Connie walked the empty halls, feeling a slight pain in the back of her head from the nervousness of Delta. She would have to get alone eventually. Hearing a voice and not being able to respond for this long made both of them too nervous for their own goods. Though, by the looks of things, Jameson wasn't just about to leave CT alone for longer than maybe a minute. It was going to be an issue unless she was able to convince Jameson that yes, she had an AI and yes, she was going to keep him around for as long as possible. There were two outcomes to that. Either he'd try to kill her or he'd try to take it from her. She loved him and he loved her, but this was an AI. Not only that, but a fragment from the Alpha AI from Project Freelancer. That was worth a hell of a lot of money to him and to the UNSC. Putting it in Insurrectionist hands…didn't seem like a good idea.

By the time the two reached the research facility, there seemed to be some life. A few scientists working as if they've never stopped, reading these alien signals and signatures, trying to translate. The couple passed the group, heading to the back room that was filled with Freelancer intel. Walls were covered head to toe with Freelancer profiles, basics, weaknesses, strengths. It gave her chills. All those who had died before and all those that remained. It was strange, though. There was no section about her.

"I see you've been busy," she mused, continuing to search for herself amongst the fifty others. Jameson seemed proud of his collection, a smirk and a nod coming from him. Letting go of her hand, he walked to the center console, a screen coming into view in front of him. CT walked closer to the walls. It was scary how much he knew about her former teammates. It was almost obsessive. It gave her a chill, seeing all these old faces. All alphabetical order. All hauntingly staring. "How long have you been doing this?" she asked, turning to him at the console.

To it, he merely shrugged. "I had started it under Hargrove's orders a few months before you…died. But, most of that is recent. UNSC encryptions are a bitch, you know?"

"Why didn't you tell me about this?"

He turned, another shrug. "I didn't think it was that much of an issue. That and Hargrove said that he didn't need you on that."

"Yeah, but I was working with these people. I could have saved you time and…where's my profile?"

To that, Jameson looked away again. "I…uh…don't have it."

"Don't have it?"

"I didn't want to make it so I didn't."

"What is this for?"

"It doesn't matter. Come here."

She was going to speak up, until she heard the desperation in his voice. It was clear that he was nervous about something. Something he couldn't tell her about and that just made Connie more uneasy with this whole setup. This wasn't just some normal intel-recovery. This was like a hate-filled shrine of sorts.

The screen projected in front of them held various files about alien artifacts, a few pinpoints on a galaxy map showing what she could only assume was locations for their next stops. There was also some photos clogging the screen of Sangehili, untranslated and unknown to most. Interfaces. Lights and signatures. Contracts and things that she couldn't make out. Something stopped her. Profiles upon profiles upon profiles. Her's included. KIA it said. Funny. Even the government can get things wrong. Her hand grazed the terminals, fingers running over buttons and dials and drives and keyboards and more. Something wasn't right her and she knew better than to bring something up. Or, at least Delta had told her not to, but when did she ever listen to someone smarter than her? "What's…what's all this for?"

"More artifacts. Hargrove has been giving us materials and more resources to get the job done and we've found so much more. If we're able to sell this off to the right people, we can stop this." Jameson turned to her, holding her hands tight and looking at her with excited eyes. "We can leave. Start over together. Just the two of us. That's what we wanted Connie, remember? All that time ago this is what we hoped for!"

The worst part was he wasn't wrong. She had wanted this. All this time, she had fought for peace and this could get them out of this damned war. If they could pull it off, things might actually turn out how they wanted it to all that time ago. Yet, in the pit of her stomach, something was off. Like this was all too well planned out. Jameson noticed her change in face and his did just the same, looking concerned for his small girlfriend.

His hand placed gently against her scarred face. "Connie, you okay? I thought you'd be happier about this. I mean…"

"I am," she tried to console. "But this? It's…what does Hargrove want with all this intel? They're gone, right? Most of them seem to be."

"The ship is gone and technically the project, but all your little friends are out there. And he's paying big money, Connie. Money that can set us up for life. We'll never have to do this again."

"But…this isn't right."

He was stunned into silence. His hand left her cheek and he stepped back, as if he had seen a ghost. "I…come on, you're joking, right?"

"No. I'm not. They…I know what they've done, but they don't deserve to be hunted like animals. They made mistakes. Some of them were on the fence when I left. If they're still out there then maybe they changed their minds!"

"Change of heart? Really? Do you not remember people like Carolina? Tex? You honestly think that they can become good people? With the amount of hell and fire they've assaulted upon everyone and everything else…no. You're either with us or against us on this. Hargrove gave you a shot to make things right. He didn't want you dead with the others because he knew you were of use." Jameson's hand moved to grip her arms, fingers pressing firmly in. "Do the right thing here, Connie."

The right thing. Funny how the right thing can vary from person to person. Organization to organization. Sometimes, the right thing is many things or nothing at all. After all, who says what's right and wrong? What's that defining factor that snaps the tightrope of morality to a positive or negative light? Connie knew what the consequences of her actions would be. What they would be if she didn't. A pressing matter that tugged at her heartstrings to let waterfalls flow. To let things like morality get in the way…that wasn't part of the contract.

She wiped her eyes, keeping that brave face on. "I don't want a part of this again…not again." Moving out of his grip, she saw his jaw drop in sheer disgust of her. He kept his composure. He was a leader. Made decisions, even if they weren't what he wanted. It wasn't ever up to him. Nothing really was. He was just the guy who passed it on. A node in the system of pain. Connie had signed herself up for the electric chair of punishment and she wasn't prepared.

"Leave. And be sure to remain gone this time."

It was never her choice.

No goodbye kiss. No hug. No touch. She just turned and left, the echoes of the past seeming to fade with each step she took.

Love. Funny how love can vary from person to person. Heartbeat to heartbeat. Love is never something that can be chained down by promises of a dead girl, nor the hopes of a soldier. Love changes. Love hurt. And, most of the time, love can be the difference between life and death.

Connie made her way to the hangar bay. Turns out Jameson already had a ship prepped. Always the kind to think through every scenario. It was unnerving. Seeing all the faces go by of people she's never met or never thought to meet. Those who probably lost people to Project Freelancer. Those who probably lost family and friends to her. To the UNSC. To this hell of a place called space travel.

It wasn't that big of a ship. Tactics level. One pilot with three or four spaces in the back for passengers and some space to walk. In the storage compartments and in some of the chairs was supplies. Food, water. Enough for a few weeks. Some clean clothes. Basic necessities. He was always like that. Nothing ever too frivolous. Hell, there was even some armor in there. Not Freelancer tech, but enough to stay safe. Some of the underfloor compartments had weapons and ammo stored, just in case.

Taking her time, Connie made it to the pilot seat, allowing Delta to come out in his form to look at her.

"It's a common known fact that talking things out loud does better for the self than it does trying to debate it in ones head."

"Who said that?"

"York, mostly."

"Heh…yeah he was always the one who tried to cheer people up. Him and North…wonder how they are."

"Yes…a question for another time I suppose. Shall we get going?"

Before she answers, the ship's already running, the runway clearing for takeoff.

"Where to, Connie?"

"Well, I guess first place to start would be the last known location of Agent Washington and Agent Carolina."