Yeah, so
I drew Sniper as a turtle
Chapter Three – Take Cover, Civvies
~SMALL CITY (THREE)~
The Engineer had literally dragged Pyro and Scout out of their box fort and half way across the department store. In the ten seconds it had been in Scout's possession, the shopping list had vanished to Administrator-knows-where. Engy decided they'd go find chairs first, seeing as the mercs got through those quickest of all.
"Right, you two," Engy dumped the pair of offense classes on the floor, "Y'all are gonna CALMY and CAREFULLY test chairs."
Now, to the majority of rational people, testing chairs meant 'place rear end on them'. Not to these REDs. They were testing durability.
What Engy was asking for was for them to check maybe the legs of the chairs, give 'em a wee kick maybe. Maybe just lean back further than would be considered normal. Maybe.
So when he looked back he wasn't expecting the sight that seared his eyes.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS EXPLOSIVE AND AWESOME ARE YOU DOIN'?"
Somehow, Scout and Pyro had set up no less than four hundred chairs in the shape of a racetrack. And they were flying around it. Literally.
Confused beyond belief, Engy consulted Teddy Roosebelt, who watched on from his ammo belt. A few seconds of discussion later, the RED grabbed the Pyrovision Goggles from his inventory and put them on.
He immediately regretted it.
Pyro was riding Balloonicorn and Scout Reindoonicorn around the track, little Balloondoonicorn scampering behind them. They flew low as well, so the chairs they bashed into were thoroughly tested.
Rainbows burst from everything involved and all was truly wonderful.
Until the manager showed up.
~TOWN (SEVEN)~
Soldier, Sniper and Demo had just reached the appliance shop, when someone oddly familiar approached them.
"HEY YOU." He said, pointing at Sniper. This, children, was very rude of him. He shouldn't have done that. Dick.
"Yeahhhh?" Sniper garbled drunkenly, regardless. He turned to face the guy he was addressing. It's only polite to do that, see. The guy was tall. Really damn tall, and built like Heavy 2.0.
He quickly got right in Sniper's face.
"Remember me?" he asked darkly.
"Nope!" Sniper replied cheerfully. "Are you flexing…?"
"NO, I am NOT." The guy insisted, flexing. "But I remember you. You're the bloke who gave me lemonade. WHICH WASN'T LEMONADE."
Oh, I knew those Dare Games would come back to haunt them.
"And then you threw that kid at my face."
"We never did find out how Scout survived that," Demo mused. The three mercs stared at the sky for a moment, wondering. The guy had to cough for attention. Having already forgotten he was there, Sniper looked at him again.
"'ello. Can I help ya?"
In answer, the man went ahead and attempted to punch poor Snipey. But the marksman was a mercenary. A battle-hardened, cold-blooded mercenary.
So he and Demo dodged by running away screaming.
Soldier facepalmed. Now he'd have to take care of this himself. But the patriot was a mercenary. A rocket-enthusiastic, crazed-gunman of a mercenary.
So he gave the guy a roundhouse kick. In the lower regions.
Sniper and Demoman abruptly reappeared, high fived (several times, because the drunk men kept missing) and the trio of REDs finally made their way into the shop.
~CITY (ONE)~
"OH GOTT. OH GOTT."
"ARGHHHH!"
"… This is oddly amusing."
Medic and Heavy continued to yell in horror as the suddenly-freed Spy chuckled on the sidelines. Heavy was trapped in the automatic door, which had somehow closed over his head so he was suspended upside down. The defence class flailed. It wasn't very effective.
"MEDIC! MEDIC! DOCTOR!" Heavy shrieked in an oddly feminine voice, "WHAT DO I DO?"
"I HAVE NO IDEA!" Medic threw both arms up, "UM. DON'T MOVE." He took several paces back, ignoring the snickering Spy. "Vhat I'm going to do is punch you, ja?"
"Okay. Wait. WHAT?"
Medic raised a fist in preparation, a morbid smile dominating his expression. Surely, this plan had no flaws, he thought, starting his sprint. After all, how hard could it be to punch a man free of a door?
Spy was in hysterics mere moments later.
Medic had triggered the censor on the door when he charged, opening it, but he was going too fast to stop. Heavy flopped to the ground, Medic tripped over his head and flew into the shop with all the grace of a dead robot on wheels. Seconds after, the door closed once again on Heavy's skull.
Spy took a moment (and some pictures with his camera beard) to regain his composure, then sauntered up to the door.
"Gentlemen," he called smugly, bringing out his sapper. "Allow me."
In the next eight seconds the RED would learn the hard way not to sap automatic doors.
~SMALL CITY (THREE), PYROLAND~
Whoo. That man sure sounded angry. Pyro wondered what the matter was, because he was shouting rather loudly.
Distracted, the pyromaniac fell off Balloonicorn and tumbled into a stack of chairs, knocking them all over. The merc emerged, miraculously unharmed, from the pastel-coloured pile of wood and walked casually toward the man, who was now screaming at poor Engy.
Pyro smiled though, pulling out the rainblower. It knew how to make eeeeeverything better.
~REALITY~
"AND HOW DID YOU EVEN SET UP THIS MANY CHAIRS SO QUICKLY!?" the manager certainly hadn't let up any, "GET OUT OF THE SHOP OR- OH GOD I'M ON FIRE!"
The Engineer, still a little bothered by all the yelling, confirmed that, yes, the guy was on fire. The merc peeked curiously behind them to see Pyro. The offense class giggled contentedly, waving its flame thrower back and forth.
"Well thanks Pyro," Engy gave it a thumbs up, "But ya best airblast 'im now…"
Pyro obliged, having forgotten that the airblast was set to Overload, which totally exists and was not added for this story. Either way the manager hit the back wall.
"RED TEAM AWAY!" Scout shouted, suddenly swooping in on Reindoonicorn and grabbing both of his teammates. They flew majestically toward the table section, leaving the semi-conscious-but-at-least-not-on-fire manager behind.
~TOWN (SEVEN)~
"Right, ladies," Soldier stood straight, arms akimbo, as he surveyed the shop, "One of you tell me what exactly appliances actually are."
"A domestic electrical machine," Sniper said robotically, looking over his specs for dramatic emphasis. Then he belched and walked off.
"…I'm never making him drink again," the Demoman stated, having returned to his usual bearable state of drunkenness. Soldier patted his shoulder in agreement before following the support class to the section marked 'Kitchen Appliances'.
People, innocent civvies, wisely scarpered when they saw the three mercenaries heading their way. They really need to start hiding their grenades… There's probably a hat for that.
HA HA. HAT for that, like- yeah, okay.
Well. Sniper whipped a shopping trolley out of nowhere and waited for the others to catch up. The moment they did, he hopped on the back wheels and insisted on being pushed.
"Wheee," he mumbled happily when Soldier complied, the offense class selecting a blender at random and chucking it in the cart.
Cart. Like the payload. Soldier blanched.
It- it was in his nature! He had to stop the cart from reaching the final terminus!
"FOR AMERICAAAA!"
~CITY (ONE)~
"… How did ve get here?" Medic blinked in confusion, finding himself, Heavy and Spy standing in the centre of the giant-shop-that-sells-everything. A quick glance at his teammates made him suspect they had somehow sustained incredibly bad burns. Honestly he wasn't too sure how they were alive.
"Does not matter!" Heavy proclaimed, apparently unaware smoke was rising from his body, "Time for shopping!"
Spy meanwhile had some kind of flashback and shuddered, shying away from a pyramid of cans. Using his best summoning cry of 'Mentlegen!' he led his fellow REDs away from there to anywhere the heck else. The whole payment thing occurred to him at that moment, but he figured it would be more fun to not point it out just yet.
Instead, the Frenchman set his mind to deciding which kinds of food the base needed, seeing as Sandviches were pretty much the only things available these days. And Heavy got territorial of them more often than not.
So that left the Spy two options: numéro un; get some nice edible stuff for the purposes of a healthy, balanced diet, or numéro deux; get assorted rubbish, just for the kicks.
"Well," the support class mused aloud, "it has to be the latter."
He flounced off to what could only be described as the processed food aisle, Medic and Heavy trustingly following after. The two-support-one-defence classes also scared everybody off unintentionally, those darn meddling kids. Then again, since the mace-to-the-face, that was probably a good thing.
BUT THEN.
"Hang on a second- I recognise you!"
Ooh, I totally forgot; I don't own TF2! Praise Valve :D
Another cliffhanger! Muahaha!
Anyway, thanks so much for reading! You guys rule! :)
