"Red vs Blue: The Valhalla Chronicles" (IC)

mr_pibbs

mr_pibbs

The One True Pibbles
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  1. Male





The Citadel, New HQ of UNSC Militia Forces.

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The large, empty dark room stood silent. The only sounds echoing through it were the faint sounds of soldiers marching about in the distance. The cold and unwelcoming steel room was lit up with the bright light blue glow from the large computer screen, which seemed to have a spotlight aimed at the centre of the room. The massive, heaving locks in the door slowly began to unlock, opening the tightly sealed security door. Fully opening after a few minutes, a man slowly stepped into the room, removing his helmet as he entered. As he moved, the doors began to seal again, locking with a loud clank. By the time the armoured man had crossed to the circle on the floor, a female robotic voice began to speak.

Good day, Agent. I take it that your morning was fine?"

"Don't try to be friendly with me, Phyllis. You know why I'm here. I want to speak with the chairman."

The voice paused momentarily as the screen before the man began to flash, filling with text scrolls and images as the computer system began pulling up information. Agent York: Terminated Member of Project Indigo. Active for 6 years until he turned rogue and dispatched by the combined efforts of the Proto and Agent Rio. These files say that you're dead, Agent."

"Well obviously, those files are wrong. Phyllis, patch me through to the Chairman."

I do not know why these files would suggest you are dead. You're standing right-

"PHYLLIS. THE CHAIRMAN. NOW."

I'm sorry, but Chairman Worthington isn't here right now. He just left for a diplomatic meeting at the UNSC New York Headquarters.

"I was promised a personal appointment with him. We were supposed to discuss the incidents involving the Reds and Blues at Valhalla, as well as the fate of Project Indigo."

"The Chairman did mention something about that. He said to extend his deepest apologies, but something came up. He mentioned a war of some kind, but he never revealed additional information. I, however, have been tasked with debriefing you on your involvement with the previously mentioned events."

"Well, this is just brilliant. Okay, what did you want to know? I didn't prepare for this. I thought I was talking to the Chairman."

Please start from the beginning. I want to know everything that happened.

"Okay, uh... Well, I guess it started on the day that the Blues were supposed to get some new recruits..."


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Somewhere on the Ring...

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"Vi-KSSSSSSSHK-Come in Vi-KSSSSSSSSHK-This I-KSSSSSSHK-Valhal-KSSSSSSSHK-One. Requ-KSSSSSSSSHK-ing the trans-KSSSSSSSSHK-from HQ."

"Hey dude, I'm getting a lot of interference over here. I'll try to boost the signal there, please repeat your request."

"KSSSSSSSSHK-ing kidding me?! Ugh, Fi-KSSSSSSSSSHK-Come in Vi-KSSSSSSHK-

Come in Vic, do you read me? This is Private Dylan Robertson of Valhalla Outpost Number One."

"He-Hey! What's up Green Guy? How's it goin' down there at Blood Gulch?"

"Its... Wait, Blood Gulch? Are you drunk, mate?"

"Ooooh! Sorry about that man. Tons of bases out there in the galaxy, you know? Hard to keep track of'em sometimes."

"Whatever. Look, command told me that we were getting some new recruits soon. Any idea about when those guys are supposed to show up?"

"Hmm, let's see... New guys, new guys... Ah! Here we are man. Says right here that Blue Base is supposed to get two new guys over the course of the next few days."

"Few days? Bugger. I was hoping that we could get them today. Oh well, thanks anyways Vic.

"No problem-o, dude."

"... Wait, weren't we also supposed to get a Tank? Somebody at Command mentioned something about a tank."

"Yeah man, its awesome! Wish I got to test it myself, but I saw it being loaded onto the ship. Looks cool."

"What's it like?"

"Its uh... Big, and.... Tank-y."

"Well, that's helpful."

"Dude, its a tank. It looks like every other tank in existence."

"Okay, well, thanks for the chat Vic."

"Chat with ya later, dude. Vic, out."​

As the communications line cut out, Dylan took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. The next few days? Shit. It had been almost a month since his last teammates decided to blow themselves up with their latest shipment of frag grenades. Thankfully, Dylan got rid of two completely incompetent idiots in the explosion, but the Blue Battle Robot (which Blue Team named "Leonardo" after they discovered it was made in Italy) was also heavily damaged. Dylan didn't have the mechanical skills to repair the robot, so it was just left to rust until the new recruits showed up. In the meantime though, Dylan had to deal with the Reds.

There were four of them originally, but after the Blues stole Mario from the Red Base, there were only three. The three of them were absolute idiots from what Dylan oversaw. The Sergeant seemed normal enough, but he had some kind of an injury that forced him into Valhalla. There was a Specalist who Dylan knew had worked on Leonardo in the past, and then there was the Doctor. Dylan wasn't worried about the doc at all because he seemed more pacifistic then anything else. The three Reds should've been easy to take out, but since they hadn't done anything to provoke Dylan, he didn't act.

Now extremely bored and trying to decide what to do next, Dylan agreed on making a bacon sandwich while listening to the radio. Flipping the radio in the Blue Base on, Dylan climbed up and walked over to the fridge just as the song began.

For now, all he had to do was wait until something happened.
 
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"'Sup baby. How are you doing today?" The Warthog stayed silent.

"Yeah. Thought so. I think he's a jackass too." Dick rubbed down the windows with a fresh towel, tossing the dirty one into the bucket behind him.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph girl, how do you get so dirty? We only take you out when we- Oh wait." It didn't really matter. The Blues hadn't done anything for a while, and Sarge hadn't ordered Lola out for a while. All that mattered was that she was clean and stocked. Had to do something to stay sane around here. What was really sad was that some of the old recruits had busted the A.I. system with an EMP. The engine battery was fixed, but everyone had neglected to replace the programmed bot. Now Dick just talked to a car. "Don't worry. We'll get that new processor when the weapons come in." Speaking of... "Mounted M79 Multiple Launch Rocket System. Damn beauty." And took a month of begging command to send. Should prove worth it. If anything ever happens. He finished wiping down the words written on the side of the Warthog and pulled out the black paint. "L... O... L... A. There we go." He sat back, smiling at his work. He climbed up on the back to check the rocket stores, triple-checked the barrels to make sure there would be no jams. Satisfied, Dick stepped back and started for the door. "Till tomorrow, Lo."

With nothing else to do, he flopped down on the couch in the core of the base. Almost unable to work up the energy to grab the remote, Dick started flipping lazily through the 5 channels they got. "Aw, Sarge! Did you put on 'Dawson's Creek'?" Who likes that show? How is it even still on the air? The other three were equally disinteresting. "'United National Address', 'Alien Nourriture sur le Plasma', 'The Interspecies Beauty and the Beast'... What the fuck?" It was only on the fifth channel that he found something relatively interesting. "'UNSC Gladiators'. Nice." It really wasn't great, but it was the only good thing on. "No, no, no, NO! Why didn't you shoot him you moron? He was right there!" Stupid Spartans. That's what they get. We grunts, we're the ones really doing all the... Grunt work.​
 
Dr. Raphael Daan was whistling cheerily with a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other, and his helmet on a nearby table, taking stock of the Red Base's medical inventory. So far, command had not sent any further shipments for restocking, which was initially a concern, but proved to be a benign one. After all, there was no need to restock when there were hardly any injuries. For a supposed war, no shots had been fired in Valhalla in the time Daan had been stationed here. Indeed, about the only thing Daan had to do medically was conduct some physical therapy for the Red Team's sergeant, given that the Sarge's arm tended to be a bit tricky after an old war wound. Daan counted such things as blessings, since the Red Base was horribly understaffed; he had no technicians nor nurses to assist him in the event of a real medical emergency, and he was only one man.

"There, all done," Daan chimed happily, jotting down a final note on the inventory sheet that he slapped onto the cabinet. He set the clipboard down, threw on his helmet, and walked back to the lounge area, where he saw the Red Specialist, Dick Karman, watching television. "Hey, Karman, shouldn't you be patrolling or something? After all, all those Blues are still out there," he commented sarcastically as he joined his teammate on the couch. He glanced at the barren coffee table in front of the couch. "What, no snacks?"
 
Gaius was sitting on the lookout area on the top floor of the Red base. He had been up there a good hour, with absolutely nothing interesting happening. He stood and gave one last long look at the place, before going down into the base. There, he saw his men sitting on the couch. "Men! Attention!" He yelled loudly, looking at the two who were sitting a moment ago. "I want a status report. How is our stock ofweapons and ammo. And is the Warthog ready to go?"
 
Daan leapt to his feet and snapped a sharp salute...and the swing of his arm ended up clipping Dick across the back of his head. Daan didn't even seem to notice. "Sir! Medical inventory optimal, sir! If I may say so, your arm seems to be doing well this morning, sir. Will we be engaging the Blues soon?"

The good doctor was itching to see something happen on this boring rock. Even if it meant and end to the tranquility and easy lifestyle the Red Team had become accustomed to, it would simultaneously mean sweet release from monotony and boredom.
 
River held tightly into the railing as the Pelican slowly descended to Blue Base Vahalla's drop off point. The hatch slowly began to open, cracks of light shining into the dark room, causing her to cover her eyes momentarily, as her helmet was in the crook of her right arm. A large detachment noise was heard, and the floating ship jerked. "Now is your chance!" The pilot yelled. She sighed, and slipped on her helmet, running out and jumping onto the ground.

She turned around, and watched the pelican fly away, then looked at the tank that had been loaded on the pelican before she got in it. She shrugged, and took her weapon in hand, walking over to the entrance of the base. She waited next to the door, figuring someone would come out soon enough.
 
Dick pulled a pillow over his head. "Ugh. Lola's fine. Cannons ready." Why was it that whenever Sarge walked in the room seemed to smell like a dumpster? "How in the hell am I supposed to know how the rest of the base is doing?" And then there was Doc. Always coming in and pooping on the party. "Hey Karman, shouldn't you be patrolling?" "Hey Karman, shouldn't you be moving the shipment of ammo to the armory?" "Hey Karman, could you stop poking me with your laser?" What a nerd. I only get to sleep five hours out of the day! Not counting the paltry eight at night! What does the man want me to do, work through the whole damn day? He sat up and tried to peer around Sarge's body to get a look at the TV. "Hey Sarge, look! One of the guys on the Red team just assassinated an Elite! Would ya look at that? What was the thing they taught us in training? 'Around the tree trunk, through the canopy, bring the tree down'?" These Spartans were hilarious. And at least they got to fight something. Here it was just a bunch of terrorists with bad taste in color who never did anything. With an over exaggerated sigh and a painfully long effort, Dick rose and gave a lazy salute. "Reporting for duty, Sarge." He turned to Doc. "And what are ya talking about, 'optimal'? We hardly get bandages from Command anymore."
 
Gaius looked at the two, thinking for a moment. "I see... Well, Dick. I would like to inform you there is a good reason we hardly get bandages as of now. I ordered something big, something you will like. But it is taking time to deliver. So I would hold your tongue, when it comes to what Command has given us." He then turned to the Doctor, "Thank you for the status report Doctor, I am afraid we are in no fighting condition as of yet, but once my delivery is complete, I think we will be. Oh, and write a note for myself and Dick. 'Buy M66 30mm ammo, and M98 105mm ammo.'" He then turns, and leaves for his quarters.
 
"Mate, you're fucking barmy if you think that Kim Basinger was more attractive then Nicole Kidman in the Batman films."

"Okay, so: Kim Basinger. Hotter then Nicole Kidman?"

"Oh totally."

"FUCK YOU, YOU BARMY BASTARD!" shouted Dylan as he nearly spat out his bacon sandwich. Since the canyon's only vegetation was grass, Dylan had to substitute his lettuce with bacon, his tomatoes with bacon. Needless to say, the base didn't really have a lot of the essential food groups, so its inhabitants were forced to keep eating carbs. Thanks to strenuous physical activity down (coupled with the fact that the heat from the canyon really made him sweat in the non-cooled armour), Dylan managed to keep his weight down. Just as he was about to switch off the radio, he thought he heard something loud roaring off in the distance, like the engines of a ship. Turning his attention towards the entrance to the base, Dylan tilted his head and reached for his helmet. Once it was back on, Dylan placed down his sandwich and grabbed his battle rifle. The Brit quickly got up and walked over to the door, only to be greeted with the sight of another soldier. Jumping with surprise, Dylan nearly dropped his gun as he fumbled around with it. "BLOODY HELL!" shouted Dylan as he backed away from her a little, trying to regain his composure. Breathing a little easier, Dylan let loose a massive sigh and removed his helmet. "Oh man... You gave me quite the start, mate. Don't do that ever again, especially since I could've blown your head off." panted the man as he tucked the gun on his back, latching it into the holster. Wiping some imaginary sweat from his brow, Dylan smiled at her and shrugged. "Well, at least you got here sooner then expected. Name's Dylan Robertson. I'm a Private... But since there's no one else here, I'm kind of your superior now. What do they call you, new guy?"
 
As a person came out, River jumped to attention. She looked at the slightly smaller man, and gave a quick salute. "Specialist River Hughes." She said and took her helmet off. "Goddamn those things squeeze my head..." She sighed, and placed it in the crook of her arm. River walked around the private and into the base. "Where is the freaking kitchen!" She yelled out, searching the base for said room, throwing open a few closed doors
 
Dylan listened as the new Specalist introduce herself... Wait, herself?! She was a chick?! Dylan's face seemingly went blank with shock as River removed her helmet, revealing the effeminate face of... Well, a woman! When she walked into the base demanding to find the kitchen, Dylan nodded his head and pointed his arm weakly. "Issinthere...." mumbled the Blue before a smile spread across his face. Quickly turning into the base, Dylan winked at her and began to laugh. "This is fuckin' brilliant! Finally, we have another Blue. The fridge is there, by the way. All our food is kept cryogenically frozen so that it doesn't expire. Just pop your sandwich into the microwave and set it for "nuke". I'm not kidding, there's actually a nuke setting. It only goes for 6 minutes, but the heat is enough to defrost whatever you put in there." explained Dylan as he walked over to the radio and switched it on again. Flopping down in his chair, he spun it around until he was facing River. Dylan crossed his arms, and began to speak. "So, since I'm your superior officer, I should probably give you an update, then a tour around this godforsaken canyon. Okay, so our previous teammates were barmy. Like, really barmy. Zeke and Sergeant March, were their names. March was a total bitch, very stuck up, always had a pole shoved right up her arse. Zeke, however, was just plain stupid. He crashed our Warthog, which he liked to call the "Puma" for some reason, and nearly ate all our food until Command sent us more. One day, Zeke thought it would be funny to put a frag grenade in the toilet and watch Sarge's reaction. The only problem with his seemingly "brilliant" plan, was that he pulled the pin out of the grenade. As March saw it and tried to get rid of it, Zeke blocked her way out of the bathroom because he was there to see her reaction. Long story short, the rotten pieces of wood you see scattered around the base are the leftovers of what used to be our outdoor facilities. The idiots didn't make it out, so I took anything I could off of their bodies before I buried them in the blast crater."

When his story was over, Dylan pushed his chair back so he was in a reclined position. "Nothing ever happens here outside of shit like that. The Reds are incompetent bastards who couldn't hit a tank if it were parked right in front of them... Speaking of tanks, when you got dropped off here, did you see anyone talking about a tank?"
 
River nodded, and walked over to the fridge, pulling out a frozen ham sandwich, then placed it in the microwave. She squinted at the knob, and turned it to the 'nuke' setting, and started it. She slowly walked back over to the private, and sat down in a comfy chair across from him. "Yes...Yes they said we should be getting it in three or four days from now." She said,and stared around the room for a few minutes, before standing back up and walking back to the microwave, which she opened when it dinged, and took a bite of the sandwich.
 
"...and write a note for myself and Dick. 'Buy M66 30mm ammo, and M98 105mm ammo.'"

The sergeant turned and left, leaving Daan to snap a salute and reply to his retreating back, "Yes sir, right away, sir!"

Daan turned to his compatriot and commented, "Well, hopefully whatever it is the Sarge has ordered will be worth the wait." Daan tilted his head in curisotiy, giving Dick a once over. Something had been bugging him for some months, something he only recently put his finger on. "Hey, Dick, got a question for you. If we're on the Red Team...why are you wearing yellow?"
 
"Oh damn." M66 30mm? M98 105mm? Could this be? "Thank you Sarge!" And you know what? Dick meant it. He would never sacrifice Lola, and would probably keep maintaining and driving her with the same consistency. But with what Sarge could be ordering... A beeping sound came from the radar machine.

Dick kept the thought in mind as he started walking to the radar station (which had been conveniently set up in the same room as the TV since that was where the Wi-Fi seemed strongest) while listening to his comrade talk. "Cause I'm a ninja. Now shut up, we're getting something." Technically, it wasn't supposed to be Dick's job to monitor radar or manage intel at all. That was Private Jackson's job. God have mercy on your soul, Kyle. But you shouldn't have put yer hand in the damn gas tank when I turned on the engine. With that thought in mind, Dick told himself to send a message to Command to get a supply of fire blankets and an extinguisher the next time they sent a drop. There never even turned out to be a clog. Damn waste of a soldier. He watched for a blip on the screen, which typically followed a noise. None showed up. "Hey Doc. If anything we really need new radar equipment. This thing's a piece of sh-" Oh my. A green blip moved across the screen, up and over the Blue base. It swiftly disappeared from the screen. No other large blips showed up, which meant no tanks or other vehicles for the Blues. So what the hell did the bird just drop...? On a whim, Dick scanned for bio signs. And found two, one walking away from where the Pelican had landed. "Uh, Doc. We might have a problem."
 
"Damn straight we got a problem," Daan said, looking at the bio signs Dick was detecting. "The Blues just got new recruits."

He suddenly ran out of the lounge to his quarters, opened his locker, and grabbed his rifle, running back to the lounge with a huge smile behind his expressionless helmet. There was even a skip to his step.

"Oh boy! You know what this means, right, Dick?" he said excitedly, "It means we've GOT to scout the Blue Base and get intel! We gotta go on a MISSION! You know, actually DO STUFF!"

Daan quickly inspected his rifle, as per protocol. His magazine was full, a round was in the chamber, he had just oiled the thing earlier in the week, and the safety was on. He patted the rifle lovingly, perhaps a touch too close to the trigger....

BANG!

The rifle discharged as his fingers prodded the trigger by accident with just a little too much force. The shot rang out loudly in the lounge and buried itself with a small puff of smoke into the concrete ceiling.

Daan looked up at the small hole sheepishly. "Uh...sorry. I guess I got a little excited."
 
"And that's why you don't give no medical school city-boy a rifle."

Having abandoned his official quarters years ago in favor of the TV room, Dick pulled his SMG out from under the couch. It wasn't massive, in contrast to Dick's typical philosophy of bigger equaling better. Always gotta find another, bigger gun for Lola. But it worked well with its job. He'd killed plenty of aliens back before Valhalla, back during his Reach days (literally like three years ago). Dick remembered specifically that Grunts made the funniest sounds when you shot them in the head...

"And besides. Who needs a sniper rifle when you've got one of these babies?"

Twas a beauty, his laser. Large like a rocket launcher, yet far more elegant, a much smoother design. True, only four to five shots. But in those four to five, even a regular marine could bring down a Covenant dropship and still have time to take out an alien or two. It could view as far as a sniper rifle.

"What sniper rifle can claim to be as powerful as Lola?" Loading up on a few more battery packs (the only downside to the Galilean. It ran on battery, and those were hard to come by) and another magazine, he was technically ready to go. "Also, this thing is trigger-happy-moron-proof. Just watch." He aimed at Doc and pulled the trigger on his laser.
 
As Gaius entered his room. He sat down at his communications array. He turned it onand attempted to contact command. "Come in Command. This is Sergeant Gaius Kain, calling for an ETA on our Cobra. Passcode: EA2B4" "Hello Sergeant, this is Command callinv in to tell you that your Cobra's ETA is T minus 24 Hours. Anything else?" "Yes, I'd like to know the stock of ammo coming with the Shipment" "All right, hold on.... Looks like it comes with about a weeks worth of ammo." "Thank you Command, for our next shipment, I would like to prioritize medical supplies and ammo. Sergeant Gaius Kain, signing out." "Give em' hell Sergeant, Command, signing off." With that, Gaius stood up and stpped out the door. He then heard a gunshot and ran into the TV room. "The Hell is going onin here?!"
 
"Sorry sir!" Daan said, snapping a salute with his recently discharged rifle...and nearly clocking Dick across the head, but missing by a mere milimeter. "With these new Blue bio signatures showing up, perhaps we should send a task force out to investigate their base. It'd be very bad if we are now outnumbered without proper intel."

He shouldered his rifle and looked over at Dick, hoping to see some support of this idea. Daan himself was itching to do something. Being cooped up on base for months on end without ANYTHING interesting going on was an experience that long ago wore thin.

It was time to get into the action.
 
"Sorry, sir. Just demonstrating for Doc the superiority of the Galiliean."

The whirring of the gun rose to a near-crescendo until he released the trigger. "See? No amount of trigger-happiness can misfire this thing."

Dick set his gun down to salute just as Doc's rifle swooshed over his head. He stood up suddenly, peering around to find what he'd heard.

"Sarge, I think that Doc might be right. I think the Blues are sending little remote-controlled drone thingies to spy on us. It would probably be good to get some intel in return." He didn't do anything really aside from polish Lola these days. Dick thought it might be a little fun to get out and actually shoot something this time around.
 
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