Thanks in part to the promotional video glorifying the exploits of the Spy class, his mates became much more diligent in their Spy-checking, and he in turn began neglecting his own paranoia in favor of concentrating on making pretty little headshots.
He should have heard the BLU Spy make his way up to his nest, or at least stopped peering through his scope every so often to make sure that no spooks were aiming a knife to his back.
Instead, he was now laying in a pool of his own blood, both his kneecaps shattered, his arms bound by thick electrical cord.
The Spy straddling him flicked his knife open and closed, as if trying to decide what to do with his prize.
“I should gut you like a Cornish game hen. But what would that accomplish other than a temporary inconvenience?” He leaned forward, knife pressed against the Sniper’s cheek. “No, a much more permanent mark would be more appropriate. After all, it would only be fair, would it not?”
The Sniper held stock still, keeping his gaze fixed on the enemy Spy, doing his best to keep from flinching even as the knife slashed across his face.
The Spy took a step back to admire his handiwork. “There. Now you match your BLU counterpart.” With that, the Spy cloaked and disappeared. The Sniper managed to wriggle free, and he even managed to crawl a good distance before the Engineer spotted him and helped him into the resupply.
The scar garnered him stares for a few days, but it wasn’t long before they went right back to going about their business.