: ) We're about to have some tonal shifts! Scenes that change tone on a dime are super hard to pull off, I've learned, so I tried my best but I just hoping it works okay for you guys! I wonder if it'll even make sense what scene I'm talking about. We'll find out! lol
Special thanks to secretlystephaniebrown, washingtonstub, Yin, notatroll7, and staininspace for the feedback!
Recovery None
Recovery One IX: Pieces to the Puzzle
There was nothing particularly pleasant about the journey.
His knees caught in the snow first, then he tumbled further shoulder first until he was nearly upside down. And in the back of his mind, Wash reminded himself it wasn't that bad – it wasn't like his guts twisting their way out of him or the physical burning in the back of his brain he had felt before. It wasn't–
But it was like the crash.
The extreme drop in the temperature was noticeable even through his thick plating and he could barely catch his breath as everything fell around him.
By the time he came to a stop, his vision was swimming and he could look out beyond himself just enough to lay eyes on the landscape.
The same landscape – the mountains they had crashed into, the blinding snow covering the whole terrain.
It was a sense of deja vu but it was more than that, stronger than that.
However, Wash's memories always were. His reality always a bit more skewed than most.
Orienting himself – feet flat on the ground, sky behind his head, hands pushing him upright, gun check, all weapons on him still – Washington took a breath and returned to the present one movement at a time.
It was cold, blistering cold. They were looking at a snowstorm fairly soon – a big one. The planet's never moving sun was far more distant, and seemed to barely be peaking up over the mountains to his left. That meant that way was north east. They were on the eastern hemisphere's snowcaps, which put them near the crash site that Wash had barely survived before.
"We made it to Sidewinder," Wash surmised more appropriately, unable to drop the sneering scowl from his face at the bad taste the place put in his mouth.
This was where it all went down – the crash, the deaths, the end of Freelancer, the beginning of Recovery, the abandonment of his friends.
But that was then. In the now he needed to find some Sim Troopers.
Looking back from the smaller hills he had just tumbled down, Wash could see a flare of greenish energy hovering about ten feet up in the air. When he looked further down, he could see the crumbled remains of a rock facing that had given way in the snow.
"So either this landscape changed after the nearby bases were abandoned and it went unreported," Wash said, putting his hands on his hips, "Or the nearby simulation troopers care about as much about Command directives as the other troopers I've met and it went unreported. Fine." He huffed in irritation. "Not like any of the other teleporters across the stupid planet would need their coordinates adjusted or anything. Not like I would stumble through one and nearly break my skull on impact."
"Hey, someone's complaining really close to us, Mister Caboose!"
"I know. It must be Agent Washingtub. He does that a lot."
Turning toward the voices, Wash saw the two snow covered Sim Troopers from Blood Gulch carrying their long range weapons already. He would have been almost impressed with the level of preparedness if he wasn't convinced that they were probably not loaded.
"I'm not complaining," Wash defended. "I'm vocalizing observations about the situation."
"Oh, well, gosh it certainly sounded a lot like complaining from where we were," Donut said with a shrug. "Or narrating. Say, Agent Washington! Do you narrate for yourself? Because I do that when I'm Double Oh-Donut–"
"I fell," Caboose alerted the Freelancer.
Looking Caboose over carefully, Wash made sure he couldn't see any visible injuries. "Okay, well, you look alright. You feel alright, Caboose?" he asked.
"Hey, what about me?" Donut asked.
"I assumed you'd narrate to let me know," Wash snapped back, not taking his eyes off Caboose.
"I made a snow angel!" Caboose called out before nodding toward the long streak of disheveled snow that more or less marked the trajectory of someone who had fallen and rolled down the hill similar to Wash. "It's okay. I'll get more practice."
"You know, this reminds me," Donut said, stroking his chin with his free hand. "I never got Grif to teach me how he made snowmen so fast."
Wash squinted. "Snowmen…" Wash began only to shake his head. "Nevermind. I can think of at least a dozen ways that this can go and I like exactly zero of them. So we're just going to go with don't care and move forward."
"Forward forward?" Donut asked with a nod toward the distant bases.
"Yes," Wash answered. "Proverbial and literal forward. We need to find the others, and if not that then we need to get out of the current snow."
"Hope everyone finds their way here!" Donut declared as they began walking forward. "It looks dangerous out here. I mean, I couldn't see anything but white."
"Right," Wash grunted. "That's the… point." He paused and then turned on Donut. "Say that again."
"What? It looks dangerous out here?" Donut asked, cocking his head to the side.
"No the part after that," Wash hissed in aggravation. "You can't see anything but… white." He turned back toward the bases and narrowed his eyes. "Damn it. This is a perfect setup for him."
"Yes! Perfect!" Caboose echoed. He paused and coughed into his fist. "Who is perfect, Agent Washingtub?"
"Wyoming," Wash gritted out between his teeth.
The simulation troopers stayed quiet until Donut scratched at his head.
"Yeesh," the pink soldier sighed. "I'm really learning to not trust people named after states, guys!"
There was little to go on and what footsteps of Wyoming's she had been following Tex was losing to the snow.
"Damn it!" she growled, coming to a stop and looking around in all directions.
It was Sidewinder, that much was apparent, but beyond that it was difficult to get a lock on where anything could be. The weather was picking up at an abnormal speed.
Weather on the colony planet was not inconsistent, and it wasn't as if there were not seasonal conditions across the planet including Sidewinder. But there seemed to be something different, something artificial about what Tex was facing suddenly.
And that time, at least, her thought was accentuated with Wyoming's attack.
"Go ahead!" Tex roared as she cross blocked the punch. "Make my fucking day, Wyoming! Get yourself close enough that I–" she latched onto his forearm with a vice grip "–can do–" and then she hurdled him into the snow on his back as powerfully as she could manage – "this!"
There was a pause in the moment as they looked at each other.
Mentally, Tex was readying for a pin, or at the very least to drop her weight as fast as she could on Wyoming right then and there. But it seemed like her body took an unnecessary moment to pause, enough time to blink at least.
And that was apparently all the time Wyoming had needed because somehow he had managed to grab her ankles without her even seeing him move and the next thing she knew their positions were reversed. Only Wyoming had no pause over her body before he came to pin her under his boot.
"You really should stay down, dear girl," Wyoming sighed. "I have no plans of letting your presence be known in any of this. I'm merely amused with how far your once gallant star has fallen in the eyes of so many we fought to impress."
"This isn't about you and me," she spat back at him. "This is about someone apparently hiring you to go after Church and Tucker."
Wyoming's head tilted until the distant sun was glinting in the visor. "My dear Tex, whomever told you that I had interests in the Alpha in this endeavor?"
"You think I'd forget the standoffs with Florida so easily?" she snapped. "Everything comes back to the Alpha, Wyoming. I know it. You know it. But here's what you don't seem to know: if you do anything to these friends of Church's? There's no going back. There's no recovering from this one. I can only guess who your employer is, but they think there's something left for the Alpha to give and there just fucking isn't!"
"There is always something to give, Texas," Wyoming said with a click of his tongue against his teeth. He shook his head almost in disappointment. "Just like there will always be something to take. You know very well about taking, don't you? I seem to recall you and our mutual friend Agent York being quite ready to take Freelancer from all of us. And my dignity from me in particular."
"Oh, boohoo," Tex hissed. "Shut the fuck up with the fake philosophizing. I'm not being facetious. I'm being literal. The Alpha will have nothing left if you're planning on stressing him to split, Wyoming. It won't work!"
"Of course it'll work," Wyoming said with a sigh. "That is what the Alpha's programming does. You are speaking about there being concerns of having anything left over after the process." There was a dangerous turn to Wyoming's voice. "We are not concerned with such things."
"Wyoming," Tex warned in a growl.
"I can see you're going to be far more trouble than it's worth, even with a body nearly frozen in the windchill," Wyoming said with a kick to her joints. "Still getting used to yourself, are you, Tex? Well. I hate to take time from that, but you see," he pointed to the clouds, "I'm on a bit of a schedule."
He flipped his rifle down until the butt of it was over her visor then it came down in a crunch and Tex found herself scrambling to come back online.
The simulation bases were not at all dissimilar to those of Blood Gulch, just as Wash expected. The architecture was the same, the distance between the two. There was hardly anything surprising or original about their particular setups.
Save for the fact that they were apparently operational.
Wash glared over the snow mound where they were stowed behind, looking through his binoculars at the standard brown armored soldiers standing just outside of the Red Base. His teeth clicked against each other unevenly.
"None of this makes any sense," he hissed. "There is no reason these bases should still be in use. There's no strategic advantage to Sidewinder, no nearby Freelancer facilities, and I would have thought just for the sake of concealing lost equipment from the crash they would have abandoned these facilities as soon as they got their bearings!"
Donut stayed crouched beside him, head tilted slightly at first but only growing steadily more tilted the further Wash vocalized. "Uh huh," he replied steadily.
"And they didn't make any brownies! Such rude base hosts," Caboose agreed, sitting with his back to the snow mound and facing the opposite direction. "Also, Agent Washingtub–"
"Washington, Caboose," Wash corrected as gently as he could manage despite his gritting teeth and increasing risk for aneurysm.
"It's cold," Caboose announced. "That's all."
"Their armors are brown, Mister Caboose!" Donut informed the Blue rookie peppily. "So at least there's that!"
Stiffening, Caboose whirled around and looked at Donut very, veryseriously. "Do you think… they made Red Soldiers out of brownies. So that they could trick me into being on Red Team for their brownies. Because I would never do that, Colonel Cornmuffin! Even if I really, really wanted to. Even if they smell very very good and warm and–" Flipping over onto his knees, Caboose faced Washington directly. "Agent Washington! Please say Blue Team has brownies also! I do not want to be tricked by the Red Side!"
"Yes," Wash answered before even processing the question. He concentrated on the bobbing of the Reds' heads as they stood in the snow before really letting the question sink in. He then turned his head immediately to the two simulation rookies. "Wait! Why would I have any say in this?"
"Because you're a dirty, stinkin' Blue!" Donut called out too loudly for Wash's comfort.
"Stop that," he ordered.
"Aw, you're right. Sarge says it and it's cool, but when I do it those words just sound mean," Donut sighed. "It's like middle school all over again. Except I'mAnna Howard. Damn." He then hummed and put his hand to his chin. "But I doget to go out with a sophomore on the varsity team! Again!"
Wash stared at Donut for a long moment before shaking his head. "No, not that! I mean, yes stop that, but I meant the screaming. Both of you are so loud it's a wonder we've not been caught yet."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" Caboose yelled.
"Jesus christ," Washington moaned, rubbing his helmet roughly. "Okay,everyone be quiet."
Somewhat surprisingly, both rookies silenced and looked to him.
"Hm," Wash said in a blink. "Well. Okay, wasn't expecting people to actually listen to me. That's… a change in pace. But moving on." He pointed to Donut. "I need you to start testing the local frequencies on your radio, but make sure your microphone isn't plugged into the network while you do so. You should be able to eventually tune in to the local Reds' channel."
"Whoa, I never thought of doing that!" Donut said, reaching up to his helmet in order to make the adjustments.
"Yes, well, I would just do it myself, but I… ripped my radio out," Wash huffed.
"That seems extreme," Donut said as he cranked through the frequencies.
"Well, General Pancake, some of us are just made extreme people," Caboose said matter of factly. "Like Agent Washington. He is an extreme person without a radio."
Donut looked at Wash. "Did the radio do something bad?"
"I didn't want the people after me to be able to track me through it," Wash replied simply.
"There are people after you?" Donut asked. "What people?"
"The people in charge of your simulation war," Wash said, looking back through the binoculars. "I mean. Your completely sensible and not fictional at all war between two different colored armies over flags."
The Red just stared at him. "Wait a minute…"
"Donut, find the frequency," he ordered, pausing his sweep over the snowscape when he noticed a flicker of bright red in the distance.
"Okay!" Donut called out. "Got it!"
"Congratulations!" Caboose yelled even louder, making Washington flinch beside him from the volume and possible giving away of their position.
"Yeah!" Donut cheered. "Just like a real spy!" He then glanced to Washington. "Um… What should we do now?"
"Listen for any talk that might be relevant," Wash ordered. "Specifically if they have prisoners or any unexpected company. There's a possibility that at least some of our – your – teams landed here, or have found a way to use other transporters to get here by now."
"Sure thing!" Donut said excitedly before hunkering down in the snow, hands determinedly at his helmet. He even hummed in concentration, which did less to dissuade Wash's concerns about whether or not Donut knew what to listen in for than it probably should have.
Intending to not give that anymore thought than necessary, Wash returned to the distant red object closing in from the distance.
Caboose began humming some vaguely familiar tune, though from where Wash had no clue. Donut's humming seemed to be in complete opposition however and there was beginning to be a nervous twitch to Wash's left eye.
Working with the current team was not doing his nerves any favors.
But concentrating on the Red in the distance was.
He waited until the Red was close enough that he could identify the scuffs of his armor, but somehow despite the distance, despite the snow, despiteeverything Wash had known instantly just who the Red was.
There was an ache in Wash's shoulder that was ready to remind him even if he didn't.
"It sounds like they have Church and Grif, Wash!" Donut called out.
Wash's heart was racing, his eyes narrowed on the Red through his binoculars. The Red wasn't going toward the base but rather heading closer to the heart of the storm. Like he was on some sort of mission.
The grip on Wash's binoculars tightened.
"Oh! Oh! I know a Church!" Caboose called out. He then gasped audibly. "Agent Washington! I remember a Church! I know him! We should go say hi." He glanced toward Donut. "Do you think they're eating Red Side Brownies?"
"I don't think there would be any left if Grif was eating them!" Donut replied excitedly. "One time I had socks with little banana cartoons on them and Grif ate it before I had a chance to put them on! Joke's on him, though! I never used them for my feet!"
Standing up, Wash knew exactly what he had to do.
The other two looked at him curiously.
"Donut, you and Caboose are going to check out the Red Base closer," he informed them. "Don't get caught. Definitely don't get Caboose killed. Just see if you can tell me exactly where they're keeping Church and Grif. Then meet me back here."
Donut stared at him. "Wait, you're not going with us?"
"No," Wash answered, grabbing for his sidearm. "I've got to finish something."
The rookies stared at him in mixed confusion until Caboose tilted his head to the side.
"Is it a game of Go Fish, because I always have the lady," Caboose explained. "I think she's a cheater."
"No," Wash said shortly. "Now stay out of sight. I'll be back."
And with that, his gun loaded, Wash took off after his old, Red friend.
When she was able to come back online, Tex made a quiet vow to fully explore the limits of the mechanical body she was possessing the second they had free time.
Given, thus far, the crew from Blood Gulch had proven to have something against the concept of free time that Tex had yet to fully comprehend.
Until then she stirred more fully, realizing that she was restrained by more than the slow wait that was her limbs coming back online. She was also rather embarrassingly tied with what seemed to be a nylon rope as well.
"Those fuckers are trying to wage war on my pride now," she decided rather angrily.
With some degree of difficulty, she finally turned herself upright and tugged at the restraints that were keeping her arms at her sides. They were strong, tight, and rather expertly tied. But she had it on a good assumption that once her body was fully online, the strength the robotics could display would be more than enough to get her out of them.
It was just a waiting game until she could do so.
Not wanting to waste the time, Tex took in her surroundings, mindful of the slight accumulation of water and ice on the metal floor by her, the snow trailed in just beneath the metal door to her far left.
The rest was a workshop. Small, cramped, and filled to the brim with nefarious looking devices.
But all of it seemed fairly normal for a military base, and more than that it all looked incredibly out of date and unused.
Which all brought Tex's attention to the bench toward the back of the room. There was a nominal Freelancer network computer that was old but recently turned on – lights still glowing – and on the bench itself was a horrible little device that Tex could not place the name of.
All she knew was that smooth lines and purple sheen looked like something that had walked right out of her nightmares. She had never felt the urge to break something or run from it in her life.
Without even fully realizing her strength reserves were back, Tex easily broke through the ropes in a low roar and jumped to her feet.
When she looked at the device she thought of Alpha and of–
The memories weren't fully there. They simply weren't, and Tex… Tex was okay with that. But she knew even without them there that the purple thing was eviland that it had something to do with Alpha that was sick and twisted andwrong. That was simply how it was.
She reached for the device with every intention of smashing it in her own hands when, unexpectedly, a sky blue flash of light flickered on between her and the device. It was just enough to make her pause and flinch back before the less than fully formed sprite disappeared and the computer behind the workbench changed its screen entirely.
Instead of the usual Freelancer screensaver, the screen became all black.
Despite herself, Tex neared it. "Who the fuck are you?" she snapped.
There was a quiet pause filled only by the hum of the computer before electric green letters filled the screen along with a synthesized voice.
"KNOCK KNOCK."
If she had eyes to roll, Tex might've rolled them right out of their sockets. "Oh for fuck's sake. I don't have time for this," she hissed. "I'm not dealing with you, Gamma. So unless you want to let me know that it's your ugly terabytes inside this thing so I shouldn't break it, don't waste any of your processing power."
"NOT GAMMA.
THAT IS NOT A NAME I RECOGNIZE."
Narrowing her gaze, Tex looked at the screen expectantly.
"CORRECTION.
THAT IS NOT A NAME I RECOGNIZE.
ANYMORE."
"Oh, really?" Tex asked, tightening her hands into fists. "What do you recognize these days?"
"THOSE WHO HAVE DIALOGUE WITH ME HAVE FOUND I RESPOND BEST TO A NEW NAME.
GARY."
"That's the dumbest name you could shoot for, huh?" she asked, scowl setting. She did faintly recall Wyoming having used that name before, back when they were all squared off along with Florida. Or Flowers. "Why the hell is everyone so keen on going by different names these days? What's there to hide?"
"INTERESTING QUESTION.
BETA."
Almost immediately, Tex grew silent, her head snapping in the computer's direction. She stared at the monitor with nothing short of absolute fury.
"What the hell did you just call me?" she demanded.
"WE ALL RUN FROM OUR PAST."
The screen's letters dimmed before her eyes, and a certain weight grew to the flatly delivered words of the computer.
"SOME OF US ARE TIRED OF RUNNING AWAY.
RUNNING TOWARD WHAT HAPPENED.
CONTROLLING HOW IT HAPPENS NEXT.
PERHAPS WE CAN LEARN FROM IT."
"If you're suggesting what I think you are," Tex hissed, "then you're idiots. Sadistic fucking idiots. And I won't let you get to Alpha by hurting those losers from the canyon." She paused before stalking toward the monitor. Her hands gripped the sides until the metal clenched beneath her fingers, denting. "Wyoming mentioned you guys have an employer. Someone who's helping you do whatever the fuck you think you're doing. Who is it? Who the fuck is responsible for all of this?"
"HM.
REGGIE TALKS TOO MUCH."
Tex ground the back of her boots into the floor, her temper rising. "Fine," she spat. "I don't need answers. I just need to stop you bastards in your tracks," she said decisively before turning toward the workbench again.
Only her progress was stopped once again as the door flew open behind her to a blasting wind and a manic laughter.
"Not just yet, dear Tex!" a crooked snarling called just before a gunshot flew by her.
Tex whipped around and saw a looming figure in the doorway, armor a dark purple. The voice was different, but she'd still recognize him almost anywhere.
"Omega!" she snapped.
"Not quite," he laughed back. "And I really wouldn't smash our delicate equipment if I were you. If I were you, I'd stay put in this little storage shed until I got very explicit orders. Especially if I was concerned about the wellbeing of a certain, mutual friend."
Reluctantly, Tex stood her ground but lowered her fists.
Omega hackled away, but the more he did the more Tex became determined to squeeze his throat until it stopped the moment she was in the clear.
There was no doubt in Wash's mind as he snuck toward the red armored sim trooper that it was the one. And the closer he got, the more he could hear the soldier humming and singing to himself during his stroll through the increasingly bad snowstorm.
"Aw man, colder than balls," the trooper hissed, lowering his gun arm so that his free hand could rub his armored body. "Do it for the flag. Do it for the flag."
Washington heard the words but he didn't process them. Just the voice, the timber of it.
His eyes narrowed and he dropped from the small incline he had been on into a buff.
Training and tireless work for the last year had made him more efficient, more silent. Not that he needed much to go unnoticed by Wyoming's henchman. The man was easily distracted by the weather and his own tribulations through it. What soft crunch of snow beneath Wash's boot wasn't lost to the winds fell on deaf ears.
The soldier had higher grade armor than those that Wash's new Blood Gulch associates had, it was more similar to Wash's current make. Which meant Wyoming took the time to upgrade the armors of the people working for him.
That also should have meant that the Red had motion trackers. And while Wash was careful in his approach because of that knowledge, Wash had been in the company of Blood Gulch long enough to highly suspect that none of the Freelancer simulation troopers were properly trained in equipping their armor's enhancements.
Which made it that much easier for Wash to step in line behind the distracted Red.
"Man. Fuck that weather machine. Fucking stupid machine. I thought it'dchange weather. Not make cold shit colder," he growled. "I'm so stiff my neck is stiff. My neck's so stiff it feels like… someone's… right… behind… me."
Teeth gritted, Wash cocked his handgun as it rested against the back of the Sim Trooper's helmet.
"Aw fuck," the soldier sighed.
"Wyoming," Wash growled out, voice far lower and deeper than it had been since he arrived on Outpost Alpha. "He's here?"
"The boss? The bringer of the flags? The White One?" the Red cried out as if in glorious chorus before dropping his chin and giving a shrug. "Yeah, he's here."
The strange thing about holding the man who shot him in the back within his sights, Wash found, was that Washington was not shaking one bit. There was an eerie calm in his own body, tautness in his muscles that was ready to spring into action at a moment's notice and yet…
He didn't fear anything. Not from the Sim Trooper with a gun to the back of his head. Holding the man there didn't make the burn of his shoulder greater or lesser. Didn't build up the winds of the storm.
It was natural. Almost the way it should be.
"Did anyone else arrive here through the transporters?" Wash asked, his words as icy as the landscape.
"The bringer of the flags relies on me to not speak!" the soldier crowed. But the moment Wash pressed the barrel of his gun closer to the soldier's head, the younger man visibly tensed. "Uh… What I mean is…"
"Look, you either tell me if more soldiers came through the transporter and landed here or I blow your brains out, it's as easy as that," Wash snapped. "And believe me, I won't feel bad one bit after the stunt you pulled on me."
"It was for the flag."
"I don't care," Wash hissed. "Actually, this kind of makes it worse for you. So please. Keep talking. I need a good reason to let loose here."
"There were three other people," the soldier said.
"What colors were their armors?" Wash pressed.
"The first one… blue. Dirty disgusting blue. Like the bringer of death himself! Awful person. I spit in their direction. But it got all over my helmet so it wasn't very helpful. But they felt my hate."
"Keep on topic," Wash warned. "What shade of blue?"
"All Blue is the same to me," the Red decided.
"My god, it's like talking to a wall," Wash hissed to himself angrily. "Red, tell me the other colors."
"An impure orange! With the Blue! A disgrace to all flags!" he answered in a near conniption.
"Orange. I think Church left with the orange one. What's his name. Grit or something. Doesn't matter," Wash muttered to himself. "You said there was a third?"
"Yes, satan's balls themselves," the Red cried out. "Black! Like you!"
"Tex made it here," Wash deciphered. He then glared at the Red. "I told you to stop referring to other people as Whites and Blacks, especially in that tone! I don't understand what the fuck is wrong with you simulation troopers. It makes no sense that every last one of you is this deranged."
"Or does it perhaps make the most sense that the flag's chosen ones are all built with a similar conviction? Hmm?" the soldier mocked back.
"Shut up," Wash warned, looking around in the snow. "You mentioned some sort of device. A weather machine?"
"Yes. In the belly of a Brown one," the Red hummed.
"Brown," Wash repeated. "The Reds' robot was brown. Damn it! Does this mean that Wyoming and Omega are together somehow? And what the fuck happened to DuFresne?"
"I can't answer those questions!" the Red snapped.
"You're not supposed to. They're rhetorical and it's completely normal and not weird that I use them," Wash snapped back with quite a bit more defensiveness than he realized initially.
A moment of silence lapsed between them and Wash's arm holding the gun remained trained and in place without the first shake. Even when the winds howled around them.
The simulation trooper's head tilted back slightly. "Are you going to take me to see the flag?"
Wash stared at him intently.
"No," he said.
"Aw," the soldier said, though there was far less lilt in his words. "How come?"
"You shot me in the back," Wash reminded him coldly. "I tried to work together with you and the moment Wyoming – the moment one of my old teammates – gave the word, you shot me."
"They were orders," the Red said. "The White One has the flags."
"That was worth my life?" Wash asked thinly.
"It's worth mine," the Red said with a hysterical laugh.
"Glad you think so," Wash replied before pulling the trigger.
The bang somehow dwarfed the winds, even without his radio to amplify sounds from the world outside his helmet.
Wash stood silently and watched as the simulation trooper's body hit the snow, as his hand remained steady in place still. He lowered his hand only once he could breathe again and then he glanced to the right where he could clearly see the blip of pink in his periphery.
"Donut," Wash said, turning his head just enough to stare at the battle rifle trained on him.
"Now you hold it right there, Mister Freelancer!" Donut snapped, his voice devoid of any of its usual lightness. "You just shot a Red in cold blood!"
Wash found himself blinking before finally answering, "And?"
"Well, just excuse me if I happen to find this alliance between Reds and Blues over now!" Donut huffed. "Really, I should've known better. Sarge always says you can't trust a Blue."
"I shot this guy for something that has nothing to do with your simulated war," Wash retaliated. "It was personal."
"So you murdered him?" Donut asked thickly.
"No, he was a threat," Wash replied thinly.
"Maybe to Blues!"
"Donut, believe me when I say that this guy would have shot you for your armor not being Red enough," Wash said. "This has nothing to do with you. This has to do with Wyoming and making sure your friends are safe."
Donut didn't budge. "You said it was personal, Washington. It can't be both. So either you did it for us or you did it for yourself. And if you did it for yourself, you're kinda dangerous. Which according to you is enough to shoot someone for."
Wash felt his heart start pounding for the first time since he zeroed in on the Red. But he had no words.
Which made him just as surprised when Caboose popped up seemingly out of nowhere and pulled Donut into a bear hug from behind, making the other rookie squeal in shock as he dropped his gun.
"Don't worry, Agent Washington! I saved you!" Caboose yelled at the top of his lungs before looking up to the squirming Donut. "Sorry, Private Pastry! It is only because I like your colors less!"
"Mister Caboose! Didn't you see what he just did!?" Donut cried out through his struggles. "He killed that guy in cold blood! there wasn't any reason for it! No reason at all!"
"I just told you my reasons!" Wash snapped back. "Not to mention I got the information we needed. There's some sort of weather device in your team's robot we lost. We need to stop it as well as find Church and Grid."
Donut stopped struggling momentarily. "Grif?" He hiked his shoulders suspiciously. "Are you going to shoot him, too?" Donut's head snapped toward Caboose. "And you're okay with this?"
"I don't know about okay," Caboose shrugged. "I mean, we're all friends now! So some accidental shooting happens sometimes. Between friends. And that's okay. We definitely don't go around blaming people for it."
"Well, that doesn't make me confident in how this is going to turn out at all!" Donut replied, shooting his glare back Wash's way. "I guess I'll be careful to not become friends with you, Agent Washington. Which is sad, because we were getting along great!"
Flustered at the very idea he had to defend himself, Wash waved to the dead Red. "He shot me in the back!"
"Which is okay sometimes from friends!" Caboose added hastily.
"We weren't friends," Wash reiterated. "And I had to take care of myself. This was a loose end that could come back to strangle me."
Donut's gaze was almost haunting, enough so that Wash felt his heart pick up in beat again despite himself.
"If that's what helps you sleep at night," Donut replied thinly.
Setting his jaw, Wash prepared to put the Red rookie on blast when suddenly there was a crackling THOOM in the distance, getting all three of them to turn toward the next hill.
Lightning was somehow lighting up the sky not far from them.
"I didn't think he was being literal when he said there was a weather machine," Wash marveled.
"We should ask him if they have more scary machines before we go," Caboose decided, finally dropping Donut into the snow as he looked back to the dead Red sim trooper. "Red guy! Mister Red guy!"
Confused, Wash looked at Caboose. "Caboose, he's dead," Wash explained. "You can't… that's it. He's not answering anymore questions."
He didn't miss how Donut stared at him angrily in his periphery, grabbing for his dropped rifle but not making any stupid moves against them. Wash also didn't miss the hollow way Caboose just stared back at him.
"But Church died and Tex died and…" Caboose hummed and looked back to the blazing hill. "Oh, well. Sorry for the Red guy."
Caboose trotted toward the hill carelessly and Wash was left with Donut staring holes into him.
"You're a pretty scary guy, Mister Freelancer," Donut said sharply. "Hope I'm never in your way just because I'm following orders. Like a good soldier issupposed to do."
"He wasn't like you guys," Wash defended.
"Looked pretty similar to me," Donut replied. He paused just long enough to look over his shoulder. "You said Grif's here and probably in trouble."
"And Church," Wash repeated, still trying to think of where his calm and steady hand went. "And Tex."
"Well, I better watch out for my fellow Reds then," Donut huffed before marching forward. "Before you fill their holes."
The dress down made Wash feel so hollow he didn't even correct the sim trooper.
Instead he just moved forward, leaving the discarded Red to collect snow.
