This was originally a prologue to a story featuring Scout and Spy, to show off why Scout acts the way he does around the others. I hope you enjoy what is here.

Still writing my novel, so updates are still sparse (not as sparse as updates on here but anyway):

READ ON!

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There was once a young Bostonian who had brothers. He had seven older brothers that played with him and taught him how to fight and then beat him up if he ever stepped out of line. The young Bostonian learned from his brothers that life was filled with fighting, but he could never experience it himself.

The young Bostonian's brothers always went into battle first; they were a gang of almost superhuman strength. No one in town could defeat the young Bostonian's brothers. But the young Bostonian wanted to fight as well. He wanted to show his brothers that he was as strong as any of them.

And so the young Bostonian ran as fast as he could, everywhere. He wanted to get faster, stronger, better, so he could beat his pack of mad dog siblings into the fray.

It took him an entire year, but the young Bostonian did it. He beat the seven older brothers into the next battle they came to, and he came out with more bruises than any of them. The seven older brothers congratulated their little brother and made supper in honor of the young Bostonian, and the boy was happy that he was accepted by his brothers.

And then they went away.

The second Great War had ended with their father lost to them, so the eight boys had to care for their mother as they grew up. The young Bostonian didn't mind this, as he enjoyed playing with his brothers after their appropriate jobs were complete for the day. But the young men didn't stay young forever. They grew up and found other, better jobs. One was so intelligent he was awarded dozens of grants and moved away to study at Yale. Still another moved out west to work as a film reel producer at Hollywood. Another was shot and killed in an alleyway while walking home from his girlfriend's house and yet another studied abroad in France, fell in love with a French maiden, and sent a letter back to his mother saying that he had gotten married and that he would remain in France to his dying day.

One by one, the young Bostonian's brothers left the home, until he and his mother were the only ones left. The young Bostonian tried to care for both he and his mother while attending school and going steady with a young girl, and he truly appreciated the meager sums that his brothers were able to send back home, but his mother was not making it easy for him to take care of her. He had to watch as his mother broke down from the loss of all of her children.

The young Bostonian wondered why she didn't seem to notice that she hadn't lost all of her children; he was still standing next to her, trying desperately to hold a job without bludgeoning stupid customers with his fists. She didn't seem to realize that he even existed, and so the young Bostonian watched his mother wither away from sadness and die in her home. It was then that the young Bostonian realized he was truly alone.

The young Bostonian packed up what meager belongings he had, left a note on his girlfriend's front step (promising that when he struck it rich, he'd come back in a fancy top hat and cane to finally get her bastard father to stop hitting him whenever he touched her hand), and escaped into the night. He wasn't sure where to go: perhaps to the north, to Canada? The people were welcoming there. He could go south. Mexico was topical and had fair weather. Or perhaps he should try to go west. Manifest Destiny was calling to him centuries after its name was first spoken. Finally, without thinking of a destination, he trudged onward.

The young Bostonian left his home and the memory of his family, his brothers, behind. He didn't know when, where, or how, but someday after his flight from his (former) home, he found himself on a battlefield. Men of all shapes, sizes and colors were fighting, just as he did at home. The men in red swept him up off the field and fed and clothed him. They asked him why he was traveling all alone, and that if he wanted, the young Bostonian could join them. "Anyone who wants to follow us and our leader can do so," they said.

The young Bostonian smiled at each and every one of them, and he tried not to cry from happiness. He had finally found his brothers again. The fact that they looked, spoke and acted differently was beside the point. If he fought with them, they were his family. "Let me come with you," he said with a smile, "I'll run in so fast, the fight'll be ended before you guys even arrive!"

There was uproarious laughter from his new "brothers", and because of his egotistical remark and his lanky build, they soon nicknamed him "Scout".

The young Bostonian… no… Scout once again found himself at home. For the first time in years, he was happy. Once again, he could live with his family, his brothers-in-arms.

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Prologue Finished!

Send me a review; tell me what you thought.

ALSO: Given the time frame, this Scout's a little older than most Scouts are portrayed. WW2 ended nearly 20 years after TF2 started, so if Scout was conceived during the year that his father left and was killed in the war, he'd be around 23 years old by the time TF2. However, most people, once they hit the war, didn't come back until the end of the war or they did so in body bags, and Scout's father seems a little too strong to not escape the draft until the LAST year, so I dunno.

This problem can be explained by a father who returned after losing a limb, conceiving his kid, and dying later of an old war wound... Or Scout perhaps being upwards of 26-27 years old. A little old, but seeing as how most of TF2 characters are probably at LEAST forty, he's still a greenhorn. So however you want to interpret this story, have fun.