As Recovery One, he had access to most of the files about his former teammates —friends? perhaps—, although large blocks of the Agents' exploits prior to Project Freelancer had been redacted.
Recovery One scanned through the files, noting the weaknesses and strengths, the equipment and enhancements to the armor of each agent as he scroll through file after file on the data pad.
He felt nothing as he flipped to Agent North Dakota, Agent Maine, now known as the Meta —extremely dangerous, report sighting, and do not engage—, Agent New York, and Agent Carolina —deceased, gone, goodbye.
—red pigtails, missing front tooth, hair swishing as she threw open the door, bright smile turned dim when she saw me collapsed to my knees, letter clutched to my chest, no-no-no-no-no, this can't be true, 'Daddy?' , my son clung to my sleeve, clutching a half-eaten carrot stick, they needed me, but no, I can't, not with her gone, no-no-no-no, she can't be gone, I have to get her back—
Recovery One breathed in and out, one and two; accept and release. Recovery One blinked slowly, allowing himself a single moment of weakness to accept the wave of visceral defeat and hopelessness that felt more real than anything he'd encountered in the last few years.
—"Wash? You alright?"
"Yeah." I breathed, my head cradled in my hands as blood pumped from a scratch on my temple, red seeping through my bleached blonde hair. The grey and yellow striped helmet was sliding across the pelican floor, scraping the paint and creating sparks as 479er took evasive action, bullets pinged against the armor plating of the ship as shots were fired.
A gloved hand curled around the back of my neck, rough and grounding and reassuring, and pulled my hand away from the graze; he tilted my head to the side to assess the damage, seemingly unconcerned with the rolling floors and roar of the pursuit ships.
"Yeah, North, I'm fine." I send him a small smile, already opening my mouth to spew some half-assed remark about—
In and out, one and two. The space of one blink, the space of one breath to accept and release.
The fragments always came sudden and in quick succession. He'd learned to push them aside, to not dwell upon the images, to now show that he was having an 'episode' as the doctors liked to call it.
Recovery One accepted, released, and buried it. He had bigger things to worry about than disjointed memories and a shattered mental state.
He was composed, if a little stiff, if a little robotic, if a little lacking in emotion. But he was still functional, still standing, and an active agent once more, anything to get out of that room with its white walls, white halls, and white tiles.
It made the blood spilled all the more stark.
—Maine growled in a mocking tone, tilting his helmet to the side as he regarded me suspiciously.
"What? No! Would I ever do that?" A hand fluttered to my chest as I screwed up my face into some semblance of innocence and betrayal, a gesture made utterly useless because of the helmet I wore constantly.
He growled again, this time crossing his arms as he refused to budge another step, no matter how I pulled on his arm. Damn tank.
"Well, I mean, yeah, but, uh," My words fumbled to a stop as I tried to compose myself, "would I ever do that to you?"
Maine paused, before nodding his head in acceptance. He raised a gloved and armored fist and tapped my visor twice with a menacing grunt as a warning, then continued down the hall, no longer reluctant. I shivered slightly, the meaning clear to me, even if no one else—
"Recovery One, come in, Recovery One."
He buried it, between one breath and the next, and there was nothing left.
Recovery One had a job to do.
"This is Recovery One. I read you, Command. Go ahead."
…
What is your name?
"Designation: Recovery One."
…
It was York.
Oh fuck, it was York—
—"cat pictures and a rubber duck, really, rookie?" Agent New York asked incredulously, his head cocked to the side in jest as he leaned over David's armored shoulder to peer into the contents of his locker.
"It's really none of your business, Agent New York." David snapped, his irritation at a bad training session over riding any sense of propriety and professionalism he'd been careful to cultivate during his first few days on the Mother of Invention.
He'd arrived to the ship only a week beforehand, and was immediately sent through the paces for a medical and fitness baseline. David had been given his codename the moment he stepped on board and introduced to 'Alpha Team,' the men and women he'd train and fight beside for his tenure in the Project, hours before the disastrous training session.
To his annoyance, the Agent chucked and shifted his weight to lean comfortably against the row of lockers.
"Call me York, kid. No one uses full code names past the first day."
David growled under his breath, hoping to whatever higher power that Agent York would get bored with heckling him and fucking leave him alone, and yanked off his helmet, tossing it haphazardly in the locker. It clanked and knocked into some of his personal items, but his thoughts were elsewhere as he continued to unclasp pieces of armor with jerky movements.
"Come on, it wasn't so bad." York attempted to sooth, stepping back and settling himself on the bench, looking for all the world as if there was no place he'd rather be.
"You saw it. The Director saw it. All of Project Freelance saw it. I got fucking destroyed by Agent Carolina. I barely scored a single hit on her. I'm a weapons specialist, not some bad ass… kung fu gymnast… ninja!"
"The Director does prefer his agents to be well-rounded." The agent shrugged, his tone still light and easy.
"I got my armor this morning." David stressed, listening to the hiss-click of the release mechanism as he unclasped the chest piece and lifted it off. It thunked heavily to the floor and he sighed in both relief and frustration as the weight dwindled with each piece of armor he shed. He didn't even get to chose the color or type, just plain, disappointing gunmetal grey. "It was a one-on-one hand-to-hand combat only training session. The Director knows it's my weakness and her strength. What was the fucking point."
"It wasn't so bad," Agent York repeated.
"She requested I be taken off the Alpha Team roster and moved down to Bravo or Charlie. The Director is considering it." He stated flatly and his face was carefully blank of outward emotion, although he ran a gloved hand through sweaty blonde hair as an anxious gesture.
"Ah, that's kind of bad." Agent York said sagely, crossing his arms.
David gritted his teeth in anger, holding back a string of unsavory curse words, and tossed the last bit of armor —grey, fucking grey, he'd gotten enough grey skies growing up, he didn't need another reminder— into the locker. He slammed it shut, the bounce and echoing impact only making him feel worse, and turned away to stomp toward the showers, uselessly hoping the hot water could wash away the doubt that encroached upon his thoughts.
Why was he even here? The Director didn't have to swoop in after he'd been court-martialed, if he was so fucking useless he could have just—
"Is that a skateboard?"
David turned to see Agent York picking up the old board that rolled out of his locker, spinning the worn wheels idly as he peered down at the distressed design of a rooster and chattering teeth.
"Yeah." He replied shortly, "Just put it back and leave me alone, Agent York. You won't have to talk to me for much longer anyway, when Agent Carolina gets her way."
"If." AgentYork corrected abruptly, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"What?" David asked, confused and thrown slightly.
"If Carolina gets her way. The Director hasn't granted her request yet. You're here for a reason, Washington. Maybe it's not to be some 'bad-ass kung fu gymnast-ninja' like Carolina, but there is a reason the Director immediately placed you on Alpha team." Agent York's eyes were clear and his words earnest, there was no light tone or joking manner although he continued to play with David's skateboard in his hands.
David knew the reason: why Carolina demanded that he be taken off her team, and why the Director put him there in the first place. It didn't make the truth any easier to swallow, though.
"You any good?"
David shrugged, his anger still simmering beneath the surface as he crossed his arms in impatience, "it's been a while, war zones and blood-thirsty aliens don't allow much time to practice kick flips."
"I always wanted one of these as a kid," He mused, spinning the board in his calloused hands again, noting the scratches and scuff marks from years of use. "Never was able to get my hands on one."
David continued to stare.
"It's late." Agent York proclaimed abruptly, the board held still between his hands.
"Yeah, I know." David bit out, almost throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. He just wanted to take a shower, but Agent York was being intentionally difficult.
"No one is scheduled for the training room until 0600 hours tomorrow."
"Okay…" David had no idea where this was going.
"If we ask FILSS nicely, she won't say a word."
And then it clicked.
"Come on, kid, it'll be fun. Better than sitting around here sulking anyway." York's voice took on a childish pleading tone.
Corporal David [REDACTED], formerly of the UNSC Marine Corps, knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't do anything unprofessional that might jeopardize his already precarious position in Project Freelancer. But he was crumbling beneath the prospect of having a bit of fun and maybe, just maybe, making a friend, despite the inauspicious start.
He sighed heavily, running a hand through flattened blonde hair, "I'm not sulking."
"Sulking, manly pouting after being beat up by a girl, same thing." York quipped victoriously.
"And I'm not a kid." David stepped forward to snatch his board out of York's hands, but he pulled it out of reach.
"Hey, give it back!" He flailed for a moment, stretching desperately as York held it above his head. He barely stopped short of jumping for it, although if York's shit-eating grin was anything to go by, that was exactly what he wanted. David was twenty, not ten.
"Come on, Wash, you gotta reach for it!" York teased.
"Wash?" He blurted out.
"Well, I'm not going to call you 'Agent Washington,' too much of a mouthful. What, don't like it?"
Wash couldn't help the shy smile that stretched across his face, "I guess it's fine, better than kid or rookie."
"Aw, but you'll always be a rookie to me, kiddo." York quipped, throwing an arm around Wash's neck in a facsimile of a hug. Wash squawked in protest as he was dragged past his locker and out into the hall, his fear and doubt forgotten in the odd moment of comradeship.
"We should see about getting you a secondary color on your armor. Plain grey is too dull for your sunny personality, Wash."—
Agent Washington wrenched his eyes shut, blocked his ears, and curled up in the darkened corners of his mind. He just wanted the world to stop hurting so much.
He had to bury it.
In and out, accept and—
—"Alpha, what are you doing?" The Director drawled, gaining the attention of the ship's A.I.
"Nothing, just wondering why Davi—"
"Agent Washington." The Director corrected smoothly, his hands crossing behind his back loosely as Alpha's avatar appeared on the console.
"Yeah, him, why did he suck so bad? I mean, really, his hand-to-hand combat scores are fine, he should have been able to, you know, be more than a screaming punching bag. It was weird, it's like he was surprised about Car—"
"It is none of your concern. Do you believe Agent Carolina's assessment has merit?"
"Well," Alpha drew out the word and paused, stretching the time between seconds to reach out and peek at how 'Agent Washington' was taking the disastrous first training session. With the bad start, the other hot-shot agents of the Project were going to underestimate him, bully him, give him a fucking inferiority complex; there was a still 9.435% chance David could pull off meshing nicely with Alpha Team. Even if he impressed them and all the cards had been played correctly, the optimal conclusion only had a 37.012% chance of occurring.
Watching the interaction and banter between Agents York and Washington, Alpha's increased the chance to a whopping 29.903%.
Wash, huh, he liked it. Alpha found him amusing, a bit of childish, awkward fun between all the bad ass soldier personalities posturing for the number one position; he was the youngest recruit in the project after all. He might not be the best, but he could be the support that tries to hold them all together. And with York, a prankster at heart, and Wash, young and reckless, joining forces, the Mother of Invention would be an interesting place in the foreseeable future.
Alpha made a note to record York and Wash's 'training' session, for his own amusement, of course. He asked FILSS to let them play for a bit and loop old footage, he didn't want the Director getting ahold of it and punishing the duo.
"Nope," Alpha answered, "Agent Washington is good, that's why he's here. Just because you decided to haze him like a frat boy during his introduction, doesn't mean he should be moved down. I can pull up his combat scores and probability of success in any of the teams, but you already know all that. Your brain works the same as mine, just, you know, slower. He'd be good with Alpha team."
"… I'll take what you said into consideration."
"Right, Course you will. I'm gonna run a scan of the ship, make sure everything is running like it's supposed to, holler if you need of me, well, any more than usual." Without waiting for a dismissal, Alpha moved along the lines of code and network to the cameras in the training room.
York fell on his ass, again, moaning and groaning as he rolled around the floor. Wash shook his head, amused and exasperated as York attempted to grind on a rail even after failing to skate across the room without face planting.
Ah, World class entertainment, right there. Alpha wished he had popcorn.—
Alpha ducked his head as he drowned in self-loathing and guilt.
—no, no, NONONONONO, dead, all dead, Agent York, Agent Washington, died together, Wash was shot-fell behind-York refused to leave him, dragging his body, red ran between the CLOUDY AND SUNNY plates, i'm sorry, go york, go, leave, no, I won't, I gotta get you out, kid, bang BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG, red splattered tan, red flooded grey, York?, no, nonononono, goodbye-, PLEASE, STOP, DON'T SAY GOODB—
Epsilon was never much more than screams of denial and loss.
"Instruction: Identify yourself."
Whatever was left —Leonard— recovered Delta and continued with the mission.
…
What is your name?
"I don't know."
…
"What do you suggest?" Washington knew the answer.
"That we do not allow her to hamper our progress." Delta never did like South, too unpredictable, too angry, too viscerally human —flawed— for Delta to understand with numbers and quantitative data.
Agent Washington —Leonard Church, the Director, no— aimed the gun at Agent South Dakota's helmet; he saw the grey gun metal reflect dull gold in the visor. His hands didn't shake.
"Okay." Following orders was always easier.
"Oh, come on, Wash," Agent South Dakota started, her tone cynical and exhausted and so fucking familiar—she leaned against the bulkhead of the Pelican, a snarky remark just on the side of teasing falling from her lips as he picked himself off the floor, ears ringing and adrenaline pumping in the wake of extraction. South pulled off her helmet, smirk evident, dark smudges attested to the string sleepless nights—
"What are you gonna do, —rookie—?"
Wash could imagine her smirking behind the glinting visor, head canted to the side in cocky assurance.
"Shoot m—"
A bullet to the head, instantaneous death, she didn't have the time to understand that the Agent Washington—Wishy-Washy the newbie, yellow swirly straws in all his drinks, rubber ducky and kitten pictures in his locker, skateboarding up and down the halls and crashing into her immovable armor, she just laughed, harsh and cruel, tinged with light humor, rookie, idiot, useless, asshole— that held the weapon to her head wasn't the same as the Agent Washington of Before.
"Dude, you are one cold motherfucker."
Washington breathed in and out, he felt nothing. His hands didn't shake.
He was just fine.
…
What is your name?
"I'm not sure."
…