Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue, RWBY, nor the items and some of the lore from Halo. RvB and RWBY belonged to Rooster teeth while Halo is Microsoft's IP.
Our story begins in one end of a secluded box canyon, where two brightly-colored soldiers are standing guard to the entrance of their base of operations. Why anyone would set up a base in such a locale, is quite frankly beyond me, but the fact doesn't seem to have gotten to our two guards milling about. Or perhaps it has and they simply can't be bothered about it anymore, at least for the orange one, whilst his maroon-colored partner remains deep in thought. Thoughtful, that is, until he finally breaks the silence between them: I can only wonder just what profound ponderings he is about to share st this moment.
. . .
"...Hey?"
"...Myeah?"
"...You ever wonder why we're here?"
"It's one of life's greatest mysteries, Simmons. Here we are, an advanced nation with enough strength to probably start conquering the galaxy, mulling in paranoia of our continued existence," the orange one begins. "To this day the Kingdoms are still considered our enemies, our best plan remains isolation, and it may not be long before we just up and leave everyone else behind on this godsforsaken rock. I can't help but wonder if we'd even be missed. Hell, I can't help but wonder why we were even attacked like that by them, sometimes. I mean, was it just to send a message of their superiority, maybe that we just aren't welcome here anymore, if ever? Or maybe it was just desperation, what with the existential threat that is the Grimm perpetually up their asses, which themselves was the gods', if there even are any that is, plan to simply wipe us all out, like the disease we may be in their eyes? I don't know man, but it sure keeps me up at night."
". . ."
". . ."
"...The fuck? I meant why are we still here just standing around on patrol? The Blue's are probably up to doing nothing right about now, and it's Sarge's turn to take watch anyway." The maroon soldier answered.
"Uuhhhh."
"And what was all that about gods and Grimm wiping us all out?"
"...Nothing."
"...Do you wanna talk about it?"
"Nope."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
"Seriously though," Simmons continued, "why are we still just standing here? We've done plenty of simulations for the day, and our armor works just fine, save for a few bugs here and there. Why can't they just call today a success and patch up whatever glitches retain themselves?"
"Uh, yeah, I rally don't give a fuck about any of that, I'm just waiting for our next break shift. My legs are fucking killing me."
"Oh quit your complaining Grif, all you did today was sit on your fat ass eating those MREs that Sarge CLEARLY told us to keep away form. And by 'us' I mean you. In fact, the only reason you even got up today was because my phone has a shotgun ringtone."
"Hey, I work plenty!" Grif replied in an offended tone. "You know, I probably wouldn't even be bitching here if it weren't for you and Sarge forcibly conscripting me to join here as a simulation trooper! I had already finally finished my minimum required military service and was about to be sent home with flying colors."
"Yeah, and by flying colors, you mean 'getting court-martialed for sleeping on duty which caused his entire platoon to be ambushed by that insurrectionist cell'?" Simmons sarcastically replied.
"Exactly."
"Ugh, gods, you're an idiot."
"Yeah you suck too Simmons."
"You know if anything, he kinda went easy on you. I mean, would you rather have been sent to jail or even worse? Or just be standing right here next to me all day doing nothing but drills and talking with me?"
"Need I remind you that the only reason he brought me here was so he could fuck me up himself? And furthermore, if I had been sent to jail, not only would that have kept me from him, but I would've gotten free meals, lodging, and I wouldn't have to do anything all day but sit in my cell and sleep. What more could I ask for?"
"I reiterate, you are an idiot."
"Grif, Simmons, front and center, on the double!" suddenly yelled a gruff, burly voice, interrupting their little chat.
"Well, speak of the devil, eh Grif?"
"Ugh, what the hell does he want this time?"
"Come on ya big baby, he's probably got some important news for us."
"Yeah, like what? His back-massager needs tuning up again? Or perhaps another 'glorious plan to wipe out 'em dirty Blues once and fer all, yessire'? Hard pass! I'd rather not pull lead-pellets outta my ass. Again."
"Come ON!" Simmons firmly stated as he grabbed his reluctant partner, who was clearly even more less then pleased.
. . .
Meanwhile, at the other end of the canyon
"What are they doing?"
"What?"
"I said, what are they doing?"
Stand another pair of brightly-colored soldiers, one cobalt blue, who appears to be peering across the canyon through the scope of an SRS99-S5 AM sniper rifle, and one . . . teal? Aqua? Turqoise? Anyway he's holding an M395B DMR, and the point is they're both standing atop a ledge overlooking the rest of the canyon, their own blue base of operations some ways behind them.
"Ugh, gods, could you for once in your life NOT ask me the same damn shit every five fucking minutes!?" the cobalt one frustratingly replied, clearly annoyed.
"Don't fucking blame me Church, you have the Sniper Rifle. You can easily spy on them." the other soldier defensively retorted.
"You already have a scoped gun, Tucker, so quit your bitching."
"Yeah but yours has better sights. Also, chicks dig snipers!"
"Shut up, and there is no way in hell I am ever letting you hold this thing, jackass. Oh, and by the way, to answer your stupid question, they're still just talking. And they're still, just, standing there! All those morons ever do is stand around and talk!"
"Okay then, but come on, can't I at least just try it once? You never let me get to do any of what passes for 'the cool shit' in this boxed hellhole."
"That's because this is a professional's job, and you are currently speaking to one right now. Besides, spying on our so-called 'enemies' requires a lot of skill and hard work in which you, fuckface, don't have." Church replied in a snarky, matter-of-fact tone.
"Oh yeah? Since when is spying on two losers considered such a difficult and special job?"
"Since the beginning of time."
"Wow," Tucker sarcastically remarked, "thanks for the info professor dickhead."
"Shut up." Church shook his head before going back to his "spying," right when the two Reds were leaving their post and heading back in their base, albeit haphazardly.
"Welp, looks like the losers in question are heading back inside, which we should probably be doing before Caboose decides to fuck things up again." Church stated aloud as he recalled with a shudder the time he tried to do maintenance on the tank only to find that the aforementioned soldier had poured all their drinks down the fuel compartment and replaced the engine with their refrigerator when he had been, mistakenly, tasked with repairing it. He knew good and well Tex would not hesitate to make good on her threat and use their balls as target practice after another "mishap." Honestly, he was surprised she didn't with just how much she lost her shit that time. "Ugh, I really can't understand how the hell he even got into the armed forces."
"Well I don't know, and I don't think I want to. If you do, I suggest you ask our superiors, and do not share it with me."
As the two turned to head back, the PA sounded to a rather cherry, if robotic, female voice.
"Simulation training complete for the day. All personnel are to report to the main hall for a mandatory meeting. Session will begin in fifteen minutes."
"The hell was that about?" Tucker asked. It wasn't often Sheila's voice would say anything more to when she book-ended simulation sessions.
"Eh, probably another mission against the insurrectionists. Heard through the grapevine that President Kimball is actually coming over to the base today. Cant help but wonder why."
"Oh? And just where did this information come from, dear old daddy?" Tucker couldn't help but jabbing at his fellow blue.
"SHUT UP, ASSHOLE!"
. . .
Red Base - 1900 hours
"Hustle up, ladies! I got news to deliver, on the pronto!"
A burly man in red armor paced around the common room of red base as he waited for his subordinates to arrive. Carrying a polished M45D tactical shotgun magnetically strapped to his back, he stood in front of blackboard contain a crudely-drawn plan of attack against the Blue Team, as well as several significant depictions of maiming violence on a particular orange soldier.
He was mulled out of his pacing when the other two rushed inside, with Simmons standing attentively while Grif took on a slouched posture and began to tinker with his helmet.
"Ah, 'bout time you idiots decided to show up. And now with everyone here, I shall now begin Red Team's mandatory announcement."
"Yes sir, Sarge," the maroon soldier enthusiastically replied. His partner, however, took a glance around the room and noticed something.
"Hold up," Grif interjected, "if we're all supposed to be here, then where the hell are Donut and Lopez?"
"Ahh, just what I needed," came a relaxed voice from with a steaming shower cubicle, one that bore several scattered components of pink lightish-red armor. Meanwhile a brown combat droid adjusted the screws on his arm after an incident earlier.
"You know, Lopez, I actually feel pretty bad for you, how you can never truly experience the soothing relaxation of a warm shower, being a robot and all," the pink's voice cried out.
"Incluso si fuera un humano, se necesitaría mucho más que una doche tibia para animarme después de lo que hicieron hoy" (Even if I were a human, it would take a lot more than a warm shower to cheer me up after what you fools did today) the borwn robot replied.
"Oh my, did your tibia fracture, Lopez? You should go see Doc for that, he'll patch you up real good lickity-split!" the voice completely mistranslated as he stepped out clad in a pink robe with a towel wrapped around his wet, blonde hair. He quickly dried himself off before begining to redress in his techno undersuit.
"Soy un roboto tonto, no tengo huesos" (I'm a robot you fool, I don't have bones), replied Red Team's resident Spanish-speaking droid.
"Oh, silly me! You're a robot, you guys don't have any bones! Gee Lopez, ya coulda told me earlier." the aptly-named Donut cheerily replied as he finished his tech suit and began with his armor components piece-by-piece.
"¡Eso es lo que acabo de decir ahora mismo, idiota!" (That is what I just said right now, you moron!) the ironically-named Lopez exclaimed back as he continued to busy himself reattaching his arm. To which Donut noticed and stepped towards him.
"Oh, no need for you to do that all by yourself Lopez, we are a team after all, and teammates help each other! Now here, let met help you thrust that arm back into that tight socket hole of yours!"
"¡Lo único con lo que necesito ayuda es estrangularte mientras duermes!" (The only thing I need help with is to strangle you in your sleep!)
Back on the Bluer side of things
As Church and Tucker finally headed back into the Blue Base, they immediately noticed something was off: it was quiet. Too quiet. For once, no explosions, no mess, no yells of frustration, even the calendar was neatly hanging on the wall.
"Well," Church began, a hopeful tone in his voice, "it looks like we can finally put up that sign that says 'Days Without Accide-'"
*KABOOM!*
"Tucker did it!" cried a childish voice from within the base.
"...Aaaand I just jinxed us. Ugh, fuck."
"Caboose, what the hell did you do this time!" Tucker irately yelled as he headed over to see just what happened this time. Church elected to simply sigh and collapse onto his knees, dropping his weapon and looking up to the skies.
"Yo, gods! Or whoever's in charge up there! If you even are real, then I'm sorry for not freaking believing in you! If this is your way of punishing us, could you at least give me a freaking break the next time around?! "Dammit!" he yelled out before beginning those breathing exercises Doc ordered to relieve himself of his fuming anger. Seriously, how hard was it for command to just send him new teammates? Or better yet, reassign him somewhere else far, FAR away from these shitheads? Knowing that moping around won't change anything, he steeled himself before entering the base himself.
Making his way to the source of the noise, he came across a soot-covered kitchen, the sprinklers dousing the flames and smell of smoke with the scent of damp ash. Standing next to the oven was a tall figure clad in now-drenched PT gear, carrying a tray of what appeared to be burnt cookies in his mitt-covered the footsteps of his friends, he immediately turned to face the sound and present his baked "goods."
"Oh, Church! Tucker, I made cookies!"
, , ,
"Ugh, Caboose, you're facing the wrong way. We're over here."
In which, he technically was, having presented his treats to a blank wall. Sweeping away the messy blonde bangs of his damp hair that obscured his vision, he looked to his left and righted himself to where his friends were standing.
"Here you go!" He placed the tray before them. Both soldiers took a glance at each other before sighing, each taking a cookie. Tucker made a show of pretending to eat by simply crushing the burnt crumpet against his helmet, while making munching noises. As Tucker made crumbs that fell to the wet floor, Church decided to have the decency of simply placing his inside one of his armor's storage compartments.
"Well, is it good?" Caboose asked hopefully.
"Look, buddy, how about we save this for later, okay? Right now, you need to armor up because we are going on a field trip to HQ's meeting hall," Church informed the special blue in the only way he knew how.
"Yay! I love field trips!" Caboose swiftly declared as he dropped his baked cookies and rushed to suit up in his own armor.
In all honesty, as difficult as Caboose was, he most certainly was not useless. True he had the collective IQ of a quarter pound of potato salad, but he also carried the strength of an ox and could honestly punch like a literal freight train to compensate for his mental deficiency. They simply had too much upstairs for him, and he had too much downstairs for them.
Soon after Caboose had finally changed into his model-behind blue Mark V armor, as well as bashing Tucker to silence his pleas for a quick watch of one of his newly acquired "films," the angry blue leader dragged his two teammates to the outside of their little "home." There lay parked the powerhouse of Blue team's vehicle selection (which ultimately wasn't much): a green M280 Scorpion, parked right beside Tucker's so-called "rock."
"Alright Tucker, you drive and Caboose will sit next to you. I'll sit in the back with the turret."
"Okay Church!"
"Fuck that shit, there's no way I'm sitting next to him again!"
"What, would you rather risk Caboose manning the fucking turret by himself then?
"Honestly Church, I don't give a damn what you do, I just refuse to sit next to him."
"Ugh, fine. But if he causes anymore shit today, it's on your ass, got it? Caboose, move over, you sit in the back."
"Okay Church!"
And with that, the Blues had started off towards their mysterious meeting. Just what could be happening that demands their attention now of all times? We'll just have to wait and watch my friends. Wait and watch.
END