The only reason he even signed up for Project Freelancer was because they claimed to have specially chosen him.

He'd actually signed up to be in the Marines. But then he got this phone call from this group, Project Freelancer. They told him they were a Special Forces Unit. They told him that he'd met all their qualifications, so the Marines had sent his paperwork over to them. They'd told him that he was being given a special chance- the chance to make a great difference in the world.

They lied.

The irony of them telling him they were an undercover group to fight terrorists was not lost on him.

Wash stared blankly at the building. Valhalla Correctional Facility. It was a one-story, nondescript building. White washed. The only thing even remotely odd about it- ignoring the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere- was the large chain link fence that encircled it.

"Come on." His…guards lead him forwards, heading towards the large iron gate- the only way into the building. Of course they didn't want to be standing outside- they were in New York, and it was fall, so it was only like 50 degrees out. Who would want to be outside in weather like that?

Wash didn't mind. He didn't really feel the cold anymore. Then again, he didn't really feel much of anything anymore.

His guards- why, if they'd decided he was innocent, did he have guards?- led him through the glass doors into a lobby-like area of the building. "Hullo." A bored, almost monotone voice said. The man who the voice belonged to was sitting at the only piece of furniture in the room- a large white desk, behind which was the chair he was perched on. "Welcome to Valhalla Correctional Facility." The name tag on the desk- which was covered in clutter, making the name tag hard to find-read Gary Colins.

"We're bringing in David Washington. You should have gotten a memo that we were coming a few days ago." One of the guards- the one on Wash's right- spoke.

"Washington…Washington…" Gary typed a few things on the computer before nodded. "He's here. I notified Flowers to come get you." He continued talking, but Wash didn't bother paying attention to what he was saying. Glancing around the room, he noted that there were two sets of doors- the glass one's they had come in, and another set of (locked) doors on the other end of the room. The wall adjacent to Gary's desk was a large window. The room was white washed, much like the exterior of the building, and the floor was tile. Everything felt clinical, sterile, and harsh.

By the time Wash had finished his inventory of the room, another man had joined them. He was tall, and well built, with close cropped dark hair. He was dressed in jeans and a white button up, and seemed amiable enough.

"I'm Butch Flowers. I run this place…or, co-run it, really, along with another guy who you can just call Sarge." He smiled at them. "If you just sign here" he held out a clipboard and a pen towards the guards' general direction, "saying that you did, in fact, drop David Washington off today, then you can be on your way." He smiled at them again, glancing between the two guards.

They glanced at each other, before one- the one that did all the talking- stepped forward, taking the clipboard out of Flowers' hands. "Just here, right?" He asked, signing the first line.

Flowers smiled at him again, taking the clipboard back. "Yup. Just there. You're done here now, so if you want to go, you can." He turned towards Washington, his smile softening. "If you could come with me, please, I'll take you into the facility." He reached out and grabbed Washington's wrist.

Before anyone could react, Washington had twisted both his and Flowers' arms, taking his own wrist back and going into a defensive position. Butch immediately threw his arms up in a pacifying gesture, stepping back and speaking in a calming voice. "Sorry, sorry." He smiled softly at Wash again. "Why don't you go first?" He asked, gesturing towards the door. Wash hesitated, not liking that Butch would be behind him, before walking towards it. Butch followed immediately after him.

The doors lead to an open area with a couple plastic chairs, a screen, and what appeared to be racks of clothing. Butch stopped and looked at him apologetically. "Regulation rules. You can't wear anything from the outside in there. But you do get to pick what color your uniform is, because we just get sent all the uniforms from everywhere else. What's your favorite color?"

Wash stared at him for a moment before answering. "Grey." His voice was flat and emotionless- much like the color itself.

Flowers started, realizing he hadn't yet heard Wash's voice, and then nodded. "Okay. Grey. That should be easy enough." He walked over to the racks, going through them, before pulling out a hanger. "Here. Grey pants. Put these on" he gestured to where the screen was, motioning for Wash to go behind it, "and I'll look for a shirt and some shoes."

Wash took the grey pants- which were basic, loose, and cotton, with a yellow stripe on the side- and walked behind the screen. He handed Butch his pants and shoes- military regulation trousers and combat boots- taking the grey t-shirt that Butch handed him and pulling it on. He handed Butch his t-shirt- again, military regulation- and his cargo jacket.

Flowers deposited the clothes in a bin at the end of the clothing rack before leading Wash through another (previously locked) door, into what was probably the common area for everyone. There were several round tables (all completely rounded so there were no sharp edges), chairs- plastic, also with smooth edges- and a few board games were stacked up on a bookshelf along the wall. Two of the walls had windows- one covered in windows and a sliding glass door, which led out into the yard, the other littered with windows and basic doors. One of the others walls (the same wall as the door they came through was on) had a TV, which had a couch in front of it. The wall opposite of the one they were at had a doorway which led into a hallway full of rooms, and another doorway which led into what appeared to be the dining area.

Butch started into the room, Wash following close behind. "This is the common room. Everywhere you'd need to go and be gotten to from here. Through that doorway is the mess hall, bedrooms and bathrooms through here." He stopped at the other doors. "Through here are the doctors' offices and such." He glanced at Wash, hoping for some sort of reaction, but all he got was a nod. "Well Wash," he paused for a moment, before nodding to himself and continuing, "why don't we go let you meet everyone else?"

A/N: Sorry if Wash seems OOC, I'm kind of trying to write the type of Wash you'd see immediately after the Epsilon incident. Given he has PTSD, and other issues….

Italics means flashback. Or in the past.

This story is completely au from Red vs Blue. What Project Freelancer is in this story (as well as everyone else) will be explained in due time.

I didn't even want to finish it there, but there literally was no good place to cut off, so….

Please review?