Medic's POV---
The doctor glanced at his grown Tentaspy. The creature had been hidden at his base for two full years, inside of his experiment room. The creature was asleep, in the large pool of water the medic had Engineer build for him, without knowing what it was for. Medic smiled at the sleeping creature, knowing it desperately wanted to get out and fight in the fortress. His experiment had grown on him, he reflected. He did not want a new tentaspy. Not even for an army. Medic grimaced.
"Why am I so weak?"
Tentaspy's POV---
The tentaspy awoke, rubbing his eyes drearily with his tentacles. His arms stretched while he massaged himself, using all eight limbs to get himself into the best shape he could for the moment. His neck cracked loudly, and he stood on all eight tentacles. He smiled, his powerful, muscled, fleshy and wet limbs far superior to a simple pair of arms. All he needed was his medic, and he would be safe. Fraulein would keep him safe. Always. The tentaspy smiled, his sharp fangs shining in the dim lab light. Tomorrow he would keep his kind Fraulein safe, and nobody would hurt his Medic anymore.
~~~~~BLU Sniper's POV~~~~~
His arms are no longer his. They are steady, but definitely not his own. They are pale, almost to the point of feeling you could see through them. What are on his arms.... bands? color differences? They are blue, he thinks. Blue bands on his pale, blue tinted arms. He looks down at his legs. But, decidedly, this is the strangest dream he's had in a long while, because in place of his legs are tentacles.
He opens his mouth, but no scream comes. Only an arm. A removed human arm, coming toward his face. His open mouth.
The fangs that are not his tear into the arm. Rip through the flesh like butter. Simply cutting down to the bone. Hunger is all he feels. Pain, hunger and pain. His disgusting, tentacled half is perfectly melded, but it is not peaceful. It rebels against him. He is not human.
He is not normal.
He is dreaming.
The BLU sniper awoke quickly, his nightmare haunting him dreadfully. His hands shake, and sweat drips down his forehead. His mouth is dry.
Water, he thinks. I need water.
Unsteadily, the sharpshooter sits up, his clammy and sweaty skin sticking to the sheets of his rickety bed. He looks around his tiny camper van, taking in its tiny kitchen, small bed, single table. The door is still shut by him, and he sighs.
It was only a dream. Monsters like that couldn't exist, no matter what the circumstances. Chuckling to himself, Sniper pulls out his favorite mug from his cabinet.
#1 Sniper, it says. He chuckles. Tacky, but he liked it when he bought it, and still like it now. Sniper smiled, his rugged face going soft instantly. Even out of a brutal nightmare, his shaky smile is kind and inviting. The Aussie shakily starts to make himself some coffee, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"I was supposed to quit smoking last month... Ah, to hell with it." The mercenary lit his cigarette and breathed in deeply through his shaking movements. Quickly the nicotine calmed him. He walked to the outside of his camper van, breathing deeply in on his cigarette, recalling his nightmare calmly.
He was a monster, he remembered. A monster that didn't know it was a monster. Sniper smiled grimly. At least it was only a nightmare. There was still a bit of quiet fear stirring, and a nagging feeling.. but he couldn't quite name it. The Sniper smiled gently, dropping and stamping out his cigarette. Walking back inside he drank his coffee, casually glancing at the clock.
He had to get ready in 20 minutes at 5:30.
