He hoped that he wasn't going insane. That's what he was wanting to tell himself but he wasn't sure if that was even entirely possible. He knew that it was probably a good thing that the Counselor wasn't here to constantly ask him questions about how he felt about certain things. Or him to explain a situation because the other would have just analyzed his mental health and probably would have told him exactly how horrible he was. Washington didn't have time to really worry about his sanity in a time like this when everything was basically going to hell. It was hard to keep two animals that wanted to rip each other's heads off to keep them from doing as such. Especially when he was trying to hold back someone that was a lot stronger than he actually was. Even if she didn't have any armor she was more than capable of kicking his ass. Something that she expressed the moment that she caught sight of him. Washington still wasn't sure why she had decided to attack him in the first place, although he knew she had her reasons. All of the Freelancers did. He wondered how she would react to seeing Agent Texas again. They would probably try to kill each other that was for certain.

The two didn't exactly leave off on a good note. Especially since Texas had basically been the one to have crashed the ship in the first place. She had been the one to start the downfall of the program that he had belonged to. However, when he had gotten attacked by Carolina and actually figured out it was her, he didn't bother to try and fight back against the stronger female. It wasn't uncommon for fellow teammates in the program to attack one another. Of course, threatening to break his arm had been a little drastic in his mind but it was better than her trying to actually kill when they just met each other again. They were both part of the program, and he knew that even though that they couldn't completely trust each other they didn't have a choice if they wanted to go back to being a human. Washington had even told himself almost from the very beginning that he couldn't work with another Freelancer after what Episolon had done to him. He had thought that he was going to be the only Freelancer to land in a place like this so he was prepared to go at it alone.

He asked the simulation troopers for a little help here and there, but all he had ever had them do was go out and look out for anything that should be considered to be interesting. It also kept Caboose away from him as he needed as much distance as possible from others. He had never been good at the social aspect of others, and dealing with other talking animals was hard for his mind to really comprehend. Since Carolina had decided that she was going to stay with him, well, at least in this outpost, the smilodon didn't get any sleep that night. The schedule that he had been following all the up till now was thrown completely out of the way. He didn't prepare for another Freelance to come in and flip everything upside down. If it had been York he wouldn't have had to change his schedule. York was far too laid back to give orders back and forth. Carolina, on the other hand, was more than willing to give him something do. He felt like he was back in the military, which was a nice and familiar feeling despite how it was affecting his health right now. He would rather be working his ass off than trying to figure out how to be an animal.

Which he didn't plan at being forever and planned on becoming a human again. He had been awake for twenty-four hours now, not something he hadn't done before. There had been plenty of times during missions that Washington would be a force to keep watch and wouldn't get any sleep. The same happened during his time in the UNSC. Nothing changed when it came to being military. There was a lot to get done as they needed a secure place to work. Carolina brought up the idea of creating a base. But out of what? The only thing that they could work with was trees, and the last time he checked he was just a smilodon and didn't have an ax that he could use. He doubted that he would even be able to hold it. So that meant they were going to have to brainstorm a couple different ideas if they were going to create their own sleeping quarters. Which sounded a little bit extreme to Washington, but he wasn't about to argue with Carolina had have her paw jabbed into his throat for not listening to what she was saying.

For right now though he had a little bit of time to himself. He was near the observatory during this time of day, at least he tried to be. It was during this hour of the day that he was due to clean his armor. Something that was almost therapeutic and calming to him because he could just turn off his mind and clean. He kept a cloth in his current sleeping quarters, which was completely bare as he didn't have any belongings other than the ones he wore. Agent Washington had managed to take off every piece of armor except for his helmet. The extinct animal had then placed out in obvious sections on where he was going to start with first. Not having his chest plate on made him feel weird. Open. Naked. He didn't like it so he was going to get it done as quick as possible. All the lights that had once been on, turned themselves off once they were no longer touching his body. His flank that was seen being covered his scars wasn't the only scarred portion of his body. The top half of his body was decently scarred, which said scars weren't exactly natural either. He remembered getting shot in the shoulder, and the scar left by the bullet was on his exact same shoulder. The smilodon didn't really care about all of his scars that much as Carolina probably had just as many as he did, but her fur was a little bit longer than his so they were probably hidden.

He blinked his golden eyes as he looked down at one of the arm pieces of his armor, specifically the shoulder pieces that were put together. He grabbed the left shoulder piece and began to use the cloth to clean the dirt that was in certain angles of the gear. Considering that the armor was all that he had meant he needed to take care of it. He had learned very early on his military career that he was going to need to take care of his equipment, especially when his equipment was worth more than he would ever be. He wasn't about to let his armor get damaged to the point of disrepair. That would be irresponsible. What confused Washington though was why Carolina didn't have her own set of armor like he did. They had suffered the same explosion that took them here. And the simulations had a different explosion that only allowed their helmets to be brought over toward this world. Although it wasn't a different world he was still on Earth. An Earth that he didn't even remotely recognize. Washington let a tired sigh escape his jaws and he was glad that no one could see past his visor. It meant that no one would be able to see how tired he actually was. Washington continued to sit there off to the side in the shade as he cleaned the various parts of his armor, leaving the chest plate for last. "speech"

Guilt is a terrible thing, especially when it does not discriminate between good or bad, right or wrong. Standing up for a friend does not warrant guilt, even if the person in question did not desire it. Speaking up when one believes injustice is occuring does not warrant guilt, either, even if the situation was not fully understood. So why does Imperia feel so crippled by this guilt? This soul-crushing, all-consuming emotion? The truth of the matter is that the she-wolf feels thing totally, completely. With every fiber in her body, every cell, Imperia experiences happiness and sadness and all the emotions in between. In some ways such a phenomena allows her to connect with individuals on an empathic level, experiencing and understanding in ways most people do not even realize exist. But it can also be a hindrance. If she could turn it off somehow, then maybe it would not have been so devastating to hear Agent Washington basically brush her off when she tried to defend him from Carolina. The canine had responded so meekly that she cannot remember if any words escaped her lips before retreating to the comfort of her home. She felt--no, feels--terrible. There is no way she could have been able to know all the deeply intertwined history between all the agents, but she should have known. She should have been able to read the mood, to recognize that Washington did not need her to save him. Now she fears that he might hate her.

And that is not something Imperia can stand.

For the rest of the day and all night, she slaves away at the hearth. Slicing thin cuts of eat, marinating them in a myriad of herbs and spices, before slowly cooking them over the fire. Not for herself, but for him. For her friend who cannot stand raw meat. Upon their initial encounter, Imperia promised Washington more jerky, and her guilty conscious compels her to act upon that promise. It is a good outlet--redirecting those unhealthy emotions and channeling all that energy into something productive. Doing nothing makes her more susceptible to the darkness which emboldens her personal demons. After many hours of cooking and preparation, Imperia emerges from her den carrying a wicker basket full of delicious treats suitable for a gargantuan felid. The usual scent of herbs and citrus clinging to her sleek silver fur is now overpowered by the savory aroma of roasted meats. The basket hangs from the harness strapped around her torso, by which she totes around her leather satchel (which, in reality, is more of a saddlebag for dogs). But it is useful for one with no hands.

It takes a little longer than usual for Imperia to locate Washington as he tends to avoid the main camp, but the food is still warm by the time she catches onto his scent. The petite she-wold approaches downwind of him, though not entirely on purpose. After so many moons spent avoiding Pierre and Katherine, it has become almost second nature to move around with the intention of remaining undetected. Calloused paws make nary a sounds as they move silently through the amber grasses, a pelt woven from space and starlight blending into the shadows cast by the tall blades. Her mind drifts a million miles away as she walks--not quite aware of her surroundings. Perhaps that is why she lurches to a sudden stop as she crests a hill, silver eyes locked upon the sight of an armorless Agent Washington. "Oh, uh, hello," she stammers, awkwardly forcing herself not to stare. Although he still wears his helmet, Washington's upper torso is now exposed--scars and all--and that makes her feel as if she had walked in on a sight she was not meant to see. "I...I brought you some more jerky.." Imperia fidgets where she stands, unsure of what to do with herself. She wonders if he hates her.

Hate nowadays was a universeral emotion. Considering how everyone reacted to Carolina he was quick to realize that the majority of them actually hated the female. He could understand where they were coming from as first glance Carolina could be a little bit daunting to deal with. That was because she wasn't restrained by the Project anymore. She could do whatever she wanted in this world without having to worry about the Director if that was even on her mind in the first place. Washington knew the female's hate toward the Director if he did hate the man, as he hated the man just the same. The man that had used them like pawns in his little game, a game that wasn't even decided whether or not it was going to be capable of working. It was just an obsession that the male had for his own dead wife, which he knew should have been a terrible thing to lose. What was he talking about, he knew the exact feeling of the pain that the Director went through when his wife did die because he had all the memories from said man. Which was probably a little bit strange but some of the memories were a little bit fuzzy since he was choosing to forget some of the memories that had been given to him.

The Alpha had all the memories that the Director had, but memories didn't make ap personality and a different personality would end up forming for said AI. There were very few things that Washington had hated over the years in his military career. He hated the alien race that was driving the humans to extinction because it was all because of them that Washington had gone into the said military career. The reason that his dad had died. The reason why he had entered Project Freelancer after the military anyway. If none of that had happened, he didn't know where his life would end up being, but it certainly wouldn't have left him here, stranded and having nowhere else to go anyway. The Freelancer didn't even really hate anyone that was in the same program as he was. That was because he was the rookie, and was used to being yelled at if he did something wrong. He was used to being at the bottom of the rankings meaning that he would follow orders that he didn't exactly agree with all of the time.

There were a couple faces that irritated him a little bit. A couple names that came to mind would be Agent Georgia and Agent South. Those two just seemed to be rude for the aspect of just being rude. That confused Washington because the reason they were working together because they were a team. These two, however, wanted to be independent of the rest of the squad and hated working with one another. Washington couldn't hate South all that much though since she was North's sister. The other male actually quite enjoyable to be around. Washington both enjoyed Yorks and North's presence and was probably the ones that he interacted the most with out of everyone. Then there was the Counselor. The Director's right-hand man. Someone that he didn't like just because of the way the other held himself with. No matter what kind of interaction they had, it wasn't anything that was personal or not businesslike. Instead, it was all about business as he was always seeming to look for any weaknesses mentally that the Freelancers would be capable of expressing. He remembered the first time that the Counselor had interviewed him before he was approved to partake in Project Freelancer.

Washington didn't like the questions that the guy asked, getting all the way to his childhood, even talking about the bully that he used to deal with when he was just a kid. It made no sense to how that could really correlate with who he was now and compared to when he was just a child. The other seemed to act like a therapist, but one that didn't care about their patient's condition and only wanted to prod and poke to see what happened to them. Washington didn't care about the Counselor and would try to avoid the guy every chance that he could. But of course, there were weekly checkups that everyone needed to go through and needed to answer truthfully. The sessions didn't last all that long though when the AI's were first introduced to the group. The Freelancer did other things with his time, but he had never hated someone during the beginning of the project. He had never killed out of anger or frustration but simply did it because it was his job and nothing else. The smilodon now though, did hate someone. Did he hate someone enough to kill them? Not exactly. He needed the Director alive. Because while he was here, he could imagine that time was continuing like it usually did back from where he was from.

The Director would be wondering where the hell he was, and Carolina was probably already considered KIA so there wasn't a need to worry about her presence compared to his own. He would be hunted down if he wasn't careful, and he knew when he had been beaten and didn't have the resources to get back at the Director without getting some sort of help. Washington wasn't upset at Imperia. Not even remotely close. He believed that Imperia did what she did because she believed it to be right. Hence why he had defended his fellow Freelance so that she could live in the place with him. Although it was certainly strange to think about as others weren't used to seeing him take orders that were half threats all of the time. Washington had even been forced to go to the medics, which hadn't been as bad as he thought it was going to be. He remained vague about the questions that they asked him and refused to let him touch him. The last time he had been anywhere near a medic in the first place had nearly gotten him killed with the AI that had been put into his brain only to be removed immediately after.

Washington left the medic after being ordered by Bastille, and it was from there that he was able to continue the shifts that he was used to doing. Unless Carolina wanted to add something to his schedule, something that he wished that his helmet was capable of keeping track of like it was used to doing. He knew that there would be a sparring session next week, but other than that the main objective was to figure out what else they were going to need to get out of here. His thoughts weren't of the civilians that lived in the outpost, and instead, it always went back to the Project. The armored cat was used to remaining alert all of the time, and just because he was thinking to himself didn't mean that he wasn't paying attention either. It also wouldn't help that he was basically not capable of smelling any scents that entered his helmets. The helmet having filters right in front of his nose that would filter any smells that went through it. So even if he had wanted to smell Imperia coming, he wouldn't have been able to. It was when that he heard movement though that the cleaning speed that he had been going decreased some. There were all sorts of animals that lived in this outpost, and be snuck up on wasn't exactly on the list of things that he wanted to do.

Then he caught movement behind his visor and he stopped his cleaning completely as he turned to look at who and what it was. Oh. It was just Impera. Oh, wait. Almost immediately his attention drew to her and then back to himself. He wasn't wearing any armor except for his helmet. Well, that was a little bit awkward, and it would be obvious by Washington's body language. He thought about trying to explain to her what he was doing, but was it really going to change anything? Probably not. His armor was his protection. It hid all the scars that covered his body. It hid the disgusting animal that he was and didn't want to be forever. He was always uncomfortable in his own skin due to the unfamiliarity of it all. Hearing her speak though, Washington was quick to speak back. "Oh uh h-hey there I'm just uhh cleaning my armor." The awkward stutter of words escaped his jaws. He seemed embarrassed by all of it, and yet he didn't really quicken his cleaning either. Hurrying a job would just mean that it would come out sloppy, and that's what he didn't need right now.

Scars that were completely unnatural covered his body, and he bet that she had questions that he couldn't answer. At the mention of food though, the smilodon seemed to relax a small degree. "Oh thank you Imperia. You uhhh don't have to stand so far away." Washington said and halfway through saying what he wanted to say he cleared his throat. He was never good when it came to being social at all, and it was obvious that the wolf was nervous too. How the hell could he even fix a situation like this? He thought for a couple moments when he kept on talking. "The jerky you produce is really great by the way. Even Carolina loved it." Washington would compliment Imperia. Although now that he thought about it, the mention of Carolina probably wouldn't be the greatest conversation starter either. Especially if Imperia didn't like Carolina. He had been through the struggles that Carolina was currently going through, so helping her was advantageous to him. The dark grey smilodon his paws on the ground in front of where his armor was laid out. "speech"

It is rather unnerving to be unable to see Washington's face. She can sense when his gaze meets hers, but she cannot see it; like staring into the pitch blackness and sensing someone--something--staring back. "It is rather strange seeing you without it on," she admits with an awkward laugh. Peri finds herself staring at his scars, argentine eyes making note of scars created by blades and more natural trauma, while others are small and circular. She does not know what caused the latter, but she suspects they must be a projectile of some sort to injure with such precision. "Oh thank you Imperia. You uhhh don't have to stand so far away." Silver dollar eyes widen like two full moons as the meek she-wolf comes to the realization that she is, in fact, standing an uncomfortably large distance away from the smilodon. "Oh, uh, right--" she stammers. Could wolves blush, Imperia would be bright red. She wishes that she could just behave normally. Maybe this is why people are hesitant to become her friend. She is too bland, too nice, too awkward. Peri inches forward until she is at a respectable distance.

Hate is not an emotion with which Imperia is familiar. It is far too strong and far too ignorant for a creature as empathetic as she to experience. Take her father, for example. Pierre was nothing but cruel and abusive to both Peri and her mother. She remembers being able to predict how terrible the beatings would be depending on the time of day he lost his temper. The later in the day, the worse it was going to be. It was never the physical pain which harmed her. Pierre was cruel, but he was not a sadist. It was usually just a nip here or there, or maybe a shove. No, it was the words that cut the deepest. The emotional aspect of the abuse is what rendered her unable to receive a compliment and made her stutter when speaking to strangers. Pierre made Imperia feel weak and useless for many moons--not just because she failed to meet his expectations, but also because her failures also impacted her dear, sickly mother. She never minded being called stupid or worthless, because while a part of her started believing it, another part of her knew that it wasn't true. It did hurt when she started recognizing that the bullying she endured upset Marguerite terribly. Peri did not want her mother to worry, so she did her very best to please everyone even if it was at the expense of her dignity. As horrible as Pierre was, Imperia cannot find it within herself to hate him. She knows that he is broken inside, and all his cruelty and rage manifested from old wounds which never healed properly. How can she hate someone for being in pain? She might dislike his methods of coping, but she can understand his pain.

Which is why she would be shocked to hear the Washington believes she might hate Agent Carolina. Distrust, maybe. Intimidation, too. Not hate. Imperia does not like how the beautiful leopardess bosses everyone around and refuses to get along with the group; however, she recognized the fear and confusion on the creature's face when she first "joined," so Peri suspects that whatever terrible place Carolina and the others came from had a serious effect on them. They have history, they have a mission, and they've made it very clear that Imperia and everyone else are not invited to know. Curious though she may be, all the girl really wants is for them to be her friend. Especially Washington, although as time passes, she becomes less and less sure it is possible. But that does not mean she is going to stop trying. "Thank you. I am pleased you both enjoy it," she replies with a genuine smile. They may not be friends, but at least she knows that she has helped them, even in a small way. "Jerky is not enough to sustain you both, I'm afraid," Imperia continues, her inner caretaker breaking free. "I would be happy to teach you how to cook meats yourself, if that is something you would like?" The offer is genuine, but it is clear from the way she glances down at her paws that she expects Wash to refuse.

In an attempt to distract herself from a train of thought that will surely end in more depressing topics, Imperia redirects her attention back to the armor. With there being very few full-scale wars within the known lands, she does not really understand the necessity of such technology. It is heavy and lessens mobility and it isolates one from the people around them. But from what Peri has gathered, Washington and the others are soldiers of some sort. Maybe technology is far more advanced where they come from? "You mentioned that your armor is made from a titanium alloy so I am assuming that it is a stronger metal that most we have available here. Do you know what exactly it is made of?" she is already thinking about how she can reinforce buildings with the stuff, imagining a safer place to live by incorporating materials that can withstand even the most extreme of weather.

Washington had a lack of trust basically from the very beginning of his military career. There were plenty of reasons to only hold a little bit of trust with those that one worked with. He didn't grow up trusting anyone but his family and considering that his family wasn't with him anymore it meant trying to development that trust wasn't exactly easy. He never really had all that many friends when he was younger, as he was concerned with his family and their wellbeing. He could care less whether or not he was able to go and hang out with other boys his age, and instead he was more concerned about his sisters well being and where his mom was at the time. Would she be home late? Would have to make dinner? Would they have to go out and eat and use the money that their mom always left them? The city that they were in wasn't exactly all that big and most of those that lived around them knew about what had happened to his father during the Great War. There were times that they would be willing to help out the small family so that they could get to the next day, and sometimes they would even get the like of a babysitter.

Washington didn't think about that there was a chance that he was forced to grow up a little bit too fast with the lack of his father in his life. He didn't even know about what the guy was even like when he was alive and didn't even seem all that bothered to find out who his father was before that changing moment. Washington did what he had to, and he did the job well enough that his sisters were able to grow up. Whether or not they were still alive though he wasn't sure and would have to go back to the world that he was from to even find that out. This meant growing up he never developed enough trust to talk to someone, especially after the bully that he had almost killed. Washington kept to himself basically once he joined the UNSC. He would talk to others occasionally if he was bored or just to spark up a conversation, but other than that he wouldn't bother to tell them what his life had been before joining the UNSC. There was no point. He was kinder during that time of his life though and would crack jokes to help boost morale when he could, but he was only allowed to get away with so much in the likes of the UNSC where everything was completely strict.

They were there for one reason and one reason only no exceptions. The soldier did have to have some form of trust when it came to the those that he would be on the battlefield with. But even then there would be some semblance of doubt that they would be killed before completing their task. He also knew that there were personalities that worked with the UNSC that would happily leave him to die if he couldn't keep up. Which made him work harder just to prove them wrong and he got to look at their faces when he was promoted before they were. He was a good judge of character to some degree when it came to those that were similar situations as he was in. It was only when he joined Project Freelancer that he didn't have to pretend to be someone that he wasn't. He wasn't a complete hardass because he no longer had any troops to lead either. Washington was instead going to be following orders, which was fine with him because over the years they had gained his trust.

A trust that he thought that he would never be willing to give. One grew quick to trust those that were willing to take a bullet for him and risk their life trying to save him when he was unconscious. Hence why he considered the entirety of Project Freelancer to be his family, other than the Director and Counselor that didn't interact with enough of them. Washington knew though that his situation was considered easy up to the point of getting to Epsilon. The Freelancer now had the memories of what Carolina had been forced to go through when she was younger and the neglect that she went through. What she would do in order to gain the affection of her father only to receive none. It was disgusting how a father could treat his own daughter in such a way. He felt a small pain of pity for Carolina, but it would never be something that he would voice because that would give her incentive to really hurt him next time. A repeat that he doesn't want to end up making. As far as he was concerned, Carolina had it worse than he did. At Imperia's first comment, Washington would raise one of his arms and look at the scars that covered them. The areas around his shoulder and his side seeming to be littered with more human items than the likes of an animal.

He had yet to receive the likes of a scar since he had landed here in the first place. After taking a glance at himself Washington would shrug his shoulders in response. "It's strange having it off. Hence why I don't like taking it off for long periods." Washington would explain, although it probably wouldn't make sense. So far no one had noticed that he was capable of overheating with the armor that he had on. Which he found incredibly annoying because he was used to his suite regulating the internal temperature automatically instead of him having to work on it himself. If Imperia had been able to see past his visor, a reassuring grin would have been on his face when the female realized that she had been a bit of a far distance away from him for a conversation. The Freelancer not even bothered by how awkward she was presenting to herself, because it didn't matter to Washington. She kind of reminded him of himself when he was the rookie. Not sure how to carry himself. Not sure how to address those that were stronger and more experienced than he was.

Now, he knew exactly what he was capable of, and he now had a twisted way of treating others that no one knew yet. His mind not exactly being in the best of places while he was trying to figure out where his mind even was. Or even if it was his own at all. Her reaction at him mention Carolina was certainly something that he didn't expect. Washington almost seemingly was taken aback, but trying his best not to show it. He didn't know why everyone hated Carolina. It was a simple misunderstanding and even after he said that everyone continued to pressure the leopard. Which made absolutely little to no sense to the wildcat. What did they expect would have happened when approaching an animal that was basically cornered with nowhere to go? Washington considered the majority of them to be hypocritical, but it seemed like Imperia was getting used to the situation. At least he hoped so, as he would have liked to be able to have someone that actually agreed with him other than the simulation troopers and Carolina herself. The Freelancer hadn't really thought ahead at thinking that just eating jerky for his entire life would be enough to sustain him.

He didn't know enough about what his body actually needed and it frustrated him. A sigh escaped his jaws at the news that he was going to have to eat something else. "Really? Why can't things be simple where I could just eat this stuff for the rest of the time I'm here?" Of course, it was a rhetorical question. He was just complaining to himself, leaning back on his haunches as his head angled up to look at the sky. Everything had to complicate themselves. But Freelancers were great when it came to improvising, and it seemed like Imperia was going to help him out with different methods on how to survive in a place like this. At the mention of cooking, his head turned to look at the canine, and a confused look was on his face that could not be seen. "Wait, you all know how to cook?" Washington was only used to the concept of humans cooking. How did animals even remotely know how to cook? Wouldn't there just be a ton of fun in everything that they ate?

Did they care if that happened? He didn't know, but he wasn't about to lose his soldier demeanor just yet with all of those questions as the female was probably going to answer them for him anyway. The way he asked though, it was obvious that he was interested. He would much rather do things himself, as it would reduce the factors of someone trying to poison his food. A long time ago, he had cooked for his sisters. Meaning that he knew a little bit about cooking, but he hadn't had to do it for years, his meals basically pre-prepared for him when he worked with the military and Project Freelancer. While they started to settle next to each other, Washington grabbed the shoulder paneling that he had stopped cleaning when Imperia had approached him. He started to use his claws to dig into the tight corners of the armor, switching it over in his paws until he was satisfied and would put it off to the side. The ears inside of his helmet perked up when he heard Imperia starting to speak again, and it was about his armor.

Not surprising as that was one of the more striking features about him. He seemed to hum to himself as thought about answering her questions. "I'm not much of an engineer, and the schematics of such armor is usually kept under wraps so that the things we were at War with wouldn't be capable of replicating it. The base of it is titanium, which is an extremely strong metal but its also fairly light. The sets of armor I have here is around 400lbs if that, and if it was made out of any other metal I wouldn't be able to move." Washington would pause as he raised the arm piece that he was cleaning, tapping his claw against the metallic material that basically had a matte finish so that it didn't shine all that much. "Alloys are created by mixing chemicals together with metals and then that usually turns it into an isotope. Titanium-50 is the military standard that is able to withstand high temperatures and bullets" Washington tried to explain, but he also wasn't a chemist. He was a soldier and soldiers usually weren't told all that much. The pieces that started to get clean though were latched back onto his body. The pieces not exactly working like sleeves, but it seemed like they attached to his body with types of clamps. Uncomfortable for someone who wasn't used to it to wear, but he got used to it. If he had an undersuit he would be able to carry more weight and it wouldn't even remotely be an issue to him. "speech"

Washington himself was far from being innocent. As far as he knew he would end up becoming a wanted man as soon as the word got out about what their group had actually done. The basic destruction of other human life even if it wasn't warranted all that much just for their own greedy needs. He was one of the forty-nine participants in the project where they followed the man that handled the project blindly. The Freelancer had never been given a reason to distrust the Director right off of the bat. Sure, the other was certainly hard on the soldiers that were indeed recruited, but that didn't mean that he didn't provide them with basically everything they asked for within reasons. He had gained their trust a little bit, but it was obvious that the business would be run just like any other military group. Washington had been a good soldier and didn't question the orders that were given to him unless they were ridiculous.

Then he would ask simple questions of what was expected for him to deal with the mission and then he would go from there. The Freelancer was more than capable of dealing with ridiculous requests, as they were taught very early on exactly how to improvise in a situation. Something that Washington would rather not have to deal with considering that improvising meant that it would be life-threatening of what they were about to do. Such as the mission to acquire the sarcophagus that was needed for their little program that was growing every single day. There were no means for error. The Freelancers didn't even know the size of the package and only knew that they had markings on them. Once they did find the markings, it just meant they had to get the package onto the dropship that they ended up coming in. The dropship specifically called a pelican in military terms, and most recognized the shape in seconds.

The issue was that it was too big and heavy for them to carry, and so they had to use a window washer to get it up to the top. Which there wasn't exactly a manual on how to fix the situation that they were in. But they had Carolina, which was just as great because she was the best of the best despite Texas having made her appearance with the rest of the group. Washington followed along with Carolina's orders without question because he knew that through her skill and talent that they would end up making it out alive. Of course, they had to kick Agent Maine out of the window of the massive skyscraper that they were on so that they could hoist the window washer to the top of the roof of the building. The big guy definitely didn't appreciate that, not like he would have a whole lot to complain about considering that he would acquire injuries further down the line that would make his condition critical.

Then the Mother of Invention thought it was a bright idea to destroy the massive skyscraper that they were on, and from there they were forced to go freefalling off the side of the building. An instance that Washington didn't exactly appreciate all that much since he knew one wrong move would end up killing them all. Luckily, all of the Freelancers survived the mission, despite several injuries spread across the entirety of the squad. During that raid though, they ended up killing several men. Men that had turned out to be the good guys that they were fighting against and the Freelancers were the issue too. Washington didn't know this at the time and had learned way before never to hesitate before taking a shot. The hard way. The hard way is that he had hesitated to kill someone that was begging for their life and he ended up getting shot in the shoulder, the bullet going through the joint between his shoulder and arm. It was painful that was for damn sure, but that was why he no longer hesitated when regarding others. Washington knew better after all. Washington refused to forgive the Director.

He wanted to see justice given to the man that had destroyed his life. Not because he had been lied to the entire time, but he knew that once he got back, he would be hunted by the Earth government itself. Who knows who would end up coming after him if they knew he was a Freelancer? The title would be something that no one would ever trust again. They were enemies, and because of that, it would mean that Washington would probably have to run for the rest of his life. As far as he concerned, it was better than living the life of an animal. One issue that was difficult for him to deal with was figuring out what these animals would end up understanding and what they would end up being confused about. This was one of those moments as he turned his head to regard Imperia while she questioned why it was strange having his armor off. A hidden frown would spread across his facial features at the mention of it getting lonely.

He hadn't felt an emotion like that in a very long time. It was natural now thanks to the distrust that he had with everyone. Washington shrugged his shoulders before responding to what she said. "Not really. In the program I was in we were required to constantly wear our gear on us. After all, on the battlefield, there's no telling how long one will need to wear said equipment and we can't afford to get fatigued while wearing it. My armor has also saved my life countless times." Washington tried his best to explain, and even gestured with his paws a little bit. To him, talking to those that were already wearing armor was something completely normal to him. It just meant that he had to be good at reading someone's body language if he wasn't capable of reading their face. With animal body language though, he was basically completely lost if they weren't cats. A barrier between him and the world was needed, especially where he was coming from when there were constantly guns pointed in his direction.

At her apologizing though, a quizzical look would quickly replace the frown, before a low chuckle escaped his jaws as he shook his head. "You didn't. To you civilians, everything about us is strange and our experiences couldn't be more opposite. We all have different perceptions." Washington would state with the usual deadpanned way that he constantly talked. He was at least open-minded to some degree of the questioning that they got anyway. Washington would then roll his eyes at her other comment about being malnourished. "Yeah, I don't exactly want to repeat that again." Washington would say in a joking fashion, although to some it may not sound like he was joking as he rarely did. Constantly serious unless he was messing with Carolina because he knew exactly what he was capable of getting away with when it came to talking to his comrade. Now it was Washington's term to get embarrassed, as she mentioned as to how to make the jerky.

Oh. He didn't think about that. He cleared his throat as he raised one of his paws and rubbed the back of his neck, before putting the paw back down on the ground. "I guess I just thought you put the meat out in the sun and dried it...." Washington would say as his face trailed off as the gears inside of his head seemed to be turning. "Wait, so where do you end up cooking then?" The armored smilodon would question with a slight tilt of his head. He didn't remember seeing a station of any sorts where one could easily cook, and he had yet to even see any of the animals that lived in this place cook anyway. After a small pause, Washington would turn his attention back to the biggest portion of the armor that he did have, that being the chest plate. It was the heaviest piece and took the longest to clean. There was a magnet that was directly between the shoulder portions of the chest plate, allowing him to hold anything metallic if he wanted to. Although he didn't exactly have any knives of equipment to use either.

Washington used both of his arms to pull the armor closer to himself, and began to use the claws to go in between all of the indents. Making sure the padding that was inside of the armor was sufficient and not need of replacement as he waited for Imperia to speak again. Even though it wasn't visible, the ears inside of his helmet perked as she asked what bullets were. Now that was going to be hard to explain. Washington turned his head slightly to the side while looking at the ground until he heard his neck popped. A small habit that he had adopted since he took shelter in this place. An 'hmm' sound would escape his jaws as he seemed to think about how to answer it. "Yes. I'm not sure if you have had any run-in with hunters, as they still seem to exist during this timeline, but they use guns to dispatch either opponent or just to go hunting.

There usually consists of a shell body and gunpowder so that when the gun is fired it projects the bullet through the barrel. They're made out of metal and they're projectiles that can travel extremely fast, faster than what an eye can really perceive. Our armor is good for deflecting certain sized bullets, but larger bullets that can pierce that of a tank? Would go straight through it. Oh uhhh this is what they usually look like." Washington would say as he realized that he was probably getting ahead of himself. Raising one of his paws he unsheathed his black claws and began to draw the general shape of a bullet, one that came from the gun that he used to be great at shooting with. "That's what a bullet looks like, and if a bullet hits any flesh, it'll go straight through it, and there are some bullets that if they impact something, it turns into shrapnel causing more damage. This is the kind of the general shape of the gun I used to use." The soldier would then start drawing the battle rifle. Making sure to include the bridge of the gun and the barrel. He wasn't the best artist, but it gave the other all shape. Once he was done drawing, he shook the paw that he was drawing with to get the dirt out from in between his paws. "speech"