Respawn of the Dead

Chapter 4

When Sniper woke up, he was on his bed in the roost, fully clothed and lying on top of his sheets. The sun was up, and it probably had been up for several hours. The rays were harsh on Snipers eyes, and he pawed for his aviators. They had been folded neatly on nightstand, and Sniper almost knocked over a jar of piss trying to retrieve them. Medic once told the assassin that his habit of collecting his own urine and keeping it lying around was probably a sign of obsessive compulsion. Maybe it was. The doctor had tried to dispose of his jars once, and Sniper found himself going into a fit of rage over it; when he was challenged as to why he could ever possibly want to keep a bunch of mason jars filled with piss around in his room, the only response he could think of was, "Ya never know when ya might need it." Sniper realized that, in retrospect, that it was a pretty stupid answer.

He put his aviators on, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and grabbed his rarely used alarm clock. It was half-past ten, which wasn't really bad, considering the amount of alcohol that was poured down his throat last night, but most everybody would be up by now and there'd probably be nothing left as far as breakfast was concerned. He set the alarm clock down, stretched out his back with a satisfying crack, and got up to look out the window.

The charred remains of BLU base jutted out of the ground, black against the sky like thick inky brush strokes against a canvas of yellow-brown and blue. Sniper didn't remember witnessing when the flames died out, but there still seemed to be smoke hovering over the rubble. He could see Pyro looking around the wreckage, strolling casually like a normal person would stroll through a park on a nice spring day. Sniper smirked at the thought. Pyro was a weird little bugger, all right, but he was nice enough, and he usually looked out for everybody more than anybody else really noticed.

But even with his sunglasses, being out in the sun too long was hurting his head. At least it was relatively quiet. Sniper turned on his heel and walked downstairs, headed for the kitchen. He needed coffee. He could deal without food for now. The wooden stairs creaked underneath his boots with each step as he walked down. Goddamned rickety steps, he thought. Just about everything wooden in RED base seemed to be splintery or old or creaky or on the verge of snapping. Shame they had to burn down BLU base to the ground. Their base had a nice set up.

After a brief trek, Sniper finally made his way to the kitchen, and opened the door to see Scout, sitting on one of the counters with a sandwich in one hand and an issue of The Amazing Spider-Man in the other. Scout looked up at Sniper upon his arrival, jumped and tried to hide the comic book. "Jesus, man, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"S'not my fault yer a jumpy little bastard," Sniper grumbled. "Wotcha readin'?"

"Nothin'," Scout said, holding the book behind his back.

"S'a funny book, innit it? With superheroes?" Sniper walked past Scout to the coffee brewer, reaching for a can of grounds and a filter. "We all know ya read 'em, s'not even worth th' effort t' hide it."

Scout cringed a bit, and bashfully produced the comic book from behind his back. "It's Spider-Man. Promise you're not gonna tell Spy? He's always raggin' on me about readin' this stuff."

Sniper smiled. "Naw, mate, I won't tell 'im." He scooped several spoonfuls of ground decaf into the filter, then placed it in the brewer and switched it on. "Not familiar with Spider-Man. Had an uncle in th' States that used t' send me issues of Batman 'n Superman when I was younger. He anythin' like them?"

"Nah, man, Spider-Man's different," Scout said, becoming excited at the chance to actually talk comic books with someone who actually wanted to listen. "Spider-Man was this nerdy kid named Peter Parker, an' when he was in high school, he got bit by a radioactive spider and got spider powers. He can climb up walls an' he's got this spider sense that lets him know when he's in danger an' he's also super-strong an' stuff. An' he made these web-shooters, so's he can swing around New York City like Tarzan in the friggin' jungle. But when he first got his powers, he used 'em to try an' make money as a TV star, an' then his Uncle Ben got killed. Spider-Man was an orphan, see, an' he was raised by his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. An' when his Uncle Ben got killed by this burglar that Spider-Man could a' stopped, but he didn't, he learns that with great power comes great responsibility, so he goes and fights crime an' stuff."