Yay! People like it. Next chapter I'll start with personalized thanks for reviews. But still an absolutely monumental thank you to all of my reviewers for chapter 1. I know some of you from the site, so thanks for popping over here! It's well appreciated, seriously. All right enough out of me, let's do chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I don't even WANT to own Red vs. Blue, which I don't. I'd ruin the genius.


Wash

This is highly unusual. Not the fact that I was called in for this assignment, no. Not even the fact that I'm forced to hulk in the corner like a creep. Hell, it's down right commonplace for the Counselor to attempt empathy for a poor, unsuspecting soldier, shielded by the cold glass of a computer screen.

What's unusual is that the thing, the Meta as they are calling it, never leaves a soldier alive. If this guy lived, it was only because the Meta wanted him too. The Meta wants us to know something, and I will hide in the dingiest of corners to hear what it is.

"You are Private Walter Henderson, correct?" asks the Counselor. Like he doesn't already know. He knows everything his boss knows. Except one thing: my thoughts. I'm a mystery to them and I plan to keep it that way. I'm holding a royal flush here and they can never know it.

"I had been there about six months," says Private Henderson nervously. The Counselor always makes you nervous the first time, but I'd be even more shaken by what had happened at his outpost, were I a weaker man. Which I'm not…anymore. "Everything was pretty much like normal and one day this... ship... crashed."

Agent Texas's ship. Dear Tex. A magician with a gun, wizard with a blade, and mean as fucking hell. They were always the best, always the favorites, and always defiant. It was hard to say who was more ruthless, Tex herself or her A.I. Omega.

"I see," says the Counselor coolly. Sometimes, his voice reminds me of a sexual deviant who preys upon children. Come closer little girl…I promise I won't hurt you…Yeah. I'm still waiting for someone to apologize for that lie. I won't hold my breath. "Is this the ship to which you are referring?" the Counselor asks as a projection of the busted ship appears.

"Yeah," says Henderson gravely. "Yeah that's it."

"Please, tell me what was on the ship Walter"

I straighten up, coming into the light a bit more and see twitch. Perhaps he has noticed me. It is of no matter. He has what I want—information. I plan on getting it at any cost.

"I don't know," Henderson answers. "The Blues got there first. They fought us off while they cleared it out. Took the stuff back to Base. By the time we got a hold of it, it just seemed like a regular old transport. Our engineer said some of the wiring had been messed with but he didn't seem, you know, worried about it or nothing like that."

"I see. Thank you for that," says the Counselor. Damn. They are going to lock that crash site down before Henderson even finishes his story. I need to have a look. Hopefully some silly guard prattling on about orders won't prevent that in the future.

"But whatever was on the ship must have been what started the whole thing."

"Please Walter, define 'thing.'"

"The infection." He goes on. The Blues had destroyed their Comm Tower. The Comm Tower. Tex's ship. Well, well, well…this was not so unusual, but not desirable at all. If what poor Henderson was saying was true, another AI has joined the Meta and it would be he that left that little message and the sacrificial lamb to deliver it.

"The CO sent a squad over... all the Blues were dead. They had killed each other."

"Why do you think they did that?" The Counselor asks. I can hear it in his voice, putting two and two together and I wish just once I knew who or what this man really was for he is too smart for my liking or my purpose. He could be an A.I.. If there's one thing I've learned in working with these people is that you never know what's coming next. You never know who's real and who's not. You especially never know who you can trust. You're only choice--trust no one. Trust nothing.

"I don't know. They had torn the radios out of their helmets and dismantled their computers. The CO said they were trying to build something. But I saw the stuff--no way. They were trying to break it. And there was another body in there too. Not a blue. Somebody else. Actually she looked like him."

I was right, he had noticed me. He was observant. Pity. That makes him a liability. I know firsthand what they do to liabilities.

"Don't worry about him for now Walter," The Counselor says smoothly, no longer enraptured by the tale but now brought back to his purpose. "Please continue."

"We brought all the equipment back to base and brought it online. And that's when the infection started for us." Of course. He wouldn't stay in just one body…not him. Never has, never will.

"The soldiers became... sick?" I am glad the visor hides my eye roll. If I have figured it out, I know the Counselor has. He probably knew from the moment the Recovery agents were sent to examine the simulation site at Valhalla.

"No. They just... they were different." I saw what had happened in my mind's eye as though I had been there. Men disobeying orders, becoming aggressive. Yet once apprehended they were fine…because he had moved on, jumping from host to host. He certainly dropped quite a hint…almost like he knew it was coming.

"Maybe they knew it was coming," says Henderson, echoing my thought. It was coming. It is coming. Everything is coming Walter Henderson. You just don't know it yet.

"They knew what was coming?" says the Counselor. He knows. Of course he does. He always fucking knows.

"At first we thought it was help," Walter says with a half-laugh. I sigh inaudibly. Yeah, a brutal, ruthless fiend who massacred an entire blue squadron, searched the bodies and attacked your "infected" friends. Yeah. Sound like help to me. Help like 'Here, let me help you to the gates of Hell!' "Eventually, it just started killing everything."

And it's far from over.

"Could you describe it for us, Walter?

Sure. White. Weird helmet. Hisses. Meaner than hell and intent on stealing A.I. and equipment. Too bad I'm not Walter. I'd have all the answers…except maybe how in the hell I'm going to pull this off. Henderson finishes his story, his voice breaking at the end. Tough kid. I'm surprised his weakness didn't show before now for show it always does…in all of us. These A.I…they all bring out the things we tuck so carefully into the backs of our mind. No one can escape it for no one can truly ever outrun their own head…themselves. It is a strange world when such a poetic phrase takes on true meaning, but it is far too true for my liking.

"…We're going to do everything we can to help you," says the Counselor as two Freelancer rookies come up behind the red soldier who isn't really a soldier. "Please, follow these men to your new quarters. You'll be with us as long as absolutely necessary." Henderson walks off as the Counselor says cryptically, "You have my word."

I could stop them. My gun is in my hand. Actually, now that I think of it, my gun always seems to be in my hand. Still, I could shoot out the screen, take out the rookies, and get Henderson out of here. Back home to his family, maybe a wife and a few kids, who knows. It would be so easy.

But I watch the rookies lead him away to a back room will they will silence him forever. I do nothing. I need the Counselor and Project Freelancer to think I'm with then. It's the only way I can pay them in kind for everything they have done to me and my fiends. So as I watch them lead Henderson away, what I feel isn't exactly guiltless...but neither is it remorse. It's a fee. A fee to get what I want with the bonus of fixing this mess for everyone. It's a high price. I'm willing to pay it.

I approach the screen as those mechanical eyes shift toward me. He may be man, but perpetually behind a screen to me, he is nothing more than a machine. And yet, machine's can't lie...but a man can. I plan on doing quite a bit of it too.

"Agent Washington, what do you make of all this?" The Counselor asks.

"I think it sounds like exactly what I encountered," I say. "Except it's stronger now, and becoming more so all the time."

"Does that concern you?" He's needling now, trying to figure me out. I'm not hard to puzzle, yet to someone who doesn't care to see, the most mundane mind can be a great mystery.

"It doesn't make me excited," I say dryly. Reveal nothing. Let him think he knows me and that will lead me to my purpose.

"You've been through a lot with this program, Agent Washington," he says, like it is inconsequential. He would think that. It wasn't his head or his life that was torn—no! /now's not the time to dwell on that. Just as that thought processes, I hear his next words "The Epsilon AI we assigned you—."

Epsilon…

Epsilon, Epsilon, EPSILON! Damn you and your master to hell, you unfeeling bastard. "Has already been discussed to death. I'm over it," I say it calmly, interrupting him. Inside I rage. Nothing—NO. THING.—will ever counter what Epsilon had done and what he can still do. Nothing can ever erase those memories. Memories of torture, pain, suffering. Pieces of myself falling away, crippling me, making me unable to fight back, to think, to rage…no…not me. The Alpha. Those memories…they are not my own, but those of the Alpha A.I. and the start of all of this.

The Counselor is still speaking, but I am now the machine, supplying the answers I know I must. "Now your...physical problems because of your last encounter…"

"I'm better now. Mentally and physically." Or at least I will be as long I don't think of Epsilon. As long as I forget that one moment where I was weak and had no control. The one thing that brought me too my knees.

"Our profile of you disagrees with your assessment."

"Look, the last mission I ran against this thing, I got shot in the back by my own partner," I say. South. Rage boils up again and I am glad for the visor that hides my face. She will go first and the Meta close at hand.

"Agent South…" the Counselor says, and like a sick joke, I see myself being shot on his screen. It's like he knows just were to hit so the poison spreads all the quicker. "We feel some, responsibility for that."

"Yeah you should," I snap. "If I hadn't had York's healing unit, I'd be dead now. So while this isn't ideal and I don't feel like sticking my neck out for you guys, if it puts me on a path that leads to her, you can trust me at least that far."

Because after I take care of her…it will be your turn. Your words may be poison, but lucky for me, I hold an antidote, one that you would never guess. I hold the memories, forced on me by Epsilon and that, Counselor and Director, will be your undoing.

"So you would say that you have overwhelming feelings of anger, and a need for revenge?" It's like he can read minds and I wonder yet again who this man is if he is even a man.

"More than you know." A peek. That's all I give them. A peek at my brain. Taunting them with the idea that I am so close yet so far beyond their reach. They don't know my pln. They won't know my plan. Not until it's finished.

"Excellent," says the Counselor. "Now that our agency is under investigation, the Director feels it is important for us to be as open as possible. With each other." There is a brief silence, villain facing down anti-hero, ach knowing that the camaraderie is illusion. It's straightforward without being spoken or acknowledged. Under different circumstances, I would fit right in. But I don't. Never have, never will.

"If our suspicions are correct, the Meta has made another addition: the Omega A.I."

"It was Omega and, Tex right?" I pretend ignorance. Tex is a wild card. I don't know her role in this so I can't afford to let on too much. "The Meta doesn't leave much behind. It's gonna be hard to track." If the Meta really does have Omega, then I'm in for the fight of my life. Possibly my last.

"We think the best place for you to start, would be the Omega's last known location. The soldiers there have the most experience with our program," he says and something new enters his voice.

"I see. So I should contact these experts—."I start, but he interrupts.

"We do not like the term 'experts.'" Anger in his voice. No, not quite. Frustration? Annoyance?

"Because no-one really knows what our program is doing?" I pry.

I practically feel the hidden eye roll. "Let's just say the term "expert" is a little too... complimentary in this particular case." Oh exasperation. Wonder why…"Do you still have your old suit of armor?"

"Of course." I say automatically, still trying puzzle out his mood shift. Then my brain catches up with his question. "Wait... why?"


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