(A/N) Hey guys, sorry about the huge delays of late, were having problems with some people getting chapters in, so bear with us as I hunt them down and badger them about it! However, we do have one here for you, written by our new Wyoming writer, Xehanorto, who'll be filling in some very big shoes in Phase Two: Betrayal (mine!). ;) Hope you all enjoy his first chapter, because you'll be seeing more of them in the future! Once again, I would like to remind people that we're still looking for new writers, so if you're interested in taking part in the second half of this fic, either send me a PM or head on over to our forum and apply! Just remember, applications shut on January 1st, 2014, so make sure you've done so before then!

Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven - You Never Get Away

Agent Wyoming

Written by Xehanorto

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts." ― Winston Churchill

Wyoming - no, now he was Reginald again, he'd better start getting used to that name - had decided to pay his respects to his fallen comrades when the project had been put on hold. Doing his best to remain inconspicuous and under the radar, he made his way to some backwater town in Australia to pay his respects for Massa. Thankfully, both her and Mich's personal information had been made available after their deaths, which had made things much easier on him.

The experience of mourning a teammate was new to him. None of his mates before the project had ever gotten themselves killed, or if they did, there was little time to mourn over their departure. They had been of the UNSC's best ODST teams regarding recon missions, prized for their long-range abilities in a battle scenario, serving with collective distinctions against the Insurrectionists on Sansar. Rarely missed, and even more rarely did they lose one of their own. Wyoming had been the best of the lot, and that was what had attracted the Director's attention to him. Wyoming closed his eyes as he thought back to a simpler time, a time when he wasn't feeling an overwhelming need for revenge, and an even more consuming sense of guilt. Back to when the ache of loss did not afflict him, not like it did these days.

Reggie was sitting at an improvised campsite, consisting of some old wreckage that he and the rest of his team had found about three or four miles from their current target. It wasn't much, but it was adequate enough, given the current weather. Most of his squad were passing the time with idle conversation, anything to avoid thinking of the mission ahead of them, except for one chap.

"You know we're not blood-sucking aliens, right kid? You can talk to us, unless you're a… ya know, mute."

Reginald glanced over at Bucky. He chuckled for a moment at his poor sense of humor, and his gaze had moved over to their recent addition, Samuel, when he started to laugh, quietly, restrained, but still filled with mirth.

He was curious to why they had received a new addition, since the squad had suffered no casualties over the past few months, and the only other reason for a new addition was if someone had finally been able to get out of the army, requiring a replacement. And he was pretty sure he hadn't been invited to any retirement parties lately.

"You know… other than the mute thing, that wasn't too bad, mate. Perhaps you'll grow a sense of humour after all! I'm just thankful that you've confirmed we're not blood-sucking aliens, because I saw you with that girl, pretty redheaded little thing, last time we were on shore leave, and vampirism is too kind a word for what you were up to!"

That got the entire squad laughing. Reggie chuckled while poking at the fire with a piece of rusted piping as the sun began to set. Steve was the next one to speak up, sitting across from Wyoming, an appraising look on his face as he looked their new addition up and down.

"So, new guy… wow, that feels a bit odd on the tongue. Not every day we get a new guy. What's your deal?"

Samuel's features set into an expression of irritation, before smoothing and he sighed. "Well, I've only been in service for a couple of years. The second I turned eighteen, I joined the UNSC, just wanting to make something of my life…"

"What, did you have a death wish?"

Samuel shook his head as he stared into the fire. "No, I wanted something stable. I never had that growing up, so I thought that by joining the UNSC, I could get that. Unfortunately, they decided that stability wasn't for me, and moved me on. Think they meant well, telling me that I was 'underutilised' in my current position, but I sure as hell didn't see it that way."

Reggie chuckled a bit as he leaned back against an upright sheet of corrugated iron. Parts of it rang true to his own history, he noted, smiling. The history of most of his squad, truth be told.

"Well, in the three years I've been in service, this is my fifth troop assignment. The longest I've been in the same squad is seven months, and that was with my first squad. Still, I guess could be worse. Don't know how, but… if things get any worse somehow, at least I'll know."

The mood instantly died among the camp as Samuel finished his tale, and Reggie couldn't help but let a small frown appear on his face. It wasn't often that happened either; it was rather difficult to put him in bad mood. He was the first one to try and lighten things a bit, breaking the silence that had followed with a smile and his bright, cheery voice.

"Look Samuel, this squad has been one unit, one family for a long time now. Now, I don't know how long you'll be here, but I'll make sure that if you get transferred, we'll keep in touch. After all, we are mates now, and mates stick together."

Reginald sighed as he took another sip of his drink. A few months later, the chap had gotten himself transferred and he hadn't heard much from him after that, his promise proving impossible to keep, and that had been one of the first things that had begun Reginald's transformation from unshakable optimist to...well, Wyoming. It hadn't been the first time a team member had been lost, but it had struck him hard, nevertheless.. Massa, on the other hand…she was one of the few that he'd never be able to get back. There was nothing that he wanted to do more than mourn her death, to gain some closure over it, but the entire concept was foreign to him and he...he just felt lost.

He had never had the time to mourn for a comrade, as those that he had lost and had grown close enough to miss, and there were precious few of them, had fallen in the field, either at Covenant or Insurrectionist hands, and the mission held his thoughts, not his friends. What made it all worse though, was that he had been decommissioned, ordered to sit tight while Project Freelancer were investigated, while Ark and Penn ran free. The UNSC was bloody mad for doing this, especially with this new Insurrectionist Group taking out high-ranking members. He might have been forced out of Project Freelancer, but he still had some friends in the UNSC, who kept him up to date with the news, and it seemed to him that they needed Project Freelancer now more than ever.

He shook his head as he sat down in the back of a bar, where, for the most part, he went unnoticed. It wasn't like one of the pubs back on his own turf, but it was the closest that he could get to in this town. The town itself seemed rather nice, an almost rustic quality to it, but the fact that Massa would never see it again… something about that caused anger to build up inside him.

Perhaps this was what Maine felt like all the time, always angry, always wanting to pound someone into the dust. But neither he nor Wyoming would be likely to get a chance to take Ark or Penn down, given the project's investigation. No, some ODST out there would probably get the honor of killing those two traitors. Wyoming would have to settle on buying that man a drink.

He sighed again and finished off his second glass of beer, setting it back on the table. He had been at war too long, civilian life was a foreign thing to him, and he found the transition to be more difficult than he thought it would be. When he slept, every loud noise outside, every car alarm going off in the distance, every shout or cry or crash woke him up, his finely tuned senses still programmed into the life-and-death reality of war. And now it seemed that, for him at least, the fight was over.

The worst part of this was that he had no real family or normal life to go back to. In a sense, he had become married to the military, though he had known this was to be a possibility from the beginning. Not being on the front lines, constantly waiting for the next play to be made, was nerve-wracking. At least in the military you generally knew what expect, both from your allies and your enemies. War never changes. The world outside it, however, had.

If only York or Florida were here with him right now. Then again, perhaps it was his fault, leaving without so much as a goodbye. He had held the slightest shard of hope that another of his former teammates would make their own pilgrimage here, but they hadn't, and he had no means of contacting them. Still, he couldn't blame either of them for not coming. They had their own lives to lead, and where no doubt dealing with their pain in the best way that they knew how, doing their best to put their pasts behind them. The best escape from pain was to accept it and move on. He just wished that he could.

Unfortunately, when you've sent months in the company of a small group of people, its funny how many of their idiosyncrasies you pick up on, and only remember and miss when they're no longer around. Massa had been one of the good ones; not just a soldier, but also a...a friend. It had been strange for him, at first, to find someone genuinely worried for his welfare. Even when he had been an ODST, the others only cared whether or not you could keep up and get the job done, they hadn't worried about him. There was no use, though, in dwelling on the past, as it would only make his quest for closure all that bit more difficult.

Suddenly the bar went quiet, and he looked up from his beer, wondering what had caused the sudden silence. A glance towards the door answered his question. Seems like the Director had finally escaped out of that mess called politics.

The Director immediately looked at him, recognition flashing in his eyes, and Wyoming swore under his breath, pointedly looking away, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Ignoring his open hostility, the Director made his way over to the former agent, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him.

"Wyoming," the Director began, fingers steepled, looking at him sternly. Serious, as ever. Seems some things never change, even if everything else had.

"What can I do for you today, Director?" he relied sardonically, his moustache bristling.

"You are probably not aware of this, but the UNSC has reinstated me as the head of Project Freelancer, and cleared the project to resume operations immediately," he replied, stunning the man across from him. "It appears that we are several months behind our enemies, and must do everything within our ability to regain the advantage. Of course, we're looking to recruit our former agents, which is what brings me here today. We've been keeping tabs on all of you, ever since the project was closed down. It didn't take long to find you."

So they had realized their folly after all? Still...peacetime had a certain appeal, even if it wasn't true peace. Perhaps it was time to get out of this business after all? A couple of minutes ago, Wyoming had been thinking of the past, unhappy with civilian life, and now that it was about to be taken away from him, he realised that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't as bad as he had thought it to be.

"Director, I will be rather frank with you. I want to stay out of the business. I've seen some of the few people that I've cared about die, and I'm not sure I'm ready to risk going through that again. We've all lost a lot, through Project Freelancer, and I don't think you have any right to ask me to give anything more. I don't want to end up like Florida, spending my whole life fighting other men's wars. I hate Ark and Penn for what they've done, but I don't need revenge. I need to let go."

The Director only chuckled at his reply, as though he had predicted the Brit's response. Reginald frowned at this, slightly unnerved, when the Director spoke up. "That is most unfortunate. I suppose I will have to make my proposition to an agent more...suited for the task ahead. Alaska, perhaps, will be more open to what I had in mind for you."

Reginald raised an eyebrow at this, his curiosity having been piqued just that little bit. Carolina had always been the Director's go-to agent for anything worth doing, so what could he be thinking of proposing? Perhaps the tide was changing.

"And what task would that be?"

The Director smiled in reply, and both of them knew that Reginald was hooked now. Curiosity had always been one of his main vices, and it looked like it would prove to be so yet again.

"The UNSC have ordered us to take down the new Insurrectionist threat that call themselves the Crimson Sun. I want you to lead the team that will do so."

Reginald felt a smirk slip onto his face as he heard this, images of himself pulling the trigger on Ark and Penn flashing through his mind. Though questions were being raised in his head, there was one that he needed clarity on, above all the others. "Why not go with Carolina? She's our Number One, right? Why are you looking to delegate this to someone else?

The Director shook his head wearily, almost as though he was disappointed with Wyoming's questioning. "Agent Carolina is a great asset, and an incredible agent. Unfortunately, she is also too emphatic, a trait that I fear may prevent her from delivering the final blow, when it is needed. I need someone who can perform without letting their emotions cloud their judgment. Someone who will do what needs to be done, rather than what should be done. Someone I can trust."

He gave a light chuckle at this. Trust? Him? Perhaps the Director had taken the investigation more to heart than Wyoming had thought. If he was forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel for recruitment lines like this, then maybe the Director was beginning to lose his grip on things. "There are several other agents that could do this. You don't need me, and you don't have anything to offer me. I'm done with Project Freelancer, Director. I don't need this."

"Oh, but you do, Wyoming. I told you that we've been monitoring your movements. You've spent all of your time since leaving the project travelling aimlessly, until you found yourself here, seemingly at random. Now, unless you've been sightseeing, I think that its not a huge leap to guess that you do need this. You need closure, Reginald, and the only way you're going to get that is at the end of a bullet. So how about settling for revenge, instead?"

And then there was that smirk again. They both knew he had cornered him, and, to be honest, he had seen it coming. Well, not the 'becoming the leader of a newly formed hit squad' part, which had been an interesting turn of events, but they had both known that by the end of this conversation he would agree to re-enter the fold, as Agent Wyoming once more. Guess fighting was just in his blood. He was a soldier at heart, and that would never change.

"Very well then," Wyoming replied slowly, grudgingly. "If I were to accept this position, who exactly would be placed under my command? I would want to be sure that the best tools had been placed at my disposal, before I could even think about signing on."

The Director nodded as he slid a file over to him, with TOP SECRET emblazoned onto the front in crimson letters, reeking of unoriginality. The Director could have just emailed him the details. He had his suspicions as to who he would be working with, but right now that confirmation could wait.

"Agent, I assure you that you will have everything you need, to ensure that those who have damaged this project will pay for their crimes."

Those seemed to be the magic words there, his fingers slowly opened the document and he found five names in the document. His eyes scanned through the documents at the fourth and fifth entries, as the first three he was already familiar with, and was unsurprised to see their names.

So it was to be himself, Maine, California, Alaska, and then these two new agents. Interesting, he mused, scanning through their files, and liking what he saw. It was a bit of a gamble on the Director's part, given that these two agents would have no idea what they were in for, but hell, this whole project had been a gamble to begin with. What would be the point in stopping now?

Maine would be useful to say the least, even without his brute strength, and he had always had a very strong rivalry going with Penn. Wyoming could make use of that, using it to rile him up against Penn, not that he really thought that he'd need to. Maine was a monster, pure and simple. He lived for the fight. He was Wyoming's kind of soldier.

Then there was Cal, who could also be useful. His jokes were almost as good as his own, and his skills were impeccable. His CQC abilities would make him a useful asset in the fight ahead, given that this was also Wyoming's own area of weakness. Then again, the same could be said for Alaska as well.

The chap was split right down the middle and you never knew when he would snap. That could prove to be very dangerous to both the team and to the enemy, as proven when the old chap had snapped during the Covenant attack on the MoI. Hopefully, it would play out, here, in their favour.

They would do. With them, and these two new agents...Nebraska and Colorado, he could take out Ark, Penn and Harper, and anyone else who stood in his way.

Failing was not an option, even putting the murders of his two former teammates aside. The two were dangerous, and Wyoming had seen the damage the Covenant could do to a planet first-hand. The UNSC needed Project Freelancer to aid them against this menace, the true threat, so the sooner the Crimson Sun was put to rest, the better.

"While I must express my hesitancy over the two new agents, this selection is most promising, Director." Wyoming stood up from the table and looked at him straight in the eye, leaning over the table and extending his hand. "They better be as good as your files say they are. Count me in."

The Director simply stood in return and accepted the handshake, a solemn look on his face. "Welcome back to the fight Agent Wyoming. A shuttle will be here soon, and then the real work can begin."

There was a brief pause, as the two stood across from each other, before Wyoming breached the silence, pointing to the elephant that had been in the room ever since the Director had entered the room. "What changed, sir? What made them bring you back?"

The Director frowned, looking troubled, staring at the Brit for a moment before replying. "I assume you are aware that the Crimson Sun...that Ark has assassinated two UNSC officials, Colonel Eric Grant and Doctor Simon Eisenberg." He paused for a moment, before Wyoming nodded, then continued, "Well, after Eisenberg's assassination, I was reinstated on a temporary basis, and contacted Carolina and the agents who had remained with her. It was until the most recent incident, however, that we were allowed to begin our work in earnest, until our restrictions were fully removed."

"What happened?" Wyoming asked, his brow furrowing.

"Harper...happened."