"ALERT. A RED SPY IS IN THE BASE."
"A RED spy is in the base!" Yelled the Soldier, just in case nobody had heard the ear shattering announcement. He then jumped into the air, and at the height of his arc fired one of his few remaining rockets at the floor below him. It would have been a text book rocket jump, if he wasn't on 2 HP. A bit of soldier hit the Sniper in the face.
"Crap!" Respawn was disorientating every time it happened, but at least you weren't dead. It worked so that every molecule in the unfortunate Merc's body was cloned. It was replicated down to the last electrical impulse in your brain, right until you died. Every time you respawned you could remember everything that had happened right up until you exploded into little giblets. To the subject, respawn happened instantly, however in reality the whole process of duplication takes about 15 seconds, giving your team a distinct disadvantage for that time period.
With the most patriotic scream he could muster, the soldier picked up his weapons and charged out of the supply room, heading for the intelligence. On his way the Pyro passed, outrunning the helmeted man easily, even with his full body asbestos lined suit and heavy flamethrower. The Soldier stopped to catch his breath, and called after the masked merc.
"Go get that God damn Frenchy! Make that French fry!"
No, the humour wasn't intentional. The soldier didn't have enough brain cells left to comprehend humour. The only joke he knew went something along the lines of-
"Knock knock"
"Who's there"
"A robot! Beep boop!"
"A robot wh-"
"DON'T BE RIDICULOUS. I AM NOT A ROBOT. I AM A MAN."
The soldier wasn't the most popular of the mercs at mealtimes to say the least. At least the Pyro could hold a spoon properly instead of interrogating it on its country of origin until the soup had gone cold.
Back in the battle, the walkie talkies all the mercs had attached to their ears was suddenly graced by the Soldier's dulcet tones giving the mercs an update of the Pyro going to get the spy. A mumble of acknowledgement followed from most.
The Pyro ran on, shifting the weight of the flamethrower in gloved hands. A rasp of breathing created a steady rhythm in time with the heavy clump clump of large, soot-stained boots.
"Gotcha, ya bloody fruit shop owner…" It was a good day to be the Sniper. He was in the zone, in which nothing mattered but the heads of his opponents. He scanned the map, and noticed the blue shirt of his team mate- the Scout.
Scout was buzzing. Literally. The amount of caffeine he had consumed today was five times the amount any insane person would drink. He could see sounds. He skipped from rooftop to ledge, humming along to the music he had instead of the whining of his teammates. He paused a moment to survey the carnage he had left, and was distracted from his happy reverie by a scream of pain. It sounded like the Australian. He glanced up, and saw a gloved hand- Sniper's- flop out of the window clutching a kukri. He heard the malevolent chuckle of a man who had just done a good job. He knew his next target. RED spy had it coming.
"Eighty percent! Jawohl!"
"Da! Good work doktor!"
The inseparable duo slowly made their way across the rotting bridge. Planks creaked beneath the combined weight, and the Medic glanced down nervously.
A knife that enters more than ten centimetres into anyone's body is one intending to do damage. The Medic died from internal bleeding and a collapsed lung. He died almost instantly.
"Medic?"
"I'm afraid not."
A bullet to the head is also effective.
"THEY HAVE CAPTURED OUR INTELLIGENCE."
"Dag nab it"
Today had started so well for the mild mannered Texan who these days just went by the title "The Engineer", but things had started to fall apart, and it felt as though they were just one man down the entire time. Nobody had eagerly been protecting his sentry nest from the damn French man, nobody had separated the enemy Medic from his ubercharged teammates, nobody had been there to instantly distinguish fires.
Someone needed to talk to that Pyro.
