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The Other Spy (16)

1 .

Here is my first attempt at writefaggotry for this fandom, or any fandom for quite a while. I must admit, I was inspired by TripfagJones and others. I hope its to your liking!
(Yes, this isn't quite porn, but I feel that I've made/used some more adult statements and themes here than would be acceptable on the general board.)

Medic had rushed past the carnage at the first capture point, back towards the base; his face was flushed with exertion, his coat tails tattered and the usually clean rubber gloves heavily caked with… well, Heavy’s blood.

He was, of course, upset by that rather upsetting turn of events, but what could one Medic hope to do against a bevy of sentries and their ever watchful Engineers? Not much. The best he could hope for was returning to base and helping his teammates even the score.

Upon reaching for the last canisters of needles for his Blutsauger, Medic felt something was…Off. No better way to put it. The supply room was usually filled with his comrades in arms working to refill their weapons and heal or new troops coming in from HQ to go to the front lines. Usually, he could dismiss such a silly hunch.

But right now? It was silent. The only other person in the room was a slovenly Spy from his own team. Smoking. In his direction. He hated that. It smelled terrible and it was annoying, and Spy knew it. Pushing the canister in until it clicked, Medic knew he had to say something. That little Frog wouldn’t have it any other way. Politeness was simply not his forte.

Frowning as he holstered his weapon, Medic turned to Spy, making his growing impatience and displeasure abundantly obvious.

“I zought I made myself quviet cleah. I despise youah filthy habit and I refuse to tohlerate you getting my equipment duhrty with your fumes!”

As if turned on by some external force, Spy turned his head slightly to the side, and flicked the cigarette into Medic’s face. Recoiling from the disgusting assault, Medic realized what was wrong. What had bothered him so vaguely before.

This was not their Spy. At least, he didn’t appear to be. His eyes were all wrong; all icy pale with a soulless glean to them. His bearing indicative of barely contained, but carefully funneled, contempt and loathing toward everyone and everything. His Spy was lazy, good spirited, and a good natured drunk when in the base. This Spy wasn’t. And then, there was his skin.

Oh God. Why hadn’t he noticed? It was so different. Patchy. Bloody? Was there blood around the sides of his smile? And his brows? The skin was so sickly pale and waxy white, not the usually tan and stubbly face he was so used to. What was wrong with Spy?

Medic pulled back abruptly, knocking into the supply closet, while that thing slowly rose from its seat on the bench and walked towards him. Medic felt himself grow bizarrely faint. He was a man of science, of reason. Nothing should disturb him like this. Nothing should make him feel unable to think. Nothing.

The smile that it wore was now pealing from his face, and with a sickening squelch, the thing ripped the rest of the mangled smile from its own sallow face and leered, revealing sharp shiny white teeth like a shark. As its smile grew in predatory hunger, the thing striped the last layer of borrowed flesh from his forehead and threw it to the ground.

His Spy’s face. On the floor. Oh god. Oh god… whatsgoingtohappentome? Why can’t I make it stop, getawaygetawaygetaway….

Blood caked on to his face and his hands the Spy waggled his finger, “Ah cher, you may have told heem, but you ‘ever told moi. But, I’m glad to ‘ear it from such a…lovely voice. I wonder how much better it’d sound with a little incentive, eh? I theenk I could find out.”

Medic barely had time to react before the rusty butterfly knife was shoved toward him and held at eye level. To his mind, it seemed as if it was floating, buoyed by hatred and loathing of the Medic, or maybe just his entire team? He wanted to imagine this wasn’t personal.

He’d never encountered this Spy before. Well, that wasn’t entirely correct, he corrected himself. He’d seen this one before. All cream skin and blue pin stripe, slinking like an alley cat away from some act of sabotage or murder, with a Cheshire cat grin on his face showing those teeth. A few times the Spy had seen him, but slunk away when he realized that Heavy had been there. The last time, he had waved that same disgusting instrument at him, as if it were some kind of perverse good bye.

And now it was waving at him again, like an invitation to some horrific entertainment event. He bit his lip as he tried to learn further away but the Spy moved closer, unwilling to let his prey deny him the satisfaction of this soirée.

“Cher, ‘ou’ve got to let me ‘ave my fun. Its no fair ozerwise, non? I came all zis way for you, I cut heem up, just for you, and now you ‘ave to give me my present. MY reward.” The Spy’s smile widened, as each little detail elicited a series of tiny little gasps and an increasingly terrified expression on Medic’s already pained face.

Medic closed his eyes, carefully considering his words. What did one say to a mad man? One clearly in the thrall of some horrifying delusion or… or something. A sharp jab in his jaw told him that the Spy wasn’t happy with that course of actions, so he simply let himself go.

“Vhat do you wahnt from me? I… I’ve done nuhthing wrong least of all against you! I ask of you, mercy please!”

The Spy grinned, “I ‘ad zought you might say zat. I just want to hear you scream. Nuhzing more, nuzhing less. ‘Ever heerd you scream like zey did when I gutted zem like the fish they were to me. But you? You get to leev. You are lucky.”

The Medic tried to veer off to the side, but the Spy simply used his added momentum to his advantage, moving the blade from ear to ear as Medic pulled away.

The Spy got exactly what he wanted; a terrified and pain wracked screech emanating from the bloodied man on the floor. An amazing smile. A beautiful mental image for him to enjoy later, at his leisure. He knew he would. The Spy chortled with some kind of manic mirth at the prone man.

The Spy crouched next to Medic’s prone and wailing form, slowly sampling some of the pooling blood. After he was satisfied, and was sure that Medic’s team mates would be out to see what all the screaming was about , he stood slowly and clapped his hands. Once. Twice.

“Very nice, cher. Ess just like I weeshed for. I’m sure your steeches will hurt and you’ll have a wonderful memento of our leetle time together, but I theenk you’ll look back on theese day and be glad. Glad that I left you alive. If I were you, I’d look for ze Spy in ze other supply closet,” With that, the spy cloaked and left, the steel shutter door announcing his departure and then the hasty arrival of the other team Medic and his team mates.

They did find Spy. He… well he never was the same. Made an alright recovery, had most of his face back. They say the next mission he went off on, he carved a man up like a Christmas ham. He got better over time, but he never stopped…carving.

As for Medic? He made it through just fine. He still goes out and cares for the wounded and hangs around with Heavies, but his bedside manner will never be good enough. He’s too creepy. He has a curious smile. Curiouser and curiouser every day. You can tell where it used to be, but the stitches and scars make is seem to go on for ever. Much like that other Spy’s.
Marked for deletion (old)

2 .

Pretty damn cool.
Good job!

3 .

Dude, that had me visualising the whole thing from start to finish. AWESOME

4 .

Aww, I'm glad to hear you like it! I haven't written in soo long, so it was good to get something going. :3

5 .

V. nice. I'm glad my writing helped inspire this.

I particularly like the ear-to-ear slashed 'smile'. That's some good imagery right there. And of course creepy stalker Spy showing up in you base WEARING THE FACE OF YOUR OWN SPY. It was also a v. good lead in where Medic is feeling uneasy as he looks at Spy. His brain probably picked up on something being horribly wrong before his eyes figured out what it was.

Just a couple mis-types I noticed:
pealing = peeling
striped = stripped

Anyways, MOAR PLZ

6 .

I really enjoyed this! I've always loved the imagery of the chelsea smile, so it's brill to see it written like this.. and you write one creepy, creepy Spy!

7 .

I'm thinking I may, or may not, use Chelsea Smile Medic again...

Now that the idea has been floating around in my head, it creeps me out.

But yeah, Chelsea smiles, I'm told, are traditionally done with bottles. I can't imagine any of them being particularly pleasant, but at least the knife is sharp...

8 .


I believe the most professional Chelsea Smiles are done with a credit card these days. Possibly even worse than a bottle.

9 .


...I cannot begin to imagine the logistics involved in that, or how it works.

That is pretty terrifying.

10 .


Basically, you get a credit card (two if they have a big mouth,) and you push. Not that I've done it! But they are fucking nasty. Also, fascinating.

Ah, gangsters. You introduce such interesting methods of violence to our world.

11 .

Necessity is the mother of invention...

I just wonder why that was so necessary to invent!

PS: Any other fascinating methods for me to have a gander at? I'm actually quite interested in that sort of scholarly detached, "ohgodthatsterrible" way. Also, it might make for a compelling story later.

12 .

don't know if it's necessarily relevant, but there is an actor who has scars from a chelsea smile; i found him through the wikipedia page.

13 .


Oh, I actually do want to see that very much. I'm planning on using the Doc again, so having a good visual aid would be super helpful.

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16 .


Thank you muchly!

17 .

fffffffff sorry it posted twice it was going slow and i was a little edgy this morning. So i mighta pushed the button a few times. :3c
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