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The small reflection of his armour's lights was enough to catch Washington's eye and stop him dead in his tracks. Even with the Meta gone for now, having been sent out to find food, he had every reason to be on high alert: this was the Meta's old hideout, so he had to assume there could be any number of traps or dangers with every step.
After nothing else happened, Washington lowered his rifle, moving his head just slightly to manipulate the light of his helmet and locate the source of the reflection. A small, relatively hidden alcove in the cave wall seemed to hold a number of dulled but reflective items. It was strange to have found anything this far into the cave system, Washington considered, but also made a certain degree of sense; if he were to hide any weapon supplies, he'd want to make them more difficult to find than a simple sweep would uncover. He was cautious in his approach.
As he approached, the flashlight from his helmet illuminates the small pocket and its contents, and Washington once again finds himself frozen where he stands, this time for a very different reason.
Months worth of dust mutes the light reflecting off everything, the varying thickness of it across the scene telling its own story. Smooth rocks pile up around the edges with no obvious pattern or reason, and form small, miniature, cairn-like structures. Other items fill the gaps between them, but Washington's eye is drawn by the dull metal oblongs topping each of the piles.
He's not sure what compels him to do so, but Washington reaches forwards to touch one. He gently picks it up, the beaded metal chain attached clinking against the rocks as it trails behind, and he wipes the flat surface with the thumb of his glove. Most of it remains obscured by the dust and dirt, but he sees all he needs to.
"--GINALD A.
AGENT WYOMING
PROJECT: FR--"
Eyes widen for a moment behind his visor before darting to look at another from a different pile of stones. The dirt is far more stubborn on this one, and the thought of it being dried blood sits uncomfortable in the forefront of Washington's mind as he reads what letters he can.
"--RTH DAKOT--
--T: FREEL--"
The thought quickly writhes and boils into a sour bitterness. Disgusting. The monster not only killed -or at the very least looted their remains, but now it hoards their identities-- like trophies? He checks the others - York and South are there too. Even Texas and-- Washington goes to grab the final set of tags, having already replaced the others, but pauses - something else catches his attention… a hint of yellow uncovered from the countless layers of dirt and dust betrays the identity of one of the mismatched items between the small cairns: a small, mostly melted, rubber duck..? He frowns, then notices the mostly broken comb leaning against the first cairn.
His hand slowly returns to his rifle as he tilts his head to examine the scene again. He studies the arrangement, the.. prominence of the stone structures, and how they each showed their own set of tags. Including one, right at the back, far smaller than the rest and with duller, less carefully chosen rocks, for Maine.
This wasn't a trophy display.
This was a memorial.
---
Loud shuffling and the stomping of boots announces the Meta's return to the hideout, bringing Washington out from the deeper levels of the complex to meet with them.
"So? Report." He stands in the entryway of the main 'room' where they'd set up their fire. The Meta, now sat down in front of a small pile of collected items, growls and gestures at its gains: Three smooth, shiny rocks; a handful of berries which may or may not be poisonous; three stoat-like animals; the mangled and slightly frozen remains of something akin to a deer; and a collection of what looks like weapon parts. Washington steps closer, his rifle only loosely aimed at the Meta, to get a better look at the loot.
"Half of that isn't food, Meta." Washington receives an indignant huff and a shrug from the giant. He frowns. Childish, even for Ma-- Even for the Meta. "Well, if you want to eat this," He points the rifle at the pile of mechanical parts, "then be my guest. Now move."
The Meta shuffles back with a disgruntled grumble, evidently still somewhat displeased at getting pushed around so much. Washington considers that if it didn't want to be treated like an untrustworthy dog, then maybe it should act less like one. The Meta just wants to eat and go to bed.
They eat, and Washington takes first watch.
When the Meta wakes up to take over, it's initially unclear if Washington is even still there. The dim light provided by the fading embers does little to illuminate the room, not that the Meta needs any light to don their armour. It's only after the golden dome slips back on over their head that Washington makes himself known.
"I found some potential supplies. You should look them over for anything useful." Maine had always been better with engineering, and if the Meta's armour adaptations was anything to go by, Washington assumes it had kept that eye for it, even after everything. "I'll take over again at 0400."
Washington slept in his armour again.
The pile of supplies were mostly useful, and were added to the other pile (which despite what Washington had seemed to think, were intended as engineering supplies), all except a small, beaded chain with two flat oblongs attached.
Meta isn't entirely sure what it is, or even what it's for, but it seems incredibly out of place compared to the other objects and items that Washington had collected. Vague, foggy memories flit out of the static mess of their mind: there were multiple. They had meaning, and despite the inscription on this one not making much sense to them anymore… they're glad to have it back.
They decide to keep it.