The day was sunny. Sunny with occasional brave cloud who dared enough to interrupt the otherwise spotless, blue sky. Despite the weather being so charmingly summer-ish, it wasn't so hot. There was a soft breeze blowing throughout the place. Birds circling up above the buildings were chirping, sometimes interrupted by swearin- screami- gun sho-?
Bomb detonations?
The mercenaries were doing their best, trying to take each other's intelligence, preferably not dying in the process. That wasn't something everyone could achieve but they were trying the hardest anyway. Soldier's and Demo's lunatical screaming alongside with the Scouts' brag-n-run represented the bigger part of the nearly unbearable noise.
And in the centre of this whole mess, the BLU Spy was having a blast.
He was cloaked, grinning like and idiot he certainly was not over the fact he had been stalking the RED Soldier for solid half an hour and the man was starting to become more paranoid than ever. Sometimes, he would just scrape himself by the Soldier's arm or whisper faintly in his enemy's nearness. He would also make some more noise than usual while walking. One would thought that the Soldier would find out faster than that that the Spy was following him but to the frenchman's amusement, the RED was dumber than he actually thought he was.
Soldier's eye was twitching violently and he jerked with every silent shuffling of feet the frenchman did. He was haunted. Haunted by his ancestors. Haunted by the American Spirit. The Holy Eagleness. He shouldn't have eaten the sandwich Heavy offered him. It was communist sandwich. He should have known better.
"I'm sorry America, I have failed you!" howled the RED Soldier in agony.
Spy looked at his watch and saw he only had few seconds left. Despite how amused he was and was really eager to find out how far he had to go to be the cause of the RED's breakdown, he didn't have time for that. Spy moved behind the RED Soldier and waited for the cloak to disappear. It didn't take long and soon, he found himself leaning over the American's back, his knife stucked between the man's vertebra.
"Viva la Amérique," whispered the Spy to the RED's ear, dark grin spread across his hidden face while Soldier slumped on the rocky ground, genuinely suprised. The BLU retrieved his knife from the dead body and tactically retrieved to safety of the narrow, dark paths that only him and the RED Spy could use fully to their advantage.
It has been a good day so far. He managed to sap a few of the machines the Engineer erected (and the look on the RED's face always flattered him, knowing he did a good job), handed out quite a few backstabs and didn't encountered Pyro all day! Spy knew he… it was somewhere, he would occasionaly hear the creepy muffled giggling of that creature of hells, but as far as he hadn't been burned alive, it didn't bother him that much.
He raised a cigarette to his mouth and with a soft click of his lighter, Spy soon inhaled the smoke, making his nicotine need slowly fade away. He could help his team to steal the enemy's intelligence, maybe he would in the end but…
He was bored.
For the past few weeks he felt the monotony of their work and started to get a little bit bored. Every day he would go here, kill as many REDs as possible and then retrieve back to his room and drink wine, read books he read a thousands of times before or talk with their Engineer, because he was the sanest person in the whole group and sometimes didn't act like an utter farm boy he once was.
Slowly, he had started to feel more and more bored with each passing day and with that became neglecting his work. There wasn't any sense in that. Any meaning. And he was certain there wouldn't be an end to this. There was always more intelligence to steal, more guns to try, not mentioning the ridiculous hats the company showered them with. What was the point with those hats anyway?
With his cigarette still disinterestedly hanging between his fingers, he made a way to a better spot, maybe somewhere he could see the battlefield. It was risky, sure, standing somewhere high, unprotected, unmoving. It literally called for being head…shot…ted…
"Of course," whispered BLU in an obvious tone. How could have he forget? He must have been bored lately for real or else he wouldn't forget that somewhere, the Sniper was hiding. And as far as he was digging through his today's memories, he didn't encountered (or purposely found) the Australian. And that was pretty sad as it was. He hated the man. So many backs left unstabbed just because the bushman shot his brain out. Always had to wait for the last seconds, had he. But Spy was bored today. And nothing could lift his mood like a good, slow and painful kill.
Sniper on the other hand, hadn't had the time of his life.
His aim was crappy that day and due to the constant pounding in his skull he couldn't even follow his targets. He now regretted ever agreeing to Scout's invitation to drink "a beer or two". They ended up completely wasted, Scout sleeping on the kitchen counter and Sniper in the showers, cold water running over him the whole night as he laid there like a thrown rugdoll.
He supressed the need to sneeze and followed the BLU Medic's head with his scope. Finger on the trigger, he breathed in. Breathed out. Narrowed his eyes and…
Oh for fuck's sake!
He jumped on his feet, his kukri in hand and sharply turned to face the man standing behind him. He heard the Spy's footsteps, a faint shuffle, nearly inaudible. But he knew. He had to deal with that damned frogface every now and then and he would as damn recognize when that bloke was onto him.
His head spun around like a bloody carousel, still hungover, he thought as his stomach made a few tumbles.
"Get the hell outta here, mate," growled the RED Sniper and shot dagger from his eyes to Spy's, trying to look like he had the situation under control. "I could've had a noice headshot here if ya sorry ass wouldn't crawl roight behind me." He lifted his hand, kukri in his tight grip and pointed it to the frenchman.
"'m giving ya one last chance to run to bloody hell, Frenchie, or else 'm gonnuuunggh!" he couldn't finish the sentence and had to block Spy's attack. The BLU spurted from his spot, balisong in his hand and aiming at the Australian's belly. Sniper dodged the attack with his kukri in the last second, the balisong's blade sliding to the side and leaving a shallow cut on his palm. He hissed slightly, more from surprise than from pain and curled his other hand into fist, aiming for the Frenchman's face. Spy dodged the attack and with graceful pirouette swung his feet into the air, right into the Sniper's jaw.
Sniper would have dodge the attack. It wasn't the fastest kick of them all.
But he had a hungover. And the last attempt to punch the brain out of the Spy left him pretty sick and dizzy.
The power with which Spy's foot collided with his head made him black out. He found himself on the floor seconds later, trying to focus his vision. He was disoriented, confused. His brain was starting itself so slowly he didn't even know where he was for a few seconds.
Looking at the Spy leaning above him, he let out a low, painful groan and closed his eyes again. He knew he was cornered and even if he wasn't, he was afraid to move. His head was one big balloon of agony and his stomach was giving up on him. He could either let the BLU finish him off or he could throw up on that smart-dressed man. Neither of these two were pleasant.
"Ya could at least make it quick," growled the RED glaring at the Spy. " 'm not exactly in the mood to play with ya all day long here."
"Obviously, I could," started the Spy, playing with his balisong, flipping it between his fingers "On zhe contrary, I couldn't be bozhered less, you see. I was 'aving a pretty… boring days lately, I was 'oping you could may be of some… asseesstance." He stopped his balisong at the instant, pointing it towards the Sniper.
"And I 'ave to say, zhe…" he looked thoughthfully up to the sky, like he was finding answers there. "… freezkiness of yours, wizh your gun of course, left me in a very unpleasant humor. I decided to teach you some manners, bushman." He then slid with his eyes from the sky to his balisong and smiled, delighted. He lifted his hand slowly, imagining how he was going to gut the Australian slowly. He wondered what an odd feeling must it be, to look at one's own intestines. His hand stopped mid-air and then thrusted down to the RED's abdomen.
At the same time, an interestingly odd and… flat feeling settled in the centre of his ribcage. He felt the bushamn's blood on his hands, slow and hot. He didn't want to look yet, but when the feeling took his breath away, he had to.
Slowly, shifting his gaze from the sky, he recognized some things weren't right. Bushman had his kukri. His kukri was in unnatural height. And he couldn't see much of the kukri, as it was biting into his chest.
"Oh, merde," mumbled Spy, still in shock. "Quand avez-vous...?"
"When you were lookin' into the bloody sky, Spook…" mumbled the RED, tiredness clearly sounding from his voice. Spy might've been in a shock, but the Sniper wasn't. And the pain from the stab wound was nearly unbearable. He was surprised he wasn't screaming in agony right know, on the other hand, he was too tired for this right now.
"Ya shouln't've stop lookin' at me, ya bloody idiot," whispered the Sniper and then coughed. And again. The blood covered his chin and chest, as it spurted with speed from his body. It was so hard to breathe.
"As… ya always say… don't ever turn your back to the ene- Spook?" he stopped mid sentence and stared at the Frenchman in mixed confusion and disbelief.
The Spy was leaning over him, one hand still tightly clenched around the handle of balisong. His eyes were widened in shock, waiting for everything to be just a bad dream. Spy's chin was drenched in blood as well as his neck and tie, not mentioning the awfully expensive suit which was torn in the middle from the kukri and colored in crimson red, contrasting with the blue fabric.
He wasn't moving an inch, not speaking a word. Just staring at the kukri thrusted into his chest, holding onto it with his hand, his own dark blood slowly dripping down from his mouth.
The BLU Spy was dead.
"Ya… fuckin'… bastard… ya know… how painful… it is to… fuckin' try and… tell… ya…" Sniper tried so hard but had to stop as he watched the Spy being taken by the respawn, his body slowly fading into the thin air.
The RED felt his blood running away from his body through the wound where Spy's balisong was stuck just a seconds ago. So hard to breathe, as the excruciating feeling embraced his belly and chest, yet he took a deep breath when a wave of soothing warmth ran through him.
He closed his eyes and for a moment, Sniper had forgotten about the agonizing strikes that ran through his abdomen. Maybe just for a little while. Just another five minutes. Then I have to call the Medic.
Yes.
The Medic.
With that thought, the RED slumped into the sleepiness, and soon enough, respawn took him as well.
The BLU Scout burst into the respawn room seconds after the machine spitted out the Spy. There was a frickin' sentry out there they needed destroyed and Spy wasn't anywhere to be found.
„Yo, Spy, we needya to- OH! Oh my- What the fuck?!"
Quand avez-vous...? - When did you...?
Thank you for having patience with me! I will be continuing on this story and I honestly don't know how long it's going to be. I just know where it will lead to.
Thousands thanks to my friend Eve who beta-read the thing. You rock!