Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim ownership of "Red vs Blue", the series belongs to the creative group Roosterteeth. I am in no way making profit from this story. I am only doing this for shits and giggles.

A/N: I can not stress enough how much I want to get the characterizations right. If the characters feel OOC please let me know!

"Son of a bitch," Lavernius Tucker yelled as he dived behind a large piece of debris to dodge the flurry of bullets.

"Simmons, what are you doing?!"

"Sorry sir, the bastard just won't stay still," the younger man explained to his greying leader.

"Well, I'd rather you shoot Grif than waste bullets missing our enemy!"

Tucker dared to look over his shield at the maniacs. It had been a crazy, stupid plan that had popped into his head earlier today. Before things had gone to hell in the Blood Gulch settlement there was a market store, which was left untouched by the carnage. None of the other civilians ever went there, too afraid that they'd run into each other and someone would get killed. Tucker and his son had watched it from afar for a few days. All that food and medicine and other supplies going to waste.

Just two days ago Tucker had described it as "Easy pickings" to himself. He ran in, loaded as much as he could into his bag, and ran back to his house. The house he and Junior had been forced to move into just a few months ago. The house that had miraculously survived the bombs that dropped from the sky, just like the market. He really had been lucky. He had swiped enough supplies to keep him and his son alive for awhile, but then he got cocky, not realizing someone could have moved in with that one day of absence. Adding the fact that Lady Luck is complete bitch, it of course turned out that a band of three trigger happy morons just happened to claim the market as their home base.

Tucker had snuck through the back and grabbed some more stuff, only for the fat one in the orange shirt to see him. Then there was bullets, lots of bullets, and running… lots of running. Towards his house. Towards his house where his one year old, half-alien son was hidden with three whack-jobs after him. Sure Junior's particular species developed past infancy faster than humans but Junior was small, and he stood no chance against these fucktards if something happened to Tucker himself. And boy did Tucker feel like a massive dumbass for leading them this close. He felt a wave of relief when the fat one started talking.

"Look, we chased the little bastard, and he got away. Why don't we give up, and go home? Nobody can blame us."

Then the leader spoke and that relief was squashed, "It's that kind of attitude that'll make you starve! Which sounds alright at first, but then that implies I'll starve too!"

"So…" Simmons started, "We're gonna keep looking for him?"

"That's right!"

Tucker banged his head against the piece of fallen concrete. He looked around, trying to find an escape route when he noticed it. A searing pain had attached itself to him. His eyes darted downward and he saw a small puddle of blood forming on the ground. Lifting his now torn shirt up he looked down at the wound that had taken residence on his dark skin. One of the bullets had just grazed the dark skin of Tucker's torso. Nothing fatal… yet. The two younger members of the group began talking as they fakely searched for Tucker

"Hey, Grif."

"Yeah?"

"Why are we here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, we're chasing this guy down, right? But he just took some food, Perishable food, and he's probably just as desperate as us."

"Yeah, and?"

"Well… it's just… If some little kids snuck in for food… are we going to be shooting at them too?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Then why did we just run halfway across town after this guy?"

"Hey man, desperate times call for desperate measures. I might not be willing to shoot a kid but - Son of a bitch!"

Both Simmons and Tucker echoed his sentiment in unison, "Son of a bitch!

Both his pursuers and Tucker himself fell to the ground as bullets flew through the air. Tucker looked around desperately trying to figure out where the gunman could be, fearfully wondering if his cover was even cover anymore. Just when he was about to give up hope an intercom from a nearby warehouse buzzed to life.

"Hey, League of Menstrual Cockmunches! Get the fuck out of my territory!"

The leader spoke up, "Or what, you soon to be blue corpse!?"

"How 'bout a few rounds of led up the ass!"

Tucker couldn't help himself and shouted, "Bow Chicka Bow Wow!"

Grif groaned in frustration, "The bastard was over there this whole time!?"

"C'mon you hiding coward! What'll you do?"

Simmons spoke up then, "Uh… Sarge, I don't think yelling at the guy with a sniper rifle is a good idea."

The older man huffed, "That's actually a valid point, Simmons. Retreat!"

Tucker let out a sigh of relief as he watched the maniacs run off. That is until the voice on the intercom shouted at him as well.

"That includes the fucker with the satchel," announced the sniper as more bullets flew through the air.

Tucker knew when he wasn't wanted. Clutching at his wound he ran towards the direction of his house.