Chapter Text
“Tell me I’m not reading this right.” To Washington’s credit, his voice was almost calm. He prodded the offensive paragrah violently, looking Simmons straight into the visor. “Tell me I’m bleeding out in the snow as polar bears toss my dying carcass around for fun, and this is my dying nightmare.”
Simmons’ helmet didn’t move, but Grif could feel the glance his friend threw him; comes with knowing each other too long. Instantly picking up the cue, he folded his arms and stared the shaking freelancer down.
“Sorry, man. Karaoke nights are mandatory. No ifs, no buts.”
“We enclose the recordings with monthly reports," Simmons added gravely. “Apparently it’s been proven to improve the morale and help soldiers bond over shared humiliation. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be good at it, just… enthusiastic.” He sighed theatrically.
“Tomorrow’s Kanye night," Grif chimed in.
Washington looked from Grif to Simmons, back to Grif, then back to Simmons and at the rulebook in his hand, then into the abyss, searching desperately for a sign, any sign. The abyss stared back at him, and informed him soberly that yes, he could, in fact, believe that their orders would be that stupid. His consciousness dropped back into Valhalla; Grif ad Simmons were looking at him with polite interests, heads tilted, Grif’s hands clasped behind his back.
“It’s not like we like it, too," one of them assured him, nevermind which one, they were a two-headed monster as far as Wash cared, anyway. “But watcha gonna do, huh?” He nodded, than turned around and walked away, dropping the crumpled manual. He was too afraid to read any more of it, anyway.