Disclaimer: I don't own anything but a laptop and Agent Black.
Episode 8: Noobs, Suckers, and Tanks, Oh My!
Doughnut was freaking out when a soldier in cobalt armor ran up to him. "Freeze!" the blue soldier yelled, aiming, in the loosest possible interpretation of the term, his assault rifle at the red trooper.
"Hey! Why were you shooting at me? You could have hit me, jerk!" Doughnut huffed, feeling rather abused. Seriously, if it wasn't his teammates contradicting him, it was someone else aiming a gun at his head. Was everyone in this canyon rude?
"Can it! Don't try and play stupid with me Sarge! I know who ya are, we've been spying on you for three weeks now," the other man said. This puzzled Doughnut, quite understandably. He wasn't a Sargent, and he most certainly hadn't been spied on for three weeks. He hadn't even been in the canyon for a whole day! So, he told the uppity blue guy just that.
"I'm not the Sargent! I haven't even met the Sargent! My name is..." he said, but got cut off by the other soldier, who didn't seem to appreciate being corrected.
"Wait a minute. You're not the Sargent!" he said. Doughnut blinked. Was this guy slow?
"Yeah, that's what I just said!" he groused. This guy... Doughnut didn't think he liked him very much. He was kind of a jerk. A slow jerk. Ugh. What could be worse... scratch that. He could think of a lot of things that were worse. Ugh, the things the human mind cooked up. Somethings were better left unimagined.
"Well, how the heck did you manage to steal our flag?" the blue guy asked. Doughnut glanced at the flag without moving his head. That was what this was all about? Oh come on, give him a break! The flag!? That dirty, ratty, old scrap of cloth was important enough for these guys to try to shoot him?! True it was a poor attempt but still. Shots were fired, he was the target, and that wasn't cool. Ugh. He was really going to hate it here, wasn't he?
"Steal? I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. Seriously, the other blue guy was much nicer. He gave him the flag. Even though he didn't know why he'd want it. It was blue. And old. And were those bullet holes? Wait... oh fudge, he'd gotten himself into it now, hadn't he?
"Three!" a guy dressed in black armor shouted, appearing out of nowhere. Doughnut jerked back in surprise. The heck?!
"Jesus!" the blue guy exclaimed, Doughnut following a moment later with,
"Cheese straws! Who is this guy?" Seriously, they should have name tags. It was hard keeping all these Spartans straight! And where the fudge had this guy come from?! Wait... was that a teleporter pad by his feet? Oh, but of course the blues had a teleporter to the center of the canyon! Note, sarcasm. He had a feeling he'd be using sarcasm a lot more than usual here. Wonderful. Oh look. More sarcasm.
"What in the heck?! Tucker?! Is that you?!" the blue guy, Doughnut was really going to have to learn his name, this was irritating. Anyway, the blue guy who had been yelling asked the randomly-appearing-while-screaming-numbers dude if he was Tucker. Now, who was Tucker?
"H-how did you get up here ahead of me?" the guy in black asked. Apparently, he was Tucker. Mystery solved. Now, who was the other guy!
"And what's with that black stuff on your armor?" Doughnut had to ask, deciding against asking for a round of introductions at the moment. Seriously, this canyon had gone from weird to down right freaky, and he'd only been here for two hours!
"Hey!" Tucker barked, apparently just noticing him, "freeze Sarge!" he finished, bringing his rilfe up to aim at the bewildered Doughnut. Oh man, this guy was behind the times! He wasn't a Sargent! How hard was that to understand?! Oh, he really hoped command would send him his own color armor soon. This was getting ridiculous. Fast.
"Will you stop calling me a Sargent?! I'm still just a private!" he said, getting rather fed up with these blue fellows and 'Oh. My. Word... I'm turning into my grandfather!' he thought in despair. He didn't want to sound like his grandfather! That was just... ugh. There was a reason he left the family farm!
"The Sarge is still a private? Oh. My. Word... the teleporter sent me back in time!" Tucker exclaimed. Doughnut sighed. Great. Another 'special' one. Just his luck. 'Why didn't I listen to my mother and become a banker?' Doughnut thought wistfully.
/*/
Back over at Red Base, Grif climbed in the Warthog, Simmons not far behind. "Sorry Lopez, but we need the jeep. The new guy's in over his head," he said to their robotic mechanic. The brown armored android stared at the two soldiers, unable to say a word.
"I'll take gunner, now let's roll," Simmons said, hopping up into the back. Grif looked around at the controls. They weren't too hard, he already had experience with similar vehicles, but the radio... he couldn't find where that incessant Mexican music was coming from!
"How do you turn the radio off in this thing?!" he asked, frustrated, even as he began to drive away.
"Don't worry Lopez! I'll bring her back to you in one piece!" Simmons called back, hoping he could keep Grif from blowing the thing up. Or driving it into a rock wall. Or both. Both would be bad. And likely result in death, one way or another, for the both of them. Yeah... best keep the jeep in one piece. "You do know how to drive this thing... right?" he asked. Grif scoffed, honest to goodness scoffed, as though insulted by the very idea that he couldn't drive a Warthog.
"Of course I can drive this thing! Once you know the trick, it's really not that hard," he said, expertly jumping the gap between two low hills. Simmons decided it would be best for his health if he kept his mouth shut. It wouldn't do for him to bite his tongue after all.
/*/
Meanwhile, Tucker still thought he was in the past. He was explaining things to the other guy, as though he were the slow one. Doughnut found it rather amusing. Especially when the other guy tried to correct Tucker. But, there came a point where he had to speak up. "Is this guy a retard?" he asked the other one. Somehow, he felt the other guy was wondering the same thing. Well you know what they say: great minds think alike. Wait... that would mean that the Blue guy was a 'great mind.' Eck, no thank you!
"Red: shut up. Tucker: listen to me. Ya haven't gone back in time okay? This is the guy who stole the flag, he's just not the Sargent. Turns out, he's just some dumb rookie who just happens to have the same color armor as him. He got in somehow, just... for goodness sake! What is that music?!" the, supposedly more sane, blue guy explained, Mexican music growing louder after his third sentence. They turned to look at the hill behind them and then, lo and behold, the Red Team's Warthog flew over the lip, music blaring and Simmons yelling 'woo-hoo!' "Son of a mutt!" the blue guy exclaimed, moving out of the way. Doughnut watched as the other two dissolved into screaming, running, panicked teenagers and couldn't help chuckling a little as he watched them run for it. The Warthog came to a stop and Grif hopped out.
"What the heck is going on here?" the orange soldier asked Doughnut while Simmons shot round after round from the mini-gun at the cowering blues, shouting abuse.
"You know what?! I honestly have no idea what's going on! I think everyone in this canyon is absolutely insane!" Doughnut replied, on the edge of hysteria. What was wrong with this canyon?! First he was told there were no aliens, then he was sent to the store, he got a flag and got shot at for it, and now there's a small scale war going on? Between humans? Something wasn't right here, no sir!
"Heh. That was quicker than I expected," Simmons muttered before going back to blasting the Blues and screaming random insults at them. Grif chuckled. What was wrong with these guys?! Oh yeah. They were as totally insane as the Blues. 'I hate my life,' he thought, morose.
"Welcome to Wonderland, Alice! Anyway, how'd you get the flag? None of us have ever managed that," Grif said jovially, gesturing to the fairly innocent looking scrap of cloth. Doughnut shrugged.
"I don't know. I just asked for it."
/*/
The shock was so great, Simmons nearly stopped firing for a moment while Grif gaped at the rookie. No way it was that easy!
"Wait. That worked?!" the orange soldier asked, incredulous.
"I guess. Is it not supposed to?" Doughnut asked, guileless. Grif had to fight not to stammer as he responded. Either this kid was a genius... or the Blues were brainless. He was hoping the kid was just a genius, but the second option was the more likely. 'Sometimes, I really hate my life,' the weapons expert mentally grumbled.
"I don't know. We never thought to try that. Just take the flag to the base, I'll explain there," he said, hoping to get the newbie out of the battle zone. From the sound of Simmons' taunts, things were getting rather heated.
"Not until someone tells me what the fudge is..." Doughnut began hotly, only to be cut off by a frustrated Grif in full Agent mode.
"There's no time! You get this flag to the base ASAP! Me and Simmons will follow shortly in the Warthog. Now MOVE!" he barked, shoving the other young man toward the flag and jogging back to the Warthog. Out of the corner of his eye, Dex saw Doughnut headed to Blue Base. "Back to our base idiot!" he barked, jerking a finger back the way he'd come.
"Ug- I know. Just got turned around, that's all," the rather pouty sounding private said. Dex groaned and climbed in the Warthog.
"Good job, Simmons. Um... so. How long do you want to hold these two down?"
"Until Doughnut get's back to base. We don't want them following too soon," Simmons replied before returning to shouting abuse at the cowering Blues. Dex looked at the gunner, then the pinned Blues, and back to the gunner.
"You uh... you having fun there?" he asked cordially.
"You could say that. Hey! No moving you dirty Blues!" Simmons bellowed. Dex hummed.
"That was actually a lot like Sarge," he commented. Simmons let out a wild laugh.
"Well, ya spend that much time around someone, you tend to pick up a few habits," he said. Dex chuckled, sitting back in the driver's seat, battle mode subsiding, though he remained mostly Dex. Never know when a situation will heat back up after all. Constant Vigilance!
"Ever thought of being a sniper Simmons?" Dex asked, trying to distance himself from the cackling echo of Marley in his head. Or was it in his head? She had said that his armor had a direct link to The Ghost, perhaps she had activated it. He tried not to think about that. He really didn't want to believe she was some crazy stalker chick. That... would be just a little too much.
"Nope. Always been more of an IT person myself. Hand to hand, maybe a knife. A pistol definitely. Why do you ask?" Simmons replied. Dex shrugged.
"Never hurts to have a sniper who knows what he's doing," he said. Simmons chuckled.
"I would have pegged you as a sniper Grif. Find a nice secluded spot, pick a target, and then... BAM! Headshot from fifty yards, gone before they spot you," he said. Dex shook his head, making a disagreeing noise.
"Nah. I prefer my assault rifle. Faster pace, more action. Makes for a better story, don't you think?" he said, contemplating pulling out a cig and having a smoke.
"Eh, snipers get cool stories too. Mysterious, faceless, nameless, and always deadly," Simmons argued.
"Nope. The blue guy who was with the now-black guy has a sniper rifle and he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn," Dex countered, firmly ignoring that little voice that was whispering 'It's Rick!' in the back of his mind. Simmons couldn't be Rick. He was too much of a suck up.
"Yeah. Hey, if this thing is so loud, how can I hear you perfectly?" said suck up asked.
"Uh, helmet to helmet radio and noise canceling technology?" Dex suggested. Simmons shrugged.
"Works for me. So, think we've pinned them down long enough?"
"Yeah. Let's sneak around the back of the rock and shoot 'em out," Dex suggested, hopping out of the Warthog.
"Eh, beats blowing out my ear drums," Simmons said, hopping down and pulling out his pistol. On reflex, he popped the clip out, checked that it was full, slammed it back in, and checked that the safety was off. Dex quirked an eyebrow behind his visor, but didn't comment. It could just be from all Simmons' time as an overachieving suck-up.
"Alright, same side, or pincher movement?"
"Same side. No need to get teamed up on if we can help it, right?"
"Good point. Let's go," Dex said, heading over to the rock.
/*/
As Grif moved forward, Rick was only a step behind... and wondering to himself what had happened to Grif. He was usually so lazy, even though his essential work always ended up being done, and he wasn't the kind to give orders with any kind of certainty or authority. Shaking his head, Rick followed Grif along the cliff-side path. This was Grif, not Dex he reminded himself... not even if he sometimes seriously reminded Rick of the Senior Agent. Like right now. NO! Dex was Dex and Grif was Grif... right? Gah! Focus! Mission! Blues! But what if... FOCUS! "You alright there Simmons?" Grif asked, concern just barely detectable in his voice. Rick forcefully shoved the comparisons from his mind, and shot the other soldier a smile, even though he couldn't see it.
"Yeah. Just... remembering a friend of mine. Sometimes, I could swear you were his twin," he replied. Grif chuckled.
"Yeah, I get that sometimes. Don't worry about it too much. Alright, we're getting close. Maintain radio silence," he said. Rick nodded, though he couldn't stop thinking, 'So much like Dex.'
/*/
Doughnut paced back and forth in front of the two flags back at Red Base, muttering angrily about idiot COs. Just as he was working himself up to a fervor, a Spartan in black armor dropped from the sky. "Hello, Private Doughnut. May I call you Frank?" she asked, tilting her head sweetly. How that is managed in full armor with weapons pointing out of pretty much everywhere is a mystery, but she managed to pull it off.
"Uh... sure?" 'How does she know my name?'
"Wonderful! Welcome to your first critical thinking class Frank!" she said. He blinked.
"... What?"
"Let's get started!" she said.
"Hold up! Couple of things here. One, how do you know my name? Two, who the heck are you? Three, where the fudge did you come from? And four, they have classes for that?" Doughnut asked, skeptical. The woman clapped her hands and squealed. Squealed!
"Oh goody! I don't have as much work cut out for me as I thought!" she said. "I know your name because I looked up your file when you were assigned here, I am Agent Black, my ship is about six feet straight up, and yes, there are classes for that." Doughnut blinked, then screamed and shuffled back in shock.
"Agent Black?! The Agent Black?! The Agent Black that leaves broken and burned bodies in her wake and who has only recently shown her helmet?!" he asked. She chuckled.
"Yes. That Agent Black. But you may call me Marley. All of my Agents do."
"I'm not your Agent!" Doughnut furiously rebutted. Marley chuckled.
"Fine. All my students call me Marley. I'd be grateful if you did as well, Private Franklin Delano Doughnut," she said. Seeing no way out, Doughnut conceded and the 'lesson' proceeded. By the time Marley left, Doughnut had one major headache.
/*/
Dex growled at himself. "Drat. I thought we could get around this way, but it looks like we can't," he said, glaring futilely at the rock barring his path. Simmons shook his head.
"Why did we get out of the jeep again? I forget," the maroon soldier remarked glibly. Dex could feel a twitch developing in his eyebrow.
"I didn't want to sit there watching you shoot rocks all day, regardless of how fun you seem to have found it," he sniped. This wasn't going according to plan. At all. Oh he knew that few things ever did go according to plan, but it still irked him when it happened. Granted, this had been one of his weaker plans, but he didn't particularly care. He was actually kinda bored to be honest.
"Oh yes. That was fun. Can't I go back to doing that?" Simmons asked, sarcasm lacing his words. Dex scoffed. That was when they heard an engine idling behind them. Together, they turned to see a Scorpion class battle tank.
"Holy carp," Grif moaned, sounding like he'd much rather have cursed, "what is that thing?"
"A tank?" Simmons supplied unhelpfully. Dex growled.
"Smart alack."
/*/
Church and Tucker were looking at the empty jeep. "Don't be stupid Tucker," Church said, "they're just trying to draw us out."
"No they're not. Look, they left the jeep. They're gone." Church couldn't believe the stupidity of that remark. If they left the jeep, they were going to come back for it. You don't just leave a jeep with a fully functional mini gun on it in the middle of enemy territory!
"Well, I don't know about this. Seems pretty fishy but... aw screw it, lets go get it."
/*/
"Dude, don't move. The operator might not have seen us," Dex said. Simmons scoffed.
"Yeah right, he's probably lining up his shot right now," he said, mind furiously working to find a way out of this admittedly deadly situation. Since when did things like this happen in Blood Gulch?
"But why is it just sitting there?" Dex countered, also thinking of and discarding plan after plan and wondering when Blood Gulch turned deadly.
"He's just trying to mess with our heads. Let's get back to the Warthog," Simmons said. A little while later he said, "Okay, ready? Lets do this on three. One."
"Wait?!" Dex whispered hoarsely, "on three or three and then go?"
"On three. Always faster to go on three," Simmons clarified.
"Okay, okay, on three," Dex said, nodding. Both of them didn't move.
"Ready?" Dex didn't answer, already ready to run. "One. Two. Three." He took off like the bats of hell were on his heel. "Oh that dirty mutt," he heard Simmons mutter. He smirked, preparing to let loose the time honored jab of 'you snooze you loose,' when the tank fired the main canon and blew up the jeep. Almost at the exact same moment, Church, Dex, and Simmons let loose with a rather well deserved, "Son of a bitch!"
"Home base!" Dex yelled, already headed back toward the Red Base. Simmons soon joined his teammate in running away from the tank, swerving slightly as they ran. The tank trundled after them, firing semi-randomly as it did so. Eventually, Dex and Simmons ended up crouching behind a large rock.
"Hey, I have a great idea," Simmons said mockingly, "Lets get out of the jeep, and go around the rock!" Dex growled at the other soldier, fed up with the events of the day.
"Don't. Mock me," he said.
"Oh, I'll mock you. I'll mock you until I'm blue in the face!" Simmons responded with mildly out of character heat. Dex shrugged it off. When getting shot at by a huge tank, people were bound to do and say things they might otherwise not. Simmons just happened to act like Rick under the stress. That was all.
/*/
Church was a bit shocked. "Hey look Tucker, it's the rookie! And he brought out the tank to scare off the Reds!" he said.
"What? No way!" Tucker exclaimed, but he refused to come forward. A few moments later, the tank blew Church up.
/*/
"Alpha," Flowers whimpered.
"I told you~!" Marley sang, completely unsympathetic.
"You... you really had to let that happen, Marley?" Flowdie asked, turning shining eyes on the unrepentant surgeon.
"Yes. Yes I did. Now, Tex is going to come and this show is going to get on the road!" Marley said, far too cheerily.
"I... you were right. You were about everything. Sorry," her companion muttered, looking down at his hands, dejected.
"Oh, so you're apologizing now?" Marley asked, a twinge of sadness in her heart. She didn't want to have to do this to Flowdie, but there was no way she could stop his primary mission from failing. It had to happen.
"Yes. Yes I am," the man said with a tired sigh.
"Interesting," Marley purred, stroking her exposed chin, her helmet resting on the counter a few feet away. Flowers glared at her with little heat. She may be a manipulative, speculative, mildly arrogant, needle happy, all-too-smug little vixen... but he loved her all the same. He might say he hated her from time to time, but he couldn't deny the love he felt toward her. "Stop staring at me," she snapped. He smirked.
"Still got it."
/?/
A/N: And there goes Church! So, already its starting to change, at least in dialog. Oh, what changes shall come?
A/N 2: Edited for coherence, continuity, and spelling. 8/15/16