The Guardian

Hey! It's me again! In case you didn't know, Bohemian (at the risk of gross oversimplification) basically means outsider, nonconformist, or misfit. The odd one out.

Once again, none of these characters are owned by me, except for Mr. Guardian here. They all belong to Valve.

Thanks for your reviews again!

Warning! This chapter contains mild profanity (a-word) and references to the more severe profanity (f-word) and stuff. Not for the weak of heart.

He had woken up at the crack of dawn. Being used to kill missions, he figured that this wouldn't be as different. As he trundled down the hallway that contained everyone's sleeping quarters, smiling at the thought of being the only one awake. Also being a punctual man, he already was dressed in his uniform - with a strange circle emblem on one shoulder of the red uniform that showed an eye in the center of it.

The armor was heavy, though. Oof.

He rubbed his eyes and took a quick trip to the bathroom. After he finished his business, he glanced at himself in the mirror.

Not bad.

He walked into the kitchen, making as if to make breakfast for everyone, when he skid to a stop. Slowly, he turned his head to find the Demoman passed out on the couch. For a second he thought that the Scot was watching him, but on further inspection, it became clear that the Demoman had passed out with his eyes open and a bottle of scrumpy in his hand.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he began rifling through the refrigerator. It would have been pretty creepy, he admitted, to see the Scot stand up and talk to him. He still had mixed feelings about drunk men, after what his father had done. No, don't think about that. Bad. Father is the F-word, dude.

He began to make a breakfast classic, scrambled eggs and bacon. As the sizzling sound of frying filled the air and the delicious smell of bacon followed it, he was startled to hear someone talking.

"'Ahm gonna take ya down to the pain train station in train town…"

It was only the Demoman, drunkenly sleeptalking.

Huh.

"yer arse's arse and… 'Ahm the grass man, punk ya havin'..."

He turned around and dished the delicious meal out onto plates and set the table. He almost dropped one when he heard a shot fired from a shotgun, the sound drifting in from the window.

Slowly, he climbed over to the window and peeked out. To his immense surprise, the soldier was standing next to a row of heads on a fence. It was truly a gruesome fight. They seemed to be his own teammate's heads!

I never pegged Soldier for a traitor… He then realized that one of the heads, whose blue helmet had fallen off, was wearing a blue headband. Blue team? I mean, BLU team? How… Why does that look exactly like our team's Scout? It's uncanny…!

The Soldier seemed to be monologuing to the heads… perhaps a drill? I guess everyone to his own…

He walked back to the plates, but was interrupted by a drunken hello from the recently-unconscious Demoman.

"Ey, lad… what's that smell?"

"Huh? Oh… um, I was making breakfast."

"God dammit, it betta not be on my pan…"

Holy crap. Demo's pan? What?

Surprisingly fast for a drunken man, he lumbered over to the stove, where he pulled the frying pan off it and dunked it in the pile of dirty dishes.

"Ya bloody idiot, thaht's mah melee!"

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"Ach, I betta cut ya some slack anyways. Yer the newbie, right?"

"Yeah. Can I make it up to you?"

The one-eyed man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Ya could wash that pile of dishes."

So ten minutes later, as everyone sat down to enjoy their meal (except for the Pyro, who took his plate to his quarters), he was washing plates. Demoman, Soldier, and Scout ran by, dunked their plates into the pile of dishes, with various thanks.

"Thanks, G!"

"Thanks, mate!"

"GOOD JOB, MAGGOT!"

Sniper and Spy walked by, dumping their plates in as well.

"Merci, mon ami."

"Thanks, wanker!"

Medic, Heavy, and Engineer walked over and before he could yell at them mentally, they washed their own plates. "I reckon you got enough on your hands."

"Da."

He raised an eyebrow and nodded at them in thanks, cleaning the pan (finally) and placing it back in the scrumpy cabinet. Before Engie was about to leave, he reached over and grabbed his overalls.

"Guh! Oh, Guard. Whatcha want?"

"Um, well, I saw Soldier's heads."

The Texan visible shuddered. "Heck yes, I remember when I first saw them. Nearly lost mah lunch."

"Um, well, why are the heads… you know, ours?"

Engineer looked around nervously. "Well, I reckon you'd better come in here."

He dragged him into his quarters, adorned with many small trinkets and mechanical knick-knacks.

"Listen, pal, don't ask those kinda questions 'round here. They're always listenin' to our talk and if they don't like it… well, let's jus' say you might wanna be afraid. But here's the truth. Ya know how they put that genetic thingy in ya?"

He nodded.

"Well, apparently they use it to clone ya. I know, I know, sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Unless they can find a twin, in which case, well… unlikely."

He paled.

"But, listen here. Those things also allow ya to respawn - basically, when ya die, ya come back to life. I think that our employers want the war to continue for a long long time to come.

"Okay, ah think that's enough for now. Bye."

Unceremoniously shoved out the door, he was left to think about it himself.

That peace didn't last very long though.

After sitting in his room, pondering what had happened, an alarm blared through the rooms.

"ALERT! BLU SPY IN BASE!"

A distant sound of "Another one? Damn."

Sniper, he supposed. He dashed out of the room, weapons that he had found inside the closet in hand. A Colt of some sort, a pistol, and a strange mace of some sort. He had dubbed it Morning Star - the last thing his enemies could see. The spike on top had a red tip, and after reading the note that came with it, found that he could use it to extinguish his teammates. He also found that his armor had a passive +1 health per second regeneration rate, apparently used to heal himself and teammates in a radius. Interesting ability. But now, his mind was set on his fourth item. A radar. It sent out a pulse every now and then, and when he pulled on his helmet he could see how long its regenerative battery lasted, his health, and other things. It also amplified his strange sensing ability, allowing him to "see" his teammates' outlines through walls. And thus, he watched as "Spah's sappin' mah sentry!"

He saw the sapper… well, not saw, per se, but felt it. So, he sprinted in the direction of the intelligence room, knowing that the Engineer was not far in front of him. When he arrived, Engineer was in a deadly battle with the… Spy? Wearing a blue suit? Right, blue is bad. He brought up his Colt and tightened his finger on the trigger.

Round after round flew into the Spy, knocking him into the wall and splattering blood all over the Engineer. With a deft strike of his wrench, the Engineer smashed the Spy's head in before smacking the sapper off the sentry.

"'Preciate it."

Breathing heavily, the Guardian set down his weapon. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Engineer stare in confusion at himself.

"What the… I'm healin'."

"Oh, right. My armor does that."

The Engineer looked up gratefully. "Thanks."

He nodded and walked away…

And heard a sharp "czzzksh."

Then, he turned around and looked directly into the barrel of a revolver. A silver one, to be exact.

Bang.

He watched his health go down and tried to react, tried to move out of the way, tried to fire his weapon.

Bang.

His reflexes kicked in as soon as he felt the blood dripping onto his lip. He pulled out his gun -

Bang.

And then he was falling, through a murky darkness. He could make out images - first came the Spy, standing victoriously over his body…

The Engineer, whose shotgun had just fired, countless bullets flying into the Spy -

The Sniper, who had just entered the room, throwing a jar at the Spy -

The Pyro, who had come into the room, flames bursting from his weapon -

And suddenly darkness.

"Clear!"

Groggily, he blinked to try and clear his head of the blurriness.

"Ooh, back from zee dead!"

He faded back into unconsciousness, glad for the release.

He woke up later, in his room. His helmet had done nothing to protect him from the bullets. In fact, it seemed as if they had passed through it. He felt his head, expecting to feel a bloody hole.

He was fine.

No, he was not. He had just died.

He sat in his room for the next couple of hours, trying to get over the nausea and the feelings of death.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted. Pyro peeked into the room, tapped him on the shoulder.

"Mmph mmph mmph!"

His brain tried to work through it . Time… to… go?

"Go where?"

The Pyro stopped short, as if surprised he could understand him. "Mmphmmph."

"Dustbowl? Where's that?"

The masked man shrugged. "Mmph mph mmph mm mmph mmph mm mmphmph. Mmph mm mmph!"

"Somewhere in the middle of the desert… first battle time?"

The Pyro nodded vigorously, and gestured to the uniform he had thrown on the floor after feeling weighed down by them, and pointed at his closet.

A few minutes later, he sat in the back of a campervan, feeling a heavy weight settle in the bottom of his stomach - it felt like he'd swallowed a block of lead.

I'm doing this one battle, then I'm leaving.

I can't deal with this anymore.

No more.