus would get to hear about every terrible decision he's ever made and every line he's ever crossed, and it would all build to the point that he's not better than Rico.

"You think I want to kill you, Vakarian?" Rico says with a smile as he looks up at Garrus, their hands shackled together. "Now why would I do something like that? This is more than just a simple grudge. Despite what you may believe... you're on trial. You never denied the charges."

It doesn't matter that they're short on time. The terrorists are a secondary concern to what's standing in front of him, here and now. For something like this, Rico makes time.

"You think you're above it all. Better than what I do. More moral than my duty to pass judgement. I can tell." Down by his side, his grip on the gun tightens imperceptibly, and he wants nothing more than to tilt the barrel up under Garrus's chin and squeeze the trigger. But no, not yet. "Well let me tell you this. You're not. All I want is for you to stop lying to yourself." Rico tilts his head to the side. "And is that so bad?"

The flicker of intent registers on Garrus's danger sense, sending a tingle racing down his spine. He shifts slightly bracing himself to move if he has to.

"I don't think I'm better than anybody, Dredd." And, whether Rico chooses to believe that or not, it's the truth. Garrus has a lot of flaws - he'd be the first to admit that - but ego wasn't one of them. He'd joke about his skill with a rifle, engage in some good-natured one-upmanship with friends ... but you don't have to dig down deep to find self-loathing for his many mistakes. There's no one who has spent more time dwelling on every bad call and impulsive choice in that Legionnaire Legacy than him.

Pretty much the only person in the Legion who he'd claim to have any sort of moral high ground over is standing right in front of him.

"I think you're an insecure little man who likes to wave his badge around and cut other people down because it makes him feel big."

"And I think you like to cut other people down because it makes you feel like a hero. Is there really such a difference?"

Rico keeps his voice low, angled, and sharp, like the boot knife he's itching to slide under his ribs. He can hold a tight leash over his anger, keep it simmering under the surface. There's a time and place for shouting, and this isn't it, not unless he wanted less time for this confrontation he'd been waiting for.

"It makes you feel big too, doesn't it?" he hisses. "I bet you felt like the biggest man alive when you popped those mercenary heads right off, even before you got your dumb squad killed. Not because you're bloodthirsty, or sadistic, but because you thought you were doing the right thing. Feeling moral that you were taking lives, can you believe that? That's worse in my eyes."

He settles back down to mockingly incredulous, tapping his stolen gun on his upper thigh. "You thought you could look somebody down the scope and sentence them to whatever charge you made up in your head was worthy of killing for. With all the bad judgement calls and mistakes that you've made - and believe me when I say we saw them all - you thought you were the best candidate to mete out justice."

This is what he hates the most. That Archangel is so self-righteous about everything he does, like somebody else he knows.

Edited 2017-10-04 20:44 (UTC)

It's funny, because it's the self-righteous attitude Rico wears as a cloak around his fragile ego that infuriates Garrus more than anything. The fact that he can throw his weight around, abuse his power, and then feel perfectly secure in smiling in his victim's face and claiming the high ground. It makes Garrus's blood boil, raises his hackles, and leaves him with a burning desire to lay Rico out all over again.

But he doesn't do that. He opens his mouth, ready to fire back at Rico, but he closes it and shakes his head. Then, he says the two words Rico probably expected the least:

"You're right." Garrus says. "Knowing that people looked up to me for what I was doing? That they thought I was on the right side, that I was a hero ...? That felt great."

There's no lie there, either. It did feel good. It was vindication for all the times his hands were tied. In his mind, it was proof positive that what mattered was the end result and not the acre of procedure you had to wade through to get it. It made him feel like he was actually changing things for the better, and no one in their right mind wouldn't feel something to all of that.

But he continues.

"That's not why I did any of it." His eyes narrow, his voice sharpens to match Rico's. "If you were paying attention, you'd know how I felt even when my own father was almost ready to disown me."

"I did it because I can't stand the idea of good people who didn't do a damn thing wrong getting screwed, and the people responsible get to just walk away. The fact that it happens all the time in this crazy, messed up world we all live in is what gets under my skin more than anything. It's why I joined up with C-Sec, and it's why I put up with every bullshit regulation until I left."

"I'm not a saint, Rico, no matter what opinion you seem to think I have of myself. I know that my anger led me to do some stupid things, and it's only because of a friend that I didn't make the biggest mistake of my life. I know that the only things that I can say for myself is that nobody I hurt didn't have the record to deserve it, and that all of my mistakes are because I was too invested in what I was doing to be objective about it."

"And the fact that you," Garrus jabs a finger into Rico's chest, "think you've got any sort of high ground about pulling a trigger, that's the real joke here."

Garrus leans in close.

"I've talked to Beeny. I've got an idea of what Mega City One looks like, and I've got an idea of what the average Judge does on a good day. Every mercenary I put down had a rap sheet of violent crimes longer than your arm." He snarls. "I'd be willing to bet you've put a bullet in someone for nothing more than the Justice Department telling you it was okay."

Edited 2017-10-04 21:57 (UTC)

You're right.

The words light up Rico's expression with a grin that looks like it shouldn't belong on a face like his. But the rest of it soon follows, and his face turns thunderous. He shoves the finger out of the way and rocks up on his heels towards Garrus, already so close together, fists clenched and the barely restrained desire of violence evident in every angle of his body.

"First of all, don't you say a single word about Judge Beeny." Rico starts, voice cold. "She's had nine more years on the streets than me. In terms of numbers, she's killed, tortured, beaten, and sentenced nine times more people than me. You think she's better because she hides it behind a professional attitude? You think you're any better?" He jabs Garrus back, twice as hard. "At least I know what I am. You're still denying it."

"And," he continues, voice starting to raise. "You think that the high-" he starts, furious, then cuts himself off. "Of course! Of course I've put a bullet in someone because of nothing other than the Justice Department telling me! That's all you need!" He gesticulates with his free hand. "I'm only doing what I'm supposed to be doing. For what I was created to do. I'm just enforcing their laws, no matter how cruel or nonsensical you think it is. Take it up with them. I have the weight of the law behind me, and you have nothing!"

He wants to say it. He wants to say that he doesn't have the high ground, no affections that the law is right, that Garrus was right to say drokk it to C-Sec and go his own damn way. Garrus found power over others there at the end of a barrel, Rico knows it. But how can he think that he's any better than Rico? He just wants him to understand that he's down here on his level, in the dirt with him. But he's already said too much.

He tilts his chin upwards instead, bitterness in his voice. "The law is the only thing that ever matters in this world. That, and the force to lay it down. You're no hero. Just another vigilante who got his squad killed, and you're still so drokking proud of it, Archangel. Your father should have disowned you."

Maybe, Rico, just maybe, having power over other people was never something Garrus had any interest in. Because the truth is, the Legionnaire Legacy's assessment of Garrus - while maybe a little more generous than he'd ever think he deserves - was spot on. Deep down in his own, impulsive way, all he's ever wanted to do was even the odds for every poor bastard who ended up trapped under someone else's boot.

His problem is he cares too much to see things objectively. When someone or something gets under his skin, he leads with his heart and not his head. It's a realization that came through a lot of suffering, and a lot of mistakes that he's never going to be quite able to forgive himself for. Mistakes that have cut deeply enough that Garrus isn't even going to argue the fact that he probably should have been disowned, or that he squad is dead because of him. The words still hit hard, hard enough that his hands curl into fists at his side.

He'd like to say that, in that moment, his hand was stayed by self-control. He'd like to be able to say that he was the bigger man, but that's not true. Not in that way, at least. The fact of the matter is, Garrus just didn't want to give Rico the satisfaction, and spite is a hell of a motivator.

"Just because something's official doesn't mean it's right, Rico," Garrus snarls. "Laws are written by people - people who could be corrupt, blind, or just plain stupid. Like everything else, they're fallible. What makes a law worth the paper it's printed on are the principles behind it. You look at who it helps, who it hurts, and then you get an idea of whether or not it's worth a damn and whether or not it needs to be changed."

"If the law doesn't serve the greater good - if it really is just cruel and nonsensical - then what the hell is it worth?" Garrus snaps, his voice rising. "If the laws don't serve the greater good, if the ability to enforce it is all that counts, then what makes a cop different from any low-level gang enforcer? What's that badge on your chest worth, Dredd?"

"Let's hypothetically live in a world where you're right." Rico says sarcastically, but with a raw edge to his voice. "Maybe the law is worth nothing. Maybe it's nothing but a sick joke, enforced on a slack-jawed populace, and there are no differences between a criminal cracking heads and a trigger-happy Judge. Maybe it's a festering mess that needs to be cut out like a cancer. Maybe the only justice you can get is what you can take for yourself."

He tilts his head to the side, relishing in the sick feeling in his stomach and the rush of excitement that comes with daring to say that out loud.

"But what would that mean, really? The Justice Department is unkillable. What can one person do, other than exactly what they ask of him? Would you prefer that Mega-City One looks like Omega? That hack surgeon of yours would have gotten life, or an execution on the spot if the sentencing Judge didn't feel the bother. People like him don't just get to walk away. Wouldn't that feel good? Isn't that what you wanted? All those mercs you killed - I didn't see any jury before you sentenced them to death. I just want you to stop fighting it!"

He can't understand that kind of mindset. Stop fighting me, he means. Tell me that I'm right to do what I do. But they're not getting anywhere like this. Hell, he's got one of their rifles - he's so close to just trying to see if he can't just arrange something. But that's something that'll have to wait.

From both ends of the corridor, a squad's worth of footsteps approach. They have one minute before it's within earshot.

It's probably a good thing that they've got some company, if only so they both avoid whatever the Legion's equivalent of a court martial is. He may have his anger under wraps for the moment, but Rico's words - this repeated insistence that they're the same just because they've both put their share of criminals in the ground - has him seeing red.

Make no mistake though, it was a talk they were going to finish at some point or another.

His attention turns down the hall, his danger sense prickling in both directions ... and towards Rico. Despite how unsettling it was, knowing that violent intent was somewhere in Rico, it was reassuring having his finger on the pulse. He'd know when the shot was coming, if it ever came. No pulling the rug out from under his feet, at least not if he's careful.

"I'll take the left." Not a request, not an order. It's just what he's doing. The right side, you can figure that out.

Rico recognises a familiar tone in Garrus's voice that means he's going to do it regardless of objections, and you just deal with it. He should know.

So despite his pride, he takes up a position at the right, gun at the ready for when his opponents turn around the corner. Rico's no stranger to working alongside closely with a partner, even if he hasn't bothered with one over the past year, but Garrus is well over a foot taller than Joe and moves in unexpected ways. Drokking aliens.

Two harried looking groups charge around each corner, armed haphazardly with stun-sticks and rifles, marking out their targets. The ones with short-range weapons close in on Rico and Garrus first, swinging their weapons.

Hand in Hand Combat [CLOSED]

Before the mission

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On the Spaceliner

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