The Sniper had a bad feeling about today. It wasn't based on some kind of supernatural warning or animal instinct, it was just common sense. He's managed to kill that BLU Spy twice in a row during the last match, but hadn't caught so much as a sniff of his cigarettes after that. There'd been at least an hour and a half left before they were scheduled to stop fighting. Even though the BLU Scout had managed to get hold of their final briefcase just before then, there'd been plenty of time for the Spy to act. The Sniper had been sure that he'd at least show up during the humiliation round. It would have been a perfect opportunity for him to get revenge without having to worry about the Sniper fighting back. But still he hadn't shown himself.
The Sniper had spent his time waiting for the ceasefire hiding in some roof rafters, watching members of the triumphant BLU team cross below him, searching for his team. Whoever had come up with the idea for the humiliation rounds was sick, in the Sniper's opinion. It was was a horrible experience, being utterly unable to defend yourself while trained mercenaries were gleefully hunting you. He guessed it was done to give them an added incentive to win the rounds. All the same, it seemed to the Sniper to be the very worst thing about this strange, surreal place.
He made his way out of respawn at the start of the match and headed straight for a good sniping location he'd come across the day before. It had a narrow but useful view of the main bridge and was very hard to get to. You had to find your way to a particular nondescript little room, then climb onto some old broken crates in the corner and worm your way up through a little gap in the ceiling. That lead to a small landing that had once been accessible via a staircase that had collapsed in entirely at some point. Now, the Sniper's way was the only way up, as far as he knew. He thought he'd be relatively safe crouched there, taking shots through the narrow gap between two other buildings. If the Spy came after him, he was sure to hear him approach. All the Sniper had to worry about were well-aimed long-distance projectiles. The enemy Sniper might be able to get him, and the splash-damage from the Soldier could catch him, but first they'd have to spot him. The Sniper wasn't planning on letting that happen any time soon.
Still, he was anxious. He kept taking his eyes away from the scope so he could glance around the room. The Sniper kept expecting to see the shadowy figure of the BLU Spy standing behind him, no matter how often he reassured himself that he should be safe there.
He was distracted by his own worrying so often that he ended up completely missing some good opportunities to shoot members of BLU, including their Scout, who had had the RED intelligence strapped to his back at the time.
It was infuriating. The more time he spent carefully peering down the barrel of his rifle, the more chance he had of killing BLUs. But every minute spent looking down his scope only increased his paranoia. The Spy was going to want revenge. The Spy was going to attack him. He didn't know where. He didn't know when. He just knew it was going to happen. Probably soon.
He was right.
The attack come from a completely unexpected angle. Which really, was exactly what he should have expected. This was the Spy after all.
There was a small noise from the roof above him. The Sniper looked up curiously, listening intently. Had a bird landed up there, or was it something else?
It was something else.
He caught sight of a blue blur just before a pair of highly-polished shoes connected with his chest. He was thrown backwards onto the wooden floorboards with a crash, his gun flying out his hand.
The Spy followed him through neatly, having swung himself down from the roof and straight into the Sniper. He landed in a crouch and didn't even bother standing back up before he lunged for the Sniper. Though shocked by the sudden attack and winded by the fall, the RED mercenary immediately made to roll out of the way.
A hand snatched at his side and there was a harsh tug before he managed to get himself free. He scrambled back up on to his feet, feeling momentarily triumphant. He'd survived the Spy's first and second attack.
Then he saw what the Spy had in his grasp.
Instinctively, the Sniper slapped a hand against the sheaf at his belt, as though he might still find his kukri there. As though there might be two identical knives in the room. As though he might still have a weapon to defend himself with.
The Spy was the triumphant one now; smug satisfaction written on every line of his face that his mask left visible.
'Well, will you look at this...' The Spy twisted the kukri in his grip, inspecting it. From the sneer he wore, he didn't seem all that impressed by it.
'Somehow I seem to have ended up with two knives, while you have none. Now, how could that have happened, I wonder?' He flicked his butterfly knife open in his left hand.
The Sniper's eyes were darting around, looking for an escape. The way he had come in was the corner behind the Spy. There was a chance the BLU might not know it was there, but the Sniper didn't fancy his chances of reaching it. Then there was the window, that was still closer to the Spy, but not by as much. That was a straight drop down three stories or so though, and by the time he figured out how to clamber up onto the roof instead, he'd likely be sliced to shreds by the Spy. That left only the gaping hole where the stairs had once been. He risked a glance behind him, but could make out nothing down there apart from a decent drop and shards of wood sticking up from the ruins of the stairs. If he jumped down and didn't manage to kill himself doing so, he'd likely impale himself, or break something. Either way, it was unlikely he'd be able to escape the Spy. That didn't leave much in the way of options open to him.
The Spy was going to be the death of him, one way or another.
The BLU came for him. The Sniper ducked a slash from the butterfly knife, and for a moment he was inside the Spy's guard. He was about to use that to his advantage and punch the Spy in the face when something slammed into the side of his head.
The Sniper crumpled sideways onto the floor.
There was a ringing in his ears and a pain so intense that he could barely pull a single sentient thought together. He was in danger. He needed to get up. Danger.
He managed to get one arm underneath himself and made to push himself up. The whole world lurched around him and a sharp pain lanced through his head. He slumped back down again.
The Spy! I need to... I need to...
Night seemed to be falling unexpectedly fast. They should have a few more hours of light yet, shouldn't they?
The Sniper made another attempt to rise but found himself flat on his face again, with no recollection of collapsing. He could barely see now. Everything was fuzzy swimming shapes, rippling in front of him. Was he seeing the wind? No, that didn't make any sense. Why did his head feel like it had been caved in? Was that damp, sticky feeling blood? He didn't want to get blood in his hair, he'd only washed it that morning. Oh wait, that wasn't wind. It was the grain in the plank of wood beneath his face. It was all lines and faint swirls. How interesting. Why was he lying down? Why was it so dark? Didn't he have something important to do?
The Spy!
He needed to get up! He needed to-
The Sniper passed out.
The Spy stared down at the man at his feet until he was sure he'd finally stopped moving. He crouched down next to the Sniper and pulled him onto his back. He lay there, limp and unresponsive, his sunglasses crooked and his slouch hat on the dusty floor several paces away. There was a steady trickle of blood running down the side of his face from where he'd been hit. More could be found spattered across the floor from his struggle to rise, and yet more on the handle of his kukri.
It had amused the Spy to knock the Sniper unconscious with the butt of his own knife. It would have been even more amusing to slice the man to little pieces with it, but the Spy didn't want him dead. Not this time.
He sneered down at the Sniper and tore off his sunglasses, tossing them lightly away behind him. He pulled off one soft, kid leather glove and pressed his bare hand against the other man's throat. He could feel a pulse beneath his finger tips, and the gentle rise and fall of the Sniper's chest beneath his palm. Good. He was alive then.
The Spy leaned in closer and flicked a finger against the Sniper's face, just below the eye. When he'd repeated the action three times and there still wasn't as much as a twitch from the man, he pulled up one of the Sniper's eyelids. There was no resistance and the Spy let go again, but not before noticing the colour of his iris. Dark brown. He wondered why the Sniper kept his eyes covered at all times.
Having assessed that the RED was both definitely alive and thoroughly unconscious, the Spy hooked his fingers around the mercenary's jaw and gently turned the man's head to the right. With his free hand he flicked open his butterfly knife.
Now for the fun part.