Spy Down!
A few reviews for "Silent Invisibility" suggested a sequel. One wanted Spy to spiral downwards into depression while another wanted him to find a friend. I pondered over which one to choose until I realised…WHY choose? I'm an author – I can do both! So here is the asked for sequel to "Silent Invisibility" and please leave a review – positive or negative.
Most people said that Spy was quite sociable, smiling whenever people looked his way and generally a good team-mate.
When did they ever look deeper?
Spy was shy and introverted, rarely talking unless he had to and always the quiet observer.
Look deeper though…and you'd find a heart of pure gold. Nobody ever went further than first appearances. Being a Spy meant that he was automatically regarded with suspicion by the other members of RED and his quiet nature made him become a fully-fledged outcast.
When would the emptiness end?
The afternoon was hot and suffocating, forcing the members who weren't used to heat to find shelter from it – like Spy for instance. Wilting underneath the bare scrub that was a laughable imitation of a tree, the French man reclined lazily, his red suit coat lying crumpled a few inches away from his left thigh, while his shirt sleeves were rolled up. His long legs were stretched out fully in front of his upper body and he panted slightly in the oppressing atmosphere beheld by the sun. He wasn't the only one outside – a couple of yards away, the RED Sniper lay contently on the roof of his camper, a cool drink in one fingerless gloved hand and the other arm behind his head to create a pillow. Spy had to take his gloves off after observing the Welsh man for a second or two. The two men seemed completely at ease under the clear sapphire sky, true for one, a storm raging on the inside of another.
The pit of his stomach felt like the eye of a tornado, full to the brim with an aching hole that could be called emptiness. Feelings of loneliness and questions swirled round in the middle, acting like the funnel while sadness and slight anger created the top layer. The whole lot was serving to rip him apart.
Spy wrapped his arms around his stomach, resisting the urge to gasp. He knew this was depression but he was in too deep to resist; his lack of eating was leading to anorexia and he was at the point where he would cry into his pillow every night.
Quietly, of course.
And yet he had to act the picture of confidence on the battlefield, his suit hiding his weight loss (giving him the healthy, slim appearance) and infiltrating the enemy base with ease, putting down all those who stood in his way. He was one of the very best, up there in rank with the enemy BLU Spy – interacting with him was always odd and eventful.
The Sniper ignored him in favour of having a quick kip with his hat pulled down over his eyes. Spy stared sadly at him for a minute more, wishing he had the courage to open his mouth and say something (that the Sniper would talk to him) before getting unsteadily to his feet, tucking his jacket neatly over the crook of his arm (he was obsessively tidy) and starting back towards the RED base. Sleep didn't come easy to him these days but it was worth trying in this unbearable heat. The RED base was simple yet more homely and comfortable in Spy's opinion. Entering the kitchen make him always think of home and the comforting smile of his mère as he ran in from a day of playing or school. Even the layout was similar; the old-fashioned stove nestled in the corner, kept in top condition by their friendly Engineer – black with a gleaming hob and fiddly little knobs and always had to be lit by a match (something the Pyro was good at). The granite and wooden counter on which the cocky young Scout sat, drinking ANOTHER can of Bonk! and swinging his legs in boredom. Ceasefires drove him nuts and Spy often wondered how he would react if he suggested a game of baseball. The dark wooden cupboards filled to the brim with tins and packets and they were all just waiting to be opened and eaten. That window with the crossed over panes in the left corner and the three others just like it scattered across the room's walls – they touched every surface with calming light, flooding the floors and cream-coloured walls with rays of golden sun. Even the kitchen tables, two adjacent to each other, where the whole team would sit together and make noise as they ate eagerly and socialised.
Spy hadn't been doing either of those recently; he could only hold room for a rosy apple which he picked out of the hand – carved (by Demoman) fruit bowl and clutched tightly as he passed by the stainless steel fridge/ big freezer. The rest of the supplies lay secured tightly in the cooling section of the resupply room.
"Hey."
Spy paused, gazing at Scout in confusion and he pointed to himself questioningly.
"Well yeah, nobody else here, chucklenuts. 'Sup?"
The older man shrugged awkwardly before shyly replying that he was fine.
"See ya!" Scout waved as he hopped down from the counter and slam-dunked his crushed can into the small pedal trash can nearby, cheering at his success.
Spy nodded and left, grateful for that little exchange. Somebody had noticed his presence today at least.
He turned into the creaking corridors, slightly battered by wind and rain over the years. For a moment, he stopped and leant against the oak, fascinated by the patterns: every single notch, cranny and scrape upon aged wood hiding a history full of stories. He poured over the intricate swirls until he felt himself go cross-eyed and he turned away with a sigh.
Time for bed.
Did you like this chapter? It's only the beginning of Spy's troubles…
R&R.