Hey guys. Winter break ftw! But seriously, I have no sense of continuity and flow, so I may take a while to update. But now that there's the break, I may have more opportunity to write. Thanks for the reviews and your patience. Enjoy the next chapter.
Greeted by the sunlight breaking through the creaks and holes in the wooden walls of his room, Sniper woke up the next morning with a headache from staying up late, but he probably couldn't compare to the rest of the team from last night's party. Everyone must be suffering a massive hangover. Getting up from his bed and putting his boots on, Sniper recollected what had happened last night. After seeing the photo of him holding the strange girl by the hair, the Aussie remembered the events that had transpired last night. He couldn't help but grin again at the sight. Following her capture, Sniper had proceeded to put her in the detention cells of the base. Sniper knew that this girl would have to talk as to who she is, and what the hell she is doing here as soon as she wakes up. Sighing as he grabbed his panama and vest, Sniper walked downstairs to the main living room of the base.
"Oh…my… God…"
Sniper couldn't believe the mess before him. The place was utterly trashed. The TV was broken in by Scout's bat. Most of the furniture was toppled over. Heavy was still sleeping on the floor, his beloved "sandvich" in one hand, and an empty bottle of vodka in the other. Evidence of fire and an explosion were in the corner of the room, Soldier and Pyro not too far away from it. Well, at least the scorched flooring, walls, and the gaping hole in the wall said so. And the smell…
"Good gravy… That rotting water buffalo carcass I slept in way back smelled better than this!"
Sniper tip-toed over the sleeping Heavy, who was snoring obnoxiously loud. However, when Sniper was about to sit on a couch that was still upright and in good condition, he saw probably the strangest thing in the world. The hunter gasped at the sight, and was laughing silently. A once in a lifetime opportunity, Sniper quickly, yet silently ran upstairs and grabbed his camera to take a snapshot of the scene before him.
Scout and Spy, sleeping on the couch cuddling next to each other.
Sniper would cherish the photo forever, not to mention bring some hell and laughs to the team. What on earth possessed them to drink so much that they would even…? Sniper had no idea. But the thought of the two people he hated most on the team was just… Sniper's thoughts were interrupted, and as footsteps were walking by, the hunter turned around and saw the distraught faces of Medic and Engineer, looking at the destruction caused in the room.
"Dag nabbit, I am not gunna fix all this stuff up!" Engineer said, looking over at the smashed TV and broken furniture.
"Zis is unacceptable! Even in ze Oktoberfest, people never get zis drunk und out of hand! Dummkopfs!"
Sniper could clearly guess that the two didn't drink much last night, and they were furious with the way everyone was acting. Sniper shifted uneasily before just casually greeting them. However, his eyes wandered to the two men snoozing on the couch.
"Mornin', mates. Listen, uh… can either of you explain… these two sleepin' beauties here…?" Sniper asked, as he gestured toward the sleeping Scout and Spy.
Engineer glanced at the two and chuckled a bit. "Oh, yeah. I 'member that. See, Demo was plannin' on having a drinkin' contest with Scout versus Spah. Now, Frenchie already was a bit tipsy with the wine and champagne, and rejected it. But soon, after goadin' 'em, they accepted. And whoo-eey! Who'da think Spah could drink?" Engineer reminisced, an amused smile developing on his face.
"But vait! It getz better!" Medic piped in. "Zen, Demoman dared ze Spy to French kizz Scout! After he said no, Demo told him zhat he was not man enough to do it! Vell, in a drunken stupor, Scout and Spy got together… And zen… Oh hoo hoo! You can probably put two and two together! But zhat was vhen ve thought ve should leave before Demoman zhinks of a vay to get get us drunk enough to do such zings…" Medic shook his head. "I svear, Demo is already drunk all ze time as is, let alone what happens when he iz at parties. Soon, hiz liver is won't be able to take any more…"
Sniper could only hear the information fed to him in a manner that was both shocked and horrified, yet found it uncontrollably funny. After the three laughed about it, they noticed Spy toss and turn in his spot, before falling off the couch altogether. The Frenchman panicked and got up from the ground, still a bit woozy and shaky. After wobbling a bit, his attention turned to the three men staring at him. His eyes were still half asleep, and the three REDs couldn't tell if Spy knew where and what he was doing right now.
"Ahem… Gentlemen?" Spy muttered, still recovering from a hangover. He groaned as he put a gloved hand over his head. "Mon dieu..."
Sniper couldn't help but feel surprised at the usually clean man's appearance. Spy's suit, balaclava, and slacks were wrinkled and dirty. The jacket had a large brown stain from who knows what, and his dress shirt disheveled. For some reason, there was also blood seeping through his slacks near his knee. Heavy bags were under his eyes. Somehow, a burnt cigarette was still loosely hanging from the edges of his mouth. This wasn't the smooth and suave Spy. This was more of a hobo.
"Crikey, mate… No offense Spy, but ya look like shit," Sniper commented after staring for a few seconds.
Spy looked down at his ruined suit in horror and disgust.
"Oh, merde…"
Dusting off the jacket and adjusting his tie, the mortified Frenchman cloaked himself invisible so no one could see how dirty he currently was. The silhouette hurriedly rushed to the bunks to change into something more respectable. Sniper, Engineer and Medic couldn't help but chuckle some more. Proceeding with cleaning up everything that hadn't destroyed outright, Medic and Engineer took glances at each other, before looking over to Sniper.
"Wait a darn minute… If you're still up and about like a wild stallion and everyone else got drunk off their rockers… What in tarnation were you doin' last night, Sniper?"
As Sniper turned a couple of chairs back upright, a proud smile crept up in his face. He sat on one of the chairs and lay back with his hands behind his head.
"Well, getta good look at this, mates!"
Sniper pulled out the hunting photo he had pocketed earlier and showed it to Engineer and Medic. The Texan and German were both shocked and amused at Sniper's latest catch. Medic snatched out of the Australian's hands and took a closer look.
"Well… ain't she a beaut!" Engineer commented. This only proved to make Sniper's smile increase.
"Zis… zis is a fräulein, no? Vhat in ze… How did you get her?" Medic asked, adjusting the spectacles on his face.
"Yep. Caught 'er wanderin' around Fastlane. But, she's a mean one. Had a sniper duel with her. Pretty sure the sheila'd bite ya head off if she got the chance… But other than that, a real charmer."
"You… talk to this girl?" Engineer asked cautiously.
"Nah. She's still in the detention cells. The sedatives should 'ave worn off by now, but my guess is that the sheila's still sleeping away like a kangaroo in mum's pouch from the rough night she had."
"Well… what're we supposed to do with her? I mean, having this girl around… Whaddya plan on doin' with her?" Engineer asked.
"First things first Engie, I'm going to interrogate her. Don't know if she's a damn spy. But after that, I'm not sure where this thing's gonna go. I guess when the team finds out, we'll figure it out," the Aussie said, taking the photo back from Medic and pocketing it. Engineer and Medic looked at each other with unease again, before turning back to Sniper.
"How vill ze others react? I mean, zhere are some schweinhunds who might take advantage of her in… certain vays… Soldier might keell her, or end up getting her keelled… Oh, and I can only imagine the repercussions if she iz a drinker…" Medic said, going through all the possible scenarios that could go wrong.
"I don't think we gotta choice, mates. We just have'ta tell the team, I guess. The only thing to do is… wait for their hangovers to wear out…"
"MEN! I am very disappointed in you! You have disgraced our unit, destroyed the recreational room of our base, and now all the beer in the cellar's gone! If I have to crack some skulls to put some sense into ya, I will…"
"Excuse me Soldier, but veren't you drinking as vell, and it vas you who blew a large hole in ze wall?" Medic asked Soldier, who was drilling his troops on the consequences of drinking, ironically.
"Shut up, Nazi trash! I was demonstrating to the people the consequences and what really happens to level-headed men when they over-drink! And, uh… as you can see… it's quite dangerous…" Soldier said, glancing over at the hole in the wall that led to the Rec room. Conveniently, the hole leads straight to the briefing room, which allowed for a quick shortcut instead of traveling around halfway around the base. Turning to the troops, (most of which were drinking coffee to wake them up and lessen their hangover and had no recollection of last night) Soldier went back to his drilling. "Sun Tzu once said, 'a wise general strives to feed off the enemy. Each pound of food taken from the enemy is equivalent to twenty pounds you provide by yourself.' So if you want to get drunk, at least take it from the enemy and don't take all our stuff for no one else to drink! At least you can get twenty times as drunk off of the BLU's alcohol, according to him…"
"Um, excuse me, but doesn't zhat quote mean somezhing like transporting a pound food over terrains and distances costs az much az buying tventy pounds?" Medic dared interrupt once again.
Soldier glared before taking out his copy of "The Art of War: Pocket Edition" from one of the pockets of his uniform. Flipping through the small pages, he came across his quote and its explanation. "You know what? You can just shut up. You're a Medic. You don't fight on the front lines! You know nothing of war!" he promptly replied.
"Hmph. Schiessekompf…"
"What did you say!?"
"Scheissekompf. It meanz head of a unit or battalion. A very respectful term in Germany," Medic quickly explained. Soldier raised a skeptical brow from under his helmet before scoffing.
"Next time, so long as you're under my roof, speak American!" Soldier shouted in Medic's face before returning his attention to the rest of the team at a somewhat calmer level. "Okay. So, according to Sniper, with backed evidence from this photo, we appear to have a prisoner, gentlemen. A female one…"
As Sniper's hunting photo was laid on the main table in the briefing room and, several shouts, bemused expressions, and others of complete shock entered the room.
"Whoah, Snipes wasn't kiddin'?" Scout exclaimed, as he reached for the photo. "Hey, not bad, man. Pretty hot…" Scout said, inspecting the woman's appearance. "Hey, why da hell does my mouth taste like cigarettes…?" Scout asked himself as he put the photo back. Sniper, Engineer, and Medic eyed Spy smoking in a shady corner and chuckled lightly to themselves. Strangely enough, Spy wasn't wearing his usual brown blazer, quite an oddity seeing him at a somewhat casual appearance, though his jacket was probably in the laundry room, cleaning up the mess from last night.
"Why does battlefield have tiny baby girl? I thought that war was fought with men!" Heavy exclaimed.
"So we got's a lassie don't we, fellas?" Demoman asked, taking a swig of scrumpy. Surprisingly, despite how much he drank and how much he got drunk, the Scotsman's high tolerance to alcohol allowed him to survive the next morning petty sober. Well, as sober as Demoman can be on a casual standard.
"Hmmph, mrhmm hmphrmamh!" Pyro added.
"Yo, I like Pyro's idea!" Scout shouted.
"Calm down, mates! Listen, we gotta just interrogate her before we do anything! She's our prisoner now, and we don't know if she's just some damn Spy. Back-stabbers… No offense, Spy," Sniper proclaimed.
"As much I detest ze bushman, he is right. I much about my counterparts, and zis could be a trap," Spy said, coming out of the shadow in the corner of the room. "A girl our base, one adept in combat no less, could be a trick laid out by our BLU counterparts. Hiring a woman whom we have no prior knowledge of could be a very clever idea indeed. No to mention if she tries to use her… feminine wiles…"
"Damn. Snipes, this has to be the greatest thing eva'. We got a chick who's gonna try an' hit on all of us, maybe more! Thanks, man! Finally, this ain't just a dude-fest!" Scout said, plotting the scenarios involving him, the girl, exchange of valuable intel, and a distinct lack of clothing on either of them. This provoked scowls from most of the team.
"Not to worry. Sasha is the only woman in my life," Heavy declared, raising said gun and hugging it tightly, cooing something in its 'ear.' "Did you know I was first man in Soviet Union to be married to gun?"
Silence…
"Anyway, mates, I think we should get over to the detention center. She's in one of the holding cells. She should be up by now. Let's not keep the shiela waiting, guys…" Sniper said, as he stood up from his chair and headed towards the deeper confines of the base. Most of the team shrugged their shoulders as they got up and followed in the Australian's suit.
As Medic walked next to him, Sniper whispered in his ear. "Now that Soldier's out of earshot, what did you really call him earlier?"
"I called him a shithead."
"Oh."
As Sniper predicted, the woman was already up and about, wandering around the confines of her cell. From the looks of it, she was troubled and annoyed, though no one could really blame her. As she heard the several footsteps coming in, she was greeted by the odd sight of a team of troopers clad in red, each of them very different from the rest. As they saw the woman with their own eyes, several internal clamoring went on inside the group. A man wearing a helmet covering his eyes approached her from the other side of the iron bars separating her from freedom.
"Tell us everything you know, BLU scum, and we might just let you get away with some minor wounds and bruises! I'd hit woman! I'd do it, for the greatness of Reliable Excavation and Demolition, and for America! Tell me your name!"
The woman raised a brow, obviously looking like she couldn't take this man seriously.
"Are all Yankees as rude as you?" she asked in a British accent.
"Yo, the Yankees suck! It's all about the Red Sox!" Scout shouted.
"Charming… Might I ask just who the bloody hell all you Yankees are?" the woman asked still unsure of her current situation, and what these people wanted.
"I'm the one asking questions! Now, you didn't answer my question! Who are you?!" Soldier yelled.
The British woman crossed her arms and huffed. "Hmph. Fine. My name is Catherine. Catherine Drake. And you, Yankee?"
"Heh. Catherine, eh? Well, you damn Redcoat, I am Sergeant Jonathan West; Codename: Soldier. And you will follow my orders! Do you understand that?"
"No," she wisecracked.
"Good!"
"Oh, uh hey…" Scout introduced, slipping a hand between the bars of her cell and shaking her hand. "I'm Scout. At least dat's what everyone calls me. You can call me Kyle," he said with a smile. The girl was first drilled, now hit on, and was starting to feel very uncomfortable. With his free hand, Scout somehow pick-pocketed the key from Sniper and unlocked the cell door, prompting shouts and objections all around. "Hey, hey! I got dis, okay? Relax, it's under control!" Scout assured, as he led Catherine outside on at the cell. As Scout escorted her, he wrapped an arm around her, which she promptly threw off. She looked around, unsure of the people around her.
"Hello there, Missy. Name's Colton. Colton White. I'm the Engineer here on the team. Feel free to call me Colton, Colt, or Engie. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance," Engineer greeted, extending a hand toward Catherine. She graciously accepted the hand, and shook it. Somehow, she knew that this Engineer was just being friendly and wasn't trying to hit on her like that Scout did. Everyone else took the hint as this was the time to introduce themselves.
"Well, you're awfully polite for a Yankee. Unlike some people…" she said her eyes glaring towards Soldier and Scout.
"Aw, shucks Missy. You're makin' me blush…"
Turning her attention to the massive man equipped with a massive minigun to match, she extended her hand.
"Hello. Catherine Drake. And you are…?"
The man took her tiny hand in his, almost crushing it outright in his grip. So much so, that Heavy's hand severed her blood flow, and her hand fell asleep in his. "My name is Nikolai Voronov. I am Heavy Weapons Guy," he said in a thick Russian accent. "And this, is Sasha," he said, gesturing to the gun in his hands.
"Oh," she merely said. She looked down at Sasha, humoring Heavy and waving to her. "Hello. My, Sasha's a big girl, isn't she?" Catherine asked.
"Are you calling her fat?" Heavy said, a tinge of anger in his voice.
"No, no, no. Not at all…" Catherine said, starting to back away from Heavy. She shook her hand quite a bit, trying vigorously to get the feeling back. As she reversed, she bumped into another man, this one wearing a white medic's gown and bearing a small pair of spectacles on the bridge of his nose. Judging from the coat and the cross on his shoulder, Catherine knew that this man was some sort of medical professional.
"Hallo! I am ze Medic. My name iz Heinrich Gregor. Nice to meet you, fräulein," he said in a German accent. Catherine let out a bit of a chuckle seeing the man go so much as flourishing and bowing in front of her. If he had a hat, he'd probably doff it too. Medic looked like a nice enough guy at first glance, but something about the German's smile made Catherine think there was a more devious side to this man than meets the eye.
"'Ello, lass! The name's William Leonard! I'm the Demoman!" another man said approaching her, practically shouting in her face. Several things troubled Catherine about this man. One, he had a bottle of scrumpy in his hands. Two, his unusual appearance and a contradictory accent. He was supposed to be black, yet he was… Scottish? The British woman couldn't help but stare at the walking oxymoron.
"Eh, don't mind, lass. Aye'm a Black Scottish Cyclops! Aye get it, yah never seen me kind before!" he complained. "Anyways, how 'boot a drink?" he asked, brandishing a flask out of thin air. He offered it to her, and she hesitantly drank a sip of its contents. Laughing triumphantly, Demo grabbed the flask from Catherine's hands and downed the remaining contents in lightning speed before belching loudly. "That's teh stuff!" he said.
Eyes trailing, she saw a man in a sharp suit smoking, a balaclava masking his face. Taking another breath of his cigarette, he tossed aside and pulled another one from a case. The mysterious man offered one to Catherine, which she declined. Shrugging, the masked man lit his smoke and inhaled once again.
"And who might you be…?" Catherine asked, somewhat perplexed and wary of this character.
"I would prefer if we would remain anonymous," he declared in a French accent. Catherine deciphered that everyone here was supposed to be of several countries around world, not just the 'damned Yankees.' "However, I ze Spy. You may to call me that if you so please, chéri."
She nodded, but received a strange vibe from the man. He looked very secretive, subtle by the way he acts and talks, obvious by the mask covering his identity. Well, he was a Spy after all. But the British woman knew well to be wary of such people. Catherine looked next and saw a man (or at least she assumed) in some kind of suit with a gas mask covering his (her?) entire head.
"Hello. I'm Catherine. You?" she asked simply, extending a hand.
The gas mask trooper took her hand in "his" gloved one, and mumbled, "Mh! My nmhhp hrr mnmph mhonpnh! Hymph herr Pyro!"
"What? I'm sorry, dear. You're going to have to speak up. All I heard was 'Pyro.'"
"Erpmh! Wmnp dmoph erm phmp hmphahymph!" he shouted angrily, his complaints muffled by his gas mask.
"Erm… Okay…" she said, ignoring him. For all future confrontations with this person, she'd just use "Pyro." Catherine looked around to the only remaining person in the group, and she stopped in her tracks, almost letting a gasp escape from her breath. She slowly felt agitation bubbling in her.
"G'day! Name's Roger Appleby! It's a pleasure. I'm the-"
"Sniper…" she finished in a hushed voice. The Australian scratched his head in confusion.
"Uh yeah… Well, noice to meet ya… Cathy was it?"
She gave an expressionless nod, though Sniper noticed her brows furrowed a bit. The hunter was becoming in a slightly awkward position.
"Um… well, put 'er there!" Sniper said, extending a hand and breaking the silence. Catherine smiled slightly. She didn't take his hand. Instead, her hand swiftly made contact with his face, resulting in the bushman getting his hat knocked off and falling to the ground. Several "oohs" and amused expressions hailed from all the rest of the team's faces. "Bloody hell was that for, ya wanka?! What'd I ever do to you?"
"Well 'Roger Appleby,' let me think…" she said, mentioning Sniper's name in a mocking tone. "Oh yes. One, I'm not a wanka, you Yankee. Second, I hate when people call me 'Cathy.' Three, do you recall frightening me, then attacking me, knocking me unconscious, and bringing me into this strange place? And God bloody knows what you probably did to me in my vulnerable state…"
"What the bloody hell kind of guy do you take me for? Hey, I don't know who the hell ya are! Could've been a damn Spy! I didn't know how to react? And who you callin' a Yankee, ya piker? Do I look like an American? No, I'm 100% Aussie Bushman, and I'm proud," Sniper said, hating her already.
"Hmph. I don't need to be berated by you, ya bludger!" Catherine fought back.
"She-devil!"
"Twat!"
"Wench!"
"Hooligan!"
"Dude, I think the new girl's got ya beat, Snipes. She's got similar insults! She knows your moves! I guess bein' under the crown or Queen or whatever mean's ya got the same slang and insults. C'mon, man! Be original, or least be usin' real American insults!" Scout commentated, observing the ever increasing heated argument. Both of them were shouting several trash talking words and phrases that seemed to get a little repetitive and quite simply lame as the seconds passed by.
"Shut up!" Soldier said, his drill sergeant voice booming throughout the corridors of the detention center. Everyone went dead silent in a flash, and you probably could hear a pin drop. "Ahem! Those BLU bastards are approaching Fastlane here as we speak, with a cart full of enough explosives to blow us to Kingdom Come. Now, we'll figure this out later. You. Lady. Get back in the cell."
Catherine threw her annoyed glared from Sniper to Soldier and put her hands on her hips. "Oh really? Well what makes you think I'll get back in there, Yankee?"
The RED team responded by aiming all their weapons straight at the British woman, forcing her comply. She slowly raised her hands over her head and backed into the cell. "Hmph. Just when I was enjoying getting to know you people better…"
Soldier grabbed the key from Scout's hands and locked the barred door. Putting the key in his pocket, Soldier readied a rocket launcher and rallied his troops.
"Alright men! Get your gear and ready up! Last one out, lock the door!"
Sniper grabbed his panama off the ground before taking another glare at Catherine and following the rest of his comrades.
The RED team acted fast, and ran to the main exit of the base, next to the supply and locker rooms in lightning speed. Everyone grabbed any gear, weapons, and other equipment and readied themselves for combat. However, amidst the sudden anticipation for battle, Soldier shouted out to the team.
"Wait a minute! We'll need someone to keep that little bitch under a watchful eye, make sure she doesn't pull a fast one… or something!"
Nobody said anything, instead waiting in the setup period as people adjusted their weapons, loaded ammo, or simply sat on the benches for the alarm, and the Announcer to start the match.
"Sniper! You just volunteered yourself!"
Sniper's train of thought as he polished his precious rifle was broken, as he looked at the grizzled war veteran in confusion and disbelief.
"What? Solly, you can't be damn serious? You'll need my help out there!" Sniper retorted, trying to defend himself.
"We're trying to stop a mine full cart of explosives. We'll handle without a Sniper. Besides... You found her. She's your responsibility now!" Soldier said, as the gates opened up.
"You make it seem like she's some dog or something I found on the street!" Sniper shouted, as the Soldier exited the room.
"Not my problem!"
Soon enough, all of the team left the spawn point, leaving Sniper to go to his newly assigned post.
"Heh... Appleby... hehe..."
Sniper hawked and spit on the concrete floor. He could still hear Scout snickering about his real name.
"God damn, piss!" Sniper shouted, kicking the nearest object on the ground with force. Unfortunately, that happened to be his sniper rifle. Coming to his senses, the Australian assassin picked his gun back up and dusted it off. He then hugged it tightly before holding it a more eased position. He was no Heavy, but Sniper still cared about his weapon. After all, he'd been using it for the past eleven years, and it still performed great and way ahead of its time. Sniper let out another sigh.
"What the bloody hell did I just get myself into?"
Tightening the grip on his gun, Sniper walked through the doors, back inside RED base, and grudgingly back to the detention cells…
There you have it. Chapter 2. I hope you enjoyed. Gee, coming up with names for the units can be fun, yet difficult. In some of the stories I've read, most of the good names have been taken. Heinrich Gregor? Yeah, not satisfied with that one... Heh... Oh, and I have a feeling someone's going to compare Sniper's name to a certain restaurant franchise... Oh, and Catherine, first name plus British accent, was inspired by a sniper from another game that all of you have probably never heard about. Those of you who have, then good for you. Yep. All fifty of you.