Scout Tf2 Comic Novels & Stories

“ Just food and discussion. Two people eating in the same vicinity. ” I know I should say no. Every logical part of my brain is screaming warnings. But I’m tired of sense. Tired of being alone. Tired of running? “ Just food and discussion? ” “ Scout’s honor. ” He holds up three wrong fingers. “ Were you indeed a scout? ” “ Absolutely not. But I’m secure. ” I look at him. Really look. His makeup-stained fingers. His case stops. The way he’s waiting for my answer without making me feel pressured.

And just like that—I started walking again. ***** Okay. Plot twist I did not schedule: enemy scout #1 and enemy scout #2—two very wrong men from the Black Fang—popped out of the trees like bad extras in a tragedy. They looked like they were auditioning for “villain, but uncomfortable,” with one of them sporting the saddest mustache I’ve ever seen on a person about to die for their career choices. I had the pendant at my throat, crumbs still stuck to my lips, mud crusting my calves, and the world, for once, had given me a ridiculous little gift: two men who were more stunned than dangerous.

“Next time we find a rabid scout in the woods, I vote we just leave him there.” “You vote that every time,” Trixie says, brushing pine needles from her hair. “And every time, you get vetoed because you’re a menace.” “I’m practical.” “You’re obnoxious.” They come to a stop in front of me, the rogue dangling limply between them like a grim party favor. “Well,” I say, arms crossed, “glad to see you didn’t kill each other.” Trixie rolls her eyes. “Not for lack of trying.” Parker drops the rogue with a dramatic grunt. “Here. One scout. Freshly unconscious. Slightly concussed.”

“Maybe your height, Alpha. Lean. Moved like he wasn’t worried about anything. Scent was… Nightfang, but cleaner. Sharper. Like a river in winter. Not the usual rot you smell on rogues.” “Eyes?” Lucian asked. “Dark,” the other scout said. “But they caught the light when he turned. Not like ours. Different.” Gooseflesh prickled along my arms. “What was he doing?” Lucian asked. “Leaning against a tree,” Tomas said, a little incredulous. “Just… there. Oh, and… he had something in his hand. A bit of paper looked like. He kept rolling it between his fingers. Smiling.”

A seasoned scout standing to Jax's left slowly lowered his tactical rifle, his chest heaving as his hands physically shook against the metal stock. "But sir... I don't know if I can," the scout stammered, his voice tight with a deep, instinctual panic that overrode his training. He was asking a wolf to fire on the face of his own Alpha. "I mean... they look just like you and Jax. And..." The scout swallowed hard, looking physically ill as his trembling finger pointed deeper into the shadowed cavern.

He scrambled away, terrified. The bully turned, eyebrows raised. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Scott dusted his hands off lazily. “Seems like must be new here, I’ll introduce myself. Scott Thane. Student Council Enforcement. Shadow hunter. School menace. The usual.” “He is none of those things.” I whispered. A grin tugged at Lyra’s lips. “He forgot ‘certified idiot.’” Scott ignored her. The bully laughed. “Ohhh. The infamous Thane. Hero of the Elven Kingdom. The boy who supposedly saved everyone.”

Perhaps I wasn't as lonely as I believed. Our discussion was cut short by a desperate howl from the boundary of the territory. My heart soared into my throat when I identified the voice; it belonged to one of our scouts. We hurried to the border, where a tiny pack of wolves was assembled. As we got closer, the smell of blood struck me like a solid barrier. "What's going on?" I insisted, making my way through the crowd. Then I noticed it. The scout's corpse was sprawled on the ground, disfigured beyond identification. His fur was stained with blood, and deep wounds marred his chest and neck. Next to him lay a rough shape etched into the ground, a circle crossed by three sharp lines.b

ghost. She didn't use a gun. She used a "Mechanical" crossbow—a "Physical" weapon that left no "Data-Stain." The bolt found the scout’s shoulder, pinning him to the "Recycled" mahogany paneling. The Vow of the Defenders Ethan appeared in the library doorway, his "Strong Frame" heaving with the "Friction" of the fight. The remaining two scouts, seeing the "System-Collapse" of their team, retreated back into the "Null State" of the blizzard. They hadn't come for a "Total Sector War"; they had come for a "Quick Extraction," and they had failed the "Audit."

Even the scent trails had been masked with charcoal and fox piss to throw us off. One of the scouts whistled sharply from the edge of the ruins. I moved fast. We found him huddled beneath a half-collapsed barn. Young, shaking, blood on his hands but none of it his. A human. Barely grown. Maybe nineteen. But his mouth still curled in defiance. “Don’t kill him,” I said. The scout dragged him forward. He was spitting dirt, but the defiance didn’t leave. “You’re late,” he rasped, chin high. “We were gone hours before you even smelled it.”

And as she stared into his icy eyes, Scar knew that whatever it was would be a torment unlike anything she'd ever known. Stanley extended a hand to her, showing off the green tattoo on his hand and wrist that was identical to Scar's. The only difference was that parts of it were black, others an angry red. She hadn't realized that Stanley had a mark, too. Shit. That must have been how he tracked her. Scar whimpered, feeling the hot sting of tears in her eyes. She had nowhere left to run. The goblins who held her were merciless and hateful, full of lust for violence and blood.