Chest sights

Wash POV

"All agents to the bridge!" The director's voice sounded urgent. Wash groaned as he rose from his sleep. He stumbled around looking for his armor. Delta finally came on, scaring him out of his wits.

"Agent Washington, Hurry up. The director said this was urgent. It has been 2 minutes and 43 seconds since he mentioned it."

Wash swatted at Delta and hurriedly, going too fast to reply. He grabbed several shredder magazines and his battle rifle. He mockingly used his combat knife to engrave it 'Stop reading this and shoot you dumb***.' He sighed and unlocked his door and pushed into the hallway. He bumped into York as he too came out of his room.

"Your AI came in and woke me again," Wash grumbled to York.

"That's because he feels the need. He obviously though it was a good idea," said York.

"Tell him to not feel the need to expand on his 'good ideas'." North rushed through, reminding then of what they really need to be doing: get to the bridge.

They rushed through the dorms, coming close to running over South. She yelled some obscenities after them. The Director seemed irritated as they went into the bridge.

"Where have you been! We've been taking fire for over 10 minutes," he yelled. Wash took in the scene; a large ship was facing them. In front of the ships, a pitched firefight between Longsword fighters and unknown transports was going on. He saw Longswords blow the wing off a transport, but they were chased away by another transport firing a laser beam. Wash then noticed a particularly large transport headed straight for them.

This transport was different, though. It was painted blood red, with the insignia of a raven with a tear of blood on its chest. The Director must have noticed as well, because he told them "They're going to board get down to the cargo bay and fight them, NOW!"

Wash and the rest of the Freelancers(York, Maine, North, South, CT, Wyoming, and Carolina) all ran down there. The cargo bay was a maze of huge crates.

As the transport set down, the freelancers opened fire. The bullets pinged off the ship like they were just grapes. The door blew open and smoke filled the room. The freelancers, relying on their training, set their motion trackers and spread out.

Wash ducked behind a crate of wine glasses. He noticed a large shape on his motion trackers. As it approached, the smoke started clearing. It stopped next to the crate. Wash jumped out and pointed the rifle at his head level. Except it wasn't his head. It was a huge, red chestplate. It had an insignia similar to the one on the ship, except this one had Crossed Swords under it. His eyes followed the plate up to his helmet. Two uncaring, stoic green lights blinked were his eyes should be. He held a massive gun in his hands, and a rocket launcher was attached at his shoulder. He stared down at his Wash, who was now quaking with fear.

Imagine that.

A freelancer, one of the toughest soldiers in the galaxy, is scared.

The huge man laughed and said: "Hello, buddy." Then he aimed his gun down at Wash. Wash waited for the shot that would end his life.