Summary: a prior RED team discovers something sinister going on at their base. Apologies if the prologue is too long...i wanted to channel current TF2 events to lead into this one Prologue: Australia at Night Four figures sit around a campfire, roasting chunks of bear meat and 35 year old hot dogs on wattle sticks. Surrounding them is the vast darkness of the Australian Outback at night. In the distance, a dingo howls, and the youngest of the group, the Scout, darts his eyes nervously. "Aww geez," he whines. "Why couldn't've Snipes come from someplace nicer...like with butterflies or fluffy bunnies?" The large bald man from across from him, the Heavy, gives an amused smile. "Would like to be in Russia again? Leetle dog here like mouse to bear at home." "No way!" Scout snaps, almost dropping his hot dog into the fire. "That was freakin' scary and I never wanna go back! Besides, it's way warmer here." He brings the link out of the flames, examining it for any hint of rawness before taking a bite from the end. "Kid's got a point," Soldier smacks between mouthfuls of bear jerky. "I wouldn't set foot in your country even if it was a democracy. Though I am gonna miss the brunette with the nice bazooms." Heavy glowers and rises to his feet, towering over the American. "No one talks of my sisters in crude way. Especially about Zhanna." "Easy private," Soldier wavers, holding his hands up. "It's just a compliment. But I'm telling you, if we could just get her to the States, Zhanna'd be the next Marilyn Monroe or Raquel Welch with a body like that." His fists clench tight and Heavy gives a deep growl. "Zhanna is not going to be an object of pleasure for the eyes of slavering men to ogle at." "Atleast it's better than being stuck in the middle of Siberia," Soldier replies as he reaches for another strip of jerky. "A shameful waste of talent if you ask me. I hope she doesn't look like your mother when she's that old. Eeeyuck!" Without warning, Heavy lunges at Soldier, knocking him off his log and pinning him to the ground. He then shoves his face under his helmet. "How dare you insult Mama to my face after all she has done for you! You have made big mistake." "Ow! Ah! Let go of me, you red menace!" Soldier yells as he tries to wriggle out from under the Russian. "I'll tell the president on you, and when I do, Siberia will be nothing but a smoldering, radioactive wasteland!" "That will never happen. Now apologize, American ape." "Ha! I told you so, all guts! Once a commie, always a commie!" The men wrestle each other on the dusty ground, until a sudden blast of air blows them apart. i'm afraid i'll need to cut off here, as it's getting late where I am...but I promise to update as soon as I can due to no internet
(here's the rest of the prologue, look for chapter 1 sometime next week if my phone cooperates) Above them, the Pyro stands, looking down through opaque glass eyes. They then gently set their flamethrower down and cross their arms as they admonish Soldier and Heavy in a firm muffled tone. “Pyro’s right. We can’t go on fighting like this,†Scout says, joining them on the other side of the fire. “There’s a crazy old guy with robots after us, and we gotta stick together or else we’re dead…for good.†Soldier and Heavy look at each other, knowing that Scout was right. They’ve been fellow mercenaries for too long to let such petty differences split them now. They help each other up and shake hands, when a familiar voice startles them. “How rarely unselfish of you, Scout. I didn’t think there was ever a sincere bone in your body.†Materializing on the log where Scout once sat was RED’s Spy, lighting up one of his fancy cigarettes he was so fond of. Even in the muggy, mosquito-ridden Australian wilderness, he was impeccably dressed in his three-piece red pinstripe suit and balaclava as if he had just walked out of a espionage thriller. “Enjoying your little camp-out, gentlemen?†“Spy!†Scout exclaims. “Ya don’t know how glad we are to see-“ He is yanked back by Soldier’s firm grasp on his t-shirt. Brandishing his shovel, he narrows his eyes at Spy. “How do we know that you’re not the enemy Spy sent by Gray Mann?†“Because une, I am not a robot, and deux, as far as I know, Medic still keeps BLU Spy’s head in his refrigerator like week old tofu,†the Frenchman replies dryly, flinging the ash off his cigarette. “Well…Well you could be another BLU Spy! There’s never just one!†Soldier protests. Spy takes a deep breath. “Jane, Gray Mann has disposed all human elements of BLU. No survivors.†Soldier stands dumbfounded, not by the fact that their enemy has been systematically murdered, but that he heard his true name fall from the man’s lips. “You called me ‘Jane’,†he utters once his voice returns. A flicker of movement is seen under his mask as Spy raises his eyebrow. “That is your name, non? Like how Misha’s favorite sandwich is bologna…†“Is good sandvich,†Heavy smiles. “Rainbows make Scout cry…†“They do not!†Scout huffs. “And Pyro…†Spy looks at the masked, jump-suited figure, trying to remember a detail about them from the barest file he’s ever read. “And how Pyro likes…Balloonicorns?†Pyro erupts into a flurry of excited noises and grasps the Spy in a tight hug, confirming to the others that this Spy was the real deal. “So how’d ya find us?†Scout asks eagerly. “Where’s Demoman and Miss Pauling?†“They are with Sniper, convincing him to join us again,†he answers once he catches his breath. “And finding you was quite simple, I have been with you the entire time per the Madamoiselle’s orders.†The other mercs stare in disbelief. By now they should have gotten used to cloaking spies on the battlefield, but the Spy before them always had tricks up his sleeves. That’s why he was their most valuable member. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Later on, when everyone has their fill of meat, the men sit around the fire to watch the embers die out. A makeshift tent of canvas parachutes, bear hides and branches had been set up earlier in the day, but the mercs unknowingly built it on top of a rabid bilby nest, and the adorable blood-thirsty creatures had claimed the tent for themselves. Soldier has passed out from a meat coma, while Heavy and Pyro lay out their sleeping bags. Scout and Spy remain by the fire, and Pyro motions them to put the fire out when they are ready. The two sit in silence for a moment, not knowing what else to say to each other. They had never really gotten along- Spy thought that Scout was a loud, annoying brat, and Scout regarded Spy in his words “a smelly douchebag.†But with time, a degree of respect had grown between them. Scout bows his head, gazing at his cloth wrapped hands. “We’re gonna lose,†he says with a defeated sigh. Spy turns to him. “Why do you say that?†The man moves a bit closer to Scout, wondering how the lad could change his mind so quickly when just an hour before, he wanted the team to stay together. “Isn’t it obvious?†Scout begins. “That nutzo Gray is way smarter than all of us. Even if Snipes and Engie come back, we ain’t good enough to beat his robot army. We should just surrender now and end this stupid thing.†Spy ponders Scout’s words, when an idea comes to him. “Have you ever heard of the RED team of 1964?†Scout shakes his head. “Never did…I always thought we were the only team.†“Well, don’t be surprised when I tell you that this isn’t the first time the Administrator threw us to the dogs.†Spy closes his eyes. Although it was eight years earlier, it seemed like a lifetime ago. “Things were slightly different, but the objective was the same: Fight over Mann properties, protect vital information...†He waves his hand. “So what happened the last time? Where you there?†Scout looks at the Spy, intrigued by the coming tale. “I’ve...heard of it. Secondhand, still very richly detailed,†Spy replies. “But it starts with Zephaniah Mann, the found of the company that’s at the center of this sordid battle. He wasn’t always into gravel and munitions like you were led to believe…â€
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thank you for the feedback, mawaru. There was a detailed explanation on why Scout was so reluctant to attack the critters of the Land Down Under, but I couldn't fit it all in. I had it where the animals were also exposed to Australium, and the plane the guys were in got attacked by a sugar glider on steroids, hence why there are parachutes mentioned. Also in the part you mentioned about Scout and Spy, ot was one of the cameraderie...i shojld have been more clear. That said, i'm taking you comments and keeping them in mind
ag ack! I'm so stupid for leaving that out...a lapse of judgment on my part because i thought the prologue was long enough as it is...-derping so hard right now- Anyways, the way first chapter is going, there's going to be quite a lot of reading meat for you to sink teeth in, I promise.
apologies for the long wait, other events came up in life. Chapter 1 is also going to be a 2 parter, as i am currently restructuring the second half of the story. Enjoy [b]Chapter 1: The New Medic (part one) [br][/br] 1964. It was the year Britain invaded America with fresh hip music, while America sent her young men to Vietnam. Hippies didn't exist in that time; instead they were called "conscientious objectors" and bathed regularly. The Civil Rights Movement was in full swing and they had just scored a victory with the Civil Rights Act of 1964, guaranteeing that no one wouldn't be discriminated against based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. But in spite of being an era of change, one feud chose to stay constant for almost a hundred years. In the barren deserts of New Mexico, Redmond and Blutarch Mann continue their unending battle over the control of their father's lands, using hired mercenaries to carry out their dirty work. The 18 men are lorded over by a chain-smoking harpy of a woman named Helen, known more by her title of Administrator. She takes great pride in watching them blow each other up, while keeping neutral to her bosses. But the story does not begin there as it normally would. Instead, it takes place hundreds of miles to the north and east, in the state of Wisconsin. A land of beer, cheese and savage wilderness, Wisconsin was a perfect storm of harsh conditions--from below freezing, blizzard weather in the winter, to hot, mosquito infested summers. Located in the central part of the state is Adams County, a rural area with equal parts farmland and thick pine forest. In one such dense forest, an old gravel logging trail leads to a forbidding chain link fence topped with both barbed and electrified wire. A sign on the gate warns that the area belongs to TF Industries, and trespassing is punishable by death. Through the gate, the road travels almost a mile before it splits in two; each one leading to opposite sides of a clearing where there are two large dairy barns-one red and one blue- situated about 50 apart from each other. They, too, are surrounded by a 10 foot fence of sheet metal with barbed wire and a barrier of concrete. The barns had been there for some time, as evidenced by their sagging roofs and weathered wood, but for the occupants who dwelled inside such strange fortresses, it was home. Entering the red barn on the right, the interior was almost as decrepit as the outside: A second floor had been hastily built 10 feet above the cement foundation, propped up by four large wooden beams in the corners, a pillar of precariously stacked cement bricks holding up the center. There were other beams running lengthwise under the drooping floorboards, but they had long been warped and rotted. To the left of the main area was a door that in a normal barn, would lead to the milk house. But instead of a giant silver vat humming away to keep the milk cool, the room was dark and presumably empty. All of a sudden, the sound of a switch being clicked on echoed through, followed by the whirr of projector wheels. A grainy black and white title card appears on a moth-eaten projection screen, announcing "A TF Industries Production, 1935." Spirited, but worn and static big band music beginsd to play, and the title card fades in to a simple set of a cloth folding chair next to a Mann Co. crate. Sitting in the chair was a dapper gentleman in a suit, his legs crossed and hands folded in his lap. "Hi-ho, men," He says in a smooth voice distorted by the aged film. "I am popular entertainer Rudy Vallée, and on behalf of Mann Co. and TF Industries, I welcome you all to Calcium Prairies Dairy Farm. Founded in 1848 by British entrepreneur Zephaniah Mann, Calcium Prairies prides itself as one of the prominent dairy producers in the country." Rudy stands up and walks to the crate, which now had a bottle of milk and a glass on top. "Now this here may look like ordinary milk, but in truth, it's a wonderful thing called MannMilk." Rudy says as he picks up the bottle and shows it to the camera. "It's Calcium Prairies' highest selling product and America's most popular dairy health supplements, curing all sorts of maladies, such as headaches, indigestion, fever, chills, and tuberculosis." He peels away the tinfoil lid and pours some milk into the glass. "Plus, MannMilk has the refreshing taste of bananas that people of all ages enjoy!" He then takes a drink of the liquid. Suddenly, the glass falls from Rudy's hand and a look of abject horror appears on his face. The film cuts to black abruptly. When it returns, the singer is disheveled and trembling slightly, with a large syringe sticking out of his neck and the set in ruins. "Moving on," he continues hoarsely. "Our rival, Happy Farms, is hell bent on getting the secret MannMilk formula, so your task is to protect it at all costs. Your administrator will give you further instructions after the film. Good luck to you." The projector is turned off and light floods the milk house-turned-conference room, revealing five white men, a ten year old boy, a chocolate Labrador Retriever in a Scout hat and red flannel vest, and a Pyro wearing a comically large sombrero. A sixth man in a tight red flannel coat goes up to the projector screen and yanks hard on the cord, causing it to roll up rapidly and fall off its hooks. He turns and faces the others, glaring at them with dark, hollow eyes underneath the rusted, dented helmet he wore on his head. The man was Glenn Colbert, a six foot-three inch, 260 pound United States Army colonel who fit the Soldier class perfectly, due to his experiences in both the European and Pacific theatres. "Alright,maggots!" Glenn barked in a harsh, commanding voice. "Now that you have been briefed on the mission, any last words before we go out and kick some Happy Farm ass?" "Ohhh! Ohhh! Ohhhh!" The boy engineer, Russell, waves his hand animatedly and squirms in his seat. He was a local boy who was an unrivaled genius in all things technical, and had worked for the team ever since the last Engineer disappeared through a teleporter. Though HQ wasn't thrilled at the prospect of a child being dragged into a game of life or death, Russell performed his duties as well as an adult in the same class. Glenn thrusts his arm out, pointing at Russell with such zeal that if he were closer, the kid would have certainly been run through by his finger. "Speak, private!" Russell stands up, back straight and skinny chest puffed out as he salutes his commanding officer. "Sir! The Respawn Unit is down and the parts i need won't be delivered until next Wednesday, sir! So...umm...no one die today." He gives another salute and sits back down. "You heard the hardhat, men! No one suffer any grievous injury that can't be healed by our Medic or Resupply. But in the event one of you do become a casualty..." Glenn takes off his helmet and dons what appears to be a sympathetic face. "I am going to take this moment to say that it was a great honor to serve with each and every one of you." He pauses as his rage returns. "Even though the lot of you are a bunch of fruit-fucking, scum-sucking spineless worms!" Another dramatic finger point, this time toward the back of the room, directs itself at the seal-masked Sniper, Richard Dawsome. "Especially you, you filthy Gypsy!" Richard just rolls his eyes, muttering curses in Strine-tinted Hungarian once the brute had his back turned. The speakers click, and the familiar gravelly voicr of thr Administrator announces, "Our intelligence has been picked up." Glenn shoulders his rocket launcher and lets out a mighty war whoop as he charges through the door. The rest of the mercenaries follow him, aside from the Pyro and Russell who go to protect the Intelligence room once it has been returned. As the mercs storm the battle field, Glenn spots the team's nebbish Medic, Otto Schlimazel. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says mockingly, grabbing the doctor by his coat and rocket jumping to the front lines. Rollan Drakonavich, the Heavy Weapons Guy, watches in disappointment at the two going off, but he looks down in his vest pocket at the doll replica of a standard Medic and smiles before joining them and Tam McKenzie (the Demoman). Meanwhile, Richard shimmies up a drainpipe to the roof of an outlying building, setting up the perfect vantage point for his Bazaar Bargain sniper rifle. A flash of blue catches his attention and he peer through his scope, noticing the Happy Farms Scout zipping back to his base with Calcium Prairies' documents on his back. Richard's lips twist into a smile as he focuses the red dot on the man's head and pulls the trigger. Scout Dog and Spy find the secret entrance into the Happy Farms barn, the latter having turned into an enemy Engineer. He motions to the dog to stay behind while he saps the sentries. After disposing of the Engineer and his toys, the Spy pulls a silver whistle from his vest pocket and blows. A brown flash whizzes by and Scout Dog snatches the briefcase handle in his mouth. "The Happy Farms inelligence has been picked up."
This is really really good, I love your style and I can't wait to see more!