Only a few hours after my fateful first meeting with my "partner", I stood in the yard with the other recruits. We all wore our new Project Freelancer shirts, pants, and combat boots. No one wore armor; apparently we didn't get that until we were approved for implantation. We stood in line, at attention, waiting as the drill sergeant walked up and down the line, inspecting us, scrutinizing us, testing us.

"Well, well, well, looks like we got a batch of children sent to us today. What'd you know about that?" He paused, wanting us to move, twitch, anything. Anything he could use against us, and he could use everything against us. At least from me, he'd get nothing. "Well children, today you'll be running the course here. Lets us see where you are skill wise. Well! What do we have here!" The sergeant stopped in front of me. Except for the bead of sweat that trickled down my back, I remained immobile. "A real life baby doll, right here in my training yard! Does your daddy know you're here, baby doll?" My jaw clenched, and I felt the weight of the tags not my own that I wore weigh down my neck like an anvil on a chain.

"No, sir, my father does not."

"AW! How sad! Did you run away when daddy didn't buy you the pretty dress you wanted!" There were a few titters at that, and almost indiscernible smiles and smirks. Normally, I would have kept my mouth shut, but this was my father-

"No sir, my father does not know because he is dead. From fighting this war...sir." That brought the smirks and tittering to a sudden stop. People were never keen on laughing at a fallen soldier's daughter.

"Well, then," the drill sergeant continued, pressing on after a moment of awful silence, "perhaps you can show us what a soldier's daughter is capable of. You will be running the course first." And now he was trying to show I couldn't affect him, that he was in charge. This man had already lost most of the respect I had for him. "The course is filled with obstacles-walls, trenches, holes, and armed enemies of course." He beckoned to a table filled with weapons. "You may choose one."

"Yes sir," I said stepping forward. The table was filled with rifles-assault riffles, battle rifles, sniper rifles, even a few shotguns, and a rocket launcher? Really, a rocket launcher? All much too bulky, all needed two hands.

There. In the corner, overpowered by its flashy neighbors sat a small handgun. A pistol. Small, one-handed, able to be tucked into a boot or a belt, Perfect. I picked it up, familiar with the weight of the standard UNSC gun. It was basic, yes, but the basics existed for a reason; they were stable. There were a few more titters at my choice but I inspected it, ignoring them. Paint pellets? The sergeant could've said something. 'Let them laugh,' I thought, 'They'll see.'

I stood at the entrance of the course, feeling the eyes of everyone upon me. The recruits, the other agents. Somewhere, I knew New York watched.

"Sir."

"Well-" he looked down at a clipboard, "Agent Carolina, show us why you're here." Now I would put all doubts at my presence here to rest.

I ran into the course, tuning out everyone and everything but my surroundings. Even running with a gun in hand, I took in every bit of the course. A wall opposed my path with no obvious way around it. Up and over then. I remembered the sergeant's comment about enemies, and paused at the wall, silencing myself, straining to hear. Rustling of clothing, creaking of armor.

So there was someone waiting for me behind the wall. I ran a couple meters back, and rushed the wall, keeping my gun in my right hand for my unknown adversary. I propelled myself up the wall with my right foot and free left hand, quickly reaching the top. This was the tricky part; I couldn't let them get a shot at me before I was over.

Alright, Becca, why don't you show 'em what we've got.

With my left hand, using my feet to push off the wall, I pulled myself over the wall, my body following. I strained my neck forward, and seeing the armored man preparing to take the shot, brought forth my right hand and shot him first. The fancy somersaults always threw them off for a few valuable seconds. With the man down, I concentrated on the flip, feeling my body go perpendicular to the ground, and made sure my feet went first. Like a cat, I landed on my feet, and wasted no time in taking off again. I ran, high on adrenaline, seeing everything. A few more guards appeared and I took a second each to shoot them. Those rifles were too bulky, too slow; would they never learn that? The rest of the course was a blur of trenches and walls and obstacles.

Until a hole appeared in the middle of the ground.

The end was in sight, and I could see the men and women at the finish. I sighed and looked around. The hole was more a giant fucking gap in the ground than a hole. No one was around, and even if they were, I would need both hands. I stuck the gun into my belt, and looked around once more. The hole was probably 10 meters across and 10 meters deep. Walls rose against the sides, walls with handholds. They wanted us to scale across, but that was too slow. Then I noticed something. Two somethings. Two bars stretched over the hole from wall to wall. It was practically poetic.

I rushed straight at the hole, ignoring the walls. Hell, the walls didn't exist at that point. I leaped into the air, my arms out stretched, my hands seeking.

I felt the sting of metal smack my hands. But it was a good pain. That pain meant it worked, that I hadn't fallen. On instinct alone, I swung around the bar, gaining momentum. Without hesitation or worry, I leapt to the second bar. I swung around this bar only once before jumping off, landing perfectly, my feet planted solidly on the ground. For a moment, I had the inane desire to put my hands in the air, showing off my dismount, before taking off once more. Instead my only celebration was a small mental smile I kept locked tight. I sped across the finish, sliding to a stop.

"WELL I'LL BE DAMNED!" I heard the sergeant exclaim. "That's the best first run I've seen except for Texas! 'Course a few fancy tricks don't mean nothing on a battlefield!"

"Yes, sir, Drill Sergeant!" I said, all the while, mentally rolling my eyes at his thought that I wouldn't be able to handle a battlefield. If only he knew...

I grabbed a bottle of water and watched the others go through. Some blasted through, while others tried a stealthier approach, but no one, however, tried the bars. Looking up, I noticed that people still stared. But now, instead of contempt, anger, and amusement at my presence, there was curiosity, confusion, and even a little awe. Yeah, I'd take that any day.

Meanwhile York stood nursing his set broken nose, standing beside a soldier obscured by shadows.

"Well how about that. That little girl almost broke Tex's record," York smiled down at his new partner.

"Yeah. She'll do. Keep an eye on her." With that, the soldier walked away, leaving York alone.

York stood staring down at Carolina, and whispered to no one, "What's your story, girl? What led you here?"