"I'm a professional, and professionals, have standards."
Disclaimer: I do not really have a firm knowledge of how Australians speak, so I would like to apologize in advance for any discomfort my attempts at having people speak like Australians may have caused.
Anyway, I do not own Team Fortress 2 in any way, shape or form. Enjoy the show.
Two eyes scanned the Australian landscape, narrowed, focused, searching for even the most subtle of movements. Trailing the sight of his sniper along the tall, dry grass as leaves flitted in and out of his view, a bearded man sat on the lofty support of thick tree branches; watching, waiting for the slightest change.
He considered himself to the likeness of a predator. Like a viper, hunched over behind the cover of a thick blanket of leaves, he waited for the opportune moment when unsuspecting prey wandering right into his clutches before he struck. Right now, though, he was just watching to see when that moment would arrive.
The assassin often preferred this phase of his missions. The lining up the shot and pulling the trigger always came and went in the blink of an eye; a bit too quickly for his taste. Plus, he was never really fond of committing himself to calculations. It was the wait, the calm before the storm, the tense silence that weighed down the atmosphere that really got his blood pumping.
"Mundy! Come out wherever you are!"
All it took was the shrill sound of a child's voice to break the tense silence that hung in the air, as well as his concentration. With an irritated huff, the man glanced over his shoulder, searching for the source of the sound.
Standing in the middle of the field of grass were a group of three children, each of them appearing far more muscular than one would think possible for a child. To any normal person, this would certainly be a strange sight, but to someone who had spent more than a healthy amount of time in Australia would know that all Australians were naturally muscle bound. Well, most of them anyway.
"Come out," the child in the middle called out again, "I promise we won't hurt you. We just want to have a good ol' brawl."
"But won't that hurt him?" another asked. The first child, the one that the assassin would consider to be the leader of the group from the way he glared at the second, opened his mouth to reply, only to find himself unable to find a way around his point, and closed it again.
"Alright," he said, his voice slightly less confident than before, "We will hurt you, but... I mean..."
The man watched with amusement as the child struggled to find an appropriate follow up. Australians were known to incredibly strong, but they also had a tendency to be very stupid as well. They probably would have sent their civilization crashing to the ground if it weren't for this country's abundance of australium.
Then the man set his eyes to scan for the object of their search. Smaller size offered benefits of varying degrees. Out of all of them, the one he considered the most useful was that it made hiding a bit easier. Still, he was just a child, and if grown men who had spent more time training themselves in the art of stealth could not evade his sharp eyes, he was confident that he would be able to spot him.
The slight twitch of a blade of grass and the snap of wood was all he needed to tack down his position. In an instant, the man's eyes snapped onto a patch in the field of grass, where he supposed the child would be. As he watched a few blades of grass sway in an irregular way, he noted with interest that they appeared to be coming closer. Sure enough, a boy popped out of the rustling grass.
Quiet as a mouse, the boy crept over to the tree. His small hands gripped against the rough bark, patting against the trunk, his eyes wildly searching for something, anything to pull himself up against. It was obvious he was desperate to climb up the tree, but at the rate of his progress as of now, the other children would get to him soon enough if he didn't get any assistance.
"Hey kid." At the sound of a voice, the boy began to frantically look around. "Up here, in the leaves." Tilting his head upward, at first the boy couldn't see whoever was speaking. As his eyes began to focus, however, the boy managed to catch sight of the faint outline of a man sitting up in the tree.
Recognition flashed in the boy's eyes. "You?" he said, slightly stunned. "You're that American staying at my house! What are you-"
"Seeing the situation you're in right now, I'd assume you'd be more interested in how you'd be able to get up here with me, am I right?" the man drawled, shifting his weight on the branch.
The boy nodded eagerly. Moving his arm down without a sound, the man pointed to the tree trunk below him.
"First thing you want to do is wrap your limbs around the trunk," the man said, tapping the tree with a finger.
"You want me to hug the tree?" the boy asked in return.
"Do you want to get up or not?"
The boy quieted, before proceeding to wrap his arms around the tree trunk.
"Now pull your arms up a bit higher, and try to pull your legs up after, like an inchworm."
A huff escaped his lips as the boy began to pull himself up with all his might, and slowly but surely, he made progress in the climb upward. Then, someone spotted him.
"Hey, Mundy! What are you doing up there?" one of the boys shouted out. In an instant, little Mundy was thrown into a panic. He tried to increase his pace, inching up the tree faster. The light burn in his limbs did nothing to deter him as he climbed higher and higher. His hands were just inches away from the tree branches hanging above when suddenly, he slipped. His arms relinquished their grasp on the tree, and he fell backward off the tree. In an instant, the boy felt a set of wiry yet strong fingers grasp around his arm and yanked him up into the tree.
Secured on a perch high above the ground, looking down little Mundy's fear disappeared in a flash. A grin broke out on his lips, and he yelled, "Not so big now, are ya, you bloody wankers?"
"Why don't ya stop staying out of reach like a coward?" the first child yelled back, reaching out to grasp the tree with his hands and shaking it with all his might. In any other country, it would have snapped like a toothpick, but it appeared as if even the trees had adapted to the people of Australia's immense strength.
"It's not my fault you can't reach here, you just don't have the skills to get up here!" little Mundy said tauntingly. The other boy did not take this well, and he kicked the tree in rage. A low thunk was all he got in response, and with a ragged huff, he stormed off. The two other boys looked back at their quarry, hesitant to follow their leader. Eventually, they gave in and ran off in pursuit of the first boy.
As they broke after the ringleader, little Mundy couldn't help but yell, "Yeah, run away you bloody sons of-"
"Kid," the man said, silencing the child with a raised hand. "That's enough."
As the other children ran out of sight, the boy turned to the man, and he asked, "You're that American who's staying over at our house, right?"
"No use in denying that."
"What are you doing out here?" the child inquired.
"Something," the man said back in a tone that clearly stated he wanted the conversation to end there.
With a sigh, the boy slumped back. A few seconds of awkward silence passed between the two; the boy just stared off, deep in thought, as the man behind him sat in silence, completely focused on the task at hand. Eventually, the boy turned around to get a look at the assassin.
He caught sight of the rifle he held in his hands, and asked, "What are you doing with that big gun over there?"
"Hunting," was all he got in response.
"My dad says you ain't going to be able to kill anything out here with that," the boy said.
"Well, your parents can't be right all the time?" the man muttered halfheartedly, not even bothering to look up. "It ain't like they're gods or anything."
Little Mundy shot him an irritated look. Another moment of silence passed before the man finally turned back to the boy.
"Alright," he whispered, "you want to know the truth? The truth is, I'm not just any random homeless gun-wielding American." He hesitated, if not because he had begun to regret his choice, then for dramatic effect, before he said, "I'm an assassin who's been sent to Australia for a very secret mission."
"So... you're like a professional killer?"
The man looked a bit confused for a second, before he replied, "I guess you could say it that way. They're both the same thing."
Quietly, little Mundy repeated it to himself, testing how it felt rolling off his tongue. Not a moment had passed before the boy asked, "So how exactly does one become an assassin, professional killer, whatever."
"You learn from someone who's better than you, of course," the man said.
"Then could you teach me?"
At this, the man glanced at the child. "Why would you want that?"
"It looks cool." The man gave him an inquisitive look in response.
"And?"
The boy paused to rethink his next choice of words. "Well, my dad said that in the outback, you either kill or be killed, and choosing the former means beatin' the bloody pulp out of killer crocs and kangaroos," he said, "but as you can see, that is clearly not going to go anywhere, so I'd like an alternative."
A sigh escaped the older man's lips. "Alright," he said. Then he asked, "Are you sure you want to do this? Once you start, there's no going back."
"I don't plan to," little Mundy replied with a determined huff.
"The road will be hard and dangerous."
"I eat danger for breakfast," the boy said back.
"You sure?"
"No, I'm not kidding," little Mundy said with a frown. "You do know that mum's cooking could kill you if you aren't careful."
The man opened his mouth, but only hot air came out. His jaw clamped shut again, and he stroked his beard. "Well, I can't argue with that." He stuck out a hand, and little Mundy took it all too eagerly. Then he turned back to his original position.
At first, the boy thought he had turned around to fetch something for him. As seconds slipped by like water in a river, he realized that the man had just gone back to watching the grassy plain through the sight of his sniper. The boy cleared his throat, causing the assassin to turn his attention back to the child.
"Oh, you want to start now?"
Little Mundy nodded quietly.
"Well," the man said hesitantly, "The thing is, I don't really have anything for that."
The boy looked downcast upon hearing that. The man quickly added, "There is, however, one lesson I can teach you right now."
"Really?" the boy asked, brightening in an instant, "What is it?"
"A set of rules that an assassin must follow," the older man said. "A code of conduct for professional killers, in other words."
At this, the boy frowned again. "Rules? What kind of rules are there that even lawless assassins would have to follow?"
"These ain't exactly rules really," the man replied. "They're more of standards that you gotta hold yourself by."
"And I would assume you took these standards from the assassin who trained you? Like a secret code passed on through generations?"
The man shrugged, and he said, "Nah. I just made them up myself. Seeing how I'm passing them onto you, though, it could be a possibility."
"Alright. Lay 'em out to me, doc."
"One at a time, kid," the man said, patting the boy on the back. "The first rule is to be polite."
"Be polite?" Mundy asked in confusion. "Why would you want to be polite?"
"Nothing tarnishes your image as a professional than hurling insults at whoever you're going to kill," the older man replied. "Mocking someone makes you look childish and is a mighty fine waste of time."
"Yeah, but... I mean..." Mundy stammered, scrambling to find a counter-argument, "Isn't that just a human thing to do? Besides, why should I rugged assassin like, yourself and I, have to waste time worrying about something as trivial as manners instead of more useful things like learning how to kill some bloke from halfway across a thirty-meter distance."
The man replied, "Taunting people gives away your position if your quarry is still alive, taunting people while they're dead won't change anything, and it wastes time that could be spent doing more useful things and could get you killed."
Little Mundy paused for a moment, letting this new information sink in. His childish mind hastily assembled the pieces together, and only when the older man saw a look of understanding pass through the boy's eyes did he soften his expression to the smallest degree.
"So I'm assuming that insulting those other kids won't be acceptable in the future," Mundy asked.
"You got that right," the man said with a nod.
Once again, the pair fell into silence, the only sound being the soft rustling of leaves brushing past their ears. Slowly, the man turned his attention back to his weapon, his aged eyes trained on the sight. Then, the boy behind him spoke again.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"No," the man responded, an irritated huff in his voice, "but I'll teach you the rest in due time. There's no need to rush everything along now, is there?"
Again, the boy silenced himself. Wind swept through the leaves, combing through their hair as the two of them sat in the lightweight air of tranquillity. Little Mundy idly swept his eyes through the grassy plain that lay below, his mind spinning with the thought that he was now on the path to becoming an assassin.
Then the assassin brought up the most peculiar topic. "Besides," he said, his voice just as indifferent as before, "If you're going to insult them, it'd be best not to insult their parents, lest they happen to catch wind of your words and take unkindly to your remarks."
"I thought you said-"
"Well, you can't expect me to follow my own rules all the time. Everyone does a little rule breaking every now and then; more so that with their own rules from what I've seen."
Backstory time: The first time I read through the Naked and the Dead, after Team Fortress' sniper kills Team Classic's sniper, when he calls him a sadist, I thought there might have been some sort of deeper connection between the two as I didn't really think the other sniper acted like a sadist. So I decided to write about that.
Upon several rereadings of Issue #6, however, I realized that I was, in fact, an idiot, and had forgotten about the small print that came before and after the Classic Sniper's death that showed him as a sadist. But I decided to write this story anyway because the Classic mercs don't get enough love no one seems interested in writing anything about them.
(Actually, they all acted like jerks in the comics, I wouldn't think anyone would think they deserved any love at all)
