ubercharged.net

The RED Spy flicked his bloodied knife shut expertly and strolled over suavely to the BLU intelligence briefcase.

Really, it had all been so simple; that little twerp was so easy to mimic, his urgent and cocky manner. And he had the fortune to have that BLU Spy taken out, the one who was actually starting to piece together the puzzles. Those simpletons! That lunkhead Soldier really was unskilled.

As he hauled the intel briefcase over his shoulder, he brushed off dust, lint, and blood off his suit. He had to look the very best. After all, his beau was looking back at him.

Sifting his hands through the compromising photos of his beau - oh yes, the Scout’s mother - he picked one out delicately. It was the one with him and her, going together for a romantic evening on his moped. He smiled wistfully.

“Ahh…ma petite chou-fleur.”

He took the photo and put it delicately in a little frame in his disguise kit; a reminder of the woman he loved.

As he strolled down the now empty hallway, he turned a corner.

Mmpph mmphh mmpphhh

As the Spy walked past the struggling figure, it only struggled and mumbled even harder. It shook violently, apparently not at ease.

Though he was bound up and gagged, the Spy took out his Ambassador - a gun he had procured from one of Europe’s finest smiths and engravers - and pointed it at the figure as if to prevent it from making a sound or escaping. Maybe he wanted to show the beautiful engraving of the figure’s mother on the side of the barrel. Either way, though, he had no intentions to kill him.

The BLU Scout struggled furiously on the ground as he looked at the disappearing Spy with pure hatred. That son of a bitch!

He stretched his grazed wrists in an effort to somehow break the bonds. No luck. And he couldn’t call for help - everybody on his team was basically dead.

He shut his eyes and tried to gather his scattered thoughts together - it had all started with an assignment from the Announcer. Apparently, there was a lead to RED’s new weapon. He was to go check it out.

First of all, he noticed that the subtle blue dot that always accompanied him wasn’t there. By the time he came back, he saw the Sniper’s corpse, the latest victim of the RED Spy.

Exploring the base further, he found the Engineer’s beloved creation, in smithereens. There was the Engineer, shot right between his freakin’ eyes. And the Demoman, shot while he was in the crapper.

The Spy had gotten deep when he reached the hallway to the intel room. The Medic was dispatched, though he was missing his glasses.

Then he had finally encountered the Spy, ready not to take the intel, but to ambush him, the last remaining one. He couldn’t believe how deftly the Spy fought. All those years fighting on the rough streets of South Boston meant absolutely nothing, as the Spy bound and gagged him, as well as slipping him a tranquilizer to keep him immobilized for a while in a discreet hiding spot.

Finally, he had witnessed with horror as the Spy took his form and tricked the Heavy and Soldier. He didn’t see what happened in the intel room, but he heard the struggles. And the stabbing noises proved that the RED Spy was successful even before he came out.

What to do? It was wearing off, but he couldn’t get help. Everybody was dead. What he would do now, he reasoned, was enter the intel room and see the carnage for himself.

As he inched his way to the door, he saw, through the crack, the Soldier and Heavy’s stunned, lifeless, blanched faces. Even more grisly was the BLU Spy’s decapitated head. Friendly fire? The Spy doesn’t tote a shotgun.

The intel was gone, but what was this? Photos? A parting gift? The Scout peered over the counter.

Hours later, when the Medic finally respawned, he arrived at the crime scene to find three corpses - one without a head - and a body that looked a lot like the corpses. It was too much for the poor Scout.

*    *    *

The Scout sat in his room, thumping the Sandman in his hands. In shock. Without a thought. A daydream.

He had kept the photos, but what for? To constantly remind himself of the horror? No, he needed it somehow. It was essential in a way he didn’t know how.

He had escaped the fury of the Announcer today, but that didn’t matter. Everything was coming together like a jigsaw puzzle. He now knew why his Mom skipped out on his baseball games back at Boston. He now knew why Dad was never heard from again.

Dropping the bat, he put his head in his hands, shaking it in despair. The Announcer had just given him another assignment - the RED Spy had to be dealt with, yet sending the whole team in was not an option. He was to go track him down; after all, he was the lone survivor of the massacre.

The Scout took off his hat and scratched it, ill at ease. He was going to have to face his worst nightmare, once again. But he was going to have to pay a visit to somebody before he went spy-hunting.

*  *  *

The Sniper drove the camper van into the parking lot, where he parked it so that the window was facing the apartments.

I like the feel of this thought the Sniper as he gripped the leather wheel of the rented camper van. When the Scout asked the Sniper to accompany him, he immediately listed his contacts in South Boston. Lucky him - he rented a good camper van, and with discounts too.

The Scout hopped off the van, hiding the weapons in his backpack. He almost forgot that he could no longer carry weapons out in the public. As he made his way up to the apartment, he tried to act casually. It wasn’t easy - the receptionist looked at the Scout funnily when he failed to greet her; he used to do that all the time when he still lived there.

The smell of the musty hallway hit him as he took in the nostalgia. Second room from the left he had told the Sniper. He didn’t bring him for nothing, as he entered the room. The door was unlocked.

He almost shed a tear. He was home after years, home after all that had happened ever since he was taken away. There was his Little League trophies, his multiple awards and a picture of his brothers’ mug shots. He smelled his ratty old glove, taking in the odor of the ballpark as well. He even saw his mother’s purse.

“Honey?”

A familiar voice. He turned around to see his mother, dressed in a blue dress as usual. Her hair was in a pony tail, and though she had eight kids to feed and care for on her own, she still kept her form. Good o’ Ma. Her shining, motherly eyes nearly made the Scout break down into tears.

Nearly. Instead, the Scout took out his bat and advanced on her. He scowled and snarled, “Where’s my Mom?”

For a moment, Mrs. Scout looked confused. It only lasted a few seconds. Then she smiled. “What gave it away?”

“She never puts her hair in a ponytail. It’s always pinned-up.”

The RED Spy sighed, dropping his disguise as he flicked out his knife. His back was to the window. “I’d knew you would come back and try to discover for yourself. So predictable. For an answer, it’s yes; your mother is my little darling.”

The Scout felt a pang of grief and shock seize hold of his guts. He advanced on the Spy.

The Spy sighed. “I don’t want to give you trouble, but it looks like it’ll have to wait until your mother is here to give you the harsh truth.”

“Where is she!?”

For once, a look of anger crossed the Spy’s face. “Where is she?” he mocked the Scout in a whinny voice. “She’s with me! Why must you give me so much trouble?”

He circled the room, lighting a cigarette as he paced. The Scout kept his eyes on the professional. 

The Scout’s face contorted to reveal his utter disgust. “You don’t love her; she’s just another woman that you’ll toss away! Like all the other ones you encounter in your…little…missions!” 

The smell of cigarettes filled the room. The Spy blew a smoke ring before responding. “Before I went to South Boston, all the women I’ve met were shallow, mere playthings that cared nothing more than money and mystery. And they wanted me. I didn’t want them; I only used them for my own purposes, no more.”

He continued. “That’s when I met your mother. She was not rich, not famous, and merely middle-class. But all she cared about was her sons, you! You! And where were you? Playing soldier boy in a petty conflict!”

The Scout breathed heavily. He never answered Mom’s postcards to him.

“She needed me, she needed someone who could care for her when you and your petty brothers weren’t there. And for once, I found someone who craved not the physical pleasures of the world, but for something much more.” He pointed at the Scout. “You.”

The Spy looked at the Scout, but this time without the steely, cold eyes. “I could’ve killed you, but I didn’t because you were her son. I still wonder why I spared you; you don’t really care for her anyways.”

The Scout’s throat burned. He was right.

And for once, the Spy looked back with passionate eyes. And he said the following with such conviction, that if you didn’t know him, you had to have believed him.

“Will you end this petty struggle with me? I have contacts; you can be my son, and we can finally start new normal lives, not ones dedicated to meaningless killings and slaughtering.”

Unfortunately, the Scout knew him all right. And at that moment, all he felt was a burning desire to kill that man. All thoughts of Mom and her suffering left him; he remained cynical yet.

“No. No freakin’ way! You’re lying. You never tell the truth! That’s impossible!” cried the Scout as he took out his scattergun. And from the looks on the Scout’s face, the Spy could see someone who could not be changed - someone who was brainwashed by his past life as a mercenary.

The Spy, with a disappointed, weary sigh, shook his head. “I hope enough sense comes to you soon enough, boy.” And with his back to the window, he disappeared.

A shot cracked out, shattering the window and knocking over the purse by the windowsill. The Scout ducked, realizing that the shot, inadvertently, was a distraction that helped the Spy escape.

“Get back, you -”

And with that, the Scout rushed into the hallway, full of malice. Ready to kill. Ready to get rid of the man whose latest victim would be his mother. He felt a cry rising to his throat, ready to ram his bat down the Spy’s throat. He now had a single target. He had a vendetta. That cursed RED Spy.

He had broken some bones in the fall from the window, but no matter. As he sped away in the moped, the RED Spy thought to himself bitterly. That boy could not be changed. And yet…he couldn’t kill him. Not the son of the woman he loved. His thoughts preoccupied him, as he sped off into the distance, into a future where he would never be able to start a new life.

The Sniper looked up from his scope, confused. What was the commotion? Had he hit him? He saw the Spy by the window and shot him. Was he dead? 

He saw a shadowy figure pick up the purse that he had shot down from the windowsill. It looked familiar…who was it? The mysterious figure picked up the purse, examined it curiously, and disappeared from the window. 

However, he was too preoccupied to think any further about the stranger. He was thinking all about the past few days. He had been sent, on a similar mission, to take out that RED Spy. 

The Sniper sifted through the extra photos he had taken on that mission. The RED Spy and the BLU Scout’s mother. He had been gunning for the RED Spy before the massacre, trying to prevent the horrible truth from being leaked out to the Scout. But it was too late.

As he sat back, he was contemplating. He had always thought of the conflict as being between men, nothing more. But what happens when those men’s loved ones were dragged into the fray? What was that?

The Sniper smoked a cigarette. And he only did that when he was extremely stressed out. In which he was. 

I guess that’s war thought the Sniper grimly, as he burned the photos and watched the extra evidence turn to ashes.

We all know that TF2 got bugs, and most of them can be exploited in one way or other. However, I believe this one takes the prize as the coolest exploit of them all, and made me realize that the Dead Ringer is actually still a powerful weapon, and that I might go and try that out on the Ubercharged server. People. I present to you… Spy taunt kill complilation. Spy smirked, and millions of raging souls whined and screamed (I think)

Plain awesome, in a box, dipped with chocolate cream, beautifully decorated, and with strawberry on top. That’s a bunch of epic kills that makes me “OMGAWESOMELOL” The next time I am on Ubercharged, I am going to OMGWTFINVISISTAB people, just to see their reactions.

…and I wonder how many of you know that I was in a rush to make this, being a video article with just some lines. Speaking of lack of lines, this is beginning to look alot like one of these articles with just a video and some lines! Videooooooo~ takes up too much! But all is begiven because it’s epic kills, but some shall complain about the lack of lines~

Because video articles usually lack content.

I don’t get a lot of people talking to me, but these days, people almost always go, “Hey Sheep, what happened to being a career Medic?”

My most common answer is “The Spy Update.”

He backstabbed my heart

.

Truthfully, my friends, I have fallen in love with the dashing French(maybe)man we call “The Spy.” He appeals to my tactical nature, espescially with the Cloak and Dagger. While Medic is not an option due to us having six snipers and three spys on our team, I join the madness, put on my balaclava and suit, and go hunting. While other Spies will jump right into the action, I lurk, invisible on the battlefield, advancing and stopping with my cloak meter, inching ever closer to that dominating Heavy, or that Engie whose name I’ve taken, I watch, I wait, then I strike. Gentlemen, I am a Spy.

But then, something odd happened on the server last night. I was on a team in Redfort with the usual post-update Spy and Sniper count, but the Spy count was low enough so that if I went Spy, I would tip the fragile balance of our team. What few assault classes we had were being deftly cared for by a Medic better than me, so I did something I haven’t done in ages.

I went Soldier, and I LOVED IT.

.

I just crit. IN MY PANTS.

That Hectic night was my best Soldier playtime in a while. A positive Kill/Death ratio, one domination for most of the game. (I had two for a while, but a very determined dominee wrested it from me.) Top of the scoreboard a few times. I was bouncing Scouts up into the air and getting direct hits on the way down. I rocket jumped behind a siper and killed him with my shovel, and hit a Heavy in the face with a direct crit rocket.

Then we switched the Convoy and things got… strange. It was still fun, though.

So, don’t expect me to be playing Medic all the time any more. I have two new classes now. I need to become a better spy, and I need to see if that night of Soldier competence was a fluke.

However, I’m not in a position to play any Team Fortress 2 right now, (I’m sure anyone on my friends list has heard me whine about it.) Here’s hoping I get a decent laptop for graduating this year and can get back in the fray soon. Who knows, maybe by the time I get back into Team Fortress 2 we’ll have resonably balanced teams.

Until then, I’ll have to survive on Ubercharged DnD sessions and Frank Sinatra.

You wake up. It is a beautiful day. You smell the metaphorical roses. You then proceed to smell the actual roses you haven’t gotten around to throwing out yet. They smell kinda gross. You reach over to your bedside table for your Spy gear and find yourself divided.

Which of the two new toys shall you choose? The Cloak And Dagger or the Dead Ringer?

Well, seeing as your experience with the Dead Ringer has been less than successful what with everyone knowing a dead Spy seldom means dead Spy since day two, you opt for the Cloak And Dagger. Ah yes, a true masterpiece of stealth and patience. No longer is there a need to desperately scramble for a safe spot to decloak. Now you could slip into the very heart of the enemy base and never let slip a sole whisper of your presence.

Sure, it’s a little slow on the recharge and it drains pretty quickly, but it’s a small price to pay for absolute invisibility.

So off you venture into the world world to backstab you some bastards when… what’s this?! You’ve been discovered! Did you give yourself away? No, that’s not it. It seems someone erratically and unpredictably changed course and ran into you. Ah well, these things happen.

You try again, this time you get further into your mortal foe’s fortress. But wait! You’re on fire! No, no one spotted you. No, the Pyro wasn’t even trigger happy. He just happened to random flame that blank wall for no reason. Wow, what are the odds?

You make a third attempt. This time you choose to hide in a much larger space. The mathematical probability of being run into there is astronomical. A single Engineer leave his pack and strays… right into you. No one else there, any number of routes he could have taken… but no. He chose the one you were standing in the middle of. He fires his shotgun. It only nips you but it crits immediately and kills you stone cold.

You begin to notice a pattern.

For the rest of the day, through a series of cruel circumstances, you come to discover that the universe hates you with a deep loathing that transcends words. It doesn’t matter where you hide or how cleverly you time your movements. In some manifestation of remarkable evidence towards your cursed nature, enemies continuously fire into thin air for no reason and without failure hit you every time. It is never your fault. You never make a mistake.

Then it hits you. This is the life of a Spy. This is the reward for choosing the career of the most cunning and creative class. A monotonous living hell in which you will be punctured by arrows while cloaked that were never aimed at you, lit alight when one of your teammates chooses to run in exactly the same pattern you do and attract every enemy Pyro to your position, and where targets will never move… until the instant you choose to go for the kill.

To hell with this. I’m going Pyro.

Do you like Team Fortress 2? Do you like castles? Do you like to see teams fighting entirely using medieval-style weapons? Then THIS is an article for you!

When cp_redfort came up on Server #1 some two or three days ago, the collective mind of the server decided it would be fun to try and play entirely using the huntsman. I sat for a minute and thought about it some more. What did they have in medieval times? Bows and arrows, check. Piss, check. Swords and knives, check. Burning arrows, check. Axes, check. Saws, check. Magic… Check.

I did some fiddling about with the admin controls and, mainly by trial and error, locked the teams down to one medic, one pyro and the rest snipers. We further imposed limits of no needlegun/blutsauger, no shotgun/flaregun, no burning players and no sniper rifle/smg. The razorback was allowed, but was literally pointless, only serving to slow you down. The only rule here I might relent on is the flaregun, but that would require further discussion.

The rules were simple: Tournament mode was in effect, since that was the way I’d imposed class limits, and this meant that one team had to cap more points than the other, or cap the same amount faster. The huntsman was the main ranged weapon, with the kukri, axe and bonesaw for short range. Medics were allowed to heal, ubercharge or kritz, and defend themselves with the bonesaw. Pyros were allowed to light arrows, airblast people and use their axe. Jarate was allowed, resulting in some heated mini-crit-filled combat. We created… something beautiful.

I have approximately 40 minutes of video, consisting of 7 rounds recorded from my point of view. There are some graphics glitches which I apologise for, but they don’t seem to be avoidable. Additionally, due to the limits of the demo system, the tournament mode HUD stuff isn’t shown, so you have to rely on our banter to tell you how long is really left. The first 12 minutes is embedded below, and the remaining 3 videos are just linked to. I’d advise you to watch them fullscreen, since you can then read the text chat.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

I’m hoping to do this again, and I’d be happy for anyone to sign up to join us. We’ll get together soon and hijack a server.

I am back! Sorry it took so long to get out, but I was having a stint with City of Heroes.

Area 1, Dustbowl – February 20, 1968, 12:00 Noon

“KA-BOOOOOM!”

The BLU Scout, along with the Soldier and a few copies thereof, went flying through the air, their armor and soft fleshy parts annihilated by strategically placed “Sub-Timed Impulse Cryo-Kinetic” (or S.T.I.C.K.) bombs. The RED Demoman laughed, reloading the launcher mounted on his arm, as he watched the carnage unfold around him.

The RED Scout had his handcannon out, blasting away a BLU Pyro and Demoman with suppressive plasma fire. The RED Soldier was unloading clip after glorious clip of energy rockets into the enemy staging point. And the RED Pyro was doing something with methane. It turned his fire blue. He was okay with that.

The RED Spy uncloaked on top of the shed overlooking the right entrance to the BLU staging point. The BLU Heavy went by, then the Medic and Pyro- ah! The Sniper. Perfect. The RED Spy jumped down behind the unsuspecting Aussie, and quickly, violently, shivved him between the spinal disks with his wristblade. Quickly activating a hologram disguising himself as his unsuspecting victim, the Spy followed his “comrades” into the breach, distracted only by an unusual sight… the RED Sniper uncloaking.

The armored assassin moved quickly. There was no time to maneuver for a backstab, no time to pull out the railgun, just go straight at it. If anyone noticed something weird about what looked two Snipers in exosuits engaging in actual, you know, karate, no one said anything.

Inside the point 1A shed, the RED Engineer had pretty much set up a firestorm. On the ground level he had set up a quad-laser Sentry that blasted anything coming near it, and above he had a dual-missile platform that pretty much did the same thing. He was roused from his hidey-hole by these words:

“IS GOOD TIME TO RUN, COWARDS!”

The Engineer ducked outside, hoping to see the RED Heavy bellowing, but was sorely disappointed. Stampeding towards the Control Point was a very large, very angry, silver behemoth.

To keep up with armored warfare, the Medics’ healing guns had to be retrofitted to accomodate mechanical as well as biological damage. The newly issued device incorporated both the previous Ubercannon and Kritzkrieg models, as well as a third barrel for nanobot-powered mechanical repair. When in use, the three barrels spun like… well, like a minigun. Once the recylced nanites and healing energy were collected in large-enough amounts, they could be used to form one of the most terrifying weapons thus far seen: the Nanocharge.

The Nanocharge affects both Medic and target, rendering both totally indestructable. Their armor becomes as resistant as nano-reinforced steel and tints a metallic color (silver for BLU, gold for RED), their weapons gain an incredible boost in killing power, and they can run a whole lot faster, to boot. Once it deactivates, the two are no worse for the wear, except maybe a little confused from the rather fast wearing-off.

So you could understand why the Red Engineer was in such a hury to get out of dodge. He unslung the two unused teleporter construction pods from the back of his armor, and fiddled with a dial on it. He did the same (very quickly) on his two turrets, and ran down the tunnel leading to Capture Point 1B.

The BLU Heavy and his Medic friend stopped in the dead center of the shed. Nothing was there, save a deactivated Rocket Sentry. The Medic examined the turret, and heard a pleasant female voice say, “Twenty seconds to self-destruct.”

“Rückzug! Now!”

The two attempted to flee the shed, but couldn’t agree on who should have been first out of the door.

“Ten seconds to self-destruct.”

The Heavy then backhanded the Medic, who grabbed the Heavy’s coolant vent and pulled, abandoning all reason. They were still fighting when all of the devices exploded.

So, now, BLU was short a Heavy and a Medic. And RED was short a shed roof.

 

____________________________________________

The fighting only got harder as time wore on. BLU was becoming more and more frantic at the thought of failure, and RED was becoming wearied as they had to beat back wave after wave of carbon copies. The destroyed shed didn’t help any.

The Control point was so vital because  it literally controlled the battle. A Control point supercomputer system allowed all of a team’s weaponry to work, and allowed the SPaMR to continually reconstitute the combatants (try saying that five times fast). RED’s points, in this case, were working a brute-force attack on BLU’s SPaMR systems. Given, oh say, ten minutes or so, the attack would succeed, and BLU would be utterly helpless. No reconstitution, no functioning weapons, and almost no chance of survival.

On the flipside, if BLU captured one point in an area, the attack was set back and would take longer, effectively increasing the time limit on the mission. If BLU controlled both points in a given area, the aforementioned “Humiliation round” would be foisted on RED. The difference being, RED was only completely expunged after all areas were in BLU’s control. After that, RED had to take its expertly hidden business elsewhere.

But back to the story.

____________________________________________

The RED Scout, Soldier, and Demoman were all taking potshots from the rubble of the A1 shed. There was a rumble, and a shake. Lightning cracked, and a nearby tree fell. Someone was changing class.

A LOT of someones.

From the gate, a Scout emerged. Then another Scout. And another. The entire BLU team had changed their armor class to Scout. The one in front, who didn’t have an eyepatch, balaclava, or other class-identifying feature, raised his bat to the sky.

“SCOUT RUUUUSH!”

The entire horde stampeded to the ruined shed. The lone RED scout rose to meet them. The Soldier put his hand on the Scout’s shoulder, and pulled hard.

“C’mon, son! Tactical retreat!”

“But we can’t just give up!”

“It’s lost, son! We need to regroup!”

The RED Scout thought about this, then hesitantly backpedalled to the route leading to point 1B, giving a few plasma-charged parting gifts to his copies. The BLU Scouts stopped short of the cave entrance, preferring to concentrate on the Point capture.

Which took about two seconds.

____________________________________________

The clock reset, the BLU team had a slight cooloff period available before they had to attack again. One of the Scouts, wearing the Spy balaclava, walked up.

“Well… zees was a disappointment.”

“I know,” replied the original Scout. “It was almost too easy.”

“I don’t know about you two,” said the Scout wearing the Soldier helmet, “but I’m changing back. It may have been easy this time, but it strikes me you only get away with this sort of thing once. It’s going to get harder. Much harder.”

____________________________________________

There you go. The next chapter. Kudos to Paper Shadow for the GModdery. I’m not asking you to mention me to Control Point Podcast, but if it just slips into conversation, what can I do. ‘Til next time.

Graven_Image

Hello, all. I thought I’d continue the Sniper update mania with an article about why I never really liked the pre-update Sniper playstyle. (Not really so much an “Unlike”(I KNOW THAT ISN’T A WORD SHUT UP) as much as “Oh my god I suck so much at this class”)

*Ahem* Firstly, and let me make myself clear here, I don’t think Snipers should be nerfed.  I am, however, annoyed by them. Robin’s blog post pertaining to Snipers beautifully explains why.

I never really liked playing Sniper . In the spans of time in which I do play Sniper, I find it sorta enjoyable. I like the idea of being able to click Mouse1 once and make people all the way across the map ragdollize, regardless of their health (Of course, I’m not the type of guy to camp by spawn) But the main problem with the class haunts me to this day…

The Sniper is probably the most danger prone class in the entire game.

I know, I know. “BUT THE *Class* IS IN WAAAAAY MORE DANGER THAN SOME COWARD WHO STAYS AT SPAWN AND KILLS PEOPLE FROM ACROSS THE ENTIRE MAP!!!!1!!1!one!” But you’re forgetting. Chances are, there are usually two classes who will always go for the Sniper first. And I know that the Sniper is a “high priority target” along with the Medic and other classes, but I’ve been killed more times by Snipers, as a Sniper than when I’ve been a Medic or any other class.

Yes, the Spy and the Sniper. Not only the two classes that can attack the Sniper from anywhere he can shoot at the enemy team from (The Spy being able to cloak, disguise, use enemy teleports, ect. ect., and the Sniper being able to… Well… Shoot at you), but also the two classes with instant kill attacks. And they’re always gunning for you. (Like my Ma always said, the best target is a stationary target.)

Putting on those sunglasses (Why is he wearing sunglasses anyway?) and that hat essentially puts a big neon sign over your head saying, “ATTENTION EVERYONE: FREE KILL FOR SPIES/SNIPERS RIGHT HERE.” I’ve had Snipers blatantly ignore the overhealed Heavy dominating half their team just to get a good fully charged body shot off at me, who was innocently smelling the flowers some distance away. And yeah, the Sniper is the best counter for enemy Snipers, but if one Sniper is off chasing down a Spy with his Kukri, then I think the other Sniper might have the patience to wait five seconds before shooting someone who doesn’t even know they’re there, and then shoot the first Sniper.

The Razorback is perplexing. If you have it on, you won’t be backstabbed, but you’ll be slower, and therefore will be Sniper fodder. If you have it off, you’ll be faster, but will be backstabbed. And if you do indeed have it on, then Spies will see it, step out of melee range, then shoot you. Because you give up the SMG, you’ll hafta either chase them to melee them (Risky) or noscope them (Riskier). YOU CAN’T WIN AS SNIPER AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH.

My aim is something that I should work on as well, but I think that has to do more with the scope. I mean, my accuracy with the flare gun and the Huntsman is spot-on. Scopes make me feel uncomfortable, and make me prone to missing even when I’m five feet away from them.

Of course, now that I’ve gotten my Huntsman and my Jar based karate, I’m playing Sniper a lot more. The Huntsman’s one second charge and slight delay from firing appeals to my twitchy playstyle more than the rifle, and I think it’s just plain fun to drench people in urine.(Anyone who says it isn’t is a filthy liar)

Well, that’s really my problems with the Pre-update Sniper weapons. See ya ’round.

It was a sunny, beautiful day. The noise of the distant morning commute could be heard for miles, and the wind swept throughout the outskirts of town. The grass grew, the birds flew, and the sun shone.

However, there was nothing beautiful about the carnage taking place during that day. The sun itself was a witness to yet another bloodbath spilled daily near the two bases owned by two major corporations.

There was a ferocious battle taking place in Dustbowl. BLU team was pushing into RED territory, and RED soon found itself holding on desperately to their last control point. The Heavy had waddled his way back into a corner of the control point with the Medic strafing around him to prevent any future backstabs. The Soldier and the Demoman were waiting at the entrance for the enemy. The Engineer was already fixing up his buildings in a snug little corner. And the  Spy and Pyro were making their regular rounds about the possible entrance routes.

As arrows flew and the Spy came back with the smell of burnt hair and clothing, the Heavy noticed the BLU sniper was aggressively attacking him with his new weapons. However, where was their sniper? And where’s that little baby man?

None of this, though, bothered the two gentlemen who had ditched the action for the relative peace at Gravelpit. In fact, they were sitting on a control point miles away, having their own little picnic.

The Sniper got out merely because of an excuse about his bladder. After convincing the Medic that all he needed was a trip to the bathroom (and not surgical removal with the bonesaw), he hopped into his van and sped off to rendezvous with the Scout, who complained that his ball had flown out of the fence and he had to go retrieve it. Poor excuses, but nobody missed the two. The battle went on without them.

So it was, the Sniper and the Scout having a dainty little picnic under the shade from their umbrella.

“Beer?”

“Nah. I prefer tacos.”

The two sat back, listening to the noises of gunfire and explosions in the distance. Occasionally, the Sniper would go on a high perch and “fire” off a few arrows in the general direction of the noises while the Scout would hit his balls (he found a couple of Sandmen on the way). That way, they could claim that they were “part of the action.”

Crunch, crunch

The Sniper’s ear quickly picked up on the noise. He quickly reached under the picnic blanket for his kukri.

Instead of an open confrontation, he received a faceful of gravel that stung his face.

“Hey!”

The Scout brushed at his face, upset at the annoyance. “Gravel? What a nuisance!”

Suddenly, a BLU spy appeared right before their eyes. Dressed in a blue pinstripe suit, he looked far too well-cut to kick gravel in somebody’s face. He carried a gold watch in his left hand, instead of his normal gray watch. He looked at the duo with sheer disgust.

The Spy sneered. “Haw haw haw, what are you going to do? Run five miles and shoot me?”

“Ye-; No…” The Sniper was at a loss for words. How did he know? With his severely underpowered submachine gun, he could not fight at close range combat effectively. His kukri was ineffective at dealing with someone who actually knew how to fight hand-to-hand.

The Scout, however, had no trouble dealing with those “dime-a-dozen backstabbing scumbags.” With a single blast of his scattergun, the sneering gentleman instantly fell to the ground. And died.

The Sniper took off his hat to pay his respects. How often did the Spy go down so quickly?

“Not often enough.”

The last thing the Sniper saw was a silver revolver with a huge barrel and engravings on its side. He also heard the Spy’s signature cackle, the laugh that told him that he had been backstabbed once again. How did he know?

And then the blood poured out from his head.

* * *

The Sniper sat in his van, feeling miserable at his failure. Not only did a BLU spy dispatch him and the Scout, he had been chastised severely for playing hooky. Obviously, somebody noticed and tattled, although it might have been one of those cameras that she installed everywhere, from the dorms to the latrines.

How did she know?

He remembered the chastisement from the Announcer. He had been summoned after he and the Scout bought some tacos from the taco truck outside of their dorms.

*FZZT* SNIPER PLEASE REPORT TO THE OFFICE *FZZT*

He knew what to expect. The middle-aged lady sat in her arm chair, back facing the Sniper. The lack of lighting only made it seem more ominous. The stench of her cigarette was overpowering.

“Tell me, why did you skip out on the match?”

The Sniper’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Well?”

He scratched his head. Time to use the excuse that he had used so often. “Well…nobody seems to think much of me, ma’am. I mean, they claim I hang back too much, and-”

She waved and cut him off. “I’ve given you two unlockables already. The Huntsman and the Razorback. If you can’t make use out of them, then I don’t see what use I can make out of you!”

She paused. “Get out, and do NOT disappoint me again.“

Now the Sniper was lying on his bed. He couldn’t confront his teammates. Not after he had ditched them. His only refuge now was the pile of comics he had under his bed. Superman, Batman, he loved them. None of them had the merits of Saxton Hale, though.

Saxton Hale. The Australian Alan Quartermaine. That handsome, muscular man with the large amounts of chest hair and incredibly short cut-off pants. He was his childhood hero, his idol and model. And like the Hank Aaron poster in the Scout’s dorm, he had posters of him. Pictures, flyers, comics, even fanfic that he never dared to publish. Whenever the Sniper had a bad day or just plumb was in a bad mood, he turned to Saxton Hale for answers.

He started flipping through his comic book. And there he found his answer.

It was a comic. And not just an ordinary one. It had somebody just like him, bullied around by a troublesome BLU spy. And on the second row, he saw himself, reading a similar comic. It was him, discovering Jarate.

Just like how I am learning about it now breathed the Sniper in amazement.

Suddenly, he yelped. He kicked a chair across the room. It was all coming to him now. And something happened just then -

He remembered everything. From the ancient Aborigines, he saw the ancient art in his head now. From the ancient ancestors of long past, he understood the guarded secret. And from the Australian blood in his veins, he felt a connection to Saxton Hale - the Australian Chuck Norris. This message was a god-send, and he was now a prophet.

I’ll never have to worry about lack of urinary privileges ever again! thought the Sniper as he cut out the order form and put in the $5 from the allowance money Mum sent him.

* * *

The box came to the Sniper almost two days after he sent the order in. In it were Saxton Hale Jarate pills, a trophy, and a couple of jars. However, the Sniper didn’t read the instructions. Even worse, he didn’t even read the part about the Saxton Hale Pain Tonic. It wasn’t in the box.

The Sniper downed the pills. Within seconds, he felt something near his sides expand. The size of his kidneys tripled as expected. They started filtering his liquid wastes like never before!

After a minute, he had completely filled all four jars. And he still needed more.

He had to keep it a secret though. After all, the instructions had told him to keep this secret art to himself for reasons of “public health and decency.”

It wasn’t easy. He saw the Announcer pop a few aspirins and a few forehead veins after he ran out of a briefing mid-meeting. The Heavy looked at him with an odd look on his face, troubled by the Sniper’s constant running in and out of the dining hall. He told the Engineer to take his night-watchman post, as he could not stay for a few seconds before having to urinate again.

I really gotta buy more jars thought the Sniper as he walked to his van to take a trip to the local convenience store.

Hours later, the Medic came across the moaning and mumbling Sniper, clutching his chest as if he wanted to rip his organs out.

* * *

The Sniper woke up to a world of aches and pains. He felt as if a million little Spies were inside him, puncturing his organs with their butterfly knives. It felt as if his organs were shutting down. He was bedridden and had to be kept under watch 24/7 to prevent his symptoms from getting worse. Only the Sniper’s glassy, pitiful eyes prevented the good Doc from satisfying his curiosity on him.

“He looks awful.”

“Musta been the tacos.”

The Sniper took the trash can and vomited for the 14th time in the day. And most of that vomit was blood, too.

Being between life and death and teetering towards the latter, he thought of his Mum and his Dad. He thought of past memories on the range, living on his own in the outback before he had been taken away to fight for RED. Most importantly, though, he thought of his friends, his teammates that he had abandoned. He should’ve helped him - after all, he was of some importance, right?

“Maybe I should’ve been a doctor like Dad said,” groaned the Sniper as he gave in to his exhaustion.

* * *

White. Was he in heaven? All he could see was white.

He blinked. No. It was some sort of material. What was it?

A paper. It was familiar. As the light reached the Sniper’s eyes, he saw that it was quite colorful. The morning light was going through the paper, filtering the colors from the other side.

He turned it over. It was that same comic, the one he had read back in his trailer. Before he had gotten himself into this mess with that Jarate crap.

How could you, Saxton Hale?

Looking closely at the paper though, he saw discrepancies. The first part of the comic was just the way it was before. However, in the last part of the comic, he saw that the original drawings had been scribbled over. In its place was a crude drawing of figure reminiscent of the BLU Spy. Underneath his feet was a corpse with a knife sticking out of the back. And that corpse was on a hospital bed…

No…

He heard a chuckle. He heard the flicking of a knife. He heard it too often. And for once, he found himself helpless. Even scared.

The BLU Spy flicked his knife once more as he advanced on the bed, carrying with him a sinister aura. The Sniper swore that he could fit a slice of watermelon in the Spy’s smile.

The Sniper got off the bed and backed away. The adrenaline was pumping within him now. He took out his kukri. If he was going to die, he would with his face to the enemy.

The Sniper glared at the Spy. “How did you get in here?”

The Spy smirked. “Your poor fat friend was obviously distracted with his disgusting food. The Sandviches. When I killed him, he found three other sandviches just lying around. Fat got his tongue.”

He lit a cigarette. “I see that you’ve resorted to desperate measures just to defeat me. You disgust me. You were so gullible, falling for that lowbrow ruse I called Jarate.”

The Sniper’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

“I sneaked into your trailer. I gave you something from your so-called childhood hero, Saxton Hale, who is obviously in financial trouble. I mean, who would charge people $5 just to teach them how to piss in a jar?

“The truth is, I did it to humiliate you. What would the world think of a the great “Adelaide Assassin”? He now pisses in a jar just to defeat someone like me!” The Spy’s laugh rang throughout the room. “You’re nothing, you don’t stand a chance against me. And the world will finally see the fool in you. And I will finally be known as the best class in the world!”

Then, once again, he disappeared.

Blood pounded in the Sniper’s head. What am I going to do? His teammates were gone, he was alone with a kukri against a skilled assassin. He rushed out of the room in sheer panic.

“You can run, but you can’t hide!” rang out a voice somewhere near the Sniper.

He rushed down the hallway. As much as his sides ached, he had to keep going. he didn’t know where to go, or what to do when he got there. His legs just carried him.

“What are you going to do? Run 20 meters and shoot me?”

The Sniper burst into the lab room, where the Medic usually operated on his hapless subjects. He bolted the door and sat on the blood-stained operating table, gasping for breath. There was nothing he could do…

I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die-

“Peekaboo!”

An arm snaked out of nowhere and slashed at the Sniper. Had it not been for the Sniper’s quick reflexes, he would’ve received more than just a facial wound. Nevertheless, the shock of it all drove the Sniper back into a row of shelves, where the Medic was studying the Sniper’s urine samples.

The Sniper, bloodied and battered, looked up above him.

Take it…

As if on instinct, the Sniper snatched a jar from the shelf. What am I going to do with this jar of urine?

Use it…

“Maybe they should bury you in that van you call home!” cackled the Spy as he raised his knife for the kill.

Now!

The Sniper tossed the jar of urine. As it arched across the room, the Spy’s smirk was quickly replaced by one of shock. It was then replaced with a look of fear.

The jar shattered as the Spy received a faceful of the Sniper’s liquid bodily wastes. The urine stained the Spy’s Hugo Boss suit. There was a sound of electricity, and then the Spy was fully uncloaked.

“Is this…?!” cried the Spy in anguish.

With the last ounce of his strength, the Sniper stabbed the Spy with his kukri. Before the Spy died, though, he gave the Jarate master a look of agony, a look of the deepest hate that one could possibly possess.

The Spy spat out these last words through his gritted teeth: “I HATE -”

The Sniper took out his kukri and the Spy fell to the ground covered in the Sniper’s urine and his own blood.

The Adelaide Assassin paid his respects.

* * *

The following days passed quickly. After finding the Spy’s cache of Saxton Hale Pain Tonic Pills (which he took from the box before it was delivered to the Sniper), he quickly recovered.

The Medic didn’t get to satisfy his curiosity. However, the Sniper’s incredibly effective kidneys never ceases to amaze the Medic.

The RED and BLU Spy’s disgust for the Sniper only grew. “Filthy jar man,” they would mutter behind the Sniper’s back.

Thanks to the Sniper’s ingenious new weapon, he could now fight effectively at close-range. He would toss his jar of urine at the enemies. They would cower in fear and lose the will to live. They would die either from the Sniper’s kukri or from the bullets of his teammates. And even if they escaped, it would haunt every living, waking moment of their lives.

Even better, everybody was now grateful to the Sniper for saving his life when the Engineer accidentally left the task of grilling burgers to the Pyro. They were all a little disgusted, but nevertheless, grateful. And the Sniper quickly learned that he was now a team player, and that friendship is indeed golden.

After a day of chucking his jars around, the Sniper retired to the trailer. On his desk was not only a picture of his parents, but also a jar of urine.

And if you look closely enough in the yellowish fluid, you can see the smiling, rugged muscular Australian man who turned the Sniper into a weapon of mass destruction. It’s cheap, it’s found everywhere, it’s easily used -

It’s Jarate.

Over my hours of TF2, I’ve amassed quite a list of quibbles about the game. Most of them are inconsequential, and others would probably start World War III if published, but some changes are fairly benign and long overdue. These changes would be great to have around, but would not significantly affect gameplay or class balance. Most are interface changes.

All would be wonderfully convenient.

sv_alltalk 2

One of the reasons many clans and scrim teams shell out money for Ventrilo servers (or the like) during pick-up games and matches is that Ventrilo allows dead players to talk to the living. This is as opposed to the standard sv_alltalk 0, which permits living players of a team to talk to each other, but prohibits dead players from talking to the living.

Ventrilo, though, has some issues. For one, the volume is often terrible, and in-game, it is nigh impossible to tell who’s talking, except with the obtrusive Ventrilo overlay which covers half the bloody screen. The in-game voice chat already has unobtrusive overlay support built in, complete with an indicator if the teammate who is speaking is dead; in addition, the volume is equalized with game sounds.

That’s why I’m suggesting the inclusion of a third possible value for the sv_alltalk CVAR: sv_alltalk 2, which allows dead players to talk to living players of the same team. Shouldn’t be hard to implement, and it would be utterly awesome for those folks hoping to host pickup games and the like without the headache of ventrilo servers.

In the meantime, if anyone knows a SourceMod plugin that implements this functionality, I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment, and I’ll be deeply grateful.

sv_allchat

sv_allchat would do pretty much the same thing as sv_alltalk, except it would apply to chats only. Through this, dead players could send messages to living players.

ian.cammarata already implemented this in SourceMod, and it would be great if it could actually be incorporated into the game.

Steam Friends chat API

I use steam friends chat quite extensively, but I always am slightly miffed by Steam itself. Having an open API for steam friends would allow one to use their own program of choice for accessing friends, but would remove the option of launching games. It has some advantages:

• Portability: by linking in to apps like Portable Pidgin, one could theoretically access steam chat on any computer. That’s pretty awesome.
• Extensibility: combined with “custom status” (see below), this could be pretty awesome. New skins, automatically generated statuses (e.g. the standard “Currently listening to:” status), and other such things would be great.
• Efficiency: On the machine I’m on right now (not the one I use for gaming), Steam takes about two minutes to start up. Yes, this relic from 1999 is really quite slow. Very often, opening the community tab makes the computer hang. However, Pidgin loads in seconds and doesn’t noticeably slow down the computer. Sorry, Valve, but something is seriously wrong with Steam if it’s written that inefficiently. For this computer, running TF2 is a wet dream, but that’s fine with me, because I just want to access Steam friends here. Yet I can just barely do that.
• Security: this is where things get a little bit sketchy. However, if every account could have two different passwords - one to access Steam friends alone, and the other to allow games and administration, this could easily be avoided. Another option would be to have the friends-only password to be automatically generated. An even easier solution would be to just ignore this and let the user use their better judgment when giving their password to IM programs.

Steam Friends: Custom statuses

Because it sure beats “playing” a “game” with a funny name.

See yourself when smoothing or driving through demos

Right now, you can’t see yourself (that is to say, your player model) when you are driving or smoothing through demos recorded from your own perspective. It admittedly looks quite strange when I’m driving through my own demos  - seeing a grenade appear out of nowhere and proceed to frag someone is altogether unexpected.

Obviously, my suggestion here is to allow one to see one’s own player model when going through demos in this manner. Frag video makers, rejoice!

Left 4 Dead-style Interface changes

L4D certainly built on TF2’s online experience and heavily improved it. Methinks it’s time for some of those changes to come back to L4D’s older brother.

Just like one can do in L4D (though that system is slightly glitchy), it would be great if one could obtain a listing of servers belonging to the steam groups they were a part of.

Also, the current “Friends” tab in the server browser is kind of ridiculous, because it isn’t easy to see which friend is playing on a particular server-the only way is to right click and view the server’s info. L4D, admittedly, does a great job with that, listing friends and their respective games. For the standard pubber, a “quick game” option, a la L4D, would be pretty cool too.

Naturally, in all of these suggestions, I recommend that the standard server browser be left in.

Reset specific stats

Rather than wiping everything, wouldn’t it be nice to rid the world of that 9000-kill streak on a farming server, while retaining the memory of that 20-stab spree on Badwater? I certainly think so.

Steam Friends: Notification options

Minor quibbles here. I think it would be quite nice to specify different notification behaviors when one is playing a game and when one isn’t. For instance, let’s say that when I’m online (not in-game), I do not want the notification that comes up at the bottom-right of my screen when I receive a message (I have my reasons for not liking it, when I’m carrying out multiple conversations, or when I’m trying to work, it gets fairly obtrusive and irritating. However, when I’m in-game, it is essential to have that, so that I can know if I have received a message.

Yes, this is fairly inconsequential, but hopefully not too hard to implement.

* * *

Without touching core gameplay, these changes would heavily improve the user experience. I hope to see them soon.

Just a short time ago I came here asking for assistance in the plight of the Xbox 360 player of Team Fortress 2.  I was hesitant, to understate things, because PC gamers have what I thought was a well warranted reputation for being elitist snobs when it comes to their favorite things.

“Stubborn to budge or be helpful in everything except the advancement of their own agenda,” was my definition of the average PC gamer.  I did not come to this conclusion by the guidance of others; it was formed in my own mind following various experiences with their kind.

A seperate species I considered us two, like the monkey and the man.  Similar in shape, but different in mannerisms.  The console gamer was much more thoughtful, much more tolerant, it seemed.  I expected little help from the PC crowd, save maybe a signature or two.

Instead, do you see what has happened?  No less than 200 signatures in less than two days stating that the PC gamer understands, and not only that, is willing to risk the delayed arrival of their next update, for the sake of Valve’s focus on the Xbox 360 update until its deliverance.

It is shocking, to be honest, and the waves of shame still rock my body.  Never before have I been proven so profoundly wrong at an assumption.  I beg your forgiveness, my PC brethren, for my (formerly) hidden bias!

But it doesn’t stop there.  Unbidden by me, the Xbox players began setting things in motion that were inspired by the message.

Since the posting of my last article on Ubercharged, there has been a Facebook group founded to advance the movement, and, believe it or not, a Youtube video has been made that mentions the petition!

Now, the other end of those links may be misguided and have false information in some parts, but the fact that they exist astounds me.  I did not ask for this, it came naturally.  It is because of this, the unified forward motion of both groups of gamers, that I feel we are destined to succeed.

How can Valve see these things and not be moved to action?

I assure you that they cannot, and it is because of you that this has happened.  What an unprecedented merging of the minds.

———————

In case it wasn’t stated very blatantly, I have had a revelation and no longer believe those things I mention about PC gamers.