The Man and the Russian
In the cold Siberian wilderness, several hundred miles inland from the small town of Vermosk, there sat a small, rickety cabin. It was not the kind of place any civilized person would have made for a home. It was cramped; too small to house more than one person, and its frame looked as if it would topple at any minute. But nevertheless, someone lived in it, as evidence by the flickering flame of a candle in one filthy window, and the billowing smoke coming from the chimney. It was a person who, judging by his distance from any known settlements, and his lack of any form of contact with the outside world, was inconsequential to anyone and everyone in the world.
Everyone, that was, save for one lone man, several hundred yards away, lying down in the icy drifts, heated cloak around him for warmth. This man wasn't the kind of person who would normally be found in the dead of winter in the middle of Siberia, but the sniper rifle he had trained on the cabin indicated he was not a man to be questioned as to his reason for being in the country. His reason was clear. His reason was death.
The man shuffled ever so slightly in the snow, keeping himself insulated, heavy muffler around his face and goggles protecting his eyes. He scanned the cabin with his gun, as he had done many times over the last few days. And, just like the last few days, there had been no sign of anyone within. How many long days he had spent like this, the man did not know. But now, after not having seen anything from the cabin for several days, the man had started to get frustrated. Other than the candle and smoke from the chimney, there was no clear indicator that anyone lived there. No one ever appeared at the window, no one ever came out to collect the firewood piled up in the wood box at the side of the house. The man was beginning to grow impatient, and impatience in his line of work would make him sloppy.
“Snow” the man thought, grumbling under his breath. “Why does it always have to be bloody snow.” He shifted again where he laid, the high-tech suit and blanket he wore doing its job to keep his body from going into hypothermic shock, even for the long nights he spent watching the cabin. The wind whipped around him, but his eyes were locked on that cabin.
His focus was so intense that, were it not for a slight shuffle of snow and the subtle change in ambient temperature, he would have not realized that he was no longer alone on the snowy drift.
The man rolled to the right, acting on pure instinct and reflexes, and it was certainly his reflexes that saved his life. As he rolled, a fist the size of a grapefruit came crashing down into the snow where his head was, driving into the ground hard enough to make the compacted ice crack.
The man continued rolling as the larger man chased him, using his momentum and a small snowbank to twist his body, springing to his feet, finally getting his eyes on the man who had attacked him.
The man had been attacked by brutes before. When a sniping job was botched, or something complicated the situation, he had learned his self defense well. But, nothing prepared him for the man before him now. He was huge, bigger than any man he had ever seen. The man was decently sized and he barely came up to the Russian’s chest. The Russian was clad head to toe in furs, and the only visible feature was a big bushy beard, heavily tinged in grey.
The man had dropped his rifle as he had twisted up, and instinctively his hands came up in a defensive stance. The one his father had taught him all those years ago. The Russian came at him again, and he was barely able to dodge the barrage of heavy punches and grapples the Russian sent his way.
The man ducked a sweeping punch, then had to hop backwards to avoid another fast jab that would have surely liquified his kidneys. He kept his distance as best he could from the Russian, but he knew he wouldn't last long on the defensive. He tried to find some way to counter-attack, but the sheer barrage of the Russian's offense provided no opening. For several minutes the man could do nothing more than dodge, bob, and weave away from the Russians attacks.
Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, the man spotted an opening. As the Russian grabbed at him again, he left his right side completely exposed. The main cracked the faintest of smiles, ducked under the big man's grab, and came up at his side with a blur of jabs. One, two, three directly where the Russian's kidneys should have been. The man was confident that with the force put into his punches, the Russian wouldn’t be able to breathe well for a few hours, much less throw a punch again.
The man might as well have punched a brick wall.
The Russian merely backhanded the man like swatting a fly, knocking the man down hard, driving the wind from his lungs. The man gasped for breath, scrambling backward to get out of the way of the massive Russian, but the Russian advanced just as fast, and before the man knew it, the Russian had one of those giant mitts around his throat, lifting him in the air like a small child.
The man gasped for air that could not find its way past the Russians massive hand as it clenched his throat. He grabbed at the arm, clawing at the big man's sleeve, trying to pull away, but to no use.
His head swam, his vision began to blur, his arms became weak, useless at his sides. He felt himself falling, slowly losing conciousness, sinking into inky blackness.
Then he felt no more.
why
Why not?
at least it's not a slash fic
Yeah, thats how i feel. I always hated that gross slash fic crap.
Its time there was a decent story-driven fic for TF2.
[QUOTE=Kenori;44741025]Why not?[/QUOTE]
Because I thought it was an update or comic or something. :/
I have never made an official post in my life? What makes you think I'd start now.
Heh, it reminds me of some TF2 fanfics I've written in my early days playing the game. For some reason, all of them were set on Coldfront (That was my favorite map back then) and I always imagined that they would someday serve as a concept for a SFM video (or Gmod at the time, since they were made a few months before Pyromania, IIRC).
I've totally forgot about then. Reading your fanfic now just brought them back to my memory.
I thought it would be a sequel to [URL="http://facepunch.com/showthread.php?t=1200292"]this story[/URL]
[QUOTE=gary spivey;44743872]I thought it would be a sequel to [URL="http://facepunch.com/showthread.php?t=1200292"]this story[/URL][/QUOTE]
Oh god I remember that
[QUOTE=gary spivey;44743872]I thought it would be a sequel to [URL="http://facepunch.com/showthread.php?t=1200292"]this story[/URL][/QUOTE]
"Lunch is ready. Meh, I'll browse around facepunch for a couple of minutes, see if there are any new posts before I go eat."
I regret everything.
[QUOTE=gary spivey;44743872]I thought it would be a sequel to [URL="http://facepunch.com/showthread.php?t=1200292"]this story[/URL][/QUOTE]
Just when I forgot this.
Fuck it, I didn't want to sleep anyway.
[QUOTE=gary spivey;44743872]I thought it would be a sequel to [URL="http://facepunch.com/showthread.php?t=1200292"]this story[/URL][/QUOTE]
someone needs to make sfms of those stories
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