A/N: Here's my new story! :D Just a bit of it, to see how you guys like it :/

One thing I want to note right away: There ARE many differences between Cole and Roach, but, to sum it up, let's say Cole's an assassin for hire and Roach is an idealistic freedom fighter :D

U.S.S Enterprise.
Bering sea.
June 2076.
Locker room.
B Deck.

The boot collides with the back of my head, emitting a loud thud.

I glance around the room. I know most everyone here, since we all go to gym at the same time every day.

Tercorien is whining to Daniels about the life conditions on the ship, Montgomery and Patterson are bickering about their next mission and Adami is lacing up her boot…

"BOOT FIGHT!" I yell before tossing the thing back to the doc and taking cover behind the bench.

Patterson shrugs and throw one of his own boots to Daniels, who ducks just in time for Tercorien to get it square in the face.

The Sergeant then unlaces one of his own and tosses it to the Colonel, missing and hitting Montgomery instead.

Deciding its all my fault, Benji picks it up and throw it at me.

"Retarded frog guy!" he snarls when I dodge the projectile.

"Shut up, GI Joe." I laugh, preparing to throw the boot back to him.

"Officer on deck!" Patterson suddenly barks and we all snap at attention.

General Chase… God I hate this man. Why? He's a politician, he's american and he's breathing.

"At ease gentlemen. Patterson, is the strike team ready?"

The colonel cringes.

"Negative sir, Beckett and Clarence are still in medical…"

The general growls and massages his eyes.

"Listen…" His head suddenly snaps in my direction.

"You! What's your name, soldier?"

Uh oh.

"Private Etienne 'Roach' Calico, sir!"

He frowns.

"Etienne? Where's that from? France?"

Here we go again.

"Quebec, sir." I hiss, making it clear I don't want to talk about it.

"So you're Canadian?"

"Yes. Sir."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm 'on loan' to the DoW, sir, Admiral Wilkins requested a sapper that knew how to operate in that kind of environment."

We begin a staring contest… I win. Wilkins' authority surpasses that of Chase for everything that touches naval warfare."

"And where's 'Roach' coming from?"

"Got it in boot camp after a training accident… Long story. You know roaches can survive pretty much everything?"

"Yes, I read about that, somewhere."

"I'm a demo specialist; you do the math, sir."

He nods, slowly.

"So you're a certified die hard? Good, I got a mission for you. Montgomery, your squad's ready?"

"Yup."

"Good, get them on the flight deck in ten! Roach, come with me!"

"Yes, sir." I growl, angrily.

Don't paste the fucker. Don't paste the fucker. Don't paste the fucker. Don't paste the fucker.


"So!" Benji asks once we're onboard the plane, yelling to be heard over the roar of the engine. "What'd the general have to say?"

"Wanted to convince me I could make the U.S. leave Canada if I helped you guys take Anchorage." I scoff.

"Wow, did he also offer you to be promoted to President?" Benji replies.

"Yeah," I laugh, "He did."

The rest of the squad laughs too.

Fucking brasses, thinks we're all retarded grunts.

"Hey, Roach!" The team's sniper calls "The hell is that rifle on your back?"

"This? This is Lucy; she's been in my family since nineteen sixty!"

The rifle is actually an heavily modified M14, chambered in .308, got integral silencer, black plastic casing with adaptable camo scheme, recoil absorbing stock and 2x scope; It was used by my grand-father's uncle or something like that during the Vietnam war and has been used by soldiers in my family ever since, each generation adding it's own modifications.

I added the adaptable camouflage and my mother installed the suppressor.

The weapon is a lot more reliable and accurate than any of those R variant rifles used by the U.S. and packs much more punch, but it is still considered primitive and outdated by most, for some reason.

In any events, it's the only rifle that actually survived all those underwater missions the admiral sent me on so it's not like I actually have a choice.

The sniper scoffs and shows me his Gauss Rifle.

"This, is a real rifle, mate! Can punch right trough a brick wall!"

"I usually hit my targets before they hide behind a wall…" I reply while taking my place next to Benji.

The guys chuckle at my reply.

"Say, I never asked; you ever been on a combat op, rookie?" The sarge asks once the hatch is closed, making it possible to actually hear each others.

"Yeah, once."

"Where and when was it?"

"Sherbrook, last year; U.S. Marines opened fire on Canadian citizens, my squad and I were sent to take them out."

Everyone goes real quiet.

"Canada had long since been annexed by then…" The heavy weapon specialist begins.

"Yeah, well, someone forgot to tell those Marines...And our CO." I hiss.

These kids were just trying to get some food, they were scared, hungry and pissed, but the food was not meant for them and the Marines started shooting… Fucking Yankees.

The soldiers decide not to talk about it anymore, but Montgomery gives me a weird look.

"You were part of the resistance, right?"

"I was part of the Special Forces and I followed orders. Nothing else." I recite.

That's what I'm supposed to say, at least.

He nods slowly and starts briefing his boys.

"Alright! There's three guns our frog needs to blow the shit out of, all on the promontory; we will be dropped five clicks west of it and have to carve him a path to the targets. "

And I'll have to investigate a few sites, grab any intel I can and bring them back to Chase.

I really hate this man.


Two hours later.
Alaska.
U.S. Field HQ.
Command Tent.

I enter the General's tent.

Lieutenant Morgan walks up to me right away.

"I got all three cases. You got what you promised me?" I snap, tossing the intel cases to Morgan while glaring at Chase.

We're both standing on one side of the tactical map.

I'm clutching my arm where I shrapnel struck me and he's smoking his cigar.

"Yeah, I do. Go see Adami in the medical tent. She'll take care of it."

I walk to the exit and freeze as I'm about to leave.

"The risks?" I ask.

"Fifty two percent chances of success, otherwise, you'll either die of become horribly mutated…"

He says that like I had asked him who won the last soccer game!

"Great."

I leave the tent and spit in the snow.

God damned Yankees, I hope China nukes them all to mush!

I walk past Patterson and his strike team.

They all nod respectfully upon recognizing me; I'm pretty easy to distinguish, since I wear a black suit of Reinforced combat armor without shoulder pads and have an air recycler hung on my neck.

The Canadian flag on my shoulder helps a bit too.

I nod back and slip into the medical tent.

It's empty, except for the doc and a steel table.

Its the same they use for autopsy.

Adami gives me a hard look.

"You got any idea what you're getting into?" She asks after I take off my armor.

"Nope, I would probably change my mind if I did. Let's go." I answer, folding the stuff into a neat pile.

"Well," She hisses, "I'll tell you nonetheless; I am going to remove all skin from your body, then inject small dose of forced evolutionary virus into your muscles and bones until the mutation level reaches required specs, once it's done, I'll shot massive amount of anti-virus into your blood and pray.

Then, I'll inject a short lived virus strand into your organs, causing them to mutate too. Then again, the only guarantee I can give you is that I wouldn't want to be in your shoes at that moment.

Once it's all done, I'll inject a less aggressive strand into your body and hope it can, combined to the auto-doc, regenerate your skin.

If it works, I'll reprogram the virus to replace the electric impulse and connections that form your body's nervous system into optic fiber and impulses. Still game?"

Why did I even listen to all this?

"Sounds fun; chop away!" I growl.

She sighs and injects something into my neck.