"Caboose! Keep that door closed! It stinks in there!" Tucker yelled as he jumped off of Red Base's couch. He ran over to Grif's door, where Caboose's curiosity had unleashed a wave of atrocious smells. Before the visible stink cloud could leave containment, Tucker slammed the door closed again. "Jesus! Were you trying to kill us?"

Caboose remained silent as he exchanged glances from Tucker's glare, to Grif's door, and then to the kitchen's fridge. The fridge seemed like the most logical place to look in this kind of situation. Well, to Caboose it seemed so. He scratched his head as his thinker-box worked hard.

". . . Maybe?" Caboose finally chose as his answer as he clutched Church's blanket tighter. He didn't want to say yes or no, because he didn't know which one would get him less yelled at. So, in the end, he went with the middle answer.

Tucker sighed and headed to open Red Base's main door so he could let out any of the stench that snuck past them. Tucker was starting to get really annoyed by Caboose. At least Caboose had annoyed the hell out of Church when he was still around, instead of him. But now that Church was gone, Caboose had more free time with Tucker.

All in all, Tucker was surprised that he wasn't a ghost yet. But then he remembered that Church was an AI, and Tucker seriously doubted that he was a calculator. So if he was actually killed, he would probably remain dead. And that would just suck.

As Tucker opened Red Base's door, a body shot through the open entrance. It was Wash that walked in, and on the way had pushed Tucker out of the way. Tucker watched Washington storm through the hallway, tracking dirt with him. Doc closely followed Wash like a faithful puppy.

"Excuse me!" Tucker yelled at Wash as he disappeared into the kitchen. Tucker turned around and faced outside, rolling his chocolate colored eyes at nothing in particular. "Man, why couldn't Washington be a Chic? A nice, hot, easy Chic?"

Tucker followed the two smuggled soldiers into the kitchen. Washington had already somehow gotten half of his armor off; only the waist down was still had the over armor on. He was currently raiding the fridge for any leftovers. He found an old bowl of bean soup and he tossed it into the microwave. All the time, Washington was frowning and hadn't let out one slip of emotion other than his usual frown.

Man, that guy never looked happy around them.

Doc however, with only his helmet off, looked very troubled. As he had been like last night. In fact, Doc had been off ever since he and Wash came back with a pair of Sheila's wheels yesterday afternoon. He was a wreck, trembling for no apparent reason.

During last night's dinner even, he couldn't hold his fork still enough to stab his vegetarian foods. Each time he moved to pierce the broccoli, he would miss and scratch against the old plates. It made such a racket that Tucker and Caboose spent most of their dinner watching Doc helplessly wield his fork. Wash had ignored it and pessimistically at his pork chops, but it was funny for the other two at the time.

But it became ridiculous when it was time for bed and Doc decided to stay up in the Rec. Room all night. His excuse was that he wasn't asleep. And that was a pile of bullshit since Doc had always stressed the importance of a good night's sleep every night. Doc had never gone to bed later than eight-thirty every single night that he had spent with Blue Team.

Wash had glared at Doc last night, but didn't say anything as he headed to his temporary room. But all night long, whenever there was just the faintest sound, or bump in the night, Doc had let out a girly squeal. Every single time, it would wake Tucker up. And it pissed Tucker off.

Doc showed many signs of not being himself at the time being too. Doc didn't scold Wash from wiping his feet off when he came back and not being polite to Tucker for Wash's behavior. Doc didn't even fix his glasses that were hanging off his nose, crooked.

That wasn't normal for a perfectionist like Doc.

"Okay, will someone tell me what the hell is wrong?" Tucker demanded.

"Well, I opened a door. And then you yelled at me." Caboose said from behind Tucker. And then he muttered, "you big meanie."

Tucker jumped at the sound of Caboose's voice. Tucker was leaning against the kitchen's back wall, and the kitchen's door was on the opposite side of the room. There was no way Caboose could have gotten behind him without being noticed.

"What? How the fuck did you do that, Caboose?" Tucker asked.

"Did what?" Caboose scratched his head again. His eyes furrowed together as he thought hard.

"Never mind Caboose." Tucker dismissed the idiot and turned back to face Wash and Doc. They were on their way out of the kitchen, as if to ignore Tucker's questions. "Hey, wait for a fuckin' minute."

Both froze and turned to face Tucker. His chocolate face was not the usual laid back expression it usually was. It now was painted as serious as a heart attack. His right hand was just barely touching his sword, as if he was threatening them. He pushed some of his short dreadlocks away from his eyes with his open hand. Doc trembled and made a strange noise while Wash kept his frown.

"What the hell is wrong with you two? Both of you have been acting strange since you came back from Sheila." Tucker stated. "What the hell happened out there?"

Doc looked at Wash, as if knowing he should be the one to speak. Wash glared at Doc, and then switched to Tucker and Caboose. Caboose, however, was fascinated with the kitchen's light and didn't pay attention to what was happening in the kitchen.

Wash sighed, "Nothing important. It can wait until the meeting tonight."

"Nu-uh, I'm not falling for that. If it has Doc trembling like a school girl, I should know what is going on." Tucker argued, "You know, since I'm the highest ranking official here."

"Well technically I'm Medical Super Private First Class! So I don't have to tell you. And Wash is a Freelancer." Doc pointed out, sounding more confident than he felt.

"Technically, you two aren't supposed to be here. I can call Command and they can take you two to jail for deserting the army." Tucker responded to.

"And technically this isn't even a real army, so it doesn't matter who's in charge. Besides, none of us had heard from Command since we came back from Sidewinder." Wash contributed, "It's like Command just vanished, so you have no leverage."

"So how about I tell Caboose that you're the reason Church is permanently gone?" Tucker threatened.

It was silent as the three intelligent soldiers stared at the simulation moron. He hadn't heard them and was still staring at the light bulb. Caboose's blue eyes had gotten huge and hadn't moved since Tucker yelled at him. They were glistening with the light from the light bulb.

"Ah!" Caboose finally screamed in pain, and he broke his concentration. He rubbed his eye sockets with his open pale hand. "My eyes can't see things! I think . . . that they were stolen!"

The three soldiers then watched Caboose run out of the kitchen with Church's blue blanket and towards his temporary room in Red Base. Man, that kid was like Linus with his blanket. Along the way, he ran into the Kitchen's doorway and knocked over some furniture. It was quite a commotion.

"And trust me, when Caboose gets mad, you don't want to be on the receiving end." Tucker finished.

Doc and Wash exchanged glances. Wash sighed and opened the microwave door to retrieve his bean soup. He sat at the small table and drank the soup with greedy gulps. Doc, Wash's ever faithful human collie, joined him and motioned for Tucker to sit down too.

Tucker sat opposite of Doc and Wash and suspiciously eyed them. He sat his deactivated sword down on the table for an easy reach. It was silent in the kitchen as the three tried to see who would speak first. However, it wasn't quiet outside of the kitchen, as Caboose was still screaming that he couldn't see.

"How will I know where I am going? Or where I've been? Does this mean that I won't remember what Momma looks like? Am I going to forget what I look like?" Caboose screamed from the other side of the base. "Oh . . . my . . . god! Am I going to forget everything? Am I going to forget that I exist?"

The three tried their best to ignore the child like screams of pointless agony. But they had little to no success.

"Remember when I told you my job in Project Freelancer was to retrieve AI and hopefully their injured Freelancers?" Wash started, blocking out Caboose.

"Yeah?" Tucker raised his eyebrows. "What about it?"

"Well, to do that, I was given a recovery beacon that signaled when either an AI unit or a Freelancer was in trouble. It would give me coordinates and details after a couple seconds it was sent to me."

"And let me guess . . ." Tucker sarcastically said as he waved his hands around.

" . . . One was sent to me yesterday on our way back from Sheila. It was extremely short and almost no details had made it over the time period." Wash described. "But from what little information I did receive, I could tell that there still is at least one Freelancer still out there."

"Oh no! I don't exist anymore! How am I going to enjoy my orange juice?" Caboose gasped, and then he was barely audible. "How am I going to share my orange juice with Church?"

Caboose then broke into sobs, probably because of the slip of Church's name. None of the soldiers in the kitchen stood up to help Caboose. Tucker just continued in their conversation.

"And this is bad how?" Tucker finally decided to cut to the chase.

"It's bad because maybe that Freelancer didn't want to be found out. Maybe that Freelancer wanted to remain hidden from society." Wash said, pressing his hands down onto the table with tremendous force. "And maybe that Freelancer will track me down so no one will know that he, or she, is still alive."

"Someone may attack Wash and kill him since he knows this information. And this Freelancer may kill the rest of us for safety percussions." Doc finally added, his voice shaking.

"Or maybe a Freelancer was just killed and we're overreacting. Either way, we all need to be on our toes for a couple of weeks." Wash said, "Which was exactly what I was going to say at tonight's meeting."

Tucker was quiet as he thought this over. Another Freelancer met more trouble, because all Freelancers ever cause is trouble. And pain. And death. And a lot of fighting. And pain. And problems. And more pain. Actually, Freelancers only ever caused Tucker and the rest of the simulation soldiers' misery. And a lot of pain.

Tucker didn't know if he could take another Freelancer.

"Man, this is bad news." Tucker muttered as he bent over and rubbed his temples. "So you're telling me that a Freelancer maybe on their way to kill all of us?"

"First, my second bestest friend dies. And then I can't miss my bestest friend!" Caboose sobbed somewhere else in Red Base. "I hate this vacation!"

"Tucker, for all that we know, one maybe here right now." Doc whispered as he finally fixed his crooked glasses.

It had been a hard task for West to drive a Mongoose through the winding trails. Most of her effort was trying to turn the handlebar so the Mongoose could turn right. Each shove and pull had caused a wave of pain through her left side. Sometimes, West had let out a whimper of pain. Something that West wouldn't stand for.

She stopped halfway towards the valley named Valhalla because of the pain. She looked down towards her left side to see what had been causing the pain.

"Oh god!" West muttered as she saw small streaks of red escaping from her blue armor. "That Simulation Stooge must have actually gotten me."

Delta had noticed this wound before, and had actually mentioned this to West. But of course, West had ended up either ignoring the AI unit's observations or had just forgotten his existence during her driving exercise. Delta had given up reasoning with West since they left the mountain base, at least until she was of better health.

Quickly, West tried her hardest to pull some of the armor off. But it was impossible with only one arm working. West swore silently to herself before grunting mindlessly, trying to tear her stolen armor apart with blind strength. And then, in a somewhat comedic manner, West fell off of her stolen Mongoose and onto the muddy ground.

"Delta? Can you do anything to help?" West said as she floundered on the ground, trying to grab onto the Mongoose to stand up.

"Of course, I could automatically begin the armor's pressure generator. That will halt the bleeding in that area of your body for four hours and twenty seven minutes." Delta said.

"Do it now!" West ordered as she watched her blood trickle out.

Delta obeyed. Soon, the amount of blood that was escaping West was dramatically dropping until there was barely a drop of wet blood. West sat against the Mongoose and just took deep breaths in. The idea of actually getting shot by a Simulation Stooge haunted her. She was weaker than she had used to be.

West was never the best Freelancer. Infact, she never had come close to the Top Freelancer boards. When Wash was number six, West had been fuming about it for a longer amount of time that was acceptable. However, West wasn't a bad Freelancer either. Even, before her supposed "death", West has unofficially the seventeenth best Freelancer and had remained that for a long period of time.

She had always thought that she was too good to get shot by a Simulation Stooge.

West groaned as she forced herself to get back on the Mongoose. Now that her bleeding had been stopped for a couple hours, maybe she could drive with less difficulty?

West floored it, and the Mongoose took off once again. West was right; it was less straining to drive now that she had stopped bleeding to death. Her mind wandered as she continued to move towards Valhalla.

West's thoughts were wrapped around the idea that she now had a time limit to find this Caboose. Less than five hours was enough time to retrieve the information, but not comfortably. There was a lot of risk involved, but West's mind was hazy about those details. West just aimed for the goal, not the effects it would cause.

And then, after a couple ten minutes of driving with one hand, West had reached the side of the valley. She turned the Mongoose off and dismounted it, as if it was a steed. West walked closer to the edge and took in the valley.

This was a standard Simulation setup. Two main bases for each Simulation team. Well constructed for good evasive maneuvers and other crap. From the distance that West was out, she could faintly see small blobs moving around. The soldiers West assumed. But what really caught her eye was the waterfall. West hadn't seen a Waterfall since her last illicit visit to Earth, and that waterfall didn't compare to this one.

"This is Valhalla?" West asked as she overlooked the valley from a ledge. She sniffed the air, as if to catch the mist from the Waterfall with her nose. "Too sunny for my taste."

"From the information I got on the computer at the last base, before you detonated the makeshift bomb, Caboose is a Blue simulation soldier stationed at the far end of the valley, by the waterfall. From his files, many of his team mates say he has a tendency to hamper progress and even go against orders." Delta said.

West turned around and walked back to her new Mongoose. It was in almost perfect condition; the only flaw was the radio that was taken out so it couldn't be tracked. She climbed back onto it and drove it into a little cave that was surrounded by trees.

"So you're telling me that Caboose has a tendency to be a nuisance rather than a helper." West simplified for her traumatic brain.

"In a way, that is correct." Delta said. "Although, I must advise you that if you continue in this course of action, the chances of success are diminished to thirty seven percent. The chances of your survival is less than twelve percent, including after you implant me into Caboose and withdrawal."

West snorted, "I survived the last fight, didn't I?"

"Yes. But that was miraculous. I calculated that chance of survival was fifty three percent in the last firefight. There are more Simulation Soldiers here, so the figures here have considerably changed." Delta argued. "Please, for your own safety, I recommend that we wait until you are of better health."

"Delta, revert twenty percent of power from the standard healing unit into my enhancement." West ordered, ignoring Delta's last plea.

"Finished, sensitivity enhancement is currently at twenty percent power. No damage to the Sensitivity enhancement from yesterday's firefight had been taken." Delta added the last part before West could ask. His voice faltered for a second and West panicked.

"Delta, you may be alive. But you're not in perfect condition. I order you to go offline during this. I'll wake you when I need you." West ordered, sounding a bit like a hypocrite. "You need time to rest."

"I can say the same with you . . ." Delta whispered as he shut himself off. Delta hoped for the best, but his logic told him to expect the worst.

West was now alone again. But she didn't mind right now. Ever since that accident from yesterday, she hadn't been thinking as clear as before. Now that there was only one voice in her mind, she could concentrate on her work. She took one last overview of Valhalla.

West Virginia stood there in the sunlight, covered in dry blood and her head tilting to the right. Her right arm still wasn't working and she regretted the fact that she would be going into battle again without it. A Battle Rifle was safely secure on her back, an SMG in her working hand. West's belt on her waist contained her now red tinted knife, along with a couple grenades or two. Those grenades were now painted with her own blood that had just escaped just over ten minutes ago.

She was ready for this. She was ready to avenge her friend's deaths. She took in a deep, broken breath and started her way down into the valley of Valhalla. Her footsteps was quick but careful, however, that came to an end as she reached the bottom.

From the timer clock that Delta had so graciously made for West before she shut him off, West only had a little more than four hours left before she would continue to bleed to death.

"Let's do this." West muttered to herself in her demented state.