Reliable Excavation & Demolition: A Rotten World, and Pure Chaos

The war room of the REDs' temporary hideout buzzed with discussion. Around a large wooden table, the nine mercenaries sat, some leaning back in their chairs, others tapping fingers against the surface in anticipation. Spy adjusted his gloves idly, while Soldier stood with his arms crossed, nodding at his own thoughts. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, giving the moment an air of both urgency and strategy.

"Alright, listen up, boys!" Scout started, slamming a hand down on the table. "We've been trainin' these guys for a while now, and I say it's time we give 'em the proper tools. I mean, what kinda team are we if our guys ain't got the gear to back 'em up?"

"A fair point," Sniper muttered, adjusting his hat. "They've got the spirit, but enthusiasm alone won't do 'em any good against the Empire's forces."

Heavy nodded sagely, his massive arms folded. "Da. They fight well, but fists alone cannot stop bullets."

Spy exhaled a thin stream of smoke from his cigarette. "Perhaps, but we do not want to give them weapons they will simply fumble with and kill themselves, non?" His sharp eyes flicked over to Engineer and Medic. "Which is why our resident experts should weigh in before we rush this decision."

Engineer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I hear ya loud and clear, fellas, and believe me, I'd love to get these recruits kitted out proper. But if we're talkin' about replicatin' our gear? That ain't somethin' you whip up overnight. Gonna take research, testing, and a helluva lot of adjustments. If we rush this, we might just be doin' the Empire a favor by handin' them a bunch of defective weapons."

"Ja, und let's not forget safety!" Medic interjected, a glint of manic enthusiasm in his eyes. "Ve haff technology from another vorld. Giving zem untested versions could result in... how do you say... catastrophic limb detachment?" He let out an eerie chuckle, causing a few of the others to exchange wary glances. "Or even better! Ve could see vhat happens when zey are exposed to extreme conditions—perhaps some vill mutate!"

"Bah!" Soldier barked, slamming his fists on the table. "War does not wait for safety, Doctor! These men must be armed and ready for battle immediately! We shall build rocket launchers, flamethrowers, bombs—"

"And have half of them explode in their hands?" Sniper cut in dryly. "Real brilliant, mate."

"Och, a bit o' risk makes a man tough!" Demoman chimed in, grinning as he took another swig from his flask. "But aye, gotta make sure they don't blow themselves up 'fore they take down the enemy."

"So then, we take it slow," Engineer concluded. "We dedicate a week to proper research, make sure we ain't overlookin' anything. Then, we take a month to build and test everythin'. By the time we roll it all out, our guys'll have the gear and the know-how to use it."

"A month?" Scout groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Man, that's a long time!"

"Better a long time than a short disaster," Engineer said firmly. "We're buildin' an army, not settin' off fireworks."

There was a moment of silence before Spy leaned back with a smirk. "A month, then. Reasonable."

"Fine, fine," Scout huffed, crossing his arms. "But I wanna see these guys actually usin' this stuff soon."

"Ja, zis vill be most exciting!" Medic grinned, already lost in thought about the potential experiments ahead.

Pyro, who had been mostly silent, let out a muffled giggle and clapped their hands together excitedly. They had already started sketching out designs for potential new flamethrowers on a scrap of parchment.

"Then it is settled!" Soldier declared, raising his fist into the air. "We shall forge our army with the fires of industry and the wisdom of war! The Empire shall tremble before our might!"

As the meeting wrapped up, the REDs had their plan in place. The recruits would not just be trained fighters, but warriors equipped with the very essence of the mercenaries' power—once their weapons were ready. The next few weeks would be filled with innovation, sweat, and perhaps a few accidental explosions. But once their work was done, their soldiers would be a force unlike anything this world had ever seen.

As the sun began its descent behind the rolling hills, a crowd of blacksmiths, craftsmen, and farmers gathered in the newly constructed workshop at the heart of the encampment. The air carried the scent of iron and wood, mingled with the warmth of the forge. Tools clanged against metal as apprentices hurried about, fetching materials and setting up workstations. Engineer stood at the forefront; his ever-present hard hat slightly tilted as he adjusted his gloves. Beside him, Medic watched the assembled workers with an expectant gaze, his gloved hands clasped behind his back. The room was filled with anticipation; everyone knew that today marked the beginning of something far greater than themselves.

"Alright, folks," Engineer began, his voice steady and confident, cutting through the low hum of murmured conversations. "We've got ourselves an ambitious task. If we wanna stand a chance against the Empire, we need weapons. Good ones. That means metallurgy, mechanics, and rigorous testing. Every piece of iron, every screw and bolt, it all matters. This ain't just about building tools—we're arming freedom fighters. And that means no shortcuts."

A murmur passed through the gathered workers, some nodding, others exchanging glances of concern and determination. They knew the risks involved, but they also understood the necessity.

"Now, I'll be divvying y'all into teams," he continued. "Blacksmiths, you're on raw metalwork—smelting, forging, and shaping the base parts. Craftsmen, you'll handle assembly, ensuring every moving piece functions properly. And my mechanics, you'll be the troubleshooters—testing and refining each weapon to make sure they won't break the first time someone pulls the trigger. We can't afford failures on the battlefield."

A sturdy-looking blacksmith with soot-covered hands raised his voice. "What about ammunition? We ain't never built nothin' like that before."

Engineer gave a nod. "Good question. We'll be starting small—crossbows, explosives, basic firearms. Ain't gonna be anything fancy at first, but we'll improve as we go. We'll need scouts to gather materials, so I expect volunteers who can move quick and quiet. Now, get yourselves ready. We start work at dawn."

As the blacksmiths and craftsmen discussed their assignments, Medic took a step forward, adjusting his round spectacles. "Ja, und while you focus on weapons, we must not forget ze men who vill wield them!" He spread his arms wide, his voice carrying through the room. "War is not just about killing—it is also about keeping our own alive."

The farmers and other non-combatants looked at him with uncertainty, but he pressed on. "Many of you vill never hold a weapon, und zat is fine! But you can still save lives. I vill train you in battlefield medicine—first aid, bandaging, and stabilizing injuries until proper treatment can be given. You vill learn vhat to do ven a comrade is bleeding out or suffering from infection. Life is just as important as death in a fight, ja?"

A young farmer hesitated before speaking. "What about food? We're already running low, and more soldiers means more mouths to feed."

Medic smirked, glancing at Engineer.

"Glad you asked," Engineer said, crossing his arms. "We've been talkin' about that too. We're gonna start rationing supplies better, but more importantly, we're putting you folks on crop rotation and food storage duty. We need sustainable farms, not just scavenging what we can. With proper planning, we can make sure everyone stays fed. I also want a team working on irrigation—if we can secure a reliable water source, we'll have a better chance at long-term survival."

Another farmer stepped forward, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "We used to rotate crops back in my village, but it takes time. What do we do in the meantime?"

Engineer sighed and scratched the back of his head. "We'll rely on hunting and fishing until the crops start producing. We might even try drying and preserving food to get us through the rough patches. But we'll need volunteers for that, too."

The discussions grew louder, as the workers and farmers divided into smaller groups, already brainstorming ideas and strategies. Medic, sensing a perfect opportunity, clapped his hands together, drawing attention once more. 

"Und do not forget—combat medicine is not just about bandages! You vill also learn how to prevent injuries! Stretching, endurance, and learning ze limits of ze human body are all crucial. Ve must be prepared for vatever comes!"

A particularly young recruit raised his hand. "Are we really ready for all this? I mean, we don't have the same training as the Empire's army. Won't they just crush us?"

Engineer and Medic exchanged glances before Engineer placed a firm hand on the recruit's shoulder. "Kid, we ain't the Empire. We're scrappier, we're smarter, and we've got something they don't—heart. They fight because they're ordered to. We fight because we believe in what we're doing. That's why we'll win."

The crowd slowly started to nod in understanding. They weren't just building weapons—they were building a force, a self-sufficient movement. The weight of responsibility settled over them, but so did a sense of purpose. Tomorrow, their work would begin in earnest. And soon, they would have the means to fight back.

The following month proved to be a whirlwind of progress and adaptation. Under the watchful eyes of Engineer and Medic, the non-combatants of their faction toiled tirelessly, crafting functional replicas of the mercenaries' signature weapons. Though lacking the refined craftsmanship of the originals, the makeshift firearms, explosives, and melee weapons were effective enough to serve their purpose. The production process required ingenuity, as they scavenged materials from abandoned outposts, repurposed Empire weaponry, and refined crude alloys into serviceable arms. Each prototype was rigorously tested, with Medic and Engineer refining designs to maximize their efficiency on the battlefield.

As weapons development progressed, training became increasingly rigorous. Recruits were drilled in combat formations, survival tactics, and battlefield coordination. Many struggled with the weight of their new roles—Scouts had to master speed and stealth, while Soldiers learned the discipline of suppressive fire. Engineers faced the challenge of maintaining fortifications under pressure, and Medics were taught to stabilize the wounded with limited supplies. Tactical drills simulated real battle scenarios, forcing recruits to think on their feet under pressure. Combat sparring became a daily routine, fostering camaraderie and discipline among them. Every recruit was assigned to one of nine specialized squads, modeled after the expertise of the RED mercenaries themselves. Their classifications were designed to maximize their potential in battle, ensuring that every soldier had a role to play;

Scout Squad – The eyes and ears of the battlefield, emphasizing speed and reconnaissance. Lightly armored yet nimble, they specialized in rapid movement and hit-and-run tactics, ideal for gathering intelligence and striking before an enemy could react. Scouts trained to adapt to urban and wilderness environments alike, honing their parkour skills to navigate treacherous terrain.

Soldier Squad – The backbone of the force, trained for heavy firepower and frontline leadership. Equipped with makeshift rocket launchers and sturdy armor, they embodied resilience and determination, leading charges and holding the line with unwavering discipline. Their training emphasized tactical positioning, ensuring they could direct enemy forces into kill zones for maximum impact.

Pyro Squad – Masters of close-range combat, armed with crude flamethrowers and incendiary weapons. They became a terror to the enemy, igniting fear as much as they ignited the battlefield. However, their reliance on close-quarters engagement left them vulnerable to long-range attacks, requiring careful coordination with other squads to cover their weaknesses. Their training included endurance drills to withstand harsh environmental conditions, preparing them for prolonged sieges and intense firefights.

Demoman Squad – Experts in destruction and siege warfare. Their focus on explosive weaponry allowed them to breach fortifications and dismantle enemy defenses from a distance. They trained rigorously in the art of ambush tactics and area denial. Demomen often set traps to lure enemies into explosive kill zones, maximizing their destructive potential without wasting resources.

Heavy Squad – The stronghold of their army. Clad in reinforced armor and wielding heavy weaponry, they stood as an immovable force, capable of suppressing enemy advancements and absorbing the brunt of attacks. Their training focused on teamwork with Medics, ensuring they could stay in the fight for extended periods without being overwhelmed.

Engineer Squad – Responsible for fortifications and battlefield utilities. They constructed makeshift turrets, reinforced defensive positions, and ensured that their forces were equipped with the necessary tools to maintain an advantage in prolonged engagements. Engineers also devised clever traps and automated defenses, making it costly for enemies to approach their strongholds.

Medic Squad – The lifeline of the army, providing medical aid and battlefield triage. Though their technology lacked the sophisticated healing beams of the original Medic's Medigun, they developed effective alternatives, such as enhanced bandages coated with coagulants, stimulant injections to numb pain and boost endurance, and rudimentary regeneration serums derived from local flora, ensuring the wounded could return to the fight. Their extensive research into battlefield medicine allowed them to counteract poisons and infection, keeping casualties minimal even in prolonged skirmishes.

Sniper Squad – Trained in precision marksmanship, eliminating high-priority targets from a distance. Utilizing scoped rifles and long-range bows, they delivered deadly accuracy, disrupting enemy plans before they could take shape. Snipers trained in camouflage and patience, learning to strike when the moment was right rather than wasting ammunition on rushed shots.

Spy Squad – Focused on stealth and subterfuge. Experts in infiltration and deception, they were trained in silent takedowns, disguise techniques, and intelligence gathering, making them a shadowy presence on the battlefield. Their training extended beyond combat—each Spy learned how to forge documents, manipulate enemy communications, and exploit weaknesses in security systems, making them invaluable assets in psychological warfare.

With their weapons forged and their training underway, the recruits were no longer mere villagers and refugees seeking protection. However, their limited combat experience and untested tactics meant that the true challenge still lay ahead, as the Empire would not remain idle for long. They were shaping into a formidable force, prepared to bring the fight to the Empire. Soon, they would have their first real test on the battlefield. Despite their progress, doubts lingered among the higher-ups—would their preparations be enough when faced with seasoned Imperial forces? Would their makeshift weapons hold up under sustained conflict? These uncertainties loomed over them like a storm cloud, but one thing was clear: there was no turning back. Their revolution had begun.

The sun had barely begun its descent when Scout stood atop the hill, scanning the horizon. The Northern Tribe's Imperial detachment was on the move, their banners fluttering in the afternoon breeze as they marched towards the Capital. Hundreds of them, battle-hardened warriors, clad in armor forged for the harsh climates of the north. The kind of men who had crushed rebellions before, who had slaughtered their way through entire villages without a second thought.

And yet, Scout grinned.

"All right, rookies! This is our shot!" he called out, cracking his knuckles as he turned to face the newly formed squads. They stood behind him, lined up, eager but tense. Some clutched their freshly crafted weapons with white-knuckled grips, others adjusted their makeshift armor. They weren't hardened killers. Not yet. But they had fire in their eyes. "You wanna be soldiers? Wanna show the Empire that we ain't just some no-name mercs messing around in their backyard? Then this is how you do it!"

The recruits stiffened at his words. Among them, a wiry young man from the Engineer squad adjusted his goggles, while a burly recruit from the Heavy squad shifted his weight, hefting a large minigun replica that Engineer had worked tirelessly to recreate. They had spent weeks training, bleeding, and learning how to wield weapons modeled after the mercs' own. Now, it was time to see if it had all been worth it.

Spy stood nearby, arms crossed, watching with unreadable eyes. He had been skeptical of Scout leading the first mission, but there was no backing out now. Medic, standing with the medical squad, merely chuckled as he adjusted his gloves. "Zhis will be... an interesting test, ja?" he muttered to himself.

Scout turned back towards the enemy. The Imperials hadn't spotted them yet. They were still marching in formation, oblivious to the ambush waiting in the hills. The wind carried the sound of their boots pounding against the dirt road, their voices murmuring in relaxed conversation. They weren't expecting a fight. That would make the first strike all the more devastating.

"Alright, here's the plan!" Scout continued, crouching as he sketched lines into the dirt. "Snipers, take position up top. Medics, stay behind cover and patch people up when needed. Heavies, once I give the signal, you and the Soldiers lay into 'em hard. Demo squad, you keep them from regrouping. Engies, you set up any kinda barricade you can. And Pyros... well, you know what to do."

There were some chuckles at that. The recruits were nervous, but Scout's confidence was infectious.

A recruit from the Demo squad swallowed hard. "What if they got more guys than we thought? What if—"

"Ain't no what ifs!" Scout interrupted. "We hit 'em so hard they ain't got time to count. Stick to the plan, and we come out on top!"

Then, the Imperials shifted. A scout from their ranks had caught a glint of something in the hills. He turned to report—but he wouldn't get the chance. 

Spy moved in a blur, vanishing into the shadows. Moments later, the Imperial scout collapsed without a sound, a single knife protruding from his throat. The rest of the army, oblivious, continued marching. 

"Nice work, Spook," Scout muttered, nodding approvingly. 

Spy simply adjusted his gloves. "You may proceed."

Scout turned back to his squad. "Aight, we got a few seconds before they notice something's wrong. No more waiting. LET'S DO THIS!"

With that, he surged forward, recruits shouting as they followed. Snipers took aim from their vantage points. Heavies readied their weapons. Demos armed their explosives. The battle had begun.

The first gunshot cracked through the air, followed by the explosion of Demo's charges. The Imperials snapped to attention, their ranks thrown into disarray as the ambush erupted. Smoke and fire filled the air. 

"Move! Move! Move!" Scout bellowed, darting ahead and weaving through the chaos, his scattergun already blasting into the nearest enemy. He wasn't just leading the charge—he was the charge.

Heavy let out a roaring laugh as his weapon rattled, cutting down the front lines with sheer firepower. "Tiny men will fall before Sasha!" he boomed, pushing forward with the Soldier squad at his side. 

Amid the chaos, Engineer barked orders, directing the recruits as they reinforced barricades and kept the battle contained. Medic dashed between the wounded, shouting commands at the medical team as they worked to keep their allies in the fight.

The Imperials fought back hard, but the shock of the ambush had crippled their coordination. The REDs and their recruits weren't just holding their own—they were winning.

Scout dashed between cover, firing off shots and shouting orders. A recruit from the Soldier squad had taken a hit, clutching his arm as he fell back. "Medic!" Scout shouted, waving over the closest support unit. The recruit gritted his teeth as Medic knelt beside him, injecting a healing serum that quickly staunched the wound. "Keep fighting," Medic said simply before dashing away to tend to another.

Meanwhile, a group of Imperials attempted to regroup on the eastern side, their commander barking orders. But before they could solidify their ranks, a rain of sniper fire tore through their line. "Headshot," a recruit muttered from his perch, exhaling slowly as he lined up his next target.

Back on the front, Scout was in his element. He ducked, weaved, and unloaded shots with practiced precision. An Imperial soldier lunged at him with a sword, but he sidestepped, swinging his scattergun upward in a brutal strike that sent the man crumpling to the ground. "Too slow, pal!"

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the battlefield as a cluster of Demo squad's bombs went off, sending Imperials flying. One of the recruits cheered, waving his grenade launcher. "This is fun!" he shouted before quickly ducking under returning fire.

The battle was nearing its climax. The Imperials were beginning to break, their formation shattered. Some tried to flee, only to be cut down by sniper fire. Others fought to the bitter end, but they were hopelessly outgunned. 

And at the front of it all, Scout grinned like a madman. "Welcome to the big leagues, boys!" he shouted, reloading in a flash before diving back into the fray. The recruits had proven themselves. The REDs had made their mark. And the Empire? They had just met their worst nightmare.

The retreat was executed with precision, every squad moving in perfect synchronization as they disappeared into the surrounding terrain. Smoke still lingered in the air, the last remnants of the battle mixing with the setting sun's dying light. The Imperials, those unfortunate enough to have survived, were bound and taken as prisoners. What had begun as a field test had turned into a resounding success—one that left the REDs nearly unscathed.

Scout wiped sweat from his brow, glancing around at his squad. Despite their inexperience, they had held their ground, and for all the chaos of battle, not a single one had fallen. It was unheard of, especially against an Imperial force. He smirked. "Not bad for a buncha rookies, huh?"

Heavy let out a deep, satisfied chuckle, setting his minigun down momentarily. "They fight well. Still need training. But fight well."

Spy, ever composed, simply adjusted his gloves. "We should not linger. Reinforcements will be here soon."

And soon they were.

The remaining dust hadn't even settled before the next wave of Imperials arrived. But this was no ordinary detachment. These were elite troops, disciplined and battle-hardened. Their armor gleamed in the dimming light, and their formations were precise, a stark contrast to the scattered remnants that had been left behind. And at their helm, riding in on a massive warhorse, was a lone figure clad in immaculate white, an aura of command radiating from them.

Cold blue eyes swept over the battlefield, taking in the smoldering wreckage and the bodies strewn across the ground. A gust of wind made the pristine coat flutter slightly as the figure dismounted with effortless grace, boots sinking slightly into the bloodied dirt. They walked forward with measured steps, exuding an unsettling calm despite the destruction surrounding them.

A lone, bloodied Imperial soldier stumbled forward, his breath ragged, eyes wide with fear. "General! We— they— we were ambushed! They had weapons like nothing we've ever seen! They struck fast, precise— and their leader, he moved like lightning!"

The figure listened in silence, their expression unreadable. The soldier trembled, desperate to justify his failure. "They overwhelmed us, sir! Their weapons were—"

A sharp gasp cut his words short as steel drove through his chest. The figure's blade had found its mark without hesitation, piercing flesh and armor alike. The dying man's breath hitched, his body convulsing as his strength gave out.

"Pathetic," the figure muttered, twisting the blade before withdrawing it. Blood sprayed onto the ground as the soldier collapsed in a heap. "A warrior should not beg."

Stepping over the corpse without a second glance, the figure surveyed the remnants of the battle, piecing together the story left behind in the wreckage. The destruction was deliberate, methodical. The enemy had executed their assault with ruthless precision. The placement of the bodies, the lack of unnecessary collateral damage—these were not mindless rebels. This was strategy.

The figure crouched, gloved fingers brushing over a spent bullet casing, turning it in the fading light. The craftsmanship was unlike anything the Empire commonly faced. The metal was smooth, expertly crafted, and bore unfamiliar engravings. Whoever these attackers were, they fought with weapons that outclassed standard Imperial issue. They had resources. They had discipline.

Fingers curled slightly, irritation creeping in. 

Had they been here first, would the battle's outcome have been different? A rare thought crossed their mind—one where they had led the first wave and had perhaps fallen into the enemy's trap. It was a ridiculous notion, discarded as quickly as it formed, but the sheer possibility of it gnawed at them.

Still, there was no denying it—whoever led this strike had a keen mind for warfare. A dangerous mind. The kind that could upset the careful balance of power.

Their lips curled into a slow, almost amused smile. "Interesting…" they murmured, eyes gleaming with intrigue.

This was no ordinary resistance. Whoever they were, they had just earned attention.

They rose to their feet, dusting off the edges of their coat. "Send word to the Capital. I want every available scout tracking them down. They won't stay in the shadows forever."

The soldiers saluted, scrambling to carry out the order. The figure remained still for a moment, gaze lingering on the fading horizon. A long-forgotten thrill stirred in their chest, the whisper of a challenge. The battlefield had grown dull in recent months, but now? Now, there was something new. Something exciting.

Turning to their subordinates, they issued one final command. "Burn the remains. Let their allies find nothing but ashes."

The order was carried out swiftly, and soon, flames rose high into the night, consuming what was left of the battle. The figure watched the fire dance, its embers casting flickering shadows across the battlefield. Then, without another word, they mounted their horse and rode back toward the Imperial lines, their thoughts already on the next move.

"Let's see what you're really made of," they murmured to the unseen enemy that had dared to challenge them.