Base of Operations for Project Freelancer: 7:00am, Mother of Invention

Dr. Leonard Church examined the portfolios in front of him; out of thousands of participants that had signed up, he had to choose from the remaining few to be a part of his project. Fortunately, he had been spared thousands and had only been given a hundred. He began with a sigh, and started going through a stack when he notice a smaller one with a tag that read "best candidates." Despite his many misgivings, the Director's assistant was very thorough and knew not to do things to irritate him. He asked out loud to the only other intelligence in the room, "Alpha, how did you come across these candidates?"

A blue figure appeared on the desk before him. "That stack? Those guys were... actually just seemed to match several things that you said "the perfect freelancer should have," the figure quoted with a touch of sarcasm.

Dr. Church nodded and shifted through the stack in discussion. He opened one and glanced at the contents. He turned back to Alpha and briskly said, "This one seems... adequate enough."

Alpha nodded in agreement and then looked shocked. "Did you just compliment me, dude? Are you going soft in your old age?"

The Director ignored him and read over the document: the more he read, the more he was certain that this one soldier could be a brilliant success and addition to the project... assuming all went to plan and the subject survived.

Several days later...

25-year old Private Alan looked at himself in the mirror; tall, a natural tan, a dark buzz cut, and a scar across vertically his face, from shrapnel when he had boarded the refugee shuttle. He paused as his mind drifted back: Zeta Prime had been his home, a small little planet left out for simple agriculture and a peaceful settlement. At least until the Covenant came. He put down his razor and slipped on his recruit uniform; a "simple" training armor and ODST helmet, and began to sprint towards the briefing room. It had been 3 months since the Covenant glassed his home. Two months since he stood over his family's grave. One month since he joined the USNC to fight back. Now he was chosen for a secret project on a cruiser in the middle of nowhere. Of course everything about this whole ship gave a creepy vibe from the very skilled medical team to the gruff attitude to the Director.

Two weeks ago, he had just put his boots on the "Mother of Invention's" deck when he had been whisked over to a dark-skinned man who gave him the code-name: Alabama. After a quick briefing, he had been visited in his quarters as the soldiers called it, by none other than the Director, the brains behind the project. Surprisingly, a man had visited him to give his own condolences on his family's departure. He too had lost someone precious to the Covenant, and he would make sure NO one's sacrifice would be in vain. Al of course hadn't realized the significance of this event until later when he found out that he was the actual Director.

He checked his watch and swore: it was 11:59 and the meeting started at 12:00. Taking off at a pace honed by racing his siblings, he ran, and yet managed to avoid slamming into every person that walked by him. By the time he got there, all the recruits had assembled in their armor and helmets; they were all different colors though. Probably so they could tell each other apart, he thought. They all looked at him as he entered the room. He gave a quick salute, glad that his helmet covered his embarrassment.

The Director looked at him disapprovingly and spoke. "Recruit Alabama, remember to be earlier in future briefings, " the Director reprimanded him coolly.

Several snickers could be heard from the group as Al responded as straight-face as he could, "Won't happen again sir."

The Director nodded and began, "Welcome all of you to Project Freelancer. You have been chosen among hundreds of applicants to be in this project. This is a honor so remember that. For the next few years, you will be trained with the best, and will use the newest tech in training scenarios. Remember at any time during this project, you may and can be eliminated from the project and be returned to your former position or possibly straight to prison, depending on your actions." He swallowed and continued, "For now for training purposes, you will be put in teams of three."

He motioned the Chairman who typed several things into a tablet he was carrying; on the screen, a list of teams and their members appeared: Red, Blue and Green Teams.

Al's eyes wandered down the list until he saw his name under Red Team with fellow recruits Maine and York. A pulse went through his armor and his shoulder plates turned red.

The Director turned back to the recruits and his stare seemed to rest on Al for a moment before saying, "Dismissed."

The freelancers began to "buddy up," meeting their new teammates. He then noticed a bronze-armored recruit walk up to him, his helmet hanging from his belt. He had red/brown hair shaped like a point outwards and had a pair of brown eyes.

The recruit gave a salute and said with a straight face, "Recruit York reporting for duty, sir." There was a pause before York broke into a chuckle and stuck out his hand to shake. "So I guess we're teammates, huh?"

Al grinned good-naturedly and shook his hand. "The name's Alabama. Nice to know not all of the recruits would be dead-serious."

A pink recruit brushed by him rudely, just enough to knock him off balance for a second and stumble. He managed to balance himself for a moment then the weight of his armor dragged him crashing to the floor.

"HEY!" York yelled. "Watch it, Pinky!"

"Pinky" turned to glare at him. "You want to start something?"

York opened his mouth but stopped when Maine put a hand on his shoulder and said with a deep and growling-like voice, "Enough. Both of you break it up."

"Well aren't you the mature one?" she sneered. Then she frowned when Maine shook his head and smiled.

"I'm not the one having my period."

Of course as all wise men can tell you, one thing you do not ask a woman is if she going through her period. So if you combined a crazy trigger-happy soldier and a statement known to turn peaceful angels into serious ass-kickers, congratulations you understand the equation for a serious "Oh crap" moment.

"WHY YOU SONOFA-!" she yelled charging at Maine, who was actually taking a step back at the sight of his handiwork.

A blue recruit rushed in between the two and held them apart. "THAT's ENOUGH, BOTH OF YOU!" The pink one growled menacingly but walked away. Maine scratched his head sheepishly.

"Sorry..."

The blue one only nodded and walked away towards her apparent team, consisting of pinky and a green-colored agent. York whistled and said dryly, "I guess you guys just met Carolina."