All Offs on Mann Yards

Chapter 1

The grass grew taller by day, as the Soldier's footfalls failed to achieve that hard, disciplinary sound of his daytime march like they used to. Nevertheless, it wasn't the first time Soldier's boots were muffled and dirty.

Many nights, he'd sit by the fireplace and spit clean the boots himself. Sometimes he would wonder - why is slavery illegal? If it wasn't, he'd have his very own orphan. Could teach him a thing or two about the art of shoe shining. It would contribute greatly to the economy. Would be good for the kid too, who's probably just sitting in an alley someplace cold and moist, doing whatever children that do have parents can't do - like being outdoors.

But Soldier's not the one making the calls. He's the rook. A puppet- Wait no. Those are toys made for Russians. Soldier is a man who serves America, and if America wants slavery illegal then by god he'll put every kid in America in a cardboard box and throw it in an orphanage.

But first he has to finish his march. After he remembers why he started it.

Time and time again things don't happen according to plan, and for Soldier that wasn't an excuse to stop. With a stomping halt, he paused to gather his surroundings. The dry winds blew to the north and his boot stood inches apart on a mysterious pair of footprints. That can only mean one thing - and now he remembers it all, he is situated deep inside the enemy territory.

"I have you now, you rancid old maggots." The Soldier knew it was danger, but it wasn't going to stop him. He followed the footprints as fast as he could, and he could feel the tension rising, as he was descending down the lines with every tick of a minute. Some time passed and he knew he was getting closer. He could hear their voices growing more louder, and it seems they do not suspect a single american to come knocking on the door right in front of their faces, that's where they were wrong. So wrong.

"Yo, Soldier."

"Scout!?" Soldier paused for a moment to acknowledge his teammate's presence. He beamed a wrinkled smile after a moments notice, cracking his knuckles. "Good work, Scout you majestic little boy wonder, you made America proud. Now stand back and make sure the door's shut tight. I'm going in bare. No time for fireworks. Only good old-fashioned neck massages."

"What the hell are ya doing down there?"

Wait! Down? The natural response would be "Where?", but Soldier paused again, keeping his dignity up high, he quickly ran a mental checklist of what things to say to a child when even he himself does not know at all either. "Say what? Go to your room, scumbag!"

The Scout sighed to the old patriots deep understanding of parenthood, which surprisingly resembled his mom's.

"I am in my room." He yelled, resting his elbow upon the story high windowsill, where his room was located in. "I've been here this whole time with the gang. We're having a party up here because I stole a briefcase three times in a row... No thanks to YOU."

"Hey!" The Soldier pointed a finger "I've been busy advancing forward to the enemy front."

Scout rolled his eyes "You've been running in circles on that same spot for hours. You literally dug a ring shaped hole with your feet and now you're left stranded stuck inside it. Kind of think of it, that's really hard to do, I couldn't believe it could be done without a shovel or something, but I gotta give it to you - you proved me wrong. It's a beautiful ditch too. Nice job."

The Soldier, left with no words, looked around the hole he was in for some clues. Not a second later he turned to the young man with a furious smug.

"That is called a trench and it serves for tactical purposes, brat." He spilled the last word with venom, clenching his fist and waving it at Scout's direction.

"Uhhm..." Scout waved at the Soldier who had his back turned to him "I'm over here, brotha. You know, you should probably change that helmet of yours. You could see the world in a whole different way without it."

"I have a helmet?"

Scout furrowed his eyebrows, throwing a frustrating glare at his teammate.

The Soldier fell silent, a helm on his head? It couldn't be. He reached out his hand to feel the cold hard surface on the top of his head. After a few moments of silence, he gasped from the horror that sprung into his being "AHH! I'm blind!"

The Scout slapped a palm to his face and sealed the window shut, even though he roughly agreed with that statement.

Minutes passed and the Soldier was just sitting, still sitting in the same hole, with his back turned, and a thumb in his mouth, his other arm hugging his knees, body waddling back and forth in a fetal position. The window opened once more.

"Soldier." The Heavy emerged, with a hint of confusion and empathy in his eyes "Scout said you can come. We have the chicks and uhh... How you say... booze!"

The Soldier still kept waddling and sucking quietly.

"It's true!" Heavy continued "And he is very sorry. He crying."

"I'm not crying, dumbass!" yelled a voice from a distance. "And I sure as hell ain't sorry!"

"Don't listen to him... Is spy." Heavy whispered with a reassuring nod "He crying like baby. I swear."

The night was falling quiet. Not even the winds could blow away it's silence.

"I'm blind, son." Soldier muttered.

"What?!" Heavy gasped, leaning out of the window and fixating his good ear.

"Blinder than a soviet nazi prophet."

"Oh..." Heavy frowned, taking a couple of seconds to mentally translate that comparison. Finally he decided to take action "I'll call doctor then."

"Don't bother, comrade. Save yourself while you still can."

Soldier's words always felt alien to the Heavy Weapons Guy. Mainly because there was no real meaning behind them. Still, it didn't make him stop to call the Medic to pick soldier up, and return to the party.

The room he was in wasn't much of a wreck as the Scout's behaviour. It was a simple one. Truly there was less furniture than expected of the Scout. A fridge, a wooden table, a raggedy old couch (which Heavy himself helped salvage up from a nearby junkyard) and a TV set which didn't even work. The party beats were coming from a radio. It was the only thing that didn't look worn out that much than the rest. Heavy could recall the Scout having to spend three months eating nothing but canned chicken sandwiches to save some money for a good radio. But he didn't, and now he has a sizzling piece of junk that catches sound waves all the way from Brazil.

The Pyro didn't seem to mind though. Making the best for the music not to go to waste. Pyro danced along the sambas and the reggaes, at times dragging close teammates by the arm for some conga, and ofcourse none could resist that energy. Or else they'd burn to death.

The Demo was breaking new grounds. He went full-on drunk exactly by not drinking. His great expectations fell short after he realized that the only thing in the party left to drink was milk. Apparently, Scout's mother's been keepin tabs on her son's drinking activity on the battlefield. Drinking beer is a no-no, even bonk falls into that category. So now all Demoman's been doing is lying face down on the floor, nothing to get drunk with except his own tears, complaining about parental issues and life in general.

But Scout drank the milk. Oh he did. He wouldn't want to suffer half a day's lecture on the phone with his mom again. He is of enormous value to the overall team, and even a second of slacking off will be enough for his team to face the consequences of sucking ass. He wouldn't want to see his team suck ass, ever again. That's why he always, runs as far away from them as he can. Yeah he might be the first to get killed, but that fact alone ensures that slacking off and therefor sucking ass - is on his team, not him.

The Sniper found himself a quiet little corner he deemed safe to drink. The Austrailian eyed the room very carefully, making sure something unexpected doesn't blow on his neck. Taking pauses in-between to acquire a sip of his own beer. He continued on like this until he didn't. Or did he? Perhaps he wants people to think he took a swig - and every time he did, he stopped and eyed the room once more to make sure he was still not at all predictable.

The Spy sat on the couch and listed through the pin-up calendar. To him, it was the most interesting thing there was to do, apart from accommodating Pyro's demands and watching Demoman crying beer out of his eye patch and licking it. He was also sitting next to the friendly Engineer, who, by the looks of things didn't seem to mind the revolver pointed to his head if he asks another question about the whereabouts of Spy's own cloak watch.

After some time, the Medic reemerged upstairs, with Soldier's arm resting on his shoulders and the body weight slouched against his own.

"Is he..." The concerned Heavy Weapons Guy paused.

"Yes." The Doctor said "He is very blind."

The entire room gasped in shock, alerting their attention to the german medical expert.

"What do you mean?" The Spy asked with a pique of interest towards the matter. Soldier didn't really show any signs of blindness.

"He was wearing his helmet for so long, he can't see anything. Look." The Medic took off his helmet.

"AHH!" The Soldier gasped.

"What is this?" The Medic waved the helmet in front of him.

The bewildered Soldier's stood still. His blue eyes tracked the object frantically "I don't know. HELP!"

He laid the helmet down onto Soldier's head, emanating a loud clang "See?"

The air went cold, except the sounds of the helmet, which was still twirling around Soldier's head.

"Now he ain't really blind is he?" Engineer pointed out suspiciously.

"Well... No not really. Ha! You got me" The german doctor admitted, releasing tension with a small laugh "I was joking a little. He just doesn't recognize anything around him, that's all."

"Well duh! Cap'n Oblivious here needs to find a better helmet. He had that thing on his head for so long I'm surprised its not attached to his skull" Scout moaned, and then his face lit up " Ahh- and hey, Soldier!"

"What? What's so funny?"

Scout tried his best not to pass out from the laughter he kept inside "N- Nothing. You're bald. That's all I wanted to say. Heh... ahAHA.."

Upon absorbing the words, the Heavy and the Engineer fumed a furious stare at their young Bostonian counter-part, who was now rolling on the floor more than a living carpet.

But it was the Soldier who sprang into action, charging at the Scout with the ramming speed of a crit rocket. The Scout's grin faded as he was caught off guard - literally with his pants down, as they went loose after the american patriot drived his wimpy body across the walls. Ending the scratching with a loud thud on the floor.

"YOU LITTLE HIPPIEEEE!" And as the Soldier demonstrated the exact reasons why having too much hair puts the jumpy Scout in a disatvantage, the curious Sniper creeped himself steadily beside the German doctor

"Doc, are you saying that, that crazed gunman's been using every sense except his eyesight to navigate across the battlefield this whole time?!"

"It is very possible that he was, Ja."

"Even killing?"

The doctor simply shrugged, but the Sniper was in awe. "Now that is some good skill to have. Oooh, I've gotta ask the bugger out for some tips..."

The two mercs stood there, watching the Soldier - now, along with the Heavy and Engineer, picking all of the Scouts hair apart thread by thread. The Heavy held him pinned down, while the other two had each of his arms in a tight lock, pulling every strand of arm hair they could possibly find as slow as it's threshold could withstand. Each time they did, they stopped well enough to hear the satisfying reaction of pain and agony that took Scout pleading for mercy as they were both getting eerily closer and closer towards his head... It didn't help that there was not much arm hair to work with either.

"After the show's over, ofcourse." Sniper beamed, laying down on the couch, with his legs crossed up on the table whilst the arms acted as a pillow for his head.

Thanks to Soldier, the party was a blast throughout the whole night.

The Demoman found rejoice after an hour of licking beer from the floor. He swore to himself to always have a bottle of scrumpy no matter where he's at.

The Pyro left early and was never before seen again - only to reappear two months later in Brazil as a radio personality. Though the station was running out of listeners since all that could be heard were incomprehensible noises and a strange crackling sound. Therefor The Pyro was fired from the job, not long before firing some other people himself.

As the Spy left without a clue, there was noticeably less calendars around.

The Engineer left early and was never before seen again...

...by the assassin Sniper who was training to shoot birds mid-air with a blindfold on. Surprisingly with lots of success. If this goes on, he can just simply gouge his eyes out and perform better without them.

...Those weren't even stray birds. The doctor quickly put a stop to Sniper, as he was tired of reviving Archimedes from death, only for the dove to curiously peek at the little hole of the gun, re-encouraging the Australian even more to commit to his philosophy.

Heavy finally ate the whole goddamn sandwich.

The Soldier sent Miss Pauling on a quest, as he was told that she is a legal slave. Surprisingly, Miss Pauling accepted - as true legal slaves should.

"Hi. I'm looking for a talent that can shine these boots clean."

"Oh my... Well come over and have a look for yourself."

Miss Pauling entered the large building, looking around the crowded room anxiously.

"Boy or girl?" The other woman asked, glancing queasily at the boots.

"Boy." Miss Pauling answered back hastily, face turning red from embarrassment.

"Must be a big one, huh?" The woman smiled jokingly.

"Well the bigger they are... heh."

"Don't worry, miss. We have you covered." The woman reassured "What kind of shine are you looking for?"

Miss Pauling snapped after gathering her thoughts "Do you have one from that box over there?"

"Oh. That cardboard box?" The woman smiled as she was quick to pick up on Pauling "We got that one a few days ago. Very popular with the ladies as well. I'll be right back."

Few moments later, Miss Pauling left the shoeshine orphanage along with a pissed off Scout, sunlight beams reflecting the clouds in the sky on the top of his head.