Nathan blinked.
And the next thing he knew, the day was over. The fight had lasted quite a while, but, in the end, the RED team held their defences and managed to push back the opposing team. They never even began capping the final point; whenever they got close enough, it was either the RED team's sentry who blasted them out, or their Demoman, exploding sticky bombs in midair towards them, or their Sniper, raking in headshot after headshot with a wooden bow. The BLU's Spy was seen walking back towards the first spawn room when there was 30 seconds left to the fight, saying that, if he was going to be murdered with kritz powered weaponry, he'd do so while sitting down on something comfortable, with a cigarette in his mouth, rather than trying to run away like a coward. And, when Nathan's day ended by turning around a corner and being met with a rocket, an arrow flying towards his head, and a handful of bullets, all coming towards him at the same time, he wondered if he shouldn't have followed the BLU Spy back there.
The BLU team's Soldier verbally tore everyone a new asshole in the locker room, stating that they were all the reason why they lost today. Everyone was tired and angry, and no one felt like starting an argument with the Soldier, who, despite his big talk, was the one who scored the least amount of points today, preferring to shout orders and get shot rather than focus on the objective. And, even when the Soldier stood in front of the Scout and began berating him, the Scout was only pretending to pay attention. His mind, obviously, was on the meeting he agreed to, happening with Richard. What was he planning? Hopefully, it wasn't another visit to that diner again. The food had been pretty good, but the heartburn he felt afterwards, on his way back home, completely ruined the experience for him. Richard promised to give back the briefcase if the two of them met, but could he really trust the sneaky bastard?
Eventually, everyone left the changing rooms, wishing each other a good evening and telling each other that there was always going to be tomorrow. They were all heading towards the teleporter room, except for the Sniper, whose home was parked outside. Nathan pretended he needed a trip to the washroom, and, when he was sure no one was around, he began heading out towards the exit of the building.
The last thing he'd need is his nosey teammates asking questions.
He stayed around the main entrance a bit, watching the camper van as its motor roared to life and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. The moment Nathan was sure no one important was watching him, he walked out into the dusty New Mexico road, scratching the back of his neck. All of his curiosity about this meeting with the Frenchman had made him forget to ask where they were supposed to meet. But, then again, Richard had left rather quickly that afternoon, so, even if he had thought of asking, the Spy probably wouldn't have heard him. So, with a shrug, Nathan turned to his right and began walking down the road, like he did yesterday.
And, just like yesterday, after Nathan had walked a small amount of distance, the roaring sound of a fancy sports car could be heard coming up the road behind him. And, like yesterday, the Spy slowed his car down and stopped it near the young Boston kid, who grumbled softly and opened the passenger door, but stayed outside. "Where's my briefcase?" he asked as a hello. The Scout had neither the time nor the patience to joke around. His mild anger only made the Frenchman chuckle.
"Please be patient, Nathan, and get in the car." He replied, in his same, calm demeanor, a lit cigarette hanging down from his lips. Curiously, Nathan checked inside the car, wondering if the briefcase was on the back seat, but, other than the suit wearing frenchman, the car was empty, and perfectly tidy. With an annoyed, bitter sounding sigh, Nathan stepped into the car and closed the door a bit more roughly than necessary. When Richard was sure the young boy buckled up, the Spy nearly floored the accelerator, going down the empty desert road at a breakneck speed and kicking up a massive cloud of dust behind him.
"So, where a'we goin' this time? Some other diner down the road?" asked Nathan with a scoff, almost unfazed by the Frenchman's drastic driving. That question made the Spy laugh. "Only if you want to, Nathan. But I had another idea in mind for you." He says, slowly turning his head towards the younger boy, a strange grin growing over his face. Suddenly, without warning, Richard violently turned the steering wheel towards the left, as if he had swerved to avoid something on the road. The car jumped off of the concrete highway and began making a path through the New Mexico desert, leaving a massive cloud of dust behind the back wheels.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where're you goin' like that?" asked Nathan, visibly both curious and nervous. However, the Spy didn't reply to his question, simply looking forward as he drove the sports car towards a large rock formation in the distance, that same, weird grin on his face. As the "rocks" came closer, Nathan would quickly realize that they were actually an old mining camp, dug into a desert mountainside and heading down. And, judging by the lack of any trucks or workers, it seemed completely abandoned. Perhaps it became too dangerous, or it ran dry of any useful minerals to dig up. Either way, the car entered through a strangely opened fence gate and stopped in front of a boarded up mine entrance. "Get out of the car, Nathan." The Spy said, doing the same and throwing his cigarette butt onto the ground as he did so. Nathan blinked, coming out of the car and looking around. The entire area was completely empty. No one anywhere.
"What're we doin' he-" he began asking, but he was interrupted as he saw Richard reach into his suit jacket and pull out something that made the boy's eyes go wide.
In the Spy's gloved hands was his black revolver, the one with the white grip. When Richard pulled out and examined the cylinder of the gun, Nathan could see that it was fully loaded.
"W-whoa, what da fuck are you doin' with that?" asked the Scout, suddenly much more nervous as the Spy looked over at him with that creepy grin still etched across his face.
"Isn't it obvious, Nathan? We're in a deserted mine camp. Alone. Nobody for miles. Hundreds of places to hide a body here. And I have a gun." He said, pulling the barrel back in and cocking his gun.
"Hey, hey, seriously, get da fuck away from me, man" said Nathan, his usual cocky attitude suddenly gone with no weapons and Respawn machine to back him up. As Richard began walking around the car, keeping his gun up, Nathan ran in a mirror to him, trying to keep the car between the two. "W-what da fuck d'you think you're doin'?! You can't kill me, Richard! S'against the rules, remember?!" He shouts fearfully.
"No, my dear Nathan. It's against the company rules of Builder's League United. Reliable Excavation and Demolition doesn't have such rules." replied the Spy as he began climbing on top of his own car, a wide grin across his face as he walked towards Nathan. The Boston kid began backing away, keeping his eyes glued on the revolver and the cruel smile behind that red mask. He was so preoccupied with those two things that he failed to notice where he was stepping, and he tripped backwards as his feet snagged on a rock. Even on the ground, he frantically tried to crawl backwards away from the Spy, who jumped down from his car and casually walked towards the fearful boy. "Wait! What about my ma?! Y-you can't kill her son!" Nathan stammered, sounding more and more desperate and scared. Richard even began wondering if Nathan was pissing himself.
"Oh, I'll take good care of her, don't worry. She'll be grieving for a while, but she won't know. In fact, no one will but me." came the reply, as the Spy raised his arm, aiming the gun down at the Scout's chest. Nathan began shouting and pleading, raising his hands up at his face, as he heard the gun go off a few times.
A growing pain hit him square in the chest. The boy buckled over, crying in pain. This was it. This was the end. He was going to die, and no one would ever know where he disappeared. He was thousands of miles away from his home, and no one but him knew about this meeting. He was done for. Nathan held onto his stomach, groaning at the pain, and began wondering for just how long he could try to hold his blood inside his body. He could hear the Spy's maniacal laughter over him.
Wait. Something wasn't right...he was shot a few times...he felt the bullets hit his body...so why was nothing fading, like back during his job? And why was his chest perfectly dry? Shouldn't there be blood everywhere?
The Scout opened his eyes and looked down curiously at his chest. There was nothing wrong. No holes, no blood, just a few bruises.
"What the...?" asked Nathan in a murmur, feeling a wave of confusion rush over his mind. Before the boy could look up and ask questions, the Spy threw a small box onto the ground, next to the Scout's legs. Feeling more curious, he grabbed the small box and brought it to his face.
It was a box of ammunitions.
On the box was written the words "Nonlethal revolver ammo. Made with rubber."
"Motherfucker!" screamed Nathan, throwing the box up at the Spy, aiming for the head, but missing by a few inches. "Ya almost gave me a fuckin' heart attack, ya idiot!" He said, quickly getting up.
"I'm terribly sorry, Nathan, but I couldn't help it!" Richard said, bent over while laughing his ass off. "The look on your face! It was...pffhahahaha!" The Spy had to hold onto his car to calm himself down a bit from his hysterical laughter. Nathan just growled furiously, waiting for Richard to calm down. He hated being pranked like this. It showed the Spy how easy it was to take him off guard. It also showed that if the Spy really did want to kill him, he could, and very easily.
"Alright, other than you provin' you're the world's biggest dickhead, what the fuck are we doin' in this dump?" Nathan scowled, as Richard's laughter slowly began to die down. Pulling out his car keys from his suit pocket, the Spy walked to the trunk of his sports car, chuckling all the while, and popped it open. As he ducked into his trunk, a lot of rattle and clanking could be heard, and Richard came back out holding a few crates of empty beer bottles. There must be at least four dozen of them in total. "Target practice." He simply says with a small smile.
"What'd you do, raid your Demoman's locker?" asked the BLU Scout, smirking a little. The alcohol intake of that Scotman was very well known on the battlefield.
"Precisely." replied Richard with a deadpan tone, putting the crates on the ground and pulling out one more crate from the trunk, this one with full, cold bottles. "Thankfully, he drinks other brands than his 'scrumpy'. I sure hope he won't miss this one crate." He said, closing his trunk and putting that crate along with the others.
"So, we gonna pop some bottles?" asked Nathan with a wide grin. This was definitely a better way to pass an afternoon than going to a crummy dinner. Plus, he could finally prove to that backstabbing little rat that he was a better shot.
"Correct. Help yourself to a drink while I set the bottles up." Richard said, taking one of the empty bottle crates and walking towards an old table found in the mine camp's rubbish. When Nathan had picked up a cold one and taken a good gulp of it, Richard had already set up a few bottles in a neat little line.
"Alright, so, what gun are we usin'? Your pathetic little pea shooter?" asked Nathan, his cocky little attitude back as quickly as it had left.
Richard chuckled softly as he walked back to his step son. "Funny. You didn't think it was a 'pathetic little pea shooter' when we came here." He called back, making the young adult pout.
"Aw, shaddup. You would've been scared too if I aimed a gun at you while you were unarmed. And what, you bought 'em rubber bullets 'cause you were scared o'me killin' ya?"
"Not exactly. I was more worried that you'd hurt yourself."
"Yeah, a'right, smartass. Pass me your gun, I'mma show you how we do it from where I'm from."
"Please do." replied the Spy, chuckling as he reloads his revolver with rubber bullets and passes it to the Scout. Nathan scoffed and grabbed the large handgun, looking it over. It definitely was heavier than his pistol, and it was a much more powerful caliber than the 9mm bullets his secondary weapon usually shot. Still, if Richard was able to shoot this with one hand, this should be a piece of cake.
"Yeah, watch the master at work!" boasted Nathan, as he raised the heavy handgun with his right hand, aiming at an empty beer bottle found on the table. When he was sure he had the bottle in his sights, he squeezed down on the trigger hard. The sudden recoil of the fired handgun made the Scout's arm swing backwards as he stumbled a bit, while the bullet missed its target by a mile.
"So that's how a Master shoots a handgun. I've been doing it wrong all this time!" exclaimed the Frenchman in a sarcastic voice.
"Shaddup! T'was just a practice shot, anyways. I got this now." Nathan raised the revolver again, aiming it at the same bottle, while holding the gun tightly. When he squeezed the trigger, the recoil made his hand flew back again, but, this time, the bullet hit the table, chipping off a small part of the wood.
"Gah! The fuck is wrong with your gun?!" asked Nathan with a groan, stretching his arm a bit to shake off the recoil.
"You're holding it wrong. Spread your legs a bit. Hold it tightly with both hands. Bend your-"
"I don't need your help! B'sides, you're able to shoot the damn thing with one hand!"
"Only after after many hours of practice, Nathan. You can't honestly expect to be able to master a weapon you've handled for the first time right away."
The Scout grumbled. As much as he hated to admit it, the Spy had a point. His brothers used to train him all the time during their younger days, when they ran along with a street gang. Since the gang was small time, and guns were hard to get by, the 8 brothers had to use melee weapons to fight other groups of boys until they all left with bloody bruises. Nathan, who wanted to try out the tactics his brothers had taught him, was always invited to join in fights happening down the street, but, because he was the youngest, he was also the slowest of the group, usually arriving at the fight near the end of it. So, with the desire to be the first in a fight, Nathan began improving his cardio, running just about everywhere he could, day in and day out. He had to train for it, and train often. All this exercise paid off in the end, because, about a year later from the day the Scout made that resolution for himself, he became the fastest kid in the neighbourhood, easily passing by all of his brothers and being the first to swing his bat at the other group.
"A'right, a'right, fine! How do we shoot this damn thing?" asked Nathan with a exasperated sigh. Richard smirked and approached the younger male, gently grabbing him and rearranging his arms, his legs, his stance, and the way he held the gun. "Like this. Keep your arms steady and at a small angle to hold back the recoil. Aim down the sight. And when you're ready, hold your breath and GENTLY squeeze on the trigger."
Nathan did as he was told, looking down the barrel of the Spy's weapon. He could see the bottle at the end, right in his crosshairs, and, slowly but surely, he pressed down on the trigger. The glass bottle shattered into many pieces as the bullet flew right into it. "Yes, exactly like that! Do it again!" exclaimed Richard with a large smile. Nathan happily obliged and aimed the gun at another bottle. This time, the bottle simply flew off the table as the rubber bullet smashed against it. Nathan did the same for two other bottles, taking about 10 seconds per bottle, until the revolver's barrel was completely empty.
"Nicely done, mon fils! You see, all you needed was the proper stance." said the Spy, as he walked back to the table, placing more bottles upright for the two of them to shoot.
"Ha, yeah, I'mma natural at this! Probably did better than your first time, huh?" replied the Scout in his usual smug attitude, trying to spin the gun on his finger like he usually does with his pistol, which only made the heavier firearm fall to the desert ground.
"Never be cocky, my dear Nathan. That is the sign of an amateur" said the Spy, picking up his weapon and dusting it off softly with his black gloves.
"Yeah, look who's talkin'. How many times have you told everyone how much 'better' y'are?"
"I never brag, Nathan. I simply state facts!" replied Richard with a large smirk on his face as he pulled out the barrel of the handgun and began refilling it with rubber bullets. When the handgun was fully reloaded, the Spy closed the barrel, and took one look at the bottles on the table. Then, with a smile, the masked man turned and stared at Nathan as he raised the hand holding his revolver and fired all 6 shots in different directions without looking.
6 bottles were completely shattered when Richard looked back at the table.
"...that doesn't prove nothin'." replied Nathan, after closing his gaping mouth. "I'd prob'ly be able to do that too if I had enough practice."
"Fair enough. I admit it took me many tries before I was able to pull this little trick off flawlessly. Well, then, my dear Nathan, would you please place some more bottles up while I reload my weapon? If you believe practice is all you need, then let's practice." replied the Spy as he took out another cigarette and placed it to his lips with a soft chuckle.
"You bet, fancy pants! I'll show you what I can do!" the Scout called out with a smirk as he grabbed the case of empty alcohol bottles and brought it over to the table.
And so, for the next hour, Nathan and Richard both took turns shooting down each row of bottles with the revolver, either shattering them right on the table, or knocking them off of the table. Thanks to the rubber bullets, they were a lot less careful than they would be with live ammunition, which was a very good thing, considering that both Richard and Nathan drank their fair share of the cold, full beer bottles that the Spy brought along. While the Scout managed to shoot down an average of three bottles per 6 bullets, the Spy had near perfect accuracy, only missing a single shot every now and then. And even then, some of his missed shots were because of Nathan, who tried to distract Richard in the hopes of making his shooting hand a bit less accurate. When the crates with empty bottles were depleted, and the one with full bottles was half empty, the two men, laughing and a bit tipsy, began putting the things away back into Richard's car trunk.
"I gotta admit, frenchy...this was pretty fun...but don't go ahead and think that you an' me are all buddy-buddy now..." said the young Boston boy in a small drunken slur, as he finished his beer bottle in one big gulp, before tossing the glass onto the ground, hearing it shatter a few feet away.
"Never intended to, Nathan. I just figured that, if I'm going out with your mother, we might as well get to know each other a bit better."
"Yeah, well...don't expect it to last. My ma will...wisen up to you soon enough."
"Whatever you say, Nathan." replied the Spy with a small chuckle as he entered his sports car, finishing his own beer bottle before gently placing it onto the desert ground.
"Are...are you sure you're able to drive, Spy?" Nathan asked with a small blink, looking at the half drunken Frenchman at the seat of his wheel.
"Nathan, please. I've once driven at a high speed through a highway with a gunshot wound, a black eye, and a broken leg during one of my earlier missions. I think I can handle driving my car after drinking 3 beer bottles."
"Holy shit, are you serious?" asked Nathan as he climbed into the passenger seat, looking at Richard in surprise.
"Non." replied the Spy, starting the car with a small chuckle. Nathan scoffed with a roll of his eyes, before the RED Agent added "But I can still hold my liquor enough to be able to drive." He then placed the sports car in reverse, and drove out of the abandoned mine camp. "So, I drop you off at the BLU Headquarters?" Richard asked, as he made his way back onto the highway traversing the New Mexico desert.
"Yeah, I can just use their teleporter to get back to Boston and- hey, wait just a darn minute!" he said, his mind suddenly clicking into gear. "Where's my briefcase? Gimme my briefcase!"
"Your...oh, that's right! You came out here to know where your briefcase is. What a shame. For a second there, I thought you were actually interested in spending some quality time with me" said Richard with a smirk, driving down the road towards the BLU HQ.
"Yeah, that's right! Ya thought you could make me forget, huh? Well, not me, pal! So where is it, huh?" Nathan said with a prideful look on his drunken face.
"Your team's intelligence briefcase is safely secured in the 'Reliable Excavation and Demolition' headquarters, being carefully analyzed for data." said Richard with a small smile. Silence fell for a few seconds as the Frenchman kept driving and the Boston kid looked at him in shock.
"...what?! You lying bastard! I can't believe I trusted you!" screamed Nathan furiously after a few seconds. He knew Richard was a backstabbing snake, but he never thought someone who claimed to be a gentleman could so blatantly double cross the son of the woman he was currently dating.
"Nathan, I am many things. A liar is not one of them. In fact, I pride myself in my honesty" replied Richard, that same smile on his lips, which only made the Scout more enraged.
"Yeah, you did lie! Don't you remember?! I was under the Heavy, and you were there, and you told me to meet you out here if I wanted my briefcase back! And I came here, and-"
"No I didn't."
"What?! Yes you did! You said that-"
"-that if you wanted to know where your briefcase was, that you come meet me out here. I never promised I'd give it to you. Don't put words in my mouth, Nathan."
A few more seconds of silence occurred, as it slowly dawned on Nathan that the Spy was absolutely correct. Normally, this would infuriate him even more, but, to his own surprise, he couldn't find himself to be angry against Richard. Maybe it was just the alcohol working on him, but he felt himself finding the whole thing...pretty funny. In fact, he found himself chuckling a little.
"You son of a bitch." That was all Nathan could say as both he and Richard began laughing their asses off. Eventually, their laughing began to die down at around the same time the BLU HQ was growing on the horizon.
After the car stopped at a relatively safe distance from the HQ, Nathan stepped out with a shake of his head. But, before he could close the passenger seat door of the sports car, Richard called out to him. "If you want, we can meet out here again tomorrow and pass some more time together. I'm not going to force you if you'd rather not."
"I'll think about it. See you later, I guess." Nathan said with a scoff, closing the door and watching as Richard drove off with his car, kicking a pretty big dust cloud behind him. When the sports car was gone, Nathan smiled and walked towards the base, letting him mind wander a bit.
Another rendez vous out here in the desert with the RED Spy?
Meh. Why not. Could be fun.