This is basically a project I'm doing, to try and capture the personalities of all the characters of TF2 by stripping them of their high-tech weapons and putting them in a survival situation. Also, I don't normally like writing accents, but wanted to give the reader a taste of who was speaking without constantly identifying them. I promise more action in later chapters, for now I'm just setting the stage. Please review. If you like, then I'll upload another chapter.
"Is he alive?" A voice asked, right above Tony's head.
"Ze Scout is breathing, dumkopf." The unmistakeable voice of the Medic replied. "Of course he is alive. Ze question is whether or not he is going to wake up."
The other man huffed. "Well, what are we to do now?" It was the Engineer. Tony opened one heavy eyelid the tiniest bit, and was immediately overloaded with blinding images. He opened the other eye, squinting in the bright light.
He was outside, that much was certain. He could feel sand beneath him; he was lying on the ground, perhaps on a beach. He could hear seagulls in the distance and, nearby, waves lapping against the shore.
"Vell, ve haf two choices." The Medic replied, "Vait for zem to come to, or find some civilization."
"My vote's on the second one!" A gruff voice piped up – the Soldier. "Fortunes of war, maggots! Some are lucky, while others. . . aren't."
"We can't just leave them for dead! Have some bloody compassion!" This voice belonged to the Sniper.
"In ze Medical field, zhere is no room for compassion."
"Look, he's coming to."
Tony had opened his eyes, having slightly adjusted to the surrounding brightness, and propped himself into a sitting position. He saw his four comrades standing over him – the Medic, holding his bone saw, the Soldier with his shotgun, the Engineer, sitting on his toolbox with his wrench on his shoulder, and the Sniper, apparently unarmed.
"Willkommen to ze land of ze living." The Medic said.
"Thanks," Tony, better known as the Scout, replied. He looked around at their surroundings. They were on a beach, with sand stretching to the left and right. Behind him was a vast ocean, and there was a forest a couple hundred yards ahead of him. He could see boxes, uniforms, and other various flotsam on the beach, and immediately it was clear to him that they had shipwrecked.
He was startled by a groan, immediately to his right. He stepped away from the source of the sound; a one-eyed man wearing an eye-patch. The Demoman.
"Bloody 'ell." The Scotsman muttered, rubbing his head with his hand. "I'll never drink again." He looked up at the five men surrounding him, and then his eyes suddenly widened, as he took in the island scenery around them. "Whot in the..."
"Ship crashed, mate." The Sniper replied, holding out a hand. The Demoman took it, and the Sniper pulled him to his feet. The Sniper then pointed out to the water. The Demo and the Scout turned around. About four hundred yards out, a small transport boat was gnarled up on some rocks.
"It was that storm, last night!" The Engineer explained. "I couldn't control the ship..."
"Everybody was unconscious," The Sniper added. "We... tried to save as many as we could."
The Scout and the Demoman looked around. The Heavy lay nearby, propped up against a large rock. Sasha rested beside him. The Scout turned to the Medic. "Is he...?"
"Not quite." The Medic replied. "If only I had my Medigun..."
The Demoman started walking toward a nearby, wooden crate. With a loud cry, he kicked it. The crate shattered, revealing his grenade launcher. He picked it up, and immediately started loading grenades from his belt.
"Where in th' hell are we?" He asked.
"We don't know," The Engineer replied. "I tried to catch some radio transmissions from Spectre," he gestured to a small, homemade radio that rested on a nearby crate. "But didn't get anything, which means the storm must've blown us off course."
"How far off course?" The Scout asked. "We're still on the right island, right? I-I mean, we aren't stuck in the middle of nowhere. . ."
"That's what we want to find out," The Engineer replied. "We need to know what to do with our large friend, however."
"We were hoping that it was him who came back to life, and you who stayed down – no offense." The Sniper told the Scout. "At least you'd be easier to transport."
The Engineer took off his hard hat, and wiped his bald head. The heat was scorching. "One way or another, we have to find some food, and some shelter. I doubt we're going to come across any hotels around here."
The Soldier had crossed the beach, walking toward the forest. He was stopped in front of the trees, staring ahead. The Sniper, breaking off from the others, moved to join him.
"What're you thinking?" He whispered to the large American.
"I think we have a team of sissy maggots." The Soldier replied, less quietly. "You and me know the wilderness – we know nature. I don't want to leave the group, but I also don't want to die of heat stroke on some god forsaken beach. I say we head inland. If they want to follow, so be it. Otherwise, they can starve."
The Sniper glanced back at the others – Two urbanized Americans, a doctor and a drunkard Scot. The Scout still had his weapons strapped to him, and the Demoman had his grenade launcher, but the other two were almost completely unarmed.
"We can't leave the Heavy," The Sniper whispered. "He's saved us many times in the past."
"If he dies, he dies." The Soldier replied. "If he comes to... he can survive in the wild. He has a better chance than all of those other maggots combined! Former Red Army, well-armed, with a killer's head on his shoulders. He's a survivor."
"We've already lost two men." The Sniper muttered, shaking his head. "We don't even know what's out there. It's not just the wilderness I'm afraid of. This whole Spectre business has unnerved me from the start. We were planning on infiltrating a nearly airtight scientific facility, a challenging enough task back when we were a full unit. Now the Pyro and the Spy are dead – need I remind you that the Spy was instrumental for our entry – and our most powerful weapons have been lost!"
The Soldier mulled over this information for a minute.
"I'm waiting for the Heavy," The Sniper said. "At least until tomorrow morning. We're going to need everything we have, so I suggest you stay as well." With that, the Sniper turned to join the crowd. The Engineer was still sitting, while the Scout was lying in the sand, his hat covering his face. The Medic was crouched over the Heavy, and the Demo was knee deep in the water, apparently relieving himself.
"What's the verdict?" The Engineer asked, gesturing over to the Soldier.
"He wants to go," The Sniper replied.
"Big surprise," The Scout mumbled from under his cap. "He was gonna leave me for dead a few minutes ago!"
"He's never believed in making friends," The Engineer said with a nod.
"He perceives himself as a woodsman," The Sniper muttered, sitting down on a crate near the others. "Bloody Yank wouldn't know a tree if it was falling on him – no offense."
The Engineer shrugged. "I'd have to agree with you. The man's a legend... in his own mind. I doubt he could last a day in the forest. You, on the other hand..."
"I've spent my entire life in the Outback," The Sniper admitted. "I still have my Kukri. I could fashion a bow and some arrows, if I had to. Soldier believes that Spectre's on this island, though."
"I haven't gotten any radio signals!" The Engineer protested.
"Just because zhere are no signals," The Medic piped up from behind them, startling all three men, "Doesn't mean zhere is no base. Dead men can't send signals out." He turned, and went back to the Heavy. The cryptic message gave the other three men chills.
The Demoman returned to the beach. "It's gettin' late, lads!" He exclaimed. "Does anyone have anything to eat?"
"He's right," The Scout replied, rising to a sitting position. "I'm starving!"
"I'll find a sharp stick," The Sniper said, "and spear us some fish. Engi, Scout, gather some firewood. These crates are probably too wet to do us any good."
Everybody snapped to action as the sun slowly receded. The Sniper waded into the ocean, up to his waist, spear in hand. Behind him, the Scout, Engineer and Demoman were bent over a stack of firewood.
"I wish the Pyro were here," The Scout grumbled, as the Engineer tried to ignite some soggy matches. "He could get this fire going in no time!"
"He'd have this god damn forest up in no time, too!" The Engineer grumbled. "That man is a stark raving lunatic!"
The Demoman looked up from his work, glancing at the Sniper. The Aussie plunged his spear into the ocean, pulling out a fish barely larger than a sardine. He grunted in frustration.
The Demoman waded into the water beside the Sniper, as the latter stabbed into the water once again. "Blast!" The Sniper cursed, pulling his spear back out of the water. "Bloody, drunken Scot!" He cursed, "You're scaring all the fish away!"
The Demoman glanced over at the Sniper, and then raised his grenade launcher and fired. The red grenade flew out of the weapon, skipping once on the water, before sinking below the waves. The Demoman grabbed the Sniper by the shoulder, forcefully turning him away from the grenade.
There was a muffled explosion, and water spewed out into the air in a massive spout. "YAH, THAT'S THE WAY YA DO IT!" The Demoman cheered triumphantly, as fish parts surfaced all around the pair. The Sniper reached out, grabbing the disembodied tailfin of a fish. "I suppose you want us to eat around the shrapnel, you blundering idiot?"
The Demoman reached into his belt, pulling out a half-empty whiskey bottle. He raised it in a toast, and then took a swill. The Sniper sighed, and walked further down the coast, to fish undisturbed.
Two hours later, all six of them were sitting around a small campfire.
"This is a disgrace!" The Soldier said as he gnawed on the tattered remains of a fish. "I've eaten war rations bigger than this!"
"Thank your lucky stars zat our obese friend isn't awake yet!" The Medic added, glaring at the Sniper and Demoman. "Or it would have been you roasting on zat fire!" He gestured to the flames, and the scant offering of food upon them.
"I believe that this is the least of our problems right now." The Engineer replied, taking off his hard hat and rubbing his forehead. He glanced back at the Heavy, who still lay propped up on the rock behind them. "We can't just stay here forever, and wait for him to wake up."
"That's what I like to hear!" The Soldier piped up. "Action! We need to get moving!"
"And what if this island's deserted?" The Scout asked.
"The question you should be asking, boy," The Engineer replied, replacing the hardhat on his head. "Is 'what do we do if it isn't'? We aren't in friendly territory, in case you've forgotten."
"Quite the contrary, mate." The Sniper added. "Spectre is one of the most well-guarded technological facilities there are. The experiments that they carry out there are both fantastic, and horrifying, to say the least."
"But it's our job to get that Intelligence!" The Soldier stated, pounding his fist into his palm. "And whether or not Spectre is on this rock, we will find it!"
The Scout gaped. "Wait a sec... you aren't seriously planning on falling through with this mission, are you?"
"Come tomorrow morning, I'm heading inland." The Soldier replied. "If any of you maggots had half a brain, you'd follow." He rose to his feet, grabbing his shotgun. "Any who refuse will be reported to our superiors, declared traitors, and hunted down like dogs! Good night!" With that, the Soldier stepped into the darkness surrounding the fire. The Sniper squinted into the darkness, watching the man as he found a place to sleep amongst the debris from the ship.
"I say we follow him." The Engineer said to the others.
"Vhat? Have you no compassion?" The Medic cried, gesturing to the Heavy.
"Who're you to talk to me about compassion, boy?" The Engineer demanded. "I've seen you disembowel, dismember and disfigure more living people in any given week than my sentries kill in a month!"
"Zat is of no consequence," The Medic replied with a glare. "Zat man over there has saved my life more times zen I care to think about!"
"Bah!" The Engineer scoffed, trudging away from the fire.
"That's all on your head, mate." The Sniper told the Medic. "I can't just sit on my hump day in and day out, hoping for something to happen before I starve to death." With that, the Sniper rose, and walked over to his own sleeping area, a soft mat of grass where he had lay down leafs and bamboo shoots. He put his hat over his head, and didn't make another sound.
"I 'gree!" The Demoman slurred, overturning a bottle of whiskey and watching as nothing dripped out. "Ah'm empty! How'm I supposed to work sober?" He rose, and left.
"Vhat about you, child?" The Medic demanded, turning his sights on the Scout. The boy glanced uncomfortably at the fire, and then back at the Medic. His stomach rumbled audibly. He hung his head, and got up from the fire.
"Bah! Schweine!" The Medic called to anyone who would listen, ignoring his hunger pangs as he stared at the fire, and thought about his situation.
