Washington's Journal -- Hours After 'The End'.

It’s strange, sitting here in the quiet after the storm. The final battle raged for such a short time, and yet, the flames are still being put out. We tried to reach them over our devices, but the comms never went through. We tried everything to contact them after we began flying up in the Pelican to extract them before things got worse. When we finally reached the ship, it was deserted. No Reds. No Blues. No Church. Just... the bodies of Hargrove's forces littered everywhere. I want to say they did it, they put up a good fight, but... 

I can’t stop going over it in my head. Did they make it out? Did they survive, or did something worse happen? I wish I had answers, but all I can do is sit here and hope—hope that they’re still out there somewhere. Hope that we’re not alone in this. I know the forces on the ground are celebrating what they think is a win, but here I am, cautiously optimistic. 

Carolina’s been as quiet as I am. Neither of us knows what to think yet. Everything we fought for, everything we lost, could mean nothing if we can’t find them. It feels wrong to leave them behind, but right now, that’s all we can do. We have to keep moving. That’s what we’ve always done.

Tomorrow, I’ll try again. We’ll search for them. For now, all I can do is breathe, hold onto the hope that we’ll find a way, and maybe—just maybe—have a chance to make sure none of this was for nothing. Even if we did save Chorus, celebrating would feel bittersweet without them. This was just as much our fight as it was theirs.