At the desert, Doc, Wash and the Meta are standing over the modified Epsilon unit, which is now olive green.

Washington: Great, he's done.

Doc: Why is it sparking like that?

Washington: This thing's been through a lot, it's pretty badly damaged. But now that it's a capture unit we just need to get it near Epsilon, Rho, Delta, and Theta, and we can pull them in.

Doc: What if it breaks?

Washington: Don't worry, it'll hold until we get him. After that, it doesn't matter. It can short out for all I care.

Doc: Then what's the point of all this?

Washington: I just have to deliver Epsilon and the other AI to the Chairman. I don't have to guarantee what condition, I deliver them in. They're just evidence anyway. Meta, grab him. Doc, get ready to move.

Doc: Move, move where? We don't know where they are.

Washington: We know they're not here. So gather your gear, and get ready to move out.

Doc: Well can we track them?

Washington: Track them?

Doc: You know, pick up a trail, like footprints.

Washington: Footprints. In the desert.

Doc: Kh, don't special agents have the ability to track their targets through any kind of terrain? Follow broken tree branches-

Washington: Tree branches. In the desert.

Doc: Okay these are bad examples. Maybe heat signatures.

Washington: In the desert.

Doc: Like exhaust trails? I dunno.

Washington: Tell you what? Why don't you just stick to not understanding medicine? Don't feel the need to expand your sphere of ignorance.

Doc: Fine, jeez, I'm just trying to help.

Doc then wanders off. The Meta growls, thumbing at the leaving medic.

Washington: Him? Ah, he's always whining about something. (under his breath) Hey Meta, is there any way we could track the Reds by trying to pick up a trail, like a uh, heat signature- or something?

The Meta grunts and gestures to the sand.

Washington: Yes. I know we're in the desert.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Slade opens a door and finds the medical room of the facility. He sees South, laying on her back without her upper body armor laying on the side of the gurney. She had an IV drip going into her arm with only a sports-bra on and was sleeping. Slade approaches her and holds her hand, as she continues to breath peacefully.

Slade: Why didn't I take you with me, lass?

Kan enters the room and see Slade. He approaches his leader and friend and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Kan: She will pull through, Slade. She has shown that she's a fighter.

Slade: I know, Kan. But still, doesn't change the fact she got hurt, when I could've convinced her to come with. (sits on the foot of her gurney)

Kan sits across from him.

Kan: Forgive my insistence, but it seems that there is more to how you are feeling than just South's injury.

Slade: Yeah.... (removes helmet) Wash and Maine. Everything that's happened, everything that they've become and all the other Freelancers that are gone.... all of this is the Director's fault. All just so he could play God! He's ruined all of our lives just to bring back his goddamned wife! And I can't help but feel like I'm stuck in the middle of it all.

Kan: Slade.... there are times when I look back on the Great War. When Humanity and the Covenant were still at odd ends for survival against each other's races. I remember when I thought humans we're just hindrances, standing in the way of divine perfection. Then when all had become clear as to what the Halos were truly capable of... it made me question myself as a warrior.

Slade: What do you mean?

Kan: That what purpose do I have as a Sangheili if my struggle was to obtain suicide than ultimate existence? I realized after a time, that I must do what I can to staunch the bleeding. And so when I set out with my brother K'ythor to aid my people, I found new purpose in helping you, Slade. I will willingly follow you to the edge of the universe because your will and strength to amend what has happened. So I must ask you, what do you plan to do?

Slade looks down and looks at his hand, curling his fingers into a fist.

Slade: I plan to make sure the Director's pays by spending the rest of his life behind bars. Because as much as I want to tear that bastard apart, killing him won't change the past.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

In the facility, Epsilon sees Tex above him from a staircase.

Epsilon: So you back up to a hundred percent yet?

Tex: Yeah. And whatever I didn't learn from Caboose I've been able to pick up from the rest of the guys. Didn't take long.

Epsilon: Yeah we really don't seem to do much.

Tex: Maybe you should get a hobby. Like knitting.

Epsilon: We'll look into it.

Tex: Hey, how did you know how to bring me back?

Epsilon: Honestly I didn't have much choice. I couldn't get you outta my head so I kind of, had to, get you, outta my head.

Tex: Wow, how emo. Maybe you can blog about it.

Epsilon: Hey, you asked.

Tex: When I was beatin' the hell out of the Reds and Cal, the alarm said it was 'Level Alpha.' Do you know why?

Epsilon: You know I didn't think about that, no.

Tex: Then I want you to have Sheila give me access to the files here.

Epsilon: Why?

Tex: Because I'm gonna figure out exactly what they did to me here. I need to know who I am.

Epsilon: I know who you are. You're my girlfriend.

Tex: Whell, that's probably the most underwhelming description of all time.

Epsilon: Hey. Lots of ladies would be happy to be my girlfriend.

Tex: What other women do you even know?

Epsilon: Um, eyeuh, well there's uh, duhh, that's a-uh, Grif had a sister, she seemed to like me. And what about South?

Tex: I wouldn't be too proud of that. Sister was pretty easy. And South doesn't seem to get along with pricks.

Epsilon: Bitch.

Tex: Asshole.

Tucker: How do you know Sister was easy, Tex? You know what, never mind, don't tell me. It's better in my head.

Epsilon: Where did you even come from?

Tucker: I'm always close by.

Tex: Hey, can I kill him?

Epsilon: You can hurt him. Kill him later.

Tex: Hm. That actually sounds more fun.

Tucker: Man, I thought the old Church was whipped but, you're really taking it to a whole new level.

Tucker wanders off again.

Tex: Why do you even put up with him?

Epsilon: It's not so bad, I mean I admit sometimes it gets pretty hard and I really don't know how to handle it.

Tucker: Aaand, now I'm back.

From a few yards away, the Reds watch Epsilon and Tex through a fence.

Epsilon: Come on, let's get in there.

Sarge: Simmons, this is our chance. Get in the computer and start entering the Blues back in the database.

Simmons: Yes Sir. Come on Grif, I need your help.

Grif: My help? With a computer? Simmons, you must have me confused with someone who, can help, you, with the computer.

Sarge: Kinda lost your train of thought on that one.

Grif: Yeah, a little bit.

Simmons: Following the Blues is one thing. If I'm entering all these names and records, I need someone to hold up the papers for me.

Grif: Uh, sorry dude, paper holder's not in my job description.

Simmons: No, but I'm gonna be working in the personnel files. So I can add it to your job description. In fact, I can make your job whatever I want. How does "Chief Executive Butt Taster" sound?

Grif: You can't do that.

Simmons: I can't? I thought you didn't understand how computers work. In fact while I'm in there, why don't I just make you a woman. It's just a checkbox, and we could always use a little more diversity in our team. I know Tucker will be happy.

Grif: Pfft, make me a woman. Yeah right. Like changing a form would actually turn me into a woman. I mean that's just... How stupid does he think I... I- I- I better go help him.

Sarge: Good call, numbnuts.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Back at the desert, Doc approaches Wash and the Meta from behind. The Meta growls something to Wash, point across from him.

Washington: That's great. You picked up a trail? Really?

Doc: Hi guys, what's up?

Washington: Oh, uh, Meta here was able to pick up a faint trail of the Reds based on gas spectrometry and uh uhum... resident heat signatures.

Doc: What I, thought you said you couldn't do that.

Washington: I didn't say we couldn't do that, I said you are an idiot. Those are two different discussions.

Doc: I want credit for the idea.

Washington: Doc, just let us do our job. You do your job. Anything, medical to report?

Doc: No, the dead aliens are still dead. Also still aliens, but that's, less significant.

Washington: Wonderful.

Doc: Yeah, one other thing, you know that Stockholm Syndrome where prisoners start to like and identify with their captors after being held hostage for long enough?

Washington: What about it?

Doc: No one has that yet.

Washington: The feeling is mutual.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Slade was looking through the facility's armory and seeing what kind of weaponry they had. He had told Kan to stick with South till she woke up. Slade then finds some kind of box with an all too familiar symbol.

Slade: That symbol again.... what does it mean?

BG Tex: (appears) I've got no clue. But I think it has to do with your real memories.

Slade opens the box and was surprised by what was inside.

Slade: This doesn't look like any shotgun I've ever seen.

Rho: (appears) I know you're probably gonna hate this, but maybe try grabbing the weapon. Maybe more memories will resurface.

Slade: Mate, no way! Those relapses give me headaches that no pill doesn't fix!

BG Tex: Just try it, Cal. Please....

Slade sighs and reaches out to the weapon and as soon as his fingers touch the handle he gasps and clutches his head. He then found himself in some kind of arena and punched someone away, exhaustedly.

Voice: Rip.... and.... tear!

Slade hears chuckling and sees another man in similar clothing to the other two men that sent him to the arena.

(IGNORE THE SUBTITLES)

Man: You'll make a fine addition to the front lines, stranger.

Voice: The demons.... they are everywhere.... must.... kill them all!

Slade then see a large white being of armor and floating with tentacles beneath her.

White Being: Dress his wounds and bring him to us. I want to know more about the others he speaks of.

Man: Yes, your Grace.

The memory lapse ends and Slade falls on the floor, slowing his breaths.

Slade: What the bloody hell was that thing?

Rho: My guess? Some kind of weird angelic-alien. Clearly she had some sort of authority.

Slade rises to his feet and grabs the shotgun.

Slade: I'm tired of these lapses happening. And there's only one person who can tell me who I really am.

Theta: (appears) Who?

Slade grabs two of the shells in the box and loads them into the shotgun.

Slade: The Director.