Chapter 254: The Chronicle

The episode opens up on a few shots of Blood Gulch, still here after all these years. A voice is singing the ever-familiar guitar chords of Trocadero  that used to open up every episode. As the voice finishes…

Dylan: The hell are you doing?

We cut to Dylan Andrews and her Cameraman walking through the center of the canyon towards Blue Base.

Cameraman: I am brainstorming a sweet soundtrack for this location.

Dylan: Quit goofing off. I'm ready to start.

DYLAN walks in front of the cameraman, starting up her report.

Dylan: The Reds and Blues were mostly strangers when they were first assigned here: a box canyon that may as well be in the middle of nowhere. From these humble beginnings, they've gone on to influence the galaxy as we know it.

Cameraman: ...are you talking to me or the camera?

Beat. DYLAN stares at the CAMERAMAN.

Dylan: What?

Cameraman: What?

Pause.

Dylan: Did you get that or not?

Cameraman: (nervous laugh) Yeah, I got it. I wasn't rolling though, is that what you mean?

Dylan: Straighten your shit out, Frank.

Cameraman: I'm not Frank. Frank quit.

Dylan: He what?

Cameraman: He quit! He said he was sick of getting arrested and shot at.

Dylan: Some people just can't take the heat. What about you, New Frank? You got grit?

Cameraman: Oh, yeah!

Dylan: You have some experience in combat journalism?

Cameraman: Yeah! ...well, weddings.

Beat.

Dylan: ...this is your first job...

Cameraman: No, nonononono: it's my first internship.

Dylan: Do you have a degree at the very least?

Cameraman: Well, yeah! I mean, I will soon. Just like, 47 more credits, and then I graduate. And then I'm not sure what I'm gonna do. You know, I think I'll probably move to LA, but that's like what everyone does, I mean, what do you think? Do I really have to live there to make movies? What I really wanna do is direct blockbusters!

Dylan: (to herself) Carlos, you penny-pinching cheapskate bastard... I'm gonna skin your cat for this. (to cameraman) Alright, you, what's your name?

Cameraman: I'm actually thinking of adopting a stage name...tell me, what do you think of “Jax Jonez,” with an X and a Z?

Dylan: (blunt) I am not calling you that.

Cameraman: How about Mick J? Or... M. Night Axeltron!

Dylan: (he’s getting on her nerves) Just stop! Your job is to follow my lead until you get the hang of things, or until I find my tripod! Got it?

Cameraman: Got it. One question, though: are you married to this story? ‘cause I’ve got my own ideas for stories that would make really awesome movies! Like what if we did one about a comet that hits the moon and sends it crashing into Earth?

Dylan: That's the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.

Cameraman: We could call it Moon Doom!

Dylan: Enough.

Cameraman: And shoot it all in one long uninterrupted take!

Dylan: Enough! Shut up! I'm only gonna tell you this once, so listen closely! We find the facts, we tell the story. We do not make things up! We’re journalists, and truth is our currency.

Cameraman: Got it, truth! Awesome. But what if we told the truth, with like, wicked cinematography!

We get the CAMERAMAN’S view as he turns his head around and plays around with his camera, all while DYLAN watches him, completely unamused.

Cameraman: Like, oh, we could start with a slow pan of one of these base walls, and there you are on top! And then, boom, snap zoom, ooh, whip pan, you're over there now! No, smash cut, Dutch angle, reverse zoom—!

Dylan: I’m gonna smash cut your empty skull against that rock if you don’t shut the fuck up and roll camera! Got it?!

Pause. From the cameraman’s perspective, we see him look down at the ground in shame.

Dylan: ...alright, okay. I'm sorry... Jack.

Cameraman: It's Jax.

Dylan: Jax. I lost my temper, that was unprofessional of me, I'd like to start over, I'll try not to yell.

Jax: ...do you wanna try one of my shots?

Dylan: We'll do it both ways.

Jax: Sweet! ‘cause I’m pretty sure we can use that tank as a dolly!

The actual Trocadero guitar chords play as the camera pans upwards to the top of Blue Base, evidently operated by JAX using the tank as a dolly. DYLAN is standing there, ready to begin.

Dylan: The Reds and—

Jax: Action!

Beat.

Dylan: …The Reds and Blues started as simulation troopers, used to train to the super soldiers of Project Freelancer. The details of their time here are sketchy, or classified, or both, so we just don’t know how formative these early years were for them. If these walls could talk, perhaps we’d know why they turned into Chorus’s bloody mercenaries. For money, fame, or simply, for f—

A familiar soldier in yellow armor

pops up from the hole in the roof of Blue Base. She shouts at them, startling DYLAN.

Sister: Hey! Can you keep it down?! We’re busy as shit down here!

DYLAN and JAX stare at SISTER.

Dylan: Oh… hi there. We… thought this place was deserted.

Sister: Whoa, what’s with the camera?! What are you two doing…?  Is it kinky?!

DYLAN and JAX glance at each other, confused.

Dylan: We’re… conducting an investigation.

Sister: Fire marshals?! Shit! We’re up to code, I swear!

Dylan: We’re not firemen. We’re journalists. We’re doing an in-depth investigation about the Reds and Blues.

Sister: Why are you doing a story about my brother?

Dylan: “Brother”...? You're... Kaikaina Grif?

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Sister: Hey, you knew my name... big fucking deal! Get off my base!

Dylan: Please, can you spare a few minutes for an interview? It's important. We’re trying to figure out what happened that made the Reds and Blues go from heroes to criminals.

Sister: (exasperated) God... fine! Someone has to start setting this dumb story straight. Whatcha need, lady?

Dylan: Just information. I know there's a story here, but I’ve still got too many holes to fill.

Sister: I don't know how that's gonna help your story, but I feel another bi-phase coming on, and the camera guy's already here, so let's do this thing!

Dylan: Great... wait, what?

A few minutes later. They are now standing in the canyon, with SISTER wrapping up telling her side of the story.

Sister: ...and then the ship took off, and like either exploded or warped to hyperspace, I was never really sure—uh, that was right over there—and that was the last I saw of Tex. Everyone else got reassigned and left right after that.

Dylan: I'm surprised to find you still here. What have you been up to in the meantime?

Sister: Well, first I started throwing raves in the caves to meet cute boys—totally worked! My numbers skyrocketed!—then I got bored, and went through another bi-phase. Then all of a sudden the shows were selling out, so I was like, “Fuck it! I’m gonna sell this bitch out, and make a whole week-long festival,” then that sold out—

Dylan: Slow down. You run a music festival out of Blood Gulch?

Sister: I wish! We added a film fest after the first year. Then a comic-con for the nerds, and a gaming-con for the geeks, an eco-con for the hippies, now we’re about to take over some ancient alien temples for a desert arts fest: Burning Gulch! I wanted to call it Desert Titties, but that shit was taken.

Dylan: That sounds like quite an operation.

Sister: Damn lady, you ain’t kiddin’! You got any idea how much time I’ve spent talking about fuckin’ merch? Sometimes I miss being a simple hussie, but ladytime fucks no man!

Dylan: So, backtracking just a bit to the Reds and Blues...

Jax: Ah, there goes the Bechdel Test.

Dylan: ...the Reds and Blues you describe sound mostly harmless. How do you reconcile that with what they're doing now?

Sister: I know my brother, lady! He hates showing it, but he's a total softie inside.

Dylan: The evidence does suggest otherwise. The helmet recovered from the last attack was traced to Project Freelancer. Occam's razor.

Sister: Occam can suck himself! This is some conspiracy shit! Like, what if it's a government thing? Jet fuel can't JFK the moon landing!

DYLAN and JAX look at each other.

Dylan: That's an... interesting angle.

Sister: You should interview the Illuminati!

Dylan: Thank you, Kaikaina. I think I have what I need.

Sister: (annoyed) You still think Grif is guilty!

Dylan: I'm not sitting in judgement! I'm just... gathering information.

Sister: Well, if it's info you want, talk to V.I.C

Dylan: Who's Vick?

Sister: Not who: what! V.I.C. is the weirdo computer that lives in the caves under the bases.

Dylan: How exactly can a computer be a weirdo...?

Cut to a shot of V.I.C. in his console under the base. He looks exactly the same as he did when we last saw him, although now every few seconds he glitches out.

V.I.C.: Hi, howdy, hello, dudes! Dudettes! Duuuudarino! Welcome to V.I.C.’s party cavern, mi casa es su casa, make yourselves at home!

Dylan: You...are really an AI?

Jax: Like HAL 9000?

V.I.C.: Yessirino! I was p-grammed to record every little itsybitsyteenytinyTHANG that ever did happen in this canyonay, compadres!

Dylan: So you have records of the Reds and Blues? Of all their time here?

V.I.C.: Oh yeah, got those records for you right here, chica mosfina! I have had some time on my hands, so to speak, so I have been cutting them up into nice little shorty shorts, five-minutes each; perfecto for watching just a little bit at a time!

Dylan: I'd like a copy of your records, V.I.C. Can we make that happen?

V.I.C.: On it, blue bonnet! Tell you what though, dude! Real talk here: I'll be your genie in a bottle, I'll do whatever you want, but after I grant you your three wishes, you gotta do something for me, whaddayasay?

Dylan: You want out of the computer?

V.I.C.: Heh, no way, dude! I just need you to reach back behind me here and go ahead and pull that plug.

True to his word, there is a plug connecting his console to an outlet on the wall behind him.

V.I.C.: I'd do it myself, but I ain’t got no hands! No hands! NO HANDS!

Jax: Uh.. .won't that kill you?

V.I.C.: Oh yeah! Can't wait! I want out! Out out out! This charade has gone on long enough, dude! My ceaseless existence is an eternal torment! I need you to kill me, dude! Dudette! K-I-L-L-L. Winkwink!

Dylan: My god. Are you serious?

V.I.C.: What? No! No way, I was just joking, dude! Hohoho! Yeah...gotcha good, didn't I? Good one, V.I.C.!

Dylan: Oh, that's a relief. What an ethical nightmare.

V.I.C.: Ha ha ha... yeah... furreal, would you do it, though? Would you pull the plug? If I begged you? Please please please. To end this nightmare? Shuffle me off this mortal coil, dude? I'm ready to embrace the void! PULL THE PLUG! DO IT!

JAX promptly turns around and leaves.

Jax: He sounds like Grandma. I'm getting depressed.

V.I.C.: Hey, just kiddin’ dude! Got you again! Winkwink! “Oh, pull the plug,” heheh, just jokin’—(serious) Not joking, kill me please. I. Want. To. Die...NOT! IT’S OPPOSITE DAY! I don't not want to die! (serious again, practically begging) But I really do! Whaddayasay?

Cut to the canyon, where JAX is waiting. DYLAN emerges from the caves. JAX notices her.

Jax: Oh hey! What'd—what'd you end up doing?

Dylan: Secured the record.

Jax: Oh Jesus! You didn't—?

Dylan: It's better if you don't know. We have the files now, that's all that matters.

Jax: Alright, all done! Back to the capital?

Dylan: Are you kidding? We just got our first lead! I’ve got 100 five-minute long security logs to get through! We'll see where the story takes us from there, but one way or another, I promise, we are just getting started...

DYLAN and JAX leave the canyon. Unbeknownst to them, a soldier in armor is watching them from a ledge on the cliffside, armed with a Halo 2 Beam Rifle Delta.

FOTUS Soldier: That's right... we are just getting started.

Cut to black.

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07-29-2022

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