Disclaimer: Don't own and never will.
AN: Short piece set during the level Underground in Red Faction II, when Alias enters the derelict station.
Thomas Grey was not really surprised when he saw a man in red body armour emerge from the train tunnel. In fact, he was pretty sure he had been expecting someone to come through tonight. Or was it yesterday? He really couldn't tell down here in the boarded up old train station. Something about not slowing down the trains to stop here. Or maybe it was because it was too expensive to re-furbish the place. He honestly couldn't remember, but the trains didn't seem to be going faster, so maybe it was the second reason.
Of course, trains were sneaky buggers anyway. They were probably dilly-dallying around to make extra money or just try to catch someone unawares. That would be just like them in his opinion.
"Sopot says mind the tracks, mind the tracks. Don't mind me, I MIND THE TRACKS!" he shouted as he saw the man in red notice him. He could feel him looking at him, practically telling him the same thing the blasted voice from above used to say. The man said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow, a guilty expression if you asked Thomas, pretending not to know exactly what he was saying with his eyes. Or was it mind? He really couldn't remember that either. One too many lapses, that was why he had to leave the army, just like that one.
The man in red drew out a couple of CMP-32 submachine guns and stood uncertainly at the entrance to the station. His breathing was heavy and his eyes seemed wide. The spider bombs went haywire, letting out their screeches as they ran to attack and the man's guns chattered into life. Thomas didn't understand why the man simply didn't move. Maybe he was lost? Fortunately Thomas knew just how to help him.
"Don't you know where to go you silly man? It's in the bathroom, it's in the can!" he shouted at him and he watched the man in red ran into the station. It felt good to help others, it really did, he thought to himself as he leaned back and made himself comfortable, even as the man's guns chattered into life and the spider bombs screeched and chattered and exploded. It was, in his opinion, his good deed for the day.