Oh, for a really world-class psychiatrist…

CAUTION: THIS CHAPTER CONTAIN AN UNUSAL AMOUNT OF SALIVA

Logon, Ready…Run – Pretty Fly (For a RED Spy)

I slap the large, male hands over my, his, mouth. There's a wooden thump as the Huntsman hits the floor.

Holy Christ-burgers, I feel sick. And the yellow tint to my vision isn't helping matters.

I feel taller, leaner, slightly dirtier and not even the slightest bit feminine.

And just what the hell is going on… down…

…

Oh, God…Don't think about the weight between your legs, FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T THINK ABOUT THE WEIGHT BETWEEN YOUR LEGS!

That particular thought leaves me failing my arms in an attempt not to put my hands anywhere near my…crotch.

I'm not my right age, height, profession or freaking gender! And if I hadn't picked the Sniper I wouldn't even be my correct nationality.

I look down at the bow and arrow. I haven't fired one of these things since PE in high school. I scoop the Huntsman back up into my hands.

I experimentally load the arrow and test the string. Surprisingly, I able to pull back to the fullest extent without straining myself, for quite a long time. Not too shabby. I thought I'd lost the arm strength, considering I've haven't done this for years.

Wait, not my body. Thirty-something Australian assassin's body. In the TF2 universe.

Double-wait, isn't this where players resp-

I half-inhale my next breath.

Get out of the room, get out of the room, before someone sees you!

I make a mad dash down the side corridor leading to the smaller exit. I scramble down the hallway and throw myself around the corner, letting out a moderate "Oomph!" as my back slams against the wall.

A soft cha-chink sound echoes behind me followed an angry yell from, the one and only, Scout. I sneak a peek around the corner. It's the BLU Boston base-ball player, alright.

"Freak'n geeze, man!" He huffs, angrily.

Quick, light footsteps take off, thankfully in the opposite direction from me. He disappears through the main door.

I let out a breath I'd been holding in, before slowly walking further down the hall to the other chain link door. It shoots up as I approach.

This is going to be the craziest round of Team Fortress 2 I've ever played.

Off in a little corner away from the prying eyes of the enemy team, the sound of electronic beeps accompanied the rhythmic thwack of metal on metal as BLU Engineer made his final adjustments to the sentry.

The labourer gave the machine a final bash before wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his glove-covered hand. Before he can move on to upgrade the disperser humming besides him, the gravel behind him crunches.

He turns sharply, shotgun cocked and at the ready, to face whoever had the gall to sneak up behind him.

The grimace on his face is replaced by a strained, yet sincere smile. "What brings you here, Sniper?"

The BLU sharpshooter returns it with a small one of his own. "Bullets don't grow on trees, mate."

The Engineer gives light chortle. "I'm almost finished upgrading the thing. Give me a sec'." He says, readying his wrench. He gives the device a good hammering before there's a light clunking sound and two supply drawers shoot out from the sides of the machine, signifying its ascension to level 2.

He turns to sharpshooter, only to see the Sniper is staring off into the control point area with a serious look on his face. Serious enough to make the Engineer pause in his work.

"Do yah see what Oi see?" The bushman asks, quietly.

"See what there, slim?" the Texan questions. The Australian lifts a digit to point to his target.

The Engineer followed the sharp-shooter's finger.

By the large pine tree, crouching behind large block of concrete, was the BLU Sniper. He was peering over the slab, while in his hands he was drawing back the bow on the Huntsman and releasing it, testing how taunt the string was.

"You think he's a-" The Engineer ventures.

The Sniper cuts in. "A Spoi? You bet Oi bloody do."

The hard-hatted man exchanged a look with his colleague. "Doesn't he know you're usin' your-"

The doppelgänger quickly stood up from behind his cover and let an arrow fly. With a whoosh the projectile whizzed through the air (which turned slightly blue if one was paying enough attention to look) and impaled a reloading RED Soldier right through the head with such force the army man's corpse was left stuck to the wall.

There was a stunned silence from the two watching men as the other Sniper left his cover and made his way across the bridge.

"Is it just me," The Engineer ventured, "Or did that Spai just get 'a headshot?"

The Australian didn't reply for a minute. "Wot' the bloody 'ell is goin' on?" He asks. The Engineer doesn't supply an answer.

The two stared at the doorway into the RED building the 'BLU Sniper' went in.

"Something ain't right about that." The Engineer turned back to see to his dispenser. "If you run into anyone, y'all might want ta tell them what you saw."

The assassin takes a full load of rifle bullets from the device and tips his hat to his friend. "Will do, truckie." He stalks off to do his own hunting.

And if that hunting brought him up against the Spy disguised as him…all the better.

I got a kill! I got an actual kill with an actual bow and arrow!

Ooh, that felt so good! Satisfaction and euphoria at the same time. I Pinned up against the wall with an arrow imbedded in his central nervous system! There was the ding and everything! I was saw his head and went for it! Right. Through. The. Head.

I mentally pause in my congratulatory tirade. Since when was I this overjoyed with death, let alone with me causing it?

I sneak my way around the large metal drums and peek down the corridor by the staircase. Empty.

Should I climb up the stairs and snipe from the balcony area, or stay on ground level and take shots at anyone coming out of the door.

Easier to get stuck or snuck up on from the balcony, but someone might see me from the ground…

And if the other Sniper spots me-

A strange muffled noise ahead of me causes me to tense and draw back the bow. I start backing up as footsteps echo down the hallway. A figure enters my field of view.

At this point, the words that left my lips were the ones that run through all the minds of TF2 players.

"Aw, piss. Not a Pyro." Yes, the RED gas-masked, rainbow-loving fiend himself.

I reverse away as the RED asbestos-wearing fire-bug, who is being followed closely by a Medic, charges towards me. I aim at the Pyro's head and let it go.

The Pyro dodges. The Medic doesn't.

The German doctor takes the hit directly in the left eye. A loud, clear ding rings in my head as the man grasps his head before dropping to the floor with an agonised wail. The momentary surge of pleasure is cut brutally short, as it is clear that the Pyro isn't stopping.

I try to backpedal. He closes the gap between us.

In utter desperation, I reach down to grab a hold of anything, any weapon whatsoever.

My hand closes around the cool glass jar of-

The little blue flame of the pilot light suddenly gives way to a raging stream of fire. He blasts me. The searing heat is everywhere.

"OI'M ON FIRE!" The cry bursts from me instinctually as my chest tightens and heaves in pain.

The Pyro continues to torch me without mercy.

I let out a final, mangled scream. "Gaahhh!"

All feeling suddenly leaves my body and I collapse onto my side, like a puppet with it strings cut. I lie on the ground unable to move, suddenly feeling like I've been thrown out of my own body.

For a minute or so, it's as if I'm watching a movie someone has paused, as the RED fire-starter stands there fixed mid-taunt, flamethrower held high above its head in triumph.

I'm suddenly yanked away from the scene of him standing over my charred Sniper hide, and the vertigo is replaced by a dream-like flying sensation, as I'm whisked up over the battlefield.

I watch as BLU Spy stalks around the RED spawn area, quickly planting a sapper on a teleporter entrance, before being chased off and gutted by the newly respawned RED Soldier. The BLU Heavy and the Medic uber-charge in towards the final control point, mowing down the Scout and the Demoman, before being pinned down by the suppressive fire from a level 3 sentry.

A familiar force pulls me down out of the air, and with a weighty cha-chink back to terra firma, I re-land in spawn. My left hand clutches against the fabric of the shirt where my heart roughly sits, and I stand there trying to get over the sensation of being burned alive and, subsequently, killed.

A second full-body shudder brings something important to my attention.

I'm not holding the Huntsman anymore.

In my right hand is a full container of Jarate.

Jarate.

And just what is Jarate, you may ask...?

I have literally been heaving around a jar full of piss ever since I got here.

I'd be really freaking scared if this thing was warm…

I look away from the jar in disgust. That doesn't even bear thinking about.

Oh God…If I had used this against the Pyro…

I would've to…reload this. Manually.

…

I look down at the glass jar, watching the yellow liquid slosh around in it.

I make a disgusted face as my stomach heaves. "Oi've got ta change my weapon's load out."

My vision turns to grey. "Holy dooly!" I jump back in shock.

I recognise this; this is the weapons load out screen for each character. Right in front of my eyes stands a miniature version of me as the Sniper, as if being beamed straight into my head. The rest of the world around me is grey.

"Ah…"

"Secondary weapon?" I venture, seeing if it will get a response.

It does. The view changes, showing the various items I can use in my secondary weapon slot. SMG's and back shields, among other things.

So, what to substitute for the Jarate? Well, virtually anything at this point. Hmm…

Considering I am playing the game for real, extra protection is definitely welcome. Especially from sneaky backstabbing enemies…

"Razorback." I say.

The image changes back, only this time the Razorback is placed under the weapons slot.

"Ah...Okay?"

The grey vanishes as does the image. I'm left standing by myself in the respawn room, still holding the jar of piss. "Wot? But Oi thought Oi-Oh, wait. Resupply locker."

I walk over to the weapon's locker. The doors swing open, revealing the painted, wooden oval shield. I place the Jarate down on the shelf and touch the Razorback.

The cover vanishes as the doors close. Something drops around my shoulder-blades, rigid yet not uncomfortable. The weight of the wooden shield is barely noticeable.

Another cha-chink sounds behind me, followed by a sobbing cry and a deep, sudden belch. I turn to see the BLU Demoman give a great heaving, teary sigh as he wipes his dribbling nose against his sleeve.

He moans, "Ah feel like every bone in me body's brock." He continues to sniffle.

I stare at him, not entirely sure how to respond. He hiccups as he bows his head.

"…Are you okay-"

The Black Scottish Cyclops suddenly rears up, his single eye red and bloodshot, from the alcohol or his sudden death is anyone's guess.

Screaming in fury, the demolition's 'expert' charges passed me out the door.

"…mate?"

I just shake my head.

"Mental…" I say, quietly. I search on my person for the Huntsman, only to find it in, what is essentially, a back pocket of my pants which it couldn't possibly have been stored in.

"Eh…pocket dimension, and I'll leave it at that." I say out loud.

I run into the BLU's courtyard. Just as I'm about to head up the cement ramp, a flash of BLU and an ear-ripping shout send me slamming my back up against the stack of barrels. I peek out around my cover to see exactly what is happening.

The BLU Demoman has been momentarily detained on his way (to dismantle the enemy team, probably) by the team's resident nut-bar, BLU Soldier.

With absolutely no desire to meet, arguably the craziest person to ever exist, I sink down behind the barrels. At the very least, I can wait until the two of them have gone.

Over my cover, the sound of Soldier's voice floats through the air like a very loud brick.

"Listen, you dress-wearing drunk! Engie has reported to me that a spy has infiltrated our ranks!"

The intoxicated mercenary takes this to mean entirely the wrong thing.

His head shoots up and he turns wildly around to try and find the offender. "There's a SPY! SPY! SPY 'ROUND HERE!" He hollers.

"SHHHH!"

The Soldier all but stuffs his closed fist into the Demoman's mouth in a slightly less painful variant of a punch.

"We don't want him to know we know it's him, maggot!" He hisses at the drunk man.

Demoman's only reply is to drool on the Soldier's hand. Soldier takes this to mean he can continue with his sharing of information.

"Hardhat says he's disguised as our Sniper, with that sissy bow and arrow the hippie camper uses." He whispers.

Demoman moans a little, either agreeing with Soldier's assessment of the weapon or because having his hand in his mouth hurts.

"But he also says that the Spy has found a way of using our own weapons against us! Without losing his disguise!" Soldier continues in a hushed and angry tone.

The Demoman's eye opens in shock. "Waaaat?!" He spits from behind the closed fist.

The Soldier nods seriously, before he leans in close the Scotsman, a crooked smirk appearing on his face.

"However, we're on to his little trick and I intend to blow the frog back to France in A THOUSAND PIECES! I'LL SHOW THAT BACK-STABBER HOW TO WIN A WAR, THE SNAIL-EATING MAGG-"

In an act of karmatic realignment, the Demoman inserts his own appendage into the Soldier's open mouth.

"SHHHH!" The Scot mumbles. "'Eel 'ear 'oo!"

A dawning look of comprehension appears on the Soldier's face. "Oo, 'ife!" He replies.

The two remove their hands from each other's mouths, wiping the accumulated spittle off on their uniforms.

"Now, move out! And remember to alert everyone if you see that Spy!" The Soldier finishes.

"Aye!" His compatriot agrees. I sink further down behind the barrels, more than a little pale and feeling just about as nauseous as when I landed here.

Ooh, this ain't good. This is the polar opposite of good.

I've already been set on fire today, I'm not going to stick around to see what being blown to pieces feels like. The crit rockets, they haunt me…Oooohh…

Okay, go back into respawn and switch to the stock loadout- But I suck using the sniper rifle. Maybe if I sneak past or wait till they've gone, I can just hide in a nice, dark corner somewhere.

Oh, God. This is just me picking who I want to get killed by now.

I'm jolted out from my reverie back the sound of the chain-link gate opening and shutting.

I turn around to witness the BLU team's Medic and Heavy, trotting out from the depths of respawn. Obviously, their Ubercharge into RED base didn't end in a successful capture.

"Vhat are you doing, Herr Sniper?" the Medic inquires.

"Ah… "

Oh, God. Let this work…

I turn and point over my shoulder at the two conversing mercs. "The Soldier is a Spoi!"

The two men look at each other and then back to me.

"Are you sure?" The German doctor asks.

There's a quiet moment as I hold an internal breath. "Yeh." I reply.

The Medic looks up at his large comrade. "Vell, I'm convinced." The Heavy nods his head in agreement.

Only one word comes to mind: Sweat-drop. I'm not sure whether to fall over in thanks or in disbelief.

He pulls back the handle on the Medi-gun and floods the Heavy in its gaseous blue, healing rays. The Russian revs up his giant gun.

With wicked smiles on their faces, the Heavy and the Medic leap up from behind cover.

Sasha starts whirring. "IS KILLING TIME!" Heavy roars.

The Demoman and Soldier give a wail of surprise, mixed with the war cry of the Heavy/Medic duo, and the sound of a firing mini-gun echoed throughout the yard as I bolted away and towards the first control point.

Maybe I can hide up the balcony area of the RED building.

To say the BLU Soldier and the Demoman were mildly surprised would be an understatement. Heavy is an imposing tank of a man at the best of times. The addition of his huge weapon about to fire just cements terror into your mind.

That being said, being afraid tends to impede other thought processes that may be going on. These things can be quite important things. It takes them all a second to realise the bullets aren't actually doing anything to the pair. It takes said pair another second to realise who is firing at them.

"CEASE FIRE, MAGGOT!" The Soldier screams at the Heavy/Medic pair in sheer fury.

"AYE, STOP A'FORE AH TAKE MAH STICKIES AND MAKE YEH INTO AH LASS!" Bellows the Demoman.

Sasha stops firing and slowly whirrs to a halt.

Now free from suppressive fire, BLU Soldier runs over and practically rams his face into the Russian's. "THIS IS MUTINY, YOU COMMIE! FIRING UPON A SUPERIOR OFFICER! I SHALL HAVE THE TWO OF YOU COURT-MARSHALLED!" He screeches.

Heavy says nothing, but his expression indicates to his medical ally that the Soldier would have his helmet rammed down his throat if things continued like this.

The Medic steps up. "Zhe Sniper vas convinced you vere a Spy." He says, calmly adjusting his glasses.

The Heavy nods in affirmation. "Da."

"Wha' the bloody 'ell?" The Demoman slurs in confusion.

The Soldier puffs out his chest in authority. "We have been infiltrated by an enemy Spy, capable of attacking using our own weapons with losing his disguise."

The Medic near snorted in disbelief. "Das ist völliger Unsinn! Zhe Administrator vould nevar allow it." He replied, hotly.

"Is not possible!" The Heavy added in his two cents.

The Soldier's face went near purple at their insubordination. "Are you questioning me, Kraut?!" He barked.

The German doctor was clearly tempted not to even dignify that with an answer. The patriot mistakes the silence for surrender and continues.

"Both the hardhat and the camper saw him open fire on the RED team using the Huntsman, and Sniper was clearly using his rifle for today's match." The Soldier went on, coming as close as he possibly can to a talking voice volume.

Now it's the Medic's turn to look confused. "Vait…you say both zhe Engineer and Sniper saw zhis Spy use Herr Sniper's weapons while disguised?"

"I'm afraid zhe Soldier is correct, for once." Came a voice.

The Demoman, who had been a passive listener in the conversation up until this point, gave a shout of surprise and whipped out his Scrumpy bottle, flailing it in the general direction of the noise.

A blue, velveteen glove catches his wrist.

Demoman stood in shock for a second before he recognises the identity of the man in front of him. "BLOODEH SPAI!"

"Damn it, Frenchie!" The Soldier, who had jumped back with his shovel at the ready, chipped in.

The BLU Spy released the Demolition man's hand stiffly, before adjusting his tie with his usual haughty air.

The Medic tried to move the conversation back on track. "So, you have seen zhis suppozed Spy too, Herr?"

The backstabber took a lengthy drag of his cigarette. "Oui."

He turned to the Soldier. "Neizher of you imbeciles realised he was hiding behind zhe barrels while you were talking." He snarked.

The Soldier's jaw tightened while the Demoman frowned darkly.

The Spy continued to the other members present. "He used you two as an opportunity to escape. I watched him flee to zhe RED's base."

The Scotsman's face darkened. "Yah let 'im go, ya backstabber?!"

"One does not engage an unknown enemy without any information." He bit back. "Eizher way, I would 'ave been seen and taken out by zhe RED team if I had tried."

He replaced the cigarette in his mouth.

"I was also able to briefly examine zhe RED Soldier's body before it was taken by respawn," he continued. "Zhere was no doubt he was killed by a headshot using zhe bushman's bow."

"So zhat Sniper…" The Medic started.

A voice interjects. "Why would RED Spy fight against puny baby RED team?"

This remarkable gem of overlooked knowledge came from, quite possible, the least expected source.

The Spy dipped his head. "…Zhat, we do not know zhe answer to."

That statement leaves behind an uncomfortable silence.

"So, ve eizher have RED Spy breaking zhe rules," The German began. "Or another Sniper haz been drafted onto our team wizhout our knowledge or consent."

The American growled, angrily. "Maggot, if we were going to get another team-mate, it would be a true-blue, American Soldier! Not another camper from kangaroo land!"

"I also seriously doubt he would resemble zhe Sniper to such an extent." The Spy put in. "Not to say that we 'aven't seen an already disturbing resemblance of ourselves in zhe enemy team." He finished before the Medic could interject.

The Soldier and Demoman took clear offence at this statement.

The Spy and the Medic just rolled their eyes. The Heavy just looked confused.

The moment is stopped as the speakers start up and the Announcer's voice coldly intones over the battlefield.

"Mission ends in 10 seconds."

Oh, thank God. The round is ending. I don't think I could've taken much more of this, hiding from everybody including what is essentially my own team. But, two real-life headshots. Yay.

Next round I'm going to try like hell to get out of here. This place is a nice vacation spot, but you wouldn't want to live here, if you know what I mean.

Wait, I'll respawn the same room as everyone else and they see me straight away. And if they're anything like BLU team, they'll probably think I'm a Spy and try to blow me to kingdom come.

Wait…Spy, that's it! If you're trying to hide and go about your business unmolested, which class is better than the Spy? He has a disguise kit and an invisibility watch, for God's sake!

Now-

There's a noise from behind me. Rounds of being backstabbed by Spies kicks my adrenaline into full gear. I leap forwards and swing myself around in time to dodge the deadly swipe of the BLU Sniper's kukri knife.

Oh, I am so sick of this homicidal bull-****. Not even from the enemy team, but being chased around by these guys, on top of everything else. I've had a mentally destroying experience and no one needs to add to it!

I shove the Huntsman back into my pocket (dimension) and pull out the Bushwacka.

"Wot the bloody 'ell do you want?!" I bark angrily at my carbon copy.

"Well, I was thinkin' of cutting you a new smile, Spook." Comes the quite serious reply.

Why does every freaking being on the whole planet think I'm a Spy?! "How about you piss off, you wanka!" I snarl in return.

The Sniper's eyes flash from behind his yellow aviator glasses. "Backstabbnin' snake!" He growls.

"Blind-eyed bastard!" I yell back.

Over our heads, the Administrator's frosty voice continues with the count-down.

"Mission ends in 5…"

There's no time left. I have to switch to Spy now! "Change class!"

The Australian assassin goes on the attack as world greys and the list pops up.

"4…"

I take another step backwards, blocking another slash from the bushman with my own weapon. "Spoi!" Colour returns and the character list vanishes. A sentence rings in my head.

*You will respawn as Spy*

"That's not gunna work this time, wanka." The Sniper menaces.

Oh, jeeze, I haven't set the character to suicide when you want to change class.

"3…"

"Change load-out!"

My vision greys again. My Spy load-out appears in front of my eyes.

Oh God, which one had the Cloak and Dagger?

Out of the corner of my observed vision, I watch as the assassin readies his kukri. He lunges.

"2…"

"Load-out B-No, C! Load-out C!"

I dodge the oncoming blade's slice. The Sniper closes in, pushing me further to the wall.

The suited image of the man flickers and then, finally, alters slightly as his golden pocket-watch is replaced by a silver wristwatch.

"1…"

My back hits the wall. I exhale. "Finished."

"You certainly are, mate." The sharpshooter readies a final blow.

"You've failed!"

The Sniper's knife disappears, along with his rifle and SMG. With them follows my Huntsman and Bushwacka.

There's a sudden burst of commotion from the RED building as the team charge out of their base, intent on finishing off any member of the BLU team still alive.

The Sniper looks astonished.

I, meanwhile, am not sticking around with someone who tried to kill me with a knife. "See yah!" I yell at him before bolting away back to the BLU side of the map.

I take off, heading for the overlying balcony area near BLU base. It's easy to hide up there and most times people don't even check up there.

Across the bridge and up the metal staircase, the sound of gunfire and dying voices screaming behind me. Up in the little alcove area, hands gripping the railing, I take a few deep breaths.

Without warning, an arm is flung around my neck. I choke, latching my hands onto the tightening limb, trying and failing to pull it off. A push to the back of my legs forces me onto my knees.

The arm's owner speaks up from behind me. "Bonjour, bushman. I don't zhink we've been properly introduced."

Oh, no. I freeze as a real, genuine fear creeps into me. Not the Spy. Anyone, even Soldier, but not the Spy.

"Time is short, so I'll cut to zhe chase. I want your name and what you're doing here."

I try to mask my fear. "Piss off."

The arm tightens around my neck. "Who are you working for?"

"Gah!"

Come on, I think desperately, let the round end! Just let it end, I can't take much more of this!

A familiar, yet not, feeling of being blown by a cool night breeze, mixed with the scent of cigarettes and perfume overcomes me. I sigh in relief and cease to exist.

With a successful defence of the last control point and a recorded victory for the first round, the mood and morale of the RED team was riding high. Having been warped back to base after dishing out some humiliation on the enemy team, the RED's were clearly determined to turn their victory into a winning streak. Once again, eight mercenaries burst forth from the respawn/resupply area, keen to get as much of a hold on the first control point as a possible.

However, the RED Mann of Espionage was still in the room. He had, for a brief and startling moment immediately after being dropped back into respawn, thought that he had seen a duplicate of himself appear and vanish into thin air. The RED Spy stared at the patch of wall, looking for any irregularities. He could have sworn he saw it out of the corner of his eye…

The doors roll open to reveal the Pyro poking his head back into the respawn area. It takes him a second for him to notice the Spy's lack of movement.

"Mmhm mmmh, Mmah!" the gas-masked man 'says', motioning his hand out towards the door in a definite 'Come on' gesture.

The Spy appears to ignore him for a second, before turning to face the fire-bug with his usual poker-face.

"Hmmph."

The Pyro just watched the Frenchman stride passed him, then gave an exasperated shrug of his shoulders, as if to say 'Man, Spy is just weird sometimes.' He too followed after his ally, causing the door slide shut.

A few seconds after the metal roller door closes, the sound of decloaking is heard as another RED Spy materialises out of nothing. He takes his hands off of his wrist, where the button for the Cloak and Dagger rests.

The figure breaths through nose in relief. "Zhat went better zhan I expected." I whisper, reaching into my pocket and pulling out what appears to be a silver cigar case.

I open up the disguise kit. While I look through the computerised images of the characters that flash across the little screen, I instinctively I grab a cigarette and wrap my lips around it.

The bitter, chemical taste soaking onto my tongue is what causes me to realise what I've done. It causes me to spit suddenly as I remove it from my mouth. I stare at the offending tobacco in mild disgust.

"What zhe 'ell am I doing?" I turn and casually flick the cancer stick away.

Backstabbing is one thing, but there's no way in hell I'm taking up smoking.

Speaking of which…

A very vindictive smile blossoms on my face.

It's time for a story. I'm thinking of the romance tale about the unrequited love between my Spyicle and a couple of people's spinal column…

You know what? Trying to WRITE ACCENTS is HARD as #$%&!

Anybody with some experience at writing for these guys, drop me a line. Dialogue with these characters makes my head hurt.

I like making the Heavy smart. He does have a PhD, after all. Though I think I didn't made the Soldier dumb or crazy enough. :P

*The Medic says (in German): "That is utter nonsense!"