New Chanticleer and Pertilote
The Reliable Excavation and Demolition crew had been down on its luck recently. On their last three missions they had lost crucial intelligence as well as their stronghold in the Hydro Plant. This could not continue. The announcer told them all she was sick and tired of saying "You failed," all the time. The next time, she said, would be their last chance.
Sniper irritably itched at his chin stubble. He had been sat in this same little hut for over two hours and no one had come into sight. Still, he figured it was necessary to defend their last base; Dustbowl was all they had left. Picking up his thermos, he poured the last little dregs of coffee into his mug and sighed. With a loud "BONK!" a Scout ran out of the safety of the tunnel and towards the Point. Quick as a whip, the Sniper hefted his rifle, zoomed and fired. The Scout's head exploded. Smiling to himself, Sniper muttered under his breath, "Wave g'bye to your head wanker."
Suddenly his ear piece began vibrating, its polyphonic tone grating on his last nerve. For the millionth time, Sniper wondered if the Engineer was trying to be funny by setting his ringtone as 'Waltzing Matilda'. Clicking the little button on the side, Sniper allowed the call figuring he had nothing better to do. After the initial crackle of static had passed, the heavily accented voice of the Medic could be heard, "Hallo? Herr Sniper...diese phonen sind shiese..." "Ello there mate," muttered Sniper, "what is off such pressing importance that you would use the team line?"
Back at their base, the Red Team sat solemnly around their large information table. The Announcer paced angrily around the room. She was a tall woman with close cropped grey hair and a tightly pursed mouth. Her anger was practically palpable. Turning suddenly, the Announcer slammed her hands down on the table. "First Hydro, then 2Fort and now Dustbowl," she screeched, "you incompetents couldn't defend candy from a baby!" Inhaling deeply, the Announcer tried to force a smile. The result was terrifying. "Luckily," she said, "the next mission will be an attack on Dustbowl. You will retake everything you lost"
Sniper tossed and turned in his small hammock. His brow was peppered with sweat and he twitched and jerked erratically. He was dreaming. In his dream he was hunting Soldier at Dustbowl. He had the shot lined up when, suddenly, smoke obscured his lens. Dropping his rifle, the Sniper backed away. A gleam of light was all the warning he had, as a long blade danced out form the smoke. Over and over again the blade leapt out and over and over again Sniper dodged. Then he tripped. The fall seemed to take a lifetime. Sniper could see the blade coming towards him, moving ever so slowly. He tried to turn away but he moved with agonising slowness. The edge of the blade glided across his throat. Sniper fell to the ground, his life blood soaking into the cold, dusty floor.
With a start, Sniper woke up.
"I'm telling ya Doc it was some sorta smoke," grumbled Sniper. He had told the Medic about his dream and the crazy old German was just laughing it off. Sniper hated the Medical room, it was so cold and clinical. Giving his glove a superfluous snap, the Medic began to rummage around in his cupboards. "Eet is because of zat terrible bar-be-quee- food you are always eaten, Herr Sniper," explained the good Doctor, "I will give you ein teensy laxative for to help; it may be a bit powerful though..." The grin that spread across the Medic's face was much more powerful than any laxative. Sniper stammered his excuses and claimed he'd just go for a lie down. After extricating himself from the Medic's clutches, he decided to go out for some fresh air.
Crouching down in an old wooden shack, Sniper could just about see the top of the enemy team's Heavy's head. The gleam from his bald dome was like a little star on the horizon to the Sniper's trained eyes. Aiming so his laser sight was within the head-gleam, Sniper rested his finger on the trigger. Before he pulled the trigger, a nagging voice in the back of his head piped up. "Perhaps we should wait for the rest mate," suggested the voice, "it's just us out 'ere and no one knows we've left..." Sighing, the Sniper cursed himself for his overconfidence. "Stupid bloody man," he muttered to himself, "thinking you can take on the world." Picking himself up, Sniper caught the sound of soft footsteps. Whipping around to face the noise he was confronted by...nothing.
"Ah what have we here," said the nothing
Sniper groped for his kukri, the feel of the worn handle reassuring him. "I see you wish to kill my team mates," said the nothing, "And this I cannot allow." With a strange metallic noise, the air shimmered and settled into the form of a thin man in a blue suit and balaclava. With a sudden jerking motion, the suited man pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket and lunged at the Sniper. Dodging the knife, Sniper realised that this is what he had dreamed. Again and again the knife lunged at him, and again and again he dodged it. A raised nail on the floor of the shack caught on his jeans and Sniper tumbled to the ground. The gleam of light on the knife was all the warning he had. Throwing his head back, Sniper leapt away from the knife. He could feel its edge running across his skin and could feel a slow trickle of blood on his neck, but at least it wasn't fatal. Once again he felt the knife at his throat, but the suited man just held it in place.
"Who are you," asked Sniper, hoping to delay his end. The suited man smirked behind his balaclava but kept the knife in place. "I am Spy," he declared pompously, "master of disguises and back-stabber extraordinaire." With his free hand he made a little flourish. Slowly easing his hand behind his back to his SMG, Sniper decided to keep the man talking; "What do you want with me then, Spy?" The smug little man had relaxed his arm slightly, allowing Sniper some movement under the knife. With an arrogant grin, the Spy proceeded to tell Sniper his plan. "Well first of course I kill you," said the Spy nonchalantly, "then I disguise myself as you and enter your base, robbing your team of everything they have left." The emphasis placed on 'everything' made Sniper uneasy. Seeing an out, however he pushed the conversation further; "How can you possible pretend to be me? You're nearly a foot shorter; you've got some bloody French accent and none of my stuff." The little man seemed angered by this. Placing a gloved hand into his suit pocket, he withdrew a silver cigarette case; "this little thing can disguise me as anyone and everyone," he smirked. Sniper gave a wry grin and said, "I bet you ten dollars you can't do me."
The Spy, overcome with arrogance, replaced his knife and flicked open his cigarette case. At that moment, Sniper kicked out, sending the Spy sprawling to the floor. Another kick sent the knife spinning out of the room, and another sent the Spy curling into a ball. Struggling for breath, the Spy reached into another pocket and drew out a revolver. Pointing at where he thought the Sniper was, he felt a cold metallic cylinder against his temple. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the Sniper standing there, blood dripping down his neck, holding an SMG.
"Wave g'bye to your head, wanker"