In the darkness, the gates opened, creaking and flooding the tiny cabin with light. Blinded, the Heavy squinted and put his hand out to cover the saintly light. Warmth suddenly filled the cabin. A light breeze pulled in, rubbing sofrtly against the Heavy's rugged and bruised face. A cocktail of confusion and calmness brewed within the Heavy, stirring up wild feelings of curious unease. Still unaware of his location, purpose and future, he glanced around himself now that his eyes adjusted to the bright light. A dozen or so people sat on the cold metal bench on both sides, mostly young men, with their heads slumped down melancholic looks gazing into nothing. As if they were dead, they had a strange grey look to them. The light shadowed their faces, vaguely concealing their identities. None of them spoke and none of them smiled.
Lightly shaking the man next to him, the Heavy asked if he was okay.
After a slight pause, the man shifted his stare to the Heavy, who sat with a perturbed look on his face. Although he was no more than the age of 25, he looked as if he spent days without sleep. The stranger threw a dead stare at the Heavy, croaking three words.
"I'm so tired."
Stunned, the Heavy could not find the right words back. The boy stared at him for a few second longer. The Heavy saw a wound on the top of his head. He couldn't exactly tell what it was due to the shadow. The boy's face was sandy and had dried blood in places crusting off. He looked so familiar, yet distant. Quietly, the boy returned to his originally position, but this time, he started to cry. Tears glistened as they hit ground. The Heavy was still speechless.
"Stand up, son."
A strong yet friendly voice came from the opening. A tall man stood there resembling the Soldier in a lot of ways. His beard looked like the All-Father, his posture confident and contained and his eyes were obscured. The Heavy also couldn't tell the features of this man, thanks to his position, but as of now, that was the smallest concern for the Heavy. He stood up and walked towards the tall man. As he calmly approached the man, more and more features became visible. He did indeed look like the Soldier! Late 30s, seraphic pose, beard almost identical to the All-Father, but he also had a Cheater's Lament floating above his head. A peculiar choice of hats.
He pointed at the opening and smiled softly.
"Are you ready, soldier?"
Is anyone ever truly ready? The Heavy had been preparing a lifetime for this, and yet he still wasn't ready to step out into the unknown. The clouded and mysterious. He fearfully glanced at the pearly-white exit, soft as a cloud. The texture was caressing – almost inviting him to simply to not mind the jump. He glanced back at the other men, who continued to slouch over, and then back at the booming figure, how motioned politely for him to jump. Finally, the Heavy's gaze stopped at the exit. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Confidence washed over him and he jumped.
He opened his eyes only to be greeted by a dazzling sight. The sun warmly rubbed his skin and clouds looked fluffy, as if you could almost land on them and take a nap in one. The gentle light-blue sky complimented the heavenly white and peaceful atmosphere around him. He shut his eyes and cherished every moment.
Finally in flight.
"This morning you've got time for a hot, home-cooked breakfast. Delicious and piping hot in only 3 minutes!"
The Heavy opened one of his eyes groggily and looked around. He was in his home, on his old musty couch. He pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. It was 5:30 in the morning, or at least that was what his clock told, standing in the other side of the room. He had forgotten to turn of the television set the night prior, consequently leaving the TV running all night, spewing mindless advertisements for several hours. He stood up and shuffled to the TV, shutting it off. The room grew dim.
Clunkishly, the Heavy made his way to the kitchen, constantly bumping into his furniture along the way. Upon reaching his destination he splashed water on to his face from his rusting sink. His home wasn't impressive, but it was roof over his head nonetheless. For only a couple of dollars a month, it was the best deal he could find. The cool water hit face, each droplet awakening him more and more. Another heavy yawn dawned as he shut off the water. The pale morning had barely begun to peak from the horizon, but it was already time to go kill people in the badlands. Already in his working uniform, the Heavy attempted to navigate through the darkness of his home with minor success. He was too focused on what he had just seen and done. As he put his boots on, he put on a more cheerful face, masking his deep longing for sky-diving and sadness. Another day, another murder.
"Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"
The Minigun growled at the sight of enemies by the gates. A roar of anger ripped out across Goldrush as the Heavy fired at the RED team. His team rushed ahead of him, also firing their weapons at the opposing team. The REDs, not inclined to die, almost all fell back except for the red scout, who simply fell. A bullet penetrated his skull from the Minigun. One bullet, one kill. Everyone disregarding him and continued to push the cart forward.
"Faster, faster!" the Heavy thought, as he pushed the cart. So close to victory! The sun beat down upon the team, exhausting them. The RED were surely building up their last defenses in attempts to stop them from claiming victory for the day. A beam of light encased the Heavy by surprise. The Heavy turned around and saw a bleeding Medic, barely walking from the wounds in his leg and stomach. He smiled, but it was apparent he couldn't walk much more – the pain was simply too much for him. His pants were soaked in blood and his glasses were shattered, but he kept pushing forward, limping his way to his friends and teammates.
"Stop the cart!" Yelled the Heavy, "Stop it now!"
In confusion, his teammates turned around and realized why the Heavy ordered everyone to stop. The Heavy desperately searched for anything to heal the Medic. A health kit, a medpack, anything. He pulled out his sandvich and handed it to the Medic, who grunted as he pulled his hand out.
"Eat this, now!"
The Medic swallowed the sandvich down bite after bite. Surely, the wounds began to heal. A grin stretched out on the merc's faces.
"Danke, Kamerad!"
The Heavy nodded and began pushing the cart again. Everyone joined in, preparing for the final combat.
The Heavy fumbled his feet and tumbled to the ground, landing painfully on his stomach. He grimaced and tried to stand up, but with no use. He motioned for the team to go forward and finish the job without him.
But his team wasn't there.
Perplexed, the Heavy pushed himself up to see why everything suddenly became so quiet. Goldrush was empty. His teammates weren't there, his enemies weren't there. Where had everyone gone to? He stood up, to his surprise, with ease. The pain from the wall had vanished into thin air, as if it were never there in the first place. He looked around, trying to understand, but nothing made sense. Where was everyone?
"Don't be surprised."
The Heavy snapped around to find himself face-to-face with the man from his dream, bearded and friendly. Fondly smiling, the man chuckled and patted the Heavy on the shoulders, as if he knew the Heavy since childhood. The Heavy replied with the same gesture. It had been years since the Heavy felt this happy to see anyone. In fact, it had been years since the last time he simply felt this happy from anything!
"Are you ready to go sky-diving like you've always wanted to?"
The Heavy was speechless. It really was happening. His dream was becoming true! He feverishly looked around for the plane that he remembered. Surely enough, it was there, on the runway behind the chain gate past the final point. Breaking off, the Heavy ran like a child, innocently laughing at his situation. Such innocence, such happiness. The two men entered the plane and took off into the air.
A few hours later, the BLU team gathered around the Heavy, some muttering to each other, some silently peering at the body of the Heavy. The Sniper knelt beside and checked his pulse.
"Is he… dead?"
The Sniper stood up solemnly and took off his trusty hat, resisting the urge to bitterly cry.
"Rest in peace, mate. Rest in peace."
The Heavy was finally in flight.