So Thick You Could Cut It With A Knife

Location: UNSC All or Nothing, En Route to Zeta-Phi II

Time: 1743 Hours

Date: July 12, 2557

"Ow!" Tucker squirmed as he felt a pinprick on his arm.

"I told you to stop squirming," Doc chided next to him, pulling out a syringe from the Blue's skin. "But you didn't listen. You guys never listen."

"Oh, give me a break, man," he continued to complain. "Not like you've had to try stepping in front of a Freelancer that's pissed at you only to get knocked on your ass."

"Actually, I did," the pacifist medic corrected. "A while ago too, if you don't recall."

"What?" Tucker asked in surprise. "When did this happen?"

"A few years ago. There was a brief amount of time where I was with Wash and the Meta down in Outpost 17B." The purple medic moved to grab some bandages and gauze.

"You sided with those assholes when they were hunting down Church and Tex?"

"More like I was unwillingly punched into a metal wall and dragged everywhere against my will, as their prisoner." He peered over his shoulder up to see that Tucker had a skeptical look on his face. The Blue had removed his armor and part of his undersuit so Doc could get to the rebroken arm unobstructed. "That wasn't a lead-up to a joke, by the way."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Considering all the shenanigans we always seem to get ourselves into, that doesn't seem too surprising anymore."

"Well, that explains why I didn't see you until my fight with the two of them," Tex said off to the side. She and Church were leaning against the wall, seeing how Doc was intending on fixing Tucker's arm. She was intently observing him while her boyfriend glowered behind his helmet. If she were to guess, he was probably fuming at Carolina, both for hurting her and lashing out at Tucker.

"Yep," Doc confirmed. "I didn't even know who those guys were until Simmons called me from Valhalla, where Donut got shot. Thought he was dead too, but he must've had way more willpower than I was giving him credit for."

"We do tend to underestimate him a lot, don't we?" Tucker commented.

Doc nodded, pulling out a roll of gauze before returning to his patient. "Yeah. It's a consistent theme for all of us, I think."

The duo fell into silence as the medic continued his work. Tex's arms were crossed over her chest as she watched him dress and brace the arm in yet another cast. Truth be told, she and Church didn't really need to be with him for the whole thing. He was a full-grown adult, just like the rest of them. He knew enough to take care of himself, what to do and what not to do.

Or at least that had been the case before he decided to put himself between her and Carolina. Bad move on his part. When push came to shove, no one who got in their way lived to tell the tale. They knew that about her and they should've known that about Carolina by now.

However, the fact that he was able to knock her out of her stupor at all was an interesting development. As far as she knew the only one that really had a hope of drawing her attention away from whatever goal she had set out for herself was one of her former teammates, usually York, Wash, or North. Two of those options were dead and the last was busy being leader and middle manager of a whole ship.

She glanced over at her boyfriend. His arms were crossed over his chest like her. She could also tell that his muscles were tight, both from their time in the simulation pods and his anger towards Carolina. She wondered just what he planned on doing in response to her outburst, for attacking both her and Tucker. Technically, the responsibility of doling out punishments fell on Washington. But she had a strong feeling he wouldn't punish her, or at least not in a meaningful way. She had still been his team leader at one point and also the closest thing he had to a friend on this ship.

Church had no such bond. Even though he wasn't the overall leader of the Reds and Blues in any official capacity (they didn't have one as far as everyone was concerned), he and Tex had the most personal stakes in this fight, thus the biggest reason to see this mission through. And neither of them took kindly to anyone endangering their friends' well-beings.

Once the damaged arm had been treated and wound back up in another cast, Doc stood up. "Alright, you're all good with me, Private Tucker. Try not to use it for the duration of our trip to the next planet. We don't want any reason for you to not participate in the fight, now do we?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tucker waved dismissively. He'd heard this spiel from the pacifist medic before only a few days ago, so he really didn't need the warning.

As the aqua soldier made to stand up, Church pushed himself off of the wall. Tex turned her head to him. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Oh, just gonna give that bitch a piece of my mind, that's all," he stated plainly.

The Freelancer frowned. As much as she was up to the idea of telling Carolina exactly how she felt in their last encounter, she was also aware enough of how the cyan Freelancer would likely react: cold, stubborn, scornful, and not likely to listen to criticism from someone she believed beneath her level. In many ways, it would be like trying to talk down to Church and herself, only she'd probably be even more prone to violence. She was a soldier, just like everyone else on the ship, but she held no love for this motley band of misfits.

At least not most of them.

"Church, man," Tucker said, "it's not worth it."

The former A.I. stared at his friend. "The fuck do you mean 'it's not worth it'? She tried to kill Tex and rebroke your arm in the process. She's petty, jealous, willing to risk the lives of you and everyone else to get back at her just because she got beat a few times!"

"Dude, it's not gonna get through to her," he countered. "She grew up in a broken household! Her mom got killed when she was a kid and her dad became uncaring and abusive as a result!"

"Oh cry me a river!" Church spat, his voice becoming shrill. "At least she had a good family by the sound of it. Do you know who had nothing but a manipulative piece of a shit of a creator, who broke them and cast them aside for experiments for their own sick reasons? Us!" He gestured between himself and his girlfriend.

The Blue leader lowered his hand as he stared down Tucker. "Why do you even care? You haven't suddenly fallen in love with her, have you?"

Tucker made a face, scoffing. "What?" he asked. "No. I'm just trying to make sure she doesn't try killing you like she did with Tex."

"I'll be fine," Church said dismissively.

As Church turned to go, a figure walked into his view. "I agree with him," she told him.

The Blue leader balked, wondering if he had misheard her. "What?" he asked.

"What?" Tucker exclaimed at the same time, wondering if his ears were also malfunctioning. Did Tex just agree with him instead of her boyfriend?

"You heard me," she clarified. "I agree with this dumbass for once. This isn't going to solve anything that's been going on between me and her. All it's going to do is either piss her off more or leave you with broken bones. Probably both."

"Well, doing nothing isn't going to solve anything," Church retorted.

"I don't need you to stand up for me, Leonard," she pointed out, her voice lowering into a threatening tone.

"Yeah, you don't," he agreed, "but that doesn't mean you have to fight your battles all on your own. We promised that we'd look out for each other all of those years ago, remember?"

Tex didn't need reminding. After all the shit they had gone through with Project Freelancer and the Meta, with her subsequent interrogation with the UNSC and ONI, with her deal to work with them as long as she could keep Church safe, she remembered all of it. She remembered that he wanted to help her, to be the safety net so she didn't fail like she always seemed destined to do. And she remembered that they promised to each other that they would look out for one another, to keep each other safe. Even recently, she remembered the unspoken promise that they'd try to rebuild their relationship again, to wipe the slate clean and start over, to actually treat each other like partners, like a couple should.

Right now it seemed like he was trying to do right by her. But he also didn't realize that her telling him not to do it was her way of protecting him. She knew Carolina better than he did, knew that she was fully capable of ripping him apart with her bare hands, of projecting her anger and pain from the Director on to him.

And she wouldn't let that redhead lay a hand on him. The Director may be too far gone, but there was still hope for Church, for him to avoid the fate of his creator.

"Yeah," she let out. "But this isn't about me. This is about her. She's in pain, Church, and trying to confront her about it will only widen the wound."

"Her petty jealousy is an infection, one that could kill us all if not handled. Better to cut it out now than let it fester," the former A.I. shot back. Pivoting quickly on his heels, he marched straight out of the room, the automatic doors sliding behind him.

"Goddamn it," Tex swore under her breath. She blew air out of her mouth in frustration and turned to see Tucker looking at him quizzically. "What?" she asked irritably.

"You're not gonna go after him?" he asked.

"Nope," she shook her head.

"Why not?"

She let out a sigh of frustration. For all of their years together, she'd had thought Tucker would've been able to piece her reasoning together for letting him go. "You know what they say," she answered, "'You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink.'"

Tex pushed herself off of the support beam she'd been leaning against. "Besides," the female Freelancer continued, "need to make sure you don't accidentally break that arm before you get back to your room."

"You don't have to do that," Tucker told her.

Tex nodded in agreement. "You're right, but I'm choosing to take this whole 'coleader' thing seriously. It's the job of a good leader to look out for their soldiers, if I'm not mistaken."

With that, she moved towards the door leading out of the medical chamber, urging him to follow. Tucker stood up slowly before following along, still wary of Tex's behavior. He left first, with her walking beside him.

They went down the winding corridors and hallways in silence, with her matching his pace the whole way. Every once in a while, they would see another soldier, usually a former Freelancer soldier but occasionally someone from Omega Company would pass them. They were mostly in pairs, although sometimes there were more.

Honestly, he was still weirded out by how seriously she was taking her leadership responsibilities. Everything they'd been through, everything they had accomplished, she'd either done most of the work or led the charge on. Whether it was fighting the other Reds and Blues from a different canyon or Agent Wyoming himself, she was always the first into the fray, doing the vast majority of the fighting and killing for Blue team. She often forged ahead, leaving the rest of them in the dust as she focused on whatever goal was important to her at the time.

But now… now she was holding back, staying, making sure her teammates could keep up with her. What changed? What did she see or do with the UNSC that caused such a noticeable character shift for her?

Some might have suspected that this was a completely different person from the Tex he used to know, but, looking around, the same could be almost said for everyone on both teams. Grif and Simmons weren't just the bickering old married couple they always acted as anymore. Sarge wasn't just a bloodthirsty old fart with more will than sense. Donut wasn't just the happy-go-lucky new guy anymore. Church wasn't the grouchy, self-centered asshole he used to be. And Tucker most certainly wasn't just the raunchy, crude womanizer of old. The only one that seemed relatively unchanged by everything was Caboose, but that wasn't all too surprising.

Four years of separation did a number on their personalities, all going to different cultures and backgrounds, all experiencing different walks of life. Change was to be expected. But at least a line could be drawn seeing what changed and what remained the same, a chart showing what was still the same between their old and new selves. That was kinda difficult with Tex right now. Sure, she was still that cocky, borderline arrogant bitch that got more shit done than the rest of them, but being caring and supportive had never really been a part of her repertoire.

Still, although the change was different, it was also nice in a way. He didn't really feel like he had to worry that she would kill him in his sleep or that she would kick him in the balls out of spite. She was still aggressive, but it hardly got to the point of threats of physical violence.

Knowing this, however, he still didn't push his luck. Deep down he knew that she looked like she was trying to be better, that goading her or pushing her in the wrong direction might undo all of that progress.

Speak of progress…

"Hey, Tex," he began, "can I ask you a question?"

The black Freelancer gave him a glance. "What about?"

"Carolina."

"If you're about to ask whether she's single or not, I swear to god-"

"No, no, nothing like that," he told her. "I already know the answer to that one."

"Good," Tex affirmed, "because I don't want you to figure out the hard way that she's not interested in you."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that," he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with his good arm. "I think she might like me."

"Like you?" she almost balked, clearly not believing his words. "Don't make me laugh."

"Hey!" Tucker exclaimed. "I'm serious!"

"And so am I," she told him in bemusement. "I've known Carolina much longer than you, Tucker. Trust me when I say she's not exactly the type of gal to get swooned by a few honeyed words, least of all from someone like you."

"I didn't say anything like that!" he protested.

"Then what did you say?" she asked. "Told her about all of the bitches you got back home, or about how cool you are with a sword?"

"Well, I am pretty good with it, you've gotta admit that," the teal soldier pointed out. "But no, I never said anything like that to her."

"Then what the hell did you say?" Tex clearly wasn't buying that he wasn't trying to bedazzle Carolina just to get in her pants. She'd known Tucker long enough to see that.

"We just…" he suddenly trailed off, as if the conversation had brought up an embarrassing memory.

She cocked her head in curiosity. "Just what?"

He took in a breath, letting it out slowly before continuing. "We just talked about stuff."

"'Stuff'?" Tex repeated.

"Yeah," Tucker affirmed. "Just stuff."

"Well, what kind of stuff?" she goaded, getting a bit irritated that he was beating around the bush with his words.

"I… uh…"

"Goddamn it, Tucker!" she swore. She wasn't hanging around with him for her not to get a straight answer. What was so hard about what they talked about, that got him so flustered? Considering how much of a loud mouth he was when it came to women, she found it hard for him to get embarrassed about anything, especially around Carolina. She knew that the other female Freelancer was pretty hot in her own right. Even Tex could admit that, and she was straighter than an arrow. "Just tell me already!"

"Okay, okay, sheesh," he finally submitted, putting his hands up in surrender. Well, one of his hands anyways.

"We, uh," he stammered out, as if the words were clinging to his tongue. Tex gave him an irritated look, one that suggested violence if he continued to yammer on instead of answering. He swallowed. "We just talked about our childhoods, where we grew up, what home was like, that sort of stuff…" the Blue trailed off.

Tex blinked. "That's it? That's all you two talked about?" she asked incredulously.

Tucker nodded. "Pretty much, yeah. I mean we did talk about her time in Project Freelancer a bit too, but she just kept on blaming you for everything going to shit most of the time."

A few seconds passed by in silence as she stared at her Blue companion. The silence was short-lived as she started chuckling to herself.

"What's so funny?" he asked, his face going red as she continued, her chuckle slowly turning into laughter.

"I'm sorry," Tex said, drawing in a breath to stop herself from laughing further, "I just thought you were going to say something a bit more like, well, you. None of this lovey-dovey small-talk that would be more in Donut's ballpark."

"It's not 'lovey-dovey'," he protested. "It's genuine. Actually made me feel kinda good, knowing she's not just a crazy bitch with a hard-on for being the best."

"And yet she still tried to kill me, and rebroke your arm in the process," she pointed out.

"I mean, yeah," Tucker admitted, "she might still be a little bit crazy, but it's hard to say that anyone on this ship isn't at least a bit nuts. I know you and Church aren't that much better."

"At least we try," Tex rebuked. "I don't see any real effort coming out of Carolina."

"Well, it doesn't help that you always seem to beat her down whenever she loses."

"Meh, don't try competing if you're not ready to take an L, then, that's all I say," the woman shrugged. "Besides, our best moments of growth come from loss. I know I got better because I got my ass handed to me by Illinois. Church used to be complete shit at sniping, or shooting in general. Now he's one of the best shooters out of all of you guys. The thing here is that we learned. We've gotten better and will continue to get better. That's what matters. I'm not sure Carolina has learned anything."

He fell silent, unsure of how to follow up on the conversation. Did Carolina really need a lesson in humility, of learning that you can't expect to win all of the time? He didn't think he'd seen her win once at anything the entire time she'd been with them. Didn't she deserve at least something in return?

"What did you want to ask, anyway?" Tex continued, bringing him out of his thoughts.

For a second, Tucker had actually forgotten what he wanted to ask her. Tex just seemed so philosophical there for a second, way more introspective than he thought possible from her. She really seemed so full of surprises lately.

"Oh, uh," he started, "I was just going to ask what you did that made her so angry with you. She said everything that happened in Project Freelancer was because of you. Said you were based off of the memory of the Director's wife, or something of that nature. I didn't want to believe it, so I guess I wanted to hear your side of the story."

"Well, she's not entirely wrong," Tex told him.

Tucker cocked his head to the side in confusion. "What?" he asked. "Why?"

She let out a heavily sigh, as if remembering the past had suddenly put a weight on her mind. Knowing all of the shit they had gone through because of Project Freelancer, especially what she and Church had gone through, maybe it had.

"Things never felt quite right when I first came to on the Mother of Invention. It was like I had just popped into existence, knowing things but not being able to recall them the way a person should. I had memories that felt like an imprint, a catalog, instead of what memories should be. I should've known something was wrong when I was immediately given special treatment, when Illinois trained me in private. I should've felt that something was wrong when I was told to fight York, Wyoming, and Maine, where I was introduced to the rest of the Project. But I didn't care at the time. All I knew was that I was supposed to be the best and follow orders to the best of my ability. I didn't catch on that my presence alone had changed the entire tone of the Director and Project Freelancer. Apparently things had been a lot more measured, controlled, balanced back then.

"But with me? When I came about, the Director almost seemed obsessed with keeping me safe, accommodated, in control. It had begun to show through with his thorough dismissal of the other Freelancers. South, Wash, Carolina, he stopped caring for all of them when they were in trouble, so long as I didn't have to deal with the burden, of feeling responsible for the states they were in after they encountered me or another A.I."

She chuckled darkly. "It makes me sick thinking that I used to be loyal to him, that that man that would go so far as to torture an artificial version of himself while keeping me away, pretending that he was okay the entire time. He would lie, as if expecting me to be stupid enough to fall for his schemes. But he was similar enough to the man I knew and loved then, the man I love now, that I would just eat up everything he'd said. It wasn't until I found one of CT's tags that I finally knew who I was, what I was."

Tucker could see her hands balling into fists, noticing that her tone was getting darker the more she explained her past. "I wasn't a person, not really," she continued, "just a shadow of someone the Director loved, an imprint of what he thought his wife was. I was an A.I. that thought she was a real person. I had been tricked my entire life, manipulated to believe I was real. I was so pissed at him once I found out.

"But that wasn't what made me betray the Director and Project Freelancer. It was when I found out he was torturing Church, trying to shatter him to make more fragments like myself. Something in me just broke. Even though I didn't know it at the time, I loved him, not the Director, even though that man wanted me to replace his wife, to be a part of his life instead of Church's.

"I couldn't do that, though. I knew Church, loved him, not his creator, not the person his mind was based off of. I couldn't stand by and let him die. So, with some of the other Freelancers, I broke into the Mother of Invention and tried to free him. Carolina wasn't happy about it, had been told that we had betrayed them and everything they stood for, never mind the fact that it was all bullshit anyway. It was on that day that Freelancer began to truly fall apart, that the cracks began to show in its foundation.

"And it was that day that I truly failed for the first time. I failed to get Church out. He was broken, almost beyond repair when I finally got to him. I don't think he really even recognized me. And it broke my heart seeing him like that."

Tex fell into silence as she finished her explanation, eyes downcast. Tucker stood by her, his mind racing, trying to digest the information that was given to him. Everything that had happened to them, the Reds and Blues, to Church, to Wash, to Carolina, had all been because of the Director's obsession with Tex. He could see why Carolina thought everything was her fault.

But it wasn't.

"It's not your fault," he finally spoke. Tex looked up at him. He continued. "All of this. I mean, I get why Carolina thinks so now, but she's wrong, for once."

"I'm the one who caused everything to fall apart," Tex told him, still trying to shift the blame to herself.

He wouldn't let her. "No, it's not," he reaffirmed. "You just so happened to be there. You had no control over the things that happened ever since you first showed up. You just did what you thought was best at the time. Everything, all of this, is because of the Director's inability to let go of the past."

"But he wouldn't have done it if I wasn't there," Tex pointed out, still trying to shift blame to herself.

"He would've done it one way or another, even if you weren't there," he countered. "From what Carolina had told me, and based on how whipped Church seems whenever you're around, his obsession with his wife would've destroyed everything eventually. His grief is all him, not you."

The pair stopped when they reached the door to his room. Tucker faced her. "Look, even if everything had happened simply by you being there, it's still not your fault. I don't think so, Caboose doesn't think so, I'm pretty sure even the Reds don't think so, and I know Church doesn't think so. The only two people blaming you for everything are you and Carolina. One is clearly traumatized by everything the Director has done. She was the top of the leaderboard for the longest time, and she's obsessed with winning. The other is staring back at me."

He sighed, "I can't convince you that everything that happened with the Director, with us, isn't your fault. I just want you to know that, even after everything that we've been through, you're still our friend. We don't blame you for all of this. You'll always be one of the guys, and I think that's more important than being guilty about things outside of your control. It doesn't matter if you think it's your fault. Just about everyone else here knows it's not."

He opened the door to his room, stepping inside. "We're with you, Tex," he said, turning to look at her over his shoulder, visor to visor. "Now go find Church before he does something that'll get him hurt."

With that, the door closed behind him, leaving Tex alone with her thoughts. Their conversation made her ponder what he had said, that everything that had happened with Project Freelancer wasn't her fault. Though she had never been one that was that in-tune with her feelings, she took a surprising amount of comfort in what he thought about her.

It was hard to say with almost any certainty that anyone besides Church or Caboose was on her side, that they supported her. She only really knew that Church would support her through thick and thin, but part of her still believed that was a part of his programming, an inability to stand by while she put herself in danger. Still, having taken the years as a human being instead of an A.I., she found, she found that her feelings for him were less artificial than she initially suspected. And she now believed his were the same for her.

The conversation on Praetor with Caboose was also a surprise, one that threw her for a loop. She remembered him constantly throwing shade at her, even if it wasn't intentional, with him believing she was taking Church's attention away from him. Well, she was, but neither she nor Church really cared at the time. To see now that he supported their relationship was a hell of a character development when it came to the lumbering idiot. She had largely thought him incapable of complex thought. Now, even though he still is, she could see that his simplistic worldview may not be as bad as she thought. He was a beacon of innocence compared to the company he kept, and actually brought a bit of purity and humanity to this ragtag group of idiots. It even began showing in her and Wash.

But Tucker, the things he said about her, that may have taken the cake when it came to lifechanging information. Based on the conversations he had with Carolina, he knew what she really was, what she was supposed to be. He knew she had done many heinous things, made shady dealings and backstabbed them several times over. He was perhaps the only person besides Church who saw her for who she really was.

And yet he was still with her, just as Church and Caboose were. Despite everything she had done to them, both intentionally and unintentionally, he supported her. That meant a lot more to her than she wanted to admit. Normally she was okay with working alone, having few attachments, being a roamer. But now, after everything she had been through, there was something special about the way they received her, both the Reds and the Blues. She almost hated to believe it, but these idiots were like family to her now.

And she would do her damnedest to protect them at all costs.

Pivoting on her heels, she marched back down the hall, hoping to find and intercept Church before he got himself hurt, before Carolina hurt her. They didn't need anyone else getting broken bones, and she didn't need to see him get hurt.

Not again.


Carolina had rarely, if ever, been one to lose her cool. Throughout her entire life, she'd rarely acted out in physical violence unless the situation called for it. Of course, being a soldier, that meant the situation usually called for it. The battlefield demanded as much. But she had never lost her cool from training or competition. Sure, she had been pissed before, had been frustrated at her opponents, even bitched about them to their faces, but she had never been one to react with physical violence as a result of it.

That was until today. And she hated herself for it.

After the incident in the simulation room, where she had tried beating Tex to death and hurt Tucker in the process, she had immediately fled from the scene, shocked by both the support of the Reds and Blue for Tex and that she had hurt Tucker of her own volition. She didn't quite know why at the time, but something about what had happened there shook her to the core in a way that very few things in her life ever did. Her loss on the leaderboard, the betrayal of CT, even Maine tearing out her A.I.s from the back of her head somehow didn't shake her as much as seeing Tucker whimpering on the floor, clutching his broken arm, all because of what she did.

Now, sometime later, when the dust had settled, and she had time to get away and calm herself, she found herself trying to think of why. Why did seeing Tucker hurt shake her to the point of snapping her out of a fit of rage, true rage, one that she'd never really experienced before? Was it because he was her teammate, one of the few people on the ship who tried to welcome her with open arms? Was it because of the sight of seeing Tex going to him to help, of seeing Tex only return the violence in kind as a result of her actions? Was it because she finally saw the support structure that he and Tex had, one that she had never experienced, and would probably never share? Or was it something even deeper than that?

The questions frustrated her to no end. She had hurt, even killed, people who stood in her way. She had seen violence and war, the deafening roar of the battlefield several times over. She had only hesitated to kill once, against CT, and that hesitation proved to be unfounded. She was a traitor. A teammate at one point, but a traitor nonetheless. Why was she bothered by her actions taken against Tucker then?

Once she had returned to her room, she tried to meditate on her plight, sitting cross-legged on the floor. She had been taught that it could calm the mind, find Zen in even the darkest of times, and allow clarity when plagued by doubt. But she couldn't get comfortable, shifting on her legs, trying and failing to calm her mind. She shook her head after a few seconds, rising to her feet, and chose to pace around her room instead. Meditation reminded her too much of Tucker and the practice he showed her with Junior, of her failure to him, just like her failure to York.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She stopped pacing, instead waiting and listening. She really didn't want to be disturbed right now. She was far too agitated as it was. Hopefully whoever was on the other side got the message.

"Carolina, I know you're in there," she heard a voice emanate from the other side. It belonged to Epsilon, or Church, as everyone on the ship was calling him. He was just about the last person she wanted to see. She really didn't need the spitting image of her father scolding her right now.

"If you don't open this door right now, I will order Sheila to do it for me," he threatened.

Now that made her mad. Though it had taken some time to piece it together, Sheila and FILSS were the same in their eyes, never mind the fact that FILSS was the actual name her creator gave her. She still had no idea where the name 'Sheila' came from. Still, the way he threatened her was just like his creator. It was stern, demanding, not forceful, but with an implied threat. She seethed at thought of it. She hated it when she was little and she hated it now.

Carolina walked up to the door, pressing the button that kept her door locked. It slid open, revealing a soldier in cobalt armor, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her disapprovingly through his visor.

The cyan Freelancer frowned. "What do you want, Epsilon?" she asked acidly.

"Oh, don't even start, bitch," he fired back, clearly not willing to put up with her attitude. "It's Church. Do yourself a favor and call me that instead."

She snorted. "There's only one person that has that name now, and it's tainted by his deeds."

"You mean the Director?" he clarified. "Yeah, no, he doesn't deserve that name anymore."

"And you think you do?" she questioned, an admonishing tone seeping into her voice.

"Damn right, I do," the former A.I. told her, standing straight as he glared into her eyes challengingly.

She saw defiance, stubbornness, and simmering rage from him, one that reminded her so much of herself. Since he was based on the mind of Director Leonard Church, that meant that she was more like her father than she realized, no matter how much she wished she wasn't these days.

"What do you want, Church?" she repeated, spitting out his name like it was venom.

"I want you stop with the bullshit attitude, Carolina," he answered, "and stay away from my team, especially Tucker and Tex."

"Kinda a bit hard to do that around here, genius," she pointed out.

"Don't get smart with me," he hissed. "Ever since you've been on this ship you've been nothing but a hindrance, a distraction, to us. I have no idea why Wash decided to let you onto this ship, but I know I wouldn't have let you on if I knew you were going to be this much trouble."

Carolina snorted. "But you're not. Good thing too, since your whining and complaining aren't the traits of a good leader. Just who do you think you are to tell me what to do, anyway?"

"Uh, how about an exact copy of the Director, bitch?' Church shot back, not letting her talk down to him.

"Clearly not," she said dryly. "You don't have the same voice as him, you're immature, and way too cocky to be like him."

"And how would you know what he was like?" he questioned. "You weren't with him twenty-four seven. There's probably a lot of things you don't know about him. I'm just letting them all out because I don't really give a fuck about my reputation, unlike him."

Carolina stared at him silently. Church stared back, a smirk on his lips. Yeah, I bet you never thought of that, bitch, he thought to himself. Here she was, probably thinking she knew the Director better than anyone else alive, his mannerisms and secrets, all because she used to be the star pupil.

Though he couldn't see it due to her helmet, she was glaring daggers at him, even more so than the last several minutes. One of her eyes threatened to twitch, the only thing preventing her from having another raging episode being her discipline as a soldier. She had lost her cool once among these simulation troopers. Now they thought of her as an entitled princess, someone who didn't understand their struggle. They probably thought she was with them for petty revenge while they were all there for justice.

How dare you, she wanted to scream in his face. How dare this pale imitation of her father pretend to know him better than her, his own daughter? She wanted so much to hurt him for his insinuation, make him feel stupid for believing he knew better than someone who had been there when Allison had been alive, when her father was loving, when she saw how her mother's death had led him to the way he was now. She wanted to show just how wrong he was, just like how wrong the Director was.

But she fought against the urge. She didn't need the stigma of her connection to the Church family to make things tense and awkward, more than it already was. This anger towards Tex and Church would pass, but if they found out she would never be looked at the same way again. She would see a different emotion altogether: pity.

She didn't need their pity, their sorrow. She had gone through far too much of her life being pitied by the people around her, classmates, teachers, fellow soldiers. Being in Project Freelancer, where she could hide her identity with ease, had been the blank slate she'd needed. When everyone went by their Freelancer code name, their old lives were irrelevant. It was precisely because of this that she threw herself into her father's project. No one, save for the Director himself, would know of her connection. No one would suspect her. No one would pity her.

And she sure as hell didn't want anyone's pity now.

So, instead of screaming, she bit back on the urge, instead saying, "You're right, I didn't."

Church's lips peeled back into a shit-eating grin. Now the bitch knew who was right between the two of them. She knew he was right about Tex, the Director. His creator was a conniving bastard, but he was also a genius. He was cunning too. That was one of the few things he could say he was proudly similar to his creator in.

Before he could say anything smug, she continued, "But I've seen things about him that you don't know about yourself." She stepped up to him, peering into his visor, looking past the protective lens into his eyes. Seeing her before him, she was a bit shorter than him, about the same height as Tex. But, just like his girlfriend, she exuded confidence in her posture, might and strength, something to show the world that she wasn't easily pushed around and that a normal person would be wise to not mess with her.

"I know his smug superiority, his almost god-like complex. I know why he felt the way he felt about his wife, far more than you do Tex. And I know that he can be overconfident when he's ahead."

He remained silent as she spoke to him, a simmering power in her tone suggesting she knew things that even he didn't know about himself. "So I'm warning you now," she told him, her voice lowering into a tone that suggested a threat, but didn't outright show it, "don't ever act like you know more than me. Or that you know better than me. Don't threaten me unless you think you can back it up."

"Oh, I don't have to," Church answered, matching her tone and aura. "I've got a team to watch my back. I have a girlfriend that can kick your ass. What do you have compared to that?"

He took a step back, standing straight and indicating that he was about to leave, but not without a final remark. "I don't know what the hell you've said to Tucker to make him so infatuated with you, but if you hurt him again, I will end you. I don't care if you can snap my body with your obscene gorilla strength. You toy with him, snap any of his bones, or break his heart, and you will wish the Meta had killed you instead of me."

With that, he pivoted on his heels and marched down the hall. She watched him go from the doorway, glaring the whole way there. Her eyes snapped past him as she saw the form of Tex approach from the other side. Based on her stride, and the way that is slowed down when she got close to Church, Carolina could tell that she'd come for his sake, as if not trusting that Carolina would be able to restrain herself from being physically violent again.

The cyan Freelancer could tell Tex was staring threateningly into her eyes. She stared right back, like two wolves staring down competition. Even with all that had happened today, with her rage at not being able to beat Tex again, she still remembered the way the black Freelancer had snapped at her, putting herself between Carolina and Tucker, like a mother protecting their child, like her own mother had done with her against an unjust bully's parents when she'd punched him in the face in retaliation at the ripe age of six. The feeling was all too familiar for her, but one that was directed at her instead of away from her.

Carolina felt her blood boil as she saw the pale imitation of her parents regroup, reconnect, reunite, with the both of them threatening violence should anything bad happen to their newfound family. The only difference between them was that Tex's was closer to short term but would be physically intense while Church's spoke of long-term malevolence, like a devious plan being formed from a long-term grudge. It was all too familiar to her, but now she was on the receiving end of it.

She stepped back inside, the door closing in front of her. Carolina stared at the metal slab before her, unmoving. A frown was plastered across her face, one that would be considered very unladylike to most people.

I don't need their approval, she told herself. She hadn't needed the approval of a parental figure since she had become an adult, and likely before that too. She had grown up not needing her father's approval to do something with her life, to be someone she was always meant to be. She didn't need their opinions, their judgement. She didn't need anyone's.

So why did that feel like a lie?


Armor and weapons were only part of what made a soldier. No matter the allegiance, race, or creed, an army was represented by the people that served in it. When most civilians thought of an army, they thought of uniforms, weapons, vehicles, and people with a constant air of professionalism. What the media and, in turn, normal people often forgot was that beneath all of that equipment, there was still a person, a man or woman. This especially went doubly so for special operations and career soldiers.

It was because of this that soldiers were often grateful to wear civilian clothes, something to remind them that they were still people, just like everyone else. Jane Olsen always felt that reminder whenever she stepped out of her uniform.

The female trooper stared at herself in the body mirror. Her skin was of a lighter shade, a vague mix of Slavic and Western European. She could see abrasions and the remnants of calluses on her hands, elbows, and knees, a result of extensive exercise and outdoor activity. She was noticeably lacking in scars, only sporting two. One was on the inside of her calf, a result of slipping and nearly falling off a cliff during her first mission. The other was across her back in a diagonal, the result of barely getting grazed by a Covenant Energy Cutlas from a Jackal scout.

Her hair was a shade of oak, naturally curly, and grew down to just below the top of her shoulders. It was also visibly thick, and she often had to work hard to keep her hairs from splitting, not a particularly easy job considering her occupation. Her body type, like many female soldiers she had seen, was lean, not quite an hourglass figure, but as close to one as she could get without stepping into model territory. Her breasts were moderately big, somewhere between C- and D-cup. Her muscles were lean and taut, especially among her hips and butt. Her hips and belly had some fat, a sign of a healthy body.

She looked at her own face. Her eyes were a silvery hazel, thinner but sharp. Her face was almost egg-shaped, with a wider forehead and a pointed chin. Her nose was squat, a bit wide, a feature that would ensure she practically would never get a modeling gig in her civilian life. She had a small birthmark under the left side of her chin. Olsen could see stress lines across her eyes and lips, making her look almost in her early forties, even though she was only thirty.

Jane wore a loose, grey short-sleeve shirt and black sweatpants over her body, preferring comfort over anything modest or sexual. She really didn't give a damn about appearances when she was out of uniform, unless it was for dating.

Olsen felt a limb pop as she stretched her arm over her head, the crackle of nerves leaving her feeling satisfied. They sensation felt amazing, especially after a long workout. Still feels good, she thought.

A cold gust of wind brushed against her and she let out a shiver. Man, she had forgotten how cold a ship could get. Probably why she chose to wear her armor most of the time these days. There was heat, of course, but between the power, engines, plumbing, and a suite of other more important systems, getting a comfortable heat was typically not the priority of most ship captains.

Still, Agent Washington was the farthest she'd seen from 'most' ship captains. Being a former ground pounder like her and the rest of the crew, maybe she could convince him to turn up the heat, even if just a little.

Slipping on socks and shoes, she stepped out of her room, intent on finding the lead Freelancer. That and the walking would help stretch her legs after the competition earlier in the day.

She thought back to the matches, remembering the seeing the precision, the fury, of the other fighters. No one was lacking in power, not Elites, not the Freelancers, and especially not Illinois. Even the Reds and Blues ended up surprising her, not being even nearly as incompetent as she was told in their briefs. Then again, she had only been looking through their Project Freelancer profiles, the remaining information only available to them and their last units.

Though no one but her crew knew it, they were not actually under the directive of the UNSC nor the Office of Naval Intelligence. Her crew were paid mercenaries hired out by Chairman Hargrove. They hadn't been told much, other than to secure the assets that were laying on Zeta-Phi II and protect them from any threat, current or potential. They were to meet up with other troops that the Chairman had dispatched to the planet earlier. Considering that they likely weren't UNSC, like her, this operation was supposed to be very under-the-radar, a private affair for the head of Charon Industries.

Given the information and parameters, she knew she had to keep an eye out on the other teams that were with them. Though only the Insurrectionists posed a threat to their mission at the moment, that didn't mean the others couldn't become one eventually. She was well aware that all of them had been tasked with finding the Director, who was currently under Insurrectionist custody, so their goals were at least closely aligned.

Whenever she played back the footage of their matches in her mind, she became a bit troubled by what she saw. The Elites were beings not to be trifled with, no matter how much she disdained them. It was never a good idea to underestimate anyone, no matter how innocent or inconspicuous they seemed. The fights with Zal and Xytan proved that. Each of the bipedal aliens was still noticeably bigger and stronger than her. She doubted that she could take any of them on by herself, no matter how inexperienced they were.

However, that wasn't what troubled her. The Freelancers made most of the Elites look like amateurs in comparison. Each of them, Tex, Carolina, and Washington, held their own well, requiring coordination to pin down and eliminate. Even with the advantage of numbers, they always needed to surround and pin them down. Anything less than a three-to-one advantage was not guaranteed to kill even the least dangerous of them: Washington.

Tex and Carolina were both major threats in their own right, a league above even him. Even with entire squads of soldiers bearing down on them, they always seemed to have the upper hand, able to fly around whoever they faced, applying pressure and disengaging at will. It was easy to see why they were both considered the Number One Freelancers back in their day.

But even they paled in comparison to the greatest unknown factor aboard the ship: Agent Illinois himself.

Before today, she'd never even so much as been in the presence of a Spartan before, never seen the way they fought in person. Sure, she'd seen footage of their deeds, but experiencing them firsthand was something else entirely. Back when Olsen was only seeing a video screen, it was relatively easy to analyze and plan around them, figuring out ways to either avoid them or pin them down and eliminate them.

Seeing them move before her threw those plans out the window. Even though she had seen them move with frightening speed, she didn't truly comprehend until now how measured their movements were, how in control of the situation they always were. Even amid the chaos of battle, they somehow seemed to be a point of Zen, the calm in the eye of the storm. He was careful in his aggression, not so fast that even he couldn't keep up with his own two feet, but not so slow that they could easily register and react to him without a ton of effort and concentration, two things he never allowed them to have at the same time.

She shivered at the thought of having to fight against him should the need arise. Even if her people could get the drop on him, they would likely suffer greatly as a result. She imagined bringing a whole platoon against him, thirty to forty soldiers, and suffering at least eighty percent casualties, as a conservative estimate.

For her sake, and everyone else's, she hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.

A clatter of materials snapped her out of her train of thought. She looked over her shoulder to see what the commotion was.

Off to the side, clad in a simple maroon tee-shirt and jeans, was Simmons. Even though she had never seen him out of armor or without his helmet before, she could tell it was him simply by the way he carried himself. He lacked confidence in his posture, either being a bit skittish or too straight for his own good. It was like he lacked a natural posture, or that his natural posture was jumpy.

He'd probably been bullied and harassed a lot as child.

In his arms, she could see what looked like a binder and several hardcover books, what looked like a rolled-up map, and a small box hold what was almost certainly dice. One of the binders and two books had fallen had fallen out of his hands, clattering to the floor loudly.

A book slid over her way as he made to gather his things. Curiously, she went over to it, trying to get a look at what he had dropped.

Facing up towards her, shining up at her with a glossy finish, was a picture of a human man, elf woman, and armored dwarf facing off against a red dragon, flames coming out of its mouth. At the top of the cover read 'Dungeons & Dragons: 350th Edition' in fancy red and gold font. Below it, in smaller white font, it read "Core Rulebook".

She cocked her head in curiosity. A fellow D&D nerd, aboard this ship? It had been years since she had played a roleplaying game, any roleplaying game. And she had been itching to get back into it. The only problem was that no one wanted to join her even for one session.

She thought about the parameters of her mission. As little personal interaction with the other parties as possible. That's what she'd been told. In the event that they became a problem or obstacle, she would have to fight them. It would be easier to kill them if she didn't get attached.

But she also knew she would go crazy if she didn't interact with other people. Sure, she had her crew, and they were all her brothers-in-arms, but none of them were nerds or geeks, not in the way she had been. Surely Hargrove knew that.

what the hell?, she thought to herself. It wouldn't hurt to get to know at least some of the others on this ship.

She picked up the rulebook, holding it with familiarity in her hand. Olsen smiled to herself. Yeah, it had been far too long since she'd played.

Jane walked over to Simmons as he finished picking up his fallen materials, still bent over on the ground. Her shadow loomed over him and he looked up at her. His gaze went up her thin, taut legs, her hips and chest before finally resting on her face.

"Hi," she greeted.

It was then that she got a good look at the Red, the man beneath the armor. He was distinctly Caucasian, Western European in a very broad sense, perhaps closer to Anglo-Saxon. She could see his combed brown hair, a little grown out, likely due to lacking a proper barber. He had silver veins running down the left side of his face, a sign of augmentation. If it weren't for those, she'd have thought he was all man, no machine parts included.

He had brown eyes, kind, without any sign of wear or aging, neither from war nor malice.

"Uh," Simmons stammered out, unable to formulate a coherent response for a second. His cheeks turned red as he realized he accidently just did the equivalent of the 'male gaze'. "Hi?"

Olsen offer the book to him. She smiled, genuine, without any sign of deceit or mockery, trying to avoid making him feel uncomfortable. "You dropped this."

Gingerly, he grabbed the other side, taking it out of her hands. "Thanks," he said meekly.

"Whatcha got going on here?" Jane asked curiously.

"Just, uh," the maroon trooper answered, "about to go do a session of Dungeons and Dragons with a few guys."

Now that had her curious. She didn't think that there was anyone else on the ship to play with. It seemed strangely surreal.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked.

Simmons blinked. "You? Want to you join us?" His voice sounded clipped, replacing the stuttering. It was as if he couldn't believe his ears.

"Yeah," she breathed out, a blush of embarrassment slowly snaking its way up her neck. Was he one of those neckbeards that preferred to stay in an exclusive 'boys-only club'? Even in this day and age, sexism was still a thing, even though it had severely diminished since D&D first came out. Still, most nerds were predominantly male, at least from what she'd seen.

"Uh…" he said, struggling to answer.

God, he's going to say 'no', isn't he, she thought to herself. That would be a real downer of the day.

Wait. Why was she worried about his answer? She barely even knew the guy. She was a soldier. She wasn't supposed to be afraid of a simple yes or no-

"Sure, why not," he finally said.

Jane let out a breath, one she didn't know she'd been holding the entire time.

"Really?" she asked, wanting to confirm what she had heard.

"Y-yeah," Simmons's voice continued to clip. He blinked once as he noticed how unsure his answer was. He cleared his throat, standing up straight. "I mean, yeah, of course you can. I don't see why not."

"Cool," she smiled.

The pair moved off, with her letting the Red take the lead. They snaked down the winding ship corridors, the lights flicking above them and the general ambiance of the ship's reactor filling up the empty space. She could smell the faint scent of cut grass, a fairly cheap deodorant found on most military installations. In her opinion, it was one of the better ones service members could find. It was too bad most of them didn't use it.

Finally, after taking far more turns than she was willing to remember, they arrived in a large common room, with a wide window in which one could see outside of the ship if they chose to. Fortunately for them, due to the fact that the All or Nothing was in Slipspace, they were shuttered close, several layers of titanium covering what would normally be a structural weak point in the side of the ship.

In the center of the room, there was a large rectangular table made of steel. Not large by any means, but it was bigger than the ones seen in the dining facility on board. A series of chairs were on each of the long sides, with one at either end. A series of papers, pens, and dice were scattered across its surface.

The chairs were occupied by several people. She immediately recognized one of them, a man in an orange shirt: Grif. It was hard not to recognize him considering his girthier body shape and slouched, almost laid-back posture. He had a stack of assorted snacks on his lefthand side. Next to him was a woman with short brunette hair, a visibly bored expression on her face. She stared back at Olsen with pale blue eyes.

However, those two weren't who caught her attention. The two Elites on the other side of the table were.

Her nostrils flared as she saw them. What were these aliens doing here?

They looked at her in return, slanted yellow eyes staring back expectantly. Yet they also seemed to lack any sign of aggression. No, they were more curious, respectfully silent instead of analyzing her like predators.

Grif turned in his chair as he noticed the rest of the group was staring. "Finally," the other Red announced in exasperation. "I thought you'd never show up."

"Yeah," Simmons handwaved, "just got a bit sidetracked, that's all."

"I can see that, genius," Grif said in frustration.

Simmons brushed aside the attitude and moved to take his seat at the head of the table. He placed his materials down, bringing up a Dungeon Master's folder before pulling out some paper. She couldn't tell what was on them.

Everyone seemed to return their attention to the table itself, either writing something on the papers, eating snacks, or talking among themselves. All except for one of the Elites, who was still looking up at her.

"Are you going to come join us?" he asked in a warbled voice. She recognized it as belonging to Zal, the more reserved of the two young Elites that had joined them.

She blinked, forgetting herself for a second. "Right, yeah, of course," she told him, taking the last remaining seat at the table, on the opposite side of Simmons.

Jane took a slow, even breath in. What was she doing, interacting with these creatures? Were they here to observe on them, spy on them for the Arbiter?

She shook her head mentally. Now wasn't the time to be acting strange. Strange drew attention. Strange asked questions. She wasn't supposed to be drawing attention, not with an under the radar mission like this.

"So, how does this work?" the other Elite spoke, Xytan, if her names were right.

"Did you create your characters?" Simmons asked in return.

Xytan nodded. Zal shook his head. "I still don't quite get what I'm supposed to do."

"Roll four dice," the woman said, talking to him as if explaining things to a five-year old. " Choose the highest three and jot down those numbers. Do this six times. Those are your character stats. Choose a race, character class, and distribute those stats to best match your preferred playstyle. Then choose three feats for your character."

"From there, you can create a backstory," Simmons interrupted. "Get as creative as you want. Just be sure it's someone you can act out or pretend to be."

"I see," the Elite nodded. His elongated fingers scooped up four six-sided dice on the table, shook them in his hand, and rolled them. He wrote down the number on a piece of paper. It wasn't alphanumerical, but she could read it. Studying the languages of the Covenant did have a place in her previous job.

He did this five more times, putting them on a character sheet he'd drawn up. Then he went for a race and class, choosing a dragonborn ranger.

She leaned over to see what his stats were. "You should probably put your highest stat in dexterity," she pointed out to him. "Rangers are better with bows and arrows, which need dex to perform well. You should also probably get perception as one of your feats. You'll need it."

The young Sangheili looked up at her. "You have played this game before?"

"A long time ago," Olsen affirmed, her tone becoming grim. "Haven't had much of a chance due to the war, however."

Zal nodded solemnly as he wrote down notes on his character sheet. "The Covenant tried to conscript most of my friends and I into that war to fight you humans," he told her. "We resisted, of course, but we couldn't hold out against them for long. Some of us lost our families, our clans, because we disagreed with the war against your kind."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "I thought your kind were having a civil war right now because some of your kind still hate us, and that we are a threat to your kind."

"We are," Xytan called out, "but some of us realize that the fighting will never end if we all keep up that attitude towards one another. Fear, hatred, superstition, jealousy, they are all ugly but all too-real reasons many species have gone to war in the past."

"Ain't that the truth," the other woman finally spoke.

Olsen and the Elites turned to look at her.

"What?" she asked. "I'm old enough to remember when the UNSC was fighting the Insurrectionists. Yeah, I was only a kid, but I still remember."

"And it seems like they never let go of their hatred," Zal observed.

"Damn straight they didn't," the woman agreed.

"Jesus, can we not talk about work for once, Ash?" Grif butted in, complaining to the woman beside him.

"Yeah, I'd rather we act like we aren't about to dive head-first into another warzone," Simmons agreed with his teammate.

"Relax, guys," Jane held up her hands in surrender, "I didn't know, that's all. Besides, we're all on the same side now, right? That's the important point."

Everyone at the table nodded in agreement before going back to whatever it was they were doing.

"So," she continued her conversation with the Elite, doing her best to swallow the bile that was pooling in her mouth. This whole session would be really awkward if she couldn't get over her dislike of the Sangheili as a species. Besides, by the sounds of it, they didn't buy into the propaganda the Covenant had tried feeding them since they were born. "Have played anything like this? Pretend? Roleplaying? Anything like that?"

Zal shook his head. "It was often frowned upon to daydream or pretend you were in a different world."

"But surely you must've at least pretended to be a great warrior, wizard, or assassin before."

The young Elite nodded. "Yes, but that was more of a private venture, not something to share outside of friends and family."

Jane gave him a friendly smile, one that was at least vaguely genuine. Here was a young warrior, barely above a child if her estimates about his species were correct. They were extremely martial. Probably took everything they did very seriously. It was sad, in a way.

"Well, just think of this as playing pretend with friends. None of us will judge you for that."

Zal's lower mandibles flared, the closest equivalent to a smile his species could do. "Thank you," he said to her before going back to his character creation.

Jane reached for her own set of paper, making her own character alongside them. The feeling became familiar to her, the instinct coming back to her like a reflex. It had been ages since she'd played, but she had played a lot as a kid. It was hard to truly forget.

Several minutes went by as she created her character. She'd chosen to stick to an old classic of hers: a female half-orc barbarian. Being able to absorb obscene amounts of damage and return just as much was a favorite playstyle of hers. She just loved playing as characters that could break things. It was simple and direct.

Seeing as she was finally ready, Simmons broke the silence with a single question. "Is everyone ready?"

The humans and Elites all nodded.

"Alright then," the Red said. He cleared his throat.

Zal and Xytan looked at each other skeptically. Neither knew what to expect.

"It was a fine summer's night in the town of Skeisberg, in the ancient land known as Tavaris…"


In light of the recent news of RT shutting down, I'd like to commemorate this chapter to what once was, and will always remain, one of the greatest shows ever. Of all time. I haven't always been happy with how RT has handled their business or how they treat their employees (and I will forever be frustrated at what made Kathleen Zuelch (the voice of Tex) say the things she said about the other employees). In many ways this feels almost like the end of an era.

But it will not be the end for me or this fic. So long as there is even one person reading this story, that is a fan of Red vs Blue as it was, I will continue to release chapters, and do my best to write in the spirit of the show which we fell in love with. Thank you Roosterteeth for all of the fond memories you gave me. And thank you kind viewer for giving this humble writer a chance to show his work.