"Aw jeez, it's so borin'!" I complained loudly. I knew I was getting on my teammates nerves, but I didn't care. It almost always gives me a kick whenever I get them angry. "We haven't seen any of 'em blue bastards in almost three days! What's a fella suppose to do 'round here for enjoyment?"

Medic grunted into his chest from behind his newspaper. It was in German or something, so I didn't bother trying to read it.

"Herr Scout, if you do not be quiet I vill perzonally vivisect you vizout putting you under first."

A deep, throaty chuckle escaped from Heavy's corner. He usually doesn't speak up and say what's going on in that bowling ball of a head of his unless it is really bothering him. I can't really say that it's because he can't easily translate his words to English, or if he's too stupid. He especially doesn't speak when he's all draped over that monster gun of his. He spends hours polishing it, maintaining its many barrels, or just admiring its metallic sheen. He's a very simple man and often finds enjoyment in Medics remarks or actions. It was an overall weird friendship.

I shut my yap for a few seconds. I knew his threat was an empty one, but with him being the only one that can heal on the go on the battlefield, he's not one you would want to piss off, or else he'll ignore your cries for help and let the respawn take care of you.

Engie also seemed to be eves dropping from his typical spot on the lousy beat up red couch. He was messing with his guitar, strumming away peacefully. That guitar got on my nerves sometimes, but it was also kind of relaxing when everyone else was quiet. His face soured when he strummed a note wrong, ruining his song.

"If yer so bored, why don't ya pick this pig sty up a bit," He said, looking up at me through his goggles. "The new recruit is s'pose to get here any minute now. We wouldn't want to look like a bunch o' slobs now."

I grumbled various complaints. At least this new guy would make it somewhat interesting for a while. Engie is the newest out of all of us, arriving only a few days ago or so. He's nice and all, but he got boring quick since he seems to spend all of his time in his workshop.

"Hey, why do I got to clean up?" I groaned. "All you lazy bastards are just sittin' around with your fingers up your asses."

Heavy uttered another grunt, this one sounding more annoyed.

"You make mess," he said slowly in his thick accent, like he was speaking to a child, "You clean up."

If there's anything I hate, it's being called out for something. My brothers would do it all the time to me so I would always be the one in trouble. I was always either being called out or being blamed, but Ma was good and telling the difference between a lie and the truth. Sometimes.

So I just kept on lying even though it was fruitless. It's a stupid thing I do.

"Aw, c'mon! All those beer bottles aren't mine! I aint even old enough to drink (though that never stopped me). And those cigs in the ash tray are definitely Snipers."

Nobody responded, or even looked up. I exhaled angrily and started picking up the bottles from the table.

The room was a real mess. The small wooden table was covered in bottles and cans of various stages of emptiness, and many more were scatted on the dusty floor. On one corner of the table, there were three cheap red plastic ashtrays, brimming with ash and burnt out buds. I didn't smoke so those definitely were the others. Not spy of course, he was always neat and took care of his litter.

In the little corner that served as a kitchen, the small sink was piled high with dirty dishes from the night before. I won't be touching that shit.

My arms filled with trash, I walked over and dumped them in the pathetically miniscule trash can that was next to the fridge, which looked like it was dragged out of a time capsule from the dinosaur age. That one trip filled the can, but I ignored it. Some other poor bastard will take care of it.

Back at the table, I noticed that one beer bottle wasn't even opened. Seriously, what the fuck. Why even take it out? "I'm surrounded by morons," I thought as I placed it back in the fridge.

"Say, what do you numbnuts know 'bout the new guy?" I asked, closing the fridge door behind me with my foot with a colder beer in my hand.

"He iz going to be our new Pyro," Medic replied while turning the page to his German newspaper. "Ozzer zan zat, not much."

I plopped down on the couch next to Engie and opened my beer. He bounced up slightly and shot me a scowl.

"I met 'em." He said, tuning his guitar to fix a note.

I instantly perked up. "What was he like? Is he an ass or somethin'?" I took a slurp from my beer.

"Naw. Didn't really say much, but was friendly enough. Had a nice conversation while waitin' fer the interview with the Administrator." He adjusted his goggles real quick with his free hand. "Seemed like they'd make a mighty fine pyro."

Engie scratched his stubbly chin with his ungloved hand, like his was lost in thought for a few seconds. That happens a lot to Hardhat. He then stood up and left the room, guitar in hand. He was probably going down to his workshop to tinker with his sentry or dildo machine or whatever he does down there.

I lounged out more on the couch now that there was more room. Taking another mouthful of my beer, I glanced at Medic and Heavy. Both still had their noses buried in what they were doing. They probably won't move for a while. This place got boring fast.

"Well since you two homos aren't doing anythin', I'll just be on my way." I said hopping off the couch. They ignored me like they always do. I downed the rest of my beer, crushed the can in my hand, and threw it in the corner. I'll pick it up later.