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It had been a particularly rough week for the RED team. A long string of losses and morale was at an all-time low.
After a certain American mercenary was reported to Ms. Pauling for stating how he was a “failure to his country” and was “choosing to go with honor,” the Administrator required the entire team to a meeting with a contracted psychologist. Mercenaries were not easy to come by, and she was not keen to lose one over hurt pride.
“Ah, piss. Does the lady upstairs really have nothing better to do with our time?” the Australian vented to Demoman, who sat next to him as they waited their turn to meet the psych doc.
“C’mon, Snipes. This is fur Soldier’s sake. He hud a gun tae his head fur crying oot loud!”
Demo made a good point, but Sniper still kept his irritated mood about him.
“Not my fault the bloke’s patriotic to a fault. Besides, if it’s just him who had the bloody breakdown, why are we here too? It feels an awful lot like the ‘documentary’ the boss had us be part of.”
“ Wee cost ta’ pay. Ye ken soldier wouldn't step foot in there if she didnae ha’ all o' us do it too.”
“Alright, ya’ got me there mate.” Sniper sighed and settled into his chair more, legs outstretched and hat tipped down over his face. The wait felt an awful long time, and he felt himself getting tired at the inactivity.
Finally, Pyro left the room, looking perturbed.
At the sight of the two men waiting by the door, he perked up and followed to bombard them with an assortment of mumbles that Sniper could only pick out syllables from, however Demoman seemed to understand every word.
“Schizophrenia? Well that’s a hell o' a thing tae drop on ye like that. Tell ye whit, if ye wanna talk aboot it more, stop by mah room efter i’ve had my meetin.”
Pyro responded with muffled sounds of gratitude, then bounced off happily as he hummed to himself, excited to visit his friend later.
A young man stepped out of the door Pyro had exited a few seconds before, staring down at a clipboard he held. He was well-kept, and formally dressed. His demeanor did not match his appearance, he fidgeted with the clipboard in hand as if he were scared it might try to escape him. After a beat, he looked up towards the two mercs, who had since focused their attention to the stranger standing before them.
“I’m ready to see the Sniper.” he bleated. A tightness could be heard in his voice, as if he weren’t used to speaking at all.
It wasn’t long before Sniper found himself standing in the makeshift office the Administrator had put together for the psychologist sitting across from him, behind a small desk. The chair the psychologist had motioned for Sniper to sit in was much more plush than the rigid metal one he had been waiting in for so long, and he felt himself release some of the body tension he had been holding as he sank into the chair.
“Alright Sniper, in any other situation it would be proper to introduce myself in order to establish some therapeutic rapport… however, the Administrator has requested that I not divulge my name. So that makes things hard for me,” the doctor let out a dry chuckle, “so let’s just skip that part. How’re you holding up man?”
Sniper found the man’s behavior increasingly strange. He had never been to a psych doctor like the one seated with him, and the man surely didn’t act like any other doctor he’s been to.
“I’d say I’m doing a fine job. Despite the losses, I’m maintaining a relatively steady kill-death ratio. Even beat a personal record the other day.”
“That’s great to hear, but I’m asking more specifically about how you are doing. How’re you feeling? I read in your file that you had to make an adjustment to some new equipment a couple weeks ago, and had a bit of a spat with the engineer of your team because of it. Can you share a bit about that with me?”
“Crikey, I didn’t think I’d have to address that anymore. I apologized to Engie. Things are a bit better now that I’ve had time to get familiar with the new stuff,” Sniper rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he reflected on his behavior from the last two weeks. He had snapped at the Engineer, and for a few days had refused the new equipment, up until Ms. Pauling was sent to speak to him about an impending suspension if he did not make the transition to the new tools.
“I’ve always struggled with changes in my routine. I like to keep things consistent like any good professional would. So when I hear that there’s gonna be something disturbing that routine without any prior warning, I get a bit irate. I’ve always been that way. Not sure why, but it’s served me well enough so I’d imagine it can’t be that much of a problem.”
“Well, that hesitancy towards change could be on account of your autism.” The psychologist said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sniper stalled for a moment after hearing the words, raising his eyebrows as he leaned in towards the desk separating the two men.
“I’m sorry, my what?”
“Oh, uh, have you not been diagnosed?” the psychologist replied apologetically.
“This is the first I’ve ever gone to see a guy in your profession, ya’ drongo. Maybe that was for good reason too… you’ve got me all wrong. I don’t have autism.” Sniper settled back into the chair with crossed arms.
“Ah well, uhm,” the psychologist adjusted his glasses as he looked down at the file of papers he had laid out in front of him, “everything here in your file points towards it. Your behavior report is very thorough, I’m actually rather surprised to be the first to notice. It’s as if these patterns of behavior were pulled straight from my psychology textbook.”
Sniper said nothing in reply, instead staring the unfortunate psychologist down with an intensity that could burn.
The man realized Sniper’s glare and cleared his throat as he thought about how to navigate the conversation in a way that softened the situation before it became a bigger problem. He did not want to get hurt amongst these mercenaries, and the look Sniper was giving him was indication enough that it was a real possibility.
“Now, there should be no shame in that diagnosis, Sniper. There is a very large community of people in a similar place, and there are many strides being made to make this world more accepting of them. Hell, some have even said it is simply the next step in human evolution! Isn’t that a neat idea?”
Sniper hummed, and the psychologist wasn’t so sure that he had heard a word of what he said.
“As far as I know, blokes with autism stumble around in safety helmets babbling like they got nothing in their head to protect. That’s what I look like to you, doc?” There was a challenge in Sniper’s voice.
“That is absolutely incorrect, Sniper. Haven’t you ever wondered why exactly you felt so different to others, as if you were running on a completely different set of world rules? Why you preferred to spend your upbringing in solitude, whether by choice or not? I am saying nothing to question your intelligence or capability as a person. I am simply stating that your brain functions in an entirely different way to the general population. You love your routines, it’s very rare that you stray from it. I have your average day mapped out right here,” he held up a paper with a list of nearly hourly activities, and upon a quick glance Sniper could tell it was legit. Point by point, his entire day had been mapped out.
The doctor continued to look at Sniper’s files, paraphrasing as he went, “You often come across to other people as rational but cold, although you aren’t completely aware of that all the time. You need the quiet because you are sensitive to external stimuli, and that hypersensitivity is part of what makes you such a fantastic Sniper. You have been observed performing self-stimming behavior, including but not limited to: rocking behavior, subtle hand flapping, echolalia. The list goes on Sniper. It isn’t a bad thing for you, by a long shot. It’s simply how you are. The label does nothing to change that except to give you clarity in a world that is just not made for you. You are ‘autistic’, but you are much more than it," the previously soft-spoken man’s words had taken a different energy in the speech, his passion for the subject was as clear as the words that he uttered.
Sniper heard all of it.
Every single word hit him over the head, and suddenly it became as obvious as the psychologist made it sound.
Despite him saying the label didn’t change anything, it changed Sniper. He felt it inside himself, the realization that set in and the weight of it as he reflected quickly on his entire 27 years of life.
“Well, fuck. I guess I am.”