Johannes weaved in and out of the sheds, shacks, and warehouses that dominated the area, if only to avoid the multitude of Snipers that seemed to be perched upon every rotting rooftop. He adjusted his grip on his Medigun, peering about nervously before ducking behind an outhouse. A wave of relief washed over him as he scanned the area and found it empty, save for a fifteen foot waterfall emptying into a pond that flowed beyond the boundaries of the battlefield. He puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled, and flicked his head, tossing his hair out of his face. The air to his left shimmered, and a sharp spike seemed to drive itself through Johannes' heart. How could they have found him so fast? His lungs were burning, desperate for just a little more time to replenish the oxygen supplies within his body, but the Medic was already halfheartedly sprinting away.
He threw himself into a smaller shack towards the outskirts of the battlefield, then turned and shut the door. To his relief and dismay, there wasn't a soul to be seen. Although he was well out of earshot of the waterfall, he could still hear the sound of rushing water. Molten steel seemed to replace his blood and fill every cavity and crevice within his chest. He dropped his Medigun and shrugged off his backpack, letting it and the connected utility belt fall to the floor. Instead, his hands now gripped a strange looking weapon of his own design, which he had dubbed "Blutsauger".
The faintest tapping of a leather shoe on hard wood was all it took for Johannes to spin around and unleash a quick spray of syringes into the empty wall behind him. His deep green eyes were narrowed and searching, and his lip was pulled back in a faint snarl. "Show yourself, schwein!" He called out into the emptiness. To his own surprise, his voice sounded powerful and, was it possible? Confident? That certainly wasn't how he felt. Although he was at least twice his adversary's size in weight and muscle tone, Johannes' fighting style was nothing short of clumsy and brutish compared to the suave and graceful movements of his opponent.
"Very well." The reply slithered into his ear and wrapped around his brain like the coils of a snake, burying itself into every fold and crevice of his mind. The Spy materialized with a hissing ripple of air, just feet from where Johannes stood. Although he was weaponless (or so he seemed) and had a gun that shot syringes at speeds of about thirty miles an hour pointed at his chest, he seemed perfectly relaxed, as if he were in complete control of the situation. Without hesitation, Johannes pulled the trigger, his arms shaking with the recoil of each needle that left the barrel of his weapon. The Spy spun his body sideways and crouched, then disarmed Johannes in one swift movement and kicked him squarely in the back.
Johannes pushed himself off the ground and swung at the Spy looming over him, but missed by a mile. He sat up and tried to climb to his feet, but the Spy was behind him once more, and just like that, Johannes couldn't breathe. He tried to twist and arch his back to get out of the Spy's choke hold, but to no avail. Johannes' lungs were burning more than ever, and his vision was starting to fade. His hands were gripping the Spy's wrists so hard he was surprised he hadn't broken the thinner man's arm. His head was spinning and throbbing and it was a struggle to stay focused. Moments before he blacked out, he heard the Spy whisper into his ear:
"No matter where you are, on this battlefield or any other, I will always be behind you, ready to kill…"