Chapter Text
"Alright, team. Gather around, because I'm on a tight schedule here." Your manager shouted in a building that was loosely crowded, full of your new coworkers. She was a beautiful woman with electric blue eyes that struck you like lightning, and long, straight, dark hair that framed her pale complexion. One arm effortlessly held up a clipboard thick with documents while her free hand pointed to some of the men in particular. "Scout, Soldier, Demo. You're going to want to hear this." Your presence alone had piqued the interest of many, as they soon formed a semi-circle around the living space, staring you down for an explanation. When they got none, they stared at Miss Pauling instead. You counted them quickly in your head: 9 diverse coworkers, making you the 10th mercenary for Builders League United. Your manager started, "I'm not gonna lie to you guys. Your performance has been worrisome lately. You guys haven't had a successful mission in over a month, and the higher-ups don't have confidence that your enemies are evenly matched." She then gestured to your body with her free arm quickly. You stood up straighter in response. "This is your new teammate, Tracker. He'll hopefully give your team the temporary edge against RED before they hire a counterpart."
A gentleman stood up from his seat at the sofa after hearing that, rushing over to Pauling with admittedly surprising speed. "C-Come on, Pauls. You can't be serious.", he pleaded with her. She raised an open hand to his face to wordlessly cut him off, "He has an array of various experiences, including close-quarters combat, some mid-range weaponry, and extended periods in the hot New Mexico climate." She fixed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Medic, I'll trust you'll review the information plan in his file and help him settle in accordingly. " The medic nodded towards her sharply, "Naturlich." His grey eyes were then turned to you with a blank, undying stare, as if he was going to burn holes into you from his gaze alone. The gaze had completely bypassed your nervousness, and momentarily all you could feel was intimidation and fear you swallowed in your throat.
You were surprised that was all that needed to be said, to be honest. Miss Pauling seemed ready to leave after that, as all your other coworkers seemed to disperse, eyes watching you, but she stopped by one last lanky man before she left the room entirely. "Sniper, you'll be meeting with him outside of training hours to focus on his aim abilities daily. The stuff is already in his locker." He nodded wordlessly, and she left the room as busy as she was when she introduced herself to you, leaving you to your autonomy for the first time in days. You bit the inside of your cheek after that, glancing up at the lanky dude named "Sniper" she left you with. He had long dark brown hair and tan skin, a jowl from an obvious underbite, and what you could only describe as a "rugged" exterior. Your mother would’ve compared him to looking as washed up as the homeless, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking. He stood still quietly and slightly hunched, wearing aviator sunglasses indoors, which made it significantly harder for you to read his expression. You didn't trust that his resting face of displeasure was because he already didn't like you, though. At least you hoped.
He turned to you and then jerked his head lightly in the direction of the door. You watched this and then followed him through a maze of a hallway, finally ending up at a chilly shooting range inside the base. He knocked a locker open with his closed fist in the low light, grabbing a sniper rifle from its belly and closing the locker with his foot. He set the gun down next to one of the stalls with an effortless kind of mechanism you did your best not to admire too hard, but it was obvious he's done this at least hundreds of times. He walked a bit farther down the room, stopping in a brighter spot and opening an end locker with more gentleness than his own. The first noise he ever made to you was a tongue click, jerking his head over to the blue locker he had just opened as if to invite you to copy his actions. You swiftly did so, picking up your requested mid-range assault rifle and closing the locker gently before shuffling over to the stall where his gun rested neatly. The words "Ya got ammo?" shot through you like a husky growl in a thick accent, and you shook your head, quickly retreating to your locker to pick up a box. He waited patiently, and after you had brought him the bullets for your gun, he began inspecting your weapon as if it were his own.
He messed with it precisely, making soft clicks in the echoing room as you watched him. He took something off, slid something open, let something go, slid it open again, something locked into place, and he looked at it intensely for a moment. You did your best to keep up, watching him put the gun on the table and load a detachable piece he took off with a couple of bullets. You didn't catch where he got it from, but he passed you some earmuffs and eye protection to wear, and you did so with no complaint. He then rested the gun over his shoulder and clicked the piece back into the body, unloading some shots pretty dead center to the head and body of the target. He then clicked with it a little more and set the gun back on the table, looking at you with that same unreadable expression. You moved one of the muffling earmuffs behind your ear when he did. "Did ya get all that?", his gruff voice broke the stillness of the room better than the echos of the bullets did. It shook the very dust particles floating in the air, highlighted by the dim ceiling lights like glitter. It was by now that the accent struck you as Australian, like a deeper Cyote Peterson. Maybe. You swallowed thickly, unsure what answer you should have given him. You glanced at the gun on the table, and then back up to his deadpan expression cautiously.
He cracked a slight smile, softly chuckling to himself, but not particularly with you. "Do ya say anythin' at all, kid?". You nodded slightly, mumbling a "yeah" to him before looking at the gun. " 's safety on?" you muttered next, trying to hide your uncertainty with a plain delivery of speech. "Yep. You wanna try touching it?" he mocked at you, flicking it with his fingers. You guess you've been staring at it like it was gonna shock you. You grabbed it awkwardly and slid it towards yourself, not really sure you should be messing with a firearm that just fired two moments ago. "That's what she said," You mumbled again, this time to yourself under your breath, picking the gun up, trying to imitate how he did. His breath sharpened a bit at your comment like it caught him off guard. (You shouldn't have said it, but the weak joke made you feel better. It was probably that brief feeling of being in your element that stopped you from high-tailing it out of the door right then and there.) You pointed the AK towards the targets as you inspected it for yourself, locating where the safety dial was and trying to see through the machine like you lost the bullet inside.
"Right." He sucked in some air and gestured loosely to the piece he took off to load it. "That's the magazine. Holds all your bullets." You nodded as he explained, paying close attention. "Clicks inta place. You can remove it by hittin' that button." Your hand gripped the mag firmly, and it clicked out of the gun with enough force while you held down a release button. There weren't any bullets left inside, a grey spring-locked piece staring back at you. "Slide back the peice 'ere," he gestured again, and a cover of the gun's bullet chamber opened as you did so. "-an'...", he paused for a moment, thinking. "Right, so this is the chargin' handle-" he gestured to the thing you slid back, "-an' push the bolt catch 'ere. Ya gonna want ta look in the chamber, an' this is gonna hold the chargin' handle back." You nodded continuously, doing as you were told and looking into the empty bullet chamber. You didn't know how far you were supposed to look back, or what you were supposed to be looking for, but he seemed satisfied with the outcome so you didn't suspect anything was wrong. He was close to you now, and like most of the building, he reeked of burnt cigarettes and a faint earthy trace of gunpowder. You mentally noted it was something you'd just get used to working here after a while, though you didn't mind it as much at this moment. That was probably another thing all the adrenaline in your body was doing, helping you block out the uncomfortable scent of blood, mildew, dust, and other traces of history here. You couldn't see his eye color behind his glasses still, but didn't hide the fact that you tried to look him in the eye during his explanation.
"You're not a complete idiot, by the looks of it." he told you. "Ya handle the damn thing like you're used to somethin' more... squat." You felt his gaze on you through those gold aviator glasses he wore, and shrugged out of nervousness. "Just... jus' pistols...", you mumbled less confidently than you imagined it'd sound, shifting your gaze to the floor momentarily. It wasn't that you didn't like conversation, the opposite. It was just that you had an innate desire to leave a good impression on the guy, so you approached the simple small talk like a minefield. "'...A BB or a rifle. Nothin' impressive." You swear you could have seen his eyebrow raise over the frame of his glasses when you looked up, and still, you had no idea what to make of it. So you turned your attention to your gun instead, the weight in your arms reminding you that you had no idea what to do with it. Your eyes glanced at the box of ammo sitting on the table, and the logical next step was to load it.
"That so? Coulda' fooled me.", he told you, as you definitely over-analyzed all the ways you could fuck up loading the magazine. You mirrored his actions as best as you could remember. The bullets locked in nicely after you put them in, and you clicked the magazine into the chamber, making little glances over to him at every hesitation. Whatever he was thinking, he didn't tell you outright. You jiggled the magazine a little bit, anxious that it would somehow fall out and scatter bullets all over the floor. "Not bad, kid. Widen your stance, try giving it a shot."
You sucked in a breath and clicked the charging handle of the gun back, bracing yourself for a powerful force as you aimed to the best of your ability with the sight-piece. Something was moving inside of the gun; you could feel it, and you expected that same movement when you pulled the trigger, but it only clicked stiffly with no action. You braced yourself and tried again, widening your stance a little more but the gun didn't fire.
Panic set in. You did something wrong, and maybe the gun was jammed or he was trying to make a fool out of you to prove a point. You stiffened significantly, looking at him with a pleading expression. 'Help. What's going on? What am I doing wrong?' you almost wanted to ask him, as if that wasn't the most pussy impression you could have given your new coworker. He must have taken the hint, striding over to you like a force of nature. "Safety's still on, mate," he stated. He stated so matter-of-fact that you felt your face surge with blood that out of all the nightmare situations you created in your head, it was something so elementary. You exhaled hard, hoping that would make the flushing you felt less visible as you clicked the safety off and he took a couple of steps back.
You fired a shot when you got the feeling he was a safe distance away from you. You entirely missed the target, and gnawed at the inside of your cheek wanting to blame the sudden flustered moment or your lack of focus. It was most likely neither. You probably just fucking sucked. “Jesus christ- mate. You’re stiff as a board.”