He was there, on with a blue shirt, dark gray pants, soccer shoes and bandaged arms with his dog tag. He was named the Scout. He refused to give out his name due to the fact his other… er… 'friends' might find him and kill him. The Scout really should have given his first name since he's been with eight other people like him for a whopping six months, but no-one else really gives them their name. New excuse.
Recently, he has been appointed to Dustbowl, a fairly large area located with nothing but dirt, dust and desert with abandoned railroads, sheds and shafts here and there. AKA a perfect place for the Scout to run all willy nilly shooting his powerful shotgun, the Scattergun.
His team was hanging around near a cave of sorts, large enough for eight people to fit in and run around. There were two entrances; one right in front of him which the Scout assumes that everyone will pour in because it's the most direct route to the control point and thus people tend to be entangled in, and the second one in the rightmost area, which only a couple of people enter from.
He was currently in setup, which, as the name suggests, prepared people for the upcoming bloody brawl with RED for one minute. Since the Medic had his ubercharge completely filled, the Scout decided to check upon an acquaintance, named the Spy. He was wearing some kind of blue colored tuxedo with a blue tie in the white area, wearing dress shoes and a blue ski mask.
"So, er… what's up?" the Scout said, with his obvious Brooklyn accent.
The Spy looked rather annoyed and bothered with the Scout talking to him all of a sudden, the typical response whenever the Scout decided to talk to someone.
"Nothing of your concern," the Spy replied, with his French accent. Despite having somewhat being used to the plethora of accents his team offers, the Scout blinked in surprise by his accent as well. He seems pretty pissed, but the Scout detected a few traces him being disturbed by something or someone other than the Scout.
"Dude, 's alright. I'm a friend," the Scout said, grinning.
The Spy responded with him being disturbed. "I said it's none of your concern, Scout," the Spy added.
The Scout was about to say a couple more words, but the Announcer started her countdown.
"Five."
The Scout was brimming with excitement. This was his first mission in Dustbowl.
"Four."
The Scout could hardly maintain himself.
"Three."
He was breathing hard.
"Two."
He did a jog, smiling with excitement.
"One."
Yes.
The team soon poured out, with a metal-clad Heavy and his Medic trailing behind him. From the edge of his eye, the Scout found everyone's worst nightmare; the RED Spy. It was obvious. He had bumped into a Heavy, revealing his real team for a second, but he was taken care of quickly.
He rushed out into the second, alternate entrance, seeing a Sniper, an Engineer with his sentry on a corner, and a Soldier firing his rocket to the direction of the Scout, dodging the rocket easily with his final jump of his double jump.
He found that accursed rogue again. He bashed that filthy Spy down with his bat.
Suddenly, feelings of sadness burst into his stomach. It was a nasty, downright evil feeling.
He had realized he killed his father.