(A cautionary warning to all purists: head for the hills. I've changed the entirety of the plot after the Blood Gulch Chronicles and utilized a little gem called "creative license" to its fullest. To all others who enjoy a few plot twists and character changes, enjoy.)

All was calm and quiet in Blood Gulch—not a soul crowded the green plains, and the wind blew gently.

"Command, Agent 11 here," I said into my radio. I expected to hear my normal feminine voice say this, but instead, a harsh, grinding tone came from my helmet. It was disorienting not being able to use my own voice, let alone the voice of a man.

Command finally responded into the chaotic fuzziness of my radio. "Agent 11, please state your location."

"Location, Blood Gulch Alpha. The portal was successful."

"Copy that. You know your mission?"

"Affirmative."

"Very well. Keep us posted. Over and out."

As my radio clicked off, I made a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was around, and then adjusted my armor. Not only was the voice-changer in my helmet making me feel like a guy, but the sticky covering on my armor made me look all wrong—I felt like a zebra covered in leopard spots.

Usually, I had the privilege of picking my own armor color; it was one of the perks of being in the CIA. However, since I needed to appeal to both the Reds and Blues, I needed to cover my normal color with this gross, bright red rubbery stuff that was supposed to come off when peeled, like a bumper sticker. Somehow, as I struggled with the red rubber, I felt as if it wouldn't be that easy.

Finally, satisfied that all my regular armor was covered up, I walked toward the Red base. As I approached, I saw a yellowish-orange Private leaning casually against the base, doing nothing in particular. He saw me coming, jumped up, and pulled a handgun swiftly from his belt.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pointing his weapon at me. "What do you want?"

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the weapon. "CIA," I said, showing him my ID.

He didn't lower his gun. "Really."

"If I were you, I'd put down that gun, Private." I was surprised at how terrifying my own voice sounded. The soldier's hand shook, but he didn't stand down.

"Don't threaten me, asshole!" he yelled. "How do I know you're not a spy for the Blues?"

"How do you know I am one?" I asked coolly. "I showed you the ID, genius."

"You're a liar."

"I don't have time for this," I said. "I need to speak to whomever's in charge, and it's obviously not you." I attempted to pass him, but he blocked my way. "I'm warning you, soldier, if you don't move out of my way, I'll move you myself." My grinding tone even scared myself, and I was surprised he wouldn't move. I pulled out my gun.

"Prove you're on our side!" he said, his voice about an octave higher than it had been before.

"Fine," I said heavily.

And I punched him.

"That was a service to the entire Red team," I said to his unconscious body when it had crumpled to the ground.

"Holy shit! Grif!" The voice came from another Red, but this one was more maroon. He came running at top speed, and I wondered if this guy would be upset at me for hurting his comrade. I grimaced and realized this was a terrible start to the mission.

The maroon guy reached me and bent down to Grif. After a moment, he straightened up and faced me.

"Is he dead?" he asked.

"No, I just knocked him out," I explained. Then I added quickly, "he was being difficult."

"Dammit, you should have blown his brains out!"

I laughed and pulled out my ID. "I'm from the CIA. May I speak to someone in charge here?"

"Any enemy of Grif is a friend of mine," he said. "Follow me. I'm Private Simmons."

"Agent 11."