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"Reconstituted eggs. Real but from a powder, should get you all the same nutrients and benefits of real eggs with half the storage space and weight of actual ones." A beat. "They probably have a weird texture, huh?"
"Like rubber," Wash says, grimacing. "They're way too chewy to be real eggs and I've never been sure how you turn eggs into a powder anyway."
"Dehydration. Same as the terrible coffee and the powdered milk." Probably explains the texture too, honestly.
"It's still gross and unnatural," he protests. Eggs should not be dehydrated. Whoever had created them was a sadist.
"I'll get right on changing that for you." The rough cant of York's helmet gives the impression of rolled eyes. "I know I'm awesome but I'm not that awesome. Some shit I can't change."
He fills his plate anyway and grins at the hologram. "Wow, delusions of grandeur there."
"Hey, wait till we get in the training sim." He is so damn awesome, Wash doesn't even know.
"Yeah just... just don't distract me, okay?" He'd seen the issues some of the others had had with their integrations.
"I didn't say it just to guilt-trip you into helping me out, you know. Or to make you want to get revenge on people who helped screw over your project. This is about my family, and...and I need it to stay about my family. Okay?"
"I'm here to help improve performance, not the opposite." Who sounds a little pouty? This guy. This guy sounds pouty.
"Very different branches of the UNSC involved in that mess, kid. If they were involved in this I wouldn't help." It'd get him killed and- yeah. Not a fan of dying.
"Yeah, but some of the others have talked about having AIs." And how it could be confusing at first.
"Well other AI's ain't me. We're gonna be just fine Wash. Trust me. I got your back on this." They're gonna kick all kinds of ass and the Director will have to bump Wash up some.
"Alright," Wash agrees with a little nod. "We'll see how it goes."
When breakfast is done (The eggs do tasty funny) and their gym time is over (15% improvement across the board) the call does come for them to head down to the training floor and run through a few tests.
"You ready?"
"You ready?"
"Yeah. I think so," Wash says, although he feels sick with nerves. The Director unnerves him a lot. He always seems to be calculating, and the Counsellor just gives him the creeps.
She could mention that if this is a deep enough conspiracy, who knows what branches are involved, but that would probably not be helpful. Don't alienate the only willing aid that's been offered so far. "But as of this moment, you'll help me find my family. You're not, like...one of those crazy conspiracy theorists who think the government's run by lizard people, right? Just so we're on the same page as far as 'probably a conspiracy' versus 'everything is a conspiracy'."
"...No?" Lizard people, what the christ? "Regular people can be pretty fu-messed up all on their own, kid. They don't need to be lizard people. Just. Douchebags."
Which the Project had been full of, honestly.
Which the Project had been full of, honestly.
"I'm just checking! I don't really want to enlist the help of someone who's more likely to wear tin foil hats and blog about how they were right about something really dumb and implausible because of made up evidence they think connects in their own heads." So there.
"You know I'm probably going to make fun of your aborted cursing, right?"
"You know I'm probably going to make fun of your aborted cursing, right?"
"Yeeeeeah, no? No. How 'bout no." He's a soldier and a security specialist, not a conspiracy theorist. It's not a conspiracy if you KNOW shit is shady and fucked up behind the scenes because you had that shit beamed right to your brain.
"And I'm gonna make fun of you for being short. We're even."
"And I'm gonna make fun of you for being short. We're even."
"Here we go." He can't do much aside from ride along above Wash's shoulder as they head to the training floor, calculations running in the back of his head as to what kind of sim they'll be up against.
He can't help the nerves. It's a big deal. Not like he's got anywhere else to go, and if he fails...
They step out into the training room, and Wash glances up at the viewing area. The Director is there, watching, but so are the others. They're all there, watching. He hates to think the worst of them, but the competition can get so fierce sometimes.
They step out into the training room, and Wash glances up at the viewing area. The Director is there, watching, but so are the others. They're all there, watching. He hates to think the worst of them, but the competition can get so fierce sometimes.
"We got this." York blinks from visible hologram to a bright, sunny hum in the neural lace. "Trust me, we're gonna kick all kinds of ass. You do your thing, I'll back you up."
He shivers at the change, the sudden all pervasive buzz in his mind. It's sort of itchy but not quite and he doesn't have a better way of explaining it. He checks his weapons, no sense being sloppy now and then heads into the centre of the floor. He barely hears when FILSS speaks, too wired and ready for anything.
""Targets, stationary and moving. Mid range- this is where you kick ass. Come on Wash, get your war face on." T minus ten before the sim starts and York is buzzing through the lace, lighting up everything he can to an acute awareness. Honing Wash's focus to a point.
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