Every repost is a repost repost. By Owl Tiem.

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WARNING: CONTAINS [inexplicit] REFERENCES TO DISTURBING SEXUAL PRACTICES

The old Scout left the RED team in an epic dramabomb following one of Spyro's practical jokes involving apple juice and piss jars, and the new one had the misfortune of being met at the train platform - without any prior knowledge of the team, or the circumstances that had called for him to come in as a mid-season replacement - by his new team's Spy. Generally speaking, Scouts and Spies get on like cookies and milk, so being taken under this one's wing immediately was perfectly explainable and generally Right and Proper.

The usual tour of the base was cut unusually short, nothing more than a vague point and wave ("the cafeteria's down there, bathrooms are at the end of this hall, there's signs for the battlement and you can read, right? Great, here's your room"), and Scout was basically expecting to be tossed upon his bed and ravished immediately. Instead, Spy pulled the chair out from the little desk in the room, turned it around, straddled it, lit a neatly-rolled cigarette that didn't smell entirely like tobacco, and said: "Look, kiddo, I don't want to scare you, but I've got to warn you about what you're getting into here."

Scout's eyes widened as he sat on the bed. "Whaddaya mean?"

"This team..." Spy shrugged eloquently. "It's quite a collection of characters. You heard about what happened to the last Scout, right?"

"No, what?"

Spy blew two thin streams of smoke out his nose, looking at Scout critically; then he shook his head, his mouth set in a firm but worried line. "I won't go into details. You look awfully young. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut."

Scout shifted nervously. "C'mon, man, you can't do that. I gotta know."

"Well..." Spy looked toward the door to be sure it was shut tight. "Let's just start off by saying, never let yourself be alone around Medic. If it comes down to a choice between him and your pistol..." He cocked a finger to his temple and twitched his thumb.

Scout bit his lip. "Why? What's he do that's that awful?"

"Look, I'm not trying to scare you, I just think you ought to be prepared. All I'm going to say is that our last Pyro actually quit the business after his little trip to the infirmary. That poor kid." Spy shook his head sorrowfully. "And Soldier... Well, I guess it doesn't matter too much in the great scheme of things, because you wouldn't be conscious for it anyway..."

"What? I wouldn't be conscious for what?"

"All you really have to worry about is if you're out there - look, is this your first assignment?"

"No way, man, do I look like a rookie to you? This is my second," said Scout, with wounded pride.

"Calm down, it wasn't an insult. I was just checking that you know all about how it works once the sirens go off. If you ever come across a body out there that hasn't been picked up by the respawn system yet, I really suggest you not stick around near it. Because if Soldier comes across it... he'll be coming across it. It's not fun to watch."

Scout's nose wrinkled in disgust. "You mean he - "

"Not the way you're thinking, either. He carries an ice cream scoop in one of those ammo pouches. You know how big an ice cream scoop is?" Spy held his fingers out in a circle approximating the size, then raised the circle to his eye socket.

Scout gagged a little. "You're KIDDING."

"I wish I was." Spy took another extended drag of his cigarette. "Does this look like the face of a man who would lie to you?"

"Well, you are a Spy..."

Spy's glare was withering. "I'm trying to help you out here."

Scout actually looked penitent. "Sorry, man. So I keep away from Medic and Soldier, I'm good?"

"Well, they're the only ones who're likely to hurt you - well, them and Engineer, but that's different - "

"Whaddaya mean?"

"The man is hung like a horse. I mean literally. A horse. I went there once and I couldn't walk straight for a week. So you might want to be careful around that. I mean, you're a smart kid, you know how this stuff works. You have to be able to walk, run around - that's your job. You don't want to end up with an occupational injury, here."

Scout started to laugh, but the look on Spy's face was deadly serious.

"I mean it. I think the man actually invented some kind of machine for it. A horse, kiddo. A horse. Think about it. Have you ever seen Mr. Hands?"

"N-no..."

"Come up to my room sometime, I have a laptop and my wifi comes through most of the time. You will learn, young padawan. And you will learn in a way much safer for your underpants zone than by getting first-hand experience down in the workroom. A horse, Scout. I'm not joking."

Scout shifted nervously on the bed again. "Okay, Spy, if you say so..."

"Now, Heavy's waaaay on the other side of that spectrum, but he probably won't bother you unless you start taking baths in mayonnaise. You might be pretty whitebread, but you're not WHITE BREAD, and you definitely don't have any tomatoes."

"Huh?"

"If you ever get the midnight munchies, you know, as some people do - " Spy paused for another pull of smoke - "make sure there's nobody already in the kitchen. That's all I'm going to say."

"Awww, c'mon, man, you can't just leave it at that!"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you? Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you." Spy's voice became low and solemn, his eyes fixed on Scout's. "Have you ever witnessed, your eyes wide in horror, as the tip of a man's penis emerges and retracts, emerges and retracts, in sexual rhythms from between the ham and cheese of a deli sandwich, lit dimly by the little bulb inside the refrigerator, and as the fat man takes his pleasure from the yielding lunchmeat, he huffs and pants and leans against the fridge so the door closes, like some kind of disgustingly erotic rave in a Subway?"

Scout blinked. "What the fuck, man?"

"I wish I knew," said Spy sadly. "What these eyes have seen, they cannot unsee, and I wouldn't wish the same fate upon you."

"Man, this place is fucked up."

"Well, it's not just our side, you know. We don't have a Sniper right now, but the other side does, and - are you into watersports?"

Scout perked up. "I used to waterski!"

"Wrong kind, kiddo. Anyway, don't get the wrong idea. Not everybody is that bad. Demo's a real sweetheart, after all. You can hardly even tell he has Down's syndrome. Very high-functioning. And he's a furry, of course, but you can chalk that up to the genetic disorder. He thinks he's a flying squirrel - that's why he likes to sticky-jump so much. Just humor him, maybe give him a Nut Zipper once in a while if you've got any. Oh, and be careful not to drop the soap in the shower, but that's just standard-issue advice for a Scout, isn't it?"

Spy rose to leave, and as his hand touched the doorknob, Scout called after him: "Wait, what about Pyro?"

Spy paused. "Oh, her? She's a dickgirl, but don't worry, she's a lesbian dickgirl. Won't trouble you at all."

Spy disappeared.

The rest of the team had no idea why the new Scout was acting so strange around them at dinner that evening.