AN~ Here's another prompt from my Sniper prompt collection. This one is from a close friend and I want to make it amazing. Hope you like it. :)
PROMPT: Sniper has to make a VERY tough choice that effects his life and the team rather drasticly. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. (Mid-MvM)
Also, if you want to leave a prompt, PM me, send me a message over steam, PM me on DeviantART, or even scream at me in the reviews. I'll see it one way or another. I can make it happen. No, it DOES NOT have to be about Sniper or TF2 at all. Feel free to suggest anything that isn't in bad taste.
His hand re-adjusted on the barrel of his rifle, finger's numb from rushed reloads, hour after hour. Unlike real men, robots didn't let up and fighting them never got easier. Men can learn and adjust their stratagy, sure, but a robot could adapt in a way that makes a merc's skills null and void unless re-worked. THAT was what wore them out. Men could only do so much. Centuries of advancements only proved that machines were sure to replace man in many aspects of life. It was bound to happen and fighting it made it no less evident, but Sniper would sure as hell delay it, for the sake of his job, at least. He NEEDED the money.
His eye focused down the sight and lined up the cross-hair with the metalic dome of a giant-heavy bot. It was damaged to a considerable degree, making his job a little easier. He'd never been more thankful for Soldier in his life. The red-dot lit up with a slight whine before he took a breath and pulled the trigger. There was a split second of thunder before the bullet met its mark and blasted the inner workings of the robots head across the battle-field. A fine kill, if he was dane to say so. Satasfying enough, at least. The robot was a bane, too. They hated the enormous things. Expecting more, the bushman shot his sight up to the mobile base nestled into the crook of the hills beyond... But the door began to close and treads roll back in a retreat. They were done... If the visuals weren't enough to ensure said fact, the administrator came over the intercom per-usual and proclaimed the Mercs' temporary victory. He could relax... They could all relax...For now...
He ran his palms over his face, an exasperated sigh escaping his clenched jaws. His steel eyes locked on the horizon beyond once more, the entire scene keeping a yellow-tint via his aviators. The ominous clouds loomed above the land, but never gave a drop of rain. They came and went so slowly... Seemingly there forever, like every day after Mann Co. fell. His life was so... drawn out now. It was so dark and monotonous, yet he bore with it, and for what? Some money? Not even a paycheck anymore. His income from the day's activities could range from hundreds of dollars to only a couple cents, the ladder being too frequent for him to justify himself anymore. Maybe it wasn't the money, at that point. Maybe there was something else. If so, he was blind to it. Money kept him working, money kept him alive. Money was his security and gave him hope that he had something better on the horizon. Retirement in luxury, maybe? A better hobby? A better JOB? He walked through the doors that opened for him. Mann Co.'s door had been opulent, wonderful in appearance, something that promised to hold his future... but now... Well... it was an empty room. What more could he do? For now, he could only return to their temporary accommodations and rest for as long as work allowed.
Sniper strode into the make-shift resupply and into the depths of the factory beyond two glass doors far past their prime. There were few actual rooms below, but the team found that the old offices served best for sleeping. Beds were void from the space and they made do with whatever of their belongings remained. Sniper had slept in worse. He made it to an empty office, far from the complaints of his co-workers, and nestled himself into a corner of the back wall, every one of which being a back-wash baby blue, almost grey. He removed his vest and folded it as compact as he could, then dropped his hat over his face before resting the back of his head on the recently folded clothing item. Sleep came easy after such a grueling day. Being revived many times over was no help, either. The process still worried him, honestly. It made him sick, as well. Medic assured the side-effect was nothing to qualm over, but the man wasn't stable. No one could trust most of his judgement.
His sleep was dreamless... A simple abyss. wordless... thoughtless...plain and dark, yet so soothing. It was a world without problems, without worry, without consequence. He was free to just sit there and do nothing. He wanted nothing more. Nothing was a long forgotten memory, only existent in his fantasies, but that made it none the less real... none the less wonderful. All the best things were fantasy, speculation on the part of the brain... Ghost stories... Myths... dreams... All fantasy, but all beautiful, but all beautiful things had to die eventually. He awoke in what felt like no time at all to a sudden slap of cold across his face. His eyes shot open and arms coiled around his figure to stave him from the soaking wet chill of ice-water. Standing over him was the little ankle-biter... Scout. He tossed the bucket aside and made quick excuse.
"Doc said it would wake you up quicker. You're a heavy sleeper, man. The thing-y's back and we need to get movin'. Common." He was gone seconds before Sniper made it to his feet. He snatched up his belongings, vest drawing over his drenched button up and hat placed back atop his head, also wet and dripping. It was cold out. Bloody freezing now that he was wet. One of those two blokes were going to get it when this shift was up and he didn't care who. The first one to get close got a face full of knuckle. For now, he was forced to work with them, all the better if he made to indication of his emotional distress. They'd know when he socked them. Sniper emerged onto the factory grounds, astonished to see that it was sunrise... and a clear one at that. No clouds at all... It was only more foreboding. The world liked to jinx him. Still, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked to the frontal building where the rest of the mercs were setting up. Engineer already had a decent century set up along with a dispenser. A teleport would be nice, but metal was hard to come by before a wave.
Sniper grabbed a few extra rounds from the dash of the dispenser before reddening in frustration at a couple of cackles, no doubt at his expense. He turned to find that one was coming from engineer and another from Spy in passing. The Frenchman was off on his own before Sniper could snap at him. He was in NO mood today. At least engineer's was more kind-hearted. The Texan never meant to rile anyone up. "I was wonderin' what that child was doin' with that pale'a water. You feelin' alright, son?" Sniper responded with a snort.
"It's almost fifty degrees an' I'm wet. What d'you think, truckie?" There was only another amused cackle in response before the Texan returned attention to his buildings. Medic also came to the dispenser for some extra munitions and was obviously trying to ebb some response at the Aussie's condition. He wasn't very good at hiding it, especially when tired. It was a known fact that the man slept very little between bouts, usually on the ride between locations if needed. On bad weeks, some of the other mercs would try to bet as to when the German would pass out on the field. He hadn't done so yet, but at the rate he was working himself, it was a very likely possibility. If he did today, Sniper knew what to do. For the time being, however, he let Medic pass without incident, but with a parting death glare, easily read.
The administrator came over the PA. "Mann Co. is under attack!" She was slightly late at the draw, as the robots began to pour out onto the field moments later. Thus, the monotonous trudge began once again.
It was just another day, like yesterday, the day before, and even tomorrow. The fact that time was blending together began to worry him, even more than his thoughts of Mann Co. in recent days. All he did was fight and fight without any end. Sure, it had been like that before, but fighting men was different than fighting machines. He was just about sick of it. Sniper carried himself into the re-supply and back into the offices, the rifle slung over his shoulder seemingly heavier than usual. His eyes normally kept to the floor out of habit in the bush, but for some reason, they were drawn to the walls around him... grey... soulless... Then, he saw something rather odd. It was Miss Pauling, the Administrator's assistant. The raven-haired girl was talking with a pair of men in matching suits and bowler hats. One had a lighter complexion than the other and some strands of black hair poking out from the brim of his cap. They spoke quietly, hand movements giving indication that the chat wasn't entirely pleasant. After quite a while, Miss Pauling pinched the bridge of her nose and gave the men a signle to 'Wait here.' She turned to walk off but stopped only feet away. She looked him dead in the fact, lips becoming a thin line as she motioned him over.
Sniper swallowed and did as was requested. Miss Pauling stood by his side and put a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. "Sniper, these men are here to see you. They won't tell me why."
"And It will stay that way," said the older one, turning his gaze to Sniper. "Mister Mundy, we'd like a word with you in private if you'll allow." Sniper began to teeter on his heels, spine going ridged. Miss Pauling must have felt it because her posture mirrored his. He managed to speak, however.
"Not too long, gents. No tellin' when I migh be needed 'gain."
"Of course. Please, come with us." They lead him back into the old over-seer offices of the factory and locked the door behind them. They took care to draw the tattered curtains and check the room for any opening or breaches. Sniper simply sat on pins and needles in a rolling office chair, waiting for whatever these men wanted from him. Finally, when they seemed satisfied, they stood before him with proper postures, hands behind their backs and faces stone and serious. "Mister Mundy, before we begin, we need you to comply with us. You are not to speak of this conversation with anyone for the rest of your life, no matter the circumstances. Are we clear?" The voice was steely and cold, something Sniper only remembered in Spy when the Frenchman was especially angry. He swallowed again.
"Aye, Sirs..." He wrung his hands to the point of them becoming blood red.
"Alright. Mister Mundy, we are representatives of the WNPKS; World Nations Peace Keeping Society. We work with nations around the world to help them deal with problems out of their control. Basically, we are hired to do the things other countries cannot and our loyalties lie with whoever is dane to hire us. Our abilities lie in many different forms, all of which are useful to maintaining as much world peace as we can manages after the war. We want to hire you." Sniper's gut tightened and his knuckles went pale white. The man's voice lowered. "We want you to be an Assassin for the organization." It dropped. His heart was below the depths of hell and he felt like if his grip got any tighter, he'd break his own hand.
"You want me to be a political assassin?"
"In latent terms, yes. A man of your skill set is very hard to come by. Mann Co.'s interest in you only peaked our own. These past two years, we've watched you and seen what you can do. You are a gifted man with that rifle. Instead of defending a... a hat company, we wanted to use your skills for a more meaningful outlet, one that can possibly better the world. Are you interested?"
Sniper steadied his breathing, trying not to grip his hand so hard. Could this be his new door? He had begun to hate working for Mann Co. and any better paying way out would leave him bounding off in a heart-beat, but... Political Assassination? Was that really better then being a mercinary? At least he didn't have to hide the fact that he WAS a killer while working for Mann Co. Still, this was repectible work, something to be proud of, even if the pride was something he had to keep to himself. It would pay better, that's for sure... But... He'd be at more risk than ever... Out there... in the real world... if he died, he died for good... There was no being revived, no brushing his death off with little care... There was reality. He'd gotten so used to the cushion of safety associated with revival that he'd never paid heed to the qualms of a mortal man. Could he really re-adjust to life outside again?
"I... I dunno..."
"Mister Mundy, this is a chance few people ever get... Fewer accept. We need someone like you and, from the looks of things, you need us, too. We can give you a life better than you have now, more money, political immunity. You can't be prosecuted if ever caught thanks to our world relations. At the very least, think about it."
Sniper nodded. "Aye. I'll sleep on it."
Sniper entered the small area that the team had set aside for meals. There were four of them there at the moment; Engineer, Spy, Demo, and scout. The Aussie had blown off his vendetta against the kid for now. He had worse problems to worry about. Engineer must have seen his thousand-yard-stare and patted his upper arm. "Hey, son, ya'll feelin' alright? You look like a ghost." The bushman nodded, not turning to look at him.
"We saw those suits talkin' to ya'," added Scout. "What they want?"
'Damn... I was hopin' they wouldn't ask...' Sniper sighed, looking around the small room at his co-workers. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together casually. "They... They offered me a job..." Spy cocked an eye-brow.
"What kind of 'job'?" he asked.
"Oh..." It took him only a second to think. "A military job. They wanted me to be part of their reserve in case of another war."
"Well, ain't that somethin'. What'cha say?"
"I told 'em I'd think 'bout it. Not sure I'm really a man for soldierin'. Being a Merc is one thing. Bein' a soldier is new grounds. I might consider it when I'm done with Mann Co." Few words were tossed around involving the matter, but the subject was eventually dropped. The men continued their meals... except spy... He stared at Sniper, eyes searching for something. It was unnerving, his expressionless mug chilling as ever. His steel eyes distant, yet focused. He was thinking... about him. That was never a good sign. The only times he ever thought about his team mates to this extent, something bad was in view, but only to Spy as the man could be introverted at the WORST times. In spite of this, however, the bushman was dane to finish his meal and retreat to the next empty room for another siesta. He didn't honestly need it, but he'd take what he could get. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything better to do. Taking pot-shots at cans was his old goto, but with ammunition sparse, he had to make sacrifices. In time, he found a void office and happily settled down on the floor in a similar manner to the previous evening, his vest a pillow and hat a mask from the flickering lights above. The tranquility didn't last long.
"Bushman." the stark voice broke through the silence as its owner kicked one of Sniper's lanky legs. The Aussie lifted his hat and looked Spy dead in the face, eyes hidden behind the sun-set hues of his aviators. He merely grunted before falling back down onto his 'cot.' "I would like to speak with you, bushman," the smaller man continued.
"Aye? 'bout wot?"
"About that job offer. Come with me." He made only a slight finger gesture in the know that Sniper had seen it before exiting the room. Sniper himself was bitter at the thought and his heart began to beat a mile a minute. He couldn't tell anyone... No matter how good at keeping secrets they were. Besides, the rogue would find out eventually. He didn't need Sniper telling him. Reguardless, the Aussie stood, leaving his items on the floor as he walked close on spy's heels. The Frenchman lead him outside and onto the battle-grounds, going into the upper floor of an abandoned mill-like shack. There was a set of windows outlooking the near-by mountains in a more flattering way than most spots on the property, but a shit barn was a shit barn. Spy turned on his heels, hands behind his back in that normal suave stature of his. He his glare bore deep into the Aussie's own, almost causing the man to look away, had his pride allowed it. "I can tell when you lie through your teeth, mon ami. There is little you can keep from me so I advise that you give me the entire truth and makes this easier on the both of us." He crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame, trying to look relaxed, but Sniper could see through it like clean glass.
"Nah, mate. No can do. You'll find out on yer own at some point. 'Sides, when have you ever made it easy on me? I don't see the need to extend the kindness." Spy shook his head.
"Mon ami, you are playing a dangerous game."
"As are you," Sniper leaned closer, intentionally looming over the shorter man in an attempt at a feral dominance. Spy was never an easy man to conquer and, as expected, he refused to kneel. He simply glared back, stare unwavering. "There are some things you just aren't meant to know 'bout people, spook." Perhaps reasoning would work. "If I ain't told you yet, you ain't meant to know." Spy's brown arched.
"Why would you tell me in the first place?"
"Cos' I know you'll find out eventually. You always do. There's no real point in keepin' secrets from you, but If I dun say nothin' 'bout this one, when you find out, I ain't liable."
"Liable... Have you been blackmailed, tireur isolé?"
Sniper's hands flopped down to his sides, a half shrug off his shoulders. "Kinda like that. I jus' can't give ya' any specifics. They'll take me head."
"Hmm..." Spy grabbed his chin with his left hand and balanced the elbow on his right which wa wrapped about his thin frame. He paced pack and forth, expression considering and blank; not even a scowl that usually accompanied his pondering. "It was secretive... Valuable... You were sent a correspondence in private with two sharply dressed men... Were they American?" Sniper nodded. "American... coming to recruit an Australian... curieux... Il n'y a que quelques-uns ..." His head shot up, eyes meeting the sunset of Sniper's aviators. "It was political, wasn't it? Something they want in the 'need to know.'"
Sniper shrugged. "Can't say nothin' mate. You could be right." He gave his nose a scratch while extending his thumb.
"Ce n'est pas bien..." the statement was mumbled and unintelligible to Sniper who only rolled his shoulders and walked to the pannel of windows. Below them lay a severely marked-up area of the battle-grounds. Rocket-marks and blood stained it as though someone's appendage was forced into an industrial fan. Oddly enough, these were caused by Medic, a usually careful man in the heat of battle. He knew how much he was needed and often took to special tactics to keep himself alive for as long as possible. The fact that he had been decimated in such a way made Sniper's insides churn. "Do you... think this will be better than Mann Co.?" The question was out of the blue, causing the Aussie's spine to go ridged. He tilted his head, refusing to look at the other man.
"Maybe... Maybe not... It'd be steady pay, at the very least. It might even lead somewhere. Mann Co., sadly 'nuff, ain't goin' nowhere. It's a dead-end, a cliff into a canyon 'a lava. I can't see meself havin' a future in this, or one at all if days like this keep up." There was a long period of silence. Sniper guessed it was consideration on Spy's behalf. When he spoke again, his voice was hardly a whisper.
"So... you are going to accept, yes?"
"I wanna... Sounds promisn'." Spy stood beside him and leaned his back against the window.
"Yes, but many horrible things can be wrapped in beautiful packages. This kind of work, bushman... It is not what you are used to. You have killed men, yes, but you have killed men who would also kill you. What they are having you do is kill men who do not see it coming and have no means of defense. They are the basic definition of a 'bystander.' Bushman, I know little of you, but I know enough so that this could not sound like you. You like a challenge. You are a man of sport and fair sport, at that. I would not loathe your absense, but I would pitty your life. Tout ce qui brille n'est pas d'or."
Spy had been gone for almost an hour and Sniper hadn't stopped staring into the hills. His mind was racing, taking all the Frenchman had said. It was so odd... One moment he was getting at his throat and the next he was playing it Gandhi, trying to offer some advice as though he knew the Australian like a brother. They were from opposing ends of the character pool, that was certain, making them opposing forces by nature... Something they both apt to get past when needed... was it needed then? Sniper'd admit that Spy was a very intelligent man... Could he honestly see something Sniper couldn't? Probably. Were the newly sewn seeds of doubt that needy of attention? The possibility in that was also un-ignorable.
Spy had an undeniable point: Sniper was a man of sport. Shooting some politicians because he paycheck demanded it? That wasn't sport. That was murder.