Head vs. You

A Red vs. Blue drabble collection

By

EvilFuzzy9

Wash stared dead ahead at the new arrivals. He looked to be frozen.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me..." he muttered.

"Hello, yes," said a presumably rather burly man in a garish yellow combat dress modeled after an archaic armor design for UNSC demo-men back during the war. "This is being the, how you say... Red Team, yes?"

He also spoke with a ridiculously stereotypical Russian accent.

"Red Team?" said Caboose. "Since when were we the Red Team? Tucker?" He spun to face his teal-armored teammate. "Did you know about this?" he asked. "Why didn't anyone tell me? Now we're on the Red Team, but I'm still wearing blue. And that's just silly."

Tucker sighed.

"I swear to God, Caboose..." he muttered longsufferingly under his breath. Louder, however, he said, "No, we're not the Red Team. We are still the Blue Team. We will always be the Blue Team. That's why we wear blue armor."

"Are you sure?" said Caboose. "Because your armor looks pretty green to me."

Tucker sighed. "Yes Caboose, I'm sure. We were the Blue Team yesterday, we're the Blue Team today, and – as much as I'm starting to wish otherwise – we'll be the Blue Team tomorrow."

"Are you being completely sure, comrade?" inquired the yellow armored Russian.

"Yeah, we're sure," said Wash. "Tucker's right. We are the Blue Team."

"Aha!" exclaimed Caboose, looking at Tucker. "I told you we were blue."

The self-proclaimed ladies' man groaned, placing his helmeted head in his armor-plated hands.

"...Yeah..." said Wash, turning back to the visitor. "...If you're looking for the Reds, they're at the other end of the canyon," he said.

"Ha," came a faint, but unmistakably smug laugh from the Scorpion main battle tank parked alongside the Pelican this man had come in on (a ship which looked to have been heavily customized in favor of carrying and delivering maximum payloads of explosive ordnance). "I told you they couldn't be the Red Team." The voice sounded faintly tinny, as though it were being projected from speakers.

"Bah!" muttered the man back next to the Blue Team. "I suppose we had best be telling comrades to halt attack on other base, then."

"Wha...?" said Wash. "What attack?"

"The attack to be wiping out Blue Team, as per agreements of contract, yes?" said the man. "We in Red Dawn are taking assignments very seriously. Is very good reason to be making with the explosions, you see.

Wash was quiet for a moment.

"I... see..." he said slowly.

"OH DEAR GOD, WHY?!" screamed Grif, fleeing in a panic from a man in blue armor, whose helmet was crudely painted in the likeness of a shark's visage.

"Heheheh... My apologies, dear sir," said the man in blue, rather polite speech contrasting starkly with his fierce appearance and brutal actions. "But we were hired by a man who insisted that Blue Team must be destroyed."

He reloaded his brute shot, taking aim at the orange-armored slacker.

"GODDAMMIT, SARGE!" Grif swore, ducking frantically behind a conveniently located boulder.

"That could have been anyone!" the staff sergeant retorted, trading shotgun fire with a raving lunatic in blood-stained silver armor.

"Ahahaha! God demands the blood of the wicked!" the silver-clad maniac bellowed, laughing maniacally as he grabbed a second shotgun from his back and began rapidly firing both weapons at Sarge. "Repent of your sins in the lake of fire, heathen!"

"Ruh-roh," grunted the leader of Red Team. He immediately ducked behind another conveniently located boulder.

"Dual-wielded shotguns!" Sarge exclaimed. "Dammit, why didn't I think of that first?! Private Grif, I blame you for this!"

"I FUCKING HATE YOU!" Grif shouted over the sound of heavy explosions cracking away at his swiftly dwindling cover as the man in blue enthusiastically poured on the fire.

"The feeling's mutual!" Sarge retorted, ducking back up from cover just long enough to unload a barrel-full of hot lead point blank into the visor of his attacker.

"THE LORD IS MY SHIELD, PAGAN FOOLS!" the silver armored man howled, completely unfazed by what should have been a one-shot kill on anything under a ton.

"¡Cago en su puta madre!" Lopez shouted, or as much as he could, firing some manner of insane-looking rocket launcher at a hulking, MJOLNIR-clad behemoth of a man who looked like he had to be nearly ten feet tall. The fact that this mountain of titanium plated indifference happened to be casually holding and firing a warthog's chaingun in one hand only increased the badass factor of this.

The overshields flaring to life at the moment of impact, preventing the giant from getting so much as a scratch on him, may have detracted from the robot's feat, however.

"Hmph, a robot? That won't even count towards the reward..." he muttered in a voice that sounded like he ate nails for breakfast.

Another explosive impacted with his chest. Again, overshields prevented any damage to his armor, or person. But he growled nonetheless, and pulled a rocket launcher from his back.

"Pfeh," he said. "Prepare to meet your maker, android."

"Ya me he reunido con mi creador," replied Lopez. "Él es un idiota."

The giant simply fired a rocket at Lopez.

"Too bad," he muttered. "But I don't really care."

Simmons and Donut, meanwhile, were both running from six, identical looking orange-armored soldiers, armor studded with what looked like black transceivers. The Chupathingy, unmanned, was also driving in pursuit after them, while a woman in white used some kind of jetpack to hover in air, aiming a sniper rifle at the pair's backs.

"HOW DO THESE THINGS KEEP HAPPENING TO US!" Simmons wailed, blindly firing a rocket launcher at their pursuers.

"I don't know!" replied Donut. "But I never thought I'd be so upset to have six strapping men ganging up on me!"

"AUGH!" Simmons cried, thoroughly disturbed by this mental image. "STOP DOING THAT!"

The woman fired her gun, hitting Donut in the ankle.

"Ah! Killed by a woman!" the pink-armored man wailed. "The cruel irony!"

"How is that ironi—?" Simmons started to ask, before pausing and shaking his head. "No, wait. On second thought, I think I'd rather leave that a mystery."

The blaring of ranchero style polka from the Chupathingy's radio then reminded the maroon one of his pursuers, and he promptly split, leaving the only-superficially-wounded Donut behind.

Doc looked down at the proceedings from atop a convenient ledge.

"I'd hate to contribute to all of the violence down there, but shouldn't you really be helping your team?" he said to the black-armored man next to him.

The man in black looked down at Grif running in circles with his head on fire, Lopez's decorpsitated head trying somehow to bite off his "killer's" toes, Sarge joining the silver-clad religious zealot in shooting at Grif, Simmons being run over by the Chupathingy, and Donut woefully begging the woman in white to just let him die and keep his dignity.

After a very, very long moment of silence, the man in black turned back to Doc.

"No, I think they have everything under control, down there."

Doc looked down into the canyon.

"Boy, it's gonna take me ages to patch those guys up when this is over," he said, sounding distinctly optimistic even in this.

"...I don't think you'll need to worry about that," was the man in black's response.

"...and then," said the man in yellow, back at Blue Base, "Once we have done traditional burning of the bodies and urinating on their graves, we will return into space and nuke entire site from orbit." He beamed. "Is favorite part of mission!" he said cheerfully.

"...I see..." said Wash slowly. "On second thought, you know what? I think we actually are the Red Team."

"HAH!" laughed the blatant Russian stereotype. "See, Scorpion?" he called over to the M808B, "What did Tsar Bomba tell you? Was all very big, clever ruse!"

"...I hate you so much."

"I KNEW IT!" exclaimed Caboose. "I knew we were the Red Team. Why don't you ever believe me, Tucker?"

Tucker broke down and wept tears of rage.

A/N: These characters are not OCs, entirely, so much as characters translated into this one from a completely different series.

I wonder who can guess what one? It is pretty popular...

...though the characters WERE changed an awful lot.

Also, all of Lopez's lines (save the first) were done in Google translate, just to preserve the Rooster Teeth tradition. In order, they (are meant to) translate as:

"I shit on your whore mother." (as I understand it, this a real curse that people actually use in Spanish)

"I have already met my maker." and "He is an asshole."

Updated: 12-23-13

TTFN and R&R!

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