Emersyn stood on the other side of the interrogation table, starring at Butch Flowers, AKA Agent Florida. He was currently looking over a computer pad, showing the official orders having Project Freelancer shut down and blacklisted.

"Well, that's good enough for me!" Flowers answered enthusiastically as he slid the device across the table. "I assume you want me to make a long and detailed confession about all my involvement with Project Freelancer?"

"Later," Emersyn assured dryly. "Now, I just want some important cliff notes. First off, Sim Troopers, how are they picked?"

"Officially, or unofficially?" Flowers asked, getting no answer. "I mean, officially? They're the washouts, the ones who didn't make the cut to be soldiers."

"And unofficially?" Emersyn stressed.

"It took me a while, but I figured that out on my own. You see, each of them is the BEST of the Washouts," Flowers said with a grin. "Most of them are, or rather were, Freelancer candidates. A few agents were even pulled out of the Sim Troopers. Each one has some skill or skills that make them very unique. Dexter Grif is a savant with piloting most forms of vehicles but is incredibly lazy and unmotivated. Lavernius Tucker is unaware of it, but he has a natural talent for melee and hand-to-hand combat. He also only cares about one thing, obviously. There is even a Sim Trooper I heard about in another outpost who can hit any moving target with any firearm...but somehow can't hit any stationary ones," Flowers explained.

"So, the talented ones who didn't meet the usual military standards. Freelancer approved them and shoved them into the Fake War scenario," Emersyn mused. "To your understanding, what was the point of that?"

"Well, eventually I figured out the truth, but at first? I was under the impression it was to help train and prepare for us for having to take on fellow humans that had gone rogue," Flowers explained with a hum. "Which I'm sure was true to a degree, but it was mainly just unsanctioned psychological testing."

"And the AIs?" Emersyn pressed.

Flowers paused at that. "That is more complicated, I will admit. I was aware that the Director did something experimental, maybe even questionable."

"And what, exactly, did you think that meant at the time?" Emersyn asked, leaning forward.

"Apologizes, Captain, but normal intimidation methods don't work on me," Flowers informed helpfully. "But to answer your question? I believed him when he said that they were making specialized copies of the Alpha."

"You can't copy an AI," Emersyn reminded.

"Yes, well, the Director is an expert and I didn't question it much at first," Flowers elaborated. "I assumed it was something new; something that allowed you to copy aspects or fragments of a Smart AI's code and create these Semi-Smart AIs. And be honest, that makes some sense in a vacuum, right?"

"Some," Emersyn agreed curtly. "How did you realize that wasn't the case?"

"Little things. The obsession the AIs have with the Alpha, some of the things they said about it, and...the Consular," Flowers said, sighing almost apologetically. "The man is good at his job, but he never really did learn that I could tell when he's using his technical psychology terms to hide something and not just doing his official job."

"And why did you never try to report anything?" Emersyn questioned.

"Mainly because I didn't think it was unsanctioned," Flowers explained with a shrug. "I'm not sure what you think we are, Captain, but the Agents by and large thought that Project Freelancer was just a top-secret project built around creating better soldiers for the war and, when needed, dealing with threats on the Homefront. Everything about the project seemed legitimate. We were transferred in from various parts of the military, most chose to enter the project, and there were never many obvious signs that what we were doing might be traitorous. Off the books, not strictly legal, but not treacherous."

Emersyn studied the man carefully. "Maybe most of you. But surely some of you had some idea of what was going on, with the Alpha or otherwise."

"Some, probably. But I couldn't say who," Flowers answered with a thoughtful hum. "Most people didn't like talking to me too much. For some reason."

"For some reason," Emersyn repeated evenly. "Now, I have a question that has been bugging me for days now."

"Oh? And what might that be, Captain?" Flowers asked curiously.

"See, not counting you, being officially listed as KIA? There are still four names on the Blue Team's Roster. However, Leonard Church isn't one of them," Emersyn explained as she leaned forward, hands on the table. "So who the flying fuck is Private Jimmy?"

Meanwhile

"Okay, I don't get it," Velimir said bluntly.

"Need to be a lot more specific in this place," Zimmerman stated knowingly as they stood on Red Base, currently empty.

"Why doesn't that thing just fly off?" Velimir explained, looking at the dragon currently sleeping off near the canyon wall. "Or just escape back through the portal?"

"Well, best as I can tell, the troopers fed it some of the corpses and helped treat the wing. Somehow," Zimmerman mused. "Besides, even if the wing hadn't been broken, you know, it might starve on this planet."

"So, what, did they accidentally domesticate it?" Velimir asked dubiously. "Does it even work like that?"

"They spared it, healed it, and fed it. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure those are some of the bare essentials for domesticating anything," Zimmerman said. "And it's probably already domesticated since there were people already riding it."

Velimir sighed heavily. "How did we get here? The war was over, and then we fell into this insanity."

"What, did you think we'd immediately get to go home and celebrate after we won?" Zimmerman asked in amusement.

"It'd be a nice thought," Velimir murmured to himself.

"We were never going to be one of the first homes. All the stuff we've done over the war, they were going to need crews like us in case any of the aliens went rogue to keep fighting or anything else that can go wrong these days," Zimmerman pointed out.

Velimir shook his head at that. "Yeah, well, we're overdue shore leave, especially after this mess. We get a Magic Portal to a Roman-Era world with dragons, AND we have a rogue military project that was running all kinds of illegal operations. And somehow, those two are unrelated."

"And now we're worrying about this Alpha," Zimmerman finished off.

"Trying not to think too deeply on that," Velimir admitted. "I've never had to deal with rogue Smart AIs. You?"

"I've seen one in a containment unit once," Zimmerman explained distantly.

"So, not that scary?" Velimir assumed.

"No, it was terrifying," Zimmerman said with a shiver. "It always felt like it was about to break out, run wild. It mused about all the vvery specific ways equipment and weapos could just suddelny malfunction and kill us. It was predicting my actions and thoughts within five minutes of meet me."

"Maybe you're just predictable?"

Both of the soldiers jumped in alarm. "Jesus!" Velimir all but screamed, aiming his weapon at the voice on instinct.

"Cool it Legolas, it's just me," Church said dryly.

If anything, realizing who it was made them tense more under their armor.

"How long have you been there?" Zimmerman asked, taking a breath as Velimir slowly lowered his gun.

"Listening to you two asshats? Just now. I was down in Red Base. Donut somehow hooked up his workout routine videos to the coms, so somebody had to turn that off," Church said with a shudder. "Next time, I'm burning the recordings."

"You could have just...changed frequency, right?" Velimir tried.

"You kidding? I don't know what shit your armor has working for, but we get three settings for our coms. Line A, Line B, and Command. And Line B is just eternal white noise."

"Right, fake war, less substandard equipment," Velimir recalled.

"Less standard or just substandard," Zimmerman corrected offhandedly.

Velimir ignored the grammar lesson. "So...yeah, I got nothing."

"Well, at least you're smart enough to admit it," Church mused.

Zimmerman sighed. "I'll try then. You think your friends can actually set up a base?"

"Friends is pushing it. But yeah, Sarge'll have something we can use. Assuming it isn't a giant death trap for Blue Team," Church mused.

"Is that still going on?" Velimir asked in exasperation.

"Welcome to every day of my life!" Church said with a false enthusiasm.

"What did I miss?" Zimmerman questioned, resigned yet curious.

"You don't remember? The Sergeant is still convinced we lied about the Civil War being fake," Velimir explained reminded.

"I...I don't know why, but I thought you were exaggerating at the time," Zimmerman realized with a head shake.

"In fairness, we're pretty sure he's just going through the stages of grief in his own way," Church explained. "Just let us worry about him for now. The rest of the Reds know he's wrong. Except maybe Donut."

"What do you people drink around here?" Zimmerman asked flatly.

"Mayonnaise and ketchup," Velimir answered instantly.

"I...don't get the joke," Zimmerman stated, more hopeful than questioningly.

"He's not joking," Church informed. "So, this Alpha? It's not going to be this giant robot or something we have to worry about?"

"I...uh...no? I mean, unless you have a giant robot somewhere around here?" Zimmerman answered uncertainly.

"You don't, right?" Velimir asked warily.

"Well, that's one less thing to worry about," Church mused. "For what it's worth, sorry we got you all dragged into this madhouse."

Both soldiers shared a look of surprise before looking back to the captain.

"I'm serious! You guys should be taking a victory lap home, having a party all over your ship until you get to Earth. Instead, you're stuck with us assholes, dealing with Freelancer bullshit and the damn magic gate," Church apologized. "I'd be more than a little pissed off if I was you guys."

"Yeah, well, not like you could leave the prisoners to starve and die," Velimir rationalized. "Besides, at least it's not boring around here."

"I could have just NOT had them captured, but I figured we'd all need some answer to what fuckery went on here," Church pointed out. "Honestly, I'd rather deal with the gate than Freelancer."

"You would?" Zimmerman asked curiously.

"Look, despite O'Malley warming up to me, these AIs tend to be a bit of a pain," Church said in annoyance.

The irony was so thick and heavy, both men struggled not to choke on it.

"Anyway, I better go check on those idiots to make sure goblins haven't stolen the warthog or something."

Meanwhile

Alnus Hill, Alnus Hill, Beware of Alnus Hill.

That had been what her parents had told Yuno. Them, and the elders. Even their forest village had heard the news of the Empire's Army fleeing in tatters from the Gate and the tales the survivor brought of Iron Gods with deadly magic inflicted by Dark Weapons.

Some rejoiced at the Empire facing such a defeat. Few outside the Empire mourned the loss of life. But most were wary, concerned for what the Empire might have unleashed.

Yet, here she was, She hadn't realized how close to Alnus Hill she had been hunting, but once she did? Curiosity overtook her. She rationalized that it was a good idea to know if the stories were true, to confirm there wasn't some imperial army gathered at the gate again…or if those from beyond the Gate were already coming through.

She hid behind a tree at the edge of the forest. It was still night, which should hide her well. She whispered a chant of spirit magic, enhancing her eyesight as she peaked around, focusing in on the mystical gateway on the hill.

She inhaled sharply in fascination.

She could see these Iron Gods. Each looked almost identical, but each was unique at the same time; The same armor with different sizes, colors, and other small details. They were building something around the gate, a fortification, but one of steel and metal with magic that glowed and sparked. Her eyes widened as she saw two moving massive metal pillars. One God was blue, the other was brown. While the brown was a bit uncaring in body language, the blue seemed more...energetic, perhaps?

There was a great red one moving about, seeming to be barking orders at the others.

There was something, a creature or carriage, it was hard to tell. The Orange God had been sitting on it until the Red one half-heartedly dragged him up, pushing him off to work. Another Red God, but one deeper like blood or wine, almost seemed to laugh at this. There was a pink one walking around the perimeter, and Yuno felt he was the one keeping watch.

Having seen enough, she was prepared to leave until she caught a figure emerging from the Gate.

This one was grey-blue. She didn't have a word for this color. It was like the blue of the sky, but duller. Like a frozen lake without the shine.

All at once, the other Iron Gods took note of his presence, turning to face him, paying heed to whatever he had come to say. Especially the True Blue one. A son or brother, perhaps?

Yuno had seen the dark weapons on all of them, but her eyes settled uneasily on the long-ended one in his hands. All the stories of the Iron God spoke of their leader being one with a weapon that could strike multiple foes across a great distance, returning to his hand before one might blink.

The Spear Lord.

Staring at him made her ears twitch nervously. There was something...different about the Spear Lord. What, she couldn't imagine, but she could feel it in the very air, in the ambient magic of the world.

So caught up in studying him, she failed to realize that he had raised his weapon, taking aim as the other Gods turned their gaze to see his target and looked...

Right at Yuno herself.

Realizing she had been discovered, Yuno came out of her hiding spot, not even trying to lift her bow. She could run, and maybe she'd escape. But what if they followed her? Back to her village? She couldn't be responsible for something like that, even as her heart beat fearfully in her chest.

The sun was rising now. If she died, then at least she got to have a beautiful view as her last sight.

The Spear Lord considered her for a long moment before...

Her knees almost gave out in relief when he lowered his weapon, sparing her.

She blinked as she saw the darker blue one waving his hand in the air animatedly, the pink one as well. The others didn't try to greet her in any way, but they weren't moving to capture her. She looked at the Spear Lord again and caught him nodding, in a manner she hoped was meant to give her permission to leave.

She turned and left as quickly as her feet could carry. These Iron Gods, who decimated the Empire's great armies, showed her mercy. She hoped that was a good sign.

Meanwhile

"So, was she wearing something on her head, or was that a damn elf?" Grif asked curiously.

"Please tell me it was an elf," Simmons all but pleaded.

"She had pointed ears. Not sure what else she needs to qualify as an elf," Church said with a shrug.

"She looked nice," Caboose said, blunt and simple.

Donut nodded in agreement. "Green's not my color, but it is definitely hers."

"You sure she wasn't a scout or something?" Sarge asked, either skeptical or disappointed in the lack of violence.

"Don't think so. One of the first things Tucker asked about was if there were anybody with pointed ears among the assholes we killed or captured," Church mused. "There weren't. So I don't think she's with this shitpire we need to deal with."

"Dude, Shitpire just sounds like shit on fire," Grif commented.

"Yeah, you know what, I was thinking that right as I said it," Church agreed. "You see pointy-eared fucks scoping the place out more, then we start taking prisoners."

"Unless they attack, then..." Grif paused, looking to Simmons. "Would killing Elves be a nightmare or dream for you?"

Simmons sighed and elected not to answer.

"I don't think they're going to attack," Caboose said assuredly. "I think they're going to Attach."

"The hell is the boy saying?" Sarge asked uncertainly.

"I have no idea. Caboose, what are you on about?" Church asked in a morbid tone.

"Church! They are woods people. There are woods everywhere! We should make friends with them!" Caboose reasoned.

Silence overcame them all.

"Did...Did Caboose just say a smart idea?" Simmons asked carefully.

"He wants to make friends with everyone. Even talking bombs," Church recalled.

"Right here, numbnuts!" Andy called from the back of the Warthog.

"Was wondering where they put you," Church mused.

"The fuck happened? I go into sleep mode for a nanosecond and you shit-brains are talking about wood people. What are we talking about, tree-people? Regular old tribe people? People hiding in the trees?"

"Elves," Grif answered flatly.

"Oh, great. Five bucks say they're tree-hugging hippies," Andy remarked. "Guess that's another language I got to decode for you lag-heads?"

"I mean, they might speak the same language as the Saderans," Simmons offered.

"She didn't seem sad at all," Caboose remarked.

"Caboose, you know how people and things from America are called American?" Church reminded, slow and pointed.

"Yes! I can even name all the states. Tex has been helping me!" Caboose said with pride. "But I...can't spell most of them. Except Mississippi. Because Miss Is Sippy! But no "y," only "I".

"Son, can you even spell Miss?" Sarge tried.

"I try not to get bogged down in the details," Caboose answered evasively.

"Enough, Caboose? America is American. The place we're fighting? It's called Sadera." Church explained.

"Oh, it's a place name, so it isn't what it sounds like. Like how Finland doesn't have land fish, Germany isn't filled with germs, and French doesn't have French Fries," Caboose rationalized.

"French isn't-" Simmons started until Grif elbowed him.

"Drop it, it's not worth it," Grif reminded in exasperation.

"Good, that's one less thing to be confused about," Church mused, turning to the other robot in the figurative room. "Hey, Lopez? You've been a bit quiet. Everything okay?"

"Sí. Sólo estoy haciendo revisiones a la base para ajustarla al terreno de este lado del portal,"(Yes. I am just making revisions to the base to adjust to the terrain on this side of the portal.) Lopez answered idly.

"Wait a minute, the Spanish word for Portal is Portal?" Donut says skeptically. "Okay, I think I would have remembered learning that in my Spanish lessons."

"Silencio, fraude color salmón,"(Silence, you salmon colored fraud) Lopez countered in annoyance.

"Rude, but I appreciate the change from pink," Donut mused

"That...wait, did he just call you a fraud, colored salmon?" Grif said, more surprised he understood it than anything. "Cause that's almost what it sounded like. Maybe I really am learning Spanish."

"If you're all done yapping your gums" Sarge spoke up, having walked over to the jeep with Church while that conversation went on.

"Andy translated while you all bickered on language quirks," Church mentioned. "Lopez? Any idea how long the base will take now that you've seen the place?"

"Tres semanas,"(Three weeks) Lopez answered bluntly.

"Three summers?!" Grif in disbelief. "Dude, I am NOT building this base for three years!"

"You were barely helping to begin with," Simmons remarked.

"Three WEEKS you idiots! Leave the translating to the professionals!" Andy berated.

"Three weeks? That seems pretty quick," Church mused.

"Actually, I instructed Lopez to always triple the amount of time he expects any project will take Red Team to complete," Sarge informed flatly.

"You did?" Church asked, wondering why Sarge was telling him. It seemed like an obvious way to just stall and make more time to make traps for Blues. "Why?"

"Well..." Sarge silently looked over at his subordinates, plus Caboose.

"Hello!" Caboose greeted with a wave.

"Right," Church acknowledged. "You think Caboose would set you back another week?"

"I reckon the Hercules muscles even things out in the long run," Sarge said offhandedly.

"I can only hope," Church said with a sigh before stopping cold in his tracks. "Wait, where's Omega?"

Grif raised his hand. "Yo."

"...Okay, we've established I can out-rage him," Church said with surprise. "How are you coping with him"

"A healthy mix of distracting him with memories, lyrics to heavy death metal music and my idle murder fantasies."

Everyone stared at that.

"I'm electing to not touch that with a country-wide pole," Sarge remarked.

"Best not," Omega agreed with a chuckle as he appeared on Grif's shoulder. "He'd know what to do with it, and it is nothing the pink one would enjoy, hahaha!"

"I don't know, I'm always up to new things," Donut said adventurously.

Omega shivered. "With horrendous disgust, I believe you. Church, I'm moving back in. This one's head is as unkempt as the idiot's crayon collection."

"HEY!" Caboose snapped. "I told you that in confidence!"

"You thought I was a voice in your head!" Omega retorted. "I'm out fools! I didn't come to this world to observe the wildlife. Unless it's for hunting, then I might be interested. But until blood is about to be spilled, I have no interest in this endeavor."

"You sure? I figured you'd want to help around with the weapon systems. The canyon is mostly just boring stuff right now," Church remarked in mild surprise.

"Yes, yes, I 'm sure," Omega said, disappearing from Grif's shoulder to Church's.

"Ughh, finally!" Grif said, suddenly slumping in mental exhaustion. "How do you put up with that for so long? No wonder Tex is such a bitch."

"Sadly, I can't really claim to have a part in making her like that," Omega mused.

"Keep talking, both of you," Church warned.

Omega just chuckled but fell silent as they left through the Gate.

End of Chapter

Well, I know a lot of you were gtting impatient about some stuff happening on th e other side of the gate, so here you are. Someone from the elf village stumbled across them. And yeah, when you can't hear/understnad what the Gulchers are saying, they can come off a bit more intimidating/badass than they are.

In other news, Flowers spilled the beans, and the Omega bunked with Grif for a while. Grif can deal with it, buuuut neither of them exactly like the arrangement. Oh, and Caboose wants to make firens with e elves. If anyone is surprised, you'vel ost your RvB Fan badge.

Hope you're all enjoying the new year.

Early viewing of chapters 18-19 avaliable on my pat-reon:

p a treon . com (slash) akumakami64