So... Trying my hand at something new. All feedback is welcome, even non constructive criticism.

Agent Maine had not been having a good day. He'd finally – finally – gotten his hands on Beta, one of the last A.I's he could reach. [1] Then those… MORONS, had tied him to a car, and kicked it off a cliff. Even as he tried to take the yellow one down with him [2], the asshole had the gall to steal his weapon, his treasured brute shot, and save himself with the cliff wall.

Then he'd felt ice, all around, crushing, stabbing pain, and finally darkness as the water of Sidewinder embraced him. His last thought was that it was a rather ironic death, remembering as he'd thrown Carolina off the edge of an oh-so-similar cliff only a few years prior. He did not regret it. Even if she'd been trying to help at the time, she was responsible for him getting his hands on Sigma…

Or rather, Sigma getting his hands on him, and driving him insane.

That was part of the reason he'd wanted Beta over Epsilon; Texas and her daughter were very similar, and he couldn't stab Carolina in the face, as he'd already killed her. Besides, he felt Epsilon was… a kindred spirit, perhaps. He represented everything the Director had once been, so long ago, when Maine had first met him.

So when he woke up in an incredibly cramped metal box, he was annoyed. His first though was that somehow he'd survived, which he dismissed. His second was that maybe the Director or a Freelancer had rescued him, but once again that was silly. Why would the Director want his broken dog of war back?

The next thing that hit him was the smell. Gods, fermented blood was disgusting. So he disabled that sense for now, so he could focus. He felt something slimy run down his arms, and shivered, more out of surprise than disgust. He'd had far worse, after all. But he apparently wasn't wearing his armour any more, which was alarming. He would admit, he had come to rely on it.

He felt naked without its reassuring weight, and deeply desired it back.

Much to his surprise, the slimy feeling stopped, and he felt a large, grating sound that he could immediately recognise as metal. The weird box he was in was torn to shreds as his already cramped form suddenly grew with the new addition.

As weird as it was, he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Ah, even after such a short absence, his armour was a godsend. A wave of calmness washed over him as light started glaring, drastically reduced until his eyes adjusted. He was standing in a hallway of some sort, barren bar for him.

There were rows of identical metal boxes that looked like the lockers they'd had in the Project, and they were all run down, old, visibly rusted, or covered in graffiti. He glanced behind him, and saw the box he'd been in was practically identical, bar the fact that it was now in shreds. And that there were all kinds of disgusting, bloodied rags covered in insects where it had been.

So someone had locked him in a box, covered in gross stuff. Joy. He felt like he was back in basic training again. To be honest, he was somewhat disappointed in whoever had thought this up. He'd once beaten a man to death with his own spine, if they wanted to gross him out, they'd need to try harder than that.

Maine ran a quick scan of his armour, and much to his relief, nothing was damaged. Even his armour enhancements were working fine, despite his lack of an A.I. to run them. He pinged communications, to try and find out where he was. There was an infuriatingly long delay, before the call was picked up.

"Who is this, and how did you gain access to this channel?" Asked a gruff, impatient sounding man sharply.

Maine growled out his name, and as was standard, an inhuman growl sounded out in the place of his voice.

"…Right, either I've been awake too long… or I need to run a debug on my communications," The man on the other side said, seemingly to himself. "No time for sleep, Tinkering to do… I'll just run a debug for now," The man muttered, hanging up.

Well THAT was rude, and also very distinctly not the number he should've been connected to. Yet when he glanced at his call log, he hadn't made a mistake. So either his communications were glitching, which a quick scan showed they weren't, his entire armour was broken, more likely but disproven by activating his bubble shield briefly, or he was in another dimension.

Well, he'd learned to accept weirder when he'd first witnessed North and Wyoming having a shoot off, for the title of best marksman. One would think that you couldn't hit seventeen targets at different heights, facing different directions, and in entirely different rooms, dead centre with one shot. One would be wrong.

Besides, he'd already been to another dimension once, back when he was just a standard soldier in the war against the Covenant. Sure, it was more of a pocket dimension, but anything that could be achieved small scale could also work big scale.

Maine was sprung from his musings by a familiar feeling in his throat, signalling he was parched. It wasn't the normal feeling, which had gone with his vocal cords, but rather an electronic equivalent developed so he didn't dehydrate. So he growled to himself, and looked around for somewhere he could get water.

Spotting an ancient water fountain relatively nearby, he began to make his way towards it. As he reached it, he sighed mentally, realising he'd have to take off his armour to drink. But much to his surprise, the armour vanished as if in response. He experimented a few times, and confirmed that yes, he could summon and dismiss it. Awesome, and practical, unlike most of the changes usually made to his armour.

Seriously, last time the only change had been an added voice modifier. AFTER he'd had his vocal cords severed. They had spent millions of credits on getting an entirely new suit of armour for that purpose and that purpose alone. It probably made sense, at least in theory, but in practice no one had synched it up so that it could actually read him, and he still couldn't talk. All it was in practice was a multi-million way of rubbing salt into the wound.

But he was getting distracted. He leaned forward and drank deeply from the water fountain. Sure, it tastes absolutely disgusting, and was filled with all kinds of chemicals, but the important thing was that he quenched his thirst, and as such could put his armour back on.

Ah, bliss.

Right, so his first though was determining where he was. And considering the building looked like a remarkably worn down school from centuries ago, he would likely draw attention if spotted in his armour. Damn it… Plus, when he looked back where he'd come, he'd left footprint like dents in the ground. Apparently the building wasn't built to hold a tons of weight, as was supposed to be standard issue. [3]

He dismissed the armour with a long, drawn out growl, and began making his way outside. If memory served correctly, the old schools' offices were usually easy enough to find, and this place was clearly styled for the past. He could make his enquiry there.

However, now that he wasn't thirsty, he could noticed a lot of things were wrong with his body. He felt weak, and was moving in different ways, and looked down. He was a girl. Well, that would explain a lot, but also brought up a whole slew of other questions. His new body was slightly above par in fitness, for a civilian, he supposed. But he had no upper body strength to speak of.

He doubted he could even lift ten kilos, which was frankly pathetic. He used to be able to lift roughly two hundred, even without his armour's strength enhancement. That would be the first thing to go, so he made a mental note to devise an exercise regime as soon as he could reliably test his new physical limits.

His new body showed signs that with a bit of care, it would likely become very attractive in a few years, which was new. He had never been very good looking guy, or really cared for his appearance. He wore his armour more than ninety percent of the time, so he'd never felt the need.

Turning once he reached the top of a flight of stairs, he was both amazed that he felt even the slightest bit tired from twenty steps, and how ridiculously long his hair was. It was well cared for, he supposed, but highly impractical, which was why he'd shaved his off. Still, he supposed there was no real need to continue that – his armour would make it a non-issue.

He spotted what he assumed to be the administration office, and almost broke down laughing, for multiple reasons. First, the building was in horrid condition. Second, apparently this was an actual, running school, and third, they still used glass sliding doors! UN-IRONICALLY! Seriously, there's someone on the communications network. It's the Dinosaurs calling. They want their outdated technology back.

Stepping through the doors and catching sight of the workers sitting at their desks, he couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy. Ah, paperwork. The Nemesis of all, who can never be defeated, only subdued.

Ond of the worker's eyes gazed over to him and sparked in recognition. Apparently he made the right choice coming without his armour. The Clerk's eyes widened in alarm.

"Oh my goodness, Ms. Hebert, are you okay? What happened?" Maine made a motion for a pen and paper, the one form of communication he felt most comfortable, but the clerk missed it, having turned around.

"Never mind, I'll call your father for you." And at that stage, Maine couldn't move. If he opened his mouth, he knew he would lose it and start laughing. Because the Clerk had picked up an honest-to-god LANDLINE. If Maine were still confident in his ability to talk, he would congratulate them for acquiring such an ancient antique. Seriously, he'd seen more advanced phones in a museum.

And apparently the Clerk wasn't joking, because they genuinely started dialling with it. Maine was tempted to intercept the call, but that would require donning his armour. Apparently he was recognised as a different person here, however, so it probably wasn't the best move. Besides, the Clerk made no attempt to hide their words as they spoke to this 'Danny Hebert of the Block Skirter's association. Amateur. That was a prime way for intelligence gathering, and there were standard protocols for a reason.

He briefly considered filing a formal complaint, but the Clerk seemed genuinely concerned with Maine's welfare, and he wasn't sure why. He took a quick look down at himself and found he was covered in some bloodied items. Ah, that would probably do it. Civilians had no stomach to speak of for that kind of thing.

The Clerk said Taylor, glancing over in his direction, which confused Maine. How did the Clerk know his birth name? It was classified information, and he'd left it behind almost a decade ago. And also… if he was, as he suspected, in someone else's body, the chances of them also being named Taylor were astronomical.

Bored, Maine glanced around the room, and quickly caught sight of a newspaper, and stiffened in shock. The date read January First, 2011. More than five Hundred years ago, and was in perfect condition.

[1] Maine needed an A.I to properly run his equipment, and all but two he knew of were destroyed by an E.M.P

[2] The joke is cannon, because the guy's armour is orange, not yellow. He frequently complains, saying 'didn't you have a box of crayons when you were a kid'? When people get it wrong.

[3] Maine's armour is HEAVY. From a ten meter drop, he shatter the equivalent of a tank's front, and sent it flipping through the air.