Chapter 1

.

Sniper sat behind the wheel of his van, glowering at Gravel Pit in the distance.

Almost a week had passed since the massacre back at Dustbowl. He lit a cigarette, leaned back into his seat, and exhaled loudly. The only reason he survived the attack was due to his penchant for being reclusive; he'd been sleeping off base in his van. It wasn't until sunrise when Sniper sauntered up the dusty road, kicking sand and craving his morning coffee, when he came upon the carnage. Of the eight who'd been on base that awful night, only six bodies were found. Sniper wanted to bury them, it just seemed more respectful that way, but in the end he'd settled for covering them with tarp from Engineers workshop and promising that he'd find those responsible. He swore to make whoever it was suffer.

Medic was one of the missing. His infirmary had been thoroughly devastated, his beloved doves nowhere to be seen. Cracked spectacles were all that was left behind of their master. The other missing body was Spy. The man was a master of camouflage and concealment, but whatever had attacked Dustbowl, Sniper feared, had not been human. The odds of either Medic or Spy still being alive were slim, but they were all Sniper had left.

He pushed his aviators up his nose, the lenses reflecting the road before him like a mirror, and rubbed his exhausted eyes. "Christ." Why was he here, on the enemy's doorstep? Sniper wasn't entirely sure himself. The BLU's had no reason to help him, nor to feel any kind of sympathy for the death of the RED team. If anything it was beneficial to them; with the REDs gone, BLU had officially won their war. But he had nowhere else to go. The only way to contact Miss Pauling was through either a RED or BLU terminal, and the one back at Dustbowl had been destroyed.

He wasn't stupid; Sniper had observed people his entire life. He knew that RED and BLU were connected far deeper than Miss Pauling and the Administrator let on. He'd never saw reason to challenge them on it, as long as he got paid. However, in order to locate who'd assassinated his team, he needed to contact Miss Pauling and if that meant facing the humiliation of grovelling to BLU, then that's what he'd do.

If he survived the encounter then he could avenge his team. He'd promised them he would. A hopeful spark clinging desperately to the back of his mind urged him on; maybe if he found the killers he'd find his Medic and Spy too.

He cracked his neck, tossed the cigarette butt out the window and put the van in gear. Time to pay his old enemies a visit. They'll probably shoot me on sight. Sniper pulled his rifle into his lap, gently thumbing the wooden stock in thought. He'd modified it himself, weighting the barrel at the muzzle to give a more harmonic sense stability and enhance his accuracy. Not that his accuracy needed improvement. He was torn between leaving his rifle as a show that he didn't want trouble, or taking it with him so that - if he was fired on - he could take a few BLU's to hell with him.

Closer to the dilapidating base, it's peeling paint and dust-glazed windows now visible, Sniper turned off the engine. He had an affinity for old, worn buildings. They had character to him, contrasting those modern, bland-as-shit chicken coops that filled most towns. He loaded his rife, slipping extra bullets into the pocket of his jacket and tucking his kukri into his belt. He took a generous gulp from his hip flask, tossing aside the rest of his accoutrements and grabbing his akubra. Stiffly, he stepped out of the van. "Guess this is it." He balanced his foot on the step of his camper, rolled up his pant leg and tucked a small flick knife into his boot. Just a precaution.

The area was still as he ventured up the steeped valley leading to the control point building, no sign of life in sight. Even the wind was blowing too quietly for Sniper's comfort, making the crunch of his boots upon gravel seem treacherously loud. When he reached the entrance to the base unimpeded, he knew something was wrong. Sniper kept the muzzle of his rifle aimed at the ground as he ambled cautiously forward, his head cocked in concentration. The hell was going on? He knew the BLU's had been stationed here last week, and they had no reason to leave for another three days.

The large, crusty gate was ajar and Sniper gently kicked it open, his rifles muzzle being the first thing to enter the base. Suddenly there was noise, a low humming – no, it was buzzing. He took a slow, deep breath and kept his ears sharp. It was flies.

The perfume of putrefaction hit him instantly, almost staggering him. If he'd eaten recently, he'd have brought it up. Jesus Christ. There was blood everywhere – and it wasn't fresh. The light overhead flickered from dull to dark. A heavy cloak of musk clung to the air, heavy and coppery. It hadn't occurred to him until now that whatever had killed his team, may have had the same intent for BLU.

Sniper grimaced at the putrid stench as he skulked further into the room, lowering his rifle again to gape at the scene. "Bloody hell," He gagged as he approached the nearest corpse, but before he could inspect it, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye.

Sniper whipped around, the loud buzzing of flies seeming to deafen him as he searched for movement. He could barely see in the gloomy light, letting his aviators slide down his nose to stare over them. Thin, gloved fingers clamped around his wrist and twisted, sending his rifle clattering to the floor. Sniper saw the gleam of a blade, but there wasn't time to react. By the time he grabbed for his kukri, an arm hooked under his to prevent him from unsheathing it, the cusp of a razor stinging his throat. The presence behind him growled.

He waited for his life to spill out down his shirt, to die here among the fallen enemy, alone save for his killer. He thought of Medic and Spy still being alive, held captive in some terrible place and his heart sank. He'd never save them. Never avenge them.

There was breath at his ear. "Why did you come here?" those five words, pronounced in a French accent, identified the man. Sniper felt both fury and dread dance in his stomach.

"Spy?" It wasn't his RED teammate. It was him. It was the BLU Spy. The pair of them had developed an unfriendly rivalry over the past couple of years, trying to outdo and disgrace each other on the field. The BLU Spy was nefariously callous and, Sniper thought, a misanthropic wanker. If there was one man he did not want to see at this moment, it was the one holding the knife to his throat.

The blade pressed in deeper. "Answer the question."

"M'not entirely sure now," Sniper admitted. "Felt like the only thing to do."

Spy tittered in his ear, but it was dark and pitiless. "As unprofessional as ever. Truly, a man of your vocation ought to learn to separate his thoughts from his feelings."

"I'll separate yer head from yer-"

Spy cuffed a hand over Snipers mouth. "Shut up." He leaned back, jaw tense. He'd heard something. Spy craned his head, giving Sniper's throat a little prod when he tried to struggle. Spy's steel-blue eyes hardened. "You did not come here unaccompanied."

Sniper frowned. "Mmph?"

"You brought someone." Spy's knife dug deeper and Sniper knew he was dead. Then, the blade relaxed again. "Non … you were followed." He sucked breath through his teeth. "Merde."

Noting Spy's distraction, Sniper brought his elbow forward and rammed it back as hard as he could into Spy's ribs. The BLU was caught off guard and Sniper wasted no time in rounding on him, walloping him across the jaw. Spy hit the floor winded, but managed to compose himself enough to glare up at Sniper, willing him to petrify and shatter into a million pieces.

Sniper had already retrieved his fallen rifle. He aimed it in Spy's face, his throat tingling. "The hell's goin on?" he demanded, finger on the trigger. "These bodies ain't fresh, so why're you still here?"

Spy didn't respond. That's when an awful idea took form within Sniper's mind. What if Spy had betrayed his team - what if he'd been in on the whole thing? What if …?

"You bloody wanker," Sniper pressed the muzzle into Spy's forehead. "Did you have anythin to do with this? With what happened to my team!?"

"No," said Spy "I presume you will not believe me, but if you kill me now, you'll never find those responsible."

"Hell does that mean?"

Spy sneered at him. "We do not have time to stand and lambaste one another– your negligence has led Gray Mann here to finish the job." Sniper kept his rifle trained on Spy as he slowly got to his feet, dusting his suit off. "We need to leave. Now."

"Whose Gray Ma-"

"Listen to me. Those things murdered eight of my colleagues. There are two of us. If you want to live long enough to avenge your comrades, we need to get away from here." Spy was already striding away. Sniper began to squeeze his trigger when an explosion shook the building as if to prove Spy's point. He stumbled, lowering his rifle.

"Shit." Sniper caught up to the BLU. "At least tell me what these 'machines' are?"

Spy's voice lowered. "Dangerous."

Sniper remained a little behind, but noticed that Spy's right hand was trembling. His gloved fingers were spasming, and Sniper imagined a spider dying with its legs seizing up. The Frenchman cursed and shoved his hand into his pocket. "I'm not sure where we can go, but it is imperative that we stay ahead." Spy broke into a trot. "If you fall behind, you will be left behind."

Sniper guffawed. "Same to you, mate."

When they rounded the corner, a great frisson shook the buildings foundations. Sniper's senses were overwhelmed by a shrill creaking, not unlike nails on a chalk board, and he clutched his head. The floor vibrated beneath him and he recognised the drumming of three heavy pairs of feet flanking them. He coughed and spluttered dust, scrambling for his knife but instead finding his rifle. In the powdery fog, the silhouette of a man appeared and Sniper pulled the trigger. When the bullet hit, he did not hear a skull explode nor see blood spray. He heard metal being pierced. A cacophony of robotic humming and clicking began to fill the hall. A broken siren. "What the-?"

"We must move." Spy grabbed his collar and hauled him back, never once slowing. The machine at the end of the hall emerged, and it was pointing a rocket launcher at them. Sniper's legs were sprinting before his brain seemed to send the signal, and at the end of the forked hallway he and Spy escaped up different halls to avoid the rocket that came screaming towards them.

Sniper was knocked off balance but managed to catch himself on the wall, the painted surface pulsating beneath his touch. He was given no time to catch his breath, and vaulted up a nearby staircase. The first bullet narrowly missed him, but the second ricocheted off a post and skimmed back, hitting his shoulder. He grabbed his wound with one hand and instinctively padded for his kukri with the other, but he'd lost it in the commotion and his rifle was little help in these tight, in-pursuit situations. At the end of the hall he spotted a window, and from it he could see his van. There was a myriad of machines surrounding his home, pillaging through it. His personal affects scattered around its circumference. He sucked breath through his teeth.

Something hit the floor and rolled toward him. When it came into view, Sniper realised almost too late that it was a grenade. He flung himself into a nearby room but the grenade went off, sending waves of splinters up his right side, one narrowly missing his eye. His eye? He lifted a hand to his face. He hadn't noticed that he'd been bereft of his aviators.

More footsteps rumbled and Sniper ran to the window, his long legs staggering. He found himself staring down a twenty foot drop, maybe less. He hoped it was less. It was enough to give him vertigo. As he contemplated the distance his instincts screamed at him and Sniper ducked, just missing the steel bat swinging at his head. He turned and could barely believe his eyes. The machine before him had a disturbing, uncanny resemblance to Scout. It swung at him. Sniper's adrenaline kept him on edge but the thing was too fast. Backed up against a wall with nowhere to go, he found himself shielding his face from the incoming attack with his arms. The instant the bat made contact with his wrist, he knew it was shattered. He screamed and dived to the side, but the thing seized his ankle mid fall. It lifted him clear off the ground, spun around, and threw him out of the window.

Glass shattered upon impact with Sniper's body and he turned mid-air. He knew to bend his knees before landing and extend them to roll forward once he'd reached the ground, but he still sprawled out gracelessly and bashed the back of his head. He saw stars, but his wrist was still on fire. He could taste blood and realised he'd bit his lip.

He needed a stiff drink. Everything hurt, even through the adrenaline he ached all over. Sniper tried to stumble to his feet but fell with each attempt until cold steel at the back of his head stilled him. So this is it. He waited for his life to flash before his eyes, but even after the bullet shot out, he remained staring at the ground. The Spybot, and the revolver it had been holding, fell beside him, revealing the flesh and blood Spy behind it. He held his own smoking gun up.

They stared at one another, and when Spy didn't lower his gun, his eyes cold, Sniper expected another shot. The grumble of a mini-gun rotating – readying – resounded nearby. Spy grabbed and dragged him to his feet. All Sniper could feel was pain.

Spy was limping, his left pant leg torn and soaked in blood, his face sweating heavily under his balaclava. He was dragging Sniper into a wooded area, the pair leaving only their blood behind as they absconded. "Run, keep moving!"

Spy quickly began to fall behind on his injured leg. He didn't ask for assistance, but Sniper threw his arm under the man's shoulder and began to half-drag, half-carry him away from the rain of bullets that erupted on their tails. "Shit. They're right behind us," Trees seemed to implode above their heads, branches and leaves showering down, landing on them. Nesting birds squawked and flew for cover as their homes were obliterated. That's when Sniper saw the lip of the cliff.

Sniper made to slow down, but Spy had already made the decision for them. He twisted the fabric of Sniper's jacket around his fist, held on tightly, and threw them both over the edge. They hit the surface awkwardly and water rushed up Sniper's nose and down his throat. His throbbing wrist and aching legs did not comply with his minds orders. He found himself simply looking up at the sparkling waters surface, seeing bubbles. You need to swim. His lungs burned, the bubbles stopped.

And Sniper's world went dark.