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Fields. Corn, more corn, soybeans, and more corn. Cornfields as far as the eye can see. 30 minutes ago, the van passed by a sign reading: “Welcome to Iowa!” and hasn’t seen anything else since. Besides some cows. Boring. Who the hell would set up a fair in this state? It’s so barren. Excitement is needed.
Sniper (G-D bless his tires) hits a giant pothole on purpose just to scare the hell out of Medic in the back. He’s rewarded with a nice, loud, Germanic“ Fuck you! ”
Heh. Who knew a doctor could be so carsick?
Scout is dead asleep and has been for the past hour. Somehow. Nothing short of a bullet through his brain could wake him up, and Sniper doesn’t feel like multitasking while driving through a rainstorm. The risk of the bumper having an aggressive meeting with the ditch is high enough as is.
The van flies past a tree that, no more than a second later, is struck by lightning and nearly bursts into flames. Sniper doesn’t want to admit it, but he jumps at the loud crash of thunder. Embarrassing for a bushman. Especially a sniper. Nobody needs to know, though. They’re at their destination soon enough and Sniper forgets about it.
It stops raining. More of a sprinkle, now. Medic is the first to hop out into the fresh air, dizzy and disoriented, with Heavy following closely behind. Soldier kindly (in his way) shoves Demo out and shakes Scout awake in the front. He falls out of the passenger seat headfirst, the baseball cap hardly cushioning the blow.
“What–? Hey! You bastard–!”
Soldier grabs him by the shirt before he can even finish. “ Wake up, private ! You are going to be meeting the most important person of your worthless life, do you hear me?!”
Loud and clear. Scout’s head throbs with every word that flies out of Soldier’s mouth. The neck of his shirt nearly chokes him as the lead-poisoned war criminal drags him to wherever the crap.
Wherever the crap being the porch of a quaint little house surrounded by grass and weird flowers, apparently. Demo takes a moment to observe the gorgeous peonies by the door.
Soldier knocks. A dog in the house starts barking, much to the delight of dog-lover Demo. It stops barking and moments later an older woman opens the door with a calloused hand. Looks like she’s been working pretty hard. Scout notices the “Welsh Wizard” writing on her shirt (with what little reading skills he has) and nearly dies. She barely notices him at all, though.
A dramatic gasp sounds from the woman. “Johnny!” Her face is brighter than a lightning strike. “You’re here!”
Soldier salutes her and proclaims, very loudly: “You bet, Sergeant Janice!” Scout thanks whatever higher being there is when Soldier drops him and runs into Janice’s arms for a massive hug.
“And I brought friends for the fair!” He proudly gestures over to Demo, Scout, Medic (who fell over in the grass), and Heavy (who is trying to get Medic up from the grass). Janice’s eyes widen at the sight, though Scout and Demo aren’t exactly sure why.
“...Well ain’t that just wonderful ,” she proclaims, her voice full of the most love Demo’s ever heard in his life. Janice beckons them inside, holding the door open. “Do you boys like sweet corn? Just got done picking– I’ve got a whole lot to use up.”
Food mentioned. Scout immediately disregards any other thoughts he had about this woman. He’s starving, famished (he ate an hour ago). He can talk about Tom Jones later.
Another truck pulls up onto the gravel driveway. Soldier turns his head and waves at it as Engineer, Spy, and Pyro pop out. Janice looks utterly floored. But in a good way.
She gets all the mercs inside and has Soldier set the table. Engie gladly helps with preparing all that sweet corn, pushing Scout out of the way. “‘Bout the only thing I would eat as a kid,” he chuckles. “That ‘n cornbread!”
The meal is great. The gossip is even greater. Janice– who is apparently Soldier’s sister –catches the mercs up to speed on the shenanigans her brother was up to before Mann Co. It’s all stuff they’d expect. War crime expeditions, training armies of opossums when the raccoons were in short supply, crafting homemade bullets that blew up pops’ rifles… very Soldier-esque activities. Something else Janice says catches Sniper’s attention:
“He was about, oh, twenty, at the time. Mama helped him save enough funds after the war to get a nice jeep.” Her voice gets a little distant for a moment. Reminiscing. Fond memories. “Only took him two days to drive that sucker through a twister nearly mangled himself. I tell ya, our mother was furious . Johnny’s a lucky boy that the jeep came out fine.”
Hm. Driving a car into a tornado. Sounds like fun, Sniper thinks. Some of the mercs are a bit confused, though. Heavy’s never seen a twister in real life, and Spy and Medic rarely ever hear about them. They don’t know what it’s like, nor are they particularly interested in finding out.
Sniper is. Professionals have standards, but they also have curiosities.
After a shit-ton of corn and some banana bread for dessert, Sniper heads off into the living room (“it’s called the lounge room”) for some peace and quiet, only to find Pyro already there. Playing with the puppy they heard earlier. A little sausage dog. Cute thing.
“Her name is Angel,” Janice announces as she appears from literally fucking nowhere. Pyro presents Angel over to her, wildly petting the little rat.
Sniper’s never been a dog person. He ignores them and goes to turn on the television. Nothing he’s interested is on. Murder mystery, detective stuff isn’t his thing. A military comedy, maybe, but he’s not in the mood. Other miscellaneous comedies, eh, too much humor for him. He puts the weather on.
Immediately he hears the words “...enhanced risk for severe weather,” and perks up. Interesting. Makes him feel smart for listening to it, mostly, but he’ll need the info if he wants to go to the fair. Jake or Jason or whoever the hell the weatherman is presents a forecast: a line of storms over the next few hours. Some may be severe.
Sniper hums. “...The fair’s still setting up during this?” Doesn’t make sense to him. Americans never did, to be honest. He stands up and turns to find Medic intently staring at glass on a shelf
“Fascinating… This drink looks like it’s been molding for days,” Medic mutters in amusement, rather than the disgust any normal person would have. “Did Soldier leave it here—”
Sniper immediately pulls him away from the shelf and in front of the television. “Watch. Weatherman’s calling for some nasty business.” It’s almost insulting how easily he ignores Medic’s upset expression.
“Plan our route accordingly.” He then promptly exits the room and leaves Medic standing there feeling a bit pissed off. He’s got better things to do than plan their little trip around the fair.
(he does not)
But whatever. Sniper seems serious about it, and even goes outside to check the sky for the first time ever. Dark, low clouds. It feels like the sky is falling into dusk in the middle of the day. A sticky-sickly-humid dusk. The clouds are so green they look like they came straight out of Demo’s eyepatch. Exciting. Sniper’s never seen anything like this before, and he’s curious.
…More than curious. He’s drawn to the sky.
The little dachshund trots towards the open door. She looks up at the clouds. Fascinated. A rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance causes her to bark loudly. A protector at heart.
“...Excited, aren’t ya, little mongrel.” Sniper kneels down to scratch the pup behind her ears.
Janice appears behind Sniper again. This time not so suddenly, thank goodness. He greets her with a nod. She puts a hand on his shoulder.
“I just got off the phone with a friend. Fair’s postponed until tomorrow. Tornado risk is too high.”
Crap...
Eh. Sniper will live. “Ah, bugger,” he sighs, scratching under Angel’s chin. “…I’ll keep an eye on the weather out ‘ere.”
Janice nods and steps back into the house to do whatever. Probably listen to Scout rant on about Tom Jones (a fellow fan, though he’s a bit too enthusiastic).
Sniper stands up, unsure of what to do. He looks up to the sky again. It’s so… creepy. He likes creepy.
The van keys slide into his hand almost instinctively. Unlocks it with a loud beep. The noise draws the attention of Medic and Heavy, who appear from the lounge room.
“Are we going already?” Medic calls out. He doesn’t wait for a response and drags Heavy to the van.
Sniper holds out a hand to stop them both. “Hold on there, mate, the little state fair won’t—“
Can’t even finish his train of thought. Medic cuts him off. “Neeeein, nein, nein, nein, I am not hearing this.” He leads Heavy into the back of the van. “You made me plan our route! Don’t piss me off anymore than you already have.”
…Sniper drops it. He knows what happens when Medic gets angry. He’s already gotten polio once and he doesn’t want that to happen again. So he steps into the driver's seat.
Scout jumps onto his bumper. Where the hell did he even come from—
“Leaving without us?!” he shouts. Then jumps off and speeds around to the back of the van. That dog follows him for some reason. Sniper can’t get a millisecond of respite. Demo comes in tow, too. Though, he’s much slower.
The much calmer mercenary slips into the passenger’s seat and buckles himself in. “Aye, the rest are goin’ with Jan.”
Sniper nods, starting the car. “Fair’s cancelled until tomorrow.”
A beat of confused silence. Demo turns his head towards Sniper. “…Then where are we headin’?” he mutters.
The grin that appears on Sniper’s face can only be described as smug and evil, which is not a common look for him. “Chasing the weather. Buckle up, mate.”
They both take that advice to heart. Demo cannot say he’s not at least a little bit worried as he curiously watches Sniper. Gear shift— reverse, then into drive. Just about ready to get going.
Sniper knocks on the door to the inner van, then shouts. “Oi, doc! Got that path down?!”
He can hear Medic sigh angrily. He hates this damn truck, but if there’s one thing he isn’t, it’s a sleazy leader. “Take this dirt road south until you hit a split in the path!” he shouts back. “Then take a right onto the gravel road and go straight all the way!”
Sniper repeats Medic’s words in his head. “Take the dirt path until you hit a split path. Take a right on the gravel road, go straight.” Easy enough. The van starts moving south on this slick, muddy road. Damn rain earlier.
Not even two minutes after they’ve started driving, a downpour of wind and hail hits the van. It feels like it came out of nowhere, but it was stalking all along. Right behind the van, waiting to flood Sniper’s vision.
This is about the time Sniper shouts at Medic in the back to pop a dramamine or five. Gonna need it for these conditions. As funny as it would be to just watch shit go down, witnessing the doctor get sick all over himself, Sniper wants his van as vomit-free as possible (how easy that’ll be with Demoman in here is a mystery).
The wind starts to pick up enough to shake the van a little bit. Medic takes the entire bottle. Hail is battering the windshield, and honestly it’s a miracle the thing hasn’t shattered already. Thank Engineer for that miracle. Still, the visibility might as well be down to three meters. Wind is blowing rain right into the windows, distorting the little bit of visible road. It’s getting dark out, too. Sniper can’t see shit here.
And he loves it.
The thrill of driving through such fucked-up conditions courses through his aussie veins. He wasn’t born for this type of action, but he can’t say it’s not fascinating. He’s become a bullet speeding through the storm, oblivious to any imminent deadly threats as well as Demoman, who is getting quite worried.
Raindrops coat the road. Sniper can almost feel his wheels drifting before they plant themselves in the cement-like clay road again. Again, thank Engineer that these things don’t get stuck.
Gravel road approaches. That’s better. Better for the tires and the current conditions. But the winds start to pick up again, and Sniper has to count his blessings as Demoman clutches the seats in terror. He’s probably got enough to get through this one downburst.
Unfortunately, his blessings run out quickly as a massive branch comes flying into the side of the van. It spares the window, thankfully. What it doesn’t spare is the vehicle as a whole. Sniper loses control briefly and goes off-road. Right into the grass. The winds, fast and wild, keep the van upright and just barely make it possible for Sniper to get back onto the gravel. Demo sighs in relief. Relief that does not last long at all.
Through the pounding hail and rain, Medic yelps like a wussy with every rustle of the van. It’s barely audible to anyone outside the back. But by the blessed L-RD who has decided not to spare these guys, Sniper (and Demo) can’t deny that it’s funny as hell, even through his popping ears.
What’s not funny is yet another branch— nope, that’s a brick. Or a cinder block. Shit—
It slams into the van, right where the branch did. A loud thud comes from it, but thanks to some divine intervention or something, it doesn’t puncture the vehicle walls. The person responsible for this divine intervention should be obvious by now.
Sniper barely has time to process the brick before he loses control of the van completely. Demo screams. Sniper screams. But only for a moment. He keeps his hands on the steering wheel and attempts to regain control. One foot on the gas, one on the brake. Alternating between whichever is needed. Desperately clutching the gearshift. Maybe Engineer installed something stronger than four-wheel drive on this thing?
Not enough time to find out. The van becomes airborne. Briefly, but noticeably. It slams back down into the gravel. Demoman’s ran out of deities to pray to at this point. All he can do is hope Sniper can get control of this vehicle back fast enough to get them out of this mess.
Sniper’s precious van loses traction, tilts over, and rolls off of the gravel road. This is it, Demo thinks. It’s over now. Right here. Right in this van.
It miraculously lands upright.
After hitting his head several damn times, Sniper grips the steering wheel with an intense force rarely seen by him. He floors it— nearly breaks his gas pedal trying to get back onto the gravel path. A destructive gust of wind helps him out by propelling the vehicle up and out of the ditch it landed in.
He doesn’t remember which way he was going and honestly he doesn’t care. He just needs to drive. Keep his adrenaline pumping. In or out of this storm, who knows? Who cares? Probably Medic, but that’s not important.
The winds pick up. At this point Sniper’s lost all hope for control. The steering wheel moves on its own. The atmosphere attacks on its own. He’s just a helpless Aussie, watching it all go down. Demo nearly smashes into him several times, seatbelts be damned. They both can hear Angel barking in the back
From all directions— left, right, north, south, they all become the same —debris hits his van. Mud smearing into the windshield. Twigs and rocks hammering the sides as it spins. At one point it nearly tips over again. And again. Switching between sides. Rocking Sniper’s poor camper van to bed like a colicky baby.
Sniper hopes it doesn’t knock him unconscious. He’s afraid he might not wake up. Even with Medic in the back, who is still screaming.
The van flips again, landing on a downed tree with branches sharp enough to crack the driver’s side window. Inches away from piercing Sniper’s brain.
Ironic…
Higher wind gusts force a massive sheet of metal in between the branches and the van. Must be the roof to some silo or shed. With its impressive structural integrity, the roof-like sheet acts like a sail, pulling the van up from the ground and back on its wheels. Kind of. Sniper doesn’t know if his wheels are touching the ground. What he does know is that the sheet metal has lodged itself into his front plates.
A horrible screeching sound hits Sniper’s ears as he watches his bumper get torn right off.
His poor bumper. All gone. It follows the atmosphere. The speeding rain takes it away. As the van finally stops moving so violently, a swirling wind takes the side mirrors as a souvenir and moves on right in front of Sniper’s eyes.
Dust and dirt, twisting into tendrils of deep grey smoke. It disappears from view, masked by the darkness of the afternoon. It follows the clouds that lead it far away from the camper and wrap it up into a present. A present about to tear off someone’s roof, probably. All that’s left is a vague breeze chasing after the cyclone. And then a dark sky. It’s over.
That was a tornado. A real one. And it just hit the van.
Holy shit.
Sniper takes a second to just breathe. In… and out… This felt so different from any other life-threatening adventures he’s ever gone on. Always standing in the back, watching, waiting. But now, he cut right into the thick of it. Endangering himself and his teammates for fun (a typical Mann Co. activity).
He parks the car.
Medic stumbles out of the back of the van in a dizzy haze only to stumble to his sore knees and vomit onto the gravel. Heavy rushes over to keep him from falling into the mix of dramamine and sweet corn, wiping some blood off of his doctor’s face. He completely ignores Scout falling out of the van and busting his ass. Angel jumps on top of him. Somehow, she’s completely unharmed. A little dusty, but no more than shaken up.
Sniper kicks Demoman out of the passenger seat before hopping out himself. He chuckles. Almost giddy. Demo glares at him in a daze. A bloody daze as a gash in his forehead bleeds over his remaining eye.
“…Yer a rotten man, Mundy,” he grumbles, but not with real malice. He joins in on the laughter and claps Sniper on the back. “A rotten man. But a thrillin’ one, aye.”
They both agree. Sniper looks over at the others and realizes So does Medic, excluding the “thrillin’” part. He’s pissed.
And then gets even more pissed when he’s told the fair was put off hours ago. He is going to kick Sniper’s ass.
After he tends to the bone sticking out of Scout’s arm, of course.
