So here I am after fifty bajillion years of not writing fanfics. This one is going to be rather long, as I have several parts brainstormed, but not concretely planned. I want to have fun with this story; plot holes will probably abound. Suggestions, reviews, and pointing out obvious mistakes are love.

In this story, much of TF2's quirks are kept alive. However, in this they are aware of the fact that this is, in fact, a television show. Contracts are given out in one-year terms, but you can sign on for several of them for a larger pay. For now, none of their names will be revealed, but eventually, I promise c:

Also, there will be gay. Eventually. You have been warned.

Newbie

Hours after leaving his family behind in Boston, a lanky young man in a blue t-shirt and brown pants sat in the same seat as he had the entire journey, a bag as new as the scratchy clothes on his back at his tennis shoe clad feet. Staring down at his shiny dogtags, he played with them absentmindedly. Truth be told, if this were for any other occasion, he'd be bouncing around the boxcar, talking the ear off of the only other passenger left on the train. Instead he was reduced to fidgeting idly, mind occasionally snapping back to his mother's tearful goodbye and the source of an unfamiliar ache in his chest. He wasn't used to being away from his family, or even his hometown for that matter, so this - this was a new experience altogether. But it was for good pay, and there was no real risk. That line in his contract about fatalities had been some legal junk, after all. Right?

The conductor's voice broke him out of his reverie, announcing in an oddly happy tone that they had arrived at the final destination. With a sigh he stood, failing to notice a red laser ambling along behind him as he stooped to first sling his bag over his shoulder and then pick up his blue baseball cap. Resting the item haphazardly on top of his light brown hair, he got off the train, smiling at the scenery.

A river divided the landscape in front of him in half, coming from over a cliff several hundred feet tall and tumbling down into a basin. Three crossings stood in the path of the stream's moderate flow, two of them makeshift and falling apart at the seams. While much of the rest of the crater was covered in leaf and needle covered trees, blocking his view, he could still see two buildings - one red and one blue - in the distance, the top few floors all that were visible over the treetops. Other than a different coat of paint, he really couldn't see many differences between the two, but he just shook his head, stepping forward.

"This ain't so bad," he murmured, starting down the trail. Just before the path dipped down from the station to the treeline, however, he heard a distant crack. Before he even had time to process what had happened his hat was swept off his head in a rush of wind. Quickly grabbing it, he shoved it back on his head - only to yelp in surprise when his fingers found not one but two holes through the material. Two seconds off the train and he'd nearly been killed. Perfect.

Realizing that standing around was probably not a good idea, the newest recruit of the BLU team, Crater division jogged down the beaten dirt path, only noting slightly that it was meandering off to the left. Deciding now was a good a time as any to switch his headset on, he slipped it over his ear.

"Doktor, Pyro is being mean again," someone - his voice deep with an obvious Russian accent - whined over his headset.

"Now, Herr Pyro, be nice. Heafy, you haff to start sticking up for yourself, alright?" scolded a German man gently. The next several words came out incredibly garbled and the young man blinked, taking his headset off to inspect it. When a third legible person talked - or, rather, yelled - he was very glad that he had done so.

"QUIET DOWN YOU MAGGOTS, THIS LINE IS FOR BATTLE USE ONLY, SO IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE LITTLE GIRLS RUNNING TO MOMMY DO IT ON YOUR OWN DIME," he hollered. Several tinny sounds followed in short, rapid succession, and the Bostonian thought it best to turn off the device. He'd have plenty of time to get deafened later. Three years' worth of time, at least.

Half an hour later, the BLU Scout had slowed to a walk, looking around curiously. He'd come across a meadow or two already, and he was honestly starting to wonder if he was going in circles because it was taking him so long to get to the fort. Sure, it's not like he could see any defining characteristics - a tree's a tree and a rock's a rock to a city boy - but it was starting to occur to him that either a, he was lost; or b, this place was so huge that it was going to be an absolute bitch to find anything. While both prospects were unappealing, he had to admit that they could possibly both be true right about now. But only possibly. After wandering around a few hours more, he cursed, kicking at a nearby tree - and looking incredibly surprised when the trunk simply caved in.

That was when he heard the buzzing.

It only took a few moments for his brain to register that the sticky mess coating his shoe was honey, and another second passed before a sting to his leg made him spring into action, running full-speed to get away from the swarm. Jumping onto the trunk of a downed tree, he easily leaped up onto the mossy embankment overhead. However, what he hadn't anticipated was there being a very, very steep drop not two feet from where he landed. Unable to skid to a stop due to his speed or jump due to his footing, he instead simply fell, cracking his head on the way down. Dazed, he could barely make out what was up and what was down as his brain processed something - hitting anything, even the water at the bottom of this ravine, was not good from such a height. Even if he didn't die on impact, he'd get knocked out, meaning he would drown. His clear blue eyes slipped shut as his head fell back, barely able to hold onto consciousness as it was as the wind whipped at his hair, tearing at his clothing and sending his cap downstream ahead of him.

Ted's never gonna let me live this down … killed without even stepping on the field … Hell, none of 'em are … he thought. Just as quickly, however, he realized with a jolt that he wouldn't be able to hear their teasing. He'd never hear them again. You can't hear or see or touch or smell or taste anything when you're dead.

The sudden spike of adrenaline at this realization gave him the resolve to grab out at a rapidly approaching branch, his arm snapping as easily as a twig. Biting back a scream, he only barely noticed that the branch, while scraping the crap out of him as well as breaking his arm, had slowed him down. Unfortunately for him it wasn't by enough for him to stay conscious.

The first thing Scout realized upon waking up was that he hurt all over. The second thing he noticed - a thing that made him appreciate the first thing - was that he was alive. However, he very nearly had a heart attack as the red and black blob hovering over him solidified into an alien in a spacesuit.

Screaming, he bolted upright, injuries forgotten as he scrambled away from the creature, falling face-first into a shallow stream of water. Spluttering, he quickly stood on shaky legs, stopping when it dawned on him that the creature was laughing at him. Turning abruptly, he went over to the faintly human-shaped thing and punched it in the nose. It quickly grabbed at its face, making exclamations of pain and shouting, voice muffled, "Whrt wrs zt fr?"

" … huh?" he asked blankly. Suddenly he was aware of some more laughing from the other bank not ten feet away. Turning with a glare, he saw a motley crew gathered there, their attire matching his in colour. Blinking in confusion, he looked back at the poor person he had socked square in the face, looking sheepish.

"Look, buddy, I dint mean no harm -"

The wind was abruptly knocked out of him as the RED Pyro punched him in the face just as he had, though with a tad more skill. Tumbling back, he somehow skidded all the way to his team's side of the map, only able to recover for a moment before his belongings were tossed over, hitting him square in the stomach. Gasping and wheezing, he could only barely hear the Pyro muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "asshole" before turning and leaving.

After a moment of getting his bearings, Scout got to his feet, wincing as his arm shot a twinge of pain directly to the base of his skull. When he looked down at it he was surprised to realize that it wasn't broken any more. In fact, all that remained were a few scratches and several bruises littered all over his body. Turning around in a slow circle in an attempt to look himself over, he completely forgot about the others until one of them - a man wearing a hardhat - coughed into his closed fist. Blinking, Scout looked at them, a small grin spreading across his face.

"Heya, fellas. How's it goin'?"