Author's Note: This follows my short story "How To Slaughter Greenshirts Without Really Trying", so it's best if you read that first.
---
A Greenshirt's Guide To G.I. Joe Life By J.T. Magnus, "Turbo"
Part Nineteen: Incoming Fire
---
Scarlett was walking down the hall with her iced tea in hand, glad to be finally free of Sgt. Slaughter running the Pit like a Slaughterhouse as he had the past week when a shot sounded out of nowhere and the wall in front of her was suddenly turned a shocking shade of pink by the impact of the projectile.
"Sorry, Shana!" Sci-Fi shouted, paintball gun in hand, "I was aiming for the wrestler."
The Atlanta-born redhead nodded, "Carry on, Sea."
Sci-Fi nodded back and turned down the hallway that the drill instructor had taken.
"Come on, Sarge, a big bad Marine like you is afraid of a little paint?" He taunted Sgt. Slaughter, passing by Leatherneck and Wet-Suit in another one of their 'lively' discussions, this time over Misfits versus Holograms.
"You got a problem with Marines, Laser-Boy?" Leatherneck snapped, turning.
Sci-Fi leveled the paintball gun right at Leatherneck's mid-section and ran his free hand through his hair, "One Marine at the moment, but right now I have no problem about shooting a different one as a warm-up, Jarhead."
"Who are you calling a Jarhead, Lamebrain?"
Wet-Suit chuckled, "Hey, moron, you ARE a Jarhead."
"Shut up, Squid-boy," Leatherneck retorted, distracted from Sci-Fi by his favorite hobby - arguing with his friendly nemesis from the SEALs.
Sci-Fi shook his head as he continued down the hallway, gun in hand, those two were crazier than the detective and Mountie on that one tv show. Coming to an intersection, he slowed down as he heard movement, pressing himself against the wall...
"I've got you this time, you reject from a forest fire prevention ad..."
Drawing a bead on the hat-wearing figure, Sci-Fi fired...
"What the hell?" Wild Bill shouted, "Who's shooting at my best hat?"
Trying not to turn red in embarassment, Sci-Fi slipped away and promised silently to see about getting Wild Bill a new hat as he took a different route to follow Sgt. Slaughter. He had travelled along several corridors before he realized that he didn't know where his PT-obsessed target was. He did, however, know who would know.
"Sci-Fi to Sparks," Sci-Fi whispered into his Gauntlet.
"Talk to me, Sea," the team's chief-of-staff, operations officer, and general all around 'if something happens around here and I DON'T know about it, worry'-man answered.
"Where's the Sergeant DeSade?"
"Sergeant DeSade... Gonna have to remember that one, Sci-Fi," Sparks laughed, "Let me see... DIs... Ironhide, Beachhead...There he is, level three, looks like he's heading for his quarters."
"Think you could seal him out?"
"Well, actually..."
"Twenty-four pack of Canadian beer in it."
"...No problem," Sparks answered without missing a beat, "Consider him locked out."
"Good..." Sci-Fi said lowly, smiling evilly, "Good..."
It took Sci-Fi a few minutes, but he made it to the barracks part of level three. There he was, alternating between pounding on the door to his quarters and cursing Sparks over his Gauntlet, Sci-Fi looked again, this time he wasn't making a mistake. Carefully, he took aim and a paintball splattered dead-center on the Sarge's back.
Sci-Fi hadn't pulled the trigger yet...
---
Low-Light smirked, if his goggles hadn't been covering them, the satisfied look would have continued on up to his eyes. Any day where the target was hit and he was never seen was a good day for Cooper McBride...
---
Murphy's Law of Warfare: Incoming Fire Has The Right of Way