#b00merang

Top Left - Duke. Top Center - Crash. Top Right - Target.

Center Left - Pops. Center Right - Peanut.

Bottom Left - Lily. Bottom Center - Izzy. Bottom Right - Wes.

(Based on @b00mrang's CRASH series! All credit to CRASH goes to him!)

Under the high, pine-scented canopy near the rundown base known as "High Ground," the members of FIXER-Team were less than busy—more accurately, they were engaged in a mix of minor repairs and major complaints. The base, a once-bustling hub of military activity during the Human-Covenant War, now served as a glorified storage closet for relics and repair tools.

Duke, whose armor was a mismatched jigsaw of green and white plates, leaned heavily against a weathered barricade. He looked like an action figure someone had taken straight out of the box and left in the sun—too pristine for the work at hand and too disgruntled to care. With his hands—better suited for tossing grenades than turning wrenches—he fiddled with a tool he seemed to regard as an alien artifact.

"Ya know, I didn't exactly picture my glorious days of space marauding to involve tightening bolts and patching up leaky roofs," Duke complained loudly, his voice echoing slightly off the metal surfaces around him. His expression was one of a man betrayed by his own expectations of adventure. "Signed up late in the war, sure, but I was promised action. All that’s left is babysitting this aging pile of metal and dreaming of the good ol' days of chaos and heroics."

A few feet away, Crash was engaged in a delicate balancing act of holding a flashlight with his mouth while reconnecting power lines—red to red, blue to blue, his fingers steady despite the apparent annoyance at his colleague's rambling. Clad in red and white armor that looked like it had seen better days and possibly better owners, he mumbled a response around the flashlight.

"Uh-huh, and who exactly promised you that, Duke? The recruitment poster? Because last I checked, peace means less shootin' and more screw-tightening." His voice was muffled, but the irritation cut through clearly.

Duke snorted, throwing his wrench down with a theatrical clang. "Peace? What good’s peace to a war dog like me? I was made for the adrenaline, for the glory of battle. Not... this." He gestured broadly at the quiet surroundings, as if indicting the trees themselves for his boredom.

Crash removed the flashlight, rolling his eyes as he turned to face Duke. "You know, most folks would kill for a bit of peace. And here you are, whining because you're not out there committing actual murder. Ever think maybe this 'boring' work is what keeps the peace?"

Duke threw up his hands, the wrench clanging loudly as it hit the ground. "I didn't sign up for peace, Crash. I wanted action, adventure—"

"And instead, you got responsibility," Crash cut in, his voice firm. "Maybe try seeing that as the adventure it is. Besides, it’s not like you’d actually enjoy the quiet if you had it."

Duke picked up the wrench, his expression softening slightly. "Maybe you're right. But it doesn't mean I have to like it."

Crash smiled slightly, returning to his work. "No one’s asking you to like it, just to do it. And who knows? Maybe there’ll be more action than you think at this old base. For now, let's just get it back up to spec."