It was as if he were sinking. Not the kind where you get dragged to the darkness below you by either a block of concrete tied to your legs or some divine force simply keeping you from rising to the surface. No, it was more like floating. Just letting the deep blackness fold in around you like a bed's comforter. It clouded his mind, muffled his senses. Slow and slower he was falling into that peaceful void.

A noise, coming from somewhere far away in that great nothingness. A small plip. A rhythm, a natural pattern that carried and echoed all the way to him. Plip, plip, plip. It was pleasantly familiar, something that anchored him to the known in this strange ink. The clouds in his mind's eye began to grey, and soon, rain fell onto wooden roofs and old decks. Plip, plip, plip. The sound of rain dripping onto wet clothes and planks. But where was it? There was nothing but void.

Something told him to swim up. His arms dragged and his legs were dead weight. Try, said the voice. You need to rise, you need to rise. The waterlogged arms were rising, and feet were kicking. It was like swimming in molasses. He was so slow, there was no water to push himself up with. But still he rose.

That distant rainfall grew louder and louder as the veil of darkness began to thin. More noises could be heard, the gentle wind, the creaking of trees. But with it came a dull thumping that pushed against his head and back, harder and harder the more he swam. But still he rose. And rose higher and higher. He touched what was keeping him from rising, from the sounds and senses beyond. He pushed, and the thumping grew. He pushed, and the creaking roared. He pushed, and the rain poured down. He pushed…


And the broken roof that had pinned Sniper to the floor fell away. Groaning in pain and stiffness, the Australian crawled out from the rubble. He had barely even stood before he toppled over again, head spinning. So instead of jumping straight back up, the man sat and let the dizziness fade.

It was pouring. Hard. Harder than normal for Sawmill. The wind roared and whistled past Sniper's ears, its cold forces digging into his skin. It was then that he noticed how wet he actually was.

His shirt and vest were soaked completely through, so much so that Sniper doubted that they would ever be dry again and that no matter how many times they would be thrown into a dryer, they would always remain a little damp. And it would seem that the wind had teamed up with his clothes to make the poor man as cold as possible. Fan. Bloody. Tastic.

Sniper, shaking from the effort, stood to his feet, the ringing in his head finally weakened. He looked around his ruined nest, and realization hit him like a brick to the head. It felt that way too. He had been ambushed, his nest ruined and left for dead underneath the busted beams.

"Those RED pikers!..." He muttered. It had to have been them, who else would attack like this? But this was the first time they had gone for collateral damage. But then again, this was RED, demolition is in the name. And if they were still in the base…

The gangly outdoorsman scrambled to the rubble, tearing it away as he began searching for his weapons. If any of the opposing team were to come back up here to check for BLUs, he would be a sitting duck. Splinters from the broken pine lodged themselves in his fingers, sending small shocks of pain through his hands, but he continued his search. Which it seemed was a good choice, for as he lifted a particularly sharp plank he spotted the glistening magazine of his SMG. He grabbed it and pulled it towards him. Sniper may have been more effective as a long range sharpshooter, but that didn't mean he was harmless when up close and personal.

Standing upright once more, Sniper prepared to re enter the base when he finally felt the cold breeze ruffling up his hair.

Where was his hat?

He looked around before finding the old leather accessory covered in water and dust pinned under a fallen beam. Snatching it up, Sniper beat it on his leg, sending small clouds of sawdust and droplets flying. There would be no point in searching for his shades, the weight of the roof would have shattered the poor things and he would be lucky if even one lens was still trapped in it's frame. He placed the cap on his head,

And seethed as painful stars filled his vision. He gently placed a hand on the part where he had just shot it away from and winced. No wonder his head felt like it had been split open, it had been; not down to the skull but enough to cover the right side of his head with now dried blood. It also gave insight as to why RED would just leave him here, they had probably assumed he was dead from the wound in his head. Speaking of RED.

"Awright, ya Yaboos," Sniper growled through chattering teeth "Ya betta have left while oi was nappin' or else." He ran into the silent BLU base.


The bases the teams stayed in were not the ones on the actual battleground. Not only were those bases flooded and lacking proper utilities, they were far too small for a group of nine grown and slightly insane men. This base and RED's were located on the hills surrounding Sawmill, which held the dorms and were actually fit for human life to live in. It was much larger but that's to be expected when a building has a gym, recreational room, mess hall, and indoor target practice. But Sniper had had some gripes with the place, the main being that it was built over an old silver mine that had been there since before the Mann family bought the property over a century ago. Engineer had vouched for the foundation of the old building, stating that the only way the ground would cave in would be if there was a herd of steel elephants jumping on it, but didn't do much to quell Sniper's gut feeling.

Now he disliked the base even more, as he peered from behind corners and snuck through the twisting corridors. There were too many places one could hide and ambush a lone Australian. Sniper pinned himself against a wall and peered over the corner he was hidden behind. The RED team hadn't just destroyed his nest, they had cut off the power too, it seemed. The building was drenched in a deep blue from the failsafe lights powered by the emergency generator. The shadows were harsher and the shapes were harder to separate from each other.

Sniper crouched through the halls, SMG armed and eyes alert. The more he walked, the more his gut was twisting and constricting. He tried to ignore the growing nagging in the back of his mind, tried to keep his attention to find any REDs hiding behind crates and fuel barrels. But that itch wouldn't stop, and got worse with every step he took. His instincts screamed and cried out for his attention, and finally Sniper stood still and listened.

The base was quiet, save for the electric buzz from the lights overhead and the soft constant rainfall outside. Sniper's gaze fell to the floor and the walls. The floor, while covered in broken chunks of the wall and ceiling, held no sign of a fight. There were no puddles of shoeprints besides his own. No bullet casings. Not a single drop of blood. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Where was everyone?

"Mates?" Sniper called out, his mouth dry. He continued to the second floor of the base. The stairs creaked under his boots. Sniper finally noticed the pounding of blood through his ears. He paused on the last step, and let the sight in front of him sink in.

It was as if a tornado had ripped through his base. Walls stripped bare, revealing their pipes and wires. Plaster, dust, and flooring littered the floor like a flood. The lights flickered on and off, desperately clinging to life. Sparks of exposed wires flashed like a warning to not enter this area. But Sniper did anyway, too shocked to notice he had lowered his only line of defense.

Sniper stumbled through the wreckage, his shoes covering in dust and debris. No bodies, no blood, there was nothing. Was he going mad?

"Makes no bloody sense!..." The Sharpshooter mumbled. Any former thought to keep quiet and out of sight vanished as Sniper ran through the dissipated base. Everywhere he turned, everywhere he searched, under rubble, behind fallen furniture, there was nothing. Nothing. "Lads!? Demo!? Engie, Pyro, Spy! Anyone there!?" He shouted as he jumped down the fallen staircase leading to the ground floor.

Sniper stood, and felt his chest tighten. This was the main corridor, where the entrance, mess hall, and garage/workshop all connected. And from what he could gather, there had been a horrible fight.

Weapons lay strewn about, cold and forgotten. Bullet casings scattered on the floor. And crimson puddles peppered the ground like stars in the night sky. But still, there was no one.

The pounding in Sniper's ears grew, and nasty grimace found itself planted on his face. How. How could this happen? How could eight of the most deadly men he'd ever known disappear without a trace? He shook his head. There were still two rooms left to check. Perhaps they held out in the Mess Hall? Or escaped with the BLU company van? Sniper's scowl deepened. If it was the latter, he would have some very choice words for each and every one of those.. Ugh.

He checked the Mess Hall. It was just as decimated as the rest of the base and just as abandoned. He made his way towards the garage. The door was slightly ajar, but all the others were too, some broken off entirely. Sniper pushed the door open slowly and made his way inside.

It was as lifeless as the moon. The van stood untouched and barren, and the desks just as messy as the last time he'd seen them. But someone had been here. Sniper felt the cold breeze and fresh air before he saw the open door. Hope bloomed in his chest, warming him up slightly against the severe chill of his still wet clothes. And then he spotted the trail. Leading out the door, slightly dried and smudged, was an uneven pattern of blood that had fallen. Had it been one of his team? Or a RED trying to escape-

Sniper paused and forced himself to clear his head. He stood and let the gears in his mind finally turn and allow him to remember events before today. What felt like minutes passed. The clouds of confusion and indignation began to clear.

He felt the blood drain from his face. Time seemed to stop, and his mouth dried. The team's time at Sawmill had been reaching its end. They had been assigned to fight at Harvest. The teams always move separately to lower the risk of battles breaking out during ceasefires. The RED team had been moved a week ago. They couldn't have been here. RED hadn't attacked them. RED weren't the ones who destroyed BLU's base. Someone or something completely different had gotten in and now everyone except him had disappeared without even a hint of what happened. And yet...

Sniper stared down at the trail of blood, heart pounding and eyes wide. And like a bolt of lightning threw himself into the elements.

The rain had grown harder while he had been within the base. Instead of the light but steady droplets before, this was like a sheet of liquid glass bearing down on the man. The dirt road began to look more like a mirror than a pathway. Sniper turned and twisted. He then swore with fury. The rain had washed away the trail, whoever had left the droplets was out of sight, no matter how much Sniper strained his sharp eyes in the road's different directions. He swore again, and looked up at the sky. As much as he could with squinting eyes at least.

It was much darker than before, and the sound of the rain covered anything he might have heard otherwise. An idea came to mind and Sniper brought his arm up and wiped away the rain that had been covering his watch's face.

The glass had been cracked from before but it still functioned. 5:49, the small clock shown. Now would have been when he'd clean his rifle and kukri in his van-

His van! How did he forget about his own home!? Sniper began to run towards where he always kept it parked. He could use it to find his missing teammate much faster! He nearly rounded the corner of the base and ducked instinctually at the thunderous gunshot now echoing through the forest.

Another gunshot rang out from behind him. And a third from within the dense pine far away in the same direction.

The blow to Sniper's head must have done more damage than previously expected. Because instead of getting in his van and driving to where he'd heard the noise like the normally sensible Sniper would do, he booked it down the muddy road. Water kicked up and mud caked his jeans and boots as the sharpshooter ran as fast as he could down the road. His lungs burned, and the rain pelted his face. Some cracking branches came from ahead of him. He slowed only slightly when someone burst out from the dense foliage to his left.

The newcomer looked, acted, and sounded like a cornered animal. He panted and gasped with a voice like sandpaper. Mud covered his shoes and socks so much that it looked like he was wearing grimy, brown boots. Cuts and thin welts crisscrossed along his limbs and cheeks. His once blue shirt was ripped, soiled, and discolored from the blood still dripping freely from his left arm. In his right, the man held a pistol with an iron grip. And those blue eyes now unfocused and wild. The two men stared at each other for a moment more before Scout collapsed upon the flooded road.

"Bloody- Scout!" Sniper shouted as he reached the boy. He pulled him out of the mud and placed two fingers right below Scout's jaw. There was a pulse, and it was beating fast. The adrenaline hadn't left his system yet.

With less effort than he thought would be needed, Sniper hoisted his fallen teammate into his arms and began to head for his van. The rain was loud and filled his ears. But it wasn't loud enough. Sniper snapped his head around towards the direction he heard it coming from. It was a scream. Some horrible chorus of shrieks and howls. His pulse rushed through his veins, pounding against his freezing skin. Whatever made that noise wasn't human.

Sniper looked down at his bleeding companion and quickened his stride.

They had to go. They needed to leave Sawmill.


Hey, hey, hey! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this mysterious story! This is the first fanfiction I've ever decided to post for public consumption. Criticism is always welcome, in fact basically all comments of any kind are. I want to give a special shoutout to a Youtube user who pushed me, a random stranger they didn't know, to actually tell the stories I imagine and to not "let them die in my head" So Gonturan 0, if you're reading this, firstly hello. And secondly, I kept my word and am writing this story, thanks for the encouragement my dude! I'll try to update this story as mush as possible since I planned it all out, I hate unfinished stories just like the rest of you.