A/N: Okay. I know what you're thinking: another story she's never gonna finish! But I have faith in this one, truly. And I personally will be disappointed if I don't finish it. But there's also the whole thing about being a junior and having lots of stuff to do.

So, basically, what this is, is a novelization of sorts of the game Team Fortress 2. I haven't actually played the game (or been to Boston, for that matter), so I know a lot of things will be wrong. But if you're willing to help out, lemme know. I appreciate any tips on how to make it better.

PS: I know Engie's name is stupid. I'm sorry.

The train ride was torture.

Completely empty, save for the staff (who had only been seen when the train took off) and a large man in the back seat. I had tried to talk to him, mainly out of boredom, but he had just looked at me and growled in a thick Russian accent: "I sleep. Leave me alone." Sitting on the seat next to him, was a large duffel bag, crumpling in some spots to fill in for the shape of a chain gun. It had been safe to assume that he was there for the same reason as me. Even with our matching shirt colors of blue that signified us as teammates, I was a little uneasy, to say the least.
So, I took to staring out the window. Not that there was anything to stare at, except sand and the occasional cactus. It was scenic. It was also boring as hell. I was used to the hustle and bustle of Boston, the land of concrete that I had tamed with my attitude, my bat, and the thudding of my sneakers on the pavement as I left everyone in the dust.
I've always been fast. It was my forté. Ever since my dad walked out on the greatest woman in the world and the eight sons he had with her. Ever since the emotional problems set in.

We were all different; Jimmy, older than me by a measly year and a half, locked himself in his room and wrote poetry, crying like a little bitch at something as insignificant as acne. Jeremy, three years older, tried to hook up with every girl that even looked at him. Craig and Frank, twins that were four years older, terrorized the town with their pranks. Aaron, four and a half years older, buried himself in books... when he wasn't pounding people's faces in. Vic and Kevin, five and six years older, bottled it all in until they exploded in a fit of furious pummeling.

That left me. I loved beating the crap out of someone as much as my brothers, but I was also the youngest. I was always too late, and that made me even more pissed off. And that's when I realized that I needed to be faster. I started running when I was seven, a year after Dad left. By nine, I was the fastest kid in school. Eventually, Ma caught wind of all the trouble we'd been getting in, and forced us to take up a sport. I chose baseball. Needless to say, I was MVP most of the time because no one could ever tag me out, and I had a killer swing, apparently. When I reached high school, my reputation preceded me; the jocks were impressed with my skills, so they kept me safe from initiation. Which was good, since I didn't want to run away from a mob of upperclassmen, terrified and (from what I had heard) stripped naked.

I never did get the point of initiations.

Anyways; after high school, I stayed at home for a while, going to the field and cages to practice my stuff now and then. Then, I got drafted by Builder's League United, or BLU for short, as what they called a "Scout". I figured it payed good money, so why argue? Now here I was, stuck in a train with a mute guy and a non-existent staff. It was lonesome, for sure.

It was another hour before our destination came into view from the windows. Sighing, I slid out of my seat (only after the big guy had sulked past, bag in tow) and slung my things over my shoulders. He was so tall, he had to actually duck to keep from hitting his head on the train roof. I quickly followed him as he made his way to the front and out into the heat. The sudden change of temperature made me choke on the air as I took a breath. "Jesus -- !" I gagged, making a beeline towards the only shelter in view: a large fort, almost camouflaged in the desert sands.
The second I stepped inside, I gave a groan of relief and let my bags hit the floor, stretching out my arms. "Air conditioning...!"
"Not cold enough," the Russian man stated as he stepped inside. "But large. Good." Now that he could stand upright, I could see just how big he was. Holy crap, he looked like a hairless bear on two legs. As he passed me, I noticed a tag on the duffel bag that stated "Sasha", scrawled as elaborately as the man probably could've managed.
"Yeah? This is the kinda weather I'm used to," I replied, swinging my arms as I looked around the room. Completely blank, save for three doors (including the one we came in), a staircase, a worn couch, and a coffee table. "This is what we'd get back in Boston. In fall, maybe."
He made a noise. "In Russia, is very cold."
Well, duh. Everyone knew that it was cold in Russia. At least, in the northern parts. But I didn't say that, just in case he'd get offended. He definitely didn't seem like the kind of guy I'd want being pissed off at me. "Must'a been tough, growing up in that."
He shrugged. "Easy to get used to."

Our conversation was cut short with a loud "Ten-HUT!" that nearly made me jump out of my skin. The tapping of feet on the stairs echoed as another guy made his way down to us. He had the physique of a soldier, and the looks too. In fact, he even wore a helmet... a helmet that was way too big and practically blinded him. He almost ran into the wall when he got to the bottom of the stairs, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. The Russian merely blinked.
"Looks like you ladies finally got here," the man snapped in the almost stereotypical voice of a general as he made his way to us, lifting his helmet with his thumb so he could look at us. Looking at a clipboard in his other hand, he frowned. "Where's the engineer? He should've been on the train with you."
"Engin...eer?" I looked around, not really expecting to see anyone pop out of nowhere. But the next words spoken made me wonder if I was going blind. Or deaf. Or both.

"I'm here, pardner."

I turned to look at the door to see another man had entered from outside. He had a typical working man look to him; goggles that almost completely hid his eyes from view, a hard hat slightly tipped to one side, and a single rubber glove on his left hand. In that hand, he carried a suitcase. In his other hand, he carried a blue toolbox with the number "24" written in yellow. And just when I thought he couldn't be carrying anything else, I saw the strap across his chest. When he stepped forward and stood next to me, I saw that the strap held a guitar case to his back. "The train needed a tune-up when it came to get me." Even with his eyes hidden, they were probably the same as his smile; warm and proud. "Fixed her up mahself, I did."
The general guy looked only vaguely impressed. "Well, don't be late again, soldier," he barked, checking something off on his clipboard. "Alright. So, based on looks, I'd say we've got our Scout, Heavy, Engineer, Pyro, Spy..."
"Wait. Pyro? Spy?" I interrupted, earning me a glare from under his helmet.
"They got here before you, like real troopers. Our spy's out on a recon mission, but he'll be back later tonight. Now!" He straightened up, slamming the clipboard on the coffee table. "I am your commanding officer. My name is Lieutenant Jacob Roberson. You will call me by my codename." He paused, as though dramatically. "Soldier. In fact, while you are here, you will all be referred to as your code names. Just to make sure we've got the right people, though, you will state your name. You start." He looked at me.
"Uh... Bryan Micheals, sir," I said. I don't know why I said 'sir'. I was never a person to be respectful, especially to someone of authority. It always gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling to see people like this guy freak out. But I said 'sir', and it probably saved my ass, because he looked satisfied... somewhat.
Then, he moved on to the big guy. "What about you, son?"
"Aleksandr Astapkovich," he stated roughly, holding up his gun. "This is Sasha. Do not touch her," he said sharply, directed at all of us.
Soldier stared at him for a moment. "You... named it?" Shaking his head, he didn't wait for an answer and instead moved to the engineer, who tipped his hard hat in greeting.
"Rick Stetson, at your service." He then looked at me, tipping his chin in my direction. I silently returned the gesture, smiling to myself before being whisked off on a tour of the fort.

Pyro was in the dining hall, reading. He stood up and greeted us... well, I thought he did, anyway. He was dressed in a blue jumpsuit, black rubber gloves and boots, and a gas mask that muffled his words, making them nearly unintelligible. "This is Yusheng Liáng, our pyro. Took me five minutes to figure that one out." As we started off into the next room, I noticed a blackboard in the back of the hall, one that had Pyro's name scribbled on it. I snickered quietly. "Figured it out" my ass.
"Do you ever take that mask off, son?" Engineer asked.
Pyro shrugged. "Nrrgh rr-rr," he replied. By the way he said it, I just guessed that he said "Not really".

Soldier led us through the rest of the fort, pulling us into the bunk room. "Pick your beds while you still can, and report to the briefing room at 1600 hours. Dismissed!"
When he left, I sighed and collapsed onto a bed in the dead center of the room. "He uses military time. Great."
Engineer chuckled, setting his things on the bed to the left of mine. "Ah, you'll get used to it. You do know what 1600 hours is, right?"
I snorted incredulously. "Duh. It's four. I just wonder why he can't use normal time like the rest of us." I paused, then broke into a kiddish smile as I started to bounce on the bed. I never said I was mature. Engineer watched, looking at me like I was a freaking bag of kittens and puppies. "At least the beds are comfy, yo."
After Heavy made sure that it was quite clear that touching Sasha was out of the question, Engineer pulled out his guitar and tuned it by ear before starting to play.
We all just sat there, bullshitting and drinking (except for Pyro; he just refused to take off that mask) and listening to Engineer sing. He had a nice voice, that was for sure. And he'd stand up and bow like he just performed for the Queen of England after each song, causing us to laugh and cheer. It was weird; we'd barely known each other for five minutes, and we were all joking around like we had known each other for all of our lives. It was nice. The only bonding I'd done with my brothers had been when we were beating the crap out of some punk that had gotten in our way.
After a while, Pyro looked up at the clock and nudged me, pointing at it. "Fii mnniis," he said. Looking at it, I saw he was right; it was five minutes to four o'clock. So, we all left our things where they sat and headed to the briefing room.

Time for the work to begin. What fun.