YOU ARE IN: The Green Continuum, a sort of hybrid of Halo and Red vs Blue with some of my occasional brain-thoughts thrown in.
YOU ARE HERE: Several months after the end of RvB, over 800 years into the war with the Covenant if you're counting by that, in a canyon in Blood Gulch just to the north of the one occupied by the Red and Blue outposts.
WITH: The Green Army, the faction stuck fighting the Covenant while the Reds and Blues are busy fighting over... flags? Also, the only faction to still maintain a force of Spartans.

Now without further adieu:

Warzone is Serious Business!
An affectionate if insane nudge to the Halo/RvBverse by White Wolf Zita

Scott, more officially Yankee-016, was not quite sure what to expect from this assignment. The only thing the young Spartan knew was he was going to be separated from the rest of his unit for about a week or so to learn how to function on his own with ordinary soldiers if he had to. Already, Scott had some serious misgivings.

The first of these had come when he met the only officer in Omega Squadron, their sergeant. According to the limited intel Scott had been given, there were four soldiers in Omega Squadron along with one mercenary. The last he'd checked, which had been the minute he got the files, five people did not a squadron make. Even stranger, the sergeant had been under orders to stay aboard the ship Albatross since before Outpost Omega was even built, and nobody had thought to move her.

Scott met her when he himself was aboard the ship on its way to the outpost.

"Eh, this the Spartan?" was the response when he was introduced. It was kind of hard not to notice Spartans, even with a heavily pared down version of the MJOLNIR being standard issuef. It was mostly the size that did it. Even though Scott wasn't finished growing yet, he was expected to hit seven feet and had already cleared six by a good five inches. The armor made him look even bigger.

"Yes, he's your responsibility for a week," replied the lieutenant to Scott's left.

"Cool." The sergeant held out a white-gauntleted hand for Scott to shake. "Sergeant Wolf, Omega Squadron. Proud to have ya aboard, though I confess I don' know why we were selected."

"Yankee-016," Scott replied, "The pleasure is mine. I know less than you." It was true, Scott had been given astoundingly basic info about Omega Squadron or its outpost, he didn't even know where it was located. It was all part of teaching him to be ready for anything.

Wolf nodded absently.

"So, what exactly 'm I s'posed to do for him?" she asked the lieutenant. The man shrugged. Scott had by this point decided that Wolf and the lieutenant knew eachother quite well. He shuddered to consider the idea that this hideous informality was the norm around here.

"If Command's still not putting you planetside, it's probably just going to be your squadron showing him the ropes for a week. You just make sure he gets there."

Wolf snorted. "My squadron showin' a Spartan the ropes. Tha's a laugh or three." She looked back at Scott. "Soldier, before this even gets off the ground, I think it's my duty as a fellow human bein' to tell you that this next week of yer life will be a complete an' absolute waste a' your time."

"I have my orders," Scott replied flatly, rather taken aback by the nonchalance with which Wolf could scorn hers. The sergeant shrugged.

"Dun take me wrong, I do what I'm told. They didn' tell me I couldn' warn ya, though. Jes' believe you me, son, I'm havin' a hard time seein' a way that you're gonna come out a' this any smarter'n you are right now. Tha's all, can't say I didn' tell ya straight."

"I'll be advised, Sergeant," said Scott, though he was really starting to wonder exactly what he was in for. Conditions on this ship were not exactly up to code when compared to any other facility Scott had experienced in his life. (Although he himself would admit that life was so far very short and, in its own way, sheltered.)

Among the chief of the oddities was the captain. He was a nerve-wracked man in his mid to late thirties with only about sixty percent of his hair the acceptable regulation length, only half his face shaved, and a manic twitch that developed over his left eye whenever this was mentioned. To make matters worse his name was, in all complete honesty and official record, Eddie Eddy. If Scott was to believe what he had overheard during breakfast that morning, the poor man's middle name was also Edward.

Wolf, as she told Scott over mess a few days into the trip, felt bad for him.

"Poor old Cap'n, yeh seen 'im? (Scott nodded.) Unluckiest guy there ever was. 'Enever he gets round to tryin' to clean hisself up all sharp like we're s'posed ta, somethin' comes up about halfway through. Never fails. I been on this ship six years and he's never been clean shaven but twice. First time was the day I met 'im, day he got the ship as a matter a' fact."

"And the second time?" asked Scott, because he was curious.

Wolf shrugged. "Ever'body gets lucky sometimes, I guess. Even the cap'n."

I'm not the type to demand reviews, I write for my own amusement. They are, however, appreciated.
Just a reminder: This is NOT serious business. :D I reserve the right to be stupid. You've been warned, savvy?
(PS: If anyone's curious about the Greens, go poke around my DA account. (link in profile) There's a lot more stuff there.)

Thanks for the click!
-Zita