It has been a year since the House fell, but the Movement is not celebrating. While we were rid of Omega himself, the way in which it happened was not ideal.

A crater stands in the middle of Kaprime, where Omega's fortress once stood. Half of Omegrad was demolished. The aliens that had swooped in to save us had no rules of war, which I didn't realize until they had already enacted their plans. The damage has been done. Two million died that day. I can't write that many apology letters.

The aliens, who call themselves the azdoves, have designated our entire world as a temporary occupation zone while reconstruction is underway. Our civilization is to be rebuilt free of charge, but under azdov control.

With Omega dead, half the movement deserted. I guess they thought they had achieved what they wanted, even if it wasn't even by their own hands. Officially speaking... I too am no longer with the movement. I've been working with the aliens in Omegrad to crush a terror group still loyal to the Omegan faith that has been trying to sabotage our recovery.

I don't know if York is still alive or not... because he vowed to never speak to me again. CT vowed the same. All my old connections are gone. While I am grieving, I still think the ends have justified the means. The world is saved, and things can only improve from here. I do not like or endorse the azdov way of life, but they aren't interested in chupas fighting and dying in pointless wars. Ending the holy wars was the point of everything, and I did it.

I've been working at this checkpoint for around two cycles now. I act as a translator for the azdoves, now that I can speak Chesmian Azdov. Our job is to make sure the Omegan group within the city can't leave. The checkpoints are the only way out of the city, as the border of the city is a DMZ, just like the DMZ around the borders of Kaprime and Border-Wortistan.

Our checkpoint has a landing pad, to quickly get personnel in between other important cites in the city. It is not meant for someone to land on just to drop by to say hi. This is why it was so annoying when he showed up.

A generic little fighter ship, vaguely shaped like a bird, landed on the pad. As the hatch emerged, I sighed and rolled my eyes. It was everyone's least favorite beer-gutted azdov manlet, T'muron T'mura Faks.

"Timuron, you're not a checkpoint guard, and a pilot can't be downgraded to a checkpoint guard unless you fucked up severely," I shouted through the window of my kiosk.

The yellow azdov took of his helmet "I just- wanted to apologize!" he said, as his sulky little azdov eyes watered.

"Do you know what you're apologizing for?" I shouted.

He paused, put his hand behind his head and thought for a bit.

"Well!?" I shouted again.

"I turned you against your friends, and now you're all alone, and have nothing?" the jaundiced rough-furred alien supposed.

"No," I growled.

The xeno paused again. "I'm sorry that... I don't know! You're just not happy and that makes me feel bad and I know I did something."

"Well maybe you should dwell on it more and FUCK OFF," I lectured.

"There's something else I came here to do," Timuron said.

"What?" I sighed.

He walked up to me timidly and handed me a piece of paper with an address written on it.

"The fuck is this? I don't wanna see your apartment," I grumbled.

"It's the new Movement facility," he stated plainly.

I sat at the front window of the kiosk staring at the azdov for a moment. Then my eyes drifted into space as I processed this. My response was, "Thanks but no thanks."

"So... it's a lost cause then?" he asked.

"Just leave," I said.

The azdov's inflexible ears and limp tail didn't express anything, but I could still see from his stupid prong face that he was disappointed. I thought about what might happen if I showed up at the address - what CT would say about this azdov uniform I was wearing.

I looked down at my badge. "Eijent Washing'tn, Anti-terrorist, Azdov Mandate of Chupastan." CT would punch me. No, CT would kill me. I was a different person. It was all just so... sad. I had already made my case to them, many times. It got worse each time.

I watched T'muron walk away. I didn't say anything. I still had the address, though. I placed it in my pocket. I took a deep breath. I mentally threw away the idea of ever being loved again and shifted my efforts back to my job.

An azdov soldier poked a large fat male light indigo chupa with the barrel of their plaser, coercing them to stand in front of my booth. "That's enough," I told the soldier, I then turned to the round chupa with the messy brown mullet and said, "Papers please".

"Alright! Alright!" the fellow chupa hissed, before handing over documents."Dareck Daryl Timber? It says you're from Border-Wortistan? How did you get past the BW DMZ?" I asked calmly.

"I was... away from home when the DMZ was set up. I live in Wortistan-Proper now," he explained. His breath was putrid.

I recoiled and then said "W-well. Why haven't you updated your documents?"

"The war ended a year ago, and things have been chaotic. Forgive me for having pre-azdov documents," he huffed.

"Fine, but we're going to scan you inside and out. Blue supremacism is over," I asserted.

Dareck gave a sour face and snorted. "The plight of the Border-Worti blues predates the Omegan holy wars," he said.

"Okay, nerd hick," I quipped at Dareck. "Guards, interrogate him with the pump!"

"OH NO! YOU'RE JUDGING ME LIKE SOME SORT OF BIG EVIL SMELLY CRIMINAL USING THE PUMP!?" Dareck shouted while... blushing.

"Just... get him away from me, please. Don't hurt him," I sighed.

"Yessir, Mr. Washing'tn!" the azdov soldier said in Chesmian Azdov.

Once the plump, offensive blue was removed from my sight, I was alone with my thoughts again. I didn't feel like myself anymore. If I live to see these last Omegite groups stamped out, I'll have no more purpose... I might call it quits.

Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth. Halo © 343 Industries. Concept by Myshu, assisted by The Department of Chupapology.