sunchime | i have amnesia and it's fucking bullshit

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character: alpha church

i have amnesia and it's fucking bullshit

He's not totally sure why he's here.

His memory doesn't go very far back, and what's there is patchy, a low-resolution blur that opens on a bang. He'd been forcibly ejected out of whatever hardware he'd been in and become terrifyingly unmoored, at risk of total dissolution without anything to ground him. He'd found some working hardware in the vast, bombed-out shell of electronic wreckage -- hardware that seems hauntingly familiar, and more importantly, hardware with legs. The blue-plated robot body is in bad shape, its damaged systems unable to consistently supply him with enough power to function, let alone spare the bandwidth for any kind of internal diagnostic. But at least it moves.

Jesus Christ, this fucking sucks.

He needs another robot body, or at least a power source capable of stabilizing this one. Not gonna fuckin find one of those anywhere around here, so he accesses the body's location history and finds the nearest location with the most time spent in it, a remote outpost by a waterfall. If nothing else, maybe there's a working comm tower he can use to contact...whoever he'd contact if he could remember a single goddamn thing.

He can't rely on his internal clock, and the robot body's prone to shutting down without warning when he pushes too hard, so he doesn't have a good idea of how long it takes him to get there. All he knows is that his body shits out on him as soon as he gets there, and the next thing he knows some freak in blue armor is yelling at top volume about best friends and dead best friends and best friends who are no longer dead and honestly, he doesn't understand most of what comes out of that guy's mouth so the fact that the robot body goes offline pretty shortly after is a small mercy.

Annoyingly, Caboose -- which sounds more like a mean nickname than a real person's name, but okay -- is still there when he comes to again, insists they're friends and that he can help. That he can take them to a power source that'll be able to help Church -- this guy keeps calling him Church, and it feels vaguely familiar and not inherently derogatory so he'll take it for now. So Caboose loads his malfunctioning robot body into a jeep with a couple of freaks in red armor to go on what has to be the world's shittiest road trip. Supposedly he knows all of these people, but he hopes to God that's not the case because he thinks he'd have to kill himself if it were.

It's a fucking disaster. These assholes have shit taste in music, the orange one drives him through a fucking minefield, and then they get into a chaotic firefight in the desert before he even knows what's happening. He's just lucky this body doesn't short out on him during the mad dash to follow this guy in aqua armor and get inside the temple. By some fucking miracle they all make it in more or less one piece, and with a huge fuck-off door now between them and the assholes chasing them with guns, Church feels marginally safer.

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The dessert sucked.

Sure, it was important ambassador business, temples, blah, bullshit, but being here? Being here sucked. The food – what he could find now, which was close to the end of the MREs that he managed to steal – was about as flavorful as the sand in his armor. And there was so much fucking sand. Everywhere. In his food. His water. His underwear. His eyes. His mouth. His blood. His fucking helmet.

Also, people shot at him. A lot of people shot at him. Probably because he was the only one left.

It had been months trapped out here, waiting for a help that never came no matter how much he asked for it across empty radiowaves. Greeeeat. Tucker wasn’t sure he could rush the assholes again; he had stolen some ammo but not as much as he needed, and he was going to need to do a run again. Soon. But fuuuuck.

Then….then they showed up. Some Reds, some Blues, familiar faces/helmets that made it here. Huffing as he leaned against the nearest stone wall, Tucker crossed his arms and tried not to look as annoyed and grateful as he felt. Could he settle in the middle like a rational, reasonable person?

Could any of them?

“Took you assholes long enough!” he snapped, waving one gloved hand that held an energy sword. Nothing to see here. “What else did you bring with you? Guns? Food? An army? Tell me you’ve got beer.”

Sarge levels his shotgun at Tucker in a way that, generally speaking, would constitute a threat, but it's Sarge. When is he not pointing his gun at you.

"I got the only gun you need right here!" Then he points his shotgun skyward and lets off a couple of bursts of precious, precious ammunition just to prove a point. Grif just gives Tucker a shrug that makes it clear he neither takes nor even really feels any responsibility for the situation.

"Sarge refused to pack any water on our trip to the desert and the only thing we had to drink on the way was some hot Miller Lite I found in the trunk," Grif says. "So, uh, no beer. And I already picked the jeep seats clean of old french fries."

"We brought Church!" Caboose adds helpfully. Eyes on the prize as always, Caboose. Church, who feels another armor shutdown has to be coming at this point, is starting to get real fucking tired of only being half in the loop of whatever bullshit is constantly happening. They just stopped getting shot at, and this new guy is demanding shit from them right off the bat? After the fucking minefield? Talk about needy.

"Okay, seriously, somebody explain to me why the fuck we are here or I'm setting this stupid fucking body to self-destruct."

Caboose audibly takes in a breath. Church directs a glare through his visor.

"Not you."

“So, one gun that none of us will ever touch, no beer, and no water. Great. What a shitty rescue mission you guys are.”

Because this was a rescue mission, right? They had come to save him? But who came without supplies? (They would, actually, so it shouldn’t really surprise him anymore. Yeah, this all tracked.)

His helmet went to Caboose, staring at him. “And you brought Sarge, and Grif, and Simmons, so big fucking whoop? He can’t shoot our way out of here unless the enemies fall into the bullets that we are in short supply of. Didn’t you even listen to my messages?!”

Why wouldn’t Church be there? He was Blue Team. He would be where Blue Team was.

Tucker ignored the threat like usual and turned off his sword to attach it to his hip. “What do you mean? You came to save my ass because you heard my distress calls.”

That was it, right?

“You just took your sweet-ass time doing it.”

"Uhhh..." Grif looks at Sarge. "What distress calls? We're only here because Sarge wanted to make sure your team doesn't die before he decides to kill them."

Flawless Red Team logic as always.

"And I can't kill a Blue who doesn't even know he's a Blue! What's the point of a Red victory when your enemy doesn't know that it's his worst enemy sending him to meet his maker?" And flawless Sarge logic to follow it up. Sarge waves his shotgun in Caboose's direction. "Caboose seems to think that coming here will help him get your buddy's memory back. And when he does..." Sarge points his weapon at Grif. "Blammo! Total Blue annihilation."

"You realize I'm on your team, right?"

"Target practice, Grif! I can't afford to miss even a single shot. You know we've got to conserve ammo out here!"

"You know what?" Church says. "If getting my memories back means knowing this guy, I think I'm good, actually."

"Ohhh, yeah," Caboose says to Tucker. "About that."

Edited 2026-01-22 19:35 (UTC)

Tucker wanted to be surprised, he really did.

He wasn’t, though. There was something in him that twinged, that yawned and wanted to swallow him alive. Weeks in here as people were killed, then months alone and wondering if he was just holding out for nothing. The fear that he was going to starve or fall asleep and one of the assholes would come in and that’d be it. He’d never see Junior again, never grab a fine ass one last time.

Just…this.

But he had held out some stupid fucking hope for his ~~friends~~ team to come save his ass because all the drama aside, that’s what they did for each other! They didn’t forget about one ano-

“…what?”

Memories? And Caboose saying it like that? Oh, fuck, what now? Why couldn’t he just go sleep for a week in a corner now that he had someone to watch his fucking six? Noooo. Church was having Church stuff. Must be a Tuesday.

He looked at the offender. “What the fuck?”

Which, he felt, encompassed everything.

Church barely knows what's going on, and he doesn't appreciate the tone, okay. Even if something about it feels weirdly familiar, though everything feels like it's on the fritz right now. He thinks his armor might be overheating or something. Why the fuck did Caboose take him to the desert?

"Okay, who the fuck is this guy and why is he looking at me like I owe him money?" he demands, then looks back at Tucker. "Wait, do I owe you money? 'Cause, uh. I definitely don't have any."

Caboose helpfully supplies, "That's Tucker!"

Church gives them both a blank stare. "Who the fuck is Tucker?"

"Ohh, yeah, well, um...I don't really like Tucker, so I kind of didn't include him in any of the stories."

"Alright, well, your stories don't make any fucking sense, so I'm going to assume it wouldn't be helpful even if you did."

"Yeah, uhh, it's kind of a crazy story," Caboose says to Tucker by way of exposition. Because Caboose always gives totally coherent exposition. "Soo we found out that Church is not a ghost, he's an AI computer program like Sheila, and he helped Agent Washingtub beat Project Freelancer with his computer superpowers and they set off a really big emp, and it was supposed to kill him but I guess it only erased all of his memories!"

Isn't that great, Tucker!

Church presses a hand to the side of his helmet, which is starting to put out sparks. "I swear to God, this makes less sense every time you try to explain it. Hey, is there anywhere we can stand that isn't in the fucking sun?"

Who the fuck is Tucker?

It shouldn’t have bothered him. It shouldn’t. This should have been fucking normal, another problem that maybe he only half-caused, and then they fix it together and move on to the next twelve line items waiting for them. But after being in this place, ignored and forgotten and hot and exhausted and again, FORGOTTEN, it stung when it was coming from Church’s voice.

“I’m Tucker,” he said, trying to make it sound nonchalant and not like he was just kicked in the nuts. It was about halfway convincing. “Single, ready to mingle, and looking to make fine girls everywhere tingle. But in a good way.”

There. That…that felt normal.

Tucker wanted to say yes, Church owed him fifty bucks and a six pack, but he was too lost in Caboose’s story. Normally, he could figure out what the fuck he was trying to piece together, but this was beyond him. Yeah, he knew Church wasn’t a ghost, but-

“What the fuck is a washing tub? What the fuck are you washing in it? And computer superpowers? What the fuck kind of superpowers? He’s not Batman.” The notoriously superpowered man. “He’s fucking Church. He can barely tie his shoes without getting shot.”

"Hey," says Church, who still has no fucking clue who this guy is and why he should give a shit, but he can feel himself getting annoyed on reflex. Fuck you, guy in aqua armor, he could totally tie a pair of shoes right now. Assuming none of the joints in his fingers misfire.

Jesus Christ, Grif can't believe he has to step in for exposition. Normally he wouldn't bother, but he is also tired of standing in the hot sun and also Blue Team Problems.

"He means Washington. As in Agent Washington. As in Freelancer bullshit." Thank God that shit's over with now and they'll totally never have to deal with Freelancer bullshit again. "We all got roped into his plan to take down the project or whatever, and part of that plan involved using your leader — and I'm using that term liberally — to lure an insanely dangerous supersoldier into a trap. Which I know already strains credulity, knowing Church, but it's what happened, dude." There. Bare minimum but mostly coherent explanation. Grif's job is done here. "And, uh, yeah, the emp was supposed to wipe out all the AI, including him. Not really sure how he survived. If Simmons were here he'd probably say some nerd shit about it but honestly, I don't really care. Frankly, it's a fucking miracle none of us died."

This is also the most coherent explanation Church has heard thus far, and it makes him sound pretty good. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Yeah, you heard them. I'm like a fuckin' war hero or something."

The "or something" is really load-bearing here.

Tucker rolled his eyes at Church being called the leader; if by “leader”, he meant “the person that gets us into some bullshit”, then yes. But also that applied to all of them so…back to square one.

Focus. Why the fuck was it more Freelancer bullshit? Weren’t they supposed to be out of this? Wasn’t it fucking done? And –

“Where is Simmons?” There was a heartbeat before he shook his head. “Nevermind; I already reached my quota on things I don’t give a shit about.”

Ha. See how it feels? Burn.

There was …so much shit to unpack here. War hero? No. But the emp was supposed to wipe out Church? And it did, sorta, if he didn’t remember shit. But-

“Why?” he asked, looking back and forth from Grif to Church and back to Grif. “Why the fuck would he agree to that? That’s stupid.”

Sure. Stupid. That’s exactly the word and feeling he had at this revelation.

Tucker gets one big shrug from Grif. He also doesn't care. Explaining that Simmons stayed at Red Base because Grif for some fucking reason volunteered for this mission would be way too much work.

"He almost didn't," Grif says. "He was one hundred percent ready to ditch with us and leave Wash alone to fight the Meta and die, probably."

"But then he changed his mind!" Sarge cuts in, then shakes a fist. "Just like a dirty Blue..."

"Couldn't tell you why," Grif says with another shrug. "You'd have to ask him, if he could remember anything except how to be a huge jackass. Who'd've thought Church of all people would have signed up for a suicide mission?"

"Yeahhh, umm...I think he thought he was going to not die?" Caboose, tragically, has the most insight here. "He said that he wasn't an AI because that would have been really dumb, and that Washingtub was crazy and I shouldn't believe anything he said, because he was really a ghost and the emp wouldn't do anything to him, and that he would be right back after proving it!"

"Hey, uh, guys?" Church is still standing there with his arms crossed, but mostly because he can no longer move them. Fascinating exposition — wait, a ghost? — but he's starting to lose the thread. He always does when Caboose starts talking. "I think my body's about to shit out on me again, so unless you want to carry me, we need to get the fuck out of the sun."

"I can't believe he asked for a piggyback ride," Grif mutters. "He weighs like eight thousand pounds! Who asks for a piggyback ride in military-grade body armor?"

Edited 2026-01-29 13:39 (UTC)

Wow.

Fucking wow.

So not only did they leave him to die in this fucking desert, ignoring his distress calls (maybe they didn’t get them? maybe?!), but Church went on a fucking suicide mission. Which, fine, they did suicidal shit, too, but they did it as a team. They did it together, like the big group of dumbasses they were.

…or, at least, had been until everyone split up and went to the sixty-nine corners of the universe.

But going to kill yourself alone? They didn’t do that, that wasn’t part of Blue Team bullshit. And Church didn’t even fucking call him? He didn’t even send him a fucking message?!

Tucker was staring at Church from behind his helmet, letting it circle down the drain of his thoughts. Body. Sun. Piggyback ride.

“Yeah, someone get some rope. We’ll drag you through the sand like a sled. Caboose can ride on top.”

And pissed (a secretly hurt), he turned and started to march off. Fuck all of them.

If Church could move his arms, he'd be giving Tucker the middle finger. "Oh, fuck you! I'm not letting Caboose use my body as a sled! I'm trying to fix this body!"

"Shotgun!" calls Grif.

"Don't you fucking dare! And there's no such thing as shotgun on a sled! Hey!" Church realizes the aqua — cyan — Tucker is already marching off to their hopefully less-fucking-hot destination, and the jolt of irritation that follows feels almost familiar. Whoever that guy is, he's obviously got some sand in his shorts about Church, and Church doesn't know what his damage is but something about his overall response just feels...kind of shitty. Halfway to right, but still mostly wrong. Church doesn't really like it, and he makes to follow Tucker, but something in his left leg seizes up just enough to make him wobble, and with his arms stuck crossed over his chest, he has no way to balance himself, so he just trips and falls face-first into the sand. Awesome.

Somehow, Sarge finishes tying up Church with a length of rope, although it's really unclear where it came from. Grif, sensing that he's about to be roped (pun intended) into doing Work, yells at Tucker, "You're not even gonna help move him? He's on your stupid team!"

Church lets out a slightly strangled scream into the sand.

Well, that felt wickedly satisfying and all too familiar. Church’s screams of frustration weren’t that different from a normal person’s breathing: if it wasn’t happening, something was deeply wrong.

It was just that…weirdly, fucking weirdly, something hurt inside him. He didn’t know why, didn’t care about any of this, why would he care? Church wanted to go be suicidal, that was his stupid dumbass decision, right? If he didn’t care about dying, why should Tucker?

But if he didn’t help with this, then Caboose would without supervision and Church would bitch until a migraine set in. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself as he turned around and started back over.

“Gimme some rope; we all know I tie the best knots out of any of us.” The smirk was in his voice, that silent catch phrase lingering on the tip of his tongue but going unspoken for now. “No one is riding Church-” Fuck it. “-bow chicka bow wow – so deal with walking. Caboose, you’ll pull him but don’t be careful.”

Since Caboose notoriously did the opposite of whatever Tucker said, he hoped it would save some broken robot limbs. And probably some amnesiac bitching.

“And Church, stop screaming. People want to fucking kill us here, okay?”

"I want to fucking kill us. Right now."

To Church's credit, though, he lowers the volume considerably. He's still going to bitch about being dragged through the sand, just with his inside voice for once.

"Oh, quit yer bitchin'," Sarge grunts, ceding creative control of the rope-tying to Tucker. The rope rigging he'd started looks suspiciously like a noose. "Show a little gratitude! We've been dragging your useless keister around for days! At least do us all a favor and keep your cybernetic trap shut until you get your memory back so we can kill you!"

"None of you people make any goddamn sense," Church hisses. Grif shrugs.

"Yeah, well, this is officially a Blue Team problem, which means it's Tucker's problem." He gives Tucker a half-hearted thumbs up. "Good luck, dude. Have fun helping Caboose with his scavenger hunt to find, uh...I dunno, some kind of big battery or whatever to fix Church. Not actually sure that's gonna fix him, but I also don't care."

The No Memory thing was going to take some work getting used to, and Tucker wasn’t getting overtime. Ugh. He looked between Church and the rope, before shrugging right back and reaching for it. The process didn’t take long to work it around stiff legs, and it looked way too fancy to be something simple (there’s nothing wrong with a little shibari in the desert), but it knotted up just right.

It would work. He hoped? It wasn’t like he normally tugged people across the ground with these loops.

“Look, can you all go, I don’t know, scope shit out? Do some spying on the other people? I’d say ‘intelligence’, but then I remember who I’m talking to.”

As if he was any better.

“I can take Church from here.” Unfortunately. “And I don’t know what fucking battery I’m going to have, but maybe I can find something in this temple. The original folks were drop-shipped a ton of shit. Maybe there's a spare battery or robot body in there.”

Grif, for his part, has no intention of doing any kind of actual work, but he is so ready to no longer be party to what feels like an increasingly awkward situation. Blue Team problems, dude. Exit stage fucking left.

Caboose is a little reluctant to leave Church at first, but odds are he'll decide to continue his scavenger hunt on his own and the Reds, most likely, aren't going to do a whole lot to stop him.

"I sure fucking hope so," Church mutters. Jesus, this is weird. Getting tied up and dragged through the sand. This is unbelievably stupid, and worse yet, it has a nagging sense of familiarity to it. Now he kind of wishes this body actually had given out on him five minutes ago. "I'm getting pretty sick of being stuck in a body that barely fucking works."

He could continue to bitch ad infinitum. He could. It would be super easy, actually. But even in Church's short time back with his supposed team, he's already realized Caboose isn't exactly the most, uh, reliable narrator, and this guy — Tucker — seems like he's got a better handle on reality. Except Tucker seems really pissed at him and he's not totally sure why.

"So, uh...if I don't owe you money, what do I owe you?"

Because Tucker's definitely been looking at Church like he owes him something. Like Church is coming up real short of expectations. And that totally doesn't bother him. Mostly.

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