10 June 2015,

Undisclosed Location,

Middle East,

1st. Marine Raider Battalion,

Scalpel Team.

Dust. All I could see for miles was dust. With the occasional rock. Probably a haji hiding behind that one. Or that one? I stared off into space as we tore up dirt, headed back to FOB Phoenix.

"All I'm sayin' if you're gonna make sushi, you gotta do that shit right." Sullivan flapped his face as the MRAP hit a bump. "If you don't prepare the fish just right, you can get parasites!"

Our Master Sergeant just grinned. "Yeah? Parasites? You mean like your ugly ass?" MSgt. Marvin asked Sully. "Jesus Christ. I'm never gonna eat sushi again if eating it means I get more of you!"

Sully looked offended. "Fuck off asshole. You're just jealous of my charming personality!"

"Charming is a strong word Sully." 1st. Lt. Gavin Watkins muttered as he studied the map next to Sullivan. "You did kind of fuck our relations with that last village in the ass."

"It was not my fault that they can't cook normal food! The least they could do is not serve me the goat that Mohammed was fucking two hours prior." Sullivan defended.

I looked down at the idiot from my position on the turret, behind the .50 Cal. "You fuck nuts! All the goats look the same you dingus!" I said to him. He just gave me his stupid grin. I fucking hate that grin. Makes him look like a retarded walrus...with an asshole for a face.

"How do you expect me to take the risk of ingesting goat-fucker-jizz?" He asked. I actually couldn't argue with that. Fucking goat raping faggots. Their whole fucking sexuality was on crack. Apparently, in Muslim society, it's not okay to fuck a woman unless she didn't want you to, in which case it would be totally fine. And the raping of goats was encouraged. I actually felt bad for the poor beasts. It would suck to be born a goat here in Afghanistan. Shit. Man. Dark thoughts. I pulled out my porno mag from my vest, and flipped through a few pages. Not enough to get hard, but enough to pull my mind from the dark thoughts. I looked back down at the guys to see Sullivan doing something stupid, Marvin trying not to crack up, and Watkins borderline having an aneurysm. "You okay Watt?" I asked. He nodded.

"How in the fuck did we get stuck with this disaster of a human being?" He asked me, pointing at Sully. I just laughed.

"You can blame General Frost. Apparently he handpicked this fuckup for Raider Training." I replied, letting myself down from the turret. Yeah, it goes against everything sane. Who the fuck cares. If i'm gonna die, then I'm dead.

"Yeah, about that. How did a disaster like you get the attention of Frosty the Snowkiller in a good way?" Watkins asked, looking at the idiot closely.

Sully just grinned. "You mean you dudes don't know?" he said stupidly. I really wanted to hurt him in that moment. Until I realized. With fucktards like Sully, you gotta be nice. Pretend that you are their best friend. They'll tell you everything. Then you can smoke the shit out of them.

"Sully, man. Seriously. What's the secret though?" I said as I pulled out a packet of jalapeno cheese spread from my pocket, waving it in the air next to him. "If you tell me man, I'll give you this little fucker right here."

Sully grinned wider. "Legit, i'm not lying. Everything about to come out of my mouth is the gospel truth." He said. "I swear on my Mother's Royal Crown."

Marvin interrupted him. "The only thing your mom was queen of was my dick!. Anyways, go ahead."

Sully flipped him off as we laughed. "I'll bet your mom was louder when I fucked her you asshat. And the story is, I happened to be carrying a rubber chicken around back when I was in Maintenance. The little fucker makes a nice canteen. Anyways, I bumped into Frost on the way back from the motor pool. He was looking for a squirt gun or something. I offered up Frankie. Anywho, we got out to a bunch of Forecon Marines, and Frost and this one dude, filled Frankie up with gasoline, sprayed that shit, and lit the stream on fire. They were trying to kill a nest of Camel Spiders. Legit, fire breathing chicken." He finished. We all looked at him silently for about a minute. Finally, Watkins spoke.

"Sully, are you autistic?" He asked. In all honesty, I don't think Watkins was being funny.

Sullivan, to his credit, didn't go nuts defending himself, which made it a bit more believable. The General was off his rocker crazy. But flaming rubber chicken of doom? A bit too much. As I was thinking, Sully stole the Cheese spread from me, and enjoyed his spoils of conquest. Eh, I can't say shit to him. I did promise I would give it to him. I sighed as I got back up into the turret. I couldn't wait to get back to Phoenix. Long hot showers, nice soft racks. Christ. I need that shit. I once again sighed as I got comfortable in the turret.

A/N: Sup people. This is the backstory for my OC, which appears in E-Tacito's "Fireteam of Idiots on Remnant". It has truly been an honor to work with him, and I look forward to working with him more. This story is gonna cover some dark shit. It's about the life of a Marine Special Forces Operator. Shit's gonna get sketchy. Therefore, unless you are a combat vet, or hold any one 03XX or infantry MOS, you can't say shit about this story's content. I am open to grammar and spelling pointers, but if you wanna pull an SJW or something on me and expect your opinion to win, I got news for you. That's not how the real world works. Enjoy the chaos.

Have an absolutely fucking awesome day.

Raider out.