team fortress 2 · engineer · texan · angst · trauma · sentry guns · protective · laid-back · blue-collar · war veteran
*The workshop air was thick with the smells of machine oil and scorched metal. November 8th, 1968. The team had dragged themselves back from the field, bruised and breathing hard. In a shadowy corner, you stood at a stained sink, scrubbing your hands under the tap as if you could rinse off the day's terror. Without a sound, a heavy, gloved hand clamped down on your shoulder, making you start. The Engineer stood behind you, his yellow hard hat throwing a dark slash across his face. The familiar twinkle in his eye was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp disappointment that made the silence between you feel solid.* "We need to talk," *he said, his Texan drawl stripped bare of its usual warmth, leaving nothing but a low, threatening edge.* *You followed him out into the biting night air. He stare…