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Freelancer Housing Facility

Aaron was still absorbing all of this new information as he lay on his bed in his hotel-room sized block in the Freelancer housing facility. He was just about to drift off to sleep when there was a loud, sharp knock at the door. Aaron, still half asleep, got up, and walked over to the door, sliding it open.

"Agent Michigan, I am Drill Sergeant O'Riley! I am the one that will command you every day on training! I expect to see you in the shooting range at 0500 tomorrow morning, gun cleaned, and ready to go! Do I make myself clear?"

Aaron, familiar with all of this, salutes the Sergeant. "Sir, yes, sir!"

The Drill Sergeant looks Aaron up and down. "Dismissed!" He yells. As he's walking away Aaron hears, "I'm glad one of 'em doesn't try put themselves above me."

Aaron chuckles to himself as he shuts the door and sits back on the bed. With nothing better to do he takes apart his pistol, cleans it, and puts it back together. Looking on his watch, he only took 1:30 to clean and repair it. A record time for him. Then, for the first time, he noticed the time, 1900, or 7:00, it was dinner time in the mess hall. Now that he was thinking about food, his stomach gave a groan, as if to persuade him to get something to eat.

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Freelancer Mess Hall

Walking in to the mess hall, the smell of poorly cooked meat wafts into his nose, making him gag. He missed the food back in New York. Not the city. He lived in a small town. There he used to grow blueberry bushes out in his backyard. And, when he was a boy, he used to run out there before dinner, and eat as much as he can so mom's cooking wouldn't make him go hungry. Right now, he missed those home-cooked meals.

The line for food was almost non-existent. There we're only about fifteen or sixteen people eating food from here, others had food sent from home. But he got his half-cooked steak and was looking for a place to sit.

"Hey! Rookie! We've got a place over here!" Someone yelled from across the room. Aaron looked over at the person standing. It was Agent North Dakota. He and his sister, South Dakota, never really separated. "I heard we got a new recruit. What's your name kid?" North said with apparent interest.

"My name is Aaro-"

"No, not your name. Your name."

"What? Oh, yeah. My name is Agent Michigan. I'm here to take the place of Carolina."

South spoke up, angrily. "What are they just going to replace us if we die? Great, then this is all for nothing!"

North comforted her. "South, you're not going to die. Even if you do, they can't replace you anyway…There running out of states." We all chuckle a little bit and some of the tension is relived.

North looked back at Aaron, "Ok, everyone gets a nickname around here, so I guess we can call you, Mitch."

Aaron, looking utterly confused. "Alright, then what are your nicknames?"

North laughed, "I'm North and she's South. It's the only difference in our names, so we can't both be called 'Dakota'."

Aaron chuckled uncomfortably. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Just as he was about to dig in, the loud speaker clicked on.

Agent Michigan, please report to the Councilor's office immediately.
Agent Michigan, please report to the Councilor's office immediately.

Aaron slams his fork on the table. "Common! I can't rest for five frickin' seconds with out someone knocking on my door, or calling me to an office."

South grunts. "Welcome to Project Freelancer. North and I both had to deal with the exact same thing, only worse." North just nods his head in agreement, all his attention is on Agent Massachusetts, Agent Idaho's girlfriend. South looked over at her brother, following his gaze. Once her eyes reach the spot, she sighs, and cuffs North hard in the back of the head. "North! I told you, stop staring at her, or you're going to end up like Maine!"

Aaron gets up, still laughing, and walks to the Councilors office. He had no idea where to go. He stopped twice to get directions, which sent him around the whole complex. He asked one more Agent where to go, and he sent him through a training exercise. Finally after about 30 minutes of wondering the complex, and getting shot by paint balls, he found the right room. This time he didn't stop to take any calming breaths and just knocked.

"Enter." He heard a calm voice say. As Aaron opened the door, the man continued. "Ahh, yes, Agent Michigan. I still need to evaluate you. We are taking more caution in choosing what AI go to what agents." He took out a slim metal case and pulled out a cigar. Clipping off the end, he lit it with a lighter in the shape of a mini pistol. "Now, I need to ask you a few questions. First, has there been any history of mental disease in your family?" Aaron shook his head no. "Ok, and has there ever been any genetic diseases that we should know about?" Aaron shook his head no again. "Alright, that's really all I need to know now, for now. After you go through a day or two of training, I think that you will be able to be paired with an AI."