"Yeah, Spah's sapped 'em sentries an' I killed their Hardhat. Headin' for the Intel now. Over!" Scout's annoying kiddy voice blared from the built-in radio in Engineer's dispenser.
My best friend, Zeke, our group's sole, 11-PhD(Or was it a Bachelor? I don't know ….. ), goggle-wearing, country-loving Engineer sat comfortably, legged crossed on top of the piece of multi-purpose metal, munching away on a bacon sandwich. This week's battle was situated in the imfamous 2fort, and Zeke had set up shop on the courtyard.
As the Pyro, I was fulfilling(Or in Heavy's words,"being kredit to teem!") my "Spychecking" aspect of my job to the letter, making sure nothing, not even a fly, and more importantly, Spies(Guess what? It rhymes! :D) touch the sentry or Zeke.
Not exactly a glorifiying task, in fact, I feel like a complete tool! Got a Sapping problem? Spy bugging your sentry? Call 1800 – 111 – SPYCHECK! I prefer burning enemy REDs to a crisp and hearing their tortured cries over babysitting an automatic machine gun on stilts any day of the week. But hell, you gotta contribute to your team, be it chasing Spies or scooping dog poop.
Out of sheer boredom, I trained my flamethrower and sprayed a short jet of fire at thin air and asked my best friend in a thousand and hundred and one miles away from civilization,"How's the sandwich?" Contrary to the other Pyros, I prefer a gas mask which allows me to speak. Sorry, sounding like Darth Vader or a severly asthmatic dude (no offense) wasn't exactly on top of my "Things-to-Do List For The Weekend".
"Mrrff … Mrff … Umpf-Hmpf." Zeke mumbled back incoherently. His mouth stuffed full of bacon, bread, cheese and a touch of lettuce, completely proving my point why sounding like Darth Vader, while terribly bad-ass, isn't a very clever option.
Zeke munched down on the snack, licked the greasy crumbs off the fingers of his left hand(he lost the glove to a RED Pyro two months ago), cleared his throat and said,"I miss corn dogs …..."
Just then, an enemy Scout whizzed by, tearing through the air like a bullet. The sentry beeped and automaticaly locked on the RED and fired a barrage of rounds. Bye-bye Sc- what-the-higga-bajeezes? He brushed off the hail of lead without so much as a scratch! BONK! The Scout was high on BONK! And he was heading to the iniviting entrance that lead to the Intelligence!
Eyes widening, I dashed forward to the entrance and stuck out the barrel of my flamethrower, pressed a green button just as the Scout entered the nozzle's range. A cushion of compressed air billowed forward from the flamethrower, knocking the lanky thin-as-a-pole guy back to ferra tirma. The BONK! Effect faded and his fate was sealed. Line, hook and sinker! A salvo of rockets from Zeke's sentry homed in on the helpless mercenary and blew him to bits, blood spraying out like the Fourth of July. Zeke whistled and chuckled,"Makin' bacon."
Life's not a video game. Death's permanent. Full stop. You don't get extra lives for Mario by inserting twenty cents into a slot. Nor is life like those "Cawll of Doodee" kiddies who pop back to life after twenty seconds. To live in the battlefield, truimphant with your head held high and wading in a pool of enemy blood, you have to rely on pure instinct, skill, your teammates, insanity and a healthy dose of luck. Lack one of those and you'll find yourself at Hade's doorstep.
The match was nearing an end, the scales of the balance tipped in our favor. Soldier had taken down the RED Heavy. Demoman had wiped out their Pyro. Sniper had delievered a round to their Medic's skull. We would be exhilirated …... had this match been half a year ago.
Builders League United was losing the war. Scores of BLU teams had been swiftly eliminated, territories that once held blue flags were replaced with crimson. Control points were captured before you can say "STAND ON THE POINT!" Intelligence was passinng through them like a sieve.
The dire thoughts were cancelled out by footesteps on the hollow wooden platform. It was Sniper. "Good day mates! Grabbin' me some bullets, them sneaky wankers are damned tootin' thick." he said, a bitter smile on his dry lips. Zeke nodded and let Sniper use the dispenser and went to fit some new rockets in his sentry.
However, I was suspicious. Four years of hunting down cunning, resourceful Spies had given me the ability to see through any poker face. For one, Sniper had come from the staircase. Strange, because he was sniping at the battlements last I checked. Also, he was licking his lips in anticipation, and he had a shifty no-good look in his eyes. My suspicions were confirmed when he pulled out a sapper.
Staring at me, he flicked it at the sentry, disabling the machine, slowly destroying it. "SPY!" I hollered, spraying a sheet of fire at the imposter as Zeke ceased fitting rockets and raced against time to repair his mechanical soulmate. The Spy's disguise burned away to a crisp, immolating the deceitful man behind the mask.
Swearing in French, the saboteur pulled out a revolver with a mother-of-pearl grip and squeezed the trigger. The round missed my shoulder by an inch and squashed itself flat on the rusting chain link fence. Grinning widely, like a wolf before pouncing on its prey, I jumped forward and let loose a steady stream of fire, the yellowy-red demons of heat engulfing the Spy.
Closing the distance, I pulled out a heavy fire axe, coated with dried blood from previous opponents and wrapped up in a coil of barbed wire for added effect, aptly dubbed 'The Axtinguisher' (I'm a genius huh?) I shoved the deadly blade right into the Spy's belly, opening a cavity as blood sprayed out in the litres. I raised my Axtinguisher again and brought it down on the Frenchman's head, splitting it in two.
Looking up, I watched as our own Scout hugged a red briefcase to his chest tightly and dashed to the Intel Room. Moments later, the Administrator shouted truimphantly,"VICTORY!"