Red vs Blue with a new character joining in the mix.
Agent New Mexico lost all his memories during his time in Project Freelancer, he found his way to Blood Gulch. After being assigned to Blue team, he now has to deal with all the madness and chaos...
Arroyo: Try it Church, let's see you throw those twigs arms against me.
Church: Just wait until I get my body back.
Caboose, again, turns to Tucker.
Caboose: Psst. What's wrong with the rookie? He seems mad at Arroyo for some reason.
Church: Oh, son of a bitch.
Caboose: Susan?
The camera then switches to red base, where Donut is attempting to jump onto the upper level, with Grif watching over him from above. Donut is making grunting noises as he jumps.
Grif: Donut, there is no way you can jump that high.
Donut pauses for a second after he lands.
Donut: Yes I can.
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Donut continues jumping, chanting "Yes I can!" as he jumps. Simmons walks up to Grif.
Simmons: What the hell is he doing?
Grif: Losing a bet.
Donut lands back on the lower floor.
Donut: Oh, I almost got it that time! Are you sweating yet, sucker?
Grif: No, I can't sweat. Simmons' stupid sweat glands don't even work right.
Simmons: What? They were working when I gave them to you.
Grif: Please. I'm not moist in any of the usual places. If you want them back so bad, take 'em.
Simmons sighs.
Simmons: I can't. Sarge says that sweat makes my cyborg parts rusty. So, I'm cooled by Freon now.
Grif: Ah, delicious Freon.
Grif starts to cough violently.
Simmons: Grif, are you alright? Are my lungs ok? Hey, wait a minute. Are you smoking inside your helmet again?
Grif: What? No!
Grif blows out smoke from his helmet as he turns away from Simmons.
Grif: ...Oops.
Simmons: Dammit. I knew this would happen. And how many snack cakes have you had today?
Grif: None.
Simmons: ...
Grif: Ok, five... or more.
Donut grunts in the background.
Grif: Baker's dozen at most.
Simmons: Do you even know how many are in a baker's dozen?
Grif: By my count?
Donut, again, grunts in the background.
Grif: Forty-eight.
Simmons: Alright. That's it. No more smoking, no more drinking, and no more overeating, chubby! You're not going to ruin my body parts the same way you ruined yours.
Grif: That's ok. I can think of different ways to ruin them.
A loud noise comes from where Donut was.
Donut: Ah! Ah! Ow! Ahhhhh! Who left the spleen ball where someone could trip on it? I think I broke something. Simmons, I need your ovaries!
Simmons: Ugh, I really hate this army.
Sarge arrives.
Sarge: Grif! Simmons 2.0! I just got off the horn to Command. I'm afraid we have a situation.
Simmons: Ah, don't tell me they canceled the holiday party again! Those cheap bastards. All I wanted was one night of carefree dancing. But no! I ask you when it will be Simmons' turn? When?!
Grif and Sarge turn to look at each other before continuing.
Sarge: Uh, actually, the problem is with Lopez.
Grif: Don't tell me. The Consulate General from Spanish Land is coming, and without Lopez, we don't have anyone to translate.
Simmons: There's no such thing as Spanish Land, you retard.
Grif: Yes there is. They have those, uh... uh, waterslides. And all that salsa!
Simmons: No, they don't.
Grif: Well, I guess you would know.
Simmons: What's that supposed to mean? For the last time, I'm Dutch-Irish!
Grif: Hey, don't let your fiery Latin temper get out of control. I was just trying to make a point.
Sarge: Can it, Frankenstein. We've got a pot on the front burner, and it's a-boilin' over. I've just learned that Command implanted Lopez with secret instructions detailing the next phase of our operations. Do you have any idea what this means?
Grif: I uh... uh, Simmons? You want to take this one?
Simmons: Were you not listening again? What the hell were you thinking about?
Grif: Certainly not waterslides, I can tell you that much. Or salsa.
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Sarge: What it means is that if we don't get back Lopez before the Blues uncover our secret plans, we'll be up pooper creek without a paddle.
Grif: Ew. Gi-a... that's gross!
Sarge: I'm talking about being lost in a forest of filth without a compass. Swimmin' in a river of sick with no floaties on. Drivin' blind, into the tunnel of-
Simmons: Sir, I think we get the picture. The very, very disturbing picture.
Sarge: You sure? I could go on.
Grif: I'm sure you could. But no. Really.
Sarge: Just one more?
Grif: Stop.
Sarge: Come on, they're fun. Simmons, you try one. I'll start you off. Flyin' by the seat of your blank, with a blank in the blank. Eh?
