Chapter one
"Number 33, please come in." A woman's voice announced over an intercom. In the room stepped in a young man, looking overconfident with himself and an aluminum baseball bat in his hand. A sawn off shotgun was slung over his shoulder and a pistol in his pocket. He was wearing a hat and a headset on his head and most of his hands and a portion of his arms were wrapped in bandages. As he walked, dog tags clipped to his neck. He took a seat across from a man hidden in the darkness. Cameras were pointed at Number 33.
"Yo, what's up?" Number 33 began, a Boston accent obvious in his speech.
The man straightened. "You're Number 33?" The young man had a very petite structure, surprising the man.
"That's right. Got a problem with it, man? 'Cause this bat alone has caved in more heads than I can remember."
"I'm sure it has. So let's start with the basics: what's your name?"
"Names? We don't need names. Imma Scout, that's my job, that's my name."
"Alright then, Scout, what exactly can you do? I hoped you didn't join this team to discuss baseball with us." The man put a file on the table.
"You be readin' my file? I don't think you have any idea who I am, man. Doesn't matter though, prepare to be amazed." Scout got up from the chair and rolled his neck. Then he jumped into the air exceptionally high, but then jumped again in midair, going so high he hit his head on the ceiling. "Damn!" He said, but immediately shook it off. "Nah, I've felt worse than that."
The other man was dumbfounded for a second. "How…How exactly did you do that?"
"Yeah, speechless right? Messin' with people is my job, boy."
"I don't quite understand what just happened." The man took a second to gather his thoughts. "You just defied the fundamental laws of physics. It's physically impossible to jump and then jump again in midair. That's only in video games."
"Video games my ass."
"Alright then, let's continue. It says that you also run remarkably fast as well. You can run about two times faster than most athletes. In fact, you didn't even drive here. You ran."
"That's right. Where I live, you either fight or run from your problems. And I can do both. If you were from where I was from, I bet you'd be fuckin' dead."
"A little overconfident, are you?"
"Overconfident? Man, ya' listen. Grass grows, birds fly, sun shines, and brotha'-" He poked at the man. "I hurt people."
"I find that hard to believe. Yet again, I find what has just occurred to be hard to believe."
"That's right, brotha', I'm a Force-A-Nature!"
"I see. Well, we consider your position for The Team, you can leave now."
"You don't pick me, you'll regret it. Me; basically a big deal." Scout got up from the chair, but still lingered.
"You can go now, Scout."
Scout shrugged and opened the door. "See ya later, man!" He hesitated and turned back. "And give that announcer chic over tha' my number."
"She's as old as your grandmother, Scout."
"Then just tell her Scout said hi." He finally left.
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"Number 52, please come in." The announcer said again, and now entered a towering hulk of a man, having a flat expression on his face. In both of his hands he had a minigun and carrying it as if he had all of his life; as if it was nothing. He had an ammunition belt on and had fingerless gloves on his huge hands. He went to sit down in the chair and placed the minigun on the table. The chair squeaked under the man's weight.
The man sitting across from him had to stand up to see the other. "And you are…"
Plainly, the man said, "I am Heavy Weapons Guy. I have come for job." His accent was a heavy Russian.
"Heavy, may I call you Heavy?" Heavy said nothing. "Heavy, what exactly is this gun?"
"This is my weapon." He grabbed the weapon and then laid both of his hands covetously on it. "She weighs one hundred fifty kilograms and fires two dollar, custom tooled cartridges at two thousand rounds per minute. It cost four hundred thousand dollars to fire this weapon…for twelve seconds."
The man did the math. "You're carrying a three hundred thirty pound weapon? And how did you get the money for this?"
"Sascha is my life. She is my pride and joy."
"Sascha? You named your gun?"
Heavy nodded as if it was nothing as started to move the barrel of the minigun. Something caught his eye and he looked closer. He glanced at it for a second, and then panicked. "Oh my God, who touched Sascha? Alright…Who touched my gun!?" He yelled, getting up from the chair and taking out a shotgun slung over his back. The man had not seen it from the bulk of the man.
"Wait, calm down for a second Heavy." Heavy started putting the shotgun in the cameramen's faces, accusing them of touching the gun. "I said calm down!" He yelled, catching Heavy's attention. "We had to examine your gun for a test, its fine! Now put your shotgun away and we can continue!"
Heavy hesitated for a second before putting it away, sitting back in the seat. "Don't touch Sascha. Never again."
"We understand that now. Now do you have any specialties?"
"I like to shoot this gun is all you need to know."
"I understand. Now, no offense to you, Heavy, but you don't seem very dangerous to us. On that note, not very intelligent either. Why should we consider you for the job?"
"I am not dangerous. Sascha is dangerous. Shotgun is dangerous. My fists, they are dangerous. People like you think they could outsmart me. Maybe," He sniffed. "Maybe. But I have yet to meet one who can outsmart bullet." He pulled out one of Sascha's bullets on his ammunition belt to show him. "See smart tiny man be ripped apart. Then say we are not dangerous. Then say we are not smart." Heavy got up, took his weapon, and started to leave.
"Heavy! Heavy! We are not finished with the interview!"
"We are now." With that, he left.
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"Number 65, please come in."
The door swung open, and in came Heavy. The man got up from his seat for a second, surprised. "Heavy? What are you doing back here?"
"No one touches Sascha." He said, the minigun starting to spin. The man closed his eyes, ready to die, before he heard Heavy laughing. He opened one eye again to see Heavy starting to flicker and melt, forming another man. He was wearing a suit and tie, a strange mask over his face that only revealed his eyes and mouth. "Ah, zat never gets old." There was a French accent.
The man sat back down and put his head in his hands. "I'm not getting paid enough for this."
The other took out a cigarette case, carefully removed one, and lit it. Instead of taking a seat, he started to pace back and forth across the room, the cameramen watching his every move.
"Now…how did you do that?" The man said, voice muffled by still having his hands in his face.
"See zis?" He said, showing his cigarette case. The man looked up to see it. One half of the case was filled with all but one cigarette gone. The other half, however, was a sort of device that was named Spytron 3000 and consisted of a screen and three yellow buttons. "Zis is ze Spytron 3000. Press one button…" He pressed the first button, turning it red. "And zen press anuhzer," He pressed the second button. Smoke particles started to fill his body. "And voilà!" The man was now disguised as a person with a gas mask and flamethrower. "I took zis disguise from ze arsonist outside." He changed back.
"That's…unbelievable. How did you do that?"
"Now zat," He said, closing the cigarette case and putting it away. "Is confidential." He took a puff of the cigarette.
"Is there anything else you can do Mister…"
"Spy. I am ze spy. And to answer your question, yes." He pressed a button on his watch and then disappeared.
The man was silent for a second. He looked around but could not find Spy. "Spy?" Suddenly, he felt a barrel of a gun to his head.
"And zat is when I would pull ze trigger." Spy walked back to the other side of the desk, a revolver in hand. "Or use this." He put the revolver away and pulled out a butterfly knife, expertly opening it almost instantly. "Some say friends stab you in ze back. Isay I will stab you in ze back." He closed the knife. "And I am no friend of yours." Spy started to leave.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
"We are done here. I believe you have made your decision." Before the man could say another word, Spy disappeared. The door opened and closed, but no one could be seen doing it.
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"Number 67, please come in."
In came, just as explained by Spy, a person in a gas mask and carrying a flamethrower. This time, however, the man got a better glimpse. They were also carrying an axe and shotgun on their back and had a sort of ammunition belt for the flamethrower.
"Alright then, first things first. Name?"
"Mpppphhhh."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Mpppphhh!"
"You're mumbling; I can't hear you."
"Mpppphhh! Mhm Mpppphhh!"
"Okay, I'm sorry. How about we just call you Pyro?"
"Mph."
"Alright. By the next question, I mean no offense to you. But we can't tell by the whole suit and mask getup. Are you male or female?"
"Mpph? Mpph Mhhhm Mphhh!" Pyro seemed to be angry.
"Calm down, I didn't mean to offend you. Now what is it?"
"Mhhm Mhhhhhhpp."
"Okay." The man pretended to write something down. "Now what exactly do you do?"
"Mhmmmm Mppphhh Mmmmm Mhhhh-" Pyro was interrupted.
"How about you just show us?"
"Mph." Pyro got up and went to one of the cameramen. "Mpphh Mhh Mppppphh Mhh." Pyro pointed their flamethrower at the cameraman and set him on fire.
"Aggh!" The cameraman screamed and started running around, dropping the camera and smashing it. He dropped to the ground and started to roll, trying to put out the flames. Then suddenly, Pyro shot a ball of air out of the flamethrower and immediately extinguished the fire on the cameraman's body.
"Mhhh Mhhm!" Pyro said as if it was a 'Tah Dah!'
"Pyro! What'd you do that for!" The other cameraman kept an eye on Pyro but made more distance between them. The man went over to help the cameraman but glanced at the smashed camera as well. "And there goes the film." The cameraman pushed him away and went to the door.
"I could have died! You know what: Fuck you," He pointed to Pyro. "And fuck you!" He left.
"Mhht?" Pyro asked, shrugging.
"And there goes the cameraman. Alright Pyro, we got your number, we'll consider your position just go now." The man tried to force Pyro out.
Pyro held up a hand to stop him. "Mhhpp!" They held up their hands and put their wrists together, sending out a ball of fire out of their hands like a Hadouken.
"Yes, that is extraordinary, but I would rather have it if you left now." The man forced Pyro out the door and was gone.
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"Number 89, please come in."
In stepped in a man with a hardhat and goggles on his head, wearing a work belt, overalls, and only one rubber glove on his hand. The work belt contained a wrench, two devices, and a pistol. He had a shotgun as well on his back. He took a seat calmly.
"What is your name?"
"If you really need ta' know, buddy, it's Conagher. Dell Conagher." He was very soft-spoken.
"Ah, finally a name. Not many people I have interviewed have given me their names, you see."
"I understand why. In that case, you can call me Engineer."
The man made a small sigh. "If you insist. Now, what exactly do you do?"
"Hey look, buddy. I'm an engineer-that means I solve problems. Not problems like 'What is beauty?' because that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy. I solve practical problems."
"Practical problems?"
"Y'see, there are all kinds of people who want to tear me a structurally superfluous new behind. Now how exactly do I stop someone like that? Sure, I got weapons," He motioned to his shotgun, "but what I need are real guns. And, if needed, use more gun. That's how problems nowadays are solved, right?" He got up from the chair and took out one of the two devices from his belt. By pressing a few buttons on the device, which looked almost like a calculator, he placed a toolbox down and said, "Now watch."
The tool box opened up and out came a device that had a spherical design on it. It started to change on its own, growing into a tripod, then turning around and heaving out a gun nozzle. It started to turn around, scanning the room. The cameraman had hidden behind the desk by now.
A smile was on Engineer's face. "Amazing, ain't it? I call it a Sentry Gun. I can also upgrade it." With the wrench, he started to hit it enough and it somehow transformed. Its gun nozzle split in two and transformed into miniguns and belts of ammunition to support it. It also grew in size. "Now don't worry, it won't shoot you." Suddenly it turned and shot someone coming into the room. They screamed and died, sending blood on the floor. Engineer's smile had turned upside down. "Ah. I didn't expect that to happen. But I said it wouldn't shoot you."
The man nodded. "Yes, but I suppose we can get rid of that body. I think we've seen enough."
"Yeah, I understand." Engineer put the device away and took out the other. He pointed its antennae at the Sentry Gun and pushed its only button. The gun exploded into pieces of metal, which Engineer gathered together. "Hope to see ya' again." He said, tipping his hardhat a bit before leaving.
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"Number 100, please come in."
In came a man, a hat and sunglasses on his head, and a sniper rifle in one hand, a jar of yellow liquid in the other. He also had a submachine gun and a sort of blade on his back. He also had a very rugged look to him. Placing the jar on the table and the sniper rifle in his lap, he took a seat.
"What's your name?"
"Mundy. But call me Sniper, mate. Easier ta' remember." He had a strong Australian accent.
The man glanced at Sniper's jar. "What's in this jar? Urine?"
"Now why would I piss in a jar? No, it's lemonade. Get thirsty when ya are on the job."
"Can I have some?"
"Have as much as ya'd like." Sniper's edge of his mouth twitched a bit.
The man opened the jar and, without smelling it, took a drink of it. He immediately spit it out and started to cough. Sniper finally couldn't hold in his laughter. "I...I can't believe ya fell fer that, mate!" He said in between laughs.
"You bastard!" The man said, continuing to cough. "Delete that from the film!" He yelled to the cameraman, who was also laughing. After he had recovered, he had nothing to do but continue with the interview. "What exactly do you do?"
"What d'ya think I do? I'm a sniper. I'm an assassin. Now mind what me Dad says, I am not a crazed gunman. I follow by three rules: be polite, be efficient, and have a plan to kill everyone ya meet. Worked fer me fer years. And I follow by this: Long as there's two people left on the planet, someone is going to want someone dead."
"Inspiring. Anything else you can do but snipe?"
"Yes. I've got that Spy ya saw earlier to come in to demonstrate something." The door opened then closed, meaning that Spy was invisible. "Now look at this, mate." He took the jar, opened it, and threw it at the space Spy was occupying. Suddenly, the Spy became revealed and he was covered with the urine.
"Sacrebleu! My suit! I can get blood out; but zis…" Spy, in an embarrassed and angry rampage, left the room.
"Its call Jarate." Sniper said to the man. "So am I hired, mate?"
"We'll think about it. You can go now, Sniper." The man said, disgusted.
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The man was running out of the room he had been in all day, another man following him. "But we have one more interview!"
"I've gone through one hundred people today, and most of them are nuts! I'm actually thinking that I am too!"
"Can't you just interview this one person?"
"I don't care!" He considered it for a second. "What's his job anyway?"
"He's a demoman."
"A what?"
"Demolitions expert."
"Great! He's hired!"
"You're not even going to interview him? But what if-"
"I don't care if he's a drunken, half-blind demoman! He's hired! Now let me go home!"