They Called Him Sniper
A TF2 Fanfiction written by kronosdragon
Disclaimer: I do not own TF2 or any of its affiliated characters, brands or logos.
"Do you understand the Terms of Agreement, Mr. Starke?"
"Yeah."
"And you understand that this contract binds you to at least three years of service to the Reliable Excavations and Demolitions corporation?"
"...Yeah."
"Then just sign here along the dotted lines, Mr. Starke…"
"Please, just call me Allen."
"Oh no, if anything, you'll be going by your handle from now on."
The tall bushman finished signing his name on the two documents before him and looked up at the pencil-figured old woman behind the desk, her frame silhouetted by the bars of light filtering through the blinds that covered the windows of her fifteenth-story office. A single cigarette lay smoking in the ashtray in front of her interlaced fingers.
"And that would be?" he questioned, peering at her from behind his yellow aviators.
Her stern face gave only the slightest hint of a grin forming at the corners of her lips.
"Sniper."
Allen nodded.
"Understood, ma'am."
"Good. Your train will arrive tomorrow, at 3:00pm. Here is your ticket," said the woman, sliding a piece of thick paper in front of Allen with his ticket information printed on it. "Take one of those documents with you for your records."
"Yes'm."
Allen picked up his hat from the chair and put it back on his head, giving the lady - who had referred to herself as "The Announcer" - a nod before turning to leave.
"See you on the battlefield, Mr. Starke," she said, a soft chuckle rising from her throat as the door shut behind him.
He awoke the next morning, his left knee aching. He raised his head up off the pillow, only to let it drop back down after seeing that the sky beyond his window was grey and distorted from the trickles of water running down the panes of glass. He groaned and palmed his eyes, rubbing away the dryness that sleep usually left him with. He finally mustered up the energy to sit up and stretch, scratching the fuzz on his chest as he looked toward the clock. 11:29am. Odd. He was usually up earlier than that. No matter. He would be getting up plenty early from now on.
Allen swung his legs out of bed and lifted himself onto his feet. He searched his closet for the uniform he was told to wear upon arriving to the station, or he would not be allowed on the train. The Announcer had stated that his room would be fully outfitted with enough uniforms for the work week, and that all he needed to bring were the basics like casual clothing, sleepwear (which he didn't need), and toiletries like his toothbrush and comb.
He packed up what few belongings he had, including his wallet and a collection of crumpled sepia-toned photos from his past jobs. He got dressed in the RED uniform, complete with leather vest and work boots. He looked over the document that he had signed the previous evening, reading over it again as he placed his hat on his head. It fully went over what his job would be, what hours he would be working, and how many coworkers he had. It also briefly explained the reason he was being recruited; some kind of sibling rivalry that had turned into a full-out war between the two Mann brothers. It wasn't much his business, so he didn't care too much to read into it. He looked over the part just above where he had signed. It read, "I understand these Terms of Agreement, and by signing this contract, I understand the risks of the job I am applying for."
He looked at his hastily-written signature.
"What have I gotten myself into…?"
He looked back over the document again and again on his way to the train station. He was assured that his home and belongings would be protected during the time that he was enlisted. That gave him little peace of mind, however, and decided to lock everything up tight. He made sure every window was closed up, every door and even the attic hatch. He kept everything under padlock, burying the keys in the hard outback soil, beside a thorny shrub that hid one of the basement windows. He double checked that it, too was locked and shut tight before he had left.
He chewed on the toothpick in his mouth. He was trying to quit smoking, and toothpicks filled the void that was left by the habit of sticking a cigarette in his mouth to calm his nerves. He walked past several people, all of which looked at him funny, for while they were dressed in business suits or casual clothing, he looked like he was getting ready to go hunting. In a sense, he was, but not for any kind of game that ran around on four legs…
The train ride was long and uneventful. Wherever they were taking him, it was far from civilization. He was alone, sitting in the rickety passenger car with his suitcase between his feet. The windows were tinted to the point where one couldn't see out of them. They must not have wanted him to know where the destination was, though from the 8 hour ride, he assumed it was too far for him to even care. When the train finally stopped, the doors all seemed to open of their own accord with a hiss of steam. He stood up, picking up his suitcase and heading toward the rush of cool, fresh air that swept from beyond the door.
Allen was greeted by a short woman in a pencil skirt and round glasses, her dark hair done up in a loose bun. She adjusted her glasses, the light from the train car glinting off of them.
"Sniper," she stated, looking down at a manila folder in her hands, rifling through the various papers within.
"Yeah?" Allen asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"You will come with me, please," she said, turning and pacing away toward a gate enclosing what looked to be an abandoned outpost. The buildings looked shoddy and beaten up, the wooden structures coated in red dust and blast marks. The woman wasn't focused on the imposing buildings, however. She was scanning her eyes in front of an electrified gate. Allen could hear the gate powering down as the heavy bolts holing it shut slid into the locking mechanism. The woman looked over her shoulder and urged him forward with a nod of her head. As soon as he passed through the gate, it swung shut and locked itself behind him. He jumped as it hissed before humming back to life.
"Please keep up, Sniper."
"Guh…"
Allen tipped his hat down over his face, hiding his embarrassment at being startled so easily.
"Can I uh…can I get a name, miss?" he asked. The silence was killing him, and he felt the need to say something - anything - to break it.
"Pauling."
"Pauling?"
The woman gave no indication of hearing him. She was cold and very businesslike. Allen could tell that she was not the type to hold a decent conversation, so he gave up and let the eerie silence fall over him.
"Do not be so uneasy," Miss Pauling stated, as if they weren't walking through various darkened alleys around strange buildings. One could vaguely see that one had the company insignia of RED, but the other was too distant to see anything more than a black silhouette.
"Sorry, ma'am," Allen said. Even in the darkness, he refused to take off his sunglasses. He felt safer behind them, for some reason.
"You will eventually grow used to the silence at night. Your room lies up there," she said, pointing toward what looked like some sort of hidden room, blending into the walls of the building closest to them. It had only two windows, but they were facing the battlefield and offered a prime spot for him to sit.
"Believe me…the silence is better than the ruckus during the day."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see come Monday morning."
"Speaking of which, why is it that a war like this has…hours? I looked through the papers I signed, and it was almost like I was just filling out a resume," Allen asked. "Weekends and holidays off? Ceasefire after sundown?"
"You seem like a good man, so I'll let you in on a little piece of advice."
Miss Pauling turned and looked at him, standing still as a statue with a gaze just as unnerving as a statue's soulless eyes.
"Do not ask questions. Many who do, find answers that are better left undiscovered. Do you understand, Mr. Starke?"
Allen swallowed, his face set. What was with these people? So secretive…But it was not his job to look into secrets.
"…Yes'm."
"Good."
Miss Pauling turned and began leading him into the building, which could now be seen as having a wooden exterior, but almost completely metal interior. The halls were covered in sheet metal, dented in some places. Dusty boot prints tracked dirt into the hall, staining it reddish-brown up to a certain point, where a door marked the entrance to the building. Miss Pauling lowered her glasses and scanned her eyes once again. The door clicked, and she was able to turn the knob and open it. The din from beyond the door was almost deafening compared to the silence from the outside.
"Scout, you get back here zhis instant!"
"Why don't you make me, you Nazi wuss?"
"Leetle man should listen to doctor…"
"Shut yer yap, Heavy!"
"Hold still, schweinhund!"
Allen barely heard the door shut behind him over the banging and yelling going on in what appeared to be some sort of common room. An older man in a medical uniform was trying to chase down a half-naked young man with a syringe.
"It is mandatory zhat you receive your boosters!" he shouted in a thick German accent.
"What am I gonna catch out here? Besides, ya' know, your stupidity?"
The doctor ground his teeth and curled his fingers in the direction of the boy's throat, implying that if he were close enough, he'd choke him. A much bigger man, easily standing over six feet tall and looking to be made almost entirely of muscle, had somehow managed to grab the boy by the back of his trousers and was holding him in place. The boy, who seemed to have some sort of American accent, was throwing curses at him until he noticed that Miss Pauling and a stranger were standing in the entryway, watching the chaos.
"Miss Pauling!"
As soon as he noticed it, everyone else did, too. Well, all except the black man who appeared to be asleep in the corner with a bottle of rum resting beside him.
Taking advantage of this moment, the doctor quickly jabbed the needle into the boy's arm and injected whatever was in it into his system. The young man let out a yelp, but before he could break the needle with his quick reaction, the doctor had already pulled away and tossed the syringe in the garbage.
"Ow! Dickwad!"
"Vatch your language, ve are in ze presence of a lady," he scolded.
Scout mumbled under his breath as Miss Pauling cleared her throat.
"Gentlemen, this is your new Sniper."
She turned to Allen.
"Sniper, these are…well, a few of your new teammates."
She gestured to the jumpy young man.
"This is Scout."
Scout just gave a short wave before going back to rubbing the bruise on his arm.
"Heavy."
The big man gave a hearty smile and placed his hands on his hips.
"Medic."
The doctor clicked his heels together and gave a short bow.
"And…er…Demoman."
Scout walked over and kicked the black man's boots.
"Hey rummy, wake up and smell the fresh meat," he said.
The Demoman looked up with one eye, the other being concealed behind a black eye patch. He raised his bottle to Allen before taking another swig of it and going back into a drunken slumber.
"Er…"
Allen rubbed the back of his neck.
"Who are the rest?" he asked.
"Solly and the masked demon from hell already went to bed," Scout said.
"What?" Allen asked, confused.
"Soldier and Pyro," Miss Pauling stated, though that cleared little up for him. "What of Spy and Engineer?" she asked them.
"Engie's out in his shed as usual, tinkerin' and whatnot. Spy, who fuckin' knows?"
"Language!" Medic snapped.
"I'm sure you'll meet the rest of the team by Monday, then. You'll have time to get to know them tomorrow. For now, I suggest you go to your room and rest. Medic, you will affix his chip, please."
"Jawol," Medic said with a nod.
"The rest of you, behave yourselves."
She looked around before leaving, the door clicking shut behind her. The men looked at each other in silence for a moment before Medic produced yet another syringe from his lab coat.
"Come here, if you vould," he said.
Allen reluctantly approached the doctor, who proceeded to quickly sanitize an area of skin just beneath his shirt sleeve. He quickly poked the needle under Allen's skin and injected a small, hard capsule.
"That stings a bit, mate," Allen said with a wince.
"Trust me, it vill hurt less zhan dying."
"Uh…"
"You don't know?"
Medic turned and looked at Heavy, then at Scout as the boy begin to laugh.
"He doesn't fuckin' know!" Scout said.
"Zhis is no laughing matter!"
Medic looked at Allen.
"What did you sign up to do, mein freund?"
"A job that involves doin' what I do best, I suppose," Allen replied.
"You signed up to die over an' over, old man!"
Allen turned and looked at Scout.
"I ain't that much older 'n you, mate," he said softly. "But, whaddya mean, 'die over an' over?'"
"Vhat I injected you vith is a computer chip that sends your DNA information to, vhat ve call, 'Respawn'. It brings you back from zhe dead if you are mortally wounded in battle," Medic explained. "So long as you 'ave zhis chip, you vill not die, unless of course, somevun kills you after hours. Zhat, of course, happens on a very rare occasion. Usually somehow tied in vith zhe Spies…"
"Slow down, doctor," Heavy said in his thick Russian dialect. "Leetle Sniper is new. He will learn, da."
"You are right, I suppose."
Allen was trying to let it sink in, but he was getting a headache from all of the information being crammed into his head at once. He wouldn't die? He'd be brought back? He suspected that he would find out the hard way just what this all meant when Monday morning came around.
"You should go get some rest," Medic said shooing Sniper away. "Your bunk is up zhe ladder at zhe end of zhat hallvay," he said, pointing toward a gently-arcing hallway leading away from the common room.
"Roight," Allen said, his accent starting to really kick in the more tired he got. Scout snickered as Allen walked away, dragging his suitcase up the ladder that ended in a hatch. He tossed it open, coughing on a rain of red dust that was shaken loose from above.
He poked his head up, looking around at the dark room. There was no light, save for what little shone in from the stars outside his windows. He spotted a small blue dot traveling along the wall, curiously scanning the wall through the window. Allen kept his head down, unsure of what to make of the laser pointed into his room. He army-crawled across his floor and kicked the hatch shut, shimmying his suitcase under the bed against the wall. There was a bloodstain on the wall, where he could only assume that the previous Sniper met his end. The blue dot disappeared, and he slowly rose to his feet between the two windows, where the wall blocked anyone from seeing him. He cautiously peered around the corner before diving toward his bed, which was safely nestled out of harm's way. He panted softly, the bed creaking beneath him. He sighed and looked to the closet that was, oddly, behind the bed. He reached in and found that a long, cold rod met his fingers right where they groped at the wall. He wrapped his hand around it and pulled it from the darkness. A long, black-barreled sniper rifle was in his hand, the cold metal chilling his skin and raising goosebumps on his arms. He set his jaw as he looked it over. It looked to be old and well-used, but kept in pristine condition. He checked the chamber, and it held a single bullet. He set the weapon in his lap, and reached into the closet to search for anything else. His hand groped around in the dark closet for a while before finally coming to rest on a smooth wooden handle. The shape was almost familiar to him, and when he pulled the weapon from the closet, he realized why.
"A kukri?"
He balanced the blade in his hand, giving it a few swipes to test how it felt. It was slightly heavier than he expected, but he would no doubt be building some muscle while he worked here. After groping around a while more, he found a small SMG lying on the floor. He set it under his flat pillow, placing the kukri on the floor beside him and the sniper rifle against the wall next to his head where he could easily grab it. Once he felt set, he went about changing in the darkness of the closet, taking off his uniform and hanging it up. He hadn't really used it, so he didn't think it was too dirty to use later.
He laid on his bed and chewed on his toothpick, thoughtfully staring up at the ceiling as his sleepy mind kept running.
I could really use a cigarette…
"Cigarette?"
"No thanks, I'm trying to quit."
It took a moment for him to register that the voice came from something other than his psyche. He grabbed his knife and wildly slashed in the direction of the voice before leaping up onto his bed and balancing on the worn-out springs. He looked around, but saw nothing. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the darkness of his room. He remembered the Scout saying something about the team having a Spy, and he looked around for any vents. Seeing none, he decided that it must have been his weary mind playing tricks on him. He was set on this decision until a faint red shimmer caught his eye. He slowly approached the corner he had spotted it in, holding his knife so tightly that his knuckles went white.
"…Show yerself, bloke…"
He reached out and grabbed at the air, but found no purchase. He turned, but felt a soft prick against his back, just between his shoulders. An invisible force wrapped itself around his neck and put him in a headlock. If he weren't so startled, he could have easily thrown his attacker aside. However, given the circumstances, he had been caught off-guard and thus was more or less trying to keep his cool. He breathed heavily through his nose as the invisible force faded into an arm wrapped in a fine, pinstriped cloth. Allen blinked and grit his teeth as he felt that pricking sensation dig into his back.
"Shhh, mon ami, you will alert zhe true danger to your presence," a smooth voice cooed in his ear. The smell of tobacco was thick on the man's breath, and only made Allen yearn more for a cig than he already had.
Allen loosened up just enough to allow himself to be led back toward the wall beyond the view of the windows. He saw the blue dot tracing its way around his room once again before disappearing. Only when it was gone did the strong grip around his neck loosen. He heard a click and swish, turning slowly to see a masked man skillfully manipulating a butterfly knife in his hands. Allen rubbed his neck, looking the man up and down. He looked so wiry in his suit, so how did he manage to hold him in such a firm grip?
"Again, I will offer…cigarette?"
Allen looked at the flat case that the man produced from within his suit jacket, popping a white cigarette from the inside and placing it on his lips. He looked at Allen with an almost playful look in his silver-green eyes. Allen looked down before sitting on his bed. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, which was bristled up along the back of his neck. He held out his hand and took the cigarette that was placed against his fingers.
"Your accent," he began after accepting a light from the Spy, "you're French?"
"Oui," Spy replied, puffing on his own cig and blowing the smoke in rings above his head.
"Why in bloody 'ell would you jump a guy like that?" he said, shaking his head after taking a deep drag.
"It is in my nature," Spy said with a grin. "You will grow used to it, if you want to survive. Bonuses are earned by those who stick around and have good scores."
"…Scores?"
"Mhmm…"
The Spy took another drag off his cigarette, the smoke billowing out of his nose.
"Everyone is monitored, masseur. Kill-to-death ratios are zhe 'scores'. Zhe less deaths and zhe more kills, zhe better your chances of actually living to fulfill your term of service 'ere."
"I take it you acquired this info via snoopin' about?"
The Spy chuckled.
"Oui. I am quite skilled. Zhis pretty little number," he said, pulling out a long-barreled pistol, "is zhe result of much practice in playing 'ide and go seek."
"Gotcha…"
Allen finished his cigarette. He scratched at his chest sleepily.
"How long have you been here? I mean…fighting and whatnot."
"Almost two years."
"Do you get used to it?"
"Mmmm…"
Spy wasn't sure how to answer. He knew exactly what Sniper was talking about. Did he ever get used to killing someone over and over, seeing the same people day after day, some of which never coming back?
"Oui. You get used to it. Alzhough, it is 'ard, when you grow friendships with some of zhe ruffians 'ere, seeing one leave and…never return."
"What happened to the last bloke? The Sniper before me?"
"Shot in zhe dark."
Allen looked toward the stain on the wall."The enemy Sniper?"
"Surprisingly, no."
"Spy?"
"Non."
"Then-"
"It was suicide."
Sniper's breath caught in his throat.
"He offed himself?"
"Oui. 'E could not bear zhe constant struggle, day after day, living in fear of whether or not 'e would wake in the zhe morning. Zhe BLU Spy likes to fight dirty, and 'e enjoys picking off 'is enemies at zheir most venerable."
Allen shivered.
"But you should not worry so much about it right now. You only just got 'ere. You should be sleeping. I just wanted to introduce myself, but zhat turned sour when I noticed zhe BLU Sniper looking zhrough your window. 'E must 'ave seen zhe train arrive."
Allen nodded.
"Roight…"
"Per'aps tomorrow we can talk somewhere safer, and when we are both wide awake. I am quite zhe night owl, but you, I can see, are not."
Allen chuckled nervously.
"Yeah…"
"Bonne nuit, mon ami."
"Yeah…night."
The Spy pressed a button on his watch and disappeared into thin air, startling Allen for a moment until he saw the hatch to his bunk lift and close.
A cloaking device?
He shook his head and kicked his suitcase over the hatch after locking it. He laid back on his bed and shut his eyes, scratching his chest as he drifted off to sleep.