Chapter 1: Drunkards and Pyromaniacs
Kevin Olsen was slumped at the bar counter, taking a lazy swig every now and then. The booze tasted like mouldy boots, but it was the best he could expect from here. It wasn't the best place, with drunken crew members drooling over the place like dogs and stools haphazardly repaired at least thrice, but it was the only one the Avenger had. Normally, he didn't come here, but he had received a message from the commander instructing him to wait here, of which he had to begrudgingly obey.
A woman walked in and was unceremoniously knocked over by a drunkard before a full foot in. Her response, via an uppercut, knocked him flat out, and his buddies returned the favour via an elbow drop. He wiped off a couple of wooden splinters off his short blond, hair, straightened his aviators, and continued to drink while watching the show.
After what felt like an hour, the woman emerged from the fight victorious. She straightened her sunglasses, put her cap back on, and staggered towards him and sat on down. Opening her mouth in a slurred Australian accent, her breath reeking of alcohol, she burped out, "You 'ere on the commander's orders too?"
Yawning, she signalled the bartender for another cup of the stuff before taking a big ol' gulp of it.
"Yeah, you too?" Kevin responded. Deciding he'd had enough of his drink, he planted it.
"I am, and don't waste the good shit, mate!. I could've drunk that!" She laughed a bit. "You reckon he just wanted you and me 'ere?"
Shrugging, he answered. "I don't know. Guess we have to wait. And by the way you… have a..."
He pointed at a massive bruise that was across her face. It looked like someone splashed some yellow and brown paint all over her.
"Oh, don't mind that." She rubbed the bruise. "Get one daily in this place."
The bar felt quite quiet all of a sudden, despite the fact that drunken mumblings could be heard along with the whirring engines.
"So, I'm Ciara Foster, callsign Ozzie, and I would be here any other day of the week." She wiped her mouth, which had a bit of beer dribbling off it. "And you?"
"Kevin Olsen, callsign Butcher. Momma's boy. Ranger. Ladykiller. Probably heard of me?"
"Nah, I haven't."
"Oh."
The rest of the wait was slightly awkward. Ciara was making a pile of empty cups beside her.
Almost 5 excruciating minutes passed, interrupted only by the sound of chattering. Kevin was almost thankful when he heard a door being kicked open.
A Latina woman with glasses and a burn scar on the right of her face walked in. Her hair was a dark brown, almost black even, with half of it shaved and the other half swooping off the right of her head. She was playing with a lighter, igniting it and extinguishing it with a smile on her face. The sight made the others uneasy.
"Hello, hello!" She shouted. "Where the heck are the other people sent here by mister commander?"
A response was given by a few grumbles from those with early hangovers, and a few points towards the bar. The woman picked up a stool, walked on over to the bar, and threw it onto the floor with a loud thud. Half a leg on the chair snapped off and hit the floor, and was met with an "oi!" from the bartender, to whom she responded with apologetically ordering a cup of water.
"I, my friends, am Patricia fricking Martinez!" Her voice was very childlike. "I like fire, hate silence, and my callsign is Thumper!"
A bit taken aback by her blunt greeting, the other 2 responded with their names and callsigns. They had heard of someone called Thumper who was sent to therapy for her pyromania. There was a rumour that she set fire to half of the Avenger's fuel supply because 'The green flames were pretty'.
"So, what do you think mister commander has planned for us?" Patricia wondered. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I bet he's going to make us test out the new WAR suits!"
"Yeah, I doubt it." Kevin suddenly remembered that one time he almost killed someone with the Spider suit's grappling hook. He's surprised they kept their larynx intact.
"Same 'ere. Once almost killed a bloke with the E.X.O suit when it was in testing. I'm not allowed near the proving grounds ever again." Ciara finished her 8th cup and
"Well, I hope that if we do, I get to use the new flamethrower!" A childlike glimmer could be seen in Patricia's eyes, much like an 8-year-old promised with a bag of sweets. "My therapist said if I'm good, she'll ask the commander if I could use it when next deployed!"
Kevin lacked the heart to tell her how unlikely that was.
An hour passed by as they debated what they would be doing, eventually reaching the idea of them testing a new device. Kevin suggested a new kind of weapon, whereas Ciara suggested an experimental type of ammo.
This continued until they noticed a half Asian, half African woman wearing some worn out headphones trying not to doze off sitting next to a middle eastern guy who was fast asleep, wearing some earbuds himself. His glasses were sliding off his head with every snore, whilst his cap was leaning slightly to the left. All of a sudden, he snapped back awake.
"God, I hate that falling feeling where it's like you're falling." He muttered.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah." She responded in a Scottish accent.
She rubbed her eyes, visibly tired.
"When do you think the Commander's going to get here? I need to sleep."
"I don't know."
Ciara piped up, her voice slurred more than before; "We don't fuckin' know either, mate."
A brief silence filled the room.
"Hey, aren't you the guy who almost destroyed my larynx?" the middle eastern man prodded.
Uneasily, Kevin chuckled. "Yeah, sorry for that.", he muttered as he rubbed the back of his head, feeling pretty guilty. "Never got to apologise for, uh, that."
"It's fine. I got a decent night's sleep after that." He stretched his arms a bit. "So, I guess you're also waiting for the commander, right?"
"Yup!" Patricia piped in.
"Well, I hope he comes pretty soon. I've got to get to bed at 12:00 AM at the latest. It's about... 11:34 PM." Replied the Scottish woman, stacking Ciara's used cups. "I am Waseme Buthelezi, and my callsign is Genius."
"I'm Trevor Priston, AKA Longshot. And just so you know, I hate loud noises."
"Really?" Patricia knocked her cup off the table, followed by a loud shatter. She cupped her mouth, realising her mistake.
"Yeah, I do." Responded Trevor, wincing slightly and covering his ears. "Please, don't do that." He was noticeably a bit ticked off. "Like, ever again."
"Sorry!" Patricia, noticeably a bit displeased, flickered her lighter on and off a bit more rapidly.
They nattered on for a bit, and within 5 minutes the bar door swung open. A man wearing a black balaclava, goggles, and a slightly dusty suit with a red tie. Everyone looked towards his direction, as he spoke in a cool, calculated voice;
"Everyone who wasn't instructed to come here today, please leave the bar."
Everyone, including the bartender, left for their quarters. People who had passed out were dragged out by their friends.
"Butcher, Ozzie, Thumper, Genius and Longshot. You 5 troops are the best of your classes. I, the commander, have decided that you 5 will be the head figures of the resistance. Tomorrow, you will go in your first mission together. Even though you have all just met, I know personally that bonds are best formed in the battlefield. I also apologise for the long wait, I had to deal with a fire in the hallways." He looked at Patricia. She shifted guiltily. "Any questions?"
They remained fairly silent; the commander had answered most of their questions already.
"Good, and by the way, you will all share a new bunk together in 2 days. Good night."
The five finished their drinks and had a small conversation regarding the following day.
"Well," Ciara slurred, "I think I'm done with this place for tonight. Ima go to me bunk..." She wonkily stood up and stumbled. Waseme ran to her and supported her on her shoulders.
"Woah, there! Someone has to help you to your room." Said Waseme.
"Nah, nah, I'm good, I do this daily." Ciara tried pushing her away, barely lifting her arms.
"No, you need some help. Plus, it's 11:49. I've gotta get to sleep soon."
"Welp, if you're going, I'm going. Peace, yall." Responded Trevor. He got to his feet and put his earbuds back in.
The three left the bar, with the sound of Ciara's drunken singing echoing through the corridors. Patricia and Kevin were the only people left in the bar.
"So, Whaddya think we're gonna do tomorrow?" asked Patricia.
"Well, I think it'll probably be something simple. I doubt they'd yeet us into the deep end on the first mission together."
"Maybe, but I dunno. I just hope I'm allowed to plant the X4 if we blow up anything!"
"Yeah. I figured you're a bit of a pyromaniac?"
"Yuppers!"
"Hmm." Kevin felt curious. "Why's that?"
Patricia took out her lighter again and flicked it on. Her face suddenly turned to a dark and serious expression.
"Fire is warm, makes me feel safe, protects me, kept me alive in the past."
Kevin was a bit unsettled, but before he could respond, a bell rang, signalling it was time for people to return to their quarters.
"Erm, it was, well, nice talking to you." Kevin got up and started making his way on out.
"It was nice talking to you too!" Patricia called out, back to her "regular" self.
Each departed to their quarters, eager for the next day.
(Thanks for reading the first chapter of my story! Also, thanks to Aux and Kiri for helping me write this!)