The events in this story take place right after Season 8, with the Reds and Blues, with the addition of Washington, making their way back to Valhalla. The story is told from the perspective of Washington, and will include his thoughts on the situations.
More events will happen in future chapters, but this will serve as the Prologue.
Chapter 1:
Prologue
It's over. It's all over. Washington stared at the floor of the Falcon as it shook from what he assumed was turbulence. The Meta. Dead. The Freelancers. Dead. The A.I. Gone. The Director. Washington leaned his back against the seat as he began to think about the Director. The Director needs to pay, but he's probably already locked away in some high security prison for his crimes. Washington's conscious settled the more he thought about the Director's fate of living a life behind bars. He stays behind bars, and I get to walk free, and it's all thanks to— Washington's thoughts were cut short by the sound of shouting coming from the cockpit. Washington reluctantly stood up to examine what the source of the worry was as he made his way to the front of the vehicle. And it's all thanks to the Reds and Blues. Washington stepped through the doors to find an aqua soldier, who Washington learned was named Tucker, and a red soldier, the headstrong sergeant of Red Team appropriately named Sarge, both holding back a royal blue soldier, otherwise known as the not so bright titan Caboose.
"What is going on in here?" Washington asked as he turned to look towards the controls of the Falcon to find the maroon colored nerd of Red Team, Simmons, frantically clicking buttons on the dash board, while next to him an orange plated soldier, better known as the infamously lazy Grif, was shouting at Simmons while simultaneously holding the joystick that piloted their aircraft.
"We let Caboose out of our sight for just one second and he clicked a button that was apparently very important." Tucker said.
Washington stared into the blue helmet on Caboose's head as he responded, "Not my fault. Tucker did it."
Tucker and Sarge released Caboose as they assumed he was done with pressing buttons (for now). Tucker shouted, "Are you fucking kidding me Caboose? You're doing this shit again?"
Washington sighed. He tried to ignore the following banter between the two soldiers. Instead, he asked, "What button did he press?"
Sarge responded, "We ain't sure yet. But whatever button the bluetard pressed is causing us to leak fuel."
Simmons suddenly shouted, "Found it!" He then pressed a button and the group let out a big sigh of relief.
"Took you long enough." Grif commented.
"You know I don't work well under pressure!" Simmons cried.
"So, are we all good now?" Washington asked, irritated by the interruption the whole situation brought on him.
Sarge learned forward and looked at the dashboard of the Falcon, "Well, we ain't leakin' anymore. But we also don't have enough fuel to make it back to Valhalla."
After hearing this, Caboose gave a hushed, "Sorry".
Simmons said, "Lucky for us, there's a refueling station not far from here."
Washington began to make his way back to the door before Tucker stopped him and asked, "Wait a minute, where are you going?"
Washington turned to face the group of simulation soldiers and said, "Grif, get us to that station so we can refuel. Simmons, monitor the rest of the Falcon to make sure everything else is alright. Sarge and Tucker, keep an eye on Caboose. And as for me, private Tucker, I am going to rest."
Saying this, Washington exited the cockpit only hearing murmurs from the Reds and Blues as he left. He resettled into the seat he was using before the commotion and tried to let sleep take him, but was kept awake by his thoughts.
The Reds and Blues are idiots, but they're nice idiots. They are providing me with hospitality and are proving to be loyal teammates, but that's nothing new.
Washington took off his newly painted helmet for the first time to let his face feel some fresh air. Project Freelancer provided me with the same things, and look how that turned out. The Reds and Blues may be treating me well now, but they still can't be trusted.
As Washington finally began to drift to sleep, he thought he heard more noise coming from the front of the Falcon, and maybe some outside. Yet, he ignored these sounds as sleep overcame him and his thoughts eventually ceased with him coming to a conclusion, The Reds and Blues are not my friends.
This chapter was mainly my thoughts on what Washington would really think of being with the Reds and Blues only a little while after he was trying to kill them. I'm mostly writing this story for fun, but I'd absolutely love to hear any constructive criticism and/or thoughts.
