Disclaimer: Red vs Blue is the property and creation of Rooster Teeth, while Halo games are the property and creation of Bungie, 343 Industries, Ensemble Studios and Creative Assembly. I own none of the characters and places mentioned in this story.


Special thanks to my beta-readers Prim_the_Amazing (from AO3), Escalated Omega from FF and darwinsdonut (from AO3) for beta-reading this chapter for me.

Update 02.05.2019:

AgentMaryland93 (from FF) helped me improve this chapter, so re-corrections are in order for this chapter.


The Vegas Quadrant; known as the city of life, ever bustling with activity from the brightly lit casino's lining the streets to even the pitch black back alleys where the worst of the worst dealt in black market trades. Some would call it a lawless land, others would call it a place of opportunity. It depended on which side of the coin you were on.

Like any big city, it had its richest and its poorest sections. And on this raining night on the broken end of the city, an armored figure trudged its way up some stairs from the fire exit to an apartment, entering through the window. Floor boards creaking under the weight of its suit as droplets of rain cascaded down its form, soaking the ground as they moved for the wooden door cracked and chipped from decades of abuse.

Carefully pulling the door closed behind, the figure moved to the bathroom as it removed parts of its armor. Discarding each piece as the figure made its way to the dingy and disgusting washroom it had long since given up trying to clean, the figure leaned on the sink, deciding if it was worth trying to splash itself with some water to stay awake long enough to get something to eat. Looking into the mostly cracked and broken mirror, all she saw was a tired face looking back at her. Dark circles around her eyes standing out on her deathly pale white skin: a testament to just how worn out she was from all the fighting.

She remembered a time when she ran free in the backyard of her home, skin slightly reddened from the sun constantly beating down on her. Better days she wished - no, she longed for. She'd give anything to go back to days where she actually felt happy. When she felt loved. When she had a loving family.

Those days were gone.

The worst of it was when she swore she could still hear Epsilon's narcissistic and condescending tone nagging her in the back of her head. Lack of sleep made it no better in times like this.

Splashing her face with water, though it smelled awful, she tried to force the sleep away. She was starving and in desperate need for food soon. The money she earned while working as a soldier in the UNSC, after the fall of the project Freelancer wasn't enough to allow her to buy a nice looking apartment in the rich side of the city. Instead all that she had was a small, modest and rusted apartment.

Looking back at the mirror, she blinked as she saw the familiar form of Epsilon standing on her shoulder in the mirror.

"That's it? You're seriously going to just give up like that? '', he shook his head as he threw his sniper in the air, which exploded into fractals of light and data before it was gone and he crossed his arms disapprovingly, ''The great and powerful 'Agent Carolina', reduced to such a pitiful state...get it, because you're named after a... nevermind ... '', he sighed, ''C'mon Carolina, PICK YOURSELF UP. What would Wash say? ...or York?''.

She ran her hands over her face as she let out a tired sigh, the form of Epsilon vanishing just like every other hallucination she had. She didn't know if it should scare or impress her that her own hallucinations seem to be trying to pick her up off the ground. But he was right...Washington...hell, even York...they'd all be disappointed in her right now. She was their number one for so long...she lead their team on every mission and she rarely failed. What would they think of her now? What would they think if they saw their leader in such a deplorable condition?

She felt more tired and alone than she had ever felt in her life.

When she was growing up, she lost her mother. Eventually, her father took control of a secret project that later became known as Project Freelancer. It was a test run by UNSC to attempt making Spartans out of normal Marines cheaply.

To say she made friends while in the project would be a lie. She was cold and cruel to just about everyone except those at the top of the list of which she would trade banter with to test them. She was often the one who went out to find their new recruits whenever potential soldiers were found.

That was how she met Agent New York.

He was a man down on his luck. A bunch of friends of his dragged him out to a sleazy place on a planet called Reach. Some club called Errera: half naked women parading around the place, picking up tips and customers while others simply lost themselves in the crowd. She remembered it clearly. The scent of cigar smoke clung to him from all of the heavy smokers surrounding him. His sandy brown hair done up messily like he didn't quite care of what others thought about him. He simply sat there flipping a lighter open and closed. He wasn't a smoker, perhaps it had been given to him as a gift or maybe he just found it. He might have even stolen it off of one of the many smokers still hanging too close to him.

She walked up to him dressed to blend in; knee length cyan blue skirt, a white sleeveless shirt that hugged her form, black high heel boots with cyan heels. Her hair was done up in a ponytail and her face had a moderate amount of make up on from her eye liner to her blush. It wasn't her style, but recruiting missions required a delicacy to them. No one was to know about Project Freelancer unless they were enemies or they were the soldiers of the project.

She smiled slightly as she remembered the first thing he said once he'd noticed her, "hey there gorgeous, would you hate me if I admitted you looked absolutely stunning?",stupid York and his cheesy lines. She remembered threatening to punch him in the face for that stunt. Though she can't remember if she ever did or not.

She frowned as she remembered Maine costing him his eye...if it wasn't for Texas he would have-...it didn't matter, in the end, Project Freelancer took his life. One way or the other.

She left the bathroom and sat down on the bed she had surprisingly managed to remember to make before she left. Her hand smoothing over the sheets that were desperately in need of being washed. Her eyes landing on a tablet on the dresser, she didn't even need to get up to know what it was. She could read the words Late Bills Payment on the bright holoscreen from where she sat.

She had taken her life for granted and lost everything...most everything she cared about. At this moment, no one could possibly understand her pain. Could anyone ever understand the grief of losing everything they had and cared about because of their own reckless abandon? Or wanting to run away and leave all the fighting behind?

Probably not.

Of course, she could never be aware of the fact someone else just as broken, just as lonely, and just as lost as her sat on the other side of the city. A meeting between these two would probably change both their lives. It only remained to be seen if destiny held such a fate for them.