Chapter Text
For a spy skilled in ambush, seizing the intelligence briefcase should have been effortless—at least, it once was.
Ever since his son’s death, Spy’s mind had been shattered. The man who used to be arrogant and endlessly talkative now could only chew over apologies and guilt, countless thoughts tearing at each other in his head.
"You’re just a coward running from responsibility. You’ve no right to judge me."
The words came with a mocking smile and a provoking closeness. At last, the ever-composed Spy snapped, tackling him to the ground, striking with nearly all his strength.
Even after being pulled away, he couldn’t tell if what surged within him was rage, grief… or the hollow terror of losing his composure.
After countless lapses and failures, he stood alone by the sewer, exhaling smoke.
When the battle ended, Soldier would no doubt hound him with endless tirades, enough to make his head ache. Destroyed sentries perhaps fewer than three, but the times he was caught were beyond number. Spy rubbed at his brow.
Suddenly, light footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Looking up, he saw the BLU Scout rushing forward, his clothes marked with fragments and soot from an explosion, looking utterly disheveled. The perfect target for a backstab.
Spy waited in silence, until the boy moved toward the medkit beside him. Today’s one flawless kill.
The cry barely rose before it was cut short. Blood sprayed with the blade’s pull, spattering across his gloves.
Spy stared down at the corpse, then wiped the stains from his hands.
He could never explain why, but the Scouts of both teams always seemed alike—almost like clones.
If the hair were dyed tawny, the skin tanned to wheat-gold, freckles hidden… As these thoughts drifted into fantasy, he failed to notice how far he had already slipped.
"I remember when you couldn’t even speak—only babble and cry… and the next time I saw you, you’d already grown so much."
The blood no longer gushed, only seeped away. He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to the lifeless lips. A trace of sweetness lingered—candy-like. His tongue pried open the mouth, delving deeper. Metallic tang, but also the sugary fizz of cheap cherry soda.
"Your taste never did take after mine. Always fond of the cheap stuff."
Beneath the clothing lingered scars and sweat; the fragile musculature was strangely beautiful, carrying an inexplicable allure. He inhaled deeply—cheap soap mixed with gunpowder.
"I miss your noise so much. I want to hear you curse me again, tell me go in hell."
His crotch throbbed unbearably. He seized the slender wrist, grinding against it. Morality? Ethics? Those had long since vanished, even before he became a mercenary. Memories of drunken nights surfaced—the boy’s eyes blurred with alcohol, the same eyes his mother once had.
He muttered to himself, until he realized the BLU Heavy was staring at him in revulsion.
The spin of the minigun ended everything.
The pain of bullets tearing through flesh was nothing compared to the shame of having his sin witnessed. That night, Spy smoked three times his usual amount, the stench so heavy his teammates instinctively stepped back.
He remembered perfectly well what he had done. And he knew exactly what kind of trash he was.
After the battle, everyone gathered around the campfire, cheering. Scout and Soldier were the loudest, the ground littered with empty bottles.
Desire, under the haze of alcohol, had already been set free—
together with his guilt.