Jump to content

Fireteam- Series Finale- Steel Meridian


Recommended Posts

Last summer, before Warframe even had a role play and story telling subforum, I brought you Out of Frame: The Everyday Lives of the Tenno, with all its wacky sitcom shenanigans.

This fall, I'm back with a new fan fiction disaster to change the way you play Warframe forever. Or at least you know, for like 3 months.


Hold on a second... Okay, see this link here?

Click it. DO IT NAOW.



Starring, completely against their will and without permission-

DE_Adam as Private Dedam, the squad joker and grakata-toting vanilla lancer most likely to die horribly.

DE_Steve as Sergeant Deeve, the hard-boiled squad leader elite lancer.

DE_Meg as Ballista Demeg, the hotshot hottie.

DE_Rebecca as Heavy Gunner Dereb, the big girl with the big gun.

DE_Drew as Seeker Derew, the pokeball throwing master of disaster.

Who will survive their tour of duty, and how much of them will have to be rebuilt with cybernetic prosthetics?

Find out here, in this master list of posts that I'm pretty sure is correct. Pretty sure.









































Edited by Doozy84
Link to comment
Share on other sites

What ever happened to the R-rated Nazi Gold thingy?

Doozy's super secret Stolen Nazi Gold is in production, and will be on a website or bookstore near you "Whenever my publisher tells me its done."

Stolen Nazi Gold is 24 karats of bone crushing violence, kinky and uncensored sex, backstabbing politics, necromancy, and cannibalism. It also includes the real life biography of an ex-con MMA fighter living with porn stars. And a children's book.

Episode 1 of Fireteam will go up on saturday.

Link to comment
Share on other sites




30 SECONDS UNTIL IMPACT the navcomp announced in a tinny voice.


Dereb tapped the trigger to cycle the vacuum on her gorgon. The Grineer-made light machine gun had a two stage trigger, a tap engaged the electric pump that pulled air through the venting in the barrel shroud to cool the weapon during sustained fire. Depressing the trigger completely made the gorgon rain bullets. By gently tapping the trigger to keep the pump engaged, a heavy gunner could keep the weapon at peak efficiency between bursts, and peak efficiency meant peak rate of fire.




Demeg, the team’s designated marksman unslung her vulkar from her shoulder and disengaged the safety. She shifted her weight by rocking her hips back and forth to check the hydraulic pressure in her prosthetic legs. Ballista marksmen had the most highly-tuned, precision engineered prosthetic legs in the entire Grineer Marine Corps- A ballista never made noise. The only thing an enemy ever heard was the crack of her vulkar when she fired.




Derew sighted down his kraken, then fiddled with his bandolier of latchers. Dedam screwed a fresh magazine into his grakata.




“Command says that the Corpus frigate suffered significant damage to the magazine during pursuit. Expect fire hazards on deck. Keep your helmets on, and say something if your air gets screwed up. There’s going to be smoke and fire, so if you didn’t clean your lenses during regular maintenance like you’re supposed to, now is the time to admit you’ve #*($%%@ up.” Sergeant Deeve explained, his hind hanging from the three point harness on his chest.




“How’d we pull this chicken-S#&$ duty anyway, Sarge? Who gives a rubedo about some Corpus Neptunian gas freighter?” Dedam asked.


“Dedam, when the queens want you to know, I’m sure they’ll come and tell you personally. You weren’t cloned to ask questions.” Sergeant Deeve snapped.




“When we hit, Dereb is on point! Run like a bastard, find cover, and stay close to the walls!” Deeve commanded.


There was a sudden thump without noise, as the boarding torpedo struck the hull of the Corpus ship in the vacuum. Then, from nothing came sound and fury, the tortured cry of twisted metal screamed across the armored fuselage of the boarding torpedo as it penetrated into atmosphere inside the ship and the oxygen gave voice to violence. The temperature inside the torpedo rose rapidly and suddenly became unbearable to the marines, clothed as they were in the weight of their gear and uniforms. The fusion generators in the shell of the torpedo were melting the crushed shell of the frigate around them, fusing the hole in the ship that the torpedo had made to keep the cabin inside from depressurizing. Just when the marines could handle the heat no longer, the impact clamps automatically released them from their seats, and the front hatch of the torpedo opened.


“Go! Go! Go!” Sergeant Deeve shouted, but before he had even reached the second word, Dereb’s leg pistons were already squealing and pumping as she vaulted out of the torpedo and took point.


They had impacted in a crew barracks deck, and as luck would have it, all the crew were scrambled elsewhere, vacating the dormitory to defend their ship from attack. There was no living soul in sight, but with the Corpus, that seldom meant there was no threat.


Dereb tracked side to side with her gorgon as her squadmates fanned out behind her, taking up positions behind bunks and piles of rubble thrown up by the impact of the torpedo. Cameras, monitors, and palm-locks beeped and booped, their interfaces crawling with red text in the long, scrawling language of the Corpus.


The moa lockers swung open, and the marines were immediately attacked by a swarm of bipedal robots. The last thing the marines heard was the gentle servo whine of Dereb’s gorgon pumping air through the barrel shroud before the machine gun tore the silence with a song of violence.


Two moas dropped immediately from the hail of bullets, but the yellow-clad shockwave moa that was cunningly using them as human shields vaulted over the riddled-corpses of its cybernetic fellows and lifted its hydraulic leg to stomp a concussion that would knock the marines out of cover and make them easy prey.


Dereb was faster than the robot, and anticipating its tactics, she planted her feet, punched the deck, and vented her gas system, throwing the moa like a child’s toy with her own concussive attack. Before she could even get her machine gun back up, a burst of rifle fire from Sergeant Deeve’s hind tore the shockwave moa apart, making sure it never got back up.


The Corpus were upon them now. A reaction squad of robots and crewmen appeared from the other side of the room through an opening air lock, and Dereb squatted behind a bulkhead as the air between the two warring factions became a storm of lead and lasers.


“Reloading!” Dereb shouted as she cranked a new magazine into position and cycled the pumps on her gas system to get pressure back into her prosthetic legs after venting them on her ground attack.


Private Dedam dumped a magazine on full auto from his grakata to suppress the attacking crewmen and cover his teammates, but the bullets that did hit harmlessly flared against the shields of the Corpus team, their personal generators overcharged by a drone hovering overhead.


“Demeg! Take out those shields!” Deeve growled, and without even a whisper in acknowledgement, the ballista gently tugged the trigger of her vulkar, and a loud crack exploded across the room.


The high-impact rifle round tore through the drone’s left grav-wing, shearing it off and sent the flying robot into a dead spin it could not recover from. It twirled around, smashed into a wall, and exploded, sundering the tethers of protective energy that kept its allies overcharged.


A crewman with a prod sprinted at Dereb, racing her as she reloaded the gorgon. Not able to get the gun up in time, Dereb dropped the gorgon on her sling and reached for the marelok sidearm at her hip. With a hipshot from the holster, she put a fist-sized hole through the center of the charging crewman, who dropped like a sack of hammers at her feet.


“Ho Cygar, you son of a kubrow.” She kicked the corpse away from her as she put the sidearm back in the holster and brought her gorgon back up to her shoulder.


Without the aid of their bots, the Corpus crewmen were only human, and not wearing body armor. They were no match for the discipline and willingness to engage in attrition combat of the professional military might of the Grineer Marine Corps. The air was filled with bullets, and in ones and twos, the crewmen dropped to the deck, their helmets smashed in by bullets and their uniforms perforated. Only a handful of crewmen with dera energy rifles remained in cover behind detritus and bulkheads, firing incandescent bolts of energy to suppress their attackers.


“Derew, bring out the toys.” Sergeant Deeve ordered, and with a step and an underhanded throw, the seeker marine tossed a latcher ball down the hall. The tiny explosive ball rolled forward, turned the corner behind the crewmen, and with a combination of a compressed air blast and a secretion of fast-acting epoxy, stuck itself to the ankle of the crewman and began beeping with a sinister tone.


Knowing what would come next, the crewman panicked and abandoned cover in a vain effort to beat the tiny bomb off of him. His lapse in judgment provided all the opportunity the marines needed, and as he leapt up from cover he was killed instantly by a volley of hind and grakata bullets that tore him to shreds. The carcass dropped next to his fellow, and the latcher bomb detonated, showering the remaining crewman in shrapnel, bone, and gore, making his death the most gruesome of all.


“What a way to die.” Dereb shook her head.


“We didn’t have all day to wait for him to get brave. If he wanted to go out cowering like that, it was his choice.” Sergeant Deeve spat. “Everyone, watch your sector and clear this room.”


“Hey Sarge, you think there might be any tenno on this ship?” Dedam asked as they carefully advanced up the corridor.


“In this @$$-backwards sector of space? I’m more worried about finding whatever redneck gene-trash outer-system yokel they cloned you from, Dedam.” Deeve replied.


“Its all clear, sarge.” Dereb reported.


“Outstanding work back there, Dereb.” Deeve acknowledged her.


“What the hell is with you and the tenno anyway, Dedam? You got a deathwish or something?” Derew asked.


“Just curious is all.” Dedam shrugged.


“To hell with that, have you seen the after-action reports published on the partisan info-net?” Demeg asked.


“Belay that remark, Demeg. That’s a contraband channel on an unauthorized network and you know it. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” The sergeant snapped.


“No problems here, sarge. I like this backwater outer system duty. Less likely to ever see one of those bastards.” Demeg said.


“Your enthusiasm is noted, corporal.” Deeve replied. “Now everyone form up. Combat formation bravo, Dereb is on point again. We’ve got to clear this deck and rendezvous with the rest of the platoon.”


The team moved down the hall with Dereb on point, covering ground and checking corners without any sign of Corpus movement until the sounds of a high-powered supra machine gun shredded the silence. Immediately without being ordered, the whole fireteam glued themselves to cover and walls.


The supra rattled off another salvo of shots, and now the sounds of dera rifle fire could be heard as well, but the team did not have visual. There was a gun battle up ahead, but where and when they were walking into it was an unknown factor.


“Demeg,” Sergeant Deeve hissed, “take point and check that corner.”


The ballista marine nodded. With her silenced prosthetic legs built for sniping, she was the ideal pointman to snoop out the Corpus machine gun nest. Cradling her vulkar close to her chest, she padded softly to the corner and peeked around it.


There was a five man team of Corpus crewmen bunkered behind some bullet-riddled moa lockers and cargo crates led by a tech. They were holding the choke point against a squad of Grineer marines down the hall, and Deeve’s fireteam was behind them. They did not notice Demeg peeking the corner, their attention focused on the marines to their front.


Demeg began signalling to her teammates.

She pointed at her eyes with her fingers, then held up four fingers, saluted, and held up one finger.

I see four enemies, one officer.


She pointed to her own chest, saluted.

I will take the officer.


She pointed to Dereb, held up one finger, and gestured to her right.

Dereb will take first enemy on right.


She pointed to Derew, held up two fingers, and gestured to her right.

Derew will take second enemy on right.


Then, with similar gestures to the left, she assigned a target to Deeve and Dedam.


The marines all nodded that they understood, checked their weapons, and snuck forward. Demeg counted down from three on her fingers, then put her rifle to her shoulder and stepped around the corner with her sights on the tech.


Demeg pulled the trigger and her sniper bullet smashed through the back of the tech’s helmet, blasting his brains out the front of his skull and turning his helmet inside out like a toaster dropped off of a cliff hitting every rock on the way down. Sergeant Deeve tapped the trigger of his hind twice on his target, and ten bullets later the crewman’s chest looked like ground beef.


Dereb and Dedam’s targets were splattered against the crates they were sheltering behind in a shower of automatic fire, and Derew’s heavy caliber kraken bullets turned his target’s helmet into a bowl of tomato soup.


“Check your fire!” Sergeant Deeve shouted to the marines down the hall, holding his hand out to keep his team down in case of friendly fire.


“Lightning!” The marines down the hall shouted.


“Flash!” Deeve shouted back.


With this exchange of mission-specific secret greetings, the two parties of Grineer marines knew each other were friendlies.


A lancer wearing sergeant stripes stepped forward as the marines checked the bodies.

“Nice work back there marines.” He nodded.


“You too.”  Sergeant Deeve nodded. “How did you guys do?”


“Lost my specialist in our first engagement after impact. I’ve got a scorpion and some shotguns and grakatas, but no extra firepower. You guys are a sight for sore eyes, where’d you make your breach?” The sarge asked.


“Not far down the hall, we lucked out. Landed in an empty dormitory and handled some moas, no casualties. That techie holding you guys up was the first big shot we’ve seen so far.” Deeve explained.


“Hey sarge, think I can take this supra as a trophy?” Dedam asked.


“Dedam, if you survive this engagement, you can take as much corporate trash as you can carry off this ship, for all I care. Just remember that Corpus tech isn’t designed to the standards of the Grineer Marine Corps.” Deeve replied. He turned to the other sergeant. “You got any intel?”

Deeve and the other sergeant went over to a console to look at the deck layout of the ship.


“Hey Dereb, Sarge says I can keep the supra. Looks like I’m gonna be a heavy gunner too.” Dedam smiled at her.


“It’s designed-by-committee corporate trash tech, Dedam. It’ll break the first time you drop it.” Dereb smirked under her helmet.


“Ah, that’s just propaganda. Not even the corporate fat cats would make a gun that fragile.” Dedam brushed her off.


“I wouldn’t touch that piece of rubedo if I were you.” Demeg said.


“Huh? Why?” Dedam asked.


“Look at the magazine. It’s cracked. He dropped it right on the plasma flask when I shot him, that gun will have a catastrophic coolant failure the second it spins up to peak fire rate.” Demeg explained.


“Stick to your grakata, Dedam. You’ve dropped that a dozen times and it still shoots. If the queens thought you were any smarter they might have given you something more sophisticated, like a screwdriver or a box cutter.” Derew added.


“Specialist Derew!” Sergeant Deeve said over his shoulder.

“Sir!” Derew replied.


“Do me a favor and make sure Dedam doesn’t manage to get himself killed before the corporate fat cats get a chance to shoot him.” Deeve ordered.


“You heard him, Dedam, quit screwing with that thing.” Derew said.


“Man, you guys just hate fun.” Dedam said, leaving the supra on the ground where he found it.


“No, we’re all just allergic to dying. Its bad for our military careers.” Derew said.


“Alright, listen up team.” Deeve turned around. “Intel here says we’re right on the jackpot. The main cargo hold is just down this corridor, and that’s where all these company goons are going to be. I don’t know what’s in it and I don’t really care, Captain Vor wants it so we’re going to get it. So strap up and shake hands with your new playmates, because as soon as we hit that airlock, its gonna stop being easy real fast. Stay close to the walls.”


The two fireteams cleared the room and advanced up the corridor to the main airlock where a pair of consoles on either side of the door were located. Sergeant Deeve tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.


“Derew, get up here, I need a brain.” Deeve commanded.


Derew holstered his kraken, hustled up from his position in the back of the line up to the door, and examined the console. “Its a double-pressure lock, sarge. Needs input on both consoles simultaneously to function, like the airlock doors on the fuel catalyzer stations on our fomorians.” Derew explained.


“Speak Grineer, Derew.” Deeve insisted.


“Go over there and key in the sequence at the same time as me on the other panel.” Derew said.


“Alright, check your weapons, squad. When this door goes up, check your targets and shoot anything that looks smarter than Dedam.” Deeve commanded.


“Hey.” Dedam said.


“It’s a good mission for you, Dedam. We’re only impact plus twenty and no one’s been ordered to shoot you yet.” Dereb smirked.


“Dereb! Pump that trigger!” Deeve commanded.


“Aye-aye, sir!” Dereb replied, shouldered her gorgon, and began tapping the trigger to cycle the coolant vacuum.


“On three.” Sergeant Deeve ordered.


“One.” He shouted.


The marines shouldered their weapons, the only sound was the hissing intake of Dereb’s vacuum servo priming her gorgon.


“Two!” Deeve shouted.


They tensed their legs to sprint for cover.


“Three!” Deeve shouted, and he and Derew simultaneously keyed in the door command that opened the airlock.


Then, instead of shouting, firing, or moving, both fireteams of marines stood still with their jaws on the floor.


Dedam was the first to recover, but rather than acting, he only threw Deeve a snarky grin. “Hey Sarge, you said we wouldn’t see any tenno.”

“Shut the hell up, Dedam! Everyone hit the deck!” Deeve ordered.

Edited by Doozy84
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Dedam is going to get himself killed if he keeps acting like that. You dont mess with the Tenno and live.


Then again this Tenno is probaly in cryostasis.

Private Dedam's complete lack of intelligence is in no way a reflection of his namesake DE_Adam's alleged lack of intelligence.

Unless it is.

Then it is.

Edited by Doozy84
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

  • Create New...