Here is the next installment of The Life of Agent Washington. I hope you enjoy it.

Update: Fixed the spacebar problem. Don't know what the hell happened, but I fixed it.

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The years passed by in a blur. He saw many people. Some he knew; some were complete strangers. All of them were dead. Death became just another fact of life to him. Why get so emotional about it? It was unavoidable, it happens, move on.

Wash didn't feel the same anymore. Even in battle, when he was gunning down his enemies with no remorse, he'd felt something. Hope. Pride. A feeling that he was doing the right thing and making a future where nobody would have to die anymore.

Now he knew how ridiculous and naïve he had been.

Nothing he had done had been for the greater good. It had all been to further the goals of a selfish man who couldn't let go of the past and didn't care about sacrificing the future to get it back. The whole time, he'd been in awe because he'd been helping humanity win the war, but it was all a lie. Epsilon had shown him that.

He couldn't trust anybody now. The weight of what he'd have to do to make things right, to help fix what he'd helped break, was on his shoulders. Nobody would help him. Nobody could help him. Those he cared the most about, the ones he trusted with his life were gone.

As if to prove his point, the recovery alarm went off, and he was off to see who was dead.

It was York.

The freelancer who used to tease him before missions. The first friend he made when he came to Project Freelancer. The one who had abandoned the project and left him behind.

He supposed he should feel sad. York had been his friend, one of the people he thought about the nights when the memories were too intense to let him sleep. You were supposed to feel sad when friends died. It might happen more often in war, but you were still supposed to mourn, retain some form of feelings.

But he felt nothing. He was standing of over the corpse of his best friend, and all he could do was feel some begrudging respect that he had lasted so long. He just didn't feel anymore, not for anyone, only determination for his current mission.

Quietly he knelt down and restored function. Delta's familiar green glow appeared with a hello and offer of assistance. Despite already knowing, Wash quickly fell in to routine. "Instruction: identify yourself," he ordered.

The AI readily complied, giving his name, project, and York's codename. Then as an added measure informed him his agent had died. He always was one to point out the obvious.

"I noticed," Wash said dryly. "Hold on." With that, he put a call into command. They always liked to be kept informed regarding the dead soldiers. For whatever reason equipment and AI were always missing when he went to retrieve them. They'd like to know York still had both his healing unit and Delta.

After asking Delta to run some diagnostics, he asked the AI to begin the countdown. He knew he should feel guilty. York had always told him he wanted to be buried in his hometown, near his family. Now he was going to be blown to smithereens, but protocol was protocol. York deserved better, but there was nothing he could do.

"May I make an inquiry?" Delta asked, startling Wash out of his thoughts. "Go ahead." "Why was I not destroyed?" "What?" Wash asked. He did not have time for this; he'd like to just grab D and leave before he blew up. Was that too much to ask?

"When an assignee is killed in action, protocol dictates that all intelligence programs be destroyed," Delta explained. The AI had always been obsessed with protocol. It was something they had bonded over back in the project.

"Recovery carries risk. Destruction ensures that an A.I. will not fall in to enemy hands," Delta argued. Wash suppressed a sigh. He was beginning to remember what his problem with AIs was. "What do you want from me guy? You cost a lot of money, okay? It's cheaper to recover you than it is to delete you. Go bitch to the accountants."

The outburst seemed to have surprised the AI. "If I have offended you, I do apologize," he offered. Wash couldn't care less and told Delta to prepare for transfer. He'd hoped that would be the end of it but no. The damn AI just had to mention implantation.

Just the idea sent shivers up his spine and throbbing in his head. The pain was too much, the memories too vivid. Not only was he protecting Epsilon's memories, he was saving himself from anything like that ever happening again. "I don't do that," he said coldly.

Delta was silent for a moment. "Are you Agent Washington?" he asked, surprising Wash. Had he really changed that much? He still wore the same style armor, was the same height, and had the same voice albeit with a different tone. How could Delta not recognize him despite all the time he had spent with York?

Wash decided not to dwell on it. "That's me," he answered. Delta was quick to reply. "Then I understand. You had difficulties with your assigned A.I unit." Wash had to hold back a laugh. You're A.I commits suicide and nearly destroys your mind? Difficult only seemed to undermine the trauma.

"Difficulties," he mused. "Yeah I suppose that's a word." Delta apparently didn't find that satisfactory because he began to insist on termination, claiming it to be for the best. It wasn't surprising to Wash though. He remembered times when Delta would be arguing with York over proper protocol which the tan soldier would just laugh of, telling the A.I to relax. It was those moments Wash thought of during those sleepless nights in his cold, empty room.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Wash was enjoying talking to Delta. He didn't like AIs, not anymore, but Delta was always…calm. He wasn't covered in flames. He was shiny so it was okay he was small, and he helped make his eating more efficient.

It reminded him of happier times that Wash found himself missing terribly. Talking with Maine after lights out, or at least trying to. Joking around with North and York before missions. Training with Carolina. One of the four dead guys still being alive.

Wait, what? The green AI's words sunk in as bullets shot dangerously close to his feet. Wash's training kicked in, and he immediately ran for cover, cursing Delta for not telling him sooner. He turned to shoot when a plasma grenade landed at his feet, causing him to run out of cover.

Noticing the white soldier he opened fire, running as he shot. The white soldier evaded his shots and turned to face him. "Damn it," Wash cursed as he raised his rifle, only for the white soldier to retreat.

"What the hell?" be asked. Why would the soldier just retreat like that? Nothing was ever this easy on his missions. "Perhaps he realized that York's equipment was charged to detonate. Currently T-minus four," Delta answered knocking Wash out of his stupor. He ordered Delta to storage, grabbed the chip, and jumped, the building exploding behind him.

His knees protested the sudden jolt as he landed hard on the ground, but other than that, there seemed to be no problem. Delta was secured, and Wash didn't get shot or die in an explosion. Much easier than his last mission.

He started to jog to his jeep when his radio went off. With a sigh he answered it. "Recovery One, this is Command, we have a level one distress signal, immediate response necessary." Wash suppressed a groan. Since when was command so slow the uptake?

"I just wrapped that up, Command. I'm headed home." Wash shook his head and continued towards his jeep.

"Negative, Recovery One, this is a new signal." Wash stopped in his tracks. Another one? How could there be another one? That was the fifth one this month. Maybe the project had gone to hell, but freelancers were supposed to be tougher than that. They were supposed to survive at any cost, not be slaughtered like cattle.

His new assignment was maybe an hour drive to the west. He got on his jeep and rode off to the next signal.

"I'm on my way."