Guns Blazing

It was a vague burning sensation, but... he was alive. Something moved beside him and he was further driven to lift up his too-heavy head, looking over to whatever was rousing him.

"Ow. That fucking hurt," came the angry mutterance. Sarge blinked his eyes, wondering if it was dark for a reason in his helmet. It smelled like battery acid as well, and he came to realize that something must have been killed in the armor.

"Lev, are you okay?"
"Fantastic," the blonde muttered, waving a hand around and finding purchase as Lopez grabbed him. He was pulled up and light was restored to him as fingers wiped mud off his visor. Ah, enlightment for the masses! So this was where that hole went to.

"I looked around while you were out. You might be surprised at what I found," Lopez said quietly, something strange in his voice. He pulled Sarge by the hand, leading him along to what appeared to be the opening of some kind of cave. Lopez gave a small chuckle as Sarge groaned.

"Oh son of a bitch. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm so damned glad to be back in this hellhole."

The stars seemed clearer for some reason, and Sarge felt a strange sense of nostalgia. And the feeling he had been down this dirty forest pathway before.

"Strange, there seems to be tire tracks going the same way we are," Lopez said, looking over his shoulder at the red-armored Spartan. Sarge took a moment to readjest his helmet's gain to pick up the faint remains of what were indeed tracks - treads from a Warthog.

"Stranger yet, I have a feeling that we're going to have company soon," Levin said, uneasy in his stomach. Lopez paused momentarily, letting his friend catch up, then continued to walk with him.

"Don't worry, You haven't been alone for some time, you know."


[Ahhg, Ghosts of Onyx... so good x_x;]

"Ow... ouch!"

The whining little cries of pain went unnoticed in the stony niche that well-hid two somewhat unlucky Spartans. Lopez pursed his lips at his friend's minor wound - a plasma shot that had sizzled its way through the softer parts of his exoskeleton - on his inner left forearm. With caring hands, Lopez was in charge of administering the first aid this time, a layer of biofoam and gauze wrapping.

"The foam should keep the softer parts from festering. Sorry I had to peel some of that skin off," Lopez murmured, not quite enthused at keeping the memory of pulling half-cindered skin off his friend's arm after the removal of his armor. Levin coughed lightly, wiping at his mouth with a gloved hand, and shaking his head.

"My bad, it was my fault that I pissed off that big mother fucker," Levin grumbled, glad that he and Lopez had at least made a clean getaway, even if it was at the expense of lots of alien lives. The blond winced as Lopez pulled the sleeve of his bodysuit back over his arm and shoulder, clasping armor in a painful but comforting clinch around his arm again. Lopez leaned back with a sigh, glancing over their reserves, and newfound ordnance. The jellybean guns had proved quite useful against their previous owners, and not to mention the interesting needle guns. Lopez was almost itching in anticipation to dismantle and investigate the weapons.

"It seems pretty quite for now, so I'll hazard to say we can stay here for the night," Lopez said, gently slapping a new magazine into his pistol. "You can sleep first and rest up that arm."

"Yeah, okay," Levin muttered, sitting back against seemingly uncomfortable rock. Lopez smiled and pulled his helmet on, making sure his sensors were tuned to the highest setting. It wasn't even after a second that Lopez saw the faintest of blips, the white dotted signal of Mjolnir armor, and then nothing more. The blue eyes of the Latin roid narrowed, a strange feeling welling in his chest, but he suppressed it, turning his attention to one of the jellybean guns.

It was time to explore.

"Lopez, I just might think we're lost."

"My navagations are reading correctly..."

"No, I don't mean in a physical sense. I think I might have gotten us into something a little big bigger than we've been able to handle. Especially with that big... giant glowing thing over there. What the hell is that?"

"Looks like an alien superstructure."

The strange backwards tornado in the middle of the sky wasn't too promising either, nor were the big purple jellybean crafts flying overhead.

"Levin, I'm not going to run off on you now."

"Shit, good. I need the support."



omg guess what i saw!

Inconspicuous at first, but it was there, a blink in a dark room and a flash in the sunlight.

"...trans... perfect landing, can't even see the scratc-.... we're okay though, wet and hot, maybe a jungle or giant biodome but it's-...... -pez setting out and having watch.... -iss you guys and real food and the lov-.... see too far at night but it's pretty, Cap would-.... -otta go, batteries runnning out. Sarge over."

And thus, it repeated, quietly, in its staticy existance, in wait of an ear.

Crumpled paper fell from numb fingers.

Either something was direly wrong, Simmons had another brain-trip, or...

That man is too damned tall to be Simmons.


[spaaaacefillerlove]

Feeling slightly better about life and his situation in it, Sarge managed to get the will to wander on out into the sunlight once more. Well, more like flourescent light, but there were some UV rays... right? He didn't think too much on it as he passed through the base, poking his head into the rooms to see what was happening. Donut cozied up, Lopez working on his latest idea (had he said something about blue armor?), Grif griffing about in his airspace.

Something was slightly off-kilter, though, when he made a melancholic look into Private Leaves' bunker. THINGS were there that had been missing from before. Knowing he had made the policy that Basil's room was NOT a dumphole while he was gone very clear, Sarge couldn't help the lump in his throat.

"Is he... back?"

Magnifecent thing to see a fully-armored Spartan sitting on the edge of his base, morning light illuminating his sihouette, staring out into yonder hills.

Sarge didn't ever want to leave his armor again, hell or high water. Lopez had managed to patch up the small hole in his undersuit. It had been hell having Senor El Roboto explain the science of the suit's intermeshed structure and how that knife must have been pretty damned sharp. The pressure against the underlying wound made the blonde feel a little better, like his vacuum seal had been re-pressed and he was a whole bag of potato chips now.

He couldn't stand it anymore. Sarge was itching. An unusual little keen escaped him as he slid off the ledge of the base, gliding down the to ground and nearly doubling over from the action of doing so.

He was missing someone and didn't give a good goddamn who said what about him wanting to go see him.

Simmmoooonnnnsss! ;o;

Bleeding. It had been pretty fucking terrible. Or at least from what Levin could recall. He could hardly remember what the hell had happened after then initial blow, other than drifting in and out of consciousness. Butch had said it wasn't fatal, but it had been one hell of a bleeder.

God he was getting soft. Take a bullet Sunday night be up in the morning on Monday. Was he really getting that old? Or was he losing his mind? Most probably the latter.

I really need to fix that cieling fan.

The thought came easily as he stared at the ceiling from his cot, light filtering in from the overhead outside air vents. The blades weren't moving, but they were still twirling, mostly from the fever that had taken advantage of his weakened state from earlier. He had swore he wouldn't die. He couldn't have died from that stab but more from either heat consumption or the feelings that were threatening to take over right then.

Donut, Grif, Lopez... Simmons. Basil. Shit, can't even think straight. Can't even lift a pen right now. Where the hell is everyone? Why the hell can't things just go back to normal? When did I lose myself like this?

Wincing from a stroke of pain that made itself known in his guts, Sarge coughed on his tension, angrily rubbing at the moisture that threatened to fall from his eyes.

"Uuuuhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrgggh."

It was the most intelligble thing that he could muster. Levin Leslie Locklins managed to open an eye past the most excruciating headache he had experienced since that night after his heart-attack.

Since when did his life suddenly turn into such an escapade? Rookies up the ass, two boys falling over their heels for him, Lopez going AWOL, Donut on his rag, freelancer breakin' into the liquor closet.

Sarge felt sick. Very sick. Very suddenly. After an initial eyebrow twitch, Sarge reached over, grabbed his wastebasket, and promptly hurled his dinner into it in one go.

"Mother Mary mother of GOD," he muttered after finishing the emptying of his stomach. He rolled from where he had been laying on his bunk, shuffling to the bathroom and mustering up the energy to brush his teeth.

... god what a nightmarish night.

"Whuf!"

Goddamn hefting that Mjolnir around got to be like carrying sacks of cement at times. Sarge heard the Warthog groan faintly in response to having the weighty load in it's back compartment, but he knew the hardy beast would hold up. The red-armored, now complete with helmet, Spartan hopped into the doorless vehicle and cranked up the engine, wheeling away from Red Base and towards the opposite end of the canyon.

Half of the reason was for the damned armor. The white equipment, sitting there, haunting him, reminding him of that fateful day. Sarge narrowed his eyes and ground his teeth on the gum he chewed. He wanted to get rid of it, so dropping it off at Blue base had been the best of ideas.

He also wanted to see Butch.

Minutes passed and the jeep made itself known on the grassy knoll by Blue base. I was just a precaution that Sarge took to cart his pistol with him on the way there, hoping the Captain was up and about as well as easy to find. Movement from the corner of his eye, though, caught his attention, and he decided to take a detour around the side of the base. Damn it sure was rich and grassy out in the back of the base. And... flowery.

Sarge suddenly realized just what kind of plants he was wading through, and when he heard the quiet refrains of Incense and Peppermints, he knew just what the hell was going on. Smirking and standing at rest for a moment, watching the half-dressed Flowers meander about casually, Levin couldn't resist.

"Enjoying yourself, Butchie?"

A jaw-cracking yawn escaped the Red sergeant from where he sat at his personal desk located within the communications room of Blood Gulch Outpost One. After spending a good near-straight sixteen hours without sleep, he was pretty damned tired and feeling worse for wear. He was near ready to fall asleep right there on his paperwork...

Paperwork. His hand had automatically scribbled out the usual progress report. Blues active, Reds on alert and defense, all personnel accounted for... Sarge felt a mild ache in his chest, rubbing his eyes that suddenly burned. Minus one, but he never had the heart... shit. Sarge stared at his pen moodily, about near snapping it in half.

Private Dick Simmons. The name drifted past his mind as he noticed an ant crawling across the edge of his desk. Things had been just hectic enough that his sick worry pangs and the constant turn of his head toward Blue base had faltered. Blurgh, Sarge thought, scripting his name across the bottom of the paper.

But... what if Simmons had gone all the way over? The thought made Sarge groan to himself as he licked the seal to the plain brown envelope he had put the reports in. Command would most likely start wondering why there were two Simmons monkeying about down here. He chuckled and put the envelope in the 'out' box. Simmons wouldn't do such a silly thing, putting his name on the Blue roster. Impossible!

....
Sarge grabbed at his gut, feeling sick.
Simmons was the type of man that WOULD go through and through with plans, with orders from superiors or on his own agenda. Sarge glanced at the envelope for a moment, then reached back over, taking it up in a worried grip.

"Shit. What a world of crap I've gotten myself into."

Man, do I miss the old days, when there were bullets for breakfast and sniperfire for dinner.

Now I've got both hands full with one red-headed hyperactive horn-dog and the other with... well, gotta call him mature and able to handle himself, and ME, which is a whole different sack of potatos. Second person since... Lopez. Christ, I can't even think about him anymore without feelin' that old hurt in my chest.

Captain Sierra, why did you have to leave? I don't know what kind of things have been happening here in the Gulch. Maybe it's true that everyone they send here is crazy. I have no problems admitting that I'm a little off-kilter, but shit, I never expected to wind up in a Blue's favor.

Butch Flowers, you idiot, how did you get past me. That old adage that love's colorblind is a little true I guess.

Leaves is a whole 'nother matter, though. What I got with Flowers makes me feel like I'm back as home with the damned chickens, but Leaves... Christ, the kid's magnetic. Makes me feel like I'm back in boot, minus the screaming COs and cold water on the back to wake you up. Hmm, maybe I should try that some time with the priats.

Can't help but love the little squirt. Both of 'em for that matter.

But why do I always have this bad sense that this feeling is just a fleeting thing. I can't help but say that I feel clouds comin' on the horizon.

-LL

"Grif, Donut, move around to your three, Simmons and I will get the nine. We're almost there, we've almost got 'em!"

This was it. Judgement day. Sarge had finally put each piece of his ginormous puzzle together and now it was the day of reckoning - for the Blue team.

It had just set into evening, and making sure that each of his privates was armed and bristling to the teeth with the most lethal of weapons, Levin had pushed them out into the open with himself, creeping along the heavily shaded parts of the Gulch in lieu of their prey. No one was the wiser.

Keying his call light inside his helmet, Sarge was dismayed at the lack of response from other than Simmons. He had barely opened his mouth for a question toward his orange and pink-clad Spartans when two screams of sheer horror flooded his ears.

"HOLY - OH MY GOD NO GRIF! GRIF!! SARGE THERE'S SOME-UUAAAHHH-HAUHK!"

Levin's blood ran cold, recognizing those screams as screams of utmost fear. And now both Grif and Donut were silent. Breath hitching and breaking out in a cold sweat, Sarge called for Simmons on his back, and the two headed toward where their companion's location was last pinged on their radars.

"Donut? Grif?!" Sarge's voice shuddered in his chest, unable to contain a quiet gasp at the sight of blood smeared across the ground of the Gulch near the caves. There was a rattle, a sound like bones, that crept across the air, and Levin jumped, turning around to find Simmons, only to see that he too was gone and replaced by a smear of blood.

Rattle rattle.

"Simmons? Donut! Grif!! Where the hell are you?!" Levin called out into the dark Gulch, not caring who saw or heard him. Where were his privates, why was there blood? He gasped in his breaths, freezing at the sound of the rattling bones behind him, and let out a scream...

"G-GUH!!"

Blue eyes flicked open wide in the darkness of the room, heavy breaths following the quiet outcry. Levin jerked a hand up to his face, wiping his eyes that leaked tears. What the hell was that? The blonde sat up, having been shaking where he had laid. The boys, he thought before flinging off his covers and shuffling out into the main of the base.

They were all in place (Simmons room lonely and untouched), thank the highest, even Leaves, who was sprawled out on his bunk like the kicker he was. Sarge sighed and padded into the rookie's room, carefully pulling Leaves' blanket from the floor and lying it back over his body. The memory of the dream, the rattle... he shivered before walking back out into the main hallway. He stood for a moment, staring at the shadows the enveloped the hall towards the exit of the base. Sarge frowned and glared.

"I ain't afraid of you."

Ahh, couldn't resist, either. That and it just cracked me up.

( Afterpartee )

Sarge stopped mid-stride from where he was walking down the main hall of Red Base. He stood in front of his own room's door for a moment, staring inward, with a basket of clothes in hand.

Why was there a small white package on his bed?

Dropping his burden, he make a quick leap past the threshold and literally skipped to his bunk, dropping down on it and tearing open the parcel.

A red shirt! With his name on it! And... what looked to be a music CD. Oh, glorious, glorious day! He hugged the items with an evil little laugh before hiding them away under his pillow.

Time to go finish that laundry.

As a matter of fact he wasn't sleeping.

Sarge was thoroughly annoyed at the fact that he couldn't stare down his glass of orange juice. He had a time getting back home, staying the shade for sure - didn't want to risk another near-death experience. He sure did feel like death warmed over, though, despite having shucked every piece of clothing off, taken a shower and downed a few asprin and a dose of fiorinol.

Christ, what a day. It had been even worse when he couldn't find anyone - again. He was seriously reconsidering Leaves' suggestion of a movie night to get everyone together.

Butch Flowers. A Blue, but one he could strangely get along with. But then there was Leaves. The kid was, and Sarge definitely knew that he was, horsin' for him. Levin sighed heavily and took a gulp of his orange juice, deciding that this might have been the third worse thing in his life.

He really fucking hated being indecisive at times.

The pen ripped the paper when he first tried to write. A shaky curse, and the paper was torn out, and he tried again. The handwriting, usually an understandable scrawl, was near a near scratchy blight.

What the hell. What just happened tonight. I knew I should have took Leaves with me. What the hell is my problem. I can hardly think straight, my chest hurts, my arms hurt... I ran away. Butch. That evil Blue bastard. How the hell did I wind up from setting a few bombs to... kissing HIM.

A hand ran through his hair, scrubbing roughly, and it was all Sarge could do before he dropped his head to the desk, trying to calm himself down a bit. He turned to where he could still write, a skewed view of his diary.

And Captain Sierra. He knew about him. I nearly died though, hearing that the Blue - Butch - say that he and Sierra were lovers at one time.

I don't know how well I'm taking this. I can't think straight. I need asprin and some sleep.

-LL

Sitting there and staring at the wall for a while, Sarge gave up and shut his diary, leaving it on his desk for the time being. He cursed at the thought of having to traverse to the supply room for asprin, and threw himself into bed, quietly crying himself to sleep.

This may be the stupidest thing I've done since... well, everything it seems.

Am I unconsciously wanting suicide?

Everything's ready, I just have to wait for the right time.

...I can't let anyone else get in the way, though.

Time to go clean up a little before the big 'fireworks' show.