Wholly god I'm lazy it's a fact. Funny thing is, i've had 95% of this done for 2 months. Well... enjoy!
The jungle: A vast, endless scape of thick, dark, and green growth. Trees tower over all other living things, vines knit through every path, and the cacophonous sounds create and endless orchestra of chaos. Within the borders of these grand ecosystems roams many things, some more deadly than others, some things peaceful and docile, but there is one thing that draws our attention the most.
Trapped behind enemy lines…
"Trapped behind enemy lines…"
Betrayed by his own country…
"Betrayed by his own country…"
Solider stomped through the dense jungle floor teeming with snagging vines and decaying matter, clutching his shotgun tightly. The only time he takes his hand off the pump is to wipe the ever-collecting sweat under his hat generated by this unbearably humid environment. Soldier sweeps his head this way and that, a rhythmic motion as a precaution for ambush. Very little light penetrates the opaque canopy, forcing him to constantly squint his eyes as he traveled in search of the edge of this dark-green hell. There was a sudden noise behind him, a rustling of leaves. Quickly, Soldier turn around, shotgun pointed in the direction of this possible threat. In his carelessness, as he was still moving in one direction, he snagged his foot on the wooden tendril of a tree root. With a surprised yelp, Solider was thrown on his back, his hat knocked off.
Quickly, he sat up and aimed his shotgun at the source of the noise yet again. After waiting for what seemed like hours, Soldier got up from the soil rich ground, dismissing the treat. He picked up his tall, fashionable, Victorian Military headwear (the Stout Shako, of course), donned it on top of his shaven head, and continued. It wasn't too long afterwards when he caught the first sign of bright light stabbing through the canopy. Elated, Soldier rushed towards the edge of the jungle, relived for the first time since being dropped here by Engie's blasted machine. As he stepped out of the hostile jungle, blinding sunlight enveloped the battle-hardened merc. Taking a moment to adjust to the clear skies, his shoulders sagged in disappointment. The "edge" he has supposedly came upon was just a large clearing, surrounded by dense growth on all sides.
In the middle of the clearing was a tall, ancient pyramid with glyphs and carvings depicting nothing solider could understand. Carved onto all for sides of the pyramid was steep stairs leading all the way up to its stony top. Soldier went to investigate the ruins, but not before putting away his shotgun in an unseen place behind his back.
Out on a lush, green golf course, two figures rose up to the trimmed green. One was a gentleman, dressed in a fine plaid vest over a white shirt, tan pants, and polished golf shoes. The other was a small boy; an attendant to the player, lugging the carrier of golf clubs. The man removed a carefully chosen club from the carrier, lined it up with the small, ivory ball contrasting the level grass, and struck it with professional precision. The boy came to retrieve the man's club as the player stared into the distance, following the arc of the ball.
"Excellent shot, sir." The boy praised. "No other like it."
"Max, my boy?" The man replied, still looking into the distance
The man paused for a great deal of time.
"Yessir! Of course, sir!"
Without speaking another word, the man and the boy strode off into the direction of the 9th hole.
After closer inspection, Soldier saw that the stones that made up the pyramid were covered in moss and lichen, but otherwise untouched by weathering and time. A brush of the plant matter showed that it's cling was as fragile as dust. Warily, Soldier started to climb the steps, which were narrow and very tall. When he got to the peak, he almost lost his balance at what he saw.
The most gigantic emerald he ever saw was half-sunken into a stone mount sitting right in front of him. There were absolutely no imperfections at all on it's surface and the colossal gem radiated outwards with a majestic, deep green glow, as if it contained unfathomable power within it. Soldier warily inched toward it, not sure what would be the consequence for being in it's presence. He greedily reached out to touch the smooth glittering surface…
"Don't you DARE touch that!"
Soldier had absolutely no time to react to a killing blow to the neck. The only thing that narrowly saved his life was an instinct that he developed over the years of being a mercenary.
It saved his life, but it didn't save his pride.
Soldier, having jumped backwards to avoid his attacker, now faced the consequence and tumbled, painfully, down every step of the narrow staircase of the ruins until he hit the tall grass with a muffled thud. With a curse, he tried to stand up, but his assaulter was already above him, descending to deliver an overhead deathblow. Soldier rolled to avoid this, his assailant burying his fist into the earth. This was a mistake on his part, as his fist was stuck in the ground. As he struggled to yank it out, Soldier took a second to identify his attacker.
He was short, about half his height, and if Soldier had seen him before he almost killed him, he would have underestimated his strength. He was mostly red, save a white crest on his chest, and two massive gloved fists bearing blunt spikes on the end. Thick, dread-like spines hung off his head, and his face was permanently contorted into a visage of anger.
Just before the red sentinel finally removed his fist from the ground, Soldier lunged for his throat, knocking him on the ground and digging his thumbs into his trachea. The attacker did the same, wrapping his heavy mitts around Soldier's neck. The two wrestled each other amongst the tall grass in a race to see who could suffocate who first.
Knuckles felt sweat bead on his forehead under the intruder's iron grip. Dark tendrils of death played around the borders of his vision. "Who the hell does he think he is?" Knuckles thought in frustration. For him, it started out like any other boring day, sitting on his ass guarding the Master Emerald. The last couple of years had gone without so much as birds and bugs passing by. Then this guy shows up without any warning, no possible method of transportation, and a stupid-ass hat!
He was going to die by the hands of a guy with the most idiotic sense of headwear. Darkness swallowed more of his vision, his eyes started to roll into his head…
Both heads turned towards the source of the sound. A stumbling black man with an eye patch, liquor bottle, and a over-under grenade launcher came into view.
"YOU'ALL STOP FIGHTIN OVER THAT… PRETTY… SHINEY*burp*THING OVER THERE. I'LL SOLVE IT FOR YA."
The newcomer aimed his launcher at the Emerald. Knuckles' eyes widened as the explosive projectile spat out of the tube. Time slowed down as it gracefully arced to it's destructive end towards the precious Master Emerald. Knuckles reached out with one arm, shouting a useless defiance at the inevitable outcome, one that has happened so many times before. The grenade, trailing red streaks of light, came to the last leg of its course, ready to impact it's target and shatter it into countless pieces…
It disappeared harmlessly in a small burst of sparks.
"Fukkin Mann Co…" Mumbled Demoman.
Knuckles was relieved beyond comprehension. He also noticed that the guy who was but a moment ago trying to kill him was charging at the other guy.
"DEMOMAN YOU SCOTTISH SONUVABITCH! WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO BREAK IT?" He yelled as he began to end the life of Demoman, via trench shovel.
"This is gonna be a long day…" thought Knuckles.