Chapter 2: Training day
It was only 4:00 in the morning. Darkness cloaked the entire area, the distant cacti shimmering, the nearby buildings almost looking asleep. The desert sand still lightly blew, every once in a while, a small sand puff being blown about the ground. The scattered green of the Plants on the ground blew back and forth, along with the broken handrails lining the motel balconies. The place was in a deep peacefulness, but it was only the eye of a storm, for an incoming battle would soon tear the place into a deeper state of dilapidation, the destroyed rooms, the blackened walls, the number of them would probably doubling, if the old place even survived.
A small, almost stereotypically ghost-sounding whistle slowly echoed through the chipped red paint motel room on the top floor of the left side of the motel. The sound came again, but this time a bit louder. Nothing. Not a single stir. Another whistle, this time more intense, less patience present in its diction. Again, nothing. "Heavy sleepers. Ech."
A man in a Red suit stood above the headboard of a smaller-then-usual bed on the ground. The shifting weight of his feet caused a large squeaking among the bedsprings. "BOO!" The man had now been face to face with the occupant of the bed, bent over. The person jolted up, struggling against the tangle of blankets and the sweaty wife beater on his chest. He yelled, frantically jumping up, laying back down, opposite the direction he had been sleeping in. He noticed the man, the Red spy, hopping from the headboard to the floor left of the bed, laughing.
The person on the bed, Paul, looked at him angrily. "What the hell?!" After the Spy quit laughing and snorting, he looked at him, a grin adorning his masked face. "That, was for the beginning of your first lesson's instruction." "First lesson? What time is it? The sun isn't even up!" "Too bad my friend! The early bird gets the worm! If you want to truly, truly become a master of the art of the Spy, than you must put the work, the dedication, the . . ." He trailed off and looked at Paul. His eyes were fluttering, and he was almost falling asleep. "Merde." He sighed.
The spy grabbed a T-Shirt, looking at it distastefully and picked up a ripped pair of jeans. He folded them up and placed them inside of a small attaché case attached to his leg on the inside of his pant leg. He walked towards Paul, grabbing him by the arm firmly, dragging him to the empty doorframe. "HEY!" Paul yelled. He scrambled to get up, kicking at the floor until he was standing. He rubbed his arm, still somewhat in an unconscious stupor, until he noticed the Spy walking out towards the balcony stairs. "W- Wait up! I'm coming!"
He stumbled down the stairs towards him, eventually catching up. "Sorry for not getting up . . ." Paul said apologetically. "Nothing to worry about, the most disciplined of us cannot fight back against sleep. But me . . . I don't sleep for more than 4 hours every night. It's a bit timewasting for the full 9 hours, if you can cut it down to 4 with an immense amount of training." Paul looked at him with wide-eyes. "You- You . . ." The spy looked at him and chuckled. "I'm not going to make you sleep for only 4 hours a night. What I'm teaching you is far more important. The element of surprise."
"How are you gonna do that?" Paul asked. "I'll show you." The spy replied slyly. They continued walking, Paul looking around him. There was a silence until they were a few dozen feet from the facility. Paul noticed something on the ground. He squinted his eyes until he could see it. It was a dead dog. "Ew." Paul muttered. The Spy slowed to a stop, and looked around his shoulder. "I remember that one. Died before he was even full grown. Tisk tisk tisk." Paul turned back, and could have sworn he saw a backpack with something protruding from it behind the dog.
When they arrived at the training facility, as usual, the Spy stepped aside and opened the door for him. Paul walked through and continued to the area that the spy's equipment was. "Well?" Paul asked, this time no-longer huffing to keep up. "Put on some . . . "Clothes". The Spy said. Without missing a beat, he unstrapped the case and put it on the table. He clicked it open, and pulled the clothes out, looking at them distastefully as he did before.
Paul grabbed them and began putting them on. Midway through putting on his pants, he realized something. Puzzled, he looked up and asked "How did you fit those clothes in there?" The spy looked behind him. "I can turn invisible, boy. There should be no surprise that I can fit clothes into such a small case. But if you really want to know . . ." He opened the case and showed the inside to Paul. "Dell made this." Inside was a small metal rod. "Watch" The Spy said. He took out his knife, what Paul recognized as the Big Earner. He dropped it in the case. The metal rod whirred, and produced a bright yellow light. The knife sort-of floated off of the surface of the bottom of the case for a second, before being shrunk and enveloped in a small metal rod.
"H- How is that . . ." Paul asked mystified at what he had just witnessed. "That man . . . Dell . . . He produces what a layman would think as miracles. I have no idea how it works, the only semblance of knowledge I have on it is that it works somewhat like the life-link, reforming atoms, and such." "That's amazing!" Paul said. "Yes, yes it is." The spy closed up the case and walked to the corner, coming up to the "Dummy Sentries" Box. He picked a smaller one up- a mini sentry- and plopped it into the middle of the linoleum floor. "Surprise it." The spy said.
"What? How do you want me to do that?" Paul asked. "Sneak up on it. Keep quiet. Stay hidden, right up until the surprise." "Won't the thing . . . Like . . . Blow pieces of my body off if I do?" The spy smirked, and keeping his arms crossed, kicked the back of the sentry. It turned and shot 4 times, only a single cigarette coming out on the 3rd shot. He caught it, and pulled a lighter from his left pocket, lighting the cigarette. He put it in his mouth. "Now go."
"What else did I expect?" Paul thought to himself. He reared up, getting into a stance that was like a cat about to pounce. He slowly walked towards. His foot edged off of the floor- The sentry turned. Click Click Phoomph Click! Paul flinched as a cigarette launched towards his face. He looked at the spy, puzzled. "How'd it know I was there?" The Spy smiled and walked towards him, standing side by side to him.
"You didn't balance your weight. Watch." The Spy took his eyes off of Paul's. He took his foot and edged it up, his toe gently grazing the floor. Paul watched as it went all the way up, his leg in position to step. "All you have to do is lead gently- gracefully. Don't go fast, go slower . . ." He looked at Paul, and down to the leg firmly planted on the floor. "All you have to do for this leg is to center it. Stay on the ball of your foot. Balance, distribute your weight evenly. Do not let any part of your foot touch the floor- Not the heel, the arc of the foot, the sides, or the toes. In a battle, like the one taking place in not the longest time- it's a death sentence. You never know when some bastard will turn and empty any sort of killing machine's bullet feed into you. We may survive and move on to the life-link . . . But we may lose the position without constant reinforcement. And a spy like me makes sure one of those fat ones doesn't kill everyone in sight wearing Red garments, and that's an important job."
"Don't you walk faster than that?" Paul asked. "Well of course, but if you need to learn this style of walking, you must start off slowly. Now try again." The Spy activated the sentry once again. Paul looked at the sentry in concentration. He did what the spy did. Very slowly, he lifted his foot up . . . It lightly touched the ground as it went up. His foot was up. He smiled, and remembered about his other leg. He shifted his weight to the ball of his foot. He had done it. He had taken half of his first step.
"Bravo, child." The spy said in a hushed whisper. "Now, slowly . . . Slowly . . . Take the weight off of your planted leg . . . Let it shift to your toes, very, very slightly lean on your toes. Take your upward foot, and slowly plant the tips of your toes on the floor. Do what you did with the other, but reversed. Shift your weight from your toes to the ball of your foot, and gently lay down your heel.
Paul slowly did as he was asked. He shifted his weight on his planted foot to the toes. He put his other foot down toe tip first, slowly shifting the weight to the ball of the foot. He slowly put his heel down. He was sweating now, and he realized it. The sentry was still "staring" off into space. He licked his chapped lips. He took his previously planted foot and lifted it. His bare feet were cold in the air conditioning.
All of the sudden, out of nowhere, he had a muscle spasm in his left leg, he lost his balance in his right. His eyes grew wide immediately, and his arms went out. "Whoa!" He said panicked. His right foot went down, slipping on the floor, causing him to fall to it, landing on his back. The sentry began shooting at him, only clicking until the small cigarette came launching out of the barrel, hitting him in the forehead. "Damnit." The Spy clapped slowly, smiling and slowly advancing. He reached his hand down, grabbing Paul's, gripping him tightly and pulling him on his feet.
"Now don't slip again!" The Spy quipped. Paul chuckled. "Funny." "You did fantastically, there's no reason to be worried. I won't call you a boy anymore. You seem to be good at this, so . . . hereby; I'll refer to you as a "colleague". But, that could be a bit cumbersome . . . So . . . Maybe . . . Friend? Like the rest of us." Paul smiled. "I'm glad to be an equal. In your eyes at least." The spy chuckled. "Not equal. As a person, maybe, but as a fellow fighter, as a fellow mercenary, we are not equal. But still- friends." Paul rolled his eyes playfully. "I knew you'd be like that." The spy turned on his heels. He reached down to the sentry reactivating it. He flicked it with his left hand, his other on the barrel. "Click Click Phoomph Click" The Spy caught the incoming cigarette, and as before, lit it and put it in his mouth.
"Everybody wakes up at 8:30." He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a gold and leather watch. "It's 4:42. We have a small amount less than 4 hours to practice." Paul nodded. "Sounds pretty tough." The Spy looked at him. "Would you like a cigarette?" Paul waved his hand. "No, I'd . . . rather not." "Eh. Suit yourself." The Spy replied nonchalantly. "You're gonna get cancer, you know that, right?" Paul said. "I'll probably die in a hail of gunfire before cancer takes me. I think I'm alright." The Spy said calmly. "Now go again. Keep doing it until you can circle the sentry without being caught in . . . Less than 20 seconds. If you can do that, than we've hit our daily goal. And stop preaching. It's a slightly annoying" Paul nodded and got back to practicing.
The hours passed by quickly for Paul, and the clicks became near-maddening. Sometimes the spy gripping his nose bridge in frustration, sometimes indifferent, and once in a Blue moon smiling, muttering a compliment or the occasional "Good, good, progress . . ." Paul got close to making it a few times, each time he failed an almost inevitable curse coming from his mouth. Finally after about 4 hours, Paul had been firmly set in the motions, only 3 or 4 breaks. Small piles of cigarettes formed an almost uniform circle around the route he had been taking. The Spy leaned forward bit by bit, his jaw dropping more. He had gotten exceptionally further. He crept, all of his mind focused on this. His weight shifted, balancing each foot as they fell and rose. The spy was smiling now, and had his fists clenched. "Come on, come on . . ." He murmured.
Paul crept along, and his last step had fallen upon him. He balanced on his foot, planting it on the floor, balancing, every fiber of his body working in unison, keeping absolutely silent. His foot came down. Silence. The sentry still neutral. "Yes! Yes, you've done it!" The Spy exclaimed. He looked at his watch. "14 seconds! Quite impressive!" The yelling of the spy alerted the sentry, but he swiftly deactivated it on its Second click.
He stood up straight once again, leading him by the shoulder. You've done well so far . . . It'll be a few days, probably up to 4 or 5 to be able to walk a viable speed for a combat situation. Refinement is also needed, as that sentry is years old and isn't as responsive as a person. But for what we're doing next, it's good." "What's next?" Paul said panting. Before the spy could respond, Paul puffed, holding his hand up, shaking his head. "I want to rest. Badly. All of this . . ." "Spooking." The spy said. "Yeah, all of this spooking is really tiring. I think I should rest.
"Well . . ." The spy said. "The rest are awake at this point." The Spy examined his watch. "Yes . . . It's 8:52 in the morning, and it's beginning to get hot. I guess you can rest for a while." Paul smiled, a little fist pump accompanying his sudden merriment. He walked ahead of the Spy, quickly being pulled back by him. The Spy pointed a finger at him, a puff of smoke puffing into Paul's face, causing him to flinch. "No sleep. Go do whatever you want to do with the others."
Paul sighed. When they arrived, the Spy excused himself. He walked back into his motel, closing the door behind him, flicking his cigarette off of the balcony before he walked in. Paul looked out towards the main building. He could see the Soldier and the Demoman walking down the rows of apartments knocking on doors. As usual, the Demoman was smiling happily, talking to the soldier about the previous night's exploits. As far as Paul could tell, They were the only ones awake. But as he walked down, he could tell that he was wrong.
He eventually reached the saloon. He walked in, as he heard an acoustic guitar playing coming from within the still ramshackle building. He pushed the mid-western style swinging doors. Inside, a circle of overturned pieces of wood were formed in the center of the large first floor. The engie sat upon the one closest to the door. He had a white T-Shirt that had faint sweat outlines around the armpits and neck. He was cradeling the guitar that made the noise. Next to him on the wood was a small glass beer bottle only 1/4 of the way filled.
The medic sat opposite to him. He had his glasses pinched by the ear rest in between his thumb and index finger. He was heartily laughing and wiping his eyes. He had no gloves on, and his hair was slightly frazzled. Instead of his usual "doctor's" coat, he had a button up red shirt with the bottom button undone. The sniper sat next to him, clutching a bear, still chuckling. He shifted his sunglasses up as he took another swig.
"So anyway fellas, I was sittin' up on the balcony, you know the thing that you like to sit by all day at 2fort-" He nodded his head to the Sniper, who in turn nodded back. "And The Demoman on the other team kept tryin' to destroy my gear. Get this- the guy had one of them upgraded sticky-bomb launchers, called a . . . Scottish Resistance, or something. He kept firin' em up to my sentries. Now I guess at that time it was new, like we'd only just gotten it outta the box. They didn't blow for almost a second, and all I had to do was kick em' right back off at him. He blew himself up 4 or 5 times before he called it quits and went after Misha."
They all laughed in unison, the Sniper almost spilling his beer with the force that he hit the wood against it. "That's nothing. I once-" The Medic stopped talking when he noticed Paul standing at the door. "Ah, my friend Paul! Come sit!" The Medic gestured to him to come sit by him. When he noticed Paul looking for a beer bottle so that he didn't sit on it, the Medic made a dismissal gesture with his hand. "Don't worry, I'm not a drinker." Paul sat down.
"So. You wanna shoot the shit, or do you wanna just listen to us for a while?" The Engie said smiling. "Please don't curse around our guest." The Medic said. The Engie put his guitar down and put his hands out. "I'm sorry, I ain't lookin' for no trouble." Paul nodded. "No, I'm cool with cursing." The Medic glared at the Engie. "Really." The Medic grunted and sat back at ease. "Well, what's your answer fella'?" The Engie continued, reaching for his beer to take a sip. "I'll just listen to-" Paul didn't get to finish before the Engie interrupted.
"Wait a minute son. You're trainin' with Jean right?" Paul nodded. "Why do you want to know?" The Engie was about to talk when the Sniper cut him off. "Your memory slippin' Dell? Sounds like 35's gettin' a bit too old for yah." He laughed as The Engie chuckled, cracking a grin. "Whatever you say pee-pee boy." The sniper turned his head away, still sitting with his arms resting on his legs. "I'll make sure I fill up an extra jar just for you mate.", he mumbled, still smiling. "You wanna see somethin' interestin'?" The Engie said. "Sure!" Paul replied. The Engie's contraptions mystified him most of the time, making him especially eager to see what he had next. "You got one of them sapper things?" Paul shook his head. "Damn. Hold on a minute, I'll go grab one down by the training center. I'll be back in like Ten Minutes." Paul nodded.
Eventually the Engie got back. He held up a sapper. He pulled a screwdriver out of a utility belt laid against the wall, and opened up the back compartment of the sapper. Paul, now leaned over with the Medic, looked at the series of Blue, Red, and Yellow wires that adorned the innards of the device. The Engie was about to snip something with a pair of pliers he had also procured from the belt, when he stopped and looked up at Paul. "Why was . . . Why was there a circle of cigarettes on the ground?" Paul looked back at him. "Training. Lots of training. Lots." The Engie seemed confused for a second, but then shrugged. "Alright! You see these Three wires?"
Both the Medic and Paul gave approving "Mhms" As they looked on. He pointed to the Blue wire. "This wire transports electricity from what it's sapping into the sapper." He pointed to the Red wire. "This Wire keeps it from overheating. It's very hot." And then he pointed to the Yellow wire. "This transports gaseous oil to the sapper to make it work, to fuel it. Now watch." He turned it over, and flipped the switch twice, making sure that it was off. He turned it back over and snipped both the Red and the Yellow wire. He turned and picked out a small piece of metal from the belt still on the floor, this time dragging it to the makeshift seat.
He put the metal halfway into the red wire, and put the alternating yellow wire over the other half of it. He took the cover, and without screwing it in, smacked it against the back. He walked over to the bar part of the saloon and looked behind it, leaning his short stature against the wood. Underneath was a safe. He turned on the sapper and put it inside of the safe. He turned from it smiling, and covering his ears. Boom!A small explosion bounced off of the inside of the safe.
"Best thing to come outta that guy's loadout" The engineer cheered, wiping his brow with his shoulder. "Thought that this might make your trainin' a bit more entertainin', and heck, maybe it'll even be useful sometime. . . What're you doin' with him anyway?" "Eh. Nothing that's too . . . Lethal, just sneaking around." Paul replied. The Sniper looked up at him. "You might wanna just call it Spooking, I have no idea why, but that's what Jean prefers it to be called. French thing, I guess." Paul took note of it, although he had noticed something about the word before.
Paul heard something behind him, which he quickly realized were the swiveling doors behind him opening. He turned around, only to see the pyro approaching. He was wearing some sort of poncho which Paul vaguely recognized, and he was swinging his hands around in front of him, sort of like a gesture saying "I didn't do it!". "Howa hu ha hudda huda howa ho!" The Pyro was frantically saying. The Medic turned to him. "What is it Pyro?"
That was when Paul heard rapidly approaching footsteps. "Oh no" The Pyro said. The Heavy pushed open the door knocking the Pyro off his balance, almost knocking him down. The Heavy stopped next to him. "Look what happen to Morning Baked Sandvich." He held up a charred piece of bread with equally smoltered remains of sandwich components barely holding on underneath. The Medic frowned and sighed. "What happened to your sandwich Misha?" The heavy looked at the pyro, who in turn said "Ow hwowhee"
The Heavy put his hands towards The Pyro still facing the Medic. "Pyro go into kitchen to make Morning Baked Sandvich, like you said." The Medic nodded. "Mhm." The Heavy continued, making gestures to accompany his story. "Pyro put Morning Baked Sandvich in oven," The Medic nodded. "Yes?" The Heavy continued once again. "Is not oven. Is flamethrower. Woosh! Gone. I want my sandvich." The Medic rolled his eyes. "Pyro . . ." The Pyro stood straight up, shaking his head. "Ow hwowhee, eh wha a aawhawhen!"
The Medic continued to stare at him. "Really?" The Pyro looked down. "Uhhhh . . ." The Medic raised an eyebrow. "No." The Pyro said. The Medic loosened his stance. "It's alright. Come on, we'll make Misha a new Sandwich." The Pyro stood up and looked at the Heavy, clapping his hands. The Heavy smiled. "I cannot stay angry at little Pyro. Come. We make sandvich that is far better than burnt one." The pyro held a thumbs up to him before they turned and followed the Medic. But as they pushed past the swing doors, The Medic turned. "You three should get to work on renovation again. I will be back later. I'm going to help these Two get started and I'm going to eat lunch." The Engie nodded and the Sniper held his thumb up. Soon it was only the three of them.
The Engie stood up, cracking his back by swiveling his body. He picked up his utility belt and snapped it onto his waist. "I suppose he's right. Come one Mike, we oughta' get to work on that balcony. Gotta get the dang thing standin'." The Sniper tossed his bottle to the side and stood up, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead with his forearm. "I guess." They both started walking up the stairs on the creaky wooden stairs to the left of the bar when the Engineer stopped. He looked over his shoulder.
"You oughta' meet with the others . . . You know, just to get to know all of us, because it's gonna be a while. It was nice meetin' with you." He tipped his hat and continued up the stairs. Paul nodded and turned to leave the saloon. Once again he was on the desert road. "Hey! Hey lad, come over here!" Paul heard. He looked around until he spotted the Demoman leaned over the top balcony on the side of the hotel. "Oh, hi Demoman!" He walked up the stairs and went next to him. "What is it?" The Demoman stood straight up from his leaning position and smiled.
"Call me Tavish. Follow me down to the kitchen, I need some help." Paul nodded. "Sure thing, but what is it you need help with?" They began walking back down the stairs towards the kitchen. "Just a little help around the kitchen later tonight. Could yah clear up a bit of your schedule with Jean to help me out?" "Sure- Tavish!" "Thanks. Let's go downstairs and get a bite to eat, when'd you wake up? I don't think me and Jane saw you come outta your room . . ."
"Eh . . . Around 4 or 5 . . . I don't remember quite right." The Demoman cringed. "Ooh, that's rough lad. Well, I'm sure that means you're at least a bit hungry. I'll make you some toast or somethin'. Come on." Paul followed him down to the mess hall. "Sit down in the mess hall, I'll bring it to yah when it's done." Paul nodded and looked at the rows of tables. The Heavy, who was sitting at the row of tables closest to the kitchen, was sitting next to the pyro, happily munching his Sandvich. The Pyro was fiddling with a box of Crackers, and occasionaly taking one out and putting it on the dark brown wooden table, forming what Paul realized was a smiley face.
The Soldier was 5 rows back, sitting back with his legs up on the table, a mug in his hand. It said "Number One survivor" On it. He smiled, cleared his throat, and took a sip of what Paul presumed was Coffee. The Medic sat a few rows ahead of him, eating a small muffin, writing something on a small notepad. He looked up and noticed Paul looking around. "Oh, Schüler, come here!" The Medic beckoned towards himself. "Coming!" Paul responded as he walked over. "What is it?" The Medic looked up at Paul, sitting up straight.
"Me and Dell stayed up a bit late last night working on plans for the upcoming battle. It turns out that when we estimated the time it would take for the fight to happen, we miscalculated. It's not going to be 5 or 6 months, it's going to be just a small amount more than a year. Apparently something happened at Mann Co, neither team is getting any ammunition or weapons for that long. They've barely given us enough food to scrape by, and we certainly don't want that to stop coming to us." Paul nodded, and then gave pause. "Wait- How did you calculate that?" "Dell has some information on inventory and sales within Mann Co. We calculated how much money they're making, and did some math regarding the prices for ammo, yadda yadda yadda, we have how long we have to wait.
Paul heard the Kitchen door swing open. The demoman had a small plate in his hand, and looked around a few seconds before seeing Paul and walking up to him. The Demoman layed the plate down onto the table. Paul looked up at him. "Thanks!" The Demoman nodded, and walked over to the Soldier. "Alright Jane, it's your turn to cook lunch." The soldier nodded. "I'll get on it soon." He sat back and took another sip from his mug.
Paul looked back at the Medic and asked "How did you get actual food?" The Medic nodded and smiled, holding the Muffin up. "Mann Co, as an apology for the waiting time on the restock on weapons, is sending us real food for a few months. Apparently they had forgotten a warehouse of food in the rush of Christmas. It managed to survive, and now we're eating it! To be honest, I have no idea how Mann Co. forgot an entire warehouse of food. Their whole company is a bit mystifying." He took a large bite of the muffin, finishing it off. He stood up and wiped a few crumbs off his shirt.
"Well, I have to go now, but I will see you later. Servus!" The Medic stood up an walked away. Paul sat down and began to eat his toast. When he was finished, he stood up, turning on his heel. He immediately was met with the face of the Spy. He was startled and flinched a bit. "Um . . . Hi?" Paul said. "Oh, sorry if I scared you a bit." The Spy backed up and nodded. "We have to discuss something. Sit."
"Alright." Paul sat down. The Spy did too, and folded his fingers in front of him. "You learned how to sneak, correct? You succeeded. Once. But you must be able to do this every time, not only that, but quicker. Much quicker." Paul nodded. "Now, I'm sure that you've heard that we will be getting restocked with ammo and weapons in around a year, yes?" Paul nodded. "There are 9 of us. 12 divided by nine is . . ." The Spy hesitated for a second. "1.33. You have 1.33 months with each of us, which is about 40-43 days. You've learned basic sneaking, but you also have to learn to use a revolver, a knife, and the finer points of cloaking, and disguising. That's 4 different things to do. You have 10 days for each." Paul nodded. "10 days for each weapon? That shouldn't be hard." The Spy looked at him, and pulled out his knife.
The Spy looked over to the pyro, and threw the knife. The knife flew point first through a cracker that the Pyro was holding, impaling part of it into the metal wall behind him. The Pyro stared at it for a few seconds before taking out another cracker and shrugging. Paul looked at The Spy in amazement. The Spy looked back at him. "Yes. Easy. This is going to be extremely difficult. You know that right?" Paul nodded. "Yes. I do." "Good. That means that you're going to have to practice sneaking a lot over the next couple of days. Expect to be up early." Paul nodded once again. "It was good talking to you, I have some business to attend to." The Spy turned back again and began walking back to his room. Paul looked at him walking, quizzically. "That was Strange." He muttered to himself as he wiped the crumbs of his chest. "I think I'll go help The Sniper and The Engie fix up that balcony." He said too. Paul walked out of the Mess Hall, the sun beating down on him as soon as he left it's shade.
The Next week Paul was worked like a mule. Every day at at least 4 in the morning he was awoken by the Spy. Sneaking was Second nature to him at this point. He did get better though, and the Spy let him know. It was only 2 days before time constraints forced him onto the next subject, which they decided was the Revolver, Sapper, and the Knife. Everyone was used to Paul's presence, and he found it increasingly easy to share a laugh with everyone, whether it be around a campfire or a table in the Mess hall. As Paul finished sneaking successfully around the Sentry in 6 seconds for the fourth time in a row, he knew, along with the Spy, that he was ready for whatever he would need to do to become a true Spy.