Mirage of Freedom: Where Are They Now?

[FactualDonkey]

The dust has settled. The Relay is gone. Their work is done.

No longer bound by orders or conflict, the Resistance is free to go their separate ways.​

 

[pants]

Watching the floating fortress fall from the sky brought a smile to the Cowboy's face. He could only imagine the cheering that must've erupted when the dust settled. The Combine could no longer call for reinforcements.

But that didn't mean everything would be safe and sound. Without governance, without a separation between City and Outlands, Europe had just become a lawless frontier... The perfect place for a gunslinger to practice his trade. He polished the Sheriff's star on his hat, brushing dust from the brim.

And then, just like in all the old movies, the Cowboy turned his head from Paris, and rode off into the sunset.

 

[Avg_Joe]

Although he had long since abandoned the efforts of the Resistance, traumatized and disillusioned by the events of Moscow, The Scout - Buddy - found himself again following the fall of The Relay.

Old whispered promises came to the back of his head, and rather than hide in some hole in the dirt, waiting to shrivel up and die, curtailed by the failure of a mission that had proven to have been worth the sacrifice afterall with the success of the W14 Rebels, he left for Southern Europe, travelling far and abroad. Hawaii would have to wait.

He had to find that someone near and dear to him first. No matter the cost.


Henry. Wherever you are, I will be there shortly.

 

[AbeBatJes]

Music


"<:: You sure you can run from your past? ::>"
"Never said I was running. There's nothing that I can do to change it. The only thing I can do, is improve, and fix what I've done."
"<:: Hm... one day, it'll come back to get you. ::>"
"And if it does. I'll accept whatever consequences come."
He stares at the radio for the longest time - the combine tech in his grasp; different than the one he has with to communicate with his fellow allies. Regardless, he drops the tech onto the ground, and crushes it under his boot; sliding it to the side and away. He then joins up with the others, making their clean getaway.

Rory leans back, glancing through the glass of the helicopter out into the horizon, as he thinks back. One of the resistance members comes over and informs him that those in the back are stabilized; they too watch through the glass, not sure what is to become of their near future.

He looks down towards the mask next to them for several long moments. There's this itch at the back of his head, as he thinks deep - the facility in the Americas... is it still operational? And if it is... is Doctor Frost there...

What is certain though, is that for the time being, they are free. Now, it's time to clean up the mess.​

 

[remidimeston]

Old Hinton, West Virginia.

Two months of hitch hiking, and regular hiking. The travel was painful. It felt like time was slowing down the closer he got to the driveway.

The mailbox survived. Mother Nature held it down with overgrown vines, so it wasn't blown in the wind. Chance was thankful for this... It was odd to see the world doing something for him for once. And the dirt beneath his boots, it was familiar and strange all at the same time. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest... How could he have been gone for so long? He's got some nerve...

Even from there, he could see his old truck he left behind so Jasmine could still get to town for anything. It was still on wheels. And the wheels had air. He wasn't sure if it still drove, but he pushed that thought aside immediately. There was more pressing matters.
He didn't even register that he had already walked up the stairs, stopped at the front door, and fished out his key. It was just... already happening. He was home.
...
...
...

"Jasmine?"
Chance called out through the house. A familiar set of footsteps from upstairs. He looked up, and saw her. She looked younger. Then there was another, young looking Jasmine.
The daughters he had never seen... Never seen before. He's finally seen his daughters.
They didn't speak. They just stared in shock. Two lukewarm tubes of metal poked at his nape. Someone had held him up from behind.
He made a slow turn. Before he could even face her completely, Jasmine set the shotgun down, and wrapped her arms around him so tightly, he nearly had the wind knocked out of him.
"You son of a-..." Jasmine couldn't even finish the insult. The tears she had saved up for a lifetime poured out like a flood. He was hesitant to return the embrace. Touching her, believing that this was real, after so long, might have the same result as all the nights he dreamt of this very moment.
Two more sets of feet came rushing down the stairs behind him, but not hugging. Not just yet. No surprise there... Chance wouldn't hug a random guy he'd never met before.
Jasmine pulled away and looked at her long-lost man. "Oh my God, look at that scar... What... Where have you been? We thought you were dead! I thought I'd never see you again!"
Chance felt the warm sensation of tears begin to break from his eyes, streaming down his cheeks as a smile broke through. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her for the first time in so long. "I would tell you... But-"
"Nothing is gonna justify being gone this long."
"Nothing is gonna justify being gone this long." They said it at the same time.
"Goddamnit, Jazz."
"... Still, tell me. Tell us."

 

[Tazer]

Somewhere in Quebec.....

"Cargoship to Henri do you copy? Damn this fucking snowstorm, Does anyone copy? Walter, have you found anything yet in that hangar?" But all Henri (LaTour) Got was static due to the heavy snowstorm coming in. "Fuck I'm freezing, how did my ancestors survive Canada?" LaTour mutters to himself, and he gives up trying to communicate with his group, he has to prioritize finding shelter. LaTour grabs his pack of supplies and pushed forward.

After some time wandering in the snowstorm, LaTour is able to spot part of a building, He makes a run for it and tries the door to find it locked, he sets his dufflebag down and clipped his pulse SMG to his belt and began using his body to force the door to open, after a couple attempts at throwing his body into the door, it finally gives way and he almost falls but recovers, he grabs his bag and desperately got inside pushing the door closed.

"Finally..." LaTour says as he feels the warmth of the building he's in, he removes his mask

To be continued? (Can't turn this into a full story or mickee will tweak prolly lmao)

Weeks later...

LaTour hesitates to press the transmit button but after a couple of seconds, he presses it and began to speak in both english and french, hoping there was some canadian french people still around "Survivors of Quebec, we are looking for people will useful skills, mechanics,gardeners,former police or military are welcome to join. Rations and a bedroom will be provided when you arrive, I wish I was able to broadcast on television to give proof but you will just have to trust us until you come. The radio local radio frequency and coordinates are as followed....Do not come unless you have something to bring to the table."
Days pass by....
At the bunker entrance...
An SUV and a hatchback slide to a stop across from each other, headlights cutting through the fog.
Rick:“What the hell—? Another car? You said this place was empty!”
Hannah: “I did! The signal came from here—”
They jump out, weapons drawn. Hannah raises her MP5K, Rick holds his shotgun low, Caleb behind them with his Glock ready but unsure.
Tara (from the hatchback, shouting): “Hold your fire! We’re here for the same reason!”
Ace: “You’re not Resistance— step back!” (He shoulders his UMP45, scanning.)
Ben (trying to calm them): “Stop it! We don’t even know who’s in charge here!”

Everyone freezes as a bright light in the fog lights up, a set of heavy footsteps began to approach, revealing the one who made the broadcast

Hannah (quietly, stunned): “…Oh, hell.”
Rick: “That’s Combine gear… that’s Combine gear!”
Caleb: “No, wait—wait! He’s not shooting!”
Tara: “You call that normal? Look at him!”
Ace: “I told you—trap. We’re leaving!”
Ben: “Shut up, Ace! Just—look at him. He’s not moving.”
The SUV and hatchback crews aim at him, tension thick in the air. The hum of the pulse weapon is the only sound.
But then all of a sudden, the APC's autocannons fire a warning shot nearby, causing the strangers to flinch and freeze in fear
"Enough! I didn't fight my way from Moscow to Paris and to Canada to die to a ragtag group of a sad excuse of survivors." *LaTour shouts, his cajun accent more pronounced*

TO BE CONTINUED AGAIN BC RN ITS 3:33AM IN THE FUCKING MORNING GN I HOPE YOU ENJOY MY WATN SLOP CONTENT)

 

[pants]

As the resistance fought their way through Paris, countless biosignals would ring out.

In fact, so many were logged that night, nobody would notice one lone signal ring out from the slums.

Lost bio-signal for Protection Team unit - ZERO. THREE. ZERO. THREE. ZERO. Remaining units, contain.

STAND CLEAR. ADMINISTERING SHOCK.

Mirna gasped as she surged upright. Looks like the frenchman in the metro wasn't a liar after all.

She plucked the AED's electrical contacts off of her chest, and quickly pulled her shirt back down.
Zipping her patrol vest back up, she reached for the crummy civilian-grade radio she found back in Warsaw.
And then she hesitated.

What if Holt was right? What if their Benefactors did return someday?
Mirna looked down at a special scar on her hand.
A permanent mark of loyalty that would identify her as one of the true believers who would be spared upon Their return.
How could she ever live a normal life after such darkness?

But then she remembered the kind old woman, Ms. Welachelli, who told her it was never too late.
Mirna was still young. She had her whole life ahead of her.

And, after all, what is a scar besides proof that you survived?
She lifted her radio.

"Morgan? Are you still there?"

​

 

[Tazer]

Years later?


The end???