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Fan Fiction

Part I: The Beginning
Posted By: Jay2645<Disneylandjay@gmail.com>
Date: 30 October 2009, 2:50 am

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      The attack had begun.

      Stepping swiftly from the Pelican dropships they had just flown in on onto the beach, the marines got ready for their ground assault. Two armored jeeps, nicknamed "Warthogs" and driven by the best drivers in the unit, exited the Pelicans and waited for orders from their commander.

      The enemy knew they were coming; no one for miles around could have missed the sound of their insertion Pelicans. Right about now, soldiers were running about, grabbing weapons or possibly just climbing out of their bunks.

      The base they were launching an assault on was just an entry point into enemy territory. It was an abandoned, decades-old power plant, humanity's first major attempt at a viable wind-powered power generator. The idea was, instead of having many small-output miniature wind power generators, you could build just one, giant fan, powered mostly by the wind, but utilizing some nuclear reactors for additional power. In reality, the fan didn't actually do much, and the plant almost completely relied on the nuclear reactors. The environmental groups bought the fact that it was an eco-friendly power plant at first, but quickly turned against it once they realized it was really just a massive cover-up scheme for more nuclear power plants. After years of protest, the reactors were shut down and the facility fell into neglect. Now the plant is just a pile of ruins on a shark-infested beach, but, if taken, it could be the biggest stronghold they had as they marched off to victory.

      No one really knew WHY they were fighting. It was probably something along the lines of the galactic military government of the United Nations Space Command not giving up their wartime governing powers or something like that. I really don't think anyone actually KNEW, should you ask them. They just liked to fight over stupid things for stupid reasons. It seemed all humans were that way.

      On the beach, the air was tense with the anticipation of battle. They had many of their best soldiers standing on the beach, waiting. There was no way the enemy, codenamed "blue", could withstand their attack.

      Unless... Unless the enemy had their best soldier, one who never lost a single battle.

      Little did they know that soldier was stationed at this outpost.

      He has killed millions, and once won a battle single-handedly, outnumbered 300 to one. They said that he ate bullets for breakfast, nails for lunch, and bad Chuck Norris jokes for dinner. There was no stopping him once he started fighting. It was almost as if he had some sort of "health bar" they didn't, because it seemed that he could take dozens of bullets without dying, then simply duck behind a piece of scenery for a few seconds and come back out as if he had just stopped to tie his shoes. His movements were so fluid, it's almost as if he had some sort of device that could control his movements from afar, a "controller" of sorts, and the operator was somewhere far, far away, watching from a TV screen in his living room. Some said he had hacks and cheat codes, granting him superhuman abilities. The rest looked at those some funny and slowly backed away, because there were no hacks nor cheat codes to real life, those were only found in videogames. And even if there were hacks in real life, you'd have to hack your life console to get them, and that voided the warranty. And no one wanted to void their warranty, because what if your life console broke? You'd have to send it back to God, and then he'd tell you that he can't fix it because you voided the warranty. The only one he ever fixed a life console for was for his best buddy, some guy named "Jesus" or something. That was screwed up, man. Fix it for the rest of us, too, don't play favorites because he's your BFF or boyfriend or something. Anyway, while some rumored that that soldier used hacks, obviously, he couldn't, or else he would void his warranty, and God would bring down the banhammer on him faster than you could say OMFG YOU HAXOR!!!!1111one. And being banned from life sucks. But I digress.

      Unfortunately, Blue team's one awesome soldier of awesomeness was currently on vacation.

      His replacement, named Bob Guy, was a noteworthy one. He had skills that were unbelievable. He was so good that... Pfft- That... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Who are we kidding? He was the worst shot in history.

      As the other team got ready for their assault, Bob was already ready for action. He looked around, as if searching for something, like a voice in the room that didn't have a person to match it. And it was talking about him, describing his every movement, condemning him, making fun of him in a very narrator-ish tone.


      His commander, supervising troops in the dark grey command center of the power facility as they prepared for combat, replied, "Just ignore them, Bob, and they'll go away."

      "Ok. Mr. Voice, can you go bother someone else?" Bob asked.

      There was silence, as the narrator voice didn't have a reply. He simply narrated what was going on around him; it was his job, he must do it, and as such there was no going away for him.

      "Commander! The voice says he doesn't have a reply, then said that he wasn't going to go away!"

      The commander yelled from the other room, "Bob. Ignore it. It'll go away soon."

      After saying this, Bob's commander whispered something into the ear of one of the soldiers, and then walked over to speak to Bob.

      "We're losing men, fast. I would send you out there, but you have... Special needs."

      "That's what my mommy told me!" Bob said, a bright and vibrant smile on his face.

      The commander paused. "We need you, though."
      "Need me for what?"

      "We need you to stay the hell out of everyone's wa-" The commander started, then rethought what he was about to say.

      "I mean, we need you to watch the base," the commander said. "I'm going to have to go out there. I have to leave you in charge of the base, but whatever you do, do NOT hit that button right next to you."

      Bob looked around for the button, and then found it next to a large display, which was, in turn, next to him. The display, formerly used to monitor the power the generator put out, now had been reprogrammed to operate everything in the base. Like most UNSC tech, it ran Windows 2500, an operating system which still thoroughly sucked, but was better than anything else out there. Little had changed in 500 years; it still got the blue screen of death on a regular basis. The date on the Start Menu read July 2555.
Below the monitor, there was a red button with an extra-large sticky note on it. Above the button, it read: "CAUTION: SELF-DESTRUCT".

      "The red one with the BIG sticky note which reads 'DO NOT PRESS THIS, BOB' written on it?" Bob inquired.
      "Yes, that one. Do you understand?"
"I need you to repeat what I said, Bob. What did I say?"
      "I need you to repeat what I said, Bob, what did I-"
      "NO, NO, NOT that!"
      "NO, NO, NOT that!"
      "Repeat what I said the first time."
      "Repeat what I said the first time."
      "Repeat this: NEVER hit that button next to you."
      "NEVER hit French toast before bed."

      The commander paused and sighed. He wasn't going to get anywhere with Bob this way.
      "Umm... Yeah. Let's go with that. I'm going to back away slowly, and you're NOT going to hit that button."

      And, with that, the commander slowly backed off and left Bob alone.

      Bob's tiny mind struggled with the difficult order his commander had given him.
      "Never hit French toast before bed?" He said to himself, "I can do that. Ooooh... What's this shiny red button thingy? Do... Nut... Press... This... Bob... Donut press this Bob? IF I HIT THIS, I GET A DONUT? Sweet."

      And, with that, Bob pressed the button. Suddenly, he remembered the first lesson his mom taught him: Pressing shiny red buttons in the hope of getting a donut was bad. VERY bad.
      "I didn't hit the button," he said, trying to reassure himself. "My finger did."

      Just then, a sultry female voice echoed through the halls, coming over the loudspeakers. It had just a slight metallic tinge to it, enough to remind you that there was not actually any girls present in the facility and that this was just a computer talking. The entire fiasco was actually rather depressing.

      "This base will self-destruct in 60 seconds. Free coffee is available in the command center if needed. Have a spectacular day."

      "That lady is very nice," Bob said, "she wants me to have a spectacular day! HAVE A SPECTACULAR DAY, TOO, NICE LADY!"

      Windows 2550 suddenly got the blue screen of death.

      Bob then calmly left through the main entrance and casually strolled past the intense firefight that was occurring between his team and the enemy. Both teams were pinned down in a side generator structure, in ruins now, which used to be used as a place to temporarily store the windmill's power before funneling it to the main structure, the place where Bob had just hit a shiny red button.

      "See ya later, Commander!" Bob said, casually strolling past the battle.

      The commander turned, saw Bob, and waved. "Bye, Bob! Wait... Bob! I need you! Come back!"

      Bob stopped and paused.

      "I think it's very sweet that you feel that way towards me, but I prefer my relations with women."

      "Bob! Come back! This is insubordination!"
      "I really don't care about the 'in' status of whatever the hell subordination is, but I do agree, that 'subordination' outfit looks very good on you."

      And, with that, Bob hopped in one of the now-empty enemy Warthog jeeps and drove off.
      Surprisingly, no one shot at Bob, possibly because half of the other team had died of laughter, and the other half couldn't stop laughing long enough to hold their guns steady. Blue team was about to make short work of them when C4, buried in strategic locations around the building (if by strategic you mean that people decided to stuff it everywhere it could fit), went off on a timed explosion set off by a red button sixty seconds beforehand.

      The only survivor was Bob, driving casually out of the explosion, going off to visit his old friend Ian in the next camp. He was stopped by military police, who wondered why the first thing he asked is where were the donuts he was promised. After they learned what he had done, they decided to take him off to the general of the area, but almost decided to shoot him anyway because he wouldn't stop asking if they were there yet.

      A short while later, Bob was in a bright white room. Most of the lights were off, except for one very bright one shining down on Bob, who was sitting Indian-style on the ground in front of the highest-ranking official of the area.

      "...You were responsible for the loss of ALL OF B COMPANY!" The general said.
      Bob took his finger out of his nose and stuck it into the air. "I wasn't. My finger was."
      The general was, at first, taken aback by this comment. Who in the right mind would backtalk like that to a general? Then he realized he was talking to an idiot.
      "I cannot let this go unpunished. I am going to send you to noo- Err... N company." He allowed a little sarcasm into his voice. "It's the absolute FINEST out of all of the companies under my command!"
      "Will I be able to meet some new friends?"
      The commander paused for a moment. "Yes, yes you will."

      Bob's eyes suddenly lit up. "Awesome! Will I get a mouse? I've always wanted one! Can I get one, please? A widdle white one! It'll be sooo cute, and I'll play with it every day, and give it all the cheese it will ever want! So, can I get one, pleaaaase?"
      "Can I get a cute widdle pony then?"
      "Just one widdle white mouse? I'll name him Mister Squeaky, and he will be MY MISTER SQUEAKY, forever and ever and ever!"
      "No. Take him away."

      Suddenly, two uniformed guards burst through the door, picked up Bob, and carried him off. As he went down the hallway to the van that was waiting to carry him off to his new desert outpost, he could be heard shouting, "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

      They called it Blood Gulch for a reason. There were two bases; each had been taken by a small company for each team. This is where each team set their rejects, as the territory didn't really matter anyway.

      The reason why it was named Blood Gulch was because no blood is ever spilled there.

      Coincidentally, both the companies sent in by each team were given the designation "N" company, and the same joke was going around both teams that the "N" stood for noob, standard UNSC computer slang for moron. Secretly, the N really DID stand for noob, but the official statement issued by each team's command center said it was just an unfortunate naming coincidence, and not, by any means, a name that implied the very low skill level of whoever was unfortunate enough to be sent to the company. The only people who actually believed this statement were the people of N company.

      The blues had managed to secure one of the two bases in the canyon, the other team, codenamed "Red", the other. Each base existed because there was a base on the other side of the canyon. It was a box canyon in the middle of nowhere; no one cared if the other team actually ever CAPTURED the other base. It was just a place to send their rejects.

      And the Blue's commander, Commander Pie, was just another reject. He worked his way up the ranks by proving his worth in the simulators. But, when he was called upon to fight, he always lost, with most, if not all of his team, wiped out in a "Unfortunate grenade incident" or "Unfortunate bullet wounds" or "Unfortunate jeep crash where the jeep the Commander was driving drove most of the company off the edge of a 500 foot cliff, barely escaping his own death by a well-timed bailout". The Commander had never won an actual battle in his life. But, even when he was demoted, he still tried to order people around. So, in frustration, they promoted him back to Commander and sent him to command N company. And this commander was about to get the new recruit Command had been promising him.

      Pie stood outside his base, watching as a military jeep drove up, threw Bob out by the seat of his pants, and then drove off. Pie extended his hand.
      "Hello Bob, welcome to N company."
      Bob looked at his hand, confused. "What does the N stand for?"
      Pie kept his hand extended, waiting. "Don't ask."
      Finally, Bob spit on Pie's hand and looked up at Pie, satisfied. "Don't Ask doesn't start with N."

      Pie stared at his hand, and then dried it off on his pants. "It's not 'Don't Ask'."
      "Then what is it?"
      "OK, it's a French word, pronounced 'Nub'. Most people go and say 'Noob', but that's butchering the name. Completely butchering it."
      "You sure that's French?"
      "Of course I'm sure! I was at the top of the bottom of my class in French! Bon-jor Mouse-your! That's French."
      "French for what?"
      "I don't really know."
      Bob got a vacant look on his face, and then said gloatingly, "I learned something today."

      Pie took Bob to the main room of the base. It was brightly lit, with standard-issue military-cliché grey plating on the floors, with concrete walls and ceiling. In one corner was an obviously smart man, in his late twenties or maybe early thirties, who was playing with a small metal replica of an F-16. You never were too old to play with toys.

      In the other corner was someone who looked like a bum. Somehow, he managed to tear up his barely-worn dress uniform, and he looked as if he hadn't shaved his entire life. Maybe he was afraid to.

      Pie lead Bob in and started to make with the introductions.

      "Anyway, here are your squad-mates. This here is Kyle Andross. We call him 'Flyboy' or 'Fly', mainly because he meant to check the 'Air Force' box when he signed up for the Army, but he checked 'Marines' by accident. It was sad."
      "Hey Fly."

      Pie continued: "Next, we have Joe. Joe was a Hobo who was drafted during the last war. Since he always insists on wearing ripped clothes EVERYWHERE, we call him Torn."
      "How are ya, Torn?"
      "Well, I'm-" Torn started.
      Bob cut him off. "That's nice."

      "And finally, we have me, Apple Pie, Commander of the finest company in this god-forsaken canyon."
      "Your name is Apple Pie?" Bob asked.
      "It's an Irish name."
      "It is?"
      "No. I had two idiot parents who thought they were being funny."

      "Anyway, everyone, off to your posts! Flyboy, go draw up attack plans. Torn, guard the entryway from the reds. Bob... Umm... Protect Flyboy. I'll be in my cabin reading the articles from Playboy magazine. Don't disturb me."

      Pie walked off to his cabin, and everyone went about to do their duties. As he went, Flyboy shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Nobody ever just 'reads the articles'..."