1 . Name: Hops @ 2011-06-19 07:14

DEATH OF A SNIPER
by Hops

(I don't beta, or know how to. Herp and sorry and derp.)


Alright, guys, his is a lot more tangible then all the rest of my shiet. I hope you enjoy it. :8


He was a child.
I cannot tell you all of the details, but I can tell you what I know, which is more then most.
To an outsider, they didn't seem like friends.
To our team, they were invaluable. Not just to us but to each other.
I would hear them talking to each other. It was listless and desperate at the same time, their conversations.
After the sirens, they couldn't be found very far from each other.
Oh, thank you.
Anyway, they never spoke in front of us. Not to each other, I mean.
The Scout would never stop talking, or boasting, I should say.
Always shouting about how his brothers were going to worship him when he got home, how he'd be the pride of his family.
Sniper would never react much, he'd be talking to the Engineer about tweaking his scope.
In the moments I caught them alone, however, was when their friendship was truly brought into the light.
Out in the Sniper's van, they'd share drinks and cigarettes, and they'd share stories of growing up with fathers and father figures who never approved or cared.
I found this, personally, very touching.
...I see, I will keep my personal sentiments to myself.
The Scout had had several brothers, I understand, growing up. The number varied each time he spoke of them, I imagine he counted friends,
cousins, any young man who got close to him as a brother. The attention he craved from a father seemed to have been satiated to some extent by them.
However, his mother, whom I also believe is a very attractive woman, had many suitors who damaged the Scout.
The Sniper, on the other hand, appears to have had a very lonely upbringing, his father dissaproving, his mother supportive, though silently.
With some very delicate exploration, I discovered his father had given him his first rifle at the age of ten, and expected him to become some sort of...Cowboy.
I believe that there had been encuragement when the Sniper showed skill with the weapon, perhaps until an unfortunate incident with a neighbour's son.
While Scout was going to a normal American elementary school, Sniper was graduating from a Military academy, moving on to try his hand at some sort of...Civilized, 'normal' job. He mentioned being a 'pencil pusher' for a time, before he went to prison.
The Scout also spent time in a juvinille reformatory for killing a classmate during a wrestling match in high school.
I don't have records of the Sniper's first kill, though if I was to assume, I would say he finished the job on the neighbour boy he shot as a child.
From prison they were both recruited to this...No, I would never use the word 'joke'. Business, perhaps, would be the wise choice.
No, thank you.
No, I am not thirsty, I...
...If you insist.
When I found Scout, he already had his pistol half way down his own throat.
It was...Painful. Even now, comparing the two men, the Scout I met on the first day, and the Scout I found choking on a gun, it causes me great pain.
When he first arrived, he was as talkative and boastful as he was every day after that in the common room. I do not shake hands, but he did not give me a choice.
A true 'force of nature', haha.
A break? Bon, remerci.
_________________________________________

Where were we?
Ah, merci.
When I met the Sniper, we got along through silence. He occasionally asked for my assistance in detecting enemy spies, and I told him secrets I would not be sore
for telling. He spent most of his time alone, in the begining, or with the Engineer. He and the Scout didn't start getting along until the Demoman began to share his infinite, infamous supply of mislabeled gasoline.
At first they would share drinks and talk, then they did not always need the drinks to loosen their tongues, then the drinks were just there for company.
The rest of this story is their talks late into the night, until the end.
There was magic between them, and, to my knowledge, neither of them knew it at all.
They were all they had, and I believe that is where this tragedy lies.
Without understanding what they had, Sniper directed it to the morbid, leading the Scout along on a terrible journey in the privacy of his van.
I knew something was wrong, the Scout's stories in the common room went further away from his American family, his mother and brothers. He became careless on the field. The Sniper, in turn, became more ferocious in his attacks, and more secluded from the rest of the team.
It was subtle, very subtle, but I am a master of subtleties.
What the Medic found of him...Was impossible to bring back together. Our respawn systems had been compromised with bullets the same caliber as Scout's gun.
It was unthinkable, an act of treachery the opposite team would never had considered, as we had never considered harming their respawn. We knew it to be our Scout.
Non...I cannot. I cannot.
Oui...Yes...YES I KNOW MY PURPOSE! DO NOT THINK FOR A SECOND I DO NOT! DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE-
_________________________________________

They had found comfort in each other, in their words, Scout looking up to the Sniper as a brother and father.
The Sniper, I believe, felt the same way, as much as he could, to the Scout.
The times they touched were innocent, as was their love. I believe they were brothers, perhaps, in some other life.
Perhaps they will be rejoined in that life, as they were meant to be.
Perhaps that is what the Sniper had wanted all along.
I can almost say I am ashamed of myself for depriving him of that.
I found Scout, covered in the Sniper's brains and blood, crying around the barrel of his gun.
It was the worst torture to hear him scream as I pulled him from the wreckage of Sniper's corpse.
I would have chosen all of the Vietnamese dungeons over that night.
Vachement...A moment, S'il vous plaît.
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