Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I've taken a trip halfway up the coast, had some morality issues to work out, finished The Deathly Hallows… you know, typical teenage stuff. That, and I honestly think I PM more than I write. My bad.
Also, in case any future readers are offended by my use of the term 'furry' in a negative manner last chapter, I'm going to clear that up right now so I won't have to later. Yes, I do know that a furry is someone who is a fan of franchises that have animals or humanoid animals play a major part (like Sly Cooper, Pokémon, Star Fox, etc). I am also aware that the correct term for those sexually attracted to such fictional creatures is 'furvert.' The thing is, I highly doubt that the residents of Blood Gulch would know the difference between the two, hence the terminology last chapter. Sorry if I upset anyone.
And this message goes out to everyone: if you're going to read this, THEN LEAVE A DAMN REVIEW! I mean, some people even favorited this story and didn't even review! Am I the only one who thinks that's messed up?
Anyway, I'm not too sure about the quality of this chapter, but those of you who wanted to see Red Team will get your wish. Don't say I never did anything for you.
Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue and all affiliated characters are copyrighted property of Rooster Teeth Productions.
Deep beneath Blood Gulch, one Private Franklin Delano Donut was surveying the cave system in Red Team's new ATV-like vehicle, the Mongoose. Per Sarge's orders, Donut was looking to see if anything of note was down there besides the huge computer, which he had been doing every day for a week.
Thus far, the pink armored soldier hadn't found a damn thing except for that strange hover tank he had shown to Sarge all those months ago. He had been ordered to claim it for their side and bring it back to base, but it was far too large to fit through any of the passages leading to the surface, much to Sarge's disappointment.
For the most part, Donut wasn't really even trying to look for anything. His thoughts were about how pissed his friends on would be. He hadn't updated his Harry Potter story in over eight-hundred years, and was worried that they would be even more ticked that he stopped right before the big yaoi scene between Harry and Draco Malfoy.
So there he was, trying to think of how he would explain to his fans that he was blown into the future by a combination of explosives and weather-control technology, when he arrived at the spot where he had left off his search the day before, and hopped out of the Mongoose.
After taking several steps, he stumbled onto the ground. Donut brushed the dust off of his light-red armor and noticed a gold, sharp object jutting out of the ground, barely the size of his thumb. He crawled over to it and tried to pick it up, hoping to use it as an excuse to stop searching for the day. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn't get the small thing to budge. Finding no alternative, he started to dig.
A minute or so passed, Donut found that the small golden thing he had tripped over was part of something much larger. Several more minutes of excavating, and he had uncovered the entire object. He tentatively picked up the item and turned it over in his hands.
It was a small pyramid, the square base's sides measuring to just under the length from Donut's wrist to his middle finger and was about fifteen centimeters in height. The object had thick golden edges to each of its faces, and within those centimeter-long strips were various symbols and glyphs that weren't of any language that Donut knew of. The space in-between these lines of gold were composed of a smooth, almost glassy substance so black that it seemed to sap the color of everything around it.
The construct's apex, the part that he had tripped over, was completely gold for about two-and-a-half centimeters down. Each side of its summit had the same peculiar emblem made of the same obsidian material as the spaces below. The crest's most noticeable feature was the perfect disc in the center. This was flanked on either side by something that slanted inwards with three spikes, almost like angular wings or a toddler's depiction of mountains. The top and bottom point of those two 'wings' were the same length, were the ones in the center was noticeably longer than the others.
I gotta show this to Sarge, Donut thought, jumping back into the Mongoose with his find in hand. He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, and started the long ascent back to the surface.
"Hey, Grif! Where are you? I don't hear any polishing! Or buffing! You know how I like the sound of buffing! Get buffin'!" Sarge shouted. He was on top of Red Base overlooking the canyon, searching for his slacker of a subordinate.
Growling, he looked into the base's hole in the roof to find Simmons in front of Red Team's new computer. "Simmons, have you seen Grif?"
"No sir, not recently," the maroon-armored private replied, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.
"Son of a-!" he nearly swore. "I told that lazy bastard to wash the Warthog!"
"I don't know what to tell you, sir," Simmons responded, still not turning to face his commander.
Sarge began to turn away, but looked back to Simmons and asked, "Hey, What're you doing there, anyway?"
Still not turning to regard his sergeant, he clarified, "I'm playing an old MMORPG called World of Warcraft, sir."
"MNOBDG…?" Sarge said, utterly confused.
"'MMORPG' stands for 'Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game'," Simmons explained. "It's a RPG video game that you play online. At the time it was made, one could only play with people all over Earth, but thanks to technological upgrades, now one can play with people all across known space."
"Um, remind me what an RPG is," Sarge ordered, trying not to sound clueless, and failing miserably.
Simmons sighed. "It's a game set in a fictional universe where people create their own characters and adventure through various places, typically slaying monsters, gathering treasure, and swindling hopeless noobs out of money. And before you ask, a noob is a player completely new to the game and/or has no idea how to play it well."
Sarge stared dumbfounded at his underling for a second before recovering. "Uh… I knew that! I was just testing ya'!"
"Yes sir, of course you were, sir."
"I'm gonna go look for Grif," the red-armored sergeant grunted, walking away. "If I get my hands on that slacker I'll…"
After Simmons was sure that his superior was out of earshot, he whispered, "Okay, it's safe to come out now."
With those words of reassurance, the supposedly missing soldier in orange armor crawled out from underneath the computer table.
"Thanks for covering for me," the man breathed as he sat himself on the floor
"Just make sure to hold up your end of the deal," the maroon-clad Private said firmly, turning to face him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Grif groaned, recalling their agreement. "'No smoking, drinking, over-eating, or other activities harmful to the organs of Dick Simmons for a full week.'"
"But, I mean, come on," Grif continued. "I'm going to start doing that stuff all over again after the week is up, so why bother?"
"Because you're using my organs, idiot," Simmons responded. "I want to delay any damage to them, even if I can't stop they're inevitable destruction due to an unhealthy asshole like you misusing them."
"You really think I'm going to believe that?" the other man said, standing up.
"Believe what?" a gruff voice beside them queried.
"Oh, hell…" Grif sighed. He turned to look straight down the barrel of a shotgun and, sure enough, Sarge was the one holding it.
"I knew I'd find you eventually! Good job Simmons!" he congratulated.
"Thank you, sir!" Simmons said.
"Wait, Simmons didn't even do anything!" the draftee in orange protested.
"Of course he did! He cleverly distracted you, allowing me to take you by surprise!"
"But we were just talking! He had no idea that you were even still here!"
"GUYS!" a voice shouted from behind them.
It was at that point that they noticed Donut's presence. They had been so absorbed in their argument that they didn't hear the Mongoose pull up or notice him enter the room.
"What in God's name are you doin' up here, Private? You're supposed to be in the caves gathering intel!" Sarge scolded.
"I know, but look what I found!" Donut said excitedly, holding out the pyramid he had been clutching to his chest.
"Lemme see that," Grif said impatiently, swiping the object from Donut's hands.
"Grif, remember our little talk earlier?" Donut prodded like a testy mother.
"Alright, please lemme see that!" the soldier in orange spat impatiently before inspecting the thing in his hands. Even though it was made of some kind of metal, the small pyramid was actually warm to the touch. "Donut, did you do anything to this thi-?"
Grif was suddenly cut off when item in his hands began to glow bright red, the light shining through the no-longer black material. It then started emitting loud, droning beeps at seemingly random intervals.
"Grif, what the hell did you do?" asked a shocked Simmons as he got up from his chair, backing up against the wall with Sarge and Donut as if the foreign relic were going to explode any second.
"I didn't do a damn thing!" the bewildered Private shouted back.
"Hm… It sounds like Morris Code," Donut wondered aloud, getting over his own initial surprise.
"Morse," Simmons corrected irritably.
"Or," Sarge growled threateningly, "it's an alien artifact psychically communicating with us, slowly and discreetly turning us into mind-slaves for the secret overlords of the universe!"
"Sir, I think that might just be little unlikely," Simmons cautioned. He was, of course, ignored.
"The only hope to reverse the process is to kill the moron who brought this doom upon us in the first place!" Sarge brazenly theorized, pointing his shotgun at Grif again.
"What? That doesn't even make any sense!" Grif objected, still holding the beeping artifact in his hands.
"Sarge, why don't we focus on figuring out what this thing is and what it's saying?" Simmons tried to reason.
"But if we wait too long, then we'll all become brain-dead zombies under the servitude of slimy monstrosities! Well, at least you, me, and Donut will. Not sure of what Grif'll become. I don't think there's anything dumber than a worthless turd."
Right on the draw, Donut ventured, "Yeah, but that would mean Grif would also be suffering untold horrors at the hand of possibly queer extraterrestrials."
Of course, while this notion this made Grif's stomach blanch, Sarge found it, eerily enough, optimistic. "Nice job thinking on the bright side of things! Good work, Pinky Pants!"
"Thanks, sir!"
"Now get to translatin' that thingamajig, Simmons," Sarge ordered the maroon-clad soldier.
"Sir, I don't even know the first thing about Morse Code!" Simmons exclaimed.
"Yeah, Sarge. None of us know how," Grif reminded. "In fact, nobody in this whole fucking canyon knows except… for…" Grif and Simmons both looked at each other, realization dawning on both of their faces.
"Sarge, we need to go to Blue Base."
Over on the other side of the canyon, Church was leaning against the parapets on top of Blue Base, lazily examining the sights on his sniper rifle for the umpteenth time that day. Tucker was sitting on the edge of the base's roof with his feet dangling while he blankly stared out at the canyon. Behind him, Sister was practicing numerous gymnastics tricks. Down below, Doc was inspecting Caboose to see if his recent Shake 'n Bake fiasco had given him any permanent damage.
To put it simply, they were all bored out of their minds. It had been that way for the past month, and since getting killed by the Reds wasn't on any of their to-do lists, they had reduced themselves to a state of stagnation.
"Hey, Church?" Sister asked, performing a back flip onto one of the spires on the base's roof.
"What?" he acknowledged grouchily, still scrutinizing the sniper rifle.
"You're a ghost, right?"
"You notice this just now?" He received a glare from Tucker, and he let out a, "Yes."
"Well," Sister began, now precariously balancing on one hand. "Why do you keep coming back? I mean, this place totally sucks!"
Restraining a biting remark, he clarified, "Because there is no doubt in my mind that I would end up in Hell."
"Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt your little chat, but we got company," Tucker warned, standing up and bringing his SMG to bear.
Looking through his sniper rifle, Church saw that the all-too-familiar Warthog and the purple hovercraft were headed in their direction. To Church's chagrin, the Warthog was also blaring its usual ranchera music.
"It's bad enough that they have infinite ammo, but do they have to play that fucking Latino crap?" Tucker asked.
"I'm pretty sure that it's Mexican," Sister stated as she somersaulted off the base's ramparts and joined her teammates.
"I don't understand. Why are the Mario Brothers trying to kill us?" Caboose queried as he grabbed onto the ledge of the sunroof and hauled himself up.
"A little help?" Doc requested. Caboose knelt down and pulled the man in purple onto the roof as well.
"Hey, Reds! What the fuck are you doing over here?" Tucker shouted when the approaching Red forces stopped in front of their base. Thankfully, they also turned off that blasted music to communicate better.
"I know you aren't going to believe us, but we need help with something!" Simmons, in the Warthog's gunner position, called back.
"Why the hell should we help you douchebags?" Church hollered. "We've got a tank; we could easily wipe you guys out!"
"We don't really need your help!" Grif yelled from the passenger's seat. "It's my sister we need!"
"Uh-uh, no way! No take-backs, remember?" Church reminded.
"What exactly do you need her for, anyway?" Doc spoke up. "Cause if it's anything violent, I can't allow you to have her in good conscience."
"Aw, you're so sweet," Sister cooed.
"Stay away from my sister, Poindexter!" Grif screamed angrily, getting out of the Warthog and aiming his battle rifle at the medic in purple. Donut hopped out of the hovercraft and grabbed on to the enraged private from behind.
"Let go of me, Donut!"
"Now, now, Grif, we're going to need to teach you how to control that temper of yours," Donut admonished, still pinning him in a firm bear hug.
"I know a few therapy techniques that could help," the medic offered.
"What, you also learn to be a shitty psychologist at Jamaica State?" Tucker quipped.
There was a loud bang, and everyone froze. They all turned their attention to Sarge, who had his shotgun in the air. "Now that I've got yer attention, we can finally stop lollygagging and get to the point!"
"Now," he said, jumping out of the Warthog and turning to the people on Blue Base. "I don't really like the idea of working with you Blue bastards, but right now my curiosity is gettin' the better of me. And no, my curiosity isn't about Grif's true species, or Donut's inner sexuality, or anything of the sort! What I want to know about is this!"
He reached into the Warthog and pulled out a pyramid with gold trim that glowed with an inner red light. It was beeping continuously, making Church cringe inwardly when he was reminded of O'Malley.
"From what my sources-"
"An ass-kissing sci-fi nerd," Grif muttered as Donut released him, earning a death glare from the maroon-armored soldier.
"-tell me, this here gizmo is using Morris Code-"
"Morse," Simmons corrected impatiently.
"-to broadcast some kind of message," Sarge continued, ignoring Simmons. "As you know, the only person in this canyon who knows Morris Code is Lil' Miss Sunshine over there."
The other Blues all gaped at Sister, who shrugged. Sarge continued, "In return for helping us decode whatever message this doohickey is transmitting-"
"We'll do it."
Sarge, along with the rest of Blue Team, stared at the speaker. "…Say that again," the southerner in scarlet requested.
"We'll. Do. It," Church repeated slowly as if talking to a three-year-old.
The Red Army officer began to stammer. "B-but you haven't even heard the terms, or negotiated, or-"
"I don't care. We'll do it anyway."
All of Red Team glanced at each other nervously, before Simmons turned back and said, "Alright, we're coming in."
As the Reds exited their vehicles, Tucker pulled Church aside and whispered, "Dude, what the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm not even really part of Blue Team, and even I can see that this isn't such a good idea," Doc cautioned.
"Don't worry," Church reassured. "We've all been bored to the point of committing suicide, right? Well, now we have something to do."
"Yay! I get to see Colonel McMuffins again!" Caboose cheered.
"Colonel McMuffins?" Sister and Doc questioned in unison, both looking to Tucker for an explanation.
"It's his name for Donut. They sort of became friends a while back," Tucker clarified.
"Hey, Blues," Simmons called from the base below. "Get down here and start translating, you cockbites!"
"Let's get this over with," Tucker sighed.
They all jumped down into the base, Caboose letting out a small "yay" as he did so.
"Alright, I'll need paper, a pencil, and that weird thingamabob you guys got," Sister instructed. After getting her required materials, she sat down at a desk, listening intently to the device's various beeping, writing something down every so often.
"Where did you guys find this thing anyway?" Doc asked the Reds.
"There's a funny story about that…" Donut started
"Would you guys shut up?" Sister shouted. "I'm trying to concentrate here!"
"Right, sorry," Donut whispered apologetically. He turned back to the rest of the residents of Blood Gulch. "Now, here's what happened…"
"…and that's when we came here to translate. The End."
Donut had finally finished his long tale, and all of the Blood Gulchers were staring at him.
"…That was so full of Indiana Jones rip-offs that I'm surprised he didn't grow a cowboy hat half-way through," Simmons stated, breaking the silence.
"And I thought Angelina Jolie's cameo was a little over the top," Doc commented.
"Done!"
All of those present turned to find Sister rising from her seat, looking at the piece of paper she had used with satisfaction.
"So, what does it say?" Donut queried.
"Well, the first part I translated was mostly weird numbers and measurements, along with a list of things I've never even heard of. Sorry, but it's all Geek to me."
"Could I see that?" Simmons asked, holding a hand out. Sister handed him the piece of paper and he slapped the side of his head in amazement. "Oh my God!"
"What is it, Simmons? An alien torture device?" Sarge guessed.
"A super weapon?" Church ventured.
"A machine that can clone hot chicks?" Tucker tried.
"A gas-powered, internet-enabled blow-dryer?" It was at this point that everyone stared at Caboose, except for Simmons, who was still gawking at the sheet in front of him.
"I'm not really sure what all this stuff will do when put together," Simmons admitted. "But this is one impressive piece of tech! Whatever it does, it must be something big!"
"Simmons, not knowing something?" Grif gasped in mock amazement. "Someone call the fucking New York Times, I think we got the story of the year!"
"Shut up, asshole," Simmons snapped.
"Is that it? Just a design for some new-fangled gadget?" Sarge asked Sister, mildly disappointed.
"No, that's not even the half of it!" she said excitedly. "There's a message on here… but it's just too bizarre to be real!"
"Aha! I told you it was the aliens!" Sarge then looked skyward and exclaimed, "Oh mighty overlords of the universe, I accept your lordly lordliness! Please except this human sacrifice as proof of my unwavering devotion!"
"Oh God…" Grif sighed as he found himself at the business end of a shotgun once again.
"No, it isn't from any aliens!"
Sarge put down his shotgun, mumbling things that sounded like 'spoilsport' and killjoy'.
"Well? Who's it from?" Doc pressed.
"You aren't going to believe this, but it's… it's from Tex."
Church's heart probably would have skipped a beat if he still had one. Hell, it probably would have stopped altogether. Did he really hear what he thought he heard? Could Tex actually still be alive?
Tucker was the first to break the silence. "No, seriously, who sent this thing?"
"I am serious!" she insisted. "It even has a verification code: five-two-two. Do those numbers mean anything to you guys?"
It couldn't be…
"She's alive…"
Tucker turned to his comrade. "What?"
"Are you saying that you have the secret to these magic numbers, Blue?" Sarge asked skeptically.
"May twenty-second," he breathed, hardly believing what he was saying, "was the night of our first date."
An uneasy silence fell upon the group.
"B-but," Simmons stammered, "t-that defies all logic! There's simply no way anyone could have survived that explosion! No way!"
"Simmons," Grif said coolly. "You've been turned into a cyborg, I've had all of my guts removed and replaced with yours by a trigger-happy sergeant-"
"I've been forced to go on a quest to save an alien race and ended up getting pregnant," Tucker interrupted.
"I've been taken over by a malevolent computer virus intent on the conquest and/or destruction of the universe," Doc added.
"I've been blown up by a fuzzy blue spider and had a spaceship land on me," Donut said.
"I got stuck in a creek with a bunch of religious fanatics who worshipped a flag and tried to kill me over it," Sarge reminded.
"-and you just NOW say that something defies logic?" Grif finished exasperatedly.
Simmons said nothing.
Sister, however, did. "Wow, you're a cyborg?"
"Yeah," Simmons responded meekly.
"Cool! Hey, does that mean you have an iron di-?"
"SISTER! How many times do I have to tell you?" Grif interrupted angrily.
Sister sighed and recited along with him, "Don't embarrass the family."
At this point, however, the only one who was embarrassed was the maroon cyborg.
"Did it say why Tex sent this thing?" Church asked.
"Oh, yeah," she said as if nothing happened. "She said that all we have to do is build and use this thing, and then she'll find us!"
"But what exactly does it do?" Tucker queried.
"It doesn't really say; weird, huh?"
Sarge slung his shotgun over his back and stated, "Well, now that we know this thing doesn't involve us, we'll just be goin' now-"
"Oh no, you don't!" Church exclaimed, putting the end of his sniper rifle centimeters away from the sergeant's face. "You're going to help us build this thing!"
"What reason in Hell would we have to help you?" Sarge growled.
Church glanced meaningfully at Tucker. The cyan-clad private got the message and withdrew his SMG, putting the gun's muzzle a hairsbreadth away from Grif's jugular. Following his lead, Sister took out her pistol and pressed it to the side of Simmons' head while Caboose aimed his battle rifle at Donut.
"Well, there's your reason, bitches," Church said smugly. Church was lucky that looks couldn't kill, because Sarge was sending plenty of hate his way at that moment.
Doc started to fret. "Guys, isn't there a peaceful, non-violent way to solve-?"
"Can it!" Church barked. The purple-armored medic promptly shut up.
"Simmons," Donut started nervously, "Why don't you start building that doohickey? Like, right now?"
"What?" Simmons cried out despite the gun at his head. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"I thought you said that it was an impressive piece of tech?" Grif asked, not taking his eyes off firearm in front of him.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can actually build it! We don't even have half of these things! I mean, a cathode radiator tube? Where the fuck am I gonna get one of those?"
"Don't know. Don't care," Church said icily. "As long as you get this thing finished, I don't really give a damn."
"Simmons, why don't you try our computer back at the base?" Donut tried. "Don't we have internet access?"
"What, you guys have a computer?" Tucker shouted. "Where the fuck did you get one of those way out here?"
"We used the parts from Lopez's head and some spare parts from the Warthog," Sarge stated proudly, momentarily forgetting his predicament.
"You killed Lopez?" Doc asked, breaking his vow of silence.
"Hey, he refused to speak English-"
"And whose fault was that?" Grif accused.
"-and we got the plans that we needed from 'im. Far as I could tell, he was dead weight as he was then."
"But don't worry," Simmons reassured Doc. "I transferred his AI into the computer, so he's just fine."
"Ahem," Church cleared his throat, reminding everyone of the current situation.
"Anyway," Simmons continued. "I guess I could get in touch with all of my contacts on the Internet, but I'll need to find someone to deliver the parts and someone who's an expert in electronics. Everything said and done, it could take anywhere from a couple of days to a month."
"Aren't you an expert?" Sister asked, confused.
"No, I'm only moderately good at this stuff, just enough to keep the base running," Simmons confessed. "But in order to pull this off, we'll need someone who's dedicated their whole career, possibly their whole life, to the mechanized arts."
"So basically a Simmons times ten?" Grif sighed. "Great, just what we need around here…"
"Oh, shut up, cockbite."
"So you're saying that this can be done?" Church pressed.
"Yeah, but as I said, it'll take a while. So if you'll just let us go-"
"Oh no, we're going with you. We're not going to give you the chance to get out of this one," Church declared. "Caboose, grab the tank. I'll be driving the jeep. If one of you guys have a problem with that, you can walk back," he added after he saw Sarge about to argue.
They all filed out of the base, the Reds each having a weapon of some kind to their backs. As he was getting into the passenger's seat of the Warthog, Grif muttered, "How come I have a feeling this is going to end in disaster?"
Church said nothing as he pressed down on the gas pedal, but he also had that feeling. That feeling that things were going to go very wrong, very fast.
He shook his head. Nobody but them were anywhere near Blood Gulch, and the Reds were being held at gunpoint. They knew all of the exits and entrances to the canyon, so if anyone else were to come, they could make a quick getaway.
What could possibly go wrong?
Can anybody here say 'Murphy's Law'?
Like last time, I'd like to be notified of anyone acting OOC. But now I'd also appreciate someone notifying me if I got any canon facts wrong. I think that the Blood Gulchers got blown roughly eight-hundred years into the future after the events at Sidewinder, but I'm not too sure. Could someone please confirm or disprove this?
On a closing note, don't expect me to update any time soon. I'm going on another trip even farther up the coast on Sunday, and I'll be gone for eight days. After that, I'll try to update faster, but I'm not making any promises.