Where it All Began

[liesdontfindyou]

Sat in an interrogation room is a face familiar to people in the group: Counselor Aiden Price, sitting on one side of the table with a clipboard, notepad and a data-pad. After a moment, the door opens, and an equally familiar young woman in her mid-twenties, one side of her head shaved, is escorted inside, restrained by electronic cuffs and dressed in a basic prison uniform.

The Counselor sits up straighter. "Specialist Diaz. Welcome. I’m glad that you could join us."

There's a quiet beep as the cuffs are deactivated and removed, the guard taking them away as Diaz moves to sit in the chair opposite him. "Us?"

"My… associate, will be observing our conversation from the adjoining room. I hope that does not make you uncomfortable."

"No, that’s fine. At least you had the decency to tell me." The chair scrapes as Diaz shuffles it in. "You’re… the Counselor, right? Not Counselor Jones, or something, just ‘the Counselor’?"

The Counselor nods. "That is correct."

"Huh. Alright. I’d introduce myself, but that seems pretty pointless when you have my entire life laid out on that screen in front of you. You must know everything about me," Diaz says, nodding towards the data-pad as she folds her arms. The Counselor taps the screen, pulling up a file of some sort.

"I am curious about something," he says, glancing up at her again. "You are noted as a flight risk in your file. Why, then, do they not leave you cuffed? I am sure that I would be unable to stop you, should you decide to make for the door."

Diaz taps a small metal disc on her arm.

"If I do something I shouldn’t, they can just stun me with this thing. 50,000 volts. I wouldn’t make it more than a step before I was on the floor." She smiles sardonically. "Don’t worry, Counselor, they have ways of dealing with ‘flight risks’."

"Very well." If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. "Let’s get started, shall we?"

"Sure," Diaz shrugs, "go ahead."

"Let’s start at the beginning." The Counselor flicks through the file on his data-pad, again. "You, Specialist Diaz, are being held here under 10 counts of failure to obey a lawful order or regulation, including bypassing security measures to gain unauthorized access to secure UNSC servers and the subsequent unauthorized distribution of protected data. Am I correct?"

"You know you are. Keep going. I know you have the details there."

The Counselor nods. "Very well. These charges were all brought in relation to the recent distribution of a number of secure UNSC documents relating to Lockson Industries, who were responsible for the supply of military equipment to the colony of Resol. Those documents revealed that Lockson had been supplying the soldiers there with… poor quality, armour and weaponry."

Diaz rolls her eyes and sits up. She looks almost insulted, gesturing with frustration as she talks.

"Poor quality is one way to describe it. So is dangerously prone to failing in the middle of a firefight. Do you know how many of those guns jammed? Or how many sets of armour damn near fell apart?"

"I have not been granted access to those records, however, from your tone I can assume it was—"

Diaz interrupts him without a care, half-standing from her chair and planting her hands against the table. "Too many, that's what it was. If you looked at our casualty rates you’d think we were engaging the Covenant, not a band of poorly-stocked Innies who could barely shoot their way out of a wet paper bag!"

"I take it that you do not, in any way, deny these allegations?"

"No," she says, dropping back into her seat, "I don't. I did everything they say I did. Though the charge of aiding the enemy was a bit of a stretch. I’m glad they dropped that."

"I see." At that, the Counselor starts writing on his notepad.

Diaz can't see the paper, though it's not for lack of trying. She idly taps the metal disc, again. "Notepad and pen. Huh. You’re a little bit old school, aren’t you?"

A beat of silence.

"Thank you for being… honest, with me, Diaz. Cooperation makes things go much smoother than unnecessary combativeness."

"I have no reason not to be." Diaz shrugs again. "I’m not ashamed of what I did. My company was in danger of being wiped out by faulty equipment before the Innies even had a chance to finish us off, all because Lockson figured that just because we weren’t on the front lines of the war, they could cut costs on our gear."

"I see that you feel very strongly about this subject."

Diaz raises a brow, and now she really does look insulted. "Are you kidding me? Of course I do. Am I supposed to not feel strongly about my squadmates dying, or my being in jail because I tried to stop that?"

"I did not mean to imply that to feel strongly was a negative trait, Diaz," the Counselor says, mildly. Diaz scoffs.

"Your tone is hard to read. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Once again, the Counselor writes on the notepad. Diaz angles her head, but still can't see. She shakes her head.

"Your skill level is quite remarkable. Gaining access to secure UNSC servers is not so easily done," he says, once he stops again.

"No, it isn’t. I worked my way up to it. I had a lot of practice."

"Yes, I can certainly see that." His eyes even widen, just a little, as he scrolls through a list of her priors. "You have a… history, of similar acts, do you not?"

"I do." She isn't ashamed. She doesn't look the slightest bit rattled at all. "Though technically, those charges were all expunged when I turned 18 and very few of them stuck. Besides, I don’t think that leaking emails about bribes for better test results or taking over the city’s central screen to show a list of known scammers in the markets are on quite the same level as leaking UNSC files. Unless you’re someone who thinks there’s no sliding scale to morality, Counselor."

"Indeed. They are, however, part of a pattern of behaviour."

Diaz's nail taps the stunner, again. "Sure is. I already told you, I’m not ashamed of it. I did the right thing. Sometimes you have to bend the rules a little to do that."

More writing. Diaz looks annoyed, by now. It feels like a show, writing instead of typing. "Indeed."

"Is that really why I’m in another interrogation? Or— is this a psych eval?"

"This is not an interrogation, Diaz."

"Then what is it, exactly?"

"An interview. My associate—" the Counselor starts, only for Diaz to sit up straighter again and interrupt with a:

"An interview? For what?"

Calmly, he says, "—if I may speak," and, embarrassed, Diaz mumbles an apology. "My associate and I are at the head of a new organisation, authorised by the UNSC to spearhead the testing of experimental technology that we believe will help us to win this war. This project is highly classified, and we must be… selective, in who we admit. You appeared on our radar shortly following the filing of charges against you."

Diaz's curiosity is visibly piqued. She raises a brow, her head tilted. "You looking for a hacker?"

"We are looking for an… intelligence specialist," the Counselor says, carefully. "Your skillset is well suited to our organisation’s needs."

"Experimental technology… this is special operations stuff, isn’t it?" She shakes her head, gesturing vaguely. "You don’t have to answer that. I know you probably couldn’t, anyway."

The Counselor actually chuckles, quietly. Disarmingly. "Project Freelancer is a… unique organisation, Diaz. We will be working with a variety of new, untested and top-secret technology provided only for our operations. Therefore, I’m sure it comes as no surprise that we require only the best of the best. Minds such as yours, with skills such as yours, are of paramount importance. It would be a shame, to see such a mind wasted."

There's a short stretch of silence as Diaz sits and stares at him, as if trying to read his emotionless face. Finally, she asks: "What… kind of technology?"

"Strictly speaking, that’s classified information."

Before he even finished speaking, Diaz groans, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Of course."

"However, I have been given permission to show you a small… sampling, of what we will be working with," the Counselor says, setting the data-pad down on the table with a thunk. On it, there is a schematic of a set of EOD armour, with all sorts of special details blanked out.

Diaz sits forward, picking the pad up and examining it closely. "Is that armour?"

"It is."

"Powered?"

"And fully capable of supporting a number of… innovative, pieces of hardware and software alike. For you, a software suite tailored to your exact specifications can be created to facilitate your skillset, for example."

"Wow," Diaz looks at him, surprised, "that’s more than I expected to get out of you, actually."

The Counselor smiles, mildly. Disarmingly. Deliberately. "We hope to be as… transparent, as possible, with potential recruits, such as yourself."

"Transparent, huh?" She taps her finger against the side of the data-pad. "You think this will help end the war?"

"That is what we hope to achieve, yes."

"And if I agree to join this… ‘Project Freelancer’, you’ll somehow get me off these charges? You have that much pull?"

"We have made… arrangements, to have your charges dropped should you agree to sign on to the Project. There are certain stipulations, which are laid out in the contract which would confirm your recruitment." The Counselor hands her some papers that were previously clipped to the clipboard, and she starts to go through them. "However, once you have made your decision, it will take no more than a few days to secure your release to one of our representatives, who will accompany you on a flight to our centre of operations."

There's silence as Diaz reads, except for the occasional mumble. "…no outside contact… services… can I take this contract with me to read over in full?"

"Of course."

"Alright... how much time do I have to decide?"

"Would twelve hours be sufficient?"

Diaz considers, then nods. "I think so."

"Very well. Then we shall reconvene in twelve hours; or less, should you decide you are satisfied sooner."

"Will I be given time to say goodbye to my family before your ‘representative’ retrieves me?" Diaz asks, knocking the papers against the table so they're neat. "My moms live on-world. They know where I am."

"That may be arranged. You do, however, understand that you can tell them nothing?"

"All they have to know is that I’m going away."

"Very well. I will discuss such an arrangement with the local administration."

"Thank you. I suppose I better return to my cell and read this contract, then," Diaz says, and a second later a tone summons the guard. The door opens, and the guard comes over to re-fasten the cuffs around her wrists.

"I trust that you will make the right decision, Specialist Diaz," the Counselor says, with that same, mild smile.

Diaz rolls her wrists as the cuffs beep. "I’m sure I will, Counselor."

"Make sure she has these papers. She will require no pen." He hands the papers to the guard. "The documentation can be signed when we return."

With that, Diaz is escorted from the room and back to her cell.