A.N.: Hello! My name is Divergency and this is my first fanfiction. I've always been so nervous about posting my stories online, and I have finally built up the courage to do so. I hope you will stay with me for this journey...just expect many bumps along the way! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2.
I remember the first time I held a gun in my hand.
It was the end of my first day of seventh grade at Clearview Middle School. I stayed after to help my art teacher clean up the room, and told my brother to head home without me. I was walking home at around seven o'clock when three men ambushed me at the town park, which ironically was just two blocks away from my home...from safety…
One of the men, who appeared in his mid to late-thirties, drew a gun, and told me to climb into their van. Of course, I didn't want to, but what other choice did I have?
I remember shoving one of my captors out the back door of the moving vehicle the first chance I got. We were in front of my neighbor's driveway when the driver slammed on the brakes. I jumped out of the van, twisting my ankle in the process, but that didn't stop me. I had to get out of there. The man with the gun chased me to my house, angrily tossing his pistol to the side, wrapping his large hands around my frail neck, and squeezing as tightly as he could.
After witnessing everything from the front window, my sixteen-year-old brother alerted my parents and called 911. The man must have heard my brother because while I was on the brink of unconsciousness, he released me, and tossed me to the side like a rag doll. His pistol laid next to my leg in the grass. Sluggishly, I grasped the gun tightly, pointing it in the general direction of the fleeing man.
I fired…
I don't ever remember the feeling of fear as I pulled the trigger. The sensation of…pity and guilt flooded my senses. Now that I think about it…I also felt a sort of pleasure at the thought of getting revenge.
I felt bad for shooting at this man, but at the same time, it felt good.
The police never caught my kidnappers, but they did however find information that led them to the dead body of a little girl around my age in an abandoned shack just outside of my neighborhood. I wasn't privy to the information before, but when I turned fifteen my brother told me about what happened to her.
Days before her death, the girl was raped and chained to a pole. The autopsy showed that her cause of death was hypothermia; fingers and toes falling off due to frost bite.
That could have been me.
After the incident, I spent a lot of my time reading war stories, studying battle tactics, and learning how to fire a weapon.
One day, I came across the idea of "Sniping".
When my mother discovered what I was doing, she exclaimed that I was deranged and that she knew I was growing odder by the day. She kicked me out at the tender age of sixteen, telling me to go live with my grandmother. I never heard from her or my family again.
All of this had led me here today…waiting for my ride to my newest job as a sniper.
Team Fortress Industries in New Mexico was offering me a one year contract to work as a sniper. Not all the details had been sorted out yet, but I'm excited to see how things are going to turn out for me. They promised to keep my identity a secret, which is a plus, considering I'm wanted by several gangs for killing their power-hungry leaders. I would be working alongside eight other men for reasons that will be classified until I arrive. All I knew was that a company known as Mann Co. will be providing us with ammunition and medical aid, and that I get to practice my sniping skills. My employers also informed me about a respawn system, which I remember hearing about several years ago by some men I used to work with. It's quite fascinating, considering that if you die during a mission, you will return home unharmed and ready to attempt the mission again. I don't see why we would need a respawn system, though. Perhaps we are fighting other men? Maybe a war?
My thoughts were interrupted when a bus pulled up in front of the bench I was sitting on. From my view, it was empty, minus the driver who was currently ushering me forward with a gloved hand. Why would someone wear gloves in one hundred degrees weather? I guess I shouldn't judge him since I was wearing thick, boot-cut jeans instead of shorts, but my excuse has to deal with my sex. Flashing any type of skin would not be ideal in my line of work… Well, from what I've learned in the past.
"Are you the new sniper?" He asked me.
"Team Fortress Industries, right?" I responded back. A grin crossed his face as he shut the door of the bus. Since I was the only occupant, I sat in the very front seat, wanting to communicate and try to get some answers out of this man.
"From the North, are you?" He glanced back at me, humming the tune of a popular pop song that was playing on the radio. I began to nod my head, but when I realized he wasn't looking, I voiced my answer.
"Central Ohio. How could you tell?"
"Your accent gave it away. I'm from Indiana."
My face turned slightly red as I internally face palmed. I'm such an idiot at times…
"So, uh, what's your name?" I asked him. I was partly hoping he wouldn't answer so then I wouldn't have to tell him mine...I was feeling pressured, ok!
"For this job, our contracts say that we have to call each other by class-name. I, actually, am not a class. I just work as a repairman, and sometimes I transport mercenaries back and forth between bases, so just call me 'the Maintenance Guy'."
"Woah, woah, woah…mercenaries?" I asked. So I was right...I must be working in a war zone.
"Oh, have they not told you yet?" I shook my head. The man sighed and sucked in some air as if he were preparing for a speech. "For many years now, two brothers have fought over this piece of land, so they both hired mercenaries to battle each other and take the other brother's land. You will work for the RED team, and support your team with your expert-level marksmanship." He explained this as if he's done it many times before. All of this sounded ridiculous, but honestly, I don't give a shit. As long as I'm protected… especially after the accident I had five years ago, I don't care.
"I see…" I mumbled out, drifting off into space. Just how long has this been going on for, I wonder. A comfortable silence fell like a blanket as the minutes went by. "The Maintenance Guy's" presence seemed to have a calming effect on me. It's probably because I haven't been around a decent guy in such a long time.
The scenery changed from trees and grass to desert and sand, maximizing the already steaming temperature. After one hour of driving, the radio lost signal, leaving the Maintenance Guy and myself in silence...well, other than the light hum of the bus engine in the background. I decided to break the tranquility of the situation:
"Can I call you 'MG' instead of 'Maintenance Guy'? It just sounds like a mouth full when you say it." I said. An airy chuckle floated throughout the bus in response. I'm guessing that's yes?
"You see that building up ahead?" He pointed to a tall, gray building. It looked like it's seen better days…"That will be your new home! Just a little heads up… The Scout is loud and noisy, always add 'sir' to the end of your statements when talking to Soldier, Pyro is...interesting, Demoman is a drunken, black, Scotsman missing an eye, everything is 'leetle' to Heavy, Engineer is pretty cool, Medic is mad crazy, and Spy...well, Spy is Spy."
I rose my eyebrows in questioning, trying to absorb as much information as I could. Ah, screw it! I'll find out when I get inside.
"Here we are! Just walk through the front doors and take a left. Your team will be waiting for you in the mess hall. It is seven o'clock, so they've probably already started 'Saturday Night Poker'. They all know you are coming, so good luck." His words seemed to fumble out of his mouth at lightening speed. All I could manage was a simple "Thanks" before I was pushed out of the bus and into the now, cool desert air.
"Ooook then…" I said to myself. Taking off my sun hat, I ran a hand through my long blond locks, trying to untangle the knots that formed over time. I walked up the wooden steps, and entered through the tall set of doors, which seemed to make the loudest noises I had ever heard. Taking a left, I came upon a massive room that was set up obviously for entertainment. A colored television was playing a baseball game, a pool table sat neglected in the opposite corner of the room, and a massive table containing eight different people was covered in empty bottles of beer, crumbs, and playing cards.
Almost simultaneously, the eight pairs of eyes turned to me, looking me up and down. Maybe I was just too picky, but I felt that several of those pairs lingered for a little too long in certain areas.
"It has been LONG time since last woman was here. Dis Sniper is leetler than others." A massive Russian spoke out through the silence, ending the awkward stares of all the men, "I am Heavy Weapons Guy, but you may call me Heavy." His guttural voice boomed as he spoke. I wanted to make a good first impression, so I responded by saying:
"It's nice to meet you all. I am the Sniper."
"Come an sit with us, lass! Have a drink o' me scrumpy an you'll forget all aboot bein' here." A Scottish man patted the chair next to him enthusiastically. If I remember correctly, MG said this guy's class-name was Demoman.
"I think I'll pass on the drink, but thank you anyway." I said before taking a seat next to him. All seems to be going well so far…
"I like dis chick! I am da Scout, and I can guarantee I am fasta, stronga, and coola than all dese old men, so I recommend you hang around me! How does dat sound, toots?" The boy talking ran around the table, tripping over several chairs before claiming the one next to mine. Groans echoed in the room as he scooted his chair as close as possible to mine, practically attaching our hips together. I inched away slightly, trying to not hurt his feelings.
"Give her room, dummkopf! I apologize, ve haven't had a voman in ze team for a long time. I vill be your team Medic. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, fraulein." A German man seemingly in his early forties said. I was thankful for his fatherly scold because the Scout pouted and pulled away from me, retreating back to his seat next to the Heavy.
The men all introduced themselves, giving me their job descriptions and what they do on the battlefield. The Medic explained that he carried a machine known as a Medigun around which can heal someone in an instant (depending on the injury). The Pyro, who so far was my favorite, explained his love of fire to me by pulling out his flame thrower. He even let me try it out (outside of course).
The Spy I found quite disturbing, though. His presence seemed to hold a certainly high level of confidence. He greeted me in French, and offered me a cigarette. I don't like to smoke so I declined politely. As the night went on, I noticed that the Spy smoked like a train, always carrying a case of 'cancer sticks' (as I like to call them) on him. When he caught me staring at him, he would smirk in a suggestive way, giving me the chills.
Other than that, all was going well… I think I could get used to this.
A.N.: This is just an opening chapter, so please comment on how you think I've done! Criticism is welcomed, just as long as it helps me and not offends me. Thank you for reading and I'll (hopefully) see you next chapter!