Must-read notes:
1. I do not own the characters except for the OC's, like the main character Trevor, Mason, etc. All other characters and the universe belong to Ninja Kiwi.
2. This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so although reviews are appreciated, please be nice to me and read note 4.
3. Some characters and elements may be OTT (Over The Top) or OOC (Out of Character).
4. There may be swearing, graphic violence, and lemons. If some of the content offends you, I'm sorry, but I'm not hurting anyone in real life, nor do I condone it. This is my fanfiction, so I have the power to write whatever I want. That's great, I love that power. However, unlike fellow author PizzaCatDavid, who inspired me to start writing on my own, I won't be putting warnings before each chapter. In my opinion, I think they're redundant when there's already one right here, and ratings exist for a reason.
5. Sadly my monkey brain (haha, get it? Cause this is Bloons, and there are monkeys? Yeah okay...) decided to dream this idea right at the end of my two-week mid-year vacation, so with school taking up most of my time, I can't promise that I'll update frequently. I'm just dipping my toes and seeing how everything goes. That rhymes!
6. With all of this out of the way, I hope you enjoy the story.
I woke up instantly, without even rolling my eyes. It was 5:30 AM. The sun wasn't even up, but with this particular job, you gotta be ready at all times. I already had my black sniper headgear and camo green armor on. After doing my routine of brushing my teeth, eating cereal for breakfast, and making sure everything in my room was organized, I grabbed my rifle and went to my bike. And off I went, towards duty.
My name is Trevor Castle. I am 17 years old and have below average height and size. I am an aspiring sniper monkey dedicated to achieving hero status, just like monkeys like Quincy, Etienne, Benjamin, etc. My weapon of choice is a Dragunov SVU-A, a battle rifle that normally shoots a rimmed rifle cartridge of 7.62x54mmR. It's from Russian origin and this special variant is capable of selective fire, allowing me to switch to burst fire and full-auto to be more versatile and adjust to different situations as necessary.
I suffer from a condition that has been both a curse and a blessing throughout my life, but mostly a curse during my early life: autism. This is why I went through so much detail describing my rifle; it's a symptom. I like to learn as much as possible about a topic and talk about it a lot. On top of that, I usually fidget a lot, don't like people touching me too much, and have a lot of trouble communicating. Whenever someone asks me something, it normally takes me a few seconds to say a full response, and eye contact is difficult for me when I haven't known someone for a long time. Finally, I get easily stressed whenever I get scolded. My hands start fidgeting rapidly, it takes me even longer to respond, and I get on the verge of crying.
This all makes it seem like I'm the least qualified individual known to monkeys to be in the military. However, Captain Churchill, my mentor, helped me so much that I can't thank him enough. He taught me most of what I know about bloons, strategy, sniping, the works. Plus, my strongest motivation was my big brother. His name was Mason Castle, a sniper monkey himself, and the only one who loved me. Yes, not even my own father cared about me, and ever since I was born, my mother lived like a victim.
I still remember the horror I lived when I was young. I wouldn't wish it upon even the worst of my enemies.
...
When I walked home, bullies would start attacking me even when I wasn't in school. I can still remember their words:
"You don't belong here!" one of them said.
They would push me until I fell to the ground, while I would silently whine, like a kid watching his parents fight.
"You're such an excuse of a monkey," said another.
"Listen to me, and let it be clear to you. You will never belong here. No one will love you. You're a freak, and the world will be a better place without you!" said another, presumably the leader. I didn't care who it was, it hurt. And besides, my head was bleeding from the fall, though this was nowhere near fatal.
"STOP! I'M CALLING THE POLICE! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I SHOOT YOUR DICKS!"
That was my brother running towards me, and to make his message clear, he grabbed his rifle and shot three times to the air. He was 10 years older than me, and because he was what people call "normal," he rose through the ranks and was accepted rather quickly. The bullies ran away as fast as they could, fearing for their lives. Serves them right, though.
"Are you okay? Are you okay, Trevor?" he said in a panicking tone. He looked at my head injury. "Oh man, that looks bad! Hold on, I'm gonna disinfect that before it gets worse."
I attentively watched as Mason grabbed his military med-kit. He was spraying alcohol on a towel.
"S-Sh-Shouldn't you...save that? What if...you get hurt by...the b-bloons?" I said.
"I hate seeing you like this. Right now, you need this more than I do," he said as he wiped the blood off my forehead. "Little bro, you can't let them beat you up like this. When are you going to find real, actual friends? You need that."
"I don't need friends," I said. "I only need you."
Despite his concern for me, what I said was true. Since being autistic meant isolating myself was common, the rare times I "interacted" with any people were when I was bullied. Because I was so little, their words really stuck into my head. Who would want to be friends with someone like me? It's better to stay on the safe side and be alongside someone you know loves you for who you are. I was never a natural risk-taker.
There was a long silence, and a tear fell down Mason's face. What I said clearly got to him. He hugged me tightly, and I returned it. He was the only person I allowed to touch and get close to me at the time.
The rest of the walk home I was accompanied by Mason. The walk was silent, but I didn't mind. All I wanted was to be by his side. He would protect me no matter what.
...
When I was home, everyone was usually silent. My father harvested from our personal banana farm, and we ate silently. Bananas are my favorite food, but there's something about their taste that I really don't like when it's my father who harvests them. Mom, Mason, and me didn't dare say a word, since he turned into one of the most violent men to ever live since they heard the news of my condition.
"Say Dada."
I raised my face, but still didn't look at him or say anything. I was too scared to even breathe in his presence.
"Hey, didn't you hear me? I said say Dada," he repeated.
I started trembling. His voice sounded like he was going to explode any minute. All I could muster was a single "D...d" sound.
"What? So you can't even address your father now? What the fuck is wrong with you!? YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE!" he shouted. He threw my plate to the floor, smashing it into pieces. Startled, my tail had a mind of its own and grabbed the top of the tree decoration. I climbed it up as quickly as I could, and I kept looking away. Tears were building up in my eyes. I softly beat my chest with my fist and silently whined again. All I wanted was to be loved, not attacked. My father was in full attack mode, screaming, kicking, and throwing every curse he could think of at me, and it took both Mason and Mom to restrain him. All the while, I didn't move a muscle. He slapped Mom away, knocking her into the floor, a big red mark showing up on her cheek.
I don't remember how the rest of the night went, but I think it's best that I don't. My childhood home was utter hell unless it was just me and Mason.
...
A few years later, when I turned 10, I suddenly had the urge to go through the thick jungle. Anything to leave the house. The bananas I grabbed tasted so good, way better than eating something from my father. I occasionally looked around me to check if I was alone, and after a while, I found a private open space. It was a big, square, green field with a set of shooting targets on one side and a few banana bunches sitting on logs on the other. Way down the end, there were tables full of weapons, primarily sniper rifles, and lots and lots of ammo. As I walked around to study the place a bit more, I quickly realized that this could belong to someone, so I spent most of the time hiding behind the targets, staying as low as possible so any bullets fired wouldn't hit me. Thankfully, my small size made this easier.
I felt someone touch my back, which startled me, but after seeing it was Mason, my body calmed down fast.
"Hey Trevor. I didn't see you back home, so I went out to find you and here you are. Looks like you finally found my firing range," he told me. "I'm guessing you explored it all, so what do you say about seeing me practice?"
I nodded, and he helped me up. I climbed one of the trees as he grabbed his rifle and picked up some ammo from the table. He loaded up the clip, climbed up the tree right next to mine, and took aim. I followed the rifle to the target it was aiming, then looked back at Mason. He was silent all the while, with utmost concentration on his precision and keeping the gun steady. He then wrapped his finger around the trigger...and pulled it. The shot was extremely loud, and I felt my heart skip a beat. If it weren't for my tail, I would probably have fallen from the tree already and hurt a knee. I was able to regain my balance, however, and slid down. I walked over to the target and I was impressed. Mason hit a bullseye!
"That was great, huh? You wanna try?" he asked as he extended his rifle toward me. Yeah, the sound was scary, but I couldn't help being strangely interested in this. I nervously took the rifle. Mason also lent me some earplugs since he noticed I was alarmed by the gunshot sound. He spent the rest of the day instructing me on how to hold the rifle, aim properly, shoot, and how to improve my accuracy. Accuracy was surprisingly something I was good at. Most of my shots were millimeters near the bullseye, and I hit it about 3 or 4 times total. At the end of it all, I never felt happier or had so much fun in my early years than then.
"That...was fun," I said as we were walking home. "Thank you...so much big bro."
"Anytime. You know I will always be there for you," Mason replied. He put his arm around me, which I gladly allowed.
...
Present Day.
I stopped the bike and looked at the building in front of me. This is where I would train from now on, hopefully: Monkeyopolis Army Headquarters. I parked my bike nearby, and before I stepped in, I reached to my back and grabbed my rifle. Earlier, before coming here, I pasted a small photo of me and Mason on each side of the grip. Looking at one of them, I softly said:
"I'm here, Mason. I'm here."
And that's it for the first chapter! Again, I don't know when I'll write the next chapter, since my monkey brain decided to get creative right before the time of the year where I'm so busy. It may take only a few days, it may take months, I don't know. We'll see, but hopefully it's soon. I don't wanna keep a schedule because I don't wanna feel pressured. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you later!