>>133 Hehe, living in Canada my whole life (where the dialects of Quebec and Acadian French are much more prominent than European ones), I'm more accustomed to that kind of accent. The same spy made a brief appearance in my last story (it seemed like an easy way to distinguish between two spies appearing in the same scene), and I kind of went from there with it. Years ago, I used to roleplay a character who was an assassin that spoke joual, so it's also kind of a private joke. There's actually a really boring reason for the parenthesis. I didn't know if the code for posts on this part of the board used square brackets or pointy ones, and I didn't want to fill the first post of the first story I did with broken code, so I just put the character's thoughts in round brackets. And now, back to the show! ______________________________ BLU Spy had just finished cutting Sniper free when the sound of footsteps caught their attention. A wide-eyed look of alarm passed between them, and the Canadian wriggled silently back to where he'd been kneeling before. With the tape severed but not peeled off, Sniper was reasonably confident that someone peeking in through the keyhole wouldn't know that now, the door was all that stood between the two cellmates and freedom. Whoever was out there didn't say anything this time, and just stopped outside the wine cellar. Sniper could hear a chair creaking slightly, and supposed that it was probably Kelly, returning to guard the imprisoned pair. He watched the door for a moment, then turned his gaze to Spy. The BLU mercenary had been looking at the door as well, frowning. He pointed at Sniper, then repeated the same pantomime as before. The eye-rolling, tongue-hanging one. After weighing his distrust of Spy against the fact that the masked man had freed him, Sniper decided to play along. He could think of nothing his rival might get him into now, that he wouldn't be able to get out of. Sniper did his best to act near death, which wasn't too hard. He still felt kind of lousy, and there was so much filth on his clothes and himself, he looked and smelled like something with one foot in the grave. While he perfected his choked breathing, the Québécois started yelling to their guard. "Are any of you assholes out dere?! Anyone?! Someone better get in here, dis guy's dying or somet'ing!" A weary groan was audible from outside the room. It sounded like the renegade team's sniper had returned to his post. "I don't care if 'is arms and legs have come off, I'm tryin' to take a fucking nap out here. ...oi, why do you care anyways, spook? Back when we were fighting here, you always seemed right thrilled to see ME dead." Spy faltered, and a little surprise crept into his voice. "You remember me from before?" "Of course I do, wanker! I'd never forget a man who spent so much time stabbin' me in the back. Ruprecht's the only reason I didn't mangle you while we was locking you blokes up. Rather let you live a bit longer so I can watch him carve you up into Montreal smoked meat." Kelly's voice was particularly malicious as he talked with the BLU Spy. Sniper wondered if there was even more animosity between Kelly and this Spy than there was between himself and the Canadian. He was tempted to ask, but knew it was better to save any questions for later. Spy answered in an equally contemptuous tone, spitting out words like bad tastes. "Hostie de tabernac... I dare you to come say dat to my face, kiwi!" It was hard for Sniper to keep his mouth shut. Even though Spy was taunting the man outside, hearing him call an Australian "kiwi" was a grievous insult. Sure enough, Kelly's enraged growl could be heard through the door. "Alright, bucko, you asked for it! I'm gonna do everything short of killing ya! I know Ruprecht won't mind. Keeps sayin' he wants to try new things in the operating room. I reckon I'd better mangle you in ways he's never even dreamed of before now!" As the renegade shouted threats, Sniper could hear the door unlocking. Shooting a glance at Spy, he saw the man's expression was a little tense, but held no clues as to where this escape plan was going. (I'd better get ready to jump that bastard when he comes in. Sounds like he's keen on catching up with Spy. That means he'll probably have his back turned to me.) Kelly kicked the door open a second later and stalked right towards Spy, brandishing an ivory-handled kukri. It was hard for Sniper to imagine that the BLU mercenary wasn't uneasy about this, but he somehow managed to stay deadpan. He smirked up at the grizzled maverick, calmly concealing the fact that his hands were free. "I didn't know you had da balls, tête carré." Sniper's mind was racing ahead of the world around him, trying to predict how his next few hours would go if he didn't act now. (I keep wondering how soon that frog's going to decide I've outlived my usefulness. Maybe I ought to just wait here and let Kelly do his thing. Then I won't have to worry about getting stabbed in the back.) It was a deviously tempting thought. Despite having released him from his bonds, Spy was still unquestionably an enemy of Sniper. The BLU mercenary murdered him with infuriating frequency on the battlefield, after all. In the last twenty-four hours alone, Spy had held him at gunpoint, drank from his liquor supply, drugged him, stolen his clothes, and spied on his blackmail-calibre sexual engagement with a teammate. Only a fool would have mistaken Spy's helpful actions as a sign of friendship. Like Sniper, he was just a professional doing what was necessary to survive and- if he was lucky- complete his team's mission here. That made it inevitable that their partnership was going to end sooner or later, most likely at the end of a loaded gun. Sniper knew he was in danger as long as the BLU agent was anywhere near him, but his odds of rescuing Scout were better with someone backing him up. (...provided that helping Scout is even on his agenda. Bah, if he tries to weasel his way out of it, I'll remind him there's more of those bastards than there are of us. I'm not leaving this bloody mansion without the kid.) Spy's demeanor seemed to just make Kelly angrier. He growled, "I'll make you eat those words, you bloody frog... As a matter of fact, that gives me an idea. Y'think Ruprecht would like to perform the world's first castration-reversal surgery?" The renegade sharpshooter had barely taken a glance Sniper's way when he came in, and that oversight was going to cost him dearly. (Alright, here goes nothing...) Sniper summoned all of his strength, then rose to his feet for the first time in hours. The world went black around the edges, and he was seized by intense vertigo and nausea. All the blood rushed from his head and he reeled on the spot, nearly falling over onto the man he was about to attack. After what seemed like an eternity, Sniper's tinnitus faded and the world around him regained its usual clarity. Seeing that Kelly had just made a grab for his cellmate's crotch, he decided that this was a good time to intervene. Although the great casks of wine in the cellar had long run dry, an assortment of jugs and bottles still lay about the room, ready to be filled. Sniper grabbed the neck of a bottle that was coated on the inside with some aged residue, then stepped silently up behind Kelly and took an overhand swing at the traitor's head. The old glass was sturdier than a modern wino's bludgeoning tool, and its only weak point was the neck, where it snapped off on impact with Kelly's skull. He crumpled forwards against Spy and dropped his kukri on the floor. Looking just a bit wide-eyed with alarm, the BLU agent stared up at Sniper, pushing away his attacker with shaky arms. "You took your sweet fuckin' time wit' dat," he said tensely. Sniper frowned, and traded out the broken bottleneck for Kelly's knife. "Oi, I nearly passed out when I stood up there. I've been lyin' on the floor for hours, y'know?" Still looking sort of rattled, Spy slowly got to his feet, buttoning up his pants. He seemed kind of unsure that his testicles really had made it through that unscathed, and reflexively patted the area a few times. "Well, better late dan never, I guess. We should search him for other weapons, see if he's got anyt'ing I could use." "I know their scout had your Browning," Sniper said absentmindedly, kneeling beside Kelly's unconscious form. He kept a firm grip on the knife, and used his free hand to rifle through the other Australian's belongings. "Nothing in 'is vest pocket. What're these pills? You reckon it's pilot's salt? Suppose it'd be foolish to take unmarked drugs, anyhow. Oh look, cigarettes. You want a smoke, m-" Before he could finish asking, Spy had feverishly snatched the packet from his hands and was shaking one out. The Québécois clamped one between his lips, then swore through clenched teeth. "Fuck, I need a light!" Sniper rolled his eyes. "Thanks for askin'... 'ere, gimme one of those and I'll give you his lighter." Spy was practically foaming at the mouth as he flicked a cigarette over to his companion. After tucking it behind his ear, Sniper leaned over Kelly and started feeling around in the rogue marksman's pockets. "I know he's got it on him, somewhere. ...ah! Here we go." Just to get back at Spy for his impatience, Sniper took the time to light his cigarette first, then half-turned and offered a small flame to his unlikely ally. Contemplating the incident later, Sniper would realize he should have been paying more attention, or perhaps, he should have cut Kelly's throat before robbing him. But hindsight is always much clearer. He in the process of helping BLU Spy get a nicotine fix when a faint scraping noise reached his ear. Before he had the chance to think much of it, he caught a glimpse of movement out the corner of his left eye, and the world exploded in a white flash of agony. Sniper roared in pain and turned back, to discover that the man on the floor had regained enough of his consciousness to retaliate. "You cunt! You sneaky bastard!" he snarled, fangs bared. Kelly was looking blearily up at the RED mercenary, holding the freshly bloodstained stump of a bottleneck in one hand. He lashed out once more, drawing jagged glass towards Sniper’s face. Hissing, Sniper raised the stolen kukri to defend himself. Their weapons clashed, but ivory and steel prevailed over dusty glass, and the downed man's shank went rattling off across the floor. Fresh blood and bestial instinct were driving Sniper now; he plunged the knife into Kelly's ribcage and put all of his weight behind it, rocking it a little, feeling its blade grind against bone as it sank deeper. The maverick gurgled and mouthed a silent reply, weakly trying to push Sniper off of him, but he might as well have been pinned by a timber wolf for all the good it did. His struggles became progressively feebler until his hands slipped from Sniper's shoulders and flopped to the ground. Blood surged forth from his lips along with his last breath, sounding more like a frothy belch than a dignified death-sigh. Then he went still, and a body that had doubtlessly been restored countless times under the RED company's plan now found peace in death. "Told you I'd aim higher, you bleedin' drongo." "Coeur sacré de Crisse," Spy mumbled, sounding a little stunned. As Sniper came down from his adrenaline rush, he was vaguely aware of something warm and wet running down onto his collar. Brushing at it, he realized it was blood; Kelly's last hurrah had left a long, ragged slash down the right side of Sniper's face. It was only a surface wound, but it sure made a hell of a mess. Everything was sort of blurry through his blackened right eye, but the swelling had gone down to the point he could open it a little. (Good, my aim's shit without peripheral vision.) Sniper turned to look at Spy, who was slowly bringing himself up off the floor and calming his nerves with a cigarette. "You didn't try to defend yourself when he came after you there. I'm surprised you have that much trust in me. Was that all part of your plan, mate?" The Canadian grunted irritably. "I don't trust you for a second, tête carré. I just knew - or uh, hoped - dat you had enough common sense to kill him while his back was turned. I was trying to get him in here to check you out so he'd be distracted, but t'ings worked out alright da way dey did. Wh-" Distant sounds from the rest of the manor were making it into the wine cellar, now that the door was open. They had seemed insignificant up until now, but when a shrill scream interrupted the masked man, Sniper swore he could feel his heart leap up to visit his tonsils. "Jesus Christ, that's Scout!" Before his brain had time to start making rational plans or decisions, Sniper's legs were already taking him out of the wine cellar. One end of the hallway opened onto larger room, obscured by light that seemed blinding after his imprisonment. Where there was light, there was sure to be his imperiled teammate.