Chapter Text
Killing wasn’t ever something the young man hailing from the Adelaide River in Australia would have ever considered for a job before. But then again, he never thought he would ever take a life before either. But that accidental discovery he made only a few months ago regarding that hidden talent of his was the very reason why he found and chose employment with Mann Co. It was why he flew to America; Why he took a train straight to the quiet little town called Harvest, possibly the most out of the way farmlands to exist in the United States.
Nothing in his skillset or education would ever pay him better than this, and he knew it.
Home had since been long out of the newcomer’s mind after his journey’s start. He had already set his mind towards the job at hand after his application got accepted and being hired on, as mysterious as some parts still were to him in how vaguely explained the expectations of his role were. Putting the mild irregularities aside though, this new career was too important to turn his back on or fumble for more reasons than just his own well-being depending on his success in it.
And so, as the train’s brakes screeched in protest and the cart gently lurched before slowing to a gradual halt, RED’s new Sniper finally arrived.
Peering out the window before gathering his things to leave, the Sniper took in the lush, green Summer foliage accompanied by warm wooden buildings as well as an oddly out of place concrete one from the not-so-far distance from what he could glean from where he sat. It all appeared harmless from what he could see, but he knew better than to assume to know anything now that he was in an entirely new country along with an entirely new and slightly questionable job.
Reaching a hand over to his side, the Sniper grabbed his corked swagman hat he’d brought with him from back home and, instead of placing it on top of his head as he did when he worked the field or hunted, used the thin strap to hold it behind his head in a resting position. Gathering his large pack between his legs to firmly wrap its straps around his shoulders, the fresh-faced bushman finally stood and meandered his way off the train.
Stepping outside was refreshing for the outdoorsy man who’d been cooped up all day and night in a train car for the last couple days. The sight he’d taken in from the other side of the window before ended up being so much more lovely now that he was in the middle of it. Taking a better look around his surroundings, he could see that there wasn’t a pollutant factory or city for what looked like miles. Hearing the word “company” when getting hired had made him believe he’d experience the typical modern day smog, but this… was a really pleasant surprise. A small smirk tugged at the corner of the Sniper’s mouth as he breathed in slowly and deeply before making the trek towards the distant yet still visible bases nestled neatly between surrounding farm plots.
Here’s hopin’ the folks here ain’t like the ones in Oz.
The people were nothing like the ones back home, the Sniper quickly found. From the moment he stepped through the main doors of what looked more like a humble, wooden community center than a base for mercenaries, he was given nothing but general pleasantries all around even as he paced hurriedly by them. He didn’t really know what to say other than a small “Hey” or a nod in greeting, but thankfully no one crowded him, and therefore allowed him to walk quickly by and be well on his way to his room after the team’s demolition’s expert - or, Demoman - kindly intercepted the wandering man by helping point him in the right direction of the hallway where all their quarters were “in order of class”. Whatever that meant.
The Sniper knew he would be working with other people during his time in Harvest, but even as he had rushed through the base in his race to unpack in peace, he could tell that from what faces he did come across that he hadn’t seen all eight of the mercenaries that supposedly lived there. He didn’t even really know who was who except for the Demoman since he only finally paused after walking around enough with aimless determination to cause his teammate to step in and assist him with directions while briefly introducing himself. The marksman just… wanted to avoid anyone making a big deal out of his arrival. Not that he would think a team of killers would hold any kind of surprise party for him, like kids would do, but it was still a mortifying probability he didn’t favor and it put the Sniper in an uncomfortable state of mind for even imagining it.
At the very least, there wasn’t much that the humble bushman had brought with him from home, so it had been quick and easy to put what little things he had brought with him away before finding himself standing in front of his dresser with no other tasks to do for the rest of the day, eyeing the gun cases that laid upon it. That’s where he was now in figuring out what to do with himself with all the daylight he had left to burn.
Well… That ain’t true. ‘Might be well to clean n’ oil my rifle before the fight Monday. S’nice outside, so ‘could be good for it.
Giving the smallest nod to himself at the idea, RED’s new Sniper casually changed out of his civilian shirt and jacket for the work ones he’d found on his bed, paying no mind that even putting on the uniform essentially marked and officiated that day as being his very first day under Mann Co. He grabbed the gun case containing his new sniper rifle from the dresser - the rifle being the longest one among them - making sure not to jostle anything until he got to “respawn” or “resupply”— However it was explained during his one day of orientation in some shady facility before coming there.
Yet while there was no sentimentality or symbolism to take away from the clothes he wore, the Sniper did find himself suddenly hesitant to leave his room, hand stilling and resting frozen on the doorknob as he somewhat frowned to himself at his own reaction.
They ain’t bad people. Killers, o’ cours e, but s’not like they were rowdy with me…
But was it only the fact that they were seasoned murderers that he didn’t feel right in interacting with them, or something more?
The Sniper didn’t allow himself to acknowledge or think further on such a question, giving a small shake of his head before stubbornly setting his jaw and finally exiting his room with a sharp turn of the knob.
M’not some child. I’m a killer for hire too now. /Nothin’/ should be botherin’ me.
That thought was one he held onto as he passed not-so-quickly by a couple of the same teammates he’d seen about an hour ago. A brunette man in a white coat and a gentle face turned away from a shorter one with much fairer, brush-cut hair and goggles on his forehead to give a friendly smile and small wave towards the marksman. Unable to pull himself away from the course he’d set his mind to, and only because of that the Sniper did the same as he had before in response to his teammate with a short nod and a curt yet quiet, “G’day…” before heading outside.
Apparently respawn and resupply were one of the same, he soon found, as according to the arrows and signs he followed had signified that he was right where he needed to be. The large shack that was supposedly made to serve two purposes was just as normal and humble as the base appeared, but the Sniper paid none of it any mind. For now. Already so many questions were popping up, and it was becoming clearer by the second that his employers really hadn’t explained much to him before settling in.
Dad always said not to trust suits… That they lie n’ cheat to get one over ya. ‘Set ya up for failure.
Shaking his head of any memories that threatened to resurface from the past with that recollection alone, the Sniper set to work on heading over towards the workbench near the labeled supply locker to finally rest his case down upon it. Unlatching the silver locks open to reveal the brand new pieces of his sniper rifle of which he’d need to oil and assemble, the marksman’s brows narrowed slightly as he suddenly and very uncannily felt… like the air in the room shifted all of a sudden.
What…?
What can only be described as the grim reaper’s bony hand running smoothly over clothed flesh before securely clasping onto one’s shoulder to guide them into the afterlife, the Sniper’s skin crawled and ears burned as he felt the entity of a large hand slightly tighten around his bicep, his breath catching in his throat in fear before turning roughly in shock to not only see, but also shake off the unwelcome grip on him.
“Did I startle you? Chiedo scusa. I did not mean any harm.” The gloved hand quickly retracted and joined the other in being held up placatingly, both framing a balaclava-covered face with a black goatee poking out the “mouth” part. “I only meant to introduce myself, being the gentleman that I am.” The stranger gave an easy, calm, and non-threatening smile as both his hands then clasped fluidly behind his back to continue, “I am the Spy. I’m nearly certain you were not educated very well before coming here, but I specialize in reconnaissance as well as providing intel for the good of the team. It’s a pleasure.”
The Spy only nodded with that good-natured smirk to punctuate the end of his introduction. The only thing the bushman could pick up on about the other was the thick Italian accent and deep, smooth voice, which was unique and unmistakable if he could identify anything about the Spy. But what the Sniper truly cared about most besides an identity in all this was how a slightly larger and likely older man compared to himself had ever managed to sneak up on him in a deathly quiet and large room?
“I can tell by your staring that you’re still confused. Perhaps because you didn't know I was in here until I touched your arm?” A more mirthful smile cracked across the Spy’s carefully professional expression before shaking his head. “That is the trick of the trade, mio amico. Maybe something I cannot teach you everything on due to our contrasting professions, but perhaps even still, I can show you what pointers I can.” Seeing as the Sniper was only staring blankly back at him in response, it seemed like the Spy took the beat of silence as the conversational ball still being in his court to continue breaking the ice. “You’re new to the concept of “war”, correct? Do you know what it means to be a mercenary in a team, fighting together towards a shared goal?”
“Uhm…” The Sniper felt a little whiplashed between the earlier startle and the many things being thrown his way by the Spy so suddenly, but his gravelly baritone voice still managed to carry an answer. “I… can’t say I do? I mean… I’ve only ever wasted a couple blokes before - by m’self - but…” He looked away as his sentence gradually petered off into silence, obviously not at all proud of what he’d done as he quietly shoved the memory back down, along with the others.
“So you have little experience in killing, and no experience in every other area.” The Spy adopted a controlled yet compassionate expression after voicing the facts aloud, as though he’d just announced something as regretful as a death in his family. “Sniper, I mean this respectfully as your teammate, but you may be in over your head here, poverino. That is not to say you are entirely hopeless, of course, but you do have a very long way to go in catching up to everyone’s skill ceilings as they are here.”
The Sniper’s mouth subtly pressed itself into a thin, tense line. Knowing that he’d be a detriment to his team as the weaker counterpart to whoever he’d face against come Monday felt horrible to sit with. He had always worked so hard in everything he did, even in things he didn’t necessarily want to do growing up. Knowing that his lack of experience would hold back countless victories from the few friendly faces he found as he walked past them that day didn’t feel fair to them. Typically, the bushman was incredibly independent and comfortable with his own company, but after learning how team focused this job really was and considering what the Spy commented a moment ago…
“You, uh… said you’d be alright showin’ me some… pointers, yeah? Ya don’t gotta if it’s somethin’ ya ain’t got time for, o’ course, but…” The Sniper turned his head away as though vocalizing the request would ache him to ask aloud, “could ya… maybe show me some of them pointers sometime…? Ya got the jump on me earlier, so I trust ya when you say you’ve got wise words to share. N’ I guess ya wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good at what ya did, so…” He gave a half shrug to finish off his thought before managing to meet the other’s dark brown eyes once more.
The taller, slightly more built man who had just begun to pull out a flip-case of what looked to be cigarettes had paused mid-retrieval of one of his sticks to gaze back at the other, seemingly a bit intrigued. “You truly want my guidance, Sniper?” The Spy rhetorically asked, saying it more as a statement than a question as he then put a cigarette into his mouth to hang casually without lighting it yet after tucking his golden case away. “I have no issues in mentoring you if that’s what you’d like, mio amico. Just know I have already been through one war already, and though this one pales in comparison to what you’ll find out there, I will still train you as though your very life depended on it.” Dark eyes then met the Sniper’s bright ocean blues with an intensity befitting a man of his decorated background, “I hope I am being clear on what I will be expecting?”
The Sniper didn’t need to ask what war the Spy was talking about. He could assume that he knew the other was at least old enough to apparently have taken part in the second World War. He was aware of how grim and serious the entire thing was, as out of the way as it had been from Australia when growing up, the marksman only nodded seriously in response. His voice was naturally much deeper and more monotone compared to even the older man he was speaking to, yet his younger age still betrayed him as he followed the nod after with an obedient and disciplined, “I understand.”
If there’s anything I can do to earn my keep ‘round here n’ not trouble the folks around me, I don’t see the harm in whatever trainin’ the bloke’s got in store for me. Saves me the trouble on learnin’ the long n’ hard way… And I guess M’not also troublin’ anyone else who wouldn’t wanna pick up the new dipstick from the dirt either…
Yeah… ‘Think this could work.
Returning the nod with a subtle smile, lips still wrapped around his own cigarette, the Spy took out his case briefly once more to pluck another stick out and hand it over to his new mentee before returning it to his jacket’s inner pocket. “Consider it a welcome gift as well as a celebratory gift. These are rich and expensive, so breathe in nice and slow to truly enjoy the taste.”
The Sniper swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched the gloved hand offer him the stick of tobacco, never having smoked before, yet not wanting to offend the other somehow.
“Ah… thanks.” The bushman pinched the cigarette between his finger and thumb and held it awkwardly up as the Spy then produced an intricately engraved, gold lighter to light his protégé’s before finally lighting his own. After a few moments of the cigarettes being lit, the scent of spicy tobacco, dried herbs, and something wood-like quickly permeated through the large shack, immediately irritating the Sniper’s senses with a slight but noticeable enough wince of discomfort as he continued trying his best to not insult the other.
A silky, deep chuckle slipped past the Spy’s lips, raising a curious brow, clearly able to read even the most minuscule expressions the normally stoic Australian offered. “Inexperienced with smoking as well, poverino?”
“I… guess. Y-Yeah.” The Sniper cleared his throat as he admitted it, but pressed the filter against his mouth regardless of the admission in hopes of not looking completely green to the seasoned war veteran. He did as he was instructed and inhaled; Long, deep, and slow…
A torrent of coughs followed immediately after to answer in consequence, the hot smoke choking him in the middle of his extended pull, causing him to drop the cigarette at his feet as his other hand quickly came into play so he could hack the thick, burning clouds into his fist. The young man had no idea smoking would actually give a /burning sensation/ inside the chest like that, blinking back his watery eyes as he managed to finally steady his breathing and look back up at the Spy who now wore an unmoved yet slightly amused expression. The Sniper found himself too warm in the face to focus on if the older was judging him poorly or simply just entertained by his foolishness.
“I admit, I was not expecting you to take a puff at all, but you have surprised me. It’ll take good time and practice - like all things - to get used to smoking, so do not fret, mio amico.” The Spy took a step forward to place a comforting hand on the somewhat shorter man’s shoulder as he offered a calm smile, seemingly brushing the possible insult of wasting his expensive gift aside. “I will be sure to offer you aid in all things you need, should you want it. We are a team, after all. And I would never abandon you over simple learning hurdles.”
Had the Sniper not heard the last spoken words from his new mentor, he would have likely still believed the other surely thought very little of him and his idiocy. But the understanding and patience was something new that no stranger had ever offered him before. As his composure fully returned, the marksman found himself looking to the Spy with a small and earnest smirk, allowing the other’s hand to reassure him further with a followed-up tiny squeeze.
“Is it too forward to ask you for your name, Sniper? I understand if you wish to keep it private for your own reasons, but knowing everyone else’s here myself, I would not want to keep up stiff formalities with you by only calling you by class title alone.” The Spy asked as casually as one asked about the weather before then slipping his hand slightly down more towards the Sniper’s bicep to then suavely turn and guide them both over towards the sitting bench next to the medical resupply part of the shack, on the opposite side of the room.
Completely forgetting the task he set for himself at this point, the Sniper blinked in confusion at how and when the other’s hand got to where it was now in its current position before calmly nudging the appendage off his arm without any acknowledgement or thought as he still walked in tandem with the other towards the bench. “M’name? Oh, right. Sorry… Um, it’s… Eugene. Eugene Muddy. I ain’t come from much but the Adelaide River in Oz, so I don’t find much point in hidin’ any of it. And I guess with ya bein’ a Spy on my team, anything I riot on about’ll probably be safest with you anyways.” He finished the thought with a shrug before seating himself a comfortable distance from the other, trying to keep constant eye contact out of respect.
The Spy didn’t comment about the brushing away of his hand or even display any negative reaction as a result upon taking his own seat, only plainly nursing his cigarette with a serene, unbothered smile as he gave his ally his full attention. “I thought I detected the dialect, but did not want to rudely assume.” The masked man commented in a relaxed manner, carelessly flicking some ash onto the dusty floor. “Hopefully it is not rude for me to assume you are still very young and likely have surviving guardians back at home who know of your employ here?”
“Mm… Yeah, I…” Eugene’s wavy black locks covered his eyes a bit as he lowered his head and looked away as he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t really wanna get into it, but… My folks and I didn’t have a good send-off when I left to work here… I told ‘em that me doin’ this kind o’ job would do them n’ me good since we were strugglin’ real bad with money since I was an anklebiter. But my dad…” A sigh left the Sniper as though the entirety of the world’s troubles rested over his back. Leaning slightly forward in his seat as he glanced down towards the ground, the younger fought against himself to not relive that day in his head. “Well, he… he said he never wanted me back home again, if I did this. That I were wrong for ever thinkin’ of doin’ it…” Pulling a hand over his face to rub over it a little tiredly, Eugene sighed again before willing himself to pull his composure back together so to better uproot his mind out of the past. “But that’s… that’s alright. ‘Cause it’s been about a week now since I left n’... I’m gonna try callin’ them here soon once I get settled in here. I wanna let ‘em know that no matter what, I’ll take care o’ them n’ send most of my checks their way, just like I told ‘em. Even if dad wants to fight over it, I still will.” He finished the thought stubbornly, having successfully pulled himself out of those unhelpful feelings of sorrow as he straightened his back and dropped his hand away to reveal a determined fire within his deep blue eyes.
“I see…” The Spy nodded and continued pulling gently from his rapidly shortening cigarette as he coolly gazed away, possibly to not make his mentee feel uncomfortable as he clearly was already while wrestling with his past from Australia. “With the way I see your situation moving forward, Eugene, there is no better time than the present.” The older man then glanced back at Eugene with a hope-filled expression, offering the other an almost paternal smile as he uttered his next words full of palpable compassion. “We have a whole day before Monday arrives to prepare you for your first official day in battle, so why don’t we focus on what basic training we can do together before then?”
A small bundle of warmth seemed to bud in Eugene’s chest as he met the Spy’s gaze at the suggestion, taking in everything the wise man gave him and finding, perhaps, a sign of genuine care for him as a person between the words?
A slightly bigger smile spread across the typically reserved Sniper’s face as he nodded, “I’d really like that, Spy. Thank ya… for takin’ all that time that you’ll be givin’ me.”
“Think nothing of it, mio figlio.” The goatee’d man gave a gentle, friendly tap to Eugene’s shoulder while using the same tone as before until suddenly shifting afterwards to stand, tossing his spent, smoldering cigarette butt on the ground without a second thought before tamping over it with his heel. “We can touch base tomorrow, then. For now, get yourself acclimated to your surroundings, the team…” The Spy then smiled knowingly down at his protégé before glancing behind him and then back towards him again as he finished, “and of course, your weapons.”
There was a pause where Eugene was uncertain why the Spy had mentioned his weapons the way he did before remembering just what he was trying to do before their conversation even happened. He perked slightly with a small, “Oh,” before standing briskly up as he finally remembered himself, “thanks.”
Walking past the Spy to go dutifully straight to the workbench with his gun still in its case again, Eugene didn’t hesitate in carrying out his own task to completion this time as he went about finding the lubricating gun oil in the ammo resupply next to him.
“I see you need no help for now, but should you ever need me, I’ll likely be found at the end of the quarters’ hall– I’m your neighbor, in fact.” The Spy’s voice found some humor at the end before Eugene then heard the distinct sound of leather, heeled dress shoes padding away. “Arrivederci, Eugene.”
As Eugene delved himself totally into his labor of love in making sure his rifle was as good as it could be in training with Spy tomorrow, he couldn’t help but revel in how well his first day at Harvest had been going so far. The teammates he did not exactly meet, but rather saw, were still friendly enough towards him upon arrival. He moved completely into his quarters without issue and found all his company issued gear, as he’d been promised to find it. And he found a reliable ally and mentor who showed interest in maybe eventually becoming a good friend, down the road. It would be a first for the Sniper if things worked out that way, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself, even despite his positive mood. Though he did not show it well, in reality, Eugene felt the most excited and sure he’s felt in a long time now that he was settled in. Even if he did not like the idea of the harm he will soon be causing, he was comforted by the “respawn” technology the company sold him on to immediately accept the position and how he’d never actually be taking lives.
Home was a fresh and painful subject still, but Eugene liked to think that despite the many times his father butted heads with him, despite the incident - the loss - coupled with the young killer’s ultimate decision to leave, that his family still believed in family. Believed in him. And they would never completely cut him off for trying to do what was best for them, even if they hated it.
But all of that was for later. For now, the youngest and possibly most stolid of the team couldn’t seem to keep the smallest tinge of a smile off his face as he diligently put together all his weapons.
Maybe for once, he could have friends who were real and liked who he was. Maybe he could be in a place where he felt like he belonged; Where his hard work truly mattered.
Maybe, just like the Spy, he could be a respected and admired professional.