1 . Name: Lassy @ 2011-07-14 05:28

Um... Hey. I'm really not quiet sure how to introduce myself. I'm newish to the Chan, and I've never posted before, even as an Anon, so ...this is quiet new to me. Heh. I've been lurking quiet a bit though, and a lot of great fanfiction writers kind of inspired me to make a like something of my own. I showed it to some friends, and they gave me the crazy ass idea of posting it here, so here it is. There's not any porn or anything in it (yet?), though if I continue, there might be some graphic violence, and maybe some undertones, so I'm posting it here to be safe. Sorry if its not what anyone is expecting. =/

Now here's some good ole, Spy vs Spy.

***

I have been living in hell, for the past two years of my life, but, I'd much rather live in hell, than die in it. I've seen too many men die here. Some pass without a sound, blown to bits, or a head shot splattering their gray matter out onto the nearest wall, eyes staring wide open in what can only be shock. Some scream. Those ones haunt me the most; the faces that scream, whether they be from my team or the enemy's. I am a prisoner in what we at R.E.D Team call, Two Fort.

The old medic thought of the name during my first few months here. He had been here for three years before I even signed my contract with R.E.D. He was a clever man, also helpful to everyone on the team, though grouchy at sometimes, he always meant well. He came up with puns, very often. Sometimes, he seemed to enjoy them more than the company of his beloved Heavy.

“Ve should call zis place 2 Fort,” he proclaimed suddenly at dinner one day, his green eyes alight with a wicked shine that he got when he found himself to be particularly genius. He waited expectantly, his eyes glancing over everyone in the room. He always had to be asked to explain himself, he never just would. I personally found it rather amusing, even when the actual punchline wasn't.

“And why is that Doc?” Asked Scout, rolling his eyes. I rolled mine too, but only at his rudeness.

“Because zere are two forts here,” he laughed, Heavy joining in too, even though it was obvious he didn't find it all that amusing. I couldn't help but to share a slight chuckle with them. I remember those days well, back when the war seemed like one day it would end, back when I was actually, very happy with my team. I had not yet killed. I had injured, I had destroyed sentries, and captured the intelligence, but I had never killed a man. I had not yet experienced the horrific pleasure of watching a man's life fade from his eyes.

Medic was a great man. He did not deserve to die the way he did. He was one that screamed. I was about to put a sapper on the enemy engineer's sentry he had put on the bridge as a distraction, but something compelled me to look up at the B.L.U Fort's battlements. The Heavy and Medic were locked in battle with their opposites on the B.L.U Team, both pairs looking oddly...enthusiastic. I had seen this play through so many times. Medic healing, Heavy taunting his enemy. The two would stand off there until it seemed as though at the exact same time, they ran out of ammo.

War was Routine.

The B.L.U Scout, came from nowhere. The first swing of the polished metal bat, collided into the man's back, Medic crying out in pain. He spun around, pulling out his bonesaw, and then suddenly, my own vision seemed to slow down. Another swing, this one to the head, sent the man off balance...

He teetered on the edge of the battlements...

And toppled off, screaming until he smacked into the ground, his skull cracking open. Monsieur Heavy died two days later. Personally I think it was the broken heart that did it more than the burns, but c'est la vie...

Personally I think the B.L.U Scout enjoyed the brief time he spent without his tongue. I know I found the silence to be golden.

The first death of a teammate, and your first kill are the only things that eventually stick in this hell hole. Sometimes, I seem to forget my own name, having to draw it out from long forgotten memories. They were all silly things, such as your first kiss, or the way your mother called your name when she was angry. In war, they did not matter. What was important was survival, and experience from the past of doing it. I wish I could write my name here, but I can not take that risk, in case someone finds this prematurely. After I found this journal in the attic though, I had to start documenting things. Eventually, everything here blurs. At the very least, I want to be able to recall the important things.

How many men have I killed in the past two years...

I do not know.

And as the time goes by...

I find myself not caring at all.

This is my life. I am growing tired of it, but ...I'd much rather live in hell than die there... Or at least that is what I have been saying for the longest time.

***

I pulled out a cigarette from my case as I walked through the dank sewers, lighting it as I trudged through the ankle deep waters. I used to dislike smoking. My predecessor had kept a rather large supply, though and in the end I gave it a try. I found them to be quiet my weakness actually. Eventually smoking became the only thing capable of calming my nerves, or of even curbing my frequent bouts of depression.

My shoes were wet. No. Such a statement would be inaccurate. My shoes were soaked in that filthy water, along with the bottom of my suit pants. I'll never be able to get the stench out. I should count myself lucky though. At least by wearing red, blood was never a problem.

My footsteps seemed louder than usual, but I chalked that up to simply being my imagination, and took a long drag from my cigarette, savoring the flavor before I slowly exhaled. The sewers always were empty. No one bothered to venture down here. Sometimes I wondered if anyone really even knew about them. Occasionally I'd find a straggler down here, but never more than one. The sewers were practically my domain. It wasn't until I heard a light clicking noise that I suddenly realized, that my previous confidence in the fact know one was down here, probably was wrong...and I probably wasn't alone.

I whirled around just in time to deflect a knife from being plunged into my back. I vaguely remember punches, and a wild slash cutting through my balaclava and scratching a thin line into my cheek. I do clearly remember pulling my revolver out. The tussle continued, and then suddenly, I found we had stopped...in an interesting position.

The Blu's knife was pressing lightly against my throat, and I swallowed nervously, deeply, his right hand keeping me pinned to the wall (he was left handed, which I found very interesting). This could only end one way, and suddenly, my mind nor my body were not too keen on dying, as suddenly they tried to pack as much living into the next few minutes as they possibly could. My heart pounded in my ears, and my thoughts screamed at me a series of regrets, things I had left to do, and so many other things. I almost squinted my eyes shut, but a part of me wanted to stare into the eyes of my killer. I stood there for a long time, memorizing almost each aspect of those eyes. They were brown, but they were far from a plain, boring brown. Different shades lit up each faucet, sparkling like no shade of brown I had ever seen before. They seemed like at one point, they were filled with warmth and love, but could no longer afford to be anymore. They were like an empty house, with the residents still inside. Almost soulless, but with a hint of sadness.

Blu was breathing heavily, his breath practically shaking. My first thought was that he was a coward. He wouldn't be able to slit my throat- I looked back from his eyes, directing my focus to the whole picture again.

And then I realized, exactly what I had in my right hand, pointed directly at his groin.

I slowly looked down, confirming that I did indeed have my gun pointed at his dick, and in a way, trying to mock him, judge his reaction. He suddenly seemed to get very, very, pale from underneath his blue balaclava.

“Well bonjour there Blu Spy,” I smiled. “Well it seems we are in a bit of an awkward circumstance, don't you think?” He swallowed hard, sweat clearly beginning to form on his brow.

“Stay quiet,” he growled after a moment, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. I decided at moment, that I loved his eyes, and that if I really had to die staring into them, I really wouldn't mind too much. It was so easy to just get lost in them, especially now that a little more emotion was flowing through into them.

“Why tell me to stay quiet when you have the perfect means to silence me forever, right in your hands?” I laughed slightly, careful not to move though, lest I inadvertently bring about my own death. I moved my gun hand ever so slightly though as I spoke, reminding him of the danger he was in, when he suddenly seemed tempted by what I suggested. The transformation was amazing, as he immediately squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip, and mumbled to ten.

Silence prevailed again. I was feeling too smug to speak for a moment, and I assume he was too traumatized by the possible loss of his dick to speak either.

“So, Blu, do you have any children?” I asked mockingly, those eyes narrowing again.

“You are going to make this very difficult aren't you?” He asked, almost exasperated.
***

We stood there for at least an hour in silence. I knew no one would come down to the sewers to either of our rescue, and honestly I thought this was a good thing. Personally, I liked the change from the drudgery. Too many new spies from Blu never made it this far. This boy had talent, unlike the other Blu Spies before him. Usually, I already had a hand over their mouth and a knife in their kidney before now, whispering a few comforting words in their ears as they died. Who said the bushman was the only one that could be professional?

“Do it.” I spoke up suddenly, staring him straight in the eye. His eyes flashed open. “What? Are you scared? Am I your first kill perhaps? Does the idea of taking another life terrify you?”

“No,” he said simply, a bead of sweat rolling down his pointed nose.

“No what?” I asked, giving him my wickedest grin.

“No, I am not terrified of the fact that you would be my first victim. It would be stupid to assume that such a thing would 'terrify' me. I was trained to be a killer, and that is what I will do.” He growled after a moment. I tapped the side of one of his legs with the revolver just to remind him again, and once reminded he suddenly was as rigid as board.

“But you are scared?” I taunted.

No answer.

***

“So how long do you plan on having us stand here?” I asked after another eternity. Blu stood there, turning his head away from me slightly. He was still as pale as ever, which made his eyes pop a little more.

"You know the silence thing gets boring after a while. Fuck formality, I'm holding a gun to your dick, you think you'd have a little more to say." I finally said, my own eyes narrowing now.

"I'm currently holding a knife to your throat. I think you'd have a little less to say," he replied slowly. His accent was thicker than mine, presumably because it wasn't watered down with two years of being exposed to people from around the world. It vaguely reminded me of my father's voice too.

“Touche,” was the only thing I could think of to say back to him.

***

“Why are you so scared to try it? For all you know I might not even have the time to retaliate if you were to slit my throat right now. Risks are sometimes necessary in the game of life you know,” I taunted once again. “Just one clean slice would be all that it would take...”

“I really don't want to take that chance, no offense Red,” he replied, obviously sweating more.

"What, you're not a virgin are you? You've had your chance to use them,” I laughed, laughing even harder as his face paled even more. “You want children don't you Blu? You probably have a girl back home. You seem like the type to have a girl back home,” I laughed again, though it lacked mirth. “That's funny... really, you don't need them much. Its not like you're ever going home again anyways.”

“I refuse to believe your lies,” he growled back, but this time with less enthusiasm, probably because he had heard similar from his teammates.

***

“Well if you're not going to do the deed, you should let me go,” I finally ventured.

“The would be stupid. The minute I pull my knife away, you'll shoot me,” he replied. “Why don't you put your gun down first?”

“Ah and the moment I put my gun down, you'll slit my throat with that knife. Nice try,” I laughed. “You first.”

“Well then, it seems as though we're at an impasse here,” he stated simply.

***

Standing there began to take a toll on the both of us. It had been the better part of nine hours, at least most of today's battle. He teetered once, almost cutting my throat on accident from pure exhaustion.

“We should just go our separate ways,” I suggested calmly.

“No, can't trust you,” he replied with a glare.

“And I can't trust you either.” I smiled coyly.

“Once again we're at an impasse,” he sighed.

“Yes. But the ceasefire bell shall ring any-” I began before being interrupted, by exactly what I was talking about. “And then we are required to return to our bases, leaving each other unharmed,” I smiled again. I had been doing that a lot lately. Irony that I felt most alive with a knife to my throat.

“How can I trust you to not murder my future children or myself the moment I put down my knife?” He asked me, those eyes narrowing. Like amber or tree bark...

“You can't,” I replied simply. And with a bold risk on Blu's part, I was free, he backed away slowly, but I reached out my left hand. “You can't leave without at least shaking my hand. Would only be proper.”

He groaned, but eventually obliged before turning and walking through the server back toward his base.

“Blu!” I shouted at him, pointing my revolver straight at his head, so he could see it as he turned around.

“I knew-” he shouted as I pulled the trigger and he winced.

And nothing happened.

Slowly he opened his eyes, and I simply showed him the empty revolver. Winked. And walked away.