A/N: Hello all and welcome to the big 40. Those who feel bad for Wyoming: it's only gonna get worse for him. How, you ask?

Well, Red Team as we know doesn't take kindly to traitors…

Paradox Effect

Summary: Dying sucked. Dying and being killed by the same teammate again? That sucked even more. Dying and being thrown back into Blood Gulch as a girl? That REALLY sucked. Now, Leona Church will have to deal with Tucker's perverted looks, Caboose's stupidity, and worst of all, Tex's laughter…

*Chapter 40*

Sarge grinned as he fired up the giant circular saw he ordered online, taking a very vocal slurp of coffee. Leona may have been a backstabbing, rotten, dirty Blue, but she was right about a few things.

Coffee was necessary to deal with stupid. Treason too could be added to the list of things caffeine made more tolerable.

However, this was Red Team. Leona might have reached the point of not caring about whether or not her team left as long as she got laid, but here there were rules. Rules that needed to be enforced.

Especially when the traitor was a damn Freelancer. Smug bastard needed to be taught a lesson.

Wyoming was strapped down to a wooden plank sliding ever so slowly towards the giant saw and he let out a sigh. "Guys, is this really necessary? I only helped her briefly!"

"We're in a war!" Sarge roared. "Helping the other team is punishable by death!"

"What war are you on about?" Wyoming struggled against the bonds keeping him in place. "You're not even fighting! You're just walking around on opposite ends of the canyon…in color divided teams."

"True," Sarge conceded. "But have you considered that fighting is in our blood? If we're not constantly trying to stab each other in the back, we'll all surely die."

"Dear fucking God I hate you." Wyoming seethed. "Now cut me down! A dead Freelancer doesn't exactly help you."

"Should have thought about that sooner, traitor." Sarge growled.

The white armored Freelancer rolled his eyes and looked at the red sergeant. "If you want me to help you, then let me go. I promise I won't try and help Leona. She's a ruddy twat." Hearing him insult Leona did make Sarge smile a little on the inside. Fuck the Blues, Red all the way.

But he needed to send a message across that he didn't take too kindly to treason. Fuck it.

"Simmons, poison Grif's next meal!" he yelled.

"Yes sir!" Simmons answered enthusiastically.

"Dude what the fuck!?" Grif screamed.

"Shut up traitor!" Simmons roared.

THUNK!

"Ow!"

"Oh walk it off. It's was only a two-by-four."

That'll teach 'em.

Wyoming coughed to get Sarge's attention, the British Freelancer now perilously close to the circular saw ready to carve him into bits. "Um, you mind? I'd prefer not to be killed, if possible." Oh, right. Still had this asshole to deal with.

Rather reluctantly, Sarge shoved Wyoming out of the way of the saw. He didn't bother trying to be gentle and the Freelancer glared daggers as he undid the straps. "I hate you."

"Good to know," Sarge grunted.

"You're a fucking colossal bellend."

"Oh quit bitching already."

Wyoming was unceremoniously cut free and he dusted himself off, glaring at the red sergeant. He muttered something irritable under his breath and stomped away inside of Red Base, presumably to take his anger out on Grif. Or whoever else was unfortunate enough to get in his way.

Sarge chuckled and decided now was as good of a time as any to put up his new motivational sign to get the most out of his men.

The beatings will continue until morale improves.

Tucker let out a loud and obnoxious yawn, pretending to stretch. "So, why the hell did you drag us all out of bed at what feels like six in the morning?"

Leona glared at him and for a moment she wondered whether or not it would be worth it to fire his ass out of Sheila's cannon. She then decided against it and opted for the less violent option. "Because, asshole, the Reds have to be dealt with. If I have to get cockblocked one more fucking time because of their bullshit, I'm gonna be pissed."

York yawned. "That was Wyoming's fault, not ours."

"I don't give a shit. I just want them to leave me the fuck alone." Leona rolled her eyes. "I was thinking…if we jammed their communications, we could maybe have a few days worth of relaxation and not have to deal with them."

"You're just creating a problem for them," York deadpanned.

"Yep. It's what I do best." Leona shrugged. "So, you onboard?"

"Sure." York rubbed his eyes. "…wait a second, why do you have a giant jar of raspberry jam? Where did you even find it?"

"Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies." Leona smirked. "Load this into Sheila and fire at their communications dish. Their radar is about to be…jammed."

All was quiet in Blood Gulch. Even Grif's snores were muted, nothing on sonar. All was well.

A loud boom that was typically associated with tank fire echoed in the distance and Red Team's radar dish was hit.

By a jar of jam.

As Sarge's second in command, it was Simmons' responsibility to make sure no one snuck up on them. The maroon soldier took his duty seriously in the hopes of getting his own squad one day. One could dream.

"Um, sir?" Simmons called Sarge over to the terminal displaying their radar and pointed at the sticky red mess completely blocking the screen. "Our radar appears to be…jammed. I've lost everything!"

"Except your virginity!" Grif yelled helpfully.

"Jammed?" Sarge's large mustache twitched and he strode over, wiping one finger on the screen. He licked it and his eyes narrowed. "Raspberry…"

Oh no. Red Team had heard their leader's rant on raspberries before. It wasn't pretty.

"There's only one person in this canyon who would dare give me the raspberry," he snarled.

Simmons whimpered as Sarge found out his voice could be heard on the other side of the canyon if he was pissed off enough.

"LEONNNNAAAAAAA!"

A/N: *Looks for 'Sorry' in wallet. Item not found* Did I absolutely have to use a terrible Spaceballs joke? Yes. I have no regrets XD.

-Kagerou#0007