Sightless
Stationed in this war almost an entire year, fourteen hours each day-nearly every damn day, he still wasn't used to staring down the barrel of a gun. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he eyed the shotgun, before glancing at the man holding it to his face.
"Go on, put the case down, boy," the Engineer sighed, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. "There's sentries behind me. I'm givin' ya a chance, kid. Hand over the intelligence and turn around."
The Scout frowned, eyeing the gun again, fingers twitching on the straps around his shoulders to help carry the case. He was silent for a moment, before he raised an eyebrow and a cocky grin.
"You do know how to pull a trigger, right, hardhat?" he scoffed, gesturing with his hands, "I mean it ain't that hard! All you do is squeeze the thing and BAM! There goes my skull! Brains and blood and bone splattered all across the wall while you get your pretty little intelligence back without any worries. Hakuna matata." He shrugged, folding his hands behind his head, "I mean, we ARE in a warzone here. 'Cept we got a respawn! Bam! Dead and then you're back like voodoo magic! Did ya forget..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin quizzically, "...or are you a new hardhat or somethin'?"
The Scout swore he saw the Engineer's eyes roll in exasperation from behind the tinted goggles. "I've been here for three years, boy. Pullin' a trigger was just never my thing," he said, a smirk embellished on his face, "that's why I build machines to do it for me."
Before the younger man could get a word in, the sound of static and electricity echoed down the hallway. Cursing, the Engineer's face paled as he quickly turned to look down the corner, before focusing his gaze back at the Scout.
Scout smirked, shoving his thumbs in the edges of his pockets and swaying lightly on one heel. "Three years and you really suck at respondin' to spies."
The Texan snarled, opening his mouth to retort, only to cry out a strained scream as a knife drove its way into his back.
"Hey, thanks for that, rookie!" Scout laughed, saluting as he stepped over to the corpse, watching as the man decloaked, brushing off his suit before retrieving his knife.
"Rookie?" the man scoffed, playful grin on his face, muttering Italian under his breath before glancing up with an accusing eyebrow, "I was not the one standing around bantering with the enemy."
Scout shrugged. "He starte-"
The men turned at the cries from the hallway behind the Scout. There were calls of 'who was watching the intelligence', 'who the fuck was watching the intelligence', 'everyone on this team is a dummkopf', and so on so forth.
"Enjoy yourself, my friend." The man quickly whisked back into his cloak and the Scout rolled his eyes at the cocky footsteps that faded away. Looking back down the hall, the Boston kid sauntered over and peered around the corner, eyeing as the enemy Medic, Heavy and Spy argued amongst themselves, the Demoman sauntering off and swearing in the distance about how they never even saw the other team's intelligence.
Standing in the open, the Scout cocked his head to the side. The men were so absorbed they didn't even notice.
He whistled.
"Yo, fellas! I heard you were lookin' for me! Afraid I can't sign autographs today though, but I thought I'd let you get a glance at my beautiful face!" The men stared at him blankly, before yelling and readying their weapons. The Scout saluted and bolted down the hall before the Heavy picked his minigun up off the floor, dashing over the Engineer's corpse and flying through the room with the destroyed sentries. He glanced over his shoulder, laughing at the arguing he could barely hear that ran across the walls. Then he bumped into something.
Falling to the floor, the boy shook his head, blinking up at the Sniper who was swearing under his breath, half leaning out the window the Scout almost accidentally shoved him over. Scrambling to his feet, the Scout ran past, seething as a bullet lodged into his arm. Before rounding another corner, he called to the Australian.
"Learn to aim for the head, you kangaroo humpin' bastard!"
He heard the man yell back at him, but the Scout merely smirked and focused on where he was going this time. His ears twitched at the sound of footsteps rushing towards him, skidding on his heels as fire shot out from the corner. Flailing his arms, the boy gulped as the masked man stepped forward, fire still blazing. Oh crap-he could hear the others coming from the other hall. Oh crap-he was going to get blocked in. Oh crap-that fire was hot.
Sweat rolled down his face-both from the 'oh crap' factor and the fire. He was so close to getting out of the base too! This wasn't any fair. Stupid freakin gas-masks and their stupid freakin' creepiness. It was stupid and unfair. Pyro's were just cheap, man. Ruined the party for everyone. With their creepiness. And cheapness. 'Specially the creepiness. Ugh.
Just avoid the fire. Easy to do right? Not like he was in a tiny ass room with only one way to go now. Where was everyone else? Were they all outside just drinkin' some of Sniper's tea or somethin'? Jesus. If he died and lost the intelligence, this was all their fault and he had nothin' to do with it cuz they were the ones slackin' off! He'd been on fire this entire match, and now it was almost literally! Oh man, that was a close one.
It was only seconds, but adrenaline made it feel like hours as he tried his best to dance around the Pyro's continuous attacks. His hair and face and legs and arms and chest kept getting singed. He didn't know how he was doing it, but he was managing to avoid the brunt of the flames-but the goddamn Pyro wasn't moving from his spot, blocking the way out. If he ran back down the hall, he'd be greeted to a Heavy and a Medic. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Part of him just wanted to run down the hall to be mauled by the giant's minigun. It'd be a faster death than being burned alive.
"Really? I'm the rookie?" A laugh rang out and the Pyro jumped, about to turn around before a knife was jammed into the back of his throat, the man dropping dead. The friendly Spy decloaked once more, grabbing his knife from the corpse. He took a few steps towards the other man, grinning ear-to-ear as he flicked a lightly scorched hair out of the Scout's face, "I just saved your ass twice now."
The Scout rolled his eyes, smirk on his face as he walked past the man, shoving him with his shoulder. "Yeah, well, a good Spy doesn't have to dig his knife out of the body. It should just be a quick, clean kill."
"If blood doesn't reach the hilt, I say they're doing it wrong," Spy chuckled and clicked his tongue before turning on his cloak again. "I'll be there to save the day again, Princess."
"You're the worst Prince Charmin' I have ever seen, man."
"I guess it's a good thing I'm invisible."
"Yeah whatever." Scout looked over his shoulder as he heard the footsteps of the H-oh. There was the minigun turning around the corner-that was faster than he thought they'd get there. He felt his teammate run past him, and the Scout quickly followed. After an antagonizing strip of hallways and corners, he finally made it outside. It was getting really stuffy in that stupid place, it felt like everything was looking the same.
It was nice to have the sun on him.
He scanned the surrounding environment quickly before beginning his sprint across the battlefield. There was a flurry of bullets, rockets and explosions bombarding the field, dust and shrapnel flying at the boy as he ran, one hand tightly gripping onto the strap of the intelligence, his other hand blocking his face from the shell fragments. A bullet grazed his ear. His arm. His thighs.
Next thing he knew, something whacked the back of his knees and he was face down in the ground. Instinctively, he rolled onto his back and was about to jump back onto his feet, only to have his head being forcibly pushed down. His neck strained and bent to the edge of the intelligence chest, the Scout grabbing onto the other man's wrist, trying to pry him off. This only resulted in the assailant to dig their nails into his flesh. He grit his teeth and seethed in pain, before choking on his breath when the other man let go and elbowed him harshly in the ribs. He saw the silhouette of the enemy Scout before the man took out his pistol and pulled the trigger.
The world went white, and his body went frigid with an intense heat of surging pain. It coursed and curled and pricked through his veins, bones, skin, scraping and peeling and stabbing and stitching. His entire being was tense and overflowing with an overbearing flood of warmth and cold and pain. He took a shaky breath.
It was over.
Opening his eyes, he frowned at the sight of his team's spawning room. Man, he'd been so close, too. He glanced to the occupied bench nearby, tilting his head as he took a few steps forward at his teammate.
"Yo, man, you okay?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips. "You're not lookin' so good. Have you even left this room the entire match?"
The Engineer glanced at him. He looked exhausted, goggles resting around his neck, clothes put on haphazardly, hardhat nowhere to be seen. He was pale and dark bags were sleeping under his eyes. The man looked at the Scout for a moment, took a deep breath, and said nothing.
The Scout squinted. "...Nice talkin' with you, hardhat. Wonderful conversation," he mumbled, before taking his shotgun from off it's holster on his back and headed towards the door. He took another look at the man over his shoulder, who had slumped down the bench, before running back out to the field.