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A dark figure entirely clad in blue sat quietly in the corner of the train car, leisurely smoking a cigarette and filling the cabin with hazy clouds of smoke. Somewhere not too far away, a group of eight other men and women chatted restlessly, their voices muffled by the thin walls.
The voices spoke of their worries, their hopes, about what they expected from the new site they were being relocated to.
The BLU Spy had no such qualms. No, on the contrary, he felt surreally numb. He supposed it could be the cigarettes, but the slight shake of his hand told him otherwise.
He never liked change.
And unfortunately for him, things would never be the same.
…
Entering his room felt strange, as, in reality, it did not look too different from his previous quarters. With a separate smoking room reserved for him, he felt content to waltz around for a moment to take in the state of his new home before elegantly seating himself upon one of the soft cushioned chairs.
With a heavy sigh, he glanced at the table with the many stacks of folders laid upon it. Tentatively, he chose the first one and began to carefully read through it.
…
Somewhere on the opposite side of the same site, a dark-skinned man in a blood-red button-up and a lean, dark hat with bone-like ornaments walked lazily across the dusty terrain, glancing every now and then to observe the new battlegrounds.
He had already created a list of locations he would scout out in the first day they were sent in to begin the endless war anew. With a sneer upon his face, the RED Sniper focused once more on the path before him.
He would not let this BLU Spy best him. Not like the last one.
He swore to himself, no matter who this Spy was, no matter what he had done.
The Sniper would put him in his place.
…
“Everyone up!” the proud voice of a young soldier boomed, feminine and piercing in the early morning silence. “Make special preparations! The first day of battle is upon us!”
“Mein Liebling, could you be a little quieter?” a quieter voice chided distantly, traces of exasperation in the gentle voice.
The Spy rolled his eyes at the theatrics having long since gotten out of his soft bed, a second cigarette already between his lips. It was a bad habit he knew he needed to break.
He just never found the time and will to do so. God knows the doctor had argued with him enough times about it. The blonde-haired and bright-eyed BLU Medic, nicknamed an angel of mercy, was by far one of the most skilled medics available, but even her tactics could not deter him from smoking himself into the grave. With a ragged sigh, he disposed of the cigarette before standing.
Slipping on more appropriate outerwear, he looked himself over in the mirror as he shrugged on his far too expensive suit and straightened his posture. Adjusting the balaclava upon his face, he gave himself a tired smile before turning towards the door.
His first day against an entirely new enemy RED team, with mysterious capabilities that may or may not outrank his.
The first day against a new RED Sniper.
To say he was nervous was an exaggeration, as this line of work left little room for steady nerves regardless. But to say he was entirely calm was just as far from the truth.
“What’s with the long face?” a soft, amused voice chided from his left as he entered the kitchen. Turning to smile at the experienced BLU sniper, he offered his own acknowledgment.
“Good morning to you as well, Ana,” he spoke tiredly, fishing out a mug designated for him. At least, he believed it was, thanks to the crudely drawn picture of a blue crab on its surface.
Courtesy of the scout, of course.
Figures.
In all honesty, the girl reminded him of himself, bright and energetic, dotted in freckles and dangerously cocky. The difference was the Spy had wisened considerably over the years. He knew the consequences of such an attitude, but lucky for Scout, her circumstances were substantially different from his own. She could get away with being stupidly over-confident.
Spy could not.
He supposed that’s where the problem started.
As if he was summoned, the youngest member of the team danced into the kitchen, snapping her fingers along to an imaginary tune. She seemed to be in a relatively good mood.
Spy sighed in relief internally. Having the youngest member of the team in a bratty mood was never good, especially on the first day back from an extended break.
“You seem distracted,” the sniper spoke calmly, her voice strangely soothing to his ears. She had the strangest ability to lull people to sleep with nothing but her presence, a peculiar perk for someone in her line of work.
“Not distracted,” he murmured over his cup of now ready, sweetened coffee. Taking a small sip, he smiled at the familiarity of the taste. “Just thinking.”
The older woman laughed softly. “That is the equivalent of being distracted, is it not?”
The Spy only grunted in response, a very non-elegant sound he only let slip around this particular person. At least he believed he had the others fooled with his classy act.
In reality, the high-maintenance spy who wore dubiously expensive clothing was nothing but a farm boy on this inside, his bright golden hair and glowing freckled skin hidden well underneath the dark cloth of his mask with nothing but sparkling blue eyes to reveal a minuscule fraction of his true self. The sniper, of course, knew none of this, as did none of the rest of his team. No one knew his name, his face, his real personality.
Well, perhaps some of them knew small fragments of his personality. Spy wasn’t a stone-cold machine, sometimes he couldn’t help laughing along to a bad joke, or making a snarky off-hand comment. Especially to Scout, he realized with a shake of his head and a hidden smile.
“You’re so hard to read,” she pouted, finishing up her own cup of black coffee before placing it in the sink.
“I would hope so,” he spoke with an incredulous tone, “It’s part of the job description.” Shaking her head in mock disappointment, she left him with one last smile over the shoulder. Nodding his head in goodbye, he placed his own cup into the sink before straightening out the cuffs on his wrists.
The battle would start in approximately 55 minutes.
Everything would be alright. As long as he kept his cool.
Setting his jaw, he turned to exit the now empty kitchen.
He mercifully stumbled into no one as he found his way to a small window overlooking the battlegrounds below. He placed himself upon a small ridge and turned to the outside.
With deadly precision, his eyes swept over the canvas of the ground, taking note of all of the potential hiding spots he had identified the day before.
He refused to listen to the heart pounding heavily within his chest. He forced his hands to unclench and laid them to rest upon his lap. He didn’t need a cigarette.
Soon he would know exactly what and who he was dealing with.
…
The first time the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end he ignored them in favor of lining up an easy headshot on the enemy Medic, a practically glowing target gleaming from the already blood-splattered terrain below. It was a familiar feeling, one of being watched.
He always felt as if someone was there, just behind him. Their breath ghosting his neck, butterfly knife ready to sink into his back and end his life in a flash. A dark blue figure materializing from the shadows.
It made his hands shake, his breath quicken.
He hated it. That damned feeling.
His mind wouldn’t let him rest.
But it was thanks to his paranoia that he survived many a deadly encounter.
The RED Sniper was aware of an invisible presence the moment it stepped foot into his hidden hide-out he had turned into a temporary sniper’s nest. And this time, when the hairs on his neck rose, he paid them full mind and instantly directed all of his attention to his immediate surroundings.
He forced himself to remain calm, as he had done more times than he could count. He did his best not to turn around immediately, to continue staring into the depths of the scope even though he saw nothing, having shifted all of his focus from visual to audial.
He heard every little swish of clothing, every silent step. He could feel the presence approaching him, getting closer and closer.
The mysterious invisible man took the final step and stood just behind him, weapon undoubtedly at the ready. The Sniper could practically feel the heat radiating off of him, could distinctly smell… smoke. Before he could process that particular detail, a louder creak gave him permission to turn at lightning speed and grab hold of the invisible hand he knew held the weapon that would end his life before twisting it violently.
A pained gasp sounded from somewhere in front of him and without a second thought, he lunged forward. A startled yelp met him as he crashed into the invisible form and brought him roughly onto the wooden ground before reaching for the trusty machete he kept leaning against the side of his chair.
Turning his chin up to avoid the worst of the splatter, he forcefully shoved it into the dark blue fabric that had appeared just below him and suddenly, froze.
With wide eyes he observed the convulsing figure underneath him. With the front of his suit now entirely soaked in deep, red stains, the blue-clad man gurgled suddenly, droplets of blood flowing hypnotizingly from the sides of his mouth overflowing with a copious amount of red liquid as the man attempted to gasp for air.
Gloved hands grasped him desperately, whether they were attempting to push him off or pull him closer, he wasn’t sure. As if in a trance, he let his eyes trail towards the face of his assailant, pale white skin hidden underneath a dark blue mask before…
Sniper marveled at those eyes. Those brilliant blue, gorgeous eyes. Glazed over, they stared vacuously at his figure, wide and unfocused. With pupils contracted, the brightness of his irises seemed almost alien.
Startling back to reality, the Sniper realized all too suddenly, that the man had long since stopped breathing. With a defensive huff, he moved away from the corpse, unable to take his eyes off of that face.
He looked so… young.
So bright.
Nothing like the last Spy he had fought against.
The brashness and violence of his actions weighed suddenly on his shoulders, and though he attempted to shrug it off, it viciously ate at him.
He agreed he could have gone about this more civilly.
Shoving his machete straight through the poor man’s chest was most definitely not a fun way to go out for him.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, he turned to look at the corpse once more.
It was then that something occurred to him.
Something that made his heart drop into his stomach.
The body.
The body was still there.
With nothing more than a second to tense up once more and scan the room quickly in a panic, he let out a hoarse shout of terror as a rough hand grasped him by the back of his head and knelt him backwards, exposing the line of his throat.
In an instant, a knife slid cleanly through it.
The Sniper saw nothing but eyes the color of the most vibrant ocean before his world went dark and he tumbled back first into the unknown.
…
The first thing he did was shout in rage and disappointment, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth so hard they threatened to crack under the pressure as he stormed out of respawn.
That fucking snake would pay.
The bastard thought he had him fooled with those gorgeous eyes but no, Sniper wouldn’t fall for him that easily. He should have looked away from them, straightened up, fucking thought for a damn second and then he would’ve realized the hoax.
How that slippery snake being given an extra life because of some watch was fair, he couldn’t tell. But he didn’t make up the stupid rules.
Grumbling to himself, he stalked his way onto the battlefield and out of the corner of his eye, distractedly chose an alternate location he had scouted the day before.
Climbing up was a hassle, but the moment he finally made his way into the dusty, abandoned room, he set straight to work, getting comfortable and welcoming himself back into the battle. This particular location hid the gleam from his sniper rifle well, and the darkness helped camouflage his prone form.
Just as he was starting to get back into the swing of things, a glint of blue in the corner of the battlefield caught his attention. Without a second’s hesitation, he took lightning-quick aim and fired.
…
Spy stumbled out of respawn, extremely disoriented and confused. Holding his head with one hand, he took a moment to collect himself and waited for the room to stop spinning. The last thing he remembered was moving while cloaked, about to stab the orange-haired RED Medic with multi-colored eyes.
How had he died so quickly?
After a feeble attempt to search his memory for any clear assailant, he came up empty handed and with a hint of annoyance, attributed his death to the hand of the enemy Spy who must have somehow snuck up on him. The sneaky Frenchman could get under anyone’s skin, including his own. It wouldn’t be the first time he was bested in his own profession by the man.
Muttering curses under his breath, he reentered the field once more masked by his cloaking device, making his way back to the more populated parts of the battlegrounds. It took him a moment to spot a seemingly lonely-looking RED Scout. The purple-haired girl would be his next target, and as he readied his knife, he decided to better plan his method of attack in a small secluded corner hidden behind debris. For a moment, he deactivated his cloaking device to let it charge, confident he was out of the line of sight of the enemy.
He was.
A flicker of red caught his attention. Frowning slightly, he turned his head to the side, searching for its source before freezing. Eyes widening, he tried to dart to the side.
He was not fast enough.
…
Sniper was proud of himself to say the least. Wiping his brow after firing yet another lead bullet straight through the blue snake’s cranium, he allowed himself a small smile. The spook kept hiding around corners, using tiny little moments of rest to charge his watch and to catch his breath, as otherwise it would be impossible to continue but each and every time, the Sniper was waiting.
Itching to pull the trigger.
The Spy’s unfortunate placements on the battlefield never disappointed him.
He supposed he was being rather cruel, but a small part of him took a sick kind of glee in bullying the other man. The shame he felt after their first encounter flared back to life along with the rage that had accompanied it.
The slippery bastard deserved it.
With a tired sigh, he sat back and started to pack his things. The day was about to be over, and having evened the field with the BLU spy, he was feeling rather content.
The score was even.
For now.