A work of Red vs. Blue fiction by Leus

This story takes place directly following Season 2 of the popular web series Red vs. Blue.

Click here for the original thread. Here is a text file of it. Here is a word document of it.

"All Wrongs Must Be Righted" by Leus.

The following work of fiction is set in the Red vs. Blue universe. Almost all characters involved are property of Rooster Teeth.

***INSTALLMENT 1***

"End of the line, O'Malley," Church said as he pointed his gun at the fallen purple soldier.

DuFresne grasped his left forearm tightly in his right hand, blood seeping through the spaces between his fingers. His broken visor revealed a face so deathly white it could blind. His expression was stark fear. For another moment, he suppressed the evil AI deeper into the recesses of his mind.

"Church," he said, his voice quaking with fear. "Just hold on a minute... Isn't there a better way to resolve this?" DuFresne suggested in a final attempt to save himself.

Church briefly averted his gaze and let his eyes drift along the surrounding scenery. He was alone with his enemy; he had to be. The team--once they were satisfied that DuFresne had nowhere left to run--had agreed to turn off their helmet radios so as not to give O'Malley a place to jump. Then, they split up and set out to find and kill their adversary once and for all.

The soldier in cobalt armour sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Frank... You know there is no other way. I've already tried taking him out from inside your head, but the occupants of your mind weren't at all friendly. They wouldn't help me, and I couldn't take O'Malley out on my own. You know all this," Church explained.

DuFresne nodded, and a tear slid down his cheek. "I also know... That by letting this happen, a very violent and destructive force will be stopped. I just..." DuFresne gulped; his breathing was quick and frightened. "I just... Don't want to die; I--"

Suddenly, the medics face twisted into a sick smile. His eyes lost all trace of focus, and he began chuckling. He struggled to a standing position, causing Church to take a step back. Leonard raised his assault rifle and aimed it at his unarmed enemy.

"O'Malley..." Church said, all the meaning in the world behind the single name.

Caboose sat on the floor of the red base, his back to the wall.

"What are you doing?" he heard a voice from directly in front of him ask. Caboose raised his head and saw Tucker--out of armour--leaning against the wall.

"Just thinking," said Michael. Tucker limped painfully over to sit across from him.

"About what?" the wounded marine asked.

Caboose shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. He rubbed the back of his helmet; a habit that he hadn't broken since he'd started wearing his armour.

Tucker sighed. He felt weird for what he was about to say, but he also felt the need to say it. After all, Caboose had been a big support to him during his recovery.

"Caboose," Tucker started. "I know you're upset about Sheila and Lopez--"

"Tucker," Caboose said, shooting Tucker a stare so cold it could have stopped his heart. He contemplated his next phrase carefully, and finally decided that there wasn't one. He stood up quickly and left the room.

Tucker stared at the ground where his teammate had previously been sitting. While he couldn't understand the feelings Caboose had for the tank, he did know that a girl who would give up someone who loved them for someone they just met was not worth pursuing. After what had just happened, though, it was clear that Tucker would probably not have the chance to convey that to Caboose.

He heard footsteps from behind him. Someone was entering the base through the back door. Tucker stood and backed up, facing the entrances that the newcomer would have to walk through.

It was Donut. "Hey, buddy," Donut said. Tucker nodded half-heartedly at the armour-clad marine who stood several inches taller than him. "How are you feeling today?" he inquired.

Tucker shrugged. "Physically, I'm alright," he said. "But I just had a rather disheartening exchange with Mike."

"What happened?" Donut asked.

Tucker glanced to each side uneasily. Finally, he turned to face Donut. "He's still upset about Sheila," Tucker explained. Donut frowned inside his helmet and nodded slowly. "I tried to talk to him about it, but he got angry and stormed off. I know he was holding back lots of his feelings from me, but I didn't know what to do," said Tucker.

Donut sighed. "He does need to get over it," the pink-armoured private agreed. "But how do you convince someone to cease their love?"

"Why won't you talk anymore?" Grif asked boredly, his voice resonating quietly off the icy mountains from his external mic. When he got no response, he sighed and slouched against the cliff wall behind him.

"Seriously. First you would never shut up, and now that I have no one but myself to talk to, you're silent," Grif muttered, removing his helmet and withdrawing a cigarette pack and lighter from a small compartment. He placed one of the plain white sticks between his lips and ignited the lighter in his hand. Holding the end of the cigarette over the flame, it soon glowed red, and the soldier took a drag.

BLAM! The sound of metal clicked among the impact that shook the ground in front of Grif. Something had just landed with incredibly force, and snow had been kicked up all around it. As Grif scrambled for his pistol, the cigarette fell into the snow, putting the tip out.

The helmetless marine fumbled with his sidearm, pointing it at whatever had just fallen into the snow. When he saw what it was, he frowned.

The maroon soldier stood, hands on his hips. "Calm down, you dumbass," said the familiar voice of Simmons through his external helmet microphone.

"Damn cyborg show-off," Grif said, picking up his helmet from in front of his steaming cigarette. "You ruined my smoke."

"Get over it. Those things will be the death of you, anyway," said Simmons matter-of-factly.

"Of course," Grif muttered. "Typical."

"Any sign of O'Malley?" Simmons queried. Grif shook his head and slid his helmet back into place. Simmons glanced over at the stationary robot. "Hey, Dexter. He's not moving," Simmons observed.

"Brilliant observation, Dick," Grif replied, putting an emphasis on Simmons' first name. Grif hated being called "Dexter."

"Well what's wrong with him?" asked Simmons.

Grif shrugged. "He won't talk at all, and the only time he'll move is if I say we're going to start looking again," he said.

"Well, let's get going then," Simmons said, and the three of them set off to continue their search for O'Malley.

"Where's Lopez, you bastard?" Church demanded, pressing his gun into the possessed medic's chest plates.

O'Malley laughed. "What makes you think I'll tell you anything, human?" he snarled.

Church fired. The point-blank round dented the armour of its target. O'Malley stumbled backwards, tripping over a rock and landing flat on his back, gasping for air. "That's why," Church declared.

O'Malley regained his composure and backed up against the rock wall behind him. He grinned. "Fine, I'll tell you. It makes no difference to me," he stated. "The brown bot had become nothing but a hindrance, so I got rid of him. Killing him would have taken too long, so I abandoned him. Your friends have already located him, in fact."

Church wasn't sure about the story. "Alright, O'Malley," he said. "You've turned Tex into a killer, you've possessed Caboose, and you may have even killed Tucker. Your trail of havoc is about to come to an end, and I'll--" Church stopped in mid sentence and watched his opponent's eyes. The fear was back in them, and they focused directly on the gun barrel instead of Church.

"DuFresne..." Church said.

The medic frowned. "My chest..." he said, pain in his voice. Church lowered his weapon.

"I forgot there was a person in there," Church said. For a moment, he contemplated his options, and then decided. "Alright. I'll take you back alive," he stated. Frank smiled. "If O'Malley decides to resurface, I'll just force him to comply. After all, he's unarmed."

"Great! And when we get back, you and Tex can enter my mind together and take the bastard out once and for all," DuFresne said, now enthusiastic about his survival.

Church frowned and nodded. "Maybe," he said.

The overweight man sighed, his business suit tightening against his skin. "You messed up, Vic," he said disappointedly. "You gave our pawns minds of their own. Not good."

Vic looked at the ground. "I'm sorry; I didn't know," he said in a desperate attempt to defend himself.

The director shook his head. "Regardless, it was your fault, and you will be in charge of correcting the mistake," he declared. Vic swallowed his fear and regret and nodded solemnly.

***INSTALLMENT 2***

With no helmet radio, finding the others would be harder than usual. However, with O'Malley a few feet away from him at any given time, Church couldn't risk activating his radio for anything.

For hours they trekked through the snow, searching for the rest of their party. Occasionally, O'Malley would take control of Frank and cackle maniacally, but he did not much more than that. He seemed to be harmless.

Finally, Church saw a dull red blur in the distance. He began to jog, prodding whom was currently O'Malley along. "Hey, reds!" he called out.

Simmons stopped in his tracks. "Grif," he said. "Did you hear that?"

Grif stopped as well, listening. After a minute, he said, "No."

"It was definitely something," Simmons stated. He spun about to face the opposite direction. Using his enhanced vision, he focused in on the remote objects moving quickly toward him. "It's Church and O'Malley!" Simmons announced.

"What?!" Grif said excitedly, quickly turning around as well. "Where? Oh! There they are!" he said, recognizing them from afar and pointing.

The two red soldiers began to jog towards their friend and their enemy, and as a result, Lopez followed.

The two parties finally met. Grif and Church panted a bit, out of breath.

"Damn, am I glad to see you guys! And Lopez; he's alright. I guess O'Malley wasn't lying after all," Church said.

Grif nodded. "I found him wandering around behind some rocks. He hasn't said a word since I've seen him, and I'm not just talking about English, either," Grif explained. "After that, Cyborg-Boy here makes a grand entrance, scaring the hell out of me, and that's about it."

The attention turned to Church, and Simmons asked, "What's up with O'Malley? Why isn't he dead?"

Church's heart began to beat a bit faster. "Well," he said nervously. "DuFresne kept taking control, and how could I kill a guy who won't even carry a gun?"

"Come on, Church," Grif coaxed pressuringly. "No one likes him, anyway."

"You'll all die!" said O'Malley, who in turn received a swift smack in the side of the head with Church's assault rifle. O'Malley stumbled a bit.

Church shrugged. "I thought maybe we could find a way to kill O'Malley without killing DuFresne if we made contact with the rest of the guys, first," explained Church.

Grif stared at him for a minute hesitantly. Finally, he sighed. "Well, come on, then. The teleporter is still about an hour's hike away from here," he said.

Church nodded, then jabbed O'Malley in the back with his rifle. "Let's go," he ordered.

Tucker hobbled out of the base, using the walls to support his stance. Outside, his cyan armour lay in pieces scattered about on the ground. Sarge had Tucker's left forearm plate in his hands, inspecting it for damage. Tex was working on his chest plate.

"Hey, guys," said Tucker weakly. It was weird letting them work on his armour like that. He felt like he should be helping in some way. Of course, he had no mechanical training or dexterity.

Sarge set down the piece he was scrutinizing. "Hey, there, Tucker. The repairs on the armour are going quite well. You should be able to don it again within a few days, which is good, because I have a foreboding about the coming days," admitted Sarge cautiously.

Tucker furrowed his brow. All the marines looked so huge from outside of his armour. He felt weak and alone. He needed to get back into his suit. "Good," he stated simply.

Caboose and Sheila were nowhere to be seen. Tucker contemplated asking Sarge and Tex if they knew where the missing party members had gone off to, but decided against it. It's not polite to interrupt those doing you a favour.

"Aha!" he said aloud, quickly looking around to see if he'd alerted anyone. Neither of the marines seemed to notice his random outburst.

He'd ask Donut. He'd said he was going on top of the base to take a nap. Maybe he'd seen Caboose or Sheila before he fell asleep.

Tucker gimped his way around the perimeter of the red base and up the ramp. Donut was lying down near the ramp on the opposite side, breathing rhythmically. "Hey, Delano. You awake?" he asked quietly. There was no response.

Tucker sighed. "Damn," he mumbled to himself.

A sudden bright, green flash blinded him. "Jesus!" he cried.

"Whew!" said Grif as he finally pulled himself over the final cliff of the mountainside he was ascending. He breathed heavily and collapsed to a prone position in the snow.

Church stood watching DuFresne, who wobbled warily. The damaged marine had also had to climb the cliff, and though he'd been dragged over the last edge, it was still quite the task for him.

Church found himself harboring ill feelings towards DuFresne. Even though he didn't want to murder another human being, Frank had been getting on Leonard's nerves from day one, and then there was the fact that he was now the host to the AI who had single-handedly tortured nearly his entire team. Church was developing a subtle hatred for the purple-clad medical officer.

A loud sigh broke the cold silence between Church and DuFresne. The sigh had come from Grif. "I'm sure glad all this hunting has finally come to an end. Maybe we can set things right once and for all in Blood Gulch," Grif suggested. He was ignored.

"Lopez?" Simmons curiously said to the robot; a half-hearted attempt to get the android to speak again. The effort was futile as the mechanized man remained silent.

Church stretched a bit, then spoke up. "Come on, guys. The teleporter back to Blood Gulch is right over there," he said, indicating with his index finger.

The rest of the team nodded in silent agreement and made their way to the teleporter.

A dull, green glow flickered from above the base, followed by Tucker screaming "Jesus!" Sarge and Tex looked up, glanced at each other, then trotted up the ramp of the base to see what was wrong. Donut sat up and gazed groggily around, adjusting to the light.

Church stepped out from the swirling green surface of the teleporter. Sarge nearly tripped over Donut, and Tex stopped by Tucker's side.

"Listen up, everyone. I need you all to turn off your helmet radios. O'Malley is still alive, and the rest of the guys are bringing him through in approximately five minutes," he announced imperatively.

This was great. Tucker had hoped they'd leave O'Malley alive. The AI was the only one he felt comfortable enough to talk to about Vic and the situation with the war. A killer so insane couldn't be a threat in recruiting the others against him. He had to get O'Malley alone and talk to him.

"O'Malley is still alive?" Tex inquired hostilely.

Church turned uneasily towards her. "Yeah, well, I was hoping that we could kill him together like we did last time, you know? This time he'll have nowhere to go," Church said, suggesting his plan to the black-armoured woman. Tex stood, motionless, but switched off her radio.

The rest of the marines confirmed that their radios were deactivated as well. Church looked around briefly, then noticed something. "Hey, where the hell is Caboose?" he inquired.

They shrugged. "Just great," said Church, switching on his radio. He tuned into Caboose's frequency and then spoke. "Caboose, this is Church. Can you hear me? I need you to turn off your radio; O'Malley will be in the canyon soon," he explained. There was no response, but the soft static clicked off, indicating that the connection had been broken. Caboose's radio was off.

"Alright, we're good," said Church. They waited for a few minutes, and finally there was a green glow again. Simmons stepped through, followed by O'Malley, then Lopez, and finally Grif.

'Great,' thought Tucker. He was completely surrounded by them. They were all so big, their beings so cold and emotionless from behind the reflective visors. Somehow, being outside of his armour was a completely different world.

On the plus side, though, DuFresne was alive, and his stare seemed distant and inhuman. "O'Malley," he said aloud, under his breath.

"I repeat!" O'Malley yelled in a sudden outburst. "You will all die!" He punched Grif in the gut, causing the orange marine to trip and fall on his back. O'Malley collected the surprised and fallen warrior's weapon, and was met with a fist slamming into the side of his helmet.

The former medic sailed into the side of the teleporter, slumping against the solid surface. The familiarly raspy voice of O'Malley spoke once more. "It's too late. I'm incomplete. Even if you--" his voice cut off suddenly. Emotion returned to the frightened man's eyes.

DuFresne faced the rest of them with a look of wild confusion. "What's happening?" he asked frantically, spotting the assault rifle in his hands and quickly discarding the weapon.

Church shook his hand about; he could still feel the force of the impact it had had with the side of DuFresne's head about five seconds ago. "O'Malley went crazy and tried to fight... I had to knock you--" Church was interrupted by a frenzied query from the battered medical officer.

"What's he doing?" a wide-eyed Frank asked, pointing to something behind Church.

A gunshot rang throughout the canyon.

***INSTALLMENT 3***

DuFresne toppled to his left, his body sprawled carelessly on the cement. Blood from the hole between his eyes dripped and pooled beneath him. Everyone gaped in disbelief.

"Sheila," Caboose said, sitting on the side of the tank. He frowned, unable to say anymore.

"I am sorry, Caboose, but Lopez and I just understand each other better," Sheila stated plainly.

Caboose ran his fingers under the warm metal beneath him. He loved the feel of the armoured hull of the tank against his skin--which is why his left gauntlet was lying a few feet to the right of him. "Sheila," he said again.

"Caboose, please. I--" Sheila was cut off.

"Sheila, I must have you. You don't understand. If I can't have you now, I'll do whatever it takes to get you back," he declared desperately.

"There is nothing you can do, Caboose," she related to the blue private.

Caboose shook his head. "If I can't have you, Sheila, no one can," he coldly replied.

"Don't be silly, Caboose. Don't be selfish. Let what's happened happen," the tank said emotionlessly.

Caboose hung his head. Silent tears splashed against the inside of his visor. He slipped his left gauntlet back over his hand and fell to the ground, grasping the earth violently and tearing it out of the canyon floor.

Sheila turned around and was driving back to red base when a gunshot resonated against the canyon walls.

Vic clenched and unclenched his fist, staring at his black-armoured fingers. It had been so long since he'd been inside one of these suits. He hated it.

He looked up and observed seven other black-clad marines sitting around him. They were in the passenger compartment of a pelican headed directly for Blood Gulch.

Again he gazed back down at his hands resting gently on his armoured thighs. He hummed softly to himself as the canyon came into view below him.

The low rumble of the tank was heard as Sheila pulled up alongside the base. "What the hell?" Donut cried. Church turned to face the source of the gunshot.

There stood Lopez, pistol still aimed at the space which DuFresne's head had occupied seconds before. "Holy shit," Church said, unsure of what exactly had just happened or why. Despite whatever reasons the android may have had, Church was dismayed. With DuFresne dead, there would be no one to heal Tucker.

'Wait a second,' Church thought, glancing over at the unarmoured Tucker. For the first time, he realized that the main objective of his quest to find Doc--besides the final elimination of the AI that had caused so much havoc around him--had already been completed. Tucker was standing on his own two legs; the injuries from the explosion were not apparent to the naked eye.

With O'Malley dead and Tucker well, Church realized that he felt no regret for DuFresne's death. The notion that he had just watched a man die and felt nothing sickened him. How could he be so cold?

He didn't have time to ponder these feelings at the moment, for a dull roar could be heard in the distance. He pushed his negative emotions further into the shadows of his mind and averted his attention to the sound, turning his gaze to the skies above.

"What is going on here?" asked Sheila from below. Lopez muttered something in Spanish and then dropped his pistol. He turned and walked calmly down the ramp. He approached the tank and she drew back slightly. The robot jumped onto her armoured shell and climbed into the driver's seat. Sheila silently removed Lopez and herself from the situation, making her way to an undisclosed location.

After some time, she rolled slowly to a halt. "What was the purpose of that, Lopez?" she questioned.

Tucker was speechless.

The information he had inferred that day in the canyon when he'd realized Vic was working for both sides had been guessed and expanded upon in the depths of his own mind. At first, he'd tried to warn everyone. This was before he'd had time to think it over. He now realized that any one of his so-called friends could be in on it--whatever it was--and the feeling of distrust made him feel ever more distant from his team mates.

The one he had the worst feeling about was Tex. She'd been sent by the supposed Blue Command, and had also brought O'Malley: A device which Tucker guessed was just another toy for the people high-up in this game he'd been placed in the middle of. However, he couldn't accuse Tex, and with O'Malley dead for good, he had no one to interrogate.

A shadow passed over the lot of them. They lifted their heads simultaneously to find what had obscured the light. Flying overhead was a pair of pelicans. Strange designs coated the hulls of the ships.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Tex said.

"Hold on," said Church. He hopped down inside the base, and came up the ramp a moment later carrying a sniper rifle.

The pelicans looked as though they were hovering over blue base, coming in for a landing. Church raised the sniper rifle to his robotic eye and zoomed in as far as he could. "It's a bunch of black soldiers. They're piling out onto the ground in front of blue base... Maybe they came in for repairs or something..." Church theorized.

Tucker shook his head silently. "We have to get out of here," he said, glancing at the teleporter.

"How can you know they have bad intentions?" Donut probed, finally getting to his feet. "I mean really. What could they want at our expense?"

Tucker looked out over the canyon; the black soldiers seemed to be advancing. His mind raced frantically. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't tell them what he knew, but he had to warn them somehow.

"Damn! Caboose is still out there, somewhere," Church suddenly realized out loud.

"So are Lopez and Sheila," Simmons reminded him.

"Yeah, but at least they have each other," Church said. "Caboose is all alone, and if Tex and Tucker are right, he's in trouble." The cobalt marine switched on his helmet radio and attempted to contact Caboose.

In response, he got an extremely fearful cry followed by a click and then blank static.

***INSTALLMENT 4***

Church tensed up, and Tucker immediately sensed that something was wrong. "Caboose is in trouble," Church informed them with fear in his voice. He threw down his sniper rifle. "We've got to go help him," he urged. Turning to Tucker, he said, "Tucker, you stay here. Without armour, you're as good as dead."

Tucker nodded quickly. He knew Church was right, and didn't even want to try to get involved. "I heard the scream faintly. He must have had his external mic on," said Tucker, pointing to the middle of the canyon. "It sounded like it was coming from there."

Church, Donut, Sarge, Tex, Grif, and Simmons filed down the ramp and made their way to the centre of the canyon. Tucker sat down cross-legged, the uncomfortable concrete beneath him. He became transfixed on the dead body of the former medic before him; the look in his eyes was one of fear and desperation. That horrible look would be on Franks face for all eternity.

Tucker leaned forward and closed the slaughtered medical officer's eyelids. He couldn't bear to stare into those empty eyes any longer.

"Hold it right there, you bastards!" Church yelled, assault rifle at the ready. Before him stood 16 black soldiers. Beside him stood five marines of various colours and Caboose lying face-down on the ground. The two groups faced off.

"Alright, dudes," said one of the black soldiers. "We don't want any casualties here." Sarge noticed that his voice was extremely familiar.

"Vic?" Sarge ventured. "Is that you?"

"Sarge, hey, dude. Good to see you again, I suppose, although the circumstances are a bit unpleasant, aren't they?" Vic replied. Sarge glanced at the fallen Caboose and suddenly everything became clear. The red-armoured marine glared and raised his shotgun a little higher, threateningly.

"No casualties? You've already shot at Caboose, you idiots!" Church snapped back. Vic realized that Leonard was right. Vic had meant to catch the Blood Gulch warriors off-guard. However, under these circumstances, they would have to fight sooner or later. A single stray shot could mean the end for Vic, whether or not his team won. He had to take the initiative, though.

"What, were you--" Church was cut off as Vic gave a command.

"Enough of this, you fools. Kill them all!" Vic screamed. The black soldiers opened fire.

The Blood Gulch fighters fired back. Suddenly, a giant explosion from the middle of the black soldiers' formation sent three of them flying. They fell to the ground, dead. Before the smoke could clear, Church and his team grabbed Caboose and hid behind a rock. In the distance, they could see Sheila and Lopez approaching.

Church cringed slightly at the sight of Lopez. The memory of DuFresne's execution returned briefly. What had provoked the robot?

He quickly realized there was no time for thought. His life and the lives of his team were on the line.

They could no longer see the black soldiers, but they heard more screams as Sheila fired again. "Scatter!" came Vic's voice after the second shot.

Sheila and Lopez rolled up to the team's position behind the rock. Caboose lie on the ground shaking in fear. "It's okay, man," Church said. "You're alright. We need you to be alright so you can help us, okay?"

Caboose looked up slowly. He seemed to be surrounded by friends, but he instantly became fixated on Lopez who sat perched upon Sheila's tread guard. There was an awkward five-second silence.

"There are eleven enemies still standing," Sheila reported.

"Thanks for the help back there, Sheila," Church replied gratefully. "We would have been screwed. Now there's a chance."

"Wait a second," Donut spoke up. "What the hell is going on here?"

"There are eleven armed soldiers who want us dead. For now, that's all that we need to know," Church stated bluntly. The rest of the team nodded in silent agreement.

There was a muffled thud as something hit the ground near them. Before they could figure out what was happening, an explosion shook the terrain. "I have sustained damage!" Sheila cried, tilted slightly to her left. A grenade had partially destroyed her wheels.

"Sheila," Caboose said, tension gripping his voice like a vice. "Sheila!" he yelled, jumping up and firing off pistol shots. The rest of the team quickly followed suit and rose as well, firing sustained bursts, buckshot, explosive rounds, and whatever else they had at the black soldiers. Three more of them fell to the ground before they could react to the situation.

Three more of his men fell around him, and Vic cringed at each death. He glanced back and fourth, afraid. "I don't want to die here," he muttered under his breath.

"Omega team! Fall back!" he cried and pointed towards the dropships. His squad acknowledged his order and began dashing for the pelicans. Vic watched for a split second to see his enemies begin pursuit. He turned to run.

Four more of the black soldiers fell under a hail of gunfire directed at their backs as they fled. Vic and two others jumped on a pelican, the pilot of which had already lifted partially off the ground in fear for her own life.

The other pilot wasn't as selfish though. She saw that there was still one of her men left stranded with no transport, so she waited, tension surrounding her.

Vic peered out of the back of the ship as the ground got smaller. He spotted one of his men, Sergio, still down there. He shook his head and sat back in his seat. 'Yet again, I have failed,' he cursed himself silently.

Sergio dashed desperately for the second pelican, but he knew he wouldn't make it in time. He glanced over his shoulder; his opponents were already almost upon him.

However, Sergio wasn't going to give up without a fight. He quickly spun around and stepped forward, catching his hunters off-guard. He grabbed Church around the neck, pressing his assault rifle under his hostage's chin. "Nobody move," Sergio ordered.

Everyone shifted uneasily. "Alright, man, just take it easy," Grif said as calmly as he possibly could.

"I am going to go to my dropship and leave. You will not try to stop me," Sergio ordered.

"It's cool, man," Grif said.

Time seemed to slow as Church marched stiffly along with Sergio as they began move slowly backwards towards the pelican.

Sergio was half way to his ticket home when his head exploded.

Tucker landed hard on his back, the sniper rifle hot in his hands. The force from the shot had been so powerful that it had knocked him off his feet. He quickly pushed the heavy weapon off of himself and groaned. Pain surged surged throughout his recently wounded body.

"A person in my condition should not be doing things like this," he moaned.

Church fell backwards with his fallen opponent as his grip was still tight around Leonard's neck. The rest of the team waited a full second before making the next move.

They aimed their weapons at the pelican as its engines began to whirr. Simmons fired a few controlled bursts, shattering the windshield. The pilot quickly raised her empty hands in the air.

"Out of the bird," Sarge ordered. The pilot nodded in compliance and climbed out onto the nose of the ship through the broken windshield. She slid off of the ship and onto the ground, proceeding to walk slowly and cautiously towards the group of angry armed people whom she'd just aided in the attempted murder of. She gulped, her bright blue eyes clenching shut temporarily.

"What's your name?" Sarge demanded.

"Nicole. Nicole Mark," she replied, her hands still raised. She had short black hair and wore a grey jumpsuit.

"Lower your arms, Mark," ordered Sarge. She complied without hesitation. "Now," Sarge began. "Before we start here, is everyone present?"

Church took a quick head count and realized something: Caboose was missing again.

***INSTALLMENT 5***

It had been a day since the failed attack on Blood Gulch. Caboose had been located by Sheila's side, trying as hard as he could to comfort her in her artificial pain.

The new prisoner, Nicole--who apparently also had some degree of mechanical training--had been helping Tex repair Sheila as fast as possible. Sarge and Lopez were busy performing the final inspections on Tucker's repaired armour. Originally, Lopez had wanted to help with Sheila's repairs, but Caboose got mad every time the robot even came near. Sheila had finally convinced her mechanized friend to attend to other matters for the time being.

Church had spent the time digging a sloppy grave for the deceased medic; he still felt bad about not feeling bad. DuFresne's body lie still as it had the day before, the dried blood black under the beating sun.

"Aw, crap," Tex said, standing up and stepping back to observe the progress she'd made on the repairs. "I left one of the spare parts back in the base. Come with me, Nicole. I'll need help finding it." Nicole nodded and the two women jogged away to the base. Caboose and Sheila watched them go.

"Caboose," she said after a minute. "I believe I need to talk to you."

At this Michael sat up, intent. "What is it?" he asked, concerned as he could be.

Sheila hesitated. "Is anyone else around?" she asked.

Caboose glanced back to the base. Tex and Nicole were standing by the entrance chatting. No one else was anywhere in sight. "No," said Caboose, shaking his head. "We're alone."

Again Sheila hesitated. "I don't know if I should be talking to anyone about this, but I feel that it's important, and I wanted to share it with someone I knew I could trust," she explained, curiosity building in Caboose.

Curiosity wasn't the biggest emotion on his mind right now. Much more prominent was the emotion of trust, acceptance, and love. She wanted to confide in him. "You can tell me anything, Sheila," he insisted reassuringly. "What's wrong?"

"Well," she started, choosing her words. "It's about Lopez--" she was cut off by the sound of dirt and gravel against the soles of two pairs of running feet. Sheila turned her turret sharply to observe what approached, causing Caboose to duck to avoid being smacked. Tex and Nicole had returned sooner than was convenient, and Caboose sighed. Neither Michael nor Sheila said anything about the conversation they'd almost had, but the both knew it was now a conversation they'd be forced to have eventually.

"You know," said Church, tossing another handful of dirt behind him. "That was excellent out there yesterday."

Tucker leaned against a cliff a few feet in front of where Church was digging. "Thanks, but I hurt like hell now. I can barely move," Tucker said.

"You're exaggerating. I'm sure you'll be over it by tomorrow," Church stated sincerely. He dug for another moment. "You really have no professional training with the sniper rifle?" he inquired, flattering doubt in his voice.

Tucker grinned at the implied compliment and shook his head. "I think I have sunburn, too," he claimed, staring at his bare skin.

"Tucker!" Sarge yelled from about twenty meters away. Tucker turned to face the sergeant. "Your armour is ready!" he announced.

Tucker rose quickly to his feet, pain coursing through his veins with the movement. He limped over to where Sarge and Lopez stood. On the ground was his cyan armour looking as good as new.

"Now all that's left," Sarge began, "are the repairs on the tank." Tucker nodded, and the three of them began assembling his armour around him. Tucker was excited. He was about to be one of them again.

The armour felt cold and foreign against his skin; it had been weeks since he'd been inside of it. Once it was locked in around his legs, arms, and torso, he slipped on his boots and gauntlets. He held his helmet in his hands, taking one last look at the clear world, not obscured by the glass of his helmet visor. He sighed and placed the helmet over his head.

Vic stood in the armoury. Robert and Elvin had already removed their armour, stored their weapons and hit the showers. Vic stood staring at the nearly empty row of armour racks. One of the empty racks was his. He stood, thinking about how his failed mission had gotten thirteen men killed.

He had tried to take off his armour already, but he'd stopped himself. He couldn't explain it; he'd hated wearing it that day in the canyon. But now, standing in front of the empty racks, he didn't want to leave it.

However, there were things to do and people to see, and walking around in his bulky black armour during the process would be ridiculous. He knew he didn't have a choice, so he slowly reached to pull his right gauntlet off.

"Victor Randall, get your ass into my office immediately," the intercom blared. Vic snapped into alertness, realizing that he'd been in some sort of daze before. He shook his head and glanced down at his fully-armoured body. There wasn't time to remove it now.

"That's it," said Tex, standing back. The tank didn't look like it had just rolled off the production line, but if a grenade had indeed blown part of it up, you wouldn't know it. "How are your systems working, Sheila?" Tex questioned.

Various sounds came from within Sheila�s interior before she responded. "Wonderfully. Thank you for repairing me," Sheila said gratefully.

"Let's get moving before more of those guys show up again," Caboose suggested. Tex nodded, and she and Nicole hopped onto Sheila�s armour, Caboose already perched on the opposite side. They rolled away to find the rest of the marines.

The tank approached Church who was stooped over a half-dug grave. He looked up at them.

"Come on, Church, let's go," Tex urged.

Church was relieved. Digging the grave had been boring and tedious. He could take comfort in the knowledge that he'd tried to lay the medic to rest properly. He was a good person. Wasn't he?

Sarge, Lopez, and Simmons jogged up, followed behind by the slower-moving Tucker. "Where are Grif and Donut?" Sarge asked urgently. "We need to move now."

"Grif's bringing the jeep around," Simmons said. "Donut's probably with him."

Simmons was proved right as Grif came sliding around a corner with Donut in the passenger seat. The gun had been dismantled and removed to make more room. "Simmons, Sarge, hop on the back," Grif said. The reddish soldiers complied with their teammate's suggestion.

Caboose, realizing that Lopez would have to ride on Sheila, quickly hopped into her driver's canopy. He was thrilled when she didn't object.

Church, Tucker, Lopez, Tex and Nicole hopped onto the side of the tank and the group rolled off towards the blue base and the pelican standing in front of it.

Vic jogged through the halls, making sure he didn't trample anyone in his massive suit. He rounded a corner, stepped through a doorway saw Keith Jacobson sitting at his desk.

For a moment, Jacobson just stared at Vic. Vic became uncomfortable. Finally, the plump man spoke up. "Vic," he began, "what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I hadn't had time to remove my armour before I heard your summons," Vic explained.

Jacobson sighed and placed his hands palms-down on the desk in front of him. "Vic, not only did you fail again miserably, but you abandoned an entire aircraft into their possession," he said bluntly.

Vic cringed at the truths his superior was relating to him. "I honestly don't know what happened. We weren't prepared for such resistance," he said in a defensive attempt.

Keith clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth and pressed his palms together. "We're suspending you, Victor," he finally said.

Every muscle in Vic's body tensed. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and rolled down his cheeks. Everyone knew what happened to people they "suspended" from his line of work. Their secret projects were too important to be potentially leaked into the public world. And because of the elusive power they controlled, preventing information from escaping was a relatively simple process.

Vic's eyes watered. "Please, sir. I just--" Vic pleaded, but was cut off.

"You're a liability, Vic. We can't risk having you..." Keith trailed off as he noticed Vic's hand moving towards his sidearm. Jacobson slowly slid open a drawer to his right and got ready to reach inside.

"You fool," Vic said, his voice suddenly cold and fearless. He grabbed his pistol and snapped a shot off at Jacobson. Keith promptly ducked and pulled an ancient berretta out of the open drawer. Falling to the ground beneath his desk, he fired three shots at Vic as the black-armoured failure fled. The bullets pinged off his armour as he ran.

***INSTALLMENT 6***

Nicole--not being too crazy about the whole murder of innocent people scene in the first place--was actually kind of glad she'd been taken prisoner. She was willingly flying them to safety, or at least as close as she could get them to it.

Sheila dangled beneath the ship, looking out of place against the pelican which was not too much bigger. Yet the bird was able to carry the tank; it had been done countless times before.

Grif and Simmons squatted on the floor, playing card games with a deck that Nicole had had stashed away in the cockpit.

Caboose sat facing the wall, thinking about Sheila and what she could have possibly been trying to tell him earlier.

Donut stared straight ahead, deep in thought. He wondered if he'd ever see his home again.

Church could not stop thinking about DuFresne. 'Get it together, Leonard," he chastised himself mentally. "How can something you don't care about affect you so much?"

Sarge and Tex shared stories of battles they'd once been in, but neither seemed focused or interested on the conversation. Lopez listened silently.

Tucker studied every last one of them. He gazed down at his own fingers, covered in metal, just like theirs. He was one of them again, but he still felt alone. The knowledge of conspiracy had gotten to his head, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to trust any one of them again.

"Shit!" Keith Jacobson cursed, slamming his fist into a bright red button underneath his desk. Flashing lights and deafening sirens suddenly blasted throughout the complex.

He quickly sat up and held down the button on the intercom microphone on his desk. "Attention. There is a dangerous man loose in the vicinity. He is armed and wearing black Special Forces marine armour. I repeat: This man is armed and dangerous," Keith finished.

He switched to a special channel. "This is Keith Jacobson reporting. Bad news: Agent Victor Randall has gone rampant. He shot at me and is now running throughout the building. I told him I was going to... "Suspend" him. Respond," he finished, letting up on the intercom button.

There was a brief pause. "Where is the rogue agent headed?" the voice inquired monotonously.

"I don't know," Keith said, watching the fleeing marine on the surveillance system. "Oh, shit," Keith uttered when he realized Vic's plan.

Vic ran through the halls, scared to death, only half aware of his surroundings. He didn't really know where he was going, actually, but he knew he had to get there.

Sirens and flashing lights exploded all around him. If he'd been epileptic, today would not have been his lucky day.

His feet kept moving. He couldn't stop. He had to keep going. He knocked over one unlucky woman who wasn't able to get out of the way in time.

He rounded several corners are went through many doorways. Finally, he arrived at his subconscious destination: The hangar.

He'd never flown before, but it was his only chance. He dashed up the ramp of a longsword and sat down in the chair in front of the control panels. Instinctively, he hit a control to close the door. 'How did I know that?' he wondered, but the curiosity was quickly pushed aside.

He initiated the take-off sequence.

"He's taking a fighter ship," Keith quickly informed the man on the other line.

"I'm sending someone to your office currently. That will be all," the voice on the other side responded.

"Acknowledged," Keith replied.

After a few minutes, a pale man in a black suit stepped calmly through the doorway before Jacobson. His black hair had a strange purplish hue, and he wore sunglasses that completely obscured his eyes from view.

"Mister Jacobson," he man stated, no feeling in his voice whatsoever. "I came as quickly as I could. A matter as such could not be discussed on a COM line," he explained.

Keith nodded.

"So," the suit began, "please relay to me the identification number for the stolen aircraft."

Keith complied.

"I am going to need to request temporary access to your computer," the suit stated.

Keith pushed back his chair and rose from it, proceeding to stand behind it as the pale man replaced Jacobson in the seat. He accessed a restricted file, entering the ship's serial number.

"What's all this about?" Keith inquired.

The business man emitted a low chuckle; the first sign of human life he'd displayed as of yet. "Mister Jacobson. No matter what you think you know, there's always someone who knows more, isn't there?" he mused.

"I don't understand," Jacobson persisted.

"Each ship owned by this facility is equipped with a deactivation switch. It kills the vehicle's systems and equipment slowly," the suit explained.

Keith pursed his lips, taking in this new information. Several times had he ridden on an aircraft from this installation. Someone high up had been sitting around the whole time, able to destroy the ship at the press of a button.

Jacobson rolled back on his heels. "Now that you mention it," he started. "The longsword was not the only ship recently stolen."

***INSTALLMENT 7***

"Now wait a second," said Jacobson. "Why not just have bombs implanted in the ships?"

"People inspecting the crash are likely to have no affiliation with us. If they detect the presence of an intentional explosion, it would raise unnecessary publicity and controversy about our vehicles and ultimately our department. Our method is scripted into pre-existing chips, making it virtually unrecognizable to anyone who might be investigating a wreck. Our system causes realistic malfunctions in the machinery that will cause a chain reaction of failures, ultimately leading to its demise. It will, however, appear to have been completely accidental," the pale man concluded without missing a beat.

Keith opened his mouth as if to respond, but realized there was nothing left to say for the moment. The suit had completely answered his question and any questions he may have followed up with.

"It has been initiated," the man in black finally said. Rising to his feet he reached into his inner jacket pocket. Keith winced and took a step back as the man withdrew his hand and extended the contents of it to Keith. "My contact card, incase you ever need to meet with me again. You will refer to me as Agent KJ01A. None of what was discussed in this room will leave this room," he explained, his monotonous voice somehow threatening. Keith nodded and accepted the rectangular slip of paper. The man walked silently out of the room without another word.

Jacobson sat down in his chair and rubbed his fingers into his temples before running his hands through his coarse, short hair. Finally, he tapped the button for the system-wide intercom again. "Robert Smith, please report to my office," he beckoned into the microphone.

Everything seemed like smooth sailing to Nicole until she realized an increased number of errors in her equipment. As she began paying more attention to the problem, she realized that it was rapidly becoming worse.

"Attention," she broadcast to the passenger bay. "We are coming in for an emergency landing. My systems are malfunctioning. I won't be able to keep this bird airbourne for much longer."

She carefully navigated to an open area in a valley between some grassy cliffs and prepared to set down. Approximately five feet from the ground, the engines died. The dropship fell and hit the ground hard. A normal pilot may not have noticed the technical difficulties in time, but Nicole was no ordinary pilot it seemed.

She climbed out of the cockpit, smoke pouring from the nose of the aircraft. She sighed and kicked the metal hull gently.

The back hatch in the back of the ship opened automatically. The first out was Caboose, hopping quickly to the ground and searching around. "Where's Sheila?" he inquired, a hint of worry in his voice.

Nicole nodded and looked behind him. "I had to drop her a few meters back when we were getting to close to the ground," she explained. Caboose turned around and, sure enough, there she was. He jogged towards her, and Nicole smiled and turned away.

Next out were Sarge, Lopez and Tex, followed by Grif and Simmons. "Here you go, ma'am," Grif said, bending slightly over to hand the pilot her deck of cards. She accepted them and she thanked him politely with her eyes and a slight nod.

Church was out next, followed closely by Donut. The pink armoured marine swept the area with his assault rifle to make sure it was all clear.

The last one out was Tucker. He slowly crouched and let his legs fall to the ground, a flash of pain following impact. He carefully stood up to his full height and walked around a bit, trying to get used to movement.

Tex, Lopez, Nicole and Sarge got to work on trying to figure out how to fix the dropship. The rest of the team stood around, except Caboose and Sheila who were about a few hundred feet behind the rest.

"This sucks," said Grif after a while.

"No shit," Simmons replied.

"The guys in the black armour will probably come for us again, soon," said Donut matter-of-factly. "I bet they're tracking the pelican as we speak."

Grif took off his helmet and took out his cigarette pack and lighter. "Calm down, Donut," Grif said, though he knew that the pink soldier could easily be right. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, placing it between his lips and taking a satisfying drag.

"Grif," said Donut after a minute. "Can I have one of those?"

Grif raised his eyebrow. "I didn't know you smoked, Donut," Grif stated curiously.

Donut shrugged. "How about it?" he requested again.

Grif pulled out another cigarette and gave it to Donut, who removed his pink helmet. The rookie lit the offered cigarette and inhaled its contents, only to start coughing a second later.

The longsword fighter glided along above the surface of the planet. A flashing yellow light on the ships radar grew closer every ping. Vic didn't know what it was, but he knew he had to get to it.

His hand idly slid across the control panel, tapping buttons and making random minor course corrections. It took a while before he noticed that his systems had gradually stopped doing what he expected them to do.

Obviously, not being a pilot himself, he had no conscious idea what was going wrong. He had gotten used to being able to just tap any button on the control panel and have the right thing happen. Now the ride was shaky, lights were dimming, fading and blinking, and soon a few foreboding beeping noises began sounding.

Vic needed to set this bird down.

The beeping noises increased and got louder. The flashing lights got brighter and more colourful. Vic suddenly found it hard to control the ship. He managed to lower it to about ten metres off the ground before he lost control.

The ship spun once and dove sideways towards the ground. Vic's fingers instinctively went to a control he'd not yet come near yet: A large, bright red button. He pressed down on it hard and the roof above him opened up. His chair was launched out of the opening.

The longsword's right wing slammed into the ground, sending the ship spiraling into a cliffside. The aircraft erupted into an incandescent mass of fire as it impacted with the solid rock.

Vic was sailing horizontally from the malfunctioning ship. The seat he was still strapped into hit the ground back-first, bouncing and skidding until it hit a rock and rolled to a stop.

The rogue agent lie staring at the ground. A panel on the back of his chair detached and a folded canvas parachute fell uselessly onto the dirt. Vic carefully slid his arm beneath his chest and clicked the button that would unstrap him from the seat. He pushed himself off the ground, the chair falling carelessly to the ground beside him.

Standing up, he looked down to inspect his armour. It was badly scuffed, but the only impairing bit of damage was his cracked faceplate. He removed his helmet and gave the visor a few good smacks until it shattered. After smoothing the broken edges with his finger and shaking the loose shards of glass onto the ground, he carefully slid the helmet back over his head.

"Shit," he said aloud. He wouldn't be able to use his suit's built-in motion tracker in this condition. Sighing, he turned and made his way towards the flaming wreckage of his ship. Some of the automatic flame-repressant systems had become active, but even some of those seemed to be malfunctioning. After a while, the cockpit looked safe enough to try to enter. He hopped up on the side and climbed in through the broken windshield.

'Excellent,' he thought, seeing the radar still intact, the yellow light still flashing every ping. He disassembled the control panel and removed the battery-operated radar box. It was a little heavy, but not unmanageably so.

As he was walking away with the extracted radar, another explosion in the ship's engines sent the thing up in flames again. Vic slowed his pace for half a second, then continued walking, shaking his head and never turning back.

"This doesn't look good," said Tex. "I doubt we'll be able to fix it. Damn," she said disappointedly.

Nicole sighed. "It's been my ship for my whole career as pilot," she said. "I even had a little nickname for it." She stopped before she got too emotional about it.

"Well," Tex began, "I'm sorry. It seems like there's nothing we can do."

Nicole nodded. "I agree. The systems are completely fried. I have no idea why; I cared for it like a child. It should not have malfunctioned like that," she insisted.

"We can't really do anything except keep moving," Sarge said. Tex and Nicole nodded in agreement. "Come on, Lopez," said Sarge. "Let's go tell the others."

Dust was kicked up as a third pelican landed in the centre of Blood Gulch. The team of eight marines knew that their targets had left in a stolen dropship. They were merely there to scout out the area for anything that might be useful in their hunt for the escaped guinea pigs.

Aside from grass, rocks, and dirt, there was almost nothing to be seen in the canyon. Two marines apiece were sent to inspect each base. One went to investigate the abandoned warthog. The remaining three began scouring the canyon.

Robert Smith walked briskly towards his objective: the jeep. From a distance he noticed that the gun had been removed, but as he drew closer he began to notice more things awry with the vehicle. The headlights were flashing, and there was some sort of noise emanating from it. When he became close enough, he realized that the noise was a voice, monotonous and robotic. He still couldn't quite understand it.

After another few seconds of walking, the words became discernable. The vehicle was repeating the same phrase over and over again: "Warthog online. Homing beacon activated."

***INSTALLMENT 8***

Keith Jacobson sat in front of his desk, enveloped in the blackness that was created by his arms as he buried his face in them, thinking. He soon heard a familiar beeping: the sound of his field mission pager.

It took a minute to sit up and unhook it from his belt, but he did it. "What do you want?" he requested, holding down the button on the side. Annoyance was detectable in his voice.

"Sir, it's me," the voice on the other line replied. "Robert Smith reporting in. I found something weird here in the Blood Gulch canyon."

"Elaborate," Jacobson demanded.

"The light reconnaissance vehicle we sent in a few months ago seems to have had some...weird modifications made to it," Robert replied hesitantly, searching for the words to describe it.

"Weird?" Keith inquired.

"Yeah. It keeps saying something about a 'homing beacon' in a robotic voice," Robert began. "We couldn't figure out how to start it up at first. We managed to figure out a set of code words to control it by accident. It's an incredibly basic code--drive, stop, things like that. Anyway, whenever we tell it to drive, it starts headed right for the wall. Obviously, when we tell it to stop, it stops."

"Where's it trying to get to, Smith?" Keith probed.

"That's just the thing, sir," Robert started. "None of the techs here are familiar with anything quite like the method by which this homing chip was constructed. The coding is extremely advanced. They don't think they're going to be able to figure out the destination." He then hesitated.

Jacobson instantly noticed the unusual pause. "What is it, Robert? Spit it out?" he ordered.

"If I may, sir," he said, requesting permission to speak freely.

"Go ahead," Keith replied calmly.

"The jeep does seem willing to lead us to it, whatever it is," he suggested.

Keith rested elbow on the desk and his head in his palm. He stroked his chin and realized that he needed a shave. There was no time for things like that now, though.

"Alright, soldier," Keith finally responded. "You have permission to send up to three soldiers in the warthog to see just where this thing is so eager to get to. It might be helpful in our search for the rogue test subjects."

"Acknowledged, sir," Robert replied.

"Anything else?" Keith questioned.

"We recovered the covenant ghost you planted, intact. We also found the body of medical officer DuFresne. Out of all the people in the canyon, the pacifist is the one that ends up with a bullet between his eyes. Ironic, isn't it?" Robert mused.

Jacobson sighed. "If you say so, Smith," he said wearily. "Restate your current mission objectives."

"Lift the warthog out of the canyon and put three guys in it, sending it off towards its destination. Bring the dropship back and take the ghost and the body of the medic back to base," he stated compliantly.

"You will carry these objectives out?" Jacobson asked procedurally.

"Yes, sir," Robert concluded. Keith let off the button, laid the radio on the desk and buried his face in the darkness of his arms again.

"What do you think about all that, Caboose?" Sheila asked as a conclusive question to her conversation with Caboose.

The blue-armoured private shook his head. "I don't like it," he stated simply.

Once again, though, the pair received an untimely interruption from their team.

"Caboose! Sheila!" Church called, jogging towards them. He stopped a few feet away from them, pausing for half a second. "They're not going to be able to get the ship working again, so we're going to have to go on foot from here on out," he explained. "In which case, I might add: We should get going now."

Caboose sighed. "Come on, Sheila. Let's go," Caboose finally said. Church hopped on to the side of the tank, grabbing one of the handles for stability. The three of them rolled off towards the group.

"You understand the plan?" Robert asked the soldier sitting across from him, the four members of his team in the canyon looking like tiny black ants against the swirling ground below them.

"I got it," Elvin replied. Robert nodded to his team mate without another word.

The dropship landed outside the canyon cliff walls. Robert and the two men assigned to his squad hopped out as the warthog below the ship was deployed onto the ground.

"Alright, Elvin. Good luck, buddy. I'll see you back at the base tonight," he said, lightly punching his friend in the shoulder. Elvin nodded and returned the gesture, and Robert headed off to get into the driver's seat of the jeep.

"Drive," Robert ordered, and the vehicle took off speeding along the terrain.

Grif and Donut had already replaced their helmets in their rightful spots atop their respective heads. Simmons shook his head in sighed. "I knew Grif was an idiot," he began. "But you too, Donut? I wouldn't have thought."

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore," said Donut.

"Come on!" came Leonard's voice from the distance as he rode up on the tank. Sheila rolled to a halt and the bionic human hopped off of her side. "Let's get going. Nicole, seeing as how you don't have physically enhancing armour like the rest of us, you should probably hop on Sheila or you'll get worn out fast. And Tucker, you don't seem like you're in good enough shape to walk yet. You better go for a ride as well. As for the rest of us," he said, glancing around at the random assortment of armour colours. "We should be in good enough condition to be walking to wherever we need to go."

"Uh, actually," Grif chimed in. "I wouldn't mind a ride."

"You are such a lazy ass," Simmons snapped. Grif flipped him off.

"Whatever," Church said, irritated. "We don't have time to discuss it. Whoever wants to get on, get on. Let's just get moving."

They all nodded in agreement, and Grif, Tucker, and Nicole took their places on the sides of the tank. The crew moved out, heading towards their hopeful salvation.

Elvin sat calmly in the empty passenger bay as the dropship descended back into the box canyon. Once they'd set down, Elvin jumped out and he and his team hauled the ghost and Frank's body into the bay. It was crowded, but it did the trick.

"What's this?" one of his men inquired, holding up a strange, misshapen and disgusting blob that he'd found.

Elvin shrugged. "It looks like an inflated version of someone's old spleen. Toss it in the back," he ordered.

The five of them hopped in and took their seats. Elvin was closest to the cockpit and he pressed down a green button allowing him to communicate with the pilot. "We're all settled in. Let's go."

"Aye-aye," the pilot responded. The engines whirred and the bird lifted off the ground. Elvin watched as what he could see of the canyon rapidly shrunk before his eyes.

For a while everything was normal. Guys were chatting about various things--girls, TV, what they'd eaten for breakfast that day. Suddenly something caught Elvin's eye in the canyon below.

His fist instinctively slammed into the intercom button. "Stop! Go back! I think I see something down there!" he hollered, the pilot quickly bringing the aircraft to a static hovering status. "Bring her down!" he said, letting off the green button and reaching for the radio strapped to his waist.

"Sir!" he yelled, excitedly yet still professionally.

"What is it?" a voice from the other line responded after a brief pause.

"I believe we've located rogue agent Victor Randall. Your orders?" he inquired.

"Take him down," Jacobson directed, static minorly distorting his voice.

"Acknowledged, sir," Elvin responded, clipping the radio to his belt again as the dropship set down.

***INSTALLMENT 9***

"Shit," Vic said, watching as the pelican flew over his head and came to a halt in midair.

They'd seen him.

He quickly ran for cover behind a gathering of large rocks; the only form of cover he could see anywhere near. They were protected by the shadows of the cliffs behind them. Vic's black armour would serve him well under these circumstances.

Vic suddenly realized that his body was almost numb. He could barely control his movements and he could hardly feel his appendages. His motions, however, were quite precise and fluid.

He got into a prone position on the ground, inching along until he could barely see out from behind one of the rocks. Five black-armoured soldiers advanced cautiously towards his position, but it appeared as though they hadn't seen him yet.

Reaching for the pistol at his side, he suddenly realized that he wished he was better-armed. Oh well. He'd have to make do with what he had.

He carefully brought the gun out from behind the cover of the rock. He spotted one in the center, closer than all the rest. Raising the pistol in front of his eye, he zoomed in on the decided target. The man had two grenades on his belt. Perfect.

Vic practiced quickly aligning two shots, yet at the same time he was scared to death. He couldn't understand how he was operating so calmly under these circumstances. Sure, he understood what he was doing, but it was how he was able to do it that was beyond him.

Finally, he sucked in a deep breath and prepared for the real deal. He lined up his crosshair with his targets face. Just before he fired, his victim screamed, "Shit!"

Elvin's team piled out of the ship in a quick and organized manner. They swept the area with their guns. Nothing. Their target had disappeared. The only possible hiding spot was a collection of large rocks near the cliff wall. Elvin motioned for his team to follow him, then began to slowly approach the suspected hideout of their prey.

For what seemed like the longest time, the men saw nothing. Then Elvin caught a gleam off of his enemy's wrist plate. He quickly focused on the source of the flash of light and realized the silhouette of a man's head and a pistol. It would be the last thing he ever saw.

"Shit!" he screamed, pointing towards the rock before catching a bullet to the skull as his faceplate shattered. Almost instantly after he died the grenades on his belt detonated. His teammates screamed and jumped for cover. One unfortunate man was caught in the explosion and died as well.

Only one of them remained standing. Their opponent jumped up and snapped off a quick shot, catching the man in the throat and dropping him where he stood.

The other two men hit the ground, suddenly in fear for their lives. Their fired their assault rifles off wildly towards the rocks, screaming various things from profane insults to desires to see their mothers.

They both stopped firing as they ran out of ammo near simultaneously, and they each shakily fumbled with fresh clips.

"Well, well," came the voice of their foe as he stepped out from behind the rocks, training his gun on one of their heads. "Drop your weapons," he ordered.

The men replied, tossing their assault rifles out in front of them. One of them began crying, and Vic shot him to shut him up.

The living soldier trembled, retreating into a fetal position and whimpering in fear. Vic knelt next to the man and brought his face so close that he could see his opponent's eyes through his reflective visor.

"How many more are out here after me?" Vic asked calmly, but the man could do little more than whine and shake. The engines of the dropship began to whir, and Vic shot the survivor in the face.

He quickly scanned the battlefield, spotting a rocket launcher. He smiled and walked towards it, bending down as the pelican lifted off of the ground.

Vic lifted the weapon and carefully aimed at the retreating dropship. The rocket he finally fired soared with precise accuracy and impacted against the pelican's hull, destroying its engines. The bird fell carelessly to the ground, smashing into the ground with a burst of flame.

"I like this weapon," Vic said, patting the rocket launcher and laughing. He proceeded to inspect the scenery of the wreckage he'd just caused.

"Oh, what's this?" he wondered aloud, peering inside the bay which had previously harboured the five dead men currently on the ground behind him.

Tucker didn't know how much longer he could stand this feeling of distrust. It was growing more intense with each passing minute that he was left to ponder it. Any one of his supposed "friends" could be working for the enemy that wanted him dead right now. It wasn't far-fetched at all. They'd all been put in here by the same people who'd been using them as pawns all along. What's to say one or two of the "pawns" hasn't been in on it the whole time? They could have sent them in to add anything they felt necessary to achieve whatever warped goal it was they were trying to accomplish.

Furthermore, they could all be thinking the same thing he was right now, growing more and more skeptical of their team mates--all the more reason Tucker had not to trust them. In this kind of world, someone could snap at any point. The most important thing would be to try to keep a cool head, but he didn't know how much longer he could hold out for.

Lopez glanced up at the cliffs above. "I'm telling you," Grif insisted. "The assault rifle is better."

Simmons sighed, frustrated. "That makes no sense. The only reason people love the assault rifle is because it's easy to use and easy to produce. The pistol fires much more powerful and accurate shots, and overall is far more lethal," he explained.

"I guess you would know, seeing as how huge your body count is," Grif retorted.

"Oh, that's excellent logic there. You wouldn't even be alive right now if it weren't for me," Simmons snapped back.

"Both of you shut your mouths," Sarge ordered. "You're going to drive use all crazy."

Sweat dropped between Donut's eyes and he was unable to wipe it away. Every moving shadow startled him. He just knew that the next movement he saw would be another black soldier out for his blood.

The warthog sped forward, dodging large rocks and trees. Robert grabbed the steering-wheel uselessly and enjoyed the ride, temporarily forgetting all about his mission and why he was out here. He enjoyed the scenery as it zipped by at blurring speeds.

Suddenly, he noticed that they were headed straight for a cliff. It took him a moment to become fully-grounded in the real world again, but once he realized what was happening, he acted quickly. "Stop!" he screamed, the vehicle skidding to a halt just metres away from the cliff.

Roberts�s heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. "That was close," he said, breathing quickly.

"Don't forget, man. This thing was turning and dodging earlier without us doing anything at all. Maybe it knows what it's doing here, eh?" the man in the passenger seat suggested.

Robert hesitated for a minute before turning to the man sitting in the back. "Whaddya think, Pete?" he asked, Pete's opinion depending on the outcome of his decision. Pete turned to face Robert. He paused for a minute, shrugged, then nodded.

Robert sighed, heaving his shoulders. "Alright, you guys. But if we die, I'm going to be pissed. Seriously," he said threateningly. He realized they were probably right, though. "Drive," he commanded.

The wheels began spinning again, and the warthog went sailing right off the cliff.

"I love you, Sheila," Caboose whispered from inside the driver's canopy. "And I will take care of our problem."

Nicole overheard this and smiled. 'The sweet ones always prefer machinery,' she mused.

The valley began darkening slightly with the coming of evening.

***INSTALLMENT 10***

"Shit!" Robert screamed as the vehicle hurdled itself over the cliff's edge, beginning a slow tumble in the air. Gravity pulled them against the cliff wall in time, though

The angle of the rock was steep; steeper than any sane person would ever consider intentionally driving on. However, it served to keep them from spiraling out of control to their certain death scores of metres below.

Loose rocks were kicked upwards by the spinning wheels of the warthog violently trying to gain traction on its gravelly plunge. The three marines riding within held on for their lives. "STOP!" Robert cried, the wheels locking in place. It didn't do much good.

The vehicle began slowly spinning, falling sideways off the final drop-off of a few meters. They slammed violently into the ground passenger side-first. "Jesus! My arm!" the soldier riding shotgun cried.

Robert quickly climbed out of the jeep and Pete did the same. The two soldiers quickly swept the area with their assault rifles; a standard procedure. Actually finding something to aim at wasn't generally a standard part of it, though.

The two black-armoured marines found themselves facing off with a group of three soldiers with varying reddish armour colours. All five had their assault rifles drawn, trained on their enemy, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Leon lie on his side, the warthog obscuring his view from any of his teammates. He grunted and attempted to lift himself, using his right arm to prop him up. The immense pain that exploded in his arm as he tried to move it indicated that he probably wouldn't be using it any time soon.

He pushed a button on his waist that would transmit his coordinates to Keith Jacobson. "Location logged, Rob!" he yelled to his teammate who was surely standing around idly a few feet away from the warthog. "That sucked!" he added.

"What the hell is that?" a muffled, unfamiliar voice said from the other side of the overturned jeep. Leon instantly tensed, his heart beating faster and faster.

He didn't know what to do. He wanted to keep quiet, but for reasons unknown to his consciousness he ended up blurting out, "Is that them?!"

Sarge stared at the two black soldiers, Lopez and Simmons on either side of him. He quietly switched his external mic off and communicated to the rest of his team via his helmet radio. "We need assistance out here, guys," Sarge requested. "Pick up the pace. We've got hostile contacts."

"Don't worry," he said, directing his comments to Simmons and Lopez. "We haven't been gone too long; the others shouldn't be too far behind. We'll have support any minute. Until then, stand firm."

Robert had switched to radio-only communication as well. "What are we going to do? There are three of them, and who knows where the rest are. Leon, call Jacobson and let him know they're here," he ordered.

"Sir," a voice said from Keith's radio amidst buzzing. "This is Leon Mitchelson. The targets are here. I have already transmitted a ping of our location. Send reinforcements. We're going to be overwhelmed here."

Keith picked up the radio and held down the respond button. "Affirmative, soldier," he replied.

"Mister Jacobson," came a voice from behind him, causing Keith to jump and spin to find the source. It was the man from earlier--Agent KJ01A. The pale-skinned man rose from his seat in the back corner of the room near the bookshelf and took a step towards Keith.

"What the," Keith began. "Where did you come from?" He ran a hand across the back of his head nervously.

"That is irrelevant, Mister Jacobson," the man replied calmly. "I'm here to inform you about an unexpected limitation on troops. The amount of reinforcements you'll be able to supply your troops with currently can consist of a maximum of sixteen units. The rest of our agents have become suddenly preoccupied with or are on hold to attend to other matters. We are trying our best to correct the problem, but until we have, the limit stands."

Keith growled slightly. "Then I want to max that limit out immediately," he announced. He pressed the intercom button against the desk on his microphone. "Attention. This is Keith Jacobson. Will the first sixteen available troops and the first two available pilots please report--" he was cut off.

"The limit includes pilots, Mister Jacobson," the man informed him, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Keith paused briefly to stare at the man before correcting his order. "Correction: The first fourteen available soldiers and the first two available pilots. The indicated parties will report immediately to the hangars to depart. Further briefings will be issued there," he concluded, letting up on the intercom button. He began a brisk walk to the hangar, pausing partially to glance back at Agent KJ01A who was standing in the middle of Keith's office watching him go.

The entire team heard Sarge's call for help. "Come on, guys," Grif urged. "Let's haul ass. Our team needs us." He hopped off the tank and began jogging ahead, the rest of the team matching his acceleration.

In no time they saw the two small groups facing off nervously, none of them daring to fire the first shot.

Robert saw the rest of the renegades approaching in the distance. "Shit. They're here!" he informed Leon.

"Reinforcements are on the way, Rob. Hang tight," Leon replied, his voice strangled with anticipation.

Robert strained his eyes to focus. He and Pete were about to come up against an entire team of rebels. He'd seen them once before--and had been one of the three lucky enough to survive the battle. Robert felt fear like he'd never felt it before.

"Just a bit more," Church said as the mis-matched team covered the ground between themselves and their opponents rapidly.

"Rob," Leon said frantically. "I'm throwing a grenade!"

"No, Leon! Jesus!" Robert cried in an attempt to stop his desperate teammate, but it was too late. The grenade soared through the air and, against ridiculous odds, landed right in the middle of the group of five battle-ready marines. "Run, Pete!" Robert yelled before breaking into a mad dash for a crag in the cliff that he thought would provide decent cover.

"Get back!" Sarge yelled, and the three reddish-armoured soldiers spun and lunged to avoid the ensuing explosion.

The rest of the team witnessed the chaos from the distance. Their three teammates hit the ground as fire and dust kicked up behind them, and the two hostile troops made a break for it.

"Now!" yelled Church. "They're getting away! Take them out!" The team opened fire on the fleeing duo. Sheila fired off an explosive shell.

Robert felt the heat and the force of the explosion that shook the ground behind him. "Almost there, Pete!" he yelled, dodging behind the rocks he was heading for. He knelt and spun around to see if Pete was okay.

He was not. His body lie destroyed on the ground at least thirty metres away. Robert cursed and activated his radio. "Sir, this is Robert Smith reporting. We're under attack against overwhelming odds. We've already suffered casualties," he explained, pausing before continuing.

"We've already suffered casualties!" Keith's radio blared as he stood before the rows of troops he was briefing. "The huge tank took Pete out. I am going to die here, I know it!"

Keith wiped the sweat from his brow as the expressions on the soldiers' faces became sour as they overheard the distressed cry for help. "Respond!" the voice on the other line demanded.

Keith heaved his shoulders and sighed. He pointed to the two dropships. "Get going," he ordered. The small team hesitated then nodded, complying with the direct orders.

Keith clicked down the button, considering how to formulate his response to Robert. "Fourteen soldiers are inbound to your position currently to assist you," he finally informed the doomed soldier. "Hang on, Smith." He switched his radio off and exited the hangar as the ships he was sending lifted off and departed.

Upon returning to his room, he found Agent KJ01A sitting in the corner, feet planted firmly on the floor, arms folded calmly in his lap. Keith shot him a cold glance, but said nothing as he resumed his position sitting behind his desk.

"Don't worry, Mister Jacobson," the man said, his voice not at all reassuring.

Sarge, Simmons and Lopez quickly rose to a standing position as their friends approached. "Are there any more?" Church inquired.

Simmons pointed to the warthog. "There's some guy in there. He threw a grenade at us," Simmons informed them. The group nodded, and Church, Donut, and Sarge quickly approached the overturned vehicle.

The black-armoured man rolled his head to look up at his enemies. His left hand shakily reached and grabbed a pistol. "Freeze!" Sarge yelled, but the man's hand continued traveling towards the weapon. Donut opened fire with his assault rifle and tore through the injured man.

Leon was no more.

"Jesus," Church said, staring at the corpse. Finally, he turned to the others. "Alright, guys," he said. "Help me flip this thing."

The three of them pulled on the edge of the vehicle and it tilted and fell into an upright position. Leon's body fell out and sprawled carelessly onto the grass. Sarge climbed through to the driver�s seat and started it up. It worked.

Sarge drove back towards the rest of his party and pulled up next to him. Grif noted the lack of the LAAG on the back. "They brought back the Puma for us? How sweet," he commented. Suddenly, they could again hear the familiar sound of dropships' engines.

"Looks like we've got more company, boys," Sarge said, hopping out and readying his assault rifle. Donut slammed a fresh clip into his and stared into the sky, fear gripping him by the throat.

***INSTALLMENT 11***

The dropships came into sight.

A bolt of smoke slashed through the air as a round from Sheila's turret narrowly missed one of the approaching dropships.

The pilots were experienced with the reload lag of the scorpion class tanks, so as soon as Sheila had another round loaded, the pilots had already begun dodging.

Another explosive shell passed by the pelican harmlessly. Again, the pilot waited for the correct amount of time and then dodged to the side.

Sheila wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, though. She waited half a second after she'd reloaded to line up a shot. The result was a direct hit. The explosion sent the bird flipping tail-over-nose. Fire poured from the passenger bay, and seven charred corpses spilled out onto the ground.

"Jesus!" Robert cursed under his breath as he watched half of his reinforcements get blown to hell. He noticed that the other pelican had already touched down and was unloading its troops, though.

"Sir!" Robert cried, holding down the button on his radio linked to Keith Jacobson. "That tank is becoming a huge problem! It just blew away half of the troops you sent us."

A brief staticy click indicated a silent acknowledgement from Jacobson. Robert ground his teeth in frustration.

The seven troopers saw the fiery wreckage that used to be their partner ship. Their fears for their own lives doubled, and they were going to do anything to take down the forces that outnumbered and had so far outmaneuvered them.

Dashing around the side of the pelican, they screamed and fired off a steady stream of bullets from their assault rifles. The escapees fired back.

The black-armoured marines seemed to be having a hard time concentrating on one target. Sarge took several shots in various places and fell. Tucker was shot in the left elbow, rendering the limb relatively useless. It seemed as though he was becoming more numb to physical pain as of late.

Nicole felt the air from a bullet as it whizzed past her ear. Another one barely nicked her right arm. She bit her lip in pain.

Tex also caught a bullet, and it knocked her off her feet. Church glanced at her as her body twisted and she fell to the ground. As he watched, the memories of her flooded back like a dam had shattered in his mind. He'd been so preoccupied with staying alive that he'd forgotten that life without her would be worse than death.

Never had he expressed the depth of his feelings for her to anyone except her and himself. Before he got shipped out, they had shared a bond so close it was almost magnetic. In the past few months he'd seen little-to-none of her, and had up until now forgotten that she was more than just another soldier on the battlefield to him.

Now, as he watched her fall under a hail of enemy gunfire, he realized just what it was that he had to lose. Gripping his rifle, he turned to face his enemies. His heart twisted into something stronger than anger. It was determination. He would protect Tex and eliminate whatever stood in his way.

Controlled bursts sprayed from the muzzle of his assault rifle, and his desperate enemies fell one by one to the fire power of a team who was fighting not only for their lives, but for their freedom from what seemed to be some sort of horrible game.

Robert ran, trying to put as much distance between himself and his enemies as possible.

The trench darkened shortly after the last marine took his final fall. Night was upon them, and they were all exhausted. Although Church had realized shortly after the battle that he hadn't seemed so far to be in any real danger of losing his already-dead girlfriend on the battlefield, the feelings that had rushed through him remained real and fresh in his mind.

The one who was hurt the most was Sarge. His armour had absorbed much of the damage, but he would be out of fighting condition for a while. He claimed that he felt fine.

Nicole's wound didn't even require dressing. It was barely more than a scratch.

Tucker's left arm was effectively dead from the elbow down. He lie in a corner, trying to fall asleep, fearing of what might happen to him if he actually dared to close his eyes.

The bullet Tex took was in the left side, and she was already walking around good as new. She'd just deactivated her pain sensory systems in that section of her robotic body.

It was the middle of the night. The only sources of light were the millions of stars shining through the clear night sky above.

"Tucker," a voice came, muffled and distorted through the barriers between imagination and reality. Tucker felt his right arm shake, the sensation almost numb to him as he ran through endless corridors among ominous shadows, his enemies following close behind.

"Tucker," the voice repeated, and the cyan-armoured soldier cautiously peeled his lids apart and stared up at the sky and silhouette above him.

"Tucker? You awake?" the voice persisted, shaking Tucker's right arm more.

Suddenly, he was awake. Wide awake. He sat up with a start, causing the man who had awakened him to withdraw slightly. He looked frantically about and hit himself in the head a few times, trying to pull himself completely into reality.

"Calm down, man. It's me, Donut," the man said carefully. Tucker's quick breathing became heavy repetitive sighs as he tried to calm himself.

"What the hell do you want, man?" Tucker asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"I needed to talk to you. About these thoughts, and these visions I keep having," Delano explained. He paused, holding his breath, complete silence falling over the two.

Finally, Donut spoke up again. "I am going to die," he bluntly stated, Tucker taken slightly aback by the unexpected words. "I have these visions... These fears... I keep thinking that every moving thing is going to be the one... I just know the next one will be my death."

Tucker contemplated this carefully. The memory that he trusted none of his friends soon came into play with his consideration, and he formulated a response. "For all I know, this could be another game to mess with my head. The same kind I was subjected to for months prior to this," he said accusingly.

"I feel the same way," Donut replied, not hesitating to respond. "But I needed to talk to someone. Someone I knew I could trust. I got to know you well during the time shortly after you were blown up. I know you. I know you can't be one of them."

"That makes two of us," Tucker replied coldly. "Why are you coming to me tonight?"

"So that someone will know," said Donut. "I don't want to die with the secret all to myself. I want you to know destiny exists."

Finally, it was Tucker's turn to give in. He sighed and put a hand on the pink-armoured private's shoulder. "Go to sleep, man. You'll feel better in the morning," he recommended.

Donut shook his head. "I hope to see you again," he explained, then darted away into the night.

Tucker contemplated getting up to follow him, but he wasn't sure what to do or think anymore. He wasn't even entirely positive that that had even been real.

Again he closed his eyes. Again he ran.

Church could not get her out of his mind. He had to talk to her. He had to find her and make sure everything was right between them once and for all.

He found her sitting on the ground, facing the cliff, rocking slightly. Her helmet light was on and it shone bright against the rocky walls.

Church put his hand on her shoulder and she jumped. She turned to face him, a click indicating the activation of her external microphone. "Church," she started.

"Hey, Tex," he replied, sitting down next to her. "What are you up to?"

"Just sitting. Thinking," she replied. Church nodded thoughtfully before continuing.

"Tex," he began, searching for the right words. "I just wanted to say... I love you, Beth." he blurted. "And I just wanted to know if you still loved me, too."

The black-clad woman stared at Church, imagining his face behind that helmet instead of some cold robotic plating. "Of course I do, Leonard," she responded finally.

If Church could grin with that metal box he called a face, he would have. He leaned closer to the woman and the two met in a firm embrace.

"I love you, Sheila," Caboose said as he reclined in the driver canopy. He knew the tank could not hear him as she had shut down her systems for the night, but it made him feel good to say it anyway.

Nicole sat on the metal siding of the tank, thinking. She wanted to sleep. She would have given anything for sleep at that point, but it was cold, and she was naked compared to the fully-armoured marines all around her.

Nicole overheard Caboose talking to Sheila as he drifted off to sleep. She smiled, showing her teeth as they chattered slightly. Her body was shaking and shivering from the cold.

'The sweet ones always prefer machinery,' she mused.

Keith Jacobson knew he would not sleep that night. He wouldn't sleep until his mission was completed. The runaway subjects needed to be dealt with. So far, he hadn't even come close.

He rubbed his face and forehead, smearing some of his own sweat across his eyes, blurring his vision. The only light source in the room was a desk lamp he had on as he thought.

He needed to come up with a way to fix the problem. It was his responsibility.

It may have been the illogical train of thought provoked by sleep-deprivation, or it may have just been pure luck, but he formulated an idea that just might work to give him the upper hand.

He turned to the corner of the room, the light bouncing off Agent KJ01A's reflective black glasses. The man�s hair glowed a dull purple through the darkness.

"Agent," Keith addressed him. "That deactivation switch you install on all aircraft owned by the facility?"

Agent KJ01A rose slowly to his feet, a smile playing upon his lips. "Yes, Mister Jacobson?" he responded, his voice urging Keith to continue.

"Into what else do you incorporate such technology?" he inquired.

***INSTALLMENT 12***

Caboose awoke peacefully, a dim light spilling over he cliff edges and into the trench. He stretched, his arms brushing against the interior of the cab of the tank. "Good morning, Sheila," he said, know that her systems would have automatically restarted after a few hours of being offline.

He was surprised to receive no response. Was she mad at him?

He carefully pushed open the canopy and hopped out onto the side. He noticed Nicole lying at his feet, shivering against the cold steel plating of the tank. 'Poor girl,' he thought. 'Must be freezing.'

Caboose trotted down the length of the tank and hopped off the front edge, turning to face it. "Sheila?" he prodded. The tank sat, dormant and docile. There was something about her. She felt too dark. Too empty.

Caboose began to worry.

He quickly made his way back into the driver's seat, attempting to start her up manually. A low hum gave him hope, but it quickly sputtered and died. No more of his attempts yielded any results.

"Sheila?! Sheila, what's wrong!?" Caboose shouted frantically. Nicole heard the commotion and awoke quickly; she'd barely been asleep to start with.

Rolling over, she found Caboose sitting in the driver�s seat, desperately poking about, muttering loudly to himself. "What is it, Caboose?" Nicole inquired concernedly.

"Sheila!" he yelled again and began gesticulating wildly, his arms above his head.

"Calm down, Michael!" Nicole ordered. Caboose froze and turned towards her.

"Something is wrong with her," he stated, his voice sounding as though he'd just been throttled violently. He jumped out of the cab with haste, proceeding to fall onto his hands and knees in the grass.

Nicole jumped down quickly after him and knelt beside him. She put her hand on the back of his head. "It's not right," he said, more to himself than to her. "She doesn't feel right. This isn't right. It doesn't feel right. It's not right."

"Michael. You're rambling. What exactly is wrong?" she asked calmly, trying to quell Caboose's panic as well.

The blue-clad soldier turned slowly to face Nicole. He fell into a sitting position on the ground and removed his helmet. As he sucked in fresh air, Nicole noticed tears streaking down his face. She felt a lump form in her throat.

After a minute Caboose finally spoke. "Something's wrong with Sheila. She won't activate. It doesn't feel like just a temporary system failure either. The feeling is terminal to me. I don't know..." he said, trailing off and staring at the unmoving tank.

Nicole leaned closer and wiped away his tears with her sleeve. His gaze was unwavering. His stare seemed suddenly empty. She didn't understand what the tank had meant to Michael, but she felt terrible for him. He didn't deserve this depression. She had to do something to make it better for him.

She extended her hand and put it behind his left cheek. There was no resistance as she turned his head so he was facing her. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then looked at the ground.

In a matter of minutes Caboose's mind had been exhausted by the feeling of loss. He didn't want to feel pain anymore. He didn't want to feel empty. His whole life had been empty, shared with no one. That's why he'd joined the marines: to prove that he was worth something. To add meaning to his life. To show people he was someone with worth.

The military hadn't worked out, and now his life was on the line to escape it. He couldn't lose the only thing he had left. He had to feel needed.

"Michael," Nicole whispered into Caboose's ear. He leaned slightly back until he was staring directly into her eyes. In his eyes she could see the lonely desperation that composed him. Her heart broke as she silently delved into Caboose's person and felt what he was feeling.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his. He returned the gesture in a kiss derived from hopelessness and despair. Again, tears rolled down their cheeks.

"Have you seen Donut this morning?" Grif asked Simmons as they sat around, thinking about eating breakfast.

Simmons shook his head. "No," he replied. "Think he's alright?"

"I don't know," Grif replied, taking off his helmet and placing a cigarette between his lips. Simmons rolled his eyes.

"We were supposed to stay together as a group," Simmons continued. "What the hell do you think could have happened to him?"

"As I said, I don't know," Grif responded while exhaling a puff of smoke. The gray stuff swirled and bounced off Simmons' visor.

Tucker watched them from the back of the warthog where he'd slept. He contemplated saying something to them about what he'd experienced last night, but decided against it. He didn't want to talk to anyone if he didn't have to.

Lopez stood near Grif and Simmons, staring out towards their supposed destination. Church sat propped up against the side of the warthog next to Tex, chatting to her on a private channel. Sarge reclined in the passenger seat of the jeep, flexing various muscles to become numb to the pain they'd cause.

Caboose placed an armoured hand on the girls shoulder and forced her back. He licked his lips and looked at her with a fearful determination. Nicole sensed hesitance emanating from the man.

After a moment he spoke up. "There's something I have to do," he told her, reaching for his helmet. She watched helplessly as he slid his helmet back over his head, his eyes once again hidden behind the reflective visor.

"What do you mean?" she asked weakly as he rose to his feet. He glanced over at the tank.

"In the name of Sheila... I have to do this," he declared before turning to march towards the rest of the group, unlatching his pistol. Nicole clumsily stood up as well and followed him.

Grif and Simmons heard the sound of someone approaching. They looked to see Caboose walking steadily towards them, Nicole following reluctantly behind. Caboose bore a pistol in his right hand.

"What the hell is this?" Grif wondered aloud as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out.

"I don't know," Simmons replied cautiously.

Caboose walked stiffly up to them and stopped. He took in a deep breath. "Forgive me for what I must do for us," he stated. Grif rose to his feet, gripping his assault rifle.

Tears blurred his eyes and emotion blinded his mind as he raised the pistol and leveled it with his target. He fired three shots, the final one impacting with Lopez's right shoulder. The robot twisted slightly, sparks showering from his wound.

Before Caboose had a chance to do any more, Grif had slammed his rifle into the side of his head. Nicole gasped and raised her hand to her mouth. Caboose fell hard against the ground, squirming as Grif put his foot on top of the blue private's neck.

"No!" Nicole screamed. Church and Tex heard the commotion and had quickly hurried over.

"What the hell is going on here?" Church inquired, looking down at the fallen Caboose.

"Your psycho tank-loving friend here just went crazy and tried to kill Lopez," Grif explained.

"Sheila! No! Sheila! No!" Caboose screamed repeatedly, writhing and wriggling under Grif's foot.

Church was dismayed. He'd held high hopes for the rookie, but his jealousy for Lopez must have finally overcome him. Leonard shook his head in disappointment. "Is everyone okay?" he asked, looking around at the group.

Grif glanced over to Lopez. The robot stood there, fumbling with his right arm using his left. "Lopez here took some damage. We're just lucky your lunatic friend here didn't damage an essential chip or something," Grif snapped.

Amidst the bickering and chaos, a quiet high-pitched whirr became discernable. In no time, they heard the all-too-familiar voice once again. "I'm back, you fools!" it cackled.

***INSTALLMENT 13***

Keith Jacobson was surprised to hear his field radio being paged. He'd thought all of his men had died. He quickly snatched the radio up and held down the button on the side. "Report," he demanded.

"Sir," came Robert Smith's voice from the other end. "I managed to escape during the battle. As far as I know, I'm the only one of our team who made it out alive. I watched the reinforcements you sent get gunned down."

"So what's your status?" Keith questioned Robert. "Where are you?"

"Well," Robert began. "I found another team of friendlies."

"What? How many?" he asked.

"Only three," Robert replied. Keith glanced back to Agent KJ01A. The pale-skinned man grinned back at him and stood up.

"Did you know about this, Agent?" Keith asked cautiously.

"I know many things, Mister Jacobson," Agent KJ01A responded.

Keith emitted an exasperated sigh. "Does everything have to be some sort of enigma with you?" he asked irately.

"It's fun, isn't it?" the man responded, pressing on the bridge between his glasses. He strode to the doorway and turned back to face Keith. "I will see you again, Mister Jacobson," he said before walking out the door.

Keith shook his head and growled. "Robert," he said, activating his field radio again. "What are they doing here?"

"As far as I've gathered, they're here for the same reason I am. These three seem a lot more confident, though," Robert explained.

"What? What's so great about them that wasn't great about us?" Keith inquired between clenched teeth.

"I'm not too sure," Robert replied. "They say they're just waiting currently."

Keith rubbed his hand violently through his hair and across his stubbly cheeks. "Then you will help them. Maybe the higher-ups have something up their sleeves with this one," he ordered before switching the radio off.

Vic had no idea what he was doing. The thoughts in his mind were not his own. He tried to fight them, but he could not. In his right hand he held a SPNKr rocket launcher, and his left hand rested on the controls of the strange vehicle that was hovering below him. He faced his opponents in what would be the final move of the game.

The rest of them looked at the black marine perched upon the alien vehicle. They all switched off their helmet radios instinctively.

Grif was knelt by Caboose's side, his assault rifle pushed against the fallen soldier's helmet. Nicole cautiously edged towards Caboose's discarded pistol and stooped to pick it up.

Sarge was too injured to even lift an arm. Tucker watched intensely with no desire to assist either party any more. Simmons stood to the right of Lopez inspecting the damage he'd taken.

Church stepped forward and raised his weapon towards his old friend. Tex and Simmons raised their weapons as well. Nicole shakily leveled the pistol with the black-armoured soldier atop the strange, floating, purple thing.

"What are you doing here?" Church yelled.

"You didn't think I'd just let myself be defeated, did you?" O'Malley shouted back with Vic's voice. "I've returned to exact my revenge upon you puny mortals."

"How do you expect to be able to take us all on alone?" Church called back.

"I don't," he replied.

"That's why I'm going to help me!" Lopez shouted monotonously, pointing his pistol at Simmons' head. The maroon-armoured soldier gulped. "Drop your weapon," Lopez ordered. Simmons complied.

"It's brilliant!" O'Malley shouted from Vic again. "I installed several of my own subroutines deep within the systems of your robotic companion here before releasing him."

The team turned as they heard yet another voice. "Warthog online," said the jeep as its headlights shone and its wheels began to spin. Tucker realized what was happening and jumped out of the back of the vehicle.

Sarge helplessly rode shotgun as the M12LRV turned around and rolled up alongside Vic. "So you see," Vic started. "I am by myself, but I am not alone."

Church couldn't help but get the feeling that they had finally lost. After all their unyielding luck so far, it was about time for their demise.

"I must say," Vic spoke up again. "I am a bit disappointed to see that you've removed the gun from the back of your vehicle. However, it should still serve me fine." He laughed. "After all, how are you going to stop it? You wouldn't dare blow it up with your dear friend trapped helplessly within," he stated before cackling again.

No one risked making the first move.

"Well, are we just going to stand around all day? Let's get this started," O'Malley suggested. Lopez turned to face Vic. "What are you doing, you idiot?" O'Malley snapped at Lopez.

"There can be only one," said Lopez. "I refuse to share my victory with another."

"I am not another!" O'Malley explained. "You are an extension of me! And you are not sharing, you are assisting."

"I am part of no one, and I need no assistance," Lopez stated.

"What?" O'Malley responded, confusedly. "Shut up, you fool. I must have overlapped some files when copying them. Reroute your logic to match basic--" he was cut off.

"My logic is surpassed by none. I take orders from no one. All will fall under my rule," said Lopez. He removed his pistol from Simmons' head and aimed it at O'Malley.

A bead of sweat materialized on Vic's forehead.

O'Malley realized that this could become a serious problem. His core logic systems had progressed to incorporate extreme arrogance since he'd been created. If he'd somehow failed to include a program that would force these subroutines to yield to O'Malley as their creator, he could be in for some trouble. A single neglected file could cause Lopez to act irrationally.

The scene seemed frozen. No one even dared to breathe. There was too much anticipation for what might happen next.

In an instant, all hell broke loose.

***INSTALLMENT 14***

The plan had been so perfect. How could he have let it go so wrong?

Lopez fired two pistol shots at O'Malley. The AI quickly activated a few controls and strafed the purple vehicle to the left.

The warthog's wheels kicked up soil as it darted forward and headed straight for Grif. The orange-armoured soldier got off of Caboose and dodged to the left. Caboose turned his head and saw the warthog coming towards him. He closed his eyes.

O'Malley knew that he was a force to be reckoned with, so if he was going to make any progress here, he'd have to take his renegade robot counterparts out. He quickly lined up two shots and fired off both rockets in his clip, proceeding to discard the weapon onto the ground. He and the vehicle shot ahead into the fray, tilting backwards with the sudden burst of speed.

A rocket impacted with the ground beneath Lopez and Simmons. The maroon-clad soldier was sent flying while broken pieces of the robot sailed through the air.

The other rocket detonated under the back-left wheel of the warthog, sending the vehicle flipping over the prone Caboose and careening nose-first into the ground, rolling onto its top before coming to a complete halt.

Nicole began firing her pistol at O'Malley, the recoil making it almost impossible for her to aim steadily. Church and Tex began spraying their enemy with a stream of bullets as well.

O'Malley zipped straight for Church and Tex, activating the ventral weapons on the vehicle and hosing his opponents with plasma blasts.

The erratic burning blue balls missed their targets for the most part. A few slammed into Church and he began to feel weak. He fired his assault rifle at O'Malley. The AI was headed straight for Tex with no sign of slowing or altering his course.

When the vehicle was about ten metres from colliding with her, Tex fell onto her back. Church gathered all the energy he could muster and lunged forth, his body slamming against Vic's. The two toppled from the vehicle and rolled onto the ground. The ghost flew over Tex and straight into the cliff wall, hitting it with a fiery explosion.

Church glared down into Vic's possessed eyes. O'Malley stared back at him. The weakness remained in Church as the AI reached calmly for the pistol strapped to his side. Suddenly Vic's face exploded into a gruesome pinkish splatter before Church's eyes. Leonard rolled off to the right and lie on his back, staring up at the sky.

O'Malley was nothing more than useless electronic signals, darting through nothing, fading fast. Once had everything been in order. Once, he was sure it was perfect. Perfection would come by way of himself because he could do no wrong, and no one would stand in his way.

Perfection had destroyed itself.

Tucker stood above Church, the barrel of his pistol still smoking slightly in his hand. Before, he had wanted O'Malley alive. He'd wanted to interrogate him about what exactly had been going on. Who were the people that had sent them to Blood Gulch? Why did they do it?

Victor Randall would have been an even better subject of inquisition for Tucker, but it no longer mattered. Their lives were in danger, their freedom was at stake, and their minds were slipping. The solid concept of friend and enemy was needed to remain sane under such circumstances. Tucker realized this, and to prove to himself that he believed it, he'd gotten involved. He'd killed an enemy with his own hands. He wanted to trust his friends.

As he stared back at the mess of the man he'd just shot, however, he felt no different. He realized that killing enemies could not make friends if all of one's friends were enemies themselves.

The pistol slipped from his fingers and fell carelessly to the ground. Would it ever stop?

Run.

Get back.

Tell the others.

Tell them what you saw.

Run.

The last approximate two minutes had been the longest of any of their lives. So much had happened so fast that it had been impossible to comprehend it all at once. Now was the time to regather one's thoughts and figure everything out.

Church crawled over to Tex who had propped herself up on one elbow. "Beth," he said weakly through his external mic. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said rising to her feet. She stooped down and put her arms under Church's, helping him into a standing position as well. He stood wobbly and practiced moving various parts of his body. "You should be fine, too. Let's check on the others."

Grif darted to his fallen friend. "Simmons!" he cried, shaking the man's shoulder. He got no response.

He turned his head and saw the overturned warthog. "Tucker!" he hollered to the cyan-armoured marine. "Get Sarge out of there and make sure he's okay!" Tucker hesitated. He didn't want to look suspicious, though, so he complied with the orange-clad soldier's wishes.

Nicole stumbled to Caboose's, collapsing to her knees at his side. She twisted and yanked off his helmet. His eyes were open and they gazed back up at the former pilot. She brushed a finger across his cheek. "Michael," she began. "Are you alright?" He nodded silently and rolled to a sitting position. She smiled and kissed him, but he did not kiss her back. Instead his gaze fell to the ground. She drew back, looking concernedly at him.

His eyes rolled back up to meet with hers. "I am empty," he told her.

"I know," she replied, nodding solemnly. "I want to fill you again." It wasn't until this point that he fully comprehended just how well this girl he'd just met understood him. He couldn't explain it, nor did he want to. All that mattered to him was that hope didn't seem so abstract anymore.

He smiled.

Sarge lie on the ground, his pale skin glowing with the light of day. His ruined armour lay in shambles at his side. Tucker and Church had had to remove it to check out Sarge's injuries.

While his armour was completely useless, his body didn't seem to have any permanent damage. He could barely move, but he would definitely survive.

Tex had quickly established that the ghost and the warthog were done for. The ghost lie in pieces on the ground and the warthog was missing a wheel. She was currently working on fixing Sheila, but so far she'd had no luck.

Simmons was also unarmoured. Grif had tediously removed the maroon plating alone. The robotically-enhanced man barely looked different from a normal human, other than a few protrusions and visible metallic plates due to Sarge's hasty work. Such things could be easily fixed cosmetically if someone would be so inclined.

Simmons armour would also do him no good. He was unconscious, but his physical state seemed to be even better than Sarge's.

Grif glanced over to see Caboose reclining on his back in the grass and Nicole lying stomach-down on his chest talking to him. Grif thought about going over and apologizing for his harsh actions and accusations earlier, but he decided to save it for later.

Church stood watching as Tex came walking briskly back from her inspection of Sheila. "Well?" Church prodded

Tex shook her head. "It's no good," she replied.

"You did all you could," Church said. "We don't have time to try lengthy repair attempts. We have to keep moving."

"You guys!" a voice shouted. Everyone turned to look.

The familiar pink-armoured marine was seen dashing forward on the horizon. He paused, leaning his hands against his knees and catching his breath.

From behind him, Tex hugged Church tightly around the chest with her left arm. Church smiled at the gesture and raised his arms at the elbow, pretending to hug her back. Then he felt the barrel of a pistol being pushed into his neck. "Don't move, Leonard," Tex said.

Four soldiers filed our from behind a rock. "Freeze!" they yelled.

One trained his assault rifle onto Donut. One aimed at Caboose and Nicole. One pointed his gun at Grif. The last lined up his weapon with Tucker.

"Timing," Robert Smith whispered to himself as he held his gun level with his target, Grif.

***INSTALLMENT 15***

"Careful," Robert said on a private com channel that only the other black soldiers could hear. "These guys are crafty. We should just keep them under a careful watch now and wait for reinforcements."

"Agreed," said Tex. "But if one of them even moves, be ready for a damn good fight."

"Half of them don't even have their weapons on them!" one of the black soldiers commented.

"It doesn't matter. They're lucky," Robert said. Even though it seemed he had won, he was still deathly afraid of his enemies.

Robert switched to the frequency that would allow him to communicate with Keith Jacobson. "Sir," he said.

Keith held the radio in his hand. "What is it, Smith?" he requested unprofessionally.

"We have the subjects held up. They're in bad shape, and there are five of us in total," he reported. "Even still, I'd like to request additional troops to ensure our victory. These guys have been very crafty in the past."

"Then you've got it," Keith said, ignoring what Agent KJ01A had told him earlier. If he didn't kill these guys it would be a complete disaster. He was willing to do anything to prevent that. "I need eight soldiers and one pilot to report to the hangar immediately and take a dropship to the coordinates I am currently transmitting to the notice board by the door," he ordered after switching on the intercom system.

He sat back and waited.

Tucker's heart threatened to beat him to death. He knew it! He'd known it all along! Why hadn't he ever acted upon the suspicion? He cursed himself and remained still, waiting for the impending checkmate of the game he'd been a part of for so long.

"Reinforcements are on the way," Robert informed the other black troops in their private channel. The others acknowledged but remained locked onto their targets.

Church was dismayed. The fact that all the fighting he'd done to get to where he was hadn't even fazed him. The only thing he could think about was the barrel of Tex's gun grinding against his neck as if she wanted him to fear her.

He wasn't going to fear her. Not after the conversation they'd had the previous night. He needed to believe that she still loved him. His life would be useless unless he could believe that.

So he began to struggle. "Stop that immediately!" one of the soldiers called, but Church didn't heed. He grabbed her arm and pulled, silently daring her to fire.

She didn't.

Everyone's slowly and discreetly edged towards their weapons as the black soldiers became distracted by Church's act of defiance.

Leonard broke free from Tex's grasp and fell to the ground, grabbing his assault rifle. He quickly got to his feet and opened fire on his enemies. Three soldiers fired back.

"Oh my god," said Robert, breaking into a mad dash. He had to get as far away from these monsters as possible. He'd seen it several times already. He knew they would somehow win.

The three black-clad soldiers fired upon Church. Grif quickly snatched up his assault rifle and began hosing his enemies with it. Tucker unhooked his pistol from his side and fired off several shots. Caboose rolled and grabbed his assault rifle, spraying the black-armoured troopers steadily. Nicole grabbed Caboose's pistol as she had before and snapped off a few controlled shots at the soldiers she'd once been affiliated with.

Tex stood there, helpless as she watched Church fall face-first into the dirt. Shortly after, her three teammates went belly-up on the ground before her. She was the last to fall as the people she'd been lying to all along cut her down.

One cobalt and four black bodies decorated the ground. Blood spatter coloured the dirt behind the three fallen black-clad marines. Once again the Blood Gulch warriors had emerged victorious, but at what cost?

For the most part, the party was unscathed. The bodies of Church and Tex, however, were sprawled lifelessly on the ground.

They were a wreck. Church was once again dead. Tex and Lopez had turned against them and were also dead. Sarge couldn't move and Simmons was unconscious. Tucker still walked with a slight limp from his previous injuries.

Now, with no remaining vehicles to carry them onwards, their efficiency in travel would be greatly decreased. The only completely healthy and armoured soldiers were Caboose, Grif and Donut.

Nicole sat next to Caboose, stroking his hair and worrying about how this would all turn out. Grif was knelt beside Simmons, constantly checking his pulse. Donut stood up and sighed.

"Well," said Donut. "You guys have to hear this. While I was out ahead I found something. Something that will make you all very happy."

"What is it?" Tucker spoke up.

"New Epsocle," Donut said, not half as excited as he'd felt when rushing back to deliver the news. "I would have got here sooner, but I had to hide from a few enemies I found along the way. I was going to tell you about them as well, but," he paused, surveying the battlefield. "I guess you found out on your own."

"Wait," said Grif. "New Epsocle? Our destination? You found it?"

"That's right. It's not too far ahead, but I recommend we get moving now," Donut suggested.

"It never stops, does it?" Grif asked rhetorically with a sigh.

"It's about to," Donut replied.

Robert had put a considerable distance between himself and his enemies. After he felt he was sufficiently far away, he stopped to catch his breath. He heard the low roar of a pelican's engine, and he looked up to see the slowly descending dropship that had been sent to the signal his suit emitted. His stomach sank at the sight.

Another reason to fight yet again.

Church slowly rose to his feet. He looked around, his vision greyed and blurred by the spirit world. He saw Tex slowly stand as well. For a moment, they stared at each other. Not a word passed between him.

Finally, Church turned to face the distant and strange visualizations of his friends in the living world. He sighed; a gesture unnecessary to him but conditioned to his situation. He began to walk back towards them, preparing to step back into the plane by which he could communicate with them.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. The sensation will fuzzy and dull due to unfamiliarity. "Leonard," said Tex. Her voice had an airy quality and echoed in his mind. He turned to face her.

"Forget about them. We're free now," she said.

Church looked back at her for a moment. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I'd be free by the end of this," he commented finally.

"But what freedom is greater than that of the escape from life?" she queried.

Church smiled. He remembered how good it felt to smile. "I love you, Beth," he told the woman, and she pressed her ethereal lips to his in a ghostly kiss.

Then, the two of them walked hand in hand into the most horrible torture conceivable to mankind: eternity.

***INSTALLMENT 16***

Nicole rode piggy-back on Caboose's shoulders as he walked. Donut carried the unmoving Sarge. Grif had the lifeless Simmons draped over his shoulder. Tucker limped slightly along behind. Together, the seven of them were approaching their final salvation.

"There it is," said Grif, looking straight ahead. "I see it." Sure enough, before them lie the distant sight of what seemed to be a city.

"New Epsocle," Nicole whispered.

"Let's get a bit closer," Donut began, "then remove our armour. We couldn't just walk right into the city in our cumbersome metal suits, now could we?"

"Nah," said Grif. "No one can know who we are, if that's possible."

"Right," said Donut. The group trekked on for a little ways longer, and then as they'd planned, they stopped to remove their armour. They carefully helped each other dismantle the lustrous plating piece by piece. Finally, they all stood, the sun beating against their pale skin.

All except Donut.

"What are you doing, man?" Tucker inquired.

Donut shrugged. "Fulfilling my destiny," he replied nonchalantly.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Tucker questioned harshly.

"I have foreseen my future and it must come true. As I told you, I must prove that destiny is real," he responded.

Tucker looked back at New Epsocle, the bustling town within a few hundreds yards from them. "We're so close, man. Come on, don't go psycho on me now," Tucker urged nervously.

Donut shook his head. "My mind is made up. You can try to force me, but what are you going to do? A stubborn man in half-ton armour will not yield a productive debate. Go, now, and enjoy the rest of your life," Donut said, almost as if he were giving an order.

Tucker was dismayed as he realized that Donut was right. "We don't have time for this," Tucker said quietly, turning to Grif and Caboose. "Let's grab these two and go," he suggested, indicating Simmons and Sarge who lie peacefully on the ground.

"Donut, man... What do you expect to happen?" Grif asked. Donut ignored the question and instead turned to face the path from which they'd come.

"You're running out of time. Get going," Donut said. The others were reluctant, but they had no choice. Between the four of them they were able to lift Sarge and Simmons, and the six of them reluctantly jogged away towards New Epsocle.

Keith had waited for several minutes in his office without a punishment for violating the new limitations he'd been given. He soon heard Robert's voice through the radio.

"Sir," Robert said.

"What now, Smith?" Keith inquired.

"We found one. He's got on pink armour. We don't see any of the rest of them. We're within a few metres of New Epsocle. In fact, I can see it from where I'm standing," he reported.

"You there!" came a voice from the background, chopped up by the static of the speakers and microphones. Obviously, the exclamation had not been directed at Keith.

"We think the rest of them are on their way to New Epsocle," Robert said.

"Well make him confirm it!" Keith ordered irately. "Also, it could be a trap, so form a defensive perimeter around yourselves."

"Acknowledged. Beginning inquisition of the acquired subject currently," Robert relayed. "Stand by."

Keith waited impatiently.

"He's not being compliant," Robert reported after a moment. "He's just standing there. He--" there was a click followed by blank static. Robert Smith's signal faded from Keith's map.

"Smith?!" Keith yelled into the radio. He got no reply. "Smith?!"

Grif had to get Simmons to a hospital. He would stand by his life-long friend until the wounds he'd suffered in battle had been completely healed and he was a fully restored man. The fact that he'd felt the need to get on the good side of the man who was on Grif's bad side no longer mattered. It was all over. Nothing would come between their friendship again.

Caboose thought about Nicole. He finally had someone to fill the interminable void in his being. Someone whose desire to fill that emptiness was as strong as his desire to be completed. He glanced over at her to find her already looking at him. They exchanged smiles.

They were headed for a new life. The game was finally over. The final move had been executed, and they had won. Tucker would no longer have to be suspicious of everyone around him. This was a true victory, but would he be able to just forget?

They all twitched as they heard a faint explosion from what was already far behind them.

'I will slow them down, help my friends, and prove destiny,' Donut mused to himself as he saw the enemy soldiers approaching.

"You there!" one of the black-clad troops shouted at Donut. They pointed their rifles at the pink-armoured private threateningly.

'Destiny exists. I have seen mine. It will become a reality,' Donut though to himself as he raised his hands in the air and began walking towards them.

"Drop your weapon!" one of the black soldiers instructed. Donut calmly complied, tossing his pistol to the side and resting his hands on his hips as he strolled towards the group of enemies. "Where are the others?" a black soldier asked harshly. Donut remained silent as he stepped up next to one of the marines. The others pulled a tight defensive formation around Delano.

'After all, what's better than the power of knowing the unknown?' Donut thought to himself as he casually and subtly pulled the pin out of one of the grenades on his belt. 'The excitement of not knowing?'

***INSTALLMENT 17***

"How do you think the subjects performed, James?" asked the man behind the black desk, his face obscured in shadow.

James stepped forward and leaned casually on the desk, running two fingers through his purplish-black hair. He removed his glasses to reveal two pink-irised eyes. The light shown brightly against his pale skin.

"Interestingly," he replied with a grin. "Leonard Church and the freelancer Beth we sent in seem to have chosen to remain in the spirit world. Franklin Delano Donut and a few of the other subjects who you assigned to the Blood Gulch case died in an explosion. I have arranged for Delano's return into the physical world to be impossible, just as you had me do with agent Victor Randall, Frank DuFresne, and the rest," James explained.

"Excellent," the mysterious man replied, satisfaction in his voice. "And what about Keith Jacobson? How is he responding to all this?"

"His adrenaline and stress levels have been pushed to their peaks lately. I estimate it will be a few more days before he cracks. He still believes he's going to be able to find 'his' escaped pawns in the masses of the civilization they have incorporated themselves into," James relayed.

A low chuckle emitted from the shadows where the enigmatic man resided. "Perfect," he replied. "Keep him monitored, though. Also, I have a new mission for you. The next time subject Dexter Grif goes out to eat, arrange for him to meet a woman with whom he will fall in love," the man ordered. "That should be interesting."

James smiled and nodded. "Yes, sir," he acknowledged with a slight bow before hurrying off to complete his assigned task. The man watched James leave from a surveillance screen within the darkness.

Click here for the sequel.
~I hope you enjoyed it.~

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