Hopped-up on caffeine, sugar and radioactive isotopes, the Scout couldn't sleep. Instead, he crept through the halls of 2Fort, listening at the doors to his teammates' bunks. It was more boring than it had seemed when he first came up with the idea. Engineer: snoring. Medic: snoring. Soldier: snoring like a warthog with sinus trouble.

Demoman's room was completely silent, so the Scout peeped in. It looked like the Scot had just vanished from his bed. Judging from the scrumpie-scented barf everywhere, the Demoman had passed out and drowned in his own vomit (again) and would wake up, hung over but none the wiser, in the respawn room.

The Sniper was still awake, talking on the phone in the common room. Due to the time difference between 2Fort and Australia, the middle of the night was the only time he could talk to his family. "Mum, Mum," he hissed down the receiver. "Aw, Mum... I /said/ I was sorry..." Scout passed him by, not acknowledging the Australian and his pathetic entanglement in the apron strings.

From the Pyro's room, the Scout heard muffled singing. He thought he recognised the tune. He pressed his ear against the door to hear better. He did recognise it: "I Feel Pretty." Christ. He scooted along to the Spy's room. Spy snored in almost as bad as Soldier, and was talking in his sleep: "Maman, ne pas me faire porter l'escargot, Maman!"

The Heavy's room, though... there was something to listen to, there. He had some soft music playing; must have borrowed the Medic's record player. He was talking to someone in there, in what he must have thought was a whisper. The Scout pressed his ear to the door. The Russian's tone was first sweet, then dirty, tender, then heated. Hot diggity!

The Scout still couldn't make out words- Lunchbox was probably talking Commie- but there could be no doubt what he was talking about. How'd he manage to get a woman on base, past both the enemy Sniper and their own Soldier? Unless... he'd presumed that Demoman was dead (again), but what if the lush had gotten drunk enough that letting the Heavy plow his ass like the fields of Moldavia seemed like a good idea?

So either he'd see some blackmail material, or some boobies. Win-win, and if he saw anything too gross, he'd be able to make the Demoman give him enough scrumpie to forget it. The Scout waited until the sound of creaking bedsprings and groaning indicated that the Heavy was concentrating on something else, and pushed the door open a crack.

"Ohhhh Sasha, Sasha..." the Heavy moaned. The Russian was naked except for his socks, his huge gun was wedged against his headboard, and he had his... oh man... it was crammed right down one of the rotary barrels! As the Scout watched, he pulled out, then pushed it into a different barrel, and began thrusting vigorously.

"Uwaaaaaaah!"

But what sent the Scout running away, faster than he had ever run into or out of battle, was when he noticed that the Heavy had his hand on the trigger of the big gun the whole time.