Place a dispenser here!

Need a teleporter here...

Move it up!

The words drowned out all forms of thought. At this rate, it all sounded like gibberish as one overlapped the other.

Good god, stop screaming at me, I'll do it if you'd just help me stay alive!

Your hands covered up your ears.

Please stop...

Everything was going down, your sentry was absorbing all sorts of damage, your dispenser and teleporters, sapped. Your knees buckled, a hardhat tumbled down to the dusty ground. For once, you let the body feel the dirt.

No one helps you when your whole world is crumbling.

"INCOMING!"

A pair of boots appeared in your broken goggled view.

"GET UP, SOLDIER! WE CAN STILL DO THIS!"

I can't go on...

Your whole body protested. Any sort of movement sent an earthquake to your mind.

You felt calloused hands carry you up, "You WILL go on."

Except for the crazy jingoistic patriot named Jane Doe.

...

Wow... what a dream.

It didn't feel like one. Like it happened yesterday.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to sleep in such a horrible position. What were you even doing last night? Fixing Pyro's flamethrower? You'll give it to them tomorrow. (They were trying out the Phlogistinator)

Ah, yes. Your hands unconsciously searched for your goggles. Safety first. Instead, you found paper balls and felt the metal of Pyro's flamethrower. You got up, finally finding your goggles under piles upon piles of notes. You slept in your desk again. Feeling exhausted out of your mind was justified by the 4 hours of sleep and awful sleeping position.

You stretched your back, making a semi-satisfying 'crack'. The (R/B) shirt and overalls you wore was caked in grease, when was the last time you took a shower again? Golly, when was the last time you EVER took care of yourself?!

With a quick face wash in mind, you got up from the chair and headed out to the hallways only to have your foot catch a wire, sending you to a fall.

Damn wires, will you ever stop bullying me? My team's already bad enough, you too?

A grumble erupted from your throat as your picked yourself up. Now, you were covered in more oil. Trying to wipe it away from your cheek only made it worse. This time, you gingerly avoided your mess; books, oil spills, loose notes, paper balls, snapped wires and spare metal parts. You get it, The workshop was a neat freak's nightmare.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

"WAKE UP MAGGOTS! IT IS TIME TO KICK SOME ASS TODAY, FOR AMERICA!!!" Soldier screamed through the halls and banging at everyone's door with a bucket and stick to create some sort of alarm clang like the drill sergeant he was.

More often than not, you would arise from your 'ample sleep' before Soldier would begin his morning routine; waking everyone up at 5 in the morning, sharp.

Twisting the door knob, you see Soldier's figure from the other end of the hall. Let's hope he doesn't see you-

"OH HEY, MORNING ENGIE!" He waved his hand almost too excitedly.

Pursing your lips, you simply replied, "Good morning, Soldier."

You continued to stagger in the direction of the washroom

"Did you not sleep well last night?" He mumbled, observing how your spaghetti limbs shook about upon every step.

"What?"

"I MEAN, KEET THOSE FEET MOVING, MAGGOT!"

Hm, that was weird.