Scout strolled into the BLU base, grinning and full of himself. He was talking to the Heavy, but he might as well have been talking to a Russian wall for all the response he was getting.
"And so I said to HIM, birds fly, sun shines, grass grows, and brotha… I HURT people! HAHAHAHA"
Looking up, Scout hopped up and down, bursting with pride at his witty rhetoric.
Heavy felt as though he had to say something, but he hadn't really been listening. Scout talked too fast and loud for the formidable bear of a man.
"Very good, Scout. Scout is clever."
"I know! Tell me about it! Wait, no, because I already know. YEAH. Yo wassup?"
Tavish DeGroot, the resident demolitions expert passed them on the stairs. He didn't stop to chat, mainly because he was falling head first down the afore-mentioned stairs, but also because he was extremely intoxicated.
"Ah gotha raman tae gurbluturrr" He managed to get out before ending his trajectory at the bottom of the dusty stairs.
"Cheers buddy!" Scout said, taking the drunken mumbling as high praise.
The two blue-clad mercenaries entered the recreation room, one dragging a 2 lb. titanium bat, the other cradling a 90-pound minigun affectionately.
"Welp, nice talkin' to ya bud!" Spouted the obnoxious Bostonian, before prancing out the room. On the way he bashed in a few imaginary RED heads with his weapon, crowing "BOINK" with every swing.
"Goodnight Sasha. Sleep well. Don't let bedbugs chew. Haha!"
Heavy enjoyed being alone; it made a change from all the fighting. He was a man of simple tastes. Big guns, sandwiches, and boxing. "Da." He thought, as he tucked up his large gun. "Life. It is good."
He wandered into the little cubicle he called home, pressed the light switch on with one sausage sized finger, and sat down on his specially reinforced bed. No ordinary bed would take the large man's weight.
Two hours later, all the lights were out.
Heavy dreamed of a Russian woman back home, forgotten from many years of fighting, only alive in his subconscious mind.
The Soldier dreamt of Nazis and planes, eagles and robots.
The Demoman lay in a stupor next to his bed, contemplating the meaning of his very existence.
The Sniper took a piss. From his bed. Years of peeing into jars gives you exceptional aim, and he managed to direct it straight into the Scout's half empty can of Bonk! Atomic Punch.
The Scout twitched side to side, dreaming of the perfect dispenser placement point.
The Spy dreamt he was flying. Flying far away with a lady he loved. If you were listening, you would have heard him mumble "Petite Chou-fleur" before smiling and turning over.
The Medic had nightmares in which he sewed Archimedes into different Merc's bodies.
The Engineer slept under the stars in the warm dustbowl. He had the familiar beep… beep… beep… of a small gun to keep him company.
The Pyro had no dreams. The Pyro stayed awake. The Pyro cried, and no-one heard.