As Vagineer stared out into the hazy night sky that encompassed Doublecross in its delicate grey embrace, his eyes caught sight of the pale waning moon that hung gently between two stretches of clouds -- and he started, for the first time since his transformation, to think. He thought of how he had despised the RED and BLU team and their mindless, brutal battles over a suitcase -- and, thus vowing never to ally with either side, traded his soul in to become the infamous marauding monster he now was. But was he really that different at all? All the REDs and BLUs he'd devoured in cold blood, all the Vagisentries he'd laid down as traps for unsuspecting victims -- he had successfully convinced himself that all that was justice against the atrocities of the teams' wars. But now that excuse had long been worn thin… and it was apparent that the REDs and BLUs themselves had families to return to, long, fruitful lives to lead, hopes and dreams to pursue. Vagineer saw that he'd brutally taken all those things from the countless men he'd eaten. How many families had he shattered forever? How many livelihoods? And for what? Under the guise of justice, all he was really doing was feeding his own selfish, cannibalistic pleasures. Remorse gripped Vagineer's heart as he realized he'd become what he'd hated the most.
He did not notice, as he sat contemplating in the moonlight, the near-silent installment of ten stickybombs by another TF2 maverick and his sworn enemy, the Seeman, around the periphery of his concrete precipice. When he finally heard the ominous 'click' of the detonator, followed by a smug, triumphant "See?", Vagineer already knew it was much too late. A single tear fell from beneath his twisted goggles as his flesh splintered instantly from the impact. Engulfed in the unrelenting flames of the explosion, Vagineer's final moments of consciousness had no flashbacks, no pride. He could not feel any dying joy, because he had not died a hero. All he could feel was shame.
