Author: I'm happy to announce the third chapter of my story, Hunted! So, please read and review!
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN Red vs Blue. If I did... there would be a lot of more hurt/comfort stuff. o-o
Warning: VIOLENCE, GORE, LANGUAGE, POSSIBLE SEXUAL SITUATIONS, AND OTHER SUCH STUFF! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR POSSIBLE SCARRING OF THE MIND OR ADDICTION! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Hunted
Ch 3: Another Attack
Simmons had spent hours shifting through terra byte after terra byte of useless information on the main computer he had found. His helmet lay discarded by his feet, softly reflecting the blaring light of the huge console. Simmons groaned, hanging his head in exasperation for the millionth time. Before him on the computer was a variety of animals that supposedly inhabited Valhalla, but none were big enough to inflict such damage on Caboose! Well, except for some sort of whale looking thing, but that lived out in the ocean. It was impossible for it to even get on land, much less hurt Caboose and hardly leave a trace otherwise. Simmons rubbed his face, hands running over the cybernetic left eye he bore. He could feel the plate of surrounding metal run down his cheek, and reaching back into his soft brown hair. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the computer, and grimaced. One dark green eye stared back at him, contrasting with the neon red one in his skull. He traced the thin scars that peeked out from the metal plate, hardly distinguishable from his already pasty skin. Freckles dotted his nose, splaying onto his high cheek bones. His fingers trailed from his face, down his neck, and resting on his left shoulder. He could feel the soft whir of the gears beneath his armor, the gears and cogs always spinning around till it drove Simmons crazy. He briefly recalled the day when Grif had been run over with the Blue's tank. He remembered Sarge contemplating that he would just let Grif die, to spend his last moments in pain. And then his memory became blurry. Simmons vaguely recalled that he had practically begged for Sarge to somehow save Grif, even offering to give the stupid orange soldier his own body parts just to save him. The next thing that Simmons knew, he was strapped to a table with Sarge leering over him, visor reflecting back the terrified visage of Simmons. The maroon soldier clenched his metal arm tightly, feeling the well polished prosthetic creak beneath his grip, the memory of his pained scream filling his mind.
"Hey brainiac, you got anything?" Grif's voice, suddenly in his ears, yanked Simmons out of his reverie. The orange soldier had a hand firmly grasping Simmons real shoulder, slightly shaking it. Simmons turned sharply to be met with curious brown eyes. Grif had discarded his own helmet as well apparently, and was standing close to his team mate. Simmons felt his chest twinge with guilt as he saw the long puckered scars running over Grif's once surprisingly handsome face. His warm brown skin was contorted and had strange patches of lighter colored skin. Grif's Hawaiian background had been marred by Simmons 'donations', yet it was not totally lost. Grif still had silky black hair, which he had let grow out until his reached past his ears. Simmons had to control himself from snapping at Grif to push his hair back. It was distracting when a lock of it hung in Grif's line of sight, begging to be tucked behind one ear...
"U-uh, nothing. There isn't anything big enough to even do a quarter of the damage to Caboose." Simmons said, recovering from his momentary day dream. Grif frowned, glancing at the computer screen. His eyes returned to Simmons, and his brow creased even further.
"Hey, you okay man? You look pastier than usual." Grif asked, looking somewhat concerned. Simmons scowled and pushed Grif away. He was in no mood for insults and name calling!
"Fuck off, I'm busy." Simmons snapped, hunching over the computer with a huff.
"You sure as hell don't look busy!" Grif shot back, grabbing Simmons arm tightly. Just as Simmons opened his mouth to cuss out the orange Spartan, he was turned around sharply to face a glaring Grif. The Hawaiian pushed Simmons into the console, successfully cornering the maroon soldier. Grif planted his hands on either side of Simmons, ensuring he wouldn't get away easily. Simmons tried to wiggle his way out, scowling at Grif.
"Let me go you fat ass!" Simmons barked, more than just a little uncomfortable with his current position.
"No." Simmons stopped for a moment to glare daggers at his fellow Spartan, lip curling in a nasty way.
"I said-"
"Just shut up!" Grif barked back, refusing to move. Simmons could feel his resolve waver, taken back by how forceful Grif was being. Usually, the orange soldier was far too lazy to even think about taking charge!
"Why the fuck can't we ever get along? Lemme guess, because you want to suck up to Sarge and get the attention daddy never gave you? Well, that's a shitty excuse to treat your team mate like dirt! Don't I get enough shit from Sarge?" Grif demanded, his brown eyes boring into Simmons mismatched ones. The maroon soldier quailed, finding that what little fight he'd had in him was rapidly evaporating. It was true that he pushed his need for a father figure onto Sarge, trying to please him and get the praise he so desperately craved. Simmons gulped, looking down out of shame and guilt.
"Look, I-"
"Am I interrupting?" A voice asked from the doorway, sounding quite amused. The two men jumped a foot in the air, scrambling away from each other. Simmons dived for his helmet, jamming it onto his head to hide the embarrassed look on his face and the quickly blooming red on his pasty skin.
Mitch stood in the doorway, helmet under her arm. She wore a wide grin on her face, white washed blue eyes alight with mirth. She had a oval shaped face, bordered by locks of chocolate brown hair that hung loosely. The hair in back was shorter, not even teaching her ears while the front sloped forward to hang around her face. Her bangs were an unruly mess, most likely from her helmet.
Neither man responded, too busy trying to ignore how compromising they had looked before Mitch walked in. The medic only grinned and walked over to Grif, who was trying to hide his face beneath his helmet like Simmons.
"Oh, lighten up pretty boy! Y'know, sexual tension is a terrible thing between team mates!" She chirped, slapping the orange Spartan's shoulder heartily.
"What the fuck do you want?" Grif spat, finally affixing his helmet in place with a disgruntled huff.
"I wanted to ask who or what Church is. Caboose keeps whispering his name. If I know what he's talking about, perhaps I could determine his mental state beyond just raving mad." Mitch explained. Grif sighed, motioning that Mitch should walk alongside him. Once they were out in the hall, and out if earshot if Simmons, the orange soldier began to talk.
"Church was the Blue teams leader, erm, sorta. I heard their actual commander died of some allergy or other shit. But Church acted like the leader, and Caboose really liked him. Kinda obsessed with him really." Grif explained, while Mitch nodded. Sh held her chin between her thumb and forefinger, a thoughtful look on her face.
"Alright. That gives me a little to work with." Mitch said. The medic stopped suddenly, and wrapped an arm around Grif's shoulder, surprisingly strong. She grinned broadly, keeping him in place.
"You should really hook up with that Simmons guy. I think it would make working together muuuuuuuuuch more comfortable!" She said with a wink. With a laugh at Grif's flustered silence, Mitch waved at him and walked away.
~At Red base...~
Sarge grumbled under his breath, pacing around his room. Neither Simmons or Grif had come back to Red base for hours, leading Sarge to suspect that they were both screwing off around somewhere.
"Dammit! I'm gonna have to find both those morons and drag 'em back here for a good thrashin'!" Sarge groused, stomping towards the base entrance.
BOOOOOOOOOM!
The base rocked with the fierce force of an explosion, sending Sarge to the ground with a surprised shout. The lights flickered on and off at a dizzying pace, casting contorted shadows around the room. Sarge couldn't make heads or tails of his surroundings as he struggled to his feet. With a final spastic hiccup, the lights went out. The Red Spartan was left in total darkness, only able to see a foot in front of him.
"Goddammit, Grif probably spilled soda on the controls again. Simmons! Simmons get over...oh." Sarge said, realizing once again that he was alone.
"Son of a bitch!" He cursed, trudging along.
"Lopez! Lopez, where are ya', ya' Spanish speaking kook?" Sarge yelled as he stomped through the base, his mood now diminished to downright annoyance and anger.
As Sarge passed another empty room, he felt something brush by him. The Red leader turned sharply, lifting up his shotgun. He saw no movement in the pitch black jungle that had taken over Red base, did not even see the piercing reflection of two slitted eyes. They were like white ellipses, cutting through the darkness like neon lights. Sensing nothing, Sarge only grunted and walked on, leaving himself open from behind. A light suddenly flickered to life, popping like a fuse beginning to short. Sarge whirled around in time to see the end of a whip like object disappear around the corner. It had been long, and covered in black leathery skin with protruding bones that was stark in the harsh light. As the light bulb sputtered and once again died, Sarge slowly began to creep forward. His shotgun was raised and at the ready, finger steadily hovering above the trigger. He closed the distance between himself and the corner inch by inch, his breathing held in anticipation. Sarge's adept ears searched for any flutter of movement, eyes straining in the pitch darkness of the base. Slowly, the barrel of his shotgun rounded the corner, head craning to get a peek at whatever had been creeping through his base. It was silent, and still. No breath escaped into the very ai-
"SON OF A BITCH!" Sarge shouted as he felt his shotgun ripped from his gloved hands, stumbling back around the corner. He heard it clatter against the ground, scraping against the rough concrete. Sarge could feel something cold settle in the put of his stomach, a chill working its way up his spine. Sarge had never felt such fear in years... The kind that paralyzed a person in place and froze their lungs. With a shuddering breath, Sarge slowly peeked around the corner...
"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRGGGGGGGHHH!"
Author: Wheee! Another chapter done! I'm on a roll! Okay, so I know my loyal watchers and followers are out there, so please review! Leave your comments and such! And even if you aren't one of my followers, still leave a review please! All reviews are appreciated and LOVED!
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