TF2 - RED Moon Rising
Title: RED Moon Rising
Author: Onyx Shinigami
Cast: RED Team
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or the associated classes. I own the characters I've stuck in their uniforms.
AJ jolted awake as the bus finally rolled to a dusty halt. He’d been trapped inside this rusty-stinking tin can for three days as he made his way to his new home and he was itching to stretch his legs and run. Basic training had been a breeze and his time in Scouting had given him little to fret over either. He was a natural scout: cocky, confident and self-assured. He knew what he was good at, and he went and did it. He couldn’t wait to get out onto the field with his teammates to show them what he could do.
The bus drove through the large fence and continued on for about five more minutes before a small, rather nondescript building pulled into view. The bus stopped just outside of a second gate that was flanked by two bored looking guards, and the driver told AJ that he was to disembark. The guards checked his ID card and while one guard searched his luggage, the other went inside a small wood shack and seemed to make a phone call. AJ could hear the guard speaking to someone, and it was far too small for a third person to be inside. After the search and ID, the taller of the two guards opened the gate and walked through with AJ. Any attempt AJ made at conversation was met with silence, so he gave up and scanned his surroundings. The sun was setting over the horizon; the sky a dusky plum-turned-purple, and buttes breaking up the smooth horizon with their black backs in the ever darkening sky; a Hunter’s Moon was rising. After passing through the third security gate and entering into the building, AJ was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to get to drop his duffle bag and just let loose.
A sliding metal door lifted up quietly and a rather tall, thin man bowed his way out, blocking the entrance. The man leaned lazily to one side, looked AJ up and down and nodded.
“G’day. You must be Scout McKinley. How was your trip?”
“Long and boring. When do I get to work?” AJ shifted his weight from right to left, glanced around the face of the building which he recognized now as a clever facade, glanced between the guard and the new guy, and thought he was being patient.
“Ants in your pants, kid?” the new guy smirked.
“Hey, you spend three days crammed in that hunk of junk refugee from the scrap yard and see how you feel.” AJ snapped.
“You try spendin’ 52 hours crammed into an old fashioned steamer trunk, shipped half-way across the world only to land in another god damned desert and see how you feel,” the other guy drawled. “Not my idear of a good time. You?”
AJ kept his mouth shut.
“Get inside; we’ll drop your bag in your room and head straight t’the meetin’. We’re already late,” the man waved to the guard before slipping under the metal door. AJ followed quickly, eager to get settled and started.
“So, what do you do here? Professional Meet-n-Greeter?” AJ asked as he followed the taller man down the hall.
“Keep your shirt on and ye’ll find out soon enough,” the other guy answered lazily. “Let’s get a move on, shall we? Our Spy tends to carve up the furniture if he’s bored enough.”
AJ tossed his duffel into a room he was told was his own as he walked past it. He found himself a little disoriented as he followed. AJ did not like following; he much preferred leading. All this following was starting to wear on his already ragged nerves. Luckily he didn’t follow for that long. The two men entered a small room dominated by a large round table that was wired with monitors. AJ could see the image of Saxton Hale, frozen in a testosterone-dripping mantastically virile pose, flickering on the screens. Seven men were seated around the table; most of them looked up as AJ and his escort entered the room.
“Grab a seat, mate,” the man nodded to one of the two remaining empty chairs. “Time to get to work.”
“It’s about time you got here,” a woman’s irritated and impatient voice broke the silence. “You’re late. Any further wasting of my time for the duration of this meeting will be met with a swift and terrible reprimand for to offender.”
AJ heard the sounds of papers being moved from over the speakers, followed by a tell-tale sipping of liquid. He shook his head.
“The purpose of tonight’s meeting is to introduce yourselves to one another. I don’t have time for scuffing of shoes as you hem and haw while thinking of what to say, so I’ll be taking matters into my own hands. When the meeting is concluded, you are to return to your rooms and rest for the evening. You will begin exercises tomorrow at oh-five-hundred sharp. I’ll be listing you in order of experience so you all know your place in the food chain. Now let’s begin. ”
“Your Demoman. Tavis DeGroot, age 32, hailing from Ullapool, Scotland.”
AJ stifled a laugh as he saw the image of a black man wearing an eye-patch pop up on his screen. Obviously someone had gotten the photos out of order. Whoever heard of a black Scotsman anyhow?
“Your Heavy. Ivan Khrushchev, age 30, from Moscow, Russia.”
AJ rolled his eyes. A Russian from Moscow named Ivan. How original. He cast a quick glance down the table to his left to look at the big man for a second. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the guy had been drinking vodka straight out of the bottle, but the Heavy was concentrating on his own screen. AJ turned his gaze back to the images he needed when the woman spoke once again.
“Your Engineer. Dr. John Young, 52, from Laredo, Texas, of the United States.”
AJ glanced at the image. Nothing remarkable there. Just his luck; stuck with a male Engineer. There had been three lady engineers in his training cell alone. Why couldn’t he have been placed with one of them, instead of this old guy?
“Your Soldier. Robert Remus Ryan, age 41, from Topeka, Kansas, of the United States.”
Jeeze, what was with all the old guys? AJ shook his head. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d retire or blow up soon. That’d give him the chance to get a few chicks in here.
“Your Spy. Albert de Gaulle, age 38, from Paris, France.”
AJ tapped his fingers impatiently. Why they would bother showing a picture of a man in a mask was beyond him. What a waste of time. And why should they have to bother with this crap?! They could bond together soon enough on the battlefield.
“Your Sniper. Frank Blaine Smith, age 43 from Adelaide, Australia.”
Ahh, the Sniper. AJ rolled his neck, cracking a few things into place in the process. So that was who his escort had been. Explained the relaxed attitude. Those guys just lay around all day, waiting for guys like him to do all the work, and then they take all the credit for the kill. AJ cracked his knuckles. He didn’t like Snipers.
“Your Pyro. Douglas Strickland, age 27, from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada.”
AJ burst out laughing. ““Moose Jaw!” What a stupid name for a place. Is that even real? What, is it next to Elk Balls? C’maan! You’re killing me!”
AJ’s laughter died a quick, hypothermic death as the icy glares of his teammates fell upon him. He coughed nervously at the ridged tension in the air. All was silence for a few more seconds before the woman’s voice began anew.
“Your Medic. Horst Carstens, age 45 from Stuttgart, Germany. A most valuable asset to your team, gentlemen. Protect him.”
Oh sure, AJ thought, leaning back in his chair. ‘Protect the Medic; they’ll protect you’. That had been beaten into his head more times than he could count during Basic, and he failed to see that it mattered. All the Medics did was hide behind the Heavys and use them as meat shields. If the team were lucky, they might get a few stray heals here and there. Protect the Medic, yeah, right. The Heavy could do that just fine without slowing him down.
“And finally, your delightful Scout,” AJ could hear the sarcasm dripping through the connection. “Able Jagger McKinley, age 21, hailing from Boston, Massachusetts, of the United States. Fresh out of training. Beat some sense into him, will you?”
The audio went out with a pop, the screens went dark, and AJ was left in a rather small room with eight other men that were giving him the distinct impression he wasn’t liked.
“So, uhh, who’s up for a couple of beers?” he asked, laughing weakly. The other men got up from their chairs and exited the room. No one spoke to him. When the room was empty, he sighed. “Great. Just perfect.” He left the room and went back down the halls, trailing the other guys until he found his room. Shutting the door behind him, he flopped onto an old single bed and covered his eyes with his arms. Hopefully he could prove himself to the guys soon. Turning onto his side, he gazed out of his window, up at the red moon hanging in the night sky.
“Tomorrow,” He promised.
Tomorrow, he would show them all what he was made of.
*** *** ***
“Nice kid, huh?” John asked as the door to their room clicked through.
“He’s new. He’ll get over it. Just needs to learn his place is all. You know how some Scouts get babied during training. A few hard knocks to the back of the head will take a bit of the cock out of his robin.” Frank yawned and began to undress.
“Heh. Knowing Dell, that kid is going to have to learn to dance, and fast.”
Author: Onyx Shinigami
Cast: RED Team
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or the associated classes. I own the characters I've stuck in their uniforms.
AJ jolted awake as the bus finally rolled to a dusty halt. He’d been trapped inside this rusty-stinking tin can for three days as he made his way to his new home and he was itching to stretch his legs and run. Basic training had been a breeze and his time in Scouting had given him little to fret over either. He was a natural scout: cocky, confident and self-assured. He knew what he was good at, and he went and did it. He couldn’t wait to get out onto the field with his teammates to show them what he could do.
The bus drove through the large fence and continued on for about five more minutes before a small, rather nondescript building pulled into view. The bus stopped just outside of a second gate that was flanked by two bored looking guards, and the driver told AJ that he was to disembark. The guards checked his ID card and while one guard searched his luggage, the other went inside a small wood shack and seemed to make a phone call. AJ could hear the guard speaking to someone, and it was far too small for a third person to be inside. After the search and ID, the taller of the two guards opened the gate and walked through with AJ. Any attempt AJ made at conversation was met with silence, so he gave up and scanned his surroundings. The sun was setting over the horizon; the sky a dusky plum-turned-purple, and buttes breaking up the smooth horizon with their black backs in the ever darkening sky; a Hunter’s Moon was rising. After passing through the third security gate and entering into the building, AJ was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to get to drop his duffle bag and just let loose.
A sliding metal door lifted up quietly and a rather tall, thin man bowed his way out, blocking the entrance. The man leaned lazily to one side, looked AJ up and down and nodded.
“G’day. You must be Scout McKinley. How was your trip?”
“Long and boring. When do I get to work?” AJ shifted his weight from right to left, glanced around the face of the building which he recognized now as a clever facade, glanced between the guard and the new guy, and thought he was being patient.
“Ants in your pants, kid?” the new guy smirked.
“Hey, you spend three days crammed in that hunk of junk refugee from the scrap yard and see how you feel.” AJ snapped.
“You try spendin’ 52 hours crammed into an old fashioned steamer trunk, shipped half-way across the world only to land in another god damned desert and see how you feel,” the other guy drawled. “Not my idear of a good time. You?”
AJ kept his mouth shut.
“Get inside; we’ll drop your bag in your room and head straight t’the meetin’. We’re already late,” the man waved to the guard before slipping under the metal door. AJ followed quickly, eager to get settled and started.
“So, what do you do here? Professional Meet-n-Greeter?” AJ asked as he followed the taller man down the hall.
“Keep your shirt on and ye’ll find out soon enough,” the other guy answered lazily. “Let’s get a move on, shall we? Our Spy tends to carve up the furniture if he’s bored enough.”
AJ tossed his duffel into a room he was told was his own as he walked past it. He found himself a little disoriented as he followed. AJ did not like following; he much preferred leading. All this following was starting to wear on his already ragged nerves. Luckily he didn’t follow for that long. The two men entered a small room dominated by a large round table that was wired with monitors. AJ could see the image of Saxton Hale, frozen in a testosterone-dripping mantastically virile pose, flickering on the screens. Seven men were seated around the table; most of them looked up as AJ and his escort entered the room.
“Grab a seat, mate,” the man nodded to one of the two remaining empty chairs. “Time to get to work.”
“It’s about time you got here,” a woman’s irritated and impatient voice broke the silence. “You’re late. Any further wasting of my time for the duration of this meeting will be met with a swift and terrible reprimand for to offender.”
AJ heard the sounds of papers being moved from over the speakers, followed by a tell-tale sipping of liquid. He shook his head.
“The purpose of tonight’s meeting is to introduce yourselves to one another. I don’t have time for scuffing of shoes as you hem and haw while thinking of what to say, so I’ll be taking matters into my own hands. When the meeting is concluded, you are to return to your rooms and rest for the evening. You will begin exercises tomorrow at oh-five-hundred sharp. I’ll be listing you in order of experience so you all know your place in the food chain. Now let’s begin. ”
“Your Demoman. Tavis DeGroot, age 32, hailing from Ullapool, Scotland.”
AJ stifled a laugh as he saw the image of a black man wearing an eye-patch pop up on his screen. Obviously someone had gotten the photos out of order. Whoever heard of a black Scotsman anyhow?
“Your Heavy. Ivan Khrushchev, age 30, from Moscow, Russia.”
AJ rolled his eyes. A Russian from Moscow named Ivan. How original. He cast a quick glance down the table to his left to look at the big man for a second. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the guy had been drinking vodka straight out of the bottle, but the Heavy was concentrating on his own screen. AJ turned his gaze back to the images he needed when the woman spoke once again.
“Your Engineer. Dr. John Young, 52, from Laredo, Texas, of the United States.”
AJ glanced at the image. Nothing remarkable there. Just his luck; stuck with a male Engineer. There had been three lady engineers in his training cell alone. Why couldn’t he have been placed with one of them, instead of this old guy?
“Your Soldier. Robert Remus Ryan, age 41, from Topeka, Kansas, of the United States.”
Jeeze, what was with all the old guys? AJ shook his head. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d retire or blow up soon. That’d give him the chance to get a few chicks in here.
“Your Spy. Albert de Gaulle, age 38, from Paris, France.”
AJ tapped his fingers impatiently. Why they would bother showing a picture of a man in a mask was beyond him. What a waste of time. And why should they have to bother with this crap?! They could bond together soon enough on the battlefield.
“Your Sniper. Frank Blaine Smith, age 43 from Adelaide, Australia.”
Ahh, the Sniper. AJ rolled his neck, cracking a few things into place in the process. So that was who his escort had been. Explained the relaxed attitude. Those guys just lay around all day, waiting for guys like him to do all the work, and then they take all the credit for the kill. AJ cracked his knuckles. He didn’t like Snipers.
“Your Pyro. Douglas Strickland, age 27, from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada.”
AJ burst out laughing. ““Moose Jaw!” What a stupid name for a place. Is that even real? What, is it next to Elk Balls? C’maan! You’re killing me!”
AJ’s laughter died a quick, hypothermic death as the icy glares of his teammates fell upon him. He coughed nervously at the ridged tension in the air. All was silence for a few more seconds before the woman’s voice began anew.
“Your Medic. Horst Carstens, age 45 from Stuttgart, Germany. A most valuable asset to your team, gentlemen. Protect him.”
Oh sure, AJ thought, leaning back in his chair. ‘Protect the Medic; they’ll protect you’. That had been beaten into his head more times than he could count during Basic, and he failed to see that it mattered. All the Medics did was hide behind the Heavys and use them as meat shields. If the team were lucky, they might get a few stray heals here and there. Protect the Medic, yeah, right. The Heavy could do that just fine without slowing him down.
“And finally, your delightful Scout,” AJ could hear the sarcasm dripping through the connection. “Able Jagger McKinley, age 21, hailing from Boston, Massachusetts, of the United States. Fresh out of training. Beat some sense into him, will you?”
The audio went out with a pop, the screens went dark, and AJ was left in a rather small room with eight other men that were giving him the distinct impression he wasn’t liked.
“So, uhh, who’s up for a couple of beers?” he asked, laughing weakly. The other men got up from their chairs and exited the room. No one spoke to him. When the room was empty, he sighed. “Great. Just perfect.” He left the room and went back down the halls, trailing the other guys until he found his room. Shutting the door behind him, he flopped onto an old single bed and covered his eyes with his arms. Hopefully he could prove himself to the guys soon. Turning onto his side, he gazed out of his window, up at the red moon hanging in the night sky.
“Tomorrow,” He promised.
Tomorrow, he would show them all what he was made of.
*** *** ***
“Nice kid, huh?” John asked as the door to their room clicked through.
“He’s new. He’ll get over it. Just needs to learn his place is all. You know how some Scouts get babied during training. A few hard knocks to the back of the head will take a bit of the cock out of his robin.” Frank yawned and began to undress.
“Heh. Knowing Dell, that kid is going to have to learn to dance, and fast.”