Original content copyright Valve.

The game begins. You stare down the field at the opposing battlement. You hear not a whisper creep from it’s maw. And yet you know.

You pull back an arrow and fire into the abyss. The twang of the arrow soothes you, if only a little. You reach in for your Jarate and carelessly throw it into the fields below. The jar shatters, and in each shard reflects your face, empty and cold.

“Spy sappin’ my sentry!”

The familiar voice seems distressed, and roars with what sounds like several rounds from a shotgun.

“Sentry down!” Your throat becomes coarse. “Dispenser down!” Your spine shakes. Then, after a resounding squeal of pain, the noise stops.

You fire off another arrow, once again calmed slightly by it’s twang. But the paranoia, it begins to settle, and you make a quick take to notice the outline of an unfamiliar face standing down the hall.

Sitting on his lips is a cigarette, and lying on his face is a grin. His outline disappears.

Nervous, you fire arrow after arrow, and no longer does the twang calm you, and no longer does it seem like a game.

Your arrows run out. Standing alone, you hold only your Kukri, dashing your sights from one ends to the other.

You feel a warm knife rip into your spine. You fall over, and a crouching figure looms.

He lifts the cigarette from his mouth and lays it in yours. As the smoke begins to fade, the figure is gone.