Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Most of this stuff remains canon; teams are portrayed in a more realistic manner (or as realistic as you can get with a game like this) while trying to stay true to the personalities of the characters involved. Have fun reading or simply close out of it if you don't.
Cheers.
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When he came to his senses, the Sniper found himself in the very storage room that had been used to contain the Blu Spy after his initial capture.
A few modifications had been made of course..
Rather than rope, he found himself handcuffed at the wrists and plastic-strapped at the ankles. A small, swiveling computer chair was his current prison -- certainly much cozier than one made of wood, but it didn't change that fact that he was secured to it in an unmovable fashion. He tried to work himself free, feeling the cold metal of the cuffs slicing into his wrists and forcing him to stop.
His face was sore.
Damn.. Even though he couldn't see it, he could approximate the severity of the bruise that had formed there from the Red Spy's sudden strike. What was with that anyway?? The man had never hit him before aside from being playful -- this whole situation seemed to be ridiculous, in fact. And worst of all? No one was telling him anything.
Left in the dark quite literally, he sighed listlessly and pushed his head back over the spine of the chair. It wasn't tall enough to support him completely, but he hadn't expected that sort of courtesy after the wake-up call he'd received. What could it possibly be about? He ran the facts in his mind: Papers in his room, the absence of his gun..
Answers were not readily apparent and as he frowned up at the ceiling he thought of other things. The Scout -- had he found that Spy? ..no. He'd have been there if he did. He would have come to at least explain what was going on, wouldn't he? Yea.. even if something incriminating was said, he'd at least show up to rub it into his face, right? Well.. His absence said only one thing to the Aussie -- something had happened to him, possibly something that prevented him from being able to attend. Refusing to think about what that something could be, he shut his eyes and frowned with creeping despair.
What was going on?
He didn't realize that he was not alone until the chair was suddenly turned around and brought to an abrupt halt facing the head Medic.
Emitting a startled gasp, the Sniper jolted in the chair and strained his bonds only to feel them dig in punishingly. The Medic sneered at this reaction, his hand leaving the chair to flick at the long-needled syringe he held in his other one. Furrowing his brow at it, the Aussie opened and shut his mouth as he tried to meet eyes with the silent physician, "Medic? What's this about?"
He observed as the man grabbed his arm, the chair turning accordingly as he found a vein and slid the needle in. The Sniper winced at the pinch it produced though he knew full well he'd be unable to jerk away as the man pressed down on the plunger of the syringe and pumped a clear blue liquid into his bloodstream with a painstaking slowness that made the Sniper look away and groan.
Pulling the needle free, the Medic held the injection point with his thumb and slapped a bandage over it hastily before wordlessly moving back from him and allowing another man to approach. This one was a Soldier, one he wasn't too particularly familiar with though he supposed it wouldn't have mattered anyway..
"Maggot.." the man growled, interlocking his arms behind himself as he leaned down to stare at the Sniper from under the rim of his helmet.
The Sniper stared back evenly, saying nothing even as the man stood straight and sneered at him.
"Do you know why you are here, scum?" he asked accusingly.
"No."
"Don't lie to me, boy!"
"No."
The Soldier frowned heavily at him, peering down the side of his chiseled nose at the seated man. Grunting, he moved on, beginning to pace in a slow circle around the chair much as he had done to the Blu captive weeks prior. As he moved aside, the Sniper could see who else was there: the head Medic, his acquaintence from the hangar -- the Engineer, and, he noted with mixed feelings, his friend the Red Spy..
They stood in silence near the wall, each displaying their own methods of professionalism as they let the Soldier move on with the interrogation. The Medic looked disapproving and angry, the Engineer? Thoughtful and rigid with his pipe wrench held tightly in his hands.. The Spy wasn't even looking at him, he seemed more interested in the cigarette he was smoking and his view of the trio was obscured as the Soldier stepped back in front of him and snapped him to attention as he ground the heel of one boot sharply against the floor.
Spine stiffened, the Sniper grimaced and looked up to him.
"You have been found guilty of treason, boy, the penalty for which.. is a swift and merciless execution," the Sniper thought he saw the Soldier smile as he accented his words, his own brow furrowing further with a mixture of concern and.. anger!
"Treason.. Against who?" The Soldier grinned, prompting the Aussie to sound even angrier as he sat up in the chair, "Awl Oy've done is work to protect this base -- to protect you!"
"Zhat is what we assumed as well," said the Spy.
He drew the attention of the room as he exhaled a bit of smoke, hazel eyes moving from the ceiling to the Sniper with a manner that made the Aussie feel like prey. "At least until we uncovered your dirty leetle secrets.." Frowning heavily, the Sniper ground his molars and tried not to prattle off anything too inflammatory.
"Enlighten me," he growled, reigning himself in but only just barely.
The Spy seemed happy to do so, pushing himself off of the wall and dropping some papers onto a wooden table which had apparently been moved in for the interrogation. Watching the Soldier move, the Sniper braced himself as the chair lurched forward and sent his chest colliding into the side of the tabletop with a force that almost knocked the wind out of him. The light above the table illuminated its contents as the Spy leaned over both them and the Sniper with a seemingly amused smirk, "Oh Monsieur Sniper.. where shall I begin?"
Recovering swiftly, the marksman said nothing and looked at the items presented. Folded letters, photographs.. Most appeared to have his handwriting, others being entirely different though it seemed like a series of communications passed back and forth.. They had been dated months back.
"What is this?"
"Indeed, Monsieur. What is this?"
The Sniper snapped his gaze up to the Spy who stood straight and coolly adjust his tie as he plucked up one of the letters.
"..I am leaving my rifle for you, mate," the masked man narrated, gesturing around with his cigarette, "You may use it to impersonate me as you see fit. No one will suspect a thing as you are about my height and build. With any luck we'll be able to flush them out of their own base or, at least, board their trains when they try to follow our colleagues."
"I did nawt write that, mate," the Sniper interrupted.
Peering from the paper to the man, the Spy pretended to look surprised. "Oh? You didn't write zhat? Well.. Surely I must be mistaken. I assume zhere are plenty of people in zhis base who would have your identical handwriting.." Reaching down, he brushed aside a photograph to reveal the post card the Sniper had been writing to his parents earlier that week. Without waiting for the Aussie's reply, he laid the letter down next to it facing the man and let him see for himself how the two items matched up.. "What eez more, I am sure zhe fact zhat zhese were in your locked desk drawer means nothing.." His index finger tapped a white envelop labeled 'intel'.
"Son of a dingo-- Oy! No, I didn't write this!" the Aussie sputtered, completely blindsided by this startling mimicry of his hand-writing as well as the great lengths someone had taken to build a conspiracy around him. The least of his worries was the invasion of privacy, but that didn't mean he didn't feel sick knowing everyone was sifting through his personal belongings and trivializing them as evidence for a crime he did not commit.
"You were his guardian, you were at zhe head of his following search party.. You found nothing, hm? Zhe entire team searched and zhey found nothing either.. Would you like to know what I think, Monsieur?"
The Sniper shook with indignation.
"I zhink you helped him to escape and you know precisely where he is."
"That is NOTtrue, mate!" he yelled, straining forward against the table and gritting his teeth with impatent rage, "You really think Oy'd work with that slimey bastard? Talk to Scout, he knows I was lookin' for him t'cut 'is head off. Go ask him!"
"Ah, oui," the Spy said with morbid glee, "Zhe Scout.."
They stared at one another for a short while as the Sniper slowly leaned back into his chair. The cuffs had broken his skin, blood dripping onto the dirty store room floor as he upheld the silent and dared the Spy with his eyes to break it.
"I assume you know where zhe Scout is?"
"No.." he growled quietly, "I awl'ready told you Oy just woke up. I dunno where anyone is but myself.."
"Is zhat so.." the Spy asked sardonically as he drew from his cigarette, "Really, because he tells us zhat you attacked him last evening after first trying to get him to stop looking for zhe Blu Spy."
"What?? Oy never attacked anyone last night! And.. I told him to go back to 'is room because I was bloody worried! I thought he'd get 'imself killed!"
"Which is why you took a frying pan to his head later zhat night?"
"No! What on earth are you talking about?!"
"Oh Monsieur, please.." the Spy shook his head and turned his back on the man as he blew smoke up at the ceiling, "Zhis would move much faster if you simply told zhe truth.."
"Mate, Oy am!" he snapped, desperation tainted his voice.
"You attacked him once before, oui?"
".." the Sniper thought quickly, recalling the mess hall incident and just as quickly deciding to try and turn it to his advantage, "I hit him, yes. Weeks ago -- with a briefcase. Do you even know why?"
"Haw.. Humor me, Monsieur.." the Spy still did not look at him.
"He was raggin' on me in the mess hall, mate. Started gettin' real physical about it and spoutin' off crap about you for what it's worth.." The approach didn't seem to tug any heartstrings so he continued, "I clocked him with the case, he got me back later with a bat to the head. Medic? You should know, Oy went t' you."
The German scoffed, looking unimpressed as per usual, "Ach ja.. You came for knife vhounds und a bullet. I do not remember anyzhing about a Scout. ..Only zhat he suffered head trauma which I later found out vhas caused by you."
That's right -- his moment of pride had caused him to withhold the baseball bat incident from the doctor. ..and now it was backfiring on him. Still, he wouldn't let this opportunity slip away.
"And did he tell you why I did it?"
"Somezhing about a love affair. I wasn't terribly interested," the Medic said evenly.
"Wha.. Look, why would I attack him for something stupid like that?" No one looked impressed, "Are you even listenin' t'yourselves?"
"Zhe point, Monsieur Sniper, is zhat you have done zhis sort of thing in zhe past," the Spy had turned back around at this point, "And so eet eez only natural for us to assume you've done eet again. I am afraid it casts you in a.. razher poor light." Almost as if on cue, the light bulb hanging above them began to flicker a bit.
The Aussie tried to meet his gaze, but found that the sun was positioned behind the Spy and rendering him a featureless silhouette.
"Look.." he tried to peer to all four men at once as the Soldier joined those at the wall, "Oy've got nothing to gain by betraying this team. Nothing. You have any idea what Blu would do to me if I showed up on their doorstep? Any idea at all?"
"Guess it's a moot point if you never really left 'em in the first place, huh?" the Engineer asked suddenly.
The Aussie stared.. sadly in his direction, blinking a few times and shaking his head, "Aw.. Don't.. Don't let this get to you, mate. Please. Really!"
"I just call 'em like I see 'em, Mister. And you best be comin' up with a solid excuse or else things just ain't gonna pan out fer you."
The four of them stared expectantly at their captive who had dropped his eyes to the table and taken on a look of contemplation.
"Well Monsieur Sniper? Do you have anyzhing to say?" the Spy prodded.
"I can't win here, can Oy.." the Sniper murmured.
"Zhat vhould depend on your end goal, Herr Sniper," came the Medic's sing-song tone. "If you intend to betray us, den no -- you lose miserably."
"..are my fingerprints on those documents?" the man asked suddenly, head lifted after no one answered.
The Spy looked at the Medic. The Medic looks intrigued by the request.
"They'd be on it if I wrote it, right? The only gloves I own don't 'ave fingertips," he peered between the men with fervor in his eyes -- he'd noticed early on that his glasses had been removed and placed on the table.
The Engineer sniffed and broke the silence with a shrug as he moved away from the wall, "Guess so, Mister. Guys? Whadd'y'all say we take a break and come back later? Might as well be sure before we get the notion of killin' somebody." The Sniper's spirits rose and fell again when the Engineer looked at him and added, "Besides, we still have to decide how we're gonna take him out when we find his prints all over that darn thing."
Clucking his tongue with a shake of his head, the Engie placed his wrench on his belt and strolled out the door.
The other men exchanged hesitant glances, unanimously deciding to leave as the Spy slowly gathered up the papers and tossed one last look at the Sniper before following the Medic out and locking the door.
-Zhere won't be any prints, will zhere..- the Frenchman thought to himself. He could feel the burnt photograph of the Sniper sitting inside of his suit where he'd kept it for the past day or so. Right over his heart..
That was one of the things which made no sense.
Why snuff out a picture of someone unless you intended to follow such a path through other means like, say, framing them or snuffing them out of a more literal picture -- a team for instance.
The Sniper stared at the wall after they all left, optimism working at full steam to try and distract him as despair and a constant headache threatened to push him overboard. If the Spy had managed to forge his prints as well, he was done for -- he knew that much..
And as his gaze lowered to his lap, he sighed and decided to soberly catch up on the sleep he'd missed this morning.
