What the hell am I doing posting another fic-in-progress when I haven't even finished Rainbows!? Is something wrong with me? Does the TF2chan Etiquette Manuel even allow for it? Oh, well. I'll do it anyways. *smile* This was/is my first piece written for TF2. I don't remember when I started it, but I'm still working on it. ComCrit please. I can't emphasize this enough. If there's anything I'm not too proud to beg for, it's that. I like this piece; I want to make it better. Should it be in workshop? Perhaps, but the last time I put in in workshop, post-chan wipe, I got no feedback whatsoever. So please. *Ahem* I ramble now. Onward to the story.
Face to Face pt.1 Focus. The RED Medic grabbed his enemy twin by the coat and raked his Bonesaw across his face, tearing through the nose cartilage and right eye, shattering his glasses and grinding the shards deeper into his flesh. The BLU Medic howled as blood erupted from and poured over his face like a crimson fountain. He grappled at the hand holding his collar, pushed at the other man's face, but was tossed to the ground with a brutal finality. The Medic was dead before he hit the dirt. Focus. The RED Soldier launched three near-simultaneous rockets at the approaching BLU Heavy in an attempt to defend their Control Point while his Engineer rebuilt his sentries. The Heavy's bullets speared through his skin effortlessly, like a hot knife through butter, and the pain rattling his nerves was hell-raising, but he didn't back down. He couldn't back down. The Engineer needed him. Just as his missiles landed, however, the Heavy, along with his Medic, glowed royal blue and cyan, as if their entire beings were made of color. The Soldier swore in furious loss. He knew he could do nothing now, and died under the Über-Heavy's spray. Focus. The RED Pyro trotted out past the flanking Demoman, ducked behind a shack full of supplies, and peered at the mining exit, waiting. When the BLU Scout and Engineer came running out, he ambushed them in a white hot blaze. The Engineer yelled through the flames and tried to fight back, but the fire had blinded him and the pain was more than he could bear. He fled to find his Medic, who was already dead. The Scout was also blind in the flames, and instinctively swung his bat at the Pyro. He felt a grain of sweet vengeance when he hit something hard. But before another blow could fall, he was air-blasted back. When the Scout ran back to try again, stubborn thing he was, the Pyro torched him once and for all. The Scout screamed and collapsed, dying as his clothes cooked onto his flesh. The Pyro hefted his flamethrower up and shook it as he laughed in vicious triumph. He didn't even notice the little blue dot that fell on his chest. Now— A massive gunshot echoed through the air as the Pyro flew back and collapsed, blood gushing through the clean bullet hole in his chest. A muffled cough issued from the black oxygen mask, followed by a muted wail. "That one's for Scout," The dot slid lower. Bang. Another bullet sliced through the Pyro's body. He screamed to the heavens as his crotch exploded in a blast of red, and curled up to instinctively grab what was left of it. The pain wracking his body was beyond extreme. He could barely breathe through it, and almost instantly passed out. From high, high up in the window of a distant, abandoned building, the BLU Sniper smirked. "And that one's for Engie." He was a bit disappointed that the Pyro had passed out so quickly. Now Sniper couldn't watch as his carefully-aimed shots dragged that fucking wanker to a slow, agonizing death. But it didn't matter. He had a job to do. Sniper switched his scoping lens off and surveyed the land below with his own eyes. As a professional, he had learned how little details could mean the difference between life and death; winning and loosing. He wanted his pointer seen as rarely as possible, should the enemy Sniper find it and pinpoint his location. That's why he'd made a habit of surveying the battlefield with his eyes instead of his scope. He watched the BLU ÜberHeavy destroy the sentries and dispersers hiding near the Control Point, as well as their Engineer. A dose of adrenaline entered his bloodstream at seeing it. The cap was all theirs. He saw through a window one RED Scout attempting to escape, having been using the dispenser at the time, and for a moment Sniper considered taking him out as a 'well done' gesture to Heavy. He decided against it. Heavy wouldn't take it as 'well done', but as 'you need help; allow me'. The Russian giant and his doctor had things well under control. There was, however, a homicidal RED Medic storming through the mine shafts and slicing up most of his teammates. That needed his immediate attention. Sniper eyed the mine entrances like a hawk, watching, waiting for the first sign of the German psychopath. He noticed Scout was popping in and out of the shafts like a jumpy meerkat. Sniper furrowed his brows at the strange behavior, when he saw the Medic suddenly pop out after Scout, then vanish back into the shafts. It dawned on him that Scout was trying to disorient the Medic by attacking from every side. The baseball fan wasn't typically one for strategizing; Sniper was impressed. He raised his rifle and switched on the scope. "Steady now, mate... nab me a good one, 'ere..." ... ... There— BANG! The Medic hadn't taken two steps out before his head snapped sideways with the force of Sniper's bullet. The body collapsed in a bloody heap, Bonesaw slipping from his fingers and hitting the ground with a clang. Sniper cocked his rifle. And another one bites the dust. He glanced back through the scope just in time to see Scout throw him some gesture with a smile. Sniper smirked, gesturing back. So, Scout had been luring the Medic out for him the whole time. The kid had finally learned the meaning of teamwork. Sniper resumed his survey of the land. Things were looking pretty good for BLU. At this rate, they'd cap RED's control points with time to spare. And who knows? If they won fast enough— Sniper there— BANG! "Heh. Almost got the slip on me that time, mate. Keep tryin'." Who knows? If they won fast enough, he might just be able to get a few hours of target practice in with Scout before the forts cut the outside lights. Scout could be one hell of an ass-pain, but he was a pretty damn sharp shooter. Hell, had fate allowed for it, Scout could've been a Sniper himself, if it weren't for his impatient tendencies and brash nature. ... ! Sniper suddenly sat bolt upright, his knee bumping into his crate, knocking one of his Jarate stores off and sending it rolling across the floor. He didn't acknowledge it. Something was very wrong. He flicked his scope on and scanned the battlefield. RED had managed to push BLU back just enough that they could retain a solid hold on their Control Point. This sudden weakness unsettled the BLU Sniper, but it wasn't the reason behind his sudden pounding heart. This wasn't foreign to him. Sniper had been in the heat of battle before, when, very abruptly, he would be struck with a deep sense of mortal dread. It would stand his neck hair on end and stop his heart. He would falter under its strength, which would often get him a bullet through the arm or calf. It seldom happened, but when it did... well... it had saved his life more times than he could count. This weird sixth sense of his, a sense acquired through years of hunting in the Outback alone, and years of fighting in this pointless war, was a warning. Something bad was about to happen. What it was, when it was, and to whom; it was a total mystery. He knew only that something lay ahead, and it was going to destroy him and his team. He needed to find out exactly what before they fell past the point of no return. Sniper's view fell on his Demoman and Medic. The two were swerving every which-way, eroding the RED team's defenses magnificently. They seemed to be the only ones making any serious headway. This was good; a skilled Demoman could be an even bigger terror than a sneaky Pyro on the battlefield, and even more destructive with a Medic. Sniper decided, then and there, to assist this duo with his Eyes in the Sky. Whatever he had to do to make that damned feeling go away. He could feel the goosebumps breaking over his arms and neck, and he felt nervous. Focus. Help them. He took a deep breath, steadied his hand, and peered back through his scope. RED Scout flanking—BANG! BLU Heavy shooting— BLU Solder jumping— RED Heavy laughing—BANG! BLU Scout vanishing— RED Engineer building—BANG! RED Sentry in-progress—BANG! BLU Demoman lobbing— RED Sniper reloading—BANG! BLU Medic healing— BLU Spy!—BLU— RED Pyro torching—BANG! RED Demoman drinking—BANG! BLU Medic screaming— RED Sco— Wait... The Demoman's precious Medic balked, screamed bloody murder, and collapsed. No explosives had detonated near him and no bullet holes marked his coat. Sniper felt a pang in his throat. In the Medic's back was a massive, gushing stab wound. Fresh, swift, and fatal. .... So that was what his feeling was trying to warn him about... ...... Fuck. The Demoman, realizing that his infinite lifeline had been cut, panicked. He didn't stop putting up a fight by any means, but he was definitely not as bold. Even with Scout and Soldier helping him out, he was wary. He was doing so well, too, until all of a sudden, a massive spurt of blood erupted from his neck. He cried out, clutched it, dropped to his knees, and died. "What...!" Sniper swept his rifle all around the body even though he knew it was pointless. He couldn't snipe what he couldn't see... one of the many reasons he fucking hated Spies... ... How had the Spy remained cloaked? From Sniper's understanding, a Spy couldn't attack anyone while cloaked, or else the cloak would be undone. Two of his own had just been killed, and Sniper hadn't seen a goddamned thing. Could it have been an enemy Sniper? ... No... no way were those wounds a bullet's doing. Those gushing holes were made by a knife. Another chill swept over Sniper... If he was dealing with a Spy— A rough wail tore from a Soldier's throat. Sniper peered over his scope and watched in horror as he collapse over his rocket launcher, blood streaming down his back. But he saw no ripple in the air, and no one even remotely close to the body. Sniper blinked, mouth hanging agape. His teammates were being picked off like flies, and Sniper felt helpless up in his nest because he couldn't do a damned thing to help them. The sixth sense stirred stronger now, as if to say, 'See? See!? What'd I tell you!?'. This was no ordinary Spy trespassing on BLU's turf. Their Pyro was finally on the scene, Spy-checking the hell out of the place. Sniper saw it and put a hand on his forehead. It was only a matter of time, now. No worries, no worries. Sure enough, a red figure suddenly appeared in the Pyro's flames. It screamed, flailed, and ran for help. The RED Spy died before he could take five steps. There it was. It was done. No more. Sniper chuckled. It was deep and rough, sadistic. He always felt better seeing a Spy burn. It was a promise of safety, and just desserts; two things he reckoned were the essence of a mercenary's job. Saving people, and getting revenge. All in a days work. And yet the hairs on the back of his neck were still standing on-end. Now he was worried and confused. The feeling had peeked the moment the possibility of a Spy had popped in his head, so he wasn't mistaken in its cause... but he saw the Spy roast before his eyes. What— As the Pyro took the opportunity to ambush the RED team's Demomen, he suddenly shouted, arched his back, and collapsed. An icy lump formed in Sniper's chest. Dare he peer out to see what had killed the Pyro? Dare he confirm his fears? No, he knew. The warping electric noise told him everything. Sniper suddenly shot a paranoid hand to his back, praying that it was there because he honestly couldn't remember. His fingers were met with nothing but cloth, though. The Aussie's heart sank. He had chosen the faithful Jarate for this round. Not his Razorback. "Fuck." Sniper would never admit it — not on his life, he wouldn't — but deep down, Spies scared the hell out of him. Sure, he was a natural-born hunter. Sure, he'd killed everything from water buffalo to dingos to ocelots to hawks with nothing but his rifle and kukri, and never once had he shaken in his boots. But animals weren't Spies. Animals didn't think like Spies. Buffalo couldn't turn into your best friend, to the point where it even sounded like him. Big game couldn't vanish into thin air, and then reappear right behind you to plunge a knife into your jugular. ... God, it was like something out of a horror flick. The air was warm and dry, but it felt frigid and sticky against his face. He was aware of how his pants clung to his legs uncomfortably, how his shirt seemed to hug him just a little too tightly. Things Sniper didn't even want to think about were flashing like sirens. He couldn't stay. The Spy might know where he was hiding. Then he'd sneak up here and knife him. He had to get out of here. It wasn't safe. He had to run. He had to— Wait. Stop. Hold up. What th' bloody hell am I thinkin'? Have I gone mad? I'm th' fuckin' Snoipah he'e! I chopped up three Scouts with nothin' but me kukri once. I destroyed two Level 3 Sentries and killed their Engies and never got hit once. I got shot in the neck by a Spoi, sloiced up by anothe', and then got good 'n barbie'd by their bloody Pyro, and I fuckin' survived it all! Now I'm frettin' over one measly Spoi?[i] .... Yes. Yes he was. Because he knew the feeling of having a knife plunged into his back better than any man ought to. Because he could feel the metal on his skin even when there was nothing there. Because the memory of the pain was so strong that even if he up and lost his memory one day, including all memories his parents and their names, even memories of his teammates and this war, he would still remember the knife. Because Sniper woke up every other night in cold sweat, with a white knuckle grip on the kukri he kept under his pillow. The Spy was the star of Sniper's worst nightmares. [i]... click... His heart skipped a mile high and he moved on pure instinct. His kukri tore out of its holster and slashed as he spun, but an unknown force caught him and twisted his arm behind his back, forcing his kukri out of his hand and clattering to the floor. Sniper snarled, "What the–! Rrgh!" A muted heat wafted by his ear; breath. "Hon hon hon..." Him.
First I was like: meh... Then I was like: That was pretty intense. Trying to concrit. I don't even write, what am I doing Scout could be one hell of an ass-pain (->pain in the ass) but he was a pretty damn sharp shooter. Hell, had fate allowed for it (-> ), Scout could've been a Sniper himself, if it weren't for his impatient tendencies and brash nature. "Ass-pain" made me stumble a bit, since I would expect pain in the ass, and "had fate allowed for it" seemed to clutter up its sentence a bit. Sniper suddenly sat bolt upright, his knee bumping into his crate, knocking one of his Jarate stores (->jars) off and sending it rolling across the floor. He didn't acknowledge it. Again, just different word choice than expected. Not going to bother pasting it in but the transition into Sniper's thoughts seemed a bit odd, maybe because we'd indirectly heard his thoughts before and that suddenly they were first-person and with an accent and all. Also be warned that I might not have noticed these things if I hadn't been paying extra attention because of the request for concrit. Take with a tablespoon of salt. Srsly.
As far as concrit goes... I honestly can't find anything. Plot, pacing, grammar, structure, style, characterization, internal dialog... all of it is absolutely wonderful. This story interesting and intriguing and thoughtful and I just can't wait to see where you go with this. Because no matter where I know it will be a glorious place filled with amazing. But that's just my two cents.
Feeling had peeked -> feeling had peaked. I love it. Love it, love it, love it. Can't wait for more.
Wasn't really looking for anything in particular, so I missed a lot of stuff, but I'm a little confused. Each team only has one Medic, correct? I feel that it is implied, anyway. (This is what I'm assuming anyway, if not, then you can completely disregard this.) Anyway, in the second little paragraph between focus, you say that the BLU Medic just ubered the Heavy, but in the one before it and the one after it, he is dead. Also, be aware of formatting with italics, it throws the reader off a little if they have to remember that what they're reading shouldn't be italicized even though it is. Otherwise, I love your style and I really like where the story is going so far.
>>6 Oh, dear, you're right. How did that escape my notice before? Thank you kindly; I'll be fixing that little inconsistency in no-time. On the italics, I'm not quite sure I follow you.
>>7 Between where he's thinking about being scared of Spy and the click, about eight or nine paragraphs from the bottom.
>>8 Oh! Oh, yes, I see now. That was a formatting error on my part. It's been fixed since. Thank you.