I wanta' tell you a story.

This story is gonna' start with a lotta' of the details skipped. A lotta' of things you all know already, okay? It's why you're even bothering to read 'dis in the first place. The things that I'm gonna' write (and you're gonna' read) probably won't make much sense to a lotta' people, but then again, you're not like a lotta' of people if you're still reading this. This isn't some story that any sane person would believe. This isn't a story I expect everyone to understand, but I gotta' to write it anyway.

Someone has to write it, cause' it deserves to be written. You get me? 'Dat's just how I feel it is.

Anyway, who am I? Haha, I don't even know where to start with you...

I'm the fastest and smartest runner Redmond Mann ever had the pleasure of paying from that stupidly fat fortune he inherited from his father. But you know that already, don't you? You know who the tomato soup drinkin' warfreak is. You know who our...Pyro...is. You know who our drunk one-eyed degenerate is. You know who the big fat bald guy with the thick Russian accent is. You know who our nerdy egg-headed toy maker is. You know who the needle addicted hippocratic hypocrite is. You know who our grumbling, mumbling, grumpy kangaroo fucker is. You know who the double-dealin', backstabbin' scumbag in the balaclava is.

Okay, so they've got their problems. Their "quirks." But what if I told you they're not all that bad?

Well, depending on what color you're wearin' anyway.

I could go on all day about them - and maybe I will later - but for now they're just a waste of time.

You've met the team.

The way I figure, since I've got the most time to laze around and do jack shit (my brothers always said, never put off a beatin' for tomorrow that you can dish out today!), it means that I get to embellish everything for history. If this here masterpiece ever gets published into a novel or somethin', let me just say: "Hi Ma'!"

Personally, I blame the weather in Equestria. In Teufort and all of the places in the middle of nowhere we would defend from the BLU team, the weather was always harsh. From the Badlands to Badwater Basin, the sun had baked the landscape into a dry and arid wasteland. Whenever we went to the Sawmill or Mannworks, the weather was always humid and cloudy in between torrential rainstorms. There was no love at Coldfront and Viaduct either, with persistant blizzards that were sometimes strong enough to stop both RED and BLU from even leaving their bases.

The only place I can think of that was ever pleasant was 2Fort, minus the raw volume of high explosives that passed from one battlements to the other. And bullets. And arrows. And lasers. And that was on a good day.

Now, let me put the breaks on my thoughts so far 'ere.

I'm going to stop and break this up for a minute. Because I need to be frank with you (yeah you) the reader.

The reason why I became a mercenary was because of how bad ass it sounded. Being the youngest out of eight never gave me a second to let down appearances. I didn't want to let my mom down. I don't know what happened to my father, or whether he ever existed in the first place, but all my life I never wanted to let her down. I wanted to make her proud, since all of my older brothers were tough guys too. When we roamed our turf in Boston, well, I couldn't stomach the idea of letting them down. They were more than just my family. When I earned their respect, it meant the world to me. And I would do just about anything to keep it.

But to do anything a guy needs money. And 'dat was something no one in my family ever found a way to earn enough of. I needed to get a job, and one that would somehow payout while letting me to keep my pride. I wanted to do something so incredibly awesome that no one could make fun of me for it, no matter what I choose to do afterward.

Listening to Rainbow "Chicken Wings" go on about her idols, the Wonderbolts, kind of reminds me about how I used to be. Like how I used to idolize baseball players, before I got into the full-time business of being a mercenary.

I get the feeling a lotta' things around Equestria are remindin' the guys of how things used to be. Before RED, before BLU, and before giant killer robots. 'Dat's why I'm writing this.

Cause I'm not sure if I like being here.

The sun in Equestria is never too hot, and the nights are never too cold. The weather is planned out ahead of time and never changes schedule. The food tastes fresh, and the water is clean. There is no pollution even in the larger cities. Crime is almost non-existent. The poor and needy are taken care of. The main government is responsive and caring about its citizens, and all of its citizens in return are responsive and caring to each other. Good always triumphs over evil, blah blah blah...

There's something about all of it that gives me the chills.

It's not 'dat bein' here is making me question myself. No really, I mean it. It's not like 'dat, alright? Cause I know you're all like, "But Scout? Aren't you an intelligence capturing, cart pushing, point capturing bad ass in every way possible?"

To which I'd say, "Yeah, I totally am. Even on sundays." But 'dat's not what I'm gettin' at.

I had plenty of time to doubt myself when I first joined RED, and got shipped in to Dustbowl with the rejects and lowest ranking mercenaries under Redmond's company. Living in run down facilities, stealing ammunition off of BLU corpses and raiding camps for supplies. Going from battle to battle, dodging bullets, rockets, grenades, and even crazier things in between. I mean, hell, I think I've beaten some BLUs to death with a frying pan when my bat broke.

There were plenty of times when I questioned what part of my stupid twenty year old brain thought being a mercenary was a good idea. A cool idea. Something 'dat would work, and not be a suicidal dead end like it was for so many other suckers who had joined RED.

That's not the problem. It's me, but it's not me. I just don't think we should be here.

Since we all came back after quittin', maybe that means that we don't belong anywhere.

But the last thing we should be doing is hanging around some place that'll inspire others to become like us.

Well, I think "Chicken Wings" is waking up above me. I don't know how she can sleep on branches of apple trees like some friggin' giant ass bird, but I've probably found more awkward places to sleep in the past. (The basement of our base at Fastlane was probably the worst.) Last thing I'm gonna' do is let her see me writin' this thing, as if there aren't a million things already she's always buggin' me about. (Racing, cloudball, fictional heroes, yada yada.)

If she thinks I'm keeping a diary or something, I'll never hear the end of it.

...Y'know, maybe I'm being more serious than I should be about all 'dis.

But if I were to get all philosophical and shit for once, I would still say we don't belong here. Really, we don't. And not because Heavy keeps gettin' in fights with 'dat big brown bear at Flutterwimp's cottage.

Equestria is a place where dreams don't die to reality.

We're only gonna' attract more trouble than we'll stop.