RVB: [OneShots]/[Stories]

Promise. | [WashXReader!] (Part 2)

[20/05/18]

Being the newly elected Lieutenant General in the Federal Army Of Chorus had been stressing you out, always finding a billion more jobs to do after you were almost at the end of the mountains of work assigned to you. People looked up to as a role model; as hope to end this never ending war where everyone had to live in fear. Waking up in the morning makes you thank the lords, fearing of what might happen while you slept and never woken up again.

You set your coffee generally on the canteen table, surrounded by your main squad, cracking jokes and chatting like there were no tomorrow. You took the hot metal teaspoon and stirred your coffee, unaware of what you were doing and what were around you, lost in the thoughts endless work that would be needed to be done after breakfast.

A timid tap landed on your shoulders as you turned, facing a small sized soldier. You smiled at him unthreateningly in hopes of calming him down. Being the second highest rank came with it's cons. People fear you for your high status and how determined in work you appeared to be. To maintain this position, you had to work harder compared to other people, usually seen dashing from one end of the compound to the other or waking up at 3am to practice your fighting.

"Hey bud, what do you need?" You asked the solder in a light
tone, feeling his confidence build up.

"General Donald Doyle requests for you. He's in the cells." The young soldier said, pointing below where the cells were located.

Why would Doyle want you at such an early hour? It's never his thing to request of you at this hour of the morning.

"Alright thanks bud." You nodded with a warm smile, grabbing your helmet and putting it on as you made your way towards the cells.

—

"Dirtbags!" A low and unfamiliar voice bombarded out of the cellular.

"Each and every one of 'em! The soldiers: dirtbags! The medics: dirtbags! That good-for-nothin' mercenary, who shoots a man when he ain't even lookin': you best believe he's a numero uno dirtbag! And you..." The vibrantly deep red solider pointed at one of the Fed solider standing by the doorway as you walked in in confusion.

"You know what you are.."

"Oh, oh, me! Pick me Sarge!" The pink solider spike as he raised his hands, eager to answer the Sargent's question.

"Shut up donut."

"But I was going to say 'dirtbag'!"

"What? Doh! Doh- For the love of-! Now you've gone and given away the answer to my rhetorical question!"

"I have an idea. Let's play the quiet game." Your eyes shifted to  the grey and yellow armored man.

The colors matches an old Freelancer friend that you used to have, a particular one. The one that you pushed off the window. There's only one way to find out.

"Jesus, what the hell did you do to make Doyle chain you up like that?" You asked, walking towards the group of men stuck behind bars and handcuffed with bulky handcuffs.

All of them looked up at you, baffled. The man in yellow and grey armor stared at you in disbelief. No words could come out of his crowed mind, even though he was trying to spit something out. You examined them clearly, studying their body languages.

Most of them where frustrated, fidgeting profusely, trying to wiggle out of the tight handcuffs to throw a punch at you. You maintained collected, even though within your armor, you were going insane. If this was really Wash, how would he react to you being alive? He wouldn't accept the you that changed. He will hate you, and you wouldn't blame him for it. You made it out of Block A alive, but you didn't manage to contact Wash for that few years s it makes you wonder how he has been and what he been through.