Chapter Text
The hardest part of joining RED so far had to have been trying to find a decent parking space.
Sniper circled around the back of the Teufort base one more time, grumbling to himself. His van kicked up all sorts of dirt behind him as he drove, which would no doubt mean he’d have to hose it off again sooner rather than later. The big cloud of dust obscured the view of his mirrors. With a sigh, he slowed his van to a stop at a spot he figured would be good enough. That is until he had to move it again to hook up electricity and water.
He slipped into the cabin, mentally running over a list of things in his head. He had his uniform, his hat, his watch, and sunnies… That was all he needed, right? His eyes landed on his rifle where it lay thrown on his bed. The sight caused him to pause.
Was he supposed to bring that in today? Or should he wait until the first battle? He remembered there being mention of a locker where he was supposed to store his firearms on base, but he couldn’t remember if they mentioned anything else about it.
Whatever , he thought as he picked it up and slung the strap over his shoulder, ain’t no harm in being prepared.
As the weight of his gun sat on his shoulder and back, the reality of what he was doing seemed to finally sink in. God knows how long ago, just the thought of killing someone made his mouth water, and now he was going to be doing it five days a week with eight other blokes. If he hadn’t been constantly working on his self-control, this would be a much more dire situation.
He firmly reminded himself of why he joined RED in the first place, using that to calm his already frayed nerves. It didn’t do much, but it was better than nothing.
With a deep breath, he pushed open the doors of his camper and stepped out.
For today, the base mostly just facilitated getting everything set up in preparation for the team’s first battle. Moving into a room, getting put into Respawn, and visiting the Medic were the main events for most of the mercenaries. Sniper, however, planned on only doing one of those things.
His van served as a precaution. He treaded thin ice just being there, he knew living on base with the rest of the mercenaries would be pushing it. The further away he stayed from everyone else the better.
Sniper wouldn’t be visiting the Medic even if he could find the infirmary in this maze called the RED base. If there was anyone that could find out about his… condition, it’d be him. That, and he really hated doctor’s offices. They always gave him the heebies as a kid, and that didn’t stop in his adulthood, much to his embarrassment.
He found his way to Respawn with a bit of difficulty. Being accosted by the bloke who called himself ‘Soldier’ certainly didn’t help. Sniper was able to slip away from the guy, but only after swearing up and down that he was a red-blooded American. Bit of an odd fellow, but who was he to judge?
The door to the Respawn room looked just like any other. In fact, had the biggest guy Sniper’d possibly ever seen not walked right out of the room as he passed it, he definitely would’ve missed it.
They just stared at each other for a moment, the door clicking shut behind the guy. He didn’t have much height on Sniper, he noticed, but just his biceps alone were probably the size of Sniper’s head. He had a straight nose, a bald head, and a deathly serious look on his face. This had to be the Heavy. Distantly, Sniper felt grateful that this mountain of a man was on his team, and not the other.
“Here for Respawn chip?” the giant asked. Arms the size of tree trunks crossed over his chest. All he could do was nod silently at the question. Noting his accent, Sniper wondered if he had to swear his American-ness to the Soldier too. “Engineer is in there,” he turned his head slightly in the direction of the room he just walked out of. “Will get you sorted out.”
Unconsciously, his eyes drifted to the movement of the man’s neck as he spoke, then to the shifting of his muscles when he moved his arms. He felt his mouth water and repressed the images of blood and skin and bone threatening to overcome his mind with a bit of panic. He couldn’t stop his stomach from rumbling lowly, however.
The Heavy heard, and Sniper praised whatever higher power there was that blood could no longer rise to his cheeks. With a laugh, he clapped Sniper on the shoulder, his firm grip jostling him where he stood. “Will have dinner soon, too. Little man will not be hungry for very long.”
This guy getting closer to him was not what Sniper needed, so with the most normal smile he could muster, he muttered some words of agreement and shuffled past him toward the door. He didn’t spare a glance over his shoulder as he slipped inside, but the thundering footsteps proceeding down the hall made Sniper assume it didn’t bother the Heavy.
Inside Respawn looked much like the rest of the base; white concrete walls, white tile floors, and bright overhead lights. A couple of metal storage cabinets were lined up on the wall, branded with an ammunition logo and a first aid symbol. On the wall opposite the door Sniper just walked through, what looked to be a large garage shutter took up most of the space. In the back, the lockers where Sniper assumed the team’s weapons would go stood, with a bench laid in front of it.
Fiddling with a device in his hands, the man Sniper figured was the Engineer the Heavy mentioned sat on said bench. When Sniper stepped forward, the Engineer’s head snapped up, revealing a pair of goggles underneath the bright yellow hardhat, and a broad smile.
“Well, hey there,” the Engineer greeted. “You just have a seat on this bench here and I’ll get y’all set up, alright?”
This guy certainly wouldn’t have a problem with the Soldier, that was for sure. Sniper nodded and muttered an “Aces,” in acknowledgment.
A couple of seconds later, the Engineer hopped up from his spot on the bench, the little machine he was messing with earlier in hand. He was shorter than the Heavy by a long way, but Sniper could tell that he wasn’t weak by any means. This time, he kept his eyes trained firmly on the Engineer’s goggles, lest his stomach gets any ideas again.
“Now, someone else tell you how this all works, or do you need me to run it by ya real quick?” As he spoke, the Engineer slid a collection of machines down to where Sniper sat.
Eyeing them warily, Sniper answered, “Um. A quick summary’d be great, mate.”
The Engineer grinned and began to recite an explanation with practiced fluency. Sniper nodded along, not really understanding much of the science jargon the Engineer threw in here and there, but attempting to anyway.
It all sounded great until the Engineer said, “All that to say, this dohickey here will read your vitals, and when your heart stops you’ll end up right back here. That all sound good?”
Sniper’s stomach dropped. If his dread showed on his face, the Engineer made no notice of it.
This was bad. This was really, really bad. He hadn’t even thought of how Respawn would work, just that he’d end up back at base after he died in battle. But given his circumstances, there was no way it’d work correctly. What if he died for good? Or got stuck in Respawn?
Not just that, but the Engineer would certainly see why it wasn’t working. It would be over for him in seconds. Of all the people to figure him out, he never thought it’d be some glorified mechanic.
The Engineer got to gathering up the little machines, completely oblivious to Sniper’s inner turmoil. He held one of the machines out in front of him, something that looked to be a scanner with a large screen attached to it.
“I hafta check your vitals now. Silly, I know, but it’s protocol. Gotta make sure you ain’t already dead, after all,” the Engineer laughed.
Sniper didn’t think it was very funny.
This, the Engineer noticed and cleared his throat with a bit of embarrassment. “Right, I’ll get goin’.”
He held the scanner up to Sniper, and the longest seconds of his existence passed as the device beeped lowly. He held his breath as the machine whirred. If he could, he’d probably be sweating right then.
The friendly smile on the Engineer’s face was immediately replaced by one of confusion, visible even through his goggles. “...Well, that can’t be right…” he muttered, tapping the screen. He held it up to Sniper again, face turning even more confused when the screen showed the same results.
Sniper realized belatedly that that level of confusion from the Engineer should warrant a bit of worry from anyone unless they already knew what he’d be looking at on his screen. “Somethin’ wrong?” he asked with all the faux concern he could muster.
The Engineer mumbled something and stepped back from Sniper. “It’s sayin’ here that you ain’t got no heartbeat, son. Thing never bugged like this before…” He messed with the screen some more, then reached over to a panel on the side of the machine and opened it up.
Sniper let out a barely-audible sigh of relief. He thought it was a fault in the machine! Sniper might just get out of this after all.
The Engineer messed with the device for a couple of seconds, then held it back up to Sniper. Once again, his vitals read the impossible. A couple of tense seconds passed as the Engineer stared unreadably at the screen. Then, he chuckled lightly, running a hand over the top of his hard hat. “Well then, Mr. Dead-Man, since this thing ain’t sortin’ itself out any time soon, I’ll just go ahead and set your Respawn Chip to monitor brain activity, alright? ‘Less you ain’t got anything goin’ on up there, either.”
Sniper let himself laugh at the Engineer’s joke, though his body stayed tense. “Sounds good to me,” he said, trying to not let the relief slip into his voice too much. He watched as the Engineer moved back to where he had been sitting at first and pulled some more machines out of a small bag laying by the bench, including what looked like a small keyboard. It wasn’t long before the Engineer ambled back over.
He held the scanner up again, this time pointing it at Sniper’s head. When he ran the device, it beeped in the affirmative, finally letting Sniper relax.
With what looked like an ear-piercing gun without the backing, the Engineer implanted the Respawn chip in the back of his neck. When Sniper didn’t flinch, the Engineer gave him a pat on the shoulder and said something about “taking it like a champ.”
Finally, Sniper had the go-ahead to leave Respawn, something he was all too eager to do.
“You visit the doc yet?” the Engineer asked him as he headed to the door.
Sniper paused. Would it be better to lie or not here? “Nah, not yet,” he decided on saying.
The Engineer chuckled. “Hell, I don’t blame you. Better to get it over and done with, though. Waitin’s half the agony.” When Sniper glanced over his shoulder at the man, he was reorganizing his assortment of devices and tools.
“Right, I’ll have a go at it,” he lied and left Respawn.
Sniper did not visit the Medic that day. Or the next day.
In fact, he’d been in such a haste to get out of the base that he forgot to drop his rifle off at the lockers. He also didn’t attend the dinner that the Heavy told him about, but he felt less bad about that one. It’s not there’d be anything he ate there anyway. At least, not on the plates.
He pushes the thought of dinner from his mind as he watches the rest of the team arrive at the base. At some point, an old beat-up truck pulled out of a garage and disappeared down the road for about two hours. When it returned, Sniper watched as the Engineer, a skinny kid with a baseball cap, a man staggering like a drunkard, and a person clad in a red flame-retardant suit and a gas mask all filed out of the truck. The scene kinda reminded him of a clown car.
Around the evening, a red sports car pulled in, fashionably late. When the man driving it got out, he looked exactly like how Sniper thought someone driving that type of car would look. Red suit, gloves, and mask, right down to the haughty way he held himself. Sniper reminded himself to steer clear of that one.
As he watched the men (and that one in the gas mask. He wasn’t sure what that one was,) arrive on the base, the hunger he experienced the day before was all the more present. He could ignore it, he’d trained himself to be able to do so, but it was only a matter of time before he’d need to eat something. That’s all it ever was, just a matter of time.
He had to pass through some run-down town on his way to the base, he’d just have to check if there was a cemetery there when the time came around. Getting worked up over it now was pointless, he told himself. Plus, he could push himself at least two more days before he’d actually have to go. Three, if things were dire.
So, as the rest of the team settled into their rooms and finished up the final steps of joining RED, Sniper sat in his van reading some book he picked up a while ago but never started, and ignored the intermittent rumbling of his stomach.
If Sniper could sweat, his clothes would be soaked through.
His shaking hands grasped the strap of his rifle as he trudged towards the base, the sand and dirt crunching beneath the soles of his boots. The closer he got to the base, the louder the thoughts telling him how bad of an idea this was got. By the time his hand closed around the handle to the Respawn room, he could hardly hear the outside world over the torrent of his own mind.
With a couple of steadying breaths, he pushed the door open and stepped in.
The rest of the team stood scattered throughout the room, conversing with each other before the match. (Well, most of them were, anyway. The one in the suit and mask—the Spy, probably—was leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand, looking at everyone disdainfully.) He couldn’t hear his stomach rumble over the sound of the chattering mercenaries, but he could definitely feel it. Sniper recognized nearly everyone immediately as people he saw entering the base yesterday, except for one.
The Medic—or at least, who Sniper assumed was the Medic, if the red crosses where his class logo sat were any indication—stood near the Heavy, gesturing animatedly with what Sniper recognized as the Medigun. His back was to Sniper, which made it easy to slip in undetected by him. Or, it was, until the Heavy placed a hand on the Medic’s shoulder and pointed Sniper out to him.
Seeing this, Sniper tried his best to look incredibly busy with grabbing ammo at one of the lockers. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the Medic from marching over to him.
“Ah, Herr Sniper!” the Medic greeted. With a sigh, Sniper looked up from his rifle. So much for looking busy. “I did not see you yesterday, may I ask why?” His smile was too big, too friendly, entirely off-putting.
Sniper floundered for a good excuse. Because you’ll know what I am. You’ll figure me out and I’ll be dead for good this time. “Sorry, mate, didn’t think it was mandatory,” he said with a shrug. Hopefully, it looked like he genuinely couldn’t be bothered enough to come in.
The Medic laughed. “Of course it is! I cannot Ubercharge you if you do not allow me to put the Uber Valve in,” he said. He spoke with the same ease that someone would regard getting a haircut, not open-heart surgery.
“Oh, come on, he’s the fricken’ sniper! Are ya really gonna be Uberin’ him anyway?” came a shout from the other side of Respawn. When the two of them looked for its origin, Sniper found the lanky kid with the baseball cap tossing a bat up and catching it idly. Beside him, the Engineer snickered.
Sniper grinned. “Kid’s got a point,” he said with a laugh. That was probably the Scout, he just looked like he could run fast. The Scout smiled back at him until he realized that Sniper called him a kid, to which he looked like he was about to argue.
He was cut off by the Medic looking over his glasses at him in a manner that reminded Sniper of how his Dad would look at him if he tried saying something smart. “He does not. I will still need to see you in my office, preferably once the day’s battle is over.” His smile had been replaced by a much more serious expression. If Sniper was frightened of people easily, he might’ve even been intimidated.
“Sure, doc. I’ll see you around.” He would not be seeing him around. He wasn’t stepping foot in that office if he had anything to say about it. Sniper turned away from the Medic then, looking back to his gun as if he had something more to inspect on it. Thankfully, the Medic left it at that and returned to the Heavy’s side.
It wasn’t long after that for the Administrator’s voice to boom over the loudspeakers, warning the team of the start of the match. It was as though a flip was switched in the room; cheerful and friendly expressions turned grim, and even the so-far easy-going Engineer’s smile looked a little intimidating.
As the Administrator began to count down from ten, the mercenaries readied for their first battle. A fresh wave of nerves washed over Sniper despite his best efforts to repress them. He steeled himself, gun in hand. It would be fine. He would be fine.
He didn’t have any other choice.
Sniper got used to this battlefield quickly. He found all sorts of different nests, at all different elevations and angles. He didn’t realize how much he missed this; the thrill of the hunt, the rush of pulling the trigger. But the best part of it all? The bodies went to respawn too quickly for him to see most of them, meaning that his hunger was only a low buzzing in the back of his mind, rather than an all-consuming need.
The first time he saw the bodies fade into thin air he was a little freaked out, but after that, it felt like a bloody miracle.
Since it’d been nearly five days (five days already?) since he last ate, his senses weren’t as sharp as they usually were, but that hardly meant he was slow. He got his fair share of kills, licking his lips each made someone’s head explode in a bloody mist.
The only downside was that the enemy sniper acclimated to the battlefield just as quickly as he did, and had a knack for picking out Sniper’s nests. He couldn’t complain all too much, though, he sent the poor sod through Respawn more times than the guy did Sniper.
Just as said enemy sniper’s head disappeared from his window in a cloud of red, Sniper let a low chuckle escape him. “I’m just gettin’ warmed up…” he muttered under his breath, almost unconsciously. He wasn’t sure when he picked up the habit, but as a sniper, it usually meant that no one was around to hear his little remarks. So, he figured it wasn’t something he desperately needed to break himself from doing.
At least, no one was supposed to be around to hear him.
“Do you usually talk to yourself, or do you save that for when you’re shooting people out of windows?”
Sniper whirled around, his hand flying to the kukri at his belt. Before he could fully turn to face the intruder, a knife stabbed roughly into his side, right in between his fourth and fifth ribs. His hands scrambled for purchase on the windowsill, not from any pain that the wound should’ve provided, but from the feeling of his lung being punctured by the blade. A ragged gasp forced its way from his throat as the man plunged the knife deeper into his side, his attacker’s other hand coming up to grip his neck.
He reached for the knife in his side, having half a mind just to rip it out and use it to stab the man behind him. The grip on his neck was too strong for him to fight off, however, especially not when he was this weak.
As quickly as it hit him, the knife tore from his side with a wet ripping sound. He sputtered as air entered his lungs through the wound rather than through his mouth. A rough shove and Sniper tumbled headfirst through the window in front of him.
Sniper woke up gasping in Respawn, stumbling forward and just barely catching himself on the wall.
He didn’t remember hitting the ground. All he could smell was cigarette smoke.
He had very little time to dwell on that as a wave of nausea overtook him. If it felt like this every time he went through Respawn, he dreaded the rest of the battle. At least he had more incentive not to die.
Sniper got a hold of himself after only a couple minutes of clinging to the wall, finding that the nausea subsided quickly. He ran back out into the fray and made up for the lost time easily.
He found himself jumping at every slight noise he heard. That pissed him off. He gets killed once and suddenly he’s turned into a paranoid schizophrenic. Pathetic, really.
Thankfully, he only encountered his previous attacker—whom he identified as the enemy Spy—once more during the match, that time with Sniper coming out on top. Just as the Spy did to him, Sniper hurled him out a window, partially for revenge, mostly because he didn’t know how long the corpse would linger. He didn’t want to risk it.
Much to the RED team’s excitement, RED took the win, but not without cutting it close. Despite the close call, the Engineer suggested a round of drinks where in order to celebrate their win—what he predicted would be the first of many. While the team laughed and cheered, Sniper slipped away unnoticed, retreating to the safety of his van.
He laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling of the cabin as he thought. The mercenaries where told explicitly that they would only be permitted to leave the base on weekends, as there were no battles on Saturdays or Sundays. If Sniper wanted to take his van out to the cemetery, he’d have to wait four more days.
The loud rumbling of his stomach took him from his thoughts.
Okay, not happening. But what else could he do? Could he walk there?
A quick check of his watch told him that it was only four o’clock. He traced the route in his mind, deliberating. If he left at seven, that would give it time to get dark before he got there, which meant that he could be back at around nine or ten... Was he really that hungry, though?
His stomach growled again, answering for him.
What the hell? He could walk.
By six, Sniper started to get antsy. He paced the cabin (or, at least as much as he could in the small space,) relentlessly, running over everything that could go wrong in his mind. He could be seen, he could be killed, he could attack someone. If he didn’t keep his nails short for that last reason, he would’ve bitten them down in his nervousness.
When three sharp raps sounded at his door, Sniper nearly jumped out of his skin. He snatched his hat up quickly, rather than try to tame his hair from the mess his fingers made from constantly running through it. With a deep breath, he opened the door warily, still trying to calm his alight nerves.
The man he found standing at his door did nothing to calm him.
The Medic stood, back straight, arms folded behind his back, donning the same too-wide smile he wore earlier that day. “Hallo, Herr Sniper!” He looked as though he was standing in the middle of a laboratory, not outside a campervan in the middle of the desert.
He was hungry and nervous, and then this guy showed up. That higher power he praised earlier was testing him. He revoked his praise. “What do you want?” he all but sneered.
The Medic raised a pacifying hand. “No need for hostility. I was simply here to ask if you’d be joining us for dinner, as you’ve been very elusive for the past few days.”
Oh, he’d love dinner. Blood dripping down his chin, soaking into his shirt, the skin under his fingers, his teeth sinking into-
“‘M fine,” he muttered. His grip on the door handle caused his knuckles to turn white.
When did he get so hungry? Usually, he’d be able to last a lot longer than this. Five days used to be nothing for him. Was he letting his self-control slip? Damn it all.
“Well, if you change your mind, there’ll be some leftovers in the fridge. As long as Scout doesn’t get to them first,” he laughed. Sniper didn’t. He pushed up his glasses, his expression staying friendly. “And don’t forget, I’ll need to see you in my office sometime for your surgery.”
If the Medic had any more to say, Sniper didn’t hear it. The moment the door slammed in his face, he leaned heavily on the door with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t until he heard the crunching of dirt under boots moments later that he could actually relax, however.
Forget leaving at seven, the moment Sniper was sure that the Medic was back inside the base he was setting off to that cemetery.
Sniper gave himself an hour to get to the town. It took him around thirty minutes.
The sun had just begun to set when he arrived, painting everything in a hazy orange glow. It might as well have been midnight, what with the absolute lack of people out and about. Sniper certainly wasn’t complaining.
He pulled his hat down, regardless. If someone here recognized him and he was caught leaving base less than a week into his contract, he’d be done for. Hopefully, anyone who might spot him would just see the red uniform and leave it at that.
The town didn’t have much in the way of buildings. A general shop here, a diner there, cracked sidewalks leading to more beat-up businesses that looked more like shacks than anything. His eyes scanned street signs eagerly, looking for anything that could point him in the right direction.
It wasn’t long before Sniper was glancing over his shoulders to make sure no one would watch him hop the little fence gating in the cemetery. Normally, he could do so easily, but having gone so long without eating made the action a bit more of a struggle. He landed on the other side with a huff, now hungrily observing the expanse of dirt and crosses before him.
With a few quick strides, he dropped to his knees before one of these crosses and began to dig.
By the time he’d finished, his fingers were red and raw. If he could feel them, every touch of them would make him wince. But that was hardly his main concern. Especially not as a corpse slowly came into view.
Just as he’d hoped, this town didn’t even bother digging deep graves. It made existence easier for him.
Thankfully, the person he dug up didn’t seem to be too decomposed. He’d probably eat them anyway, but it’d be harder to stomach.
Steady hands reached down into the grave. He braced a hand on their shoulder and one on their bicep, then pulled.
Riiiiiiiip. Crack.
As he brought the dismembered limb to his face, he vaguely registered the scent of- was that lead? Damn it, did these corpses have lead poisoning? That was probably why they drank bottled water at the base. If he kept eating this, he’d be bloody brain-dead by the end of the month.
The realization didn’t stop him from bringing the limb to his mouth. He didn’t think it—or anything at that point— could’ve .
Muscle and skin tore away from the bone easily. He chewed and swallowed greedily, his mind going blank with hunger. Wet tearing sounds occurred with every mouthful. At some point, blood had spattered onto his face and shirt. He gripped the arm in front of him with crushing force, more strength returning to him with every bite. He only gagged occasionally.
When he finally pulled the limb from his mouth, panting to catch his breath, his mind screamed at him for more. It would be so easy to lean down into the grave and tear the corpse’s throat out with his teeth, easier to take their other arm.
He denied himself that, though. His contract kept him here for ten years, he had to ration this out. He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever ran out of food. He didn’t want to know.
The arm was nothing more than bone adorned with shredded chunks of red. He placed it carefully back into the grave and began re-earthing the dug-up corpse. Once his hard work was undone, he untucked his shirt enough to use the bottom of it to wipe his face. Only a little blood dyed his shirt a darker shade of red. Maybe they were dead longer than he thought.
He got to his feet, having to lean heavily on the cross to support himself while the feeling returned to his legs. Being knelt on them the entire time he ate certainly wasn’t doing his joints any favors.
With another fleeting glance around, Sniper hopped the fence (an action made easier as the strength started to return to his limbs) and headed back to base.
By the time he slipped into his van, unseen and unheard, the lights still shone brightly through the windows of the base.
Sniper certainly wasn’t surprised a light nausea plagued him for the rest of the day. No doubt, it came from the corpse. He’d have to get used to it unless another food source just fell out of the sky. That mindset didn’t make it any less irritating, though.
It didn’t affect his performance during battle, so he had that. If anything, his senses were sharper than they were before. Not even the Spy got many good hits on him—at least, no killing blows.
Sniper found himself growing an affinity for pushing the BLU off tall buildings since that’s usually where he took up sniping when the Spy decided to ambush him. One time, the Spy managed to drag Sniper down with him as he fell, but he didn’t really like to think about that.
The only thing that made Sniper more nauseous than the lead-filled corpses he had to eat was the Medic.
Every time he entered Respawn for the start of a match, he felt the Doctor’s eyes on him. He tried desperately to ignore him.
Whenever he chanced a glance back at the bloke, he always found himself staring right back into his eyes. The Medic wouldn’t even look away when he’d get caught, either. He’d just offer a tight-lipped smile until Sniper broke eye contact first. Bloody creepy, is what it was. And that’s coming from Sniper , the one of the two that ate people.
The Medic stopped asking him to stop by the infirmary, much to Sniper’s relief. He fully believed that the Medic would perform impromptu surgery on him during battle if he so much as called for healing. That, he wouldn’t put past the guy, if the way he overheard some of the other mercenaries talking about him served as any indication. Honestly, how do you accidentally sew a bird into someone’s chest?
The days that Sniper never felt the Medic’s eyes leave him were the days after he snuck out to eat, when rolling nausea had him swaying on his feet. Despite only eating once every five days (six, if he really tried,) it seemed as though the symptoms mounted each time. One time, stepping off to the side to empty his stomach while the battle raged meant giving the enemy Sniper a couple of free headshots. Another time, a splitting headache kept him from killing the enemy Scout capping their point.
It irritated him to no end.
Every now and then, the Medic would fall into step beside him, asking if he felt alright. Every time, Sniper would mutter something snappy and dismissive at him. Part of him knew the guy was just doing his job, the other part of him wondered why he couldn’t just leave Sniper alone while doing it.
If the Medic suspected him of anything else besides a sour attitude, he didn’t say so.
Sniper hoped it would stay that way.