Chapter Text
“So what’re these bozos like?”
Approximately fifteen minutes past fifteen hundred hours, location: train cart. Departure area – Tuefort. Destination: classified. No, really. The train tracks rattled underneath, but the loudest noise resonated from a young man sitting at the furthest end of the cart, where the side-door had been slid open hallways to allow the brilliant desert sun to bask across the wooden floor.
At the other end, lurking in the shadows, were the rest of the group. The one cataloguing the minutes to this insipid journey’s end was the tall man in the balaclava lilting what had his fiftieth cigarette that morning. To his side was a lanky man who was slouched against the rumbling wall, clearly asleep, or somewhere close. His sunglasses slipped crookedly on his face with every bump.
Opposite him, idly adjusting the end of his glove and glancing at nothing in particular was a tall, broad-shouldered man with greying hair.
A giant with a matching sized gun sat beside him, to their left, an eye-patch wearing fellow with a reeking bottle in hand. In the corner, their head settled on their knees was...a person in a gas mask and suit.
Rounding up the mix—and-match ground was a stiff man with a helmet that obscured his face and another with goggles hiding his eyes, the shortest man in the cart by far.
Spy took a long drag on his cigarette, mentally preparing himself. “For zhe fifteenth time, Scout. We are unaware as of zis present moment.”
“Vitch is why you vere told to be quiet. So bitte...”
“But you’re a spy.” The young man said, ignoring the Medic’s input as if he’d never heard it, butchering the word ‘spy’. The Frenchman inhaled deeply. “You’re ‘sposed to know that kinda stuff!”
“All we know is there two new teams we will encounter. Maybe they are alley, maybe they are not.” Heavy drawled, his brow creasing slowly. Clearly, he was lasting longer than the rest of them patience-wise, but that wasn’t saying much. His glare held a blunt finality to it. “That is all we know.”
Scout snickered to himself; his one-track mind turning to whatever ‘amusing’ thought had sprinted through his brain, “Yello n’ Green. S’like they were tryin’ to compete with names too.”
“That is zhe general idea.” Spy returned, shortly. Hopefully this would be the last time the boy opened his mug.
“Fascinating.” Medic murmured, to everyone’s surprise, he’d taken the conversation’s reins. But this time no one seemed terribly annoyed. The young man scowled when he realised this. The German sat back, drawing a hand along his chin, a faint grin playing about his lips.
“From vhat I heard, mein Französisch Freund, their classes differ from our current arrangement.”
Scout, who was now dangling his legs dangerously off the side of the cart, threw up his hands, “I thought you said there was nothin’ else we knew!”
Spy didn’t reply, sucking in his lips as cigar smoke drifted sharply into the air.
“Can’t be all that diff’rent.”
Engineer had decided to put in his two scents, adjusting his goggles idly. “Maybe they’re exploring new areas. Turns out I heard somethin’ ‘bout ‘em, too. Green stands for...now what was it - General Relocation Enterprises & Electronics National.”
“The wot?” Demo had slipped out of his hangover just in time to hear that mouthful. Heavy was scowling, his slightly imperfect English hindering his understand for a split second –
“A transport company.” Spy elaborated flatly.
“Transport...” Scout muttered, gazing at the ceiling, apparently trying to come up with some shady implication. “Like, uh, smugglin’?”
“They’d be on the move more, then.” Engineer mused, sitting back crossing one leg over the other in a way Scout would most assuredly mock. “Doubt they’d have a Heavy.”
“That is their loss.” Heavy stated, a slight smile appearing on his face. “If they are like running scout, nine stomps and we win.”
“’ey! No fair –“
The cart stopped. Sniper’s head shot up, no pun intended, and he blinked blearily at his grinning teammates. His hat lay on his lap.
“Wot ‘appened?”
“We have arrived.” Spy patted the bushman on the shoulder, knocking his glasses askew completely, and striding to the door. Scout leaped out from the cart and landed on the dust below. Sniper scowled, half-asleep, at the departing Frenchman’s back.
They filed out at varied paces. Solider seconded Scout, of course, standing straight to attention outside the train and demanding the others do the same.
He was ignored.
The first thing Demo did was crack his back, take a swig of his drink, and then gawk at the landscape in front of him so suddenly that he almost bit the bottle in two.
The sound bounced off the walls.
They were in a canyon, tall walls and narrow spaces; dirt stained red and not-so unfamiliar. Structures made of mismatched metal and wood were built above with bridges linking them like a cat’s cradle, but despite the odd patterns there was a distinctly new look to it.
The land sloped here, definitely; the pace lay in a very deep broad canyons with little baby canyons within it. More buildings and galleries sat on the side, a lot of high-up foundations, longer than it was wide.
And below, a fight was in progress.
“Aw right, some action!”
Scout was kneeling by the edge of the canyon, and Spy resisted the urge to boot him off. He inhaled slowly on the end of his cigar, muttering under his breath.
“Bloody ‘ell.” Sniper materialised beside him, fixing his hat in place. The rest of the mercenaries lined up to watch from above. The two teams below were completely unawares.
Popping tints of yellow and contrasting shades of green ran about the playing field in the shape of people. Spy hadn’t seen so much green in a long time, curtsey of this barren wasteland in which he worked.
The green wasn’t a healthy colour, though, but a more chemical one, not like grass but like toxic waste...all save one, whose clothes resembled hospital wear in a strikingly eerie fashion.
A cart was being pushed along a metal track; a slope was fast approaching.
“That is sloppy battle tactics!”
Solider’s voice made them all jump after a prolonged silence. They gawked at him silently until he pointed to elaborate,
“Only one defender near that bomb, and some little stick-figure is trying to push that thing instead of scouting ahead! Stick men are scouts, that is the law of America!”
“Hey, what is this, kick-a-Scout day?”
“Do not temp me, garcon.”
“Holy crap!”
“Scout, he doesn’t mean it.” Engineer cut in, in a tone of voice that made him sound like a teacher who had broken up a fight one too many times. But Scout wasn’t fretting over the potential plummet, but pointing wildly down at the cart. Scout frowned, squinting through the sunlight. Solider was right – for once – the group below seemed a little sloppy. A short, but stocky and sturdy man who rather reminded him of Solider and wielding what looked like a body-sized Shield (as well as a riot mask and a large club littered with nails) was shouting orders at the cluster around him. Green Team.
He was barking orders at the ‘stick man’ Solider was referring to, and a stick-man it was, crouching behind the cart and peering around with madly wide eyes –
“Merde.” He breathed, “It is just a girl!”
“I know, right, it’s a girl on the field!”
“WOMEN ON THE BATTLEGROUND!?”
“Now don’t start there, Solider –“ Engineer began quickly –
But any argument over gender roles was obliterated when an explosion went off below. The Shield and the stick-man dove behind the cart...but the four other Greens standing around it were blasted apart.
Scout whooped, clearly impressed. “Damn!”
Sniper whistled lowly, “That was some shot.”
The Yellos stood up from behind their cover (an assortment of barrels, metal boxes and wire fences) and bellowed loudly in response. The girl and the stocky man remained ducked behind the cart.
“They don’t realise they survived.” Engineer was grinning slightly, “These guys just might make it.”
Ah, but not all the Greens nearby had been blasted apart. From a ditch nearby, another lean figure toppled into view towards the cart. Behind, the other Greens had respawned and were firing ahead – the chaos resumed.
The Shield bellowed at the newcomer, clearly ordering him to get behind the cart. Spy lowered his cigarette.
...What an eerie picture. A hospital outfit, the long shirt threaded loosely, the thin clothing and near-bare feet. Mobility-inducing, perhaps, but not much for defence...
...And a giant needle strapped to his forearm, a surgical mask, and various belts strung around his torso, leg and arms, containing medical supplies.
A bomb landed beside the lean figure, and he leaped towards the Shield. He seized the Stick-girl and the medical practitioner by the scruffs and dragged them behind his, well, shield.
BOOM.
“If he keeps babying those two they’ll never learn to put up with excruciating pain!” The Solider remarked – as in, bellowed above the resulting noise.
“They’re gettin’ pummelled.” Scout declared.
Pummelled they were.
Until another figure charged out, clad in...a green radiation suit, clutching something round and blinking in one hand –
One of the Yellos closest to them sprinted backwards, a black afro-haired man practically dripping with guns and holsters, “GAS! GET BA –“
Hsss.
Green chemicals erupted into the fray. The man fell face-down, his skin blistering violently. Scout reeled back, despite being a good way away, “ACK! What the hell was –“
“Chemical Veapons.” Medic said, grinning far too happily for his own good. “Vhat fun!”
“Zhat does not look very clean.” Spy commented, eyeing the murky ooze bubbling in the desert floor below. The cart was moving; the Rest of the Green Team had taken the chance to give it all their might.
For the next few seconds, the nine noticed a good few people –
Spy noticed a man crouching sneakily behind a high-fence and fiddling with some wires near the track – Yello, with a big hat and ranger-like clothing, but completely gloved forearms and a pudgy nose. Setting Traps.
Beside Trapper, kneeling also as the cart drew near, a man in an all-body suit, draped with dull yellow cloth. His face hidden, he was holding a pair of knives at the ready.
Sniper noticed him, too. “Ninja or somethin’?”
Scout noticed another woman. The same one Engineer noticed – both for different reasons. Scout noticed because he was Scout, and Engineer noticed because she moved up behind Yellos just like a spy.
Hooded, she lifted her hands, together – and something glinted merrily in the sunlight. Metal string.
A rather average man, dressed in baggy Yello clothes with noticeable fingerless gloves and various packs latched onto his body and his skin blistering due to overexposure to the sun (Man should’ve gotten himself some sun-block, those tan lines are going to earn him a good mocking) peered at the cart from afar.
The string hooked around his neck ,and his blond self was dragged backwards out of sight.
“Poor bastard.” Engineer lamented, quietly. Strangulation was no pleasant way to go. Even the worst spies he’d known had ended it quickly. Coming from him that was something.
Demo noticed the two guys – these lot went around in twos and threes, save for Mr Sunburn and Agent Strangle – creeping along higher ground on their stomachs. Green. One guy, with notable dreadlocks and white teeth, wielding devices he knew by experience were bomb-kits...and something that looked kinda like a sentry zapper. He was fiddling with an antenna on the device, grinning at his friend cheerily – a guy dressed fairly like the Engineer, goggles and all, in dirty dungarees and honest-to-dogs sneakers instead of boots. This guy, however, was fairly younger, taller, and with a fall less pronounced smile.
“Check out the tech boys!” He said, nudging Engineer and Medic simultaneously, earning himself a good few looks. He gestured to the two.
The brunette in dungerees got to his knees, slowly, to avoid being seen, dragging a cable up behind him. A cable that went all the way down and out of sight.
Bomb Disposal Guy fiddled a bit more with the antenna, and then beamed again as it buzzed into motion.
Below, Trapper guy leaped back from the tracks. Whatever boobies he’d been setting up had short-circuited, blowing his...hands off.
“Gotta say, that’s some good work there.” Engineer noted...but then the Ninja materialised behind the two grinning chums –
- And promptly sliced their heads off with a katana.
The mercenaries gave a simultaneous groan.
“Zhat is why you watch your back.” Spy noticed, smirking offhandedly and waving his cigar about.
A large crate smashed into the cart.
“Holy –“ Scout leaned back like a kid watching a wrestling match.
Or rather, a Sumo wrestling match. Because that’s exactly who threw the giant box. Dressed in clean golden and brown clothing, and rivalling Heavy in size (but appearing more mass than muscle) was a very large Asian man with dark, silky hair tied neatly up on his head. He was totally unarmed, and stoic.
Beside him, Burnt-Guy appeared, grinning vilely.
“Just what is that little rat’s profession anyway?” Medic said, voicing all of their dislike.
“Whoa, man, he’s almost as big as you, fatty!”
“I beat him in arm-wrestle, anytime.” Heavy stated, less challenged than Scout would’ve hoped. He eyed the large man neutrally, “We shall see if he is a good rival later.”
The Sumo Wrestler peered quietly at a man who came rushing up; another dark-skinned man with short, cropped curls and completely laden with swords.
He punched him under the chin and sent him flying.
“OOoh, critical hit!”
“Dumb mungo, why’d he got straight on?”
Someone, closer to them by far, was climbing onto a higher gallery in the canyons. The nine mercenaries went silent, like bird watchers spotting a sparrow.
The figure was small, with slightly tanned skin – signalling, perhaps, a mixed heritages. Straight black hair hung to his chin, covering his face. A large cowboy hat shaded his eyes.
A bundle of arrows sat on his back, a bow in his hands.
Sniper’s brows flew up.
“That’s just a kid!” He hissed. Spy didn’t need telling, his mouth hanging open slightly.
“...Zis is...”
The boy, his face blank, took aim.
Soldier was scowling, and for once, just because everyone else was doing it, he kept his voice down, “Never bring a boy to a man’s war!”
The boy let the arrow fly.
The Sumo man dropped.
For a moment, the boy smiled, faintly, his hand still raised. Sniper’s lip curled, “Gotta hand it to the kid, that was pretty well...”
The Ninja appeared silently behind the boy, and the mercenaries went silent. Without so much a moment’s hesitation, his hand seized the boy’s jaw, covering his mouth –
And the other dove his blade right through his chest from behind.
The boy gave a muffled cry, and dropped.
The Ninja leaped off the canyon ledge, hopping back down it the fray without looking back. The boy shifted slightly.
“...’es still alive.” Engineer murmured, his voice empty.
Not for another moment, though. The boy’s body vanished.
“They killed ‘im!” Scout said, his hands lifted above his head, “He’s – just a kid, what the hell, man –“
“These men are brutal and sloppy. Dunno if that’s a good combination.” Engineer lamented.
He spoke too soon.
Unbeknownst to them, Pyro had been watching the other Medic in the strange hospital clothes.
He’d seen the attack. He climbed up onto one of the buildings, and leaped off. The mercenaries attention locked onto him as he landed on the tip of the tall wire fence, then leaped again – right onto the Ninja’s departing back. His arm flew back and he dove the needle right into the back of his neck.
The man’s shriek reached them over the canyon floor.
“NURSE – “
The Nurse raised his head and leaped away from the body, sprinting back towards the cart.
“YOU FAILED!”
The Administrator’s voice blasted over the speakers, and the mercenaries knew what came next. The Yellos whooped, and surged out from their cover.
The Greens ran for it.
“Ah, there you are!”
The nine spun around in comical unison. Miss Pauling stood, clipboard in hand, decidedly ignoring their verifying degrees of surprise.
“I see you’ve gotten acquainted. That’s good. These guys need some expert involvement.”
...
TOP SECRET FILES. SIGNED BY {BLANK}
The Green Team:
BEANPOLES
LETTUCE GUYS
PEAS IN A POD
General Relocation Enterprises & Electronics National
thats a dumb name
totally not written by scou t
Support:
The Carrier:
The light-weight member of the group, and one of the only female on field workers, the Carrier acts as the Scout Counterpart in Operation Opposition. A Scottish gymnastic career tapered by low-income, the only daughter of a large family went into the business as she felt there was no other option that wasn’t already taken. Jittery as a mouse but just as hard to catch and out-manoeuvre, the Carrier makes sure communication and supplies between lines are kept in contact and open on the field.
Her emblem is a package, tied in a string.
what the hell im not a girl how can she be counter-whatever
The Agent:
This woman hails from an undefined part of Britain, and her job mirrors that of the spy and the scout combined. She maps out the land, keeps tabs on the opposite team and relays their attics, making it hard for any long-term position to be kept. Like the spy she relies on stealth and carries knives for silent effect. Always hooded. Not much is known about her, but she draws into her thirties, and is good friends with her fellow female members, but is very dignified.
Her emblem is a single spy mask.
stay away from my neck lady
The Nurse:
The Nurse was adopted in the English Countryside, but his origins trace back to Berlin. A top-gearing medical student, he uses his syringe and needles to heal up wounds as well as maim. Frightening despite his skinny posture, this masked young man seldom allows his face to be seen during a match. Despite this, he is friendly and jubilant around his teammates, and plays the harp. The Nurse’s job is almost identical to the medics – in fact a lot of things about him are said to be identical to the medic.
His emblem is a large needle crossed with a line of twitches.
get those needles away, also, you look dumb wearing those clothes
Defensive:
Bomb Disposal Expert/ Saboteur
Coined as an exact parry to the Demo-Man, almost as much as the Mechanic, this tall former army-man works to not only disable bombs, but to take out weaponry and disable any non-human threat made to his teammates. This has led to him being dubbed the ‘Hacker’ or the ‘Saboteur’. Cheery Care-free, he doesn't seem to take his job too seriously.
Born in an undefined area around Washington, he resembles your typical army figure. He even has a collection.
His emblem is a pair of scissors, cutting a wire.
THIS DREADLOCK UDE HILARIOUS WHEN DEMO BLOWS HIM UP
The Mechanic
Contrary to belief, the mechanic and engineer differ. As the Green Team works on the move and rarely stays in one place, the Mechanic has no time to set up sentries and dispensers. Therefore, this man from Sweden works on-the-go; he builds guns, repairs all the Demo-man destroys – and acts as the designated driver/transport. The Mechanic carries a tool box half his size and rarely speaks or smiles, he remains aloof, and does what needs to be done in quick, robotic manner. This leads to some theories about his habits and psyche, but he mentions nothing of it. He understands little English, and is almost illiterate – but he knows enough phrases as he needs, and is literate in all things mechanical. No-nonsense, this guy takes his jobs seriously, perhaps too much, as he’s called a spoilsport by some.
His emblem is a Nut and Bolt.
Like Engie but Taller 'n angier. Tall angry engie.
The Shield
Another case of exactly what is says on the tin. A stout pale man in sturdy boots hailing from Poland, the Shield is a defender. He defends, and that’s about it. Slightly paranoid and always high-strung, this guy is hard to be around but impossible not to be around. He carries three different things; a riot shield as big as himself; smaller titanium circular shield for better locomotion, and a large police baton to bonk you on the head. Clad in typical riot gear.
His primary focus is on the Nurse, and other support in need of defending. Touch those guys and you will no longer retain a functioning jaw.
His emblem is a brick wall.
he is also boring
Offensive –
The Warrior:
An attacker in every sense of the world, on this speedy group his job is to do this: Attack, kill, destroy. Maim all in his path. Wielding rifles, shotguns and a traditional long sword, this Jamaican is a force to be reckoned with. Close range is his range; he shoots first, cuts second, asks questions later. Loud, boisterous and up for a good match, he has a genuine sportsmanship personality to him.
Whats that hairdo called now what
Chemical Weapons Expert:
Nothing is more frightening than someone that works with gas, chemical warfare and other deadly substances. Clad in a bright green radiation suit, you best keep away from her. Another one of the females on the team, a forty-something woman hailing from Lithuania, she acts as mother of the group, and is usually seen defending the carrier...and horribly maiming the other team. Do not cross this woman, she’ll tie you knots. Known as ‘The Chemic’ for short.
this lady can go to hell
is bonk a gas
The Archer:
Exactly what it says on the tin. One of the youngest ever mercenaries to live, this French-Spanish boy born by the beaches of the South of France was hired partly because of a test; the Administrator wanted to see if the other mercenaries could stomach hurting someone so small and young-looking, younger than his actual age. At first, this did jar them – until he started shooting eyes out with cross-bows. Usually sticking close to his fellow youth, the Carrier and Nurse, instead of support like his counterpart the Sniper, the Archer joins his long-range attacks to Warrior’s close-range, and attacks on the field. Moody and quiet and always wearing shades.
He lets his teammates ‘borrow’ ammo by passing them on through Carrier.
ha i ain't the youngest
scout is handsomer though, logged fact
The Yellow Team: Yearly Extractors of Landfill, Lode and Ore
BANANAS
Offensive:
INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE. DOG ATE THE PAPERS. WAS NOT SCOUT'S FAULT.
Defensive:
The Tank
The Tank carries things. Big boxes, big weapons, car parts. But instead of using them like the Heavy, the Tank uses his fists. Once a sumo-wrestler, he isn’t about to let down his fists now. This man is a giant, but gentle, and with a high moral code. He talks often, and tries to be helpful, but he will crush your neck and flip you one-eighty if you get near.
It takes a lot to take him down, and while people are busy doing this, others wear them down. He is literally both a defender, and a way of focusing most of the enemy players.
He works to improvise. Anything can be tossed, people included.
HE also works to eat a whole ton of -
DEFENSIVE CLASSES 2&3 INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE
The Support
The Trapper
This lanky man is not to be crossed. He booby-traps the area, sets decoys and trips wires. Far too enjoying of his work, this surly south-American holds no mercy and no hold-back. He’s hard to find, and his traps more so – only his team are savvy to the clues. Sadistic and up for a joke, the Trapper aims to slow you down, and he will if you don’t keep alert at all times.
His emblem is a mousetrap.
He can also stop leaving bear-traps out from scouts. Now.
The Ninja:
Wearing an all-body suit so he resembles a Ninja, this man is hardly seen uncovered. He works in parkour, climbing and scaling high buildings without issue. He carts around a katana as well as an old fashioned dagger. His job is surprise attacks and scouting out territories. He holds a dry wit and a sharp vengeance.
His emblem is, oddly, a ribbon and a dagger.
The Thief
Ammo and weapons aren’t always easy to find, so it’s the Thief’s job to nick it off the enemy team. He does little else but fill up space and then leave it behind. Literally.
He also needs a shower.
Offensive:
The Runner
Distraction is this guy’s forte. He works to sabotage the other team, scout ahead as the counterpart to the namesake of such a job, and keep messages between teammates flowing. Tall and lean, this american dude knows his stuff, and takes pleasure in tripping people up.
His emblem is a lightning bolt.
He is in no way superior to Scout in any way.
HE IS DUMB.
The Gunman
This aborigine-descendent doesn’t just carry guns. He carries guns that fire at a quickened rate; he carries the ones that don’t let up, the machine guns, the fast guns, the guns that’ll pelt you into the ground like a monsoon on a carrot. Slightly zealous and prone to overkill, this guy knows no bounds, and has weapons hanging on him like a Christmas trees has pretty little bobbles. He especially likes the big-guns, though they slow him down. He may not be a heavy, but he’s certainly fond of weapons.
ANY INFORMATION MISSING ON TEAM BANANA YELLO IS NOT THE DOING OF SCOUT.