Long time lurker, first time poster, etc etc. Lured here by Cat Bountry's fics, etc etc. Wanted to write some of my own, etc etc. I have a vague idea of where I'm going with this, but it's mostly train-of-thought writing, so consider it a rough draft of sorts. Well, time to get to it. ~~~~~ We don't use names here. Not our real ones, anyways. Everything is codes. It doesn't matter who you were before, what you did. When you come to BLU, you're just a noun, and not even a creative one. 'The Pyro', 'The Sniper', 'The Scout'. And I hear RED's the same way. Even the places have code names. I can't tell you how many Gravelpits I've seen. They say it's all to protect secrecy, to 'hinder and retard enemy espionage'. Bullshit. If you're trying to protect secrecy, you don't go calling your undercover man 'The Spy', not unless you want him coming back in pieces. Not that they run out. You die out there, they replace you, sometimes even before your teammates even know you're gone. 'Oh, him, he died. I'm the Soldier now.' You know, I bet that's what it is. If you're Jimmy Yahoo from Kentucky, well, then you've got a name, and a family. A wife waiting for you back home, maybe a kid. Here? You're disposable. Replacable. I remember the face, name, and blood type of every man I killed before I took this job. Now it barely even registers. It makes losing comrades easier, though. Your best friend gets blown up by a drunk Scot with a happy face taped to his crotch? Don't worry, he'll be back tomorrow, same as ever. And you don't even have to think of any new jokes. Same hair, same accent, same face, even the same goddamn name. First guy I met when I came to this hellhole, big, bald, not the sharpest tool in the shed for sure, but the kind you wanna get a beer with. 'The Heavy'. He saved my life, and burned alive right before my eyes. Didn't get a wink of sleep that night, thought I never would again. God, that screaming will go with me to my grave. Honestly, I kinda hope it does, because, next day, there's another plus-sized Russian with a big gun right out there on the field, same as the first. I didn't know better, I'd have sworn they were the same person. Absolutely identical, too close even for twins. That's the only way I can tell any of them apart any more, how they died. And even that's starting to blur. It won't be long now before someone gets the best of me, and I take a dirt nap, too. It'll be the same way, too, assuming anyone can even tell me apart from my replacement. I wouldn't even know what to put on my headstone. I've forgotten. I've forgotten my own name. Not like it terribly matters, though. We don't use names here. ~~~~~ Still feels like a rough draft, but eh. Tried to keep it open on who was talking, to make it more relatable, but it may just come off as wishy-washy. If it doesn't work, I'll probably change it a bit, to fit Engi or Sniper, they seem the type to write this sort of thing. Anyways, tell me what you think. And be honest, would you kindly; the worst thing you can do for an artist is tell them that something is perfect when it's not.
I rather liked this, I must say. Funnily enough, I read this from Engie's point of view, and then I read the bit at the bottom and I was like "Oh. Huh." I'm afraid I don't really have any concrit or anything, however. My apologies.
FUCKING FINALLY, a story where the tragedy extends beyond "woe, somebody died". Kudos to you! I also like the vagueness in that you can (almost) read it as being told from any classes' point of view, and it drives home the theme of the story. It does feel the most Engie-ish, but if anything I'd recommend you make the P.O.V. even more vague.
All exposition on a topic usually touched on in fics. If you've got something unique in mind by all means keep writing.
Positive feedback, whooo! I'll definitely try making it more vague, and think of what else I'll be writing.
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