A/N: Hello and welcome to chapter 74. It's been this fucking long already. Feels like it was only last weekend. Goddamn, I'm a slacker.

*Chapter 74*

Once Reach had gotten Wash's toolbox out of the disgusting pig house that was called Grif and Simmons' shared room, he immediately made a beeline for the communications tower. If he had to spend one more minute inside Red Base, he was going to lose his shit. Simmons rocking back and forth in the corner in the fetal position was another reason. He didn't know and didn't want to know what drove him to this point. It was best for his sanity to pretend he didn't notice it.

Thankfully, he had someone bearable to talk to while he worked. Tucker was by no means a professor on deep space physics, but it was better than having the Reds with him. Good God, how did the team fell apart the minute he relinquished command? He figured he trained them better than this.

Maybe fucking off entirely and letting them walk on their own was a bad idea. They fell right back into the same bullshit they were doing in Blood Gulch. Standing around, talking, and complete and utter idiots. Carolina was right about one thing.

The Reds were a bunch of rag-tag idiots who couldn't be trusted to tie their shoelaces without adult supervision.

'I did not want to spend my retirement playing babysitter.' He rolled his eyes and tightened a few bolts into place, flicking the switch to see if they had finally gotten the power back on. "Everything going alright down there?"

"A bunch of shit sparked, so maybe you overdid it," Tucker called up. Goddammit. How was working on a Saber easier than fixing a fucking communications tower?

"Great." Reach sighed. "Alright, we'll swap the generator with something else. You have a spare one in Blue Base, right?"

"Yeah. Maine found one the other day. We're using to power the gravity lift," Tucker answered.

Wait, what?

"You mean to tell me that we're in a godforsaken jungle with limited food and dwindling supplies, and yet you happen to have a very advanced piece of modern technology installed in your shitty makeshift fort. What's next, you have an internet connection and decent music streaming?"

"Oh yeah. Hey Siri, play song, 'Dance Team'."

"Did you mean, Bomb Andy?"

"Oh you piece of shit," Tucker groaned.

"Calling Bomb Andy."

Tucker wisely shut it off before it could ring.

"You're hooked up to the ship," Reach deadpanned. "And thanks to it being a massive one, you're not at all worried about running out of power anytime soon." Wash had a good idea there. Using the wreck as a power supply could be used for many things, like charging up some of the shiny new toys South procured from the wreck. Such as a handheld railgun.

Reach didn't know who in the UNSC thought of that, but whoever it was deserved a beer. It was fucking brilliant. It was basically the human equivalent of a concussion rifle. Except it caused a lot more damage.

As in, "Alright, we're making sure the Reds never find out about these," levels of damage.

Look, their idea of construction work was stealing a tank and firing it at a wall. There was damn good reason to keep railguns away from them. Reach and the former Freelancers had points and it wasn't on their heads.

"Yep. So feel free to hook up and use as much as you like." Tucker shrugged. "I imagine you can think of a few things you'll need to power up. Who the hell came up with the idea of railguns, by the way? Because those are fucking awesome."

"No idea." Reach unscrewed the generator and slung it over his shoulder, descending from the top of the tower. "All I know is I want to get this swapped as soon as possible so I don't spend any more time on this rock than I have to."

The longer he stayed, the more irritated he became. For once in his goddamn life, he'd like for dead things to remain dead. God the universe was full of assholes who knew nothing apart from how to piss him off.

'Was it really too much to ask for a nice quiet retirement?' He let out an annoyed grunt and stalked over to Blue Base, Tucker following him. "Please for the love of God tell me that Wash actually went to get some sleep instead of shooting someone."

"He did. After swearing black and blue that he'd murder whoever was responsible for throwing toilet paper all over the base and throwing a coffee mug into the jungle out of anger," Tucker deadpanned. "Thank God it's not just me who notices how bad he looks. Dude needs to get laid and soon."

"You seriously think him having sex will make his life more tolerable?"

"Dude, when does having sex not make things better? It kept you from murdering every single one of us."

Okay, he had a point there.

"Point taken," Reach admitted. When he reached Blue Base, it was thankfully devoid of toilet paper. It was safe to assume that after Wash was done with his rant he cleaned up the base and then proceed to fall into hibernation. Poor bastard needed the sleep. Someone his age should not look that gaunt.

He approached the generator powering the gravity lift and shut it off before removing it. He had enough of random things powering down due to a yanked cord, thank you very much. Seriously, how does a cruiser shut down so quickly unless the main drive core was unplugged for some inexplicable reason?

'Sentenced to this shitty jungle by a clumsy idiot, a drunk, or someone thinking they're a funny guy.'

If this was some sort of lame idea of a practical joke, Reach didn't find it the slightest bit amusing. Jokes were funny. This was a shitstorm and he had an overwhelming urge to park his foot in someone's ass or punch them in the throat with his nice shiny artificial arm. Either one was fine with him. Or he'd just put a railgun in Tex's hands, point at whoever was responsible, and enjoy watching her mercilessly blow them up.

He swapped it with the old one, wired it back up, and Tucker swore when the gravity lift came back to life. "And now it went from shit to actually usable. Thanks for that."

"Old one was giving you problems?"

"Sort of. You had to really huff it to get up there; otherwise you'd be stuck floating like an idiot. As a result, I have glorious calves and a miserable fucking life. So again, thanks."

Reach watched Caboose stumble into it and go soaring into the rocky ceiling. He floated limply for a bit before being ungracefully deposited onto the second floor caves of Blue Base, landing with a loud thud. "Ow."

Reach stared blankly before deciding he did not get paid enough for this and pretending he didn't just witness that. A few rocks fell behind him and made his choice seem all the better.

"You're seriously just going to ignore that?" Tucker asked.

"No idea what you are talking about. I must have missed it, sorry." The retired Spartan hefted the old generator from Blue Base and marched his way back to the tower before the thunderstorm came in. They had an hour or two at the most before they'd be forced to cover their work to prevent further damage, and dealing with Caboose's collateral damage was not his problem at the time. Maine got to deal with that one.

'Why did it have to be a tropical jungle? Couldn't crash me on a resort island somewhere instead?'

He really didn't know how he managed to find a place he hated more than Blood Gulch, but here he was.

Reach had only been out here with Tucker for about an hour or two, and he understood why Wash was on the brink of completely losing his shit. At the rate the Reds and Caboose were going, it wouldn't be long before Wash's brain exploded out of honest to God sheer irritation and he went on a murderous rampage. Reach wouldn't blame him if he did crack; any normal soldier would have already been sent to the loony bin.

Hell, anyone who had been forced to put up with the simulation troopers' bullshit would understand. They weren't exactly professors on deep space physics when it came to intelligence. Tucker was by no means a genius, but he was competent enough to hold a somewhat intelligent conversation with. Grif as well to an extent, but he was just a lazy fuck. Simmons…

If he got over his daddy issues, he'd be fine. The less said about Caboose, the better. Reach was still convinced that he was a Spartan dropout.

Sarge…well. Sanity had gone out the window when it came to the old sergeant. Ever since they landed here, it was nothing but ridiculous schemes and plans from the old man all damn day. After all this time, he was somehow still convinced that the Red vs. Blue war was going on. The war hadn't been a thing since Blood Gulch and even then, it wasn't like one could actually call it a war. It was more of two groups of idiots stationed at opposite ends of the canyon in color divided teams. While heavily armed.

But it's not like they ever did anything with the equipment given to them. Reach knew that for a damn fact; all the Reds and Blues ever did was stand around and talk shit to each other. Sure, for short periods of time it was well and good, but come on. It was almost a damn year since they had been in Blood Gulch and still all they did was bicker like children. He was not paid enough to be a babysitter for four adult children. At least Tucker could be trusted to strip a rifle without needing to be told twenty times to not use the cleaning solution as a cheap alternative to lube.

Seriously Grif, what the actual fuck? Who in their right mind saw the solution for cleaning a rifle as a lubricant for sex?

On second thought, the answer wasn't that important. It was one of those questions best left unanswered. Something they had an abundance of, lately. More questions than answers. 'When will this just end?'

Reach and Wash shared the same opinion of someone wanting their ship to crash thanks to too many things going wrong at once. But they didn't know who. Unlikely anyone who was with Project Freelancer; the entire project staff were incarcerated and the remaining agents who hadn't turned were imprisoned along with them. The UNSC even wrote up a new law called the Church Act, making it illegal to experiment on AIs in the manner that the Director did. The torture of an AI, whether it was derived from the torturer or not, was now a crime that carried serious consequences; those found guilty got to look forward to being sentenced to life imprisonment or worse in the most secure UNSC facilities spread throughout the Milky Way.

With everyone who remained faithful to the project now looking at iron bars for all eternity, Reach seriously doubted it had to do anything with someone wanting payback. 'I've got a bad feeling about this. Any luck finding anything, Eta?'

"None. No detectable transmissions within range." His implant briefly flared, showing the AI was equally annoyed. Reach ignored the burn and climbed the tower to hook up the new power system that hopefully wouldn't short everything out. Still. Could be worse.

Someone else had to have it worse than him right now.

Simmons had thought he was doing the right thing when he talked to Sarge about repurposing their robot kit for something to fix the tower. But no. As usual, his words got twisted into something he did not want to do. His hatred for the people he called teammates grew in response, for Sarge used the robot kit to build a robot. An eerily similar brown robot.

He sighed and for once, didn't mind that Grif was smoking an arm's length away from him. 'Why couldn't I just go back home and farm?'

Sarge powered on the robot and chuckled heartily. "Men! Please welcome the newest member of Red Team!"

Grif snorted and glanced at Simmons. "I think we both know where this is going."

It was an awkward ten seconds of silence before their nightmares were confirmed.

"Hola," the robot said in a monotone voice.

"Oh come the fuck on!" Grif and Simmons shouted at the same time, both of them teaming up on their sergeant for this bullshit happening again.

"Well, this is just a rotten bit of luck," Sarge grumbled.

"You think!?" Simmons seethed. Why was he partnered with such assholes?

"Spanish!" Grif groaned. "Why is it always fucking Spanish!? Why not Dutch!? Or German? Or even that, oh what is it… Schlongheely?"

"Sangheili," Simmons corrected.

"Whatever." The orange armored soldier snorted. "You get the point. I can't believe I was dragged out of bed for this. Can I just go AWOL for the next ten years, Sarge?"

"Denied, dirtbag." Their ornery sergeant fired a warning shot from his shotgun. "Well…I guess we call him Lopez Dos Point O." Oh for…

Simmons looked longingly at the cliffs surrounding the jungle and wished he could escape. It would be so easy. Just run away into the sunset, find a nice little farming village where the most exciting thing was a bonfire night, and enjoy not being anywhere near here. Take a page out of Grif's book and play it nice and easy for once.

"Now, Lopez 2.0, go fix the radio tower."

"Que?"

"Please, someone switch his speech unit to English," Grif begged. "I don't want to hear this."

"Fine, you big baby." Sarge grumbled in annoyance and stalked over to his creation. "Can you understand what we are saying?"

"Si." Lopez 2.0's visor flashed green in acknowledgement. Well, at least he understood what they were saying. Poor bastard probably didn't even mean to program itself in Spanish. It just happened. The luck of Red Team remained as terrible as ever. At least, that's what Simmons repeatedly told himself over and over in his head.

No, his grip on his rifle was not becoming tighter and the barrel was not raising towards Lopez 2.0's head. Nope. No thoughts of just shooting their robot and calling it a day. 'Think happy thoughts. Like puppies or kittens in a basket. So…adorable…'

The maroon colored soldier didn't want to admit it, but he was going to break soon if something didn't change within the next two days. Like the communications tower was now online and rescue was on its way, or Sarge had died in his sleep and made Simmons the leader.

Sarge fiddled with Lopez 2.0's control panel and shut it once he was done. "Alright, try about now."

"You have some sort of equipment that needs—" Lopez 2.0's speech was short lived as his body sparked, twitching uncontrollably for a bit before toppling over. Simmons stared blankly for a few seconds before deciding he had enough of life for today.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, not caring whether or not Sarge and Grif heard him. Sarge built it; he could handle his own goddamn problems. Simmons was not dealing with this shit. No. Just…no.

Simmons marched back to base with a skip in his step and did not look back. Not even when Grif said something about how the erection Sarge ordered him to build had spilt its contents all over the floor. Okay, it got a snicker out of him, but he never would admit that he found something Grif said funny. '…Okay fine, they get to live a bit longer.'

Not a week though. Definitely not another week.

Tucker was more than content to stand and play guard duty for Reach to make sure none of the Reds came along. He was slowly showing signs of finally cracking and Tucker was making sure he was not in the retired Spartan's way when it did happen. He doubted he'd shoot him, but he had sparred with him enough to know that he did not like being on the receiving end of his mechanical fist.

And that was Reach going easy. He had yet to be unfortunate enough to be punched by 'finally cracked from all the bullshit' Reach and he preferred to keep it that way. The swordsman wisely decided to not talk about the incident with Caboose and the gravity lift lest it be the thing that finally makes him snap.

Instead, in an ambitious but rubbish attempt to keep the mood light, banter about everyone's sex lives came out. And though he made an attempt to remain as stoic as possible, Reach did crack the smallest of smirks at the implication that Wash was acting a bit too horny for Carolina. "You actually think he is thinking with his dick about this?"

"Dude, it's so fucking obvious." Tucker rolled his eyes. "He was never a team leader really until Maine happily passed him the reigns. And because he's down bad for Carolina, he's trying to take on everything alone instead of letting us handle some of the burden. Don't even try and tell me he didn't have the hots for her; I've seen the way he looked at her. Admiring certain assets, if you get my meaning."

Reach snorted. "When did you become a shrink?"

"I'm not getting laid, so I had to find something to socialize. I guess having an open ear helps?" Tucker shrugged. "My best friend isn't here and I'm going to beat the shit out of him when he comes back, but there's no point in being an emotional bitch about it."

Reach gagged at the sheer sappiness of that.

"Oh fuck off." Tucker rolled his eyes and went back to his patrol. Try to have a heartfelt moment with someone and this was the response. Never mind that he was actively trying to prevent the person who uttered said response from losing his mind. Thanks, jackass.

Still, seeing Reach react like that was a tiny flare of hope that maybe no one would have to suffer from his wrath. Being a jackass was kind of his normal. The moment Reach started acting all sappy like Florida did, the universe would explode.

Tucker didn't get very far before he saw the Reds, namely Sarge and Grif, dragging a body in brown armor. Suspiciously familiar brown armor… 'Don't tell me…they did. They built another fucking Spanish speaking robot. Great. Because we needed that to deal with on top of everything else.'

"No. Fuck off." Tucker activated his sword with a flick of his wrist. "I don't know and I don't want to know. Go the fuck away."

"You sure you don't want a hand?" Sarge asked, dropping the arm he was carrying. It dangled limply before the body crashed into the dirt with a thud since Grif wasn't capable of manual labor. The fat soldier fell over with a groan of pain and Tucker didn't need to be a genius to see that letting the Reds help was a terrible idea.

"Yeah no. Let me guess, he doesn't speak English either," Tucker deadpanned. "Double no."

"Racist." Grif groaned.

"Whatever. Do yourselves all a favor and go away before Reach kills you." He heard an irritable swear from the communications tower followed by the sound of something shattering from an impact with a robotic fist. But the Reds, being the Reds, failed to see the point. As usual.

"Sounds really stressed out. Sure we can't help him out?" Sarge asked.

"You want to be his punching bag for the next ten minutes?" Tucker asked innocently. "By all means. I think he can drag it out that long if he really wants someone pummeled to death."

Grif was the smart one, backing away without Sarge noticing. He was smart enough to know that whoever sent Reach over the edge was going to suffer possibly the most agonizing death in recorded history and he didn't want to be that moron.

"That's what I thought. Now. Go the fuck somewhere else before he comes down here and decides to just kill you all now to save the headaches." Tucker didn't hear the footsteps at all, but he felt the former Spartan appear behind him. 'Ah shit. Now I get to witness a murder spree.'

But Reach didn't say anything. He stopped in front of Sarge, ignoring Grif's weak whimper, and looked at the shotgun Sarge kept dearly close. Without a word, his mechanical hand clamped around the barrel and he bent it into a ridiculous angle, rendering it completely useless.

"What in Sam hell!?" Sarge roared, dropping his now ruined prized firearm and cursing himself for not bringing a sidearm.

Reach ignored him and hefted up a rocket launcher, passing it to Tucker. "I'm going to get tarps to cover everything up. In the meantime, if they take one step closer, please make them blow up."

Okay, so Reach just made sure the Reds had no way of interfering whatsoever without being blasted by a rocket. Disarmed leader and Tucker was now in possession of a rocket launcher. People with rockets are never outnumbered. That was a fact. More worrying was how nonchalant Reach was about it. Just a nice casual reminder that he could literally kill all of them with a pencil if the mood took him and hoping they were smart enough to not piss him off.

…

"Sooo…how have you guys been doing?" Tucker asked weakly.

A/N: Yep. Everyone is slowly losing their shit. Wash, Reach, Simmons, Tex, and Tucker are about ready to snap necks. Maine, you poor bastard. Your turn next.

-Kagerou#0007