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Sniper could’ve sworn the blu Pyro was nowhere near where he was. Last time he saw that pyromaniac freak he was on the complete opposite side from where he was. But alas, he was running as fast as he possibly could through a burning building, flaming wood and material falling everywhere and smoke filling his lungs. He was disappointed in himself he couldn’t see BLU Pyro from a mile away, or sense him near, but he guessed Pyro could be a sneaky little bastard.
He could barely see a thing through the thick smog and smoke, and he could swear that his sleeve was on fire, but he was too busy dodging all the other flames and falling down support beams to really care about being up in flames right now.
He cursed to himself, seeing an exit to the burning building and launching himself towards it, clutching onto his rifle as tight as he possibiy can as he finally, thankfully, made it out of the building without dying. Which to him, was a little surprising. He wasn’t the slowest runner, but that title of fastest runner goes to Scout. And he definitely wasn’t Scout.
But Scouts always got the worst of himself to come out. They were all loud, obnoxious, over enthusiastic over confident pricks. It was safe to say that Sniper? Hated Scout. All of them.
He ran from the burning building, hearing gun shots his way and ducking for cover behind a random boulder that happened to luckily and thankfully he was right near him. Ducking behind that boulder, he kept his head down. He dropped his rifle, coughing and wheezing from the smoke inhalation of Pyro’s psychopathy. He bent over on his side, one hand clutching the grainy ground and his other holding his chest as he coughed.
Ugh, he hated this. He was going to die of inhaling toxic chemicals from fire more than actual bullets and knives if he kept going on like this.
But suddenly, Sniper heard movement from behind him. A quick, thumping sound of feet on hard ground, running. Sniper acted fast, grabbing his trusty knife and whipping around, using his hand and blocking a particular familiar bat from bashing him over the head and cracking his damn head wide open.
BLU Scout.
Sniper stood up, gripping onto his knife with a killer grip as to not fuck up and drop it, and swinging it at Scout. Scout, having had too much confidence in knocking out his opponent with his bat right as he ran up stumbled back, unable to dodge Snipers quick hand and getting his cheek cut with a sharp knife.
“Ow!” Scout cried out, feeling fresh blood begin to drip from the wound on his face. He growled, raising his bat and going to swing it, getting Sniper in the corner of his shoulder.
Sniper, having to deal with the new pain, felt anger course through his body. He swung his fists at Scout, Scout dodging some but he was able to prevail- getting a couple good hits into the younger man and able to get a bruise on his eye. It became clear to Sniper that the BLU Scout was once again, as usual, over confident, and had too much trust in his speed. As usual, Scout let his pride and his ego get to his head, and he always ended up utterly humiliating himself when he thinks he can overpower people who have probably had more experience than him.
It was the same for the RED Scout as it was for the BLU Scout, that’s why Sniper hated them all so fucking much.
Scout reached for his gun, going for his last resort. But Sniper, again, was quick. And he’s fought enough Scouts (verbally AND physically) to understand his moves and all the shit he tries to do when he realizes he’s losing a fight. Try to act boastful with a baseball bat until you’re overpowered by a knife, then grab your gun and hope your aim through your panic works out.
Sniper slashed his knife over Scouts hand before he had the chance to shoot, and it caused Scout to drop his gun. Scout gasped, whining out in pain as he looked at his gun that fell, and got distracted by the fresh cut on his hand.
Sniper took the chance to grab his rifle, bashing Scout over the head and knocking him to the floor. With Scout groaning, Sniper lifted his foot and smashed it into Scouts Chest, furthering weakening him and knocking the wind out of the Bostonian.
Sniper lifted his gun, baring his teeth like a pissed off pit-bull ready to maul its next unsuspecting toddler and putting his finger on the trigger. His hit list was full of Scout after Scout, he hated every single one of those bastards and he wanted them all to die first in every battle he had against the BLU team. Sure, he’d cover for RED Scout since he’s working with him, not against him- and he was no traitor. But he’ll chuckle a little when he dies.
Right as he was going to pull the trigger to blow Scouts head clean off his body in a satisfying blow of bone flesh skin and blood, he looked at Scouts face.
Scout laid with his head a couple inches lifted off the ground with his shoulders, head to the side as his dirtied bloodied bandaged hands were held up to cover his face, which was in a possibly even worse state than his hands. He had tears bubbled in his eyes, eyes closed tightly in fear.
“D-don’t shoot, man-” Scout said, a tone to his voice that Sniper has never heard before. And it was enough to make Sniper.. hesitate. He looked at Scout with wide eyes, his finger fidgeting with the trigger but never pressing down. Like his finger turned to stone. He could hear Scout whimper like a puppy taken from its mother, it was depressing, and it made Sniper feel something.
Scout opened his eyes, slowly looking at Sniper. He looked afraid. For once in his life, he was afraid. Usually he hid his fears, but he didn’t want to die again. Not for the probably hundredth time this battle, and not like this. Bleeding and embarrassed, beaten by the bushman. By someone he enjoys to annoy too. He didn’t want to die like this.
“I’ve already died so many times!” Scout said, “I- I can’t take the- the ridicule, pal. I- I’m tired of being a fuckin’ embarrassment!” He yelled, his body shaky like he was on his sixteenth cup of coffee in one hour, closing his eyes shut. He doubted that Sniper would actually let him go, he expected his brains to be blown out any second, and he’d fuck everything up again.
But Sniper didn’t shoot. He stood with his finger on the trigger but he couldn’t shoot his bullet. He swallowed a lump of saliva that he felt build up in his throat, and he took his foot off Scout’s probably now bruised chest. And Scout opened his eyes, watching the gun be lowered.
Sniper breathed in a sharp breath, “Go.” He said.
“Wh- you’re really letting-” Scout stuttered, sitting up weakly and looking at Sniper.
“Yes, mate!” Sniper cut him off, “Go! Go before my team sees me let a Scout run off. Go.”
Scout sat there still for a moment, before quickly grabbing the things he’s dropped from the previous bloody fight and flipping around, scurrying off as fast as his injured body could take him. His body hurt and he screamed for assistance, but at least Sniper let him go.
And he wondered, why did Sniper let him go? It wasn’t a secret to him that Sniper hated him, and just killed him out of spite sometimes.
And Sniper thought the same thing, his heart thumping hard against his chest. He fell back against the boulder, sitting on the ground. He looked at the dirtied ground, and he asked himself why he let Scout go. Was it the look on his face? Pity or sympathy? He couldn’t tell, but it drove him crazy.
But he shook it off, stood up and grabbed his rifle. Maybe this time during the battle, he’ll try to avoid Scout at all costs.